The eighteenth century, having inherited a pessimism from classical anthropology that its own ideology of progress had to absorb, seemed to have invented le mal de vivre. Clues to this condition are suggested by the etymology of the term vacuus: vacuousness of existence (“Everywhere I find a terrifying emptiness,” asserted the hero of a novel around 1769), and “a vague disquiet which permeates everything and finds nothing to calm it,” according to the definition of Jacques the Fatalist. Le mal de vivre was indeed an invention because, despite a terminology that was inspired by the theory of humors (“hysterical vapors” among women; “hypochondriac melancholy” for men), the philosophers and doctors of the Enlightenment already had envisaged the fatality of an anatomical “limit” for the etiology of “afflictions of the soul.” In this way, according to the Eléments de Physiologie (Elements of Physiology) of Diderot, the agitation of the imagination actually represented the degree of irritability, or of erethism, of the nervous system: “the dreams of young people in a state of innocence come from the extremities of the fibres (meaning the nervous fibres) which are the original carriers of obscure desires, vague disquiet, a melancholy whose cause they do not understand.” If we believe the article on “delight” (jouissance) in the Encyclopaedia, a “vague and melancholy disquiet,” which is linked in particular with the physiological changes occurring at puberty, constitutes a general and “normal” state of sensation, all “delight” implying by this definition the absence of disquiet in comparison with its external object. Reduced to its vibratile intensities, the “perceiving body” that is deprived of its totalizing metaphor becomes pulverized and fragmented into so many “desiring monads.” Like Condillac's statue, it destabilizes itself through the fields of force of the phenomenal world, completely obedient to the energy economy of other bodies that define its external frontier, left to the contradictory universal laws of attraction and repulsion that govern them: “Here below, each part, through a higher impulse, combines toward the central harmony of a whole. We collide with one another and are thrown backward and forward by the force maintaining a general equilibrium and order, in which we participate mechanically.”

Let us imagine that we decided to visit cities at different places in the world. During our journey we would probably consult often one or more of these books known as “travel guides,” which, in our case, describe one or more cities for the benefit of the traveler who knows nothing about them or has only a slight idea of what they are like.

Presumably we would be told not infrequently that in the cities being described something is “reflected” - that the city architecture of Paris reflects the immortality - obsessed self-glorification of French kings, emperors, or national presidents; that the baroque layout of Rome reflects the triumphant Catholicism of the counter- Reformation ; that the skyscrapers of Manhattan reflect the unbridled creativity of American civilization.

There is ample evidence that Professor Thomas S. Kuhn's concept of scientific paradigms has been accepted as an important, original, and permanent contribution to the discussion and writing on the logic of scientific change, but nevertheless there is something unsatisfactory about it for philosophers in particular.

Well over five thousand languages are known to exist or to have existed in the world, but hundreds of these are no longer living languages used by speakers and speech communities in their day-to-day activities and lives. Some of them lead a pseudolife as revered monuments of the past which still have some restricted and specialised roles to play today, such as Latin, Ancient Greek, Church Slavonic and others, but most of them are of interest and concern only to a small group of linguists, historians and some other experts who look at the past. Many languages have disappeared without being known to us in any great detail, with only some fragmentary materials in them - written or noted down by speakers or observers of them hundreds or even thousands of years ago - at our disposal to give us some idea as to what those languages were like. Others have disappeared without even that scanty information about their nature being available to us; only their names are known from historical records, or perhaps some remarks were written down by someone many years ago and were preserved over the ages to tell us something about some special features of such a language or such languages and who and what kind of people their speakers were. Many other languages, certainly a much larger number than the dead languages about which we know something, have disappeared without our knowing anything of or about them.

Emotion, as a “suprarational” property, transcends rationality in that it can be thought of as a group, contextual rather than as a solely individual trait, and thus is a higher order property, as the above quote suggests. This proposal arises from a metatheoretical analysis of models available to broach questions of emotion. I use metatheoretical in the sense of both the context of theory production and the theory of theory. From the first arose the idea that emotion, through the use of irrationality, has surfaced as a working equivalent to inexplicability or rational relativity, and can be modelled more adequately as suprarational, with a unique nature in its own right. The latter led me to propose that the concept of emotion as contextual, a higher order group level property, is possible and tentatively profitable.

The contemporary astrophysicist today deals with questions that bear on the area known to traditional philosophy as “metaphysics.” Consequently, it is tempting to cross the threshold. One can allow oneself to be tempted by the idea that science is in a position to provide solutions to ancient and venerable metaphysical quests. One can even imagine, according to the wish expressed two thousand years ago by Epicurus, that it can calm our “metaphysical anxieties.”

Philosophy affected the birth of Latin America in two ways. First it inspired the famous men who started the independence movements, which led to the definitive liberation from the Spanish yoke. Once the revolution was over, philosophy influenced the development of the legal and political systems that were created to organize the life of the new states.

The respectably legitimate offspring of an age-old affair between writing and picture-making, the calligramme — that is, “a poem in which the typographical layout creates a picture, generally related to the ‘subject’ of the text” (Dictionnaire des littératures, Larousse) — is often seen as an esoteric minority art of dubious reputation. Starting from an exclusively Western approach to the history of the calligramme, my aim is to demonstrate that this artform may in fact represent something more than simply (here I deliberately use a metaphor from the far east, as a counterargument to my theme) the “Kyogen of the No theatre” — i.e., more than a lightweight interlude between more literary, aesthetic, even metaphysical preoccupations — more elevated, more serious, or, in general terms, more extended. Apart from the play and the pleasure of an approach that is creative in terms of letters and language, it contains serious elements related to the actual exercise of writing in our media civilization.

Africa, along with Asia, is the continent with the highest number of ‘living’ indigenous languages. European languages, mainly English, French and Portuguese, have spread throughout all African nations during the last 200 years; however, until today, the use of these ‘foreign’ languages has been mostly restricted to certain domains, such as higher education, politics and business, and also to a relatively small number of people. According to Scotton (1982: 68) only 10 per cent or less of the rural African population have a considerable competence in the imported languages, even though these are in many instances the official languages of their home countries. African vernaculars are generally not in danger of being replaced by European languages. However, we observe a diminishing use of African vernaculars, not only in an increasing number of domains, but also with regard to the absolute number of indigenous languages; that means, in short, that linguistic vitality and variety on the African continent is decreasing.

At the beginning of the sixteenth century, in the lands that are now the United States (the forty-eight contiguous states, Alaska and Hawaii), there must have been many hundreds of distinct languages. Fewer than two hundred remain, and the future of these is decidedly insecure, even where the remoteness of the location (in the case of Inuit in Northern Alaska) or the large size of the speech community (in the case of Navajo in the Southwest) might seem to protect the community from language loss. Yet even this vastly reduced reservoir of linguistic diversity constitutes one of the great treasures of humanity, an enormous storehouse of expressive power and profound understandings of the universe. The loss of the hundreds of languages that have already passed into history is an intellectual catastrophe in every way comparable in magnitude to the ecological catastrophe we face today as the earth's tropical forests are swept by fire. Each language still spoken is fundamental to the personal, social and - a key term in the discourse of indigenous peoples - spiritual identity of its speakers. They know that without these languages they would be less than they are, and they are engaged in the most urgent struggles to protect their linguistic heritage. The goal of this paper is to review the contexts and practices of this struggle, in the hope that people everywhere will support it.

In Essai sur le don (Essay on Gifts), a work that the author himself noted was only indicative and incomplete, Marcel Mauss recommended in his conclusions on general sociology and morality that the analysis should be taken further and future research should focus on certain cultural areas that he had not been able to take into account: Micronesia, Indochina, Tibet, Burma, and North Africa, among others. And he stressed the existence, among the Berbers, of “remarkable practices of taoussa,” the study of which, he said, had been the business of Doutté and Maunier (Mauss 1968b: 274, n. 1).

Bhakti is a remarkable existential tendency that shows itself in the rich expanse of the tradition originating from the Vedas. Recognized as a prize possession of the religions, philosophies, and culture of India, it has often won fascination and admiration from students of Eastern heritage. However, its nature, role, and history remain misunderstood and have not received all the attention they deserve. Its role as a gatherer of life, love, thought, and the divine is missed in its partial characterizations as “Hindu devotion” or “divine love” or “theism implicit in polytheism.” Its status as a perennial thematic concept of the Indian civilization is missed when its pervasiveness is overlooked by the cultural historians preoccupied primarily with its periodic eruptions. Furthermore, the philosophical role of bhakti is missed when it is deemed as an alternative to jnana (knowledge) rather than “the living of jnana.”

The universe, of which our domicile the planet Earth forms but a minuscule part, has an architecture that changes and has been changing in time. In other words, it has a history of evolution. Lack of experimental evidence denies us the knowledge of what the universe was like “at the time of its origin,” as discussed by Hubert Reeves in the preceding chapter. Neither do we know much about its geometry, simply because our observatories are concentrated, for all practical purposes, vanishingly close to a single point in an immensity whose size can only be measured by the billions of years required by light to go from one extremity to another!

Most textbooks on the history of economic theory scarcely mention the Islamic contribution. The writings of Grice-Hutchinson, Lowry, and Essid are notable exceptions, in that they offer a broad summary of the Islamic literature that enriched the Mediterranean tradition. Yet, Islamic civilization simply deepened the flow of ideas inherited from Antiquity before, and passed them on. From the twelfth century, its brilliance started a slow transfer of Islamic knowledge to a West which was ready to receive it.

About 130 languages are currently spoken in the USSR. These languages differ considerably in their numbers of speakers, social status, scope and viability. Our primary interest in this paper will be with those languages that are in extreme danger of extinction in the near future.

The earth, the abode of the only form of intelligent life in the universe of which we are aware, is a minor member of a system of nine planets, 40 or so moons and about 100 billion asteroids orbiting around the Sun, an average-size member of the 100-billion-star community making up our galaxy, the Milky Way. It is the third planet to the Sun, which it orbits, following an almost circular elliptical path maintaining an average distance of 1.5×108 km, with the longest and the shortest radii now being 1.53×108 km and 1.47×10 km respectively (Fig. 1). This orbit is subject to changes in its “eccentricity” (i.e., in how much it deviates from a circle) with periods of 105 and 4×10 years5 years (Fig. 2A). In addition, the elliptical orbit itself slowly rotates as shown in Fig. 2B, in what we call the precession.

The phenomenological term “imaginal” was coined and introduced into the French language by Henry Corbin (1903-1978). Throughout his work, Corbin used the “imaginal” as his fundamental concept, as the very foundation of a Weltanschauung. Etymolo-gically, this new term was derived from the Latin phrase mundus imaginalis. As for its meaning, it is synonymous with several Persian and Arabic technical terms, such as alam al-mithal (the world of images, archetypical ideas), malakut (the subtle world of the souls), barzakh (interworld), hurqalya (the world of the celestial Earth, of celestial corporeality), na-koja-abad (the land of nowhere). These technical terms taken from theosophical literature have a meaning very close to that of the term “imaginal.” They translate contemplative experience arising from the theophanic imagination or agent imagination (imaginatio vera). From the point of view of location, they designate the qualitative space of this imagination (mundus imaginalis).