John of Salisbury. The Metalogicon. Translated by Daniel D. McGarry. Philadelphia: Paul Dry Books, Inc., 2009.
It is one thing to say that someone loves to read, it something else entirely to allow every letter on the written page to drip with the honey of books long since shelved, to weave with every word the wisdom of the past into a tapestry for the present, and to point the way forward by drinking from the deep well of those who came before us. That is precisely what John of Salisbury does in his Metalogicon.
The Paul Dry Books edition of the Metalogicon is a reprint of the translation done by Dr. Daniel D. McGarry, former professor of history at Saint Louis University from where he retired in 1976.[1] He was one of the primary proponents of the school choice for parents movement in the United States, and published numerous books, articles and translations. His translation of the Metalogicon, a medieval treatise on the liberal arts approach to education, was the first produced in modern English.
The book is a defense, and definition, of the Trivium, set up as a reply to John’s opponent Cornificius (3-9). Although the true identity of Cornificius is not revealed in the work, he was a man who advanced ideas on educational reform that John of Salisbury condemned. John, an English priest who received his education in Paris sometime after 1136 AD, knew many of the important leaders of his day, and engaged with some of the prominent thinkers such as Peter Abelard and Robert Pullen (xvi-xvii). His interactions with Thomas Becket and King Henry II attest to his influence during his life, and his writings have endeared him to generations beyond his own time (xviii). It is fitting that John’s books have survived, and that they continue to pass his views on, as one of the most critical elements in his educational model was reading. But his was not a mere entreaty for literacy; learning to read well, which meant having an eye for charity and grace, was the outcome of a child properly educated (72).
Early in the book, John offers a sustained view on the role of reading in the education he is prescribing (60-72). Reading is one of “the chief aids to philosophical enquiry and the practice of virtue” according to John (64). This is how, primarily, scientific knowledge is attained, by “reading, learning, and meditation” (65). Not that men merely imitate what they read, but that in a fashion similar to the giving of grace, reading “imparts the faculty of writing and speaking correctly.” And such a gift should not be shrugged aside, even if it becomes commonplace. Rather, reading should be practiced and extolled so that the virtues can be practiced and passed on.
Reading, as a form of grace, enables the student to embark across the disciplines, covering territory far larger than they might trek on their own (66). It is this “breadth and thoroughness” that enables one “to explain the charming elegance” of the authors they meet in the pages of books, reflecting the deepness of one’s knowledge. Thus reading not only connects disciplines and geographical locales, but even those separated by languages and years. All knowledge exists because something or someone came prior, and the foundations of these ideas is preserved in books. John explains this by pointing out that if a student or teacher were to “carefully examine the works of Vergil or Lucan . . . no matter your philosophy, you will find therein its seed or seasoning” (67). No matter how much things change, they remain the same, which is why it is vital to read from the reservoir of the past. Of course, this is not without its dangers, and John of Salisbury recognized some of those problems.
For instance, when teachers misread a text, the results can be disastrous, leading students into falsehood instead of truth. Though often forgiving and assuming of the best, John makes a point to castigate such teachers who were misreading the classics, creating a burden for their students, rather than setting them free, which is the goal of a liberal education (36-37, 117-118). One’s outlook on life is demonstrated through the demonstration of “good faith . . . in interpreting conversation or reading,” (128). Thus , “a trustworthy and prudent lecturer will respect as inviolable the evident literal meaning of what is written, until he obtains a fuller and surer grasp of the truth by further reading or by divine revelation” (148). So reading must be done well, and under the guidance of sage teachers, be they in the classroom or in the pulpit.
This is part of the brilliance of reading, for makes a man stand taller. Not because spending all day in a library is going to make one physically taller, but “because we are lifted up and borne aloft on” the shoulders of giants when we engage with the minds of the past (167). This practice is plainly seen in John’s own writing style, which references Quintilian and Philo and Gregory the Great as though they were friends who had been called upon when the need arose (61, 273, 154). John’s entire argument, in some sense, hinges on what he is able to demonstrate through his own work. By proving the value of reading through showing how he has been shaped in his own reading, John makes it difficult to argue otherwise. This demonstration of character is not unique to John though.
Consider the power of Aristotle, whose strength lies in his ability to dismantle the argument of his opponent, a talent which “cooperates with the efficacy of grace” to distinguish those engaged in building up and refuting (181). Aristotle shows one way of doing things, but to read him is not to adopt wholesale his methods. Again, John demonstrates his own vast reading, assumes it of his reader, and sets the model for how to dialogue with the words of the past to edify the present. The value of reading ranks so highly in John’s view, that even in the art of disputation, an individual who has not read through Aristotle’s Topics would be thought of as someone taking shots in the dark (190).
In all, John of Salisbury’s work is a balm for the educator and educated alike. His vision and prose water those wastelands which C. S. Lewis so famously described in The Abolition of Man, and simultaneously provide guidance on how the jungles of the human heart might be restored.[2] In order to awaken students “from the slumber of cold vulgarity” (Lewis 13). By reading good books, old books, and books worth arguing about, the educational process takes on an activity and life that provokes the right kind of imitation (Metalogicon 51).
Sean C. Hadley is a husband, father, lecturer, and author. He is currently completing a PhD in Humanities (ABD) at Faulkner University. His essays and book reviews have been published by a variety of outlets, including Touchstone Magazine, An Unexpected Journal, The Imaginative Conservative, and The Hemingway Review. Entering the classroom in 2009, Sean’s teaching includes instruction in humane letters and service as Thesis Director at two different classical Christian schools. Sean has presented at various conferences, including for the Association of Classical Christian Schools, the American Literature Association, and Faulkner University’s Institute of Faith and the Academy. Since 2014, Sean has taught at Trinitas Christian School located in Pensacola, Florida.
[1] Biographical information was obtained from the publishing house, as well as “Daniel D. McGarry Was History Professor At SLU.” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, October 28, 1999, Obituaries sec. Accessed October 7, 2017.
[2] C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man (New York: HarperCollins, 2001), 13-14. On the whole, Lewis’s Abolition and John’s Metalogicon bear striking similarities to one another in tone and purpose.