Less than 20 years ago, archaeologists discovered a library in the Athenian Agora dating from about 100AD. The Library of Pantainos was named for its dedicator, Titus Flavius Pantainos, and was recognized as a library mainly because the library rules have survived:
No book is to be taken out because we have sworn an oath. [The library] is to be open from the first hour until the sixth.
No borrowing, and restricted library hours. I can relate to that, even though I would find the papyrus scrolls unfamiliar – and as a woman I wouldn’t be allowed inside anyway.
As I’ve said many times, I love libraries and librarians. There’s something universally welcoming about a library, a familiarity in the layout, the catalogues, the reading matter, regardless of time and place. Of course there are superficial differences. A friend has just posted some pictures on Facebook of the library he is using in India at the moment: paper catalogues and an outside loo. When I first worked in the Bodleian Library in Oxford, I had to swear the following:
I hereby undertake not to remove from the Library, nor to mark, deface, or injure in any way, any volume, document or other object belonging to it or in its custody; not to bring into the Library, or kindle therein, any fire or flame, and not to smoke in the Library; and I promise to obey all rules of the Library.
Fires were a problem in libraries based on papyrus, vellum or paper, but the clay tablets in the library of Ashurbanipal survived because they were burnt, and baked hard as a result. The wax tablets didn’t do so well.
Libraries let the past talk to the present, and free access to libraries is precious, at risk now that so many databases are accessible only by costly subscription – though digitization is costly, so what is the solution?
There are advantages, though, in a system where books and journal articles are increasingly available online, because although not everyone may be able to walk in off the street to find material, as they once did in the days before usernames and passwords, at least for university students, it’s a level playing field.
It hasn’t always been so. I studied history at the University of Queensland in the late 1960s. Several years ahead of me was another honours student who stole books and journal articles from the library. In those days, of course, nothing was online. Books took months to order from overseas, there was no electronic security, and photocopying was primitive and expensive.
This student took out books hidden in her portable typewriter case, and cut out journal articles from the bound volumes. It took the library years to track down what had gone missing – though we students, travelling in her wake, soon learned through bitter experience to avoid any topic that she had worked on in previous years. I discovered this, to my cost, when I wrote an essay on the historiography of Marxism, only to find the key articles in my bibliography had been removed with a razor blade.
Why did she do it? Sometimes people steal from libraries because of the intrinsic value of the material, as I have discussed here, but this wasn’t true in this case. Part of the reason must surely have been the extreme competitiveness of the honours year. In those days, examiners awarded degrees according to a normal distribution – the notorious ‘bell-shaped curve’ – which meant (or so we all believed) that only a certain number of first class degrees would be awarded each year, regardless of the merit of the student cohort. In a zero sum game, depriving others of essential reading matter improved her chances.
Another factor was that there was no mechanism for copying material other than copying it out by hand – or typing it, for we few, mainly female students, who knew how to type. So the temptation to cut out and steal was always there.
My late colleague, Denis Murphy, came across another example at the Mitchell Library in Sydney. He was reading newspapers for his PhD on T.J.Ryan, who was Queensland Premier during World War I. He found a lot of columns that had been clipped out sometime earlier – and found there was a pattern. They related to constitutional matters, and many of the missing columns were quoted at length in H.V.Evatt, The King and His Dominion Governors (1936).
Was Evatt responsible for these thefts? Did a research assistant do the dirty deed – in which case, why did Evatt never question the source of the clippings? There may be some innocent explanation, but it’s a curious pattern, all the same.
It’s also something of a political scandal, because at the time he was writing The King and His Dominion Governors, Evatt was a High Court Judge. He was later the Federal Attorney General in the Curtin and Chifley Labor Governments, before becoming Minister for External Affairs and the (very poor) Opposition Leader. Libraries, from Athens to the present, should be all about sharing and equal access, so it’s rather shocking when somebody breaches that trust, especially when it’s such an eminent person as Australia’s chief law officer.
Just the other day, I was told of a similar case involving a Cabinet Minister in our present Federal Government. It’s gossip, it’s hearsay, and it’s not my story to tell anyway. But I hope it’s not true. At least with the rise of the internet, students have equal access to the journals they need for their studies. They don’t even have to present themselves in the Agora between the first and the sixth hour.