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Anyhow, as I was saying, I am a Canada research chair in digital humanities and an intellectual historian.
Both roles lead me to suggest that we now live in a period that is as important as the early 15th century, when Johannes Gutenberg invented the mechanical printing press.
Due to the development of new software, the Internet, new platforms and methods for information display, new methods for interaction with the computer, and ever more powerful computers, we are entering into a period that will fundamentally change the way we communicate. We won’t dispense with the book, and we won’t abandon print, but we will supplement the letter and the number with new instruments for representation that have different capacities, and supplement the book with new containers that store, display, and distribute content.
My purpose as a scholar is to adapt to this new expressive universe and help my colleagues to do the same. Our challenge as a country is, similarly, to adapt and help Canadians to do the same. It will mean expanding our definition of literacy. It will demand a redesign of the workflows we use and the tools we aggregate to produce knowledge.
And it will demand an overhaul of the institutions we use to store and archive knowledge. The library at the start of the 22nd century will likely be a very different place from the one we now know and will be filled with four-dimensional virtual objects and books that communicate with each other.
To put some substance to these assertions, let me describe two trends in computing and computing applications that are changing and will continue to change the way we communicate. The first trend is the topographic revolution, while the second is convergence.
The topographic revolution is a term I use to draw a parallel with a cultural shift described by media theorists such as Marshall McLuhan and print historians such as Elizabeth Eisenstein.
In their writings, they argue that European scholars, in the wake of the printing press, were faced with a revolution in practice, expression, and even thought that was so transformative that it later came to be known as the typographic revolution. Scholars worked in conjunction with printers to devise solutions to the expressive and practical problems presented by the printing press, devising work practices and formalisms used to support the production of books and journals.
I suggest that humanities scholars and others today face a similar problem. We are confronted with new instruments for representation that we don’t know how to use, forms of representation that have some or all of the following properties: they are topographic, meaning they have two- and three-dimensional shape; they are dynamic, meaning they move; and they are autonomous, meaning they perform behaviours independent of any direct manipulation by their programmer or author. Their effect is akin to words self-organizing themselves into sentences.
From the standpoint of someone who works in the humanities and knows something of the history of human communication, these developments are incredibly important--even inspiring. But in the coming years, you, I, and the present and future generations of this country will be faced with a fundamental question: are they valuable?
We invest an enormous amount of time, treasure and infrastructure in this country to ensure that Canadians attain at least a minimal competence in the use of two instruments for representation: the letter and the number. Is a similar investment warranted to expand the expressive toolkit of Canadians to enable them to live and work with expressive forms that combine virtual reality, audio, pictures, and 2-D animations?
In my view as an educator, the answer is yes, for one very simple and important reason. People function better when they are able to perceive their environment and construct their knowledge through multiple forms of representation. They learn faster and they are able to perceive empirical patterns and conceptual relationships more easily and more quickly.
Let me offer two scenarios to describe what I mean. In the first scenario, consider what an investor does when it’s RRSP time and he or she needs to purchase a stock or mutual fund. In principle, he or she could look at a table of numbers that outlines the price of the given stock, say, over the past six months. In practice, the investor won’t.
Most of us, when making such a decision, rarely consult a table of numbers, because it’s very hard to determine the trajectory and volatility of the price for the given investment. While the information is there, we would have to abstract it by memorizing and mentally visualizing the changing stock price over time. For most of us, that requires too much work. As a result, we consult something different--a graph--that instantly shows us the information we require.
The power of visualization and multiple formalisms is also indicated by the 3-D virtual buildings project, a project I initiated while working at the National Research Council and use now as a history professor at Brock University. Put simply, the project’s aim is to accomplish two things.
The first is to provide students with the skills in 3-D modelling software needed to generate models of heritage structures, such as these ones produced by my students at Brock. One model shown is the house of William Hamilton Merritt, the founder of the Welland Canal. The other is the old courthouse in downtown St. Catharines.
teThe next animation was produced by a research assistant of mine while I was working in New Brunswick. It shows a representation of Sparks Street here in Ottawa as it looked in 1878. What you see there in the immediate foreground is essentially the area that's now occupied by the war memorial. Sparks Street extended to what was then Canal Street. This is heading down towards Elgin Street, north, then heading down Sparks Street. Most of these buildings are no longer extant except for the section of the white building there. The rest of them are no longer in existence.
Now, the project also has a second most fundamental aim, and that is to teach what I call the George Gershwin school of historiography. Do you know the opera Porgy and Bess? Set in Catfish Row in Charleston, South Carolina, during the 1920s, the work, among other things, features a not very reputable character named Sportin' Life, who expresses his belief that holy writ hasn't got it quite right, that it's just too much to believe that little David fought big Goliath, who then “lay down and dieth”.
My aim as a historian and as a teacher is to make my students, at least in this respect, more like Sportin' Life. When they arrive at my university and in my classroom, far too many of them treat history books and the printed word generally as if they were holy writ. My job is to get them to the point where they, like Sportin' Life, say that It Ain't Necessarily So.
My job is to get them to a point where they realize that a representation of the past cannot be identified with the object to which it refers. The problem is to get them to believe it.
Most university students are the product of a public school system that rewards them for their ability to repeat content, not critically assess it. Repetition is a form of work that many like and wish to continue. Further, since most obtain their history from books, articles, and lectures, they are rarely afforded the opportunity to learn the true history of historical representations.
Historical works are not transparent windows to the past. They are arguments. They rest on the assumptions and reasoning of the historians who construct them, and they rest on the documentary and material traces that our forebears left us. These sources can tell us a great deal about the past, but the view they offer is ever partial, sometimes misleading, subject to misinterpretation, and often maddening in its capacity to withhold the one item of information that the historian wants.
The purpose of the 3-D virtual buildings project is to provide students with a deep understanding of the uncertainty that is part and parcel of the historian's craft. Toward that end, it asks them to construct a historical artifact and to pursue a course of instruction in which they literally see the challenges associated with historical reconstruction.
For example, in our tutorial, we present students with the following scenario related to the structure shown, the building of James Hope, an Ottawa stationer situated on the corner of Sparks and Elgin streets in the 19th century. To my knowledge, there is no photograph or drawing that indicates what this wall looked like. It's a common problem in architectural history.
For that matter, gaps in data are a common problem for the entire discipline of history. The only solution to it, as we tell our students, is to make an informed inference based on the construction practices in architectural conventions of the time and to accept the proposition that there are some things that we will never definitively know.
Moving on, the second trend to which I would like to direct your attention is convergence. Convergence, as I understand it, refers to the process that is shaping the evolution of the tools, software, and forms of expression that we currently employ. Put simply, it suggests that tools that were once separate can and should be brought together and repurposed to enhance the capabilities of their users.
It is this process that explains why your phone now works like a computer and why forms like the musical staff are now being used to support the composition of virtual worlds. It is in Canada's interest to contribute to this process. We have done it before.
Consider, for example, the geographic information system, the Canadian invention that merges maps with database technology and which is now used to support applications ranging from cartography to urban planning and emergency management. It is my belief that we will do it again and that our contributions will only be limited by the imagination and resources that Canadians are able to bring to bear.
To appreciate the potential of convergence, I'd like to present a storyboard that treats a former representation that I care about: augmented reality. Augmented reality, or AR, is based on the human practice of annotating our environment to support, among other things, navigation, recreation, and decoration.
The key difference is the form of annotation. Instead of marking the environment with texts or signs, AR uses computer-generated 3-D objects similar to those you would find in a virtual world. Users perceive these objects using devices ranging from see-through head-mounted displays to iPhones.
It is hard to overestimate the potential impact of this form of representation on human practice. Applications have been identified to domains ranging from construction to interior design. Contractors, for example, could use AR to show clients a proposed design on a building site, to show how the structure will blend in with the surrounding environment. Interior decorators could use the sky as a canvas to decorate institutions ranging from restaurants to churches.
My colleague Blair MacIntyre, a Canadian who, alas, is working at Georgia Tech, is one of the leading researchers in AR today. He is working to integrate AR into computer games, the first application domain in which AR will likely play a major role.
AR is an exciting technology, but it is also a new technology, akin in some ways to television in the 1930s. The image quality is rudimentary, and we need reliable, light-weight platforms and displays capable of representing and displaying AR objects. When the requisite technologies are developed, however, the impact of AR will be profound.
My interest in AR has always centred on how historians might apply it to support their expression. Toward that end, in prior work I've created a storyboard that considers how AR might be combined with a second emerging technology, e-paper, to create a novel platform to support historical representation. E-paper is a display technology that is light, flat as paper, and can be affixed to walls or whatever surface the user desires. It also has the potential to display the same content as a TV or computer monitor can now.
In this scenario, a historian 50 years from now, say, appropriates a football field for the purpose of composing and displaying a work devoted to Canadian urban history, one in which city structures and all their constituents are displayed in their actual historic size. To support this end, the historian constructs a platform composed of a wearable computer and a see-through head-mounted display akin to glasses. The computer is capable of generating AR objects and responding to the verbal and gestural commands of the historian. The platform is finally composed of a perimeter wall, one in which the surface facing the football field has been completely covered with e-paper.
At the start of this scenario, the historian enters the football field to begin a new chapter devoted to the history of Ottawa in the 19th century. Happily, he is not in a position where he has to start from scratch. In his time, he will have access to libraries of free open-sourced 3-D objects and representations, including the one he seeks: a representation of 19th century Sparks Street, which he can modify to suit his purposes.
To start his representation, the scholar begins by bringing the materials he needs on screen and on site. He starts by importing the AR representation, which emerges into the bounded space before him. However, given that the purpose of his platform is to produce a representation in which the 21st century is occluded from view, including the wall surrounding him, the historian supplements his representation by activating virtual reality representations of neighbouring sections of Sparks Street, representations that merge seamlessly with the AR representation in front of him. He does so by turning on the display screens affixed to the platform walls, as I'm showing here.
Once the historian has imported these objects into his space, he will be in a position to begin his narrative, and there is much that he will need to do. He will need to populate the space with the objects, profound and prosaic, that shaped Ottawa city life in the 19th century. He will need to fill the space with animate objects, the people and animals that populated this city some 130 years ago. He will need to construct a narrative, one that points to the social, economic, and cultural forces that touched Ottawa and played a role in changing the city’s morphology, economy, and populace.
Our historian will be a busy man. But as we leave him to his task, we might briefly consider, in conclusion, what we can do in the here and now to make his life, and those of his contemporaries, a little easier.
To be sure, this committee has many important short-term concerns to consider as it weighs Canada’s place in the digital era. How do we protect our citizens’ privacy? How do we protect this country’s intellectual property? How can we ensure that Canada retains a cultural presence in an increasingly interconnected planet?
These are important concerns, but it would be a shame to let them overshadow other more long-term questions, questions that, in essence, can be boiled down to a single one: how do you change a culture? How do you change a culture from one in which people predominantly use text to one in which people use 3-D and other multimedia objects to influence how they think, learn, communicate, make art, do business, worship, and play?
There are no easy answers to this question, but a few, at least, can be anticipated.
To start, Canadians will need access to easy, intuitive methods to generate multimedia content similar to the one our historian enjoyed. The more user-friendly the method for content generation, the more people will participate.
Second, Canadians, like our historian, will need access to digital content that can be re-purposed to meet their needs.
Finally, they will need access to computational power—lots of it.
It's for this reason that I am in strong agreement with SSHRC president Chad Gaffield. He rightly noted in his presentation to this committee last October that Canada's adaptation to the digital era will not be propelled by people like us. It will be led by its youth.
If we are to help that generation survive and thrive, we would do well to begin by making the targeted investments called for by President Gaffield: investments to support the creation and distribution of digital content; investments to support the definition and development of digital literacies in this country, including user-friendly methods for content generation; and investments in computing infrastructure to support the expressive and analytical needs of Canadians in the years and decades to come.
With that, Mr. Chair, I will conclude my presentation. My thanks to you and this committee for your time and kind attention.