The notions of ‘the sacred’ and ‘the profane’, coined by Emile Durkheim and reinforced by Mircea Eliade, have become indispensable for the historian of religions. No matter how details may vary, every society, every human tradition singles out certain things, acts, words or places as totally distinct from others. In these special things, acts, words or places ‘real reality’ (Eliade) is present, made available or conveyed, and therefore they differ from all ordinary, profane reality.

In recent years I have been engaged in research in the social anthropology of religion. In the course of investigating the changing religious beliefs and practices of Jewish immigrants in Israel from rural Tunisia and Morocco I initially sought to conceptualize the phenomena encountered in terms of ‘secularization’. This study is a consequence of the problems that arose.

Students of modernization commonly assume that, whatever else from the West may be rejected or modified to fit particular cultural and political preferences, science and technology are essential for any conscious effort to transform a traditional society. Indeed, despite the Western origins of modern science, would-be modernizers in Asia and Africa can reasonably claim that science is now universal. The degree to which it is possessed and practiced in various countries may differ, but in principle the spirit, methodology, and fruits of modern science are cosmopolitan, not bound to any particular culture. They are the legitimate property of all men aspiring to be modern. And from Tokyo to Nairobi all such men have passionately sought to possess them.

Jerrold E. Levy's comments on my article on the Sanni Demons in the April 1969 issue of this journal betrays serious misconceptions regarding the nature of Ayurvedic medicine. Levy says that Ayurveda makes no distinction between mental and physical illnesses, that it has little preoccupation with symptoms, and that it has little actual efficacy. The first is concerned with the doctrine of Ayurveda; the second with its practice; and the third with its effects. I shall demonstrate that these three views of Ayurveda are false.

The widespread reaction against secret diplomacy which followed the First World War led to demands that statesmen conduct their affairs openly and be responsive to public opinion. The specific forms that Open Diplomacy might take in the post-war world were hard to envision, even for the most ardent advocates of change. At the Paris Peace Conference several hundred newsmen discovered that ‘open covenants openly arrived at’ did not mean that negotiations would be held in public. Similarly, the whole process by which governments were supposed to determine domestic or world opinion on a given issue and then formulate policies in accord with it was easier to talk about than to implement. If supporters of Open Diplomacy wanted simplicity, they were in fact getting a host of new complexities in their quest for a more democratic foreign policy.

While the Washington Conference of 1921–2 was not the first occasion on which public opinion had exercised an impact upon great power diplomacy, it seems to have provided one of the more dramatic illustrations of a process already well under way. In his Discourses, Machiavelli (p. 248) had already noted the dangers of building policy on the opinion of the people:

And if you propose to them anything that, upon its face, seems profitable and courageous though there be really a loss concealed under it which may involve the ruin of the republic, the multitude will ever be most easily persuaded to it. But, if the measure proposed seems doubtful and likely to cause loss, then it will be difficult to persuade the people to it, even though the benefit and welfare of the republic were concealed under it.

The agricultural organization that has long characterized the Central Italian hills, the mezzadria system of share-farming, is today ‘in crisis’. Overtly, the crisis is manifested in an increasing antagonism between landlords and peasants, large-scale withdrawal of peasants from the system, and political agitation directed towards it.

This paper has two aims. The first is to remark about a book: E. C. Banfield's The Moral Basis of a Backward Society; the second is to restate, with particular reference to Southern Italy, some common principles of social organization and structure. The success of Banfield's book is attributable to a number of factors. The author has a high reputation in the discipline of political science. For a long time it was the only sociological book about Southern Italy in English; in default of other works it has been taken up by American and British universities as an introduction to the sociology of South Italian peasantries. Finally, there is its appeal to practical men, such as social workers and community development experts, who find that the attempt to explain individual bits and pieces of behaviour sets up sympathetic harmonies in their hearts. The book is, however, subject to criticism on several grounds: first, on the basis of inadequate method; second, on the grounds of inadequacies of formal argument; finally, on the grounds of omissions and commissions in the presentation of the material itself.

Mr. Davis finds The Moral Basis of a Backward Society subject to criticism on three grounds: (a) inadequacies of method, (b) inadequacies of formal argument, and (c) omissions and commissions in the presentation of the material itself. Let us examine his bill of particulars on each count.