I have to say that I’m pretty humbled by the hit stats for the Wikipedia Voynich page: when the xkcd webcomic spike happened in June 2009, the Voynich page got a quite shocking 77k hits in a single day. In fact, its daily traffic has gone up from 500-1000 hits at the start of 2009 to 1000-2000 hits as of now (May 2010) (though interspersed with occasional 10k days).

And so I wondered if it was just about time for Jim Davis’ Garfield to take on the Voynich Manuscript: if he did, might it look something like this?

For any passing lawyers, I’m neither passing this off as an original Garfield strip by Jim Davis nor trying to make money from his intellectual property, it’s just one of his strips unconvincingly hacked to show what my idea of a Voynich-themed Garfield strip would look like for the benefit of my Cipher Mysteries readers. And yes, I’ll happily take it down if you ask me to. 🙂

If I had a pound for each time I’ve been disparaging about the Wikipedia Voynich Manuscript article, I’d probably be able to pay off my mortgage: but this is not because I’m negative (when I’m actually the complete opposite), but rather because despite being the most-linked page in the whole Voynich infosphere (Google has it as #1, for example), it’s miserably unhelpful on a truly grand scale.

A few days ago, I decided to go through it to see how much of it I could fix… but after a while, what struck me was that I was just sticking plasters on a gaping wound – that there was something so badly wrong with the way it was structured that no amount of textual hacking would ever fix it. That is, the problem isn’t that it is awkwardly written, but that it is epistemologically broken. I therefore added a new section to the Wikipedia Voynich talk page to say:

[…] But on reflection, it strikes me that what is fundamentally wrong with the whole thing is that it doesn’t really separate objective from subjective; and furthermore that its overall structure helps perpetuate this mingling of fact and speculation. I think that if we were to restructure it more sensibly, we might yet turn this whole article into a genuinely useful resource, rather than the sprawling sequence of speculative stuff it currently is.

I therefore propose that before the (currently first) “Content” section, a new section should be added called “Evidence”, with suggested subsections “Codicology” (facts about the support material [including radiocarbon dating], inks, paints, construction, quire numbers, foliation), “Palaeography” (facts about the ductus, Currier ‘Hands’), “Art History” (techniques used in the construction, such as parallel hatching) and “Statistics” (facts about the letter-patterns and word-patterns). The idea is that by doing this, we can separate out the discussion of what the Voynich Manuscript is from the discussion of what the Voynich Manuscript might be, so that people coming to the topic for the first time can gain an accurate picture untainted by the currently rather high level of embedded speculation. My Cipher Mysteries pages on codicology, quire numbers, parallel hatching may well be fruitful references for some of these topics.

I have elsewhere contrasted the existing speculation-centric “Voynich 1.0” approach with this “Voynich 2.0” history-centric approach: though the main argument against this used to be that we knew too little about the Voynich Manuscript to produce a useful non-speculative introduction to it, my opinion is that this is no longer true. Yet however sensible this change may be from my perspective, it is almost certainly too significant a difference to impose unilaterally on a well-linked article without some kind of sustained debate here first. So… what do you think? Nickpelling (talk) 09:11, 20 May 2010 (UTC)

This is an issue that really affects our whole research community (rightly or wrongly, the Wikipedia page is seen as the front face of the Voynich Manuscript), so please leave your comments either here or by editing the Wikipedia talk page by hand (but log in first). Have I got this right, or do you think the page is just fine as it is?

Something further to reflect upon is the differentiation drawn by Michael Shermer in a recent New Scientist article: he draws a line between skepticism and ‘denialism’, in that ‘denialists’ start from an ideological point of faith and deny / undermine all the evidence that’s inconsistent (i.e. they support their own weak ideas by trying to weaken the evidence supporting other competing ideas), whereas skeptics (as Shermer is the publisher of “Skeptic” magazine, these are the good guys) use “extensive observation, careful experimentation and cautious inference” to separate “the few kernels of wheat from the large pile of chaff”.

Within this conceptual framework, it strikes me that the overall Voynich research programme has had a particularly denialist methodology:

  1. Find a starting point (usually a similarity between something in the VMs and something you happen to know about)
  2. Construct a personal leap of faith (“because these are similar, the VMs must have been written by…”)
  3. Collate all the miscellaneous scraps of evidence that seem consistent with your personal leap of faith
  4. Find rhetorical ways of being dismissive about all the other evidence that is broadly inconsistent
  5. Construct ways of undermining the methodology behind any conflicting evidence (“radiocarbon dating is inaccurate”, etc)

What Shermer omits, though, is that in the real world the trickiest issue of all is how to tell denialists apart from skeptics. After all, they use the same techniques and rhetorical stylistics: who can say where Popperian falsification stops and apologetics starts?

Actually: I can. Firstly, there’s a further division to be made between a cynic and skeptic, insofar as I think a cynic is a denialist whose own personal leap of faith is that “no theory is possible”: you can therefore think of a cynic as an ideological pessimist, who actively denies the possibility of there ever being an achievable answer. By way of comparison, a skeptic is optimistic enough to believe that an answer is possible, but realistic enough to know that the road to such knowledge can be a long and hard one.

To me, a skeptical methodology should be a far more holistic thing (insofar as its goes from the general to the specific), far closer to the kind of thing intellectual historians do:

  1. Collect all the relevant evidence you can
  2. Find ways of assessing the reliability, pliability, and nature of each of them
  3. Assess (and continually reassess) which are the key pieces of falsifying evidence – the ones that let you reject hypotheses
  4. Construct a number of hypotheses that your key falsifying evidence pieces do not manage to kill
  5. Devise research questions to try to limit / constrain / refine / kill your hypotheses
  6. Keep trying (knowledge is hard)

The central differences are therefore (a) the overall direction of research, (b) skeptics understand that most evidence is not absolute, and (c) that skeptics attempt to invalidate all hypotheses, rather than just confirm their own. Further, skeptics know that correlation is not the same as causation, and that causation is 100x more elusive. So… are you a skeptic, a cynic, or a denialist?

Applying all this to the Wikipedia VMs page, at no point does the article try to collate or list all the relevant evidence, or even to give an idea of how reliable or (im)precise each fragment is. Rather, it seems to be a long sequence of theories abutted by denialist oppositions to them. Given that my bias is towards the kind of skeptical methodology I describe above, my overall position is that the page offers little or no assistance to someone who comes in and wants to understand the object prior to forming an opinion: rather, the page offers a load of pre-formed opinions and rebuttals, with fragments of information teasingly wedged between them. It’s rather like trying to understand wildebeest anatomy by looking at the scraps of meat left on a lion’s teeth.

Perhaps I’m barking up completely the wrong tree here: perhaps the “Wikipedia” model for knowledge is innately denialist, in that each article seeks to find a position of dynamic balance between actively-held apologetic positions. I suspect that the epistemological error underlying Wikipedia is that it mistakes a Mexican stand-off for consensus, when skeptical knowledge should ultimately be organized in a quite different way: all the Voynich article does is to highlight this error in a fairly extreme way.

What do you think – can Wikipedia ever be fixed?

It’s not widely known that the Voynich Manuscript’s “nine-rosette” foldout page contains two sets of swallow-tail merlons – one set on top of the famous castle (as per the Cipher Mysteries header graphic), and one on a long low wall, apparently beside the sea. This latter runs across one of the folds, making it very slightly awkward to make out:-

But where is this? I suspect it’s not Genoa, because (as per this picture from Hartmann Schedel’s 1493 Weltchronik) that had neither a flat sea frontage nor swallowtail merlons. For a while I suspected that it might depict Naples: but while reading up on the Occitan dialect Niçard, I found a, well, nice picture of Nice being besieged from the sea by Barbarossa in 1543. The (fabulously made-up) story goes that outraged local washerwoman Catherine Ségurane climbed on top of the walls to expose her ample rear to the Turkish fleet, which (somehow) caused them to abandon their attack (Ségurane’s triumphant mooning is celebrated on November 25th [St Catherine’s Day] each year in Nice)… but I guess you had to be there. Anyway… because of Turin’s history as a key part of the Duchy of Savoy, the Biblioteca Reale di Torino also has quite a few piante e disegni of Nice AKA ‘Nizza’ (see p.508 of this online inventory, though unfortunately few dates are given), which might prove to be a useful resource. I don’t know whether or not all this line of thought is going anywhere: it’s certainly something to bear in mind, though.

I also found a nice picture of the same Turkish fleet wintering in Toulon, a mere 100 miles down the coast: it’s hard to be sure, but it looks to me as though its walls have swallowtail merlons. Were there any more major walled ports circa 1400-1450 between Marseille and Genoa? Perhaps Villefranche-sur-Mer? Someone out there should know…

I can’t claim to read your busy modern brain: but there’s certainly a moderate chance that you just happen to dig both FBI profiler police procedural drama “Criminal Minds” and the Voynich Manuscript. If so, you may well be pleased to know that madlori (just don’t call her ‘lady’, ok?) has just posted part 1 (of 4) of her Voynich-themed “Criminal Minds” fanfiction, entitled “The Mysterious Manuscript”, focusing mainly on FBI BAU Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss and her Voynich nerd husband Reid.

Now, according to the last round robin I got from the Bloggers Union, this is the point where I’m supposed to go all snarky about fanfiction, and moan about how Kirk and Spock wouldn’t really have kissed, particularly with tongues (ergo all fanfiction is pants) etc. But actually, it turns out that dear Lori isn’t half as mad as she’d like to think she is (bless ‘er), and she’s done a pretty good job overall (so hopefully parts 2-4 will be better still). Of course, her plexiglass case around the VMs is just hokum, New Haven isn’t half as miserable as she makes it sound, and the Beinecke curators weren’t anything like as sniffy when I went on my own three-day VMs hajj: but maybe things have changed since I was there. 🙂 Still, I’d forgive her plenty for casually slipping verklempt into the text: already I feel bad about kvetching. So shoot me!

Perhaps because of its geography (spanning a mountain range) or its powerful neighbours (France, Milan), Savoy is one of those nebulous, hard-to-grasp historical regions with a perimeter seemingly made of rubber.

Here’s a map of 15th century Savoy courtesy of the very useful sabaudia.org: as landmarks, you can see Milan, Turin, Genoa and Lyon – just off to the lower left are Marseille and Avignon (home to antipope Clement VII and antipope Benedict XIII between 1378 and 1403, at which time the latter escaped to Anjou following a five-year siege by the French army). The green shapes mark mountain passes:-

The same site also has a nice timeline for Savoy events (in French), from which I’ve summarized a few points of interest between 1350 and 1450 below. The initial historical context is that Amadeus VII is ruling the House of Savoy, with the separate Savoy-Achaia line ruling over Piedmont (but please don’t ask me to summarize the history of Achaia and how it’s linked here, that might well bore you to death):-

  • 1385: Amadeus VII acquires the Barcelonnette region.
  • 1388: Amadeus VII loses Nice to Jean Grimaldi.
  • 1401: Amadeus VIII acquires the County of Geneva after the last Count Humbert dies childless.
  • 1403: Louis of Savoy-Achaia moves the House of Savoy’s capital to Turin, and creates the University of Turin as part of the first State of Savoy.
  • 1406: Amadeus VIII receives the homage of the Seigneur de la Brigue and negotiates with the Count of Tende to establish a direct route between Nice and Turin.
  • 1411: Amadeus VIII buys Rumilly, Roche, and Ballaison, the House of Geneva’s last remaining possessions.
  • 1411: The Savoyards briefly occupy the Val d’Ossola to ensure control of the Simplon pass (though the Swiss Confederates subsequently drove them out in 1417).
  • 1416: after a magnificent reception at Chambery, the Emperor Sigismund, visiting Amadeus VIII for the third time in four years, grants him the ducal title – the House of Savoy become the Duchy of Savoy.
  • 1418: following the last Savoy-Achaia’s death, Amadeus VIII regains control of Piedmont.
  • 1427: the Visconti yield Vercelli to Amadeus VIII.
  • 1434: Louis of Savoy marries Anne of Lusignan in Chambery, a union which binds the Savoy royal family to the Lusignan kings (from Cyprus and Jerusalem) & hints at an Eastern policy for the Duke.

From this, you can see the shadow of the Holy Roman Empire hanging over the legitimacy of the House of Savoy’s 1416 transition to become the Duchy of Savoy: so it is should be no surprise that if you look at the rear of Turin’s Palazzo Madama (which was started by the Savoy-Achaia line in the 14th/15th century), you can still see make out its swallowtail merlons embedded just below the top of its towers.

Now all this historical framework is in place, you should be just about able to make some sense of this hideously overcomplex historical map of Savoy (from William Shepherd’s Historical Atlas of 1923-1926), courtesy of the University of Texas at Austin.

For my own Voynich Manuscript research, what has become clear to me from this is that rather than Savoy in the larger sense, it is probably Piedmont (as gained by the Duchy of Savoy in 1418) I should be specifically interested in. But what Piedmontese historical archives should I be looking at? Questions, questions, questions…

Most of the tenuous (yet culturally interesting) sideways links to cipher mysteries that ping on my 20-screen bank of monitors are to relatively low-brow stuff – airport novels, films, neat 3d renders using Voynichese fonts, etc. Furthermore, they tend (with only a few honourable exceptions) to be fairly po-faced (and unsexy) The-Mismatched-Protagonists-Must-Battle-Against-An-Infinitely-Resourced-Ancient-Conspiracy-To-Save-The-World-As-We-Know-It-By-Decoding-An-Even-More-Ancient-Ciphertext pap. Which is quite sad, really.

So it is with a great sense of relief that I read about a bit of light-hearted sexual cryptography from French novelist George Sand (the pen-name of Amantine Aurore Lucile Dupin, 1804-1876). Sand dressed like a man (which was scandalous), smoked tobacco in public (which was also scandalous), and apparently conducted affairs with both sexes (which was… well, you work it out).

Here’s an enciphered letter she wrote to Alfred de Musset (just to make it absolutely clear, I’ve put her hidden message in bold letters):-

je suis très émue de vous dire que j’ai
bien compris l’autre soir que vous aviez
toujours une envie folle de me faire
danser. je garde le souvenir de votre
baiser et je voudrais bien que ce soit
là une preuve que je puisse être aimée
par vous. je suis prête à montrer mon
affection toute désintéressée et sans cal-
cul, et si vous voulez me voir aussi
vous dévoiler sans artifice mon âme
toute nue, venez me faire une visite.
nous causerons en amis, franchement.
je vous prouverai que je suis la femme
sincère, capable de vous offrir l’affection
la plus profonde comme la plus étroite
en amitié, en un mot la meilleur preuve
que vous puissiez rêver, puisque votre
âme est libre. pensez que la solitude ou j’ha-
bite est très longue, bien dure et souvent
difficile. ainsi, en y songeant j’ai l’âme
grosse. accourez donc vite et venez me la
faire oublier par l’amour ou je veux me
mettre.

Musset replied in the same cryptographic (and amorous) spirit:-

quand je mets à vos pieds un éternel hommage,
voulez vous qu’un instant je change de visage ?
vous avez capturé les sentiments d’un cœur
que pour vous adorer forma le créateur.
je vous chéris, amour, et ma plume en délire
couche sur le papier ce que je n’ose dire.
avec soin de mes vers lisez les premiers mots :
vous saurez quel remède apporter à mes maux
je suis très émue de vous dire que j’ai …..

Sand then replied…

Cette insigne faveur que votre cour réclame
Nuit à ma renommée et répugne mon âme.

Sadly, these days Sand’s relationship with Alfred de Musset may well be better known by pop fans, as former Eurovision Song Contest winning performer Celine Dion used the text of a 1834 letter from Sand to de Musset as the basis for one of her songs. But put all the pieces together and… wouldn’t it be just, well, wonderful if it turned out that Dion’s earnestly romantic bleatings were just Sand’s covertext for a gloriously ribald hidden sexual message? Perhaps someone will dig up a scan of the original letter and we can have a look…

And so it all spins back round to low culture again: sorry, that’s just the way these things seem to work. 🙁

OK, this isn’t strictly a cipher mystery story: but it does play to a lot of the things I think we all love (or perhaps, wearing our historian hats, love to loathe). Courtesy of Paul Morrow at the Pilipino Express, here’s the story of Jose Marco, con man of the century – a man who singlehandedly faked more or less all the interesting parts of the history of the Philippines, including “Datu Kalantiaw, the [utterly fake] first Filipino lawmaker”. This involved his creating five large manuscripts in 1914 totalling over 800 pages (all of ridiculously poor quality), plus many other wobbly fake documents. This seems to confirm the old saw that conmen don’t need to be clever, as long as they’re fractionally cleverer than their victims. 🙂

Oh, and if that doesn’t float your boat, the same writer has a nice 4-part series (in one handy PDF file) from 2009 on what he calls Da Bathala Code. This relates the story of how a (genuinely old) Filipino script called baybayin was hijacked in 1937 by a sculptor named Guillermo Tolentino, who layered all kinds of spurious pictographic interpretations on the baybayin letter shapes, to produce a fake visual etymology for the language. Tolentino in turn was building on similar nonsense put forward 50 years earlier by one Pedro Alexandro Molo Agustin Paterno y de Vera Ignacio, who had claimed that the language was (somehow) derived from Tagalog.

So… ancient scripts, fake etymology, fake (nationalist) histories, fake documents. Enjoy! 🙂

Following a trail of breadcrumbs from my recent post on Johann Adam Schall von Bell, I’m returning to the issue of whether the VMs could ever have had a Far Eastern origin. To recap, Jacques Guy originally proposed Chinese as a kind of linguistic fou-merde joke on the Voynich research community, only to be unhappily surprised when people started taking it seriously enough to dig up evidence why he might actually have been right. Guy’s “Chinese theory” was, then, somewhat like the Rosicrucian manifestos, in that it was a ludibrium that somehow managed to survive and thrive quite independently of its creator.

Of course, every class of Voynich theory has its naysayers (who normally outnumber the proposer[s] by some 1000:1). In this instance, such people typically point to three major areas of difficulty that any particular Chinese theory would have to overcome – cultural mismatch, codicological mismatch and linguistic mismatch.

Cultural mismatch is the easiest one of the three: where are the Chinese faces, Chinese motifs, Chinese artefacts, Chinese sequences, etc? Search as hard as you like, but you’ll probably (despite what some novelists like to pretend) only find signs of late medieval European culture in there – baths, castles (yes, with swallowtail merlons), European herbals, heads in the roots, cryptoheraldry (eagle, lion, etc)… essentially the same set of cultural conceits that you can see in real Quattrocento herbals and related manuscripts (oh, and in the so-called “alchemical herbals”, which are neither alchemical nor herbal, strictly speaking). I’m also somewhat culturally suspicious about the apparent 30 x 12 = 360-degree division in the zodiac section, because Chinese astronomy before Johann Adam Schall von Bell had long been based on a 365.25 day astronomical year (no matter how awkward this made the maths).

Codicological mismatch is also fairly easy to spot: why would a mysterious Chinese herbal have marginalia and quire numbers written in various 15th century hands? If you are arguing that the VMs is a genuine Far Eastern linguistic artefact (i.e. that it is not openly deceptive), then you’d need to have a particularly strong narrative argument if you are going to try to date its return to Europe much after 1500 (or even 1450). The vellum also seems to have a physically European origin, so this too needs to be taken account of. Furthermore, Voynichese’s general ductus seems to fall within the range of late medieval European styles (it was written by someone fairly adept with a quill rather than with a brush), so the most likely point of codicological departure here would always be that the VMs was written by a European rather than by a Chinese person.

Linguistic mismatch is perhaps both the hardest to spot as well as the hardest to deal with. The core of the Chinese theory was based on Jacques Guy’s amused observation that the frequent “CVCV…” patterns found in Voynichese (such as “otolal“, etc) might be not so much a highly-structured consonant-vowel linguistic artefact as a tonal transcription artefact. That is, that Voynichese is ‘simply’ a structured tonal rendition of an exotic language such as Mandarin Chinese etc, and that perhaps a lot of the letter-following structures we observe are caused by limitations of the way that tones happen to work in that language. OK… but given that the very first tonal rendition of Chinese was apparently attempted by Matteo Ricci in 1583-1588 (the point where the whole idea of a tonal transcription seems to have first appeared), this would seem to point to quite a strong earliest dating for the VMs of (say) 1590 or so, unless you’re going to rewrite a fair bit of the history books etc in your quest to tell your narrative.

Now, you really don’t have to have as big a Renaissance brain as Anthony Grafton’s to be able to notice the contradiction here: which is that for a Chinese theory to overcome the codicological mismatch it seems to require a pre-1500 dating, while for it to overcome the linguistic mismatch it seems to require a post-1590 dating, while simultaneously overcoming the quite separate (and quite large) cultural mismatch issues. The easy answer, of course, is simply to ignore any such problems and just get on with telling your story: it’s far harder to tackle the underlying mismatches and see where they take you.

Incidentally, there’s a little-known interview with Guy Mazars and Christophe Wiart in Actualites en Phytotherapie to be found here (in French) where they propose that many of the Voynich Manuscript’s mysterious plants may in fact be East Asian plants (for example, that f6v depicts Ricinus communis) or Indian plants (they think that many of the plants shown are types of Asteraceae, with f27r representing Centella Asiatica). But you’d have to point out that there are also many, many, many plants in the VMs that are unlikely to match anything these (very learned) experts on Indian and East Asian plants have ever seen. Make of all this what you will (as per normal).

The Cipher Mysteries stats to date: 568 posts – 16 static pages – 100,155 visits – roughly 190,000 page loads – 1775 comments – 115 subscribers. Thank you all very much for your continued interest, support, comments (both appreciative and snarky), tweets, and off-line posts and notes (always interesting). Just so you know, most referrals continue to come from Google with only one Slashdot-style traffic superspike (2nd-3rd December 2009, 5000 visits in one day), while the Akismet anti-spam plugin has caught 16,151 spam messages with only 9 false positives (mainly comments from hotmail.com).

It’s also nice to see more cipher mystery bloggers popping up: a big tip of the hat to Elmar VogtElias Schwerdtfeger, Julian Bunn, Diane O’Donovan, Rich SantaColoma, Moshe Rubin, etc (in no particular order). Good luck to all of them (blogging is surprisingly hard work).

As for Cipher Mysteries itself, there’s plenty I’d like to fix: the front page needs a makeover to make it more useful for first-time visitors; the web hosting performance has slowly worsened (but moving such a large database to a new host is proving time-consuming and difficult); and I have a slow-burn plan to get the visit count to 1,000,000 and beyond. But I’m busier than ever in my real-world work, so all in good time, eh?

I have several weeks’ worth of draft posts to finish, and am still working away on an entirely new historical cipher mystery that I suspect will ultimately be more surprising and revealing than the Voynich Manuscript: but I’ll leave that as a ncie surprise for another day. Thanks you all again! 🙂

“Weird or What?”‘s Desperate Housewives Cocaine Mummies episode came and went in its own breathless, deathless way, a strangely mismatched mixture of gravelly voiceover (exuding Danikenesque enthusiasm) and static talking heads (with more than a frisson of frozen-in-the-headlights). Purely for review purposes, I grabbed my copy from a terrrrribly slow torrent (the 13-minute Voynich segment started at 19:45), but frankly you might want to conserve your bandwidth for something slightly more edifying (was it really waiting 20+ hours for it to arrive? I suspect not).

The main subject of the show’s producers’ interest turned out to be, ummm, Gordon Rugg. Ably assisted by “three world-class calligraphers”, Rugg proceeded to demonstrate the fullest, absurdest consequence of his ideas: that, just as he predicted, three people with carefully constructed tables and grilles could indeed have simulated something resembling Voynichese at reasonable speed… some 150 years after it was in fact written. As a piece of conceptual proto-computer science, his work remains admirable: but as a piece of history (or indeed common sense), it was nothing less than a load of nonsense. His continued insistence on defiantly proving the possibility of something which manifestly did not happen is arguably even less use than straight ‘if-Hitler-hadn’t-been-born’ counterfactuality (and that’s saying something).

At the risk of sounding like the Daily Mail, ‘when oh when’ is someone of substance going to pull the rug from under Rugg? As a career programmer myself, I would be utterly unsurprised if computer science rides to our rescue further down the line: but given that Voynich studies are nothing short of drowning in a perpetually high tide of possibilistic nonsense, Rugg’s contribution has arguably hindered discourse far more than it has helped it. As I pointed out at the time, the fact that his account didn’t square with the palaeography and the codicology right from the start was a Really Bad Sign. And now that it doesn’t square with the radiocarbon dating either, perhaps the best you can say is that it is at least consistently inconsistent. Oh well…

Really, I was far more interested to find out from “Weird or What?” that the design of contemporary running shoes may well cause more shock to the human body (by encouraging people to run with heel-strikes) than less. But as for the Voynich Manuscript? Didn’t learn a thing, sorry. 🙁