Chapter 6 turns to the relation between philosophy and politics in Plato’s Republic. The question here is how to understand Socrates’ proposal of philosophical rulership in Kallipolis. For all three post-Heideggerian Platonists, this is not to be read literally (pace Heidegger’s 1933 disastrous appropriation of the proposal), but ironically. For Strauss, Socrates’ argument ironically points to the opposite claim: philosophical rulership is impossible, and this is a symptom of the irreconcilable tension between philosophy and the city. For Krüger and Gadamer, the irony points to an “in-between” position: while philosophers cannot rule directly as kings and queens, they can rule indirectly. For Gadamer, this indirect rulership takes the form of the philosophically educated citizen’s participation in the political life of the community, and, most importantly, the task of civic education. For Krüger, it takes the form of a philosophical critique of existing political institutions. Despite their differences, all three ironic readings of the tension between philosophy and politics in the Republic converge toward what I call the “political finitude” of philosophy.

This introduction presents the volume’s premise and structure. It details why it is crucial to examine and harmonize the two worlds of law and knowledge to understand and amplify Indigenous guidance and wisdom found in treaty commitments. This introduction introduces the volume’s five parts, each discussing different aspects of understanding and implementing the various international, multinational, and nation-to-nation treaties to advance sustainable development and affirm Indigenous knowledge and rights in the various legal systems that we will explore.

Abstract: In Human Nature and Conduct (1922), Dewey seems to suggest that we can and should change human nature. In this chapter, McBride queries Dewey’s account of native impulses and how instincts, impulses, and dispositions relate to human nature. Dewey proffers insights into the ways in which impulses, habitual conduct, and social institutions condition and circumscribe the dominant mode of being human (and the ordering principles that enjoin the relations therein). The chapter argues that these particular Deweyan insights could potentially help us to conceive an education-based path to a decolonial conception of anthropos (human being). In this light, the chapter critically reassesses the Deweyan democratic conception of the alterability of human nature. It brings in additional insights from the decolonial thinking of novelist and philosopher Sylvia Wynter to extend Deweyan philosophy and point to the Euro-American coloniality that undergirds the present order of things. In closing, McBride suggests that a viable decolonial way forward will require a change in human nature in ways that transform our habits and demand the establishment of new social and educational institutions.

Abstract: In Human Nature and Conduct (1922), Dewey writes that bad habits are ones that have a “command over us” making us “do things we prefer not to do,” because as he puts it, “we are the habit.” In this chapter, Striano describes how education has a role in our understanding of the command of habit over our lives. The chapter considers how within the process of growth we can start reshaping our habits, making them increasingly intelligent so as to inform “intelligent dispositions.” Intelligent dispositions are central to helping us come to perform new, more reflective, courses of action in the world. The chapter concludes with the ideas that such intelligently reconstructed habits − ones that have been channeled through educative experiences which account for both human plasticity and the changes and “obstacles” in our environment − have the power to determine an effective transformation of our attitudes, behaviors, and understandings and, therefore, of our selves.

According to Dazai Shundai, celebrations of deities and worship at ancestral temples are key aspects of the government of the sages, but these are not practiced properly in Japan. People in Japan neglect the methods for these established by the ancient Chinese sages and instead hold such erroneous beliefs as that Japan is a “divine country” that should adhere to its own native traditions of worship, or that Buddhist services are sufficient to honor one’s ancestors. The promotion of learning is also a crucial element of government. Confucian learning should occupy the primary place, but military learning and various types of literary and artistic learning are also valuable. The Tokugawa bakufu is praiseworthy for its promotion of learning, but it should make more effort to reward officials for their learning, as well as to recognize the accomplishments of skilled individuals rather than leaving arts to families of hereditary practitioners.

This book concludes with this Afterword that emphasizes the critical importance of integrating Indigenous knowledge and treaties into the framework of sustainable development. This chapter summarizes the conclusions we have brought forth throughout this volume and is centred on the wisdom and practices of Indigenous peoples that promote respect, reciprocity, and harmony with the natural world. The convergence of Indigenous knowledge with global sustainable development agendas is now widely recognized as a crucial step towards a more balanced and resilient future. As the world faces unprecedented challenges such as natural disasters, resource scarcity, and human rights violations, recognizing the strengths of diverse worldviews becomes essential. By examining case studies and comparative legal research, this book demonstrates the potential of treaties to foster sustainable futures that benefit all living beings.

Chapter 1 opens with a discussion of the foundational importance of classical education in Roman society and politics, and how it served as a basis for both office-holding and elite Roman identity and self-fashioning. The chapter also provides a prosopographical sketch of the teachers and students that are visible in the historical record from the fourth to early sixth centuries in Gaul, showing that identifiable teachers and students begin to fade from the sources from the later-fifth and early-sixth centuries. It discusses the marked shift in the visibility of these individuals, the changing nature of our sources for education throughout the period, the limitations of our sources, and what we can learn from those limitations. The chapter argues that, while classical education largely disappears from the historical record by the early sixth century, this by no means indicates that classical education ceased to exist entirely. Rather, it shows that classical education was no longer a ‘public’ institution as it had been under the Roman empire, and that it did not occupy that specific place within politics, society, and culture that allowed it to be visible and take a prominent place in the technical and literary texts of the period.

Chapter 5 focuses on two biographical compilations of Afro-Argentines who are considered role models for the community. These biographies not only present a written portrait of each individual but also include a corresponding visual portrait, a feature that enriches the compilations. They were an attempt to construct an Afro-Argentine memory and imaginary, and the construction of this collective memory implied affection, bonds of proximity, and even intimacy The inclusion of portraits shows how important images were to the promoters of the publication in their role as mentors of the community. On the one hand, the inclusion of engravings was a way of complying with the precepts of progress and civilization, given the growing development of illustrated publications at the time. On the other hand, the possibility of seeing and recognizing the faces of notable people implied an affective dimension of which Afro-Porteño intellectuals were aware. This was because, in addition to being individuals who enjoyed a certain prestige (to a greater or lesser extent) not only within the group but also in the rest of Buenos Aires society, the members of the community were in almost daily contact with them and their relatives, often as friends.

This chapter considers neuroscience translations and attempts to apply our knowledge of the nervous system in practical approaches. I start by discussing the traditional areas of translation, neurology and psychiatry, and the extent to which a focus on neurobiological aspects can help in addressing these conditions. I then turn to more recent claims that neuroscience can inform educational practice, including claims of pharmacological cognitive enhancement, and neurocriminology claims that we will be able to predict and prevent criminal behaviour by identifying the neural mechanisms involved. The discussion covers brain imaging and heritability approaches that try to identify biological bases that can be targeted in translations and interventions, highlighting the caveats associated with these approaches and the claims made from them.

The concluding chapter reflects upon how the themes and questions explored in the book speak to familiar concerns of families, communities, and societies across time. What is the purpose of education? What do we expect of our education, and in what ways does our pursuit of knowledge and our learning define who we are? The conclusion draws together the arguments from the preceding chapters, considering in what ways the ‘fall’ of Rome meant the end of the schools of grammar and rhetoric in Gaul. Without the superstructure of the Roman empire, the socio-political culture that valued literary education disappeared, and the schools soon followed suit; it was not primarily material changes caused by the political, cultural, and religious upheavals of the fifth century that led to the decline of the schools, but rather marked changes in the attitudes and mindset towards education and learning of the emerging power brokers of post-imperial Gaul – the barbarian kingdoms and the Church.

Chapter 6 focuses on the careers of four artists of African descent in the Rio de la Plata: Fermín Gayoso, Rosendo Mendizábal, Juan Blanco de Aguirre, and Bernardino Posadas. They work in different historical contexts, from the colonial era to the end of the nineteenth century. The first was enslaved and was active in the early nineteenth century. Therefore, his trajectory differs from the rest. Mendizábal, on the other hand, was not only a painter but also a politician, maintaining ties to the Buenos Aires elite of the 1850s and 1860s. The historical and social context was quite different for Juan Blanco de Aguirre and Bernardino Posadas. These artists were active in the last quarter of the century, when the project of a racially and culturally homogeneous nation implemented by the dominant groups was in full swing. The analysis undertaken in this chapter provides a glimpse of the situation of Afro-Porteño intellectuals and especially of the few artists of whom we have information, as well as the tensions generated by the educational and promotion projects in which they were involved.

The introduction sets out the approaches, sources, and scope of the book. It acquaints the reader with the main features of classical education and places the book within the modern historiography.

This chapter will attempt to set the stage with facts and trends in the energy workforce, and link those with cultural and policy shifts that are affecting capital and investments which will drive the future of the energy workforce to look and act differently. Background with statistics on energy resource portfolio and graduates (new workforce) starting in 1980. Graphically depicting where jobs are within the energy sectors and the demographics of those employees and leaders, 1880s to current. Discussion about percentage of retirements, innovation, policy intervention, social responsibility, and individual values changing company cultures and hiring practices. The future of the energy workforce is unpredictable, but positive as we use energy more efficiently and create a more nimble workforce.

In 1739, the author who wanted to go by the name of Sophia, A Person of Quality, published a text called Woman Not Inferior to Man: Or, A short and modest Vindication of the natural Right of the Fair-Sex to a perfect Equality of Power, Dignity, and Esteem, with the Men. This title gives voice to what has become an established way of thinking about the history of liberation, and of feminism in particular – that is, as a history of the vindication of rights, as Mary Wollstonecraft would go on to echo in her own titles, A Vindication of the Rights of Men in 1790, and then, when it appeared that women were not included in mankind, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman in 1792.