The conclusions and recommendations resulting from a number of meetings held in Port Louis, Mauritius (1974); Colombo, Sri Lanka (December, 1978); and Perth, Australia (August, 1979) could serve as authority for the present work. Running through them was a continuity and logic that is stimulating for research, and from them emerged an appeal for the coordination of efforts. From all the evidence, the idea that inspired the meetings was that the countries of the Indian Ocean make up an entity. The consideration of this entity, moreover, had been the guideline for the work of a number of international conferences, among which were the colloquies held in 1962, 1966 and 1972 by the International Commission of Maritime History of the Indian Ocean. The first studied the commercial societies and companies in the Orient and in the Ocean; the second, the joint role of the Indian Ocean and the Mediterranean in maritime relations; and the third, the movement of populations in the Indian Ocean.

In the present essay I intend to approach the racial problems of today's world, or more particularly the problem of the Negro and of his integration in multiracial societies, from the point of view of the Jungian concept of Persona.

I will, of necessity, limit iny study to one national case only, that of Brazil. The use of Brazil as a particular instance for study can be easily justified. Brazil is probably the most complex multiracial society in the world and one that boasts the least tensions among communities of different stock, religion or cultural background. In 8.5 million sq. km., over one hundred and twenty million people are living who speak the same language, both in the literal and the figurative sense. We believe we have been somehow more successful than the Americans in emphasizing the element of fraternity that is so fundamental to the democratic way of life. My thesis is that we have achieved such a result thanks to a very peculiar working of the archetype of the Persona. This article will try to adumbrate the construction of what one may call a collective Persona, a fa¸ade, a pattern of national behaviour which tries to overcome the problem by simply overlooking the fact that genetic differences of colour, shape and mind exist.

At a time when there is general speculation about civilization, or civilizations, as well as on what the relationships are between Western and other civilizations, it is logical to try to define precisely what the men of ancient Greece thought about the question, since Western civilization owes so much to them.

It may be that they did not think about it at all, or at least they thought nothing that could be expressed in modern terms. The fact is that ancient Greece did not have a word for civilization: the French and English words come from Latin, not from Greek, while the first examples given in French and English dictionaries are the privileged example of Greece, “the civilization of Greece.” Did the Greeks use a paraphrase? Or a different word? If we consult a English-Greek dictionary we are surprised to see that the word given for “civilized” is hèmeros) that is, “docile,” “tamed.”

Thanks to the particularly penetrating analysis of André Martinet, we now know that the complementary existence of two levels of different articulation is one of the most remarkable specific characteristics of language. To the first level belong all facts concerning significant units, the meaning and inflection of words, syntactic groupings and the composition of a discourse; the second articulation is that of non-significant elements that we call phonemes. In other words, it is at the second level that we pronounce articulate sounds, while to the first we owe the possibility of formulating groups with meaning. The first articulation could be visualized as the molecular and cellular level in which the simplest elements, having a very limited autonomy, are organized according to affinities having the force of law; the second articulation would thus represent the atomic level, that of elementary particles identified by their role in groups.

Mythologies generally devote much attention to the birth of heroes and gods whose coming into the world is described as particular. Our first examples come from Greek mythology.

The Furies, goddesses of vengeance, were born of the blood of Uranus who had been castrated by his son Cronos. Athena sprang, completely armed, from the head of Zeus which Prometheus had struck with an axe, an act sometimes attributed to Hephaistos. The Centaurs came from a union of Ixion with a cloud to which Zeus had given the appearance of Hera with whom he was in love. Adonis came into the world from a myrrh tree (Smyrna in Greek ) which opened magically to give him birth. Ten years earlier a woman named Smyrna (myrrh) had committed incest with her father, Theios, without his realizing it; when he discovered the fact, he changed her into the tree known by that name. Bacchus was drawn out, a six months old fetus, from the body of his mother by Zeus. The body was lying in coals lit by the lightning and thunder accompanying the god's chariot as he came to visit Semele. Terrified at the sound of nature's fury, she had died of shock. Zeus sewed the fetus in his thigh and, when the time came, gave birth to Dionysius.

The endowment of religious, charitable, and educational enterprises by the establishment of trusts in land, the income from which could be devoted to such uses, was an immensely popular form of pious expression in both medieval Christendom and the Islamic world. The motives for, and applications of such endowments differed markedly, however, between the two religious cultures. The endowment of prayers and masses for beneficiaries, living and dead, exemplified the sacramental and sacerdotal quality of pre-Reformation Christianity. This ritualistic and ecclesiastical use of endowments in Latin Christian Europe and the Orthodox East, a use dependent on the existence of a sacramental system and an institutional church, contrasted sharply with the broader application of the Muslim waqf, by means of which pious individuals and groups sponsored a wide variety of charities, explicitly life-oriented and quite unconnected with a corporate clerical establishment. The infinite multiplication of private acts of charity by devout Muslims manifested the moralistic bent of Islam, which aspired to recast society according to the norms of the Qur'an and sacred law. The contrasting uses to which the two religious systems put the gifts and legacies of the faithful reflected the operation of fundamentally different religious premises, whereas the institutionalization of these premises in a shared legal fiction, the trust, assured their enforcement in society and life.

The very founding of the town Neuwied-am-Rhein was closely linked to policies and practices of religious toleration. It was the hope and intent of Count Friedrich of Wied (1618-1698) that a town, well planned and advantageously located, would bring economic relief and eventually prosperity to his small land, which had suffered particularly in the last years of the Thirty Years’ War. From the outset he saw that the best means of attracting residents would be to guarantee as large a degree of religious freedom as possible.

The Treaty of Westphalia provided a viable legal framework within which Protestants, adherents to the Augsburg Confession be they Lutherans or Reformed, and Roman Catholics could exercise their religion within the German Empire. The treaty basically defined three types of religious practice: the exercitium religionis publicum, which gave the members of the minority religion in any territorial unit full freedom to worship openly; the exercitium privatum, restricting the worship of the congregation to specific places; and finally the devotio domestica, which allowed the “individual exercise of religion by the common subject, practiced by him alone, without further ecclesiastical ceremony, ... within the walls of his own living quarters.” The treaty further offered the beneficium emigrandi, and specified the conditions under which forced or voluntary emigration was to take place.

The earliest Chinese record of the maritime relations between India and China can be found in the “History of the Former Han Dynasty” (Chien Han-shu) which covers the period from B.C. 206 to A.D. 23. In its chapter (28b) on geography it is stated that ever since the time of the Emperor Wu (Wu Ti, B.C. 14087) the country called Huang-chih has sent tribute to the Chinese court, which in turn dispatched envoys to this remote country. Huang-chih has been identified by many scholars with Kāñcī (Conjeeveram) on the east coast of South India. It is recorded that there were chief interpreters belonging to the Yellow Gate (the office of eunuchs serving in the palace) who went to sea to buy bright pearls, opaque glasses and other rare articles, taking with them from China gold and various kinds of silk for exchange.

It is only of late that some attention is paid to the importance of studies on the South Arabian Diaspora in the Horn of Africa, the African side of the Red Sea, the East African littoral, the Indian subcontinent, the Indian Ocean island groups and Southeast Asia, in throwing new light on (i) the process of Islamization, (ii) the origins of local dynasties, (iii) the problem of trade-routes, and (iv) navigational and maritime techniques and a host of other related problems.

The primitive conception is that the future already exists like a terra incognita which one can dimly make out with or without the help of the gods. This idea is at the basis of fatalism and of belief in prophets, oracles and astrologers. This ancient concept was replaced in the nineteenth century by the vocabulary of scientific determinism which said that actual beings can only function. If one knew in detail their structures and their movements, one could calculate the results of their functioning with perfect precision.

Any historical reflection of the fête (or feast) must depart from the observation of its actual conditions of subsistence, in order to understand the veritable “festive explosion” that has marked historical production this last decade. Although it is not specifically historical, the emergence of the fête (and in particular of the ancient feast) as a preferential object of study, leads one in effect to wonder about the reasons that have brought about that, in a given moment, an entire scientific class, in this case the French historians, has felt attracted by a theme which until then was treated only in folklorist collections. Seemingly, three reasons, that pertain as much to the recognized function of the historical discipline as to its internal evolution, may be cited. It is clear, above all, that the increased research into the ancient feast constitutes a sort of compensation, as a means of understanding, to the disappearing system of civilization in which the fête had, or rather, is considered as having had, a central role. The historical analysis is therefore charged to explain, in its idiom and with its technique, the nostalgia evoked by a present which has eliminated the fête defined as an act of community participation. On these grounds it then becomes possible to rediscover one of the major functions assigned—implicitly or explicitly—to history today: to restore to the sphere of knowledge a vanished world of which contemporary society feels the heritage, but as an unfaithful heir. That the operation of understanding is difficult to separate from the fabrication of an imaginary past collectively desired, is, in the end, insignificant, unless it is meant to underline those themes that, by being the most neglected by our present age, become the most symptomatic of a world we have lost. The fête, vidently, is one of these.

At the moment of its decline, we clearly see that painting in oils developed an original poetics, and one that was all of a piece, throughout a renascent and modern West. From its birth and during a development lasting half a millennium we see it— in Florence, Bruges, Venice, Rome, Toledo, Nuremberg, Amsterdam and Paris—attentive to the sources of signification: languages, rites, myths, theater, tools, techniques and sciences and the urban context that wove them all together. In each case, for one or the other of them, it brought a new relationship to the way of life and then left them to their social order of assimilation, keeping the initial contact for those who would be interested. It studded the West with centers of production that carried the practice and knowledge of art to their limits; engaged with the collective imagination, it punctuated history with decisive works, in which the desire to paint takes action and explains it. Marked by an impatience for change, oil painting revealed itself in a rapport with creativity akin to the other works of civilization. It is at the level of the bases of invention of the imaginary—which are in any expression the most profound structures—that the unfolding of oil painting is tightly bound. The establishment of modern national languages, the orderly rise, around a syntax and because of architecture, sculpture, music, song, tragedy, the systematic construction of scientific and technical expression, arose and grew quickly in importance in Western Europe during the same centuries as painting and with reciprocal correspondence. Dürer “who was the first to publish a treatise in which is collected all knowledge having to do with the expression of forms… wrote in his native tongue and in so doing was revealed as the creator of technical and scientific German.”

Our insight into the paradoxical nature of the human situation and the awareness of the polarity of man's being has not been transmitted through rigorous philosophical reflection but has been nurtured by the mystic, religious and poetic traditions of all times. It is therefore all the more necessary to detect and recognize the religious and mystic accents of recent philosophic thought in their philosophical camouflage, and try to see how philosophic reflections on man's pre-philosophic awareness of himself in his archaic experience can significantly contribute to build an authentic image of him. An alleged incident in the life of the great Persian poet and mystic, Shaikh Faridubbin Attar, will illustrate better what we mean than any philosophical sophistication. Once taken captive by a soldier of the Tartar hordes which sacked Nishapur, he refused to let his life be redeemed by the offer of a substantial sum as he considered himself worth much more. However he later urged on his captor to accept as lowly a price as a bundle of grass since he deemed himself not worth even that much. The consequence can easily be imagined. The authenticity of this story, like that of all beautiful stories which make history meaningful, is now disputed. Its meta-historical relevance remains unchallenged nevertheless. What is really intended to be conveyed by weaving an imaginary anecdote round the life of a great Sufi is probably the paradoxicality of man's existence alluded to in the Quran: “Verily we created man in the most excellent stature and then reduced him to the lowest of the low” (Quran XCV). Consequently man moves between two infinites, the infinite which makes him swing to dizzy heights and the infinite which allows him to sink to frightening depths. In other words he can rise so high as to assimilate the attributes of the divine and fall so low as to forfeit his human identity.

Since 1963 almost 200 films have been made by African authors. This provides a suitable quantity of documents to permit an attempt to study them as a group. These films are the work of a hundred directors and so perhaps can allow an analysis of their personalities. But can we suppose that they represent all of Africa? This is hardly probable. The film-makers and their crews belong to the upper social levels. Educated, well-traveled on other continents, highly qualified intellectually and professionally, they associate with the leading class even though their financial means may not always suffice to realize their aspirations. They belong to the intelligentsia. But, because of the educative power of film, we can foresee that they will contribute to the formation of the masses. The Africa presented in their films is not that of today but maybe that of tomorrow.

On the shores of Madagascar there appeared in the 19th century an influential group whose members were called—erroneously —by strangers as well as by the Merina oligarchy, the “Malagasy creóles”. As a matter of fact the latter are half-castes born of Malagasies and (prevalently) Frenchmen. However, their contemporaries did not confuse them with the mulattos or malata (zona malata), descendants of filibusters or pirates who frequented the East Coast, and their Malagasy mates; on the other hand they, themselves, refused the designation of malata. Thus the name of “Malagasy creole”—even if false, because it does not describe Europeans born in Madagascar—defines a precise social group well into the 19th century.

In economic theory it is circumstances that dictate fashion. During the last quarter of the century, years marked by an unprecedented escalation of material production, economists of all persuasions, neoclassicals or Marxists, accorded an important place to theories of growth. Economic reductionism being fundamental, development was likened to growth, which tends to take pars pro toto and to ignore the difference between a necessary condition and a sufficient one. Suddenly economic theory, to which mechanical formalization would confer the appearance of an almost scientific rigour, became a powerful argument for the ideology of growth.

In the following essay we shall try to show how a society uses the notion of “Foreigner,” how the image which it creates of something extraneous to it is only secondarily a means of conceiving the world, a would-be scientific approach to big problems, but is essentially an ideology for its own internal use and forms an integral part of a political play which takes place within the society itself. We thought that the example of ancient Greece, and particularly of Athens, might present a particularly interesting field for analysis, since for two centuries it had the problem of the Persian Empire's vicinity—a problem which the Greek thinkers and politicians never stopped studying, each following his own point of view; the variations of which seem to us extremely instructive.

In 1927 at the fifth Solvay Council, that reunited all the aristocracy of theoretical physics, Einstein, regarding with solicitude the new-born “quantum mechanics” of Louis de Broglie, Schrödinger, Heisenberg and Dirac, discerned with his usual sagacity an indelible mark that was destined to become, with time, a subject of passionate discussion among those whose vocation is to adulate this enigmatic and capricious personality.

In 1926 Born had given the prophetic stroke to the portrait. Turning to probability as to the official factotum of the reconciliation of the continuous and the discontinuous-here, the associated wave and particle-he transmuted the waves of de Broglie and Schr6dinger into an undulatory calculus o f probabilities, deducing, from a surprising principle, consequences that were even more surprising but always verified through experiment. Parting from the idea that the intensity of the wave is the probability of the detection of the particle at a given point and time, Born replaced the classic principle of addition of partial probabilities with his “principle of the addition of partial amplitudes” that are, as in classical optics, represented by “complex” dimensions, with one real part and one imaginary part. In general, the square of the module of the sum of amplitudes will be the probability. This expression contains, of course, the terms “square” and “rectangular.” The first, if they were alone, would give the former law; as for the second, they express the existence of phenomena of interference that are at the origin of the thousand and one well verified paradoxes of the “new mechanics “-the one thousand and first being the one under consideration here.

With this area of the second triad contrasts above all the last sefirah, in which all these colours, as well as the various nuances of white-red, red-white, and a mixture of both, flash all together or one after the other, as they did already in Azriel and often in the Zohar. Since she represents the divine power closest to the created world—in part even immanent in it, she is the richest in symbolism, and in colour symbolism as well. Here the Kabbalah returns, in mystical correlations and transformations, to older motifs, some of which we have already discussed above.

One of the major problems (or sometimes pseudo-problems) that archaeologists and historians encounter in the study of ancient cultures is the need to differentiate and to identify the sources of the various concepts, techniques, institutions, forms, designs, motifs, etc., that, at any given moment of time, form the constituent elements of the culture or cultural product to which they have turned their attention; or—to pose the question in its proper framework—to analyse the process of cultural formation inherent in the subject of their study. Such considerations have a special significance for archaeologists, whose essential concern is with the often incomplete assemblages of material remains left behind by the cultures and civilizations of the past, and whose central task is to enumerate and reconstitute the structures and processes that were operative in the societies in question. The study of acculturation—culture change, cultural diffusion, “stimulus diffusion,” culture contact, etc.—has been part of the theoretical and empirical concerns of anthropologists and sociologists since some decades ago, and the subject of an old and now almost abandoned debate. While the terminology of the social sciences concerned with living societies can also be found in archaeological and historical discussion, such concerns have had inadequate application in the fields of archaeological and historical practice. What has dominated and, to a great extent, continues to dominate historical studies is what we might call “the ‘theory’ of influence” and its corollary, “the migration hypothesis.” Thus, it would not be an exaggeration to say that one of the leading aspects of the study of a past society or culture is the concern with the “parent” culture(s) which influenced it, or the search for the location of its “migratory origins.” While this is especially true of studies relating to the societies of the Third World, it is not exclusively so—as we see, for instance, in the case of European prehistory. The immediate epistemological sources of such approaches are not difficult to identify, being principally located in 19th century diffusionism and, as we shall see shortly, in colonial ideology.