“Reading Is Fundamental”

Reading is the basic skill for all subjects.
If you don’t have the motivation to read,
you can’t study any other subject.

—Kari Louhivuori,
Finland’s Council for Creative Education

A teacher’s task is not to ensure
that students have read the literary canons.
It’s to kindle excitement about reading.

—Adam Grant

Recently, I was eating breakfast at a local café when the thought occurred to me that all of us at the surrounding tables were actively bouncing up and down as the earth beneath us continuously flexed.  And no, the seismic activity wasn’t strong enough to be felt; I was simply struck by the insight that between the earth’s rotation and the sloshing of the tectonic plates, that the ground beneath my feet is never actually rigidly solid.  We live on the equivalent of a bucking bronco operating at such slow speeds that the only time we ever do notice is during the abrupt acceleration we call an earthquake.  But the quaking? It’s happening everywhere on our planet’s surface all the time.

As for what triggered this unbidden thought, I was, of course, reading—in this case about seismometers in Antarctica—and as all reading does, it generated thinking and that thinking in turn generated a new bit of knowledge (at least new for me).  Indeed, so critical to human cognition are reading and its corollary, writing, that we Homo sapiens have been attempting to design and construct these formal systems for the transmission of complex thought since at least 40,000 years ago (see Mogensen).  Moreover, once we did successfully invent reading and writing, civilizations arose, and when we figured out via the printing press how to make the written word available to everyone, the intellectual explosions of the Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution, and the rest of the Modern Era became possible.  Having repurposed the necessary neural circuitry, our collective intelligences blossomed in kind.

Which brings me to a very interesting—and probably highly significant—correlation between reading habits and population IQ levels.  Namely, the more people read, the smarter they test on such “gold standards” of general cognitive assessment as the OECD’s international PISA test and the U.S. NAEP’s “Nation’s Report Card.” What’s more, the correlations can be quite dramatic.

For example, during most of the first decade of the 21st Century, the country with the highest PISA scores in the world was Finland and other countries rushed (legitimately but that’s another topic) to study what the Finnish educational system was getting right.  But starting in 2006, this nation’s PISA scores steadily dropped for more than a decade in every domain the test assesses.  Meanwhile, “compared to 2000, in 2018 the average Finnish teen was spending 77 fewer hours a year reading for fun” (Grant, p. 174).  Interesting, no? Furthermore, since American reading habits were even more abysmal during this time, with “students’ enthusiasm about reading [continuing] to wane year after year” (Grant, p. 174), it should come as no surprise that the U.S. has consistently produced some of the lowest PISA scores in the world.

Yet, among 9-year-olds in this country, there is growing evidence of improving IQs (see Moyer) at the exact same time that reading scores on the most recent NAEP assessment improved significantly.  Some of this, no doubt, is because more and more states have embraced using the science of reading in their elementary classrooms, but the correlation between reading habits and general cognitive ability persists—in this case, in a positive direction—and I think we ignore that at our peril.

Because while every good statistician and scientist knows that correlation does not equal causation, this is one situation where the brain’s hard-wired bias towards focusing on the negative should be used to our advantage.  The assumption that reading more causes IQs to go up and that reading less causes IQs to do down is the safer evolutionary bet because should the correlation prove spurious, the worst that has happened is that people spent some additional time reading; while if the causal link eventually proves true, current dominant reading habits make us fish in the proverbial barrel for authoritarians and con artists alike.

Therefore, find ways to promote reading in your communities; model it for your children and grandchildren by reading with them and in front of them; make time for students to do it in your classrooms with books of their choosing (since the research is clear that doing so makes them more passionate about reading).  And remember that “intrinsic motivation is contagious; when students talk about the books that light up their imagination, it crystallizes why they love them—and gives others the chance to catch that enthusiasm” (Grant, p. 175).  So don’t just read; find ways to communicate what you are discovering with others and help the children in your lives do likewise. 

Because the ultimate IQ booster is teaching what we’ve learned to others.  It is called the tutor effect, and one of the most fascinating examples of it is with the firstborn in families.  The oldest child consistently displays a slight cognitive edge over their younger siblings (even when the research controls for socio-economics, parental education level, family size, etc.), and even “only children—who get the most undivided attention—test as less bright than firstborns with younger siblings” (Grant, p. 134; original emphasis).  Simply put, having a built-in group of “pupils” gives firstborns the necessary environment to grow their IQ just a bit more than those who come after them.

Unless, of course, those younger siblings are more avid readers.  After all, to the most well-read goes the most IQ spoils.

References

Grant, A. (2023) Hidden Potential: The Science of Achieving Greater Things.  New York: Penguin Books.

Mogensen, J.F. (May 2026) Ancient Lexicon.  Scientific American. Pp. 14-15.

Moyer, M.W. (April 2026) The Kids Are All Right. Scientific American.  Pp. 36-41.

Confronting Ugly Truths

Blind, closed,
Suspicious, afraid,
Ignorance
Protects itself,
And protected,
Ignorance grows.

—Octavia Butler,
Parable of the Talents

I remember when I first learned about the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre.  I was in my mid-fifties, and I was listening, ironically, to the NPR station out of that very city as I was driving down I-44, headed west to visit my beloved New Mexico.  The local broadcast was carrying a story about the debate over reparations for the descendants of the survivors, and I distinctly recall thinking “how is it possible for me to have lived to be 53 years old and never have heard of this before now?” I was appalled that a significant dark chapter of our history had never made it into any textbook or lesson I had ever encountered during my schooling years, and I can still feel the consequent internal shift in my paradigms as I realized how much more unpacking my white privilege still needed than had been done to date.

I share this preface because about a month ago, I was again listening to NPR when the series Throughline came on as I was prepping for my morning run, and they were airing an episode about the science fiction writer, Octavia Butler.  Butler—who black, female, and gay was the antithesis of the stereotypical sci-fi author—is a voice I have known about for many decades but whom I had never actually read, and by the end of that Throughline, I knew it was time to change that fact.  Fortunately, my school’s library has copies of what are considered her three most significant works, and so I borrowed both volumes in the Parable series and got to work. 

And after reading them, I can declare categorically that I would choose to live in Orwell’s 1984, Huxley’s Brave New World, and Collins’ The Hunger Games trilogy COMBINED before I would ever willingly live in the dystopian hell that Butler describes.  So nightmarish did I find the alternate reality she sets forth that there were times when I had to compel myself to read further.  What she writes is just that bleak and disturbing.

Yet why, a reasonable reader might ask, would I do that? Why force myself to read something so obviously discomfiting? My answer is: for the same reason that I should have learned about the Tulsa Race Massacre long before I did.  Ugly truths are no less truths, and it became very clear early on in both books that Butler is using her own experience as a black, gay woman in the Los Angeles of the 1990s to inform the storyline.  She is effectively elaborating what it is like to live as a black person in this country, a woman in this country, and a homosexual in this country, and very little of that experience is “pretty.”  It is why I don’t think I can ever read what is considered Butler’s other most significant work, Kindred, because while I have understood for quite some time now the horror that nearly 100% of black women in this country’s history experienced rape (and often multiple times), the awareness that one would not exist as a black person today without that long ago act of rape (and sometimes not so long ago)….  I have no words.

Still I write, and I do so because part of what makes Butler’s work so compelling to this privileged white, heterosexual male is that she confronts readers of any background with the reality that ugly truths inform and impact all of our lives and that the most dangerous thing about ignorance of any kind is the threat it poses to acknowledging this reality.  We already avoid so-called inconvenient truths at our peril; we avoid ugly truths at our demise.

Which is, of course, fine with the current administration in charge of the Executive branch of this country.  The less truth the better as far as anyone in the White House is concerned.  Ignore the U.S. Constitution and the Rule of Law.  Ignore medical science and its impact on public health.  Ignore climate change and its consequent loss in lives and livelihoods.  Ignore the murder of two U.S. citizens in cold blood. Ignore basic human moral decency.  Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

The danger of ignoring, though, is the cultivation of ignorance, and as Butler wisely observes, ignorance will do anything and everything in its power to grow.  We are watching that reality even now as one of the greatest social experiments in human history—a nation “of the people, by the people, and for the people”—systematically self-immolates because we don’t like confronting ugly truths about ourselves. Doing so is messy, uncomfortable, and regularly painful, and the simple certainty is that I owe my very existence to violence perpetrated upon others because there is at least one rape, murder, or pillage somewhere in every genetic line. In addtion, I owe at least a portion of my current status and wealth in our society to the programmatic violence that was slavery in this country.  I do not “enjoy” knowing either of these facts, but their knowledge enables me to understand what actions I must take with others to create the conditions for less violence, more empathy, greater compassion, and increasing justice for “all God’s children.”

Again, the most perverse conviction of the Trumpian weltanschauung and those who seek it is the belief that returning to the willful ignorance of a previous age—when closets weren’t just for clothing, misogyny was hip, and the N-word not forbidden—will somehow make the perceived “flaws” in the liberal agenda for building a more humane, equitable, and ecologically sound world go away.  Trump and his allies (which ironically include some women and people of color) want to make “everything better” once more for the white male heteronormative hegemony, and their principal tool in these efforts is the elevation of ignorance:  to promote falsehoods, to attack even the most vaguely unpleasant truths, and to disable critical thinking through a firehose of compassion fatigue.  All to maintain a caste system grounded in a myth of American exceptionalism.

Which brings me to a personal “ugly” truth I find distressing and distasteful to acknowledge: the realization that I, too, have bought into to certain components of that myth.  Don’t get me wrong; anyone who has read pretty much anything I have written knows my embrace of the truth that the United States is fundamentally and foundationally a racist, sexist patriarchy built on the blood of generations of disadvantaged people.  We’ve got a LONG way to go before declaring ourselves “the New Jerusalem.”  But in fits and starts, we did at least seem to be going—chattel slavery was abolished; my mother would eventually possess her own credit card; there is a minimum wage—and that’s where I realized the impact of the myth on myself:  I believed the social experiment itself was exceptional, that a “nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal” could survive anything thrown at it and eventually evolve into its more noble potential.

However, I now have more than a year of observable primate behavior of the basest sort to confront me with the ugly truth that the American experiment in democracy is no more exceptional than any other social construct humans have invented, all of them utterly dependent on the qualities of the experiment’s participants.  Qualities that right now I am at my most pessimistic about, especially given the rise of technologies with deliberately designed algorithms to cater to the human brain’s most primitive whims.  Ignorance growing indeed!

Yet pessimism doesn’t let me off the hook.  As I have oft quoted my mentor, the Jewish philosopher, Steven Schwarzschild, “just because the world is ending doesn’t excuse you from getting dressed for dinner.”  The American experiment may not be exceptional, but that doesn’t make the fight for civil rights, empowering women, and fair compensation for employment any less important or worthy an endeavor.  If anything, that is the actual value of ugly truths:  without confronting them, you cannot grow and change for the better.

Which, interestingly enough, is a significant message in Octavia Butler’s work.  None of her protagonists are hapless, helpless, or hopeless.  In the face of world’s they did not create, they are the very embodiment of strength, resilience, and resolve, and they manage their lives successfully amidst the proverbial “gloom and doom”—much as humans have been doing daily ever since our ancestors first evolved a little over 350,000 years ago.  We have been fruitfully navigating ugly truths for a very long time.

So tomorrow morning, I will get up as I have now for more than thirty-seven and a half years and head off to school.  I will teach my students of all colors about the heightened cortisol levels of their dark-skinned classmates and the negative impact this has on their daily health and lifespans.  I will teach my students of all sexualities and genders about the evolution of the LGBTQIA+ phenotypes throughout the entire animal kingdom and why natural selection has maintained these value-added traits for millions of years.  I will teach my students of all socio-economic backgrounds the realities of a finite planet and its limited carrying capacity for any species and why, thererfore, it might be a good idea to learn how to consume less and to share more.  And I will teach my fellow carbon-based lifeforms that the natural cycling of this critical element has been vital to the wellbeing of our planet for billions of years but that continuing to abruptly dump millions of years of fossilized photosynthesis into the atmosphere might not be our smartest idea as a species.

In other words, I will teach truth, however unfashionable or ugly it might be, and I will fight ignorance, however quixotic that can sometimes feel.  Because to do anything less is to dishonor the millennia of ancestors who confronted their own ugly truths to make our lives today possible.  The lie presently in the White House may be endangering the American experiment, but that lie only succeeds if we ignore it.

References

Arablouei, R., et al. (Jan. 1, 2026) Winter Book Club: Octavia Butler’s Visionary Fiction.  Throughline.  https://www.npr.org/2026/01/01/nx-s1-5643047/winter-book-club-octavia-butlers-visionary-fiction.

Butler, O. (1993) Parable of the Sower.  London: Headline Publishing Group.

Butler, O. (1998) Parable of the Talents.  London: Headline Publishing Group.