Skies above: Certain measures Pt.1

Previous two:

Header image: detail from Brit.Lib. Add. MS 20746 f.1r.

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Some matters of method, comments on the psychology of perception and a particular set of unusual avoidances in the imagery need comment before I move on to post the second part of ‘Chronological Strata’.

The excursus will be in three parts (this post being the first) which will be published one each fortnight and then ‘Chronological Strata Pt 2’ about the end of April. Sorry about the hiatus.  Whether you read these essays is of course up to you but I doubt if the rest of Chronological Strata will make sense to most readers without the background.  I’ve made the discussion of  perception relevant to Voynich studies and attempted to make it accessible from the level of  secondary-school  upwards. Technical studies on this subject are classed as neuroscience as often as psychology and appear in scientific, not art-history journals.

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Clark’s and Campion’s comments about the month-folios’ appearance (see post of Feb. 9th., 2020) contain three important reasons for rejecting the old theory that these drawings were designed to some ‘astrological/horosopic’ purpose.  The old theory is opposed by:

  • the spectrum of historical examples (historical studies);
  • the month-diagrams’ general appearance – e.g. its many ‘ladies’ and
  •  technical details such as numerical proportions, layout and presentation.

These are not discrete criticisms. Each magnifies the force of the other two.

The revisionist might then ask why an ‘astrological purpose’ idea should feel no natural and so sensible, at a subjective level, and why it seems never to have been opposed between 1912 and 2010 (or if you like, 1912-2020)..

I had hoped to avoid discussing the psychology of perception but can see no way around it,  because to explain why an idea so prevalent and apparently so natural might yet be mistaken one has to understand something of what happens when the brain processes impulses received from the eye, and especially when the object presented to a person’s sight is quite unlike anything they’ve seen before.  If you think back to your first view of the manuscript, you may recall how bewildered you felt and how disoriented – and then how you hunted for something familiar, and what a calming effect it had when some older ‘Voynichero’ told you what to think about this section, or that.   The messages were generally re-assuring, because they told you that what you had felt were images quite unlike anything familiar were ‘really’ not so strange after all.

I’d like you to go back to those initial impressions and accept that what then struck you as quite unlike anything familiar – was indeed. The reason you now think otherwise is explained by the psychology of perception and various additional filters and blinkers emerging from human emotional and social reactions.

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Eye to Brain. and Group-feelings {Psychology of perception  – 2500 wds]

Assumptions of ‘universal language’.  Many of those interested in Beinecke MS 408 come from a background in technical studies such as computer studies, engineering, mathematics or cryptography, where a problem is habitually solved without reference to the historical and social circumstances in which it was first framed.   It doesn’t matter to a mathematician whether a problem was formulated in England or in India, in the 10thC AD or in the 20thC.   The technical diagram, like the mathematical equation employs a ‘universal language’ differing only (as it were) by dialect. Astrological and horoscopic diagrams do belong in that category, which is why scholars specialising in the history of astrology and comparative astrology can say whether or not a diagram presents as of that type.

However, in Voynich studies we have theorists who are so accustomed to solving problems expressed in a ‘universal language’ such as mathematics that they tend to suppose that all imagery speaks  a ‘universal language’ and that is not true.  One cannot rightly interpret all images by using only the assumptions and habits implicit in images produced by one’s own culture, with its  traditional attitudes, hierarchies, forms and modes of expression.  Ignorance of this fact was a first, and is still a prevalent, error of perception in Voynich studies.

More curious yet is that people of intelligence and competence in computer studies, engineering and other logical disciplines become illogical when informed opinion opposes some theoretical model they like.  And do so even in the case of the month-folios not presenting as astrological diagrams.

This paradox is explicable partly in terms of the study’s history, and partly by the way the human mind works.  I’ll treat the history first.

From 1912-2012 the great majority of persons interested in the Voynich manuscript saw European and American urban society and  the Anglo-German school as admirable, the earliest having also inherited nineteenth century ideas about hierarchies within social, intellectual and national or racial ‘pyramids’.  Informed by the wealth and self-importance of the imperial nations, there came to be a belief that the ‘western’ way was the pinnacle of human development, and at once the larger as well as a qualitatively greater set.

So, for example, if someone pointed out that a pentatonic scale was characteristic of eastern modes, it would be pointed out that western music also includes a pentatonic scale. If, on the other hand, you pointed out that eastern art is indifferent to vanishing-point perspective, this would be taken as a sign that it was ‘less evolved’ than western art… and so on.

As we saw earlier, it was impossible at that time (i.e. before the end of World War II, and then in the Friedmans’ view of things) to imagine any manuscript ‘important’ unless imagined as “contributing to the intellectual history of western Europe”.  I have already spoken in general of this phenomenon (here) and the way in which it effectively blinded the Friedmans and, following them, Mary d’Imperio, when they were confronted with specialists’ assessments which denied their own expectation that the manuscript should be an expression of medieval western Christian (i.e. ‘Latins’) book-culture.  Specialists in a variety of areas said plainly that though bound in the Latin (and Armenian) style, the manuscript was not like western texts of e.g. alchemy or Christian art, but these opinions were brushed aside while the erroneous theory was maintained. And this is still largely the case, theory-focused approaches have become so normalised that for many in the ‘online community’ it has become impossible to imagine any opinion or information about this manuscript could be other than the result of some ‘theory’.

The interesting problem is then why highly intelligent people who consciously prided (and pride) themselves on thinking logically – whether intellectual, mechanical, cyrptographic or computer logic – should be  unable to accept  information from genuine specialists.

The shortest and bluntest answer is that the theorists didn’t know enough to doubt themselves.   A theory is formed from within the limits of what a person knows.  If the theorist’s knowledge doesn’t include the necessary information, they cannot form a viable and accurate explanation as ‘theory’.

The habit of assuming the Anglo-German tradition both the best and the ‘greater’ set also meant that things true of that tradition – such as interest in literalism, or depiction of single specimens in herbals – was presumed without any pause for thought – to be always and everywhere true.   And just so, it was assumed that all pictures speak a sort of ‘universal language’ for which no more is needed for their understanding than ‘two eyes’, a theory,  an agile imagination and a range of ‘comparative examples’ invariably selected by theory-driven criteria.

But that blunt explanation is far from being the whole story of why people can’t seem to see – let alone to read –  pictures. It isn’t about IQ.  It’s about what happens when the brain attempts to process something quite unparalleled in a person’s experience. And about how the viewer’s instinctive emotional and social links add further distortions.

When the brain receives from the eye a set of impulses for which no ‘match’ can be found in the person’s previous experience, the brain seeks a ‘nearest fit’.  This is absolutely practical and useful in everyday life and is something hard-wired into the brain because human beings have lived, through most of human history, within a fairly limited environment and exposed to relatively few moments when they saw something never encountered before by anyone in their small circle.

And ‘nearest fit’ was usually pretty right, even if it did mean ignoring certain points of difference in the hunt for ‘the next-like’.   I want to emphasise that it is not a bad thing; it has become hard-wired for a good reason, but it is not so good when the thing perceived is absolutely outside the person’s previous experience.  If the brain informs us of that – returns a ‘nothing remotely like…’ people may go into shock. The search for ‘nearest like’ has become hard-wired for good reason.

For example, in ordinary life, when a friend whom you saw yesterday with long hair and legs covered by blue jeans, turns up today with short hair and wearing shorts, you still recognise them.   The mind discards as irrelevant, or as second-level information, those differences of hair-length (or even hair-colour), of clothing and even such things as tone of voice or whether their eyes are covered.

It is this same capacity which allows us to develop scientific knowledge: we are able to create categories of things and at the same time to refine those categories.  We put ‘like-‘ness first, and ‘distinctions’ in second place.  This is so important that I’ll give examples.

An infant experiences each new ‘thing’ as unique, a ‘plant-thing’ (for example) but then the same thing comes gradually to be  recognised as a rose, while another plant-thing is classed vaguely as ‘not a rose’.  (Language assists, but is not essential).

Only later still, if inclined or permitted to learn more, might that person reach a point where they can remove weeds from a rose-garden without risk of uprooting the wanted plants.   And if inclined, or permitted, to expand the limits of their knowledge still further, that person may reach the stage of being able to identify and name minor differences between one type of rose and another.   But this may never happen, and (like many of us) their mental classifications may end at the simple stage of ‘red-flowered rose’ or ‘white-flowered rose’.

Within their area of speciality (if any) a person is able to recognise and understand the significance of small variations in appearance and to recognise what is, and isn’t a significant difference.  It is because their range of knowledge is greater that they can, when confronted with a hitherto unknown item, classify it correctly as ‘like’ or ‘unlike’. Their knowledge base being greater means their definition of ‘like’ is more precise and the number of ignored points of difference much smaller.

Since the number of specialists is small in proportion to a general population, the precision to be expected of any ‘majority’ will be less when an object is highly unusual – and yet, at the same time the fact that the majority are working roughly within the same, limited, range of experience means that the majority ‘consensus’ is more often an expression of general ignorance than a valid decision about what is true or false.   What ‘everyone says’ may be no better than village gossip.

Within a limited and shared environment, however, our brain’s hard-wired search for ‘like-ness’ works very well indeed.  It allows us to classify as similar objects which differ widely in appearance, forms, materials and ornament.  And it usually serves well.  It might enable a person to describe all the following artefacts as ‘coffee cups’.

 

 

But one of them isn’t.

The red ‘cup-like’ object is a filter,

 N.B. ‘Looks-like’ impressions aren’t enough to allow theories about an unfamiliar artefact’s origin and purpose. 

‘Group impression’ –  false consensus.

When the eye is presented with an unfamiliar object, and the brain receives impulses for which it finds no close match, we may not necessarily accept the ‘nearest fit’ but turn to our neighbour to compare his or her impressions with our own.  Social links may clarify the point – our neighbour may know more than we do – but it is important to realise that as social creatures we have this tendency to suppress our own perception if we find ourselves in a minority.  The difficulty is that our nearest contacts may well have closely-similar limits to their own experience and their ‘nearest fit’ may be no better than our own.

You might then think the natural inclination would be to seek better advice, but in practice this doesn’t happen so often.  In fact, forums will sometimes swamp or censure discussions which move beyond the ‘group opinion’. The dominant theory rather than the manuscript’s study, may even come to define what is deemed as ‘on-‘ or ‘off-topic’. Hard luck for the manuscript.

These social impacts on how we react to images are well illustrated by reactions to the  Rorschark ink-blots.  One person may describe their own ‘nearest fit’ impressions, but another who is present may be seen nodding, as if thinking, ‘Yes, that makes sense…’.

In fact, of course, it doesn’t ‘make sense’ at all.  What is happening is that the two persons’ having comparable social context and previous experience means that the ‘nearest fit’ for one person strikes a familiar chord in the other.   It is that social similarity, not any explanation of the image, which creates this feeling of consensus.  It tells one absolutely nothing about the origin or intended purpose for that ink-blot image.

And that is more-or-less how it happens that theory-groups form within Voynich studies.  One person asserts such-and-such; others find it easy to believe and so on… Social pressures prevent open dispute and even a specialist’s opinion may be treated as having little weight unless they are known to be loyal members of the group.

When a newcomer is instructed by other amateur Voynicheros to interpret a section of the manuscript in this way or that, it is socially and emotionally comforting for most newcomers. They are relieved of that stress involved in confronting the ‘nothing like’ feeling.  But what is being transmitted in fact is rarely factual and objectively verifiable information (which is one reason why citing sources is asserted ‘unnecessary’). What is being taught and promoted is the theoretical ‘nearest fit’ which seems plausible to a majority in that group.

The newcomer is often receiving no more than, so to speak, instructions on a party-line.  To test whether you are being given solid information about Beinecke MS 408, or an ‘approved line’, you need only ask to have and review the evidence and what debate (if any) led to the idea’s adoption.  If there’s nothing to it, there will be no non-Voynich source for the information, and no evidence of any informed debate.   So what you have will be speculation on guesswork on theory – and theory built more often than not on false perception of ‘like-‘ ness.

Because our minds themselves produce flawed comparisons at times, and our social impulses tend to see harmony given a higher priority than independent thought, the formalities of academic study have evolved, over the centuries, in ways providing a counterweight.

A scholar’s first loyalty is expected to be to their discipline of science or mathematics or history, and this means that the person is expected to know, and cite, precedent studies which affect the way a given subject is understood.  Next, their loyalty is to the particular object of their study: in the present case, Beinecke MS 408. This means that if something is asserted about the manuscript which your own research, or other studies in (say) cryptography or iconology show demonstrably untrue, you say so – citing sources for the opposing information and from the best and most solid external sources you can.  By this I mean that if the comment is about the manuscript’s vellum, you cite studies of codicology, not other Voynich writers.

Only after those two are one’s loyalties owed to colleagues and other fellows. If one or more of them disputes your own conclusions, the usual response is to accept (but check the references) for dissenting views and thank the other for the correction – because it has led you to a better understanding of your second-highest loyalty.  To  debate is not only acceptable, it is the meat-and-drink of scholarship, and one reason why Voynich forums tend to be counterproductive.  Debate is often perceived in a closed community as indistinguishable from dispute and spirited debate – even of the academic sort, without ad. hominem – may be terminated in the interests of harmony. I’m not suggesting you never join a forum; only that you do so understanding that the group-dynamic may be strongly influenced by a desire for agreement and conformity, along Henry Ford lines (‘they can have any colour they like, so long as it’s black’)

Nor am I saying that most Voynicheros are dishonest: only that a combination of limited knowledge, theory-driven approaches and social considerations serve to distort perception of these unfamiliar images.

To return to the ‘coffee cup’ example. Agreement between persons of closely similar, and limited, prior experience might lead a group to agree  that both objects shown below are, again,   ‘coffee cups’.  All have seen objects before which present as ‘nearest-fit’ and make that description  seem obvious, natural and consensual.

How far wrong may such decisions be about an artefact’s origin and intended purpose should be clear when I say that the container  on the left is a Mayan vessel made c. 7thC AD, while that on the right is a recent invention: an edible coffee-cup newly introduced in New Zealand in 2019.  (Need I add that the Maya had no knowledge of coffee?).

If the example above seems exaggerated, or unfair, consider the ‘matches’ which have been not only suggested but generally accepted and actively disseminated in the ‘Voynich community’.  As so often, the ‘pairing’ is not about explaining the manuscript’s image; it is about illustrating a theory – in this case of European Christian culture – and is aimed solely at persuasion. It is doing pretty much what a person’s brain might do if their range of knowledge was limited to the history of Germany.

Such errors of perception have affected study of the Voynich manuscript since 1912.  It is not a recent problem, nor the result of online forums.   It is a problem caused by our mind’s seeking ‘nearest-fit’ within too narrow a range of previous knowledge, together with the natural human tendency to maintain whatever opinions are found comfortable in the group regarded as the “us-group”.   The importance of the second is paramount for many and may alone be why an independent specialist’s assessment is rejected.  In fact, what we see in Voynicheros reactions to theory-opposing opinion from specialists may exceed the ‘just ignore’ response and become active denigration as the theorist continues to presume their theories must be right.   This pattern again is reflected in d’Imperio’s book, derived as it is from the theories shared by the Friedman groups.

In one place, she writes:

Balance

I expect that as well as understanding the issues, you may want some idea of how to correct for them.

The single best approach is to learn more – first about the discipline you want to engage – whether it is techniques of analysis in art or in cryptography and so on.

If your interest is in understanding the images in this manuscript, you might like to try a few exercises.  These are ones intended to help you become conscious of the ‘nearest-fit’ response and to help deal with the sort of emotional and social responses which arise when you are confronted by something quite unlike anything in your previous experience.

These exercises apply to images securely dated to the pre-modern period.

First,

Become interested in what makes the image ‘unlike’.  Actively seek to identify and to describe the very details that the ‘like-‘ seeking function has  automatically set aside or given a lesser importance.  

Don’t be persuaded by ‘matches’ in any Voynich writings – not even the essays (bar the materials essay) in the Yale facsimile edition.

As an example for countering the natural tendency to focus on apparent ‘like-‘ ness, you might consider one of those ‘matches’ offered between some detail from the Voynich ‘bathy-‘ section and illustrations from the Balneis Puteolanis.

Remember that you are comparing pictures, not objects or alleged subject-matter.    Now, look at the differences between the two ‘matched’ images and hand-write a description of the Voynich image, emphasising the points of difference from the alleged ‘match’.  This will also have an effect of calming you, because it puts that Voynich image securely within the range which your brain can recognise.  It gives a sense – false or not – that you are in control.  Slowly and carefully scanning and writing a description of the image is always a good practice in iconology, art history and especially in provenancing artefacts.

In this case, you might include among the observed differences – different attitudes to depiction of the human body; a different use of proportion; facial features (are males shown with or without beards, for example).  Note attitudes to perspective, the presence or absence of stylistic features (such as whether lines are drawn over areas of liquid to indicate ripples).  Is the maker interested in ‘realism’.  What about ways of representing landscape?  And so on.  You should also spend time thinking vaguely about the thing; ‘musing’ because this brings in the more flexible part of the brain’s activity.  It is when we most often realise some half-forming theory is untenable.

But do beware of any ‘lightning flash’ experience while you’re in the ‘musing’ mode.  You may experience it as a sudden flash of genius insight, but more often than not it’s the imagination going into overdrive and trying to stop the whole process by producing some ‘ultimate answer’ at random.

The task is to understand a difficult manuscript, not to create some ultimate theory.

And do keep the Mayan “coffee cup” in mind..

 

Conundrum – can readers help?

Two previous

 

THIS is another aside, but research into medieval calendars, computus, astronomy and astrology involves palaeography and the history of notation, so it isn’t too far off topic.    A detail mentioned in ‘Chronological Strata Pt 1’ (Feb. 5th., 2020) raised a few questions, for two of which a Voynich writer has offered his opinion. What is needed now is some source as verification, and means to have light shed on the usual ancillary questions.

Here’s the diagram again.

The two questions I asked help with at Nick Pelling’s blog were the simplest: 1. Why is the ‘3’written in this form? and 2. How should we understand that ‘gate’ under the diagram?

to which JKPetersen (alone) replied, saying::

The symbol above the 3 indicates that it is an ordinal. It is the third diagram. Ordinals were written in many different ways (with a, with o, with m, with 9, the “us” abbreviation). You can see examples of ordinals in the VMS quire numbers.

If you go to folio 9r a couple of pages later, you will see the number 4 with the same symbol above it, to represent the 4th drawing. The same with the one following, which is the 5th drawing.

and

The “gate” emblem is a Nota symbol. The double-cee shape with a line over it is an early-medieval way of writing the letter “a” (omega is sometimes written that way too, but in this case it is “a”).

So to break it down, to make it easier to interpret it… you have N (the fence-like shape), T (the upright shape on its right-hand side), the “o” (obvious), and the “a” above it.

He’s putting emphasis on either the diagram above or the paragraph to the right, but since the text underneath the Nota symbol is erased, it’s hard to tell which.

-for which interpretation I am very grateful; it seems entirely credible to me.

Various Voynich writers (including the present one) had earlier written or posted about the history of number and numerals.  Petersen’s contributions can be found on his blog.  See e.g.  ‘Latin’s “Om-age” to Indic Numerals’, voynichportal, Nov.5th., 2017.

 

Sources.

Apart from one slight problem – the Harley manuscript is not an early medieval manuscript, but thirteenth-century – Petersen’s interpretation does, as I say, seem reasonable to me.

Unfortunately, though, he could provide no secondary source or reference work in support, so I’m now asking if readers can think of any.

I’d already asked about, and consulted the usual standard references before asking those initial questions at Pelling’s blog.  What I’d been looking for was some perspective on the range and period over which these forms occur – whether  Scot invented the ‘gate’ form, or  whether it is attested only in England or Paris or Toledo (or common in all of them), and whether the -3- with that ‘omega’ is found only in Latins works and so on. This I’d expected to learn from the secondary studies. It is surprising how little attention is paid in histories of mathematics, notation, and palaeography to forms for writing ordinals.   Bischoff, for example, offered just this (p.176):

In early medieval manuscripts the numerals are set between points in order to stand out. In rare cases suprascript strokes are added (without change of meaning). 

In evidence for which, he cites Mallon and, later Bruckner on the point that this practice lasts only until the 12thC.   The suggestion occurs that if the Harley text is a close copy of Scot’s then Scot was inclined to use near-archaisms.  One would need to consider the evidence, in either case.  Bischoff also refers to Hill’s tables (1915)-  which are still used today as a convenient if less-than-representative survey.

  • Bernhard Bischoff, Latin Palaeography: Antiquity and the Middle Ages (CUP  1990)
  • G.F Hill, The development of Arabic numerals in Europe: exhibited in sixty-four tables.  (Oxford, Clarendon  1915).  A copy from the microform is now at the internet archive).
  • A contemporary review of Hill’s work, by L. Longworth Dames in Man, Vol. 15 (1915), pp. 143-144  comments that “the representation is very unequally distributed among the nations of Europe, German examples being in excess of all others, followed by those of Italy and the Netherlands. France, it is surprising to find, is hardly represented at all…[and].. it would be of great interest if more evidence could be obtained from Spain… for the close association with Arabs in the peninsula would (prima facie) lead us to expect a closer resemblance [there] to the Eastern forms for the cyphers than that found elsewhere in western Europe”.
  • Louis Karpinski, among others, has written more on the practices in medieval Spain (where Scot obtained the text of al-Bitruji’s text) and done something to address earlier failures to include Jewish astronomical sources.    An interested reader will find Karpinski’s papers easily enough.

Numerals in Medieval texts vs Voynich manuscript.

As far as Beinecke MS 408 is concerned -an apparent absence of numerals from the main text has puzzled researchers for many years, though the quire numbers have been discussed of course.

On that subject, the seminal study (once again) is Nick Pelling’s, in his book of 2006 (pp. 15-21). Pelling’s approach became the model subsequently imitated and sometimes elaborated, but study of the manuscript’s quire numbers has not seen any qualitative improvement since then, so far as I can discover. (Do correct me if you know better).

The difficulty with all the instances which followed Pelling’s effort – again, so far as I’ve been able to find mention made of them – is that so many Voynich writers do not so much define the parameters of  research  as e.g. ‘Find the range over which  numerals occur in this form and see where the Voynich sort fit’  so much as ‘Assuming that my Voynich theory “x” is right, how can the quire numbers/images be argued to support that theory?”  When the parameters of investigation are pre-empted by the conclusions on which the researcher is already determined… well, you can finish that sentence for yourself.

This, of course, is the quintessential ‘Voynich flaw’ and has infected Voynich writings since 1912 – being naturally inherited thereafter by writers adhering to one of the traditionalist narratives.

Without being conscious of the shift, Voynich writers tend, for these reasons, to not so much explain the intention of the text itself, as to propound or elaborate upon their theory, using ‘clips’ from the manuscript as illustration.  This habit is far less noticeable in the linguists and cryptographers, but has been pervasive in approaches to, and assertions about the manuscript’s pictures and the many historical-fictional narratives.

That inherited flaw by which a theory is made the aim and focus of research is magnified by certain peculiar ‘dicta’ the effect of which is especially noticeable in what is said and written by core-conservatives and various traditionalists, viz. that alone among those claiming to treat of scientific, historical (or even art-historical) subjects,  a Voynich theorist need not refer to any precedent study, not provide any details of secondary sources they’ve drawn from … except in such such manner as they please.   In extreme cases, even details of what manuscripts  provided the theorist’s illustrations and ‘clips’ are absent and requests for such information – revisionist take note – are not rarely met with every sign of offence.

Some exceptions occur, of course, and Pelling’s custom is to provide documentation of the usual sort.

I’m sorry to say that my asking JKPetersen for details of his sources resulted in expressions of indignation, too.  The work of tracing just how the study of one or another ‘voynich idea’ has taken hold is made unusually difficult by such such things too.

As far as I can discover, the Voynich quire-numbers still await some solid, objective study.

Though Pelling’s book is out of print, his views can be read online.

Note – Recommending Voynich writers..

My practice is to recommend Voynich writers who are –  so far as one is able to see in the ‘Voynich fog’ –  the original contributor of some item or line of enquiry – or  because their writings show a consistently fair treatment of their readers and a sense of perspective: I mean, an understanding that a researcher is not necessarily so interested in a particular theory as in sources of evidence and the lineage for some particular element within the study – a contribution, assertion, canonised myth or popular ‘weed-seed’. An historian of voynich studies is constantly obliged to ask (sometimes soberly, sometimes incredulously) ‘Where did that idea come from?’

My referring to a given Voynich writer has nothing to do with whether or not I agree with their theory or opinion.  I not only differ from Pelling on many points, but on some disagree emphatically.  His definition of and discussion of “parallel hatching”, for example, is wrong, so that the inferences he takes on that basis are also wrong.  As what I suppose one might describe as a “small-t” traditionalist, Pelling’s basic assumption is that the manuscript’s content expresses European knowledge and material culture.  But he plays fair with his readers and answers requests for things like precedent studies and useful sources.

I do not refer my readers to Voynich writers (or indeed any writers) of the sort I think of as  ‘stone-soup men’.  To put it differently and if you’ll permit my quoting from something Einstein said :…

One should guard against inculcating … an idea that the aim of life is success, for a successful man normally receives from his peers an incomparably greater portion than is deserved by the services he has been able to render them. 

Every writer is perfectly entitled to prefer one source over another. I do not think it fair to any reader to present information derived from external sources or for which precedents exist, without honest account of them given.

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