At a time when there is general speculation about civilization, or civilizations, as well as on what the relationships are between Western and other civilizations, it is logical to try to define precisely what the men of ancient Greece thought about the question, since Western civilization owes so much to them.

It may be that they did not think about it at all, or at least they thought nothing that could be expressed in modern terms. The fact is that ancient Greece did not have a word for civilization: the French and English words come from Latin, not from Greek, while the first examples given in French and English dictionaries are the privileged example of Greece, “the civilization of Greece.” Did the Greeks use a paraphrase? Or a different word? If we consult a English-Greek dictionary we are surprised to see that the word given for “civilized” is hèmeros) that is, “docile,” “tamed.”

The very founding of the town Neuwied-am-Rhein was closely linked to policies and practices of religious toleration. It was the hope and intent of Count Friedrich of Wied (1618-1698) that a town, well planned and advantageously located, would bring economic relief and eventually prosperity to his small land, which had suffered particularly in the last years of the Thirty Years’ War. From the outset he saw that the best means of attracting residents would be to guarantee as large a degree of religious freedom as possible.

The Treaty of Westphalia provided a viable legal framework within which Protestants, adherents to the Augsburg Confession be they Lutherans or Reformed, and Roman Catholics could exercise their religion within the German Empire. The treaty basically defined three types of religious practice: the exercitium religionis publicum, which gave the members of the minority religion in any territorial unit full freedom to worship openly; the exercitium privatum, restricting the worship of the congregation to specific places; and finally the devotio domestica, which allowed the “individual exercise of religion by the common subject, practiced by him alone, without further ecclesiastical ceremony, ... within the walls of his own living quarters.” The treaty further offered the beneficium emigrandi, and specified the conditions under which forced or voluntary emigration was to take place.

Any historical reflection of the fête (or feast) must depart from the observation of its actual conditions of subsistence, in order to understand the veritable “festive explosion” that has marked historical production this last decade. Although it is not specifically historical, the emergence of the fête (and in particular of the ancient feast) as a preferential object of study, leads one in effect to wonder about the reasons that have brought about that, in a given moment, an entire scientific class, in this case the French historians, has felt attracted by a theme which until then was treated only in folklorist collections. Seemingly, three reasons, that pertain as much to the recognized function of the historical discipline as to its internal evolution, may be cited. It is clear, above all, that the increased research into the ancient feast constitutes a sort of compensation, as a means of understanding, to the disappearing system of civilization in which the fête had, or rather, is considered as having had, a central role. The historical analysis is therefore charged to explain, in its idiom and with its technique, the nostalgia evoked by a present which has eliminated the fête defined as an act of community participation. On these grounds it then becomes possible to rediscover one of the major functions assigned—implicitly or explicitly—to history today: to restore to the sphere of knowledge a vanished world of which contemporary society feels the heritage, but as an unfaithful heir. That the operation of understanding is difficult to separate from the fabrication of an imaginary past collectively desired, is, in the end, insignificant, unless it is meant to underline those themes that, by being the most neglected by our present age, become the most symptomatic of a world we have lost. The fête, vidently, is one of these.

Since 1963 almost 200 films have been made by African authors. This provides a suitable quantity of documents to permit an attempt to study them as a group. These films are the work of a hundred directors and so perhaps can allow an analysis of their personalities. But can we suppose that they represent all of Africa? This is hardly probable. The film-makers and their crews belong to the upper social levels. Educated, well-traveled on other continents, highly qualified intellectually and professionally, they associate with the leading class even though their financial means may not always suffice to realize their aspirations. They belong to the intelligentsia. But, because of the educative power of film, we can foresee that they will contribute to the formation of the masses. The Africa presented in their films is not that of today but maybe that of tomorrow.

In 1927 at the fifth Solvay Council, that reunited all the aristocracy of theoretical physics, Einstein, regarding with solicitude the new-born “quantum mechanics” of Louis de Broglie, Schrödinger, Heisenberg and Dirac, discerned with his usual sagacity an indelible mark that was destined to become, with time, a subject of passionate discussion among those whose vocation is to adulate this enigmatic and capricious personality.

In 1926 Born had given the prophetic stroke to the portrait. Turning to probability as to the official factotum of the reconciliation of the continuous and the discontinuous-here, the associated wave and particle-he transmuted the waves of de Broglie and Schr6dinger into an undulatory calculus o f probabilities, deducing, from a surprising principle, consequences that were even more surprising but always verified through experiment. Parting from the idea that the intensity of the wave is the probability of the detection of the particle at a given point and time, Born replaced the classic principle of addition of partial probabilities with his “principle of the addition of partial amplitudes” that are, as in classical optics, represented by “complex” dimensions, with one real part and one imaginary part. In general, the square of the module of the sum of amplitudes will be the probability. This expression contains, of course, the terms “square” and “rectangular.” The first, if they were alone, would give the former law; as for the second, they express the existence of phenomena of interference that are at the origin of the thousand and one well verified paradoxes of the “new mechanics “-the one thousand and first being the one under consideration here.

The myths and tales relative to the Raven are among the most evident cultural elements which unite the peoples of Northeast Asia and those of Northwest America. In Asia as in America, the Raven appears in the role of civilizing hero and also in that of trickster and mythological rascal; moreover, a good number of subjects have a resonance on both sides of the Bering Sea. To identify these subjects, an attentive analysis of the folklore is often necessary, but the results are quite clear. Legends of the Raven are to be found in all the tribes of Kamchatka, of the peninsula of the Chukchees and of Alaska: among the Itelmenes, the Koriaks, and the Chukchees, among the Athabascans of the North, the Eyaks, the Tlingits, the Haïdas, the Tsimshians, the Kwakiutls and other Indians of the northwest coast, and finally among the Eskimos and the Aleuts. These legends create a well-defined folklore region beyond whose limits we find either echoes of the different themes of the Raven (a result of the direct influence of Chukchee folklore or of the Indians of the Northwest) or very primitive tales in which the Raven does not appear as the civilizing hero, and is presented minus his religious-mythological halo primarily in a negative aspect. We find these kinds of stories not only on the periphery of the area of diffusion of the Raven epic but also in other folklore areas, often quite distant.