We will have to consider both goals of reading [for information and for understanding] because the line between what is readable in one way and what must be read in the other is often hazy. To the extent that we can keep these two goals of reading distinct, we can employ the word “reading” in two distinct senses.

The first sense is the one in which we speak of ourselves as reading newspapers, magazines, or anything else that, according to our skill and talents, is at once thoroughly intelligible to us. Such things may increase our store of information, but they cannot improve our understanding, for our understanding was equal to them before we started. Otherwise, we would have felt the shock of puzzlement and perplexity that comes from getting in over our depth—that is, if we were both alert and honest.

The second sense is the one in which a person tries to read something that at first he does not completely understand. Here the thing to be read is initially better or higher than the reader. The writer is communicating something that can increase the reader’s understanding. Such communication between unequals must be possible, or else one person could never learn from another, either through speech or writing. Here by “learning” is meant understanding more, not remembering more information that has the same degree of intelligibility as other information you already possess.

There is clearly no difficulty of an intellectual sort about gaining new information in the course of reading if the new facts are of the same sort as those you already know. A person who knows some of the facts of American history and understands them in a certain light can readily acquire by reading, in the first sense, more such facts and understand them in the same light. But suppose he is reading a history that seeks not merely to give him some more facts but also to throw a new and perhaps more revealing light on all the facts he knows. Suppose there is greater understanding available here than he possessed before he started to read. If he can manage to acquire that greater understanding, he is reading in the second sense. He has indeed elevated himself by his activity, though indirectly, of course, the elevation was made possible by the writer who had something to teach him.

What are the conditions under which this kind of reading —reading for understanding—takes place? There are two. First, there is initial inequality in understanding. The writer must be “superior” to the reader in understanding, and his book must convey in readable form the insights he possesses and his potential readers lack. Second, the reader must be able to overcome this inequality in some degree, seldom perhaps fully, but always approaching equality with the writer. To the extent that equality is approached, clarity of communication is achieved.

In short, we can learn only from our “betters.” We must know who they are and how to learn from them. The person who has this sort of knowledge possesses the art of reading in the sense with which we are especially concerned in this book. Everyone who can read at all probably has some ability to read in this way. But all of us, without exception, can learn to read better and gradually gain more by our efforts through applying them to more rewarding materials.

The Upper Peninsula is, for Arthur, not merely a physical territory but an ontological state—an embodiment of primordial authenticity, where the corrosive influences of modernity are held perpetually at bay by sheer force of climatic austerity and cultural insularity.

To Arthur, the Upper Peninsula is no longer a mere region but the terminal redoubt of human dignity, the last remaining site on Earth where the “real” persists against the synthetic incursion of globalist homogenization. Its forests and shorelines become, in his thought, an anti-modern sanctuary, the very ground upon which the final battle against entropy must be waged. The Upper Peninsula is, in short, both the fortress and the altar of his reactionary creed.

Yeah man it just stopped working one day I wonder why.

"Hey Paulus, the Carthaginian center is just collapsing inward, we're pushing them back with no effort, I wonder why."

"Youre blackpilling, Varro. They must just be bad at fighting. I know they beat us the last 12 times, but this time they just lost their nerve. We're just that good."