The historical dimension of alimentary practices is sufficiently emphasized today in publications dealing with the past development of European societies. And yet there is still surprise at the discovery that at the end of the Middle Ages, olive oil did not have the importance in Provence one is tempted to attribute to it since time immemorial in this region. Or the connoisseur of cassoulet in the southwestern part of France might be surprised to learn that his ancestors were unable to enjoy this dish until after the discovery of America and the introduction of the Phaseolus variety of beans in Europe.

In the past few years, anthropological research concerned with the ethnographic aspects of ritual practices has renewed its interest in the meaning of ritual symbolism. This research has been possible because of a methodological inversion, namely, starting with a descriptive study of the rites rather than analyzing religious beliefs, contrarily to what was the moraine frontale of traditional history of religion.

The fall of the nineteenth century abounded in discoveries of natural laws, that is, strict and unequivocal rules of the development of life. These laws stated for example that ontogeny of individuals repeats, or recapitulates, phylogeny of the species; that big and specialized forms originate in evolution from small and unspecialized ones, while the reverse is not true; that endothermic animals are larger-sized and more compact in cool than in warm climates, and so on. Louis Dollo, a Belgian palaeontologist, proposed the so-called law of irreversibility of evolution which stated that an organic structure lost in evolution cannot reappear with all the peculiarities of its design. This law seems indeed to be true but not particularly original. It was Heraclitus who first observed that one could not enter the same river twice. Dollo's law says essentially the same thing. The flow of evolutionary events combines so many processes in so many ways that past evolutionary events cannot recur exactly. “What is done, is done forever”. Time itself introduces asymmetry into the evolutionary process.

When Auerbach writes in Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature that, although Homer can be analyzed, he cannot be interpreted, he puts the reader on notice that not all verbal discourse embodies the structure of interpretation. He equally shows the reader that there is discourse which, in order to be read, must be interpreted—that of the Bible and its heirs. Although Mimesis has long been celebrated, its readers have not properly remarked that what allows Auerbach to achieve his penetrating reading of Western literature is precisely the critical distinction which he makes between analysis and interpretation, between that which is devoid of or lacks (is ignorant of) interpretation and that which consciously involves (wills) interpretation. Given the failure to appreciate the distinction which Auerbach systematically draws between analysis and interpretation, it is hardly surprising that philosophers and literary critics have failed to see that the distinction between analysis and interpretation presupposes a general theory of interpretation which applies no less to philosophy than to literature.

1. The fact that Brazil, land of parrots and coffee, is also, by antonomasia, that of cannibals, is a commonplace that we find in the writings of foreigners and natives from the early years of the conquest up until our era of advanced civilization, at the level of anthropological reality (we should like to say anthropophagic) and at that of metaphor. As though, forgetful of the general accusation of anthropophagy launched by the first explorers against the various indigenous peoples of America, beginning with the Caribs/Cannibals of Columbus, the colonizing and evangelizing Old World wanted to transfer to Vera Cruz and its inhabitants the exclusive rights to these “savage customs of a people without justice and law” that the first Western ethnographer, Herodotus, had attributed, in the Eurasia of his time, to the peoples of the Far North, at the other side of the extensive desert lying beyond the land of the Scythians—those who were called the Androphagi. And as if, of all the peoples and communities accused, in various latitudes and epochs of history, of having anthropophagic practices, the Brazilians were the only ones to not just defend themselves against the infamous accusation but to flaunt it as a symbol of their autonomy and originality when confronted with the menace of religious and cultural colonization.

“States have no morality, they have interests,” remarked an overzealous diplomat. And in this same manner we sometimes see that reasons of state take priority over moral rules. A sweet young thing testifying before a committee of the United State Congress said “sometimes you have to put yourself above the law,” no doubt repeating something that had been said to her. At a time when unrestrained application of the reasons of state can only lead to violence that can no longer be sustained, we can judge to what extent such remarks are without foundation.

The expression “République des lettress” is still used today. It appears in most recent dictionaries of the French language, and it even occasionally occurs in ordinary conversation or in the press, a pompous and ironic circumlocution to designate the Parisian literary “milieu.” This archaistic and pejorative survival masks (somewhat similarly to the word “rhetoric”) the attention that researchers are now according to the older meaning of this surviving expression, and to the concept of an international exchange of ideas that it represented for scholars of the Ancien Régime. As proof that this scientific interest is recent, Paul Hazard, in the famous Crise de la conscience européenne (1936), devotes not a single line to the “Republic of Letters,” while in the chapter dealing with Pierre Bayle he cites the “Nouvelles de la République des Lettres” (1684), the learned periodical published in Amsterdam by this erudite Calvinist, apparently without feeling a need to explain a title that seemed self-evident. For the history of ideas, this notion was not a subject for history. It resided outside the field of perception of a discipline that was completely devoted to a sort of chemistry of pure ideas, removed from the literary form that carried them, and a fortiori from institutional circuits, and forms of sociability and dialogue that “invent” and spread them, and even more so from the awareness that “scholars” might have had of the solidarity that united them and of the meaning they might be able to attribute to it.

Heidegger's affirmation is categorical: “… the thinking expressed in Being and Time is against humanism”. Heidegger's thesis is not only categorical, it is also polemical. He maintains that the humanist conception does not grasp man's essence, and it is for this reason that he is opposed to humanism, which is a doctrine that “has not thought profoundly enough of man's humanitas.