The Art of Grit

(6 Minutes)

Franz Kafka once wrote, “A book must be the axe to the frozen sea inside of us.” It is a striking image—one that suggests books are not just sources of knowledge but tools of transformation. They do not merely inform; they break through something deep within us, challenging our assumptions and stirring emotions we may not have realized were frozen in place.

But what happens when we no longer turn to books for this experience? In a world where information is curated and delivered at breakneck speed through social media, we are no longer asked to do the work of interpretation. The story is already told for us, the conclusion drawn, the reaction expected. There is little room left for personal exploration. And yet, despite the dominance of digital media, books remain stubbornly relevant. Why? Because they offer something no algorithm can replicate—the opportunity to meet ideas on our own terms, to navigate meaning without interference, and to shape the raw material of words into something deeply personal.

Books vs. The Age of Passive Consumption

Social media thrives on efficiency. It presents conclusions rather than journeys, compressing complex ideas into digestible bites. We scroll, we react, we move on. There is no need to linger. Even when something sparks emotion—outrage, joy, or sadness—it is often fleeting, lost in the ever-refreshing stream of content. The experience is passive; we consume rather than engage.

Books, however, resist this passivity. They force us to slow down. Unlike the instant gratification of a social media post, a book asks us to commit, to turn pages, to sit with an idea longer than a few seconds. A novel does not merely tell us a story—it asks us to inhabit it. A work of philosophy does not just present an argument—it challenges us to wrestle with its implications. Books insist that we meet them halfway, engaging not just with the words themselves but with the world they create in our minds.

Søren Kierkegaard, the Danish philosopher, once remarked that “The most common form of despair is not being who you are.” In many ways, social media encourages exactly this—an existence where our thoughts are constantly shaped by external influences, where our reactions are conditioned by what is trending, and where our engagement with ideas is often performative rather than deeply felt. Books, on the other hand, give us a space to think freely. They provide solitude in an age of collective noise, allowing us to explore ideas without the pressure of instant validation or external approval.

The Power of Unmediated Thought

Have you ever read something—a passage in a novel, a line in a poem, a thought in a philosophical text—that felt as if it were written just for you? That moment of quiet revelation, where an idea resonates so deeply it seems to articulate something you’ve always felt but never quite put into words? That experience is unique to books.

Social media does not offer us that kind of connection. It offers us reaction, not revelation. It dictates what is important, what should be discussed, and how we should feel about it. It gives us a pre-narrated experience, leaving little room for personal interpretation. Books, by contrast, present words stripped of external noise. They invite us to engage with them in a way that is entirely our own, allowing us to find meaning that is intimate and personal.

This is why books remain irreplaceable. They sharpen our imagination, cultivate patience, and make deep thinking a necessity rather than a luxury. They require effort—not just in reading but in interpreting, in questioning, in making the words our own. And in doing so, they give us something no social media platform can: the ability to construct our own understanding of the world.

Reclaiming Our Narrative Authority

In an age where information is increasingly pre-packaged and designed to provoke immediate reaction, books stand as a quiet rebellion. They remind us that learning is not just about receiving knowledge but about engaging with it. When we read, we are not just absorbing someone else’s thoughts—we are making them part of our own internal landscape.

So I invite you to reflect: when was the last time you read something—truly read something—without distraction? When was the last time you sat with an idea long enough to let it change you? In a world that constantly demands our attention, perhaps the most radical act we can commit is to take control of our own narrative, to pick up a book, and to allow it to be the axe that breaks through the frozen sea inside of us.