In London, a hundred thirty years ago, there were 12 to 13 mail deliveries per day. Telegrams could be sent for immediately delivery anywhere in the world at any branch office of the Royal Mails--and in London of that day such an office was within a short walk of every residence in that city. The largest, busiest, most influential stock exchange in the world was in the City, a golden square mile, with access to even better facilities of communication. The British Museum and libraries across the city contained copies of virtually every book known in the western world. Public and private transport were available to carry a woman anywhere in the city at a pace not to be imagined as less than that which obtains in the traffic choked contemporary city.
George Bernard Shaw was able to send two theater tickets and a message to Winston Churchill in 1890's London: "Enclosing two tickets to the opening of my new play. Please attend, and bring a friend, if you have one." Winston replied: "Cannot possibly attend first performance. Will attend the second, if there is one." They were able to conclude that transaction in under 20 minutes. Not the speed of e-mail--although e-mail would not have delivered the theater tickets--so the computer only shows itself an accelerant here--rather like benzene is an accelerant.
In St. Petersburg in 1720, merchants from across the span of Europe hawked the goods of every western market, and traded for the raw materials of the vast interior of the continent, and the rare and exotic producitons of the mysterious East. Every major and petty ruler of Europe had embassies or missions in the city, and the tiniest details of life in the city are known from their journals and correspondence. Water taxis were everywhere available, and any boat on the Neva or any of the canals was required by Autocratic fiat to ferry for a reasonable fee anyone applying for service, unless able to prove that they were in productive pursuit of fish. The streets were broad and well laid out, crossed by narrow alleys which troops regularly patrolled to enforce Petr Alexeevich's decree that they be unencumbered. The finest examples of the Italian architechtural arts were everywhere evident in the multitude of palaces on Vasilevsky island and the south bank of the Neva, and the finest French ornamental gardens sheltered the drunken stupor of suddenly wealth Russian
nouveaux arrivés. Public baths proliferated, and disgusted Western Europeans with their unhealthy spectacle of weekly baths for even the peasants. Georgian cutpurses on horseback threaded the market throngs, heading out only when the Guard came in sight or they could carry no more ill-gotten gains. The most modern navy in the World sat anchored at Kronstadt, or stood out into the roadstead to ply the Baltic, and even mighty Britannia's fleet eyed them cautiously.
In Grenada in 1450, the Nasrids were at the beginning of their third century of rule over a city which held more books, and more types of books, than any other city in history had known, not even excepting the Library at Alexandia. Christian, Muslim and Jew pushed one another to hurry through the busiest and richest markets on the European continent, and no greater variety of goods were to be found anywhere else in the world west of the Caspian Sea. Quadi and the Alima rested from their labors to study in the minutest detail the allegations of statements of the Prophet and his companions, and the
hadith, the actions of those men, so as to perfect the
sharia--and took their ease on silk-brocade cushions to enjoy the
shirops (modern sorbets) of fruit juice and fruit pulp, chilled in the ice and snows brought daily from the Atlas mountains by relays over hundreds of miles, served by Circassian slave girls. In the great universities, students from across the length and breadth of the continent waited quietly in their shabby infidel alcove for the oppotunity to study the obscure texts of their own professed creeds. Ancient Greek, Latin, Arabic, Hebrew and every fluent or halting toungue west of Mother Russia was to be heard there and in the streets of the bazarres. The accumulated wisdom of the ancient world unknowingly awaited the
Reconquista and their appointment with eternity in Lombardy and Tuscany--enough on their own to have spawned the Renaissance, when combined with the literary and archaeological bombshells being unearthed by Romans and Florentines and Milanese, they would produce an explosion of knowledge which it is reasonable to posit the world had never known the like of. In Constantinople, the last Roman Emporer sat down to endure the seige which would one day kill him--and the Quadis and the Alim would find, and preserve, in
Hagia Sophia, every missing piece of the Ancient puzzle not supplied in Al Andalus's glorious Grenada, or destroyed forever by the rampaging Christians who burned the Alexandrine Library and the woman who ran it and died defending it. In Cairo, the most accute philosophical discussion and legal researches and the most arcane theological debates in the world took place in the University,
l'université de Paris not excepted. In Baghdad, slumbering in its decline under a desert sun, the last of the Seljuk masters dreamed of their ancient glories, and reveled in the sybaritic pleasures left to them. In fact, Grenada stood on the western end of a mono-lingual, mono-cultural, religiously pluralistic and racially diverse "non-empire" whose eastern terminus was lapped by the waters of the Torres Straits north of Australia, still dancing in its Ancestral Dream Time.
In the Forbidden City of 13th century Yuan China, a clock kept the hours, to help the keep the watch on the rockets in the armory alert--a difficult enterprise for the sleepy peasants dragooned from their homes a thousand leagues away on the borders of the highest mountains of the Earth, as Mandarins prepared new students for the now ancient civil service examinations, and the Imperial Eunuchs plotted with the women of the palace in a confused coterie, not knowing how to deal with the strange Mongol horsemen who had turned their world upside down. In their homes, the wise had shrines to every god they had ever heard of, the Ancestors first and foremost, and then the delicate statue of Confusius atop the I Ching (illegible to the majority of a largely illiterate but extremely clever and intelligent population), with a Christian Cross from their nice Nestorian neighbor, and a plain green silk cloth for the Allah who eschews representational art, and so rudely jostled by a laughing Buddha. The rare goods of a distant and despised, but oh-so-intriguing Europe were displayed with the exotic fish and shells of the Pacific and the rare gems of the Subcontinent. Simple and deadly Muslims of the Golden Horde warily eye the swart, smiling horse archers who patrol the streets, and dream of their homes in Gansu, on the shoulders of the Himalayas. Vietnameses Pirates slip through the crowd to seek a buyer for their more valuable plunder, slipping past the Bengali seller of chicken basted in strange curry, and the friendly, little brown Moluccan tribesman with his bushels of cloyingly aromatic spices.
I can go right back like this for millenia, and across the face of the globe. So i would like you to tell me when in history there was not a possiblity, for some individuals, that
Quote:the sheer quantity of information available [would] eventually overwhelm [their] ability to do effective research (the type of research which is limited to the process of examining existing knowledge)?
The human race stands atop an incomprehensibly vast pile of "knowledge rocks," piled up higgledy-piggledy by our uncounted billions of ancestors, and those more recent ancestors still known to us or the historical record. Some have placed small stone on the pile, others have rolled up great boulders of wisdom too heavy for mere human disaster ever to topple, many a rare jewel sparkles on the face of the slopes; how many more lie hidden, crushed in the weight of all the accreted knowledge? The human has been the clever, curious, industrious and sly creature we know today for tens of thousands of years. I contend to you that there have always been in those many millenia more questions than answers, and that this will continue to be the case. When the day comes that the last question is answered, the next sound anyone will hear will be the Crack of Doom.
Computers are toys, don't overrate them.