Watch Cornel West’s Free Online Course on W.E.B. Du Bois, the Great 20th Century Public Intellectual

A giant of 20th cen­tu­ry schol­ar­ship, W.E.B. Du Bois’ career spanned six decades, two World Wars, and sev­er­al waves of civ­il rights and decolo­nial move­ments; he saw the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry with more clar­i­ty than per­haps any­one of his gen­er­a­tion through the lens of “dou­ble con­scious­ness”;  he wrote pre­scient­ly about geopol­i­tics, polit­i­cal econ­o­my, insti­tu­tion­al racism, impe­ri­al­ism, and the cul­ture and his­to­ry of both black and white Amer­i­cans; we find in near­ly all of his work pierc­ing obser­va­tions that seem to look direct­ly at our present con­di­tions, while ana­lyz­ing the con­di­tions of his time with rad­i­cal rig­or.

“An activist and a jour­nal­ist, a his­to­ri­an and a soci­ol­o­gist, a nov­el­ist, a crit­ic, and a philoso­pher,” notes the Stan­ford Ency­clo­pe­dia of Phi­los­o­phy, Du Bois “exam­ined the race prob­lem in its many aspects more pro­found­ly, exten­sive­ly, and sub­tly” than “any­one, at any time.” And there is no one more flu­ent in the ver­nac­u­lars, lit­er­a­tures, and philoso­phies Du Bois mas­tered than Cor­nel West, who lays out for us what this means:

Du Bois, like Pla­to, like Shake­speare, like Toni Mor­ri­son, like Thomas Pyn­chon, like Vir­ginia Woolf…. What do they do? They push you against a wall: heart, mind, soul. Struc­tures and insti­tu­tions, vicious forms of sub­or­di­na­tion, but also joy­ful and hero­ic forms of cri­tique and resis­tance.

West begins his course on Du Bois—delivered in the sum­mer of 2017 at Dart­mouth—with this descrip­tion (things get going in the first lec­ture at 3:15 after the course intro), which ges­tures toward the com­par­a­tive, “call and response,” dis­cus­sion to come. All nine lec­tures from “The His­tor­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy of W.E.B. Du Bois” (plus an addi­tion­al pub­lic talk West deliv­ered at the uni­ver­si­ty) are avail­able at Dart­mouth’s Depart­ment of Eng­lish and Cre­ative Writ­ing site, as well as this YouTube playlist.

The course fol­lows the move­ment of Du Bois’ com­plex his­tor­i­cal phi­los­o­phy and pio­neer­ing use of schol­ar­ly autobiography—(what West calls the “cul­ti­va­tion” of a “crit­i­cal self”)—through a num­ber of themes, from “Du Bois and the Cat­a­stroph­ic 20th Cen­tu­ry” to, in the final lec­ture, “Rev­o­lu­tion, Race, and Amer­i­can Empire.” It begins with 1903’s The Souls of Black Folk, in which Du Bois first wrote of dou­ble con­scious­ness and penned the famous line, “The prob­lem of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry is the prob­lem of the col­or-line.”

West puts close read­ings of that sem­i­nal work next to “sub­se­quent essays in [Du Bois’] mag­is­te­r­i­al cor­pus, espe­cial­ly his clas­sic auto­bi­og­ra­phy Dusk of Dawn (1940),” the course descrip­tion reads. The lat­ter text is not only a Bil­dung, a “spir­i­tu­al auto­bi­og­ra­phy,” Du Bois called it, but also a crit­i­cal analy­sis of sci­ence and empire, white­ness, pro­pa­gan­da, world war, rev­o­lu­tion, and a con­cep­tu­al­iza­tion of race that sees the idea’s arbi­trary illog­ic, in the “con­tin­u­ous change in the proofs and argu­ments advanced.” These ideas became for­ma­tive for anti-colo­nial, anti-impe­r­i­al, and Pan-African move­ments.

Du Bois first formed his “rad­i­cal cos­mopoli­tanism,” as Gunter Lenz writes in The Jour­nal of Transna­tion­al Amer­i­can Stud­ies, dur­ing his stud­ies in Ger­many, where he arrived in 1892 and found him­self, he wrote, “on the out­side of the Amer­i­can world, look­ing in.” He returned to Ger­many over the decades and, in a 1936 vis­it, was one of the few pub­lic intel­lec­tu­als who pre­dict­ed a “world war on Jews” and “all non-Nordic races.” But Du Bois not only con­front­ed the geno­ci­dal wars and helped lead the lib­er­a­to­ry move­ments of the 20th cen­tu­ry; he also, with uncan­ny per­spi­cac­i­ty, both antic­i­pat­ed and shaped the strug­gles of the 21st. Access West­’s full lec­ture course here.

West­’s course, “The His­tor­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy of W.E.B. Du Bois,” will be added to our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Free Online His­to­ry Cours­es

Take Free Online Cours­es on African-Amer­i­can His­to­ry from Yale and Stan­ford: From Eman­ci­pa­tion, to the Civ­il Rights Move­ment, and Beyond

W.E.B. Du Bois Cre­ates Rev­o­lu­tion­ary, Artis­tic Data Visu­al­iza­tions Show­ing the Eco­nom­ic Plight of African-Amer­i­cans (1900)

W.E.B. Du Bois Dev­as­tates Apol­o­gists for Con­fed­er­ate Mon­u­ments and Robert E. Lee (1931)

Daniel Den­nett and Cor­nel West Decode the Phi­los­o­phy of The Matrix

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

What Voltaire Meant When He Said That “We Must Cultivate Our Garden”: An Animated Introduction

“Voltaire’s goal in writ­ing [his 1759 satire Can­dide] was to destroy the opti­mism of his times,” says Alain de Bot­ton in the School of Life video above, “an opti­mism that cen­tered around sci­ence, love, tech­ni­cal progress, and a faith in rea­son.” These beliefs were fol­ly, Voltaire thought: the trans­fer of faith from a prov­i­den­tial God to a per­fect, clock­work uni­verse. Can­dide sat­i­rizes this hap­py ratio­nal­ism in Doc­tor Pan­gloss, whose belief that ours is the best of pos­si­ble worlds comes direct­ly from the philo­soph­i­cal opti­mism of Got­tfried Leib­niz.

The pre­pon­der­ance of the evi­dence, Voltaire made abun­dant­ly clear in the novel’s series of increas­ing­ly hor­rif­ic episodes, points toward a blind, indif­fer­ent uni­verse full of need­less cru­el­ty and chaos. “Hope was, he felt, a dis­ease,” de Bot­ton says, and “it was Voltaire’s gen­er­ous goal to try and cure us of it.” But as every­one who has read Can­dide (or read a sum­ma­ry or brief notes on Can­dide) knows, the nov­el does not end with despair, but on a “Sto­ic note.”

After endur­ing immense suf­fer­ing on their many trav­els, Can­dide and his com­pan­ions set­tle in Turkey, where they meet an old man sit­ting qui­et­ly under a tree. He tells them about his phi­los­o­phy, how he abstains from pol­i­tics and sim­ply cul­ti­vates the fruits of his gar­den for mar­ket as his sole con­cern. Invit­ed to feast with the man and his fam­i­ly, they remark upon the lux­u­ri­ous ease in which they live and learn that they do so on a fair­ly small plot of land.

Voltaire loved to goose his large­ly Chris­t­ian read­ers and delight­ed in putting the novel’s part­ing wis­dom, “arguably the most impor­tant adage in mod­ern phi­los­o­phy,” in the mouth of an Islam­ic char­ac­ter: Il faut cul­tiv­er notre jardin, “we must cul­ti­vate our gar­den.” What does this mean? De Bot­ton inter­prets the line in the lit­er­al spir­it with which the char­ac­ter known only as “the Turk” deliv­ers it: we should keep a “safe dis­tance between our­selves and the world.”

We should not, that is, become over­ly engaged in pol­i­tics, and should devote our­selves to tend­ing our own liveli­hood and wel­fare, not tak­ing more than we need. We should leave our neigh­bors alone and not both­er about what they do in their gar­dens. To be at peace in the world, Voltaire argued, we must accept the world as it is, not as we want it to be, and give up utopi­an ideas of soci­eties per­fect­ed by sci­ence and rea­son. In short, to “tie our per­son­al moods” to human affairs writ large is to invite end­less mis­ery.

The phi­los­o­phy of Can­dide is not pes­simistic or nihilis­tic. A hap­py, ful­filled human life is entire­ly pos­si­ble, Voltaire sug­gests, if not human hap­pi­ness in gen­er­al. Can­dide has much in com­mon with the ancient Roman out­look. But it might also express what could be seen as an ear­ly attempt at a sec­u­lar Bud­dhist point of view. Voltaire was famil­iar with Bud­dhism, though it did not go by that name. Bud­dhists were lumped in, Don­ald S. Lopez, pro­fes­sor of Bud­dhist and Tibetan Stud­ies at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Michi­gan, writes at the Pub­lic Domain Review, with the mass of “idol­aters” who were not Chris­t­ian, Jew­ish, or Mus­lim.

Yet the many Jesuit accounts of East­ern reli­gion reach­ing Europe at the time cir­cu­lat­ed wide­ly among intel­lec­tu­als, includ­ing Voltaire, who wrote approv­ing­ly, though crit­i­cal­ly, of Bud­dhist tenets in his 1764 Dic­tio­n­naire philosophique. As the sec­u­lar mind­ful­ness move­ment has done in the 21st cen­tu­ry, Lopez argues, Voltaire sought in the age of Enlight­en­ment to sep­a­rate mirac­u­lous leg­end from prac­ti­cal teach­ing. But like the Bud­dha, whose sup­posed biog­ra­phy Voltaire knew well, Can­dide begins his life in a cas­tle. And the sto­ry ends with a man sit­ting qui­et­ly under a tree, more or less advis­ing Can­dide to do what Voltaire had heard of in the “reli­gion of the Siamese…. Med­i­tate in pri­vate, and reflect often on the fragili­ty of human affairs.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Voltaire: Enlight­en­ment Philoso­pher of Plu­ral­ism & Tol­er­ance

Voltaire: “Those Who Can Make You Believe Absur­di­ties, Can Make You Com­mit Atroc­i­ties”

Philoso­phers Drink­ing Cof­fee: The Exces­sive Habits of Kant, Voltaire & Kierkegaard

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

An Animated Introduction to Albert Camus’ Existentialism, a Philosophy Making a Comeback in Our Dysfunctional Times

When next you meet an exis­ten­tial­ist, ask him what kind of exis­ten­tial­ist s/he is. There are at least as many vari­eties of exis­ten­tial­ism as there have been high-pro­file thinkers pro­pound­ing it. Sev­er­al major strains ran through post­war France alone, most famous­ly those cham­pi­oned by Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beau­voir, and Albert Camus — who explic­it­ly reject­ed exis­ten­tial­ism, in part due to a philo­soph­i­cal split with Sartre, but who nev­er­the­less gets cat­e­go­rized among the exis­ten­tial­ists today. We could, per­haps, more accu­rate­ly describe Camus as an absur­dist, a thinker who starts with the inher­ent mean­ing­less and futil­i­ty of life and pro­ceeds, not nec­es­sar­i­ly in an obvi­ous direc­tion, from there.

The ani­mat­ed TED-Ed les­son above sheds light on the his­tor­i­cal events and per­son­al expe­ri­ences that brought Camus to this world­view. Begin­ning in the trou­bled colo­nial Alge­ria of the ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry in which he was born and raised, edu­ca­tor Nina Med­vin­skaya goes on to tell of his peri­ods as a resis­tance jour­nal­ist in France and as a nov­el­ist, in which capac­i­ty he would write such endur­ing works as The Stranger and The Plague. Med­vin­skaya illu­mi­nates Camus’ cen­tral insight with a well-known image from his ear­li­er essay “The Myth of Sisy­phus,” on the Greek king con­demned by the gods to roll a boul­der up a hill for all eter­ni­ty.

“Camus argues that all of human­i­ty is in the same posi­tion,” says Med­vin­skaya, “and only when we accept the mean­ing­less­ness of our lives can we face the absurd with our heads held high.” But “Camus’ con­tem­po­raries weren’t so accept­ing of futil­i­ty.” (Here the Quentin Blake-style illus­tra­tions por­tray a cou­ple of fig­ures bear­ing a strong resem­blance to Sartre and de Beau­voir.) Many exis­ten­tial­ists “advo­cat­ed for vio­lent rev­o­lu­tion to upend sys­tems they believed were depriv­ing peo­ple of agency and pur­pose.” Such calls haven’t gone silent in 2020, just as The Plague — one of Camus’ writ­ings in response to rev­o­lu­tion­ary exis­ten­tial­ism — has only gained rel­e­vance in a time of glob­al pan­dem­ic.

Last month the Boston Review’s Car­men Lea Dege con­sid­ered the recent come­back of the thought, exem­pli­fied in dif­fer­ent ways by Camus, Sartre, and oth­ers, that “reject­ed reli­gious and polit­i­cal dog­ma, expressed scorn for aca­d­e­m­ic abstrac­tion, and focused on the fini­tude and absur­di­ty of human exis­tence.” This resur­gence of inter­est “is not entire­ly sur­pris­ing. The body of work we now think of as exis­ten­tial­ist emerged dur­ing the first half of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry in con­flict-rid­den Ger­many and France, where uncer­tain­ty per­me­at­ed every dimen­sion of soci­ety.” As much as our soci­eties have changed since then, uncer­tain­ty has a way of return­ing.

Today “we define our­selves and oth­ers on the basis of class, reli­gion, race, and nation­al­i­ty, or even child­hood influ­ences and sub­con­scious dri­ves, to gain con­trol over the con­tin­gen­cies of the world and insert our­selves in the myr­i­ad ways peo­ple have failed and suc­ceed­ed in human his­to­ry.” But the exis­ten­tial­ists argued that “this con­trol is illu­so­ry and decep­tive,” an “allur­ing dis­trac­tion from our own fragili­ty” that ulti­mate­ly “cor­rodes our abil­i­ty to live well.” For the exis­ten­tial­ists, pur­suit of good life first demands an accep­tance of not just fragili­ty but futil­i­ty, mean­ing­less­ness, absur­di­ty, and ambi­gu­i­ty, among oth­er con­di­tions that strike us as deeply unac­cept­able. As Camus put it, we must imag­ine Sisy­phus hap­py. But can we?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

The Absurd Phi­los­o­phy of Albert Camus Pre­sent­ed in a Short Ani­mat­ed Film by Alain De Bot­ton

Why You Should Read The Plague, the Albert Camus Nov­el the Coro­n­avirus Has Made a Best­seller Again

Albert Camus: The Mad­ness of Sin­cer­i­ty — 1997 Doc­u­men­tary Revis­its the Philosopher’s Life & Work

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Exis­ten­tial­ist Phi­los­o­phy of Jean-Paul Sartre… and How It Can Open Our Eyes to Life’s Pos­si­bil­i­ties

The Mean­ing of Life Accord­ing to Simone de Beau­voir

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

An Introduction to Postmodernist Thinkers & Themes: Watch Primers on Foucault, Nietzsche, Derrida, Deleuze & More

For decades we’ve been hear­ing about the prob­lem of Post­mod­ernism. I sup­pose I get, in a vague sort of way, what peo­ple mean by this: moral rel­a­tivism, mis­trust of objec­tiv­i­ty and sci­en­tif­ic, reli­gious, and oth­er author­i­ties, “increduli­ty toward meta­nar­ra­tives,” as Jean-Fran­cois Lyotard defined the term in The Post­mod­ern Con­di­tion in 1979.

Don’t we find much of this rad­i­cal skep­ti­cism in the work of David Hume? The Cyn­ics? Or Niet­zsche (a Post­mod­ern ances­tor, but also claimed by Prag­ma­tist and Exis­ten­tial­ist thinkers)? A prob­lem with blan­ket cri­tiques of Post­mod­ernism is that the word has nev­er rep­re­sent­ed a cohe­sive school of thought (nor, for that mat­ter, has Exis­ten­tial­ism).

The term derives from an archi­tec­tur­al move­ment of the 1960s that is, itself, impos­si­ble to clear­ly define since it inten­tion­al­ly grafts togeth­er approach­es and tra­di­tions in exper­i­ments that cel­e­brate kitschy excess­es of style and that defy nar­ra­tive coher­ence. Post­mod­ern archi­tec­ture gave us mod­ern malls and mul­ti­plex­es, aid­ing and abet­ting late cap­i­tal­ist sprawl. (But this is anoth­er sto­ry….)

Lyotard cer­tain­ly fit the stereo­type of the Post­mod­ernist philoso­pher, with his life­time of social­ist activism and the­o­ret­i­cal hybrids of Marx and Freud. He gets lit­tle cred­it, though he put the term in cir­cu­la­tion in phi­los­o­phy. Instead, Michel Fou­cault is often cit­ed as a sig­nif­i­cant influ­ence, though he reject­ed the cat­e­go­riza­tion and thought of him­self as a mod­ernist.

Many a sur­vey of Post­mod­ern thought, such as this YouTube video series by Then & Now, begins with Fou­cault. The series cov­ers oth­er thinkers we don’t always see put in this box, like soci­ol­o­gist Pierre Bour­dieu and 19th cen­tu­ry Russ­ian nov­el­ist Fyo­dor Dos­to­evsky. Niet­zsche appears, of course, in two parts, as well as Eve Sedg­wick, Jacques Der­ri­da and Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guat­tari.

But in many ways, Fou­cault may be the best place to begin. As pro­fes­sor of phi­los­o­phy Scott Moore writes:

If post­mod­ernism is under­stood as a rejec­tion of… an Enlight­en­ment point of view… one that is char­ac­ter­ized by a detached, autonomous, objec­tive ratio­nal­i­ty… then Fou­cault is sure­ly a post­mod­ernist. Turn­ing Bacon on his head, Fou­cault affirmed that it is not the case that knowl­edge is pow­er, but pow­er is knowl­edge. Mean­ing, those peo­ple who have pow­er (social, polit­i­cal, etc.) always decide what will or will not be count­ed as “knowl­edge.”

Unlike, how­ev­er, many lat­er cul­tur­al the­o­rists who inher­it­ed the cum­ber­some label, Fou­cault looked not to the present or the future in his work, but to the past, re-inter­pret­ing pri­ma­ry sources from ancient Rome to the post-WWI glob­al eco­nom­ic order, through sev­er­al dif­fer­ent dis­ci­pli­nary lens­es.

Then & Now cre­ator Lewis Waller takes a post­mod­ern approach to this series him­self. In the video “Detach­ment, Objec­tiv­i­ty, Imag­i­na­tion: A Cri­tique,” he makes a case that Roman­tic his­to­ri­ans like Michelet, Thier­ry, and Car­lyle had a “bet­ter under­stand­ing of the real­i­ty of the historian’s craft than the sci­en­tif­i­cal­ly mind­ed did.” It’s a con­trar­i­an argu­ment that begins with Sir Wal­ter Scott and that may unset­tle your pre­con­cep­tions of what the catch-all term Post­mod­ernism might include.

See more videos from the series above and watch all of them on YouTube. You may or may not feel like you have a bet­ter sense of what Post­mod­ernism means in gen­er­al. If we take it as short­hand for the loss of unchal­lenged het­eropa­tri­ar­chal pow­er, then it is, I sup­pose, a prob­lem for many peo­ple. If we take it to mean a mode of thought that “prob­lema­tizes” seem­ing­ly sim­ple con­cepts we mis­take for the very struc­ture of real­i­ty, then it “is also an atti­tude,” writes Moore, “and it has been most art­ful­ly prac­ticed by Socrates, St. Augus­tine, Kierkegaard, Wittgen­stein, and a host of oth­ers.”

Maybe Post­mod­ernism has appeared in every peri­od of philo­soph­i­cal and lit­er­ary his­to­ry. Only it hasn’t always been so… well… so over­whelm­ing­ly French, which could have had more than a lit­tle to do with its neg­a­tive rep­u­ta­tion in Anglo­phone coun­tries. Put your meta­nar­ra­tives aside and learn more here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What the The­o­ry?: Watch Short Intro­duc­tions to Post­mod­ernism, Semi­otics, Phe­nom­e­nol­o­gy, Marx­ist Lit­er­ary Crit­i­cism and More

David Fos­ter Wal­lace on What’s Wrong with Post­mod­ernism: A Video Essay

Hear Hours of Lec­tures by Michel Fou­cault: Record­ed in Eng­lish & French Between 1961 and 1983

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

Orson Welles Narrates Animations of Plato’s Cave and Kafka’s “Before the Law,” Two Parables of the Human Condition

You’re held cap­tive in an enclosed space, only able faint­ly to per­ceive the out­side world. Or you’re kept out­side, unable to cross the thresh­old of a space you feel a des­per­ate need to enter. If both of these sce­nar­ios sound like dreams, they must do so because they tap into the anx­i­eties and sus­pi­cions in the depths of our shared sub­con­scious. As such, they’ve also proven reli­able mate­r­i­al for sto­ry­tellers since at least the fourth cen­tu­ry B.C., when Pla­to came up with his alle­go­ry of the cave. You know that sto­ry near­ly as sure­ly as you know the ancient Greek philoso­pher’s name: a group of human beings live, and have always lived, deep in a cave. Chained up to face a wall, they have only ever seen the images of shad­ow pup­pets thrown by fire­light onto the wall before them.

To these iso­lat­ed beings, “the truth would be lit­er­al­ly noth­ing but the shad­ows of the images.” So Orson Welles tells it in this 1973 short film by ani­ma­tor Dick Oden. In his time­less­ly res­o­nant voice that com­ple­ments the pro­duc­tion’s haunt­ing­ly retro aes­thet­ic, Wells then speaks of what would hap­pen if a cave-dweller were to be unshack­led.

“He would be much too daz­zled to see dis­tinct­ly those things whose shad­ows he had seen before,” but as he approach­es real­i­ty, “he has a clear­er vision.” Still, “will he not be per­plexed? Will he not think that the shad­ows which he for­mer­ly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?” And if brought out of the cave to expe­ri­ence real­i­ty in full, would he not pity his old cave­mates? “Would he not say, with Homer, bet­ter to be the poor ser­vant of a poor mas­ter and to endure any­thing rather than think as they do and live after their man­ner?”

Pla­to’s cave was­n’t the first para­ble of the human con­di­tion Welles nar­rat­ed. Just over a decade ear­li­er, he engaged pin­screen ani­ma­tor Alexan­dre Alex­eieff (he of Night on Bald Moun­tain and and “The Nose,” pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture) to illus­trate his read­ing of Franz Kafka’s sto­ry “Before the Law.” The law, in Kafka’s telling, is a build­ing, and before that build­ing stands a guard. “A man comes from the coun­try, beg­ging admit­tance to the law,” says Welles. “But the guard can­not admit him. May he hope to enter at a lat­er time? That is pos­si­ble, said the guard.” Yet some­how that time nev­er comes, and he spends the rest of his life await­ing admis­sion to the law. “Nobody else but you could ever have obtained admit­tance,” the guard admits to the man, not long before the man expires of old age. “This door was intend­ed only for you! And now, I’m going to close it.”

“Before the Law” describes a grim­ly absurd sit­u­a­tion, as does Welles’ The Tri­al, the film to which it serves as an intro­duc­tion. Adapt­ed from anoth­er work of Kafka’s, specif­i­cal­ly his best-known nov­el, it also con­cerns itself with the legal side of human affairs, at least on the sur­face. But when it becomes clear that the crime with which its bureau­crat pro­tag­o­nist Josef K. has been charged will nev­er be spec­i­fied, the sto­ry plunges into an alto­geth­er more trou­bling realm. We’ve all, at one time or anoth­er, felt to some degree like Joseph K., per­se­cut­ed by an ulti­mate­ly incom­pre­hen­si­ble sys­tem, legal, social, or oth­er­wise. And can we help but feel, espe­cial­ly in our high­ly medi­at­ed 21st cen­tu­ry, like Pla­to’s immo­bi­lized human, raised in dark­ness and made to build a world­view on illu­sions? As for how to escape the cave — or indeed to enter the law — it falls to each of us indi­vid­u­al­ly to fig­ure out.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear John Malkovich Read Plato’s “Alle­go­ry of the Cave,” Set to Music Mixed by Ric Ocasek, Yoko Ono & Sean Lennon, OMD & More

Plato’s Cave Alle­go­ry Ani­mat­ed Mon­ty Python-Style

Plato’s Cave Alle­go­ry Brought to Life with Clay­ma­tion

The Phi­los­o­phy of The Matrix: From Pla­to and Descartes, to East­ern Phi­los­o­phy

Franz Kafka’s Exis­ten­tial Para­ble “Before the Law” Gets Brought to Life in a Strik­ing, Mod­ern Ani­ma­tion

Kafka’s Night­mare Tale, “A Coun­try Doc­tor,” Told in Award-Win­ning Japan­ese Ani­ma­tion

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, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

An Introduction to Jean Baudrillard, Who Predicted the Simulation-Like Reality in Which We Live

Each and every morn­ing, many of us wake up and imme­di­ate­ly check on what’s hap­pen­ing in the world. Some­times these events stir emo­tions with­in us, and occa­sion­al­ly we act on those emo­tions, which raise in us a desire to affect the world our­selves. But does this entire rit­u­al involve any­thing real? While per­form­ing it we don’t expe­ri­ence the world, but only media; when we respond, we respond not with action in the world, but only with action in media. We have direct­ly inter­act­ed, to put it blunt­ly, with noth­ing more than pix­els on a screen. This con­di­tion has piti­less­ly inten­si­fied in our era of smart­phones and social media, and though philoso­pher and soci­ol­o­gist Jean Bau­drillard died three months before the intro­duc­tion of the iPhone, noth­ing about it would sur­prise him.

Assem­bled in an omi­nous, vin­tage stock footage-heavy style rem­i­nis­cent of Adam Cur­tis (he of The Cen­tu­ry of the Self and Hyper­Nor­mal­i­sa­tion), the half-hour Then & Now video essay above pro­vides an intro­duc­tion to Bau­drillard’s ideas, espe­cial­ly those that pre­dict­ed the world in which we live today, a “hyper­re­al post­mod­ern” one filled with signs ref­er­enc­ing lit­tle that actu­al­ly exists. “In the run-up to the 2008 crash,” the nar­ra­tor reminds us, “the real val­ue of mort­gages was hid­den under lay­ers of sign val­ue, under deceit­ful insur­ance poli­cies and finan­cial rat­ings based on noth­ing.” On the news, “it does­n’t mat­ter what’s real. What mat­ters is how it’s said, who says it — the per­spec­tive, whether it will be provoca­tive enough, whether it will enter­tain.” We live, in sum, in a “post­mod­ern car­ni­val” where  “things like real­i­ty TV, Dis­ney­land, and Face­book define our lives.”

Bau­drillard saw this hap­pen­ing near­ly 40 years ago: “Peo­ple no longer look at each oth­er, but there are insti­tutes for that,” he writes in Sim­u­lacra and Sim­u­la­tion. “They no longer touch each oth­er, but there is con­tac­tother­a­py. They no longer walk, but they go jog­ging, etc. Every­where one recy­cles lost fac­ul­ties, or lost bod­ies, or lost social­i­ty, or the lost taste for food.” He cred­it­ed Mar­shall McLuhan, fel­low gnom­ic observ­er of late 20th-cen­tu­ry soci­ety, with “one of the defin­ing axioms of post­mod­ern life.” When McLuhan declared that “the medi­um is the mes­sage,” says the nar­ra­tor, he saw that “what mat­tered in this new world was not what was real and mate­r­i­al, but what was rep­re­sent­ed as signs: in short, tele­vi­sion, and now the com­put­er screen, has come to dom­i­nate social life. Sign pro­duc­tion has replaced mate­r­i­al pro­duc­tion as the orga­niz­ing prin­ci­ple of polit­i­cal econ­o­my.”

What would Bau­drillard make of a pro­duc­tion like HBO’s Cher­nobyl, whose painstak­ing recon­struc­tion of his­tor­i­cal events we pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture? What made that show a spec­ta­cle, says the nar­ra­tor, was that “the depic­tion was more real than the event itself: cos­tumes, props, spe­cial effects, and the per­fect angle, the Geiger counter mapped onto the score already overde­ter­mined by signs.” And so, “in twen­ty years’ time we think of Cher­nobyl, will we think of the real event, or images con­jured by TV stu­dios?” But we need hard­ly look that far into the future. The very things our screens insist to us are hap­pen­ing in the world right now, far beyond the walls of the homes few­er and few­er of us leave these days — what do we tru­ly know of their exis­tence apart from this dig­i­tal bliz­zard of signs? If Bau­drillard were alive to hear our spec­u­la­tion about the pos­si­bil­i­ty that we live in anoth­er being’s sim­u­la­tion, he’d sure­ly point out that we’ve already cre­at­ed the sim­u­la­tion our­selves.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

French Philoso­pher Jean Bau­drillard Reads His Poet­ry, Backed By All-Star Arts Band (1996)

Hear the Writ­ing of French The­o­rists Jacques Der­ri­da, Jean Bau­drillard & Roland Barthes Sung by Poet Ken­neth Gold­smith

The Sim­u­la­tion The­o­ry Explained In Three Ani­mat­ed Videos

McLuhan Said “The Medi­um Is The Mes­sage”; Two Pieces Of Media Decode the Famous Phrase

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Roland Barthes’s Mytholo­gies and How He Used Semi­otics to Decode Pop­u­lar Cul­ture

Is Mod­ern Soci­ety Steal­ing What Makes Us Human?: A Glimpse Into Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathus­tra by The Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life

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, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

John Trumbull’s Famous 1818 Painting Declaration of Independence Virtually Defaced to Show Which Founding Fathers Owned Slaves

Stat­ues of slave­hold­ers and their defend­ers are falling all over the U.S., and a lot of peo­ple are dis­traught. What’s next? Mount Rush­more? Well… maybe no one’s like­ly to blow it up, but some hon­esty about the “extreme­ly racist” his­to­ry of Mount Rush­more might make one think twice about using it as a lim­it case.

On the oth­er hand, a sand­blast­ing of the enor­mous Klan mon­u­ment in Stone Moun­tain, Geor­gia—cre­at­ed ear­li­er by Rush­more sculp­tor Gut­zon Borglum—seems long over­due.

We are learn­ing a lot about the his­to­ry of these mon­u­ments and the peo­ple they rep­re­sent, more than any of us Amer­i­cans learned in our ear­ly edu­ca­tion. But we still hear the usu­al defense that slave­hold­ers were only men of their time—many were good, pious, and gen­tle and knew no bet­ter (or they ago­nized over the ques­tion but, you know, every­one was doing it….) Peo­ple sub­ject­ed to the vio­lence and hor­ror of slav­ery most­ly tend­ed to dis­agree.

Before the Hait­ian Rev­o­lu­tion ter­ri­fied the slave­hold­ing South, many promi­nent slave­hold­ers, Jef­fer­son and Wash­ing­ton includ­ed, expressed intel­lec­tu­al and moral dis­gust with slav­ery. They could not con­sid­er abo­li­tion, how­ev­er (though Wash­ing­ton freed his slaves in his will). There was too much prof­it in the enter­prise. As Jef­fer­son him­self wrote, “It [would] nev­er do to destroy the goose.”

What we see when we look at the Rev­o­lu­tion­ary peri­od is the fatal irony of a repub­lic based on ideals of lib­er­ty, found­ed most­ly by men who kept mil­lions of peo­ple enslaved. The point is made vivid­ly above in a vir­tu­al deface­ment of Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence, John Trumbull’s famous 1818 paint­ing which hangs in the U.S. Capi­tol rotun­da. All of the founders’ faces blot­ted out by red dots were slave­own­ers. Only the few in yel­low in the cor­re­spond­ing image freed the the peo­ple they enslaved.

These images were not made in this cur­rent sum­mer of nation­al upris­ings but in August of 2019, “a bloody month that saw 53 peo­ple die in mass shoot­ings in the US,” notes Hyper­al­ler­gic. Their cre­ator, Arlen Parsa sought to make a dif­fer­ent point about the Sec­ond Amend­ment, but wrote force­ful­ly about the founders’ enslav­ing of oth­ers. “There were no gen­tle slave­hold­ers,” writes Parsa. “Count­less chil­dren were born into slav­ery and died after a rel­a­tive­ly short lifes­pan nev­er know­ing free­dom for even a minute.” Many of those chil­dren were fathered by their own­ers.

Some found­ing fathers paid lip ser­vice to the idea of slav­ery as a blight because it was obvi­ous that kid­nap­ping and enslav­ing peo­ple con­tra­dict­ed demo­c­ra­t­ic prin­ci­ples. Slav­ery hap­pened to be the pri­ma­ry metaphor used by Enlight­en­ment philoso­phers and their colo­nial read­ers to char­ac­ter­ize the tyran­ni­cal monar­chism they opposed. The philoso­pher John Locke wrote slav­ery into the con­sti­tu­tion of the Car­oli­na colony, and prof­it­ed from it through own­ing stock in the Roy­al African Com­pa­ny. Yet by his lat­er, huge­ly influ­en­tial Two Trea­tis­es, he had come to see hered­i­tary slav­ery as “so vile and mis­er­able an estate of man… that ‘tis hard­ly to be con­ceived” that any­one could uphold it.

There were, of course, slave­hold­ing founders who resist­ed such talk and felt no com­punc­tion about how they made their mon­ey. But lofty prin­ci­ples or no, the U.S. founders were often on the defen­sive against non-slave­hold­ing col­leagues, who scold­ed and attacked them, some­times with frank ref­er­ences to the rapes of enslaved women and girls. These crit­i­cisms were so com­mon that Thomas Paine could write the case for slav­ery had been “suf­fi­cient­ly dis­proved” when he pub­lished a 1775 tract denounc­ing it and call­ing for its imme­di­ate end:

The man­agers of [the slave trade] tes­ti­fy that many of these African nations inhab­it fer­tile coun­tries, are indus­tri­ous farm­ers, enjoy plen­ty and lived qui­et­ly, averse to war, before the Euro­peans debauched them with liquors… By such wicked and inhu­man ways, the Eng­lish are said to enslave towards 100,000 year­ly, of which 30,000 are sup­posed to die by bar­barous treat­ment in the first year…

So mon­strous is the mak­ing and keep­ing them slaves at all… and the many evils attend­ing the prac­tice, [such] as sell­ing hus­bands away from wives, chil­dren from par­ents and from each oth­er, in vio­la­tion of sacred and nat­ur­al ties; and open­ing the way for adul­ter­ies, inces­ts and many shock­ing con­se­quences, for all of which the guilty mas­ters must answer to the final judge…

The chief design of this paper is not to dis­prove [slav­ery], which many have suf­fi­cient­ly done, but to entreat Amer­i­cans to con­sid­er:

With that con­sis­ten­cy… they com­plain so loud­ly of attempts to enslave them, while they hold so many hun­dred thou­sands in slav­ery and annu­al­ly enslave many thou­sands more, with­out any pre­tence of author­i­ty or claim upon them.

Jef­fer­son squared his the­o­ry of lib­er­ty with his prac­tice of slav­ery by pick­ing up the fad of sci­en­tif­ic racism sweep­ing Europe at the time, in which philoso­phers who prof­it­ed, or whose patrons and nations prof­it­ed, from the slave trade began to coin­ci­den­tal­ly dis­cov­er evi­dence that enslav­ing Africans was only nat­ur­al. We should know by now what hap­pens when racism guides sci­ence.…

Maybe turn­ing those who will­ful­ly per­pet­u­at­ed the country’s most intractable, damn­ing crime against human­i­ty into civic saints no longer serves the U.S., if it ever did. Maybe ele­vat­ing the founders to the sta­tus of reli­gious fig­ures has pro­duced a wide­spread his­tor­i­cal igno­rance and a very spe­cif­ic kind of nation­al­ism that are no longer ten­able. Younger and future gen­er­a­tions will set­tle these ques­tions their own way, as they sort through the mess their elders have left them. As Locke also argued, in a para­phrase from Amer­i­can His­to­ry pro­fes­sor Hol­ly Brew­er, “peo­ple do not have to obey a gov­ern­ment that no longer pro­tects them, and the con­sent of an ances­tor does not bind the descen­dants: each gen­er­a­tion must con­sent for itself.”

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What the Text­books Don’t Tell Us About The Atlantic Slave Trade: An Ani­mat­ed Video Fills In His­tor­i­cal Gaps

The Names of 1.8 Mil­lion Eman­ci­pat­ed Slaves Are Now Search­able in the World’s Largest Genealog­i­cal Data­base, Help­ing African Amer­i­cans Find Lost Ances­tors

The Atlantic Slave Trade Visu­al­ized in Two Min­utes: 10 Mil­lion Lives, 20,000 Voy­ages, Over 315 Years

The “Slave Bible” Removed Key Bib­li­cal Pas­sages In Order to Legit­imize Slav­ery & Dis­cour­age a Slave Rebel­lion (1807)

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

William Blake Illustrates Mary Wollstonecraft’s Work of Children’s Literature, Original Stories from Real Life (1791)

Most of us know Mary Woll­stonecraft as the author of the 1792 pam­phlet A Vin­di­ca­tion of the Rights of Women, and as the moth­er of Franken­stein author Mary Shel­ley. Few­er of us may know that two years before she pub­lished her foun­da­tion­al fem­i­nist text, she wrote A Vin­di­ca­tion of the Rights of Men, a pro-French Rev­o­lu­tion, anti-monar­chy argu­ment that first made her famous as a writer and philoso­pher. Per­haps far few­er know that Woll­stonecraft began her career as a pub­lished author in 1787 with Thoughts on the Edu­ca­tion of Daugh­ters (though she had yet to raise chil­dren her­self), a con­duct man­u­al for prop­er behav­ior.

A huge­ly pop­u­lar genre dur­ing the first Indus­tri­al Rev­o­lu­tion, con­duct man­u­als bore a mis­cel­la­neous char­ac­ter, incul­cat­ing a bat­tery of mid­dle-class rules, beliefs, and affec­ta­tions through a mix of ped­a­gogy, alle­go­ry, domes­tic advice, and devo­tion­al writ­ing. Young women were instruct­ed in the prop­er way to dress, eat, pray, laugh, love, etc., etc.

It may seem from our per­spec­tive that a rad­i­cal fire­brand like Woll­stonecraft would shun this sort of thing, but her mor­al­iz­ing was typ­i­cal of mid­dle-class women of her time, even of pio­neer­ing writ­ers who sup­port­ed rev­o­lu­tions and women’s polit­i­cal and social equal­i­ty.

Wollstonecraft’s assump­tions about class and char­ac­ter come into relief when placed against the views of anoth­er famous con­tem­po­rary, far more rad­i­cal fig­ure, William Blake, who was then a strug­gling, most­ly obscure poet, print­er, and illus­tra­tor in Lon­don. In 1791, he received a com­mis­sion to illus­trate a sec­ond edi­tion of Wollstonecraft’s third book, a fol­low-up of sorts to her Thoughts on the Edu­ca­tion of Daugh­ters. The 1788 work—Orig­i­nal Sto­ries from Real Life; with Con­ver­sa­tions, Cal­cu­lat­ed to Reg­u­late the Affec­tions, and Form the Mind to Truth and Good­ness—is a more focused book, using a series of vignettes woven into a frame sto­ry.

The two chil­dren in the nar­ra­tive, 14-year-old Mary and 12-year-old Car­o­line, receive lessons from their rel­a­tive Mrs. Mason, who instructs them on a dif­fer­ent virtue and moral fail­ing in each chap­ter by using sto­ries and exam­ples from nature. The two pupils “are moth­er­less,” notes the British Library, “and lack the good habits they should have absorbed by exam­ple. Mrs. Mason intends to rec­ti­fy this by being with them con­stant­ly and answer­ing all their ques­tions.” She is an all-know­ing gov­erness who explains the world away with a phi­los­o­phy that might have sound­ed par­tic­u­lar­ly harsh to Blake’s ears.

For exam­ple, in the chap­ter on phys­i­cal pain, Mary is stung by sev­er­al wasps. After­ward, her guardian begins to lec­ture her “with more than usu­al grav­i­ty.”

I am sor­ry to see a girl of your age weep on account of bod­i­ly pain; it is a proof of a weak mind—a proof that you can­not employ your­self about things of con­se­quence. How often must I tell you that the Most High is edu­cat­ing us for eter­ni­ty?… Chil­dren ear­ly feel bod­i­ly pain, to habit­u­ate them to bear the con­flicts of the soul, when they become rea­son­able crea­tures. This is say, is the first tri­al, and I like to see that prop­er pride which strives to con­ceal its suf­fer­ings…. The Almighty, who nev­er afflicts but to pro­duce some good end, first sends dis­eases to chil­dren to teach them patience and for­ti­tude; and when by degrees they have learned to bear them, they have acquired some virtue.

Blake like­ly found this line of rea­son­ing off-putting, at the least. His own poems “were not children’s lit­er­a­ture per se,” writes Stephanie Metz at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Tennessee’s Roman­tic Pol­i­tics project, “yet their sim­plis­tic lan­guage and even some of their con­tent responds to the char­ac­ter­is­tics of didac­tic fic­tion and children’s poet­ry.” Blake wrote express­ly to protest the ide­ol­o­gy found in con­duct man­u­als like Wollstonecraft’s: “He calls atten­tion to society’s abuse of chil­dren in a num­ber of dif­fer­ent ways, show­ing how soci­ety cor­rupts their inher­ent inno­cence and imag­i­na­tion while also fail­ing to care for their phys­i­cal and emo­tion­al needs.”

For Blake, children’s big emo­tions and active imag­i­na­tions made them supe­ri­or to adults. “Sev­er­al of his poems,” Metz writes, “show the ways in which children’s innate nature has already been taint­ed by their par­ents and oth­er soci­etal forms of author­i­ty, such as the church.” Giv­en his atti­tudes, we can see why “mod­ern inter­preters of the illus­tra­tions for Orig­i­nal Sto­ries have detect­ed a pic­to­r­i­al cri­tique” in Blake’s ren­der­ing of Wollstonecraft’s text, as the William Blake Archive points out. Blake “appears to have found her moral­i­ty too cal­cu­lat­ing, ratio­nal­is­tic, and rigid. He rep­re­sents Wollstonecraft’s spokesper­son, Mrs. Mason, as a dom­i­neer­ing pres­ence.”

Nonethe­less, as always, Blake’s work is more than com­pe­tent. The style for which we know him best emerges in some of the prints. We see it, for exam­ple, in the chis­eled face, bulging eyes, and well-mus­cled arms of the stand­ing fig­ure above. For the most part, how­ev­er, he keeps in check his exu­ber­ant desire to cel­e­brate the human body. “Only a year ear­li­er,” writes Brain Pick­ings, “Blake had fin­ished print­ing and illu­mi­nat­ing the first few copies of his now-leg­endary Songs of Inno­cence and Expe­ri­ence.” Two of the songs “were inspired by Wollstonecraft’s trans­la­tion of C.G. Salzmann’s Ele­ments of Moral­i­ty, for which Blake had done sev­er­al engrav­ings.”

If he had mis­giv­ings about illus­trat­ing Wollstonecraft’s Orig­i­nal Sto­ries, we must infer them from his illus­tra­tions. But plac­ing Blake’s most famous book of poet­ry next to Wollstonecraft’s pious, didac­tic works of moral instruc­tion pro­duces some jar­ring con­trasts, show­ing how two tow­er­ing lit­er­ary fig­ures from the time (though not both at the time) con­ceived of child­hood, social class, edu­ca­tion, and moral­i­ty in vast­ly dif­fer­ent ways. Learn more about Blake’s illus­tra­tions at Brain Pick­ings, read an edi­tion of Woll­stonecraft’s Orig­i­nal Sto­ries here, and see all of Blake’s illus­tra­tions at the William Blake Archive.

via Brain Pick­ings

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Enter an Archive of William Blake’s Fan­tas­ti­cal “Illu­mi­nat­ed Books”: The Images Are Sub­lime, and in High Res­o­lu­tion

William Blake’s Mas­ter­piece Illus­tra­tions of the Book of Job (1793–1827)

William Blake’s Hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry Illus­tra­tions of John Milton’s Par­adise Lost

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

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