Real Men Build Libraries

Some say we are living in a “post literate society” with reading comprehension in steep decline. With the rise of digital media, fewer and fewer kids are learning how to read a book. College professors at elite universities are worried because their students are overwhelmed by reading multiple books in a single semester. What is more, there are kids who graduate high school without ever learning how to read at all. Some public institutions are prophesying the “end of reading” as we know it. To some modern seers, the age of books is coming to a close.

Against this dim prophecy stand those who have actually read a book. They know that western civilization has gone through seasons of decadent illiteracy before. The easiest place to look for an example is the slow train crash that was the Roman Empire. One of the most advanced societies humanity has ever known fell (largely through apathy and neglect) into a surprising illiteracy that lasted for centuries. It was the men who built libraries, which were often preserved by the Church, that saved society, holding in collected and treasured texts the wisdom of past generations.

I have had the privilege of building a library now for over two decades, and I love the problem of not having enough shelves. In an age of electronic media, disposable posts, and thoughts lost in the doomscroll, I am among the privileged few still growing a collection of timeless words from the past thirty centuries printed on paper and bound by cloth, unable to be edited or memory-holed by our digital overlords, ready to be inherited by my son.

The man who builds a good library, raising his children beneath their spines will in turn strengthen the spines of his children.

Books are sacred treasures we collect and honor in our homes, their noble spines sitting on special shelves built to honor them, shelves that bow under the weight of their glory. Why are books so sacred? Because each one is a window into the past, regardless of whether they were written yesterday or 3000 years ago. It is in books we engage in the democracy of the dead, to use Chesterton’s memorable phrase, and dwell in the presence and wisdom of our forefathers. Here are the experiences, the dreams, the rationales, the investigations, the successes, the failures, and the moral landscapes of the generations who have come before us, the shoulders on whom we stand. Books represent our past and our heritage, the inheritance that shapes who we are in the present, and points to who we will become in the future.

If individual books represent the thoughts and convictions of the living souls that have come before us, each one a shaped stone, libraries turn those stones into fortresses. Every home library is a citadel of knowledge and wisdom, delight and experience, carefully curated for future generations, specifically for those who are being raised and educated beneath their shadow. It is within the citadel that we find protection and guidance, walled off from the barbarian hordes of cultural amnesia and expressive individualism (to borrow Carl Trueman’s phrase). The man who builds a good library, raising his children beneath their spines, will strengthen the spines of his children in doing so.

What did Theodore Rosevelt, CS Lewis, and the Wright brothers all have in common? They each had, from an early age, unrestricted access to their fathers’ extensive libraries. The presence of thousands of volumes lining dozens of shelves cultivated and satisfied a voracious appetite in each of them to learn, to submit themselves to the past, and inspired them to be the men they would become. The vast and massively influential achievements of these four men would simply not have been possible without the dedication and willingness of their fathers who built real libraries.

Those who have libraries are also more likely to be optimistic about the future.

In the wake of the digital revolution, real libraries are in decline. Over the past two decades alone, countless schools, to their great shame, have unburdened themselves of their physical storehouses of wisdom, opting for tablets and pads instead. In doing so they have become the foolish knight who, annoyed by the weight of his sword and armor, unburdens himself of his protection. The convenience of carrying an entire library on a single device is touted as inevitable and inevitably good. But what protection does a digital arsenal provide? What value is communicated by the empty space where bookcases heavy with the fruit of the ages once stood? What does that communicate to our children if not the insidious lie that everything you need to know can fit in your pocket? Physical books on physical bookshelves act as a reminder that knowledge cannot be reduced to ones and zeros. Virtue cannot be so easily dismissed. Libraries teach us more than just the words and ideas they contain. They are a constant reminder that there are truths that get in your way, realities that force you to reckon with them, blessings that will only come when you wrestle for them and refuse to let go.

Those who have libraries are also more likely to be optimistic about the future. They have learned (from their books) how God works through different seasons, continuing to speak redemption into the world and sovereignly build His kingdom despite the vicissitudes of people and cultures. Those men who have built a citadel in their homes, cultivating in their families an honor and respect for the solid presence of the past, have willingly put on the armor so many in modern times have unwisely taken off.

Whereas some men build mancaves to indulge their passions and stimulate their nerve endings with a never-ending stream of video games, professional sports, highlight reels, and the drivel of Hollywood, seeking only to be amused, real men build studies where they can lead their families in cultivating right thinking and right feeling. Mancaves, like a toddler’s playroom, turn the soul inward on oneself, on one’s own desires; libraries turn the soul outward in humility toward the wisdom of others, and one’s obligation to worship God with heart, soul, strength, and mind.

Now is the time for real men to build real libraries with real books, for men to be the gatekeepers of their own citadels, their own bibliopolis, raising walls that will nurture and guide their families along the right path, protect the next generation against the apathy and pessimism that blind us to the past, blind us to the story of hope God continues to tell, those ancient paths where wisdom still dwells.