Philip K. Dick Makes Off-the-Wall Predictions for the Future: Mars Colonies, Alien Viruses & More (1981)

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Philip K. Dick died in 1982, but read­ers — more read­ers than ever, in all prob­a­bil­i­ty — still thrill to his dar­ing, uncon­ven­tion­al imag­i­na­tion, and how tight­ly he could weave the inven­tions of that imag­i­na­tion into mun­dane real­i­ty. (Some­times they won­der, as in his meet­ing with God, to what extent he him­self could tell the two apart.) And like many strong-visioned writ­ers of what rough­ly fell into the cat­e­go­ry of sci­ence fic­tion, Dick got con­sult­ed now and again as some­thing of a futur­ist.

In 1980, David Wal­lechin­sky, Amy Wal­lace, and Irv­ing Wal­lace (the Book of Lists peo­ple) round­ed up visions of the future from all man­ner of sages past and present, pre­scient and incom­pe­tent, in order to cre­ate The Book of Pre­dic­tions. Dick­’s con­tri­bu­tions, repub­lished in the Sep­tem­ber 2003 issue of fanzine PKD Otaku, go like this.

  • 1983: The Sovi­et Union will devel­op an oper­a­tional par­ti­cle-beam accel­er­a­tor, mak­ing mis­sile attack against that coun­try impos­si­ble. At the same time the U.S.S.R. will deploy this weapon as a satel­lite killer. The U.S. will turn, then, to nerve gas.
  • 1984: The U.S. will per­fect a sys­tem by which hydro­gen, stored in met­al hydrides, will serve as a fuel source, elim­i­nat­ing a need for oil.
  • 1985: By or before this date there will be a titan­ic nuclear acci­dent either in the U.S.S.R. or in the U.S., result­ing in shut­ting down all nuclear pow­er plants.
  • 1986: Such satel­lites as HEAO‑2 will uncov­er vast, unsus­pect­ed high ener­gy phe­nom­e­non in the uni­verse, indi­cat­ing that there is suf­fi­cient mass to col­lapse the uni­verse back when it has reached its expan­sion lim­it.
  • 1989: The U.S. and the Sovi­et Union will agree to set up one vast meta­com­put­er as a cen­tral source for infor­ma­tion avail­able to the entire world; this will be essen­tial due to the huge amount of infor­ma­tion com­ing into exis­tence.
  • 1993: An arti­fi­cial life form will be cre­at­ed in a lab, prob­a­bly in the U.S.S.R., thus reduc­ing our inter­est in locat­ing life forms on oth­er plan­ets.
  • 1995: Com­put­er use by ordi­nary cit­i­zens (already avail­able in 1980) will trans­form the pub­lic from pas­sive view­ers of TV into men­tal­ly alert, high­ly trained, infor­ma­tion-pro­cess­ing experts.
  • 1997: The first closed-dome colonies will be suc­cess­ful­ly estab­lished on Luna and Mars. Through DNA mod­i­fi­ca­tion, qua­si-mutant humans will be cre­at­ed who can sur­vive under non-Ter­ran con­di­tions, i.e., alien envi­ron­ments.
  • 1998: The Sovi­et Union will test a propul­sion dri­ve that moves a star­ship at the veloc­i­ty of light; a pilot ship will set out for Prox­i­ma Cen­tau­rus, soon to be fol­lowed by an Amer­i­can ship.
  • 2000: An alien virus, brought back by an inter­plan­e­tary ship, will dec­i­mate the pop­u­la­tion of Earth, but leave the colonies on Luna and Mars intact.
  • 2012: Using tachyons (par­ti­cles that move back­ward in time) as a car­ri­er, the Sovi­et Union will attempt to alter the past with sci­en­tif­ic infor­ma­tion.

Cher­ry-pick­ers among us will fix­ate on Dick­’s near-hits: the devel­op­ment of DNA mod­i­fi­ca­tion, a 1985 nuclear acci­dent in the U.S.S.R. (Cher­nobyl hap­pened in 1986), and com­put­er use by ordi­nary cit­i­zens (though our sta­tus as “men­tal­ly alert, high­ly trained, infor­ma­tion-pro­cess­ing experts” admit­ted­ly remains ques­tion­able). Oth­ers might pre­fer to high­light the most improb­a­ble, such as the elim­i­nat­ed need for oil, the cre­ation of arti­fi­cial life, and not just the 21st-cen­tu­ry exis­tence but even­tu­al time-trav­el­ing capa­bil­i­ties of the Sovi­et Union.

Still, even in his fic­tion, Dick does have his moments of prophe­cy, espe­cial­ly for those who share his para­noia that we’ve unwit­ting­ly let our­selves slip into sur­veil­lance-state con­di­tions. But I’ve always found him best, espe­cial­ly in the what-if-Japan-won-the-war sto­ry The Man in the High Cas­tle, as a teller of alter­nate his­to­ries, whether of the past, present, or future. These pre­dic­tions, stretch­ing from just after the writer’s death to just before our time, strike me as noth­ing so much as the premis­es for the best nov­el Philip K. Dick nev­er wrote.

You can find 33 of his sto­ries online here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Philip K. Dick Takes You Inside His Life-Chang­ing Mys­ti­cal Expe­ri­ence

Robert Crumb Illus­trates Philip K. Dick’s Infa­mous, Hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry Meet­ing with God (1974)

33 Sci-Fi Sto­ries by Philip K. Dick as Free Audio Books & Free eBooks

Philip K. Dick Pre­views Blade Run­ner: “The Impact of the Film is Going to be Over­whelm­ing” (1981)

Arthur C. Clarke Pre­dicts the Future in 1964 … And Kind of Nails It

Isaac Asi­mov Pre­dicts in 1964 What the World Will Look Like Today — in 2014

Mark Twain Pre­dicts the Inter­net in 1898: Read His Sci-Fi Crime Sto­ry, “From The ‘Lon­don Times’ in 1904”

In 1968, Stan­ley Kubrick Makes Pre­dic­tions for 2001: Human­i­ty Will Con­quer Old Age, Watch 3D TV & Learn Ger­man in 20 Min­utes

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

1933 Article on Frida Kahlo: “Wife of the Master Mural Painter Gleefully Dabbles in Works of Art”

Kahlo One

Wal­ter Keane—supposed painter of “Big Eyed Chil­dren” and sub­ject of a recent Tim Bur­ton film—made a killing, attain­ing almost Thomas Kinkade-like sta­tus in the mid­dle­brow art mar­ket of the 1950s and 60s. As it turns out, his wife, Mar­garet was in fact the artist, “paint­ing 16 hours a day,” accord­ing to a Guardian pro­file. In some part, the sto­ry may illus­trate how easy it was for a man like Wal­ter to get mil­lions of peo­ple to see what they want­ed to see in the pic­ture of success—a charis­mat­ic, tal­ent­ed man in front, his qui­et, duti­ful wife behind. Bur­ton may not have tak­en too much license with the com­mon­place atti­tudes of the day when he has Christoph Waltz’s Wal­ter Keane tell Mar­garet, “Sad­ly, peo­ple don’t buy lady art.”

And yet, far from the Keane’s San Fran­cis­co, and per­haps as far as a per­son can get from Margaret’s frus­trat­ed acqui­es­cence, we have Fri­da Kahlo cre­at­ing a body of work that would even­tu­al­ly over­shad­ow her husband’s, mural­ist Diego Rivera. Unlike Wal­ter Keane, Rivera was a very good painter who did not attempt to over­shad­ow his wife. Instead of pro­fes­sion­al jeal­ousy, he had plen­ty of the per­son­al vari­ety. Even so, Rivera encour­aged Kahlo’s career and rec­og­nized her for­mi­da­ble tal­ent, and she, in turn, sup­port­ed him. In 1933, when Flo­rence Davies—whom Kahlo biog­ra­ph­er Ger­ry Souter describes as “a local news hen”—caught up with her in Detroit, Kahlo “played the cheeky, but ador­ing wife” of Diego while he labored to fin­ish his famous Detroit mur­al project.

That may be so, but she did not do so at her own expense. Quite the con­trary. Asked if Diego taught her to paint, she replies, “’No, I didn’t study with Diego. I didn’t study with any­one. I just start­ed to paint.’” At which point, writes Davies, “her eyes begin to twin­kle” as she goes on to say, “’Of course, he does pret­ty well for a lit­tle boy, but it is I who am the big artist.’” Davies prais­es Kahlo’s style as “skill­ful and beau­ti­ful” and the artist her­self as “a minia­ture-like lit­tle per­son with her long black braids wound demure­ly about her head and a fool­ish lit­tle ruf­fled apron over her black silk dress.” And yet, despite Kahlo’s con­fi­dence and seri­ous intent, rep­re­sent­ed by a promi­nent pho­to of her at seri­ous work, Davies—or more like­ly her editor—decided to title the arti­cle, “Wife of the Mas­ter Mur­al Painter Glee­ful­ly Dab­bles in Works of Art,” a move that reminds me of Wal­ter Keane’s patron­iz­ing atti­tude.

Kahlo Two

The belit­tling head­line is quaint and dis­heart­en­ing, speak­ing to us, like the unearthed 1938 let­ter from Dis­ney to an aspir­ing female ani­ma­tor, of the cru­el­ty of casu­al sex­ism. Davies appar­ent­ly filed anoth­er arti­cle on Rivera the year pri­or. This time the head­line doesn’t men­tion Fri­da, though her fierce unflinch­ing gaze, not Rivera’s wrestler’s mug, again adorns the spread. One sen­tence in the arti­cle says it all: “Fre­da [sic], it must be under­stood, is Seno­ra Rivera, who came very near to steal­ing the show.” Davies then goes on to again describe Kahlo’s appear­ance, not­ing of her work only that “she does paint with great charm.” Six years lat­er, Kahlo would indeed steal the show at her first and only solo show in the Unit­ed States, then again in Paris, where sur­re­al­ist mae­stro Andre Bre­ton cham­pi­oned her work and the Lou­vre bought a paint­ing, its first by a twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry Mex­i­can artist.

And Mar­garet Keane? She even­tu­al­ly sued Wal­ter and now reaps her own rewards. You can buy one of her paint­ings here.

via @rabihalameddine

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Fri­da Kahlo Writes a Per­son­al Let­ter to Geor­gia O’Keeffe After O’Keeffe’s Ner­vous Break­down (1933)

Pho­tos of a Very Young Fri­da Kahlo, Tak­en by Her Dad

A Quick Ani­ma­tion of Fri­da Kahlo’s Famous Self Por­trait

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Take the 146-Question Knowledge Test Thomas Edison Gave to Prospective Employees (1921)

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I remem­ber open­ing my col­lege news­pa­per one day, and out of it fell what looked like an adver­tis­ing sup­ple­ment of unusu­al­ly util­i­tar­i­an design. Upon clos­er inspec­tion, it con­tained a series of math‑y look­ing prob­lems for the read­er to work out and, if they did so, mail in to an address pro­vid­ed. Word soon began to cir­cu­late that this unusu­al leaflet came from no less an insti­tu­tion than Google itself, already well known as a provider of advanced search ser­vices but not quite yet as a benev­o­lent provider of dream jobs (an image now sat­i­rized in movies like The Intern­ship).

The unusu­al hir­ing prac­tices of giant, inno­v­a­tive Amer­i­can tech­nol­o­gy com­pa­nies have become the stuff of mod­ern myth, but the usage of seem­ing­ly job-unre­lat­ed intel­lec­tu­al tests as a fil­ter for poten­tial employ­ees has a much longer his­to­ry. Thomas Edi­son, that orig­i­nal giant of Amer­i­can tech­no­log­i­cal inno­va­tion, put for­ward the first famous exam­ple: a 146-ques­tion test on sub­jects of gen­er­al knowl­edge from geog­ra­phy to his­to­ry to physics to the price of gold.

“Amer­i­cans obsessed over the test fol­low­ing [the] pub­li­ca­tion of many ques­tions in the May 11, 1921 New York Times,” writes Pale­o­fu­ture’s Matt Novak. “From there the test was debat­ed, copied, and par­o­died in news­pa­pers and mag­a­zines around the coun­try.” If you’d like to get a sense of how you’d have fared in the scram­ble for a sweet Edi­son job, set your mind back to the ear­ly 1920s and tack­le these ques­tions as best you can:

1. What coun­tries bound France?

2. What city and coun­try pro­duce the finest chi­na?

3. Where is the Riv­er Vol­ga?

4. What is the finest cot­ton grown?

5. What coun­try con­sumed the most tea before the war?

6. What city in the Unit­ed States leads in mak­ing laun­dry machines?

7. What city is the fur cen­tre of the Unit­ed States?

8. What coun­try is the great­est tex­tile pro­duc­er?

9. Is Aus­tralia greater than Green­land in area?

10. Where is Copen­hagen?

11. Where is Spitzber­gen?

12. In what coun­try oth­er than Aus­tralia are kan­ga­roos found?

13. What tele­scope is the largest in the world?

14. Who was Besse­mer and what did he do?

15. How many states in the Union?

16. Where do we get prunes from?

17. Who was Paul Revere?

18. Who was John Han­cock?

19. Who was Plutarch?

20. Who was Han­ni­bal?

21. Who was Dan­ton?

22. Who was Solon?

23. Who was Fran­cis Mar­i­on?

24. Who was Leonidas?

25. Where did we get Louisiana from?

26. Who was Pizarro?

27. Who was Boli­var?

28. What war mate­r­i­al did Chile export to the Allies dur­ing the war?

29. Where does most of the cof­fee come from?

30. Where is Korea?

31. Where is Manchuria?

32. Where was Napoleon born?

33. What is the high­est rise of tide on the North Amer­i­can Coast?

34. Who invent­ed log­a­rithms?

35. Who was the Emper­or of Mex­i­co when Cortez land­ed?

36. Where is the Impe­r­i­al Val­ley and what is it not­ed for?

37. What and where is the Sar­gas­so Sea?

38. What is the great­est known depth of the ocean?

39. What is the name of a large inland body of water that has no out­let?

40. What is the cap­i­tal of Penn­syl­va­nia?

41. What state is the largest? Next?

42. Rhode Island is the small­est state. What is the next and the next?

43. How far is it from New York to Buf­fa­lo?

44. How far is it from New York to San Fran­cis­co?

45. How far is it from New York to Liv­er­pool?

46. Of what state is Hele­na the cap­i­tal?

47. Of what state is Tal­la­has­see the cap­i­tal?

48. What state has the largest cop­per mines?

49. What state has the largest amethyst mines?

50. What is the name of a famous vio­lin mak­er?

51. Who invent­ed the mod­ern paper-mak­ing machine?

52. Who invent­ed the type­set­ting machine?

53. Who invent­ed print­ing?

54. How is leather tanned?

55. What is arti­fi­cial silk made from?

56. What is a cais­son?

57. What is shel­lac?

58. What is cel­lu­loid made from?

59. What caus­es the tides?

60. To what is the change of the sea­sons due?

61. What is coke?

62. From what part of the North Atlantic do we get cod­fish?

63. Who reached the South Pole?

64. What is a mon­soon?

65. Where is the Mag­dale­na Bay?

66. From where do we import figs?

67. From where do we get dates?

68. Where do we get our domes­tic sar­dines?

69. What is the longest rail­road in the world?

70. Where is Kenosha?

71. What is the speed of sound?

72. What is the speed of light?

73. Who was Cleopa­tra and how did she die?

74. Where are con­dors found?

75, Who dis­cov­ered the law of grav­i­ta­tion?

76. What is the dis­tance between the earth and sun?

77. Who invent­ed pho­tog­ra­phy?

78. What coun­try pro­duces the most wool?

79. What is felt?

80. What cere­al is used in all parts of the world?

81. What states pro­duce phos­phates?

82. Why is cast iron called pig iron?

83. Name three prin­ci­pal acids?

84. Name three pow­er­ful poi­sons.

85. Who dis­cov­ered radi­um?

86. Who dis­cov­ered the X‑ray?

87. Name three prin­ci­pal alka­lis.

88. What part of Ger­many do toys come from?

89. What States bound West Vir­ginia?

90. Where do we get peanuts from?

91. What is the cap­i­tal of Alaba­ma?

92. Who com­posed “Il Trova­tore”?

93. What is the weight of air in a room 20 by 30 by 10?

94. Where is plat­inum found?

95. With what met­al is plat­inum asso­ci­at­ed when found?

96. How is sul­phuric acid made?

97. Where do we get sul­phur from?

98. Who dis­cov­ered how to vul­can­ize rub­ber?

99. Where do we import rub­ber from?

100. What is vul­can­ite and how is it made?

101. Who invent­ed the cot­ton gin?

102. What is the price of 12 grains of gold?

103. What is the dif­fer­ence between anthracite and bitu­mi­nous coal?

104. Where do we get ben­zol from?

105. Of what is glass made?

106. How is win­dow glass made?

107. What is porce­lain?

108. What coun­try makes the best opti­cal lens­es and what city?

109. What kind of a machine is used to cut the facets of dia­monds?

110. What is a foot pound?

111. Where do we get borax from?

112. Where is the Assuan Dam?

113. What star is it that has been recent­ly mea­sured and found to be of enor­mous size?

114. What large riv­er in the Unit­ed States flows from south to north?

115. What are the Straits of Messi­na?

116. What is the high­est moun­tain in the world?

117. Where do we import cork from?

118. Where is the St. Gothard tun­nel?

119. What is the Taj Mahal?

120. Where is Labrador?

121. Who wrote “The Star-Span­gled Ban­ner”?

122. Who wrote “Home, Sweet Home”?

123. Who was Mar­tin Luther?

124. What is the chief acid in vine­gar?

125. Who wrote “Don Quixote”?

126. Who wrote “Les Mis­er­ables”?

127. What place is the great­est dis­tance below sea lev­el?

128. What are axe han­dles made of?

129. Who made “The Thinker”?

130. Why is a Fahren­heit ther­mome­ter called Fahren­heit?

131. Who owned and ran the New York Her­ald for a long time?

132. What is copra?

133. What insect car­ries malar­ia?

134. Who dis­cov­ered the Pacif­ic Ocean?

135. What coun­try has the largest out­put of nick­el in the world?

136. What ingre­di­ents are in the best white paint?

137. What is glu­cose and how made?

138. In what part of the world does it nev­er rain?

139. What was the approx­i­mate pop­u­la­tion of Eng­land, France, Ger­many and Rus­sia before the war?

140. Where is the city of Mec­ca?

141. Where do we get quick­sil­ver from?

142. Of what are vio­lin strings made?

143. What city on the Atlantic seaboard is the great­est pot­tery cen­tre?

144. Who is called the “father of rail­roads” in the Unit­ed States?

145. What is the heav­i­est kind of wood?

146. What is the light­est wood?

Some of these ques­tions, like those on the loca­tion of Copen­hagen or the iden­ti­ty of Leonidas (you need think back only to 300), have grown eas­i­er with time. Some — “What is coke?” “What is vul­can­ite and how is it made?” — have grown hard­er. Oth­ers will require you to call upon not cur­rent knowl­edge, but peri­od knowl­edge: sure, you know the num­ber of states in the union now, but how about in 1921? And sure, you know which city is the fur cen­ter of the Unit­ed States now, but how about in 1921?

Once you’ve made your guess­es, you can check your answers over at Pale­o­fu­ture. Edis­on’s test will almost cer­tain­ly frus­trate you — and if it does­n’t, you may have a career wait­ing not at Google, but on Jeop­ardy! — and it may even fill you with grat­i­tude that we live in an age where hot employ­ers check for raw brain­pow­er, not the abil­i­ty to mem­o­rize a seem­ing­ly ran­dom assort­ment of facts. But the test itself, like sev­er­al of its ques­tions, pulls a bit of a trick. The tremen­dous amount of atten­tion it received when the pub­lic caught a glimpse of it reveals Edis­on’s mas­tery of the high­est Amer­i­can force: pub­lic­i­ty.

Note: Thanks to one of our read­ers, you can see how Edi­son defend­ed the test in the pages of The New York Times.

via Pale­o­fu­ture

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Har­vard Stu­dents Fail the Lit­er­a­cy Test Louisiana Used to Sup­press the Black Vote in 1964

Thomas Edi­son & His Trusty Kine­to­scope Cre­ate the First Movie Filmed In The US (c. 1889)

Take The Near Impos­si­ble Lit­er­a­cy Test Louisiana Used to Sup­press the Black Vote (1964)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Say What You Really Mean with Downloadable Cindy Sherman Emoticons

CindyShermanicon

As the world becomes increas­ing­ly depen­dent on vir­tu­al com­mu­ni­ca­tion, the poten­tial for mis­un­der­stand­ing is ever present. I resist­ed the use of emoti­cons and stick­ers at first. They struck me as the pic­to­r­i­al equiv­a­lent of LOL. If that’s the best you can man­age, why try at all?

I’ve since reversed my posi­tion. Sev­er­al things con­tributed to this change in atti­tude:

  • The peace of mind that comes from any kind of con­fir­ma­tion that one’s mes­sage has indeed been received.
  • The unsup­port­ably terse com­mu­ni­ca­tion style of a col­league. Whether inten­tion­al or not, his mono­syl­lab­ic replies to my flur­ry of texts and emails seemed to indi­cate dis­dain… for me! Hey Buster, I’m busy too…

By curat­ing my emo­tions and Face­book stick­ers care­ful­ly, I’ve cob­bled togeth­er a visu­al short­hand vocab­u­lary that works for me. It’s a mat­ter of self respect. (And self preser­va­tion. My wardrobe’s already run­ning afoul of the Secret Inter­net Police. Why give them ammo to accuse me of unseem­ly cling­ing to a long gone stick­er-obsessed girl­hood?)

If you think I’m over­think­ing this, you like­ly won’t be inter­est­ed in down­load­ing artist Hyo Hong’s Cindy Sher­man-icons for your per­son­al use.

Or maybe they’re exact­ly what you’ve been wait­ing for, you old art snob, you!

Either way… enjoy!

The Sher­man-icons are a log­i­cal exten­sion of oth­er Hong projects that play with per­cep­tions of non-face-to-face inter­ac­tions, includ­ing the Upside Down Face­book Page, the New York Taxi Guest­book, and Hand-Writ­ten Face­book Com­ment.

If the pur­pose of an emoti­con is to con­vey a cer­tain feel­ing or atti­tude on the part of the respon­dent, the chameleon­ic Sher­man is well suit­ed to car­ry the bur­den. The pho­tog­ra­ph­er has served as her own mod­el for four decades worth of por­traits. She has embod­ied such arche­types as house­wife, pros­ti­tute, dancer, actress, damsel in dis­tress, and socialite. Her pur­suit of cer­tain truths often leads her to embrace the grotesque. Her will­ing­ness to look like hell in the ser­vice of her art con­tin­ues to shock and some­times offend. (Let’s just say my late moth­er-in-law was not a fan.)

How won­der­ful that this rad­i­cal artist’s work is now avail­able to you in a form that may prove every bit as use­ful as a gift shop tote bag or umbrel­la.

CindyShermanicon_emoticons-int-9Feel­ing beat­en down by life?

3043342-slide-s-8-cindy-shermans-face-makes-for-the-worldsSus­pi­cious of another’s motives?
3043342-slide-s-1-cindy-shermans-face-makes-for-the-worlds
Hope­ful in a sit­u­a­tion where hopes are almost cer­tain to be dashed?

Do you real­ly want to depend on a car­toon smi­ley face to get that across for you? (See below.)

No guar­an­tee that Sher­man-icon users’ impuls­es will be cor­rect­ly inter­pret­ed on the receiv­ing end, but it seems a risk worth tak­ing.

Click here for easy 3‑step instruc­tions for down­load­ing and using Cindy Sher­man-icons.

via Its Nice That

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cindy Sher­man and the Art of Imper­son­ation

Stephen Hawk­ing Starts Post­ing on Face­book: Join His Quest to Explain What Makes the Uni­verse Exist

Art for the One Per­cent: 60 Min­utes on the Excess & Hubris of the Inter­na­tion­al Art Mar­ket

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and per­former whose next mis­sion is por­tray­ing a decid­ed­ly Cindy Sher­manesque busi­ness woman in a free read­ing of Lunchtime, Greg Kotis’ play of office romance in the time of the New York Deli Wars.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Download Free NASA Software and Help Protect the Earth from Asteroids!

NASA’s Asteroid Data Hunter

Yes, you can help save the world. And just by down­load­ing some free soft­ware. Writes NASA:

Pro­tect­ing the Earth from the threat of aster­oid impacts means first know­ing where they are. NASA is har­ness­ing the incred­i­ble poten­tial of inno­va­tors, mak­ers and cit­i­zen sci­en­tists by open­ing up the search. In an increas­ing­ly con­nect­ed world, NASA rec­og­nizes the val­ue of the pub­lic as a part­ner in address­ing some of the country’s most press­ing chal­lenges. We need your help in iden­ti­fy­ing aster­oids – and to help fur­ther this effort, we’ve built an appli­ca­tion that enables every­one, every­where, to help solve this glob­al chal­lenge.

To down­load the app and join the hunt for aster­oids, please click here. To get more infor­ma­tion on the project (in which Har­vard is a strate­gic par­tic­i­pant) click here.

Next up? Hope­ful­ly an app that saves Cal­i­for­nia, which, a NASA offi­cial projects, will run out of water by next year.

Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter, Google Plus and LinkedIn and  share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free NASA eBook The­o­rizes How We Will Com­mu­ni­cate with Aliens

NASA Puts Online a Big Col­lec­tion of Space Sounds, and They’re Free to Down­load and Use

NASA Archive Col­lects Great Time-Lapse Videos of our Plan­et

Ray Brad­bury Reads Mov­ing Poem on the Eve of NASA’s 1971 Mars Mis­sion

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The Keys to Happiness: The Emerging Science and the Upcoming MOOC by Raj Raghunathan

Psy­chol­o­gy has made many advances in the past few decades, notably in cog­ni­tive sci­ence, neu­ro­science, and behav­ioral psy­chol­o­gy. A major new focus area in psy­chol­o­gy that draws upon these dis­ci­plines start­ed in 1998 when Mar­tin Selig­man, then pres­i­dent of the Amer­i­can Psy­cho­log­i­cal Asso­ci­a­tion, called on his col­leagues to start study­ing hap­pi­ness, rather than ill­ness­es, the tra­di­tion­al focus of psy­chol­o­gy. The result was an explo­sion of research, aca­d­e­m­ic depart­ments, and pop­u­lar books and the cre­ation of a new field of ‘pos­i­tive psy­chol­o­gy’. It is this field that Dr. Raj Raghu­nathan stud­ies, and he pas­sion­ate­ly teach­es his stu­dents about the sci­ence of hap­pi­ness at the McCombs School of Busi­ness  at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Texas at Austin. He also writes a blog col­umn for Psy­chol­o­gy Today. This sum­mer, Raghu­nathan, who is cur­rent­ly vis­it­ing pro­fes­sor at the Indi­an School of Busi­ness, will be offer­ing his MOOC, A Life of Hap­pi­ness and Ful­fill­ment, to the pub­lic on the Cours­era plat­form.

It may be sur­pris­ing that a course on hap­pi­ness is being offered in busi­ness school, the sup­posed fac­to­ry of bud­ding ruth­less cap­i­tal­ists. How­ev­er, times are chang­ing, and enlight­ened busi­ness schools can be a good set­ting to think about the social and eco­nom­ic means and ends in our cur­rent soci­ety. In fact, it was a busi­ness con­text which steered Raghu­nathan towards study­ing hap­pi­ness in the first place:

When I vis­it­ed India in 2007 I met up with my class­mates from 15 years ago and I dis­cov­ered two things. One, there’s very lit­tle cor­re­la­tion between aca­d­e­m­ic suc­cess and career suc­cess. The peo­ple who were at the top weren’t nec­es­sar­i­ly the ones who were doing well in their careers, which is, of course, quite well known in the research. But sec­ond, there was an even small­er cor­re­la­tion between career suc­cess and life suc­cess. The guys who were real­ly suc­cess­ful weren’t able to main­tain a con­ver­sa­tion with me and weren’t able to be present, they were con­stant­ly dis­tract­ed. They had bags under their eyes, had put on weight, and it was clear that they weren’t very hap­py.

Fast for­ward and you find Raghu­nathan, after obtain­ing a PhD at New York Uni­ver­si­ty, a tenured fac­ul­ty mem­ber at the McCombs School of Busi­ness, a top-20 U.S. busi­ness school, teach­ing stu­dents about hap­pi­ness. There are only a few tenure-track pro­fes­sors in the coun­try teach­ing a whole course on hap­pi­ness in U.S. busi­ness schools, so Raghu­nathan has been a trail­blaz­er. It is also a great tes­ta­ment to the Indi­an School of Busi­ness, a pre­mier busi­ness pro­gram in a rapid­ly indus­tri­al­iz­ing coun­try, that this sub­ject was cho­sen to be their first MOOC offer­ing in its new part­ner­ship with Cours­era.

Hap­pi­ness Sci­ence vs. the Wis­dom Lit­er­a­ture

As peo­ple have been con­cerned with hap­pi­ness from before the dawn of civ­i­liza­tion, we’ve had many sources to turn to with regard to hap­pi­ness: intu­ition, tra­di­tion, rea­son, but most­ly, reli­gious and spir­i­tu­al wis­dom. Now sci­ence has recent­ly added a new dimen­sion to our under­stand­ing. We can see, for exam­ple, which parts of the brain are active dur­ing dif­fer­ent emo­tion­al states, and under­stand bet­ter the role of neu­ro­trans­mit­ters, such as sero­tonin and dopamine. One very con­ve­nient, prac­ti­cal result for psy­chol­o­gy is that these changes in brain states are large­ly cor­re­lat­ed with self-report­ed answers of how hap­py peo­ple feel—so hap­pi­ness is fair­ly straight­for­ward to mea­sure (you can take a 20-minute hap­pi­ness test here if you are inter­est­ed). So what have we found out about hap­pi­ness? It turns out that many of the find­ings sup­port the religious/spiritual view­points. For exam­ple:

  • Mon­ey can­not buy you hap­pi­ness, unless you’re poor. Robust sur­veys among a broad array of peo­ple across coun­tries indi­cate that beyond a cer­tain thresh­old, peo­ple do not report being hap­pi­er. Specif­i­cal­ly, in the U.S., Daniel Kah­ne­man and Angus Deaton found through a robust sur­vey of 450,000 Amer­i­cans that once peo­ple reach an income thresh­old of around $75,000 per year, they tend not to be any hap­pi­er.
  •  Car­ing for oth­ers is one of the most impor­tant things you can do. Anoth­er spe­cif­ic find­ing that the sci­ence brings us is the val­ue of altru­ism. Stud­ies have shown, for exam­ple, that when giv­en a small sum of mon­ey, the peo­ple who give it to oth­ers, rather than spend­ing it on them­selves, actu­al­ly report being hap­pi­er. Raghu­nathan also adds that being altru­is­tic does­n’t have to mean being bor­ing, and he has his class­es exper­i­ment with fun ways to be altru­is­tic.

These find­ings are sim­i­lar to the teach­ings of many wis­dom tra­di­tions, but they also give more specifics and pro­vide insight into the under­ly­ing mech­a­nisms involved. These can result in prac­ti­cal sug­ges­tions and tips for man­ag­ing our­selves bet­ter through set­ting up help­ful habits, mind­sets, and trig­gers. But a puz­zling ques­tion has emerged: why do we often not pur­sue what we sup­pos­ed­ly want?

The Fun­da­men­tal Hap­pi­ness Para­dox

There is a phe­nom­e­non that most of us will prob­a­bly rec­og­nize, which Raghu­nathan calls the Fun­da­men­tal Hap­pi­ness Para­dox: we want to achieve hap­pi­ness, but often pur­sue things that clear­ly don’t lead to it. Raghu­nathan elab­o­rates:

On the one hand peo­ple think hap­pi­ness is very, very impor­tant to them, so there­fore you would think that they ought to be mak­ing deci­sions are con­sis­tent with that, but when we observe their deci­sions, a good 50–60 per­cent of the time they are sac­ri­fic­ing hap­pi­ness for the sake of oth­er things as they go about their dai­ly lives, in lit­tle small ways, and even in big ways.

The prob­lem is that we pur­sue hap­pi­ness through var­i­ous means, such as mon­ey, sta­tus, esteem, or health, but we some­times over­ly fix­ate on these means rather than the ends. As a soci­ety we do rec­og­nize this on some level—think of all the movies and tele­vi­sion shows that end with the pro­tag­o­nists real­iz­ing what’s real­ly impor­tant to them. Yet, it tells you some­thing if we keep hav­ing to remind our­selves about this con­stant­ly and repet­i­tive­ly in our cul­tur­al sto­ries. Psy­chol­o­gy has already explained why we eat the last few Chee­tos in a bowl, and in the future may help explain this mys­tery of why we don’t pur­sue our hap­pi­ness as direct­ly as we could.

Hap­pi­ness Comes in Threes

The Three Pil­lars of Hap­pi­ness

So what should we do to pur­sue hap­pi­ness? Raghu­nathan groups the research find­ings into three main pil­lars:

  1. Pur­sue mean­ing­ful work – Try to spend your ener­gy in ways that are mean­ing­ful to you, at work or at home. Mihaly Csik­szent­mi­haly has pop­u­lar­ized the notion of “flow”, those times when we are doing some­thing that so ful­ly absorbs our atten­tion that we lose track of time (I guess I must be in “flow” when­ev­er I’m watch­ing Grey’s Anato­my…). From a career stand­point, Raghu­nathan rec­om­mends mak­ing pas­sion a cri­te­ri­on for choos­ing your work: “you spend so much time at work you might as well make that a mean­ing­ful thing that you are doing in your life”. Per­haps this is not fea­si­ble for every­one at every point in their career, but it is sure­ly a sound guid­ing prin­ci­ple, as it has been echoed by Steve Jobs, Thore­au, Glo­ria Este­fan, and oth­ers.
  2. Main­tain close rela­tion­ships – Most peo­ple, upon reflec­tion, con­sid­er the rela­tion­ships they’ve devel­oped with fam­i­ly, friends, col­leagues, and oth­ers to be the most mean­ing­ful part of their lives. How­ev­er, we often don’t place a high pri­or­i­ty on build­ing or main­tain­ing these. Rela­tion­ships are like invest­ments that require time and atten­tion, and they are bonds that rep­re­sent com­mit­ments and expec­ta­tions, yet we are quick to down­play or dis­miss them. Social sci­ence offers tips and prac­ti­cal sug­ges­tions for improv­ing rela­tion­ships, such as: giv­ing your brain a cool­ing off peri­od when you are angry, see­ing for­give­ness as an inte­gral part of free­ing up your own mind, and cul­ti­vat­ing face-to-face time in our mobile con­nect­ed world.
  3. Have a spir­i­tu­al atti­tude – A strong sense of spir­i­tu­al­i­ty, whether reli­gious­ly or oth­er­wise sourced, has been asso­ci­at­ed with reduced stress lev­els, and we know we can’t be hap­py when we are over-stressed. There is also grow­ing evi­dence that med­i­ta­tion prac­tices have ben­e­fi­cial effects. In fact, in the MOOC, Raghu­nathan will have a cou­ple of experts lead­ing par­tic­i­pants through the steps of the med­i­ta­tion process.

Do these three pil­lars reveal any shock­ing sur­pris­es? No, and thank­ful­ly not–otherwise it would be a dec­la­ra­tion that pre­vi­ous gen­er­a­tions had missed the boat on under­stand­ing hap­pi­ness (though Raghu­nathan points out that few spir­i­tu­al tra­di­tions empha­size the first pil­lar –pur­su­ing mean­ing­ful work). Rather, the con­tri­bu­tion of sci­ence is in the details. We start to see what cog­ni­tive dri­vers and bar­ri­ers to hap­pi­ness are. From this under­stand­ing comes evi­dence-based tech­niques and frame­works we can use to help our­selves con­struct hap­pi­er lives.

There is some seri­ous research on hap­pi­ness, and it has the poten­tial to direct­ly impact our lives. Whether you are in busi­ness school or high school, on the farm or in city hall, in a cubi­cle or at a retire­ment home—why wouldn’t you want to know more about what makes us hap­py? And you have the oppor­tu­ni­ty to be guid­ed by Dr. Raghu­nathan by sign­ing up for his free MOOC: A Life of Hap­pi­ness and Ful­fill­ment, which starts this sum­mer.

Char­lie Chung is pas­sion­ate about the inter­sec­tion of learn­ing and tech­nol­o­gy. He is Chief Edi­tor at Class Cen­tral, a MOOC search engine and reviews site. Spe­cial thanks to Raj Raghu­nathan, who agreed to be inter­viewed for this arti­cle, the Indi­an School of Busi­ness, and Cours­era.

Bob Dylan Goes Film Noir in His New Music Video

Bob Dylan’s new­ly-released album, Shad­ows in the Night, fea­tures Dylan cov­er­ing pop stan­dards made famous by Frank Sina­tra dur­ing the 1940s and 1950s. And what bet­ter way to pro­mote the album than to release a music video that pays homage to a great style of film from the same era — film noir.  The track show­cased in the noir video, “The Night We Called It A Day,” was record­ed by Sina­tra not once, not twice, but three times — in 1942, 1947 and 1957.  Between the sec­ond and third record­ings, Sina­tra starred in a noir film of his own. Now in the pub­lic domain, Sud­den­ly (1954) can be viewed online. It also appears in our col­lec­tion of 60 Free Noir Films.

Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter, Google Plus, and LinkedIn and share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Roger Ebert Lists the 10 Essen­tial Char­ac­ter­is­tics of Noir Films

Watch Bob Dylan Play a Pri­vate Con­cert for One Lucky Fan

The 5 Essen­tial Rules of Film Noir

Bob Dylan Reads From T.S. Eliot’s Great Mod­ernist Poem The Waste Land

Bob Dylan and The Grate­ful Dead Rehearse Togeth­er in Sum­mer 1987. Lis­ten to 74 Tracks.

74 Essential Books for Your Personal Library: A List Curated by Female Creatives

virginia woolf list

Pub­lic domain image orig­i­nal­ly tak­en by George Charles Beres­ford.

When Open Cul­ture recent­ly pub­lished Jorge Luis Borges’ self-com­piled list of 74 ‘great works of lit­er­a­ture’, com­mis­sioned by Argen­tine pub­lish­er Hys­pamer­i­ca, I, along with many oth­ers, saw one glar­ing issue in the oth­er­wise fan­tas­ti­cal­ly diverse list: it includ­ed no works by female writ­ers.

Whether inten­tion­al or not, the fact that women are exclud­ed from Borges’ note­wor­thies (and in 1985, no less) means that a vast num­ber of his­tor­i­cal­ly and cul­tur­al­ly sig­nif­i­cant books and writ­ings have been over­looked. While this ought not to dis­cred­it the works list­ed in any way, after wit­ness­ing the immense pop­u­lar­i­ty of Borges’ list I cer­tain­ly felt that for his selec­tion to be rel­e­vant today it need­ed to be accom­pa­nied by a list of works which had been over­looked due to the gen­der of their respec­tive authors.

I decid­ed to put a sug­ges­tion to a group of inter­na­tion­al women writ­ers, artists and cura­tors, and we com­piled our own list of 74 ‘great works of lit­er­a­ture’ — one just as var­ied, loose and sub­stan­tial as that of Borges, but made up sole­ly of writ­ers iden­ti­fy­ing as women or non-gen­der-bina­ry. Over two days we amassed many sug­ges­tions, which I’ve now curat­ed to form the list below. It’s not intend­ed to inval­i­date the orig­i­nal, but rather to serve as an accom­pa­ni­ment to high­light and encour­age a dia­logue on gen­der imbal­ances in cre­ative and intel­lec­tu­al realms, as well as to pro­vide a bal­ance by active­ly ‘equal­is­ing’ that of Jorge Luis Borges.

  1. Agatha Christie — The Mouse­trap
  2. Alber­tine Sar­razin — L’As­tra­gale
  3. Alice Walk­er — The Col­or Pur­ple
  4. Anaïs Nin — Lit­tle Birds
  5. Angela Carter — Nights at the Cir­cus
  6. Angela Davis — Are Pris­ons Obse­lete?
  7. Ani­ta Desai — Clear Light of Day
  8. Anne Car­son — Auto­bi­og­ra­phy of Red
  9. Anne Frank — The Diary of a Young Girl
  10. Anne Sex­ton — Live or Die
  11. Arund­hati Roy — The God of Small Things
  12. Banana Yoshi­mo­to — Kitchen
  13. bell hooks — Ain’t I a Woman?
  14. Beryl Bain­bridge — Mas­ter Georgie
  15. Beryl Markham — West with the Night
  16. Buchi Emecheta — The Joys of Moth­er­hood
  17. Car­son McCullers — The Heart is a Lone­ly Hunter
  18. Char­lotte Bronte — Jane Eyre
  19. Char­lotte Roche — Feucht­ge­bi­ete
  20. Chris Kraus — I Love Dick
  21. Colette — Chéri
  22. Daphne du Mau­ri­er — Rebec­ca
  23. Doris Less­ing — The Gold­en Note­book
  24. Edith Whar­ton — Age of Inno­cence
  25. Eileen Myles — Infer­no
  26. Elfriede Jelinek — Women as Lovers
  27. Emi­ly Bronte — Wuther­ing Heights
  28. Flan­nery O’Con­nor — Com­plete Sto­ries
  29. Françoise Sagan — Bon­jour Tristesse
  30. George Eliot — Silas Marn­er
  31. Gertrude Stein — The Mak­ing of Amer­i­cans
  32. Gwen­dolyn Brooks — To Dis­em­bark
  33. Han­nah Arendt — The Human Con­di­tion
  34. Harp­er Lee — To Kill a Mock­ing­bird
  35. Hillary Man­tel — Wolf Hall
  36. Iris Mur­doch — The Sea, The Sea
  37. James Tip­tree Jr. — Her Smoke Rose Up For­ev­er
  38. Jean Rhys — Wide Sar­gas­so Sea
  39. Jhumpa Lahiri — Inter­preter of Mal­adies
  40. Joan Did­ion — Slouch­ing Towards Beth­le­hem
  41. Joyce Car­ol Oats — A Blood­smoore Romance
  42. Jung Chang — Wild Swans
  43. Kate Zam­breno — Hero­ines
  44. Kathy Ack­er — Blood and Guts in High School
  45. Leono­ra Car­ring­ton — The Hear­ing Trum­pet
  46. Leslie Fein­berg — Stone Butch Blues
  47. Lor­rie Moore — Who Will Run the Frog Hos­pi­tal?
  48. Louise Erdrich — The Beet Queen
  49. Mar­garet Atwood — The Hand­maid­’s Tale
  50. Mar­guerite Duras — Le ravisse­ment de Lol V. Stein
  51. Mary Shel­ley — Franken­stein
  52. Mary Woll­stonecraft — A Vin­di­ca­tion of the Rights of Women
  53. Maya Angelou — I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
  54. Michelle Cliff — Abeng
  55. Miran­da July — No One Belongs Here More Than You
  56. Monique Wit­tig — Les Guéril­lères
  57. Murasa­ki Shik­ibu — Gen­ji Mono­gatari
  58. Muriel Spark — The Dri­ver’s Seat
  59. Octavia But­ler — Kin­dred
  60. Rachel Car­son — Silent Spring
  61. Rox­ane Gay — An Untamed State
  62. Sap­pho — Frag­ments
  63. Sara Strids­berg — Dar­ling Riv­er
  64. Sei Shō­nagon — The Pil­low Book
  65. Simone Weil — Grav­i­ty and Grace
  66. Sylvia Plath — The Bell Jar
  67. There­sa Hak Kyung Cha — Dic­tée
  68. Toni Mor­ri­son — Beloved
  69. Tove Jans­son — Mumintroll series
  70. Tsit­si Dan­garem­b­ga — Ner­vous Con­di­tions
  71. Ursu­la K Le Guin — The Left Hand of Dark­ness
  72. Vir­ginia Woolf — The Waves
  73. Willa Cather — The Song of the Lark
  74. Zadie Smith — On Beau­ty

Lulu Nunn is a Lon­don-based artist, writer, cura­tor and edi­tor of HOAX, an inter­na­tion­al jour­nal pub­lish­ing cre­ative work incor­po­rat­ing text. You can fol­low her at @lulu_nunn and HOAX at @hoaxpublication.

 

Late Rembrandts Come to Life: Watch Animations of Paintings Now on Display at the Rijksmuseum

Last week, we fea­tured three ter­mi­nal­ly ill art-lovers’ jour­ney to the Rijksmu­se­um to see their Rem­brandts for one last time. They saw those paint­ings far more vivid­ly, no doubt, than would those of us lucky enough to have longer on this Earth. Though noth­ing can con­vey the expe­ri­ence of see­ing any­thing, art­work or oth­er­wise, for the last time, these ani­ma­tions will at least give you the expe­ri­ence of see­ing Rem­brandt’s work in an entire­ly new way.

The videos (see them all here) bring to life six of the twelve can­vas­es from The Late Rem­brandt Exhi­bi­tion, the very same one to which Sticht­ing Ambu­lance Wens Ned­er­land took the three patients near­ing their ends. Even if you’ve nev­er con­sid­ered your­self par­tic­u­lar­ly up on the Dutch Mas­ters, you’ll more than like­ly rec­og­nize most of these paint­ings. Just above we have, for instance, 1642’s The Night Watch (or, more prop­er­ly, Mili­tia Com­pa­ny of Dis­trict II under the Com­mand of Cap­tain Frans Ban­ninck Cocq, or The Shoot­ing Com­pa­ny of Frans Ban­ning Cocq and Willem van Ruyten­burch), per­haps Rem­brandt’s best-known work, and one you may remem­ber Peter Green­away bring­ing to his own brand of life in Night­watch­ing.

If all this strikes you as an exer­cise in high-tech des­e­cra­tion, give the ani­ma­tions a watch and you’ll find them more sub­tly and taste­ful­ly exe­cut­ed than you might have imag­ined. You can see all six at the Youtube page of CS Dig­i­tal Media, who pro­duced them for Dutch telecom­mu­ni­ca­tions KPN, the Rijksmu­se­um’s main spon­sor — art hav­ing its patrons as much now as it did in Rem­brandt’s day.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Final Wish: Ter­mi­nal­ly Ill Patients Vis­it Rembrandt’s Paint­ings in the Rijksmu­se­um One Last Time

The Rijksmu­se­um Puts 125,000 Dutch Mas­ter­pieces Online, and Lets You Remix Its Art

Rembrandt’s Face­book Time­line

16th-Cen­tu­ry Ams­ter­dam Stun­ning­ly Visu­al­ized with 3D Ani­ma­tion

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Heidegger’s “Black Notebooks” Suggest He Was a Serious Anti-Semite, Not Just a Naive Nazi

heidegger black notebooks

Ger­man philoso­pher Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger, wide­ly con­sid­ered one of the most influ­en­tial philoso­phers of the 20th cen­tu­ry, was a Nazi, a fact known to most any­one with more than a pass­ing knowl­edge of the sub­ject. In a New York Review of Books essay, Har­vard intel­lec­tu­al his­to­ri­an Peter E. Gor­don points out that “the philosopher’s com­plic­i­ty with the Nazis first became a top­ic of con­tro­ver­sy in the pages of Les Temps mod­ernes short­ly after the war.” The issue arose again when a for­mer stu­dent of Hei­deg­ger pub­lished “a vig­or­ous denun­ci­a­tion” in 1987. In these cas­es, and others—like his pro­tégé and one­time lover Han­nah Arendt’s defense of her for­mer teacher—the scan­dal tends to “always end with the same unsur­pris­ing dis­cov­ery that Hei­deg­ger was a Nazi.”

What stirs up con­tro­ver­sy isn’t Heidegger’s mem­ber­ship in the par­ty, but his moti­va­tions. Was he sim­ply a shrewd, if craven, careerist, or a gen­uine­ly hate­ful anti-Semi­te, or a lit­tle from each col­umn? What­ev­er the expla­na­tion, Hei­deg­ge­ri­ans have been able to wall off the phi­los­o­phy from sup­posed moral or polit­i­cal laps­es in judg­ment. Arendt did so by claim­ing that Hei­deg­ger, and all of phi­los­o­phy, was polit­i­cal­ly naïve. Recalls Adam Kirsch in the Times:

The seal was set on his abso­lu­tion by Han­nah Arendt, in a birth­day address broad­cast on West Ger­man radio. Heideg­ger’s Nazism, she explained, was an “escapade,” a mis­take, which hap­pened only because the thinker naïve­ly “suc­cumbed to the temp­ta­tion … to ‘inter­vene’ in the world of human affairs.” The moral to be drawn from the Hei­deg­ger case was that “the think­ing ‘I’ is entire­ly dif­fer­ent from the self of con­scious­ness,” so that Heideg­ger’s thought can­not be con­t­a­m­i­nat­ed by the actions of the mere man.

The pub­li­ca­tion of Heidegger’s so-called “black note­books,” jour­nals that he kept assid­u­ous­ly from 1931–1941, may change all that. They show Hei­deg­ger for­mu­lat­ing a phi­los­o­phy of anti-Semitism—using the cen­tral cat­e­gories of his thought—one that oper­ates, as Michel Fou­cault might say, along “the rules of exclu­sion.”

In pub­lished excerpts of a trans­la­tion by Richard Polt, an exec­u­tive mem­ber of the Hei­deg­ger Cir­cle, Crit­i­cal The­o­ry shows how much Hei­deg­ger turned his own con­cep­tu­al appa­ra­tus against Jews. At one point, he writes:

One of the most secret forms of the gigan­tic, and per­haps the old­est, is the tena­cious skill­ful­ness in cal­cu­lat­ing, hus­tling, and inter­min­gling through which the world­less­ness of Jew­ry is ground­ed.

In this short pas­sage alone, Hei­deg­ger invokes lazy stereo­types of Jews as “cal­cu­lat­ing” and “hus­tling.” He also, more impor­tant­ly, describes the Jew­ish peo­ple as “world­less.” As Crit­i­cal The­o­ry writes, “Being-in-the-world (In-der-Welt-sein) is the basic activ­i­ty of human exist­ing. To say that the Jews are ‘world­less’… is more than a con­fused stereo­type.” It is Heidegger’s way of cast­ing Jews out of Dasein, his most impor­tant cat­e­go­ry, a word that means some­thing like “being-there” or “pres­ence.” Jews, he writes, are “his­to­ry­less” and “are not being, but mere­ly ‘cal­cu­late with being.’”

More­over, Hei­deg­ger took up the Nazi char­ac­ter­i­za­tion of Jews as cor­rupt under­min­ers of soci­ety. As rep­re­sen­ta­tives of moder­ni­ty, and its tech­no­crat­ic dom­i­na­tion of human­i­ty, the Jews threat­ened “being” in anoth­er way:

What is hap­pen­ing now is the end of the his­to­ry of the great incep­tion of Occi­den­tal human­i­ty, in which incep­tion human­i­ty was called to the guardian­ship of be-ing, only to trans­form this call­ing right away into the pre­ten­sion to re-present beings in their machi­na­tion­al unessence…

The except goes on at length in this vein, with Jew­ish “tech­no­log­i­cal machin­ery” pos­ing a threat to civ­i­liza­tion. Per­haps most shock­ing­ly, Hei­deg­ger attrib­uted Nazi con­cen­tra­tion camps to “self-destruc­tion,” com­plete­ly absolv­ing by omis­sion, and min­i­miz­ing and excus­ing, the crimes of his par­ty. An arti­cle in Ital­ian news­pa­per Cor­riere Del­la Sera doc­u­ments Heidegger’s defense of Nazism and his claim in 1942 that “the com­mu­ni­ty of Jews” is “the prin­ci­ple of destruc­tion” and that the camps were only a log­i­cal out­come of this prin­ci­ple, the “supreme ful­fill­ment of tech­nol­o­gy,” “corpse fac­to­ries.” The real vic­tims, of course, are the Ger­mans, and the Allies are guilty of ”repress­ing our will for the world.”

Hei­deg­ger intend­ed the “black note­books,” so damn­ing that sev­er­al schol­ars of Hei­deg­ger fought their pub­li­ca­tion, to be released after all of his work was pub­lished. As with all of the philosopher’s dif­fi­cult work, the note­books are often obscure; it is not always clear what he means to say. But major Hei­deg­ger schol­ars have respond­ed in a vari­ety of ways—including resign­ing a chair­ship of the Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger Soci­ety—that sug­gest the worst. Accord­ing to Dai­ly Nous, a web­site about the phi­los­o­phy pro­fes­sion, when Gün­ter Figal resigned his posi­tion in Jan­u­ary as chair of the Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger Soci­ety, he said:

As chair­man of a soci­ety, which is named after a per­son, one is in cer­tain way a rep­re­sen­ta­tive of that per­son. After read­ing the Schwarze Hefte [Black Note­books], espe­cial­ly the anti­se­mit­ic pas­sages, I do not wish to be such a rep­re­sen­ta­tive any longer. These state­ments have not only shocked me, but have turned me around to such an extent that it has become dif­fi­cult to be a co-rep­re­sen­ta­tive of this.

Whether or not this new evi­dence will cause more of his adher­ents to renounce his work remains to be seen, but the note­books, writes Peter Gor­don, will sure­ly “cast a dark shad­ow over Hei­deg­ger’s lega­cy.” A very dark shad­ow.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger Talks About Lan­guage, Being, Marx & Reli­gion in Vin­tage 1960s Inter­views

Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger Talks Phi­los­o­phy with a Bud­dhist Monk on Ger­man Tele­vi­sion (1963)

Human, All Too Human: 3‑Part Doc­u­men­tary Pro­files Niet­zsche, Hei­deg­ger & Sartre

Find cours­es on Hei­deg­ger in our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Sci-Fi Legend Ray Bradbury Creates a Visionary Plan to Redesign Los Angeles

Most of Ray Brad­bury’s fans think of him first as a sci­ence-fic­tion writer, but I think of him as a fel­low Ange­leno. Though born in Waukegan, Illi­nois, the man who would write The Mar­t­ian Chron­i­cles and Fahren­heit 451 moved with his fam­i­ly to Los Ange­les as a teenag­er in 1934. Just as he used his imag­i­na­tion to envi­sion the futures in which he set many of his sto­ries, he also used it to envi­sion the future of his adopt­ed home­town.

“Gath­er­ing and star­ing is one of the great pas­times in the coun­tries of the world,” Brad­bury wrote in a 1970 arti­cle called “The Small-Town Plaza: What Life Is All About.” “But not in Los Ange­les. We have for­got­ten how to gath­er. So we have for­got­ten how to stare. And we for­got not because we want­ed to, but because, by fluke or plan, we were pushed off the famil­iar side­walks or banned from the old places. Change crept up on us as we slept. We are lem­mings in slow motion now, with nowhere to go.”

He lament­ed the fact that Los Ange­les, along with most oth­er Amer­i­can cities, had sac­ri­ficed its most vital gath­er­ing spaces — espe­cial­ly “the the­ater, the sweet shop, the drug­store foun­tain” of his child­hood, and of his nos­tal­gic nov­el Dan­de­lion Wine — on the altar of the auto­mo­bile. “We climb in our cars. We dri­ve… and dri­ve… and dri­ve… and come home blind with exhaus­tion. We have seen noth­ing, nor have we been seen.”

Brad­bury approached this grand urban plan­ning prob­lem, which hit its nadir in the 70s, from his then-unusu­al per­spec­tive of the non-dri­ving Ange­leno. Hav­ing thus nev­er for­got­ten the val­ue of the old ways, he pro­pos­es a return in the form of “a vast, dra­mat­i­cal­ly planned city block” offer­ing “a gath­er­ing place for each pop­u­la­tion nucle­us” where “peo­ple would be tempt­ed to linger, loi­ter, stay, rather than fly off in their chairs to already over­crowd­ed places.”

The block would fea­ture “a round band­stand or stage,” “a huge con­ver­sa­tion pit [ … ] so that four hun­dred peo­ple can sit out under the stars drink­ing cof­fee or Cokes,” “a huge plaza walk where more hun­dreds might stroll at their leisure to see and be seen,” an “immense quad­ran­gle of three dozen shops and stores,” the­aters for films new and old as well as live dra­ma and lec­tures, and “a cof­fee house for rock-folk groups.”

He described this tan­ta­liz­ing urban space as a proof of con­cept, “one to start with. Lat­er on, one or more for each of the 80 towns in L.A.” But how to get between them? Brad­bury had some­thing of a side career advo­cat­ing for a mono­rail sys­tem, which he summed up in a 2006 Los Ange­les Times essay:

More than 40 years ago, in 1963, I attend­ed a meet­ing of the L.A. Coun­ty Board of Super­vi­sors at which the Alweg Mono­rail com­pa­ny out­lined a plan to con­struct one or more mono­rails cross­ing L.A. north, south, east and west. The com­pa­ny said that if it were allowed to build the sys­tem, it would give the mono­rails to us for free — absolute­ly gratis. The com­pa­ny would oper­ate the sys­tem and col­lect the fare rev­enues.

It seemed a rea­son­able bar­gain to me. But at the end of a long day of dis­cus­sion, the Board of Super­vi­sors reject­ed Alweg Mono­rail.

I was stunned. I dim­ly saw, even at that time, the future of free­ways, which would, in the end, go nowhere.

While not a sin­gle mono­rail line ever appeared Brad­bury’s city, one did appear, three years after that faith­ful Board of Super­vi­sors meet­ing, in François Truf­faut’s adap­ta­tion of Brad­bury’s Fahren­heit 451. You can see it in the clip at the top of the post. Notice that it seems to drop Oskar Wern­er and Julie Christie off in the mid­dle of nowhere; hard­ly an ide­al place­ment for a rapid-tran­sit sta­tion, but then, the mono­rail itself was just a pro­to­type, run­ning on a test track put up at Châteauneuf-sur-Loire by its devel­op­er, the con­sor­tium SAFEGE (French Lim­it­ed Com­pa­ny for the Study of Man­age­ment and Busi­ness).


Gen­er­al Elec­tric licensed SAFEGE’s mono­rail tech­nol­o­gy in the Unit­ed States, and to pro­mote it pro­duced this delight­ful­ly mid­cen­tu­ry (and no doubt Brad­bury-approved) 1967 film just above. Alas, it did­n’t take any­where in the coun­try, but you can find two still futur­is­tic-look­ing SAFEGE mono­rails still oper­at­ing in — where else? — that futur­is­tic land known as Japan, specif­i­cal­ly in Chi­ba and Fuji­sawa.

Los Ange­les may have reject­ed the mono­rail, and it cer­tain­ly has a long way to go before it match­es the devel­op­ment of any major city in Japan, but this town has, in many ways and in many places, real­ized the writer’s vision of an ide­al urban life. Amer­i­ca’s 21st-cen­tu­ry revival of city cen­ters has begun to make the­ater- and cof­fee shop-goers, gath­er­ers and star­ers, and tran­sit-rid­ers of us again. And not own­ing a car has, in Los Ange­les, become almost fash­ion­able — an idea even an imag­i­na­tion as capa­cious as Ray Brad­bury’s may once have nev­er dared to con­tem­plate.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ray Brad­bury: “I Am Not Afraid of Robots. I Am Afraid of Peo­ple” (1974)

Ray Brad­bury: “The Things That You Love Should Be Things That You Do.” “Books Teach Us That”

Ray Brad­bury: Sto­ry of a Writer 1963 Film Cap­tures the Para­dox­i­cal Late Sci-Fi Author

Ray Brad­bury: Lit­er­a­ture is the Safe­ty Valve of Civ­i­liza­tion

The Secret of Life and Love, Accord­ing to Ray Brad­bury (1968)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.


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