Michael Sandel on the Partially Examined Life Podcast Talks About the Limits of a Free Market Society

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Har­vard pro­fes­sor Michael J. Sandel is one of our most famous liv­ing philoso­phers. His course, Jus­tice: What’s the Right Thing to Do? (avail­able via YouTube, iTunes, or Har­vard’s web page) has been enjoyed by more than 14,000 stu­dents over 30 years, and was recent­ly offered as a Mas­sive Open Online Course.

In July, the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life phi­los­o­phy pod­cast dis­cussed Sandel’s first (and most aca­d­e­m­i­cal­ly influ­en­tial) book, 1982’s Lib­er­al­ism and the Lim­its of Jus­tice, in which he argued that soci­ety can’t be neu­tral with regard to claims about what the good life amounts to. Mod­ern lib­er­al­ism (by which he means the tra­di­tion com­ing from John Locke focus­ing on rights; this includes both Amer­i­ca’s cur­rent lib­er­als and con­ser­v­a­tives) acknowl­edges that peo­ple want dif­fer­ent things and tries to keep gov­ern­ment in a mere­ly medi­at­ing role, giv­ing peo­ple as much free­dom as pos­si­ble.

So what’s the alter­na­tive? Sandel thinks that pub­lic dis­course should­n’t just be about peo­ple push­ing for what they want, but a dia­logue about what is real­ly good for us. He gives the famous exam­ple of the Nazis march­ing in Skok­ie. A lib­er­al would defend free speech, even if the speech is repel­lent. Sandel thinks that we can acknowl­edge that some speech is actu­al­ly per­ni­cious, that the inter­ests of that com­mu­ni­ty’s Holo­caust sur­vivors are sim­ply more impor­tant than the inter­ests of those who want to spread a mes­sage of hate.

You can lis­ten to the dis­cus­sion of Sandel’s views below or at the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life web­site:

A week lat­er, a fol­low-up episode brought Sandel him­self onto the pod­cast, pri­mar­i­ly to speak about his most recent book, What Mon­ey Can’t Buy: The Moral Lim­its of Mar­kets. A more pop­u­lar work, this book con­sid­ers numer­ous exam­ples of the mar­ket soci­ety gone amok, where every­thing from sex to body parts to adver­tis­ing space on the side of one’s house is poten­tial­ly for sale.

Sandel helped us under­stand the con­nec­tion between this and his ear­li­er work: In remain­ing neu­tral among com­pet­ing con­cep­tions of what’s real­ly good for us, lib­er­al­ism has made an all-too-quick peace with unfet­tered exchange. If two peo­ple want to make a deal, who are the rest of us to step in and stop it? Lib­er­al think­ing does jus­ti­fy pre­vent­ing sup­pos­ed­ly free exchanges on the grounds that they might not actu­al­ly be free, e.g. one side is under undue eco­nom­ic pres­sure, not mature or ful­ly informed, in some way coerced or incom­pe­tent. But Sandel wants to argue that some prac­tices can be mere­ly degrad­ing, even if per­formed will­ing­ly, and that a moral­ly neu­tral soci­ety does­n’t have the con­cep­tu­al appa­ra­tus to for­mu­late such a claim. Instead, as exem­pli­fied by his course on jus­tice, Sandel thinks that moral issues need to be a part of pub­lic debate. By exten­sion, we can’t pre­tend that eco­nom­ics is a moral­ly neu­tral sci­ence that mere­ly mea­sures human behav­ior. Our empha­sis on eco­nom­ics in pub­lic pol­i­cy crowds out oth­er pos­i­tive goods like cit­i­zen­ship and integri­ty.

For addi­tion­al back­ground, lis­ten to the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life’s ear­li­er dis­cus­sion of John Rawls, the father of mod­ern lib­er­al­ism who is Sandel’s main tar­get in his dis­cus­sion of lib­er­al­ism. You could also watch Sandel’s lec­ture on Rawls from his Jus­tice course.

Mark Lin­sen­may­er runs the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life phi­los­o­phy pod­cast and blog, which has just hit episode 100 with a spe­cial live-in-front-of-an-audi­ence dis­cus­sion of Pla­to’s Sym­po­sium, now avail­able on audio or video. You can access the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast via iTunes or the PEL web site.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What’s the Right Thing to Do?: Pop­u­lar Har­vard Course Now Online

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

Actress­es Lucy Law­less & Jaime Mur­ray Per­form Jean-Paul Sartre’s “No Exit” for The Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life Pod­cast

The Glossary Universal Studios Gave Out to the First Audiences of David Lynch’s Dune (1984)

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Next to Star Wars, David Lynch’s Dune was one of my very first intro­duc­tions to great sci­ence fic­tion film­mak­ing, and my first intro­duc­tion to David Lynch. My sci-fi-lov­ing father and I watched it over and over, along with Nico­las Roeg’s The Man Who Fell to Earth, Kubrick’s 2001, and pop­cornier fare like the Plan­et of the Apes films. Now, when I call Dune “great,” I’m ful­ly aware that many well-respect­ed crit­ics, espe­cial­ly the late Roger Ebert, hat­ed, and con­tin­ue to hate, Dune. Some fans and critics—and for the life of me I can­not under­stand why—have even stat­ed a pref­er­ence for the Syfy Channel’s mediocre 2000 minis­eries adap­ta­tion, most­ly because of issues of “faith­ful­ness” to the source, despite it look­ing, as one blog­ger apt­ly put it, “like a cross between a telen­ov­ela and a youth group stag­ing of God­spell.” This won’t stand for me. Some poor edit­ing deci­sions notwith­stand­ing, Lynch’s Dune is bril­liant. Hell, even Frank Her­bert him­self, god­like cre­ator of the Dune uni­verse, loved it.

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In 1984, how­ev­er, the movie seemed des­tined for per­ma­nent obscu­ri­ty, not cult fan­dom. Lynch dis­owned it—releasing it under the name “Alan Smithee,” long­stand­ing pseu­do­nym of embar­rassed direc­tors. For its tank­ing in the the­aters, Dune appears on this list of “Great­est Box Office Bombs” for the years 1983–84, along with turds like Krull and the sequel to Sat­ur­day Night Fever. “If a film-view­er had no knowl­edge of the mas­sive­ly dense book,” the review­er notes, “the bloat­ed film made lit­tle sense.”

While I found Dune’s nigh-impen­e­tra­bly alien nature allur­ing, film-going audi­ences had lit­tle patience for it. A large part of the prob­lem, of course, is Her­bert’s invent­ed lan­guage. “With­in the first 10 min­utes,” writes Daniel Sny­der at The Atlantic, “the film bom­bard­ed audi­ences with words like Kwisatz Hader­ach, land­sraad, gom jab­ber, and sar­daukar with lit­tle or no con­text.” Con­trast this with Star Wars’ “blaster,” “droid,” and “force”—“words for made up things but they’re words that we know.” Although Stan­ley Kubrick­’s  A Clock­work Orange—with its heavy, untrans­lat­ed nad­sat slang—was a hit over a decade ear­li­er, it seems Uni­ver­sal Stu­dios felt Dune’s audi­ences need­ed prepara­to­ry mate­ri­als, and so, reports io9, they cir­cu­lat­ed a glos­sary to film­go­ers (first page at the top, obverse above—click to enlarge and then click again).

There’s lit­tle infor­ma­tion on when, exact­ly, the stu­dio decid­ed this was nec­es­sary, or how they expect­ed audi­ences to read it in the dark. But it’s per­fect for home view­ing. In the dark about the pre­cise nature of a “fremk­it”? Flip on the lights, pause your Ama­zon stream or blu-ray, scroll down, and there you have it: “desert sur­vival kit of Fre­men man­u­fac­ture.” (See the pre­vi­ous entry for a “Fre­men” expla­na­tion.) For all its use­less­ness in an actu­al the­ater, you have to hand it to whomev­er was tasked with com­pil­ing this list of terms; it’s a fair­ly com­pre­hen­sive crash course on Herbert’s expan­sive space epic. It’s doubt­ful David Lynch had any­thing to do with these mate­ri­als, but it’s also true that he found the world of Dune almost as baf­fling as those first audi­ences. Just above, see him in a pained inter­view on the “night­mare” that was the mak­ing of the film. No mat­ter what he feels about it, I’m one fan who’s grate­ful he endured the tor­ment.

via io9

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Japan­ese Movie Posters of 10 David Lynch Films

David Lynch’s Per­fume Ads Based on the Works of Hem­ing­way, F. Scott Fitzger­ald & D.H. Lawrence

David Lynch Explains Where His Ideas Come From

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

Quentin Tarantino’s Top 20 Grindhouse/Exploitation Flicks: Night of the Living Dead, Halloween & More

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Image by Alvin Georges Biard, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Back in ’92, when I was tak­ing a French New Wave class at Boston Uni­ver­si­ty, my pro­fes­sor, Ger­ald Per­ry, brought in an intense, bear­ish look­ing guy in a leather trench coat and announced him as the new Mar­tin Scors­ese. I hadn’t a clue who he was nor had I heard of his movie, Reser­voir Dogs, which was play­ing at the Boston Film Fes­ti­val. The guy, of course, was Quentin Taran­ti­no. As he talked pas­sion­ate­ly about movies, in par­tic­u­lar Jean-Pierre Melville, who’s movie Le Samourai was the inspi­ra­tion for Reser­voir Dogs’s dis­tinct sar­to­r­i­al style, I was struck by just how many f‑bombs he was able to squeeze into a 20-minute spiel.

The com­par­i­son to Scors­ese is apt. Both direc­tors took the inno­va­tions of French New Wave and adapt­ed them for a main­stream Amer­i­can audi­ence in the form of fero­cious, styl­ish crime thrillers. Both film­mak­ers also make reg­u­lar homages to the films of their child­hood. For Scors­ese, it was large­ly films from the ’40s and ‘50s by film­mak­ers like Vin­cent Min­nel­li, Michael Pow­ell, and Alfred Hitch­cock. Tarantino’s inspi­ra­tions, on the oth­er hand, were large­ly 1970s grind­house flicks.

In the 1960s, a com­bi­na­tion of the increas­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty of tele­vi­sion and white-flight from urban cen­ters great­ly reduced the num­ber of peo­ple com­ing to sin­gle-screen the­aters. A num­ber of movies hous­es, espe­cial­ly in Times Square in New York and on Hol­ly­wood Boule­vard in Los Ange­les, start­ed screen­ing dou­ble and triple bills of cheap­ly made, inde­pen­dent­ly pro­duced exploita­tion movies filled with sex, nudi­ty, graph­ic vio­lence and straight up sadism.

As Tarantino’s career pro­gressed, his movies became more and more trans­par­ent pas­tich­es of the grind­house movies he loved. Kill Bill is, after all, a supreme­ly enter­tain­ing patch­work of homages to Game of Death, Lady Snow­blood, Five Fin­gers of Death and dozens of oth­er Asian exploita­tion flicks. Heck, he even tried to recre­ate the expe­ri­ence of grind­house cin­e­ma by mak­ing a dou­ble-bill movie with Robert Rodriguez called Grind­house.

So when Taran­ti­no was asked to come up with a list of his favorite exploita­tion flicks for the Grind­house Cin­e­ma Data­base, it was not ter­ri­bly sur­pris­ing that he was very par­tic­u­lar about his choic­es. “Some of [the movies] don’t quite work,” said the film­mak­er. “For instance, Female Pris­on­er 701 Scor­pi­on, that was nev­er released any­where out­side Japan… My point being, it has to have been played in a grind­house… The same way like Hal­loween could be on [the list], but Fri­day The 13th…could­n’t, because that was a Para­mount movie.”

The movies that did make the list include hor­ror clas­sics, like The Texas Chain­saw Mas­sacre, Night of the Liv­ing Dead; the mar­tial arts mas­ter­piece Five Fin­gers of Death; and blax­ploita­tion flicks includ­ing Coffy and The Mack. There’s even one movie, The Lady in Red, which was writ­ten by indie film icon John Sayles. Check out the full list below.

  1. The Texas Chain­saw Mas­sacre
  2. Dawn of the Dead
  3. Night of the Liv­ing Dead 
  4. Hal­loween
  5. Coffy
  6. Rolling Thun­der
  7. Five Fin­gers of Death
  8. The Mack
  9. The Girl From Star­ship Venus
  10. The Last House On The Left
  11. Mas­ter of the Fly­ing Guil­lo­tine
  12. Wipe­out
  13. The Street Fight­er | Return of The Street Fight­er | The Street Fight­er’s Last Revenge (“You just have to kin­da con­sid­er all three of them togeth­er.” — QT)
  14. The Psy­chic
  15. The Lady in Red
  16. Thriller: A Cru­el Pic­ture
  17. Sus­piria
  18. Ham­mer of the Gods
  19. The Sav­age Sev­en
  20. The Pom Pom Girls

You can find two of the films list­ed above – The Street Fight­er and Night of the Liv­ing Dead — list­ed in our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

The image above was tak­en by Georges Biard.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists the 12 Great­est Films of All Time: From Taxi Dri­ver to The Bad News Bears

Quentin Taran­ti­no Tells You About The Actors & Direc­tors Who Pro­vid­ed the Inspi­ra­tion for “Reser­voir Dogs”

The Pow­er of Food in Quentin Tarantino’s Films

625 Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, etc.

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 @jonccrowAnd check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing one new draw­ing of a vice pres­i­dent with an octo­pus on his head dai­ly. 

 

 

 

Charles & Ray Eames’ Iconic Lounge Chair Debuts on American TV (1956)

Liv­ing in Los Ange­les, I sup­pose I could go up and have a look (albeit a dis­tant one) at Charles and Ray EamesEames House any time I like. But I’ve nev­er got around to vis­it­ing that most notable of all works of mid­cen­tu­ry mod­ern Cal­i­for­nia archi­tec­ture, since I have anoth­er exam­ple of their era- (and coast-) defin­ing design much clos­er at hand. When­ev­er I look to my left, I see an Eames’ Lounge Chair — not my Eames Lounge Chair, per se, but the one my girl­friend brought with her when we moved in togeth­er. Much more than the sum of its mold­ed ply­wood and leather parts, the Eames Chair made even more of a mark on the design sen­si­bil­i­ty of the 20th cen­tu­ry than did the Eames House. Could the Eam­ses them­selves have known, when they first rolled it out in 1956, that the chair would remain unsur­passed in its fur­ni­ture niche more than 55 years lat­er? Watch them debut­ing the Eames Chair on TV, to Home Show host Arlene Fran­cis, and see if you can read it between the lines.

We first see the Eames Chair only in sil­hou­ette — but already we rec­og­nize it. “Well, that is quite a depar­ture, Charles, and it looks won­der­ful­ly com­fort­able,” says host to design­er. He takes the ques­tion quite lit­er­al­ly: “It’s rose­wood, ply­wood, and it’s black leather, and its insides are all feath­ers and down. I think it’d be a bet­ter idea if we would just build it for you right here.” We then see a short film, pro­duced in a com­bi­na­tion of live action and stop motion, show­ing the com­plete assem­bly and sub­se­quent dis­as­sem­bly of an Eames Chair. It also includes the pack­ing of its parts into a box with the logo of Her­man Miller, the com­pa­ny for whom the Eames orig­i­nal­ly designed it, and one that, so Charles says, allowed them seem­ing­ly com­plete aes­thet­ic inde­pen­dence, depen­dent on no spe­cif­ic mar­ket or sea­son. Hence the range of time­less Eames-designed chairs dis­played on the seg­ment that reveal the design evo­lu­tion lead­ing up to the Eames Chair itself, the most time­less of them all. “You real­ly cre­ate your own mar­ket, don’t you?” Fran­cis asks. Charles remains mod­est (and Ray has already exit­ed stage left), but on some lev­el must have under­stood that every impor­tant design­er does just that.

More than a half cen­tu­ry lat­er, you can still buy your own Eames Chair and Ottoman at Her­man Miller.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Design­ers Charles & Ray Eames Cre­ate a Pro­mo­tion­al Film for the Ground­break­ing Polaroid SX-70 Instant Cam­era (1972)

Charles & Ray Eames’ Icon­ic Film Pow­ers of Ten (1977) and the Less­er-Known Pro­to­type from 1968

Ice Cube & Charles Eames Rev­el in L.A. Archi­tec­ture

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

In the Voice of Robin Williams, Impressionist Jim Meskimen Reads an Elegy for the Departed Comedian

We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured the impres­sion­ist work of Jim Meski­men on Open Cul­ture, par­tic­u­lar­ly his fab read­ing of a mono­logue from Shake­speare’s Richard III in 25 celebri­ty voic­es. It includes every­one from Woody Allen to Jack Nichol­son to Droopy Dog. Today he returns on a more solemn occa­sion. In the voice of Robin Williams, Meski­men reads a poem he wrote to the dear­ly depart­ed come­di­an. You can watch it above. His poem appears below:

IN MEMORY OF ROBIN WILLIAMS

by Jim Meski­men

THEY DIDN’T BURN ALL THE PIANOS
WHEN FREDRICK CHOPIN DIED

DIDN’T OUTLAW OIL PAINTS
WHEN PICASSO TOOK HIS FINAL RIDE

NO ONE PUT A STOP TO BASEBALL
WHEN MICKEY MANTLE’S TIME WAS UP

OR BANNED ALL RUSSIAN NOVELS
WHEN TOLSTOY WENT BELLY UP

ON SHAKESPEARE’S DEATH, NOBODY SAID
“NOW HATH ARRIVED THE DAY–

FROM THIS POINT HENCE LET NONE DARE
PUT FORTH PEN TO WRITE A PLAY!”

WE CELEBRATE WHAT’S LEFT
BY THE DEPARTED, IT’S OUR CHOICE

YET IT DOES SEEM SACRILIGEOUS
TO DO ROBIN WILLIAM’S VOICE

A VOICE THAT WAS DESIGNED TO SOOTHE,
SOFT, DEEP TONES TO RESONATE

AND CASCADE GENTLY OUTWARD
FROM BEHIND A SMILING FACE

A VOICE THAT COULD ACCELERATE
TO CATCH UP WITH THE MIND

LIKE SHIFTING INTO OVERDRIVE
TO NOT GET LEFT BEHIND

A VOICE THAT COULD CHANGE CHARACTER
LIKE SECONDS ON A CLOCK

OR HIJACK NATIONALITIES
FOR A SPIN AROUND THE BLOCK

SHIFT AGE, SHIFT VIEWPOINT, SHIFT I.Q.,
WHATEVER’S NOT NAILED DOWN

DESTROY, REBUILD, DESTROY AGAIN,
A FORMIDABLE CLOWN

WE’LL HEAR THIS VOICE IN FUTURE TIMES
IN RERUNS ON TV,

IT WILL OCCUPY THE WORLD WIDE WEB
LIVE ON, DIGITALLY

WE’LL HEAR ITS ECHOES COME
FROM OTHER MOUTHS AND OTHER LIPS

IN TRIBUTES AND HOMAGES, AND,
LIKE PSYCHEDELIC TRIPS

WE’LL THINK THE OWNER’S BACK AGAIN
WITH HIS FAMILIAR SOUND

BUT THEY’LL ALL BE IMITATIONS–
JUST AN AUDIBLE REBOUND

NEW JOKES AREN’T IN THE PIPELINE NOW,
NOT THAT THE WELL WENT DRY-

BUT THE JESTER WHO POSSESSED THIS VOICE
JUST CHOSE TO SAY GOODBYE

WITH THE WEALTH OF JOY HE LEFT US
WE SHOULD PROBABLY REJOICE

BUT IT’S HARD TO TO GRASP WE LOST THE GUY
WHO USED TO HAVE THIS VOICE.

RIP ROBIN.

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Wattstax Documents the “Black Woodstock” Concert Held 7 Years After the Watts Riots (1973)

Recent events in Mis­souri have brought back painful mem­o­ries for many of the bru­tal treat­ment of pro­tes­tors by police dur­ing the Civ­il Rights Move­ment. Oth­ers see specters of the riots in cities like Detroit, Wash­ing­ton, DC, and the belea­guered Watts neigh­bor­hood of Los Ange­les in the wake of Mar­tin Luther King Jr.’s mur­der. These are bat­tles we would like to think belong to the past, but in remem­ber­ing them, we should also remem­ber peace­ful expres­sions of sol­i­dar­i­ty and non­vi­o­lent respons­es to per­sis­tent social injus­tice. One such response came in the form of a mas­sive con­cert at the L.A. Col­i­se­um put on by Mem­phis’ Stax records in 1972, sev­en years after the Watts riots. Fea­tur­ing some of Stax’ biggest names—Isaac Hayes, Albert King, The Sta­ples Singers, and more—the Wattstax music fes­ti­val brought in more than 100,000 atten­dees and raised thou­sands of dol­lars for local caus­es, becom­ing known infor­mal­ly as the “black Wood­stock.”

The idea came from West Coast Stax exec For­rest Hamil­ton and future Stax pres­i­dent Al Bell, who hoped, he said, to “put on a small con­cert to help draw atten­tion to, and to raise funds for the Watts Sum­mer Fes­ti­val” as well as “to cre­ate, moti­vate, and instill a sense of pride in the cit­i­zens of the Watts com­mu­ni­ty.” To make sure every­one could attend, rich or poor, the orga­niz­ers sold tick­ets for a dol­lar each. Rev. Jesse Jack­son gave the invo­ca­tion, lead­ing the thou­sands of con­cert­go­ers in a call-and-response read­ing of William H. Bor­ders’ poem “I Am – Some­body.”

There to film the event was Mel Stu­art, direc­tor of Willy Won­ka and the Choco­late Fac­to­ry. The result­ing doc­u­men­tary, which you can watch at the top of the post, fea­tures incred­i­ble per­for­mances from Stax’ full ros­ter of artists at the time (see a swag­ger­ing Isaac Hayes play “Shaft” above). Despite secu­ri­ty con­cerns from LA offi­cials, still ner­vous about a gath­er­ing of “more than two black peo­ple” in one place, says Bell, the con­cert was a peace­ful and joy­ous­ly funky occa­sion: “you saw the Crips and Bloods sit­ting side by side—no prob­lems.”

The film inter­cuts con­cert footage with man-on-the street inter­views and “tren­chant mus­ings” from a then lit­tle-known Richard Pry­or, who offers “sharp insight into the real­i­ties of life for black Amer­i­cans, cir­ca 1972.” It’s a moment of “get-down enter­tain­ment, raised-fist polit­i­cal ral­ly, and stand-up spir­i­tu­al revival” char­ac­ter­is­tic of the post-Civ­il Rights, Viet­nam era move­ment, writes the PBS descrip­tion of Wattstax. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, the doc­u­men­tary “was con­sid­ered too racy, polit­i­cal, and black to receive wide the­atri­cal release or tele­vi­sion broad­cast” despite a “not­ed” Cannes screen­ing and a 1974 Gold­en Globe nom­i­na­tion. It’s been a cult favorite for years, but deserves to be more wide­ly seen, as a record of the hope and cel­e­bra­tion of black Amer­i­ca after the rage and despair of the late-60s. The mes­sages of Wattstax still res­onate. As Bell says, “forty years lat­er, I hear African Amer­i­cans in the audi­ences react­ing to the same scenes, the same way they did forty years ago.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

James Brown Saves Boston After MLK’s Assas­si­na­tion, Calls for Peace Across Amer­i­ca (1968)

Nina Simone Per­forms Six Songs in 1968 TV Spe­cial, The Sound of Soul

James Brown, the God­fa­ther of Soul, Extols Some Odd Virtues of Ronald Rea­gan in New Ani­mat­ed Video

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

Philosophy Referee Hand Signals

philosophy ref signals

The next time you’re pre­sid­ing over an intense philo­soph­i­cal debate, feel free to use these hand sig­nals to ref­er­ee things. Devised by phi­los­o­phy prof Lan­don Schurtz, these hand sig­nals were jok­ing­ly meant to be used at APA (Amer­i­can Phi­los­o­phy Asso­ci­a­tion) con­fer­ences. Per­son­al­ly, I think they would have made a great addi­tion to the famous Mon­ty Python soc­cer match where the Ger­mans (Kant, Niet­zsche & Marx) played the indomitable Ancient Greeks (Aris­to­tle, Pla­to & Archimedes). Imag­ine Con­fu­cius, the ref­er­ee, whirling his hand in a cir­cle and penal­iz­ing Wittgen­stein for mak­ing a cir­cu­lar argu­ment. Price­less.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Mon­ty Python Phi­los­o­phy Foot­ball Match: The Greeks v. the Ger­mans

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

The Mod­ern-Day Philoso­phers Pod­cast: Where Come­di­ans Like Carl Rein­er & Artie Lange Dis­cuss Schopen­hauer & Mai­monides

Down­load 100 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es and Start Liv­ing the Exam­ined Life

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Cyberpunk: 1990 Documentary Featuring William Gibson & Timothy Leary Introduces the Cyberpunk Culture

“High tech and low life”: nev­er have I heard a lit­er­ary genre so ele­gant­ly encap­su­lat­ed. I repeat it when­ev­er a friend who finds out I enjoy read­ing cyber­punk nov­els — or watch­ing cyber­punk movies, or play­ing cyber­punk video games — asks what “cyber­punk” actu­al­ly means. We’ve all heard the word thrown around since the mid-1980s, and I seem to recall hear­ing it sev­er­al times a day in the 1990s, when the devel­op­ment of the inter­net and its asso­ci­at­ed pieces of per­son­al tech­nol­o­gy hit the accel­er­a­tor hard. At the dawn of that decade, out came Cyber­punk, a primer on the epony­mous move­ment in not just lit­er­a­ture, film, and com­put­ers, but music, fash­ion, crime, pun­ish­ment, and med­i­cine as well. That time saw tech­nol­o­gy devel­op in such a way as to empow­er less gov­ern­ments, cor­po­ra­tions, and oth­er insti­tu­tions than indi­vid­ual peo­ple: vir­tu­ous peo­ple, sketchy peo­ple, every­day peo­ple, and that favorite cyber­punk char­ac­ter type, the “gen­tle­man-los­er.”

We recent­ly fea­tured No Maps for These Ter­ri­to­ries, the 2000 doc­u­men­tary star­ring William Gib­son, author of nov­els like Neu­ro­mancer, Idoru, and Pat­tern Recog­ni­tion and the writer most close­ly asso­ci­at­ed with the cyber­punk move­ment. Cyber­punk describes him, a decade ear­li­er, as  “the man who may be said to have start­ed it all,” and here he shares insights on how the lit­er­ary form he pio­neered made pos­si­ble styl­is­tic devel­op­ment with­in and the impor­ta­tion of ele­ments of the wider lit­er­ary and artis­tic world into the reac­tionary “gold­en ghet­to” of the sci­ence-fic­tion indus­try. We also hear, amid a far­ra­go of glossy, flam­boy­ant­ly arti­fi­cial ear­ly-1990s com­put­er ani­ma­tion, from a num­ber of cyber­punk-inclined artists, musi­cians, sci­en­tists, and hack­ers.

This line­up includes psy­chol­o­gist, LSD enthu­si­ast, and Neu­ro­mancePC game mas­ter­mind Tim­o­thy Leary, in some sense a prog­en­i­tor of this whole cul­ture of self-enhance­ment through tech­nol­o­gy. How has all this worked out in the near-quar­ter-cen­tu­ry since? It depends on whether one of Gib­son’s dark­er pre­dic­tions aired here will come true: if things go wrong, he says, the future could in real­i­ty end up not as a grand per­son­al empow­er­ment but as “a very expen­sive Amer­i­can tele­vi­sion com­mer­cial inject­ed direct­ly into your cor­tex.” For­tu­nate­ly for cyber­punks the world over, we haven’t got there yet. Quite.

(And if this doc­u­men­tary gets you want­i­ng to jump into cyber­punk lit­er­a­ture, you could do worse than start­ing with Rudy Ruck­er’s Ware Tetral­o­gy, two of whose books won the Philip K. Dick Award for best nov­el, all of which come with an intro­duc­tion by Gib­son, now avail­able free online.)

Cyber­punk will be added to our col­lec­tion, 285 Free Doc­u­men­taries Online, part of our larg­er col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take a Road Trip with Cyber­space Vision­ary William Gib­son, Watch No Maps for These Ter­ri­to­ries (2000)

Tim­o­thy Leary Plans a Neu­ro­mancer Video Game, with Art by Kei­th Har­ing, Music by Devo & Cameos by David Byrne

William Gib­son, Father of Cyber­punk, Reads New Nov­el in Sec­ond Life

What’s the Inter­net? That’s So 1994…

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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