About this episode
New Book: Lost in Time — Our Forgotten and Vanishing Knowledge | An Interview with Jack R. Bialik | An Analog Brain In A Digital Age With Marco Ciappelli
There's a particular arrogance embedded in how we talk about progress. We speak about innovation as if it moves in one direction only — forward, upward, smarter, faster. But what if the line isn't straight? What if it loops, doubles back, and occasionally vanishes entirely?
That's the uncomfortable question at the center of my conversation with Jack R. Bialik. His book Lost in Time: Our Forgotten and Vanishing Knowledge doesn't read like a history lesson. It reads like a case file — evidence, example by example, that the civilization we assume is the most advanced in human history is also, in some critical ways, deeply amnesiac.
Take cataract surgery. We learned it in the 1700s, right? Except we didn't. Indians were performing it in 800 BC. The ancient Egyptians and Babylonians had diagrams of the procedure dating back to 2,400 BCE. The knowledge existed, worked, and then — somewhere in the chaos of collapsing empires and burning libraries — it vanished. We didn't progress past it. We forgot it, and then reinvented it from scratch, centuries later, convinced we were doing something new.
Or the Baghdad Battery: clay pots, 2,000 years old, that when filled with acid can generate 1.1 volts of electricity. We don't know what they used them for. We don't know who figured it out. We just know it worked, it existed, and then it didn't anymore.
This is what Bialik calls the pattern of loss — and it's not random. It follows catastrophe: the Library of Alexandria, the systematic destruction of Mayan records, the slow erosion of oral traditions as writing systems took over. Knowledge disappears when the systems that carry it collapse. And here's where the conversation gets uncomfortably relevant: we are building those systems right now, and we are not thinking about how long they'll last.
The curator at the Computer History Museum told Bialik that to preserve the data from early IBM PCs and Macintosh computers, they had to print it on paper. The floppy drives had become brittle. The formats were unreadable. The digital archive was failing — and the only solution was to go analog. A vinyl record from the 1920s still plays. A CD from the 1980s may not survive another decade.
I've been thinking about this since we recorded. My brain is analog — that's not just a podcast title, it's a philosophy. I grew up in Florence, surrounded by things that had survived centuries because they were made to last: stone, fresco, manuscript. Then I jumped on the digital train like everyone else, seduced by infinite libraries on my phone, music on demand, knowledge at my fingertips. But what Bialik is pointing out is that fingertips are fragile. And so are hard drives.
The deeper issue isn't storage format. It's the distinction Bialik draws between knowledge and wisdo
