Chapter I: Primitive Man (3)

Now, of the various forms of gesture-language, the one that is least subject to change is doubtless the means of communication employed by those who are bereft of hearing, and therefore of speech as well, namely, the _deaf and dumb_. A similar means of communication through signs and gestures may also be observed among peoples of low culture. Especially when they consist of tribes with markedly different dialects, do such peoples make use of gestures in communicating with one another. Investigations of the spontaneously arising gesture-language of deaf-mutes date largely from the first half of the nineteenth century. More recent studies have been made of the gestures of the North American Indian tribes, and similar, though less complete, observations have been reported concerning the Australians. In these cases, however, gestures sometimes serve also as a sort of secret language. This is even more true of certain signs that occur among some of the peoples of southern Europe, as, for example, among the Neapolitans. In considering the question before us, such cases must, of course, be excluded, since the motive of communicating ideas may here be entirely displaced by that of keeping them secret; instead of a language that arises spontaneously, we have a means which is, on the whole, consciously elaborated for purposes of mutual understanding. If we disregard these cases, which belong to an entirely different order of facts, and examine the data gathered from widely different parts of the earth and from very diverse conditions of culture, we find a remarkable agreement. In certain details, of course, there are differences. The ideas of the Indian are not in all respects like those of the civilized European or those of the Australian. Nevertheless, the gestures that refer to specific concrete objects are frequently so similar that many of the signs employed by the gesture-language of the deaf-mutes of Europe may be found among the Dakota Indians. Could we transfer one of these deaf and dumb persons to this group of Indians, he would probably have no difficulty at all in communicating with them. In more recent times the opportunity of investigating spontaneous gesture-language has not been so great, because deaf-mutes have become more and more educated to the use of verbal language. The principal material for the study of the natural gesture-language of deaf-mutes is, therefore, still to be found in the older observations of Schmalz (1838, 2nd ed. 1848), a German teacher of people thus afflicted, and in the somewhat later reports of an Englishman by the name of Scott (1870).

What, now, do these observations teach us concerning the origin of gesture-language, and therefore probably also concerning the factors underlying the origin of language in general? According to the popular notion, a so-called impulse for communication or, perhaps, certain intellectual processes, voluntary reflections, and actions, account for the fact that the contents of one's own consciousness come to be communicated to other individuals. If, however, we observe gesture-language in its origin, we obtain an entirely different view. This mode of communication is not the result of intellectual reflections or conscious purposes, but of emotion and the involuntary expressive movements that accompany emotion. Indeed, it is simply a natural development of those expressive movements of human beings that also occur where the intention of communicating is obviously absent. As is well known, it is not only emotions that are reflected in one's movements, particularly in mimetic movements of the face, but also ideas. Whenever ideas strongly tinged with feeling enter into the course of emotions, the direct mimetic expressions of the face are supplemented by movements of the arms and hands. The angry man gesticulates with movements which clearly indicate the impulse to attack that is inherent in anger. Or, when we have an ideational process of an emotional nature, and ideas arise referring to objects that are present to us, we point to the objects, even though there be no intention of communicating the ideas. Directions in space, likewise, as well as past time and futurity, are involuntarily expressed by means of backward and forward pointing movements; 'large' and 'small' are expressed by the raising and lowering of the hands. When further movements are added, indicating the form of an object by describing its image in the air with the hands, all the elements of a gesture-language are complete. What is lacking is only that the emotionally coloured idea be not a mere expression of one's own emotion, but that it evoke the same emotion and, through this, the same idea, in the minds of others. Under the influence of the emotion aroused within them, those addressed must then reply with the same, or slightly different, expressive movements. When this occurs, there is developed a common thinking in which impulsive movements are more and more displaced by voluntary actions, and ideational contents, together with the corresponding gestures, enter into the foreground of attention. By virtue of this ideational content, movements expressive of emotions come to be expressions of ideas; the communication of an individual's experiences to others results in an exchange of thought--that is, in language. This development, however, is influenced by that of all the other psychical functions, and especially by the transition of emotional and impulsive movements into voluntary actions.

Of what nature, now, is the content of such a gesture-language as arises independently within a community, and which may, in so far, be regarded as primitive? To this we may briefly reply that all elements of this language are perceptible to the senses, and therefore immediately intelligible. Hence it is that deaf-mutes, though of different nationalities, can make themselves understood without difficulty, even upon meeting for the first time. This intelligibility of gesture-language, however, rests upon the fact that the signs it employs--or, translated into the terminology of spoken language, its words--are direct representations of the objects, the qualities, or the events referred to. Whenever the object discussed is present, the gesture of _pointing_ with the hand and finger is itself the clearest way of designating the object. Thus, for instance, 'I' and 'you' are expressed by the speaker's pointing to himself or to the other person. This suggests a similar movement to designate a 'third person' who is not present. The sign in this case is a backward movement of the finger. Whenever the objects of conversation are present in the field of vision, the dumb person, as a rule, dispenses with every other form of representation but that of merely pointing to them.

Since the objects under discussion are, on the whole, only rarely present, there is a second and important class of gestures, which, for the sake of brevity, we may call _graphic_. The deaf-mute, as also the Indian and the Australian, represents an absent object by pictures outlined in the air. What he thus sketches in only very general outlines is intelligible to one practised in gesture-language. Moreover, there is a marked tendency for such gestures to become permanent within a particular social group. For the word 'house,' the outlines of roof and walls are drawn; the idea of walking is communicated by imitating the movements of walking with the index and middle fingers of the right hand upon the left arm, which is held out horizontally; the idea of striking is represented by causing the hand to go through the movements of striking. Not infrequently, however, several signs must be combined to make a gesture intelligible. In the German and English deaf and dumb language, the word 'garden,' for example, is expressed by first describing a circle with the index finger to indicate a place, and by then lifting the thumb and the index finger to the nose as the gesture for smelling. 'Garden,' thus, is, as it were, a place where there are flowers to smell. The idea 'teacher' cannot, of course, be directly represented or pictured; it is too complicated for a language of representation. The deaf and dumb person, therefore, is likely to proceed by first making the gesture for man. For this purpose, he singles out an incidental characteristic, his gesture being that of lifting his hat. Since women do not remove their hats in greeting, this gesture is highly typical. The distinctive sign for woman consists in laying the hands upon the breast. Now, in order to communicate the idea of 'male teacher,' the hat is first lifted as the above gesture for man, and then the index finger is raised. This is done either because pupils in school raise the index finger to indicate their knowledge of a certain thing or, perhaps, because the teacher occasionally raises his finger when he wishes to command attention or to threaten punishment.

Pointing and graphic gestures thus represent the two means which gesture-language employs. Within the second of these classes of gestures, however, we may distinguish a small sub-group that may be called _significant_; in this case, the object is not represented by means of a direct picture, but by incidental characteristics--man, for example, is expressed by lifting the hat. The signs are all directly perceptible. The most important characteristic of gesture-language, as well as the most distinctive feature of an original language, is the fact that there is no trace of abstract concepts, there being merely perceptual representations. And yet some of these representations--and this is a proof of how insistently human thought, even in its beginnings, presses on to the formation of concepts--have acquired a symbolical meaning by virtue of which they become sensuous means, in a certain sense, of expressing concepts which in themselves are not of a perceptual nature. We may here mention only _one_ such gesture, noteworthy because it occurs independently in the language of the European deaf and dumb and in that of the Dakota Indians. 'Truth' is represented by moving the index finger directly forward from the lips, while 'lie' is indicated by a movement towards the right or left. The former is thus held to be a straight speech and the latter a crooked speech, transcriptions which also occur, as poetical expressions, in spoken language. On the whole, however, such symbolical signs are rare if the natural gesture-language has not been artificially reconstructed; moreover, they always remain perceptual in character.

Corresponding to this feature is also another characteristic which all natural gesture-languages will be found to possess. In vain we search them for the grammatical categories either of our own or of other spoken languages--none may be found. No distinction is made between noun, adjective, or verb; none between nominative, dative, accusative, etc. Every representation retains its representative character, and that to which it refers may exemplify any of the grammatical categories known to us. For example, the gesture for walking may denote either the act of walking or the course or path; that for striking, either the verb 'to strike' or the noun 'blow.' Thus, in this respect also, gesture-language is restricted to perceptual signs expressing ideas capable of perceptual representation. The same is true, finally, of the sequence in which the ideas of the speaker are arranged, or, briefly, of the syntax of gesture-language. In various ways, depending on fixed usages of language, our syntax, as is well known, permits us to separate words that, as regards meaning, belong together, or, conversely, to bring together words that have no immediate relation. Gesture-language obeys but _one_ law. Every single sign must be intelligible either in itself or through the one preceding it. It follows from this that if, for example, an object and one of its qualities are both to be designated, the quality must not be expressed first, since, apart from the object, it would be unmeaning; its designation, therefore, regularly occurs after that of the object to which it belongs. Whereas, for example, we say 'a good man,' gesture-language says 'man good.' Similarly, in the case of verb and object, the object generally precedes. When, however, the action expressed by the verb is thought of as more closely related to the subject, the converse order may occur and the verb may directly follow the subject. How, then, does gesture-language reproduce the sentence 'The angry teacher struck the child'? The signs for teacher and for striking have already been described; 'angry' is expressed mimetically by wrinkling the forehead; 'child' by rocking the left forearm supported by the right. Thus, the above sentence is translated into gesture-language in the following manner: First, there are the two signs for teacher, lifting the hat and raising the finger; then follows the mimetic gesture for anger, succeeded by a rocking of the arm to signify child, and, finally, by the motion of striking. If we indicate the subject of the sentence by S, the attribute by A, the object by O, and the verb by V, the sequence in our language is ASVO; in gesture-language it is SAOV, 'teacher angry child strikes,' or, in exceptional cases, SAVO. Gesture-language thus reverses the order of sequence in the two pairs of words. A construction such as '_es schlug das Kind der Lehrer_ (VOS), always possible in spoken language and occurring not infrequently (for example, in Latin), would be absolutely impossible in gesture-language.

If, then, gesture-language affords us certain psychological conclusions regarding the nature of a primitive language, it is of particular interest, from this point of view, to compare its characteristics with the corresponding traits of the most primitive spoken languages. As already stated, the so-called Soudan languages typify those that bear all the marks of relatively primitive thought. These languages of Central Africa obviously represent a much more primitive stage of development than do those of the Bantu peoples of the south or even those of the Hamitic peoples of the north. The language of the Hottentots is related to that of these Hamitic peoples. It is, in fact, because of this relationship, and also because of characteristics divergent from the negro type, that the Hottentots are regarded as a race that immigrated from the north and underwent changes by mixture with native peoples. If, now, we compare one of the Soudan languages, the Ewe, for example, with gesture-language, one difference will at once be apparent. The words of this relatively primitive spoken language do not possess the qualities of perceptibility and immediate intelligibility that characterize each particular gesture-sign. This is readily explicable as a result of processes of phonetic change, which are never absent, as well as of the assimilation of foreign elements and of the replacement of words by conceptual symbols that are accidental and independent of the sound. These changes occur in the history of every language. Every spoken language is the outcome of recondite processes whose beginnings are no longer traceable. And yet the Soudan languages, particularly, have preserved characteristics that show much more intimate connections between sound and meaning than our cultural languages possess. The very fact is noteworthy that certain gradations or even antitheses of thought are regularly expressed by gradations or antitheses of sound whose feeling tone plainly corresponds to the relation of the ideas. While our words 'large' and 'small,' 'here' and 'there,' show no correspondence between the character of the sound and the meaning, the case is entirely different with the equivalent expressions in the Ewe language. In this language large and small objects are designated by the same word. In the one case, however, the word is uttered in a deep tone, while in the other a high tone is used. Or, in the case of indicative signs, the deep tone signifies greater remoteness, the high tone, proximity. Indeed, in some Sudan languages three degrees of remoteness or of size are thus distinguished. 'Yonder in the distance' is expressed by a very deep tone; 'yonder in the middle distance,' by a medium tone; and 'here,' by the highest tone. Occasionally, differences of quality are similarly distinguished by differences of tone, as, for example, 'sweet' by a high tone, 'bitter' by a deep tone, 'to be acted upon' (that is, our passive) by a deep tone, and activity (or our active) by a high tone. This accounts for a phenomenon prevalent in other languages remote from those of the Soudan. In Semitic and Hamitic languages, the letter 'U,' particularly, has the force of a passive when occurring either as a suffix to the root of a word or in the middle of the word itself. For example, in the Hebrew forms of the so-called 'Pual' and 'Piel,' as well as 'Hophal' and 'Hiphil,' the first of each pair is passive, and the second, active in meaning. It was frequently supposed that this was accidental, or was due to linguistic causes of phonetic change other than the above. But when we meet the same variations of sound and meaning in other radically different languages, we must stop to ask ourselves whether this is not the result of a psychological relationship which, though generally lost in the later development of language, here still survives in occasional traces. In fact, when we recall the way in which we relate stories to children, we at once notice that precisely the same phenomenon recurs in child-language--a language, of course, first created, as a rule, by adults. This connection of sound and meaning is clearly due to the unconscious desire that the sound shall impart to the child not merely the meaning of the idea, but also its feeling-tone. In describing giants and monsters, she who relates fairy-tales to the child deepens her tone; when fairies, elves, and dwarfs appear in the narrative, she raises her voice. If sorrow and pain enter, the tone is deepened; with joyous emotions, high tones are employed. In view of these facts, we might say that this direct correlation of expression and meaning, observed in that most primitive of all languages, gesture-language, has disappeared even from the relatively primitive spoken languages; nevertheless, the latter have retained traces of it in greater abundance than have the cultural languages. In the cultural languages they recur, if at all, only in the onomatopoetic word-formations of later origin. We may recall such words as _sausen_ (soughing), _brummen_ (growling), _knistern_ (crackling), etc.

The question still remains how the other characteristics of gesture-language, particularly the absence of grammatical categories and a syntax which follows the principle of immediate and perceptual intelligibility, compare with the corresponding characteristics of the relatively primitive spoken languages. These characteristics, indeed, are of incomparably greater importance than the relations of sound and meaning. The latter are more strongly exposed to external, transforming influences. Word-formations, however, and the position of the words within the sentence, mirror the forms of thought itself; whenever the thought undergoes vital changes, the latter inevitably find expression in the grammatical categories of the language, and in the laws of syntax which it follows.

6. THE THINKING OF PRIMITIVE MAN.

From the point of view just developed, the investigation of the grammatical forms of primitive language is of particular importance for the psychology of primitive man. True, as has already been remarked, the languages of the most primitive tribes have not been preserved to us in their original form. And yet it is in this very realm of grammatical forms, far more even than in that of sound pictures and onomatopoetic words, that the Soudan languages possess characteristics which mark them as the expression of processes of thought that have remained on a relatively primitive level. This is indicated primarily by the fact that these languages lack what we would call grammatical categories. As regards this point, Westermann's grammar of the Ewe language is in entire agreement with the much earlier results which Steinthal reached in his investigation of the Manda language, which is also of the Soudan region. These languages consist of monosyllabic words which follow one another in direct succession without any intermediate inflectional elements to modify their meaning. Philologists usually call such languages 'root-languages,' because a sound complex that carries the essential meaning of a word, apart from all modifying elements, is called by their science a verbal root. In the Latin word _fero, fer_, meaning 'to bear,' is the root from which all modifications of the verb _ferre_ (to carry) are formed by means of suffixal elements. If, therefore, a language consists of sound complexes having the nature of roots, it is called a root-language. As a matter of fact, however, the languages under discussion consist purely of detached, monosyllabic _words_; the conception 'root,' which itself represents the product of a grammatical analysis of our flectional languages, may only improperly be applied to them. Such a language is composed of detached monosyllabic words, each of which has a meaning, yet none of which falls under any particular grammatical category. One and the same monosyllabic word may denote an object, an act, or a quality, just as in gesture-language the gesture of striking may denote the verb 'to strike' and also the noun 'blow.' From this it is evident to what extent the expressions 'root' and 'root-language' carry over into this primitive language a grammatical abstraction which is entirely inappropriate in case they suggest the image of a root. This image originated among grammarians at a time when the view was current that, just as the stem and branches of a plant grow out of its root, so also in the development of a language does a word always arise out of a group of either simple or composite sounds that embody the main idea. But the component parts of a language are certainly not roots in this sense; every simple monosyllabic word combines with others, and from this combination there result, in part, modifications in meaning, and, in part, sentences. Language, thus, does not develop by sprouting and growing, but by agglomeration and agglutination. Now, the Soudan languages are characterized by the fact that they possess very few such fixed combinations in which the individual component parts have lost their independence. In this respect, accordingly, they resemble gesture-language. The latter also is unfamiliar with grammatical categories in so far as these apply to the words themselves; the very same signs denote objects, actions, and qualities--indeed, generally even that for which in our language we employ particles. This agreement with gesture-language is brought home to us most strikingly if we consider the words which the primitive spoken languages employ for newly formed ideas--such, for instance, as refer to previously unknown objects of culture. Here it appears that the speaker always forms the new conception by combining into a series those ideas with which he is more familiar. When schools were introduced into Togo, for example, and a word for 'slate-pencil' became necessary, the Togo negroes called it 'stone scratch something'--that is, a stone with which we scratch something. Similarly 'kitchen,' an arrangement unknown to these tribes, was referred to as 'place cook something'; 'nail,' as 'iron head broad.' The single word always stands for a sensibly perceptual object, and the new conception is formed, not, as epistemologists commonly suppose, by means of a comparison of various objects, but by arranging in sequence those perceptual ideas whose combined characteristics constitute the conception. The same is true with regard to the expressions for such thought relations as are variously indicated in our language by the inflections of substantive, adjective, and verb. The Soudan languages make no unambiguous distinction between noun and verb. Much less are the cases of the substantive, or the moods and tenses of the verb, distinguished; to express these distinctions, separate words are always used. Thus, 'the house of the king' is rendered as 'house belong king.' The conception of case is here represented by an independent perception that crowds in between the two ideas which it couples together. The other cases are, as a rule, not expressed at all, but are implied in the connection. Similarly, verbs possess no future tense to denote future time. Here also a separate word is introduced, one that may be rendered by 'come.' 'I go come' means 'I shall go'; or, to mention the preterit, 'I go earlier' means 'I went.' Past time, however, may also be expressed by the immediate repetition of the word, a sensibly perceptual sign, as it were, that the action is completed. When the Togo negro says 'I eat,' this means 'I am on the point of eating'; when he says 'I eat eat,' it means 'I have eaten.'

But ideas of such acts and conditions as are in themselves of a perceptual nature are also occasionally expressed by combining several elements which are obtained by discriminating the separate parts of a perceptual image. The idea to bring, for example, is expressed by the Togo negro as 'take, go, give.' In bringing something to some one, one must first take it, then go to him and give it to him. It therefore happens that the word 'go,' in particular, is frequently added even where we find no necessity for especially emphasizing the act of going. Thus, the Togo negro would very probably express the sentence, 'The angry teacher strikes the child,' in the following way: 'Man-school-angry-go-strike-child.' This is the succession that directly presents itself to one who thinks in pictures, and it therefore finds expression in language. Whenever conceptions require a considerable number of images in order to be made picturable, combinations that are equivalent to entire sentences may result in a similar manner. Thus, the Togo negro expresses the concept 'west' by the words 'sun-sit-place'--that is, the place where the sun sits down. He thinks of the sun as a personal being who, after completing his journey, here takes a seat.

These illustrations may suffice to indicate the simplicity and at the same time the complexity of such a language. It is simple, in that it lacks almost all grammatical distinctions; it is complicated, because, in its constant reliance on sensibly perceptual images, it analyses our concepts into numerous elements. This is true not merely of abstract concepts, which these languages, as a rule, do not possess, but even of concrete empirical concepts. We need only refer to the verb 'to bring,' reduced to the form of three verbs, or the concept 'west,' for whose expression there is required not only the sun and the location which we must give it but also its act of seating itself. In all of these traits, then, primitive language is absolutely at one with gesture-language.

The same is true of the syntax of the two kinds of language. This also is no more irregular and accidental in the Soudan language than it is in gesture-language. As a rule, indeed, it is stricter than the syntax of our languages, for in the latter inflection makes possible a certain variation in the arrangement of words within a sentence according to the particular shade of meaning desired. In primitive language, the arrangement is much more uniform, being governed absolutely and alone by the same law as prevails in gesture-language--namely, the arrangement of words in their perceptual order. Without exception, therefore, object precedes attribute, and substantive, adjective. Less constant, however, is the relation of verb and object, in the Ewe language; the verb generally precedes, but the object may come first; the verb, however, always follows the subject whose action it expresses. This perceptual character of primitive language appears most strikingly when we translate any thought that is at all complicated from a primitive language into our own, first in its general meaning, and then word for word. Take an illustration from the language of the Bushmen. The meaning would be substantially this: 'The Bushman was at first received kindly by the white man in order that he might be brought to herd his sheep; then the white man maltreated the Bushman; the latter ran away, whereupon the white man took another Bushman, who suffered the same experience,' The language of the Bushmen expresses this in the following way: 'Bushman-there-go, here-run-to-white man, white man-give-tobacco, Bushman-go-smoke, go-fill-tobacco-pouch, white man-give-meat-Bushman, Bushman-go-eat-meat, stand-up-go-home, go happily, go-sit-down, herd-sheep-white man, white man-go-strike Bushman, Bushman-cry-loud-pain, Bushman-go-run-away-white man, white man-run-after-Bushman, Bushman-then-another, this one-herd-sheep, Bushman-all-gone.' In this complaint of the man of nature against his oppressor, everything is concrete, perceptual. He does not say, The Bushman was at first kindly taken up by the white man, but, The white man gives him tobacco, he fills his pouch and smokes; the white man gives him meat, he eats this and is happy, etc. He does not say, The white man maltreats the Bushman, but, He strikes him, the Bushman cries with pain, etc. What we express in relatively abstract concepts is entirely reduced by him to separate perceptual images. His thought always attaches to individual objects. Moreover, just as primitive language has no specific means for expressing a verb, so also are change and action overshadowed in primitive thought by the concrete image. The thinking itself, therefore, may be called _concrete_. Primitive man sees the image with its separate parts; and, as he sees it, so he reproduces it in his language. It is for this very reason that he is unfamiliar with differences of grammatical categories and with abstract concepts. Sequence is still governed entirely by the pure association of ideas, whose order is determined by perception and by the recollection of that which has been experienced. The above narrative of the Bushman expresses no unitary thought, but image follows upon image in the order in which these appear to consciousness. Thus, the thinking of primitive man is almost exclusively associative. Of the more perfect form of combining concepts, the apperceptive, which unites the thoughts into a systematic whole, there are as yet only traces, such as occur in the combination of the separate memory images.

Many analogues to the formal characteristics of primitive thought revealed in these linguistic phenomena may be met in child-language. There is a wide divergence, however, with respect to the very element which has already disappeared, with the exception of slight traces, from the language of primitive peoples. I refer to the close correlation of sound and meaning. As regards this feature, child-language is much more similar to gesture-language than is possible in the case of forms of speech that have undergone a long historical development. For, child-language, like gesture-language, is, in a certain sense, continually being created anew. Of course, it is not created, as is sometimes supposed, by the children themselves. It is a conventionalized language of the mothers and nurses who converse with the child, supplemented, in part, by the child's associates along the lines of these traditional models. The sound-complexes signifying animals, 'bow-wow' for the dog, 'hott-hott' for the horse, 'tuk-tuk' for the chicken, etc., as also 'papa' and 'mamma' for father and mother, are sounds that are in some way fitted to the meaning and at the same time resemble so far as possible the babbling sounds of the child. But this entire process is instituted by the child's associates, and is at most supplemented by the child himself to the extent of a few incidental elements. For this reason, child-language has relatively little to teach us concerning the development of speaking and thinking; those psychologists and teachers who believe that it affords an important source of information concerning the origin of thought are in error. Such information can be gained only from those modes of expressing thought which, like gesture-language, are originated anew by the speaker and are not externally derived, or from those which, like the spoken languages of primitive peoples, have retained, in their essential characteristics, primitive modes of thinking. Even in these cases it is only the _forms_ of thought that are thus discoverable. The content, as is implied by the formal characteristics themselves, is, of course, also of a sense-perceptual, not of a conceptual, nature. And yet the particular character or quality of this content is not inherent in the forms of the language as such. To gain a knowledge of its nature we must examine the specific ideas themselves and the associated feelings and emotions.

Thus, then, the further question arises: Wherein consists the content of primitive thought? _Two_ sorts of ideas may be distinguished. The one comprises that stock of ideas which is supplied to consciousness by the direct perceptions of daily life--ideas such as go, stand, lie, rest, etc., together with animal, tree (particularly in the form of individual animals and trees), man, woman, child, I, thou, you, and many others. These are objects of everyday perception that are familiar to all, even to the primitive mind. But there is also a _second_ class of ideas. These do not represent things of immediate perception; briefly expressed, they originate in feeling, in emotional processes which are projected outward into the environment. This is an important and particularly characteristic group of primitive ideas. Included within it are all references to that which is not directly amenable to perception but, transcending this, is really _supersensuous_, even though appearing in the form of sensible ideas. This world of imagination, projected from man's own emotional life into external phenomena, is what we mean by _mythological_ thinking. The things and processes given to perception are supplemented by other realities that are of a non-perceptible nature and therefore belong to an invisible realm back of the visible world. These are the elements, furthermore, which very early find expression in the _art_ of primitive man.

7. EARLIEST BELIEFS IN MAGIC AND DEMONS.

In entering upon a consideration of the development of primitive myths, we are at once confronted by the old question disputed by mythologists, ethnologists, and students of religion, Where and when did religion originate? For is not religion always concerned with the supernatural? Now, in certain cases, even primitive man supplements the sensuous world in which he lives and whose impressions he has not so much as elaborated into abstract concepts, with supersensuous elements, though he himself, of course, is unaware of their supersensuous character. The question, therefore, lies near at hand: Is religion already present at this stage, or is there at most a potentiality of religion, the germ of its future development? If the latter should be true, where, then, does religion begin? Now, our interest in the history of myth-formation derives largely from the very fact that the problem is intimately bound up with that of the origin of religion. Merely in itself the origin of the myth might have relatively little interest for us. The question, however, as to how religion arose acquires its great importance through its connection with the two further questions as to whether or not religion is a necessary constituent of human consciousness and whether it is an original possession or is the result of certain preconditions of mythological thought.

It is interesting to follow this ancient dispute, particularly its course during the last few decades. In 1880, Roskoff wrote a book entitled "The Religion of the Most Primitive Nature-Peoples." In this work he assembled all the available facts, and came to the conclusion that no peoples exist who have not some form of religion. About ten years ago, however, the two Sarasins, students of Ceylon and of the primitive Veddah tribes, summed up their conclusions in the proposition: The Veddahs have no religion. If, however, we compare Roskoff's facts concerning primitive peoples with those reported by the Sarasins concerning the belief of the Veddahs in demons and magic, it appears that the facts mentioned by these investigators are essentially the same. What the former calls religion, the latter call belief in magic; but in neither case is there a statement as to what is really meant by religion. Now, we cannot, of course, come to an understanding with reference to the presence or absence of anything until we are agreed as to what the thing itself really is. Hence, the question under dispute is raised prematurely at the present stage of our discussion; it can be answered only after we have examined more of the steps in the development of myth and of the preconditions of the religion of later times. We shall therefore recur to this point in our third chapter, after we have become acquainted with such religions as may indubitably lay claim to the name. Postponing the question for the present, we will designate the various phenomena that must be discussed at this point by the specific names attaching to them on the basis of their peculiar characteristics. In this sense, there is no doubt that we may speak of ideas of magic and of demons even in the case of primitive peoples; it is generally conceded that such ideas are universally entertained at this stage of culture. But the further question at once arises as to the source of this belief in magic and in demons, and as to the influences by which it is sustained. Now, in respect to this point _two_ views prevail, even among the ethnologists who have made an intensive study of primitive peoples. The one view may briefly be called that of nature-mythology. It assumes that even far back under early conditions the phenomena of the heavens were the objects that peculiarly fascinated the thought of man and elevated it above its immediate sensible environment. All mythology, therefore, is supposed originally to have been mythology of nature, particularly of the heavens. Doubtless this would already involve a religious element, or, at least, a religious tendency. The second view carries us even farther in the same direction. It holds that the ideas of primitive man, so far as they deal with the supersensuous, are simpler than those of the more highly developed peoples. Just for this reason, however, it regards these ideas as more perfect and as approaching more nearly the beliefs of the higher religions. As a matter of fact, if we compare, let us say, the Semangs and the Senoi, or the Veddahs, with the natives of Australia, we find a very great difference as regards this point. Even the mythology of the Australians is undoubtedly much more complex than that of these peoples of nature, and the farther we trace this myth development the greater the complexity becomes. That which is simple, however, is supposed to be also the higher and the more exalted, just as it is the more primitive. The beginning is supposed to anticipate the end, as a revelation not yet distorted by human error. For, the highest form of religion is not a mythology including a multitude of gods, but the belief in _one_ God--that is, monotheism. It was believed, therefore, that the very discovery of primitive man offered new support for this view. This theory, however, is bound up with an important anthropological consideration--the question concerning the place of the so-called _Pygmies_ in the history of human development. It was on the basis of their physical characteristics that these dwarf peoples of Africa and Asia, of whom it is only in comparatively recent times that we have gained any considerable knowledge, were first declared by Julius Kollman to be the childhood peoples of humanity, who everywhere preceded the races of larger stature. Such childhood characteristics, indeed, are revealed not only in their small stature but in other traits as well. Schweinfurth observed that the entire skin of the Pygmies of Central Africa is covered with fine, downy hair, much as is that of the newly born child. It is by means of these downy hairs that the Monbuttu negro of that region distinguishes the Pygmy from a youth of his own tribe. The Negrito is primitive also in that his dermal glands are abnormally active, causing a bodily odour which is far greater than that of the negro, and which, just as in the case of some animals, increases noticeably under the stress of emotion. If, in addition to these physical characteristics, we consider the low cultural level of all these dwarf peoples, the hypothesis that the Pygmies are a primitive people does not, indeed, seem altogether strange. Starting with this hypothesis, therefore, William Schmidt, in his work, "The Place of the Pygmies in the Development of Mankind" (1910), attempted to prove the proposition that the Pygmies are the childhood peoples of humanity in their mental culture no less than in their physical development. This being their nature, they are, of course, limited intellectually; morally, however, they are in a state of innocence, as is demonstrated among other things by the pure monogamy prevailing among them, as well as by their highest possession, their monotheistic belief.

Now, the supposition of moral innocence rests essentially on the twofold assumption of the identity of primitive man with the Pygmy and of the legitimacy of holding that what has been observed of _one_ tribe of Pygmies is true of the primitive condition generally. But this identity of primitive man with the Pygmy cannot be maintained. The most typical traits of primitive mental culture are doubtless to be found among the Veddahs of Ceylon. The Veddahs, however, are not really Pygmies, but are of large stature. Moreover, there are primitive people who are so far from being Pygmies that they belong rather to the tall races. We might cite the extinct Tasmanians, whose culture was probably a stage lower than that of the modern Australians. In most respects, many of the tribes of Central Australia exhibit traits of primitive culture, even though their social organization is of a far more complicated nature. Finally, all the peoples whose remains have been found in the oldest diluvial deposits of Europe belong to the tall races. On the other hand, there are peoples of small stature, the Chinese and the Japanese, who must be counted in the first ranks of cultured peoples. Thus, mental culture certainly cannot be measured in terms of physical size but only in terms of itself. Mental values can never be determined except by mental characteristics. It is true that W. Schmidt has sought to support his theory regarding the Pygmies by reference to the reports of E.H. Man, a reliable English observer. According to these reports, the Andamanese, one of these dwarf peoples, possess some remarkable legends that are doubtless indicative of monotheistic ideas. Since the Andamans are a group of islands in the Sea of Bengal and the inhabitants are therefore separated from other peoples by an expanse of sea, Schmidt regarded as justifiable the assumption that these legends were autochthonous; since, moreover, the legends centre about the belief in a supreme god, he contended that we here finally had proof of the theory of an original monotheism. The main outlines of the Andamanese legends as given by E.H. Man are as follows: The supreme god, Puluga, first created man and subsequently (though with regard to this there are various versions) he created woman. She was either created directly, as was man, or man himself created her out of a piece of wood, possibly a reminiscence of Adam's rib. Then God gave man laws forbidding theft, murder, adultery, etc., forbidding him, furthermore, to eat of the fruits of the first rainy season. But man did not keep the Divine commandments. The Lord therefore sent a universal flood, in which perished all living things with the exception of two men and two women who happened to be in a boat. In this story, much is naturally distorted, confused, and adapted to the medium into which the legend is transplanted. But that it points to the Biblical accounts of the Creation, Paradise, and the Flood, there cannot, in my opinion, be the slightest doubt. If it is objected that the Andamans are altogether too far separated from the rest of the world by the sea, and also that no missionaries have ever been seen on these islands, our answer would be: Whatever may be the 'when' and the 'how,' the _fact that_ the Biblical tradition at some time did come to the Andamanese is proven by the legend itself. This conclusion is just as incontestable as is the inference, for example, that the correspondence of certain South American and Asiatic myths is proof of a transmission. Indeed, the two latter regions are separated by an incomparably wider expanse of sea than that which divides the Andamans from Indo-China and its neighbouring islands. It should also be added that the inhabitants of the Andaman Islands have obviously progressed far beyond the condition in which we find the inland tribes of Malacca, the Veddahs of Ceylon, or the Negritos of the Philippines. They practise the art of making pottery--an art never found among peoples who are properly called primitive; they have a social organization, with chiefs. These phenomena all characterize a fairly advanced culture. When, therefore, we are concerned with the beliefs of peoples who are really primitive, the Andamanese must be left out of consideration. According to the available proofs, however, these people possess a belief neither in one god nor in many gods. Moreover, even far beyond the most primitive stage, no coherent celestial mythology may be found, such as could possibly be regarded as an incipient polytheism. No doubt, there are ideas concerning single heavenly phenomena, but these always betray an association with terrestrial objects, particularly with human beings or animals. And, to all appearances, these ideas change with great rapidity. Nowhere have they led to the actual formation of myths. Among the Indians of the Brazilian forests, for example, the sun and moon are called leaves or feather-balls; by several of the Soudan tribes they are conceived as balls that have been thrown to the sky by human beings and have stuck there. Such ideas alternate with others in which the sun and moon are regarded as brothers or as brother and sister, or the sun is said to be chasing the moon--images influenced particularly by the phenomena of the moon's phases. As a matter of fact, this whole field of ideas reveals only _one_ belief that is practically universal, appearing among peoples of nature and recurring even among civilized peoples. Because of the rare occurrence of the phenomenon, however, it has never led to a real mythology. I refer to the belief that in an eclipse of the sun, the sun is swallowed by a dark demon. This belief, obviously, is very readily suggested to the primitive imagination; it occurs in Central Africa, in Australia, and in America, and is found even in Indian mythology. Taken by itself, however, the notion is incapable of engendering a myth. It is to be regarded merely as an isolated case to be classed with a more richly developed set of demon-ideas that dominate the daily life of primitive man. At this stage, these ideas are the only elements of an incipient mythology that are clearly discernible and that at the same time exercise an important influence upon life. In so far as the mythology of primitive man gains a permanent foothold and influence, it consists of a _belief in magic and demons_. There are, however, two motives which engender this belief and give form and colour to the ideas and emotions springing from them. These are _death_ and _sickness_.

Death! There are doubtless few impressions that have so powerful an effect upon the man of nature; indeed, civilized man as well is still very greatly stirred by the phenomenon of death. Let his companion meet with death, and even the outward actions of a primitive man are significant. The moment a person dies, the immediate impulse of primitive man is to leave him lying where he is and to flee. The dead person is abandoned, and the place where he died continues to be avoided for a long time--if possible, until animals have devoured the corpse. Obviously the emotion of _fear_ is regnant. Its immediate cause is apparently the unusual and fear-inspiring changes which death makes in the appearance of a man. The suspension of movements, the pallor of death, the sudden cessation of breathing--these are phenomena sufficient to cause the most extreme terror. But what is the nature of the ideas that associate themselves with this fearsome impression? The flight from the corpse is evidence that man's fears are primarily for himself. To tarry in the presence of a dead person exposes the living man to the danger of being himself overtaken by death. The source of this danger is evidently identical with that which has brought death to the recently deceased person himself. Primitive man cannot think of death except as the sudden departure from the dying person of that which originally brought life. Nevertheless, there is evidently bound up with this conception the further idea that powers of life are still resident in the body; the latter remains firmly associated in the mind of primitive man with the impression of life. Here, then, we have the original source of the contradictory idea of a something that generates life and is therefore independent of the body, while nevertheless being connected with it. So far as we can gain knowledge of the impression which death makes on the mind of primitive man, two disparate motives are indissolubly united. He regards life as something that, in part, continues in some mysterious manner to dwell within the corpse, and, in part, hovers about, invisible, in its vicinity. For this reason, the dead person becomes to him a _demon_, an invisible being capable of seizing upon man, of overpowering or killing him, or of bringing sickness upon him. In addition to this primitive idea of demons, we also find the conception of a _corporeal soul_, meaning by this the belief that the body is the vehicle of life, and that, so long as it has not itself disappeared, it continues to harbour the life within itself. The corporeal soul is here still regarded as a unit which may, by separating itself from the body, become a demon and pass over into another person. No certain traces are as yet to be found of belief in a breath or shadow-like soul. As will appear later, this is a characteristic feature of the transition from primitive to totemic culture. When some investigators report that the soul is occasionally referred to by the Semangs of Malacca as a small bird that soars into the air at the death of a person, it is not improbable that we here have to do either with the Semangs of culture, who have undergone marked changes under Malayan influence, or with the presence of an isolated idea that belongs to a different cultural circle. For in no other case are ideas similar to that of the psyche to be found on the level of primitive culture. On the other hand, the burial customs of the Malays and of the mixed races living in the immediate vicinity of the primitive peoples of the Malay Peninsula, already exhibit a striking contrast to the flight of primitive man from the corpse.

The next group of ideas, those arising from the impression made by _sickness_, particularly by such sicknesses as attack man suddenly, are also restricted to the conception of a corporeal soul. For, one of the most characteristic marks of this conception is that magical, demoniacal powers are believed to issue from the body of the dead person. These powers, however, are not, as occurs in the above case, regarded as embodied in any visible thing--such as the exhalations of the breath or an escaping animal--that separates itself from the person. On the contrary, the demon that leaves the corpse and attacks another person in the form of a fatal sickness, is invisible. He is purely the result of an association between the fear aroused by the occurrence of death and the fright caused by an unexpected attack of sickness. The dead person, therefore, continues to remain the seat of demoniacal powers; these he can repeatedly direct against the living persons who approach him. Primitive man believes that the demon may assume any form whatsoever within the body, and deceitful medicine-men take advantage of this in ostensibly removing the sickness in the form of a piece of wood or of a stone. But it is precisely these ideas that are totally unrelated to that of a psyche and its embodiments. Though the corpse is perhaps the earliest object that suggests sickness-demons, it is in no wise the only one. Indeed, the attack of sickness is in itself sufficient to arouse fear of a demon. Thus, the Semangs and Senoi distinguish a vast number of different sickness-demons. Such ideas of demons, however, as we find among the Malays and the Singhalese, where demons are regarded as counter-agents to sickness-magic and usually take the form of fantastical animal monsters, never occur except at a later cultural stage. Any resemblance of these demons to 'soul animals,' which, as we shall find in our next chapter, are always actual animals, is confined to the fact that they have some similarity to animals. Obviously they are creations of the imagination, due to fear and terror. Their only difference from the monsters of similar origin that are projected into the outward world is that they are reduced to proportions which fit the dimensions of the human body.