Search Results for "anal"

Richard Feynman on Religion, Science, the Search for Truth & Our Willingness to Live with Doubt

A com­plete­ly unsur­pris­ing thing has hap­pened dur­ing the first sea­son of Neil deGrasse Tyson’s Cos­mos reboot. Cre­ation­ists vocal­ly com­plained that the show does not give their point of view an equal hear­ing. Tyson respond­ed, say­ing “you don’t talk about the spher­i­cal earth with NASA and then say let’s give equal time to the flat-earth­ers.” The anal­o­gy is more amus­ing than effec­tive, since rough­ly fifty per­cent of Amer­i­cans are Cre­ation­ists, while per­haps 49.9 per­cent few­er believe the earth is flat. But the point stands. If sci­en­tif­ic the­o­ries were arrived at by pop­u­lar vote, the “equal time” argu­ment might make some sense. Of course that’s not how sci­ence works. Is this bias? As Tyson put it in one of his well-craft­ed tweets, “you are not biased any time you ever speak the truth.”

“But what is truth?” asks a cer­tain kind of skep­tic. That, sug­gests the late Nobel prize-win­ning physi­cist Richard Feyn­man above, depends upon your method. If you’re doing sci­ence, you may find answers, but not nec­es­sar­i­ly the ones you want:

If you expect­ed sci­ence to give all the answers to the won­der­ful ques­tions about what we are, where we’re going, what the mean­ing of the uni­verse is and so on, then I think you can eas­i­ly become dis­il­lu­sioned and look for some mys­tic answer.

Going to the sci­ences, says Feyn­man, to “get an answer to some deep philo­soph­i­cal ques­tion,” means “you may be wrong. It may be that you can’t get an answer to that ques­tion by find­ing out more about the char­ac­ter of nature.” Sci­ence does not begin with answers, but with doubt: “Is sci­ence true? No, no we don’t know what’s true, we’re try­ing to find out.” Feynman’s sci­en­tif­ic atti­tude is pro­found­ly agnos­tic; he’d rather “live with doubt than have answers that might be wrong.”

Feyn­man couch­es his com­ments in per­son­al terms, admit­ting there are sci­en­tists who have reli­gious faith, or as he puts it “mys­tic answers,” and that he “doesn’t under­stand that.” He declines to say any­thing more. While sim­i­lar­ly agnos­tic, Neil deGrasse Tyson states his opin­ions a bit more force­ful­ly on sci­en­tists who are believ­ers, say­ing that around one third of “ful­ly-func­tion­ing” “Western/American sci­en­tists claim that there is a god to whom they pray.” Yet unlike the claims of Answers in Gen­e­sis and oth­er Cre­ation­ist out­fits, “There is no exam­ple of some­one read­ing their scrip­ture and say­ing, ‘I have a pre­dic­tion about the world that no one knows yet, because this gave me insight. Let’s go test that pre­dic­tion,’ and have the pre­dic­tion be cor­rect.”

Both Feyn­man and Tyson seem to agree that the sci­en­tif­ic and Cre­ation­ist meth­ods for dis­cov­er­ing “truth,” what­ev­er that may be, are basi­cal­ly incom­pat­i­ble. Says Feyn­man: “There are very remark­able mys­ter­ies… but those are mys­ter­ies I want to inves­ti­gate with­out know­ing the answers to them.” For that rea­son, says Feyn­man, he “can’t believe the spe­cial sto­ries that have been made up about our rela­tion­ship to the uni­verse.” His word­ing recalls the phrase Answers in Gen­e­sis uses to char­ac­ter­ize human ori­gins: “spe­cial cre­ation,” the descrip­tion of a method that places mean­ing and val­ue before evi­dence, and dogged­ly assumes to know the truth about what it sets out to inves­ti­gate in igno­rance.

Con­front­ed with the Cre­ation­ists of today, Feyn­man would like­ly lump them in with what he called in a 1974 Cal­tech com­mence­ment speech “Car­go Cult Sci­ence,” or “sci­ence that isn’t sci­ence” but that intim­i­dates “ordi­nary peo­ple with com­mon­sense ideas.” That lec­ture appears in a col­lec­tion of Feynman’s speech­es, lec­tures, inter­views and arti­cles called The Plea­sure of Find­ing Things Out, which also hap­pens to be the title of the pro­gram from which the clip at the top comes.

Pro­duced by the BBC in 1981, the hour-long inter­view was taped for a show called Hori­zon which, like Cos­mos, show­cas­es sci­en­tists shar­ing the joys of dis­cov­ery with a lay audi­ence. Like Neil deGrasse Tyson, and Carl Sagan before him, Feyn­man was a very lik­able and accom­plished sci­ence com­mu­ni­ca­tor. He had lit­tle time for phi­los­o­phy, but his prac­tice of the sci­en­tif­ic method is unim­peach­able. Of the Feyn­man TV spe­cial above, Nobel Prize-win­ning chemist Sir Har­ry Kro­to remarked: “The 1981 Feyn­man-Hori­zon is the best sci­ence pro­gram I have ever seen. This is not just my opin­ion — it is also the opin­ion of many of the best sci­en­tists that I know who have seen the pro­gram… It should be manda­to­ry view­ing for all stu­dents whether they be sci­ence or arts stu­dents.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

‘The Char­ac­ter of Phys­i­cal Law’: Richard Feynman’s Leg­endary Course Pre­sent­ed at Cor­nell, 1964

Richard Feyn­man Intro­duces the World to Nan­otech­nol­o­gy with Two Sem­i­nal Lec­tures (1959 & 1984)

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

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Enjoy 15+ Hours of the Weird and Wonderful World of Post Soviet Russian Animation

Back dur­ing the wan­ing years of the Sovi­et Union, ani­ma­tor Alek­san­dr Tatarsky left the state-run stu­dio Écran to form his own ani­ma­tion com­pa­ny called Stu­dio Pilot, the first pri­vate­ly owned com­pa­ny of its kind in Rus­sia. The stu­dio quick­ly made a name for itself by turn­ing out bizarre, sur­re­al and, at times, down­right dis­turb­ing ani­mat­ed shorts. If you went to ani­ma­tion fes­ti­vals dur­ing the Clin­ton pres­i­den­cy, you prob­a­bly saw some­thing from Stu­dio Pilot.

Metafil­ter user “Nomyte,” who clear­ly knows both ani­ma­tion and Russ­ian, put togeth­er an exhaus­tive list of movies on Youtube from Stu­dio Pilot.  A whop­ping 17 hours of footage. Here are a few favorites:

His Wife is a Chick­en (1989)A sur­re­al­ist domes­tic dra­ma tale about a guy who rejects his lov­ing, hard­work­ing wife when he real­izes that, well, she’s a chick­en. Told com­plete­ly with­out words, the film (shown above) mas­ter­ful­ly fus­es every­day banal­i­ty with some tru­ly unnerv­ing bits of weird­ness – like that hor­rif­ic worm dog crea­ture with a human face. I saw this movie at some point in the ear­ly ‘90s and it gave me night­mares.

The Coup  (1991) – An ani­mat­ed polit­i­cal car­toon that — 20 some odd years lat­er — has become a fas­ci­nat­ing his­tor­i­cal doc­u­ment. The short shows a svelte Boris Yeltsin lit­er­al­ly flush away the lead­ers of the doomed 1991 coup attempt­ed against Mikhail Gor­bachev. The inci­dent was the last gasp of the Sovi­et old guard; its fail­ure result­ed in the even­tu­al dis­so­lu­tion of the USSR. As the film’s end title points out, all of the short’s ani­ma­tors were per­son­al­ly involved in fight­ing the coup: “From 19 to 21 of August 1991, all ani­ma­tors who made this film have been [sic] defend­ing the white house of Rus­sia. Only by night on August 21 they could start work­ing on the film.”

Gone with the Wind (1998) – Noth­ing about romance dur­ing the Civ­il War here. Instead, this movie is about, once again, a chick­en. The short ani­ma­tion is a macabre tale about a boiled bird that comes back from the dead and strug­gles to return to its orig­i­nal unplucked state. You won’t look at eggs in quite the same way again.

2+1= (2003) – A light­heart­ed com­e­dy about dinosaurs in love.

If you want to see the com­plete list of Stu­dio Pilot ani­ma­tions, check it out here. Many more great ani­mat­ed shorts can be found on our list of Free Ani­mat­ed Films, part of our big­ger col­lec­tion 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Dzi­ga Vertov’s Unset­tling Sovi­et Toys: The First Sovi­et Ani­mat­ed Movie Ever (1924)

Two Beau­ti­ful­ly-Craft­ed Russ­ian Ani­ma­tions of Chekhov’s Clas­sic Children’s Sto­ry “Kash­tan­ka”

Watch Sovi­et Ani­ma­tions of Win­nie the Pooh, Cre­at­ed by the Inno­v­a­tive Ani­ma­tor Fyo­dor Khitruk

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

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Michel Foucault and Alain Badiou Discuss “Philosophy and Psychology” on French TV (1965)

If sub­ti­tles don’t play auto­mat­i­cal­ly, please click the “CC” but­ton at the bot­tom of each video.

When Sig­mund Freud died in 1939, the year Hitler invad­ed Poland, W.H. Auden wrote a eulo­gy in verse and remarked “We are all Freudi­ans now.” One might have said some­thing sim­i­lar of Michel Fou­cault after his death in 1984. Fou­cault became a fierce­ly polit­i­cal philoso­pher after the May 1968 Paris stu­dent upris­ing and in a year that saw the Tet Offen­sive in Viet­nam and the assas­si­na­tions of Mar­tin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy. In the fol­low­ing year—after the Man­son mur­ders and the grim events at Altamont—the six­ties effec­tive­ly came to an end as its utopi­an projects flared up and fiz­zled.

In the next repres­sive decade, Fou­cault pub­lished Dis­ci­pline and Pun­ish (1974) and his His­to­ry of Sex­u­al­i­ty (1976). Even as he used Freudi­an con­cepts, he declared Freudi­an psy­cho­analy­sis com­plic­it in what he called “dis­ci­pli­nary soci­ety,” anoth­er method, like pris­ons, schools, and hos­pi­tals, of keep­ing mass­es of peo­ple under con­stant sur­veil­lance and in states of sub­mis­sion. It is this post-‘68 Fou­cault many of us came to know—an anti-philoso­pher whose deep dis­trust of all insti­tu­tion­al forms of pow­er seemed the per­fect ally for post-ado­les­cent col­lege stu­dents in com­fort­able rebel­lion. This is why it is a lit­tle sur­pris­ing to see the Fou­cault above, in a 1965 con­ver­sa­tion with philoso­pher Alain Badiou, ensconced in the bour­geois world of a French philo­soph­i­cal cul­ture, with its lin­eages and ordi­nary cit­i­zens brows­ing paper­back copies of Marx and Hegel, instead of stag­ing Sit­u­a­tion­ist actions to dis­rupt the social order.

But of course, it’s only log­i­cal to infer that the one cul­ture led direct­ly to the oth­er. For all his rhetor­i­cal the­atrics, Fou­cault nev­er gave up on the human­ist insti­tu­tion of the uni­ver­si­ty, but always made his home in class­rooms, lec­ture halls, and yes, even TV inter­views. His top­ic in con­ver­sa­tion with Badiou is “Phi­los­o­phy and Psy­chol­o­gy” and they came togeth­er on the edu­ca­tion­al tele­vi­sion pro­gram L’enseignement de la philoso­phie—anoth­er tes­ta­ment, like the well-stocked book­stores and cul­tur­al land­marks, to a six­ties French cul­ture steeped in philo­soph­i­cal atti­tudes. Unfor­tu­nate­ly we have only the first two parts of the inter­view, above, with Eng­lish sub­ti­tles (the third and final part is still wait­ing to be trans­lat­ed). You can, how­ev­er, see the full inter­view in French below.

The inter­view opens with the ques­tion “What is psy­chol­o­gy?” Foucault’s answer, which he would revise many times in the com­ing decades, along with his ter­mi­nol­o­gy, begins by ask­ing that we “inter­ro­gate” the dis­ci­pline of Psy­chol­o­gy “like any oth­er type of cul­ture.” Prod­ded by Badiou, he elab­o­rates: Psy­chol­o­gy is yet anoth­er insti­tu­tion­al­ized “form of know­ing” that makes up a dis­ci­pli­nary soci­ety, the core con­cept of his phi­los­o­phy. Foucault’s inter­view­er Badiou is now an elder states­man of French phi­los­o­phy, its “great­est liv­ing expo­nent,” writes his pub­lish­er. His most recent book doc­u­ments forty years of what he calls the “’French moment’ in con­tem­po­rary thought”—one great­ly inspired by Michel Fou­cault.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Michel Fou­cault Deliv­er His Lec­ture on “Truth and Sub­jec­tiv­i­ty” at UC Berke­ley, In Eng­lish (1980)

Clash of the Titans: Noam Chom­sky & Michel Fou­cault Debate Human Nature & Pow­er on Dutch TV, 1971

Michel Foucault’s Con­tro­ver­sial Life and Phi­los­o­phy Explored in a Reveal­ing 1993 Doc­u­men­tary

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

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

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A Romp Through the Philosophy of Mind: A Free Online Course from Oxford

These days, neu­ro­science seems to have a monop­oly on the mind. Flip to the sci­ence sec­tion of an estab­lished news­pa­per or mag­a­zine, and you’ll like­ly see the most allur­ing head­lines describ­ing the lat­est neur­al find­ings. So, now that pow­er­ful meth­ods of neu­roimag­ing can delve deep­er into the struc­ture of the brain than ever before, is there any­thing that we don’t know about the mind? Well, yes. Apart from stat­ing that it is a man­i­fes­ta­tion of the brain, sci­ence doesn’t offer much to explain what the mind is. In an unfor­tu­nate turn for neu­ro­science, no amount of brain scan­ning will reveal that, either.

It is at this sort of junc­ture that sci­ence pass­es the baton to phi­los­o­phy. Over the past few weeks, we’ve brought you two intro­duc­to­ry phi­los­o­phy cours­es (Crit­i­cal Rea­son­ing for Begin­ners and A Romp Through Ethics for Com­plete Begin­ners) by Oxford University’s Mar­i­anne Tal­bot.

Today, we bring you anoth­er of Talbot’s excel­lent philo­soph­i­cal primers: A Romp Through the Phi­los­o­phy of Mind.  The five-part lec­ture series begins with a dis­cus­sion of René Descartes’ dual­ism, which com­pris­es the idea that the mind is non-phys­i­cal and is there­fore dis­tinct from the body. The course then moves through an expo­si­tion of Iden­ti­ty The­o­ry, accord­ing to which all of our men­tal states are mere­ly man­i­fes­ta­tions of an anal­o­gous set of brain process­es. Once Tal­bot out­lines the draw­backs to each of these the­o­ries, she explains the views of sev­er­al oth­er phe­nom­e­no­log­i­cal camps, includ­ing the epiphe­nom­e­nal­ists, who see men­tal states as real but not phys­i­cal, and elim­i­na­tivists, who do not think that men­tal states are real at all. She then prompt­ly pro­ceeds to upend these con­cep­tions of the mind. As with all of Talbot’s pre­vi­ous cours­es, this one is high­ly rec­om­mend­ed.

A Romp Through the Phi­los­o­phy of Mind is cur­rent­ly avail­able on the Uni­ver­si­ty of Oxford web­site in both audio and video for­mats, and also on iTune­sU. (See the lec­tures above.) You can find it list­ed in our col­lec­tion of Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es, along­side class­es like Con­tem­po­rary Issues in Phi­los­o­phy of Mind & Cog­ni­tion, Hegel’s Phe­nom­e­nol­o­gy of Spir­it, and Mer­leau-Pon­ty’s Phe­nom­e­nol­o­gy of Per­cep­tion. They’re all part of our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman, or read more of his writ­ing at the Huff­in­g­ton Post.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Oxford’s Free Course Crit­i­cal Rea­son­ing For Begin­ners Will Teach You to Think Like a Philoso­pher

Learn Right From Wrong with Oxford’s Free Course A Romp Through Ethics for Com­plete Begin­ners

The His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy With­out Any Gaps – Peter Adamson’s Pod­cast Still Going Strong

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Publisher Places a Politically Correct Warning Label on Kant’s Critiques

kant-children-disclaimer

Most times when I hear some­one on a tear about the dan­gers of “polit­i­cal cor­rect­ness” I roll  my eyes and move on. So many such com­plaints involve ire at being held to stan­dards of basic human decen­cy, say, or hav­ing to share resources, oppor­tu­ni­ties, or pub­lic spaces. But there are many excep­tions, when the so-called “PC” impulse to broad­en inclu­siv­i­ty and soft­en offense pro­duces mon­sters of con­de­scend­ing pater­nal­ism. Take the above omnibus edi­tion of “Kant’s Cri­tiques” print­ed by Wilder Pub­li­ca­tions in 2008. The pub­lish­er, with either kind but painful­ly obtuse motives, or with an eye toward pre-empt­ing some kind of legal blow­back, has seen fit to include a dis­claimer at the bot­tom of the title page:

This book is a prod­uct of its time and does not reflect the same val­ues as it would if it were writ­ten today. Par­ents might wish to dis­cuss with their chil­dren how views on race, gen­der, sex­u­al­i­ty, eth­nic­i­ty, and inter­per­son­al rela­tions have changed since this book was writ­ten before allow­ing them to read this clas­sic work.

Where to begin? First, we must point out Wilder Pub­li­ca­tions’ strange cer­tain­ty that a hypo­thet­i­cal Kant of today would express his ideas in tol­er­ant and lib­er­al lan­guage. The sup­po­si­tion has the effect of patron­iz­ing the dead philoso­pher and of absolv­ing him of any respon­si­bil­i­ty for his blind spots and prej­u­dices, assum­ing that he meant well but was sim­ply a blink­ered and unfor­tu­nate “prod­uct” of his time.

But who’s to say that Kant didn’t damn well mean his com­ments that offend our sen­si­bil­i­ties today, and wouldn’t still mean them now were he some­how res­ur­rect­ed and forced to update his major works? More­over, why assume that all cur­rent read­ers of Kant do not share his more repug­nant views? Sec­ond­ly, who is this edi­tion for? Philoso­pher Bri­an Leit­er, who brought this to our atten­tion, humor­ous­ly titles it “Kant’s 3 Critiques—rated PG-13.” One would hope that any young per­son pre­co­cious enough to read Kant would have the abil­i­ty to rec­og­nize his­tor­i­cal con­text and to approach crit­i­cal­ly state­ments that sound uneth­i­cal, big­ot­ed, or sci­en­tif­i­cal­ly dat­ed to her mod­ern ears. One would hope par­ents buy­ing Kant for their kids could do the same with­out chid­ing from pub­lish­ers.

None of this is to say that there aren’t sub­stan­tive rea­sons to exam­ine and cri­tique the prej­u­di­cial assump­tions and bias­es of clas­si­cal philoso­phers. A great many recent schol­ars have done exact­ly that. In her Phi­los­o­phy of Sci­ence and Race, for exam­ple, Nao­mi Zack observes that “accord­ing to con­tem­po­rary stan­dards, both [Hume and Kant] were vir­u­lent white suprema­cists.” Yet she also ana­lyzes the prob­lems with apply­ing “con­tem­po­rary stan­dards” to their sys­tems of thought, which were not nec­es­sar­i­ly racist in the sense we mean so much as “racial­ist,” depen­dent on an “ontol­ogy of human races, which under­lay Hume and Kant’s val­ue judg­ments about what they thought were racial dif­fer­ences” (an ontol­ogy, it’s worth not­ing, that pro­duced sys­temic and insti­tu­tion­al racism). Zack respects the vast gulf that sep­a­rates our judg­ments from those of the past while still hold­ing the philoso­phers account­able for con­tra­dic­tions and incon­sis­ten­cies in their thought that are clear­ly the prod­ucts of will­ful igno­rance, chau­vin­ism, and unex­am­ined bias. An informed his­tor­i­cal approach allows us to see how books are not sim­ply “prod­ucts of their time” but are sit­u­at­ed in net­works of knowl­edge and ide­ol­o­gy that shaped their authors’ assump­tions and con­tin­ue to shape our own—ideologies that per­sist into the present and can­not and should not be papered over or eas­i­ly explained away with skit­tish warn­ing labels and didac­tic lec­tures about how much things have changed. In a great many ways of course, they have. And in some sig­nif­i­cant oth­ers, they sim­ply haven’t. To pre­tend oth­er­wise for the sake of the chil­dren is disin­gen­u­ous and does a grave dis­ser­vice to both author and read­er.

via Leit­er Reports

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Man Shot in Fight Over Immanuel Kant’s Phi­los­o­phy in Rus­sia

100 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es Online

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

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A Reading of Charles Bukowski’s First Published Story, “Aftermath of a Lengthy Rejection Slip” (1944)

BukowskiStoryCover

“Everyone’s got to start some­where,” a banal plat­i­tude that express­es a tru­ism worth repeat­ing: wher­ev­er you are, you’ve got to get start­ed. If you’re John Updike (who would have been 82 years old yes­ter­day), you start where so many oth­er accom­plished fig­ures have, the Har­vard Lam­poon. If you’re Charles Bukows­ki… believe it or not, you actu­al­ly start in an equal­ly renowned pub­li­ca­tion. Bukowski’s first fic­tion appeared in Sto­ry, a mag­a­zine that helped launch the careers of Cheev­er, Salinger, Saroy­an, Car­son McCullers and Richard Wright.

But if you’re Charles Bukows­ki, you come out swing­ing. Your first pub­lished work in 1944  is a non­sense sto­ry writ­ten as an eff you to the edi­tor, Whit Bur­nett. You fea­ture Mr. Bur­nett as a char­ac­ter, along with a cat who shakes hands (sort of), a pros­ti­tute named Mil­lie, a few card-play­ing drunks, an impe­ri­ous “short sto­ry instruc­tress,” and a mys­te­ri­ous “bleary-eyed tramp.” Oh, and you open the sto­ry by quot­ing ver­ba­tim one of Burnett’s rejec­tion let­ters:

Dear Mr. Bukows­ki:

Again, this is a con­glom­er­a­tion of extreme­ly good stuff and oth­er stuff so full of idol­ized pros­ti­tutes, morn­ing-after vom­it­ing scenes, mis­an­thropy, praise for sui­cide etc. that it is not quite for a mag­a­zine of any cir­cu­la­tion at all. This is, how­ev­er, pret­ty much the saga of a cer­tain type of per­son and in it I think you’ve done an hon­est job. Pos­si­bly we will print you some­time but I don’t know exact­ly when. That depends on you.

Sin­cere­ly yours,

Whit Bur­nett

I won’t spoil it for you—you must read (or lis­ten to below) “After­math of a Lengthy Rejec­tion Slip” for yourself—but the let­ter sets up a typ­i­cal­ly Bukowskian punch­line: wry and sar­cas­tic and wist­ful and lyri­cal all at once.

Bukows­ki was 24 and had only been writ­ing for two years by this time. He lat­er recalled being very unhap­py with the pub­li­ca­tion. For one, writes Book­tryst, “it had been buried in the End Pages sec­tion of the mag­a­zine as, Bukows­ki felt, a curios­i­ty rather than a seri­ous piece of writ­ing.” How­ev­er, Bukows­ki had already sent Sto­ry dozens of what he con­sid­ered seri­ous pieces of writ­ing before pen­ning “After­math,” which he admits he tamed for the sake of Burnett’s sen­si­bil­i­ties. In an inter­view near the end of his life, Bukows­ki remem­bered sub­mit­ting to the mag­a­zine “a cou­ple of short sto­ries a week for maybe a year and half. The sto­ry they final­ly accept­ed was mild in com­par­i­son to the oth­ers. I mean in terms of con­tent and style and gam­ble and explo­ration and all that.”

Bukows­ki may have been bit­ter, but his first pub­li­ca­tion, and last sub­mis­sion to Sto­ry, might deserve cred­it for inspir­ing a life­time of boozy mate­r­i­al: look­ing back, he recalls that after the per­ceived slight, he “drank and became one of the best drinkers any­where, which takes some tal­ent also.” Everybody’s got to start some­where.

Book­tryst has more to the sto­ry, as well as sev­er­al images of the rare 1944 Bukows­ki issue of Sto­ry. Above, in two parts, lis­ten to the sto­ry in the won­der­ful­ly dry bari­tone of Tom O’Bedlam, whom you may already know from our pre­vi­ous posts on Bukowski’s poems “Nir­vana” and “So You Want to Be a Writer?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Three Inter­pre­ta­tions of Charles Bukowski’s Melan­choly Poem “Nir­vana”

Lis­ten to Charles Bukows­ki Poems Being Read by Bukows­ki Him­self & the Great Tom Waits

So You Want to Be a Writer?: Charles Bukows­ki Explains the Dos & Don’ts

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

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The History of the Movie Camera in Four Minutes: From the Lumiere Brothers to Google Glass

For their annu­al Life­time Achieve­ment Awards, the folks over at the Soci­ety of Cam­era Oper­a­tors put togeth­er a love­ly, sur­pris­ing­ly rous­ing video about the evo­lu­tion of the movie cam­era over the course of the past cen­tu­ry or so of cin­e­ma. And, as you can see above, it has changed quite a bit.

The piece begins at the begin­ning, with the ear­ly pio­neers of film: the Lumiere broth­ers’ first motion pic­ture cam­eras and their rev­o­lu­tion­ary actu­al­itésGeorges Méliès’ baroque flights of fan­cy, D. W. Grif­fith’s sprawl­ing epics. The cam­eras that shot these films were crude, boxy and hand-pow­ered but their basic mechan­ics were rough­ly the same as the sophis­ti­cat­ed 70mm cam­eras Stan­ley Kubrick used to shoot 2001: A Space Odyssey six decades lat­er.

Then in the ‘80s, things start­ed to change with the release of ana­log video. Sud­den­ly, you could cap­ture move­ment in a man­ner that didn’t involve expos­ing frame by frame an unspool­ing reel of light-sen­si­tive cel­lu­loid. And with the dig­i­tal rev­o­lu­tion that start­ed in the ‘90s, cam­eras, and the very nature of cin­e­ma, changed. Daz­zling spec­ta­cles like Avatar and Grav­i­ty could be cre­at­ed almost entire­ly with­in a com­put­er, while at the same time the cam­eras them­selves grew small­er and more portable.

To under­score just how democ­ra­tized the tech­nol­o­gy of movie mak­ing has become, the end of the video shows Hol­ly­wood cam­era­men shoot­ing movies with iPhones. The piece ends with what could only be seen as an omi­nous tech­no­log­i­cal devel­op­ment for the Soci­ety of Cam­era Oper­a­tors: Google Glass, which has the poten­tial to turn every sin­gle per­son into a per­pet­u­al cam­era oper­a­tor.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

40 Great Film­mak­ers Go Old School, Shoot Short Films with 100 Year Old Cam­era

What David Lynch Can Do With a 100-Year-Old Cam­era and 52 Sec­onds of Film

A Trip to the Moon (and Five Oth­er Free Films) by Georges Méliès, the Father of Spe­cial Effects

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

 

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Monty Python Sings “The Philosopher’s Song,” Revealing the Drinking Habits of Great European Thinkers

Did you know, stu­dent of dead white philoso­phers, that Hei­deg­ger was a “boozy beg­gar”? Wittgen­stein a “beery swine” and Descartes a “drunk­en fart”? What about Pla­to, who, “they say, could stick it away; Half a crate of whiskey every day”? Nei­ther did I until I saw mem­bers of Mon­ty Python sing “The Philosopher’s Song,” above, from their 1982 live show at the Hol­ly­wood Bowl. Eric Idle, in what looks like an Aus­tralian bush hat strung with teabags, intro­duces the num­ber, say­ing it’s “a nice intel­lec­tu­al song for those two or three of you in the audi­ence who under­stand these things.” Then Idle, joined by Michael Palin and fre­quent Python col­lab­o­ra­tor Neil Innes, launch­es into a paean to drink­ing that col­or­ful­ly calls the great philoso­phers crazed dip­so­ma­ni­acs. Well, all but John Stu­art Mill, who got “par­tic­u­lar­ly ill” from “half a pint of shandy.”

It’s all non­sense, right? Maybe so, but the Pythons were no strangers to phi­los­o­phy. Hav­ing assem­bled from the august bod­ies of Oxford and Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ties, they per­pet­u­al­ly revis­it­ed aca­d­e­m­ic themes, if only to mock them. And yet some philoso­phers take the work of Mon­ty Python very seri­ous­ly. In his Mon­ty Python and Phi­los­o­phy: Nudge, Nudge, Think Think!, Phi­los­o­phy Pro­fes­sor Gary Hard­cas­tle refers to an essay called “Trac­ta­tus Come­dio-Philo­soph­i­cus,” which “wants us to know that the only dif­fer­ence between Mon­ty Python and aca­d­e­m­ic phi­los­o­phy is that phi­los­o­phy isn’t fun­ny.” So there you have it. Skip the years of penury and over­work and go direct­ly to Youtube for your high­er edu­ca­tion in the clas­sics from the Pythons. Then lis­ten to Pro­fes­sor Hardcastle—in Open Court’s “Pop­u­lar Cul­ture and Phi­los­o­phy” pod­cast above—expound at length on the philo­soph­ic virtues of Cleese, Idle, Palin, Gilliam, and Jones. And final­ly, a bonus: below watch Christo­pher Hitchens sing “The Philoso­pher’s Song” from mem­o­ry in a 2009 inter­view.

The song grew out of an ear­li­er Python set­up known as “The Bruce Sketch” (below). The sketch is pret­ty dated—some moments cer­tain­ly come off as more offen­sive than per­haps deemed at the time. (Our Eng­lish read­ers will have to let us know if “pom­my bas­tard” smarts.) Four Aus­tralian phi­los­o­phy pro­fes­sors at the fic­ti­tious Uni­ver­si­ty of Woola­maloo, all of them named Bruce, wel­come a new mem­ber, Michael Bald­win (whom they insist on call­ing “Bruce”). The Bruces seem a nice bunch of chaps until they start in on their rules, reveal­ing a con­temp­tu­ous obses­sion with keep­ing out the “poofters.” It’s per­fect­ly in keep­ing with this assem­bly of ami­able right-wing nation­al­ists: The Bruces inform their Eng­lish col­league that he may teach “the great social­ist thinkers, pro­vid­ed he makes it clear that they were wrong,” and then they get a vis­it from a shuf­fling car­i­ca­ture of an Abo­rig­i­nal ser­vant (whom one must­n’t mis­treat, state the rules, “if there’s any­one watch­ing”). In addi­tion to big­otry, Aus­tralia, pol­i­tics and prayer, the Bruces, their new mem­ber learns, seem most­ly con­cerned with drink­ing rather than phi­los­o­phy. In my per­son­al expe­ri­ence of some aca­d­e­m­ic quar­ters, this is at least one part of the sketch that hasn’t aged at all.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mon­ty Python’s Best Phi­los­o­phy Sketch­es

Watch Mon­ty Python’s “Sum­ma­rize Proust Com­pe­ti­tion” on the 100th Anniver­sary of Swann’s Way

Mon­ty Python’s Life of Bri­an: Reli­gious Satire, Polit­i­cal Satire, or Blas­phe­my?

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

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William S. Burroughs Reads From Naked Lunch, His Controversial 1959 Novel

burroughs reading

Pub­lished in 1959, Williams S. Bur­roughs’ Naked Lunch ranks with oth­er mid-twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry books like Hen­ry Miller’s Trop­ic of Can­cer and the works of Jean Genet as lit­er­a­ture that sharply divid­ed both crit­i­cal and legal opin­ion in argu­ments over style and in ques­tions of obscen­i­ty. Among its dis­turb­ing and sub­ver­sive char­ac­ters is the socio­path­ic sur­geon Dr. Ben­way, who inspired the med­ical hor­rors of J.G. Bal­lard and was inspired in turn by Aldous Huxley’s Brave New WorldBen­way pro­vides some of the more satir­i­cal moments in the book, as you can hear in the sec­tion below, which Bur­roughs reads straight with his dis­tinc­tive nasal­ly Mid­west­ern twang. A short film of the scene (sad­ly unem­bed­d­a­ble), called “Dr. Ben­way Oper­ates,” has Bur­roughs him­self play­ing the doc­tor, in a drama­ti­za­tion that looks like low rent farce as direct­ed by John Waters.

A series of loose­ly con­nect­ed chap­ters that Bur­roughs said could be read in any order, Naked Lunch seems both fas­ci­nat­ed and repelled by the gris­ly med­ical­ized vio­lence in scenes like those above (one vignette, for exam­ple, presents “a tract against cap­i­tal pun­ish­ment”). This ambiva­lence was not lost on writ­ers like Nor­man Mail­er. The high­est praise of the nov­el prob­a­bly came from Mail­er dur­ing the novel’s 1966 obscen­i­ty tri­al before the Mass­a­chu­setts Supreme Court. In one among a hand­ful of lit­er­ary depo­si­tions, includ­ing one from Allen Gins­berg, Mail­er described Bur­roughs’ “extra­or­di­nary style,” and “exquis­ite poet­ic sense.” Despite the fact that its images were “often dis­gust­ing,” Mail­er called the book “a deep work, a cal­cu­lat­ed work” that “cap­tures that speech [‘gut­ter talk’] like no Amer­i­can writer I know.”

Per­haps one of the work’s most damn­ing pieces of crit­i­cism comes from the Judi­cial Offi­cer for the U.S. Postal Ser­vice, who called for the book’s ban­ning, apprais­ing the writ­ing as “undis­ci­plined prose, far more akin to the ear­ly work of exper­i­men­tal ado­les­cents than to any­thing of lit­er­ary mer­it.” Mail­er, Gins­berg, and the book’s oth­er sup­port­ers won out, a fact beat essay­ist Jed Birm­ing­ham laments, for a sur­pris­ing rea­son: The unban­ning of Naked Lunch led to the book’s tam­ing, its gen­tri­fi­ca­tion, as it were: “The wild, exu­ber­ant offen­sive­ness of the nov­el fades,” he writes, “in the face of all the legal argu­ments and the process of can­on­iza­tion.” In fact, the full nov­el may nev­er have been pub­lished at all had it not been for the Post Office in Chica­go seiz­ing sev­er­al hun­dred copies of The Chica­go Review, which con­tained some few Naked Lunch sec­tions. Hear­ing of the con­tro­ver­sy, French pub­lish­er Mau­rice Giro­dias hasti­ly threw togeth­er a man­u­script of the first 1959 text.

And yet, pri­or to the mid-six­ties, the deci­sion to ban Naked Lunch, “even before it was pub­lished in book form,” meant “that ques­tions of obscen­i­ty and cen­sor­ship dic­tat­ed the aca­d­e­m­ic and pub­lic recep­tion” of the book. Bur­roughs  com­ment­ed on the effects of such censorship—using an anal­o­gy to “the junk virus”—in part of a new pref­ace to the 50th edi­tion called “After­thoughts on a Depo­si­tion.” The heath risks of opi­ates “in con­trolled dos­es,” he writes,“maybe be min­i­mal,” yet the effects of crim­i­nal­iza­tion are out­sized “anti-drug hys­te­ria,” which “pos­es a threat to per­son­al free­doms and due-process pro­tec­tions of the law every­where.”

Since the novel’s vin­di­ca­tion, crit­i­cal con­sen­sus has cen­tered around sober, rev­er­ent judg­ments like Mailer’s—and to some less­er extent Ginsberg’s terse, irri­ta­ble tes­ti­mo­ny. While there are still those who despise the book, it’s sig­nif­i­cant that Bur­roughs’ work—which the Wash­ing­ton Post called the first of his “homo­sex­u­al planet-operas”—has achieved such wide­spread admi­ra­tion amidst the noto­ri­ety. The nov­el deals in themes we’re still adju­di­cat­ing dai­ly in courts legal and pub­lic some 55 years lat­er, point­ing per­haps to the con­tin­ued gulf between the thoughts and aims of the read­ing pub­lic and those of hys­ter­i­cal author­i­tar­i­ans and “the media and nar­cotics offi­cials,” as Bur­roughs has it. After all, at its 50th anniver­sary in 2009, Naked Lunch was pro­nounced “still fresh” by such main­stream out­lets as NPR and The Guardian, evi­dence of its per­sis­tent pow­er, and maybe also of its domes­ti­ca­tion.

Clips of Bur­roughs read­ing Naked Lunch can also be found on this Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty site.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William S. Bur­roughs Reads His First Nov­el, Junky

William S. Bur­roughs on the Art of Cut-up Writ­ing

William S. Bur­roughs Explains What Artists & Cre­ative Thinkers Do for Human­i­ty: From Galileo to Cézanne and James Joyce

550 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free

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

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Listen to Tree Rings Getting Played on a Turntable and Turned into Music

There’s some­thing odd­ly sooth­ing about lis­ten­ing to music on vinyl. Regard­less of what dig­i­tal music lovers say, and irre­spec­tive of the fact that the same sound may be pro­duced dig­i­tal­ly, die-hard vinyl fans will tell you that noth­ing com­pares to the warm scratch­i­ness of a nee­dle on a record. I don’t have a horse in the race, but hav­ing grown up with a record play­er in my bed­room, I can’t help but slip into a brief rever­ie when­ev­er I hear an old Satch­mo record spin­ning on a turntable.

In an ele­gant twist on the digital/analog bat­tle, Ger­man-born Bartholomäus Traubeck has cre­at­ed Years, a “record play­er that plays slices of wood,” using a process that trans­lates the data from the tree’s year rings into music. This process is, how­ev­er, com­plete­ly dig­i­tal. Instead of using a nee­dle to pick up the sound from the record’s grooves, Traubeck used a tiny cam­era to cap­ture the image of the wood, and dig­i­tal­ly trans­formed this data into piano tones. More than mere­ly a clever con­trap­tion, how­ev­er, Years is also an intrigu­ing inter­ac­tion between the phys­i­cal and the tem­po­ral. As Traubeck notes,

 “On reg­u­lar vinyl, there is this groove that rep­re­sents how­ev­er long the track is. There’s a phys­i­cal rep­re­sen­ta­tion of the length of the audio track that’s imprint­ed on the record. The year rings are very sim­i­lar because it takes a very long time to actu­al­ly grow this struc­ture because it depends on which record you put on of those I made. It’s usu­al­ly 30 to 60 or 70 years in that amount of space. It was real­ly inter­est­ing for me to have this visu­al rep­re­sen­ta­tion of time and then trans­late it back into a song which it wouldn’t orig­i­nal­ly be.”

A lit­tle con­vo­lut­ed? Don’t wor­ry. Play the video above, and enjoy the eerie melody.

via Live­Science

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman, or read more of his writ­ing at the Huff­in­g­ton Post.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How Vinyl Records Are Made: A Primer from 1956 (That’s Rel­e­vant in 2014)

A Song of Our Warm­ing Plan­et: Cel­list Turns 130 Years of Cli­mate Change Data into Music

Glob­al Warm­ing: A Free Course from UChica­go Explains Cli­mate Change

Har­vard Thinks Green: Big Ideas from 6 All-Star Envi­ron­ment Profs

How Cli­mate Change Is Threat­en­ing Your Dai­ly Cup of Cof­fee

 

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