Abstract
Recently, I wandered into a substantial research library in downtown Sydney – the State Library of New South Wales. A moment prior, I had been evading cars, listening unwillingly to city noises. The next moment, I was inside the library: elegance, peace, stillness – books enveloping me. The library's reading room: an imposing collection, especially of non-fiction. So I sat; I pondered; and I raised my eyes to the surrounding walls of books. Calmness for a while; until suddenly I was troubled. A fundamental philosophical problem about the nature of that room had crept into my mind. Here is the story of my collision with that problem – and of how I tried to resolve it.
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