On Being Counter-Cultural
Sitting Around a Table,
Talking about Deep Questions,
Inspired by an Excellent Book
“The pinnacle of intellectual life, so far as I am concerned, is to sit around a table talking about the deep questions, inspired by an excellent book.”
— Zena Hitz, St. John’s College, The Catherine Project
“Readers are not directed toward particular conclusions, but are encouraged to bring their own live questions.”
— The Catherine Project,catherineproject.org/about-us St. John's College
“The pinnacle of intellectual life, so far as I am concerned, is to sit around a table talking about the deep questions, inspired by an excellent book.”
— Zena Hitz, St. John’s College, The Catherine Project
“Readers are not directed toward particular conclusions, but are encouraged to bring their own live questions.”
— The Catherine Project,catherineproject.org/about-us St. John's College
Sitting around a Table
There is something counter-cultural in sitting around a table to talk about deep questions inspired by an excellent book—a classic text of one sort or another: Hamlet or the Dao De Ching, Plato’s Republic or Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, the Bhagavad Gita or the poetry of Rumi, the Torah or the New Testament ir the Qur’an. This practice is not for bookish alone. It is for prisoners, people who are sick, and working people.
The tempo is slow, the space generous, the conversation guided not by the need to win but by the desire to learn, with the book as companion, prompt, and guide. The conversation is not a debate; no one is trying to “prove” a point or “win” an argument. It's not about winning or losing but learning together,
What is counter-cultural in this practice is that it prioritizes slowness over speed, openness over control, relationship over rivalry, and meaning over information. The process is deeply “open and relational,” and in its own way playful even while serious. Playful, because participation in it encourages a flexibility of mind, a willingness to hear other points of view and, where possible, learn from one another and build upon what they say. "Yes, and" is the default, and "no, but" is a lesser good.
Of course, at first, those with an impulse to evangelize their point of view may struggle. They may carry a hidden agenda, hoping to persuade others to agree with them. They may even enter the discussion for the wrong reasons, seeking an audience to press their case. But gradually, they soften. They discover that there is something freeing in the process itself. The are liberated from their evangelical leanings, and liberated into the open and relational spirit. And in their gathering together, the Spirit is present, however named.
- Jay McDaniel
The tempo is slow, the space generous, the conversation guided not by the need to win but by the desire to learn, with the book as companion, prompt, and guide. The conversation is not a debate; no one is trying to “prove” a point or “win” an argument. It's not about winning or losing but learning together,
What is counter-cultural in this practice is that it prioritizes slowness over speed, openness over control, relationship over rivalry, and meaning over information. The process is deeply “open and relational,” and in its own way playful even while serious. Playful, because participation in it encourages a flexibility of mind, a willingness to hear other points of view and, where possible, learn from one another and build upon what they say. "Yes, and" is the default, and "no, but" is a lesser good.
Of course, at first, those with an impulse to evangelize their point of view may struggle. They may carry a hidden agenda, hoping to persuade others to agree with them. They may even enter the discussion for the wrong reasons, seeking an audience to press their case. But gradually, they soften. They discover that there is something freeing in the process itself. The are liberated from their evangelical leanings, and liberated into the open and relational spirit. And in their gathering together, the Spirit is present, however named.
- Jay McDaniel
Higher Education and the Classics
Zena Hitz and the Life of the Mind
Zena Hitz is a tutor at St. John’s College in Annapolis, she has devoted her life to the study of the 'excellent books" and the kind of liberal learning that asks ultimate questions. She holds a Ph.D. in ancient philosophy from Princeton and has taught at Princeton, Auburn, and McGill before returning to St. John’s, where the curriculum shapes the entire educational experience. In her book Lost in Thought: The Hidden Pleasures of an Intellectual Life (2020), she argues that the life of the mind is not only for elites or professionals but for everyone—for prisoners, for the sick, for working people, and for anyone who longs to ask big questions in community with others.
Who Would Agree? Professors, Critics, and Whitehead
I can think of at least four people who would agree with her: my favorite literature professor, my favorite philosophy professor, my favorite conservative critic of “woke” higher education, and Alfred North Whitehead. I mention Whitehead because he is my favorite philosopher—deeply influenced by Plato and the spirit of Greek philosophy, as well as by writers in Western literature such as Milton and Wordsworth—and because he himself addressed the deepest of questions noted below.
I mention the conservative critic because many such voices argue that higher education has lost its moorings, falling into postmodern gobbledygook or an exclusive focus on “skills” acquisition at the expense of thoughtful inquiry. Some argue that higher education needs to reclaim the importance of deep questions and the reading of excellent books.
All of them affirm the value of people gathering to explore big ideas sparked by excellent books. And the questions that arise in such settings are not trivial. They are the Platonic questions: What is True? What is Good? What is Beautiful? How can I know what is real? And—most urgently—How should I live?
I mention the conservative critic because many such voices argue that higher education has lost its moorings, falling into postmodern gobbledygook or an exclusive focus on “skills” acquisition at the expense of thoughtful inquiry. Some argue that higher education needs to reclaim the importance of deep questions and the reading of excellent books.
All of them affirm the value of people gathering to explore big ideas sparked by excellent books. And the questions that arise in such settings are not trivial. They are the Platonic questions: What is True? What is Good? What is Beautiful? How can I know what is real? And—most urgently—How should I live?
What Makes a Book Excellent?
But what makes a book “excellent”? It is not simply that it is old or famous, though many are both. An excellent book is one that provokes fresh thought across time and culture, that raises questions we cannot easily exhaust, that can be read and re-read with new insights each time.
Excellent books may be Western classics like Plato’s Republic, Augustine’s Confessions, Dante’s Divine Comedy, Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov, or Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. They also include the works of writers like Mary Shelley (Frankenstein), Virginia Woolf (To the Lighthouse), and Toni Morrison (Beloved), whose insights into imagination, identity, and human longing continue to spark deep conversations.
Beyond the West, excellent books include the Bhagavad Gita of India, the Analects and Tao Te Ching of China, Rumi’s poetry of Persia, the Qur’an, or the Epic of Gilgamesh from Mesopotamia. These, too, are excellent because they invite us to wrestle with ultimate questions of truth, goodness, beauty, mortality, justice, and love—collaboratively, in open-ended conversation with others, and as an enjoyment in its own right.
Excellent books may be Western classics like Plato’s Republic, Augustine’s Confessions, Dante’s Divine Comedy, Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov, or Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. They also include the works of writers like Mary Shelley (Frankenstein), Virginia Woolf (To the Lighthouse), and Toni Morrison (Beloved), whose insights into imagination, identity, and human longing continue to spark deep conversations.
Beyond the West, excellent books include the Bhagavad Gita of India, the Analects and Tao Te Ching of China, Rumi’s poetry of Persia, the Qur’an, or the Epic of Gilgamesh from Mesopotamia. These, too, are excellent because they invite us to wrestle with ultimate questions of truth, goodness, beauty, mortality, justice, and love—collaboratively, in open-ended conversation with others, and as an enjoyment in its own right.
Why It Matters Today?
Hitz reminds us that such conversations are to the world, including higher education, And yet five counter-observations come to mind:
- Many colleges and universities today seek primarily to prepare students for jobs and salaries, not for conversations about ultimate questions.
- Many students, in turn, pursue higher education for these same practical ends, dismissing big questions as irrelevant or even wasteful.
- Many faculty—especially in the social sciences, business, finance, and even the natural sciences—do not see collaborative conversation as the pinnacle of intellectual life.
- The rise of the internet, social media, and entertainment culture has eroded attention spans, making it ever harder to read deeply and engage in sustained dialogue about excellent books.
- Some professors, and some students as well, who might otherwise be inclined toward big questions, have shifted focus almost entirely to issues of race, class, gender, and identity, often treating these as replacements rather than companions to the perennial questions of truth, goodness, beauty, and reality.
A Way Forward?
These trends reveal both fragility and the urgency of Hitz’s vision. They make me wonder if the best hope for collaborative explorations of this sort is not in large universities but in small liberal arts colleges and in para-academic settings—book groups, reading circles, local institutes, monasteries, churches, even living rooms—where people freely gather to ask questions that matter. Such spaces may lack the prestige or resources of major institutions, but they can preserve the spirit of inquiry: people sitting around a table, inspired by an excellent book, talking honestly and openly about truth, goodness, beauty, reality, and how to live.
And I also wonder if, perhaps, collaborative conversations on deep questions might be one way of bringing people together in our polarized political times—reminding us that before we are partisans, we are human beings, seekers of wisdom, and participants in a shared search for meaning. I wonder and I hope,
- Jay McDanie
And I also wonder if, perhaps, collaborative conversations on deep questions might be one way of bringing people together in our polarized political times—reminding us that before we are partisans, we are human beings, seekers of wisdom, and participants in a shared search for meaning. I wonder and I hope,
- Jay McDanie