History is familiar with great scientific traditions which have been substantial, effective, cumulative and progressive.* At the level of great eras of civilization, extensive and not episodic phenomena, very ancient Chinese science, Greek science and Arab science are objects of investigation for historical erudition, but also for the scientific historian and the philosopher of sciences. Many of the elements of these systems were the source of “modern science”, as it is called, or are integral parts ol’ this system of knowledge and practice which has been constructed over a little more than three centuries. Diachronically, the “scientific revolution” of the classical age in Europe does not signify a total break with what preceded it: Chinese astronomy, Arab algebra and the hospital organization of the Islamic world were used, even if the ideology of scientists when they wrote their own history, particularly from the 19th century onward, tends to make of modern science a purely European phenomenon.

In various parts of the world—of which Mexico is one example— archaeology has been not only an academic discipline but has followed other motivations and goals, some valid and others more disputable: formation of a nationality, a need to know ancient roots, importance of a distinct art for understanding past societies or simply the promotion of tourism by attracting people to visit recently-excavated monuments or those that are already famous. In this paper, I intend to present the case of Mexico.

In our times changes occur so rapidly that our modes of reading even more than our modes of analysis risk being inadequate, or in any case risk lagging behind. If we wish to analyze relations between the arts and the media, the danger is in fact that we will limit ourselves to established notions or even to stereotypes which are commonly accepted by the general public. Even for persons with some awareness, information remains lacunary. Moreover, like the experts, or those who pass for such, it seems that it is difficult for them to avoid a personal conception, implicit or avowed, which does not fail to influence their judgement. This is almost always the case when the matter of art is raised, even if we take the precaution of placing the term in the plural. Whether one wishes to or not, there is hardly an example where certain preferences do not make themselves known. If it is easy to reach agreement with regard to the facts, it is less easy to agree on their interpretation, especially when values are at stake. Hence the necessity to proceed by different steps and explanations to explain the relationships between arts and the media.

The classical form of the romance (courtly romance or chivalrous romance, the epic, romance tale) was created in the 11th-13th centuries in different countries by an entire series of great poets and authors, among whom Thomas, Chrétien de Troyes, Wolfram von Eschenbach, Gottfried of Strasbourg, Nezâmi, Rustaveli and Murasaki Shikibu had considerable influence on the development of their respective families of literature.

Lately, the issues of “transfer of technology” seem to have become fashionable. However, they cannot be considered at length until those of DEVELOPMENT are clarified: transfer of technology is a means, development is an end, and, if we are not careful, we risk—in all good faith—being carried away by the example of the development and techniques of the “Northern countries,” while the needs and possibilities of the “South” may be quite different.

Before Columbus, Old and New World customs of pilgrimage differed so greatly that separate names today are needed to describe their functions and characters more accurately. In English, pilgrimage and all its synonyms are divided as two families of words, one having to do with journey, and the other with endeavor.

To select as the subject of a study of limited size a topic as fundamental and, additionally, one so long discussed as has been the case with literary practice greatly risks—and we are fully aware of this—appearing to be an undertaking which is both presumptuous (how many studies, sometimes major ones, have been devoted to this question during recent decades?) and doomed to failure (is it serious to presume, in a few pages, to deal, even partially, with so vast and so complex a subject?). However, one precise reason causes us to think that it is time, today, to re-examine this ancient problem in new terms. The field of French literary research is at present characterized by a major institutional and ideological fact, the massive reality of which certain particular or collective efforts, no matter how remarkable these might be, cannot cover over. An airtight seal continues to separate, globally, traditional literary research from recent studies produced by certain linguists and speech historians in the domain of linguistic practices. Whence this scientifically paradoxical consequence: studies dealing with fundamentally similar objects—discursive practices—are presently being conducted in parallel, on the basis of theoretical premises which are radically opposed in most cases, with each one almost absolutely ignorant of the others. This situation, we believe, is exceedingly harmful to literary research. By making all interdisciplinary relation impossible as well as inhibiting certain questioning necessary within the realm of this research, it contributes to blocking progress in large measure. Need we point out that we nourish no naive hopes of overturning within the space of a few pages a situation whose roots, both institutional and ideological, are so deep? Nor does one distinguish oneself more by providing definitive answers for these basic problems which we propose discussing here, answers which one might even believe possible to guarantee as fully correct. We would only like to attempt to prove, by re-examining in new terms some fundamental problems of literary theory, the advantage which this theory might be able to find in certain data drawn from linguistics and the “analysis of discourse”, and inversely to propose certain theoretical readjustments which a specific reflection on literary practice seems to make necessary in the field of these two disciplines, particularly in that of the second. The pages which follow should, therefore, only be taken for what they are: an attempt, limited in its scope and problematic in its conclusions, to break down some barriers and to open a breach at certain critical points.

Tracing the broad outline of European art history means presenting the different methods considered essential to the formation of this discipline. Historiographical research arrives quite naturally at a criticism of the methods themselves and at a search for a broader horizon.

To the extent that the historian is involved with the thinking and the problems of his age, his methods reveal personal and conjunctural concepts and ideas which will guide the reflections of his successors ; these successors will modify and correct the concepts received in order to adapt them to new experiences and questions. Or they will add others which are more apt to supply the answers sought. The means of analysing art history today are the fruit of four centuries of discussion during which certain normative criteria, traditional theories and underlying concepts were called into question while at the same time, though being sometimes exported to other areas of the world, they have demonstrated a tenacious degree of longevity. But perhaps a brief recapitulation might be helpful here.

Everybody knows nowadays that the degree of development is measured according to a certain number of criteria, of which the most important one, and initially the only one. was the Gross National Product (or G.N.P.) of each country, related to the number of inhabitants. The arbitrarily-settled line some twenty years ago between the rich and the poor or, as called at that time, the “underdeveloped”, was based at the level of 1000 U. S. dollars per capita. The expression was badly accepted by those it described, because development confers a dignity which cannot be refused to anybody. That is why the following euphemism appeared: “developing countries”, as promising as it is little compromising. Later on, this exclusively economical criterion was moderated by several additives, linked to social structure, to the rate of elimination of illiteracy, and even to cultural factors.

(A notion of imagination as Creative Transformation envisaged by certain ancient Indian literary critics and its application in the field of music.)

The idea of creative imagination naturally suggests artistic activity. Activity such as that of the writer, the painter, the sculptor, the musician, the dancer, the architect and the like. This, we generally think, is the homeground of creative imagination, though, as has been justly pointed out, every human endeavour, whether thought or action, presupposes it, or, at least, needs it in order to be significant. The writer comes first on my list because we who deal in words tend to think of literature before any other art, as is amply borne out by our proceedings here. But I have another, a more important reason for listing him first. Reflections over the writer's art, that is, literature, has a longer history and a greater depth of critical self-awareness in India than with respect to any other art, a fact which is perhaps true of most cultures.

At the end of the sixteenth century, Friar Juan de Torquemada watched the game of volador on the central plaza in Mexico. At the top of a pole some twenty meters high there was a small pivoting platform. Four ropes were wound around the top of the pole and held in place by a wooden frame. Five men dressed in feathery costumes making them look like birds climbed up the shaft. One of them reached the narrow platform and began to dance. Then the other four bird-men tied themselves to the ends of the ropes and plunged into space, head down, held by the ropes around their waists. This initiated a spectacular circular flight in ever widening rings as the cords unwound. They straightened up only at the last moment, just in time to put their feet on the ground, dizzy and staggering. But on that particular day, one of the dancers was not to straighten himself up. The rope had been badly attached and broke, dropping the man like a heavy mass to the ground, lifeless. The Franciscan at once used this as an argument to demand that the Viceroy prohibit this game. But the civil authorities refused to do so, to the monk's great consternation.

Since his beginnings, Man has produced art: gests and works in some way bound to the essence of man's existence, gests and works grafted onto the epidermis of the world, yet gests and works for transcending the immediate givens, for understanding veiled realities and future possibilities: gests and works of global apprehension, brought about and nourished through the ages by elementary needs, by visceral fears, by existential hopes.

The image of the Other, particularly in the Western World, expresses itself through a continuous flow of representations of fabulous peoples with strange physical appearance living in far-away places. In our day, the successors to the sirens, Cyclops, unípedes and cynecephala of Antiquity, the Middle Ages and the Renaissance are the Sirians, Saturnians, Selenites and Martians of the 17th through the 20th centuries.

In recent years empiricism has been under persistent attack, and serious questions have been raised about the ability of empiricism to provide the basis for a viable philosophy of science. The attack has been sufficiently vigorous, and in some quarters sufficiently successful, that many now maintain that empiricism is dead. My aim in this paper is to argue that, rather than being ready for embalmment and emplacement in the museum of philosophic oddities, empiricism is very much alive, and the central thesis of empiricism remains the cornerstone for any viable philosophy of science. This is not to say that the recent attacks on empiricism have been without a point, rather, they have put anyone who would defend empiricism in the position of having to rethink many datails of the empiricist viewpoint. But it is the details, the way in which empiricism has been elaborated by its proponents, not the central empiricist insight, that must be reconsidered.

Among all the possible choices of “objects” for collection, that of works of art is the richest in meaning. In this paper we propose to discover if this ages-old activity may be understood as a historical phenomenon or only interpreted as one of the expressions man may give of his relationship with the universe of artistic works.

Traveler, come with us! Do not be afraid. You will see sublime and melancholy, gay and beautiful scenes. Poet! Down there you will find poetic themes worthy of your most inspired verses. Artist! For you there are pictures of admirable freshness, painted by the hand of God. Writer! There you will encounter legends not yet written, legends of love and hate, of gratitude and vengeance, of hypocrisy and abnegation, of noble virtues and repugnant crimes; legends of fragrant romanticism and rich in truth. Let us go there, plowing the dark and agitated waves of the restless Atlantic, through the islands of the Antilles, to the shores of Anáhuac.

In the strictest sense, the Occident, (that prestigious union of nations, ideologies of progress, and export and import companies) discovered Mexico in the 19th century. Only at the end of Spanish domination—that never understood that “there are various kinds of excellence”—did other countries and Mexico itself begin to learn of the scope of the Conquest and regions affected by it, partially replacing Spanish mythology with another, more varied but equally remote. The greatness of the ancient Indians and their happy age was praised, while the living natives were reviled; the idealization of the pre-Columbian, which had been suspended by priests and encomenderos, was continued (Hernández wrote in 1577, “In this new world signs of avarice had never penetrated, nor had ambition been born until our compatriots arrived, carried by ships and the wind”); the possibilities of the new country were greedily examined; scornful notes were taken on the successive and simultaneous failures in the attempt to create a republic; the vices and virtues of those who were suddenly free were enumerated; a climate favorable to invasions and the amputation of territories was created; customs were observed with joy or alarm.

The terms “modem” and “modernity”, like many other terms in common use and of wide extension, are extremely complex. And a theory of modernity should have no other goal initially than to settle this polysemy in the hope of arriving at a sufficiently rigid definition that the “thing” itself can become the object of a clearer consideration. But what is the path toward this greater clarity?

Some of the relatively significant contributions to epistemology, in recent times, have been made by Karl Popper, Thomas Kuhn, Paul Feyerabend, and Hans Reichenbach. All these authors seem to make some radical departures from the inherited theories of knowledge. A common characteristic of their epistemologies is that they try to tackle the problem of growth of knowledge; that is to say, what is meant by saying that theories of science, as they get more and more refined, increasingly approach the truth and what the nature of relationship is between the earlier theory and the more refined. later, and present theory. Philosophy in the past hardly grappled with these issues, and therefore it would be of interest to critically examine these new dimensions in Epistemology, which is the concern of this paper.

The many studies, articles, essays, conferences and seminars dedicated to the personality and the work of Mustafa Kemal are still far from having exhausted an area of knowledge with many facets, a historical reality with unending extensions. By studying the apologetic literature about the civilizing hero and a historiography which is limited to the relatively neutral description of the rich career of an individual, it can be noted that there are very few writings inspired by the desire not only to analyze, to explain and to understand but also to think through the Kemalist revolution.

The presence of the past is of prime importance in today's Mexican society. According to José Fuentes Mares, among the “peoples of the world the Mexican is the one who lives history the most”. With regard to the unsatisfactory relations between Mexico and North America, the journalist Alan Riding asks himself: “How can a people who relish the past to the point of intoxication understand another that looks constantly to the future?” In the Republic of Mexico, according to him, “the entire past of the country throws a dense shadow over the present”. Conforming to a universal custom, every country divides its present past into four groups (survival, residues, memories and history), but in few nations are the four groups as copious as in this one. Although Mexico is rapidly shedding many old customs and is selling residual objects to foreign collectors on the sly, its historical treasure is still enormous, perhaps the largest in the world.