Edited and Transcribed by Sarah Simons The Museum of Jurassic Technology is pleased to present the long awaited publication of No One May Ever Have the Same Knowledge Again, a collection of extraordinary letters written to the observers at Mount Wilson Observatory between 1915 and 1935 by people from all walks of life and the world over expressing their idiosyncratic understandings of the universe. This book contains photographs of many of the most visually intriguing letters, and a collection of period plates from the observatory as well as photos of the astronomers to whom these remarkable letters were addressed.
a complete (and extended) transcription of one of my favorite exhibits at the museum of jurassic technology. you'll find schizophrenic rants, baffling pronouncements, funny malapropisms and, occasionally, wonderful insights.
I was drawn to the curious collection of letters by it being reference in House of Leaves. However, the earnest ramblings of cranks sent off to astronomers decades ago I found ultimately sad and tiresome. These range from the revealed cosmology of Alice May Williams, tormented and sincere in New Zealand, to published spiritualist May Barnard Wiltse. Some of the confused minds merely grappled with astronomy 101 and tried to tease out errors with drawings and logic. The most moving missive is that of American painter Frederick K. Detwiller detailing his paintings and experience as a witness in Haverstraw, NY of the total solar eclipse of January 24, 1925. Unfortunately, while the book includes pictures of the astronomers and their gear, we do not get to see Detwiller's art.
This is a beautiful and strange book which comes off, at times, like poetry because of the weirdness of the language and language structures used in the letters.
"No One May Ever Have the Same Knowledge Again" is a line taken from the first letter.
A more appropriate title for this collection of letters is "No one may ever have these rambling incoherent musings of narcissistic religious faith mixed with a scattering of astro-physics jargon words again".
A few letters were actually endearing - teens looking for advice on how to become an astronomer. The rest are religious lectures on how to see god's work in the stars, emphatic "logic" extrapolations from poorly understood concepts, and even appeals for investments into spiritual research.
The collection was published while the internet was still dial-up, and coming across these kinds of heart-felt, emphatic, strongly believed correct, narcissism was rare. We can read it every day now.
The big insight of the collection is that today's Internet did not invent the pscyho-rants, incomprehensible eccentrics, and religious zealots claiming scientists are missing God. No, they've been around since at least 1915, but their medium was snail mail and the audience was small.
I have to wonder what Sarah Simons and David Wilson were thinking in putting this collection together. Maybe just to raise some money for the museum? But here's this MacArthur fellow putting together a collection of letters of what - simpletons? impassioned morons? bafoons? Mentally ill? Are we all supposed to have a laugh at these letters.