Summary
Around the same time people started looking for The Vindications, the hope also emerged that the “profound mysteries” (115) of the world could be explained in some extraordinary language existing in some texts the Library. The people who search for this language are called inquisitors. They usually arrive at a hexagon, talk to the librarian there for a little while, and leaf through a single, random book. The fact that such important knowledge was certainly out there, but could not be found amidst the vastness of the Library, have driven many people to insanity and depression over the past 500 years. One group of librarians even proposed that everyone should stop searching and start arranging symbols in random combinations themselves until the books could be constructed. This was quickly banned by the authorities, but the narrator says that in his childhood he saw some old librarians hiding in bathrooms using disks and dice to mimic randomness.
Others had the idea to “eliminate all worthless books” (116). These “Purifiers” (116) would, like the inquisitors, arrive at a new hexagon, flip through a book, and decide the room did not hold what they were looking for. However, they would then throw these books out, presumably down the ventilation shaft. Many librarians in the narrator’s time still mourn the loss of these books, but the narrator notes that the Library is so huge that “any reduction by human hands must be infinitesimal” (116). Furthermore, the nature of the Library is such that for any book thrown out there are many more that are nearly identical to it. The narrator says that he believes the negative impact of the acts of the Purifiers has been exaggerated over time, and that they were simply filled with religious zeal to find “the books of the Crimson Hexagon—books smaller than natural books, books omnipotent, illustrated, and magical” (116).
Another superstition from that period was belief in "the Book-Man" (116), who was a librarian who had read the book that was the compendium of all other books. A sect of librarians worshiped and went in search of this Book-Man, and the narrator says that he himself did such searching, trying to work his way to the compendium by following a trail of linked books. He says that now he no longer believes he needs to find the Book-Man himself, but he prays that the Book-Man exists somewhere, so that that full knowledge and "justification" (117) exists.
The narrator says that some "infidels" (117) believe that the Library is purely nonsense and randomness, but he does not agree. He believes that all books, no matter how nonsensical they may seem at first glance, can be read cryptographically, allegorically, or in a foreign language.
The narrator points out that the very story that the reader holds in his hands exists in many variations in the library and could be intended to mean many different things. The very word "library" (118) could mean "a loaf of bread or a pyramid or something else, and the six words that define it themselves have other definitions" (118). The refutation of the story would also exist in the Library, since it is infinite.
The narrator begins to sum up the story by telling the reader the sad state of the Library today, writing, "The certainty that everything has already been written annuls us, or renders us phantasmal...young people prostrate themselves before books and like savages kiss their pages, though they cannot read a letter. Epidemics, heretical discords, pilgrimages that inevitably degenerate into brigandage" (118). He writes that suicide becomes more frequent every year and that he fears that the human race will become extinct. The Library, he writes, will endure, remaining "enlightened...infinite...[and] pointless" (118).
The final paragraph focuses on the word "infinite" (118). The narrator specifies that he really means the word; he believes that it is "not illogical to think that the world is infinite" (118). However, he acknowledges that while the Library may be infinite, the number of books must be large but finite. This would mean that "The Library is unlimited but periodic" (118). Therefore, if a traveler could travel for eternity, they would find the same random assortment of books repeated over and over, revealing to them, finally, "order: the Order" (118).
Analysis
One small but crucial stylistic choice Borges makes throughout "The Library of Babel" is his capitalization of a few key words. The most obvious example of this is the capitalization of the word Library throughout the story, except for one instance when the narrator directly interrogates the word "library" itself, writing "in some of them, the symbol 'library' possesses the correct definition 'everlasting, ubiquitous system of hexagonal galleries,' while a library—the thing—is a load of bread or a pyramid or something else" (118). Therefore, the capitalized word Library refers to the universe in which the narrator exists, while lower-case library refers to the word or symbol itself.
Another word that begins with a capital letter at some moments and with a lower case letter at others is God/gods. The use of these slightly different terms helps the reader to understand the narrator's complicated religious beliefs. The first use of the word comes when the narrator criticizes the beliefs of some other librarians, noting, "Mystics claim that their ecstasies reveal to them a circular chamber containing an enormous circular book...But their testimony is suspect, their words obscure. That cyclical book is God" (113). This statement seems contradictory; while the narrator says he doesn't agree with these librarians' religious beliefs, he still gives credence to them by capitalizing the word God. This contradiction is furthered later on the same page when the narrator gives his own religious viewpoint. He professes that there must be some deity who created the books in the Library because "its bookshelves, its enigmatic books, its indefatigable staircases for the traveler, and its water closets for the seated librarian—can only be the handiwork of a god" (113). In this case, the narrator is making a bold claim about the existence of an all-powerful creator, and yet he uses the common noun god rather than the proper name, God. Both the capitalized and un-capitalized versions of the word occur multiple times throughout the story, showing the narrator's hot and cold feelings about his own faith and the way religious beliefs shape other librarians' behavior.
A final word that calls attention to Borges's stylistic use of capitalization comes in the last paragraph of the story. The narrator writes, "If an eternal traveler should journey in any direction, he would find after untold centuries that the same volumes are repeated in the same disorder—which, repeated, becomes order: the Order" (118). In parallel to the use of God versus god, capitalizing the word Order demonstrates its philosophical, perhaps even spiritual importance. Since the Library seems to be a disorganized labyrinth at the scale on which any individual librarian can perceive it, only God or "the Book-Man" (116) would have the chance to see order on a larger scale. Thus, the narrator treats the idea of the Library being ordered at a higher level with religious reverence.
The narrator's description of the books some librarians believe would be found in the Crimson Hexagon underscores the differences between the narrator's universe and our own. The narrator writes that the Golden Hexagon is believed to hold "books smaller than natural books, books omnipotent, illustrated, and magical" (116). Our universe certainly contains books of different sizes and books that are illustrated, as well as books that have many more symbols than the 25 used in the books of the Library. By lumping attributes that seem common to us (small, illustrated) in with those that are supernatural (omnipotent, magical), the sentence leads us to think in a new way about what makes a book ordinary or extra-ordinary, creating a comical, metafictional effect.
"The Library of Babel" ends with a a footnote at the bottom of the final page of the story. While one would expect a story to end by tying up the narrative, the story's final footnote, which reads in part, "...the vast Library is pointless; strictly speaking, all that is required is a single volume...that would consist of an infinite number of infinitely thin pages"(118). This comes as quite a shock after Borges spends so much of the story detailing the specifics of the Library's dimensions and history as well as the narrator's personal experience and views. The footnote causes the reader to question whether they should read the story as anything more than a thought experiment. Furthermore, it gives the reader a chance to contemplate whether the extended metaphor of an expansive Library, a single book, or something else is the most elegant way to examine the infinity of our own universe.
