The newborn opens its eyes when it comes into the world. We close the eyes of the dead because they are no longer part of the world of the living. It is through looking that we enter the world, that we take possession of it, and that we leave it. We open or close our eyes to the living beings and things that surround us. Of prime importance among these living beings are other humans, who may resemble or be different from us, but whose eyes also look. From this perspective, to live is to look at other people and at ourselves. Artists, particularly those who work with light and looking, such as painters, photographers, or film-makers, show us that art is above all seeing life: we look at the other who has been painted, photographed, or filmed. At the same time a photograph or painting of this other tells us who we are and what type of relationship we have with the world. For looking is never neutral. Every look, from wherever it comes, is imbued with culture. In art, looking is part of writing. But, when we look at others, how do we see them? Do we see them? The blind may have poor sight, yet, because they have bodies, sensibilities, minds, and other faculties that enable them to enter into relations with others, they have a way of looking.

About fifteen years ago I took a journey through the famous work of Mary Shelley, and the interpretation of her warning call. Let me say briefly why I am interested in Mary Shelley.

At the beginning of the 80s I was invited by a journal to reflect on what was totally new at that time: the birth of children conceived asexually and outside the body by in vitro fertilization. At that time very little work existed on these issues, though they were soon to generate a great deal of ink. The only publications to have appeared were Jacques Testart's very first book, De l'éprouvette au bébé spectacle (From the test tube to the miracle baby), and René Frydman's L'irrésistible désir de naissance (The irresistible desire for birth).

‘One thing, however, seems certain: the manuscripts should be completely deciphered and transcribed, and studied as a group, as an individual manuscript, as an individual page (in many cases!), and then put in chronological order.

For example: yesterday I carefully examined the results of the page by page transcription of the manuscripts of Daybreak. I drew a sort of diagram of all the aphorisms in Daybreak following their appearance in the different manuscripts. Two things came out of this, which are basically the two sides of the same coin, that is: 1) the evolution of Daybreak, and 2) the exact chronology of each manuscript.

Feminist groups in Russia are rather recent initiatives. Most of them were organized in the very end of the cycle of mass protest mobilization in the end of 1989 - beginning of 1990s. 1990 is a starting point for Russian feminism. Moscow is an unquestionable center of Russian feminism. There are also feminist groups in St. Petersburg, Tver, Naberezhnye Chelny, Myrny, Petroskoi and other cities of Russia - industrial and educational centres. Some of these groups constitute the network of consortium, which is coordinated by the American feminist foundations. Several groups are supported by Frauenanstiftung of Germany. In 1990 first Forum of Women initiatives was held in Dubna; in 1992 - second Forum took place. Women initiatives publish their newsletters and magazines, circulating on the Federal level of the network.

The ‘dehuman’ and the inhuman are not, even partially, exterior to the human, as are the material and the living, the animal and the bestial; they represent rather the extremes, the very limits of the human. The inhuman forms the interior facet of the boundary which makes us human and concerns us as such. In that sense, it is never exterior to us.

Relationships to time through memory or projection form a particular axis along which the post-communist space reshapes, constructs and understands its identity. Caught between a public rejection of the communist past and a need for roots in the recent past, if only for narrative reasons, and cornered by the near future in the name of transition, the postcommunist societies face a dilemma in their search for identity. The weight of this dilemma can be directly measured by the level of consensus around the passing of certain ‘reparation’ laws, such as the restitution of nationalised property or ‘lustration’, however it can also be seen in other public debates. This sheds light on the difficulties that a society may experience in adopting a collectively-accepted narrative, which then forms the basis on which it constructs its identity.

It is difficult to give a precise definition of hypertext since, in addition to its use as a technical tool, there is the conceptual dimension of a space for organizing memory and mapping connections. People often confuse the hypertext system, which makes it possible, through the digital medium, to link objects of different types, with the products (compositions?) created by means of this technique. Hypertext cannot be limited to either of these aspects. Like ink and paper, it is a medium for composition and expression and should also be seen as such. Whatever its purpose, and even if it involves collecting together pages on the Web in an ad hoc manner, hypertext delineates areas of knowledge and thus helps to produce a dual temporality, one that belongs to documents, the other characterized by instant actualization (which coincides with the eradication of any distance of space or time between the items of information).

The scene takes place in O'Higgins Park, in Santiago, Chile, on 1 October 1995. Some women have just taken their place on the stage and the enthusiastic audience is applauding, the women have started singing accompanied by a guitar, but they cannot be heard, for the audience is still applauding. One of the women gets up. Like the others, she is wearing a white blouse and a long black skirt, she is old and her hair is grey. She moves to the front of the stage, chooses her place and stops, her eyes search the horizon but do not wander aimlessly, her eyes are fixed somewhere between the here and the hereafter. When she finds what she is looking for, she raises her right hand to wave a white handkerchief, and the dance begins. The audience, suddenly attentive, watches. And what do they see? Not the woman alone on the stage, but the empty space which she traces. The empty space disturbs us, as Chilean spectators, because the cueca, the national folklore dance, is danced by two people, or it is not danced at all. The invisible other is invoked by this woman's every gesture and we do not smile when faced with the absence of her man because we have a premonition that she is not pretending, we have a premonition that she can see him. The image of women dancing alone has become one of the symbols of the struggle of the families of the disappeared under the dictatorship of General Pinochet. The families are commemorating, on 1 October 1995, the twentieth anniversary of their organization into an association in 1975. The term “the disappeared” has progressively become accepted to indicate the victims of a novel, coercive practice in Chile, since the coup d’état on 11 September 1973. The forced disappearance of people differs from political assassination, as Amnesty International never ceases to indicate in the various reports which it commissions on them. In the Chilean case, this speciality is in part due to the security system which has taken on the responsibility of destroying all organized opposition to the military dictatorship: the DINA, the intelligence service created by the military junta, which is only answerable for its actions to the junta. More fundamentally, the special character of disappearance is due to the invisibility of the victim's body and to the doubt that this invisibility arouses within the victim's family circle: the disappeared is not identified as dead because his death is never certified, on the other hand his sudden and unexplained absence indicates that he is a person in danger and that this danger extends to all those who notice his absence.

Even before Erving Goffman, in his studies of interaction, develops and makes the most of the metaphor of a daily life entirely composed of representation, or even stage acting, sociology had already stolen from theatre a number of terms and modes particular to it: the concept of “role”, to take the most classic example, but also the term “actor”, which sociology in fact translates as social actor.

In May 2000 a group of researchers, university teachers and publishers met to consider the impact of the new media for knowledge transmission on the intellectual world and listed the projects ongoing in France for publishing content electronically. Eighteen months later no one is able to say whether there will one day be a significant body of electronic publishing with French content. Such a transformation calls for a moment's consideration. So what has happened?

My title is deliberately provocative. It is intended to give pause to all those - quite a few, I imagine - who are convinced that they owe nothing at all to religion in any shape or form and who, as a result, think they have lost nothing in the recent difficulties that have stripped the Christian churches of most of the hold they still retained over European society. Because it goes without saying, in today's thinking, that religion is a question of personal choice, individual participation and private belief. This is not the kind of religion I am talking about. The thesis I should like to advance is that, whatever our beliefs, church or degree of involvement, until quite recently all of us used to owe something to religion, and that we have all lost something in the enormous change which has carried us with it over the last thirty years and which, among other things, is currently completing its liquidation of the vestiges of religious organisation that remained among us. This something is directly related to the ‘dehumanisation of the world’ with which we are now so preoccupied.

It is understandable that, since the fall of the Berlin wall, researchers interested in the social and political upheavals brought about by this phase of history should have concentrated their attentions on what had been the immediate sphere of influence of the Soviet centre of power. However we are within our rights today to ask why our understanding of the structural (economic and social) transformations in what is conveniently called the ‘post-communist’ period and space, and of post-bipolarisation regional relationships, should be confined to that region of the world corresponding to the ex-USSR and the Eastern countries.

The notion of ‘gentle barbarism’ was developed during our critical analysis of the discourses and mechanisms of ‘modernisation’ that emerged in the context of the movement for permanent reform (in education, the public services and business management), in which public bodies and businesses have been engaged since the 1980s. These discourses and mechanisms of modernisation seem to us to represent a blind spot where sociological analysis is concerned.

Rock art - paintings, and pecked or engraved images on rocks, whether in caves, shelters, or in the open-air - exists in all but a couple of countries of the world [Bahn, 1998], It spans a period from at least 35,000 years ago to historic times, comprises many millions of images from hundreds of thousands of sites, and thus constitutes the vast majority of the world's art, and art history. It is a phenomenon that has seen a huge upsurge of interest in the last few decades, with not only numerous publications and conferences, but also a proliferation of calendars, T-shirts, mugs, jewellery, and garments bearing rock art images. Many people who are famous for other things have worked on or published rock art - for example, scholars such as Mary Leakey or authors like Joy Adamson or Erle Stanley Gardner. Rock art studies have always been the domain of the “amateur” as well as the “professional”, and amateurs remain of huge importance in this field. Indeed, most of the principal rock art organisations, along with their journals, were created by, are run by, and consist largely of amateur enthusiasts who include some of the world's foremost specialists. The growing popularity of the art brings an ever-increasing risk of pollution, damage, and vandalism, as well as outright thefts of wall or cave images. The rock art associations are dedicated to the discovery, recording, and conservation of rock art, and play a major role in striving to teach schoolchildren and adults alike about the incalculable importance of this irreplaceable, universal heritage and about the need to respect and protect it.

Mesopotamian works are usually anonymous; at best the names of some copyists are known. Some significant exceptions, such as Saggil-kênam-ubbib, the author of Théodicée babylonienne, Kabti-ilî-Marduk, author of the ‘myth of Erra’, and Shamash-muballit, the son of Warad-Sîn, who may have been the author of a hymn to the goddess Inanna, do not make up for this lacuna.

The fall of the Communist regimes in the countries of Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, and their commitment to social, political and economic reform, represent two aspects of a deep process of social transformation. As in all socio-political transformation which overturns the previous political and economic order, this process needed to develop an ideology and a concrete image of the future in order to mobilize their populations, to invent that certain political rationality which is indispensable for bringing reform to a successful conclusion, and to produce a certain coherence in the changes which occurred in the various fields of life in society. Unlike the preceding revolutions which had gradually nourished hopes for a better life and had expanded the horizons of human possibility with difficulty, movements towards democracy in the former Communist countries found an almost ready-made model.

In their major book devoted to the Herbert Spencer ‘affair’, Daniel Becquemont and Laurent Mucchielli profess themselves to be quite ready to share the opinion of Georges Guille-Escuret: the 19th-century British thinker would appear to dominate ‘discreetly our spontaneous perceptions‘. The forgotten philosopher in France appears to colour the moral atmosphere of the West. He appears to be, without our knowing it, our major contemporary. The surprising lapse of memory in which his name has found itself stuck fast appears to guarantee the triumph of his ideas. To unearth his name and resubmit his work to scrutiny takes on a certain urgent character when seen from this perspective: it would mean putting the so-called ideological evidence of our time to the test of the history of ideas. To render unto Spencer that which is Spencer's would be to remove from this so-called evidence the ‘immediate and unquestionable character’ with which it invests itself.

Among the most important problems related to Russia's development, which are considered in depth in various kinds of forum and the media, both here and in the west, there is, however, an almost total absence of such a crucial strategic topic as working out an urban policy. In the meantime the crises that Russia is continually facing as it undergoes reforms are caused by the disparity between the tasks that have to be completed and the stage of civilization we are at. In order to fast forward to another level we have only the strategic role of the cities, in particular the largest of them, to guide us. Without real cities with a developed urban culture no effective solution can be found to the problems we are up against, whether they are economic, cultural, social or human rights issues.

Increasingly in certain circles the idea is growing up that ‘intellectual property is theft’. With companies being concentrated into multimedia groups, literary works being captured electronically, products being created for a mass-media culture, commercial exchange on a worldwide scale, the legitimacy of the creator's literary and artistic property is being challenged. Originally the ‘droit d'auteur’ or copyright were mainly protective rules laid down by law to regulate the author's status. The legal system of literary and artistic ownership still ensures that creators receive revenue each time their works are reproduced, adapted or communicated to the public. In addition the droit d'auteur has another aspect through the existence of moral right, which establishes a personal link between author and work. It is true that moral right, which is sometimes seen as an obstacle to economic development, is almost non-existent in the systems of law recognizing copyright, which do not incorporate the same balance of interests as between the author and the company. On the other hand, in its formulation the droit d'auteur takes a more human approach and to say that intellectual property is theft would be equivalent to weakening, or even eradicating, a system that protects individual creators facing the reality of the exploitation of their work. This is why this criticism of legitimacy should, in my view, be considered in the context of a debate about the status of the author. The electronic capture of creative works has meant that the general public has easier access to them.

My article has the title ‘Are there democratic values?’ In one sense the question is ironic: there are democratic values. And new ones appear every day. Nevertheless the question has a literal sense if you consider certain aspects of the regime or mode of existence of values in contemporary thought.

The idea that values are no longer what they used to be is not new: the classical line of argument on this question underlines the contrast between, on the one hand, the philosophy of the Ancients, for whom evaluation referred to a normative nature, to ideals, criteria of perfection, embedded in the order of things and, on the other, the philosophy of the Moderns, for whom we are the ones who make the decisions (we are the ones who do the evaluating). Objectivism of values on the one hand, humanist subjectivism on the other. I would like to leave aside this problem and the difficulties which it raises (notably: who is Ancient and who is Modern?), and try to approach in another way whether there is a specifically contemporary mode of being for values.