An Impressive Audio Archive of John Cage Lectures & Interviews: Hear Recordings from 1963–1991

His­to­ry has remem­bered John Cage as a com­pos­er, but to do jus­tice to his lega­cy one has to allow that title the widest pos­si­ble inter­pre­ta­tion. He did, of course, com­pose music: music that strikes the ears of many lis­ten­ers as quite uncon­ven­tion­al even today, more than a quar­ter-cen­tu­ry after his death, but rec­og­niz­able as music nonethe­less. He also com­posed with silence, an artis­tic choice that still intrigues peo­ple enough to get them tak­ing the plunge into his wider body of work, which also includes com­po­si­tions of words, many thou­sands of them writ­ten and many hours of them record­ed.

Ubuweb offers an impres­sive audio archive of Cage’s spo­ken word, begin­ning with mate­r­i­al from the 1960s and end­ing with a talk (embed­ded at the top of the post) he gave at the San Fran­cis­co Art Insti­tute in the penul­ti­mate year of his life. There he read a 30-minute piece called “One 7” con­sist­ing of “brief vocal­iza­tions inter­spersed with long peri­ods of silence” before tak­ing audi­ence ques­tions which “range from inquiries about the process by which Cage com­pos­es, his lack of inter­est in pleas­ing an audi­ence, his love of mush­rooms, Bud­dhism, chance oper­a­tions, and whether Cage can stand on his head.”

Turn the Cage clock back 28 years from there and we can hear a spir­it­ed 1963 con­ver­sa­tion between him and Jonathan Cott, the young music jour­nal­ist lat­er known for con­duct­ing John Lennon’s last inter­view. “At every turn Cott antag­o­nizes Cage with chal­leng­ing ques­tions,” says Ubuweb, adding that he mar­shals “quotes from numer­ous sources (includ­ing Nor­man Mail­er, Michael Stein­berg, Igor Stravin­sky and oth­ers) crit­i­ciz­ing Cage and his music.”

Cage, in char­ac­ter­is­tic response, “par­ries Cot­t’s thrusts with a ver­i­ta­ble tai chi prac­tice of music the­o­ry.” This con­trasts with the mood of Cage’s 1972 inter­view along­side pianist David Tudor embed­ded just above, pre­sent­ed in both Eng­lish and French and fea­tur­ing ref­er­ences to the work of Hen­ry David Thore­au and Mar­cel Duchamp.

Cage has more to say about Duchamp, and oth­er artists like Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschen­berg, in the undat­ed lec­ture clip from the archives of Paci­fi­ca Radio just above. Have a lis­ten through the rest of Ubuwe­b’s col­lec­tion and you’ll hear the mas­ter of silence speak volu­mi­nous­ly, if some­times cryp­ti­cal­ly, on such sub­jects as Zen Bud­dhism, anar­chism, utopia, the work of Buck­min­ster Fuller, and “the role of art and tech­nol­o­gy in mod­ern soci­ety.” The con­texts vary, both in the sense of time and place as well as in the sense of the per­for­ma­tive expec­ta­tions placed on Cage him­self. But even a sam­pling of the record­ings here sug­gests that being John Cage, in what­ev­er set­ting, con­sti­tut­ed a pro­duc­tive artis­tic project all its own.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Curi­ous Score for John Cage’s “Silent” Zen Com­po­si­tion 4’33”

How to Get Start­ed: John Cage’s Approach to Start­ing the Dif­fi­cult Cre­ative Process

Lis­ten to John Cage’s 5 Hour Art Piece: Diary: How To Improve The World (You Will Only Make Mat­ters Worse)

Avant-Garde Com­pos­er John Cage’s Sur­pris­ing Mush­room Obses­sion (Which Began with His Pover­ty in the Depres­sion)

Nota­tions: John Cage Pub­lish­es a Book of Graph­ic Musi­cal Scores, Fea­tur­ing Visu­al­iza­tions of Works by Leonard Bern­stein, Igor Stravin­sky, The Bea­t­les & More (1969)

Dis­cov­er the 1126 Books in John Cage’s Per­son­al Library: Fou­cault, Joyce, Wittgen­stein, Vir­ginia Woolf, Buck­min­ster Fuller & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Time Lapse Video Captures Light Illuminating the Stained Glass Windows of Washington National Cathedral

Col­in Win­ter­bot­tom spe­cial­izes in tak­ing pho­tographs that offer a fresh per­spec­tive on Amer­i­ca’s cap­i­tal, Wash­ing­ton DC. As his web site tells us, his pho­tos seek to express “not just what a place looks like, but how it feels to be there.” A point that also comes across in a video he shot sev­er­al years ago.

He intro­duces the video above, enti­tled “Stained glass time lapse, Wash­ing­ton Nation­al Cathe­dral,” with these back­ground words:

I am pri­mar­i­ly a black and white archi­tec­tur­al still pho­tog­ra­ph­er, but while doc­u­ment­ing post-earth­quake repairs at Wash­ing­ton Nation­al Cathe­dral I was impressed by the dra­ma of the vibrant col­ors the win­dows “paint­ed” on stone and scaf­fold. With just weeks before a relat­ed exhi­bi­tion was to open I began mount­ing cam­eras to scaf­fold to take advan­tage of rare van­tage points. The open­ing and clos­ing view, for exam­ple — with Rowan LeCompte’s remark­able west rose win­dow at eye-lev­el and cen­tered straight ahead with­in the nave — can­not be recre­at­ed now that scaf­fold is down.

The pho­tographs in the exhi­bi­tion “Scal­ing Wash­ing­ton” (which was at the Nation­al Build­ing Muse­um in 2015) often played off the unex­pect­ed har­mo­ny between the Cathe­dral archi­tec­ture and scaf­fold, both hav­ing engag­ing rhyth­mic struc­tur­al rep­e­ti­tions. Thus the inclu­sion of won­der­ful­ly paint­ed scaf­fold here­in. For the pur­pose of the exhi­bi­tion (which had much oth­er con­tent) the video was left silent and had remained so for sev­er­al years until com­pos­er Danyal Dhondy recent­ly offered to write an orig­i­nal score for it. It fits so well and com­ple­ments the rhythms of the orig­i­nal edit so per­fect­ly. Now the piece has new dimen­sion and life out­side the orig­i­nal exhi­bi­tion.

It’s good to know there’s still some beau­ty and tran­quil­i­ty some­where in Wash­ing­ton. Do enjoy.

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Dig­i­tal Recon­struc­tion of Wash­ing­ton D.C. in 1814

5,000+ Pho­tographs by Minor White, One of the 20th Century’s Most Impor­tant Pho­tog­ra­phers, Now Dig­i­tized and Avail­able Online

Enroll in Harvard’s Free Online Archi­tec­ture Course: An Intro­duc­tion to the His­to­ry & The­o­ry of Archi­tec­ture

One Man Shows You How to Play Kraftwerk’s “The Robots” with Just One Synthesizer

Clau­dio aka Doc­tor Mix runs a YouTube chan­nel where he uploads tuto­ri­als on mix­ing and pro­duc­ing music, reviews of audio gear and instru­ments, and hawks his online mix­ing and mas­ter­ing ser­vice. But the above video caught our atten­tion. Using just one syn­the­siz­er, the brand new *ana­log* Arturia MatrixBrute (what a name!), Doc­tor Mix recre­ates the Kraftwerk hit “The Robots.” (Which, if you are a long­time read­er of this site, you know we love.)

Doc­tor Mix builds up the song piece by piece, and while the orig­i­nal band used sev­er­al dif­fer­ent synths to cre­ate the track, the MatrixBrute is able to han­dle every­thing, as it has a sequencer/drum pads built in, and pro­gram­ma­ble sounds that in this sup­ple­men­tal video, Doc­tor Mix will sell to you. (He even is able to use a vocoder with the machine to into­nate its Russ­ian lyrics: “Ja tvoi slu­ga / Ja tvoi rabot­nik”)

It all looks so easy, doesn’t it?

When Kraftwerk record­ed Man Machine, the 1978 land­mark album that leads off with “The Robots,” they had accu­mu­lat­ed years’ worth of synths and oth­er equip­ment, along with synths that had been cus­tom-built for the band, like the “Syn­thanor­ma Sequen­z­er” made by stu­dio Mat­ten & Wiech­ers to han­dle the repet­i­tive loops they start­ed using on their pre­vi­ous album Trans Europe Express.

Along with that and elec­tron­ic-drum pads (first seen on TV in 1975), the band also used the Moog Mini-Moog, the ARP Odyssey, and a Roland Space-Echo, which pro­vid­ed the vocoder sounds.

At the time, band mem­ber Ralf Hüt­ter said of the mak­ing of the album: “We are play­ing the machines, the machines play us, it is real­ly the exchange and the friend­ship we have with the musi­cal machines which make us build a new music.”

But we’ll hand it to Doc­tor Mix: the Arturia MatrixBrute is a good ol’ fash­ioned ana­log machine, and a lot of the new gear reviewed on his site shows that the warm tones of ana­log equip­ment is hav­ing a renais­sance. Warm up those vac­cu­um tubes, kids, the oth­er sound of the ‘70s is back!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Kraftwerk’s First Con­cert: The Begin­ning of the End­less­ly Influ­en­tial Band (1970)

The Case for Why Kraftwerk May Be the Most Influ­en­tial Band Since the Bea­t­les

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

Kraftwerk Plays a Live 40-Minute Ver­sion of their Sig­na­ture Song “Auto­bahn:” A Sound­track for a Long Road Trip (1974)

The Psy­che­del­ic Ani­mat­ed Video for Kraftwerk’s “Auto­bahn” from 1979

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.

How Illuminated Medieval Manuscripts Were Made: A Step-by-Step Look at this Beautiful, Centuries-Old Craft

What place does the paper book have in our increas­ing­ly all-dig­i­tal present? While some util­i­tar­i­an argu­ments once mar­shaled in its favor (“You can read them in the bath­tub” and the like) have fall­en into dis­use, oth­er, more aes­thet­i­cal­ly focused argu­ments have arisen: that a work in print, for exam­ple, can achieve a state of beau­ty as an object in and of itself, the way a file on a lap­top, phone, or read­er nev­er can. In a sense, this case for the paper book in the 21st cen­tu­ry comes back around to the case for the paper book from the 12th cen­tu­ry and even ear­li­er, the age of the illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­script.

Book­mak­ers back then had to con­cen­trate on pres­tige prod­ucts, giv­en that they could­n’t make books in any­thing like the num­bers even the hum­blest, most anti­quat­ed print­ing oper­a­tion can run off today.

In the video above, the Get­ty Muse­um reveals the painstak­ing phys­i­cal process behind the medieval illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­script: the sourc­ing, soak­ing, and stretch­ing of ani­mal skin for the parch­ment; the con­ver­sion of feath­ers into the quills and nuts into the ink with which scribes would write the text; the appli­ca­tion of gold leaf and oth­er col­ors by the illu­mi­na­tor as they drew in their designs; and the sewing of the bind­ing before encas­ing the whole pack­age tight­ly between clasped leather cov­ers.

Some illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts also bear elab­o­rate cov­er designs sculpt­ed of pre­cious met­al, but even with­out those, these elab­o­rate books — what with all the art and craft that went into them, not to men­tion all those pricey mate­ri­als — came out even more valu­able, at the time, than even the most cov­et­ed lap­top, phone, read­er, or oth­er con­sumer elec­tron­ic device today. Most of us in the devel­oped world can now buy one of those, but the non-insti­tu­tion­al patrons will­ing and able to com­mis­sion the most splen­did illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts in the Mid­dle Ages and ear­ly Renais­sance includ­ed most­ly “soci­ety’s rulers: emper­ors, kings, dukes, car­di­nals, and bish­ops.”

To ful­ly under­stand the mak­ing of the devices we use to read elec­tron­i­cal­ly today would require years and years of study, and so there’s some­thing sat­is­fy­ing in the fact that we can grasp so much about the mak­ing of illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts with rel­a­tive ease: see, for exam­ple, the two-minute Get­ty video just above, “The Struc­ture of a Medieval Man­u­script.” A fuller under­stand­ing of the nature of illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts, both in the sense of their con­struc­tion and their place in soci­ety, makes for a fuller under­stand­ing of how rare the chance was to own beau­ti­ful books of their kind in their own time — and how much rar­er the exact com­bi­na­tion of skills need­ed to cre­ate that beau­ty.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Bril­liant Col­ors of Medieval Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts Were Made with Alche­my

Behold the Beau­ti­ful Pages from a Medieval Monk’s Sketch­book: A Win­dow Into How Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts Were Made (1494)

The Aberdeen Bes­tiary, One of the Great Medieval Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts, Now Dig­i­tized in High Res­o­lu­tion & Made Avail­able Online

1,600-Year-Old Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­script of the Aeneid Dig­i­tized & Put Online by The Vat­i­can

Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy Illus­trat­ed in a Remark­able Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­script (c. 1450)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

When German Performance Artist Ulay Stole Hitler’s Favorite Painting & Hung it in the Living Room of a Turkish Immigrant Family (1976)

Carl Spitzweg’s 1839 paint­ing The Poor Poet is an odd can­vas, one which, the Ger­man His­to­ry in Doc­u­ments and Images project writes, “tes­ti­fies to a gen­er­al mid-cen­tu­ry unease with the extremes of Roman­tic ide­al­iza­tion.” On the one hand, it pokes fun at its sub­ject, a “cliché of the artist as an oth­er­world­ly genius who must suf­fer for his art.” (The poet’s stove appears to be fueled by his own man­u­scripts.) On the oth­er hand, the paint­ing shows a sense of defi­ance in its fig­ure of the bohemi­an: “anti­bour­geois, des­ti­tute, but inspired,” argues the Leopold Muse­um of anoth­er ver­sion of the paint­ing. The Poor Poet’s ambi­gu­i­ty is “expressed in the iconog­ra­phy of the point­ed cap… for dur­ing the French Rev­o­lu­tion the so-called Jacobin or lib­er­ty cap was used as a sym­bol of repub­li­can resis­tance.”

Spitzweg’s paint­ing was one of the most beloved of the peri­od, and it cement­ed the rep­u­ta­tion of the mid­dle class for­mer phar­ma­cist as a fore­most artist of the era.

It also hap­pens to have been Adolf Hitler’s favorite paint­ing, a fact that rather taint­ed its rep­u­ta­tion in the post-war 20th cen­tu­ry, but did not pre­vent its proud dis­play in Berlin’s Neue Nation­al­ga­lerie, where, in 1976, Ger­man artist Ulay—part­ner of Mari­na Abramović from 1976 to 1988—walked in, took the paint­ing and walked out again. “Ulay drove—with the muse­um guards at his heels—to Kreuzberg, which was known as a ghet­to for immi­grants,” writes the Louisiana Chan­nel in their intro­duc­tion to the 2017 inter­view with the artist above.

Here, Ulay ran through the snow with the paint­ing under his arm, to a Turk­ish fam­i­ly, who had agreed to let him shoot a doc­u­men­tary film in their home—however unaware that it involved a stolen paint­ing. Before enter­ing the family’s home, the artist called the police from a phone booth and asked for the direc­tor of the muse­um to pick up the paint­ing. He then hung up the paint­ing in the home of the fam­i­ly “for the rea­son to bring this whole issue of Turk­ish dis­crim­i­nat­ed for­eign work­ers into the dis­cus­sion. To bring into dis­cus­sion the institute’s mar­gin­al­iza­tion of art. To bring a dis­cus­sion about the cor­re­spon­dence between art insti­tutes from the acad­e­my to muse­ums to what­ev­er.”

You can see Ulay’s film, “Action in 14 Pre­de­ter­mined Sequences: There is a Crim­i­nal Touch to Art” at Ubuweb. The “action,” as he calls it, did indeed elic­it the kind of inflamed respons­es the artist desired. Ulay puts sev­er­al of the head­lines before the cam­era, such as “Mad­man steals world-famous Spitzweg paint­ing in Berlin” and “Poor Poet to Adorn the Liv­ing-Room of Turks.” The last head­line hints at the kind of big­otry Ulay hoped to expose. “This par­tic­u­lar paint­ing, you could say,” he tells us in his inter­view, “was a Ger­man iden­ti­ty icon, besides it was Hitler’s favorite paint­ing.”

Ulay’s art rob­bery under­scores the mul­ti­ple the­mat­ic and polit­i­cal ten­sions already embod­ied in The Poor Poet—a shrewd choice for his attempt “to give a real­ly strong sig­nal of what I am about as an artist.” An artist does not seclude him­self in his gar­ret with Roman­tic dreams of rev­o­lu­tion, Ulay sug­gests, all the while rep­re­sent­ing “bour­geois tastes,” writes Lisa Beis­s­wanger at Schirn­mag, in “the tem­ple of bour­geois high cul­ture, for the artis­tic plea­sure of the social establishment”—pleasing every­one from art crit­ics, to sol­id Ger­man cit­i­zens who still hang the repro­duc­tions in “liv­ing rooms full of the same uphol­stered fur­ni­ture and wall-to-wall oak-front­ed cup­boards,” to a geno­ci­dal dic­ta­tor who played on the prej­u­dices of the Ger­man peo­ple to accom­plish the unthink­able.

Of what aes­thet­ic val­ue is this kind of per­for­mance art? Does Ulay’s out­rage at the sit­u­a­tion of Turk­ish work­ers, which he calls “not accept­able,” war­rant the “action” of hang­ing stolen art­work in the home of one such immi­grant fam­i­ly? We might not see “art theft as art­work,” as Beis­s­wanger argues, but we can still see Ulay’s action as com­posed of mul­ti­ple mean­ings, includ­ing rad­i­cal cri­tiques not only of racism and exploita­tion, but of the mar­gin­al, per­haps crim­i­nal, sta­tus of art and of the artist in a com­pla­cent­ly xeno­pho­bic, exploita­tive soci­ety.

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

In Touch­ing Video, Artist Mari­na Abramović & For­mer Lover Ulay Reunite After 22 Years Apart

When Bri­an Eno & Oth­er Artists Peed in Mar­cel Duchamp’s Famous Uri­nal

Per­for­mance Artist Mari­na Abramović Describes Her “Real­ly Good Plan” to Lose Her Vir­gin­i­ty

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

The Original Noise Artist: Hear the Strange Experimental Sounds & Instruments of Italian Futurist, Luigi Russolo (1913)

When you hear the phrase Art of Noise, sure­ly you think of the sam­ple-based avant-garde synth out­fit whose instru­men­tal hit “Moments in Love” turned the sound of qui­et storm adult con­tem­po­rary into a hyp­n­a­gog­ic chill-out anthem? And when you hear about “noise music,” sure­ly you think of the dra­mat­ic post-indus­tri­al cacoph­o­ny of Ein­stürzende Neubaut­en or the decon­struct­ed gui­tar rock of Light­ning Bolt?

But long before “noise” became a term of art for rock crit­ics, before the record­ing indus­try exist­ed in any rec­og­niz­ably mod­ern form, an Ital­ian futur­ist painter and com­pos­er, Lui­gi Rus­so­lo, invent­ed noise music, launch­ing his cre­ation in 1913 with a man­i­festo called The Art of Nois­es.

“In antiq­ui­ty,” he writes (in Robert Filliou’s trans­la­tion), “life was noth­ing but silence.” After pre­sent­ing an almost com­i­cal­ly brief his­to­ry of sound and music com­ing into the world, Rus­so­lo then declares his the­sis, in bold:

Noise was real­ly not born before the 19th cen­tu­ry, with the advent of machin­ery. Today noise reigns supreme over human sen­si­bil­i­ty…. Nowa­days musi­cal art aims at the shrillest, strangest and most dis­so­nant amal­gams of sound. Thus we are approach­ing noise-sound. This rev­o­lu­tion of music is par­al­leled by the increas­ing pro­lif­er­a­tion of machin­ery shar­ing in human labor.

Not quite so rad­i­cal as one might think, but bear in mind, this is 1913, the year Stravinsky’s “The Rite of Spring” pro­voked a riot in Paris upon its debut. Rus­so­lo took an even more shock­ing swerve away from tra­di­tion. Pythagore­an the­o­ry had sti­fled cre­ativ­i­ty, he alleged, “the Greeks… have lim­it­ed the domain of music until now…. We must break at all cost from this restric­tive cir­cle of pure sounds and con­quer the infi­nite vari­ety of noise-sounds.”

To accom­plish his grand objec­tive, the exper­i­men­tal artist cre­at­ed his own series of instru­ments, the Intonaru­mori, “acoustic noise gen­er­a­tors,” writes Therem­invox, that could “cre­ate and con­trol in dynam­ic and pitch sev­er­al dif­fer­ent types of nois­es.” Work­ing long before dig­i­tal sam­plers and the elec­tron­ic gad­getry used by indus­tri­al and musique con­crete com­posers, Rus­so­lo relied on pure­ly mechan­i­cal devices, though he did make sev­er­al record­ings as well from 1913 to 1921. (Hear “Risveg­lio Di Una Cit­tà” from 1913 above, and many more orig­i­nal record­ings as well as new Intonaru­mori com­po­si­tions, at Ubuweb.)

Rus­solo’s musi­cal con­trap­tions, 27 dif­fer­ent vari­eties, were each named “accord­ing to the sound pro­duced: howl­ing, thun­der, crack­ling, crum­pling, explod­ing, gur­gling, buzzing, hiss­ing, and so on.” (Stravin­sky was appar­ent­ly an admir­er.) You can see recon­struc­tions at the top of the post in a 2012 exhi­bi­tion at Lisbon’s Museu Coleção Berar­do. Many of his own com­po­si­tions fea­ture string orches­tras as well. Rus­so­lo intro­duced his new instru­men­tal music over the course of a few years, debut­ing an “exploder” in Mod­e­na in 1913, stag­ing con­certs in Milan, Genoa, and Lon­don the fol­low­ing year, and in Paris in 1921.

One 1917 con­cert appar­ent­ly pro­voked explo­sive vio­lence, an effect Rus­so­lo seemed to antic­i­pate and even wel­come. The Art of Noise derived its influ­ence from every sound of the indus­tri­al world, “and we must not for­get the very new nois­es of Mod­ern War­fare,” he writes, quot­ing futur­ist poet Marinetti’s joy­ful descrip­tions of the “vio­lence, feroc­i­ty, reg­u­lar­i­ty, pen­du­lum game, fatal­i­ty” of bat­tle. His noise sys­tem, which he enu­mer­ates in the trea­tise, also con­sists of “human voic­es: shouts, moans, screams, laugh­ter, rat­tlings, sobs….” It seems that if he didn’t sup­ply these onstage, he was hap­py for the audi­ence to do so.

After Russolo’s first Art of Noise con­cert in 1913, Marinet­ti vio­lent­ly defend­ed the instru­ments against assaults from those whom the com­pos­er called “passé-ists.” Oth­er recep­tions of the strange new form were more enthu­si­as­ti­cal­ly pos­i­tive. Nonethe­less, notes a 1967 “Great Bear Pam­phlet” that reprints The Art of Nois­es, the effects aren’t exact­ly what Rus­so­lo intend­ed: “Lis­ten­ing to the har­mo­nized com­bined pitch­es of the bursters, the whistlers, and the gur­glers, no one remem­bered autos, loco­mo­tives or run­ning waters; one rather expe­ri­enced an intense emo­tion of futur­ist art, absolute­ly unfore­seen and like noth­ing but itself.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sovi­et Inven­tor Léon Theremin Shows Off the Theremin, the Ear­ly Elec­tron­ic Instru­ment That Could Be Played With­out Being Touched (1954)

Meet the “Tel­har­mo­ni­um,” the First Syn­the­siz­er (and Pre­de­ces­sor to Muzak), Invent­ed in 1897

The His­to­ry of Elec­tron­ic Music, 1800–2015: Free Web Project Cat­a­logues the Theremin, Fairlight & Oth­er Instru­ments That Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Music

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

Carl Sagan’s “Baloney Detection Kit”: A Toolkit That Can Help You Scientifically Separate Sense from Nonsense

It’s prob­a­bly no stretch to say that mass dis­in­for­ma­tion cam­paigns and ram­pant anti-intel­lec­tu­al­ism will con­sti­tute an increas­ing amount of our polit­i­cal real­i­ty both today and in the future. As Han­nah Arendt wrote, the polit­i­cal lie has always been with us. But its glob­al reach, par­tic­u­lar vehe­mence, and bla­tant con­tempt for ver­i­fi­able real­i­ty seem like inno­va­tions of the present.

Giv­en the embar­rass­ing wealth of access to infor­ma­tion and edu­ca­tion­al tools, maybe it’s fair to say that the first and last line of defense should be our own crit­i­cal rea­son­ing. When we fail to ver­i­fy news—using resources we all have in hand (I assume, since you’re read­ing this), the fault for believ­ing bad infor­ma­tion may lie with us.

But we so often don’t know what it is that we don’t know. Indi­vid­u­als can’t be blamed for an inad­e­quate edu­ca­tion­al sys­tem, and one should not under­es­ti­mate the near-impos­si­bil­i­ty of con­duct­ing time-con­sum­ing inquiries into the truth of every sin­gle claim that comes our way, like try­ing to iden­ti­fy indi­vid­ual droplets while get­ting hit in the face with a pres­sur­ized blast of tar­get­ed, con­tra­dic­to­ry info, some­times com­ing from shad­owy, unre­li­able sources.

Carl Sagan under­stood the dif­fi­cul­ty, and he also under­stood that a lack of crit­i­cal think­ing did not make peo­ple total­ly irra­tional and deserv­ing of con­tempt. “It’s not hard to under­stand,” for exam­ple, why peo­ple would think their rel­a­tives are still alive in some oth­er form after death. As he writes of this com­mon phe­nom­e­non in “The Fine Art of Baloney Detec­tion,” most super­nat­ur­al beliefs are just “humans being human.”

In the essay, a chap­ter from his 1995 book The Demon-Haunt­ed World, Sagan pro­pos­es a rig­or­ous but com­pre­hen­si­ble “baloney detec­tion kit” to sep­a­rate sense from non­sense.

  • Wher­ev­er pos­si­ble there must be inde­pen­dent con­fir­ma­tion of the “facts.”
  • Encour­age sub­stan­tive debate on the evi­dence by knowl­edge­able pro­po­nents of all points of view.
  • Argu­ments from author­i­ty car­ry lit­tle weight — “author­i­ties” have made mis­takes in the past. They will do so again in the future. Per­haps a bet­ter way to say it is that in sci­ence there are no author­i­ties; at most, there are experts.
  • Spin more than one hypoth­e­sis. If there’s some­thing to be explained, think of all the dif­fer­ent ways in which it could be explained. Then think of tests by which you might sys­tem­at­i­cal­ly dis­prove each of the alter­na­tives.
  • Try not to get over­ly attached to a hypoth­e­sis just because it’s yours. It’s only a way sta­tion in the pur­suit of knowl­edge. Ask your­self why you like the idea. Com­pare it fair­ly with the alter­na­tives. See if you can find rea­sons for reject­ing it. If you don’t, oth­ers will.
  • If what­ev­er it is you’re explain­ing has some mea­sure, some numer­i­cal quan­ti­ty attached to it, you’ll be much bet­ter able to dis­crim­i­nate among com­pet­ing hypothe­ses. What is vague and qual­i­ta­tive is open to many expla­na­tions.
  • If there’s a chain of argu­ment, every link in the chain must work (includ­ing the premise) — not just most of them.
  • Occam’s Razor. This con­ve­nient rule-of-thumb urges us when faced with two hypothe­ses that explain the data equal­ly well to choose the sim­pler. Always ask whether the hypoth­e­sis can be, at least in prin­ci­ple, fal­si­fied…. You must be able to check asser­tions out. Invet­er­ate skep­tics must be giv­en the chance to fol­low your rea­son­ing, to dupli­cate your exper­i­ments and see if they get the same result.

Call­ing his rec­om­men­da­tions “tools for skep­ti­cal think­ing,” he lays out a means of com­pen­sat­ing for the strong emo­tion­al pulls that “promise some­thing like old-time reli­gion” and rec­og­niz­ing “a fal­la­cious or fraud­u­lent argu­ment.” At the top of the post, in a video pro­duced by Big Think, you can hear sci­ence writer and edu­ca­tor Michael Sher­mer explain the “baloney detec­tion kit” that he him­self adapt­ed from Sagan, and just above, read Sagan’s own ver­sion, abridged into a short list (read it in full at Brain Pick­ings).

Like many a sci­ence com­mu­ni­ca­tor after him, Sagan was very much con­cerned with the influ­ence of super­sti­tious reli­gious beliefs. He also fore­saw a time in the near future much like our own. Else­where in The Demon-Haunt­ed World, Sagan writes of “Amer­i­ca in my children’s or grandchildren’s time…. when awe­some tech­no­log­i­cal pow­ers are in the hands of a very few.” The loss of con­trol over media and edu­ca­tion ren­ders peo­ple “unable to dis­tin­guish between what feels good and what’s true.”

This state involves, he says a “slide… back into super­sti­tion” of the reli­gious vari­ety and also a gen­er­al “cel­e­bra­tion of igno­rance,” such that well-sup­port­ed sci­en­tif­ic the­o­ries car­ry the same weight or less than expla­na­tions made up on the spot by author­i­ties whom peo­ple have lost the abil­i­ty to “knowl­edge­ably ques­tion.” It’s a scary sce­nario that may not have com­plete­ly come to pass… just yet, but Sagan knew as well or bet­ter than any­one of his time how to address such a poten­tial social epi­dem­ic.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Carl Sagan Pre­dicts the Decline of Amer­i­ca: Unable to Know “What’s True,” We Will Slide, “With­out Notic­ing, Back into Super­sti­tion & Dark­ness” (1995)

Carl Sagan’s Syl­labus & Final Exam for His Course on Crit­i­cal Think­ing (Cor­nell, 1986)

Carl Sagan’s Last Inter­view

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

Oxford’s Free Introduction to Philosophy: Stream 41 Lectures

You don’t need to go to Oxford to study phi­los­o­phy. Not when it will come to you. Above, find a playlist that fea­tures 41 lec­tures from Oxford’s course called Gen­er­al Phi­los­o­phy. Here’s what it has to offer:

A series of lec­tures deliv­ered by Peter Mil­li­can to first-year phi­los­o­phy stu­dents at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Oxford. The lec­tures com­prise of the 8‑week Gen­er­al Phi­los­o­phy course, deliv­ered to first year under­grad­u­ates. These lec­tures aim to pro­vide a thor­ough intro­duc­tion to many philo­soph­i­cal top­ics and to get stu­dents and oth­ers inter­est­ed in think­ing about key areas of phi­los­o­phy. Tak­ing a chrono­log­i­cal view of the his­to­ry of phi­los­o­phy, each lec­ture is split into 3 or 4 sec­tions which out­line a par­tic­u­lar philo­soph­i­cal prob­lem and how dif­fer­ent philoso­phers have attempt­ed to resolve the issue. Indi­vid­u­als inter­est­ed in the ‘big’ ques­tions about life such as how we per­ceive the world, who we are in the world and whether we are free to act will find this series infor­ma­tive, com­pre­hen­sive and acces­si­ble.

Philoso­phers cov­ered in the course include Aris­to­tle, Descartes, Hobbes, Locke, Berke­ley and Hume.

The lec­tures can be accessed on YouTube, iTunes or the Web. Gen­er­al Phi­los­o­phy will be added to our list of 200+ Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

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:

Down­load 100 Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es & Start Liv­ing the Exam­ined Life

Intro­duc­tion to Polit­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy: A Free Online Course from Yale Uni­ver­si­ty

A His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy in 81 Video Lec­tures: A Free Course That Explores Phi­los­o­phy from Ancient Greece to Mod­ern Times

Death: A Free Phi­los­o­phy Course from Yale

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