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The writer Umberto Eco belongs to that small class of scholars who are encyclopedic, insightful, and nondull. He is the owner of a large personal library （containing thirty thousand books）, and separates visitors into two categories: those who react with “Wow! Signore professore dottore Eco, what a library you have! How many of these books have you read?” and the others—a very small minority—who get the point that a private library is not an ego-boosting appendage but a research tool. Read books are far less valuable than unread ones. The library should contain as much of what you do not know as your financial means, mortgage rates, and the currently tight real-estate market allow you to put there. You will accumulate more knowledge and more books as you grow older, and the growing number of unread books on the shelves will look at you menacingly. Indeed, the more you know, the larger the rows of unread books. Let us call this collection of unread books an antilibrary .
We tend to treat our knowledge as personal property to be protected and defended. It is an ornament that allows us to rise in the pecking order. So this tendency to offend Eco's library sensibility by focusing on the known is a human bias that extends to our mental operations. People don't walk around with anti-résumés telling you what they have not studied or experienced （it's the job of their competitors to do that）, but it would be nice if they did. Just as we need to stand library logic on its head, we will work on standing knowledge itself on its head. Note that the Black Swan comes from our misunderstanding of the likelihood of surprises, those unread books, because we take what we know a little too seriously.
Let us call an antischolar—someone who focuses on the unread books, and makes an attempt not to treat his knowledge as a treasure, or even a possession, or even a self-esteem enhancement device—a skeptical empiricist.
The chapters in this section address the question of how we humans deal with knowledge—and our preference for the anecdotal over the empirical. Chapter 1 presents the Black Swan as grounded in the story of my own obsession. I will make a central distinction between the two varieties of randomness in Chapter 3 . After that, Chapter 4 briefly returns to the Black Swan problem in its original form: how we tend to generalize from what we see. Then I present the three facets of the same Black Swan problem: a） The error of confirmation , or how we are likely to undeservedly scorn the virgin part of the library （the tendency to look at what confirms our knowledge, not our ignorance）, in Chapter 5 ; b） the narrative fallacy , or how we fool ourselves with stories and anecdotes （ Chapter 6 ）; c） how emotions get in the way of our inference （ Chapter 7 ）; and d） the problem of silent evidence , or the tricks history uses to hide Black Swans from us （ Chapter 8 ）. Chapter 9 discusses the lethal fallacy of building knowledge from the world of games.