Brian Harding

Formalised knowledge systems, including universities and research institutes, are important for contemporary societies. They are, however, also arguably failing humanity when their impact is measured against the level of progress being made in stimulating the societal changes needed to address challenges like climate change. In this research we used a novel futures-oriented and participatory approach that asked what future envisioned knowledge systems might need to look like and how we might get there. Findings suggest that envisioned future systems will need to be much more collaborative, open, diverse, egalitarian, and able to work with values and systemic issues. They will also need to go beyond producing knowledge about our world to generating wisdom about how to act within it. To get to envisioned systems we will need to rapidly scale methodological innovations, connect innovators, and creatively accelerate learning about working with intractable challenges. We will also need to create new funding schemes, a global knowledge commons, and challenge deeply held assumptions. To genuinely be a creative force in supporting longevity of human and non-human life on our planet, the shift in knowledge systems will probably need to be at the scale of the enlightenment and speed of the scientific and technological revolution accompanying the second World War. This will require bold and strategic action from governments, scientists, civic society and sustained transformational intent.

Many recent philosopher have a generally positive view of laughter and humor, reflecting a more general trend contemporary culture. While there have been many philosophical considerations of humor, the preponderance of them focus on either the psychological or cognitive function underlying humor or the moral issues that may attend upon it, for example racist or sexist jokes. In this paper, I will be approaching humor via a less well-worn path, i.e. phenomenology. It will examine the relationship between humor and the experience of things, events and people as meaningful. I will argue that humor is an obstacle to the experience of certain important phenomena, for example, holiness, beauty and grief. This argument will draw mainly from the phenomenology of Jorge Portilla, but be bookended by discussions of Plato and Graham Greene.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Rebellion and the SacredSacrifice in Camus's RebelBrian Harding (bio)René Girard has argued, in "Camus's Stranger Retried," that Camus's later novel The Fall represents a kind of novelistic conversion on Camus's part: an admission that the ethics of The Stranger were faulty. This is a criticism not only of a character (Mersault) but of the author's own views. In fact, on the Girardian reading, The Fall recognizes that Camus's own activism was never purely altruistic, but partook of a kind of unstated competition, seeking to outstrip others in care for the downtrodden, and thereby prove his supremacy. Both Camus and Clamence, the lawyer in The Fall, recognize that (as Girard puts it)Mercy, in his hands, was a secret weapon against the unmerciful, a more complex form of self-righteousness. His real desire was not to save his clients but to prove his moral superiority by discrediting the judges.1The drama of The Fall is this realization and its ramifications. Beyond this, Girard argues, it represents Camus's judgment on his own work; it represents [End Page 29] the realization that his writings hitherto lacked self-criticism. Until The Fall, Camus revolted against everything but his pride, but in The Fall he turns his critical powers inward, writing the novel as a kind of auto-criticism. I think there is a lot of truth to this, and in what follows, it guides my interpretations of The Rebel.Girard's comments on The Plague suggest that he sees it as essentially "romantic" in the technical sense he gives that term. Like The Stranger, it falls into the illusion of authenticity and autonomy: Dr. Rieux stands apart from the city, paternalistically guiding it without succumbing to the infections circulating around him.2 To the extent that The Rebel is often paired with The Plague (in the same way The Myth of Sisyphus is joined to The Stranger) one might expect that the same could be said of that philosophical essay—that is, that it persists in a romantic delusion of being above or separate from the problems it diagnoses and that The Rebel's defense of the oppressed only serves to assuage the author's conscience, reassuring him that he is one of the good ones—just as did Clamence's work as a defense attorney.That expectation is, I think, only half right. The Rebel, I believe, oscillates between romantic lie and novelistic truth; Camus senses that he is not above the fray and that the very act of rebellion itself unleashes furies that one struggles to tame. Whether he has reached the full consciousness represented by The Fall is uncertain, but it is clear to me that, at times at least, this awareness rises to the surface in The Rebel. Indeed, the emergence and repression of this awareness are part of the book's fascination and flaws. The apparent inconstancy between Camus's lionization of rebellion and his profound worries about what it unleashes is rooted in this oscillation. Because of this oscillation, The Rebel is too complex a text to be treated in a paper of a reasonable length. To simplify matters, I focus on two parts whose interest to readers of Contagion will need no explanation: first, Camus's gnomic remarks on the relationship between rebellion and the sacred, and second, Camus's discussion of the killing of King Louis and the Terror. Following that, I close with some general remarks.REBELLION AND THE SACREDCamus's rebellion is intimately related to the sacred [le sacré]. To be sure, we should not assume that just because Camus and Girard use the same word that they mean the same thing by it. In fact, Camus primarily uses the term to refer to a religious sensibility without developing, for example, a theory of the violent origins of the sacred. Nevertheless, Camus seems to sense that there is a [End Page 30] connection between the sacred and violence. Moreover, it is of course impossible that Camus intended to refer to Girard's work when he alludes to the sacred. Nevertheless, if Girard is right about the meaning and function of the sacred...

Providing theoretical and applied analyses of Michel Henry's practical philosophy in light of his guiding idea of Life, this is the first sustained exploration of Henry's practical thought in anglophone literature, reaffirming his centrality to contemporary continental thought. This book ranges from the tension between his methodological insistence on life as non-intentional and worldly activities to Henry's engagement with the practical philosophy of intellectuals such as Marx, Freud, and Kandisky to topics of application such as labor, abstract art, education, political liberalism, and spiritual life. An international team of leading Henry scholars examine a vital dimension of Henry's thinking that has remained under-explored for too long.

Beginning with a brief discussion of Dominique Janicaud’s proposal for a minimalist phenomenology, I turn to the work G. van der Leeuw and argue that his work in the phenomenology of religion can be profitably read as a minimalist phenomenology. I do this by focusing mainly on his methodological remarks, but do occasionally refer to his analyses of particular religious phenomena. Finally, the paper closes with some suggestions about how to think of the relationship between minimalist phenomenology and religious belief.

Bergson scholars such as Leonard Lawlor, Alexander Lefebvre, Philip Soulez, and Frederic Worms have recently argued that Bergson “places the phenomenon of war at the center of his analysis” in Two Sources of Morality and Religion. We want to contribute to this line of interpretation. We claim that Bergson’s account of the causes of, and solution to, the problem of war can be effectively understood in light of a central tenet of classical political philosophy, namely, the City of God, both the concept and Augustine’s great text, de Civitate dei contra paganos. We highlight the shared view of the root of war in Augustine and Bergson, namely the lust for domination, libido dominandi. Our contribution provides a useful heuristic for understanding Bergson’s account of war, not a claim of Augustine’s influence on Bergson.