If I visit your house, the first thing I’ll do if I get a chance is to look at your library.
I do this all the time. I learn a lot about a person by the collection of books they own. It only takes a few minutes to get a sense of the kind of reader they are, and how they’ve been formed to think about the world.
I visited a pastor-friend recently for a few days. His library was outstanding. It included a rich selection of great Christian books, as well as an impressive section on American history. I could spend days in his library.
But you don’t need a library like his to impress me. Your collection of books could be small, and it would still tell me a lot about you. It’s not the quantity of books you own; it’s what you choose and what you do with them.
A library, even a small one, is a precious thing.
I’ve been thinking about this for a few reasons. A while ago, I put most of my books into storage for over a decade. I hated it, and I couldn’t wait to get them back again. When I finally brought them out of storage, I had to cull my library due to space constraints. I kept only 40% of my books, and found it surprisingly hard to give away the rest.
My remaining library, though, is an endless source of joy. I could probably stop buying new books (although I won’t) and occupy myself with the books I already have for the rest of my life and be content. In fact, my wife thinks that’s a pretty good idea.
I especially enjoy the books I own that are signed by the author. I also prize books that were owned by people who meant a lot to me. One of my heroes and mentors died last year, and I now have some of his old books in my library. I asked for the ones he marked up. I appreciate being able to read the same books that helped to shape him, and I’m grateful to remember him as I do so.
But I know that my books are on loan. I heard of a famous scholar who decided one day that it was time to get rid of his books. A seminary sent a truck to collect him. His son told me he watched his father stand at the window as the truck pulled away, carrying them all. It was as though his life had ended that day.
I worry a little about the fact that a growing number of my books are electronic. I don’t own them; I only license them, and one day they may all digitally disappear. I’m sad that I probably won’t get to pass them on to someone else who can use them. Even now, I can’t loan my electronic books to a friend who wants to read them.
But I also worry about who will have to deal with all my physical books one day. I keep hearing of pastors who die, leaving behind old books nobody wants.
Still, I keep building a library. I do it to shape my mind. I do it because I want my friends to visit my books and get a sense of the kind of person I am. I do it because I hope to pass them on one day. I do it because I want to support the production of good books. Mainly, I do it as an act of resistance against shallowness and the algorithm.
I think you should do this too. You don’t need a big library; even a small one will do. Buy more books than you can read right now. Dock your phone. Get lost in pages. Mark up your books so one day others can read what stood out to you. Build something that lasts, and do your small part to push back against our screen-soaked world, choosing instead words that will shape your soul.