I concur with the conclusions of the celebrated cryptanalyst Elizabeth Friedman who, long ago, said that any attempt to find ciphers in the text was doomed to frustration and that it was, instead, likely to be an artificial, constructed language.
The objection that such things did not become an intellectual fashion till the 1600s carries little weight. The 17th C developments were entirely based upon medieval ideas, and specifically those of Ramon llull. To propose that such ideas were pursued - dabbled with - in the 1400s (in the context of a contemporary Llullian revival) is not grievously anachronistic.
The objection that such things did not become an intellectual fashion till the 1600s carries little weight. The 17th C developments were entirely based upon medieval ideas, and specifically those of Ramon llull. To propose that such ideas were pursued - dabbled with - in the 1400s (in the context of a contemporary Llullian revival) is not grievously anachronistic.
* * *
My research leads me to conclude, in any case, that the Voynich language is a demonstration of the philosophical doctrine of the COINCIDENTIA OPPOSITORUM, and as such is a constructed or artificial language. It is, as they say, a "conlang" (a truly ugly word that I prefer not to use.)
This has been my inclination from the outset: the question has always been whether it is a priori or a postiori. Is it constructed from first principles, or is it based upon a preexisting natural language?
I still have no settled answer to this question, except to draw attention to the linguistic background implied by the illustrations in the manuscript. I argue for a North Italian context with the work concerning the folk herbal traditions of the Dolomites. The natural language that accompanies that tradition is today called LADIN, often described as a "Vulgar Latin". By my reckoning, this is the vernacular tongue most likely to be in the background of this manuscript.
We should also note, though, that there are many sub-branches of "Ladin" - the most developed of them in our period was Friulean (aka "Eastern Ladin").
Otherwise, it would be consistent for such a constructed, philosophical language of the period to be based upon one of the standard scholarly languages: Latin, Greek, Hebrew. Arguments might be made for each of these.
These are the obviously philosophical languages. Yet, in the period - let us note well - there is a strong inclination towards vernacular languages.
* * *
In the first instance, though, it is important to understand what the language has been constructed for. What is its purpose? Why was it made?
Constructed languages are constructed for a reason - even if it is only to show that it can be done. By my account, the Voynich language has been made to illustrate, demonstrate or facilitate - express - the philosophical idea of the coincidentia oppositorum - the coincidence of opposites.
To understand the language we need to ask: how would we construct a language to illustrate the coincidentia oppositorum? Or, perhaps more exactly, given the resources of the Latin manuscript tradition, how would we construct a language to illustrate the coincidentia oppositorum?
In the relevant period this Neoplatonic doctrine was primarily associated with Nicholas of Cusa. It was the centrepiece of his theology and philosophical outlook.
And, as it happens, Nicholas had an intimate, prolonged connection with the relevant North Italian herb tradition: he was bishop over the Ladin people and those communities in the Italian Alps for nearly eight years.
Accordingly, I have pursued the possible involvement of Cusanus in the Voynich project. It might explain why we find a highly sophisticated artificial text matched with quite rustic illustrations. Still, I admit, Cusanus is unlikely as a direct author - I have argued that the work is under his influence.
I do note Cusanus' possible interest in constructed languages, and his motives. He was vitally engaged for decades in attempts to reconcile the Roman Church with Byzantine Orthodoxy. He was of the view that their differences were largely linguistic and might be overcome by finding a common terminology.
In fact, he felt similarly about the Muslims - they were almost Christians, but linguistic barriers and misunderstandings prevented their acceptance of Christ.
Both of these cases are amenable to his philosophy of coinciding opposites - what seem like opposites at first can be reconciled at a higher level. The coincidentia oppositorum is a very useful platform for a high level diplomat like Nicholas of Cusa.
But he did not have a monopoly on the coincidentia oppositorum. He was just its most famous, capable and orthodox exponent.
Another candidate, with similar intellectual background, from the same milieu, was Giovanni Fontana - who is, on the face of it, the far more likely culprit. And he too had a connection to the relevant herbal tradition: for many years he was Municipal Physician of Udine, in Friulea, where "Eastern Ladin" was the demotic. He and Cusanus both attended the University of Padua and became interested in the systems of Ramon Llull through Catalan teachers there. Fontana was less capable than Cusanus, but more creative, and less constrained by orthodoxy.
The authorship question can be left unsettled. The language is, regardless, a constructed language designed to give expression to the coincidence of opposites.
* * *
In the context of the manuscript, this is being presented as the Language of the Nymphs. It is through this language that the terrestrial nymphs receive knowledge of the powers of herbs from their counterparts, the celestial nymphs. I maintain that that is essentially how the work has been framed.
That is to say, from the illustrations we can ascertain that the coinciding opposites in this work are - put simply - heaven and earth, the stars of the heavens and the herbs of the field, the celestial order and the terrestrial (or sublunary) order.
As I have argued here, the principle concern of the work is the medieval pharmacological problem of how to harness - extract, concentrate and preserve - the celestial powers of herbs. The language has been made for that purpose.
* * *
The complicating factor, though, is that this is, at the same time, a transfer of knowledge from East to West. The framing also includes the symbolism of the relocation of the pilgrimage (to the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem) to local landscapes. The celestial nymphs know a body of sacred star lore (from the East). The terrestrial nymphs know the (vernacular) local herb lore of Italy. These are the other coinciding opposites in this text: East and West.
At the end of the Middle Ages, the sanctity of Jerusalem (the sacred centre) had to be relocated to the local landscapes of Europe (the periphery). The coincidentia oppositorum is a useful philosophical framework for doing this.
It seems, in fact, that this is the model that the Voynich author has followed. There is a pre-established pattern for moving things from East to West, namely the coincidentia oppositorum, and the Voynich author is consciously building upon that pattern. There are the coinciding opposites: Centre and Periphery, Jerusalem and Italy.
To summarize:
Celestial Terrestrial
East West
Centre Periphery
Jerusalem Italy
I contend that the Voynich language has been made for the specific purpose of expressing these and related parallel cases of coinciding opposites.
As an aside, there is also the phenomenon of LABELESE - the labels in the manuscript are different in some ways to the language in the main text. Might the methods used in the Voynich manuscript have been used previously - in the above-mentioned pilgrimage context - to generate toponyms?
* * *
Turning to the nuts and bolts of it, my research leads to the conclusion that the text is founded upon two paradigmatic words. If we pursue the probabilities of the glyphs (which are more likely to follow which) we arrive at two valid Voynich words: CHOLDAIIN and QOKEEDY.
My proposal is that these two words are the foundation of the Voynich language. It is a constructed language, and it has been constructed from these two words, which stand in a relation of coinciding opposites to each other.
How to make a language based on the coincidence of opposites?
Answer: set up two words or terms that are coinciding opposites and build the language from those two words.
These two words are, as I call them, verbum potentiae: words of power or potency or potential. The language has been unpacked from them, as it were.
The million dollar question becomes: what do these two verbum potentiae mean?
The most straightforward surmise would be that CHOLDAIIN means something like 'Earth' and QOKEEDY means something like 'Heavens'. This is probably incorrect in itself but it is something like that. The terms give expression to those coinciding opposites in some way.
* * *
It might help, at this point, to explain the coincidentia oppositorum:
Imagine a race track. When the runner moves around the track they are moving away from the starting post. But at the same time they are moving towards the finishing line. The starting post and finishing line are the same thing. The runner is moving away from it and towards it at the same time.
I am proposing that the keywords CHOLDAIIN and QOKEEDY are like this. In the analogy, CHOLDAIIN is a word that means "finishing line" while QOKEEDY is a word that means "starting post" - but they are cognate as well as contrasting. Ultimately, they are the same thing.
What are these words? Exactly what coinciding opposites?
* * *
Are these keywords symbolic constructions in themselves, or have they been taken from natural languages? Perhaps, for example, they are philosophical terms from Greek or Latin? Or perhaps they are religious terms, Theonyms?
Or perhaps - QOKEEDY is a Theonym, or philosophical term, while CHOLDAIIN is, on the contrary, a term taken from a vernacular language?
In that case, the constructed Voynich language might be seen as an exercise in blending two languages, one high (formal) and the other low (vernacular)? This would be a way of embodying the coincidentia oppositorum in a constructed language. (At this stage, it strikes me as a distinct possibility.)
We should also mention the possible influence of the 'Prophetic Kabbalah' of Abraham Abulafia, a contemporary of Ramon Llull, whose systems blended with later Llullism. His main technique was to take the 72 letter Name of God (in Hebrew) - treating it as the verbum potentiae and generating permutations of those letters into new configurations with purported powers. That is the nature of Theonyms. Hebrew is the language that lends itself to that type of development.
* * *
As it happens, though, the very script of the Voynich language appears designed for this purpose and so relations of coinciding opposites are built-in to the keywords at the glyph level.
The simplest example of this is the observation that the glyph-set (and text) is largely constructed from a system of curves and lines (c-curves and backslashes). This suggests the proverbial geometric rendering of the coincidentia oppositorum - notably by Nicholas of Cusa - as the paradox of curve and line.
In the analogy, the curve (what is circular) is celestial, and the line (what is rectalinear) is terrestrial.
How to make a script with which to express the coincidentia oppositorum? Given the resources of the Latin manuscript tradition, it might be obvious to construct it from the basic pre-existing contrasting scribal elements, the c-curve and the minim (backslash or line).
Consider then, the two verbum potentiae in this regard. We can see how their glyph structures conform to what we surmise their meanings might be. There are no line-based glyphs in the celestial QOKEEDY. And there are no unmodified c-curves in CHOLDAIIN, where line-based glyphs predominate. In QOKEEDY we have a doubled c-curve. In CHOLDAIIN we have a doubled backslash. There is a constructed contrast.
We can observe other relevant contrasts that follow from the general train of Neoplatonic thinking and that might be deemed standard to the philosophy of the period. QOKEEDY is not easily divided. Whereas, CHOLDAIIN is naturally bifurcated in Voynichese. CHOL and DAIIN are common words. QOKEEDY in fact has a tripartite structure (prefix-midfix-suffix) whereas CHOLDAIIN, again, has a dual structure. One word is triune, the other is dualistic.
The celestial verbum potentiae is triune expressing unity, indivisibility. The terrestrial verbum potentiae - its counterpoint - is bifurcating and expresses the dualistic nature of the terrestrial realm.
Similarly, the glyphs in CHOLDAIIN are prone to mutate into other glyphs. [n] easily becomes [r] or [g] or [m] or [s] and [ch] becomes [sh] with a stroke of the quill.
In contrast, only the outstanding gallows glyphs mutate to other forms in QOKEEDY. CHOLDAIIN is mutable. QOKEEDY is stable. These contrasts are built-in to the very structures of the two iconic words. These qualities then extend throughout the text because the text is generated from these two words.
If we take account of the permitted mutations of the glyphs (especially in CHOLDAIIN) we can see that every single word in the text is a variation upon or combination of these words.
Moreover, as we would expect from the above, the terrestrial CHOLDAIIN predominates in the herbal sections of the text, while the celestial QOKEEDY predominates in the astrological sections of the work. This is the distinction between the two dialects of Voynichese, observed long ago by Prescott Currier.
Certainly, the glyph-set is not an a priori invention. It is a selection of existing glyphs from other works. This must count in favour, I think, of the language the script has been assembled to write also not being (quite) a priori. Yet the keywords, CHOLDAIIN and QOKEEDY seem crafted to purpose.
* * *
The Voynich language is assuredly a sophisticated creation. Could Fontana have made it? Possibly. Certainly, it was within the range of Nicholas of Cusa, a man of prodiguous philosophical and linguistic powers, the genius of the period. But he seems too high-minded for a manuscript like this.
Nevertheless, the seeds of the project are almost certainly to be found in Ramon Llull and Quattrocento Llullism. The idea of an artificial, constructed, philosophical language - that might be put to many purposes - are there in Llull in the 1200s.
There is also the traditions of the Benedictine nuns - Hildergard of Bingen - that claimed a supernatural language. This is not systematic or constructed, though, - it is purely inspirational - and the Voynich is unlike it in that respect, but it does serve to underline the fact that the idea of non-human, spiritual tongues was current in the relevant period.
Again: a constructed philosophical language is not grievously anachronistic in our period, the first half of the 1400s. Just prior to the printing press, it was a period of great linguistic invention. In its context, a philosophical language based on the coincidentia oppositorum would be remarkable - a tour de force - but not out of place.
R.B.
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