By Lee Marshall
Wired Magazine, March 1997
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.
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.")
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).
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
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
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,
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.
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
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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.
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
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
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
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.'"
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
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.
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
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?
Copyright © 1993-97 Wired Magazine
Group Inc. All rights reserved.
Compilation Copyright © 1994-97 Wired Digital Inc. All rights
The World According to Eco -- Hosted by HotWired,
this is the text of the above Wired 5.03 interview.
Il Mondo Secondo Eco -- Hosted by the Società
di Mutuo Soccorso di Rifredi , this is an Italian translation
of the above Wired Eco article. (In Italian)
Return to Eco