Viktor Frankl on Our Search for Meaning

Vik­tor Fran­kl, a trained Aus­tri­an psy­chi­a­trist, spent five long years in Nazi con­cen­tra­tion camps dur­ing World War II, even­tu­al­ly end­ing up in Auschwitz. Dur­ing this time, he helped fel­low pris­on­ers cope with their ordeal and worked out a new approach to psy­chol­o­gy called Logother­a­py. This the­o­ry embod­ied Fran­kl’s belief that we’re all fun­da­men­tal­ly dri­ven by a “search for mean­ing.” It’s what makes us human, and we can con­tin­ue this search even in the worst of sit­u­a­tions. Not even the Nazis could take that away.  This belief sus­tained Fran­kl dur­ing his impris­on­ment, some­thing he wrote about in his epic work of sur­vival lit­er­a­ture called Man’s Search for Mean­ing. (It’s a must read.) The grainy footage above was record­ed at a con­fer­ence held in Toron­to (prob­a­bly dur­ing the 1960s). It gives you a quick intro­duc­tion to a man who, despite per­son­al­ly con­fronting the worst human­i­ty had to offer, still believed in our core good­ness and pos­si­bil­i­ties.

via TED Best of the Web

Stanford Online Writing Courses (Summer)

A quick fyi: Stan­ford Con­tin­u­ing Stud­ies will open up reg­is­tra­tion Mon­day morn­ing (8:30 am Cal­i­for­nia time) for its sum­mer line­up of online writ­ing cours­es. Offered in part­ner­ship with the Stan­ford Cre­ative Writ­ing Pro­gram (one of the most dis­tin­guished writ­ing pro­grams in the coun­try), these online cours­es give begin­ning and advanced writ­ers, no mat­ter where they live, the chance to refine their craft with gift­ed writ­ing instruc­tors.

Class­es will start in late June. And many of these class­es fill quick­ly (some very quick­ly). To get more infor­ma­tion on these writ­ing cours­es, click here, or sep­a­rate­ly check out this FAQ.

Caveat emp­tor: These class­es are not free, and I helped set them up. So while I whole­heart­ed­ly believe in these cours­es, you can take my views with a grain of salt.

Tom Waits Reads Charles Bukowski

Next up: Tom Waits reads Charles Bukowski’s poem, The Laugh­ing Heart. As Zoran (a read­er from Greece) observes, Waits reads the poem much like Bukows­ki would have read it him­self.

Of course, this rais­es the ques­tion: How did Bukows­ki read his poet­ry? The Secret of My Endurance holds the answer.

Thanks Zoran…

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Lawrence of Arabia Remembered with Rare Footage


Sev­en­ty-five years ago today, on the morn­ing of May 13, 1935, a 46-year-old retired British army offi­cer was rid­ing his motor­cy­cle home from the post office, when he swerved to avoid hit­ting two boys on bicy­cles. He was thrown onto the road and sus­tained head injuries, then died six days lat­er in a provin­cial hos­pi­tal. It was a mun­dane cir­cum­stance for the death of an extra­or­di­nary man.

Thomas Edward (T. E.) Lawrence was an intel­lec­tu­al and adven­tur­er who became known to the world as “Lawrence of Ara­bia.” Lawrence could read books by the age of four. He attend­ed Oxford on schol­ar­ship and spent one of his sum­mer vaca­tions hik­ing 1,100 miles through Syr­ia, Pales­tine and Turkey to sur­vey cru­sad­er cas­tles for a the­sis on mil­i­tary archi­tec­ture. He spoke Ara­bic, Turk­ish, Ger­man, French, Latin and Greek. When World War I broke out in 1914, he was recruit­ed into the British army for his exten­sive first-hand knowl­edge of the Mid­dle East. Dur­ing the course of the war, Lawrence became one of the archi­tects and lead­ers of the Arab Revolt against the Ottoman Turks – a remark­able adven­ture that was retold in David Lean’s 1962 film, Lawrence of Ara­bia, star­ring Peter O’Toole, Omar Sharif and Alec Guin­ness.

Lawrence was an intense­ly pri­vate man who, as Low­ell Thomas famous­ly put it, “had a genius for back­ing into the lime­light.” When the war was over, how­ev­er, he suc­ceed­ed in stay­ing out of the lime­light by refus­ing a knight­hood and serv­ing out his mil­i­tary career under assumed names. He trans­lat­ed Homer and wrote a mem­oir of the Arab Revolt, The Sev­en Pil­lars of Wis­dom. And he had a pen­chant for fast motor­cy­cles, includ­ing the cus­tom-made Brough Supe­ri­or SS100 which he rode into town on a mun­dane errand 75 years ago today.

Today, to mark the 75th anniver­sary of his trag­ic motor cycle acci­dent, we fea­ture some of the only known footage of T.E. Lawrence above.

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Ask Philosophers Goes Mobile

AskPhiloso­phers puts real philoso­phers at the ser­vice of the gen­er­al pub­lic. Have a big, lofty ques­tion that only a pro­fes­sion­al philoso­pher can tack­le? They’ll answer it on the web. And now on the iPhone. This new, free app (designed by Amherst Col­lege) lets you access their Q&A archive on the go. While wait­ing in line for a cof­fee, you can chew over this kind of exchange:

Ques­tion: If you fail to stop some­thing bad hap­pen­ing to you is it the same as being com­plic­it in the act?

Answer: There is a com­pli­cat­ed lit­er­a­ture in moral phi­los­o­phy about how to draw the dis­tinc­tion between doing and mere­ly allow­ing harm and whether this dis­tinc­tion has moral sig­nif­i­cance. With­out try­ing to nav­i­gate that deep intel­lec­tu­al thick­et, it is still pos­si­ble to begin to address your ques­tion. If I’m com­plic­it in doing some­thing bad, for instance, harm­ing anoth­er per­son, then it seems I share the aim of my accom­plices in harm­ing some­one else. I intend harm. By con­trast, if I mere­ly allow some­one else to harm, I need­n’t and typ­i­cal­ly don’t intend harm. While not intend­ing harm, I may be indif­fer­ent to the harm. It depends. I may not be indif­fer­ent to the harm (more…)

The College Dorm Window Show

Stu­dents at Poland’s Wro­claw Uni­ver­si­ty of Tech­nol­o­gy got a lit­tle techie (or is it tech­no?) this week, turn­ing their dorm win­dows into a full col­or light show. Hap­pi­ly, we can report that all lights were con­trolled wire­less­ly. Thanks Bar­tosz for send­ing this our way.

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Jorge Luis Borges: The Mirror Man, A Free Documentary on the Argentine Writer

He was Argenti­na’s favorite son, one of the great South Amer­i­can writ­ers of the last cen­tu­ry (along with Gabriel Gar­cia Mar­quez, Car­los Fuentes, and Mario Var­gas Llosa), and the win­ner of 46 nation­al and inter­na­tion­al lit­er­ary prizes. We’re talk­ing about Jorge Luis Borges, the mas­ter of the post­mod­ern short sto­ry. Borges was born in 1899, and to cel­e­brate his 100th birth­day (though he died in 1986), Philippe Molins direct­ed the doc­u­men­tary, Jorge Luis Borges: The Mir­ror Man. The film’s major strength (as one review­er put it) is that it’s a “bit of every­thing – part biog­ra­phy, part lit­er­ary crit­i­cism, part hero-wor­ship, part book read­ing, and part psy­chol­o­gy.” It runs 47 min­utes and includes a fair amount of archival footage. (You can watch it in a larg­er for­mat on Vimeo here.)

A big thanks goes to Mike for send­ing The Mir­ror Man our way. If you have your own great piece of cul­tur­al media to share with us and your fel­low OC read­ers, please feel free to send it along.

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Piano Stairs

How can you change behav­ior for the bet­ter? It’s sim­ple. Make it fun. The next thing you know, peo­ple will climb stairs instead of ride the esca­la­tor. And they’ll prop­er­ly throw their trash away too (the sub­ject of anoth­er engag­ing video)…

Thanks Adol­fo for the great finds.

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