Eratosthenes

   Eratosthenes had my job. Or anyway, I want his job. The life of a scholar is one not often available in our common times (for I would venture to say that times past were most uncommon). Life, and even learning, must be ever compartmented — and he who would venture to another compartment not alotted to him . . . he might be thought “worse than an infidel”* by this pragmatic world.
   Not too terribly long ago, I would not be looked at askance for being a writer studying to become a professor of Biology and Biochemistry. Eratosthenes was a librarian (and I am firmly convinced that there is no other profession more suited to my tastes — in being closer to work as a scholar of the classical type), but he also was a scientist (say, “natural philosopher”). In fact, he was the first to accurately measure, or calculate, the circumference of the earth; he did it with an accuracy of only several hundred miles different from what we now know to be the correct value.
   As well, some of his other accomplishments would, in such common times as today, be compartmented out of his reach, he being librarian of Alexandria or not!

Known for his versatility, he wrote poetry and works (most of them lost) on literature, the theater (notably on ancient comedy), mathematics, astronomy, geography, and philosophy; he also drew a map of the known world and evolved a system of chronology.

— The Columbia Encyclopedia, Ed. 6, 2001

   Oh for the life of a scholar! I believe I could be happy ad infinitum surrounded by books and ink and — oh well, I suppose these days I must put up with computers musn’t I? — forever writing and reading and writing about what I read. But you see what I’m saying, don’t you? Now most people would think it odd that a mathematician would write poetry; and much less philosophy! I suppose there is no rule absolutely against such a mix as I, but there is definitely sentiment — expectation, perhaps — against me. I also suppose I don’t care.
   I would not live in any other fashion. Boxes, cells, compartments are not for me.

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But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.

— I Timothy 5:8

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I view askance a book that remains undisturbed for a year. Oughtn’t it to have a ticket of leave? I think I may safely say no book in my library remains unopened a year at a time, except my own works and Tennyson’s.

— Carolyn Wells

Crosspost: Scraps, Harbour in the Scramble, and Academic Musings