À la suite des États-Unis, où le don a été façonné par les milliardaires comme produit financier de rêve et acte de satisfaction morale, les classes moyennes françaises donnent de plus en plus à des associations d’intérêt général. Le financement privé par le mécénat populaire connaît un véritable succès de marketing, que l’on peut qualifier de « marketing social ». Mais, parallèlement au développement du mouvement associatif, on assiste, depuis les années 90, à l’émergence de nouveaux samaritains, véritables despotes éclairés (...) : les fondations. À côté des donateurs charitables de la société civile, le donateur philanthropique se positionne entre l’action de l’État-providence et les organismes paritaires chargés de porter l’intérêt général. Leur puissance leur permet de redéfinir cet intérêt général à leur profit. Le boum de la philanthropie est donc lié à une certaine incapacité de l’État-providence, grand redistributeur central, à étendre sa couverture à tous les citoyens, et surtout, aux causes lointaines. Un avenir radieux est donc promis à la philanthropie. (shrink)

RésuméEn introduisant les concepts disjoints de temps et d'espace absolus, Newton dote la physique d'un double cadre encore reçu au début du XXe siècle. Par l'énoncé du principe de Relativité restreinte, Einstein joint les dew cadres en un seul, l'espace‐temps, lui‐même disjoint de son contenu, l'univers physique. Par le biais du principe d'équivalence, la Relativité générale réalise la fusion du cadre de l'espace‐temps et de son contenu, l'univers physique. Cette vision «classique» est cependant perturbée par les conséquences des principes de (...) la Physique quantique, qui jettent comme une sorte de voile sur la structure spatio‐temporelle de l'espace‐temps relativiste, fondement de la Cosmologie contemporaine: le concept même d'espace‐temps, plus précisément sa séparabilité sont remis en question.Il en résulte une situation de précarité qui affecte jusqu'aux modkles d'univers fournis par la Cosmologie contemporaine, celui du Grand Boum compris. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content: Five Poems DEBORAH WARREN Bugonia hic vero subitum dictu mirabile monstrum aspiciunt, liquefacta boum per viscera toto stridere apes utero et ruptis effervere costis. —Vergil, Georgics IV The covert’s dark, but Aristaeus sees —beyond it, in the oleandered meadow, walking to her wedding with her maids— Eurydice, as sweet as early windfall apples to the gods of the bitter dead. She runs, from shifting shade to sun (...) to shade until, in a shock of sudden sun, she sways, blinded, blundering into an adder’s kiss, and while the bridegroom waits by the bridal bed, she waits to be undressed by worms instead. But Aristaeus pays for the assault. The mead-gods visit on his apiaries wax-moth, mites, foulbrood and chalk-disease until an oracle orders a hekatomb: after nine days the myrtle-nymphs perform a miracle, and out of the carcases crawl fat new sun-furred drones to work the comb, a gift of the mead-gods who, with the poet, praise the teams of bright collaborating bees as little Romans—parvos Quirites. arion 27.1 spring/summer 2019 And what about Eurydice? The swarm goes humming on, a small Rome in a hive. The story’s not about Eurydice’s second chance, or whether she’ll survive. Eurydice’s a minor character; she’s only one girl, sui generis. Besides, no cattle-trick exists for her. The gods can let the apiaries thrive and armies—even empires—endure; one girl’s more complicated to replace. 44 five poems The Tithonus Club We can begin our visit with the Day Room where, in wheelchairs, some with canes or walkers, members sit: a fraternity so ancient that the confrères mostly ignore each other (club tradition). The dues are paid in decades; no one has an outstanding balance—Sir? Whoa, steady, there! Sit down... yes. Here’s your blanket. The badge of membership—the club regalia? Laminated ceremonial bracelets bear the motto Do Not Resuscitate (legend which, in practice, is seldom honored). Eleven-thirty, gentlemen; lunch is served, and now a little toast while the television mesmerizes the aides: Messieurs, your health! Deborah Warren 45 Aphrodite at the Old-Age Home —for Aphrodite Kalogeris “Honey,” the night nurse said to Aphrodite, “let me fix your bib. Look, Aphrodite! Here’s your juice and crackers, Aphrodite! “She doesn’t speak a blessed word of English,” the night nurse told us, “but she understands as good as if we spoke to her in Greek.” Aphrodite’s ears were as grotesque as the pore-coarse nose that bloomed across her face, but she heard her name: When Aphrodite rose and, beatific, dreamed across the room, traversing a happiness none of us could hear, she spoke a language older than herself but still her own—a dialect of beauty able to translate the fetid air. 46 five poems Climbing Etna We’d see the lava, nights, from the town square, as if the sun—an egg of fire—broke at dusk, threading its incandescent yolk down a mountain hanging in black air. Every night we’d scan the dark horizon looking for those streaks, and every night they took a while to find, however bright: Etna, it seemed, had spent the evening rising off the earth, to hover even higher, as if the mountain meant not to be found. And then, today, we ran the flows to ground, climbing up to the rolling burns of fire— closer, into the shimmering air and hiss that glanced up from the thick and red-flecked river —until our soles were smoking. But the lava sang, inside the mountain: Come, discover the fire’s origin and genesis; more—the heart of the world, in its enceinte of blind white heat. Seeing the lava course wasn’t enough, or watching the rock decant the sun; what brought us up here was the force— the hot loins—of a lightning god as dark as thunder; and, like Eve, like Semele, we wanted to approach. But there’s a spark, a jewel older than geology: stop shy of it—of finding the fire’s source, of closing in on what you shouldn’t see. Deborah Warren 47 Human Sucking strength... (shrink)