Artificial Intelligence May Have Cracked the Code of the Voynich Manuscript: Has Modern Technology Finally Solved a Medieval Mystery?

What is it about the Voyn­ich Man­u­script—that cryp­tic, illus­trat­ed 15th cen­tu­ry text of unknown ori­gin and meaning—that has so fas­ci­nat­ed and obsessed schol­ars for cen­turies? Writ­ten in what appears to be an invent­ed lan­guage, with bizarre illus­tra­tions of oth­er­world­ly botany, mys­te­ri­ous cos­mol­o­gy, and strange anato­my, the book resem­bles oth­er pro­to-sci­en­tif­ic texts of the time, except for the fact that it is total­ly inde­ci­pher­able, “a cer­tain rid­dle of the Sphinx,” as one alchemist described it. The 240-page enig­ma inspires attempt after attempt by cryp­tol­o­gists, lin­guists, and his­to­ri­ans eager to under­stand its secrets—that is if it doesn’t turn out to be a too-clever Medieval joke.

One recent try, by Nicholas Gibbs, has per­haps not lived up to the hype. Anoth­er recent attempt by Stephen Bax, who wrote the short TED Ed les­son above, has also come in for its share of crit­i­cism. Giv­en the invest­ment of schol­ars since the 17th cen­tu­ry in crack­ing the Voyn­ich code, both of these efforts might jus­ti­fi­ably be called quite opti­mistic. The Voyn­ich may for­ev­er elude human under­stand­ing, though it was, pre­sum­ably, cre­at­ed by human hands. Per­haps it will take a machine to final­ly solve the puz­zle, an arti­fi­cial brain that can process more data than the com­bined efforts of every schol­ar who has ever applied their tal­ents to the text. Com­put­er sci­en­tists at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Alber­ta think so and claim to have cracked the Voyn­ich code with arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence (AI).

Com­put­er sci­ence pro­fes­sor Greg Kon­drak and grad­u­ate stu­dent Bradley Hauer began their project by feed­ing a com­put­er pro­gram 400 dif­fer­ent lan­guages, tak­en from the “Uni­ver­sal Dec­la­ra­tion of Human Rights.” While “they ini­tial­ly hypoth­e­sized that the Voyn­ich man­u­script was writ­ten in [ancient] Ara­bic,” reports Jen­nifer Pas­coe, “it turned out that the most like­ly lan­guage was [ancient] Hebrew.” (Pre­vi­ous guess­es, the CBC notes, “have ranged from a type of Latin to a deriva­tion of Sino-Tibetan.”) The next step involved deci­pher­ing the manuscript’s code. Kon­drak and Hauer dis­cov­ered that “the let­ters in each word… had been reordered. Vow­els had been dropped.” The the­o­ry seemed promis­ing, but the pair were unable to find any Hebrew schol­ars who would look at their find­ings.

With­out human exper­tise to guide them, they turned to anoth­er AI, whose results, we know, can be noto­ri­ous­ly unre­li­able. Nonethe­less, feed­ing the first sen­tence into Google trans­late yield­ed the fol­low­ing: “She made rec­om­men­da­tions to the priest, man of the house and me and peo­ple.” It’s at least gram­mat­i­cal, though Kon­drak admits “it’s a kind of strange sen­tence to start a man­u­script.” Oth­er analy­ses of the first sec­tion have turned up sev­er­al oth­er words, such as “farmer,” “light,” “air,” and “fire”—indeed the sci­en­tists have found 80 per­cent of the man­u­scrip­t’s words in ancient Hebrew dic­tio­nar­ies. Fig­ur­ing out how they fit togeth­er in a com­pre­hen­si­ble syn­tax has proven much more dif­fi­cult. Kon­drak and Hauer admit these results are ten­ta­tive, and may be wrong. With­out cor­rob­o­ra­tion from Hebrew experts, they are also unlike­ly to be tak­en very seri­ous­ly by the schol­ar­ly com­mu­ni­ty.

But the pri­ma­ry goal was not to trans­late the Voyn­ich but to use it as a means of cre­at­ing algo­rithms that could deci­pher ancient lan­guages. “Impor­tant­ly,” notes Giz­mo­do, “the researchers aren’t say­ing they’ve deci­phered the entire Voyn­ich man­u­script,” far from it. But they might have dis­cov­ered the keys that oth­ers may use to do so. Or they may—as have so many others—have been led down anoth­er blind alley, as one com­menter at IFL Sci­ence sug­gests, sar­cas­ti­cal­ly quot­ing the wise Bull­win­kle Moose: “This time for sure!”

You can find the Voyn­ich Man­u­script scanned at Yale’s Bei­necke Rare Book & Man­u­script Library. Copies can be pur­chased in book for­mat as well.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to “the World’s Most Mys­te­ri­ous Book,” the 15th-Cen­tu­ry Voyn­ich Man­u­script

Behold the Mys­te­ri­ous Voyn­ich Man­u­script: The 15th-Cen­tu­ry Text That Lin­guists & Code-Break­ers Can’t Under­stand

1,000-Year-Old Illus­trat­ed Guide to the Med­i­c­i­nal Use of Plants Now Dig­i­tized & Put Online

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

Carl Sagan’s Syllabus & Final Exam for His Course on Critical Thinking (Cornell, 1986)

Though now more than twen­ty years gone, Carl Sagan, through his many books and his clas­sic tele­vi­sion series Cos­moscon­tin­ues to teach us all he knew about life, the uni­verse, and every­thing. Three decades’ worth of stu­dents will also remem­ber learn­ing from him in per­son, in the lec­ture halls of Har­vard and Cor­nell where he kept up his pro­fes­so­r­i­al duties along­side the con­sid­er­able demands of his career as a pub­lic intel­lec­tu­al. If you’ve ever learned any­thing from Sagan, whether from the man him­self or from his work, you know he did­n’t just want to teach human­i­ty about out­er space: he want­ed to teach human­i­ty how to think.

That goal became explic­it in Astron­o­my 490, also known as “Crit­i­cal Think­ing in Sci­ence and Non-Sci­ence Con­text,” which Sagan taught at Cor­nell in 1986. You can read its course mate­ri­als at the Library of Con­gress, whose Jen­nifer Harb­ster writes that they “include men­tion of the impor­tant bal­ance between open­ness to new ideas and skep­ti­cal engage­ment with those ideas in sci­ence,” a point that “ani­mates much of Carl Sagan’s work as an edu­ca­tor and sci­ence com­mu­ni­ca­tor.”

The LoC offers the course’s intro­duc­tion and syl­labus, its final exam, and Sagan’s lec­ture notes, as well as the infor­ma­tion he assem­bled to design the course in the first place, which show just how wide a range of con­texts for crit­i­cal think­ing he had in mind.

Sagan col­lect­ed exam­ples of report­ing on and pub­lic per­cep­tion of phe­nom­e­na relat­ed to sports play­off seriescar-loan inter­est rates, tobac­co indus­try-spon­sored tobac­co health-risk research, and the num­ber of heli­copters that crash in Los Ange­les. Harb­ster explains that “these notes illus­trate how he want­ed to use stu­dents’ every day expe­ri­ence with things like tele­vi­sion to prompt them to think more skep­ti­cal­ly about how claims are made and war­rant­ed in every­day life.” Though some of his exam­ples  (the lan­guage of cig­a­rette adver­tise­ments, for instance) may look dat­ed now, the course’s core prin­ci­ples have only grown more use­ful, and indeed nec­es­sary, with time — as Sagan, who wrote dark­ly of “the slow decay of sub­stan­tive con­tent in the enor­mous­ly influ­en­tial media,” sure­ly knew they would.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Daniel Den­nett Presents Sev­en Tools For Crit­i­cal Think­ing

Oxford’s Free Course Crit­i­cal Rea­son­ing For Begin­ners Will Teach You to Think Like a Philoso­pher

Carl Sagan’s Under­grad Read­ing List: 40 Essen­tial Texts for a Well-Round­ed Thinker

Carl Sagan Pre­dicts the Decline of Amer­i­ca: Unable to Know “What’s True,” We Will Slide, “With­out Notic­ing, Back into Super­sti­tion & Dark­ness” (1995)

Carl Sagan Presents His “Baloney Detec­tion Kit”: 8 Tools for Skep­ti­cal Think­ing

32 Ani­mat­ed Videos by Wire­less Phi­los­o­phy Teach You the Essen­tials of Crit­i­cal Think­ing

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities 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.

Western Music Moves in Three and Even Four (!) Dimensional Spaces: How the Pioneering Research of Princeton Theorist Dmitri Tymoczko Helps Us Visualize Music in Radical, New Ways

Every musi­cian has some basic sense of how math and music relate con­cep­tu­al­ly through geom­e­try, in the cir­cu­lar and tri­adic shapes formed by clus­ters of notes when grouped togeth­er in chords and scales. The con­nec­tions date back to the work of Pythago­ras, and com­posers who explore and exploit those con­nec­tions hap­pen upon pro­found, some­times mys­ti­cal, insights. For exam­ple, the two-dimen­sion­al geom­e­try of music finds near-reli­gious expres­sion in the com­po­si­tion­al strate­gies of John Coltrane, who left behind dia­grams of his chro­mat­ic mod­u­la­tion that the­o­rists still puz­zle over and find inspir­ing. It will be inter­est­ing to see what imag­i­na­tive com­posers do with a the­o­ry that extends the geom­e­try of music into three—and even four (!)—dimen­sions.

Pio­neer­ing Prince­ton Uni­ver­si­ty music the­o­rist and com­pos­er Dmitri Tymoczko has made dis­cov­er­ies that allow us to visu­al­ize music in entire­ly new ways. He began with the insight that two-note chords on the piano could form a Möbius strip, as Prince­ton Alum­ni Week­ly report­ed in 2011, a two-dimen­sion­al sur­face extend­ed into three-dimen­sion­al space. (See one such Möbius strip dia­gram above.) “Music is not just some­thing that can be heard, he real­ized. It has a shape.”

He soon saw that he could trans­form more com­plex chords the same way. Three-note chords occu­py a twist­ed three-dimen­sion­al space, and four-note chords live in a cor­re­spond­ing but impos­si­ble-to-visu­al­ize four-dimen­sion­al space. In fact, it worked for any num­ber of notes — each chord inhab­it­ed a mul­ti­di­men­sion­al space that twist­ed back on itself in unusu­al ways — a non-Euclid­ean space that does not adhere to the clas­si­cal rules of geom­e­try. 

Tymoczko dis­cov­ered that musi­cal geom­e­try (as Coltrane—and Ein­stein—had ear­li­er intu­it­ed) has a close rela­tion­ship to physics, when a physi­cist friend told him the mul­ti­di­men­sion­al spaces he was explor­ing were called “orb­ifolds,” which had found some appli­ca­tion “in arcane areas of string the­o­ry.” These dis­cov­er­ies have “phys­i­cal­ized” music, pro­vid­ing a way to “con­vert melodies and har­monies into move­ments in high­er dimen­sion­al spaces.”

This work has caused “quite a buzz in Anglo-Amer­i­can music-the­o­ry cir­cles,” says Prince­ton music his­to­ri­an Scott Burn­ham. As Tymoczko puts it in his short report “The Geom­e­try of Musi­cal Chords,” the “orb­ifold” the­o­ry seems to answer a ques­tion that occu­pied music the­o­rists for cen­turies: “how is it that West­ern music can sat­is­fy har­mon­ic and con­tra­pun­tal con­straints at once?” On his web­site, he out­lines his the­o­ry of “macro­har­mon­ic con­sis­ten­cy,” the com­po­si­tion­al con­straints that make music sound “good.” He also intro­duces a soft­ware appli­ca­tion, Chord­Ge­ome­tries 1.1, that cre­ates com­plex visu­al­iza­tions of musi­cal “orb­ifolds” like that you see above of Chopin sup­pos­ed­ly mov­ing through four-dimen­sions.

The the­o­rist first pub­lished his work in a 2006 issue of Sci­ence, then fol­lowed up two years lat­er with a paper co-writ­ten with Clifton Cal­len­dar and Ian Quinn called “Gen­er­al­ized Voice-Lead­ing Spaces” (read a three-page sum­ma­ry here). Final­ly, he turned his work into a book, A Geom­e­try of Music: Har­mo­ny and Coun­ter­point in the Extend­ed Com­mon Prac­tice, which explores the geo­met­ric con­nec­tions between clas­si­cal and mod­ernist com­po­si­tion, jazz, and rock. Those con­nec­tions have nev­er been sole­ly con­cep­tu­al for Tymoczko. A long­time fan of Coltrane, as well as Talk­ing Heads, Bri­an Eno, and Stravin­sky, he has put his the­o­ry into prac­tice in a num­ber of strange­ly mov­ing com­po­si­tions of his own, such as The Agony of Mod­ern Music (hear move­ment one above) and Straw­ber­ry Field The­o­ry (move­ment one below). His com­po­si­tion­al work is as nov­el-sound­ing as his the­o­ret­i­cal work is bril­liant: his two Sci­ence pub­li­ca­tions were the first on music the­o­ry in the magazine’s 129-year his­to­ry. It’s well worth pay­ing close atten­tion to where his work, and that of those inspired by it, goes next.

via Prince­ton Alum­ni Week­ly/@dark_shark

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John Coltrane Draws a Mys­te­ri­ous Dia­gram Illus­trat­ing the Math­e­mat­i­cal & Mys­ti­cal Qual­i­ties of Music

The Musi­cal Mind of Albert Ein­stein: Great Physi­cist, Ama­teur Vio­lin­ist and Devo­tee of Mozart

The Secret Link Between Jazz and Physics: How Ein­stein & Coltrane Shared Impro­vi­sa­tion and Intu­ition in Com­mon

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

Binge-Watch Carl Sagan’s Original Cosmos Series Free Online (Available for a Limited Time)

FYI. Carl Sagan’s 13-episode series Cos­mos orig­i­nal­ly aired in 1980 and became one of the most wide­ly watched series in the his­to­ry of Amer­i­can pub­lic TV. The show also won two Emmys and a Peabody Award.

Right now, you can watch the orig­i­nal Cos­mos episodes over on Twitch.TV. From time to time, Twitch airs marathon ses­sions of old pro­grams. They did Julia Child’s “The French Chef” back in 2016. Now it’s Sagan’s turn.

Usu­al­ly the videos are only avail­able for a few days. So you might want to start your binge-watch­ing ses­sion now. If you miss the boat, you could always pick up a copy of the show on Blu-Ray.

Twitch.TV orig­i­nal­ly aired the Cos­mos series last spring as part of a Sci­ence Week cel­e­bra­tion. Read their press release for more infor­ma­tion.

Update: Neil deGrasse Tyson just coin­ci­den­tal­ly announced this on Twit­ter: “Yup. We got the band back togeth­er. Anoth­er sea­son of Cos­mos is offi­cial­ly real. COSMOS: Pos­si­ble Worlds To air on & in a year — Spring 2019. Be there.”

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

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!

via Big­Think

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Carl Sagan Pre­dicts the Decline of Amer­i­ca: Unable to Know “What’s True,” We Will Slide, “With­out Notic­ing, Back into Super­sti­tion & Dark­ness” (1995)

Carl Sagan Presents His “Baloney Detec­tion Kit”: 8 Tools for Skep­ti­cal Think­ing

Carl Sagan & the Dalai Lama Meet in 1991 and Dis­cuss When Sci­ence Can Answer Big Ques­tions Bet­ter Than Reli­gion

The Pio­neer­ing Physics TV Show, The Mechan­i­cal Uni­verse, Is Now on YouTube: 52 Com­plete Episodes from Cal­tech

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Hear the Hagia Sophia’s Awe-Inspiring Acoustics Get Recreated with Computer Simulations, and Let Yourself Get Transported Back to the Middle Ages

The tech­nol­o­gy used to pro­duce, record, and process music has become ever more sophis­ti­cat­ed and awe-inspir­ing, espe­cial­ly in the capa­bil­i­ty of soft­ware to emu­late real instru­ments and acoustic envi­ron­ments. Dig­i­tal emu­la­tion, or “mod­el­ing,” as it’s called, doesn’t sim­ply mim­ic the sounds of gui­tar ampli­fiers, pianos, or syn­the­siz­ers. At its best, it repro­duces the feel of an aur­al expe­ri­ence, its tex­tures and son­ic dimen­sions, while also adding a seem­ing­ly infi­nite degree of flex­i­bil­i­ty.

When it comes to a tech­nol­o­gy called “con­vo­lu­tion reverb,” we can vir­tu­al­ly feel the air pres­sure of sound in a phys­i­cal space, such that “lis­ten­ing in may be viewed as much as a spa­tial expe­ri­ence as it is a tem­po­ral one.” So notes Stanford’s Icons of Sound, a col­lab­o­ra­tion between the University’s Cen­ter for Com­put­er Research in Music and Acoustics (CCRMA) and the Depart­ment of Art & Art His­to­ry. The researchers in this joint project have com­bined resources to cre­ate a per­for­mance of Byzan­tine chant from the 6th cen­tu­ry CE, sim­u­lat­ed to sound like it takes place inside a prime acoustic envi­ron­ment designed for this very music, the Hagia Sophia in Istan­bul.

Built by the emper­or Jus­tin­ian between 532 and 537, when the city was Con­stan­tino­ple, the mas­sive church (lat­er mosque and now state-run muse­um) “has an extra­or­di­nar­i­ly large nave spread­ing over 70 meters in length; it is sur­round­ed by colon­nad­ed aisles and gal­leries. Mar­ble cov­ers the floor and walls.” Its cen­ter is “crowned by a dome glit­ter­ing in gold mosaics and ris­ing 56 meters above the ground.” The effect of the build­ing’s heavy, reflec­tive sur­faces and its archi­tec­tur­al enor­mi­ty “chal­lenges our con­tem­po­rary expec­ta­tion of the intel­li­gi­bil­i­ty of lan­guage.”

We are accus­tomed to hear the spo­ken or sung word clear­ly in dry, non-rever­ber­ant spaces in order to decode the encod­ed mes­sage. By con­trast, the wet acoustics of Hagia Sophia blur the intel­li­gi­bil­i­ty of the mes­sage, mak­ing words sound like ema­na­tion, emerg­ing from the depth of the sea. 

The Icons of Sound team has recon­struct­ed the under­wa­ter acoustics of the Hagia Sophia using con­vo­lu­tion reverb tech­niques and what are called “impulse responses”—recordings of the rever­ber­a­tions in par­tic­u­lar spaces, which are then loaded into soft­ware to dig­i­tal­ly sim­u­late the same psy­choa­coustics, a process known as “aural­iza­tion.” CCRMA describes an impulse response as an “imprint of the space,” which is then applied to sounds record­ed in oth­er envi­ron­ments. Typ­i­cal­ly, the process is used in stu­dio music pro­duc­tion, but Icons of Sound brought it to live per­for­mance at Stanford’s Bing Con­cert Hall last year, and made the group Cap­pel­la Romana sound like their voic­es had trans­port­ed from the Holy Roman Empire.

“To recre­ate the unique sound,” writes Kat Eschn­er at Smith­son­ian, “per­form­ers sang while lis­ten­ing to the sim­u­lat­ed acoustics of Hagia Sophia through ear­phones. Their singing was then put through the same acoustic sim­u­la­tor and played dur­ing the live per­for­mance through speak­ers in the con­cert hall.” As you can hear in these clips, the result is immer­sive and pro­found. One can only imag­ine what it must have been like live. To com­plete the effect, the pro­duc­tion used “atmos­pher­ic rein­force­ment,” notes Stan­ford Live, “via pro­ject­ed images and light­ing.” The audi­ence was “immersed in an envi­ron­ment where the unique inter­play of music, light, art, and sacred text has the poten­tial to induce a qua­si-mys­ti­cal state of rev­e­la­tion and won­der.”

The only sounds the researchers were able to record in the actu­al space of the ancient church were four pop­ping bal­loons. By lay­er­ing the rever­ber­a­tions cap­tured in these record­ings, and com­pen­sat­ing for the dif­fer­ent decay times inside the Bing, they were able to approx­i­mate the acoustic prop­er­ties of the build­ing. You can hear sev­er­al more audio sam­ples record­ed in dif­fer­ent places at this site. In the video above, asso­ciate pro­fes­sor of medieval art Bis­sera Pentche­va explains how and why the Hagia Sophia shapes sound and light the way it does. While purists might pre­fer to see a per­for­mance in the actu­al space, one must admit, the abil­i­ty to vir­tu­al­ly deliv­er a ver­sion of it to poten­tial­ly any con­cert hall in the world is pret­ty cool.

via The Smith­son­ian

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Byrne: How Archi­tec­ture Helped Music Evolve

The Same Song Sung in 15 Places: A Won­der­ful Case Study of How Land­scape & Archi­tec­ture Shape the Sounds of Music

What Did Ancient Greek Music Sound Like?: Lis­ten to a Recon­struc­tion That’s ‘100% Accu­rate’

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

The Health Benefits of Drumming: Less Stress, Lower Blood Pressure, Pain Relief, and Altered States of Consciousness

Drumming—from tablas to tym­pa­ni to djembes—is uni­ver­sal, so much so, says author Say­er Ji, that it seems “hard-wired into our bio­log­i­cal, social and spir­i­tu­al DNA.” Drum­ming may well be “an inborn capac­i­ty and arche­typ­al social activ­i­ty.” But many mod­ern peo­ple have become alien­at­ed from the drum. We out­source drum­ming to pro­fes­sion­als, and machines. Neu­ro­sci­en­tists the­o­rize that drum­mers may have dif­fer­ent brains than “non-drummers”—findings that sug­gest the activ­i­ty is con­fined to spe­cial­ly-designed peo­ple. Not so, say many sci­en­tists who believe that “drum­ming has some pro­found and holis­tic uses,” as Luke Sumpter writes at Reset.me, “to enhance phys­i­cal, men­tal and emo­tion­al health.”

In addi­tion to anthro­po­log­i­cal evi­dence not­ing the cen­tral­i­ty of drum­ming to human cul­ture, abun­dant research has demon­strat­ed its poten­tial for per­son­al heal­ing. While drum ther­a­py may be noth­ing new for cul­tures who have retained the prac­tice, those who haven’t can learn group drum­ming eas­i­ly enough with teach­ers like Peter Mari­no in the short clip above. The ben­e­fits, as stud­ies have shown, include reduced stress and increased immu­ni­ty. Group drum­ming may reduce anx­i­ety and blood pres­sure, it may work as pain relief and boost pos­i­tive emo­tions, and may even lead to “improved exec­u­tive func­tion” and a growth in white mat­ter in the brains of patients with Huntington’s dis­ease and oth­er neu­ro­log­i­cal con­di­tions.

The evi­dence-based approach to group drumming’s socio-phys­i­cal ben­e­fits should sway skep­tics, even those like­ly to see drum cir­cle ther­a­py as some kind of hip­py-dip­py woo. Sci­ence-mind­ed peo­ple with­out such hangups may also take an inter­est in stud­ies of drum­ming as a “shaman­ic” activ­i­ty that “induces spe­cif­ic sub­jec­tive expe­ri­ences.” As Michael Drake reports, one recent study “demon­strates that even a brief drum­ming ses­sion can dou­ble alpha brain wave activ­i­ty,” which is “asso­ci­at­ed with med­i­ta­tion, shaman­ic trance, and inte­gra­tive modes of con­scious­ness.” Drum­ming with oth­ers “pro­duces greater self-aware­ness” as well as a sense of inter­con­nect­ed­ness, and can strength­en social bonds among adults as well as chil­dren.

While much of the writ­ing about group drum­ming as ther­a­py stress­es more intan­gi­ble, mys­ti­cal ben­e­fits, no small amount of data sug­gests that the phys­i­cal effects are mea­sur­able and sig­nif­i­cant. This is not to min­i­mize the musi­cal prowess of your favorite drum­mers, or to belit­tle the musi­cal val­ue of machine-made beats. But the research strong­ly sug­gests that not only is most every­one able to pick up a drum and get into a groove, but also that most every­one who does so will be hap­pi­er, health­i­er, and more peace­ful and tuned-in.

via Reset

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Neu­ro­science of Drum­ming: Researchers Dis­cov­er the Secrets of Drum­ming & The Human Brain

Play­ing an Instru­ment Is a Great Work­out For Your Brain: New Ani­ma­tion Explains Why

Iso­lat­ed Drum Tracks From Six of Rock’s Great­est: Bon­ham, Moon, Peart, Copeland, Grohl & Starr

Bri­an Eno Lists the Ben­e­fits of Singing: A Long Life, Increased Intel­li­gence, and a Sound Civ­i­liza­tion

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

The First Photographs of Snowflakes: Discover the Groundbreaking Microphotography of Wilson “Snowflake” Bentley (1885)

What kind of a blight­ed soci­ety turns the word “snowflake” into an insult?, I some­times catch myself think­ing, but then again, I’ve nev­er under­stood why “tree­hug­ger” should offend. All irony aside, being known as a per­son who loves nature or resem­bles one of its most ele­gant cre­ations should be a mark of dis­tinc­tion, no? At least that’s what Wil­son “Snowflake” Bent­ley sure­ly thought.

The Ver­mont farmer, self-edu­cat­ed nat­u­ral­ist, and avid pho­tog­ra­ph­er, was the first per­son to offer the fol­low­ing wis­dom on the record, then illus­trate it with hun­dreds upon hun­dreds of pic­tures of snowflakes, 5,000 in all:

I found that snowflakes were mir­a­cles of beau­ty; and it seemed a shame that this beau­ty should not be seen and appre­ci­at­ed by oth­ers. Every crys­tal was a mas­ter­piece of design and no one design was ever repeat­ed. When a snowflake melt­ed, that design was for­ev­er lost. Just that much beau­ty was gone, with­out leav­ing any record behind.

Bent­ley left a con­sid­er­able record—though still an insignif­i­cant sam­ple size giv­en the scope of the object of study. But his pho­tographs give the impres­sion of an infi­nite vari­ety of dif­fer­ent types, each with the same basic crys­talline lat­tice­work struc­ture. He took his first pho­to­graph of a snowflake, the first ever tak­en, in 1885, by adapt­ing a micro­scope to a bel­lows cam­era, after years of mak­ing sketch­es and much tri­al and error.

Some great por­tion of this work must have been tedious and frustrating—Bentley had to hold his breath for each expo­sure lest he destroy the pho­to­graph­ic sub­ject. But it was worth the effort. Bent­ley, the Smith­son­ian informs us, “was a pio­neer in ‘pho­tomi­crog­ra­phy,’ the pho­tograph­ing of very small objects.” Five hun­dred of his pho­tographs now reside at the Smith­son­ian Insti­tu­tion Archives, “offered by Bent­ley in 1903 to pro­tect against ‘all pos­si­bil­i­ty of loss and destruc­tion, through fire or acci­dent.” You can see a huge dig­i­tal gallery of those hun­dreds of pho­tos here.

Along with U.S. Weath­er Bureau physi­cist William J. Humphreys, he pub­lished 2300 of his snowflake pho­tographs in a mono­graph titled Snow Crys­tals. Bent­ley also pub­lished over 60 arti­cles on the sub­ject (read two of them here). Despite his con­tri­bu­tions, he receives no men­tion in most his­to­ries of pho­tomi­crog­ra­phy. This may be due to his provin­cial loca­tion (he nev­er left Jeri­cho, VT) or his lack of sci­en­tif­ic train­ing and cre­den­tials, or a lack of inter­est in pho­tos of snowflakes on the part of most pho­tomi­crog­ra­phy his­to­ri­ans.

Or it may be because Bent­ley was thought to be a fraud. When a Ger­man mete­o­rol­o­gist com­mis­sioned some images of his own and got some very dif­fer­ent results, he accused the farmer of retouch­ing. Bent­ley read­i­ly admit­ted it, say­ing, “a true sci­en­tist wish­es above all to have his pho­tographs as true to nature as pos­si­ble, and if retouch­ing will help in this respect, then it is ful­ly jus­ti­fied.”

The defense is a good one. Although the “nature” Bentley’s pho­tos show us may be a the­o­ret­i­cal ide­al­iza­tion, so too are the hand-ren­dered illus­tra­tions of most sci­en­tists through­out his­to­ry (and near­ly every med­ical dia­gram today). Take, for exam­ple, the psy­che­del­ic, bright­ly col­ored pat­terns of accom­plished biol­o­gist Ernst Haeck­el, who turned the micro- and macro­scop­ic world into sur­re­al­ly sym­met­ri­cal art in his draw­ings. Though he might not have said so direct­ly, Bent­ley was doing some­thing sim­i­lar with a cam­era. Just lis­ten to him describe his process in a 1900 issue of Harper’s:

Quick, the first flakes are com­ing; the couri­ers of the com­ing snow storm. Open the sky­light, and direct­ly under it place the care­ful­ly pre­pared black­board, on whose ebony sur­face the most minute form of frozen beau­ty may be wel­come from cloud-land. The mys­ter­ies of the upper air are about to reveal them­selves, if our hands are deft and our eyes quick enough.

In the “qui­et fren­zy of his winter’s quest,” writes Alli­son Meier at Hyper­al­ler­gic, he pro­duced images of “beau­ti­ful ghosts from a win­ter that bris­tled the air over a cen­tu­ry ago.” Learn more about Bentley’s life, work, and the Smith­son­ian col­lec­tion in the short doc­u­men­tary fur­ther up, the Wash­ing­ton Post video above, and the Radi­o­lab episode below, in which a breath­less Latif Nass­er takes us into the heart of Bentley’s ori­gin sto­ry, and “snowflake expert and pho­tog­ra­ph­er Ken Lib­brecht helps set the record straight.”

Real snowflakes have many imper­fec­tions, and per­haps Bent­ley did snow a dis­ser­vice to so stren­u­ous­ly sug­gest oth­er­wise. But the record he left us, Meier notes, “is appre­ci­at­ed as much as an artis­tic archive as a mete­o­ro­log­i­cal one.” He might have been a sci­en­tist when it came to tech­nique, but Bent­ley was a roman­tic when it came to snow. His sto­ry is as fas­ci­nat­ing as his pho­tographs. Maybe a delight­ful alter­na­tive to the usu­al Christ­mas fare. There’s even a chil­dren’s book called… what else?…  Snowflake Bent­ley.

via Smith­son­ian/Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Behold the Very First Col­or Pho­to­graph (1861): Tak­en by Scot­tish Physi­cist (and Poet!) James Clerk Maxwell

See the First Pho­to­graph of a Human Being: A Pho­to Tak­en by Louis Daguerre (1838)

The First Known Pho­to­graph of Peo­ple Shar­ing a Beer (1843)

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

The Vibrant Color Wheels Designed by Goethe, Newton & Other Theorists of Color (1665–1810)

Maybe it’s the clois­tered headi­ness of Rene Descartes, or the rig­or­ous aus­ter­i­ty of Isaac New­ton; maybe it’s all the leath­ern breach­es, gray waist­coats, sal­low faces, and pow­dered wigs… but we tend not to asso­ciate Enlight­en­ment Europe with an explo­sion of col­or the­o­ry. Yet, philoso­phers of the late 17th and 18th cen­turies were obsessed with light and sight. Descartes wrote a trea­tise on optics, as did New­ton.

New­ton first described in his 1672 Opticks the “rev­o­lu­tion­ary new the­o­ry of light and colour,” the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cam­bridge Whip­ple Library writes, “in which he claimed that exper­i­ments with prisms proved that white light was com­prised of light of sev­en dis­tinct colours.” Sci­en­tists debat­ed Newton’s the­o­ry “well into the 19th cen­tu­ry.”

One ear­ly oppo­nent famous­ly illus­trat­ed his rebut­tal. Poet, writer, and sci­en­tist Johann Wolf­gang von Goethe pub­lished The­o­ry of Col­ors (see here), with its care­ful­ly hand-drawn and col­ored dia­grams and wheels, in 1809. From New­ton’s time onward, col­or the­o­rists elab­o­rat­ed pre­vail­ing con­cepts with col­or wheels, the first attrib­uted to New­ton in 1704 (and drawn in black and white, above).

Newton’s wheel “arranged red, orange, yel­low, green, blue, indi­go, and vio­let into a nat­ur­al pro­gres­sion on a rotat­ing disk.” Four years lat­er, painter Claude Boutet made his 7‑color and 12-col­or cir­cles (top), based on Newton’s the­o­ries. Artists, chemists, map­mak­ers, poets, even ento­mol­o­gists… every­one seemed to have a pet the­o­ry of col­or, gen­er­al­ly accom­pa­nied by elab­o­rate col­ored charts and dia­grams.

The col­or wheel was one among many forms—which often pre­sent­ed con­trast­ing the­o­ries, like that of Jacques-Fabi­en Gau­ti­er, who argued that black and white were pri­ma­ry col­ors. But the wheel, and Newton’s basic ideas about it, have endured almost unchanged. The wheel fur­ther up (third one from top) by British ento­mol­o­gist Moses Har­ris from 1776 shows Newton’s 7‑color scheme sim­pli­fied to the 6 pri­ma­ry and sec­ondary col­ors we usu­al­ly see, arranged in the com­ple­men­tary and anal­o­gous scheme, with ter­tiary gra­da­tions between them. Anoth­er ento­mol­o­gist, Ignaz Schif­fer­müller, drew the 12-col­or wheel right above.

Col­or is always rep­re­sen­ta­tive. Newton’s orig­i­nal wheel includ­ed “musi­cal notes cor­re­lat­ed with col­or.” By the end of the 18th cen­tu­ry, col­or the­o­ry had become increas­ing­ly tied to psy­cho­log­i­cal the­o­ries and typolo­gies, as in the wheel above, the “rose of tem­pera­ments,” made by Goethe and Friedrich Schiller in 1789 to illus­trate “human occu­pa­tions and char­ac­ter traits,” the Pub­lic Domain Review notes, includ­ing “tyrants, heroes, adven­tur­ers, hedo­nists, lovers, poets, pub­lic speak­ers, his­to­ri­ans, teach­ers, philoso­phers, pedants, rulers,” grouped into the four tem­pera­ments of humoral the­o­ry.

It’s a fair­ly short leap from these psy­cholo­gies of col­or to those used by adver­tis­ers and com­mer­cial design­ers in the 20th century—or from the artists and sci­en­tists’ col­or the­o­ries to abstract expres­sion­ism, the Bauhaus school, and the chemists and pho­tog­ra­phers who recre­at­ed the col­ors of the world on film. (Goethe’s col­or wheel, below, from The­o­ry of Col­or, illus­trates his chap­ter on “Alle­gor­i­cal, sym­bol­ic, and mys­ti­cal use of colour.”) See more ear­ly col­or wheels, like Philipp Otto Runge’s 1810 Far­benkugel, as well as oth­er con­cep­tu­al col­or schemes, at the Pub­lic Domain Review.

via Pub­lic Domain Review

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Goethe’s The­o­ry of Col­ors: The 1810 Trea­tise That Inspired Kandin­sky & Ear­ly Abstract Paint­ing

How Tech­ni­col­or Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Cin­e­ma with Sur­re­al, Elec­tric Col­ors & Changed How We See Our World

A Pre-Pan­tone Guide to Col­ors: Dutch Book From 1692 Doc­u­ments Every Col­or Under the Sun

Sir Isaac Newton’s Papers & Anno­tat­ed Prin­cip­ia Go Dig­i­tal

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

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