On Literature and Teaching

A rush of thoughts is the only conceivable prosperity that can come to us (Emerson) In the numerous debates around AI that have been taking place lately, we have all heard ‘ tout et son contraire ’, as we say – we heard everything in all directions, for all arguments. Some say it will save the world, some that it will destroy it; some claim AI will make us better, or freer, or more creative, or more intelligent, while others will claim the exact opposite – time gained will be spent on scrawling, not learning, we will forget simple stuff, we will lose ourselves and what makes us who we are. Bertrand Russell wrote (I think in the 30s?) a little book on how we would all benefit from having 4-hour work- days: instead of slaving away behind a desk or at a machine for eight hours each day, let’s work less and create time for ourselves. Russell’s hope was that we’d use that time to educate ourselves so as to become better people. A claim many AI-supporters replicate today, in all shapes a

  ‘ The aim of literary study is not to amuse the hours of leisure; it is to awake oneself, it is to be alive, to intensify one’s capacity for pleasure, for sympathy, and for comprehension. It is not to affect one hour, but twenty-four hours. It is to change utterly one’s relations with the world. Not isolated and unconnected parts of life, but all of life’ (Arnold Bennett, 1901).   ‘Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach’. How many times have we heard that old saw? Because, really, can you teach something you can’t do? Well, yes, there is a way: by theorising that very thing you can’t do, or would like to do, or, well, that thing you teach. Or by canonising it, so you don’t have to engage with it. And here it is important to remember what happened to literature as an object of study. Despite arguments about who – and when – was the first, it is clear that there was no English Degree until late in the 19 th Century – that is, a university degree entirely dedicated to English