Anti-Library

My wife thinks I have a problem.  And she's probably right.  Just the other night, I was telling her that I needed to go drop off a few books and pick up some new ones at the library.  She told me that she could go to the library the following day while she was running other errands.  I responded, "I really was hoping to pick up a new book to read during the train commute to work tomorrow."  She quickly replied back with what I thought was a very fair and appropriate response.  "Why don't you read one of the ten books that you've bought in the last month or two on Amazon?"  Touché!

I've talked about my "problem" a few times in the past.  As it turns out, there's a name for my problem - it's called "Tsundoku" (see my post, "Today's word is...tsundoku").  "Tsundoku" is a Japanese word that describes the phenomenon (dare I say "addiction") of acquiring reading materials but letting them pile up in one's home without reading them.  According to its Wikipedia page, the word first came into use during the Meiji era of Japanese history (from about 1868 to 1912) and is a portmanteau that combines the Japanese words "tsunde" (meaning to stack things), "oku" (meaning to leave for a while), and "doku" (meaning to read).

Apparently, a famous book collector from the early 1900's named A. Edward Newton once said, "…it is my pleasure to buy more books than I can read.  Who was it who said, ‘I hold the buying of more books than one can peradventure read, as nothing less than the soul’s reaching towards infinity; which is the only thing that raises us above the beasts that perish’? Whoever it was, I agree with him."  The British writer Holbrook Jackson added, "Even when reading is impossible, the presence of books acquired by passionate devotion to them produces such an ecstasy that the buying of more books than one can peradventure read is nothing less than the soul reaching towards infinity, and that this passion is the only thing that raises us above the beasts that perish, an argument which some have used in defense of the giddy raptures invoked by wine."

Well, I can't help but agree with these sentiments.  As a matter of fact, Holbrook Jackson's quote refers to two of my vices (at least according to my wife), "tsundoku" and "oenophilia" (i.e. the love of wine).  I recently picked up the book The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Probable by Nassim Nicholas Taleb.  It's the second time that I have tried to read it, and in full disclosure, I didn't get past page 20.  With all apologies, I just couldn't get past the writing itself - the writer seemed incredibly full of himself (a number of the negative reviewers on both Amazon.com and Goodreads.com felt the same way).  Regardless, one of the things that Taleb mentions (albeit in the first 20 pages) is another writer, Umberto Eco and his famous love of books.  Apparently Eco's personal library contained over 30,000 books.  He reportedly distinguished visitors between those who react with "Wow! Signore professore dottore Eco, what a library you have! How many of these books have you read?" and the others who subscribe to the sentiments expressed above, that having a large number of books on your shelf isn't meant to boost your own personal ego.  It just means that you love books.

Eco would argue that having a large number of unread books is more important than having read all of the books in your library.  Taleb writes, "Read books are far less valuable than unread ones. The 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 anti-library."

Incidentally, Eco usually responded to the visitors who asked him "Have you read all of these books!?!?" with a deadpan, "No, these are the ones I have to read by the end of the month. I keep the others in my office."  I love it!  So, here's to all of you out there who own an anti-library!  Keep reading and don't ever stop learning!

Ben Franklin's Prudential Algebra

I read a story in The New Yorker magazine ("The Art of Decision-making") a few years ago that I had filed away for some future blog post.  I was cleaning out some old stacks of papers the other day (remember the word "tsundoku"?) and came across it again.  The article starts with a story about how the famous naturalist Charles Darwin decided whether or not he would propose to his eventual wife, Emma Wedgwood.  Darwin was 29 years old at the time and had just returned 2 years earlier from his incredible voyage on the HMS Beagle, during which he had made a number of observations that would form the basis for his classic, On the Origin of Species.  Darwin worried that having a wife and children would slow down his scientific career.  

Darwin wrote down all of the pros and cons of marrying Ms. Wedgwood on a sheet of paper.  On the "con's" side of the paper, he listed points such as "loss of time", "anxiety and responsibility", "perhaps quarreling", and "cannot read in the evenings".  His "pro's" included, "children (God willing)", "constant companion (and friend in old age)"), and "home".  At the bottom, Darwin noted that "it would be intolerable to think of spending one’s whole life, like a neuter bee, working, working. . . ." and followed with, "Only picture to yourself a nice soft wife on a sofa with good fire and books and music perhaps."  On the bottom of his two lists, he wrote "Marry, Marry, Marry QED.”  He proposed to Ms. Wedgwood and they would spend the next 43 years together raising ten children.

Apparently, Benjamin Franklin had a similar method that he used whenever he needed to make a decision, which he called "moral or prudential algebra".  He recommended his approach to his good friend and fellow scientist, Joseph Priestley, the scientist who discovered oxygen, in the summer of 1772.  Priestley was struggling with a decision on whether to relinquish his position as the minister at Unitarian church Mill Hill Chapel in Leeds or accepting a lucrative position as the general assistant to the Earl of Shelburne.  

Franklin wrote, "...my way is to divide half a sheet of paper by a line into two columns; writing over the one pro, and over the other con. Then during three or four days consideration, I put down under the different heads short hits of the different motives, that at different times occur to me, for or against the measure."  

So far, Franklin's method seems a lot like Darwin's method above.  However, Franklin explained further, "When I have thus got them all together in one view, I endeavor to estimate their respective weights; and where I find two, one on each side, that seem equal, I strike them both out. If I find a reason pro equal to two reasons con, I strike out the three. If I judge some two reasons con, equal to some three reasons pro, I strike out the five; and thus proceeding I find at length where the balance lies, and if, after a day or two of further consideration, nothing new that is of importance occurs on either side, I come to a determination accordingly."

I've used both of these decision-making methods in the past, both when making important decisions on my own or as part of a group.  The weighting of particular pro's and con's is an important consideration, and one that should be agreed upon in advance (if the decision is to be made by a group).  Next time you are faced with an important decision, try using Franklin's prudential algebra to help you decide!

"A gesture of honesty goes down well..."

I came across one of those inspirational posts on social media the other day that, if true (and as I've mentioned in the past, these kinds of posts aren't always true) was a really incredible story.  After researching it further, I discovered that the story is actually true.  Apparently, a few years ago, a Spanish cross country runner named  Iván Fernández Anaya was competing in a local race in Burlada.  At the time, he was running in second place behind Kenyan runner and Olympic medalist Abel Mutai.  As they were nearing the end of the race, Mutai mistakenly started slowing down about 10 meters away from the finish line.  He apparently thought that the race was over.

Fernández Anaya quickly caught up to Mutai, but instead of passing him and claiming victory, he stayed behind the other runner and pushed him towards the finish line.  Mutai ended up winning the race.  When later asked about it, Fernández Anaya said, "I didn't deserve to win it.  I did what I had to do.  He was the rightful winner.  He created a gap that I couldn't have closed if he hadn't made a mistake.  As soon as I saw he was stopping, I knew I wasn't going to pass him."

Even his coach said that he wouldn't have let Mutai win, arguing "The gesture has made him a better person but not a better athlete.  He has wasted an occasion.  Winning always makes you more of an athlete.  You have to go out to win."

Fernández Anaya responded, "...today, with the way things are in all circles, in soccer, in society, in politics, where it seems anything goes, a gesture of honesty goes down well."  Indeed.

Ancora Imparo!

The Italian sculptor, painter, and architect Michelangelo was a true "Renaissance man" in every sense of the word.  First (and perhaps most importantly), Michelangelo lived during the High Renassiance period, that period of time from about 1490 to 1520 when painting, architecture, poetry, and sculpture flourished in Italy (then known as the Italian states).  Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and Michelangelo are the most well-known artists of this period, and the term "Renaissance man" (or "Renaissance woman"), also known as a polymath is used to describe individuals whose knowledge and expertise spans a wide range of subjects, such as art, science, and mathematics.  

Michelangelo was definitely one of the greatest artists during his lifetime, and he is widely considered one of the greatest artists of all time.  And yet, he famously uttered the phrase, "Ancora Imparo" at the age of 87, which roughly translates to "Still, I am learning" in Italian.  Whether he truly said it or not is debated, but regardless, the mere fact that one of the greatest artists of all time publicly admitted that he didn't know everything is truly remarkable.  

It reminds me of the ancient Greek philosopher Socrates, who defined wisdom as the understanding that we actually know very little about the world.  He once said of another individual, "I am wiser than that man. Neither of us probably knows anything worthwhile; but he thinks he does when he does not, and I do not and do not think I do."  Putting both of these concepts together, the only path to true wisdom is to never stop learning!  There are all kinds of opportunities to broaden our base of knowledge, particularly today.  There is simply no excuse anymore.  Never stop learning.