Ludwig Wittgenstein’s Short, Strange & Brutal Stint as an Elementary School Teacher

Wittgenstein students

Lud­wig Wittgen­stein fin­ished writ­ing the Trac­ta­tus Logi­co-Philo­soph­i­cus, the achieve­ment for which most of us remem­ber him, in 1918; three years lat­er came its first pub­li­ca­tion in Ger­many. And to what prob­lem did Wittgen­stein put his lumi­nous philo­soph­i­cal mind in the inter­im? Teach­ing a class of ele­men­tary school­ers in rur­al Aus­tria. “Well on his way to being con­sid­ered the great­est philoso­pher alive,” as Spencer Robins puts it in a thor­ough Paris Review post on Wittgen­stein’s teach­ing stint, he also found him­self “con­vinced he was a moral fail­ure.” Search­ing for a solu­tion, he got rid of his fam­i­ly for­tune, left the “Palais Wittgen­stein” in which he’d grown up, and out of “a roman­tic idea of what it would be like to work with peasants—an idea he’d got­ten from read­ing Tol­stoy,” went to teach kids in the mid­dle of nowhere. See them all above.\

“I am to be an ele­men­tary-school teacher in a tiny vil­lage called Trat­ten­bach,” Wittgen­stein wrote to his own teacher and friend Bertrand Rus­sell in a let­ter dat­ed Octo­ber 23, 1921. A month lat­er, in anoth­er let­ter, he described his cir­cum­stances as those of “odi­ous­ness and base­ness,” com­plain­ing that “I know human beings on the aver­age are not worth much any­where, but here they are much more good-for-noth­ing and irre­spon­si­ble than else­where.” The great philoso­pher’s exper­i­ment in pri­ma­ry edu­ca­tion would appear not to have gone well.

And yet Wittgen­stein comes off, by many accounts, as an exem­plary and almost unbe­liev­ably engaged teacher. He and his stu­dents, in Robins’ words, “designed steam engines and build­ings togeth­er, and built mod­els of them; dis­sect­ed ani­mals; exam­ined things with a micro­scope Wittgen­stein brought from Vien­na; read lit­er­a­ture; learned con­stel­la­tions lying under the night sky; and took trips to Vien­na, where they stayed at a school run by his sis­ter Her­mine.” Her­mine her­self remem­bered the kids “pos­i­tive­ly climb­ing over each oth­er in their eager­ness” to answer their philoso­pher-teacher’s ques­tions, and at least one par­tic­u­lar­ly promis­ing kid among them received Wittgen­stein’s exten­sive extracur­ric­u­lar instruc­tion — and even an offer of adop­tion.

We might also con­sid­er Wittgen­stein a cham­pi­on, in his own way, of equal treat­ment for the sex­es: unlike oth­er teach­ers in rur­al ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry Aus­tria, he expect­ed the girls to solve the very same ver­tig­i­nous­ly dif­fi­cult math prob­lems he put to the boys. But by the same token, he doled out cor­po­ral pun­ish­ment to them just as equal­ly when they got the answer wrong, and even when they did­n’t grasp the con­cepts at hand as swift­ly as he might have liked. This rough treat­ment cul­mi­nat­ed in “the Haid­bauer inci­dent,” an occa­sion of child-smack­ing con­se­quen­tial enough in Wittgen­stein’s life to mer­it its own Wikipedia page, and which effec­tive­ly end­ed his edu­ca­tion­al involve­ment with young­sters. The inci­dent report­ed­ly left  an 11-year-old school­boy “uncon­scious after being hit on the head dur­ing class.”

“Ulti­mate­ly, he was to alien­ate the vil­lagers of Trat­ten­bach with his tyran­ni­cal and often bul­ly­ing behav­ior, the result of a mind unable to empathize with the stage at which some of his pupils found them­selves in their learn­ing,” writes edu­ca­tion blog­ger Alex Beard in his own post on Wittgen­stein-as teacher. “Today we would admire his high expec­ta­tions and the puri­ty of his inten­tion as an edu­ca­tor, but look rather less kind­ly on the Ohrfeige (ear-box­ing) and Haareziehen (hair-pulling) that his stu­dents lat­er recalled.” We mod­ern-day Wittgen­stein fans have to ask our­selves what won­ders we might we have learned had fate assigned our ele­men­tary-school selves to his class­room — and whether we would have grad­u­at­ed to our next year unscathed.

Read more about Wittgen­stein’s stint as a teacher at The Paris Review.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bertrand Rus­sell on His Stu­dent Lud­wig Wittgen­stein: Man of Genius or Mere­ly an Eccen­tric?

Wittgen­stein and Hitler Attend­ed the Same School in Aus­tria, at the Same Time (1904)

Wittgen­stein Day-by-Day: Face­book Page Tracks the Philosopher’s Wartime Expe­ri­ence 100 Years Ago

Lud­wig Wittgenstein’s Trac­ta­tus Gets Adapt­ed Into an Avant-Garde Com­ic Opera

See the Homes and Stud­ies of Wittgen­stein, Schopen­hauer, Niet­zsche & Oth­er Philoso­phers

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­maFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Watch Stars Read Classic Children’s Books: Betty White, James Earl Jones, Rita Moreno & Many More

As if we need­ed the competition—am I right, parents?—of some very excel­lent children’s books read by some beloved stars of stage and screen, and even a for­mer vice pres­i­dent. With Sto­ry­line Online, the SAG Foun­da­tion, char­i­ta­ble arm of the Screen Actor’s Guild, has brought togeth­er top tal­ent for enthu­si­as­tic read­ings of books like William Steig’s Brave Irene, read by Al Gore, Satoshi Kitamura’s Me and My Cat, read by Eli­jah Wood, and Patri­cia Polacco’s Thank You, Mr. Falk­er, read by the fan­tas­tic Jane Kacz­marek. There are so many read­ings (28 total), I could go on… so I will. How about Bet­ty White’s irre­sistible read­ing of Har­ry the Dirty Dog, just above? Or Rita Moreno read­ing of I Need My Mon­ster, below, a light­heart­ed sto­ry about our need for dark­ness? Or James Earl Jones, who touch­ing­ly dis­cuss­es his own child­hood strug­gles with read­ing aloud, and tells the sto­ry of To Be a Drum, fur­ther down?

I won’t be able to resist show­ing these to my three-year-old, and if she prefers the read­ings of high­ly acclaimed actors over mine, well, I can’t say I blame her. Each video fea­tures not only the faces and voic­es of the actors, but also some fine ani­ma­tion of each storybook’s art. The pur­pose of the project, writes the SAG Foun­da­tion, is to “strength­en com­pre­hen­sion and ver­bal and writ­ten skills for Eng­lish-lan­guage learn­ers world­wide.” To that end, “Sto­ry­line Online is avail­able online 24 hours a day for chil­dren, par­ents, and edu­ca­tors” with “sup­ple­men­tal cur­ricu­lum devel­oped by a lit­er­a­cy spe­cial­ist.” The phrase “Eng­lish-lan­guage learn­ers” should not make you think this pro­gram is only geared toward non-native speak­ers. Young chil­dren in Eng­lish speak­ing coun­tries are still only learn­ing the lan­guage, and there’s no bet­ter way for them than to read and be read to.

As a mat­ter of fact, we’re all still learning—as James Earl Jones says, we need to prac­tice, no mat­ter how old we are: prac­tice tun­ing our ears to the sounds of well-turned phras­es and appre­ci­at­ing the delight of a story—about a dirty dog, a mon­ster, cat, cow, or lion—unfolding. So go on, don’t wor­ry if you don’t have chil­dren, or if they hap­pen to be else­where at the moment. Don’t deny your­self the plea­sure of hear­ing Robert Guil­laume read Chih-Yuan Chen’s Guji Guji, or Annette Ben­ing read Avi Slodovnick’s The Tooth, or… alright, just go see the full list of books and read­ers here… or see Sto­ry­time Online’s Youtube page for access to the full archive of videos.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Inter­na­tion­al Children’s Dig­i­tal Library Offers Free eBooks for Kids in Over 40 Lan­guages

Stephen Fry Reads You Have To F**king Eat, the New Mock Children’s Book by Adam Mans­bach

Rolling Stones Drum­mer Char­lie Watts Writes a Children’s Book Cel­e­brat­ing Char­lie Park­er (1964)

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

Puppets of Dostoevsky, Dickens & Poe Star in 1950s Frank Capra Educational Film

Pro­duced between 1956 and 1964 by AT&T, the Bell Tele­phone Sci­ence Hour TV spe­cials antic­i­pate the lit­er­ary zani­ness of The Mup­pet Show and the sci­en­tif­ic enthu­si­asm of Cos­mos. The “ship of the imag­i­na­tion” in Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s Cos­mos reboot may in fact owe some­thing to the episode above, one of nine, direct­ed by none oth­er than It’s A Won­der­ful Life’s Frank Capra. “Strap on your wits and hop on your mag­ic car­pet,” begins the spe­cial, “You’ve got one, you know: Your imag­i­na­tion.” As a guide for our imag­i­na­tion, The Strange Case of the Cos­mic Rays enlists the humanities—specifically three pup­pets rep­re­sent­ing Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Dick­ens, and, some­what incon­gru­ous­ly for its detec­tive theme, Fyo­dor Dos­toyevsky, who plays the foil as an incu­ri­ous spoil­sport. The show’s host, Frank Bax­ter (“Dr. Research”) was actu­al­ly a pro­fes­sor of Eng­lish at UCLA and appears here with Richard Carl­son, explain­ing sci­en­tif­ic con­cepts with con­fi­dence.

The one-hour films became very pop­u­lar as tools of sci­ence edu­ca­tion, but there are good reasons—other than their dat­ed­ness or Dr. Baxter’s expertise—to approach them crit­i­cal­ly. At times, the degree of spec­u­la­tion indulged by Bax­ter and the writ­ers strains creduli­ty. For exam­ple, writes Geoff Alexan­der in Aca­d­e­m­ic Films for the Class­room: A His­to­ry, 1958’s The Unchained God­dess (above) “intro­duces the view­er to bizarre con­cepts such as the pos­si­bil­i­ty of ‘steer­ing’ hur­ri­canes away from land by cre­at­ing bio-haz­ards such as ocean borne oil-slicks and intro­duc­ing oil-based ocean fires.” These grim, fos­sil fuel indus­try-friend­ly sce­nar­ios nonethe­less open­ly acknowl­edged the pos­si­bil­i­ty of man-made cli­mate change and looked for­ward to solar ener­gy.

Along with some dystopi­an weird­ness, the series also con­tains a good deal of explic­it Chris­t­ian pros­e­ly­tiz­ing, thanks to Capra. As a con­di­tion for tak­ing the job, “the renowned direc­tor would be allowed to embed reli­gious mes­sages in the films.” As Capra him­self said to AT&T pres­i­dent Cleo F. Craig:

If I make a sci­ence film, I will have to say that sci­en­tif­ic research is just anoth­er expres­sion of the Holy Spir­it… I will say that sci­ence, in essence, is just anoth­er facet of man’s quest for God.

At times, writes Alexan­der, “the reli­gious per­spec­tive is tak­en to extremes,” as in the first episode, Our Mr. Sun, which begins with a quo­ta­tion from Psalms and admon­ish­es “view­ers who would dare to ques­tion the causal rela­tion­ship between solar ener­gy and the divin­i­ty.” The Unchained God­dess, above, is the fourth in the series, and Capra’s last.

After­ward, a direc­tor named Owen Crump took over duties on the next four episodes. His films, writes Alexan­der, “did not overt­ly pros­e­ly­tize” and “relied less on ani­mat­ed char­ac­ters inter­act­ing with Dr. Bax­ter.” (Watch the Crump-direct­ed Gate­ways to the Mind above, a more sober-mind­ed, yet still strange­ly off-kil­ter, inquiry into the five sens­es.) The last film, The Rest­less Sea (unavail­able online) was pro­duced by Walt Dis­ney and direct­ed by Les Clark, and starred Dis­ney him­self and Bax­ter’s replace­ment, Ster­ling Hol­loway.  The Capra pro­duc­tions will be added to our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Carl Sagan’s Orig­i­nal Cos­mos Series on YouTube: The 1980 Show That Inspired a Gen­er­a­tion of Sci­en­tists

Watch Episode #1 of Neil deGrasse Tyson’s Cos­mos Reboot on Hulu (US View­ers)

Wern­er Her­zog and Cor­mac McCarthy Talk Sci­ence and Cul­ture

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

Umberto Eco’s How To Write a Thesis: A Witty, Irreverent & Highly Practical Guide Now Out in English

577px-Umberto_Eco_02

Image by Uni­ver­sità Reg­gio Cal­abria, released under a C BY-SA 3.0 license.

In gen­er­al, the how-to book—whether on bee­keep­ing, piano-play­ing, or wilder­ness survival—is a dubi­ous object, always run­ning the risk of bor­ing read­ers into despair­ing apa­thy or hope­less­ly per­plex­ing them with com­plex­i­ty. Instruc­tion­al books abound, but few suc­ceed in their mis­sion of impart­ing the­o­ret­i­cal wis­dom or keen, prac­ti­cal skill. The best few I’ve encoun­tered in my var­i­ous roles have most­ly done the for­mer. In my days as an edu­ca­tor, I found abstract, dis­cur­sive books like Robert Scholes’ Tex­tu­al Pow­er or poet and teacher Marie Ponsot’s lyri­cal Beat Not the Poor Desk infi­nite­ly more salu­tary than more down-to-earth books on the art of teach­ing. As a some­time writer of fic­tion, I’ve found Milan Kundera’s idio­syn­crat­ic The Art of the Nov­el—a book that might have been titled The Art of Kun­dera—a great deal more inspir­ing than any num­ber of oth­er well-mean­ing MFA-lite pub­li­ca­tions. And as a self-taught audio engi­neer, I’ve found a book called Zen and the Art of Mix­ing—a clas­sic of the genre, even short­er on tech­ni­cal spec­i­fi­ca­tions than its name­sake is on motor­cy­cle maintenance—better than any oth­er dense, dia­gram-filled man­u­al.

How I wish, then, that as a one­time (long­time) grad stu­dent, I had had access to the Eng­lish trans­la­tion, just pub­lished this month, of Umber­to Eco’s How to Write a The­sis, a guide to the pro­duc­tion of schol­ar­ly work worth the name by the high­ly cel­e­brat­ed Ital­ian nov­el­ist and intel­lec­tu­al. Writ­ten orig­i­nal­ly in Ital­ian in 1977, before Eco’s name was well-known for such works of fic­tion as The Name of the Rose and Foucault’s Pen­du­lum, How to Write The­sis is appro­pri­ate­ly described by MIT Press as read­ing: “like a nov­el”: “opin­ion­at­ed… fre­quent­ly irrev­er­ent, some­times polem­i­cal, and often hilar­i­ous.”

For exam­ple, in the sec­ond part of his intro­duc­tion, after a rather dry def­i­n­i­tion of the aca­d­e­m­ic “the­sis,” Eco dis­suades a cer­tain type of pos­si­ble read­er from his book, those stu­dents “who are forced to write a the­sis so that they may grad­u­ate quick­ly and obtain the career advance­ment that orig­i­nal­ly moti­vat­ed their uni­ver­si­ty enroll­ment.” These stu­dents, he writes, some of whom “may be as old as 40” (gasp), “will ask for instruc­tions on how to write a the­sis in a month.” To them, he rec­om­mends two pieces of advice, in full knowl­edge that both are clear­ly “ille­gal”:

(a) Invest a rea­son­able amount of mon­ey in hav­ing a the­sis writ­ten by a sec­ond par­ty. (b) Copy a the­sis that was writ­ten a few years pri­or for anoth­er insti­tu­tion. (It is bet­ter not to copy a book cur­rent­ly in print, even if it was writ­ten in a for­eign lan­guage. If the pro­fes­sor is even min­i­mal­ly informed on the top­ic, he will be aware of the book’s exis­tence.

Eco goes on to say that “even pla­gia­riz­ing a the­sis requires an intel­li­gent research effort,” a caveat, I sup­pose, for those too thought­less or lazy even to put the required effort into aca­d­e­m­ic dis­hon­esty.

Instead, he writes for “stu­dents who want to do rig­or­ous work” and “want to write a the­sis that will pro­vide a cer­tain intel­lec­tu­al sat­is­fac­tion.” Eco doesn’t allow for the fact that these groups may not be mutu­al­ly exclu­sive, but no mat­ter. His style is loose and con­ver­sa­tion­al, and the unse­ri­ous­ness of his dog­mat­ic asser­tions belies the lib­er­at­ing tenor of his advice. For all of the fun Eco has dis­cussing the whys and where­for­es of aca­d­e­m­ic writ­ing, he also dis­pens­es a wealth of prac­ti­cal hows, mak­ing his book a rar­i­ty among the small pool of read­able How-tos. For exam­ple, Eco offers us “Four Obvi­ous Rules for Choos­ing a The­sis Top­ic,” the very bedrock of a doc­tor­al (or mas­ters) project, on which said project tru­ly stands or falls:

1. The top­ic should reflect your pre­vi­ous stud­ies and expe­ri­ence. It should be relat­ed to your com­plet­ed cours­es; your oth­er research; and your polit­i­cal, cul­tur­al, or reli­gious expe­ri­ence.

2. The nec­es­sary sources should be mate­ri­al­ly acces­si­ble. You should be near enough to the sources for con­ve­nient access, and you should have the per­mis­sion you need to access them.

3. The nec­es­sary sources should be man­age­able. In oth­er words, you should have the abil­i­ty, expe­ri­ence, and back­ground knowl­edge need­ed to under­stand the sources.

4. You should have some expe­ri­ence with the method­olog­i­cal frame­work that you will use in the the­sis. For exam­ple, if your the­sis top­ic requires you to ana­lyze a Bach vio­lin sonata, you should be versed in music the­o­ry and analy­sis.

Hav­ing suf­fered the throes of propos­ing, then actu­al­ly writ­ing, an aca­d­e­m­ic the­sis, I can say with­out reser­va­tion that, unlike Eco’s encour­age­ment to pla­gia­rism, these four rules are not only help­ful, but nec­es­sary, and not near­ly as obvi­ous as they appear. Eco goes on in the fol­low­ing chap­ter, “Choos­ing the Top­ic,” to present many exam­ples, gen­er­al and spe­cif­ic, of how this is so.

Much of the remain­der of Eco’s book—though writ­ten in as live­ly a style and shot through with wit­ti­cisms and profundity—is grave­ly out­dat­ed in its minute descrip­tions of research meth­ods and for­mat­ting and style guides. This is pre-inter­net, and tech­nol­o­gy has—sadly in many cases—made redun­dant much of the foot­work he dis­cuss­es. That said, his star­tling takes on such top­ics as “Must You Read Books?,” “Aca­d­e­m­ic Humil­i­ty,” “The Audi­ence,” and “How to Write” again offer indis­pens­able ways of think­ing about schol­ar­ly work that one gen­er­al­ly arrives at only, if at all, at the com­ple­tion of a long, painful, and most­ly bewil­der­ing course of writ­ing and research.

FYI: You can down­load Eco’s book, How to Write a The­sis, as a free audio­book if you want to try out Audible.com’s no-risk, 30-day free tri­al pro­gram. Find details here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Books You Think Every Intel­li­gent Per­son Should Read: Crime and Pun­ish­ment, Moby-Dick & Beyond (Many Free Online)

“Lol My The­sis” Show­cas­es Painful­ly Hilar­i­ous Attempts to Sum up Years of Aca­d­e­m­ic Work in One Sen­tence

Steven Pinker Uses The­o­ries from Evo­lu­tion­ary Biol­o­gy to Explain Why Aca­d­e­m­ic Writ­ing is So Bad

Wern­er Herzog’s Rogue Film School: Apply & Learn the Art of Gueril­la Film­mak­ing & Lock-Pick­ing

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

Alan Alda Uses Improv to Teach Scientists How to Communicate Their Ideas

Woe to the famous actor who dares to write a nov­el or start a band or design a line of cloth­ing. The pub­lic can be awful­ly snob­by about such extracur­ric­u­lar pur­suits. We reward our chil­dren for cul­ti­vat­ing a wide range of inter­ests, but heav­en for­fend a celebri­ty who wan­ders away from the accept­ed script.

Hacks! Poseurs! Wannabes!

There are excep­tions, of course. I don’t see too many peo­ple tak­ing pot­shots at Leonard Nimoy’s pas­sion for pho­tog­ra­phy, Ed Beg­ley Jr.’s com­mit­ment to the envi­ron­ment, or the Won­der Years’ Dan­i­ca McKel­lar’s devo­tion to math.

(Per­son­al­ly, I will brook no unkind words toward ani­mal lov­ing TV dad Dick Van Pat­ten, not after he fathered the only cat food the small mam­mal with whom I live a lie will deign to eat.)

If there’s a for­mu­la to be gleaned from these exam­ples, it’s like­ly a syn­the­sis of icon­ic role, num­ber of years spent on the pas­time of choice, and a rabid curios­i­ty of the sort that dri­ves ordi­nary mor­tals to become edu­ca­tors. Once a pub­lic fig­ure is in pos­ses­sion of that for­mu­la, the pub­lic he or she serves will grant a pass to pur­sue a side inter­est.

I’m not sure that sci­ence could be called a side inter­est of Alan Alda’s.

Not when he ranks host­ing Sci­en­tif­ic Amer­i­can Fron­tiers  as the pin­na­cle of his TV career.

He played physi­cist Richard Feyn­man onstage, and has writ­ten plays about Albert Ein­stein and Marie Curie. He’s one of the annu­al World Sci­ence Fes­ti­val’s MVPs. At this rate, his love of sci­ence seems des­tined to car­ry him from cra­dle to grave.

By now, he’s prob­a­bly met more sci­en­tists than M*A*S*H fans—enough to sug­gest a trou­bling gap between the sci­en­tif­ic  mes­sage and the man­ner in which it’s deliv­ered. To put it anoth­er way, if you think sci­ence is bor­ing, per­haps the trou­ble is with the sci­en­tist.

The solu­tion? Improv train­ing.

Uh oh. Is there a dan­ger this knife could cut both ways? Will some emi­nent biol­o­gist or astronomer be pil­lo­ried for play­ing freeze tag a bit too zest­ful­ly or join­ing a lev­el 1 team at the Annoy­ance or UCB East? Like, how dare Stephen Hawk­ing think he can make a machine?

It’s worth the risk (tech­ni­cal­ly, Alda espous­es Vio­la Spolin’s explorato­ry impro­vi­sa­tion form over the kind with a strict­ly comedic goal, but c’mon. I know a gate­way drug when I see one…)

His belief is that sci­en­tists who study improv are bet­ter equipped to com­mu­ni­cate the com­pli­cat­ed nature of their work to pub­lic offi­cials, the media, and for­mer the­ater majors such as myself. The lev­el of engage­ment, flex­i­bil­i­ty, and aware­ness that impro­vi­sa­tion requires of its prac­ti­tion­ers are also the stuff of good TED talks.

Watch the “before and after” pre­sen­ta­tions of par­tic­i­pants in his improv work­shop at the Alan Alda Cen­ter for Com­mu­ni­cat­ing Sci­ence at Stony Brook Uni­ver­si­ty, above. His the­sis holds water, it would seem. Improv hones the sens­es and helps one to clar­i­fy what is essen­tial in any scene. Even the solo scene where­in one explains wave par­ti­cle dual­i­ty or spe­cial­ized leaf forms to one’s fel­low adults.

I’ll bet those same improv-based skills could help a TV star to per­suade his stu­dents that he’s just as approach­able and sup­port­ive as any old teacher. (Maybe even more so, to judge by his han­dling of an invis­i­ble jar of jel­ly­fish that slips through one sci­en­tist’s fin­gers.)

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Is a Flame?: The First Prize-Win­ner at Alan Alda’s Sci­ence Video Com­pe­ti­tion

Adam Sav­age (Host of Myth­Busters) Explains How Sim­ple Ideas Become Great Sci­en­tif­ic Dis­cov­er­ies

Charles & Ray Eames’ A Com­mu­ni­ca­tions Primer Explains the Key to Clear Com­mu­ni­ca­tion in the Mod­ern Age (1953)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author and illus­tra­tor who teach­es improv to teenage girls. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Cartoonist Lynda Barry Shows You How to Draw Batman in Her UW-Madison Course, “Making Comics”

How do you draw Bat­man?

Don’t say you don’t, or that you can’t. Accord­ing to car­toon­ist and edu­ca­tor Lyn­da Bar­ry, we’re all capa­ble of get­ting Bat­man down on paper in one form or anoth­er.

He may not resem­ble Adam West or Michael Keaton or any­thing artists Frank Miller or Neal Adams might ren­der, but so what?

You have the abil­i­ty to cre­ate a rec­og­niz­able Bat­man because Batman’s basic shape is uni­ver­sal­ly agreed upon, much like that of a car or a cat. Whether you know it or not, you have inter­nal­ized that basic shape. This alone con­fers a degree of pro­fi­cien­cy.

As proof of that, Bar­ry would ask you to draw him in 15 sec­onds. A time con­straint of that order has no room for fret­ting and self doubt. Only fren­zied scrib­bling.

It also lev­els the play­ing field a bit. At 15 sec­onds, a novice’s Bat­man can hold his own against that of a skilled draftsper­son.

Try it. Did you get pointy ears? A cape? A mask of some sort? Legs?

I’ll bet you did.

Barry Batman 1

Once you’ve proved to your­self that you can draw Bat­man, you’re ready to tack­le a more com­plex assign­ment: per­haps a four pan­el strip in which Bat­man throws up and screams.

This is prob­a­bly a lot eas­i­er than draw­ing him scal­ing the side of a build­ing or bat­tling the Jok­er. Why? Per­son­al expe­ri­ence. Any­body who’s ever lost his or her lunch can draw on the cel­lu­lar mem­o­ry of that event.

Fold a piece of paper into quar­ters and give it a whirl.

Then reward your­self with the video up top, a col­lec­tion of stu­dent-cre­at­ed work from the Mak­ing Comics class Bar­ry taught last fall at the great Uni­ver­si­ty of Wis­con­sin.

You may notice that many of the Bat­men there­in sport big, round heads. Like the 15-sec­ond rule, this is the influ­ence of Ivan Brunet­ti, author of Car­toon­ing: Phi­los­o­phy and Prac­tice, a book Bar­ry ref­er­ences in both her class­es and the recent­ly pub­lished Syl­labus: Notes from an Acci­den­tal Pro­fes­sor.

With everyone’s Bat­man rock­ing a Char­lie Brown-sized nog­gin and sim­ple rub­ber hose style limbs, there’s less temp­ta­tion to get bogged down in com­par­isons.

Okay, so maybe some peo­ple are bet­ter than oth­ers when it comes to draw­ing toi­lets. No big­gie. Keep at it. We improve through prac­tice, and you can’t prac­tice if you don’t start.

Barry Batman 2

Once you’ve drawn Bat­man throw­ing up and scream­ing, there’s no end to the pos­si­bil­i­ties. Bar­ry has an even big­ger col­lec­tion of stu­dent work (sec­ond video above), in which you’ll find the Caped Cru­sad­er doing laun­dry, using a lap­top, call­ing in sick to work, read­ing Under­stand­ing Comics, eat­ing Saltines… all the stuff one would expect giv­en that part of the orig­i­nal assign­ment was to envi­sion one­self as Bat­man.

More of Lyn­da Barry’s Bat­man-relat­ed draw­ing phi­los­o­phy from Syl­labus can be found above and down below:

Barry Batman 3

Barry Batman 4

Barry Batman 5

No mat­ter what any­one tells you (see below), there’s no right way to draw Bat­man!

How-to-Draw-Batman-Step-by-Step

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Lyn­da Barry’s Won­der­ful­ly Illus­trat­ed Syl­labus & Home­work Assign­ments from Her UW-Madi­son Class, “The Unthink­able Mind”

Lyn­da Bar­ry, Car­toon­ist Turned Pro­fes­sor, Gives Her Old Fash­ioned Take on the Future of Edu­ca­tion

Car­toon­ist Lyn­da Bar­ry Reveals the Best Way to Mem­o­rize Poet­ry

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

Junot Díaz’s Syllabi for His MIT Writing Classes, and the Novels on His Reading List

We can prob­a­bly all agree that it’s a lit­tle pre­ma­ture, but all the same, the BBC has bar­reled ahead with its list of “The 21st Century’s 12 great­est nov­els.” Top­ping the list of excel­lent, if not espe­cial­ly sur­pris­ing, picks is The Brief Won­drous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Díaz’s Pulitzer Prize-win­ning debut nov­el about, as he puts it in the inter­view above, “a clos­et­ed nerd writ­ing about an absolute­ly out nerd, and using their shared mutu­al lan­guage to tell the sto­ry.” The book has con­nect­ed with such a wide swath of read­ers for more than its appeal to fel­low nerds, though that’s no small thing. A great many read­ers have seen their own lives reflect­ed in Díaz’s characters—Dominican immi­grants grow­ing up in New Jersey—or have found their expe­ri­ences illu­mi­nat­ing. And even though Yunior and Oscar’s very male point of view might have alien­at­ed female read­ers in the hands of a less­er author, Díaz has the sen­si­tiv­i­ty and self-aware­ness to—as Joe Fassler argues in The Atlantic—write sex­ist char­ac­ters, but not sex­ist books. As the author him­self says above, “if it wasn’t for women read­ers, I wouldn’t have a career.”

Díaz’s ear for dia­logue and idiom and his facil­i­ty for con­struct­ing com­plete­ly believ­able char­ac­ters with com­plete­ly dis­tinc­tive voic­es are matched by his com­mit­ment to rep­re­sent­ing the expe­ri­ences of peo­ple who still get rou­tine­ly left out of the con­tem­po­rary canon. Despite the atten­tion giv­en to such stel­lar non-white, non-male writ­ers as Toni Mor­ri­son, Max­ine Hong-Kingston, Arund­hati Roy, and Jamaica Kin­caid, most MFA pro­grams, Diaz argued in a recent essay for The New York­er, are still “too white,” repro­duc­ing “exact­ly the dom­i­nant culture’s blind spots and assump­tions around race and racism (and sex­ism and het­ero­nor­ma­tiv­i­ty, etc).” In his own MFA work­shop expe­ri­ences at Cor­nell, he found that “the default sub­ject posi­tion of read­ing and writing—of Lit­er­a­ture with a cap­i­tal L—was white, straight and male.”

The prob­lem is more than just per­son­al, though he cer­tain­ly found the expe­ri­ence per­son­al­ly alien­at­ing, and it isn’t a mat­ter of redress­ing his­tor­i­cal wrongs or enforc­ing an abstract PC notion of diver­si­ty. Instead, as Díaz told Salon, it’s a prob­lem of accu­rate­ly rep­re­sent­ing real­i­ty. “If race or gen­der (or any oth­er impor­tant social force) are not part of your inter­pre­tive logic—if they’re not part of what you con­sid­er the real—then you’re leav­ing out most of what has made our world our world.” In his own role at a pro­fes­sor at MIT, teach­ing under­grad­u­ate writ­ing cours­es for the Com­par­a­tive Media Studies/Writing Depart­ment, Díaz is very thought­ful about his approach, empha­siz­ing, “it’s not the books you teach, but how you teach them.” In addi­tion to nov­els by authors like Hait­ian-born Edwidge Dan­ti­cat and Zim­bab­wean author NoVi­o­let Bul­awayo, he has his stu­dents read “clas­sic Goth­ic texts which are them­selves not very diverse by our stan­dards,” but, he says, “the crit­i­cal lens I deploy helps my stu­dents under­stand how issues of race, gen­der, colo­nial­i­ty etc. are nev­er far.”

Salon tracked down the syl­labi and read­ing lists for two of Díaz’s MIT cours­es, “World-Build­ing” and “Advanced Fic­tion.” We do find one clas­sic Goth­ic text—Bram Stok­er’s Drac­u­la—and also much of what we might expect from the self-con­fessed nerd, includ­ing work from such well-regard­ed com­ic writ­ers as Frank Miller and Alan Moore and clas­sic sci-fi from Tarzan cre­ator Edgar Rice Bur­roughs. In addi­tion to these white, male writ­ers, we have fic­tion from African-Amer­i­can sci-fi authors Octavia But­ler and N.K. Jemisin. Díaz’s “Advanced Fic­tion” list is even more wide-rang­ing, inclu­sive of writ­ers from Chile, Zim­bab­we, Chi­na, and Haiti, as well as the U.S. See both lists below.

World-Build­ing:

Descrip­tion: “This class con­cerns the design and analy­sis of imag­i­nary (or con­struct­ed) worlds for nar­ra­tive media such as role­play­ing games, films, comics, videogames and lit­er­ary texts. … The class’ pri­ma­ry goal is to help par­tic­i­pants cre­ate bet­ter imag­i­nary worlds – ulti­mate­ly all our efforts should serve that high­er pur­pose.”

Pre­req­ui­sites: “You will need to have seen Star Wars (episode four: A New Hope) and read The Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien.”

Read­ing List:

“A Princess of Mars” by ER Bur­roughs
“Drac­u­la” by Bram Stok­er
“Bat­man: The Dark Knight Returns” by Frank Miller
“Sun­shine” by Robin McKin­ley
“V for Vendet­ta” by Alan Moore
“The Hunger Games” by Suzanne Collins
“The Hun­dred Thou­sand King­doms” by NK Jemisin
“Lilith’s Brood” by Octavia But­ler
“Per­di­do Street Sta­tion” by Chi­na Miéville
“Snow Crash” by Neal Stephen­son (Rec­om­mend­ed)

Some things to con­sid­er always when tak­ing on a new world: What are its pri­ma­ry features—spatial, cul­tur­al, bio­log­i­cal, fan­tas­tic, cos­mo­log­i­cal? What is the world’s ethos (the guid­ing beliefs or ideals that char­ac­ter­ize the world)? What are the pre­cise strate­gies that are used by its cre­ator to con­vey the world to us and us to the world? How are our char­ac­ters con­nect­ed to the world? And how are we the view­er or read­er or play­er con­nect­ed to the world?

Advanced Fic­tion

Descrip­tion: “An advanced work­shop on the writ­ing and cri­tiquing of prose.”

Read­ing List:

“Clara” by Rober­to Bolaño
“Hit­ting Budapest” by NoVi­o­let Bul­awayo
“Whites” by Julie Otsu­ka
“Ghosts” by Edwidge Dan­ti­cat
“My Good Man” by Eric Gansworth
“Gold Boy, Emer­ald Girl” by Yiyun Li
“Boun­ty” by George Saun­ders

For more from Díaz him­self on his approach to writ­ing fic­tion, lis­ten to his inter­view with NPR’s Teri Gross. And just below, hear Díaz read from The Brief Won­drous Life of Oscar Wao at the Key West Lit­er­ary Sem­i­nar in 2008.

via Col­or Lines

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Lit­er­a­ture Cours­es

Junot Díaz Anno­tates a Selec­tion of The Brief Won­drous Life of Oscar Wao for “Poet­ry Genius”

David Fos­ter Wallace’s 1994 Syl­labus: How to Teach Seri­ous Lit­er­a­ture with Light­weight Books

W.H. Auden’s 1941 Lit­er­a­ture Syl­labus Asks Stu­dents to Read 32 Great Works, Cov­er­ing 6000 Pages

Lyn­da Barry’s Won­der­ful­ly Illus­trat­ed Syl­labus & Home­work Assign­ments from Her UW-Madi­son Class, “The Unthink­able Mind”

Don­ald Barthelme’s Syl­labus High­lights 81 Books Essen­tial for a Lit­er­ary Edu­ca­tion

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

Download 140 Free Philosophy Courses: Develop Critical Thinking Skills & Live the Examined Life

aristotle

What is “Phi­los­o­phy”? Yes, we know, the word comes from the Greek philosophia, which means “the love of wis­dom.” This rote ety­mo­log­i­cal def­i­n­i­tion does lit­tle, I think, to enhance our under­stand­ing of the sub­ject, though it may describe the moti­va­tion of many a stu­dent. Like cer­tain dis­eases, maybe phi­los­o­phy is a spec­trum, a col­lec­tion of loose­ly relat­ed behav­iors. Maybe a bet­ter ques­tion would be, “what are all the symp­toms of this thing we call phi­los­o­phy?” The med­ical metaphor is time­ly. We live in an age when the dis­ci­pline of phi­los­o­phy, like many of the human­i­ties, gets treat­ed like a pathol­o­gy, in uni­ver­si­ties and in the wider cul­ture. See, for exam­ple, pop­u­lar arti­cles on whether sci­ence has ren­dered phi­los­o­phy (and reli­gion) obso­lete. There seems to be an under­ly­ing assump­tion in our soci­ety that phi­los­o­phy is some­thing to be erad­i­cat­ed, like small­pox.

Per­haps this sort of thing is just an emp­ty provo­ca­tion; after all, many log­i­cal pos­i­tivists of the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry also claimed to have inval­i­dat­ed large areas of philo­soph­i­cal inquiry by ban­ish­ing every unclear con­cept to the dust­bin. And yet, phi­los­o­phy per­sists, infect­ing us with its relent­less dri­ve to define, inquire, cri­tique, sys­tem­atize, prob­lema­tize, and decon­struct.

And of course, in a less tech­ni­cal sense, phi­los­o­phy infects us with the dri­ve to won­der. With­out its tools, I main­tain, we would not only lack the basis for under­stand­ing the world we live in, but we would also lack impor­tant means of imag­in­ing, and cre­at­ing, a bet­ter one. If this sounds grandiose, wait till you encounter the thought of Pla­to, Spin­oza, Hegel, Kant, Niet­zsche, Kierkegaard, and jazz-futur­ist Sun Ra—all unac­cus­tomed to think­ing small and stay­ing in their lane.

Some philoso­phers are more cir­cum­spect, some more pre­cise, some more lit­er­ary and imag­i­na­tive, some more prac­ti­cal and tech­no­log­i­cal­ly inclined. Like I said, many symp­toms, one dis­ease.

We at Open Cul­ture have com­piled a list of 140 free phi­los­o­phy cours­es from as much of the wide spec­trum as we could, span­ning such diverse ways of think­ing as Uni­ver­si­ty of Chicago’s Leo Strauss on Aristotle’s Ethics (Free Online Audio) and Plato’s Laws (Free Online Audio), to Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty Bud­dhist schol­ar Robert Thur­man (Uma’s dad) on “The Cen­tral Phi­los­o­phy of Tibet” (Free Online Audio). We have spe­cif­ic cours­es on Med­ical Ethics, taught by Notre Dame’s David Solomon (Free Online Audio) and the Uni­ver­si­ty of New Orlean’s Frank Schalow (Free iTunes Audio). We have huge­ly gen­er­al cours­es like “The His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy With­out Any Gaps,” from King’s College’s Peter Adam­son (Free Course in Mul­ti­ple For­mats). We have phi­los­o­phy cours­es on death, love, reli­gion, film, law, the self, the ancients and the mod­erns…. See what I mean about the spec­trum?

Per­haps phi­los­o­phy incurs resent­ment because it roams at large and won’t be pack­aged into neat­ly salable—or jailable—units. Per­haps its amor­phous nature, its tol­er­ance of uncer­tain­ty and doubt, makes some kinds of peo­ple uncom­fort­able. Or per­haps some think it’s too abstruse and dif­fi­cult to make sense of, or to mat­ter. Not so! Vis­it our list of 140 phi­los­o­phy cours­es and you will sure­ly find a point of entry some­where. One class will lead to anoth­er, and anoth­er, and before you know it, you’ll be ask­ing ques­tions all the time, of every­thing, and think­ing rig­or­ous­ly and crit­i­cal­ly about the answers, and… well, by then it may be too late for a cure.

Look­ing for a good place to start? Try Oxford’s Crit­i­cal Rea­son­ing for Begin­ners

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 55 Free Online Lit­er­a­ture Cours­es: From Dante and Mil­ton to Ker­ouac and Tolkien

Down­load 78 Free Online His­to­ry Cours­es: From Ancient Greece to The Mod­ern World

Learn 48 Lan­guages Online for Free: Span­ish, Chi­nese, Eng­lish & More 

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

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast