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Forbidden Planet (1956)
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Bud Brewster
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PostPosted: Sun Mar 24, 2019 8:32 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Eadie wrote:
I thought that you as an artist would appreciate a fellow artist's other work.

Indeed I do, Eadie. Thanks! Very Happy
Is there no man on Earth who has the wisdom and innocence of a child?
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Space Sector Commander

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PostPosted: Thu Apr 04, 2019 6:24 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Colorization has made great progress lately. Here is a picture from The Space Children (1958) that was part of a "give-away" at our local Walmart™during Christmas to promote their video club in order to increase sales of older titles (probably to reduce stock):


(I hope they are not fakes.)

Some of the others; THEM!:

Forbidden Planet (1956), original publicity still:

Colorized publicity still:

At the vanguard is a company named Film & TV Tinting which can be found at:

We also got a lot of stills when we bought their colorized version of The Thing From Another World (1951). I will post these at the correct thread as soon as I scan them.

Art Should Comfort the Disturbed and Disturb the Comfortable.
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Bud Brewster
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 04, 2019 11:01 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Eadie wrote:

(I hope they are not fakes.)

If you're thinking this is photo from a colorized version of The Space Children, I'm afraid it's not. In the 1950s, the "lobby cards" like this one were hand-colored, and the artists never made an effort to even get the colors right. Sad

Here's one from Forbidden Planet. Even though the movie was in color, the artist made Altaira look "Pretty in Pink", turned the house interior blue instead of green, and dressed the crewmen in UPS uniforms! Laughing

There's a fuzzy clip of the colorized version of The Thing from Another World on Youtube, and frankly I'm not impressed. Good black & white is much better than bad colorization.

Oddly enough, not a single Amazon review I read even mentioned the colorization! Neither does the review on or the one on High-Def Digest. They do rate the picture quality as being somewhat better than the old DVD.

I think I'll wait a year or two and hope for a box set that has special features. The reviews say that this BD doesn't have any. Sad

Is there no man on Earth who has the wisdom and innocence of a child?
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Mission Specialist

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PostPosted: Thu Apr 04, 2019 12:28 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Bud Brewster wrote:
In the 1950s, the "lobby cards" like this one were hand-colored, and the artists never made an effort to even get the colors right.

In fact, hand-colored black-and-white production stills were used as lobby cards well into the 1970s -- when nearly all movies were being made in color!

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Space Sector Commander

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PostPosted: Fri Apr 05, 2019 8:10 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I found this in Butch's archives:

American Film Institute



A novelization of the movie, also entitled Forbidden Planet (New York, 1956), was written by W. J. Stuart and published following the release of the film. The film's opening cast credits differ in order from the closing credits. Louis Barron and Bebe Barron are credited onscreen as “Louis and Bebe Barron.” Voice-over narration at the beginning of the film explains that humans developed space travel at the end of the 21st-century and began the conquest of outer space on space cruisers.

A 20 Aug 1954 Los Angeles Times article stated that director Fred McLeod Wilcox had planned to do extensive research at several university libraries to use current scientific thought and experimentation to shape his portrait of the future. The 12 Mar 1956 Hollywood Reporter review of the film noted that the electrical rays sent out from the human brain stemmed from a current reputable theory about the subject and had “already been measured in laboratories.” Forbidden Planet marked the first major science fiction film under production at M-G-M.

A 5 Apr 1955 Hollywood Reporter noted that Forbidden Planet required over 89,000 square feet of sound stage space, making it one of the largest productions for M-G-M. According to a 15 Mar 1955 Daily Variety article, the studio chose to restrict access to the sets during construction and production to prevent public exposure to the new innovations to be unveiled in the film. Cinematographer George J. Folsey,Jr. wrote in an Aug 1955 American Cinematographer article that the production had required two years of research. Among the more difficult and important props used in the film, he listed: the atomic cannons, the space Jeep, an electro-magnetic tractor and Robby, the robot. Several of the stages, including the Krell laboratory and the spaceship's interior, required extensive electrical wiring and control panels to make gadgets, meters and controls appear realistic. In addition, Folsey stated that light problems occurred repeatedly through the filming because of the number of reflective surfaces in the sets. Particularly, he suggested that the lighting effects to imply the body of the invisible "id monster" as it approached the ship were the most difficult. Folsey stated that he shot the sequences from a height of ten feet, as if seen from the monster's eyes, and used shadowing and color effects to produce the body’s presence.

The onscreen credits read "and introducing Robby the Robot," but do not list the actor playing the role of Robby. Marvin Miller provided Robby’s speaking voice. Although an 18 Apr 1955 Hollywood Reporter “Rambling Reporter” column stated that Frankie Darro was to act as the robot, modern sources added that Frankie Carpenter replaced Darro in the production. Robby appeared again in the M-G-M 1957 film The Invisible Boy (see entry). An 11 Mar 1955 Hollywood Reporter news item stated that actors Steve Forrest and John Ericson were suspended from M-G-M after turning down roles in the film.

A 26 Feb 1956 Los Angeles Times article noted that composers Bebe and Louis Barron manipulated electronic circuits to create the "electronic tonalities" that not only provided sound for the more scientific and futuristic gadgets and beings in the film, but also provided the musical score. A modern source claimed that the rough cut of the picture by film editor Ferris Webster received rave reviews after initial previews, so M-G-M decided to leave the film in this version and refused Webster's requests to make a finished cut of the film. A modern source also added that Joshua Meador, a Disney animator who rarely worked on outside projects, created, in addition to other animations, the "id monster," fence and lightning effects and ray bolts.

Forbidden Planet has been ranked as one of the seminal 1950s science fiction films by many modern critics and was nominated for an Academy Award for Special Effects, but lost to The Ten Commandments. The film marked Leslie Nielsen's motion picture debut.

Although several modern sources indicated that Forbidden Planet was a remake of William Shakespeare’s play The Tempest , there are only a few similarities. For example, in The Tempest , Prospero and his daughter Miranda have been isolated on an island for twelve years. Prospero causes a “tempest” to wreck a passing ship containing his relatives. Miranda is smitten with one of the surviving passengers, Ferdinand, the only man she has seen besides her father and his servant. The film's plot then diverges greatly from that of the play: In the play, the malicious servant conspires with shipwreck survivors to kill Prospero, while Prospero accepts Ferdinand as his daughter’s fiancée. When murder is averted, Prospero safely returns to the mainland with his daughter and new son-in-law. In Forbidden Planet, Morbius remains behind and die to secure his daughter’s future on a new world.


American Cinematographer
Aug 55
pp. 460-61, 482-84.

Box Office
17 Mar 1956.

Daily Variety
15 Mar 1955
p. 1, 4.

Daily Variety
12 Mar 56
p. 3.

Film Daily
15 Mar 56
p. 6.

Hollywood Reporter
11 Mar 1955
p. 2.

Hollywood Reporter
5 Apr 1955
p. 3.

Hollywood Reporter
18 Apr 1955
pp. 2-3.

Hollywood Reporter
19 Apr 1955
p. 6.

Hollywood Reporter
22 Apr 1955
p. 12.

Hollywood Reporter
27 May 1955
p. 14.

Hollywood Reporter
27 Jan 1956
p. 4.

Hollywood Reporter
12 Mar 56
p. 3.

Los Angeles Times
20 Aug 1954.

Los Angeles Times
26 Feb 1956.

Motion Picture Daily
15 Mar 1956.

Motion Picture Herald Product Digest
17 Mar 56
p. 818.

New York Times
4 May 56
p. 21.

New York Times
6 May 1956.

New Yorker
12 May 1956.

Time Magazine
2 Jul 1956.

14 Mar 56
p. 6.


Release Date: 30 March 1956
Production Date: 18 April--late May 1955
Copyright Claimant: Loew's Inc.
Copyright Date: 27 February 1956
Copyright Number: LP6177

Physical Properties:

Sound: Western Electric Sound System
Color: Eastman Color
Widescreen/ratio: CinemaScope
Duration(in mins): 98 or 106
Length(in feet): 8,843
Country: United States of America
Language: English
PCA No (MPAA): 17605
Passed by NBR: No


Walter Pidgeon: Dr. Edward Morbius, PhD, ED, DLitt
Anne Francis: Altaira Morbius
Leslie Nielsen: Commander John Justin Adams
Warren Stevens: Lieutenant Charles Xaviar "Doc" Ostrow, MD
Jack Kelly: Lieutenant Gerald "Jerry" Farman
Richard Anderson: Chief Engineer PO Alonzo P. Quinn
Earl Holliman: Able Spacer James "Cookie" DiRocco
George Wallace: Chirg Petty Officer (Bosun) Steven Todd


Bob Dix: Able Spacer Grey
Jimmy Thompson: Able Spacer Youngerford
James Drury: Able Spacer Strong
Harry Harvey, Jr.: Able Spacer "Gabby" Randall
Roger McGee: Able Spacer Lindstrom
Peter Miller: Able Spacer Moran
Morgan Jones: Able Spacer Nichols
Richard Grant: Able Spacer Silvers
James Best: Able Spacer Starzha
William Boyett: Able Spacer Nevski
Marvin Miller: Robby, the robot's voice
Les Tremayne: Narrator


Production Companies: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corp.; Loew's, Inc.
Distribution Compzny: Loew's Inc.


Fred M. Wilcox: Director
George Rhein: First Assistant Director
John Greenwald: Second Assistant Director
Executive Producer: Dore Schary
Nicholas Nayfack: Producer
Cyril Hume: Screenplay
Based on a story by: Irving Block & Allen Adler
George Folsey: Director of Photography
Art Directors: Cedric Gibbons & Arthur Lonergan
Ferris Webster: Film Editor
Edwin B. Willis
Set Decotators: Edwin B. Willis & Hugh Hunt
Anne Francis' Costumes: Helen Rose
Men's Costumes: Walter Plunkett
Electronic tonalities by Louis Barron & Bebe Barron
Sound Supervision: Dr. Wesley C. Miller
Recording Supevision: James Brock
Sound: John Lipow
Sound Editing: Kurt Hernfeld & Kendrick Kinney
Visual Effects: Albert Arnold "Buddy" Gillespie
Special Effects: Warren Newcombe, Irving Reis & Josh Meador through courtesy of Walt Disney Productions
Hair Styles: Sydney Guilaroff
Make-Up: William Tuttle
Unit manager: Dave Friedman
Script Supervisor: Eylla Jacobus
Color Consultant: Charles K. Hagedon


Able to travel at speeds far exceeding the speed of light, humans, by the year 2200, are involved in the conquest of deep space. In United Planets space cruiser C-57-D, Commander John Justin Adams and his all male crew approach the distant star Altair IV to search for survivors from the spaceship Bellerophon, which landed there twenty years earlier.

Receiving radio contact from the star, Adams soon learns that Dr. Edward Morbius, a philologist on the Bellerophon mission, still remains but insists that he needs no assistance and warns Adams that harm may come to the C-57-D crew if they interfere.

Adams finally secures landing coordinates and lands the spaceship on Altair IV, a strange, barren land with a green sky and an atmosphere suitable for human life.

Within minutes, a robot named Robby approaches on a gliding transporter and takes Commander Adams, Lieutenant “Doc” Ostrow, MD and Lieutenant Farman to Morbius’ house. The reclusive Morbius invites them to eat a lunch Robby has 'cooked' for them and demonstrates that Robby, his own creation, can insert food in a small aperture, where a built-in chemical lab replicates it to perfection.

Also the house servant and guard, Robby has a built-in safety directive that prevents him from hurting humans. When asked about the earlier mission, Morbius explains that all others succumbed to a terrible planetary force that ripped them from limb to limb. Only his wife and he were immune because of their special love of the planet, however, his wife died several months later. Suddenly, Altaira, Morbius' daughter, enters, and having never seen any other humans besides her father, is mystified by the men. Although Morbius realizes that Alta must have more human contact to develop properly, he resists exposing her to the men. When Adams informs Morbius that he and his crew must remain for ten days to await new orders from earth, Morbius worries that the force will attack again if they remain. Back at the ship, when "cookie" secretly asks Robby to help him locate some bourbon, the robot offers to replicate over 60 gallons, causing "cookie" to gasp in disbelief and joy.

Meanwhile at the house, after Farman suggests to Alta that kissing might be good for her health, the naïve young woman eagerly submits, but even after several prolonged encounters, she claims to feel no "stimulation".

Soon after, a frustrated Adams interrupts the flirtation and demands that Alta refrain from wearing seducive clothing that tempt his men.

Later that night, an invisible force enters the ship, sabotaging valuable equipment while the crew sleeps.

Soon after, Adams learns from inb-oard (the correct term — Eadie) engineer Quinn that they must un-ship the main drive to get sufficient power to repair the cruiser.

The next morning, as Adams and Doc await Morbius at the house, Adams finds Alta swimming nude in a nearby pool. She quickly dresses into her new “eye proof” attire.

Despite Alta’s attempts to concede to his earlier wishes, she unwittingly seduces the commander, but the romantic moment is interrupted when Alta’s pet tiger suddenly attacks. As Adams is forced to disintegrate the beast with his blaster gun, both he and Alta cannot understand the tiger’s sudden change of behavior.

Later, Adams and Doc enter Morbius's study, where the scientist appears from behind a secret panel and guides the men into an immense network of underground rooms. Morbius explains the chambers are the remains of an advanced civilization known as the Krell. Centuries ahead of humans in terms of technological and scientific development, the Krell perished in a catastrophe 2,000 centuries ago, before humans existed. (Untrue — Eadie)

Once inside the Krell main laboratory, Morbius introduces the men to the "plastic educator", a machine the Krell used to test their mental skills and which Morbius now uses to increase his intelligence in order to understand the Krell's complex civilization.

Through years of careful study, Morbius has discovered the Krell were devoted to creating a self-maintaining and infinite power source drawing from Altair IV's core to free themselves from any "physical instrumentalities”.

Meanwhile, "cookie" leaves the ship to secretly meet with Robby and pick up over 480 pints of bourbon.

The monster shorts the C-57-D's protective fence, enters the craft, and kills Quinn, leaving his footprints behind.

Back at the house, Adams informs Morbius that the United Planet Federation must take over the Krell investigation. He learns of the attack by radio and returns to the ship with "Doc".

After making a model of the footprints, they assess that creature is a giant biped monster with sloth-like claws. At first suspecting Robby was involved in the destructive plot, Adams questions "cookie", who gives Robby an alibi by admitting that he was drinking with the robot at the time of the attack.

When Morbius tells Adams that he has a "visualization" of more destruction, Adams suspects the scientist somehow controls the attacks.

That night when radar picks up the invisible monster, the crew fire atomic powered weapons, which produce an outline of an enormous roaring beast, which kills several men.

Back at the house, Alta, awakened by a nightmare about the monster, rushes into the lab. As she wakes her sleeping father, dozens of gauges chaotically register a sudden surge in the power supply. The gauges slowly quiet while the monster simultaneously halts its attack at the ship.

Later, "Doc" deduces the monster must be made of nuclear material in order to regenerate and suggests they abandon the mission immediately, but Adams wants to first retrieve Alta and receive an intelligence boost from the plastic educator.

Arriving at the house, Adams envelops Alta in his arms while "Doc" secretly slips away to the plastic educator. When Robby returns with the half-conscious "Doc" in his arms minutes later, the dying man tells Adams that the Krell were very close to living without " … physical instrumentation … ", but forgot about the " … monsters from the id." When Morbius suddenly appears and calls Adams a fool, Alta finally recognizes her father’s hatred for the outside world and decides to leave with the commander.

Adams deduces that the Krell planned to control the civilization centered around a machine enabling them to create matter anywhere on the planet by mere thought; however, the Krell forgot that their subconscious hatred and lust for destruction would also destroy the civilization. As Morbius retorts that his own mind cannot be creating the monster, another invisible beast punctures the house’s shuttered metals walls. Morbius orders Robby to kill the beast, but the robot malfunctions, unable to harm humans, even the beast created from a human mind.

As the group hides behind the metal door of the underground laboratory, Adams tells Morbius that the plastic educator, far from helping him understand Krell machinery, has made his subconscious able to manipulate it. He goes on to explain that when Morbius’s twenty comrades [How did the writer get this number — Eadie] voted to return to earth, Morbius’s rage sent a secret id to kill them, which will now kill his daughter for defying him.

When Alta begs her father to stop the beast as it melts through the door, Morbius finally admits that Adams's conclusions must be true and yells for the monster to die. The raging beast quiets and power gauges shut down. A dying Morbius orders Adams to throw a switch, which sets in motion the irreversible destruction of Altair IV within twenty-four hours.

Hours after taking off in the C-57-D, Adams, Alta, Robby and the crew watch on a monitor as Altair IV explodes in a blinding blue light. With Alta in his arms, Adams predicts that humans will come to develop technology as advanced as that of the Krell and that her father's name will stand like a " … beacon in the galaxy … " to remind them that they are not " … Gods."
Art Should Comfort the Disturbed and Disturb the Comfortable.
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Space Sector Commander

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PostPosted: Wed Apr 10, 2019 3:09 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The Russo brothers sign deal with M-G-M to re-make classic films.

If this includes Forbidden Planet then I fear the worst!

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Space Sector Commander

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PostPosted: Fri Apr 12, 2019 2:55 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Just HOW did they dig the holes for the fence posts? After seeing The Green Slime (1968) I believe that the C-57-D had an all purpose utility cart with different attachments:

We know that Albert Arnold "Buddy" Gillespie (October 14, 1899 – May 3, 1978); keeper of the M-G-M lions and SFX master worked on both The Wizard Of Oz and Forbidden Planet. This is what a mash-up of them would look like:

Art Should Comfort the Disturbed and Disturb the Comfortable.
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Bud Brewster
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 12, 2019 6:56 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote


Miss Eadie, you're onto something here! Cool

Perhaps the C-57-D's tractor had an attachment that did that job. Or the guys just used their "simple blasters" to zap a hole in the ground for those fence posts. Very Happy

Then again, the blasters would probably make the holes too big! I guess I'd vote for the tractor attachment . . . or a small, specialized, hand-held device which zapped holes the perfect size.

Wait! How 'bout this! Shocked

The poles themselves were equipped with a device on the bottom which drilled the holes automatically when each poll was placed on the ground at the selected spot!

Now THAT would be the hi-tech solution to this problem. Very Happy

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Space Sector Admiral

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PostPosted: Fri Apr 12, 2019 8:06 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Or they could have had a powered post-hole digger. A two-man tool, an engine with an auger and two handles. They're pretty compact, and easy to use.

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Space Sector Commander

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PostPosted: Fri Apr 12, 2019 9:46 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I was thinking of a multi-tool that would help in survival, disasters, and other situations. Besides, they're cool looking!
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 12, 2019 11:59 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Eadie wrote:

We know that Albert Arnold "Buddy" Gillespie (October 14, 1899 – May 3, 1978); keeper of the M-G-M lions and SFX master worked on both The Wizard Of Oz and Forbidden Planet. This is what a mash-up of them would look like:

That's cute. In fact, it's so cute I wish I'd thought of it!
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Space Sector Commander

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PostPosted: Tue Apr 16, 2019 11:24 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I think I found the inspiration for the Krell library!

Designed in 1945, Constructed in (on Earth) 2014

As We May Think

“Consider a future device … in which an individual stores all his books, records, and communications, and which is mechanized so that it may be consulted with exceeding speed and flexibility. It is an enlarged intimate supplement to his memory.”

As Director of the Office of Scientific Research and Development, Dr. Vannevar Bush has coordinated the activities of some six thousand leading American scientists in the application of science to warfare. In this significant article he holds up an incentive for scientists when the fighting has ceased. He urges that men of science should then turn to the massive task of making more accessible our bewildering store of knowledge. For years inventions have extended man's physical powers rather than the powers of his mind. Trip hammers that multiply the fists, microscopes that sharpen the eye, and engines of destruction and detection are new results, but not the end results, of modern science. Now, says Dr. Bush, instruments are at hand which, if properly developed, will give man access to and command over the inherited knowledge of the ages. The perfection of these pacific instruments should be the first objective of our scientists as they emerge from their war work. Like Emerson's famous address of 1837 on "The American Scholar," this paper by Dr. Bush calls for a new relationship between thinking man and the sum of our knowledge. — THE EDITOR

This has not been a scientist's war; it has been a war in which all have had a part. The scientists, burying their old professional competition in the demand of a common cause, have shared greatly and learned much. It has been exhilarating to work in effective partnership. Now, for many, this appears to be approaching an end. What are the scientists to do next?

For the biologists, and particularly for the medical scientists, there can be little indecision, for their war has hardly required them to leave the old paths. Many indeed have been able to carry on their war research in their familiar peacetime laboratories. Their objectives remain much the same.

It is the physicists who have been thrown most violently off stride, who have left academic pursuits for the making of strange destructive gadgets, who have had to devise new methods for their unanticipated assignments. They have done their part on the devices that made it possible to turn back the enemy, have worked in combined effort with the physicists of our allies. They have felt within themselves the stir of achievement. They have been part of a great team. Now, as peace approaches, one asks where they will find objectives worthy of their best.


Of what lasting benefit has been man's use of science and of the new instruments which his research brought into existence? First, they have increased his control of his material environment. They have improved his food, his clothing, his shelter; they have increased his security and released him partly from the bondage of bare existence. They have given him increased knowledge of his own biological processes so that he has had a progressive freedom from disease and an increased span of life. They are illuminating the interactions of his physiological and psychological functions, giving the promise of an improved mental health.

Science has provided the swiftest communication between individuals; it has provided a record of ideas and has enabled man to manipulate and to make extracts from that record so that knowledge evolves and endures throughout the life of a race rather than that of an individual.

There is a growing mountain of research. But there is increased evidence that we are being bogged down today as specialization extends. The investigator is staggered by the findings and conclusions of thousands of other workers—conclusions which he cannot find time to grasp, much less to remember, as they appear. Yet specialization becomes increasingly necessary for progress, and the effort to bridge between disciplines is correspondingly superficial.

Professionally our methods of transmitting and reviewing the results of research are generations old and by now are totally inadequate for their purpose. If the aggregate time spent in writing scholarly works and in reading them could be evaluated, the ratio between these amounts of time might well be startling. Those who conscientiously attempt to keep abreast of current thought, even in restricted fields, by close and continuous reading might well shy away from an examination calculated to show how much of the previous month's efforts could be produced on call. Mendel's concept of the laws of genetics was lost to the world for a generation because his publication did not reach the few who were capable of grasping and extending it; and this sort of catastrophe is undoubtedly being repeated all about us, as truly significant attainments become lost in the mass of the inconsequential.

The difficulty seems to be, not so much that we publish unduly in view of the extent and variety of present day interests, but rather that publication has been extended far beyond our present ability to make real use of the record. The summation of human experience is being expanded at a prodigious rate, and the means we use for threading through the consequent maze to the momentarily important item is the same as was used in the days of square-rigged ships.

But there are signs of a change as new and powerful instrumentalities come into use. Photocells capable of seeing things in a physical sense, advanced photography which can record what is seen or even what is not, thermionic tubes capable of controlling potent forces under the guidance of less power than a mosquito uses to vibrate his wings, cathode ray tubes rendering visible an occurrence so brief that by comparison a microsecond is a long time, relay combinations which will carry out involved sequences of movements more reliably than any human operator and thousands of times as fast—there are plenty of mechanical aids with which to effect a transformation in scientific records.


Two centuries ago Leibnitz invented a calculating machine which embodied most of the essential features of recent keyboard devices, but it could not then come into use. The economics of the situation were against it: the labor involved in constructing it, before the days of mass production, exceeded the labor to be saved by its use, since all it could accomplish could be duplicated by sufficient use of pencil and paper. Moreover, it would have been subject to frequent breakdown, so that it could not have been depended upon; for at that time and long after, complexity and unreliability were synonymous.

Babbage, even with remarkably generous support for his time, could not produce his great arithmetical machine. His idea was sound enough, but construction and maintenance costs were then too heavy. Had a Pharaoh been given detailed and explicit designs of an automobile, and had he understood them completely, it would have taxed the resources of his kingdom to have fashioned the thousands of parts for a single car, and that car would have broken down on the first trip to Giza.

Machines with interchangeable parts can now be constructed with great economy of effort. In spite of much complexity, they perform reliably. Witness the humble typewriter, or the movie camera, or the automobile. Electrical contacts have ceased to stick when thoroughly understood. Note the automatic telephone exchange, which has hundreds of thousands of such contacts, and yet is reliable. A spider web of metal, sealed in a thin glass container, a wire heated to brilliant glow, in short, the thermionic tube of radio sets, is made by the hundred million, tossed about in packages, plugged into sockets—and it works! Its gossamer parts, the precise location and alignment involved in its construction, would have occupied a master craftsman of the guild for months; now it is built for thirty cents. The world has arrived at an age of cheap complex devices of great reliability; and something is bound to come of it.

A record if it is to be useful to science, must be continuously extended, it must be stored, and above all it must be consulted. Today we make the record conventionally by writing and photography, followed by printing; but we also record on film, on wax disks, and on magnetic wires. Even if utterly new recording procedures do not appear, these present ones are certainly in the process of modification and extension.

Certainly progress in photography is not going to stop. Faster material and lenses, more automatic cameras, finer-grained sensitive compounds to allow an extension of the minicamera idea, are all imminent. Let us project this trend ahead to a logical, if not inevitable, outcome. The camera hound of the future wears on his forehead a lump a little larger than a walnut. It takes pictures 3 millimeters square, later to be projected or enlarged, which after all involves only a factor of 10 beyond present practice. The lens is of universal focus, down to any distance accommodated by the unaided eye, simply because it is of short focal length. There is a built-in photocell on the walnut such as we now have on at least one camera, which automatically adjusts exposure for a wide range of illumination. There is film in the walnut for a hundred exposures, and the spring for operating its shutter and shifting its film is wound once for all when the film clip is inserted. It produces its result in full color. It may well be stereoscopic, and record with two spaced glass eyes, for striking improvements in stereoscopic technique are just around the corner.

The cord which trips its shutter may reach down a man's sleeve within easy reach of his fingers. A quick squeeze, and the picture is taken. On a pair of ordinary glasses is a square of fine lines near the top of one lens, where it is out of the way of ordinary vision. When an object appears in that square, it is lined up for its picture. As the scientist of the future moves about the laboratory or the field, every time he looks at something worthy of the record, he trips the shutter and in it goes, without even an audible click. Is this all fantastic? The only fantastic thing about it is the idea of making as many pictures as would result from its use.

Will there be dry photography? It is already here in two forms. When Brady made his Civil War pictures, the plate had to be wet at the time of exposure. Now it has to be wet during development instead. In the future perhaps it need not be wetted at all. There have long been films impregnated with diazo dyes which form a picture without development, so that it is already there as soon as the camera has been operated. An exposure to ammonia gas destroys the unexposed dye, and the picture can then be taken out into the light and examined. The process is now slow, but someone may speed it up, and it has no grain difficulties such as now keep photographic researchers busy. Often it would be advantageous to be able to snap the camera and to look at the picture immediately.

Another process now in use is also slow, and more or less clumsy. For fifty years impregnated papers have been used which turn dark at every point where an electrical contact touches them, by reason of the chemical change thus produced in an iodine compound included in the paper. They have been used to make records, for a pointer moving across them can leave a trail behind. If the electrical potential on the pointer is varied as it moves, the line becomes light or dark in accordance with the potential.

This scheme is now used in facsimile transmission. The pointer draws a set of closely spaced lines across the paper one after another. As it moves, its potential is varied in accordance with a varying current received over wires from a distant station, where these variations are produced by a photocell which is similarly scanning a picture. At every instant the darkness of the line being drawn is made equal to the darkness of the point on the picture being observed by the photocell. Thus, when the whole picture has been covered, a replica appears at the receiving end.

A scene itself can be just as well looked over line by line by the photocell in this way as can a photograph of the scene. This whole apparatus constitutes a camera, with the added feature, which can be dispensed with if desired, of making its picture at a distance. It is slow, and the picture is poor in detail. Still, it does give another process of dry photography, in which the picture is finished as soon as it is taken.

It would be a brave man who would predict that such a process will always remain clumsy, slow, and faulty in detail. Television equipment today transmits sixteen reasonably good pictures a second, and it involves only two essential differences from the process described above. For one, the record is made by a moving beam of electrons rather than a moving pointer, for the reason that an electron beam can sweep across the picture very rapidly indeed. The other difference involves merely the use of a screen which glows momentarily when the electrons hit, rather than a chemically treated paper or film which is permanently altered. This speed is necessary in television, for motion pictures rather than stills are the object.

Use chemically treated film in place of the glowing screen, allow the apparatus to transmit one picture only rather than a succession, and a rapid camera for dry photography results. The treated film needs to be far faster in action than present examples, but it probably could be. More serious is the objection that this scheme would involve putting the film inside a vacuum chamber, for electron beams behave normally only in such a rarefied environment. This difficulty could be avoided by allowing the electron beam to play on one side of a partition, and by pressing the film against the other side, if this partition were such as to allow the electrons to go through perpendicular to its surface, and to prevent them from spreading out sideways. Such partitions, in crude form, could certainly be constructed, and they will hardly hold up the general development.

Like dry photography, microphotography still has a long way to go. The basic scheme of reducing the size of the record, and examining it by projection rather than directly, has possibilities too great to be ignored. The combination of optical projection and photographic reduction is already producing some results in microfilm for scholarly purposes, and the potentialities are highly suggestive. Today, with microfilm, reductions by a linear factor of 20 can be employed and still produce full clarity when the material is re-enlarged for examination. The limits are set by the graininess of the film, the excellence of the optical system, and the efficiency of the light sources employed. All of these are rapidly improving.


Assume a linear ratio of 100 for future use. Consider film of the same thickness as paper, although thinner film will certainly be usable. Even under these conditions there would be a total factor of 10,000 between the bulk of the ordinary record on books, and its microfilm replica. The Encyclopædia Britannica could be reduced to the volume of a matchbox. A library of a million volumes could be compressed into one end of a desk. If the human race has produced since the invention of movable type a total record, in the form of magazines, newspapers, books, tracts, advertising blurbs, correspondence, having a volume corresponding to a billion books, the whole affair, assembled and compressed, could be lugged off in a moving van. Mere compression, of course, is not enough; one needs not only to make and store a record but also be able to consult it, and this aspect of the matter comes later. Even the modern great library is not generally consulted; it is nibbled at by a few.

Compression is important, however, when it comes to costs. The material for the microfilm Britannica would cost a nickel, and it could be mailed anywhere for a cent. What would it cost to print a million copies? To print a sheet of newspaper, in a large edition, costs a small fraction of a cent. The entire material of the Britannica in reduced microfilm form would go on a sheet eight and one-half by eleven inches. Once it is available, with the photographic reproduction methods of the future, duplicates in large quantities could probably be turned out for a cent apiece beyond the cost of materials. The preparation of the original copy? That introduces the next aspect of the subject.


To make the record, we now push a pencil or tap a typewriter. Then comes the process of digestion and correction, followed by an intricate process of typesetting, printing, and distribution. To consider the first stage of the procedure, will the author of the future cease writing by hand or typewriter and talk directly to the record? He does so indirectly, by talking to a stenographer or a wax cylinder; but the elements are all present if he wishes to have his talk directly produce a typed record. All he needs to do is to take advantage of existing mechanisms and to alter his language.

At a recent World Fair a machine called a Voder was shown. A girl stroked its keys and it emitted recognizable speech. No human vocal chords entered into the procedure at any point; the keys simply combined some electrically produced vibrations and passed these on to a loud-speaker. In the Bell Laboratories there is the converse of this machine, called a Vocoder. The loudspeaker is replaced by a microphone, which picks up sound. Speak to it, and the corresponding keys move. This may be one element of the postulated system.

The other element is found in the stenotype, that somewhat disconcerting device encountered usually at public meetings. A girl strokes its keys languidly and looks about the room and sometimes at the speaker with a disquieting gaze. From it emerges a typed strip which records in a phonetically simplified language a record of what the speaker is supposed to have said. Later this strip is retyped into ordinary language, for in its nascent form it is intelligible only to the initiated. Combine these two elements, let the Vocoder run the stenotype, and the result is a machine which types when talked to.

Our present languages are not especially adapted to this sort of mechanization, it is true. It is strange that the inventors of universal languages have not seized upon the idea of producing one which better fitted the technique for transmitting and recording speech. Mechanization may yet force the issue, especially in the scientific field; whereupon scientific jargon would become still less intelligible to the layman.

One can now picture a future investigator in his laboratory. His hands are free, and he is not anchored. As he moves about and observes, he photographs and comments. Time is automatically recorded to tie the two records together. If he goes into the field, he may be connected by radio to his recorder. As he ponders over his notes in the evening, he again talks his comments into the record. His typed record, as well as his photographs, may both be in miniature, so that he projects them for examination.

Much needs to occur, however, between the collection of data and observations, the extraction of parallel material from the existing record, and the final insertion of new material into the general body of the common record. For mature thought there is no mechanical substitute. But creative thought and essentially repetitive thought are very different things. For the latter there are, and may be, powerful mechanical aids.

Adding a column of figures is a repetitive thought process, and it was long ago properly relegated to the machine. True, the machine is sometimes controlled by a keyboard, and thought of a sort enters in reading the figures and poking the corresponding keys, but even this is avoidable. Machines have been made which will read typed figures by photocells and then depress the corresponding keys; these are combinations of photocells for scanning the type, electric circuits for sorting the consequent variations, and relay circuits for interpreting the result into the action of solenoids to pull the keys down.

All this complication is needed because of the clumsy way in which we have learned to write figures. If we recorded them positionally, simply by the configuration of a set of dots on a card, the automatic reading mechanism would become comparatively simple. In fact if the dots are holes, we have the punched-card machine long ago produced by Hollorith for the purposes of the census, and now used throughout business. Some types of complex businesses could hardly operate without these machines.

Adding is only one operation. To perform arithmetical computation involves also subtraction, multiplication, and division, and in addition some method for temporary storage of results, removal from storage for further manipulation, and recording of final results by printing. Machines for these purposes are now of two types: keyboard machines for accounting and the like, manually controlled for the insertion of data, and usually automatically controlled as far as the sequence of operations is concerned; and punched-card machines in which separate operations are usually delegated to a series of machines, and the cards then transferred bodily from one to another. Both forms are very useful; but as far as complex computations are concerned, both are still in embryo.

Rapid electrical counting appeared soon after the physicists found it desirable to count cosmic rays. For their own purposes the physicists promptly constructed thermionic-tube equipment capable of counting electrical impulses at the rate of 100,000 a second. The advanced arithmetical machines of the future will be electrical in nature, and they will perform at 100 times present speeds, or more.

Moreover, they will be far more versatile than present commercial machines, so that they may readily be adapted for a wide variety of operations. They will be controlled by a control card or film, they will select their own data and manipulate it in accordance with the instructions thus inserted, they will perform complex arithmetical computations at exceedingly high speeds, and they will record results in such form as to be readily available for distribution or for later further manipulation. Such machines will have enormous appetites. One of them will take instructions and data from a whole roomful of girls armed with simple key board punches, and will deliver sheets of computed results every few minutes. There will always be plenty of things to compute in the detailed affairs of millions of people doing complicated things.


The repetitive processes of thought are not confined however, to matters of arithmetic and statistics. In fact, every time one combines and records facts in accordance with established logical processes, the creative aspect of thinking is concerned only with the selection of the data and the process to be employed and the manipulation thereafter is repetitive in nature and hence a fit matter to be relegated to the machine. Not so much has been done along these lines, beyond the bounds of arithmetic, as might be done, primarily because of the economics of the situation. The needs of business and the extensive market obviously waiting, assured the advent of mass-produced arithmetical machines just as soon as production methods were sufficiently advanced.

With machines for advanced analysis no such situation existed; for there was and is no extensive market; the users of advanced methods of manipulating data are a very small part of the population. There are, however, machines for solving differential equations — and functional and integral equations, for that matter. There are many special machines, such as the harmonic synthesizer which predicts the tides. There will be many more, appearing certainly first in the hands of the scientist and in small numbers.

If scientific reasoning were limited to the logical processes of arithmetic, we should not get far in our understanding of the physical world. One might as well attempt to grasp the game of poker entirely by the use of the mathematics of probability. The abacus, with its beads strung on parallel wires, led the Arabs to positional numeration and the concept of zero many centuries before the rest of the world; and it was a useful tool — so useful that it still exists.

It is a far cry from the abacus to the modern keyboard accounting machine. It will be an equal step to the arithmetical machine of the future. But even this new machine will not take the scientist where he needs to go. Relief must be secured from laborious detailed manipulation of higher mathematics as well, if the users of it are to free their brains for something more than repetitive detailed transformations in accordance with established rules. A mathematician is not a man who can readily manipulate figures; often he cannot. He is not even a man who can readily perform the transformations of equations by the use of calculus. He is primarily an individual who is skilled in the use of symbolic logic on a high plane, and especially he is a man of intuitive judgment in the choice of the manipulative processes he employs.

All else he should be able to turn over to his mechanism, just as confidently as he turns over the propelling of his car to the intricate mechanism under the hood. Only then will mathematics be practically effective in bringing the growing knowledge of atomistics to the useful solution of the advanced problems of chemistry, metallurgy, and biology. For this reason there still come more machines to handle advanced mathematics for the scientist. Some of them will be sufficiently bizarre to suit the most fastidious connoisseur of the present artifacts of civilization.


The scientist, however, is not the only person who manipulates data and examines the world about him by the use of logical processes, although he sometimes preserves this appearance by adopting into the fold anyone who becomes logical, much in the manner in which a British labor leader is elevated to knighthood. Whenever logical processes of thought are employed — that is, whenever thought for a time runs along an accepted groove — there is an opportunity for the machine. Formal logic used to be a keen instrument in the hands of the teacher in his trying of students' souls. It is readily possible to construct a machine which will manipulate premises in accordance with formal logic, simply by the clever use of relay circuits. Put a set of premises into such a device and turn the crank, and it will readily pass out conclusion after conclusion, all in accordance with logical law, and with no more slips than would be expected of a keyboard adding machine.

Logic can become enormously difficult, and it would undoubtedly be well to produce more assurance in its use. The machines for higher analysis have usually been equation solvers. Ideas are beginning to appear for equation transformers, which will rearrange the relationship expressed by an equation in accordance with strict and rather advanced logic. Progress is inhibited by the exceedingly crude way in which mathematicians express their relationships. They employ a symbolism which grew like Topsy and has little consistency; a strange fact in that most logical field.

A new symbolism, probably positional, must apparently precede the reduction of mathematical transformations to machine processes. Then, on beyond the strict logic of the mathematician, lies the application of logic in everyday affairs. We may some day click off arguments on a machine with the same assurance that we now enter sales on a cash register. But the machine of logic will not look like a cash register, even of the streamlined model.

So much for the manipulation of ideas and their insertion into the record. Thus far we seem to be worse off than before — for we can enormously extend the record; yet even in its present bulk we can hardly consult it. This is a much larger matter than merely the extraction of data for the purposes of scientific research; it involves the entire process by which man profits by his inheritance of acquired knowledge. The prime action of use is selection, and here we are halting indeed. There may be millions of fine thoughts, and the account of the experience on which they are based, all encased within stone walls of acceptable architectural form; but if the scholar can get at only one a week by diligent search, his syntheses are not likely to keep up with the current scene.

Selection, in this broad sense, is a stone adze in the hands of a cabinetmaker. Yet, in a narrow sense and in other areas, something has already been done mechanically on selection. The personnel officer of a factory drops a stack of a few thousand employee cards into a selecting machine, sets a code in accordance with an established convention, and produces in a short time a list of all employees who live in Trenton and know Spanish. Even such devices are much too slow when it comes, for example, to matching a set of fingerprints with one of five million on file. Selection devices of this sort will soon be speeded up from their present rate of reviewing data at a few hundred a minute. By the use of photocells and microfilm they will survey items at the rate of a thousand a second, and will print out duplicates of those selected.

This process, however, is simple selection: it proceeds by examining in turn every one of a large set of items, and by picking out those which have certain specified characteristics. There is another form of selection best illustrated by the automatic telephone exchange. You dial a number and the machine selects and connects just one of a million possible stations. It does not run over them all. It pays attention only to a class given by a first digit, then only to a subclass of this given by the second digit, and so on; and thus proceeds rapidly and almost unerringly to the selected station. It requires a few seconds to make the selection, although the process could be speeded up if increased speed were economically warranted. If necessary, it could be made extremely fast by substituting thermionic-tube switching for mechanical switching, so that the full selection could be made in one one-hundredth of a second. No one would wish to spend the money necessary to make this change in the telephone system, but the general idea is applicable elsewhere.

Take the prosaic problem of the great department store. Every time a charge sale is made, there are a number of things to be done. The inventory needs to be revised, the salesman needs to be given credit for the sale, the general accounts need an entry, and, most important, the customer needs to be charged. A central records device has been developed in which much of this work is done conveniently. The salesman places on a stand the customer's identification card, his own card, and the card taken from the article sold — all punched cards. When he pulls a lever, contacts are made through the holes, machinery at a central point makes the necessary computations and entries, and the proper receipt is printed for the salesman to pass to the customer.

But there may be ten thousand charge customers doing business with the store, and before the full operation can be completed someone has to select the right card and insert it at the central office. Now rapid selection can slide just the proper card into position in an instant or two, and return it afterward. Another difficulty occurs, however. Someone must read a total on the card, so that the machine can add its computed item to it. Conceivably the cards might be of the dry photography type I have described. Existing totals could then be read by photocell, and the new total entered by an electron beam.

The cards may be in miniature, so that they occupy little space. They must move quickly. They need not be transferred far, but merely into position so that the photocell and recorder can operate on them. Positional dots can enter the data. At the end of the month a machine can readily be made to read these and to print an ordinary bill. With tube selection, in which no mechanical parts are involved in the switches, little time need be occupied in bringing the correct card into use — a second should suffice for the entire operation. The whole record on the card may be made by magnetic dots on a steel sheet if desired, instead of dots to be observed optically, following the scheme by which Poulsen long ago put speech on a magnetic wire. This method has the advantage of simplicity and ease of erasure. By using photography, however one can arrange to project the record in enlarged form and at a distance by using the process common in television equipment.

One can consider rapid selection of this form, and distant projection for other purposes. To be able to key one sheet of a million before an operator in a second or two, with the possibility of then adding notes thereto, is suggestive in many ways. It might even be of use in libraries, but that is another story. At any rate, there are now some interesting combinations possible. One might, for example, speak to a microphone, in the manner described in connection with the speech controlled typewriter, and thus make his selections. It would certainly beat the usual file clerk.


The real heart of the matter of selection, however, goes deeper than a lag in the adoption of mechanisms by libraries, or a lack of development of devices for their use. Our ineptitude in getting at the record is largely caused by the artificiality of systems of indexing. When data of any sort are placed in storage, they are filed alphabetically or numerically, and information is found (when it is) by tracing it down from subclass to subclass. It can be in only one place, unless duplicates are used; one has to have rules as to which path will locate it, and the rules are cumbersome. Having found one item, moreover, one has to emerge from the system and re-enter on a new path.

The human mind does not work that way. It operates by association. With one item in its grasp, it snaps instantly to the next that is suggested by the association of thoughts, in accordance with some intricate web of trails carried by the cells of the brain. It has other characteristics, of course; trails that are not frequently followed are prone to fade, items are not fully permanent, memory is transitory. Yet the speed of action, the intricacy of trails, the detail of mental pictures, is awe-inspiring beyond all else in nature.

Man cannot hope fully to duplicate this mental process artificially, but he certainly ought to be able to learn from it. In minor ways he may even improve, for his records have relative permanency. The first idea, however, to be drawn from the analogy concerns selection. Selection by association, rather than indexing, may yet be mechanized. One cannot hope thus to equal the speed and flexibility with which the mind follows an associative trail, but it should be possible to beat the mind decisively in regard to the permanence and clarity of the items resurrected from storage.

Consider a future device for individual use, which is a sort of mechanized private file and library. It needs a name, and, to coin one at random, "memex" will do. A memex is a device in which an individual stores all his books, records, and communications, and which is mechanized so that it may be consulted with exceeding speed and flexibility. It is an enlarged intimate supplement to his memory.

It consists of a desk, and while it can presumably be operated from a distance, it is primarily the piece of furniture at which he works. On the top are slanting translucent screens, on which material can be projected for convenient reading. There is a keyboard, and sets of buttons and levers. Otherwise it looks like an ordinary desk.

In one end is the stored material. The matter of bulk is well taken care of by improved microfilm. Only a small part of the interior of the memex is devoted to storage, the rest to mechanism. Yet if the user inserted 5000 pages of material a day it would take him hundreds of years to fill the repository, so he can be profligate and enter material freely.

Most of the memex contents are purchased on microfilm ready for insertion. Books of all sorts, pictures, current periodicals, newspapers, are thus obtained and dropped into place. Business correspondence takes the same path. And there is provision for direct entry. On the top of the memex is a transparent platen. On this are placed longhand notes, photographs, memoranda, all sorts of things. When one is in place, the depression of a lever causes it to be photographed onto the next blank space in a section of the memex film, dry photography being employed.

There is, of course, provision for consultation of the record by the usual scheme of indexing. If the user wishes to consult a certain book, he taps its code on the keyboard, and the title page of the book promptly appears before him, projected onto one of his viewing positions. Frequently-used codes are mnemonic, so that he seldom consults his code book; but when he does, a single tap of a key projects it for his use. Moreover, he has supplemental levers. On deflecting one of these levers to the right he runs through the book before him, each page in turn being projected at a speed which just allows a recognizing glance at each. If he deflects it further to the right, he steps through the book 10 pages at a time; still further at 100 pages at a time. Deflection to the left gives him the same control backwards.

A special button transfers him immediately to the first page of the index. Any given book of his library can thus be called up and consulted with far greater facility than if it were taken from a shelf. As he has several projection positions, he can leave one item in position while he calls up another. He can add marginal notes and comments, taking advantage of one possible type of dry photography, and it could even be arranged so that he can do this by a stylus scheme, such as is now employed in the telautograph seen in railroad waiting rooms, just as though he had the physical page before him.


All this is conventional, except for the projection forward of present-day mechanisms and gadgetry. It affords an immediate step, however, to associative indexing, the basic idea of which is a provision whereby any item may be caused at will to select immediately and automatically another. This is the essential feature of the memex. The process of tying two items together is the important thing.

When the user is building a trail, he names it, inserts the name in his code book, and taps it out on his keyboard. Before him are the two items to be joined, projected onto adjacent viewing positions. At the bottom of each there are a number of blank code spaces, and a pointer is set to indicate one of these on each item. The user taps a single key, and the items are permanently joined. In each code space appears the code word. Out of view, but also in the code space, is inserted a set of dots for photocell viewing; and on each item these dots by their positions designate the index number of the other item.

Thereafter, at any time, when one of these items is in view, the other can be instantly recalled merely by tapping a button below the corresponding code space. Moreover, when numerous items have been thus joined together to form a trail, they can be reviewed in turn, rapidly or slowly, by deflecting a lever like that used for turning the pages of a book. It is exactly as though the physical items had been gathered together from widely separated sources and bound together to form a new book. It is more than this, for any item can be joined into numerous trails.

The owner of the memex, let us say, is interested in the origin and properties of the bow and arrow. Specifically he is studying why the short Turkish bow was apparently superior to the English long bow in the skirmishes of the Crusades. He has dozens of possibly pertinent books and articles in his memex. First he runs through an encyclopedia, finds an interesting but sketchy article, leaves it projected. Next, in a history, he finds another pertinent item, and ties the two together. Thus he goes, building a trail of many items. Occasionally he inserts a comment of his own, either linking it into the main trail or joining it by a side trail to a particular item. When it becomes evident that the elastic properties of available materials had a great deal to do with the bow, he branches off on a side trail which takes him through textbooks on elasticity and tables of physical constants. He inserts a page of longhand analysis of his own. Thus he builds a trail of his interest through the maze of materials available to him.

And his trails do not fade. Several years later, his talk with a friend turns to the queer ways in which a people resist innovations, even of vital interest. He has an example, in the fact that the outraged Europeans still failed to adopt the Turkish bow. In fact he has a trail on it. A touch brings up the code book. Tapping a few keys projects the head of the trail. A lever runs through it at will, stopping at interesting items, going off on side excursions. It is an interesting trail, pertinent to the discussion. So he sets a reproducer in action, photographs the whole trail out, and passes it to his friend for insertion in his own memex, there to be linked into the more general trail.


Wholly new forms of encyclopedias will appear, ready made with a mesh of associative trails running through them, ready to be dropped into the memex and there amplified. The lawyer has at his touch the associated opinions and decisions of his whole experience, and of the experience of friends and authorities. The patent attorney has on call the millions of issued patents, with familiar trails to every point of his client's interest. The physician, puzzled by a patient's reactions, strikes the trail established in studying an earlier similar case, and runs rapidly through analogous case histories, with side references to the classics for the pertinent anatomy and histology. The chemist, struggling with the synthesis of an organic compound, has all the chemical literature before him in his laboratory, with trails following the analogies of compounds, and side trails to their physical and chemical behavior.

The historian, with a vast chronological account of a people, parallels it with a skip trail which stops only on the salient items, and can follow at any time contemporary trails which lead him all over civilization at a particular epoch. There is a new profession of trail blazers, those who find delight in the task of establishing useful trails through the enormous mass of the common record. The inheritance from the master becomes, not only his additions to the world's record, but for his disciples the entire scaffolding by which they were erected.

Thus science may implement the ways in which man produces, stores, and consults the record of the race. It might be striking to outline the instrumentalities of the future more spectacularly, rather than to stick closely to methods and elements now known and undergoing rapid development, as has been done here. Technical difficulties of all sorts have been ignored, certainly, but also ignored are means as yet unknown which may come any day to accelerate technical progress as violently as did the advent of the thermionic tube. In order that the picture may not be too commonplace, by reason of sticking to present-day patterns, it may be well to mention one such possibility, not to prophesy but merely to suggest, for prophecy based on extension of the known has substance, while prophecy founded on the unknown is only a doubly involved guess.

All our steps in creating or absorbing material of the record proceed through one of the senses — the tactile when we touch keys, the oral when we speak or listen, the visual when we read. Is it not possible that some day the path may be established more directly?

We know that when the eye sees, all the consequent information is transmitted to the brain by means of electrical vibrations in the channel of the optic nerve. This is an exact analogy with the electrical vibrations which occur in the cable of a television set: they convey the picture from the photocells which see it to the radio transmitter from which it is broadcast. We know further that if we can approach that cable with the proper instruments, we do not need to touch it; we can pick up those vibrations by electrical induction and thus discover and reproduce the scene which is being transmitted, just as a telephone wire may be tapped for its message.

The impulses which flow in the arm nerves of a typist convey to her fingers the translated information which reaches her eye or ear, in order that the fingers may be caused to strike the proper keys. Might not these currents be intercepted, either in the original form in which information is conveyed to the brain, or in the marvelously metamorphosed form in which they then proceed to the hand?

By bone conduction we already introduce sounds: into the nerve channels of the deaf in order that they may hear. Is it not possible that we may learn to introduce them without the present cumbersomeness of first transforming electrical vibrations to mechanical ones, which the human mechanism promptly transforms back to the electrical form? With a couple of electrodes on the skull the encephalograph now produces pen-and-ink traces which bear some relation to the electrical phenomena going on in the brain itself. True, the record is unintelligible, except as it points out certain gross misfunctioning of the cerebral mechanism; but who would now place bounds on where such a thing may lead?

In the outside world, all forms of intelligence whether of sound or sight, have been reduced to the form of varying currents in an electric circuit in order that they may be transmitted. Inside the human frame exactly the same sort of process occurs. Must we always transform to mechanical movements in order to proceed from one electrical phenomenon to another? It is a suggestive thought, but it hardly warrants prediction without losing touch with reality and immediateness.

Presumably man's spirit should be elevated if he can better review his shady past and analyze more completely and objectively his present problems. He has built a civilization so complex that he needs to mechanize his records more fully if he is to push his experiment to its logical conclusion and not merely become bogged down part way there by overtaxing his limited memory. His excursions may be more enjoyable if he can reacquire the privilege of forgetting the manifold things he does not need to have immediately at hand, with some assurance that he can find them again if they prove important.

The applications of science have built man a well-supplied house, and are teaching him to live healthily therein. They have enabled him to throw masses of people against one another with cruel weapons. They may yet allow him truly to encompass the great record and to grow in the wisdom of race experience. He may perish in conflict before he learns to wield that record for his true good. Yet, in the application of science to the needs and desires of man, it would seem to be a singularly unfortunate stage at which to terminate the process, or to lose hope as to the outcome.

* * * * * * * * * *

What has this to do with Forbidden Planet?

The Krell Memex library

Video demonstration at:

Art Should Comfort the Disturbed and Disturb the Comfortable.
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Gord Green
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Joined: 07 Oct 2014
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PostPosted: Tue Apr 16, 2019 4:55 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

( One eyebrow arched...)


Now this is the Law of the Jungle -- as old and as true as the sky;
And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.
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