No one would think of denying that literary texts lend themselves to “plural” readings, as we say today: the studies collected in this issue are one more proof, as is the title of the collection. Tens of thousands of pages have already been written on Shakespeare and on Montaigne, which does not preclude the enjoyment of those that are offered us here; and the idea would not occur to anyone that this process of re-writing could ever come to an end, aside from the apocalyptic end of all human things, written and unwritten.

We are pleased to offer our readers an unpublished article by Roger Caillois, a posthumous text which takes its place alongside his other studies on the myth and the imaginary. The octopus, the praying mantis and the fulgora in the real world led Roger Caillois to reflections similar to those which he exposes here relative to the narwhal and the imaginary unicorn. The importance of the unicorn in the author's work comes from the relationship established by the narwhal's tusk between two squares on Roger Caillois’ chess board: myth and dissymmetry. (Editor's note).

Heterodoxy, sects and sectarianism seemingly belong to the sphere of religions; they obviously refer to doctrinal organizational and behavioral aspects of dissension within the frameworks of religions. It would, however, be wrong to think that their importance is confined only within such frameworks—broad and important as they are. The importance of heterodoxy and sectarianism is indeed much wider. It is much wider not only because the term sect has been often used—as Roger Caillois has demonstrated in his brilliant essay on “L'Esprit des Sectes”—to refer to a much broader range of phenomena in the overall political and social order. The very possibility of using this term beyond its strictly religious connotation indicates that the developments of sectarianism, rooted as it is in the sphere of religion, are, potentially at least, of much broader implications.

This was, of course, most clearly seen and elaborated by Max Weber who, in his classical essays on the comparative sociology of religions, was among the first to stress the place of dissent and heterodoxy, not only from the point of view of the doctrinal or organizational development of various religions, but from the broader point of view of the broader civilizational dynamics, of the innovative capacity of different civilizations.

To talk of God is almost a presumption, for who can say with any certainty that it is or if it is, in what sense of “is” it is, and what is its nature. And, perhaps, of all those who talk of God, the philosopher is the least qualified, as by temperament and training he lives in a world where concepts and arguments and ratiocinative thought are more real than anything else. And God, whatever it may or may not be, is not an idea or a concept or the conclusion of a well-reasoned chain of argumentation. Nor is it even a hypothesis to be tested or a necessary postulate without which our experience would make no sense and life cease to have a meaning.

Among the many story groups of The Thousand, and One Nights, few demonstrate with such clarity, precision and even some audacity the vicissitudes, privileges, fortunes and joys of sexual polymorphism. The geste of Boudour belongs to such a cycle.

Can we think without words? At first, the question is surprising, and the answer is most often, “No.”

This response is quite understandable. Words and thought are so closely connected in our mental activity that they appear almost indissociable, since if we follow an introspective process, it is not possible for us to analyze our reasoning and our feelings without having recourse to words. Moreover, man's verbal expression is not only a means of communication; it is also an instrument of progress for the mind, without which the mind would not be able to attain the very high levels of abstract and conceptual thought that are proper to it. No one would dream of minimizing the important influence of words on thought. It is more correct to magnify it as Paul Valéry did: “The honor of man, blessed speech.”

Social consciousness is the most comprehensive historically differentiated and dynamic relatively independent spiritual system. It performs its function both with regard to social being and to the life and consciousness of the individual members of society. As a many-sided, heterogeneous and complex system social consciousness should be analyzed from various points of view. Varied approaches and methods are employed in its study, heterogeneous criteria, close-ups and cross sections are used in investigating its content.

A notable aspect of contemporary fiction is the increasing importance acquired by the detective as a literary figure. From World War II up to today he has transcended a narrow role played in a narrow genre to become the symbol for man's existential quest and puzzlement in the face of mystery. If science fiction is the expression of our hopes and fears concerning the future of our technological society, the detective and a new form of literary detective fiction have lately become the expression of our hopes and fears concerning the present, since mystery is not only, too obviously, in the future but, more subtly, in the present. While science fiction lacks a character typical of the genre who may embody and possibly transcend its purposes, the detective novel thanks to the multifold aspects of its “ordainer”—the detective—has progressively risen to literary prominence through the apparently paradoxical negation of its original functions.

During the Renaissance, the su was regarded primarily as a source of light which gave form to all things*; during the Enlightenment, paradoxically, the sun was regarded primarily as a source of heat. Paracelsian chemistry of the 1500s introduced salt as a third principle which embodied the other two, mercury and sulphur; salt was that universal mediating presence which represented earth. By the late 1700s salt was no longer a metaphysical principle but an acid-base compound, and volatile salts aroused most interest. These changes in scientific perceptions of sun and salt ran parallel to one another: beginning as transcendent sources of form, sun and salt came to be considered manipulable sources of energy. Our r-;odern approach to energy derives from a period during which Europeans gradually lost their belief in the creative agency of two essentials to human life.

The survival of some masterpieces of literature across the ages is still an unexplained mystery. Deeply rooted in their time, they reflect the preoccupations of a given historical period and have an impact, by means of their testimony, on future generations. They bring into play images, drives and phantoms which have remained unchanged from prehistoric time to our day. The perfection of their form has remained unequaled; their examples incite us to meditation and creativity.

Behind every Utopia there is always a territory, but a territory that “is not here”, a territory removed from immediate reality in space or in time. In time, when the Utopia invokes the past of an Age of Gold or a Paradise Lost “illo tempore,” but also when there is a gamble with the hope of a better world to be organized in the future. These are “ideal times” or “longed-for times,” past or future of which philosophers, writers or political men speak.

For purposes of initial discussion, technology may be taken to mean applied science, thereby drawing attention to the practical applications of researches and discoveries made by science. This gives technology an importance which is not always fully recognised. Technology entails an enlargement of the apparatus with which man shapes, and is shaped by, his environment. This in turn leads to a modification of the behaviour-pattern defined by an earlier, if cruder, technology.

In 1976 an interdisciplinary study on risks and risk evaluations was inaugurated in Sweden and was sponsored by the Committee for Future-oriented Research. One of the basic assumptions of the Swedish risk project was that modern society has created “new, increasingly complicated and large-scale technical systems.” It also assumed that “large systems are economically efficient, but vulnerable and therefore create risks.” A third assumption was that “the ever rising standard of living is purchased at the cost of certain additional risks.” The perspective of the project was thus markedly historically oriented.

It is a truism that the relationships between literature and visual entertainment are multiple, complex and variable, especially if we consider literature in the broad sense and keep in mind the enormous variety in the forms of spectacle. Actually, several dangers lie in wait for the one who, on the comparative level, deals with the problem of the relationships between a literary work and a work intended to be viewed as visual entertainment.

The history of the interpretations of The Merchant of Venice, both on the stage and in critical comment, and of the reactions it has evoked in its readers or viewers, is surely unique in the Shakespeare canon. Interpretations of Hamlet are numberless, but the contentions expend themselves within the intellectual realm. The Merchant of Venice reaches down into deep emotional levels, involving commitments and shrouded reticences of the soul. When conscience and the play come together, a drama takes place. Sigurd Burckhardt has clearly perceived the problem, without exploring it. “Audiences,” he writes, “persist in feeling distressed by Shylock's final treatment, and no amount of historical explanation helps them over their unease.” We cannot join unreservedly in the joyful harmonies of the last act. “Shylock spooks in the background, an unappeased ghost.”

My office is in a medical building in suburban Washington, D.C. —in Bethesda, named for the Biblical healing pool. All of the offices of my building are occupied by medical specialists, representing the most sophisticated training in the application of the scientific method. Downstairs and of service to all of us is a pharmacy, looking for all the world like a research laboratory with its gleaming surface, meticulous cleanliness, micro-balances, records, reference books, and cash register. It is neatly stocked with modern, physiologically-defined preparations of active, predictable drugs. Among the enzymes, hormones, antibiotics, and chemo therapeutics for neoplasm, are a few newly hatched, unfledged remedies, but most are dependable and thoroughly assayed. The intently busy, white-coated, unsentimental pharmacists serve a hard-headed group of practitioners and a neighborhood of upper-class, well-educated patients. It is disconcerting, then, to see the undersurface of this sophistication, the irrational shadows beneath the science. On the front counter of the pharmacy are displayed attractive colored advertisements and pleasantly seductive inducements to self-improvement through diet cults and foods, tranquilizers, energizers, protein supplements, happiness promisers, preparations to enhance sexuality, vitamins artfully combined, and many packeted stuffs of no rational or pretended use whatsoever. “Why,” I ask the gimlet-eyed pharmacist, “do you have this large display of ‘Il Wah Genuine Chinese Ginseng, the Miraculous Herb of Life’? Doesn't it violate your university training? Your integrity as a modernist?” “Oh,” says he, “ginseng makes you feel better! You have more energy. You can do more! Lots of athletes use it, and people who work too hard and feel exhausted. It's only $3.45 a package. The prescriptions you give me once in a while yield no profit, but I sell a lot of ginseng. I use it myself!” Bemused, I walk back to my office, wondering about the easy abandonment of rationality, and pull down a box of medicinals collected the year before at an open-air pharmacy in the riverside markets of Brazil. The box gives forth deliciously rich forest smells. The packets within contain barks, roots, seeds, all of purported medical value. Other packets have amulets, charms, and protectives. The colorful labels on some of the patent medicines invoke ancient saints and healers, and promise happiness, health, prosperity and power. The essential rationale for their use in indigenous medicine was illusive to me despite many conversations with indigenous healers, and many times I have gone through the hundreds of items trying to find the key to what Brazilian and North American people fundamentally want from a pharmacy. In both cultures, where does magic stop and science begin? Do shops in both countries vend talismans in the search for the enhanced life, and fetishes against death? How much of all drug use is ritual and inchoate expectation ? How can we reduce the mystification and incrementally increase the rationality of our pharmacopeia?

Today, esthetic thought takes pride in the fact that it no longer scorns familiar objects nor any form of everyday culture. Refusing to limit its domain to Fine Arts, it analyzes the products of artisans and industry, urban environment, costumes and customs, tattooing and graffiti. It thus confirms a tendency of contemporary creativity that rejects the separated status of art and defies the regulations of good taste.

We should approach this topic with great fear and respect. It is not a merely “academic” issue. Human rights are trampled upon in the East as in the West, in the North as in the South of our planet. Granting the part of human greed and sheer evil in this universal transgression, could it not also be that Human Rights are not observed because in their present form they do not represent a universal symbol powerful enough to elicit understanding and agreement?

Today, the linguistic approach offers us an irreplaceable method for the direct study of the constitutive processes of social phenomena (A. Delobelle, 1981). In fact, each social phenomenon is basically inhabited or interpreted by language. It is language processes that give its ramifications to the social and form disstinct sub-groups in it. This is why, when these processes are observed in their formal dynamics, outside their vehiculated “contents,” it is as though we find ourselves faced with the very functioning of the social: as though we have in it a typically experimental terrain for the direct study of social phenomena.

This is how Montaigne explains the principles which he followed in his role as mayor, a statement whose very expression casts all the light needed on the nature of what has been called Montaigne's conservatism. In Montaigne's political language, to conserve is defined by its opposition to innovate. Conservation receives its lexical “value” from its contrasting relation with innovation and with “novelties.” This semantic pair, common in sixteenth-century French and in most European languages, is profoundly different from the present system. In today's language, the concept of conservatism (itself of recent formation) is defined principally in terms of the notion of progress or (because of the symmetry of the suffixes) of progressionism, in the sense which it had taken on during the 18th century, but the antonym innovation has not ceased contributing to the “value” of conservation. Today's semantic system cannot avoid attributing to “conservatism” an essentially antithetic function in reference to historic “progress,” or to theories of progress in which innovation is generally seen in a favorable light.