But there may be deterioration as well as advance. Wherever artistic

achievement degenerates into the crude products of the artisan, the

divine image may again approximate to the fetish. Religious cult may

suffer a similar relapse, as is shown by many phenomena of present-day

superstition. When religious emotions are restricted to very limited

desires of a magical nature, the cult also may degenerate into its

earliest form, so that the image of the deity or saint, reverting

into a fetish, again becomes a means of magic. It is primarily such

degenerate practices, or, as they might also be called, such secondary

fetish-cults, that give the phenomena of so-called fetishism their

permanent importance in the history of religion. The complexity

of this course of development has led psychologists of religion to

conflicting views in their interpretations of fetishism. On the one

hand, the primitive nature of fetishes, and the fact that the earliest

divine images resemble fetishes, have led to the assertion that

fetishism is the lowest and earliest form of religion. On the other

hand, fetishism has been regarded as the result of a degeneration, and

as universally presupposing earlier or contemporary religious cults of

a higher character. The latter of these views particularly, namely,

the degeneration theory, is still maintained by many historians of

religion, especially by those who believe that monotheism was the

original belief of all mankind. The evidence for this theory is derived

mainly from cultural phenomena of the present. The image of a saint, as

is rightly maintained, may still occasionally degenerate into a fetish,

as occurs when it is regarded as the seat of magical powers, or when

its owner believes that he possesses in it a household idol capable of

bringing him weal or woe. It was particularly Max Müller who championed

the degeneration theory. Even in his last writings on mythology he held

firmly to the view that fetishism is a phenomenon representing the

decay of religious cults. But if we take into account the entire course

of development of the fetish, this view collapses. Though substantiated

by certain events that occur within higher religions, it leaves

unconsidered the phenomena that are primitive. The earliest fetishistic

ideas, as we have seen, go far back into the period of soul and demon

beliefs. Developing from the latter, they were at first closely bound

up with them, though they later attained a relative independence, as

did so many other mythological phenomena. To think of fetishism as a

degeneration of religious cults is inadmissible for the very reason

that, in so far as such cults presuppose deity ideas, they cannot as

yet be said to exist. A striking proof of this contention is offered

particularly by that form of fetish cult, the churingal ceremony of

the Australians, in which the connection with related primitive ideas

may be most clearly traced. The churingal ceremony falls entirely

within the development of totemism, and arises naturally under certain

conditions; it is no more the product of degeneration than is the

appearance of plant totemism in place of animal totemism. The basal

step in the development of the fetish is the incorporation of soul-like

demoniacal powers in inanimate objects, whether these be objects as

they are formed by nature or whether they are artificially constructed.

Such objects may result from a deterioration of religious art, but

this is by no means the only alternative. In their original forms,

they are allied to far more primitive phenomena, such as antedate both

religious art and even religion itself, in the true sense of the word.

For, of the many forms of the fetish, the most primitive is obviously

some natural object that has been accidentally discovered. Such are

the churingas of the Australians, and also many of the fetishes of the

negroes, although others are artificially fashioned. The selection of

such a fetish is determined in an important measure by the fact that it

possesses an unusual form. The man of nature expects to find symmetry

in animals and plants, but in stones this appears as something rare.

Astonishment, which, according to circumstances, may pass over into

either fear or hope, causes him to believe some soul-like being to be

resident in the inanimate object. This accounts for the existence of

such legends as those that have survived among some of the Australian

tribes, in which fetishes, or churingas, are represented as the legacy

of certain fantastically conceived ancestors. From the natural to the

artificial fetish is but a short step. When natural objects are not to

be found, man supplies the want. He constructs fetishes, intentionally

giving them a striking form resembling that of a man or of some animal.

Such fetishes are then all the more regarded as abodes of soul-like

beings.

Hence we must also regard as untenable that theory which, in contrast

with the degeneration theory, represents fetishism as a primitive

mythology or even as the starting-point of all mythology and religion.

The fetish is not at all an independent cult-object characteristic

of some primitive or more advanced stage of development. It always

represents a secondary phenomenon which, in its general significance

as an incorporation of demoniacal powers of magic, may occur anywhere.

If, however, we inquire as to when fetishistic ideas make their first

appearance, and where, therefore, they are to be found in their

relatively primitive form, we will find that they are rooted in

totemic ideas. Hence it is as a particular modification of such ideas

that fetishism must be regarded. In the metamorphosis, of course,

some of the essential traits of the original totem disappear. The

fetish, consequently, acquires a tendency toward independence, toward

becoming, apparently, a separate cult-object. This is illustrated by

the fetish cult of many negro tribes. To however great an extent such

independent cults may frequently have displaced the totemism from

which they sprang, they nevertheless belong so properly to the totemic

world of demons and magic that fetishism, in its genuine form, may

unquestionably be regarded as a product of the totemic age.

Further verification of this contention may be found in the history

of certain incidental products of fetishistic ideas, the _amulet_ and

the _talisman_. These occur at all stages of religious growth, but

their development falls principally within the totemic period. The two

objects are closely related, yet they differ essentially both from one

another and from their parent, the fetish. It has, of course, been

denied that a distinction may be drawn between these various objects

of magic belief. From a practical point of view, this may doubtless

sometimes be true, one and the same object being occasionally used

now as a fetish and then again as an amulet or a talisman. But it is

precisely their use that distinguishes these objects with sufficient

sharpness from one another. The amulet and talisman are purely magical

objects, means by which their possessor may produce magical effects.

The fetish, however, is a magic-working _subject_, an independent

demoniacal being, which may lend aid but may also refuse it, or, if

hostilely disposed, may cause injury. The amulet, on the other hand,

always serves the purpose of protection. Not infrequently amulets

are held to ward off merely some one particular disease; others are

designed to avert sickness in general. In a broadened significance,

the amulet then comes to be regarded as a protection against dangers

of every sort, against the weapon no less than against malicious

magic. Nevertheless, the amulet is always a means of protection to its

possessor. It is its _passive_ function, that of protection, which

differentiates the amulet from the talisman. The latter, which is

far less prominent, particularly in later development, and which is

finally to be found only in the world of imaginal tales, is an _active_

means of magic. By means of a talisman, a man is able to perform

at will either some one magical act or a number of magical feats.

The philosopher's stone of mediæval superstition exemplifies such a

means of magic. In this case, the ancient talisman-idea captured even

science. The philosopher's stone was supposed to give its possessor

the power to unlock all knowledge, and thus to gain control over

the objects of nature. This illustrates the talisman in its most

comprehensive function. In its restriction to a particular power, it

makes its appearance in hero and deity legend, and even to-day in the

fairy-tale. Such an active means of magic is represented by the helmet

of invisibility, by the sword which brings death to all against whom it

is turned, or, finally, by the _Tischlein-deck-dich_.

The two magical objects are generally also sharply distinct in their

mode of use. The amulet is designed to render protection as effectively

as possible against external dangers; it must be visible, for every one

must see that its bearer is protected. Hence almost all amulets are

worn about the neck. This was true of primitive man, and holds also

of the survivals of the ancient amulets--women's necklaces, and the

badges of fraternal organizations worn by men. The fact that a simple

cord was used among primitive peoples and still prevails in present-day

superstition, makes it probable that the original amulet was the cord

itself, fastened about the neck or, less frequently, about the loins or

the arm. Later, this cord was used to support the amulet proper. Even

the Australians sometimes wear a piece of dried kidney suspended from

a cord of bast--we may recall that the kidney is one of the important

seats of the corporeal soul. The hair, teeth, and finger-nails of

the dead likewise serve as amulets, all of them being parts of the

body which, because of their growth, might well give rise to the idea

that they, particularly, possessed soul-like and magical powers. The

custom of attaching hair, or a locket containing hair, to a necklace,

has survived even down to the present, though, of course, with a

far-reaching change of meaning. The magical protection of earlier ages

has become a memorial of a loved one who has died. But here likewise we

may assume that the change was gradual, and that the present custom,

therefore, represents a survival of the primitive amulet. There are

other objects also that apparently came to be amulets because of their

connection with soul-ideas. Of these, one of the most remarkable is the

scarab of the ancient Egyptians, which likewise continues to be worn

even to-day. This amulet is a coloured stone shaped like a beetle--more

specifically, the scarab. This beetle, with its red wing-coverings,

has approximately the form of a heart; for this reason, both it and

its representation were thought to be wandering hearts. As an amulet,

however, its original significance was that of a vehicle of the soul,

designed to protect against external dangers.

Whereas the amulet is worn so as to be visible, the talisman, on the

contrary, is hidden so far as possible from the observing eye. It is

either placed where it is inconspicuous, as is, for example, the finger

ring, or it possesses the appearance of a familiar object. The magical

sword gives no visible evidence of its unusual power; the helmet of

invisibility resembles an ordinary helmet; the _Tischlein-deck-dich_ of

the fairy-tale is in form not unlike any other table. It is with much

the same idea that the Soudan negro who sets out upon an undertaking

still takes with him some peculiar and accidentally discovered stone,

in the hope that it will assist him in danger. This also is an example

of a talisman, and not of a fetish.

13. THE ANIMAL ANCESTOR AND THE HUMAN ANCESTOR.

The ideas fundamental to the cult of _human ancestors_, though also

connected with soul-beliefs, are radically different from those that

gave rise to the fetish. Whereas some mythologists have been inclined

to regard fetishism as the primitive form of religion, others have made

this claim for ancestor worship. The latter have believed that ancestor

worship could be traced back to the very beginnings of culture, and

that the god-ideas of the higher religions were a metamorphosis of

ancestor ideas. This is corroborated, in their opinion, by the fact

that in the age of natural religions the ruler or the aristocracy

very generally claimed descent from the gods, and that the ruler and

the hero were even worshipped as gods. The former is illustrated by

the genealogy of Greek families; the latter, by the Roman worship of

emperors, which itself but represented an imitation of an Oriental

custom that was once very common. All these cases, however, are clearly

secondary phenomena, transferences of previously existing god-ideas

to men who were either living or had already died. But even apart

from this, the hypothesis is rendered completely untenable by the

facts with which the history of totemism and of the earlier, more

primitive conditions has made us familiar. Not a trace of ancestor

worship is to be found among really primitive men. We have clear proof

of this in their manner of disposing of the dead. So far as possible,

the dead are left lying where they happen to be, and no cult of any

kind is connected with them. Totemism, moreover, gives evidence of

the fact that the cult of animal ancestors long anteceded that of

human ancestors. Thus, then, the theory that ancestor worship was the

primitive religion belongs essentially to an age practically ignorant

of totemism and its place in myth development, as well as of the

culture of primitive man. This era of a purely _a priori_ psychology

of religion still entertained the supposition, rooted in Biblical

tradition, of an original state of pure monotheism. In so far as this

view was rejected, fetishism and ancestor worship were generally rivals

as regards the claim to priority in the succession of religious ideas.

The only exception occurred when these practices were regarded as

equally original, as they were, essentially, in the theories of Herbert

Spencer, Julius Lippert, and others. In this event, the original form

of the fetish was held to be an ancestral image which had become an

object of cult.

True, along with the totemic ideas of animal ancestors we very

early find indefinite and not infrequently grotesque ideas of human

ancestors. In the 'Mura-mura' legends of southern Australia these ideas

are so interwoven that they can scarcely be untangled. These Mura-mura

are fanciful beings of an earlier age, who are represented as having

transmitted magical implements to the generations of the present era

and as having instructed the ancestors of the Australians in magical

ceremonies. A few of the legends relate that the Mura-mura also created

the totem animals, or transformed themselves into the latter. Here,

then, we already find a mutual interplay between ideas of human and

conceptions of animal ancestors. As yet, however, no clear-cut idea of

a _human_ ancestor has been formed. This never occurs--a fact of prime

importance as concerns its development--until the _totem ancestor_ has

lost his significance, and the original tribal totemism has therefore

become of subordinate importance, even though totemism itself has not

as yet completely disappeared. Under such circumstances the totem

animal becomes the protective animal of the _individual_; the animal

ancestor is displaced by the demon which mysteriously watches over

the individual's life. This transition has already been touched upon

in connection with the development of totemic ideas. Coincident with

it, there is an important change with respect to the character of the

totem animal. The tribal totem is an animal species. The Australian,

whose totem, let us say, is the kangaroo, regards all kangaroos which

he meets as sacred animals; he may not kill them, nor, above all,

eat of their flesh. In the above-mentioned development of totemism

(which is at the same time a retrogression) the totem animal becomes

individualized. The protective animal--or the animal of destiny, as we

might refer to it, in view of its many changes in meaning--is but an

individual animal. A person may possibly never have seen the animal

that keeps guard over him; nevertheless, he believes that it is always

near at hand. The unseen animal which thus accompanies him is therefore

sometimes also called his 'bush soul'; it is hidden somewhere in the

bushes as a sort of animal double. Whatever befalls the person likewise

happens to it, and conversely. For this reason it is very commonly

believed that, if this animal should be killed, the person also must

die. This makes it clear why the North American Indian calls the

animal, not his ancestor, but his 'elder brother.'

In South African districts, especially among the Bantus where the bush

soul is common, and in North America, where the tribal totem has become

a coat of arms, and fable and legend therefore continue all the more

to emphasize the individual relation between a person and an animal,

the idea of a _human_ ancestor receives prominence. The totemic tribal

organization as a whole, together with the totemic nomenclature of

the tribal divisions, may continue to exist, as occasionally happens

among the Bantus and in North America, even though the tribal totems

proper have disappeared and become mere names, and the animal itself

possesses no live importance except as a personal protector. But since

the totemic tribal organization perpetuates the idea of a succession

of generations, the human ancestor necessarily comes to assume the

place of the animal ancestor. This change is vividly represented by the

totem poles of the Indians of northwestern America. These totem poles

we have already described. The head of the animal whose representation

has become the coat of arms here surmounts a series of faces of human

ancestors. Such a monument tells us, more plainly than words possibly

could: These are the ancestors whom I revere and who, so far as memory

reaches back, have found the symbol of their tribal unity in the animal

which stands at their head. But totem poles do more than merely to

directly perpetuate this memory. Though probably without the conscious

intention of the artists who fashioned them, they also suggest

something else, lost to the memory of living men. In the belief of

earlier ages, this human ancestor was preceded by an animal ancestor to

whom the reverence which is now paid to the human ancestors was at one

time given. Thus, the animal ancestor was not only prior to the human

ancestor from an external point of view, but gave rise to him through a

necessity immanent in the course of development itself.

The transition from animal to human ancestors, furthermore, is closely

bound up with coincident transformations in tribal organization.

Wherever a powerful chieftainship arises, and an individual,

overtowering personality obtains supremacy over a tribe or clan--such

supremacy as readily tends to pass down to his descendants--it is

particularly likely that a cult will be developed in his honour, and,

upon his death, to his memory. Since the memory of this personality

outlasts that of ordinary men, the individual himself is held to live

on after death, even in regions where there is no belief in a universal

immortality. Hence, according to a belief prevalent particularly

among the negro peoples, the ordinary man perishes with death; the

chieftain, however, or a feared medicine-man, continues to live at

least until all memory of him has vanished. In some parts of Africa and

Oceania, moreover, the cult of the living chieftains not only involves

manifestations of a servile subjection but, more characteristically

still, causes even his name to be tabooed. No one is allowed to

speak it, and whoever bears the same name must lay it aside when the

chieftain assumes control.

As a result of the change in totemic tribal organization induced

by the growing significance of chieftainship, the cult of _living_

ancestors, as we may conclude from these phenomena, takes precedence

over that of the just deceased, and still more over that of the long

departed. In comparison with the importance which the man of nature

attributes to living persons, that attaching to the dead is but slight,

and diminishes rapidly as the individuals fade from memory. Individual

rulers, whose deeds are remembered longer than those of ordinary men,

may lay the foundations for an historical tradition. Nevertheless, the

present long continues to assert a preponderating claim in belief as

well as in cult. So long as man himself lives only for the present,

having little regard for the future and scarcely any at all for the

past, his gods also--in so far as we may apply this name to the

supersensuous powers that shape his life--are _gods of the present_.

True, the totem animal is secondarily also an animal ancestor. And yet

it is only the living totem animal that is the object of cult and is

believed to possess protective or destructive powers; compared with it,

the ancestor idea fades into nebulous outlines, gaining a more definite

significance only in so far as it is an expression of the tribal

feeling which binds the members of the community to one another.

A further important factor enters into this development. This is the

cult ceremony connected with the _disposition of the dead_. In this

case, the departed one to whom the ceremony is dedicated is still

directly present to memory. He holds, as it were, an intermediate

position between the realm of the living and that of the dead. The

memorial ceremony held in his honour also restores to memory older

generations of the departed, even though this may cause their specific

features to fade into indefiniteness and to assume outlines whose

vagueness renders them similar. The American totem poles furnish a

concrete portrayal of such a series of ancestors in which individual

characteristics are totally lacking. Nevertheless, even under very

diverse circumstances, we find that the ceremony in honour of one who

has just died comes to develop into a general festival of the dead,

and thus to include more remote generations. The circle of those who

are honoured is likewise extended; the cult comes to be one that

commemorates not merely chieftains but all tribesmen. As the wider

tribal bonds dissolve, the clan, and then later the family, pay their

homage to the departed on the occasion of his funeral, and to earlier

generations of the dead on specific days dedicated to such memories.

This is the course of development in which the ancestor festivals of

the Chinese and Japanese have their origin, as well as the cults of the

Roman _dii manes_; it has introduced elements, at least, of ancestor

worship into the beginnings of all religions, even though this cult but

rarely attained the pre-eminent importance which it possessed among the

cultural peoples of the Orient.

But whatever may have been the character of this earlier strain of

ancestor worship in religious development, the beginning of a true

ancestor cult is closely bound up with the universalization due to

its having become the cult of the hearth and the family. As it is the

human ancestor who displaces the animal ancestor in this cult, so

the transition by which the _family_ comes to be the central factor

in social organization is an external indication of the dissolution

of totemic culture and the dawning of a new era. In view of the

predominant mythological and religious creations of this period, it

might be called the age of heroes and gods. Ancestor worship itself is

at the turning-point of the transition to the new era. In origin, it

belongs to totemic culture: in its later development, it is one of the

most significant indications of the dissolution of totemism, preparing

the way for a new age in which it continues to hold an important

place. At the same time, ancestor worship, no less than its rival,

fetishism, constitutes but one factor among others in the development

of mythological thought as a whole. In certain localities, as in the

civilizations of eastern Asia, it may become sufficiently prominent

to be one of the principal elements of religious cult. But even in

such cases, ancestor worship is never able entirely to suppress the

remaining forms of cult; still less can it be regarded as having given

rise to the other fundamental phases of religious development--these

rest on essentially different motives. Moreover, in connection with the

relation of totemism to the ancestor worship which is rooted in the

former and at the same time displaces it in one line of development, it

is important to notice that in a certain sense the two follow opposite

paths. As we have seen, the original totem--that is, the tribal

totem--is the animal species in general; the last form of totem is the

protective animal, which is an individual animal. Ancestor worship,

on the other hand, begins with the adoration of humanly conceived

benefactors and prominent tribesmen. It ends with a worship in which

the individual ancestor gives way to the general idea of ancestor, in

whom the family sees only a reflection of its own unity and an object

in terms of which reverence is paid to past generations. The fact that

ancestor cult centres about impersonal beings betrays a religious

defect. Herein also is evidenced the continuing influence of the

totemic age, for it was in this period that ancestor worship had its

rise. The defect just mentioned was first overcome with the origin of

_god-ideas_. One of the essential characteristics of gods is precisely

the fact that they are _personal_ beings; each of them is a more or

less sharply defined individuality. This of itself clearly indicates

that ancestor worship is at most a relatively unimportant factor in the

origin of gods.

14. THE TOTEMIC CULTS.

The primitive stage of human development, discussed in the preceding

chapter, possessed no real cults in the strict sense of the term.

Occasional suggestions or beginnings of cult acts were to be found,

in the form of a number of magical customs. Such, particularly, were

the efforts to expel sickness demons; also, the ceremonial dances

designed to bring success to joint undertakings, as, for example, the

above-mentioned dance of the Veddah about an arrow, whose purpose,

perhaps, was to insure a successful hunt, if we would judge, among

other things, from the fact that the dancers imitated the movements of

animals.

In contrast to these meagre magical usages, which, for the most part,

served individual purposes, the totemic age developed a great variety

of cults. Just as the totemic tribal organization is an impressive

phenomenon when compared with the primitive horde, so also do we

marvel at the rich development of cults with which we meet as we pass

to the totemic age. These cults are associated not only with the most

important events of human life but also with natural phenomena, though,

of course, only in so far as the latter affect the interests of man,

the weal or woe that is in store for the individual or for the tribal

community. Generally speaking, therefore, these cults may be divided

into two great classes. Though these two classes of cults are, of

course, frequently merged and united--for the very reason that both

spring from the same emotions of hope, of desire, and of fear--they

are nevertheless clearly distinguishable by reference to the immediate

purpose which the magic of the cult aims to serve. The first of these

classes includes those cults which relate to the most significant

events of human life; the second, those concerned with the natural

phenomena most important to man.

Human life furnishes motives for cult acts in its origin as in its

decline, in birth and in death. Other motives are to be found in

significant intervening events, such primarily as the entrance of the

youth into manhood, though in the case of the maiden, ceremonies of

this sort are very secondary or are entirely lacking. Of these most

important events of life, that of birth is practically removed from

present consideration. No ceremony or cult is connected with it. Not

infrequently, however, the idea prevails that the child becomes capable

of life only on condition that its parents endow it with life a second

time, as it were, by an express act of will. Thus, many Polynesian

tribes allow parents to put to death a new-born infant. Only after

the child has lived several hours has it gained a right to existence

and does the duty of rearing it devolve upon the parents. There is a

survival of similar ideas in the older usages of cultural peoples,

though they have not led to the widespread evils of infanticide as they

have among many peoples of nature. But even among the early Germans,

Romans, and Greeks, the life of a new-born child was secure only after

the father had given recognition to it in a symbolical act--such, for

example, as lifting it from the earth. On the other hand, the previous

act of laying the child on the ground frequently came to be symbolical

of the idea that it, as all living things, owes its existence primarily

to mother earth. With this act of an express recognition of the child,

moreover, there is also bound up the unconditional obedience which the

child, even down to a late period, was held to owe to its parents.

The fewer the cult acts connected with entrance upon life, the greater

is the number that attend departure from it. Almost all cults of the

dead, moreover, originate in the totemic age. Wherever traces of

them appear at an earlier stage, one can hardly avoid the suspicion

that these are due to the influences of neighbouring peoples. Now,

the totemic cults of the dead are closely interrelated with the

above-described usages relating to the disposition of the corpse.

They make their appearance particularly when the original signs of

fear and of flight from the demon of the dead begin to vanish, and

when reverence comes into greater and greater prominence, as well

as the impulse to provide for a future life of the dead--a life

conceived somehow as a continuance of the present. The clansmen

solemnly accompany the corpse to its burial; death lamentations assume

specific ceremonial forms, for whose observance there is very commonly

a special class of female mourners. The cries of these mourners, of

course, still appear to express the emotion of fear in combination

with that of grief. The main feature of the funeral ceremonies comes

to be a _sacrifice to the dead_. Not only are the usual articles of

utility placed in the grave--such, for example, as a man's weapons--but

animals are slaughtered and buried with the corpse. Where the idea of

rulership has gained particular prominence--as, for example, among the

Soudan and Bantu peoples of Africa--slaves and women must also follow

the deceased chieftain into the grave. Evidently these sacrifices are

intended primarily for the deceased himself. They are designed to help

him in his further life, though in part the aim is still doubtless that

of preventing his return as a demon. In both cases, these usages are

clearly connected with the increased importance attached to the psyche,

for they first appear with the spread of the belief in a survival

after death and in soul migration. These sacrifices are doubtless

regarded partly as directly supplying the necessary means whereby the

soul of the dead may carry on its further existence and partly as

magical instruments that make it possible for the deceased to enjoy a

continuance of life. Thus, these sacrifices already involve ideas of a

beyond, though, generally speaking, the latter did not as yet receive

further development.

At this point, sacrifice to the dead undergoes further modifications,

as a consequence of which there are also changes in the accompanying

cult acts. The sacrifice of food dedicated to the use of the deceased

and the bloody sacrifice designed to equip him with magical power,

are no longer offered merely to the departed. As soon as god-ideas

begin to emerge, the sacrifice is brought, in first instance, to

these higher beings, who are implored to furnish protection to the

deceased. As this latter motive gains the ascendancy, the slaughtered

animals are no longer placed in the grave along with the deceased, but

their blood is poured out upon it; of their flesh, moreover, only a

part is thrown upon the grave as the portion of the dead, while the

rest is consumed by the mourners. The feelings of reverence, thus

expressed, issue, in the later development of these cults to the dead,

in general ancestor worship. Not only the deceased himself and those

who have assembled, but particularly the gods under whose protection

the deceased is placed, receive a portion of the sacrifice. When this

occurs, the offering, which had been devoted to the deceased, becomes

sacrifice proper. The offering was given solely to the one who had

died; at first, its purpose was to keep him in his grave, later,

to afford him aid in his further life. Real sacrifice to the dead

involves _three_ parties--the deceased person, the deity, and the

survivors. The deceased gains new life from the blood and flesh of

the sacrificial animal; the deity is subjected to a magical influence

which is to incline him favourably toward the departed; those who

bring the sacrifices participate in this favour, since they enter

into a magical union both with the deceased and with the protecting

deity. In part, these developments extend on beyond the totemic age;

their beginnings, however, are already everywhere present. True, in

this early sacrifice to the dead the attempt to exercise a magical

influence upon the deity--later, as we shall see, the essential feature

of the sacrificial idea--is still in the background. Nevertheless,

this magical feature, which characterizes sacrifice at the height of

its development, has already made its appearance. Because of it, the

original sacrifice to the dead possesses a significance intermediate

between the two distinct concepts of a gift which sacrifice has been

held to embody. Though originally a gift to the deceased, an offering

laid beside him, sacrifice became a means of protective magic for him

and for the survivors. When the deity came to constitute a third member

of this magical group, and as he gradually gained the dominant place,

the idea of a gift again began to displace the purely magical idea.

The gift, however, was now a gift to the deity. This was the final

stage in the development of sacrifice and represents the basis of the

ordinary rationalistic interpretation. Originally, however, sacrifice

possessed a different significance. It was purely a magical act, as is

shown by the further circumstance that it is precisely the sacrifice

to the dead which was already practised at a time when there were as

yet no gods but merely a belief in demons. Additional evidence may be

found in the nature of the sacrificial gifts which are deposited in the

graves, particularly where ancestor worship prevails--as, for example,

in the realms of East Asiatic culture. In these regions, it is not the

objects themselves with which the deceased is to be equipped for his

future life that are buried, but miniature paper representations of

them. These representations are really not symbols, as is generally

held--or, at any rate, this is only a later and retrogressive form of

the idea--but they are sensuously embodied desires originally regarded

as means of magic. In this case also, we may detect the influence of

soul-ideas, which lie at the basis of all beliefs of this sort. As the

psyche of the dead is supposed to reincarnate itself in a new organism,

so likewise are the object-souls incorporated in these representative

miniatures to transform themselves, by means of the magical power

attaching to their shape, into corresponding real objects. But in this

instance again, the further modifications in the sacrifice to the dead

lead on into deity cult. Hence it is not until our next chapter, when

we discuss deity cults, that we will deal with the sacrificial idea in

its total development.

Connected with another life-event to which this age attaches particular

importance is a further significant group of totemic cults. This

consists in the celebration of the adolescence of youths in the

so-called _initiation ceremonies_. In a period such as this, when

intertribal struggles are a matter of increasing concern, the reception

of a youth into the association of men, into the community of the hunt

and of war, represents the outstanding event of his life. Beginnings of

such celebrations were transmitted by the primitive age to the totemic

era, but it is only at this later period that they are developed into

great cult festivals. It is these festivals, particularly, which

everywhere recur in essentially the same form among all the tribes

of Australia. They are great folk festivals, frequently assembling

the clans of friendly tribes. Their celebration consists of dances

and songs, though primarily of ceremonies centring about the youths

who are reaching the age of maturity. For a considerable period these

youths have been prepared for the festival by the older men. They have

been subjected to a strict asceticism for weeks beforehand; meanwhile

they have also been trained in the use of weapons, and instructed in

certain matters of which the young are kept in ignorance. The actual

celebration, which always occurs at night, includes ceremonies which,

in part, involve extreme pain to the novices. The youths are obliged

to stand very close to a fire kindled in the centre of the ceremonial

ground. The older men, with painted faces, then execute dances, in

which the women are forbidden to participate. An important feature of

these dances is the imitation of totem animals. This also provides

an opportunity for humorous episodes. During these pranks, however,

the youths are compelled to remain serious. Moreover, they must give

evidence of fortitude by fearlessly leaping over the fire. In many

of these regions, there is a further ceremony, which is extremely

peculiar and of uncertain significance. This consists in the knocking

out of teeth. Generally the operation is performed by the medicine-man

or, as he ought perhaps to be called in this capacity, the priest.

The latter presses the teeth of his own lower jaw against one of the

incisors of the upper jaw of the novice, thus loosening the tooth so

that it may easily be knocked out with a stone hammer. This is the most

primitive form of tooth deformation, a practice common to numerous

peoples of nature as a means of beautification. That the original

purpose was not cosmetic is clear. Whatever other end it was intended

to serve, however, is uncertain, though it was doubtless connected

with cult. Perhaps its meaning is suggested in the fact that, before

marriage, girls also were frequently deprived of a front tooth, and

that the idea prevailed, possibly in connection with this custom, that

the exchange of breath, and thus the breath-soul, may play a part in

the act of procreation. It is not unreasonable to suppose that these

ideas may represent the origin of the kiss. At any rate, as Preusz has

pointed out, ancient Mexican pictures represent two deities engaged,

apparently, in the act of kissing while (perhaps in reminiscence

also of the blood-soul) red smoke passes from the mouth of the one

to that of the other. Moreover, it may well be that this exchange of

souls in the kiss has its analogue in many regions, particularly in

Melanesia, in the exchange of breath through the nose--the so-called

nose-greeting which might therefore better be called the nose-kiss.

That this exchange is mediated through the nose may be due to the fact

that among many of these tribes kissing with the lips is impossible

because of mouth-rings, lip-blocks, and other deformations, doubtless

originally intended as means of magic. Similar ideas concerning the

mouth and the nose, moreover, and their relation to the psyche, are

suggested even by the Biblical history of the Creation, according to

which God rouses Adam to life by breathing a soul into him through his

nose. Through the mouth, man breathes out his soul; through the nose,

he received it.

Though the festival of initiation into manhood was once associated

with magical acts of cult, as the above ceremony seems to show, the

meaning of this magic has for the most part been lost to the memory

of the natives. For this reason they generally regard the ceremonies,

including that of striking out the teeth, as a means of testing the

fortitude of the young men. This was doubtless a secondary motive

even at a very early time, and when the magical significance dropped

out, it remained as the sole purpose. Nevertheless, the character of

these alleged tests is much too peculiar to be intelligible on the

hypothesis that they were originally intended merely to arouse fear or

pain. And so, in view of the widely prevalent use of fire as a means

of lustration, we may be allowed to regard also the fire-test, which

occupies a central place in these cult forms, as having originally been

a means of magical purification.

The second class of ceremonial festivals and cults, as above remarked,

is associated with certain objective natural phenomena which exercise a

decisive influence upon human life. The natural phenomena most likely

to originate a cult, because representing the most important objects

of desire and fear, are those connected with the need for food, with

the growth of plants, and with the increase of animals, particularly

the animals of the chase. For this reason _vegetation cults_ date back

to the very beginnings of the totemic period. Very probably they

originated in the desire for plant food. Under relatively primitive

conditions there was seldom a lack of game, though there was probably

a scarcity of the vegetables necessary to supplement the food derived

from animals. For plants frequently suffer from unfavourable weather,

whether it be from the heat of the sun and from drought, as in tropical

and sub-tropical regions, or from deluging rains, as in the temperate

zones. Our interpretation of vegetation cults is supported particularly

by the conditions prevailing in the original home of totemism,

Australia. These cults here occur chiefly in the northern districts,

into which there were early Melanesian immigrations; towards the south,

they have gained but a relatively small foothold. The more northerly

regions, as we have seen, are the very ones in which plant totems also

are numerous, whereas they are lacking in the south. The cults of which

we have been speaking are called _Intichiuma ceremonies_--an expression

of Australian derivation. These ceremonies, moreover, involve the

magical use of churingas, the Australian fetishes.

The character of these vegetation festivals is always very much the

same. They include dances, in which, in essential distinction from

those of the initiation ceremonies, women are generally allowed to

participate; their central feature consists of specific magical acts

designed to effect an increase of the food supply. In Australia,

these acts, in part, take the form of ceremonies in which pieces of

artificial animals are strewn about. We speak of them as artificial, of

course, only from our own standpoint; to the Australian the material

that is scattered represents an actual living being. Thus, for example,

a heap of sand is moulded into the form of a large lizard, and, of

this, various parts are thrown into the air by those who participate in

the festival. The animal germs thus scattered are supposed to effect

an increase in the animals of the lizard totem. These vegetation

festivals, therefore, are also totem festivals, and their celebration

has the secondary significance of a cult dedicated to the totem. The

celebration connected with a fish totem is similar to the above,

though somewhat more complicated. A member of the clan, whose arms or

other parts of the body have been bored through with bone daggers,

descends into the water and allows his blood to mingle with it. The

totem germs that are to bring about an increase in fish are supposed to

emanate from the blood.

In the case of plant totems, the cults are of a simpler nature. The

plants themselves, or sometimes their seeds, which, moreover, also

serve directly as food, are strewn to the winds. The grass-seed totem,

for example, is particularly common in Australia. The seeds of the

Australian grasses are gathered in large quantities and constitute

an important part of the vegetable food. Thrown into the air, they

are supposed to bring about an increased supply of these grasses.

Externally regarded, this magical ceremony, primitive as it is,

completely represents an act of sowing. It would be incorrect, however,

as yet to speak of it as such, in the sense of the later tiller of the

soil; the significance of the ceremony is purely magical. An age which

merely gathers wild seeds and fruits does not prepare the soil in the

way that sowing presupposes. Nevertheless, the magical cult involves

an act which later forms an important part of agricultural tasks.

Indeed, it is not at all improbable that these magical ceremonies,

which in any event already involve the recognition that the strewing

of seed conditions the increase of plants, have elsewhere constituted

a preparatory step to the development of agriculture. In general it

may be said that the ceremony probably originated in connection with

plant totems, where the idea of such an increase is very especially

apt to suggest itself; doubtless it was only later connected, through

a process of external association, with animal totems. In harmony with

such a view is the fact that Intichiuma festivals are chiefly prevalent

in the regions of plant totemism.

The vegetation cults which preceded the rise of agriculture were

finally superseded by _true cults of the soil_. The latter presuppose

the preparation of the soil by the efforts of man. This is clear from

the fact that they occur more regularly, and at definite seasons of

the year; moreover, they are of a more complex character, serving in

part a number of other purposes. Typical of the transition are the

vegetation festivals of the natives of Central America. These festivals

are unique in that they embody elements of celestial mythology; thus

they constitute important transitional stages between the demon cults

of the totemic era and deity cults. The relation which the seeds are

supposed to bear to the sprouts of the various grains is now no longer

merely of a magical nature. The hoe-culture, to which the American

Indian has attained, has taught him the dependence of the growth of

plants upon the act of sowing. But here also there can be no cult

until there is community labour. The original hoe-culture carried on

by the individual about his hut no more tends to originate a cult than

does the erection of the hut, the weaving of baskets, or the other

tasks set by the needs of daily life. Individuals, however, frequently

till the soil even prior to the rise of systematic agriculture, as

occurs in certain regions of Melanesia, among the prairie peoples of

North America, and elsewhere. Besides leading to more advanced ideas

concerning the processes of germination and growth, these beginnings

of agriculture, which still form part of the household duties of

individuals, serve to engender what proves to be a permanent and basal

factor in all further development--namely, _provision for the future_.

However primitive may be the hoe-culture which the individual carries

on about his hut, it is not concerned exclusively with the immediate

present, as is the mere gathering of food, but it aims to satisfy a

future need. True, even in this case, the beginnings may be traced back

to the preceding age. Even such ceremonies as the Intichiuma festivals,

in which the totems are strewn about in order magically to influence

their growth and increase, are already thoroughly inspired by a regard

for the future. Perhaps all human action concerned with the distant

future was at first magical in aim.

The establishment of a cult, however, is due not merely to the

foresight which provides for a future harvest by the tilling of the

soil; it is conditioned also by a second factor--namely, _community

labour_. Just as entrance into manhood gives rise to initiation

cults only when it becomes of tribal importance, precisely so is the

development of cults of the soil dependent upon the association of

members of a tribe or a mark in common labour. Moreover, initiation

into manhood early came to be of common concern because of the

community life of age-associates and of the need for military training

created by tribal warfare; the same is true, though at a later stage

and, of course, for essentially different reasons, of the tilling of

the soil. The most important factor in the latter case is the fact that

because the natural conditions are common to all, all are obliged to

select the same time both for the sowing and later for the harvest.

This is of little moment so long as the population is sparse and the

property of one individual is separated from that of the others by

wide stretches of uncultivated land. The more closely the members of

the mark live together, however, the more do they share in common

labour. Whenever a migrating tribe takes possession of a new territory,

moreover, there is a further decisive consideration, namely, the fact

that at the outset the soil is common property. In this case, not

merely the natural conditions, but also the very ground on which the

work of the field is performed, is identical for all the members of a

mark. Added to this objective factor there more and more comes to be

one of a subjective nature. In common labour, the individual determines

his activities by reference to a common end; moreover, he regulates

these activities, as to rhythm, tempo, and the accompanying expressive

movements, so as to conform to the group in which he finds himself.

Since, moreover, the activity of sowing and the subsequent growth of

the crop preserve the magical character acquired in an earlier period,

the work itself comes to be a cult activity. Just as initiation rites

are not merely a declaration of manhood but a cult, designed magically

to equip the novice with manly power and fortitude, so the tilling of

the soil becomes a cult act through whose inherent magical power the

prosperity of the crop is supposed to be secured. There are two factors

which are of prime importance for the beginning of agricultural cults,

and which give to their further development its peculiar stamp. In

the first place, the labour whose performance in common engenders the

cults of the soil is always connected with _hoe-culture_, the initial

stage of agriculture. It is only because they work with the hoe that

the members of the mark come into such close relations that they easily

fuse into a cult community. When the plough, which is drawn by an

animal, comes into use, the individuals are again separated. For the

field which is tilled is larger, and, furthermore, the activity of the

ploughman is confined to the guidance of his animals and implements,

so that he personally is no longer directly concerned with the soil as

in the case of hoe-culture. Moreover, since hoe-culture demands a very

much greater expenditure of human energy, it arouses stronger emotions.

The plough trains to reflection and brooding; the hoe stirs violent

emotions. Furthermore, it is only when hoe-culture becomes common

labour on a common field that the sexes are brought together. The

early hoe-culture carried on about the hut of the individual generally

devolves upon the woman alone, who thus merely continues the duty of

food-getting which rested with her, as the gatherer of food, under

still more primitive economic conditions. With the appearance of more

intensive hoe-culture the labour is divided. Man cuts up and loosens

the soil with his hoe; woman follows after, strewing the seed between

the clods. With the invention of the plough, agriculture finally

becomes the exclusive concern of man. The furrowing and loosening of

the soil is now done by means of an implement, and man, freed from this

labour, assumes the duty of strewing the seed.

This twofold community of labour, that on the part of the holders of

common property and that of the two sexes, undoubtedly underlies the

peculiar character which the cults of the soil continue to preserve

long after the period of their origin. On the one hand, the work of the

field itself assumes the character of a cult act; combined with it, on

the other hand, there come to be additional ceremonies. That which

brings the men and women together and converts the labour into a cult

act is primarily the dance. The fertilization and growth of plants are

regarded as processes resembling the procreation of man. When the cult

members give themselves up to ecstatic and orgiastic dances, therefore,

they believe that they are magically influencing the sprouting and

growth of the seeds. According to their belief, sprouting and growth

are due to the demons of the soil. These demons the orgiastic cult

arouses to heightened activity, just as the labourers and dancers

mutually excite one another to increased efforts. In this ecstasy of

the cult, man feels himself one with external nature. His own activity

and the processes of nature become for him one and the same magical

potency. In addition to the terrestrial demons of growth, there are the

celestial demons, who send fructifying rains from the clouds to the

soil. Particularly in regions such as New Mexico and Arizona, where a

successful harvest depends in large measure upon the alternation of

rains with the withering heat of the sun, these vegetation festivals

are combined with elements of celestial cults. The latter, of course,

are also essentially demon cults, yet they everywhere exhibit distinct

traces of a transition into deity cults. Particularly typical are the

cults of the Zuni and Hopi, described in detail by various American

scholars. The direction of these cult festivals is vested in a body

of rain-priests, in conjunction with other associations of priests,

named for the most part after animals, and with secret societies. In

the vegetation ceremonies of the Hopi, the members of the rain-group,

naked and with faces masked to represent clouds, parade through a

neighbouring village and thence to the festival place. In their

procession through the village, the women throw water over them from

the windows of the houses. This is a magical ceremony intended to

secure the blessings of rain upon the crops. The investigations of W.

Mannhardt concerning the field cults of ancient and more recent times

have shown that survivals of such conceptions are still present in the

sowing and harvest usages of modern Europe. Mannhardt's collection of

customs deals particularly with East Prussia and Lithuania. In these

localities it is customary for the maid-servants to return from the

harvest earlier than the men, and to drench the latter with water as

they enter the house. Though this custom has become a mere form of

play, it nevertheless still vividly recalls the very serious magical

ceremonies of earlier vegetation cults. But over and above this change

from the serious to the playful, of which there are beginnings even in

the festival celebrations of early cultural peoples, there is still

another important difference between the earliest vegetation cults and

their later recrudescences. The former are connected particularly with

_sowing_, the latter primarily with the _harvest_. This again reflects

the difference between hoe-culture and plough-culture. Hoe-culture

unites the members of the mark in the activity of sowing, whereas

labour with the plough separates them and imposes the work exclusively

on the men. Harvesting the grain, on the other hand, long continues

to remain a task in which individuals work in groups, women and men

together. Moreover, as the magical beliefs associated with the activity

of sowing gradually disappear, their place is taken by joy over the

assured harvest. This also factors towards changing the time of the

main festival from the beginning to the end of the season.

Since both earth and heaven must co-operate if the sowing is to

be propitious and the harvest bountiful, vegetation festivals are

intermediate between demon cults and celestial cults. In respect

to origin, they belong to the former; in the degree in which more

adequate conceptions of nature are attained, they give rise to the

latter. In many cases, moreover, elements of ancestor cult still

exercise an influence towards bringing about this transition. The

cloud that bestows rain and blessing is regarded as dependent upon

a controlling will. Back of the clouds, therefore, according to the

ideas of the Zuni and other Pueblo tribes, dwell the ancestors. The

prayer of the priests to the clouds is also a prayer to the ancestors

for protection and aid. The procession of the rain-priesthood through

the village is a representation of the ancestors who are hidden

behind the mask of clouds, and is supposed to exercise a magical

influence. These cult festivals also include invocations to the sun,

whose assistance is likewise necessary to the prosperity of the crop.

Thus, in the ceremonial customs of the Navajos, who occupy the same

territory, the yellow sand that covers the festival place represents

the coloured expanse of the rainbow, the sun, and the moon. All the

heavenly forces are to co-operate in bringing about the ripening of

the harvest. In this wise it is possible to trace an advance, stage

by stage, from the cults of terrestrial demons, who dwell within the

growing grain itself, to celestial cults. The fact that the aid of

the heavens is indispensable draws the attention upwards. If, now,

there are other causes such as give rise to the idea of a celestial

migration of the souls of departed ancestors, the cloud demons become

merged with ancestor spirits, and there are combined with them the

supra-terrestrial powers that are conceived as inherent in the other

celestial phenomena.

It is due to this synthesis of vegetation cults with celestial cults

that these festivals, which are the most highly developed of any in the

totemic age, continue to become more and more complex. They gradually

incorporate other cults in so far as these are not associated with

specific, undeferable circumstances, as are the death cults. Among the

Zuni and Navajos, the most important ceremony thus incorporated into

these festivals is the initiation of youths into manhood and their

subsequent reception into the community of men. There are analogous

ceremonies for the women. In this complex of cult elements, the

emphasis more and more falls on the celestial phenomena, of which the

more important force themselves upon the observation and therefore

determine the time at which these festivals are held. Instead of at

seedtime and harvest, which vary somewhat with weather conditions,

the two main festivals are held at fixed dates corresponding to the

summer and winter solstices. Thus, the cults become independent of

variable circumstances. All the more are they able to assimilate

other cults. Among the Zuni, for example, there is a ceremony which,

though analogous to the declaration of manhood, is not held at the

time when the youths reach manhood or the maidens arrive at the age

of puberty, but occurs much earlier, and signifies reception into the

cult community. This first consecration, which might be compared to

our baptism, does not take place immediately after birth, but when the

child is four or five years of age. Following upon this consecration,

in the course of the same festival, comes the celebration of the

adulthood of fully matured youths and maidens, set for the fourteenth

or fifteenth year of life. In this ceremony the youths and maidens are

beaten with consecrated rods. The present generation, which has no

knowledge concerning the origin of this practice, generally regards

these blows as a test of hardihood and courage. But the fact that

specially consecrated rods are used by the priests shows unmistakably

that their original purpose was to exercise a magical influence upon

those who were being initiated. Indeed, the fact that many adults crowd

in to receive some of the blows, in the belief that these possess

a protective influence, proves that the original meaning of the

ceremony has maintained itself to a certain extent even down to the

present. In addition to these features of the cult-celebration, which

are connected in general with the tribal or mark community as such,

there are other ceremonies that are designed for the satisfaction of

the wants of individuals. Sick persons drag themselves painfully to

the festival, or are brought to it by their relatives, in search of

healing. In America, the desire for magical healing has very commonly

given rise to so-called sweat-lodges, which are located near the

festival places. These lodges serve a twofold purpose. The primary aim

of the sweat cure is to expel sickness demons. But healthy persons also

subject themselves to the treatment. In this case the sole purpose of

the sweating is obviously that of lustration. Just as we ourselves

occasionally experience relief from the flow of perspiration, so also

may the one who has passed through the ceremony of the sweat-lodge feel

himself reborn, as it were. This would tend to strengthen the naturally

suggested association between this ceremony and lustration by water.

The ceremony, therefore, serves the same purpose as the other forms

of lustration. The individual wishes either to purify himself from a

guilt which he has incurred, or, if there is no particular element of

guilt, to protect himself against future impurities. The custom thus

acquires the significance of a sanctification ceremony, similar to

baptism or to the bath of the Brahman. Because of the combination of

these various cult motives and cult forms, the cult association which

unites in the performance of the vegetation festivals comes to be the

representative of the cult, as well as of the belief, of the tribal

community in general. This likewise prepares the way for the transition

from totemic to deity cults, as is indicated, among other things, by

the sacrificial activities of these cult festivals. Sacrifice itself,

as has already been mentioned, probably originated as sacrifice to the

dead. Its further development occurs primarily in connection with the

higher forms of vegetation cults. The Zuni and Navajos erect altars for

their festivals. These they adorn with gaily coloured cloths and with

the gorgeous plumage of birds. On them they place the plants and grains

which the cult is designed to prosper. This is the typical form of the

vegetable sacrifice as it passes on from these early practices into all

higher cults. The sacrifice consists in offering the particular plants

and grains whose increase is desired. At the outset, its character is

exclusively magical; it is not a gift to the deity. Just as rain-magic

is supposed to result from drenching the rain-association with water,

so this offering of grains is held to have a magic effect upon the

prosperity of the same sorts of grains. There is no indication or

suggestion that the sacrifice represents an offering to the gods. This

idea arises only later, when the magical sacrifice of grains, as well

as that of animals, is connected with a further conception whose origin

is apparently also to be found in sacrifice to the dead. The dead

are presented with gifts, which they carry along into a world beyond.

Similarly, the magical sacrifice connected with vegetation festivals

and their associated cults more and more ceases to be regarded as

purely magical in nature and comes to be an offering to the deity whose

favour is thereby sought.

Coincident with these changes in sacrificial usages, the cult

community which develops in the course of the transitional stages

of cult--the best representatives are the semi-cultural peoples of

America--undergoes a more thorough organization. Separate associations

are formed within the wider circle of cult membership. These severally

assume the various functions involved in the cult; as a rule, they

are under the guidance of priests. Even apart from their connection

with these cult festivals, the priests serve as magic-priests and

magic-doctors, and it is they who preserve the traditions of the

general cult ceremonies as well as of the means requisite on the part

of the individual for the exercise of this twofold profession. This

represents the typical figure of the _medicine-man_. He is to be found

even in primitive culture, but his function more and more changes

from that of the ordinary magician into that of the priest. As such,

he attains to a position of authority that is publicly acknowledged

and protected. Associated with him is a restricted group of those

cult members who are most familiar with the secrets of the cult, and

are his immediate assistants in the festal ceremonies. It is these

individuals that compose the _secret societies_. These societies

occur even among the tribes of the northern parts of America, and

have their analogues particularly on the semi-cultural level which

forms the threshold of the totemic age. Presumably they derive from

the more primitive institution of men's clubs, within which the male

members of a clan are united into age-groups. Membership in secret

societies also continues to be limited to men, more especially to

such as have reached a mature age. As tribal organization developed,

and particularly as family bonds became firmer, age associations were

dissolved. The association which originally included all men gave way

to more restricted societies. Besides this numerical limitation, there

was naturally also a qualitative restriction. In the first place, those

who thus deliberately segregated themselves from the total body were

the privileged members of the tribal community, or at least such as

laid claim to special prerogatives; these associations, furthermore,

were formed for certain more specialized purposes connected with the

particular needs of their members. The first of these considerations

accounts for the respect, occasionally mingled with fear or reverence,

which was accorded to these societies, a respect which was heightened

by the secrecy in which they shrouded themselves. The fact that

certain customs and traditions were surrounded with secrecy caused

every such association to be organized into various ranks, graded

according to the extent with which the individuals were familiar with

the secret doctrines. This type of organization occurs as early as

the associations of medicine-men among the Africans and the American

Indians; later, it is to be found in connection with the Eleusynian

and Orphic mysteries; it is represented also by the Christian and

Buddhistic orders, and by their various secular counterparts, such as

the Rosicrucians and the Freemasons. Not infrequently these societies,

in contradiction to their secrecy, have special emblems indicative of

membership and of rank. Among the American Indians, this purpose is

generally served by special drawings on the body; in other places, by

specific tattooings as well as by the wearing of distinctive dress.

The second restriction of membership on the part of the secret society

is connected with the limited purpose which the society serves. The

men's club includes all the interests of the clan or tribal community;

the secret society is held together by a specific aim or by a limited

circle of related tasks. Here also it is universally true that these

tasks are connected with _cult_, and are thus of a religious nature.

Even the Greek phratries underwent a change of purpose analogous to

that which occurred in the transition from the age-group to the secret

society, for, after losing their earlier political significance, they

continued to exist as cultural associations.

The men's group belongs exclusively to the totemic age. Secret

societies, however, are organizations which, together with the cults

that they maintain, belong to a stage transitional between totemic and

deity cults. The emblems worn by the cult members are for the most part

totemic; totemic also are the cult usages, and likewise, particularly

among the American Indians, the name which the group adopts. The

feathers of birds and the hides of other totem animals--the same as

those which also adorn the festival altars--constitute a chief part of

the dress. In addition to the general tribal festival in which they

co-operate, these societies also maintain their special cults. It is

particularly in these latter cults that ancient totemic survivals are

in evidence. A remarkable example of such a totem group is the snake

society of the Hopi Indians, who dwell, as do the Zuni and Navajos,

in the regions of New Mexico. The totem animal of this society is

the rattlesnake. In the snake festival, a procession is formed in

which every member participates; each carries a rattlesnake in his

mouth, holding it in his teeth directly back of its head. It is firmly

believed that no snake will kill a member of the society which holds

it sacred. Of course, as observers of the festival have noticed, an

ingenious expedient is employed to avert the danger. Each snake-bearer

is followed by an associate who diverts the attention of the snake by

continually tickling its tail with a small stick. If a snake-bearer is

bitten, as rarely occurs, his companion always sucks out the wound,

by which act, as is well known, the snake-bite is rendered relatively

innocuous.

15. THE ART OF THE TOTEMIC AGE.

The most prominent of the artistic activities of the totemic age

is _formative art_. In this field, the lowest stages of totemic

development show little advance beyond the achievements of primitive

man. True, even Australia possesses cave drawings which, perhaps have

some sort of cult significance. As yet, however, we have not succeeded

in interpreting these drawings. With this exception, the formative art

of the totemic period is limited to carvings upon weapons or other

implements--obviously thought, just as in primitive times, to possess

magical potencies--and to the painting of the face on the occasion of

cult festivals.

In the regions of Oceania, particularly the Polynesian Islands, we find

a far richer development of that form of pictorial art which aims at

the adornment of the body, or, as we ought rather to say with reference

to the beginnings of this artistic practice, at the exercise on the

part of the body of a magical influence upon external things. Polynesia

is the chief centre of _artistic tattooing_. Throughout these regions

this practice has universally taken the form of prick tattooing. By

means of separate, close-lying prick points filled with colour, various

symmetrical designs are formed. This tattooing is the only art whose

highest perfection is reached at the beginning of culture. As soon as

clothing appears, the decoration of the body itself gives way to that

of dress. On particular occasions, as, for example, in connection with

certain cult practices of the American Indians, custom may continue

to demand entire nakedness. Under these circumstances, there is a

sort of retrogressive development in which the painting necessitated

by the festivals takes the place of tattooing. This occurs even among

the Australians. Moreover, even after clothing has appeared, it long

remains a favourite custom to tattoo certain exposed parts of the skin,

particularly the face and the arms and hands. Even to-day, indeed, the

arms are sometimes tattooed. The fact that tattooing is now practised

almost exclusively by criminals and prostitutes, and, occasionally,

by sailors, finds its explanation in a circumstance which was also of

influence at the time when tattooing was in its first flower, namely,

in the interruption of occupational activity by long periods of leisure.

There is an additional factor which obviously favours the development

of the art of tattooing, particularly in the territory of the

Polynesian Islands. I refer to the combination of totemism with

celestial mythology, which is peculiar to these peoples, and to

the consequent recedence of totemism. Particularly illuminative as

regards this point is the tattooing of the Maoris. The mythology of

this people gives an important place to the sun, and their bodily

decorations frequently include pictures of this celestial body, in

the form of spiral ornamentations. Some two years ago travelling

investigators brought back copies of the tattooing of other islanders,

particularly those of the Marquesas group. These tattoo-patterns

contain many significant elements of a celestial mythology; those

of to-day, however, in so far as the custom has not been entirely

effaced by the Europeans, consist almost entirely of simple geometrical

ornamentations. The tattooings of early times frequently included

also representations of animals. Plants were less common, as might

be expected from the fact that it was only later that they acquired

importance for totemic cults. At the same time, it is evident that a

sort of reversal took place as regards the pictorial representation of

objects. This is even more striking in the tattooing of the American

Indians, a tattooing restricted to certain parts of the body. In the

preceding chapter the fact has already been noted that, among the

primitive peoples of the pretotemic age, as, for example, the Semangs

and Senoi of Malacca, the multiplication of simple parallel lines,

triangles, arcs, etc., gives rise to plant-like and animal-like forms.

Doubtless the primitive artist himself discovers such figures in his

drawings and then sometimes consciously sets about to imitate more

closely the actual forms of the natural objects. At the stage of

development now under discussion, we find, conversely, that animal

forms, particularly, are retranslated into geometrical objects in

that they become, as we would to-day express it, more and more

conventionalized. Since only the simplest outlines of the objects

are retained, it may eventually become a matter of doubt whether

these really are schematic representations of natural objects, and

whether they are not, even from the very beginning, geometrical

ornamentations. Nevertheless the fact that there are continuous

transitions from the developed animal form to the geometrical ornament,

as occurs particularly in America, is incontrovertible proof that such

a conventionalization took place, though in many cases, doubtless,

very slowly. This process of conventionalization, however, may be more

clearly traced in connection with a different art, one that is related

to tattooing but whose development is not limited, as is that of the

latter, and destined from the very outset to become obsolete. I refer

to _ceramics_, the art of decorating the vessels which were at first

intended for the preservation, and later for the preparation, of food.

Even though the art of making pottery is not to be found in primitive

culture proper, it nevertheless dates back to a very early age. It is

not impossible that this age coincides approximately with the beginning

of the totemic period. At any rate, it was totemic cult which, from

earliest times on, furnished the motives for the decoration or--as is

here also doubtless generally true of the early beginnings--for the

magical protection of the vessels, or for the imparting of magical

potencies to their contents. Doubtless the clay vessel was originally

modelled partly after the natural objects that were used for storing

food, and partly after the woven basket. The latter, in turn, may, in

its beginnings, have been copied from the bird's nest. When it was

discovered, probably accidentally, that clay is hardened by fire, the

clay vessel came to be used not merely for the preservation of food

but also for its preparation by means of fire. Or, perhaps it would

be truer to say that the attempt to accomplish this latter purpose

with the unhardened clay vessel led to the art of baking clay. Now,

even before the art of making pottery was known, implements, weapons,

women's combs, and even the body itself were marked with simple and

regular linear drawings to which a magical significance was attached.

These geometrical forms, which arose semi-accidentally, were, even from

very early times, apperceived as the outlines of animal or plant forms,

and it was under the influence of these ideas that they attained a

further development. Precisely the same process was repeated in the

case of ceramics, only, as it were, upon a broader scale, challenging a

richer play of imagination. It is precisely here, however, particularly

in the ceramics of the American Indians, that we can trace the

ascending and the descending developments of primitive linear drawings,

first into completely developed animal designs with meagre suggestions

of attempts at plant ornamentation, and then regressively, through a

continued conventionalization, into purely geometrical figures. At the

same time, it was ceramics, especially, that developed a combination

of these two designs, the systematic arrangement of which marks

the perfection of this art. Thus arose representations of natural

objects framed in by geometrical ornamentations. In this respect

also, tattooing furnished a preparation, even though imperfectly, for

ceramics. In inner significance, moreover, the latter was a direct

outgrowth of the former. By tattooing, man originally guarded his own

person with protective magic; in ceramics, this magic was brought into

connection with man's utensils, with the food necessary for his life,

and with its preparation. In ceramics, therefore, just as in tattooing,

the animals represented were at first primarily _totem animals_. Among

them we find particularly snakes, fish, and birds, and, in America, the

alligator. Especially characteristic of the totemic age is the fact

that the decorations scarcely ever include the representation of the

_human figure_. It is by this mark that the art products, even of the

earliest age of Greece, may be distinguished at first glance from those

of totemic culture. In the former case, the human figure is introduced,

either along with that of the animal or even alone; in the latter case,

only animal representations occur. Strange to say, it is in only _one_

respect that the ceramics, more particularly of the American Indians,

copy man--the vessel as a whole represents a head or a skull. Doubtless

this is connected with the obnoxious custom of head-hunting. Just as

the Indian adorns the roof of his hut with the heads of his conquered

foes, so he perpetuates the memory of his feats of war in his ceramic

objects. No portrayal of activities in which human beings participate,

is to be found in the totemic age.

Connected with this, no doubt, is the lack of any real _sculpture_,

with the exception of crude idols representing animal or human forms.

These idols, on the whole, are of the nature of fetishes, and as such

may, of course, be regarded as the precursors of the divine images of

a later period. As there is no sculpture, so also is there, strictly

speaking, no _architecture_. In this respect, again, there is a wide

difference between this age and the succeeding one. In its higher

forms, architecture presupposes gods who are worshipped in a temple.

In the totemic period, however, there are no temples. True, the

Australian preserves his magic wands and pieces of wood, the churingas,

in caves or huts, but the latter differ in no wise from other huts. In

the totemic age, therefore, man alone has a dwelling-place. Of such

structures there are, in general, _two_ types, the _conical_ and the

_spherical_. The conical hut apparently had its origin in the tent.

The rounded or beehive hut, as it has been called in Africa, may

originally have been copied from a natural cave built in the sand. The

two forms, moreover, are not always mutually exclusive. In winter,

for example, the Esquimo of Behring Strait lives in a round hut made

of snow; in summer, he pitches a tent. In Melanesia, Polynesia, and

other regions, the erection of dwelling-places on the seashore or

on the shores of large rivers led to the _pole-hut_, a modification

which came to resemble the houses of later times. This hut, which is

generally occupied jointly by several families, is erected on poles

that are firmly driven into the ground and reach far up into the air.

Such a pole-hut, even at this early age, develops the typical form

of a commodious dwelling. One of the factors here operative is the

institution of men's clubs, which is prevalent in these regions: the

necessity that many individuals live together leads to the erection

of buildings of considerable size. In this connection, we note a

characteristic difference between the beginnings of architectonic

art and that of the other arts. The latter, whether in the case of

tattooing, ceramics, or the fetishistic precursors of sculpture,

always originate in mythological and, primarily, in magical motives;

the sole impetus to architecture is furnished by the immediate needs

of practical life. Thus, then, it is not to religious impulses but to

the social conditions which require that many individuals shall live

together, that we must trace a more perfected technique of building

than that of primitive times.

Much more nearly parallel to the development of the other forms of

art is that of the _musical arts_, meaning by this all those arts

which consist in the direct activity of man himself. The musical

arts include the dance, poetry, and music, as well as the various

combinations into which these enter with one another. Since it is

the third of these arts, music, that manifests a particular tendency

to combine with and to supplement the other two, all three may be

comprehended under its name. This will also serve to suggest the fact

that, just as the formative arts are closely related in that they give

objective embodiment to the creations of the imagination, so also are

the musical arts allied by virtue of their reliance on subjective

expression. Of all these various arts, the _dance_ preserves the

closest connection with the more primitive age. In the cult dance of

the totemic period, however, the dance receives an extraordinarily

rich development, reaching a stage of perfection comparable to that

to which formative art attains in the external adornment of the

body--that is, in tattooing. The dance and tattooing, indeed, are

closely related, since nowhere else is the _personal body_ so directly

the object and the means of artistic activity. To the dances of the

primitive period, however, the totemic dance adds _one_ external

feature--the _mask_--whose origin is directly due to totem belief.

Even the Australians, of course, are not familiar with the mask-dance.

They sometimes paint the face or mark it with single lines, and this

may be regarded as the precursor of the mask; the mask itself however

appears only in the later development of totemism, and continues far

into the succeeding age. Moreover, as regards its distribution, there

are considerable differences. It plays its most important rôle in

American and Polynesian regions, a less prominent one in Africa. In

America, the mask-dance and the elevation of masks into cult objects,

to which the mask-dance occasionally gives rise, extend from the

Esquimos of the north far down to the south. Koch-Grünberg has given

a clear picture of the mask-dances and the mask-cult of the natives

of the Brazilian forests. Here the masks are not a secondary means of

magic, as it were--much less an occasional object of adornment. Every

mask is a sort of sacred object. When the youth attains to manhood, he

receives a mask, which is sacred to him throughout his entire life.

After the great cult festivals, which are celebrated with mask-dances,

the masks are carefully preserved. In the mask there is supposed to

reside the demon who is represented by it, and the fear of the demon is

transferred to the mask. The dancing of this period consists primarily

of the animal dance, which is a rhythmic imitation, often wonderfully

skilful, of the movements of an animal. The mask also, therefore,

always represents, in a more or less altered or grotesquely exaggerated

form, an animal's head, or a being intermediate between animal and

man, thus vividly calling to mind certain totemic legends whose heroes

are sometimes animals and sometimes human beings. On the more advanced

stages of totemic culture, there are also masks representing objects

of external nature. Mention has already been made of the cloud masks

used in the vegetation festivals of the Hopi and Zuni. The rain-priests

of these tribes, with these masks on their heads and with pictures of

zigzag lightning on their garments, are the living representatives of

storm demons. Thus, the mask imparts to its wearer the character of

the demon represented by it. The characteristics of face-masks, such

as enormous beards and teeth, huge eyes, noses, etc., cause them,

particularly, to be the living embodiments of the fear of demons, and

thus to be themselves regarded as demoniacal beings. Whatever may be

their more specific nature, whether, for example, they represent

demons of sickness or of fertility, they always present the same

fear-inspiring features. A certain diversity of expression is much more

likely to come as a result of the external character of the dance in

which the masks are used. This may give rise to expressions portraying

surprise and astonishment, or the more lively emotions of fear,

terror, or exalted joy. In the latter case, we must bear in mind that

representations of grinning laughter differ in but a few characteristic

marks from those of violent weeping.

Corresponding to these differences in the character of the masks

that are worn, are _two_ main forms of the dance, particularly of

the cult dance. The first of these is the _ceremonial dance_, which

moves in slow and solemn rhythm. This is the dance that generally

inaugurates the great cult festivals of the semi-cultural peoples

of totemism or that accompanies certain of the chief features of

the festival--such, for example, as the entrance and procession of

the cloud-masked ancestral spirits in the vegetation festivals of

New Mexico. Contrasting with the ceremonial dance are the _ecstatic

dances_, which for the most part form the climax of the festival.

Only the men are allowed to take part in the ceremonial dances, and

the same is generally true also of the ecstatic dances. The women,

if not altogether excluded from the ceremonies, are either silent

witnesses or accompany the dance with songs or screams. It is only in

the more extreme form of the ecstatic-orgiastic dance that both sexes

participate. The mixed dances probably arose in connection with the

vegetation festivals, as a result of the relation which was thought to

exist between the sexual emotions and the creative forces of nature.

It was doubtless because of this late origin that the Greeks long

continued to regard the dances of the Dionysian festivals, which were

borrowed from Oriental cults and executed by women alone or by women

and men together, as in part a degeneration of good custom. In the

drama, whose origin was the mimetic dance, the rôle of women was taken

by men.

Closely connected with the dance is _music_, the preparatory stage of

which is constituted by the participation of the voice in the rhythm

of the external movements of the body. These articulatory movements,

which form a part of the mimicking activity of the face, supplement the

dynamic rhythm of the dance with the melodic rise and fall of tones.

The emotion which finds its outlet in the dance itself, then seeks a

further enhancement through objective means. These means also involve

the activity of the bodily organs; noises are produced by clapping the

hands, by stamping on the ground, or by the rhythmic clash of sticks.

In the latter case, the transition from instruments of noise to those

of tone is easily made. The earliest forms of tone instruments are of

two sorts, according as they copy the production of sound by external

means, on the one hand, or by the vocal organs, in the accompanying

tones, on the other. Thus, the two original forms of musical

instruments are _instruments of concussion_ and _wind instruments_. In

origin, these are directly connected with the dance. They are natural

means of intensification created directly by the emotion, though later

modified by systematic invention. The later development of musical art

continues to remain in close relation to the two main forms of the

dance, the solemn ceremonial and the ecstatic dance, between which

there come to be numerous transitions. From the most primitive to the

highest stages of music, we continually find two sorts of musical

expression, the _sustained_ and the _animated_. These correspond to the

contrasting feelings of rest and excitement, which are experienced even

by animals, and which man therefore doubtless carried with him from his

natural state into his cultural life. With the progress of culture,

these feelings constantly become more richly differentiated.

The totemic age may be said to include only the first few advances

beyond the simple emotions already expressed in the dance.

Nevertheless, there are ethnological differences that register in a

very characteristic way those specific musical talents of the various

races which are obscured on higher levels of culture because of the

increasing complexity of international relations. Thus, Africa is

apparently the chief centre, if not the original home, of instruments

of concussion and of the great variety of stringed instruments that

develop from them. America, on the other hand, is the region in which

wind instruments, in particular their original form, the flute, have

attained their chief development. The flute of the American Indians is

not, of course, like our own; it is blown, not with the lips, but with

the mouth. It therefore resembles a shawm or a clarinet. As regards

production of tone, however, it is a flute, for the tone is produced

by the extension of one lip over the other in a manner similar to that

of the flute-pipes of our organs. That which distinguishes the sound

of the flute and of its shorter form, the fife, from that of stringed

instruments is primarily the greater intensity and the longer duration

of the tone. Corresponding to the difference in musical instruments

is that of the noise instruments which characterize the two regions.

Africa possesses the drum. This it employs not only for purposes of

accompaniment in cult ceremonies, but also as a means of signalling,

since it renders distant communication possible by use of the so-called

drum-language. In America, we find the rattle. Though this, of course,

is not entirely lacking in Africa, it nevertheless occurs primarily

within the cultural realm of the North American Indians. Here it

is employed as an instrument of noise and magic, similarly to the

bull-roarer of the Australians. As between the rattle and the drum, the

difference is again one of the longer duration of sound in the case of

the American instrument.

The tones produced by these early musical instruments, however, even

those of the stringed instruments and their vocal accompaniment, by

no means, of course, form harmonic music. On the contrary, harmony

is an achievement of the succeeding age; it is here foreshadowed in

only imperfect beginnings. Such beginnings, however, may everywhere be

discerned in the records that we have of the melodies of the Soudan

negroes and the American races. Nevertheless, most of the records that

are as yet available are still of doubtful value. The auditor is too

prone to find in them his own musical experiences. For reliable data

we must wait until, following the beginnings that have already been

made, a greater number of such natural songs will have been objectively

recorded by the aid of the phonograph. As yet we can only say that,

if we may judge from their musical instruments, the Africans surpass

all other natural peoples in musical talent. Their melodies ordinarily

move within the range of about an octave, whereas those of the North

American Indians seldom pass beyond a sixth. The fact of this small

tonal compass will itself indicate that the melody of all natural

peoples tends to very constant rhythms and intervals. The latter,

moreover, show some similarity to those with which we are familiar. The

chief characteristic of these songs, however, is their tendency toward

repetition. One and the same motive frequently recurs with tiresome

monotony. The melodies thus reflect certain universal characteristics

of primitive poetry as they appear in the songs of the Veddahs and of

other pretotemic tribes.

Nevertheless, the forms of _poetry_ exhibit an important advance over

those of the more primitive peoples just mentioned. Particularly

in the case of the _song_, we find that the simple expression of

the moods directly aroused by nature is supplemented by a further

important feature. This feature is closely bound up with that more

lively bodily and mental activity of totemic culture which is reflected

likewise in its use of implements and weapons. Karl Bücher was the

first to point out that common labour gives rise to common songs,

whose rhythm and melody are determined by the labour. The increasing

diversity of the work results in a wider range of content and also

in a richer differentiation of forms. Such _work-songs_ are to be

found throughout the entire totemic era, whereas, of course, they are

lacking in the preceding age, in which common labour scarcely exists.

Contemporaneously with the work-song, the _cult-song_ makes its

appearance. The latter is essentially conditioned by the development

of totemic ceremonies. As these become more numerous, the cult-song

likewise gradually grows richer and more manifold, in close reciprocal

relations with the dance and music. In the case of the cult-song, as

well as of the work-song, the above-mentioned repetition of motives

comes to exercise an important influence on the accompanying activity.

Though different causes are operative in the two cases, these causes

nevertheless ultimately spring from a _single_ source--namely, the

heightening of emotions. In the cult-song, man aims to bring his

petitions and, as we may say for the earlier age, the magic which his

words exercise, as forcibly as possible to the notice of the demons

or, at a later period, of the gods whom he addresses. For this reason

the same wish is repeated again and again. The most primitive form of

cult-song generally consists of but a single wish repeated in rhythmic

form. In the work-song, on the other hand, it is the constantly

recurring rhythm of the work that leads directly to the repetition of

the accompanying rhythmic and melodic motives. When one and the same

external task becomes associated time and again with these accompanying

songs, the two mutually reinforce each other. The song is a stimulus

to the work, and the work heightens the emotion expressed in the song.

Both results vary with the degree in which the song is adapted to

the work and thus itself becomes a poetic representation of it. Here

again neither plan nor purpose originally played the least part; the

development was determined by the rhythmic and melodic motives immanent

in the work.

Several brief illustrations may serve to give us a clear picture of

what has been said. The first is a cult-song of American origin. Again

we turn to the cult usages of one of the tribes of New Mexico, the Sia.

The motif of the song, which is rain-magic, furnishes the material

for very many of the ceremonies of these regions. The song of the

rain-priests is as follows:--

All ye fluttering clouds,

All ye clouds, cherish the fields,

All ye lightnings and thunders, rainbows and

cloud-peoples,

Come and labour for us.

This song is repeated again and again without change of motif--it is a

conjuration in the form of a song.

The snake society of the Hopi, to which we have already referred, has

a similar song, which it sings with musical accompaniment. It runs as

follows:--

Oh, snake society of the North, come and labour for us,

Snake society of the South, of the West, snake society of the

Zenith and of the Nadir,

Come hither and labour for us.

The fact that the snake societies of the Zenith and Nadir are invoked

makes it clear that this song is not, as it were, an appeal addressed

to other societies of human beings. There are, of course, none such

at the Zenith or the Nadir. The song is obviously directed to a demon

society conceived as similar to human cult associations. It petitions

for assistance in the preparation of the field and for a successful

harvest.

The repetitions in such cases as these are always due to the fact

that the songs are conjurations. Not so with the work-song. This is

generally the expression of a greater diversity of motives, as is shown

by the following lines taken from a song of the Maoris of New Zealand.

The song is one which they sing while transporting trunks of trees to

the coast:--

Give more room,

Joyous folk, give room for the totara,

Joyous folk,

Give me the maro.

*****************************

Slide on, slide on!

Slip along, slip along!

Joyous folk! etc.

'Totara' and 'maro' are the names of trees that they have felled. In

its rhythm and its repetitions, the song gives us a direct portrayal of

the work itself.

These song-forms are still entirely the product of external motives

and never arise under the independent and immediate influence of

subjective moods. Far superior to them is another field of literary

composition, the _narrative_. The totemic age, particularly, has

produced a great variety of forms of narrative. Predominant among these

is the _märchen-myth_, a narrative which resembles the fairy-tale and

which, as a rule, continues during this period to be of the nature

of a credited myth. It is a prose narrative circulated by word of

mouth, in which manner it sometimes traverses wide regions. With

occasional changes or in connection with different mythical ideas it

may survive many generations. So far as these general characteristics

are concerned, the märchen, indeed, is the most permanent of all forms

of literary composition. It extends from the most primitive levels

of culture down to the present. In the form of the märchen-myth,

however, it is especially characteristic of the totemic age. We now

possess numerous collections of such tales from the most diverse

regions of totemic as well as of later civilizations. An Englishwoman,

Mrs. Parker, has brought together a number of Australian tales, and

these have been augmented in more recent times, particularly through

the labours of the German missionary Strehlow. Strehlow has a great

advantage over most of the other Australian investigators in being

familiar with the languages of the tribes among whom he lives. Valuable

material regarding America and Africa has been gathered particularly

by American and English travellers; data, furthermore, are not lacking

concerning the natural and cultural peoples of other parts of the

earth. Moreover, comparative research has for some time past studied

the märchen with the primary purpose of determining to what localities

the materials of the märchen and the fable have spread, and thus,

in turn, of learning the early cultural relations of peoples. This

investigation of the märchen, however, has, for the most part, suffered

from a false preconception. The criterion by which we judge present-day

tales of this sort was applied to märchen-fiction in general. The

märchen-myths of primitive peoples, therefore, were regarded either

as creations of individuals and as never having been credited, or, at

best, as retrogressive forms of higher types of myth--particularly

of nature myths--adapted to the needs of childlike comprehension.

A closer investigation of the märchen-myths of relatively primitive

peoples has rendered this theory absolutely untenable. True,

retrogressive forms occasionally occur in this as well as in most other

sorts of myth and of literary composition. Nevertheless, there is no

longer any room for doubt that, on the one hand, the earliest products

of narrative composition were all of the nature of the märchen, and

that, on the other hand, most primitive märchen-fictions were _credited

myths_. An attempt to arrive at the sources of the most common motifs

of the märchen of different peoples and ages will reveal the fact that

the majority of them must undoubtedly be traced to the totemic age.

Such was the environment, certainly, in which the earliest narrative

had its setting, particularly in so far as it was believed to report

truths of history.

The early myth narrative was of the general character of the märchen

primarily in that it was not, as a rule, restricted to a specific time

or place. This also differentiates the folk märchen of to-day from the

saga. An occasional exception is offered by the anthropogenic legends

of peoples of nature, although these also are in other respects of the

nature of the märchen. A second essential characteristic of the märchen

is the fact that magical agencies play a rôle in the determination of

events. This is true even of present-day folk märchen, and is due to

the circumstance that the primitive märchen arose in an age which was

still entirely under the dominance of magical beliefs. These beliefs,

which influenced all phases of the activity of primitive man, also

caused the magical märchen to be credited either in their entirety or

at least in great part. All the narratives of this age, however, bear

the characteristics of the märchen, as these have just been indicated,

or, at any rate, it is at most only occasionally, in the primitive

legend, that they approximate to the saga. It follows, therefore, that

the development of the myth in general begins with the märchen-myth.

Here also the development proceeds from below upwards, and not the

reverse.

But even though the beginnings of the märchen-myth doubtless date

back to primitive man, the flower of the development is undeniably

to be found in the totemic age. For it is to this age that all those

characteristics point that are still to be found, as survivals of the

totemic period, in present-day märchen and children's fairy-tales.

Of such characteristics, we might mention primarily the magical

causality which the action involves--a point to which we have already

referred--and also the rôle assigned to the _animal_, which is

portrayed either as the helper and benefactor of man or, at the least,

as like him in nature. The latter resemblance appears particularly in

the fact that marriages are frequently represented as taking place

between man and animals; furthermore, transformations of men into

animals are said to occur, and retransformations of the latter into

men. In these totemic märchen we very seldom find man to the exclusion

of animals; just as little, moreover, do animals appear alone. Both

the animal fable and the märchen which deals exclusively with human

beings, are products of a later development and belong to a period in

which the märchen is no longer credited. Even more truly, however, do

these primitive märchen lack the moral lessons which are taught by the

stories of later times, particularly by the fable. Nevertheless, those

fable märchen which are generally called 'explicative' because they

explain the traits of certain animals, still generally bear the marks

of the totemic age, even though they apparently belong to one of its

somewhat later periods. An example of this is the tale of the American

Indians of the North-west, according to which the crow became black

through being burned by the sun while stealing celestial fire; or the

tale of the Bantus, which explains that the rabbit acquired the cleft

in his lip as the result of a blow once dealt him by the man in the

moon.

The most primitive märchen lacks all such intellectualistic motives. It

recounts an event without any discernible purpose or without bringing

the action to any natural conclusion. The following Australian märchen

may serve as an illustration: 'Several women go out into the field

with their children to gather grass seed. There they meet a magpie. It

offers to watch the children while the women are gathering the seeds.

They leave the children with the magpie. When they return, however,

the children have disappeared. The magpie has hidden them in a hollow

tree. The women hear the children crying, but do not know where they

are, and return home without them. The magpie has disappeared.' Such a

narrative is strikingly similar, in its lack of aim, to the songs of

primitive peoples. Markedly superior is the märchen-fiction found among

other natural peoples of totemic culture. These tales gradually develop

a closer connection between the events. It is now that the märchen hero

makes his appearance, and it is with him, particularly, that the events

are associated. This hero is not of course, similar to the one of the

later hero saga, who gains distinction by his strength, cleverness, and

other qualities. He is a magic-hero, in control of magical forces. The

latter are frequently represented as communicated to him by an animal

which he meets, or by an old woman; more rarely, he is said to receive

them from a male magician. A further characteristic of the childhood

period of the märchen-fiction is the fact that the hero himself is

almost always a child. A youth sets forth on adventure, meets with

magical experiences, returns home, and generally benefits his tribe

through certain possessions that he has acquired on his journey. Here,

again, animals play a supporting rôle. Rich collections of such märchen

have been gathered, particularly in America. One of the tales of the

Pawnee tribe of prairie Indians runs as follows: 'A young man did not

join his companions in their sports, but went alone into the forest.

One day he returned with a buffalo cow which had become his wife and

had borne him a buffalo calf. But the very moment that the wife and

calf entered the hut of the man they were transformed into human

beings. Nevertheless, a cloud of magic hung over the man. If the child

were to fall to the floor, it would be changed back into a buffalo

calf. Now, this misfortune actually came to pass, and the mother was

also again changed into a buffalo cow. Sadly the young man then went

with them into the forest, where he himself became a buffalo and for a

time lived quietly with the buffalo herd. Suddenly he again returned

home, transformed into a man. But he had learned from the buffaloes

how one must set about to lure them forth in order to hunt them. This

secret he imparted to his fellow-tribesmen, and since that time the

tribe has enjoyed plenty of buffalo meat.' This is a buffalo legend

which tells of a sort of compact between the tribe and the buffaloes.

That the legend, moreover, is not a mere märchen in our sense of

the term, has been strikingly shown by Dorsey, to whom we owe the

collection of Pawnee tales from which this story is taken. The tale is

still recounted by the Pawnees when they wish the buffalo to appear for

the hunt. Thus, it is a magical märchen, not only in that it deals with

magical events but also in that its narration is supposed to exercise

magical powers. This naturally presupposes that it is credited.

To trace the further development of the totemic märchen-myth is to

find the gradual emergence of characteristic changes. The relation

between man and the animal is slowly altered. This is most clearly

apparent in connection with the transformation of human beings into

animals. This change is no longer held to be one in which man, because

of the magical powers which he acquires, is the gainer, and not the

loser. The transformation now more and more comes to be regarded as a

degradation. The man who has changed into an animal is portrayed by

the märchen as denounced and persecuted by his fellow-tribesmen. He

is compelled to withdraw into solitude or to live exclusively with

the animal herd, because he is no longer regarded by his fellows as

an equal. Later, near the end of the totemic period, the change is

conceived, not as degradation but as the result of an evil magic from

which an innocent person suffers, and, eventually, as a punishment

which overtakes a person because of some misdeed or other. Of these

notions, that of malevolent magic again apparently antedates that

of punishment. When the latter appears, the relation which was

characteristic of totemism at its height becomes practically reversed.

Quite naturally, therefore, the idea that transformation into an animal

is a punishment arises long after the close of the totemic age. Indeed,

it is to be found far into the period of ideas of requital, which are

a relatively late product of deity cult, and whose development is

largely influenced by philosophical reflection. Thus considered, the

doctrine of metempsychosis developed by the Brahmans of India and by

the Pythagorean sect of the Occident is the last metamorphosis of a

very ancient totemic animal tale. These changes, however, have had

practically no influence on the development of the märchen itself. This

is shown by the fact that the folk märchen of to-day have universally

retained the idea that the transformation of men into animals is the

result of malevolent magic. The latter, indeed, is the form in which

these survivals of a distant totemic past are even to-day most easily

comprehensible to the child mind.

Thus, the animal märchen is an important product of totemic culture,

directly embodying the views that dominate the life of this age. In

addition to such tales, however, and, in part, in combination with

them, there are several other forms of the märchen-myth, consisting

chiefly of ideas concerning nature and, to some extent, of magical

ideas sustained by the human emotions of fear and of hope. _Two_ sorts

of märchen, especially, should here be mentioned, _celestial tales_

and _tales of fortune_, both of which owe their development to totemic

culture. The celestial märchen, however, disappears comparatively

early, mainly, no doubt, because it is displaced or assimilated by the

celestial mythology of the post-totemic age. The märchen of fortune, on

the other hand, remains as a permanent form of märchen-fiction, and all

later narrative composition has been influenced by it.

The celestial märchen affords a direct record of the impression made by

celestial phenomena on the consciousness of an age whose ideas were as

yet circumscribed by the environment. By the environment, however, must

as yet be understood the entire visible world--sun, moon, and stars,

as well as hills and valleys, animals and men. The distant, moreover,

was always likened to that which was near at hand and immediately

accessible. Animals and men were supposed to inhabit the clouds and

the heavenly bodies, precisely as they do the earth, and the relations

which they were there held to sustain to one another are identical with

those described in the animal tale. When the new moon appears, a wolf

is devouring the moon; in an eclipse of the sun, the sun is swallowed

up by a black monster; and when, in the evening, the sun disappears

behind a dark cloud, it likewise is overpowered by a monster, and the

red glow of the sunset is the blood which it sheds. _Three_ themes in

particular are dominant in the most primitive celestial tales: the

ascension of man into the heavens, his descent from heaven, and the

devourment of the great heavenly bodies, in particular of the sun, at

sunset. One of the earliest of these conceptions is the journey to

heaven. This is indicated by the very fact that the means for this

journey are always derived directly from nature, or consist of the

weapons and implements of primitive culture. There is a conception

current in Australia and Oceania that beings have climbed to heaven

by means of high trees, or have allowed themselves to be raised up by

the branch of a tree that had been bent down to the earth. Where the

bow and arrow exist, as in Melanesia and America, the arrow-ladder is

frequently employed for the celestial journey. A hunter shoots an arrow

into the heavens, where it remains fixed; he then sends a second arrow

which catches into the notch of the first, then a third, a fourth,

etc., until the ladder reaches to the earth. The downward journey is

not so difficult. This is generally accomplished by means of a basket

or a rope sustained by cords; it is thus that the celestial inhabitant

is enabled to descend to the earth. Many märchen relate that the sun

and the moon were originally human beings who journeyed to the heavens.

Here they are thought to remain, or occasionally, perhaps, to return to

the earth while other human beings take their place.

Besides the märchen telling of the interrelations of human and

celestial beings, there are also a number of other sorts. Of them we

may here single out, as a particularly characteristic type, those which

deal with _devourment_. Obviously, as has already been noticed, it is

the setting of the sun that very frequently constitutes the central

theme of these tales. These märchen of devourment, however, differ

from those that deal with celestial journeys in that they clearly

exemplify narratives in which only _one_ of the elements consists of

a celestial phenomenon; in addition to it, there are regularly also

other elements borrowed from the terrestrial environment. Indeed, the

latter may of itself originate märchen, independently of the influence

of celestial phenomena. We must distinguish at the outset, therefore,

between those märchen of devourment that contain celestial elements

and others in which these elements are apparently lacking. A familiar

example of märchen of devourment is the Biblical legend of Jonah. In

its traditional rendering, this is clearly of a relatively late origin,

though it is probably based on much older tales. Many of the tales

of devourment, which are common to all parts of the earth, centre

about a hero, who is generally a courageous youth seeking adventure.

The hero is devoured by a monster; he kindles a fire in the belly of

the monster, and, by burning up its entrails, rescues himself. The

fact that fire figures so prominently in these tales makes it highly

probable that they took shape under the influence of observations of

the setting sun. Other tales make no mention of fire, but relate that

the belly of the monster is extremely hot, and that the heat singes

the hair of the one who has been swallowed. In an old illustrated

Bible which was recently discovered, Jonah is pictured as having a

luxuriant growth of hair at the moment when he is being swallowed; in

a second picture, when he comes forth from the belly of the whale,

he is entirely bald. But even though this reference to fire and to

heat indicates an influence on the part of the sunset, this type

of celestial märchen is none the less entirely different from that

which deals with journeys to heaven and the return to earth. In the

latter, the heaven is itself the scene of action upon which men and

animals play their rôles. In the märchen of devourment, the celestial

phenomenon imparts certain characteristics to the terrestrial action

that is being described, but the latter continues to preserve its

terrestrial nature. The narrator of the märchen or legend, therefore,

may be wholly unconscious of any reference to the heavens. The

psychological process of assimilation causes elements of a celestial

phenomenon to be fused into an action of the terrestrial environment

and to communicate to the latter certain characteristics without,

however, thereby changing the setting of the action. The shark and the

alligator are animals capable of devouring men, though this occurs

less frequently in reality than in story. Yet because thoughts of this

sort arouse strong emotions, they may of themselves very well come to

form themes of märchen of devourment. This has frequently been the

case. It seems to have happened, for example, in the Jonah legend. The

above-mentioned picture in which the prophet is represented as hairless

after having been in the belly of the fish, may very well have its

source in some other märchen of devourment. In thus combining numerous

elements of different origins, the märchen is truly representative of

myth development. It shows clearly that the main theme of the myth

is usually taken from man's terrestrial environment. True, celestial

elements may enter into its composition and may sometimes give to the

mythological conception its characteristic features. Even in such

cases, however, a consideration of the tale as a whole will show that

the celestial elements are completely absorbed by the terrestrial

theme; their very existence may be completely unknown to the narrators

of the tale. In a similar manner, celestial elements have probably

been involved in the formation of other widely current märchen. Thus,

the märchen theme underlying the legends of the Babylonian Sargon,

the Israelitic Moses, and the Egyptian Osiris, as well as other tales

in which a child, secreted in a chest, is borne away by the waves

and lands on a distant shore, is generally regarded as having been

suggested by the temporary disappearance and reappearance of the sun in

a cloudy sky. In this case, however, the supposition is doubtless much

more uncertain than in the case of the märchen of devourment. The theme

relating to fire in the belly of the monster may be regarded as fairly

unambiguous evidence of the influence of celestial phenomena, precisely

because it is related only externally and apparently accidentally to

the action. It should further be said that the märchen of the floating

chest, at least in its connection with the personalities of the saga

and of history, does not appear until the post-totemic age. It is

probably an old märchen-theme which was assimilated by these legends of

origin because the origin of a hero or a god was unknown and demanded

explanation. Once appropriated, it underwent a number of changes in

form.

Thus, the celestial märchen transcends the ideas characteristic of the

totemic age. No less do the tales of _fortune_ or _adventure_ generally

mark the transition from the supremacy of the animal to the dominance

of man. These tales, however, exhibit but a gradual and continuous

development. In the earliest märchen-myths, of which several examples

have already been mentioned, the narrative describes an event with

entire objectivity, without any apparent colouring derived from the

emotional attitude of the narrator. Later, however, even the totemic

animal märchen more and more betrays a love of the adventurous and of

shifting fortunes. This change varies with the degree in which _man_

steps into the centre of action, and animals, though not entirely

disappearing, receive a place, similarly to monsters and other

fantastic beings, only in so far as they affect the destinies of the

hero of the tale. The main theme of the narrative then consists of the

adventures of the hero, who is represented as experiencing many changes

of fortune, always, however, with a happy ending. But even at this

stage of development the hero is a boy; at a somewhat later period, a

young girl sometimes assumes the rôle, or a youth wins a maiden after

numerous adventures. At this point, the tale of fortune ceases to be

a true märchen-myth. Just as the dance changes from a cult ceremony

into a direct expression of lively emotions of pleasure, themselves

heightened by the joy in the rhythm of the bodily movements, so also

does the märchen develop into a narrative that ministers to the mere

delight in fluctuations of life-events and in their happy outcome.

Thus, the beginnings of the tale of fortune go back to early totemic

culture, though its more perfect development is to be found only among

the semi-cultural peoples of the totemic era. The hero of the märchen

then gradually passes over into the hero of the saga and of the epic.

Instead of the boy who sets forth upon magical adventures, we find the

youth who has matured into manhood and whose mighty deeds fill the

world with his fame. The preliminary steps to this transition are taken

when the märchen hero, particularly in the tale of fortune, acquires

a more and more _personal_ character. Thus, even at a very early age,

we find that two types of hero appear side by side--the strong and

the clever. These types, portrayed by the märchen, survive also in

the heroes of the epic. Moreover, in addition to the strong and the

clever, the Achilles and the Ulysses, the märchen introduces also the

malevolent, quarrelsome, and despicable hero, the Thersites.