Men are living in the midst of a world pervaded by ideas.* Ideas, which provide men with help in their will to act and to think according to rules, which offer them guidance in their lives, are mustered into systems which are called ideologies.

Ideologies are issued by the inclusive society, by special, functional groups inside the society and, beginning with a given stage in the development of human society, by ideological movements which profess to provide men not only with guidance for special tasks or functions, but for life as a whole. So, individual men are faced with various sets of ideologies, more or less in agreement between themselves, more 'or less authoritative for them. They must choose between the suggestions, the rules, the orders given to them. As men are always in search of some degree of consistency in their ways of thinking and acting, they fit together the ideas they choose, unconsciously, into systems, into personal, private, individual ideologies.

The remarks which follow arise from the daily and simultaneous consulting of two literatures and, in a larger sense, of two cultures, Portuguese and Brazilian, both expressed in the same language, Portuguese. They also arise from an attempt to describe and define by categories which are “internal” to literature the differences which exist between the two bodies of writing under discussion. But they are equally inspired by a desire to isolate in the corpus of the texts which conventionally constitute a national literature those thematic and stylistic recurrences which may serve as starting points for an attempt at formalization.

An ecological study of the city is a new endeavor. Up to now, we have mostly been given inquiries dealing with transportation, housing, economic activity, recreational facilities, etc. All of this adds up to an attempt to reach partial solutions for problems affecting sub-systems. Urbanists and city planners have tried to reach a synthesis of these data whenever they were available.

There is an ever increasing need to approach urban problems by borrowing the concepts and the methodology of ecology The origins of this science stem from the research pertaining to plant and animal behavior in their natural habitat. Highly complex adaptation patterns could frequently be observed which allowed a large number of species not only to survive but also to attain a certain level of compatibility with other species. One need not be a determinist to recognize the common basis of adaptation for man and other animals and to tie together the physical and biological needs which underlie more complex individual and group behavior. Thus, for instance, von Frisch and Wilson - have recently redefined the biological bases of the noosphere.

The interest shown in marginal groups is explained by a diversity of factors. On the threshold of the modern era appeared an abundant literature devoted to a description of the world of delinquency. More particularly, these were treatises on the mysteries of the forbidden quarters of the cities of the time and on the behavior and way of life of social groups living by swindling or fraud. This being drawn to the exotic and the unusual in society, which was not unrelated to an awakening of ethnological curiosity, was also seen in the flowering of a type of literature which could be called “picaresque.” It had already appeared in the last centuries of the Middle Ages, but it came into full bloom only in the 16th and 17th centuries. The Spanish picaresque novel, because of its literary brilliance and its wide acceptance by the reading public, left in the shade a multitude of similar works coming from other European countries, from the English “rogue pamphlets” to the “rogue” literature of Germany and Holland to the tales of Polish and Czech vagabonds. These literary works are closely related to treatises which claimed to be based on eye-witness accounts or which claimed to report authentic events. In reality, they were all taken from fiction and demand comparison with documentary evidence. But the abundance of this type of literature and the success it enjoyed also indicate an early awareness by modern society of the growing importance of social groups living in contradiction to the norms, manners and customs in force at the time.

“If anthropology and history once begin to collaborate in the study of … societies, it will become apparent that the one science can achieve nothing without the help of the other,” said Claude Levi-Strauss. This statement is so immediately sensible in a plain, common-sense way, that only an examination of historical and anthropological practices reveal that such a collaboration is neither as frequent nor as complete as it ought to be.

Anthropologists traditionally studied preliterate societies, historians, literate ones. Preliterate societies lack written documents (or such documents are rare and often unreliable since they are usually written by untrained observers from outside the culture) and anthropologists found themselves with only oral traditions from which to reconstruct the past. Oral traditions, myths, tales, legends and so on are part of every culture; but the value of such traditions as a source of historical information was considered doubtful by most anthropologists, and historians seemingly had no need of them. The functionalist school of anthropology contributed to our understanding by recognizing the value and importance of oral histories in terms of the functions such tales fulfill in a given society.

If we return to the experiences of our youth, we perceive what had the power to awaken our curiosity and ambitions*. The non-conformism of the Surrealists was fostered by Romantic sources and every conceivable symbolism; even if in a roundabout manner, it was through them that the names of Klee and Kandinsky were first heard. The world of the marvellous, the only one decreed worthy of attention, opened out onto painting. The moderns of the group: Dali, Tanguy, Masson, received first prize for poetic adventure, but they harked back to certain selected precursors—rightly or wrongly—for the same gifts that they had themselves: Uccello, Bosch, Dürer, Blake, and Gustave Moreau. And indeed, by retaining only the unexpected, the fantastic, and (often indulgently) the scandalous, a taste was maintained for emotional shock and association, as exemplified by the sustained style of André Breton, and the more supple prose of Aragon.

The everyday is that element of our material and social environment that comes closest to us, and is thus the least visible; for it stands to reason that it will neither attract attention to itself, nor catch the eye.

Paris. The Place de Grève is teeming with the city's idle seeking relief from their boredom. Street-singers, story-tellers and showmen are encircled by groups of people in varying moods—some sullen, others eager, some distracted, others attentive. Sweets vendors, mercers and lampoonists attract customers by their words and gestures. A little apart from the crowd, men with grave faces seem to be waiting for something: they are the unemployed, keeping an eye out for a possible hirer. On some days a drumroll precedes several men-at-arms escorting a condemned man and his executioner to the place of execution; the festive atmosphere turns suddenly somber, the crowd becomes silent. If scattered jeers and taunts are heard, more often than not it is just to relieve the tension.

The Place de Grève gave its name to the French word for strike, greve. And perhaps something still remains of the liveliness of that gathering-place in today's strikes. The Spanish word for strike, huelga, is near to juerga, Spanish for amusement or diversion. The English “strike,” the German streik, the Italian sciopero, all connote fighting, an exchange of blows. The words themselves thus suggest that a strike may be both militant and festive.

In the second half of the 19 th century an “anthropologico-psychiatrical “ doctrine proposed a conception of mental illness which remained prevalent in Europe for a long time: the doctrine of degeneracy. Modern psychiatrical texts and works devoted to the history of ideas usually dismiss it with the slightly annoyed contempt of those who have long since given up such obsolete notions. The doctrine is most often referred back to a purely “hereditary” concept of alienation which psychoanalysis long ago proved of no use. Now the most casual reading of the literature (whether medical or anthropological) shows that this interpretation is not only superficial but radically in error. The doctrine of degeneracy is not limited to this “hereditary” concept inasmuch as it assigns utmost importance to environmental factors such as social, educational and moral. Furthermore, the idea of heredity with which it is concerned has little to do with what genetical science today is studying under this term. Dissimilar heredity, during the second half of the 19th century, was the motivating force which was used to account for a factor that, paradoxically, transmits not likeness but unlikeness. Thus, a pathology o f heredity, or pathological heredity (in the sense that it is heredity itself which is “ill”), rather than hereditary pathology.

It is often taken for granted that people who are predominantly unlettered inevitably have a low cultural level. The frequently used word “illiterate” does not merely signify inability to read and write but also implies a general lack of knowledge and culture. Indeed, some of the standard dictionaries mention “ignorant” as one of the meanings of the word illiterate. It is common for people belonging to modern industrial societies to look down upon the unlettered folk as uncivilized and incapable of finer intellectual and aesthetic sensibilities.

For three centuries Europe has been holding forth on the advantages and disadvantages of the Chinese system of writing.

At first, judgments were positive. The abundant correspondence “à la Chine” of the missionaries inspired a number of commentaries in the early years of the 17th century and even roused the admiration of Leibnitz for a system which he considered, briefly, completely rational. At that time, the Chinese Empire was one of the most important in the world, and the number of techniques coming from the East was not negligible. But while in Europe modern science was being confirmed, China's evolution proceeded very slowly.

A cursory observer of Cree Indians in the small Canadian community we will describe would conclude that they are an “ acculturated “ but “deviant” company of persons. They give the appearance of being acculturated in that there is little in evidence of the distinctive culture they once had. White members of the community see nothing in visible Indian behavior which evokes the image of Charles Russell's noble warrior savages. To the contrary, whites regard Indians as social outcasts and renegades, and base this judgment on that Indian behavior they choose to see. Indians drink to excess, men and women alike; they get in fights and get arrested by the police; they panhandle; and they break all sorts of rules governing the conduct of respectable people in respectable public places. All of this whites abhor, and use to explain Indian authorship of Indians’ social and economic marginality. If they wished to, so the argument goes, Indians could easily better themselves— they merely and simply want in initiative.

In the final pages of Chapter V of Afro-Brazilian Religions Roger Bastide sees, at a given moment in the socio-religious evolution of Brazil, a process of social disorganization which in its extent affects not only blacks but also poor white nationals and stranded immigrants.* As generator of a “ social marginalization,” this process could only be the passage through “a moment of transition” characterized by “the exaggerated speed of change in the country.” According to Bastide, an “organic period” follows: with the “proletarization of the blacks, the assimilation of the immigrants, the general rise in the standard of living of the masses, other phenomena of cultural and social reintegration will appear.” On the religious level the “spiritism of umbanda“ is the expression of this new phase.

“Business,” wrote a professor of marketing in 1929, “is the work of the world, humanity's chiefest task.” On the doorstep of the Depression, Prof. George R. Collins was selling business, by which he meant the business economy, an economic order based on the systematic management of money. I do not intend to enter the volatile controversy between Collins and those like Aldous Huxley who accused business people of being venal and crass. Rather, I intend to trace one likely path by which many in 1929 had come to regard business as a redemptive activity and the business person as a redeemer.

Rarely is the problem of the diversity of languages taken into account whenever population groups are formed into States. When the problem does come up, it is later, in a primarily political context which tries to find political solutions, such as we may presently see them in Canada or in Belgium for instance. These solutions are few and they deal with situations that may contain a host of nuances.

Certain countries have chosen a vehicular language while keeping their local languages: the common language in the USSR is the language of one of its republics. In Senegal it is French, which is of a totally foreign origin but has the advantage of avoiding the rivalry existing among the native languages, and it also has a place within the international community. Other countries have accepted as official languages the different languages spoken within its borders. Thus Switzerland is officially tri-lingual (French, German, Italian), giving legal status to what somewhere else may simply be an accepted fact. Many Alsatians speak three languages (Alsatian, French, German). As far as it concerns countries with a strong linguistic heterogeneity, whether it be their history or their size making for a centralizing policy, they have adopted, with the resulting neglect of all others, the language or the idiom of the region which was politically or culturally the dominant one at the time of their unification. Pekinese has been extended to all of China, Florentine to Italy, Hindi to India. Some original combinations can be found: in Israel Jewish immigrants who came from more than seventy different countries, have again taken up the nation's old cultural and religious language, which had been out of use for two thousand years, and have placed it on equal footing with Arabic spoken by the local population, while English is being used for international relations.

The term is heavy, I admit, but I am adopting it provisionally on the grounds of a double affiliation.* On the one hand it refers to the sign-board (enseigne), a panel bearing an inscription traditionally announcing an artisan's trade; on the other hand, I relate it to the recently gallicized term “enginry” (ingénierie), which evokes, beyond the activity of the engineer, the ensemble of appliances and mechanisms made use of by industrial society, and at the origins of which one discovers the term engine (engin) in its double etymological acceptance as tool, instrument, and also as ruse or wile. By signery, a term which I put forward provisionally, I thus designate the ensemble of signs, signals, inscriptions, and visual stimuli manifested in our modern cities.

As I have pointed out in a series of papers, which appeared about fifteen years ago in the Revue de l'histoire des religions, there are numerous resemblances between the ancient myths of the Indo-Europeans, on the one hand, and those of Japan, on the other. These resemblances, relating both to the fundamental structures of the two mythological systems and to a number of curious details, constitute an assemblage which seems too conspicuous to be regarded as either accidental or the result of a similitude of human mentalities, manifesting itself, so it seems, through the creation of a great many similar myths and legends throughout the length and breadth of the surface of our planet.

Philosophy of science is still, in the minds of many, identified with positivism. This is understandable since twentieth century philosophy of science originates with the work of the Vienna Circle. Positivism is most famous for the verification theory of meaning, the doctrine that the meaning of any proposition is the method by which it is verified, and that any nonanalytic locution which cannot be proven or disproven by some empirical test has no cognitive significance. Positivism is an attempt to construct a “scientific philosophy” in the worst sense: it is maintained that (with the exception of propositions which are analytic and thus vacuous) only those propositions which occur in the sciences are meaningful, all other discourse having at best some emotive value, but no cognitive content, and all of this is maintained within the confines of an exceedingly narrow notion of scientific knowledge. This notion is so narrow that its advocates found themselves in danger of having to relegate most of physics to the realm of nonsense since physics contains many statements which are strictly universal and thus cannot be conclusively verified.

“There is not, nor has there ever been, ideology,” write Deleuze and Guatter. This sybiiline aphorism is surely true: an ideology is never more than rationalizing and justifying behavior, which convinces no one but the already convinced and amuses or bores the others. It is thus a small thing in comparison with the random wandering of thought throughout history and the arbitrariness of cultures, “nurtures: “ since Nietzsche, or a certain aspect of Nietzsche, taught us to be in despair of the Truth, we can no longer impute this wandering and this arbitrariness to the distortion of who knows what natural light by ideology.