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?

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

In everyday life, the way people dress is thought to furnish the attentive observer with information about them. In ethnomethodological terms, we would say that clothing is a source of “social information,” allowing subjects to form an idea of the “social and personal identity” of other people. For the sake of convenience, albeit simplifying somewhat, we may distinguish three aspects of this phenomenon: the dress observed, the interpretative process, and the results of the interpretation. This article is concerned with the process of interpretation itself. What I am trying to aim at is this: how to represent this process in a metalanguage, by means of a kind of artificial mechanism capable of simulating it adequately. And I shall be arguing that semiotics can provide a worthwhile conceptual framework for such a metalanguage.

What is a telenovela? Its literal meaning is “a novel transmitted by televison.” This implies a means of transmission—the television—and a form of discourse—the novel. The telenovela.

Iouri Lotman, taking as a starting point the idea that the rapport with the sign determines all the codes of a given culture and their systems of classification, proposes a typology of cultures. His resarch has been received with little interest in France, to the extent that some important articles in which it is described have not yet been translated. This is surprising considering the interest in Lotman's hypotheses, which give a boost and a broader outlook to semiotics which it had lost in certain scholarly minutiae. It may also be held that this indifference is normal for those whose profession is to reflect on the sign, unwilling to consider their object as a relative entity subject to the contingencies of history and culture, but also refusing to recognize the sign as a concrete force in Man's life, capable of directing his knowledge and his exchanges.

For the last twenty years Luis Prieto, in his published work in French, has reiterated that the systematic study of the codes (other than natural languages) which were invented by men for communication purposes is in and of itself an undertaking essential for an understanding of both the laws of communication in general and of the mechanisms of these systems of communication—the totality of which would make up the (Saussurian) semiology of communication (Prieto 1966, 1968, 1975). Among these systems the symbols of chemistry—referred to as such for a long time— and their combinatory rules constitute a very ancient code or series of codes (Crosland, 1962). Up to now this code has not been subjected to a genuine semiological study, except for the essay by Dagognet (1969, see Mounin 1970) which is more literary or poetical and metaphysical than scientific.

A quest for meaning characterizes the thought of this century everywhere in humanistic studies, and it is a quest justified by exploring and mapping old and new terrains of which the resources are still uncertain. The Monastery of Escorial today raises so many questions about the traditional ideas with which we treat the history of art in the sixteenth century, that they are the subject of this paper. It is in four parts: the Escorial as Mannerism; as estilo desornamentado, as Renaissance magic; and as an application of the aesthetic system of Saint Augustine.