It has always seemed obvious to me that the state of being human implies a craving for certainty and a discomfort with doubt. But here is a tale of one of history’s greatest certainty-seekers that makes me wonder if that’s wholly true.
One of the finest achievements of the 17th-century astronomer Giovanni Domenico Cassini was to produce the first scientifically accurate chart of the moon (pictured right). Thanks to his study, the near side of the moon better known than most of the earth’s surface at the time. In a way it also changed how we see and think about our relationship of mastery to the universe. As Cassini brought the moon down to earth, he elevated the human eye to that of the gods: mere mortals could now see in close-up a heavenly body that had always been beyond reach. The chart is a marvel of scientific accuracy, an eradication of the imaginary for the stability of fact.
So why, then, when you look very closely, is there a tiny image of a woman’s head with wings (pictured below) where the Heraclides Promontory should be? This curiosity, smuggled into one of the greatest works of certainty ever produced, is a cipher, with no obvious reason for being. Some believe the map’s engraver put it there for a joke. But surely hawk-eyed Cassini would have noticed.
Instead I like to think the astronomer placed it there himself – that he deliberately left a puzzle in his perfectly accurate map. But why would he subvert such a labour of years? It may simply be an encouragement to look closer at the detail. It could be a warning not to mistake the map for the territory.
Most of all I suspect his intention was to leave a little mystery intact in his unmasked moon – a gesture that calls on us to acknowledge the imaginative pull of the unknown. I sense the winged woman stands against the imaginative poverty of total certainty, a state in which wonder cannot take flight. In this way Cassini’s chart achieves the impossible status of being both an essay in certainty and a celebration of our enduring desire – perhaps even need – for uncertainty. For me it is delightfully ironic petition for the importance of doubt.
Cathy Haynes is a founder faculty member of The School of Life and Curator for Art on the Underground (art.tfl.gov.uk). If you know of another example of an official, scientific map with a secret code or fictional element, Cathy would love to know about it. www.cathyhaynes.org
Images: Top, Map of the Moon by Cassini, engraved by Claude Mellan, c.1679. Bottom: Map detail.
(c) British Library Board www.imagesonline.bl.uk
I have noticed recently that the new edition of Transport for London's Local Cycle Guide No. 6 has the outlined eponymous profile of Boris Johnson's head (outlined in a squiggly little blue line) between West Drayton mainline station and the top of Park Rd. Uxbridge. This, of course, is a prime example of the "absolute hubris" of the man, which is something, of course, that the average London man (usually someone with his entire life already planned out ahead of him, in detail), whom I suppose is also inordinately interested in cycle maps of London, would not exactly expect out of the blue, even knowing all about the "absolute hubris" of Boris Johnson (or Boris the Bold, as some like to call him) by watching him perform his political juggling tricks while peddling his wares on London Tonight for years. I suppose this is an example of what was talked of (above) by Cathy Haynes, although, I suppose, one not as she would have expected when she first asked for certain cartographic examples in the particular question (above) concerning certain imaginary maps on the importance of doubt.
Posted by: Drew Byrne | October 31, 2011 at 12:49 PM