Alain de Botton’s School of Life Presents Animated Introductions to Heidegger, The Stoics & Epicurus

Why is West­ern phi­los­o­phy so dif­fi­cult, so abstruse, and so damned wordy? Per­haps it’s sim­ply a mat­ter of job secu­ri­ty. It’s gen­er­al­ly well-known, after all, that some of the most tac­i­turn philoso­phers were also some of the poor­est—Lud­wig Wittgen­stein, who was inde­pen­dent­ly wealthy, notwith­stand­ing. But if you fol­low the for­mat Alain de Bot­ton lays out in the phi­los­o­phy depart­ment of his video series, “The Big Ideas,” you can pick up some Hei­deg­ger, a lit­tle Sto­ic thought, and the ideas of Epi­cu­rus each in under ten min­utes of light­heart­ed com­men­tary, accom­pa­nied by quirky ani­ma­tion from a stu­dio called Mad Adam (who favor a very Ter­ry Gilliam-like approach to their art). There are those crit­ics who think de Bot­ton glib and shal­low, a “self-help guru to the British middle-class—a life coach.” In a cer­tain sense, I sup­pose he’d have to agree with that assess­ment, giv­en that his “cul­tur­al enter­prise,” The School of Life, has as its tagline “good ideas for every­day life.” Do the dead Euro­pean philoso­phers of ages past have help­ful tips for our mun­dane 21st cen­tu­ry exis­tence, and do de Botton’s videos do any jus­tice to the qual­i­ty of their thought?

As to the first ques­tion, I sup­pose we’d have to answer, yes. As for the second—I leave it to the philoso­phers to weigh in. At the top of the post, we have Mar­tin Heidegger—“the most incom­pre­hen­si­ble Ger­man philoso­pher that ever lived”—in just over five min­utes. It turns out that “beneath the jar­gon, Hei­deg­ger tells us sim­ple, even at times home­spun truths” about things like mean­ing and free­dom. Once a rank­ing mem­ber of the Nazi par­ty, Hei­deg­ger, de Bot­ton says, “saw the error of his ways,” a claim peo­ple often repeat with­out a great deal of evi­dence. But Heidegger’s Nazi past aside, his thought, de Bot­ton says, helps us get back in touch with the mys­tery of exis­tence, what the philoso­pher called das sein, or “Being.” This term more or less sums up the core of Heidegger’s entire project, and I con­fess I nev­er real­ly grasped what he means by it. Maybe you will after tak­ing de Botton’s very short course.

Next up, we have the Sto­ics, not a spe­cif­ic move­ment or group as such, but an entire school of thought that “flour­ished for 480 years in ancient Greece and Rome.” Sto­icism offered a nar­row range of respons­es to the ancient prob­lem de Bot­ton defines as “Life is very dif­fi­cult,” and it appealed to com­mon­ers and aris­to­crats alike because of its uni­ver­sal con­cern with suf­fer­ing. De Bot­ton gives us the gist by refer­ring to the way we typ­i­cal­ly use the word “sto­ic” these days, as a syn­onym for “brave.” He says a bit more, of course, about Stoicism’s answers to life’s chal­lenges, lis­ten above.

Final­ly, we have Greek philoso­pher Epi­cu­rus, who “helps us think about mon­ey, cap­i­tal­ism, and our run­away con­sumer soci­ety.” This despite the fact that Epi­cu­rus pre­dates cap­i­tal­ism and con­sumer soci­ety by well over two-thou­sand years. Nonethe­less, his thought is eter­nal­ly rel­e­vant, giv­en that its pri­ma­ry con­cern, “What makes peo­ple hap­py?” is a prob­lem unlike­ly to be solved in anyone’s life­time. But Epi­cu­rus had some answers, and he pur­veyed them—like de Botton—by found­ing his own school. He and his dis­ci­ples, Epi­cure­ans, were rumored to be debauched and wicked lib­ertines steeped in exces­sive food, drink, and sex. In fact, the oppo­site was true: Epi­cu­rus was an aus­tere and sober man, who urged restraint in mat­ters sex­u­al and fis­cal, mak­ing him, in a way, a gen­uine con­ser­v­a­tive.

De Botton’s “Big Ideas” cur­ricu­lum cur­rent­ly includes two oth­er videos that func­tion as gen­er­al defens­es of the human­i­ties: “What is Art for?” and “What is Lit­er­a­ture for?” Both ques­tions might sound mean­ing­less to some refined aes­thetes, but for a great many peo­ple get­ting on with the painful, some­times drea­ry, and often har­ried busi­ness of dai­ly life, ques­tions about util­i­ty are sen­si­ble enough. New big ideas videos are on the way—in the mean­while, vis­it de Botton’s School of Life Youtube chan­nel for video shorts on “Mood,” “Rela­tion­ships,” and more.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

Alain de Bot­ton Shows How Art Can Answer Life’s Big Ques­tions in Art as Ther­a­py

A Guide to Hap­pi­ness: Alain de Bot­ton Shows How Six Great Philoso­phers Can Change Your Life

Alain de Bot­ton Pro­pos­es a Kinder, Gen­tler Phi­los­o­phy of Suc­cess

Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger Talks Phi­los­o­phy with a Bud­dhist Monk on Ger­man Tele­vi­sion (1963)

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

Open Culture Picks Our 10 Avant-Garde Favorites on Ubuweb: Joyce, Borges, Sontag, Wittgenstein & More

samuelbeckett-ubuweb

If you know about Open Cul­ture, sure­ly you know about Ubuweb. If you don’t, its slo­gan says almost every­thing you need to know about it: “All Avant-Garde. All the Time.” This vast online repos­i­to­ry of cut­ting-edge cul­tur­al arti­facts from a vari­ety of eras also adheres stead­fast­ly to the prin­ci­ple of keep­ing all of its mate­r­i­al free: free in the sense of charg­ing you noth­ing to read, hear or view it, and free in the sense that you can do what­ev­er you want with it. Need­less to say, the site, found­ed by poet Ken­neth Gold­smith in 1996, has made many fans, and Ubuweb itself has tapped quite a few of the high­er-pro­file ones to curate top ten lists. Assem­bled by peo­ple like New York­er music crit­ic Alex Ross, nov­el­ists Hari Kun­zru and Rick Moodyalter­na-pop star Nick “Momus” Cur­rie, these help the poten­tial­ly (and under­stand­ably) bewil­dered find their way through the trove of Ubuwe­b’s media, which is uni­ver­sal­ly influ­en­tial and van­ish­ing­ly obscure, vis­cer­al­ly trans­gres­sive and ver­tig­i­nous­ly intel­lec­tu­al, eter­nal­ly excit­ing and delib­er­ate­ly bor­ing.

This month, Ubuweb called upon our fear­less edi­tor here at Open Cul­ture for a top ten list. Most of the picks have been pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured on OC. The list runs as fol­lows:

1. Finnegans Wake (1939), Read by Patrick Healy
Open Cul­ture: Hear All of Finnegans Wake Read Aloud: A 35 Hour Read­ing

“The sheer plea­sure one can derive — con­ven­tion­al expec­ta­tions duly set aside — from the almost tac­tile qual­i­ty of Joyce’s prose, its earthy, ancient, elven sounds, seems more to the point of appre­ci­at­ing this odd, frus­trat­ing work. Per­haps, like any well-writ­ten poem, one sim­ply needs to hear it read aloud. Joyce him­self said so, and so you can.”

2. The Craft of Verse: Jorge Luis Borges’ Nor­ton Lec­tures, 1967–68
Open Cul­ture: Jorge Luis Borges’ 1967–8 Nor­ton Lec­tures On Poet­ry (And Every­thing Else Lit­er­ary)

“Near­ing both 70 years of age and total blind­ness, Borges nonethe­less gives a vir­tu­osi­cal­ly wide-rang­ing series of talks, freely reach­ing across forms, coun­tries, eras, and lan­guages with­out the aid of notes. Enti­tled ‘This Craft of Verse,’ these lec­tures osten­si­bly deal with poet­ry. Alas, like many lit­er­ary geeks, I know too lit­tle of poet­ry, but if Borges can’t moti­vate you to learn more, who can?”

3. Three Rare Films by Susan Son­tag
Open Cul­ture: The Film­mak­ing of Susan Son­tag & Her 50 Favorite Films (1977)

“Son­tag, they say, ‘sought to lib­er­ate art from inter­pre­ta­tion (which is a bit iron­ic, of course, for some­one who was essen­tial­ly an exalt­ed crit­ic). When it came to her own film, she made some­thing that intend­ed to delib­er­ate­ly con­found the notion that there was any sort of under­ly­ing mean­ing beyond exact­ly what the audi­ence was see­ing on the screen direct­ly in front of them.’ ”

4.  M.A. Num­mi­nen Sings Wittgen­stein (1983 / 1989)
Open Cul­ture: Lud­wig Wittgenstein’s Trac­ta­tus Gets Adapt­ed Into an Avant-Garde Com­ic Opera

“Giv­en the Trac­ta­tus’s fire­bomb­ing of an entire area of human endeav­or, it’s no sur­prise it hasn’t fared well in many tra­di­tion­al depart­ments, but that hasn’t stopped Wittgenstein’s work from find­ing pur­chase else­where, influ­enc­ing mod­ern artists like Jasper Johns, the Coen Broth­ers, and, not least sure­ly, Finnish avant garde com­pos­er and musi­cian M.A. Num­mi­nen. This odd char­ac­ter, who caused a stir in the 60s by set­ting sex guides to music, took it upon him­self to do the same for many of the Trac­ta­tus’s propo­si­tions, and the results are, well…. Lis­ten for your­self.”

5. Aldous Huxley’s Vision­ary Expe­ri­ence
Open Cul­ture: Aldous Hux­ley, Psy­che­delics Enthu­si­ast, Lec­tures About “the Vision­ary Expe­ri­ence” at MIT (1962)

“Hux­ley had already gained world­wide fame for his views on bet­ter liv­ing, which was some­times achieved, he believed, through psy­che­del­ic drugs. This might have already sound­ed like old hat in, say, the San Fran­cis­co of the late 1960s, let alone the 70s and onward, but in these record­ings Hux­ley says his piece in — I still can’t quite believe it — the MIT of the ear­ly 1960s. But diag­nosed a cou­ple years before with the can­cer that would claim his life the next, he had noth­ing to lose by spread­ing the word of his sub­stance-induced dis­cov­er­ies.”

6. Jacques Derrida’s Inter­view with Ornette Cole­man [PDF]
Open Cul­ture: Philoso­pher Jacques Der­ri­da Inter­views Jazz Leg­end Ornette Cole­man: Talk Impro­vi­sa­tion, Lan­guage & Racism (1997)

“Trans­lat­ing Coleman’s tech­nique into ‘a domain that I know bet­ter, that of writ­ten lan­guage,’ Der­ri­da ven­tures to com­pare impro­vi­sa­tion to read­ing, since it ‘doesn’t exclude the pre-writ­ten frame­work that makes it pos­si­ble.’ For him, the exis­tence of a framework—a writ­ten composition—even if only loose­ly ref­er­enced in a jazz per­for­mance, ‘com­pro­mis­es or com­pli­cates the con­cept of impro­vi­sa­tion.’ ”

7. Joey Ramone Sings a Piece by John Cage Adapt­ed from James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake: “The Won­der­ful Wid­ow of Eigh­teen Springs,”
Open Cul­ture: Hear Joey Ramone Sing a Piece by John Cage Adapt­ed from James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake

“Ramone’s inter­pre­ta­tion of the piece is enthralling sim­ply as a piece of record­ed music.  But it’s also a fas­ci­nat­ing piece of cul­tur­al his­to­ry, rep­re­sent­ing a con­flu­ence of the fore­most fig­ures in ear­ly twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry mod­ernist lit­er­a­ture, mid-cen­tu­ry avant-garde music, and late cen­tu­ry punk rock.”

8. The Avant-Garde Project
Open Cul­ture: The Avant-Garde Project: An Archive of Music by 200 Cut­ting-Edge Com­posers, Includ­ing Stravin­sky, Schoen­berg, Cage & More

“Every sphere of record­ed music has its crate-dig­gers, those hap­py to flip through hun­dreds — nay, hun­dreds of thou­sands — of obscure, for­got­ten vinyl albums in search of their subgenre’s even obscur­er, more for­got­ten gems. This holds espe­cial­ly true, if not in num­ber than in avid­i­ty, for enthu­si­asts of the 20th-cen­tu­ry clas­si­cal-exper­i­men­tal-elec­troa­coustic tra­di­tion that The Avant-Garde Project takes as its preser­va­tion man­date.”

9. Alice Tok­las Reads Her Hashish Fudge Recipe
Open Cul­ture: Alice B. Tok­las Reads Her Famous Recipe for Hashish Fudge (1963)

“In this 1963 record­ing from Paci­fi­ca Radio, Tok­las reads her noto­ri­ous recipe. The snack ‘might pro­vide an enter­tain­ing refresh­ment for a Ladies’ Bridge Club or a chap­ter meet­ing of the DAR,’ Tok­las notes in her reedy, dig­ni­fied voice.”

10. Jean Bau­drillard Sings!
Open Cul­ture: Jean Bau­drillard Reads His Poet­ry, Backed By All-Star Arts Band (1996)

“Known to hip aca­d­e­m­ic types and avant-garde-ists, Bau­drillard’s maybe the kind of thinker who gets name-dropped more than read (and he’s no easy read). But in the audio clip above, he reads to us, from his poet­ry no less, while backed by the swirling abstract sounds of The Chance Band. It’s an odd, one-time, assem­blage of artists and thinkers Ubuweb describes as ‘unbe­liev­able but true!’ ”

If you’ve already seen every­thing on it, con­grat­u­la­tions: you can con­sid­er your­self a true, shall we say, OC OG.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Avant-Garde Media: The UbuWeb Col­lec­tion

Exten­sive Archive of Avant-Garde & Mod­ernist Mag­a­zines (1890–1939) Now Avail­able Online

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of the 1913 Exhi­bi­tion That Intro­duced Avant-Garde Art to Amer­i­ca

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

A Free Cartoon Biography of Ayn Rand: Her Life & Thought

rand cartoon bio

Ayn Rand is one of the most divi­sive fig­ures in 20th Cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can thought. In some cir­cles, par­tic­u­lar­ly on Wall Street and in Wash­ing­ton DC think tanks, she’s seen as a patron saint of lais­sez faire cap­i­tal­ism. She preached the virtues of indi­vid­u­al­ism and decried gov­ern­ment hand­outs and tax­es before it was cool, after all. In oth­er cir­cles, her best­selling books are thought to be lit­tle more than jus­ti­fi­ca­tions of socio­path­ic behav­ior couched in stilt­ed, preachy prose. Whit­tak­er Cham­bers famous­ly dis­missed her final book, Atlas Shrugged, in a review for William F. Buck­ley’s Nation­al Review: “Out of a life­time of read­ing, I can recall no oth­er book in which a tone of over­rid­ing arro­gance was so implaca­bly sus­tained. Its shrill­ness is with­out reprieve. Its dog­ma­tism is with­out appeal.”

Yet Rand’s thought found a great deal of appeal among Amer­i­can con­ser­v­a­tives. Alan Greenspan, the for­mer head of the Fed­er­al Reserve, was a mem­ber of Rand’s inner cir­cle. For­mer vice pres­i­den­tial can­di­date Paul Ryan and like­ly pres­i­den­tial con­tender Rand Paul are both not­ed fol­low­ers. Whether you agree with her or not, Rand is some­one you need to under­stand if you want to get a sense of what’s going on with Amer­i­can pol­i­tics. So for those of you who might blanche at the thought of wad­ing through one of her phone­book-sized tomes, check out Dar­ryl Cunningham’s car­toon biog­ra­phy of Rand.

Cun­ning­ham traces her life — her family’s loss of wealth and prop­er­ty at the hands of the Bol­she­viks dur­ing the Russ­ian Rev­o­lu­tion, her immi­gra­tion to Amer­i­ca at age 21, and her even­tu­al rise in fame and for­tune. Ele­gant­ly and con­cise­ly, Cun­ning­ham not only lays out Rand’s phi­los­o­phy but also paints a com­plex por­trait of a deeply con­tra­dic­to­ry per­son. All with the help of car­toons.

Rand preached the virtue of indi­vid­u­al­i­ty but she ruth­less­ly excom­mu­ni­cat­ed any­one in her cult-like inner cir­cle who devi­at­ed from her ide­ol­o­gy. She praised rea­son over emo­tion but her spec­tac­u­lar­ly com­pli­cat­ed per­son­al life was rid­dled with pet­ty jeal­ousies and long sim­mer­ing feuds. She abhorred gov­ern­ment aid for the poor but she lived on Social Secu­ri­ty at the end of her life. And per­haps strangest of all, con­sid­er­ing the cur­rent Amer­i­can polit­i­cal cli­mate, Rand vocal­ly sup­port­ed both athe­ism and abor­tion rights, but she has been utter­ly embraced by the Amer­i­can right.

You can see a page of Cunningham’s work above, or you can read his entire work, 66 pages of com­ic good­ness, at ACT-I-VATE.

via io9

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of Eco­nom­ics & Eco­nom­ic The­o­ry Explained with Comics, Start­ing with Adam Smith

William F. Buck­ley Flogged Him­self to Get Through Atlas Shrugged

Ayn Rand Talks Athe­ism with Phil Don­ahue

Great Shake­speare Plays Retold with Stick Fig­ures in Three Sim­ple Draw­ings

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing one new draw­ing of a vice pres­i­dent with an octo­pus on his head dai­ly.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

Philosopher Jacques Derrida Interviews Jazz Legend Ornette Coleman: Talk Improvisation, Language & Racism (1997)

Images of Der­ri­da and Cole­man, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

This most cer­tain­ly ranks as one of my favorite things on the inter­net, and I dear­ly wish we had audio to share with you, though I doubt any exists. What we do have is an Eng­lish trans­la­tion from the French of an inter­view that orig­i­nal­ly took place in Eng­lish between philoso­pher Jacques Der­ri­da and jazz great Ornette Cole­man.

Now there are those who dis­miss Der­ri­da—who con­sid­er his meth­ods fraud­u­lent. If you’re one of them, this is obvi­ous­ly not for you. For those who appre­ci­ate the turns of his thought, and the fas­ci­nat­ing pos­si­bil­i­ties inher­ent in a Der­rid­i­an approach to jazz impro­vi­sa­tion, not to men­tion the con­ver­gences and points of con­flict between these two dis­parate cul­tur­al fig­ures, read on.

The inter­view took place in 1997, “before and dur­ing Coleman’s three con­certs at La Vil­lette, a muse­um and per­form­ing arts com­plex north of Paris that hous­es, among oth­er things, the world-renowned Paris Con­ser­va­to­ry.” As I men­tioned, the two spoke in Eng­lish but, as trans­la­tor Tim­o­thy S. Murphy—who worked with a ver­sion pub­lished in the French mag­a­zine Les Inrock­upt­ibles—notes, “orig­i­nal tran­scripts could not be locat­ed.” Curi­ous­ly, at the heart of the con­ver­sa­tion is a dis­cus­sion about lan­guage, par­tic­u­lar­ly “lan­guages of ori­gin.” In answer to Derrida’s first ques­tion about a pro­gram Cole­man would present lat­er that year in New York called Civ­i­liza­tion, the sax­o­phon­ist replies, “I’m try­ing to express a con­cept accord­ing to which you can trans­late one thing into anoth­er. I think that sound has a much more demo­c­ra­t­ic rela­tion­ship to infor­ma­tion, because you don’t need the alpha­bet to under­stand music.”

As one exam­ple of this “demo­c­ra­t­ic rela­tion­ship,” Cole­man cites the rela­tion­ship between the jazz musi­cian and the composer—or his text: “the jazz musi­cian is prob­a­bly the only per­son for whom the com­pos­er is not a very inter­est­ing indi­vid­ual, in the sense that he prefers to destroy what the com­pos­er writes or says.” Cole­man goes on lat­er in the inter­view to clar­i­fy his ideas about impro­vi­sa­tion as demo­c­ra­t­ic com­mu­ni­ca­tion:

[T]he idea is that two or three peo­ple can have a con­ver­sa­tion with sounds, with­out try­ing to dom­i­nate or lead it. What I mean is that you have to be… intel­li­gent, I sup­pose that’s the word. In impro­vised music I think the musi­cians are try­ing to reassem­ble an emo­tion­al or intel­lec­tu­al puz­zle in which the instru­ments give the tone. It’s pri­mar­i­ly the piano that has served at all times as the frame­work in music, but it’s no longer indis­pens­able and, in fact, the com­mer­cial aspect of music is very uncer­tain. Com­mer­cial music is not nec­es­sar­i­ly more acces­si­ble, but it is lim­it­ed.

Trans­lat­ing Coleman’s tech­nique into “a domain that I know bet­ter, that of writ­ten lan­guage,” Der­ri­da ven­tures to com­pare impro­vi­sa­tion to read­ing, since it “doesn’t exclude the pre-writ­ten frame­work that makes it pos­si­ble.” For him, the exis­tence of a framework—a writ­ten composition—even if only loose­ly ref­er­enced in a jazz per­for­mance, “com­pro­mis­es or com­pli­cates the con­cept of impro­vi­sa­tion.” As Der­ri­da and Cole­man try to work through the pos­si­bil­i­ty of true impro­vi­sa­tion, the exchange becomes a fas­ci­nat­ing decon­struc­tive take on the rela­tion­ships between jazz and writ­ing. (For more on this aspect of their dis­cus­sion, see “Deconstructin(g) Jazz Impro­vi­sa­tion,” an arti­cle in the open access jour­nal Crit­i­cal Stud­ies in Impro­vi­sa­tion.)

The inter­view isn’t all phi­los­o­phy. It ranges all over the place, from Coleman’s ear­ly days in Texas, then New York, to the impact of tech­nol­o­gy on music, to Coleman’s com­plete­ly orig­i­nal the­o­ry of music, which he calls “har­molod­ics.” They also dis­cuss glob­al­iza­tion and the expe­ri­ence of grow­ing up as a racial minority—an expe­ri­ence Der­ri­da relates to very much. At one point, Cole­man observes, “being black and a descen­dent of slaves, I have no idea what my lan­guage of ori­gin was.” Der­ri­da responds in kind, ref­er­enc­ing one of his sem­i­nal texts, Mono­lin­gual­ism of the Oth­er:

JD: If we were here to talk about me, which is not the case, I would tell you that, in a dif­fer­ent but anal­o­gous man­ner, it’s the same thing for me. I was born into a fam­i­ly of Alger­ian Jews who spoke French, but that was not real­ly their lan­guage of ori­gin [… ] I have no con­tact of any sort with my lan­guage of ori­gin, or rather that of my sup­posed ances­tors.

OC: Do you ever ask your­self if the lan­guage that you speak now inter­feres with your actu­al thoughts? Can a lan­guage of ori­gin influ­ence your thoughts?

JD: It is an enig­ma for me.

Indeed. Der­ri­da then recalls his first vis­it to the Unit­ed States, in 1956, where there were “ ‘Reserved for Whites’ signs every­where.” “You expe­ri­enced all that?” he asks Cole­man, who replies:

Yes. In any case, what I like about Paris is the fact that you can’t be a snob and a racist at the same time here, because that won’t do. Paris is the only city I know where racism nev­er exists in your pres­ence, it’s some­thing you hear spo­ken of.

“That does­n’t mean there is no racism,” says Der­ri­da, “but one is oblig­ed to con­ceal it to the extent pos­si­ble.”

You real­ly should read the whole inter­view. The Eng­lish trans­la­tion was pub­lished in the jour­nal Genre and comes to us via Ubuweb, who host a pdf. For more excerpts, see posts at The New York­er and The Lib­er­a­tor Mag­a­zine. As inter­est­ing a read as this dou­bly-trans­lat­ed inter­view is, the live expe­ri­ence itself was a painful one for Der­ri­da. Though he had been invit­ed by the sax­o­phon­ist, Coleman’s impa­tient Parisian fans booed him, even­tu­al­ly forc­ing him off the stage. In a Time mag­a­zine inter­view, the self-con­scious philoso­pher recalled it as “a very unhap­py event.” But, he says, “it was in the paper the next day, so it was a hap­py end­ing.”

Hear more of Coleman’s thoughts on lan­guage, sound, and tech­nol­o­gy in the 2008 inter­view above (see here for Part 2). The year pre­vi­ous, in anoth­er con­junc­tion of the worlds of lan­guage and music, Cole­man was award­ed the Pulitzer Prize in music for his live album Sound Gram­mar, a title that suc­cinct­ly express­es Coleman’s belief in music as a uni­ver­sal lan­guage.

Image of Ornette Cole­man by Geert Van­de­poele

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Charles Min­gus Explains in His Gram­my-Win­ning Essay “What is a Jazz Com­pos­er?”

Der­ri­da: A 2002 Doc­u­men­tary on the Abstract Philoso­pher and the Every­day Man

1959: The Year that Changed Jazz

How to Pot­ty Train Your Cat: A Handy Man­u­al by Charles Min­gus

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

Georges Bataille: An Introduction to The Radical Philosopher’s Life & Thought Through Film and eTexts

Charles Baudelaire’s deca­dent visions pushed the Vic­to­ri­an cult of beau­ty toward mod­ernism, Hen­ry Miller’s lurid epics pushed a then staid mod­ernism toward anar­chic beat writ­ing, and Georges Bataille and the sur­re­al­ists of his arts jour­nal Doc­u­ments gave us much of the cul­ture we have today, call it what you will if post­mod­ern is too passé. Obsessed with tor­ture, pornog­ra­phy, hor­ror, and bod­i­ly flu­ids, Bataille “want­ed to bring art down to the base lev­el of oth­er phys­i­cal phe­nom­e­na,” says sur­re­al­ist schol­ar Dawn Ades. Where oth­er trans­gres­sive fig­ures of the past have most­ly been tamed, Bataille, I sub­mit, is still quite dan­ger­ous. The Bataille quote that opens the film above, A perte de vue (“As far as the eye can see”), won’t go down eas­i­ly with almost any­one: “The world,” reads nar­ra­tor Jean-Claude Dauphin, “is only inhab­it­able on the con­di­tion that noth­ing in it is respect­ed.” This, the doc­u­men­tary sug­gests, is Bataille’s phi­los­o­phy, one he defines as “a need for sen­si­bil­i­ty to call up dis­tur­bance.”

Bataille, a failed priest and some­time librar­i­an, found­ed sur­re­al­ist flag­ship Doc­u­ments in 1929, pub­lished 15 issues, then went on to write nov­els, poems, and essays for the next thir­ty years. But his most famous work has remained his first, The Sto­ry of the Eye, orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished under the pseu­do­nym Lord Auch in 1928. It’s a book that even today can seem like “social anthrax,” as nov­el­ist John Wray put it, in a way that oth­er once taboo-break­ing works like Joyce’s Ulysses, for exam­ple, cer­tain­ly do not. It’s an apt com­par­i­son, not on lit­er­ary grounds, but giv­en that both writ­ers were haunt­ed by once fer­vent Catholi­cism turned to fer­vent rejec­tion. Writes Mark Hud­son in The Guardian, “he did believe in his own trans­gres­sive philoso­phies in a qua­si-reli­gious sense.” Like Joyce, “there’s a pow­er­ful dual­ism in his thought, a pro­found reli­gious impulse.” Unlike Joyce—or Bataille’s fel­low sur­re­al­ists for that mat­ter, who “excom­mu­ni­cat­ed” him from the movement—“there is still much in his work that is dif­fi­cult to redeem and far from being accom­mo­dat­ed by the mainstream—if indeed it ever can be.”

You can read four of Bataille’s chal­leng­ing pieces at Supervert’s eli­brary: The Sto­ry of the Eye and three essays, “The Use Val­ue of D.A.F. de Sade,” “The Big Toe,” and “The Cru­el Prac­tice of Art.” Bataille’s phi­los­o­phy, writes Super­vert, “appar­ent­ly lay in per­son­al experience—in par­tic­u­lar his child­hood with a sui­ci­dal moth­er and a blind, syphilitic father.” This kind of psy­chol­o­giz­ing may seem super­flu­ous, yet Bataille intro­duces him­self to us, in his own words—through audio inter­views in the first few min­utes of A pert de vue—as the prod­uct of “a sad place to be.” Per­son­al ori­gins aside, Bataille’s phi­los­o­phy has res­onat­ed wide­ly and “helped pave the way to con­tem­po­rary crit­i­cal the­o­ry.” By embrac­ing every­thing reject­ed, feared, or held in con­tempt, Bataille reclaimed every­day parts of human existence—those we euphem­ize or seek to contain—for lit­er­a­ture, phi­los­o­phy… and well, the inter­net. If some of Bataille’s pre­oc­cu­pa­tions are irre­deemable for main­stream tastes, you may find as you watch the film above and read Bataille’s writ­ing that this is for good rea­son.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Exten­sive Archive of Avant-Garde & Mod­ernist Mag­a­zines (1890–1939) Now Avail­able Online

Michel Fou­cault – Beyond Good and Evil: 1993 Doc­u­men­tary Explores the Theorist’s Con­tro­ver­sial Life and Phi­los­o­phy

Human, All Too Human: 3‑Part Doc­u­men­tary Pro­files Niet­zsche, Hei­deg­ger & Sartre

David Lynch Presents the His­to­ry of Sur­re­al­ist Film (1987)

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

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

Lud­wig Wittgen­stein, enfant ter­ri­ble or idiot savant? A stu­dent of the great Bertrand Rus­sell and pro­tégé of renowned math­e­mati­cian and logi­cian Got­t­lob Frege, the angry young upstart’s Trac­ta­tus Logi­co-Philo­soph­i­cus put both elder thinkers on notice: The days of their com­fort­able assump­tions were num­bered, in a series of aus­tere, cryp­tic apho­risms and sym­bol­ic propo­si­tions that make very lit­tle sense to those of us who lack the prodi­gious intel­lects of Rus­sell and Frege. While Wittgen­stein is often dis­missed, writes Paul Hor­wich at New York Times’ phi­los­o­phy blog “The Stone,” as “self indul­gent­ly obscure,” per­haps the real rea­son many aca­d­e­m­ic philoso­phers reject his work is that it ren­ders them super­flu­ous. Phi­los­o­phy, Wittgen­stein oblique­ly claimed in his half-mys­ti­cal, hyper-log­i­cal trea­tise, “can’t give us the kind of knowl­edge gen­er­al­ly regard­ed as its rai­son d’être.”

Giv­en the Trac­ta­tus’s fire­bomb­ing of an entire area of human endeav­or, it’s no sur­prise it hasn’t fared well in many tra­di­tion­al depart­ments, but that hasn’t stopped Wittgenstein’s work from find­ing pur­chase else­where, influ­enc­ing mod­ern artists like Jasper Johns, the Coen Broth­ers, and, not least sure­ly, Finnish avant garde com­pos­er and musi­cian M.A. Num­mi­nen.

This odd char­ac­ter, who caused a stir in the 60s by set­ting sex guides to music, took it upon him­self to do the same for many of the Trac­ta­tus’s propo­si­tions, and the results are, well…. Lis­ten for your­self. At the top of the post, we have video of Num­mi­nen per­form­ing the fifth and final move­ment of his Trac­ta­tus suite—the famous final propo­si­tion of that strange lit­tle book: “Where­of one can­not speak, there­of one must be silent” (“Woven man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muss man schweigen”). Num­mi­nen sings this in Ger­man, in his high-pitched, creak­ing voice. The rest of the suite he sings in Eng­lish. Just above, hear the first move­ment, “The World Is…,” and below, hear move­ments 2–4, “In Order To Tell…,” “A Thought Is…,” and “The Gen­er­al Form Of A Truth Func­tion.” He even sings the sym­bols, in breath­less tran­scrip­tion. You can stream and down­load the full suite at Ubuweb and fol­low along at the Trac­ta­tus hyper­text here.

 

 

Should Numminen’s tin­pan alley-like com­po­si­tions strike you as a par­tic­u­lar­ly ridicu­lous set­ting for Wittgenstein’s genius, fear not; the Motet below (“Excero­ta Trac­tati Logi­co-Philo­sophi­ci”), by com­pos­er Elis­a­beth Lutyens, treats the eccen­tric German’s work with a great deal more rev­er­ence.

via Leit­er Reports

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wittgen­stein: Watch Derek Jarman’s Trib­ute to the Philoso­pher, Fea­tur­ing Til­da Swin­ton (1993)

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

Philoso­pher Por­traits: Famous Philoso­phers Paint­ed in the Style of Influ­en­tial Artists

Pho­tog­ra­phy of Lud­wig Wittgen­stein Dis­played by Archives at Cam­bridge

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

Philosopher Alain Badiou Performs a Scene From His Play, Ahmed The Philosopher (2011)

Alain Badiou occu­pies an odd place in con­tem­po­rary phi­los­o­phy. Show­ered with superla­tives like “France’s great­est liv­ing philoso­pher” and “one of the great­est thinkers of our time,” he some­how doesn’t mer­it even a cur­so­ry entry in that defin­i­tive aca­d­e­m­ic ref­er­ence site, the Stan­ford Ency­clo­pe­dia of Phi­los­o­phy. Whether this is sim­ply an edi­to­r­i­al over­sight or an inten­tion­al slight, I am not qual­i­fied to say.

Per­haps one of the dif­fi­cul­ties of writ­ing con­cise­ly on Badiou is that Badiou him­self roams far and wide—from Hegel to Lacan, Kant, Marx, Descartes, and even St. Paul. Not eas­i­ly iden­ti­fi­able as belong­ing to one school or anoth­er, Badiou’s work, though staunch­ly polit­i­cal­ly left, resists anti-human­ist post­mod­ernism and seeks to ground truth in uni­ver­sals. It’s an unsur­pris­ing tack giv­en that he first trained in math­e­mat­ics.

As if his philo­soph­i­cal work weren’t enough, Badiou also writes nov­els and plays. Of the lat­ter, his Ahmed the Philoso­pher: 34 Short Plays for Chil­dren & Every­one Else has recent­ly appeared in an Eng­lish trans­la­tion by Joseph Lit­vak. Just above, you can see Lit­vak as Ahmed and Badiou him­self as “a cur­mud­geon­ly French demon,” writes Crit­i­cal The­o­ry, “who takes joy in inform­ing for the police.” Filmed in Ger­many in 2011,

This scene, enti­tled “Ter­ror,” serves as a com­men­tary on French xeno­pho­bia towards Arab immi­grants. Badiou at one point also draws ref­er­ence to Nazi-occu­pied France, a sort of “good old days” for Badiou’s cal­lous char­ac­ter.

Badiou as the “demon of the cities” spot­lights the brute lim­i­ta­tions imposed by vio­lent, unjust police, who sum­mar­i­ly exe­cute inno­cent peo­ple in the streets. Tak­ing per­verse plea­sure in describ­ing such an occur­rence, the demon leers, “I like to imag­ine that I’m hid­den behind a cur­tain. I sali­vate!” before going on to describe with rel­ish the even ugli­er sce­nario of a “bun­gled” shoot­ing. The audi­ence gig­gles uneasi­ly, unsure quite how to respond to the exag­ger­at­ed evil Badiou per­forms. It seems unthink­able, absurd, their ner­vous laugh­ter sug­gests, that any­one but a car­toon dev­il could take such sadis­tic delight in this kind of cru­el­ty, much less, as the demon does, ini­ti­ate it with anony­mous libel. It’s an unnerv­ing per­for­mance of an even more unnerv­ing piece of writ­ing. Below, you can see more scenes from Ahmed the Philoso­pher, per­formed in Eng­lish sans Badiou at UC Irvine in 2010.

If you like Badiou as an actor, this may be your only chance to see him per­form. How­ev­er, the extro­vert­ed philoso­pher hopes to break into Hol­ly­wood in anoth­er capacity—bringing his trans­la­tion of Plato’s Repub­lic to the screen, with, in his grand design, Brad Pitt in the lead­ing role, Sean Con­nery as Socrates, and Meryl Streep as “Mrs. Pla­to.” I wish him all the luck in the world. With the block­buster suc­cess of religous epics like Noah, per­haps we’re primed for a Hol­ly­wood ver­sion of ancient Greek thought, though like the for­mer film, purists would no doubt find ample rea­son to fly up in arms over a guar­an­teed mul­ti­tude of philo­soph­i­cal blas­phemies.

via Crit­i­cal The­o­ry

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Michel Fou­cault and Alain Badiou Dis­cuss “Phi­los­o­phy and Psy­chol­o­gy” on French TV (1965)

Rad­i­cal Thinkers: Five Videos Pro­file Max Horkheimer, Alain Badiou & Oth­er Rad­i­cal The­o­rists

Hear Michel Foucault’s Lec­ture “The Cul­ture of the Self,” Pre­sent­ed in Eng­lish at UC Berke­ley (1983)

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

George Orwell Reviews a Book by That “Bag of Wind,” Jean-Paul Sartre (1948)

OrwellSartre
Yes­ter­day we fea­tured George Orwell’s review of Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf — not just an iso­lat­ed news­pa­per piece, or one of a scat­tered few, in a life oth­er­wise spent churn­ing out impor­tant nov­els like Ani­mal Farm and 1984, but a par­tic­u­lar­ly per­cep­tive book review among the many in his pro­lif­ic jour­nal­is­tic career. (He even wrote “Con­fes­sions of a Book Review­er,” the defin­i­tive arti­cle on that prac­tice.) Today we have anoth­er of Orwell’s pieces tak­ing on a well-known 20th-cen­tu­ry Con­ti­nen­tal fig­ure: this time, the French exis­ten­tial­ist philoso­pher Jean-Paul Sartre and his book Por­trait of the Anti­semite.

orwell letter

But as a pre­lude to the review, have a look at the Octo­ber 1948 let­ter above, post­ed orig­i­nal­ly at Let­ters of Note. In it, Orwell writes to his pub­lish­er Fred­er­ic War­burg, keep­ing him post­ed on the state of the man­u­script of 1984. Then, at the very end, he adds that “I have just had Sartre’s book on anti­semitism, which you pub­lished, to review. I think Sartre is a bag of wind and I am going to give him a good boot.” That “good boot,” which ran in The Observ­er the next month, goes like this:

Anti­semitism is obvi­ous­ly a sub­ject that needs seri­ous study, but it seems unlike­ly that it will get it in the near future. The trou­ble is that so long as anti­semitism is regard­ed sim­ply as a dis­grace­ful aber­ra­tion, almost a crime, any­one lit­er­ate enough to have heard the word will nat­u­ral­ly claim to be immune from it; with the result that books on anti­semitism tend to be mere exer­cis­es in cast­ing motes out of oth­er peo­ple’s eyes. M. Sartre’s book is no excep­tion, and it is prob­a­bly no bet­ter for hav­ing been writ­ten in 1944, in the uneasy, self-jus­ti­fy­ing, quis­ling-hunt­ing peri­od that fol­lowed on the Lib­er­a­tion.

At the begin­ning, M. Sartre informs us that anti­semitism has no ratio­nal basis: at the end, that it will not exist in a class­less soci­ety, and that in the mean­time it can per­haps be com­bat­ed to some extent by edu­ca­tion and pro­pa­gan­da. These con­clu­sions would hard­ly be worth stat­ing for their own sake, and in between them there is, in spite of much cer­e­bra­tion, lit­tle real dis­cus­sion of the sub­ject, and no fac­tu­al evi­dence worth men­tion­ing.

We are solemn­ly informed that anti­semitism is almost unknown among the work­ing class. It is a mal­a­dy of the bour­geoisie, and, above all, of that goat upon whom all our sins are laid, the “pet­ty bour­geois.” With­in the bour­geoisie it is sel­dom found among sci­en­tists and engi­neers. It is a pecu­liar­i­ty of peo­ple who think of nation­al­i­ty in terms of inher­it­ed cul­ture and prop­er­ty in terms of land.

Why these peo­ple should pick on Jews rather than some oth­er vic­tim M. Sartre does not dis­cuss, except, in one place, by putting for­ward the ancient and very dubi­ous the­o­ry that the Jews are hat­ed because they are sup­posed to have been respon­si­ble for the Cru­ci­fix­ion. He makes no attempt to relate anti­semitism to such obvi­ous­ly allied phe­nom­e­na as for instance, colour prej­u­dice.

Part of what is wrong with M. Sartre’s approach is indi­cat­ed by his title. “The” anti-Semi­te, he seems to imply all through the book, is always the same kind of per­son, rec­og­niz­able at a glance and, so to speak, in action the whole time. Actu­al­ly one has only to use a lit­tle obser­va­tion to see that anti­semitism is extreme­ly wide­spread, is not con­fined to any one class, and, above all, in any but the worst cas­es, is inter­mit­tent.

But these facts would not square with M. Sartre’s atom­ised vision of soci­ety. There is, he comes near to say­ing, no such thing as a human being, there are only dif­fer­ent cat­e­gories of men, such as “the” work­er and “the” bour­geois, all clas­si­fi­able in much the same way as insects. Anoth­er of these insect-like crea­tures is “the” Jew, who, it seems, can usu­al­ly be dis­tin­guished by his phys­i­cal appear­ance. It is true that there are two kinds of Jew, the “Authen­tic Jew,” who wants to remain Jew­ish, and the “Inau­then­tic Jew,” who would like to be assim­i­lat­ed; but a Jew, of whichev­er vari­ety, is not just anoth­er human being. He is wrong, at this stage of his­to­ry, if he tries to assim­i­late him­self, and we are wrong if we try to ignore his racial ori­gin. He should be accept­ed into the nation­al com­mu­ni­ty, not as an ordi­nary Eng­lish­man, French­man, or what­ev­er it may be, but as a Jew.

It will be seen that this posi­tion is itself dan­ger­ous­ly close to anti-semi­tism. Race prej­u­dice of any kind is a neu­ro­sis, and it is doubt­ful whether argu­ment can either increase or dimin­ish it, but the net effect of books of this kind, if they have an effect, is prob­a­bly to make anti­semitism slight­ly more preva­lent than it was before. The first step towards seri­ous study of anti­semitism is to stop regard­ing it as a crime. Mean­while, the less talk there is about “the” Jew or “the” anti­semite, as a species of ani­mal dif­fer­ent from our­selves, the bet­ter.

In Phi­los­o­phy Now, Mar­tin Tyrrell writes on Orwell’s rela­tion­ship to the sub­ject, which he saw “as a kind of gra­tu­itous clev­er­ness and he had no appetite for that. In Orwell’s writ­ings, fic­tion or non-fic­tion, there are few good intel­lec­tu­als. Where they appear, then it is usu­al­ly only to spin words with­out mean­ing. At best, they are inad­ver­tent­ly con­fus­ing; at worst, delib­er­ate­ly so: Marx­ists, for exam­ple, or nation­al­ists or Anglo or Roman Catholics. Or Jean-Paul Sartre. [ … ] Bewil­dered by exis­ten­tial­ism, what most irked Orwell about Sartre was his seem­ing denial of indi­vid­u­al­i­ty.” Tyrrell describes Orwell as “an indi­vid­u­al­ist so much so that, when he came to list his rea­sons for becom­ing a writer, he put ‘sheer ego­ism’ at the top. In addi­tion, and much more con­tro­ver­sial­ly, his review of Mein Kampf sees in Hitler more than a lit­tle of the trag­ic Orwellian hero, the small man embarked upon a doomed revolt.” Not every­one, of course, will agree with Orwell’s aggres­sive­ly plain­spo­ken takes on Hitler and Nazism, or Sartre and exis­ten­tial­ism, but try sub­sti­tut­ing a vari­ety of oth­er con­tro­ver­sial “-isms” for “anti­semitism” in the review above, and you’ll see how we’d still think more clear­ly if we bore his obser­va­tions in mind today.

via Let­ters of Note 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

George Orwell Reviews Mein Kampf (1940)

George Orwell Explains in a Reveal­ing 1944 Let­ter Why He’d Write 1984

George Orwell’s 1984: Free eBook, Audio Book & Study Resources

Jean-Paul Sartre Breaks Down the Bad Faith of Intel­lec­tu­als

Sartre, Hei­deg­ger, Niet­zsche: Doc­u­men­tary Presents Three Philoso­phers in Three Hours

Wal­ter Kaufmann’s Clas­sic Lec­tures on Niet­zsche, Kierkegaard and Sartre (1960)

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

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