Peter de Bolla

The untold story of the woman who invented Artificial Intelligence. ‘Put it on my tomb: “This is what she was trying for.”’ Sixty-five years ago, a middle-aged woman working with a small group of collaborators out of a converted shed on the outskirts of Cambridge predicted the future of Artificial Intelligence. Her story has been unknown and her work destroyed or forgotten – until now. Beginning with an extraordinary discovery in the archives of the women’s college she helped found, Peter de Bolla pieces together the story of Margaret Masterman and the Cambridge Language Research Unit (CLRU). As world powers raced to discover and exploit the capabilities of the first computers during the Cold War, Masterman emerged from obscurity to become an unlikely prophet of artificial intelligence. Misunderstood, deplatformed and ultimately erased from history, Masterman and the CLRU not only cracked the problem of machine translation (MT), but accurately theorised how the ‘electronic brain’ might work – guided by Masterman’s vision of a computer that would be more than a machine, but a companion to human minds: A machine with which to do philosophy. This is the unknown story of a woman nobody wanted to listen to, but whose uncredited work would shape our contemporary world.

Since the 1960s, the literary critic Harold Bloom has been producing some of the most powerful criticism in the United States. This large body of work has, since the publication of The Anxiety of Influence in 1973, increasingly distanced itself from all critical vogues, be they psychoanalytic, post-structuralist or new formalist, in favour of a highly idiosyncratic poetic theory. First published in 1988, this title was the first to engage with this unique approach in order to extend and amplify its most crucial insights about the nature of rhetoric, as it functions both in poetry and in poetic theory. The underlying argument is for a historical conception of rhetoric, for an extension of Bloom’s ‘diachronic rhetoric’ towards historical rhetorics.

Since the 1960s, the literary critic Harold Bloom has been producing some of the most powerful criticism in the United States. This large body of work has, since the publication of The Anxiety of Influence in 1973, increasingly distanced itself from all critical vogues, be they psychoanalytic, post-structuralist or new formalist, in favour of a highly idiosyncratic poetic theory. First published in 1988, this title was the first to engage with this unique approach in order to extend and amplify its most crucial insights about the nature of rhetoric, as it functions both in poetry and in poetic theory. The underlying argument is for a historical conception of rhetoric, for an extension of Bloom’s ‘diachronic rhetoric’ towards historical rhetoric.

The Architecture of Concepts proposes a radically new way of understanding the history of ideas. Taking as its example human rights, it develops a distinctive kind of conceptual analysis that enables us to see with precision how the concept of human rights was formed in the eighteenth century. The first chapter outlines an innovative account of concepts as cultural entities. The second develops an original methodology for recovering the historical formation of the concept of human rights based on data extracted from digital archives. This enables us to track the construction of conceptual architectures over time. Having established the architecture of the concept of human rights, the book then examines two key moments in its historical formation: the First Continental Congress in 1775 and the publication of Tom Paine's Rights of Man in 1792. Arguing that we have yet to fully understand or appreciate the consequences of the eighteenth-century invention of the concept "rights of man," the final chapter addresses our problematic contemporary attempts to leverage human rights as the most efficacious way of achieving universal equality.

The Architecture of Concepts proposes a radically new way of understanding the history of ideas. Taking as its example human rights, it develops a distinctive kind of conceptual analysis that enables us to see with precision how the concept of human rights was formed in the eighteenth century. The first chapter outlines an innovative account of concepts as cultural entities. The second develops an original methodology for recovering the historical formation of the concept of human rights based on data extracted from digital archives. This enables us to track the construction of conceptual architectures over time. Having established the architecture of the concept of human rights, the book then examines two key moments in its historical formation: the First Continental Congress in 1775 and the publication of Tom Paine's Rights of Man in 1792. Arguing that we have yet to fully understand or appreciate the consequences of the eighteenth-century invention of the concept "rights of man," the final chapter addresses our problematic contemporary attempts to leverage human rights as the most efficacious way of achieving universal equality.

The Education of the Eye examines the origins of visual culture in eighteenth-century Britain. It claims that at the moment when works of visual art were first displayed and contemplated as aesthetic objects two competing descriptions of the viewer or spectator promoted two very different accounts of culture. The first was constructed on knowledge, on what one already knew, while the second was grounded in the eye itself. Though the first was most likely to lead to a socially and politically elite form for visual culture, the second, it was held, would almost certainly end up in the chaos of the mob. But there was another route through these conflicting accounts of the visual that preserved the education of the eye while at the same time allowing the eye freedom to enter into the realm of culture. This third route, that of the sentimental look, is explored in a series of contexts: the gallery, the pleasure garden, the landscape park, and the country house. The Education of the Eye sets out to reclaim visual culture for the democracy of the eye and to explain how aesthetic contemplation may, once more, be open to all who have eyes to look. The book will interest historians of eighteenth-century British culture and historians of architecture, art, and landscape, as well as readers generally curious about the origins of our current visual culture.

The Education of the Eye examines the origins of visual culture in eighteenth-century Britain. It claims that at the moment when works of visual art were first displayed and contemplated as aesthetic objects two competing descriptions of the viewer or spectator promoted two very different accounts of culture. The first was constructed on knowledge, on what one already knew, while the second was grounded in the eye itself. Though the first was most likely to lead to a socially and politically elite form for visual culture, the second, it was held, would almost certainly end up in the chaos of the mob. But there was another route through these conflicting accounts of the visual that preserved the education of the eye while at the same time allowing the eye freedom to enter into the realm of culture. This third route, that of the sentimental look, is explored in a series of contexts: the gallery, the pleasure garden, the landscape park, and the country house. The Education of the Eye sets out to reclaim visual culture for the democracy of the eye and to explain how aesthetic contemplation may, once more, be open to all who have eyes to look. The book will interest historians of eighteenth-century British culture and historians of architecture, art, and landscape, as well as readers generally curious about the origins of our current visual culture.