Watch “Degrees of Uncertainty,” an Animated Documentary about Climate Science, Uncertainty & Knowing When to Trust the Experts

We should just trust the experts. But wait: to iden­ti­fy true exper­tise requires its own kind of even more spe­cial­ized exper­tise. Besides, experts dis­agree with each oth­er, and over time dis­agree with them­selves as well. This makes it chal­leng­ing indeed for all of us non-experts — and we’re all non-experts in the fields to which we have not ded­i­cat­ed our lives — to under­stand phe­nom­e­na of any com­plex­i­ty. As for grasp­ing cli­mate change, with its enor­mous his­tor­i­cal scale and count­less many vari­ables, might we as well just throw up our hands? Many have done so: Neil Hal­lo­ran, cre­ator of the short doc­u­men­tary Degrees of Uncer­tain­ty above, labels them “cli­mate denial­ists” and “cli­mate defeatists.”

Cli­mate denial­ists choose to believe that man­made cli­mate change isn’t hap­pen­ing, cli­mate defeatists choose to believe that it’s inevitable, and both there­by let them­selves off the hook. Not only do they not have to address the issue, they don’t even have to under­stand it — which itself can seem a fair­ly daunt­ing task, giv­en that sci­en­tists them­selves express no small degree of uncer­tain­ty about cli­mate change’s degree and tra­jec­to­ry. “The only way to learn how sure sci­en­tists are is to dig in a lit­tle and view their work with some healthy skep­ti­cism,” says Hal­lo­ran. This entails devel­op­ing an instinct not for refu­ta­tion, exact­ly, but for exam­in­ing just how the experts arrive at their con­clu­sions and what pit­falls they encounter along the way.

Often, sci­en­tists “don’t know how close they are to the truth, and they’re prone to con­fir­ma­tion bias,” and as any­one pro­fes­sion­al­ly involved in the sci­ences knows full well, they work “under pres­sure to pub­lish note­wor­thy find­ings.” Their pub­li­ca­tions then find their way to a media cul­ture in which, increas­ing­ly, “trust­ing or dis­trust­ing sci­en­tists is becom­ing a mat­ter of polit­i­cal iden­ti­ty.” As he did in his pre­vi­ous doc­u­men­tary The Fall­en of World War II, Hal­lo­ran uses ani­ma­tion and data visu­al­iza­tion to illu­mi­nate his own path to under­stand­ing a glob­al occur­rence whose sheer pro­por­tions make it dif­fi­cult to per­ceive.

This jour­ney takes Hal­lo­ran not just around the globe but back in time, start­ing in the year 19,000 B.C. and end­ing in pro­jec­tions of a future in which ring seas swal­low much of Ams­ter­dam, Mia­mi, and New Orleans. The most impor­tant stop in the mid­dle is the Age of Enlight­en­ment and the Indus­tri­al Rev­o­lu­tion of the 17th through the 19th cen­tu­ry, when sci­ence and tech­nol­o­gy rose to promi­nence and brought about  an unprece­dent­ed human flour­ish­ing — with cli­mat­ic con­se­quences that have begun to make them­selves known, albeit not with absolute cer­tain­ty. But as Hal­lo­ran sees it, “uncer­tain­ty, the very thing that clouds our view, also frees us to con­struct pos­si­ble answers.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Map Shows What Hap­pens When Our World Gets Four Degrees Warmer: The Col­orado Riv­er Dries Up, Antarc­ti­ca Urban­izes, Poly­ne­sia Van­ish­es

Music for a String Quar­tet Made from Glob­al Warm­ing Data: Hear “Plan­e­tary Bands, Warm­ing World”

A Cen­tu­ry of Glob­al Warm­ing Visu­al­ized in a 35 Sec­ond Video

Cli­mate Change Gets Strik­ing­ly Visu­al­ized by a Scot­tish Art Instal­la­tion

The Pra­do Muse­um Dig­i­tal­ly Alters Four Mas­ter­pieces to Strik­ing­ly Illus­trate the Impact of Cli­mate Change

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

Muhammad Ali Explains Why He Refused to Fight in Vietnam: “My Conscience Won’t Let Me Go Shoot My Brother… for Big Powerful America” (1970)

In April of 1967, Muham­mad Ali arrived at the U.S. Armed Forces Exam­in­ing and Entrance Sta­tion in Hous­ton, Texas. “Stand­ing beside twen­ty-five oth­er nerve-racked young men called to the draft,” writes David Rem­nick at The New York­er, Ali “refused to respond to the call of ‘Cas­sius Clay!’” Offered the choice of going to Viet­nam or to jail, he chose the lat­ter “and was sen­tenced to five years in prison and released on bail.” Ali lost his title, his box­ing license, his pass­port, and — as far as he knew at the time — his career. He was new­ly mar­ried with his first child on the way.

When Ali refused to go to Viet­nam, he was “already one of America’s great­est heavy­weights ever,” notes USA Today. “He’d won an Olympic gold medal for the Unit­ed States in Rome when he was just 18 and four years lat­er, against all odds, defeat­ed Son­ny Lis­ton to win his first title as world cham­pi­on.” Ali, it seemed, could do no wrong, as long as he agreed to play a role that made Amer­i­cans com­fort­able. He refused to do that too, becom­ing a Mus­lim in 1961, chang­ing his name in 1964, and speak­ing out in his inim­itable style against racism and Amer­i­can impe­ri­al­ism.

Ali stood on prin­ci­ple as a con­sci­en­tious objec­tor at a time when resist­ing the Viet­nam War made him extreme­ly unpop­u­lar. Sports Illus­trat­ed called him “anoth­er dem­a­gogue and an apol­o­gist for his so-called reli­gion” and pro­nounced that “his views of Viet­nam don’t deserve rebut­tal.” Tele­vi­sion host David Susskind called him “a dis­grace to his coun­try” and even Jack­ie Robin­son felt Ali was “hurt­ing… the morale of a lot of young Negro sol­diers over in Viet­nam.”

Robin­son gave voice to a sen­ti­ment one hears often from crit­ics of polit­i­cal­ly out­spo­ken ath­letes: “Cas­sius has made mil­lions of dol­lars off of the Amer­i­can pub­lic, and now he’s not will­ing to show his appre­ci­a­tion to a coun­try that’s giv­ing him, in my view, a fan­tas­tic oppor­tu­ni­ty.” But the coun­try also gave Ali the oppor­tu­ni­ty to take his case to the Supreme Court, as his lawyer told Howard Cosell in the ABC news seg­ment at the top. “Ali had no inten­tion of flee­ing to Cana­da,” DeNeen L. Brown writes at The Wash­ing­ton Post, “but he also had no inten­tion of serv­ing in the Army.”

Ali strung togeth­er a liv­ing giv­ing speak­ing engage­ments at anti-war events around the coun­try for the next few years as he fought the ver­dict. It was hard­ly the liv­ing he’d made as cham­pi­on. But “my con­science won’t let me go shoot my broth­er, or some dark­er peo­ple, or some poor hun­gry peo­ple in the mud for big pow­er­ful Amer­i­ca,” he said. “And shoot them for what? They nev­er called me [the N word], they nev­er lynched me, they didn’t put no dogs on me, they didn’t rob me of my nation­al­i­ty, rape and kill my moth­er and father…. Shoot them for what? How can I shoot them poor peo­ple? Just take me to jail.”

Ali remained promi­nent­ly in the pub­lic eye through­out his appeal. He had become a “fix­ture on the TV talk show cir­cuit in the pre­ca­ble days of the 1960s and ‘70s,” writes Stephen Battaglio in a LA Times review of the recent doc­u­men­tary Ali & Cavett. He remained so dur­ing his hia­tus from box­ing thanks in no small part to Dick Cavett, who had Ali on fre­quent­ly for every­thing from “seri­ous dis­cus­sions of race rela­tions in the U.S. to play­ful con­fronta­tions aimed at pro­mot­ing fights.” Cavett’s show “pro­vid­ed a com­fort zone for Ali, espe­cial­ly before he became a beloved fig­ure.” And it gave Ali a forum to counter pub­lic slan­der. In the clip above from 1970, he talks about how his sac­ri­fices made him a cred­i­ble role mod­el for trou­bled young peo­ple.

He seems at first to com­pare him­self to ear­ly Amer­i­can pio­neers, Japan­ese kamikaze pilots, and the first astro­nauts when Cavett asks him about the pos­si­bil­i­ty of going to jail, but his point is that he thinks he’s pay­ing a small price com­pared to what oth­ers have giv­en up for progress — “We’ve been in jail 400 years,” he says. “The sys­tem is built on war.” The fol­low­ing year, the Supreme Court would dis­miss the case against him, swayed by the argu­ment that Ali opposed all war, not just the war in Viet­nam. He saw Cavett as a wor­thy spar­ring part­ner, help­ing the late-night host earn a place on Nixon’s list of ene­mies. It would become a place of hon­or in the com­ing years as Ali won back his career, his rep­u­ta­tion, and his title in the “Rum­ble in the Jun­gle” four years lat­er, and the Viet­nam War became a cause for nation­al shame.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Muham­mad Ali Gives a Dra­mat­ic Read­ing of His Poem on the Atti­ca Prison Upris­ing

“Muham­mad Ali, This Is Your Life!”: Cel­e­brate Ali’s Life & Times with This Touch­ing 1978 TV Trib­ute

When Jack John­son, the First Black Heavy­weight Cham­pi­on, Defeat­ed Jim Jef­fries & the Footage Was Banned Around the World (1910)

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

Diagnosing America’s Relationship with Pets — Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast #91 w/ Trainer Hannah Branigan

What is with the weird rela­tion­ship we Amer­i­cans have with our pets? Many of us treat them as our babies, yet of course they’re our cap­tives. Dog train­er Han­nah Brani­gan joins your hosts Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Eri­ca Spyres, and Bri­an Hirt to talk about pets as enter­tain­ment, as hob­by, and as pan­dem­ic com­pan­ions. How can we make this rela­tion­ship as ben­e­fi­cial as pos­si­ble for all involved, and how can learn­ing to be a bet­ter pet own­er inform our treat­ment of oth­er peo­ple? Plus, what do we want out of TV talk­ing ani­mals, dog train­ing TV, and the abom­i­na­tion that is Pooch Per­fect.

Han­nah’s pod­cast is Drink­ing from the Toi­let, and you can learn more about her book and train­ing pro­gram at hannahbranigan.dog. A cou­ple of her pod­cast episodes that we refer to are #129 Treat Every­one Like a Dog, #114 Acci­den­tal Behav­ior, and #80 I Wrote a Book.

And a few arti­cle links as usu­al:

Hear more of this pod­cast at prettymuchpop.com. This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion that you can access by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts.

Keith Richards Demonstrates His Famous 5‑String Technique (Used on Classic Stones Songs Like “Start Me Up,” “Honky Tonk Women” & More)

For the gui­tarist, alter­nate tun­ings expand the son­ic pos­si­bil­i­ties of the instru­ment. But where, say, a pro­gres­sive met­al play­er will add a sev­enth or eighth string, pitch every­thing down, and get tech­ni­cal, the oppo­site is the case with “open” tun­ings in folk and blues. They are an ide­al basis for slide gui­tar and three-chord, 12-bar vamps, and became the per­fect plat­form for Kei­th Richards, giv­ing him the room he need­ed to trans­late the music of his folk heroes into the grit­ty, dis­tort­ed rock and roll of the Stones.

Feel­ing like he had gone as far as he could in stan­dard tun­ing, Richards first turned to an open D on the band’s 1968 return to roots, Beg­gars Ban­quet and non-album sin­gle “Jumpin’ Jack Flash.” In his auto­bi­og­ra­phy, Life, he describes how he moved to open G from a desire to imi­tate the five-string ban­jo: “With the five-string it was just like turn­ing a page; there’s anoth­er sto­ry. And I’m still explor­ing. With five strings you can be sparse; that’s your frame, that’s what you work on. ‘Start Me Up,’ ‘Can’t You Hear Me Knock­ing,’ ‘Honky Tonk Women,’ all leave gaps between the chords.”

As Keef tells it, the great Ry Cood­er — who plays on Let it Bleed and Sticky Fin­gers — first intro­duced him to five-string open G tun­ing in the 60s, thir­ty years before curat­ing Cuban music for the world on Bue­na Vista Social Club. Cood­er “had the tun­ings down. He had the open G,” Richards writes:

The advan­tage (of the open‑G tun­ing) is that you can get cer­tain drone notes going. It’s an open‑G tun­ing, with the low E‑string removed and there’s real­ly only three notes you use. My favorite phrase about this style of play­ing is that all you need to play it is five strings, two notes, two fin­gers and one assh*le.

Doing an impres­sion of a mean Ike Turn­er, Richards demon­strates “that five-string sh*t” above on a beat-up Mar­tin acoustic at the top of the post. Gui­tarists who cov­er the Stones in stan­dard tun­ings “know something’s wrong, that an ele­ment is amiss,” writes George Raj­na at Huff­in­g­ton Post. “Alter­ing to Keith’s open ‘G’ tun­ing makes songs such as ‘Can’t You Hear Me Knock­ing’ sim­ple to play.”

Open G can also help play­ers break out of a six-string rut. As Kei­th says, when he “found the five-string, it was like dis­cov­er­ing a new instru­ment.” Cood­er, it seems wasn’t very hap­py about Richards tak­ing his licks, call­ing the Stones “blood­suck­ers” in a 70s Rolling Stone inter­view. But as far as Keef is con­cerned, it seems, everything’s fair game, and “if it’s in the bones, it’s in the bones,” he writes.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The Rolling Stones Jam with Mud­dy Waters for the First and Only Time at Chicago’s Leg­endary Checker­board Lounge (1981)

The Rolling Stones Release a Long Lost Track Fea­tur­ing Led Zeppelin’s Jim­my Page

Hunter S. Thomp­son Talks with Kei­th Richards in a Very Mem­o­rable and Mum­ble-Filled Inter­view (1993)

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

Kermit the Frog Gives a TED Talk About Creativity & the Power of “Ridiculous Optimism”

In 2015, 3.8 bil­lion years after “cre­ativ­i­ty emerged” out of “sheer­est empti­ness,” Ker­mit the Frog was tapped to give a talk on cre­ativ­i­ty at TEDx­Jack­son.

How did a local, one-day event man­age to snag such a glob­al icon?

Roots.

The famed frog’s cre­ator, Jim Hen­son, spent his first decade in Mis­sis­sip­pi (though Ker­mit was born of a ping pong ball and Henson’s mother’s old coat after the fam­i­ly relo­cat­ed to Mary­land.)

The con­fer­ence took place 15 years after Henson’s untime­ly death, leav­ing Ker­mit to be ani­mat­ed by Steven Whit­mire, the first of two pup­peteers to tack­le a role wide­ly under­stood to be Henson’s alter ego.

The voice isn’t quite the same, but the man­ner­isms are, includ­ing the throat clear­ing and crum­pled facial expres­sions.

Also present are a num­ber of TED Talk tropes, the smart phone prompts, the dark stage, pro­jec­tions designed to empha­size pro­found points.

A num­ber of jokes fail to elic­it the expect­ed laughs … we’ll leave it up to you to deter­mine whether the fault lays with the live audi­ence or the mate­r­i­al. (It’s not easy being green and work­ing blue comes with chal­lenges, too.)

Were he to give his TED Talk now, in 2021, Ker­mit prob­a­bly wouldn’t describe the audience’s col­lec­tive deci­sion to “accept a premise, sus­pend our dis­be­lief and just enjoy the ride” as a “con­spir­a­cy of crazi­ness.”

He might bypass a bina­ry quote like “If neces­si­ty is the moth­er of inven­tion, then cre­ativ­i­ty is the father.”

He’d also be advised to steer clear of a pho­to of Miss Pig­gy dressed as a geisha, and secure her con­sent to share some of the raci­er anec­dotes… even though she is a known atten­tion hog.

He would “tran­scend and include” in the words of philoso­pher Ken Wilber, one of many inspi­ra­tions he cites over the course of his 23-minute con­sid­er­a­tion of cre­ativ­i­ty and its ori­gins, attempt­ing to answer the ques­tion, “Why are we here?”

Also ref­er­enced: Michelan­ge­lo, Albert Ein­stein, Sal­vador Dali, Charles Baude­laire, Zen mas­ter Shun­ryū Suzu­ki, math­e­mati­cian Alfred North White­head, author and edu­ca­tor, Sir Ken Robin­son (who appears, briefly) and of course, Hen­son, who applaud­ed the “ridicu­lous opti­mism” of fling­ing one­self into cre­ative explo­rations, unsure of what one might find.

He can’t wan­der freely about the stage, but he does share some stir­ring thoughts on col­lab­o­ra­tion, men­tors, and the impor­tance of main­tain­ing “beginner’s mind,” free of pre-con­cep­tions.

How to cul­ti­vate beginner’s mind?

Try fast for­ward­ing to the 11:11 mark. Watch for 20 sec­onds. It’s the purest invi­ta­tion to believe since Peter Pan begged us to clap Tin­ker Bell back to life.

Do you? Because Ker­mit believes in you.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Wit­ness the Birth of Ker­mit the Frog in Jim Henson’s Live TV Show, Sam and Friends (1955)

Watch Blondie’s Deb­bie Har­ry Per­form “Rain­bow Con­nec­tion” with Ker­mit the Frog on The Mup­pet Show (1981)

Jim Henson’s Com­mer­cials for Wilkins Cof­fee: 15 Twist­ed Min­utes of Mup­pet Cof­fee Ads (1957–1961)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

How the Internet Archive Has Digitized More than 250,000 78 R.P.M. Records: See the Painstaking Process Up-Close

In the his­to­ry of record­ed music, no medi­um has demon­strat­ed quite the stay­ing pow­er of the phono­graph record. Hear­ing those words, most of us envi­sion a twelve-inch disc designed to play at 33 13 rev­o­lu­tions per minute, the kind still man­u­fac­tured today. But like every oth­er form of tech­nol­o­gy, that famil­iar vinyl LP did­n’t appear ex nihi­lo: on its intro­duc­tion in 1948, it was the lat­est in a series of phono­graph records of dif­fer­ent sizes and speeds. The first dom­i­nant record for­mat spun at 78 r.p.m., a speed stan­dard­ized in the mid-1920s, though the discs them­selves (made of rub­ber, shel­lac, or oth­er pre-vinyl mate­ri­als) had been in pro­duc­tion since the end of the 19th cen­tu­ry and remained in pro­duc­tion until the 1950s.

The half-cen­tu­ry of the “78” adds up to quite a lot of music, most of which has long been inac­ces­si­ble to non-anti­quar­i­ans. Enter the his­tor­i­cal­ly mind­ed tech­nol­o­gists of the Inter­net Archive, who since 2016 have been work­ing with media preser­va­tion com­pa­ny George Blood LP to dig­i­tize, pre­serve, and make avail­able, as of this writ­ing, more than 250,000 such records.

The process involves much more than play­ing them all into a com­put­er, due not least to the toll the past cen­tu­ry or so has tak­en on the discs’ sur­faces. “Each record is cleaned on a machine that sprays dis­tilled water onto its sur­face,” writes The Verge’s Kait Sanchez. “A lit­tle vac­u­um arm then sucks up the water, along with what­ev­er dirt and nas­ti­ness has built up in the record’s grooves.”

“The discs are then pho­tographed, and the pho­tos are ref­er­enced to pull info from the discs’ labels and add it to the archive’s data­base by hand.” There fol­lows the actu­al dig­i­ti­za­tion, which records each disc with four styli at once: since 78s nev­er had stan­dard­ized groove sizes, “record­ings tak­en with var­i­ous sty­lus tips will each sound slight­ly dif­fer­ent,” but for any record in the George Blood Col­lec­tion the lis­ten­er can choose which of the four they’d pre­fer to lis­ten through. You can see each step of the process in the video at the top of the post, part of a Twit­ter thread recent­ly post­ed by the Inter­net Archive. There the Archive notes that, “after scan­ning 250,000 sides, we’ve found 80% of these 78s were pro­duced by the ‘Big Five’ labels” — Colum­bia, RCA Vic­tor, Dec­ca, Capi­tol and Mer­cury — “but along the way, we’ve uncov­ered 1700 oth­er music labels and some pret­ty beau­ti­ful pic­ture discs.”

You can look at — and more to the point, lis­ten to — every­thing in the the George Blood Col­lec­tion here, which is a sub­set of the Inter­net Archive’s larg­er col­lec­tion of dig­i­tized 78 records as well as the cylin­ders that 78s whol­ly dis­placed as a con­sumer for­mat. As the Inter­net Archive’s Twit­ter thread reminds us, “from 1898–1950, this was THE way music was record­ed & shared.” In oth­er words, if your par­ents were lis­ten­ing to music in that peri­od — or maybe your grand­par­ents, great-grand­par­ents, or great-great grand­par­ents — 78s were their MP3s, their Spo­ti­fy, their Youtube. We descend as lis­ten­ers from enthu­si­as­tic buy­ers of 78s, and now, thanks to the Inter­net Archive and its col­lab­o­ra­tors, we can enjoy a large and ever-increas­ing pro­por­tion of their entire world of record­ed music for free.

via The Verge

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mas­sive Archive of 78RPM Records Now Dig­i­tized & Put Online: Stream 78,000 Ear­ly 20th Cen­tu­ry Records from Around the World

25,000+ 78RPM Records Now Pro­fes­sion­al­ly Dig­i­tized & Stream­ing Online: A Trea­sure Trove of Ear­ly 20th Cen­tu­ry Music

The Inter­net Archive Is Dig­i­tiz­ing & Pre­serv­ing Over 100,000 Vinyl Records: Hear 750 Full Albums Now

The Boston Pub­lic Library Will Dig­i­tize & Put Online 200,000+ Vin­tage Records

The Ground­break­ing Art of Alex Stein­weiss, Father of Record Cov­er Design

How the Inter­net Archive Dig­i­tizes 3,500 Books a Day–the Hard Way, One Page at a Time

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

Hear the First Japanese Visitor to the United States & Europe Describe Life in the West (1860–1862)

“Oh, would some Pow­er give us the gift / To see our­selves as oth­ers see us!” wrote poet Robert Burns. “It would from many a blun­der free us, And fool­ish notion.” I can­not vouch for a being blun­der-free, but read­ing his­tor­i­cal accounts of our nation from for­eign vis­i­tors does help to increase our world­ly per­spec­tive, and hope­ful­ly ques­tion what often we take for grant­ed. The 19th cen­tu­ry was a par­tic­u­lar­ly ripe time for the nar­ra­tives, as ocean­ic com­merce (and on its tail tourism) was mak­ing the world small­er than ever before.

The YouTube chan­nel Voic­es of the Past has been bring­ing a lot of these sto­ries to life over the last few years, with new trans­la­tions of for­eign texts, dra­mat­ic read­ings, and thought­ful image pre­sen­ta­tions to reveal the world to us as new and won­drous as it was to the orig­i­nal writ­ers. The video above and the one below take us on trips to the Unit­ed States and Great Britain by some of the first ever Japan­ese trav­el­ers to step onto West­ern soil.

For over 200 years, 1600 — 1868, Japan had remained iso­lat­ed from much of the world, a time known as the Edo Peri­od (named after the capi­tol) or the Toku­gawa Peri­od (named after the shogu­nate). With­in this hot­house, it devel­oped much of the tra­di­tion­al cul­ture that we know today—the tea cer­e­mo­ny, haiku, wood­block prints—and the cap­i­tal Edo (now Tokyo) grew from a fish­ing vil­lage to a major city. When Com­modore Matthew C. Per­ry land­ed in 1853 to get Japan to open up to trad­ing, the coun­try knew its time in iso­la­tion was at an end. The tech­nol­o­gy they saw on the Amer­i­can ships was advanced enough they knew they’d have to catch up or be dom­i­nat­ed.

Both videos con­cern Fukuza­wa Yukichi, one of the founders of mod­ern Japan. An author, jour­nal­ist, founder of Keio Uni­ver­si­ty, and cre­ator of the first Eng­lish-Japan­ese dic­tio­nary, he was also a main pro­po­nent of mod­ern reform. (He’s also the face on Japan’s 10,000 yen note).

In Fukuzawa’s retelling, you can hear how his encoun­ters with Dutch and Eng­lish trades­men made him insa­tiably curi­ous to learn the lan­guage he could not under­stand. After the Japan­ese gov­ern­ment bought a ship from the Dutch, nam­ing it the Kan­rin Maru, Fukuza­wa and a crew of 96 men (a minor­i­ty being Amer­i­can), land­ed in San Fran­cis­co in 1860, the first Japan­ese diplo­mat­ic mis­sion to Amer­i­ca. Tech­ni­cal­ly they did not stay in San Fran­cis­co, but in a naval hotel on Mare Island, 23 miles north east of the city. Fukuza­wa takes note of the abun­dance of car­pet and rugs in many of the offi­cial buildings—such fab­ric was so expen­sive in Japan that he had only seen it used as hand­bags and such—and the Amer­i­can desire to walk on it with their street shoes. Even more amaz­ing: ice cubes. He also notes some­thing that hasn’t changed since his time: the amount of waste in the streets, and the high cost of goods in Cal­i­for­nia.

Fukuza­wa likens his experience—warm hos­pi­tal­i­ty mixed with his own embar­rass­ment of an unfa­mil­iar­i­ty with for­eign mores—with the “shy, self-con­scious blush­ing bride.”

The most impor­tant pur­chase Fukuza­wa made on his trip was a Webster’s Dic­tio­nary, which would help him write his own Eng­lish-Japan­ese ver­sion when he returned. Two years after his Amer­i­can trip, he once again set out on a diplo­mat­ic mis­sion, this time to Europe. He and his co-patri­ots would be away from Japan for a whole year, tak­ing in France, the Unit­ed King­dom, the Nether­lands, Prus­sia, Rus­sia, and Por­tu­gal. This trip is dif­fer­ent in its aware­ness of pol­i­tics. Men­tion is made of Napoleon III (well admired) and the rise of Prus­sia. He is suit­ably baf­fled by Britain’s Par­lia­ment (as are most Amer­i­cans these days watch­ing it on CSPAN), but comes away with a strong con­vic­tion in inde­pen­dent thought and democ­ra­cy that would begin to change Japan through his influ­ence.

We have men­tioned Voic­es of the Past pre­vi­ous­ly, and you can find all sort of accounts of ear­ly inter­na­tion­al trav­el­ers. Fukuzawa’s accounts are some of the best, as his down-to-earth voice feels less for­eign than the Eng­lish speak­ers he meets.

Relat­ed Posts:

A Beau­ti­ful New Book of Japan­ese Wood­block Prints: A Visu­al His­to­ry of 200 Japan­ese Mas­ter­pieces Cre­at­ed Between 1680 and 1938

A Japan­ese Illus­trat­ed His­to­ry of Amer­i­ca (1861): Fea­tures George Wash­ing­ton Punch­ing Tigers, John

Adams Slay­ing Snakes & Oth­er Fan­tas­tic Scenes

The Entire His­to­ry of Japan in 9 Quirky Min­utes

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the Notes from the Shed pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, and/or watch his films here.

The Isolator: A 1925 Helmet Designed to Eliminate Distractions & Increase Productivity (Created by SciFi Pioneer Hugo Gernsback)

The anti-dis­trac­tion device is the mod­ern mouse­trap: build a bet­ter one, and the world will beat a path to your door. Or so, at least, will the part of the world engaged in the pur­suits we’ve broad­ly labeled “knowl­edge work.” Even among the knowl­edge work­ers who’ve spent most of the past year in pan­dem­ic-prompt­ed iso­la­tion, many still feel besieged by unend­ing claims on their atten­tion. Laments at hav­ing been ren­dered unpro­duc­tive by con­stant dis­trac­tion go back at least to medieval times, but the pro­posed solu­tions to this long-stand­ing prob­lem change with — and reflect — the times. Take the “Iso­la­tor,” the for­mi­da­ble-look­ing wear­able machine above that debuted on the cov­er of July 1925’s Sci­ence and Inven­tion mag­a­zine.

“Per­haps the most dif­fi­cult thing that a human being is called upon to face is long, con­cen­trat­ed think­ing,” writes inven­tor Hugo Gerns­back in the accom­pa­ny­ing arti­cle. “Most peo­ple who desire thus to con­cen­trate find it nec­es­sary to shut them­selves up in an almost sound­proof room in order to go ahead with their work, but even here there are many things that dis­tract their atten­tion.”

Even absent such nui­sances as “street nois­es” and the “tele­phone bell,” the mind seeks out its own dis­trac­tions as if nat­u­ral­ly com­pelled: “You will lean back in your chair and begin to study the pat­tern of the wall­pa­per, or you will see a fly crawl along the wall, or a win­dow cur­tain will be mov­ing back and forth, all of which is often suf­fi­cient to turn your mind away from the imme­di­ate task to be per­formed.”

Gerns­back­’s solu­tion involves a large hel­met, lined with cork and cov­ered in felt, with a baf­fle for breath­ing and glass eye­holes to see through. Paint­ed black but for two thin bands, the eye­holes make it “almost impos­si­ble to see any­thing except a sheet of paper in front of the wear­er. There is, there­fore, no opti­cal dis­trac­tion here.” To pre­vent drowsi­ness, “the writer intro­duced a small oxy­gen tank, attached to the hel­met. This increas­es the res­pi­ra­tion and livens the sub­ject con­sid­er­ably.” And so we arrive at the set­up pic­tured below, orig­i­nal­ly cap­tioned, “The author at work in his pri­vate study aid­ed by the Iso­la­tor. Out­side nois­es being elim­i­nat­ed, the work­er can con­cen­trate with ease upon the sub­ject at hand.” The Iso­la­tor’s patent appears just above, one of 80 for var­i­ous inven­tions that Gerns­back held in his life­time.

What­ev­er the device con­tributed to Gerns­back­’s pro­duc­tiv­i­ty, there can be no ques­tion that the man got a lot done. Not just a con­trib­u­tor to Sci­ence and Inven­tion but also its pub­lish­er, he over­saw a small media empire whose oth­er peri­od­i­cals includ­ed Every­day Sci­ence and Mechan­ics, Sci­en­tif­ic Detec­tive Month­ly, the sin­is­ter-sound­ing Tech­noc­ra­cy Review, and Amaz­ing Sto­ries, which launched in 1926 as the first mag­a­zine devot­ed entire­ly to sci­ence fic­tion (or “sci­en­tific­tion,” as Gerns­back called it). For his advance­ment of the genre he was hon­ored by the World Sci­ence Fic­tion Society’s Annu­al Achieve­ment Awards, bet­ter known as the “Hugos.” Pulp-fic­tion­al though the Iso­la­tor may have looked in 1925 (as indeed it looks now), it rep­re­sents a gen­uine effort to alle­vi­ate with tech­nol­o­gy a both­er­some aspect of the human con­di­tion — and a prece­dent for the new-and-improved iso­la­tion hel­mets engi­neered for the even more dis­tract­ing world in which we live a cen­tu­ry on.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Focus: Five Talks Reveal the Secrets of Con­cen­tra­tion

The Ben­e­fits of Bore­dom: How to Stop Dis­tract­ing Your­self and Get Cre­ative Ideas Again

The Case for Delet­ing Your Social Media Accounts & Doing Valu­able “Deep Work” Instead, Accord­ing to Com­put­er Sci­en­tist Cal New­port

Pico Iyer on “the Art of Still­ness”: How to Enrich Your Busy, Dis­tract­ed Life by Unplug­ging and Stay­ing Put

Medieval Monks Com­plained About Con­stant Dis­trac­tions: Learn How They Worked to Over­come Them

What Hap­pens When You Spend Weeks, Months, or Years in Soli­tary Con­fine­ment

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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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