Did the Greeks believe in their mythology? The answer is difficult, for “believe” means so many things… Not everyone believed that Minos continued to be a judge in Hell or that Theseus defeated the Minotaur, and they knew that poets “lie.” Nevertheless, their manner of not believing gave reason for concern, for Theseus was no less real in their eyes. It is simply necessary to “purify myth with reason’“ and to reduce the biography of the companion of Hercules to its historic kernel. As for Minos, after a prodigious mental effort, Thucydides extracts the same kernel from his subject: “Of all those whom we know only by hearsay, Minos was the first to have a fleet.” The father of Phaedra, the husband of Pasiphaë is nothing more than a king who was master of the sea. The purification of the mythical by the logos is not an episode in the eternal struggle, from the beginning to Voltaire and Renan, between superstition and reason, a struggle which was the glory of Greek genius. The myth and the logos, despite Nestle, are not simple opposites like truth and error. Myth was a subject of serious reflections, and the Greeks had not yet finished with it six centuries after the Sophist movement which has been called their Aufklärung. Far from being a triumph of reason, the purging of myth by logos is a very dated program whose absurdity is surprising. Why did the Greeks make themselves unhappy for nothing by seeking to separate the wheat from the chaff instead of rejecting in one gesture the fantasy of both Theseus and the Minotaur, the very existence of a fabulous Minos as well as the implausible qualities with which the myth endows this Minos?

One of the principal reasons for the confusion in which recent technological developments, and developments in the physical, chemical and biological sciences generally, have plunged us, consists in our inability to harmonise our means and our ends, to subordinate the former to the latter, to verify constantly their appropriateness or their incompatibility, and to evaluate their overall relation to man's final ends.

Since the end of the 19th century, Brazilian researchers have speculated about the phenomenon of ethnic coexistence they have witnessed in their country. How may the mixed culture that is its obvious result be explained? Should it be attributed to some sociocultural syncretism, to an interpenetration of civilizations or, quite simply, to a synthesis? Whatever the case, it is certain that cultural elements of very different origins became united in Brazil and that they have remained closely associated there in spite of their disparity. The best example of this “cultural conglomerate,” if we may call it that, is without a doubt that of the Afro-Brazilian religious cults and, although numerous studies have already been devoted to them, they have a richness of content and meaning, plus a capacity for renewal, that is far from being exhaustively investigated.

Doctors have always thought, it seems, that the female body is more susceptible to illness than the male. Ancient medicine founded this dogma on the doctrine of elementary qualities, in attributing to woman a cold and humid constitution. As heat is the principal instrument which nature uses to produce the forces of the body and to maintain them, it must be lacking in woman, as is proved by her weakness, the softness of her limbs, her lack of external sexual organs and the crudeness of her menstrual blood. If the Aristotelians and the Galenists diverge, in the Renaissance and in the XVIIth century, about the nature—fertile or not—of the “female seed,” they agree to pledge the female body to illnesses. Such a predisposition is explained by the female constitution: its coldness and its humidity, as well as retaining women's strength badly, contribute to giving them a “soft, slack body, of rare texture,” little suited to letting the body fluids, of which it is full, circulate correctly; their blood, corrupted by humidity, instead of being properly heated like it is in men, accumulates, blocks up the too small blood-vessels and causes all the illnesses of which they are the habitual victims. To this it is necessary to add the pathogenic importance of the womb, “a part of the body so sensitive and so easily upset, that its least indisposition causes an infinity of strange and almost unbearable evils.” The indispositions which affect this part of the body are always in relation to humidity or dryness, that is with “the two excrements” which it receives: sperm and menstrual blood. Whether, insufficiently impregnated by the virile liquor, “it mounts to the liver and other higher parts of the body to suck humidity from them until it becomes moist,” or it retains for an abnormally long time the seed, which decays inside it; or the periods are suppressed, or on the other hand they are produced too often; all womens illnesses are a question of impeded or excessive discharge.

Innovative understanding or explanation stems almost exclusively from analogical reasoning. Induction systematizes the familiar; deduction casts it into formal relationship. Reasoning by analogy brings to bear on the familiar a new perspective derived from another realm of inquiry. Models are fruits from the tree of analogical knowledge.

For many decades now it has been maintained that Indian civilization has shown an adsence of dissent and protest. This has become so axiomatic on the Indian past that those who have occasionally questioned it have been labelled as anti-Indian. Such a view stems from a nationalistic over-simplification of Indian society as a vision of harmonious social relations in a land of plenty. Superimposed on this were the preconceptions of idealist philosophy that dissent required materialistic underpinnings, and philosophical themes of materialism in Indian thought have generally received short shrift from contemporary commentators. It is only in recent years that some attempts are being made to suggest that neither materialist philosophy nor dissent were wholly marginal to Indian society. It still remains fashionable in some circles to deny the opposition between forms of orthodoxy and heterodoxy in the ideological traditions of the past, arguing that Indian religions were not based on dogma. Yet the history of groups identified as having a community of religious beliefs, rituals and behaviour, among Buddhists, Jainas, Vaisnavas, Saivas and Tantrics, is strewn with sectarian dogmatism which found expression not only in inter-religious but also in inter-sectarian rivalries, sometimes of a violent kind.

Terms of address are the words we use when we speak to someone. The circumstances in which they are used are the same everywhere: when we call to someone; when we meet someone; when we want to attract someone's attention; when we speak to one person in a group—to ask a question or to give an order; at the beginning of a discourse; on an envelope; and at the beginning of a letter. Nevertheless, it depends on a particular society whether the use of these terms, in a given circumstance, is necessary or not. In Chinese, for example, when one meets someone he knows, he is not obliged to call him by name, title or any other term. The most normal attitude is to ask a question about what he is doing, a question whose objective depends on the circumstances and whose form depends on the degree of familiarity one has with the person addressed.

Like Caesar's Gaul, my essay is divided into three parts, according to the subjects mentioned in the subtitle. The “crisis consciousness” of the main title forms less a subdivision of the essay than a leitmotif accompanying all the parts as well as the whole.

The purpose of this article is to attempt to discern better the situation of art in contemporary society. To do this we will examine essentially the exterior forces which influence it. These multiple and diverse evolutionary forces are in a certain manner centripetal, and ultimately they modify our concepts of art as such. Without going so far as to state that contemporary society has completely overturned our ideas on this question, signs of change are nevertheless visible which challenge fundamental characteristics up until now attributed to art.

“I am, but I do not own myself”—this famous formula of Plessner conceives man as an excentric subject, i.e. a being who can never dominate and dispose of himself as a whole. If we add to Plessner's dictum Bloch's answer to it: “I am. But I do not own myself. Therefore we are still becoming” then we are already suggesting the anthropological space of the imaginary; because the ability to imagine something that is not, plays an essential role in this subject's becoming.

Science and the humanities share the same kit of working tools, called the world's literature. While the author of this article deals mainly with the scientific and mathematical literature, the reader probably gravitates towards some other branches, but such distinctions were hardly made in the Middle Ages. The American philosopher, Wallace Stevens, in his book The Necessary Angel remarks that at the time of Aristotle, the Greek language had no word to signify literature. The reason is surely that literature had long since been too universal an element in Greece to require a name. We have no name for the smell of air. This all-pervading power of literature is apparent already two generations before Aristotle, when Socrates made his defence against leading the youth of Athens towards atheism. Plato's Apology tells us how Socrates taunted his accuser: “Have you such a low opinion of the judges, that you fancy them so illiterate as not to know these doctrines are found in the books of Anaxagoras which are full of them? And so, my word, the youth are said to be taught them by Socrates, when they can be bought in the book-market for one drachma at most…” (a coin today worth 1.4 pence!).

At the end of the 17th century, 80 per cent of the French were illiterate. A hundred years later, despite a certain amount of progress in reading and writing above all in already favoured regions, their number still represents 63 per cent of the population. Throughout Europe from the 16th to the 18th century, the proportion is never lower than this.

The theory of beauty has always rested on the representation of the infinite, understood in its finite expression and perceptible through the senses. The relationship of beauty to truth, of art to science, is inevitably modified with the new way of treating the infinite in the modern conception of the world. Non-classical science works with the notions of “infinitely large” and “infinitely small,” modifying their meanings in terms of experimental observations. We put these words in quotation marks because the Whole may be considered as finite or infinite according to the angle from which it is viewed: the “infinitely small” only becomes so in determined circumstances, for example, when we consider the extended and discrete elements of space and time in a macroscopic approximation, as infinitely small elements of perpetual motion. Modern science studies these two poles of being—the Whole and its parts—in their interaction, admitting the dependence of macroscopic and even cosmic processes with regard to the processes being created in infinitely small spheres (or, according to another interpretation, finite but extremely small). However, as characteristic of our time as these concepts are—most often hypothetical—they nonetheless express a very old historical tradition that contemporary retrospection, turned toward classical science and the past of science in general, allows us to discern very clearly. All the culture of the past was dominated by the principle of the authority of the Whole over its parts. In peripatetic cosmology and physics, individual processes depended on the cosmic harmony of the center and frontiers of the universe, on the spheres and places toward which bodies tend. This authority of the general law, of universal harmony, of the system hinging on individual processes, is confirmed in Aristotle's Physics, but not only there: we find it in almost all the thinkers of antiquity. On the plane of general logic, it received expression in the Hegelian concept of the true infinite, a concept constituting to a high degree the philosophical equivalent of classical science. In Hegel's time, this last was already drawing away somewhat from the idea of an absolute and strict subordination of elementary processes to integrating systems and general laws, laws being realized through the probability of microprocesses, thus statistical laws, and whose exact application ignored individual acts, for example, the mechanism of molecules in thermodynamics. The statistical theory of heat has rendered continual a discrete microcosm—for the movement of individual molecules it substituted the average speed of the molecules—and continual laws became supreme points determining macroscopic processes. These laws had a differential nature. In other words, they prescribed the defined relationships between the infinitely small increases in size. Also, the schema of the classic law consisted in defining infinitely small processes by an infinitely large integral legality because of the number of processes. The infinitely true of Hegel is the actual infinite being realized in each of its finite elements; it is the subjection of the finite element to the infinite.

This paper is about the reference or denotation of the concepts and descriptions of modern physics in contrast to Galilean-Newtonian physics and some reflections therein of some widely influential misunderstandings of Einstein's empiricism.

The first principle of evolution is immutability; the primary objective of a species is to perpetuate itself. A transition from one species to another has never been observed and never will be; even in paleontology the study of fossils will never bring to light a continuity in the history of life: the passage from one form to another is always abrupt, and the “missing links” are only a creation of our imagination, an answer to satisfy our expectation.

According to Karl Popper, who is the latest link in the chain of Western rationalist-empiricist debate, knowledge does not have any infallible base in either senses or reason. Taking modern science as the paradigm of human knowledge, he argues that the process of growth of scientic knowledge involves imaginative proposals of hypotheses or conjectures and their refutation on empirical grounds in a continuing series of steps. Thus, scientific knowledge continuously evolves in a series of revolutions whereby the accepted theoretic constructs are falsified, therefore destroyed, and new ones accepted in their place. Experiment, as provoked and controlled stimulation of the senses, plays a critical role in this process of growth and so long as it fails to falsify the hypotheses these are provisionally accepted by the scientists.

It is some 900 years before Christ that we find the most ancient traces of two innovations which were to have incalculable consequences for the future of mankind. The evolution of civilization has, in fact, been marked by a clean break located at the era when man discovered the rudiments of agriculture and animal husbandry and began to produce his own food. Whereas for the three million years during which he had to provide for his needs exclusively through hunting, fishing and gathering, his progress was extremely slow, the adoption of a new way of life based on agriculture and animal husbandry allowed man to transform himself in less than twelve thousand years from deer hunter into astronaut.

A. L. Kroeber, who together with C. Kluckhohn wrote a now classical review of the concept of culture (1958), claimed that the most significant accomplishment of anthropology in the first half of the twentieth century was the extension and clarification of the concept of culture. In the book mentioned they analyzed about 300 different definitions of the concept. In a critical review of Kroeber's and Kluckhohn's book their colleague L. A. White contests Kroeber's claims and writes: “On the contrary, I believe that confusion has increased as conceptions of culture have been multiplied and diversified” (1954, p. 461).

If it is true that semiotics has tried to establish itself as an autonomous science starting with Saussure and Peirce, in imposing itself as a cultural fashion since the 1960’s, due especially to Roland Barthes and his interest in the language of connotations, it is also true that from ancient treatises of medicine to books of magic, from rhetoric to logic, from nature to science, symbols— even from different points of view—have been the object of passionate reflections.

Loincloth or business suit, djellaba or Chanel tailleur, blue jeans or leotard, evening gown or shorts, dress has always and everywhere been present as an object of material and symbolic investment. Why does a man belonging to a certain society dress as he does if not because a set of values and constraints such as custom, price, taste or decency prescribes or forbids certain usages, tolerates or encourages certain conduct? Dictating the use and assortment of various garments, this set of values is the expression of a veritable ethics of dress, protected by a series of sanctions that, from simple mockery to punitive measures (sumptuary laws or the present-day repression of transvestism and the illegal wearing of military, ecclesiastical or judiciary garb) guarantees the easy recognition of certain signs that are vital to the social order.