Encyclopedia and Encyclopedism

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Encyclopedia and Encyclopedism Christopher D. Johnson The Warburg Institute, London, UK

Abstract

Renaissance encyclopedism can be understood in terms of the history of problems, the history of concepts, book history, and cultural history. Remaking classical and medieval models, encyclopedic writing ranged from modest plans to provide a “general education” to the impossible ideal of securing universal and complete knowledge in all the sciences. Given a changing disciplinary map, the flood of books, and new epistemological criteria, the notion of encyclopedic paideia increasingly competed with more systematic, if often idiosyncratic, efforts to order, transmit, and evaluate kinds and quantities of knowledge. Prospective as well as retrospective, synchronic and diachronic, propelled by the timeless desire to “know all” while responding to historical contingences of all kinds, Renaissance encyclopedism undertook a massive, multifaceted translatio studiorum variously driven by pedagogy, philology, antiquarianism, curiosity, faith in scientific and philosophical progress, as well as numerous material, cultural, and political motives. Central to this translatio was the problem of finding the correct order for organizing materials. Some # Springer International Publishing AG 2017 M. Sgarbi (ed.), Encyclopedia of Renaissance Philosophy, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-02848-4_1141-1

encyclopedic writers followed a Plinian model which encouraged adducing ever more material without overmuch concern for contradiction; others preferred either the PlatonicStoic or Aristotelian division of the disciplines; still others made the liberal arts their model; more analytic orders were also cultivated, as was, conversely, alphabetical order. Whatever order was adopted, though, compilation and the use of the commonplace book were generally the rule. Sites and genres of encyclopedic knowledge were as numerous as they were varied: from the book to the museum, from the miscellany to the theatrum.

Synonyms Circle of learning; Paideia; Pansophy; Polyhistory

Heritage and Rupture with Tradition As distinct from its Enlightenment successors, Renaissance encyclopedism assumed a wide variety of discursive and material forms, particularly as the classical ideal of attaining sufficient knowledge of all the liberal arts was transformed in the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries into systematic attempts to secure complete and unified knowledge of all subjects. At once synchronic and diachronic, such encyclopedic writing represented a timeless desideratum shaped by

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concrete contingencies and shifting historical forces. As the sixteenth-century Aristotelian natural philosopher Ulisse Aldrovandi observed, recycling an ancient Greek maxim: “Nothing is sweeter than to know all things” (Aldrovandi 1645). Or as the seventeenth-century pansophist Johann Amos Comenius wrote, with one eye on Plato and the other on Francis Bacon, the hope is to teach “omnes omnia omnino” (“all people all things in light of the All”) (Comenius 1960). Such idealism notwithstanding, Renaissance encyclopedism was also a belated, derivative form of thought that tried to inventory and organize what others had written, even as it endeavored, though with limited success, to respond to the mathematization of nature promoted by the “new science” and to mediate the explosion of empirical facts (especially as the orbis terrarum expanded with the discovery of the New World) and other forms of “early modern information overload” (Rosenberg 2003). It was encouraged, that is, by the invention of the printing press, which precipitated an enormous growth in the publication and circulation of old and new texts. Further, as with Pliny the Elder’s Naturalis historia written in imperial Rome, Renaissance encyclopedic writing was informed by a culture of curiosity and collecting (Goeing et al. 2013) and, less benignly, as it acquired political and economic value, by imperialism and colonialization. Renaissance encyclopedism was both utopian (Schmidt-Biggemann 1983) and destined to fail. As a central vehicle for the translatio studiorum, it aimed eventually to encompass all knowledge and to save the classical legacy from another eclipse; but it also reflected the growing historical consciousness that such knowledge might be incorrect, in need of contextualizing or supplementing in the light of new discoveries, theories, and methods. In brief, Renaissance encyclopedism ranged from the purely retrospective to the increasingly prospective. Its history, accordingly, can also be viewed through the prism of changing emphases on authority, reason, and experience. As Renaissance humanist habits of mind underwent greater scrutiny, authority, as a form of cultural memory, became pejoratively associated with mere opinion. Encyclopedic writing, in

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turn, tried to find forms of representation that could mediate between old and new learning. Bacon, for example, targeted those humanist and cognitive modes that fueled most species of Renaissance encyclopedism, even as he wanted to reconfigure the encyclopedia according to his novel program for the “advancement of learning” (Bacon 2000, 2004). As for precedents, Renaissance encyclopedism was partially rooted in late classical and medieval thought. Works by Martianus Capella, Isidore of Seville, Bartholomaeus Anglicus, Vincent Beauvais, and Raimond Llull were edited and widely read throughout the period. And in attempting to give such encyclopedism novel, less static form, Renaissance authors reworked the medieval metaphors of the theatrum mundi and the Book of Nature, even as they supplemented these with metaphors associated with the circle, journey, path, labyrinth, architecture, digestion, bees, etc. Isidore of Seville’s seventh-century Etymologiae sive Origines, with its 448 chapters in 20 books, offered medieval readers a summa of classical knowledge about a nearly vanished world and the meanings of the Latin words which described that world. But reprinted in 1599 in a heavily annotated edition sponsored by Philip II of Spain, its mise-en-page at once confirms and undermines the original text’s authority. Further, while vernacular texts and translations constituted a relatively small, if growing, portion of early modern encyclopedic writing, it was mainly Latin’s universality that enabled encyclopedism to become a primary vehicle of humanism and that facilitated the migration of encyclopedic texts and notions about content (inventio) and arrangement (ordo or dispositio) across Europe and the Americas. Renaissance thinkers also mined a variety of classical encyclopedic models: Pliny’s omnivorous Naturalis historia; Valerius Maximus’ eclectic Factorum et dictorum memorabilium libri IX; Solinus’ thoroughly derivative and unsystematic Collectanea rerum memorabilium; the motley, pseudo-Aristotelian Problemata; and Quintilian’s Institutio oratoria, with its pragmatic notion of what an orator’s general education or orbis doctrinae, which translates the Greek ἐgkύklιoB

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paιdeίa, should be (I.10.1). These canonical texts provided Renaissance encyclopedic writers with matter and words (res et verba) to be imitated, adapted, and, increasingly, challenged. Other, more structured, classical models were used to order the human sciences. One model followed the seven liberal arts: grammar, rhetoric, logic, arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy. Alfonso de la Torre’s Visión delectable de la philosophía y artes liberales, metaphísica y philosophía moral (1435) refashions De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, Martianus Capella’s early fifth-century allegorical journey through the artes liberales. An oration attempting to classify all the branches of learning, Angelo Poliziano’s Panepistemon (c. 1492) envisions a “philosophy” beyond the reductive confines of the Aristotelian cursus philosophicus to include not only all the liberal arts but also the mechanical arts, even cooking and carpentry (Poliziano 1994). An impossibly ambitious program, the Panepistemon, nonetheless spurred more realized efforts, such as Symphorien Champier’s Libri VIII de dialectica, rhetorica, geometria, arithmetica, astronomia, musica, philosophia naturali, medicina et theologia, et de legibus et republica eaque parte philosophiae quae de moribus tractat . . . (1537), and Conrad Gesner’s Pandectarum sive partitionum universalium . . . libri XXI (1548). More influential, though, was Gregor Reisch’s Margarita philosophica (1503), a carefully structured, twelve-book compendium meant to teach boys the liberal arts as well as natural philosophy, natural history, faculty psychology, and moral philosophy. Reisch’s diagrammatic illustrations and tables also played instrumental roles in his pedagogy (Siegel 2009; West 2002, 24–28). Another model corresponded to the Aristotelian division of philosophy into theoretical, practical, and poetic (or productive) philosophy – a triad often conceived via the categories furnished by faculty psychology: reason, memory, and imagination. Bacon relies on this schema in Instauratio magna (1620), where he redefines each faculty to meet the needs of his experimental program. Indeed, one way of grasping Renaissance encyclopedism is to track the shifting

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emphases put on these three faculties: most accounts stress the interplay of memory and reason, but others stubbornly focus on the imaginative aspects of encyclopedic writing (Kenny 1991). Alternatively, some Renaissance encyclopedists adapted the Platonic-Stoic division of the sciences into logic (or metaphysics), ethics, and physics. Borrowing from a bevy of authors, Pierre de la Primaudaye’s Academie françoise (1577–98) begins with a volume on ethics, followed by two volumes on natural history and natural philosophy, and then a fourth volume dedicated to “Christian philosophy” or religious doctrine. Reacting in part to Michel de Montaigne’s skepticism, La Primaudaye’s text proved popular in France and abroad – both Shakespeare and Bacon used it. A century later, G. W. Leibniz’ De ratione perficiendi et emendandi Encyclopaediam Alstedii (1669–1671) and – in the course of refuting Locke’s philosophy – Nouveaux essais sur l’entendement humain (1704) urge that the Platonic-Stoic division of knowledge be given new, encyclopedic unity. Such unity abandons all previous attempts to classify and to define and delimit content; instead, it consists in a “metaphysics of a referential system” (Selcer 2010, 78) which enables each proposition to potentially entail every other proposition.

Innovative and Original Aspects In the fifteenth century and throughout much of the sixteenth, the encyclopaedia signified a pedagogical ideal that no longer corresponded to its classical origins. Humanists misread, that is, the Greek phrase, ἐgkύklιoB paιdeίa, which they found in Quintilian and Pliny, so that it came to denote not “general learning” or paideia, but rather an ever growing “circle of learning” (orbis doctrinae) and, eventually, an exhaustive, systematic knowledge of all things, often in the material form of a book (Dierse 1977; König and Woolf 2013). Paideia, or being well educated in the trivium and quadrivium, did not suffice, nor did efforts to reform the curriculum. Instead, a second ideal emerged, which saw the encyclopedist trying to compile, arrange, and systematize all that had been written

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about the human sciences (including now the mechanical arts). In the course of the Renaissance, then, there was a shift from encyclopedism as pedagogy to encyclopedism as synthesis or analysis, by means of which the dream of universal and complete knowledge was pursued. As Johann Heinrich Alsted writes in Philosophia digne restituta (1612): “Philosophia est omnis scibilis cognitio” (“Philosophy is the understanding of all knowable things”). Alternatively, in England, Bacon envisioned a new kind of encyclopedism grounded in empirical natural philosophy, so did, though with less consistency, Federico Cesi and his colleagues in the Roman Academy of the Lynx-Eyed (Accademia dei Lincei). Meanwhile, there were also more idiosyncratic, imaginative encyclopedic writers, like François Béroalde de Verville and Thomas Browne, who did not so much try to compass the “circle of learning” as to explore and exploit its gaps. Many encyclopedic writers, especially in paratexts, expressed the irony and pathos of their impossible undertaking, even as their texts proper continue to accumulate unmediated particulars. Montaigne mined his encyclopedic intertextuality to know himself better; as he writes in “Of Experience” (1580): “I have a dictionary wholly to myself” (“J’ai un dictionnaire tout à part moi”). But whether idealist or skeptical, objective or subjective, encyclopedic writers tended to adopt a rhetoric – fueled by figures like parataxis, digression, asyndeton, distributio, and systrophe – that strove to enumerate, to distinguish, but also to exhaust. More specifically still, the few sixteenthcentury works that featured “encyclopaedia” in their titles were as much treatises on the organization of knowledge as they were containers of encyclopedic content. And even then, the problem of finding the best order was never quite resolved. Praised by Erasmus and later reedited by Girolamo Cardano, Joachim Sterck van Ringelberg’s Lucubrationes vel potius absolutissima kyklopaideia (1538) ends with a miscellany entitled Chaos, which invokes Ovid to justify its jarring juxtaposition of subjects. Notwithstanding its debts to Lullism and the cabala, Paul Skalich’s Encyclopaedia seu orbis disciplinarum epistemon (1559) often devolves into a kind of Rabelaisian list. In other instances,

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the “circle of learning” was idiosyncratically or narrowly drawn. Mario Nizolio’s Ockhamist Ciceronianism motivates De veris principiis et vera ratione philosophandi contra pseudophilosophos (1553), four volumes that would marry philosophy and eloquence in order to teach the correct “circulus doctrinarum omnium, sive encyclopaedia” – an effort lauded by Leibniz in a preface for a later edition. By contrast, the Erasmian Juan Luis Vives composed De disciplinis Libri XX (1531), which consists of three treatises: De causis corruptarum artium, De tradendis disciplinis, and De artibus. Espousing a practical epistemology, which values knowledge gained by experience and doing (a kind of “maker’s knowledge”) and so also eschews the pursuit of metaphysical truths, Vives critiques contemporary education and its reliance on scholastic language in order to offer his own reform program. The humanist, he writes, should be both a “philologist” and a “polyhistor” – the latter, versed in multifarious experience, embodies the ethical ideal of “prudence.” As these examples suggest, ordo was the chief problem riddling Renaissance encyclopedism. Alphabetical order was adopted in most sixteenth-century lexica, but occasionally in other genres, too, such as Domenico Nani Mirabelli’s miscellany Polyanthea (1503) and Conrad Gesner’s groundbreaking, annotated bibliography Biblioteca universalis (1545). Yet alphabetical order, for all its indexical utility, had no intrinsic meaning, and so given the early modern thirst for ontological and other hierarchies, it became the rule only toward the end of the seventeenth century (Blair 2010). And while a few thinkers effectively attempted to reconcile encyclopedism with the law of noncontradiction (e.g., Jean Bodin used dialogue to weigh conflicting views), most embraced the implicit principle that it was best to adduce all that has been written about a topic without worrying too much about harmonizing divergent views. In brief, compilation (compilatio) rather than selection dominated – a manner of thinking and writing that goes hand in hand with the vastly greater availability of printed texts in the Renaissance. These copious texts adduced methods, ideas, and

Encyclopedia and Encyclopedism

controversies of all kinds. Still, the hope of finding the proper order remained a constant. As Alsted writes at the beginning of his Encyclopedia, septem tomis distincta (Alsted 1630, 1), which aims to be the most systematically constructed encyclopedia: “ORDINE nihil pulchrius, nihil fructuosius esse nemo non videt . . . . Ordo siquidem in amplissimo hujus mundi theatro rebus omnibus conciliat dignitatem, et ipsarum est velut anima” (“Nobody has seen anything more beautiful, nothing more fruitful, than order . . . . Order provides worth to all things in the widest theater of this world and is like their very soul”). Yet given the constitutive tension between order and variety – a permutation of the perennial dialectic between the one and the many – that informs all encyclopedic efforts, unsurprisingly, Renaissance encyclopedism featured competing, often conflicting, methods and epistemologies (Rossi 2000; Vasoli 2005). In the sixteenth century, as religious authority waned, as Aristotelians (in Padua, Oxford, and elsewhere) grappled with the status of universals, as the gathering of empirical facts or “secrets” and the affirmation of mathematical truth claims became more central, and as varieties of ancient skepticism, the shape and status of encyclopedic knowledge were contested with more and more fervor. One exemplary clash is between the polymathic, Neoplatonic Cardano and the more skeptical, Aristotelian J. C. Scaliger (Maclean 1984). Cardano composed the wideranging De subtilitate (1550); Scaliger responded with the scathing, massive Exotericarum exercitationum liber XV de subtilitate (1557). Both encyclopedic texts vainly pretend to epistemological and methodological superiority: whereas Cardano finds subtlety in nature and our understanding of nature, Scaliger blames Cardano for having an overly subtle imagination. Alternatively, in a late work like De triplici minimo et mensura (1591), Giordano Bruno promotes an encyclopedic method which insists that to know something in mathematics is always only a partial truth, as it also must be mirrored by natural philosophical and metaphysical knowledge. Put another way, even if the utopian avatars of encyclopedic thought (e.g., Cardano (2004), Bruno,

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Tommaso Campanella, Bacon, Comenius, Leibniz) have their skeptical counterparts (e.g., Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, J. C. Scaliger, Béroalde de Verville, Robert Burton), the utopian strain tends to reemerge in new forms. But again, such idealism is always shaped by different biographical, cultural, and political circumstances. Athanasius Kircher’s numerous pansophic efforts, for example, relying partially on a global republic of letters facilitated by his position as head of the Jesuit Collegio Romano, were rooted in the cultural politics of Counter-Reformation Rome, which valued an eclectic, but not heterodox, version of antiquarianism (Stolzenberg 2013). Another epistemological fault-line riddling Renaissance encyclopedism was between Plinian natural history, on the one side, and Baconian natural history and natural philosophy, on the other. The Plinian model encouraged the gathering of particulars, res et verba, naturalia et artificialia, without overmuch concern for their veracity or for larger structural, organizational questions. Yet Plinian natural history was, of necessity, reconsidered in light of early modern European discoveries in the Americas, Asia, and Africa. Most obviously, encyclopedic histories of the New World became a primary vehicle of Spain’s translatio imperii and translatio studii. In metaphorical terms – though a metaphor with ontological pretensions – the Book of Nature was rewritten by transatlantic discovery and conquest. The encyclopedist’s task was now to rewrite this book, to produce new verbal copia, new tesoro (treasure), out of novel flora, fauna, peoples, customs, and beliefs (Hernández 2000; Bleichmar and Mancall 2011). Encyclopedic writing in the Middle Ages and throughout the early Renaissance confidently ransacked classical sources: Virgil was an authority on agriculture, Livy on political history, and Strabo on geography, etc. But in sixteenth-century transatlantic encyclopedism, classical authority was everywhere undermined (Cañizares-Esguerra 2006). Just as the flood of books, an ascendant empiricism, and the waning of eschatological certainty prevented encyclopedists who remained in Europe from closing the orbis doctrinae, the experience of New World novelty led to an ineluctable

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awareness of the imperfection of classical sources. Such novelty was cartographic, ethnographic, zoological, botanical, even, at times, theological, but it also had a second-order, cognitive effect whereby questions of how to represent such novelty, how to limit multiplicity, and how to forge unity out of this multiplicity acquired new force and urgency. In his Historia general y natural de las Indias (1536–42), Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo initially follows Pliny’s dispositio, which begins with cosmographical matters, then considers, in turn, animals (including humans), fish, birds, insects, plants, and minerals, while interspersing throughout accounts of the arts and mores. But in the event Oviedo’s massive Historia (the first 19 books published in his lifetime, 31 posthumously) falls back on a geographical rather than a topical structure. It also vaunts the primacy of firsthand experience over Pliny’s bookish authority. Oviedo boasts of writing “as copiously as the subject matter,” even as he underscores how the brevity of a single historian’s life and a dramatically enlarged world (in comparison with antiquity) greatly complicates his task (Oviedo 1944–45). By contrast, Bernardino de Sahagún’s Historia general de las cosas de la Nueva Espan˜ a (1579) was initially conceived as the pedagogic means of instructing the indigenous population of Mexico who had survived the Conquest. Loosely adapting the ordo of Bartholemeus Angelicus’ Aristotelian De proprietatibus rerum (c. 1240), which was translated into Spanish in 1529, Sahagún relied on Nahua informantes, scribes, and translators for much of his material. Written in Latin, Spanish, and Nahuatl, his Historia offers a comprehensive account in twelve books of Nahau deities and religion, astronomy, ethnography, rhetoric, government, vocations, natural philosophy, and political history (ending with Tenochtitlan’s fall). The 2,400 thousand pages and 1,850 illustrations of the version of the Historia general known as the Florentine Codex constitute the first great flowering of New World encyclopedism and a founding document of Mexican mestizo culture. While presenting his text as an instrument of conversion, Sahagún, defying

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post-Tridentine orthodoxy and the perceived interests of Crown and Church, also defends the subtlety and breadth of the Nahua circle of disciplines. Furnishing the indios with an encyclopedic account of their culture, he regrets, though, his failure to alleviate their suffering (Sahagún 1990). For his part, Bacon first wanted to cure various “distempers” of learning (2000), or as he later puts it, to destroy false “idols” which haunt the “human intellect” (2004). Secondly, and more positively, he sought to reorient the encyclopedia around a reformed natural philosophy, whose methods and “progress” were to be paradigmatic for the other disciplines. To this end, the Baconian model encourages the collection of particulars, but judiciously as a part of an inductive method to reach axioms and laws that might then direct the collection of further particulars by distinguishing them from extraneous matters and mere verbiage. In the preface outlining the scope and content of his never-to-be-completed Instauratio magna, Bacon writes: “Now to the human intellect reflecting on it, the fabric of the universe looks in its construction like a labyrinth, where we find everywhere so many blind alleys, such deceptions and misleading signs (tam fallaces rerum et signorum similtudines) and such oblique and intricate convolutions and knots of nature. But the journey has always to be made through the woods of experience and of things particular (per experientiae et rerum particularium sylvas), guided by the uncertain light of the sense which sometimes flares up and at others dies down” (Bacon 2004, 18–19). Such sylvae threaten to become labyrinthine if not illuminated by a proper method that would allow Bacon to be “engaging purely and unceasingly with things.” The encyclopedic natural historian’s initial task, then, is to distinguish these “woods” from “misleading signs,” to discern differences between res et verba. (In this way, Bacon skirted another question roiling some instances of Renaissance encyclopedism: whether language is realist or nominalist.) Yet such efforts never entirely succeeded – as Bacon’s own motley Sylva Sylvarum (1626), meant to be a cornerstone of the Instauratio magna, confirmed. Alternatively, while Descartes’ epistemology sharpened the

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criteria of what could be known clearly and distinctly – thereby culling what he perceived to be humanist, that is, encyclopedic error and excess – tellingly, his 1619 dream vision, the Olympica, which inspired his prima philosophia, features a single book, a “dictionary” which “gathered together all the sciences” (Descartes 1908, 10, 179–88). Given all this, Umberto Eco’s distinction between a “Dictionary” and an “Encyclopedia” model of semantic representation greatly helps to illuminate the dynamics of Renaissance encyclopedism (Eco 1986, 2010). The “Dictionary” offers a limited set of definitions and deductions, the “Encyclopedia” endless descriptions and inductions. But this distinction is more than just a formal one; Eco also identifies a historical transition in the late Renaissance from logical representation that sought the “Utopia of a Porphyrian tree” in the “Dictionary” to writerly expression generated by the “the idea of the labyrinth” in the “Encyclopedia.” In short, any synchronic or diachronic attempt to exclude contingencies (accidentia) and their real and potential encyclopedic relations from accounts of the nature of things was doomed to fail. Or as Michel Foucault’s Les mots et les choses (1966) suggests, the Renaissance “episteme” of “resemblance” encouraged more varied kinds of encyclopedic writing than did the subsequent, classical “episteme” of “identity and difference.” Further, if “Renaissance encyclopedism is primarily a question of genre” (Kenny 1991, 56), then throughout our period encyclopedic genres were very much in flux, in part because the relations between words and things were also extremely fluid. Explicit and implicit debates about dispositio fostered a remarkable variety and fluidity of genres, including the catalogue, biblioteca, digest, lexicon, thesaurus, commentary, miscellany, essay collection, theatrum, natural history, anatomy, atlas, as well as the encyclopedia itself. Exemplary of this generic variety is Poliziano’s Miscellaneorum centuria prima (1489), 100 brief essays on specific philological problems that also call for encyclopedic learning and the philosophical interpretation of texts. Alternatively, Juan Pérez de Moya wrote a

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digest or handbook, Philosophia secreta (1585), which leans heavily on Giovanni Boccaccio’s and Natale Conti’s Latin compendia of classical mythology. Translating them into Spanish and reordering their material topically (with the help of an alphabetical index), Pérez de Moya also gave the concept of the “secret” new naturalhistorical, hermetic, and, above all, moral meanings. More systematic is Bodin’s now Aristotelian, now Plinian Universae naturae theatrum, 1596 (translated into French in 1597 as Le theatre de la nature universelle), which eclectically, but dialectically, organizes natural philosophical material drawn from his commonplace books into ten hypostases that follow the chain of being from simpler substances to more complex ones, thus showing the way to natural theology. In practice, however, Bodin’s Theatrum “often meanders from one topic to the next following no preexisting logic” (Blair 1997, 30). Then there is Antonio Zara’s nearly 700-page Anatomia ingeniorum et scientarium (1614), which consists of four sectiones containing 54 membra. The first section treats the dignity and excellences of man (18 members), the second the sciences of the imagination (16 members), the third the sciences of the intellect (eight members), and the fourth the sciences of memory (12 members). This Aristotelian schema, along with marginal signposts and a detailed 70-page index, enables Zara to consider individual topics in a succinct if also thoroughly intertextual and usually quite credulous manner. Zara, in turn, became one of many models for Burton’s inimitable The Anatomy of Melancholy. What it is. With all the kindes, causes, sumptomes, prognostickes & severall cures of it. In three Partitions, with their severall Sections, members & subsections. Philosophically. Medicinally, Historically opened & cut up . . . (1621). However, that Burton despairs that his all-encompassing, humanist learning, his “Encyclopedian,” will satisfy his readers or, more urgently, cure his own melancholy, is symptomatic of the subjective doubts affecting much seventeenth-century encyclopedic writing. Indeed, if generic variety and fluidity confirm the dynamism of Renaissance encyclopedism, then they also hint at its methodological inconsistencies, if not aporias. Further, as

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the elaborate synoptic charts of Burton’s Anatomy exemplify, there was a crucial dependence in the period on illustrations, diagrams, tables, and maps in the effort to support or clarify the copia of discursive claims – even if these visual forms reveal significant epistemological tensions as well (Siegel 2009). This is also to say that Renaissance encyclopedism was driven by the compulsion to compile. Such compilatio may be viewed as augmenting and renovating static medieval models with new material or, conversely, as spurning more abstract, systematic attempts to order materials. In this regard, encyclopedic writing often became a rabid form of intertextuality, one oblivious to or disdainful of the contradictions created by the unmediated addition of more and more voices, opinions, facts, etc. The history of early modern encyclopedic writing is therefore partially the study of the reading and study habits of the learned – specifically of the fundamental role of commonplace books in the compositional process (Blair 2010). And while most encyclopedic writing presents itself as an individual rather than collective work, as soon as its intertextuality is considered, this distinction tends to collapse. Compilatio, following various philological and irenic principles, fueled the “heroic” lexicography of early modern Europe (Considine 2008). For example, Niccolò Perotti’s Cornucopiae, sive linguae Latinae commentarii diligentissime recogniti . . . (1489), nominally a commentary on Martial’s epigrams, becomes in the course of its glosses an encyclopedic account of Roman culture. Perotti’s text later provided a great deal of the material used by Ambrogio Calepino in his influential alphabetical Latin dictionary (1502, 1509), subtitled Cornucopiae. With entries featuring extracts from many classical authors, Calepino’s lexicon was expanded and reprinted dozens of times during the sixteenth century by other lexicographers, who effectively transformed it into a polyglot dictionary. Compilatio was also the rule in natural history. Theodor Zwinger’s Theatrum vitae humanae (1565) casts itself as a form of moral philosophy, a “human natural history,” rather than a Plinian “natural history of the universe.” Borrowing from Aristotle and Petrus

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Ramus for his dispositio, in the course of later editions (1571, 1586), Zwinger triples the book’s size and organizes its content more loosely. Although reflecting more on the difficulties of ordering the disciplines, and notwithstanding the analytic complexity of its indices and synoptic diagrams, the Theatrum puts growing emphasis on particulars, mainly by mining the commonplace tradition to furnish materials from other authors. Within this welter of particulars, an irreconcilable variety of facts and views are allowed to flourish. It is up to the reader to select and to judge, Zwinger affirms, not the compiler (Blair 2010, 193–202). A still more extreme case is Lorenz Beyerlinck’s utterly derivative Magnum theatrum vitae humanae (1631), whose seven volumes are billed as sequels to Zwinger’s Theatrum and whose alphabetical order, table of contents, diagrams, and indices vainly try to give some direction to the interpretation of its copious materials. In this respect, Renaissance encyclopedism’s erudite textuality was at odds with the Baconian and Cartesian desires to reform philosophical method by avoiding the lures of humanist philology and instead attending to things themselves (res ipsa). And while such philology was still crucial to the encyclopedism of Alsted and Kircher, in Leibniz’ various encyclopedic schemas, language itself became an explicit philosophical challenge. During the mid-sixteenth century, various thinkers began to fuse Lullian traditions in mnemotechnics and logic with Neoplatonic thought and, frequently, Ramist notions of arrangement to create another current of encyclopedism (Rossi 2000). Giulio Camillo, in L’Idea del theatro (1550), and Bruno, in De lampade combinatoria Lulliana (1587), invented new forms of Lullian mnemotechnics. For their part, the systematic encyclopedists Bartholomäus Keckermann, Clemens Timpler, and J. H. Alsted preempted the Cartesian call to start philosophy with a tabula rasa by relying on praecognita (general definitions and divisions), which they thought proper both to nature and philosophy. Leibniz, writing after Descartes, similarly insisted on these axiomatic truths in the schematic text, Praecognita ad encyclopaediam sive scientiam

Encyclopedia and Encyclopedism

universalem (1678/79). Conversely, Alsted, Kircher, and Leibniz continued to assign Lullian combinatorics an essential role in the search for a scientia universalis. In numerous encyclopedic works, but above all his Encyclopedia, septem tomis distincta (1630), Alsted borrowed from Platonism, Aristotelianism, Lullism, and Ramism, from Bernard de Lavinheta, Zwinger, Jacopo Zabarella, Bruno, and Keckermann, to offer a systematic account of the cursus philosophicus. Treating encyclopedism as a pedagogical, ethical, philosophical, and, ultimately, religious undertaking, Alsted methodically reconfigures the orbis disciplinarum. In over a thousand chapters, his Encyclopedia defines, arranges, and explicates all the disciplines, including “mixed ones” (farragines). Adapting Keckermann’s method of dividing each discipline into praecognita, lexica, systemata, and gymnasia, he reorganizes the encyclopedia so that it might transmit both the latest learning and still be pedagogically useful. By systematically arranging the diverse material he draws from the commonplace tradition and then trying eclectically, if not syncretically, to harmonize its contradictory elements, Alsted, uniquely among his contemporaries, manages to complete his encyclopedic account of the disciplines and their interrelations (Hotson 2000, 2007). But in the event, in attempting to cram the latest, often conflicting, sources – especially from the physical and empirical sciences and the mechanical arts – into his theoretical frame, Alsted betrays the harmony promised by his theoretical claims and introductory tables. Like so many of his predecessors, he effectively sacrifices the clarity and simplicity he idealizes to strive instead after comprehensiveness. Here, as with various other exemplary instances of Renaissance encyclopedism, pedagogical and philosophical aims conflict. Still, throughout his career, Alsted never wavered from the belief that philosophy should be the chief discipline to establish encyclopedic order and secure the foundations of knowledge. Kircher’s many – several dozen by some counts – encyclopedic tomes cover topics including magnetism, geology, musicology, optics, numerology, Egyptology, and Sinology. His

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principal method, as detailed in Ars magna sciendi sive combinatoria (1669), is Lullian. The world, Kircher writes, is structured like the combinatory intellect, so that the study of one subject necessarily illuminates and is illuminated by all other subjects. Analogy and two species of combinatorics, combinatio expansa and combinatio contracta, serve as the chief engines of his attempts to achieve an all-encompassing scientia and sapientia (Leinkauf 1993, 32–33). More concretely, in Oedipus Aegyptiacus (1651–1654), combinatorics, informed by Kircher’s antiquarianism, cabala, and other forms of prisca sapientia, yields an encyclopedia of all things Egyptian that aims, in the end, to decipher a single hieroglyph, which, not accidentally, is made to reconcile unity and multiplicity (Findlen 1996; Stolzenberg 2013). Leibniz made encyclopedism a key element of his philosophical program. Influenced by Alsted (especially in his “Nova methodus discendae docendaeque jurisprudentiae” of 1667, which is a mini-history of the encyclopedia culminating in Alsted) and Kircher (with whom he corresponded), Leibniz called for a new “scientific order.” More particularly, he defined the “encyclopedia” as the “system of all things . . . , of true and useful propositions that hitherto have been thought” (cited in Dierse 1977, 27). But rather than ever managing to undertake, let alone complete an encyclopedic project himself, Leibniz, beginning with Dissertatio de arte combinatoria (1666), sketched various metaencyclopedias. These were based, at least initially, on the search for a “universal characteristic” (characteristica universalis), which would consistently, ideographically, and so truthfully represent mathematical, scientific, and metaphysical thought. Once secured, such characters were to be arranged by a unique encyclopedic “combinatory art,” a logical calculus, which looks explicitly back to Llull’s ars magna, but also anticipates Gottlob Frege’s and Charles Pierce’s work on logic in the late nineteenth century and, by his own account, Norbert Weiner’s idea of a computing machine. “The characteristic that I am proposing,” writes Leibniz, “requires only a new kind of Encyclopedia. The Encyclopedia is a body, where

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the most important human sciences (connaissances) are arranged in order” (cited in Dierse 1977, 32). But in “Nouveaux essais sur l’entendement humain,” Leibniz contemplates the Platonic-Stoic division of knowledge into logic, physics, and ethics, only to reject it as untenable. He proposes instead that every true proposition can be expressible, given the proper form and system of referential meaning, such that disciplinary divisions disappear. It is in this sense that his encyclopedia promised universal mathesis. Besides the purely discursive book, Renaissance encyclopedism assumed many other material forms. Visual encyclopedism included the tabular or diagrammatic efforts of diverse thinkers such as Gesner, Alsted, Burton, Bacon, and Cesi. Drawing on Ramism, logic, and Vesalian empiricism, Johannes Jacob Wecker’s Medicae syntaxes, medicinam universam ordine pulcherimmo complectentes (1562) consists entirely of synoptic tables that arrange and distill the medical knowledge of Hippocrates, Galen, and Avicenna for aspiring physicians. Robert Fludd’s Utriusque cosmi, maioris scilicet et minoris, metaphysica, physica, atque technica historia (1617, 1621) incorporates numerous tables and diagrammatic drawings to promote a comprehensive, syncretic, Hermetic science. With his Orbis sensualium pictus (1658), Comenius offers a pictorial encyclopedia for adolescents learning Latin. Meanwhile, encyclopedic emblem books by Andrea Alciato, Juan de Horozco y Covarrubias, Jacob Cats, Cesare Ripa, and many others instructed and delighted readers in moral and political philosophy, religious doctrine, and other topics. Cartography, such as Benedetto Bordone’s Isolario (1528) and Abraham Ortelius’ Theatrum orbis terrarum (1570), also had encyclopedic pretensions. More radically, Antonio Saliba’s Nuova figura di tutte le cose che sono e del continuo se generano dentro la terra e sopra nell’aere (1582) distills the known cosmos to a single broadsheet. Encyclopedic “sites of knowledge” also include libraries, academies, gardens, theaters, courts, pharmacies, and artisanal workshops (Findlen 1996, 97–154). Cabinets of curiosity (Wunderkammer) assembled by natural

Encyclopedia and Encyclopedism

historians and virtuosi found discursive support in Samuel von Quiccheberg’s Inscriptiones vel Tituli theatri amplissimi (1565), the first early modern treatise on museology. Then there is Cassiano dal Pozzo’s “Paper Museum,” which combines antiquarian, art-historical, and naturalhistorical topics. Dal Pozzo, moreover, was instrumental in helping the Linceans publish their empirical, but also thoroughly humanist, Rerum medicarum Novae Hispaniae thesaurus (1651). This collaborative, encyclopedic account of Mexican flora, fauna, and antiquities was based on manuscripts by Francisco Hernández, who traveled to Mexico in the 1570s. Filled with numerous illustrations (but unfortunately not the originals done by native artists) and crowned by Cesi’s Phytosophicae tabulae, which aim to reconceive the encyclopaedia through a series of tables classifying botanical res and the many disciplines that can be used to know them, this hybrid text confirms the global pretensions of late Renaissance encyclopedism (Gabrielli 1989; Hernández 2000). All the more unfortunate, then, that Europeans had no inkling of how encyclopedism in China, in the form of the leishu (literally, “classified writings”) tradition, was reaching an apex in the same period.

Impact and Legacy As Comenius, Kircher, Leibniz, and others pursued various Baroque forms of encyclopedism in the last half of the seventeenth century, another exorbitant strain emerged: polyhistory. Following and expanding on the precedents of Zwinger and Gesner, the polyhistors, with their unwieldly, often monstrous, compendia, earned mockery from many contemporaries for their unbridled pretensions. Yet while their res publica litteraria was often more imagined than real, among their number were some of the first intellectual historians to seek to convey the structure, content, relations, and history of all the humanist disciplines. Most notably, Daniel Georg Morhof, in his Polyhistor, literarius, philosophicus et practicus (1688), heroically labors, in the face of the “New Philosophy,” to resuscitate the

Encyclopedia and Encyclopedism

moribund ideals of encyclopedic learning and Renaissance eloquence (Grafton 1985). Polyhistorical attempts at “universal history” also find significant parallels in Giambattista Vico’s New Science (1725, 1730, 1744). Meanwhile, Pierre Bayle’s influential Dictionaire historique et critique (1697) cultivates the new genre of the philosophical or critical dictionary. Employing an elaborate mise-enpage, Bayle juxtaposes differing opinions and source texts, while also deploying crossreferences to enrich and complicate his alphabetical order. In this manner, he creates a skeptical, subjective, thoroughly dialogic form of encyclopedism that underscores what he takes to be errors in philosophy, history, literary criticism, and theology. Exemplary of this are the articles “Spinoza” and “Rorarius” – the latter disputes with Leibniz on the question of animal souls. In fact, Leibniz corresponded with Bayle and advised him in vain to trim down his annotations and focus on truths rather than errors. But as it stands, “the Dictionary is an encyclopedic anti-encyclopedia” which charts the limits of knowledge and the folly of those who pretend to know with certainty (Selcer 2010, 76). More positively, Bayle espouses the principles of toleration, adumbrates a theodicy, and makes a strong case for fideism. Ironically, J. C. Gottsched’s German translation of the Dictionnaire (1740) begins by lauding Bayle as the scholar most deserving the title of polyhistor. Yet at the same time, German polyhistory was developing in another direction: J. J. Brücker’s Historia critica philosophiae (1742–1744), a cardinal text of philosophical eclecticism, aims to give the history of philosophy a scientific status and so remove the taint of doxography. By the mid-eighteenth century, with the republic of letters thriving mainly in French rather than Latin (or German or English), L’Encyclopédie, ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts es des metiers (1751–65), edited by Denis Diderot and Jean le Rond d’Alembert, adopted an alphabetical order for its 17 volumes (later supplemented by 11 volumes of plates) to achieve a “better linking” of words to things. More to the point, in urging the amending and cultivation of all fields of knowledge, Diderot and d’Alembert

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enthusiastically proclaim their debts to Bacon (“[c]e génie extraordinaire”). As d’Alembert writes, given the infinite number of particulars, the endless possible perspectives on these particulars, and humanity’s inability ever to achieve a divine perspective, they have pragmatically opted for making “man” and the Baconian division and classification of the human sciences into history (memory), philosophy (reason), and poetry and the other productive arts (imagination) into their organizing principle. This Tree of the Human Sciences is, with various modifications, shown in the diagram, “Système figuré,” and then further glossed in another paratext. Likewise, the Prospectus for the entire Encyclopédie begins by asserting that those who doubt such a project should recall Bacon’s claim in De augmentis scientiarum (1623), where the “impossibility” of such a work is rejected, provided that it is undertaken by many capable men and that it is “done in the succession of ages, though not in one man’s life” (Diderot and d’Alembert 2016). Further, in contrast to Bayle, Diderot, in his article “Encyclopédie,” urges a positive form of encyclopedism. For the sciences, he insists, have already made enormous advances, as has language. Stressing the need for an order that is “clear and easy” rather than “a torturous labyrinth,” Diderot reiterates the utility of Bacon’s division of the sciences, even as he outlines five other ways the material of the Encyclopédie is ordered; the fifth way being a network of cross-references (renvois), which he provocatively calls the “most important part of encyclopedic order.” In sum, Renaissance encyclopedism can be understood as a nascent form of intellectual history and, in many instances, of the history of philosophy. Given, then, the differences between “internalist” and “externalist” accounts of intellectual history (a distinction implicitly made by Leibniz and explicitly in recent times by scholars such as Thomas Kuhn and Donald Kelley), externalist approaches more profitably explicate early modern encyclopedic thought and its contingent representations of the nature of and relations between the various disciplines. In other words, what matters in Renaissance encyclopedism is not only what is written, but also how,

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why, where, and when it is written. For the “larger context” in which to understand the history of intellectual history is the “history of literature – literature in the traditional sense of the total accumulation of humanity’s written remains. This was the view taken by scholars like Alsted, Morhof, and [G. J.] Vossius, for whom philosophy itself, especially in the age of print culture, was in the first instance a form of literature” (Kelley 2002, 6). But already Bacon, in Advancement of Learning (1605), calls for a historia literarum that would help distinguish between truth and falsity. In other words, the history of most disciplines, like Renaissance encyclopedism itself, operates in the gray area of opinion, in between certainty and doubt. Leibniz’ various, ambitious, but ultimately unrealizable schemas to put the “encyclopaedia” on a firmer, more metaphysical foundation rests on his imperfect efforts to excise historical and linguistic contingencies. In the same vein, Hegel’s “philosophical encyclopedia” – as embodied by his Encyclopedia of the Philosophical Sciences in Basic Outline (1817) – seeks to distinguish itself from inferior, positivist, that is, contingent disciplines like philology or even from a contextualist history of philosophy. But by following exclusively the logic of Absolute Spirit, such an encyclopedia ignores or sublates the very differences that enable the variety and subtlety of Renaissance encyclopedic thought. Conversely, recent direct descendants of Renaissance encyclopedism include Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie (1971–2007), Dictionary of the History of Ideas (1973–1974), the online Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, and Daphnet (Digital Archives of PHilosophical Texts on the NET). Lastly, there is this Encyclopedia of Renaissance Philosophy in which this entry plays a small, if synecdochic, part.

Cross-References ▶ Aldrovandi, Ulisse ▶ Alsted, J. H. ▶ Aristotelianism ▶ Bacon, Francis

Encyclopedia and Encyclopedism

▶ Bodin, Jean ▶ Book ▶ Bruno, Giordano ▶ Comenius, Johann Amos ▶ Commonplace ▶ Commonplace Book ▶ Cosmography ▶ Descartes, René ▶ Gesner, Conrad ▶ Humanism ▶ Keckermann, Bartholmaeus ▶ Kunstkammer ▶ Lexicography ▶ Logic ▶ Method and Order ▶ Montaigne, Michel de ▶ Museum ▶ Natural History ▶ Neoplatonism ▶ Poliziano, Angelo ▶ Quintilian ▶ Ramus, Petrus ▶ Reisch, Gregor ▶ Scaliger, J. C. ▶ Scientia ▶ Translatio Studiorum ▶ Translation ▶ Trivium ▶ Utopia ▶ Vives, Juan Luis ▶ Zwinger, Theodor

References Primary Literature Aldrovandi, Ulisse. 1599, 1645. Ornithologiae, 3 vols. (I, Bologna: Franciscum de Franciscis Senensem, 1599; II–III, Bologna: M. Antonii Berniae, 1645). Alsted, Johann Heinrich. 1612. Philosophia digne restituta: libros quatuor praecognitorum philosophicorum complectens. Herborn: Christoph Corvinus. Alsted, Johann Heinrich. 1630. Encyclopedia, septem tomis distincta. Herborn: Georg Corvinus and JohannGeorg Muderspach . (Facs. repr. 1989–1990. StuttgartBad Cannstatt: Fromann-Holzboog.) Bacon, Francis. 2000. In The advancement of learning [1605], The Oxford Francis Bacon, vol. IV, ed. Michael Kiernan. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Encyclopedia and Encyclopedism Bacon, Francis. 2004. The Instauratio magna [1620], Part II: Novum organum and associated texts, The Oxford Francis Bacon, vol. XI, ed. Graham Rees with Maria Wakely. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Cardano, Girolamo. 2004. De libris propriis. In The editions of 1544, 1550, 1557, 1562, with supplementary material, ed. Ian Maclean. Milan: FrancoAngeli. Comenius, Johann Amos. 1960. In Pampaedia, ed. Dmitrij Tschižewskij. Heidelberg: Quelle & Meyer. Descartes, René. 1908. In Œuvres, ed. Charles Adam and Paul Tannery, vol. X. Paris: Léopold Cerf. Diderot, Denis and Jean le Rond d’Alembert, ed. 2016. Encyclopédie, ou dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, etc. Chicago: University of Chicago: ARTFL Encyclopédie Project (Spring 2016 Edition). ed. Robert Morrissey and Glenn Roe. http:// encyclopedie.uchicago.edu/ Fernández de Oviedo y Valdés, Gonzalo. 1944–45. Historia general y natural de las Indias [1536–42], 14 vol. Asunción: Guarania. Hernández, Francisco. 2000. Searching for the secrets of nature: The life and works of Dr.Francisco Hernández, ed. Simon Varey, Rafael Chabrán, and Dora B. Weiner. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Poliziano, Angelo. 1994. Miscellaneorum centuria prima [1489]. Siena: Edizioni Luì. de Sahagún, Bernardino. 1990. In Historia general de las cosas de la Nueva Espan˜ a, ed. Juan Carlos Temprano, 2 vol. Madrid: Historia 16. Vives, Juan Luis. 1531. De disciplinis libri XX. Antwerp: Michael Hillenius Hoochstratanus.

Secondary Literature Blair, Ann. 1997. The theater of nature: Jean Bodin and Renaissance science. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Blair, Ann. 2010. Too much to know: Managing scholarly information before the modern age. New Haven/ London: Yale University Press. Bleichmar, Daniela, and Peter C. Mancall, eds. 2011. Collecting across cultures: Material exchanges in the early modern Atlantic world. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Cañizares-Esguerra, Jorge. 2006. Nature, empire, and nation: Explorations of the history of science in the Iberian world. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Considine, John. 2008. Dictionaries in early modern Europe: Lexicography and the making of heritage. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dierse, Ulrich. 1977. Enzyklopädie, zur Geschichte eines philosophischen und wissenschaftstheoretischen Begriffs. Bonn: Bouvier Verlag Herbert Grundmann. Eco, Umberto. 1986. Semiotics and the philosophy of language. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Eco, Umberto. 2010. From the tree to the labyrinth: Historical studies on the sign and interpretation. Trans. Anthony Oldcorn. Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press.

13 Findlen, Paula. 1996. Possessing nature possessing nature: Museums, collecting, and scientific culture in early modern Italy. Berkeley/London: University of California Press. Gabrieli, Giuseppe. 1989. Contributi alla storia della Accademia dei Lincei, 2 vol. Rome: Accademia Nazionale de Lincei. Goeing, A.-S., et al., eds. 2013. Collectors’ knowledge: What is kept, what is discarded = Aufbewahren oder wegwerfen: Wie Sammler entscheiden. Leiden/Boston: Brill. Grafton, Anthony. 1985. The world of the polyhistors: Humanism and encyclopedism. Central European History 18 (1): 31–47. Hotson, Howard. 2000. Johann Heinrich Alsted, 1588–1638: Between Renaissance, Reformation, and universal reform. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hotson, Howard. 2007. Commonplace learning: Ramism and its German ramifications, 1543–1630. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Kelley, Donald R. 2002. The descent of ideas: The history of intellectual history. Aldershot/Burlington: Ashgate. Kenny, Neil. 1991. The palace of secrets: Béroalde de Verville and Renaissance conceptions of knowledge. Oxford: Clarendon Press. König, Jason, and Greg Woolf, eds. 2013. Encyclopaedism from antiquity to the Renaissance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Leinkauf, Thomas. 1993. Mundus combinatus: Studien zur Struktur der barocken Universalwissenschaft am Beispiel Athanasius Kircher SJ (1602–1680). Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Maclean, Ian. 1984. The interpretation of natural signs: Cardano’s De subtilitate versus Scaliger’s Excertationes. In Occult and scientific mentalities in the Renaissance, ed. Brian Vickers, 231–252. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rosenberg, Daniel. 2003. Early modern information overload. Journal of the History of Ideas 64 (1): 1–9. Rossi, Paolo. 2000. Logic and the art of memory. Trans. Stephen Clucas. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. (1st Italian ed. 1983.) Schmidt-Biggemann, Wilhelm. 1983. Topica Universalis. Eine Modellgeschichte humanistischer und barocker Wissenschaft. Felix Meiner Verlag: Hamburg. Selcer, Daniel. 2010. Philosophy and the book: Early modern figures of material inscription. New York: Continuum. Siegel, Steffen. 2009. Tabula. Figuren der Ordnung um 1600. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Stolzenberg, Daniel. 2013. Egyptian Oedipus: Athanasius Kircher and the secrets of antiquity. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Vasoli, Cesare. 2005. L’enciclopedismo del Seicento. Naples: Bibliopolis. West, William N. 2002. Theatres and encyclopedias in early modern Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.