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书架上的“未读藏书”有何用?

2023-02-01 09:49阅读:
书架上的“未读藏书”有何用?
我爱书。也许去书店时只想随便逛逛,走时却带走根本不在计划之中的3本书。在“图书馆之友”的二手书大卖场,我会一边成包地买书,一边向妻子解释,买书是为了慈善。
我的爱买书超过了我的阅读能力。这导致一种“错失恐惧症”,而且堆积在书架上的那些没读的书偶尔也会给我带来一阵阵负罪感。听起来有似曾相识的感觉吗?
不过,可能完全没必要产生这种愧疚心理。根据统计学家纳西姆·尼古拉斯·塔利布的观点,这些没读的书即所谓的“未读藏书”,并不意味着我们不想求知。而是恰恰相反。
体现谦卑求知欲
塔利布在其畅销书《黑天鹅:罕发事件的影响》中阐述了“未读藏书”理论。他首先谈到一位多产作家和学者——恩贝托·埃科,他拥有的书籍达到令人震惊的3万册之多。
埃科的访客们往往惊叹于他的藏书之多,并认为这代表了主人的知识渊博——这一点毫无疑问。但有一点头脑的访客都会认识到一个事实:即埃科有这么多的书并不是因为他读了如此多的书;而是因为他想读如此多的书。
从埃科的例子,塔利布得出一个推论:已读的书远远不如未读的书有价值。随着年龄的增长,我们会积累更多的知识和更多的书,书架上越来越多的未读书籍似乎会投来威压的目光。事实上,我们知道的越多,积压的未读书籍也越多。让我们把这些买了却没读的书称为“未读藏书”吧。
“精挑细选”网的发起人玛丽亚·波波娃完美总结了塔利布的论点,那就是,我们倾向于高估我们所知道的,低估我们所不知道的。塔利布的“未读藏书”理论颠覆了我们之前的认知。
“未读藏书”的价值在于它会没完没了地提醒我们还有很多不知道的东西。
那些我们所不知道的东西可以促使我们不断读书,不断学习,永不满足于“我们知道的已经够多了”。作家杰西卡·斯蒂尔曼称这种认知是一种求知的谦卑之心。
缺乏这种谦卑之心的人——没有买新书或去图书馆的欲望——可能会有一种把自己买的书都看完了的自豪感,但是,这些已经读过的书不过是悬挂于墙壁上的奖杯,是一种“自我宽慰”,只有装饰作用。它不是一个有生命力的、不断扩大的知识宝库,能让我们直到80岁,幸运的话在80岁以后还能一直从中学习下去。
提醒人们多读书
我很喜欢塔利布的“未读藏书”理论,但我必须承认,我觉得这个叫法有些欠缺。
为《纽约时报》撰稿的凯文·米姆斯也对塔利布的说法有不同意见。他说:“我不太喜欢塔利布‘未读藏书’(antilibrary)的叫法。图书馆(library)就是收藏图书的地方,其中很多书也是长时间没人碰过的。我看不出它和antilibrary有何区别。”
他更偏向使用一个日语词:“积读”。它形容囤积了很多书,但还没有读的状态,融合了“积累”和“阅读”两个词。
这个词起源于19世纪末,是一个讽刺用语,用来嘲讽那些有很多书却没读的老师。但如今,这个词在日本文化中已经没有任何讽刺意味。
当然,肯定会有一些人拥有的藏书堪比小型国家图书馆,然而他们却没翻看过一页。即便如此,研究结果仍表明,买书和读书的关联向来非常紧密。
一项研究发现,在一个拥有80至350本书的家庭中长大的儿童,其成年后的识字能力、计算能力以及信息交流技巧都相对较高。研究人员认为,多接触书,把阅读作为生活的一部分,可以提高认知能力。
杰西卡·斯蒂尔曼在她的文章中还讨论了“未读藏书”理论是否会导致认知偏差的问题,致使无知者误以为他们的知识或能力比他们的真正水平高。
斯蒂尔曼写道:“所有那些没读的书,的确代表了我们的未知。但如果能认识到自己的无知,那就比绝大多数其他人都强。”
无论你更喜欢用哪个词,是“未读藏书”还是“积读”,抑或是完全不同的另一个叫法,一本未读图书的价值就在于它能提醒人们去读它。
The Japanese call this practice tsundoku, and it may provide lasting benefits
Or, how I learned to stop worrying and love my tsundoku.
KEY TAKEAWAYS
Many readers buy books with every intention of reading them only to let them linger on the shelf. Statistician Nassim Nicholas Taleb believes surrounding ourselves with unread books enriches our lives as they remind us of all we don't know. The Japanese call this practice tsundoku, and it may provide lasting benefits.
Kevin Dickinson
I love books. If I go to the bookstore to check a price, I walk out with three books I probably didn’t know existed beforehand. I buy second-hand books by the bagful at the Friends of the Library sale, while explaining to my wife that it’s for a good cause. Even the smell of books grips me, that faint aroma of earthy vanilla that wafts up at you when you flip a page.
The problem is that my book-buying habit outpaces my ability to read them. This leads to FOMO and occasional pangs of guilt over the unread volumes spilling across my shelves. Sound familiar?
But it’s possible this guilt is entirely misplaced. According to statistician Nassim Nicholas Taleb, these unread volumes represent what he calls an “antilibrary,” and he believes our antilibraries aren’t signs of intellectual failings. Quite the opposite.
LIVING WITH AN ANTILIBRARY
Taleb laid out the concept of the antilibrary in his best-selling bookThe Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable. He starts with a discussion of the prolific author and scholar Umberto Eco, whose personal library housed a staggering 30,000 books.
When Eco hosted visitors, many would marvel at the size of his library and assumed it represented the host’s knowledge — which, make no mistake, was expansive. But a few savvy visitors realized the truth: Eco’s library wasn’t voluminous because he had read so much; it was voluminous because he desired to read so much more.
Eco stated as much. Doing a back-of-the-envelope calculation, he found he could only read about 25,200 books if he read one book a day, every day, between the ages of ten and eighty. A “trifle,” he laments, compared to the million books available at any good library.
Drawing from Eco’s example, Taleb deduces:
Read books are far less valuable than unread ones. [Your] library should contain as much of what you do not know as your financial means, mortgage rates, and the currently tight real-estate market allows you to put there. You will accumulate more knowledge and more books as you grow older, and the growing number of unread books on the shelves will look at you menacingly. Indeed, the more you know, the larger the rows of unread books. Let us call this collection of unread books an antilibrary. [Emphasis original]
Maria Popova, whose post at Brain Pickings summarizes Taleb’s argument beautifully, notes that our tendency is to overestimate the value of what we know, while underestimating the value of what we don’t know. Taleb’s antilibrary flips this tendency on its head.
The antilibrary’s value stems from how it challenges our self-estimation by providing a constant, niggling reminder of all we don’t know. The titles lining my own home remind me that I know little to nothing about cryptography, the evolution of feathers, Italian folklore, illicit drug use in the Third Reich, and whatever entomophagy is. (Don’t spoil it; I want to be surprised.)
“We tend to treat our knowledge as personal property to be protected and defended,” Taleb writes. “It is an ornament that allows us to rise in the pecking order. So this tendency to offend Eco’s library sensibility by focusing on the known is a human bias that extends to our mental operations.”
These shelves of unexplored ideas propel us to continue reading, continue learning, and never be comfortable that we know enough. Jessica Stillman calls this realization intellectual humility.
People who lack this intellectual humility — those without a yearning to acquire new books or visit their local library — may enjoy a sense of pride at having conquered their personal collection, but such a library provides all the use of a wall-mounted trophy. It becomes an “ego-booting appendage” for decoration alone. Not a living, growing resource we can learn from until we are 80 — and, if we are lucky, a few years beyond.
TSUNDOKU
I love Taleb’s concept, but I must admit I find the label “antilibrary” a bit lacking. For me, it sounds like a plot device in a knockoff Dan Brown novel — “Quick! We have to stop the Illuminati before they use the antilibrary to erase all the books in existence.”
Writing for the New York Times, Kevin Mims also doesn’t care for Taleb’s label. Thankfully, his objection is a bit more practical: “I don’t really like Taleb’s term ‘antilibrary.’ A library is a collection of books, many of which remain unread for long periods of time. I don’t see how that differs from an antilibrary.”
His preferred label is a loanword from Japan: tsundoku. Tsundoku is the Japanese word for the stack(s) of books you’ve purchased but haven’t read. Its morphology combines tsunde-oku (letting things pile up) and dokusho (reading books).
The word originated in the late 19th century as a satirical jab at teachers who owned books but didn’t read them. While that is opposite of Taleb’s point, today the word carries no stigma in Japanese culture. It’s also differs from bibliomania, which is the obsessive collecting of books for the sake of the collection, not their eventual reading.
THE VALUE OF TSUNDOKU
Granted, I’m sure there is some braggadocious bibliomaniac out there who owns a collection comparable to a small national library, yet rarely cracks a cover. Even so, studies have shown that book ownership and reading typically go hand in hand to great effect.
One such study found that children who grew up in homes with between 80 and 350 books showed improved literacy, numeracy, and information communication technology skills as adults. Exposure to books, the researchers suggested, boosts these cognitive abilities by making reading a part of life’s routines and practices.
Many other studies have shown reading habits relay a bevy of benefits. They suggest reading can reduce stress, satisfy social connection needs, bolster social skills and empathy, and boost certain cognitive skills. And that’s just fiction! Reading nonfiction is correlated with success and high achievement, helps us better understand ourselves and the world, and gives you the edge come trivia night.
In her article, Jessica Stillman ponders whether the antilibrary acts as a counter to the Dunning-Kruger effect, a cognitive bias that leads ignorant people to assume their knowledge or abilities are more proficient than they truly are. Since people are not prone to enjoying reminders of their ignorance, their unread books push them toward, if not mastery, then at least a ever-expanding understanding of competence.
“All those books you haven’t read are indeed a sign of your ignorance. But if you know how ignorant you are, you’re way ahead of the vast majority of other people,” Stillman writes.
Whether you prefer the term antilibrary, tsundoku, or something else entirely, the value of an unread book is its power to get you to read it.
https://bigthink.com/neuropsych/do-i-own-too-many-books/

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