The word “encyclopedia” comes to us from the Greek or, more precisely, is the deformed transcription, through Latin, of a erase in which we recognize a word composed of two elements, enkyklios and paideia, found in Quintilian in the ancient editions of De institutione oratoria (I, 10, 1). The expression itself, enkyklios paideia, appears only later, in the Hellenistic Age, under Roman domination, beginning with Dionysius of Halicarnassus (around the first century B.C.), but the concept goes back to the Eleatics, especially to Hippias of Elis who, if we can believe the account in Plato's Dialogues, taught this total knowledge, later known with the term enkyklopaideia.

I. Science, myth, magic: three components of knowledge, in other words three types of activity in man who, in interaction with his surrounding environment seeks to accomodate himself to the constraints which this environment imposes on him while at the same time seeing to his own immediate or far-reaching needs.

Rio de Janeiro, the opening of the carnival. On the Friday evening preceding Mardi Gras, the mayor of Rio hands over the keys to the city to King Momo, sovereign of the carnival. Immediately the samba breaks out in the brightly lit streets of the city. Newspapers, magazines and television feature big headlines describing the event and glorifying the holiday kingdom. They all report that the city is being shaken by winds of madness, that licence and inversions of every variety are rampant, that the leveling of individuals and the abolition of social distances illustrate the resolutions of conflicts in a collective dream of joy and happiness…

I am, by profession, a “literary scholar”, in contrast to “scientists”. More precisely, I am a specialist in ancient Greek literature. Yet, in an age such as ours in which so often there is discussion of the standing of the various academic disciplines, of the differences implied by their methods and their needs, and of the means for making them work together, it seems to me more and more that very serious confusion is tending to becloud some essential definitions: that of the study of literature in general, but even prior to that, the very definition of literature itself. It is very important to reach some understanding if we hope to avoid losing the richness of research and the very vitality of culture in the broadest sense of the term.

Nothing is more mysterious for man than the substance of his own body. Every society has attempted in its way to give a particular answer to this primary enigma in which man has his roots. Innumerable theories of the body that have followed each other during the course of history or that still coexist today are directly connected to the world views of these different societies. Even more, they are dependent on the conceptions of the person. The modern view of the body, that which anatomo-physiology incarnates, is a direct function of the emergence and development of individualism within the European societies of the Renaissance, especially in the 17th century, that marks a crystallization, very clear at the social level, of this tendency. Moreover, the explosion of the present knowledge of the body that makes anatomophysiology one theory among others, even though it is dominant, denotes another stage in individualism, a yet stronger falling back on the ego: the emergence of a society in which the atomization of individuals has become an important fact, an atomization submitted to or desired, according to the case, which does not appear in contradiction to present research in new ways of socializing, new forms of tribalism and so on, as is clearly indicated by what we agree to call the associative phenomenon. This is a characteristic of societies in which individualism is a structural fact: the development of an infinitely plural and polyphonic character. In these societies, in fact, the initiative is assumed by individuals or groups more than it is in a culture that tends to become a simple formal framework.

A citizen of Basel wrote in 1908, “When the great and long-expected day has finally arrived, and at the stroke of four the signal is given for the entrance of His Majesty Carnival, the city becomes the theater of intense life and activity whose meaning and value only the natives of Basel can appreciate”. This opinion, according to which only “Baselers” understand the real meaning of their fêtes, is still quite widespread, and it is almost a sacrilege that someone from the outside, such as I am, should try to explain the customs that give Basel its eminent place in folklore.

Stratification, that is, the structuring of society on the basis of differential social status of various groups, is a common feature of human societies. But the traditional pattern of social stratification in India has certain characteristics which are rather unique, and these have attracted and intrigued many scholars all over the world. The structural and cultural characteristics of the traditional pattern of stratification in India have deep roots in the past. They have stemmed from certain peculiar ethnic constellations that came into being some three thousand years ago, and they have been given many twists and turns by numerous socio-cultural currents and cross currents through all these millennia.

In his World Culture and the Black Experience Professor Ali Mazrui states that “by being left behind scientifically African languages gradually became incapable either of coping with or stimulating new areas of reflection and analysis”. He agrees with Professor Mohammed Hyder of Nairobi that “if a serious attempt were made to develop a ‘technical limb’ to Swahili, this would indeed be possible” by the simple device of writing redioaktivu for radioactive and thairodi for thyroid and so forth. He thinks, however, that “the majority of African languages have too few speakers to warrant a serious undertaking to convert them into scientific and technological languages.” In any case such an attempt “would be an extreme form of cultural autarchy”.

One of the dominant characteristics of Western philosophical and literary history of the last two centuries is that the object of desire (in the novel) and the object of perception (in epistemology) have been made to reveal aspects which are more complex than the classical age had suspected. With Descartes, everything was clear: the object is but a portion of extension. But with Kant things already become more complicated: the object has a mysterious. en-soi (an sich-in itself) which escapes us. And the object of desire, in literature, acquires such a mystic character that it loses its status of creature. “For what the romantic lover seeks is not really the beloved”, writes Eric Heller. “Intermingled with his erotic craving, inarticulate, diffuse, and yet dominating it, is the desire for spiritual salvation.” It is no longer the object (the creature) which one wishes to embrace, but the invisible reality mirrored in it. Desire does not tend so much toward objects as toward what lies beyond these objects where, it believes, it will find its salvation.

There is, at first glance, nothing easier than to summarize the history of one's life. Every human life, as the cliché puts it, is a true story, and everyone should be capable of writing the story of his own life. We are obviously not thinking of the resumés which are sometimes requested of us for professional or administrative reasons, in which we only mention major and even spectacular events; here we are referring to longer and more detailed descriptions, to writings in which the author tells the story of his life, to autobiographies. Is it difficult to compose them? In any case it is easier than writing a sonnet; to do that, one must know at least the rules for poetry, the construction of rhymes and the form for sonnets. The same is true for writing odes, epigrams and tragedies. Certain norms must be learned which codify the literary genre being used. Apparently there is nothing similar in the case of autobiographies. For who is not capable of recounting the important events of his existence to an attentive listener, events which he remembers and among which he can choose, leaving aside what is not important and speaking only of the essential? One need only have a certain gift for story-telling and know how to write. And even this second condition, in fact, is not essential, since an oral description can be transcribed by someone else, an author or an ethnographer, who respects the descriptions given by the autobiographer more or less faithfully.

It is with these virile words of the Martinique poet Aimé Сésaire, an expression of assurance regained, testimony to a self-confidence once stolen but then reconquered, that I would like to open my remarks.*

Africa was present at the last great international philosophical meeting two years ago in Montreal. I would like here to illustrate the meaning behind this presence and to explain the reasons why we wanted to be present, in order to avoid facile misunderstandings which could have weighty consequences.

The word “real” (from the Latin “res” = thing) was coined in the 13th century to signify “having Properties” (Pierce. 1958, p. 358), whereas a “model” refers to an analogical representation, the structure of which should correspond to the structure or properties of that which it represents. For Scudder the mind is a system of models and each mind develops different models. We all have a different reality in mind and so we each live in a slightly different world (Scudder, 1975). Hence the real nature of the model and the model nature of reality are often indistinguishable. A snail, for example, when exposed to four tactile stimuli per second (with a rod on his belly) will be compelled to crawl upon that non-existing coherent spatial surface (Brecher, 1966). For the snail four tactile stimuli per second correspond to, or are isomorphic with, the structure of a spatial surface, but it is impossible for the snail to “know” which of the two structures is real.

It has become banal to say that the object of the art of theatre, its artifact, is particularly fragile, that a theatrical performance— necessarily limited in time and not reproducible—is an ephemeral phenomenon. And yet it is a fact that the evanescence of the theatre arts explains better than any other circumstance the universality and the importance of iconography in this area. What could be more natural than the forever manifested desire to prolong the length of the theatrical phenomenon, to immortalize it in a certain sense.

When we think about our way of seeing, appreciating and understanding the different forms and manifestations of the life of the mind in human civilization, we become aware of a rather surprising fact. We are ready and spontaneously inclined to place them in a historical perspective and consequently to judge them according to a “historical consciousness”, with practically only one exception, that of science. No one finds it difficult to admit that the poetry of Homer, Virgil, Dante, Goethe or Baudelaire has always been an authentic poetry, attaining the heights of absolute value and even at times being incomparable, all the while recognizing that to understand this poetry, to appreciate its nobility and penetrate its meaning the effort must be made to put it within its historical context (and ideally to put oneself within that context) rather than to judge it according to the modes and forms of the poetry of our own day. What we have just said regarding poetry also applies to music, the fine arts, philosophy, law, social and political institutions, ethical concepts, religions and customs. In the case of science, on the other hand, such a historical consciousness is almost entirely lacking, even among cultivated people: the history of the sciences is not normally a part of the store of knowledge of these people, but this situation, far from being the cause of such a lack of historical consciousness, is rather the consequence. This is because we are unconsciously persuaded that science is not properly speaking a historical phenomenon; we have the impression that it has not had a real history.

My purpose in this paper is to present a non-Marxist conception of exploitation. While this analysis of exploitation may share features with a Marxist conception, its acceptability is not dependent upon a prior agreement with that world view.

For the last two centuries the novel has been the predominant literary genre; but the generic identity of the novel is far from established. Attempts to define the novel have focussed on formal features of particular types of texts, with the result that definitions of “the” novel have merely canonized one or another of the innumerable novelistic manifestations—Bildungsroman, eighteenth-century English novels, novels of the kind George Eliot or Henry James or Marcel Proust or Feodor Dostoevsky wrote, etc. By basing themselves upon such formal attributes, such definitions exclude a vast number of potential texts on essentially normative grounds. Further, the history of the novel has outgrown and contradicted those conceptions; no sooner than a theory has been formulated, the novel itself has moved forward, adapting to changing conditions and substituting for those formal properties a set of new ones, thus rendering the theories obsolete and revealing the inadequacy of formalist categories to define the genre. This predicament is certainly not unique to the theory of the novel but rather a necessary concomitant of any theoretical project; what makes any attempt to theorize about the novel particularly vulnerable is the genre's resistence to formalist analysis, its lack of precisely those organizing categories upon which a formalist theory of any genre can be built.

In fifteen years, one could well say tomorrow, we will enter into the twenty-first century and at the same time cross into a new millennium: the third since the birth of Christ. So the calendar is composed, dates are imposed on us to which we often attach a symbolic value. We celebrate the new year as a happy occasion, full of promises. We exchange wishes of prosperity, health and happiness with our relations and friends. Yet an anniversary is also the opportunity to turn back, to stop for a moment at the roadside and consider the journey so far accomplished.

God as a term denoting that which is ultimately real and absolutely valuational is simultaneously the necessary presupposition of all thought and action and also their ultimate goal. Yet, it is equally true that it is neither known nor even knowable in principle in the sense that any finite being or set of such beings may hope to know it in any determinate manner. Being generally conceived as beyond both space and time and transcending them in the sense that, even when considered as immanent in the world, It can never be regarded as completely revealed at any particular point in space or time, it cannot but be unknown and unknowable in the deepest sense of the word. Yet, however paradoxical the idea of God may be, it is a symbol of that which man as a self-conscious reflective being, who both knows and acts, has to encounter at every turn.

Three main issues are of cardinal interest in this paper. The first issue relates to the canons of discourse—the parameters that inform and guide any discussion—in African philosophy. These canons are accepted in one form or the other by the philosophers who have actually formulated some of them and those who have devoted their academical careers to the promotion of the positive study of African philosophy. Consequently this paper should be viewed in the same light as C.E.M. Joad's A Critique of Logical Positivism in which the “Great Tradition” in philosophy is classically expounded and defended against the onslaught of the philosophical exuberance and extraordinary claims of the logical positivists in the sense that it is a rejoinder to the attack on African philosophy by those who actually may want to be known as African logical neo-positivists.

It is not easy to understand the history and origin of the different peoples of today's world inasmuch as scientific data are partial and seemingly contradictory. These roughly fall into three categories:

1. - prehistoric data are remains of cultures and human skeletons. They allow us to affirm that such and such a region was inhabited in such and such an epoch. Their absence, however, means nothing, and they hardly permit the attribution of a biological origin to the peoples of the past because of the rapid evolution of the forms and dimensions of the skeletons during the course of time;

2. - present genetic data give an interesting picture of the biological relationship of peoples and of the way they diverged throughout history. Their interpretation is delicate, however, especially when it concerns small populations;

3. - “biometric” data involve the measurement of pigmentation, dimensions and proportions of the body and organs. They are susceptible to very rapid variations during the course of history and mainly give an indication of the adaptation of the people to a certain kind of environment: tropical, temperate, cold or arctic, plain or altitude, forest, savannah, prairie, steppe or desert.