If you’ve ever read Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 you may remember a scene towards the end of the story when the protagonist meets the “book people” in the woods who … memorize books as a way of preserving them against the controlling book-burning tactics of the totalitarian society in the novel. That image has always stuck with me. I mean, who can memorize an entire book? Yes, I’ve memorized prayers as a child. I memorized a passage from Shakespeare (Hamlet’s “to be or not to be …”) for recital in a Public Speaking class. I’m aware that actors, especially those performing in plays, memorize huge chunks of dialogue for their performances. Legend has it that St. Francis Xavier memorized the Bible in order to prove himself worthy enough to join the newly-created Jesuits under St. Ignatius Loyola.
An entire book? Like the Bible, or like those Bradbury’s characters memorize? That seems somehow impossible. Or at least uncommonly heroic.
But for the sake of exploration, let’s assume it isn’t. It may take extraordinary effort, it may take years of daily study, but it can be done. Which book would I memorize?
In my post on the Catechism, I said that it would be an ideal book to memorize, if you are a Catholic and are serious about practicing your faith to the utmost. You would be aware of exactly what you believed and why you believed it. Your paths would be lit and you would not stumble. Well, your stumbling would be less frequent and less painful, let’s just say. I also stated that I would memorize the Bible if I knew it could be done. It is, after all, the main foundation that the Catechism builds on.
What about a third book? Would I continue on in this religious vein? Something eminently practical, giving me both comfort and assuring me of a future life as well as a better life in this plane of existence? How about something like the Summa Theologica by Thomas, or the City of God by Augustine, to internalize the strong logical and rational reasons for what I believe? Or the Spiritual Exercises by Ignatius, to reshape my character as one more deserving of and valuable to the Lord?
Or maybe I would take a more secular approach. The Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, or Plutarch’s Lives, would teach me virtuous living without necessarily adhering strictly to the Catholic worldview. I would also consider some of the Platonic dialogues, particular the couple that deal with the trial and death of Socrates.
How about history? The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon. Too depressing? How about The Second World War, Winston Churchill’s memoirs? Perhaps the United States Constitution? Definitely, if I were to consider a career in law or politics. But must this memorization be only for practical ends?
To satisfy my inner physicist, and probably of no value to myself or others, I would, if I could, memorize von Neumann’s Mathematical Foundations of Quantum Mechanics. Or if I’m really in a math groove, why not Disquisitiones Arithmeticae by Gauss, expounding on number theory. Oh, but if actual comprehension of what you read was a requirement of memorization, well, then forget it! I’d have to nix those two.
To get a little closer to what would really thrill me to memorize, I’d have to hunt through a bunch of dusty old used book stores, stalking dusty old books until I found a title like this: The Complete Works of … Byron, or Keats, or Shelley, or Tennyson, or Browning. I did memorize two of Tennyson’s poems (“Flower in the Crannied Wall” and “The Eagle”, both six-line poems, and quickly forgot them). But to have all that imagery, that mastery of phrase, the summit of the greatest language of the world, at your fingertips …
Ultimately I think I’d have to go back to my roots to pick the book to memorize. Something that meant a lot to me, something that sustained me all those years ago. No amount of crass commercialism can spoil this work in my heart. So let’s go back, shall we? Say, twenty-eight years, to the summer of 1980, and see a little kid in a tree, or on a rowboat, or at a race car track, or by the light of a washing machine in a dark basement, completely absorbed in these books, traveling through strange worlds with stranger friends to walk with.
An entire book? Like the Bible, or like those Bradbury’s characters memorize? That seems somehow impossible. Or at least uncommonly heroic.
But for the sake of exploration, let’s assume it isn’t. It may take extraordinary effort, it may take years of daily study, but it can be done. Which book would I memorize?
In my post on the Catechism, I said that it would be an ideal book to memorize, if you are a Catholic and are serious about practicing your faith to the utmost. You would be aware of exactly what you believed and why you believed it. Your paths would be lit and you would not stumble. Well, your stumbling would be less frequent and less painful, let’s just say. I also stated that I would memorize the Bible if I knew it could be done. It is, after all, the main foundation that the Catechism builds on.
What about a third book? Would I continue on in this religious vein? Something eminently practical, giving me both comfort and assuring me of a future life as well as a better life in this plane of existence? How about something like the Summa Theologica by Thomas, or the City of God by Augustine, to internalize the strong logical and rational reasons for what I believe? Or the Spiritual Exercises by Ignatius, to reshape my character as one more deserving of and valuable to the Lord?
Or maybe I would take a more secular approach. The Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, or Plutarch’s Lives, would teach me virtuous living without necessarily adhering strictly to the Catholic worldview. I would also consider some of the Platonic dialogues, particular the couple that deal with the trial and death of Socrates.
How about history? The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon. Too depressing? How about The Second World War, Winston Churchill’s memoirs? Perhaps the United States Constitution? Definitely, if I were to consider a career in law or politics. But must this memorization be only for practical ends?
To satisfy my inner physicist, and probably of no value to myself or others, I would, if I could, memorize von Neumann’s Mathematical Foundations of Quantum Mechanics. Or if I’m really in a math groove, why not Disquisitiones Arithmeticae by Gauss, expounding on number theory. Oh, but if actual comprehension of what you read was a requirement of memorization, well, then forget it! I’d have to nix those two.
To get a little closer to what would really thrill me to memorize, I’d have to hunt through a bunch of dusty old used book stores, stalking dusty old books until I found a title like this: The Complete Works of … Byron, or Keats, or Shelley, or Tennyson, or Browning. I did memorize two of Tennyson’s poems (“Flower in the Crannied Wall” and “The Eagle”, both six-line poems, and quickly forgot them). But to have all that imagery, that mastery of phrase, the summit of the greatest language of the world, at your fingertips …
Ultimately I think I’d have to go back to my roots to pick the book to memorize. Something that meant a lot to me, something that sustained me all those years ago. No amount of crass commercialism can spoil this work in my heart. So let’s go back, shall we? Say, twenty-eight years, to the summer of 1980, and see a little kid in a tree, or on a rowboat, or at a race car track, or by the light of a washing machine in a dark basement, completely absorbed in these books, traveling through strange worlds with stranger friends to walk with.
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