Famous Philosophers Imagined as Action Figures: Plunderous Plato, Dangerous Descartes & More

toyaristotle

Amer­i­cans do not live in a cul­ture that val­ues phi­los­o­phy. I could go on about the deep veins of anti-intel­lec­tu­al­ism that run under the coun­try like fault lines or nat­ur­al gas deposits, but I won’t. Let’s just say that we favor more obvi­ous dis­plays of prowess: feats of strength, agili­ty, and phys­i­cal vio­lence, for exam­ple, of the super­hero vari­ety. With this fact in mind, first-year grad­u­ate stu­dent Ian Van­de­walk­er decid­ed he “want­ed to do some­thing that would bring a dis­ci­pline that is often seen as dif­fi­cult, eso­teric, and even irrel­e­vant, into new light—especially in the eyes of young peo­ple.” Remem­ber­ing a poster he once saw of “an action fig­ure of Adam Smith with Invis­i­ble Hand action,” Van­de­walk­er decid­ed he would com­bine his own love of toys and phi­los­o­phy into a philoso­pher action fig­ure series he called “Philo­soph­i­cal Pow­ers!” Here are just a few of Vandewalker’s cre­ations, designed some­what like pro­fes­sion­al wrestlers, with their var­i­ous leagues and range of epi­thets.

He begins at the tra­di­tion­al begin­ning, with fig­ures of “Plun­der­ous Pla­to” and “Arro­gant Aris­to­tle” (above), “The Angry Ancients.” Aris­to­tle, known as the “peri­patet­ic” philoso­pher, has only one pow­er: “walk­ing.” His qual­i­ty is attest­ed by a rather cir­cu­lar syl­lo­gism: “All Philo­soph­i­cal Pow­ers fig­ures are total­ly awe­some. This toy is a Philo­soph­i­cal Pow­ers fig­ure. There­fore, this toy is total­ly awe­some.” Like much of Aristotle’s deduc­tive rea­son­ing, the argu­ment is air­tight, pro­vid­ed one accept the truth of its premis­es.

toydescartes

In the cat­e­go­ry of “Con­tu­me­lious Con­ti­nen­tal Ratio­nal­ists,” who began the revolt against those Aris­totelian “Mer­ci­less Medievals,” we have “Dan­ger­ous Descartes.” René Decartes may have claimed to doubt everything—every prin­ci­ple that Aris­to­tle took for granted—but he fell prey to his own errors, hence his action figure’s weak­ness, the “Carte­sian cir­cle.” Decartes’ method of doubt pro­duced its own brand of dual­is­tic cer­tain­ty about his own exis­tence as a “think­ing thing,” and the exis­tence of God, hence “cer­tain­ty” is one of his action figure’s strengths.

toyhegel

Skip­ping ahead over a cen­tu­ry, we have the lone fig­ure in “The Abom­inable Absolute Ide­al­ist” series, “Hate­ful Hegel.” Hegel is the ulti­mate sys­tem­atiz­er whose embrace of con­tra­dic­tion can seem mad­den­ing­ly inco­her­ent, unless we believe his meta­physic of “Absolute Spir­it.” Giv­en his dialec­tic of every­thing, Hegel’s pow­er is that “he is infi­nite.” His weak­ness? “He is finite,” of course. Giv­en Hegel’s tele­o­log­i­cal the­o­ry of his­to­ry, peo­ple who pur­chase his action fig­ure “can expect them to become more and more valu­able as time pass­es.”

toywittgenstein

The most amus­ing of “The Antag­o­nis­tic Ana­lyt­ic Philoso­phers” is Lud­wig Wittgen­stein, who was him­self an amus­ing­ly eccen­tric indi­vid­ual. Known for his ter­ri­ble tem­per, which would often dri­ve him to ver­bal­ly abuse and strike those poor stu­dents who couldn’t grasp his abstruse con­cepts, “Vin­dic­tive Wittgen­stein” has the pow­er of “pok­er wield­ing abil­i­ty.” His weak­ness, nat­u­ral­ly, is his “teach­ing abil­i­ty.” I par­tic­u­lar­ly like the “notes” sec­tion of the fig­ure’s descrip­tion:

Wittgen­stein fig­ures come in two vari­a­tions: the ear­ly mod­el’s record­ed mes­sages include non­sense about lan­guage being a “pic­ture” of the world, while the lat­er mod­el’s mes­sages include non­sense about games and their “fam­i­ly resem­blances” to one anoth­er. It’s fun to com­mu­ni­cate! (Doll does not actu­al­ly com­mu­ni­cate. Chil­dren who claim that Wittgen­stein fig­ures talk to them with their own “pri­vate lan­guage” are mis­tak­en or lying and should be severe­ly beat­en by their teach­ers.)

You can see the whole set at the Philo­soph­i­cal Pow­ers site. It is prob­lem­at­ic that we only get dead white men rep­re­sent­ed, but this is not sole­ly the fault of Van­de­walk­er but also a prob­lem of his­to­ry and the tra­di­tion­al aca­d­e­m­ic his­to­ry of ideas. One would hope that the con­cept is clever enough that it might make phi­los­o­phy appeal­ing to peo­ple who find it dull or unap­proach­able. That may be too lofty a goal, but these fig­ures are sure to amuse the already philo­soph­i­cal­ly-inclined, and per­haps spur them on to learn more.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

10th Graders Draw Pic­tures Imag­in­ing Philoso­phers at Work

The Dai­ly Habits of High­ly Pro­duc­tive Philoso­phers: Niet­zsche, Marx & Immanuel Kant

What Do Most Philoso­phers Believe? A Wide-Rang­ing Sur­vey Project Gives Us Some Idea

Philoso­pher Por­traits: Famous Philoso­phers Paint­ed in the Style of Influ­en­tial Artists

Down­load 90 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es and Start Liv­ing the Exam­ined Life

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

Watch Guns N’ Roses’ “Sweet Child O’ Mine” Performed on a Guzheng, an Ancient Chinese Instrument

The guzheng was born in Chi­na over 2500 years ago. Orig­i­nal­ly made out of bam­boo and silk strings, the instru­ment became very pop­u­lar in the impe­r­i­al court dur­ing the Qin peri­od (221 to 206 BCE), and by the Tang Dynasty (618 CE to 907 CE), it was per­haps the most pop­u­lar instru­ment in Chi­na. Accord­ing to the San Fran­cis­co Guzheng Music Soci­ety, it remained pop­u­lar through the late Qing dynasty (1644 A.D. — 1911 A.D.) and into the 20th cen­tu­ry, when, in 1948, “the renowned musi­cian Cao Zheng estab­lished the first uni­ver­si­ty lev­el guzheng pro­gram” in the coun­try, and the “old silk strings were replaced with nylon strings, which are still being used today.”

That’s not the only thing that’s hap­pen­ing today. Young musi­cians like Michelle Kwan are tak­ing West­erns hit and per­form­ing them adept­ly on the Guzheng. Above, we have a pret­ty remark­able per­for­mance of Guns N’ Ros­es’ 1987 hit “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” It just gets bet­ter as it goes along. In the past, we’ve also fea­tured the Talk­ing Heads’ “This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)” Per­formed on Tra­di­tion­al Chi­nese Instru­ments, includ­ing the Guzheng. Plus we’ve shown you Jimi Hen­drix’s “Voodoo Chile” and Ste­vie Ray Vaughan’s Ver­sion of “Lit­tle Wing”, both played on the Gayageum, a Kore­an instru­ment direct­ly relat­ed to the Guzheng. They’re all worth watch­ing.

via Devour

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Comedian Ricky Gervais Tells a Serious Story About How He Learned to Write Creatively

Ricky Ger­vais, the cre­ator of The Office, rarely gets out of his com­ic per­sona. It’s usu­al­ly  laughs, schtick, and more laughs. But when Fast Com­pa­ny pinned him down and asked him about “the sin­gle biggest influ­ence on his cre­ative process,” he turned seri­ous (after a few more laughs) and talked about a for­ma­tive moment with a child­hood Eng­lish teacher. The teacher taught him this: you’re bet­ter off writ­ing … Nev­er mind, I’ll let Ricky tell the tale. It’s his sto­ry after all.

via Mash­able

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ricky Ger­vais Presents “Learn Gui­tar with David Brent”

“Learn Eng­lish With Ricky Ger­vais,” A New Pod­cast Debuts (NSFW)

Sein­feld, Louis C.K., Chris Rock, and Ricky Ger­vais Dis­sect the Craft of Com­e­dy (NSFW)

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Albert Camus Writes a Friendly Letter to Jean-Paul Sartre Before Their Personal and Philosophical Rift

Camus letter to Sartre

As maître of the mid-cen­tu­ry French philo­soph­i­cal scene, Jean-Paul Sartre wield­ed some con­sid­er­able influ­ence in his home coun­try and abroad. His celebri­ty did not pre­vent him from work­ing under the edi­tor­ship of his friend and fel­low nov­el­ist, Albert Camus, how­ev­er. Camus, the younger of the two and the more rest­less and unset­tled, edit­ed the French resis­tance news­pa­per Com­bat; Sartre wrote for the paper, and even served as its post­war cor­re­spon­dent in New York (where he met Her­bert Hoover) in 1945. Accord­ing to Simone de Beau­voir, the two became acquaint­ed two years ear­li­er at a pro­duc­tion of Sartre’s The Flies. They were already mutu­al admir­ers from afar, Camus hav­ing reviewed Sartre’s work and Sartre hav­ing writ­ten glow­ing­ly of Camus’ The Stranger. Ronald Aron­son, a schol­ar and biog­ra­ph­er of the philoso­phers’ rela­tion­ship, describes their first meet­ing below, quot­ing from de Beauvoir’s mem­oir The Prime of Life:

“[A] dark-skinned young man came up and intro­duced him­self: it was Albert Camus.” His nov­el The Stranger, pub­lished a year ear­li­er, was a lit­er­ary sen­sa­tion, and his philo­soph­i­cal essay The Myth of Sisy­phus had appeared six months pre­vi­ous­ly. [Camus] want­ed to meet the increas­ing­ly well-known nov­el­ist and philosopher—and now playwright—whose fic­tion he had reviewed years ear­li­er and who had just pub­lished a long arti­cle on Camus’s own books. It was a brief encounter. “I’m Camus,” he said. Sartre imme­di­ate­ly “found him a most like­able per­son­al­i­ty.”

As the recent­ly dis­cov­ered let­ter above shows—from Camus to Sartre—the two were inti­mate friends as well as col­lab­o­ra­tors. Thought to have been writ­ten some­time between 1943 and 1948, the let­ter is famil­iar and can­did. Camus opens with “My dear Sartre, I hope you and Cas­tor [“the beaver,” Sartre’s nick­name for de Beau­voir] are work­ing a lot… let me know when you return and we will have a relaxed evening.” Aron­son com­ments that the let­ter “shows that despite what some writ­ers have said, Sartre and Camus had a close friend­ship.”

Aronson’s com­ment is under­stat­ed. The queru­lous falling out of Sartre and Camus has acquired almost leg­endary sta­tus, with the two some­times stand­ing in for two diver­gent paths of French post-war phi­los­o­phy. Where Sartre grav­i­tat­ed toward ortho­dox Marx­ism, and aligned his views with Stalin’s even in the face of the Sovi­et camps, Camus repu­di­at­ed rev­o­lu­tion­ary vio­lence and val­orized the trag­ic strug­gle of the indi­vid­ual in 1951’s The Rebel, the work that alleged­ly incit­ed their philo­soph­i­cal split. Andy Mar­tin at the New York Times’ “The Stone” blog writes a con­cise sum­ma­ry of their intel­lec­tu­al and tem­pera­men­tal dif­fer­ences:

While Sartre after the war was more than ever a self-pro­fessed “writ­ing machine,” Camus was increas­ing­ly grapho­pho­bic, haunt­ed by a “dis­gust for all forms of pub­lic expres­sion.” Sartre’s phi­los­o­phy becomes soci­o­log­i­cal and struc­tural­ist in its bina­ry empha­sis. Camus, all alone, in the night, between con­ti­nents, far away from every­thing, is already less the solemn “moral­ist” of leg­end (“the Saint,” Sartre called him), more a (pre-)post-structuralist in his greater con­cern and anx­i­ety about lan­guage, his empha­sis on dif­fer­ence and refusal to artic­u­late a clear-cut the­o­ry: “I am too young to have a sys­tem,” he told one audi­ence [in New York].

While Camus’ polit­i­cal dis­en­gage­ment and cri­tique of Com­mu­nist prax­is in The Rebel may have pre­cip­i­tat­ed the increas­ing­ly frac­tious rela­tion­ship between the two men, there may have also been a per­son­al dis­agree­ment over a mutu­al love inter­est named Wan­da Kosakiewicz, whom both men pur­sued long before their split over ideas. Mar­tin also tells that story—one per­haps more inter­est­ing in a dra­mat­ic sense than the abstract sum­ma­ry above—at The Tele­graph. The short doc­u­men­tary clip below also dra­ma­tizes their dis­agree­ment with inter­views, rare pho­tos, news­reel footage, and read­ings from The Rebel. There is no men­tion, how­ev­er, of Wan­da.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Philosophy’s Pow­er Cou­ple, Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beau­voir, Fea­tured in 1967 TV Inter­view

Albert Camus Talks About Adapt­ing Dos­toyevsky for the The­atre, 1959

Simone de Beau­voir Explains “Why I’m a Fem­i­nist” in a Rare TV Inter­view (1975)

Free Online Cours­es in Phi­los­o­phy from Great Uni­ver­si­ties 

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

Crash Course on Literature: Watch John Green’s Fun Introductions to Gatsby, Catcher in the Rye & Other Classics

As a pre­teen, I steered clear of “young adult” fic­tion, a form I resent­ful­ly sus­pect­ed would try too hard to teach me lessons. Then again, if I’d had a young adult nov­el­ist like John Green — not far out of ado­les­cence him­self when I entered the YA demo­graph­ic — per­haps I’d have active­ly hoped for a les­son or two. While Green has earned a large part of his fame writ­ing nov­els like Look­ing for Alas­kaAn Abun­dance of Kather­ines, and The Fault in Our Stars, a siz­able chunk of his renown comes from his pro­lif­ic way with inter­net videos, espe­cial­ly of the edu­ca­tion­al vari­ety, which also demon­strate his pos­ses­sion of seri­ous teach­ing acu­men. Last year we fea­tured his 40-week Crash Course in World His­to­ry, and today we offer you his col­lec­tion of crash cours­es in Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture. At the top, you’ll find its first les­son, the sev­en-minute “How and Why We Read.” Green, in the same jokey, enthu­si­as­tic onscreen per­sona as before, fol­lows up his world his­to­ry course by remind­ing us of the impor­tance of writ­ing as a mark­er of civ­i­liza­tion, and then reveals his per­son­al per­spec­tive as a writer: “I don’t want to get all lib­er­al art­sy on you, but I do want to make this clear: for me, sto­ries are about com­mu­ni­ca­tion. We did­n’t invent gram­mar so that your life would be mis­er­able in grade school as you attempt­ed to learn what the Márquez a prepo­si­tion is. By the way, on this pro­gram I will be insert­ing names of my favorite writ­ers when I would oth­er­wise insert curse words.”

Those lines give you a sense of Green’s tone, as well as his objec­tive. If you felt mis­er­able not just study­ing gram­mar in grade school but study­ing actu­al lit­er­a­ture in high school, these lessons may well revi­tal­ize a few of the clas­sics with which you could­n’t engage in the class­room. Just above, we have Green’s crash course on F. Scott Fitzger­ald’s The Great Gats­by (part one, part two) which, ear­ly on, gets inter­rupt­ed by a famil­iar-look­ing young objec­tor: “Mr. Green, I hate every­thing about this stu­pid col­lec­tion of first-world prob­lems pass­ing for a nov­el, but my hatred of that Willa Cather-ing los­er Daisy Buchanan burns with the fire of a thou­sand suns.” This draws a groan from our host: “Ugh, me from the past. Here’s the thing: you’re not sup­posed to like Daisy Buchanan, at least not in the uncom­pli­cat­ed way you like, say, cup­cakes. I don’t know where you got the idea the qual­i­ty of a nov­el should be judged by the lik­a­bil­i­ty of its char­ac­ters, but let me sub­mit to you that Daisy Buchanan does­n’t have to be lik­able to be inter­est­ing. Fur­ther­more, most of what makes her unlik­able — her sense of enti­tle­ment, her lim­it­ed empa­thy, her inabil­i­ty to make dif­fi­cult choic­es — are the very things that make you unlik­able.” Green knows that many of us, no mat­ter how lit­er­ate, still fall back into the dis­ad­van­ta­geous read­ing strate­gies for which we set­tled in high school. He does his enter­tain­ing utmost to cor­rect them while explor­ing the deep­er themes of not just Gats­by, but oth­er such oft-assigned (and oft-ruined-for-kids) works as Romeo and Juli­et (part one, part two), the poet­ry of Emi­ly Dick­in­son, and, below, The Catch­er in the Rye (part one, part two):

A Crash Course on Lit­er­a­ture will be added to our handy col­lec­tion: 200 Free Kids Edu­ca­tion­al Resources: Video Lessons, Apps, Books, Web­sites & More

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Crash Course in World His­to­ry

The 55 Strangest, Great­est Films Nev­er Made (Cho­sen by John Green)

Free Lit­er­a­ture Cours­es

Study Finds That Read­ing Tol­stoy & Oth­er Great Nov­el­ists Can Increase Your Emo­tion­al Intel­li­gence

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

A Telekinetic Coffee Shop Surprise

We’re in a spoil­er-free zone here. When you’re done watch­ing once, twice or thrice, click here to get the back­sto­ry …  but not before giv­ing us a fol­low on Face­book and Twit­ter and mak­ing us part of your dai­ly social media diet. Mmm.

H/T Eric O.

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Andy Warhol Creates Album Covers for Jazz Legends Thelonious Monk, Count Basie & Kenny Burrell

Warholcount-basie

Fla­vor­wire titles their post on album cov­ers designed by artist Andy Warhol—auteur of that spe­cial brand of late-mid­cen­tu­ry, impas­sive yet rock­ing-and-rolling, New York-root­ed Amer­i­can cool—“Beyond the Banana.” They refer, of course, to the fruit embla­zoned upon The Vel­vet Under­ground & Nico, the 1967 debut album from the avant-rock band formed right there in Warhol’s own “Fac­to­ry.” It would, of course, insult your cul­tur­al aware­ness to post an image of that par­tic­u­lar cov­er and ask if you knew Andy Warhol designed it. But how about that of Count Basie’s self-titled 1955 album above? Warhol, not a fig­ure most of us asso­ciate imme­di­ate­ly with jazz and its tra­di­tions, designed it, too.

monk-foster

He also did one for 1954’s MONK: Thelo­nious Monk with Son­ny Rollins and Frank Fos­ter, and, in 1958, for gui­tarist Ken­ny Bur­rel­l’s Blue Note dou­ble-disc Blue Lights.

Warholkenny-burrell

We now regard Blue Note high­ly for its taste in not only the aes­thet­ics of the music itself but also the pack­ag­ing that sur­rounds it, and thus we might assume the label had a nat­ur­al incli­na­tion to work with a vision­ary like Warhol. But in the late fifties, Blue Lights stretched Blue Note’s graph­i­cal sen­si­bil­i­ties as well as Warhol’s own; with it, he “final­ly broke away from sim­ply draw­ing close-ups of musi­cians and their instru­ments and deliv­ered a piece of art as evoca­tive as the music inside,” writes the San Fran­cis­co Chron­i­cle’s Aidin Vaziri.

Giv­en Warhol’s inter­est in the Unit­ed States and its icons, it stands to rea­son that he would take on design jobs for Basie, Monk, and Bur­rell just as read­i­ly as he would for the Vel­vet Under­ground, or for those Eng­lish­men who could out-Amer­i­can the Amer­i­cans, the Rolling Stones. He even did an album cov­er for a rep­re­sen­ta­tive of a whole oth­er slice of Amer­i­can cul­ture: play­wright Ten­nesee Williams, author of plays like The Glass MenagerieA Street­car Named Desire, and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.

In 1952, Caed­mon put out a record called Ten­nessee Williams Read­ing from The Glass Menagerie, The Yel­low Bird and Five Poems, and its 1960 print­ing bears the Warhol art­work you see just above. Warhol in all these shows an impres­sive will­ing­ness to adapt to the per­sona of the musi­cian and the feel of their music; a casu­al Warhol enthu­si­ast may own one of these albums for years with­out ever real­iz­ing who did the cov­er art. He did­n’t even cleave exclu­sive­ly toward Amer­i­can forms, or to styles that main­stream Amer­i­ca might once have con­sid­ered artis­ti­cal­ly edgy. You could hard­ly get fur­ther from the posi­tion of the Vel­vet Under­ground than easy-lis­ten­ing vocals, let alone the easy-lis­ten­ing vocals of the Cana­di­an-born Paul Anka, but when the singer’s 1976 The Painter need­ed a cov­er, Warhol deliv­ered — and with a rec­og­niz­ably Warho­lian look, no less.

Warhol’s album cov­ers, from 1949 to 1987, have been col­lect­ed in the book, Andy Warhol: The Com­plete Com­mis­sioned Record Cov­ers.

paul-anka

See more Warhol album cov­ers at NME, SFGate, and Fla­vor­wire.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bob Egan, Detec­tive Extra­or­di­naire, Finds the Real Loca­tions of Icon­ic Album Cov­ers

Clas­sic Jazz Album Cov­ers Ani­mat­ed, or the Re-Birth of Cool

Record Cov­er Art by Under­ground Car­toon­ist Robert Crumb

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Animated Interview: The Great Ray Charles on Being Himself and Singing True

“You know,” says Ray Charles in this new ani­mat­ed inter­view from Blank on Blank, “what I got to live up to is being myself. If I do that the rest will take care of itself.”

Charles always sound­ed like no one else. When he played or sang just a few notes, you would imme­di­ate­ly rec­og­nize his dis­tinc­tive sound, that unique blend­ing of gospel and blues. As he explains in the inter­view, his style was a direct reflec­tion of who he was. “I can’t help what I sound like,” he says. “What I sound like is what I am, you know? I can­not be any­thing oth­er than what I am.”

Blank on Blank is a project that brings lost inter­views with famous cul­tur­al fig­ures back to life. The Charles video is the 12th episode in Blank on Blank’s ongo­ing series with PBS Dig­i­tal Stu­dios. The audio of Charles is from the Joe Smith Col­lec­tion at the Library of Con­gress. Smith is a for­mer record com­pa­ny exec­u­tive who record­ed over 200 inter­views with music indus­try icons for his book Off the Record: An Oral His­to­ry of Pop­u­lar Music. He talked with Charles on June 3, 1987, when the musi­cian was 56 years old. You can hear the com­plete, unedit­ed inter­view at the Library of Con­gress Web site.

In the inter­view, Charles says that being true to him­self was a night-by-night thing. “I don’t sing ‘Geor­gia’ like the record. I sing it true,” he says. “I sing what I sing true. Each night I sing it the way I feel that night.” For an exam­ple of Charles being true to him­self, here he is per­form­ing “Geor­gia On My Mind” on the Dick Cavett Show on Sep­tem­ber 18, 1972:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Library of Con­gress Releas­es Audio Archive of Inter­views with Rock ‘n’ Roll Icons

Ani­ma­tions Revive Lost Inter­views with David Fos­ter Wal­lace, Jim Mor­ri­son & Dave Brubeck

 

Pride and Prejudice Translated into Academiotics (and More Fun with Scholarly Jargon)

pride and prejudice academic

Over at The New York­er, Vic­to­ria Dai­ley is hav­ing a lit­tle fun trans­lat­ing lines from Jane Austen’s Pride Prej­u­dice into “Acad­e­mi­otics” — in short, aca­d­e­m­ic speak. Here’s a lit­tle taste for you:

“It is a truth uni­ver­sal­ly acknowl­edged, that a sin­gle man in pos­ses­sion of a good for­tune, must be in want of a wife.”

Trans­la­tion:

The het­ero­gene­ity of assumed inten­tions may incur a con­clu­so­ry stereo­type regard­ing gen­der selec­tions in mar­riage-based soci­eties, espe­cial­ly in those where the mas­cu­line hege­mo­ny of cap­i­tal resources pre­sup­pos­es the fem­i­niza­tion of prop­er­ty and uxo­r­i­al acqui­si­tion.

Is tak­ing shots at human­ists not your favorite sport? It’s just too easy? Maybe spoof­ing social sci­en­tists is more your thing? Then you can read all about the Ser­bian aca­d­e­mics who recent­ly pub­lished  a com­plete­ly fab­ri­cat­ed arti­cle in a Roman­ian jour­nal. The pub­lished arti­cle itself, “Eval­u­a­tion of trans­for­ma­tive hermeneu­tic heuris­tics for pro­cess­ing ran­dom data,” appears on Scribd.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John Sear­le on Fou­cault and the Obscu­ran­tism in French Phi­los­o­phy

Noam Chom­sky Slams Žižek and Lacan: Emp­ty ‘Pos­tur­ing’

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Stephen Fry Hosts “The Science of Opera,” a Discussion of How Music Moves Us Physically to Tears

I vivid­ly recall my first opera. It was The Mar­riage of Figaro at the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Opera in New York. A friend bought two fam­i­ly cir­cle tickets—nosebleed seats—and insist­ed that I come along. She was a trained opera singer and afi­ciona­do. I was an unlearned neo­phyte. Most of my expec­ta­tions were ful­filled: the enor­mous­ly impres­sive space, plen­ty of bom­bast, intri­cate­ly designed sets and cos­tum­ing. And it was long. Very long. But not, as I had feared, bor­ing. Not at all. I had not expect­ed, in fact, to be so phys­i­cal­ly moved by the per­for­mances, and not only moved to basic emotions—I was moved deep in my gut. There’s no way I could ade­quate­ly explain it.

But the med­ical sci­en­tists in the video above can. In “The Sci­ence of Opera,” actor Stephen Fry and come­di­an Alan Davies con­vene a pan­el of researchers from Uni­ver­si­ty Col­lege Lon­don to dis­cuss what hap­pened phys­i­o­log­i­cal­ly when the pair were hooked up to var­i­ous sen­sors as they attend­ed Verdi’s Simon Boc­cane­gra at the Roy­al Opera House. Like the pair­ing at my first opera, Fry is a knowl­edge­able lover of the art and Davies is almost an opera vir­gin (the sto­ry of his actu­al first opera gets a good laugh). The gad­gets attached to Fry and Davies mea­sured their heart rates, breath­ing, sweat, and “var­i­ous oth­er emo­tion­al respons­es.” What do we learn from the exper­i­ment? For one thing, as neu­ro­bi­ol­o­gist Michael Trim­ble informs us, “music is dif­fer­ent from all the oth­er arts.” For exam­ple, nine­ty per­cent of peo­ple sur­veyed admit to being moved to tears by a piece of music. Only five to ten per­cent say the same about paint­ing or sculp­ture. Fry and Davies’ auto­nom­ic ner­vous sys­tem respons­es con­firm the pow­er of music (and sto­ry) to move us beyond our con­scious con­trol and aware­ness.

And why is this? You’ll have to watch the dis­cus­sion to learn more—I won’t sum­ma­rize it here. Just know that we get insights not only into the sci­ence of opera, but the art as well—Verdi’s art in particular—and the var­i­ous dis­ci­plines rep­re­sent­ed here do much to expand our appre­ci­a­tion of music, whether we specif­i­cal­ly love opera or not. This is not the first talk on opera Fry has been a part of. He pre­vi­ous­ly host­ed anoth­er Roy­al Opera Com­pa­ny event called “Ver­di vs. Wag­n­er: the 200th birth­day debate” (above). Though I favor the Ger­mans, I’d say it’s a draw, but par­ti­sans of either one will like­ly come away with their opin­ions intact, hav­ing learned a thing or two along the way.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stephen Fry Reads Oscar Wilde’s Children’s Sto­ry “The Hap­py Prince”

Stephen Fry, Lan­guage Enthu­si­ast, Defends The “Unnec­es­sary” Art Of Swear­ing

Math­e­mu­si­cian Vi Hart Explains the Space-Time Con­tin­u­um With a Music Box, Bach, and a Möbius Strip

Find Yale’s Course “Lis­ten­ing to Music” in our Col­lec­tion of 775 Free Online Cours­es

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

Watch Lovebirds Amanda Palmer and Neil Gaiman Sing “Makin’ Whoopee!” Live

Aman­da Palmer and Neil Gaiman strike me as a very hap­pi­ly mar­ried cou­ple, an impres­sion their live cov­er of Makin’ Whoopee sup­ports.

What’s their secret? As any­one with an inter­est in romance or Earth Sci­ence will tell you, oppo­sites attract. On the sur­face of things, the exhi­bi­tion­is­tic, high­ly the­atri­cal, always con­tro­ver­sial Palmer is quite dif­fer­ent from her unfail­ing­ly dis­creet hus­band of the last two-and-a-half years. (Watch him mine his ret­i­cence to great com­ic effect at the 2.52 mark.)

That’s not to say they don’t have things in com­mon.

Both are insane­ly pro­lif­ic, the fruits of their labors dis­played across a vari­ety of plat­forms—music, comics, film, lit­er­a­ture, com­mence­ment speech­es, TED talks, Twit­ter

Both have rabid fan bases and blogs (Hers accepts com­ments; his does not.)

He was raised in a Sci­en­tol­o­gist house­hold. She scrawled Nope. Not plan­ning to fund Sci­en­tol­ogy with my Kick­starter mon­ey. That would be dumb on her nude tor­so, then post­ed a self­ie on her web­site, thus pour­ing gaso­line on the fires that pow­er that por­tion of the inter­net devot­ed to spread­ing mis­in­for­ma­tion about their reli­gious affil­i­a­tion.

And while he has three chil­dren from a pre­vi­ous mar­riage, the Gaiman-Palmer union has yet to pro­duce any lit­tle Neil or Aman­das. Which brings us back to Makin’ Whoopee. Whether or not the lyrics jibe with one’s per­son­al out­look, the song’s endur­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty (85 years and count­ing) might sug­gest its cen­tral dilem­ma is ever­green. Its bio­log­i­cal obser­va­tions are cer­tain­ly above reproach: sex often leads to babies, who lead to the sort of respon­si­bil­i­ties that sig­nal the end of the hon­ey­moon, if not the mar­riage.

Per­haps an open rela­tion­ship in the whoopee depart­ment will con­tin­ue to keep things play­ful between the Gaiman-Palmers, regard­less of what their future holds. It’s real­ly none of our busi­ness, is it?

(Those drawn to spec­u­la­tion, could do so live, when the alt.power-couple (Naman­da? Ameil?) bring their “inti­mate night” of spo­ken word, songs, sto­ries, audi­ence chats and sur­pris­es to New York City’s Town Hall.)

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aman­da Palmer’s Tips for Being an Artist in the Rough-and-Tum­ble Dig­i­tal Age

Down­load Neil Gaiman’s Free Short Sto­ries

Neil Gaiman Gives Grad­u­ates 10 Essen­tial Tips for Work­ing in the Arts

BBC Radio Adap­ta­tion of Neil Gaiman’s Nev­er­where Begins Sat­ur­day: A Pre­view

Ayun Hal­l­i­day must ten­der her regrets as she is direct­ing a cast of 15 home schooled teens in her hus­band’s musi­cal, Yeast Nation, that night. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday


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