Austria's post-World War II transition from two consecutive, abusive regimes (the Austro-fascist and the Nazi regime) to a functioning democracy has not yet been thoroughly assessed through the lens of transitional justice. An evaluation of what could now be dubbed transitional-justice measures shows that Austria was reluctant in accepting its collective responsibility vis-à-vis the victims of World War II. Another defining factor of Austria's transition is that it never encouraged the surviving victims of the Nazi regime to return. An appraisal of Austria's transition in light of the two final ends of transitional justice, namely democracy and reconciliation, culminates in two conclusions: first, Austria attained the goal of democracy but failed with reconciliation; second, the current model of transitional justice is ill-equipped to assess the non-linear course of long-past transitions.

Like all of Maurice Ravel's compositions, the virtuosic violin piece Tzigane, styled rapsodie de concert by the composer, rapidly became a mainstay of the concert repertory following its premiere with piano by the Hungarian violinist Jelly d'Aranyi in April 1924 in London (her premiere of the orchestral version occurred in Paris on 30 November 1924 with Gabriel Pierné conducting the Colonne Orchestra). Yet, despite its popularity, no critic has included it among Ravel's major works. Reflections on Tzigane in the secondary musicological literature are very few indeed, which is somewhat surprising in the context of a new explosion of interest in Ravel. In his recent biography, Roger Nichols avers that ‘probably no one has ever suggested that Tzigane is great music’. Robert Orledge noted in 2000 that it ‘has never been among Ravel's most successful works’, a remark surely meant as a critique of the composition rather than a statement about its popularity with performers, which has been considerable. Alexis Roland-Manuel, a close friend of the composer, did not even discuss the piece in his biography of 1938. The violinist Hélène Jourdan-Morhange, another close friend and consultant about the virtuoso figuration in Tzigane, confessed almost apologetically in her book on Ravel that ‘this rhapsodic piece is perhaps the only one in Ravel's oeuvre where I cannot locate – hidden in the intricacies of its tours de force – Ravel's characteristic flavour: in it, music has surrendered too much place to instrumental acrobatics’. In other words, she appears to suggest that Tzigane is a mere showpiece where Ravel's personal style has been eclipsed by fireworks, with an implicit criticism of pandering to market. The Hungarian violinist Joseph Szigeti spoke of the ‘resistance I always felt towards this brilliant and (to my mind) synthetically produced pastiche of Ravel's’. At the time of the premiere, the young Henri Sauguet told Francis Poulenc that ‘the aesthetic informing these pages is so antiquated that I am astonished anyone can still believe in it’.

During the centuries after the fall of the Han dynasty, dozens of states rose and fell in geographic China, which was not only politically divided but also home to multiple separately named population groups, some of which were speakers of languages unrelated to Chinese. Yet, a single written language was used throughout the region, broadly common institutions were everywhere in place, and there was a widely shared collective historical memory. This memory included an assumed single line of legitimate sovereigns stretching back to the Sage Kings of legendary antiquity. Differently named population groups could adopt that written language, institutions, and historical memory, and their rulers could potentially even join that line of legitimate sovereigns. It was therefore relatively easy for the Sui and Tang dynasties, having militarily unified the geographic space of the old Han empire, to successfully depict themselves as heirs to a unitary China rooted in ancient memory.

Drawing on the work of Mark Siderits, Jay Garfield, and others, I introduce a global approach to the philosophy of religion that is inspired by ‘fusion’, ‘engagement’, or ‘confluence’ philosophy. To globalize the philosophy of religion requires more than expanding its traditional disciplinary scope or broadening its range of questions; it requires philosophers who are conversant in more than one philosophical tradition. I argue that this approach offers a viable way to develop the discipline by providing a platform for deep and authentic engagement in philosophical inquiry that crosses traditional religious and philosophical boundaries.