To speak of oral narratives or song-poems, particularly those of primitive peoples, as constituting true literature has until recently met with the greatest suspicion not only from the general public but from students of literature and, indeed, from most ethnologists as well. Their objections are basically of two kinds. No literature is possible, they contend, without writing, and the languages spoken by primitive peoples are inadequate both in vocabulary and the range of ideas which can be expressed in them to permit the development of what we call true literature. Both of these contentions are, I feel, quite incorrect. One has only to read such studies as those of F. Boas and Edward Sapir to realize on how slight a basis of fact such statements rest. There is no need, consequently, to spend any time refuting the theories of philosophers like Lévy-Bruhl or E. Cassirer concerning the structure of primitive languages. The only thing that can be said in defense of their generalizations is that, given the manner in which many of the recorders of these languages presented their data and the many loose statements they made, it is easy to see how Lévy-Bruhl and Cassirer and those who were influenced by them arrived at their unsound generalizations. The first objection, particularly, that without writing no substantial literature can possibly develop, will, I am certain, be adequately disproved by the examples of prose and poetry which I am presenting in this essay.

It would be both impudent and imprudent to speak of good sense in relation to philosophy without first of all mentioning Descartes and giving his remarks on the subject. Impudent because we would be depriving a great man of the homage which is his by right and by virtue of long possession; imprudent because we would be depriving ourselves of an opportunity to define our terms exactly. Another equally legitimate motive lies in the fact that if we were to pass over it in silence, someone would be sure to compare our text with the one we quote herewith:

“Good sense,” says Descartes—and the Discourse on Method opens with these words—”is the most equally distributed thing in the world: for everybody thinks himself so abundantly provided with it that even those most difficult to satisfy in everything else do not usually desire more of this quality than they already possess. In this it is unlikely that they are mistaken; the conviction seems rather to support the view that the power of good judgment and of distinguishing the true from the false, which is properly called good sense or reason, is by nature equal in all men; and hence the diversity of our opinions comes not from the fact that some are more rational than others, but solely from the fact that we conduct our thoughts along different channels, and do not all consider the same things. For to possess good mental powers is not enough: the prime requisite is to apply them well.”

I wish to make it clear that this article will not be concerned with a general theory of the matriarchate. I have limited myself to a clearly defined cultural zone, from which I think that the hypothesis of a primitive matriarchal society cannot be rejected on the debatable grounds (recently stated), that the matriarchate could not have been established until after the discovery of agriculture. If in fact the matriarchate cannot legitimately be separated from the divine cult of the Mother, this in itself presupposes a matriarchal constitution, not political and military save for exceptions, but based simply on feminine authority and prestige. On the other hand, ethnologists and historians of religion tell us that the great goddesses are not born of agricultural civilizations, which merely provide them with conditions particularly favorable to their development. They exist before these civilizations and are worshipped by peoples who live solely by hunting, fishing, and the rudimentary gathering of products from still virgin land.

In 1933, the rector of the University of Leyden, J. Huizinga, chose as the theme of his solemn speech, “the boundaries of play and of work in culture.” He was to take this subject up again and to develop it in a powerful and original work published in 1938, Homo ludens. Most of the statements in this book are debatable. Nonetheless, it opens the way to extremely fertile research and reflection. It is to Huizinga's lasting credit that he masterfully analyzed the fundamental characteristics of play and that he demonstrated the importance of its role in the development of civilization. He wanted on the one hand to find an exact definition of the essential nature of play; on the other hand, he attempted to shed some light on that part of play that haunts or enlivens the principal manifestations of all culture, the arts as well as philosophy, poetry as well as juridical institutions, and even certain aspects of war.

There is a growing concern in the western world with the nature and function of democracy, a concern induced by outside pressures of conflicting ideologies and by internal development of protective devices. The latter source of concern, which finds its highlight in America in congressional investigative techniques, has its origins in the practical and political arena. The issues it raises are tremendously significant for the future growth of democratic processes of government. The struggles which it has released will be a long time abating. But behind these local issues of democracy there lies a more subtle and less popular difficulty, the difficulty of harnessing enlightened political consciousness to the broad-based electorate required by democratic theory. This particular difficulty is not without its practical ramifications and applications; in fact, it is the nub of the struggle over investigative techniques in America. But the problem of uniting political wisdom with an extended franchise has a closer connection with the theory of democracy than does the problem of technique of investigations: it raises, in fact, the critical theoretical question of whether democracy is possible. Put more carefully, the question to which I have reference asks whether democracy is possible as government directed from below by the electorate, or from above by the intelligentsia.