Reading

Not long ago I visited the doctor and as is my custom I brought along a book to read. Then, as has become his custom, my doctor, upon greeting me when he entered the consulting book, checked to see what I was reading. This time it was a book on the life of Julius Caesar.

After the examination was over, the doctor wondered what I would be reading the next time we met. Then he commented that it was nice to see someone with a book in hand when fewer people seem to be so inclined.

I’m not sure if my doctor is familiar with the statistics, but he was quite right to assume that there is less reading going on. No, let me correct that: there is less intensive reading going on. Light Internet type scanning has become nearly universal, whereas digging into more challenging fare has gone out of style.

As a university professor, I see this in my classrooms. Many of my students have laptops open even as I lecture. But what they are checking into rarely concerns the topic under discussion. They are far more likely to be engaged in a Facebook exchange with friends. Totally immersed in gossip or in planning an expedition to buy pizza, learning is the last thing on their minds.

If I needed confirmation of this, it is available at test time. One of the techniques I use to encourage reading is to include a mandatory essay on an assigned book. Students are informed of this well in advance, but for many it makes no difference. Thus, on one final this term, it was clear that a third of the class had never even opened the required book.

I may be preaching to the choir in writing about this for newspaper readers, but there is a crisis brewing. Why this is so has been documented in a recent book by Nicholas Carr. In The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains, he lays out the whole sad story.

Research is beginning to demonstrate that regular Internet use is inimical to genuine learning. This is a consequence of the way people use their computers when online. One of the miracles of modern technology is the instant access it gives us to globe-wide information. Many have assumed this would make us smarter, but it seems to be doing the reverse.

The culprit is the hyperlink. With the push of a button, it is possible to jump from one piece of information to another. This has encouraged people to skim as they seek additional data. Instead of contemplating what they read and incorporating it into their knowledge base, they merely pass it by on the way to additional stimulation.

Carr points out that this means that what enters their short-term memory is never consolidated in their long-term memory. What they read is literally here one moment, then gone the next. For it to remain with them, they would have to contemplate the data in the context of other things they know—which they do not do.

The secret of genuine intellectual growth is what Carr calls “deep reading,” that is, thinking while reading. Moreover, the place this is most apt to occur is in the depths of a book. Diving into one enables us to linger over ideas during a simulated conversation with the author. As we read, we are free to agree or disagree. Either way, however, we must contemplate why we do.

Deep reading, to be sure, can be challenging. It takes effort to understand what may not immediately be clear. But the reason this is important is that our techno-commercial society requires more of us to be self-directed. Because we have to exercise discretion on the job and at home, we must frequently figure things out on our own.

Yet what happens when we do not know the answer? And there are always times we don’t—because no one can know everything. At such moments, deep readers have a place to go for inspiration. They can check with books to tap into the knowledge of well-versed strangers. This makes them smarter than they could ever be on their own.

Unfortunately, those who seek only computer-based entertainment deprive themselves of this resource. This is not good for them, but it is worse for the rest of us who are forced to depend on their expertise.

Melvyn L. Fein. Ph.D.

Professor of Sociology

Kennesaw State University