53 Years of Nuclear Testing in 14 Minutes: A Time Lapse Film by Japanese Artist Isao Hashimoto

It’s strange what can make an impact. Some­times a mes­sage needs to be loud and over-the-top to come across, like punk rock or the films of Oliv­er Stone. In oth­er cas­es, cool and qui­et works much bet­ter.

Take the new time lapse map cre­at­ed by Japan­ese artist Isao Hashimo­to. It is beau­ti­ful in a sim­ple way and eerie as it doc­u­ments the 2,053 nuclear explo­sions that took place between 1945 and 1998.

It looks like a war room map of the world, black land­mass­es sur­round­ed by deep blue ocean. It starts out slow, in July of 1945, with a blue blip and an explo­sion sound in the Amer­i­can southwest—the Man­hat­tan Project’s “Trin­i­ty” test near Los Alam­os. Just one month lat­er come the explo­sions at Hiroshi­ma and Nagasa­ki.

From there the months click by—condensed down to seconds—on a dig­i­tal clock. Each nation that has explod­ed a nuclear bomb gets a blip and a flash­ing dot when they det­o­nate a weapon, with a run­ning tal­ly kept on the screen.

Eeri­est of all is that each nation gets its own elec­tron­ic sound pitch: low tones for the Unit­ed States, high­er for the Sovi­et Union—beeping to the metronome of the months tick­ing by.

What starts out slow picks up by 1960 or so, when all the cold neu­tral beeps and flash­es become over­whelm­ing.

If you’re like me, you had no idea just how many det­o­na­tions the Unit­ed States is respon­si­ble for (1,032—more than the rest of the coun­tries put togeth­er). The sequence ends with the Pak­istani nuclear tests of May 1998.

Hashimo­to worked for many years as a for­eign exchange deal­er but is now an art cura­tor. He says the piece express­es “the fear and fol­ly of nuclear weapons.”

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2012.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The “Shad­ow” of a Hiroshi­ma Vic­tim, Etched into Stone Steps, Is All That Remains After 1945 Atom­ic Blast

63 Haunt­ing Videos of U.S. Nuclear Tests Now Declas­si­fied and Put Online

Kurt Von­negut Gives a Ser­mon on the Fool­ish­ness of Nuclear Arms: It’s Time­ly Again (Cathe­dral of St. John the Divine, 1982)

Haunt­ing Unedit­ed Footage of the Bomb­ing of Nagasa­ki (1945)

How a Clean, Tidy Home Can Help You Sur­vive the Atom­ic Bomb: A Cold War Film from 1954

When American Financiers and Business Leaders Plotted to Overthrow Franklin D. Roosevelt and Install a Fascist Government in the U.S. (1933)

Econ­o­mist and colum­nist Paul Krug­man recent­ly wrote about a cur­rent nom­i­nee for the Fed­er­al Reserve’s Board of Gov­er­nors who called cities like Cincin­nati and Cleve­land “armpits of Amer­i­ca” to laughs from an audi­ence of busi­ness lead­ers. This same nom­i­nee has made head­lines for say­ing “cap­i­tal­ism is a lot more impor­tant than democ­ra­cy” and call­ing the 16th Amend­ment estab­lish­ing the income tax the “most evil” law passed in the 20th cen­tu­ry.

As crude as the com­ments are, many wealthy peo­ple who make deci­sions of con­se­quence in the U.S. do not seem like “big believ­ers in democ­ra­cy,” as the nom­i­nee put it. It’s messy and incon­ve­nient for those who would pre­fer not to answer to an elect­ed gov­ern­ment. The same atti­tudes were shared by right-wing bankers, busi­ness lead­ers, and con­ser­v­a­tive politi­cians dur­ing the worst eco­nom­ic cri­sis the coun­try has seen.

Despite the fail­ure of lais­sez-faire finan­cial cap­i­tal­ism after the crash of 1929, financiers, econ­o­mists, and politi­cians refused to admit their prin­ci­ples might have been very bad­ly flawed. But in 1933, when Franklin Roo­sevelt was first elect­ed, “the econ­o­my was stag­ger­ing, unem­ploy­ment was ram­pant and a bank­ing cri­sis threat­ened the entire mon­e­tary sys­tem,” writes NPR, in a descrip­tion of the Great Depres­sion that reads as dri­ly under­stat­ed.

Still, Roosevelt’s elec­tion went too far for his oppo­nents (and not far enough for pro­gres­sives to his left). West Vir­ginia Repub­li­can Sen­a­tor Hen­ry Hat­field wrote to a col­league, in a series of ever­green expres­sions, char­ac­ter­iz­ing FDR’s his­toric First Hun­dred Days as “despo­tism”:

This is tyran­ny, this is the anni­hi­la­tion of lib­er­ty. The ordi­nary Amer­i­can is thus reduced to the sta­tus of a robot. The pres­i­dent has not mere­ly signed the death war­rant of cap­i­tal­ism, but has ordained the muti­la­tion of the Con­sti­tu­tion, unless the friends of lib­er­ty, regard­less of par­ty, band them­selves togeth­er to regain their lost free­dom.

Wall Street agreed, except for all that stuff about the Con­sti­tu­tion and the wel­fare of the ordi­nary Amer­i­can.

In what became known as the “Busi­ness Plot” (or the “Wall Street Putsch”)—a group of bankers and busi­ness lead­ers alleged­ly cre­at­ed a con­spir­a­cy to over­throw the pres­i­dent and install a dic­ta­tor friend­ly to their inter­ests. The con­spir­a­tors includ­ed invest­ment banker and future Con­necti­cut Sen­a­tor Prescott Bush (father of George H.W. Bush), bond sales­man Ger­ald MacGuire, and Bill Doyle com­man­der of the Mass­a­chu­setts Amer­i­can Legion.

The plot was famous­ly exposed by Major Gen­er­al Smed­ley D. But­ler, who tes­ti­fied under oath about his knowl­edge of a plan to form an orga­ni­za­tion of 500,000 vet­er­ans who could take over the func­tions of gov­ern­ment, as you can see But­ler him­self say in the 1935 news­reel footage above. The mem­bers of the Busi­ness Plot believed But­ler would lead this irreg­u­lar force in a coup. He had pre­vi­ous­ly been “an influ­en­tial fig­ure in the so-called Bonus Army,” writes Matt Davis at Big Think, “a group of 43,000 marchers—among them many World War I veterans—who were camped at Wash­ing­ton to demand the ear­ly pay­ment of the veteran’s bonus promised to them.”

Butler’s will­ing­ness to chal­lenge the gov­ern­ment did not make him sym­pa­thet­ic to a coup. He heard the con­spir­a­tors out, then turned them in. But his alle­ga­tions were imme­di­ate­ly dis­missed by The New York Times, who wrote that the sto­ry was a “gigan­tic hoax,” “per­fect moon­shine!,” “a fan­ta­sy,” and “a pub­lic­i­ty stunt.” A con­gres­sion­al inves­ti­ga­tion cor­rob­o­rat­ed Smedley’s claims, to an extent. The con­spir­a­tors may have had weapons, vio­lent intent, and mil­lions of dol­lars. But no one was ever pros­e­cut­ed. Many, like New York May­or Fiorel­lo La Guardia, waved the coup attempt away as “a cock­tail putsch.”

The same atti­tudes that let the con­spir­a­tors suf­fer no con­se­quences, and let them go on to serve in high office, also seemed to dri­ve their way of think­ing. Roo­sevelt could be brought to see rea­son, they believed. Since his class inter­ests aligned with theirs, he would see that fas­cism best served those inter­ests. Sal­ly Den­ton, inves­tiga­tive reporter and author of a book about the mul­ti­ple plots against FDR (The Plots Against the Pres­i­dent: FDR, A Nation in Cri­sis, and the Rise of the Amer­i­can Right), explains in an inter­view with All Things Con­sid­ered:

They thought that they could con­vince Roo­sevelt, because he was of their, the patri­cian class, they thought that they could con­vince Roo­sevelt to relin­quish pow­er to basi­cal­ly a fas­cist, mil­i­tary-type gov­ern­ment.

What MacGuire pro­posed was more cor­po­ratist than mil­i­tarist in appear­ance, at least, notes Davis. The Pres­i­dent could remain as a fig­ure­head, but “the real pow­er of the gov­ern­ment would be held in the hands of a Sec­re­tary of Gen­er­al Affairs, who would be in effect a dic­ta­tor,” but whose job descrip­tion, as MacGuire put it, was “a sort of super sec­re­tary.”

As for But­ler, not only did he call the plot trea­son, but he also came to feel con­sid­er­able regret for his ser­vice as “a high-class mus­cle man for Big Busi­ness, for Wall Street and the bankers,” as he lat­er wrote in his essay “War is a Rack­et,” pub­lished in the social­ist mag­a­zine Com­mon Sense. “I was a rack­e­teer,” he con­fessed, “a gang­ster for cap­i­tal­ism.” In expos­ing the plot, he decid­ed to side with the flawed, but func­tion­al democ­ra­cy of our own coun­try over the will of cap­i­tal­ists bent on hold­ing pow­er by any means.

via Big Think

Relat­ed Con­tent:

20,000 Amer­i­cans Hold a Pro-Nazi Ral­ly in Madi­son Square Gar­den in 1939: Chill­ing Video Re-Cap­tures a Lost Chap­ter in US His­to­ry

How Warn­er Broth­ers Resist­ed a Hol­ly­wood Ban on Anti-Nazi Films in the 1930s and Warned Amer­i­cans of the Dan­gers of Fas­cism

Umber­to Eco Makes a List of the 14 Com­mon Fea­tures of Fas­cism

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

Trivial Pursuit: The Shakespeare Edition Has Just Been Released: Answer 600 Questions Based on the Life & Works of William Shakespeare

“The stan­dard thing to say is that each age makes a Shake­speare in its own image,” wrote The New York­er’s Adam Gop­nik on the the Bard’s 440th birth­day. But over the cen­turies, the bio­graph­i­cal and crit­i­cal por­tray­al of the play­wright of Ham­letRomeo and Juli­etOth­el­lo, and King Lear has remained remark­ably con­sis­tent: “He was a genius at com­e­dy, a free-flow­ing nat­ur­al who would do any­thing for a joke or a pun, and whom life and abil­i­ty bent toward tragedy.” He evolved “a match­less all-sid­ed­ness and neg­a­tive capa­bil­i­ty, which could probe two ideas at once and nev­er quite come down on the ‘side’ of either: he was a man in whom a tem­pera­men­tal timid­i­ty and cau­tion blos­somed artis­ti­cal­ly into the near­est thing we have to uni­ver­sal­i­ty.”

But today, on Shake­speare’s 455th birth­day, we might still won­der how uni­ver­sal his work real­ly is. As luck would have it, the Shake­speare Birth­day Trust has just come up with a kind of test of that propo­si­tion: an all-Shake­speare edi­tion of the pop­u­lar board game Triv­ial Pur­suit.

“Devised by the Shake­speare Birth­place Trust, the inde­pen­dent and self-sus­tain­ing char­i­ty that cares for the world’s great­est Shake­speare her­itage sites in his home town of Strat­ford-upon-Avon, in part­ner­ship with games com­pa­ny, Win­ning Moves,” Triv­ial Pur­suit: The Shake­speare Edi­tion (which you can buy on the Shake­speare Birth­day Trust’s online shop) offers “600 ques­tions across six cat­e­gories — Come­dies, His­to­ries, Tragedies, Char­ac­ters, Biog­ra­phy and Lega­cy,” all “care­ful­ly craft­ed by Shake­speare schol­ars Dr Nick Wal­ton and Dr Anj­na Chouhan.”

One might assume that Shake­speare buffs and schol­ars will dom­i­nate this game. No doubt they will, but per­haps not as often as expect­ed, since its ques­tions give any­one with gen­er­al cul­tur­al aware­ness a fight­ing chance: “As well as ques­tions about Shakespeare’s life and works, there are oth­ers that link him to pop­u­lar cul­ture such as the Har­ry Pot­ter film series, TV shows Dr. Who and Upstart Crow, as well as actors Sir Patrick Stew­art, Sir Lau­rence Olivi­er, and Keanu Reeves, and the Bard’s less­er known influ­ence on the likes of Elvis Pres­ley and even the clas­sic car­toon Pop­eye.” As Wal­ton puts it, “there are all sorts of paths to Shake­speare,” not least because of his work’s still-unchal­lenged place as the most drawn-upon texts, delib­er­ate­ly or inad­ver­tent­ly, in the whole of the Eng­lish lan­guage. As for Shake­speare him­self, he remains “the reign­ing poet of the lan­guage,” in Gop­nik’s words, as well as “the ordi­nary poet of our com­pa­ny” — and now we have a game to play to keep him in our com­pa­ny.

Pick up your copy of the game here.

via Men­tal Floss

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 55 Hours of Shakespeare’s Plays: The Tragedies, Come­dies & His­to­ries Per­formed by Vanes­sa Red­grave, Sir John Giel­gud, Ralph Fiennes & Many More

30 Days of Shake­speare: One Read­ing of the Bard Per Day, by The New York Pub­lic Library, on the 400th Anniver­sary of His Death

Free Online Shake­speare Cours­es: Primers on the Bard from Oxford, Har­vard, Berke­ley & More

Read All of Shakespeare’s Plays Free Online, Cour­tesy of the Fol­ger Shake­speare Library

What Shake­speare Sound­ed Like to Shake­speare: Recon­struct­ing the Bard’s Orig­i­nal Pro­nun­ci­a­tion

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Shakespeare’s Globe The­atre

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Medieval City Plan Generator: A Fun Way to Create Your Own Imaginary Medieval Cities

The Medieval City Plan Gen­er­a­tor. It’s the free online tool you’ve always want­ed. It does­n’t cre­ate maps of actu­al medieval cities–only nice look­ing maps of imag­i­nary cities, with the abil­i­ty to add plazas, cas­tles, rivers, city walls, and even shan­ty towns. Enter the Medieval City Plan Gen­er­a­tor here.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­scripts Were Made: A Step-by-Step Look at this Beau­ti­ful, Cen­turies-Old Craft

How the Bril­liant Col­ors of Medieval Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts Were Made with Alche­my

Behold the Beau­ti­ful Pages from a Medieval Monk’s Sketch­book: A Win­dow Into How Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts Were Made (1494)

The Aberdeen Bes­tiary, One of the Great Medieval Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts, Now Dig­i­tized in High Res­o­lu­tion & Made Avail­able Online

1,600-Year-Old Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­script of the Aeneid Dig­i­tized & Put Online by The Vat­i­can

Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy Illus­trat­ed in a Remark­able Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­script (c. 1450)

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

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Here’s What Ancient Dogs Looked Like: A Forensic Reconstruction of a Dog That Lived 4,500 Years Ago

Images by His­toric Envi­ron­ment Scot­land

We’re pret­ty sure dogs aren’t obsessed with ances­try, despite the pro­lif­er­a­tion of canine DNA test­ing ser­vices.

That seems to be more of a human thing.

How­ev­er, with very lit­tle dig­ging, near­ly every dog on earth could claim to be descend­ed from a hand­some spec­i­men such as the one above.

This news must be grat­i­fy­ing to all those lap­dogs who fan­cy them­selves to be some­thing more wolfish than their exte­ri­ors sug­gest.

This beast is no 21st-cen­tu­ry pet, but rather, a recon­struc­tion, foren­sic science’s best guess as to what the own­er of a Neolith­ic skull dis­cov­ered dur­ing a 1901 exca­va­tion of the 5,000-year-old Cuween Hill cham­bered cairn on Orkney, Scot­land would have looked like in life.

About the size of a large col­lie, the “Cuween dog” has the face of a Euro­pean grey wolf and the rea­son­able gaze of a fam­i­ly pet.

(Kudos to the project’s orga­niz­ers for resist­ing the urge to bestow a nick­name on their cre­ation, or if they have, to resist shar­ing it pub­licly.)

Whether or not this good boy or girl had a name, it would’ve earned its keep, guard­ing a farm in the tomb’s vicin­i­ty.

Steve Far­rar, Inter­pre­ta­tion Man­ag­er at His­toric Envi­ron­ment Scot­land, the con­ser­va­tion orga­ni­za­tion that com­mis­sioned the recon­struc­tion, believes that the farm­ers’ esteem for their dogs went beyond mere util­i­tar­i­an appre­ci­a­tion:

Maybe dogs were their sym­bol or totem, per­haps they thought of them­selves as the ‘dog peo­ple’.

Radio­car­bon dat­ing of this dog’s skull and 23 oth­ers found on the site point to rit­u­al burial—the ani­mals were placed with­in more than 500 years after the pas­sage to the tomb was built. His­toric Envi­ron­ment Scot­land posits that the canine remains’ place­ment next to those of humans attest to the community’s belief in an after­life for both species.

The mod­el is pre­sum­ably more relat­able than the naked skull, which was scanned by Edin­burgh Uni­ver­si­ty’s Roy­al (Dick) School of Vet­eri­nary Stud­ies, enabling His­toric Envi­ron­ment Scot­land to make the 3D print that foren­sic artist Amy Thorn­ton fleshed out with mus­cle, skin, and hair.

What a human geneal­o­gist wouldn’t give to trace their lin­eage back to 2000 BC, let alone have such a fetch­ing pic­ture.

via Live Sci­ence

Relat­ed Con­tent:

40,000-Year-Old Sym­bols Found in Caves World­wide May Be the Ear­li­est Writ­ten Lan­guage

An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Dogs, Inspired by Kei­th Har­ing

An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Cats: How Over 10,000 Years the Cat Went from Wild Preda­tor to Sofa Side­kick

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in New York City this May for the next install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Paris in Beautiful Color Images from 1890: The Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, The Panthéon, and More (1890)

The 17th and 18th cen­turies in Eng­land marked a peri­od of osten­ta­tion for a grow­ing, and increas­ing­ly wealthy, landown­ing class. These were also times of inter­nal reli­gious wars between Catholics and Protes­tants, a peri­od that saw the regi­cide of Charles I, the restora­tion of Charles II to the throne, and William and Mary’s “Glo­ri­ous Rev­o­lu­tion,” depos­ing his suc­ces­sor, James II. All of this over the span of 28 years. Anti-Catholic sen­ti­ment ran high among the peo­ple, and it made a par­tic­u­lar­ly con­ve­nient polit­i­cal tool.

But there are two groups you might not have found at anti-Catholic ral­lies dur­ing the most heat­ed of polit­i­cal times, not, at least, dur­ing the final, for­ma­tive years of their edu­ca­tion. Both young scions of gen­try and nobil­i­ty on a gap year, and artists and poets seek­ing out the finest train­ing, took the Euro­pean Grand Tour, for sev­er­al months or sev­er­al years, a sojourn through the most­ly-Catholic con­ti­nent. No clas­si­cal edu­ca­tion was com­plete with­out a vis­it to Flo­rence, Milan, Rome, Vien­na, and, of course, Paris.

Here, gen­tle­man picked up the lat­est fash­ions and dance steps, bud­ding archi­tects stud­ied cathe­drals and Catholic art, and every­one, Catholic and Protes­tant alike, gawked at the tow­er­ing Notre Dame. The impor­tance of the Grand Tour, remarked his­to­ri­an E.P. Thomp­son, “showed that rul­ing class con­trol in the 18th cen­tu­ry was locat­ed pri­mar­i­ly in cul­tur­al hege­mo­ny.” Tour­ing gen­tle­men wrote mem­oirs and guide­books and com­mis­sioned paint­ings. Artists sent back draw­ings and poems, as both sou­venirs and proof of their cul­tur­al mas­tery.

Through these aris­to­crat­ic tourists the rest of the world came to see Europe as a suc­ces­sion of mon­u­ments, like the Greek and Roman cities of antiq­ui­ty. At the same time, an impe­ri­al­ist craze for Neo­clas­si­cal archi­tec­ture began to make Europe’s biggest cities resem­ble clas­si­cal mod­els more and more.

The last half of the 18th cen­tu­ry saw the con­struc­tion of the Pan­théon, La Made­line—the Catholic church first ded­i­cat­ed as a tem­ple to Napoleonand the Lou­vre, all mon­u­ments to clas­si­cal archi­tec­ture.

The Grand Tour approach to look­ing at cities and the cor­re­spond­ing Neo­clas­si­cal wave of build­ing came togeth­er in the age of pho­tog­ra­phy, when prints of the great places could give their view­ers a sense of hav­ing been there, or at least hit all the major entries in the guide­book. Wan­der­ing gen­try and artists became entre­pre­neurs, using the new tech­nol­o­gy to not only sim­u­late a Grand Tour, but to sell prints for post­cards and the rare pho­to­graph­ic book.

By 1890, when the pho­tos of Paris here were tak­en, such prints were com­mon­place. They rep­re­sent­ed a democ­ra­ti­za­tion, in a way, of Europe’s great land­marks, and of the lit­er­ary and fine arts tech­niques once pri­mar­i­ly used to record them. No doubt some few peo­ple saw the devel­op­ment as a vul­gar one, but art his­to­ri­ans today can be grate­ful that Paris at the end of the 19th cen­tu­ry was so well-doc­u­ment­ed. In this dig­i­tal col­lec­tion from the Library of Con­gress, Beaux-Arts mas­ter­pieces like the Paris Opera House sit beside the Goth­ic Notre Dame and Neo-Clas­si­cal Pan­théon.

It is a shame these pho­tos do not let view­ers go inside to expe­ri­ence first­hand the build­ings that inspired The Phan­tom of the Opera and The Hunch­back of Notre Dame, and in which are buried such lit­er­ary roy­al­ty as Voltaire, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Emile Zola, and Vic­tor Hugo him­self. But this rich archive of ear­ly col­or pho­tographs from just before the turn of the cen­tu­ry does capture—for all time, per­haps, now that they are online—the great­est feats of archi­tec­tur­al engi­neer­ing from the old Medieval  order, the Ancien Régime, the Repub­lic, and the Empire.

The col­lec­tion rep­re­sents yet anoth­er way of dig­i­tal­ly pre­serv­ing the mem­o­ries of these grand build­ings should they one day be lost, as Notre Dame near­ly was just a few days ago. It also shows the state of pho­tog­ra­phy at the dawn of the post­card boom, when Pho­tochrom prints like these could be pur­chased cheap­ly and mailed for a few cents or cen­times. See many more of these stun­ning pho­tos at the Library of Con­gress Dig­i­tal Col­lec­tions here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Rome Comes to Life in Pho­tochrom Col­or Pho­tos Tak­en in 1890: The Colos­se­um, Tre­vi Foun­tain & More

Venice in Beau­ti­ful Col­or Images 125 Years Ago: The Rial­to Bridge, St. Mark’s Basil­i­ca, Doge’s Palace & More

Tsarist Rus­sia Comes to Life in Vivid Col­or Pho­tographs Tak­en Cir­ca 1905–1915

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

Experience the Majesty of Notre Dame by Getting a Free Download of the Video Game Assassin’s Creed Unity (Free for a Limited Time)

FYI: In the wake of the great Notre Dame fire, the French video game com­pa­ny Ubisoft has decid­ed to make its pop­u­lar video game Assas­s­in’s Creed Uni­ty free through April 25th, allow­ing gamers to “expe­ri­ence the majesty and beau­ty of the cathe­dral.” The goth­ic cathe­dral fig­ures cen­tral­ly in the game. Start your down­load (avail­able only for PC users) here. Once you down­load the game, you’ll own it for­ev­er in your Uplay games library.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

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via Laugh­ing Squid

9 Science-Fiction Authors Predict the Future: How Jules Verne, Isaac Asimov, William Gibson, Philip K. Dick & More Imagined the World Ahead

Pressed to give a four-word def­i­n­i­tion of sci­ence fic­tion, one could do worse than “sto­ries about the future.” That stark sim­pli­fi­ca­tion does the com­plex and var­ied genre a dis­ser­vice, as the defend­ers of sci­ence fic­tion against its crit­ics won’t hes­i­tate to claim. And those crit­ics are many, includ­ing most recent­ly the writer Ian McE­wan, despite the fact that his new nov­el Machines Like Me is about the intro­duc­tion of intel­li­gent androids into human soci­ety. Sci-fi fans have tak­en him to task for dis­tanc­ing his lat­est book from a genre he sees as insuf­fi­cient­ly con­cerned with the “human dilem­mas” imag­ined tech­nolo­gies might cause, but he has a point: set in an alter­nate 1982, Machines Like Me isn’t about the future but the past.

Then again, per­haps McE­wan’s nov­el is about the future, and the androids sim­ply haven’t yet arrived on our own time­line — or per­haps, like most endur­ing works of sci­ence fic­tion, it’s ulti­mate­ly about the present moment. The writ­ers in the sci-fi pan­theon all com­bine a height­ened aware­ness of the con­cerns of their own eras with a cer­tain gen­uine pre­science about things to come.

Writ­ing in the ear­ly 1860s, Jules Verne imag­ined a sub­ur­ban­ized 20th cen­tu­ry with gas-pow­ered cars, elec­tron­ic sur­veil­lance, fax machines and a pop­u­la­tion at once both high­ly edu­cat­ed and crude­ly enter­tained. Verne also includ­ed a sim­ple com­mu­ni­ca­tion sys­tem that can’t help but remind us of the inter­net we use today — a sys­tem whose promise and per­il Neu­ro­mancer author William Gib­son described on tele­vi­sion more than 130 years lat­er.

In the list below we’ve round­ed up Verne and Gib­son’s pre­dic­tions about the future of tech­nol­o­gy and human­i­ty along with those of sev­en oth­er sci­ence-fic­tion lumi­nar­ies. Despite com­ing from dif­fer­ent gen­er­a­tions and pos­sess­ing dif­fer­ent sen­si­bil­i­ties, these writ­ers share not just a con­cern with the future but the abil­i­ty to express that con­cern in a way that still inter­ests us, the denizens of that future. Or rather, some­thing like that future: when we hear Aldous Hux­ley pre­dict in 1950 that “dur­ing the next fifty years mankind will face three great prob­lems: the prob­lem of avoid­ing war; the prob­lem of feed­ing and cloth­ing a pop­u­la­tion of two and a quar­ter bil­lions which, by 2000 A.D., will have grown to upward of three bil­lions, and the prob­lem of sup­ply­ing these bil­lions with­out ruin­ing the planet’s irre­place­able resources,” we can agree with the gen­er­al pic­ture even if he low­balled glob­al pop­u­la­tion growth by half.

In 1964, Arthur C. Clarke pre­dict­ed not just the inter­net but 3D print­ers and trained mon­key ser­vants. In 1977, the more dystopi­an-mind­ed J.G. Bal­lard came up with some­thing that sounds an awful lot like mod­ern social media. Philip K. Dick­’s time­line of the years 1983 through 2012 includes Sovi­et satel­lite weapons, the dis­place­ment of oil as an ener­gy source by hydro­gen, and colonies both lunar and Mar­t­ian. Envi­sion­ing the world of 2063, Robert Hein­lein includ­ed inter­plan­e­tary trav­el, the com­plete cur­ing of can­cer, tooth decay, and the com­mon cold, and a per­ma­nent end to hous­ing short­ages. Even Mark Twain, despite not nor­mal­ly being regard­ed as a sci-fi writer, imag­ined a “ ‘lim­it­less-dis­tance’ tele­phone” sys­tem intro­duced and “the dai­ly doings of the globe made vis­i­ble to every­body, and audi­bly dis­cuss­able too, by wit­ness­es sep­a­rat­ed by any num­ber of leagues.”

As much as the hits impress, they tend to be out­num­bered in even sci­ence fic­tion’s great­est minds by the miss­es. But as you’ll find while read­ing through the pre­dic­tions of these nine writ­ers, what sep­a­rates sci­ence fic­tion’s great­est minds from the rest is the abil­i­ty to come up with not just inter­est­ing hits but inter­est­ing miss­es as well. Con­sid­er­ing why they got right what they got right and why they got wrong what they got wrong tells us some­thing about the work­ings of their imag­i­na­tions, but also about the eras they did their imag­in­ing in — and how their times led to our own, the future to which so many of them ded­i­cat­ed so much thought.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read Hun­dreds of Free Sci-Fi Sto­ries from Asi­mov, Love­craft, Brad­bury, Dick, Clarke & More

Free Sci­ence Fic­tion Clas­sics on the Web: Hux­ley, Orwell, Asi­mov, Gaiman & Beyond

The Ency­clo­pe­dia of Sci­ence Fic­tion: 17,500 Entries on All Things Sci-Fi Are Now Free Online

Isaac Asi­mov Recalls the Gold­en Age of Sci­ence Fic­tion (1937–1950)

The Art of Sci-Fi Book Cov­ers: From the Fan­tas­ti­cal 1920s to the Psy­che­del­ic 1960s & Beyond

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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