Time Travel. A History

A faux-scholarly introduction by these future archeologists (or “histognostors”) explains the situation. Everyone knows about that turning point in Earth’s history called the Great Collapse: “that catastrophic event which in a matter of weeks totally demolished the cultural achievement of centuries.” What triggered this Great Collapse was a chemical chain reaction that caused the near-instantaneous disintegration, worldwide, of the peculiar material—“whitish, flaccid, a derivative of cellulose, rolled out on cylinders and cut into rectangular sheets”—called “papyr.” Papyr was almost the sole means of recording knowledge: “information of all kinds was impressed on it with a dark tint.” Of course nowadays (the histognostors remind their readers) we have metamnestics and data crystallization, but those modern techniques were unknown to this primitive civilization.

True, there were the beginnings of artificial memory; but these were large, bulky machines, troublesome to operate and maintain, and used only in the most limited, narrow way. They were called “electronic brains,” an exaggeration comprehensible only in the historical perspective.

The world’s economic systems depended utterly on papyr for regulation and control. Education, work, travel, and finance—all were thrown into disarray when the papyr turned ash. “Panic hit the cities; people, deprived of their identity, lost their reason.” After the Great Collapse came the long, dark epoch called the Chaotic. Wandering hordes abandoned the cities. Construction halted (no blueprints). Illiteracy and superstition became universal. “The more complex a civilization,” the archeologists note, “the more vital to its existence is the maintenance of the flow of information; hence the more vulnerable it becomes to any disturbance in that flow.” Now, and for centuries to come, anarchy prevailed.

This far-future cosmic archeological perspective frames the nearer-future narrative, which we are meant to understand was written in the last days of papyr. The narrator himself seems to be a bewildered civilian navigating a paranoid military bureaucracy. We readers, knowing what we know about the sad fate in store for the written word, may smile grimly as clerks stamp index cards “classified,” documents tumble from mail chutes, envelopes shoot through pneumatic tubes, dog-eared folders vanish into metal safes, and paper tape snakes from computers. Of course, we recognize our own world, too.

Rambling deeper and deeper into the labyrinth, the narrator stumbles upon a room full of books: “gray, crumbling” books on dusty, sagging shelves. It is the Library. A balding, shuffling, bespectacled, cross-eyed old man seems to be in charge. He presides over a catalogue of green, pink, and white cards “in no apparent order,” stuffed into “endless rows of drawers, their labels framed in brass.” On one desk the narrator finds an encyclopedia of heavy black volumes, one lying open to “ORIGINAL SIN—the division of the world into Information and Misinformation.” The narrator staggers, dizzy in this darkness broken only by a few naked bulbs. He is overwhelmed by the books’ mildewy stench: “this heavy, nauseating breath of the moldering centuries.” The old librarian keeps offering him dusty volumes: Basic Cryptology; Automated Self-Immolation; “Ah, here is Homo Sapiens As a Corpus Delicti, a splendid work, splendid…” When he finally escapes this paranoid nightmare of a library, he feels as if he has stepped out of a slaughterhouse.

He is aimless and tired. He keeps looking for orders or instructions. They are not forthcoming. “And so my future remained unknown to me,” he muses, “almost as if it hadn’t been written down in any ledger anywhere.” But we know that his terminal bathtub awaits. He is about to become a time capsule.

*1 So named to preserve the memory of William Randolph Hearst’s mother.

*2 Why 8113? Jacobs performed some numerology. He reckoned that 6,117 years had passed since the first year of recorded history, which he decided was 4241 BC, according to the Egyptian priestly calendar. Setting 1936 as a midpoint, he did the math and got 8113. It is common for time-capsule buriers to imagine themselves at “the midpoint” of history.

*3 1939 + 5,000.

*4 Full title: The Book of Record of the Time Capsule of Cupaloy Deemed Capable of Resisting the Effects of Time for Five Thousand Years; Preserving an Account of Universal Achievements, Embedded in the Grounds of the New York World’s Fair, 1939.