Jean-Paul Sartre Writes a Script for John Huston’s Film on Freud (1958)

In 1958, leg­endary direc­tor John Hus­ton decid­ed to make a film about the life of Sig­mund Freud. Hav­ing met Jean-Paul Sarte in 1952 dur­ing the film­ing of Moulin Rouge, Hus­ton felt the philoso­pher would be the ide­al per­son to script the Freud film, since Sartre knew Freud’s work so well and since Hus­ton sur­mised that he would have “an objec­tive and log­i­cal approach.” Despite Sartre’s obvi­ous tal­ents, this still seems like an odd choice on its face, giv­en the spe­cif­ic demands of screen­writ­ing ver­sus philo­soph­i­cal or lit­er­ary work. But Sartre had some expe­ri­ence writ­ing for the screen by that time—like most lit­er­ary screen­writ­ers, he’d most­ly done it for the mon­ey and dis­avowed most of this work in hindsight–and he loved the movies and respect­ed Hus­ton. The direc­tor and the exis­ten­tial­ist philoso­pher also had very sim­i­lar views of their bio­graph­i­cal sub­ject:

Iron­i­cal­ly both Sartre and Hus­ton con­sid­ered them­selves anti-Freud for large­ly the same rea­son: Sartre because as a Com­mu­nist he believed the role of the psy­cho­an­a­lyst was lim­it­ed and of lit­tle social impor­tance.  For his part Hus­ton felt that psy­cho­analy­sis was an indul­gence for bored house wives and the prob­lem chil­dren of the rich while the “movers and shak­ers”’ were too busy for it and those that most need­ed it could­n’t afford it.

Hus­ton and Sartre’s treat­ment of Freud promised to be crit­i­cal, but the part­ner­ship soon soured due to Sartre’s inabil­i­ty to keep his script at fea­ture length. First, he deliv­ered a mod­est 95-page treat­ment. This, how­ev­er, became a 300-page draft in 1959 that Hus­ton cal­cu­lat­ed would pro­duce an unac­cept­able five-hour-long film (see an image from Sartre’s draft screen­play below, and click it to read it in a larg­er for­mat).

When Hus­ton and Sartre met in per­son in Gal­way to find a way to cut the screen­play down to a rea­son­able length, their work­ing rela­tion­ship was less than cor­dial. In Huston’s rec­ol­lec­tion, Sartre nev­er stopped talk­ing long enough for any­one else to get a word in. The direc­tor also remem­bered that Sartre was “as ugly as a human being can be.” Sartre’s remem­brance is hard­ly more flat­ter­ing of Hus­ton, if some­what more com­ic; he described the direc­tor in a let­ter to his wife Simone de Beau­voir as a pre­ten­tious, thought­less char­ac­ter.…

…in moments of child­ish van­i­ty, when he puts on a red din­ner jack­et or rides a horse (not very well) or counts his paint­ings or tells work­men what to do. Impos­si­ble to hold his atten­tion five min­utes: he can no longer work, he runs away from think­ing.

After their Gal­way meet­ing, dur­ing which Hus­ton tried and failed to hyp­no­tize Sartre, the philoso­pher attempt­ed anoth­er revi­sion, but this time, he sent Hus­ton an even longer draft, for an eight-hour film. At this point, Hus­ton gave up on Sartre and sal­vaged what he could, even­tu­al­ly enlist­ing the help of Ger­man screen­writer Wolf­gang Rein­hardt to fin­ish the script. Hus­ton final­ly made his Freud film, released in 1962 as Freud: The Secret Pas­sion, with Mont­gomery Clift as the doc­tor (see the trail­er for the film above).

Unsur­pris­ing­ly, Sartre had his name removed from the final film. For a fuller account of the meet­ing of Hus­ton and Sartre, see the sec­ond chap­ter of Eliz­a­beth Roudinesco’s Phi­los­o­phy in Tur­bu­lent Times, where you’ll find oth­er fas­ci­nat­ing details like Sartre’s desire to cast Mar­i­lyn Mon­roe as Anna O and Huston’s bemuse­ment at Sartre’s den­tal hygiene.

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

 

Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment Presented in a Beautifully Animated Short Film

In this dark­ly poet­ic ani­ma­tion, the Pol­ish film­mak­er Piotr Dumala offers a high­ly per­son­al inter­pre­ta­tion of Fyo­dor Dos­toyevsky’s clas­sic nov­el, Crime and Pun­ish­ment. “My film is like a dream,” Dumala said in 2007. “It is as if some­one has read Crime and Pun­ish­ment and then had a dream about it.”

Dumala’s ver­sion takes place only at night. The sto­ry is told expres­sion­is­ti­cal­ly, with­out dia­logue and with an altered flow of time. The com­plex and mul­ti-lay­ered nov­el is pared down to a few cen­tral char­ac­ters and events: In the Russ­ian city of Saint Peters­burg, a young man named Raskol­nikov lies in his dark room brood­ing over a bloody crime.

He mur­ders an old woman with whom he had pawned his watch. When her younger sis­ter comes home unex­pect­ed­ly, he mur­ders her too. He con­fess­es to a saint­ly young woman named Sonya. The sin­is­ter eaves­drop­per Svidri­gailov knows of Raskol­nikov’s love for Sonya, and of his sins. In the end Svidri­gailov takes a pis­tol and “goes to Amer­i­ca” by killing him­self.

Dumala com­plet­ed his half-hour film of Crime and Pun­ish­ment (Zbrod­nia i Kara) in 2000, after three years of work. He has a unique method: He takes a white plas­ter pan­el and coats the sur­face with glue. He then paints over it with a dark col­or and lets it dry. He uses a knife and sand­pa­per to engrave his image, cre­at­ing a hatch­ing effect that gives it a feel­ing of tex­ture. To add dark­ness to a light area, he adds more paint with a brush.

It’s a form of “destruc­tive ani­ma­tion.” Each image exists only long enough to be pho­tographed and then paint­ed over to cre­ate a sense of move­ment. It’s a process that some­times makes Dumala sad. “I think some­times when I do a draw­ing in my film, I want to keep it,” he told Melis­sa Chi­movitz of Ani­ma­tion World Net­work in 1997, “but I must destroy it because this is the tech­nique I use. I must destroy every frame to put in its place anoth­er one, the next one, to have move­ment. This way, some­times I think it is too much suf­fer­ing, to destroy all the time what I am doing.”

If you appre­ci­ate Dumala’s take on Dos­toyevsky, you won’t want to miss his 1992 treat­ment of Franz Kaf­ka.

Dumala’s films are housed in our list of Free Movies Online. Dos­toyevsky’s Crime and Pun­ish­ment appears in our Free Audio Books and Free eBooks col­lec­tions.

Look­ing for free, pro­fes­­sion­al­­ly-read audio books from Audible.com? Here’s a great, no-strings-attached deal. If you start a 30 day free tri­al with Audible.com, you can down­load two free audio books of your choice. Get more details on the offer here.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed con­tent:

Albert Camus Talks About Adapt­ing Dos­toyevsky for the The­atre, 1959

Kafka’s Night­mare Tale, ‘A Coun­try Doc­tor,’ Told in Award-Win­ning Japan­ese Ani­ma­tion

Rainn Wilson Talks About Life’s Big Questions in His Web Series Metaphysical Milkshake

Off­screen, Rainn Wilson—Dwight from The Office—has become a kind of pop-guru for the Web 2.0 set. In 2009, Wil­son and friends Joshua Hom­nick and Devon Gundry cre­at­ed Soul­Pan­cake, a media com­pa­ny designed to pro­vide an inter­ac­tive expe­ri­ence for peo­ple to “Chew on Life’s Big Ques­tions” (says the tagline): reli­gion, phi­los­o­phy, art, cul­ture, sci­ence, humor, life, death, you name it. And the refresh­ing thing about it is, while Wil­son is of the Bahai faith him­self, his orga­ni­za­tion is unaf­fil­i­at­ed with any par­tic­u­lar reli­gion. So it’s a safe­ly ecu­meni­cal space for athe­ists, agnos­tics, and the grow­ing num­ber of “Nones” to inter­act with­out any dan­ger of pros­e­ly­tiz­ing or reli­gious inside base­ball.

Soul­Pan­cake has pro­duced a best-sell­ing book and scored a con­tent deal with Oprah’s OWN net­work, but it all grew out of a rather sim­ple idea—a video series called Meta­phys­i­cal Milk­shake. Billed as a “trav­el­ling talk show,” Meta­phys­i­cal Milk­shake is as low-con­cept, high-appeal as Jer­ry Seinfeld’s web series “Come­di­ans in Cars Get­ting Cof­fee”: Basi­cal­ly, Wil­son dri­ves around in a beat-up sev­en­ties ston­er van and picks up celebri­ties like Joseph Gor­don-Levitt or less­er-known inter­net stars like blog­ger and “twit­ter fun­ny girl” Kel­ly Oxford, (who calls his ride “a sweaty rape van”). Then he dish­es with them about some deep and some not-so-deep stuff. And thanks to some cheap spe­cial effects, the van mag­i­cal­ly trans­ports them wher­ev­er the guest wants to go.

A cou­ple days ago, Wil­son picked up con­cep­tu­al prop-com­ic Demetri Mar­tin (or the oth­er way around). They gabbed about com­e­dy archae­ol­o­gy, get­ting mugged for beliefs, and draw­ing the state of their souls. Watch the short episode above and sub­scribe to the Soul­Pan­cake YouTube chan­nel to see them all and more.

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

Philosophy with a Southern Drawl: Rick Roderick Teaches Derrida, Foucault, Sartre and Others

Ah, 20th-cen­tu­ry phi­los­o­phy: even a great many philoso­phers of the 20th cen­tu­ry would­n’t touch it. When you want to approach a thorny, com­plex, con­tra­dic­to­ry field like this, you espe­cial­ly val­ue a teacher like Rick Rod­er­ick (1949–2002). Called “the Bill Hicks of Phi­los­o­phy” by his fan sites, Rod­er­ick record­ed a series of lec­tures for The Teach­ing Com­pa­ny, in the ear­ly nineties. (Though the Great Cours­es have grown far more slick­ly pro­duced since then, the intel­lec­tu­al con­tent of their old­er efforts, like this one, remains sol­id.) Above, you’ll find “The Mas­ters of Sus­pi­cion,” the intro­duc­to­ry lec­ture to “The Self Under Seige,” his video course on 20th-cen­tu­ry philoso­phers. In eight seg­ments (avail­able in a playlist below), Rod­er­ick cov­ers the likes of Jacques Der­ri­da, Michel Fou­cault, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Jür­gen Haber­mas. Per­haps he can make sense of them for you; if not, he’ll make them into hours of enter­tain­ment.

Not hav­ing come up steeped in 20th-cen­tu­ry phi­los­o­phy dur­ing his own edu­ca­tion, Rod­er­ick has his own opin­ions about how these lumi­nar­ies throw into ques­tion all forms of human knowl­edge and iden­ti­ty. But he does take their ideas seri­ous­ly, con­nect­ing them as he con­sid­ers them to real issues and then-cur­rent events.

This reveals that he also has his own opin­ions, more than will­ing­ly giv­en, about — bear in mind, the year was 1993 — Bill Clin­ton, Jesse Helms, polit­i­cal cor­rect­ness, Pat Buchanan, Bil­ly Gra­ham, net­work tele­vi­sion, Jer­ry Fal­well, and The Big Chill. “When we do phi­los­o­phy my way,” Rod­er­ick announces in his dis­tinc­tive West Texas accent, “we just talk about what’s goin’ on and try to find our way about.” If that’s how you like phi­los­o­phy done, vis­it rickroderick.org to hear much more of it.

You can find more recent phi­los­o­phy cours­es pro­duced by The Great Cours­es here.

Relat­ed con­tent:

170 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

Michel Fou­cault: Free Lec­tures on Truth, Dis­course & The Self

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

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

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Epistemology of Dr. Seuss & More Philosophy Lessons from Great Children’s Stories

horton-hears-philosophy

Now for a sto­ry which “rais­es ques­tions about the the­o­ry and nature of knowl­edge.” An ele­phant “hears a faint noise com­ing from a small speck of dust; it seems to him like a tiny per­son is call­ing out for help.” He “finds it pecu­liar that a dust speck could speak so he rea­sons that there must be a very small crea­ture on it. With­out being able to see the crea­ture, he seems to know it is there and that it is his duty to save it from harm. The oth­er ani­mals in the jun­gle see him speak to the dust speck and find it impos­si­ble that there could be a crea­ture liv­ing on it.” Met with only dis­be­lief, “he holds tight to what he knows is true and learns from the voice that there exists an entire uni­verse.” At last, the speck­’s res­i­dent tiny towns­peo­ple “come togeth­er and make enough noise for the ani­mals to hear; they have proven their exis­tence and the jun­gle ani­mals are able to know what Hor­ton has known all along.” Most of us have read this clas­sic chil­dren’s book, Hor­ton Hears a Who!  by Dr. Seuss. But how many of us have probed its “ques­tions about the nature of human knowl­edge”?

The last para­graph’s quot­ed text all comes from Teach­ing Chil­dren Phi­los­o­phy’s Hor­ton Hears a Who mod­ule. The project, an out­growth of Mount Holyoke Col­lege pro­fes­sor Tom Warten­berg’s course “Phi­los­o­phy for Chil­dren,” comes premised on the notion not only that young­sters can learn phi­los­o­phy, but that they pos­sess minds par­tic­u­lar­ly well-suit­ed to its study. Teach­ing Chil­dren Phi­los­o­phy draws out the rel­e­vant philo­soph­i­cal issues and ques­tions from the books they’ve been read­ing already, from the epis­te­mol­o­gy of Hor­ton Hears a Who! to the meta­physics of Sylvester and the Mag­ic Peb­ble to phi­los­o­phy of mind in Harold and the Pur­ple Cray­on. Tar­get­ed toward par­ents, edu­ca­tors, and kids them­selves, the site promis­es great solace to any philo­soph­i­cal­ly mind­ed read­er (or read­er-aloud) of chil­dren’s sto­ries who feel they have long since exhaust­ed the depths of these beloved slim vol­umes. “How does Hor­ton know that this voice means there is a per­son on the speck?” “Is the moon that Harold draws the same as the moon we can see in the sky at night?” “If Sylvester is still a don­key because he thinks, what hap­pens when Sylvester is not think­ing?” You sup­ply the chil­dren’s books, and Warten­berg and com­pa­ny sup­ply the phi­los­o­phy.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es from our Col­lec­tion of 550 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Photography of Ludwig Wittgenstein

Philoso­phers have often rumi­nat­ed on the aes­thet­ics of pho­tog­ra­phy. Roland Barthes’ Cam­era Luci­da begins with a poignant memo­ri­al­iza­tion of his moth­er, as remem­bered through her pho­to­graph. Pierre Bourdieu’s Pho­tog­ra­phy: A Mid­dle-Brow Art won­dered why and how the medi­um became so wide­spread that “there are few house­holds, at least in towns, which do not pos­sess a cam­era.” And Jacques Derrida’s posthu­mous Athens, Still Remains, a trav­el mem­oir accom­pa­nied by the pho­tographs of Jean-Fran­cois Bon­homme, begins with the mys­ti­cal phrase “We owe our­selves to death.”

For Barthes and Der­ri­da, pho­tog­ra­phy was a medi­um of sus­pend­ed mortality—every pho­to­graph a memen­to mori. For anoth­er philoso­pher, the cryp­tic, poly­math, and noto­ri­ous­ly surly Lud­wig Wittgen­stein, pho­tog­ra­phy was a con­crete expres­sion of his pre­ferred means of per­cep­tion. As he famous­ly wrote in the Philo­soph­i­cal Inves­ti­ga­tions, “Don’t think, look!” For the unsen­ti­men­tal­ly cere­bral Wittgen­stein, a pho­to­graph is not a memo­r­i­al, but a “prob­a­bil­i­ty.” The philosopher’s archive at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cam­bridge includes the pho­to­graph above, a true “prob­a­bil­i­ty” in that it does not rep­re­sent any one per­son but is a com­pos­ite image of his face and the faces of his three sis­ters, made in col­lab­o­ra­tion with the “found­ing father of eugen­ics,” Fran­cis Gal­ton. The four sep­a­rate pho­tographs that Wittgen­stein and Gal­ton blend­ed togeth­er are below.

Of the com­pos­ite image, keep­er of the Wittgen­stein archives Michael Nedo writes that “Wittgen­stein was aim­ing for dif­fer­ent clar­i­ty expressed by the pho­tog­ra­phy of fuzzi­ness.”:

Gal­ton want­ed to work out one prob­a­bil­i­ty, where­as Wittgen­stein saw this as a sum­ma­ry in which all man­ner of pos­si­bil­i­ties are revealed in the fuzzi­ness.

Fuzzi­ness is a word rarely applied to Wittgenstein’s thought—at least his ear­ly work in the Trac­ta­tus Logi­co-Philo­soph­i­cus where his only goal is a clar­i­ty of thought that sup­pos­ed­ly dis­solves all the “fuzzy” prob­lems of phi­los­o­phy in a series of ellip­ti­cal apho­risms. The philoso­pher also called him­self a “dis­ci­ple of Freud,” in that he sought to “think in pic­tures,” and reach beyond lan­guage to the images pro­duced by dreams and the uncon­scious, “to enable us to see things dif­fer­ent­ly.” Wittgenstein’s pho­tographs are as strange­ly detached and mys­te­ri­ous as the man him­self. Salon has a gallery of the philosopher’s pho­tographs, which includes the por­trait of him (below), tak­en at his instruc­tion in Swansea, Wales in 1947. It’s an icon­ic image; Wittgen­stein half-sneers dis­dain­ful­ly at the cam­era, his steady gaze a chal­lenge, while the black­board behind him shows a riot of scratch­es and scrawls. In the upper right-hand cor­ner, the word RAW hangs omi­nous­ly above the philosopher’s head.

Wittgenstein’s grim por­trait presents a con­trast to the warmer recent pho­to­graph­ic por­traits of philoso­phers like those in Steve Pyke’s new book of philoso­pher por­traits Philoso­phers. We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured Pyke’s por­traits of philoso­phers like Richard Rorty, David Chalmers, and Arthur Dan­to. For much a much less for­mal series of por­traits of con­tem­po­rary philoso­phers as every­day peo­ple, swing by the Tum­blr Looks Philo­soph­i­cal.

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

Noam Chomsky Explains Where Artificial Intelligence Went Wrong

While pop­u­lar­ly known for his pierc­ing and relent­less cri­tiques of U.S. for­eign pol­i­cy and eco­nom­ic neolib­er­al­ism, Noam Chom­sky made his career as a researcher and pro­fes­sor of lin­guis­tics and cog­ni­tive sci­ence. In his 50 years at MIT he earned the appel­la­tion “the father of mod­ern lin­guis­tics” and—after over­turn­ing B.F. Skinner’s behav­ior­ist paradigm—founder of the “cog­ni­tive rev­o­lu­tion.” But these are labels the self-effac­ing Chom­sky rejects, in his char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly under­stat­ed way, as he rejects all tri­umphal­ist nar­ra­tives that seem to promise more than they deliv­er.

Such is the case with Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence. The term, coined in 1956 by com­put­er sci­en­tist John McCarthy, once described the opti­mism with which the sci­en­tif­ic com­mu­ni­ty pur­sued the secrets of human cog­ni­tion in order to map those fea­tures onto machines. Opti­mism has turned to puz­zle­ment, ambiva­lence, or in Chomsky’s case out­right skep­ti­cism about the mod­els and method­olo­gies embraced by the field of AI.

Nev­er par­tic­u­lar­ly san­guine about the prospects of unlock­ing the “black box” of human cog­ni­tion through so-called “asso­ci­a­tion­ist” the­o­ries, Chom­sky has recent­ly become even more crit­i­cal of the sta­tis­ti­cal mod­els that have come to dom­i­nate so many of the sci­ences, though he is not with­out his crit­ics. At an MIT sym­po­sium in May of last year, Chom­sky expressed his doubts of a method­ol­o­gy Nobel-win­ning biol­o­gist Syd­ney Bren­ner has called “low input, high through­put, no out­put sci­ence.”

Recent­ly Yarden Katz, an MIT grad­u­ate stu­dent in Cog­ni­tive Sci­ences, sat down with Chom­sky to dis­cuss the prob­lems with AI as Chom­sky sees them. Katz’s com­plete inter­view appeared this month in The Atlantic. He also video­taped the inter­view and post­ed clips to his Youtube chan­nel. In the clip above, Katz asks Chom­sky about “for­got­ten method­olo­gies in arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence.” Chom­sky dis­cuss­es the shift toward prac­ti­cal appli­ca­tion in engi­neer­ing and com­put­ing tech­nol­o­gy, which “direct­ed peo­ple away from the orig­i­nal ques­tions.” He also express­es the opin­ion that the orig­i­nal work was “way too opti­mistic” and assumed too much from the lit­tle data avail­able, and he describes how “throw­ing a sophis­ti­cat­ed machine” at the prob­lem leads to a “self-rein­forc­ing” def­i­n­i­tion of suc­cess that is at odds with sci­en­tif­ic dis­cov­ery.

In the clip below, Chom­sky dis­cuss­es a new field in sys­tems biol­o­gy called “Con­nec­tomics,” an attempt to map the wiring of all the neu­rons in the brain—an endeav­or prick­ly biol­o­gist Syd­ney Bren­ner calls “a form of insan­i­ty.” Katz asks if the “wiring dia­gram” of the brain would pro­vide “the right lev­el of abstrac­tion” for under­stand­ing its work­ings.

The inter­view is worth read­ing, or watch­ing, in full, espe­cial­ly for stu­dents of neu­ro­science or psy­chol­o­gy. Chom­sky dis­cuss­es the work of his one­time col­league David Marr, whose posthu­mous­ly pub­lished book Vision has had an enor­mous influ­ence on the field of cog­ni­tive sci­ence. Chom­sky also prais­es the work of Randy Gal­lis­tel, who argues that devel­op­ments in cog­ni­tive and infor­ma­tion sci­ence will trans­form the field of neu­ro­science and over­turn the par­a­digms embraced by ear­ly researchers in AI. While this is an excit­ing time to be a cog­ni­tive sci­en­tist, it seems, per­haps, a dif­fi­cult time to be a pro­po­nent of Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence, giv­en the com­plex­i­ties and chal­lenges the field has yet to meet suc­cess­ful­ly.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Noam Chom­sky Spells Out the Pur­pose of Edu­ca­tion

Noam Chom­sky & Michel Fou­cault Debate Human Nature & Pow­er (1971)

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

How to Operate Your Brain: A User Manual by Timothy Leary (1993)

Speak­ing at the Human Be-In in Jan­u­ary 1967, Tim­o­thy Leary uttered the famous phrase bor­rowed from Mar­shall McLuhan, “Turn on, tune in, drop out.” It was short­hand for say­ing exper­i­ment with psy­che­delics and achieve new lev­els of con­scious­ness.

Almost 30 years lat­er, Leary had­n’t lost his mis­sion­ary zeal. In 1993 (and only a few years before his death), the for­mer Har­vard psy­chol­o­gy pro­fes­sor record­ed “a pub­lic ser­vice video” called How to Oper­ate Your Brain. Here, Leary nar­rates an almost epilep­tic seizure-induc­ing video, pro­vid­ing what some con­sid­er “a guid­ed med­i­ta­tion” of sorts. I’d pre­fer to call it an unortho­dox “user man­u­al” that tries to impart Leary’s unique sense of enlight­en­ment:

The aim of human life is to know thy­self. Think for your­self. Ques­tion author­i­ty. Think with your friends. Cre­ate, cre­ate new real­i­ties. Phi­los­o­phy is a team sport. Phi­los­o­phy is the ulti­mate, the ulti­mate aphro­disi­ac plea­sure. Learn­ing how to oper­ate your brain, learn­ing how to oper­ate your mind, learn­ing how to redesign chaos.

As you get deep­er into the med­i­ta­tion, you’ll real­ize one thing. Three decades may have passed since Leary pop­u­lar­ized the catch­phrase of the coun­ter­cul­ture. But he’s still get­ting his ideas from McLuhan. If you fol­low the video (or tran­script) to the end, you’ll dis­cov­er that ones and zeros have basi­cal­ly tak­en the place of LSD. Leary says:

Now we have dig­i­tal com­mu­ni­ca­tion. We can cre­ate our fan­tasies. We can cre­ate our rhythms, design on screen.… Any­one in any cul­ture watch­ing this screen will get the gen­er­al pic­ture. It’s one glob­al vil­lage. It’s one glob­al human spir­it, one glob­al human race. As we link up through screens, linked by elec­trons and pho­tons, we will cre­ate for the first time a glob­al human­i­ty, not sep­a­rat­ed by words or minds or nation­al­i­ties or reli­gious bias­es.

You can find McLuhan med­i­tat­ing on the con­cept of an Elec­tron­ic Glob­al Vil­lage in anoth­er vin­tage clip.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Beyond Tim­o­thy Leary: 2002 Film Revis­its His­to­ry of LSD

This is What Oliv­er Sacks Learned on LSD and Amphet­a­mines

Aldous Huxley’s LSD Death Trip

McLuhan Said “The Medi­um Is The Mes­sage”; Two Pieces Of Media Decode the Famous Phrase

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 6 ) |

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast