by Daniel B. Gallagher.

I'm a Luddite, but I can't turn a blind eye to how deeply technology has affected my teaching. On the one hand, it's hard to imagine a greater gift to the humanities than the Internet. Not only can you pull up classical texts in readable transcriptions, you can instantly access high-resolution images of those texts in manuscript form. Pop into the Latin Library for a text-only version of the Aeneid, or go the Vatican Library for stupendous images of the Vergilius Vaticanus, a 1,600-year-old illuminated codex. Few of my students, of course, are trained to work with the Vergilius Vaticanus, but with a little Latin, they can delve into Virgil, Ovid, Horace, Cicero, Livy, and a host of other Latin authors at the Latin Library.

You would think that such ready access to the great works of the past would make it possible to bring students with little to no background up to speed rather quickly. Take Dante's Divine Comedy, for instance. You don't even need to have a physical copy anymore (though don't be caught dead in my class without one). You have the entire Italian text, multiple English translations, and copious commentary all at Digital Dante.

Considering how little students know about mythology, Christianity, philosophy, theology, history, and all the other things you need to know to follow the Commedia, the Internet is a godsend.

Never heard of Pasiphaë? Go to Wikipedia. Then click "images" and immerse yourself in a range of artworks depicting the Cretan queen mating with the Minotaur. Don't know Guido Guinizelli? His biography is yours with the click of a button. So are his poems, his portrait, and an article that analyzes a recently discovered manuscript of his poem Omo ch'è saggio non corre leggero ("A wise man does not run lightly").

In short, you can make up for a lifetime of lost learning or write a decent term paper without ever entering a library.

But herein lies the mystery. Why don't students do it? Why don't they take the simple steps necessary to become familiar with the Middle Ages or fill in other knowledge gaps that have widened during their youth, often through no fault of their own?

Plenty of studies have already shown the detrimental effects of desultory Internet browsing. Many tech enthusiasts have conversely argued for the astounding learning progress possible through apps such as Duolingo. Being the Luddite that I am, I want to offer two other answers, one more distressing than the other.

The first is that the humanities must be taught with passion - a passion that inspires students to read, say, the entire Iliad, not the CliffsNotes. Even with a world full of books at his disposal, the average student, no matter how bright, won't turn the cover page of the Iliad unless someone has at least suggested to him that it will change his life.

But this is not merely a matter of cheerleading. Plenty of parents in the homeschooling movement do that day after day, but - again, through no fault of their own - have red only the CliffsNotes. They know the importance of the great books but have only a vague idea of what makes them great. You can only figure that out by reading the entire Iliad. The Iliad will change your life, the CliffsNotes will not. My wife and I homeschool four, so I know it's easier said than done. But I can offer no other answer.

I am afraid the second answer is much more serious. Namely, maybe there are no gaps. What appear to be gaps are actually corners of the brain stuffed with garbage, false narratives, and outright woke propaganda. Where a love of Homer and Dante and many others should reign, a wrathful cynicism towards everything they represent seethes and rots.

This became glaringly evident to me during the infamous February 16th interview with Marco Rubio on Face the Nation. The host, Margaret Brennan, asked the Secretary of State to respond to criticisms directed at J.D. Vance for meeting with the leader of the far-right Alternative for Germany party, Alice We...