2024 年 天津卷（第一次）

1Humans have evolved (进化) to spend long periods doing physical exercise. But why doesn't everyone enjoy exercising? The complexity of the human brain is to blame.

2Evolving an ability doesn't automatically mean we'll want to use it. While physical exercise isn't that bad, it's still typically unpleasant. It has to be: you're pushing your body to its physical limits.

3Another issue is that the human brain is highly sensitive to wasted effort. Studies have shown that it calculates the effort required for actions and tends to stop us from squandering vital resources on activities that don't bring immediate rewards.

4The thing is, regular exercise to get "in shape" requires constant and considerable effort — all for gradual progress and uncertain rewards. So, your brain's tendency to ask, "Is it worth it?" will be working against you.

5Thankfully, the human brain is a complex organ. It isn't ruled by its more primitive drives. While many species' thought processes are limited to "Food, eat it!", "Danger, run!", "Pain, avoid!", we've evolved beyond that. Our brains can form multiple long-term goals and ambitions.

6So how does the brain process motivation? The self-discrepancy (自我差异) theory suggests we have several "selves" active in our minds at any given time: our "actual" self, our "ideal" self, and our "ought" self. Your "actual" self is who you are right now. Your "ideal" self is who you want to become. And your "ought" self is the self that does what you ought to be doing to become your "ideal" self.

7As far as your brain is concerned, there are processes that discourage exercise, and processes that encourage it. Ideally, you'll end up putting more weight on the latter than the former.

1Staring at the bookcases in my study, packed with so many great books that had remained unread, I heard a loud voice in my head — "Shame on you! How can you leave these masterpieces unread?"

2The first book I picked up was Montaigne's Essays. To my surprise I discovered in the margins (页边空白) what clearly was my own faded hand-writing. So I was actually reading it again, but what I was rereading was not only the text but also my earlier self.

3Clearly, my way of reading the text had shifted, and I myself had changed over the years. This raised the larger question of rereading. It comes in many forms. There's voluntary rereading, the result of a conscious decision to return to a work. A devoted teacher might also wish to refresh his closeness to a work, and thus avoid teaching through the same old written notes with soporific (让人瞌睡的) effects.

4Contrarily, there's involuntary rereading. The original reading was either forgotten or so totally absorbed that the new chance encounter with the text produced surprise and astonishment. My reaction to Montaigne was of this kind.

5Then there are what one might call subconscious (潜意识的) rereadings, those that occur without the specific act of reading, much as the memory of a tune can keep coming back to the mind without its actual playing. This form of remembered contact with a book can accompany us during a lifetime and continue to strengthen and shape us.

6All of these ways of reading are valuable. Renewed contact with a novel or a poem can activate the search for a better knowledge of the self. The new reading, a form of revision, uncovers the change in ourselves as well as in our understanding of the text. Rereading makes it possible for us to see the world around us, ourselves included, in a new light.