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Why Should You Read James Joyce’s Ulysses?: A New TED-ED Animation Makes the Case

There may be innu­mer­able moral and philo­soph­i­cal rea­sons why we should read cer­tain books, hear cer­tain sym­phonies, see cer­tain paint­ings…. Those rea­sons are most­ly intan­gi­ble, which makes them nobler, I sup­pose, than the rea­sons we should buy a lux­u­ry car or vaca­tion home. Nev­er­the­less, the sales­man­ship of high cul­ture can some­times feel of a piece, mak­ing sub­tle, or not so sub­tle, appeals to safe­ty, sta­tus, and invest­ment val­ue. What of pure enjoy­ment? The immer­sion in a work of art because it sim­ply feels good? To allow for plea­sure alone to guide our aes­thet­ic tastes, some might feel, would be amoral; would cheap­en cul­ture and ele­vate some sup­pos­ed­ly vul­gar prod­ucts to the sta­tus of high art. Can’t have that.

Of course, how much high art was once con­sid­ered a haz­ard to good taste and pub­lic moral­i­ty? Mod­ernism puffs out its chest with pride for hav­ing fos­tered many cre­ative works that shocked and tit­il­lat­ed their first mass audi­ences. James Joyce’s Ulysses ranks quite high­ly upon that list. The novel’s ini­tial rep­u­ta­tion as high­brow smut seems at odds with Sam Slote’s char­ac­ter­i­za­tion of it in the TED-Ed video above as “both a lit­er­ary mas­ter­piece and one of the hard­est works of lit­er­a­ture to read.” But it can be all those things and more. Inside the dense exper­i­men­tal epic is a charm­ing­ly detailed trav­el­ogue of Dublin, a the­o­log­i­cal trea­tise on heresy, a series of Freudi­an jokes with the kinds of sopho­moric punch­lines “state­ly, plump Buck Mul­li­gan” would appre­ci­ate….

Not for noth­ing has Joyce inspired a cult fol­low­ing, if not some­thing of a down­right cult, whose mem­bers gath­er all over the world on June 16th for “Blooms­day”—the sin­gle day on which the nov­el takes place, and on which Joyce met his life­long part­ner Nora Bar­na­cle in 1904. Dressed in peri­od cos­tume, Joyce fans read the nov­el aloud, and hun­dreds make the pil­grim­age to Dublin to fol­low the per­am­bu­la­tions of pro­tag­o­nists Leopold Bloom and Stephen Dedalus. “What is it,” asks Slote, an Asso­ciate Pro­fes­sor at Trin­i­ty Col­lege Dublin’s School of Eng­lish, “about this famous­ly dif­fi­cult nov­el that inspires so many peo­ple?” Pro­fes­sor Slote is no dilet­tante but an expert who has pub­lished six books on Joyce and an anno­tat­ed edi­tion of Ulysses. He admits “there’s no one sim­ple answer to that ques­tion.”

Nev­er­the­less, the answers Slote does pro­vide in the six-minute ani­mat­ed intro to Ulysses relate not to the novel’s moral, social, psy­cho­log­i­cal, or polit­i­cal virtues, but to those qual­i­ties that give read­ers enjoy­ment. Each chap­ter is writ­ten in a dif­fer­ent style,” a play, a “cheesy romance nov­el,” an imi­ta­tion of music. Ulysses is a mod­ern par­o­dy of Homer’s Odyssey and a vir­tu­oso med­ley of tech­ni­cal per­for­mances, includ­ing a chap­ter which “repro­duces the evo­lu­tion of Eng­lish lit­er­ary prose style, from its begin­nings in Anglo Sax­on right up to the 20th cen­tu­ry.” The final chap­ter, Mol­ly Bloom’s stream-of-con­scious­ness solil­o­quy, is a tour-de-force, cap­ping off the “nar­ra­tive gym­nas­tic rou­tines.” The shift­ing styles are aug­ment­ed by “some of the most imag­i­na­tive uses of lan­guage you’ll find any­where.”

As for the novel’s fre­quent pas­sages of “impen­e­tra­ble” den­si­ty? Well, Slote admits that “it’s up to the read­er to let their eyes skim over them or grab a shov­el and dig in.” In the remain­ing few min­utes, he may have you con­vinced that the plea­sure is worth the effort.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

James Joyce: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to His Life and Lit­er­ary Works

The First Blooms­day: See Dublin’s Literati Cel­e­brate James Joyce’s Ulysses in Drunk­en Fash­ion (1954)

James Joyce Reads From Ulysses and Finnegans Wake In His Only Two Record­ings (1924/1929)

Read Joyce’s Ulysses Line by Line, for the Next 22 Years, with Frank Delaney’s Pod­cast

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

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The Films of Christopher Nolan Explored in a Sweeping 4‑Hour Video Essay: Memento, The Dark Knight, Interstellar & More

Cameron Beyl does not play by the rules when it comes to video essays. Instead of short, under-10 minute explo­rations we’ve come to expect from the ever-increas­ing coterie of YouTube essay­ists, Beyl, in his Direc­tors Series on Vimeo, devotes hours to explor­ing the fil­mo­gra­phies of some of cinema’s great auteurs. We’ve already intro­duced you in pre­vi­ous posts to his extend­ed hagiogra­phies of Stan­ley Kubrick, the Coen Broth­ers, David Finch­er, and Paul Thomas Ander­son.

Now comes his lat­est work, a mul­ti-part explo­ration of Christo­pher Nolan’s oeu­vre, cov­er­ing his hard­scrab­ble years all the way through his Hol­ly­wood block­busters and end­ing with Inter­stel­lar. (This writer, hav­ing thought high­er of Dunkirk than his pre­vi­ous works, will just have to wait a few years until the next chap­ter.)

In the video above, Beyl starts off with some pre­his­to­ry about Christo­pher and his broth­er Jonathan, his ear­ly years mak­ing Super 8 movies, his time spent at Uni­ver­si­ty Col­lege Lon­don, and the very rare first films, “Taran­tel­la” and “Lar­ce­ny,” the sin­gle-gag short “Doo­dle­bug,” and how that crew–including his lead actor Jere­my Theobald and his pro­duc­er-soon-to-be-wife Emma Thomas–stayed with him through his $6000 debut fea­ture Fol­low­ing and its the­mat­ic and styl­is­tic cousin Memen­to, made for $4.5 mil­lion.

Part 2 shows Nolan nav­i­gat­ing the stu­dio sys­tem. Giv­en a chance by exec­u­tive pro­duc­ers George Clooney and Steven Soder­bergh to remake the Nor­we­gian thriller Insom­nia, he indulged in his love of Michael Mann by work­ing with Al Paci­no, who plays a char­ac­ter not unlike his role in 1995’s Heat. Then Nolan takes on a mori­bund com­ic book fran­chise and reboots it into Bat­man Begins, a move that stu­dio execs have since done over and over to rethink var­i­ous prop­er­ties with dif­fer­ent direc­tors. He ends with a less enthu­si­as­tic exam­i­na­tion of 2006’s The Pres­tige.

Part 3 takes on both The Dark Knight and Incep­tion, two huge block­busters and one that took Nolan into the pan­theon of crit­i­cal and pop­u­lar acclaim. If unde­cid­ed on Nolan, Beyl’s obse­quious tone might put one off: “Sim­ply put, the late 2000s saw Nolan oper­at­ing at the height of his pow­ers, locked in sync with the cul­tur­al zeit­geist to such a degree that his efforts were active­ly steer­ing it.” (Please have that debate in the com­ments.) How­ev­er, Beyl makes some nice com­par­isons between The Dark Knight and Heat here.

Part Four shows Nolan con­clud­ing his Bat­man tril­o­gy, fail­ing to top The Dark Knight, but then going all Kubrick with Inter­stel­lar. He’s a direc­tor who has glad­ly played with all the toys mul­ti-mil­lion dol­lar Hol­ly­wood pro­duc­tions have at their dis­pos­al, and he’s nev­er been afraid of being epic. Beyl leaves off, not­ing that after expand­ing into the uni­verse with Inter­stel­lar, Nolan has nowhere to turn but inward. So far that has result­ed in the his­tor­i­cal Dunkirk. But whether Nolan can return to more mod­est work has yet to be seen.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dis­cov­er the Life & Work of Stan­ley Kubrick in a Sweep­ing Three-Hour Video Essay

What Makes a Coen Broth­ers Movie a Coen Broth­ers Movie? Find Out in a 4‑Hour Video Essay of Bar­ton Fink, The Big Lebows­ki, Far­go, No Coun­try for Old Men & More

The Career of Paul Thomas Ander­son: A 5‑Part Video Essay on the Auteur of Boo­gie Nights, Punch-Drunk Love, The Mas­ter, and More

How Did David Finch­er Become the Kubrick of Our Time? A New, 3.5 Hour Series of Video Essays Explains

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

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An Animated Introduction to Michel de Montaigne

Con­sid­ered the first great human­ist essay­ist, Michel de Mon­taigne was also the first to use the word “essay” for the casu­al, often mean­der­ing, fre­quent­ly first-per­son explo­rations that now con­sti­tute the most preva­lent lit­er­ary form of our day. “Any­one who sets out to write an essay,” notes Antho­ny Got­tlieb in The New York Times, “for a school or col­lege class,” a mag­a­zine, news­pa­per, Tum­blr, or oth­er­wise, “owes some­thing” to Mon­taigne, the French “mag­is­trate and landown­er near Bor­deaux who retired tem­porar­i­ly from pub­lic life in 1570 to spend more time with his library and to make a mod­est memen­to of his mind.”

Mon­taigne’s result­ing book, called the Essais—“tri­als” or “attempts”—exemplifies the clas­si­cal and Chris­t­ian pre­oc­cu­pa­tions of the Renais­sance; he dwelt intent­ly on ques­tions of char­ac­ter and virtue, both indi­vid­ual and civic, and he con­stant­ly refers to ancient author­i­ties, the com­pan­ions of his book-lined fortress of soli­tude. “Some­what like a link-infest­ed blog post,” writes Got­tlieb, “Montaigne’s writ­ing is drip­ping with quo­ta­tions.” But he was also a dis­tinct­ly mod­ern writer, who skew­ered the over­con­fi­dence and blind ide­al­ism of ancients and con­tem­po­raries alike, and looked with amuse­ment on faith in rea­son and progress.

For all his con­sid­er­able eru­di­tion, Mon­taigne was “keen to debunk the pre­ten­sions of learn­ing,” says Alain de Bot­ton in his intro­duc­to­ry School of Life video above. An “extreme­ly fun­ny” writer, he shares with coun­try­man François Rabelais a satirist’s delight in the vul­gar and taboo and an hon­est appraisal of humanity’s check­ered rela­tion­ship with the good life. Though we may call Mon­taigne a moral­ist, the descrip­tion should not imply that he was strict­ly ortho­dox in any way—quite the con­trary.

Montaigne’s ethics often defy the dog­ma of both the Romans and the Chris­tians. He stren­u­ous­ly opposed col­o­niza­tion, for exam­ple, and made a sen­si­ble case for can­ni­bal­ism as no more bar­barous a prac­tice than those engaged in by 16th cen­tu­ry Euro­peans.

In a con­trar­i­an essay, “That to Study Phi­los­o­phy is to Learn to Die”—its title a quo­ta­tion from Cicero’s Tus­cu­lan Dis­pu­ta­tions—Mon­taigne threads the nee­dle between memen­to mori high seri­ous­ness and off­hand wit­ti­cism, writ­ing, “Let the philoso­phers say what they will, the main thing at which we all aim, even in virtue itself, is plea­sure. It amus­es me to rat­tle in their ears this word, which they so nau­se­ate to hear.” But in the next sen­tence, he avows that we derive plea­sure “more due to the assis­tance of virtue than to any oth­er assis­tance what­ev­er.”

The great­est ben­e­fit of prac­tic­ing virtue, as Cicero rec­om­mends, is “the con­tempt of death,” which frees us to live ful­ly. Mon­taigne attacks the mod­ern fear and denial of death as a par­a­lyz­ing atti­tude. Instead, “we should always, as near as we can, be boot­ed and spurred, and ready to go,” he breezi­ly sug­gests. “The dead­est deaths are the best.… I want death to find me plant­i­ng cab­bages.” The irrev­er­ence he brought to the gravest of subjects—making, for exam­ple, a list of sud­den and ridicu­lous deaths of famous people—serves not only to enter­tain but to edi­fy, as de Bot­ton argues above in an episode of his series “Phi­los­o­phy: A Guide to Hap­pi­ness.”

Mon­taigne “seemed to under­stand what makes us feel bad about our­selves, and in his book tries to make us feel bet­ter.” He endeav­ors to show, as he wrote in his first essay, “that men by var­i­ous means arrive at the same end.” Like lat­er first-per­son philo­soph­i­cal essay­ists Kierkegaard and Niet­zsche, Mon­taigne address­es our feel­ings of inad­e­qua­cy by remind­ing his read­ers how thor­ough­ly we are gov­erned by the same irra­tional pas­sions, and sub­ject to the same fears, con­ceits, and ail­ments. There is much wis­dom and com­fort to be found in Montaigne’s essays. Yet he is beloved not only for what he says, but for how he says it—with a style that makes him seem like an elo­quent, bril­liant, prac­ti­cal, and self-dep­re­cat­ing­ly sym­pa­thet­ic friend.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Goethe, Germany’s “Renais­sance Man”

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

6 Polit­i­cal The­o­rists Intro­duced in Ani­mat­ed “School of Life” Videos: Marx, Smith, Rawls & More

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

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Why Should We Read Virginia Woolf? A TED-Ed Animation Makes the Case

Vir­ginia Woolf dis­suad­ed read­ers from play­ing the crit­ic in her essay “How Should One Read a Book?” But in addi­tion to her nov­els, she is best known for her lit­er­ary crit­i­cism and became a foun­da­tion­al fig­ure in fem­i­nist lit­er­ary the­o­ry for her imag­i­na­tive polemic “A Room of One’s Own,” an essay that takes tra­di­tion­al crit­i­cism to task for its pre­sump­tions of male lit­er­ary supe­ri­or­i­ty.

Women writ­ers like her­self, she argues, had always been a priv­i­leged few with the means and the free­dom to pur­sue writ­ing in ways most women couldn’t. These con­di­tions were so rare for women through­out lit­er­ary his­to­ry that innu­mer­able artists may have gone unno­ticed and unher­ald­ed for their lack of oppor­tu­ni­ty. Her obser­va­tion would have put her read­ers in mind of Thomas Gray’s revered “Ele­gy Writ­ten in a Coun­try Church­yard,” with its famous line about a pau­per’s grave: “Some mute inglo­ri­ous Mil­ton here may rest.”

Woolf alludes to the poem, writ­ing of “some mute and inglo­ri­ous Jane Austen,” and makes a case that would-have-been women writ­ers were excep­tion­al­ly mar­gin­al­ized by gender—by its inter­sec­tions with pow­er and priv­i­lege and their lack. She famous­ly con­struct­ed a scenario—brought into pop cul­ture by The Smiths and Bana­nara­ma singer Siob­han Fahey—involv­ing Shakespeare’s fic­tion­al sis­ter Judith, whose tal­ent and ambi­tion are squashed for the sake of her brother’s edu­ca­tion. It is hard­ly a far-fetched idea. We might remem­ber Mozart’s sis­ter Nan­nerl, who was also a child prodi­gy, whose career end­ed with her child­hood, and who dis­ap­peared in her brother’s shad­ow.

In the TED-Ed video at the top, Woolf schol­ar and doc­tor­al can­di­date at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Wis­con­sin Iseult Gille­spie describes the import of Woolf’s thought exper­i­ment. Shakespeare’s sis­ter stands in for every woman who is pushed into domes­tic labor and mar­riage while the men in her fam­i­ly pur­sue their goals unhin­dered. “Woolf demon­strates the tragedy of genius restrict­ed,” just as Langston Hugh­es would do a cou­ple decades lat­er. Her par­tic­u­lar genius, says Gille­spie, lies in her abil­i­ty to por­tray “the inter­nal expe­ri­ence of alien­ation…. Her char­ac­ters fre­quent­ly live inner lives that are deeply at odds with their exter­nal exis­tence.”

The video out­lines Woolf’s own biog­ra­phy: her inclu­sion in the “Blooms­bury Group”—a social cir­cle includ­ing E.M. Forster and Vir­gini­a’s soon-to-be hus­band Leonard Woolf. And it sketch­es out the inno­v­a­tive  lit­er­ary tech­niques of her nov­els. Woolf thought of her­self, as Alain de Bot­ton says in his short intro­duc­tion above, as a “dis­tinc­tive­ly mod­ernist writer at odds with a raft of the staid and com­pla­cent assump­tions of 19th cen­tu­ry Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture.” One such assump­tion, as she writes in “A Room of One’s Own,” includes an opin­ion that “the best woman was intel­lec­tu­al­ly the infe­ri­or of the worst man.”

Woolf’s own mod­ernist break­throughs rival those of her con­tem­po­raries James Joyce and Ezra Pound. Her favorite women writ­ers rank as high­ly as men in the same canon in any seri­ous study; but this is of course beside the point. It wasn’t the truth or false­hood of claims about women’s infe­ri­or­i­ty that deter­mined their pow­er, but rather the social pow­er of those who made such claims.

Dom­i­neer­ing fathers, spot­light-steal­ing broth­ers, mor­al­iz­ing cler­gy­men, the gate­keep­ing intel­lec­tu­als of “Oxbridge”—Woolf’s port­man­teau for the snob­bery and chau­vin­ism of Oxford and Cam­bridge dons: it was such men who deter­mined not only whether or not a woman might pur­sue her writ­ing, but whether she lived or died in penury, mute and inglo­ri­ous. Woolf knew much of what she wrote, hav­ing grown up sur­round­ed by the cream of 19th-cen­tu­ry lit­er­ary soci­ety, and hav­ing had to “steal an edu­ca­tion from her father’s study,” as de Bot­ton notes, while her broth­ers went off to Cam­bridge. She was nonethe­less well aware of her priv­i­lege and used it not only to cre­ate new forms of writ­ing, but to open new lit­er­ary spaces for women writ­ers to come.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Vir­ginia Woolf

The Steamy Love Let­ters of Vir­ginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West (1925–1929)

Watch Pat­ti Smith Read from Vir­ginia Woolf, and Hear the Only Sur­viv­ing Record­ing of Woolf’s Voice

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

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Hear 1,500+ Genres of Music, All Mapped Out on an Insanely Thorough Interactive Graph

If you are ready for a time-suck inter­net expe­ri­ence that will also make you feel slight­ly old and out of step with the cul­ture, feel free to dive into Every Noise at Once. A scat­ter-plot of over 1,530 musi­cal gen­res sourced from Spotify’s lists and based on 35 mil­lion songs,  Every Noise at Once is a bold attempt at musi­cal tax­on­o­my. The Every Noise at Once web­site was cre­at­ed by Glenn McDon­ald, and is an off­shoot of his work at Echo Nest (acquired by Spo­ti­fy in 2014).

McDon­ald explains his graph thus:

This is an ongo­ing attempt at an algo­rith­mi­cal­ly-gen­er­at­ed, read­abil­i­ty-adjust­ed scat­ter-plot of the musi­cal genre-space, based on data tracked and ana­lyzed for 1,536 gen­res by Spo­ti­fy. The cal­i­bra­tion is fuzzy, but in gen­er­al down is more organ­ic, up is more mechan­i­cal and elec­tric; left is denser and more atmos­pher­ic, right is spiki­er and bounci­er.

It’s also egal­i­tar­i­an, with world dom­i­nat­ing “rock-and-roll” giv­en the same space and size as its neigh­bors choro (instru­men­tal Brazil­ian pop­u­lar music), cow­boy-west­ern (Con­way Twit­ty, Mer­le Hag­gard, et. al.), and Indi­an folk (Asha Bhosle, for exam­ple). It also makes for some strange bed­fel­lows: what fac­tor does musique con­crete share with “Chris­t­ian relax­i­tive” oth­er than “rea­sons my col­lege room­mate and I nev­er got along.” Now you can find out!

Click on any of the gen­res and you’ll hear a sam­ple of that music. Dou­ble click and you’ll be tak­en to a sim­i­lar scat­ter-plot graph of its most pop­u­lar artists, this time with font size denot­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty and a sim­i­lar sam­ple of their music.

I’ve been spend­ing most of my time explor­ing up in the top right cor­ner where all sorts of elec­tron­ic dance sub­gen­res hang out. I’m not too sure what dif­fer­en­ti­ates “deep tech house” from “deep deep house” or “deep min­i­mal tech­no” or “tech house” or even “deep melod­ic euro house” but I now know where to come for a refresh­er course.

Spo­ti­fy and oth­er ser­vices depend on algo­rithms and tax­onomies like this to deliv­er con­sis­tent lis­ten­ing expe­ri­ences to its users, and they were attract­ed to Echo Nest for its work with gen­res. Echo Nest was orig­i­nal­ly based on the dis­ser­ta­tion work of Tris­tan Jehan and Bri­an Whit­man at the MIT Media Lab, who over a decade ago were try­ing to under­stand the “fin­ger­prints” of record­ed music. Now when you lis­ten to Spotify’s per­son­al­ized playlists, Echo Nest’s research is the engine work­ing in the back­ground.

McDon­ald says in this 2014 Dai­ly Dot arti­cle this isn’t about a machine guess­ing our taste.

“No, the machines don’t know us bet­ter than we do. But they can very eas­i­ly know more than we do. My job is not to tell you what to lis­ten to, or to pass judg­ment on things or ‘make taste.’ It’s to help you explore and dis­cov­er. Your taste is your busi­ness. Under­stand­ing your taste and sit­u­at­ing it in some intel­li­gi­ble con­text is my busi­ness.”

If you’d like a more pas­sive jour­ney through the ever expand­ing music genre uni­verse, there’s a Spo­ti­fy playlist of one song from each genre (all 1,500+) above. See you in the deep, deep house!

via Kottke.org

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of Hip Hop Music Visu­al­ized on a Turntable Cir­cuit Dia­gram: Fea­tures 700 Artists, from DJ Kool Herc to Kanye West

Crime Jazz: How Miles Davis, Count Basie & Duke Elling­ton Cre­at­ed Sound­tracks for Noir Films & TV

Pio­neer­ing Elec­tron­ic Com­pos­er Karl­heinz Stock­hausen Presents “Four Cri­te­ria of Elec­tron­ic Music” & Oth­er Lec­tures in Eng­lish (1972)

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

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Trigonometry Discovered on a 3700-Year-Old Ancient Babylonian Tablet

One pre­sump­tion of tele­vi­sion shows like Ancient Aliens and books like Char­i­ots of the Gods is that ancient people—particularly non-west­ern people—couldn’t pos­si­bly have con­struct­ed the elab­o­rate infra­struc­ture and mon­u­men­tal archi­tec­ture and stat­u­ary they did with­out the help of extra-ter­res­tri­als. The idea is intrigu­ing, giv­ing us the huge­ly ambi­tious sci-fi fan­tasies woven into Rid­ley Scott’s revived Alien fran­chise. It is also insult­ing in its lev­el of dis­be­lief about the capa­bil­i­ties of ancient Egyp­tians, Mesopotami­ans, South Amer­i­cans, South Sea Islanders, etc.

We assume the Greeks per­fect­ed geom­e­try, for exam­ple, and refer to the Pythagore­an the­o­rem, although this prin­ci­ple was prob­a­bly well-known to ancient Indi­ans. Since at least the 1940s, math­e­mati­cians have also known that the “Pythagore­an triples”—inte­ger solu­tions to the theorem—appeared 1000 years before Pythago­ras on a Baby­lon­ian tablet called Plimp­ton 322. Dat­ing back to some­time between 1822 and 1762 B.C. and dis­cov­ered in south­ern Iraq in the ear­ly 1900s, the tablet has recent­ly been re-exam­ined by math­e­mati­cians Daniel Mans­field and Nor­man Wild­berg­er of Australia’s Uni­ver­si­ty of New South Wales and found to con­tain even more ancient math­e­mat­i­cal wis­dom, “a trigono­met­ric table, which is 3,000 years ahead of its time.”

In a paper pub­lished in His­to­ria Math­e­mat­i­ca the two con­clude that Plimp­ton 322’s Baby­lon­ian cre­ators detailed a “nov­el kind of trigonom­e­try,” 1000 years before Pythago­ras and Greek astronomer Hip­parchus, who has typ­i­cal­ly received cred­it for trigonometry’s dis­cov­ery. In the video above, Mans­field intro­duces the unique prop­er­ties of this “sci­en­tif­ic mar­vel of the ancient world,” an enig­ma that has “puz­zled math­e­mati­cians,” he writes in his arti­cle, “for more than 70 years.” Mans­field is con­fi­dent that his research will fun­da­men­tal­ly change the way we under­stand sci­en­tif­ic his­to­ry. He may be over­ly opti­mistic about the cul­tur­al forces that shape his­tor­i­cal nar­ra­tives, and he is not with­out his schol­ar­ly crit­ics either.

Eleanor Rob­son, an expert on Mesopotamia at Uni­ver­si­ty Col­lege Lon­don has not pub­lished a for­mal cri­tique, but she did take to Twit­ter to reg­is­ter her dis­sent, writ­ing, “for any his­tor­i­cal doc­u­ment, you need to be able to read the lan­guage & know the his­tor­i­cal con­text to make sense of it. Maths is no excep­tion.” The trigonom­e­try hypoth­e­sis, she writes in a fol­low-up tweet, is “tedious­ly wrong.” Mans­field and Wild­berg­er may not be experts in ancient Mesopotami­an lan­guage and cul­ture, it’s true, but Rob­son is also not a math­e­mati­cian. “The strongest argu­ment” in the Aus­tralian researchers’ favor, writes Ken­neth Chang at The New York Times, is that “the table works for trigo­nom­ic cal­cu­la­tions.” As Mans­field says, “you don’t make a trigo­nom­ic table by acci­dent.”

Plimp­ton 322 uses ratios rather than angles and cir­cles. “But when you arrange it such a way so that you can use any known ratio of a tri­an­gle to find the oth­er side of a tri­an­gle,” says Mans­field, “then it becomes trigonom­e­try. That’s what we can use this frag­ment for.” As for what the ancient Baby­lo­ni­ans used it for, we can only spec­u­late. Rob­son and oth­ers have pro­posed that the tablet was a teach­ing guide. Mans­field believes “Plimp­ton 322 was a pow­er­ful tool that could have been used for sur­vey­ing fields or mak­ing archi­tec­tur­al cal­cu­la­tions to build palaces, tem­ples or step pyra­mids.”

What­ev­er its ancient use, Mans­field thinks the tablet “has great rel­e­vance for our mod­ern world… prac­ti­cal appli­ca­tions in sur­vey­ing, com­put­er graph­ics and edu­ca­tion.” Giv­en the pos­si­bil­i­ties, Plimp­ton 322 might serve as “a rare exam­ple of the ancient world teach­ing us some­thing new,” should we choose to learn it. That knowl­edge prob­a­bly did not orig­i­nate in out­er space.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Ancient Greeks Shaped Mod­ern Math­e­mat­ics: A Short, Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion

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

Hear The Epic of Gil­gamesh Read in the Orig­i­nal Akka­di­an and Enjoy the Sounds of Mesopotamia

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

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A Free Trial Offer for The Great Courses Plus: A Special Deal for Open Culture Readers

We’ve told you about the Great Cours­es Plus (now called Won­dri­um)  before–a new video sub­scrip­tion ser­vice that lets you watch free cours­es (about 8,000 lec­tures in total) across a wide range of sub­jects, all taught by some of the best lec­tur­ers in the coun­try. The top­ics cov­er every­thing from His­to­ry, Phi­los­o­phy, Lit­er­a­ture, and Eco­nom­ics, to Math, Sci­ence, Pro­fes­sion­al Devel­op­ment, Cook­ing, and Pho­tog­ra­phy. And you can binge-watch entire col­lege cours­es in a mat­ter of days by watch­ing videos on your TV, tablet, lap­top and smart phone, with the help of apps designed for Apple, Google Play, Kin­dle Fire, and Roku.

Inter­est­ed in try­ing out this ser­vice? Right now, the Great Cours­es Plus/Wondrium is offer­ing a spe­cial deal for Open Cul­ture read­ers. If you click here, and sign up for a free tri­al, you can use this ser­vice for 30 days … for free. And then, if you would like, you can con­tin­ue to sub­scribe and pay their nor­mal prices. If you have time on your hands, this is a great way to keep your mind engaged and stream what PC Mag­a­zine has called “an excel­lent library of col­lege-lev­el lec­tures.”

Note: The Great Cours­es is a part­ner with Open Cul­ture. So if you sign up for a free tri­al, it ben­e­fits not just you and Great Cours­es Plus. It ben­e­fits Open Cul­ture too. So con­sid­er it win-win-win.

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Figures from Hieronymus Bosch’s “The Garden of Earthly Delights” Come to Life as Fine Art Piñatas

Piñatas are a night­mare.

Oh sure, they look fes­tive, but seri­ous­ly, think twice before arm­ing a blind­fold­ed child (or a beer guz­zling adult guest) with a stur­dy stick and encour­ag­ing him to swing wild­ly.

There’s no need to wor­ry, how­ev­er, about any­one tak­ing a bat to the intri­cate Hierony­mus Bosch-inspired piñatas of Rober­to Benavidez, a self-described half-breed, South Tex­an, queer fig­u­ra­tive sculp­tor.

Even if you filled them with can­dy, the exte­ri­ors would be far more valu­able than any trea­sures con­tained with­in.

Bosch, of course, excelled at sce­nar­ios far more night­mar­ish than any­thing one might encounter in a back­yard par­ty. Benavidez seems less drawn to that aspect than the beau­ty of the fan­tas­ti­cal crea­tures pop­u­lat­ing The Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights.

In fact, the major­i­ty of his papi­er-mâché homages are drawn from the par­a­disi­a­cal left pan­el of the famous trip­tych.

Not so the first in the series, 2013’s superbly titled Piña­ta of Earth­ly Delights #1, above

In the orig­i­nal, a mis­shapen water­bird uses its long beak to spear a cher­ry with which it tempts a pas­sel of weak-willed mor­tals, crowd­ed togeth­er inside a spiky pink blos­som.

In Benavidez’s ver­sion the lack of naked humans allows us to focus on the crea­ture, whose beak now pierces a sim­ple star-shaped piña­ta of its own.

Those with a fas­ci­na­tion for the antics of Bosch’s par­ty peo­ple are invit­ed to play a vari­a­tion of Where’s Wal­do, scour­ing the paint­ing for the inspi­ra­tion behind Can­dy Ass Bot­tom, above.

(Hint: if you’re grav­i­tat­ing toward those pos­te­ri­ors serv­ing as ves­sels for flutes, flocks of black­birds, or red hot pok­ers, you’re get­ting cold­er…)

While lit­tle is known about Bosch’s artis­tic train­ing, Benavidez majored in act­ing, before return­ing to his child­hood fas­ci­na­tion for sculpt­ing, tak­ing class­es in draw­ing, paint­ing, and bronze cast­ing at Pasade­na City Col­lege. Thrift and porta­bil­i­ty led him to begin explor­ing paper as his pri­ma­ry medi­um.

As he remarked on the blog of the crepe paper man­u­fac­tur­er Car­totec­ni­ca Rossi:

I was intrigued by the idea of tak­ing the piña­ta form, some­thing seen as cheap and dis­pos­able, and mov­ing it into the are­na of fine art.  I feel that my sculp­tur­al forms and fring­ing tech­niques set my work apart from what most peo­ple think of as a typ­i­cal piña­ta and the themes are more com­plex than is typ­i­cal.

Def­i­nite­ly.

View more of Rober­to Benavidez’ fine art piñatas, includ­ing those inspired by Hierony­mus Bosch on his web­site or Insta­gram feed.

via This Is Colos­sal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Hierony­mus Bosch’s Bewil­der­ing Mas­ter­piece The Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights

Hierony­mus Bosch Fig­urines: Col­lect Sur­re­al Char­ac­ters from Bosch’s Paint­ings & Put Them on Your Book­shelf

Take a Mul­ti­me­dia Tour of the But­tock Song in Hierony­mus Bosch’s Paint­ing The Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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Neil deGrasse Tyson Demonstrates the Physics-Defying Rattleback

The rat­tle­back–it’s been intrigu­ing us since pre­his­toric times. Seem­ing to defy the laws of physics, it spins in one direc­tion, “rat­tles” to a stop, and then changes direc­tion, as Neil deGrasse Tyson demon­strates above. How does the rat­tle­back work? To get into that, watch this tech­ni­cal video from William Case, a pro­fes­sor at Grin­nell Col­lege. Or review the resources on this web page. In either case, you will need to wear your think­ing cap.

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:

Free Online Physics Cours­es

The Feyn­man Lec­tures on Physics, The Most Pop­u­lar Physics Book Ever Writ­ten, Now Com­plete­ly Online

The Pio­neer­ing Physics TV Show, The Mechan­i­cal Uni­verse, Is Now on YouTube: 52 Com­plete Episodes from Cal­tech

Free Physics Text­books

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How a Liberal Arts Education Helped Derek Black, the Godson of David Duke, Break with the White Nationalist Movement

Image of Ron Paul, Don Black, Derek Black (right), via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

A native of West Palm Beach, Flori­da, Derek Black grew up in one of the most promi­nent white nation­al­ist fam­i­lies in the Unit­ed States. He’s the son of Don Black, a for­mer grand wiz­ard of the Ku Klux Klan. And he’s the god­son of David Duke, “the most rec­og­niz­able fig­ure of the Amer­i­can rad­i­cal right, a neo-Nazi, long­time Klan leader and now inter­na­tion­al spokesman for Holo­caust denial” (per the South­ern Pover­ty Law Cen­ter). In short, Derek Black had every rea­son to grow up a racist, and remain a racist from cra­dle to grave. But things did­n’t turn out that way.

Below, you can hear Black explain how, as a young adult, he broke with white nation­al­ism, leav­ing behind his fam­i­ly, friends and com­mu­ni­ty. What laid the ground­work for that break? Going to a small lib­er­al arts col­lege, encoun­ter­ing new ideas, and meet­ing dif­fer­ent peo­ple. In this record­ed inter­view, he tells Michael Bar­baro of The New York Times:

In 2010, I moved across the state and start­ed col­lege at this lit­tle lib­er­al arts col­lege in Flori­da, which was about three and a half hours from home and it was the first time that I had lived away from home. Nobody knew who I was and I did not vol­un­teer who I was or any­thing about my back­ground, I made friends, hung out with peo­ple and played my gui­tar on my bal­cony in my dorm. It was nice to come back from class and be able to talk about his­to­ry or phi­los­o­phy or what­ev­er oth­er sub­ject and be around oth­er peo­ple.…

I had a friend on cam­pus who I had got­ten to know dur­ing my first semes­ter when nobody knew who I was, he was an obser­vant Jew who had Shab­bat din­ners pret­ty reg­u­lar­ly when­ev­er he was in town on Fri­day night and he would invite peo­ple of athe­ists and all sorts of dif­fer­ent reli­gions. It was just a nice din­ner. And so he actu­al­ly invit­ed me to one of the Shab­bats, and I knew him, and so I brought wine…

He had read my posts on Storm­front [a white nation­al­ist web­site cre­at­ed by Don Black] going back years — even the stuff when I was a teenag­er — and he doubt­ed that he was going to con­vince me of any­thing, he just want­ed to let me see a Jew­ish com­mu­ni­ty thing so that if I was going to keep say­ing these anti-Semit­ic things that at least I had seen real Jews.

It was ulti­mate­ly in pri­vate con­ver­sa­tions with a per­son I met at the Shab­bat din­ners … we would talk about things. Not only white nation­al­ism, but even­tu­al­ly white nation­al­ism. And I would say, “This is what I believe about I.Q. dif­fer­ences, I have 12 dif­fer­ent stud­ies that have been pub­lished over the years, here’s the jour­nal that’s put this stuff togeth­er, I believe that this is true, that race pre­dicts I.Q. and that there were I.Q. dif­fer­ences in races.” And they would come back with 150 more recent, more well researched stud­ies and explain to me how sta­tis­tics works and we would go back and forth until I would come to the end of that argu­ment and I’d say, Yes that makes sense, that does not hold togeth­er and I’ll remove that from my ide­o­log­i­cal tool­box but every­thing else is still there. And we did that over a year or two on one thing after anoth­er until I got to a point where I didn’t believe it any­more.

As you stream the inter­view below, spend some time think­ing about the trans­for­ma­tive pow­er of a lib­er­al arts edu­ca­tion. Yes, more than an expe­di­ent busi­ness degree, it can change hearts and save lives.

Also pay atten­tion to Black­’s final thoughts on what Trump’s response to the Char­lottesville dra­ma did for the White nation­al­ist move­ment: “I think Tues­day was the most impor­tant moment in the his­to­ry of the mod­ern white nation­al­ist move­ment.” Trump “said there were good peo­ple in the white nation­al­ist ral­ly and he sal­vaged their mes­sage.”

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

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