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| photo from www.corrier.it photo edited Godo 2017 |
Lee Marshall Interview with UMBERTO ECO
Italian
novelist and semiotician Umberto Eco expounds upon the Net, writing, The
Osteria, libraries, the continental divide, Marshall Mcluhan, and, well, God.
so you didn't
know what a feat Umberto Eco pulled off in writing The Name of the Rose, that
postmodern bestseller (17 million copies and counting) set in a 12th-century
monastery. You didn't know that Eco wrote the novel while holding down a day
job as a university professor - following student theses, writing academic
texts, attending any number of international conferences, and penning a column
for Italy's weekly newsmagazine L'Espresso. Or that the portly 65-year-old
semiotician is also a literary critic, a satirist, and a political pundit.
But you did
know - didn't you? - that Eco was the guy behind that unforgettable Mac versus
DOS metaphor. That in one of his weekly columns he first mused upon the
"software schism" dividing users of Macintosh and DOS operating
systems. Mac, he posited, is Catholic, with "sumptuous icons" and the
promise of offering everybody the chance to reach the Kingdom of Heaven
("or at least the moment when your document is printed") by following
a series of easy steps. DOS, on the other hand, is Protestant: "it allows
free interpretation of scripture, demands difficult personal decisions ... and
takes for granted that not all can reach salvation." Following this logic,
Windows becomes "an Anglican-style schism - big ceremonies in the
cathedral, but with the possibility of going back secretly to DOS in order to
modify just about anything you like." (Asked to embellish the metaphor,
Eco calls Windows 95 "pure unadulterated Catholicism. Already Windows 3.1
was more than Anglican - it was Anglo-Catholic, keeping a foot in both camps.
But Windows 95 goes all the way: six Hail Marys and how about a little
something for the Mother Church in Seattle.")
Eco first
rose to fame in Italy as a parodist in the early '60s. Like all the best satirists,
he oscillates between exasperation at the depths of human dumbness, and the
benign indulgence of a grandfather. Don't let that grandfatherly look fool you,
though. Eco was taking apart striptease and TV anchormen back in the late '50s,
before anyone had even heard of Roland Barthes, and way before taking modern
culture seriously (deconstructing The Simpsons, psychoanalyzing Tintin) became
everybody's favorite pomo sport. Then there's his idea that any text is created
as much by the reader as by the author, a dogma that invaded the lit crit
departments of American universities in the mid-'70s and that underlies
thinking about text in cyberspace and who it belongs to. Eco, mind you, got his
flag in first, with his 1962 manifesto Opera aperta (The Open Work).
Eco continues
to wrap his intellect around the information revolution, but he's turning his
attention from the spirit of software to technology's political implications.
Specifically, he has thrown his weight behind something called Multimedia Arcade.
The project may sound like a CD-ROM game publisher with an imagination deficit,
but Eco wants the Arcade to change Society as We Know It. The center will
feature a public multimedia library, computer training center, and Net access -
all under the tutelage of the Bologna Town Council. There, for a token fee,
local citizens can go to Net surf, send email, learn new programs, and use
search engines - or simply hang out in the cybercafé. Set to open in late 1997,
Multimedia Arcade will offer around 50 state-of-the-art terminals linked
together in a local network with
a fast Net
connection.It will feature a large multimedia, software, and print library, as
well as a staff of teachers, technicians, and librarians.
The premise
is simple: if Net literacy is a basic right, then it should be guaranteed for
all citizens by the state. We don't rely on the free market to teach our
children to read, so why should we rely on it to teach our children to Net
surf? Eco sees the Bologna center as the pilot for a nationwide and - why not?
- even worldwide chain of high tech public libraries. Remember, this is a man
with that old-fashioned European humanist faith in the library as a model of
good society and spiritual regeneration - a man who once went so far as to declare
that "libraries can take the place of God."
Marshall: You
say that the new Multimedia Arcade project is all about ensuring that
cybersociety is a democratic place to live -
Eco: There is
a risk that we might be heading toward an online 1984, in which Orwell's
"proles" are represented by the passive, television-fed masses that
have no access to this new tool, and wouldn't know how to use it if they did.
Above them, of course, there'll be a petite bourgeoisie of passive users -
office workers, airline clerks. And finally we'll see the masters of the game,
the nomenklatura - in the Soviet sense of the term. This has nothing to do with
class in the traditional, Marxist sense - the nomenklatura are just as likely
to be inner-city hackers as rich executives. But they will have one thing in
common: the knowledge that brings control. We have to create a nomenklatura of
the masses. We know that state-of-the art modems, an ISDN connection, and
up-to-date hardware are beyond the means of most potential users - especially
when you need to upgrade every six months. So let's give people access free, or
at least for the price of the necessary phone connection.
Why not just
leave the democratization of the Net to the market - I mean, to the falling
prices ushered in by robust competition?
Look at it
this way: when Benz and others invented the automobile, they had no idea that
one day the mass market would be opened up by Henry Ford's Model T - that came
only 40 years later. So how do you persuade people to start using a means of
transport that was beyond the means of all but the very rich? Easy: you rent by
the minute, with a driver, and you call the result a taxi. It was this which
gave people access to the new technology, but it was also this which allowed
the industry to expand to the point where the Model T Ford was conceivable. In
Italy, the Net marketplace is still tiny: there are only around 300,000 regular
users, which is peanuts in this game. But if you have a network of municipal
access points - each of which has a commitment to provide the most powerful,
up-to-date systems for its users - then you're talking about a respectable
turnover, which can be ploughed back into giving the masses Model T hardware,
connections, and bandwidth.
Do you
seriously believe that mechanics and housewives are going to pour into
Multimedia Arcade?
No, not
straight away. When Gutenberg invented his printing press, the working classes
did not immediately sign up for copies of the 42-Line Bible; but they were
reading it a century later. And don't forget Luther. Despite widespread
illiteracy, his translation of the New Testament circulated through all
sections of 16th-century German society. What we need is a Luther of the Net.
But what's so
special about Multimedia Arcade? Isn't it just a state-run cybercafé?
You don't
want to turn the whole thing into the waiting room of an Italian government
ministry, that's for sure. But we have the advantage here of being in a
Mediterranean culture. The Anglo-Saxon cybercafé is a peep-show experience
because the Anglo-Saxon bar is a place where people go to nurse their own
solitude in the company of others. In New York, you might say "Hi - lovely
day!" to the person on the next barstool - but then you go back to brooding
over the woman who just left you. The model for Multimedia Arcade, on the other
hand, is that of the Mediterranean osteria. This should be reflected by the
structure of the place - it would be nice to have a giant communal screen, for
example, where the individual navigators could post interesting sites that
they've just discovered.
I don't see
the point of having 80 million people online if all they are doing in the end
is talking to ghosts in the suburbs. This will be one of the main functions of
Multimedia Arcade: to get people out of the house and - why not? - even into
each other's arms. Perhaps we could call it "Plug 'n' Fuck" instead
of Multimedia Arcade.
Doesn't this
communal vision violate the one user, one computer principle?
I'm a user
and I own eight computers. So you see that there are exceptions to the rule. In
Leonardo's day, remember, the rule was one user, one painting. Ditto when the
first gramophones were produced. Are we short of communal opportunities to look
at paintings today, or to listen to recorded music? Give it time.
Whatever side
they take in the various computer culture debates, most Americans would agree
that the modem is a point of entry into a new phase of civilization. Europeans
seem to see it more as a desirable household appliance, on a level with the
dishwasher or the electric razor. There seems to be an "enthusiasm
gap" between the two continents. Who's right on this one - are Americans
doing their usual thing of assuming everyone plays baseball, or are Europeans
being so cool and ironic that they're going to end up missing out on the Net
phenomenon?
The same
thing happened with television, which reached a critical mass in the States a
good few years before it took off over here. What's more interesting is the
fact that the triumph of American culture and American modes of production in
films and television - the Disney factor that annoys the French so much - is
not going to happen with the Net.
Up to a year
ago, there were very few non-English sites. Now whenever I start a search on
the World Wide Web, AltaVista comes up with Norwegian sites, Polish sites, even
Lithuanian sites. And this is going to have a curious effect. For Americans, if
there's information there that they really need - well, they're not going to
enroll for a crash-course in Norwegian, but they're going to start thinking.
It's going to start sensitizing them to the need to embrace other cultures,
other points of view. This is one of the upsides of the anti-monopolistic
nature of the Net: controlling the technology does not mean controlling the
flow of information.
As for the
"enthusiasm gap" - I'm not even sure there is one. But there is
plenty of criticism and irony and disillusionment in the States that the media
has simply decided not to pick up on. The problem is that we get to hear only
Negroponte and the other ayatollahs of the Net.
You publicly
supported Italy's new center-left coalition government when it was campaigning
for election in April 1996. After the victory, it was rumored in the Italian
press that your payoff was the new post of Minister of Culture - but you turned
down the job before it was even offered. Why?
Because
before you start talking about a Minister of Culture you have to decide what
you mean by "culture." If it refers to the aesthetic products of the
past - beautiful paintings, old buildings, medieval manuscripts - then I'm all
in favor of state protection; but that job is already taken care of by the
Heritage Ministry. So that leaves "culture" in the sense of ongoing
creative work - and I'm afraid that I can't support a body that attempts to
encourage and subsidize this. Creativity can only be anarchic, capitalist,
Darwinian.
In 1967 you
wrote an influential essay called "Towards a Semiological Guerrilla
Warfare" in which you argued that the important objective for any
committed cultural guerrilla was not the TV studio, but the armchairs of the
people watching. In other words: if you can give people tools that help them to
criticize the messages they are receiving, these messages lose their potency as
subliminal political levers.
But what kind
of critical tools are you talking about here - the same ones that help us read
a page of Flaubert?
We're talking
about a range of simple skills. After years of practice,
I can walk
into a bookstore and understand its layout in a few seconds. I can glance at
the spine of a book and make a good guess at its content from a number of
signs. If I see the words Harvard University Press, I know it's probably not
going to be a cheap romance. I go onto the Net and I don't have those skills.
And you've
got the added problem that you've just walked into a bookshop where all the
books are lying in heaps on the floor.
Exactly. So
how do I make sense of the mess? I try to learn some basic labels. But there
are problems here too: if I click on a URL that ends with .indiana.edu I think, Ah - this must have
something to do with the University of Indiana. Like hell it does: the signpost
is deceptive, since there are people using that domain to post all kinds of
stuff, most of which has little or nothing to do with education. You have to
grope your way through the signs. You have to recycle the semiological skills
that allow you to distinguish a pastoral poem from a satirical skit, and apply
them to the problem, for example, of weeding out the serious philosophical
sites from the lunatic ravings.
I was looking
through neo-Nazi sites the other day. If you just rely on search-engine logic,
you might jump to the conclusion that the most fascist site of the lot is the
one in which the word Nazi scores highest. But in fact this turns out to belong
to an antifascist watchdog group.
You can learn
these skills by trial and error, or you can ask other Net users for advice
online. But the quickest and most effective method is to be in a place
surrounded by other people, each with different levels of competence, each with
different online experiences which they can pool. It's like the freshman who
turns up on day one. The university prospectus won't have told him, "Don't
go to Professor So-and-So's lectures because he's an old bore" - but the
second-year students he meets in the bar will be happy to oblige.
Modernism
seems to have ground to a halt - in the novel at least. Are people getting
their experimental kicks from other sources, such as the Net? Maybe if Joyce
had been able to surf the Web he would have written Gone with the Wind rather
than Finnegans Wake?
No - I see it
the other way round. If Margaret Mitchell had been able to surf the Web, she
would probably have written Finnegans Wake. And in any case, Joyce was always
online. He never came off.
But hasn't
the experience of writing changed in the age of hypertext? Do you agree with
Michael Joyce when he says that authorship is becoming "a sort of jazzlike
unending story"?
Not really.
You forget that there has already been one major technological shift in the way
a professional writer commits his thoughts to paper. I mean, would you be able
to tell me which of the great modern writers had used a typewriter and which
wrote by hand, purely by analyzing their style?
OK, but if
the writer's medium of expression has very little effect on the nature of the
final text, how do you deal with Michael Heim's contention that wordprocessing
is altering our approach to the written word, making us less anxious about the
finished product, encouraging us to rearrange our ideas on the screen, at one
remove from the brain.
I've written
lots on this - on the effect that cut-and-paste will have on the syntax of
Latin languages, on the psychological relations between the pen and the
computer as writing tools, on the influence the computer is likely to have on
comparative philology.
Well, if you
were to use a computer to generate your next novel, how would you go about it?
The best way
to answer that is to quote from an essay I wrote recently for the anthology
Come si scrive un romanzo (How to write a novel), published by Bompiani:
"I would
scan into the computer around a hundred novels, as many scientific texts, the
Bible, the Koran, a few telephone directories (great for names). Say around a
hundred, a hundred and twenty thousand pages. Then I'd use a simple, random
program to mix them all up, and make a few changes - such as taking all the A's
out. That way I'd have a novel which was also a lipogram. Next step would be to
print it all out and read it through carefully a few times, underlining the
important passages. Then I'd load it all onto a truck and take it to the
nearest incinerator. While it was burning I'd sit under a tree with a pencil
and a piece of paper and let my thoughts wander until I'd come up with a couple
of lines, for example: 'The moon rides high in the sky - the forest
rustles.'"
At first, of
course, it wouldn't be a novel so much as a haiku. But that doesn't matter. The
important thing is to make a start.
What's your
take on Marshall McLuhan? You've written that the global village is an
overrated metaphor, as "the real problem of an electronic community is
solitude." Do you feel that McLuhan's philosophy is too lightweight to
justify the cult that has been dedicated to him?
McLuhan
wasn't a philosopher - he was a sociologist with a flair for trend-spotting. If
he were alive today he would probably be writing books contradicting what he
said 30 or 40 years ago. As it was, he came up with the global village
prophecy, which has turned out to be at least partly true, the "end of the
book" prophecy, which has turned out to be totally false, and a great
slogan - "The medium is the message" - which works a lot better for
television than it does for the Internet.
OK, maybe at
the beginning you play around, you use your search engine to look for
"shit" and then for "Aquinas" and then for "shit AND
Aquinas," and in that case the medium certainly is the message. But when you
start to use the Net seriously, it does not reduce everything to the fact of
its own existence, as television tends to. There is an objective difference
between downloading the works of Chaucer and goggling at the Playmate of the
Month.
It comes down
to a question of attention: it's difficult to use the Net distractedly, unlike
the television or the radio. I can zap among Web sites, but I'm not going to do
it as casually as I do with the television, simply because it takes a lot
longer to get back to where I was before, and I'm paying for the delay.
In your
closing address to a recent symposium on the future of the book, you pointed
out that McLuhan's "end of the Gutenberg galaxy" is a restatement of
the doom-laden prophecy in Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre Dame, when,
comparing a book to his beloved cathedral, Frollo says, "Ceci tuera
cela" - this will kill that, the book will kill the cathedral, the
alphabet will kill the icon. Did it?
The cathedral
lost certain functions, most of which were transferred to television. But it
has taken on others. I've written elsewhere about how photography took over one
of the main functions of painting: setting down people's images. But it
certainly didn't kill painting - far from it. It freed it up, allowed it to
take risks. And painters can still do portraits if they want.
Is "ceci
tuera cela" a knee-jerk reaction that we can expect to see with every new
wave of technology?
It's a bad
habit that people will probably never shake. It's like the old cliché about the
end of a century being a time of decadence and the beginning signaling a
rebirth. It's just a way of organizing history to fit a story we want to tell.
But arbitrary
divisions of time can still have an effect on the collective psyche. You've
studied the fear of the end that pervaded the 10th century. Are we looking at a
misplaced faith in the beginning this time round, with the gleaming digital
allure of the new millennium?
Centuries and
millennia are always arbitrary: you don't need to be a medievalist to know
that. However, it's true that syndromes of decadence or rebirth can form around
such symbolic divisions of time. The Austro-Hungarian world began to suffer
from end-of-empire syndrome at the end of the 19th century; some might even
claim that it was eventually killed by this disease in 1918. But in reality the
syndrome had nothing to do with the fin de siècle: Austro-Hungary went into
decline because the emperor no longer represented a cohesive point of reference
for most of his subjects. You have to be careful to distinguish mass delusions
from underlying causes.
And how about
your own sense of time? If you had the chance to travel in time, would you go
backward or forward - and by how many years?
And you, sir,
if you had the chance to ask someone else that question, who would you ask?
Joking aside, I already travel in the past: haven't you read my novels? And as
for the future - haven't you read this interview?
