It is with the Greeks that I shall be mainly concerned. I know much less about those sons of Aeneas, the Romans, whose mother was Venus (so legend and Lucretius tell us), but with whom, for all that, I have never fallen so much in love as I have with the Greeks. In speaking of elections among the Greeks I shall be concerned with their ideas about principles, mainly as those ideas are recorded by Plato and Aristotle, rather than with the methods which actually they used: in other words, I shall attempt an analysis of the general political thinking that lay behind their behaviour, rather than a description of the working of their particular electoral systems. But I must first of all lay a foundation—a foundation of distinctions and definitions—before I attempt that analysis.

Cultural phenomena never exist except in connexion with the agents of human life that make them possible and endow them with their authentic value. Culture is not of itself a fertilising rain—nothing human can be ‘of itself, an island of abstraction. Literary themes, then, are things that happen in and to someone's historical life. Their value is manifested to its full extent when the theme that interests us is seen as the expression, through an individual, of a particular people, who, in giving life to the literary theme, achieves its self-realisation in terms of a value structure. We have rather too frequently thought about comparative literature as if its motivating force were always some theme common to several literatures, and as if these literatures were limited to the historico-geographical space in which the migratory theme takes up residence and progressively ‘evolves’. This over-abstract and anti-vital idea leads to another, the notion of the theme in its pure state, the Urtema, in many comparative studies.

The spread of Western and Christian civilisation all over the world, during the last four hundred years, has been marked, on all continents, by the disappearance of large numbers of technically less advanced peoples, or by their numerical regression, which in turn was accompanied by the decadence and crumbling of their cultural inheritance. But such feats of extinction are not the prerogative of the white man of modern civilisation. Every point on the globe, at all times, has witnessed struggles for life, where victory went to the stronger. The extinction of Neanderthal man, some thirty thousand years ago, was probably due to the appearance of Cro-Magnon and Chancelade man, who entered Europe at that time and had attained a more advanced technical civilisation than their predecessors. In historic times, we know of several cases in which peoples were driven back and annihilated by neighbours whose civilisation was more advanced and who were endowed with a greater expansive force. The Negritos of South-east Asia had been ousted from a part of their original territory by the Malayans and Chinese long before the arrival of the Europeans. Several Melanesian tribes were exterminated in the course of the ancient Polynesian migrations. These examples could be multiplied. They are in fact so numerous that it has become customary to consider them almost as manifestations of a biological necessity, against which human will remains impotent.

The problem to which this article tries to supply an answer, in any case for the time being, is the following: was the political collapse of the Greek world the result of a slow internal disintegration or of the destructive action of the Roman conquest?

In other words: did the Graeco-Macedonian states, constituted after the conquest of Asia by Alexander, die ‘their own splendid deaths’ or were they ‘assassinated’ by Rome?

Man can be ‘good and evil’ in his actions, reasonable and unreasonable— not to say, insane: this is his liberty. Hence his responsibility, which is born of this liberty. There can be no liberty without responsibility.

The question: is Man rational in his actions? cannot be answered by a simple ‘yes’: that some of his actions are rational is proved by the very fact of our existence; that not all of these actions are rational is proved by our present situation. On the other hand, if we do not perish, this is no proof of Man's rationality. Nor is it proved by the evolution of all creation, which undoubtedly moves from low to high. But it is not difficult to see that of all living beings Man alone is capable of acting rationally. Where Man's reason does not reach, there rules the law of selection. This latter prevails, likewise, wherever Man acts irrationally. Out of a senseless ‘urge to be’-as Schopenhauer calls it-that being asserts himself who enjoys some kind of primacy, who is superior in no matter what sphere-whether by his force, velocity, protective colouring, or any other way, it does not matter, except in the individual case.

In 851, four and a half centuries before Marco Polo, the anonymous author of a famous report on China and India (Akhbar as-Sin wal-Hind), availing himself of the information brought back by Arab merchants and sailors, gave so careful and meticulous a description of China that specialists even today find few inaccuracies. Yet the same subject is treated by most contemporary scholars with a light-hearted casualness that is confusing and disturbing.

According to G. Childe, the history of mankind is dominated by two great revolutions: the invention of agriculture and the birth of cities. From the same socio-historical point of view, R. Redfield is inclined to think that the consequences of the invention of agriculture have been less decisive than the urban revolution. Hence, he is led to classify all civilisations in two categories: the ‘pre-urban’, and those that have known a greater or lesser urban development.

In the vocabulary of the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance the term ‘humanist’ literature refers only to profane, as opposed to sacred, writings. However, the greatness of the ancient authors appeared such that a certain confusion was created between profane and classical writings. Thus the idea arose of what was much later called humanism, and the feeling of a mission ‘to revive dead things’ (in the words of Machiavelli) gained ground. Today we like to give a wider meaning to the word humanism: to be a ‘humanist’ is to have faith in Man, to believe in his eminent dignity and in the potentialities of his genius. Such humanism is of all times, but it seems (and this is no mere chance) that its golden age coincides with that of the renaissance of antiquity and that it has remained inextricably linked with classical culture—culture understood here in the two-fold sense of ‘knowledge’ and ‘cult’ of Graeco-Roman antiquity. The reason for this correspondence between certain ideas on the potentialities of Man and admiration for the ancients is founded not only on the fact that these latter were admirable because of their wisdom, their virtues and their arts, but also, and primarily, because in the eyes of the Christians (who had good cause to believe themselves their equals), these ancients, whether Latin or Greek, not having received the help of Revelation and Redemption, had to accept on their own account the authority of moral law and to procure for themselves all the benefits of a truth envisaged only imperfectly. How could such triumph of Man, incomplete though it might have been, be arrived at ? This was a crucial question, ever since the first centuries of Christianity, a question to which the Fathers of the Church, particularly the Greek Fathers, had found various answers. Some of them denied that the pagans had any knowledge whatever of Truth, others admitted that whatever they had learned or divined of Truth could be due merely to chance Hebraic influence or to the grace of partial revelation.

The great history of India conceived by K. M. Munshi, the first undertaking of this magnitude to be carried out entirely by Indian scholars, is continued with Vol. Ill, which covers roughly the period from 320 to 750. After an interval of about ten months, it follows Vol. II, The Age of Imperial Unity, which embraced the period between 600 before our era and 320 after; the first volume, which appeared in 1952, had, naturally, dealt with the sources (‘up to 600 b.c.’), or what is conventionally known as ‘the Vedic period’. As is well known, the scientific editor is the esteemed historian R. C. Majumdar. To him, in this volume, has fallen the all important task of compiling the chapters on dynastic history which occupy the first three hundred pages, with the exception of the history of the Deccan monarchies, which was entrusted to the epigraphist D. C. Sircar (who has undertaken also Ceylon and the Châlukyas), another exception being the period of the Pallavas and other kingdoms of the South, treated by R. Sathianathaier.

An original characteristic of the work is the important part—in this volume actually preponderant—occupied by the elements constituting Indian culture at the epoch under consideration: literature (G. V. Devasthali, H. D. Velankar, Srinivas Iyengar), political and juridical theory (U. N. Ghoshal), religion (Nalinaksha Dutt, A. D. Pusalker, A. M. Ghatage, D. C. Sircar and others), art (S. K. Saraswati, N. R. Ray), general social questions (U. N. Ghoshal). Finally R. C. Majumdar returns to describe India's exchanges with the outside world and adds a summary of the expansion of Indian culture in Asia.