How the Sears Catalog Disrupted the Jim Crow South and Helped Give Birth to the Delta Blues & Rock and Roll

For all of the jus­ti­fied ire direct­ed at cer­tain online retail­ers for their anti-com­pet­i­tive prac­tices, tax eva­sion, labor exploita­tion, and so on, one fact often goes unre­marked upon since it seems to fall out­side the usu­al nar­ra­tives. The explo­sion of online retail gave pur­chas­ing pow­er to peo­ple locked out of cer­tain mar­kets because of income or geog­ra­phy or dis­abil­i­ty, etc. More­over, it gave peo­ple out­side of tra­di­tion­al mar­ket demo­graph­ics the oppor­tu­ni­ty to exper­i­ment with new inter­ests in judg­ment-free zones.

These changes have allowed a gen­er­a­tion of musi­cians access to instru­ments they would nev­er have been will­ing or able to find in the past. For exam­ple, Fend­er gui­tars has dis­cov­ered that women now account for 50 per­cent of all “begin­ner and aspi­ra­tional play­ers,” notes Rolling Stone. “The instru­ment-mak­er is adjust­ing its mar­ket­ing focus accord­ing­ly… around a mas­sive new audi­ence that it’d pre­vi­ous­ly been ignor­ing.” Walk­ing into a music store and feel­ing like you’ve been ignored by the big com­pa­nies may not make for an encour­ag­ing expe­ri­ence. But the abil­i­ty to buy gear online with­out a has­sle may be one sig­nif­i­cant rea­son why so many more women have tak­en up the instru­ment.

Which brings us to Sears. Yes, it’s a round­about way to get there, but bear with me. You’ve sure­ly heard the news by now, the ven­er­a­ble retail giant has gone bank­rupt after 132 years in business—a casu­al­ty of preda­to­ry cap­i­tal­ism or bad busi­ness prac­tices or the inevitably chang­ing times or what-have-you. A num­ber of eulo­gies have described the company’s ear­ly “cat­a­logue shop­ping sys­tem” as “the Ama­zon of its day,” as Lila MacLel­lan points out at Quartz. The com­par­i­son sure­ly fits. Dur­ing its hey­day, peo­ple all over the coun­try, in the most far-flung rur­al areas, could order almost any­thing, even a house.

But a num­ber of sto­ries, includ­ing MacLel­lan’s, have also described Sears, Roe­buck & Com­pa­ny as a great equal­iz­er of its day for the way it bust­ed the Jim Crow bar­ri­ers black shop­pers once faced. Cor­nell Uni­ver­si­ty his­to­ry pro­fes­sor Louis Hyman has post­ed a thread on his Twit­ter and giv­en an inter­view on Jezebel describ­ing the democ­ra­tiz­ing pow­er of the Sears Cat­a­log in the late 19th cen­tu­ry for black Amer­i­cans, most of whom lived in rur­al areas (as did most Amer­i­cans gen­er­al­ly) and had to suf­fer dis­crim­i­na­tion from white shop­keep­ers, who charged inflat­ed prices, denied sales and cred­it, forced black cus­tomers to wait at the back of long lines, and so on.

Hyman talks about this spe­cif­ic his­to­ry in the video lec­ture above (start­ing at 6:24). The vicious­ness of seg­re­ga­tion didn’t stop at the store. As he says, local post­mas­ters would often refuse to sell stamps or mon­ey orders to black cus­tomers. The Sears Cat­a­log, then, includ­ed spe­cif­ic instruc­tions for giv­ing cash direct­ly to mail car­ri­ers. Store­keep­ers burned the cat­a­logs, but still rur­al cus­tomers were able to get their hands on them and order what they need­ed, pay cash, and receive it with­out dif­fi­cul­ty. A new world opened up for peo­ple pre­vi­ous­ly shut out of many con­sumer mar­kets, and this includ­ed, writes Chris Kjor­ness at Rea­son, turn-of-the-cen­tu­ry musi­cians.

The Sears gui­tar, says Michael Roberts, who teach­es the his­to­ry of the blues at DePaul Uni­ver­si­ty, “was inex­pen­sive enough that the blues artists were able to save up the mon­ey they made as share­crop­pers to make that pur­chase.” As Kjor­ness puts it, “There was no Delta blues before there were cheap, read­i­ly avail­able steel-string gui­tars. And those gui­tars, which trans­formed Amer­i­can cul­ture, were brought to the boon­docks by Sears, Roe­buck & Co.”

The first Sears, Roe­buck cat­a­log was pub­lished in 1888. It would go on to trans­form Amer­i­ca. Farm­ers were no longer sub­ject to the vari­able qual­i­ty and arbi­trary pric­ing of local gen­er­al stores. The cat­a­log brought things like wash­ing machines and the lat­est fash­ions to the most far-flung out­posts. Gui­tars first appeared in the cat­a­log in 1894 for $4.50 (around $112 in today’s mon­ey). By 1908 Sears was offer­ing a gui­tar, out­fit­ted for steel strings, for $1.89 ($45 today), mak­ing it the cheap­est har­mo­ny-gen­er­at­ing instru­ment avail­able. 

Qual­i­ty improved, prices went down, and blues­men could get their instru­ments by mail. Most of the big names we asso­ciate with the Delta blues bought a gui­tar from the Sears Cat­a­log. Gui­tars became such a pop­u­lar item that Sears intro­duced their own brand, under the exist­ing Sil­ver­tone line, in the 1930s. Lat­er bud­get gui­tars and ampli­fiers sold through Sears includ­ed Dan­elec­tro, Val­co, Har­mo­ny, Kay, and Teis­co (all of whom, at one time or anoth­er, made Sil­ver­tones).

These brands are now known to musi­cians as clas­sic roots and garage rock instru­ments played by the likes of Jack White, but their his­to­ries all come togeth­er with Sears (you may hear them lumped togeth­er some­times as “the Sears gui­tars”). The com­pa­ny first sup­plied blues­men and coun­try pick­ers with acoustic gui­tars, but “once the sound of the elec­tric gui­tar became that of Amer­i­can music,” Whet Moser writes at Chica­go Mag­a­zine, “teens in garages all over start­ed pick­ing up axes, and Sears was there to sup­ply them.”

Through their busi­ness deal with Nathan Daniel, they man­u­fac­tured the “amp-in-case” line of Dan­elec­tro Masonite gui­tars, sold in stores and cat­a­logs. These funky 50s instru­ments, designed for max­i­mum cost-cut­ting, incor­po­rat­ed sur­plus lip­stick tubes as hous­ing for their pick­ups. They made such a dis­tinc­tive jan­g­ly sound, thanks to the way Daniel wired them, that it became a hall­mark of 50s and 60s garage rock. Often sold under the Sil­ver­tone name as well, Dan­elec­tro gui­tars were cheap, but well designed. (Jim­my Page has had a par­tic­u­lar fond­ness for the Dan­elec­tro 59).

While the prod­uct his­to­ry of Sears elec­tric gui­tars is incred­i­bly com­pli­cat­ed, with brand names, designs, and prod­uct lines shift­ing from year to year, it’s enough to say that with­out their bud­get gui­tars and amps, many of the strug­gling musi­cians who inno­vat­ed the blues and rock and roll would have been unable to afford their instru­ments. The sto­ry of Sears writ large can be told as the sto­ry of a mar­ket “dis­rup­tor” rais­ing stan­dards of liv­ing for mil­lions of rur­al and urban Amer­i­cans. The company’s inno­v­a­tive mar­ket­ing and dis­tri­b­u­tion schemes were also total­ly cen­tral to the his­to­ry of Amer­i­can pop­u­lar music.

via @TedGioia

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the First Record­ed Blues Song by an African Amer­i­can Singer: Mamie Smith’s “Crazy Blues” (1920)

His­to­ry of Rock: New MOOC Presents the Music of Elvis, Dylan, Bea­t­les, Stones, Hen­drix & More

A Brief His­to­ry of Gui­tar Dis­tor­tion: From Ear­ly Exper­i­ments to Hap­py Acci­dents to Clas­sic Effects Ped­als

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

Stephen Hawking’s Final Book and Scientific Paper Just Got Published: Brief Answers to the Big Questions and “Information Paradox”

How did it all begin?  Is there a god? Can we pre­dict the future? Is there oth­er intel­li­gent life in the uni­verse? For decades, many of us turned to Stephen Hawk­ing for answers to those ques­tions, or at least supreme­ly intel­li­gent sug­ges­tions as to where the answers might lie. But the cel­e­brat­ed astro­physi­cist’s death ear­li­er this year — after an aston­ish­ing­ly long life and career, giv­en the chal­lenges he faced — took that option away. It turns out, though, that we haven’t actu­al­ly heard the last of him: his last book, Brief Answers to the Big Ques­tions (whose trail­er you can watch just above), came out just this week.

The book is quin­tes­sen­tial Hawk­ing,” writes physics pro­fes­sor Marce­lo Gleis­er at NPR. “He starts by address­ing the ques­tions in physics and cos­mol­o­gy that he ded­i­cat­ed his intel­lec­tu­al life to answer, using easy-to-fol­low argu­ments and draw­ing from every­day images and thought exper­i­ments.” Hawk­ing’s answers to the big ques­tions fig­ure into his view of not just the world but all exis­tence: he believes, writes Gleis­er, “that human­i­ty’s evo­lu­tion­ary mis­sion is to spread through the galaxy as a sort of cos­mic gar­den­er, sow­ing life along the way. He believes, even if not with­out wor­ry, that we will devel­op a pos­i­tive rela­tion­ship with intel­li­gent machines and that, togeth­er, we will redesign the cur­rent fate of the world and of our species.”

In par­al­lel with his career as a pub­lic fig­ure and writer of pop­u­lar explana­to­ry books, which began with 1988’s A Brief His­to­ry of Time, Hawk­ing per­formed sci­en­tif­ic research on black holes. The Guardian’s sci­ence edi­tor Ian Sam­ple describes it as a “career-long effort to under­stand what hap­pens to infor­ma­tion when objects fall into black holes,” capped off by a posthu­mous­ly pub­lished paper titled “Black Hole Entropy and Soft Hair.” “Toss an object into a black hole and the black hole’s tem­per­a­ture ought to change,” writes Sam­ple. “So too will a prop­er­ty called entropy, a mea­sure of an object’s inter­nal dis­or­der, which ris­es the hot­ter it gets.” In the paper Hawk­ing and his col­lab­o­ra­tors show that “a black hole’s entropy may be record­ed by pho­tons that sur­round the black hole’s event hori­zon, the point at which light can­not escape the intense grav­i­ta­tion­al pull. They call this sheen of pho­tons ‘soft hair’.”

If that sounds tricky to under­stand, all of us who have appre­ci­at­ed Hawk­ing’s writ­ing know that we can at least go back to his books to get a grip on black holes and the ques­tions about them that get sci­en­tists most curi­ous. Much remains for future astro­physi­cists to work on about that “infor­ma­tion para­dox,” to do with where, exact­ly, every­thing that seem­ing­ly gets sucked into a black hole actu­al­ly goes. “We don’t know that Hawk­ing entropy accounts for every­thing you could pos­si­bly throw at a black hole, so this is real­ly a step along the way,” Hawk­ing’s col­lab­o­ra­tor Mal­colm J. Per­ry tells Sam­ple. “We think it’s a pret­ty good step, but there is a lot more work to be done.” As Hawk­ing sure­ly knew, the big ques­tions — in physics or any oth­er realm of exis­tence — nev­er quite get ful­ly answered.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stephen Hawk­ing (RIP) Explains His Rev­o­lu­tion­ary The­o­ry of Black Holes with the Help of Chalk­board Ani­ma­tions

Stephen Hawking’s Ph.D. The­sis, “Prop­er­ties of Expand­ing Uni­vers­es,” Now Free to Read/Download Online

Watch A Brief His­to­ry of Time, Errol Mor­ris’ Film About the Life & Work of Stephen Hawk­ing

The Big Ideas of Stephen Hawk­ing Explained with Sim­ple Ani­ma­tion

Watch Stephen Hawking’s Inter­view with Neil DeGrasse Tyson, Record­ed 10 Days Before His Death: A Last Con­ver­sa­tion about Black Holes, Time Trav­el & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, 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.

The Serial Killer Who Loved Jazz: The Infamous Story of the Axeman of New Orleans (1919)

If you are a fan of “Amer­i­can Hor­ror Sto­ry” you might remem­ber a char­ac­ter in Sea­son Three (“Coven”) played by Dan­ny Hus­ton, broth­er of actress Anjel­i­ca, son of direc­tor John. He was called The Axe­man, and if you were not par­tic­u­lar­ly steeped in New Orleans lore or ser­i­al killer his­to­ry, that par­tic­u­lar ref­er­ence might have flown right past.

But denizens of the city know him full well, because of his bru­tal killing meth­ods, his weapon of choice, his ran­dom attacks…and his love of jazz. Oh, and the fact that he was nev­er caught.

Let’s talk about that jazz, though. At the time of his attacks, between 1918 and 1919, jazz was in its infan­cy and rapid­ly evolv­ing in this south­ern port city, which was new­ly unseg­re­gat­ed in the years after the Civ­il War. It was a mix of African-Amer­i­cans, Jews, Cre­ole, whites, and every­body else, and jazz was the sound of a young gen­er­a­tion ready to par­ty. (Need­less to say, old­er gen­er­a­tions hat­ed this music.)

At first the killer was not known as the Axe­man, but a mys­te­ri­ous intrud­er who had chis­eled open front doors, hacked own­ers (and their wives) to death with his axe, and dis­ap­peared, leav­ing behind his sig­na­ture weapon (which, it turned out, usu­al­ly belonged to the home own­er). The news­pa­pers at the time report­ed on every lurid detail and sent the city into a state of fear dur­ing the sum­mer of 1918.

His vic­tims were all Ital­ian shop­keep­ers, but that wasn’t enough to add his name to the his­to­ry books. But on March 14, 1919, that changed, when the New Orleans Times-Picayune pub­lished an infa­mous let­ter from the hand of the killer him­self:

Esteemed Mor­tal of New Orleans:

They have nev­er caught me and they nev­er will. They have nev­er seen me, for I am invis­i­ble, even as the ether that sur­rounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spir­it and a demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orlea­ni­ans and your fool­ish police call the Axe­man.

When I see fit, I shall come and claim oth­er vic­tims. I alone know whom they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with blood and brains of he whom I have sent below to keep me com­pa­ny.

If you wish you may tell the police to be care­ful not to rile me. Of course, I am a rea­son­able spir­it. I take no offense at the way they have con­duct­ed their inves­ti­ga­tions in the past. In fact, they have been so utter­ly stu­pid as to not only amuse me, but His Satan­ic Majesty, Fran­cis Josef, etc. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to dis­cov­er what I am, for it were bet­ter that they were nev­er born than to incur the wrath of the Axe­man. I don’t think there is any need of such a warn­ing, for I feel sure the police will always dodge me, as they have in the past. They are wise and know how to keep away from all harm.

Undoubt­ed­ly, you Orlea­ni­ans think of me as a most hor­ri­ble mur­der­er, which I am, but I could be much worse if I want­ed to. If I wished, I could pay a vis­it to your city every night. At will I could slay thou­sands of your best cit­i­zens (and the worst), for I am in close rela­tion­ship with the Angel of Death.

Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earth­ly time) on next Tues­day night, I am going to pass over New Orleans. In my infi­nite mer­cy, I am going to make a lit­tle propo­si­tion to you peo­ple. Here it is: I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the dev­ils in the nether regions that every per­son shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have just men­tioned. If every­one has a jazz band going, well, then, so much the bet­ter for you peo­ple. One thing is cer­tain and that is that some of your peo­ple who do not jazz it out on that spe­cif­ic Tues­day night (if there be any) will get the axe.

Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tar­tarus, and it is about time I leave your earth­ly home, I will cease my dis­course. Hop­ing that thou wilt pub­lish this, that it may go well with thee, I have been, am and will be the worst spir­it that ever exist­ed either in fact or realm of fan­cy.

–The Axe­man

Did you note the part in bold (our empha­sis)? Read­ers in 1919 cer­tain­ly did.

That Tues­day, the musi­cal city was even more live­ly than usu­al. If you had a record play­er, it played all night and loud­ly. If you had a piano, you were bang­ing away at the keys. And if you had a jazz club near­by, it was stand­ing room only. It might have been the biggest night of jazz in his­to­ry. And indeed, nobody got the chop that evening.

The Axe­man struck four more times that year, with only one vic­tim suc­cumb­ing to his wounds. And after that The Axe­man dis­ap­peared. With no fin­ger­prints, sus­pects, or descrip­tions of the killer, the case was nev­er solved.

His­to­ri­ans haven’t done well in uncov­er­ing his iden­ti­ty either, but one thing they agree on: the killer prob­a­bly didn’t write the let­ter.

His­to­ri­an Miri­am Davis has a the­o­ry that it was one John Joseph Dávi­la, a musi­cian and a jazz com­pos­er. Right after the pub­li­ca­tion of the Axe­man let­ter, he pub­lished a sheet-music tie-in called “The Mys­te­ri­ous Axeman’s Jazz (Don’t Scare Me Papa)”, and made a bun­dle of mon­ey from it.

Cash­ing in on a mur­der­ous event and pub­lic hys­te­ria? Now that’s quin­tes­sen­tial­ly Amer­i­can, my friends, just like jazz.

For more on this sto­ry, read Miri­am Davis’ book, The Axe­man of New Orleans: The True Sto­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A New Series About A Young Crime-Fight­ing Sig­mund Freud Is Com­ing to Net­flix

Some Joy for Your Ears: New Orleans Brass Band Plays Life-Affirm­ing Cov­er of Mar­vin Gaye’s “Sex­u­al Heal­ing”
Guns N’ Ros­es “Sweet Child O’ Mine” Retooled as 1920s New Orleans Jazz

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.

Twerking, Moonwalking AI Robots–They’re Now Here

In a study released last year, Kat­ja Grace at Oxford’s Future of Human­i­ty Insti­tute “sur­veyed the world’s lead­ing researchers in arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence by ask­ing them when they think intel­li­gent machines will bet­ter humans in a wide range of tasks.” After inter­view­ing 1,634 experts, they found that they “believe there is a 50% chance of AI out­per­form­ing humans in all tasks in 45 years and of automat­ing all human jobs in 120 years.” That includes every­thing from dri­ving trucks, run­ning cash reg­is­ters, to per­form­ing surgery, and writ­ing New York Times best­sellers. These sober­ing pre­dic­tions have prompt­ed aca­d­e­mics, like North­east­ern Uni­ver­si­ty pres­i­dent Joseph Aoun, to write books along the lines of Robot-Proof: High­er Edu­ca­tion in the Age of Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence which asks the ques­tion, How can uni­ver­si­ties “edu­cate the next gen­er­a­tion of col­lege stu­dents to invent, to cre­ate, and to discover—filling needs that even the most sophis­ti­cat­ed robot can­not”? It’s a good ques­tion. But a chal­leng­ing one too. Because it assumes we under­stand what robots can, and can­not, do. Case in point, Boston Dynam­ics released a video this week of its Spot­Mi­ni robot danc­ing to Bruno Mars’s “Uptown Funk.” It can moon­walk. It can twerk. Did the dance depart­ments see that com­ing? Doubt it.

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:

The Robots of Your Dystopi­an Future Are Already Here: Two Chill­ing Videos Dri­ve It All Home

Experts Pre­dict When Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Will Take Our Jobs: From Writ­ing Essays, Books & Songs, to Per­form­ing Surgery and Dri­ving Trucks

Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence: A Free Online Course from MIT

Philosophers Name the Best Philosophy Books: From Stoicism and Existentialism, to Metaphysics & Ethics for Artificial Intelligence

As an Eng­lish major under­grad in the 90s, I had a keen side inter­est in read­ing phi­los­o­phy of all kinds. But I had lit­tle sense of what I should be read­ing. I browsed the library shelves, pick­ing out what caught my atten­tion. Not a bad way to make unusu­al dis­cov­er­ies, but if you want to get a focused, not to men­tion cur­rent, view of a par­tic­u­lar field, you need to have a knowl­edge­able guide.

Back in those days, the inter­net was, as they say, in its infan­cy. How much bet­ter I would have fared if some­thing like Five Books had exist­ed! The site’s gen­er­al idea, as it trum­pets on its home­page, is to rec­om­mend “the best books on every­thing.” Argue amongst your­selves about whether any one resource can deliv­er on that promise, but let’s keep our focus on the excel­lent space of their Phi­los­o­phy sec­tion, curat­ed by free­lance philoso­pher-at-large Nigel War­bur­ton.

You may know Dr. War­bur­ton from his many for­ays in pub­lic phi­los­o­phy. Whether it’s the Phi­los­o­phy Bites pod­cast, or its spin-offs Free Speech Bites and Ethics Bites, or his work on the BBC’s ani­mat­ed his­to­ry of ideas series, or any one of his books, he has a rare knack for bring­ing the obscure and often dif­fi­cult con­cepts of aca­d­e­m­ic phi­los­o­phy to light with both con­ver­sa­tion­al good humor and intel­lec­tu­al rig­or. Most of that work takes place in dia­logue, the orig­i­nal form of clas­si­cal phi­los­o­phy.

The Five Books forum is no excep­tion. In the lat­est post, War­bur­ton inter­views Uni­ver­si­ty of Sheffield’s Kei­th Frank­ish on the five best books on Phi­los­o­phy of Mind. What is “Phi­los­o­phy of Mind”? Read Frankish’s answer to that ques­tion here. What are his five picks? See below:

  1. A Mate­ri­al­ist The­o­ry of the Mind, by D.M. Arm­strong
  2. Con­scious­ness Explained, by Daniel C. Den­nett
  3. Vari­eties of Mean­ing: The 2002 Jean Nicod Lec­tures, by Ruth Gar­rett Milikan
  4. The Archi­tec­ture of the Mind, by Peter Car­ruthers
  5. Super­siz­ing the Mind: Embod­i­ment, Action, and Cog­ni­tive Exten­sion, by Andy Clark

What about the best books on Ethics for Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence? It’s a far more press­ing ques­tion than it was when Arthur C. Clarke pub­lished 2001: A Space Odyssey, which hap­pens to be one of the books on Oxford aca­d­e­m­ic Paula Boddington’s list. In his inter­view with Bod­ding­ton, War­bur­ton asks for, and receives, a clar­i­fi­ca­tion of the phrase “ethics for arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence.” In her choice of books, Bod­ding­ton rec­om­mends those below. You may not find some of them shelved in phi­los­o­phy sec­tions, but when it comes to our sci-fi present, it seems, we may need to expand our cat­e­gories of thought.

  1. Hearti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence: Embrac­ing Our Human­i­ty to Max­i­mize Machines, by John Havens
  2. The Tech­no­log­i­cal Sin­gu­lar­i­ty, by Mur­ray Shana­han
  3. Weapons of Math Destruc­tion: How Big Data Increas­es Inequal­i­ty and Threat­ens Democ­ra­cy, by Cathy O’Neil
  4. Moral Machines: Teach­ing Robots Right from Wrong, by Wen­dell Wal­lach and Col­in Allen
  5. 2001: A Space Odyssey, by Arthur C. Clarke

There are dozens more enlight­en­ing inter­views and lists of five best books—on Niet­zsche, Marx, and Hegel, on Exis­ten­tial­ism, Sto­icism, Con­scious­ness, Chi­nese Phi­los­o­phy…. Too many to direct­ly quote here. There are lists from War­bur­ton him­self, on the best phi­los­o­phy books from 2017, and best intro­duc­tions to phi­los­o­phy. The whole expe­ri­ence is a lit­tle like vis­it­ing, vir­tu­al­ly, a cou­ple dozen or so high­ly-regard­ed philoso­phers in every field, lis­ten­ing in on an infor­ma­tive chat, and get­ting a book­list from every one. You’ve still got to find and buy the books your­self (and read and talk about them), but this kind of guid­ance from liv­ing philoso­phers cur­rent­ly work­ing in the field has nev­er before been so wide­ly and freely avail­able out­side of acad­e­mia.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

170+ Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

Emi­nent Philoso­phers Name the 43 Most Impor­tant Phi­los­o­phy Books Writ­ten Between 1950–2000: Wittgen­stein, Fou­cault, Rawls & More

28 Impor­tant Philoso­phers List the Books That Influ­enced Them Most Dur­ing Their Col­lege Days

48 Ani­mat­ed Videos Explain the His­to­ry of Ideas: From Aris­to­tle to Sartre

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

Watch Richard Linklater’s Anti-Ted Cruz Political Ads: The Texas Director Versus the Texas Senator

If you think of Texas film­mak­ers, Richard Lin­klater sure­ly comes to mind right away. Despite the suc­cess and acclaim he has steadi­ly gar­nered over the past three decades, the direc­tor of Slack­er, Dazed and Con­fused, Boy­hood, and the Before tril­o­gy remains res­olute­ly based in Austin, and even con­tin­ues to set many of his movies in his home state. If you think of Texas politi­cians, can you pos­si­bly keep Ted Cruz from com­ing to mind? The state’s junior sen­a­tor has remained a fix­ture on the high­est-pro­file Amer­i­can polit­i­cal scene since at least his can­di­da­cy in the Repub­li­can pres­i­den­tial pri­maries of 2016. Lin­klater and Cruz’s fan bases might not over­lap much, and giv­en Texas’ famous­ly enor­mous size, the men them­selves may nev­er have run into each oth­er before. But now, in the form of polit­i­cal adver­tise­ments, their worlds have col­lid­ed.

Since his rise to promi­nence, Cruz has suf­fered some­thing of an image prob­lem. (“Cruz may be unique among politi­cians any­where in that every men­tion of his name is always accom­pa­nied by remarks on his loathe­some­ness,” as essay­ist Eliot Wein­berg­er puts it.) His cam­paign in the run-up to the 2018 midterm elec­tions has attempt­ed to cor­rect that prob­lem with the slo­gan “Tough as Texas,” but not every Tex­an has accept­ed its por­tray­al of the can­di­date as a macho, no-non­sense son of the Lone Star State.

Cer­tain­ly Lin­klater seems to have had trou­ble swal­low­ing it, see­ing as he’s direct­ed a cou­ple of video ads for the unam­bigu­ous­ly named polit­i­cal action com­mit­tee Fire Ted Cruz. Both fea­ture actor Son­ny Carl Davis, seem­ing­ly stay­ing in the char­ac­ter he played in Bernie, one of Lin­klater’s most thor­ough­ly Tex­an pic­tures. In them he airs the kind of crit­i­cisms of Cruz one might imag­ine com­ing from the mouth of the straight-talk­ing and some­what ornery Texas every­man.

In Lin­klater’s first anti-Cruz spot, Davis ques­tions whether some­one who so pub­licly allies him­self with a pres­i­dent who insult­ed him so vicious­ly dur­ing the last elec­tion has tru­ly demon­strat­ed a Texas-grade tough­ness (not that he puts it quite that way). The sec­ond moves on to a ter­ri­to­ry even more suit­ed to fight­in’ words: cheese­burg­ers. It seems that Cruz recent­ly called his elec­tion rival Beto O’Rourke a “Triple Meat Whataburg­er lib­er­al who is out of touch with Texas val­ues.” But to the mind of Davis’ char­ac­ter, such a tone-deaf insult to as beloved a Texas insti­tu­tion as Whataburg­er — espe­cial­ly from a man who has also praised the “lit­tle burg­ers” of White Cas­tle — can­not stand. Can the pow­er of such ridicule, har­nessed to the pow­er of cin­e­ma, unseat a sen­a­tor? We’ll have to wait until Novem­ber to find out, but if I were Cruz, I would­n’t exact­ly be look­ing for­ward to what Lin­klater comes up with next.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Richard Lin­klater (Slack­er, Dazed and Con­fused, Boy­hood) Tells Sto­ries with Time: Six Video Essays

Scenes from Wak­ing Life, Richard Linklater’s Philo­soph­i­cal, Fea­ture-Length Ani­mat­ed Film (2001)

Archive of 35,000 TV Polit­i­cal Ads Launched, Cre­at­ing a Bad­ly Need­ed Way to Hold Politi­cians Account­able

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, 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.

Meet Berea College, the Innovative College That Charges No Tuition & Gives Students a Chance to Graduate Debt-Free

“The loom­ing stu­dent loan default cri­sis is worse than we thought,” writes Pro­fes­sor of Eco­nom­ics Judith Scott-Clay­ton at Brook­ings. I’ll leave it to you to parse the report, but to sum up… it looks bad. Sub­prime mort­gage cri­sis bad. Maybe… there’s anoth­er way? Work­ing mod­els of ful­ly sub­si­dized high­er ed sys­tems in oth­er countries—like ful­ly sub­si­dized health­care systems—strongly sug­gest as much. Some high-end pro­grams in the U.S., like NYU’s new­ly free med­ical school, have tak­en an ear­ly lead, hop­ing to solve the prob­lem of doc­tor short­ages.

But there’s an ear­li­er, hum­bler, more pro­gres­sive mod­el of free col­lege in the States, Kentucky’s lit­tle-known Berea Col­lege, found­ed in 1855 by an abo­li­tion­ist Pres­by­ter­ian min­is­ter John Gregg Fee as the first inte­grat­ed, co-edu­ca­tion­al col­lege in the Amer­i­can South. “It has not charged stu­dents tuition since 1892,” Adam Har­ris reports at The Atlantic. “Every stu­dent on cam­pus works, and its labor pro­gram is like work-study on steroids. The work includes every­day tasks such as jan­i­to­r­i­al ser­vices, but old­er stu­dents are often assigned jobs aligned to their vol­un­teer pro­grams.”

Rather than work­ing to pay off tuition, “stu­dents receive a phys­i­cal check for their labor that can go toward hous­ing and liv­ing expens­es.” Near­ly half of the school’s grad­u­ates leave with no debt, with the remain­ing car­ry­ing an aver­age of less than $7,000 from room and board expens­es. Com­pare that to a nation­al aver­age of $37,172 in loan debt per stu­dent for the class of 2016. How does Berea do it? It funds tuition with its large endow­ment of 1.2 bil­lion dol­lars.

Through a per­verse his­tor­i­cal irony, as Har­ris describes, the same racist hatred that ran Berea’s founder out of town in 1859, and forced the school to seg­re­gate in 1904, made cer­tain that its fund­ing mod­el would sus­tain it far into its (re)integrated future. After Kentucky’s pas­sage of the so-called “Day Law,” bar­ring black stu­dents from attend­ing, mon­ey began to pour in.

The prospect of edu­cat­ing poor white peo­ple from Appalachia for no tuition was some­thing that the com­mu­ni­ty could get behind. And near­ly 100 years ago, on Octo­ber 20, 1920, the board made sure that the col­lege would be able to do so for a long time. Accord­ing to Jeff Amburgey, the school’s chief finan­cial offi­cer, “The board essen­tial­ly said, for Berea to sus­tain its fund­ing mod­el,” any unre­strict­ed bequests—essentially mon­ey that some­one leaves the insti­tu­tion after they have passed away, that is not tagged for a spe­cif­ic purpose—could not be spent right away. Instead, he says, the mon­ey was expect­ed to be treat­ed as part of the endow­ment, and only the return on that invest­ment could be spent.

Berea could not, as some oth­er schools do, spend mil­lions on foot­ball sta­di­ums instead of invest­ing in its stu­dents. In the 50s, the school rein­te­grat­ed, but the process was very slow, as it was every­where in the coun­try. “The com­mu­ni­ty was gone,” says Berea his­to­ry pro­fes­sor Alices­tyne Tur­ley, refer­ring to the Recon­struc­tion-era com­mu­ni­ty that had a stu­dent body mix of 50–50 black and white stu­dents.

The school had to relearn its found­ing prin­ci­ples, as expressed in its founder’s cho­sen mot­to, from the Book of Acts: “God has made of one blood all peo­ples of the earth.” Now most of the enrollees, low-income white and black stu­dents most­ly from Appalachia, qual­i­fy for Pell grants. 10 per­cent of the bud­get comes from char­i­ta­ble gifts. But the school pays the bulk of the tuition, $39,400 per stu­dent, from its endow­ment.

Is this sus­tain­able? Time will tell. Though a 1937 pro­mo­tion­al film, above, from the college’s seg­re­gat­ed past decries “the false glit­ter of easy pros­per­i­ty,” its cur­rent pres­i­dent tells Har­ris “we’re not the kind of insti­tu­tion that holds the world of finance in dis­dain. We are depen­dent on it.” A stock mar­ket crash could bank­rupt Berea, and no bailouts would be forth­com­ing. But for now, the col­lege thrives, with very impres­sive rank­ing num­bers in the U.S. News Best Col­leges report (it comes in a #4 in Best Under­grad­u­ate Teach­ing and #3 in Most Inno­v­a­tive Schools).

The school hosts bell hooks as a pro­fes­sor in res­i­dence and boasts as an alum­nus Carter G. Wood­son, the “father of black his­to­ry,” with a cen­ter named for him whose mis­sion is “to assert the kin­ship of all peo­ple and pro­vide inter­ra­cial edu­ca­tion with a par­tic­u­lar empha­sis on under­stand­ing and equal­i­ty among blacks and whites as a foun­da­tion for build­ing com­mu­ni­ty among all peo­ples of the earth.”

Maybe if there were a way to, say, fund Berea, and col­leges and uni­ver­si­ties nation­wide, through some kind of, say, tax­a­tion on, say, the most prof­itable com­pa­nies on the plan­et, or some such… just imag­ine.…

via The Atlantic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Mas­ter List of 1,300 Free Cours­es From Top Uni­ver­si­ties: 45,000 Hours of Audio/Video Lec­tures

How Fin­land Cre­at­ed One of the Best Edu­ca­tion­al Sys­tems in the World (by Doing the Oppo­site of U.S.)

In Japan­ese Schools, Lunch Is As Much About Learn­ing As It’s About Eat­ing

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

A 16th Century Book That Opens Six Different Ways, Revealing Six Different Books in One

Tech­nol­o­gy has come so far that we con­sid­er it no great achieve­ment when a device the size of a sin­gle paper book can con­tain hun­dreds, even thou­sands, of dif­fer­ent texts. But 21st-cen­tu­ry human­i­ty did­n’t come up with the idea of putting mul­ti­ple books in one, nor did we first bring that idea into being — not by a long shot. Medieval book his­to­ri­an Erik Kwakkel points, for exam­ple, to the “dos-à-dos” (back to back) bind­ing of the 16th and 17th cen­turies, which made for books “like Siamese twins in that they present two dif­fer­ent enti­ties joined at their backs: each part has one board for itself, while a third is shared between the two,” so “read­ing the one text you can flip the ‘book’ to con­sult the oth­er.”

Not long there­after, Kwakkel post­ed an arti­fact that blows the dos-à-dos out of the water: a 16th-cen­tu­ry book that con­tains no few­er than six dif­fer­ent books in a sin­gle bind­ing. “They are all devo­tion­al texts print­ed in Ger­many dur­ing the 1550s and 1570s (includ­ing Mar­tin Luther, Der kleine Cat­e­chis­mus) and each one is closed with its own tiny clasp,” he writes.

“While it may have been dif­fi­cult to keep track of a par­tic­u­lar text’s loca­tion, a book you can open in six dif­fer­ent ways is quite the dis­play of crafts­man­ship.” You can admire it — and try to fig­ure it out — from a vari­ety of dif­fer­ent angles at the Flickr account of the Nation­al Library of Swe­den, where it cur­rent­ly resides in the archives of the Roy­al Library.

Four or five cen­turies ago, a book like this would no doubt have impressed its behold­ers as much as or even more than the most advanced piece of hand­held con­sumer elec­tron­ics impress­es us today. But when the inter­net dis­cov­ered Kwakkel’s post, it became clear that this six-in-one devo­tion­al cap­ti­vates us in much the same way as a brand-new, nev­er-before-seen dig­i­tal device. “With a lit­er­a­cy rate hov­er­ing around an esti­mat­ed 5 to 10 per­cent of the pop­u­la­tion dur­ing the Mid­dle Ages, only a select few of soci­ety’s upper ech­e­lons and reli­gious castes had use for books,” Andrew Taran­to­la reminds us. “So who would have use for a sex­tu­plet of sto­ries bound by a sin­gle, mul­ti-hinged cov­er like this? Some seri­ous­ly busy schol­ar.” And he writes that not on a site for enthu­si­asts of old books, Medieval his­to­ry, or reli­gious schol­ar­ship, but at the tem­ple of tech wor­ship known as Giz­mo­do.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Won­der­ful­ly Weird & Inge­nious Medieval Books

Napoleon’s Kin­dle: See the Minia­tur­ized Trav­el­ing Library He Took on Mil­i­tary Cam­paigns

Wear­able Books: In Medieval Times, They Took Old Man­u­scripts & Turned Them into Clothes

Europe’s Old­est Intact Book Was Pre­served and Found in the Cof­fin of a Saint

Behold the “Book Wheel”: The Renais­sance Inven­tion Cre­at­ed to Make Books Portable & Help Schol­ars Study (1588)

The Assassin’s Cab­i­net: A Hol­lowed Out Book, Con­tain­ing Secret Cab­i­nets Full of Poi­son Plants, Made in 1682

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, 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.

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