Paul Radin · 1927 · D. Appleton and Company, New York and London, 1927; Archive.org identifier primitivemanasph031975mbp (Universal Library collection, Osmania University copy, DjVu OCR text layer) · Public Domain · uncorrected OCR — being verified against the scan
Published New York and London: D. Appleton and Company, 1927, with a foreword by John Dewey; draws largely on Radin's own Winnebago fieldwork.
Served verbatim, era-bound vocabulary and all — the house frames, it never
paraphrases; what a passage does and does not show rides its receipt.
Chapter I
INTRODUCTION
THE study of primitive peoples is a comparatively
recent discipline. It can be said to have been
first definitely and adequately formulated by Edward
B. Tylor. To-day, after more than two generations
of development, compared with such older disciplines
as history it is still barely out of its swaddling clothes.
There are comparatively few places where its princi-
ples are taught and as a result it is still, to an appre-
ciable extent, the happy hunting ground of well-
meaning amateurs. It would be a gross injustice to
minimize the services these amateurs have rendered.
But amateurs are enthusiasts and, as a class, likely to
be both sentimental and uncritical; and while the
academic intolerance of them is often unfair and
ridiculous, it is nevertheless true that no science can
be said to have attained its full majority until the
number of amateurs engaged in it, as compared with
those specially qualified, is reasonably negligible.
Judged by this criterion, ethnology to-day is still in
its adolescent stage. Yet adolescence has its charms,
and among these charms is optimism and faith.
Optimism is, in fact, the keynote of present-day eth-
nology. How else can we explain the nonchalance
with which an ethnologist embarks on the task of
describing, single-handed, the language, mythology,
religion, material culture, art, music, and social or-
ganization of a people whose language he very rarely
can speak and whose mode of thought and life is far
more remote from his own than is that of an Illinois
farmer from the mode of life and thought of a Hindu?
The keepers of the older disciplines, where special-
ization often reaches its apotheosis of aridity and
futility, sit back in half -contemptuous bewilderment
at the boyish pranks of the adventurer-ethnologist who
sets out to conquer a new world. Perhaps in the end
the laugh will be on the critics. For the present,
however, it must be admitted that their bewilderment
and incredulity are amply justified. Every statement,
for example, that an historian makes is expected to be
controlled by a large body of corroborative material.
Surely, it is contended, the ethnologist does not expect
us to take his uncorroborated word for everything.
Unfortunately he does, and there are practical reasons
why, dangerous as this situation avowedly is, it must
be accepted and made the best of.
With very few exceptions, the descriptions of primi-
tive peoples cannot be controlled in the manner that is
customary in subjects like history. The observer not
only collects the facts, but to him belongs the power to
fix, often for all time, what precisely those facts shall
be. It is clearly dangerous to entrust such power to
any man, yet for practical reasons attendant upon the
collection of ethnological data, it is somewhat difficult
to avoid this fundamentally undesirable and unreason-
able condition. Since, however, his work is so con-
ditioned, the observer's emotional and intellectual ap-
proach, his expressed and his unexpressed assumptions,
the many intangible trifles that influence even the most
careful and critical, all these naturally assume a
greater significance for the ethnologist than for the
historian.
It cannot be said that the majority of ethnologists
are fully aware of the ways in which certain tacit or
conscious attitudes make themselves felt, and how defi-
nitely such attitudes are likely to color their records.
There is only one way of avoiding this danger, and
that is the old way, the one in vogue in history for
centuries — to obtain the facts in the original and to
attempt no manipulations and no rearrangements of
them whatsoever. Whatever interpretations are neces-
sary must be completely separated from the original
data. This rather obvious procedure is only now be-
coming at all common in ethnology. Some of the most
famous monographs written by Europeans and Ameri-
cans, for instance, sin most egregiously against this
elementary rule.
But if the historian to-day differs markedly from
the ethnologist in the degree of trust he is willing to
place in the uncontrolled reports of a single man, no
matter how qualified he may be, he differs equaHy in
another even more important regard, namely, the selec-
tion of the aspect of culture most to be emphasized.
In all recent treatments history has come to be the
history of the intellectual class, and at all times it has
been the history of the exceptional man. In ethnology,
on the contrary, partly owing to its genesis, partly to
paucity of material, the emphasis has been quite
otherwise, and it is the group beliefs as such that are
described. Ethnologists have not always been con-
scious of this fact, yet even when they are well aware
of marked individual differences among primitive men,
these are dismissed with the summary comment that
they do not represent the general consensus of opinion.
On the whole, it can justifiably be claimed that the
prevalent descriptions of primitive peoples represent
the beliefs and customs of the non-intellectual class
among them, or at best a hopeless mixture of the view-
point of the intellectual and the non-intellectual class
which no lay reader can possibly disentangle. This
defect would be in no way mitigated even if it should
eventually be shown that ninety-nine per cent of all
primitive peoples belong to the non-intellectual class.
There would still be one per cent of the aboriginal
population to be accounted for, and for this one per
cent our present descriptions would be just as distorted
and inadequate as if we were to accept Frazer's The
Golden Bough as a true picture of the beliefs and cus-
toms of the intellectual class of Western Europe.
Throughout this book I am making one assumption,
namely, that among primitive peoples there exists the
same distribution of temperament and ability as
among us. This I hold to be true in spite of all the
manifest differences in the configuration and orienta-
tion of their cultures. In justice to myself I should
add that the predication of an identical distribution
of ability and temperament for civilized and primitive
peoples is not the result of any general theory that I
happen to hold; it represents a conviction that has
been slowly forced upon me from my observations and
contact with a number of aboriginal tribes.
To repeat, then, niy object here is to describe primi-
tive cultures in terms of their intellectual class, from
the viewpoint of their thinkers. Thinkers, however,
are not, and can not be, isolated from life among
primitive peoples in the same way as this has repeat-
edly been done among us, nor do they probably exer-
cise the same degree of influence on their fellows. To
attempt, therefore, to envisage primitive culture from
their standpoint is equivalent to looking at it through
a very restricted lens. I am fully aware of this. The
result will give only a partial picture, one which will
necessarily hold true for only a very small number of
individuals in each group, and it must not be mistaken
for anything else. That would be as great an error as
the one committed by those who assume that there
is no intellectual class in primitive culture.
The following book is grouped into two parts, the
first dealing with the relation of man to society and
to his fellow men, and the second with what I have
called the higher aspects of primitive thought. In this
way, it is hoped, it will be possible to indicate to what
extent each thinker shared and participated in the ideas
of the average man of his group and in what way he
transcended them.
Throughout it has been my endeavor to allow the
natives to talk for themselves, interpreting their
thoughts only in those cases where explanation seemed
necessary and of value. Perhaps I shall be criticized
for quoting too much and for giving the book more
the appearance of an anthology of the thoughts of
primitive people than a discussion of them. But, in a
sense, what I have really tried to do is to be a com-
mentator. I need not say that this role has at times
been changed into that of an interpreter.
Had it been possible, I should have much preferred
to gather all the sources available to-day into a sepa-
rate volume and to restrict the present one simply to
discussion. But the time for such a procedure has not
yet arrived, although it is clearly not far off. It is
perhaps better at the present stage, considering the
ignorance, incredulity, and prejudice still prevalent
even among otherwise well-informed laymen on the
whole subject of primitive culture, to carry our proof
along with us and to substantiate every unusual state-
ment as soon as it is made.
Let me repeat, before we begin our study, that in
the present condition of our knowledge any attempt
to describe the intellectual view of life of primitive
peoples is destined to be tentative, provocative of
further investigation and interpretation rather than
permanent and final. I can only say with an unknown
Hawaiian poet:
The day of revealing shall see what it sees:
A seeing of facts, a sifting of rumors.
Chapter II
THE PRIMITIVE VIEW OF LIFE
PARADOXICAL as it may seem, it is nevertheless
a fact that few people are, on the whole, so
unfitted by temperament to study the simpler aspects
of the life of primitive people, and by implication their
emotional and intellectual manifestations, as the aver-
age cultured scholar and university-trained ethnolo-
gist. It is really a marvel that they have done so well.
Both lead a definitely sheltered life and look upon the
world from a highly specialized point of vantage.
Being largely dependent upon books for stimulation,
they are apt, like the generality of historians, to set
too high a value upon the role of thought in culture.
This holds particularly true of the English ethnolo-
gists, and ethnological theorists from Tylor to Frazer,
Andrew Lang always being excepted. Yet when they
sense this danger and consciously guard themselves
against the possible overevaluation of the intellectual
side, they frequently fall into the opposite error —
that of reducing most of the spiritual values of primi-
tive civilizations to those of mere delight in sensa-
tions, to simple, unintegrated responses to an uncon-
trollable environment. It is this latter tendency that
we find not infrequently exhibited in works on abo-
riginal culture written by the professional ethnologist
It is conceivably demanding too much of a man
to whom the pleasures of life are largely bound up
with the life of contemplation and to whom analysis
and introspection are the self-understood prerequisites
for a proper understanding of the world, that he ap-
preciate corporate and individual expressions which
are largely non-intellectual — where life seems, pre-
dominatingly, a discharge of physical vitality, a
simple and naive release of emotions or an enjoyment
of sensations for their own sake. Such undiluted
pleasure in spending long periods of time in doing
apparently nothing is difficult for a man of intellectual
interests to understand. It is just as difficult for a
man of action to comprehend. Ethnologists are defi-
nitely the one or the other. Yet, in large measure,
it is just such an absorption in a life of sensations that
is the outward characteristic of primitive peoples.
The reaction of the nonprofessional ethnologist and
the layman when he discovers this to be one of the
characteristic traits of primitive culture is generally
one of puzzled irritation, and is coupled with the
suspicion that primitive peoples are possibly, after all,
possessed of an inherently lower mentality. Even
William James, as a passage in one of his letters
clearly shows, could not, for all his affectionate view
of life and of man, completely rid himself of this
feeling.
This must be expected, Indeed, we indulge in such
judgments and inferences all the time. Does not the
popular northern mind look with contemptuous be-
wilderment upon the charming ability of so many
Mediterranean nations to enjoy their dolce far mente?
Have we not frequently been told that however pic-
turesque, spontaneous, and gifted in the arts the
Latins may be, they are useless for the sterner reali-
ties of life and inferior in the higher realms of logical
and integrated thinking? And would it not be correct
to say that this latter inference has been drawn from
their unadulterated appreciation of sensations?
To a considerable extent the cultured ethnologist,
often unwittingly, makes an analogous judgment in
his efforts to evaluate primitive cultures. He does not,
it is true, make so devastating a generalization, but
he does show a marked inclination to regard all culture
as made up of two types of activity — the intellectual
and the practical, setting a higher value upon the
former than upon the latter. The ordinary man, the
man of the street, the farm boy who is so predominat-
ingly a man of action, is quite right when he smiles
indulgently at the naivete and lack of real under-
standing of the world shown by the scholar. Yet, in
the end, it is the scholar who laughs last, for, owing to
the man of action's unwillingness and inability to
write, histories are generally written by the former.
And the scholar quite naturally makes history a selec-
tion of facts which interest and seem of most impor-
tance to him and these are largely intellectual although
the practical side is by no means neglected. What is
neglected is the sensational aspect. Indeed, this side
of life is not merely neglected: it is definitely distorted
and underrated, faring just as badly whether it is a
professional scholar or a gentleman-traveler who is
making the evaluation.
We spoke above of the opposition of the northerner
and the southerner. To most northerners — and the
overwhelming majority of ethnologists are northerners
— the enjoyment of sensations as such is still the sign
of inferior thinking powers. Now the ethnologist is
not merely a northerner: he is a specially selected
northerner, an academically trained man, or a traveler
— individuals in whom the sensational side is likely
to be markedly suppressed. To this specially selected
type of investigator an unkind fate has entrusted the
task of recording, for all time, the story of civiliza-
tions that are, to an overwhelming degree, stressed on
the sensational side. What complicates the situation
still further and weights the scales still more heavily
against a correct understanding of primitive peoples,
is that this sensational view of life is accompanied by
apparent contradictions of elementary logical thinking
and of palpable fact. All the elements in the case
thus conspire to reenforce the ethnologist — there are
of course noteworthy exceptions — in his belief that the
mentality of primitive people is essentially inferior to
our own.
That the scholar and ethnologist should be bewil-
dered by the cultures of primitive peoples need elicit
no wonder. Through unfortunate circumstances con-
nected with the collection of data, and by too rigid a
definition of what constitutes practical activity, many
of the native customs fall into a nonpractical plane.
On the other hand, through an obvious lack of desire
for analysts, primitive mentality clearly does not run
along what we have been accustomed to regard as the
prescribed channels. Primitive peoples will, for in-
stance, indulge in magical rites for the attainment of
purely practical ends — the killing of deer, for instance
— under circumstances in which they could by no
conceivable means fail to do so. Yet they will seek
the most tenuous of religious sanctions for a hazardous
undertaking such as a warpath. They may tell you,
if • directly interrogated, that a poisoned arrow dis-
charged for a short distance into a deer trail will cause
the death of a deer that is to be hunted on the follow-
ing day. What inference can we very well expect a
person to draw from such a statement but that a
magical nonrational rite has achieved a practical
and all-important result? Must we not insist, then,
that the mentality of people who accept such a belief
is different in degree and possibly in kind from our
own? There seems indeed to be no escape.
The first error that we here commit is that of ex-
pecting the answer to a direct question put to a native
to be either complete or revealing. It is similarly an
error even to expect that such a question touches the
core of the real problem involved. Let us take the last
example given. We are not to imagine that after
discharging the arrow into the deer trail our native
returns to his family and informs them that he has
potentially killed a deer, nor are we to imagine that he
tells them he has performed the preliminary part of
his work. What he has done is one indissoluble whole
— he discharges the arrow in the proper way, waits
for the morrow, and then follows the trail until he has
killed the deer. Any question whereby it is assumed,
consciously or unconsciously, that one part of this
series of activities is more important than the other
or that a causal relation exists between them, is mis-
leading and entails a misleading answer. So much for
our initial error. But we have likewise no justification
for assuming that some general principle underlies the
native's activities in this particular instance. He did
not select any trail at any time of the year, but a
particular trail at a particular time of the year. We
must assume that he knows from unlimited practical
experiences that he is selecting the proper conditions
for his task. I once asked a Winnebago Indian
whether the rite of shooting an arrow into a trail of
which he had no knowledge would be effective and
received a prompt and amused denial. Similarly it
was discovered that although in certain tribes a vision
from a deity was regarded as adequate sanction for
embarking on a war party, in actual practice certain
very practical conditions had to be fulfilled before an
individual was permitted to depart.
Therefore, when ethnologists contend that a direct
question should never be put, we mean that its imme-
diate answer does not reflect any necessarily true or
complete analysis of the situation. It remains an
answer of restricted meaning connected with an indi-
vidual fact momentarily detache'd from its proper set-
ting. But even though we give it full meaning, we
must be careful to find out whose view it represents.
Now the two answers given above were given by indi-
viduals whom I have reason to believe were medicine-
men or priests — men whose position in the tribe corre-
sponds roughly to that occupied by our scholars and
thinkers. In answering my question we may suppose
that these individuals tried to explain something. But
many natives, had they been interrogated, would have
made no reply at all, or if they had answered, their
answer would have been merely mechanical and would
have carried practically no significance.
What, then, does the rite of discharging an arrow
mean to such people? Intellectually, indeed even
symbolically, it may mean nothing. To the ordinary
man it is primarily and essentially one of a series of
actions that is to culminate in the more or less
immediate future, in certain practical results. All his
energies, all his thoughts, are fixed upon this one and
avowed object. The medicine-man, the thinker, he
who, in other words, enjoys analysis and possesses an
intellectual envisaging of life, may indeed tell the
practical man that his concentration upon the purpose
in view will enable him to gain his end more definitely
and more effectively; and this statement may in fact
be mechanically repeated by the ordinary practical-
minded man. But it has no real significance for him.
Action is to him the all-important fact and this it is
that absorbs all his attentions and energies. As far
as explanations are concerned, any will do. An indi-
vidual who gives you detail upon detail about the
proper method of approaching a deer during the
breeding season will inveigh in the next breath against
the stupidity of the American game laws that prevent
you from killing deer whenever you desire. As though
deer propagated their kind after the fashion of other
animals and did not, in reality, emerge out of wells 1
We cannot too strongly insist that there is no logical
contradiction involved here nor are we dealing with
what the French scholar Levy-Bruhl has called "pre-
logical mentality." The matter seems simple enough.
Something that the medicine-man and thinker has
formulated in intellectual or symbolical terms is being
repeated mechanically by a practical-minded man.
The thinker's formula stands on its own and the actual
fact stands on its own. Neither can possibly contradict
the other for they lie in different planes.
Now it is exactly by this envisaging of life in terms
of a series of activities of a practical nature that our
over-intellectualized modern scholar and ethnologist is
apt to misunderstand. Perhaps this is why so many
ethnological monographs so often develop into semi-
arid tracts containing unconsciously distorted presenta-
tions of primitive culture, and why, at times, some
individual totally unqualified from the viewpoint of
specific training but with a well-developed sensational
side to his nature, can give an inherently more correct
picture.
Chapter III
THE COERCION OF THE WORLD
IT is one of the salient traits of so-called primitive
man, we have just seen, that he allows a full and
appreciative expression to his sensations. He is pre-
eminently a man of practical common sense just as is
the average peasant. Now this does not merely mean
manual dexterity or an exclusive interest in the purely
material side of life. It has much deeper implications.
This tough-mindedness leads to a recognition of all
types of realities, realities which primitive man sees in
all their directness and ruggedness, stripped of all that
false and sentimental haze so universal among civilized
peoples. We cannot dwell upon this point now but will
return to it later. Here we desire merely to point out
that primitive man is endowed with an overpowering
sense of reality and possesses a manner of facing this
reality, which to a western European implies an almost
complete lack of sensitiveness. And this is true of
even the more avowedly intellectual among them, such
as the medicine-men and the leaders of the ceremonies.
It is true that the facts of everyday life, in every primi-
tive community, are clothed in a magical and ritualistic
dress, yet it is not unfair to say that it is not the
average native who is beguiled into an erroneous inter-
pretation of this dress but the ethnologist,
To illustrate what I mean I shall give an example
that came under my own observation. An American
Indian, pursued by the enemy, took refuge in a cave
where he could easily defend himself against direct
attack but where escape was apparently completely cut
off. This particular individual was not religious. He
had during his lifetime had so little interest in getting
into the proper rapport with the deities of his tribe
that he knew the conventional methods of addressing
them but little else. In his dilemma, with death staring
him in the face, he mechanically offers tobacco to the
spirits. That much he knew. But he did not know
what to say nor whom to address. So he prayed — if
we are inclined to call this a prayer — "To you, O
spirits, whoever you are, wherever you are, here is
tobacco. May I be saved!" Through an almost
miraculous piece of good luck the enemy fled and he
was saved. "By the will of God," a devout Christian
would have ejaculated; in Indian phraseology, "The
spirits have heard me." Here, if anywhere, we might
have expected an almost mystical feeling of heavenly
intervention and a well-nigh complete obliteration of
the mere workaday world. Yet nothing of the kind
occurred to this very hard-minded individual. He
sought to explain nothing. I can picture him saying
to himself in his humorous way — for he was the pro-
fessional humorist in the tribe — "Let the medicine-
men explain; they like such things. All I know is that
I was pursued by the enemy; I took refuge in a cave;
my attackers withdrew and here I am." The ritualistic
paraphernalia were all there but they did not obscure
his vision of the nature of a true fact.
This man was of course an unusual specimen of the
tough-minded species. So much will have to be granted
unhesitatingly. Yet this intense realism, this refusal
to be deluded by the traditional phraseology employed,
is a salient feature of most primitive communities.
That there are many individuals who take the phrase-
ology more seriously we know. The medicine-man, the
thinker, the poet, these insist upon a less matter-of-fact
explanation and clearly enjoy the wrappings. Did they
not in fact devise these explanations and are they not
continually elaborating them? But in spite of the
inner necessity that prompts them to prefer a super-
mundane formula they, too, are deeply rooted in the
workaday-world conception of reality.
Nothing, for instance, is more thoroughly ingrained
in the minds of many American Indians than the fact
that a supernatural warrant must be obtained for any
undertaking of importance no matter how practical its
nature. The Indian will tell you simply enough that
if a deity has bestowed his power upon an individual
in a vision and permitted him to go on a warpath, he
may do so. Yet if one visualizes concretely the hazard-
ous nature of such an enterprise in a small tribe, it is
but natural to assume that any community allowing
a young man to risk his own life and possibly that of
others on the strength of communication in a dream,
must be profoundly imbued with a religious spirit.
Unfortunately this whole picture is wrong. It changes
as soon as we obtain fuller details about the matter.
Then we discover that no individual is ever allowed to
proceed on even a private war party unless his dream-
experience has been communicated to the chief of the
tribe or else to some highly respected elder. Such men
are always exceedingly devout. They certainly may be
expected to take religious sanctions at their face value.
Yet it was just these custodians of the tribal tradition
who were most careful to see that the practical aspects
of the situation did not militate too markedly against
success. If, in their opinion, the undertaking was un-
warranted— whether because they thought the leader
too inexperienced, the possibility for adequate prepara-
tion unfavorable, the strength of the enemy possibly
too great, or what not — they refused to give their
sanction and forbade it. Quite naturally they couched
this prohibition in a religious phraseology. "The
spirits have not blessed you with sufficient power73 is
the Winnebago formula, for instance.
The intense belief in the existence of the spirits and
of their direct participation in the affairs of man is
not to be questioned, any more than is the acceptance
of the magical. But this in no way interferes with
their full realization of all the facts involved in any
given situation. In other words, though primitive man
may describe life in a religious terminology it is not
to be inferred that in the vast majority of cases he
regards a purely mundane happening as due to super-
natural agency. This is indicated clearly by the great
care taken among many tribes not to demand impos-
sible tasks from their deities. One does not ask rain
from a cloudless sky during the dry season, nor security
against capsizing in a canoe when foolishly setting out
during a terrific storm.
Primitive man, in short, does not consider the deities
or a magical rite as conditioning reality but as an
accessory to it, as constraining it. Both the deity and
the rite are aids for the proper functioning of a series
of habitually connected individual or social events.
The religious and magical content seems the all-
important factor to us who are mere spectators; to
primitive man they are, as we have said, simply aids,
stimuli for the attainment of a goal.
Thus viewed the facts of primitive life take on a
new psychological orientation. The attainment of a
goal, the clear realization of a specific objective, be-
comes the main factor. Everything else is either com-
pletely slurred or regarded as secondary. Even rites,
beliefs, motor activities, may all become functionless
and accidental. Primitive man may not in our sense
of the term provide for the morrow but he attempts
something perhaps far more important — he bends all
his energies, inward and outward, toward ensuring the
success of his objective on the morrow. With this
determination steadily before him he completely
identifies himself with the goal to be obtained. He
prepares for it, previsions it, preenacts it, and pre-
attains it. Select any example at random — a war party
among the Winnebago. In a dream communication
from the spirits he ascertains the necessary number of
moccasins and the necessary amount of food to be con-
sumed on the expedition; he is told how many men he
is to take along and how many of the enemy he is to
kill. His divine certificate is then closely scrutinized
by experienced elders and if it is accepted, then in the
ceremony preparatory to his actually starting out he
previsions his enemy. He destroys his courage, de-
prives him of his power of running, paralyzes his ac-
tions, and blunts his weapons. Thus protected and his
enemy correspondingly weakened and constrained, he
proceeds to the attack.
All these facts are admirably and convincingly illus-
trated by a very unusual document obtained by the
late Mr. Russell from the Pima Indians of Arizona.1
It represents a speech given by the war chief urging
the people to go on the warpath against the Apache.
I shall give it in full:
Yes, my poor brother-in-law, this land was covered with
herbage. The mountains were covered with clouds. The
sunlight was not bright and the darkness was not dense.
All was rolling before our eyes. It was thought that the
time had come for considering these things in council, my
brothers. Then wood was gathered and a fire kindled, the
flames of which burst forth, reaching to the sky and caus-
ing a portion of the earth to fold over, disclosing the under-
side where a reddish mountain stood. After these things
had happened the enterprise was decided upon.
1 Frank Russell, "The Pima Indians," 2$d Report of the Bureau 0}
American Ethnology^ p. 357.
Then my breast was tightened and my loins girded; my
hunger was appeased; sandals with strings were made for my
feet; my canteen was made ready. I went about the
country, from mountain to village, beneath the sheds and
trees, offering all an opportunity to join me. Returning
home I thought I saw my brother when I was in a trance.
I tried to grasp him and my arms embraced nothing but
myself. I somehow caught in my palm what I thought to
be this power; turning this over I found it to be but a
creation of my imagination, and again I was disappointed*
I was unkempt and rough and my tears moistened the land.
The plan occurred to me to ask Nasia, the old woman
magician, for aid. Thinking that I saw her I ran toward the
eastward and finally reached her. I said, "Yes, you who
make the bows of the Apache like a kiaha and crush his
arrowheads, you who paint triangles and curves on the
kiaha bottoms with the arrow foreshafts of the Apache
dipped in his blood, you who twist the hair of the Apache
and tie your kiaha with it." Thus I addressed her and she
gave me a bundle of power which I grasped under my
arm and ran with it to my home.
I thought of Vikaukam and prayed for his aid. When I
finally reached him I said, "Yes, your house is built of
Apache bows and bound with their arrows, you use his
bowstrings and sinew to tie these withes. You use Apache
headdresses and moccasins to cover your house, Within it
you have square piles of Apache hair. At the corners of the
piles cigarettes give off wreaths of smoke resembling white,
black, glittering, purple, and yellow blossoms." Thus I spake
and he gave me power which I carried away beneath my arm.
I thought of South Doctor and finally prayed to him. I
said to him, "Yes, you who can make the Apache bow as
harmless as a rainbow, his arrows like the white tassels of
grass, his arrow shafts like soft down, his arrowheads like
thin, dry mud, his arrow poison like the water fern upon
the pools, his hair like rain clouds."
Thus I spake and he gave me power which I grasped
under my arm and journeyed westward with four slackenings
of speed. The home magician gave me a seat of honor. The
cigarette smoked and I took it and, drawing in a cloud of
smoke, I prayed to Old Woman Magician, saying, "Yes,
you make the Apache bow like a game ring, you crush
his arrow shafts and make headbands of them, you split his
arrow foreshafts, color them with Apache blood, and make
game sticks of them; his arrowheads you make like pottery
paddles, you make a girdle of Apache hair."
Thus I spake and he gave me his power, which I caught
under my arm and ran home, with four slackenings of
speed. The home magician gave me a seat of honor. The
cigarette smoked and I took it and, drawing in a cloud
of smoke, breathed it forth in the direction of the enemy.
The power grew and shone on and on until it slowly dis-
closed the enemy. The Pima magician desired that the
earth move, the trees take on their leaves, the land be
softened and improved, that all be straightened and made
correct. The place was one where food was increased and
they were gathered about it. Their springs were made
larger and they were gathered about them. Their game
was gathered together. Some of the enemy were in the
west and they said, "We know that harm may come to us
if we go to that place, but we will not heed our own mis-
givings." They started on their journey and camped on the
way. In the morning they arose and continued, reaching
their friends' camp during the day, where they saluted
them. In the distant east were other enemies who heard
that their friends were gathering. When they heard of it
they said, "We know that harm may come of it if we go
to that place, but we must go." They started on their
journey and camped once before arriving and saluting their
friends. They took the sun's rays and painted triangles on
their blankets.
While this was happening among them my young men
were preparing to fight. They rushed upon them like flying
birds and swept them from the earth. Starting out upon
my trail I reached the first water, whence I sent my swiftest
young men to carry the message of victory to the old people
at home. Before the Magician's door the earth was swept,
and there my young men and women danced with head-
dresses and flowers on their heads. The wind rose and,
cutting off these ornaments, carried them to the sky and
hung them there. The rain fell upon the high places, the
clouds enveloped the mountains, the torrents descended upon
the springs and fell upon the trees.
You may think this over, my relatives. The taking of
life brings serious thoughts of the waste; the celebration
of victory may become unpleasantly riotous.
This is a reality at white heat and it is in such a
heightened atmosphere that primitive man frequently
lives. Since it is so frequent and accustomed an at-
mosphere, he is generally calm outwardly, although
this varies from time to time and moments occur where
pandemonium seems to reign. When, therefore, we
see his life obviously permeated with religious beliefs
and with rites and rituals at every step, we assume
that all this emotional intensity is due to the religious
and magical background in which he is enveloped.
And here it is that many observers and investigators
commit what is a fundamental error of interpretation;
first, by assuming that there exists, in the minds of
most natives, a cause and effect relation, and second,
by stressing the wrong end of what constitutes, in
each tribe, the habitually determined sequence of acts
and beliefs. We can easily agree with Professor Levy-
Bruhl when he contends that any analysis of this se-
quence is, strictly speaking, nonexistent or, at least,
rare, without nevertheless following him farther along
his argument. In his famous work Les Fonctions
Mentales dans les Soctttes Injtrieures he implies that
no primitive people are capable of logical differentia-
tion or of a logical selection of data. He is certainly
in error on this point as the subsequent chapters of
this book will abundantly demonstrate. But he errs
in an equally fundamental way when he unconsciously
assumes that every analysis must be the work of the
rational faculties.
Levy-Bruhl is by training and nurture too much of
an intellectual to appreciate how adequately sensations,
emotions, and intuitions may determine a selection,
and how such a selection can be on a par with a so-
called rational analysis. For him any such selection
implies a prelogical mentality and is not a true or
correct analysis. Be this as it may, it is this non-
intellectual analysis that is typical of much of primi-
tive thought. But another element must not be for-
gotten, namely, that the selection is in its turn pre-
determined by being oriented toward a socially and
individually determined goal. This goal, it may be
said, is to fix what is to be interpreted as real. It thus
follows that reality becomes largely pragmatic. What
happens is true. So markedly developed is this prag-
matic test for reality that even when the event that
occurs is more or less definitely contradictory to the
specific cultural background, it carries conviction. Let
me illustrate the nature of this pragmatic test of
reality by two examples.
An Indian of my acquaintance, in order to be fa-
vorably received by his relations, made a consciously
dishonest claim of having been blessed by certain
deities. By virtue of this blessing, he claimed, he was
in a position to cure a young cousin who was ill. After
having been entertained lavishly he left and promptly
forgot all about the incident. A few months afterward
his aunt met him accidentally and thanked him pro-
fusely for all that he had done for them and he dis-
covered, to his unfeigned surprise, this his false claim
had worked! Now what was his immediate inference?
Let me quote his own words: "When I heard this I
was surprised, not being certain whether I had been
blessed or not!"
The second example concerns the same individual.
He and a friend determined that they must secure the
coveted war honor of killing an enemy. To embark
on a war party, however, according to the ideas of his
tribe, it was necessary to receive some warrant from
the deities. Such a blessing he had not received. In
spite of this he and his friends sought out an enemy
and killed him. When he returned home he told his
father about his exploit and among other things indi-
cated that he had really been unqualified to undertake
such an expedition. It is clear that the young man
seemed somewhat puzzled about his success. Yet the
outstanding fact for him was that he had been success-
ful, that he had killed the enemy and secured the
coveted war honor. It is this fait accompli that de-
termines the reality. Not being devout, the young man
did not trouble himself to state his success in religious
terms. But the father was devout and, since the young
man had succeeded, this implied that he had been in
communion with the deities, if not precisely in the
orthodox manner, at least to the extent that the deities
had inspired the deed.
It may then be correct to say that while, strictly
speaking, primitive man does not think of a»cause-and-
effect sequence, he does predicate causes as such and
effects as such; that the medicine-man and thinker
deal with causes as such and sometimes with a real
cause-and-effect relation, whereas the average man
deals with effects simply.
If now we turn to the most insistent desire of primi-
tive man — long life, success, and happiness — this sense
of an objective world distinct from supernatural causa-
tion obtrudes itself even more strongly. Deities do
not control the success or lack of success of the normal
events and happenings of life. It is only at crises that
their aid is solicited. We can do no better than to
quote what an Indian told the writer in an autobi-
ography which he wrote down and wherein he em-
bodied the system of instruction current in his tribe:
"Help yourself as you travel along the path of life.
The earth has many narrow passages scattered over it.
Some day you will be journeying on a road filled with
obstacles. If then you possess the means for strength-
ening yourself you will be able to pass through these
passages safely. Indeed if you act properly (i.e. cir-
cumspectly) in life, you will never be caught off
guard."
Nothing more practical than this can well be im-
agined. Here we have a viewpoint thoroughly per-
vaded and saturated by a profound appreciation of
the realities of life. Nor is the statement quoted above
that of a practical man. It is, on the contrary, that of
an eminently religious individual, one who had occu-
pied a prominent position in all the rituals of the tribe
and who had been accustomed to frame every act, no
matter how trivial, in a religious terminology.
This aspect of primitive man's perception of the ex-
ternal reality of life is a very salient feature of his
outlook. It can be easily accounted for. His envisag-
ing of life and of the social world is firmly rooted in
two basic facts, in his conception of the relationship of
the individual to the social group and his truly pro-
found, all-embracing, and unsentimental knowledge
and intuition of human nature. His intense realism
expresses itself in an overwhelming craving for suc-
cess and in an intense pursuit of every form of social
prestige, while his intuitive understanding of human
nature in all its manifold ramifications can be seen in
the attitude he takes toward the expression of person-
ality.
I think every one competent to judge will admit
that in primitive communities free scope is allowed for
every conceivable outlet. No moral judgment is passed
on any aspect of human personality as such. Human
nature is what it is and each act, emotion, belief, un-
expressed or expressed, must be allowed to make or
mar a man. It is each man's inalienable right — he
would indeed be unfair to himself if he did not make
use of it — to seek the approbation and respect of other
individuals and of the community, even if this right
be abused and exaggerated. No false modesty should
be allowed to deter him. But there is an important
corollary. If by the exaggeration of this craving a
man comes into conflict with the world and with social
realities, he will personally suffer and, what is far more
reprehensible and dangerous, he may involve others in
the consequences of his personally initiated self-seek-
ing. If, for example, among the Winnebago Indians, a
man in his insatiable desire for prestige completely
overestimates his own powers and loses all sense of
proportion, he is held strictly accountable for any harm
that may result to others through his action. Should
he embark on a warpath that is unauthorized and take
with him members of the tribe, he is responsible for
their safety, and if they are killed he is subject to the
same treatment as if he had murdered them. The
point of view is this: a man may risk his own life if
he wishes. It is his own concern if he is willing to
risk the unpleasantness of ridicule and disapproba-
tion. He is exceedingly stupid to take such risks but
that again is his own affair. To involve others in the
dangers attendant upon an exaggerated prestige hunt-
ing, however, is a crime.
This prestige hunting is simply an outgrowth of a
ruthless realism. It is possibly the fundamental fact
in primitive life everywhere. The type of prestige
sought differs, of course, from tribe to tribe. Much is
sacrificed for its attainment. Playing such a role in
their lives, it should not strike us as strange that re-
ligion and magic are found associated with it. In the
autobiography quoted above we find the following
passage: "Some people are acquainted with medi-
cines used when they are in a crowd. If they employ
it there, people fwill then be enabled to single them
out and they will be considered great and important."
The hunger for glory and for the respect of one's
fellow men is literally overpowering. aAct properly,"
a man is told, "so that when you die your name will
be held in respect and men will frequently talk of
you and say, 'Ah, that man, he indeed possessed great
power!'" Another individual told me that when he
was young his father used to spur him on to fast by
telling him that if he did then he would become like
one of those Indians famous in story.
Now much of all we have mentioned differs in no
way from what holds among ourselves. The dis-
tinction between them and ourselves is that they recog-
nize this will-to-power — for such it is — as a funda-
mental element of the human soul and refuse to pass
any moral judgment upon it. It is neither a virtue
nor a vice, although it may, in turn, become the one
or the other.
I have dwelt upon the desire for glory and prestige
hunting at such length because we encounter it so
obtrusively in aboriginal tribes and because its abuses
are there so patent and lead to so much conflict. If
these abuses are more rampant and if they are treated
more leniently there than among us, this is due to the
insistence upon unhampered self-expression. Every
man and woman seeks individuation — outer and inner
individuation — and this is the psychological basis for
their otherwise bewildering and unintelligible tolerance
of the fullest expression of personality. Limitations to
this expression naturally exist but these, we shall sub-
sequently see, flow directly from an intense and clear-
cut appreciation of the realities of life and from an
acute sensitiveness to group reactions. If one were put
to it to sum up primitive man's viewpoint in a single
sentence it would be somewhat as follows: "Express
yourself completely but know yourself completely and
accept the consequences of your own personality and
of your actions.'7
It would be asking too much to expect that the
majority of people will accept this statement of primi-
tive man's attitude toward life without demanding
very adequate proof. That I hope to be able to give
in the course of this book.
Now this whole conception of reality as pragmatic,
this idea of a free scope for self-assertion, seems to
belie all that we have always been taught by sociolo-
gists and numerous ethnologists about the tyranny of
the group, and about the complete lack of individual-
ism found in primitive communities. Indeed, accord-
ing to a theory still largely accepted, the details of a
religious rite, of a bit of sympathetic magic, etc., do
not vary appreciably from individual to individual.
The little change that exists is insignificant and imper-
ceptible. People who hold this view go even farther.
They deny that there is any variation in subjective
attitude.
There is considerable justification for such a view
superficially. It appears offhand to be corroborated
by the apparent absence of any revolt against the type
of government. Who, it might be contended, ever
heard of a person attempting to alter the clan organiza-
tion? Nor can anyone deny the monotony of the
ritual performances, the ceaseless repetition of actions
and of words so characteristic of primitive life. Then
too, at ritual dances, the group seems to be acting as
a unit and all individual consciousness to be merged
into a vague superconsciousness. Since group activi-
ties of some kind or another fill so much larger a place
in their life than among us, what more natural than to
assume that this reflects a real lack of differentiation?
And so sociologists have insisted that just as supersti-
tion and magic hold primitive man in a vise of fear and
helplessness, so does an inexorable group-tyranny re-
strict and fetter all individual initiative. But, they
contend that even were this group-compulsion to relax
for a moment and allow the indiscriminate and free ex-
pression of individuality, there would be no individual-
ity to express. It is with this assumption of the non-
existence of anything but a corporate consciousness
that the vast majority of investigators begin. Primitive
cultures, according to them, represent a stage in the
evolution of civilization in which only the "group-
mind" existed. The firm and inflexible chain that at
such a stage holds people together is fear — fear of the
unknown, fear of the natural phenomena they have
not succeeded in controlling, and fear of each other.
Deviation means ruin and destruction; ruin as punish-
ment which the group will inflict, and ruin through
utter inability to cope with a new environment alone.
Taking the magical religious trappings with which
everyday life is invested at their face value, taking
literally even the actual statements of many native in-
formants and the descriptions given by the generality
of ethnologists, there is ample ground for the above
view. Granted our predominating intellectualistic out-
look— leaving on one side mere prejudice and ignorance
— what we know of primitive life would superficially
imply such an interpretation. But this is true only
superficially and many ethnologists, particularly in
America, have long known this, though for some inex-
plicable reason have never embodied it in their mono-
graphs.
Wherein does the error lie? It lies in this: in our
unjustifiably equating the primitive group with the
group as we know it among ourselves, and in our refus-
ing first to examine what constitutes social reality for
primitive man. Social reality is to him something
unique and definitely distinct from the individual and
no more emanates from him than does the external
world. It is coexistent with the individual, both con-
straining and in its turn being constrained by him. As
soon as we realize this, and that much of the religious
and magical background is secondary, at times even
being an inert accretion that but represents the ex-
ternal dress of a will-to-action, then the true interaction
of the group and the individual becomes apparent at
once. Far from cramping and fettering him — be it on
the chase, on the warpath, at ceremonial enactments,
etc. — this background then serves as a means of doub-
ling the concentration of mind and body, of increasing a
tenseness of nerve and muscle, of evoking a sense of
personal power and well-being. It gives him what he
most desires in life, prestige and a heightened sense of
existence.
All that we know of primitive man when we come
to know him at all intimately and are able to look
below the surface, bears this out. Individualism, what
might, in fact, be called "personalism," everywhere
runs riot. Whether it be in the South Seas, in aborigi-
nal Asia, Australia, Africa and the two Americas, the
atmosphere that pervades each community is always
the same — a ceaseless pitting of man against man, end-
less bickerings, jealousies, envies, hatreds, a delight in
the discomfiture of others. This is, of course, the nega-
tive side, the one generally most clearly perceptible to
outsiders and for that reason most definitely dwelt on
by the casual observer. Old books of travel and ad-
venture are replete with descriptions of the terrible
atmosphere of hatred, fear, and jealousy which per-
vades a primitive community. If all they said were
true life would be unbearable if not unthinkable.
Wherever we find such a description, whether in some
old work or in some recent study by a gentleman eth-
nologist or government administrator, we can be cer-
tain that it represents only one aspect of life just as it
does among ourselves. There is a positive side, too,
expressed in romantic and devoted friendships, in love,
reverential family affection, in kindness, generosity,
and pity, in the highest of all virtues, respect for in-
dividuality.
Consequently what we must always bear in mind is
this medley of contacts, this friendly and unfriendly
impingement of personality upon personality. All of-
ficial restraint in the free expression of individuality
is absent. We are here in the presence of that exceed-
ingly unusual phenomenon, a clear-cut realistic and
unsentimental perception of life and of the nature of
human contact. The rapidity in the alternation of
love, hate, appreciation, and envy seems to bespeak
an emotionally unintegrated personality. Such is the
generally accepted view. Even so open-minded an
observer as Dr. C. K. Jung seems to accept it. Dr.
Jung quotes with approval, from a source not indi-
cated, the following example: "A Bushman had a little
son upon whom he lavished the characteristic doting
affection of the primitives. . . . One day he came home
in a rage; he had been fishing and had caught nothing.
As usual the little fellow ran eagerly to greet him. But
the father seized him and wrung his neck upon the spot.
Subsequently of course he mourned for the dead boy
with the same abandon and lack of comprehension as
had before made him strangle him." 2
No greater distortion of the actual facts could pos-
sibly be imagined. And yet Dr. Jung obtained this
example from what purported to be a first-hand ac-
count, and similar examples often fill reputable de-
scriptions of a tribe. They all illustrate the uncon-
scious bias that lies at the bottom of our judgment
of primitive mentality, the unconscious assumption
of the lack of differentiation and of integration to be
found there.
We know that this lack of stability and integration
is a basic assumption in all evolutionary theories of
cultural development. This is, however, emphatically
not the case with Jung and others who take his atti-
2 Psychological Types, p. 295.
tude toward primitive mentality. Some other explana-
tion must be sought. What makes for error in our
interpretation is a certain mistiness of vision due to
that sentimentality from which the northern European
finds it so difficult to free himself. Now what saves
primitive man from emotional anarchy is the fact that
he is truly envious and jealous, a lover and a hater;
that he means all he says, but means it for just that
passing moment or hour, as the case may be, in which
these feelings actually represent his attitude, and for
no longer. He may have a theory of conduct but he
bases no ethical judgments upon his kaleidoscopic
emotional reactions. He has thus fairly adequately
solved one of the most difficult and baffling problems in
the world, of balancing repression with expression of
personality and, at the same time, attaining to a true
integration.
Chapter IV
CONSERVATISM AND PLASTICITY
IN the preceding chapter our interest was centered
mainly upon the individual. We were able to
demonstrate that in the contact of individual with
individual free scope was permitted for personal ex-
pression. Is it indeed very plausible then that in
group activities primitive man should suddenly become
transformed into an automaton incapable of self-real-
ization and prohibited from indulging in change? The
layman and the scholar free from theoretical bias can
be led to such an interpretation, it seems to me, only
because he is in large measure dominated by what takes
place in the enormous centers of population so charac-
teristic of the great civilizations of Europe, Asia, and
Africa. Man there has undoubtedly become an au-
tomaton.
Many sociologists have been led to make this as-
sumption for other reasons: first, as a reaction against
the extreme individualistic interpretations of culture
still largely current among most people in England and
America; and second, because of their strong evolution-
istic bias. This made it necessary for them to suppose
that primitive peoples have not freed themselves to
any appreciable extent from the tyranny of the group.
From Tylor to Hobhouse they have consistently con-
tended that in primitive communities there can be no
differentiated individualism. In arriving at this con-
clusion, it must be freely admitted, they have been
aided and abetted by certain defects, sometimes con-
scious, sometimes unconscious, in the generality of pub-
lished ethnological monographs on specific tribes.
Now we are not primarily concerned with this prob-
lem at all. What we desire is to discover the nature
of the attitude of a primitive tribe toward the group
and group activities and how we are to explain the im-
pression of uniformity and the absence of variation
which many experienced ethnologists get. The whole
question has been somewhat obscured by the rather un-
critical manner in which investigators have transferred
to primitive society the theory of the relationship of
the group to the individual current among ourselves.
This transference is, I contend, quite misleading; for,
as pointed out in the previous chapter, the individual
and the group are in primitive society strictly incom-
mensurable units, each with a separate and indepen-
dent existence. We have nothing even remotely com-
parable to primitive man's sense of an objective social
world, a world which is just as real as the external
world and which is conceived of as being just as inde-
pendent of the individual as the external world is.
The social reality he predicates has existed from all
time and is, in his eyes, as old as the external world
of the senses. Like the external world it is never static
but always dynamic, taking on varying forms and
appearing under different aspects. Yet in spite of this
dynamic character it is always the same, a unique and
unalterable social world. An individual may sin
against varying parts of it without incurring dangerous
consequences but if he sins against any fundamental
aspect he must be prepared either to dissociate himself
entirely from this world or die.
Possibly we have here one of the reasons for the
absence of consistent skeptics or unbelievers and for
the nonexistence of revolts against the real structure of
society. A consistent skeptic and critic would feel it
incumbent upon him to withdraw from his tribe either
to face death in the wilderness or to found a group
of his own. He would in normal times never think of
attempting to force the group to his way of thinking,
because of his feeling that the group and the individual
are entirely distinct entities, interlocked at certain
points and constraining each other at others, yet suf-
ficiently autonomous as units to resist any complete
submergence of the one by the other. Ample leeway
is allowed but the essential configuration of either unit
must not be tampered with. What the real and essen-
tial nature of this social configuration consists of and
furthermore what the nature of primitive man's under-
standing and intuition of this is, it is well-nigh impos-
sible to determine; certainly it will for many decades
elude the abilities of a Western European investigator
to describe. The best he can hope to do is to describe
its external details. The interrelations of its com-
ponent parts are quite beyond him. Yet it is just this,
I feel, that gives the social configuration its true sig-
nificance for the members of the tribe.
Let me give a few examples. Among the Winnebago
a rigid clan organization prevailed until fairly re-
cently. As far as I could find out, deviations of a
rather important character have always existed and
have always been tolerated. But the moment any one
negated some feature felt to be basic he was forced to
secede. Secession among the Winnebago, as in fact
among many tribes, is by no means uncommon. In the
semi-legendary accounts that have been preserved, the
causes are generally given as personal ones and they
often are of a most trivial kind, at least to our way of
thinking. We will not, I feel certain, be going far
wrong in discounting these accounts and in assuming
that in almost all cases a very profound revolt lurked
at the bottom of the secession. The following very
illuminating illustration bearing on this point was ob-
tained from the Winnebago:
A young man fell in love with a girl belonging to a
clan into which he was not permitted to marry. Noth-
ing that his parents or the older people said seemed
to have any influence upon him. Marry the girl he
would in defiance of all clan regulations. In despera-
tion the father resorted to the following very subtle
plan. Among the Winnebago there exists a very curi-
ous and interesting custom which forbids a member
of any other clan to ask for water in the lodge of a
member of the bear clan. To do so is considered
an unpardonable affront and an unforgivable breach
of good manners. Should any one, however, presume to
ask for water it is refused, but every other demand is
granted. The father in this case deliberately commit-
ted this affront and when the water was refused and
he was asked to make some other request, he asked
for the hand of the daughter of the owner of this house,
it so happening that members of the bear clan were
eligible as mates for his son. The son apparently had
to consent and the revolt was broken. Now it is quite
obvious that the first offense is, from our point of view,
a hundredfold more heinous than the second, the lat-
ter being to our feeling largely a matter of etiquette.
I should have assumed offhand, without questioning,
that the Winnebago attitude would be the same as ours.
And yet here we have the undoubted and incontrovert-
able fact that the young man refused to secede in the
first instance and did in the second.
The preceding illustration shows how a custom which
to us appears trivial and unimportant played a funda-
mental role in this man's understanding and intuition
of the social configuration of his tribe and effectively
prevented his revolt. In sum, he was quite willing to
break one part of the social structure, such as marry-
ing within his own phratry, but not another. In the
second example, we shall see that even where a de-
parture from what the external observer would regard
as the fundamental structure of society is more funda-
mental, the basic break, to the native, consisted in an
apparently trivial detail.
My second illustration is again chosen from the
Winnebago. Among them about thirty years ago a
ceremony was introduced which deviated in many sig-
nificant ways from the normal Winnebago type. The
tenets of this new religion were from the very begin-
ning diametrically opposed to the old Winnebago cul-
tural background. The new faith naturally encoun-
tered tremendous antagonism among the older members
of the tribe and, although understood, was definitely
disapproved of. Yet what completely placed it outside
of the pale for certain individuals was not the intro-
duction of some new belief or rite, nor the denial of
the efficacy of the older rites and of the whole sacerdo-
tal system, but the reversal of the customary manner
of making the ceremonial circuit in entering the cere-
monial lodge. This constituted, for many, the real
sin against the social configuration.
Now all this has a distinct bearing on our under-
standing of the role played by the group. Many in-
vestigators have not always taken the trouble to find
out what primitive peoples themselves implied by 'the
group, what it actually meant to them. They have
equated it with our own ideas, and blandly wiped out
everything else.
Take the whole question of the assumed uniformity
in custom and rite. Yet wherever we obtain detailed
information about rituals, magical rites, etc., we soon
discover that much of the predicated stereotyped uni-
formity and absence of variation completely vanishes,
just as it does in the case of a myth. And the varia-
tion in former times must have been much greater than
it is to-day, for in these unfortunate times investigators
must perforce content themselves with fragmentary
information, and a good deal of merging of discordant
customs and information has taken place and produced
a fictitious uniformity. Sociologists and ethnologists
have been aware of this for some time. If it has made
comparatively little impression upon many of them, the
reason is to be sought in the fact that there has always
existed a tacit assumption that there is but one true
version of a myth, one true version of a rite. Where
deviations or variants were present this was to be
ascribed to errors due either to forgetfulness or ignor-
ance, or to general inert degeneration. Perhaps the fol-
lowing examples will suffice to illustrate the assump-
tions which at times underlie the work of even the
professional ethnologist. One investigator told me that
in an attempt to obtain what he regarded as an
ideally accurate account of a certain ceremony he had
the half dozen or more individuals reputed to know
most about it hold a conference and come to some
agreement as to what was the proper manner of giving
the rite. Many deviations and even contradictions
were found to exist but these were all ironed out to
the observer's satisfaction and the description thus
obtained published as the one and only correct version.
In another case it was proposed in all seriousness that
different versions and fragments of certain myths
should be combined together into the true version.
We are justified then in insisting that part of the
uniformity postulated of a rite or a myth is due to
the utter inadequacy of the ethnological record and
that this, in turn, is not always or predominatingly due
to unfortunate circumstances, but to tacit or expressed
assumptions of the investigator. The most cursory
glance suffices to show that we are indeed not here
dealing with an inert degeneration but with the free
play of participants and story-tellers. In view of
what has been pointed out in the previous chapter
this is of course exactly what we might have expected.
Where a society is so permeated with a thirst for pres-
tige and naive self-glorification as is that of primitive
man, it would be quite ridiculous to imagine that these
traits would not find expression in theoretically un-
orthodox ways.
Yet I do not want to seem unfair in my strictures.
To the outsider the procedure at a ceremony does not
change; the general tenor of the speeches remains the
same, the rites retain their prescribed sequence, and
the tradition within the tribe continues that there is
no change. Many investigators noticing this have
rather hastily drawn the inference that there is no
change and that the individual was merged in the
group. Now the correct state of affairs, as far as I can
determine it, is this: change and deviation occur
abundantly and are recognized, but there also exists,
among certain very important individuals in each
tribe, a tacit theory of immutability. This theory has
been developed, it is safe to say, by the priest and the
thinker and is only inconsistently shared by the aver-
age man. It is this theory that ensnares so many ob-
servers into the belief that there is a correct version
for every rite and myth and that as soon as this is ob-
tained we shall have an adequate description of the
mental and emotional attitude of the whole tribe.
This theory of immutability to which primitive man
gives repeated utterance and to which he subscribes, at
least to the extent of not too insistently or too obvi-
ously deviating from the path of his fathers, applies
not only to group but to purely individual activities
likewise. The most outstanding and familiar of such
activities are the various rites connected with sympa-
thetic magic. These all belong intrinsically to a motor
level and the cultural trappings associated with them
are for the most part inert and functionless survivals.
Yet here where we might expect unlimited deviations
and variations we find the least. We cannot ascribe
this exclusively to motor inertia or to a vague fear of
untoward consequences. Part of it is to be explained by
the fact that primitive man's theory of immutability
holds with far greater vigor for these magical rites
than for any other activities and that it finds a definite
and clear-cut expression in formulae which, in their
turn, are supposed to be immutable. When, however,
we leave the domain of magic, even the theory of im-
mutability will not suffice to explain the actual uni-
formity either in group activities or in those personal
activities that are performed in the presence of others.
To account for this we shall have to take into considera-
tion a far more potent and archetypal social reaction —
the fear and horror of ridicule.
In one sense the fear of ridicule is merely the obverse
side of prestige hunting, and prestige hunting is at
bottom but a defensive mechanism against ridicule.
Into the purely psychological aspects and implications
of this whole question we cannot enter here, for our
main concern is with the manner of its evocation and
with primitive man's sensitiveness to it. Stated
broadly we may say that every mistake, every devia-
tion from accepted opinion, every individual and purely
personal interpretation, every peculiarity and eccen-
tricity, may call forth ridicule. It is ridicule and not
indignation and horror that assails a man who at-
tempts to change a detail in a ceremony, to tell a
story in some new and original manner, or who acts
counter to some definitely accepted belief and custom,
and it is the same fundamentally ill-natured laughter
that greets him when he becomes unwittingly the vic-
tim of some untoward accident. To avoid it a man
will go to any length. He may even commit suicide in
consequence of it. "If you travel in the road of good
people," say the Winnebago, "it will be good and
others will not consider your life a source of amuse-
ment." Even the deities are not exempt from this
horror of ridicule. Among the Winnebago there exists
a delightful story of a man who dared to state that he
disbelieved in the powers of the most terrifying and
holiest of the Winnebago deities, and who in public
expressed his contempt for him. A short time later,
the deity in question appeared to the skeptic and
pointed his finger at him, an action that was supposed
to bring immediate death. The man stood his ground
and did not budge and the deity — Disease-Giver was
his name — begged the man to die lest people make fun
of him!
The fear of ridicule is thus a great positive factor in
the lives of primitive peoples. It is the preserver of
the established order of tilings and more potent and
tyrannous than the most restrictive and coercive of
positive injunctions possibly could be. As a conserv-
ing force it takes its place by the side of primitive
man's sense of a social world distinct from the indi-
vidual, and his theory of the unchangeableness of
group phenomena. But whereas the latter two are
specifically group expressions, the fear of ridicule
appertains exclusively to the individual as such. It is
every individual's personal balancing wheel. Though
we generally see only its superficial repercussions as
individual impinges upon individual, as a matter of fact
it really represents each man's tacit assessment of him-
self, each man's sense of inferiority, each man's pro-
found discomfort with any happening, whether caused
by him or not, which disturbs the psychic unity towards
which he is unconsciously striving. His feelings of per-
sonal worth and personal dignity are being outraged
when he is the subject of ridicule and he reacts to it
instinctively, instantaneously, and with an intuitive
recognition of its importance.
Where there are such checks and balances, it is per-
haps but natural to assume considerable merging of
the two kinds of social reality always present to the
consciousness of primitive man — the group and the
individual. And yet this is precisely what does not
take place, a fact we cannot too frequently stress.
The unusual degree of integration found in primitive
culture — and that there is integration to a much
greater degree and in a far more complete manner
than among us no person at all conversant with the
facts will deny — this integration is not due to any
identification of the individual with the group or of
individual with individual, but to the existence of a
larger configuration in which the individual and the
group are separate and distinct units.
Chapter V
FREEDOM OF THOUGHT
TT7E have tried to make it clear that the older
W theory, according to which only a group con-
sciousness existed in primitive communities, is wrong
and that in the interests of truth and clear thinking it
had better be consigned to that already impressive
limbo of rejected ideas which have grown out of the
uncritical and superficial application of the evolution-
ary theory to the history of civilization. Individualism
is present everywhere, we have seen, even to the point
of degenerating into what I have called "personalism."
There is, however, a possible objection to the above
point of view. It might justifiably be claimed that
much of the individualism discussed in the preced-
ing chapters was non-significant and that real individ-
ualism, real freedom from the shackles of group-
tyranny and group-thinking, can be demonstrated only
when it can be clearly proven that freedom of thought
exists. To this point we must therefore turn. It can
best be approached by a discussion of the significance
of variants.
That far-reaching variants in the manner of giving
a ceremony or of telling a tale exist we all know, but
a relatively small number of investigators have ever
taken the trouble to inquire just wherein the full im-
plication of this variation lay. Explanations like inert
degeneration or forgetfulness will no longer do. The
only method of throwing any light on the problem is
to obtain the same information from different indi-
viduals with whose temperament one is acquainted.
With this object in view, I obtained different versions
of the same myth from three individuals. Two of them
were brothers and had learned the myth from their
father. The differences between these versions were
remarkable, but the significance of the differences lay
in the fact that they could be explained in terms of
the temperament, literary ability, and interests of the
story-teller. But we are interested here not so much
in accounting for the origin of variants as in discov-
ering the attitude of the group toward these variants.
What we would like to know is why they disapprove of
them, for that the older and more conservative people
do frequently disapprove of them is beyond discussion.
Now there can be no question that, to a far more
marked degree than among us, to be different from
other people and to have differences of opinion and
interpretation did in primitive communities call down
upon an individual sarcasm and ridicule. But it is
equally true that if one felt strong enough to stand the
chaff and unpopularity and that the prestige value at-
tached to the deviations or peculiarities definitely out-
weighed the disadvantages, then one could be certain
of one thing, that no prosecution or persecution would
take place. If a man chose to disbelieve in the efficacy
of the spirits, apart from the ridicule to which he would
unquestionably be subjected, this led to nothing worse
than a shrug of the shoulders for his idiocy and un-
called-for bravado. Essentially this was considered a
matter of private concern although it probably would
mean worry and concern to friends and relatives.
In the preceding chapter we gave an instance of a
daring skeptic questioning the powers of a great deity.
Ridicule, sarcasm, perhaps even horror, were the re-
sponse from the community, but no censure was passed
on his fundamental criticism of the accepted religious
beliefs of the tribe. We find the same reaction to-day
in connection with a new religion that is sweeping over
the Winnebago and which preaches the destruction of
all that is holy in their past. Scorn, ridicule and abuse
are hurled against the rebels but no crusade is or-
ganized against them because of their innovations.
One of the old conservative members of the tribe who
hated these innovators with all the intensity of a re-
actionary summed up their case as follows: "This
medicine (the new religion) is one of the four spirits
from below and for that reason it is bad. These spirits
(from below) have always been longing for human
beings and now they are getting hold of them. It is
said that those who use this medicine claim that when
they die they will only be going on a long journey.
But I say that this is not the truth, that in fact those
who eat this medicine destroy their soul and that when
death comes to them, it will mean extermination. If
I spit on the floor the saliva will soon dry up and
nothing will remain of it. So will death be for them.
I might, it is true, go out and preach against this doc-
trine but it would be of no avail for I certainly would
not be able to draw more than one or two people away
from these spirits. Many, indeed, will be swallowed by
this religion; they will not be able to help themselves
in any way. The bad spirit will unquestionably seize
them." There is not a word here of a forceful suppres-
sion, of using the agencies of government to persecute
the innovators, not a word against their right to do and
think as they chose. It is simply their foolishness that
is deplored.
The right, then, to freedom of opinion is never for a
moment questioned. As further illustrations let us take
the following. On one occasion I remember a thunder-
storm coming up from the east, a region which, accord-
ing to the Winnebago, was not inhabited by those
mythical birds to whom thunder and lightning are
attributed. A Winnebago commenting upon this there-
upon boldly announced that some thunderbirds did
live in the east, in spite of the conception to the con-
trary. His belief, I feel quite positive, did not obtain
general credence. But no one attempted to attack him
because of his heretical views. He was free to believe
what he chose and take the consequences.
The same attitude is shown with regard to divergent
versions of some of the more important myths of the
tribe, the sacred ones, those referring to the origin of
the clans, of death, of future life. In one instance
when I obtained a very markedly divergent version of
the most sacred myth of the tribe, the informant, in
reply to my question as to why his version differed
so much from the others, answered rather irritatingly,
"That is my way of telling the story. Others have
different ways." That was all. No judgment was
passed.
There are certain investigators who have been con-
vinced that a multiplicity of variants exists in every
tribe and who then very cleverly turn the spit around
and insist that primitive people are not capable of con-
structing any coherent system of thought, that general
formulations, for instance, are quite beyond them. It
has frequently been contended that primitive man was
unable to give an objective formulation of his culture.
This, I think, is a quite unjustified and erroneous as-
sumption. It is true that few coherent systems of
beliefs have been obtained. But they do exist for those
who wish to look for them, although they are confined,
as among ourselves, to a very limited number of people.
They are not frequent because in the intellectual at-
mosphere we have just described, where the unhindered
and free expression of thought was the order of the
day and was regarded as a purely private concern,
system-mongering or a systematic theology, for in-
stance, was quite useless. It could be and was at-
tempted, but it carried no validity, brought no prestige.
It remained the expression of a particular man or, at
best, of a particular group. Take the Winnebago
again. There a well-formulated system of teaching
existed. But this system was considered simply a more
emphatic and codified warning of the older people to
the young not to take unnecessary risks, to be warned
in time and to go fully clothed and protected upon
the road of life. This systematic formulation bestowed
upon the deities no additional efficacy nor did it endow
them with a more lasting immortality.
This brings us thus to the very core of the question,
namely, that among primitive people freedom of
thought was closely and intimately bound up with the
whole significance of thought. Now thought among
primitive people has a function different from that
which it possesses among us. It gives validity to one
special kind of reality, the reality of their subjective
life. "I think, therefore that which I think exists,"
such is the motto of primitive man. True enough, it
establishes only one kind of reality but it is an impor-
tant one and one that bears directly on the whole ques-
tion of his tolerance of complete freedom of expres-
sion. A man's personality must not be interfered with.
If by expressing it he destroys himself, that is his own
affair.
But all that we have said above refers to only one
aspect of the tolerance of difference of opinion. The
other one is more fundamental and perhaps more diffi-
cult for us to understand. However real his subjective
life may be to him, however definitely he may feel that
thought establishes its own reality, we would be hope-
lessly wrong in imagining that primitive man believes
that thoughts, ideas, opinions, etc., bear any relation
to the facts of social experience. What he practically
says is that it makes no difference whether a man
thinks so or so. The social reality is not altered by it.
This is clearly what the old man whom I quoted on
page 31 was trying to express.
Nor need I add that the freedom of thought en-
countered here is not due to any secondary emancipa-
tion from the shackles of traditional dogmatism, as
among us. It is due to the recognition of personality
and the right of personality to expression, and due to
the clear perception of a lack of contact between
thoughts, ideas, and opinions on the one hand and the
social realities on the other. The life of thought does
not dominate and tyrannize over even the most intel-
lectual of primitive people as it does over some of the
least intellectual among us.
This significance of thought in our own civilization
brings us naturally to the question of the influence of
the written thought, the word. To Western Europe
and the peoples of the Mediterranean, accustomed for
thirty centuries to an alphabet, the written word has as-
sumed something of a magical charm. In the begin-
ning was the word, i.e., the written word. In its mani-
fold repercussions this worship of the written word
finally included the unwritten word and then extended
itself till it ended in the deification of thought. Thus
the word and thought became things in themselves,
living and real entities, instead of retaining their old
function of merely giving validity to certain realities.
In Hebrew mythology the letters of the alphabet dis-
pute with God as to who is to have the honor of be-
ginning the Pentateuch and we need hardly refer to the
tremendous significance attached to meaningless vo-
cables in Egyptian and Greek papyri.
Now this is not at all true for primitive peoples.
Much if not all of the magical quality and potency
possessed by the mere word and by thought among us
is derived from its connection with the written script.
This is quite intelligible. Granted a dynamic and ever
changing world, then the written word with its semi-
permanence and its static character was a much de-
sired oasis. For the development of the technique of
thinking it was of the greatest importance. But cultur-
ally and psychologically it possessed even greater sig-
nificance, for it completed the victory of the visual-
minded man over his competitors. From that time
on, at least for the literate man, the main verities were
to become visual verities. The word and thought were
to become either identified with the ultimate and
unique reality or predicated as its cause, and the world
was to be conceived of as a projection of the thought
of the creator. All along this line primitive man takes
issue with us.
I would be the last to deny that primitive man at-
taches importance and power to mere thinking or to
magical formulae. The fact is patent. All I wish to
emphasize is that he does not believe that thought does
more than validate the reality of his subjective life.
It does not touch the two great realities which apart
from his personality concern him most: the reality into
which he is born and the reality with which he is born.
At birth he is ushered into both, the reality of the
phenomenal world and the social world. Now what
primitive man seeks is the means for discovering the
nature of these two realities, and the methods for en-
suring their normal and adequate functioning. Any-
thing that will help him in this quest is valuable and
acceptable. Thoughts, feelings, intuitions, etc., can and
do enhance and constrain an already existing reality;
they are, in this role, to be recognized as an important
adjunct.
Very frequently, indeed, one finds primitive man
claiming to have been able to achieve certain results
through the insistence and perseverence of his thoughts.
I myself was once informed by an Indian that he had
always been so successful on the hunt because he used
his thought. Now concretization of thought is common
enough among primitive people just as is the con-
cretization of the emotions. Never, however, did
thoughts lose their primary character of proofs of
reality. No such apotheosis of thought and of the
word was possible as among us, because these were
at all times regarded as simply one of the various
mechanisms for appreciating the existence of certain
things, one of the means, we have seen, for establishing
their validity. The distortion in our whole psychic
life and in our whole apperception of the external
realities produced by the invention of the alphabet,
the whole tendency of which has been to elevate
thought and thinking to the rank of the exclusive proof
of all verities, never occurred among primitive people.
Much was thereby inevitably lost and it is conceivable
that what many profound thinkers consider the true
differentiation of the subjective from the objective
toward which "civilized" man has been laboriously
and inconsistently striving for the last five thousand
years, was in consequence rendered impossible for
them. Yet much also was gained, or better retained,
for the false overvaluation of the visual sense brought
in its train a too exclusive preoccupation with the
purely objective world, on the one hand, and a distor-
tion of a purely subjective element like thought, on the
other, by ascribing to it objective validity. Primitive
man was spared both of these things. Thoughts and
words were recognized as integral and concomitant
elements in every act and their import was never
slurred or forgotten. But that is all. Especially was
this true in the relations of man to man and of man to
the social group. In this way he became a much better
psychologist than we are and was enabled to see the
social world and the phenomenal world in a much truer
perspective than we do. How true this is the subse-
quent chapters will, I hope, demonstrate.
Chapter VI
RIGHT AND WRONG
ON no subject connected with primitive people does
so much confusion exist in the mind of the gen-
eral public and have so many ill-considered statements
been made as on the nature of their behavior to one
another. The prevalent view to-day among laymen is
that they are at all times the plaything of their pas-
sions, and that self-control and poise are utterly alien
to their character, if not, indeed, quite beyond their
reach. We have seen in fact that even so open-minded
and sympathetic a scholar as Jung apparently still
accepts this view (cf. page 39). That an example like
the one used by Jung should in all good faith be given
as representative of the normal or even the abnormal
reaction of a primitive man to a given emotional situa-
tion, shows the depth of ignorance that still exists on
this subject, Now quite apart from the manifest ab-
surdity involved in the belief that any parent in a primi-
tive group would wreak his rage at his lack of success in
hunting, in this murderous fashion upon the first object
that came within his reach, even if it be his innocent
and beloved child, there are a hundred and one reasons
that would have deterred him, even had he been the
uncontrolled animal the illustration assumes him to
have been. However, let that pass. The illustration
has its uses, for it permits the contrast between the
generally accepted belief and the true nature of the
facts to emerge all the more definitely. Actually the
situation is quite different.
Briefly stated, the underlying ideal of conduct among
most primitive tribes is self-discipline, self-control and
a resolute endeavor to observe a proper measure of
proportion in all things. I am well aware that in some
tribes this is more definitely expressed than in others
and that not infrequently certain excrescences in their
ceremonial life seem to contradict this assertion. Yet
I think most field ethnologists would agree with me.
Since in the face of so formidable a body of opinion
apparently to the contrary, incontrovertible evidence
will be demanded of me to substantiate so broad and
explicit a statement, I shall confine myself in my pres-
entation of the facts to a tribe which I know personally
and where the material which I use can be definitely
controlled. The data upon which I rely come from
the Winnebago Indians of Wisconsin and Nebraska
and are to be found in two monographs published by
me. Only statements made by the Winnebago them-
selves in accounts either actually written by themselves
or contained in verbatim descriptions of the rituals
obtained in the original Winnebago are used in order
to obviate all inaccuracy.
I can think of no better method of introducing the
subject than by quoting appropriate passages from the
Winnebago texts secured and then discussing them in
the light of the knowledge they throw upon the system
of ethics enunciated and, more specifically, upon the
type of self-control implied. For facility of reference
I shall number these passages:
1. It is always good to be good.
2. What does life consist of but love?
3. Of what value is it to kill?
4. You ought to be of some help to your fellow men.
5. Do not abuse your wife; women are sacred.
6. If you cast off your dress for many people, they will
be benefitted by your deed.
7. For the good you do every one will love you,
8. Never do any wrong to children.
9. It is not good to gamble.
10. If you see a helpless old man, help him if you have
anything at all,
11. If you have a home of your own, see to it that who-
ever enters it obtains something to eat. Such food
will be a source of death to you if withheld.
12. When you are recounting your war deeds on behalf
of the departed soul, do not try to add to your honor
by claiming more for yourself than you have actually
accomplished. If you tell a falsehood then and
exaggerate your achievements you will die before-
hand. The telling of truth is sacred. Tell less than
you did. The old men say it is wiser.
13. Be on friendly terms with every one and then every
one will love you.
14. Marry only one person at a time.
15. Do not be haughty with your husband. Kindness will
be returned to you and he will treat you in the same
way in which you treat him.
1 6. Do not imagine that you are taking your children's
part if you just speak about loving them. Let them
see it for themselves.
17. Do not show your love for other people so that people
notice it. Love them but let your love be different
from that for your own.
1 8. As you travel along life's road, never harm any one
or cause any one to feel sad. On the contrary, if at
any time you can make a person feel happy, do so. If
at any time you meet a woman away from your
village and you are both alone and no one can see
you, do not frighten her or harm her.
19. If you meet any one on the road, even if it is only a
child, speak a cheering word before you pass on.
20. If your husband's people ever ask their own children
for something when you are present, assume that they
had asked it of you. If there is anything to be done,
do not wait till you are asked to do it but do it
immediately.
21. Never think a home is yours until you have made one
for yourself.
22. If you have put people in charge of your household, do
not nevertheless act as though the home were still
yours.
23. When visiting your husband's people, do not act as if
you were far above them.1
*A11 these passages, with the exception of 3, 18, 19, and 20, come
Obviously we are here in the presence of a fairly
well elaborated system of conduct. To those who con-
sistently deny to primitive man any true capacity for
abstract thinking or objective formulation of an ethical
code — and their number is very large both among
scholars and laymen — the injunctions given above
would probably be interpreted as having a definitely
concrete significance. That is, they are not to be
regarded as attempts at generalization in any true
sense of the word but merely as inherently wise saws
and precepts of a practical and personal application.
Now there is sufficient justification for such a view to
warrant our discussing it before we proceed any fur-
ther.
A number of the precepts given avowedly allow a
concrete practical and personal application. In 5, for
example, we are told, "If you abuse your wife you will
die in a short time. Our grandmother Earth is a
woman and in abusing your wife you will be abusing
her. Since it is she who takes care of us, by your
actions you will be practically killing yourself.'7 To
precept 10 is added the following: "If you happen
to possess a home, take him (the old man) there and
feed him for he may suddenly make uncomplimentary
remarks about you. You will be strengthened
thereby."
from Crashing Thunder: the Autobiography of an American Indian,
edited by Paul Radin ; 3 conies from the myth given on pages 79 ff.
of this book, and the others from the 37th Report oj the Bureau
of American Ethnology.
We thus do indeed seem to obtain the impression
that a Winnebago in being good to a helpless old man is
guided by motives secondary to those implied in the
precept as quoted. And what follows would seem to
strip our apparently generous precept of whatever
further altruistic value still attaches to it, for there
it is stated that perhaps the old man is carrying under
his arm a box of medicines that he cherishes very much
and which he will offer to you. Similarly in precept
ii we find, "If you are stingy about giving food some
one may kill you." Indeed I think we shall have to
admit that in the majority of cases none of the Winne-
bago virtues or actions are extolled for their own sake,
and that in every instance they have reference to and
derive their validity from whatever relation they pos-
sess to the preponderatingly practical needs of human
intercourse. "Don't be a fool," precept 5 seems to im-
ply, "and treat your wife badly, because if you do,
you'll run the risk of having the woman's protecting
deity, the Earth, punish you." I should not even be
surprised if, in concrete instances, the moral was fur-
ther emphasized by giving examples of how men were
punished who had abused their wives. We are fairly
obviously told to be guided by the practical side of the
question, i.e., take no risks and get the most out of
every good action you perform.
Now all this sounds extremely cynical and practical.
But we must be fair and not too hasty in drawing our
inferences. First of all it should be asked if the
Winnebago in actual practice give the impression of
always being guided by egotistical and ulterior motives,
and second it should be borne in mind that if we can
really prove that the ideal of human conduct is on
a high plane, we need not concern ourselves needlessly
with the apparent nature of the motives prompting
individual acts. As a matter of fact primitive people
are much less guided by consciously selfish and ulterior
motives than we are, not because of any innate superi-
ority over ourselves in this regard but because of
the conditions under which they live. But, quite
apart from this consideration, ought we in fact to lay
undue stress on illustrations following what is clearly
a general principle? Are we not after all, in our illus-
trations, merely dealing with a statement of what
happens when some general principle of the ethical
code is transgressed, and not primarily with an ex-
planation of the principle? I do not feel, therefore, that
even those instances which seem superficially to cor-
roborate the prevalent assumption of primitive man's
inability to formulate an abstract ethical creed, ac-
tually bear out, when more carefully examined, the
contention of its advocates.
Now the question of the capacity of the Winnebago
to formulate an ethical code in a fairly abstract fash-
ion is of fundamental importance for the thesis of this
chapter and that is why I am laying so much stress
on it; for if it were not true our precepts would have
to be regarded in the nature of mere proverbs and
practical folk wisdom, as nothing higher indeed than
crystallized maxims of conduct.
There are, however, in our list certain precepts where
the abstract formulation is undeniable, where, in fact,
reference to the particular context in which the pre-
cepts occur not only shows no secondary concrete
significance, but, on the contrary, a reenforcement of
their abstract and general connotation. In precept i
the full statement is this: "If you hear of a person
traveling through your country and you want to see
him, prepare your table and send for him. In this
manner you will do good and it is always good to do
good, it is said." Similarly in precept 2. Here it is in
the course of a speech delivered at a ceremony that the
phrase occurs: "what does life consist of but love?7'
"All the members of the clan have given me counsel,"
the speaker says, "and all the women and children have
pleaded in my behalf with the spirits. What love
that was! And of what does life consist but of
love?"
Here we have no concrete practical implications. The
statements are meant to be taken as general propo-
sitions. They are very remarkable enunciations and
we may legitimately draw from their existence the
inference that even in so-called "primitive" tribes, cer-
tain individuals have apparently felt within themselves
the same moral truths that are regarded as the glory
of our great moralists, and that they have formulated
these truths in general terms.
So much for the actual formulation. What, how-
ever, does this Winnebago creed tell us about the ideal
of conduct itself? Does it teach us that love and for-
bearance are to be practiced for their own sake and
is the love of which they speak identical with or even
comparable to our idea of love?
When a Western European speaks of love, forbear-
ance, remorse, sorrow, etc., he generally understands
by these terms some quality belonging to an individual
and for the possession of which he is to be honored
and praised. We do not ask whether the love or the
virtue in question is of an intelligent nature, whether
it does harm or good, or whether we have any right
to it. Who among us would speak of an individual
not being entitled to his remorse or sorrow? We as-
sume that the mere expression of remorse and sorrow
is somehow ethically praiseworthy. If we see a man
of manifestly weak character but of a loving disposi-
tion, even if his actions are inconsistent with a true love
for his fellow men, insist that he loves them, while we
may condemn him, we are inclined to overlook much
in recognition of his enunciation of . the principle
that love of mankind is the highest ideal of life. In
much the same way do we look upon any manifestation
of sincere remorse or sorrow. We simply regard love,
remorse, sorrow, etc., as inalienable rights of man,
quite independent of any right, as it were, he may
possess to express them. In other words, the Western
European ethics is frankly egocentric and concerned
primarily with self-expression. The object toward
which love, remorse, repentance, sorrow, is directed is
secondary. Christian theology has elevated them all
to the rank of virtues as such, and enjoins their ob-
servance upon us because they are manifestations of
God's, if not of man's, way.
Among primitive people this is emphatically not
true. Ethics there is based upon behavior. No mere
enunciation of an ideal of love, no matter how often
and sincerely repeated, would gain an individual either
admiration, sympathy, or respect. Every ethical pre-
cept must be submitted to the touchstone of conduct.
The Winnebago moralist would insist that we have no
right to preach an ideal of love or to claim that we
love, unless we have lived up to its practical implica-
tions. That is the fundamental basis of all primitive
education and is unusually well expressed among the
Winnebago. "When you are bringing up children,"
runs the injunction to a young mother, "do not imagine
that you are taking their part if you merely speak of
loving them. Let them see it for themselves; let them
know what love is by seeing you give away things to
the poor. Then they will see your good deeds and then
they will know whether you have been telling the truth
or not." An exactly similar attitude is taken toward
remorse. "If you have always loved a person, then
when he dies you will have the right to feel sorrow."
No amount of money spent upon the funeral of a
person with whom you had been quarreling will make
amends.
But it is not merely love, remorse, etc., to which
you have no right as such. You have equally no right
to the glory attendant upon joining a war party unless
it is done in the right spirit. In the document from
which most of our statements have been taken — the
autobiography of a Winnebago Indian — a man is rep-
resented as being about to embark on a war party
because his wife has run away from him. "Such a
man," the author insists, "is simply throwing away
his life. If you want to go on the warpath, do not
go because your wife has been taken away from you
but because you feel courageous enough to go."
In consonance with such an attitude is the differen-
tiation in the degree of love insisted upon. Love
everybody, it is demanded, but do not love them all
equally. Above all do not love your neighbor as you
love those of your own blood. "Only if you are
wicked," the injunction says, "will you love other
people's children more than your own." The injunc-
tion certainly says that we must love everybody, but
this must be humanly understood, and humanly under-
stood you cannot, of course, love every one alike. The
Winnebago would contend that such a statement would
be untrue and that any attempt to put it into practice
must manifestly lead to insincerity. It would, more-
over, be definitely unjust in that it might make for
the neglect of those whom primarily you ought to love
most. Here the difference between the attitude of
primitive man and that of Western Europe is most
clearly brought out* According to primitive standards
you deserve neither credit nor discredit, neither praise
nor condemnation, for giving expression to a normal
human emotion. It is the manner in which, in your
relations to the other members of the tribe, you
distribute this emotion and the degree to which it is
felt by others to be sincere, that calls forth respect and
admiration. It is wicked to love other people's chil-
dren as much as your own; it is wicked to love your
wife to the detriment of your family and yourself;
it is wicked to love your enemy while he is your enemy.
An excellent illustration of this conviction — that it is
fundamentally wicked and unintelligent to make the
expression of even a socially commendable emotion like
love an end in itself — is contained in the following
passage taken from the autobiography quoted above:
When you get married do not make an idol of the woman
you marry; do not worship her. If you worship a woman
she will insist upon greater and greater worship as time
goes on. It may be that when you get married you will
listen to the voice of your wife and you will refuse to
go on the warpath. Why should you thus run the risk of
being ridiculed? After a while you will not be allowed to
go to a feast. In time even your sisters will not think
anything of you. (You will become jealous) and after your
jealousy has developed to its highest pitch your wife will
run away. You have let her know by your actions that you
worship a woman and one alone. As a result she will run
away. On account of your incessant annoyance she will
run away from you. If you think that a woman (your wife)
is the only person you ought to love, you have humbled
yourself* You have made the woman suffer and have made
her feel unhappy. You will be known as a bad man and no
one will want to marry you again. (Perhaps afterwards)
when people go on the warpath you will join them because
you feel unhappy at your wife's desertion. You will then,
however, simply be throwing away your life.
A complete insight is afforded by this example into
every phase of Winnebago ethics. You are to love
your wife, for instance, but it is to be kept within
personally and socially justifiable limits. If not, the
whole adjustment of an individual to his environment
is disturbed and injustice is eventually done to every
one concerned — to his family, to his wife, and to him-
self. Marked exaggeration and disproportion would,
from a practical point of view, be unthinkable in a
primitive community. The result, in the hypothetical
case we discussed above, is clear: loss of life and sui-
cide, and possibly even the dragging of innocent people
into your calamity — those, for instance, who are going
on a warpath properly prepared spiritually.
The psychology expressed here is unimpeachable.
To have analyzed the situation so completely and so
profoundly and to have made this analysis the basis
of social behavior is not a slight achievement, and this
achievement is to be evaluated all the more highly
because the Winnebago was predominantly a warrior
culture. The objectivity displayed is altogether un-
usual, the husband's, the wife's, the tribal viewpoints,
all are presented fairly and clearly.
Chapter VII
THE IDEAL MAN
IN the preceding chapter we were afforded a glimpse
into primitive man's idea of right and wrong. We
saw that it hinged largely on his analysis of and atti-
tude toward the individual and toward personality, a
subject which, in my opinion, has been misunderstood
by most students of primitive life. We pointed out
that the purely egotistical expression of an emotion or
an instinct was regarded as ethically and socially rep-
rehensible. Yet it must not be inferred from this
that no such expression existed or that, in its minor
aspects, it was as rigorously condemned as the exam-
ple, given in the previous chapter, of the dangers
attendant upon idolizing one's wife, might lead us to
suspect. On the contrary the direct expression of
human frailties was accepted as inevitable, something
to be regarded as neither admirable nor the reverse.
The desire for self-assertion, the right to be admired,
the right to swagger and boast, to glory in one's
achievements, these are all definitely to be sought. No
one is to hide his light under a bushel. This is very
concretely expressed among all primitive peoples by
their magical "medicines." Among the Winnebago
there is a certain Paint Medicine which makes its
possessor rich and beloved by all. One enviable medi-
cine can even be used when its possessor is in a crowd
in which he would normally be completely submerged,
and then "people will notice only him and will con-
sider him a great man." Such an ambition is not
considered as in the least culpable. True, you run the
risk of being laughed at, but that is a risk you take
under all circumstances. Apart, then, from the fear
of ridicule, you may indulge in all the normal cravings
you wish. If a man chooses to begin an account of his
life — as in the autobiography to which so much refer-
ence has already been made — by informing the reader
that just before his birth his mother was told that she
was about to give birth to a man who would not be an
ordinary individual, comment upon it is unnecessary.
You have, in short, a right to indulge in any action
that does not involve harm or danger to some one else.
You may accordingly indulge in as much gossiping as
you desire to and make as many slanderous and sar-
castic remarks about other people as you dare. Primi-
tive people are indeed among the most persistent and
inveterate of gossips. Contestants for the same honors,
possessors of the sacred rites of the tribe, the author-
ized narrators of legends, all leave you in little doubt
as to the character and proficiency of their colleagues.
"Ignoramus," "braggart," and not infrequently "liar"
are liberally bandied about.
The first impression an ethnologist receives is likely
to be quite bewildering. It is not at all to be marveled
at then that under these conditions some observers
have drawn the conclusion that not love, kindliness,
and forbearance, but envy, slander, and hate are the
dominant atmosphere of a primitive community.
It does not, however, require a long sojourn among
them to realize that the unkind and slanderous remarks
so frequently bandied about do not engender feuds and
that often the principals concerned are on very good
terms. The explanation of this interesting phenome-
non is not to be sought in any suppression or sublima-
tion, but in the unconscious acceptance of a theory of
freedom of expression for normal human feelings and
a refusal to regard expression of opinion as implying
anything beyond the significance it happens to possess
at a particular moment. Such remarks are, in other
words, not to be taken as representing final or general-
ized estimates which are to be implicitly assumed as
applying whenever one speaks of a colleague or com-
petitor. What it comes to at bottom is simply this:
that every individual has the same right to indulge in
slander, gossip2 outbursts of conceit, jealousy, etc.,
that he has to give vent to the more respectable emo-
tions. Once having given this naive relief to his sensi-
tiveness, jealousy, or what not, he forgets all about it,
not, however, in the manner of a child who forgets
because he can be easily distracted, but because he
attaches no ethical evaluation to the expression of such
emotions.
Primitive people thus accept the expression of all
human emotions as normal. But they go much far-
ther; they frankly accept the fact that this expression
is specifically different in different individuals. Each
man, woman and child stands by himself. To use
psychoanalytical terminology, there is no identifica-
tion. It is this absence of identification that explains
primitive man's capacity for seeing human relations
and understanding human conduct so objectively.
Now this respect for and acceptance of personality
brings with it an insistence upon individual respon-
sibility.
The respect for personality is shown in a number of
ways. For instance in the example given on page 74,
the husband in his increasing love and jealousy for
his wife is represented as watching her all the time,
and herein is seen a definite infringement of her indi-
viduality. Even where the corporate interests of the
tribe are involved, as in the case of the tribal hunt or
the tribal warpath among the Dakota Indians, the
personality of the members of the expedition is still
respected. On such occasions the interests of the joint
undertaking demand a definite restriction of personal
liberty. Were a man to transgress the rules then set
up, his tent would be burned and his personal property
destroyed. If, however, he submitted to this treatment
without resistance, then subsequently he would be
given a new tent and new property equivalent to, if not
slightly higher in value than, that which had been
taken from him.
This respect for individuality is extended to the chil-
dren as well. We saw on page 72 that a child was not
supposed to accept a mother's professions of love as
having any intrinsic meaning unless her conduct har-
monized with them. This assumption, that a child has
a personality and is not simply to be identified with
its parents, is well illustrated by two incidents wit-
nessed by the author. On one occasion, wishing to
purchase a pair of child's moccasins which he had seen
in a certain house, he approached the father of the
child on the matter but was told that the moccasins
belonged to the child. When pressed, the father
agreed to ask the child — I believe it was about five
years old — whether he cared to part with them. The
whole transaction took place in a perfectly serious
manner. There was not the slightest flippancy about it.
The child refused and that ended the matter.
On another occasion a very small child, about two
or three years old, managed to creep into a ceremonial
lodge while a very sacred ceremony was in progress.
I watched the scene very carefully, inquisitive to see
what would happen. No excitement ensued nor was
there any scolding and loss of temper as would have
inevitably been the case among us. Within a very
short time and in a manner very difficult to describe —
so subtle and full of understanding was it — the child
was removed without any offense to its dignity and
with no shriekings or commotion. Such examples, I
feel certain, can be multiplied indefinitely by experi-
enced and observant ethnologists. I presume that it
is this same respect for the child's individuality that
has led, among the Winnebago at least, to the belief in
the ineffectualness of corporal punishment, or of ad-
monition. "If you have a child/7 the injunction runs,
"do not strike it. If you hit a child you will merely
put more naughtiness into it." It is also said that
women should not lecture their children, that they
.nerely make them bad by admonition.
The respect for individuality has another side and
this side has led to the doctrine that each man alone
is responsible for his own conduct. Parents can only
inculcate an ideal and possibly describe the means for
its accomplishment. They can do no more. "If you
do all we have told you," a Winnebago child is told
in effect, "you will lead a happy and prosperous life."
"When the Indians have a child whom they love very
much, they preach to him so that he may never become
acquainted with the things that are not right, and that
he may never do any wrong. Then if, later in life, he
does any wrong he will do so with the clear knowledge
of the consequences of his action."
According to the Winnebago ethical ideal, then, a
person must rely upon himself, and it behooves him
consequently to prepare himself properly for the battle
of life. Life, as the Winnebago are always fond of
putting it, is not a broad, straight path but a road full
of narrow passages and it is the task of every indi-
vidual to safely surmount these. Only in this way
can he hope to obtain the two things that men prize
most in the world — happiness and prosperity, and the
esteem of their fellow men. The deities alone can pro-
vide you with the adequate means for this, and it is
essential, therefore, to get into rapport with them as
soon as possible. But — so the Winnebago theory de-
mands— the deities help you only to help yourself and
they aid you only upon definite conditions. These
conditions, we shall soon see, throw a most illuminating
light upon Winnebago ethics. They are well known
and frequently discussed by the moralists and devoutly
religious people in the tribe. The ordinary man may
very well say that the simple act of prayer by itself
suffices; the moralists would never subscribe to any
such doctrine. They insist upon a definite inward
purification, a reverend and a humble spirit, persistent
effort, strength of character, the saving grace of a sense
of life's realities and, finally, a knowledge of oneself.
Let us turn to the first point, inward purification.
How essential it is the following fasting experience of a
Winnebago will show:
So that he might know the spirits, grandfather Djoben-
angiwinxga fasted and thirsted himself to the point of death
(i.e., refrained from drinking). He made himself pitiable
in their sight. At first he fasted four nights and the Night-
Spirits came to him, with mighty sounds they came. Soon
they stood before him and spoke, "Human being, you
have thirsted yourself to death and we are going to bless
you for that reason. We who speak are the Night-Spirits."
They blessed him with life and with success on the war-
path. Then he looked at them and he saw that they were
small birds and had fooled him.
Then once again was his heart sore. In despair he said,
"Well, if I have to, I'll die fasting!" So he fasted again
and once again he rubbed charcoal on his face and fasted
for six nights this time. Then once again, from the east,
did the Night-Spirits come. Then he looked at them and
in his heart he wondered whether these were indeed the
Night-Spirits. But they were not. He was being fooled.
This time, however, instead of feeling sad, he said, "I don't
care what happens: I am willing to die in order to get a
blessing."
Then for the third time they fooled him.
He had, at first, thought during his fasting that just to
spite the spirits he would fast again but now (as he pre-
pared to fast for the fourth time) he rubbed charcoal on his
face and wept bitterly. Both hands contained tobacco and
he stood in the direction from which the Night-Spirits had
come and, weeping, he put himself in the most abject
condition.1
Here we see a man possessed of tremendous am-
bition, approaching his ordeal in a very matter-of-fact
manner. After his first rebuff we see him exclaiming,
"I will die but I shall obtain what I want." Yet all
he can think of is to continue the externals — fasting
and dabbing his face with charcoal. He receives a
second rebuff but still learns nothing. Only after his
third rebuff does he realize that his inward approach
has been all wrong. Only then when "his heart ached
to its very depths" does he attain the necessary inward
purification.
"Paul Radin, 37th Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology,
pp. 477-481.
Humility of spirit and seriousness of intention are
thus regarded as the essential prerequisites in all un-
dertakings. This is particularly true of all things con-
nected with religion. Boasting, pride, conceit find no
place here no matter how great the tolerance extended
to them on ordinary occasions. Children are continu-
ally reminded of the importance of humility and it is
constantly brought home to them by their elders. In
the autobiography quoted before, there is an excellent
illustration. The author of that document tells how a
feast was given ostensibly for him and his brother,
who were fasting at the time. "That night the feast
was given. There, however, our pride received a fall,
for although the feast was supposedly given in our
honor we were placed on one side of the main partici-
pants." This same man himself states that during his
fasting he had never really tried to render himself
pitiable in the sight of the spirits, that he had never
been truly lowly at heart.
The clearest demonstration of the worth of humility
is naturally to be found in the prayers uttered at the
various ceremonies. There humility and modesty have
practically become ritualistic formulae. "The small
amount of life you have granted me/' is the modest
claim. In a similar humble spirit they say, "We shall
perhaps be able to sing only one song but even if one
knows only one song and takes great pains about
singing it, perhaps it will suffice to propitiate the
spirits."
The finest and deepest expression of this humility
before the deities and the world is, however, to be
found in the prayer offered up at one of the funeral
wakes. The ghost of the departed is represented as
coming into the presence of the arbiter of the dead and
she — it is a woman — asks him what he had been told
to demand of her when he left the world. Thereupon
he responds and says, "O great-grandmother, as I
listened to my beloved relatives they said very little
indeed. Four requests I was asked to make and the
first is this: I was to ask for life, that the flames from
the lodge fires might go straight upward. Yet they
would be satisfied if at my departure the flames
merely swayed to and fro." 2
Seriousness of intention has in its turn developed
into a definite theory of concentration. Frivolity be-
comes an unpardonable sin. The Winnebago have a
verb which means "to concentrate one's mind" and
this concentration of mind has come to be absolutely
essential for every prayer and rite — for every under-
taking, in fact. For the priest and thinker, failure
simply signifies that this fixation of the mind upon the
object to be obtained, to the utter exclusion of every-
thing else, did not take place. A member of one of
the main ceremonies of the Winnebago thus describes
what is implied by this "concentration." "Not once
did I speak; not once did I move around; not once did
I change my position. Just as I had been told to sit
so I remained sitting. Not once did I, by chance, per-
mit my glances to wander from side to side. This was
3 Ibid., p. 153.
a holy ceremony and I was bashful in its presence." 3
By the deities in turn this concentration is accepted
as an indication of complete sincerity and of true
perseverance.
The strength of character and wisdom which is in-
sisted upon as the highest ideal of life is even more
convincingly illustrated by the symbolical interpre-
tation of the Journey of Life as recounted by this same
tribe in its principal ceremony, the Medicine Dance.
The highest ideal of a devout member of this ceremony
was to lead an upright life, to go through life bravely
without a whimper, bearing slander and misrepresenta-
tion without stooping to correct them, and enduring
loss upon loss without discouragement. The myth in
question is so beautiful and the symbolism of so re-
markable and elevated a kind that I shall quote it at
some length:
My son, as you travel along this road (the road of life),
do not doubt it. If you do you will be unhappy and you
will injure yourself. But if you do everything I tell you
well, it will benefit you greatly.
My son, the first thing you come to as you travel along
this road will be a ravine, extending to the very ends of
the world, on both sides. It will look as though it could
not possibly be crossed. When you get there you will
think to yourself, " Grandfather said that I was, neverthe-
less, to pass across." Plunge right through and you will get
to the other side.
'Paul Radin, "Personal Reminiscences of a Winnebago Indian,"
Journal of American Folklore, XXVI, pp. 293-318.
Now this ravine means that sometimes in life you will
lose a child and thoughts of death will come to you. But
if you pay attention to my teachings you will be able to go
right on and find the road of the lodge on the other side.
If you do not try to go beyond, if you get frightened and
dwell upon your loss too much, this will be your grave.
After you have crossed the ravine you will see the foot-
steps of the medicine-men who have gone before you marked
very plainly in the road. Step into them and you will feel
good. Then as you go along, you will come to an impene-
trable wood of stickers, thorns, and weeds. You will not see
how you can possibly get around them and then you will
remember that your grandfather said that you would be
able to penetrate this brushwood too. So this, likewise, you
will pass.
The impenetrable brushwood means death. Someone you
have loved greatly, but not your wife, will die. You must
try to get through this obstacle, not get frightened, and not
dwell upon your hardship too much. Otherwise this will
be your grave.
As you pass along the road, evil birds will continually
din into your ears and will cast their excrement upon you.
It will stick to your body. Now do not brush it off and do
not pay any attention to it. If you paid attention to it you
might forget yourself and brush it off. That would not be
right; life is not to be obtained in this manner.
The evil birds have the following meaning. The fact that
you have joined the medicine lodge signifies that you would
like to lead a good life. Now as soon as you have joined
the lodge, the work of evil tattlers will begin. They will
say that you have done things contrary to the teachings of
the lodge. Perhaps a bit of bird's excrement will fall on
you. What of it? Don't brush it off without thought.
Some people might even claim that you had said that the
lodge was no good. However even then you must not forget
yourself and blurt out, "Who said that?" and get angry.
Keep quiet and hold your peace.
As you go along, you will come to a great fire encircling
the earth and practically impossible to cross. It will be so
near that it will scorch you. Remember then that your
grandfather had said that you would be able to pass it.
Plunge through it. Soon you will find yourself on the
other side and nothing will have happened to you.
Now this great fire means death. Your wife will die.
Go through this as well as you can and do not get dis-
couraged. This fire will be the worst thing that you have
to go through. You will have been living happily and then,
without warning, your wife will die. There you will re-
main with your children. Bear in mind, however, what
your grandfather said and plunge straight through. On
the other side you will find the footprints of the medecine-
men.
After a while you will come to tremendous perpendicular
bluffs which hardly seem surmountable. Think again what
your grandfather said and you will then soon find yourself
on the other side of these bluffs and quite safe.
These bluffs mean death. As you travel along the road
of life you will find yourself alone. All your relatives, all
your loved ones, are dead. You will begin to think to
yourself, "Why, after all, am I living?" You will want
to die. Now this, my grandson, is the place where most
encouragement is given for it is here most needed. This is
the most difficult of all the places you will come to. Keep
in the footsteps of the medicine-men and you will be safe.
The teachings of the lodge are the only road; they alone
will enable you to pass this point safely,*
Nothing higher than this can possibly be preached.
No manlier, more profound, and wiser envisaging of
life has come from the mouths of the world's great
moral teachers. Nor is the influence of these ethical
principles on character formation to be dismissed too
lightly on the plea that, after all, they represented an
ideal only and that they had but little practical bear-
ing. That we are dealing with an ideal rarely lived
up to goes without saying; that, however, it had no
appreciable influence would be manifestly unfair to
assume. Of one ceremony a Winnebago told me,
"This ceremony molded me. I paid the most careful
attention to it. I worshiped it in the best way I knew
how. I was careful about everything in my life. A
holy life it was I sought. Most earnestly did I pray
to be reincarnated. This ceremony was made with
love." 5
But inward purification, a humble and a contrite
heart, strength of character, etc., these are all, let me
again stress it, not to be regarded as virtues in them-
selves. They are evaluated as virtues because tfiey
4 Crashing Thunder, pp. 105 ff.
0 "Personal Reminiscences of a Winnebago Indian," Journal of
American Folklore, XXVI, pp. 293-318.
are, literally speaking, the best and most adequate
preparation for the proper understanding of life's
realities and of one's own powers. Happiness is ob-
tained by the proper relation of man to the deities and
to his fellow men, and the first was interpreted, among
the Winnebago at least, as being simply another way
of expressing his relation to his personal values. Em-
braced within these was his understanding of his own
capacities.
We have pointed out before that complete freedom
in the expression of the normal human egotistical emo-
tions was permitted without hindrance. But, it will be
justly contended, are not boasting, prestige hunting,
desire for power as such, conceit, jealousy, etc., in
direct opposition to the religious-ethical ideal just
described? Quite definitely so. Indeed, I am fairly
well convinced that the religious-ethical is meant to
be a direct challenge and criticism of the purely mun-
dane ideal. We should be careful not to fall into an
obvious error here due to our Christian ideals. The
sage's and the ordinary man's viewpoint are opposed,
not because the one is morally superior to the other,
not because the one is good and the other is bad, but
because the one is more likely to help in the attainment
of that very object so ardently desired — happiness and
prosperity. This, the Winnebago and probably all
primitive peoples would contend, the ethical-religious
ideal is more likely to do because it emphasizes the
cardinal fact of life, the sense of proportion which
alone saves man from destruction and misery.
It is the sense of proportion that dominates all primi-
tive life in spite of the superficial impression to the
contrary. The exaggeration and license apparent in
many rites, ceremonies, and customs prove to be, when
more carefully studied, adventitious and do not touch
the core of the matter. It might even be said that they
are felt to be in conscious opposition to the guiding
principles of conduct. Individuals who do not observe
the proper sense of proportion have very clearly a rec-
ognized place in the life of the people, particularly in
their religious life, but such individuals rarely become
the standards to be followed. I remember very well a
Winnebago commenting upon the religious frenzy of a
certain participant in a ceremony, who in his ecstasy
danced until he fell exhausted to the ground. "It is
good," he said, "to have some people like that but it
would be very bad if most people were like him."
It is thus the insistent admonition of the wise men
and of the experienced elders that man learn the limits
imposed by nature, and above all that man learn the
limitations to his own powers. Neglect of this brings
one into collision with reality, and a collision with
reality means lack of success and often death. We
shall, in the subsequent chapter, see how our failure
properly to understand and sense the limits imposed by
reality and our failure to intelligently evaluate our
own capacities are at the bottom of the Winnebago
conception of tragedy and doom. The methods the
Winnebago, at least, take to understand both realities
are effectively depicted in their fasting experiences.
Fasting among them begins at the age of five or six
and lasts till eleven or thirteen. It is naturally, in
view of the extreme youth of the faster, entirely con-
trolled by the parents or grandparents. Many a gift
of the deities is rejected by a wise and solicitous
father or grandfather because it is beyond his idea of
the child's capacities. He does not, of course, always
put it that way. The rejection is in fact generally
couched in a religious phraseology. Sometimes the
father will say, "It is too sacred"; at other times, "The
spirits are trying to deceive you." As an instructive
example let me give the fasting experience of a young
girl to whom a very sacred deity had appeared, but a
deity whose gifts often entailed death. In answer to
her father's question she relates how the deity had come
to her.
"In four days he told me he would appear to me. 'The
day on which I appear to you will be a perfect day. Now
whatever you wish to make for yourself you may. You
will never be in want of anything for you can make what-
ever you wish out of my body. With all this I bless you
for you have made yourself suffer very much and my heart
has been torn with pity for you. I bless you with life
and with the right to transmit this blessing to your
descendants/
"All this, father, the spirit said to me."
"Daughter, it is not good," answered the father, "the
spirit is trying to deceive you. Do not accept it. He
will never bestow upon you what he has promised."
"All right, father, but let me at least give him offerings.
I will not accept his blessings because you forbid it."
Then after four days she took her offerings to the place
where she was to meet the spirit. "(My father) said you
were not a good spirit/7 (the girl said). "He is right/'
answered the spirit, "for one side of my body is not good;
yet the other side is. I was created in that manner."
Then the woman looked toward the lake and saw a tree
standing in the water. This the spirit climbed and around
this he wrapped himself. Then he took a tooth and shot the
tree and knocked it down. "This is what you would have
been able to do," said the spirit to her. "Everyone would
have respected you greatly and you would have been able to
cure weak and nervous people. But you would not listen
to what I promised you. You refused it." 6
In another fasting experience, the gift is definitely
rejected because it is too great. The father tells his
son, "My son, this is really too great. If you accept
this blessing you will not leave any human beings
alive. You will always want to go on the warpath." 7
Let us now turn to the formulation of their doctrine
of man's relation to his fellow men. This is most
clearly expressed in the insistence on moderation and
proportion, inward and outward, in the consideration
for the comfort of others, and in the refusal to inflict
one's own troubles upon one's neighbors. "Nfever
overdo anything," a father counsels his son.
*37th Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, pp. 302-304.
* Ibid., pp. 299-300.
Perhaps their ideal, however, is best seen in the
definition of what constitutes an upright and a virtuous
man. This same informant in another passage de-
scribes his brother-in-law in the following fashion:
"He was a good man; no one did he dislike; never did
he steal; never did he fight." In the semi-historical
account of the origin of the most famous of the Winne-
bago rituals, the Medicine Dance, the founders are de-
scribed as looking around for new members to initiate.
And whom do they select? Good men, i.e., those who
are righteous, wise, and kind-hearted. And as youth
is unstable, young people are excluded from the ranks
of the truly virtuous. As the tale states, the founders
never selected a young man but one who was slightly
beyond middle age. >
This picture of the ideal man would not be complete,
however, unless one other trait be added, namely that
of forgetting one's self in the interest of others. This
ideal is given in their demands on what the chief of the
tribe ought to be. "He must be a man of well-
balanced temper, not easily provoked, of good habits.
If he sees a man or a woman or a child pass by he is
to call to them and give them food to eat, for these
are his brothers and sisters." 8
It goes without saying that people who have arrived
at ethical ideas as elevated as the above would have
laid particular emphasis upon self-control, particu-
larly in its bearing on the possible injustice and dis-
comfort which the lack of it inflicts upon one's fellow
8 Ibid. , p. 320.
men. While it is true that every person has a right
to self-expression, this self-expression must not be such
as to cause discomfort to other people, and it most
emphatically must not involve other people in one's
misfortune. Even when some one in one's family has
died, a situation where one might expect a lenient and
sympathetic attitude toward any expression of grief,
restraint is enjoined upon the mourner for two charac-
teristic reasons; first, because no one has a right to
inflict his personal sorrows upon others and second,
because it is so utterly useless. At one of the funeral
rites of a Winnebago the mourner, a woman, was ad-
dressed as follows:
"My sister, it is claimed that it is best for a person
not to weep, that a widow should not mourn too much,
for then people will make fun of her, and also for the
fact that, having children, she must for their sake
look forward to life. Now there is nothing amusing in
what I am going to say (although it may sound so)
that, namely, we should not cry on such an occasion as
to-day, but, on the contrary, keep up a good spirit.
I do not mean that I am glad that my brother-in-law
has died, But if you were to weep, some one might
come and say to you that it behooves you more to
show him your teeth than your tears — that you should
smile.
"And again it is said that one should not cry, for
when a body is laid in the ground then there is no more
hope of its ever returning to this earth again." 9
9 Ibid., p. 150.
At this same ceremony one man arose and addressed
the visitors to the following effect: "It is said that we
should not weep aloud and you will, therefore, not
hear any of us making any utterings of sorrow. And
even although we weep silently we shall smile upon all
those who look at us. We beg of you all, consequently,
that should you find us happy in mood, not to think
any the worse of it."10 Additional examples are
hardly needed.
With this demonstration of intelligent self-control
the system of ethics is complete. As embodied in the
precepts and the behavior of the moralists among
primitive people, it teaches the highest type of conduct
that man can attain to anywhere — the right of every
man to happiness and to freedom of expression in con-
sonance with his particular capacities and tempera-
ment; the recognition of the limitations imposed upon
this freedom of personal expression by human rela-
tionships; and, finally, the full responsibility each man
must assume for his actions. That such a code, from
its very nature, was never fully lived up to will be
manifest to all. Indeed what we witness is the constant
conflict between the principle of full self-expression
and the ideal virtues such as self-control, moderation,
and true self-knowledge. But this conflict, too, was
recognized and in its turn came to be the basis for a
very interesting formulation, by the more philosophi-
cally inclined, of the tragic sense of life.
Chapter VIII
THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE: FATE, DEATH AND
RESIGNATION
IN the two previous chapters we were able not only
to demonstrate that among primitive people moral-
ists and moral philosophers were to be encountered
but we were actually able to see them at work — enun-
ciating ethical maxims, constructing systems of
morality, even indulging in the discussions of quasi-
philosophical niceties for their own sake. General
principles were formulated in abstract and logical
terms. The time-honored contention that primitive
man cannot think abstractly is thus shown to be an-
other of those superficial generalizations left over by
the crude evolutionary assumptions of the eighteen-
seventies. For a final and definitive refutation of
this hoary contention I refer the reader to Chapters
XIII and XV. We frankly admit that only a few
people in each community were capable of abstract
thinking and that a still smaller number were inter-
ested in the formulation of ethical creeds. But the
same holds, of course, for ourselves, only that among
us the terminology of abstract thought has become
far more generally disseminated.
We have thus seen that the higher natures among
primitive people can have a true moral sense and an
intuitive insight into right and wrong. That they can
also possess true wisdom, that they can envisage life
in a critical and half-pessimistic manner, that they can
face fortune and misfortune objectively and with
equanimity, that they can in fact accept life in all its
realities and still enjoy it, for that the reader is not
prepared any more than is the ethnologist who dis-
covers it. And yet there is no escaping recognition
of the fact, for it is borne in upon him in numerous
songs, speeches, myths, and proverbs and is to be
encountered in every tribe in the world. It is to prov-
ing this contention that I shall devote the following
two chapters.
In order to disarm all criticism and to make out as
authentic a case as possible, I shall select my data
almost exclusively from the direct evidence given by
natives in their own language and only resort to quo-
tations given in the words of investigators when that
is absolutely necessary. In this way I hope to escape
all those possibilities of error and unwitting misrepre-
sentation and distortion, favorable and unfavorable,
which are likely to lurk even in the work of the most
careful and experienced ethnologist.
It is the essence of every truly profound attitude
toward life that it understand, or at least seek to un-
derstand, the nature and limitations of human demands
upon God, upon life, upon one's fellow men, and upon
one's self; and that these demands and limitations be
accepted with equanimity. Strange as it may seem to
us and irritating as it may be to our pride, we shall
have to confess that greater progress was made toward
the attainment of such an ideal among primitive peo-
ples than among us. Nor was this attitude confined
simply to a few individuals among them. On the con-
trary it appears to have had a very extensive dissemi-
nation. Naturally its formulation in poetry and phi-
losophy was the work of a few.
Among us the recognition of the truth of human
nature drives us into pessimism, cynicism, or sensation-
alism: the full realization of the limitations of man
and the insignificant role he plays in the world and the
universe, drives many, on the other hand, to seek refuge
in religion. In both cases the problem is not faced.
Ridiculous as it may seem on a superficial view, it yet
does remain a fact that primitive peoples do and have
faced the problem far more frequently and far more
consistently than the people of Western Europe. That
they did not always succeed is clear and the existence
of doctrines like fatalism, particularly in the Malay
area, represents as definite a failure as our pessimism.
Fatalism may, however, be an imported attitude in the
Malay region due to the influence of Mohammedanism.
Yet even if this interpretation be wrong, this doctrine
is not common among primitive people.
What is life? This is naturally the first question
that every philosopher and moralist, primitive and
civilized, seeks to answer. Let me give the answer of
a Ba-ila philosopher as contained in the legend of how
an old woman sought God in order to find an explana-
tion for certain bitter aspects of life:
She was an old woman of a family with a long genealogy.
Leza, "the Besetting-One," stretched out his hand against
the family. He slew her mother and father while she was
yet a child, and in the course of years all connected with
her perished. She said to herself, "Surely I shall keep
those who sit on my thighs." But no, even they, the
children of her children, were taken from her. She became
withered with age and it seemed to her that she herself
was at last to be taken. But no, a change came over her;
she grew younger. Then came into her heart a desperate
resolution to find God and to ask the meaning of it all.
Somewhere up there in the sky must be his dwelling. She
began to cut down trees, joining them together and so
planting a structure that would reach heaven. Finally
she gave up in despair, but not her intention of finding God.
Somewhere on earth there must be another way to heaven 1
So she began to travel, going through country after country,
always with the thought in her mind: "I shall come to
where the earth ends and there I shall find a road to God
and I shall ask him: 'What have I done to thee that thou
afflictest me in this manner?' " She never found where the
earth ends, but though disappointed she did not give up her
search, and as she passed through the different countries
they asked her, "What have you come for, old woman?"
And the answer would be, "I am seeking Leza." "Seeking
Leza! For what?" "My brothers, you ask mel Here in
the nations is there one who suffers as I have suffered?"
And they would ask again, "How have you suffered?" "In
this way. I am alone. As you see me, a solitary old
woman; that is how I am!" And they answered, "Yes,
we see. That is how you are! Bereaved of friends and
husband? In what do you differ from others? The Be-
setting-One sits on the back of every one of us and we
cannot shake him off!" She never obtained her desire:
she died of a broken heart.1
This is a facing of the problem of life. The old
woman is decisively reprimanded: "Yes, life, the
Besetting-One, sits on the back of all of us and we
cannot shake him off. What cause is there for pessi-
mism, what cause is there for optimism? If you kick
against the pricks you die." The old woman did not
obtain her desire and she died. We shall see later on
that this also is the essence of primitive man's idea of
tragedy — a kicking against the pricks, whether it be
a failure to recognize the true nature of the world in
which you live, or your own nature or that of your
neighbor.
This then is the Ba-ila answer. It neither blinks
the problem like Job nor falls into the two extremes
of Leibnitz and Voltaire. The Ba-ila refuse to believe
that we are either living in the best possible of worlds
or in the world of Candide unless it be of the mature
Candide, when he had begun to cultivate his garden.
The same idea is voiced by the Ewe of West Africa
when they say, "The world is stronger than everything
else and that is why we say that the world is God."
The Winnebago, on the other hand, liken life to a road
*C. W. Smith and A. M. Dale, The Ila-Speakmg Peoples of North-
ern Rhodesia, II, pp.
with narrow passages through which no person unaided
by the deities can pass without running the risk of
tragedy. Yet a man must recognize the limits to the
aid the deities can give. To fail to do so; to try to
force their hand, means ruin. The Winnebago pos-
sess not a few stories of such attempts to coerce their
deities into bestowing upon men powers that are in con-
flict with the world, with ultimate reality. Few are as
poignant as that given on page 203 ff. where a young
boy cannot, even in thought, face the idea of death and
demands of the gods immortality. They grant him a
happy, prosperous, and long life but he persists in his
request and so he must die.
But the critical insight into life, the inexorability of
fate, and the philosophic acceptance of human nature
in all its aspects comes out most clearly in the remark-
able proverbs that form so integral a part of the
literature of the African Negroes, the Polynesians,
and the Malays, to a consideration of which we will
return in Chapter X.
It has been frequently contended that all primitive
people assume that no death is ever a natural one and
that the only kind of speculation they ever indulge in
is to discover who has caused death. Both these con-
tentions are quite wrong. The inevitability of death
and the inexorability of fate are frequently mentioned
in both song and proverb, at times with courageous
acquiescence, at times with petulant complaint, at
times with melancholy sadness. It is the first of these
notes that runs through the following five poems:
I
Sky and earth are everlasting,
Men must die.
Old age is a thing of evil,
Charge, and die!
Crow, Montana
II
I feel no fear
When the Great River Man
Death speaks of.
Ojibwa
III
The odor of death,
I discern the odor of death
In the front of my body.
Ojibwa
IV
Sing me a song, a song of death,
That I may guide it by the hand.
Sing me a song of the underworld.
Sing me a song, a song of death,
That I may walk to the underworld!
Thus speaks the underworld to me,
The underworld speaks thus:
"0 beautiful it feels in the grave,
"0 lovely is the underworld!
"But yet no palm wine you can drink."
Therefore I take you by the hand
And journey to the underworld.
Ewe, Western Africa
FAREWELL TO LIFE
(Sung by two youths as they were led by their enemies ta death.)
Oh, how love has bound my heart
And kept me slave on this side of the river 1
Oh, that a priest would enchantments use
And rid me of the love I feel!
How soon the tattoo-lines of Mata-ora
Would mark my face I But Tu-ki-rau
Has not left those to drive away
Those sycophants of northern race.
My voice annoys my ears
And grieves my heart; and when
I, near to my home, stand erect,
Fast fall the teardrops
From my weeping eyes.
Maori, New Zealand
How completely it can overwhelm them comes out
clearly in the following:
O how it strikes us full in the face,
Death!
O how completely does it crush us,
O what pain!
Ba Ronga, Southern Africa
II
Ye he he ya! It deprived me of my mind
When the moon went down
At the edge of the waters!
Ye he he ya!
Ye he he ya! It deprived me of my breath
When the mouse-dancer began
To gnaw on the water 1
Ye he he ya!
Ye he he ya! It deprived me of my mind
When Modana the uttering he began,
Of the cannibal cry
On the water!
Kwakiutl, British Columbia
The theme of the inevitability of death pervades
the proverbs and poetry of practically every tribe.
I must content myself with only a few examples here.
"It will arise as surely as the stomach," i.e., death
is inevitable, says the Ba-ila proverb. "Death has no
heifer," i.e., it comes to all, the same people say. You
are warned to be careful, to be circumspect: "Rejoice
circumspectly, son of my master, the enemy has come,"
i.e., be moderate in your exultation for Nemesis is
bound to overtake you. Remember, they insist, that
the powers of the universe are unconquerable, or, as
they put it, "When you exult, God sees you." It is in
a somewhat similar strain that the Apache warns his
people after a successful war expedition: "The taking
of life brings serious thoughts of the waste; the cele-
bration of victory may become unpleasantly riotous."
The Tlingit philosopher says rather sadly, "I always
think within myself that there is no place where people
do not die." The same spirit pervades the following
philosophic dirge of the Ewe of West Africa:
Death has been with us from all time;
The heavy burden long ago began.
Not I can loose the bonds.
Water does not refuse to dissolve
Even a large crystal of salt.
And so to the world of the dead
The good too must descend.2
In the same tribe there exists a song in which a
mother is kindly but firmly reprimanded for weeping
too much over the death of her only child:
Large is the city of the nether world
Whither kings too must go
Nevermore to return.
Cease then your plaint, O mother of an only child 1
Your plaint O cease, mother of an only child 1
For when did an only child
Receive the gift of immortality?
So be it, mother of an only child,
And cease your wail, and cease your wail! 3
The whole gamut is run from mild complaint to
denunciation in the poems here quoted:
0 deaf son who wouldst not hearken;
1 spread before thee life and death.
But thou wouldst bind around thee
The old used mat of death.
I alone was left, a solitary one,
A cast-off plank of the
House of the god Tane.
Maori, New Zealand
* Johann Spieth, Die Religion der Eweer, p. 236, 3 Ibid.
II
Alas! this is the turning over,
The severing of the link of life.
The turning over that you
May join the many,
The multitude,
The ariki gone before.
Ascend the road
To heaven.
Mangaia, Polynesia
III
(The singers approach.)
A great thing we desire to do,
A kposu song, an adzoli song,
To sing we shall begin:
Awute here lies dead,
He now lies on his bier.
Death did announce himself to him.
0 dead friend, lying on your bier,
Return once more, your bonds to loose!
(The deceased appears and speaks.)
You all now know
Within my body the word has perished,
Within Awute speech has died.
Who was't destroyed it in my body?
Twas death dragged it away;
A warrior snatched it from my bocjy,
(Death appears and speaks.)
Now my turn it is to sing!
1 came and thundered,
I had my lightning flash upon the tree
And threw him down!
Come let us go!
Footsteps I hear, people are approaching.
An evil brother does announce himself;
Inopportune he comes.
Ewe, Western Africa
IV
Sola
Alas, Pangewi! The case is hopeless,
The canoe is lost!
Chorus
O god Tane, thou didst fail me!
Thou didst promise life;
Thy worshipers were to be as a forest
To fall only by the axe in battle.
Had it been the god Turanga —
That liar! I would not have trusted him.
Like him, you are a man-eater!
May thy mouth be covered with dung:
Slush it over and over!
This god is a man after all!
Solo
Plaster him well, friends. Hal Ha!
Chorus
Dung is fit food for such gods!
We parents are in deep mourning
Like that first used by Tiki.
We mourn for our beloved first-born.
Oh, that one could stir up the gods,
And cause the very dead to awake!
Yonder stands thy weeping mother.
Thy spirit wanders about, One-makenu-kenu,
Inquiring the reason
Why his poor body was devoured by the gods.
Fairy of the axe! Cleave open
The secret road to spirit-land; and
Compel Vatea to give up the dead!
Solo
Puff, Tiki, a puff such as only ghosts can!
Charm
Wait a moment.
Solo
Puff, puff away!
Chorus
A curse upon thee, priest Pangewi,
Thou hast destroyed my boy.
Mmgata, Polynesia
At times the attitude may change completely and
we find a spirit of pure Epicureanism. Thus in a
strain strangely reminiscent of Omar Khayyam, the
Tlingit lover sings:
"If one had control of death, it would be easy to
die with a wolf woman. It would be pleasant." Or,
"We all must die sometime, so of what use is any-
thing?'7 4 Frequently death is faced with a philosophic
4J. R. Swanton, "Tlingit Myths and Texts," 3Qth Report of the
Bureau of American Ethnology, p. 415.
calm and resignation worthy of Socrates. Elsdon Best
relates how an old Maori is suddenly stricken ill and
as his aged wife begins to lament he reproves her,
saying, "Do not lament. It is well. We have trodden
the path of life together in fair weather and beneath
clouded skies. There is no cause for grief. I do but
go forward to explore the path." 5
So, too, do the following poems envisage death and,
what is even more difficult to bear, tribal and cultural
extinction:
The tide of life glides swiftly past
And mingles all in one great eddying foam.
0 heaven now sleeping! Rouse thee, rise to power;
And thou, O earth, awake, exert thy might for me
And open wide the door to my last home,
Where calm and quiet rest awaits me in the sky.
Maori, New Zealand
II
The minor stars now westward troop in majesty;
The satellites of Rehua go on in drowsy mood
The path they ever went;
But Ue-nuku-kopaku the bent, the decrepit god,
By them shall be sustained.
But what may it avail since he, Wari-a-hau,
Rushed reckless to the battle front,
Nor heeded that the great, the people's power,
The guardian and protector had succumbed.
1 "Spiritual and Mental Concepts of the Maori," Dominion Mitseum
Monograph No. 2 (Wellington, New Zealand), p. 13.
FATE, DEATH AND RESIGNATION in
No aid had he to grapple
With the fierce, the unrelenting Tu,
Nor rays of light were seen on Wai-tawa peak,
Where all the mighty men of Ngatitu
In silence lay, with Rangi-a-te-amo there.
Seek, seek, the guardian power and rouse it now to act,
Before our great canoe overturn and all is lost.
I'll deck me with the white crane's plume
As gentle sea breeze wafts the prized young Mara
And near the staff of Hine-tapeke will stand,
Whilst spray from Rotu-ehu comes and dims the eyes
Of those your younger brothers in this world.
Turn ye and look towards the peak on Rangi-toto seen,
All distant and alone;
And know the lizard god, the unknown one,
Has now forever left his home and westward gotie,
On ocean's foamed white-crested waves.
And yet we still in silence sit
Nor ask the aid of those illustrious visitors,
Who from a distance by propitious gales have come to you;
Whilst in your presence lie the corpses, the slain, the fish
of Tu,
The ancient ancestors of those of Tuku and of Hika-e.
O, gently blow, ye breezes of the land,
But rouse to deeds of daring none, O active soul of man I
I dreamt and in my dream I felt the chill of snow
Grate through my trembling frame, as in the nights of omen
HI-
Those tamatea nights of dread, —
The signs of which are seen in the midnight cloud!
0 thou beloved!
1 grieve my want of that to cover thee —
The beauteous mat brought from the east
To hide thy now cold frame.
O couldst thou once again arise
And at the day-dawn speak,
Then wouldst thou chant
The incantation of Pou-awhi and Wharangi
Of Awatea-roa, Manuka and Whakatane —
Tell the power by which thy ancestors and Wai-ra-kewa,
Learnt the path across the moaning ocean-road
To this our home.
Maori, New Zealand
III
I silent sit, as throbs my heart
For my children;
And those who look on me
As now I bow my head
May deem me but a forest tree
From distant land.
I bow my head
As droops the mamaku
And weep for my children.
0 my child! So often called,
"Come, O my child!"
Gone! Yes, with the mighty flood.
1 lonely sit 'midst noise and crowd.
My life ebbs fast.
My house is swept clean, clean swept,
Swept for ever.
The shining sun has nought to gladden now,
And yonder peak oft gazed upon
In days of joy,
Now prompts the sigh to heave
With feelings chill as coldest air
Of frosty south.
But I still bow me in my house
And ponder in despair.
My heart shall then forget
The deeds of man.
Oh, was it theft that makes the moon to wane?
Or was it theft that makes the avalanche?
And was it they who caused my children's death?
The hosts of God uplift their power on us,
And now annihilate us, like the moa extinct.
Maori , New Zealand
Here there is no blinking at death. And this re-
fusal to be terrified, this warning against undue resent-
ment or unmeasured wailing, is to be evaluated all the
higher because, for the thinker at least, there is no
paradise or happy hunting ground where the difference
between the living and the dead is wiped out. To the
philosopher, be he Maori, Winnebago, or what not, the
land of the dead is a place from which no one returns
or if he does return, it is never as the same person.
The Maori definitely call the spirit-land "the realm,
from which none return to the upper air." The ordi-
nary man may identify the life after death with un-
limited joy and with the fulfillment of all his wishes;
the thinker apparently refuses to be deceived. As an
old Maori said in speaking to Elsdon Best of the dead,
"Never more shall we see them unless when sleep
comes and our wairua (spirits) go forth to meet them.
But that is only a spiritual seeing. We cannot touch
them. The living come and go; they meet and greet
each other; they weep for dead friends and sympathize
with each other. But the spectres of the dead are silent
and the spectres of the dead are sullen. They greet
not those whom they meet; they show neither affection
nor yet sympathy, no more than does a stump. They
act not as the folk of the world of life." And the
Masai of East Africa give voice to a similar sentiment
in their proverb, "Life and death are not alike."
Chapter IX
MEN AND WOMEN
IN a preceding chapter we had occasion to speak of
primitive man's marked tolerance for every form
of personal expression no matter what it was. All he
demanded was that there be no railing against fate or
society if an exaggerated expression of one's person-
ality entailed suffering, misfortune, or even death.
This being accepted he had both sympathetic forbear-
ance and respect for every man's individuality in all
its multiform and often kaleidoscopic manifestations.
The com&die humaine possessed an unusual degree of
fascination for him. He was a past master in the art
of describing man in all his moods, as lover, hater,
actor, and what not. Fortunately he has left us in his
song-poems and myths an unusually good and complete
record of his accomplishments in this respect. The
myths are too long to quote and require too specialized
a knowledge to be of any real value to a layman and I
shall therefore confine myself entirely to the poems.
In these poems are found expressed practically every
human emotion, from the most light-hearted teasing
and flirtation to inconsolable sorrow and unquenchable
hatred. Instead of giving my own inference from these
poems I intend to let the reader draw his, and with that
"5
object in view I shall devote the rest of this chapter to
a fairly extensive and representative number of these
poems, I have grouped them under various headings,
hoping in this manner to show both the scope of primi-
tive man's interests, his psychological insight and un-
derstanding of human nature, and the formal excel-
lence he frequently attained in the expression of this
insight.
FLIRTATION
Your body is at Waitemata
But your spirit came hither
And aroused me from my sleep.
O my companions, detain my hula
That the cord of my palpitating
Heart may again be mine.
Go then, O water of my eyelids,
To be a messenger to the
Hula feeding on my life,
Tawera is the bright star
Of the morning;
Not less beautiful is the
Jewel of my heart.
The sun is setting in his cave,
Touching as he descends the land
Where dwells my mate,
He who is whirled to
The southern waves.
Go to Tuhua, to the wilderness;
At Wharekura, to carry
Nothing but the paddle in
The basket of grass;
That's all youVe got for your pains.
Maori, New Zealand
II
SHE AND HE
Who will marry a man,
Too lazy to till the ground for food?
The sun is the food for
The skin of such a one!
Who will marry a woman
Too lazy to weave garments
Tongarire is the food for
The skin of such a onel
Maori, New Zealand
III
THE HABITS OF WOMAN
I don't like the habits of woman;
When she goes out,
She kuikuis,
She koakoas,
She chatters;
The very ground is terrified
And the rats run away:
Just sol
Maori, New Zealand
IV
The wicked little Kukook, hah hayah used to say.
I am going to leave the country
In a large ship.
For that sweet little woman
I'll try to get some beads
Of those that look like boiled ones.
Then when Fve gone abroad
I shall return again.
My nasty little relatives,
I'll call thepi all to me
And give them a good thrashing
With a big rope's end.
Then I'll go to marry
Taking two at once;
That darling little creature
Shall only wear clothes of the spotted sealskins
And the other little pet
Shall have clothes of the young hooded seals.
Eskimo
LOVE
Love does not torment forever.
It came on me like the fire
Which rages sometimes at Hukanui.
If this beloved one is near to me,
Do not suppose, O Kiri, that my sleep is sweet.
I lie awake the livelong night,
For love to prey on me in secret.
It shall never be confessed lest it be heard by all.
The only evidence shall be seen on my cheeks.
The plain which extends to Tauwhare:
That path I trod that I might enter
The house of Rawhirawhi.
Don't be angry with me, O madam; I am only a stranger.
For you there is the body of your husband;
For me there remains only the shadow of desire.
Maori, New Zealand
II
Fragrant the grasses of high Kane-hoa;
Bind on the anklets, bindl
Bind with finger deft as the wind
That cools the air of the bower.
Lehua blossoms place at my flower;
O sweetheart of mine,
Bud that I'd pluck and wear in my wreath,
If thou wert but a flower 1
Hawaii
III
THE DESERTED HUSBAND
Come back from Toa, O Aitofa,
O my beautiful erring spouse!
As the rapid flow of the current at Onoiau,
And as the swollen torrent from the valley,
So flows my yearning heart after thee,
O Aitofa, have compassion on thy lover, lest he die!
The promontory of Tainau has become beautified by thee.
The husband will fear, will shrink, will faint at the reap-
pearance,
At the return of the love of the cherished wife,
Of that face so bright and beautiful.
Look whichever way he will she seems to be down there still.
The moon sinking into the western shades is the image of the
husband,
The image of Moanarai at the moment.
As a great cloud obscuring the sky is his grief,
The grief of the husband mourning for his estranged wife,
And like the sky darkened by its rising is my distress for her.
Alas for me! Alas for me! my little wife,
My darling has gone astray!
My little beautiful wayward spouse,
My friend who made my heart brave,
My friend in the storm, has been stolen away.
A wreath of the jam tree, a garland of pandanus blossoms
I have gathered for thee,
0 Aitofa, and lo, thou art flown!
Ah, woe is me! Is it thus that thou shouldst treat me?
Lo, thou art drifting away over the ripples in the Aoa
shallows,
Thou art passing the fragrant vale of Vavaara,
And leaving Mt. Rotui, the upper jaw of Hades behind thee.
Thou hast forsaken thy favorite bathing place with its
clear water,
And thy gardenia bush that blossoms without ceasing.
Alas for thee, Aitofa! Thou art a little toy canoe that
the wind carries away.
Alas for my anguish and the rage of my heart!
Ah me! I despair and think of suicide,
1 am possessed with frenzy. Alas for us both!
The mind of the husband gives back the effort to win back
thy love.
Alas for my darling! Thy fair face is lost to sight;
There is no benefit from the home.
A piercing thorn to me, a pretty thorn art thou.
What is my fault for which thou art vexed,
For which thou hast disdained me?
Why hast thou cut the cord of love and deserted me,
An evil- working woman?
As a long continued storm is my anger,
At the throbbing within, within me.
My bowels yearn, my heart flows out after thee.
I am chilled with lingering affection for thee; O Aitofa,
return I
Here is a bunch of red feathers for thee,
Here is a wreath of scarlet feathers for thee,
Here is a necklace of beautiful pearls for thee,
Here is thy home.
I am Moanarai thy husband.
Tonga, Polynesia
IV
THOU HAST DESERTED ME, MY PRINCE
Oh, thou my spouse,
Thou hast deserted me, my prince,
Me, the lonely one;
A deserted cow I stand,
A deserted buffalo
Without a comrade.
Now that my husband has deserted me
Now I am poor who once possessed a spouse.
My father,
The great, the illustrious,
The great, he who walked resplendent,
The mountain Si Manabun, that easily caves in;
He who arose dext'rously like the sun
And set with difficulty!
At night they often summoned him, my father,
And in the morning, too, they called for him. —
O thou bear on the roadl
Thou tiger at the gate!
And now thou art fallen, fallen! Father, prince,
Spouse.
Oh, my father,
Thou who hadst bones that never grew tired,
Hands that never rested.
Never enough can I bewail my spouse,
My father, to whom the world was friendly.
Aye, ever must I think of him, whene'er I raise my eyesl
When I remember how he went to the mart,
There where the traffic flourishes,
Oh, then I cannot clearly see the world,
So plenteously the tears do fall:
When I recall the misery extreme,
That racks my frame —
The thought that I have no spouse!
Batak, Sumatra
V
ANXIETY
Oh, my sweet offspring,
Oh, do not attempt
To leave me, a rice pod!
Let me for thee be buried in the earth.
My father must continue to live,
To live in the midst of the world.
If you were to die,
Ah, I would be like a hen who has been allowed to fly away,
Like a horse that is freed.
My little offspring desires to leave me,
To leave me, one born out of time,
Me, who resemble an oft-fired earthen pot,
Like an iron utensil.
Oh, yes, indeed, I am pulled from above,
I am thrown in all directions like a lid
When I recall to my mind your lips
That could not yet frame answers
To its mother's words,
She who now stands alone!
I would drown myself if you died,
Drown myself in the river Si Tumallam,
If you were thrust into the depths,
Into the deep abyss
That we cannot ascend.
I shall endeavor
To make a twisted cord —
The road to death.
B at ak, Sumatra
VI
FAREWELL FOREVER
Oh, the pain now gnawing at my heart
For loss of thee, my own beloved!
How oft along the white seacoast
With joyous heart I voyaged on
To our own home, to Ko-iti;
And saw as Ra, at even, set, the ruddy clouds,
Those tattoo-marks thy old progenitor
Pa-wai-tiri on heaven drew!
But death is nothing new.
Death is, has ever been, since Mawi died of old.
The Pata-tai laughed aloud
And woke the goddess dread
Who severed him and shut him up in gloom.
So dusk of even came on
And Ti-wai-waka flew and lighted on the bar
O'er which is cast all refuse
From hearth and home of man.
Then, then, for thee that evil came.
The priest no meet incantation made
Nor sacred water laved
In offerings propitiatory for thee.
Not so in ancient times thy ancestors would act —
But now I moan thy loss of power,
The impotence displayed by Ka-hae,
The ignorance now shown in all the world.
Farewell — farewell forever — yes, farewell.
Maori, New Zealand
VII
FAKEWELL TO MY NATIVE LAND
There far away is the tide of Honipaka (a hill).
Alas! thou, Honipaka, art divided from me.
The only tie which connects us
Is the fleecy cloud drifting hither
Over the summit of the island
Which stands clearly in sight.
Let me send a sigh afar to the tribe,
Where the tide is now flowing —
The leaping, the racing,
Skipping tide.
Oh! for the breeze, the land breeze,
The stiff breeze.
That is my bird,
A bird that hearkens to the call,
Though concealed in the cage.
Oh! for the wind of Matariki!
Then will Te Whareporutu
And the great Ati-awa
Sail swiftly hitherward.
So ends my song of love.
Maori, New Zealand
VIII
FOREVER SEVERED Is OUR LOVE
Her praise is ever heard —
'Tis praise of kindness.
I am shorn of all and live in silence,
Friendless and alone.
0 heaven outspread!
With fortitude inspire my heart,
That not forever I with tears lament for her, my spouse.
Stir up my inmost heart to deeds of daring,
That my calamity may be forgotten.
Has Merau, goddess of extinction, died,
That I forever still must weep
Whilst day on day succeeds and each the other follows?
Grief on grief?
Now gathers all my woe and floods my heart with weeping;
Agony I dread, and now I shrink with fear of even one
drop of rain.
At eventide, as rays of twinkling stars shine forth,
1 weep, and on thee gaze, and on their shining courses.
But ohl for naught in space I float.
Oh, woe is me!
Who now like Rangi am, from Papa once divided.
Now flows at flood the tide of keen regret;
Arid, severed once, forever severed is our love!
Maori, New Zealand
IX
Tell it to the west,
Tell it to the south,
And to the north also;
Look at the stars above
And glance at the moon.
I am as the tattooed tree.
Say who is thy beloved
And let the scent of
The mokimoki plant
Give forth its sweetness
And foster those desires,
That in the midst
Of waving plumes
I may a listener be.
Maori, New Zealand
X
Just as the eventide draws near
My old affection comes
For him I loved.
Though severed far from me,
And now at Hawa-iki
I hear his voice
Far distant; and
Though far beyond
The distant mountain peak,
Its echoes speak
From vale to vale.
Maori, New Zealand
XI
Methinks it is you, leaf plucked from love's tree,
You, mayhap, that stirs my affection.
There's a tremulous glance of the eye,
The thought she might chance yet to come:
But who then would greet her with song?
Your day has flown, your vision of her —
A time this for gnawing the heart.
I've plunged just now in deep waters:
Oh the strife and vexation of soul!
No mortal goes scathless of love.
A wife thou estranged, I a husband estranged,
Mere husks to be cast to the swine.
Look, the swarming of fish at the weirl
Their feeding grounds on the reef
Are waving with mosses abundant.
Thou art the woman, that one your man —
At her coming who'll greet her with song?
Her returning, who shall control?
Hawaii
XII
Up to the streams in the wildwood
Where rush the falls Molo-kama,
While the rain sweeps past Mala-hoa,
I had a passion to visit
The forest of bloom at Koili,
To give love-caress to Manu'a,
And her neighbor Maha-moku;
My hand would quiet their rage,
Would sidle and touch Lani-huli.
Grant me but this one entreaty,
We'll meet 'neath the omens above.
Two flowers there are that bloom
In your garden of being;
Entwine them into a garland,
Fit emblem and crown of your love.
And what the hour of your coming?
When stands the sun o'er the pali,
When turns the breeze of the land,
To breathe the perfume of hala,
While the currents swirl at Wai-pa.
Hawaii
XIII
How will the coming July morning be,
I wonder?
My mind is very weak at the thought
Of being unable to see my sweetheart.
Tlingit, Alaska
XIV
If one had control of death,
It would be very easy to die with a Wolf woman,
It would be very pleasant.
Tlingit, Alaska
XV
What are you saying to me?
I am arrayed like the roses
And beautiful as they.
Ojibwa
XVI
Look where the mist
Hangs over Pukehina.
There is the path
By which went my love.
Turn back again hither
That may be poured out
Tears from
My eyes. It was not I
Who first spoke of love.
You it was who first made advances
To me when but a little thing.
Therefore was my heart made wild.
This is my farewell of love to thee.
Maori, New Zealand
XVII
Set, 0 sun, in the mists of your cave,
While the tears flow like water from my eyes.
I am a forsaken one since you have gone,
O Tarati. Now is vanishing from the sight
The point of Waiohipa,
And the cliff of Mitiwai is fading away like smoke.
Beneath that cliff is the god of my love.
Have done, spirit, the work of intrusion.
Now that you are absent in your native land,
The day of regret will, perhaps, end.
Maori, New Zedmd
XVIII
A loon I thought it was,
But it was
My love's
Splashing oar.
To Sault Ste. Marie
He has departed.
My love
Has gone on before me.
Never again
Can I see him.
Ojib wa
XIX
Although he said it.
Still
I am filled with longing
When I think of him I
Ojibwa
XX
Come,
I am going away.
I pray you
Let me go.
I will return again.
Do not weep for me.
Behold,
We will be very glad
To meet each other
When I return.
Do not weep for me.
Ojibwa
XXI
LULLABY
Here is little Rangi-tumua, reclining with me
Under the lofty pine tree of Hine-rahi.
And here am I, my little fellow,
Seeking, searching sadly through the thoughts that rise.
In these days, my child,
For us two no lofty chiefs are left.
Passed are the times of thy far-famed uncles,
Who from the storms of war and witchcraft
Gave shelter to the multitude, the thousands.
Maori, New Zealand
XXII
OLD LOVE
A storm from the sea strikes Ke-au,
Ulu-mano sweeping across the barrens;
It sniffs the fragrance of upland lehua,
Turns back at Kupa-koili;
Sawed by the blows of the palm leaves,
The groves of Pandanus in lava shag;
Their fruit he would string 'bout his neck;
Their fruit he finds wilted and crushed,
Mere rubbish to litter the road —
Ah, the perfume! Pana-ewa is drunk with the scent;
The breath of it spreads through the groves.
Vainly flares the old king's passion,
Craving a sauce for his meat and wine.
The summer has flown; winter has come;
Ah, that is the head of our troubles.
Palsied are you and helpless am I;
You shrink from a plunge in the water;
Alas, poor me! I'm a coward.
Hawaii
XXIII
A LAMENT
Here I sit through summer's long night,
My heart is always beating for my beloved.
Come near me, my daughter, and keep by my side;
Thou art ever restless when I nurse thee.
Obstruct not my vision while gazing inland
At the approaching canoe and the cloud drawing near
Its edge, as it rises by Haumapu.
Thy ancestors lived and remained with me;
But they are driven downwards to Paerau.
0 Toko and thy party welcome here!
1 am afflicted with a disease from afar.
I must haste to hew down
The thicket of spears at Tahoraparoa;
That my spirits may be soothed,
Which are excited for my land.
Mangaia, Polynesia
XXIV
The bright sunbeams
Shoot down upon
Tauwara, whose
Lofty ridge veils thee from
My sight, O Amo, my beloved.
Leave me that my eyes
May grieve, and that
They may unceasingly mourn,
For soon must I descend
To the dark shore —
To my beloved who has gone before.
Mangaia, Polynesia
XXV
WHITHER HAS SHE GONE?
Solo
Whither has she gone?
Chorus
She has sped to Avaiki,
She disappeared at the edge of the horizon,
Where the sun drops through.
We weep for thee!
Solo
Yes, I will forever weep
And ever weep for thee!
Chorus
Bitter tears I shed for thee;
I weep for the lost wife of my bosom.
Alas, thou wilt not return I
Solo
Oh, that thou wouldst return!
Chorus
Stay; come back to the world!
Return to my embrace:
Thou art as a bough wrenched off by the blast!
Solo
Wrenched off and now in Avaiki —
That distant land to which thou art fled.
Mangaia, Polynesia
XXVI
LAMENT FOR A CHILD
Kachila, blood of my blood, let me think of thee!
Perhaps, thinking of you, the whole world will hear of my
grief.
These little hair-ornaments, let them be thrown into the
river
That the crocodiles may wear them.
O dear, my child!
Ba-ila, Southeastern Africa
XXVII
LOVE SONG OF THE DEAD
You are hard-hearted against me,
You are hard-hearted against me, my dear;
You are cruel against me,
You are cruel against me, my dear.
For I am tired waiting for you
To come here, my dear!
Different shall now be my cry for your sake, my dear.
Ah, I shall go down to the lower world, and cry for you
there, my dear!
Kwakiutl, British Columbia
XXVIII
THE ABSENT ONE
I know not whether thou has been absent:
I lie down with thee, I rise up with thee.
In my dreams thou art with me.
If my eardrops tremble in my ears,
I know it is thou moving within my heart.
Modern Aztec, Mexico
XXIX
WE MUST PART
Many are the youths indeed,
But thou alone art pleasing to me;
You, O chief, I love.
But we must part
And long will be the time!
Qglda, Sioux
SATIRE
I
THE STRIFE OF SAVADLAK AND PULANGITSISSOK
Savadlak speaks:
The south, the south, and the south yonder,
Where settling on the midland coast I met Pulangitsissok,
Who had grown stout and fat with eating halibut.
Those people from the midland coast they don't know
spearing,
Because they are afraid of their speech.
Stupid they are besides.
Their speech is not alike,
Some speak like the northern, some like the southern,
Therefore we can't make out their talk.
Pulangitsissok speaks:
There was a time when Savadlak wished that I would be a
good kayaker,
That I could take a good load on my kayak f
Many years ago some day he wanted me to put a heavy
load on my kayak.
(This happened at the time) when Savadlak had his kayak
tied to mine (for fear of being capsized).
Then he could carry plenty upon his kayak,
When I had to tow him and he did cry most pitifully.
And then he grew afeared,
And nearly was upset
And he had to keep his hold by help of my kayak string!
Eskimo
II
I behold you, land of Nunarsuit,
The mountain tops on its south side are wrapped in clouds.
It slopes toward the south,
Towards Usuarsuk.
What couldst thou expect in such a miserable place!
All its surroundings being shrouded with ice.
Not before late in spring can people from there go travelling.
Eskimo
III
She
When I think of you, I am weeping as I go!
When I go along the bluffs, I am weeping as I move.
He
O Niagiwathe, do you say that to me?
My grandmother you are: so I feel and am annoyed!
Ponka, Nebraska
IV
No ONE DESIRES You
Refuse me as much as you wish, my dearl
The corn you eat at home, why 'tis made of human eyes!
The goblets that you use, they are of human skulls!
The manioc roots you eat, they are of human shin bones!
The potatoes you do use, they are of human hands!
Refuse me as much as you wish!
No one desires you!
Ba-Ronga> Southeastern Africa
V
THERE ARE PLENTY OF MEN
I had a dream last night:
I dreamt my husband took a second wife;
So I took my little basket and I said before I left,
"There are plenty of men."
Thus I dreamt.
Lkungen, British Columbia
VI
O messenger, thy words are wind!
Me, the glorious tree, me thou deceivest,
For were not these thy words:
"When thou canst see the pupils of the sun,
Entwine thy way in secret to the woods?"
And when I came
Verily it was mine to scold and to upbraid thee.
O most deceitful art thou; cobold, frog arboreal,
So dost thou seem reflected in the pool!
Barely, indeed, hadst thou begun in growth
When death almost constrained thee,
For ever were thy eyes twisted and turned, a flirt,
Whenever thou didst walk and promenade!
Thou art become most apt in coquetry!
Buin, Melanesia
VII
Thou art the bird who at the dawn doth walk!
Did you not to the chief's enclosure come
And say to me:
"Give me glass pearls in quantity
And then we too will after, sport in love"?
Well, then, if thus so great your lust for pearls,
Why cocoanuts do you not smoke for Dick?
These he would gladly take and give you wares in turn,
Many the glass pearls he too has for you.
Truly I am the tree magnificent and you the tree of blood
Which the dead spirit spies when first he looks.
When for your son the chief did make a feast,
Why e'en at that time, standing you howled for pearls!
"O give me," you did say, "that I therewith
May gird them as a dress upon my limbs
Whene'er I walk abroad."
Bidn, Melanesia
HATRED
Go, sir, companionless
To be set up as a spectre above Waiwetu.
Yes, laugh on, sir;
Take care your feet return not quickly.
I have no blood left for you to drink.
I am exhausted in celebrating the greatness of your fame.
Who shall sing your death to the world?
Shall it be the mist above Tirchanga?
Shall it be the mist gathering round Kaihinu?
Yes, better let it be so, sir.
O that this were your brain!
This stone that lies by the food-fire!
So would I devour it with thorough satisfaction.
Maori, New Zealand
II
Portentous lightning flashes on the mount,
An omen of disaster — and for whom?
Nay, 'tis the withdrawal in dark death of stately plumes
Of those our foes, who glut our hungering throat.
For Pango is my fierce desire,
That I in full revenge may drink the brains
From out thy skull, 0 Tuku-uru-rangi!
Who shall feel the lover's jewel of pounamu
Upon the sinuous shores of Wairau?
May evil take the cooked head, nameless one, Te Roha!
My precious one was dragged away
And from the flood withdrawn
Whilst following heedlessly the weka path,
The path of war besides the moss-grown trees:
Yet who would deign to eat that grayhead in this world?
In vomit would it be cast forth!
Away with thee, 0 arikit
That these my teeth may gnaw thy skull,
May crush its parasites,
Whilst I on brains of Wahaka-piko glut —
O my food! A parasite am I, an eater too, of brains —
An eater, too, of thee, O Horu!
Stricken and crushed the fragments fly.
Maori, New Zealand
III
O the saltiness of my mouth
In drinking the liquid brains of Nuku
Whence welled up his wrath!
His ears which heard the deliberations!
Tutepakihirangi shall go headlong
Into the stomach of Hinewai!
My teeth shall devour Kaukau!
The three hundred and forty of Te Kiri-kowhatu
Shall be huddled in a heap in my trough!
Te Hika and his multitudes shall boil in my pot!
Ngaitahu (the whole tribe) shall be
My sweet morsel to finish with!
Maori, New Zealand
LULLABIES
Why dost thou weep, my child?
The sky is bright; the sun is shining;
Why dost thou weep?
Go to thy father: he loves thee,
Go tell him why thou weepest.
What! Thou weepest still?
Thy father loves thee, I caress thee:
Yet still thou art sad.
Tell me, then, my child, why dost thou weepl
Balengi, Central Africa
II
Hush thee, child!
Mother will bring an antelope
And the tidbit shall be thine!
Kiowa, Oklahoma
III
Baby swimming down the river:
Little driftwood legs,
Little rabbit legs.
Kiowa, Oklahoma
IV
Sleep, sleep, sleep 1
In the trail the beetles
Carry each other on their back.
Sleep, sleep, sleep!
Zunu, New Mexico
It is hanging
In the edge of the sunshine.
It is a pig, I see,
With its cloven hoofs;
It is a very fat pig.
The people who live in a hollow tree
Are fighting,
They are fighting bloodily.
He is rich.
He will carry a pack toward the great water.
Rabbit speaks:
At the end of the point of land,
I eat the bark off the tree;
I see the track of a lynx.
I don't care; I can get away from him.
It is a jumping trail —
SepI
Ojibwa
VI
Don't sleep!
Your paddle fell into the water, and your spear.
Don't sleep!
The ravens and crows are flying about.
Kwakiutl, British Columbia
VII
Don't sleep too much!
Your digging-stick fell into the water, and your basket
Wake up!
It is nearly low water.
You will be late down the beach.
Kwakiutl, British Columbia
VIII
On the hillside I was running,
My knee I skinned, I skinned.
The red-headed wolf, the red-headed one,
Farther off he cannot ease himself.
His face it itches,
At all times does he kill.
Yellow with fat he becomes;
The dog gets full: he smokes.
Crow, Montana
IX
You were given by good fortune to your slave,
You were given by good fortune to your slave,
To come and take the place of your slave!
0 tribes, now hide yourselves!
1 have come to be a man and my name is Hellebore!
The cedar withes are twisted even now, that I shall pass
Through the mouths, through the heads that I obtain in war,
For I am true Hellebore!
Princes' heads in war I'll take when I come to be a man,
And then I shall have your names, as my father he has done,
He who now has your names for his own!
Kwakiutl, British Columbia
X
You need not think that the smoke of your house in the
middle of Skedans will be as great as when you were
a woman (in your previous existence).
You need not think that they will make such a continual
noise of singing in Skedans Creek as they used to when
you were a woman (in your previous existence).
Haida, British Columbia
XI
Whence have you fallen, have you fallen? Whence have
you fallen, have you fallen?
(i.e., how did you come to us?)
Did you fall, fall, fall, from the top of the salmonberry
bushes?
Haida, British Columbia
MISCELLANEOUS
THE OLD WARRIOR
Mighty, mighty, great in war,
So was I honored;
Now behold me old and wretched!
Oglala, Sioux
II
The Sioux women
Pass to and fro wailing.
As they gather
Their wounded men,
The voice of their wailing comes to us.
Ojibwa
III
I do wonder
If she truly is humiliated —
The Sioux woman —
Whose head I have cut off?
Ojibwa
IV
They are talking about me
Saying, "Come with us."
Is there anyone
Who would weep for me?
My wife would weep for me.
Ojibwa
On the day of my death
Let it rain in torrents;
Let everyone become aware
That a great man has passed.
Ewe, West Africa
VI
THE GREAT MAGICIAN
Know, when the towns did call me,
I came at their behest —
They knew they had called me, the magician.
Indeed they knew the great magician.
Ewe, West Africa
VII
THE PEOPLE ALWAYS CALL ME
I have arrived, you see:
The people always call me.
Always they desire me,
Me, the great shaman.
I have arrived, you see:
Kings, too, they do call me,
Always they desire me.
Ewe, West Africa
VIII
FRIENDSHIP
Friend, whatever hardships threaten
If thou call me,
I'll befriend thee;
All-enduring, fearlessly,
I'll befriend thee.
Oglala, Sioux
IX
ENVY
No child does one lend me!
Only a morter will they lend me!
Ah, if I were an eagle,
Ah, if I were a hawk,
Then would I carry one away!
Ba-Ronga, Southeastern Africa
X
THE TEMPTRESS
Listen ye clans 1
That rottening wood, this woman, scours the path!
Her many-tongued apron she let fall
And said to me, "O do thou pick it up
That I may have oblivion of my husband.
Happy, thy food will I prepare for thee,
Yet do thou keep discreet nor wag thy tongue.
Thy land that will my people plant for thee;
Your pigs, these too, my people they will feed
And then within the hall they will prepare them.
Why, hadst thou then no word of all the wealth
Which they, my people, garnered?"
(And thus the man) "Once in another place
Didst thou speak evil of thy spouse.
And now dost hunger for the leaves of love,
Wailing, forever wailing, yearning for me.
When thou didst weep for me
Then didst thou say, 'Carry me to thy home,
Carry me quickly to another town,
Return we may thereafter.' "
O coco-sap what shall I, Parrot-planter,
Give thee as gift?
Upon the road I heard thee: "Follow me
When to another village we have come
Rest thou content upon my skirt of love,
And having rested joyful will we twitter."
Buin, Melanesia
XI
THE PERSISTENT WOOER
Spite in my soul, I still pursue your trail!
Aye, when some day you, widowed, shall stand there,
Willingly will I lead you to my home.
I was still young
When by command you went
To this your spouse.
Spite in my soul, I still pursue your trail!
Aye, when within the bath of death he stands,
Then shall you give me of your apron fringe
One piece, that I may bind it on my arm.
Your spouse, stunted in growth, appears.
Tell him I pray, "Forged is the deadly spear
Which from another's hand, shall strike him down."
Buin, Melanesia
XII
SONG WRITTEN BY A MAN WHO WAS JILTED BY A
YOUNG WOMAN
Oh, how, my ladylove, can my thoughts be conveyed to you,
my ladylove, on account of your deed, my ladylove?
In vain, my ladylove, did I wish to advise you, my ladylove,
on account of your deed, my ladylove.
It is the object of laughter, my ladylove, it is the object of
laughter, your deed, my ladylove.
It is the object of contempt, my ladylove, it is the object of
contempt, your deed, my ladylove.
Oh, if poor me could go, my ladylove! How can I go to you,
my ladylove, on account of your deed, my ladylove!
Now, I will go, my ladylove, go to make you happy, my
ladylove, on account of your deed, my ladylove.
Farewell to you, my ladylove I Farewell, mistress, on
account of your deed, my ladylove 1
RETORT TO THE PRECEDING SONG
0 friends 1 I will now ask you about my love.
Where has my love gone, my love who is singing against me?
1 ask you, who walks with my love?
Oh, where is my love, where is the love that I had for
my love?
For I feel, really feel, foolish, because I acted foolishly
against my love.
For what I did, caused people to laugh at me on account of
what I did to you, my love.
For I am despised on account of my love for you, my true
love, for you, my love.
For you have said that you will live in Knight Inlet.
Oh, Knight Inlet is far away, for that is the name of the
place where my love is going.
0 Rivers Inlet is far away, for that is the name of the place
where my love is going.
For he forgot of my love, my true love.
For in vain he goes about trying to find some one who will
love him as I did, my love.
Don't try to leave me without turning back to my love,
my love.
Oh, my love, turn back to your slave, who preserved your
life.
1 am downcast, and I cry for the love of my love.
But my life is killed by the words of my love.
Good-by, my love, my past true love !
Kwakiutl, British Columbia
XIII
LOVE SONG OF TASKEDEK WHOSE LOVER HAD GONE TO
JAPAN
You are hard-hearted, you who say that you love me, you
are hard-hearted, my dear!
You are cruel, who say that you are lovesick for me, my
dearl
Where are they going to take my love, my dear?
Where are they going to take my dear, that causes me to lie
down sick, me, the slave of my dear?
They will take my dear far away! I shall be left behind,
my truelove, for whom I pine, who keeps me alive,
my dear!
They will take my dear out to sea far away! There the one
is going for whom I pine, my master, for whom I am
lovesick, my dear!
I wish I could go to you, my master, that I might make you
happy, my dear, for I think you long for me, for my
love, my dear.
I wish I could go to you, my dear! I wish I could make
you dream that you embrace this one whom you love,
my dear, the one for whom I pine, my dear!
I wish I could go to be your pillow, my dear! I wish I
could go to be your feather bed, my dear! the one for
whom I pine, who keeps me alive, my dear!
Now farewell, my truelove, for whom I pine, who keeps
me alive, my master, my dear!
SONG OF MENMENTLEQELAS IN ANSWER TO THE PRECEDING
SONG
Stop, friends, and let us listen to the song that my dear sings
for me, the one whom I am leaving so cruelly.
Stop, friends, and let us listen to the weeping of my dear,
my truelove, my dear!
Whence, O friends! comes the sound of the one who is crying
for me, my truelove, my truelove, my dear.
O friends! she whom I left behind is crying for me, my true-
love, my truelove, my dear.
Don't long for me! For you I am working, my truelove,
for whom I pine, my dear, my truelove, my dear.
Don't cry for me! I am working for you, my true mistress,
my lady, my truelove, my dear.
Don't long for me! I am coming back, my dear, my true-
love, my dear.
Don't cry for me! I am paddling toward you, my dear,
my truelove, my dear.
SONG OF SAME WHEN TASKEDEK HAD DESERTED HIM
You are cruel to me, you are cruel to me, my dear!
You are hard-hearted against me, you are hard-hearted
against me, my love!
You are surpassingly cruel, you are surpassingly cruel
against me, for whom you pined.
She pretends to be indifferent, not to love me, my truelove,
my dear.
Don't pretend too much that you are indifferent of the love
that I hold for you, my dear!
Else you may be too indifferent of the love that I hold for
you, my dear!
My dear, you are indifferent of the love I hold for you,
my dear!
My dear, you go too far; your good name is going down,
my dear!
Don't try hereafter to follow me, my dear!
Don't hereafter cry for me, my dear!
Does not this make sick your heart, my dear?
Friends, do not let us listen any longer to love songs that
are sung by those far away!
Friends, it might be well if I took a new truelove, a dear
one.
Friends, it might be well if I had a new one for whom
to pine, a dear one.
I wish she would hear my love song when I cry to my new
love, my dear one!
Kwakiutl, British Columbia
Chapter X
APHORISMS ON LIFE AND MAN
IN the preceding chapters we found primitive man
giving expression to a fairly definite philosophy of
life which was characterized by a very unusual degree
of objectivity. In the present chapter we shall try to
show that this same objectivity was applied to the
analysis and evaluation of character. Much of this
analysis is best and most adequately expressed in the
aphorisms and proverbs current among all primitive
peoples, although they have taken on a more precise
literary form and assumed greater importance in
Africa and Polynesia than in other parts of the world.
Nothing seems to have escaped the discriminating
and discerning insight of the native philosopher and
sage. Every corner of the human soul, every angle in
human relationships is disclosed and illuminated in
a manner that would have done justice to Stendhal.
Here as in the poems quoted in the preceding chapter
we have man in all his aspects, his loves and his hates,
his arrogance and his pettiness, his affectation and his
simplicity. If the foibles seem unduly emphasized
that is, after all, the nature of proverbs and aphorisms.
Sometimes it is a warning or a moral lesson that is
conveyed. Generally, however, we are treated to irony
and sarcasm. But no discussion can better bring
home to the reader the full implications of all that is
contained in these aphorisms and what wisdom and
psychological insight must have gone to their making,
than an actual perusal of them. I shall, therefore, even
at the risk of overburdening the reader, quote a repre-
sentative number from a few regions.
BA-ILA PROVERBS
1. Wisdom comes out of an ant heap.
2. A wise man ran on without eating it, a fool coming
behind ate it (i.e., the wise in their own conceits
often miss the good things of earth).
3. O man, don't try to teach your mother, try others.
4. Get grown up and then you will know the things of
the earth.
5. The pig died in the trap (against which it had been
warned).
6. Annoy your doctors and sicknesses will come laughing.
7. The prodigal cow threw away her own tail.
8. It is the prudent hyena that lives long.
9. A man knows his own woe.
10. The god that speaks up is the one that gets the meat.
11. You may cleanse yourself but it is not to say that
you cease to be a slave.
12. That which is rotten goes to its owners (i.e., only a
few remember the dead).
13. When a chief's wife steals she puts the blame upon
the slaves.
14. When a dog barks the fame belongs to the master of
the village.
15. They spurn the frog but drink the water (i.e., they
don't like to find a frog in their drinking water but
they will drink it after the frog is removed).
1 6. Mr. No-Fault ensnared a snake in the road (and then
left it to bite passers-by).
17. There is no chief who eats out of an impande shell
(i.e., the shell may show his wealth but when it comes
to eating the chief must eat like ordinary people,
out of a dish).
1 8. An ax shaft is made out of an ordinary piece
of wood (i.e., an ordinary person can be made
of great use but, on the ofher hand, he is not
essential).
19. Build rather with a witch than with a false-tongued
person, for he destroys a community.
20. A living tortoise is not worn as a charm (i.e., whether
you see it or not, you must not speak evil of a living
man).
21. Better help a fighting man than a hungry man, for
he has no gratitude.
22. The old thing pleases him who married her.
23. What is ugly to other people is fair in the sight of
the child's mother.
24. While you are away from home visiting, your own
people know all about you (i.e., whatever you do it
is sure to come out).
25. The work of a chief doesn't prevent one from hunting
out one's own fleas (i.e., if you are working for a
chief that does not hinder you from minding your
own affairs).
26. The man at home in thought is not to be deceived by
much porridge (i.e., you can't retain a homesick man
by offering him plenty to eat).
27. A river that would not be straightened has bends in
it (i.e., you lie on the bed you make).
28. You shave me with a blunt razor (i.e., I have been
deceived by promises).
29. I threw a stone into an ant heap (i.e., I have done
something foolish and it is beyond repair).
30. He has the kindness of a witch (i.e., he is overkind).1
While there is clearly what might be called a definite
family resemblance between all African proverbs, still
each tribe has its own style and all are at one in the
light they throw upon the African Negroes' insight into
human nature. Thus, for instance, the Baganda of
Rhodesia and the Masai are as prolific as the Ba-ila in
their pithy comments, friendly, unfriendly, and neu-
tral, on that strangest of all things, man.
BAGANDA PROVERBS
1. A grumbler does not leave his master, he only stops
others from coming to him.
2. The stick which is at your friend's house will not
drive away the leopard (i.e., it is of no use in an
emergency).
1 E. W. Smith and A. M. Dale, The Ila-Speaking Peoples of North-
ern Rhodesia, II, pp. 311 ff.
3. A borrower only seeks you in order that he may
borrow and not to repay you.
4. The god helps you when you put forth your running
powers.
5. He who has not suffered does not know how to pity.
6. He who passes you in the morning, you will pass him
in the evening.
7. You have many friends as long as you are prosper-
ous.
8. Let me cut the difficult knot, as the wizard did at
Bubiro (i.e., settle the question).
9. You appear and pretend to like me, as the orphan
child is loved while still mourning for its father.
10. When I remember it I laugh because it is not I
who am concerned.
11. When it is not your mother who is in danger of being
eaten by a wild animal, the matter can wait until the
morrow.
12. The beautiful woman is the sister of many (i.e., she
has many admirers and many who claim to be related
to her).
13. The despised person is ever present.
14. The heart is a market place (i.e., it chooses what it
likes best, just as we do at a market).
15. Covered with shame like a child who has stolen from
its mother.
1 6. He who takes by force is not apt to trap (i.e., gentle-
ness and not force arrives at truth).
17. I had a number of friends before calamity befell
me.
18. Risk is never absent from those who seek wealth.
19. The owner of the pot does not kill the potter.2
MASAI PROVERBS
1. The mouth which ate fat shall eat excrement and
that which ate excrement shall eat fat.
2. The slayer of the enemy has become a coward and
the poltroon has become a brave man.
3. Coal laughs at ashes not knowing that the same fate
which has befallen them will befall it.
4. The firewood which has been cut ready for burning,
laughs at that which is being consumed.
5. It is the same thing when a man is once there, whether
he has been called or whether he has come of his
own free will.
6. Everything has an end.
7. Events follow one another like days.
8. Behold the people you are passing. The man is there
and the male, the woman and the female (i.e., all
people are not alike and if you watch you will see
that some of the passers-by are good and some are
not).
9. We begin by being foolish and we become wise by
experience.
10. A man does not know when he is well off; it is only
when he is poor that he remembers the days of
plenty.
8 J. Roscoe, The Baganda, pp. 485-491.
11. When an event occurs only a part of the truth is sent
abroad, the rest is kept back.
12. Bravery is not everything and however brave a man
may be, two brave men are better.
13. The nose does not precede the rest of the body.
14. Warriors and cripples remain apart.
15. Don't make a cloth for carrying a child in before the
child is born.
1 6. The zebra cannot do away with his stripes.
17. The bark of one tree will not adhere to another tree.
1 8. Persevering to accomplish an end and being able to
do a thing are not the same thing; it is greater to
persevere.
19. Nobody can say he is settled anywhere for ever: it
is only the mountains which do not move from their
places.
20. Broken pieces of a gourd cannot be fastened on to a
cooking-pot.
21. Do not repair another man's fence until you have
seen to your own.
22. It is better to be poor and live long than rich and
die young.
23. Men may be partners, or may eat from the same
dish, but they cannot tell what is passing through
each other's minds.3
Passing now to the Polynesian proverbs we find
certain marked differences in style although the prob-
lems are the same. Poetic metaphors and similes are
8 A. C. Hollis, The Masai, pp. 238-251.
far more common, and, as might have been expected, a
philosophic coloring pervades the formulation of the
proverbs. Very frequently, too, the allusions are so
local and specific that an elaborate explanation is
necessary before an outsider can understand. I shall
give selections from the Samoans, the Hawaiians, and
the Maori.
SAMOAN PROVERBS
1. The hurricane and the calm are neighbors.
2. When the old hen scratches, the chickens eat beetles,
3. The brightness of the setting sun (is beautiful but
will soon pass away).
4. Blessed is the moon which goes and comes again.
5. To stand on a whale and angle for minnows (i.e., to
neglect important matters for little ones).
6. The crying of a dead trumpet (i.e., it makes a lot
of noise but is dead).
7. The ufu (a fish) is sleeping and the palpal (a crab)
is at rest (i.e., we have finished and there is no more
to say).
8. The aeno (a crab) dies by its own claw (i.e., a man
suffers the direct consequences of his own actions).
9. The crab and his legs had no consultation (i.e., to
disclaim all responsibility).
10. Until the mountains fall; until the valleys are levelled.
11. First pluck the breadfruit which is furthest away (i.e.,
do the difficult thing first).
12. The roots may be in the forest but they will be
exposed in the roads (i.e., though supposed to be
secret, the story will leak out),
13. Cleaning away stones because of faint-heartedness
(i.e., a man who anticipates defeat is not likely to
conquer).
14. Beaten by the mallet, beaten by the handle (i.e., to
be beset by misfortunes on all sides).
15. The light weight of a burden when first lifted (i.e.,
do not imagine your work, life, etc., are all going to be
light).
1 6. Let the sea determine as to the quality of the canoe.
17. The fishing may be without fish but doubting and
suspicion will always have a catch.
1 8. The banana is plucked up but the sucker is planted.
(The king is dead, long live the king!)
19. The plate of the drill rejoices in vain, for the point
of the drill is broken. (This is used to express some
insuperable difficulty. The family rejoices in the birth
of a child but joy may be premature, for the child
may die.)
20. One disease has gone but another has come,
21. Let the sinnet ring and the stand for the fishing rod
go together (i.e., let your acts agree with your
words) .
22. The sun and the sea are nearing each other (said of
approaching death).
23. The hilltops are near but the roads to them are long.
24. Often warned, the salt has now entered into his
body (i.e., he is justly punished after many warn-
ings).
25. The wisdom of a child but only a child (i.e., he does
his best).
26. The many are the chiefs. (God is on the side of the
strongest battalions.)
27. Don't go about thoughtlessly in the off months, be-
cause good times only last a few days.
28. The deaf man hears when he is tapped on the
shoulders. (If you don't listen to advice, painful
experience will teach you.)
29. No hole is made in the body by words. (Never
heed what men say.)
30. Stones will rot but words never rot. (Anything may
be forgiven but offensive words.)
31. A mouthful fallen from the mouth. (There's many
a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.)
32. O that all wishes were accomplished in fact! 4
To the above I would like to add a few where the
meaning has to be explained to be understood:
33. It is only the people of Neiafu who disparage the
to-elau (the N. E. trade wind).
The explanation is as follows: It is said that two
cripples in Neiafu grumbled continually against the
northeast trade winds because they did not cause the
coconuts to drop immaturely from the trees, as they
were not able to climb for them. They preferred the
west wind which caused the nuts to fall even though
4 George Brown, "Proverbs of the Samoans," Proceedings of the
Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science, 1913.
they were not ripe. This proverb is used to describe
those who despise the good and prefer the bad or who
prefer to have a worthless article like an immature
coconut rather than have the trouble of getting a good
one.
34. Let the blame be upon Vala.
Vala was the daughter of the chief Anufetele. The
chief was standing at the council meeting one day and
was making a formal speech to the meeting. His
daughter Vala was seated on the ground quite near
him. She whispered to him, "Dear elder, remove the
gummy matter out of your eye." The old man think-
ing she was prompting him, repeated her words in his
speech and the whole audience laughed loudly in de-
rision. The girl again whispered to her father the
words, "Wipe your mouth" and the old man repeated
her words, at which there was again a burst of laughter
and he sat down overwhelmed with shame. The appli-
cation is that the blame be put on the guilty person.
Anufetele was not at fault so much as Vala.
35. Has come again the offering of Mosopili which wa3
too late.
Mosopili dwelt at Foaluga but his parents lived at
Foalalo. His sister was very sick and a message was
sent to inform him of the fact, and that she was likely
to die, but he did not go to visit her. Again and again
he was tolcl of her illness but he still deferred his prom-
ised visit. At length he was told that she was dead,
when he at once seized a siapo (native cloth) and ran
down to Foalalo, but his sister was dead. He neglected
to show his love for his sister while she was living and
only tried to do so when it was too late.
36. The feather-blowing of Lavea.
Lavea was the head of a family at Safotu. Their
family god was supposed to be present in the fowl and
so they were, of course, prohibited from eating or in-
juring that bird. When Lavea and his family became
professing Christians these customs were not observed
and as a proof of the sincerity of his conversion,
Lavea was asked to kill and eat a fowl and this he
consented to do. He was, however, still very much
afraid of the family deity and as a compromise he
blew away the feathers as an offering to the god and ate
the fowl.
This proverb is used to illustrate the folly of trying
to be right with all sides; of a merely pretended alle-
giance; and that of retaining the best, and offering
that which is of no value.
37. The body of Galue was bruised in vain.
Galue was a man who was very desirous of getting
the best fine mat at a division of the property. He was
so anxious for this that in order to show his good will
and his respect for the family beforehand, he threw
himself down on the stones and was much bruised.
After all this, however, the mat in question was given
to another man.'
This proverb is applied to any one who fails to get
something for which he has toiled or suffered.
HAWAIIAN PROVERBS
1. I will not be taken by an old taro leaf; give me the
tender bud of the plant. (This is used by a young girl
in disdain of an elderly suitor or one of low rank.)
2. Man is like a banana the day it bears fruit. (After
the banana plant has borne fruit, it dies down and
another takes its place.)
3. As the creeping dodder, creeping in Mana, so is love
misplaced for the tree without foundation. (A para-
site lover clings like the trunkless dodder.)
4. The wind of Ulupau woos a red blossom. (The
fruitless advances of a young man to a maid.)
5. Gather the pulu below while the rain stays high
above. (Make hay while the sun shines.)
6. The hardwood weeps when the smooth pebbles clash.
(When people fight, the innocent suffer.)
7. When the wiliwili blooms then the sharks bite. (A
young girl and her suitors.)
8. The little hau tree crowds the big one. (This is used
when a small person crowds in or sits too close to a
big person.)
9. Open the sluice gate for the fish to enter. (Advice
of an elderly person to a boorish youth in order that
he may correct his habits and gain friends.)
10. Like an angleworm is the prayer of the priest. (This
refers to the twists and turns with which the magic
incantation finds out its victim.)
11. Even little fishes make the mouth water.
12. Dead though the taro may be, the maggot lives on.
(Though a person may think his past acts dead, yet
they still live on.)
13. When the pandanus is ripe, the sea eggs are fat.
(This refers to a parasite growing fat on the riches of
a young person.)
14. The akule fish stays in deep water. (The burnt
child dreads the fire.)
15. Not all knowledge is contained in your dancing school.
1 6. Do not mind if the lower part burns, but watch the
upper lest it be overdone. (Do not mind the com-
mon people but watch the upper ranks upon whom
everything depends.)
17. Continue to do good and heaven will come down to
you.
18. Standing in the doorway of disappointment. (One
who makes a long face over frustrated hopes.)
19. The puffed mouth is full of wind.
20. Blasphemy is a god that devours its own master.
21. Love is a mist; there is no mountain to which it will
not cling.
22. The heads of the gods are hidden in the clouds.
23. I am a little stone but I can roll far.
24. A keeper who boasts of his tempestuous snare. (This
refers to a boastful father whose daughter has dis-
appointed him.)
25. Smite the waters with convolvulus, the waves will
break. (A person who hits another will receive a
blow in return.)
26. Heap up a pile, you carry the burden.
27. A fleet of small canoes will dash up the spray. (This
illustrates wrath over trifles.)
28. Blow hither, blow hither, O wind of Hilo, put aside
the little dish, grant me the big one! (This is said
of an ambitious person.)
29. Feed men and they will obey.
30. Careless work with the hands brings unclean food to
the mouth.
31. To obey is life, to disobey is death,
32. Tender are the little sins when the child is creeping;
transient in childhood; obstinate in youth; hard to
change in maturity; and fixed in old age.
33. One day only has the stranger. (He is a guest for
one day, then he must work.)
34. It is living together teaches the meaning of love.
35. Delicious is a bundle of taro tops where there is love.5
MAORI PROVERBS
1. Though the grub may be a little thing it can cause
the big tree to fall.
2. A spear shaft may be parried but not a shaft of
speech.
3. The weaving of a garment may be traced but the
thoughts of man cannot.
4. Son up and doing, prosperous man ; son sitting, hungry
man.
8 "Hawaiian Stories and Wise Sayings," collected by L. S. Green and
edited by M. W. Beckwith, in Publications of the Folklore Founda-
tion, Vassar College, No. 3.
5. Did you come from the village of the liar?
6. The offspring of rashness died easily.
7. The women shall be as a cliff for the men to flee over.
8. Great is the majority of the dead.
9. The home is permanent, the man flits.
10. Outwardly eating together, inwardly tearing to pieces,
u. Man is passing away like the moa.
12. Will the escaped wood hen return to the snare?
13. Perhaps you and False-Tongue travelled here to-
gether?
14. Well done, the hand that roots up weeds!
15. A chief dies, another takes his place.
1 6. Passing clouds can be seen but passing thoughts can-
not be seen.
17. The digger of fern root has abundance of food, but
the parrot-snarer will go hungry.
1 8. Those who escape the sea god will be killed by those
on shore.
19. It was not one alone who was awake in the dark ages.
20. The white heron eats daintily, the duck gobbles up the
mud (i.e., a man is known by his tastes).
21. You cannot hew a bird-spear by the way (i.e., prepare
carefully) .
22. A raindrop above, a human lip below (i.e., dropping
water wears away a stone, slander a good name).
23. The white crane whose flight is seen but once. (Angel
visits, few and far between.)
24. Black and red united can do it. (The red-ochred
chief and the charcoal-smeared slave united can
do it.)
25. Food given by another is only a throat-tickler; but
food gained by the labor of one's own hands is the
food which satisfies.
26. Great is your going forth to war, small your return.
27. Deep throat, shallow muscle.
28. He who goes before gathers treasures; he who lags
behind looks for them in vain.
29. Sir, bale the water out of your own mouth!
30. One day's beauty, a short-lived pleasure.
31. Food underdone is your own, fully cooked goes to
others. (This is a warning against dawdlers.)
32. He who is a valiant in fight is a valiant apt to
stumble. But he who is a valiant in cultivating food
is a valiant who will abide — even to a natural death,
worn out by old age.
33. Cold which is only skin deep, stealing warmth, is not
worth a word of complaint.
34. The large chips made by Mr. Hardwood fell to the
share of Mr. Sit-Still.
35. A crooked part of a stem of toetoe can be seen, but a
crooked part in the heart cannot be seen.
36. O slave of two growths, shooting up, sinking down
(i.e., a child grows up to be a man and afterwards
descends to a second childhood in old age).
37. When the seine is worn out with age, the new net
encircles the fish. (When a man grows old, his son
succeeds him.)
38. Let him go on asking, his strength lies in asking
questions.6
6 Edward Treager, The Maori Race; Edward Shortland, Traditions
Only a cursory perusal of these proverbs is neces-
sary to convince even the most skeptical that we are
not dealing here with any vague group activity or
folkway — that last refuge of the tired sociologist and
ethnologist — but the personal envisaging of life by
those individuals who in any group are concerned with
and interested in formulating their attitude toward
God, toward man, and toward society — the philoso-
phers, the sages, and the moralists. These proverbs
are merely offshoots of that more consistent and more
ambitious formulation which we have discussed in
some of the preceding chapters.
and Superstitions of the New Zealanders; and J. W. Stack, "Notes on
Maori Literature," Proceedings of the Australasian Society for the
Advancement of Science, 1891.
Chapter XI
THE TRAGIC SENSE OF LIFE
IN Chapter VIII we quoted the very profound tale of
the Ba-ila woman who spent her long life seeking
God so that she might ask him why he had afflicted
her with so many misfortunes. Her more tough-
skinned contemporaries assure her that God, fate, life,
the Besetting-One, sits on the back of every one of
them and that they cannot shake him off. But she will
have none of their resignation and realism, and con-
tinues her search until death. Fate to her was clearly
not some inevitable, non-personal, and non-discriminat-
ing force but an unjust personal agency inflicting pain
and suffering upon her individually. Like so many
other sensitive natures life was too much for her.
She could not accept it as the vast majority of people
do nor could she find any adequate explanation for it.
Hence arose her terrible perplexity and bitterness.
But there are some temperaments who make terms
with life in all its forms and who recognize that tragedy
flows from the inward strivings and passions of man
when he comes into conflict with the inevitable and
irresistible forces of nature and society. As this clash
of man and the world is often quite beyond the powers
of any individual to foresee, control, or alter, there
arises a feeling or an attitude toward life which may
aptly be called the tragic sense of life. For Western
Europe this has been well if somewhat pedantically
described by the famous Spanish essayist, Miguel de
Unamuno, in his work entitled Del Sentimiento
Trdgico de la Vida. Now this same attitude is also
to be found among some individuals in primitive com-
munities. At times it can lead to uncompromising and
hopeless pessimism, at other times to a general theory
in which the doom and disaster that so often follow in
the wake of man are attributed to some human trans-
gression, to some overstepping, whether it be conscious
or not, of the limits imposed by each man's nature.
In other words man is at fault.
As an example of the extreme pessimism into which
it may develop — but a pessimism into which no criti-
cism and fault-finding with fate enters — let me give
the following very remarkable Maori poem:
Bow to earth and bow to heaven, whilst thou, 0 man!
with craving hunger driven — weary, gaunt and near insan-
ity, must wander aimless and alone, whilst death creeps
nearer still, and to one focus draws that path of glory, honor,
fame, and joy which youth had planned, and blots and blurs
the whole; whilst, staggering, thou canst scarcely sweep aside
the grass that grows along the path up to thy home.
How, coward and servile, gnawing hunger makes the soul-
less frame to stagger, when at dim eventide the reeling form
oft seeks to eat the refuse rori, cooked and left by Pare-
korau.
How, crushed by shame, the once most noble self now
dies within, as crouching thou drawest near, to see thy boy-
hood's home! No welcome greets with uttered words, or calls
aloud thy name; but thou must onward pass, and in the
path of Pu-hou go, and thence, yet still a starved one,
come.1
From this unrelieved pessimistic expression of life's
tragedy I should like to pass to a discussion of the
tragic sense of life as it emerges in a number of myths
of the Winnebago Indians and where doom is conceived
of as due to human transgression.
Like the majority of American Indians, the Winne-
bago distinguish sharply between what might be called
myths and realistic tales. Under "myth" is included
everything regarded as having taken place in a distant
past; under "tale" everything that has occurred within
comparatively recent times. The word for myth means
"sacred"; that for tale, "what is told"; i.e., what is
considered as a real happening. It matters not how
completely mythical the content of a story may be; as
long as it is thought of as portraying an actual occur-
rence it is a tale. Stylistically a very interesting differ-
ence exists between the two, the former always having
a happy, the latter, prevailingly if not always, an un-
happy ending. The Winnebago themselves appear to
be well aware of this trait of their myths as the fol-
lowing personal experience indicates.
While engaged in translating a text I must have un-
1 J. C. Anderson, Maori Life in Aotea, p. 298.
consciously given my interpreter the impression of be-
ing worried about the fate of the hero of the particular
story. He had been cut up into pieces and was being
slowly boiled in a cauldron at the particular moment
that my face apparently attracted the interpreter's
attention, for he stopped short and said to me very
kindly, "Don't worry. He isn't dead. They never
die." Whether the Winnebago are equally conscious
of the tragic ending of their realistic tales I had no
means of determining; that, consciously or not, a defi-
nite selection of subject matter has taken place is quite
evident, for otherwise the invariable tragic denouement
would be inexplicable. The impression conveyed is
that they regarded life, the contact and pitting of man
against man, of peoples against peoples, as leading
inevitably to tragedy, an inference perhaps not so
strange in a civilization where the highest ambition of
man was to die on the warpath and where the most
insistent pursuit of life was prestige.
Among many peoples has such a conflict, in fact,
formed the subject matter of heroic myth and epic.
We encounter it among the Polynesians, the Maya,
and the Aztec and it underlies the theme of the Iliad,
the Chanson de Roland, El Cid and the Nibelungcnlied.
In the Iliad, the Nibelungenlied, and the Chanson de
Roland we know definitely that the conflict represented
the legendary reflection of a real clash of peoples and
civilizations and it seems extremely probable that the
same explanation holds for the great epic tales of the
Polynesians, the Aztec, and the Maya. Among the
plains tribes of North America, likewise, where there
has been an incessant and marked contact of different
tribes and cultures, we find similar stress upon a tragic
ending so that we may assume a certain degree of cor-
relation between an epic or prose tale having a tragic
ending, and definite historical clashes; it was indeed
in this connection that man first sought and found a
literary expression for the tragic sense of life.
In the following pages I shall discuss three Winne-
bago tales all ending tragically, and in all of which
there exists from the beginning a definite presentiment
of impending death. I shall attempt to show that this
sense of impending misfortune is due to two distinct
concepts of tragedy and doom, one implicit as in the
Iliad and Nibelungenlied, the other explicit, embodying
more or less a theory of how woe and death have come
into the world. I shall try to demonstrate that in the
tale of the "Traveller" we are, at bottom, dealing with
the memory of some historical conflict or change analo-
gous— although on a much smaller scale — to that which
the Iliad, the Chanson de Roland and the Nibelungen-
lied depict; that the tragic denouement reflects this
cultural clash, exemplifying thus the implicit theory of
doom, whereas the other two tales, and the secondary
episode woven into the "Traveller," illustrate the ex-
plicit theory of doom.
The second theory, and with this we shall be prin-
cipally concerned, ascribes tragedy neither to the in-
evitable and obvious conflict of individual with indi-
vidual nor to the struggles of people with people but to
the ceaseless conflict and strife, within each man, of his
own passions, desires, and ambitions. More particu-
larly is it ascribed to that irresistible craving which
exacts from man and the world more than he is en-
titled to and more than his abilities and powers war-
rant— more, in fact, than he can adequately hope to
cope with. The resulting tragedy is the penalty
imposed by fate for any departure from the basic ideal
of the Winnebago, that proportion be observed in all
matters. It represents the price to be paid for any
deviation from that fundamental sense of reality which
ordains — as implied in the examples quoted — that an
old man may not enjoy what is the prerogative of
youth nor a youth hope to escape death. It is with
both of these themes that the following Winnebago
tales deal. As an ethical corollary to the last we
find the doctrine that power desired for its own sake
entails destruction not only for one's self but for others
as well.
We have here three sources for a possible develop-
ment of the sense of tragedy and doom. Now the idea
of doom, although closely bound up with that of
tragedy, contains one marked difference. Tragedy may
and does result from accidental circumstances, whereas
doom means more specifically the inevitable tragedy
arising from the expression of certain ambitions, feel-
ings, and desires which, though easily explicable, bring
only ruin in their train. This holds true even though
humanly speaking the situation in which the actions
are placed allows little liberty of choice. Thus it
would be well-nigh impossible for a devout old Winne-
bago who has suddenly come upon what looks like
an exceptionally holy lake, not to ponder upon the
nature and the powers possessed by the spirits pre-
sumably in control of it; or to expect him not to
visualize the good fortune of the youth whose happy
fate it will be to fast there. It is only natural that he
should thereupon think of his son as that happy youth.
Yet in thus allowing his son to act as his surrogate
he has sealed his son's doom. Similarly it is not to be
supposed that a boy, goaded on by an overambitious
and power-seeking father, should know how to observe
proper and reasonable limits in his demands on life,
nor can it be supposed that, unaided, he will possess
sufficient discrimination to separate a pretended from
a real benefactor.
Now this is the underlying theme of the tale of the
"Traveller." Perhaps it is even too much to ask — this
is the theme of the third tale — that a youthful faster
who is filled with the praises of the powers of the
spirits about to appear to him, should give up his de-
mand for immortality. An inevitable and inexorable
chain of events, all of them explicable from a human
standpoint, impels these people onward and constrains
them to their doom just as bitterly as in Greek tragedy.
But here it is not an external crime with its inevitable
punishment but an inner transgression, flowing from
the very nature of human cravings followed by an
inevitable retribution. And the sin committed is one
difficult for erring man to guard against — that of at-
tempting to attain something which is beyond human
power.
I think that I am not lifting simple tales out of their
proper context in making the above claims. Through-
out the area inhabited by the woodland tribes of
Canada and the United States, overfasting entails
death. The Ojibwa believe that those who fast too long
either die or are transformed into tenuous apparitions
so light that the faintest human breath can blow them
away. Among the Winnebago overfasting is popularly
supposed to mean death. In the three tales to be dis-
cussed all that has been added is a motivation and an
interpretation for this death. That defeat and death
should be ascribed to some exaggeration, to some par-
donable yet regrettable human frailty, is a motif ex-
ceedingly common in Winnebago mythology. Thus in
one of the versions of the myth of the "Twins," the
uncle of the heroes is defeated because he permitted
himself to lose his temper. "The bad spirit," it there
says, "was jealous of your uncle and provoked him
till he lost his temper and then defeated him."
Humility, modesty, and a sense of proportion are the
cardinal virtues whose practice is repeatedly urged
upon young people. It should not be regarded as either
strange or unusual that something in the nature of a
true sense of the tragedy of life, or of a mystical
groping for what lies beyond human power, should
have developed among certain individuals. This it is
that finds expression in these tales. I do not for a
moment contend that either all or even a large number
of the Winnebago were capable of so philosophical an
outlook. For the vast majority death was simply a
consequence of overfasting and thus may very well
have been little more than a superstitious bogey; but
this, of course, in no way excludes the existence of a
more advanced attitude, shared by the few and found
definitely inculcated in occasional tales and myths.
Let us now turn to tales themselves. I have selected
three, one called "The Traveller," the second, "The
Seer," and the third, "The Faster."
The hero of the first is nicknamed "Traveller" in
satirical allusion to the fact that from his earliest in-
fancy he never rested. He is the only son of one of
the four great water spirits created by the supreme
deity, Earthmaker, to hold the earth in position. To
distinguish these primal spirits from most others,
Earthmaker is supposed to have molded them with his
own hands and it was thus their great boast that they
were not born of woman.
From earliest childhood Traveller evinced interest
only in visiting the remotest corners of the universe.
While he was thus frittering away his time, a terrible
fate was being prepared for his people. The thunder-
birds, the hereditary and implacable foes of the water
spirits, were planning to annihilate them. When,
therefore, the young man returns from one of his
journeys he finds his father utterly disconsolate, sitting
with bowed head in a corner of the room. When asked
the cause of his worry the father bursts out into bitter
reproaches and sarcasm against his good-for-nothing
son and explains to him finally the fate about to over-
whelm them all. The son is told that although a coun-
cil of the water spirits is to take place that day it
seems quite clear that destruction is not to be averted.
Much to the father's surprise and indignation the son
immediately offers to meet the son of the chief of the
thunderbirds in single combat. At this the father jeers
but when he realizes how serious is his son's resolve,
his anger and sarcasm change to solicitude and he be-
seeches him that if he must go, he should at least wait
till his parents are dead so that they will not have to
bear the sorrow of his death. The young man, how-
ever, remains obdurate and prepares to put his plan
into execution.
The story then continues as follows:
Near the spot where Traveller stood was the center-pole
of the lodge. At its base appeared a hole and through this
he crawled, subsequently emerging on the other side under
the earth. He was then near his home. There he took what
he needed and immediately started out again. He again
crawled down through the base of the center-pole and con-
tinued travelling under the earth until he finaly came to
the mouth of the Mississippi. Up this river he proceeded
until he had passed its source and approached a hardly
noticeable dried-up spring. All that could be detected of
it was a moist spot. This spring originally had been the
door of a lodge standing there in former times. Then he
repaired it and placed guards at the entrance. The spring
was very pleasant to behold so he remained there.
Soon he noticed that a human being was fasting near by.
When brought into his presence Traveller said, "Grandson,
I am going to give you a blessing. You are the first one
to receive one from me. Because you have made yourself
suffer so much, because you have thirsted yourself to death,
because you have made yourself so truly a compassion-
inspiring a spectacle, you shall attain to the full length of
years. You shall die of old age. Remember that a normal
life is very short. I was not born of a woman's womb but
Earthmaker molded me with his own hands."
The young man went away and then told his father of
the blessing he had received. "My son, it is good. The
water spirits are the greatest spirits in the world. You
have had a good dream."
The young man fasted again and after four days and
four nights of fasting the attendants of Traveller came for
him again. When he was brought before Traveller the
latter said, "Grandson, I am going to bestow my blessing
upon you again because you have made yourself a com-
passion-inspiring object with your weeping. I am one of
the greatest spirits Earthmaker created and never before
have I bestowed my gifts upon any one. But now that
you have received them you must not fast any longer. All
the spirits know that I have given you these gifts and nc
one else will say anything to you (i.e., give you similar
ones). And, indeed, who is my equal? Who could give
you a greater blessing than mine? So do not fast any
longer. You shall never be in want of anything. Your
lodge shall always be supplied with the things you need."
Then the young man looked at the lodge and saw that it
was filled with everything desirable. "All these," continued
Traveller, "I bestow upon you."
The young man went away and told his father of what
he had dreamt, and the father again said, "My son, that
is a good dream. Fast again."
Then the young man fasted again for four nights and for
four days, and at the end of that time the attendants of
Traveller came after him again. When, as before, he was
brought before the Traveller this one said, "Grandson,
I have bestowed my blessings upon you already. I told you
before that I had done so and I told you to stop but yet
you persist. Everything that you can possibly desire I
have bestowed upon you; all the things that human beings
possess, all these I have given you."
Then the young man went away and told his father.
"Now then, my son, it is good. I told you to fast again,
and you have done it. Indeed, it is good. These water
spirits are very great spirits. So fast, my son, again."
So the young man fasted again for four nights and once
again the Traveller sent for him. "Grandson," he said,
"stop fasting. I told you that long ago, but evidently I
cannot make you understand. I knew, however, all the
time that you were seeking that which I am now about
to bestow upon you. Tell me, of what value is it to kill
a person? Earthmaker did not create me for that purpose
but I am, nevertheless, in control of great war gifts. The
first time you go on the warpath you will be the leader.
You will receive as your victim a man who possesses no
weapons with which to defend himself. Go, for you will be
victorious. The second time you go on the warpath, if you
so desire it, you will have two men. The third time you
will kill three men and the fourth time a whole village.
And in addition I thought that it would not be necessary
for you to make use of my body (for medicines), but now
I have resolved to let you see my body. Tomorrow, at
noon, you will see me and then may prepare medicines for
yourself from my 'bones.7 As long as the human race lasts
so long will this medicine chest made from my bones endure.
But remember when I say (dayj I mean what I call day and
you call the middle of summer. And when I say my body
is there I don't mean in that precise spot. My body is the
water and wherever there is water there will you see me.
When the time for you to come has approached I shall let
you know. Grandson, I have given you my blessings and I
want you to bring your relatives with you when you come
to obtain your medicine chest. I shall see to it that the
animals you desire shall emerge from the water. I shall
feed you all. Now, grandson, what more can you want?
So do not fast again and go home immediately. Remember,
you must come back in the morning, that is, at noon."
The young man went home and told his father what had
happened. "My son," said the latter, "this is good. You
have dreamt for all your people. I thought this was going
to happen and that is why I asked you to fast again."
Then the father thanked the boy again.
The young man now stopped fasting. The people of the
village were told of the promise made by the water spirit
so they all moved to another place. When they got there
they found many bears, otters, beavers, etc., and had plenty
of food.
Now the summer came and the time mentioned by the
Traveller was at hand. Then Traveller said to the youth,
"Come alone and bring your offerings in a boat." The place
where he was to go was called Big Lake (Lake Winnebago).
The next morning at the appointed time the young man
went there. He put all the necessary offerings into a boat
and started out. About noon he seemed to notice some-
thing and as he looked attentively he perceived some driz-
zling rain. Then he heard a roaring sound and the earth
shook. The roaring became very loud and there in the
mist he suddenly saw a man smiling at him. Above the
place where the man stood the colors of the rainbow were
visible; eight rainbows, one above the other. Around this
man's waist was wrapped four times the tail of a water
spirit. The water spirit was unconscious. Neither of the
two combatants (the water spirit and the thunderbird)
was able to extricate himself from the other's grasp.
Suddenly the water spirit said, " Grandson, it is your fault
that I have come to this. I gave you my blessing and
I promised to show you my body. This person here, my
enemy, heard it and came first. Grandson, he has caused
me to suffer very much, so shoot him for my sake,"
Then the thunderbird spoke, "Ah my younger brother,
what this person has just said is untrue. My younger
brother, he is your enemy, so shoot him for my sake for he
has caused me to suffer very much."
Then Traveller replied, "Grandson, it is he who is telling
you an untruth. If he is really such a good friend of yours,
why did he never pay any attention to you? Indeed, he is
not telling you the truth. He has not done for you what I
have done. If he is your brother and is speaking the truth
you would have known it long ago. So shoot him for me
for he has caused me to suffer very much."
"My younger brother, he is not telling you the truth. He
has not in reality bestowed any blessing upon you at all
(i.e., in order to benefit you). He did it because he
wanted you to come here in order to help him. We are,
in truth, brothers and this one is your enemy. He never
would really have given you anything. My younger brother,
he has caused me to suffer, so shoot him for me.'7
Thus they kept on for a long time. Whenever the water
spirit spoke the young man believed him and whenever the
thunder bird spoke the young man believed him in turn.
Finally he was convinced that the thunderbird was telling
the truth and was just on the point of shooting the water
spirit when the latter, realizing his intention, said, "Well
and good, shoot me. In truth you do not know how to
appreciate what I have done. This, too, remember, if you
shoot me, that I am not the only water spirit in existence.
Remember that water is my body. Never touch water,
therefore, for it will be the body of a water spirit you are
then touching and it will be a continual reminder to you of
me. All the water spirits hear me. But you yourself will
not escape anyhow." Frightened at this speech the young
man shot the thunderbird.
"0 my! O my! Younger brother! He did not conquer
me fairly. Indeed, we have not been defeated fairly! Had
I known that he was going to do this I, too, would have
bestowed blessings upon you as he did. He has defeated me
by treachery, younger brother. This, indeed, must have
been his intention for he covered his tracks when he came
here. Younger brother, he lied to you when he told you
that he was one of the greatest spirits Earthmaker created.
That is not true. He is only the son of such a one and he
was born of a woman's womb. All that he has told you
is untrue. Younger brother, since you have, however, done
this you will not live much longer. Even now, on your
return home, a large war party will come upon you and
you will be the very first one to be killed. You have
brought ruin upon all your relatives for they, too, will be
slain."
That was all. The thunderbird was then taken under
the water.
The young man's heart was filled with remorse but it
was, of course, all of no avail for he had already shot the
thunderbird. He went home and told his father what had
happened. The old man talked excitedly, but there was
nothing to be done about the matter any more. There was
no help for anything now. Both started home and on
their way they were attacked by a war party and all those
who had been occupants of the old man's lodge were killed.
Those not related to him escaped unharmed.
Let us now examine this extraordinary and dramatic
tale. In the second and fourth paragraphs of the
story, we have Traveller represented as bestowing upon
the youth what is the normal blessing, one to which all
people look forward and one that lay very well within
the powers of any spirit to give. What first strikes us
as strange is the manner in which Traveller makes his
boasts and the deliberate falsehood of his claims. He
here sins against two tenets of Winnebago ethics —
never to boast and never to lie. At every ceremony
people who recount their achievements are cautioned
against exaggeration. "Always say a little less/' the
older people tell them. It is, indeed, quite obvious that
the boasting and falsehood are here put into Traveller's
mouth for a definite purpose, that purpose being to
depreciate him. Stylistically, in Winnebago myths,
such words foreshadow the defeat of the speaker. So,
for example, in one of the versions of the myth of the
"Twins," we have the uncle of the heroes and his
enemy before they attempt the test which is to decide
their fate, talking to each other as follows:
"You are not equal to me," they said to one another.
"I am one of the greatest that Earthmaker has cre-
ated/7 both of them said. Finally the uncle got angry
and took his pipe. "I am one of the greatest that
Earthmaker has created," he thought, and that is why
he was not afraid to get angry.
Every Winnebago hearing this would assume that
the man so speaking would be defeated. The same
holds for the statements of Traveller in the opening
paragraphs. All the sympathy of the Winnebago audi-
ence would from the beginning be against Traveller.
The father, so the Winnebago might feel, should, how-
ever, have been suspicious from the first. The expla-
nation of the unusual behavior of the father is to be
sought in the fact that the depreciation of the Traveller
is probably a secondary reinterpretation ; and secondly
— and this is the important point — in the fact that the
father is to be represented as a selfish and over-
ambitious man.
Thus far all the transgressing has been done by
Traveller. In paragraph 7 we have, however, the first
suggestion of a new complication. There, in spite of
Traveller's express statement to the youth that he was
to cease fasting, the father tells him to continue. An
interesting point is here involved. Up to this point
Traveller has bestowed upon the youth only such
powers as he really possessed. His transgression has
consisted only in his boasting and in his falsehood.
He apparently does not want to transcend his powers.
The father, however, forces his hand. The whole bur-
den of guilt is now transferred to father and son, and
the Winnebago audience realizes instantly that they
are dealing with an instance of a youth who has fasted
too long. From the Winnebago point of view the sin
which father and son commit is infinitely greater than
that of Traveller, for the former have allowed them-
selves to be beguiled into a quest for power as such.
The father has allowed his craving for power to over-
whelm him and he is using his son as a surrogate for
himself. The faster is obviously helpless between a
dishonest spirit and a selfish, ambitious father. Yet
something can be said for the father. To realize that
a water spirit has appeared to his son, and not to desire
those things almost always associated with the specific
gifts in their bestowing — the opportunity of seeing the
spirit himself and preparing medicines from his
"bones" — that is asking the normal prestige-hunting
Winnebago to exercise a well-nigh superhuman
control.
Thus at the very outset we find an innocent boy
caught between a cunning deity and the ambitions of
a father, an old man tempted beyond endurance. Both
of these facts are preliminary elements in the tragedy
that is to unfold itself.
From another point of view, too, the second speech
of Traveller in the fourth paragraph is interesting, for
therein is contained the enunciation of the approved
Winnebago theory of ethics by one of the spirits him-
self. "What more can a man want than I have be-
stowed?" he asks in substance. "You have received
long life and the promise that all your wishes are to be
gratified." What the normal, sensible Winnebago
father would then have said is put into the mouth of
the spirit: "Stop fasting now." The author of this
version of the tale evidently wished to impress upon
his hearers this important truth. Yet this does not in
the least detract from the fact that it is put into
Traveller's mouth because it is the latter's definite
design to throw the guilt on to the human pair.
The motivation and plot elaboration are unusually
good. Traveller is depicted as an exceedingly crafty
and cunning individual From the very beginning it is
clear that the water spirits, unaided, cannot win and
Traveller therefore plans to obtain human aid; so he
binds son and father to him by catering to their will-
to-power in such a manner, however, that all initiative
ostensibly is placed in their hands. In making his
claim to be one of the greatest spirits in the world he
is, of course, throwing out a bait which few Winnebago
would have refused.
Once they have taken the initiative, he can safely
warn the boy to stop fasting, and protest, as he does in
the eighth paragraph, against being coerced into be-
stowing upon him specific victory on the warpath, into
showing himself in person, and in allowing medicines
to be prepared from his "bones." By this time father
and son are hopelessly enmeshed in their destiny.
Traveller had obtained the one thing he desired, the
gratitude of the youth, and on this gratitude is to
depend his victory over the thunderbird. The skill
of the motivation is particularly manifest in the way
in which the ulterior purpose of Traveller is made to
fit into the accepted Winnebago yearnings and ideals
and into their concept of "sin." It was rather normal,
though admittedly dangerous, for a Winnebago to
attempt to obtain the final blessing of the water spirit;
namely, the right to use his "bones." For Traveller
to insist, therefore, that the faster should stop after
one or two attempts and after he had received what
hundreds of spirits could have given him, seems un-
reasonable. He gives the youth this right because he
realizes that he would be disobeyed and that, in fact,
his refusal would act really not as a deterrent but as
an incentive to further efforts. "Blessings are not to
be obtained easily," the Winnebago say. It is Travel-
ler's purpose, as we have seen, to compel the young
man to force the spirit's hand and to make the latter
bestow upon him what he did not possess — the gift of
specific victory over the enemy. The essential object
is to obtain unflinching gratitude, and thus the boy
receives long life, gratification of all wishes, the
"bones" of the water spirit, and victory on the war-
path, the last two gifts drawn, so to speak, from
Traveller against his will.
In this whole scene everything is quite normal and
it is in fact this normality that largely contributes to
the pathos of the whole situation.
Reverting again to the narrative, we find nothing of
real importance until we come to the very dramatic
scene described in the twelfth paragraph. The water
spirit and the thunderbird are there represented in
mortal combat. Traveller, true to his role of the
crafty deceiver, accuses the youth of having brought
him into his present predicament because of the prom-
ise exacted that he would appear to him in person.
He reminds the youth of the gifts bestowed and calls
upon him to shoot the thunderbird. In other words,
the youth is now to show his gratitude, and as payment
for his culpability in Traveller's plight, to help the
latter in his combat against the thunderbird. The
thunderbird's answer in the thirteenth paragraph is the
first intimation that has come to the unfortunate youth
that deception has been practiced. Traveller's reply
is quite unanswerable. In the fifteenth paragraph the
thunderbird informs the boy that everything Traveller
has said and pretended is false, that the whole purpose
of the latter has been to entice him to the lake so that
the youth could aid him. The young man is naturally
in a frightful predicament. His instinct would, of
course, be to help his supposed benefactor — yet he
wavers. To those unacquainted with Winnebago be-
liefs this hesitation must seem unwarranted. It is
entirely due to the fact that to-day the thunderbird is
the favorite deity of the Winnebago and his honesty
and virtues are considered self-evident.
The end of the story is a double and poignant trag-
edy, with the defeat of the most popular of Winne-
bago deities and the death of a youthful and innocent
faster.
We must now turn to an entirely different aspect of
this tale. Although Traveller is manifestly the hero,
all Winnebago sympathy goes to the thunderbird and,
were this regarded as a myth and not as a real happen-
ing, the audience would undoubtedly have expected the
thunderbird to triumph. Heroes are frequently killed
but their death is always temporary and they are
eventually restored to life even if it takes a generation.
Here no such thing happens. What is manifestly a
myth in every essential particular, with the exception
of the fasting experience, is put into the category of a
tale, interpreted as a real happening, and given an
unrelieved tragic ending.
The central facts we have first to elucidate are the
victory of the water spirit and the transfer of what
was presumably a myth to the category of a tale. The
explanation of the victory of this particular water
spirit is comparatively simple. It is a very old and
still general belief that the oldest spirits in the world
are those created by the Earthmaker to hold the world
in position and to keep it from moving. These are four
water spirits. Equally old was the belief that there are
five worlds, one above the other, and that the central
one is ruled over by a water spirit called Traveller.
Traveller cannot be defeated because this would run
counter to an accepted fact of Winnebago cosmology.
His position is so secure that not even the famous hero-
deities of the Winnebago, the Twins, in their reckless
wanderings over the universe make an attempt to in-
terfere with it.
It is evident, therefore, that Traveller cannot be de-
picted as being defeated. Why, however, is he drawn
in such unfavorable colors? Why is he not the un-
blemished hero of the tale? Here, too, the explanation
is fairly simple. Water spirits to-day are regarded by
the Winnebago as either definitely evil or dangerous
because of the twofold nature of the gifts they bestow.
In some respects their gifts are regarded as the greatest
within the power of any spirit to grant. A definite
ambivalent feeling does, nevertheless, attach to every-
thing concerned with them and on the whole the evil
side is believed to predominate. But the myths and
certain folk beliefs indicate quite clearly that this was
not always so; that at one time the water spirit was as
moderately benevolent as the thunderbird. The older
conception of the nature of the spirits among the
Winnebago also indicates a belief in the twofold classi-
fication of good and bad. The thunderbirds formed
no exception to this rule and in a number of myths the
bad thunderbirds are described in a very unfavorable
light. Under the influence of a marked tendency
toward systematization this old dual concept has been
abandoned and most spirits to-day are regarded as
either good or bad. The water spirits have been
largely put into the bad and the thunderbirds into the
good class. Traveller, therefore, as a representative
of the water spirits, had to be represented as evil
This could only be done by so motivating the incidents
connected with him that they would appear in a most
unfavorable light. He is consequently depicted as a
boaster, a liar, and a deceiver. The attainment of the
position which he occupied and from which he could
not be displaced had to be attributed to the most
despicable of maneuvers entailing the death of an un-
fortunate human being. If he could not be hurled from
his predominant position in the tale he could at least
be transformed into the arch-villain of the piece. If
additional corroboration for this interpretation of his
role were really wanting it could be furnished by the
fact that this is the only myth or tale collected among
the Winnebago where the hero is a villain and yet
succeeds.
The villainy of the hero thus reflects a definite
change in the viewpoint of the Winnebago, a definite
historical event; namely, the displacement of one cult
by another. The tale we have before us is then nothing
more or less than a reinterpretation, in terms of a
predominantly thunderbird civilization, of a Water
spirit victory. The real hero had to be depreciated and
the victim, the thunderbird, elevated to the position of
hero, and it was this readjustment that rendered the
tragic ending inevitable.
So much for the fate of the thunderbird. I take it
that originally the aid of the human faster was legiti-
mately obtained and that he was depicted as trying tos
get into rapport with one of the greatest of the spirits.
With the exception of the specific gift of victory on the
warpath — which in this form was associated, to my
knowledge, only with the thunderbirds, the sun, and
the evening star — the gifts bestowed are those expected
from a water spirit. It was the change in the cultural
background that necessitated the youth's death because
he helped a water spirit, and it was the new attitude,
also, that compelled such thoroughgoing changes in the
motivation of detail upon detail of the actual fasting
experience that it became transformed into an example
of the inevitable dangers attendant upon over-
fasting. The fasting experience, accordingly, takes on
the appearance of a moral lesson and this explains why
Traveller finds it necessary to point out to the youth
that he must not demand more than an ordinary indi-
vidual is entitled to. This is all secondary here. In
the tales of the "Seer" and the "Faster," we shall see
that these themes form the basic element in the plot.
Yet, whether the reasons I have advanced for the mo-
tivation are true or not, the fact remains that in the
present version the fate of the faster is sealed from
the very beginning; first, because he has been con-
demned to decide a conflict in which he had no con-
cern, and, second, because he is coerced into trans-
gressing certain cardinal elements of the Winnebago
moral code.
One point still remains to be answered. What is the
significance of the human faster? Why was it thought
necessary to have the time-old struggle between the
water spirits and the thunderbirds decided by human
agency? The calling in of a man to decide the conflict
of deities may be common in classical mythology but
it is extremely unusual in the mythology of primitive
peoples. Among the Winnebago the story of Traveller
is the only instance extant where such a theme, or
anything even remotely resembling it, occurs, and this
being so, I cannot but feel that some significance at-
taches to it. In my opinion the fasting experience was
not originally connected with the theme of this combat
of the water spirit with the thunderbird at all. That
theme is one of the most universal in North America
and only among the Winnebago and related tribes has
a faster become associated with it. He may have been
brought in originally in order to demonstrate the su-
periority of the water spirits over the thunderbirds, or
for various other reasons. In our version this episode
has clearly come to be the direct reflection of the larger
conflicts of the deities. It is thus the symbolical repre-
sentation of the struggle for supremacy of two cults, of
two contending civilizations. The tragic denouement
has, in this instance, essentially the same origin as that
of the llmdy the Nibelungenlied, and the Quetzalcoatl
myth of the ancient Aztec.
The second of my examples, the tale entitled "The
Seer," is psychologically far more subtle than the first.
As it is very short, I shall quote it in its entirety;
An old man once came upon what looked like a very
holy lake. Its shores were steep and extended precipitously
to the very top. Pine trees abounded everywhere. The old
man stood watching the lake and then exclaimed, "This lake
must indeed be very sacred and the various spirits who pre-
side over it must be extremely powerful. Would that I were
young again! Here, most assuredly, would I fast!" Thus
he spoke. But then continuing he said, "But what am I
saying? Have I not a son? I shall make him fast here!"
So as soon as he arrived at his home he constructed a place
for his son to stay and then besought him to fast.
All winter long the son stayed there and fasted. When-
ever his father came to see him he told him that as yet
nothing had taken place. Three years the boy fasted there
and yet he did not succeed in dreaming of anything. When,
however, during the fourth year, his father came to him, the
son addressed him as follows: "Father, at last I have
received a blessing. The spirit asked for four offerings,
tobacco, feathers, a dog, and a white deer; for these he
asked. And then he asked •for a fifth, a human life."
When the boy finished the old man expressed his gratitude.
Then he named the day on which this was to take place
(i.e., the offerings were to be made) . "He who is in control
of this sacred lake," continued the youth, "I shall behold, I
was told. To him it is that you are to bring your offerings."
The father felt very happy. He went home and it was a
marked day.
Then the offerings were taken to tKe lake. There every-
thing appeared to be in a turmoil and there was a tremen-
dous noise. Every few minutes objects would emerge from
the water. The old man standing there thought to himself,
"Now, this is the time. Now it is going to appear." But
then again he would think to himself, "No, perhaps not."
Many things appeared; indeed, everything imaginable, and
finally out of the lake there rose a burning log, smoking.
When the disturbance had completely subsided the two saw
stretched out on the shore a very white water spirit, one of
the kind that cannot be butchered with an ordinary knife.
So the old man made himself a knife of red cedar wood
and with this he proceeded to cut up the water spirit. Out
of its body he began to make weapons of all kinds. One
piece of the body he cut off in order to prepare a certain
kind of drink, another in order to make a war medicine.
Out of the blood he made a magical paint which would
enable him to kill an enemy even if the latter were resting
within his own tent. The Winnebago would love this medi-
cine (he thought). There was nothing this medicine could
not accomplish. Then he made a bad medicine which would
prevent any person from making his (the old man's) heart
ache or from making fun of him. The medicine was of a
kind that if he wished to kill a man he would merely have
to decide upon the day and then the man in question would
perish. Indeed if he merely fixed his thoughts upon a par-
ticular man, that man would suffer. He could, with this
medicine, make a man crazy, or he could deprive him of his
soul. If a man were very far away and he but uttered his
name, if he were but to murmur, "Let him die!" that man
would die.
These were the medicines he made. No good ones did he
make; only bad ones.
Then they made their offerings to the water spirit and
when these were over the old man said to his son, "My
dear son, let me myself be the offering." But the son
said, "No, father, when you have grown old and death has
come to you, then you shall live with the water spirit;
you and he shall be companions." Thereupon the old man
replied excitedly, "My dear son, even if this were to happen
this very minute, indeed I should be satisfied." "Father,
when you die, here at this sacred lake you shall live. Here
forever shall you remain, as long as the earth lasts."
Then they went home to their people. The old man im-
mediately began to use his bad medicines. Wherever a child
was to be discovered who was especially beloved, wher-
ever people were to be encountered who were unusually
popular, the old man killed them. Soon the water spirit
appeared to the young boy and said, "What is this your
father is doing? He is killing those who are most beloved,
men and children. This is not good. Tell him to stop.
Tell him if he refuses he will be transformed into a rock.
Earthmaker did not create me for the purpose (to which
your father is now putting me) and he would be displeased
if this continued."
So the youth went to the father and begged him to stop,
telling him that if he refused he would be transformed into
a rock. But the old man replied, "My dear son, I have now
become so accustomed to what I am doing that I cannot
stop."
The next morning the old man did not move and when
his son looked at him he saw that he had become trans-
formed into a rock.
So much for the story. Certain things are quite
clear. The water spirit has, in addition to the usual
four offerings, demanded a fifth, a human life, that of
the faster. To emphasize this demand we see death
symbolized by the smoking log emerging from the lake
to which the two men have gone to make their offerings.
Now this request of the spirits for a human sacrifice
must not, of course, be taken too literally. Looked at
from the viewpoint of the spirits, every time a person
dies from overfasting or during his fast, it is because
the spirits desired his life. In human terms it simply
signifies that an individual has attempted something
which entails death. We are again, as on page 65,
dealing with an enunciation of the Winnebago ethical
creed. Here, however, it is enunciated by the deities.
We know the son to be doomed. From the very be-
ginning, however, the father has kept the center of
the stage and he does so again by insisting that he
become the sacrifice the spirits desire. We see him be-
fore he has made this unusual request, ostentatiously
preparing only bad medicines from the body of the
water spirit, although good ones were also at his dis-
posal. When the son refuses to accept his offer the
old man deliberately kills all of those most beloved in
his village and actually forces the water spirit to recog-
nize him as the stipulated human offering. Why, it
may be asked, does he insist upon taking his son's
place? Why, if he is to die, does not his son die also?
That the death of the faster may include that of his
father and all of his relatives, we saw at the conclusion
of the "Traveller."
To explain, let me call attention to the opening of
the tale. That an old man should stand awe-stricken
before the prospect of a particularly sacred lake is
quite natural; that he should ponder over the excep-
tional gifts possessed by the spirits presiding over such
a place — that, too, is quite intelligible. Every Winne-
bago would both understand and sympathize with him.
His regret that he cannot be young again is hardly a
transgression against Winnebago ethics unless he draws
unwarranted corollaries therefrom. But this is exactly
what he does. In his enthusiasm he uses his son as a
surrogate for himself, and here, of course, he sins most
egregiously against a fundamental tenet. To obtain
something no longer within his reach, he selfishly sacri-
fices his son and compels him to attempt the propitia-
tion of one of the most powerful and dangerous of all
deities, one who frequently inflicts death. Even if the
father had been represented as wanting his son to fast
at this particularly sacred lake because of the great
love he bore him and of a natural excess of ambition for
the boy he would, according to Winnebago notions,
have laid himself open to criticism. A loving and
solicitous father is supposed to spur on his child to per-
sistent effort in the attainment of gifts from the spirits
but he is, at the same time, supposed to be extremely
careful that the boy does not overstep the limits of
discretion in his demands. No such excuse can be
offered for the father in this instance. There is not
the slightest trace of solicitude. It is he who plainly
desires the powers the spirits can bestow.
The expected takes places and the life of the son is
demanded. To judge from the insistence with which
the narrator emphasizes the nature of the medicines* the
old man prepares, we must assume that as soon as his
son told him of the demand of the spirits he realized
the heinousness of his offense. It should be remem-
bered that the old man is depicted as erring through
too much piety, that he is not conscious of either his
will-to-power or extreme selfishness. Once this is
brought home to him, however, he makes up his mind
to forestall fate as far as that is possible. He realizes
that some one has to die and he resolves that he and
not his innocent son shall be the victim. How is he,
however, to force the hands of the deities? His
method is as ruthless as it is thorough. He must so
behave, commit such crimes, that the spirits will
slay him.
This, then, is the obvious interpretation of the tale.
The doom that befalls the old man is that which over-
takes all those who, whatever be their motives, be they
good or bad, sin against that sense of the proportion of
things which the realities of life impose upon us. The
father had fasted as a young boy; he had presumably
obtained his share of the gifts of the spirits. He had
no right to demand more, no matter how overpowering
the situation. Had it been possible to limit the conse-
quences of his act to himself, little would have been
said. But that is exactly what life makes impossible.
Here the practical consequence of his religious en-
thusiasm, if one were inclined to place the most lenient
construction upon it, is death for someone else.
In actual life the Winnebago made definite applica-
tions of this viewpoint. Any person, for instance, could
go on the warpath, despite the express prohibitions of
the chief of the tribe, and any one who desired might
accompany him. If the individual who thus led an un-
authorized war party were killed, that was his own
affair. It was merely interpreted as suicide, and that
was regarded as unfair and wrong because it inflicted
pain upon one's relatives. But if any of the men who
accompanied him were killed, the leader was guilty
of murder. In other words, you must not implicate
others in your unwarranted acts. That is the practical
statement of the problem. Doom is simply the sym-
bolical restatement.
In our tale it is a dreadful punishment that follows a
humanly intelligible transgression. What seems to us
an excusable error brings about death, and in order to
avoid one death, two additional crimes — murder and
suicide — must be committed. The chain of events is
inevitable and inexorable.
One point has still to be considered. Why is the
father transformed into a rock and why does the son
tell him that when his time has come he will become
the permanent companion of the water spirit of the sa-
cred lake? The wish of the father is thus, after all,
granted, and he has, in a way, fasted and obtained his
recompense. But he does not obtain it in the antici-
pated way. Not life but death is to give him the
happiness he craved. In the form of a rock, something
that will last as long as the earth endures, he is to
stand on the shores of the sacred lake and contemplate
the majesty of the powers who control it. But why
should he who has wrought so much destruction be
granted even this boon? The answer seems to be be-
cause, after his manner, he aimed high. He erred from
excess of enthusiasm. At least deities and the priests
of the deities may be presumed to take this tolerant
view of the case. Die he must, for he has sinned and
wrought ruin. For his high purpose, however, he is to
be rewarded and his death mitigated by a measure of
reincarnation.
A similar theme recurs in the following tale and it
is not at all infrequent in Winnebago mythology. It
is entitled "The Faster" and runs as follows:
There was once a man who had an only child. One
day he said, "My child, you must know that you are all
alone in the world (i.e., without the protection of the
spirits), with no one from whom to hope for anything.
Only the spirits can help you." Thus he spoke to his
child.
Then the son fasted. After he had been fasting for
some time his father came to him and said, "My dear son,
you have now been fasting for a very long period. Surely
you have obtained some gift from the spirits. You had
better stop now." "Father," answered the boy, "you are
quite right but still I should like to continue. All that
you have told me to fast for, all that I have now obtained.
I have received the gift of killing an enemy at will; I have
obtained the gift of old age. Indeed, the spirits came to
me and took me to a doctor's lodge and there they
brought me to a person who was dead and told me that I
could restore him to life again. It was then they told
me not to fast any longer. Yet in spite of their request I
continued. Then the spirits from below came, from the
creation lodge they came, and they bestowed all things upon
me — victory in war, the ability to cure the sick, success in
hunting, a long and complete life — all this they gave me.
Indeed every spirit to whom Earthmaker had given power,
each one bestowed something upon me, 'You have fasted
enough/ they said. But, father, what I most desire is that
I shall not die. That is why I do not want to stop. So
let me continue. Indeed, only when I have obtained that
gift shall I stop."
So the youth continued. The spirits came to him and
said, "Young man, you have fasted enough. Earthmaker
has bestowed upon you the gift of living to extreme old
age, of obtaining everything you wish." "I am grateful,"
said the boy, "but what I desire is never to die." The
spirits could not dissuade him. "Indeed, I shall never be
satisfied until I obtain the gift of immortal life," continued
the boy. He was unable to face the thought of death; he
dreaded it very much.
In the council lodge of the spirits it was accordingly de-
cided that he should die. So they looked down upon the
place where the boy was fasting and there he lay, dead.
Then the spirits spoke to the father and said, "All that we
promised your son, you shall have. Do not think about
this matter (i.e., your son's death) any more and bury
him."
Then the father dug a grave and buried him. "I wonder
how it all happened," he thought to himself. "They told
me they were unable to dissuade him, and it was for that
reason that they killed him; they told me not to think of
the matter any more."
Sometime after, when the father went to the grave, he
noticed a tree growing at its head. That was his son.
Only a tree lives forever, and that is why the spirits trans-
formed him into a tree. The father realized it and was
happy. He lived contented and prosperous thereafter.
Now this is what the father himself reported and it is
because of this (i.e., the fate of the youth) that young
people are told not to fast for too long a period.
In this tale we have the principal features found in
the two preceding ones occurring again. But we have
no treacherous water spirit and no father spurring on
his child to attempt the impossible or the hazardous
merely to gratify a parent's insatiable taste for power.
On the contrary, both spirits and parents warn and even
beseech the youth to stop fasting. The spirits are par-
ticularly kind and compassionate. It is the faster him-
self who is here at fault. The others are definitely
absolved from all blame. In what way, however, is
this boy represented as transgressing? In desiring the
one thing that man cannot have, immortality. The
spirits are gentle because they realize that the hopeless
plea of this child is a pardonable one. He does not
want more power but he wants to possess the normal
gifts of life forever. They pity him, but he must die
just as inevitably as the faster in the "Traveller," as
the father in the "Seer," because this youth, too, al-
though in a different manner, has come into conflict
with reality. Yet in his case, so excusable is the tragic
reaching after the unattainable, the spirits grant the
bewildered father as recompense for the pain they are
inflicting upon him in destroying his son, the gifts they
had bestowed upon the boy, and allow him to realize
that his son has attained the only kind of immortality
vouchsafed to man, reincarnation in an object whose
age in comparison to man's is unlimited. But the
young man, too, is rewarded by resurrection as a tree.
Insensate as his request was, he did, in an inexperi-
enced and groping manner, aim high, for to face the
perils of long fasting and to persist in prayer through
discouragement is to aim high and deserve reward.
That a definite lesson was to be taught by this tale
would be perfectly apparent even if the narrator had
not thought fit to add his little epilogue. The proof
that the main object was to teach young fasters not to
ask for the impossible is given by the fact that there
was really a method they might have tried in order to
dissuade the faster from his obsession. He could have
been told that although he must die there was always
an excellent chance of his becoming reincarnated. Re-
incarnation is a fundamental belief of the Winnebago
and it is something that every Winnebago feels is ob-
tainable in a number of ways, the principal one being
that of joining the Medicine Dance. I can well imagine
a Winnebago father holding out such a hope to a son
who feared the thought of death. And it is, as a matter
of fact, reincarnation that he is granted. There was
not a word about it in the tale because a specific les-
son was to be taught.
Thus all of our examples illustrate a specific concep-
tion of tragedy and doom. In the first, the faster and
the father are destroyed because they have become en-
meshed in a battle of the gods in which they had no
concern; in the second, doom overtakes the father
because he is seeking something he already possessed,
and which, from the nature of the case is no longer
possible for him, because he involves innocent people
in the consequences of his overreaching; in the third
instance, finally, doom follows inevitably from the fact
that what is desired lies beyond human power. In all
we find the cardinal tenet of Winnebago ethics enun-
ciated, that death is the lot of all who sin against real-
ity and the sense of proportion, and who involve others
in their self-initiated transgression.
Chapter XII
MYSTICISM AND SYMBOLISM
AT a very early period of our contact with primitive
peoples observers had already remarked on the
strain of mysticism and symbolism found in their
thought, their rituals, and their art. As we came to
know them better these mystic and symbolic elements,
far from decreasing in importance and significance,
loomed even larger. To-day many investigators would
probably insist that only when we have fully grasped
the mystic and symbolic meanings inherent in most of
the activities of primitive man can we hope to under-
stand him. There is a very large element of truth in
this contention, and it is certainly an arresting and
fundamentally significant fact that whenever we obtain
descriptions of their own culture from natives, sym-
bolism and mysticism predominate. All this must be
unhesitatingly granted. Yet it is a far cry from such
an admission to the assumption that primitive man is
inherently a mystic or that his thinking is not rational
or logical like ours, but consists rather of a succession
of symbols; or, if you wish, that his ostensible logical
thinking is affected by all kinds of symbolic adhesions
and references. Many theorists have made this as-
sumption and have brought what must seem to many
incontrovertible evidence for the correctness of their
thesis.
Yet I, for one, feel rather definitely that there has
been something of an overemphasis on this aspect of
primitive thought for a variety of reasons. It is first of
all easier to understand mysticism and symbolism than
many other aspects of primitive culture. Secondly,
they appeal to our imagination and have a tendency
to evoke whatever mysticism and symbolism lies em-
bedded in most of us. This is, indeed, one of the subtle
dangers we must all guard against. However, I do not
wish to stress this side of the question. In estimating
the importance and the role of mysticism and symbol-
ism we must bear in mind that it is misleading to em-
phasize unduly their presence in art and ritual. They
are present in all art and ritual.
But leaving art and ritual aside I see no evidence
for their dominating primitive life and thought to any-
thing like the degree we are accustomed to believe.
It is undoubtedly true that owing to the attitude as-
sumed toward the nature of reality and personality,
much of primitive man's thought seems eminently
non-logical and mystical, but our analysis in Chapters
XIII and XIV has shown that this is really an errone-
ous impression which disappears as soon as we become
better acquainted with the facts in the case. It should
likewise be remembered that a good deal of symbolism,
at least that of primitive peoples, is stereotyped and
often of a highly artificial and conscious nature. Take,
for instance, the symbolical representation in literature
of the four ages of man — a favorite subject in certain
North American Indian tribes. Wherever among the
Winnebago these ages are described, the same sym-
bols are used; symbols that upon investigation turned
out to be mere literary clich&s. In other words the
treatment is quite identical with that existing in such
highly sophisticated and formal literatures as those of
China and Japan.
To show how extremely sophisticated and conscious
such symbolism and mysticism can become, let me
quote a few examples from a ritual of the Winnebago
which prides itself upon its twofold significance, a
literal and a symbolical one. For example, where the
literal meaning of the text has, "He bit the fish and
light filled the gap made/7 the symbolical mystical
meaning which has become stereotyped and is handed
down from one generation to another is, "He imprinted
daylight (life) upon the middle of the body." Or
again, where the text reads, "He lay down on his back
and pressed the stone to his breast and daylight (life)
burst forth from his navel," this turns out to be but a
stereotyped way, peculiar to this ceremony, of saying
that "as the water was poured on the heated stone
clouds of steam arose." "The tied hair of our grand-
mother touches the turtle" merely signifies that the
sprinkler has been placed on the water.
Of a much higher order is the mystical and quite sec-
ondary interpretation of an incident in one of the
myths told in this ritual. Earthmaker, the Winnebago
creator, is represented as taking a white cloud and a
«ftt
blue cloud, combining them, and throwing the new sub-
stance, the nature of which is not specifically men-
tioned, toward the earth. As it floats downward it
pushes aside the bad clouds and is finally seized by an
otter, the last of Earthmaker's animal creations. The
mystical meaning of this passage runs as follows: By
rolling together the white and blue clouds Earthmaker
created the most important object in the ceremony, the
shell by whose means death and reincarnation are ob-
tained. As this shell floats downward towards the
earth it dissipates all evil and is seized by that animal
who was of the least consequence and importance,
the otter. The otter was, in fact, the synonym in
Winnebago culture for stupidity and simplicity.
What is referred to here is the bag made of otter
skin used in the ceremony as a receptacle for the
sacred shell.
Now here we have an example of very profound
mysticism and yet it is, at least to-day, very definitely
a cliche, quite meaningless to the uninitiated and prob-
ably meaningless to a large number of the initiated.
It seems quite justifiable to assume that it was the
interpretation of a specifically gifted individual. And
this brings me to the point I wish particularly to men-
tion, that having once shown the existence of a purely
secondary, conscious, and somewhat sophisticated type
of mysticism and symbolism among primitive peoples,
quite identical with that encountered among ourselves,
we have no right to assume that mysticism and sym-
bolism play an inherently more dominant role among
the former than among us. I should not for a moment
deny that mysticism and symbolism, particularly in its
formal aspect, are more frequently utilized among them
than among Western Europeans to-day. I doubt, how-
ever, whether they are more extensively used among
primitive peoples than among the Chinese and Japa-
nese, and yet those who really know the Chinese and
Japanese would hesitate to characterize their thought
as more specifically mystical and symbolical than our
own.
Whether we shall ultimately, on the basis of authen-
tic and critically controlled data, be able to prove that
the prevailing impression — namely, that primitive peo-
ples are in their thought more mystical or symbolical
than ourselves — is right or not, I have surely furnished
enough evidence to show that they have often elabor-
ated their mysticism and symbolism in a highly con-
scious manner. To prove that point still further I shall
devote the rest of this chapter to poems in which this
symbolism and mysticism have attained a very high
degree of literary excellence.
I
THE WATER OF KANE
A query, a question,
I put to you:
Where is the water of Kane?
At the Eastern Gate
Where the Sun comes in at Haehae;
There is the water of Kane.
A question I ask of you:
Where is the water of Kane?
Out there with the floating Sun,
Where cloud-forms rest on Ocean's breast,
Uplifting their forms at Nihoa,
This side the base of Lehua;
There is the water of Kane.
One question I put to you:
Where is the water of Kane?
Yonder on mountain peak,
On the ridges steep,
In the valleys deep,
Where the rivers sweep;
There is the water of Kane.
This question I ask of you:
Where, pray, is the water of Kane?
Yonder, at sea, on the ocean,
In the driving rain,
In the heavenly bow,
In the piled-up mist-wraith,
In the blood-red rainfall,
In the ghost-pale cloud- form;
There is the water of Kane.
One question I put to you:
Where, where is the water of Kane?
Up on high is the water of Kane,
In the heavenly blue,
In the black piled cloud,
In the black, black cloud,
In the black-mottled sacred cloud of the gods;
There is the water of Kane.
One question I ask of you:
Where flows the water of Kane?
Deep in the ground, in the gushing spring,
In the ducts of Kane and Loa,
A well-spring of water, to quaff,
A water of magic power —
The water of life!
Life! O give us this life I
Hawaii
II
I ran into the swamp confused,
There I heard the tadpoles singing.
I ran into the swamp confused,
Where the bark-clothed tadpoles sang.
In the west the dragonfly wanders,
Skimming the surfaces of the pools,
Touching only with his tail. He skims
With flapping and rustling wings.
Thence I ran as the darkness gathers,
Wearing cactus flowers in my hair.
Thence I ran as the darkness gathers,
In fluttering darkness to the singing-place.
Pima, Arizona
III
At the time of the white dawning,
At the time of the white dawning,
I arose and went away,
At Blue Nightfall I went away.
Pima, Arizona
IV
The evening glow yet lingers,
The evening glow yet lingers:
And I sit with my gourd rattle
Engaged in the sacred chant.
As I wave the eagle feathers
We hear the magic sounding.
The strong night is shaking me,
Just as once before he did
When in spirit I was taken
To the great magician's house.
Pima, Arizona
Pitiable harlot though I am,
My heart glows with the singing
While the evening yet is young.
My heart glows with the singing.
Pima, Arizona
VI
Now the swallow begins his singing;
Now the swallow begins his singing;
And the women who are with me,
The poor women commence to sing.
The swallows met in the standing cliff;
The swallows met in the standing cliff;
And the rainbows arched above me,
There the blue rainbow-arches met.
Pima, Arizona
VII
Down from the houses of magic,
Down from the houses of magic;
Blow the winds, and from my antlers
And my ears, they stronger gather.
Over there I ran trembling,
Over there I ran trembling,
For bows and arrows pursued me,
Many bows were on my trail.
PinMy Arizona
VIII
In the reddish glow of the nightfall,
In the reddish glow of the nightfall.
I return to my burrow
About which the flowers bloom.
With the four eagle feathers,
With the four eagle feathers,
I stir the air. When I turn
My magic power is crossed.
Pima, Arizona
IX
This my wish, my burning desire,
That in the season of slumber
Thy spirit my soul may inspire,
A star-dweller,
Heaven-guest,
Soul-awakener,
Bird from covert calling,
Where forest champions stand.
There roamed I too with Laka,
Of Lea and Loa, a wilderness child;
On ridge, in forest boon companion she
To the heart that throbbed in me.
O Laka, O Laka,
Hark to my call!
You approach, it is well;
You possess me, I am blessed 1
Hawaii
X
A PRAYER To KANE
Now, Kane, approach, illumine the altar;
Stoop, and enlighten mortals below;
Rejoice in the gifts I have brought.
Wreathed goddess fostered by Kapo — •
Hail Kapo, of beauty resplendent!
Great Kapo, of sea and land,
The topmost stay and anchoring line.
Kapo sits in her darksome covert;
On the terrace, at Mo-o-he-lala,
Stands the god-tree of Ku, on Mauna-loa.
God Kaulana-ula twigs now mine ear,
His whispered suggestion to me is
This payment, sacrifice, offering,
Tribute of praise to thee, O Kapo divine.
Inspiring spirit in sleep, answer my call.
Behold, of Ichua bloom of Kaana
The women are stringing enough
To enwreathe goddess Kapo;
Kapo, great queen of that island,
Of the high and the low.
The day of revealing shall see what it sees:
A seeing of facts, a sifting of rumors,
An insight won by the black sacred awa,
A vision like that of a god!
O Kapo, return!
Return and abide in your altar!
Make it fruitful!
Lo, here is the water,
The water of life!
Hail, now, to thee!
Hawaii
XI
THE CHANT OF THE SYMBOLIC COLORS
With what shall the little ones adorn their bodies, as they
tread the path of life? it has been said, in this house.
The crimson color of the God of Day who sitteth in the
heavens,
They shall make to be their sacred color, as they go forth
upon life's journey.
Verily, the god who reddens the heavens as he approaches,
They shall make to be their sacred color, as they go forth
upon life's journey.
When they adorn their bodies with the crimson hue shed
by that God of Day,
Then shall the little ones make themselves to be free from
all causes of death, as they go forth upon life's journey.
What shall the people use for a symbolic plume? they said
to one another, it has been said, in this house.
Verily, the God who always comes out at the beginning of
day,
Has at his right side
A beam of light that stands upright like a plume.
That beam of light shall the people make to be their sacred
plume.
When they make of that beam of light their sacred plume,
Then their sacred plume shall never droop for want of
strength as they go forth upon life's journey.
What shall they place as a pendant upon his breast? they
said to one another.
The shell of the mussel who sitteth upon the earth,
They shall place as a pendant upon his breast.
It is as the God of Day who in the heavens,
Close to their breast they shall verily press this god;
As a pendant upon his breast they shall place this god.
Then shall the little ones become free from all causes of
death, as they go forth upon life's journey.
Verily, at that time and place, it has been said, in this
house,
They said to one another: What shall the people place
upon his wrists?
It is a bond spoken of as the captive's bond,
That they shall place upon his wrists.
Verily, it is not a captive's bond,
That is spoken of,
But it is a soul
That they shall place upon his wrists.
Verily at that time and place, it has been said, in this house,
They said to one another: What is he upon whom a girdle
is to be placed?
Verily, it is not a captive that is spoken of,
It is a spirit upon whom they will place a girdle, they said,
it has been said, in this house.
Verily at that time and place, it has been said, in this house,
They said to one another: What is he upon whose feet these
moccasins are to be placed?
It is a captive
Upon whose feet these moccasins are to be placed.
Verily, it is not a captive that is spoken of,
It is a spirit
Upon whose feet these moccasins are to be placed, they
said, it has been said, in this house.
Osage, Oklahoma
XII
PRIEST'S PRAYER TO PUPIL ABOUT TO BE ADMITTED TO
INSTRUCTION
By the occult powers of the dark, of the light, ages —
Such powers as thou, O Rongo-marae-roa (god of peace),
can exert.
Be fruitful, be plentiful, give the great and enduring power
to remove all evil —
The inherent original power, unto me, unto this one.
Be fruitful thy knowledge as also the love of it,
Be fruitful as the learned high priests of old,
Be fruitful thy memory, as the all-knowing gods,
Be fruitful of all things outside, as far as the thoughts may
extend,
Be fruitful of knowledge of the Sacred Heavens —
Of the Heavens where first arose the priests,
To the distant Heavens, to those divided from the upper-
most Heavens,
O lo-e.
Disclose thy way with the ancient and erudite,
The way of the Gods, O lo-the-origin-of -all-things!
Cause to descend without and beyond —
To descend within these pupils, these sons;
(That their memories may acquire the support of the gods)
The ancient learning, the occult learning,
By thee, O lo-e.
Grow, grow, as young sprouts, shooting up like spreading
leaves
The ardent desire towards thee, O Tane-the-life-giving!
Descend thy spirit into thy offspring, O Tane, O Rua-tau!
Inform (their minds with the spirit) of Tane-the-all-know-
ing-of-Heaven,
With a matured memory, a god's memory, with thoughts
of thy ascent.'
(Hold all within) thy god-like memory,
Be fixed, hold fast, at the back of your strenuous desire —
Firmly affix to the inception of thought, thy ardent wishes,
To the ancient origin of thy offspring, O Pai! O Tane!
Enter deeply, enter to the very origins,
Into the very foundations of all knowledge,
O lo-the-hidclen-face!
Gather as in a great and lengthy net, in the inner recesses
of the ears,
As also in the desire, and perseverance, of these thy off-
spring, thy sons.
Descend on them thy memory, thy knowledge,
Rest within the heart, within the roots of origin;
O Io~the-learned! O lo-the-determined!
O lo-the-self-created!
Maori, New Zealand
XIII
As my eyes
Search
The prairie
The prairie
I feel the summer in the spring.
Ojibwa
XIV
YELLOW BUTTERFLIES
Yellow butterflies
Over the blossoming, virgin corn,
With pollen-spotted faces
Chase one another in brilliant throng.
Blue butterflies
Over the blossoming virgin beans
With pollen-painted faces
Chase one another in brilliant throng.
Over the blossoming corn,
Over the virgin corn
Wild bees hum;
Over the blossoming beans,
Over the virgin beans
Wild bees hum.
Over your field of growing corn,
All day shall hang the thundercloud,
Over your field of growing beans
All day shall come the rushing rainl
Ho pi, Arizona
XV
THE LAND Is ON FIRE
A burst of smoke from the pit lifts to the skies;
Hawaii's beneath, birth-land of Keawe;
Malama's beach looms before Lohiau,
Where landed the chief from Kahiki,
From a voyage on the blue sea, the dark sea,
The foam-mottled sea of Kane,
What time curled waves of the king-whelming flood.
The sea upswells, invading the land —
Lo Kane, outstretched at his ease!
Smoke and flame o'ershadow the uplands,
Conflagration by Laka, the woman
Hopoe wreathed with flowers of lehua,
Stringing the pandanus fruit.
Screw-palms that clash in Pan-ewa —
Pan-ewa, whose groves of lehua
Are nourished by lava shag,
Lehua that bourgeons with flame.
Night, it is night
O'er Puna and Hilo!
Night from the smoke of my land!
For the people salvation!
But the land is on fire!
Hawaii
XVI
THE LAND Is PARCHED AND BURNING
The land is parched and burning,
The land is parched and burning;
Going and looking about me
A narrow strip of green I see
Yet I do not know surely,
Yet I do not know surely:
The harlot is here among us —
I go away toward the west.
The shadow of crooked mountain,
The curved and pointed shadow,
'Twas there that I heard the singing,
Heard the songs that harmed my heart.
The light glow of the evening,
The light glow of the evening
Comes, as the quails fly slowly,
And it settles on the young.
Pima, Arizona
XVII
THE BRIGHT DAWN APPEARS IN THE HEAVENS
The bright dawn appears in the heavens,
The bright dawn appears in the heavens;
And the paling pleiades grow dim,
The moon is lost in the rising sun.
With the women bluebird came running,
With the women bluebird came running.
All came carrying clouds on their heads
And these were seen shaking as they danced.
See there the gray spider magician,
See there the gray spider magician;
Who ties the sun while the moon rolls on.
Turn back, the green staff raising higher.
Pima, Arizona
XVIII
THE WILD GINGER PLANT
Its stem bends as its leaves shoot up,
Down to its root it bends and sways,
Bends and sways in diverse ways;
Its leaves are chafed and lose their stiffness:
On craggy Inas it is blown about,
On craggy Inas which is our home.
Blown about in the light breeze,
Blown about with the mist, blown about with the haze,
Blown about are its shoots,
Blown about in the haze of the mountain,
Blown about in the light breeze.
It nods and nods upon the mountains,
Mountains of Beching, mountains of Inas,
Mountains of Malau, mountains of Kuwi,
Mountains of Mantan, mountains of Lumu,
On every mountain which is our home.
Negrito, Malay Peninsula
XIX
FAREWELL TO OUR LAND
Introduction
Weep for the mountains, O Teivirau!
For friends left behind in the land.
Oh, tliose pleasant hills — -
The long range of mountains at home.
Foundation
Lights are seen by Teivi' o'er the white-crested waves,
Intended for thy guidance.
Why venture so far out to sea?
The island is lessening in the distance.
Darkness o'erspreads the ocean.
The king is lost to sight in the waves!
First Offshoot
Weep for the well-known mountain tops,
Now hidden by the swelling waves; —
Though hidden they are covered with verdure,
Pouekakeariki is lost to view;
Stretching towards the east,
With a smooth summit and coconut tree.
Oh7 those pleasant hills,
The long range of mountains at home!
Second Offshoot
How lofty those distant hills,
Lying piled one above another I
How vast are they!
Weep for the sight of Tongarei,
And its precipitous sides.
Oh, those pleasant hills on the west,
The long range of mountains at homel
Third Offshoot
Smoke is rising from the hills;
The mountain ranges are on fire I
The fierce heat is felt on the ocean ;
The blaze is extending all around:
All Mangaia is on flames!
Oh, those pleasant hills on the south,
The long range of mountains at home!
Fourth Offshoot
Taa has gained the shore in the dark.
In the starless night he was preserved.
The "shark-godn was his protector,
And Kereteki too, to save him from
All monsters of the deep, and to bring him to shore.
Oh, the far-extending reef at our home!
Finale
Ai e ruaoo el E rangai el
Mangaia, Polynesia
Chapter XIII
ANALYSIS OF REALITY AND THE EXTERNAL WORLD
IN the first part of this book we were primarily con-
cerned with the general attitude of primitive man
toward life and society. More particularly we were
interested in his conception of the nature of man's
relation to man, of his relation to the social world
in which he lived and to the external world around
him. We could only incidentally touch upon two pre-
liminary problems, his analysis of the world and his
analysis of human personality. Though we were able
to show that he was able, when called upon, to form-
ulate an ethical theory in fairly abstract terms, we have
as yet had no occasion to broach the larger and more
important question as to whether he ever speculated on
the major problems of philosophy, and whether this
'speculation could justifiably be considered to spring
from the same motives that presumably ours does,
namely, an interest in knowledge and speculation for
its own sake. This is what we shall attempt to do in
part here, although we shall have to confine ourselves
to only a few of the numerous questions that arise.
No notion of primitive man's concept of the external
world, his analysis of himself, of the nature of the
godhead, etc., is possible unless it be recognized that,
as among us, there exist, roughly speaking, two general
types of temperament: the man of action and the
thinker, the type which lives fairly exclusively on what
might be called a motor level and the type that de-
mands explanations and derives pleasure from some
form of speculative thinking. I would like to stress
this point particularly although I am well aware that
most ethnologists have always worked on this assump-
tion, because there still exists a very marked tendency
both among laymen and scholars in general to deny
any such differentiation for primitive man. This denial
has, indeed, received a classical expression in the fa-
mous work of the French philosopher Levy-Bruhl en-
titled Les Fonctions Mentales dans les Soci&tes In-
ftrieures.
In this lucid and remarkable work M. Levy-Bruhl
contends that no primitive man can properly distin-
guish between subject and object, that the relation be-
tween them predicated by him does not constitute what
we would call a logical relation, but rather one which
can be best described by a term he has introduced into
anthropological literature, participation mystique.
Primitive man, according to Levy-Bruhl, never in his
thinking reaches the logical stage at all. His mentality
is always prelogical. If this were true, then of course
we should not expect to find the differentiation that I
have predicated but we ought to find instead a type of
man, or types of men who were almost exclusively men
of action with logically undifferentiated thinking
powers.
There is, however, no warrant for M. Levy-BruhPs
contention. For its refutation the reader will not have
to rely upon either my word or that of any other eth-
nologist or observer, but on the ample and incontro-
vertible evidence that primitive man can himself fur-
nish and part of which will be found in the ensuing
pages.
With this fundamental division into two contrasting
types of temperament we must then begin. As among
ourselves the man of action predominates overwhelm-
ingly. But this predomination carries with it a far
greater significance among primitive people than among
us for the very simple reason that the population in
any specific group is so small. Barring some of the
African tribes and the ancient civilizations of Mexico,
Central America, and Peru, it is and was exceedingly
rare to have any tribe numbering 100,000. With the
same type of distribution holding for them that holds
for us, it would be ridiculous to expect a large per-
centage of thinkers. And to this we must add the well-
known fact that neither the man of action nor the
thinker has much understanding of and still less sym-
pathy for the other, for which the reasons are per-
fectly transparent.
Let me, however, describe more accurately what I
understand by these types. The man of action,
broadly characterized, is oriented toward the object,
interested primarily in practical results, and indifferent
to the claims and stirrings of his inner self. He recog-
nizes them but he dismisses them shortly, granting
them no validity either in influencing his actions or in
explaining them. The thinker, on the other hand,
although he, too, is definitely desirous of practical re-
sults— and for cultural reasons this holds to a far more
marked extent among primitive people than among
us — is nevertheless impelled by his whole nature to
spend a considerable time in analyzing his subjective
states and attaches great importance both to their
influence upon his actions and to the explanations he
has developed.
The former is satisfied that the world exists and that
things happen. Explanations are of secondary conse-
quence. He is ready to accept the first one that comes
to hand. At bottom it is a matter of utter indifference.
He does, however, show a predilection for one type of
explanation as opposed to another. Tie prefers an
explanation in which the purely mechanical relation
between a series of events is specifically stressed. His
mental rhythm — if I may be permitted to use this
term — is characterized by a demand for endless repeti-
tion of the same event or, at best, of events all of
which are on the same general level. Change for him
means essentially some abrupt transformation. Mo-
notony holds no terrors for him. Among primitive
people his mentality is indelibly written over the vast
majority of myths and magical incantations. Indeed it
is because of its great prominence in myths and in-
cantations that many observers have, not altogether
unjustly, regarded his mental rhythm as the character-
istic feature of primitive culture.
Now the rhythm of the thinker is quite different.
The postulation of a mechanical relation between
events does not suffice. He insists on a description
couched either in terms of a gradual progress and
evolution from one to many and from simple to com-
plex, or on the postulation of a cause and effect rela-
tion. In other words some type of coordination is
imperatively demanded.
To illustrate the two types of rhythm I shall select
portions of a number of myths, the first representing
that of the man of action and the others that of the
thinker. The first myth runs as follows:
A man once lived together with his younger brother and
one day he said to him, "Younger brother, you need never
fear anything for I am the only holy being in existence
and I am very powerful here on earth."
Shortly after this all the spirits held a council to deter-
mine what was to be done with the one who had made this
claim and it was decided that he was to be punished and
that the water spirits were to mete out the punishment. The
older brother, Holy-One, knew nothing about this.
One day his younger brother did not return home and
Holy-One waited and waited but he did not appear. So
he went in search of him. During his search he wept and
wherever he stopped to weep a great lake was formed from
his tears. Whenever he sobbed the hills tumbled down and
became valleys.
In his search he came across the wolf. Said he to the
wolf, "Little brother, do you happen to know anything
about my brother who is lost?" The wolf answered,
" Brother, I have heard nothing about him although I travel
all over the earth." "Ah well, ah well," said Holy-One and
started to walk away. Then the wolf said, "Holy-One, it
is not my business to look after your brother." "Oh," said
Holy-One, "that's it, is it?" and he raced after him. Holy-
One soon overtook him, broke open his jaws with his bow
and killed him, saying, "I suppose you too took part in the
conspiracy against me." Then he hung him on a tree and
walked on.
As he walked along he came across the fox and addressed
him as follows: "Little brother, I feel that something has
befallen my brother. Now you are a cunning fellow, per-
haps you know something of his whereabouts." And the fox
replied, "Brother, I go all over the earth but I have not
heard anything about your brother." Then Holy-One
started to walk away, but just then the fox said, "Holy-
One, I am not supposed to be the guardian of your
brother!" and ran away. "Ah, so that is it, is it?" said
Holy-One. "I suppose you too are one of those who con-
spired against me." Then he ran after him and although
the fox ran with all his speed he overtook him, broke his
jaws open, and killed him. Then he hung his body on a
tree.
Thus he went encountering different animals. The next
one he met was the raven and he addressed him as follows:
"Little brother, you are a cunning fellow. I feel that some-
thing has happened to my brother." "Brother," answered
the raven, "I roam all over the earth and the heavens but
yet I have not seen your brother." Then as Holy-One was
about to start the raven said, "Holy-One, I am not supposed
to look after your brother." "Ah," said Holy-One, "you
little rascal, I suppose even such as you were present at
the conspiracy against me," and he knocked him down
just as he was about to fly. He pulled open his jaws and
hung him on a tree.1
In this myth we have all the traits mentioned pre-
viously as distinctive of the psychic rhythm of the man
of action, the endless repetition of events of the same
general level, the same questions, the same answers,
the same procedure. The only idea of progress dealt
with is that of transformation; dry land becomes water
and hills become valleys. Compare this with the fol-
lowing origin myth of one of the Winnebago clans and
we immediately realize that we are in the presence of
an entirely different type of mentality:
In the beginning Earthmaker was sitting in space. When
he came to consciousness nothing was there anywhere. He
began to think of what he should do and finally he began to
cry and tears flowed from his eyes and fell below him.
After a while he looked below him and saw something bright.
The bright object below him represented his tears. As they
fell they formed the present waters. When the tears flowed
below they became the seas as they are now. Earthmaker
began to think again. He thought, "It is thus: If I wish
anything it will become as I wish, just as my tears have
become seas." Thus he thought. So he wished for light
*Paul Radin, unpublished manuscript.
and it became light. Then he thought: "It is as I thought,
the things that I wished for have come into existence as I
desired." Then again he thought and wished for the earth
and this earth came into existence. Earthmaker looked at
the earth and he liked it; but it was not quiet. It moved
about as do the waters of the sea. Then he made the trees
and he liked them but they did not make the earth quiet.
Then he made some grass but it likewise did not cause the
earth to become quiet. Then he made rocks and stones but
still the earth was not quiet. It was however almost quiet.
Then he made the four directions and the four winds. At
the four corners of the earth he placed them as great and
powerful people, to act as island-weights. Yet still the
earth was not quiet. Then he made four large beings and
threw them down toward the earth and they pierced through
the earth with their heads eastward. They were snakes.
Then the earth became very still and quiet. Then he
looked at the earth and he liked it.
Then again he thought of how it was that things came
into being just as he desired. Then for the first time he
began to talk and he said, "As things are just as I wish
them I shall make a being in my own likeness." So he
took a piece of clay and made it like himself. Then he
talked to what he had created but it did not answer, He
looked at it and saw that it had no mind or thought. So he
made a mind for it. Again he talked to it but it did not
answer. So he looked at it again and saw that it had no
tongue. Then he made it a tongue. Then he spoke to it
but still it did not answer. He looked at it and saw that it
had no soul So he made it a soul. Then he talked to it
again and it very nearly said something, but it could not
make itself intelligible. So Earthmaker breathed into its
mouth and then talked to it and it answered.2
Now this is obviously the expression of a tempera-
ment craving for a logical coordination and integration
of events. The creation of the earth is pictured as a
physical accident. Once in existence, however, the
deity infers that it came into being through his thought
and thereupon he creates everything else. Explanation
and progress there must be and the explanation must be
in terms of a gradual progression. In the case of
the shaping of our present world it is in terms of the
evolution from motion to rest, from instability to sta-
bility and fixity; in the case of the development of hu-
man consciousness it is in terms of a specific endow-
ment of newly created man first with thought, then
with the mechanism for speech, with the soul, and
finally with intelligence.
How very far the thinker among primitive people
can push this urge toward analysis and synthesis is
reflected in the following remarkable poem of the
Maori. It is an account of the creation of life:
Seeking, earnestly seeking in the gloom. Searching — yes
on the coast line — on the bounds of night and day; looking
into night. Night had conceived the seed of night. The
heart, the foundation of night, had stood forth self-existing
even in the gloom. It grows in gloom — the sap and succu-
2 Paul Radin, ayth Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology,
p. 212.
lent parts, the life pulsating, and the cup of life. The
shadows screen the faintest ray of light. The procreative
power, the ecstasy of life first known, and joy of issuing
forth from silence into sound. Thus the progeny of the
Great-Extending filled the heaven's expanse; the chorus
of life rose and swelled into ecstasy, then rested in bliss of
calm and quiet.3
I must even at the risk of overstressing my point
give an explanation of what represents, to all intents
and purposes, a compromise between the thinker's and
the man of action's temperament, but a compromise
that is exceedingly frequent, selecting for this purpose
the creation legend of the Maidu:
When this world was filled with water, Earthmaker
floated upon it, kept floating about. Nowhere in the world
could he see even a tiny bit of earth. No persons of any
kind flew about. He went about in this world, the world
itself being invisible, transparent like the sky.
He was troubled. "I wonder how, I wonder where, I
wonder in what place, in what country, we shall find a
world!" he said. "You are a very strong man, to be think-
ing of this world," said Coyote. "I am guessing in what
direction the world is, then to that distant land let us
float!" said Earthmaker.
In this world they kept floating along, hungry, having
nothing to eat. "You will die of hunger," said Coyote.
Then he thought. "No, I cannot think of anything," he
* J. C. Anderson, Maori Life in Aotea, p. 150.
said. "Well," said Earthmaker, "the world is large, a great
world. If somewhere I find a tiny world, I can fix it up."
Then he sang, "Where, little world, art thou?" It is
said he sang, kept singing, sang all the time. "Enough!" he
said, and stopped singing. "Well, I don't know many
songs,'7 he said. Then Coyote sang again, kept singing,
asking for the world, singing, "Where, O world, art thou?"
He sang, kept singing, then "Enough," he said, "I am tired.
You try again."
So Earthmaker sang. "Where are you, my great moun-
tains?" he said. "You try also," he said. Coyote tried,
kept singing, "My foggy mountains, where one goes about,"
he said. "Well, we shall see nothing at all. I guess there
never was a world anywhere," said he. "I think if we find
a little world, I can fix it very well," said Earthmaker.
As they floated along, they saw something like a bird's
nest. "Well, that is very small," said Earthmaker. "It is
small. If it were larger, I could fix it. But it is too small.
I wonder how I can stretch it a little!" "What is the best
way? How shall I make it larger?" So saying, he pre-
pared it.
When all (the ropes) were stretched, he said, "Well,
sing, you who were the finder of this earth, this mud! 'In
the long, long ago, Robin-Man made the world, stuck earth
together, making this world.' " Then Robin sang and his
world-making song sounded sweet. After the ropes were
all stretched, he kept singing; then, after a time, he ceased.
Then Earthmaker spoke to Coyote also. "Do you sing
too," he said. So he sang, singing, "My world, where one
travels by the valley edge; my world of many foggy moun-
tains; my world, where one goes zigzagging hither and
thither, range after range," he said. "I sing of the country
I shall travel in. In such a world I shall wander."
Then Earthmaker sang — sang of the world he had made,
kept singing, until by and by he ceased. "Now," he said,
"it would be well if the world were a little larger. Let us
stretch it!"— "Stop!" said Coyote. "I speak wisely. This
world ought to be painted with something, so that it may
look pretty. What do ye two think?"
Then Robin-Man said, "I am one who knows nothing.
Ye two are clever men, making the world, talking it over;
if ye find anything evil, ye will make it good." "Very
well," said Coyote, "I shall paint it with blood. There
shall be blood in the world; and people shall be born there
having blood. There shall be birds born who shall have
blood. Everything shall have blood that is to be created
in this world. And in another place, making it red, there
shall be red rocks. It will be as if blood were mixed up
with the world, and thus the world will be beautiful," he
said. "What do you think about it?" "Your words are
good," he said, "I know nothing." So Robin-Man went
off. As he went he said, "I shall be a person who travels
only in this way," and he flew away.4
The same contrast in viewpoint is visible in the
domain of religious beliefs. There we find the thought
of the man of action concrete and unintegrated, that
of the thinker coordinated, unified, and at times ab-
4 Roland B. Dixon, Maddu Texts (American Ethnological Society),
IV, pp. 4^.
stract. Thus among the Winnebago the sun is re-
garded by the man of action as composed of a number
of separate entities — the disk, the heat, the rays, the
corona; for the thinker these are all aspects of one and
the same thing. Similarly in the same tribe the clan
ancestors were regarded by the man of action as either
animals or as vague spirit-animals who had become
transformed into human beings at one time, whereas
the thinker postulated a generalized spirit-animal to
whom the Winnebago are related through the inter-
mediation of animals sent by them. Among the Da-
kota Indians the contrast is pushed much farther.
What the ordinary man regards as eight distinct dei-
ties, the priest and thinker takes to be aspects of one
and the same deity.
If consequently we wish adequately to understand
primitive man's concept of the external world we must
bear in mind carefully the existence of these two
temperaments, for the external world will be described
differently depending upon the person from whom our
information has been obtained. And these differences
are fundamental for they concern the concept of the
actual nature of the external world, its form, configura-
tion, appearance, its origin, the proofs of its existence,
and its relation to us. Throughout these pages I shall
therefore, as far as the evidence permits, try to keep
the testimony of these two contrasting temperaments
distinct. Let us first examine the viewpoint of the
man of action.
In one sense it is quite erroneous to speak of the
concept of the external world of the man of action if
we mean to imply thereby that it is ever made the ob-
ject of his conscious thought. Strictly speaking he
has none. In the main he unhesitatingly accepts the
form which the thinker has given to ideas. This holds
more particularly for all those questions connected with
the shape, configuration, and origin of the world around
him. The man of action follows the lead of the
thinker or at least repeats somewhat mechanically what
the thinker has to say on these matters because his
interests are centered not upon the analysis of reality
but upon the orientation of reality and the proofs for
its existence. Much of the indefiniteness, the vague-
ness, and the inconsistency in his characterization of
the phenomenal world, can be safely ascribed to this
type of interest on his part. Among the Winnebago
the sun is represented either by rays of light, a disk,
or as some vague anthropomorphic being; the thunder-
bird as an eagle, a mythical bird, or as a bald-headed
man wearing a circlet of cedar leaves. Similarly among
the Ewe of West Africa the various spirits grouped
under the generic name of tro are vaguely described as
invisible but yet as having hands and feet resembling
human beings, etc. Their shape is continually chang-
ing. In the Banks' Islands, again, the natives told
Bishop Codrington that the spirits called vw, live,
think, have more intelligence than man, have no form
to be seen and have no soul.
When we try to discover what are the connotations
for the man of action, of such simple things as a tree,
a mountain, a lake, etc., similar difficulties immediately
arise. The first positive fact that emerges when we
attempt to make such an inquiry is that an object is
not thought of as the sum of all the sense data con-
nected with it. A mountain is not thought of as a
unified whole. It is neither static nor is it a series of
inherently connected impressions. It is a continually
changing entity from which one is repeatedly subtract-
ing and to which one is repeatedly adding. In the case
of the idea of a tree this lack of unification is of course
even more marked. To talk of a tree being the same
when it is constantly undergoing transformations is
based on an assumption which the man of action simply
does not make. We may, in fact, even go farther and
claim that he does not in the least see the absolute
necessity, for instance, of assuming that an acorn con-
tains all the potentialities of an oak, or that the shape
and appearance of some specific object, even granted
that it retains this shape and appearance more or less
permanently, is inevitably and indubitably its ultimate
form. He conceives the possibility of imagining it hav-
ing an entirely different appearance on the following
day.
As far as we can judge, therefore, for the man of
action in a primitive community, the external world
is dynamic and ever changing. So much his experi-
ence tells him. He refuses to state categorically or to
assume even provisionally that it is permanent merely
because his past and his present experience have shown
it to be so. Since he sees the same objects changing
in appearance day after day he regards this as defi-
nitely depriving them of immutability and permanence.
Now this is really tantamount to saying that all the
attributes of an object are not outside of the perceiver,
that the object cannot be adequately defined in terms
of sense data alone. However, as soon as an object is
regarded as a dynamic entity, then analysis and defini-
tion become both difficult and unsatisfactory. Think-
ing is under such circumstances well-nigh impossible
for most people. To think at all logically, no matter
how concretistic the thought may be, there must be
some static point. Where, now, are we to look for this
point? The man of action answers, in its effect. Then
an object becomes completely separated, even though
it be only for a short time, from all other objective
elements as well as from the perceiving self. A deity,
for example, is his effect, an object is essentially its
relation to man. Reality, in other words, is pragmatic.
That the above analysis is not an imaginary one of my
own the following examples will prove: "The god
of whom I speak is dead," said a Maori witness in a
native land court of New Zealand. The court replied,
"Gods do not die." "You are mistaken," continued the
witness, "Gods do die unless there are tohungas
(priests) to keep them alive." 5 And in one of the
Maori myths one deity is represented as addressing an-
other deity in the following fashion: "When men no
longer believe in us, we are dead." A Fiji Islander
told an investigator that "a thing has mana when it
6 J. Gudgeon, Journal oj the Polynesian Society, XV, pp.
works; it has not mana when it doesn't work." In
Eddystone Island it was said of a certain native that
he was a spirit, a deity, when he said, "Go, for you will
catch fish," and he caught fish. Then he possessed
mana. But if he was not successful then he had no
mana. Perhaps the most convincing proof is given by
the example quoted on page 30.
What functions, therefore, is true and what functions
exists. Yet, what are we to understand by functioning,
by a happening? I feel certain that our man of action
would not deny that events take place between two
objects outside of him and which in no way affect him,
but it is a matter that hardly interests him. An event
means essentially something that transpires between
an object and himself. We have therefore to ask our-
selves, how can he recognize an event?
Now we are accustomed to derive all our proof for
the existence of a thing from the evidence of our senses.
The cultured man of Western Europe is, in the main,
as we all know, visual-minded. That some inward
feeling or stirring, some sudden and vague sensation or
intuition, might be taken as real proof for the existence
of an event would not occur to him. Not that any one
to-day seriously denies the reality of such inward ex-
periences. We all know that certain religions take the
presence of an inward response as proving the existence
of God and of specific dogmas. But no one of us,
as far as I am aware, would seriously contend that
an inward experience — the presence of an inward thrill
— could establish the reality of the whole cultural back-
ground. Yet this is precisely what does happen in
primitive culture, for the man of action. Why, so he
would contend, should something affect him in this way,
if it were not true — an argument well known, of course,
among us. This is to him as much of a real proof as
anything happening outside of him.
It can, therefore, be said that primitive man feels
that reality is given to him in a threefold fashion. He
is born into it; it is proved by external effects; and it
is proved by internal effects. He is thus literally living
in a blaze of reality. This is more particularly true of
the man of action. An aura envelops every object in
the external world due to the projection of this inward
thrill upon it. It is difficult for one brought up in the
scientific externalism of the natural sciences of the
nineteenth century to visualize or appreciate this
heightened atmosphere in which primitive man works.
Perhaps the best he can do is to follow a philosopher
like Levy-Bruhl, and develop a theory of prelogicai
mentality and mystic participation. Yet both of these
conceptions are, I feel, far from the mark. Primitive
man in no sense merges himself with the object. He
distinguishes subject and object quite definitely. In
fact the man of action spends a good part of his time in
attempting to coerce the object. What he says is
simply this: not all the reality of an object resides in
our external perception of it. There is an internal
side and there are also effects, constraints, from sub-
happens must happen and in happening proves itself to
ject to object and from object to subject. Whatever
be a reality; not the only reality necessarily, but the
only one with which the man of action has any imme-
diate concern.
After this long and rather difficult analysis of the
nature of reality and the external world, as understood
by the man of action, and one which is never well
formulated because it is that of the man of action, let
us turn to the analysis made by the thinker, remember-
ing always that he shares many of the basic views of
the man of action.
The first point to be emphasized is that the stresses
are all different. From the man of action's viewpoint,
a fact has no symbolic or static value. He predicates
no unity beyond that of the certainty of continuous
change and transformation. For him a double distor-
tion is involved in investing the transitory and cease-
lessly changing object with a symbolic, idealistic, or
static significance; first, because we then remove it
farther from reality; and second, because in thus sep-
arating the perceiving self from the object, we really
render both of them meaningless. Now it goes without
saying that in order to think systematically facts must
have some degree of symbolic meaning; they must be
static and there must be a fairly clear-cut distinction
between the ego and the external object. Every thinker
must, in other words, study the subject and the object
as though they were isolated units.
The thinker, like the man of action, accepts both the
ego and the external world — the phenomenal as well
as the social — as to a very marked extent self-condi-
tioned. But he is not interested merely in the fact
that the world exists and that it has a definite effect
upon him; he is impelled by his whole nature, by the
innate orientation of his mind, to try to discover the
reason why there is an effect, what is the nature of
the relation between the ego and the world, and what
part exactly the perceiving self plays therein. Like all
philosophers, he is interested in the subject as such, the
object as such, and the relations between them. In
the external world, as within himself, he is aware of
movement and the shifting forms of things. He is as
much impressed by this as is the man of action. But
the world must first be static and objects must first
take on a permanent or, at least, a stable form before
one can deal with them systematically. Both these
tasks he therefore sets out to achieve. The attempts
of these primitive thinkers are embodied in numerous
creation myths, examples of which are given on pages
354$. There we see that the task is always the
same — an original, moving, shapeless or undifferenti-
ated world must be brought to rest and given stable
form. This unstable and undifferentiated primal con-
dition is remarkably well formulated in the cosmologi-
cal myths of the Polynesians. Let me mention but
one of variant versions of the Maori creation myth.
There, for example, we find described six aeons of
darkness:
1. Te Po-tamaku (the age smoothed off).
2. Te Po-kakarauri (the age of extreme darkness).
3. Te Po-aoao-nui (the age of great dawn).
4. Te Pouriuri (the age of deep black darkness).
5. Te Po-kerikeri (the age of darkness).
6. Te Po-tiwhatiwha (the age of gloom).8
And surely the following is a perfect description of
instability:
Because Rangi-nui overlaid and completely covered Papa-
tua-nuku, the growth of all things could not mature, nor
could anything bear fruit; they were in an unstable condi-
tion, floating about the world of darkness. And this was
their appearance: some were crawling after the manner of
lizards, some were upright with the arms held up, some
were lying with the knees partly drawn up, some lying on
their sides, some were lying stretched out at full length, some
on their backs, some were stooping, some with their heads
bent down, some with their legs drawn up, some embracing,
some kicking out with legs and arms, some kneeling, some
standing, some inhaling deep breaths, some with exhausted
breath, some crawling, some walking, some feeling about in
the dark, some arising, some gazing, some sitting still, and
in many other attitudes — they were all within the embrace
of Rangi-nui and Papa.7
But having made the world static and given objects
a form is not enough. This form must be made reason-
ably permanent. This problem likewise our primitive
eS. Percy Smith, "The Lore of the Whare-Wananga," Memoirs of
the Polynesian Society, III, pp. 99-100.
7 Ibid., pp. 117-118.
philosophers attacked. I shall illustrate the nature of
their attempts at solution by examples taken from two
tribes, the Winnebago and the Maori.
According to the Winnebago no organic objects had
any permanent form originally. They were all a sort
of tertium quid, neutral beings, that could at will trans-
form themselves into human beings or spirit-animals.
At one particular period in the history of the world
these neutral beings decided to use all this unlimited
power of transformation in order to change themselves
definitely into either animals or human beings. That
accordingly happened and since then animals have
remained animals and human beings human beings,
except that there are a few human beings who still
possess the power of transforming themselves, for short
periods of time, into animals.
The Maori solution is quite different. The capacity
for unlimited transformation credited to objects among
the Winnebago was an unknown concept to the Maori,
but they in their turn raised an entirely different
problem. All things^ they insisted, contain within
themselves elements of both good and evil and it is es-
sential to have some control over them lest in their
mutual reactions they nullify each other. Good and
evil are here thought of in the most general way, in
the sense of predicating for each thing inherent proper
and positive qualities. In order to achieve this con-
trol, certain supernatural beings called guardians were
appointed. They were to watch over everything, pre-
vent quarrels and all interferences, and confine each
thing to its own proper activities. There were eleven
of such guardians whose functions may be described
as follows:
1. Those who controlled the place where the souls of the
dead congregated.
2. Those who controlled the suspension of the heavenly
bodies, the leading stars of the various realms, and
the stars of the Milky Way.
3. Those whose duty it was to maintain the arrangement
of all ocean currents and other things connected with
the sea.
4. Those who arranged and controlled the movements
of the winds, of the snow, of rain, of the clouds, of
mists, lightning, and thunder, lest they contend
against each other or turn on the Earth Mother and
work evil in this world.
5. Those whose duty it was to control the ravages of
disease, sickness, etc.
6. Those who were to regulate the seasons of summer
and winter, lest either be prolonged so as to cause
continual summer or continual winter.
7. Those who were appointed to control the violent
contentions of certain deities.
8. Those who were appointed to be the preservers of
all occult knowledge pertaining to the realms of
heaven and earth, etc.
9. Those who were appointed to preserve unity and
peace among themselves, to confine each to the
proper duties assigned to him, etc.
10. Those who were appointed to preserve the welfare
of all things pertaining to Punihoniho-o-tau, lest trees,
herbage, vegetation, lose their vitality, their fruitful-
ness and deteriorate and decay, or become infertile or
incapable of assimilating nourishment, or seedless;
lest fish, insects, etc., become infertile.
11. Those who were appointed to protect the powers of
tapu in respect to places where religious ceremonies
were performed, etc. ; to protect and cherish all occult
arts, declining, arranging, or supporting the attitude,
acts, and position of all things as planned.8
There exist, however, many things that manifestly
do not have permanence of form and do look different
at different times. Philosophers have always given the
same answer to this problem and predicated a unity
behind these changing aspects and forms. Primitive
philosophers are at one with their European and
Asiatic brothers here. Among the Winnebago, accord-
ing to some individuals, the clan animal is a spirit
whom you never see except in his manifestations as
a real animal, or some object he has bestowed upon
you, or some stirring within you, etc. Among the
Dakota the priests taught that one can never see the
real sky but merely one aspect of him, the blue
heavens. Similarly they claimed that we never see
the real earth and rock but only their tonwanpi, i.e.
(as nearly as one can translate the word), their divine
* Elsdon Best, "Maori Religion and Mythology," roth Bulletin of
the Dominion Museum (New Zealand), I, pp. 65-66.
semblance. Among the Maori we find the same
philosophy. Many of the deities cannot really be
seen. All we see of them is their aria, i.e., their reflec-
tions. What enables us to see a stone and what gives
it shape is not the physical stone but the soul of the
stone. The well-known authority on the Maoris, Els-
don E. Best, tells the following remarkable story: "A
missionary speaking to an old man remarked, 'Your re-
ligion is false; it teaches that all things possess a soul.'
The Maori answered, Were a thing not possessed of
the wairua of an atua, then that thing could not possess
form/ " i.e., it could not have form unless it possessed
the soul of a god. The further discussion of this unify-
ing abstract principle must be relegated to the chapter
on monotheism, pages 342 ff.
The thinker, we have thus seen, is forced in the
interests of his analysis to differentiate sharply between
the subject and the object, and their respective relation
to each other. Just as the man of action is primarily
interested in the object, so is the thinker in the subject.
The clashing of the two views is brought out most beau-
tifully in connection with one of the most famous
aspects of primitive religion, the belief in mana or
magical power. Here, too, I think we can find an ad-
mirable example of how the thinker's formulation is
more or less mechanically accepted by the others and
how its failure to merge with the man of action's atti-
tude leads to endless contradiction and confusion.
Every discussion of mana must necessarily go back
to the famous definition of Codrington: "Mana is a
force altogether distinct from physical power which
acts in all kinds of ways for good and evil and which
it is of the greatest advantage to possess and con-
trol . . . (and which) shows itself in physical force or
in any kind of power or excellence which a man pos-
sesses/'9 This has been the generally accepted view
since Codrington's time. Now quite apart from the
fact, as some investigators have already pointed out,
that Codrington's actual material contradicts such an
interpretation, it must be borne in mind that this defini-
tion of Codrington is not one given to him by a native.
It represents, on the contrary, his own interpretation of
a number of facts. He was a very keen thinker and
he is here giving us a thinker's attitude. I believe it
is also the thinker's attitude among the Melanesians,
although we have no definite proof of this.
The thinker's viewpoint on mana comes out clearly
among the Dakota and the Maori. A Dakota priest
told Mr. James Walker the following: "All the gods
have ton. Ton is the power to do supernatural
things." 10 This the native expressly states is the
priest's interpretation. "When the people say ton" he
continued, "they mean something that comes from a
living thing, such as the birth of anything or the dis-
charge from a wound or a sore or the growth from a
seed." Here, therefore, the two views are neatly con-
0 The Melanesians, pp. 118-119.
10 "The Sun Dance of the Oglala Division of the Dakota," Anthro*-
pological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, XVI,
Part II, pp. 152 ff.
trasted. But what is the essence of the priest's, the
thinker's view? Here, likewise, the Dakota material
comes to our aid. According to one of the priests, any-
thing that acquires ton is wakan because it is the power
of the spirit or the quality that has been put into it.
"Every object in the world has a spirit and that spirit
is wakan" But where does wakan come from?
"Wakan comes from the wakan beings. These wakan
beings are greater than mankind in the same way that
mankind is greater than animals. They are never born
and they never die." u
This same concept of the divine in objects and in
man we find also among the Maori. It will be dis-
cussed in greater detail in another part of the book.
All I wish to point out here is that according to the
Maori every sentient being — and therein he includes
the whole phenomenal world — possesses a toiora, i.e.
"the soul of God, of lo." This it is that gives him
power and prestige.
To bring this very cursory discussion of mana to a
close, I think we are amply justified in saying that the
two interpretations of mana which we seem to find cut-
ting across each other everywhere, represent respec-
tively the view of the thinker and of the man of action.
To the thinker it is the generalized essence of a deity
residing in an object or in man, and to the man of
action it is that which works, has activity, is an effect.
The clash of the two temperaments which we see
manifesting themselves so clearly in the mana concept
11 Ibid., pp. I53-I54-
is even more pronounced when we attempt to study the
theories postulated as to the interrelationship of the ex-
ternal world and man. Two entirely different ideas of
the nature of this relation and of the reaction of the
one upon the other have been developed. These will be
touched upon in the following chapters. But before
we can really properly understand or appreciate these
ideas, it is essential to obtain some notion of the con-
cept of the ego, of the perceiving self, as held by the
thinker.
Chapter XIV
THE NATURE OF THE EGO AND OF HUMAN
PERSONALITY
IT may be confidently assumed that just as there are
differences between the man of action and the
thinker in his attitude toward the external world and
his concept of reality, so there must be a marked con-
trast between their respective ideas concerning the
nature of the Ego and of human personality. In the
present condition of our sources it is impossible, except
in the most general way, to keep the two apart con-
sistently. I think we are on fairly safe ground, however,
in assuming that none of the very remarkable formula-
tions with which we will specifically deal in this chapter
— those of the Maori of New Zealand, the Oglala Sioux,
and the Batak of Sumatra — are the work of the man
of action or that such a man, if questioned, would be
able to give us an account even remotely as unified
and consistent as these in question. Many of the ideas
centering around personality and human relations and
involving magic are obviously shared by the man of
action and the thinker. But the thinker gives them a
specific orientation and a definite formulation which is
then inconsistently adopted by the man of action. This
seems to me to be clearly illustrated by many of the
25?
"theories" of disease, of death, of the soul, of the
nature of human attraction, etc., current among all
tribes. In general it may be claimed that the thinker
employs the vast mass of folkloristic and magical be-
liefs clustering around the Ego and personality, to de-
velop a more or less definite system of psychotherapy.
Let me give a number of examples to make clear what
I mean by this very important function of the thinker,
a function that shows itself in connection with many
aspects of primitive culture but which is perhaps best
seen here.
Among the Maori a charm is recited over the corpse
prior to burial in order to dispatch the soul to spirit
land and to prevent it from remaining in the world to
annoy and frighten the living. Practices of this nature
are to be found among all peoples. What interests us,
in this particular case, however, are the actual words
of the charm. These run as follows: "Farewell, O
my child! Do not grieve; do not weep; do not love;
do not yearn for your parent left by you in the world.
Go ye for ever. Farewell for ever."1
Here what in origin was a mere magical incantation
to assure the definite and complete separation of the
dead from the living has been invested with a psychi-
cal side. In other words, the mere physical separation
that presumably was attained by the simple recitation
of a charm did not satisfy every one. A psychical sepa-
ration had likewise to be provided, and this we may
*Elsdon Best, "Spiritual and Mental Concepts of the Maori,"
Dominion Museum Monograph No. 2 (New Zealand), p. 12.
infer was the work of the thinker. This psychothera-
peutic side to magic has been overlooked by most stu-
dents of ethnology and yet it could be easily demon-
strated that not to recognize it means a failure to un-
derstand certain fundamental aspects of the primitive
psyche. Another example, also taken from the Maori,
brings out even more strikingly what I have in mind.
Among the Maori divorce consists of two parts, the
external ritual, a kind of legal pronouncement that the
two people concerned are no longer man and wife, and
a second part which has as its object the obliteration
of the sympathy and affection that once bound these
two together. As the Maori priest told Mr. Best, our
informant, "The priest effaced the affections — that is,
he cleansed or washed away the semblance of such;
he abolished it."2
But to return to our main problem: how does primi-
tive man regard the Ego? It may at once be said that
one thing he has never done: he has never fallen into
the error of thinking of it as a unified whole or of
regarding it as static. For him it has always been a
dynamic entity, possessed of so many constituents that
even the thinker has been unable to fuse them into one
unit. If what we have said about the unusual knowl-
edge and intuition of character possessed by primitive
people is true, then we might have assumed, even in the
absence of available data, that he would attempt fairly
elaborate analyses of the Ego. Fortunately we have
the facts and from their study it is quite clear that
2 Ibid., p. 21.
the Maori and the Dakota — to select only those for
whom our material is exceptionally good — look upon
the Ego as composed of two parts, a body which is rela-
tively unimportant, and an unsubstantial element made
up, in its turn, of three constituents. Some such gen-
eral formula will, I think, turn out to hold true for
all primitive peoples.
In the descriptions of primitive man's analysis of the
Ego which I shall now attempt, certain difficulties con-
front us. Few ethnologists have ever attempted to
obtain from a native any systematized account of their
own theory. It has, in fact, been generally contended
that they have none. As a result our material con-
sists of isolated statements on different aspects of the
Ego and we are perforce compelled to weld them into
a consistent or inconsistent whole — as the case may be
— in order to see their complete bearings. This, unfor-
tunately, cannot be helped. I have tried, however, to
adhere rigorously to the facts and to let the native
speak for himself wherever that is possible.
The procedure I shall follow is a very simple one:
I shall analyze the concept of the Ego and of per-
sonality of three tribes — the Maori, the Oglala Sioux,
and the Batak, and regard them as fairly representative
of that of all primitive peoples.
The Maori analysis is very complex and unusually
profound. According to them man and every sentient
thing, that is, every thing conceived of as living, con-
sists of an eternal element, an Ego which disappears
after death, a ghost shadow, and a body. The eternal
element is, as we have already mentioned, the soul of
God in man. It is called toiora. Some notion of what
is understood by this term is given by an incident in
the myth of Hine, the Earth-formed Maid. In this
myth, when she is about to acquire mortal life, we
find the sentence, "At that juncture Hine brought
herself to the world of life and also attained mortal life
with the toiora of the enduring world."3
The Ego proper consists of three things: the dy-
namic element, the life-essence or personality, and the
physiological element. The first is named mauri and
appears in two forms, an immaterial and a material.
The material mauri is the active life principle itself
whereas the immaterial mauri is its symbol. The ma-
terial mauri might be practically any object. Mr.
Best tells us that in the north of New Zealand a tree
was sometimes planted at the birth of a child and this
tree was then regarded as the child's material mauri.
The same division into immaterial and material held
for the life-essence, the hau, and apparently also for
the third constituent of the Ego, the physiological as-
pect, called manawa ora. This was translated as
breath, and breath of life, the first connoting more the
spiritual and the second the purely physical breath of
life.
In the ghost shadow, the wairua, we are dealing with
the soul strictly speaking. It is partially visible but
does not properly possess a material form until it ap-
pears in the underworld. Wairua is the ingredient
8 Ibid., pp. IO-H.
which mediates us to the external world; we would be
lifeless and would decay without it. We might possess
the life-principle and form but we could not be seen.
In the same way it is the walrua that enables us to give
form to things, to actually accomplish them. A Maori
remarked to Best, "My walrua is very intent on this
work that it may be well done."4 It is well to remem-
ber this, to realize that it is not simply with our senses
that we see and touch and think. "Be of good cheer/'
a woman was told, "although we are afar off, yet our
walrua are ever with you." And it is in the same strain
that an old Maori wrote to Best, "We have long been
parted and may not meet again in the world of life.
We can no longer see each other with our eyes, only
our walrua see each other, as also our friendship."
Although the walrua could not be destroyed, a person
could be killed through his walrua. It was easily af-
fected by magical spells. It was the walrua that was
affected when a man found himself afflicted with fear
of coming evil, with a dread of impending danger, or
if he polluted his tapu.
The walrua is thus the integrating mechanism within
us and it is exceedingly suggestive that it should be
viewed as nonaggressive.
The fundamental distinction between immaterial and
material is also illustrated by the Maori philosopher's
interpretation of the body. It is viewed from two
aspects: first, as an integrated whole, the resting place
of the toiora, walrua, maun and manawa ora with all
'Ibid., pp. Bff.
that this implies; and second, as composed of distinct
organs, the bowels, the heart, the stomach, the liver,
etc. Looked upon as a material entity it may have an
immaterial form and regarded as an immaterial entity
it may possess a material form. In other words it
possessed as an integrated unit both form and sub-
stance. The first the Maori called ahua and the second
aria. Best gives as examples of the latter two greetings
addressed to him, "Greeting to you, the ahua of your
grandchild Marewa" and "Greeting to you, the ahua
of the men of yore." As an example of the contrast
in meaning, Best quotes a Maori as follows: "I saw
clearly his bodily form (ahua) ; it is not the case that
I saw him distinctly (ana)."5 In the one case we are
dealing with the material, in the other with the imma-
terial representation.
We now come to the specifically organic aspect of the
body. The Maori had a very good knowledge of inter-
nal anatomy. Like most primitive people, however,
they did not associate the organs of the body with
physiological but rather with psychical functions. The
viscera were the seat of thought, of the mind, and of
conscience; the heart, of feelings, desires, and inclina-
tions; and the stomach, of feelings, memory, etc. In
other words the traits that we associate with person-
ality are all regarded as located in definite organs.
Such is the picture the Maori draw of the Ego. Its
most salient feature is the insistence upon multiple per-
sonality and its extension into the past and future.
6 Ibid., pp. 16-20.
Although no attempt has been made here to fuse these
various constituents into one organic whole, this does
not mean that all are not necessary before there is a
true Ego which can function. What it does signify,
however, is that these various elements can become
dissociated temporarily from the body and enter into
relation with the dissociated elements of other indi-
viduals. The nature of the impingement of individual
upon individual and of the individual upon the external
world is thus utterly different from anything that a
Western European can possibly imagine. The medley
of combinations and permutations it would permit is
quite bewildering. What prevents anarchy is that all
these constituents, independent as they are, neverthe-
less fall into a definite configuration within each man's
Ego. The error the Maori make lies, of course, in their
concretization of ideas. Yet as an attempted solution
of the problem of substance and form it should rank
very high. To have recognized in man the physiologi-
cal, the vital essence and the functioning of these two
in a temporal body, and to have split up the body itself
into form, substance, and "resting place," represents
an unusual achievement. The recognition of multiple
personality, which happens to be in consonance with the
very latest results of psychological and psychiatric re-
search is, on the other hand, not due to any conscious
thought, intuitive or otherwise, but is the direct conse-
quence of primitive man's unconquerable and unsenti-
mental realism and his refusal to assume fictitious and
artificial unities.
Many of the salient traits of the Maori analysis of
personality are to be found in the next system to be
discussed, that of the Oglala Dakota, although the
emphasis is naturally enough quite different. As
among the Maori there are two external elements, the
divine in man and the soul that begins its existence
after death, and last a mortal soul. In formulating
their analysis, however, the Oglala proceeded from
another angle. Their interest was not so much cen-
tered upon characterizing the various constituents, the
diverse souls that went into the making of the Ego, as
in determining the relation of these souls to the various
aspects of personality. It is from this point of view
that I shall present the facts. The important elements
of the Ego, according to the Dakota, are courage and
fortitude, general disposition, the power to influence
others and of forewarning oneself of good and evil,
unusual actions, and finally negative elements such as
jealousy, maliciousness, etc.
Courage and fortitude come from the sicun. The
skun is given a man by Wakan Tanka, the supreme
spirit, at birth. A sicun is the ton (divine essence) of
a deity. Perhaps I had better quote Mr. James Walk-
er's description:
The sicun is an immaterial God whose substance is never
visible. It is the potency of mankind and the emitted
potency of the Gods. Considered relative to mankind it is
many, but apart from mankind it is one. Skan (the supreme
deity) imparts a sicun to each of mankind at birth. It
remains with the person until death when it returns whence
it came. Its functions are to enable the possessor to do
those things which the beasts cannot do and to give courage
and fortitude. It may be pleased or displeased with its
possessor and may be operative or inoperative according to
its pleasure. It may be invoked by ceremony or prayer, but
it cannot be imparted to any other person or thing. Most
of the Gods can emit their potencies and when so emitted
their potencies become sicunpi. Such a sicun can be im-
parted to material things by a proper ceremony correctly
performed by a shaman.6
The general disposition of a man comes from the
nagi. The nagi, like the sicun, is immaterial and is be-
stowed upon man by the supreme deity at birth. Its
substance, however, is visible at will and can com-
municate with mankind either directly or through a
shaman. The nagi stays with a man until he dies.
The power to influence others, to forewarn of good
and evil, to cause vitality, comes from the niya. It is
immaterial but its substance is visible whenever it so
wills. It, too, is imparted by the Supreme Deity to
man but it does not reside in the body as do the sicun
and the nagi but abides with it like a shadow. Upon
death it goes to the supreme deity to testify regarding
the conduct of the Ego to which it belonged. When it
leaves the body, this means death.
* "The Sun Dance of the Oglala Division of the Dakota," Anthro-
pological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, XVI,
Part II, p. 87. See also pp. 78-94 and 132-161.
It is the niya that causes life, i.e., life from the phy-
siological side, although just as among the Maori there
is strictly speaking nothing in life that is purely physio-
logical. A native described it as follows: "A man's
m is his life. It is the same as his breath and that
which gives him his strength. It is the id which keeps
the inside of a man clean. If the id is weak he cannot
perform this office and if it goes away the man dies.
Niya is the ghost or spirit which is given to a man at
birth and which causes the id. The Lakota have
a ceremony which they call the iidpi (sweat bath).
The idea of the Lakota is that the inipi makes man's
spirit strong so that it may cleanse all within
the body, and so that the ni may drive from his body
all that makes him tired or that causes him to have
evil thoughts."7
Certain peculiar actions, such as a man behaving in
a non-human way and acting, for instance, as though
he possessed a bear nature, are caused by the nagiya.
This is one of the most difficult things in Dakota
philosophy to understand properly. The nagiya is
apparently some immaterial essence whose substance
may appear in any form it chooses. It is never im-
parted to man by the supreme deity but it is bestowed
by the supreme deity upon every material object save
man, at its beginning. It may possess any other thing.
For instance, the nagiya of a wolf may possess a tree
and then the tree will have the nature of a wolf. It
is in this connection that it affects man, for the nagiya
'Ibid., p. 156.
of any animal may possess a man and then he will act
in a manner suggestive of that animal.
Jealousy, maliciousness, etc., are not conceived of as
caused by any soul or entity residing within but are
regarded as due to discarnate sicun. If the nagi after
death is adjudged unworthy to go on the spirit trail
it becomes a wandering sicun. Such a sicun can com-
municate with mankind but its communications are
uncertain and not to be relied upon. It is a sicun
of this type that causes jealousy, etc.
The fate of the three cardinal constituents of the
Ego is extremely suggestive. The sicun goes to the
deity to which it belongs, for it is but the divine essence
temporarily implanted in man; the nagi goes to spirit
land and lives there, and the niya apparently disap-
pears into the universe.
The body itself is merely an envelope which, after
death, rots and becomes nothing.
The marked difference between the Maori and the
Dakota conception is that the latter throws infinitely
more of the responsibility for our actions upon the gods.
We might therefore have expected that most of the
expressions of the Ego would be regarded as prede-
termined. But this is not true except for two things,
the power to influence others and the instincts. Apart
from this there is complete free will and personal
responsibility, just as their ethical system clearly im-
plies.
Among the Dakota we pointed out that a consider-
able degree of responsibility for one's actions was
theoretically thrown upon the gods. In the next theory
of the Ego to be discussed, that of the Batak of the
East Indian Archipelago, this responsibility of the
gods becomes complete, leading to a peculiar kind of
dualism in each Ego and, theoretically at least, to a
rigid fatalism.
According to the Batak the Ego consists of the body,
of the Ego consciousness (roha), the ghost (begu), and
the soul (tondi). s In the tondi we have the divine in
man but in a sense different from what we have found
to be the case among the Maori and the Dakota. The
tondi is divine only because it is bestowed by the
deities. It does not apparently partake of the divine
itself. The tondi of man is an individualized piece of
the soul-substance existing in the universe and of which
everything partakes. The tondi is, so to speak, a man
within a man and with its own will and desires which
do not always correspond to those of the Ego, i.e.,
the r oka. Yet it is the tondi that represents the true
and fundamental part of every man's consciousness
because it is regarded as having of its own free will
selected its fate from among a large number of others
before its incarnation in some particular person. The
tondi alone is held responsible if it has not chosen a
good fate.
Man is thus prejudged. This would imply that ac-
cording to the Batak man has within him two voices,
the true, essential and predetermined (the tondi), and
the ephemeral (the roha}. Although it is the latter
8 J. Warneck, Die Religion der Batak, pp. 8-24.
which does the actual thinking, feeling, desiring, etc.,
it is the tondi that is responsible for our corporeal and
our psychical well-being; and though the fate of each
tondi has been predetermined, no one knows it except
by his experience in life.
The tondi is supposed to reside in all the parts of the
human body but in addition it manifests itself in nu-
merous other ways. First of all it becomes material-
ized in the human shadow; second, in a man's name;
third, in the splendor that shines in the face of a happy
man; and fourth, in the personal power he exercises
over others. Indeed, as might have been expected,
some native thinkers have found it necessary to break
with this unity in the idea of one tondi and have postu-
lated seven, although little seems to be known about
them.
How distinct from man the tondi is felt to be, in spite
of its pervading the body, is shown by the worship
accorded to it. We are in fact, notwithstanding cer-
tain inconsistencies, dealing with a concept identical
with that of the Dakota sicun and of the "Guardian
Spirit" so common in North America.
Perhaps the following quotation will do more than
any discussion toward enabling us to understand both
the nature of the tondi and the role it plays in the life
of the Batak:
There once lived a great prince beloved by all on account
of his power and wealth. But he had no children. So one
day he prayed to God, "0 Grandfather Mula Djadji, you
have given my brother seven children, give me at least onel"
Shortly after his wife became pregnant and in due time a
son was born to her. But when this child came into the
world it was found to be but half of a human being; it had
but one eye, one ear, one arm, one foot. For this reason it
was called the "one-sided." As the child grew up it natu-
rally waxed more and more indignant at its hideous appear-
ance and finally it decided to go to Mula Djadji himself
and complain directly against the fate that had been allotted
him. After many difficulties the boy arrived in the presence
of God and to him he complained directly, "Grandfather,
why did you make me so completely different in appearance
from all other people? Give me at least a shape like theirs."
Then God answered him, "You must not find fault with
me in this matter. I would like to bestow upon all people
a nice shape, for that would redound to my credit. But is
it my fault if a man's tondi refuses to accept the lot I had
predestined for him? To prove to you that I am telling
you the truth, follow me to the sixth heaven and there you
will be able to convince yourself that you have no cause
for complaint against me." Thereupon God showed the boy
the mould of his father's and mother's fate and explained
to him how beautiful had been the lot that he had destined
for him too. "When you were born I showed you the fate
that I had arranged for you, that would be yours on earth,
but your totidi refused it saying it was too heavy for you.
I told your tondi thereupon to select something that would
fit you but it insisted that everything I showed it was un-
suitable and too heavy, and told me to split the mould in
two. 'Good, I will do that for you/ and it was done. You
can see for yourself what the original mould was like. You
see how it is the mould of a complete man. When I split
it, of course, only half a man developed, for only that which
a man selects for himself comes to fruition."
God, however, had pity on the poor half-man and spoke
to him. "Good, I will cancel your fate and again give you
a chance to select your destiny." The cripple immediately
set himself to the task of selection. He weighed all the
moulds but everything was too heavy. Finally God asked
him which he had chosen and the man answered, "I have
tried them all but they are too heavy. O let me not die!
Give me my old mould back again for only that one can I
carry!" "Well and good," said God, "but do not complain
again. I allow all people to choose the good, but if they
refuse, then they must suffer the consequences." °
Of the Ego proper from our point of view, the roha,
very little is said except that it thinks, feels, etc. It is
apparently regarded as of no consequence except when
it comes into conflict with the tondi. With regard to
the significance of the ghost (begu) there seem to be
two contradictory theories. According to one the begu
is the tondi after death; according to the other the begu
constitutes all that is left of a man's personality after
the tondi has left him. The begu is thus not a separate
entity to the living man as is the wairua of the Maori
or the nagi of the Dakota. It is only potentially in
him. After death, however, it attains an importance
and significance a thousandfold greater than that of
" Ibid. , pp. 50-51.
the wairua or nagi. It becomes associated with the
dead, with ancestors, with all that is evil.
In other words the cause of evil is sought outside of
man although conceived of as emanating from some-
thing that lies within him. This part of man's person-
ality is thus completely projected outside of himself
and it is perhaps in consequence of this complete pro-
jection upon the outside world, of evil and of misfor-
tune, that the Batak live in an atmosphere apparently
pervaded by terror. This is not true among either
the Maori or the Dakota.
Now what are the implications of such analyses of
the Ego as these just described? It is clearly manifest
that the dynamic principle is here fundamental. The
static principle is definitely only the temporary shell,
the body, doomed to early extinction and decay. Also,
there is the inability to express the psychical in terms
of the body; the psychical must be projected upon the
external world. The Ego, in other words, cannot con-
tain within itself both subject and object, although the
object is definitely conditioned by and exists within
the perceiving self. Thus we have an Ego consisting
of subject-object, with the object only intelligible in
terms of the external world and of other Egos. This
does not in any sense, of course, interfere with the
essential dualism of primitive thought but it does
imply a tie between the Ego and the phenomenal
world foreign to that which we assume. And this con-
nection is very important, for it takes the form of an
attraction, a compulsion. Nature cannot resist man,
man cannot resist nature. A purely mechanistic con-
ception of life is thus unthinkable. The parts of the
body, the physiological functions of the organs, like
the material form taken by objects in nature, are mere
symbols, simulacra, for the essential psychical-spiritual
entity that lies behind them.
Chapter XV
SPECULATION FOR ITS OWN SAKE
THE preceding chapters must have convinced even
the most obdurate skeptic that some individuals
in every primitive group are capable of something
much higher than mere phantasy-thinking. But even
these converts, I am inclined to believe, would shrink
from admitting my next contention, that there exist
certain individuals in each group who enjoy thinking
for its own sake, that, in fact, a good deal of discussion
takes place between the leaders of the different cere-
monies— and it is these priests who are almost in-
variably the thinkers — on questions which are of a
purely speculative nature. It may seem trivial to us,
for instance, whether the rock and the earth are to be
regarded as married or not. Among the Dakota
Indians, however, it is a question upon which a good
deal of discussion has taken place and which looms as
an important problem of theology.
Now to obtain the requisite information on this
aspect of speculation we must go to the thinker and
philosopher when he is philosophizing, and that is not
easy to do under the very best of circumstances. First
of all there are extremely few philosophers in any
primitive group and second, these have more important
things to do most of the time than to philosophize.
The moment, however, a kind fate directs us to the
philosopher of the group we discover evidence of a
considerable degree of directed thought. For our
purposes it is immaterial whether some of this specu-
lation is connected with recent European influence or
not since all I am desirous of proving is that a few
individuals in every community indulge in speculation
and enjoy it. Some of the examples I shall quote are
definitely connected with recent Christian influence,
but these are particularly instructive because the
questions they develop are often quite new to Christian
theology.
As it is obviously impossible to do more than touch
on so vast a subject in the space I wish to devote to
it here, I shall arbitrarily select a number of the more
important abstract questions upon which first-hand in-
formation is available. Some of the problems of a
speculative nature such as the theory of the soul and
of human personality, the nature of the external world,
etc., have already been discussed, others connected
with the creation of the world and monotheism are
to be reserved for a subsequent chapter. I shall there-
fore confine myself here primarily to examples which
I believe to be specifically representative of speculation
for its own sake and to illustrations of religious-
philosophical systematization.
Let me begin with the Oglala Dakota who seem to
exhibit an unusual penchant for abstract thinking.
Our authority, Mr. James Walker, quotes the following
interesting discourse on the nature and significance of
the circle:
The Oglala believe the circle to be sacred because the
great spirit caused everything in nature to be round except
stone. Stone is the implement of destruction. The sun
and the sky, the earth and the moon, are round like.a shield,
though the sky is deep like a bowl. Everything that
breathes is round like the body of a man. Everything that
grows from the ground is round like the stem of a plant.
Since the great spirit has caused everything to be round
mankind should look upon the circle as sacred, for it is the
symbol of all things in nature except stone. It is also the
symbol of the circle that marks the edge of the world and
therefore of the four winds that travel there. Consequently
it is also the symbol of the year. The day, the night, and
the moon go in a circle above the sky. Therefore the circle
is a symbol of these divisions of time and hence the symbol
of all time.
For these reasons the Oglala make their tipis circular,
their camp-circle circular, and sit in a circle in all cere-
monies. The circle is also the symbol of the tipi and of
shelter. If one makes a circle for an ornament and it is not
divided in any way, it should be understood as the symbol
of the world and of time.1
Manifestly this is speculation for its own sake.
It is obviously the attempt of some speculative mind
1 "The Sun Dance of the Oglala Division of the Dakota," Anthro-
pological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, XVI,
Part II, p. 160.
to explain the tremendous religious significance the
circle has among the Oglala. Many — the vast majority
— are content to accept the circle, or to feel satisfied
with the religious thrill it arouses in them. This man
was not. He shows this same philosophical tendency
in his disquisition on the number four, the sacred num-
ber of his tribe and, for that matter, of the vast ma-
jority of tribes of North America. The ordinary man
has no interest whatsoever in explaining why every-
thing must be done four times. It is for them simply
a fact. This particular individual, however, was inter-
ested. Here is his speculation on the number four:
In former times the Lakota grouped all their activities by
fours. This was because they recognized four directions:
the west, the north, the east, and the south; four divisions
of time: the day, the night, the moon, and the year; four
parts in everything that grows from the ground: the roots,
the stem, the leaves, and the fruit; four kinds of things that
breathe: those that crawl, those that fly, those that walk on
four legs, and those that walk on two legs; four things
above the world: the sun, the moon, the sky, and the stars;
four kinds of gods: the great, the associates of the great, the
gods below them and the spiritkind; four periods of human
life: babyhood, childhood, adulthood, and old age; and
finally, mankind has four fingers on each hand, four toes on
each foot and the thumbs and the great toes taken together
form four. Since the great spirit caused everything to be in
fours, mankind should do everything possible in fours.2
*Ibid., p. 159.
Another Oglala philosopher gave Mr. Walker an ex-
ceedingly interesting account of the invocation used
by a shaman which ran as follows:
Before a shaman can perform a ceremony in which
mysterious beings or things have a part, he should fill
and light a pipe and say:
"Friend of Wakinyan, I pass the pipe to you first. Circling
I pass to you who dwell with the father. Circling pass to
beginning day. Circling pass to the beautiful one. Circling
I complete the four quarters and the time. I pass the pipe
to the father with the sky. I smoke with the great spirit.
Let us have a blue day."
The pipe is used because the smoke from the pipe, smoked
in communion, has the potency of the feminine god who
mediates between godkind and mankind, and propitiates
the godkind. When a shaman offers the pipe to a god, the
god smokes it and is propitiated. In this invocation, when
the shaman has filled and lighted the pipe, he should point
the mouth toward the west and say, "Friend of Wakinyan,
I pass the pipe to you first." Thus he offers the pipe to the
west wind, for the west wind dwells in the lodge of Wakin-
yan and is his friend. The pipe should be offered to the
west wind first, because the birthright of precedence of the
oldest was taken from the first born, the north wind, and
given to the second born, the west wind, and the gods are
very jealous of the order of their precedence.
When he has made this offering the shaman should move
the pipe toward the right hand, the mouthpiece pointing
toward the horizon, until it points toward the north. Then
he should say, "Circling, I pass to you who dwells with the
grandfather." Thus he offers the pipe to the north wind, for
because of an offense against the feminine god, the great
spirit condemned the north wind to dwell forever with his
grandfather, who is Wazi, the wizard. Then the shaman
should move the pipe in the same manner, until the mouth-
piece points toward the east and say, "Circling, pass to be-
ginning day." This is an offering to the east wind, for his
lodge is where the day begins and he may be addressed as
the "beginning day." Then the shaman should move the
pipe in the same manner until the mouthpiece points toward
the south, and say, "Circling, pass to the beautiful one."
This is an offering to the south wind, for the "beautiful one"
is the feminine god who is the companion of the south wind
and dwells in his lodge, which is under the sun at midday.
It pleases the south wind to be addressed through his com-
panion rather than directly.
The four winds are the akicita or messengers of the gods
and in all ceremonies they have precedence over all other
gods and for this reason should be the first addressed.
When the offering has been made to the south wind the
shaman should move the pipe in the same manner until the
mouthpiece again points toward the west, and say, "Circling,
I complete the four quarters and the time." He should do
this because the four winds are the four quarters of the
circle and mankind knows not where they may be or whence
they may come and the pipe should be offered directly
toward them. The four quarters embrace all that are in
the world and all that are in the sky. Therefore, by
circling the pipe, the offering is made to all the gods. The
circle is the symbol of time, for the daytime, the night time,
and the moon time are circles above the world, and the year
time is a circle around the border of the world. Therefore
the lighted pipe moved in a complete circle is an offering
to all the times.3
In conclusion let me add a few more examples of
speculation from the same tribe collected by another
observer. Some of them may contain indications of
Christian influence but this is really more apparent
than actual.
All living creatures and all plants derive their life from
the sun. If it were not for the sun, there would be darkness
and nothing could grow — the earth would be without life.
Yet the sun must have the help of the earth. If the sun
alone were to act upon animals and plants, the heat would
be so great that they would die, but there are clouds that
bring rain, and the action of the sun and earth together
supply the moisture that is needed for life. The roots of
a plant go down, and the deeper they go the more moisture
they find. This is according to the laws of nature and is
one of the evidences of the wisdom of Wakan tanka. Plants
are sent by Wakan tanka and come from the ground at
his command, the part to be affected by the sun and rain
appearing above the ground and the roots pressing down-
ward to find the moisture which is supplied for them.
Animals and plants are taught by Wakan tanka what they
are to do. Wakan tanka teaches the birds to make nests,
8 Ibid., p. 1 60.
yet the nests of all birds are not alike. Wakan tanka
gives them merely the outline. Some make better nests than
others. In the same way some animals are satisfied with
very rough dwellings, while others make attractive places
in which to live. Some animals also take better care of
their young than others. The forest is the home of many
birds and other animals, and the water is the home of fish
and reptiles. All birds, even those of the same species, are
not alike, and it is the same with animals and with human
beings. The reason Wakan tanka does not make two birds,
or animals, or human beings exactly alike is because each
is placed here by Wakan tanka to be an independent individ-
uality and to rely on itself. Some animals are made to live
in the ground. The stones and the minerals are placed in
the ground by Wakan tanka, some stones being more ex-
posed than others. When a medicine man says that he
talks with the sacred stones, it is because of all the sub-
stance in the ground these are the ones which most often
appear in dreams and are able to communicate with men.
All animals have not the same disposition. The horse,
dog, bear, and buffalo all have their own characteristics.
This is also true of the fowls of the air, the living creatures
in the water, and even the insects; they all have their own
ways. Thus a man may enjoy the singing of all the birds
and yet have a preference for the melodies of certain kinds
of birds. Or he may like all animals and yet have a favorite
among them.
From my boyhood I have observed leaves, trees, and
grass, and I have never found two alike. They may have a
general likeness, but on examination I have found that they
differ slightly. Plants are of different families, each being
adapted to growth in a certain locality. It is the same with
animals; they are widely scattered, and yet each will be
found in the environment to which it is best adapted. It
is the same with human beings; there is some place which
is best adapted to each. The seeds of the plants are blown
about by the wind until they reach the place where they
will grow best — where the action of the sun and the pres-
ence of moisture are most favorable to them, and there they
take root and grow. All living creatures and all plants are
a benefit to something. Certain animals fulfill their purpose
by definite acts. The crows, buzzards, and flies are some-
what similar in their use, and even the snakes have a pur-
pose in being. In the early days the animals probably
roamed over a very wide country until they found their
proper place. An animal depends a great deal on the
natural conditions around it. If the buffalo were here to-
day, I think they would be different from the buffalo of the
old days because all the natural conditions have changed.
They would not find the same food, nor the same surround-
ings. We see the change in our ponies. In the old days
they could stand great hardship and travel long distances
without water. They lived on certain kinds of food and
drank pure water. Now our horses require a mixture of
food; they have less endurance and must have constant care.
It is the same with the Indians; they have less freedom
and they fall an easy prey to disease. In the old days
they were rugged and healthy, drinking pure water and
eating the meat of the buffalo, which had a wide range,
not being shut up like cattle of the present day. The water
of the Missouri River is not pure, as it used to be, and many
of the creeks are no longer good for us to drink.
A man ought to desire that which is genuine instead of
that which is artificial. Long ago there was no such thing as
a mixture of earths to make paint. There were only three col-
ors of native earth paint — red, white, and black. These could
be obtained only in certain places. When other colors were
desired, the Indians mixed the juices of plants, but it was
found that these mixed colors faded and it could always be
told when the red was genuine — the red made of burned clay.
All classes of people know that when human power fails
they must look to a higher power for the fulfillment of their
desires. There are many ways in which the request for help
from this higher power can be made. This depends on the
person. Some like to be quiet, and others want to do every-
thing in public. Some like to go alone, away from the
crowd, to meditate upon many things. In order to secure
a fulfillment of his desire a man must qualify himself to
make his request. Lack of preparation would mean failure
to secure a response to his petition. Therefore when a
man makes up his mind to ask a favor of Wakan tanka he
makes due preparation. It is not fitting that a man should
suddenly go out and make a request of Wakan tanka.
When a man shuts his eyes, he sees a great deal. He then
enters his own mind, and things become clear to him, but
objects passing before his eyes would distract him. For
that reason a dreamer makes known his request through
what he sees when his eyes are closed. It has long been his
intention to make his request of Wakan tanka, and he
resolves to seek seclusion on the top of a butte or other high
place. When at last he goes there he closes his eyes, and
his mind is upon Wakan tanka and his work. The man
who does this usually has in mind some animal which he
would like for protection and help. No man can succeed in
life alone, and he cannot get the help he wants from men;
therefore he seeks help through some bird or animal which
Wakan tanka sends for his assistance. Many animals have
ways from which a man can learn a great deal, even from
the fact that horses are restless before a storm.
When I was 10 years of age I looked at the land and
the rivers, the sky above, and the animals around me and
could not fail to realize that they were made by some great
power. I was so anxious to understand this power that I
questioned the trees and the bushes. It seemed as though
the flowers were staring at me, and I wanted to ask them
"Who made you?" I looked at the moss-covered stones;
some of them seemed to have the features of a man, but
they could not answer me. Then I had a dream, and in my
dream one of these small round stones appeared to me and
told me that the maker of all was Wakan tanka, and that
in order to honor him I must honor his works in nature.
The stone said that by my search I had shown myself worthy
of supernatural help. It said that if I were curing a sick
person I might ask its assistance, and that all the forces of
nature would help me work a cure.
It is significant that certain stones are not found buried in
the earth, but are on the top of high buttes. They are
round, like the sun and moon, and we know that all things
which are round are related to each other. Things which are
alike in their nature grow to look like each other, and these
stones have lain there a long time, looking at the sun. Many
pebbles and stones have been shaped in the current of a
stream, but these stones were found far from the water
and have been exposed only to the sun and the wind. The
earth contains many thousand such stones hidden beneath
its surface. The thunderbird is said to be related to these
stones, and when a man or an animal is to be punished,
the thunderbird strikes the person, and if it were possible
to follow the course of the lightning, one of these stones
would be found embedded in the earth. Some believe that
these stones descend with the lightning, but I believe they
are on the ground and are projected downward by the bolt.
In all my life I have been faithful to the sacred stones. I
have lived according to their requirements, and they have
helped me in all my troubles. I have tried to qualify
myself as well as possible to handle these sacred stones,
yet I know that I am not worthy to speak to Wakan tanka.
I make my request of the stones and they are my interces-
sors.
Ever since I have known the old Indians and their cus-
toms, I have seen that in any great undertaking it is not
enough for a man to depend simply upon himself. Most
people place their dependence on the medicine men, who
understand this life and all its surroundings and are able
to predict what will come to pass. They have the right
to make these predictions. If as we sit here we should
hear a voice speaking from above, it would be because we
had the right to hear what others could not hear, or we
might see what others had not the right to see because they
were not properly qualified. Such are some of the rights and
privileges of the medicine men, and those who desire to
know mysterious things must seek their aid.
I have noticed in my life that all men have a liking for
some special animal, or plant, or spot of earth. If men
would pay more attention to these preferences and seek
what is best to do in order to make themselves worthy
of that toward which they are so attracted, they might have
dreams which would purify their lives. Let a man decide
upon his favorite animal and make a study of it, learning
its ways. Let him learn to understand its sounds and
motions. The animals want to communicate with man, but
Wakan tanka does not intend they shall do so directly —
man must do the greater part in securing an understanding.4
I pass now to an entirely different region, to the Ewe
of West Africa. The German missionary Johann Spieth
has published a number of so-called "Discourses on
God" which show the same interest in speculation as
those quoted from the Oglala. "We can never attain
a knowledge such as God's/' states the first of these
discourses. "You saw me bring back a calabash and
you now see me working on it. I have scraped it and
in this fashion made a drinking vessel for myself. The
seed that lay within it was exceedingly small, but I
placed this seed in the ground and, as you now see, it
4 Francis Densmore, Bulletin 61 of the Bureau of American Eth-
nol&gy, pp. 122, 172-173; 184; 208.
has become a useful utensil. I (man) cannot do that;
but the wisdom with which God made it, that, too, I do
not understand. The child must not say to its father,
'I surpass you.' " 5
But it is the third of the discourses that is most
interesting. It deals with the world and God.
"When night or day approach do we know what is
going to happen to us on either occasion? But
whether we are in a stream or whether it is night, we
are everywhere still in the world. That is why we
say that God is the world. Everything in the world
is the creation of God: the fish in the water, men, good
and evil, God has sent them all. The world is stronger
than everything else and that is why we say that the
world is God. You only know what you can know
to-day, not that which is to take place in the future.
God alone knows what will take place to-morrow.
Mankind will never be able to comprehend God com-
pletely and that is why we say the world is God. No
one can know everything that happens in the world.
If you go to one town you can learn what takes place
in that town but you will not know what is taking
place in another town." 6
As another example of this kind of speculative in-
terest let me give the account of the various inferences
by which a Winnebago informant identified himself
successively with God, with his soul, and with his
thought: "I prayed to Earthmaker (God). And as
8 Die Ewe Staemme, pp. 327-328.
c Ibid., pp. 834-836.
I prayed I was aware of something above me and there
he was! That which is called the soul, that is it, that
is what one calls Earthmaker. Now this is what I felt
and saw. All of us sitting together there, we had all
together one spirit and I was their spirit or soul. I
did not have to speak to them and get an answer to
know what had been their thoughts. Then I thought
of a certain place far away and immediately I was
there; I was my thought. I would not need any more
food for was I not my spirit? Nor would I have any
more use of my body. My corporeal affairs are
over." 7
The remarkable thing about the passage I have just
quoted is its absolute originality. There is nothing in
Winnebago theology to justify the identification of
their supreme deity, Earthmaker, with the soul nor,
as far as I am aware, is there any warrant for it in
Christian theology. The quasi-pantheism developed
in the sentences following whereby all the worshipers
present were regarded as having one soul which was
then identified with this man's soul, that, too, is quite
unique in Winnebago speculation. The belief in fore-
knowledge and in thought-reading existed but never
before had any speculative mind drawn the inference
that because thought in the moment apparently en-
abled you to be in a certain place far distant, therefore
logically you must be your thought.
To the same individual we owe a most interesting
7 Crashing Thunder: the Autobiography of an American Indian,
edited by Paul Radin, pp. 190-192.
disquisition on the Trinity. In a recent new religion
to which many Winnebago became converted the
Christian belief in the Trinity plays a minor role.
Most of the members of the new sect give a lip service
to this dogma and then pay no more attention to it.
Our philosopher, however, could not refrain from ex-
plaining and elaborating upon it. In fact he discovered
what I feel confident is an absolutely new proof of the
Trinity. Apparently the problem that exercised his
mind was, very properly, how the Deity could be one
and three at the same time. The customary Christian
demonstrations of the Trinity he did not know and he
would unquestionably neither have understood nor
accepted them if he had known them, for nothing ever
convinced this individual except some inward warrant
or some definite concrete evidence. In this case it was
concrete evidence that he obtained. He found the
proof in an English word found in the Gospel of
St. Matthew, in a passage that has played an enormous
part in the history of Christianity, the famous nine-
teenth verse of the sixteenth chapter of St. Matthew.
There the word key is found and it is this word that
led him to his extraordinary interpretation. But let
me quote the passage in full for it is deeply interesting:
My body told us how this new religion of ours was an
affair of God's and that even if one knew only one portion
of it, one could still partake of God's religion.
Thus did my body speak. God, the Son of God, and His
Holiness (the Holy Ghost), these are the three ways of
saying it. Even if you knew only one of these three, it
means all. Every one here has the means of opening the
road to God. It is given to you. With your belief only
can you open this door to God. You cannot open it with
knowledge alone,
"How many letters are there to the key, i. e., the road to
God?" "Three." "What are they?" There were many
educated people present but none of them said anything.
"The first letter must be a K, so that if a person said K,
that would be the whole of it. But let me look in the book
(the Bible) and see what that means," said the body. Then
the body took the Bible and began to turn the leaves. The
body did not know where it (the passage sought) was
itself, for it was not learned in books. Finally in Matthew,
in chapter 16, it stopped. In that chapter this K is men-
tioned for it says, "Peter did not give himself up." For a
long time he could not give up his own knowledge. There
in that passage you will find the word key.8
In other words the word key fulfills the conditions,
for the first letter k is pronounced like the whole word
key. Here certainly we have true subtlety and a
praiseworthy philosophical and theological striving.
*Ibid., p. 200.
Chapter XVI
THE SYSTEMATIZATION OF IDEAS
FROM speculative discussion for its own sake we
shall now turn to the more usual subjects of
philosophical interest, the systematization of the va-
rious ideas concerning the origin of the world, and the
nature of things. Some of the concepts underlying
these attempts at systematization have already been
discussed before, others such as those embodied in the
creation myths of various tribes we must postpone to
the chapter on monotheism. In this chapter we will
limit ourselves exclusively to the definite philosophical
implications found in certain cosmological myths and
related material, and still further circumscribe our in-
quiry by discussing only Polynesian data. I do not
feel that any objection can legitimately be advanced
against thus limiting ourselves to a very restricted
ethnological province, for in a tentative work like the
present, our object must be to demonstrate the exist-
ence, among peoples customarily regarded as primi-
tive, of certain intellectual tendencies and accomplish-
ments. The question of their universality, while im-
portant, can for the time being be relegated to the
background.
The Polynesians have long been known for their
unusually elaborate cosmological chants. In these
chants, many of them possessing a beauty of thought
and expression that can be still felt in the translation,
a complete cosmogony is outlined containing not only
an account of the origin of the world and the earth but
what is to all appearances a fairly definite theory of
the origin of consciousness. I say this advisedly for
I can find no other interpretation for the first five lines
of the following Maori chant. The story of creation
is divided into four large periods, each one showing
within itself a secondary and progressive evolution.
The first period, which as I said contains a theory of
the development of consciousness, is as follows:
From the conception the increase,
From the increase the swelling,
From the swelling the thought,
From the thought the remembrance,
From the remembrance, the desire.1
It is only after the development of physical and
psychical differentiation and of personal consciousness
— so we must interpret these lines — that an external
world can be apprehended. This is the first period.
It is with this external world, or better with what is
outside of the perceiving self, that the second period
is concerned. One is naturally inquisitive about the
transition between the two periods and here our un-
known Maori philosopher is both stimulating and sug-
1 Richard Taylor, Te Ika A Mam.
294 PRIMITIVE MAN AS FHILUSUFHER
gestive. He does not apparently regard the external
world as having been created from, or as responding to,
what he has predicated as the last stage of the first
period, namely, desire; but he assumes that the second
period was created by the word. Is it too far-fetched
to see herein an attempt to obviate the necessity of
ascribing the existence of the external world to thought
or will, by the predication of a mediating principle, the
word; that is, by what represents the first articulate
and external expression of thought, remembrance, and
desire? I do not think so. To people more qualified
than myself, however, do I leave the task of interpret-
ing the following lines, which give the account of the
second cosmic period. The problem of the origin of
matter is here most skillfully dodged — or shall I say
delayed — in the most approved manner of the early
evolutionists:
The word became fruitful;
It dwelt with the feeble glimmering;
It brought forth night:
The great night, the long night,
The lowest night, the loftiest night,
The thick night to be felt,
The night to be touched, the night unseen.
The night following on,
The night ending in death.2
Here we have evolutionism in excelsis. The absolute
consistency and inevitableness of this thinking — call it
intuitive or definitely rational as you wish — is simply
2 Journal of the Polynesian Society, XVI, p. 113.
appalling. From desire came the word. But this first
phase of articulateness creates nothing. It merely
dwells with the feeble glimmering. Is this feeble
glimmering to be construed as the dawn between non-
consciousness and consciousness? Our Maori phi-
losopher leaves this unresolved. Then follows the de-
scription of the absoluteness of night, perfect in its
kind; the night that can be touched but is yet unseen,
the lowest yet the highest, the night that follows on,
but ends in death. Yet this night has one distinctive
quality which philosophically is fundamental — it can
be apprehended, and thus becomes quite different from
that night which the Maori describe as existing when,
unborn, they dwelt within the womb of their mother,
the earth.
The third period represents the genealogical history
of matter. It is strictly parallel to the account given
in the first period of the origin of consciousness.
From the nothing the begetting,
From the nothing the increase,
From the nothing the abundance,
The power of increasing, the living breath;
It dwelt with the empty space,
It produced the atmosphere which is above us.
As compared with the first period there is a flaw in
the evolutionary account. Nothing leads to begetting,
increase, abundance and the power of increasing, the
living breath. Apparently our ancient philosophic
friend, after having delayed the vexatious problem of
how something could have arisen out of nothing,
throws all logic and caution to the winds and hurdles
over the question. Let us not throw stones; he has
some illustrious successors.
The fourth period is philosophically not so interest-
ing. Light is about to appear and with it our problems
become dissipated.
The atmosphere which floats above the earth,
The great firmament above us, the spread-out space
dwelt with the early dawn,
Then the moon sprang forth ;
The atmosphere above dwelt with the glowing sky.
Forthwith was produced the sun;
They were thrown up above as the chief eyes of heaven;
Then the heavens became light,
The early dawn, the early day,
The midday. The blaze of day from the sky.
Where such remarkable chants are developed one
naturally expects that the philosophy in one version
may be better or worse than in another. I wish to
quote one such version which logically is better, al-
though the Maori philosopher simplified his problem
and instead of positing the question of mind and mat-
ter, frankly assumed both from the very beginning.
He still further simplified the problem of the origin
of the mind by assuming a divine mind, the deity lo.
Although everything superficially comes into existence
as the fiat of Io? this version contains in reality a pro-
founder understanding of development than did our
first:
lo dwelt within the breathing-space of immensity.
The universe was in darkness, with water everywhere.
There was no glimmer of dawn, no clearness, no light.
And he began by saying these words,
That he might cease remaining inactive.
"Darkness, become a light-possessing darkness."
(He) then repeated these selfsame words in this manner,
That he might cease remaining inactive.
"Light, become a darkness-possessing light."
And again an intense darkness supervened.
Then a third time he spake saying:
"Let there be darkness above,
Let there be one darkness below (alternate),
Let there be darkness unto Tupua,
Let there be darkness unto Tawhito,
A dominion of light,
A bright light."
And now a great light prevailed.
(lo) then looked to the waters which compassed him
about and spoke a fourth time saying,
"Ye waters of Tai-kama, be ye separate,
Heaven be formed." Then the sky became suspended.
"Bring forth, thou Tupua-hono-nuku."
And at once the moving earth lay stretched abroad.3
Even at the risk of wearying the reader I cannot
refrain from giving one more chant, a Tahitian crea-
tion hymn, in its entirety. Much of its content is
contained in the two chants already quoted but this
third chant has some new features, new subtleties, and
bears the impress of a different type of temperament
and personality:
8 Journal of the Polynesian Society, XVI, p. 113.
He abides — Taaroa by name —
In the immensity of space.
There was no earth, there was no heaven,
There was no sea, there was no mankind;
Taaroa calls on high;
He changed himself fully.
Taaroa is the root;
The rocks (or foundations) ;
Taaroa is the sands;
Taaroa stretches out the branches (is wide-spreading).
Taaroa is the light;
Taaroa is within.
Taaroa is below;
Taaroa is enduring;
Taaroa is wise;
He created the land of Hawaii ;
Hawaii great and sacred,
As a cruse (or shell) for Taaroa.
The earth is dancing (moving).
O foundations, O rocks,
O sands! Here, here.
Brought hither, press together the earth,
Press, press again!
Stretch out the seven heavens, let ignorance cease.
Create the heavens, let darkness cease.
Let anxiety cease within.
It is the time of the speaker.
Fill up (complete) the foundations.
Fill up the rocks,
Fill up the sands.4
Finally let me quote a theory of the origin of night
which developed among the Hawaiians and which is
directly opposed to the notions expounded in the first
4 J. Fornander, The Polynesian Race, I, pp. 221 ff.
two Maori chants. As far as I can make out, in this
account heat and light preceded night, and night came
into being at midwinter when the light of the sun was
"subdued." Its evolution is extremely interesting —
slime, earth, deepest darkness, night. Whether the
mysticism here is more apparent than real, I have no
means of telling. The chant follows:
At the time that turned the heat of the earth,
At the time when the heavens turned and changed,
At the time when the light of the sun was subdued
To cause light to break forth,
At the time of the night of winter,
Then began the slime which established the earth,
The source of deepest darkness;
Of the depth of the darkness, of the depth of the dark-
ness,
Of the darkness of the sun, in the depth of night;
It is night:
Thus was night born.5
All this evolution is admirably summed up in the
preamble to a well-known Maori lament:
For thee, 0 wkai, my love is ever great.
From germ of life sprang thought,
And god's own medium came:
Then bird and bloom; and life in space
Produced the worlds of night —
The worlds where bowing knee
And form in abject crouching lost,
Are lost — for ever lost.
And never now return ye
8 Journal of the Polynesian Society, IX, pp. 39 ff.
From those worlds of gloom.
'Twas nothing that begot
The nothing unpossessed
And nothing without charm.
'Twas Rangi who with Atu-tahi
Brought forth the moon.
And Rangi Wero-wero took
And, yet unseen, the sun produced.
He, silent, skimmed the space above,
And then burst forth the glowing eye of heaven
To give thee light, O man!
To wage thy war on fellow-man.
Turn and look this way.
On Tara-rua's distant peak now
Shines the light of coming day —
The dawn of eating-man and feats of war.fl
All the speculations so far quoted have been couched
in fairly abstract terms. But there was another kind
of cosmological speculation not uncommon among the
Polynesians where the ideas were drawn primarily
from the domain of plant life. Thus among the Maori
we have the following periods:
1. Te Pu (origin, source, root, base, foundation).
2. Te More (tap-root; figuratively, cause).
3. Te Weu (rootlet, fibers).
4. Te Aka (long, thin roots; stem of climbing plant).
5. Te Rea (growth).
6. Te Wao-nui (primeval forest).
* John White, The Ancient History of the Maori, I, pp. 7-8.
Here the plant analogies stop and we find
7. Te Kune (pregnancy, conception, form acquired).
8. Te Whe (sound, as of creaking of tree branches).
9. Te Kore (non-existence).
10. Te Po (night).
From night then came the Sky-father and the Earth-
mother; from them, in turn, the god Tane and from
him finally man.7
We have in our discussion of the Polynesian material
so far been carried only to the period of the creation
of the sky and the earth. Naturally speculation did
not stop there. The same feeling for an evolutionary
systematization which we saw evinced for the develop-
ment of the cosmos is shown for the period subsequent
to the appearance of the sky and earth and for the
origin of man himself. The order of creation among
the Maori ran as follows:
1. The waters of ocean that are in the world, these were
all created by the waters; and then grew out of them
the land, the earth, which on maturity was taken to
wife by the Sky-father.
2. Next were created the trees of all kinds, to clothe the
skin of the earth which had heretofore been naked.
3. Next were created the minor vegetation growing each
after its own kind.
4. Next were created the reptiles and insects of every
kind.
* Journal of the Polynesian Society, III, p. 158.
5. Next were created the animals, dogs of every species.
6. Next were created the birds of different kinds to dwell
on the plains and in the woods of the earth and on
lady-ocean also.
7. Next were created the moon, the sun, and all the
stars. When this had been accomplished, the " world
of light7' became permanent.
8. Next and finally were created the first woman and her
daughter, from whom sprang mankind.8
The Maori informant added the following character-
istic note: "Each one of these, from the very first
down to the creation of man, mentioned each in his
own period, growing up in its own time, increasing in
its own period, living in its own period, endowed after
its own manner and time. Each had its own time of
conception or sprouting. We now understand that this
was the nature of all things, that each thing has its
female counterpart through which it conceives."
For the origin of man the Maori developed a type of
speculation whose counterpart I have yet to find. Now
as a rule, in creation myths, the creation of man is
comparatively simple. He is generally created directly
by the deity either out of nothing, out of a portion of
the deity, or out of the cosmic material that already
exists. Here nothing of the kind occurs. From the
very beginning it is assumed that man can arise only
in the proper biological manner, from a female. The
8S. Percy Smith, "The Lore of the Whare-Wananga," Memoirs of
the Polynesian Sockty, III, pp. 135-137.
problem that then confronts the gods is to discover
the appropriate female. This is not so easy to deter-
mine, because the Maori gods were sharp logicians in
whom Anatole France would have taken keen delight.
They argued that their own kind must be excluded,
for from gods only gods can be born. They soon
realized that the type of female required would have to
be created de novo and they proceeded to create her,
after having first agreed that the mammalian method
of reproduction was to be followed, that of reptiles
and birds having been examined and found wanting.
The myth follows:
Then Tane and his elder brother asked one another, "By
what means shall we raise up descendants to ourselves in
the world of light?7' Their elder brother said, "Let us seek
a female that may take on our likeness and raise up off-
spring for us in the world of light." Some suggested they
should fetch some of the female Apas (divine messengers) of
the twelve heavens. But the older brother replied, "If we
fetch our females from there, then all our descendants will
be gods like ourselves. Rather let us take of the earth,
that it may be said they are the descendants of the earth."
Hereupon it was agreed to search for such a female.
The family of gods now dispersed by two and two to
search for the female. Every place was sought out but
not one single thing was found suitable to take on the
functions of a female similar to the female Apas of the
conjoint heavens. All assembled again — none had found
anything.
It was then decided by the gods to ascertain or no
whether the female was to be found in any of the living
beings that had been appointed to dwell in the world (i. e.,
the animals, insects, etc.). For all females of living things
conceive. An examination of the offspring was made. Some
were found partly appropriate, some not. The reptiles have
their particular issue in the form of eggs; they were not
found suitable on examination and so were discarded. It
was considered better that something which produced after
its own kind or bodily shape should be adopted — and hence
offspring by eggs was assigned to birds. It was now obvious
that the kind of female required from which the iho-tangata
(the form or likeness and attributes of man) could be born,
was not to be found.
So the gods all assembled again to declare their various
ideas. And then spoke Ro-iho, Ro-ake, and Hae-puru to
Tane. "O Tane, what is it ye are seeking?" Tane re-
plied, "We are searching the way to the female." The
three then said, "Try the earth at Kura-waka and com-
mence your operations there for in that place is the female
in a state of virginity and potentiality; she is sacred for
she contains the likeness of man."
The gods then went off to seek the earth at Kura-waka.
Here they formed a body in the likeness of a woman and
completed the arrangements of the head, the arms, the bust,
the legs, the back, and the front; and then the bones.
Here ended the work of the elder brethren. Then followed
the arrangements of the flesh, the muscles, the blood, and
the fat. On the completion of these parts the breath of
life was assigned to Tane to place in the nostrils, the
mouth, and the ears. That was done. Then for the first
time the breath of man came forth — the eyelids opened, the
pupils saw, and the hot breath of the mouth burst forth,
the nose sneezed. After this the body was taken to the
altar at Muritakina where all the proceedings were voided
(i. e., where all evil influence of earthly origin was removed
and the first woman became a fitting recipient of the germ
of life).
The parts were at first all made separately in different
places but afterwards gathered and joined together and on
completion, it was said to be a human body. It was lo and
one of his messengers who implanted the thoughts and the
living spirit.9
The creation myth of the Maori is so remarkable
in many ways and shows in its elaboration and sequence
so clearly the hand of the thinker and the systematize!*,
that in spite of its length it merits quotation in full:
INTRODUCTION
The Rangi-nui, Great Sky, which stands above, felt a de-
sire towards Papa-tua-nuku, the Earth, whose belly was
turned up towards him; he desired her as a wife. So Rangi
came down to Papa. In that period the amount of light
was nil; absolute and complete darkness prevailed; there
was no sun, no moon, no stars, no clouds, no light, no mist —
no ripples stirred the surface of ocean; no breath of air, a
complete and absolute stillness.
And so Rangi-nui dwelt with Papa-tua-nuku as his wife;
9 Ibid. , pp. 138-141.
and then he set plants to cover the nakedness of Papa; for
her armpits, her head, and the body; and after that, the
smaller trees to clothe them both, for the body of the earth
was naked. Subsequently he placed the upstanding trees of
the forest, and now Papa felt a great warmth which was
all-embracing. After this were placed the insects of all
kinds, the ancestors of tuatara, the great lizard, appropriate
to the recesses of the smaller vegetation, the clumps of
smaller trees, and the great forests whose heads reach the
skies. Then the crabs, the larger species of univalves, the
bivalves, the ngakihi, the mussel, the haliotis, and similar
things which have shells, were assigned to their places to
animate the earth and the waters thereof.
CREATION OF THE GODS
After the last of all these things had been planted by
Rangi-nui and Papa, they then created their proper off-
spring, i. e.; the gods; the eyes were made first, and then
the "house" to hold them, i. e., the head. After the head,
the bust and body and the bones of the legs, according to
their growth (shapes).10
THE AGES OF DARKNESS; OF CHAOS
It was after this manner that they dwelt in the ages of
darkness, within the space included in the embrace of their
parents. It was very long that condition of affairs existed;
until at last a faint glimmering of light, a scintillation like
the light of a star was seen, or like the will-o'-the-wisp at
MThe nature of the existence of the gods was such as has been
explained (cf. pp. 249/.).
night. And now commenced a desire on the part of the
family of gods to go forth from between their parents to
follow the faint appearance of light. Some of the gods
consented, some did not; and thus it became a matter of
strife between them. Tane, Tupai, and others said, "Let us
seek a means by which we may go forth." The matter was
then assented to. Now Uru-te-ngangana, the eldest of the
family, had been persuaded by Whiro-te-tipua's arguments
against going forth, and hence they remained until the last.
THE GODS Go FORTH TO THE WORLD OF LIGHT
Now, at a certain time after, Ue-poto went to bathe and
wash away the clammy feeling arising through the warmth
of their dwelling-place (within the embrace of their par-
ents). He was carried outside away on the current of his
mother's urine and found himself outside in a gentle cooling
breeze which was sweet-scented in the nostrils of Ue-poto.
He thought this is the best place, here outside. So he called
out under the sides of his parents: "O Sirs! Come outside,
for this is a pleasant place for us."
When the menstruous time of their mother Earth came,
then Tane came forth. This was in the seventh Po, or age
of their desire to search for the "way of the female" in
order to go forth. On reaching the outside world they then
saw that it was indeed a pleasant place for them to dwell.
There was, however, a drawback; for the different kinds of
the cold of heaven (or space) there spread out their intense
cold. Hence did Rangi and Papa closely embrace to ex-
clude the cold from their offspring and hence also originated
the "goose-flesh" and trembling through cold. These are
the enemies that afflicted the family of their father. In con-
sequence of this they sheltered under the sides of their
mother, where they found warmth which they named
shelter-by-the-side, which name has come down to us and is
applied to a warm and pleasant place where no winds blow.
After this when the ninth and tenth ages had come,
Uru-te-ngangana and others came forth — they formed the
second party; and then Whiro-te-tipua and his friends were
urged to come forth. He did so in anger and afflicted some
of the other gods with baldness on the top of the head and
the same on the forehead, the eyelashes, and the eyebrows.
Great indeed was the wrath of Whiro at Tane because of
his inducing them to come forth from the shelter of their
parents to be "bitten" by the cold of space — that was the
cause of his anger.
THE SEPARATION OF HEAVEN AND EARTH
Some time after the foregoing events Tane said, "Let us
now separate our parents that Rangi and Papa may occupy
different places." Whiro would not consent to this proposi-
tion and there was much strife in consequence. But Tane-
nui-a-rangi became more urgent; and then Tangaroa, Tu-
mata-uenga, and Tawhiri-matea finally agreed. And now
Rangi-nui was propped up into the position he now holds.
In the propping up by Tane with the four props, one was
placed at the head, one on each side, and one at the legs,
making the four that separated Rangi from Papa. But
as the props were lifted and Rangi was still suspended in
space, one at the legs and one at the head slipped. Tane
called out to Paia, "O Pai!" Paia replied, "Here am I."
Tane said, "Raise him up above." In this uplifting and
raising in order that Rangi-nui might float above, he did
not quite rise to the position required, because the arms of
both Rangi and Papa grasped one another and held fast.
Then Tane called out to Tu-mata-kaka and Tu-mata-uenga
telling them to get an axe to cut the arms of their parents.
Tu-mata-kaka cried out, "O Tane, where is the source of
axes to be found?" Tane said, "Fetch one from the pillow
of our elder brother, Uru-te-ngangana, to cut them with.
Fetch a handle from Tua-matua who will put a keen edge
on the axe and fasten it to a handle." The two axes named
Te-Ahwio-rangi and Te Whiro-nui were then fetched, and
then the arms of Rangi-nui and Papa-tua-nuku were severed
and they were completely separated. At that time Paia
cut off from the neck of Rangi-nui the ahi-tapu or sacred
fire, which he subsequently used to make fire with, using
his karakia (incantation) in doing so.
Now when Rangi-nui had been properly placed in posi-
tion as is now to be seen, the blood from the arms dripped
down on to Papa and hence is the red oxide of iron and the
blue phosphate of iron, that his descendants in this world
use in painting. And hence also is the red appearance
that inflames the skies at sunrise or sunset — that is the
blood of Rangi's arms.
Now at this time the family of gods proceeded to arrange
the knowledge of things celestial and terrestrial of Rangi-
nui ; that is, to direct matters so that they might be able to
adopt a course leading to their benefit. But they were not
able to accomplish it, for they were confused about the
direction of earthly things — they could not manage it.
THE SEPARATION OF THE DWELLINGS OF THE GODS
They now decided to have separate dwelling places.
Whiro-te-tipua, Uru~te-ngangana, and their immediate
friends dwelt in Tu-te-aniwaniwa (Where-stands-the-rain-
bow) — that was their house, and the place where they lived.
Tane, Paia, and others dwelt in Huaki-pouri with their
friends.
Thus it was that the family dwelt separately; an envious
heart was the reason and the following were the causes of
this ill feeling:
1. On account of the persistence of Tane that they should
go forth from the embrace of their parents.
2. The "biting" of the cold of space, the cold of the
waters, the extreme cold and the excessive cold.
3. The persistence of Tane, Tupai, and their faction that
their parents Rangi and Papa should be separated.
4. The "evil heart" of Tane, Tupai, and others in de-
ciding to cut off the arms of their parents with the two
axes.
5. The presumption of Tane and his faction in under-
taking these works. If it had been the seniors of the
family, Whiro* would have consented.
6. The conceit of Tane in declaring that he could ascend
the sacred winds of a conjoint heavens that stand above.
Rather should Whiro himself have accomplished the journey
to the highest heaven.
THE SANCTIFICATION OF TANE
Now at this time, lo-matua, the Supreme God, said unto
Rua-matua and Rehua, two of the guardians of the heavenly
treasures, "Go ye down to the earth and on Maunga-nui,
the great mountain, command Tane and Tupai to ascend
to ye up the mountain. You will there purify them and
baptize them in the ' waters of Kongo r on that mountain,
and then return." These were the sons of the family.
So these two messengers descended to the summit of
Maunga-nui and commanded Tane and Tupai to climb up to
them. The two gods did so and on reaching Rua-tau and
Rehua they were taken to the "waters of Kongo77 and
baptized. Thus were they purified; and now for the first
time did Tane receive his full name of Tane-nui-a-rangi,
the Great Tane of the heavens, whilst Tupai received that of
Tupai-a-tau. After this the two messengers ascended to the
uppermost heavens to lo-the-hidden-faced and Tane and
Tupai returned to their dwelling-place at Huaki-pouri.
7. This was the seventh cause of Whiro-te-tipua's ill
feeling; the sanctification, and the baptism of those new
names for Tane and Tupai.
After these events lo-the-origin-of-all-things said to his
two messengers, "Go! Ask of the family of Rangi-nui
which single one of them will be able to ascend the Ascend-
ing Clouds of the heavens to Tikitiki-o-rangi, the upper-
most heavens, to meet me at Matangi-reia (the sun's path
in the heavens, the home of lo). Then these two descended
to Tu-te-aniwaniwa (one of the separate houses in which
the gods dwelt after coming forth from the parental em-
brace) and laid their mission before Uru-te-ngangana and
Whiro and their faction.
Whiro informed them that he could climb up by the
winds of heaven and bring back the wananga (all knowl-
edge, etc.). Rua-tau asked, "By what way wilt thou climb,
0 Whiro?" The latter answered, "By the Taepatanga
(where the sky hangs down) of the heavens will I ascend."
"You will not succeed for the winds of the conjoint heavens
are difficult to overcome."
The two gods then went to Whare-kura (another of the
houses of the gods) and Rua-tau asked, "Which of you is
able to ascend the conjoint heavens to lo-the-origin-of-all-
things?" Rongo-marae-roa and his faction replied that
Tane-nui-a-rangi could accomplish it. The two messengers
then went to Huaki-pouri (Tane's house) and asked them,
"Which of you will be able to climb by the winds of the
conjoint heavens to lo-the-origin- of-all-things, at Matangi-
reia in its beauty and expanse?" Tane replied to this, "I
can do itl" Then said Rua-tau, "By which way will you
ascend?" Tane replied, "I "will ascend by the Ara-tiatia,
the Toi-hua-rewa (two names for the ascent) of the family
of my elder brother, the god of winds, who dwells above in
the third heaven." Rau-tau and Pawa then said, "Enough!
Ascend to Pumotomoto (entrance to) Tikitiki-o-rangi (high-
est heaven), to Tawhiri-rangi (guard-house of) Te Toi-o-
nga-rangi-tuhaha (summit of all the heavens)." After that
Rua-tau and Aitu-pawa returned.
Hearing of this Whiro said unto his elder brethren,
"I intend to go and fetch the wananga (knowledge) at the
Summit of the heavens." Uru-te-ngangana* and others
said, "Leave our younger brother to fetch it — he who has
ascended Maunga-nui and Maunga-roa and been conse-
crated to the Three Currents of Death." Whiro was
very wroth at this and said, "Who, indeed, has said that
he, a younger son, will ascend above through all the
heavens?7'
THE FIRST TEMPLE Is BUILT ON EARTH
Tane-nui-a-rangi now urged his brethren saying, "Tama-
kaka, Tupai-a-tau, etc., let us all go to Rangi-tamaku (the
eleventh heaven from the summit) and obtain the design
of Whare-kura and build a similar one here on earth; in
which to deposit the tahu (i.e., the origin, the very com-
mencement of all knowledge) of the wananga of the
heavens." Tawhire-matea consented to this. When they
reached Rangi-tamaku, they carefully copied the design of
the temple.
TANE ASCENDS TO THE UPPERMOST HEAVEN
After the events described above, the ascent of Tane
to the Uppermost Heaven was considered by the Gods.
Whiro-te-tipua was most urgent that he should go on before;
so he proceeded by way of the Taepatanga (edge of the
sky) of the heavens to climb up above. Whiro had pro-
ceeded on his way for a long distance when Tane told
his elder brethren that they ought to start. So they went
aided by the family of Para-wera-nui (a mighty southerly
tempest) who carried them along. That family is as fol-
lows: the black whirlwind, the ascending whirlwind, the
great windy whirlwind, the whirlwind ascending to heaven.
These then were the families of Tawhiri-matea who carried
Tane to the entrance of the guardhouse to the uppermost
heaven. His companions accompanied Tane to the third
heaven to Kautu and Tapuhi-kura who were the spirits
whose duty it was to take Tane to the entrance into the
third heaven where Tane was purified by Kautu and
Tapuhikura. (Some of his companions) returned from
here to Earth whilst (others) carried Tane to the heaven
below the summit.
In the meantime Whiro had ascended to the two lowest
heavens where he learnt that Tane had passed on before
him; he followed to the tenth heaven in descent but did
not overtake him. Here his son-in-law said to him, "Go
back I You cannot succeed for that man Tane has been
consecrated above on Maunga-nui by Rua-tau and Rehua."
At this Whiro was very distressed and wrathy; he ordered
the Tini-o-Poto to follow in pursuit of Tane. They are
the mosquito, the ant, the centipede, prionoplus, daddy-long-
legs, the great parrot, the hawk, the sparrow-hawk, the bat,
and the owl. This was the war party of Whiro which he
sent to follow Tane, to peck and draw his blood — to kill
him. The war party went on and ascended the horizon
of the first-heaven-below-the-summit; and there attacked
Tane. But they could not approach near him — they were
whirled away by the great gales. They could not get
near him.
Tane now reached the guardhouse of the uppermost
heaven and there entered the house where were Rua-tau
and many other of the guardian-gods of the supreme god, lo.
Two of his companions returned from here to the first-
heaven-below-the-summit to await Tane's return.
And, also, the war party of Whiro returned to the third
heaven to await Tane on his return.
TAKE RECEIVES NEW NAMES
Now when Tane entered the guardhouse he had arrived
at the summit-of-the-heaven. He was then taken by Rua-
tau to the waters of Rongo and there again purified and
the following additional names were given him: Great-
Tane-of-the-heaven, Tane-the-parent-of-mankind, Tane-who-
brought-knowledge-from-heaven, Tane-the-salvation, etc.
These are the names then given him; but the first one he
had already received from Rua-tau when he was sanctified
on Mount Maunga-nui.
TANE AND lo
After the above occurrence, Tane was conducted into
Matangi-reia, the house of lo, the sun's path in the heavens,
where lo was awaiting him. On his arrival lo asked him:
"By whom are we?"
"By the Sky-father and the Earth-mother is thy child,
0 lo-the-fatherl"
"Who is thy companion?"
"My elder brother, Whiro-te-tipua. He went by way of
the Taepatanga of the heavens to ascend."
"Thy elder brother will not succeed; the winds of the
conjoint heavens blow too strongly." lo added, "What is
thy reason for ascending here?"
"The sacred contents of the 'baskets' pertaining to the
Sky-father and Earth-mother to obtain; hence have I
ascended up to thee, 0 lo! "
lo then said, "Let us go to the Rauroha" (the space out-
side lo's dwelling). When they got there then for the first
time was seen how numerous were the male guardian-gods
and the female guardian-gods staying there. Tane was
again purified in Rauroha and after this had been accom-
plished they entered the temple treasure house. It was
here that the guardian-gods gave into Tane's charge the
three baskets and the two sacred stones. They were "god-
stones" (i.e., endowed with miraculous powers).
THE THREE BASKETS AND Two STONES
These are the names of the three baskets and two stones:
1. The kete-wuwu-matua, of peace, of all goodness, of
love.
2. The kete-uruuru-rangl, of all prayers, incantations,
ritual, used by mankind.
3. The kete-urmtru-tau, of the wars of mankind, agricul-
ture, tree or woodwork, stonework, earthwork — of all things
that tend to well-being, life, of whatsoever kind.
(Te Matorohanga held that the original teaching of this
branch was derived from the first created thoughts, which
were good alone; it was afterwards that evil thoughts came
into being. The Creator first gave man eyes in order to
distinguish good from evil and then the heart, to hold such
knowledge.)
1. Te Whata-kura, i.e., foam-of-the-ocean.
2. Te Whatu-kura, i.e., white-sea-mist.
These stones are both white in color, like sea-foam, that
is, they were white according to description handed down;
they are stones that may indicate either good or evil accord-
ing to man's desire. They are sacred stones and are used
at the termination of the session of teaching, that is, the
pupils are placed thereon when the classes break up. After
the proper ritual of karakia, the stones are touched by the
mouths of the pupils and then the classes break up for
the season.
TAKE RETURNS TO EARTH
Now after three baskets of the wananga (knowledge) and
the two stones had been acquired, the guardian-gods escorted
Tane and his properties to the next lower heaven. Tane
and his companions descended until they reached the fourth-
heaven-from-the-summit where they were attacked by the
war party of Whiro-te-tipua.
As soon as the war party was discovered it was assaulted
by the company of Tane. The war party of Whiro was de-
feated at Te Rangi-haupapa and the following brought
down to earth as prisoners: the hawk, the sparrow-hawk,
the crane, the great parrot, the night parrot, the bat, the
owl, and the parrokeet.
The grandchildren of the hawk were taken prisoners.
They are: the mosquito, the little sandfly, the sandfly, the
ant, the wingless locust, the butterfly, the blowfly, and the
grasshopper.
And now the face of the sky above flashed forth in bril-
liant red. Hence did Tupai, etc., know that the wananga
had been acquired by Tane-matua. Great was the joy and
the rejoicing of the family of gods, even including those
at the dwelling place of Whiro. But Whiro alone was not
glad; he was continuously angry and jealous on account of
the exceeding mana (prestige) that had accrued to Tane-
matua. And now Uru-ao and Tupai took their trumpets and
sounded a fanfare. They were named the Arch-of-heaven
and Trumpet-sounding-in-heaven. The whole of the family
of gods heard the trumpet blasts and knew thereby that
Tane-matua had succeeded in his quest.
When the party arrived at the first temple built on earth,
and after the purification ceremony, they entered the temple
and there suspended the three wananga at the back of the
temple, where also the two stones were deposited. Whiro
demanded that the baskets and stones should be delivered
up to him. Tane said to him, "Where are others to be
found if we agree to that? It is sufficient that you have
some of our elder brethren with you; the baskets must be
left with these members of our elder and younger brethren."
Whiro was very angry at this and returned to his home with
two of the stones.
THE GUARDIAN- GODS ARE APPOINTED
Now, at this period the attention of Tane-matua and his
elder and younger brethren was turned to the separation
of the guardian-gods to their different spheres of action in
their separate places, by twos and threes, to each plane of
the earth, the heavens and even the ocean. Thus was
the work directed and the valuable contents of the three
baskets were distributed.
THE WARS OF THE GODS
At this time the hatred and jealousy of Whiro and his
faction became permanent, (finally) leading to actual war.
Whiro was defeated (in a series of twenty-one battles)
and that was the reason he descended to Raro-henga.
Hence is that fatal descent of his named the-eternal-fall.
THE OVERTURNING OF MOTHER-EARTH
Before Tane ascended to the summit-of-the-heaven and
after the Sky-father and Earth-mother had been separated,
the face of their mother had been overturned so that she
faced Raro-henga. The youngest child of these parents
was at that time a child at the breast. They left this child
as a comfort to their mother. Now hence are the earth-
quakes and volcanic phenomena that constantly war against
us in every age.
The reason why the gods overturned the Earth to face
downwards to Raro-henga was because she continually
lamented for the Sky-father and because the Sky-father
constantly lamented over her; that is, this was the nature
of their lamenting, she continuously closed the avenues of
light by means of clouds and mists whilst the Sky-father
constantly obscured things by his tears, both day and night;
that is, the rain was constant, never ceasing, as was the
snow, the black frost, the driving snow. The family of
gods were perishing with the rain and the snow, and hence
did they overturn their mother to face downwards to Raro-
henga. After this their condition was much ameliorated.
But they still dwelt in a faint light like the moonlight of this
earth, because neither stars, the moon, nor the sun had been
placed in position.
The name given by Rua-tau, a messenger of lo, to this
world was this: He said to the Sky- father and the Earth-
mother, "Let your offspring go forth and dwell. Leave them
to move about on you two." He added, "Do not continue
to enclose them between your bodies. Let them go forth
to the great-wide-open-space and therein move about."
Hence we learn the name given by Rua-tau to this world,
the-great-spread-out-space-of-Rua-tau. It was Hine-titama
that gave the commonly used name (of the world), the-
enduring-light. It was thus that her relative Te Kuwata-
wata spoke to her, saying, "O Lady! Return hence!
Here ceases the world of light. Beyond me is darkness-
ever-present." Hine-titama replied to him, "Let me remain
there that I may catch the living spirit of my descendants
(mankind) in the world-of-everlasting-light." n
From this consistent evolutionism and preoccupation
with problems of origin, which the thinkers among the
Polynesians have carried to its highest point among so-
called primitive people but which the thinkers in all
groups shared with them, we will now turn to the
attempts made to develop some systematized theory
of the nature of things. That speculation on the na-
ture of reality and of the external world existed we
have given adequate proof in a former chapter. We
saw there that both among the Maori and the Oglala
Dakota, thinkers had begun to wrestle with some of
the eternal problems of philosophy; what it is we per-
ceive when we see an object; what it is that bestows
form upon an object; and finally, what it is that gives
the gods reality. But the answers given to these ques-
tions might all conceivably be interpreted as isolated
intuitions, valuable and instructive, it is true, but not
11 S. Percy Smith, op. tit., pp. 119,^. For the order of creation
see pp. 301 ff. of the present book.
definitely proving that the problems involved had been
objectively visualized. The skeptically inclined lay-
man has the right to demand a fairly elaborate and
systematized body of thought before allowing himself
to be convinced.
Fortunately that is to be found among the Maori.
Among the latter there are, in fact, different schools of
thought. The knowledge imparted to the priests was,
for instance, definitely classified. There were two
branches called respectively the upper-jaw and the
lower- jaw. The first branch contained everything per-
taining to the gods, the heavens, the origin of things, the
creation of man, the science of astronomy, the record
of time, etc., and the second dealt with the history of
the people, their genealogies, migrations, terrestrial
things, etc. According to the Maori scribe from whom
our best knowledge of this subject has been obtained,
no one universal system of teaching was taught, but
each Maori tribe had its own priests, its own places of
instruction, and its own methods. The teaching was
often diverted from the true doctrine, this man insists,
by the self-conceit of the priests who inculcated it.
The scribe himself admits the possibility of deviation
and divergence of opinion, although he postulates
vaguely one correct system. "The omissions in my
teaching," he says, "the innovations, variations, inter-
ruptions, or divergence from the main argument or
true story, they (certain sages present) will be able
to supply." Yet this "true story" was more in the
nature of a devout wish than an actual fact, for he
himself adds: "My wish was, had Te Ura consented,
that there should have been only one house of teaching
for all of us together. In that case there would have
been no trouble, for one of us would have laid down
the main line of teaching, whilst two would have
listened in case of divergence and one would have
supplemented or, in the case of 'the solution of con-
tinuity,' the other would have caused the discourse to'
flow again and become reaffixed to the root of the
subject, or supply any omissions." 12
Here we have a clear-cut recognition of the pursuit
of knowledge for its own sake. It differs only in degree
from that search for knowledge for its own sake that
characterizes the philosophic systems of our own
thinkers. One fundamental difference it has, which is
certainly to be reckoned to its merit: It is not divorced
from life, from the immediate interests of the present,
in the same degree that most philosophies since Plato
have been. This connection with the world of ordinary
experience is shown in a multitude of ways, perhaps
nowhere so well as in the somewhat ironical fact that a
fairly abstract discourse on the nature of things is
prefaced by a hymn to knowledge that has come to be
a magical incantation. This hymn must be recited
without a break to take breath, otherwise its efficacy is
destroyed. Herein it is possibly not so different from
the preamble to later philosophies. But let me quote
this apostrophe to divine knowledge:
"Ibid., pp. 84-85.
Cause to descend, outside, beyond,
Cause to enter into these offspring, these sons,
The ancient prized knowledge, the esoteric learning, O lol
Be received, be possessed, be it affixed,
This esoteric knowledge; be firm in thy thoughts, nor
deviate,
From the powerful, the ancient, the god-like knowledge,
Be fixed in thy root and origin; affixed thy constant
attention,
Firm be thy inspiration, thy ardent desire,
Within the roots and rootlets of thy thoughts.
May it grow, the fullness of this knowledge—
This ancient knowledge, this original learning,
And be like thine, 0 lo-omnierudite!
Let ardent desire direct from thee, 0 lo-all-knowing! Be
his.
May thy inspiration grow equal to thine, O Rua-tau-e!
And to that of Tane and of Paia-who-acquired-all-knowl-
edge,
And to Tangaroa (god of ocean) and Tawhiri-matea (god
of strong winds)
In the beating and the trembling of the heart.
Hold firm forever, with desire towards the ways of Tu
(god of war).
May he draw forth the abundant knowledge.
And entwine in his desires, the ways of Kongo (god of
peace).
Let them combine with matured inspiration.
Be effective, the sanctifying meal of Tu-horo-mata,
And full advantage be taken of the teaching, by these sons,
For they are thy offspring, that desire thee, O lo-the-all-
father! 18
,,p. 95.
Can a finer hymn to knowledge in all its fullness and
in all its implications possibly be penned? For what
does it say? Let thy knowledge be like lo-the-
omnierudite, thy inspiration like Ruatau, the guardian
of the heavenly treasures, thy foresight like that of
Tane, the Polynesian Prometheus, the trembling of
thy heart like that of the god of the ocean and of the
wind; may thy desire for the god of war give thee
knowledge for the ways of the god of peace, and may
these combine with matured inspiration! Nothing
is here omitted.
The extreme richness of the Maori data is such that
it is at times very difficult to escape the temptation of
going into bypaths. The hymn to knowledge given
above is, as I have said, merely a preamble to a dis-
course on the nature of matter. The theory of matter
there expounded is essentially a philosophy of rela-
tivity, and is definitely nonegocentric. Matter con-
sists of four fundamental ingredients — earth, water,
fire, and air. Each one of these elements as such,
however, has neither life nor form. Air is the com-
plement of all things or, as the Maori scribe says, "that
which continues or holds the life of all things." But
although none of these four primordial ingredients
exist except when they are combined, each one then
not only possesses individuality but this individuality
in each case is sui generis. This essential uniqueness
is extended to everything, in fact, in the world. We
cannot, therefore, predicate anything about the nature
of the "life" of water from what we know about "fire,"
or say anything about plants from what we know about
animals. This universe of nonrelated monads is
given unity by the postulation of a cosmic deity, lo.
lo is not only the creator of all things but, while it is
apparently implied that he has no longer the power
to draw back to himself certain aspects that belong
to the external world, he has retained to himself three
things — the spirit, the life, and the form. Everything
is gathered in his presence; proceeds from him. There
is nothing outside or beyond him — life, death, divinity.
Obedience to his commands is life; disobedience, death.
Indeed death is defined as something which does not
proceed from lo. By death here we must, however,
understand nothingness, i.e., what is not capable of
having spirit, life, or form, and therefore not capable
of being apprehended by us. Death, in the sense of
its proceeding from lo, on the other hand, simply
means the preordained termination which lo has given
to all things that exist. One great and all-embracing
ethical postulate flows from this conception of lo,
known under the epithet of he-in-whose-presence-all-
things-are-combined. Since everything emanates from
him, since he appoints each thing to its proper place,
then everything must have a function by which
it fulfills itself. And this we do indeed find. "Each
thing has its own function," our discourse says,
"even the smallest particle, such as grains of dust or
pebbles."
Because of its significance and inaccessibility I shall
quote the whole discourse:
Now let it be clearly understood about the-great-sun, the
sun, and the waxing moon and their younger brethren the
stars. All of these are worlds with their earth, waters, rocks,
trees, mountains, open places, and plains. On this earth
the ocean and the rivers made the plains and open places
which we see. It was the gods Mataaho and Whakaru-au-
moko that changed the surface of the earth and caused the
present ill condition of the plains and rivers.
This is to be clearly understood: All things have their
being through water and fire. If there were soil alone, the
land would be dead without water and fire; water without
land and fire would be dead; fire without water and land
would be dead. Hence, these three things combined give
life to the land, and to each other, and to all things that
grow and live and have their own forms, whether trees,
rocks, birds, reptiles, fish, animals, or men. It is these
three things that give life to them all. It is the same with
the sun, the moon, and the stars; they are worlds; earth,
water, and fire give them their form; and the same actuate
all things.
Now, the air is the complement of all things, whether
of the earth or the heavens, the sun, the moon, or the stars.
It is this that continues, or holds, the life of all things —
hence are there four in all. If there were the earth, the
ocean, fire, or air alone, nothing would exist, nor have
shape, or growth — nothing would have life. Hence be ye
clear it is through the earth, water, fire, and air combined
that all things have form and life.
It is the same with Rangi-tu-haha (the whole of the
heavens), including the Toi-o-nga-rangi (the uppermost
heaven, the abode of lo), each has its own form of every-
thing within them; with its own form of life suited to each.
The earth has its own form of life, as has the water, fire,
trees, rocks; all plants of every description have their own
particular form of life. The air, the moon, the sun, the
stars, have their own form of life; everything, also, that has
been mentioned above has its spirit (walrus , spirit, soul)
of its own, similar to its self.
lo-te-wananga (lo-the-omnierudite) of the heavens is the
origin of all things. These are the things that lo-mata-ngaro
(lo-the-unseen-face) retained to himself; the spirit and the
life and the form; it is by these that all things have form
according to their kind.
You must also be clear on this point: There is nothing
made by the god lo that has not an end; everything has a
termination, whether it be a draught, burning by fire, injury
by water, by the wind, excepting always those forms that the
god himself decreed should have an end in this world, or
other worlds.
All things were subservient to lo-the-great-one, and hence
the truth of the names of lo:
lo-the-great-god-over-all, lo-the-enduring (or everlasting),
lo-the-all-parent, lo-of-all-knowledge, lo-the-origin-of-all-
things (the one true god), lo-the-immutable, lo-the-summit-
of-heaven, lo-the-god-of-one-command, lo-the-hidden-face,
lo-only-seen-in-a-flash-of-light, lo-presiding-in-all-heavens,
lo-the-exalted-of-heaven, lo-the-parentless (self created),
lo-the-life-giving, lo-who-renders-not-to-man-that-which-he-
withholds. . . .
Now, it is clear that all things, the worlds and their be-
longings, all gods of mankind, his own gods, all are gathered
in his presence (i.e., proceed from him). There is nothing
outside or beyond him; with him is the power of life, of
death, of godship. Everything that proceeds from other
than lo and his commands, death is the collector of those.
If all his commands are obeyed and fulfilled by everyone,
safety and well-being result therefrom.
Now, it is obvious that all things of life and death are
combined in the presence of (or are due to) lo-the-hidden-
face; there is nothing outside or beyond him. All godships
are in him and he appoints them their places; the gods of
the dead and the gods of the living. All things are named
(i.e., created) by the god of the worlds, in the heavens, the
planes and the water, each has its own function. Even
the smallest atom, such as grains of dust? or pebbles, has its
place — to hold the boundaries of the ocean or the waters.14
** Ibid., pp. 105-107.
Chapter XVII
THE NATURE OF GOD
SO elaborate a philosophy as that recorded in
Chapter XVI we find nowhere else among present
primitive peoples, although I feel quite confident that
comparable ones are to be found in Africa and in parts
of North America. The data in our possession to-day,
where they at all deal with attempts at unification of
knowledge, are strictly confined to the realm of reli-
gion. Theological systems are not Uncommon. I
shall discuss only two of them in any detail, that of
the Oglala Dakota and that of the Bavili of West
Africa. Among the Oglala this systematization is
definitely and consciously confined to the priests and is
clothed in a ceremonial language known only to them.
The following are among the doctrines they inculcate:
The great mysterious, Wakan Tanka, is one although
he has four individualities — the chief god, the great
spirit, the creator, and the executive.
The chief god is composed of four individuals but
they are to be considered as one. They are the sun,
the moon, the buffalo, and the spirit.
The great spirit also consists of four individuals to
be considered as one — the sky, the wind, the bear, and
the ghost.
The creator-god also consists of four individuals to
be considered as one — the earth, the feminine, the four
winds, and the spirit-like.
Finally we have the executive god. He, too, has four
individuals who are as one — the rock, the winged, the
whirlwind, and the potency.1
But Wakan Tanka can also be separated in another
manner into benevolent and malevolent gods. The
benevolent gods are of two kinds, the gods and the gods7
kindred. The gods in their turn can be further sub-
divided into the superior gods and the associate gods.
The gods' kindred in their turn are subdivided into
the subordinate gods and the god-like. Each of these
four classes consists of four individuals. The indi-
viduals of the superior gods are the sun, who is the
chief of the gods; the sky who is the great spirit, the
earth who is the all-mother, and the rock who is the
all-father. The individuals of the associate gods are
the moon, the associate of the sun; the wind, the asso-
ciate of the sky; the feminine, the associate of the
earth; and the winged god, the associate of the rock.
The individuals of the subordinate gods are the buffalo
god, the bear god, the four winds, and the whirlwind.
The individuals of the god-like are the spirit, the
ghost, the spirit-like, and imparted supernatural
potency.
All these individualities of the great mysterious have
1 James Walker, "The Sun Dance of the Oglala Division of the
Dakota/' Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of
Natural History, XVI, Part II, pp. 72-92.
the following properties: with the exception of the four
winds they had no beginning though some existed be-
fore the others and some bear the relation of parent
and offspring to one another. No person can under-
stand this contradiction for it is akan, a mystery. All
these individualities, it is contended, will likewise have
no end.
That a godhead with sixteen aspects, each one of
which is a different individual, is a conscious priestly
construction, needs no demonstration. The various
persons in the Wakan Tanka are, for the most part,
simply the deities of the tribe still worshiped by the
lay population and the majority of the priests. The
task of unification must, in fact, have been extremely
difficult and it is therefore not to be wondered at if
some of the statements made about the more important
deities such as the sun, the sky, the rock, and the four
winds contain a few inconsistencies. The sun, for in-
stance, is described as a "material god's and ranks first
among the superior gods though the other three were
before him. He may be addressed as the great one,
the revered one, or our father. His domain is the
spirit-world and the regions under the world. The sky
gave him his power and can withhold it, but he is more
powerful than the sky.2 Now if we compare this
description with the following one about the sky, con-
tradictions emerge immediately: "The sky is an im-
material god whose substance is never visible. His
titles given by the people are taku skan-skan and
*Ibid., p. 8x.
nagi tonka or the great spirit, and those given by the
priests are skan and to, blue. The concept expressed
by the term taku skan-skan is that which gives motion
to anything that moves. That expressed by the
shamans by the word skan is a vague concept of force
or energy and by the word to is the immaterial blue of
the sky which symbolizes the presence of the great
spirit. His domain is all above the world, beginning
at the ground. He is the source of all power and
motion and is the patron of directions and trails and
of encampment. He imparts to each of mankind at
birth a spirit, a ghost, and a sicun and at the death of
each of mankind he hears the testimony of the ghost
and adjudges the spirit. He may sit in judgment on
other gods. His word is unalterable except by him-
self. He alone can undo that which is done. His peo-
ple are the stars and the feminine is his daughter/' 3
The problem becomes still more complicated when
we are told that the rock, although ranking fourth
among the superior gods, existed first of all, that he
is addressed as the all-father and considered the an-
cestor of all things and of all the gods. Although he
is associated with the all-mother, the earth, they are
not related as husband and wife nor has either a child
by the other. The rock, however, has children. In
one case the other parent is the winged god and in the
other the water spirit. A few words about the four
winds are also necessary in this connection. They are
regarded as one god with four aspects, each one pos-
*Ibid.f pp. 81-82.
sessing definite individuality and appearing as a god;
he (the four winds) is immaterial and his substance
is never visible. In ceremonies he, the four winds,
has precedence over all the gods except wohpe, the
feminine.
What is significant in all these inconsistencies and
contradictions is the manner in which the priests har-
monized them by predicating, as in the case of a god
like the four winds, that he may be one yet have four
appearances or, as in the case of Wakan Tanka, that
he may be one and have sixteen appearances, and that
this double nature is intelligible to the shamans, but
akan and therefore incomprehensible to the layman.
To reenforce what I have said I shall quote part of
a disquisition on Wakan Tanka dictated by an Oglala
priest to Mr. Walker:
The shaman addresses Wakan Tanka as tobtob kin.
This is part of the secret language of the shamans. Tobtob
kin are four times four gods, while tob kin is only the four
winds. The four times four are the sun, the sky, the
earth, the rock, the moon, the wind, the feminine, the
winged god, the buffalo god, the bear god, the four winds,
the whirlwind, the spirit, the ghost, the spirit-like, and the
imparted supernatural potency.
Wakan Tanka is like sixteen different persons; but each
person is kan. Therefore they are all only the same as one.
All the god persons have ton. Ton is the power to do super-
natural things. Half of the good gods are ton ton (have
physical properties) and half are ton ton sni (have no
physical properties). Half of those who are ton ton are
ton ton yan (visible) and half of those who are ton ton sni
are ton ton yan sni (invisible). All the other gods are
visible or invisible as they choose to be. All the evil gods
are visible or invisible as they choose to be. The invisible
gods never appear in a vision to anyone except a shaman.
Except for the sun dance the ceremonies for the visible and
the invisible gods differ. The sun dance is a ceremony the
same as if the sun were both visible and invisible.4
Let us now proceed to another tribe.
Among the Bavilis, R. E. Dennett 5 found existing
alongside of the fetishism of the people at large a
definitely monistic viewpoint resulting apparently from
the same tendency toward unification which we have
just pointed out among the Oglala Dakota. Nzambi,
the supreme god of the Bavili, is regarded by some as
an abstract entity from which proceed three elements
designated by Dennett as the maternal or passive prin-
ciple, the paternal or active principle and fu, properly
speaking, habit or sequence.8 The name Nzambi
itself means literally imbi, personal essence and zia or
za, of the fours or four. The fours are the groups,
each of four powers called bacici bad, i.e., the sacred
., p. 153.
5 At the Back of the Black Man's Mind, Chaps, X and XVI. Den-
nett's manner of presentation is unfortunately unduly obscure. His
contentions seem, however, to be borne out by the facts.
*Ibid., p. 165. Dennett adds, "We may perhaps express it in one
word by evolution, understanding thereby rather the process by which
the individual is produced rather than the life history of a species.
In another sense it may almost be said to be the individual himself."
symbols. Each group is composed of (i) a cause;
(2) a male part; (3) a female part; (4) an effect.
Nzambi itself may be said to have four parts, viz.,
Nzambi, the abstract idea, the cause; Nzambi
Mpungu, god almighty, the father god who dwells in
the heavens and is the guardian of the fire; Nzambi ci,
god the essence, god on earth, the great princess, the
mother of all animals; and kid, the mysterious in-
herent quality in things that causes the Bavili to fear
and respect.
The unification and mysticism encountered here are
obviously quite different from that of the Oglala and
are far more closely allied to the abstractions and the
different appellations given to the supreme deity, lo,
of the Maori (see pages 321 ff.).
The last example, that from the Batak, is of a far
simpler nature, representing a unification possibly in
its first stages. There we find four distinct and indi-
vidualized deities, also known under a collective name,
Asiasi. Whenever Asiasi is prayed to he is never
thought of as a separate deity but always as the sum
of the other four. Asiasi can thus be said to have four
aspects or, to be more accurate, to consist of four
individuals.7
From our examination of the philosophic and reli-
'gious systems we can now turn to the primitive think-
er's attempts at defining the nature and attributes of
god. In part this has been discussed before. I am
taking it up here as a separate topic because I wish to
T J. Warneck, Die Religion der Batak, p. 38.
show that in some instances these attempts took the
form of a series of postulates or elaborate epithets.
For illustration I shall select a very interesting dis-
course about God from the Batak, epithets applied to
Io, the supreme deity among the Maori, and those ap-
plied to Leza, the supreme deity among the Ba-ila of
Rhodesia.
The Batak discourse about God states very suc-
cinctly the complete religio-ethical system of these
people. To them he is essentially the final judge and
arbiter to whom everything is possible and who deter-
mines our destiny. The discourse contains eighteen
postulates:
1. Earth-betel, planted in the market-place;
May God aid us, may he increase our knowledge.
2. Where situngguk exists, there also plants are to be
found.
3. Two follows one in counting.
There are long things and short things
Just as God created them in this world.
4. God is an adequate judge.
5. To supply the needy, to take from the overabundant,
All that lies within God's power.
6. Plants grow in rows.
If God aids
Then a dewdrop may be converted into food.
7. The felled tree still stands, held upright by creepers.
God stands and looks down upon conquered man.
8. What God has done, man may not alter.
9. Take not devious paths;
God is the master of riches.
10. May God aid; may he give craftiness.
11. May our worship of God make the slender stout,
12. Even though it be little that we eat,
God aid us that we fatten thereon.
13. However great be your desire to cheat me,
God, our grandfather, is there to exercise compassion.
14. With rice iron is bought.
The word of the master, may the tondi recollect it.
15. If God helps, the old will become rejuvenated.
1 6. If God blesses, then barren soil will become fertile.
17. God is sanctified.
He takes care of all our tondi.
1 8. God has so arranged it
That there be people whom we must honor.8
The epithets applied to the supreme deity of the
Maori are, as we might have expected, of an entirely
different order. They are concerned exclusively with
trying to define his transcendent power and describe
his attributes:
lo. The core of all gods; none excel him.
lo-nui. He is greater than all other gods.
lo-roa. His life is everlasting; he knows not death.
lo-the-parent. He is the parent of the heavens and of
their different realms, of the worlds, of clouds, of insects, of
birds, of rats, of fish, of moons, of stars, of lightning, of
winds, of waters, of trees, of all plant life, of the land, the
9 ibid.
sea and the streams, as also of all other things. There is
no single thing that does not come under his control. He is
the parent of all things — of man and of the lesser gods under
him. He is truly the parent of all.
lo-the-parentless. He has no parents; no mother, no elder
or younger brothers or sisters. He is nothing but himself.
lo-taketake. This denotes the permanence of himself and
all his acts, his thoughts, and his governments. All are
enduring, are firm, complete, and immovable.
lo-te-pukenga. He is the source of all thought, reflection,
memories, of all things planned by him to possess form,
growth, life, thought, strength. There is nothing outside
his jurisdiction; all things are his and with him alone rests
the matter of possession or non-possession.
lo-te-wanaga. He is the source of all knowledge whether
pertaining to life or to death, to evil or to good, to dissen-
sions or to lack of such, to peace making or to failure to
make peace. Nought is there outside his influence.
lo-the-crown-of -heaven. He is the god of the uppermost
of all the heavens. There is no heaven beyond that one
which is known to him.
lo-the-large- (many-) eyed. No place is hidden from
his eyes and thoughts, whether in the heavens or the various
realms, the worlds, the waters or the depths of the beds of
the rivers, or the clouds. All things are gathered together
in his eyes.
lo-the-hidden-face or the-unseen-face. He is unseen
by all things in the heavens, in the world, and various
divisions of the heavens or worlds. No matter what it be
he is not seen. Only when he intends to be seen can he be
seen by any being. He is unseen by all beings of the
heavens, of the divisions of the worlds, of the waters, of
the clouds, of vegetation, insects, supernatural beings; only
when he wills that they see him can they do so.
lo-mataaho. His appearance as he moves about is as
that of radiant light only; he is not clearly seen by any
being of the heavens, of the worlds or divisions thereof.
lo-te-whiwhia. This denotes that nothing can possess
anything of its own volition; by his intention only can it
possess aught or not so possess it, no matter who or what it
be — persons or supernatural beings, heavens or the divisions
of such, moons or suns, stars or waters, wind or rain.
lo-urutapu. He is more tapu than all other gods, than
all other things of the heavens, of the realms or divisions
of space, of the sun, of the moon, of the stars and depths.9
The last of the series of epithets to be mentioned is
that applied to the supreme deity of the Ba-ila. The
philosophy they suggest is in its constructive aspect
altogether on a much lower plane than that of the
Oglala and the Maori. It shows a very marked ten-
dency, however, toward pessimism, doubt, and critique.
Finally, it is fairly definitely egocentric or, at best,
earth-centric. Epithets applied to him can be divided
into three classes, the first consisting of the generic
epithets in common use; second, those called by the
natives the praise-names; and third, a small group of
miscellaneous names, all showing the limits to the
*Elsdon Best, "Maori Religion and Mythology," loth Bulletin of
the Dominion Museum (New Zealand) , pp. 89-90.
deity's power.10 Let us begin with the first. There
are four:
1. He who besets anyone or persecutes with unremitting
attentions.
2. He who stirs up to do good or bad by repeated
solicitation.
3. He who trades on a person's good name; he who
asks things which he has no title to ask for.
4. He who is changeable in speech.
The first of these is the most common name applied
to him. Taken in conjunction with the others it seems
to indicate that for the Ba-ila, God has become identi-
fied with the impulse that prompts us to our actions,
good or bad. He is the great reality which constrains
us. We have neither to expect much nor little from
him but merely accept him as patiently as we can. In
a Ba-ila story which I have already quoted, an old
woman who has spent all her life seeking for Leza in
order that she might complain to him is answered by
the old men to whom she pours out her story, "In what
do you differ from others? The Besetting-One sits on
the back of every one of us and we cannot shake
him off!"
To offset these four generic epithets we have a large
series of "praise-names" in which Leza's attributes of
creator, controller, and determiner are extolled. Thus
he is the creator, the molder, the constructor, the
M E. W. Smith and A. M. Date, The lla-Speaking Peoples of North-
ern Rhodesia, II, pp. 197 ff.
everlasting and omnipresent, he-from-whom-all-things-
come, the guardian, the giver, he-who-gives-and-causes-
to-rot, the flooder, the rain-giver, the water-giver,
he-of-the-suns, deliverer-of-those-in-trouble, he-who-
cuts-down-and-destroys, he-who-takes-away-till-there-
is-only-one-left, the leader.
Finally we have a number of critical names, where
rebellion breaks out into open flame:
1. Dissolver of ant heaps but the maumbiiswa ant heaps
are too much for him.
2. He can fill up all the great pits of various kinds but
the little foot print of the Oribi he cannot fill.
3. The giver who gives also what cannot be eaten.
Never surely was a more mordant and utterly de-
structive criticism passed upon a god.
Chapter XVIII
MONOTHEISTIC TENDENCIES
IN the preceding chapter we passed through the
whole gamut of attitudes toward God, from the
philosophic reverence of the Maori to the trenchant
criticism of the Ba-ila. We have still to discuss one
other aspect and one that is so significant that I shall
devote a whole chapter to it, namely, monotheism and
monotheistic tendencies.
To most men monotheism is intimately bound up
with the Hebrew Scriptures and with those religions
manifestly built upon its foundation — Judaism, Chris-
tianity, and Mohammedanism. Because of the definite
association with these three great historic faiths of the
last three thousand years, and of the integral part it
plays in those civilizations which, rightly or wrongly,
we regard in many ways as representing the highest
cultural expressions to which mankind has hitherto
attained, monotheism has come to have a very
specific meaning and has been given a special evalu-
ation.
To the average man it signifies the belief in an un-
created, supreme deity, wholly beneficent, omnipotent,
omniscient, and omnipresent; it demands the complete
exclusion of all other gods. The world in its most
minute details is regarded as his work, as having been
created out of nothing in response to his wish. To
presuppose the existence of anything prior to him is
to deny his most salient attribute. He it is who inter-
venes in the affairs of man and any assumption that
he can act through the intermediation of other deities
is idolatry by implication, even though he has expressly
given these deities their forms, their attributes, and
their powers. It is never pure monotheism.
It is perhaps only natural that with so sharp and
clear-cut a definition of the deity there should have
arisen the feeling that such a monotheism represents
the highest attainable type of religious expression.
Nations without it, however high their contributions
to the world's progress in other directions may be, are
looked upon unconsciously as inferior. Yet it would
be unfair to state that it was merely this vague and
unconscious estimate that lay at the basis of man's
evaluation of the significance of monotheism. A cur-
sory glance at the history of religious thought of the
so-called primitive peoples or at the religious evolution
of civilized nations before the advent of Christianity —
the Jews alone excepted — did seem to indicate the
existence of a number of distinct phases through which
religion had progressively passed. The earliest stage,
it seemed, was to be found among primitive peoples.
There we find a religion characterized by a faith in
innumerable, often indefinite, spirits, a belief in the
general animation of nature — animism, in short. All
the great historical religions show, it is now generally
admitted, definite indications of having passed through
such a period.
This seemed to be followed by a second and much
later stage in which the worship of definite mainly an-
thropomorphic deities prevailed; the polytheism of the
ancient Egyptians, Babylonians, Greeks, and Romans.
It is the prevalent view to-day that where animism or
polytheism prevails monotheism is excluded, and where
monotheism prevails animism and polytheism are in
the main absent; that as we pass from animism to
polytheism, from dualism to monotheism, we are pro-
ceeding from a belief in a multiplicity of spirits devoid
of special attributes to a belief first in two deities and
then to a belief in a single god — a god endowed with
the highest ethical attributes. The evolution of reli-
gion thus manifests, it would seem, a definite tendency
toward an integration of our mental and emotional
life, a tendency toward the development of an exalted
and positive ethical ideal. Both, it can be claimed,
imply progress, one in the realm of the intellect and
the other in that of morality. It is not astonishing,
therefore, that even to many nonreligious individuals
pure monotheism should consequently connote the
highest form of religious experience. And yet it is
perhaps not amiss to point out that in a development
such as that just outlined we are basing our evolution
on factors that, in large measure, are essentially non-
religious.
Be this as it may, certainty no one would seriously
deny that it is the intellectual and ethical estimate of
pure monotheism that has colored the attitude of most
people toward nonmonotheistic and nonethical faiths,
and no fact could perhaps have demonstrated this so
clearly as the reception accorded to the famous book
written by that most courageous thinker, Andrew Lang.
In 1898, he published The Making of Religion, in
which he claimed that the evolutionary school in eth-
nology was hopelessly wrong in one of its fundamental
assumptions, namely, that belief in a supreme deity
did not now and never had existed among so-called
primitive tribes. He contended that ethnologists, mis-
led by certain preconceptions, had misinterpreted those
indications pointing in such a direction, crediting to
Christian influences those definite instances where the
facts could not possibly be denied.
It might have been surmised that such a theory
would have been hailed with delight by the layman.
Yet this was not the case. The layman indeed seemed
to feel a certain resentment at having mere "savages"
anticipate a supposedly exalted religious faith. That
the professional ethnologist and ethnological theorist
should have scouted the idea is natural enough, con-
sidering the ascendency of the evolutionary theory at
the time. To have admitted among primitive peoples
the existence of monotheism in any form would have
been equivalent to abandoning their whole doctrine of
evolutionary stages. And this they were not prepared
to do nor did the facts at the time definitely warrant it.
No one, for instance, would have contended that the
vast majority of the members of those tribes, among
whom the belief in a supreme deity had been found,
shared this belief except perhaps in the vaguest degree,
and it seemed apparent that even the few to whom it
was in appearance an active faith found no difficulty in
worshiping other deities as well. It might, in fact, have
been said that actual worship was the precise thing
the supreme deity did not receive. So attenuated and
functionless a concept, known to a selected few in
each community, could assuredly, the critics insisted,
be best explained as due to Christian influence.
Twenty-five years have elapsed since Lang wrote
his book and his intuitive insight has been abundantly
corroborated. The ethnologists were quite wrong.
Accurate data obtained by trained specialists have re-
placed his rather vague examples. That many primi-
tive peoples have a belief in a supreme creator no one
to-day seriously denies. For the notion, however, as
held by Lang, that it represents a degeneration from a
higher and purer faith, there is not the slightest justi-
fication; nor is there any adequate reason for believing
that the specific forms which it has assumed, the "con-
taminations" to which it has been subjected, or the
inconsistencies in which it has been involved, have ever
been different.
It was one of Lang's great merits that he recognized
some of the salient features of this belief in a supreme
deity of the aborigines. Such a deity had no cults;
prayers were only infrequently directed to him and he
rarely intervened directly in the affairs of mankind.
As we shall see, these statements are only partially
true and, at best, hold for only the first of the two
general groups into which creative deities can be
divided. The second group embraces those where
the supreme deity is represented as only partially a
creator, and where he has become fused with mytho-
logical heroes — with the sun or the moon, with animals,
or with anthropomorphic and, occasionally, indefinite
spirits. The main character with which he became
most frequently amalgamated was one who is the domi-
nant actor in the mythologies of practically all primi-
tive peoples. He is known in ethnological literature
as the Transformer, Culture-hero, Trickster. The first
term owes its origin to the fact that it is his role to
transform the world into its present shape and to be-
stow upon mankind all the various elements of culture.
We thus have two concepts: the supreme deity, creator
of all things, beneficent and ethical, unapproachable
directly and taking but little interest in the world after
he has created it; and the Transformer, the establisher
of the present order of things, utterly nonethical, only
incidentally and inconsistently beneficent, approach-
able, and directly intervening in a very human way in
the affairs of the world.
These two figures represent two contrasting and
antithetic modes of thought, two completely opposed
temperaments continually in conflict. All that has been
called contamination and degeneration is but the pro-
jection of the image of the Transformer upon that of a
supreme creator and vice versa. Indeed, it is only thus
that certain inconsistencies in the portrayal of either
can be understood. If, as we shall see, it is true that
the Transformer has introduced certain human-heroic,
occasionally but extremely rarely, even gross features,
into the otherwise elevated concept of the supreme
deity, it is equally true that wherever the belief in a
supreme deity has prevailed he has in large measure
been purged of his nonmoral character and become
invested with many of the attributes of a purposive
and benevolent creator. It will be best to give a num-
ber of concrete examples, however; first, of a creator
who in varying degrees partakes of the attributes of a
transformer and culture-hero; and second, of a creator
quite freed from such accretions.
Among the Crow Indians of Montana the Sun is the
supreme deity, but he has in the minds of many become
so definitely merged with the Transformer, in this
particular instance the Coyote, that the two cannot be
kept apart. "Long ago/' so the myth runs, "there was
no earth, only water. The only creatures in the world
were the ducks and Old Man (Sun, Coyote). He came
down to meet the ducks and said to them, 'My broth-
ers, there is earth below us. It is not good for us to
be alone/ " He thereupon makes them dive and one
of them reappears with some mud in its webbed feet.
Out of this he creates the earth and when he has made
it he exclaims, "Now that we have made the earth there
are others who wish to be animate." Immediately a
wolf is heard howling in the east. In this manner
everything in the world is created.
Not a very exalted type of creator, one will justly
exclaim. But he is a creator none the less in two
essential respects: first, in that practically nothing
exists until he creates it; and second, in that all his
creative acts are the results of his expressed will and
that they are beneficent. Let me point out one other
fact — the new ethical revaluation of the Sun-Coyote.
In the cycle connected with him as a Transformer he
possesses hardly one redeeming feature. He is obscene,
a fool, a coward, and utterly lacking in self-control.
Yet the moment he becomes associated with the cre-
ative deity all this disappears.1
Let us take another example. Among the Thompson
River Indians of British Columbia the concept of a
creator is still vague, but the creator himself is defi-
nitely dissociated from the Coyote. "Having finished
his work on earth and having put all things to rights,
the time came that the Coyote should meet the Old
Man. When he met him he did not know that he was
the 'Great Chief or 'Mystery/ because he did not ap-
pear to be different from any other old man. The
Coyote thought, 'This old man does not know who I
am. I will astonish him. He knows nothing of my
great powers.' After saluting each other the Old Man
derided the Coyote as a person possessed of small
powers: the latter consequently felt annoyed and began
to boast of the many wonders he had performed. 'If
you are he (Coyote) and so powerful as you say, re-
Robert H. Lowie, "Myths and Traditions of the Crow Indians,"
Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History,
XXV, Part I, pp. 14 ff.
move that river and make it run yonder.' This the
Coyote did. 'Bring it back.' The Coyote did so.
Tlace that high mountain on the plain.' The Coyote
did so. 'Replace it where it was'; but this the Coyote
could not do because the Old Man, being the superior
in magic of the two, willed otherwise. The Old Man
then asked Coyote why he could not replace it and the
latter answered, 'I don't know. I suppose you are
greater than I in magic, and make my efforts fruit-
less.' The Old Man then made the mountain go back
to its place."
After declaring himself as the Great Chief, the Old
Man addresses Coyote as follows: "Now you have
been a long time on earth; and since the world, mostly
through your instrumentality, has been put right, you
have nothing more to do. Soon I am going to leave
the earth. You will not return again until I myself
do so. You shall then accompany me and bring back
the dead to the land of the living." 2
Often enough we are told very little about the cre-
ation of the world itself and we first meet the creator
in a fully formed world of his own. His task then
becomes that of creating the present universe. This is
the case, for instance, with an interesting figure of the
Wintun Indians of Northern California, called Olelbis,
"he who dwells on high." "The first that we know of
Olelbis," the natives claim, "is that he was in Olepanti.
Whether he lived in another place is not known, but
2 James Teit, Traditions of the Thompson River Indians of British
Columbia, p. 48.
in the beginning he was in Olepanti, the highest place.
He was there before there was any one here on earth
and two old women always with him." What interests
us in Olelbis is that, although presumably only a
creator of the universe in a very partial sense and
although he subsequently creates the world in which
we live, human beings, etc., and behaves very much
as a normal culture-hero, he possesses no traces what-
soever of the attributes generally associated with such
an individual. He is a highly ethical, beneficent deity
concerned only with the welfare of mankind.3
If we turn to the famous "Supreme Beings" of the
Australian aborigines the picture again changes. They
are generally, though not always, complete creators,
but it is their culture-hero and transformer aspects that
dominate. They are, for instance, married and have
children. Yet in spite of all this they differ from the
Transformer in one important respect, in being highly
ethical and beneficent.4
Strictly speaking, the example to which I shall now
turn does not belong to the above type at all. But as
the supreme deity in this case has been affected by the
dominant faith of the people, namely, ancestor-worship,
it seems best to include it here. I refer to the very
marked monotheism of the Amazulus of South Africa
as described by Bishop Callaway. "Unkulunkulu," so
* Jeremiah Curtin, Creation Myths of Primitive America, pp. 3 ff.
* For an excellent discussion of the conditions found in aboriginal
Australia, see the well-known work of W. Schmidt, Der Ursprung der
Gottesidee.
their creation-account runs, "is no longer known
(i.e., no memory of him exists). It is he who was the
first being; he broke off in the beginning (i.e., sprang
from something). We do not know his wife and the
ancients do not tell us that he had a wife. Unkulun-
kulu gave men the spirits of the dead; he gave them
doctors for treating disease, and diviners. The old men
say Unkulunkulu is (i.e., was a reality) ; he made the
first men, the ancients of long ago."
There are a number of suggestive features about this
Unkulunkulu. The name itself means the "old-old
one" and his other designations imply priority and po-
tential source of existence. But what is his relation
to mankind? There the versions differ, some regarding
him as having created men, others as having begotten
them. It is likewise quite difficult to decide often
whether he is regarded as the direct ancestor of man or
as a true creator. What has happened seems clean
The Amazulus are ancestor-worshipers, worship the
spirits of the departed, and this has influenced their
conception of the supreme being to the extent of trans-
forming him into the mythical ancestor of his race.
Something of the irresponsible Transformer still clings
to him at times as the following story indicates. He
sends a chameleon to say, "Let not men die," but the
chameleon lingers along the road and he then dis-
patches a lizard to say, "Let men die." Thus it is
that death came into the world. But such traits are
unimportant. When, indeed, it is recalled that the spirit
of the deceased ancestor is predominantly evil and has
to be propitiated, the fact that the partial transforma-
tion of Unkulunkulu into an ancestor has in no way
affected his ethical and benevolent activities lends ad-
ditional corroboration to the well-nigh universal moral
nature of the supreme being among primitive peoples.
Whatever else may happen his ethical nature appar-
ently can in no way be contaminated.5
As we pointed out previously, all these creators have
some of the features of the Transformer, and yet it
seems obvious that they cannot be explained as gradual
developments from the latter. They are manifestly
quite independent and if consequently we find a su-
preme deity with the attributes of a culture-hero, this
is to be regarded as secondary, as an accretion which
I cannot help feeling represents an attempt to bring
him nearer to man. It failed, we may surmise, because
of the strength of other religious currents and because
of the absence of a cult in his honor.
In the second class of supreme deities, that group
where we find only a faint admixture of the attributes
of the Transformer, all doubt as to the deity's creative
role and complete lack of intimate relation with man-
kind is removed. Intermediate divinities carry out
his commands and it is to them that man must pray.
These two new factors have led to a strengthening of
his former traits. His character becomes correspond-
ingly ennobled and to his ethical attributes are added
omnipotence and omniscience. Yet as he becomes
further removed from men, though reverence and awe
* Bishop Callaway, The Religious System of the Amazidu, pp. i ff.
may increase, he becomes of less interest to the ordi-
nary individual, for the latter is naturally concerned
only with those deities associated with his daily needs,
i.e., with the minor gods. The supreme being thus
develops into what has been admirably described as
an otiose deity, one resting on his laurels after the
creation of the world and leaving it entirely to its own
devices.
Such an otiose deity is found, for instance, among
the Wichita of Texas. "In the times of the beginning
there was no sun, no stars nor anything else as it is
now. Time passed on. Man-never-known-on-earth
was the only man that existed, and he it was who
created all things. When the earth was created it was
composed of land and water, but they were not yet
separated. The land was floating on the water and
darkness was everywhere. After the earth was formed,
Man-never-known-on-earth made a woman whose name
was Bright-shining-woman. After the man and woman
were made they dreamed that things were made for
them and when they awoke they had the things of
which they had dreamed. Thus they received every-
thing they needed. Still they were in darkness not
knowing what was better than darkness."
Here we have most emphatically an otiose deity.
Apart from the creation of the earth and man he be-
stows, so to speak, only the potentiality of things. It
is this first man who causes the sun and moon to
appear and who creates day and night, but only in
obedience to an impulse, be it remembered, which
Man-never-known-on-earth has implanted within him.
"The man that creates things is about to improve our
condition/' he is informed later on. "Villages shall
spring up and more people will exist, and you will have
power to teach the people how to do things before
unknown to them." Throughout the story of creation
this divine impulse is expressed by a voice directing
the activities of the hero.6
At times fortunately the creation is described at
greater length. Thus among the Uitoto of Colombia,
South America, we find the following poetic account:
"In the beginning there was nothing but mere appear-
ance, nothing really existed. It was a phantasm, an
illusion that our father touched; something mysterious
it was that he grasped. Nothing existed. Through
the agency of a dream our father, He-who-is-appear-
ance-only, Nainema, pressed the phantasm to his
breast and then was sunk in thought.
"Not even a tree existed that might have supported
this phantasm and only through his breath did
Nainema hold this illusion attached to the thread
of a dream. He tried to discover what was at the
bottom of it, but he found nothing. 'I have attached
that which was non-existent/ he said. There was
nothing.
"Then our father tried again and investigated the
bottom of this something and his fingers sought the
empty phantasm. He tied the emptiness to the dream-
thread and pressed the magical glue-substance upon it.
e George A. Dorsey, The Mythology of the Wichita, pp. 25 ff.
Thus by means of his dream did he hold it like the
fluff of raw cotton.
"He seized the bottom of the phantasm and stamped
upon it repeatedly, allowing himself finally to rest
upon the earth of which he had dreamt.
"The earth-phantasm was now his. Then he spat
out saliva repeatedly so that the forests might arise.
He lay upon the earth and set the covering of heaven
above it. He drew from the earth the blue and white
heavens and placed them above." 7
The creation of all the various animals and plants
then follows. We hear no more of him thereafter.
What are we to make of this wonderful bit of
imagery? Surely there can be little doubt but that it
represents an attempt to solve the riddle of creation
by postulating something that existed before the be-
ginning, and our primitive philosopher and theologian
has quite logically assumed that the appearance of
things preceded their actual existence. In the evolu-
tion of reality, according to him, three stages may be
said to exist: nothing, the appearance of reality,
reality. It is an admirable solution of the much vexed
question of how a creator can create something out of
nothing. There are other solutions conceivable and one
of them is found among these very people; namely,
the creation of the world out of the one thing that
existed, the body of the creator himself.
But the speculation of the Uitoto monotheist has
7 Karl T. Preuss, "Die hoechste Gottheit bei den Kulturannen
Voelkern," Psychologische Forschung, II, p. 182.
gone much farther than this. In one myth we are told
that "when in the beginning of things nothing existed,
our father created words and gave us these words from
the Juka tree. Nofugeri and our ancestors brought
these words to the earth. After he had brought these
words to the earth in consequence of a dream, our
ancestors gave us the words that our father had
created." 8
In another instance the formulation is even more
specific: "In the beginning the word gave origin to
our father."
These are, of course, all interpretations of the reli-
gious man. The nonreligious man, the realist, has
had comparatively little influence upon the figure of
the creator except in one important respect, namely,
in the strenuous efforts he has made to equate him
with the ancestor of man, for the Uitoto are ancestor-
worshipers. But even he never went to the point of
representing these ancestors as directly begotten of
the creator as we saw the Amazulu in part do.
Not far from the above-mentioned tribe we find the
Kagaba, among whom we encounter a female supreme
deity and a profession of faith that should satisfy even
the most exacting monotheist.
"The mother of our songs, the mother of all our
seed, bore us in the beginning of things and she is the
mother of all types of men, the mother of all nations.
She is the mother of the thunder, the mother of the
8 Karl T. Preuss, Religion wd Mytholo$ie det Uitoto, I, pp. 165-
streams, the mother of trees and of all things. She is
the mother of the world and of the older brothers,
the stone-people. She is the mother of the fruits of
the earth and of all things. She is the mother of our
younger brothers, the French, and the strangers. She
is the mother of our dance paraphernalia, of all our
temples and she is the only mother we possess. She
alone is the mother of the fire and the Sun and the
Milky Way. She is the mother of the rain and the
only mother we possess. And she has left us a token in
all the temples, — a token in the form of songs and
dances." 9
She has no cult, and no prayers are really directed
to her, but when the fields are sown and the priests
chant their incantations the Kagaba say, "And then
we think of the one and only mother of the growing
things, of the mother of all things." One prayer was
recorded. "Our mother of the growing fields, our
mother of the streams, will have pity upon us. For
to whom do we belong? Whose seeds are we? To
our mother alone do we belong." 10
Here we have pure pantheism and the recorder of
the above data may perhaps be quite right when he
insists that we can hardly expect an origin myth, for
the All-Mother is obviously nature personified. I am
not quite so convinced of this, but it is a fact that no
creation myth has been recorded.
If there are traces, however faint they may be, of
9 Ibid., p. 169.
"Ibid., p. 170.
a direct intervention of the All-Mother of the Kagaba
in the ordinary affairs of man, there are absolutely
none in the cases now to be cited, the Tirawa of the
Pawnee of Oklahoma and the Earthmaker of the
Winnebago of Wisconsin.
In the Pawnee pantheon Tirawa reigned supreme.
To him the lesser gods, both of the heavens and of the
earth, as well as the people themselves acknowledged
authority. Tirawa rules from his position beyond the
clouds and has both created and governs the universe
by means of commands executed by lesser gods who
are subject to him.11
The two temperaments which we see clashing in-
cessantly in the interpretation of the supreme deity,
that of the permanently devout man and the idealist,
and that of the intermittently devout, the practical
man, the realist, are transparently reflected among the
Pawnee. The supremacy of Tirawa is never ques-
tioned by the latter, but something of his role as
creator of all things is taken from him. The sun,
moon, and stars are not mentioned as specifically
formed by him. They are merely given their proper
places and functions, i.e., Tirawa, somewhat like the
culture-heroes, transforms things. The following is
assuredly the account of the realist: "In the beginning
was Tirawahut (the Universe-and-E very thing-Inside) ;
and chief in Tirawahut was Tirawa, the all-powerful,
to George A. Dorsey, Traditions of the Skidi Pawnee (see Introduc-
tion), and Alice C. Fletcher, "The Hako, a Pawnee Ceremony," 22d
Report oj the Bureau af American Ethnology.
and his spouse was Atira (Vault-of-the-sky). Around
them sat the gods in council. Then Tirawa told them
where they should stand. And at this time the heavens
did not touch the earth. Tirawa spoke to the gods
and said, 'Each of you gods I am to station in the
heavens; and each of you shall receive certain powers
from me, for I am about to create people who shall be
like myself. They shall be under my care. I will give
them your land to live upon, and with your assistance
they shall be cared for. You, sun, shall stand in the
east. You shall give light and warmth to all beings
and to earth. You, moon, shall stand in the west to
give light when darkness comes. You, evening star,
shall stand in the west. You shall be known as Mother
of all things; for through you all things shall be
created/"12
It is the same realist who in the following litany
converts him merely into the most potent of gods:
We heed as unto thee we call!
Oh send to us thy potent aid!
Help us, oh, holy place above!
We heed as unto thee we call;
Oh send to us thy potent aid!
Help us, Hotoru, giver of breath! 18
And it is unquestionably the idealist who speaks in
the following. It is a final profession of faith.
12 George A. Dorsey, op. cit., pp. 3-4.
M Alice C. Fletcher, op. cit., p. 285.
I know not if the voice of man can reach the sky;
I know not if the mighty one will hear as I pray;
I know not if the gifts I ask will all granted be;
I know not if the word of old we truly can hear;
I know not what will come to pass in our future days;
I hope that only good will come, my children, to you.
I now know that the voice of man can reach to the sky;
I now know that the mighty one has heard as I prayed;
I now know that the gifts I asked have all granted been;
I now know that the word of old we truly have heard;
I now know that Tirawa hearkens unto man's prayer;
I know that only good has come, my children, to you.14
There is no doubt whatsoever in the minds of the
Pawnee that Tirawa reigns supreme and that the minor
gods are his ministers only. In one of their prayers he
is invoked in the following manner:
Father, unto thee we cry!
Father thou of gods and men;
Father thou of all we hear;
Father thou of all we see —
Father, unto thee we cry! 1S
His unapproachability and the realization that only
through his ministers, the lesser gods, can man be
brought into relation with him is forcibly brought out
in such an invocation as this:
Father, thou above, father of the gods,
They who can come near and touch us,
"Ibid., pp. 343 ^.
i., p. 314-
Do thou bid them bring us help.
Help we need. Father, hear usl 18
In the account of origins given by the Uitoto we
saw the problem of the creation of the world out of
nothing solved in a very ingenious manner. But no
attempt was there made to create the creator. Yet
this is precisely what the Winnebago essayed.
Their theory was not so different after all from that
of the Uitoto. The creator is represented as being born
and coming into consciousness. Water is formed from
his tears. But this does not take place as the result
of a conscious wish. It is only after he has recognized
the water and inferred that it had originated from his
tears that he realizes his powers and begins to create
at first gropingly and then confidently and intelligently.
Earthmaker like the Tirawa of the Pawnee never
holds direct communion with men. He acts only
through his intermediaries, the deities and the culture-
heroes he has created. At times, however, a daring
realist will attempt to establish such a direct com-
munion. I know of one instance where a man argued
that if Earthmaker had created all the deities from
whom we derive our powers, and if it is Earthmaker
who bestowed them upon the deities, then he himself
must possess even greater powers. Why not then
supplicate Earthmaker directly; see him face to face,
as one does the spirits? The man gives up everything
— happiness, the goods of the world, lastly his own
16 Ibid.
child, and finally he hears a voice from above saying,
"My son, for your sake I shall come to earth." The
man turns in the direction of the voice, perceives a
ray of light extending from the heavens to his camp
and a voice again speaking: "Only thus can you see
me, my son. What you ask of me, to see me face to
face, I cannot grant." 17 So not even the realist can
alter him profoundly; he is a deity unapproachable
and invisible.
In one of the cults, practically a feast to all the gods
and a plea for victory in war, a further attempt has
been made to convert him into a god of the general
type:
"Hearken, Earthmaker, our father, I am about to
offer you tobacco. My ancestor concentrated his
thoughts upon you. The blessings you bestowed upon
him, those I ask of you directly (i.e., and not through
the customary intermediation of other spirits). Also
that I may have no troubles in life." 18
Or we get an even more definite attempt at trans-
formation into a cult deity:
"Hearken, Father who dwells above, all things you
have created. Yet if we were to offer you some to-
bacco you would thankfully accept it, you said. I am
about to offer you a handful of tobacco and a buckskin
for moccasins and a white-haired animal to be cooked
so that you may have a holy feast. If you accept
17 Paul Radin in 37th Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology,
pp. 291-293.
18 Ibid., p. 447-
them, the first thing I ask of you will be the honor of
killing an enemy in full sight of the people, of leading
war paths." 19
From the enumeration of these examples let us re-
turn to the general discussion.
If, then, as most ethnologists and unbiased students
would now admit, the possibility of interpreting
monotheism as part of a general intellectual and
ethical progress must be abandoned and if social causa-
tions hardly touch the fundamental problem involved,
only two alternatives remain open to us. We may
either regard such a belief as innate in the theological
sense or as the expression of a certain temperament.
The first lies quite outside my province. The second
will, I think, be found nearer the true solution —
monotheism; its origin and development will seem to
be bound up most intimately with the factor of man's
temperament.
It is a matter of common experience that in any
randomly selected group of individuals we may expect
to find, on the whole, the same distribution of tem-
perament and ability. Such a view, I know, has certain
terrors because of national and class prejudices but I
do not think it can be really seriously questioned.
Primitive people are, we have seen, quite as logical as
ourselves and have perhaps an even truer sense of
reality. There is not the slightest indication of the
existence of any fundamental difference in their emo-
tional nature as compared with ours. I think we may
confidently assume that the same distribution of ability
and temperament holds for them that holds for us.
Indeed, I think there is ample reason for believing,
granted that chance mating has existed since man's
first appearance on earth, that the distribution of
ability and temperament never has been appreciably
different. What has differed is the size of population
with its corollary of a larger proportion of men of a
certain type of ability and temperament. We must
bear this in mind in estimating the culture of primi-
tive peoples.
If we are right in assuming the same more or less
fixed distribution of ability and temperament in every
group of approximately the same size, it would follow
that no type has ever been totally absent. I feel quite
convinced that the idealist and the materialist, the
dreamer and the realist, the introspective and the non-
introspective man have always been with us. And the
same would hold for the different grades of religious
temperament, the devoutly religious, the intermittently,
the indifferently religious man. If individuals with
specific temperaments, for instance the religious-
aesthetic, have always existed we should expect to find
them expressing themselves in much the same way at
all times. And this, it seems to me, is exactly what we
do find. The pagan polytheistic religions are replete
with instances of men — poets, philosophers, priests —
who have given utterance to definitely monotheistic
beliefs. It is the characteristic of such individuals, I
contend, always to picture the world as a unified whole,
always to postulate some first cause. No evolution
from animism to monotheism was ever necessary in
their case. What was required were individuals of a
certain type. Alongside of them and vastly in the
majority have always been found others with a tem-
perament fundamentally distinct, to whom the world
has never appeared as a unified whole and who have
never evinced any marked curiosity as to its origin.
Such, too, is the situation among primitive peoples.
If anything, the opposition of the two types is much
clearer. All the monotheists, it is my claim, have
sprung from the ranks of the eminently religious indi-
viduals. Its precise formulation is due to those spe-
cifically religious individuals who happened to be
thinkers at the same time. It is in the ritualistic ver-
sion of the original myth, for example, that Earthmaker
is depicted as a supreme deity who definitely creates
the other deities and the culture-heroes; it is in the
ritualistic version of the culture-hero cycle again that a
nonmoral, buffoon-like hero, whose acts are only inci-
dentally beneficial to mankind, is transformed into an
ethical, intelligent, beneficent creator. No other ex-
planation for the characteristics of the supreme dei-
ties, as I have attempted to sketch them, is indeed
conceivable except upon the assumption that they
reflect a definite type of temperament, examples of
which we know actually exist in every primitive group.
Such people are admittedly few in number, for the
overwhelming mass belong to the indifferently religious
group, are materialists, realists, to whom a god, be he
supreme deity or not, is simply to be regarded as a
source of power. If men of this type accept such a
god, he is immediately equated with the more concrete
deities who enter into direct relations with man, and
as a result contamination ensues. It is thus that that
particular type of creator arose, where a marked ad-
mixture of attributes belonging to the culture-hero and
transformer was manifest.
On such an hypothesis a really satisfactory explana-
tion of the existence and of the dominant traits of the
monotheism among primitive peoples can be given.
Monotheism would then have to be taken as funda-
mentally an intellectual-religious expression of a very
special type of temperament and emotion. Hence the
absence of cults, for instance, the unapproachability of
the supreme being, his vagueness of outline, and his
essential lack of function. Whatever dynamic force
he possesses for the community is that with which the
realists invested him. In so doing they frequently
converted him into a cult deity, into a creator of gods;
made him but one among many. This is merely
monolatry if you wish, but this in no way detracts
from the possibility that the faith of the religious man
himself may have been different, may have been essen-
tially explicit monotheism. Yet even if we should not
care to press this claim, the existence of monolatry and
implicit monotheism must constitute a definite chal-
lenge to the views still current as to the development
of the concept of a supreme creator.
The view still held both by the ethnological theorist
and the student of comparative religion is frankly evo-
lutionary. Only recently in a remarkably lucid ad-
dress by the late Dr. C. Buchanan Gray, three stages
in the development of Hebrew monotheism are as-
sumed, the earliest extending perhaps even beyond the
Exile, in which the Jews were divided into two groups,
one, apparently the large majority, worshiping Jahveh
and other deities at the same time, and the other wor-
shiping only Jahveh but yet not denying the efficacy
of other gods for the people. The second is repre-
sented by the belief of the prophets of the eighth cen-
tury and after, where Jahveh is thought of as con-
trolling the destinies of all nations but where, at the
same time, it is not definitely asserted that no other
gods exist. The last stage, that of Deutero-Isaiah,
gives us the definite formulation that there is no god
but one. Dr. Gray goes on to say, "The existence of
this third type of belief in Israel cannot be definitely
traced back beyond the sixth century. Implicit mono-
theism might, according to the judgment passed on the
age and meaning of certain passages, be traced per-
haps somewhat earlier than the eighth century; but
wherever and so soon as we find the first type of be-
lief, monotheism, whether implicit or explicit, is ex-
cluded." 20
This is quite definitely in line with the orthodox evo-
lutionary theory. The cardinal error is and always
has been the assumption that every element in culture
00 "Hebrew Monotheism," Abstract of Proceedings for the Year
1922-1923 (Oxford Society of Historical Theology) .
must have had an evolution and one generally compar-
able to that which exists in the animal world. But it is
precisely in its application to culture, to thought, and
to temperament that the evolutionary theory even in
its heyday proved so unsatisfactory and even harmful.
It requires no long preparatory stages for an indi-
vidual with inborn artistic abilities to draw figures both
correctly and with a remarkable feeling for line, and
there is* no reason whatsoever for supposing that cer-
tain concepts require a long period to evolve. What,
concretely speaking, did Dr. Gray imagine had hap-
pened in Israel between the first and the third stages
of monotheism? Apparently an increase in intelligence
and in the capacity for abstract thought. This is but
the old unconscious assumption that progress must
make equal strides along the whole line. The general
acceptance of explicit monotheism at one stage (if in-
deed there ever has been or could be such a general
acceptance) and its apparent absence in the two earlier
stages is taken to mean that it did not exist before.
The existence of two varying attitudes toward God at
one and the same time, as in the previously cited case
of Hebrew monolatry, is regarded as somehow implying
that explicit monotheism was absent. Dr. Gray him-
self partially realized the force of this criticism, for
he says further on: "We may admit the possibility in
the abstract that even before the eighth century there
may have been individual Hebrew monotheists of
whom no trace has survived; but the religion of the
people as a whole — of the teachers, prophets, priests,
as well as the mass of the people — was not monothe-
istic." 21 To Dr. Gray the existence of such a mono-
theist was a bare possibility because at bottom he could
not think of explicit or implicit monotheism except as
the result of a gradual evolution and, I surmise, be-
cause he would have seen no way in which to explain
it if it had actually been found.
Another theologian and historian of religion, the very
stimulating Archbishop of Upsala, Dr. N. Soderblom,
is also definitely evolutionistic in his interpretation.
Instead of simply beginning with animism or pre-
animism, however, he begins with three factors: ani-
mism, the belief in supernatural power, i.e., mana, and
the belief in culture-hero creators (Urheber). He does
not deny the existence of the all-father or creator con-
cept but assumes it as something shadowy and vague
among primitive peoples and in his opinion utterly dis-
tinct from real monotheism in any form. He, like so
many people, can explain the marked resemblances of
so many supreme creators to the culture-heroes in
but one way, namely, that the latter have largely con-
tributed toward the formation of the former. To ex-
plain the third, i.e., the mystical aspect, he has recourse
to the mana concept. This in itself is exceedingly sug-
gestive, especially if we take the belief in culture-
heroes and the mana concept as being in the nature of
psychological tendencies, but unfortunately Dr. Soder-
blom does not confine himself to this aspect of the
question but predicates an evolutionary development
., pp. 8-13.
for both concepts.22 For, like the most orthodox of
evolutionists, he cannot bring himself to believe that
the mentality of primitive people is not essentially
different in kind from our own. He has been led
astray, if I may say so, by the data he selected. He
practically bases his analysis on the somewhat anti-
quated instances found in Lang, i.e., on the ridicu-
lously inadequate and unsatisfactory material from
Australia and the vague statements found in early ac-
counts of the American Indians. But the real criticism
of Dr. Soderblom's position is that just indicated,
that to him explicit and implicit monotheism must
represent the last phases of a long and gradual de-
velopment.
Explicit monotheism, it is true, is rare among primi-
tive peoples, but it is possibly not quite so uncommon
as the literal reading of the facts might seem to indi-
cate. Knowing the tremendous part symbolism plays
in the interpretation of religious phenomena, particu-
larly the godhead in our own civilizations, what right
have we to assume that it played an inferior role in
avowedly similar temperaments among primitive peo-
ples, especially when it is universally admitted that
symbolism permeates every aspect of primitive man's
culture? What the facts really are it is admittedly
difficult to ascertain, but from my own experience I
am inclined to assume that a limited number of explicit
monotheists are to be found in every primitive tribe
that has at all developed the concept of a supreme
a Das Werden des Gotterglwibens.
creator. And if this is true we can safely assume that
they existed in Israel even at a time when the mass of
the people were monolatrists.
The problem that confronts us is not, as has always
been erroneously assumed, the origin of monotheism.
That, I should say, antedates even Neanderthal man.
The historical problem connected with monotheism,
implicit and explicit, is, as I see it, not how monothe-
ism arose but what made it the prevailing and exclu-
sive official religion of a particular people. This we
must assume to have been largely in the nature of an
historical accident. The Jews and Mohammedans, the
adherents of the purest form of monotheism known
to-day, are certainly not innately gifted in this regard.
It is true that the factors concerned in the complete
credal triumph of monotheism in Judaism, Christian-
ity, and Mohammedanism have never been satisfac-
torily explained, but they are emphatically of an indi-
vidual, historical, and psychological nature. For
myself, I am inclined to believe that the spread of mo-
notheism is far more definitely a reflection of certain
facts of a general sociological order than has hitherto
been recognized. Certainly it has not been the triumph
of the unifying principle over the disruptive, of ab-
stract over concrete thought. Yet, on the other hand,
there must be something subtly appealing in mono-
theism, for wherever it is found a definite influence is
seen to be exercised over the thought of those who are
stubborn polytheists and animists. Nowhere, indeed,
has it ever been completely submerged once it has made
its appearance, no matter how great the mass of foreign
accretions piled upon it.
Most of us have been brought up in or influenced
by the tenets of orthodox ethnology and this was
largely an enthusiastic and quite uncritical attempt to
apply the Darwinian theory of evolution to the facts of
social experience. Many ethnologists, sociologists, and
psychologists still persist in this endeavor. No prog-
ress will ever be achieved, however, until scholars rid
themselves, once and for all, of the curious notion that
everything possesses an evolutionary' history; until
they realize that certain ideas and certain concepts
are as ultimate for man as a social being as specific
physiological reactions are for him as a biological1
entity. Both doubtless have a history; but in the one
case its roots lie in presocial man and in the other in
the lower organisms. It must be explicitly recognized
that in temperament and in capacity for logical and1
symbolical thought, there is no difference between
civilized and primitive man. A difference exists — and
one that profoundly colors primitive man's mental and
possibly his emotional life; but that is to be explained
by the nature of the knowledge the primitive man pos-
sessed, by the limited distribution of individuals of
certain specific temperaments and abilities and all that
this implied in cultural elaboration.
In no way, however, does this affect the question of
the existence among primitive people of monotheism
in all its different varieties. Such a belief, I cannot
too often repeat, is dependent not upon the extent of
knowledge nor upon the elaboration of a certain type
of knowledge, but solely upon the existence of a special
kind of temperament. When once this has been
grasped, much of the amazement and incredulity one
inevitably experiences at the clear-cut monotheism of
so many primitive peoples will vanish, and we shall
recognize it for what it is — the purposive functioning
of an inherent type of thought and emotion — and this
inherent type of thought and emotion has received
expression among many primitive tribes, sometimes
more, sometimes less elaborate, as the examples in this
and other chapters amply demonstrate.
Chapter XIX
SKEPTICISM AND CRITIQUE
THE critical attitude assumed by some of the
Ba-ila thinkers toward their supreme deity
brings us to the whole subject of philosophical and
scientific critique. Were there, for instance, any true
skeptics among primitive people? Were they, or at
least were some of them, capable of subjecting their
beliefs to consistent criticism, capable of weighing
their merits and demerits? I shall let the facts speak
for me.
First let us turn to the out-and-out skeptics. Every
ethnologist has encountered them. I will give one
example in detail, one already mentioned.
Among the Winnebago it is narrated that there was
once a man who doubted the powers of the most feared
of Winnebago deities. The deity in question was
named Disease-Giver. His was an open rebellion.
"Why," he said, "do you always make offerings and
feasts to Disease-Giver? What benefit has he ever
been to you? If I were ever to see him I would kick
him off the earth. The only thing he can give you is
disease." Time passed, but in the fall of the year he
saw a man coming toward him who proved to be the
much slandered Disease-Giver. Disease-Giver dis-
closed himself and when he asked the man whether he
still believed he could carry out his threat, the latter
defiantly answered yes. Thereupon Disease-Giver
pointed his deadly finger at him, straight at his heart.
The man did not budge. And then we come to the
complete depreciation of the god. The deity pleads
with the man to die, at least for a short time, so that
people might not say that he, Disease-Giver, had
failed in his mission 1 * It is true that in the end the
skeptic is punished but this in no way detracts from
the skepticism, of course.
Skepticism and doubt, fear and bewilderment, mingle
with acceptance and gratitude in the following dis-
courses on the nature of the Ba-ila Leza. Something,
indeed, of the atmosphere of the Goetterdaemmerung
pervades their attitude.
Long ago the Ba-ila did not know Leza as regards his
affairs — no, all that they knew about him was that he
created us and also his unweariedness in doing things.
As at present when the rainy season is annoying and he does
not fall, why then they ask of Leza different things; they
say now, "Leza annoys us by not f ailing' '; then later when
he falls heavily they say, "Leza falls too much." All the
same, Leza, as he is the compassionate, that is to say, as he
is the merciful, he does not get angry. He doesn't give up
falling, he doesn't give up doing them all good — no, whether
they mock him, whether they grumble at him, he does
*Paul Radin in 37th Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology,
PP. 309-310.
good to all at all times. That is how they trust him always.
But as for seeing always his affairs, no, the Ba-ila do not
know. All they say is: Leza is the good natured one.
Today Leza has turned over and abandoned his old ways.
Today he is not the same, he is altogether different, for
he is not as he was in distant years before the white chiefs
came. At that time he was truly the water giver and all
things were still sufficient on earth as they had been estab-
lished from the beginning. Then Leza was still young.
Today Leza has grown old, he has become the ancient one
of long ago. That is what we suppose, because the water
which he rains down is supposed to be like tears from the
eyes of men when they weep. So it is when one becomes
aged. When he weeps tears he lets tears dribble down his
chest — that is how we judge Leza to be. He is the-owner-
of-his-things: all things are his. He cannot be charged with
an offense, cannot be accused, cannot be questioned, cannot
be claimed from: none of the things can be done to him
which we do to our fellow-men on earth. He gives and
rots. Vengeance is his own. There is no flood today — no
great giver of floods. This is how he is judged of; today
Leza is not as he is wanted to be. Long ago he was the
one who could be urged to do well, but today he has left
off being so.2
In the following example taken from a discourse on
God of the Ewe of West Africa, we have a dispas-
sionate presentation first of the good qualities of God
and then of his inconsistency and rank injustice:
* E. W. Smith and A. M. Dale, Tht Ito-Speaking Peoples of North-
ern Rhodesia, II, pp. 200-201.
God made everything in the world. He alone has been
great from the beginning of time. God made all men.
When he is ready to send a person into the world he gives
him some occupation by means of which he can earn his
living. God is wise for he has created everything on the
earth and accompanies men and animals everywhere. He
made the high mountains and the woods that grow on them
and he made the rivers. No person can understand his
wisdom. He sent us Ewe here and he therefore consoles
us and gives us food so that we may live for a certain
span. He himself made the good and the bad people. He
is compassionate but he does not always know how to act
justly for he gave us death.
God acts unjustly for he made some people good and
others bad. I and my companions work together in the
fields; the crops of one prosper and those of others fail.
This proves that God is unjust and treats men unequally.
God treats us, our children and our wives who perish, un-
kindly. If men behaved like that we say nothing, but
when God acts thus it hurts us. From this we are right in
inferring that God is unjust.8
From ethico-philosophical critique of this kind it is
but a step to definitely scientific or objective criticism,
and I cannot do better than to begin by giving an in-
stance of what is properly speaking the very highest
type of scientific control. My example comes from
the Maori.
In the early days of Christian influence the Maori
8 Johann Spieth, Die Ewe Staemwe, pp. 834-836.
were very much impressed by many aspects of Euro-
pean civilization. While not accepting them they yet
believed them to be true. One thing, however, so the
missionary who relates the following incident tells us,
they did not believe and that was that a person could
convey his thoughts to another person, separated many
hundreds of miles, by writing. This a chief told the
missionary he would believe only if all possibility of
trickery and magic were definitely excluded. The
chief thereupon proposed the following test. A white
man was to write something on a piece of paper in his
presence and the contents communicated to him alone.
This was then to be taken by a Maori whose move-
ments were under control, to a white man living many
miles distant and who had had no communication with
the sender of the message. If this white man could
read the message correctly then he, the Maori, would
accept this as proof. By one of those delightful ironies
which fill the annals of our contact with primitive
peoples, the missionary in question cites this incident
to illustrate the ridiculous naivete of savages and it
was subsequently quoted in a paper entitled Maori
Beliefs and Superstitions*
But in critical caution and critical doubt the Maoris
were excelled by many other peoples, particularly by
the African Negroes. Take for example the following
disquisition on Unkulunkulu, the supreme deity of the
Amazulu of East Africa:
* Authority of Elsdon Best.
When black men say Unkulunkulu or Uthlana or the
Creator they mean one and the same thing. But what they
say has no point; it is altogether blunt. For there is not
one among black men, not even the chiefs themselves, who
can so interpret such accounts as those about Unkulunkulu
as to bring about the truth, that others too may under-
stand what the truth of the matter really is. But our knowl-
edge does not urge us to search out the roots of it; we do not
try to see them; if anyone thinks ever so little he soon
gives it up and passes on to what he sees with his eyes
and he does not understand the real state of what he sees.
Such then is the real fact as regards what we know about
Unkulunkulu, of which we speak. We say we know what
we see with our eyes, but if there are any who see with
their hearts they can at once make manifest our ignorance
of that which we say we see with our eyes and under-
stand too.
As to our primitive condition and what was done by
Unkulunkulu we cannot connect them with the course of
life on which we entered when he ceased to be. The path
of Unkulunkulu through our wandering has not, as it were,
come down to us; it goes yonder whither we know not.
But for my part I should say, if there be anyone who
says he can understand the matters about Unkulunkulu,
that he knows them just as we know him, to wit, that he
gave us all things. But so far as we see, there is no con-
nection between his gift and the things we now possess.
I say then that there is not one amongst us who can say
that he knows all about Unkulunkulu. For we say, "Truly
we know nothing but his name; but we no longer see his
path which he made for us to walk in. All that remains is
mere thought about the things we like. It is difficult to
separate ourselves from these things and we make him a
liar. For that evil which we like of our own accord, we
adhere to with the utmost tenacity. If anyone says, "It
is not proper for you to do that; if you do it you will
disgrace yourself," yet we do it saying, "Since it was made
by Unkulunkulu where is the evil of it?" 5
The same Amazulu informant told Canon Callaway,
our main authority on this tribe, the following:
The old men say, "Unkulunkulu came into being and
gave being to man. He came out of the bed of reeds; he
broke off from a bed of reeds." We children ask, "Where
is the bed of reeds out of which Unkulunkulu came? Since
you say there is a bed of reeds in what country is it? For
men have now gone into every country. In which of them
is the bed of reeds from which Unkulunkulu broke off?"
They say in answer, "Neither do we know and there were
other old men before us who said that neither did they
know the bed of reeds from which broke off Unkulunkulu."
They say they speak the truth in saying there is a bed of
reeds. But we say there is no bed of reeds, for we do not
know the land in which it is, of which they can say it is in
such and such a country.6
But it is not merely the vague Unkulunkulu on
whom the Amazulu exercise their very great critical
6 Bishop Callaway, The Religious System of the Amazulu, pp. 22-24.
* Ibid. , pp. 31-32.
acumen and their half-ironical skepticism. Everything
in their life is subjected to it, their ancestors, the nature
of ecstasy, dreams, etc. In the following discourse on
the amatongo, i.e., the ancestor-gods of the Amazulu,
nothing escapes their boring inquiry — the ridiculous-
ness of gods who are capricious without cause, and the
fatuity of men who insist that their gods have been
with them because they have, through some unforeseen
chance, escaped destruction!
Men say they possessed amatongo as soon as they came
into being. When they came into being men spoke already
of there being amatongo and hence they too knew that they
existed. It is not something which as soon as they were
born they saw to be amatongo.
So all nations used to think when they were about to
attack an army, that they should be assisted by the itongo
(ancestors); and although they were killed by the army
the friends of those who were killed said, "The itongo of our
people has turned its back on us." They asked, "How is it
that all our people have at length come to an end and not
one man come back from the army?"
If there is one who has escaped he says, "As for me I
escaped, I know not how. The amatongo had decreed that
we should all die; one man would not assent. When we
were destroyed by the enemy where was he, I wonder? I
escaped I know not how; I no longer expected to be saved
when I saw all our people destroyed."
At first the people say, "The amatongo of our people are
good for nothing! Why has the whole village perished?
How is it that they never mentioned anything to us that we
might understand why they were angry? Where had the
itongo of so-and-so gone? Why was he not among the other
amatongo? Those who weep for the dead say thus.
"And those who escaped say, 'We have been saved by
the amahlosi of our people.' " 7
Again what better recognition of the difference be-
tween our normal waking state and ecstasy can be
demanded than this definition: "Ecstasy is a state in
which a man becomes slightly insensible. He is awake
but he still sees things which he would not see if he
were not in a state of ecstasy."
As a final example I give the following Amazulu
inquiry into the meaning of dreams:
Among black men the real meaning of dreams is not
known. For some dreams have every appearance of reality
but they are not true; others again point out something
which is about to happen. For among black men it is sup-
posed that if a man dream of a great assembly where they
are dancing, if there is anyone ill, we have no confidence
that he will get well, but immediately the man who dreamt
of the dance is much alarmed.
But a dream which produces confidence among black
men, when one is ill, is one in which they dream that some-
one is dead.
We do not understand how this happens. For as regards
living and dying, it would appear proper that he who is
'Ibid., p. 129.
about to die should die, if when he is ill people dream he
is dead; and he who is about to live should live if people
dream that he is well. But in truth I have seen both.8
We have now passed through the whole gamut of
speculative philosophy and critical approach as
vouched for among representative primitive people.
In the face of this remarkable evidence which probably
represents only a small portion of what is still to be
obtained, it is manifestly unfair to contend that primi-
tive people are deficient either in the power of abstract
thought or in the power of arranging these thoughts in
a systematic order, or, finally, of subjecting them and
their whole environment to an objective critique.
6 Ibid., pp. 129-133.
Chapter XX
CONCLUSION
IN our introduction, we pointed out that certain of
the assumptions current in anthropological litera-
ture to-day were arrived at more than fifty years ago, at
a time when the older conception of the evolutionary
process was making its triumphant procession through
the intellectual world, and when our knowledge of
primitive people was meager, one-sided, and largely
erroneous. Within the last thirty years our material
has increased to such a bulk that a new appraisal is
not only urgent but obligatory. And this has been
attempted from many sides. The foregoing chapters
represent such an attempt made from a particular
angle unusual in anthropology perhaps, but familiar
enough to students of history and philosophy — the
nature and the role of the intellectual in the
community.
No qualified observer of the customs of primitive
man has ever denied the existence of thinkers among
them. He may have discounted their views and dis-
missed them as of no consequence, as having no per-
ceptible influence on the attitude of the majority, but
he has never denied their presence. Yet the preced-
ing chapters will, I feel certain, convince even the most
skeptical that to underestimate the contribution of
these thinkers is a serious error, likely to distort our
whole picture of the mentality of primitive man. Nor
is this the only error arising from so superficial an atti-
tude toward the culture of primitive peoples. A far
larger question is involved. How are we ever to trace
properly the development of thought and, more specifi-
cally, that of our fundamental philosophical notions
if we begin with false premises? If it can be shown
that the thinkers among primitive peoples envisage life
in philosophical terms, that human experience and the
world around them have become subjects for reflection,
that these ponderings and searchings have become em-
bodied in literature and ritual, then obviously our cus-
tomary treatment of cultural history, not to mention
that of philosophical speculation, must be completely
revised.
Whether I have proved my contentions must be left
for the reader to decide. There is not the slightest
doubt in my own mind. It is not conceivable nor rea-
sonable to suppose that material obtained in the origi-
nal and translated by competent scholars is likely to
be wrong, particularly when it is corroborated by
statements contained in the ritual and the literature of
primitive peoples. To those who would contend that
the systematized philosophy found simply represents
the influence of contact with Europeans and Oriental
peoples during the last five hundred years, I would
answer that this can, in many cases, be definitely dis-
proved, and that even were it true, it would no more
affect the real problem involved than the fact that
Greek civilization influenced the rest of Western
Europe. Indeed, it is from instances where we know
European and Christian influence to have been defi-
nitely present that our best evidence for the existence
of thinkers, and for the philosophical quality of their
thoughts, can be derived. In no Christian creed of
which I am aware — certainly in none with which
American Indians ever came in contact — has God, for
instance, become equated with the soul, or has the
doctrine of a pantheistic soul been evolved, or has
Man become synonymous with his Thought. Yet, as
we have seen in the preceding pages, such was the
philosophy elaborated by a Winnebago Indian after
his conversion to a semi-Christian religion.
As we have stated the material must speak for itself.
We must not, likewise, forget that our present data
obviously represent only a fraction of what once ex-
isted, or of what could still be obtained if attention
were specifically directed to the subject. Only when
we have obtained this will we realize completely how
erroneous has been the older contention so unfortu-
nately revived by Professor Levy-BruhPs well known
but completely misleading work Les Fonctions Men-
tales dans les Soci6t6s Injlrieures, that the mentality
of primitive man differs intrinsically from our own,
and only then will we fully understand that what
differentiates us from him is the written word and the
technique of thinking elaborated on its basis.
In conclusion, lest I be misunderstood, let me again
emphasize the fact that it is not contended for one
moment that what is contained in this book represents
the viewpoint of the average man, or that of the over-
whelming majority in any given primitive community.
It is the thinker we have been describing and pre-
dominatingly the thinker.
Appendix
THE SOURCES OF THE POEMS QUOTED
All the poems quoted in this book represent accurate trans-
lations from the original. With the exception of the cases
indicated below the originals are also available.
Page 103
I. American Indian Life, edited by E. C. Parsons and A.
L. Kroeber, p. 19. Not available in original.
II. Frances Densmore, Bulletin 53, Bureau American
Ethnology, p. 89
III. Ibid., p. 114
IV. Johann Spieth, Die Religion der Eweer, p. 237
Page 104
V. John White, The Ancient History of the Maori, VoL
I, P- 35
I. H. A. Junod, Les Chants et les Contes des Ba-Ronga,
p. 51. Translated from French.
II. Bureau of American Ethnology, 35th Report, p. 1292
Page 106
I. J. White, op. cit., Vol. I, p. 7
Page 107
II. W. W. Gill, Myths and Tales from the South Pacific,
pp. 281-282
III. J. Spieth, op. cit., p. 237
Page 108
IV. W. W. Gill, Darkness and Light in Polynesia, p. 220
390 APPENDIX
Page 110
I. Edward Tregear, The Maori Race, p. 73
II. J. C. Andersen, Maori Life in Aotea, pp. 61-62
All the references used from this book represent
quotations that Andersen has taken from the older
sources, where they are either given in the original
Maori or in translations by scholars who knew Maori
very well.
Page 112
III. E. Tregear, op. cit., p. 75
Page 116
I. Edward Shortland, Traditions and Superstitions of the
New Zealanders, pp. 178-181
Page 117
II. E. Shortland, op. cit., pp. 170-171
III. Ibid., p. 171
Page 118
IV. Henry Rink, Tales and Traditions of the Eskimo,
p. 67
I. E. Shortland, op. cit., pp. 178-179
Page 119
II. Nathaniel B. Emerson, Bulletin 38, Bureau of Ameri-
can Ethnology, p. 49
III. Journal of the Polynesian Society, Vol. II, pp. 35-37
Page 121
IV. J. Warneck, Die Religion der Batak, pp. 69-70
Translated from German. Not available in original,
Page 122
V. laid., p. 69. Translated from German. Not available
in original.
Page 123
VI. J. C. Andersen, op. cit., p. 461
APPENDIX 391
Page 124
VII. E. Shortland, op. cit., p. 184
Page 125
VIII. J. C. Andersen, op. cit.) p. 116
Page 126
IX. J. White, op. cit., Vol. I, p. 178
X. Ibid., pp. 33-34
XI. N. B. Emerson, op. cit., pp. 133-134
Page 127
XII. Ibid., p. 83
Page 128
XIII. J. R. Swanton, Bulletin 39, Bureau of American Eth-
nology, p. 415
XIV. Ibid., p. 415
XV. F. Densmore, Bulletin 45, Bureau of American Eth-
nology, p. 89
XVI. E. Shortland, op. cit., p. 178
Page 129
XVII. Ibid., p. 180
XVIII. F. Densmore, op. cit., pp. 151-152
Page 130
XIX. Ibid., p. 154
XX. Ibid., p. 184
XXI. E. Tregear, op. cit., p. 75
Page 131
XXII. N. B. Emerson, op. cit., p. 260
XXIII. W. W. Gill, Myths and Songs of the South Pacific,
p. 104
Page 132
XXIV. Ibid., p. 142
XXV. Ibid., pp. 179-180
Page 133
XXVI. Smith and Dale, The Ila-Speaking Peoples of North-
ern Rhodesia, Vol. II, p. 276
392 APPENDIX
Page 134
XXVII. Bureau of American Ethnology, 35th Report, p. 1306
XXVIII. Journal of American Folklore, Vol. XVI, p. 205
XXIX. Natalie Curtis, The Indian Book, p. 56
Page 135
I. H, Rink, op. cit., pp. 67-68
Page 136
II. Ibid., 68-69
III. Journal of American Folklore, Vol. I, pp. 210-211
IV. H. Junod, op. cit., p. 64. Translated from French.
Page 137
V. F. Boas, The Lkungen, British Association for the
Advancement of Science, 1890
VI. Richard Thurnwald, Forschungen auf den Salomo
Inseln, p. 216. Translated from German.
VII. Ibid., pp. 150-151
Page 138
I. E. Shortland, op. cit., p. 62
Page 139
II. J. C. Andersen, op. cit., p. 500
III. E. Tregear, op. cit., p. 76
Page 140
I. Journal of American Folklore, Vol. XVI, pp. 205 ff.
Not available in original.
II. N. Curtis, op. cit., pp. 224$.
III. Ibid., pp. 224$.
Page 141
IV. Ibid., p. 431
V. Bulletin 45, Bureau of American Ethnology, p. 303
VI. Bureau of American Ethnology, 35th Report, p. 1315
Page 142
VIL Ibid., p. 1315
VIII. N. Curtis, op. cit., p. 104
IX. Bureau of American Ethnology, 35th Report, p. 1311
APPENDIX 393
Page 143
X. J. R. Swanton, American Ethnological Society, Vol.
HI, p. 5
XL Ibid., p. 27
I. N. Curtis, op. cit., p. 50
II. F. Densirtore, op. cit., p. 120
Page 144
III. Ibid., p. 185
IV. Ibid., p. 185
V. J. Spieth, op. cit., p. 287
VI. Ibid., p. 287
Page 145
VII. /fott, p. 287
VTIL N. Curtis, op. cit., p. 50
IX. H. Junod, op. cit., p. 39. Translated from French.
Page 146
X. R. Thurnwald, op. cit., p. 37
Page 147
XI. /&{<?., pp. 221-224
XII. Bureau of American Ethnology, 35th Report, pp.
1298^.
Page 149
XIII. Ibid., pp. 1301 ff.
Page 212
I. N. B. Emerson, 0/>. aV.; pp. 43-44
Page 214
II. F. Russell, Bureau of American Ethnology, 23rd Re-
port, p. 294
III. Ibid., p. 299
Page 215
IV. Ibid., p. 302
V. Ibid., p. 307
VI. Ibid., p. 292
394 APPENDIX
Page 216
VII. Ibid., p. 31?
VIII. Ibid., p. 319
Page 217
IX. N. B. Emerson, op. cit., pp. 43-44
X. Ibid., pp. 45-46
Page 218
XL Frank La Flesche, Bureau of American Ethnology,
39th Report, pp. 74"79
Page 220
XII. S. Percy Smith, "The Lore of the Whare Wanaga,"
Memoirs of the Polynesian Society, Vol. Ill, pp.
93-94
Page 221
XIII. F. Densmore, Bulletin 53, Bureau of American Eth-
nology, p. 254
Page 222
XIV. N. Curtis, op. cit., p. 304
XV. N. B. Emerson, op. cit., p. 89
Page 223
XVI. F. Russell, op. cit.y p. 322
Page 224
XVII. Ibid., p. 284
XVIII. W. Skeat and C. Blagden, The Pagan Tribes of the
Malay Peninsula, Vol. II, p. 129
Page 225
XIX. W. W. Gill, Darkness and Light in Polynesia, p. 129