10/03/2020

strange books


From cut-out confessions to cheese pages: browse the world's strangest books

Edward Brooke-Hitching set out to curate the ultimate collection of bizarre books down the ages. He leads us around the Madman’s Library

‘Down the back alleys of history’ … (clockwise from top left) A Manual of Mathematics, La confession coupée, 20 Slices of American Cheese, Poissons, ecrevisses et crabs.
‘Down the back alleys of history’ … (clockwise from top left) A Manual of Mathematics, La confession coupée, 20 Slices of American Cheese, Poissons, ecrevisses et crabs. Composite: Richard Lane CollectionHonolulu Museum of Art/Edward Brooke-Hitching/Ernst Mayr Library/Ben Denzer

Edward Brooke-Hitching grew up in a rare book shop, with a rare book dealer for a father. As the author of histories of maps The Phantom Atlas, The Golden Atlas and The Sky Atlas, he has always been “really fascinated by books that are down the back alleys of history”. Ten years ago, he embarked on a project to come up with the “ultimate library”. No first editions of Jane Austen here, though: Brooke-Hitching’s The Madman’s Library collects the most eccentric and extraordinary books from around the world.

“I was asking, if you could put together the ultimate library, ignoring the value or the academic significance of the books, what would be on that shelf if you had a time machine and unlimited budget?” he says.

Following up anecdotes, talking to booksellers and librarians and trawling through auction catalogues, he came across stories like that of the 605-page Qur’an written in the blood of Saddam Hussein. “If that was on a shelf, what could possibly sit next to it?” he asks. “I mentioned it to a bookseller and they told me about a diary that they’d had, from the 19th century, written by a shipwrecked captain who only had old newspaper and penguins to hand. So Fate of the Blenden Hall was written entirely in penguin blood.”


There’s the American civil war soldier who inscribed his journal of the conflict on to the violin he carried. There’s the memoir of a Massachussetts highwayman, James Allen, which he “requested be bound in his own skin after his death, and presented to his one victim who had fought back as a token of his admiration”. Or the diary of the Norwegian resistance fighter Petter Moen, pricked with a pin into squares of toilet paper and left in a ventilation shaft; although Moen was killed in 1944, one of his fellow prisoners returned to Oslo after it was liberated from the Nazis and found the diary. Or the entirely fabricated book An Historical and Geographical Description of Formosa: its author George Psalmanazar, a blond-haired, blue-eyed, pale-skinned man with a thick French accent, arrived in London in about 1702 and declared himself to be the first Formosan, or Taiwanese, person to set foot on the European continent. (“Obviously no one had been there and nobody knew what Taiwanese people looked like, and he became the toast of high society,” says Brooke-Hitching.)

The joy for the author in his discoveries – and make no mistake, The Madman’s Library is an utterly joyous journey into the deepest eccentricities of the human mind – was that they “make you realise that, above everything, people have always been funny, been weird, been unquenchably curious in every possible arena”.

The best way, he says, to understand the people of the past is in “getting a sense of the things that make them giggle … It can be gruesome, but it’s this other world of literature that normally never gets covered in books about books.”

10 of the strangest books, selected by Edward Brooke-Hitching

Two Imams view the 605-page Quran written with 24 litres of Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein’s own blood, on display in Umm al-Maarik mosque in Baghdad in 2003.
Two imams view the 605-page Qur’an written in Saddam Hussein’s blood, on display in in Baghdad in 2003. Photograph: Scott Peterson/Getty Images
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Saddam Hussein’s Blood Qur’an (circa 1999)

On his 60th birthday in 1997, the Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein commissioned the master calligrapher Abbas Shakir Joudi al-Baghdadi to produce a Qur’an written in Hussein’s blood. Over a period of two years, somewhere between 24 and 27 litres was allegedly drained from the dictator and mixed with chemicals to produce enough “ink” to write out the 336,000 words in 6,000 verses. Exquisitely beautiful, the Blood Qur’an was eventually displayed in another of Hussein’s enterprises, the Umm al-Ma’arik (Mother of All Battles) mosque in Baghdad.

After the fall of Baghdad, the Blood Qur’an was hastily stored away by curators until they could decide how to deal with it, as it presented a dilemma: while it is haraam (forbidden) to reproduce a Qur’an in such a manner, it is equally unthinkable to destroy a Qur’an, regardless of how it was made. At the time of writing, the dilemma is unresolved. In 2010, the Iraqi prime minister’s spokesman, Ali al-Moussawi proposed that the Blood Qur’an should be kept “as a document of the brutality of Saddam”, but it remains out of sight, hidden in a vault to which there are three keys, each held by a separate public official, none with any idea of what to do with the extraordinary book.

De integritatis et corruptionis virginum.
De integritatis et corruptionis virginum. Photograph: Wellcome Library, London
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De integritatis et corruptionis virginum by Séverin Pineau (1663)

This treatise on virginity, pregnancy and childbirth was printed in Amsterdam. The book’s owner, Dr Ludovic Bouland, explains in a note: “This curious little book ... has been re-dressed in a piece of the skin of a woman tanned for myself.” As unthinkably weird as it is to modern sensibilities, in Europe and the US, mostly in the 18th and 19th centuries, binding a book in human skin became an acceptable decorative extra when publishing accounts of murderers’ crimes and medical studies. Towards the end of the 19th century it morphed into more of a romantic metaphor, to encapsulate great writing in flesh just as the mortal body encloses the soul. (A human-skin book was also, frankly, a great thing to show off at parties.)

Book 17th of Notes – Travels in 1818 by Constantine Samuel Rafinesque.
Book 17th of Notes – Travels in 1818 by Constantine Samuel Rafinesque. Photograph: Smithsonian Museum

Book 17th of Notes – Travels in 1818 by Constantine Samuel Rafinesque (1818)

In 1818, the French natural historian Rafinesque travelled to Kentucky to visit fellow naturalist John James Audubon. Rafinesque became such an irritating house guest that Audubon started to make up local animals to make fun of him, which the Frenchman faithfully recorded and sketched without question. Here there are four fake fish: the “Flatnose Doublefin”, the “Bigmouth Sturgeon”, the “Buffalo Carp Sucker” and the bulletproof “Devil-Jack Diamond fish”.

The Triangular Book of Count St Germain.
The Triangular Book of Count St Germain. Photograph: Getty Research Institute
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The Triangular Book of Count St Germain (circa 1750)

This is an encoded French occult work which boasts the secret to extending life. The mysterious and eccentric Count St Germain was an adventurer and alchemist who thrilled 18th-century Europe’s high society with his claim to have uncovered the secret to longevity. He was so old, he said, that he had attended the wedding at Cana where Jesus turned water to wine. Horace Walpole wrote of him: “He sings, plays on the violin wonderfully, composes, is mad.”

Louis Renard’s Poissons, ecrevisses et crabs
Louis Renard’s Poissons, ecrevisses et crabs ... Photograph: Ernst Mayr Library
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Poissons, ecrevisses et crabs by Louis Renard (1719)

In the 18th century, Europeans knew very little of Indonesian wildlife. Renard knew even less, but that didn’t stop this Dutch bookseller from confidently producing this vibrant two-volume collection. Thirty years in the making, the 100 plates carry 460 illustrations of marine biology. In the second volume, however, scientific accuracy swiftly becomes a casualty of artistic licence. Many of the fish have distinctly avian and even human features, as well as decorations of sun, moon, star and even top-hat motifs. Highlights include the spiny lobster, Panulirus ornatus, reported to favour a mountain habitat and possessing a penchant for climbing trees and laying red-spotted eggs “as large as those of a pigeon”. The Crabbe-Criarde, we are told, mews like a cat. Or the four-legged fish, the Loop-visch or Poisson courant (Running Fish) of Ambon, of which the writer notes: “I trapped it on the beach and kept it alive for three days in my house, where it followed me around like a very friendly little dog.”

The Compendium of Demonology and Magic, author unknown.
The Compendium of Demonology and Magic. Photograph: Wellcome Collection
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Compendium of Demonology and Magic, author and date unknown

While the date of 1057 is given on the title page (as well as the warning “Noli me tangere” – “Don’t touch me”), this is clearly in the tradition of presenting grimoires to seem much older than they actually are, and it is usually dated to 1775. With the witch-hunting hysteria having subsided by this time, you can see the artist relishing the freedom to exercise (or perhaps exorcise) his imagination. Over 35 extraordinary illustrated pages, the author paints conjurations, devils devouring limbs, flames and snakes bursting from crotches. One image shows a magician digging for treasure, only to find that his accomplice has been seized by a nine-foot cockerel-headed demon that is also casually urinating on their lantern. A pretty unambiguous warning against the “fashionable crime” of magic-based treasure-hunting that would remain popular across Europe for some time.

Christophe Leuterbreuver’s La Confession Coupée ... ou la méthode facile pour se preparer aux confessions.
Christophe Leuterbreuver’s La Confession Coupée ... ou la méthode facile pour se preparer aux confessions. Photograph: Edward Brooke-Hitching

La Confession Coupée ... ou la méthode facile pour se preparer aux confessions by Christophe Leuterbreuver (1677)

Translated asThe Cut-out Confession; or the easy method of preparing for confession”, this book by a French cleric first appeared in 1677, and was so popular that it was reprinted in further editions as late as 1751. The book is a godsend to the forgetful sinner (and perhaps also the virtuous confessor in need of some sinful conversation material), as it comprises an enormous catalogue of every 17th-century sin conceivable, divided into chapters headed by the 10 commandments. Each misdeed is printed on a tab that can be peeled away from the page to stand out, helping the confessor to flick quickly through the book to find the relevant wrongdoings in the confessional.

Pátria Amada by Vinicius Leôncio (2014)

Pátria Amada by Vinicius Leôncio.
‘I simply thought that something should be done about the humiliation we must endure to pay our taxes in this country’ ... Leôncio. Photograph: Philipe Martins

In Brazil in 2014, a tax lawyer named Vinicius Leôncio created one of the world’s largest books as a form of protest. The result of 23 years’ work, Pátria Amada (Beloved Country), is a 7.5-ton testament to the ridiculous immensity and complexity of Brazilian tax laws. Leôncio was the first to bring together every Brazilian tax code in one volume (complete for only a brief moment, as 35 new tax laws are added to Brazilian legislation each day). Its 41,000 pages mean that the book is 2.10 metres thick, towering over any prospective reader. Leôncio spent R$1 million (£205,000) of his own money to print the book in a shed, using an imported Chinese printer accustomed to cranking out billboard posters. He spent an average of five hours a day researching and collecting the laws, with a staff that grew to 37. Three heart attacks, a divorce and a new marriage failed to dissuade him from his task of highlighting “the surreal, punishing experience” of dealing with a tax system gone haywire. “I simply thought that something should be done about the humiliation we must endure to pay our taxes in this country,” he said.

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Though he was delighted to hear the story of his book would be included in my book, and kindly provided me with the accompanying photograph, Sr Leôncio is very happy to have left the project behind. He has no plans to publish a second edition.

A Manual of Mathematics (Jinko ̄ki), by an unknown author.
A Manual of Mathematics (Jinko ̄ki), by an unknown author. Photograph: Richard Lane Collection, Honolulu Museum of Art

A Manual of Mathematics (Jinko ̄ki), author unknown, early 17th century

This is an extraordinary book. Instead of using line diagrams, the author uses drawings of rats in various poses to illustrate lessons in complex geometric progression and the calculation of the volume of 3D figures.

20 Slices of American Cheese by Ben Denzer.
20 Slices of American Cheese by Ben Denzer. Photograph: Ben Denzer

20 Slices of American Cheese by Ben Denzer (2018)

Only 10 copies were made of 20 Slices of American Cheese by Denzer, a New York publisher, which contains precisely what its title describes. A packet of 24 slices of Kraft American cheese slices costs roughly $3.50 (£2.70); 20 Slices sold for $200. I asked Emily Ann Buckler at the University of Michigan Library about the condition of its copy. “It’s apparently ‘shelf stable’,” she assured me, “but ... we’ll see how long it lasts.”

  • This is an edited extract from The Madman’s Library by Edward Brooke-Hitching, published by Simon & Schuster.


Interview by
 
 Alison Flood
© 2020 Guardian News & Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. (modern)
 

10/02/2020

the remarkable life of Zen pioneer Alan Watts


The Sensualist

Mira Tweti recounts the remarkable life of Zen pioneer Alan Watts.

Alan Watts in the mid-sixties, Courtesy of Mark Watts
Alan Watts in the mid-sixties, Courtesy of Mark Watts

While the usually sleepy English village of Chislehurst was being bombarded by German aircraft in the early morning of January 6, 1915, Alan Watts—who was to become one of the foremost interpreters of ancient Eastern wisdom for the modern West—was born to Laurence Wilson Watts and Emily Mary Buchan.

The elder Watts was an executive with the Michelin tire company in London, and his wife taught at a local school for daughters of missionaries to China. It was because of his mother that Alan had early exposure to Asian culture, via art and other gifts brought by parents returning from China. A Sinophile all his life, Alan attributed the start of his interest in the writings of Chinese poets and sages to his mother’s gift of a Chinese translation of the New Testament.

Watts’s spiritual journey began with a bucolic childhood steeped in the cobwebbed mores of Edwardian England. He had a religious upbringing in the Church of England, and by his teens he’d become an expert on ecclesiastical ritual. He took as his early role models local priests who lived large and showed him that one could be worldly and a holy man, too. In later years he described himself as an unabashed sensualist and openly admitted he was ill at ease with people who militantly abstained from smoking, sex, and drinking. “I am committed to the view,” he wrote in his autobiography, “that the whole point and joy of human life is to integrate the spiritual with the material, the mystical with the sensuous, and the altruistic with a kind of proper self-love.”

As much as he respected his native religion, Watts was troubled by its solemn hymns, its rigidity, and the dualism he found in its teachings, although its harshness was tempered by the natural tranquility he found around him in his mother’s garden and surrounding countryside. “I used to lie in bed feeling my spirits raised by the bird symphony, a choir of angels in praise of the sun. And at sunset a solitary thrush would perch at the very top of the rowan tree and go into a solo,” recalled Watts of his youth.

Watts’s mother was overprotective of her only surviving child (she had suffered two miscarriages and an earlier son’s death at just two weeks old); she discouraged Alan from sports and pushed him toward artistic and intellectual pursuits. His father read to him from Rudyard Kipling and spoke of Buddhism, both of which enchanted the boy with “curious exotic and far-off marvels that simply were not to be found in muscular Christianity.” In the evenings Alan joined his parents in the living room, where his mother played an upright piano and his father sang arias from Gilbert and Sullivan. During school holidays he would write heady papers—often on theological subjects—for the fun of exploring his own ideas, and then read them to his parents, launching family discussions that ran long into the night.

In high school Watts considered his Anglican religious education “grim and maudlin though retaining fascination because it had something to do with the basic mysteries of existence.” His view of the universe was forever changed after reading about nirvana in Lafcadio Hearn’s book Gleanings in Buddha-Fields. “Buddhist bells sound deeper than Christian bells,” he later wrote, “. . . and om mane padme hum ran in my brain as something much more interesting than ‘O come let us sing unto the Lord.’” So in 1929, at the age of fourteen, he declared himself a Buddhist and started a correspondence with the most famous English Buddhist, Christmas “Toby” Humphries, a high court judge, Shakespearean scholar, and chairperson of the Buddhist Lodge in London. When Watts, chaperoned by his father, showed up at the Lodge, Humphries and the other members were astonished to learn that their brilliant new associate was a teenager.

Watts became the organization’s secretary at sixteen, the editor of the Lodge’s journal, The Middle Way, at nineteen (a position he held for the next four years), and wrote his first book, The Spirit of Zen, in a month of evenings at the age of twenty. He chose not to attend college, although much later he was made a Harvard research fellow and received an honorary doctorate from the University of Vermont; instead, he designed his own “higher education” curriculum, with Humphries as the preceptor.

In 1983, now all of twenty-three, Watts moved to New York City with his first wife, Eleanor Fuller, a Chicago socialite and practicing Buddhist. Watts and Eleanor studied with the Zen master Sokei-an Sasaki Roshi (1882-1945), who had a temple in a one-room brownstone apartment in the city. Of Sokei-an, Watts said, “I felt that he was basically on the same team as I; that he bridged the spiritual and the earthy, and that he was as humorously earthy as he was spiritually awakened.” Some years later, Watts’s mother-in-law, Ruth Fuller, married Sasaki and became a Buddhist teacher herself.

In 1940, Watts wrote The Meaning of Happiness and started lecturing and writing in earnest to an American audience. His talks were well received by small groups in local bookstores and private homes, but on the whole he felt dismissed as “a crackpot with green idols, thighbone trumpets and cups made from human skulls” adorning his home. In contrast to the openness to Buddhism he had experienced in England, in his early years in the States Watts found himself marginalized by his vocation. And while he would ultimately help popularize Buddhism to a mainstream American audience, he would always remain an iconoclast carving out a new spiritual path through stubborn terrain.

Although Eleanor came from money, Watts felt pressure to be the breadwinner. Interest in his writing and lectures was limited, and he struggled to earn a living, fearing he was on his way to becoming “a misfit and an oddity in Western society.” So at twenty-six, in order to have a steady job, he decided to leave New York and take ordination as an Episcopalian priest at Seabury-Western Theological Seminary in Evanston, Illinois. He later wrote of this move, “I did not then consider myself as being converted to Christianity in the sense that I was abandoning Buddhism or Taoism. The Gospels never appealed to me so deeply as the Tao Te Ching or the Chuang-tzu book. It was simply that the Anglican communion seemed to be the most appropriate context for doing what was in me to do in Western society.” 

Alan Watts and D.T. Suzuki at the Rembrandt Hotel in London in 1958 © The Buddhist Society, London
Alan Watts and D.T. Suzuki at the Rembrandt Hotel in London in 1958 © The Buddhist Society, London

 

Though Watts later said of this time in his life that he had deliberately gone “square” and that his gift for “ritual magic” made him more shaman than priest (“priests follow traditions,” he said, “but shamans originate them”), his position as priest gave him the power to do away with the elements of Christian ritual he abhorred. This included personal Christian prayer, which he called a “clumsy encumbrance” that got in the way of the fact that “God is what there is and all that there is.” Watts took a position in 1944 as Episcopal chaplain at Northwestern University, where he threw open the church’s doors and developed a dedicated following of students who came for prayer and stayed for tea, cocktails, and regular late-night discussions. He jazzed up church services by performing “magical liturgies,” banning “corny” hymns, limiting sermons to fifteen minutes or less, and celebrating mass as “a joining with the Cherubim and Seraphim, the Archangels and Angels, in the celestial whoopee of their eternal dance about the Center of the Universe.” Watts had creative ideas about those angels, saying, “When I contemplate such ordinary creatures as pigs, chickens, ducks, lazy cats, sparrows, goldfish, and squids I begin to have irrepressibly odd notions about the true shapes of angels.”

A longtime friend and colleague, the scholar and esteemed religions author Huston Smith said of Watts, “He was a consummate liturgist. We were together once on an Easter Sunday at Esalen [Institute, the renowned alternative education and retreat center]. And at 10 a.m., to a full house in the Huxley room, he sang the Anglican liturgy and he had a beautiful voice. I won’t speculate or probe about his belief in that, but he was from first to last a consummate performer.”

Watts was also a bohemian, a term he defined as someone who “loves color and exuberance, keeps irregular hours, would rather be free than rich, dislikes working for a boss, and has his own code of sexual morals.” His lifestyle went directly against the Church’s mores and those of his wife, who felt that his libertarian views on sexuality (particularly his belief in free love) didn’t make for a solid marriage. In 1949 she left him, taking their two young daughters with her, and had their marriage annulled.

Smith notes that the chaplainship at Northwestern was “too small a puddle for Alan Watts,” and that was surely a factor when in 1950 Watts hung up his robes and left Illinois with one of his students—and former babysitter—Dorothy Dewitt, who became his second wife. The couple moved to a farmhouse in upstate New York, where they lived until 1951, when Watts was offered a faculty post at the newly formed American Academy of Asian Studies in San Francisco (now the California Institute of Integral Studies). Among its students were the future Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Gary Snyder; Richard Price, cofounder of Esalen Institute (Watts was invited as the center’s first speaker); and teachers like the Indian thinker Krishnamurti and the religion professor Frederic Spiegelberg.

Alan Watts on the Vallejo ferry boat in 1967, Photo by Jeff Berner, Courtesy of Annie Watts
Alan Watts on the Vallejo ferry boat in 1967, Photo by Jeff Berner, Courtesy of Annie Watts

At the American Academy of Asian Studies, Watts was finally in a place he loved, doing what he loved. He could spend all his time engaging in “spiritual mischief” and exploring issues of human identity and the transformation of consciousness. He was free to teach what he liked and utilized techniques ahead of his time, such as mixing disciplines. In a single course students were exposed to Buddhism, Tantric yoga, biophysics, cultural anthropology, cybernetics, and guest speakers who spoke on a number of subjects. Watts believed that “no intelligent person should restrict himself to artificially segregated fields of spiritual or intellectual adventure.”

Watts disdained equally formal education and religious practice and came to the defense of his friend D. T. Suzuki when he wrote: “The uptight school of Western Buddhists who seem to believe that Zen is essentially sitting on your ass for interminable hours (as do some of the Japanese), accused [Suzuki] of giving insufficient emphasis to harsh discipline in the course of attaining satori [awakening].” Watts, like Suzuki, believed that “too much zazen is apt to turn one into a stone Buddha,” and sat only when the “mood” was upon him. Watts supported this belief by quoting the Sixth Zen Patriarch, Hui-neng, who said, “A living man who sits and does not lie down, a dead man who lies down and does not sit. After all, these are just dirty skeletons.”

During the mid-fifties, Watts guest-lectured at Columbia, Yale, Cornell, Cambridge, and Harvard, where he befriended Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert (later Ram Dass), who were conducting their LSD experiments at the time. Although Watts didn’t publicly endorse drug use, he was a mescaline “guinea pig” for Oscar Janiger’s experiments and took LSD as a subject in Keith Ditman’s studies at UCLA. Watts continued to drop acid recreationally through the rest of his life. He was so fond of what he considered its enlightening aspects that he offered each of his children a guided trip when they turned eighteen.

In the spring of 1957, Watts left the Academy of Asian Studies and went out on his own. By then he had also had enough of the “obsolete institution” of marriage and the white picket fence that came with it. He had fallen out of love with Dorothy and left her and their four children.

Watts paid a high price for his personal freedom. During their split-up, Dorothy found she was pregnant with their fifth child. Now, with seven children to support, Watts had to work incessantly. He wrote books (fifteen after 1957), poems, and articles (some for Playboy magazine); created art and music; lectured; and traveled (including trips to Japan and Switzerland, where he spoke at the Carl Jung Institute and met with Jung at his home). Watts took care of his children and never missed a writing deadline, but often did not care for himself. The unrelenting work schedule combined with years of heavy smoking and escalating vodka consumption drained his health and energy. He is reported to have been hospitalized with delerium tremens, a serious condition indicative of late-stage alcoholism.

Watts found a drinking partner in Mary Jane Yates King, known as “Jano,” a journalist and public relations executive who shared Watts’s spiritual, philosophical, and creative interests and whom he described as the soulmate he had been “looking for all down my ages.” They eventually married and stayed together until his death. Apart from their struggles with alcoholism, the couple enjoyed the ideal bohemian lifestyle to which Watts had aspired. They lived in Marin County, California, alternating their time between the Mount Tamalpais bohemian community of Druid Heights and a Sausalito houseboat. Watts attended tony Hollywood parties with fellow guests like Marlon Brando and Anaïs Nin, and shared with Jano a profusion of interesting artistic and intellectual friends.

In 1960 Huston Smith arranged for Watts to meet Aldous Huxley at dinner in Cambridge, Massachusetts, when Watts was again lecturing at Harvard and Huxley was a visiting professor at MIT. The two had been at the same social gatherings before but had never conversed. Smith recalls the end of the evening: “I could almost see the wheels in Aldous’s mind sort of sorting things out after Alan left. And then came the verdict, ‘What a curious man. Half monk and half race-course operator.’ I told Alan some time later. Alan loved it and said, ‘He’s got me exactly right.’” Huxley and Watts became close friends.

In 1959 and 1960 Watts taped twenty-six lectures collectively titled “Eastern Wisdom and Modern Life” for National Educational Television, the precursor to the Public Broadcasting System. He traded in the traditional classroom setting of educational shows during that period in favor of a Zen garden; he would arrive at the studio in time for taping and just start talking. His intimate presentation and informal setting won many viewers and brought him a following of non-Buddhists across the United States. Watts gained such a devoted following, Smith recalls him once saying that he could have opened his own monastery in California “because he was so charismatic and turned on crowds.”

All along Watts disdained the role of yogi or Zen master, although he understood the desire of some people to have one. To him it was just another ego trap, and he discouraged his close students from treating him as such. Instead, he encouraged them to become his friends once he felt he had taught them sufficiently. Of a friend who disappeared to India to seek enlightenment, he wrote, “I miss him. I wish I could show him that what he is looking for is not in India but in himself, and obvious for all to see. But he will not believe me because I am not a guru, and all gurus represent an endless ‘come-on’ where ‘veil after veil shall lift, but there must be veil upon veil behind’ until they bring us by our own desperation to absolute surrender.”

Throughout the sixties, Watts and Jano embraced the burgeoning counterculture movement of which Watts was one of the heroes. His work was a magnet for a generation looking for meaning and trying to define themselves and a new society. What many baby boomers today know of Buddhist ideas they learned from Watts’s work, and it is unlikely that Buddhism would have gained the popularity it did in the U.S. without his presence. “Alan Watts and Suzuki Roshi were the two people writing about Zen in the 1960s,” says American Zen teacher Roshi Bernie Glassman. “Anyone who was around then and interested in Buddhism would have been influenced by Alan Watts.”

In the end, Watts lived a life bound by no rules save his own. At the conclusion of his autobiography, In My Own Way, published in 1972—a year before he died—he wrote, “As I look back I could be inclined to feel that I have lived a sloppy, inconsiderate, wasteful, cowardly, and undisciplined life, only getting away with it by having a certain charm and a big gift of the gab. . . . A realistic look at myself, aged fifty-seven, tells me if I am that, that’s what I am, and shall doubtless continue to be. I myself and my friends and my family are going to have to put up with it, just as they put up with the rain.”

Regardless of how modestly—and uninhibitedly—he may have viewed himself, Watts had profound insights into the nature of life and existence that have affected millions of people. “My point was, and has continued to be, that the Big Realization . . . is not a future attainment but a present fact, that this now-moment is eternity and that one must see it now or never,” he said.

Watts’s death from heart failure on November 16, 1973, at age fifty-eight, at his home at Druid Heights was as unorthodox as his life. Hours after he died, but before authorities could get involved, Jano had him cremated on a wood pyre at a nearby beach by Buddhist monks. Although public cremation is illegal, no charges were brought.

After Watts died, Gary Snyder (whom Watts once famously said he would have liked to claim as his spiritual successor) wrote this “Epitaph for Alan Watts”:

He blazed out the new path for all of us and came back and made it clear. Explored the side canyons and deer trails, and investigated cliffs and thickets.

Many guides would have us travel single file, like mules in a pack train, and never leave the trail. Alan taught us to move forward like the breeze, tasting the berries, greeting the blue jays, learning and loving the whole terrain.

 

 

 

 

 

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Modern Art Diagram Postcolonial Update

 

Hank Willis Thomas Gives an Infamous Modern Art Diagram a Postcolonial Update

The conceptual artist provides a much needed update to Alfred J. Barr, Jr’s well-known chart.

Hank Willis Thomas, Colonialism and Abstract Art, 2019) (image courtesy the artist)

The 1936 “Cubism and Abstract Art” graphic by the founding director of the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), Alfred J. Barr, Jr., has become the stuff of legend in art circles. In it, Barr presents a very pared-down history of art that condenses many movements into a teleological chart that reinforces the importance of Cubism and its ilk. Like colonialism itself, this version of history is in service of one thing: justifying the dominance of modern European civilization, even if, as in this case, it is focused on a particular cultural movement.

Artist Hank Willis Thomas has updated the arcane image for his exhibition at Maruani Mercier Gallery in Brussels, Belgium. He’s expanded the image to not only bring it forward to the year 1970 but has also incorporated the structural realities of society that Barr consciously ignored. Because of the location of the show, the emphasis is understandably on Belgian history. Some connections may seem obtuse at first, but slowly they make sense, like the connection between copper mining and Art Deco — I mean, all those shiny metals used for streamlined details and forms, as well as radios and electronics, had to come from somewhere, right?

In this image, the power relationships and structural oppression easily mingle with academic art terms, and all together they look like a web of relationships that can be as contradictory and confusing as Barr’s chart is simplistic and naive.

Thomas’s graphic demonstrates how we can alter myopic visions of art in ways that continue to engage with historical works while not allowing them to ellipse the larger an evolving histories that help us understand our world.

Belgium and Congo were forcibly connected for a century — with one of those nations clearly benefiting at the expense of the other. So, one wonders, what does that mean for art? When we look at a painting by Belgian Surrealist René Magritte should we also consider how Congo factors into his work?

 

 

9/26/2020

The Philosopher and the Detectives


The Philosopher and the Detectives: Ludwig Wittgenstein's Enduring Passion for Hardboiled Fiction

Wittgenstein spent his life investigating the mysteries of language. His inspiration came from pulp magazines.