The five texts listed at the front of this edition of Diogenes are the work of the “Equipe de recherches en littérature africaine comparée” (ERLAC), which is headed by Mr. Thomas Melone, professor at the Federal University of Cameroon. They are part of a collection of studies carried out by this center, shortly to be published under the title: African Miscellany (Mélanges Africains).

Myth is like religion: both present one and the same fundamental problem—that of the whole of existence.

Two ideas have been linked in human thought for millenia: age and wisdom. Until now, no one has questioned their close relationship. A myth common to all humanity is that of the wisdom of the elder, which certainly answers a human need for security. It is also an intellectual response to observation based on experience. So why does one call this “myth”? One means here by myth a concept or idea which, having been given value by a group, a society, or indeed, humanity, guides their attitudes and behaviour. It appears that old age is a condition attached to the notion of wisdom by human agreement. This determines the attitude of the individual toward himself and his environment —his conduct, motivation and life-style. At first glance, wisdom would seem to be compounded from a lifetime's observation and experience. Thus the biological factor of longevity is the basis of wisdom. Other psychological, intellectual and moral phenomena are balanced on this physical structure. It remains to be seen if today the myth of age as symbol of wisdom can maintain its integrity in the midst of socioeconomic and political transformations, in a world of expanding scientific knowledge and in an age of mass communication. What are the consequences in a changing world for values based on longevity and experience?

The Beti with whom this study is concerned belong to the “so-called Pahouin group,” which includes, besides the Beti, the Bulu and the Fang. This group occupies large parts of Gabon, Equatorial Guinea and southern Cameroon. The region where the Beti live has a quite varied relief; the vegetation is extremely luxuriant, worthy of the great tropical forest, and there are many hills and streams. The Beti population, organized along what are known as “anarchic” lines, is made up essentially of farmers and hunters, as are most of the forest populations. The flora and fauna are also quite varied; they are the same that appear in typical Beti tales and fables.

Research into the psychological characteristics of a people in the context of its so-called literary production has been frequently criticized, and not without good reason. In an article published in the Revue de Psychologie des peuples, Mr. Brossaud of the Center for the Study of Civilizations at Nanterre—a department under the direction of Professor Guy Michaud—has emphasized the difficulties presented by the literary approach in the field of ethno-psychology. If the ethno-psychologist demonstrates a certain suspicion towards anything that does not represent pure ethno-psychology, this is because the interest of a poem or a play is essentially of an aesthetic nature. It would certainly be a perilous task to look for the characteristics of the French mentality, for example, in the literary works of contemporary France.

There is nothing to suggest academic exercise in attempts to define sport. A politics of sport which expects coherence presupposes such definition, and behind this definition stands a whole conception of man. What is sport? The question is well worth being asked, for it is thrust upon us.

The linguistic theory of the Kabbala, as it is explained in the writings of the Kabbalists of the 13th century—or at least basically implied in them—comes to rest upon a combination of the above-mentioned interpretations of the Book of Yetsira with the doctrine of the Name of God as a basis of that language. What is essentially new in this is the way in which the scope and range of a divine language—as understood by the Kabbalists—is brought into unique prominence over and beyond the realm of created man. In the Book of Yetsira there could still be some doubt as to whether the ten Sefiroth and the 22 letters were themselves thought of as created; and as we have seen, there is even considerable evidence in favor of this conception. In the doctrines and teachings of the Kabbalists, however, this is no longer the case. The ten original numbers have become ten emanations of the divine fullness of being. Where these are concerned one can only now talk in terms of creation in a meta-phorical sense. In the Sefiroth of the Kabbalists, God manifests himself in ten spheres or aspects of his activity. The 22 letters are themselves part and parcel of this area; they are configurations of the divine energies, which are themselves grounded in the world of the Sefiroth, and whose appearance in the world either beyond, outside or beneath this realm of the divine emanations is simply a gradual process of de-refinement and an intensified crystallization of those innermost signs of all things, as they correspond to the progressively evolving and increasingly condensed media of the creation. All creation, from the world of the highest angel to the lower realms of physical nature, refers symbolically to the law which operates within it—the law which governs in the world of the Sefiroth. In everything something is reflected—one might just as well say—from the realms which lie in the center of it. Everything is transparent, and in this state of transparency everything takes on a symbolic character. This means that every thing, beyond its own meaning, has something more, something which is part of that which shines into it or, as if in some devious way, that which has left its mark behind in it, forever. The Book of Yetsira was still far removed from this type of interpretation. For the Kabbalists, however, the Sefiroth and the letters, in which the word of God is explained, or which constitute the word of God, were simply two different methods in which the same reality might be represented in a symbolic manner. In other words: whether the process of the manifestation of God, his stepping outside under the symbol of the light, and his diffusion of knowledge and reflection is what is represented, or whether it is to be understood to be the activeness of the divine language, of the self-differentiating word of the creation or even of the self-explanatory name of God. In the last analysis, this, for the Kabbalists, is no more than a question of the choice between symbolic structures which are in themselves equally arranged—the symbolism of light and the symbolism of language.