Meta-cognition: How I Read Bloom and Why

Still Life with a Skull and a Writing Quill by Pieter Claesz  (1628).
Pieter Claesz [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

How To Read And Why by Harold Bloom

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I first read of Bloom in The Paris Review article Harold Bloom, The Art of Criticism No. 1. I took particular note of his relationship with his teacher, William K. Wimsatt, whom Bloom "agreed to disagree" with on matters literary. In my academic work, I hear this phrase often, and again only recently. For Epictetus, we should thank those who point out our faults so we may change ourselves. Bloom, however, suggests that we can bring about self-change on the basis of self-overhearing. A number of coinciding readings and experiences led me to self-consciously self-overhear myself. For Bloom:

Shakespeare will not make us better, and he will not make us worse, but he may teach us how to overhear ourselves when we talk to ourselves... he may teach us how to accept change in ourselves as in others, and perhaps even the final form of change.

This book outlines "how to read and why", and focuses on a handful of Bloom's chosen authors of short stories, novels, plays , and poems, and how and why to read them, in particular. Bloom's (p. 21) thesis is:

It matters, if individuals are to retain any capacity to form their own judgments and opinions, that they continue to read for themselves. How they read, well or badly, and what they read, cannot depend wholly upon themselves, but why they read must be for and in their own interest... but eventually you will read against the clock... One of the uses of reading is to prepare ourselves for change, and the final change is universal.

Further, Bloom quotes Sir Francis Bacon's advice on reading:

Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider.

When I found myself recently forced to "agree to disagree" with a few people who like to argue for the sport of argument, and who, rather than to learn and change, prefer to find themselves persistently correct and take the final word as some form of noble victory, I found myself overhearing myself. In a case of reading "with an overt urgency" (p. 21), I stumbled upon the concept of meta-cognition in the literature on "self-consciousness". And, thanks to Bloom, a new horizon is visible from the scaffolding of my inner citadel.

Alexander Pope, in the first stanza of Part 2 of An Essay on Criticism, tells me that ignoramuses have the strongest biases, and they let pride prevent them from changing (or "growing"). Instead, our power of reason should drive away pride, so that we can see our faults - not through ourselves, but through friend and foe alike. In effect, we can use feedback from others to correct our knowledge, but only if we can learn to "overhear" ourselves.

The concept of overhearing ourselves, as in being able to hear what we are saying almost as an independent observer, is what Bloom meant. But when I first read it, I immediately thought of it as hearing ourselves too much. When I think of "agreeing to disagree", I see an un-shifting opinion, where facts are "false news", where it is no longer about knowledge, but about some sense of superiority, one over the other. For a very long time, for me this has been a form of "class self-consciousness". Not false consciousness, nor class consciousness, but of being simultaneously conscious of one's class and of one's position in one's class. (I must point out that I mean the class one inhabited as a child, rather than the class one may have "moved to" since.) It is often that I hear from silver-tails and dyed-in-the-wool working class comrades this inability to use reason to develop knowledge.

Pope (and later, Mortimer Adler) wrote that being educated and having read widely are not guarantees of wisdom. Indeed, many well-educated people I have met, particularly those who love to argue for sport and "agree to disagree" when they cannot beat down their opponent with their own sense of righteousness, may properly be referred to as "bookful blockheads, ignorantly read". Given Bloom's focus on the "Western Canon", I wondered how much he was of the Huntington creed of imaginary belonging to some mythical people who span half the globe and much of recorded history. I suspected at first that I might have to acquiesce and accept; to agree to disagree. Yet Bloom doesn't take it there at all.

I meet these people (too often), who, whenever they speak of democracy, are "extremists" who think that democracy is the source of all good, and all political alternatives are the sources of all evil. I don't mean Neoconservatives, but a form of non-violent insistence that "democracy is good for you even if you don't know it" - a form of Western pride. While I am not suggesting that political and economic circumstances are irrelevant, I am of the democracy "deserves two cheers, not three" camp. And I am open to learning more.

So as I "overhear" myself when ambushed by such projected pride in an ambiguous and abstract idea of where I belong in the "Clash of Civilisations" thesis, I feel class self-consciousness, rather than a sense of who is right or wrong. And this is why I read. But how?

Bloom paints so many pictures of literary theory, especially concerning Shakespeare, that focus on the concept of the "will to change". For Bloom, literature is of either the Shakespearean or Cervantean (of Don Quixote fame) modes. Shakespearean characters change when they overhear themselves, as if it were someone else who had spoken.

The Cerveantean approach is where we "learn how to listen to one another" (p. 195) as the basis of change. Further down page 195, Bloom suggests that the solitary reader is more likely to learn, from reading, how to talk to herself than to others. To put these two literary modes in context, authors in the Shakespearean camp include Hemingway, Dostoevsky, Henry James, Proust, Jane Austen, and Stendhal. In the Cervantean camp reside Italo Calvino, Charles Dickens, Thomas Mann, and Guy de Maupassant. I suppose this is why my mind expands when I read the latter, because the mode is less Anglo. And this is where I find Bloom confusing. Is he talking about the Anglo (Shakespeare) versus the Continental (Cervantes) philosophical approaches? Or is there some mystical, mythical, "other" Eastern Canon, as opposed to the Western Canon? In the final pages, it seems more likely that Bloom means the West in all its Abrahamic glory. This makes more sense, hence my refusal to agree to disagree with Bloom. (And thank God I did not imagine Bloom waving a flag with Huntington's nonsense.) Which all leads to my own experience with overhearing myself, and the concept of meta-cognition in relation to my class self-consciousness:

The term “meta-cognition” typically refers to the capacity to monitor and control one’s own cognitive states, and is manifest in one’s judgements (or feelings) concerning one’s own learning and consequent level of certainty or confidence (J.D. Smith 2009; Beran et al. 2012; Proust 2013; Fleming & Frith 2014). The suggestion is that if a creature is able to monitor their own level of confidence, they are to that extent self-conscious.

So, how to read Bloom and why? There is genuine wisdom in his work, and, if one will only listen for oneself while reading, the reader may just "overhear" herself speak. Unless, of course, you prefer to agree to disagree. But I suspect if that is what is happening for you, you might be "overhearing" yourself in the manner of hearing yourself too much. The former helps us to change, the latter helps us to "harden the categories". Or at least that is what I overheard.

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How I Journal

My prompts for daily journalling

This week I delivered a guest lecture to a postgraduate leadership class at the University of Canberra. I lectured on the importance of self-knowledge in becoming an effective leader, with a focus on Stoicism and journalling. The most common question I am asked when I lecture on this topic is: How do you journal?

I began keeping a daily journal on 3rd December 2016. Since then, I have developed a simple formula that helps me to write, even when I don't feel like it. In this article, I outline the process and the resources I use when journalling.

Why keep a journal?

Marcus Aurelius kept a journal, and so did Seneca. The primary purpose of keeping a journal is to live the examined life (as espoused by Socrates) but also to "declutter the mind". Journalling is also central to the practice of Stoic philosophy. For the simplest overview of this philosophy, read the first paragraph of Epictetus' Enchiridion. This sounds simple enough, but to actually believe in the correctness of the philosophy requires daily practice. If one doesn't constantly remind oneself that what is good and bad is within us and we choose how we react to external events, it is easy to slip into old habits. Journalling is a powerful tool to not only establish new habits, but to keep Stoic philosophy at the forefront of living.

And what is the best time to write? Again, Aurelius wrote in the morning as part of his daily preparation, and Seneca wrote in the evening to reflect on the day that was, so I journal both in the morning and the evening. 

Keeping the discipline of journalling can be difficult, so there is some self-discipline involved. Research by James W. Pennebaker suggests that writing about and to oneself (as Aurelius did) can improve our mental health and well-being. But the proof is in the pudding: whenever I miss a morning session (which has happened twice), and even though I have "caught up" with my morning routine that same evening, I have found myself to flounder during the day. 

The reverse is not so true. If I miss an evening (which has also happened a couple of times, particularly when travelling), as long as I catch up the next morning, the effect is less drastic (although I do tend to forget some of the lessons learnt during the previous day).

What do I write?

I had tried several times in the past to keep a journal, but the purpose always escaped me. My writing was directed by my mood, and I was often too tired to write anything meaningful. At the beginning of 2017, I purchased a copy of Ryan Holiday's The Daily Stoic and used the daily meditations as a prompt for my writing. This was simply a case of reading the daily meditation, then writing about the ideas or the quote or whatever else entered my mind. This led me to add a number of other daily prompts.

I use three other books that provide prompts for my reflection and writing. The first work is Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography, where he outlines his thirteen-week virtues program. Franklin deliberately practised each of what he considered to be the thirteen key virtues, focusing on one each week, and leaving the rest to happen by chance. At the end of each day, Franklin assessed himself against each virtue, making a mark in a table against the virtue he had compromised that day. His idea was to complete four 13-week programs each year. 

Franklin was realistic, and accepted that humans can never be perfect. But self-improvement was the goal, and the daily process forces one to take stock of the daily practice of the thirteen virtues. Self-awareness is the greater part of the battle.

The second work is La Rochefoucauld's Maxims. Although very witty and rather sarcastic at times, I enjoy the way La Rochefoucauld is realistic. His is not all positive thinking, but rather a reminder that we are human, and despite the best intentions, we can never be perfect.

The third work is James Allen's (1921) collection of morning and evening meditations, As A Man Thinketh. Allen believed in the law of attraction: that we bring into our lives the things that we hope for (and the reverse). He meant we attract inward states, not a McMansion or a Lamborghini. But Allen also believed that we can control our own minds, and only through a process of self-analysis and self-examination and deliberate reflection, bit by bit, can we conquer ourselves (and therefore the universe).

At the beginning and end of each session of journalling, I draw on Franklin's Virtues Journal and prepare myself for the day ahead, then assess my behaviour each evening. Again, one can never be perfect (as Franklin admitted), but it does provide a long-running record of behaviours and indicates rather clearly one's strengths and weaknesses.

The Routine

Each morning, I write systemically against the following:

1. Reflection on the day ahead, and any thoughts that I "slept" on.
2. La Rochefoucauld's Maxims. Usually, I write the maxim out in full.
3. James Allen's morning thoughts. I usually summarise the key parts for the relevant day (there are 31 days with morning and evening thoughts, so it is a month long process).
4. Ryan Holiday's The Daily Stoic. I summarise the key parts for each day (there are 366 meditations).
5. Ryan Holiday's Daily Stoic Journal. There is a question relating to 4 above and I write in the journal in pencil. There is a short space for journalling in the morning and evening.
6. Franklin's Virtues Journal. I ask myself "What good shall I do today?" 

Each evening, I write systemically against the following:

1. Reflection on the day just gone, and any issues or lessons learnt.
2. James Allen's evening thoughts. I summarise the key parts for the relevant day.
3. The Daily Stoic Journal: I write in pencil against the day's question.
4. Virtues Journal. I assess myself against the 13 virtues, place a black circle where I compromised the virtue, an open circle where I could improve for next time, and a tick when I feel I did the right thing, and a blank if there was nothing related to the virtue.

The Results

It is difficult to assess oneself objectively, but the key thing for me is that I have developed an evidence base on my own thoughts, behaviours, and issues. Because it is my evidence, I have little choice but to accept it. This provides an important "mirror" in which I can see my behaviour more clearly. I suppose the process is a form of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. But the process is my own, and I do enjoy it. While others may not notice an improvement in my behaviour, the benefits are importantly internal.

As James Allen would say, we must fly to the "Rock of Refuge" which resides deep within our soul, and with our minds, we either forge weapons for our own destruction, or tools with which to quarry the mine of our soul. The point is to develop an "inner citadel" where we can be at peace, and all of our "possessions" reside. Not earthly possessions, but the possessions of our very soul. 

This is just one way of practising Stoic journalling, but it works for me. Even on the days when I have no clue what to write, I can read and reflect on the various texts. This usually becomes a trigger for personal reflection.

But it must be daily. Seneca (I think it was) said something about how his entire philosophy was battered and bruised every time he left his house. 

It is only through morning and evening practice that I can stay true to the philosophy: to focus on what I can control, and be indifferent to external events, and to act right in response to the things that I cannot control. 

Daily journalling makes Stoicism work. It justifies why Ryan Holiday says "Journalling is Stoicism". And I think he is right.

This is why you should read the classics...

Luigi Silori and Italo Calvino (1958). Photo by Duccio55, CC BY 3.0 via Wikimedia.

Why Read the Classics? by Italo Calvino

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is the second book of Calvino's work, and the only of his non-fiction works, that I have read. The first was Marcovaldo, a collection of short stories about an Italian peasant who attempts to "reconcile country habits with urban life". I was aware that Calvino was regarded as something of a philosopher, and the title of this work intrigued me after reading Mortimer Adler's How to Read a Book. What I found interesting about Why Read the Classics?, which is effectively a collection of book reviews, is that Calvino covers from Homer to the present, adding a touch of personal insight into each review, and a depth that is still beyond my reading of the Great Books. Calvino does what I have been doing for some time now (albeit I do this nowhere near as well). I suspect that the individual essays in this collection were written as Calvino read or re-read these classic authors and their books. The first essay, which provides the title of the book, provides Calvino's list of fourteen definitions of a "classic book". In the introduction, the translator, Martin McLaughlin, uses Calvino's definitions to put forward an all-encompassing definition that I find useful in identifying "classic" works with more than just "old" works:

A classic work is a work which (like each of Calvino's texts) retains a consciousness of its own modernity without ceasing to be aware of other classic works of the past.

Of the thirty-six essays, only eleven of the essays had appeared in English before. This immediately strikes me as fortunate, yet, at the same time, somewhat saddened that there is so much that monolingual readers like myself will never have the opportunity to read. Calvino provides confirmation of Mortimer Adler's view on reading classic works, and justifies my own stance on using my time for a first-hand reading, even though I must admit that a good deal of my learning up until completing my PhD was based on secondary sources (beyond journal articles and historical texts). Calvino suggests that:

Reading a classic must also surprise us, when we compare it to the image we previously had of it. That is why we can never recommend enough a first-hand reading of the text itself, avoiding as far as possible secondary bibliography, commentaries, and other interpretations.

What I also find interesting is that Calvino explains what I feel when re-reading classic works that I may not have understood when I was younger. For example:

When we reread the book in our maturity, we then rediscover these constants which by now form part of our inner mechanisms though we have forgotten where they came from.

This leads me to another of Calvino's definitions which rings true:

A classic is a book which even when we read it for the first time gives the sense of rereading something we have read before.

I have experienced this many times before, however, it was most obvious recently when reading John Stuart Mill and Ruskin. In yet another definition, Calvino explains this further:

A classic does not necessarily teach us something that we did not know already; sometimes we discover in a classic something which we had always known (or had always thought we knew) but did not realise that the classic text had said it first (or that the idea was connected with the text in a particular way). And this discovery is also a very gratifying surprise, as is always the case when we learn the source of an idea, or its connection with the text, or who said it first.

Again, Calvino justifies my own approach. For example, he says that a "person who derives maximum benefit from a reading of the classics is the one who skilfully alternates classic readings with calibrated doses of contemporary material" (p. 8). That is not to say that I consider myself to be particularly wise. Indeed, Calvino tells me that my reason for alternating classics with contemporary materials might be "the result of an impatient, nervy temperament, of someone constantly irritated and dissatisfied". This is probably closer to the truth. In Calvino's essay on the Odyssey he discusses the nature of folktales. In this way he echoes Aristotle's Poetics. For example, he looks at stories of rags to riches or the more complex riches to rags and back to riches again and how these different types of misfortune are enjoyed by all because these represent "the restoration of an ideal order belonging to the past" (p. 13). In some ways, this explains why I like the classics, yet Calvino warns us that:

The contemporary world may be banal and stultifying, but it is always the context in which we have to place ourselves to look either backwards or forwards (p. 8).

So Calvino is not simply a "stuck in the mud", but for me, he places the classics in an appropriate context. While much was familiar in these essays, there was also a good deal of work that was unfamiliar to me. Many of these authors did not produce their works in English, hence my unfortunate lack of knowledge. One such author, Stendhal, introduced me to the interesting idea that "liberty and progress... was suffocated by the Restoration" (p. 136), and that Pliny considered there to be a "tacit accord" reached between peoples about "three cultural facts". These include "the adoption of the (Greek and Roman) alphabet; shaving of men's faces by Barber; and the marking of the hours of the day on a sundial" (pp. 44-5). There are some familiar authors too, including Dickens, Tolstoy, Mark Twain, Henry James, Robert Louis Stevenson, Joseph Conrad, and Ernest Hemingway. And I was pleasantly surprised to see that the behaviourist, B.F. Skinner, makes an appearance (p. 116), albeit briefly. There is little to be gained from going over each of the essays, however, I have kept notes that I can return to in accordance with Mortimer Adler's rules for reading. The concluding essay, Parvese and Human Sacrifice, provides an interesting response to politics that is relevant today:

...as though he were shrugging his shoulders because everything is already clear and is not worth expending any more words (p. 263).

However, it is "The Philosophy of Raymond Queneau", the second last essay, that concludes the work best for me, in that the written word need not be pompous and unwelcoming, where a writer could make the reader:

...feel on the same level as he is, as they were about to play a round of cards with friends... [yet such a writer] is in reality someone with a cultural background that can never be fully explored, the background whose implications and presuppositions, explicit or implicit, one can never exhaust (p. 246).

Calvino wrote many other works, including novels and non-fiction, and although I understand he was a very private person, his letters have recently been published. I think I shall read more of his fiction and non-fiction before I delve further into the his private life. But clearly, there is much to be learnt from reading Calvino.

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