hierarchy, from the lowest realm of minerals to the highest realm of the gods. Unlike the traditional folk taxonomies that concerned themselves with the observable world of plants and animals, Aristotle’s taxonomy stretched into the otherworldly domains of gods, angels, and demons:
Aristotle’s Great Chain of Being:
Gods
Angels
Demons
Man
Animals
Plants
Minerals
Aristotle’s categories would cast a long shadow over the subsequent development of the Western intellectual tradition, influencing the trajectory of European thought, especially during the MiddleAges, when scholars rediscovered Aristotle and elevated his writings to the level of canonical truth second only to the Bible and the church fathers. Aristotle’s taxonomic conventions would persist for more than 2,000 years, until Linnaeus embraced and improved on the Aristotelian system to create the familiar modern Linnaean taxonomy still in use today (see Chapter 9 ). Aristotle’s work on categorizing the phenomenal world reflects his deeply systematic worldview, his conviction that the world could be described in terms of ideal forms. His quest for logical order led to his conviction that the world was ultimately knowable. That conviction not only drove Aristotle’s personal ambitions, but also served—along with his personal library—as the intellectual foundation for the greatest library of the ancient world.
THE UNIVERSAL LIBRARY
By some accounts the Great Library at Alexandria literally began with Aristotle’s own personal collection (other accounts insist that the library only took its conceptual inspiration from Aristotle and that his book collection was buried in Athens after his death, later to be dug up and sold to book collectors). Whether or not the library contained Aristotle’s actual books, there is no question that it embodied his ideals. The Great Library at Alexandria was the first library with a truly comprehensive ambition to gather all the world’s knowledge under one roof. Established around 300 BC, the library marked an achievement of vast intellectual proportions, ultimately growing to house more than 700,000 items. Unlike the royal libraries that preceded it, the Alexandria library was open to the public.
The structure of the library followed Aristotle’s division of knowledge into observational and deductive sciences. The library was also built specifically with Aristotle’s peripatetic ideal * of scholarship in mind, with wide colonnades and open spaces to encourage scholars to stroll around and converse about topics of scholarly interest. We can imagine scholars strolling the grounds, papyrus rolls in hand,debating the politics of the day or perhaps a fine philosophical point. In keeping with the great teacher’s insistence on open inquiry, the library encouraged “walking around”—both physically and metaphorically. To Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, intellectual freedom was a paramount civic value (they would surely have bristled at the scholarly territorialism and narrowcast specialization of the modern academy), and the architecture of the library reflected that point of view.
Today, Alexandria occupies a special place in the popular imagination as a symbol of the lost era of classical scholarship and as the site of one of history’s great biblioclasms, the place where the great tide of classical learning rose, crested, and finally crashed into oblivion. But the real story of Alexandria turns out to be considerably less tidy than the myth. Its birth was less idealistic, its life less peaceful, and its death less cataclysmic than the popular fable suggests.
When Ptolemy I established the royal library, Alexandria was a new city, populated by military people, traders, and assorted hangers-on. As an intellectual center, it could scarcely hold a candle to Athens. But the city’s first ruler, Ptolemy, fancied himself a scholar, having composed a
Aristotle’s Great Chain of Being:
Gods
Angels
Demons
Man
Animals
Plants
Minerals
Aristotle’s categories would cast a long shadow over the subsequent development of the Western intellectual tradition, influencing the trajectory of European thought, especially during the MiddleAges, when scholars rediscovered Aristotle and elevated his writings to the level of canonical truth second only to the Bible and the church fathers. Aristotle’s taxonomic conventions would persist for more than 2,000 years, until Linnaeus embraced and improved on the Aristotelian system to create the familiar modern Linnaean taxonomy still in use today (see Chapter 9 ). Aristotle’s work on categorizing the phenomenal world reflects his deeply systematic worldview, his conviction that the world could be described in terms of ideal forms. His quest for logical order led to his conviction that the world was ultimately knowable. That conviction not only drove Aristotle’s personal ambitions, but also served—along with his personal library—as the intellectual foundation for the greatest library of the ancient world.
THE UNIVERSAL LIBRARY
By some accounts the Great Library at Alexandria literally began with Aristotle’s own personal collection (other accounts insist that the library only took its conceptual inspiration from Aristotle and that his book collection was buried in Athens after his death, later to be dug up and sold to book collectors). Whether or not the library contained Aristotle’s actual books, there is no question that it embodied his ideals. The Great Library at Alexandria was the first library with a truly comprehensive ambition to gather all the world’s knowledge under one roof. Established around 300 BC, the library marked an achievement of vast intellectual proportions, ultimately growing to house more than 700,000 items. Unlike the royal libraries that preceded it, the Alexandria library was open to the public.
The structure of the library followed Aristotle’s division of knowledge into observational and deductive sciences. The library was also built specifically with Aristotle’s peripatetic ideal * of scholarship in mind, with wide colonnades and open spaces to encourage scholars to stroll around and converse about topics of scholarly interest. We can imagine scholars strolling the grounds, papyrus rolls in hand,debating the politics of the day or perhaps a fine philosophical point. In keeping with the great teacher’s insistence on open inquiry, the library encouraged “walking around”—both physically and metaphorically. To Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, intellectual freedom was a paramount civic value (they would surely have bristled at the scholarly territorialism and narrowcast specialization of the modern academy), and the architecture of the library reflected that point of view.
Today, Alexandria occupies a special place in the popular imagination as a symbol of the lost era of classical scholarship and as the site of one of history’s great biblioclasms, the place where the great tide of classical learning rose, crested, and finally crashed into oblivion. But the real story of Alexandria turns out to be considerably less tidy than the myth. Its birth was less idealistic, its life less peaceful, and its death less cataclysmic than the popular fable suggests.
When Ptolemy I established the royal library, Alexandria was a new city, populated by military people, traders, and assorted hangers-on. As an intellectual center, it could scarcely hold a candle to Athens. But the city’s first ruler, Ptolemy, fancied himself a scholar, having composed a
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