Personal Library: The Crossroads of Human Evolution

Not long ago, we addressed the issue of serial book purchasing from two perspectives: 1. the problem of accumulation; 2. the timing of reading.

Some, as we've seen, define a library as a true fine wine cellar, where each book is like a vintage wine to be uncorked and savored at the right moment, without haste. We approached the matter in terms of a personal, timeless “treasure,” where each book can become a protagonist when its owner deems the moment suitable, without an expiration date or the pressure to read as a "moral" consequence of the purchase.

What Does a “Rich” Library Truly Represent?

Let's return to the question, no longer in terms of “when” but “why.” Why do we tend to buy and accumulate books? This practice is much more widespread than one might think, all over the world. In Eastern culture, the compulsive purchase of volumes has a precise name, “*Tsundoku*”. But, unlike the Western point of view, which defines the practice in negative or at least criticizable terms, in Japan the term has a totally different meaning. *Tsundoku* is in fact considered a way to “*surround oneself with possibilities*”. A vision also shared in the West by many authoritative voices, Borges, Tanguel, Maleb, Eco (I refer you to the link at the bottom for more), who are just some of the authors who see a library of unread books as a true treasure of opportunities. A real cognitive capital: a strongbox of tools ready for when they are needed, a set of possibilities always within our reach, a long corridor filled with half-open doors, a patrimony not of what we know, but of what we do not yet know.

Our Readings Determine Our Evolution

This is precisely the point: the difference between what has been read and what has not. Having a treasure of known volumes is beautiful; it gives the “weight” and the "substance" of one's culture. From time to time, it is pleasant, useful, and interesting to pick up a book and read it again, to review passages and chapters, to reflect on sections in a new way or from a different perspective. But it will always be something already known and, as such, already part of our formation. Having many “closed” books, however, opens up a crossroads of opportunities for us, an infinite tollgate of directions to take. This allows each of us, with our own experiences and choices, to determine the direction our intellectual growth and the evolution of our critical thinking should take, with a series of unpredictable and surprising ramifications. A constant increase in culture, knowledge, and ideas, whose rhythm is dictated exclusively by the reader. Furthermore, there is an absolutely not-to-be-overlooked bonus advantage: non-conformity, because only by making one's personal choices of thought is it possible to think for oneself without having to conform to someone else's thinking. If you think about it, a library is like a painting, a portrait, or a snapshot of its owner's identity: the books possessed tell what one likes, what one seeks, what one identifies with, who one is, who one would like to be, and who one would like to become. But it is not a monolith. Just as we evolve, we are never the same as ourselves; with years and growth, we change ideas, perspectives, and thoughts. In the same way, the library accompanies us in our development, providing a route for our personal journey and a compass to guide us along the path we have chosen for ourselves. Not bad for something that some view merely as serial and wasteful accumulation.