Hear What the Language Spoken by Our Ancestors 6,000 Years Ago Might Have Sounded Like: A Reconstruction of the Proto-Indo-European Language

As schol­ars of ancient texts well know, the recon­struc­tion of lost sources can be a mat­ter of some con­tro­ver­sy. In the ancient Hebrew and less ancient Chris­t­ian Bib­li­cal texts, for exam­ple, crit­ics find the rem­nants of many pre­vi­ous texts, seem­ing­ly stitched togeth­er by occa­sion­al­ly care­less edi­tors. Those source texts exist nowhere in any phys­i­cal form, com­plete or oth­er­wise. They must be inferred from the traces they have left behind—signatures of dic­tion and syn­tax, styl­is­tic and the­mat­ic pre­oc­cu­pa­tions….

So it is with the study of ancient lan­guages, but since oral cul­tures far pre­date writ­ten ones, the search for lin­guis­tic ances­tors can take us back to the very ori­gins of human cul­ture, to times unre­mem­bered and unrecord­ed by any­one, and only dim­ly glimpsed through scant archae­o­log­i­cal evi­dence and observ­able aur­al sim­i­lar­i­ties between vast­ly dif­fer­ent lan­guages. So it was with the the­o­ret­i­cal devel­op­ment of Indo-Euro­pean as a lan­guage fam­i­ly, a slow process that took sev­er­al cen­turies to coa­lesce into the mod­ern lin­guis­tic tree we now know.

The obser­va­tion that San­skrit and ancient Euro­pean lan­guages like Greek and Latin have sig­nif­i­cant sim­i­lar­i­ties was first record­ed by a Jesuit mis­sion­ary to Goa, Thomas Stephens, in the six­teenth cen­tu­ry, but lit­tle was made of it until around 100 years lat­er. A great leap for­ward came in the mid-nine­teenth cen­tu­ry when Ger­man lin­guist August Schle­ich­er, under the influ­ence of Hegel, pub­lished his Com­pendi­um of the Com­par­a­tive Gram­mar of the Indo-Euro­pean Lan­guages. There, Schle­ich­er made an exten­sive attempt at recon­struct­ing the com­mon ances­tor of all Indo-Euro­pean lan­guages, “Pro­to-Indo-Euro­pean,” or PIE, for short, thought to have orig­i­nat­ed some­where in East­ern Europe, though this sup­po­si­tion is spec­u­la­tive.

To pro­vide an exam­ple of what the lan­guage might have been like Schle­ich­er made up a fable called “The Sheep and the Hors­es” as a “son­ic exper­i­ment.” The sto­ry has been used ever since, “peri­od­i­cal­ly updat­ed,” writes Eric Pow­ell at Archae­ol­o­gy, “to reflect the most cur­rent under­stand­ing of how this extinct lan­guage would have sound­ed when it was spo­ken some 6,000 years ago.” Hav­ing no access to any texts writ­ten in Pro­to-Indo-Euro­pean (which may or may not have exist­ed) nor, of course, to any speak­ers of the lan­guage, lin­guists dis­agree a good deal on what it should sound like; “no sin­gle ver­sion can be con­sid­ered defin­i­tive.”

And yet, since Schleicher’s time, the the­o­ry has been con­sid­er­ably refined. At the top of the post, you can hear one such refine­ment based on work by UCLA pro­fes­sor H. Craig Melchert and read by lin­guist Andrew Byrd. See a trans­la­tion of Schle­icher’s sto­ry, “The Sheep and the Hors­es” below:

A sheep that had no wool saw hors­es, one of them pulling a heavy wag­on, one car­ry­ing a big load, and one car­ry­ing a man quick­ly. The sheep said to the hors­es: “My heart pains me, see­ing a man dri­ving hors­es.” The hors­es said: “Lis­ten, sheep, our hearts pain us when we see this: a man, the mas­ter, makes the wool of the sheep into a warm gar­ment for him­self. And the sheep has no wool.” Hav­ing heard this, the sheep fled into the plain.

Byrd also reads anoth­er sto­ry in hypo­thet­i­cal Pro­to-Indo-Euro­pean, “The King and the God,” using “pro­nun­ci­a­tion informed by the lat­est insights into PIE.”

See Powell’s arti­cle at Archae­ol­o­gy for the writ­ten tran­scrip­tions of both Schleicher’s and Melchert/Byrd’s ver­sions of PIE, and see his arti­cle here to learn about the arche­o­log­i­cal evi­dence for the Bronze Age speak­ers of this the­o­ret­i­cal lin­guis­tic com­mon ances­tor.

Note: The won­der­ful image that accom­pa­nies this post on Face­book and Twit­ter comes from this post in our archive: The Tree of Lan­guages Illus­trat­ed in a Big, Beau­ti­ful Info­graph­ic. It was cre­at­ed by Min­na Sund­berg and can be pur­chased as a poster here.

via io9

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Was There a First Human Lan­guage?: The­o­ries from the Enlight­en­ment Through Noam Chom­sky

Hear The Epic of Gil­gamesh Read in its Orig­i­nal Ancient Lan­guage, Akka­di­an

Learn Latin, Old Eng­lish, San­skrit, Clas­si­cal Greek & Oth­er Ancient Lan­guages in 10 Lessons

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

New, Interactive Web Site Puts Online Thousands of International Folk Songs Recorded by the Great Folklorist Alan Lomax

These days everyone’s hung up on iden­ti­ty. But I don’t mean to talk pol­i­tics, though my point is maybe inescapably polit­i­cal: the iden­ti­ties our jobs and incomes give us—the sta­tus or lack thereof—become so cen­tral to who we are in the world that they eclipse oth­er essen­tial aspects, eclipse the things we do strict­ly because it gives us plea­sure to do them.

Music, dance, art, poet­ry.… These fall under what Alan Lomax called an expe­ri­ence of “the very core” of exis­tence, “the adap­tive style” of cul­ture, “which enables its mem­bers to cohere and sur­vive.” Cul­ture, for Lomax, was nei­ther an eco­nom­ic activ­i­ty nor a racial cat­e­go­ry, nei­ther an exclu­sive rank­ing of hier­ar­chies nor a redoubt for nation­al­ist inse­cu­ri­ties. Cul­tures, plur­al, were pecu­liar­ly region­al expres­sions of shared human­i­ty across one inter­re­lat­ed world.

Lomax did have some pater­nal­is­tic atti­tudes toward what he called “weak­er peo­ples,” not­ing that “the role of the folk­lorist is that of the advo­cate of the folk.” But his advo­ca­cy was not based in the­o­ries of suprema­cy but of his­to­ry. We could mend the rup­tures of the past by adding “cul­tur­al equi­ty… to the humane con­di­tion of lib­er­ty, free­dom of speech and reli­gion, and social jus­tice,” wrote the ide­al­is­tic Lomax. “The stuff of folk­lore,” he wrote else­where, “the oral­ly trans­mit­ted wis­dom, art and music of the peo­ple, can pro­vide ten thou­sand bridges across which men of all nations may stride to say, ‘You are my broth­er.’”

Lomax’s ide­al­ism may seem to us quaint at best, but I dare you to con­demn its results, which include con­nect­ing Lead Bel­ly and Woody Guthrie to their glob­al audi­ences and pre­serv­ing a good deal of the folk music her­itage of the world through tire­less field and stu­dio record­ing, doc­u­men­ta­tion and mem­oir, and insti­tu­tions like the Asso­ci­a­tion for Cul­tur­al Equi­ty (ACE), found­ed by Lomax in 1986 to cen­tral­ize and make avail­able the vast amount of mate­r­i­al he had col­lect­ed over the decades.

In anoth­er archival project, Lomax’s Glob­al Juke­box, we get to see rig­or­ous schol­ar­ly meth­ods applied to exam­ples from his vast library of human expres­sions. The online project cat­a­logues the work in musi­col­o­gy of Lomax and his father John, who both took on a “life long mis­sion to doc­u­ment not only America’s cul­tur­al roots, but the world’s as well,” notes an online brochure for the Glob­al Juke­box. Lomax believed that “music, dance and folk­lore of all tra­di­tions have equal val­ue” and are equal­ly wor­thy of study. The Glob­al Juke­box car­ries that belief into the 21st cen­tu­ry.

Since 1990, the Glob­al Juke­box has func­tioned as a dig­i­tal repos­i­to­ry of music from Lomax’s glob­al archive, as you can see in the very dat­ed 1998 video above, fea­tur­ing ACE direc­tor Gideon D’Arcangelo. Now, updat­ed and put online, the new­ly-launched Glob­al Juke­box web site pro­vides an inter­ac­tive inter­face, giv­ing you access to detailed analy­ses of folk music from all over the world, and high­ly tech­ni­cal “descrip­tive data” for each song. You can learn the sys­tems of “Chore­o­met­rics and Cantometrics”—specialized ana­lyt­i­cal tools for scientists—or you can casu­al­ly browse the incred­i­ble diver­si­ty of music as a layper­son, through a beau­ti­ful­ly ren­dered map view or the col­or­ful­ly attrac­tive graph­ic “tree view,” below.

Stop by the Glob­al Jukebox’s “About” page to learn much more about its tech­ni­cal speci­fici­ties and his­to­ry, which dates to 1960 when Lomax began work­ing with anthro­pol­o­gist Con­rad Arens­berg at Colum­bia and Hunter Uni­ver­si­ties to study “the expres­sive arts” with sci­en­tif­ic tools and emerg­ing tech­nolo­gies. The Glob­al Juke­box rep­re­sents a high­ly schemat­ic way of look­ing at Lomax’s body of work, and its ease of use and lev­el of detail make it easy to leap around the world, sam­pling the thrilling vari­ety of folk music he col­lect­ed.

It is not, and is not meant as, a sub­sti­tute for the liv­ing tra­di­tions Lomax helped safe­guard, and the incred­i­ble music they have inspired pro­fes­sion­al and ama­teur musi­cians to make over the years. But the Glob­al Juke­box gives us sev­er­al unique ways of orga­niz­ing and dis­cov­er­ing those traditions—ways that are still evolv­ing, such as a com­ing func­tion for build­ing your own cul­tur­al fam­i­ly tree with a playlist of songs from your musi­cal ances­try.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 17,000+ Tra­di­tion­al Folk & Blues Songs Curat­ed by the Great Musi­col­o­gist Alan Lomax

The British Library’s “Sounds” Archive Presents 80,000 Free Audio Record­ings: World & Clas­si­cal Music, Inter­views, Nature Sounds & More

Leg­endary Folk­lorist Alan Lomax: ‘The Land Where the Blues Began’

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

The Coffee Revolt of 1674: When Women Campaigned to Prohibit “That Newfangled, Abominable, Heathenish Liquor Called COFFEE”

We denizens of the craft-roast­ing, wi-fi-con­nect­ed 21st cen­tu­ry know well how to drink volu­mi­nous quan­ti­ties of cof­fee and argue our opin­ions. In 17th-cen­tu­ry Lon­don, how­ev­er, such pur­suits could look shock­ing and dan­ger­ous, espe­cial­ly since they hap­pened in cof­fee hous­es, the new urban spaces where, accord­ing to Res Obscu­ra’s Ben­jamin Breen, you could “bet on bear fights, warm your legs by the fire, wit­ness pub­lic dis­sec­tions (human and ani­mal), solic­it pros­ti­tutes (male and female), buy and sell stocks, pur­chase tulips or porno­graph­ic pam­phlets, observe the activ­i­ties of spies, dis­si­dents, mer­chants, and swindlers, and then read your mail, deliv­ered direct­ly to your table.”

The patrons, while engag­ing in all that, par­took of “a new drug from the Mus­lim world—black, odif­er­ous, fright­en­ing, bewitch­ing — called ‘cof­fee.’ ” Quick­ly find­ing itself sub­ject to a great deal of sci­en­tif­ic research and every­day argu­ment as to its mer­its and demer­its, the drink set off the satir­i­cal “Cof­fee Revolt of 1674,” which began that year with a pam­phlet called “The Wom­ens Peti­tion Against Cof­fee,” pur­port­ing to offer “The Hum­ble Peti­tions and Address of Sev­er­al Thou­sands of Bux­ome Good-Women, Lan­guish­ing in Extrem­i­ty of Want.”

It seems that Eng­land, once “a Par­adise for Women” thanks to “the brisk Activ­i­ty of our men, who in for­mer Ages were just­ly esteemed the Ablest Per­form­ers in Chris­ten­dome,” had, for the non-cof­fee-drink­ing sex, become a deeply unsat­is­fy­ing place:

The dull Lub­bers want a Spur now, rather than a Bri­dle: being so far from dow­ing any works of Super­erre­ga­tion that we find them not capa­ble of per­form­ing those Devoirs which their Duty, and our Expec­ta­tions Exact. The Occa­sion of which Insuf­fer­able Dis­as­ter, after a furi­ous Enquiry, and Dis­cus­sion of the Point by the Learned of the Fac­ul­ty, we can Attribute to noth­ing more than the Exces­sive use of that New­fan­gled, Abom­inable, Hea­then­ish Liquor called COFFEE, which Rif­fling Nature of her Choic­est Trea­sures, and Dry­ing up the Rad­i­cal Mois­ture, has so Eunucht our Hus­bands, and Crip­ple our more kind Gal­lants, that they are become as Impo­tent as Age, and as unfruit­ful as those Desarts whence that unhap­py Berry is said to be brought.

Cof­fee, so insist the Bux­ome Good-Women, ren­ders the men of Eng­land “as Lean as Famine, as Rivvel’d as Envy, or an old mea­ger Hagg over-rid­den by an Incubus. They come from it with noth­ing moist but their snot­ty Noses, noth­ing stiffe but their Joints, nor stand­ing but their Ears.” These charges drew a response in the form of the “Mens Answer to the Wom­ens Peti­tion Against Cof­fee, Vin­di­cat­ing Their own Per­for­mances, and the Vertues of that Liquor, from the Unde­served Asper­sions late­ly cast upon them by their SCANDALOUS PAMPHLET.” In it, the “men” ask the “women,” among oth­er ques­tions,

Why must inno­cent COFFEE be the object of your Spleen? That harm­less and heal­ing Liquor, which Indul­gent Prov­i­dence first sent amongst us, at a time when Brim­mers of Rebel­lion, and Fanat­ick Zeal had intox­i­cat­ed the Nation, and we want­ed a Drink at once to make us Sober and Mer­ry: ‘Tis not this incom­pa­ra­ble set­tle Brain that short­ens Natures Stan­dard, or makes us less Active in the Sports of Venus, and we won­der you should take these Excep­tions, since so many of the lit­tle Hous­es, with the Turk­ish Woman stradling on their Signs, are but Emblems of what is to be done with­in for your Con­ve­nien­cies, meer Nurs­eries to pro­mote the petu­lant Trade, and breed up a stock of hope­ful Plants for the future ser­vice of the Republique, in the most thriv­ing Mys­ter­ies of Debauch­ery; There being scarce a Cof­fee-Hut but affords a Tawdry Woman, a won­ton Daugh­ter, or a Bux­ome Maide, to accom­mo­date Cus­tomers; and can you think that any which fre­quent such Dis­ci­pline, can be want­i­ng in their Pas­tures, or defec­tive in their Arms?

“The extrav­a­gant claims for cof­fee made by men’s-health hand­bills exposed the com­mod­i­ty to satire,” writes Mark­man Ellis, author of The Cof­fee-House: A Cul­tur­al His­to­ry, but “that cof­fee might have a dele­te­ri­ous effect on male viril­i­ty was a the­o­ry accord­ed con­sid­er­able sci­en­tif­ic respect.” Still, pam­phlets like the “Wom­ens Peti­tion” took as their tar­get less the bio­log­i­cal effects of cof­fee than “the new urban man­ners of mas­cu­line socia­bil­i­ty that cof­fee rep­re­sents. The satirist accus­es cof­fee-house habitués of being ‘effem­i­nate’ because they spend their time talk­ing, read­ing, and pur­su­ing their busi­ness rather than carous­ing, drink­ing, and whor­ing.” If any women of the 21st cen­tu­ry would real­ly pre­fer that men go back to those old ways — well, it would at least make for an inter­est­ing argu­ment.

You can read online “The Wom­ens Peti­tion Against Cof­fee,” and “Mens Answer to the Wom­ens Peti­tion Against Cof­fee.”

For more back­ground on the ear­ly days of cof­fee, see The Pub­lic Domain Review’s arti­cle, “The Lost World of the Lon­don Cof­fee House.”

via Res Obscu­ra

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“The Virtues of Cof­fee” Explained in 1690 Ad: The Cure for Lethar­gy, Scurvy, Drop­sy, Gout & More

If Cof­fee Com­mer­cials Told the Unvar­nished Truth

How Cof­fee Affects Your Brain: A Very Quick Primer

A Rol­lick­ing French Ani­ma­tion on the Per­ils of Drink­ing a Lit­tle Too Much Cof­fee

Black Cof­fee: Doc­u­men­tary Cov­ers the His­to­ry, Pol­i­tics & Eco­nom­ics of the “Most Wide­ly Tak­en Legal Drug”

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.

Read Vladimir Mayakovsky’s Children’s Book Whom Should I Be?: A Classic from the “Golden Age” in Soviet Children’s Literature

In the first decade or so of the Sovi­et Union’s exis­tence, “avant-garde exper­i­menters emerged from obscu­ri­ty to ben­e­fit from actu­al state spon­sor­ship,” writes Har­vard pro­fes­sor of Russ­ian Lit­er­a­ture Ains­ley Morse. Their  “aes­thet­ic rad­i­cal­ism jibed nice­ly with polit­i­cal tur­moil.” Among these artists were Futur­ists and For­mal­ists, poets, painters, actors, direc­tors, and many who fit into all of these cat­e­gories. Most famous among them—the rak­ish roman­tic poet, writer, artist, actor, play­wright, and film­mak­er Vladimir Mayakovsky—had already achieved a great deal of noto­ri­ety by 1917. After the Rev­o­lu­tion, he threw him­self, “whole­heart­ed­ly” into cre­at­ing play­ful, opti­mistic agit­prop for the Par­ty and “became a foghorn for social­ism.”

At least at first. “In hind­sight,” Morse laments, it’s hard to see the careers of these ear­ly Sovi­et artists “with­out winc­ing: all of these artists and writ­ers get­ting cozy with the state machine that would short­ly bring about their men­tal and phys­i­cal destruc­tion: impris­on­ment, exile, star­va­tion, and sui­cide.” Sad­ly, the last of these was to be Mayakovsky’s fate; he killed him­self in 1930, as Stalin’s para­noid total­i­tar­i­an­ism began to gain strength. Yet through­out the 1920s, Mayakovsky was “dri­ven by ide­o­log­i­cal com­mit­ment,” as well as “finan­cial exi­gency,” writes Robert Bird at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Chicago’s “Adven­tures in the Sovi­et Imag­i­nary.” The wild­ly imag­i­na­tive and ide­al­is­tic poet “trans­formed the pop­u­lar media land­scape of Rus­sia” under Lenin.

Though he was harsh­ly crit­i­cized by oth­er artists for his work as a pro­pa­gan­dist, “under his pen Russ­ian poet­ry began to speak with a more flex­i­ble and expres­sive (even anar­chic) play of sound and rhythm.” Maykovsky applied his tal­ents not only to posters and poet­ry for adults, but to works for chil­dren as well. “The ear­ly years of the Sovi­et Union were a gold­en age for children’s lit­er­a­ture,” notes the New York Review of Books in their descrip­tion of The Fire Horse, an ear­ly exam­ple of Sovi­et ped­a­gogy from Mayakovsky and fel­low poets Osip Man­del­stam and Dani­il Kharms. The pages you see here come from the first edi­tion of anoth­er clas­sic Mayakovsky children’s work—a long poem called Whom Shall I Be?, first pub­lished, with illus­tra­tions by Nis­son Shifrin, in 1932, two years after the author’s death.

In these vers­es, Mayakovsky exhorts his read­ers to choose their own path, “cre­ate their own iden­ti­ties,” even as the book chan­nels their desires “into spe­cif­ic exist­ing roles” pre­de­ter­mined by a seem­ing­ly very lim­it­ed num­ber of pro­fes­sion­al choic­es (all for men). Nev­er­the­less, in final lines of Whom Shall I Be? Mayakovsky writes, “All jobs are fine for you: / Choose / for your own taste!” The book illus­trates what Ruxi Zhang calls the “inef­fec­tive­ness of Sovi­et ped­a­gogy” in its ear­li­est stages. Lenin and his even more iron-fist­ed suc­ces­sor desired a “gen­er­a­tion of faith­ful work­ers.” Instead, children’s books like Mayakovsky’s “over­played Sovi­et fan­ta­sy,” often advo­cat­ing for “free­dom that fun­da­men­tal­ly coun­tered Sovi­et expec­ta­tions for chil­dren to fol­low direc­tions from the regime with­out ques­tion­ing or inter­pret­ing them.”

In Mayakovsky’s ear­li­er children’s sto­ry, The Fire Horse, sev­er­al crafts­men get togeth­er to make a beau­ti­ful toy horse—which can­not be bought at the store—for a young boy who dreams of being a cav­al­ry­man. The book, writes Morse, is “trans­par­ent­ly didac­tic,” explain­ing “in detail how the horse is made, and at the cost of whose labor.” Nonethe­less, its sto­ry sounds less like an exem­plar from the state’s idea of a worker’s par­adise and more like a vignette from anar­chist, aris­to­crat, and nat­u­ral­ist Peter Kropotkin’s soci­ety of “mutu­al aid.” It’s only nat­ur­al that Mayakovsky and his com­rades’ children’s books would reflect their styl­is­tic dar­ing, indi­vid­u­al­ism, and wit. “It wasn’t much of a leap” for Futur­ist artists whose “main­stay” had been artist’s books with “inter­de­pen­dent text and illus­tra­tions.” Even­tu­al­ly, how­ev­er, avant-garde artists like Mayakovsky were purged or “tamed” by the new regime.

Bird demon­strates this with the pages below from a 1947 edi­tion of Whom Should I Be? These cor­re­spond to the pages above from 1932, show­ing an engi­neer. In addi­tion to the replac­ing of an enthu­si­as­tic adult work­er with an obe­di­ent, duti­ful child, “the abstract depic­tions of con­struc­tivist build­ings are replaced by real­is­tic ren­der­ings of neo-clas­si­cal edi­fices.” In 1932, Social­ist Real­ism had only just become the offi­cial style of the Sovi­et Union. By 1947, its absolute author­i­ty was most­ly unques­tion­able. Browse (and read, if you read Russ­ian) all of Mayakovsky’s Whom Should I Be? at the Inter­net Archive, or at the top of this post.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Russ­ian Futur­ist Vladimir Mayakovsky Read His Strange & Vis­cer­al Poet­ry

Down­load Russ­ian Futur­ist Book Art (1910–1915): The Aes­thet­ic Rev­o­lu­tion Before the Polit­i­cal Rev­o­lu­tion

Watch Russ­ian Futur­ist Vladimir Mayakovsky Star in His Only Sur­viv­ing Film, The Lady and the Hooli­gan (1918)

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

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

Last month, Lawrence Liv­er­more Nation­al Lab­o­ra­to­ry put on YouTube 200 now-declas­si­fied videos doc­u­ment­ing Amer­i­can nuclear tests con­duct­ed between 1945 and 1962. Accord­ing the Lab, “around 10,000 of these films sat idle, scat­tered across the coun­try in high-secu­ri­ty vaults. Not only were they gath­er­ing dust, the film mate­r­i­al itself was slow­ly decom­pos­ing, bring­ing the data they con­tained to the brink of being lost for­ev­er.”

In the first video above, weapon physi­cist Greg Sprig­gs dis­cuss­es how a team of experts sal­vaged these decom­pos­ing films, with the hope that they can “pro­vide bet­ter data to the post-test­ing-era sci­en­tists who use com­put­er codes to help cer­ti­fy that the aging U.S. nuclear deter­rent remains safe, secure and effec­tive.”

If you click the for­ward but­ton, the playlist will skip to the next video, the first of 63 nuclear tests. Sev­er­al of those clips you can watch below:

Oper­a­tion Hard­tack

Oper­a­tion Plumb­bob

Oper­a­tion Teapot

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:

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)

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

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

Take a 16-Week Crash Course on the History of Movies: From the First Moving Pictures to the Rise of Multiplexes & Netflix

Almost all movies tell sto­ries, even the ones that don’t intend to. Put every movie ever made togeth­er, and they col­lec­tive­ly tell anoth­er sto­ry: the sto­ry of cin­e­ma. Of course, not just one “sto­ry of cin­e­ma” exists to tell: crit­ic Mark Cousins told one to great acclaim a few years ago in the form of his book and doc­u­men­tary series The Sto­ry of Film, as Jean-Luc Godard had done ear­li­er in his Histoire(s) du ciné­ma, whose very title acknowl­edges the mul­ti­plic­i­ty of pos­si­ble nar­ra­tives in the his­to­ry of the mov­ing image. Now, with a lighter but no doubt equal­ly strong per­spec­tive, comes the lat­est mul­ti­part video jour­ney through it: Crash Course Film His­to­ry.

“Movies haven’t always looked like they do now,” says host Craig Ben­zine (bet­ter known as the Youtu­ber Wheezy­Wait­er) in the trail­er above. “There was a real long process to fig­ure out what they… were. Were they spec­ta­cles? Doc­u­men­taries? Short films? If so, how short? Long films?

If so, how long? Is black and white bet­ter than col­or? Should sound be the indus­try stan­dard? And where should we make them?” And even though we’ve now seen over a cen­tu­ry of devel­op­ment in cin­e­ma, those issues still seem up for grabs — some of them more than ever.

In the first episode, Ben­zine dives right into his search for the source of the pow­er of movies, “one of the most influ­en­tial forms of mass com­mu­ni­ca­tion the world has ever known,” a “uni­ver­sal lan­guage that lets us tell sto­ries about our col­lec­tive hopes and fears, to make sense of the world around us and the peo­ple around us.” To do so, he must begin with the inven­tion of film — the actu­al image-cap­tur­ing cel­lu­loid sub­stance that made cin­e­ma pos­si­ble — and then goes even far­ther back in time to the very first mov­ing images, “illu­sions” in their day, and the sur­pris­ing qual­i­ties of human visu­al per­cep­tion they exploit­ed.

All this might seem a far cry from the spec­ta­cles you’d see at the mul­ti­plex today, but Crash Course Film His­to­ry (which comes from the same folks who gave us A Crash Course in Eng­lish Lit­er­a­ture and A Crash Course in World His­to­ry) assures us that both of them exist on the same spec­trum — the ride along that spec­trum being the sto­ry of movies. It will last six­teen weeks, after which Crash Course and PBS Dig­i­tal Stu­dios will con­tin­ue their col­lab­o­ra­tive explo­ration of film with a course on pro­duc­tion fol­lowed by a course on crit­i­cism. Take all three and you’ll no doubt come out impressed not just by the size of the cre­ative space into which film has expand­ed, but also by how much it has yet to touch.

As new install­ments of Crash Course Film His­to­ry come out, they will be added to this playlist. Check back for updates.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hol­ly­wood, Epic Doc­u­men­tary Chron­i­cles the Ear­ly His­to­ry of Cin­e­ma

World Cin­e­ma: Joel and Ethan Coen’s Play­ful Homage to Cin­e­ma His­to­ry

A Crash Course in Eng­lish Lit­er­a­ture: A New Video Series by Best-Sell­ing Author John Green

A Crash Course in World His­to­ry

Cin­e­ma His­to­ry by Titles & Num­bers

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.

Ancient Maps that Changed the World: See World Maps from Ancient Greece, Babylon, Rome, and the Islamic World

One of the great­est chal­lenges for writ­ers and great­est joys for read­ers of fan­ta­sy and sci­ence fic­tion is what we call “world build­ing,” the art of cre­at­ing cities, coun­tries, con­ti­nents, plan­ets, galax­ies, and whole uni­vers­es to peo­ple with war­ring fac­tions and nomadic truth seek­ers. Such writ­ing is the nat­ur­al off­spring of the Medieval trav­el­ogue, a genre once tak­en not as fan­ta­sy but fact, when sailors, cru­saders, pil­grims, mer­chants, and mer­ce­nar­ies set out to chart, trade for, and con­vert, and con­quer the world, and returned home with out­landish tales of glit­ter­ing empires and peo­ple with faces in their chests or hop­ping around on a sin­gle foot so big they could use it to shade them­selves.

One of the most famous of such chron­i­clers, Sir John Man­dev­ille, may now be most­ly for­got­ten, but for cen­turies his Trav­els was so pop­u­lar with aspir­ing nav­i­ga­tors and lit­er­ary men like Shake­speare, Mil­ton, and Keats that “until the Vic­to­ri­an era,” writes Giles Mil­ton, it was he, “not Chaucer, who was known as ‘the father of Eng­lish prose.’”

Man­dev­ille, like Mar­co Polo half a cen­tu­ry before him, may have been part adven­tur­er, part char­la­tan, but in any case, both drew their itin­er­aries, as did lat­er nav­i­ga­tors like Colum­bus and Wal­ter Raleigh, from a very long tra­di­tion: the mak­ing of spec­u­la­tive world maps, which far pre­dates the ear­ly Mid­dle Ages of pil­grim­age and thirst for East­ern spices and gold.

In the West­ern tra­di­tion, we can trace world map­mak­ing all the way back to 6th cen­tu­ry B.C.E., Pre-Socrat­ic thinker Anax­i­man­der, stu­dent of Thales, whom Aris­to­tle regard­ed as the first Greek philoso­pher. We have no copy of the map, but we have some idea what it might have looked since Herodotus described it in detail, a cir­cu­lar known world sit­ting atop an earth the shape of a drum. (Anax­i­man­der was also an orig­i­nal spec­u­la­tive astronomer.) His map con­tained two con­ti­nents, or halves, “Europe” and “Asia”—which includ­ed the known coun­tries of North Africa. “Two rel­a­tive­ly small strips of land north and south of the Mediter­ranean Sea,” with ten inhab­it­ed regions in total, that illus­trate the very ear­ly dichotomiz­ing of the world—in this case divid­ed top to bot­tom rather than west and east.

Anax­i­man­der may have been the first Greek geo­g­ra­ph­er, but it is the 2nd cen­tu­ry B.C.E. that Libyan-Greek sci­en­tist and philoso­pher Eratos­thenes who has his­tor­i­cal­ly been giv­en the title “Father of Geog­ra­phy” for his three-vol­ume Geog­ra­phy, his dis­cov­ery that the earth is round, and his accu­rate cal­cu­la­tion of its cir­cum­fer­ence. Lost to his­to­ry, Eratos­thenes’ Geog­ra­phy has been pieced togeth­er from descrip­tions by Roman authors, as has his map of the world—at the top in a 19th-cen­tu­ry reconstruction—showing a con­tigu­ous inhab­it­ed land­mass resem­bling a lob­ster claw.

You’ll note that Eratos­thenes drew pri­mar­i­ly on Anaximander’s descrip­tion of the world. In turn, his map had a sig­nif­i­cant influ­ence on lat­er Medieval geo­g­ra­phers. A Baby­lon­ian world map, inscribed on a clay tablet around the time Anax­i­man­der imag­ined the world (and thought to be the ear­li­est extant exam­ple of such a thing), may have influ­enced Euro­pean map-mak­ing in the age of dis­cov­ery as well. It depicts a flat, round world, with Baby­lon at the cen­ter (see the British Muse­um for a detailed trans­la­tion and com­men­tary of the map’s leg­end).

The Baby­lon­ian map is said to sur­vive in the sim­i­lar-look­ing “T and O map” (third image from top), rep­re­sent­ing the words orbis ter­rar­i­um and orig­i­nat­ing from descrip­tions in 7th cen­tu­ry C.E. Span­ish schol­ar Isado­ra of Seville’s Ety­molo­giae. The “T” is the Mediter­ranean and the “O” the ocean. In the ver­sion above, a recre­ation of an 8th cen­tu­ry draw­ing, and every deriva­tion there­after, we see the three known con­ti­nents, Asia, Europe, and Africa, with the holy city, Jerusalem, at the cen­ter. This map great­ly informed ear­ly Medieval con­cep­tions of the world, from cru­saders to gar­ru­lous knights errant like Man­dev­ille, and racon­teur mer­chants like Polo, both of whom made quite an impres­sion on Colum­bus and Raleigh, as did the cir­ca 1300 map from Con­stan­tino­ple above, the old­est of many drawn from the thou­sands of coor­di­nates in Roman geo­g­ra­ph­er and astronomer Ptolemy’s Geo­graphia.

It wouldn’t be until 100 years after the trans­la­tion of Ptolemy’s text from Greek to Latin in 1407 that his geo­graph­i­cal pre­ci­sion became wide­ly known. Until this, “all knowl­edge of these co-ordi­nates had been lost in the West,” writes the British Library.  This would not be so in the East, how­ev­er, where world maps like Ibn Hawqal’s, above from 980 C.E., show the influ­ence of Ptole­my, already so long dom­i­nant in geog­ra­phy in the Islam­ic world that it was begin­ning to wane. Many more world maps sur­vive from 11–12th cen­tu­ry Britain, Turkey, and Sici­ly, from 16th cen­tu­ry Korea, and from that wan­der­ing age of Colum­bus and Raleigh, begin­ning to increas­ing­ly resem­ble the world maps we’re famil­iar with today. (See a 15th cen­tu­ry recon­struc­tion of Ptolemy’s geog­ra­phy below.)

For most of record­ed his­to­ry, knowl­edge of the world from any one place in it was almost whol­ly or part­ly spec­u­la­tive and imag­i­na­tive, often peo­pled with mon­sters and won­ders. “All cul­tures have always believed that the map they val­orize is real and true and objec­tive and trans­par­ent,” as Jer­ry Brot­ton Pro­fes­sor at Queen Mary Uni­ver­si­ty of Lon­don tells Uri Fried­man at The Atlantic. Colum­bus believed in his spec­u­la­tive maps, even when he ran into islands off the coast of con­ti­nents chart­ed on none of them. We are still con­cep­tu­al prisoners—or con­sumers, users, read­ers, view­ers, audiences—of maps, though we’ve phys­i­cal­ly plot­ted every cor­ner of the globe. Per­spec­tives can­not be ren­dered objec­tive. No gods-eye views exist.

Nonethe­less, sev­er­al cul­tur­al­ly for­ma­tive pro­jec­tions of the world since Ptolemy’s Geog­ra­phy and well before it have changed the whole world, point­ing to the pow­er of human imag­i­na­tion and the leg­en­dar­i­ly imag­i­na­tive, as well as leg­en­dar­i­ly bru­tal, acts of “world build­ing” in real life.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 67,000 His­toric Maps (in High Res­o­lu­tion) from the Won­der­ful David Rum­sey Map Col­lec­tion

Buck­min­ster Fuller’s Map of the World: The Inno­va­tion that Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Map Design (1943)       

“Every Coun­try in the World”–Two Videos Tell You Curi­ous Facts About 190+ Coun­tries       

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

138 Short Animated Introductions to the World’s Greatest Ideas: Plato, Michel Foucault, Simone de Beauvoir & More

The Open Cul­ture audi­ence, by my esti­ma­tion, divides into two basic groups: those who’ve read the col­lect­ed works of the likes of Simone de Beau­voir, Michel Fou­cault, and Pla­to, and those who’d like to. Whichev­er body of oft-ref­er­enced ideas you’ve been want­i­ng to dig deep into your­self, get­ting a brief, con­cept-dis­till­ing primer before­hand can make the task eas­i­er, improv­ing your under­stand­ing and abil­i­ty to con­tex­tu­al­ize the orig­i­nal texts when you get around to them. Online edu­ca­tion com­pa­ny Macat has pro­duced 138 such primers in the form of ani­mat­ed videos freely avail­able on YouTube which can put you in the right frame of mind to study a vari­ety of ideas in lit­er­a­ture, eco­nom­ics, soci­ol­o­gy, pol­i­tics, his­to­ry, and phi­los­o­phy.

De Beau­voir, in Macat’s analy­sis, argued in The Sec­ond Sex that “the views of indi­vid­u­als are social­ly and cul­tur­al­ly pro­duced. Fem­i­nin­i­ty is not inher­ent,” but a soci­etal mech­a­nism long used “to keep men dom­i­nant.”

Accord­ing to their video on Fou­cault’s Dis­ci­pline and Pun­ish, that famous book “explores the evo­lu­tion of pow­er since the Mid­dle Ages,” cul­mi­nat­ing in the argu­ment that “mod­ern states have moved away from explor­ing their author­i­ty phys­i­cal­ly to enforc­ing it psy­cho­log­i­cal­ly,” a phe­nom­e­non exem­pli­fied as much by late 18th- and ear­ly 19th-cen­tu­ry philoso­pher Jere­my Ben­tham’s Panop­ti­con as by mod­ern closed-cir­cuit tele­vi­sion urban omni-sur­veil­lance (a tech­nol­o­gy now spread far beyond the infa­mous­ly CCTV-zeal­ous Lon­don all the way to Seoul, where I live). In The Repub­lic, Pla­to asks more basic ques­tions about soci­ety: “What would an ide­al state look like, and how would it work?”

For that ancient Greek, says the video’s nar­ra­tor, “the ide­al soci­ety offered the guar­an­tee of jus­tice and would be ruled over not by a tyrant, but by an all-pow­er­ful philoso­pher-king.” Whether or not that strikes you as an appeal­ing prospect, or indeed whether you agree with de Beau­voir and Fou­cault’s bold propo­si­tions, you stand to sharp­en your mind by engag­ing with these and oth­er influ­en­tial ideas, includ­ing (as cov­ered in Macat’s oth­er three- to four-minute analy­ses) those of Machi­avel­li, David HumeEdward Said, and Thomas Piket­ty. “Crit­i­cal think­ing is about to become one of the most in-demand set of skills in the glob­al jobs mar­ket,” insists Macat’s mar­ket­ing. “Are you ready?” Whether or not you’ll ever ref­er­ence these thinkers on the job, prepar­ing your­self to read them with an active mind will put you on the fast track to the exam­ined life.

You can find the com­plete list of ani­ma­tions here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

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

Plato’s Cave Alle­go­ry Ani­mat­ed Mon­ty Python-Style

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Fem­i­nist Phi­los­o­phy of Simone de Beau­voir

Watch Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tions to 25 Philoso­phers by The School of Life: From Pla­to to Kant and Fou­cault

Edward Said Recalls His Depress­ing Meet­ing With Sartre, de Beau­voir & Fou­cault (1979)

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.

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