The Wired Soul

by Tricia McCary Rhodes

  But the biggest reason he was making the change was that he’d come to the conclusion that e-reading just wasn’t as enjoyable as settling down with a printed book. Perhaps you can relate. Research consistently reveals that people of all ages find reading print media to be more satisfying and enjoyable than reading hypertext. This may be because of the pace that the printed word seems to foster. Books have a way of inviting us into their world like a welcoming friend who encourages us to take off our coat and stay awhile. Their structure calls for sitting with one page at a time, engaging in a thoughtful tempo and embracing a comfortable rhythm.

  Think of the sheer physicality of a book—the way we hold it in our hands, turn its pages, fold down its corners, highlight key quotations, write in the margins, look back a few paragraphs, or read ahead should we feel like it. The book is present to us—it has a smell and a feel, its weight and size orienting us to how far we’ve come or what is in store. This tactile connection to a book animates our reflective capacities; it gives us an incentive to ponder. It helps us slow down.

  The Adventure of Slow Reading

  When I first heard the term slow reading, I couldn’t help but think of the iconic fable of the tortoise and the hare, with its implication that “slow and steady wins the race.” Indeed, one book on slow reading has a picture of a turtle on the cover, while another carries that of a snail. Contrary to what one might assume, however, proponents of slow reading suggest that it is not primarily about speed or plodding through passages with dutiful determination. Instead, it is a practice that teaches us how to set our own pace, to discover for ourselves the best way to approach the text at hand. There may, for example, be times when we race through a page or two, only to have one word or phrase or paragraph suddenly grab our attention, bringing us to a hard stop.

  Paying attention is the slow reader’s bailiwick. Our goal, more than anything else, is to learn to be aware, to bring our full focus to the words we read. This means we work to hone the craft of noticing, and as we do, we will more than likely find ourselves slowing down. In a sense, we want to enter into a relationship with the text—listening not only to what is said, but also to what is implied and perhaps what is not said. We read, we reflect, and we organize our thoughts, relating them to situations we currently face or lessons we’ve previously learned. There is pleasure in this; it satisfies our souls. More than anything else, slow reading is an experience, an immersion into a “form of life lived at a higher pitch.”[7]

  Most of us can probably point to books that have elevated us in this way. As I was writing this chapter, Harper Lee, after decades of authorial silence, released Go Set a Watchman, her long-awaited sequel to To Kill a Mockingbird. I read this Pulitzer Prize–winning novel almost fifty years ago in freshman English under the tutelage of Mrs. Bloomberg, who challenged us to find one life-transforming lesson in the book and write a paper about it. I discovered mine in this advice that Atticus Finch gave his daughter:

  If you can learn a simple trick, Scout, you’ll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.[8]

  While I would be hard-pressed to tell you details of the storyline or characters from the book today, I’ve never forgotten that image of climbing into someone else’s skin—it shaped me deeply, having reverberating effects even now. This is, perhaps, the greatest promise of slow reading—its power to change us.

  Strategies for Slow Reading

  In his highly practical and helpful book The Art of Slow Reading, Thomas Newkirk writes of Asian religious traditions that identify something called “monkey mind.” I love the image this phrase conjures up: a bunch of undisciplined thoughts jumping around in my brain like monkeys in their element, which happens a lot when I first sit down to peruse a book. Newkirk describes this as our “tendency of mind to be inconstant, capricious and unsettled.”[9] Indeed. This is perhaps why one of the first things most advocates of slow reading address is the work we will have to do to quiet our monkey minds.

  Reading slowly and deeply is a learned art—it doesn’t come naturally, particularly to those of us whose hours in front of electronic screens have wired us for perpetual motion, our eyes ever darting about for some new stimuli. For this reason, we may have to invest time and energy, along with a strong determination not to give up, before we get to the place where the experience feels freeing and pleasurable. The good news, however, is that because our brains are malleable, they will respond. The more we practice slow reading, the stronger those neural pathways will become until we’ve established a habit that makes it almost second nature.

  There are a number of books that explore slow reading in depth, with most offering strategies and tips to enhance the experience. Some take a more literary approach that feels a bit like instructions for a college course, while others are simpler and more pragmatic. I offer a handful of ideas below that are culled from these, as well as my own experience. While they can work with fiction, they are more relevant for nonfiction texts. Because slow reading is a process of discovery, each of us must find what works best and then fine-tune it for our own needs. Perhaps these ideas will get you started.

  Consider the beginnings. As an author, I can attest that we spend a lot of time trying to figure out what words to use to introduce the books we write. Thus, when you first open a book, take some time to read the beginning paragraphs a few times, perhaps even aloud. Reflect on what these tell you about the message you will be taking in or even the person who wrote it. After you’ve finished the book, take a few minutes to return to the beginning, looking at those words with the expanded perspective of the entire text.

  Interact with the text. From the start, insist on being more than a passive recipient of the book’s message. Instead, actively engage with it. Ask questions, consider hidden assumptions, and challenge thoughts by bringing in other perspectives. Pause to reflect regularly, or even set specific touch points for reflection, such as the end of every page or the end of each chapter. When you reflect, ask yourself questions:

  What am I being invited to understand here?

  Why does this stand out to me?

  What difference does this perspective make in how I live?

  Where have I seen this principle at work before?

  Read out loud. Reading aloud creates a different experience with a text. It enables you to hear the words as well as see them, and this is helpful for developing your capacity to focus. When a paragraph or page either strikes you as interesting or confuses you with its verbiage, take some time to read it aloud, making your own decisions about when to pause and what to emphasize. You can even read it dramatically, trying out different voices and tones. When you do, you will not only comprehend more of the text; you may also feel a release of inner tension as you connect more emotionally with the text.

  Reread. Take the time to go back and read passages that are particularly interesting or which require deeper thought to comprehend. When you read a passage a second or third time, look for new insights or try to find ideas you missed before. Be free with this practice: Reading something three or four times will not only help you to slow down but will also deepen your capacity to assimilate the text and integrate it with what you already know.

  Collect quotes. Some authors are incredible wordsmiths, and reading their offerings can be like dining on a gourmet meal. Keep a journal nearby, and when you feel this way about something you’ve read, write the quote out completely before you continue on the reading journey. When you finish the book, go back and reread the quotes you’ve collected, or even return to them several weeks later. This is a great way to retain some key messages and is also excellent training for your brain in concentration and focus.

  Enjoy yourself. The most important thing in slow reading is to enjoy yourself. Research has shown that the more we enjoy the reading process, the slower the pace we will take. If you find that read
ing feels overly laborious or you are simply struggling to concentrate, you might want to stop and take a few deep, slow breaths. This will relieve tension, which neuroscience has shown also helps our brains function better. As you are engaged in deep breathing, remind yourself of all that you have to gain, and then return to the text with fresh focus.

  Reading to Become Our Better Selves

  The beauty of slow reading is that it enables us to rediscover what it means to be with ourselves, to connect with our own thoughts, feelings, and attitudes, away from the interruptions so pervasive to life in our digital universes. So rare are these moments that we can feel unsettled, as if we’ve been thrown into a room with some stranger who expects us to act like old friends. But as we press in, learning to sit within our own space by tuning out the distractions that fragment our capacity for reflection, we come to peace with solitude and find our inner worlds enriched. As we learn to attend to the words before us, we become better at attending to our own hearts, and in this, reading becomes a formative experience.

  Surface skimming or gathering informational snippets seems banal in comparison to this kind of reading, where we learn to treasure each word, asking the text to help us transcend our narrow frames and alter our very understanding of the world in which we live. Thus, the interiority that is germane to slow reading does not constrict our souls but expands them, for it leads us into the realm of another’s thoughts and dreams and hopes—to drink in new ideas and fresh perspectives, and to consider possible flaws in our own. This, C. S. Lewis suggests, is what makes a book good: when reading actually alters our consciousness, our understanding of how things are. “I see with a myriad eyes, but it is still I who see,” the literary genius comments on the reading process. Slow reading is then, at its best, a venture that enables me first to know and then to transcend myself. What I will discover along the way is that “I am never more myself than when I do.”[10]

  Why Slow Reading Matters Most to Me

  On my bookshelf at home lies a tattered copy of Madame Guyon’s spiritual autobiography, with the name “Naomi Harr” inscribed on the flyleaf. My Aunt Naomi, who has long since passed, began handing her books down to me when I was a young woman and just starting to grasp the mystery of a God who could be known. Madame Guyon’s story captivated me from the start—this seventeenth-century French woman who defied the designs of culture and the dictums of the church to passionately serve Christ.

  The presence of this book and a host of others by saints of old have, over the years, served to remind me of a subtle yet inestimable truth. Simply put, it is that my life as a believer is one moment in a continuum of time. I am a part of a grand narrative with a rich and varied history that includes the authors I read, as well as every person who has ever held their book in their hands. We, as the body of Christ across the centuries, share a collective story that has been passed down primarily through the printed word. And although I appreciate the convenience of having so many of these texts available online, when I read them there, they feel weightless, like disembodied limbs floating about.

  Sven Birkerts, in his prophetic book The Gutenberg Elegies, predicted well before the Net became so central to our lives that the gradual move away from print media was having a deleterious effect on our ability to form a coherent worldview:

  Inundated by perspectives, by lateral vistas of information that stretch endlessly in every direction, we no longer accept the possibility of assembling a complete picture. Instead of carrying on the ancient project of philosophy—attempting to discover the “truth” of things—we direct our energies to managing information.[11]

  The problem, it seems, lies with the medium itself. Hypertext by its very nature suggests impermanence. Its words appear and disappear; can be deleted, cut, and pasted; and made larger or smaller. Our unbounded exposure to digital media (along with the fact that our devices seem obsolete before we’ve even paid for them) suggests, perhaps on a subconscious level, that nothing lasts, that there is no eternal context within which to form our worldviews, no enduring spiritual reality to shape our faith. What might this mean for digital natives, well over half of whom today express uncertainty as to whether God even exists?[12] Lacking the context of a past, are these sojourners left to find answers within the nebulous now of their virtual worlds?

  I hope that my children and grandchildren will one day hold in their hands books that I have treasured, and that as they do, they will experience a permanence and stability that transcends the technological universe that governs their lives. I want them to know what it feels like to be a part of something so much greater than themselves, to grasp the profound reality that they stand on the shoulders of millions of people of faith from centuries past, many of whom have charted their own spiritual journeys, theologies, and philosophies in print. Yet unless all of us—digital natives and immigrants alike—commit to reading slowly and thoughtfully once again, future generations may miss out on the beauty in the breadth and width and height and depth of our story—the faith-story of the ages. This alone is reason enough to embark on a journey of slow reading and deep thinking.

  PRACTICE

  SLOW READING

  ESTIMATED TIME: 20-30 MINUTES

  For wisdom will come into your heart,

  and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul;

  discretion will watch over you,

  understanding will guard you.

  PROVERBS 2:10-11

  All this I have tested by wisdom. I said, “I will be wise,” but it was far from me. That which has been is far off, and deep, very deep; who can find it out?

  ECCLESIASTES 7:23-24

  THE PURPOSE OF THIS PRACTICE is to experience slow reading. You will be interacting with short samples of two texts—one from Stephen Charnock, a seventeenth-century theologian, and the other from Dallas Willard, a twentieth-century philosopher and spiritual writer. You will be reading just two paragraphs, but your intention will be to focus on the content, to absorb the meaning, and to reflect on your own life in relation to what you have read for each segment.

  Prepare

  Sit quietly in a comfortable position, with a pen in hand and a journal nearby. Take a few deep breaths and try to release the distractions of the day. With each inhalation, see God’s peaceful presence filling you and spreading from the inside out. With each exhalation, see yourself releasing any burdens, concerns, or weights to God, who through his Spirit takes them and places them in safekeeping for this time.

  Read

  The two paragraphs that follow are challenging and thought-provoking. Engage in the following steps for each paragraph, not moving to the second until you feel you have fully engaged with the first one. Try to be aware of the differences in the feel, the movement, and the content of the two pieces.

  Read the paragraph very slowly, making sure that you don’t skip any words, even small ones.

  As you read it a second time, bring emotion to the words. You may want to read it aloud, as if you were presenting it to an audience. What phrases would you emphasize? What parts might you read loudly? Where could you whisper for effect? Where would you pause?

  Reflect

  Read the paragraph a third time, asking yourself questions such as:

  What statement is this paragraph trying to make?

  What themes are represented here?

  What interesting revelation does this reading bring to me?

  What makes this relevant?

  Jot down thoughts as they come to you.

  Respond

  Spend a few minutes interacting with God’s Spirit over what you have read. Share with him anything that has moved you, concerned you, or encouraged you. Ask the Spirit to guide you in this final question: What one thing can be different in my day, my life, my relationships, and so on, based on an understanding of what I have read here? Write down what you sense you are hearing.

  Reading One: Stephen Charnock, The Existence and Attributes of God

  Whatsoever God is, he is
infinitely so; he is infinite Wisdom, infinite Goodness, infinite Knowledge, infinite Power, infinite Spirit; infinitely distant from the weakness of creatures, infinitely mounted above the excellencies of creatures; as easy to be known that he is, as impossible to be comprehended what he is. Conceive of him as excellent, without any imperfection; great without quantity; perfect without quality, everywhere without place; understanding without ignorance; wise without reasoning; light without darkness; infinitely more excelling the beauty of all creatures, than the light in the sun, pure and unviolated, exceeds the splendor of the sun dispersed and divided through a cloudy and misty air: and when you have risen to the highest, conceive him yet infinitely above all you can conceive of spirit, and acknowledge the infirmity of your own minds. And whatsoever conception comes into your minds, say, This is not God; God is more than this: if I could conceive him, he were not God; for God is incomprehensibly above whatsoever I can say, whatsoever I can think and conceive of him.

  Reading Two: Dallas Willard, Knowing Christ Today

  How are we to think about Jesus’ presence today? No doubt volumes could be written on that question, and have been. But the simple fact is that Jesus Christ is present in this world, the only world we have, and in many ways. His teachings, even mangled and broken, have an incredible power to disrupt human systems, including the ones that claim to own him. He is the misfit and thus is available to all who would seek him. His crucifixion and resurrection announce the end of human systems and stand in judgment over them. He is the man on the cross calling us to join him there. He makes himself available to individuals who hear of him and seek him. In many forms both inside and outside the church, with its traditions, symbolisms, and literature, he is simply here among us. He is in his people, but he does not allow himself to be boxed in by them. He calls to us just being here in our midst. There is nothing like him. The people in the churches also have the option of finding him and following him into his kingdom, though that may rarely be what they are doing.