As a I concluded reading the Library of Babel by Jorge Luis Borges, my thoughts remained filled with the concept of only having a finite number of things within in an infinite space. The Library, or the Universe, is as Borges describes, “indefinite and perhaps infinite,” it stretches into vast galleries and hexagons, yet, all the books in the library reach a total number, somewhere on the library shelves the rows of books end although there is space for them to reach and take up space forever. It feels disappointing that there could not be an endless amount of books. I view this as a representation of humanity reflecting on its own limits, that although we live it what may be an infinitely stretching universe, we only fill a few rows of it’s shelves and one day the last human, the last book, will form their last thought and word, and complete the collection of books. It is also a reflection of a single person realizing their limitations. If all books that could ever be written are already written and bound on the shelves, what more could one person contribute to the Library, they must only read or attempt to search for meaning and themselves among the pages.
I have heard before that it is nearly impossible to know if you have a truly original thought that no one has ever had before, even if right now in your head you try to form the most random idea, how would you know you were the first person to ever think that out of the billions of people who have ever existed? Within the Library of Babel there all books that could ever exist, potentially holding all thoughts that could ever exist. Even within the infinity there might be a limit to the total amount of thoughts and ideas that humanity could ever think of, and what happens if the amount of new ideas becomes so very limited, how do we create new thoughts, how do we know they are new?