At present, however, we are only concerned with the biological
treatment of art. Nor need surprise be felt if an attempt is made
to deal with art as a branch of biology. For is not art necessarily
associated with intelligence? Is not intelligence a function of the
brain? And is not the brain composed of some form of protoplasm? Art is
thus one only of the myriad results of the activity of protoplasm. If
this be true, art must be subject to the same general laws which act on
all living beings.
The fundamental law in biology is that expressed in the well-known
aphorism, _Omne vivum e vivo_ (“All life from life”). The belief
in abiogenesis or spontaneous generation, as now taking place, has
completely disappeared from biological teaching.
In studying savage art we are irresistibly forced to an analogous
conclusion. By carefully studying a number of designs we find,
providing the series is sufficiently extensive, that a complex, or
even an apparently simple pattern, is the result of a long series of
variations from a quite dissimilar original. The latter may in very
many cases be proved to be a direct copy or representation of a natural
or artificial object. From this it is clear that a large number of
patterns can be shown to be natural developments from a realistic
representation of an actual object, and not to be a mental creation on
the part of the artist.
There are certain styles of ornamentation which, at all events in
particular cases, may very well be original, taking that word in its
ordinary sense, such, for example, as zigzag lines, cross-hatching, and
so forth. The mere toying with any implement which could make a mark on
any surface might suggest the simplest ornamentation to the most savage
mind. This may or may not have been the case, and it is entirely beyond
proof either way, and therefore we must not press our analogy too far.
It is, however, surprising, and it is certainly very significant, that
the origin of so many designs can now be determined, although they are
of unknown age.
It is therefore not too much to say that savages do not deliberately
invent patterns or designs; in other words, artistic expression is the
result of a pre-existing visual impression.
Great difficulty presents itself when we apply this statement to
communities of a higher culture; but there is no reason for believing
that the case is different for barbaric races from what it is among the
more savage.
It is when we come to highly civilised people that the problem becomes
well-nigh insoluble. People often designedly “invent” patterns, and
imagine that such designs are truly original. It is impossible to prove
whether or no the artist has ever seen either a similar pattern, or at
all events the elements of which his design is composed. It is very
difficult to conceive that the latter is not the case. All that we can
do is to fall back on the simple conditions, and we have already seen
what obtains there.
This argument is strengthened by the fact that those who wish to
“invent” new designs so often have recourse to objective assistance.
The students in our schools of art are instructed to study natural
forms, especially plants. Not only have they to manipulate the plant
as a whole, but the flower has to be dissected, and even such details
as the cross-section of the seed capsule are taken into account.
Intelligent selection and rejection and judicious grouping may give
rise to an infinitude of designs and patterns.
More mechanical aids are often pressed into service, and the compasses
and other drawing instruments are employed, perhaps as often on the
chance of a pleasing combination resulting or being suggested, as to
elaborate some definite idea. The well-known Japanese pattern books
afford a good foreign example of this method.
Instructors have not overlooked such optical aids as the kaleidoscope
or analogous apparatus for pattern-making.
Once a design is started, be it the simplest of geometrical forms or
a representation of a definite object, its subsequent fate is subject
to vicissitudes very similar to those which beset the existence of any
organism.
Organisms have offspring which at the same time resemble and differ
from their parents.
This is the commonest experience one meets with in studies in ornament;
certain simple patterns, on account of their simplicity, may be
indefinitely repeated, and that without appreciable variation. Like
simple chemical compounds, they are stable because there are few
combining elements, and these are well linked together.
On the other hand, the more complex the original idea the greater
opportunity there is for variation, in fact variation is inevitable.
Just as in the highly unstable molecules which build up protoplasm,
there is practically no alternative except for metabolism to take place.
In no case have we a series of designs which are known to be, so to
speak, genetically related. We cannot say that this was a copy of
that, and that of some other known form, and so on. Neither have we
in Palæontology. A student of the latter science brings together as
many specimens as he can from different geological horizons, and
finding that the forms of a more recent deposit resemble with but
slight differences those from an earlier formation, he not unreasonably
concludes that the former were descended from the latter, and that the
differences in the species are to be accounted for by the fixing and
isolating of variations such as are commonly to be met with in members
of one family.
The biologist, recognising the great importance of the theory of
evolution, now rears generation after generation of animals to see
how far actual experience will bear out theoretical deductions, and
by this means definite facts are being accumulated. The credit of
first applying this principle to art is due to General Pitt-Rivers.
He gave a certain drawing to some one (A) to copy; his rendering was
sent on to another person (B) to copy, this copy was handed on to a
third individual (C), and so on, each copyist having only the preceding
person’s performance before him. In each case fresh variations occur
according to the greater or less imitative skill of the artist. The
General has collected some very curious examples of series of this kind.
Mr. H. Balfour,[200] following this suggestion, describes how he
started a similar experiment. He says, “An original drawing of my own,
representing a snail crawling over a twig, was given out to different
people to be copied as I have described. In a series of twelve to
fifteen copies thus obtained, the snail’s shell gradually leaves the
snail and becomes a kind of boss upon the twig, and finally the design
is turned upside down; the artists at this stage being convinced that
the sketch is intended to represent a bird, the ‘horns’ of the snail
having become the forked tail of the bird. It is seen that the extremes
of the series are absolutely unlike each other, but in no case are any
two adjacent sketches very dissimilar.”
[200] H. Balfour, “The Origin of Decorative Art as illustrated
by the Art of Modern Savages,” _Midland Naturalist_, xiii.,
1890; _The Evolution of Decorative Art_, 1893, p. 24;
“Evolution in Decorative Art,” _Journ. Soc. Arts_, xlii., 1894,
p. 458.
Unfortunately, in the examples given in the earlier pages of this book,
as in those presented by other writers, we are not in a position to
definitely affirm that one particular design is genetically related
to another one. We have the same difficulty in palæontology; but the
impossibility of absolute proof does not weaken the strong presumptive
evidence in its favour.
We are also brought face to face with another interesting zoological
parallel, and that is the co-existence of primitive, intermediate,
and late types. It is not always easy to suggest explanations in
zoology why some forms should persist and others disappear, but these
difficulties are no argument against evolution having occurred. Amongst
savage peoples we often find a surprising number of intermediate
stages, but one explanation is ready to hand. The original is usually
always before them, and all stages in the evolution of a design are
decorative; they are all “fit” enough to survive, and the majority
of them may persist for an indefinite time. In the animal world
small changes in the environment may produce far-reaching effects on
organisms, and the persistence, not the change of type, is the greatest
marvel.
In zoology it appears that the more complex animals, or perhaps rather
the more complex members of a group, vary more than the simpler. It
would be interesting to work out whether the same occurs in patterns.
I am inclined to think that this will be found to be very generally
the case. Increased variation occurs because there is more material to
vary. The next step is to determine what directions the variations take.
Development may take place (1) with a general tendency towards
complexity, or (2) towards simplification, or (3) these two may be
coincident. That is, there may be (1) an upward or specialising
evolution, or (2) degeneration, or (3) selection, which implies partial
elimination and a specialisation of the selected details.
(1) Not many examples present themselves of the evolution of a
particular motive as a whole; as usually one portion of it diminishes
and another increases. What may be termed symmetrical evolution must
necessarily be of rare occurrence. An example will be found in the
progressive development of a fish-hook into an ornament in Torres
Straits (p. 76, Fig. 44).
Occasionally one meets with examples of a considerable amount of
partial complexity without a degradation of the remainder.
(2) The simplification of original types is of extremely common
occurrence in decorative art. This has often impressed itself on those
who have interested themselves in handicrafts of savages. In addition
to the numerous examples I have brought together in this book I need
only refer to the pioneer observations of Sir John Evans in 1849 in his
well-known study[201] of the degeneration which occurred in the Gaulish
and British copying of the gold stater of Philip II. of Macedon.
Later,[202] he says, “those varieties appear to have become more or
less persistent, which, in the ‘struggle for existence,’ have presented
advantages over the present form in their relation to external
conditions. But in the succession of types of these British coins,
the requirements which new types had to fulfil in order to become to
a certain extent persistent, were, firstly, to present facility of
imitation, and secondly, symmetry of form. The natural instincts of
uncivilised man seem to lead to the adoption of simple yet symmetrical
forms of ornament, while in all stages of culture the saving of trouble
is an object of universal desire.[203] The reduction of a complicated
and artistic design into a symmetrical figure of easy execution was the
object of each successive engraver of the dies of these coins, though
probably they were themselves unaware of any undue saving of trouble
on their part, or the results which ensued from it.”
[201] “On the Date of British Coins,” _Numismatic Chronicle_,
xiii., 1850, p. 127.
[202] _Ancient British Coins_, 1864, p. 27.
[203] I venture, however, to question whether this is in
reality very operative among savages.
While degeneration is of so frequent occurrence in the history of
decorative art, one must not assume that this must invariably be the
case; every series must be judged independently. One commonly finds
that the earlier representations of glyptic art were crude and highly
conventional, but they became more life-like as the artists gained
more command over their material, and perhaps at the same time the
fabricators or the purchasers were gradually educated to prefer greater
truth to nature.
(3) The third alternative is by far the most frequent. Typical examples
are to be met with in the rich field of the decorative art of the
Papuan Gulf. Fig. 13, p. 36, will serve as an example: here each
star-like figure is the remains of two human faces; the eye-spot is
the amalgamation of the two pairs of eyes, the lateral angled lines
represent the cheek-folds, and the curved lines next to these are the
lower eye-lashes of each face, and nothing more of the faces persists.
It would be absurd to endeavour to make the evolution of decorative art
run on all fours with that of animals, as there are certain art forms
which have no parallel in zoology. In patterns, for example, the two
essential elements are symmetry and repetition; the latter implicates
not only the whole design but portions of it as well. Thus, if in an
early stage of a realistic design there is a blank area, the vacancy
will usually be filled up by repetitions of that detail of the whole
design which is nearest to it. For example, the scroll pattern of the
Massim district of British New Guinea originates, as we have seen, from
serial repetitions of a bird’s head. In the simplest forms of this
pattern there are blank triangular areas, but these are usually filled
up by a series of crescentic lines (Fig. 26), which are repetitions of
the curve bounding the base of each triangle. In the Elema district the
designs have an increasing tendency towards angularity, so, similarly,
areas unoccupied by the main design are very frequently filled up with
chevrons, as in Fig. 16.
The objection to this method of treating art may be urged that the
decorated objects, whatever their nature may be, are inanimate, that
they are merely pieces of wood or stone, and that they are therefore
not to be compared with living beings. It is perfectly obvious that
ethnological objects cannot change themselves or develop themselves
into anything else. On the other hand, though animals are alive they
also have no voluntary power to alter themselves, nor can they develop
themselves in any direction. They are almost as passive as fabricated
objects.
The small amount of change which may occur in the adult existence of
an animal (I purposely exclude all changes which take place during
development and growth) are due to forces acting upon the animal, and
to which the animal more or less responds; they are not self-induced.
The zoological and ethnological specimens, in this respect, are in
precisely the same case.
The direction which evolution takes, whether it makes for a more highly
sensitive being or for degeneration, has reference to offspring alone
and not to their parents, immediate or remote. There is no conscious
and protracted effort on the part of a particular group of animals
to evolve in a determinate direction, this latter is circumscribed
by the environment. Thus it comes about that consciousness has no
part in evolution whether of an animal or of a pattern. The offspring
of an animal vary more or less from the parent just as copies of
designs vary, and both are alike subject to an external selection. If
this selection proceeds sufficiently long in one general direction,
a distinct and non-relapsing variation is established, and so on
indefinitely.
One distinction between the evolution of animals and that of patterns
must not be lost sight of: in the former the survival of the fittest
appears to be mainly due to an elimination of the un-fittest, whereas
in the latter there is a certain amount of conscious selection.
A further argument against this view may be urged from the standpoint
that however unconscious the evolution of the lower animals may be, the
case is very different with man. He is conscious and self-conscious,
and he can direct his own evolution. In the first place, “Can he do
so?” and in the second, “Has he done so?” First let us see what has
happened.
I suppose it is one of the best established teachings of history
that the evolution of a nation has not been consciously directed by
the individuals which compose it. A few men may have sought to guide
the course of politics or to adjust its foreign policy; but their
efforts are futile unless supported by the people themselves, and the
luxuriousness of living of the majority, the laxity of their morals, or
some other irresponsible factor, may entirely wreck individual effort.
Nations as a whole have blindly worked out their own salvation or ruin
in just the same way as a group of animals living in geological times
may have survived to the present day or may have become extinct.
The essential conservatism of the human mind is a fact of prime
importance. Savages, children, and the less intelligent of the
civilised races are similar in this respect. This has long been
recognised, and that “there is no new thing under the sun” is an
oft-repeated, widely-recognised truism. In proportion as change is
rare, so progress is slow. It is only the happy coincidence of certain
combinations which acts as a stimulant to variation, but this appears
to have an increasing tendency to occur. The more savage the race the
more conservative it is as a rule.
Just as the tendency to variability is of necessity a steadily
increasing factor in the evolution of animals, so it is in man, and
proportionately more so as he is raised above the level of the brute.
Increase of complexity leads to that instability which is the mother of
variability.
The above-mentioned statements are merely expressions of facts known
to all. It will probably be admitted that among less civilised peoples
their evolution may have been undirected by themselves; but with
increased complexity comes augmented mental power, and it may be urged
that this may, so to speak, take the helm; but I would venture to ask,
Is there much evidence in support of this view? The mind of man is
subject, like his body, to the ordinary operations of the universe, his
individuality is apparent rather than real, and just as one may move to
and fro on the face of the earth yet at the same time the traveller and
the bed-ridden person are revolving round the axis of the earth at the
same rate, and are equally trundling with the globe through space, so,
too, mind cannot escape from the forces which act on the body.
It is believed by some that there were periods in the history of
organisms when evolution took place more rapidly than at other times;
perhaps this was due to variability occurring more extensively, which
again may have been partly due to changes in the environment. There is
no reason to believe that variation (which is the material that makes
evolution possible) occurs uniformly. There is no need to touch further
upon these yet unsolved problems of Biology; at all events we find
that in decorative art evolution has been spasmodic or discontinuous,
that there are periods of quiescence and of activity. I have already
suggested that the isolation of a people and uniformity in their
existence will tend to stagnation in art, and that intercourse with
other peoples, whether by trade, war or migration, serves as a stimulus
to artistic expression.
To return to our more immediate subject, consciousness of purpose has
extremely little to do with human evolution, nor has it much more to
say to the evolution of patterns among primitive peoples.
The selection of one design instead of another, or of a particular
part of a design, is a conscious act, but probably in the great
majority of cases an unreasoning one. And the selection is limited
to that individual object. It is inconceivable that a savage should
copy or adapt a certain design because it promises to develop into a
more pleasing pattern. While there is a certain amount of conscious
selection, the variation as a whole of any design is an entirely
unguided operation so far as the intelligence of the human units is
concerned.