CXXXVII.  A DEFINITE AIM IN READING. (457)

Noah Porter, 1811-1892, was born at Farmington, Conn., and graduated at Yale in 1831.  He remained in New Haven as a school-teacher, a tutor in college, and a student in the theological department until 1836, when he entered the ministry.  In 1846 he was recalled to the college as Clark Professor of Moral Philosophy and Metaphysics; and in 1858 he also assumed the duties of the professorship of Systematic Theology, for a period of seven years.  Upon the retirement of President Woolsey in 1871, he was elected to fill the office, which he held until 1886, being the eleventh president of the college.

President Porter’s greatest literary work is entitled, “The Human Intellect:  With an Introduction upon Psychology and the Human Soul.”  It is remarkable for the clear thought and sound judgment it displays, as well as for its broad scholarship; and it has been pronounced “the most complete and exhaustive exhibition of the cognitive faculties of the human soul to be found in our language.”  His other important works are:  “The Sciences of Nature versus the Science of Man,” which is a review of the doctrines of Herbert Spencer; “American Colleges and the American Public;” and the book from which the following selection is taken, namely, “Books and Reading.”  Besides these he wrote numerous essays, contributions to periodicals, etc.  During his professorship he was called upon to act as chief editor in the important work of revising “Webster’s Dictionary.”  The edition of 1864 was the result of his careful oversight, and the subsequent revisions were also under his superintendence. ##

In reading, we do well to propose to ourselves definite ends and purposes.  The more distinctly we are aware of our own wants and desires in reading, the more definite and permanent will be our acquisitions.  Hence it is a good rule to ask ourselves frequently, “Why am I reading this book, essay, or poem? or why am I reading it at the present time rather than any other?” It may often be a satisfying answer, that it is convenient; that the book happens to be at hand:  or that we read to pass away the time.  Such reasons are often very good, but they ought not always to satisfy us.  Yet the very habit of proposing these questions, however they may be answered, will involve the calling of ourselves to account for our reading, and the consideration of it in the light of wisdom and duty.

The distinct consciousness of some object at present before us, imparts a manifoldly greater interest to the contents of any volume.  It imparts to the reader an appropriate power, a force of affinity, by which he insensibly and unconsciously attracts to himself all that has a near or even a remote relation to the end for which he reads.  Anyone is conscious of this who reads a story with the purpose of repeating it to an absent friend; or an essay or a report with the design of using its facts or arguments in a debate; or a poem with the design of reviving its imagery, and reciting its finest passages.  Indeed, one never learns to read effectively until he learns to read in such a spirit—­not always, indeed, for a definite end, yet always with a mind attent to appropriate and retain and turn to the uses of culture, if not to a more direct application.