The New York Times’ First Profile of Hitler: His Anti-Semitism Is Not as “Genuine or Violent” as It Sounds (1922)

new-popular-idol

I’ve heard it again and again. The now Pres­i­dent-elect made vicious and belit­tling attacks on African-Amer­i­cans, Mus­lims, immi­grants, women, the dis­abled, etc. dur­ing the cam­paign sea­son (and for sev­er­al decades before), but he didn’t mean it. And I have many ques­tions. For exam­ple, why should any­one assume—given the his­to­ry of coun­try after coun­try after country—that a bul­ly­ing nativist auto­crat doesn’t mean what he says?

We know celebri­ty breeds triv­i­al­iza­tion. But we also know well that in some of the most famous—but by no means only—cases of dem­a­gogues who rose to pow­er with hate speech, the rhetoric quick­ly turned to many years of incom­pre­hen­si­ble, yet cal­cu­lat­ed, bru­tal­i­ty. At least in the U.S., hard­ly any­one believed that the melo­dra­mat­ic vit­ri­ol Hitler and Mus­soli­ni spat at scape­goats of all kinds, espe­cial­ly Jews, should be tak­en very seri­ous­ly.

In 1922—at the dawn of Hitler’s bud­ding nation­al­ist move­ment—The New York Times pub­lished its first pro­file, and explained his dem­a­goguery away. The arti­cle, titled “New Pop­u­lar Idol Ris­es in Bavaria,” begins with sev­er­al alarm­ing sub­head­ings: “Hitler cred­it­ed with extra­or­di­nary pow­ers of sway­ing crowds to his will,” “forms gray-shirt­ed army… They obey orders implic­it­ly,” “Leader a reac­tionary,” “Anti-Red and Anti-Semit­ic.” It then goes on to under­mine these charges.

Accord­ing to “sev­er­al reli­able, well-informed [unnamed] sources,” we’re told, “Hitler’s anti-Semi­tism was not so gen­uine or vio­lent as it sound­ed,” though “the Hitler move­ment is not of a mere local or pic­turesque inter­est.”

He was mere­ly using anti-Semit­ic pro­pa­gan­da as a bait to catch mass­es of fol­low­ers and keep them aroused, enthu­si­as­tic and in line for the time when his orga­ni­za­tion is per­fect­ed and suf­fi­cient­ly pow­er­ful to be employed effec­tive­ly for polit­i­cal pur­pos­es.

What pur­pos­es? The paper quotes one admir­ing “sophis­ti­cat­ed politi­cian” as say­ing, “You can’t expect the mass­es to under­stand or appre­ci­ate your fin­er real aims. You must feed the mass­es with crud­er morsels and ideas like anti-Semi­tism. It would be polit­i­cal­ly all wrong to tell them the truth about where you real­ly are lead­ing them.” Where might this be? The shad­owy source did not say. We cyn­i­cal­ly expect all politi­cians to lie, to feed us “crud­er morsels.” But assum­ing that racism, big­otry, and scapegoating—whether sin­cere or not—will go down so eas­i­ly with so many peo­ple con­sti­tutes a very dark view of “the mass­es.”

nytimeshitler-2

Ten years lat­er, after Hitler was released from prison for trea­son and had begun his can­di­da­cy for pres­i­dent, many, even more com­pli­men­ta­ry, arti­cles would follow—as Rafael Med­off doc­u­ments in The Dai­ly Beast—all the way up to Time magazine’s nam­ing him “Man of the Year” for 1938.  “Why did many main­stream Amer­i­can news­pa­pers por­tray the Hitler regime pos­i­tive­ly,” asks Med­off, “espe­cial­ly in its ear­ly months? How could they pub­lish warm human-inter­est sto­ries about a bru­tal dic­ta­tor? Why did they excuse or ratio­nal­ize Nazi anti-Semi­tism? These are ques­tions that should haunt the con­science of U.S. jour­nal­ism to this day.”

One reporter in a 1933 Chris­t­ian Sci­ence Mon­i­tor dis­patch from Ger­many informed his read­ers that “the train arrived punctually”—indulging a trope about fas­cists mak­ing the “trains run on time” that has aston­ish­ing­ly come back in cir­cu­la­tion via for­mer Cincin­nati may­or Ken Black­well. “Traf­fic was well reg­u­lat­ed.” The cor­re­spon­dent found “not the slight­est sign of any­thing unusu­al afoot.” The word we often hear for what hap­pened dur­ing the 30s is “nor­mal­iza­tion,” a process by which the most har­row­ing por­tents were blend­ed into the land­scape, ren­dered signs of noth­ing “unusu­al afoot.”

The nor­mal­iza­tion of Nazism in Ger­many involved a tremen­dous pro­pa­gan­da effort, much of it aimed at chil­dren. In the U.S., the press seemed more than will­ing to turn an eth­no-nation­al­ist move­ment with frightening—and plain­ly stated—objectives into an ordi­nary, ratio­nal state actor. Anti-Semi­tism was described as legit­i­mate polit­i­cal resent­ment or rea­son­able anger at Ger­man Jews’ “com­mer­cial clan­nish­ness.” Some­how the vic­tims of Nazism had to be respon­si­ble for their own mur­der and per­se­cu­tion. “There must be some rea­son,” wrote The Chris­t­ian Cen­tu­ry in an April, 1933 edi­to­r­i­al, “oth­er than race or creed—just what is that rea­son?” Few peo­ple, it seems, could or would allow them­selves to imag­ine that the new Ger­man Führer actu­al­ly meant what he said.

via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online His­to­ry Cours­es, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties

How Did Hitler Rise to Pow­er? : New TED-ED Ani­ma­tion Pro­vides a Case Study in How Fas­cists Get Demo­c­ra­t­i­cal­ly Elect­ed

George Orwell Reviews Mein Kampf: “He Envis­ages a Hor­ri­ble Brain­less Empire” (1940)

Gand­hi Writes Let­ters to Hitler: “We Have Found in Non-Vio­lence a Force Which Can Match the Most Vio­lent Forces in the World” (1939/40)

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

Thomas Edison’s Hugely Ambitious “To-Do” List from 1888

edison_todolist

Even beyond devel­op­ing the phono­graph, the motion pic­ture cam­era, light bulb, and the creepy talk­ing doll, Thomas Edi­son got a lot done in life. With his even greater knack for enter­prise than for inven­tion, he might, had he lived in the 21st cen­tu­ry, trad­ed on his rep­u­ta­tion for pro­duc­tiv­i­ty and indus­try by sell­ing us his per­son­al “life hacks.” Alas, those in search of Edis­on­ian tips and tricks for liv­ing must infer them from all the mate­ri­als he left behind after a life that stretched from the mid-19th cen­tu­ry to near­ly the mid-20th, such as this exten­sive to-do list from Jan­u­ary 3, 1888.

“Through­out his life, Thomas Edi­son kept ‘idea books’ filled with to-do lists, sketch­es and oth­er notes on cur­rent and future projects,” says the site of PBS’ Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence. Just over a month after open­ing his new lab in West Orange, New Jer­sey, “Edi­son cre­at­ed a five-page list of ‘Things doing and to be done.’

That year alone, Edi­son would exe­cute 45 patents, pri­mar­i­ly con­cerned with the phono­graph and cylin­der records. Alexan­der Gra­ham Bell and his asso­ciates had begun to make improve­ments on Edison’s decade-old phono­graph, which pushed Edi­son into action. Despite this com­pe­ti­tion, Edis­on’s ‘To Do’ list shows that the phono­graph wasn’t the only thing on the inventor’s mind.”

These five pages of things to acquire or cre­ate (see the full list below) include not just the “New Stan­dard Phono­graph” but an “Improved Mag­net­ic Bridge for prac­ti­cal work,” “Unin­flam­ma­ble Insu­lat­ing Mate­r­i­al,” a “Box bal­anc­ing Sys­tem,” “Arti­fi­cial Moth­er Pearl,” “But­ter direct from Milk,” “Arti­fi­cial Ivory,” “Marine Teleg­ra­phy,” and a “Long dis­tance stan­dard Tele­phone Trans­mit­ter which employs devices of record­ing phono­graph.” While not all the ideas that inspired, or were inspired by, the items on this long list came to fruition, Edi­son clear­ly saw val­ue in get­ting them all out of his head and on paper. One won­ders what the man who declared that “genius is one per­cent inspi­ra­tion, nine­ty-nine per­cent per­spi­ra­tion” would make of the count­less orga­ni­za­tion and pro­duc­tiv­i­ty tools now on the mar­ket. Nobody ever per­spired because of using an app, after all — but plen­ty have per­spired devel­op­ing them.

Things doing and to be done:

Cot­ton Pick­er
New Stan­dard Phono­graph
Hand turn­ing phono­graph
New Slow speed cheap Dynamo
New Expan­sion Pyro­mag­net­ic Dynamo
Deaf Appa­ra­tus
Elec­tri­cal Piano
Long dis­tance stan­dard Tele­phone Trans­mit­ter which employs devices of record­ing phonogh
Tele­phone Coil of Fe [iron] by tt in Parafine or oth­er insu­la­tor
Plati­na Point Trans using new phono Recorder devices
Gred Bat­tery for Tele­phones
“ “ “ “ Long Dis­tance
“ “ “ — Phono­plex
“ “ “ Jump Tele­graph
“ “ “ Volt­meter
Improved Mag­net­ic Bridge for prac­ti­cal work
Moto­graph Mir­ror
“ Relay
“ Tele­phone prac­ti­cal
Arti­fi­cial Cable
Phone motor to work on 100 volt ckts
Dupli­cat­ing Phono Cylin­ders
Deposit in vac­uo on lace, gold + sil­ver also on cot­ton molten chem­i­cal com­pound of lus­trous sur­faces to imi­tate silk— also reg plat­ing sys­tem
Vac­u­ous Ore milling Large Machine
Mag­net­ic Sep­a­ra­tor Large
Lock­ing mate­r­i­al for Iron sand
Arti­fi­cial Silk
Arti­fi­cial fil­i­ments [sic]
New [illeg.]
Unin­flam­ma­ble Insu­lat­ing Mate­r­i­al
Good wax for phono­graph
Phono­graph­ic Clock
Large Phono­graph for Nov­els, etc.
Pig Iron Expmts with Elec­tric­i­ty + Mag­net­ism
Mal­leabliz­ing Cast now in Vac­uo
Draw­ing fine wire
Joy phono­graph for Dolls
Cable Moto­graph
Very Loud Moto­graph tele­phone with 1/3 siz phonogh motor.
Mag­ne­to tele­phone with actu­al con­tact end mag­net com­pres­sion of an adjustable rub­ber press as in new phones
Snow Com­pres­sor
Glass plate water ore repeator
Tinned faced [illeg.] for Stove Cast­ings
Refin­ing Cop­per Elec­tri­cal­ly
Quad neu­tral relay
Cheap low induct Cop Insu­lat­ing mate­r­i­al for Lead Cable peo­ple
Con­stant moved for non­foundry
200 volt 20 cp lamp
Cheap [illeg.] Indi­ca­tor
Record­ing Valt Indi­ca­tor
Box bal­anc­ing Sys­tem
Alter­nat­ing Machine + Trans­former
Sifua Sur­face Switch­es
Vul­can­iz­ing [illeg.] African Rub­ber adulle­ment
Plat­inum wire [illeg.] cut­ting Machine
Sil­ver wire wood cut­ting sys­tem
Sil­ver­ing or Cop­per­ing bathing cloth in Vac for dura­bil­i­ty
S Mater attend own with new devices for c speed
Expan­sion mir­ror plat… wire in vac­uo
Pho­toghy
Pho­toghy by camp­ing heat after cen­tral points
Boron fil.
Hg [mer­cury] out of Lamp
Phonaplex Repeater
Squirt­ing glass sheet tube etc. Nick­el [illeg.]
Arti­fi­cial Moth­er Pearl
Red Lead pen­cils equal to graphite
India Ink
Trac­ing Cloth
Ink for blind
Fluffy Incan­des­cent Burn­er for gas
Regen­er­a­tive Kerosene Burn­er
Cen­tral­ized arc in arc Lamp
Cai–[illeg.] Tes­la arc lamp test
Strength­en­ing alter­nat­ing cli by sternt Dynamo
ERR Cont [illeg.] reduc­ers
Elec­tro­plat­ing Machines for Sch­enec­tady
Con­denser Trans­former
Sqr ft difrac­tion grat­ings in sil­ver by 5000 [illeg.] tool spe­cial [illeg.] lathe for orna­men­tal pur­pos­es
Pho­to Scant–[illeg.]
Cheap plan pro­duce Mimeo­graph sur­faces
Min­ers bat­tery + lamp
Sort­ing Coal from Slate Machine
But­ter direct from Milk
Burn­ing asphalt Can­dles by high chim­ney
Mag­nets RR sig­nals
Soft­en [illeg.] of books trans­fer to Cop plate + plate to [illeg.] matrix
Tele­phone Repeater
Sub­sti­tute for Hard rub­ber
Arti­fi­cial Ivory
Soft­en Veg­etable Ivory to press in sheets
Var­i­ous bat­ter­ies on [illeg.] Type
Revolv­ing Ther­mo
Caller Indi­ca­tor for Jump Telegh
Marine Teleg­ra­phy
Long dis­tance speak­ing tube filled H20 2 dia pres­sure
Lend plate bat­tery for mod­i­fy­ing attend­ing Cur­rent
Two revolv­ing bands in bat­tery Lead faced press in liq­uid close togeth­er + out into sep­a­rate cham­bers to [illeg.]reduce by gas the oth­er
Siren phonogh
Perm mag like an elec­tro­mag of [illeg.] hand steel high pol­ish sep­a­rate­ly mag­ne­tized + forced togeth­er pow­er­ful­ly[illeg.]
Tele­phone work­ing more [illeg.]
Eartubes formed cres­cent [illeg.] wire
Long strip 50 cp car­bon under stress [illeg.] for
Cheap Volt­meter
Chalk Bat­tery
Dynamo or motor long tube in long mag­net­ic field top + bot­tom con­tacts forc­ing water through gen­er­a­tor cur­rent by – pas­sage.
[Illeg.]
Ther­mo bat­tery slick Cop­per oxi­dized then plat­ed over sur­face oxide nailed to make good con­tact [illeg.]
Disk Phonogh

Relat­ed Con­tent:

In 1911, Thomas Edi­son Pre­dicts What the World Will Look Like in 2011: Smart Phones, No Pover­ty, Libraries That Fit in One Book

A Brief, Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Thomas Edi­son (and Niko­la Tes­la)

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

Hear Thomas Edison’s Creepy Talk­ing Dolls: An Inven­tion That Scared Kids & Flopped on the Mar­ket

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

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

When Franz Kafka Invented the Answering Machine (1913)

kafka-young

We’ve all had the expe­ri­ence, punc­tu­at­ed by inter­minable wait­ing, of cir­cling over and over again through some enor­mous com­pa­ny’s auto­mat­ic tele­phone answer­ing sys­tem. Whether or not it counts as gen­uine­ly “Kafkaesque” may be up for debate, but we do have some evi­dence that the tech­nol­o­gy itself, or at least the idea of it, does indeed trace back to the author of The Meta­mor­pho­sis and The Tri­al him­self. This comes out in Kaf­ka biog­ra­ph­er Rein­er Stach’s new book of pho­tographs, let­ters, and oth­er dis­cov­er­ies called Is that Kaf­ka? 99 Finds.

“Although Kaf­ka was timid and skep­ti­cal in his inter­ac­tions with the lat­est tech­ni­cal gadgets—particularly when they inter­vened in social communication—he was always fas­ci­nat­ed by peo­ple who knew how to han­dle these devices as a mat­ter of course,” writes Stach in an excerpt at the Paris Review. “That includ­ed his fiancée Felice Bauer, who worked in the Berlin offices of Carl Lind­ström AG, where she was in charge of mar­ket­ing for the ‘par­lo­graph,’ a dic­ta­tion machine.” It must have required no great leap of Kafka’s for­mi­da­ble imag­i­na­tion to dream up “a cross between a tele­phone and a par­lo­graph,” which he described in a 1913 let­ter to Bauer:

The inven­tion of a cross between a tele­phone and a par­lo­graph, it real­ly can’t be that hard. Sure­ly by the day after tomor­row you’ll be report­ing to me that the project is already a suc­cess. Of course that would have an enor­mous impact on edi­to­r­i­al offices, news agen­cies, etc. Hard­er, but doubt­less pos­si­ble as well, would be a com­bi­na­tion of the gramo­phone and the tele­phone. Hard­er because you can’t under­stand a gramo­phone at all, and a par­lo­graph can’t ask it to speak more clear­ly. A com­bi­na­tion of the gramo­phone and the tele­phone wouldn’t have such great sig­nif­i­cance in gen­er­al either, but for peo­ple like me, who are afraid of the tele­phone, it would be a relief. But then peo­ple like me are also afraid of the gramo­phone, so we can’t be helped at all. By the way, it’s a nice idea that a par­lo­graph could go to the tele­phone in Berlin, call up a gramo­phone in Prague, and the two of them could have a lit­tle con­ver­sa­tion with each oth­er. But my dear­est the com­bi­na­tion of the par­lo­graph and the tele­phone absolute­ly has to be invent­ed.

The mod­ern answer­ing machine took some time to devel­op, attain­ing its first com­mer­cial­ly suc­cess­ful form, the Elec­tron­ic Sec­re­tary, in 1949, a quar­ter-cen­tu­ry after Kafka’s death. But alas, unbe­knownst to him, some­one had also beat­en him to it when first he thought it up. “The com­bi­na­tion of a tele­phone and a dic­ta­tion machine had already been invent­ed and patent­ed — includ­ing the func­tions of an answer­ing machine,” writes Stach, cit­ing the engi­neer Ernest O. Kum­berg’s inven­tion of some­thing called the “Tele­phono­graph” in 1900. This might seem like just one more dis­ap­point­ment in a life full of them, but remem­ber: just over a cen­tu­ry on, when voice­mail and even new­er tech­nolo­gies have replaced the answer­ing machine, nobody describes any­thing with the word “Kum­ber­gian.”

You can pick up a copy of Is that Kaf­ka? 99 Finds here.

via The Paris Review

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Find Works by Kaf­ka in our Free eBooks col­lec­tion

Four Franz Kaf­ka Ani­ma­tions: Enjoy Cre­ative Ani­mat­ed Shorts from Poland, Japan, Rus­sia & Cana­da

Franz Kafka’s Kafkaesque Love Let­ters

The Art of Franz Kaf­ka: Draw­ings from 1907–1917

The Ani­mat­ed Franz Kaf­ka Rock Opera

What Does “Kafkaesque” Real­ly Mean? A Short Ani­mat­ed Video Explains

Down­load Jim Rockford’s Answer­ing Machine Mes­sages as MP3s

Mark Twain’s Patent­ed Inven­tions for Bra Straps and Oth­er Every­day Items

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Videos Recreate Isaac Newton’s Neat Alchemy Experiments: Watch Silver Get Turned Into Gold

Yes­ter­day we fea­tured an online archive of “chymi­cal” man­u­scripts from the hand of Isaac New­ton, who, in addi­tion to mod­ern physics and math­e­mat­ics, prac­ticed the mag­i­cal, medieval art of alche­my. Found among his alchem­i­cal papers was a recipe for “soph­ick mer­cury,” a chem­i­cal believed to cre­ate the “Philosopher’s stone,” the occult sub­stance that sup­pos­ed­ly turns base met­als like lead into pure gold. Did such mag­ic ever rise to the lev­el of repeat­able sci­ence or was it pure mytho­log­i­cal fan­ta­sy?

For well over two hun­dred years after Newton’s death in 1727, near­ly every­one believed the lat­ter. How­ev­er, when the physi­cist and mathematician’s alchem­i­cal papers went on auc­tion at Sotheby’s in 1936, “the world of Isaac New­ton schol­ar­ship received a rude shock,” writes Indi­ana University’s archive project The Chym­istry of Isaac New­ton. Hun­dreds of alche­my man­u­scripts that had been qui­et­ly sup­pressed by New­ton’s rel­a­tives and hid­den away in pri­vate col­lec­tions came to light all at once.

In the inter­ven­ing years, New­ton schol­ars and sci­ence his­to­ri­ans have had to reassess his con­sid­er­able lev­el of invest­ment in occult arts. And they’ve come to see alche­my as an impor­tant pre­cur­sor to mod­ern chem­istry. As IU sci­ence his­to­ri­an William New­man “points out,” io9 tells us, “alche­my was­n’t always the laugh­able idea it is today.”

Although his alchem­i­cal man­u­scripts were in con­stant con­ver­sa­tion with ancient and mys­ti­cal sources, “Newton’s chym­istry was in many cas­es ful­ly oper­a­tional and explic­a­ble in mod­ern chem­i­cal ter­mi­nol­o­gy,” writes New­man, who has done much of the work to recov­er the chem­i­cal sci­ence amidst Newton’s alchem­i­cal pseu­do­science.

In the videos you see here, Indi­ana Uni­ver­si­ty seeks to “dri­ve this point home” with lessons that can “be employed in schools as an inte­gral part of their sci­ence edu­ca­tion cur­ric­u­la.” We begin at the top with a clas­si­cal alchem­i­cal exper­i­ment, the “trans­mu­ta­tion” of sil­ver into gold. In this case the medal­lion is already com­posed of a sil­ver-gold alloy. It’s an exper­i­ment in which “alchemists’ knowl­edge of chem­istry actu­al­ly helped them con their con­tem­po­raries into believ­ing they could trans­form sil­ver into gold,” notes New­man. Once the medal­lion is dipped in nitric acid, much of the sil­ver dis­solves, giv­ing the impres­sion of it hav­ing been changed into pure gold.

Fur­ther up, we have oth­er “chymi­cal” exper­i­ments from Newton’s alche­my, like the “transmutation”—or plating—of iron into cop­per and the cre­ation of a sil­i­ca gar­den, illus­trat­ing so-called min­er­al “veg­e­ta­tion.” In exper­i­ments like the one below it, the cre­ation of the “Tree of Diana”—in which a crys­talline growth emerges from an amal­gam of sil­ver and mercury—we see how alchemists were inspired to cre­ate alter­nate ter­mi­nol­o­gy for the prod­ucts of their exper­i­ment that sound to mod­ern ears like unsci­en­tif­ic non­sense. This mys­ti­cal jar­gon often served to con­fuse or ward off the unini­ti­at­ed, who would be unable to make a “Tree of Diana” even if they had the ingre­di­ents on hand, unless they already knew the pro­ce­dure and the prod­uct.

The last two mod­ules, fur­ther up and just above, demon­strate cop­per and iron shot dis­solv­ing in solu­tions of sil­ver nitrate and cop­per nitrate, respec­tive­ly. Edu­ca­tors and the gen­er­al­ly curi­ous should down­load Indi­ana University’s les­son plan on “Newton’s ‘Chym­istry’ of Met­al Sol­u­bil­i­ties.” There­in, you learn that “New­ton spent more time on his alche­my than he did on his physics and math com­bined!” though most of his alchem­i­cal work remains unpub­lished. The few, more respectably-word­ed, exper­i­ments New­ton did pub­lish in his life­time come from “Query 31” of his mas­ter­piece, the Opticks. It is from these pro­ce­dures that the lessons derive.

But even as we see the osten­si­bly straight­for­ward chem­i­cal instruc­tions New­ton pub­lished, we should remem­ber that these came from decades of research in the much murki­er, occult field of alche­my. You’ll find more infor­ma­tion on Newton’s chem­istry here and here, as well as at these many relat­ed web­sites.

via io9 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Isaac Newton’s Recipe for the Myth­i­cal ‘Philosopher’s Stone’ Is Being Dig­i­tized & Put Online (Along with His Oth­er Alche­my Man­u­scripts)

In 1704, Isaac New­ton Pre­dicts the World Will End in 2060

Sir Isaac Newton’s Papers & Anno­tat­ed Prin­cip­ia Go Dig­i­tal

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

Isaac Newton’s Recipe for the Mythical ‘Philosopher’s Stone’ Is Being Digitized & Put Online (Along with His Other Alchemy Manuscripts)

17th-century-manuscript

In his 1686 Prin­cip­ia Math­e­mat­i­ca, Isaac New­ton elab­o­rat­ed not only his famous Law of Grav­i­ty, but also his Three Laws of Motion, set­ting a cen­turies-long trend for sci­en­tif­ic three-law sets. Newton’s third law has by far proven his most pop­u­lar: “every action has an equal and oppo­site reac­tion.” In Arthur C. Clarke’s 20th cen­tu­ry Three Laws, the third has also attained wide cul­tur­al sig­nif­i­cance. No doubt you’ve heard it: “Any suf­fi­cient­ly advanced tech­nol­o­gy is indis­tin­guish­able from mag­ic.”

Clarke’s third law gets invoked in dis­cus­sions of the so-called “demar­ca­tion prob­lem,” that is, of the bound­aries between sci­ence and pseu­do­science. It also comes up, of course, in sci­ence fic­tion forums, where peo­ple refer to Ted Chiang’s suc­cinct inter­pre­ta­tion: “If you can mass-pro­duce it, it’s sci­ence, and if you can’t, it’s mag­ic.” This makes sense, giv­en the cen­tral impor­tance the sci­ences place on repro­ducibil­i­ty. But in Newton’s pre-indus­tri­al age, the dis­tinc­tions between sci­ence and mag­ic were much blur­ri­er than they are now.

New­ton was an ear­ly fel­low of the British Roy­al Soci­ety, which cod­i­fied repeat­able exper­i­ment and demon­stra­tion with their mot­to, “Noth­ing in words,” and pub­lished the Prin­cip­ia. He lat­er served as the Society’s pres­i­dent for over twen­ty years. But even as the fore­most rep­re­sen­ta­tive of ear­ly mod­ern physics—what Edward Dol­nick called “the clock­work uni­verse”—New­ton held some very strange reli­gious and mag­i­cal beliefs that we would point to today as exam­ples of super­sti­tion and pseu­do­science.

In 1704, for exam­ple, the year after he became Roy­al Soci­ety pres­i­dent, New­ton used cer­tain eso­teric for­mu­lae to cal­cu­late the end of the world, in keep­ing with his long-stand­ing study of apoc­a­lyp­tic prophe­cy. What’s more, the revered math­e­mati­cian and physi­cist prac­ticed the medieval art of alche­my, the attempt to turn base met­als into gold by means of an occult object called the “Philosopher’s stone.” By Newton’s time, many alchemists believed the stone to be a mag­i­cal sub­stance com­posed in part of “soph­ick mer­cury.” In the late 1600s, New­ton copied out a recipe for such stuff from a text by Amer­i­can-born alchemist George Starkey, writ­ing his own notes on the back of the doc­u­ment.

You can see the “soph­ick mer­cury” for­mu­la in Newton’s hand at the top. The recipe con­tains, in part, “Fiery Drag­on, some Doves of Diana, and at least sev­en Eagles of mer­cury,” notes Michael Greshko at Nation­al Geo­graph­ic. New­ton’s alchem­i­cal texts detail what has long been “dis­missed as mys­ti­cal pseu­do­science full of fan­ci­ful, dis­cred­it­ed process­es.” This is why Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty refused to archive Newton’s alchem­i­cal papers in 1888, and why his 1855 biog­ra­ph­er won­dered how he could be tak­en in by “the obvi­ous pro­duc­tion of a fool and a knave.” New­ton’s alche­my doc­u­ments passed qui­et­ly through many pri­vate col­lec­tors’ hands until 1936, when “the world of Isaac New­ton schol­ar­ship received a rude shock,” writes Indi­ana University’s online project, The Chym­istry of Isaac New­ton:

In that year the ven­er­a­ble auc­tion house of Sotheby’s released a cat­a­logue describ­ing three hun­dred twen­ty-nine lots of Newton’s man­u­scripts, most­ly in his own hand­writ­ing, of which over a third were filled with con­tent that was unde­ni­ably alchem­i­cal.

Marked “not to be print­ed” upon his death in 1727, the alchem­i­cal works “raised a host of inter­est­ing ques­tions in 1936 as they do even today.” Those ques­tions include whether or not New­ton prac­ticed alche­my as an ear­ly sci­en­tif­ic pur­suit or whether he believed in a “secret the­o­log­i­cal mean­ing in alchem­i­cal texts, which often describe the trans­mu­ta­tion­al secret as a spe­cial gift revealed by God to his cho­sen sons.” The impor­tant dis­tinc­tion comes into play in Ted Chiang’s dis­cus­sion of Clarke’s Third Law:

Sup­pose some­one says she can trans­form lead into gold. If we can use her tech­nique to build fac­to­ries that turn lead into gold by the ton, then she’s made an incred­i­ble sci­en­tif­ic dis­cov­ery. If on the oth­er hand it’s some­thing that only she can do… then she’s a magi­cian.

Did New­ton think of him­self as a magi­cian? Or, more prop­er­ly giv­en his reli­gios­i­ty, as God’s cho­sen ves­sel for alchem­i­cal trans­for­ma­tion? It’s not entire­ly clear what he believed about alche­my. But he did take the prac­tice of what was then called “chym­istry” as seri­ous­ly as he did his math­e­mat­ics. James Voelkel, cura­tor of the Chem­i­cal Her­itage Foun­da­tion—who recent­ly pur­chased the Philoso­phers’ stone recipe—tells Live­science that its author, Starkey, was “prob­a­bly American’s first renowned, pub­lished sci­en­tist,” as well as an alchemist. While New­ton may not have tried to make the mer­cury, he did cor­rect Starkey’s text and write his own exper­i­ments for dis­till­ing lead ore on the back.

Indi­ana Uni­ver­si­ty sci­ence his­to­ri­an William New­man “and oth­er his­to­ri­ans,” notes Nation­al Geo­graph­ic, “now view alchemists as thought­ful tech­ni­cians who labored over their equip­ment and took copi­ous notes, often encod­ing their recipes with mytho­log­i­cal sym­bols to pro­tect their hard-won knowl­edge.” The occult weird­ness of alche­my, and the strange pseu­do­nyms its prac­ti­tion­ers adopt­ed, often con­sti­tut­ed a means to “hide their meth­ods from the unlearned and ‘unwor­thy,’” writes Dan­ny Lewis at Smith­son­ian. Like his fel­low alchemists, New­ton “dili­gent­ly doc­u­ment­ed his lab tech­niques” and kept a care­ful record of his read­ing.

“Alchemists were the first to real­ize that com­pounds could be bro­ken down into their con­stituent parts and then recom­bined,” says New­man, a prin­ci­ple that influ­enced Newton’s work on optics. It is now acknowl­edged that—while still con­sid­ered a mys­ti­cal pseudoscience—alchemy is an impor­tant “pre­cur­sor to mod­ern chem­istry” and, indeed, as Indi­ana Uni­ver­si­ty notes, it con­tributed sig­nif­i­cant­ly to ear­ly mod­ern phar­ma­col­o­gy” and “iatro­chem­istry… one of the impor­tant new fields of ear­ly mod­ern sci­ence.” The suf­fi­cient­ly advanced tech­nol­o­gy of chem­istry has its ori­gins in the mag­ic of “chym­istry,” and New­ton was “involved in all three of chymistry’s major branch­es in vary­ing degrees.”

Newton’s alchem­i­cal man­u­script papers, such as “Artephius his secret Book” and “Her­mes” sound noth­ing like what we would expect of the dis­cov­er­er of a “clock­work uni­verse.” You can read tran­scrip­tions of these man­u­scripts and sev­er­al dozen more at The Chym­istry of Isaac New­ton, where you’ll also find an Alchem­i­cal Glos­sary, Sym­bol Guide, sev­er­al edu­ca­tion­al resources, and more. The man­u­scripts not only show Newton’s alche­my pur­suits, but also his cor­re­spon­dence with oth­er ear­ly mod­ern alchem­i­cal sci­en­tists like Robert Boyle and Starkey, whose recipe—titled “Prepa­ra­tion of the [Socph­ick] Mer­cury for the [Philoso­phers’] stone by the Antin­o­mi­al Stel­late Reg­u­lus of Mars and Luna from the Man­u­scripts of the Amer­i­can Philosopher”—will be added to the Indi­ana Uni­ver­si­ty online archive soon.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

In 1704, Isaac New­ton Pre­dicts the World Will End in 2060

Sir Isaac Newton’s Papers & Anno­tat­ed Prin­cip­ia Go Dig­i­tal

Isaac New­ton Cre­ates a List of His 57 Sins (Cir­ca 1662)

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

Odd Vintage Postcards Document the Propaganda Against Women’s Rights 100 Years Ago

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The vicious, vit­ri­olic imagery and rhetoric of this elec­tion sea­son can seem over­whelm­ing, but as even casu­al stu­dents of his­to­ry will know, it isn’t any­thing new. Each time his­toric social change occurs, reac­tionary counter-move­ments resort to threats, appeals to fear, and demean­ing caricatures—whether it’s anti-Recon­struc­tion pro­pa­gan­da of the 19th cen­tu­ry, anti-Civ­il Rights cam­paigns 100 years lat­er, or anti-LGBT rights efforts today.

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At the turn of the cen­tu­ry, the women’s suf­frage move­ment faced sig­nif­i­cant lev­els of abuse and resis­tance. One pho­to­graph has cir­cu­lat­ed, for exam­ple, of a suf­frage activist lying in the street as police beat her. (The woman in the pho­to is not Susan B. Antho­ny, as many claim, but a British suf­frag­ist named Ada Wright, beat­en on “Black Fri­day” in 1910.) It’s an arrest­ing image that cap­tures just how vio­lent­ly men of the day fought against the move­ment for wom­en’s suf­frage. [It’s also worth not­ing, as many have: the ear­ly suf­frage move­ment cam­paigned only for white women’s right to vote, and some­times active­ly resist­ed civ­il rights for African-Amer­i­cans.]

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As you can see from the sam­ple anti-suf­frage post­cards here—dating from the late 19th to ear­ly 20th cen­turies— pro­pa­gan­da against the women’s vote tend­ed to fall into three broad cat­e­gories: Dis­turbing­ly vio­lent wish-ful­fill­ment involv­ing tor­ture and phys­i­cal silenc­ing; char­ac­ter­i­za­tions of suf­frag­ists as angry, bit­ter old maids, hatch­et-wield­ing har­ri­dans, or dom­i­neer­ing, shrewish wives and neglect­ful moth­ers; and, cor­re­spond­ing­ly, depic­tions of neglect­ed chil­dren, and hus­bands por­trayed as saint­ly vic­tims, emas­cu­lat­ed by threats to tra­di­tion­al gen­der roles, and men­aced by the sug­ges­tion that they may have to care for their chil­dren for even one day out of the year!

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These post­cards come from the col­lec­tion of Cather­ine Pal­czews­ki, pro­fes­sor of women’s and gen­der stud­ies at the Uni­ver­si­ty of North­ern Iowa. She has been col­lect­ing these images, from both the U.S. and Britain, for 15 years. On her web­site, Pal­czews­ki quotes George Miller’s com­ment that post­cards like these “offer a vivid chron­i­cle of Amer­i­can polit­i­cal val­ues and tastes.” Pal­czews­ki describes these par­tic­u­lar images as “a fas­ci­nat­ing inter­sec­tion [that] occurred between advo­ca­cy for and against woman suf­frage, images of women (and men), and post­cards. Best esti­mates are that approx­i­mate­ly 4,500 post­cards were pro­duced with a suf­frage theme.”

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As she notes in the quote above, the post­cards print­ed dur­ing this peri­od did not all oppose women’s suf­frage. “Suf­frage advo­cates,” writes Pal­czews­ki, “rec­og­nized the util­i­ty of the post­card as a pro­pa­gan­da device” as well. Pro-suf­frage post­cards tend­ed to serve a doc­u­men­tary pur­pose, with “real-pho­to images of the suf­frage parades, ver­bal mes­sages iden­ti­fy­ing the states that had approved suf­frage, or quo­ta­tions in sup­port of extend­ing the vote to women.” For all their attempts at pre­sent­ing a seri­ous, infor­ma­tive coun­ter­weight to incen­di­ary anti-suf­frage images like those you see here, suf­frage activists often found that they could not con­trol the nar­ra­tive.

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As Lisa Tick­n­er writes in The Spec­ta­cle of Women: Imagery of the Suf­frage Cam­paign 1907–1914, post­card pro­duc­ers with­out a clear agen­da often used pho­tos and illus­tra­tions of suf­frag­ists to rep­re­sent “top­i­cal or humor­ous types” and “almost inci­den­tal­ly” under­cut advo­cates’ attempts to present their cause in a news­wor­thy light. The image of the suf­fragette as a triv­ial fig­ure of fun per­sist­ed into the mid-twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry (as we see in Gly­nis Johns’ com­i­cal­ly neglect­ful Winifred Banks in Walt Disney’s 1964 Mary Pop­pins adap­ta­tion).

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Palczewski’s site offers a brief his­to­ry of the “Gold­en Age” (1893–1918) of polit­i­cal post­cards and orga­nizes the col­lec­tion into cat­e­gories. One vari­ety we might find par­tic­u­lar­ly charm­ing for its use of cats and kit­tens actu­al­ly has a pret­ty sin­is­ter ori­gin in the so-called “Cat-and-Mouse Act” in the UK. Jailed suf­frag­ists had begun to stage hunger strikes, and jour­nal­ists pro­voked pub­lic out­cry by por­tray­ing force-feed­ing by the gov­ern­ment as a form of tor­ture. Instead, strik­ing activists were released when they became weak. “If a woman died after being released,” Pal­czews­ki explains, “then the gov­ern­ment could claim it was not to blame.” When a freed activist regained her strength, she would be rear­rest­ed. “On Novem­ber 29, 1917,” Pal­czews­ki writes, “the US gov­ern­ment announced it plans to use Britain’s cat and mouse approach.”

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You can see many more his­tor­i­cal pro- and anti-suf­frage post­cards at Palczewski’s web­site, and you are free to use them for non-com­mer­cial pur­pos­es pro­vid­ed you attribute the source. You are also free, of course, to draw your own com­par­isons to today’s hyper­bol­ic and often vio­lent­ly misog­y­nist pro­pa­gan­da cam­paigns.

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via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load All 239 Issues of Land­mark UK Fem­i­nist Mag­a­zine Spare Rib Free Online

11 Essen­tial Fem­i­nist Books: A New Read­ing List by The New York Pub­lic Library

Down­load Images From Rad Amer­i­can Women A‑Z: A New Pic­ture Book on the His­to­ry of Fem­i­nism

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

Stephen Fry Narrates 4 Philosophy Animations On the Question: How to Create a Just Society?

How do we cre­ate a just soci­ety? 50,000 years or so at it and human­i­ty still has a long way to go before fig­ur­ing that out, though not for lack of try­ing. The four ani­mat­ed videos of “What Is Jus­tice?”—a minis­eries with­in BBC Radio 4 and the Open Uni­ver­si­ty’s larg­er project of ani­mat­ing the ideas of philoso­phers through­out his­to­ry and explain­ing them in the voic­es of var­i­ous famous nar­ra­tors—tell us what John Rawls, Hen­ry David Thore­au, and the Bible, among oth­er sources, have to say on the sub­ject of jus­tice. Stephen Fry pro­vides the voice this time as the videos illus­trate the nature of these ideas, as well as their com­pli­ca­tions, before our eyes.

Imag­ine you had to cre­ate a just soci­ety your­self, but “you won’t know what kind of a per­son you’ll be in the soci­ety you design.” This thought exper­i­ment, first described by Rawls in his 1971 book A The­o­ry of Jus­tice as the “veil of igno­rance,” sup­pos­ed­ly encour­ages the cre­ation of “a much fair­er soci­ety than we now have. There would be exten­sive free­dom and equal­i­ty of oppor­tu­ni­ty. But there would­n’t be extremes of high pay, unless it could be shown that the poor­est in soci­ety direct­ly ben­e­fit­ed as a result.” An intrigu­ing idea, but one eas­i­er artic­u­lat­ed than agreed upon, let alone real­ized.

Much ear­li­er in his­to­ry, you find the sim­pler prin­ci­ple of “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” an “ancient form of pun­ish­ment known as lex tal­io­n­is, or the law of retal­i­a­tion.” Any read­er of the Bible will have a strong sense of this idea’s impor­tance in the ancient world, though we’d do well to remem­ber that back then, it “was a way of encour­ag­ing a sense of pro­por­tion — not wip­ing out a whole com­mu­ni­ty in retal­i­a­tion for the killing of one man, for exam­ple.” While harsh pun­ish­ment could, in the­o­ry, deter poten­tial crim­i­nals, “severe legal vio­lence can cre­ate mar­tyrs and increase soci­ety’s prob­lems.” The rule of law, nat­u­ral­ly, has every­thing to do with the cre­ation and main­te­nance of a just soci­ety, though not every law fur­thers the cause.

But you’ve no doubt heard of one that has: habeas cor­pus, the legal prin­ci­ple man­dat­ing that “no one, not even the pres­i­dent, monarch, or any­one else in pow­er, can detain some­one ille­gal­ly.” Instead, “they need to bring the detainee in ques­tion before a court and allow that court to deter­mine whether or not this per­son can legal­ly be held.” Yet not every author­i­ty has con­sis­tent­ly imple­ment­ed or upheld habeas cor­pus or oth­er jus­tice-ensur­ing laws. At times like those, accord­ing to Thore­au, you must engage in civ­il dis­obe­di­ence: “fol­low your con­science and break the law on moral grounds rather than be a cog in an unjust sys­tem.” It’s a dirty job, cre­at­ing a just soci­ety, and will remain so for the fore­see­able future. And though we may not all have giv­en it as much thought as a Rawls or a Thore­au, we’ve all got a role to play in it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A The­o­ry of Jus­tice, the Musi­cal Imag­ines Philoso­pher John Rawls as a Time-Trav­el­ing Adven­tur­er

Jus­tice: Putting a Price Tag on Life & How to Mea­sure Plea­sure

Free: Lis­ten to John Rawls’ Course on “Mod­ern Polit­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy” (Record­ed at Har­vard, 1984)

47 Ani­mat­ed Videos Explain the His­to­ry of Ideas: From Aris­to­tle to Sartre

What is the Self? Watch Phi­los­o­phy Ani­ma­tions Nar­rat­ed by Stephen Fry on Sartre, Descartes & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hear What Homer’s Odyssey Sounded Like When Sung in the Original Ancient Greek

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Image by via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

It’s been a human­ist tru­ism for some time to say that Shake­speare speaks to every age, tran­scend­ing his time and place through the sheer force of his uni­ver­sal genius. But any hon­est stu­dent first encoun­ter­ing the plays will tell you dif­fer­ent­ly, as will many a sea­soned schol­ar who works hard to place the writer and his work in his­tor­i­cal con­text. Even one­time direc­tor of London’s Nation­al The­atre, Nicholas Hyt­ner, once said, “I’ll admit that I hard­ly ever go to a per­for­mance of one of Shakespeare’s plays with­out expe­ri­enc­ing blind pan­ic dur­ing the first five min­utes. I sit there think­ing… I have no idea what these peo­ple are talk­ing about.”

Of course, none of that means we can’t learn to appre­ci­ate Shake­speare, and we do not need a grad­u­ate-lev­el edu­ca­tion to do so. But much of his archa­ic lan­guage and obscure ref­er­ences will always sound for­eign to mod­ern ears. How much more so, then, the lan­guage of the ancient Greeks, whether in trans­la­tion or no? Although we’ve also been taught to think of the Home­r­ic epics as con­tain­ers of uni­ver­sal truth and beau­ty, the world of Homer was, in many ways, an alien one—and the lit­er­a­ture of ancient Greece was far clos­er to song than even Shakespeare’s musi­cal speech­es.

In fact, “before writ­ing was gen­er­al­ly known among the Greeks,” the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cincin­nati notes, “poets recit­ed and sang sto­ries for audi­ences at the courts of city lead­ers and at fes­ti­vals. A poet could actu­al­ly impro­vise a tale in the six-beat rhythm of Greek verse if he knew the plot of his sto­ry.” We do not know whether Homer was one enter­pris­ing scribe or “a group of poets whose works on the theme of Troy were col­lect­ed” under one name. But in either case, that poet or poets heard the tales of Hec­tor and Achilles, Odysseus and Pene­lope, and all those med­dling gods sung before they wrote them down. Now, thanks to Georg Danek of the Uni­ver­si­ty of Vien­na and Ste­fan Hagel of the Aus­tri­an Acad­e­my of Sci­ences, we have some idea of what those songs may have sound­ed like.

“In the course of the last years,” write Danek and Hagel, “we have devel­oped a tech­nique of singing the Home­r­ic epics, which is appro­pri­ate for the pri­mar­i­ly oral tra­di­tion from which these poems emerge.” The two schol­ars cau­tion that their the­o­ret­i­cal recre­ations are “not to be under­stood as the exact recon­struc­tion of a giv­en melody, but as an approach to the tech­nique the Home­r­ic singers used to accom­mo­date melod­ic prin­ci­ples to the demands of the indi­vid­ual verse.” Accom­pa­nied by a four-stringed lyre-like instru­ment called a phorminx, “the Home­r­ic bard” would impro­vise the “melody at the same time as he impro­vised his text, which was unique in every per­for­mance.” In the audio above, you can hear Danek and Hagel’s melod­ic recre­ation of lines 267–366 of book 8 of the Odyssey, in which Demod­ocus sings about the love of Ares and Aphrodite.

At their site, the two schol­ars present an abstract of their Home­r­ic singing the­o­ry, with musi­co­log­i­cal and lin­guis­tic evi­dence for the recre­ation. Their tech­ni­cal cri­te­ria will con­fuse the non-spe­cial­ist, and none but ancient Greek speak­ers will under­stand the record­ing above. But it brings us a lit­tle clos­er to expe­ri­enc­ing Home­r’s epic poet­ry, “the foun­da­tion stones of Euro­pean Lit­er­a­ture,” as the ancient Greeks might have expe­ri­enced it.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Ancient Greek Music Sound­ed Like: Hear a Recon­struc­tion That is ‘100% Accu­rate’

How Ancient Greek Stat­ues Real­ly Looked: Research Reveals their Bold, Bright Col­ors and Pat­terns

Learn Ancient Greek in 64 Free Lessons: A Free Course from Bran­deis & Har­vard

Hear What Shake­speare Sound­ed Like in the Orig­i­nal Pro­nun­ci­a­tion

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

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