9 Science-Fiction Authors Predict the Future: How Jules Verne, Isaac Asimov, William Gibson, Philip K. Dick & More Imagined the World Ahead

Pressed to give a four-word def­i­n­i­tion of sci­ence fic­tion, one could do worse than “sto­ries about the future.” That stark sim­pli­fi­ca­tion does the com­plex and var­ied genre a dis­ser­vice, as the defend­ers of sci­ence fic­tion against its crit­ics won’t hes­i­tate to claim. And those crit­ics are many, includ­ing most recent­ly the writer Ian McE­wan, despite the fact that his new nov­el Machines Like Me is about the intro­duc­tion of intel­li­gent androids into human soci­ety. Sci-fi fans have tak­en him to task for dis­tanc­ing his lat­est book from a genre he sees as insuf­fi­cient­ly con­cerned with the “human dilem­mas” imag­ined tech­nolo­gies might cause, but he has a point: set in an alter­nate 1982, Machines Like Me isn’t about the future but the past.

Then again, per­haps McE­wan’s nov­el is about the future, and the androids sim­ply haven’t yet arrived on our own time­line — or per­haps, like most endur­ing works of sci­ence fic­tion, it’s ulti­mate­ly about the present moment. The writ­ers in the sci-fi pan­theon all com­bine a height­ened aware­ness of the con­cerns of their own eras with a cer­tain gen­uine pre­science about things to come.

Writ­ing in the ear­ly 1860s, Jules Verne imag­ined a sub­ur­ban­ized 20th cen­tu­ry with gas-pow­ered cars, elec­tron­ic sur­veil­lance, fax machines and a pop­u­la­tion at once both high­ly edu­cat­ed and crude­ly enter­tained. Verne also includ­ed a sim­ple com­mu­ni­ca­tion sys­tem that can’t help but remind us of the inter­net we use today — a sys­tem whose promise and per­il Neu­ro­mancer author William Gib­son described on tele­vi­sion more than 130 years lat­er.

In the list below we’ve round­ed up Verne and Gib­son’s pre­dic­tions about the future of tech­nol­o­gy and human­i­ty along with those of sev­en oth­er sci­ence-fic­tion lumi­nar­ies. Despite com­ing from dif­fer­ent gen­er­a­tions and pos­sess­ing dif­fer­ent sen­si­bil­i­ties, these writ­ers share not just a con­cern with the future but the abil­i­ty to express that con­cern in a way that still inter­ests us, the denizens of that future. Or rather, some­thing like that future: when we hear Aldous Hux­ley pre­dict in 1950 that “dur­ing the next fifty years mankind will face three great prob­lems: the prob­lem of avoid­ing war; the prob­lem of feed­ing and cloth­ing a pop­u­la­tion of two and a quar­ter bil­lions which, by 2000 A.D., will have grown to upward of three bil­lions, and the prob­lem of sup­ply­ing these bil­lions with­out ruin­ing the planet’s irre­place­able resources,” we can agree with the gen­er­al pic­ture even if he low­balled glob­al pop­u­la­tion growth by half.

In 1964, Arthur C. Clarke pre­dict­ed not just the inter­net but 3D print­ers and trained mon­key ser­vants. In 1977, the more dystopi­an-mind­ed J.G. Bal­lard came up with some­thing that sounds an awful lot like mod­ern social media. Philip K. Dick­’s time­line of the years 1983 through 2012 includes Sovi­et satel­lite weapons, the dis­place­ment of oil as an ener­gy source by hydro­gen, and colonies both lunar and Mar­t­ian. Envi­sion­ing the world of 2063, Robert Hein­lein includ­ed inter­plan­e­tary trav­el, the com­plete cur­ing of can­cer, tooth decay, and the com­mon cold, and a per­ma­nent end to hous­ing short­ages. Even Mark Twain, despite not nor­mal­ly being regard­ed as a sci-fi writer, imag­ined a “ ‘lim­it­less-dis­tance’ tele­phone” sys­tem intro­duced and “the dai­ly doings of the globe made vis­i­ble to every­body, and audi­bly dis­cuss­able too, by wit­ness­es sep­a­rat­ed by any num­ber of leagues.”

As much as the hits impress, they tend to be out­num­bered in even sci­ence fic­tion’s great­est minds by the miss­es. But as you’ll find while read­ing through the pre­dic­tions of these nine writ­ers, what sep­a­rates sci­ence fic­tion’s great­est minds from the rest is the abil­i­ty to come up with not just inter­est­ing hits but inter­est­ing miss­es as well. Con­sid­er­ing why they got right what they got right and why they got wrong what they got wrong tells us some­thing about the work­ings of their imag­i­na­tions, but also about the eras they did their imag­in­ing in — and how their times led to our own, the future to which so many of them ded­i­cat­ed so much thought.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read Hun­dreds of Free Sci-Fi Sto­ries from Asi­mov, Love­craft, Brad­bury, Dick, Clarke & More

Free Sci­ence Fic­tion Clas­sics on the Web: Hux­ley, Orwell, Asi­mov, Gaiman & Beyond

The Ency­clo­pe­dia of Sci­ence Fic­tion: 17,500 Entries on All Things Sci-Fi Are Now Free Online

Isaac Asi­mov Recalls the Gold­en Age of Sci­ence Fic­tion (1937–1950)

The Art of Sci-Fi Book Cov­ers: From the Fan­tas­ti­cal 1920s to the Psy­che­del­ic 1960s & Beyond

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How the Vietnam War Shaped Classic Rock–And How Classic Rock Shaped the War

There are a hand­ful of pop­u­lar songs that have become cliche and short­hand for film­mak­ers wish­ing to take us back to the trau­ma of the Viet­nam War: Jimi Hendrix’s cov­er of Dylan’s “All Along the Watch­tow­er” or Edwin Starr’s “War,” to name two. Yet at the same time, while clas­sic rock lives for­ev­er, mem­o­ries or lessons of Viet­nam have not. Buf­fa­lo Springfield’s “For What It’s Worth” orig­i­nal­ly was a com­ment on the Sun­set Strip Cur­few (anti-war) riots, but now its mean­ing is open end­ed enough to suit any poten­tial­ly vio­lent protest.

In Polyphonic’s two-part series, clev­er­ly titled “How the Viet­nam War Shaped Clas­sic Rock” for the first half and “How Clas­sic Rock Shaped the Viet­nam War” for the sec­ond, Noah Lefevre per­forms a need­ed reeval­u­a­tion on dozens of rock and soul songs, plac­ing them back in their his­tor­i­cal con­text and show­ing how the pow­er and mes­sage of music evolved as the war descend­ed into chaos and defeat.

The Viet­nam War dragged on so long that music and cul­ture were both vast­ly dif­fer­ent by the time Saigon fell and the Amer­i­cans pulled out. Poly­phon­ic begins with the first line of protest, the Amer­i­can folk singers in Green­wich Vil­lage, in par­tic­u­lar Phil Ochs and his appren­tice Bob Dylan. Folk was the tra­di­tion­al way that protest reached the Amer­i­can public–it need­ed a singer and a gui­tar and noth­ing more–but Dylan would pro­vide the bridge that rock music need­ed, as he strad­dled both camps for a while (and Ochs did not).

How­ev­er, as Lefevre astute­ly points out, the troops them­selves weren’t lis­ten­ing to folk. They were like any­body else their age at that time and lis­ten­ing to rock and r’n’b. Their top of their pops, cir­ca 1965, was The Ani­mals’ “We’ve Got­ta Get Out of This Place” (orig­i­nal­ly about small town alien­ation, but per­fect for being stuck thou­sands of miles from home) and Nan­cy Sinatra’s “These Boots Were Made for Walk­ing.”

Things changed as the war esca­lat­ed in 1966 and the first sol­diers returned home, many of whom would join in the protest move­ment.

And while on one hand psy­che­del­ic drugs pow­ered the Sum­mer of Love, advance­ments in tech pow­ered the images of the war that now got beamed into all our tele­vi­sion sets. The war was dirt­i­er, messier, and more hor­rif­ic than most peo­ple imag­ined, and music respond­ed in two ways. One was to bounce out­side that real­i­ty and pro­claim peace the answer, as John Lennon and Yoko Ono did, squar­ing off against the gov­ern­ment and rad­i­cal­ized youth alike. The oth­er was to cre­ate a music sound that tried to match the mad­ness. Jimi Hen­drix man­aged it sev­er­al times, includ­ing “Machine Gun” and his infa­mous ren­di­tion of “The Star Span­gled Ban­ner.” But King Crimson’s “21st Cen­tu­ry Schizoid Man” and Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs” were even dark­er. And then there was Mar­vin Gaye’s mas­ter­piece What’s Going On, which is nei­ther peacenik nor hor­ror­show. Instead it’s a sigh of melan­choly and sad­ness, tak­ing in man’s cycle of vio­lence towards itself and to the earth.

Poly­phon­ic real­ly stepped it up in these two mini docs, gain­ing access to high qual­i­ty archival footage. There’s plen­ty more to learn and hear in them, so click play.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mick­ey Mouse In Viet­nam: The Under­ground Anti-War Ani­ma­tion from 1968, Co-Cre­at­ed by Mil­ton Glaser

How Fleet­wood Mac Makes A Song: A Video Essay Explor­ing the “Son­ic Paint­ings” on the Clas­sic Album, Rumours

Kind of Blue: How Miles Davis Changed Jazz

How Talk­ing Heads and Bri­an Eno Wrote “Once in a Life­time”: Cut­ting Edge, Strange & Utter­ly Bril­liant

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

150 Renowned Secular Academics & 20 Christian Thinkers Talking About the Existence of God

Of the many books released over the past cou­ple decades about the exis­tence or nonex­is­tence of God (and there were a lot) one of the best comes from philoso­pher and nov­el­ist Rebec­ca Gold­stein. Her 2010 36 Argu­ments for the Exis­tence of God is not, how­ev­er, a work of pop­u­lar the­ol­o­gy or anti-the­ol­o­gy; it is fic­tion, a satire of acad­e­mia, the pub­lish­ing world, the Judaism she left behind, and the bub­ble of hype that once inflat­ed around so-called “new athe­ism.”

In a book with­in the book, Goldstein’s hero, Cass Seltzer strikes it big with his own pop­u­lar knock­down of reli­gion, The Vari­eties of Reli­gious Illu­sion, which ends with 36 refu­ta­tions of argu­ments for God in the appen­dix, which itself pro­vides the appen­dix for Goldstein’s book. If this sounds com­pli­cat­ed, there’s no rea­son it shouldn’t be. Con­ver­sa­tions about God, for hun­dreds of years the biggest top­ic in West­ern phi­los­o­phy, should not be reduced to syl­lo­gisms and stereo­types.

Yet over­sim­pli­fy­ing the big ques­tions is what many pop athe­ist books do, Gold­stein sug­gests. Seltzer’s book arrives when there is “a glut of god­less­ness” in book­stores. Such books “were sell­ing well,” writes Gold­stein, “some­times edg­ing out cook­books and mem­oirs writ­ten by house­hold pets to rise to the top of the best-sell­er list.” The two deep thinkers and reli­gious crit­ics Seltzer self-con­scious­ly draws on in his title make his project seem all the more iron­i­cal­ly triv­ial:

First had come the book, which he had enti­tled The Vari­eties of Reli­gious Illu­sion, a nod to both William James’s The Vari­eties of Reli­gious Expe­ri­ence and to Sig­mund Freud’s The Future of An Illu­sion. The book had brought Cass an inde­cent amount of atten­tion. Time Mag­a­zine, in a cov­er sto­ry on the so-called new athe­ists, had end­ed by dub­bing him “the athe­ist with a soul.” 

By embed­ding argu­ments for the exis­tence of God in each of the books 36 chap­ters, Gold­stein implies “the joke—or sort of joke,” as Janet Maslin writes at The New York Times, “is that Cass’s conun­drum-filled life illus­trates and affirms thoughts of the divine even as his appen­dix repu­di­ates them.” Dwelling per­sis­tent­ly on an idea grants it the very valid­i­ty one argues it should not have, per­haps.

This does seem to be an effect of cer­tain hard-nosed athe­ist writ­ing, as Niet­zsche rec­og­nized very well. “I am afraid we are not rid of God,” he once lament­ed, “because we still have faith in gram­mar.” Reli­gious ideas are embed­ded in the struc­ture of the lan­guage; lan­guage itself seems to have meta­phys­i­cal prop­er­ties. It is like ecto­plasm, slip­pery, opaque, made of metaphors both liv­ing and dead. It both enables and thwarts all attempts at cer­tain­ty.

Goldstein’s cre­ative approach to the God debate stands out for its ambiva­lence and humor. (See her dis­cuss faith, fic­tion, and rea­son with her part­ner, Har­vard psy­chol­o­gist Steven Pinker, in the video at the top of the post.) In the com­pi­la­tions here, Gold­stein and 149 more renowned aca­d­e­mics offer their agnos­tic or athe­ist thoughts on God. Some are less nuanced, some lean more heav­i­ly on sta­tis­tics, physics, and math; many come from the the­o­ret­i­cal sci­ences and from ana­lyt­ic and moral phi­los­o­phy. Some are sym­pa­thet­ic to reli­gion, some are con­temp­tu­ous. A wide breadth of intel­lec­tu­al per­spec­tives is rep­re­sent­ed here.

Yet oth­er than Gold­stein and a hand­ful of oth­er promi­nent women, the selec­tions skew almost entire­ly male (rather like the char­ac­ters in most reli­gious scrip­tures), and skew almost entire­ly white Euro­pean and North Amer­i­can. We can do what we like with this infor­ma­tion. It should not prej­u­dice us against the finest thinkers in the com­pi­la­tion, which includes sev­er­al Nobel Prize win­ning sci­en­tists, famous philoso­phers, Richard Feyn­man, Oliv­er Sacks, and Noam Chom­sky, as well as a few fig­ures who have recent­ly become infa­mous for alleged sex­u­al harass­ment, racism, and far worse.

But we might wish the less engag­ing con­trib­u­tors to this dis­cus­sion had giv­en way to a greater diver­si­ty of per­spec­tives, not only from oth­er cul­tures, but from the arts and human­i­ties. On the oth­er side of the coin, we have a small­er list of 20 Chris­t­ian aca­d­e­mics address­ing the ques­tion of God, below. These include respect­ed sci­en­tists like Fran­cis Collins and John Polk­ing­horne and many well-regard­ed (and some not so) Chris­t­ian philoso­phers. The line­up is entire­ly male, and also includes an apol­o­gist accused of fak­ing his aca­d­e­m­ic cre­den­tials and an apol­o­gist turned right-wing pro­pa­gan­dist who was con­vict­ed and jailed for fraud. At the very least, these details might call into ques­tion their intel­lec­tu­al hon­esty.

Here again, maybe some of these selec­tions should have been bet­ter vet­ted in favor of the many women in phi­los­o­phy, the­ol­o­gy, sci­ence, etc. But there are voic­es worth hear­ing here, from pro­fess­ing intel­lec­tu­als who can keep the ques­tions open even while in a state of belief, a skill even rar­er in the world than in this col­lec­tion of Chris­t­ian sci­en­tists, schol­ars, and apol­o­gists.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Athe­ism: A Rough His­to­ry of Dis­be­lief, with Jonathan Miller

Does God Exist? Christo­pher Hitchens Debates Chris­t­ian Philoso­pher William Lane Craig

In His Lat­est Film, Slavoj Žižek Claims “The Only Way to Be an Athe­ist is Through Chris­tian­i­ty”

Athe­ist Ira Glass Believes Chris­tians Get the Short End of the Media Stick

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

 

How Venice Works: 124 Islands, 183 Canals & 438 Bridges

3,000,000 tourists move through Venice each year. But when the tourists leave the city, 60,000 year-round res­i­dents stay behind, con­tin­u­ing their dai­ly lives, which requires nav­i­gat­ing an arch­i­pel­ago made up of 124 islands, 183 canals and 438 bridges. How this com­pli­cat­ed city works – how the build­ings are defend­ed from water, how the build­ings stand on unsteady ground, how the Vene­tians nav­i­gate this maze of a city – is a pret­ty fas­ci­nat­ing sto­ry. These tech­niques have been worked out over Venice’s 1500 year his­to­ry, and now they’re explored in a cap­ti­vat­ing 17 minute video pro­duced by a Venet­ian gov­ern­ment agency. You can learn more about the inner life of this great city at Venice Back­stage.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Venice in Beau­ti­ful Col­or Images 125 Years Ago: The Rial­to Bridge, St. Mark’s Basil­i­ca, Doge’s Palace & More

The Venice Time Machine: 1,000 Years of Venice’s His­to­ry Gets Dig­i­tal­ly Pre­served with Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence and Big Data

Pink Floyd Plays in Venice on a Mas­sive Float­ing Stage in 1989; Forces the May­or & City Coun­cil to Resign

Watch City Out of Time, A Short Trib­ute to Venice, Nar­rat­ed by William Shat­ner in 1959

Huge Hands Rise Out of Venice’s Waters to Sup­port the City Threat­ened by Cli­mate Change: A Poignant New Sculp­ture

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How Digital Scans of Notre Dame Can Help Architects Rebuild the Burned Cathedral

“Every­one help­less­ly watch­ing some­thing beau­ti­ful burn is 2019 in a nut­shell,” wrote TV crit­ic Ryan McGee on Twit­ter the day a sig­nif­i­cant por­tion of Notre Dame burned to the ground. He might have includ­ed 2018 in his metaphor, when Brazil’s Nation­al Muse­um was total­ly destroyed by fire. Before the Parisian mon­u­ment caught flame, peo­ple watched help­less­ly as his­toric black church­es burned in the U.S., and while the muse­um and cathe­dral fire were not the direct result of evil intent, in all of these events we wit­nessed the loss of sanc­tu­ar­ies, a word with both a reli­gious mean­ing and a sec­u­lar one, as colum­nist Jarvis DeBer­ry points out.

Sanc­tu­ar­ies are places where peo­ple, price­less arti­facts, and knowl­edge should be “safe and pro­tect­ed,” sup­pos­ed­ly insti­tu­tion­al bul­warks against dis­or­der and vio­lence. They are both havens and potent symbols—and they are also phys­i­cal spaces that can be rebuilt, if not replaced.

And 21st-cen­tu­ry tech­nol­o­gy has made their rebuild­ing a far more col­lab­o­ra­tive and more pre­cise affair. The recon­struc­tion of church­es in Louisiana can be fund­ed through social media. The con­tents of the Nation­al Muse­um of Brazil can be rec­ol­lect­ed, vir­tu­al­ly at least, through crowd­sourc­ing and dig­i­tal archives.

And the rav­aged wood frame, roof, and spire of Notre Dame can be rebuilt, though nev­er replaced, not only with mil­lions in fund­ing from Apple and fashion’s biggest hous­es, but with an exact 3D dig­i­tal scan of the cathe­dral made in 2015 by Vas­sar art his­to­ri­an Andrew Tal­lon, who passed away last year from brain can­cer. In the video at the top, see Tal­lon, then a pro­fes­sor at Vas­sar, describe his process, one dri­ven by a life­long pas­sion for Goth­ic archi­tec­ture, and espe­cial­ly for Notre Dame. A “for­mer com­pos­er, would-be monk, and self-described gear­head,” wrote Nation­al Geo­graph­ic in a 2015 pro­file of his work, Tal­lon brought a unique sen­si­bil­i­ty to the project.

His fas­ci­na­tion with the spaces of Goth­ic cathe­drals began with an inves­ti­ga­tion into their acoustic prop­er­ties. He devel­oped the idea of using laser scan­ners to cre­ate a dig­i­tal repli­ca of Notre Dame after study­ing at Colum­bia under art his­to­ri­an Stephen Mur­ray, who tried and failed in 2001 to make a laser scan of a cathe­dral north of Paris. Four­teen years lat­er, the tech­nol­o­gy final­ly caught up with the idea, which Tal­lon also improved on by attempt­ing to recon­struct not only the struc­ture, but also the meth­ods the builders used to build it yet did not record in writ­ing.

By exam­in­ing how the cathe­dral moved when its foun­da­tions shift­ed or how it heat­ed up or cooled down, Tal­lon could reveal “its orig­i­nal design and the choic­es that the mas­ter builder had to make when con­struc­tion did­n’t go as planned.” He took scans from “more than 50 loca­tions around the cathedral—collecting more than one bil­lion points of data.” All of the scans were knit togeth­er “to make them man­age­able and beau­ti­ful.” They are accu­rate to the mil­lime­ter, and as Wired reports, “archi­tects now hope that Tallon’s scans may pro­vide a map for keep­ing on track what­ev­er rebuild­ing will have to take place.”

To learn even more about Tallon’s metic­u­lous process than he reveals in the Nation­al Geo­graph­ic video at the top, read his paper “Divin­ing Pro­por­tions in the Infor­ma­tion Age” in the open access jour­nal Archi­tec­tur­al His­to­ries. We may not typ­i­cal­ly think of the dig­i­tal world as much of a sanc­tu­ary, and maybe for good rea­son, but Tallon’s mas­ter­work poignant­ly shows the impor­tance of using its tools to record, doc­u­ment, and, if nec­es­sary, recon­struct the real-life spaces that meet our def­i­n­i­tions of the term.

via the MIT Tech­nol­o­gy Review

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Notre Dame Cap­tured in an Ear­ly Pho­to­graph, 1838

A Vir­tu­al Time-Lapse Recre­ation of the Build­ing of Notre Dame (1160)

Wikipedia Leads Effort to Cre­ate a Dig­i­tal Archive of 20 Mil­lion Arti­facts Lost in the Brazil­ian Muse­um Fire

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Brazil’s Nation­al Muse­um & Its Arti­facts: Google Dig­i­tized the Museum’s Col­lec­tion Before the Fate­ful Fire

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

A 16th Century “Database” of Every Book in the World Gets Unearthed: Discover the Libro de los Epítomes Assembled by Christopher Columbus’ Son

The 16th cen­tu­ry was a thrilling time for books, at least for those who could afford them: build­ing a respectable per­son­al library (even if it did­n’t include nov­el­ties like the books that open six dif­fer­ent ways and the wheels that made it pos­si­ble to rotate through many open books at once) took seri­ous resources. Her­nan­do Colón, the ille­git­i­mate son of Christo­pher Colum­bus, seems to have com­mand­ed such resources: as The Guardian’s Ali­son Flood writes, he “made it his life’s work to cre­ate the biggest library the world had ever known in the ear­ly part of the 16th cen­tu­ry. Run­ning to around 15,000 vol­umes, the library was put togeth­er dur­ing Colón’s exten­sive trav­els” and ulti­mate­ly con­tained every­thing from the works of Pla­to to posters pulled from tav­ern walls.

Alas, this ambi­tious library, meant to encom­pass all lan­guages, cul­tures, and forms of writ­ing, is now most­ly lost. “After Colón’s death in 1539, his mas­sive col­lec­tion ulti­mate­ly end­ed up in the Seville Cathe­dral, where neglect, sticky-fin­gered bib­lio­philes, and the occa­sion­al flood reduced the library to just 4,000 vol­umes over the cen­turies,” writes Smithsonian.com’s Jason Daley. But we now know what it con­tained, thanks to the dis­cov­ery just this year of the Libro de los Epí­tomes, or “Book of Epit­o­mes,” the library’s foot-thick cat­a­log that not only lists the vol­umes it con­tained but describes them as well. “Colón employed a team of writ­ers to read every book in the library and dis­till each into a lit­tle sum­ma­ry in Libro de los Epí­tomes,” Flood writes, “rang­ing from a cou­ple of lines long for very short texts to about 30 pages for the com­plete works of Pla­to.”

The Libro de los Epí­tomes turned up ear­li­er this year in anoth­er col­lec­tion, that of an Ice­landic schol­ar by the name of Árni Mag­nús­son who left his books to the Uni­ver­si­ty of Copen­hagen when he died in 1730. Few­er than 30 of the 3,000 texts in Mag­nús­son’s most­ly Ice­landic and oth­er Scan­di­na­vian-lan­guage col­lec­tion (detailed images of which you can see at Type­r­oom) are writ­ten in Span­ish, which per­haps explains why the Libro de los Epí­tomes went over­looked for more than 350 years. Redis­cov­ered, it now offers a wealth of infor­ma­tion on thou­sands and thou­sands of books from five-cen­turies ago, many of which have long since passed out of exis­tence.

Colón’s unique­ly exhaus­tive library cat­a­log opens a win­dow onto not just what 16th-cen­tu­ry Euro­peans were read­ing, but how they were read­ing — and how the very nature of read­ing was evolv­ing. “This was some­one who was, in a way, chang­ing the mod­el of what knowl­edge is,” Daley quotes Colón’s biog­ra­ph­er Edward Wil­son-Lee as observ­ing. “Instead of say­ing ‘knowl­edge is august, author­i­ta­tive things by some ven­er­a­ble old Roman and Greek peo­ple,’ he’s doing it induc­tive­ly: tak­ing every­thing that every­one knows and dis­till­ing it upwards from there.” The com­par­isons to “big data and Wikipedia and crowd­sourced infor­ma­tion” almost make them­selves, as do the ref­er­ences to a cer­tain 20th-cen­tu­ry Span­ish-lan­guage writer with an inter­est in his­to­ry, lan­guage, and knowl­edge as rep­re­sent­ed in books extant and oth­er­wise. If the Libro de los Epí­tomes did­n’t exist, Jorge Luis Borges would have had to invent it.

via the Guardian

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Rise and Fall of the Great Library of Alexan­dria: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion

What Does Jorge Luis Borges’ “Library of Babel” Look Like? An Accu­rate Illus­tra­tion Cre­at­ed with 3D Mod­el­ing Soft­ware

Vis­it The Online Library of Babel: New Web Site Turns Borges’ “Library of Babel” Into a Vir­tu­al Real­i­ty

A Medieval Book That Opens Six Dif­fer­ent Ways, Reveal­ing Six Dif­fer­ent Books in One

Behold the “Book Wheel”: The Renais­sance Inven­tion Cre­at­ed to Make Books Portable & Help Schol­ars Study (1588)

Watch Umber­to Eco Walk Through His Immense Pri­vate Library: It Goes On, and On, and On!

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Animations Visualize the Evolution of London and New York: From Their Creation to the Present Day

If you’ve ever lived in a metrop­o­lis like Lon­don or New York, you know the some­times-dis­ori­ent­ing feel­ing of expe­ri­enc­ing sev­er­al decades—or centuries—at once in the dizzy­ing accre­tions of archi­tec­ture, street, and park designs. Or, at least, if you’ve toured one of those cities with a long­time res­i­dent, you’ve heard them loud­ly com­plain about how every­thing has changed. Whether you study urban life as a his­to­ri­an or a city dweller, you know well that change is con­stant in the sto­ry of big cities.

The ani­ma­tions here illus­trate the point on a grand scale, with a satellite’s‑eye view of New York, above, from 1609 when the city was first built on Lenape land to its cur­rent con­fig­u­ra­tion of five bor­oughs, dense thick­ets of high-ris­es, a mas­sive, com­plex trans­porta­tion sys­tem, and 8,600,000 res­i­dents. It ends with a quote from E.B. White that sums up the geog­ra­phy and vibran­cy of Man­hat­tan: “The city is like poet­ry: it com­press­es all life, all races, and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accom­pa­ni­ment of inter­nal engines.”

The New York video “ani­mates the devel­op­ment of this city’s street grid and infra­struc­ture sys­tems,” writes its cre­ator Myles Zhang at Here Grows New York City, “using geo-ref­er­enced road net­work data, his­toric maps, and geo­log­i­cal sur­veys” to give us “car­to­graph­ic snap­shots” of every 20–30 years. Anoth­er project, the Lon­don Evo­lu­tion Ani­ma­tion, uses sim­i­lar tech­niques. But, of course, it reach­es much fur­ther back in time, to over 2000 years ago when the Romans built the first road sys­tem across Eng­land and the port of Lon­dini­um.

Cre­at­ed in 2014, the visu­al­iza­tion shows how the city evolved, “from its cre­ation as a Roman city in 43AD to the crowd­ed, chaot­ic megac­i­ty we see today.” As design­ers Flo­ra Roumpani and Pol­ly Hud­son describe at The Guardian, the project drew from sev­er­al sources, includ­ing the Muse­um of Lon­don Archae­ol­o­gy and the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cambridge’s engi­neer­ing depart­ment. From these two insti­tu­tions came “datasets from the Roman and Medieval peri­ods as well as the 17th and ear­ly 18th cen­turies,” and “road net­work datasets from the late 18th cen­tu­ry to today.”

Oth­er archives offered infor­ma­tion on the city’s his­tor­i­cal build­ings and mon­u­ments. Cap­tions and a time­line pro­vide a handy guide through its long his­to­ry, as we watch more and more roads and build­ings appear (and dis­ap­pear after the Great Fire). These videos are use­ful ref­er­ences for stu­dents of urban­ism, and they might give some per­spec­tive to the New York­er or Lon­don­er in your life who can’t stop talk­ing about how much the city’s changed. Just imag­ine what these megac­i­ties could look like in anoth­er few hun­dred years.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

See New York City in the 1930s and Now: A Side-by-Side Com­par­i­son of the Same Streets & Land­marks

Immac­u­late­ly Restored Film Lets You Revis­it Life in New York City in 1911

The Lon­don Time Machine: Inter­ac­tive Map Lets You Com­pare Mod­ern Lon­don, to the Lon­don Short­ly After the Great Fire of 1666

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

A Virtual Time-Lapse Recreation of the Building of Notre Dame (1160)

Hun­dreds of goth­ic cathe­drals dot­ted all over Europe have faced dec­i­ma­tion and destruc­tion, whether through sack­ings, rev­o­lu­tions, nat­ur­al decay, or bomb­ing raids. But since World War II, at least, the most extra­or­di­nary exam­ples that remain have seen restora­tion and con­stant upkeep, and none of them is as well-known and as cul­tur­al­ly and archi­tec­tural­ly sig­nif­i­cant as Paris’s Notre Dame. One can­not imag­ine the city with­out it, which made the scenes of Parisians watch­ing the cathe­dral burn yes­ter­day as poignant as the scenes of the fire itself.

The flames claimed the rib-vault­ed roof and the “spine-tin­gling, soul-lift­ing spire,” writes The Wash­ing­ton Post, who quote cathe­dral spoke­man Andre Finot’s assess­ment of the dam­age as “colos­sal.” The exte­ri­or stone tow­ers, famed stained-glass win­dows, and icon­ic arch­es and fly­ing but­tress­es with­stood the dis­as­ter, but the wood­en inte­ri­or, “a mar­vel,” writes the Post, “that has inspired awe and won­der for the mil­lions who have vis­it­ed over the centuries—has been gut­ted.” Noth­ing of the frame, says Finot, “will remain.”

The sad irony is that the fire report­ed­ly result­ed from an acci­dent dur­ing the medieval church’s ren­o­va­tion, one of many such projects that have pre­served this almost 900-year-old archi­tec­ture. The French gov­ern­ment has vowed to rebuild. Will it mat­ter to pos­ter­i­ty that a sig­nif­i­cant por­tion of the Cathe­dral dates from hun­dreds of years after its orig­i­nal con­struc­tion? Will Notre Dame lose its ancient aura, and what does this mean for Parisians and the world?

It’s too soon to answer ques­tions like these and too soon to ask them. Now is a time to reck­on with cul­tur­al and his­tor­i­cal loss, and to appre­ci­ate the impor­tance of what was saved. At the top of the post, you can watch a vir­tu­al time-lapse recre­ation of the con­struc­tion of Notre Dame, begun in 1160 and most­ly com­plet­ed one hun­dred years lat­er, though build­ing con­tin­ued into the 14th century—a jaw-drop­ping time scale in an era when tow­er­ing new build­ings go up in a mat­ter of weeks.

After tak­ing more than the human lifes­pan to com­plete, until yes­ter­day the cathe­dral stood the test of time, as the brief France in Focus tour of its eight cen­turies of art and archi­tec­tur­al his­to­ry above explains. “The most vis­it­ed mon­u­ment in the French Cap­i­tal” may be a rel­ic of a very dif­fer­ent, pre-mod­ern, pre-rev­o­lu­tion­ary, France. But its impos­ing cen­tral set­ting in the city, and in mod­ern works from Vic­tor Hugo’s Hunch­back of Notre Dame to Walt Disney’s Hunch­back of Notre Dame—not to men­tion the tourists, reli­gious pil­grims, schol­ars, and art stu­dents who pour into Paris to see it—mark Notre Dame as a very con­tem­po­rary land­mark. Learn more about how it became so above.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Notre Dame Cap­tured in an Ear­ly Pho­to­graph, 1838

The His­to­ry of West­ern Archi­tec­ture: From Ancient Greece to Roco­co (A Free Online Course)

Wikipedia Leads Effort to Cre­ate a Dig­i­tal Archive of 20 Mil­lion Arti­facts Lost in the Brazil­ian Muse­um Fire

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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