Erudition’s Value

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The New York Sun

The Reverend Franke Parker was inordinately fond of his bible. Over a period of many years, this Victorian Rector of Luffincott lovingly adorned his handsome Macklin Bible with 9,000 rare Old Master drawings and prints.

He was no saint, for he mutilated other books to illustrate his pride and joy. The bible was rebound and by the time it was finished in 1883, it had grown to 63 large folio volumes — one of the largest in the world. At his death, the Parker Bible was bought by Bishop Henry Philpotts of Exeter, who bequeathed some 2,000 theological works for the education and edification of the clergy of Cornwall.

Fast forward a century to the year 2004. The Diocese of Truro still owns the Bishop Philpotts Library, but discovers that nobody has asked to consult any of its 15th to 18th century books for more than 10 years. The Reverend Parker’s Bible alone is taking up 20 feet of shelf space. The library management committee decides that it no longer has room for any books published before 1800 and decides to dispose of them. Offers are invited from various antiquarian booksellers.

Enter John Thornton, reputable dealer and expert in theology. He finds it “difficult to give an accurate assessment of the collection … because of the dimly lit and confined conditions in which they were held.” He nonetheless offers about $70,000. This turns out to be the highest offer received by the diocese, and two years later it is accepted. Mr. Thornton takes away the collection, and in due course some of the more valuable books are offered for sale at auction.

Only then does the true value of the collection emerge. The Parker Bible alone sells for $100,000, more than the church received for the entire collection. The anonymous bidder is said to have already removed hundreds of the most valuable prints in order to sell them separately, doubtless at a large profit, and offers the remains of the Parker Bible to an American institution.

But this bible, unique though it is, proves not to be the most valuable book in the Philpotts Library. The Reverend Parker’s Greek bible, printed in 1518, sells for $120,000. A polyglot bible in Greek, Hebrew, and Latin, commissioned by the great Spanish divine, Cardinal Ximenes, sells for $140,000. And a very early 1470 edition of the “Antiquitates Judaicae” by the Jewish historian Josephus sells for $160,000.

The Philpotts collection has realized over $1 million at auction before alarm bells ring down in rural Cornwall. The matter is now in the hands of the lawyers, but the spokesman for the Truro Diocese concedes that there is no suggestion of dishonesty: “What Mr. Thornton bought, he bought in good faith.”

Other antiquarian booksellers, however, fear that the highly publicized case will give them a bad name. In a letter to the Times of London, the president of the Antiquarian Booksellers Association disdainfully points out that Mr. Thornton is not a member, adding: “If one of our members purchased a book from a private individual, estate, or library, and subsequently discovered it to be of significantly higher value than thought, we would certainly expect that member to make adequate restitution to the original owner.”

Mr. Thornton, meanwhile, has sold his bookstore in Chelsea and retired. His

only comment: “I will wait and see what the lawyers say.”

What is the moral of this tragicomedy? Mr. Thornton is not the villain, unless being rewarded for your expertise is a crime. Even if he had a shrewd idea that the dusty tomes he found mouldering in the crepuscular gloom of the episcopal library were worth a good deal more than he offered for them, Mr. Thornton was doing nothing wrong.

The trustees could easily have offered the books for auction themselves. The truth is that the committee merely wanted to dispose of the books and did not much care what they were worth. It was their own fault that they sold their invaluable library for a song.

The more interesting moral, however, concerns the value that we place on our cultural heritage. In the age of instant access to knowledge, old books are often seen as redundant. Even worse, so too is learning. Why spend a lifetime reading, when everything you need to know is just a few clicks away?

The answer is that erudition has a value in itself. There is no substitute for direct, tactile familiarity with the great books that the past has passed down to us. It is true that some books are simply too rare, too fragile, to be read any more — they must be protected like any other museum piece. It is a great blessing that it is now possible to read these rarities online.

Yet almost any used bookstore contains affordable treasures: old, often beautiful books that instantly evoke the time and place in which the author lived. Educated men and women need libraries — private and public.

The fact that none of the Anglican clergy of Cornwall had any use for Bishop Philpott’s library helps to explain not only why the Church of England is in decline, but why Western civilization too is in peril.

Unless we constantly refresh our collective memory from great books, our children will have no idea what they are supposed to be defending.


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