“It might be better to have, instead of propaganda and special pleading, committees of wise men who would choose our rulers, dictate our conduct, private and public, and decide upon the best kinds of food for us to eat. But we have chosen the opposite method, that of open competition.” – Edward Bernays

Propaganda has become a dirty word. That “become” may be a surprise as, for centuries, it was not. This change in public use of the word came shortly after World War 1 when people began to realize how little the romanticism of war matched the horrors of reality; a word was needed to capture the betrayal of their sentiments. Currently it is used almost exclusively to convey something negative – the emphasis is placed on the misleading nature of the subject described, whereas it was previously a benign term. The tide has come and gone, and the original conception of the word may never return. But Edward Bernays disagreed with the word’s transformation and sought to redeem the idea of propaganda. It is worth asking if Bernays should have won this battle for the word’s identity – and if it should be fought again.

Bernays did so through his well-known 1928 book Propaganda. While he was born in Vienna in 1891, his family would move to New York City in the following year. He is largely known for pioneering the field of public relations; major companies such as General Electric and Proctor and Gamble would pay for his advisement. No introduction of him appears complete unless it is stated that he is the twice over the nephew of Sigmund Freud – his mother was Freud’s sister, and his father was the brother of Freud’s wife; few would doubt the influence of psychology throughout the book and his work.

The word “propaganda” itself originated from the Congregation for Propagation of the Faith in Rome, founded by Roman Catholic Cardinals in the 1620s. The congregation sought to expand and improve the missionary efforts of the church, and so it sent out missionaries to propagate – to spread and promote widely – the faith of the Church. From around this time until World War 1, the word was seldom used.

The title of his first chapter, “Organizing Chaos,” is his essential thesis about what is positive about propaganda, serving as the theme of the word’s redemption: “In theory, every citizen makes up his mind on public questions and matters of private conduct. In practice, if all men had to study for themselves the abstruse economic, political and ethical data involved in every question, they would find it impossible to come to a conclusion about anything.” That is, propaganda is a means of organizing the world’s chaos by raising awareness of a cause by making its nature clearer (idealistically) and highlighting its significance to the public.

For a word that has been used, misused, and suffered from fundamentally different implications, it is important to arrive at definitions. In the second chapter, The New Propaganda, Bernays addresses dictionary and public definitions of propaganda. He quotes from the Funk and Wagnalls Dictionary’s definition at the time: “Effort directed systematically toward the gaining of public support for an opinion or a course of action.” Later, he arrives at his own definition: “Modern propaganda is a consistent, enduring effort to create or shape events to influence the relations of the public to an enterprise, idea or group.” Ultimately, Bernays’ efforts were not enough. One of The Oxford Dictionary’s current definitions for propaganda is: “The systematic dissemination of information, esp. in a biased or misleading way, in order to promote a particular cause or point of view, often a political agenda.” Bernays’ essay, then, was a battle against the potential addition of the “biased or misleading” clause to the word’s identity.

To prevent this addition, Bernays argued that propaganda is just only to the extent to which it is righteous and truthful: “Yet whether, in any instance, propaganda is good or bad depends on the merit of the cause urged, and the correctness of the information published…” He also quotes from a Scientific American article that pleads the case for the word: “Truth is mighty and must prevail, and if any body of men believe that they have discovered a valuable truth, it is not merely their privilege but their duty to disseminate that truth. If they realize, as they quickly must, that this spreading of the truth can be done upon a large scale and effectively only by organized effort, they will make use of the press and the platform as the best means to give it wide circulation.”

A potential contradiction appears to those cognizant of Bernays’ work on the whole. He is partly infamous for his work for the American Tobacco Company where he conceived a campaign branded “Torches of Freedom.” This was a propaganda campaign designed to create more female smokers by combining the idea of smoking with empowerment. Smoking, as per the advertisements, was a sign of liberation, freedom and rebellion. While this point provides many difficulties, it does not demonstrate an outright contradiction to Bernays’ defense of propaganda as the deadly effects of smoking were not directly understood at the time of his campaign.

He provides a handful of examples of his propagandist work throughout the book. In one instance, Bernays describes how the old method of advertising would say, for example, ‘YOU – buy a piano NOW,’ but modern propaganda would operate more subtly: “The music room will be accepted because it has been made the thing. And the man or woman who has a music room or has arranged a corner of the parlor as a musical corner, will naturally think of buying a piano. It will come to him as his own idea.” He also increased the sale of ivory soap by promoting nationwide soap carving competitions for children while also utilizing the word of a reputed sculptor to promote the idea. In another campaign, the NAACP sought to hold a momentous event to fight against lynching, segregation and other forms of discrimination. Bernays advised that it must be held in the South to garner the most attention and that diverse leaders from across the country should be invited so that the nation would hear about the speeches given.

The later chapters approach the concept of propaganda as it pertains to specific ideas and groups: business, politics, women, education, social service, arts and sciences. These chapters are largely only significant for providing further examples of propaganda as a positive tool: “A campaign for the preservation of teeth seeks to alter people’s habits in the direction of more frequent brushing of teeth. A campaign for better parks seeks to alter people’s opinion in regard to the desirability of taxing themselves for the purchase of park facilities…” Only the chapter on “women’s activities” seems to have aged poorly with its overemphasis on homemaking, cooking, etc.

Bernays ends with optimism about the popular conception of propaganda: “If the public is better informed about the processes of its life, it will be so much the more receptive to reasonable appeals to its own interests…” There is something desirable about propaganda – and, Bernays argues, that by understanding how it works we will be more welcoming to further propagandized efforts to garner our interest and investment. His final page is hopeful – he wants the public to become more aware of how propaganda operates: “If the public becomes more intelligent in its commercial demands, commercial firms will meet the new standards. If it becomes weary of the old methods used to persuade it to accept a given idea or commodity, its leaders will present their appeals more intelligently.”

Now, nearly one hundred years after Propaganda’s publication, we may consider Bernays’ proposed hope of redeeming the word as a lost war. It is primarily used as a derogatory accusation, synonymous with perceived manipulation or deception. But it also seems safe to say that there are few words used as uncritically as propaganda. As a litmus test for the sincerity of the word’s usage – how frequently is the word used to describe something that the accuser finds agreeable? Those we disagree with are propagandists – those we agree with speak Truth, or at least the righteousness of the cause minimizes any falsehoods; to call some political speech or text “propaganda” often conveys little apart from the speaker’s opposition. It is largely, to misuse a lyric by Them Crooked Vultures, “…an incomplete thought coming to a complete stop.” On the other hand, it should be stressed that it is far better to be cognizant of some trick being performed than to absorb propaganda dogmatically.

This line of thinking can easily snowball, but it is not within the scope of this essay to make broad prescriptions for the overall state of public discourse or to prepare dissections of how entrenched people are in their political camps. Rather, let us rest this point to say that the concept itself of ‘propaganda’ is seldom considered clearly– and that is why the bulk of Bernays’ points are enduringly significant.  

But is something off? The previous comments have tried to understand and clarify the text’s arguments themselves, but let us consider the work as a whole. In one moment, Bernays quotes high-sounding phrases from Scientific American: “Truth is mighty and must prevail…” In another, he tells us how he boosted the sales of one brand of soap. Is Truth and its dissemination Bernays’ priority – or is he merely an all-too-clever salesman? To use Bernays’ own definition, this book was ‘an effort to influence the relations of the public to an idea’ – that of propaganda’s righteousness, and so it must be stressed that the book Propaganda is certainly itself propaganda according to his terms.

Bernays makes plentiful points in favor of propaganda, but the absence of those against it precludes sincerity. He emphasizes how propaganda helped the NAACP fight segregation but avoids mentioning how it enticed young men to horrific deaths across the sea in the first World War (or, even, how it may have been used to ensure segregation endured as long as it did to begin with). Bernays was doubtlessly cognizant of the negative uses; an earnest argument for the word would have provided destructive examples while stressing that the word should be redeemed in spite of them. Yes, to an extent he covered his tracks – Bernays would simply say such examples would fall under his conception of “bad” or unjust propaganda, but the absence of these points prevents the book from appearing honest in its seemingly lofty ambitions and keeps it far removed from being an earnest scholarly examination.

It is easy to share his proposed wish for a more enlightened public, but it is worth estimating whether his hope was genuine without assuming telepathy. Bernays had popularized what is now known as the ‘Third-Party Technique” which involves, for example, hiding or obfuscating the fact that an otherwise impartial expert is on the propagandized cause’s payroll; the fewer fingerprints on the propaganda from its originator, the better. This leaves an abundance of work to be done by individual minds to determine what is honest and what is manipulation; his teachings have made it difficult to distinguish between the perceptive eye and the merely conspiratorial. Perhaps a more honest way to rephrase his hope for the public becoming “more receptive to reasonable appeals” would be: ‘Those in power and those chasing it are only going to become more cunning with my help; you’d better keep up.’ Yes, we should always desire a more intelligent and informed populace that can continually sniff out these tricks with ease, but the public has lives to lead and can only take a passing interest in subjects not close to their hearts; meanwhile clever people, inspired and empowered by Bernays, have devoted their lives to propagandizing a cause with his tricks.

The man has been increasingly demonized as the awareness of his work grew, and it can be argued that his influence has been a net negative for humanity, but let us not forget that we are only able to damn him because we know of him. He could have remained in the shadows, empowering corporations and politicians who would keep these secrets to themselves without ever allowing the public to know the name Edward Bernays. Instead, the magician openly reveals his own tricks and how those by his predecessors, peers, and those to come are performed; the instruction manual is available for anyone to explore, and perhaps some gratitude is owed for the fact that these tactics were not pioneered and popularized by someone with worse intents. Regardless, we must finally come to terms with his proposed plea for the redemption of propaganda.

In the first chapter, to stress how broad the varied interests in society are, Bernays lists dozens of organizations featured in the World Almanac that begin with the letter ‘A’. In the nearly one-hundred years since Propaganda’s publication, our population has grown from two billion to eight billion. Through the advent of the internet and its ability to connect distant individuals we have seen the formation of an unprecedented number of differing groups, creating a vastly larger diversity compared to the amount that astounded Bernays. It is unlikely for any of these causes or groups to succeed or expand without propaganda, especially as the tools Bernays provided are now far more widely known – but certainly not well-known enough – and those competing for public attention and support are lost without utilizing his devices; so too is it hopelessly romantic to think that they will pursue these goals through solely honest and noble means.  But necessity alone does not answer the question, and perhaps there is a bit of irony here – it was easier to argue the case for propaganda’s redemption prior to the book Propaganda being published. Now, after the fact, the tools for propagating a cause are subtler, cleverer and more multifaceted; thanks to his work, it is more important than ever to keep one’s guard up – thereby securing the appropriateness of the inclusion – especially in a biased or misleading way.

“The question came about as a result of a five dollar bet over highballs, and it happened this way…” – Isaac Asimov

It is nearly an obligation of our human consciousness to, at one point or several, individually attempt to wrangle with the “big” questions: What is the meaning of life? Is there a God? What happens after death? How does it all end? Isaac Asimov’s The Last Question stands as one of the greatest short stories for its profound exploration of this last example. By utilizing the progress of scientific understanding from the past century to give clearer language and significance to the question, Asimov provided an iconic story about humanity’s attempt to comprehend the end of everything. 

The Last Question is a short story published in 1956 by Isaac Asimov, first appearing in the magazine Science Fiction Quarterly. Its length – just shy of 4,500 words – is no reflection of its ambition. Asimov set out with a thesis and goal, as he writes in his introduction, of wanting to “tell several trillion years of human history in the space of a short story…”

The story itself features seven distinct eras, wherein different people (and later, something far beyond human) address the Multivac – a supercomputer-to-end-all-supercomputers. It changes name and form throughout time – but its function remains relatively constant. It is fed data, is “self-adjusting and self-correcting,” and has evolved from largely solving mere flight trajectory problems to being able to “answer deeper questions more fundamentally…”  Its processing ability grows alongside the flow of time, evolving from the Multivac to the Microvac, to the Galactic AC, the Universal AC, the Cosmic AC, until finally “Man’s last mind fused and only AC existed — and that in hyperspace.”

The last question itself, “asked for the first time, half in jest, on May 21, 2061…” is this: “How can entropy be reversed?” The question comes about organically from two attendants of the machine who begin debating the problem of entropy and the meaning of forever:

“Oh, hell, just about forever. Till the sun runs down, Bert.”

“That’s not forever.”

After exhausting the conversation to the best of their (inebriated) ability, they decide to consult the Multivac. When asked the last question, the Multivac responds – “INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR MEANINGFUL ANSWER.” Asimov’s story then takes us across exponentially increasing oceans of time, wherein the Multivac is asked the last question again and again, and despite millennia to learn and evolve more and more, its answer is the same – until the conclusion.

Asimov called this work “by far my favorite story of all those I have written.” It has enjoyed considerable fame – so much so that people will often consider any “greatest short story” list incomplete if The Last Question is absent. Alexa, Amazon’s virtual assistant, and Wolfram Alpha, an online computational knowledge engine, both quote the Multivac/AC when queried “How can entropy be reversed?”

What makes the story so exceptional? With the relatively recent discovery of entropy, the author made the brilliant connection to translate “How does it all end?” into “How can entropy be reversed?” – that is, the latter question is a logical evolution of the former, rephrased based on the progress of scientific knowledge. By translating this into a narrative, one that showcases humanity’s attempt across eons to understand the nature of the universe and its finitude across time, Asimov gave form and feeling to a fundamental question of existence.

But its ending and conclusion is not without hope. Long after humanity’s disappearance, after matter, energy, space and time end, the AC completes its analysis and discovers how entropy can be reversed – and so the story concludes with a creation myth of its own, utilizing a line from the Old Testament – “And AC said, “LET THERE BE LIGHT!” And there was light –”

“I need another indulgence. In almost all these studies I have found the author himself more interesting than any character in his books, and his career more instructive than the imaginary world by which he revealed or cloaked himself. I varied an old motto, and told myself, Cherchez l’homme – search for the man.” – Will Durant, Interpretations of Life

In 1967, Will Durant published Rousseau and Revolution, his tenth and – so he thought at the time – final entry to his monumental Story of Civilization, a series of books published over nearly four decades, each aiming to capture and convey the essence of a significant era in human history. Eight years later he would give the world his eleventh and truly final volume, The Age of Napoleon. Between these books and before this realization that he had another Story to tell, Durant pivoted to biographize, analyze and reflect on twentieth century literature and its authors; the result is Interpretations of Life.

First published in 1970, the book is titled in appreciation of the widely varied works these authors produced while reckoning the nature of existence. It features seventeen chapters and a several authors more than that. Most authors are given their own chapters. Some are grouped together, such as Wittgenstein, Kierkegaard, Heidegger and others in ‘The Philosophers’, and Sholokhov, Pasternak, Solzhenitsyn and Yevtushenko in ‘Literature Under the Soviets.’ There are three pairings of writers. John Steinbeck with Upton Sinclair had both passed in 1968 while Durant was writing Interpretations, and so the chapter is framed as a dual obituary: “Each of them fought throughout life against the cruelty of man to man or beast; each struck a lusty blow for justice by writing a book that stirred the nation…” Robinson Jeffers and Ezra Pound are two of the 20^th century’s most controversial poets and so are matched here. Sartre is paired de Beauvoir, being the most necessary dual-biography, as Durant argues that to “divorce” their lives and works is to not fully understand them.

Durant, formerly writing mostly on centuries past, here focuses on the era in which he was living. Several authors selected were still alive at the time of publication. Sartre would live one decade more, and he notes that Solzhenitsyn was working on, but had not finished The Gulag Archipelago. This shift proved to be a non-issue; from his lengthy historical works Durant had developed perspective enough to, as he would put it, “see the part in the whole” even as history was unfolding.The selections are, however, colored by an admission Durant emphasizes in the conclusion, wherein he acknowledges the nature of writing about his own era and the inherent, inescapable bias this comes with. These writers lived and breathed alongside him, and the great and terrible moments of the twentieth century that formed the perspectives of these authors formed Durant as well. It is this sentiment of a shared era that he emphasizes in his final, reflective chapter, and he goes on to thus conclude the book: “The twentieth century is the age of Nietzsche, as he predicted it would be: the age of dictators unmoved by any moral tradition, of wars made more deadly and devastating by the progress of science; the age of the “death of God” for those who lead the parade in thought and power…”

The book excels because it does not confine these great and influential minds to vacuums. Their lives, words and deeds are contextualized and their appearance in the world is framed as the events that they were. Here he repeats the style and format he used in his previous The Story of Philosophy (1926). The writers are provided historical background with thorough commentary on the time and place they inhabited. The major events of their lives are chronicled. Similar space is given to their significant works, wherein the nature of the work itself is discussed, significant themes and purposes are identified, and often retrospectives on the influence they later would enjoy. From The Story of Philosophy he also developed the skill of communicating philosophical ideas, works and arguments with clarity, and this quality is reflected throughout Interpretations.  

Durant is a fair critic. He does not fawn too deeply or dismiss too harshly, seeing both the parts and the wholes of a man’s life and career. The chapter on Hemingway provides an excellent example of this. When focusing on biography, he describes the man himself as “totally alive, and had vitality enough for a dozen matadors. His courage was all the deeper for having to fight fear…” He chronicles Hemingway’s remarkable life, experience and heroisms with such appreciation that the pivot to his writing is almost surprising, wherein he asks if any of Hemingway’s books were “…as rich in incident and character as his life? Excepting The Old Man and the Sea his novels were too timely to be timeless…” And yet, in the chapter’s conclusion, Durant provides the perfect synthesis of these themes and observations: “He left behind him a frothy wake of imitators who used his tricks of tough talk and staccato dialogue, of flashbacks and symbolism and stream of consciousness, but who never rivaled the simplicity, clarity, and verve of his style, or the stimulating challenges of his thought. The imitators fade away, but the figure of Ernest Hemingway remains… Voila un homme!”

He is harshest on Ezra Pound, the target most deserving of criticism out of the authors featured, both for his compensated contributions to Mussolini’s propaganda machines and for his undisciplined literary style – the former clearly the more grievous sin than the latter. Preparing to outline Cantos, Pound’s most controversial poem that was published gradually throughout his life, Durant produces one of the sharpest criticisms to be made on some schools of 20th century literature: “Art ceases to be a communication in significant form, and becomes a crossword puzzle for the leisure class.” He characterizes the lengthy poem as reading “like Socialist pamphlets, and become poetry only through typography.” Nevertheless, Durant still sees Pound as a complicated man, and despite his transgressions in life and literature, he is granted a dignified sendoff: “He was often absurd, even as you and I; but we forget our blunders and hide our sins, while Pound spread his follies over the mercuries of the air…”

He handles a century of diverse literature well. There are many genres, ideas, themes, styles and schools of writing discussed and, while he treats them with fairness, it is impossible to read the many works these wildly differing authors produced without adopting clear preferences. Durant is open about his prejudices and how his responses were formed. He occasionally adopts a confessional style – he wants his biases known and understood. He opens the chapter on Jeffers and Pound: “I have given up the attempt to understand contemporary poetry. I am too old, too bound to prose, to puzzle over the built-in obscurity of twentieth-century verse.” Yet in other chapters he does display a great appreciation for recent poetry, and such statements largely seem intended to not wholly cut down the literary contributions of a man like Pound. He makes a similar admission when he praises Camus in the beginning of his respective chapter: “I confess to a personal prejudice in preferring, for these studies, those authors who have dressed in fiction, drama, or poetry the problems of philosophy, rather than those who sought, by sensitivity, imagination, and artistry, to give some passing beauty a form that could be caressed by generations yet unborn.” These statements do not read like deflections from criticism that seek to turn ignorance or humility into an advantage; rather, Durant is inescapably authentic. He is open about his literary inclinations and how these may have formed his estimations. His honesty is refreshing.

As is his wit. The book could not be called “dry” by any means. Durant’s style is consistently charming and often funny. When writing about William Faulkner’s Sanctuary (1931) being adapted into the Hollywood Film The Story of Temple Drake (1933), Durant states: “The film makers responded, the picture prospered, and a critic called the book ‘one of the finest novels in modern literature.’ It is terrible.” And, concerning Joyce: “In July, 1920, Joyce and his family went to Paris for a week’s stay; they remained there twenty years.” So too is he gifted at finding wit in others, again concerning Joyce, specifically the United States censorship boards deliberation of Ulysses – “The ban against it in America was removed by U.S. District Court Judge John Munro Woolsey on December 6, 1933, on the ground that “whilst in many places the effect of ‘Ulysses’ on the reader undoubtedly is somewhat emetic, nowhere does it tend to be an aphrodisiac.”’

Interpretations of Life is, perhaps, not as interesting or memorable as his other works – but that is through no inherent mistake; titans of literature though they are, the subjects here largely cannot match the depth or importance of those captured in his various Stories. It is easier to reflect on a few leaders, minds or events that time has concluded held the most influence on an era, and move on, than it is to focus on one type of thinker in an era that time is still deliberating. But the book’s theme was chosen, treated with intelligence and care, and succeeded exceptionally well in fulfilling its purpose. There is some lapse of consistency of form and length, and some may find an injustice here, finding that their preferred authors were allotted a few brief pages where others were given nearly fifty; but this quality too makes the work more honest. There are far more books from interesting people than there is time to read them, and even one as well-read as Durant is no exception.  

There is now some distance between us and the twentieth century. Looking back, it is easy to agree with Durant’s conviction, quoted earlier from the final paragraph of Interpretations, that it was “the age of the “death of God” for those who lead the parade in thought and power…” Yet Durant was not a pessimist, for the quote continues, and the book ultimately concludes: “…But the poets and artists and dreamers are not dead; they will tell new stories, paint new pictures, of our heroes, our achievements, and our possibilities; we shall be inspired and strengthened again; and we shall go on to add to our heritage.”

“To put an end to the spirit of inquiry it is not necessary to burn the books. All we have to do is leave them unread for a few generations.” – Robert Hutchins, The Great Conversation

The shortest and surest road to wisdom is to understand it by its near synonym – perspective. Wisdom is to see beyond fad and fashion – beyond modern, postmodern; wisdom is historical. If you desire wisdom, and thereby perspective, you must necessarily join the Great Conversation. Perfectly titled, The Great Conversation is Encyclopedia Britannica’s introduction to the company’s ‘Great Books of the Western World’ set. Written by Robert Hutchins, the Editor-in-Chief of Encyclopedia Britannica at the time of publication in 1952, it serves as ‘Book One’ of the set and – despite some awkward decisions, it nevertheless serves as an excellent invitation to the definitive history of Western intellectual thought.

The overarching theme of the book stems from the title itself as it refers to what the set of books is intended to be – humanity’s shared progress in understanding life seen through the lens of a conversation; that is, progressive books in the set appear to know of, converse, debate, and build off those that came before. This conversation is the story of Western intellectual history.

The book is comprised of ten chapters, each seeking to emphasize the importance of The Great Books of the Western World set through a different point and argument. It provides an excellent perspective for the reading of classics through these different approaches – that education should be considered a life-long journey, that this sort of liberal education is on its decline – and so on. Its chapters largely seek the same goal overall – but there is a considerable overlap of points. The overall thesis is to persuade the reader of the value of these books and to convince you to continue reading further into the set. So too do they want it understood that these works are timeless – and the editors do not see themselves as mere “…tourists on a visit to ancient ruins or to the quaint productions of primitive peoples.”

Hutchins too addresses common concerns about the reading of classics. Many were written when men held slaves. Some pre-date the scientific method. How can they possibly be applied to our current society? Hutchins calls the dismissal of the timelessness of these works a kind of “sociological determinism.” That is, the books are not meant for one age alone. Hutchins’ childhood dreams were to become an “iceman” or a “motorman” – occupations dying in his era, completely extinct in ours. He argues – “No society so determines intellectual activity that there can be no major intellectual disagreements in it. The conservative and the radical, the practical man and the theoretician, the idealist and the realist will be found in every society…” – and so too are they found in this set.

I do wish more of the book followed the theme of the preface, explaining more of the methodology and overall process in creating the set as opposed to the ‘preaching to the choir’ sentiment other chapters of the book assume – but a middle chapter, titled ‘Experimental Science,’ is an interesting pinnacle of the book. We naturally grateful for the efforts of Ptolemy, of Kepler, of Gilbert and Huygens – but it is a common question to ask – what use are they to me now? Is it not a better use of my time to simply read the most modern textbook as opposed to these dated works riddled with antiquated knowledge? This is the perspective the editors seek to correct: “…[we] do not agree that the great poets of every time are to be walked with and talked with, but not those who brought deep insight into the mystery of number and magnitude or the natural phenomena they observed around them.” Reading the works of these ancients is not necessarily about learning what is true – it is about conversing with one of history’s greatest minds while it thinks as clearly as possible with the facts it has at its disposal. It is this precision of thought and language that makes the reading of these works worthwhile: “As far as the medium of communication is concerned, they [scientific books] are products of the most elegant literary style, saying precisely what is meant.” In our age, it is not hard to see how many treat science as a kind of faith – ignoring the scientific method and accepting whatever pleases them if it affirms a pre-existing bias. This is another reason why these works are so valuable, so Hutchins states: “The facts are indispensable; they are not sufficient. To solve a problem it is necessary to think. It is necessary to think even to decide what facts to collect… Those who have condemned thinkers who have insisted on the importance of ideas have often overlooked the equal insistence of these writers on obtaining the facts. These critics have themselves frequently misunderstood the scientific method and have confused it with the mindless accumulation of data.”

The editors are well-enough aware of how “intimidating” the set of books can feel. The authors and their texts are not condensed or edited – and being presented with the totality of such monumental works can feel insurmountable to understand. But Hutchins counters this sentiment perfectly – “The question for you is only whether you can ever understand these books well enough to participate in the Great Conversation, not whether you can understand them well enough to end it.” And it is this sentiment of uneasiness of being able to feel as though you conclusively ‘finished’ a Great book, understanding it in its totality, that the author wants you to see cannot be done and should not be your goal: “There is a simple test of this. Take any great book that you read in school or college and have not read since. Read it again. Your impression that you understood it will at once be corrected. Think what it means, for instance, to read Macbeth at sixteen in contrast to reading it at thirty-five… To read great books, if we read them at all, in childhood and youth and never read them again is never to understand them.”

My issue with the work largely rests with the book’s ambiguity of purpose and the extent it seems to pamper anyone pre-emptively in agreement. The final chapter, ‘A Letter to the Reader,’ opens thus: “I imagine you are reading this far in this set of books for the purpose of discovering whether you should read further… The Editors are not interesting in general propositions about the desirability of reading the books; they want them read. They did not produce them as furniture for public or private libraries.” The point is noble enough, but it is again attempting to convince those who would never read this collection of works– and thereby has immediately dated itself, betraying a lack of perspective. Who would go out of their way to purchase ‘The Great Conversation’ alone? Yes, there are many who would purchase the set for an unearned appearance of worldliness, but was it worth partly framing the work with them a target audience? What of the rest who jumped in, to phrase it rather arrogantly, with caution to the wind? I can appreciate this catch-all approach to formulating a theme, but such passages can make the book feel over-long, even at a very modest 82 pages. If you are in early agreement with the of majority of the author’s points, you would quickly become suspicious at the degree to which you are being catered to.

Lovers of great books will likely hold Hutchins’ posed truths to be self-evident. Being so ardently coddled would put any decent mind on guard – and cause it to ask what it is being sold. And yet, Hutchins nevertheless presents one of the rarest encounters – where there is no snake oil – and the author is genuinely handing you the keys to the universe. One only wishes they were dealing with a better salesman. In spite of these flaws, I would argue it a worthy read independent of the context of the set of books. More than anything, its intention is to “arm” the reader – to go out and be strong advocates for the reading of great books. It is a work born out of a sense of mourning, and if Hutchins was dismal about the state of liberal education over half a century ago, one could only imagine what he would feel today. Yet my estimation of the faults is likely hyperbolic. Did the editors rise to the occasion of making a satisfying introduction to the set? Yes, but with clauses. Could they have done more? Absolutely. Are their causes one of the most important and noblest in the world? Unequivocally.