One of these potential habits is a tendency to rush through books in order to read the next one. This often means that one plows over details and fails to grasp the points of the book, thus failing at some level the entire point of reading in the first place. It's better to slow down and read for comprehension.
A second and deadlier, potential habit is laziness or a lack of discipline; lack of discipline sounds less harsh, especially in a culture where the virtues aren't prized. When one recognizes the need to slow down and read for comprehension, nay, when one realizes that learning is a slow, arduous journey that takes time, it is tempting to disparage (at least at some point along the way) about the entire thing and become less disciplined, lazy and, perhaps, apathetic. Because the nature of learning is difficult, we will always be tempted to take (illegitimate) shortcuts and/or recycle cheap information. (There are some shortcuts that are not illegitimate, but it takes a clear mind, disciplined spirit and hearty dose of willpower to know which ones are legitimate and to act accordingly.) Choosing secondary sources that have been written by scholars with academic integrity, by which I mean they read the primary sources carefully and the important secondary literature, is a difficult task.
I'm currently trying to get a better handle on Origen, and Henri de Lubac, in his History and Spirit, has reminded me that in the history of Origenian studies many have given "too good an appearance to what is actually laziness and lack of curiosity." He's speaking directly of the many scholars(?) who have resolved to borrow old theses about what Origen said or what his hermeneutical method was instead of girding their loins and returning ad fontes. In these cases, stereotypes of Origen have simply been borrowed and reused, thus reciprocating false information. This is unacceptable, which makes my intellectual anxiety that much more acute. We find ourselves saying, "How can I, who doesn't even have a PhD (which is the nadir of ridiculous excuses), ever possibly have the time or energy to tackle primary sources and present my students with first hand experience? How can I know who's who in Origenian studies? How can I...?" The short answer might be, "you don't!" The slightly longer answer is, "you don't, but you need to make time and figure it out." (Whimpers and sniffles.)
To be a person in the academy at some level requires a measure of discipline that does not come cheaply. Although my anxiety will probably linger, it is a comfort to me that I am trying to produce lectures and class discussions that have been earned through careful study of my own. It's been told to me by my colleagues at my school that we normally know the content but it's the organization that poses the challenge. That is often a very true statement, but I've often found that I'm not confident of my grasp of the material on which I'm teaching, which means I've some serious thinking and reading to do. One could, I suppose, fall into patterns of self-reliance or self-righteousness: "It's all up to me! Look what I've done!". But I've personally had too many great teachers, to whom I give not a little credit for my intellectual formation, and too many failed lesson plans and incoherent lectures to suffer from either of these deceptions. I have an irresistible hunger for learning that needs to say "No" to the various temptations of our day in order to keep reading and learning. I need to resolve to try and read primary sources more often instead of relying too heavily on secondary sources. These are easier said than done, but these are things we all ought to pursue.
I strive to make my entire life more and more balanced and disciplined. I'd rather be spurred on to keep reading because of an occasional anxiety attack over which book to read next than let that anxiety fester into intellectual self-pity and laziness, symptoms of much deeper problems. If there's anything to these reflections it is that teaching, reading and learning truly are moral exercises, which means that one can tragically fail at them.
