I’m surprised to hear people don’t know who Bergson is. I’ve assumed most of my early years that he was at the top of the pantheon of XXth century thinkers. My

I’m surprised to hear people don’t know who Bergson is. I’ve assumed most of my early years that he was at the top of the pantheon of XXth century thinkers. My undergrad philosophy class was on him, Giono & Camus. Our dean replaced our designated professor and taught us half the year (which was a relief from the old cow who somehow managed to made Giono grey and Camus dull) because our dean was Bergson last, favourite student. He was entrusted with his notebooks and even published them that year (against Bergson express dying wishes; that controversy was fun). It was incredible to go from enjoying someone who could speak of philosophy with passion, gradually realise he refused to admit Bergson positions changed through his life and work (which is very ironic given Bergson’s ontological thesis) and finally, from the podium of the designated specialist who betrayed his master’s official will, felt like he misunderstood everything about the man. No author compares favourably to an original text from Giono, no matter what: more colours than Gauguin, blunter, more energetic concision than Hemingway, large humane characters who hate each other but you can’t help identifying with… But that last page of Bergson story unfolding in front of us was incredible. Studying philosophy through literature and characters was a thrill that made _The Feast_ and other classical discursive text really cool. But seeing a student turned professor failing his late-master, live; seeing a dean be a gradually worse teacher, through the assault of honest, curious questions… that was better than any theatre. We went to study Anouilh the following year, and even _The Lark_ felt less intense. Not sure why they decided to have us look into fiction and literature to study philosophy rather than abstract books. I guess they expected science undergrads to enjoy it more.