Reading Aloud

Several years ago, I went to hear a reading from Moby Dick by the actor Patrick Stewart.  I was curious to hear him do it, because I thought he did a great job as the obsessed Captain Ahab in a mini-series film version of the story.

And I wasn't disappointed.  On the contrary.  It was like having Ahab there in person, speaking to us directly.

Something he said in his introduction has always stuck with me.  He said that he had heard that in the nineteenth century, people ordinarily to not read silently, but always read aloud, even when they were alone.  He said he didn't know if it was true, but he found the idea appealing.

I recently came across something related to this idea.  It seems that classical scholars tend to believe that in ancient Greece and Rome, people probably read aloud when they read.  But apparently there is a heavy amount of speculation involved.  One of the more substantial pieces of evidence is in Book 6 of St. Augustine's Confessions.  He writes of his observations as a young man of Bishop Ambrose.  And his description seems to imply that the practice of "reading to oneself", i.e., silently, was quite a novelty.  From the Edward Bouverie Pusey translation (1996):

With whom when he was not taken up, (which was but a little time,) he was either refreshing his body with the sustenance absolutely necessary, or his mind with reading. But when he was reading, his eye glided over the pages, and his heart searched out the sense, but his voice and tongue were at rest. Oft-times when we had come, (for no man was forbidden to enter, nor was it his wont that any who came should be announced to him,) we saw him thus reading to himself, and never otherwise; and having long sat silent, (for who durst intrude on one so intent?) we were fain to depart, conjecturing, that in the small interval, which he obtained, free from the din of others' business, for the recruiting of his mind, he was loath to be taken off; and perchance he dreaded lest if the author he read should deliver any thing obscurely, some attentive or perplexed hearer should desire him to expound it, or to discuss some of the harder questions; so that his time being thus spent, he could not turn over so many volumes as he desired; although the preserving of his voice (which a very little speaking would weaken) might be the truer reason for his reading to himself. But with what intent soever he did it, certainly in such a man it was good.

I guess in those days, saying someone "can't read without moving his lips" wouldn't have been considered an insult.

Ivan Illich also talks about the significance of reading aloud in his book Shadow Work (1981).  This particular passage can be found online: Books Henceforth Shall Be Seen and Not Heard.  It was originally published in CoEvolution Quarterly, apparently in 1980. 

Silent reading is a recent invention. ... Loud reading was the link between classical learning and popular culture.

Habitual reading in a loud voice produces social effects. It is an extraordinarily effective way of teaching the art to those who look over the reader's shoulder; rather than being confined to a sublime or sublimated form of self-satisfaction, it promotes community intercourse; it actively leads to common digestion of and comment on the passages read. In most of the languages of India, the verb that translates into "reading" has a meaning close to "sounding." The same verb makes the book and the vina sound. To read and to play a musical instrument are perceived as parallel activities. The current, simpleminded, internationally accepted definition of literacy obscures an alternate approach to book, print, and reading. If reading were conceived primarily as a social activity as, for example, competence in playing the guitar, fewer readers could mean a much broader access to books and literature.

Reading aloud was common in Europe before Nebrija's time. [The reference is to Elio Antonio de Nebrija, 1441-1522, author of an important grammar text to which Illich's essay is giving particular attention.] Print multiplied and spread opportunities for this infectious reading in an epidemic manner. Further, the line between literate and illiterate was different from what we recognize now. Literate was he who had been taught Latin. The great mass of people, thoroughly conversant with the vernacular literature of their region, either did not know how to read and write, had picked it up on their own, had been instructed as accountants, had left the clergy or, even if they knew it, hardly used their Latin. This held true for the poor and for many nobles, especially women. And we sometimes forget that even today the rich, many professionals, and high-level bureaucrats have assistants report a verbal digest of documents and information, while they call on secretaries to write what they dictate.

This is one of the rewards of reading Ivan Illich.  Aloud or silently.  He invites us to think about the development of everyday habits, how they have changed over time and how those changes affect the nature of social interaction.  The results are often surprising.

And it was a different experience hearing passages from Moby Dick read by Ahab, live on the stage.