Holy Wednesday, 1953, was a great day for Santiago, a village of the Highland Maya Indians in the Central American Republic of Guatemala. On the church porch, strung up on a post decorated with lush tropical leaves, hung a four-foot puppet clothed in Indian costume with a large sombrero and a wooden mask, into whose mouth a long cigar had been planted by his worshipers. This, I had learned, was Judas Iscariot—but a strange Judas it was, for, instead of being burned, stoned, or otherwise reviled and derided as is usually the case with village Judas figures, it was cared for by Indian priests constantly on guard, presented with gifts of fruit, candles, and incense, and altogether made far more fuss of than the saint whose fiesta this bright Eastern week should have been: Jesucristo, the Mayanized Christ. The thousand bananas and hundreds of cocoa beans and other tropical fruit, for instance, which the young Indian municipal officials had gathered in a three-day trek toward the Pacific coast, had been presented to the puppet before being hung up among the gilded wooden columns of the main altar inside the church.

Is history at present in a position to sustain the dialogue of our times? Is it not rather, like an album of faded pictures, a curiously anachronistic story for a century infatuated with progress, speed, and productivity?

Cyberneticians define information and the quantity of information in mathematical terms, apprehending them independently from their meaning. When they put aside their conceptualizations and symbolizations, foreign to the semantic content of messages, we see them hesitant about their domain of prospection.

The bourgeoisie—that fundamental reality of our civilization—has not i yet found its historian. Although there are more studies, relatively speaking, on the period following the Revolution, the evolution of the bourgeoisie prior to the eighteenth century is known to us only through fragmentary research, local and limited. The attention of historians is attracted solely to the exceptional cases in which the financial powers happen to play a direct political role—Colbert, Jacques Coeur, Fugger, Bardi, or Buonsignori. The great expansion of the northern cities during the thirteenth century inspired the researches of Henri Pirenne and his disciples; the high point in the development of Italian cities was studied by the Sapori-Luzzatto school, but the sum of this evolution has not been synthesized. There is not a single general history of the bourgeoisie, yet entire libraries are dedicated to feudal society.

There is no end to possible theories of motivation, with their corresponding ways of defining and classifying motives. Our hero can do what he does because he is of some particular religion, race, nationality, social class, historical tradition, occupation, personality type, or glandular makeup or has been psychologically wounded in one or another of the ways specified by the various competing experts. If we say that he did as he did because of the situation in which he was placed, there can be endless variation in our terms for what he did; and the situation in which he did it can be interpreted in terms of varying scope, ranging from a view of his act as done against a background of one or many gods more or less actively concerned with his conduct or against a purely secular background of “nature” (“environment” variously interpreted); or we may place his act with reference to the most minutely particular of circumstances, as when explaining exactly why Mr. Q., Republican, retired, Yale graduate, wearing glasses, and just having quarreled with his wife, turned his car exactly as he did in the particular combination of factors that made up one particular traffic accident. In view of such a motivational jungle, a good basic proposition to have in mind when contemplating the study of motives would be: Anybody can do anything for any reason.

African evolution in the south Sahara traces its origin to very ancient times; it began when the Negroes established friendly or hostile contact with representatives of the Mediterranean and then of the oriental civilizations. From the fifteenth century on, attempts at colonization or penetration helped to accelerate a movement that was to precipitate the two world wars. Thirty years ago, when the so-called colonial problem moved from the national to the international level, these conflicts and their consequences had already given rise overseas to imperious material needs demanding immediate satisfaction as well as to social and political aspirations calling for appropriate reforms. In half a century African evolution had reached the prerevolutionary stage.