THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE OEIGINS OF AKT
 
 THE 
 
 ORIGINS OF ART 
 
 A PSYCHOLOGICAL & SOCIOLOGICAL 
 INQUIRY 
 
 BY 
 
 YRJO HIRN 
 
 LECTURER ON ESTHETIC AND MODERN LITERATURE AT THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF FINLAND, HELSINGFORS 
 
 ILontron 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED 
 
 NEW YORK : THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 1900 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 Art 
 
 Library 
 
 M 
 
 10 
 
 PEEFACE 
 
 THE aim and scope of this book is sufficiently indicated 
 by its title. I have endeavoured throughout to restrict 
 my attention to questions connected with the origins 
 of art. Points of history and criticism have been 
 touched upon only in so far as they appeared to 
 contribute towards the elucidation of this purely 
 psychological and sociological problem. In order to 
 save space as well as to spare the reader's attention, the 
 descriptive parts have been concentrated as much as 
 possible. As a rule, only one ethnological example, 
 which has been selected as typical, is described in the 
 text, while the corroborating examples are represented 
 by references in the footnotes. And even of these 
 references only such are adduced as have been con- 
 sidered especially significant. Only in one matter 
 have I aimed at completeness, viz. that of reference to 
 authors from whom I have borrowed facts or observa- 
 tions. And whenever in earlier literature I have found 
 theories which have appeared similar to the views 
 advanced in this book, these similarities have been 
 pointed out in the footnotes. 
 
 1204074
 
 vi THE ORIGINS OF ART 
 
 There is one point, however, to which the reader's 
 attention should be called in this Preface. When 
 treating of the art -impulse I have especially in the 
 tenth chapter mentioned in the footnotes some modern 
 writers on aesthetic, who, although starting from differ- 
 ent assumptions, have arrived at a conception of 
 art which in many points may be compared to the one 
 advanced in this book. This comparison, however, has 
 not been carried out in the text. Considerations of 
 space account for this omission; but it has a further 
 ground in the circumstances under which the present 
 work has originated. A part of it, containing the 
 examination of feeling and its expression, and the 
 chapter on " Animal Display," was published in Swedish 
 as early as 1896 1 that is, before the above-mentioned 
 authors had made their theories known. This is not 
 mentioned in order to raise any futile questions of 
 priority, but only as a justification of the way in which 
 my conclusions have been presented. 
 
 It has appeared to me that the continuity of the 
 argument could not but have been broken if, instead 
 of proceeding from my original starting-point, I had 
 based my conclusions upon a critical examination of 
 modern aesthetic doctrines. And I trust that the 
 differences between the thesis of this book and other 
 emotionalistic explanations will appear with sufficient 
 
 1 Fdrstudier till en konstjttosofi, Helsingfors, 1896. A summary in German of 
 this book can be read in Zeitschrift fur Psychologie und Physiologic der 
 Sinnesorgane, Bd. xvi. pp. 233-235.
 
 PREFACE vii 
 
 clearness to the attentive reader even if they have not 
 been expressly pointed out in the text. 
 
 There are, no doubt, many points, a fuller treatment 
 of which might have been to the advantage of the book. 
 The force of circumstances has compelled me to aim 
 at brevity before anything. But even if it had been 
 possible to give this study a far greater comprehensive- 
 ness, the difficulties of expressing myself in a foreign 
 tongue would have withheld me from any avoidable 
 amplification. I have constantly been conscious of my 
 audacity in appearing before the English public without 
 sufficiently mastering the English language, and I have 
 been anxious not to make my offence greater by any 
 number of pages than it already is. 
 
 That it has been possible at all to publish this 
 research in English is only a result of the kind assist- 
 ance which I have received from my English friends. I 
 am indebted to Mr. G. G. Berry in Oxford, and Mr. 
 Leonard Pomeroy in London, who have revised parts of 
 the manuscript. And I am further indebted to my 
 publishers for procuring me the assistance of Mr. Stephen 
 Gwynn in preparing the book for the press. He has 
 helped me to avoid needlessly technical expressions, 
 and in other ways has given the work a more readable 
 style. But he has not restricted himself to these 
 emendations. He has assisted me with valuable sug- 
 gestions as well as with information. The improve- 
 ment which the work has derived from his collaboration 
 can be sufficiently appreciated only by its author.
 
 viii THE ORIGINS OF ART 
 
 In purely scientific matters I have benefited much 
 from discussions with students of psychology and 
 sociology in my own country as well as in England. 
 My thanks are due to all of them, but especially to my 
 old friends, Dr. Edward Westermarck and Dr. Richard 
 Wallaschek. 
 
 The " List of Authorities quoted " and the Indexes 
 have been compiled by my wife. This is, however, only 
 the least important part of the assistance which through- 
 out the book has been rendered to me by the constant 
 collaborator in all my researches. 
 
 Y. H. 
 
 HELSINGFORS, August 1900.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEE I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE PROBLEM STATED . . . . 1 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE ART-IMPULSE . . . . . .18 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE FEELING-TONE OF SENSATION . 30 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE EMOTIONS . . . . . . .43 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE ENJOYMENT OP PAIN . . . . .56 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 SOCIAL EXPRESSION . . . . . .72 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 DEDUCTION OF ART-FORMS 86
 
 THE OEIGINS OF ART 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ART THE RELIEVER . .102 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 THE WORK OF ART . . . . . .111 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 OBJECTIONS AND ANSWERS . . . . .134 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE CONCRETE ORIGINS OP ART . . . .143 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 ART AND INFORMATION . . . .149 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 HISTORICAL ART . . . . . .164 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 ANIMAL DISPLAY . . . . . .186 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 ART AND SEXUAL SELECTION . . . , .203 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE ORIGINS OF SELF-DECORATION 214
 
 CONTENTS xi 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 PAGE 
 
 EROTIC ART 228 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII 
 ART AND WORK ...... 249 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 ART AND WAR ...... 261 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 ART AND MAGIC . ... 278 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 CONCLUSIONS .... . 298 
 
 LIST OF AUTHORITIES QUOTED . . .307 
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS . . 323 
 
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 328
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE PROBLEM STATED 
 
 one hundred and fifty years ago, Baumgarten 
 wrote the treatise to which he gave the name Aesthetica, 
 and which he described as a " theory of liberal arts and 
 beautiful thinking," it seemed to him needful to apologise 
 for attracting attention to a field of inquiry so low and 
 sensuous as that province of philosophy to which he 
 then affixed a name. Many, he thought, might regard 
 art and beauty, which appeal primarily to the senses, 
 as subjects beneath the dignity of philosophers. 1 Yet 
 the theories and the ideas which were first brought 
 together as an organised body of thought in Baum- 
 garten's short manual had so deeply influenced the 
 speculations of his age that, a generation later, the most 
 important questions of life came to be treated as 
 esthetic problems. The philosophy of art, far from 
 needing to justify its existence, dominated all philosophy 
 ethics, metaphysics, and even cosmogony. Imagina- 
 tion was treated as the ruling faculty in all creation, and 
 beauty was referred to as the criterion, not only in art, 
 but in morality. Yet the importance thus given to 
 aesthetic speculation was transitory, and the period during 
 which philosophers were concerned, not only to find a 
 
 1 Baumgarten, Aesthetica, pp. 1, 3, 6 sq. 
 B
 
 2 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 general criterion of beauty for the arts, but also to apply 
 that criterion far beyond the sphere of art, has been 
 succeeded by an age which neglects speculation on art 
 and beauty for other tasks which are regarded as far 
 more important. Such rapid changes within a few 
 generations appear almost incomprehensible. But they 
 can easily be explained if we take into account the inti- 
 mate connection which always exists between aesthetic 
 speculation and prevailing currents of thought. 
 
 In Mr. Bosanquet's History of ^Esthetic it has been 
 pointed out with great clearness to what extent the 
 earlier prosperity of aesthetic studies was caused by the 
 general philosophical situation. The theory of aesthetic, 
 as set forth in Baumgarten's chapter on cognitio sensitiva, 
 and further developed in Kant's Kritik der Urtlieilskraft, 
 dealt, as is well known, with a form of judgment which 
 is neither purely rational nor purely sensual. 1 In meta- 
 physics, for philosophers who had to struggle with what 
 seemed to them an irreconcilable opposition between 
 reason and the senses, this conception of a mediative 
 faculty must have satisfied a most urgent need. 
 Similarly we may suppose that the ethical observer 
 felt himself emancipated from the narrow antagonism 
 between body and spirit by looking at our actions in 
 the aesthetic way. In proportion, however, as general 
 science has been able to do away with the old dualism of 
 higher and lower faculties, the judgment of taste has 
 necessarily lost importance. In the development of 
 monistic philosophy and monistic morals we may thus 
 see one important factor, by the influence of which 
 eesthetic has been ousted from its central position. 
 
 The evolution of modern art has been still more 
 injurious to aesthetic speculation than the progress of 
 
 1 Bosanquet, History of ^Esthetic, pp. 173, 187.
 
 THE PROBLEM STATED 
 
 science. In the palmy days of art-philosophy conditions 
 were eminently favourable to universal generalisations. 
 The great periods of art, classical antiquity and the 
 Renaissance, were so remote that only their simplest and 
 most salient features were discerned. Nor did the art 
 of the period exhibit the bewildering multiplicity of a 
 fertile age, least of all in Germany, the home and centre 
 of aesthetic inquiry. The formative arts were less im- 
 portant than ever before ; music, which was so soon to 
 eclipse all other arts, had not yet awakened the interest 
 of philosophers. The crafts were at a low ebb ; land- 
 scape-gardening is indeed the only kind of applied art 
 that we hear about at this time. Beauty, art, the 
 ideal these and all other general notions must have been 
 suggested with unsurpassable simplicity by this uniform 
 and monotonous artistic output. It is easy to under- 
 stand the eagerness and the delight with which the 
 earlier writers on aesthetic, once the impulse given, drew 
 conclusions, made comparisons, and laid down laws. But 
 it is equally evident that speculative zeal was bound to 
 fall off as soon as the province of art was enlarged and 
 its products differentiated. 
 
 Even the more intimate knowledge of classical 
 culture which was subsequently gained, necessitated 
 important corrections in aesthetic dogmas. The artistic 
 activities of savage tribes, which have been practically 
 unknown to aesthetic writers until recent years, display 
 many features that cannot be harmonised with the 
 general laws. And in a yet higher degree contemporary 
 art defies the generalisations of a uniform theory. 
 With greater mastery over materials and technique, the 
 different arts have been able to produce more and more 
 specialised forms of beauty. The painter's ideal can no 
 longer be confused with that of the poet or the story-teller,
 
 4 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP- 
 
 nor the sculptor's with that of the actor. Pure music, 
 pure poetry, pure painting, thus develop into isolated, 
 independent arts, of which each one establishes its own 
 laws and conditions for itself. The critic who, in spite of 
 this evolution, tries to apply a narrow aesthetic standard 
 of beauty to all the various arts may indeed according 
 to his influence delay the public appreciation of modern 
 works, and thus indirectly impede artistic development. 
 But no amount of theorising will enable him to arrest 
 the growth of artistic forms whose very existence con- 
 tradicts the generalisations of the old systems. And he 
 is equally powerless to stop such violations of the 
 supposed frontiers of the different arts as continually 
 occur, for instance, in descriptive music, or in poetry like 
 that of Gautier, which aims at producing a pictorial 
 impression by means of words. 
 
 It is only natural that, in times so inopportune, 
 general speculations on art and beauty have been more 
 and more abandoned in favour of detailed studies in the 
 technicalities of art, historical researches in which works 
 of art are considered chiefly as documents bearing on 
 culture, and experiments on the physiology and psycho- 
 logy of aesthetic perception. For art itself and its 
 development it would perhaps be unimportant if a 
 science which has never exercised any great positive and 
 direct influence on artistic production should completely 
 disappear. But from the theoretical point of view it 
 would be matter for regret if artistic activities ceased 
 to be considered as a whole. And so also would it be if 
 aesthetic feelings, judgments of taste, and ideals of 
 beauty came to be treated only in appendices to works 
 on psychology. It is true that all these notions have 
 irremediably lost their former metaphysical and philo- 
 sophical importance. But in compensation, art and
 
 THE PEOBLEM STATED 
 
 beauty have for modern thinking acquired a social and 
 psychological significance. To determine the part which 
 the production and the enjoyment of works of art play 
 in their relation to the other factors of individual and 
 social life that is indeed a task which is momentous 
 enough to be treated in a science of its own. Modern 
 
 O 
 
 aesthetic, therefore, has still its own ends, which, if not 
 so ambitious as those of the former speculative science 
 of beauty, are nevertheless of no small importance. 
 These ends, however, can no longer be attained by the 
 procedure of the old aesthetic systems. As the problems 
 have changed with changing conditions, so too the 
 methods must be brought into line with the general 
 scientific development. Historical and psychological 
 investigation must replace the dialectic treatment of the 
 subject. Art can no longer be deduced from general, 
 philosophical, and metaphysical principles ; it must be 
 studied by the methods of inductive psychology as a 
 human activity. Beauty cannot be considered as a 
 semi- transcendental reality ; it must be interpreted as 
 an object of human longing and a source of human 
 enjoyment. In aesthetic proper, as well as in the 
 philosophy of art, every research must start, not from 
 theoretical assumptions, but from the psychological and 
 sociological data of the aesthetic life. 
 
 Such a procedure, however, is encumbered with 
 difficulties, of which the writers on speculative aesthetic 
 were scarcely aware. When theories of art and beauty 
 were based on general a priori principles, there could 
 not possibly be any doubt as to the point of departure 
 in the several researches. But when we have no 
 assumptions to start from, the very demarcation of the 
 subject may become a matter of uncertainty. In the 
 philosophy of art, to which department of aesthetic I
 
 6 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 wish to restrict my researches in the present work, this 
 difficulty of formulating the data and qwssita the facts 
 which we have to go upon, and the facts which we wish 
 to find out constitutes the first, and by no means the 
 least important, problem. 
 
 If we are to embark upon a scientific treatment of art 
 without any preconceived definitions, the aim and con- 
 ditions of such treatment can only be determined by 
 examining the prevailing notions on the subject, as they 
 are expressed in language and in literature. As an 
 interpretation for general use and of general applicability, 
 a theory of art can claim attention only if it conforms 
 to the recognised usage of the principal aesthetic terms. 
 In the various definitions of art which are contained in 
 the different aesthetic systems, we must therefore try to 
 find some point of unity from which to approach our 
 subject. The difficulties of such a task are evident to 
 any one who has gone through the discouraging ex- 
 perience of reading a history of aesthetic. The investi- 
 gator who seeks an accurate demarcation of the whole 
 area of art, as distinguished from other departments of 
 life, meets with partial definitions which can be applied 
 only to certain fixed forms of art. We need mention 
 but a few of the most typical instances. Even an 
 ardent admirer of Taine is compelled to admit that his 
 generalisations are too exclusively derived from the 
 study of poetry and the formative arts. In the same 
 way it is only by laborious adjustments that the theory 
 of Vischer can be applied to music and lyric poetry ; 
 the aphorisms of Ruskin do not even pretend to apply 
 to any but the formative arts ; and Mr. Marshall's 
 Aesthetic Principles to adduce one of the most recent 
 attempts in general art-theory are too obviously those 
 of an expert in architecture. In none of the modern
 
 THE PROBLEM STATED 
 
 systems has sufficient room been made for certain forms 
 of art which, from the evolutionist's standpoint, are of 
 the highest importance : such as acting, dancing, and 
 decoration. All the one-sided definitions are, more- 
 over, so inconsistent with each other that it seems im- 
 possible to make up for their individual deficiencies by 
 an eclectic combination. It is not to be wondered at, 
 therefore, if some writers on art, confused by the 
 bewildering contradictions of aesthetic theories, have 
 called in question the very existence of any universal 
 art-criterion. 1 
 
 Those who adopt this attitude which seems the 
 more justified now that the arts have become widely 
 differentiated deny the possibility, not only of all 
 general art-philosophy, but also of any sociological and 
 psychological treatment of artistic activities as a whole. 
 But even if all other hypotheses are banished, aesthetic 
 research cannot possibly dispense with the fundamental 
 assumption of the unity of art. And in point of fact 
 there can be found in most systems, if we do not insist 
 on too minute and positive demarcations, at least one 
 common quality which is ascribed to all its different 
 forms. Notwithstanding the mutual contradictions 
 of art - theories, the believers in a general aesthetic 
 can always appeal to the consent with which the 
 majority of authors have upheld the negative criterion 
 of art. Metaphysicians as well as psychologists, 
 Hegelians as well as Darwinians, all agree in declaring 
 
 O ' O O 
 
 that a work, or performance, which can be proved to 
 serve any utilitarian, non-aesthetic object must not be 
 considered as a genuine work of art. True art has its 
 one end in itself, and rejects every extraneous purpose : 
 that is the doctrine which, with more or less explicitness, 
 
 1 Cf. e.g. Hanslick, Vom musikalisch Schonen, p. 3.
 
 8 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 has been stated by Kant, 1 Schiller, 2 Spencer, 3 Hennequin, 4 
 Grosse, 5 Grant Allen, 6 and others. And popular opinion 
 agrees in this respect with the conclusions of science. 
 This distinctive quality of independence seems therefore 
 to afford us a convenient starting-point for the treatment 
 of art in general. 
 
 Owing to its negative character, this criterion does 
 not give us much information as to the real qualities of 
 art. But even the poorest definition is enough to begin 
 with, if it only holds good with regard to all particular 
 cases. Unfortunately, however, we need only apply 
 the test of independence in the concrete instance to 
 find that even the applicability of this single accepted 
 criterion may be seriously disputed. There is scarcely 
 any author, however he may formulate his general 
 definitions of art, who would assess the relative value 
 of art-works according to their degrees of disinterested- 
 ness. No candid man would, for instance, nowadays 
 contend that an arabesque composition is per se more 
 aesthetically pure than a statue or a poem. 7 But we 
 may even go farther. We must question whether every 
 work of art ought to be degraded from its aesthetic rank, 
 if it can be convicted of having served any external 
 utilitarian purpose. This strict conception of the 
 aesthetic boundaries has been eloquently attacked by 
 Guyau in his celebrated treatise, Le principe de I' art et 
 de la poesie. s Though the ultimate conclusions of this 
 
 1 Kant, Kritik der Urtheilskraft, p. 147, to be compared with Kant's 
 chapters on beauty. 
 
 2 Schiller, Uber die asthetische Erziehung des Menschen, passim. 
 
 3 Spencer, Principles of Psychology, ii. pp. 628, 632. Cf. also the extracts 
 from a letter written by Mr. Spencer to M. Guyau, quoted in Les prdbUm.es de 
 I'esthetique contemporaine, p. 18. 
 
 4 Hennequin, La critiqite scientifique, pp. 26-28. 
 
 5 Grosse, Die Anfange der Kunst, pp. 46, 47. 
 
 6 Grant Allen, Physiological Esthetics, pp. 32, 33. 7 Cf. Kant, I.e. p. 66. 
 8 Guyau, Les problemes de I'esthetique contemporaine, livre i.
 
 THE PEOBLEM STATED 
 
 work are perhaps not so clear as might be desired, yet 
 we do not see how his attitude in estimating concrete 
 manifestations of art can be assailed. It would, to take 
 an example, be absurd to contend that the singing of 
 Taillefer lost in aesthetic value by contributing to the 
 victory of Hastings. And however strictly we may in- 
 sist upon the requirement that every genuine work of 
 art should have been created purely for its own sake, 
 we cannot possibly conceal the fact that some of the 
 world's finest love lyrics were originally composed, not in 
 aesthetic freedom, which is independent of all by-purposes, 
 but with the express end of gaining the ear and the favour 
 of a beloved woman. The influence which such foreign, 
 non-aesthetic motives have exercised on art will also 
 become more and more apparent with increased know- 
 ledge of the conditions of aesthetic production. The 
 further the psychological biographer pushes his indiscreet 
 researches into the private life of individual artists, the 
 more often will he find that some form of interest 
 personal, political, ethical, religious enters into the so- 
 called disinterested aesthetic activity. Such instances 
 must induce undogmatic authors to relax to some extent 
 the strict application of this criterion. And even those 
 philosophers who, in spite of the historical evidence, in- 
 sist upon applying it will be compelled to admit that 
 they have taken for works of genuine art productions 
 which, from their philosophic standpoint, have no claim 
 to the title. 
 
 The danger of such mistakes is all the greater when 
 one has to deal with the lower stages of artistic develop- 
 ment. In point of fact recent ethnological researches 
 have conclusively proved that it is not only difficult, but 
 quite impossible, to apply the criterion of aesthetic in- 
 dependence to the productions of savage and barbarous
 
 10 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 tribes. It is true that the large province of primitive 
 art has not as yet in its entirety been made the subject 
 of systematic study. But, on the other hand, the results 
 which have been arrived at with regard to decora- 
 tion, its most typical form, amply bear out our view. 
 In almost every case where the ornaments of a tribe 
 have been closely examined, it has appeared that what 
 to us seems a mere embellishment is for the natives 
 in question full of practical, non-aesthetic significance. 
 Carvings on weapons and implements, tattooings, woven 
 and plaited patterns, all of which the uncritical observer 
 is apt to take for purely artistic compositions, are now 
 explained as religious symbols, owners' marks, or ideo- 
 grams. There is still room for discussion as to whether 
 in certain individual interpretations the tendency to 
 look for concealed meanings has not been carried too 
 far. But there can be no doubt that the general 
 principles which to many students seemed so fantastic 
 when first formulated by Stolpe, Read, 1 and others, have 
 derived additional support from every fresh inquiry into 
 primitive systems of decoration. 
 
 The isolated researches which have been carried on 
 within the department of primitive literature and drama 
 all point in the same direction. Wherever ethnologists 
 have the opportunity of gaining some insight into the 
 inner life of a savage tribe, they are surprised at the 
 religious or magical significance which lies concealed be- 
 hind the most apparently trivial of amusements. And 
 it is to be remarked that they have learned to appreciate 
 
 1 Cf. Stolpe, UtvccMingsforeteelscr i naturfolkens ornamentik, i. -ii. in Ymer, 
 1890-1891. An English translation by Mrs. H. C, March is published in 
 Transactions of (he Rochdale Literanj and Scientific Society, 1891. Read, "On 
 the Origin, etc., of Certain Ornaments of the S.E. Pacific," in Journ. Anthr. Inst, 
 xxi. Cf. also March, "Polynesian Ornament, a Mythography," in Journ. 
 Anthr. Inst. xxii.
 
 I THE PKOBLEM STATED 11 
 
 this esoteric meaning, not by a closer study of the 
 manifestations themselves, but through information 
 acquired by intercourse with the natives. There is 
 often not a single feature in a savage dance which would 
 give the uninitiated any reason to suspect the non- 
 aesthetic purpose. When North American Indians, 
 Kaffirs, or Negroes perform a dance in which all the 
 movements of the animals they hunt are imitated, we 
 unavoidably see in their antics an instance of primitive 
 but still purely artistic drama. It is only from the 
 descriptions of Catlin, Lichtenstein, and Reade * that we 
 learn that these pantomimes have in reality quite as 
 practical a purpose as those imitations and representa- 
 tions of animals by which hunters all over the world try 
 to entice their game within shooting distance. Accord- 
 ing to the doctrine of sympathetic magic, it is simply an 
 axiomatic truth that the copy of a thing may at any 
 distance influence the thing itself, and that thus a 
 buffalo dance, even when it is performed in the camp, 
 may compel the buffaloes to come within range of the 
 hunters. But the deceptive appearance of disinterested- 
 ness, which in these cases might have led one to mistake 
 a mere piece of hunting magic for a specimen of pure 
 dramatic art, is apt to make us cautious about accepting 
 as independently aesthetic any performance of primitive 
 man. 
 
 In the songs and dances by which savages exhort 
 themselves to work and regulate their exertions we find 
 
 1 Catlin, Illustrations, etc., i. pp. 127, 128, Mandan buffalo dance. A 
 similar dance among tlie Iroquois has been described by Morgan (Iroquois, p. 
 287), who does not, however, speak of any magical purpose. Although some- 
 what differently explained by Catlin, the Sioux bear dance (I.e. i. p. 245) 
 is no doubt as magical in its intention as the buffalo dance. The same inter- 
 pretation holds good also, we believe, with regard to the gorilla dance of the 
 Negroes (Reade, Savage Africa, pp. 195, 196) and the hunting pantomimics of the 
 Koossa Kaffirs (Lichtenstein, Travels, i. p. 269).
 
 12 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 an aspect of utilitarian advantage which is real and not 
 imaginary. Evidently also this advantage, and not any 
 independent aesthetic pleasure, is intentionally or unin- 
 tentionally aimed at in the war-pantomimes, the boat- 
 ing songs, dances, etc. And it is no doubt for this 
 reason that music and dance have attained so surprising 
 a development in the lower stages of culture. In 
 trying, therefore, to explain the historical develop- 
 ment of art, we are compelled to take into account 
 that foreign purpose which is repudiated in art- 
 theory. 
 
 If every work of art were really an end in itself 
 a SelbstzwecJc standing quite isolated from all the 
 practical utilities of life, it would be nothing less than 
 a miracle that art should be met with in tribes which have 
 not yet learnt to satisfy, nor even to feel, the most 
 elementary necessities of life. In such a case it is not 
 music only which would, as Wallace thinks, have to be 
 explained by supernatural causes : * primitive art in all 
 its departments would baffle our attempts at rational 
 interpretation. By studying, however, the artistic 
 activities of savage and barbarous man in their con- 
 nection with his non-aesthetic life, writers on evolution- 
 ary aesthetic have succeeded in solving this great crux 
 of art- history. The dances, poems, and even the 
 formative arts of the lower tribes possess indeed, as 
 every ethnologist will admit, unquestionable aesthetic 
 value. But this art is seldom free and disinterested ; it 
 has generally a usefulness real or supposed and is 
 often even a necessity of life. 2 
 
 A historical conception of art is thus, it appears, 
 
 1 Wallace, Darwinism, pp. 467, 468. 
 
 2 For a direct opposition to Mr. Wallace's views on this point see Wallaschek, 
 Primitive Music, pp. 278, 279. Cf. also Ritchie, Darwinism and Politics, pp. 
 110-114.
 
 i THE PROBLEM STATED 13 
 
 incompatible with a strict maintenance of the aesthetic 
 criterion. But it may still be asked whether we are 
 therefore compelled to join Guyau in abolishing all dis- 
 tinctions between art and other manifestations of human 
 energy. 1 By doing away with the only definition 
 which is common to the majority of aesthetic systems, 
 we should dissociate ourselves from all previous views 
 on art. And it seems hard to believe that all dogmatic 
 writers on aesthetic, one-sided as they may often seem, 
 have founded their theories on a pure fiction. The 
 independent aesthetic activity, which simply aims at 
 its own satisfaction, cannot have been invented for 
 the sake of the systems. The mere fact that so 
 many theories have been proposed for its explanation 
 furnishes, it seems to us, a sufficient proof that the 
 conception of this activity corresponds to some psycho- 
 logical reality. Certainly the " end in itself" has not 
 played so important a part in the practice of artists as 
 writers on aesthetic would have us believe ; and it 
 is impossible to distinguish its effects in concrete 
 individual instances. But from all we know of the 
 life and work of artists, there appears to be a tendency 
 more or less consciously followed, it is true, in 
 different cases to make the work its own end. And 
 in the public we can in the same way notice an inclina- 
 tion which grows with increasing culture to regard 
 art as something which exists for its own sake, and 
 to contemplate its manifestations with independent 
 aesthetic attention. Whatever we may think about 
 the genesis of particular pictures and poems, we know 
 that at least they need no utilitarian, non- aesthetic 
 justification in order to be appreciated by us. And 
 with as much assurance as we can ever feel in com- 
 
 1 Cf. Guyau, Les problemes de I'esth&ique contemporaihe, pp. 15, 24.
 
 14 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 parative psychology we may take it for granted that 
 the same way of looking at art has prevailed in other 
 stages of culture as well. However cautious one may 
 be in drawing conclusions from analogies between 
 
 o o 
 
 higher and lower forms, a closer study of primitive art 
 must needs compel every one to admit that these 
 dances, poems, and ornaments, even if they originally 
 served practical, religious, or political aims, may at least 
 have come by degrees to be enjoyed in the same way 
 as we enjoy our art. By denying such subjective 
 independence in the creation and enjoyment of art, we 
 should be no less guilty of one-sidedness than those 
 authors who deny that genuine art has ever been 
 influenced by "foreign purposes." If it is pre- 
 sumptuous to adduce any particular works or manifest- 
 ations in proof of free and independent production, it 
 may be no less audacious to contend that even the 
 most primitive form of art has flourished in tribes 
 destitute of all aesthetic cravings. There is room for 
 discussion on the degree of influence which " autotelic " 1 
 artistic activity has exercised in particular works and 
 manifestations. It may also be made an object of 
 research to determine at which precise stage of de- 
 velopment aesthetic attention becomes so emancipated 
 as to entitle us to speak of a pure and free art -life. 
 But it does not seem that such inquiries can ever lead 
 to any positive result. The more one studies art, 
 especially primitive art, from a comparative and 
 historical point of view, the more one is compelled to 
 admit the impossibility of deciding where the non- 
 sesthetic motives end and the aesthetic motives begin. 
 
 O 
 
 The only result we can reach is the somewhat indefinite 
 one that it is as impossible to explain away the artistic 
 
 1 For this characteristic term I am indebted to Professor J. M. Baldwin.
 
 i THE PROBLEM STATED 15 
 
 purpose as it is to detect its presence in a pure state in 
 any concrete work of art. 
 
 For art-philosophy as a distinct science even this 
 non-committal conclusion is of vital importance. It 
 gives us a right to regard all the forms and develop- 
 ments of art as witnesses to an activity which tends to 
 become more and more independent of the immediate 
 utilities of life. This tendency, on the other hand, 
 not only affords us a point of unity from which to 
 start upon a research into the general philosophy of 
 art ; it also presents to us one of the greatest problems 
 of the same science. How it is that mankind has come 
 to devote energy and zeal to an activity which may be 
 almost entirely devoid of a utilitarian purpose is indeed 
 the riddle, sociological as well as psychological, which 
 would seem in the first place to claim the attention of 
 the philosopher. To the writer of this book, at any 
 rate, it appeared that a discussion, and an attempt at 
 solution, of this seeming paradox was a task sufficiently 
 important and interesting to form of itself the subject 
 of a special investigation. 
 
 But although the aspects of autotelic artistic activity 
 give us at once a datum and a problem on which we 
 may confidently base our research, we must not over- 
 look the peculiar difficulties that will necessarily arise 
 from the exclusively psychological, non - historical 
 character of this basis. A historic study of art shows 
 us that the artistic activity proper can never be 
 explained by examining concrete works as we meet 
 them in reality. Whenever we have to deal with art as 
 autotelic, the need of theoretical abstraction forces itself 
 upon us with irresistible cogency. It is of no avail to 
 argue from the data of art-history, because we can never 
 fully know the mental origin of the works. The
 
 16 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 problem presented to us by the tendency to engage in 
 artistic production and artistic enjoyment for their own 
 sake can only be solved by studying the psychology 
 both of artists and of their public. The " art-impulse " 
 and the " art-sense," as referring to subjective tendencies 
 in creators and spectators, are the chief notions with 
 which we have to operate in such an investigation. And 
 when we are obliged to introduce the notion of the 
 "work of art" we have to remember that this term, 
 strictly speaking, refers to an abstract and ideal datum. 
 Only by thus restricting our attention to the psychical 
 facts can we attain any clear conception of that autotelic 
 aspect of art on which so much stress has been laid in 
 all aesthetic philosophy. 
 
 It is needless to say, however, that even a purely 
 philosophic interpretation of art would be impossible 
 without a knowledge of its works and manifestations as 
 they appear in real life, with all their extraneous, non- 
 aesthetic elements. The psychological examination must 
 therefore necessarily be supplemented by an historical 
 one. The methods of the latter research cannot be the 
 same as those used in a strictly aesthetic inquiry. And 
 the words will naturally be employed in a different sense. 
 We do not at that stage demand of a poem, a painting, 
 or a drama, that it should fulfil more than the technical 
 requirements of the several arts. The ornamentation of 
 a vase, e.g. is in this sense a work of art even if it serves 
 a magical, i.e. a supposed practical purpose. Indeed it 
 is most advantageous, if we wish to bring out the 
 influence of sociological factors with the greatest possible 
 clearness, to concentrate our attention upon the very 
 qualities which we have to disregard in the treatment of 
 purely artistic activity. The productions of primitive 
 tribes, in which art is so closely connected with life,
 
 i THE PROBLEM STATED 17 
 
 supply the most profitable material for such, a study. 
 After having examined, in these simple forms, all the 
 sociological aspects of art, it will be possible to place the 
 two art-factors in the most illustrative antithesis and to 
 study their mutual influence. From this it should be 
 possible to suggest although in this work no detailed 
 attempt will be made to follow out the reasoning why 
 it is that the concrete work of art, although its historical 
 origin may be entirely non-aesthetic, has always proved 
 so eminently adapted to serve the needs of the purely 
 aesthetic craving. And by starting from the conception 
 of aesthetic activities which has been arrived at on psycho- 
 logical grounds, it should also be possible to determine 
 the particular qualities in individual works of art which 
 make them more or less able to satisfy this craving. 
 Thus a theory of the psychological and sociological 
 origins of art may furnish suggestions for those which 
 have been considered as distinctive of aesthetic proper, 
 such as the critical estimation of works of art, or the 
 derivation of laws which govern artistic production.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE ART-IMPULSE 
 
 THERE are two things which have to be investigated 
 the reason why works of art are created, and the reason 
 why works of art are enjoyed. By choosing at the out- 
 set to approach art in its active aspect to examine into 
 the impulse of the artist we do not desert the central 
 field of aesthetic inquiry. On the contrary, it seems that 
 a study of art-production affords the most convenient 
 starting-point for any comprehensive treatment of art ; 
 all the more because every aesthetic pleasure, even when 
 apparently most passive, always involves an element of 
 unconscious artistic creation. 1 When absorbed in the 
 beauty of nature we do in fact appear to ourselves to be 
 entirely receptive ; but in truth our enjoyment, if the 
 enjoyment has any aesthetic value at all, is always more 
 or less derived from the activity of our own mind. It 
 does not matter much, from the psychological point of 
 view, whether we make an abortive but original 
 effort to select and arrange the impressions which we 
 receive, as is the case when a new aspect of nature 
 delights us, or whether we merely reproduce at second 
 hand the impression originally arranged by an artist, as 
 happens when we admire a statue, or recognise in a 
 
 1 Cf. chap. ix. in the sequel.
 
 CHAP, ii THE ART-IMPULSE 19 
 
 landscape some effect that Turner has recorded. 1 In 
 either case the passive attitude can never be explained 
 without reference to the active one. 
 
 In the historic interpretation of art it is of no less 
 importance to study its productive side. It is only by 
 considering art as an activity that we can explain the 
 great influence which it has exercised on social as 
 well as on individual life. These are, however, views 
 which can only be properly established in the later 
 chapters. Here we have merely to dwell on the aspects 
 which present themselves to the psychological observer ; 
 and there is no doubt that from his point of view the 
 impulse to produce works of pure art constitutes the chief 
 aesthetic problem. If once the creation has been satis- 
 factorily accounted for, it is relatively easy to explain 
 the subsequent enjoyment of art. Accordingly, by 
 concentrating our attention on the art -impulse we 
 approach the art-problem at its very core. 
 
 It has, however, been contended by some authors 
 that the independence of external motives is nothing 
 peculiar to art-production. There is, undoubtedly, a 
 certain kind of scientific study for instance, some 
 departments of higher mathematics which may be 
 carried on entirely for its own sake without any regard 
 to practical application, or even to increased knowledge 
 of nature. And it is even more impossible to find any 
 immediate utilitarian purpose for all the intense activity, 
 mental and physical, which is devoted to sports and 
 games. Every one knows that the " end in itself" which 
 any of these affords may in many cases exercise as great 
 an attraction as any of the utilitarian aims in life. 
 
 1 Some brilliant and suggestive remarks on this point may be found in 
 Guyau, Les problemes de I'esth&tiqiw contemporaine, p. 12 ; and in Havelock Ellis, 
 The New Spirit, pp. 234-236.
 
 20 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 Chess is said to have a demoniac power over its devotees, 
 and the attachment of a golfer to his game can only be 
 described in the language of the most intense passion. 
 The same sacrifice of energy and interests to a one-sided 
 and apparently useless purpose, which in art seems so 
 mysterious, may thus, as Professor Groos remarks, be 
 found in activities of far less repute. 1 It is evident that 
 if artistic creation were in no wise different from 
 these other examples of autotelic manifestations, there 
 would be no ground for considering the art-impulse as a 
 separate or distinctive problem. 
 
 We can scarcely believe, however, that even Professor 
 Groos himself would seriously maintain the parallel 
 between art-production and the last-mentioned activities. 
 There are indeed cases in which a man of science 
 devotes his whole energy to a task which is so abstract 
 
 o* 
 
 that it seems to give no satisfaction to the craving for 
 positive truth. But it is always an open question 
 whether the attractiveness of such researches is not, 
 strictly speaking, more aesthetic than scientific. Higher 
 mathematics is perhaps, for those that live in the world 
 of abstract quantities, only an abstract form of art, a 
 soundless music or a wordless poetry. In other cases 
 the eagerness with which pure science is pursued as an 
 autotelic end may be explained as a result of acquired 
 habits. Like the miser, the passionate researcher may 
 often gradually lose sight of the ultimate aim of his 
 activity and concentrate all his attention on the means. 
 There can be no question of denying the emotional 
 value and the great attractive force which thus comes 
 to be attached to these secondary purposes. But in 
 comparing such autotelic activities to those of art we 
 have to remember that the passion, however intense it 
 
 1 Groos, Die Spiele der Menschen, pp. 508, 509.
 
 ii THE AET-IMPULSE 21 
 
 may be, is probably not primary but derived ; and it is 
 in any case self-evident that it can be developed only 
 in exceptional cases and in peculiarly predisposed 
 individuals. 
 
 By the same criterion we can also separate the art- 
 desire from the love of games and sports. However 
 passionate the sporting mania may be in individuals or 
 nations, it can never be compared as a universal and 
 primary impulse with the craving for aesthetic creation. 
 Philosophers who bestow their whole attention only on 
 the mature works which can be studied in the history 
 of art, may indeed contend that even the art-impulse is 
 given to some favoured few. But this view, which 
 would reduce all art-life to the status of a great and 
 marvellous exception, cannot possibly be upheld in a 
 psychological aesthetic. 
 
 It is, no doubt, the fact that the percentage of 
 executive artists in modern nations is an almost 
 negligible quantity. It is also probable that con- 
 trary to a common notion the poets, the painters, and 
 the dramatists form a distinct class even among the 
 lower tribes. 1 But in treating the art -impulse as a 
 psychological phenomenon the inquiry cannot be re- 
 stricted to the few individuals who publicly practise a 
 certain art. As far as the artistic powers are concerned, 
 these undoubtedly stand apart from the rest of mankind. 
 But we are not entitled to maintain that they are also 
 distinguished by some peculiar psychical impulse. From 
 the point of view of artistic perfection, there is all the 
 world between the youthful verses of Goethe and the 
 doggerel of a common schoolboy. But, psychologically, 
 the schoolboy's doggerel may be the result of as 
 strong a craving for poetic expression as any of the 
 
 1 Spencer, Principles of Sociology, vol. iii. pp. 201-231.
 
 22 THE OEIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 world's greatest poems. 1 Bad or good, known or 
 unknown, every manifestation of artistic activity is 
 equally illustrative for our purpose. We have to count 
 with the immense number of dilettanti who produce in 
 privacy and in secret, as well as with recognised artists. 
 And even those unfortunate persons who have never 
 been able to find for themselves any satisfactory mode 
 of aesthetic expression may still be adduced in proof of 
 the universality of the artistic desire. If the notion of 
 art is conceived in its most general sense, every normal 
 man, at some time of his life at least, is an artist in 
 aspiration, if not in capacity. 
 
 If, moreover, we take into consideration the eager- 
 ness and devotion which is lavished upon artistic 
 activity not least, perhaps, by those who have never 
 appeared as artists we shall be compelled to admit 
 that the art-impulse is not only commoner, but also 
 stronger and deeper, than any of the above-mentioned 
 non- utilitarian impulses. If it can be explained at all, 
 it is only by deriving it from some great and funda- 
 mental tendency of the human mind. This fact has, 
 naturally enough, not been realised by those writers on 
 aesthetic who only study the ideal work of art as it 
 appears among civilised nations. In short, the great 
 systems of aesthetic philosophy have never expressly 
 stated the problem of finding an origin for the art- 
 impulse ; and any interpretation of that impulse which 
 may be derived constructively from their speculations 
 upon the work of acknowledged artists is irreconcilable 
 with the wider notion of art as a universal human 
 activity. If the aim of every artist really were, as 
 
 1 This view, viz. that the aesthetic cravings are a "racial" possession of 
 mankind, has been clearly and consistently maintained by Marshall, cf. 
 Esthetic Principles, p. 70 ; Pain, Pleasure, and ^Esthetics, pp. 100, 101.
 
 ii THE ART-IMPULSE 23 
 
 Vischer must have thought, to reinstate by the creation 
 of a semblance the Idea in the position from which it is 
 in Keality always thrust by material accidents ; if he 
 desired, for instance, to show a human character as it 
 would be but for the accidents of life ; l or if, to use the 
 language of Taine, the artist's main object were to 
 produce a representation of nature in which the essential 
 characters enjoy an absolute sovereignty ; if he strove 
 to depict a lion in such a way to emphasise specially 
 these leonine traits which distinguish the lion from any 
 other great cat, 2 then it would be hard to understand 
 the attraction which art has exercised on people who 
 are almost devoid of intellectual cravings. We could 
 not possibly find any connection between modern and 
 primitive art. Nor could we explain why, for instance, 
 poetry and music are so often cultivated by persons who 
 do not otherwise show the slightest eagerness to under- 
 stand the hidden nature of things, who do not meddle 
 with ideas or "dominating faculties." Even in the case of 
 philosophically-minded artists such motives are probably 
 somewhat feeble. The intellectualistic definitions may 
 perhaps explain the aesthetic qualities of the work of 
 art itself. But they can never account for the con- 
 straining force by which every genuine work of art is 
 called into existence. 
 
 There are some authors, however, who have felt the 
 need of a dynamic explanation of the art -impulse, 
 which should trace the motive force to its origin. It 
 was so with Aristotle when he interpreted artistic pro- 
 duction as a manifestation of the desire to imitate. By 
 this theory art is indeed brought into connection with 
 a general animal impulse, the aesthetic importance of 
 
 1 Vischer, Asthetik, vol. i. p. 53 ; vol. iii. pp. 3-10. 
 2 Taine, Philosophic de I'art, pp. 57-70.
 
 24 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 which can scarcely be overestimated. It is only by 
 reference to the psychology of imitative movements 
 that we shall be able to explain the enjoyment of art. 
 But it seems, nevertheless, somewhat strained to make 
 imitation the basis and purpose of artistic activity, seeing 
 that there are various forms of art, as, for instance, archi- 
 tecture and purely lyrical music or poetry, in which we 
 can scarcely detect any imitative element at all. The 
 theories of Aristotle, of Seneca, and all their modern 
 followers, can only be upheld if the word " imitation " is 
 used in a much wider sense than that which it generally 
 bears. But even those who, with Engel, would consider 
 the bodily movements as " imitating the thoughts," l or 
 those who in aesthetic would speak of " circulary re- 
 action " 2 as a phenomenon of imitation, would find it 
 hard to discover in any of these relatively automatic 
 manifestations such a mental compulsion as that which 
 impels to artistic activity. Moreover, as we need scarcely 
 point out, art in all its forms always strives after some- 
 thing more than a mere likeness. 
 
 It seems equally superfluous to emphasise the fact 
 that no genuine artist has made it his sole object to 
 please. The fatal confusion between art-theory and 
 the science of beauty has indeed led some writers on 
 aesthetic to derive artistic activities from an impulse to 
 " produce objects or objective conditions which should 
 attract by pleasing." 3 Such views will especially 
 recommend themselves to those who believe in an 
 animal art called forth by sexual selection. Nor can it 
 be denied that the means of attraction employed in the 
 
 1 Engel, Ideen zu eincr Mimik, i. p. 97. 
 
 2 Cf. as to the significance of this process, and its connection with the 
 imitative process, Baldwin, Mental Development, p. 264. 
 
 3 Marshall, Esthetic Principles, p. 62 ; cf. Pain, Pleasure, and ^Esthetics, 
 p. 104.
 
 ii THE AET-IMPULSE 25 
 
 competition for the favour of the opposite sex supply a 
 part of the material which is used in the various arts. 1 
 With the artistic impulse itself, which, according to its 
 very definition, is independent of external motives, the 
 various means of attraction have no connection whatever. 2 
 
 From the theoretical point of view it is undoubtedly 
 easier to defend Professor Baldwin's way of stating the 
 case, in which the " self-exhibiting impulse " takes the 
 place of the " instinct to attract by pleasing." 3 Figura- 
 tively speaking, an element of self-exhibition is involved 
 in every artistic creation which addresses itself to a 
 public. And without a public in the largest sense of 
 the word no art would ever have appeared. But it seems 
 somewhat difficult to make this self -exhibiting in a 
 sense which implies an actual audience the aim and 
 purpose of, for instance, the most intimate and personal 
 examples of lyrical poetry. 
 
 It may of course be contended, by those who advocate 
 the importance of the last-mentioned interpretations, 
 that the variety of art-forms compels us to assume, not 
 one, but several art-impulses. At this stage of our 
 research we cannot enter upon a discussion of such 
 views ; but it will at least be admitted that explana- 
 tions which can be applied in the whole field of art 
 must be preferable to partial definitions. 
 
 This merit of universality, at least, cannot be 
 denied to the theories which derive art from the play- 
 ing impulse. The notion of a sportive activity involves 
 precisely that freedom from external, consciously 
 
 1 Cf. chapters xiv.-xvi. in the sequel. 
 
 2 Cf. Marshall, Pain, Pleasure, and ^Esthetics, p. 104. ("Nor can we with 
 Kant and Schiller hold that the ' art-impulse ' is especially connected with the 
 ' play-impulse ' through lack of end, if I am right that an end for art-work is 
 discernible in attraction thrmtgh the pleasing of otJiers.") 
 
 3 Baldwin, Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. 151 ; cf. pp. 150, 152.
 
 26 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 utilitarian motives which, according to the consensus of 
 almost all writers on aesthetic, is required in every 
 genuine manifestation of art. It is not surprising, there- 
 fore, that it was by reference to the play-impulse that 
 Schiller tried to distinguish artistic production from all 
 " unfree " forms of activity. 1 It is true that the notion 
 of "play "as used by Schiller and Spencer who has 
 given the theory a physiological foundation is chiefly 
 important as a negative demarcation. But even Schiller 
 brings in a positive factor when he speaks of the force 
 by which " overflowing life itself urges the animal to 
 action" ("wenn das iiberfliissige Leben sich selbst zur 
 Thatigkeit stachelt"), 2 In Spencer's theory, on the other 
 hand, the "excessive readiness" to nervous discharge 
 which accompanies every surplus of vigour, and which, 
 in his view, accounts for play, represents a motor 
 element, the impelling force of which must be considered 
 as very strong. 3 As is well known, Spencer, Wallace, 
 and Hudson have applied this principle of surplus 
 energy to explain so-called animal art, rejecting the 
 theory which ascribes aesthetic judgment to the female. 4 
 As formulated by the last-mentioned authors, the 
 play -theory is, however, open to objection from a 
 physiological point of view. It has been remarked 
 by Dr. Wallaschek that, in speaking of animals, the 
 phrase "surplus of vigour" ought to be superseded by 
 " inapplicability of energy " or " unemployed energy. 
 
 5 
 
 1 Schiller, Uber die asthetische Erziehung des Menschen, esp. Brief 15. 
 
 2 Ibid. Brief 27, quoted in Groos, The Play of Animals, p. 2. 
 
 3 Spencer, Principles of Psychology, vol. ii. pp. 629, 630. 
 
 4 Spencer, ' ' The Origin of Music," in Mind, xv. 452, 453 ; reprinted in the last 
 edition of Essays, ii. pp. 430, 431 ; Wallace, Darwinism, pp. 281, 284, 287, 292 ; 
 Hudson, The Naturalist in La Plata, pp. 280-286. 
 
 5 Wallaschek, "Natural Selection and Music" in International Congress of 
 Experimental Psychology, second session, 1892, p. 74 ; Primitive Music, pp. 
 271, 272. These utterances of Wallaschek ought to be quoted as expressing his
 
 ii THE ABT-IMPULSE 27 
 
 And still more explicitly Professor Groos has shown that 
 a stored-up supply of energy is by no means a necessary 
 condition for play. 1 But these criticisms have by no 
 means deprived the play-instinct of its importance as 
 a dynamic factor. Since Groos by his epoch-making 
 researches has been able to prove that the majority of 
 games especially the games of youth are based upon 
 instincts, we can adduce as an impelling force " the 
 demon instinct that urges and even compels to activity 
 not only if and so long as the vessel overflows (to use a 
 figure of speech), but even when there is but a last 
 drop left in it." : By considering artistic activity as a 
 kind of play, one is therefore able to account for its 
 great attractiveness, even when no " surplus of vigour " 
 can be shown to exist. 
 
 In the beginning of this chapter we did indeed 
 contend that the " compulsion " which prompts to 
 artistic activity is too strong to be even compared with 
 the passion for sports and games. But this superiority 
 may of course be explained as a result of some 
 peculiarity of this special kind of play. As a matter of 
 fact art is, in a far higher degree than any of the sports 
 and games, able to satisfy the greatest and most funda- 
 mental instincts of man. Groos has tried to prove 
 that the artistic motives which in all times have been 
 most popular, offer to the spectator as well as to the 
 producer an opportunity for warlike and erotic stimu- 
 lation; 3 and Guyau had already remarked how im- 
 
 views, and not the earlier passage in Mind, 1891, p. 376, from which Groos con- 
 cludes that Wallaschek agrees with Spencer. Cf. Groos, The Play of Animals, 
 p. 6. As early as 1891, Wallaschek pointed out the importance of music and 
 dances as preparations and not only representations of the most important 
 actions in life. Cf. I.e. p. 74. 
 
 1 Groos, The Play of Animals, pp. 18-24. 
 
 2 Groos, I.e. p. 21. 
 
 3 Groos, Die Spiele der Menschen, pp. 216-356.
 
 28 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 portant a part the moods of war, or rather of struggle, 
 play in all enjoyment of art. 1 It is easy to understand 
 the eager prosecution of an activity which thus affords 
 free, if imaginary, exercise for instincts and tendencies 
 which would otherwise be thwarted by the narrow 
 restrictions of social life. We are all animals in 
 captivity, and we eagerly seize every kind of vicarious 
 function which can give at least a memory of the life 
 from which we are excluded. 
 
 At lower stages of social evolution, where instincts 
 are more in harmony with life, the play-element in art 
 must evidently be of still greater importance. Artistic 
 production and artistic enjoyment provide exercise for 
 those very functions which are most important in real 
 life. Art fulfils a great social mission, and is developed 
 in subservience to the struggle for life. The play-theory, 
 as formulated by Professor Groos, affords, therefore, in 
 many cases an explanation of the high artistic level 
 reached by the lower tribes. In our historical treatment 
 of primitive dances and dramas we shall be continually 
 obliged to have recourse to this theory. And it will 
 thus appear that it is no deficient appreciation of its 
 importance which compels us to look elsewhere for an 
 explanation for the artistic impulse. 
 
 Play and art have indeed many important charac- 
 teristics in common. Neither of them has any immediate 
 practical utility, and both of them do nevertheless 
 serve some of the fundamental needs of life. All art, 
 therefore, can in a certain sense be called play. But 
 
 1 Guyau,ies probUmes de V esihttique contemporaine, p. 9: "On pourrait done, 
 en continuant la pensee de M. Spencer, aller jusqu'a dire que 1'art, cette espece 
 de jeu raffine, a son origine ou du moins sa premiere manifestation dans 1'instinct 
 de la lutte, soit centre la nature, soit centre les hommes." Cf. also Guyau, 
 L'art au point de vue sodologique, p. 14, where Guyau in a brilliant passage shows 
 how an element of passionate struggle and conquest enters even in the most 
 abstract reasoning. To be compared with the chapters of Groos on Kampfspiele.
 
 ii THE AET-IMPULSE 29 
 
 art is something more than this. The aim of play is 
 attained when the surplus of vigour is discharged or 
 the instinct has had its momentary exercise. But the 
 function of art is not confined to the act of production ; 
 in every manifestation of art, properly so called, some- 
 thing is made and something survives. It is true that 
 in certain manifestations for instance in the dance or 
 in acting the effect is destroyed as soon as created ; it 
 survives only in the rhythm devised by the dancer, or 
 in the spectator's memory of the part played. But this 
 is accidental, not essential to the nature of the arts as 
 arts. On the other hand, there is nothing in the nature 
 of the play -impulse to call for a stereotyping of the 
 state of mind and feelings to which it gives rise. Still 
 less can the artistic qualities, such as beauty and rhythm, 
 which, however difficult to define scientifically, always 
 characterise works of art, be interpreted as a result of 
 the play -impulse. The theories of Schiller, Spencer, 
 and Groos may indeed explain the negative criterion of 
 art, but they cannot, any more than the imitation 
 theories or the Darwinian interpretation, give us any 
 positive information as to the nature of art. 
 
 In order to understand the art-impulse as a tendency 
 to aesthetic production, we must bring it into connec- 
 tion with some function, from the nature of which the 
 specifically artistic qualities may be derived. Such a 
 function is to be found, we believe, in the activities of 
 emotional expression. 
 
 It is therefore to the psychology of feeling and 
 expression that we shall turn for the solution of the 
 problem of the art-impulse.
 
 CHAPTEK III 
 
 THE FEELING-TONE OF SENSATION 
 
 BEFORE attempting to prove that the impelling force in 
 art -creation is to be explained by the psychology of 
 feeling, we must first pay some attention to the general 
 theory of emotional states. It would be impossible to 
 assert anything about the aesthetic importance of such 
 activities as have their origin in emotional conditions 
 without first having made out the relation between 
 feeling and movement. 
 
 In this purely psychological investigation it is ad- 
 vantageous to postpone all aesthetic considerations. The 
 important thing is to get hold of the mental factors in 
 their simplest possible form. Even the lowest feelings, 
 therefore, the feeling-tones of mere physical sensation 
 or the vaguest emotional states, such as comfort or 
 discomfort, which are overlooked in all works on aesthetic 
 proper, may be of great value in this preliminary dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 It is preferable to begin with the feeling -tones of 
 definitely physical origin, because these hedonic elements 
 have been subjected to an experimental investigation 
 \vhich could never be undertaken with regard to the 
 complex emotions and sentiments. As early as 1887 
 Eere published some important researches on the re-
 
 CHAP, in THE FEELING-TONE OF SENSATION 31 
 
 lation between sensation and movement. By sub- 
 mitting persons to various external stimuli, he showed 
 that every such stimulus calls forth a modification of 
 the activities of the body, which modification, according 
 to the intensity and the duration of the stimulus, takes 
 the character either of enhancement or of arrest. In 
 all cases when the apparatus used in the experiments 
 indicated a shortened reaction -time and an increased 
 development of energy, the subject of the experiment 
 had experienced a feeling of pleasure. Every painful 
 stimulus, on the other hand, was connected with a 
 diminution of energy. 1 
 
 These results have been corroborated in the main 
 by the later researches of Lehmann. He has not, how- 
 ever, restricted his attention to the development of 
 energy, but has also measured the changes in pulsation 
 and respiration which occur under the influence of 
 various stimuli. His conclusions are these : 
 
 " Simple pleasurable sensations are accompanied by 
 dilatation of the blood-vessels, and perhaps also by an 
 increase in the amplitude of heart-contraction, together 
 with an increase in the innervation of the voluntary 
 muscles, at least of those connected with respiration. 
 In sensations of pain one has to distinguish the first 
 shock of irritation from the subsequent state. At the 
 moment of irritation there ensues a deeper inhalation, 
 and, if the irritation is strong, also an increase in the 
 innervation of voluntary muscles. Then there generally 
 follows a relaxation."' 
 
 The physiological theory of pleasure and pain which 
 can be deduced from these experiments is, however, 
 
 1 Fere, Sensation et mouvemcnt, pp. 34, 64 ; cf. The Pathology of Emotions, 
 p. 206. 
 
 2 Lehmann, Hauptgesetze des menschlichen Gefuhlslebens, pp. 89, 95.
 
 32 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 neither new nor original. Fere* has himself pointed out 
 that his researches only serve to prove the views which 
 have been advanced with more or less explicitness by 
 Kant, Bain, Darwin, and Dumont. 1 All authors who 
 have closely studied the movements of expression have 
 also remarked that pleasurable feelings are accompanied 
 by a tendency towards increased activity (Gratiolet, 
 Darwin, Bain, Bouillier, Mantegazza). 2 And the popular 
 views on pleasure and pain, as we find them expressed 
 in literature, all agree on this point : " La joie est 1'air 
 vital de notre ame. La tristesse est un asthme compliqu 
 d'atonie." 3 Every one knows that movement and 
 unchecked increased activity generally create pleasure. 
 And, on the other hand, functional inhibition is in our 
 experience closely connected with feelings of pain. 
 
 Although these broad facts are universally re- 
 cognised, there is nevertheless no unanimity with regard 
 to their interpretation. It may be held, on the one 
 hand, that the perception of those objective conditions 
 which call forth pleasure is accompanied by a tendency 
 to movement. That, conversely, movement creates 
 pleasure would thus be the result of an association. But 
 it may also be contended that the functional enhance- 
 ment, the stimulation itself, when present to conscious- 
 ness, is perceived as pleasure, and that the feeling-tone 
 created by movement is thus not indirect and secondary, 
 but, on the contrary, is a typical pleasure. 
 
 We do not by any means deny the influence which 
 associative processes exercise on all our feelings and on 
 
 1 Fere", Sensation et mouvement, p. 64. 
 
 2 Gratiolet, De la physionomie, pp. 47, 53 ; Darwin, The Expression of the 
 Emotions, pp. 80, 207 ; Bain, The Emotions and the Will, pp. 11, 12 ; Bouillier, 
 Duplaisir et de la douleur, pp. 50, 51 ; Mantegazza, Physiognomy and Expres- 
 sion, pp. 114, 115. 
 
 3 Amiel, Journal, i. p. 208.
 
 in THE FEELING-TONE OF SENSATION 33 
 
 the activities connected with them. As has been shown 
 by Darwin, animals as well as primitive man have 
 earned their chief enjoyment, outside their delight of 
 warmth and repose, by violent actions, such as hunting, 
 war, and pairing fights. 1 And if it be objected that 
 memories from those distant times cannot now influence 
 our feelings, it must at least be admitted that within 
 the life of the individual a firm foundation is laid 
 for association between pleasure and activity. 2 Inde- 
 pendently of all general theories, we must therefore 
 reckon with association as a factor by which the motor 
 element of pleasure is greatly increased. But it seems 
 to us impossible to make the remembrance conscious 
 or unconscious of earlier similar states the only ground 
 of the activity which is connected with pleasurable 
 feelings. 
 
 It is at least far more simple and consistent to 
 explain, with Hamilton and Bain, the activity itself as 
 the physiological condition of pleasure. If any increase 
 of function whether brought about by chemical, 
 mechanical, or psychical (that is, indirectly mechanical) 
 influences be considered as a physiological condition of 
 pleasure, and any arrest of function in the same way 
 be considered as a counterpart of pain, then all states of 
 pleasure or pain may be included in one common 
 interpretation. Only it must be remembered that 
 the increase of function can never be measured by any 
 absolute standard. The same stimulus which in one 
 individual calls forth pleasure may in another individual 
 cause pain, and the same bodily activity which we 
 enjoy when in a vigorous state of health may occasion 
 suffering when we are weak or ill. Such variations are 
 
 1 Darwin, The Expression of the Emotions, p. 81. 
 
 2 Lehmann, Hauptgesetze, pp. 298-301. 
 
 D
 
 34 THE ORIGINS OF AET CHAP. 
 
 evidently conditioned by the varying functional powers 
 of the organs involved. When these powers are 
 reduced, a stimulus, or a movement which usually pro- 
 duces a stimulating effect, may instead call forth 
 depression and pain. 
 
 In every explanation of pleasure-pain, attention 
 must therefore be paid not only to the claims which 
 are made on the several organs by the objective causes 
 (stimuli or movements), but also to the capacity of the 
 organs to meet these claims. This capacity, on the 
 other hand, is evidently dependent upon the supply of 
 energy afforded by the nutritive processes. In the 
 endeavour to pay due attention to both these factors 
 Lehmann has been led to this conclusion : " Pleasure 
 and pain may in all cases be assumed to be the psychical 
 outcome of the relation between the consumption of 
 energy which at a given moment is demanded from the 
 organs, and the supply of energy which is afforded by 
 nutrition." 1 In the course of a lengthy and laborious 
 investigation Marshall has arrived at a very similar 
 result : " Pleasure and pain are determined by the 
 relation between the energy given out and the energy 
 received at any given moment by the physical organs 
 which determine the content of that moment." Pleasure 
 is experienced, according to Marshall's definition, when- 
 ever a surplus of stored energy is discharged in the 
 reaction to the stimulus ; pain is experienced whenever 
 a stimulus claims a greater development of energy 
 in the reaction than the organ is capable of afford- 
 ing. 2 
 
 In this mode of treatment due attention is paid to 
 those theories according to which the conditions of 
 
 1 Lehmann, Hauptgesetze, p. 214. 
 2 Marshall, Pain, Pleasure, and Esthetics, pp. 222, 223.
 
 in THE FEELING-TONE OF SENSATION 35 
 
 pleasure are to be sought, not in expenditure of force, 
 but in the receiving of force or in the recovery of 
 balance. 1 But though this point has its own importance, 
 it cannot by any means be put on a level with the 
 dynamic aspect. Pleasure can never arise when the 
 organs are not well-nourished, strong, and capable of 
 function ; but it arises only on the condition that they 
 actually do perform a function. As Marshall has 
 rightly remarked, there is no reason to believe that 
 surplus of vigour and receipt of nourishment in them- 
 selves could ever be objects of consciousness. 2 As long 
 as we can speak of mental states, these must be 
 accompanied by corresponding activities. The chief 
 merit of Marshall's thesis is precisely this, that every 
 emotional state, independently of its tone and of its 
 perceptible manifestations, can be interpreted in terms 
 of activity. Pleasure, acute or massive, appears as the 
 result of a stimulus, which, owing to a happy proportion 
 between its intensity and the functional capacity of the 
 organ, has modified the bodily functions in such a way 
 as to produce manifestations of energy. Pain, acute or 
 massive, appears as the result of a stimulus, possibly of 
 the same kind, which, owing to a disproportion arising 
 from its own greater intensity or the smaller functional 
 capacity in the organ, has called forth a functional 
 inhibition that is to say, that kind of activity which 
 is manifested to us as an arrest of energy. 
 
 It would be too sanguine to expect the real nature of 
 pleasure and pain to be exhaustively defined in any 
 formula such as the above. From a theoretical point of 
 view grave objections may undoubtedly be raised against 
 
 1 Dumont, Th&orie scientifique de la sensibility pp. 67, 68 ; Delbceuf, 
 de psychophysique, pp. 182, 191. 
 
 2 Marshall, I.e. p. 174.
 
 36 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 Marshall's theory as well as against every general inter- 
 pretation of emotional states. It may even be admitted, 
 and we desire to admit it as soon as possible, that in 
 several cases it seems extremely difficult to derive the 
 feeling-tone of even the simplest sensations from the 
 proportion between " energy given out and energy 
 received." But since, as far as we can see, similar 
 difficulties meet us in the application of every existing 
 emotional theory, for the present we must consider 
 the constructions of Mr. Marshall, notwithstanding 
 their speculative and necessarily unsafe character, 
 as affording us the most consistent explanation 
 of the hedonic phenomena. In an earlier work, 
 Fbrstudier till en konstfilosofi (A Preliminary Study 
 for a Philosophy of Art), I have tried to discuss and 
 refute some of the arguments which can be adduced 
 against this theory. In the present work such a theoretic 
 digression would lead us too far away from the main 
 subject. For a right understanding of the relation 
 between feeling and " expressional " movements it is not 
 necessary, we believe, to adopt exclusively any one of 
 the emotional theories. We shall be quite content if it 
 is admitted that Mr. Marshall's interpretation affords 
 us a scheme or formula by the aid of which we can 
 account, if not for the nature, at least for the external 
 manifestations of our feelings. 
 
 In applying his definitions to the various kinds of 
 pleasure and pain, Mr. Marshall has recourse to three 
 important principles, viz. the limited amount of energy 
 which our system is capable of developing at any given 
 moment, the storage of surplus supplies of nourishment, 
 and the transference of energy from one organ to another. 
 By referring to these principles he has been able to 
 
 1 Cf. Stout, Manual of Psychology, pp. 236-239.
 
 in THE FEELING-TONE OF SENSATION 37 
 
 bring under his explanation those feelings which seem 
 to correspond not to " activities," but to " states." l 
 
 As is well known, Hamilton had already pointed out 
 the important, though unsuspected, element of activity 
 which is involved in our enjoyment of dolcefar niente. 2 
 But with the physiology at his command he could 
 scarcely have explained why rest after heavy work is 
 always accompanied by eminently pleasurable feelings. 
 If it be assumed, however, that in the case of psychical 
 effort, e.g., the call upon our limited fund of energy has 
 reduced the vegetative functions to inactivity, and that 
 this inactivity has caused a storage of nutritive supply, 
 then it is self-evident that the vegetative functions, as 
 soon as the one-sided effort has ceased, must discharge 
 their surplus in movements of a pleasurable character. 
 
 The pain arising from restricted activity can equally 
 be explained in terms of movement. If we believe that 
 our system has a limited amount of energy which as 
 long as life is maintained must necessarily be active 
 in some direction or other, then we shall also under- 
 stand that anything which closes the natural and usual 
 outlet of this energy will give rise to activities in related 
 organs, the nutritive state of which does not present the 
 conditions of pleasurable function. Mr. Marshall has 
 tried to indicate the details of the transition by which 
 inactivity in one organ causes excessive activity in other 
 organs. His description of the " gorging of the nutri- 
 tive channels," " the calling for aid of the disabled 
 elements," etc., is, however, too figurative and poetical 
 to be of any importance in a psychological argument. 3 
 
 1 Of. Spencer, Principles of Psychology, i. p. 273. 
 
 2 Hamilton, Lectures, ii. p. 478 ; cf. also Bouillier, Du plaisir et de la 
 douleur, pp. 52-62. 
 
 3 Marshall, Pain, Pleasure, and ^Esthetics, p. 213 ; cf. Dr. Stout's keen 
 criticism of this explanation, Analytic Psychology, ii. pp. 294, 295.
 
 38 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 Taken as a vague and necessarily coarse metaphor, 
 this physiological image may, however, illustrate a 
 process which perhaps can never be exactly analysed, 
 but which is nevertheless familiar to everybody. 
 No one who has experienced in any higher degree the 
 diffused sensation of gnawing inactivity can doubt 
 the active element in this corroding feeling. One 
 seems to feel how the checked and thwarted impulses 
 devouringly turn themselves inward. Poetical literature 
 is full of passionate outcries against the tortures which 
 imposed inaction inflicts on active spirits ; and modern 
 autobiographies give us pathetic examples of the suffer- 
 ings of those whose intellectual activity has been 
 diverted from outward aims to internal analysis. The 
 candid confessions of Amiel and Kierkegaard show the 
 inevitable necessity with which mental energy, if arrested 
 in its natural course, finds itself an outlet in destructive 
 activity. This truth had already been expressed in 
 simple and drastic form in Logau's old epigram : - 
 
 Ein Muhlstein und ein Menschenherz wird stets herumgetrieben. 
 "Wenn beides nicht zu reiben hat, wird beides selbst zerrieben. 
 
 The displacement of mental attention corresponding 
 to the transference of energy from one organ to 
 another in the inevitable search for a channel of 
 outlet causes arrested activity to be felt as an unbear- 
 able massive pain ; but this process implies at the same 
 time a possibility of relief. If the sufferings of restric- 
 tion can be considered as brought about by arrested 
 impulses which have turned inwards, then it is evident 
 that any outward activity may overcome the obstruction. 
 Pleasure can perhaps not be achieved before the checked 
 organ resumes its functions ; but even a vicarious activity 
 in some related organ may relieve the pain. Hence the
 
 in THE FEELING-TONE OF SENSATION 39 
 
 diffused, undirected movements by which we instinctively 
 try to get rid of a feeling of restriction. Every high- 
 strung emotional state which has not yet found its appro- 
 priate expression affords an instance of this sensation. 
 Exalted delight therefore often manifests itself in ecstatic 
 dances and songs, which, properly speaking, rather relieve 
 an incipient pain than express a pleasure. Violent 
 movements act as unconscious expedients by which the 
 organism restores itself to its normal balance. 
 
 A similar instinct ought, one would expect, to operate 
 in sensations of acute pain. In point of fact, an obscure 
 consciousness of the limitation of functional energy, or, 
 to put it in psychological terms, of attentive power, 
 leads us to seek and find relief from pain in violent 
 movement. Some of the frantic dances of savage tribes 
 undoubtedly serve to deaden the sufferings inflicted by 
 ritual tortures. But it is, of course, only in exceptional 
 cases that these anaesthetic expedients are intentionally 
 resorted to. As a rule they are to be considered as a 
 radiation of nervous tension, and are so little conscious 
 that we can scarcely even call them instinctive. Besides 
 all the motor manifestations which thus follow upon a 
 sensation of severe pain in almost direct physiological 
 sequence, some pantomimic activity of defence or avoid- 
 ance will generally be called forth by the notion of an 
 objective source of pain. Owing to associations derived 
 from earlier similar states, this reaction may often appear 
 even when there is no definite object which can be 
 assigned as the cause of the feeling. Among primitive 
 people the pantomime of pain undoubtedly has its ground 
 in a mythological conception of the nature of feeling. 
 Pain is regarded as a concrete thing which the body 
 may be capable of shaking off or avoiding. Crude as it 
 may seem, this illusion is so closely bound up with our
 
 40 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 instinctive reactions that even the most enlightened man 
 can never completely emancipate himself from its in- 
 fluence. There is thus nearly always an intellectual 
 factor which co-operates with the physical tendency 
 towards energetic reaction to pain. 
 
 Thus pain, notwithstanding its inhibitive character, 
 may act, especially when it is acute, as a motor incite- 
 ment. Hence the curious cases of favourable medical 
 effects produced by severe physical suffering, which may 
 serve not only as a distraction of the attention, but also 
 as a positive stimulation of sinking vitality. Hence 
 also the enhanced intellectual activity which often 
 follows upon pain. 1 There was perhaps more malignity 
 than truth in the remark of Michelet that Flaubert 
 might imperil his talent by curing his boils ; 2 but there 
 are unquestionable instances to prove that wounds 
 and acute diseases have exercised a powerful exciting 
 influence on certain artistic temperaments. 
 
 All these stimulating effects of pain must naturally 
 be taken into account in every emotional theory. But 
 they can by no means be adduced, as Fechner thinks, 
 as an argument against the definition which we have 
 already given. 3 Reactions to pain follow, indeed, 
 so immediately upon the sensation, that they cannot 
 be separated in time from its proper expression. But 
 it must always be remembered that the activities, 
 whether of writhing under the influence of pain or of 
 combating it, are secondary manifestations by which 
 the feeling-tone is gradually weakened. Whether the 
 
 1 Fe're', The Pathology of Emotions, pp. 275, 276 ; Lombroso, The Man of 
 Genius, pp. 151, 152 ; Ribot, The Psychology of the Emotions, p. 46 ("Observations 
 on the beneficial effects created on melancholic patients by physical pain "). 
 
 2 Goncourt, Journal des, ii. p. 250. 
 
 3 Of. Fechner, Vorschule der Aesthetik, ii. p. 265 ; cf. also Marshall, Pain, 
 Pleasure, and ^Esthetics, p. 187.
 
 in THE FEELING-TONE OF SENSATION 41 
 
 stimulating effects appear at the very moment of im- 
 pression or only when the sensation has become fully 
 conscious, pain is always, we believe, at its keenest 
 when the outward development of energy is lowest. If 
 the notion " expression " is conceived in its strictest 
 sense, i.e. as the physiological counterpart of the 
 emotional state, then pain has only one expression 
 inhibition. 
 
 With regard to states of pleasure it is more difficult 
 to make any distinction between primary and secondary 
 manifestations. Every new movement is a new expres- 
 sion of the same feeling which as long as fatigue does 
 not set up its peculiar pain is only enhanced by these 
 repeated " somatic resonances." If pleasure is originated 
 by the increased function of one individual organ, then 
 this stimulation must, owing to the solidarity of the 
 functions, gradually extend over wider areas in the 
 system. The more numerous the organs which take 
 part in the activity, the more numerous also are our 
 sensations of function, and the greater the gain of our 
 pleasure in richness and variety. An undefined feeling 
 of vigour, assurance, or power can only acquire distinct- 
 ness and intensity by expressing itself in some mode of 
 physical or mental activity. But while stimulation is 
 thus directly connected with the feeling-tone of pleasur- 
 able states, it must be admitted, on the other hand, that 
 as has been remarked above associative influences 
 also contribute towards enhancing their active manifest- 
 ations. By these secondary motor-impulses, however, 
 the original feeling is only increased. It can therefore 
 be said that pleasure feeds and nurtures itself by 
 expression. Pain, on the contrary, increases in strength 
 in the same degree as the inhibition extends over the 
 organism. But it can only be weakened by active
 
 42 THE OEIGINS OF AET CHAP, in 
 
 manifestations. Movements, as we have shown, deliver 
 us from the massive, indistinct pains of restriction as 
 well as mitigate our acute sufferings. 
 
 The life-preserving tendency which, under the feeling 
 of pleasure, leads us to movements which intensify the 
 sensation and make it more distinct for consciousness, 
 compels us in pain to seek for relief and deliverance in 
 violent motor discharge. In either case the activity is 
 called expressional, and it seems difficult to avoid this 
 equivocal usage. But it is indispensable to make a 
 strict distinction between the expression which operates 
 in the direction of the initial feeling itself, and the 
 expression by which this feeling is weakened. 
 
 This distinction will appear with greater clearness in 
 the following chapter, where we shall apply the laws of 
 expression to the complex emotional states. Then it 
 will also be possible for us to point out some aesthetic 
 result of the psychological survey which perhaps may 
 seem for the moment a departure from our proper 
 subject.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE EMOTIONS 
 
 THE discussion of complex emotional states on which 
 we enter in the present chapter will be subject to the 
 same reservation as was our previous discussion of 
 simple sensation-feeling. It is not proposed to attempt 
 a definitive explanation of the nature of emotion, nor 
 even to criticise the various emotion-theories which 
 have been advanced in psychological literature. For 
 the purposes of an aesthetic investigation we are only 
 concerned with the external aspects, the outward mani- 
 festations, of mental states. We need not therefore 
 dilate upon the controversies as to the exact relation 
 between simple feeling and emotion. It is enough for 
 us that all authors those who consider pain and 
 pleasure as elements sui generis as well as those who 
 count them among sensations or emotions agree in 
 emphasising the prominent hedonic element which 
 enters into all our emotions. Starting from this univer- 
 sally recognised fact, we shall try to explain the impulse 
 to expression, as it appears in complex emotions, by the 
 same laws which we deduced from an examination of 
 simple hedonic states. 
 
 The legitimacy of such a course will scarcely be 
 contested by any one who admits the vital and necessary
 
 44 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 connection between emotional states and movement- 
 sensations. And in point of fact, this connection does 
 not seem to be denied by many modern psychologists. 
 There is indeed much controversy as to the best mode 
 of formulating the well-known theory due to James and 
 Lange, and there is also much to discuss in its general 
 theoretic aspect. But the observation on which this 
 theory was based by James, viz. that it is impossible 
 for us to imagine any emotion which is not connected 
 with feelings of bodily symptoms, seems nowadays to 
 be pretty safe against attack. Before and after James, 
 the fundamental importance of bodily changes has been 
 acknowledged by almost all authors who have specially 
 studied the emotional states. We need only refer to 
 Bain, Kibot, Fere, Paulhan, and Godfernaux. 1 Even 
 Professor Stout, who on general grounds takes exception 
 to the views of James, leaves unassailed the thesis from 
 which the latter starts in his chapter on the emotions. 2 
 And it is even somewhat superfluous to adduce all these 
 authorities in support of a fact which must have been 
 noted by every one who pays any attention to his own 
 mental states. We never experience any intense 
 emotion, such as fear, anger, or sorrow, without at the 
 same time experiencing some distinct sensation of change 
 in our functions of respiration and circulation, as well 
 as in the activities of our voluntary muscles. In the 
 case of emotions of slight intensity, where no changes 
 of this character are perceptible, we are justified in 
 assuming that they do nevertheless occur, only on a 
 much smaller scale, and possibly in different organs. 
 
 1 Bain, The Emotions and the Will, pp. 5, 6 ; cf. also The Senses and the 
 Intellect, p. 290 ; Ribot, The Psychology of the Emotions, pp. 97, 112 ; F6r4, The 
 Pathology of Emotions, p. 44 ; Paulhan, Les phenomenes affectifs, p. 37 ; God- 
 fernaux, Le sentiment et la pensde, p. 66. 
 
 2 Stout, Manual of Psychology, p. 296.
 
 iv THE EMOTIONS 45 
 
 The clinical and experimental researches of medical 
 science, as well as experiments undertaken in psycho- 
 logical laboratories, tend to prove that all ideas, even of 
 the most abstract kind, are accompanied by modifi- 
 cations of organic activity, similar to, but weaker than, 
 those which accompany the simple sensations. It is 
 only natural, therefore, to conclude that the feeling- 
 element in emotions and sentiments, as well as in simple 
 pain and pleasure, is correlated with the quality stimu- 
 lating or inhibitive and intensity of these modifications. 
 All hedonic states, whether called forth directly by a 
 simple physiological stimulus, or indirectly by the 
 mediation of perceptions, memories, and ideas, can thus, 
 in so far as they are feelings, be considered as essentially 
 alike. The complete emotion, such as joy or anger, 
 with all its elements of thought and conscious or 
 unconscious volition, is of course something quite 
 different from the simple feeling-tone of mere pleasure 
 or pain. Physiological psychology does not, as its 
 opponents maintain, assimilate gratifications of the 
 sense of taste to aesthetic enjoyment or religious 
 exaltation. We allow rank to a sentiment in virtue of 
 the mental conceptions by which it is justified in the 
 breast of the person who feels it. But the strength of 
 such a sentiment, as feeling, we deem to be proportioned 
 to the organic changes by which enthusiasm and 
 devotion, just as much as sensual pleasure, are always 
 accompanied. We do not assert that these organic 
 changes are always identical in kind. In the simplest 
 forms of hedonic sensation sensation proper they 
 have their main equivalent in changes of the vegetative 
 functions ; in the emotions they are accompanied by 
 movements of our voluntary muscles ; and in the senti- 
 ments they may correspond to an activity which takes
 
 46 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 place chiefly in the organ of thought. And from these 
 differences arise other important differences in duration 
 as well as in intensity of the pleasure-pain. But all 
 these various limitations cannot modify the essential 
 fact, which is, that pleasure is always connected with an 
 enhancement, and pain with a depression, of the vital 
 functions. 
 
 For a satisfactory explanation of our emotions it 
 would no doubt be desirable to have all the complicated 
 physiological concomitants reduced to simple terms of 
 functional enhancement and functional arrest. Such a 
 reduction can, however, be undertaken only in a few 
 favourable cases. We can easily see, for instance, that 
 in pride and humiliation a series of perceptions and 
 ideas have brought about conditions of facilitated and 
 checked activity similar to those which, in sensational 
 pleasure -pain, are created by simple physiological 
 stimuli. 1 We may also agree with Lehmann when he 
 endeavours to prove that the pain a child experiences 
 when its mother leaves its bedside can be reduced to a 
 sensation of arrested activity. 2 And we may in the 
 same way explain our own feelings after losses which, 
 from our point of view, are more serious, as largely due 
 to the fact that an occasion of activity for our senses, 
 thoughts, or bodily powers has been suddenly with- 
 drawn. But it would be too laborious to enter upon 
 such an analysis of all our compound emotions, and it is 
 also superfluous. Even when the organic conditions of 
 pleasure and pain cannot be detected among the in- 
 tricate mass of intellectual and volitional elements which 
 make up what we can observe of an emotion, we must 
 
 1 A treatment in detail of this point has been given in my Forstudier till en 
 konstfilosofi, pp. 57-59. 
 
 2 Lehmann, Hauptgesetze, pp. 308, 309.
 
 iv THE EMOTIONS 47 
 
 still, from analogy, conclude that some kind of functional 
 enhancement or arrest corresponds to the feeling-tone. 
 
 Seeing, then, that what we may call " pure feeling " 
 remains the same in all possible combinations, we must 
 expect to meet with the same phenomena in connection 
 with the manifestations of the higher emotions and 
 sentiments, as those already described in case of simple 
 pain or pleasure. It is true that in fully formed anger, 
 joy, contempt, and so on, the tendency to expression 
 for expression's sake as when a child laughs or dances 
 for mere joy is seldom found pure and unmixed. But 
 even in such complex states we may in the abstract 
 distinguish the impulse directly and inherently connected 
 with the physiological change the impulse which tends 
 automatically to bring out the tone of pleasure with 
 more prominence or to relieve the tone of pain from all 
 the conscious and volitional activities by which the 
 external cause of the feeling is either approached or 
 avoided. We have only to remember that, as was the 
 case with sensation -feelings, those intentional move- 
 ments which are directly or by virtue of association 
 connected with an emotion will always work in the 
 ,same direction as the purely automatic expression. 
 
 With regard to anger, for instance, we can in theory, 
 at all events, distinguish the activity which follows 
 as a purely physiological reaction upon the initial 
 inhibition, and which therefore is quite undirected by 
 any idea of attacking an enemy, from the conscious 
 reaction by which we strive with all our powers to over- 
 come and annihilate a real or imaginary foe. But we 
 know that both these kinds of expression produce similar 
 mental effects. Whether we concentrate our attention 
 on the element of pure feeling and its accompanying 
 activities, or on the intermixture of intellectual and
 
 48 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 volitional elements by which the emotion is distin- 
 guished from simple pleasure-pain, we shall thus find 
 that active manifestations always enhance the positive 
 tone of feeling, which is in itself the counterpart of a 
 functional enhancement, and relieve the negative tone, 
 which is the counterpart of functional arrest. 
 
 To prove this assertion with regard to all the 
 different emotions would mean an unnecessary repetition 
 of the arguments adduced in the preceding chapter. 
 We need therefore only dwell on a few individual 
 cases in which the effects of expression, owing to the 
 complex nature of all fully developed emotions, are 
 subject to misinterpretation. It has, for instance, often 
 been contended in psychological literature that pleasur- 
 able emotions lose in strength in the same degree as 
 they are expressed. Mr. Spencer, who finds the 
 physiological basis of all emotion in nervous tension, 
 has tried to prove that joy is always strongest when 
 most restrained. But the argument he adduces is by no 
 means unimpeachable. He says that people who show 
 the finest appreciation of humour are often capable of 
 saying and doing the most laughable things with the 
 utmost gravity. 1 In this instance joy has, however, 
 been confounded with the sense of the comic, which is 
 of course a purely intellectual gift, and which does not 
 even presuppose a cheerful disposition. The less the 
 expenditure of nervous force on outward activity, the 
 greater is the efficiency with which the work of thought 
 can be carried on. 2 There is thus a physiological reason 
 why he who laughs least utters the best jokes. But all 
 the fools whose mouths overflow with laughter (risus 
 
 1 Spencer, Essays, ii. p. 457. 
 
 2 Cf. James, Principles of Psychology, ii. p. 466 ; Darwin, The Expression of 
 the Emotions, p. 76.
 
 iv THE EMOTIONS 49 
 
 abundat in ore stultorum] may no doubt often be 
 happier than the most talented humourist. No sane 
 man would say that Swift was happy. 
 
 It is, however, undeniable that even joy gradually 
 decreases if it is allowed an unimpeded outlet. But 
 that is often a result of bodily fatigue, which makes 
 thought as well as feeling impossible. Pleasure may 
 also increase qua feeling, if its most outward manifesta- 
 tions are controlled. But hereby the activity has only, 
 as Spencer himself remarks, been directed into new 
 channels. 1 The motor impulses reflect themselves in- 
 wards and accumulate when their outlet is stopped. 
 From bodily movements, which are its simplest and 
 most natural expression, joy may thus be diverted into 
 the region of thought. When a savage has attained so 
 high a state of development as to be able to control the 
 impulse to dance and yell for joy, the first dithyramb 
 has been composed. 
 
 It is impossible for us to estimate the relative 
 importance of internal and external activity. All we 
 can say is that a joy, the outward expressions of which 
 are controlled, probably gains in durability. But on 
 the other hand it is possible that a joy which has been 
 allowed a free discharge, in the very moment of ex- 
 pression is stronger qua feeling. If the motor impulses 
 find no outlet in any direction, the emotional state will, 
 as has already been pointed out, become more and more 
 affected with elements of pain. 
 
 When the physiological counterpart of an emotion 
 takes the form of an inhibition, the feeling-tone will 
 of course gain in intensity in the same degree as 
 wider and wider areas of activity come under the 
 influence of the arrest. This law can also be observed 
 
 1 Spencer, I.e. ii. pp. 456, 457. 
 
 E
 
 50 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 in the course of development of all pain - emotions. 
 Sorrow, despair, humiliation, and so on, are relatively 
 mild as long as the inhibition is restricted to 
 the voluntary muscles. They acquire their full and 
 proper strength as feeling only when the involuntary 
 activities take part in the functional disturbance. 
 And we can often notice in ourselves how, in the same 
 degree as a painful emotion increases, the inhibition 
 cuts its way deeper and deeper into the organism. 1 
 Humiliation, which of all emotions is the most hopelessly 
 and irredeemably painful, is in its higher degrees always 
 accompanied by functional changes which make them- 
 selves felt even in our digestive organs. Literature, to 
 which in questions of emotional psychology we must 
 apply for the information which no experiment can 
 supply, proves that it is hard to swallow. It has a 
 bitter taste, and is sickening even in purely physical 
 sense. 2 The greatest grief, on the other hand, that man 
 has been able to imagine manifests itself physiologically 
 as a complete internal as well as external paralysis, such 
 as is suggested by the Greek myth of the sorrowing 
 mother turned into stone. 
 
 The progress of functional inhibition from organ to 
 organ and the accompanying increase of the pain- 
 emotion does of course generally take place without 
 the co-operation of volition. But the increase of an 
 incipient pain - sentiment can also be facilitated by 
 voluntary efforts. As Professor James remarks, we 
 may effectively strengthen a mood of sadness if we only 
 
 1 For .the convenience of treatment we here restrict our attention to those 
 emotional processes the initial stages of which are accompanied by changes of 
 activity in the voluntary muscles. 
 
 2 These linguistic facts might have afforded Professor Mantegazza a further 
 argument in favour of his physiognomical thesis that the expression of injured 
 self-esteem is similar to that of gustatory pain. Cf. Mantegazza, Physiognomy 
 and Expression, p. 130.
 
 iv THE EMOTIONS 51 
 
 consistently arrest the activity of all the organs which 
 are under the control of our will. 1 And it is well known 
 that much is possible in the way of working up feelings 
 of melancholy. It may seem somewhat strange that 
 the cultivation of such painful states has attained so 
 high a development in man. But the apparent paradox 
 is solved if we direct our attention to the secondary 
 tones of pleasure which can always be derived from 
 artificial moods of suffering. Sentimental reflection is 
 able to extract from them a peculiar satisfaction which 
 is highly appreciated by certain temperaments. We 
 need only refer -to the literature of romanticism, which 
 gives us most instructive instances of pride in sensibility. 
 Another kind of enjoyment is attained when persons 
 who consider themselves unfairly treated by cruel 
 fortune deliberately feed upon their own sufferings. 
 As Spencer has shrewdly pointed out, they will infal- 
 libly derive a pleasurable sensation of their own value 
 when contrasting their fate with the happiness which 
 they consider their due. 2 Melancholy people, on the 
 other hand, may perhaps be inclined to make themselves 
 as helpless -and unfortunate as possible for the sake of 
 experiencing both sides of that " love of the helpless " 3 
 which, according to Spencer, is the most primordial 
 form of altruistic feeling. The expressions and 
 pantomimes of sadness often strike us as a kind of 
 self-caressing in which the sufferer, by division of his 
 own personality, enjoys the double pleasure of giving 
 and receiving. 
 
 1 James, Principles of Psychology, ii. p. 463 : " Sit all day in a moping posture, 
 sigh, and reply to everything in a dismal voice, and your melancholy lingers. " 
 
 2 Spencer, Principles of Psychology, ii. pp. 590, 591. Cf. also with regard to 
 the enjoyment which can by reflection be derived from sorrow, fear, and other 
 pain - emotions, Paulhan, Les pMnomkiies affcctifs, pp. 119, 120; Hamilton, 
 Lectures, ii. pp. 481-484 ; Bouillier, Du plaisir ct de la douleur. pp. 62-72. 
 
 3 Spencer, I.e. ii. pp. 623-626.
 
 52 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 According to the most consistent terminology, this 
 tendency to enhance feeling by voluntary co-operation 
 with functional inhibition ought perhaps to be con- 
 sidered as the characteristic expression of painful 
 emotion. It is, however, as has already been pointed 
 out in our treatment of sensation - feeling, more in 
 conformity with ordinary usage and also with ety- 
 mology to apply the word expression to those active, 
 outward manifestations by which the inhibition is 
 relieved. There can be no inconvenience in doing so 
 if we only keep constantly in mind the distinction 
 between the expression which enhances and the ex- 
 pression which relieves. As long as these two notions 
 are confounded, a consistent explanation of emotional 
 states is quite impossible. The contradictions in Pro- 
 fessor James' brilliant chapter on the emotions furnish 
 us with a ready proof of this impossibility. If he had 
 based his theory upon a close discrimination of either 
 class of expression, as they can be distinguished in 
 simple sensational feeling, he would probably not have 
 contended that sorrow is increased by sobbing, 1 while 
 admitting in another passage that " dry and shrunken 
 sorrow" is more painful than any "crying fit." : 
 
 It is, however, impossible to deny that sighing, 
 sobbing, twisting the hands, and other active mani- 
 festations are often effectively used, by actors, for 
 example, as means for working up despair or sorrow. 3 
 
 1 James, Principles of Psychology, ii. pp. 462, 463. 
 
 2 James, I.e. pp. 444, 445. It is to be remarked, however, that in the more 
 elaborate statement of his theory, which Professor James has given in The 
 Psychological Review, 1894, he pays due attention to the influence by which 
 " expression " may change the tone of an emotion. Cf. especially p. 519 about 
 fear : "when the running has actually commenced, it gives rise to exhilaration 
 by its effects on breathing and pulse, etc., in this case, and not to fear." 
 
 3 The interesting contributions to the psychology of acting, which have been 
 brought together by Mr. William Archer in his Masks or Faces, do not give us
 
 iv -THE EMOTIONS 53 
 
 But it seems to us indubitable that these movements 
 when they succeed in creating the real feeling do so 
 by help of association. A pain-emotion which has been 
 called into existence by such dramatic mechanism is 
 therefore seldom quite genuine. Real sorrow, hate, 
 or anger, as pain -feelings, are on their physiological 
 side much more deeply seated than these surface 
 expressions, which, properly speaking, are merely a 
 reproduction of the usual reactions upon the primary 
 feeling. They are therefore not to be easily stirred up 
 by aid of mimetic action. 
 
 It may perhaps be contended that these remarks 
 apply only to the artificial creation of pain -emotion. 
 When under the sway of veritable sorrow we un- 
 doubtedly feel as if the mental state were really 
 intensified during its expression by the direct influence 
 of the muscular activities, which constitute the sighing, 
 sobbing, or crying. As far as the compound emotion 
 is concerned, this observation is unquestionably correct. 
 Sorrow, with all its intellectual and volitional elements, 
 may become more distinct for consciousness the more 
 it is actively expressed. But the pain itself, which 
 constitutes the primary and initial state of this emotion, 
 has by no means been increased. On the contrary, a 
 crying fit, for instance, as even Professor James admits, 
 may be accompanied by a kind of excitement which has 
 a peculiar tone of pungent pleasure. 1 
 
 much reliable information as to the part which the " expressional movements" 
 play in a deliberate stirring up of an emotion. Even if we were to accept all the 
 testimonies of actors and actresses as a testable evidence, we could scarcely decide 
 whether the emotional state of an actor who plays his part in perfect sincerity 
 is chiefly a result of his losing himself in the fictitious situation, or whether this 
 state follows as a retroaction exercised by the artificial performance of weeping, 
 laughing, sobbing, etc. Cf. Archer, Masks or Faces, pp. 133-136. Some inter- 
 esting remarks on this point can also be found in Dugald Stewart's Elements 
 of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, iii. pp. 168, 185. 
 1 James, Principles of Psychology, ii. p. 444.
 
 54 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 The same process can be observed in the course of all 
 the so-called pain-emotions. During active expression, 
 while the general mental state increases in definite- 
 ness, the purely "algedonic" element of pain is gradually 
 weakened or changed. Anger, which begins with an 
 inhibition and a vascular contraction, to which, 1 on the 
 mental side, corresponds a feeling of intense pain, is 
 thus in its active stage a decidedly pleasurable emotion. 2 
 Fear, which in its initial stage is paralysing and depress- 
 ing, often changes in tone when the first shock has 
 been relieved by motor reaction. 3 And to some extent 
 the same may be said even of despair. In every 
 pain -emotion where there is a development of active 
 energy involved in the reaction upon the initial feeling, 
 the tone of this feeling is apt to undergo some change 
 owing to the influence of this activity. 
 
 This circumstance explains why expression for 
 expression's sake as a life-preserving principle occupies 
 so important a place in the life of man. But it also 
 accounts for another phenomenon which, although not 
 directly connected with the expressional impulse, is 
 aesthetically so important that it cannot properly be 
 passed over in this work. We refer to the apparent 
 paradox that auger, fear, sorrow, notwithstanding their 
 distinctly painful initial stage, are often not only not 
 avoided, but even deliberately sought. Taken in con- 
 nection with those perhaps even more curious cases, 
 in which sensation -feelings of pain are intentionally 
 
 1 Of. Lehmann, Hauptgesetze, pp. 107-111, where the pain-element of anger 
 is emphasised in opposition to Professor Lange's description of this emotion. 
 
 2 A detailed account of the various stages of anger has been given by me 
 in Forstudier till en konstfilosqfi, pp. 73-77. Cf. also Lange, Nydelsernes fysiologi, 
 pp. 16-19, and Lange, Ueber Gemuethsbewegungen, pp. 28-35. 
 
 3 Cf. Marshall, Pain, Pleasure, and Esthetics, p. 246 ; Sully, The Human 
 Mind, ii. p. 91 ; Hamilton, Lectures, ii. p. 483. It cannot be denied, however, 
 that terror often becomes intensified as a painful feeling in proportion as the 
 heart-beatings, the quiverings, and all the other active manifestations increase.
 
 iv THE EMOTIONS 55 
 
 provoked, this apparent inversion of the normal course 
 constitutes one of the most important problems in 
 emotional psychology. The question of such " luxuries 
 of grief," or, to use a more appropriate German phrase, 
 " Die Wonne des Leids," is, however, so complicated 
 that its treatment will require a chapter to itself.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE ENJOYMENT OF PAIN 
 
 WE have pointed out that enjoyment can be derived by 
 sentimental reflection on moods of sadness. Such 
 refined forms of the "luxury of grief" presuppose a 
 certain intellectual development and a tendency to 
 introspection, which cannot possibly be assumed in 
 primitive man. But as the active forms of the so- 
 called pain-emotions are highly appreciated we may 
 even say indulged in as enjoyments by the lower tribes 
 of man, there must evidently be some more immediate 
 cause of this delight. And we are the more tempted to 
 look for this cause in the emotional process itself, by the 
 fact that even bodily pains, which do not admit of any 
 sentimental interpretation, may be deliberately excited. 
 We remarked in our treatment of the simple 
 emotional elements, that pleasure and pain can in no 
 case be estimated by any absolute measure. Now that 
 we have to find some explanation of the delight in pain, 
 which applies to purely physical as well as to mental 
 pain, we begin by admitting that the relative character 
 of feeling probably accounts for many instances in which 
 the pain is merely apparent. The same external stimulus 
 which acts on one individual with hypernormal strength, 
 and therefore evokes pain, may in the case of another
 
 HAP. v THE ENJOYMENT OF PAIN 57 
 
 individual who has duller senses, produce a weaker 
 impression, and thus call forth a pleasurable reaction. 
 The taste and smell anomalies of hysterical patients 
 afford us good examples of such abnormal pleasure. And, 
 on the other hand, there are plenty of instances, too 
 familiar to be enumerated, in which an impression which 
 a sick person would call painful brings pleasure to a 
 healthy one. 
 
 Again, the power of receiving pleasurable sensations 
 from strong stimuli may often be increased by exercise. 
 Mr. Marshall has applied his psycho-physiological 
 principles to the interpretation of these " acquired 
 pleasure-gettings," and though he perhaps does not 
 exhaustively and convincingly explain the process, he at 
 least gives a graphic and clear account of its most 
 probable course. He thinks that a hypernormal stimulus 
 indirectly increases the blood-supply to the stimulated 
 organ. This organ will therefore, if the operation of the 
 stimulus is not too prolonged, store up some portion of 
 unused nutritive force during the subsequent repose. 
 And thus, if the same stimulus is shortly afterwards 
 repeated, the organ will be able to respond with greater 
 facility and intensity, i.e. react under the conditions of 
 pleasurable reaction. In this way Marshall accounts for 
 the classic instances of acquired liking for olives and 
 tobacco. 1 
 
 It is probable that a similar influence of repeated 
 exercise may also operate in the department of compound 
 emotions. Lehmann, who explains the transformation 
 of originally painful impressions into pleasurable ones in 
 a somewhat different way, viz. by his law of " the in- 
 dispensability of accustomed things," refers to this law 
 
 1 Marshall, Pain, Pleasure, and ^Esthetics, p. 226 ; cf. Sully, The Human 
 Mind, ii. p. 34.
 
 58 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 those instances in which persons who have had many 
 troubles grow so accustomed to them, that in a moment 
 of ease they feel a kind of loss. 1 The validity of this 
 law will be recognised by every one who has any 
 opportunity of observing the vaguely and weakly un- 
 pleasant feeling which sometimes appears when we are 
 suddenly liberated from some pursuing anxiety. And 
 the indispensability of accustomed sensations may impel 
 persons to create new mental pains or worries to replace 
 the old ones. 
 
 Yet the mere craving for customary sensations can- 
 not explain those cases of genuine luxury in grief in 
 which pain-sensations and pain-emotions are sought 
 precisely because they are painful. But if we take into 
 account the powerful stimulating effect which is 
 produced by acute pain, we may easily understand why 
 people submit to momentary unpleasantness for the sake 
 of enjoying the subsequent excitement. This motive 
 leads to the deliberate creation not only of pain-sensations, 
 but also of emotions in which pain enters as an element. 
 The violent activity which is involved in the reaction 
 against fear, and still more in that against anger, affords 
 us a sensation of pleasurable excitement which is well 
 worth the cost of the passing unpleasantness. It is, 
 moreover, notorious that some persons have developed a 
 peculiar art of making the initial pain of anger so 
 transient that they can enjoy the active elements in 
 it with almost undivided delight. Such an accomplish- 
 ment is far more difficult in the case of sorrow. The 
 reactions are here seldom allowed so free a course as to 
 be able to change the feeling-tone of the state. More- 
 over, the remembrance of the objective cause will always 
 tend to reawaken the original feeling with its accom- 
 
 1 Lehmann, Hauptgesetze, pp. 195, 196.
 
 v THE ENJOYMENT OF PAIN 59 
 
 panying inhibition. Besides, a man of culture and 
 refinement is generally deterred by a kind of respect for 
 his own emotional life from artificially stirring up states 
 of sorrow for his own enjoyment. This reluctance, 
 however, does not seem to exist in lower stages of 
 development. The crying feasts of the Maoris and the 
 Todas which afford a striking parallel to the ceremonial 
 wailings of ancient Greece are no doubt, whatever their 
 ritual significance may be, attended with a kind of 
 pleasure. 1 By seizing on some real or fictitious cause for 
 grief the death of a Linos or an Adonis the partici- 
 pants succeed, we imagine, in creating a state of sorrow 
 in which the active and stimulating elements outweigh 
 the pain. 
 
 However barbarous this kind of amusement may 
 seem to us, it is by no means certain that we have 
 completely outgrown such pleasures. The delight in 
 witnessing the performance of a tragedy undoubtedly 
 involves the enjoyment of a borrowed pain, which, by 
 unconscious sympathetic imitation, we make partially 
 our own. 2 And the same phenomenon appears in a yet 
 
 1 Taylor, Te Ika A Maui, p. 175, on the Tangi feasts in New Zealand ; 
 Welcker, Klcine Schriften, i. pp. 26-31 ; Sittl, Gesch. d. griech. Literatur, i. p. 
 24. For a sympathetic interpretation of such feasts of sorrow see Reclus, Les 
 primitifs, pp. 239, 240. Cf. also the remarks of Lobeck, Aglaophamus, i. pp. 
 688-690, and Groos, Die Spiele der Menschen, p. 38. 
 
 The above adduced instances show us that even the art of primitive man does 
 not bear out the views recently brought into prominence by Herckenrath and 
 Faguet (Faguet, Drame ancien, drame moderne, pp. 2, 7, 12), and so ably stated 
 by Mr. Walkley (Frames of Mind, pp. 1-7), according to which the enjoyment 
 of tragedy as well as that of comedy can be reduced to a malevolently pleasurable 
 consciousness of our own security in contrast to the sufferings of others. Com- 
 parative psychology tends far more to support those authors who contend that 
 in tragedy we enjoy that pleasure which inherently exists in sorrow itself. Cf. 
 Shelley, A Defence of Poetry, p. 35. 
 
 2 Lobeck, Aglaophamus, i. p. 688. "De hoc universo gene re dicere licet id 
 quod res habet, hominis naturae quodam instinctu ut laetandi ita lugendi causas 
 sibi fingere ; unde est, quod aliena funera sequuntur, quod ignotis sepulchris 
 adsident, quod praeteritorum malorum memoriam refricant."
 
 60 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 cruder form in the custom, so general among the lower 
 classes of most countries, of visiting funerals and similar 
 ceremonies where sorrow can be contemplated and 
 shared. Even civilised man is thus able to enjoy the 
 pleasure which may be connected with emotions of 
 sorrow and despair, at least in second-hand reproduction. 
 It is scarcely necessary to go through all the various 
 emotional states in order to prove that every one of them, 
 if it can per se be enjoyed (in nature or art), is either 
 primarily or by its reactions connected with an increase 
 of outward activity. But we must point out that the 
 pleasure derived from this motor excitement is often 
 still further enhanced by the agency of an intellectual 
 element which is simpler than sentimental reflection, and 
 does not presuppose any tendency towards introspection. 
 In pain as in pleasure, in suffering as in voluptuousness, 
 we attain a heightened and enriched sensation of life. 
 The more we love life, the more must we also enjoy this 
 sensation, even if it be called into existence by pain. 
 Lessing, who cannot possibly be called morbid, confesses 
 to this taste in an interesting letter written to Mendels- 
 sohn : " Darinn sind wir doch wohl einig, I.F., dass alle 
 Leidenschaften entweder heftige Begierden oder heftige 
 Verabscheuengen sind ? Auch darinn : dass wir uns bei 
 jeder heftigen Begierde oder Verabscheuung, eines 
 grosser Grads unserer Realitat bewusst sind und dass 
 dieses Bewusstsein nicht anders als angenehm sein kann ? 
 Folglich sind alle Leidenschaften, auch die allerunan- 
 genehmsten, als Leidenschaften angenehm." l (" We are 
 agreed in this, my dear friend, that all passions are either 
 vehement cravings or vehement loathings, and also that 
 
 1 Lessing, Gelehrter Briefwechsel, pp. 145, 146, quoted in Bernays' Zwei 
 Abhandlungen, p. 144. Cf. also Scherer, Poetik, p. 112. Scherer, who thinks 
 that the phrase "Bewusstsein unserer Realitat" is too abstract in its wording, 
 proposes in its place "Freude an uns selbst" (delight in ourselves).
 
 v THE ENJOYMENT OF PAIN 61 
 
 in every vehement craving or loathing we acquire an 
 increased consciousness of our reality, and that this 
 consciousness cannot but be pleasurable. Consequently, 
 all our passions, even the most painful, are, as passions, 
 pleasurable.") And Helvetius has expressed almost the 
 same idea : "Nous souhaiterons done, par des impressions 
 toujours nouvelles, etre a chaque instant avertis de notre 
 existence, parceque chacun de ces avertissements est 
 pour nous un plaisir." l (" Accordingly, we shall desire, 
 by means of constantly reoewed impressions, to be at 
 every moment reminded of our existence, because 
 each of these reminders is for us a pleasure.") For the 
 sake of this " avertissement " of existence, individuals 
 of intense vital temperament, like Richard Jefferies 
 and Maryia Bashkirtseff, have positively loved their 
 very sufferings. 2 
 
 It is evident that pain as a sign of life and function 
 may be especially welcome when the vital sensation has 
 for any reason become weakened. The self-woundings 
 of the heathen and Christian saints, although no doubt 
 fully justified to the sufferers themselves by religious 
 motives, may thus have had their innermost unconscious 
 motive in an endeavour to overcome that anaesthesia 
 which is so usual an accompaniment of hysterical 
 disturbances. 3 It is hard to believe that the tortures 
 which they inflict upon themselves are really felt as 
 neutral or pleasurable. But we can easily understand 
 
 1 Helvetius, De V esprit, discours iii. cli. v. 
 
 2 Jefferies, The Story of My Heart, especially p. 128 ; Bashkirtseff, Journal, ii. 
 pp. 126, 531, 532 ; cf. also i. pp. 66, 67 ; ii. pp. 115, 290. 
 
 3 The purely pathological motives of the self-woundings of Christian fanatics 
 appear with unmistakable clearness from the instances that have been collected 
 in medical literature, cf. especially Calmeil, De lafolie, ii. pp. 327, 328, 375-380, 
 384, 404, 405 ; Figuier, Hist, du merveilleux, i. pp. 372, 373, 376, 379 ; Stoll, 
 Suggestion und Hypnotismus, pp. 362-365. We need not dwell in this connec- 
 tion upon the sexually exciting effects which may be created by flagellation. 
 This point has been sufficiently elucidated by the above-mentioned authors.
 
 62 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 that such torture, although more or less painful, may 
 afford a kind of satisfaction by compelling the slow and 
 dull senses to function. Professor Lange has in his work 
 on the emotions laid special stress upon this point. " It 
 is a condition of our well-being," he says, "that our 
 sensorial centres should be in a certain degree of 
 activity called forth by the impressions which reach 
 them through the sensorial nerves from the outside. If 
 from some cause or other for instance, from a decrease 
 in the functional powers of these centres there arises 
 an insensibility, anaesthesia, then we feel a longing to 
 force them to their usual activity by addressing to them 
 an abnormally strong appeal, or, in other words, by 
 intensifying the external impressions and thereby 
 neutralising the insensibility." l This principle has, 
 indeed, as applied by Lange to the expressions of anger, 
 been mercilessly ridiculed by Wundt. 2 But it seems to 
 us that the observation itself can scarcely be contested. 
 Whether we explain it as a case of the indispensability 
 of the accustomed or as the result of some peculiar 
 yearning for life a soul-desire, as Mr. Jefferies would 
 have called it a deficient consciousness of function is 
 in most cases distinctly unpleasant. And, on the other 
 hand, it seems as if an increased consciousness of 
 function were per se pleasurable. It is of course 
 difficult to prove by exact argument the existence of a 
 feeling which can be observed only as the innermost 
 concealed motive of our life. But on as strong evidence 
 as can ever be adduced on matters of emotional life, we 
 may believe that in every conscious life there operates a 
 dim instinctive craving for fuller and greater conscious- 
 
 1 Lange, Gemuthsbewegungcn, pp. 33, 34. 
 
 2 Wundt, Philosophische Studien, vi. pp. 351, 352 (Zur Lehre von Gemiiths- 
 bewegungen).
 
 v THE ENJOYMENT OF PAIN 63 
 
 ness, or, if the expression be preferred, for the most 
 complete self-realisation. Happiness itself has been 
 defined by a philosopher so little inclined to mysticism 
 as Mr. Brinton, as " the increasing consciousness of 
 self." 1 It is therefore easy to understand why, when 
 this consciousness has been blunted by some cause or 
 other, we may even long for suffering and pain as a 
 means of escaping the dulness, emptiness, and darkness 
 of insensibility. It may seem to be a disturbance of 
 all normal instincts that pain an element hostile to 
 vital activity can thus be preferred to a state the 
 unpleasantness of which is only diffuse. But we have 
 to remember that the absence of sensation and function 
 frightens us by its similarity to what we fear more than 
 pain. 
 
 The sufferings of insensibility, this highest possible 
 form of tedium, which if we are to judge from the 
 descriptions in literature and poetry may in themselves 
 be unbearable enough, must needs be unusually keen in 
 individuals who are given up to philosophic reflection. 
 The .feeling of inanity which is caused by a suspense of 
 vital sensations is apt to spread itself over the whole 
 field of sense -experience. 2 In default of strong im- 
 pressions, with their subsequent reactions, we may lose 
 the sense not only of our own existence, but also of 
 that of the external world. 3 The relatively neutral 
 evidence of our higher senses does not afford us the 
 same assurance of reality as is given by grosser 
 impressions, which affect us more directly in the way of 
 pleasure or pain. On purely physiological grounds 
 there may thus be produced a morbid conception of the 
 
 1 Brinton, The Pursuit of Happiness, p. 18. 
 
 2 Kierkegaard, Enten Eller, i. pp. 23, 24. 
 
 3 Ribot, The Psychology of the Emotions, p. 376.
 
 64 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 universe which, having neither ego nor non-ego to rely 
 on, lacks the conviction either of subjective or objective 
 existence. From this vertiginous inanity, which must 
 bring every philosophic temperament into despair, life 
 delivers us by the same means which Moliere uses to 
 confute the Pyrrhonists. Pain is the most convincing 
 reality we can imagine. It may therefore, even when it 
 is not deliberately sought for, afford a welcome support 
 to thought. 
 
 Suffice it tliee 
 Thy pain is a reality." 
 
 (TENNYSON, " The Two Voices "). 
 
 In this connection, however, we have not to dwell 
 on the philosophical importance of pain. We are here 
 only concerned with its significance for the immediate 
 sense of life. And in this respect we believe that an 
 artificial creation of pain may play some part not only 
 in anger, but in the expression of all high - strung 
 emotions. It is well known that the orgiastic state of 
 mind, whether originally caused by religious exaltation 
 or by erotic delirium, may often, when it has reached its 
 highest stage, express itself in self-laceration. These 
 facts are no doubt difficult to interpret. But it seems 
 justifiable to assume that a tendency towards the 
 creating of pain-sensations may have been derived from 
 the emotional process itself. Explained in this way, 
 orgiastic self-tortures may be adduced as the most 
 remarkable proofs of this desire for an enhanced sense 
 of life which lies at the bottom of all our appetence. 
 
 However energetically strong emotions may accentuate 
 our existence, and however deeply we may enjoy the 
 " realisation of ourselves " which we find in the violent 
 excitement accompanying them, high-strung states are 
 naturally bound to be followed by exhaustion and
 
 v THE ENJOYMENT OF PAIN 65 
 
 stupor. And thus even the intoxication of life, this 
 most powerful of sensations, sooner or later passes its 
 climax and sinks into dull insensibility. The lower the 
 function by the incitement of which the exaltation is 
 produced, the greater probably is its orgiastic power. 
 But its duration is also so much the shorter. A wild 
 dance, for instance, invariably ends in impotent prostra- 
 tion, during which the power of function and sensation is 
 completely exhausted. As long as the mental desire for 
 increased excitement is unsatisfied, this state must be 
 distinctly disagreeable. Hence all the frenetic mani- 
 festations by which man, when raging in insatiable 
 exaltation, strives to awake and rouse his failing powers 
 of enjoyment. 
 
 In the whole domain of comparative psychology 
 there can scarcely be adduced an example which throws 
 so much light on the orgiastic state of mind as the 
 Bacchanal frenzy. And the descriptions of this 
 " Dionysischer Zustand " which are to be found in 
 classic literature give us the most complete idea of the 
 various expedients by which the devotee tries to 
 maintain and increase his state of exaltation in spite of 
 the growing tendency to relaxation. By noise, roaring, 
 and loud cries, by frenetic dance and wild actions, the 
 " Maenads " strive to preserve and recover the fading 
 sense of life, which ever baffles their exertions. And as 
 the last, infallible means of excitement, resorted to 
 when all other stimulations have proved unable to stir 
 up the dulled senses, we may explain the tortures 
 which the partly insensible Bacchante inflicts upon 
 herself. " Suum Bacchis non sentit saucia vulnus." * 
 
 There are various kinds of orgiastic exaltation con- 
 
 1 On the self-woundings of the Maenads cf. Preller, GriecMscfie Mythologie, 
 i. 2. p. 656 ; Lobeck, Aglaophamus, i. p. 672.
 
 66 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 nected with self-torture as that of the tarantella 
 dancers, of the dervishes, of the shamans, and others 
 in which the creation of pain-sensations may be explained 
 as a desperate device for enhancing the intensity of the 
 emotional state. Acute pain often makes it possible to 
 overcome momentarily the exhaustion or the dulness 
 which unfits us for work. And it is evident that pain 
 may produce a similar excitement when we require an 
 increase of energy, not for the sake of obtaining the 
 greatest possible result from a working activity, but for 
 the sake of extracting the greatest possible enjoyment 
 out of an emotional state. 
 
 But if this interpretation be admitted as possible, 
 there will be ample room for discussion as to its applica- 
 tion to individual cases. For it is to be remembered 
 that even pain may fulfil the task of relieving a nervous 
 tension. In cases of bodily suffering counter irritation 
 may thus bring about a wholesome diversion of the 
 attention from an otherwise unbearable pain. 1 And it 
 is unquestionable that self-inflicted lacerations during 
 violent emotion often subserve the same purpose. When 
 a savage scarifies himself on receiving bad news, or at a 
 funeral feast, his action is an instinctive effort to procure 
 relief from the overpowering feelings. 2 That he is not 
 simply performing a sacrificial rite, 3 but is merely seeking 
 
 1 Cf. Marshall, Pain, Pleasure, and ^Esthetics, p. 259. 
 
 2 For a copious collection of instances see Joest, Tdtowiren, pp. 34, 35 ; 
 Schneider, Die Naturvolker, i. pp. 111-113 ; cf. also Smyth, Victoria, i. p. 112 
 (The Narrinyeri) ; Cranz, Historic von Gronland, ii. p. 331 ; Dall, Alaska, p. 
 417 (The Kygani) ; Schoolcraft, Information, iv. p. 66 (Dacotas) ; v. p. 168 
 (Kenistenos) ; Ellis, Polynesian Researches, i. p. 410 (Tahiti) ; Cook, (1st) Voyage, 
 p. 104 (Tahiti) ; Taylor, Te Ika A Maui, p. 102 (Maoris). 
 
 3 It cannot be denied, however, that in many cases the self-wounding is 
 executed as a traditional, superstitious, or sacrificial rite. The Maori funeral 
 ceremonies, in which the apparently impulsive and exalted cutting is "done 
 with considerable method and regularity, so as to make the scars ornamental 
 rather than otherwise," can thus scarcely be adduced as a genuine instance of 
 emotional expression. Cf. Robley, Moko, p. 46. Still less are we entitled to
 
 v THE ENJOYMENT OF PAIN 67 
 
 the relief which experience has taught him may be 
 afforded by pain as well as by the subsequent exhaustion 
 (especially from loss of blood), is proved by the fact 
 that the same expedient is employed in order to over- 
 come humiliation or bodily pain. 1 It is not stimulation, 
 but a lulling of the senses, which is here aimed at. 
 
 speak in this connection of those Polynesian funeral ceremonies in which the 
 survivors lacerate themselves and allow the blood to drop on the face of the 
 corpse or under its bier. Of. the instances of such superstitious self-woundings 
 collected in Hartland, The Legend of Perseus, ii. pp. 241, 321-325. 
 
 1 On woundings in medical cures, cf. esp. Bartels, Medicin der Naturvdlker, 
 pp. 267-271 ; Curr, The Australian Race, ii. pp. 69, 70 (The Dieyerie Tribe, 
 by Gason) ; Ling Roth, Tasmania, pp. 75, 76 ; Man, Journ. Anthr. Inst. xii. 
 p. 85 (Andamanese) ; Mouat, Andaman Islands, p. 307 ; Bourke, Rep. Bur. Ethn., 
 1887-88, p. 471 (Medicine-men of the Apache. Scarification resorted to in 
 order to relieve exhaustion) ; Keating, Narrative of an Expedition, i. p. 226, 
 quotes the interesting conceptions entertained by the Sauks and Foxes as to 
 the result of lacerations. The wounds are inflicted at funerals, "not for the 
 purpose of mortification, or to create a pain, which shall, by dividing their 
 attention, efface the recollection of their loss, but entirely from a belief that their 
 grief is internal, and that the only way of dispelling it is to give it a vent 
 through which to escape." There seems to be no doubt that similar notions 
 have led to the curing of bodily pain by bleeding. 
 
 As to laceration as a means of overcoming humiliation see Curr, 1. c. ii. p. 70 
 (Dieyerie). Even joy, when abnormally strong, seems often to express itself in 
 this way. Ellis, Pol. Res. i. p. 410 (Tahiti) ; Pritchard, Pol. Rem. p. 138 
 (Samoa) ; Peron, Voyage, i. p. 227 (Tasmanians, who scratch themselves in the 
 face and tear the hair in their enthusiasm, when hearing the Marseillaise per- 
 formed) ; Bernier, L'art du comddien, p. 310. 
 
 As connected with the emotion of joy we may also explain the occurrences 
 of self-woundings at meetings between friends. Cf. esp. Lumholtz, Among 
 Cannibals, pp. 224, 225. It is not to be overlooked that in many tribes friends 
 express their delight at meetings by a ceremonial weeping and wailing. Cf. 
 Man, Journ. Anthr. Inst. xii. p. 147 ; Day, Proc. As. Soc. Bengal, 1870, p. 157, 
 both on the Andamanese ; Batchelor, The Ainu, p. 105 ; Taylor, Te Ika A Maui, 
 p. 103 ; Angas, Savage Life, ii. pp. 32, 73, 109, all on New Zealand ; Freycinet, 
 Voyage, ii. p. 589 (The Sandwich Islands) ; Lander, Journal, i. pp. 148, 149 
 (Yoruba Country) ; and the instances quoted in Spencer, Principles of Sociology, 
 ii. pp. 20, 70, 71. As this apparently paradoxical expression can be explained in 
 many cases as a conventional ceremony, which is not accompanied by any 
 genuine feeling, so the self-wounding may often be a purely ritual observance. 
 But although some of the above adduced instances can thus be considered as 
 spurious, we nevertheless feel right in assuming that an impulsive creation of 
 pain is generally to be derived from the psychical conditions accompanying 
 high-strung emotion. This is also the conclusion at which Mr. Brinton and Mr. 
 Andrew Lang have arrived. Cf. Brinton, Religion of Primitive Peoples, p. 213 ; 
 Lang, The Making of Religion, p. 310.
 
 68 THE ORIGINS OF ART , CHAP. 
 
 It must also be admitted that even the other orgiastic 
 manifestations may serve as purely cathartic means of 
 relieving emotional pressure. It is, as has already been 
 remarked, impossible to decide in individual cases 
 whether an activity of expression a dance, for instance 
 serves to enhance a pleasurable feeling or to relieve a 
 pain. Suffering, sorrow, and despair may often, in their 
 outward reactions, borrow the forms of expression which 
 are usually connected with joy. Thus frenetic games 
 and dances are often met with on occasions when we 
 should least of all expect them, as, for instance, in time 
 of famine, epidemic, or war. 1 Such paradoxical mani- 
 festations, in which an overstrained despair attempts to 
 obtain some kind of relief, are externally not to be dis- 
 tinguished from the genuine expression of joy. On the 
 other hand, an abnormally strong emotion, which is 
 primarily caused by the objective conditions of pleasure, 
 may in its excess be perceived as a pain. Joy itself can 
 thus be felt as an oppressive burden, which we try with 
 all our power to get rid of. The motor discharges, by 
 which we seek relief from such a " Noth der Fiille und 
 der tiberfiille," can, however, only indirectly offer us any 
 real deliverance. A wild dance, for instance, will in- 
 evitably accentuate the original feeling as a conscious 
 state, and thereby increase its intensity. But with 
 this increase the craving for relief will also become 
 stronger. As long as expression is unable to satisfy 
 the ever-growing nervous tension, there must remain 
 an element of " never enough " in the orgiastic exalta- 
 
 1 We need only refer to such periods as the fifteenth century and the time of 
 the great revolution. As to the abnormally exaggerated craving for amusement 
 during these unhappy times, cf. especially the remarks of Michelet, Histoire de 
 France, iv. pp. 406, 407 ; Champfleury, Hist, de la caricature sous la republique, 
 pp. 275, 279 ; Hecker, Volkskrankheiten, pp. 152, 153 ; Goncourt, Journal des, 
 ii. pp. 180, 181 ; and the Introduction to Boccaccio's Decamerone.
 
 v THE ENJOYMENT OF PAIN 69 
 
 tion. It is only when repeated solicitation has 
 brought on bodily exhaustion that a real release is 
 attained. 
 
 There is no doubt that such a relief-bringing 
 exhaustion was the ultimate aim of all those exalted 
 manifestations to which the poor tarantuli and the Vitus 
 dancers abandoned themselves. But the problem pre- 
 sented by the similarity between the pathological despair 
 which constitutes the initial stage of such epidemic 
 mental disorders, and the oppressive feeling of joy whose 
 expression has been thwarted, is so difficult that we can 
 hardly expect to obtain a decisive answer to such 
 questions as whether, for example, the msenadic exalta- 
 tion is to be considered as a melancholic or a cheerful 
 state of mind. And in most cases it would probably 
 be equally impossible to ascertain whether in a 
 given manifestation we have to do with pleasure that 
 seeks enhancement, or with pain that seeks relief in 
 exhaustion. 
 
 While every one is thus free to interpret the facts 
 according to his optimistic or pessimistic bias, it must 
 nevertheless be considered as a confusion of ideas to 
 make the quest of unconsciousness a universal and 
 fundamental impulse in man. It is impossible for us to 
 assign any psychological importance to commonplaces 
 on the enviable state of the insensible and the happiness 
 to be found in unconsciousness. It is only when it 
 delivers us from pain that a state of partial insensibility 
 and cessation of function may be perceived as relatively 
 agreeable. That an absolute absence of feeling could 
 afford us any pleasure is a psychological contradiction 
 in terms. 
 
 This illusion of unconsciousness can, however, be 
 easily explained by the fact that intense emotional
 
 70 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 states are generally dominated by a single preoccupation. 
 A strong feeling, by reason of the limitations of our 
 consciousness, annihilates external sensations and ideas. 
 Ecstasy, that " over-conscious " state of highly concen- 
 trated activity, rises above space and time to a state in 
 which we feel liberated from all forms of perception. 
 But the highest pleasure which we may thus experience 
 is not, as Wagner in his pessimistic period would have 
 it, a sinking and drowning of ourselves in unconscious- 
 ness ; it is far rather 
 
 " endlos ewig 
 einbewuszt." 
 
 To enjoy so rich and complete a sensation of life 
 has, we believe, been the object for which, each in his 
 own manner, all men of strong vitality have striven. 
 Even if there are individuals so unfortunate that for 
 them a cessation of life and function appears as the 
 highest end of desire, such negative instances need 
 hardly be taken into account in a survey of universal 
 human impulses. The longing for unconsciousness is 
 moreover so passive a condition of mind, that by itself 
 it could never explain expressional activities of the 
 more violent or elaborate sort. And it is even more 
 insufficient as an explanation of all those secondary 
 expressions which are to occupy us in the sequel. Art 
 production would never have reached so high a develop- 
 ment if it had served only as a sedative for human 
 feelings. But neither does art, any more than the 
 direct activities of expression, involve mere excitement ; 
 it too fulfils, and with even greater efficacy, a relieving 
 and cathartic mission. While supplying man with a 
 means of intensifying the feelings connected with all the 
 varied activities of the soul, art at the same time bestows
 
 v THE ENJOYMENT OF PAIN 71 
 
 upon him that inward calm in which all strong emotions 
 find their relief. 
 
 Every interpretation of art which does not pay due 
 attention to both of these aspects must needs be one- 
 sided and incomplete.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 SOCIAL EXPRESSION 
 
 IN order to find an explanation of the nature and origin 
 of the art-impulse we were compelled to enter upon a 
 digression on the general psychology of feeling. It 
 appeared from this hasty examination that in the motor 
 concomitants of physical as well as of mental feeling 
 we have to do with a form of activity which, taken by 
 itself, is independent of all external motives. It was 
 tehown that the diffusion of a feeling-tone always corre- 
 sponds to some active manifestation, generally outward, 
 which increases in the same degree as the state of con- 
 sciousness gains in intensity and distinctness. Besides 
 these immediate transformations of energy which, owing 
 to the law of inertia, follow the primary enhancement 
 or inhibition of function, we met with reactions of a 
 more conscious kind, by which the organism strives to 
 overcome the inhibition of pain, and to keep up the 
 excitement of pleasure. And it was also found that the 
 universal animal desire to increase every pleasure and 
 to relieve every pain has given rise to a multitude of 
 secondary manifestations, by which we try to sustain 
 every pleasure, to make it more distinct for conscious- 
 ness, and thus enhance it by expression, while, during 
 states of pain, we strive for relief in diversion or in
 
 CHAP, vi SOCIAL EXPKESSION 73 
 
 violent motor discharge. Finally it was remarked that 
 by the side of this expression al impulse we must take 
 account of a yearning after increased consciousness, 
 which leads us to pursue, even at the risk of some 
 passing pain, all feelings and emotions by which our 
 sensation of life is reinforced and intensified. All these 
 impulses, accompanied by higher or lower degrees of 
 conscious endeavour, are psychical phenomena of funda- 
 mental importance. They are not restricted to any 
 particular stage of culture. And their coercive force is 
 equal nay, even superior to that of the imitative im- 
 pulse, the play-impulse, and the impulse " to attract by 
 pleasing." If we could deduce the desire for artistic 
 creation from the activities connected with feeling, we 
 should here find the explanation of its universality as 
 well as of its force. 
 
 But among the manifestations described in the fore- 
 going chapters there is none which directly leads us to 
 the artistic activity. As against the Spieltrieb theories 
 it was objected that play never develops of itself into 
 art, so it may now be objected, with as much reason, 
 that all immediate or secondary emotional manifesta- 
 tions, however interesting they may be, give us no 
 information on artistic manifestations. The instinctive 
 tendency to express overmastering feeling, to enhance 
 pleasure, and to seek relief from pain, forms the most 
 deep-seated motive of all human activity. We can 
 therefore derive the distinctive qualities of artistic 
 production from this impulse only when it has been 
 proved that art is better able than any other kind of 
 mental function to serve and satisfy the requirements 
 which arise from this impulse when it occurs in its 
 purest form. 
 
 That this is the case, is the fundamental hypothesis
 
 74 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 upon which this work is based. It was impossible to prove 
 its validity as long as emotional manifestations were 
 treated as phenomena in the psychical life of the indi- 
 vidual. For art is in its innermost nature a social 
 activity. In order to elucidate the connection between 
 art-impulse and emotional activities, we must therefore 
 examine the latter as they appear in the social relations 
 of mankind. We do not believe that any new principles 
 are necessary for this purpose. We need only apply to 
 social phenomena the same laws which were found to 
 be valid for the emotional life of the individual. As, 
 however, the legitimacy of such a course may be ques- 
 tioned, we must first devote some pages to a treatment 
 of what we may call if the expression is allowed the 
 inter-individual life. 
 
 This digression brings us into a field of inquiry 
 that of the psychical conditions of social life which 
 during recent years has been the object of certain most 
 important scientific researches. The investigations into 
 the psychology of masses, as well as the experiments on 
 suggestive therapeutics, have proved to how great an 
 extent mental states may be transmitted from individual 
 to individual by unconscious imitation of the accom- 
 panying movements. The doctrine of universal sympathy, 
 a clear statement of which was given long ago in the 
 ethical theory of Adam Smith, 1 has thus acquired a 
 psychological justification in the modern theories of 
 imitative movement. Contemporary science has at last 
 learned to appreciate the fundamental importance of 
 imitation for the development of human culture. 2 And 
 some authors have even gone so far as to endeavour to 
 
 1 Smith, Theory of Moral Sentiments, pp. 4, 5. Cf. the important elaboration 
 of this theory in Dugald Stewart, Philosophy of the Human Mind, iii. pp. 171, 
 174. 
 
 2 Cf. especially the works of Tarde, Schmidkunz, Baldwin.
 
 vi SOCIAL EXPRESSION 75 
 
 deduce all sociological laws from this one principle. At 
 the same time natural history has begun to pay more 
 and more attention to the indispensability of imitation for 
 the full development of instincts, as well as for training 
 in those activities which are the most necessary in life. 1 
 It is fortunate for the theory of art that the import- 
 ance of the imitative functions has thus been simultane- 
 ously acknowledged in various departments of science. 
 Whatever one may think of the somewhat audacious 
 generalisations which have been made in the recent 
 application of this new principle, it is incontestable that 
 the aesthetic activities can be understood and explained 
 only by reference to universal tendency to imitate. It 
 is also significant that writers on aesthetic had felt 
 themselves compelled to set up a theory of imitation 
 long before experimental psychologists had begun to 
 turn their attention in this direction. In Germany the 
 enjoyment of form and form-relations has since Vischer's 
 time been interpreted as the result of the movements by 
 which not only our eye, but also our whole body, follows 
 the outlines of external things. 2 In France Jouffroy 
 stated the condition for the receiving of aesthetic impres- 
 sions to be a "power of internally imitating the states 
 which are externally manifested in living nature." 8 In 
 England, finally, Vernon Lee and Anstruther Thompson 
 have founded a theory of beauty and ugliness upon this 
 same psychical impulse to copy in our own unconscious 
 
 1 Cf. Groos, The Play of Animals, pp. 72, 76 sq. 182. 
 
 2 There can be no question, in this connection, of entering upon the debate 
 between the adherents of Robert Vischer, Groos, and others, and the associa- 
 tionists, Lipps and Stern, who wish to put other notions, such as recognition or 
 " Verschmelzung " instead of the imitation. Whatever reason Dr. Stern may 
 have to criticise the formulation of the German aesthetic theories of visual 
 intuition, we do not see that he has been able to refute them in their fundamental 
 points. Cf. Stern, Einfuhlung und Association, passim. 
 
 s Jouffroy, Cours d'esthdtique, pp. 29, 256, 259, 261.
 
 76 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 movements the forms of objects. 1 And in the writings 
 of, for instance, Home, 2 Hogarth, 3 Dugald Stewart, 4 and 
 Spencer, 5 there can be found a multitude of isolated 
 remarks on the influence which is in a direct way exercised 
 on our mental life by the perception of lines and forms. 
 In most of these theories and observations, however, 
 the imitative activity has been noticed only in so far 
 as it contributes to the aesthetic [delight which may be 
 derived from sensual impressions. But its importance 
 is by no means so restricted as this ; on the contrary, 
 we believe it to be a fundamental condition for the 
 existence of intuition itself. Without all these im- 
 perceptible tracing movements with which our body 
 accompanies the adaptation of the eye-muscles to the 
 outlines of external objects, our notions of depth, height, 
 and distance, and so on, would certainly be far less distinct 
 than they are. 6 On the other hand, the habit of execut- 
 ing such movements has, so to say, brought the external 
 world within the sphere of the internal. The world has 
 been measured with man as a standard, and objects have 
 been translated into the language of mental experience. 
 The impressions have hereby gained not only in emotional 
 tone, but also in intellectual comprehensibility. 7 
 
 1 Vernon Lee and Anstruther Thompson, "Beauty and Ugliness," in the 
 Contemporary Eeview, vol. xxii. 1897 ; cf. especially pp. 357, 544, 548, 550, 554. 
 
 2 Home, Elements of Criticis'in, i. pp. 178-181. 
 
 3 Cf. Hogarth, Analysis of Beauty, pp. 26-28. 
 
 4 Dugald Stewart, Philosophical Essays, pp. 402-404, 408 (" On the Sublime"). 
 
 5 Spencer, Essays, ii. p. 386 ("Gracefulness"). 
 
 6 Cf. Vernon Lee and Anstruther Thompson, I.e. pp. 550, 686, 687 ; cf. also 
 Fouillee, Psychologic dcs iddes-forces, ii. pp. 59-64. 
 
 7 Prof. Lipps, who does not believe in an " internal imitation," says that the 
 anthropomorphic interpretation of outward reality "riickt uns die Dinge naher, 
 macht sie uns vertrauter und damit zugleich vermeintlich verstandlicher " ( ' ' brings 
 the things nearer to us, makes them more familiar, and thereby produces an 
 illusion that they are more comprehensible "). According to the view which we 
 have adopted above, the gain in comprehensibility is real, and not only illusory. 
 Cf. Lipps, Raumaesthetik, p. 6.
 
 vi SOCIAL EXPRESSION 77 
 
 Greater still is the importance of imitation for our 
 intuition of moving objects. And a difficult movement 
 itself is fully understood only when it has been imitated, 
 either internally or in actual outward activity. The 
 idea of a movement, therefore, is generally associated 
 with an arrested impulse to perform it. 1 Closer intro- 
 spection will show every one to how great a part our 
 knowledge, even of persons, is built up of motor 
 elements. By unconsciously and imperceptibly copying 
 in our own body the external behaviour of a man, we 
 may learn to understand him with benevolent or malevo- 
 lent sympathy. 2 And it will no doubt be admitted 
 by most readers that the reason why they know their 
 friends and foes better than they know any one else is 
 that they carry the remembrance of them not only in 
 their eyes, but in their whole body. When in idle 
 moments we find the memory of an absent friend surging 
 up in our mind with no apparent reason, we may often 
 note, to our astonishment, that we have just been 
 unconsciously adopting one of his characteristic attitudes, 
 or imitating his peculiar gestures or gait. 
 
 It may, however, be objected that the above-men- 
 tioned instances refer only to a particular class of 
 individuals. In other minds, it will be said, the world- 
 picture is entirely built up of visual and acoustic 
 elements. It is also impossible to deny that the classi- 
 fication of minds in different types, which modern 
 psychology has introduced, is as legitimate as it is 
 advantageous for the purposes of research. But we can 
 
 1 Cf. with regard to the above argument the chapter on movement-perception 
 in Strieker's Die Bcwcgungsvorstellungen, especially pp. 20, 21. Cf. also the 
 remarks in Dugald Stewart, Philosophy of the Human Mind, iii. pp. 10, 11, 157. 
 
 2 Cf. the often-quoted story of Campanella's device to divine the thoughts of 
 people by imitating their behaviour, as told, for example, in Burke's The Sublime 
 and the Beautiful, pp. 98, 99. Mr. Stanley quotes one of Poe's tales, in which 
 the same trick is used by a detective (Evolutionary Psychology of Feeling, p. 364).
 
 78 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 hardly believe that such divisions have in view anything 
 more than a relative predominance of the several 
 psychical elements. 1 It is easily understood that a man 
 in whose store of memory visual or acoustic images 
 occupy the foremost place may be inclined to deny that 
 motor sensations of unconscious copying enter to any 
 extent into his psychical experience. But an exclusively 
 visual world-image, if such a thing is possible, must 
 evidently be not only emotionally poorer, but also 
 intellectually less distinct and less complete, than an 
 intuition, in which such motor elements are included. 
 
 The importance of motor sensations in the psychology 
 of knowledge is by itself of no aesthetic interest. The 
 question has been touched upon in this connection only 
 because of the illustration which it gives to the imitation 
 theory. If, as we believe is the case, it is really neces- 
 sary, for the purpose of acquiring a complete comprehen- 
 sion of things and events, to " experience " them that 
 is to say, to pursue and seize upon them, not only with 
 the particular organ of sense to which they appeal, but 
 also by tracing movements of the whole body, then 
 there is no need to wonder at the universality of the 
 imitative impulse. Imitation does not only, according 
 to this view, facilitate our training in useful activities, 
 and aid us in deriving an aesthetic delight from our 
 sensations : it serves also, and perhaps primarily, as an 
 expedient for the accommodating of ourselves to the 
 external world, and for the explaining of things by 
 reference to ourselves. It is therefore natural that 
 imitative movements should occupy so great a place 
 among the activities of children and primitive men. 
 And we can also understand why this fundamental 
 impulse, which has played so important a part in racial 
 
 1 Cf. Groos, Die Spiele der Menschen, p. 430.
 
 vi SOCIAL EXPEESSION 79 
 
 as well as in individual education, may become so great 
 as to be a disease and dominate the whole of conscious 
 life. 1 As children we all imitated before we compre- 
 hended, and we have learned to comprehend by imitat- 
 ing. 2 It is only when we have grown familiar by 
 imitation with the most important data of perception 
 that we become capable of appropriating knowledge in 
 a more rational way. Although no adult has any need to 
 resort to external imitation in order to comprehend new 
 impressions, it is still only natural that in a pathological 
 condition he should relapse into the primitive imitative 
 reaction. And it is equally natural that an internal, 
 i.e. arrested, imitation should take place in all our 
 perceptions. After this explanation of the universality 
 of this phenomenon we have no further need to occupy 
 ourselves with the general psychology of imitation. We 
 have here only to take notice of its importance for the 
 communication of feeling. 
 
 As is well known, it is only in cases of abnormally 
 increased sensibility for instance, in some of the stages 
 of hypnotism and thought transmission that the motor 
 counterpart of a mental state can be imitated with such 
 faithfulness and completeness that the imitator is thereby 
 enabled to partake of all the intellectual elements of the 
 state existing in another. The hedonic qualities, on 
 the other hand, which are physiologically conditioned 
 
 1 An almost simian tendency to imitation has been noticed among several 
 primitive races, such as the Australians (Spencer, Desrr. Soc. Div. i. No. 3, p. 5, 
 quoting Sturt) and the Fuegians (Spencer, ibid, quoting Weddel). 
 
 As is well known, imitation is in tribes of a hysterical disposition, such as 
 the Malays and the Lapps, apt to become an endemic disease. Cf. with regard 
 to the Malays, Swettenham, Malay Sketches, pp. 70-82 ; Stoll, Suggestion und 
 Hypnotismus, p. 74 ; with regard to the Lapps, Diiben, Lappland, p. 192 ; 
 Schmidkunz, Psychologic der Suggestion, p. 199. Instances of contagious mental 
 diseases and pathological imitation among civilised nations are too familiar to 
 be enumerated. 
 
 2 Cf. Baldwin, Mental Development, p. 403.
 
 80 THE ORIGINS OF AET CHAP. 
 
 by much simpler motor counterparts, may of course be 
 transmitted with far greater perfection : it is easier to 
 suggest a pleasure than a thought. It is also evident 
 that it is the most general hedonic and volitional 
 elements which have been considered by the German 
 authors on sesthetic in their theories on internal imita- 
 tion ("Die innere Nachahmung"). They seem to have 
 thought that the adoption of the attitudes and the 
 performance of the movements which usually accompany 
 a given emotional state will also succeed to some extent 
 in producing a similar emotional state. This assumption 
 is perfectly legitimate, even if the connection between 
 feeling and movement be interpreted in the associative 
 way. And it needs no justification when the motor 
 changes are considered as the physiological correlate of 
 the feeling itself. 
 
 Everyday experience affords many examples of the 
 way in which feelings are called into existence by the 
 imitation of their expressive movements. A child re- 
 peats the smiles and the laughter of its parents, and can 
 thus partake of their joy long before it is able to under- 
 stand its cause. 1 Adult life naturally does not give us 
 many opportunities of observing this pure form of 
 direct and almost automatic transmission. But even 
 in adult life we may often meet with an exchange of 
 feeling which seems almost independent of any intel- 
 lectual communication. Lovers know it, and intimate 
 friends like the brothers Goncourt, 2 to say nothing of 
 people who stand in so close a rapport with each other 
 
 1 Preyer, Die Seele des Kindes, p. 228 ; cf. Harless, Lchrb. d. plast. Ana- 
 tomie, p. 125, and Dugald Stewart, Philosophy of the Human Mind, iii. pp. 6, 7, 
 193, 194. 
 
 - Goncourt, Journal des, i. p. 281 : Hier j'etais a un bout de la grande table 
 du chateau. Edmond a 1'autre bout causait avec The'rese. Je n'entendais rien, 
 mais quand il souriait, je souriais involontairement et dans la meme pose de tete. 
 . . . Jamais ame pareille n'a ele mise en deux corps.
 
 vi SOCIAL EXPKESSION 81 
 
 as a hypnotiser and his subject. 1 And even where there 
 is no previous sympathetic relation, a state of joy or 
 sadness may often, if it is only distinctly expressed, 
 pass over, so to say, from the individual who has been 
 under the influence of its objective cause, to another 
 who, as it were, borrows the feeling, but remains un- 
 conscious of its cause. We experience this phenomenon 
 almost daily in the influence exerted upon us by social 
 intercourse, and even by those aspects of nature for 
 instance, blue open sky or overhanging mountains 
 which naturally call up in us the physical manifestation 
 of emotional states. The coercive force with which our 
 surroundings animate or inanimate compel us to 
 adopt the feelings which are suggested by their atti- 
 tudes, forms, or movements, is perhaps as a rule too 
 weak to be noticed by a self-controlled, unemotional 
 man. But if we want an example of this influence at 
 its strongest, we need but remember how difficult it is 
 for an individual to resist the contagion of collective 
 feeling. 2 On public occasions the common mood, 
 whether of joy or sorrow, is often communicated even 
 to those who were originally possessed by the opposite 
 feeling. So powerful is the infection of great excite- 
 ment that according to M. Fdre even a perfectly 
 sober man who takes part in a drinking bout may often 
 be tempted to join in the antics of his drunken comrades 
 in a sort of second-hand intoxication, " drunkenness by 
 induction." 3 In the great mental epidemics of the 
 Middle Ages this kind of contagion operated with more 
 fatal results than ever before or afterwards. But even 
 
 1 Cf. especially Binet, Le fetichisme dans V amour, p. 248. 
 
 2 For a treatment of the interindividual transmission of feeling, in which the 
 chief points of modern theories on mob-mind are anticipated, see Dugald 
 Stewart, Philosophy of the Human Mind, Hi. pp. 208-211. 
 
 3 FeVe, The Pathology of Emotions, p. 212. 
 
 G
 
 82 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 in modern times a popular street riot may often show us 
 something of the same phenomenon. The great tumult 
 in London in 1886 afforded, it is said, a good opportunity 
 of observing how people who had originally maintained 
 an indifferent attitude were gradually carried away by 
 the general excitement, even to the extent of joining in 
 the outrages. 1 In this instance the contagious effect of 
 expressional movements was undoubtedly facilitated by 
 their connection with so primary an impulse as that of 
 rapine and destruction. But the case is the same with 
 all the activities which appear as the outward manifesta- 
 tions of our strongest feeling-states. They all consist of 
 instinctive actions with which every one is well familiar 
 from his own experience. It is therefore natural that 
 anger, hate, or love may be communicated almost 
 automatically from an individual to masses, and from 
 masses to individuals. 
 
 Now that the principle of the interindividual 
 diffusion of feeling has been stated and explained, we 
 may return to our main line of research and examine 
 its bearings on the expressional impulse. We have 
 seen that in the social surroundings of the individual 
 there is enacted a process resembling that which takes 
 place within his own organism. Just as functional 
 modifications spread from organ to organ, just as wider 
 and wider zones of the system are brought into partici- 
 pation in the primary enhancement or inhibition, so a 
 feeling is diffused from an individual to a circle of 
 sympathisers who repeat its expressional movements. 
 And just as all the widened " somatic resonances " 
 contribute to the primary feeling-tone increased strength 
 and increased definiteness, so must the emotional state 
 
 1 Lancet, 1886, i. pp. 312, 313, quoted in Aubry, La contagion du meurtre, 
 pp. 220-223 ; Le Bon, Psychologic desfoules, p. 46.
 
 vi SOCIAL EXPKESSION 83 
 
 of an individual be enhanced by retroactive stimulation 
 from the expressions by which the state has, so to say, 
 been continued in others. By the reciprocal action of 
 primary movements and borrowed movements, which 
 mutually imitate each other, the social expression 
 operates in the same way as the individual expression. 
 And we are entitled to consider it as a secondary result 
 of the general expressional impulse, that when mastered 
 by an overpowering feeling we seek enhancement or 
 relief by retroaction from sympathisers, who reproduce 
 and in their expression represent the mental state by 
 which we are dominated. 
 
 In point of fact we can observe in the manifesta- 
 tions of all strong feelings which have not found a 
 satisfactory relief in individual expression, a pursuit of 
 social resonance. A happy man wants to see glad 
 faces around him, in order that from their expression 
 he may derive further nourishment and increase for 
 his own feeling. Hence the benevolent attitude of 
 mind which as a rule accompanies all strong and pure 
 joy. Hence also the widespread tendency to express 
 joy by. gifts or hospitality. In moods of depression we 
 similarly desire a response to our feeling from our 
 surroundings. In the depth of despair we may long 
 for a universal cataclysm to extend, as it were, our 
 own pain. As joy naturally makes men good, so pain 
 often makes them hard and cruel. That this is not 
 always the case is a result of the increased power of 
 sympathy which we gain by every experienced pain. 
 Moreover, we have need of sympathetic rapport for our 
 motor reactions against pain. All the active manifesta- 
 tions of sorrow, despair, or anger which are not wholly 
 painful in themselves are facilitated by the reciprocal 
 influence of collective excitement. Thus all strong
 
 84 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 feelings, whether pleasurable or painful, act as socialising 
 factors. 1 This socialising action may be observed at all 
 stages of development. Even the animals seek their 
 fellows in order to stimulate themselves and each other 
 by the common expression of an overpowering feeling. 
 As has been remarked by Espinas, the flocking together 
 of the male birds during the pairing season is perhaps 
 as much due to this craving for mutual stimulation as 
 to the desire to compete for the favour of the hen. 2 
 The howling choirs of the macaws 3 and the drum 
 concerts of the chimpanzees 4 are still better and un- 
 mistakable instances of collective emotional expression. 
 In man we find the results of the same craving for 
 social expression in the gatherings for rejoicing or 
 mourning which are to be met with in all tribes, of all 
 degrees of development. And as a still higher develop- 
 ment of the same fundamental impulse, there appears 
 in man the artistic activity. 
 
 The more conscious our craving for retroaction from 
 sympathisers, the more there must also be developed in 
 us a conscious endeavour to cause the feeling to be 
 appropriated by as many as possible and as completely 
 as possible. The expressional impulse is not satisfied 
 by the resonance which an occasional public, however 
 sympathetic, is able to afford. Its natural aim is 
 to bring more and more sentient beings under the 
 influence of the same emotional state. It seeks to 
 
 1 We need scarcely remark, in this connection, that every unhappy 
 experience awakens the craving for assistance and consolation, and therefore 
 indirectly gives rise to an effort to create sympathy. This point must, how- 
 ever, be passed over when treating of impulsive, purely emotional manifestations. 
 As to the pleasures and consolations of mutual sympathy, compare, moreover, 
 Smith, Theory of Moral Sentiments, pp. 10-13, especially p. 12. 
 
 2 Espinas, Des socittte animales, p. 328. 
 
 3 Brehm, Thierleben, i. pp. 204, 205, 208. 
 
 4 Van Ende, Hist, nat, de la croyance, I. L'animal, p. 218 ; Brehm, I.e. 
 p. 87.
 
 vi SOCIAL EXPRESSION 85 
 
 vanquish the refractory and arouse the indifferent. An 
 echo, a true and powerful echo that is what it desires 
 with all the energy of an unsatisfied longing. As a 
 result of this craving the expressional activities lead to 
 artistic production. The work of art presents itself 
 as the most effective means by which the individual 
 is enabled to convey to wider and wider circles of 
 sympathisers an emotional state similar to that by 
 which he is himself dominated. 
 
 We propose in the next chapter to indicate the way 
 in which art in its various forms has served the ex- 
 pressional craving.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 DEDUCTION OF ART-FORMS 
 
 IN the science of art many hypotheses have been 
 advanced as to the order in which the different art- 
 forms have made their appearance. We do not intend 
 to bring forward any new arguments on this much- 
 debated question. Even if our knowledge of pre- 
 historic man were so complete and trustworthy as to 
 entitle us to draw any conclusions as to the earliest 
 stages in art-development, such an appeal to history 
 would in the present connection constitute a grave con- 
 fusion of standpoints. As long as we are occupied with 
 that abstract datum, the purely artistic activity, we can- 
 not possibly find any support for our reasoning in 
 existing works of art, concerning which the question 
 may always be raised whether the motive was or was 
 not a purely autotelic art-impulse. We shall therefore 
 in the following pages entirely ignore the question of 
 historical sequence and restrict our attention to the 
 various degrees of theoretical priority. Starting from 
 the interpretation of artistic activity which was postu- 
 lated, but not yet proved, in the preceding chapter, we 
 shall consider those art-forms as most primordial which 
 stand in the closest connection with the expression of 
 feeling. By comparing those manifestations of art-
 
 CHAP, vii DEDUCTION OF ART-FORMS 87 
 
 activity which are from our standpoint elementary, with 
 the non-sesthetic expression of emotional states, we shall 
 try to isolate the peculiarly artistic qualities in their 
 simplest possible form. If the result of such a treat- 
 ment prove consistent with general aesthetic ideals, as 
 exhibited in the literature of art, this fact will naturally 
 go to the credit of our explanation. 
 
 The purest and most typical expression of simple 
 feeling is that which consists of mere random move- 
 ments. Those activities, whether of the whole body or 
 of special parts, the larynx, for instance, which follow 
 immediately upon, or rather accompany, a state of 
 pleasure or pain, are in themselves entirely non-sesthetic. 
 Thus it is impossible to see anything artistic in the 
 spectacle of a man leaping or shouting for joy. Yet the 
 lowest kind of lyrical music and lyrical "gymnastic" 
 dance may be almost as directly connected with the 
 original state of feeling as these purely expressional 
 activities. The only difference is that in music and 
 dance the movements have been limited and restrained 
 by the adoption of a fixed sequence in time. This fixed 
 sequence in time the rhythm must therefore, from 
 our point of view, be considered as the simplest of all 
 art-forms. 
 
 If we were to give a complete account of the 
 psychology of rhythm, it would be impossible not to 
 resort to a sociological and historical mode of treatment. 
 By Dr. Wallaschek's researches on primitive music it 
 has been conclusively shown how important a part 
 rhythm, as a means of facilitating co-operation, has 
 played in the struggle for existence. 1 And this utili- 
 
 1 Wallaschek, Primitive Music, pp. 230, 231 ; Grosse, Die Anfange derKunst, 
 p. 219. Cf. also Schlegel, A. W., Sdmmtl Werke, vii. pp. 149, 150 (Brief e uber 
 Poesie, Silbenmasz und Sprache), where a similar theory is advanced.
 
 88 THE OKIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 tarian explanation has recently been carried even farther 
 by Professor Biicher, who points out the invaluable 
 saving of effort which the individual obtains by regulat- 
 ing his movements in a fixed sequence of time. 1 We 
 may think that Professor Bticher has stretched his point 
 too far in endeavouring to derive almost all music and 
 poetry from the economical exigencies of labour ; 2 but 
 there can be no doubt that in whichever way the 
 ultimate origin of musical arts be explained, their 
 development is largely due to the practical advantages 
 of rhythm. These considerations, however, which will 
 be developed in the following chapters, need not detain 
 us here, where we have to do with the presumably non- 
 utilitarian and purely aesthetic work of art. If the 
 practical advantages of economy and co-operation can 
 be eliminated, if we can imagine a dance and a song 
 which has not for its aim the facilitation or regulation 
 of some form of work or the stimulation of some effort, 
 which, in short, has its sole aim and purpose in itself, 
 then the art -element in this dance or song must be ex- 
 plicable without reference to " foreign " purposes. 
 
 The only explanation we have been able to find is 
 one which brings us back to the standpoint of the last 
 chapter. Looking upon art as an essentially social 
 activity, we naturally bestow our main attention upon 
 rhythm as a factor of unification. But as we are not 
 allowed to take into account its importance for practical 
 co-operation, we can only interpret it as a means of 
 bringing about emotional community. And it is evident 
 that the fixed sequence in time, when used for the 
 purpose of communicating a state of feeling, must pro- 
 
 1 Biicher, Arbeit und Ehythmus, passim. 
 
 2 Biicher, I.e. passim. Compare, however, p. 306 as to the difference between 
 labour in the modern sense and the working activity of primitive man.
 
 vii DEDUCTION OF ART-FORMS 89 
 
 duce the same effect as when it serves the purpose of 
 diffusing and regulating the impulses to work. 
 
 This fact can also be observed in all cases of social 
 expression. The most general and simple states of 
 emotional excitement, such as a festive mood or a war- 
 like intoxication, may indeed be diffused with sufficient 
 efficacy by simple contagious imitation. But even with 
 regard to such eminently infectious feelings, if a great 
 mass of men is to be collectively and simultaneously 
 stimulated by a common execution of the appropriate 
 expressive movements, these movements must be regu- 
 lated by the adoption of a rhythm. On the other 
 hand, as soon as the expression is fixed in rhythmical 
 form its contagious power is incalculably increased. 
 By its incessant and regular recurrence, the rhythm 
 takes a ruthless hold of the attention, and thereby com- 
 pels even the most recalcitrant to yield to the power of 
 the transmitted feeling. 1 
 
 As evidence of the irresistibility with which a 
 rhythmical expression may rouse an audience to an 
 almost unvoluntary imitation, one may refer to the 
 familiar effects of the southern dances. The tarantella, 
 as is well known, often entices the unwilling as well as 
 the willing to join in its wild movements. And the 
 same is said of several other Spanish and Italian dances. 
 We need only refer to the apologue of the Fandango, so 
 often used as a motive of ballets, in which the dance, 
 brought into court for causing disturbance, compels judge 
 and jury to yield to its temptations and dissolve the 
 sitting for a fierce gambade. 2 Such stories give an 
 exaggerated yet typical example of the great influence 
 which the sight of dancing exercises on the lively Latin 
 
 1 Cf. Souriau, L'esthttique du mouvement, p. 70. 
 2 Bourgoing, Modern State of Spain, ii. pp. 299, 300.
 
 90 THE ORIGINS OF AET CHAP. 
 
 nations. An impassive Northerner can indeed always 
 master the impulse to join actively in a wild dance. 
 But even he cannot avoid sharing the excitement by 
 internal imitation. 
 
 It is, however, impossible to decide with any exacti- 
 tude whether the effects which a dance-performance 
 exercises on the spectators are mainly due to the move- 
 ments themselves or to the rhythm by which they are 
 regulated. In order, therefore, to estimate at its proper 
 value the importance of time, it is necessary to examine 
 it as it appears when isolated from bodily movement. 
 The lowest types of music, in which the element of 
 melody is of no importance, show us rhythm in its 
 simplest and purest form. Such instruments as drums, 
 tom-toms, and castanets may serve as a most effective 
 means of emotional excitation. The same exaltation or 
 depression, which in a dance is conveyed by a series of 
 varied expressive movements, may be transmitted with 
 almost equal effectiveness by a simple sequence of 
 sounds. Any group of acoustic impressions following 
 each other in a fixed rhythm may, independently of their 
 character, arouse in the listener the same modifications 
 of functions and activities, and hence also the same 
 emotional state, as was originally expressed by this 
 particular time-sequence. Thus pure feeling, as it 
 appears when abstraction has been made of all intellec- 
 tual elements, can be as it were exteriorised in rhyth- 
 mical form. And, which is of still greater importance, 
 a pure feeling can in this exteriorisation be fixed down 
 for future repetition. Even in its simplest manifesta- 
 tions art is thus capable of raising an emotional state 
 beyond the limitations of space and time. 
 
 It is most natural, when speaking of the connection 
 between feeling and rhythm, to refer to dance and the
 
 vii DEDUCTION OF AET-FOEMS 91 
 
 simplest vocal and instrumental music. But it goes 
 without saying that the effects are the same in kind, 
 although less in degree, when the time-sequence is 
 impressed upon our mind in some more indirect way. 
 Thus, by appropriating the element of rhythm, which 
 enters into all poetry, we may in reciting or reading a 
 verse partake of an emotional state in the same way as 
 we do when joining, actively or " internally," the move- 
 ments of a dance. Similarly, the formative and decora- 
 tive arts may, by compelling our eye to follow a 
 regular arrangement of lines and figures, transmit to 
 us an emotional excitement by the mediation of rhythm. 
 Ornament, that purely popular art, may therefore be 
 compared as to its psychological effects with simple 
 popular dances and melodies. 1 
 
 In these three logically most primordial arts, viz. 
 gymnastic dance, geometric ornament, and unmelodic, 
 simply rhythmical music or singing, the unmotived 
 "objectless" feeling is expressed in a medium which 
 directly conveys to us its accompanying modifications 
 of activity. Notwithstanding the meagreness of their in- 
 tellectual content, these purely lyrical forms, if we may 
 so call them, are therefore emotionally suggestive to a 
 high degree. General and indistinct moods, such as a 
 feeling of ease, of liberation from restraint, of assurance 
 and power, etc., may by them be transmitted with 
 unsurpassable fidelity. But their expressive power is 
 also confined to such purely hedonic states. Whenever, 
 therefore, the feeling forms a part of a differentiated 
 
 1 Vernon Lee and Anstruther Thompson, "Beauty and Ugliness," in the 
 Contemporary Review, vol. Ixxii. 1897, p. 559: "To this quality of mere com- 
 plexity of surface, pattern adds by its regularity the power of compelling the 
 eye and breath to move at an even and unbroken pace. Even the simplest, 
 therefore, of the patterns ever used have a power akin to that of march music, 
 for they compel our organism to a regular rhythmical mode of being. "
 
 92 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 and fully formed emotion, the impulse to social expres- 
 sion must avail itself of some more adequate means of 
 transmission. 
 
 In point of fact there will nearly always, even in 
 the most impulsive outburst of pleasure or pain, enter 
 an element of simple dramatic representation, by which 
 some of the mental qualities distinctive of the various 
 emotions are communicated. With regard to dancing, 
 for instance, we can only speak in the abstract of any 
 simply "gymnastic" forms. 1 Even if the movements 
 originally aim at nothing but enhancement or relief for 
 an indistinct emotional state, they will unavoidably 
 take the character of such movements as have been 
 connected with some emotion, and thereby, in spectators 
 as well as in performers, awaken some faint revival of 
 this complex state of feeling. This process can be very 
 clearly observed in the case of the pseudo-pantomimes 
 which are so general among lower tribes. When a 
 savage is in a high-strung state of feeling, he generally 
 resorts to the same movements which have served him 
 to express the greatest and most frequent excitements 
 of his life. Among warlike tribes the dances of joy, 
 as well as their developments, salutation dances, and 
 complimentary dances, 2 generally have a distinct military 
 character. 3 No doubt it may be contended that the 
 
 1 The expression "gymnastic," as distinguished from pantomimic dance, is 
 borrowed from Grosse, Die Anf tinge dcr Kunst. 
 
 a That the dances of salutation and homage in most cases really are to be 
 derived from the expression of joy has been shown by Spencer, Principles of 
 Sociology, iii. p. 201, and might be corroborated by instances referring to all 
 the details of complimentary ceremonialism. 
 
 3 Carver, Travels, pp. 180-182 (Lake Pepin) ; Martin, Molukken, p. 57 
 (Lectimor) ; Polack, The New Zealanders, i. p. 88 (Maoris). Cf. also Rienzi, 
 Octanie, iii. p. 170, on the frequent quarrels between Europeans and Maoris 
 that have arisen from a misunderstanding of these kinds of salutation. John- 
 stone, Maoria, p. 49 : "The war dance was practised both as a martial exercise 
 and as an amusement, and was considered equally adapted to give honourable 
 reception to friendly visitors or to intimidate an enemy on the field of battle."
 
 vii DEDUCTION OF ART-FOKMS 93 
 
 particular character of these pantomimes was originally 
 a result of political considerations. In a military state 
 of society it is perhaps simply a measure of safety to 
 receive strangers with threats. But however important 
 this utilitarian aspect may be, it seems more probable 
 that a great part of these apparently unmotived panto- 
 mimes, which are executed when we should expect 
 only a simple outburst of joy, are best interpreted as 
 real instances of borrowed expression, necessitated by 
 the limitations of our means of expression and furthered 
 by associative processes. 
 
 In the life of self-contained educated men we do 
 not generally meet with this phenomenon in so distinct 
 a form. But even here the fragmentary pantomimes 
 into which a man often falls when mastered by a quite 
 indistinct feeling we need only refer to the erotic char- 
 acter of embraces and other gestures of joy show us 
 that expression always adds an element of definiteness 
 to the psychical state expressed. When treating of the 
 reactions consequent upon bodily pain, we have already 
 had to take into account the species of imaginative 
 materialisation, as though pain were a concrete thing, 
 a shirt of Nessus, by which a sufferer is generally 
 induced to explain his automatic movements. Here 
 we need only point out that a similar, so to speak, 
 mythogenic influence, a natural tendency to per- 
 sonification, results not only from reactions to pain> 
 but also from all expressive activities. An indistinct 
 mood of pleasure thus generally passes over into a joy 
 that is, a feeling which is referred to some cause, 
 imaginary or real when the functional enhancement 
 has reached our voluntary muscles. An oppression, 
 which in its origin may be purely physiological, is 
 transformed, when the bodily modifications become more
 
 94 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 differentiated, 1 into fear of something unknown for 
 instance, some impending danger. 
 
 Since it is so difficult for the individual himself to 
 perceive a mental state as one of pure sensation with 
 no element of thought, we need not wonder that his 
 expression always transmits to the spectator something 
 more than the mere excitement or depression of simple 
 feeling. However strictly we try to isolate the pure 
 rhythm of a lyrical performance, there will always slip 
 into it an element of mimetic expression we do not 
 know of a better adjective which suggests a mental 
 state, distincter and better defined than that of pure 
 feeling. In reality, therefore, the dramatic forms of 
 dancing are no less primordial than those purely 
 rhythmical manifestations which the necessities of 
 treatment have compelled us to consider as a separate 
 group. 2 It is also evident that the dramatic or mimetic 
 element will increase in importance as the endeavour 
 to represent mental states and transmit them to out- 
 siders becomes more conscious and deliberate. 
 
 We have dealt at sufficient length with the trans- 
 
 1 Of. the instances collected by Fere, Pathology of Emotions, pp. 360-390 ; and 
 Godfernaux, Le sentiment et la pensee, pp. 65 sq. A powerful description of the 
 my thogenic justifications by which anxiety creates to itself a reason is given in 
 Maupassant's poem "Terreur " in Des Vers, pp. 19, 20. 
 
 2 Cf. on the infectious influence of dramatic performances, Cahusac, La danse, 
 i. pp. 166, 167 ; ii. pp. 61, 62 ; Jacobowski, Anfange der Poesie, pp. 127-129 ; 
 Tarde, "Foules et sectes," in Revue des deux Alondes, vol. cxx. (1893), especially 
 p. 368. It is scarcely necessary to point out to how great an extent the 
 emotional conveyance by means of dramatic action must have been strengthened 
 by the chorus, which, by its laughter or wailing, affords a kind of model expres- 
 sion to the spectator. Possibly, indeed, the Greek chorus developed from a 
 ceremonial in which chorus and audience were not distinct but identical a ritual 
 of wailings or rejoicings provoked by the recital of a traditional story. This 
 view, curiously in advance of his times, is suggested by Brown, an eighteenth 
 century philosopher (History of tJie Rise of Poetry, pp. 126-128): "How came 
 it to pass that in the more barbarous periods the number [of the chorus] should 
 be so much greater ? Manifestly because that rude age bordered on the savage 
 times, when the whole audience had sympathised with the narrative actor, and 
 became as one general choir "
 
 vii DEDUCTION OF ART-FORMS 95 
 
 mission of emotion by mimetic expression. A striking 
 instance of this process has already been found outside 
 the domain of art in the contagiousness of collective 
 states of mind. When art adopts emotional transmis- 
 sion as an end in itself, this contagiousness is naturally 
 increased. On the side of the executant we have to 
 suppose a conscious endeavour to make the mimic 
 expression as easily appropriated as possible ; on the 
 side of the spectator an increased readiness to partake 
 of the expressed feeling. A theatrical audience, indeed, 
 unlike a riotous mob, does not generally go so far as 
 to imitate its leader, the actor, by actual movement. 
 Conscious of the fictitious character of the performance, 
 the spectators are able to resist the sub-conscious voli- 
 tional impulses which they receive. But while thus 
 controlling their outward activity, those who attentively 
 follow the acting may nevertheless appropriate in an 
 almost direct manner the feelings represented. Although 
 they remain passive spectators and preserve an appear- 
 ance of immobility, they are apt to follow, in a kind 
 of abridgment, the attitudes and facial play of the 
 performers. At the most critical stages of a popular 
 melodrama the audience always falls into an uncon- 
 scious pantomime, which, as Engel remarked, to the 
 psychological observer is of far greater interest than 
 that enacted on the stage. 1 In the higher forms of 
 dramatic art this direct transmission of feeling no doubt 
 loses a great deal of its importance. But we believe 
 that every attentive playgoer has occasional opportuni- 
 ties of observing, in himself if not in his neighbours, 
 faint traces of an unconscious and involuntary imitation 
 
 1 Engel, Ideen zu einer Mimic, i. pp. 86-88 ; cf. also Seckendorff, Vorlesun- 
 gen uber Declamation und Mimik, ii. p. 5 ; Sully-Prudhomme, L 'expression dans 
 les-beaux arts, pp. 96, 97.
 
 96 THE OKIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 which follows all the movements of the performers. 
 Such imitation will, of course, become more and more 
 pronounced the more the dialogue gives place to panto- 
 mimic action, and the more vividly and convincingly 
 this action is represented. As an example of the power 
 with which a good mimic may compel even the most 
 critical spectator to participate in emotional moods, we 
 cannot quote anything better than the description of 
 Garrick in Lichtenberg's Brief e aus England. " His 
 facial expression is so powerful as to invite imitation. 
 When he is grave his audience is grave. When he 
 frowns the house frowns, and it smiles when he smiles. 
 In his hidden pleasure, and in his intimate manner, 
 when, in an aside, he gives the audience his confidence, 
 there is something so winning that one's whole soul 
 goes out to this fascinating man." * 
 
 It may be thought that the above described pro- 
 cesses occur only in those arts which can be called 
 dramatic in the proper sense of the word. If this were 
 the case, the principle of emotional transmission by 
 direct imitation would of course be of very restricted 
 aesthetic importance. We think, however, that a his- 
 trionic element can be noticed, with greater or less 
 distinctness, no doubt, in all the various forms of 
 artistic production. It certainly enters into literature, 
 where popular authors, especially of the sentimental 
 class, always possessed the secret of suggesting feelings 
 by representing their manifestations in " contagious " 
 description. And it plays an important part in all 
 the arts of design, formative as well as decorative. 
 
 We may often catch ourselves faintly imitating 
 movements or attitudes represented in sculpture. And 
 this influence of suggestion is felt not only, as Professor 
 
 1 Lichtenberg, Briefe aus England, Vermischte Schriften, -iii. p. 262.
 
 vii DEDUCTION OF ART-FORMS 97 
 
 Lange thinks, in the case of melodramatic sculpture 
 expressive of the most violent passions it contributes 
 also, in no slight degree, to our enjoyment of the forms 
 which represent the gentler moods. 1 However calm 
 and impassive the facial expression of a statue may be, 
 the attitude of the body will always communicate to us 
 a feeling of some kind, of strength and assurance, or 
 perhaps of settled melancholy. 
 
 In the art of painting this mimetic principle tends 
 to be lost among the descriptive elements. The direct 
 transmission of feeling is replaced by an indirect and 
 associative one. Still, there are few works, if any, in 
 which the histrionic factor is entirely lacking. It may 
 be detected with especial clearness in sentimental or 
 comic figure-painting, which often literally infects us 
 with the emotions it represents. When looking at a 
 Japanese caricature, for instance, of the gods of happi- 
 ness, we often laugh with the laughter of the picture 
 long before we have realised the cause of it, or formu- 
 lated any judgment as to the artistic merits of the 
 representation. 
 
 It is true that pictorial art has many branches in 
 which the human figure does not appear at all. But 
 this absence does not by any means entail a complete 
 loss of mimetic suggestiveness. As our perceptions, 
 whether of animate or inanimate objects, are always 
 accompanied by a complete or abortive imitation, any 
 kind of form or movement may call forth in us activities 
 distinctive of some emotional mood. Just as a rhythmic 
 series of simple acoustic or visual impressions may 
 occasion in us the functional modifications accompany- 
 
 1 Lange, Nydelsernes fysiologi, pp. 168, 169. As to the importance of imita- 
 tive reaction for our enjoyment of sculpture, cf. Vernon Lee and Anstruther 
 Thompson, The Contemiwrary Review, vol. Ixxii., pp. 677-679. 
 
 H
 
 98 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 ing simple feeling, and thereby arouse in us the mental 
 state of which this rhythm is an exteriorisation, so the 
 mimic movements which are the physiological counter- 
 parts of distinct emotion may be, so to speak, translated 
 into lines and forms, by which the emotion is reproduced 
 in other minds. Thus even an object of handicraft a 
 vase, for instance may, by the suggestiveness of its shape, 
 affect our emotional life in an almost immediate way. 
 And geometric ornament has an equal, if not even greater, 
 power of conjuring up in us emotional states, which we 
 read into the angles and volutes. Finally, the concrete 
 objects of nature are full of "expressive qualities" 
 which make them, available as a means of conveying our 
 feelings. The whole world of visual reality can thus be 
 used in a kind of indirect mimetism, a dramatic ex- 
 pression, so to speak, in which natural and abstract 
 forms replace the human body. 
 
 The course of our argument has led us to emphasise 
 the lyrical and dramatic elements in artistic activity. 
 But we do not by any means wish to underrate the fact 
 that it is only a very small minority of works the nature 
 of which can be exhaustively described by these two 
 qualities. With increased importance of the intellectual 
 elements accompanying the emotional states, direct 
 emotional suggestion must unavoidably appear an inade- 
 quate means of communication. A joy or a sorrow, 
 together with a notion of some objective cause of it, 
 rapture or admiration, anger, hate, or despair, all these 
 and similar states can be completely conveyed to an 
 outsider only in so far as they have been accounted for 
 to his intellect. As the theoretically latest manifesta- 
 tion of the craving for social expression there will thus 
 appear an impulse to represent or describe objective 
 events or things, by which a feeling similar to that of
 
 vii DEDUCTION OF ART-FORMS 99 
 
 the producing artist may be called forth in his audience. 
 And thus in almost all art-forms, in ornament and 
 music as well as in painting and novels, there will be 
 found an imitation of nature which serves what in the 
 widest use of the term we may call an epic purpose. 
 
 The intellectual justification of a feeling by repre- 
 sentation of a cause and the orderly form of its direct 
 or secondary expression are, however, in themselves in- 
 sufficient to secure a response ; the attention and good- 
 will of the audience must first be conciliated. A 
 sympathetic rapport always presupposes a state of com- 
 pliance in at least one of the parties involved. When 
 seeking by means of a work of art to obtain a response 
 to an overmastering feeling the artist is thus constrained 
 to exercise persuasion upon his real or fictitious public. 
 As M. Sully-Prudhomme has finely remarked, it is only 
 by first caressing our senses that art rouses our feelings and 
 awakens our thoughts. 1 Besides that element of beauty 
 which can be immediately derived from the expressed 
 content, and that element of gracefulness which follows 
 as result of the psychical freedom attained by expression, 
 there are in nearly all works of art qualities whose aim 
 is exclusively to please. If we may risk a somewhat 
 audacious parallel, we may say that the work of art, in 
 the same way as a living organism, an animal or a plant, 
 entices the attention and charms the senses with the 
 beauty of its " means of attraction," not for the sake of 
 these attractions themselves, but for the secret they 
 at the same time conceal and disclose. All these allure- 
 ments might easily cause a superficial observer to lose 
 sight of the simple fact which lies at the bottom of the 
 artistic work, viz. the feeling-state which demands ex- 
 pression and response. We thus see why the impulse 
 
 1 Sully-Prudhomme, L'expression dans les beaux-arts, pp. 4, 5.
 
 100 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP: 
 
 to attract by pleasing has been considered as synonymous 
 with the art-impulse. 
 
 As has already been remarked, such an interpretation 
 cannot account for the coercive force of the artistic im- 
 pulse. And equally with the theories based upon the 
 epic or descriptive elements in art, it is incompatible with 
 the principle of the unity of art. If the logical evolu- 
 tion of the art-forms is conceived in the way we have 
 described, all the various manifestations of artistic 
 activity can be derived from one common principle. 
 And by the aid of this one principle we are able to ex- 
 plain the force of that impulse which, with similar coercive 
 force, urges to creation within the various art-forms. 
 
 However much the artistic impulse may become 
 differentiated with the progress of culture, its innermost 
 nature will always remain the same. However complex 
 its manifestations, their aim is always to secure a faith- 
 ful response to an overmastering feeling. The more 
 accomplished the work of art, the more its creator will 
 become independent of the chance audience, which by 
 its sympathetic expression produces an enhancing retro- 
 action on his feeling. He learns to give his mental 
 states an embodiment which facilitates their reproduction 
 in wider surroundings. Thus the expressional impulse 
 directs him to place himself in sympathetic rapport with 
 a fictitious public. He creates, that is to say, expresses 
 himself, for an ideal spectator, for posterity or for him- 
 self. "With a proud indifference to his most immediate 
 social environment, he may thus consider his own pro- 
 duction as perfectly exempt of any social motivation. 
 The aphorism of Mill, " All poetry is a soliloquy," would 
 no doubt be accepted by many of the most eminent 
 poets. But the psychological observer cannot help re- 
 marking that in such soliloquies the ego serves as a
 
 vii DEDUCTION OF ART-FORMS 101 
 
 substitute for an external public. The artist has in a 
 sense a double capacity ; and artistic creation in solitude 
 may be always explained by the fact that the creator 
 exists also as his own spectator. 
 
 The production of even the most individualistic and 
 most isolated artists can therefore be explained only by 
 sociological considerations. And the same is the case 
 with those artists who work only for posterity. It would 
 be wrong to say that art in any one of its higher mani- 
 festations aims at transmitting a feeling. Its purpose 
 is far rather an immortalisation. But this very desire 
 to perpetuate a mental state, this desire which constrains 
 the artist to strive indefatigably for the attainment of a 
 form, capable of imparting to all men of every country 
 and every age the same enhancement and the same 
 rapture which he has himself experienced this highest 
 manifestation of the expressional impulse can be fully 
 explained only by reference to the enhancing and re- 
 lieving power of social expression. In whatever light 
 the art-impulse may appear to the reflecting conscious- 
 ness of the producing artist, this is the only consistent 
 interpretation at which we can arrive by an examination 
 of the artistic activity on psychological grounds.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ART THE RELIEVER 
 
 IN the endeavour to secure the transmission and per- 
 petuation of a feeling, the expressional activity gradually 
 loses its purely impulsive character. From an almost 
 reflex outlet for abnormal nervous pressure, it is more 
 and more transformed into deliberate artistic production, 
 which is conscious of its aim as well as of the means for 
 attaining it. The elaboration of a work of art, in which 
 the expression of a feeling-state is to be concentrated, 
 and concentrated in a way which not only facilitates 
 but even enforces in the spectator the assimilation of 
 this state, is a complicated operation which cannot 
 of course take place without the effectual co-operation of 
 intellectual and volitional activities. And their co- 
 operation, on the other hand, must evidently exercise 
 some influence on the primordial feeling. 
 
 It is a familiar observation, duly emphasised in 
 all psychological handbooks, that strong feelings make 
 clear thought impossible. Everyday experience, as well 
 as scientific experiment, gives unmistakable evidence 
 of the influence which abnormal excitement or depression 
 exercises, not only on our ideas and their associations, 
 but even on the perceptions. The converse has perhaps 
 not been stated so often. Still, it does not admit of
 
 CHAP, vm AET THE EELIEVEE 103 
 
 doubt that intensified intellectual activity may, in some 
 cases, even more effectually than motor reaction, over- 
 come the tyranny of a hypernormal feeling. It is true 
 that every mental state becomes more distinct as a 
 phenomenon of consciousness when our thoughts are 
 directed towards it. Feelings of low and moderate 
 intensity may even be enhanced in their purely emotional 
 aspect if we let our intellect play on them. But as soon 
 as a greater intensity of feeling is reached, this relation 
 is reversed. Joy which is so great as to be a burden, 
 " Die Noth der Fiille," l and numbing despair, must 
 inevitably decrease when there is an increase of distinct- 
 ness in their intellectual elements. The more we can 
 compel ourselves to contemplate with cool and clear 
 attention the causes and manifestations of such high- 
 strung states, the more we are also able to master them. 
 It is a familiar experience to everyone that strong fear 
 can be vanquished, if only we can succeed in diverting 
 all our attention to its objective source, and " stare the 
 danger in the face." When the attention is concentrated 
 
 o 
 
 and intensified to the utmost degree, it may even, as in 
 the case of fascination, entirely prevent, to our own 
 danger, the very rise of this self-preserving emotion. 
 
 In artistic creation we are not concerned with an 
 intentional or unintentional effort to overcome feeling. 
 On the contrary the aim is here to keep the strongest 
 possible hold of it in order to give it the most effective 
 embodiment. So irreconcilable, however, is the conflict 
 between emotional excitement and intellectual activity, 
 that the latter, even when it expressly serves the pur- 
 poses of emotional enhancement, must neutralise the 
 excess of feeling. A state of strong pleasure or pain 
 can never be rendered intelligible to outsiders, unless its 
 
 1 Nietzsche, Die GeJnirt der Tragodie, p. 8.
 
 104 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 expression is bridled and disciplined by thought. By 
 being thus embodied in a fixed form the feeling gains 
 in conceivability as well as in infectious power. But 
 while the effect on spectators and listeners is in this 
 way increased, the artistic form influences the feeling 
 subject himself in a quite different way. Its very clear- 
 ness and distinctness necessarily brings something of 
 that calm which all excitement seeks as relief. 
 
 The immediate reaction which the work of art 
 exercises on its own creator is of course most easily 
 seen and understood in the "higher" art-forms with 
 their pronounced intellectual elements. Literary in- 
 stances of the " poetic cure " for harassing or oppressing 
 emotion are too numerous to be mentioned. The only 
 point we need dwell on is the question how these 
 instances are to be interpreted. When a poet seeks to 
 give shape and form to his own sufferings by means of 
 fiction, the relief he obtains is no doubt in part an effect 
 of the diversion of activity into the channels of expres- 
 sion. But to a still greater degree it may be a result of 
 the healthful influence exercised by the contemplation 
 of objective reality in the finished work of art. Such 
 an influence is unmistakable in the most illustrious 
 instance of artistic production as a life - preserving 
 expedient : Goethe's Leiden des jungen Werther. In 
 his memoirs the old poet frankly and unreservedly 
 describes how, when lacerated by the conflict between 
 hypochondriac, suicidal thoughts and an ineradicable love 
 of life and cheerfulness, he resorted to the old homely 
 remedy of writing down his sufferings. He lays especial 
 stress on his desire to give definite form and body to 
 his vague feelings of distress. And as we read that 
 afterwards, when the work lay finished before him, 
 " bound in boards, as a picture in its frame, so as to
 
 vni AKT THE KELIEVER 105 
 
 prove the more convincingly its individual and concrete 
 existence," he could feel " free and joyful, and entitled 
 to a new life," we cannot but explain this renewed cour- 
 age to live as a result of the sensation of security and 
 support which the beholding of external form affords. 1 
 
 Thus, to begin with, by its character as a palpable, 
 objective reality, the work of art may diminish the 
 subjective disturbance in which it originates. This 
 influence is supplemented by the retroaction of the 
 aesthetic qualities, in the narrowest sense of the term, 
 such as beauty, symmetry, and the like, by which an 
 artist always seeks, intentionally or unintentionally, to 
 arrest the attention of his public. The more therefore 
 the work grows in definiteness in the thought and under 
 the hand of the artist, the more it will repress and 
 subdue the chaotic tumult of emotional excitement. 
 The Dionysiac rapture, as the ancients would have said, 
 gives place to Apolline serenity. In language pruned 
 of mythological symbolism, this only means that art is 
 better able than any of the immediate expressional 
 activities to give complete and effective relief from 
 emotional pressure. And it further implies that how- 
 ever earnestly an artist may strive to communicate to 
 his public the exact feeling he has himself experienced, 
 the emotional content expressed in his work will always 
 be of another and more harmonious character than the 
 mental state by which his production was originally 
 called into existence. To the extent that artistic form 
 appears in a given work or manifestation there will also 
 be present, independently of the subject, cheerful or 
 sad, passionate or calm, a sense of mental liberation, 
 
 1 Goethe, Dichtung uiid Wahrheit, iii. p. 132. This instance has been ad- 
 duced by Professor Julius Lange in support of his emotionalistic art-theory ; Om 
 Kunstvcerdi, pp. 72-84.
 
 106 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 which atones for the excesses of emotional excite- 
 ment. 
 
 In a final and exhaustive treatment of aesthetic 
 problems this influence of artistic form would need to 
 be traced through all the departments of art-activity. 
 And it would be one of the most interesting parts of 
 such a research to estimate the relative power with 
 which art in its various branches is able to assuage at 
 the same time as it excites. We need not here under- 
 take such a thorough comparative examination of the 
 different arts. What has been said about literary 
 creation may be applied in substance to formative pro- 
 duction as well. And it even remains true with regard 
 to those most lyrical and immediately expressive arts 
 which seem to be altogether destitute of objective form 
 and intellectual content. Although it has often been 
 said that the lowest kinds of music are purely emotional 
 manifestations, we may still discern an element of form 
 in the rhythm which regulates even the simplest songs 
 and dances. 1 And the creation of this form undoubtedly 
 requires a certain amount of conscious intention and 
 intellectual activity. It is therefore natural that the 
 intensest and most abnormally enhanced feeling should 
 exclude the possibility of rhythmical movement. 
 Exalted joy and violent despair are in their external 
 manifestations not only inharmonious and ungraceful, 
 but also unrhythmic. 2 But by subjecting the expres- 
 sion to the yoke of a fixed time order we may succeed 
 in harmonising it. And while the regular recurrence of 
 intervals facilitates our movements which thereby gain 
 in ease and gracefulness the vehemence of our feeling 
 
 1 Wallaschek, Mind, N.S. iv. p. 34, "On the Difference of Time and 
 Rhythm in Music ; " Biicher, Arbeit und Rhythmus, p. 306. 
 
 2 Cf. Emmanuel, La danse grecque antique, p. 127.
 
 viii ART THE BELIEVER 107 
 
 will be abated. Thus it is possible that although rhythm 
 powerfully reinforces musical or dramatic excitement, 
 it may at the same time exercise a restraining influence 
 on hypernormal feeling. And its effects in music and 
 dance show us, in the simplest and most comprehensive 
 of all examples, the importance of artistic form. The 
 musical katharsis or relief to sensation always involves 
 stimulation, but it may nevertheless affect us as a 
 sedative. The more the form- element and attention to 
 form gain in prominence, the more effectual also is the 
 relieving influence of art. Where the stimulative ele- 
 ment is predominant in a work of art, there the relief 
 is less complete. 
 
 This contrast, which can be observed at all stages of 
 artistic development, is eminently conspicuous in ancient 
 art, where high and low forms are often to be found in 
 close juxtaposition. The superiority of Greek music 
 over Phrygian music was a favourite topic of the old 
 writers on art, and the legend of the contest between 
 Apollo and Marsyas served as a mythological variation 
 on the same theme. Lyre and flute stood as symbols 
 for two different classes of art, of which one was violent, 
 orgiastic, and barbarous, while the other was calm in its 
 Olympian serenity. 1 
 
 But the contrast expressed in these parables by the 
 ancient authors and some of their modern followers is 
 not so sharp in reality. Even the lively notes of a flute 
 may, to use the old metaphor, by their bound time 
 exercise a kind of restraining influence on the passions. 
 And on the other hand the sedative power of soft music 
 is by no means so great as has often been contended. 
 While acting hygienically as a cure for excess of passion 
 
 1 Cf. Creuzer, Symbolik und Mythologie, iii. p. 155 ; Ruskin avails himself 
 of the same allegory in The Queen of the Air, pp. 66-70.
 
 108 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 or sorrow it cannot produce any moral result properly so 
 called. As M. Combarieu has pointed out in his acute 
 criticism of Cardinal Perraud's Eurythmie et Harmonic, 
 it is an incontestable fact, which has only too often been 
 overlooked by Platonising philosophers, that even the 
 most immoral feelings may be expressed in perfect 
 melody. 1 The musical, and still more the merely 
 rhythmical, form cannot change the quality of these 
 feelings ; it can only deprive them of their dangerous 
 intensity. The mental state thereby gains in pure and 
 unmingled pleasure ; it becomes ennobled as enjoyment, 
 but it is by no means moralised, at least not according 
 to modern views. It is only from the standpoint of a 
 purely hedonic system of ethics that music, or any other 
 art, can be said to exercise an immediate moral influence. 
 
 When trying to summarise our researches on the 
 differences between artistic and non-artistic expression 
 of emotional states in a comprehensive conclusion, we 
 are again led to that eminently illustrative instance 
 the Bacchantic condition of the ancient Maenads. We 
 have seen that in their description of Dionysiac mania 
 the classical authors enumerate almost all the various 
 orgiastic manifestations which can be found in all periods 
 in different parts of the world. And if ancient litera- 
 ture affords us an epitome of the various expedients to 
 which the expressional impulse resorts in its endeavour 
 to enhance and relieve an emotional state, the force of 
 this craving for expression, on the other hand, nowhere 
 appears with such convincing clearness as in the Diony- 
 siac monuments of classical art. 
 
 The frieze around the Bacchic candelabra in the 
 
 1 Revue Critique, 1896, ii. pp. 386, 387 ; cf. also Groos, Die Spiele der 
 Menschen, pp. 110, 476.
 
 viii ART THE EELIEVER 109 
 
 Louvre proves better than any psychological analysis to 
 how great a degree the Dionysiac state is alloyed with 
 pain and the longing for relief. If these Maenads be 
 compared with the figures on the great vases in the 
 British Museum and with the various Agave reliefs, it 
 will still more conclusively appear that it is real distress 
 which compels the dancers to seek in ever -increasing 
 excitement deliverance from the burden of their feelings. 
 No movement could be more eloquently expressive of 
 the corresponding psychical state than the peculiar toss 
 on the head and the backward curve of the upper trunk 
 which can always be recognised in the most violent of 
 the dancers. An approach to this attitude (" opistho- 
 tonos") sometimes appears, as Spencer remarks in his 
 essay on the Physiology of Laughter, in movements of 
 great joy, which has not been able to find expression by 
 the usual channels of discharge. 1 But there is no doubt 
 that, however pleasurable the quality of the original 
 state may have been, its tone must have been radically 
 transformed before it could produce these strained 
 postures. A feeling which distorts the body by its 
 efforts to find relief, which is not satisfied with the wild 
 cries, the dances, and all the madness of the Bacchic 
 intoxication, must in its abnormal exaggeration be 
 perceived as a pain. The pathological character of this 
 feeling appears further from the fact that the very same 
 movement may be observed in Pierre Breughel's paint- 
 ings of hysteric patients and in M. Charcot's photographs 
 from La Salpe trier e. 2 And this same backward toss of 
 the head may be seen in sculptures of witches, the 
 mediaeval Bacchantes, where it sometimes gives an im- 
 
 1 Spencer, Essays, ii. 460. 
 
 2 Cf. Charcot and Richer, Lcs dtmoniaques dans I'art, p. 37 ; Emmanuel, La 
 danse grecque antique, pp. 102, 196-198, 302, 303.
 
 110 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP, vm 
 
 pression of proud and insolent defiance, sometimes one 
 of profound melancholy. 1 But in the reliefs representing 
 Bacchic orgies, side by side with the dancers whose 
 distorted attitude and violent movements betray the 
 pain underlying the appearance of revel and riot, there 
 may always be seen the figures of women moving with 
 easy and graceful step. The freedom of their motion 
 shows that they at least have found deliverance from the 
 oppression of overstrung feeling. The nervous tension 
 which in their companions manifests itself in unrhy thmic, 
 inharmonious leapings and writhings, has in their case 
 found relief and given place to a feeling of rest and calm. 
 This expression of peace in their faces, attitudes, and 
 draperies affords an instructive comment on the Greek 
 notion of Dionysos, the god of music, who, with all his 
 wildness is none the less able to still the tempests of 
 overpowering feelings. 
 
 This god of music, as conceived by those who gave 
 him a place among the Olympians, was not a symbol of 
 dissolute pleasure. On the contrary, the myths tell us 
 how those who oppose his ritual themselves fall victims 
 to a mania even more violent than the Bacchic frenzy 
 itself. His devotees, on the other hand, receive from the 
 stirring notes of his flute and cymbals a determinate 
 form and mould for their otherwise vehement and 
 irregular expression -movements. Their joy loses its 
 defiant and barbaric character, their black despair is 
 dissolved into gentle sadness. Sightly, therefore, was 
 Dionysos saluted as a deliverer when, with his merry 
 crew, he marched from village to village. Like him art 
 moves among men, ennobling their joy and blunting 
 the edge of their sufferings. 
 
 1 Michelet, La Sorctere, p. 80.
 
 CHAPTEK IX 
 
 THE WORK OF ART 
 
 ACCORDING to an old theory the classical drama origin- 
 ated in the Dionysiac cultus. 1 The artistic development 
 of savage and barbarous tribes supplies many analogies 
 which strongly support this view. The simplest drama 
 and the most primitive poetry have ' in most nations 
 been connected with orgiastic rites which, from the 
 psychological point of view, closely resemble the Bacchic 
 ceremonies. But we may go still further. It has been 
 contended on good grounds that even the formative arts 
 made their earliest appearance on the occasion of great 
 public festivals. 2 It might seem that if this view could 
 only be corroborated by a sufficient body of ethnological 
 evidence, there would be no need of any further argu- 
 ment in favour of the emotionalistic interpretation of 
 art. Granted that the simplest manifestations of all the 
 different arts served primarily as means of heightening a 
 festive mood, then the psychological origin of the artistic 
 activity ought to be ascertained by an analysis of high- 
 pitch feeling. The same mental causes and conditions 
 which called forth the most primitive manifestations of 
 art, and determined their character, may naturally be 
 
 1 Cf. for example, Dyer, Gods in Greece, pp. 114-117. 
 
 2 Cf. Brown, The Fine, Arts, pp. 22-35, 41-70 ; and Hill in Pop. Sc. Monthly, 
 vol. xlii. pp. 734-749.
 
 112 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 assumed to have influenced in greater or less degree the 
 higher forms as well. And thus in further support of 
 our view we might simply refer to the study of a 
 typical exaltation with which the preceding chapter 
 was concluded. 
 
 We have here an apparently easy solution of the 
 problem before us. But by resorting to it we should ex- 
 pose ourselves to the risk of mistakes which is inherent 
 in every historical method. Not only is it impossible, 
 as has already been remarked, to make any positive 
 assertion as to the purely aesthetic and autotelic character 
 of a given manifestation : it is almost equally difficult 
 to quote a rite or practice the interpretation of which, 
 from the emotional standpoint, is clear and undisputed. 
 Even the wild antics of the Maenads, in spite of the 
 numerous analogies to them presented by the diseased 
 mental states of modern man, have been explained by 
 some archaeologists as a stereotyped ritual. The self- 
 wounding and the tearing up of living animals have 
 been interpreted as different forms of a sacrificial cult ; 
 the frantic gestures and songs as dramatic representa- 
 tions of ancient myths. 1 It would require too cumbrous 
 an apparatus merely to state and criticise existing theories 
 on this point. And even if we could prove that the 
 Bacchantic manifestations may be explained without 
 reference to religious or commemorative intentions in 
 the dancers, as purely emotional activities, grave objec- 
 tions would still remain to be answered. From the 
 medical point of view it might be maintained that the 
 Dionysiac state, as well as all analogous conditions 
 among savage and civilised nations, is a purely patho- 
 logical phenomenon. 2 By connecting artistic produc- 
 
 1 Rapp, Bheinisches Museum, xxvii. p. 2 ("Die Manade im griechischen Cultus "). 
 2 Rohde, Psyche, pp. 331, 343.
 
 ix THE WOEK OF AET 113 
 
 tion with these states we should therefore expose 
 ourselves to the accusation of treating art as an 
 abnormality. And it would be of no use to appeal to 
 Nietzsche's brilliant but unconvincing defence of the 
 position that the ancient Dionysiac orgies ought really 
 to be considered as splendid disorders of health and 
 overflowing vigour. 1 
 
 It is therefore necessary to state explicitly that what 
 we have said about the Dionysiac state must by no 
 means be taken as referring to actual historic facts 
 known about the bacchanals. The descriptions of 
 Euripides and other classical authors are valuable as 
 expressions of the predominant notions of art quite 
 independently of the reality which may or may not 
 have corresponded to them. The corybantic mania 
 afforded to the Greek mind a typical simile by which 
 to illustrate that state of formless excitement which 
 precedes the artistic creation. In the mythical descrip- 
 tions of the melancholia of the Thyiads, and in the 
 sculptural representations of their dances and extrava- 
 gances, it was easy to recognise more by instinct, 
 perhaps, than by reflection the same dissatisfaction 
 and the same longing for fuller and deeper expression 
 which compels the artist to seek in aesthetic production 
 compensation for the deficiencies of life. And the 
 feeling of liberation, which in the artist, upon the 
 attainment of artistic form, supersedes overmastering 
 and inharmonious excitement, seemed explicable by the 
 analogy of the relief which the mythical Dionysus 
 bestowed upon his devotees. At a time, therefore, 
 when dancing occupied a prominent place among the 
 arts, it must have been quite natural to consider the 
 god of dance and music as an embodiment of the 
 
 1 Nietzsche, Die Geburt der Tragodie, pp. 6, 7. 
 
 I
 
 114 THE OEIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 feelings and impulses of artistic creation. For modern 
 times, however, this poetic parable has scarcely even an 
 illustrative value. It would be too far-fetched to treat 
 the simple, lyrical dance and song as a general type 
 of art, seeing that in real life dancing has long ago been 
 almost entirely superseded by more complicated forms of 
 artistic activity. 
 
 It is, however, only in such direct manifestations 
 as the simplest song, dance, and poetry that the artistic 
 activity itself is accessible to our analysis. With regard 
 to those higher forms of art in which the dramatic and 
 epic elements play an important part, it may indeed 
 be contended that even they originate in an emotional 
 craving for expression. And it can be proved, as we 
 have tried to show in the preceding chapters, that such 
 a theory gives us the best explanation of the life- 
 preserving influence of artistic creation. But it is not 
 to be concealed that, as far as painting, sculpture, and 
 the higher forms of poetry are concerned, this view 
 is exclusively based upon hypothesis. It cannot be 
 considered as established so long as we have no 
 authentic information on the feelings and impulses 
 which direct a sculptor or a painter in his work. The 
 only competent witnesses who can give us this infor- 
 mation namely, the artists themselves have generally 
 paid too little attention to theoretic problems to make 
 any observations on their own mental states during the 
 task of creation ; and even when they do so they are 
 deterred by a natural sense of propriety from making 
 any public revelations ou a matter which affects their 
 most intimate emotional life. All the more impertinent 
 would it be for an outsider to make a priori assertions 
 on the psychical motives for their work. While en- 
 titled to speak with some confidence on the simple,
 
 ix THE WORK OF ART 115 
 
 universal arts, the theoretical observer cannot, with re- 
 gard to the specialised crafts, rely upon either experience 
 or sympathetic understanding. The only safe point 
 of departure is here the objective work. Our inter- 
 pretation can be considered as conclusively established 
 only if we are able to show that the distinctive qualities 
 of the work of art, as met with in the highest manifesta- 
 tions of art, are such as to provide some emotional state 
 with the most adequate and most convincing expression. 
 The work of art has been the subject of theoretical 
 investigation to a far greater extent than the artistic 
 impulse. When examining its distinctive qualities we 
 can therefore constantly avail ourselves of the researches 
 of earlier writers on aesthetic. There is no need to 
 search for the problems to be solved nor to justify the 
 scheme of inquiry. We have to show that our inter- 
 pretation of the artistic activity is consistent with the 
 general principles according to which the value of art- 
 works is estimated. These principles, on the other 
 hand, can evidently be discovered only by studying 
 the judgments on art which have been embodied in 
 sesthetical literature. Owing to the mutual contra- 
 dictions between the several aesthetic systems, such a 
 study is indeed not an easy one. But if minor differ- 
 ences are disregarded it is not impossible to find a 
 common standard on which almost all writers agree. 
 For while the theories on art, as different from other 
 departments of life, have been based upon varying 
 philosophical assumptions, the ideal of excellence in 
 art has, at least in the case of all real sestheticians, 
 been developed under the influence of a close famili- 
 arity with the best manifestations of living art. Not- 
 withstanding the ever- varying currents of taste and 
 the individual predilections which affect even the most
 
 116 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 impartial judgment, it is thus possible to point to 
 a common fund of simple and catholic principles of 
 criticism. 
 
 As far as the lyrical forms of art are concerned we 
 need not dwell at any length on the aesthetic require- 
 ments which they are generally expected to fulfil. It 
 is easy to understand that, however one may explain 
 the purpose of artistic activity and the impulse which 
 leads to it, the accomplished work of art must always 
 possess some element of sensual beauty which may 
 attract and hold the attention. If we were attempting 
 a complete treatment of all aesthetic problems we might 
 attempt to prove that such qualities appear to a very 
 great extent as unintentional by-products of artistic 
 expression. The perfect gracefulness, for example, 
 which forms the distinguishing merit of all genuine 
 art, is seldom a result of conscious endeavour. As, 
 according to its nature, pleasure is necessarily accom- 
 panied by facilitated conditions of life, an artistic 
 manifestation will generally be graceful in the same 
 degree as it expresses pure and unmingled joy. And 
 even if the feeling which originally called forth a 
 dance, a song, or a drama is one of pain, its expression 
 will unavoidably acquire under the influence of artistic 
 form an element of ease. The freedom, and, still more, 
 the unconsciousness, that characterise the "inspired" 
 creation may thus clothe with a peculiar grace even 
 the representation of such mental states as in real life 
 manifest themselves in the most inharmonious forms. 1 
 In the same way dignity, the quality complementary 
 to grace, may be deduced directly from the emotional 
 conditions of artistic activity. 
 
 1 A detailed treatment of gracefulness in art and life has been given by the 
 author in Forstudier till en konstfilosqfi, pp. 132-147.
 
 ix THE WORK OF ART 117 
 
 This explanation does not apply, however, to such 
 special qualities as, for instance, symmetry and pro- 
 portion. Neither can it be denied that these qualities 
 may be of incalculable importance in art as means 
 of heightening the effectiveness of the work. But we 
 hold that a problem like that of symmetry belongs to 
 the science of beauty rather than to the theory of art. 
 By a symmetrical arrangement of its parts, or by a 
 right proportion between them, an object may indeed 
 become a thing of beauty ; but it acquires an artistic 
 character only in so far as this symmetry and pro- 
 portion perform or assist the function of expression. 
 Even among the most authors who lay most stress on 
 the paramount importance of form there are few who 
 contend that these abstract qualities can by themselves 
 bestow the title of art upon a work or a manifestation. 
 
 Quite different is the case of those aesthetic laws 
 which have been deduced from the arts of description. 
 As the majority of writers on aesthetic have restricted 
 their attention to works of art in which nature has been 
 imitated or represented, it is only natural that artistic 
 merit should be thought to depend on the relation of the 
 copy to the original. The most simple explanation is 
 undoubtedly that which is adopted by a large section 
 of the public, viz., that an artistic manifestation is 
 perfect in proportion as it gives a faithful rendering 
 of objective nature. For all that has been contended 
 by the opponents of the realistic movements which 
 predominated in the eighties, we do not think that 
 many producing authors have been guided in their 
 work by such narrow notions. In aesthetic literature 
 at least so radical a realism has been upheld only by 
 a few isolated authors. 1 Ever since Aristotle's time 
 
 1 Of. Holz, Die Kunst, p. 117. It is only fair to add that in their own novels
 
 118 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 it has been laid down that a work of art must be 
 something other and better than a mere copy. And 
 aesthetic science from its first beginning has in the 
 main agreed upon the general principles by which 
 artistic imitation attains perfection. These principles, 
 formulated with varying clearness in the earlier systems, 
 have found their most philosophical elaboration in the 
 works of Vischer and Taine. In his Hegelian ter- 
 minology the German author puts it that the work 
 of art must show us, in an aesthetic semblance, the 
 full and whole presence of an idea which is underlying 
 the things represented. In the philosophy of Taine, 
 which, by making science its point of departure, differs 
 so greatly from Hegelianism and yet resembles it so 
 strikingly in general character, the same thought has 
 been expressed in the doctrine of dominant qualities. 1 
 If these criteria are divested of the technical garb which 
 makes them so inconvenient to handle, they appear to 
 rest ultimately on a simple observation which may be 
 repeated in all aesthetic experience. We find in all 
 descriptive art-works a subordination of qualities sup- 
 posed to be of inferior importance to what philosophers 
 of Taine's school term "la faculte mattresse." In most 
 works too there may be found a relation of the repre- 
 sented thing to the rest of nature, which in a Hegelian 
 mind may awaken the notion of a general idea behind 
 the individual phenomenon. But, as we have already 
 observed, it is a mark of excessive intellectualism to 
 assume that the desire to discover predominant qualities 
 or hidden ideas is the impelling force in art-creation. 
 And we shall now endeavour to show that it is equally 
 
 the authors of this school have involuntarily failed to support their theoretical 
 principles. 
 
 1 Cf. chap. i.
 
 ix THE WORK OF ART 119 
 
 one-sided to consider the enjoyment of art as conditioned 
 by increased intellectual knowledge of individual or 
 universal phenomena and ideas. 
 
 The defects of intellectualistic art -theories are 
 perhaps most manifest in the system of Taine. Taine 
 himself seems to believe that the "faculte mere" really 
 exists, and that it can be not only represented by an 
 artistical treatment of nature, but also discovered by 
 scientific study ; he is consequently unable to make any 
 proper distinction between the ^departments of science 
 and art. 1 And, on the other hand, his own critical 
 
 *k 
 
 studies show us how incompatible is the principle of 
 dominant faculties with a purely scientific conception of 
 reality. Too often, in the attempt to deduce every 
 manifestation and every personality from a determinate, 
 all-explaining and all-conditioning quality, he loses sight 
 of the rich variety of life, and gains instead merely a 
 brilliant formula. Thus, however suggestive his criti- 
 cisms may be, they are seldom scientifically exact. 
 There is none, however, of all his admirers who would 
 wish to have anything changed in his writings on art ; 
 for we know that by this very one-sidedness, which is 
 the source of his scientific shortcomings, he has at the 
 same time attained his greatest, though perhaps un- 
 intentional, triumphs as an artist. 
 
 In illustration of this we need only refer to one 
 instance : his celebrated description of the lion. 2 Objec- 
 tions may be raised from the zoological point of view to 
 his selecting the lion as a representative of animal 
 strength, and from the anatomical point of view to his 
 deducing its whole configuration from the structure of 
 its jaws. But it is impossible to deny that precisely by 
 
 ?. 72, 73. 
 
 1 Cf. Taine, Philosophic de I'art, pp. 
 2 Ibid. pp. 52, 53.
 
 120 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 such a one-sided and exaggerated portrait Taine has 
 succeeded in giving an expression to his admiration for 
 elementary force better than would have been possible 
 by a scientifically faithful description. Accordingly 
 Taine's lion, in spite of its faults from the point of view 
 of science, remains a classical illustration of the aesthetic 
 importance of dominant qualities. 
 
 If we try to explain why it is that the subordination 
 of all characters under one " faculte maitresse," although 
 unfavourable to scientific comprehension, is neverthe- 
 less so useful for artistic representation, we shall be 
 unavoidably led to that distinction between scientific 
 and artistic purposes which has been overlooked in the 
 intellectualistic systems of aesthetic. The work of art 
 does not claim to give us, nor do we expect to receive 
 from it, increased knowledge as to the real nature or 
 predominant characters of things and events. We only 
 wish to get the clearest and strongest impression of the 
 feelings with which an object has been contemplated by 
 the artist. It is therefore to the psychological conditions 
 for conveying a feeling -state by help of intellectual 
 mediation that we should look for the explanation of those 
 laws of artistic composition which Vischer and Taine 
 have interpreted in a manner exclusively intellectualistic, 
 and therefore unaesthetic. 
 
 The desire to fix a passing emotional state in order 
 to facilitate either the revival of the same state or its 
 transmission to outsiders by help of intellectual 
 elements with which the feelings have been associated,, 
 is not restricted to the purely artistic mental processes. 
 In religion and in love this endeavour to evade the 
 transience of feeling is especially evident. And here we 
 may observe a selection of the intellectual elements and 
 a mode of treating them, which, although it cannot be
 
 ix THE WORK OF ART 121 
 
 called artistic, is nevertheless somewhat analogous to 
 the selective treatment of nature which takes place in 
 artistic representation. The institutors of religion have 
 all been well aware of the fact that it is not immaterial 
 what kind of ideas and sensations are chosen to embody 
 a feeling. They have understood how impossible it is 
 to impress an emotional state on the mind by the 
 mediation of complex conceptions, which, to be fully 
 apperceived, necessitate a particular activity of the 
 intellectual functions. When seeking a means of 
 conveying and perpetuating their deepest teaching, 
 they have always, more instinctively perhaps than by 
 any process of conscious search, been led to intellectual 
 notions of the simplest possible kind. A single impres- 
 sion of sight, touch, or even of taste, may thus, by 
 artificial association, be made the bearer of an emotional 
 content which could not possibly be conveyed with any- 
 thing like the same fulness by a less concentrated medium. 
 In virtue, therefore, of their very simplicity, the vehicles 
 and symbols of religious ritualism are the most powerful 
 of all means of emotional suggestion. They offer us a 
 simple impression which we can easily embrace with our 
 senses, and by the aid of which we can infuse into our 
 mind a rich complex of all the moods, such as reverence, 
 ecstasy, and awe, which enter in the religious state. 
 
 In its most abnormally exalted developments love may 
 give rise to a fetichistic adoration of objects connected 
 with the beloved which is psychologically analogous 
 .to the cults of religion. And the same tendency to 
 select some single representation or object as vehicle 
 of a psychical state, which is so manifest in the case 
 of these high-strung emotions, may also be noticed in 
 connection with feelings of lower intensity. In all depart- 
 ments of psychical life we may thus find a corroboration
 
 122 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 of the assertion, which was already expressed by 
 Hemsterhuis in his speculations on our desires, which 
 always aim at " un grand nombre d'ide'es dans le plus 
 petit espace de temps possible." x We need only 
 consult our memories for example, of landscapes we 
 have seen to find that the emotional element of the 
 recollection, our admiration, is always closely bound up 
 with some single feature of the impression. We may 
 indeed be able to revive the visual image itself by 
 allowing the mind's eye gradually to pass along all 
 its details. But the subjective feelings in which we 
 appropriated the impression and made it our own will 
 not be resuscitated until we arrive at one particular 
 detail a single tree, or perhaps a figure and con- 
 centrate our attention upon that. The experience of 
 this law of emotional mechanics teaches us to look with 
 a selective attention on everything of which we wish 
 to preserve a vivid remembrance. The more emotional 
 our intuition of a given whole, the greater is always our 
 desire to concentrate it upon a single impression which 
 supports and reconstitutes the original vision. The art 
 of arranging great complexes of intellectual and emotional 
 elements around single focal points, so to speak, may 
 undoubtedly be greatly developed by exercise. But the 
 procedure itself does not presuppose any conscious 
 intention. It occurs almost as an instinctive expedient 
 for escaping the incompatibility between diffused intel- 
 lectual attention and strong feeling. On purely psycho- 
 logical grounds, therefore, we may adopt the aphorism 
 
 1 Hemsterhuis, (Euvres, i. pp. 14-18, 24, 66 (Lettre sur la sculpture, 
 Lettre sur les desirs). A similar thought was applied by Poe to the fundamental 
 principles in poetic composition and has exercised a great influence on recent 
 literary movements. Cf. Poe, Works, vi. pp. 3-6 (The poetic principle). For 
 a further elaboration of this notion cf. Bourget, fitudes et portraits, i. pp. 225, 
 226 ; Hansson, Kaserier i mystik, pp. 140, 141 ; Symons, The Symbolist Move- 
 ment, p. 137 (Stephane Mallarmd).
 
 ix THE WORK OF ART 123 
 
 of Teufelsdrockh : " For the soul, of its own unity, 
 always gives unity to whatever it looks on with love." 
 
 As the artistic representation of nature, according to 
 our view, expressly serves the purpose of perpetuating 
 an emotional state, we should expect to meet with such 
 a unity in every work of descriptive art. And this 
 assumption may be amply corroborated by reference to 
 art-history. We need not go for examples to such 
 extreme schools as that of those modern French painters 
 who endeavour to make every line in their pictures 
 converge towards a point or a sharp angle. Within the 
 domain of universally recognised art we may observe 
 how the artist always tries to create a centre of gravity 
 by accentuating some single feature in the event, the 
 landscape, or the figure which serves as his model. The 
 principle is the same as that of which we avail ourselves 
 when endeavouring to preserve an emotional state in 
 our memory for future enjoyment. But the procedure 
 must necessarily be somewhat changed when the task is 
 added of enabling outsiders to partake of the moods we 
 have experienced. It is not then a matter of indiffer- 
 ence which particular detail of a complex impression we 
 single out as focal, and in which way we arrange the 
 bulk of the impression around this focus. Indeed, any 
 random quality, if it is given prominence and emphasis, 
 may serve as a means of attracting attention to the 
 work. But if one wishes to impart to spectators the 
 exact emotional mood, of which a given fragment of 
 nature acts as a representative, it is not sufficient to 
 attract the attention of the spectators. We must also 
 induce the spectators to look upon the whole of our 
 model from our point of view. Instead of the casual 
 connection by which in our own mind emotional 
 
 1 Carlyle, Sartor Eesartus, p. 180.
 
 124 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 memories may be bound up with some single sensation 
 memory, we must try to introduce a causal connection 
 which persuades the outsider to agree with our choice of 
 the focal quality. The features selected for accentuation 
 are to be made central, not only in the technical, but 
 also in the logical sense. Figuratively speaking, it is 
 not enough that the lines in a picture should converge 
 towards a certain part ; this part must also appear to 
 the spectator as the one in which all other parts have 
 their cause and their explanation. Thus the artistic 
 imitation of nature will necessarily be connected with a 
 search for a predominant quality, and an endeavour to 
 represent this quality as a " faculte mere." The things 
 and events which are selected for the embodiment of a 
 given emotional state become displayed in such a way 
 that their whole being appears to be derived from the 
 one quality which is most suited to represent this 
 emotional state. The imitation is transformed into a 
 construction, or rather reconstruction, by which objective 
 nature is adjusted so as to harmonise with the subjective 
 point of view. 
 
 Such a process of adjusting nature to the require- 
 ments of emotional transmission need not always lead to 
 any definite and concrete work of art. It may also, as 
 an unrealised tendency, accompany our intuition. And 
 it is only by virtue of this creative element that the 
 feeling for nature may be placed on a level with artistic 
 production. If we are to explain, with Richard Wagner, 
 the aesthetic attention of the layman as the result of a 
 natural poetic gift ("Natiirliche Dichtungsgabe "), we 
 cannot possibly as he does base the artistic value of 
 this attention on the fact that it is " concentrating " and 
 " isolating." 1 For so is necessarily every emotional way 
 
 1 Wagner, Ges. Schriften, iv. p. 39 (Oper und Drama).
 
 ix THE WORK OF ART 125 
 
 of looking at things. Artistic treatment of nature, on 
 the other hand, whether abortive or carried to com- 
 pletion, always involves an endeavour to make the 
 concentrated and isolated view acceptable to others. 
 As we cannot explain the creation of concrete works of 
 art without reference to a craving for social expression, 
 so we cannot distinguish the artistic from the non- 
 artistic intuition without assuming a tendency un- 
 conscious and unintentional it may be, but none the less 
 powerful to socialise the emotional content, which is 
 connected with a given intuition. The potential poet or 
 painter, whose embryo work is bound to remain for ever 
 a fact only of his own experience, is seldom apt to 
 realise the purpose of his endeavour ; he is not aware 
 that he is composing a poem or a picture for himself 
 as spectator or audience. Instinctively, however, he 
 pursues in the adjusting of his intuition an end which is 
 essentially similar to that of the actually creating artist. 
 In both these cases of creation the impelling motive is, 
 we believe, an emotional one. And in both cases the 
 creative activity aims at making an emotional mood 
 independent of the accidental and individual conditions 
 under which it originally appeared. Instead of an 
 intuition, the emotional content of which is concentrated 
 in a conventional symbol, comprehensible only to the 
 initiated, or in arbitrary centres of association, significant 
 only for those by whom they have been selected, the 
 artistic imagination tries to construct an intuition which, 
 if embodied in external form, would by its own force 
 impress itself, with all its accompanying emotional ele- 
 ments, upon any spectator. It tends, in short, whether 
 consciously or unconsciously, to perpetuate and to 
 transmit a complex of feeling. 
 
 We may now understand why it is that the artistic
 
 126 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 activity has so often been interpreted in an intellectual- 
 istic spirit. The search for an all-conditioning and all- 
 explaining " facultt^ mere " by the help of which to convey 
 in the most forcible way a representation of things and 
 events, may, of course, easily be taken for an endeavour 
 to discover the real nature of these things and events. 
 And, in point of fact, every artist who has a true and 
 keen eye for nature and life will necessarily light upon 
 qualities which, while affording the most appropriate 
 centre of gravity for his representation, are, also in the 
 intellectualistic sense, explanatory of the subjects re- 
 presented. By making every feature of his model 
 converge towards this selected quality, he may thus 
 produce an imitation which, even if it deviates from the 
 visible reality, may appear truer than this reality itself. 
 In proportion as his representation thus convinces us of 
 its conformity with the actual or essential nature of 
 things, it will, other things being equal, elicit a readier 
 response from the spectator. It is only natural, there- 
 fore, that the very works which have exercised the most 
 powerful influence on mankind should afford apparent 
 support to the views of intellectualistic philosophers. 
 Nor can it be wondered at that critics, in apportioning 
 censure and praise, have attached so great an importance 
 to the degree of exactness with which a work of art 
 represents things or ideas. 
 
 Such an attitude on the part of art-judges becomes 
 the more explicable when one takes into account the 
 historical conditions under which the several forms of 
 descriptive art have developed. Poetic and pictorial 
 representation have both been extensively used for 
 intellectual purposes. And it cannot be expected that 
 the essential aims of artistic activity as they appear to 
 us when we theoretically distinguish this activity from
 
 ix THE WORK OF ART 127 
 
 other forms of life should be clearly comprehended as 
 long as the concrete works serve a non-aesthetic purpose. 
 In proportion, however, as more exact and convenient 
 methods replace the poetic and pictorial means of thought- 
 conveyance, art will become freer to realise its own ends 
 and consequently be judged more and more on its 
 intrinsic merits. As rhythmic form and rhyme gained 
 in distinctly artistic character from the time when the 
 invention of systems of writing relieved them from the 
 mnemonic task of preserving a record of events, so 
 an aesthetic emancipation of the formative arts will 
 necessarily follow as a result of increased efficiency in 
 the mechanical means of recording sights. And in 
 point of fact recent movements in art have already 
 shown us how painting has grown more conscious of its 
 essential aims, from being compelled to give up com- 
 petition with instantaneous photography. 
 
 It is only the most narrow forms, however, of 
 naturalistically imitative art that are thus made super- 
 fluous by scientific inventions. Those artists whose aim 
 is, not to attain the level of nature by servile imitation, 
 but to rival it by idealisation, will always be able to 
 point to their task of representing essential qualities as 
 one which remains for ever a prerogative of artistic 
 production. But there are other signs which make us 
 believe that even this form of intellectualistic purpose 
 will gradually lose importance for creators as well as for 
 spectators. The currents of thought which now prevail 
 are scarcely such as to favour the continuance of 
 professedly or covertly metaphysical doctrines of art. 
 And even if philosophical opinion, which, after all, only 
 has to do with the secondary justification of feelings and 
 impulses, had remained unchanged ever since Hegel's 
 time, the changes which have taken place in the very
 
 128 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP, 
 
 personality of modern man could not but exercise an 
 important influence on the production and estimation 
 of art. 
 
 The intellectualistic illusion that every artistic 
 representation has something to teach us about the 
 essential nature of the things represented, can only arise 
 on condition of there being a certain agreement between 
 the world- view of the artist and that of his public. It 
 presupposes a certain uniformity in the intellectual make 
 of the individual creators and spectators. This con- 
 dition, however, is fulfilled less than ever in modern 
 life. By the influence of the increasing division of 
 labour, characters become more and more differentiated ; 
 and these different characters naturally develop different 
 ways of looking at things. The deviations from actual 
 nature which are to be met with in the work of an 
 individual artist have therefore a poor chance of con- 
 vincing each individual spectator that they are in 
 conformity with essential reality, as he is apt to conceive 
 it from his individual point of view. Instead of the 
 " eternal truths " so often spoken of in earlier aesthetic 
 literature, we now read about the " illusions particulieres " 
 of the several artists. This sceptical attitude would of 
 course exclude all vivid aesthetic life if the motives 
 of artistic production and enjoyment were such as 
 intellectualistic authors declare them to be. It cannot 
 be observed, however, that the changed conceptions of 
 art-activity have exercised any influence on the practice 
 of artists. The same eagerness with which works were 
 created when they were thought to represent the 
 essential nature of things is now displayed by those who 
 are endeavouring to produce works which often do not 
 even pretend to give more than their personal im- 
 pressions. And the critical public has shown itself
 
 ix THE WORK OF ART 129 
 
 ready to adopt a corresponding attitude in estimating 
 the value of artistic manifestations. It no longer lays 
 the chief stress on the intellectualistic requirement that 
 artistic representation should be true to nature. It 
 demands before all that the work of art should give 
 a faithful rendering of the feelings with which the 
 represented fragment of nature has been comprehended 
 by the artist. Sincerity, as involving poetical truthful- 
 ness, thus becomes the chief claim which is set up for a 
 work of modern art. 
 
 It may be objected that the principles of art-criticism 
 which now prevail are too closely bound up with a 
 transient movement to be adduced as proof in a dis- 
 cussion of art in general. When the contemporary 
 current of subjectivism has been succeeded by new 
 schools of art, the claim for objective veracity may 
 again acquire greater importance. We have no desire 
 to contend that such an evolution would be wholly 
 regrettable. It is impossible in estimating works of 
 art to put aside all logical and ethical considerations ; 
 and attachment to truth is too ineradicable an ethical 
 instinct not to influence consciously or unconsciously 
 our aesthetic judgments. But although it is neither 
 possible nor desirable to exclude regard for intellectual- 
 istic elements, it may be theoretically advantageous to 
 emphasise the distinct character of the aesthetic judg- 
 ment. Modern criticism, as it has developed under the 
 influence of modern subjective art, exhibits, we believe, 
 the essentially artistic way of enjoying and estimating 
 art. Although this attitude, owing to different in- 
 fluences, has been now more, now less, strictly maintained 
 in various periods of art history, it has always been 
 adhered to by all who enjoy art for its own sake. 
 
 Whenever we regard a work of art without any second- 
 
 K
 
 130 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 ary motive, we are not concerned with the objective 
 realities which it depicts. We are not interested in 
 the historic Laura whose praises we read in a poem. 
 For all we care she may in reality have been lame, and 
 red-haired, and hump-backed. We are quite contented 
 if we receive a faithful impression of the beauty with 
 which she charmed her poet. 
 
 When it has been proved that the rules governing 
 the artistic adjustment of reality, which have been stated 
 and vindicated on the basis of intellectualistic theories, 
 may be equally well deduced from an emotionalistic 
 interpretation, the argument can easily be extended so 
 as to cover the principles governing the selection of 
 subjects and motives for artistic representation. It is 
 required in the Hegelian aesthetic that every single 
 phenomenon which is represented in a work of art 
 should suggest the presence of a greater and more 
 universal idea. 1 In Goethe's theory of style in art we 
 meet with the same claim which is closely connected 
 with his general philosophy of nature that every 
 individual form or movement should have something 
 to tell us about the world-process. 2 And when Taine 
 tries to lay down a scale of gradation for the relative 
 value of works of art, he assigns the highest place to 
 those works in which the qualities exhibited are, firstly, 
 as remarkable and essential as possible, and in which, 
 secondly, these remarkable and essential qualities have 
 been made as predominant as possible. 3 It can easily 
 be seen that the reasoning which is here applied to the 
 choice between different things is exactly the same 
 
 1 Cf. chap. ii. in the preceding. 
 
 2 Cf. the quotations adduced by Harnack, Die klassische Asthetik, pp. 124, 
 143, 161, 164, 165. Cf. also von Stein, Goethe mid Schiller, Asthetik dcr 
 deutscJien Klassiker, pp. 25, 27. 
 
 3 Taine, De Vid&al dans I'art, pp. 19, 50, 130, 175.
 
 ix THE WORK OF AET 131 
 
 which was used with regard to the different features of 
 the same thing ; and the psychological interpretation 
 is, therefore, also the same in both cases. As the 
 craving for the fullest and most adequate expression of 
 an emotional state influences the artist in his representa- 
 tion of a given fragment of nature or life, so this craving 
 must also influence his selection of the model to be re- 
 presented. Owing to variations in temperament and 
 aesthetic predilections the relative significance of these 
 two aspects may be differently estimated in different 
 art -schools. But the main principle cannot be in- 
 validated by the fact that, for example, in French art 
 and French aesthetic the definiteness is emphasised at 
 the cost, perhaps, of richness, while in English art 
 suggestiveness is often allowed to make up for lack of 
 concentration. 1 A catholic theory must necessarily 
 account for all the varying aesthetic ideals which have 
 influenced artistic production. Although it must be 
 considered as essentially non-aesthetic to contend, as Mr. 
 Ruskin did at one time, that " that art is greatest which 
 conveys to the mind of the spectator by any means 
 whatsoever the greatest number of the greatest ideas," ; 
 it must, on the other hand, be admitted that an indi- 
 vidual thing is adequate as a means of conveying the 
 fulness of feeling only if through this individual thing 
 there can be suggested a multitude of other things 
 recalled and represented. 
 
 Without assuming the philosophical principles from 
 which Taine has derived his theory of the ideal in art, 
 we may therefore understand and accept his scale of 
 gradation of the relative value of works of art. And 
 
 1 For an interesting comparison between French and English ideals of art, 
 compare the aphorisms of Mr. Quilter in Sententice Artis, pp. 7, 121, with the 
 views of Taine, as expressed, for example, in L'icUal da'/is Vart, p. 148. 
 
 2 Cf. Ruskin, Modern Painters, 1, i. ii. 8 ; iii. iv. 3, 21, 24, 28.
 
 132 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 similarly we may interpret in an emotionalistic way all 
 the rules of artistic composition and of conventionalis- 
 ing treatment of nature which have been proposed by 
 intellectualistic authors on aesthetic. The nude figure 
 in painting and sculpture, as well as the simple mytho- 
 logical themes in poetry and literature, will thus for 
 ever retain their pre-eminence as subjects of artistic 
 treatment. But this pre-eminence does not depend for 
 its justification upon the fact that they give us an 
 incarnation of the philosophical notion of the ideal man. 
 It is sufficiently accounted for by their power of con- 
 veying a fuller and richer emotional content than any 
 individually defined motive. Thus it can be explained 
 why even spectators who have almost completely out- 
 grown or, if the expression is preferred, "have fallen 
 away from idealistic ways of thought are nevertheless 
 ready to appreciate the idealistic feeling in the art of 
 Puvis de Chavannes. 
 
 It cannot be denied, however, that those motives 
 which in the Hegelian aesthetic are considered as 
 beautiful par excellence have been relatively neglected 
 in modern art. To some extent this circumstance may 
 be explained by the notion which is gaining more and 
 more ground in the public mind to wit, that in every 
 single phenomenon we may see a resume of the whole 
 process of evolution. For it is evident that a spectator 
 who has once adopted this philosophical way of looking 
 at things may find even a well-represented piece of 
 still-life quite as rich and aesthetically saturated as a 
 painting of the most universal motive. A more im- 
 portant cause, however, is to be found in the fact that 
 modern art, when endeavouring to convey large and 
 full contents by single vehicle-impressions, has learned 
 to avail itself of vehicles which cannot, properly speak-
 
 ix THE WOKK OF AET 133 
 
 ing, be called either typical or representative. In 
 literature especially we may observe that authors dwell 
 with instinctive predilection on the description of scenes 
 and events which open our eyes to large views behind 
 them. It would be impossible to characterise all such 
 favourite motives as beautiful ; it is also often difficult 
 to show that there is any general idea embodied in 
 them. But they have invariably the quality of being 
 emotional centres, in which a multiplicity of feelings 
 and sensations has been united. By this quality they 
 become apt to serve the purposes which are essential 
 to the artistic craving ; and by the same quality they 
 satisfy the requirement of fullest possible enjoyment 
 which is made by the spectator. What we demand of 
 the perfect work of art is to resort to an- often-used 
 image that it shall be as a shell, which we may lift in 
 our hand and bring to our ear, but in which, notwith- 
 standing its smallness, we may hear the roaring and 
 singing of the sea.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 OBJECTIONS AND ANSWERS 
 
 IF the preceding discussion has been to any degree 
 convincing, the reader may perhaps have put to himself 
 a question which has often presented itself to the 
 author why no complete aesthetic system has been 
 based on the psychology of feeling. In recent times 
 some attempts have indeed been made to deduce the 
 aesthetic value of art-works from their emotional con- 
 tent. 1 But we do not know of any comprehensive 
 theory in which all the distinctive features of art had 
 been consistently explained by reference to an emotion- 
 alistic principle. This fact is so much the more 
 remarkable as the importance of feeling has been at 
 least accidentally acknowledged by some of the greatest 
 writers on aesthetic, such as, for instance, Taine and 
 Ruskin. 2 It cannot have been without some reason 
 that these authors have refrained from basing their 
 art-theories on the notion of a craving for expression, 
 which would have provided a clear line of demarca- 
 
 1 Tolstoy, What is Art? Julius Lange, Om Kunstvcerdi. Cf. also the re- 
 marks in Carpenter, Angels' Wings, the poetic theory of Holmes, as set forth in 
 What is Poetry ? and the definition of March, "Evolution and Psychology in 
 Art," Mind, N.S. v. p. 442. 
 
 Taine, Philosophic de I'art, p. 50. For a just appreciation of the part of 
 feeling in art see also De I' ideal dans I'art, p. 152 ; Ruskin, The Laws of Fesole, 
 chap. i. pp. 1-7 ; Modern Painters, iii. iv. i. 13, 14 ; Lectures on Art, pp. 80, 81.
 
 CHAP, x OBJECTIONS AND ANSWEES 135 
 
 tion between aesthetic and non-sesthetic activities, and 
 have instead explained art as an intellectual function, 
 which appears confused alternately with scientific, 
 philosophic, and ethical activity. An attempt to trace 
 the causes of this attitude will contribute to a further 
 elucidation of the emotionalistic theory of art. 
 
 It may be contended with some appearance of truth 
 that as soon as authors, who are themselves artists, 
 have pronounced their opinion on the purposes of their 
 own art, those who are not artists have no call to con- 
 tinue the discussion. But this would be to overlook 
 the fact that the pure artist, as well as the purely 
 artistic activity, must be considered as an abstraction. 
 The bent of Goethe's genius, for example, was perhaps 
 by nature quite as much towards science, particularly 
 philosophy, as towards art. Thus, although an artist 
 may himself lay the chief stress on the intellectual or 
 ethical elements in his work, his opinion should not 
 induce us to give up the purely aesthetic criteria which 
 we need for the theoretical definition of art-production 
 as an activity to itself. 
 
 It is again only natural that intellectualistic 
 elements should occupy the foremost place in the 
 practical art-ideals which artists place before themselves 
 and each other. Technical perfection is the only 
 quality which can be consciously and intentionally 
 aimed at. In works, therefore, which, like Herr Hirth's 
 Physiologic der Kunst, are written from the point of 
 view of the executive artist, this quality has received 
 special attention. 1 For those who teach it or learn it, 
 art must unavoidably appear as being chiefly a power 
 and a skill. But for the theoretical observer it is 
 evident that no kind of technical accomplishment, how- 
 
 1 Hirth, Aufgaben der Kunstphysiologie, pp. 14-16.
 
 136 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 ever wonderful it may be in itself, can impart to a work 
 that purely aesthetic merit, art- value. The differences 
 in the opinions of artists and theorists may therefore to 
 a great extent have their ground in the different aspects 
 of art, differently emphasised by either side to suit its 
 own purposes. 
 
 It may, however, be objected that in the case of 
 many artists and gestheticians it has been more than 
 a negative cause which has deterred them from the 
 emotionalistic interpretation. Goethe's zealous champion- 
 ship of the intellectualistic elements in art was no doubt 
 part of his crusade against prevailing sentimentalism. 1 
 There are many expressions in the aesthetic writings of 
 Schiller which in their exaggeration would appear quite 
 incomprehensible if we did not take into account the 
 polemic position which he maintained towards the 
 romantic currents in art. 2 In more recent times the re- 
 action against the sentimental ideals has given rise to 
 theories which are still more intellectualistic than the 
 maxims of German classicism. By their dislike of that 
 art which exhibits all the personal and most intimate 
 emotions of the artist, the French Parnassians have been 
 led to deny completely the part of feeling in all genuine 
 art ; and the mere existence of such a poetic school may 
 be thought to prove the inadequacy of the interpretation 
 of art which has been put forward in the preceding 
 chapters. 
 
 The noblest expression of the personal pride that 
 compels the artist to conceive his production as a 
 purely intellectual function may be found in Leconte 
 de Lisle's sonnet "Les Montreurs," where the poet 
 
 1 Cf. von Stein, Goethe und Schiller, Asthetik der deutschen Klassiker, 
 p. 32. 
 
 2 Cf. the quotations from Schiller's letters to Goethe, adduced by Harnack 
 in Die klassische JLsthetik der Deutschen, pp. 89-92.
 
 x OBJECTIONS AND ANSWERS 137 
 
 refuses to be a beggar for the gross pity or laughter 
 of the crowd. 
 
 Dans mon orgueil muet, dans ma tombe sans gloire, 
 
 Dusse"-je m'engloutir pour 1'eternite noire, 
 
 Je ne te vendrai pas mon ivresse ou mon mal, 
 
 Je ne livrerai pas ma vie a tes huees, 
 
 Je ne danserai pas sur ton treteau banal 
 
 Avec tes histrions et tes prostituees. 1 
 
 Nothing could indeed be further from our intentions 
 than to enter the lists against the so-called Parnassian 
 ideas. At a time when intimate confessions seem to be 
 the most sought-for things in literature, we have reason 
 to value every appeal to the dignity of the artist. But 
 it is only a confusion of ideas which can lead any one to 
 think that this dignity would be in any way infringed 
 by the adoption of an emotionalistic art-theory. We 
 have been especially anxious not to be misunderstood on 
 this point, and this is the only reason why in the 
 preceding chapters we have taken so much pains to 
 disentangle the psychology of feeling, especially the 
 relation between simple feeling and emotions. The 
 word feeling, as it is used colloquially, generally involves 
 only the fully formed emotions, especially those which 
 are painful. Owing to this narrow and inadequate 
 usage, every one who speaks of the importance of feeling 
 for art exposes himself to the accusation of sentimental- 
 ism. But it is sufficient to point out, with regard to 
 such misconceptions, that even pride, joy, elation, and 
 all the other pleasurable states, may be quite as 
 emotional as any sorrow or melancholy. The poem of 
 Leconte de Lisle, quoted above, may therefore, in spite 
 of all that the author himself may have objected against 
 such an interpretation, be considered as an expression of 
 
 1 Leconte de Lisle, Poemes barbares, p. 221.
 
 138 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 feeling. And we can in the same way point out that 
 in every one of the most orthodox Parnassian poems 
 some emotional state has been expressed by the poet 
 and conveyed to the reader. It is only by virtue of 
 this element that the poems of this school have attained 
 to their high poetical quality. 
 
 Within the department of the pictorial arts want of 
 precision in the use of terms has given rise to a con- 
 fusion which is even greater than that which prevails 
 with regard to poetry. It has been a natural result of 
 intellectualistic views that in every painting the subject, 
 the situation represented, has been considered as the 
 most important element. As the endeavour to give an 
 explanatory representation of external things and events 
 has been assumed as essential to the artistic craving, so 
 the essence of the artistic work, its real content, has 
 been looked for in the things and events depicted. 
 Especially when paintings are designated by a descrip- 
 tive title, spectators will be apt to turn their attention 
 solely to those situations or impressions which can be 
 subsumed under the title. If they cannot find any 
 emotional element in the subject, they declare the whole 
 painting to be devoid of feeling. And for this mis- 
 conception they may even find support in the utterances 
 of the artists ; for there are many painters who, 
 fearing lest they might be confused with the melo- 
 dramatic sensation-mongers, have emphatically pro- 
 nounced their abhorrence of all emotional suggestion. 
 For the unbiassed observer, however, it is evident that 
 the painter's joy over a colour or a nuance, or the 
 melancholy which can be expressed, without any 
 anthropomorphic element, by a mere relation between 
 light and shadow, may be as emotional states as those 
 which are embodied in the humorous or sentimental
 
 x OBJECTIONS AND ANSWERS 139 
 
 subjects of genre -pain ting. Every artistic representa- 
 tion, whether landscape, figure, or still-life, always con- 
 veys to us some emotional mood of the painter. If 
 this feeling element has been conveyed in some pictures 
 with greater distinctness than in others, this fact must 
 not prevent us from acknowledging that it enters into 
 every kind of art. We do not say, therefore, with 
 Professor van Dyke, " Art to Phidias was a matter of 
 form ; to Titian a matter of colour ; to Corot a matter 
 of feeling;" 1 but we say, Art to Phidias was a matter of 
 feeling expressed by form ; to Titian a matter of feeling 
 expressed by colour ; and to Corot a matter of feeling 
 expressed by lights. 
 
 In the essential unity of all feeling we may thus 
 find the point in which all forms of art, notwithstand- 
 ing their different subjects and materials, have their 
 unity. By laying the chief stress on the emotional 
 mood which in every work is conveyed from creator to 
 spectator, we save the trouble of dividing the works 
 into different classes. We need not then assume any 
 peculiar principle of admiration for technical skill to ex- 
 plain the enjoyment of Dutch painting or of Greek sculp- 
 ture. Nor need we put ourselves to the pains of deciding 
 whether the subject or the execution is to be considered 
 more important. The problem of content and form, 
 so much debated throughout intellectualistic aesthetic, 
 does not exist for the emotionalistic interpretation, 
 which sees the essence of art in the feeling embodied, 
 sometimes in a great and important subject, sometimes 
 in some insignificant feature of nature or life. And the 
 element of technical perfection becomes acknowledged 
 in its proper light when interpreted as the indispensable 
 condition for effectually achieving such an embodiment. 
 
 1 Van Dyke, Principles of Art, p. 281.
 
 140 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 It would be impossible, however, to explain as 
 merely a confusion of standpoints the fact that certain 
 schools of art have been considered entirely unemotional. 
 To some extent, no doubt, the deficient appreciation of 
 purely pictorial art is the result of the disastrous in- 
 fluence which has, especially in England, been exercised 
 by prevailing currents of criticism. By systematically 
 diverting the attention of the public from the essential 
 element in painting, the leaders of taste may, no doubt, 
 accomplish great things in deadening the art-sense of 
 nations. But it is scarcely probable that, even if he 
 knew better than to look for a "story" and literary 
 interest in a work of pure painting, the general spectator 
 would be able to enjoy the etat d'dme which is expressed 
 in an interieur of Ver Meer or a landscape of Whistler. 
 To him a painting the whole subject of which is sun- 
 shine, and the figures of which have no mission but 
 that of absorbing or reflecting the light, would appear 
 inane and cold. " Pictorial ideas," which may represent 
 such a wealth of feeling for the initiated, are thus to the 
 artistically uneducated devoid of any emotional content. 
 
 Though emphasising as much as possible the unity 
 of art, we are compelled to admit that the feelings which 
 are conveyed in its higher and lower forms may be 
 essentially different. While meeting in the "lower" 
 art of our own and earlier times with an expression of the 
 most general emotions and instincts which, by the very 
 vehemence of their pathos, may awaken the aversion of 
 the refined critic, we partake, in the higher art-forms, of 
 feelings that can be derived only from a dispassionate 
 contemplation of nature. This difference between higher 
 and lower manifestations, though especially marked 
 in painting, can be observed in all forms of art. We 
 have no wish to deny the necessity of discriminating
 
 x OBJECTIONS AND ANSWERS 141 
 
 between these "aesthetic feelings" of the higher art- 
 forms and the elementary affections, which form the 
 content of the sentimental, or, as the German philo- 
 sophers would say, pathological art. The moods of 
 aesthetic contemplation are, on the contrary, of so great 
 significance that we can easily understand why they 
 have been made the basis of so many systems of art- 
 philosophy. From the point of view of the present 
 work, which does not pretend to lay down a detailed 
 criterion of perfection in art, but which only aims at 
 explaining the most general social and psychological 
 aspects of art-activity, it is necessary to adhere to the 
 element which is common to all art, higher as well as 
 lower, primitive or barbaric as well as civilised. And 
 we can only, in passing, indicate the direction in which 
 we believe an explanation is to be sought for the 
 development of aesthetic attention and refined art-sense 
 those great problems which could be properly treated 
 only in a separate work. 
 
 It has been pointed out by several authors on 
 aesthetic, and even emphasised to excess, that a certain 
 independence of the struggle for life is a condition for 
 the appearance of a higher art. It is indeed a current 
 fallacy that art must be the growth of culture and 
 prosperity. But it is nevertheless incontestable, that 
 the peculiar art-sense, the artistic intuition par ex- 
 cellence, can be developed only in nations and in- 
 dividuals who be it by success in the struggle for life, 
 by advantageous circumstances, or simply by a natural 
 lightheartedness of their own have grown superior to 
 care for life's necessities. This factor, however, is only 
 a negative condition. By itself mere independence of 
 wants could never have taught any one to derive an ever 
 deeper and stronger pleasure from a thing which stands
 
 142 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP.X 
 
 in uo immediate relation to the primary emotions or the 
 primary desires of the beholder or the artist. The 
 aesthetic education of mankind, its growth in artistic re- 
 finement, could not have been accomplished without the 
 influence of more positive factors. 
 
 In looking for such factors we unavoidably come to 
 that datum which has been carefully excluded from the 
 present part of our research, namely, the concrete work 
 of art. Whatever may have been the conditions of 
 their origin, whether utilitarian or not, poems, paint- 
 ings, and sculptures must all have occasioned exercise 
 of that interest and attention which is independent of 
 the most immediate utilitarian interests. Even if poems, 
 for instance, were written with a purpose primarily 
 historical, they must have afforded both to the poet and 
 to his audience the opportunity to consider them as pure 
 works of art. Just as moral feelings have been gradually 
 developed under the influence of actions which may 
 originally have been quite non-ethical, so the refine- 
 ment of aesthetic sense has been promoted by works of 
 art, which may themselves have served entirely non- 
 aesthetic purposes.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE CONCRETE ORIGINS OF ART 
 
 BY explaining the art-impulse as a form of social expres- 
 sion we have accounted for art-creation and art-enjoy- 
 ment as activities which have their end in themselves. 
 The emotionalistic interpretation supplied us with a 
 principle, which we were able to apply to all stages, the 
 lower as well as the higher, of art-development. With- 
 out committing ourselves to any definite statements as 
 to the purely aesthetic and autotelic character of the 
 individual works of art, we felt ourselves to be right in 
 assuming that a desire of " expression for its own sake," 
 or rather for the sake of its immediately enhancing or 
 relieving effects on feeling, may have operated as an 
 art-factor on all stages of culture, and thus have given 
 an autotelic value even to the lowest manifestations of 
 art. The driving force in art-creation became compre- 
 hensible by this assumption ; and the most distinctive 
 features of the creation itself could be deduced from 
 this psychological principle. In attempting, however, 
 to explain the refinement of artistic attention, we could 
 no longer proceed with purely psychical factors. We 
 were compelled to appeal to the influence exercised by 
 the concrete work of art. The psychological demonstra- 
 tion proving inadequate, it was necessary to supplement 
 it by an historical argument.
 
 144 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 It may be thought, however, that in referring to the 
 educative effects of the work of art we need not desert 
 the domain of a strictly aesthetic and psychological in- 
 quiry. There is nothing improbable in the supposition 
 that the products of an activity of themselves influence 
 this activity, so as to bring about gradually a thorough 
 change of its character. From the expressional impulse, 
 which in the lower stages of culture gives rise to crude 
 and simple manifestations, there might thus be derived, 
 by the retroactive effects of these manifestations them- 
 selves, an increasingly refined form of expression. But 
 such a sequence of tendency, however clear and con- 
 sistent it may appear at the outset, cannot possibly be 
 thought of as unsupported by outside influences. The 
 more we examine it, the more we shall find that the 
 series of causes is insufficient to explain the series of 
 effects. This view, to which we are necessarily led by 
 investigating any period of art-history, forces itself upon 
 us with particular cogency when we turn our attention 
 to the earliest stages of art-development. 
 
 Before the first work of art had been created, the 
 art-impulse as well as the art-sense must necessarily 
 have been in a very undeveloped state. The aesthetic 
 cravings cannot possibly have gained any consciousness 
 of their purposes ere they had realised themselves in 
 some objective works. Of these objective works, on the 
 other hand, it is only the simplest forms that can be 
 derived solely from the pure art-impulse. We may 
 consider a lyrical dance, or even a lyrical song, as direct 
 outbursts of an emotional pressure, which, if unrelieved, 
 would prove dangerous to the system. But we can 
 scarcely imagine that any human being should be able 
 to invent, say, a fully formed drama simply in order to 
 convey in the most efficacious manner the feeling by
 
 xi THE CONCRETE ORIGINS OF ART 145 
 
 which he is dominated. And it is yet more difficult to 
 understand how the craving after social expression could 
 have created, merely for its own satisfaction, such highly 
 developed art-forms as painting and sculpture. While 
 we are able to derive the mental compulsion which 
 forces the artist to production, and the aesthetic 
 qualities which give their distinctive character to his 
 productions from the psychological notion of the art- 
 impulse, we are compelled to look elsewhere for the 
 origin and development of the concrete technical 
 medium of which he avails himself in fulfilling his 
 purpose. 
 
 As in this investigation we are no longer concerned 
 with the abstract and ideal work of art, it seems that 
 we may now reasonably appeal to those theories which 
 we before found inadequate only because they did not 
 account for the purely aesthetic qualities of artistic 
 activity. The play-impulse, the impulse to attract by 
 pleasing, the imitative impulse, etc., although they give 
 us no information as to the essentially artistic criterion, 
 may nevertheless have called into existence works and 
 manifestations which fulfil the requirements of the 
 several art-forms. Man may have composed dramas, 
 may have painted pictures, may have made poems, in 
 play, or out of the desire to please, or out of the 
 inborn taste for mimicry. In particular the play- 
 impulse must, as we have already admitted in the 
 first part of this work, be dealt with as a factor of 
 incalculable importance in the history of art. In his 
 conclusive researches on animal and human play Pro- 
 fessor Groos has succeeded in showing that the chief 
 classes of art-forms are already foreshadowed in the 
 various forms of experimentation that most general 
 and most important kind of play which can be observed
 
 146 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 not only among children, but even among the higher 
 animals. 1 In the outcome of this simple and common 
 activity we have, it may be said, a sufficient bulk of 
 raw material of which the art-impulse, when once fully 
 developed, can avail itself in order to fulfil its own 
 essentially artistic purposes. And it would therefore 
 seem as if there were no further problem to be solved 
 with regard to the evolution of art. 
 
 Adherents of this view may, moreover, point to 
 the fact that, apart from all the motive factors 
 represented by the various non-aesthetic impulses, the 
 development of art has been favoured by influences 
 of a more passive or static character. It has evidently 
 been of vital importance to the evolution of archi- 
 tecture and decoration that things of useful nature 
 have provided these arts with a kind of concrete 
 frame within which to display their manifestations. 
 The effects of this material condition are so much 
 the greater because with his constitutional con- 
 servatism man whether civilised or primitive 
 always allows himself to be bound by old forms long 
 after he has relinquished the technical procedures which 
 have originally called these forms into existence. By the 
 scientific " biological " researches on decorative art it has 
 been conclusively shown how great a portion of the orna- 
 mental "store" consists of lines and combinations of 
 lines which have quite automatically been borrowed 
 from an earlier technique. Decorative motives, which 
 to the uninitiated observer appear as products of 
 spontaneous artistic activity, thus reveal themselves to 
 the historical student as unintentional by-products of 
 work. Where earlier investigators assumed an aesthetic 
 composition, modern researches refer to the force of 
 
 1 Groos, The Play of Animals, pp. 327, 328.
 
 xi THE CONCRETE ORIGINS OF ART 147 
 
 mental inertia and the cravings of expectant atten- 
 tion. 1 
 
 There is no intention here to undervalue the methods 
 which are nowadays employed in the study of decorative 
 art, and which, indeed, the writer himself has endeavoured 
 to apply in some earlier studies on art-theory. In the 
 present research, however, it would be inappropriate to 
 trace in detail the evolution by which forms originating 
 in mere utility as in basket-work are gradually 
 transformed into patterns or other artistic decorations ; 
 for this process, however fertile in effects it may be 
 considered, cannot account for that phenomenon which, 
 above all, constitutes the main object of our investigation. 
 Although the psychical causes adduced above undeni- 
 ably have called into existence some of the most 
 familiar ideas in decoration, they cannot possibly 
 explain the importance which decoration itself has 
 attained in the various human societies. And the same 
 remark evidently applies to all the other psychological 
 sources from which art may be derived. The play- 
 impulse, for example, no doubt suggests a concrete source, 
 but it can in no way explain the important position 
 which art occupies as a leading factor in social life. In 
 order to understand why even in the lowest stages of 
 development art has been acknowledged as a purpose 
 worthy of being seriously pursued, we must investigate 
 this activity in its connection with the most important 
 biological and sociological purposes of life. 
 
 We propose in the following chapters to examine the 
 most powerful non-aesthetic factors that have favoured 
 the origin and development of the several art-forms. 
 
 1 Cf. especially March, "Evolution and Psychology in Art," in Mind, N.S. 
 v. (1896) ; Balfour, The Evolution of Decorative Art ; Haddon, Evolution in Art, 
 and the papers of Holmes in Rep. Bur. Ethn. iii. iv. vi., and in The Ameri- 
 can Anthropologist, iii.
 
 148 THE OKIGINS OF AET CHAP.XI 
 
 And while we are keeping in view especially such 
 utilitarian requirements as those of intellectual in- 
 formation, of stimulation for work or war, of sexual 
 propitiation or of magic efficiency, we shall be compelled 
 to leave out of consideration all distinctively aesthetic 
 factors and conditions. Accordingly we shall not be 
 able to maintain in this historical and ethnological 
 inquiry the strictest aesthetic distinctions. But we 
 hope that the unavoidable vagueness in our terminology 
 will not obscure those limitations and demarcations 
 which have perhaps even too laboriously been 
 laid down in the first part of this work. To preserve 
 consistency between our inquiries into the abstract and 
 the concrete origins of art, it need only be stated, once 
 and for all, that the several works and manifestations, 
 as they are to be treated hereafter, are, strictly speaking, 
 only the raw material of art, if art is to be considered 
 in the purest sense as an autotelic activity.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 ART AND INFORMATION 
 
 IT is well known that, in the earlier classical times, 
 philosophy, history, and science were inseparably 
 connected with poetry. And it is as familiar a truth 
 that pictographs and ideograms were used for writing 
 before phonetic signs had been invented. But it is not 
 enough to recall that poetry and the arts of design have 
 in this way been serving the requirements of intellectual 
 information ; it can also be shown that among primitive 
 tribes every one of the lower art-forms the dance, the 
 pantomime, and even the ornament has been of great 
 importance as a means of interchanging thoughts. 
 
 When attempting in this chapter to take a cursory 
 survey of the various art-forms as used for purely 
 intellectual purposes, we find it most advantageous to 
 start with the dramatic examples. It is true that the 
 art of the theatre, in the modern sense of the word, 
 must be considered as a late, perhaps even as the 
 very latest, result of artistic evolution. A literary 
 drama, which fulfils all the claims of a work of art, is 
 possible only on a highly advanced level of culture, and 
 it has consequently by most authors on aesthetic been 
 considered as the latest of all art-forms. 1 When dealing, 
 however, with the productions of primitive tribes, we 
 
 1 For a recent defence of this theory see Tarde, La loyique socialc, pp. 445, 446.
 
 150 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 have to adopt a lower aesthetic standard. Although we 
 do not meet with any tragedies, nor even with any 
 real comedies,, at this stage of evolution, we can at 
 least point to the fact that simple farces, pantomimes, 
 and pantomimic dances are to be found among tribes 
 which have so far been unable to create any kind of 
 epics, and whose lyrical poetry is restricted to a few 
 rhythmical phrases with no intrinsic meaning. And if 
 we use the word in its widest sense, so as to include 
 every representation by action, drama can be spoken of 
 as the very earliest of all the imitative arts. It was 
 certainly in use long before the invention of writing, 
 either by pictures or letters ; perhaps it is even older 
 than language itself. As an outward sign of thought, 
 action is more immediate than words. Dramatic 
 communication does not even presuppose any conscious 
 intention nor any common consent. It may appear on 
 the side of the " speaker " as the unchecked result of the 
 " Einhaltsstreben," the universal impulse to put into 
 gesture any idea of action which is distinctly conceived 
 for instance to clench the fist at the thought of 
 striking and it may be comprehended without any 
 effort by the audience, which by unconscious imitation 
 partakes of the communicated thoughts. 1 Such panto- 
 mimic forms of intellectual exchange seldom indeed 
 occur in civilised life. The "Einhaltsstreben" in a 
 civilised man is generally lost during the transfer from 
 thought to word. Pantomimic display, which involves 
 an unnecessary waste of force and time, was doomed to 
 disappearance with the growing development of con- 
 ventional language. Moreover, the rules of propriety 
 tend to confine, at least in educated society, the language 
 of the body within as narrow limits as possible. But as 
 
 1 Cf. chap. vi. in the preceding.
 
 xii AKT AND INFORMATION 151 
 
 soon as, by pathological influences, these conditions are 
 annulled, even civilised man necessarily falls back upon 
 pantomimic language. In the extreme forms of aphasia 
 we may thus observe how strong the mimetic impulse is 
 when unchecked. There is the more reason to consider 
 these pathological instances as in some degree typical of 
 the primeval methods of communication, as it is only by 
 assuming an earlier system of impulsive, self-interpreting 
 signs that we can explain the subsequent development 
 of conventional word or gesture-language. 1 
 
 We cannot, however, argue from cases of mental 
 disturbance as to the original language of primitive 
 man. For example, even if aphasia could be considered 
 as a case of atavism, 2 we could scarcely compare the 
 mimic capabilities of modern man with those of the 
 unknown, wordless being whose system of expressive 
 signs, although he were compelled to rely exclusively 
 upon it, cannot possibly have been brought to any 
 great degree of perfection. Illustrations from deaf- 
 mutes and from the isolated specimens of " homo 
 sapiens ferus" Mr. Kipling's Mowgli are for the 
 same reason inadequate. 3 As long as ethnology is 
 
 1 Cf. Mallery in Rep. Bur. Ethn. i. pp. 283, 284, 347 ; Sayce, Introd. to the 
 Science of Language, i. pp. 92-94, 105-107 ; ii. pp. 306-308. It is to be 
 remarked that in maintaining the priority of pantomimic language Mr. Mallery 
 always emphasises the ' ' instinctive " character of this means of communication. 
 Cp. Rep. Bur. i. pp. 340, 347. Professor Sayce seems to conceive gesture- 
 language as consisting only of dramatically imitating "moves" or sounds, (I.e. i. 
 p. 107). Professor Tylor, on the other hand, who takes up a critical position 
 with regard to the theory of gesture-language as an intermediate stage of evolu- 
 tion, speaks of gesture-language as made up by delineations and indications 
 (Early Hist, of Mankind, pp. 15, 16). In a theoretical discussion it is evidently 
 necessary to maintain a strict distinction between these different kinds of 
 pantomimic thought-conveyance, which are no doubt accompanied by different 
 degrees of intention. Cp. Romanes, Mental Evol. in Man, pp. 86, 103. 
 
 2 Cf. Kussmaul in Ziemssen's Cyclopcedia, p. 14, esp. p. 587 (Disturbances 
 of Speech.) 
 
 3 Cf. Romanes, I.e. pp. 113, 148, 149, on the influence exercised by the con- 
 structions of spoken language on the gesture-language of deaf-mutes.
 
 152 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 ignorant of any wordless tribes, our notions as to the 
 assumed dramatic language rest entirely upon psycho- 
 logical deductions. 1 But the probability of these 
 deductions is, more or less, supported by what we know 
 about the lowest tribes now existing. It is true that 
 the information on this point is even more inconsistent 
 than is usual in ethnological evidence. But although 
 due allowance must be made for the errors into which 
 a deficient knowledge of the primitive custom and 
 languages has led the various authors, there will 
 nevertheless remain a sufficient body of facts proving 
 the important part which pantomimic communication 
 plays in the lower stages of mental evolution. Bushmen, 
 Australians, and Eskimos show us a highly developed 
 dramatic language. 2 In some parts of Australia it has 
 been noticed that the store of gestures is richest among 
 tribes which have enjoyed the least contact with 
 Europeans. 3 And a further ground for considering this 
 mode of thought-conveyance as old and primitive is 
 afforded by the fact that, according to Mr. "W. E. Eoth, 
 its "use is strictly enforced on certain special occasions, 
 
 1 Cf. Tylor, I.e. pp. 74-79, on the improbability of the stories about tribes 
 who cannot make themselves understood by each other without the help of 
 gestures. Dr. Tylor's criticism of Captain Burton's statement that the Aropahos 
 " can hardly converse with one another in the dark " has been amply confirmed 
 by the subsequent researches of Mallery. Cf. Rep. Bur. Ethn. i. pp. 314, 315. 
 Naturally, therefore, one feels inclined to adopt a sceptical attitude with regard 
 to Miss Kingsley's assertion that the language of the Bubis "depends so much 
 on gesture that they cannot talk in it to each other in the dark " ( Travels in 
 West Africa, p. 439). Cf., however, with regard to the element of gesture in 
 West African languages, Kingsley, West African Studies, p. 237. 
 
 2 Wood, Nat. Hist, of Man, i. p. 266 (Bushmen) ; Cranz, Historic von 
 Gronland, i. p. 279. As to the Australians the statements are somewhat 
 contradictory. Mr. Curr (The Australian Race, i. p. 93) says that "some tribes 
 express a few things by signs made with their hands ; but, on the whole, the 
 Australian is very little given to gesticulation. " This statement, however, has 
 been expressly encountered by Mr. Stirling, who describes & very extensive 
 system of signs. Hep. Horn Exped. iv. Anthropology, pp. 111-125. Cf. also 
 Spencer and Gillen, Native Tribes, p. 500. 
 
 3 Stirling, I.e. p. 112.
 
 xii ART AND INFORMATION 153 
 
 such as some of the initiation ceremonies." 1 Mr. Fraser 
 also believes that gesture-language is taught at the 
 Bora ceremonies. 2 
 
 It would, however, be presumption to see in e very- 
 instance of dramatic thought- communication a rudiment 
 of an old and primitive language. There are many 
 causes which favour the adaptation and elaboration of 
 mimic language even after a system of phonetic signs 
 has been established. In a passage which has already 
 been quoted Mr. Roth observes that pantomimic 
 ideograms must be very advantageous " on the war-path 
 or the chase, where silence is so essential an adjunct to 
 success." 3 Another reason still more important is the 
 fact that pantomimic action can be understood by 
 people who speak different languages. Among civilised 
 nations we may find many instances of the high state of 
 development which gesture-language has attained in 
 border countries where different peoples must necessarily 
 often meet. 4 And it is significant that among primitive 
 tribes gestures and motions are nowhere so full of 
 significance and intellectual expressiveness as on the 
 plains of Australia, 5 among the savages in the interior 
 parts of Brazil, and on the great prairies of North 
 America, 7 in a word, in countries where the breaking 
 
 1 Both, W. E., N. W.C. Queensland Aborigines, pp. 71 sq. 
 
 2 Fraser, Aborigines of New South Wales, p. 25. 
 
 3 Roth, W. E., N.W.C. Queensland, p. 71. Of. a remark in the same 
 direction by Mallery, Rep. Bur. Ethn. i. p. 312. 
 
 4 See Tylor, Primitive Culture, i. p. 187 ; Mallery, I.e. pp. 295, 307 ; Sayce, 
 Introd. Science of Lang. i. p. 93. Compare also the classic instance of Sicily, 
 meeting-ground of so many peoples. 
 
 5 Fraser, Aborigines of New South Wales, p. 25 ; Roth, I.e. p. 71. 
 
 6 Steinen, Unter den Naturvolkern Central-Brasiliens, p. 72 ; Mallery, I.e. 
 p. 307. 
 
 7 Mallery, I.e. pp. 311, 312. That the gesture - language of the North 
 American Indians is to be explained as a result of peculiar geographical con- 
 ditions was remarked already by Dugald Stewart, Elements of the Philosophy of the 
 Human Mind, iii. pp. 19-22.
 
 154 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 up of a nation into small vagrant tribes has been the 
 cause of an extreme dialectical disseverance. Under 
 these conditions, however, the impulsive, self-interpreting 
 pantomime is apt to develop gradually into an elaborate 
 system of conventional signs. The gesture-language of 
 the North American Indians, for example, which consists 
 almost entirely of abbreviated "moves" of indication and 
 delineation, is no doubt eminently adapted to fulfil the 
 practical requirements of comprehensibility and explicit- 
 ness. But it has not much to do with dramatic art in 
 any sense of the word. 
 
 Of a more immediate importance for art-history are 
 the pantomimics which accompany public speaking. In 
 a state of society where every member is entitled to 
 take part in the common deliberations, oral language 
 will often prove an inadequate vehicle of thought. 
 Only through displaying his speech in action is the 
 chief or the priest capable of making its purport 
 comprehensible to the large audiences at a popular 
 meeting. Rhetoric, therefore, is still among many 
 primitive tribes what it used to be in classical antiquity 
 a dramatic as well as a literary art. 1 
 
 A pantomime will, of course, by virtue of its greater 
 vividness, convey its content of thoughts and feelings 
 with a far greater efficiency than a merely spoken oration. 
 It may, when especially infectious, induce the audience 
 to join in it as a dramatic chorus. And even when the 
 imitation which it calls forth remains purely internal, 
 this imitation, nevertheless, enables the spectators to 
 appropriate the text of the acted oration in a way which 
 is deeper and far more complete than could ever be 
 possible with regard to an oral speech. As a natural 
 
 1 Cp. the interesting descriptions of Maori political meetings in Earle, New 
 Zealand, p. 91 ; Shortland, Traditions of the New Zealanders, p. 171.
 
 xii ART AND INFORMATION 155 
 
 sign of emotion pantomimic language opens, as Home 
 would say in his quaint way, " a direct avenue to our 
 heart." l It is no wonder, therefore, that dramatic 
 performances on all but the highest stages of culture 
 have been used for political agitation as well as for 
 religious edification. 2 
 
 We shall in the following pages, when treating of 
 the religious and political aspects of art, obtain a fitting 
 opportunity of examining these forms of drama. In the 
 present connection we need only refer to them as means 
 of further emphasising the utilitarian aspect of mimic 
 representation in the intercourse between savages. 
 After having realised how on the lower stages of culture 
 practical advantages as well as social and religious con- 
 siderations concur in favouring the development of 
 this early language, we may understand the surprisingly 
 high dramatic ability of primitive peoples. But while 
 psychological as well as sociological reasons thus confirm 
 us in considering dramatic action as the earliest means 
 of conveying intellectual information, we are nevertheless 
 compelled to admit that even in primitive stages the 
 other art-forms also may have served this purpose. In 
 reality it is impossible to draw any sharp distinction 
 between dumb-drama and primitive poetry. The panto- 
 mimic performance will in most cases spontaneously 
 supplement itself with a recital, spoken or sung. In 
 the simple representations therefore of real occurrences 
 which characterise the lowest forms of narrative art 
 these two means of intellectual expression generally 
 appear together. 
 
 And in this connection one will also meet with an 
 
 1 Home, Elements of Criticism, i. p. 435. 
 
 2 For an appreciation of pantomimic action as means of conveying religious 
 feelings see Mr. Tylor's description of the service in the deaf-dumb institution 
 of Berlin, Early History of Mankind, p. 33.
 
 156 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 early manifestation of pictorial art in the form of an 
 extempore design, which serves to bring out more fully 
 and clearly the content of the recital. The transition 
 from a delineative gesture to a contour-design is indeed 
 so direct and easy that it must have ta,ken place 
 even among tribes on a very low plane of culture. In 
 some instances we can distinctly see how the one art 
 grows out of the other. Mr. Mallery has described a 
 dialogue between some Alaskan Indians, in which the 
 left hand is used as an imaginary drawing board upon 
 which lines are drawn with the index finger of the right 
 hand. 1 Herr von Steinen has observed that the natives 
 in Central Brazil, as soon as the gestures prove in- 
 sufficient for conveying an idea, fashion an explanatory 
 design in the sand. 2 These designs are only a projection 
 on a different surface of the hand -movements with 
 which in their pantomimic language they describe the 
 outlines of the objects in the air. One is tempted, 
 therefore, to find in these transferred gestures the origin 
 of pictorial art. And such an hypothesis seems the 
 more probable as in some tribes particularly among 
 the North American Indians the picture -signs for 
 denoting things and phenomena have evidently been 
 derived from the corresponding gesture- signs. 3 But it 
 is, as Professor Groos cautiously remarks, difficult to 
 know whether any primitive man could ever have 
 thought of delineating the contours of an object had he 
 not beforehand possessed some idea of drawing. 4 With- 
 
 1 Mallery in Rep. Bur. Ethnol. i. p. 370. 
 
 2 Von den Steinen, Unter den Naturvolkern Central-Brasiliens, p. 244. 
 
 3 Mallery in Rep. Bur. Ethnol. i. p. 370. Cf. also Mallery, I.e. x. (1888-89), 
 (Picture-writing of the N.A. Indians). That the pictographic elements to a 
 large extent have been influenced by the manual signs was remarked already in 
 1836 by Rafinesque. Cf. Brinton, The Lenape, p. 152, where the merits and the 
 priority of this peculiar author are vindicated. 
 
 4 Groos, Die Spiele dcr Menschen, p. 406.
 
 xii ART AND INFORMATION 157 
 
 out endeavouring to solve this question of origins, it is 
 sufficient for our purpose to state that a kind of extem- 
 pore design, almost as spontaneous and fugitive as the 
 dramatic art, appears together with the mimic and 
 poetic representations. And we have now only to 
 devote our attention to these various means of informa- 
 tion in so far as they may give rise to a manifestation 
 of art, while serving the purely intellectual purpose of 
 conveying or elucidating a thought- content. 
 
 It is only natural that the requirements of practical 
 life should call into existence various kinds of mimic, 
 pictorial, or literary information which have little 
 whatever to do with art, even if this notion is con- 
 ceived in its widest sense. There is no reason for us 
 to delay our argument by enumerating pantomimics, 
 gestures, or paintings which aim at communicating 
 notices of trivial importance, such as directions about the 
 way to be taken by travellers, warnings with regard to 
 dangerous passages, etc. 1 Even as a purely technical 
 product a work is of little interest as long as its subject 
 is so poor and insignificant. We feel justified, therefore, 
 in restricting our attention to such manifestations as 
 present in their contents some degree of coherence and 
 continuity. 
 
 The simplest examples of purely narrative art which 
 fulfil the technical claims of a complete work will of 
 course appear when the text of the narration consists of 
 some real occurrence which is represented with all its 
 episodes and incidents. Primitive life affords many 
 inducements to such relation. The men who have 
 returned from war, or from a hunting or a fishing 
 expedition, will thus often repeat their experiences in 
 
 1 For examples of pictorial art subservient to such purely practical purposes 
 see Mallery, I.e. x. pp. 329-375.
 
 158 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 a dramatic dance performed before the women and 
 children at home. Although in many cases there is 
 reason to suppose that even these performances may 
 be executed to satisfy some superstitious or religious 
 motive, they have undoubtedly, to a certain extent, 
 been prompted by the desire to revive and communi- 
 cate the memories of eventful days. Other incidents 
 that have made a strong impression upon the minds of 
 the people are in the same way displayed in panto- 
 mimic action. It is sufficient here to refer to the 
 elaborate dramas " Coming from Town " performed by 
 Macusi children, in which all the episodes of a journey 
 are reproduced with the utmost possible exactness, 1 to 
 the Corrobberrees in Queensland, in which incidents of 
 individual or tribal interests, such as hunting or war 
 adventures, but only those of recent occurrence, are 
 enacted, 2 and to the performance in a Wanyoro village, 
 where M. de Bellefond's behaviour during a recent 
 battle was closely imitated. 3 At the dramatic enter- 
 tainment held before some members of Captain Cook's 
 expedition an elopement scene which had in reality 
 taken place some time previously was performed in 
 the presence of the runaway girl herself. The play is 
 said to have made a very strong impression upon the 
 poor girl, who could hardly refrain from tears when she 
 saw her own escapade thus reproduced. 4 The imitation 
 of the real action was in this case evidently designed 
 
 1 Im Thurn, Primitive Games, pp. 273, 275. 
 
 2 Roth, N.W.C. Queensland Aborigines, pp. 117, 118. Oldfield ("The 
 Aborigines of Australia," in Trans. Ethnol. Soc. N.S. iii. p. 257) describes a 
 Watchandie pantomime, imitating the proceedings of the white man in hunting 
 whales, and composed by an old native who had some time before visited the 
 coast. 
 
 3 Wilson and Felkin, Uganda, ii. p. 45. For imitations of the white man 
 in dramatic dances see also Lander, Clapperton's Last Expedition, i. pp. 120, 121 ; 
 Cook, Voyage Towards the South Pole (2 Voy.), i. p. 368. 
 
 4 Cook, Voyage Towards the South Pole (2 Voy.), i. p. 356 (Huaheine).
 
 xii AET AND INFORMATION 159 
 
 as punishment for the guilty spectator ; and as the 
 piece concluded with a scene representing the girl's 
 return to her friends and the unfavourable reception 
 she met with from them, it tended no doubt to exercise 
 a salutary influence. 
 
 This naive little interlude, with its satirical and 
 moralising vein, naturally reminds us of those old farces 
 which candidly defined themselves as adaptations of 
 some " scandale du quartier." 
 
 La elle fut executde 
 
 Icy vous est represent^. 1 
 
 The wordless pantomimes and dramatic dances of the 
 modern savages give us no information of this kind. 
 But there is no doubt that a closer investigation would 
 reveal that a great number of the comical and heroical 
 episodes which, are described in ethnological literature 
 have had their prototypes in some incidents of recent 
 occurrence. 
 
 This opinion can only be corroborated by extending 
 our investigation to the other departments of narrative 
 art. Whatever other merits one might discover in 
 primitive poetry, its strength does certainly not lie in 
 invention. When the songs contain any narrative 
 element at all, it refers to some simple experience of 
 the day. Travel, hunting, and war afford the themes 
 for the simplest epical poems as well as for the most 
 primitive dramatic recitals. 2 And any event of unusual 
 
 1 Levertin, Pars och farsorer, p. 78, especially the quotation from Chappuy's 
 "L'avare cornu" (1580). 
 
 2 For songs describing the incidents in a travel see Batchelor, The Ainu, 
 pp. 123, 124 ; Chamisso, in Kotzebue's Reisen, iii. p. 67 (Radack) ; Woods, Native 
 Tribes, pp. 38, 39 (Taplin, "The Narrinyeri ") ; Grey, Journals, ii. p. 253; 
 Polack, New Zealanders, ii. pp. 167, 168. On current events as subjects of 
 primitive poetry cf. Bonwick, Tasmanians, p. 29 ; Kingsley, Travels, p. 66, 
 (Bubis) ; Curr, Australian Race, iii. p. 169 (Mathew, Alary River Natives); 
 Metz, Neilgherry Hills, p. 30 (Todas) ; Ahlqvist, Ada Soc. Sclent. Fenn. xiv.
 
 160 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 occurrence will of course be made use of by the poets. 
 Travellers who have learned to understand the languages 
 of the natives they sojourn with have often observed 
 that their own persons have been described in im- 
 promptu songs. 1 Sometimes these songs have a satirical 
 tendency; 2 sometimes they are composed as glorifications 
 of tke white man. 3 But there is no need to assume 
 either of these tendencies in every case. The mere fact 
 of his being a strange and new thing qualifies the 
 European as a fitting subject for the primitive drama 
 and poetry. And on the same grounds all the marvels 
 of civilisation the rifles, steamers and so on will often 
 be described in poetry. 4 In the savage mind these 
 unknown facts will easily give rise to the most mar- 
 vellous interpretations. For an instance of such 
 apparently fantastic products of poetic imagination, 
 which in reality have their origin in an unavoidable 
 misconstruction of an unknown reality, we need only 
 refer to the description of Captain Cook's ships in the 
 Hawaii song, which has been taken down by M. de 
 Varigny. The ships themselves are spoken of as great 
 islands, their masts are trees, the sailors are gods, who 
 drink blood (i.e. claret), and eat fire and smoke through 
 
 p. 303-305 ("Wogulen und Ostjaken"); Day, Proceedings of the As. Soc. 
 1870, p. 157 (Observ. on. the Andamanese) ; Ehrenreich in Zeitschrift fur 
 Ethnologic, xix. p. 32 (Botokudos) ; Erman, Travels in Siberia, ii. pp. 42, 43 
 (Ostyak songs and pantomimes). 
 
 1 Cf. Bomvick, Daily Life and Origin of the Tasmanians, p. 29 ; Lenz, 
 Skizzen aus West Afrika, pp. 110, 111 (Abongos) ; Schneider, Die Natur- 
 volker, ii. p. 235, 236 (Interior Africa). 
 
 2 Cf. Eyre, Expeditions into Central Australia, ii. p. 240 ; Cruickshank, 
 Eighteen Years on the Gold Coast, ii. p. 266. 
 
 3 St. John, Far East, i. p. 114 (Kayans of Baram) ; Petherick, Egypt, 
 p. 130 (Hassanyeh Arabs) ; Mollien, Travels, p. 74 (Joloffs). 
 
 4 Woods, I.e. pp. 38, 39 (Taplin, "The Narrinyeri "). Cf. the solos in the 
 Atiu canoe-song, describing the guns of Captain Cook. Gill, From Darkness to 
 Light, p. 263. On the song of the Marshall Islanders describing the ships of 
 the Russian expedition, the dresses of the sailors, etc., see Bienzi, Oceanic, ii. 
 p. 196.
 
 xii ART AND INFORMATION 161 
 
 long tubes (i.e. pipes), and carry about things which 
 they keep in holes in their flanks. 1 It is but natural to 
 assume that if researches on the origins of the subjects 
 were possible the seeming richness of invention in 
 many similar poems could be accounted for by the 
 deficient observation and the faults of memory in un- 
 educated man. And by such researches the importance 
 of actual experience would be substantiated even with 
 regard to the art of barbaric nations. As to the 
 songs of the lower savages, to which we have to 
 restrict our attention at present, it is, as shown by the 
 above adduced examples, unnecessary to appeal to this 
 explanation. 
 
 Not less ephemeral than the literary subjects are 
 the motives of primitive pictorial art. In Herr von den 
 Steinen's account of the Xingu tribes we can find some 
 most typical examples of such explanatory designs by 
 which the poetic and dramatic recitals of battles, travels, 
 etc., are supplemented. 2 Owing to their fugitive char- 
 acter these simple manifestations can never be reduced 
 to a scientific account. But there is reason to believe 
 that in all parts of the world pictures have been drawn 
 in the air or in the sand, of which there remain no more 
 trace than of the gesture that is over or of the unwritten 
 poem that is forgotten. 
 
 It is evident, however, that in some instances at 
 least there have remained traces of these ephemeral 
 narrations. The picture might have been drawn on 
 some piece of bark or cloth instead of on the sand, the 
 pantomime might have been repeated even after its 
 
 1 Varigny, Quatorze ans aux lies Sandwich, pp. 18-23, particularly p. 19. 
 A short reference to the same song can be found in Fornander, The Polynesian 
 Race, ii. p. 171. 
 
 2 Steinen, Unter den Naturvolkern, pp. 244 sq., 248, 249. 
 
 M
 
 162 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 subject had lost its actuality, or the text remembered 
 after it had served its immediate purpose in the narra- 
 tion. The fugitive recital, whether pictorial, mimic, or 
 oral, which lives only for the moment might in this way 
 have become a permanent work, conveying the contents 
 of the narrative to future times. One would think that 
 as soon as such a means of preserving a record of past 
 events had been, intentionally or accidentally, dis- 
 covered, it would have immediately been turned to 
 account. There is, after all, but one step between the 
 impromptu dance or poem, which tells of a recent 
 occurrence, and the work of art, which forwards the 
 memory of the same occurrence to consecutive genera- 
 tions. 
 
 Ethnological science shows, however, that this dis- 
 tinction is by no means a theoretical one only. There 
 are tribes amongst the lower savages in which the 
 pantomimes and dances refer only to the most recent 
 events. And if amongst these tribes some pictures or 
 some dances have been preserved from older times, they 
 appear to be quite isolated exceptions, the presence of 
 which one is tempted to attribute to accident rather 
 than design. It is only when we look to a higher 
 degree of culture that we find a commemorative art, in 
 the true sense of the word, appearing. 
 
 From the point of view of comparative psychology 
 this fact is easily explained. The distance between an 
 impromptu recital of a recent occurrence and historical 
 art and literature, as we understand them to-day, how- 
 ever short it may appear, covers perhaps the most 
 momentous progress that man has made in his advance- 
 ment towards culture. Whether commemorative art is 
 to be considered as retrospective with regard to some- 
 thing that is past, the memory of which it endeavours
 
 xii AET AND INFORMATION 163 
 
 to revive, or as directed towards future generations 
 whom the artist would wish to make participators of 
 the present, it presupposes a power of conferring atten- 
 tion upon matters the interest in which is not confined 
 to the immediate present. No psychologist would in- 
 clude this faculty among the attributes of those in 
 the lowest stage of mental development. Ethnological 
 science, on the other hand, shows that it is as yet lacking 
 in some of the existing tribes of the lower savages. In 
 an aesthetic research it is of the highest importance to 
 know exactly when and where this attribute appears. 
 In the general history of art no date can be more 
 significant than that which marks the commencement of 
 a larger conception in the mind of the artist of the public 
 for whom he works, bringing in its train, as it does, 
 wider aims concerning his work.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HISTORICAL ART 
 
 IT is exceedingly difficult to decide at what precise stage 
 in the evolution of mankind we can first distinguish 
 signs of a true commemorative art. It seems pretty 
 evident that the lowest of the known tribes such as 
 the Veddas, the Bubis, the Kubus live exclusively in 
 and for the present, without any memories or traditions 
 as to their past. When we turn our attention, how- 
 ever, to tribes in the somewhat higher condition of 
 culture we find that the statements of travellers are not 
 at one with regard to this. The Fuegians are said by 
 M. Hyades to lack any kind of history and tradition. 1 
 But, on the other hand, one of their pantomimical dances 
 (or rather dramas) has been explained by M. Martial, 
 another member of the Cape Horn expedition, as com- 
 memorating the revolt of the men against the women, 
 "who formerly had the authority and possessed the secrets 
 of sorcery." 2 The inconsistency between these two asser- 
 tions can, however, be explained by the fact that Hyades 
 evidently had in view only the oral tradition. The 
 interpretation of M. Martial again seems to be merely 
 hypothetical. Mr. Bridges, who is more competent than 
 
 1 Hyades, in Mission scientifique du Cap Horn, vii. p. 253. 
 2 Martial, ibid. i. p. 214.
 
 CHAP, xiii HISTORICAL AET 165 
 
 any one else to speak about this tribe, does not allude 
 to any commemorative element in the " Kina," although 
 even he thinks that these plays, in which the parts 
 were formerly acted by women, are old and traditional 
 in their form. 1 
 
 A similar inconsistency in the use of terms has no 
 doubt been the cause of the conflicting reports on the 
 traditional poetry of the Greenlanders. In his account 
 of their " Wissenschaften " Cranz says that they have no 
 heroic songs describing the doings of their ancestors. 
 But the very wording of this negation "They know 
 nothing about them except that they were brave hunters, 
 and slew the old Norsemen " shows that it can by no 
 means be adduced to prove complete default of oral 
 tradition. 2 And in another passage Cranz expressly 
 says that the Eskimos, at their sunfeasts, praise the feats 
 of their ancestors. 3 
 
 It is more difficult to bring into accord the various 
 statements concerning the Melanesians. Mr. Codring- 
 ton sees a distinguishing feature of this ethnological 
 group in the fact that they, in contrast to the Poly- 
 nesians, are conspicuously devoid of native history and 
 oral tradition. 4 But this rule is evidently subject to at 
 least one important exception, as the Fijians are known 
 to celebrate subjects from their legendary history in their 
 choral dance-songs. 6 One is led to believe, therefore, 
 that in some other island, also of the Melanesian group, 
 traditional poetry and traditional dramas may have 
 
 1 Mr. Bridges' unpublished work, quoted by Hyades, I.e. vii. p. 377. 
 
 2 Cranz, Historie von Grimland, i. p. 292. 
 
 3 Cranz, I.e. p. 229. 
 
 4 Codrington, The Melanesians, pp. 47, 48 ; cf. Romilly, My Verandah in 
 New Guinea, p. 87. 
 
 5 Kleinschmidt, in Journal des Museum Godeffroy, xiv. 1 879, p. 268. ( " Reisen 
 auf den Viti Inseln. Insel Vatu Lele "). Williams, Fiji, pp. 99, 142 ; Spencer, 
 Descriptive Sociology, Division I. Nr. iii. p. 60.
 
 166 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 existed, but escaped the attention of the ethnologists. 
 Negative statements are never to be unreservedly relied 
 upon, least of all perhaps in accounts of uncivilised men. 
 The case of the Navajo affords an instructive and warn- 
 ing example, which falls exactly within the limits of the 
 present investigation. In spite of the statement by Dr. 
 Letherman, who is acknowledged to have been a " man of 
 unusual ability," that the Navajos had " no knowledge 
 of their origin or of the history of their tribe," 1 Dr. 
 Washington Matthews has been able to gather his im- 
 posing collection of historical songs and traditional com- 
 memorative customs. 2 
 
 An incident of this kind is apt to make us sceptical 
 with regard to the assertion of Captain Cook, which has, 
 however, been unreservedly quoted by Lubbock and 
 Spencer, that the Maoris, a race noted for old legends 
 and ancient lore, in 1770 had no recollection of Tasman's 
 visit to their island. 3 And one is inclined to doubt the 
 trustworthiness of Schoolcraft's informant when he says 
 that the Appalachian Indians had lost all recollection of 
 De Soto's expedition. 4 Compared with the statements 
 concerning the Lenape and the Mohicans, who still 
 remember Hudson, and the Iroquois and the Algonquins, 
 who preserve traditions of the first white immigrants, 5 
 this assertion will, in any case, lose its force as a judg- 
 ment upon the whole North American race, in which 
 sense it has, however, been used by Lubbock. 6 On a 
 closer investigation the Chinooks will perhaps be also 
 
 1 Letherman, in Smithsonian Report, 1855, pp. 295, 296 (The Navajo tribe). 
 
 2 Cf. Matthews, Navaho Legends, pp. 22-26, where the assertions of Dr. 
 Letherman are quoted and opposed. 
 
 3 Cook, (1st) Voyage, p. 388 ; Lubbock, Prehistoric Times, p. 426 ; Spencer, 
 Principles of Sociology, iii. p. 78. 
 
 4 Schoolcraft, Indian Tribes, ii. p. xii. 
 6 Schoolcraft, I.e. i. p. 18. 
 
 6 Lubbock, I.e. p. 426.
 
 xm HISTORICAL ART 167 
 
 discharged from the unfavourable verdict passed upon 
 them by Kane, who could never hear any traditions as 
 to their former origin. 1 
 
 It is safest, therefore, merely to state generally and 
 approximately that among the lower savages the com- 
 memorative element is lost sight of amid the prevailing 
 impromptu productions. With higher culture the 
 commemorative inclination appears to become intensi- 
 fied. But its growth cannot be considered as closely 
 accompanying the general mental evolution. What- 
 ever great treasures of epical poetry and literature may 
 some day be found amongst the Melanesians, their rela- 
 tive inferiority in this respect can never be contested. 
 When a group like this, notwithstanding its unsur- 
 passed ability in formative art, which, however, seems 
 to suggest a commemorative purpose, 2 can be outdone 
 in matters of oral history and tradition, not only by 
 the Polynesians but even, it would seem, by the 
 Australians, 3 there is of course no possibility of apply- 
 ing the general scheme of evolution to fix the definite 
 beginnings of commemorative art. A priori assertions 
 do not count in a question in which the reality defeats 
 the assumptions of probability in such a surprising 
 manner. Before the ethnological knowledge becomes 
 more complete no statement as to traditional art can be 
 accepted as definite. 
 
 The scantiness of reliable information does not, how- 
 ever, constitute the greatest difficulty. The facts them- 
 selves, even if their authenticity is granted, are often 
 liable to the most inconsistent interpretations. For an 
 
 1 Kane, Wanderings, p. 179. 
 
 2 See infra, p. 175. 
 
 3 With regard to the traditional art of the Australian natives compare 
 Spencer and Gillen, Native Tribes, pp. 220 sq. 473, 485 ; Lloyd, Tasmania and 
 Victoria, p. 466.
 
 168 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 exact appreciation of the influence which the com- 
 memorative impulse has exercised on the history of 
 art it is insufficient to enumerate examples, however 
 many might be found, of traditionally preserved works 
 of art. The really important thing is to distinguish 
 works which can be considered as genuine specimens 
 of historical art, i.e. as the outcome of a commemorative 
 intention, from the mere survivals which resemble these 
 in so confusing a manner. In almost every artistic 
 manifestation we can read a story of the past. The 
 tenacity with which the old forms and the old technical 
 procedures are retained lends a documentary value to 
 every ornament, picture, or poem. By authors with 
 a predilection for historic interpretations this record 
 element is apt to be considered as intentionally aimed 
 at. The euhemeristic view will in this way be applied 
 to the history of art, with results that are often as 
 extravagant as the mythological theories themselves. 
 For every detail in a dance or dramatic performance a 
 reason has been looked for in some event of real occur- 
 rence. This method has its strong and sensible side 
 and a very sensible one indeed in that it does away 
 with the idea of a rich and creative imagination in 
 primitive man. It can also be applied to with great 
 advantage for the explanation of artistic manifestation, 
 which would otherwise be quite incomprehensible. 1 
 But its use is not, any more than that of any other 
 general theory, to be recommended as a master-key to 
 all the mysteries of ceremonialism and ritual art. The 
 shortcomings of the method are strongly emphasised by 
 the fact that it has failed in cases which have been 
 chosen expressly for its illustration. 
 
 1 Of. e.g. Steinen, Durch Central Brasilien, pp. 266, 267, on a Yuruna 
 dance.
 
 xiii HISTORICAL ART 169 
 
 Foremost amongst the advocates of euhemerism in 
 the study of ceremonial stands Captain Bourke, who 
 has taken up and extended to the rites and dramas of 
 the living savages the theory of Higgins, that all cere- 
 monies of antiquity were created with a view of pre- 
 serving to the memory ancient learning and ancient 
 traditions. 1 It would be extremely unfair to accuse 
 this indefatigable hunter after analogies of a limited 
 understanding. In questions of ritualistic detail, such, 
 for instance, as those of the flour-sprinkling customs, his 
 comparative studies are not only unsurpassed as proofs 
 of learning, but are also full of valuable and instruc- 
 tive suggestions. 2 The stately array of facts which he 
 has collected from all stages of culture does not, how- 
 ever, convince any impartial reader of the correctness 
 of the main assertions in his books. A student of com- 
 parative psychology, for instance, will always remember 
 the psycho -pathological influences which everywhere 
 and always tend to provoke the same sort of horrid, 
 scatological orgies, in which Captain Bourke has seen a 
 commemoration of some old, exceptional conditions of 
 life. 3 As to the snake-dance at Walpi, which forms the 
 subject of his earliest great work, it cannot be denied 
 that some details in the rite and some of the ceremonial 
 paraphernalia are illustrative of a way of life which 
 presumably predominated amongst the prehistoric 
 Pueblo-Indians. 4 From the dance one might therefore 
 reconstruct an epitomised history of the tribe, which 
 would supplement the tales that are told by the con- 
 structional details of the " kiva " architecture and the 
 
 1 Cf. Bourke, Scatologic Rites, p. 25. 
 
 2 Bourke, "The Medicine-men of the Apache," in Rep. Bur. Ethnol. ix. 
 1887-88. 
 
 3 Cf. 'Bourke, Scatologic Rites, pp. 6, 7, 64, and the author's Forstudier till 
 en konstfilosofi, pp. 114, 119. 
 
 4 Bourke, The Snake-Dance of the Moquis, pp. 178, 179.
 
 170 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 decorative adornments of the Pueblo pottery. 1 But it 
 seems unjustifiable to adduce, as Mr. Spencer has done, 
 this rite as a typical specimen of commemorative 
 ancestor-worship. 2 In attempting to explain the origin 
 and the purpose of the rite, the later investigators 
 have also on good grounds neglected to appeal to the 
 commemorative intention. As has been conclusively 
 shown by the consummate researches of Mr. Fewkes, the 
 snake -ceremonials are mainly and chiefly to be con- 
 sidered as dramatic expressions of the water-cult, which 
 permeates every department in the life of the Pueblo- 
 Indians. 8 Through such an interpretation the drama is 
 brought into close connection with the religious system 
 as well as with the practical necessities of the Pueblo- 
 Indians. Its significance as the most important of all 
 the national ceremonies is easily understood, when the 
 rite in its entirety is regarded as only an active form of 
 the same prayer for rain, which is pictorially conveyed 
 in the sand-mosaics and in the painted ornaments of 
 the tribe. 4 Its various details, on the other hand, will 
 find their most unsought-for explanation when con- 
 sidered as contributing to the great propitiatory pur- 
 pose. Whatever value and interest an euhem eristic 
 interpretation might have for a student of the pre- 
 historic Pueblo-life, the psycho-sociological conditions of 
 the rite, so to speak, can be fully comprehended only 
 when they are investigated in connection with the ideas 
 of ritual magic and religious propitiation. The same 
 view holds good, we believe, with regard to almost all 
 
 1 Cf. the author's Sldldringar ur Pueblo folkens konstlif (The Art -life of 
 the Pueblo-Indians), passim. 
 
 2 Cf. Spencer, Principles of Sociology, i. p. 797. 
 
 3 Cf. especially Fewkes, "The Snake Ceremonials at Walpi," in Journ. 
 American Ethnology and Archaeology, vol. iv., especially pp. 119, 124. 
 
 4 A detailed account of these prayers has been given in Pueblo folkens konst- 
 lif, passim.
 
 xin HISTORICAL ART 171 
 
 the religious ceremonies of uncivilised man, although it 
 may be impossible to prove it in every individual case, 
 as the facts themselves generally are entangled in a 
 most exasperating manner. They must be detached 
 not only from the theoretical constructions of the 
 anthropologists, but also from the euhemeristic inter- 
 pretations of the natives themselves. The native dog- 
 matism will often be even more misleading than that 
 of the scientists. 
 
 It is a well-known phenomenon, which often repeats 
 itself, that when a higher stage of culture is reached 
 the original significance of a rite or a custom falls into 
 oblivion. The custom itself, will, however, with the 
 tenacious conservatism that characterises man, be 
 rigorously maintained long after its origin has been 
 forgotten. Amongst the lower savages no other justifi- 
 cation of these ceremonies incomprehensible to the 
 participants themselves is necessary than the oft- 
 quoted " our fathers did so before us." But with 
 increased intellectual development there must arise a 
 craving for some reasonable explanation. The semi- 
 civilised man never cares to admit to how great an 
 extent his actions are automatical. Hence the rational- 
 isation of rites and customs, familiar to every student 
 of Christian theology, which has its beginnings even 
 in the higher stages of savagery. The rationalisation 
 most readily adopted by tribes without developed 
 philosophical or ethical notions is the historical one. 
 The simple and honest argument " because our fathers 
 did so " is replaced by the fictitious motive of keeping 
 up the memory of the doings of the fathers. When 
 once this reasoning obtains full power it will soon cover 
 the whole field of ritual life. Every incomprehensible 
 feature in ceremonies or customs will be explained
 
 172 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 through reference to the past. And when knowledge 
 of events falls short of affording such an explanation, 
 popular imagination will always be prone to substitute 
 itself for the missing reality. 1 In this way a com- 
 memorative excuse can easily be found for every appar- 
 ently illogical action in life. 
 
 In fact, the creation of " etiological " or justificatory 
 history and mythology is by no means limited to the 
 department of religious ritualism. Even more trivial 
 actions, such as games and pastimes, will, amongst 
 tribes with developed historical tendencies, be connected 
 with imaginary occurrences, which latter will be found 
 to account for every detail in such games and pastimes. 
 With the Cherokee Indians, for example, we find a most 
 intricate animal story, in which the action of the bat, 
 the eagle, and other creatures closely correspond to the 
 movements of the different participators in the national 
 ball -play. 2 Although much may be said in favour 
 of the ingenious hypothesis of Professor Groos, who 
 suggests that military games, such as chess and draughts, 
 may have been developed from dramatic narratives of real 
 battles, supplemented perhaps with maps drawn in the 
 sand and simple symbols stones, pebbles, etc. repre- 
 senting the various armies and soldiers; 3 and although 
 it may reasonably be assumed that the beasts in the 
 animal story of the Cherokees represents the totems of 
 some old Indian chiefs, a story like this must be con- 
 sidered as secondary, in its details at least, to the play. 
 More artificial still it sounds when the Moondahs in 
 Bengal affirm that their popular Easter-game of pushing 
 eggs the one against the other in reality serves as a means 
 
 1 Of. Tylor, Prim. Culture, i. pp. 392 sq. 
 
 2 Mooney, in The American Anthropologist, iii. pp. 108, 109 ("The Cherokee 
 Ball-Play "). 
 
 3 Groos, Die Spiele der Menschen, pp. 246, 247.
 
 xiii HISTOEICAL AET 173 
 
 of commemorating the feats of Sing Bonga, who, with 
 a single hen's egg, crushed the iron globes of his rivals. 1 
 
 Unfortunately, it is but seldom that the commemo- 
 rative motive shows its fictitious nature with so much 
 evidence as in this game. In most cases there will 
 always be a doubt as to whether the religious drama, 
 poem, or design was originally intended as a means of 
 conveying knowledge of some real or legendary event, 
 or whether the idea of these events was derived from a 
 simple game, a propitiative poem, or a magical design. 
 "We have quoted some instances in which the historical 
 interpretation is secondary only. But there could easily 
 be adduced other instances in which the opposite is the 
 case. Ancient poems, whose historical and legendary 
 character is quite incontestable, may often be used as 
 charms in magical ceremonies. 2 It seems quite im- 
 possible therefore to pronounce any definite judgment 
 as to priority between myth and ceremony without 
 special investigation of every single case. In the depart- 
 ment of pictorial art it is scarcely less difficult to 
 separate the genuinely commemorative elements from 
 the close interweaving of different motives, which call 
 into existence a work of art. 
 
 Foremost in rank amongst all the works of design 
 and sculpture that have influenced artistic evolution 
 stand the likenesses of a deceased person which are 
 placed by the relatives on his grave or in his home. 
 To civilised man it is most natural to look upon these 
 effioles as tokens of loving remembrance by which 
 the survivors endeavour to keep fresh the memory 
 of the departed. It is also easy for us to under- 
 
 1 Re"clus, Les Primitifs, p. 356. For some unmistakable examples of myths 
 secondary to the corresponding rites see Spencer and Gillen, Native Tribes of 
 Central Australia, p. 443. 
 
 2 Cf. Abercromby, Pre- and Proto-historic Finns, i. pp. 358, 359, ii. p. 41.
 
 174 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 stand that the pious feelings extended towards such 
 effigies may acquire an almost religious character. 
 There is something to be said therefore on behalf of 
 the view that commemorative monuments have been 
 the predecessors of idols proper. Lubbock, who inter- 
 prets Erman's description of the Ostyak religion 1 in 
 this way, quotes in further corroboration The Wisdom of 
 Solomon, in which work there is to be found a detailed 
 account of the evolution of idolatry from memorial 
 images. 2 The probability, however, is that in pictorial 
 as well as in dramatic art the purely commemorative 
 intention belongs to the latter stages of culture. It 
 seems in most cases to be beyond doubt that among 
 the lowest tribes the images serve as paraphernalia in 
 the animistic rites. They are either taken to be em- 
 bodiments of the ancestors' soul, or receptacles in which 
 this soul, if properly invoked, might take up its abode 
 for the occasion. And similar superstitious notions are 
 entertained, not only with regard to the monuments 
 proper erected on the graves of powerful ancestors, but 
 also with regard to such minor works as, e.g., the dolls 
 which are often prepared by West African mothers 
 when they have lost a favourite child. 3 The vague 
 and indistinct character of these images shows us also 
 that no intellectual record of the individual has been 
 aimed at. No more than the poetic effusions of regret 
 with which the pious survivors endeavour to propitiate 
 the names of the deceased, do these formative works of 
 " pietas " give us any information as to the personality 
 of him, whom they pretend to represent. 
 
 1 Erman, Travels, ii. pp. 50, 51. 
 
 2 Lubbock, Origin of Civilisation, pp. 356 sq. 
 
 3 Cf. Kingsley, Travels, p. 473. On the difficulty of deciding whether a 
 given piece of sculpture is to be interpreted as an idol or as a merely memorial 
 portrait, see Brinton, Report upon the Collections, etc., p. 33.
 
 xm HISTOEICAL ART 175 
 
 This general notion, however, must not be allowed 
 to prevent us from admitting that among sundry tribes 
 of mankind the images may be historical. This is 
 asserted with regard to the Bongos by Schweinfurth, 
 and with regard to the Gold Coast negroes by Cruick- 
 shank. The wooden effigies on the Marquesas Islands 
 are described by Herr Schmeltz as " constructed in 
 memory of celebrated members of the tribe." 1 The 
 Melanesian sculptures also, according to Codrington, are 
 chiefly commemorative. It must be observed, however, 
 that according to his own description a sort of religious 
 respect is paid at least to some of them. 2 More un- 
 deniably commemorative examples are to be found in 
 New Zealand. Although no attempt to reproduce like- 
 nesses is made in these colossal wooden statues, they 
 nevertheless more nearly approach the idea of monu- 
 mental commemorative portraiture than any similar 
 works of primitive art. The patterns of tattooing, that 
 infallible means of identification amongst the Maoris, 
 render it possible to preserve the memories of the 
 individual ancestors through pictorial representation. 3 
 
 Not less problematic than ancestral sculptures are the 
 much -debated rock -paintings and engravings that can 
 be found in every part of the world. Herr Andree 
 finds a sort of learned bias in the general tendency to 
 look for some serious, sacred, or historical meaning 
 in every petroglyph. He points, very sensibly as it 
 
 1 Schweinfurth, Aries Africanse, pi. viii. f. 5 ; Cruickshank, Eighteen Years 
 on the Gold Coast, ii. pp. 270, 271 ; Schmeltz, Ethnol. Abtheil. desMus. Qodeffroy, 
 p. 241. 
 
 2 Codrington, The Melanesians, pp. 173, 174. The same views have been 
 expressed by Finsch, Ethnologische Erfahrungen, pp. 255-257 ; Samoafahrten, 
 pp. 47-49, 75, 175. 
 
 3 Polack, New Zealand, i. pp. 115, 116, 236, 237 ; Robley, Moko, pp. 88 sq. 
 Cf. about " Moko "-tattooing as a means of recognising individuals, living or 
 dead, Robley, I.e. pp. 131, 146, 147, 159.
 
 176 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 seems, to the prevailing impulse of the idle hand to 
 scratch some figures, however meaningless, on every 
 inviting and empty surface. Especially at much 
 frequented localities such as meeting-places, common 
 thoroughfares, and places of rest for travellers where 
 the drawings of previous visitors call for imitation, this 
 temptation must be looked upon as a very strong one. 1 
 There is no reason for regarding the savage and the 
 prehistoric man as devoid of an impulse, which, as we 
 all know, shows its strength among the very lowest and 
 most primitive layers of civilised society. It is un- 
 necessary, therefore, to find anything more remarkable 
 in the petroglyphs than is to be found in the familiar 
 pictures on walls, trees, and rocks which have been 
 wantonly decorated by the modern vandal. This 
 common-sense explanation is undoubtedly sufficient to 
 account for the origin of many much -debated works 
 of glyphic art. But however sound within its proper 
 limits it cannot be extended so as to give a general 
 solution of the petroglyph problem. It is not likely, as 
 Mr. Im Thurn observes, that pictures such as the rock- 
 engravings in Guiana, to produce which must have cost 
 so much time and trouble, should have their origin in 
 mere caprice and idleness. 2 
 
 But even if the serious aspect of the petroglyphs 
 is granted there still remains the difficulty of determin- 
 ing their special purpose. The historical explanation, 
 although it would appear the most natural for us to 
 
 1 Andree, Ethnographische Parallelen, i. pp. 258-261. The remarks of Herr 
 Andree have been emphatically supported by von den Steinen, Unter den 
 Natyrvdlkern Central Brasiliens, p. 244 ; cf. also Hoffman, Ethnographic Observa- 
 tions, in U.S. Geol. and Geogr. Survey, 1876, especially p. 475. 
 
 2 Im Thurn, Indians of Guiana, pp. 403-410. On similar grounds the 
 application of Herr Andree's theory to the North American Petroglyphs has 
 been opposed by Mallery, in Hep. Bur. Ethnol. x. pp. 28, 29 (" Picture-writing of 
 the American Indians ").
 
 xni HISTOEICAL ART 177 
 
 adopt, is not to be taken unreservedly with regard to 
 tribes on a low degree of development. What to us 
 seems a sort of picture-writing might possibly serve a 
 purpose anything but communicative. The so-called 
 ideograms of the Nicobarese have, for example, accord- 
 to Herr Svoboda, for their object the distraction of the 
 attention of the malevolent demons from their houses 
 and implements. 1 When investigating the ritual, 
 especially the funeral ceremonies, one meets with 
 various specimens of similar ideography, the thought- 
 conveying purpose of which is deceptive. 
 
 By the above examples the ambiguous character 
 of primitive art -works has been proved almost ad 
 nauseam. It appears that every single conclusion 
 based upon isolated ethnological examples only is 
 liable to be upset after a closer study of the facts. In 
 order, therefore, to make any positive assertions as to 
 the commemorative element in art we need some safer 
 and more reliable grounds of argument than the incon- 
 sistent stories of travellers. We have, in other words, 
 to investigate the social and psychological conditions 
 which, in the respective cases, speak for or against the 
 assumption of a commemorative impulse as a motive 
 for art-production. Owing to our deficient knowledge 
 of primitive life we are not able to rely upon these 
 social and psychological data in every individual case. 
 But we may nevertheless arrive at some broad results 
 which in the main tally with, and corroborate the 
 evidence afforded by, the majority of ethnological facts. 
 
 It is easy to understand why historical art holds 
 no high place among the lower that is, the hunting 
 and fishing tribes. Even if, as is the case in Australia, 
 
 1 Svoboda, in Archiv fur Ethnographic, v. pp. 162, 163. Cf. also Meyer, 
 Bilderschriften des Ostindischen Archipels, p. 1. 
 
 N
 
 178 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 every unusual occurrence is represented in art with a 
 view of keeping up its memory, 1 these accidental 
 interruptions in a monotonous life cannot possibly 
 contribute to the development of an historical interest 
 that is to say, a commemorative attention in the people. 
 When, on the other hand, we meet, in barbaric and 
 semi-barbaric tribes, with a flourishing traditional art, 
 we can also, in most cases, point to some peculiar 
 features in their life which have called for commemora- 
 tion. In a general survey of traditional poetry one 
 cannot but be struck by the great prevalence of legends 
 about migrations. 2 As travels and incidents of travel 
 were found to provide a favourite subject for the 
 pantomimes and poems described in the preceding 
 chapter, so these experiences have also exercised an 
 important influence on the songs that have been pre- 
 served by oral tradition. And as we meet with 
 numerous instances of improvised drama and poetry 
 called forth by so eminently interesting an occurrence 
 as the visit of some white people, so we can also trace 
 the same theme in manifestations of historical art from 
 dim and distorted narrations up to richly detailed 
 descriptions like those of the Hawajian songs or of the 
 Mangaian " Drama of Cook." 3 The influence which 
 these motives have exercised on the history of art is 
 only in accordance with the universal laws of psychology. 
 Tribal memory, no less than individual memory, is 
 dependent for its development on some favourable 
 external influences that stimulate the attention. 
 
 It must not surprise us, therefore, that the varying 
 experiences of war have everywhere acted as a strong 
 
 1 Cf. Grey, Journals, ii. p. 310. 
 
 * As typical illustrations of this class of legends we may instance the Poly- 
 nesian poems quoted by Fornander, The Polynesian Race, ii. 12-19, 284-286. 
 3 Cf. pp. 160,161, in the preceding, and Gill, From Darkness to Light, pp. 248-264.
 
 xiii HISTORICAL ART 179 
 
 incentive on the commemorative impulse. In this 
 case, however, we have to count with a factor of still 
 greater importance in the directly utilitarian advantage 
 which military nations derive from historical art. 
 Through recounting or representing the exploits of 
 earlier generations, the descendants acquire that healthy 
 feeling of pride which is the most important factor of 
 success in all brutal forms of the struggle for life. So 
 it has come about that historic art has everywhere 
 reached its highest state of development amongst 
 nations who have had to hold their own vi et armis 
 against neighbouring tribes, or in the midst of which 
 antagonistic families have fought for supremacy. The 
 more the social institutions have been influenced by 
 the customs of war, the more important is usually the 
 part which commemoration plays in public life. It 
 is highly prominent in semi-feudal Polynesia, 1 where 
 domestic warfare was at all times of regular occurrence ; 
 it has developed to some extent in warlike Fiji, 2 not- 
 withstanding the Melanesian indifference for the past ; 
 and it has obtained the position of a state function 
 in military despotisms, such as the barbaric kingdoms 
 of Central and South America and Western Africa. 3 
 In isolated tribes, on the other hand, whose whole 
 struggle has been one against nature, historical art is 
 generally to be found at a very low ebb. 
 
 1 See Ellis, Polynesian Researches, i. p. 286 ; iv. pp. 79, 101, 105 ; Pritchard, 
 Polynesian Reminiscences, p. 125 ; Polack, New Zealanders, ii. p. 167 ; and, above 
 all, the collection of traditional war-poetry from the Hervey Group, published by 
 Gill in From Darkness to Light. 
 
 2 Cf. above, p. 165. 
 
 3 Oviedo, Histoire des Indes, pp. 69, 70 ; Markham, in the Introduction to 
 his translation of Ollanta, pp. 1, 2 ; Spencer, Descr. Soc. ii. pp. 13, 68, 70, 71 ; 
 Forbes, Dahomey, ii. p. 13. On historical songs among the military tribes of 
 Africa cf. also Shooter, The Kafirs, p. 268 ; Burton, Lake Regions, i. p. 263 
 (Wagogos). As regards the influence of war on early Arab poetry see Posnett, 
 Comparative Literature, p. 133.
 
 180 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 That bygone events have been preserved in history 
 and art chiefly for the sake of their effect in enhancing 
 the national pride can also be concluded from the way 
 in which humiliating incidents are treated. There are, 
 it is true, a few isolated and unhappy tribes which 
 keep up some dim traditions of their inglorious past. 1 
 Generally, however, defeats are totally ignored in the 
 earliest chronicles. If, however, an unsuccessful battle 
 should have provoked artistic manifestations, these aim 
 at masking the humiliation. 2 The ancient history of 
 Greece affords the most curious examples of myths 
 and inventions by means of which the popular im- 
 agination contrived to conceal disagreeable truths. The 
 fate of Phrynichos, who was fined for having revived 
 the memory of the defeat at Miletus, shows that 
 Greece, even at a much later period, preserved the 
 same primitive ideas as to the raison d'Stre of historic 
 art. It is needless to point out to how great an extent 
 similar conceptions still prevail amongst all warlike 
 nations, civilised and barbarous alike. 
 
 We must not overlook the fact, however, that defeats 
 are often represented in unmasked form for the purpose 
 of stirring up a revengeful spirit. But this apparent 
 exception only proves the rule. By appealing to the 
 wounded dignity of the people, poems and dramas of 
 this kind serve the cravings of collective pride as 
 effectively although, no doubt, indirectly as mani- 
 festations of the opposite order. An increased atten- 
 tion to the past, with a corresponding richness of 
 traditional art, can also generally be found in nations 
 
 1 Cf. e.g. the humble traditions of the Kubus, as quoted by Forbes, Wander- 
 ings, p. 243. 
 
 2 Laing, Travels, p. 186 (Village Kamia) ; Dobrizhoffer, The AMpones, ii. 
 pp. 430, 431.
 
 xin HISTORICAL ART 181 
 
 where revenge is considered as a sacred duty bequeathed 
 to descendants by their ancestors. 
 
 When historic art is regarded as a means of handing 
 down to posterity a knowledge of the present, a con- 
 nection with the same group of emotions is easily 
 discoverable. The great works of commemoration are 
 all monuments of boasting. By the grandiloquent 
 hieroglyphs on palaces and pyramids and by the ex- 
 tolling hymns that he orders to be sung in his praise, 
 the exultant hero endeavours to win from future 
 admirers a meed of praise which shall quench his 
 unsatisfied thirst for glorification. Even in this case, 
 therefore, history, in its psychological sense that is, 
 the concentration of attention upon times other than 
 the present has been born of pride. 
 
 By relying on this emotionalistic interpretation we 
 can explain the otherwise extraordinary development 
 of commemorative art amongst tribes on relatively 
 low stages of intellectual development. The same 
 explanation also accounts for the artistic value of the 
 primitive records. The intensely emotional element 
 of exultation, pride, and boasting that pervades so 
 many of the commemorative poems and dramas makes 
 this kind of history an art in the proper sense of the 
 word. 
 
 It is needless to point out expressly that literary 
 and formative arts may be used for conveying thought- 
 contents which cannot, properly speaking, be called 
 historical. We have restricted our attention to the 
 unmistakably commemorative forms, because in these 
 alone can the purpose of information be isolated with 
 any degree of certainty. By tracing the gradual 
 development of narrative art from those simplest 
 manifestations in which the work is immediately con-
 
 182 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 nected with the real occurrence that called it into 
 existence, up to the more complex forms of transmitted 
 art, in which distant events are represented, we have 
 endeavoured to keep our argument within the limits of 
 positive research. This safe ground we should be 
 compelled to abandon if we were to engage in the other- 
 wise so fascinating task of unearthing historical elements 
 in mythological tradition. 
 
 It seems impossible, moreover, to treat of such art- 
 forms as the nature-myths, the tales, and the animal 
 stories without bringing in those factors which should 
 especially be kept outside the present research the 
 art- impulse, the play- impulse, or the delight in pure 
 invention for invention's sake ; whereas we are justified 
 in treating even the highest purely commemorative art 
 as the development of an activity which was connected 
 with the utilitarian end of information. 
 
 It must not be overlooked, however, that primitive 
 art offers some important and purely didactic manifesta- 
 tions which have no historical purpose. Thus, among 
 savages and barbarians, dramatic performances, poetic 
 recitals, and pictorial representations often serve as 
 means of expounding religious or philosophical doctrines. 
 We need only refer to the most striking instances, such 
 as the Australian miracle-plays, in which the old men 
 enact before the boys a representation of death and 
 resurrection. 1 Although less elaborate in dramatic 
 
 1 Parker, Aborigines of Australia, pp. 25, 26 ; Howitt in Journ. Anthr. Inst. 
 xiii. pp. 453, 454 (Australian ceremonies of initiation), and Cameron in the same 
 journal, xiv. p. 358 (Tribes of N.S. Wales) ; the last two instances quoted in 
 Frazer, Totemism, p. 47. See also Fison, "The Nanga," in J. A. I. xiv., esp. p. 
 22, on an initiation ceremony in Fiji, representing the ancestors lying dead and 
 coming to life again, which curiously resembles Collins's description and pictures 
 of an Australian initiation (Collins, N.S. Wales, i. p. 575). For a somewhat 
 analogous drama in East Africa see Dale, Journ. Anthr. Inst. xxv. p. 189 
 (Bondi country). For interpretation of all these rites see Frazer, Totemism, 
 p. 47 ; and The Golden Bough, ii. pp. 343-359.
 
 xm HISTORICAL ART 183 
 
 detail and stage-management, the fragmentary dramas 
 in which the Indian shaman novitiates are supposed to 
 be killed and recalled to life present to us a scarcely 
 less interesting result of the same great thought. 1 There 
 are indeed, especially in this later example, good reasons 
 for assuming that the simulated death and resurrection 
 are supposed to effect, in a magical way, some kind of 
 spiritual regeneration in the novitiates on whose behalf 
 the drama is performed. But while admitting this, we 
 may nevertheless take it for granted that an endeavour 
 to elucidate the doctrines of the shaman priesthood may 
 be combined with the magical rite in question. And 
 similarly, with regard to analogous ceremonies in other 
 tribes, we feel justified in assuming the presence of 
 a didactic purpose. The more the doctrinal system 
 becomes fixed and elaborated, the greater need will there 
 ensue of affording these doctrines a clear expression 
 in the objective forms of art. 
 
 What has been said about religious and philosophical 
 subjects in dramatical art refers equally to poems and 
 paintings. We have therefore to regard the require- 
 ments of religious instruction as a factor which has 
 favoured the development of art in all its departments. 
 But we have no means of ascertaining at what precise 
 stage in the evolution this factor, as distinct from other 
 motives, began to exercise its influence. The settle- 
 ment of this special point, however, is not indispensable 
 to a general comprehension of the principles of art- 
 history. 
 
 It is more important, from our point of view, to 
 determine the influence which the purely intellectual 
 
 1 Carver, Travels, pp. 175-180 ; Schoolcraft, Information, v. pp. 428 sq. Both 
 quoted by Frazer. To be compared with the initiation into the Secret Society of 
 Nkimba Ward in Journ. Anthr. Inst, xxiv. pp. 288, 289 (Congo tribes).
 
 184 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 motive of conveying with the greatest possible clearness 
 a thought-content, be it historical, religious, or philo- 
 sophical, has exercised on the artistic representations of 
 life and nature. Although of itself essentially non- 
 aesthetic, this purpose has nevertheless called into 
 existence some most important aesthetic qualities. 
 Especially in narrative painting we may often observe 
 how the virtues of exactness, explicitness, and com- 
 prehensibility give a character of beauty to representa- 
 tions which may have originated in a purely practical 
 intention. As has been clearly pointed out by Mr. 
 Walter Crane, the Egyptian hieroglyphs have reached 
 their " wonderful pitch of abstract yet exact characterisa- 
 tion " precisely because they had the character and the 
 purpose of a " decorative record." The same necessity, 
 viz. that " every object had to be clearly defined so as 
 to be recognised at once and easily deciphered," J is un- 
 doubtedly to a great degree responsible for the element 
 of beauty which is to be found in the pictography of 
 North American Indians. Practical utility has in this 
 way subserved the development of an attention to the 
 picturesque side of things. But one has only to look at 
 the more symbolical systems of ideographic writing, 
 such as the Assyrian, the Mexican, and the Chinese, in 
 order to understand that the intellectual requirement 
 by itself never would have created an artistic representa- 
 tion of nature. 2 
 
 This distinction is especially indispensable for a right 
 conception of the intellectual elements in poetry. It is 
 undeniable that some of the most important qualities in 
 literature were developed during the time when it was 
 used chiefly as a means for conveying information. The 
 
 1 Crane, Bases of Design, p. 189. 
 2 Cf. Haddon, Evolution in Art, pp. 220, 221.
 
 xiii HISTORICAL AET 185 
 
 practical considerations therein have undoubtedly in- 
 fluenced the form of the oral narrative. It is evident, 
 for example, that the metrical and rhythmical recital 
 must have proved the more serviceable whenever a 
 thought-content was to be preserved for futurity. But 
 this fact gives no authorisation to those curious theories 
 according to which poetry was invented and developed, 
 thanks to its merits as a mnemonic device. It is, as 
 was long since remarked by Brown, 1 difficult to under- 
 stand how rhythm, numbers, and verse could have been 
 devised as assistance for the memory, supposing nothing 
 of that kind to have been existing before. And even 
 if we admit that they could have been invented by 
 accident, it is plain, when we fix our mind on the 
 essential qualities of poetry, that the use of rhythm 
 and metre to aid memory could only have supplied a 
 mechanical condition to facilitate the development of 
 poetic art. 
 
 1 Brown, Hist, of the Origin and Eise of Poetry, pp. 49, 50.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 ANIMAL DISPLAY 
 
 IN a treatment of the relation between art and sexual 
 life the facts must necessarily be classified under two 
 different headings, namely, the influence of artistic 
 activity upon sexual selection and the importance of 
 erotic motives in works of art. These two points of 
 view have indeed often been confounded with each 
 other. But it will soon appear from the following how 
 indispensable it is to maintain the distinction between 
 them. 
 
 In modern literature there has scarcely appeared any 
 treatise of the same importance, not only for the theory 
 of art, but also for aesthetic proper, as the chapters on 
 sexual selection in TJie Descent of Man. As is well 
 known, Darwin supposes a necessary connection between 
 beauty and art. He takes it for granted that music, 
 poetry, drama, and the rest chiefly aim at pleasing. 
 When he sees that activities and forms, which at least 
 technically correspond to the various kinds of art, are to 
 be met with not only among the lower tribes of man, 
 but even among some of the higher animals, he therefore 
 explains these forms and activities as emanating from a 
 conscious or unconscious endeavour to please through 
 beauty. And for this endeavour he finds a reason in
 
 CHAP, xiv ANIMAL DISPLAY 187 
 
 the necessity of gaining preference in the favour of the 
 female. By endowing the female with aesthetic attention 
 and aesthetic judgment 1 he has been able not only to 
 explain the appearance of art amongst savages and 
 animals, but also to account for the importance of beauty 
 in life. 
 
 In the foregoing arguments we have already with 
 sufficient clearness pronounced our dissent from Darwin's 
 primary supposition. In the chapter upon the art- 
 impulse we have tried to show that this tendency in its 
 essence is something quite different from the tendency 
 to " attract by pleasing." But with all this theoretical 
 argumentation it has of course not been proved that 
 the endeavour of the males to win the favour of the 
 females by singing, dancing, and other similar perform- 
 ances has exercised no influence on the history of art. 
 However little these activities may have to do with real 
 art, they might, however, have afforded a raw material to 
 be used by the art-impulse proper for its own purposes. 
 In this connection it is necessary, therefore, to discuss 
 the question, To what extent has aesthetic choice, 
 exercised by either of the sexes in selecting a mate, 
 favoured the development of artistic activities in the 
 other sex ? 
 
 The aesthetic theory of Darwin has its chief interest 
 in the fact that it can be applied to the activities of 
 animals as well as to those of men. Darwin himself has 
 chosen the majority of his examples from bird life, and 
 his critics have generally restricted the discussion to the 
 zoological application of his thesis. As the data of 
 animal psychology are less complicated than the corre- 
 sponding facts in the mental life of man, it is in every 
 
 1 Darwin, The Descent of Man, ii. pp. 103, 124, 125 ; cf. also ii. pp. 436, 437, 
 and The Origin of Species, i. p. 109.
 
 1SS THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 respect advantageous to begin with this supposed animal 
 art. When the illustrations are chosen from bird life 
 the argumentation can, moreover, be handled with a 
 freedom which would be impossible in discussing the 
 delicate questions of human erotics and sexual life. 
 
 The theory of an appeal to some primordial aesthetic 
 appreciation in the hen birds is one which, however 
 well it may account for the beautiful plumage of some 
 species and for the melodious singing of some others, 
 necessarily must arouse objections from the point of 
 view of comparative psychology. ^Esthetic judgment 
 presupposes a certain development not only of intel- 
 lectual qualities, but also of moral self-restraint. In 
 other words, it might be said that attention to beauty, 
 whether manifested in forms or colours or sounds, 
 always is what Bibot calls an " attention volontaire." * 
 It is hard to believe that the hen really has reached 
 such a state of spiritual freedom that, when looking at 
 the finery and the antics of her rival suitors, she could 
 be able to bestow her attention upon the aesthetic 
 qualities in the display. One has only to work out into 
 all its details and consequences the idea of a bird who 
 approves or disapproves the performance, and who, after 
 balancing the merits of the various competitors, awards 
 her prize to the one nearest her ideal of beauty, in 
 order to realise the improbability, not to say the 
 absurdity, of this avian connoisseurship. M. Espinas, 
 who describes in detail the dilemma of the anxiously 
 hesitating arbiter, has added nothing to the theory of 
 aesthetic selection. But it may safely be said that his 
 illustration of the thesis acts as a caricature of it. 2 
 
 The improbability of an aesthetic judgment is yet 
 
 1 Ribot, Psychologic de I' attention, pp. 44, 45. 
 2 Espinas, Des soci&ts animales, p. 284.
 
 xiv ANIMAL DISPLAY 189 
 
 more palpable when one considers the state of mind in 
 which the hen is likely to be on the occasion. It has 
 indeed been contended with regard to some species as, 
 for instance, the satyr bird that the hen behaves with a 
 perfect calm and indifference during the display of the 
 cock. 1 But it would be undoubtedly too rash to form 
 any general conclusion on the ground of her outward 
 show in some single instances. Amongst the wood-birds, 
 on the other hand, the hens are known to be so excited 
 during the " Balz " that they can easily be caught with 
 the hands. 2 
 
 To all these a priori objections there may also be 
 added the remark of Geddes and Thomson, that if the 
 females of insects and birds had really called into 
 existence all the detailed patterns on the dresses of their 
 respective males by the exercise of aesthetic selection, 
 they would possess more discrimination than is shown 
 in their predilection for any sort of gaudy-coloured 
 objects, such as pebbles, slips of paper, and rags. 3 
 
 However great the psychological improbability of 
 the supposed aesthetic selection, there is still more 
 reason to take exception to it from an evolutionistic 
 point of view. The female appreciation for gaudy and 
 gorgeous dresses must necessarily, as Darwin himself 
 remarks, in many cases give rise to a plumage, as a 
 result of which the males become encumbered in their 
 movements and easily discovered by their enemies. 4 
 ^Esthetic judgment, which is in itself so incompre- 
 hensible, would thus have been developed in a 
 continuous conflict with natural selection. This circum- 
 
 1 Brehm, Thierleben, v. pp. 601, 602 ; cf. also Wallace, Tropical Nature, 
 p. 199. 
 
 2 Nilsson, Foglarna, ii. p. 56 ; Lloyd, Game Birds and Wild Fowl, p. 81. 
 8 Geddes and Thomson, The Evolution of Sex, p. 28. 
 
 4 Darwin, The Descent of Man, ii. pp. 107-109, 252.
 
 190 THE ORIGINS OF AKT CHAP. 
 
 stance, more than anything else, makes it indispensable 
 to look for some more utilitarian cause of the secondary 
 sexual characters and activities than the hypothetical 
 necessity of satisfying a sense of beauty in the female 
 sex. 
 
 By the theory that has been advanced by Wallace, 
 and further developed by Westermarck, the nuptial 
 dresses of the males have indeed been accounted for in 
 a simple way. 1 Reference to the need of recognisable 
 marks for every different species can explain the most 
 prominent characteristics in male plumage without any 
 appeal to an aesthetic sense. This need, together with 
 the equally great indispensability of protective colouring, 
 must necessarily give rise to precisely such brilliant 
 coloured spots on a monotonous or plain surface as are 
 so often found on the bodies of the northern birds. 
 The gaudier coloration of the tropical species, on the 
 other hand, appears as a result of their more brilliant 
 surroundings. Even here protective colouring often 
 leaves to the colour of recognition only a narrow and 
 limited space, on which this has to develop itself with 
 so much the greater intensity. In this way one can 
 find a reason not only for the decorations, which are 
 beautiful according to our standard, but also for the 
 inharmonious and glaring colour-combinations. 
 
 An adherent of sexual selection can, however, easily 
 object that these theories, however sound and sensible 
 they may be, still leave the. main point in Darwin's 
 thesis quite unaffected. When trying to prove the 
 existence of an aesthetic judgment in birds, he did not 
 lay so much stress upon decorative plumage itself as 
 upon the fact of its being displayed in the presence of 
 
 1 Cf. Wallace, Tropical Nature, pp. 196-198, Darwinism, p. 284 ; Wester- 
 marck, Human Marriage, pp. 244, 250.
 
 xiv ANIMAL DISPLAY 191 
 
 the hen. If secondary sexual characters had their only- 
 purpose in facilitating recognition between individuals 
 of the same species, then these elaborate performances 
 would be quite superfluous. And this argument can 
 of course be further strengthened by reference to the 
 musical and dancing entertainments given by the males. 
 Any theory which leaves these activities unexplained 
 must therefore be regarded as incomplete. 
 
 In Mr. Wallace's Darwinism due attention has 
 indeed been paid to pre-nuptial performances. But his 
 explanation, viz. that the dancing and singing, etc., are 
 only the effect of an inner impulse to movement and 
 activity which accompanies sexual maturity, 1 can but 
 incompletely unriddle the problem. For the purpose of 
 affording an outflow to a surplus of vigour or of dis- 
 charging a nervous tension, activities of a far simpler 
 character would have been sufficient. As, however, 
 amongst birds with gorgeous plumage every movement 
 in the display tends towards exhibiting their splendour 
 with the greatest possible folat, an influence upon the 
 hen cannot be argued away. It is, as Darwin remarks, 
 impossible to believe that the Argus pheasant, for 
 instance, should have developed precisely such a curious 
 and peculiar sort of dance, through which his beautiful 
 dress is so effectively shown forth, if this dance had 
 been of no effect upon its spectators. 2 This effect 
 cannot, as has been shown above, be considered an 
 aesthetic one. It is also difficult to believe that the 
 hen, as it has been suggested, should appreciate the 
 secondary sexual characters as signs of greater or smaller 
 vital force, and thus prefer not the most beautiful, but 
 
 1 Wallace, Tropical Nature, pp. 193, 209, 210, 213 ; Darwinism, pp. 284, 
 287, 292, 294. 
 
 2 Darwin, The Descent of Man, ii. p. 103.
 
 192 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 the most vigorous and ardent mate. 1 Whether it is 
 founded on an aesthetic judgment or on an estimation of 
 the force displayed, her conscious choosing seems to be 
 alike improbable. 
 
 But if it is difficult to believe that the display of the 
 males could call forth an intellectual activity in the hen, 
 such as that of comparing and valuing the merits of the 
 rival suitors, 2 one can safely assume that it might 
 influence her emotional and instinctive life. And for 
 the production of such an effect there is no need to 
 suppose any intervening aesthetic activity. Considering 
 the close parallelism which shows itself in the develop- 
 ment of either sex, it would only be natural if a colour 
 and voice alteration in the cock, which undeniably is 
 dependent upon sexual ripening, 3 should directly and 
 almost physiologically imply a reaction in the sexual 
 life of the hen. The more energetically the male 
 forces himself upon the attention of the female by the 
 conspicuous visual and acoustic signs of his sex, the 
 more powerful must necessarily be the emotional 
 response in her. 
 
 If secondary sexual characters are interpreted in this 
 way, as signs, by which the sex of the male is manifested 
 in an unmistakable manner, then one can easily under- 
 stand the influence of a prolonged display. When the 
 cock is exhibiting his plumes or pouring forth his notes, 
 and thereby impressing upon his female listener the 
 notion of his malehood, he cannot but produce in her an 
 enhanced inclination for pairing. 4 She needs no aesthetic 
 
 1 Cf. Wallace, Darwinism, p. 293 ; Tropical Nature, p. 199. 
 
 2 Cf. Schneider, Der Thierische Wille, p. 367. 
 
 3 Cf. about the relation between sexual ripening and the development of the 
 vocal organs, Buffon, Hist. nat. des oiseaux, i. pp. 21, 22. 
 
 4 For some suggestive remarks in this direction see Espinas, Des socitUs 
 animales, p. 313 ; and the anonymous paper on " The Descent of Man " in The 
 Quarterly Review, 1871, vol. cxiii. p. 62.
 
 xiv ANIMAL DISPLAY 193 
 
 appreciation or intellectual judgment in order to com- 
 prehend the simple text of all his utterances. With 
 all her instincts and impulses she can at once grasp 
 the only thing she wants to know the thing that 
 is brought home to her with a greater and greater 
 clearness during the continuation of his performance, 
 namely, that the passionate actor in front of her is a 
 mature representative of the other sex. And besides 
 this, the secondary sexual characters and activities tell 
 another tale of no less importance. If the colours and 
 the tones of the cock, as Westermarck has shown, are 
 of great consequence for facilitating from a distance 
 recognition between members of the same species, 1 their 
 biological significance is perhaps yet greater when they, 
 during the display before the hen, accentuate the com- 
 munity of species. By virtue of her inherited constitu- 
 tion, the instinctive life of the hen will be deeper stirred 
 the more the male is able to show that he " wears the 
 feathers of her tribe." 
 
 It is evident that the effect upon the hen must be 
 greater in proportion as the sex marks and species 
 marks of the male are more clearly defined, and therefore 
 easier to perceive. Not only as means of recognition, 
 but also as instruments for sexual incitement, colour- 
 patterns with lucent points must be more advantageous 
 than any other system of decoration. It is easily 
 understood that a design like that on the tails of 
 pheasants and peacocks is eminently capable of attracting 
 the female attention to the displaying cock. But it 
 would be stretching the theory too far if the marvellous 
 " balls on sockets " were explained as nothing but 
 conspicuous signals, the meaning of which the hen is 
 able to decipher by help of her inherited instincts. The 
 
 1 Westermarck, Human Marriage, pp. 245, 249. 

 
 194 THE OEIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 influence of the display is amongst these species un- 
 doubtedly strengthened by an action which is quite 
 independent of any sexual associations. Besides 
 accentuating the sex and kind of the cock, these 
 luminous spheres will, moreover, in virtue of their very 
 smallness and brilliancy, provoke a stimulation in the 
 mind of the hen before whom they are vibrated. To 
 understand this effect, it is necessary to investigate the 
 more general question of animal appreciation of brilliancy. 
 
 The powerful attraction exercised by lucent things 
 can be sufficiently proved by numerous instances from 
 the life of insects and fishes as well as of higher animals. 
 It is needless to dwell upon the various means by which 
 man has availed himself of this disastrous predilection 
 in order to entice animals within reach of his weapons. 1 
 More important in this connection is the mania for 
 collecting lustrous objects that has been noticed in the 
 case of ravens, jays, magpies, jackdaws, goldfinches, 
 chiff-chaffs, sea-pies, etc. 2 It has scarcely ever been 
 suggested that the thievish jackdaw is prompted by any 
 <B8thetic liking for brilliant plate. But as it shows 
 itself amongst the atlas birds and the bower birds, this 
 exaggeration of the appropriative impulse has been 
 regarded as an indication of artistic inclination. It has 
 been contended that these birds not only appreciate 
 shining and gorgeous objects, but even understand how 
 to arrange them according to a decorative plan. 3 
 
 No one will deny that structures, such as, for instance, 
 the gardens of the atlas birds, which have been depicted 
 
 1 Lindsay, Mind in the Lower Animals, i. p. 252, 253 ; ii. pp. 126, 219, 220 ; 
 Grant Allen, The Colour Sense, pp. 119, 157, 167 ; Romanes, Animal Intelligence, 
 p. 247. 
 
 2 Darwin, The Descent] of Man, ii. pp. 123-125 ; Nilsson, Foglarna, i. pp. 
 202, 206 ; Lindsay, Mind in the Lower Animals, ii. p. 152 ; Cornish, Life at 
 the Zoo, pp. 101-103, 105, 106. 
 
 3 Romanes, Darwin, i. p. 381 ; Biichner, Liebe und Liebes-Leben, p. 52.
 
 xiv ANIMAL DISPLAY 195 
 
 by Beccari, are most wonderful specimens of animal 
 industry. 1 But it is undoubtedly misleading to speak of 
 them as artistic. As far as can be judged from the 
 descriptions which are seldom complete the arrange- 
 ment of the objects seems to be quite accidental. 
 Darwin has indeed collected some most eulogistic 
 accounts of the decorative taste of the Australian bower 
 bird. But he has also, candidly enough, illustrated them 
 with a picture, on which an irregular heap of shells and 
 bones is to be seen in front of the bower. And the 
 description he borrows from Mr. Strange is yet more 
 significant. To judge from this account, which is further 
 corroborated by the statement of Captain Stokes, the 
 chief interest of the birds seems to be not the arranging 
 of their treasures, but the playing with them. It has 
 been noticed that the cock of the great bower bird 
 amuses himself by flying to and fro in the bower 
 carrying a shell in his bill, which he picks up on one 
 side and carries to the other. 2 On an anthropomorphic 
 interpretation such a behaviour would perhaps indicate 
 a desire of trying some new decorative effect. But it 
 seems more natural to assume that brilliant objects, 
 even after they have been stored up in the nest, still 
 exercise their irresistible attraction, and thereby tempt 
 the birds to repeated trifling with them. If the 
 supposed redecorations of the gardens be accounted for 
 in this manner, then there is no reason for considering 
 the collecting impulse in the Australian birds as any- 
 thing more than a higher development of the same 
 tendency which shows itself in our common magpies 
 and jackdaws. 
 
 By the Australian instances, however, the general 
 
 1 Beccari, "Le capanne dell' Amblyornis inornata," in Annali del musco 
 civico di storia naturale di Genova, ix. pp. 382-391. 
 
 2 Darwin, The Descent of Man, ii. p. 77.
 
 196 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 predilection for brilliant objects is brought into con- 
 nection with the pairing dresses of pheasants, peacocks, 
 and humming birds. The small and brilliant objects 
 with which the bower birds play during their pairing 
 season remind us irresistibly of the " balls on sockets " 
 and of the ocelli designs of the colibri. 1 It is true 
 that the pheasants carry on their tail what the 
 Australian birds keep in their bill. But apart from 
 this unimportant difference, the display seems to be the 
 same in both cases. In Mr. Strange's letter it is said 
 that the cock, when performing the exalted antics that 
 precede pairing, " runs to the bower, picks up a gaudy 
 feather or a spotted leaf, pours forth some peculiar notes, 
 and runs through the pavilion." It is not quite clear 
 from this wording whether the objects really are 
 exhibited before the hen. But one may safely assume 
 that she in any case has paid some attention to her 
 consort's performance. She has decidedly not, any 
 more than the pea-hen, received any sort of aesthetic 
 impression from the display. But the brilliancy has 
 undoubtedly stimulated her, as it stimulates all the other 
 birds quoted in this connection, in a purely physiological 
 way. This action, on the other hand, is sufficiently 
 explained by recent researches on the physiological 
 effects which the contemplation of concentrated lustre 
 produces on animal organisms. It is also well known 
 that objects with exactly the same qualities as the 
 ocelli on the peacock's tail play an important part in 
 hypnotic experiments. And the primitive shamans as 
 well as the modern cultivators of " crystal-gazing " are 
 acquainted with the peculiar effects of prolonged gazing 
 on glass-balls or the shining surface of water. More 
 
 1 Cf. especially the dresses of Honwphania insectivwa, Petasophora cyanotis, 
 and Steganura underwoodi, as depicted in ilulsant, Hist. nat. des oiseaux- 
 mouches, PI. 62, 91a, 110.
 
 xiv ANIMAL DISPLAY 197 
 
 familiar still is the fascinating influence exercised by 
 that lustrous little globe, the human eye. 
 
 In all these various examples the smallness of the 
 object fetters the attention, and thereby makes the mind 
 a defenceless prey to the images, feelings, and impulses 
 which for the moment invade it. The lustre, on the 
 other hand, will, to use the language of M. Binet, 
 strengthen the intensity of these mental images. 1 There 
 is no reason why these effects, which presuppose no sort 
 of intellectual activity, should not take place in animals 
 as well as in man. In the case of the peacock, therefore, 
 the idea "male" will imprint itself with greater and 
 more efficacy upon the mind of the hen when she is 
 exposed on every side to the twinkling eyes on the 
 expanded tail of her mate. 
 
 Even in the very cases that have been regarded as 
 the most incontestable proofs of a taste for the beautiful, 
 the influence on the hen can thus be explained as one 
 which directly, i.e. without any aesthetic mediation, has 
 served the interests of pairing. But it may still be 
 asked, Whence the need of strengthening' and intensify- 
 ing the emotions in the female, which must already have 
 been awakened by the mere presence of the male ? This 
 objection, however, is easily met by a reference to 
 the psychological aspects of pairing. Throughout the 
 animal kingdom the males have to conquer a resistance 
 from the side of the females. This instinctive coyness, 
 the importance of which for the maintenance of the 
 species is incalculable and self-evident, constitutes by 
 itself a sufficient cause for the supposed aesthetic 
 characters and activities of the males. 2 It has made it 
 necessary for them to have a stately carriage, which 
 
 1 Binet, Lefttichisme dans I' amour, etc., pp. 257 sq. (L 'intensity des images 
 mcntales). 
 
 2 Groos, The Play of Animals, pp. 243, 283 ; cf. also Hellwald, Die mensch-
 
 198 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 makes them bigger and more pompous than ever, and to 
 display their bodies in flying tricks, or dances and antics, 
 in a word, to emphasise their sex as energetically as 
 possible by colours and tunes and movements. And 
 this necessity has, by means of a natural selection, 
 called forth a colouring which is not only easily recog- 
 nisable from a distance, but which also forces itself on 
 the senses when seen at close quarters. 
 
 The aesthetic judgment of the hen forms the pivot 
 of the whole Darwinian theory. When it has been 
 eliminated, it is therefore quite superfluous to controvert 
 the assertion, which Darwin himself would not positively 
 defend, that the performances of the males have 
 originated in an artistic endeavour. 1 Once granted an 
 instinctive coyness in the hen, which must be overcome 
 by every possible means, one can easily understand that 
 secondary sexual characters and activities would gradu- 
 ally appear in the males. The expressive movements in 
 which they seek to relieve their nervous tension afford 
 a material out of which natural selection will shape, as 
 the most effective means of incitation, the various forms 
 of display, or dance, or song. As is well known, 
 Wallace, 2 Spencer, 3 and Hudson 4 have even contended 
 that emotional pressure, or, as they put it, overflowing 
 vitality, by itself constitutes a sufficient explanation of 
 the " Balz." In the above treatment of the question, 
 which in its main points accords with the conclusive re- 
 searches of Professor Groos, we have endeavoured to show 
 
 liche Familie, pp. 14-16 ; Van Ende, Hist. nat. de la croyance, I. L'animal, p. 
 238. 
 
 1 Darwin, The Descent of Man, ii. pp. 106, 107. 
 
 2 Wallace, Darwinism, pp. 284, 287, 292, 294. 
 
 3 Spencer, Essays, ii. pp. 427, 430, 431. Some of the arguments of Spencer 
 had been adduced by Barrington in his polemic against Buffon. Cf. Philosophical 
 Transactions, 1773, pp. 262, 263 (Experiments on the singing of birds). 
 
 4 Hudson, The Naturalist in La Plata, pp. 280 sq.
 
 xiv ANIMAL DISPLAY 199 
 
 that the various sorts of display never could have reached 
 their special and differentiated forms if it had not been 
 for the necessity of overcoming female coyness. But, 
 on the other hand, this necessity could never have 
 created out of nothing all these complicated activities. 
 It is difficult perhaps even impossible to make any 
 general assertions about the relative importance of these 
 two explanations. 1 The only point which it is necessary 
 to bring out in this connection is that a sort of nuptial 
 performance would have appeared amongst the males 
 even independently of its influence upon the hen. The 
 hygienic need of an outburst is one reason, and a very 
 strong one indeed, for such motor manifestations. But 
 it seems also as if their purpose ought not to be restricted 
 to this cathartic effect. The "lek" of the wood-birds 
 tends no doubt to increase nervous force at the same 
 time as it relieves the tension. M. Espinas thinks that 
 the males, when collecting in great numbers during the 
 pairing season, are led by an unconscious desire to 
 stimulate their feelings by the view of other equally 
 excited fellow-males. 2 Such an unconscious desire of 
 enhancing nervous force probably lies also behind the 
 inclination for brilliant objects and the trifling with them 
 in the bowers. 3 That a sort of artificial stimulation 
 really is necessary may perhaps be concluded from 
 Brehm's general remark about the sexual life of birds : 
 " The pairing is often repeated, and still more often in- 
 effectually attempted." 4 In a private communication 
 
 1 A more detailed account of this question has been given in the author's 
 F&rstudier till en konstfilosofi, pp. 29, 30. 
 
 2 Espinas, DCS socUtte animates, p. 328. 
 
 s For experiments proving the invigorating effects of colour-impression upon 
 the animal organism, particularly upon insects, see Fe"re, Pathology of Emotions, 
 p. 23. 
 
 4 Brehm, Thierleben, iv. p. 20 ; cf. also Schneider, Der thierische Wille, p. 
 172 ; Espinas, I.e. p. 286 ; Groos, The flay of Animals, pp. 242-244.
 
 200 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 to Groos, Professor Ziegler, the eminent zoologist, also 
 refers to the increased nervous activity which is necessary 
 for pairing, and the passionate preludes which precede it 
 in so many animals. 1 
 
 By these two principles, viz. the necessity of over- 
 coming the instinctive coyness of the hen and that of 
 stimulating the nervous system of the cock, it is, we 
 believe, possible to account for all the secondary sexual 
 characters and activities which in Darwin's theory 
 necessitated the hypothesis of an animal aesthetic. When 
 the directly physiological importance of the nuptial 
 preludes is acknowledged one can also, without appealing 
 to the effects of association, explain the occurrence of a 
 " lek " in birds who have already made their choice of 
 mate. 2 And, on the other hand, we need not give up 
 any one of the general results at which Darwin arrived 
 in his researches. Although conscious selection on the 
 part of the hen must be denied, the fact that she consents 
 to couple only with the cock who has been able to stir 
 her feelings better than any other, constitutes a kind of 
 unconscious choice. It may seem unnecessary, therefore, 
 to lay so much stress upon the theoretical inappropriate- 
 ness of Darwin's language. The sesthetical terms in The 
 Descent of Man could easily be exchanged for more 
 physiological ones without any important alteration in 
 the main thesis of the book. And it must even be con- 
 ceded that, owing to the extreme cautiousness which 
 was such a remarkable peculiarity of Darwin, this 
 substitution would not be required in more than a 
 few passages. He himself often speaks of ornamental 
 plumage as a means of " exciting," or " charming," or 
 
 1 Groos, I.e. p. 242. 
 
 2 Groos, The Play of Animals, pp. 244, 245 ; Die Spiele der Menschen, pp. 
 329-340.
 
 xiv ANIMAL DISPLAY 201 
 
 " fascinating " the females ; l once he even restricts him- 
 self to saying that the hens " prefer, or are unconsciously 
 excited by, the more beautiful males." 2 From the bio- 
 logical point of view it would therefore be pretentious 
 to claim any importance for this reformulation of 
 the Darwinian theory. But, from what must be the 
 dominating point of view in this work, it is by no 
 means unnecessary to disentangle the confusion between 
 aesthetic appreciation and physiological stimulation. The 
 aesthetic corollaries, which are the most important in 
 this connection, will be greatly modified as soon as the 
 more physiological interpretation is applied to the various 
 manifestations of animal art. 
 
 When Darwin chose to endow the hen with an 
 aboriginal aesthetic judgment he was at once confronted 
 by a difficulty which was perhaps even greater than that 
 of locating the beginnings of art in the animal kingdom. 
 The facts compelled him to admit that in some species 
 this aesthetic judgment seemed to be a very bad one 
 indeed. 3 When secondary sexual characters are regarded 
 as signs by which the kind and sex of the males are 
 accentuated, this apparent inconsistency is easily under- 
 stood. The harsh cry and the inharmonious colouring 
 of the macaw 4 tell their tale as eloquently and con- 
 vincingly as any of the aesthetic characters of the other 
 birds. The roaring of the battle bump, 5 the disagreeable 
 miauling of the peacock, and the bleating call-note of the 
 greenfinch 6 no doubt cause as great a pleasure in their 
 
 1 Darwin, The Descent of Man, ii. pp. 18, 94, 110, 137. 
 
 2 Ibid. ii. p. 251. When advocating the Darwinian theory of sexual 
 selection, Professor Poulton seems to use the notion ' ' aesthetic appreciation " in 
 this wide sense. Cf. Colours of Animals, p. 286. 
 
 8 Cf. Darwin, The Descent of Man, ii. pp. 67, 74. 
 
 4 Ibid. ii. p. 67. 
 
 5 Nilsson, Foglarna, ii. p. 185. 
 
 6 Ibid. ii. p. 8 ; i. p. 509.
 
 202 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP, xiv 
 
 respective hens as is ever caused by the song of the 
 nightingale in his mate. That the secondary sexual char- 
 acters of the birds on the whole are so much more beautiful 
 than those of the mammals is not the result of any 
 originally higher standard of beauty with their respective 
 females. The superiority of the birds is quite sufficiently 
 accounted for by the peculiar conditions of their life, 
 which necessitate and call forth graceful shape as well 
 as graceful movements. Their gorgeous colouring, on 
 the other hand, is undoubtedly as has been shown 
 above to some extent at least conditioned by the 
 gaudy colouring of the tropical landscape. It must be 
 remarked, moreover, that notwithstanding their un- 
 deniable splendour, the dresses of the birds by no means 
 generally fulfil the claims of tasteful composition. When 
 appreciating the plumage and the songs of the birds, 
 we usually look upon them as pieces of nature. We 
 admire them as we admire the woods and flowers and 
 every other manifestation of nature and life. This 
 attitude must necessarily be given up as soon as a 
 conscious tendency is assumed in " animal art." When 
 we regard the secondary sexual characters in the manner 
 of Darwin as results of an aesthetic choice we cannot 
 help missing all the aesthetic qualities of harmony and 
 composition, which are never expected, and therefore 
 never missed, in the objects of nature. If the proper 
 distinction between art and nature is maintained, it will 
 be possible to combine an unabated admiration for the 
 marvels of beauty in bird life with a denial of " animal 
 art."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 ART AND SEXUAL SELECTION 
 
 THE explanation which we have given in the preceding 
 chapter of the pairing dresses of the birds can of course 
 be equally well applied to the secondary sexual char- 
 acters of man. And it holds good also, we believe, 
 with regard to the most primitive voluntary alterations 
 in the appearance of either sex. It is true, indeed, 
 that artificial embellishments or deformations, the work 
 of the individual himself, never can appeal so strongly 
 to the instincts of the other sex as those alterations 
 which are physiologically connected with sexual develop- 
 ment. But when, as is the case with most primitive 
 tribes, the so-called means of attraction have remained 
 almost unchanged during innumerable successive genera- 
 tions, one may safely conclude that the instincts of 
 either sex will gradually grow prompt to react with 
 eminent force upon impressions received from such 
 individuals as exhibit these conventional signs of their 
 sex and tribe. Whether the acquired qualities are con- 
 sidered as hereditary, or whether the consistency in the 
 predilections of all the members of the same tribe be 
 explained in the Weissmannian or the neo-Darwinian 
 way as a result of selection, there will always be 
 found in either sex a sort of constitutional liking for
 
 204 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 certain fixed qualities in the appearance of the opposite 
 sex. An appearance and a behaviour which, in the 
 ancestors of an individual, male or female, have stirred 
 the instinctive life of the opposite sex through genera- 
 tions past by, must needs improve his or her chances in 
 courtship. The more a suitor approaches the ideal 
 which unconsciously, and one may say physiologically, 
 is embodied in the inherited impulses of every female, 
 the more helplessly is she exposed to the fascination of 
 his charms. And when, at a certain higher state of 
 development, the males begin to practise a selection 
 between rival females, they will undoubtedly be in- 
 fluenced in their choice by the same sort of inherited 
 predilections. And there is no reason why these pre- 
 dilections should be restricted to anatomical qualities 
 why artificial adornments, perhaps even detached gems, 
 which have only been traditional during some genera- 
 tions, should not influence sexual preferences in the 
 same direct way that is, without any intervention of 
 an aesthetic judgment, as secondary sexual characters 
 proper influence them. This circumstance justifies us 
 in treating the outward physical appearance and the 
 conventional means of embellishing it in conjunction 
 with each other. An outward sign, whether natural or 
 artificial, which has often enough been connected with 
 the impression of the other sex will necessarily tend to 
 awaken sexual feelings. 
 
 For such an effect it is of course not indispensable 
 that these signs should have originated in an endeavour 
 to charm the sex. As in the foregoing chapter, we 
 have to keep the question of influence upon the other 
 sex apart from the question of the positive causes that 
 is, conscious or unconscious motives, which have called 
 forth the various secondary sexual characters and activi-
 
 xv AET AND SEXUAL SELECTION 205 
 
 ties. For convenience of exposition it is advantageous 
 to begin with the first-mentioned phase of the problem. 
 Without as yet pronouncing any definite views as to 
 the aims the pursuit of which has led to the different 
 systems of adornment, we may safely maintain that 
 any conspicuous garments, independently of their orna- 
 mental qualities, which have served to distinguish the 
 adult and marriageable individuals from other members 
 of the tribe, have been of importance as means of 
 attraction. According to the ingenious explanation of 
 Dr. Westermarck, even clothing was originally invented 
 not to conceal nudity, but to set it off. 1 There is room, 
 as will be shown later on, for objecting to any definite 
 statement with regard to a question such as this, the 
 answer to which is to be sought for in several directions 
 at once. But there can be no doubt about the fact 
 that the simplest dresses, and especially those which 
 have been interpreted as indicating a sense of modesty, 
 practically accentuate the things they technically con- 
 ceal. At a stage of development where nudity is the 
 normal state, veiling must necessarily suggest the same 
 emotions as unveiling in a civilised society. As Dr. 
 Westermarck has been able to show, dresses are 
 adopted by a majority of tribes on the attainment of 
 puberty and on the occasions of great feasts ; it is 
 therefore natural that they should act as powerful 
 sexual incitements. 2 And this view receives additional 
 support from the arguments of its opponents. The 
 large collection of facts that Dr. Schurtz has quoted in 
 proof of his assertion that clothing originally aimed at 
 " the concealment of sexual differences " may of course 
 be interpreted with equal and, we believe, with greater 
 
 1 Westermarck, Human Marriage, pp. 200, 201, 212. 
 2 Ibid. pp. 196, 198.
 
 206 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 probability in the inverse sense. 1 One has only to look, 
 for example, at some of the richly-embroidered cinctures 
 of the Guiana natives in order to understand that these 
 coverings, whatever may have been their original pur- 
 pose, can never have acted as an effective means of 
 diverting the attention. 
 
 The differences between the sexes will, however, be 
 emphasised not only by the special garments for which 
 Dr. Schurtz proposes the above-mentioned explanation, 
 but also by every article of dress or ornament. For 
 the intellectualistically prejudiced observer it is un- 
 doubtedly most natural to consider the various kinds 
 of fixed or detached ornament, such as paintings 
 and tattooings, ribbons, laces, collars, and so on, 
 as means of influencing an aesthetic sense in the 
 spectator. But it is evidently more in accordance with 
 the principles of comparative psychology to assume that 
 all these garnitures originally had their main signifi- 
 cance not as beautifying things or as things of beauty 
 themselves, but as marks by which the personality of 
 the decorated man or woman was distinguished. To 
 illustrate this argument it is not necessary to go back 
 to the primitive stages. Even among civilised men, 
 gems and jewels, when seen on a member of the 
 opposite sex, have chiefly a symbolic value. In the 
 string of pearls which encircles a woman's neck, or in 
 the gay feather of a man's hat, the charm and fascina- 
 tion of a whole human being are concentrated to a 
 single focus. To the lover's attention everything that 
 has some connection with the beloved shines with a 
 borrowed light. We all know that handkerchiefs and 
 shoes can be adored with an almost fetichistic devotion. 
 All the more must a gem which is conspicuously 
 
 1 Schurtz, Grundziige einer Philosophic der Tracht, pp. 21, 57, 77, 80.
 
 xv ART AND SEXUAL SELECTION 207 
 
 carried on the body be able to imbibe and exhale the 
 charms of its wearer. The lyrical poetry of all ages is 
 there to prove the emotional value which can thus be 
 attached to lifeless things. And the psychology of the 
 emotions in its turn gives a simple explanation of the 
 fact that loving imagination always dwells with pre- 
 dilection upon some single part of the attire of the 
 beloved. A small and conspicuous object which can 
 easily be embraced by the senses affords a vehicle 
 which can carry into the mind the whole complex of 
 feelings and impulses that are attached to the notion 
 of the beloved. Well knowing this law of emotional 
 mechanics, an intelligent woman who is anxious to 
 please does not cover herself with jewels and orna- 
 ments. She prefers some single brilliant gem, which 
 does not so much call for admiration itself, as draw 
 attention to her charms and heighten the impression 
 which they produce. 
 
 It may seem very far-fetched to explain the primi- 
 tive means of attraction by reference to the art of 
 pleasing among modern men. But however much the 
 forms of courtship may have been changed by higher 
 development, their psychological basis is still the same 
 at all stages of culture. There is no need, as far as 
 purely erotic purposes are concerned, to embellish the 
 appearance; what is wanted is only to enable the 
 appearance itself to produce its most effectual impres- 
 sion. When this point is kept in mind, it is easily 
 understood that ornaments such as a simple piece of 
 glass in the hair or a band of shells twisted around the 
 neck can be as charming in the eyes of primitive man 
 as any of the gems that are used among civilised 
 nations. And there is no reason to doubt that the 
 savage beaux and belles really have increased their
 
 208 THE ORIGINS OF AKT CHAP. 
 
 chances by putting wooden slabs in their lips and ears, 
 or pins of bone through their nose. 
 
 In the last-mentioned cases the effect has, moreover, 
 been strengthened by the appearance of strangeness 
 that is given to the face by deforming adornments. 
 Eyes that might pass by with indifference an accus- 
 tomed impression, are unavoidably arrested by any 
 extraordinary character. As amongst the birds and 
 mammals, horns, accrescences, and gorgeous plumage, 
 independently of their possible aesthetic qualities, assist 
 the males in courting the females, so also amongst men 
 any means of correcting the normal appearance, be 
 it through flattening the head, filling, extracting, or 
 blackening the teeth, elongating the ears or compressing 
 the waist, will, in virtue only of its singularity, act as an 
 effectual instrument of charming. 1 For the marriage- 
 able individual it has evidently been advantageous to 
 be distinguished by these extravagant transformations, 
 which, as is well known, are usually inflicted at the 
 very time of puberty. And, on the other hand, among 
 individuals so distinguished, those who extort an in- 
 terest for their person by the most singular qualities 
 ought to have an increased chance of charming the 
 opposite sex. In the discussion of sexual preferences 
 there has been much talk of a supposed constitutional 
 predilection for novelty and variation. But it is un- 
 doubtedly more in accordance with the strictly psycho- 
 logical position to doubt whether, in the primitive 
 stages, novelty really has been appreciated for its own 
 sake, or whether it is only by facilitating the attention, 
 and thereby intensifying the impression, that it has 
 
 1 As regards these various means of "embellishment" see the collection of 
 instances in Magitot, "Les mutilations ethniques," in Congres d'anthropologie, 
 1880.
 
 xv AKT AND SEXUAL SELECTION 209 
 
 gained the favour of the opposite sex for one particular 
 male or female. 
 
 Whichever formula may be preferred in the inter- 
 pretation, it remains as an indisputable fact that even in 
 some of the higher animals an exceptional appearance 
 gives an advantage in courtship. It is needless to point 
 out to how great an extent in civilised communities man 
 is influenced in sexual preference by a bias for a peculiar 
 appearance which distinguishes the chosen one from any 
 other man or woman. This predilection, however, is 
 always neutralised by a repugnance for everything that 
 deviates too much from the common characteristics of 
 the group. The two principles which have regulated 
 the development of secondary sexual characters to wit, 
 the necessity of marks for accentuating sex-distinction 
 and that of tribal signs are thus brought into conflict 
 with each other. This conflict is particularly con- 
 spicuous in the lower stages of development. Owing to 
 the peculiar conditions of life which prevail here, the 
 second principle will generally be of especial importance 
 among the savage tribes of mankind. 
 
 The observation has often been made that too great 
 uniformity of work impedes the development of 
 individual characters in physical appearance. In savage 
 communities, where the division of labour is almost 
 1 unknown, all men must necessarily be more or less like 
 one another. 1 Especially if the home of the tribe be 
 some closely defined area of uniform climatic conditions, 
 there will be within the tribe almost no material for 
 selection. Where endogamic marriage prevails, the con- 
 ception " lover," which is transmitted from mother to 
 daughter, and which, by " objective heredity," becomes 
 
 1 Of. Westennarck, Human Marriage, pp. 265, 266 ; Lippert, Kulturgeschichte, 
 i. pp. 368, 369. 
 
 P
 
 210 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 imprinted on the mind of every girl that grows up in 
 this narrow milieu, must therefore be one with a very 
 restricted content. Alongside of this increasing pre- 
 dilection for a fixed and narrowly circumscribed type 
 of the opposite sex there will, as its complementary 
 feeling, develop a strong antipathy to every feature 
 that diverges from this type. For the evolution of 
 national ideals this negative influence has been of 
 perhaps even greater importance than the positive 
 preferences. 
 
 It is evident that strictly endogamous marriage 
 customs could never be upheld in tribes which have any 
 intercourse with their neighbours if the social institu- 
 tion were not supported by a real psychological aversion 
 to outsiders. It has therefore been congruous with the 
 advantages of society to promote in the youth the 
 feeling that any man or woman outside the tribe is a 
 being with whom no emotional exchange is to be thought 
 of. To make this feeling possible, on the other hand, it 
 is necessary that everything which is connected with the 
 foreigner should be held up to contempt. Their dress, 
 their language, their manners, and so on, have thus 
 been considered as something to be kept at a distance. 
 It is needless to point out that marriage systems are not 
 alone responsible for the development of this feeling. 
 Religious differences, so important in primitive com- 
 munities, have undoubtedly often given rise to the 
 common notion that people outside one's own tribe do 
 not, properly speaking, belong to the human species. 
 Continual war induces a feeling of contempt, which in 
 the stronger tribe is mingled with pride and in the 
 weaker with bitterness, and which in both cases extends 
 to the smallest details of physical appearance and 
 behaviour. And apart from all regard to these social
 
 xv AET AND SEXUAL SELECTION 211 
 
 causes, the primitive man, in civilised as well as in 
 savage nations, is always apt to look upon everything 
 unusual with a feeling of scornful disdain. No doubt 
 such a disdain can even be coincident with exogamous 
 marriage customs. But it seems evident that it must 
 everywhere have strongly influenced sexual selection 
 during those unknown endogamic periods in which the 
 racial and tribal differences were developed and fixed. 1 
 And it may even now be observed among living tribes 
 of man to how great a degree antipathy to every detail 
 in the outward appearance of foreigners precludes union 
 between members of different tribes. The national and 
 parochial dresses of modern peasants no doubt exercise 
 a great influence on the love-life of the respective boys 
 and girls. The most telling example that could be 
 quoted in this connection is the case of Savakot and 
 Ayramaiset in Eastern Finland. When examining a 
 Savakko youth as to the reason why none of his tribe 
 had ever chosen a wife from among their neighbours, 
 Ahlqvist 2 received the characteristic answer : " Se kuin on 
 heilla Ayramaisilla niin hirvea vaatteen manieri niin 
 siihen ei meida'n pojat uskalla puuttua" that is, As 
 these Ayrama girls have such horrid dresses, our boys 
 do not dare to approach them. 
 
 This instance, although it is one of modern times 
 and refers to relatively civilised individuals, can no doubt 
 be considered as illustrative with regard to the dis- 
 tinguishing marks and dresses of primitive men. The 
 outward signs of the tribe not only exercise a strong 
 attraction upon all its members ; they are also for out- 
 siders associated with a repugnance which is perhaps 
 equally strong. In the same way as it has been 
 
 1 Cf. Brinton, Races and Peoples, p. 43. 
 2 Ahlqvist, Muistelmia, p. 11.
 
 212 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 advantageous for the young of both sexes to have an 
 appearance which appeals as powerfully as possible to 
 the instinctive predilections of the opposite sex, it has 
 been necessary for them not to exhibit qualities which 
 could be confounded with those of the alien. The 
 individual who endeavours to attract attention for his 
 person by a conspicuous and extravagant appearance 
 is, therefore, narrowly restricted within the boundaries 
 prescribed by tribal sympathies and antipathies. The 
 safest expedient by which to distinguish himself from 
 others without outraging the national idea is, therefore, 
 that of exaggerating the common characteristics of the 
 tribe. 
 
 These theoretical reasonings can be amply cor- 
 roborated by ethnological facts. As early as 1814 
 Humboldt observed and commented upon the fact that 
 the deformations which appear most arbitrary generally 
 only tend to carry into excess some natural peculiarity 
 of the tribe. 1 And since his time, numerous instances 
 have been adduced in the ethnological literature, all 
 pointing in the same direction. In the case of people 
 who blacken their teeth it has been remarked that the 
 dental enamel is naturally darker than usual ; where 
 heads are artificially deformed, it is found that there 
 exists a general disposition to develop pointed or flat 
 crania ; where the hair-growth is scanty, baldness is 
 artificially produced ; and so forth. 2 By exaggerating 
 and accentuating in their own appearance the common 
 qualities of the tribe, the individual males or females 
 have thus created a more and more differentiated 
 tribal type. And the inherited predilections and 
 
 1 Humboldt, Travels, iii. p. 236 ; cf. Joest, Tatowiren, pp. 14, 15 ; Brinton, 
 Races and Peoples, p. 42. 
 
 2 Westermarck, Human Marriage, p. 263 ; Lippert, Kutturgeschichte, i. pp. 
 402-405.
 
 xv AET AND SEXUAL SELECTION 213 
 
 aversions of the opposite sex have, on the other 
 hand, by continuously influencing positive and negative 
 choice, contributed to the fixing of these types as 
 tribal ideals, not of beauty, but of sexual attractive- 
 ness.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE OKIGINS OF SELF-DECORATION 
 
 IT is evident, as might be proved by more numerous 
 and detailed references than it has been possible to 
 adduce above, that precisely such bodily deformations, 
 such systems of distinguishing ornament, and such con- 
 spicuous articles of clothing and decoration as are most 
 generally found among both the primitive and the 
 cultivated tribes of mankind have been of especial im- 
 portance as means of sexual attraction. Nothing could 
 be more natural, therefore, than to explain the various 
 forms of cosmetics as so many endeavours to work upon 
 the preferences whether arising from the aesthetic sense 
 or from associated ideas of sexual excitement of the 
 opposite sex. Such an explanation, moreover, derives 
 support from the assertion of the primitives themselves, 
 who often positively state that they dress and array 
 themselves for the purpose of winning the love of their 
 women. And it has on its side the merits of simplicity 
 and unity. By bringing together under one head all 
 the different forms of self-decorative art it disentangles 
 the different questions of primitive aesthetics in a most 
 plausible manner. 
 
 However alluring this uniform explanation may be 
 for lovers of clearness and theoretical consistency, it
 
 CH.XVI THE ORIGINS OF SELF-DECORATION 215 
 
 must nevertheless be abandoned upon an impartial 
 examination of the ethnological facts. It is no doubt 
 conceivable that a more or less conscious desire of 
 acquiring the favour of the opposite sex should have called 
 forth all the various means of attraction. As was shown 
 above, they could in such a case have scarcely developed 
 a more effectual conformation than they really have 
 done. But from the effect we are not entitled to draw 
 any conclusion as to the intention. When considering 
 all the various motives, often almost incomprehensible 
 to the civilised mind, which govern the activities of 
 primitive man, one loses the confidence that is necessary 
 in order to accept any general explanation, however 
 probable it may seem. A careful and impartial ex- 
 amination can only lead to the result that scarcely any 
 form of dress or ornament can be quoted which could 
 be considered with certainty as an outcome of the im- 
 pulse to attract and charm the opposite sex. 
 
 To begin with the class which stands in the closest 
 connection with sexual life, we have already shown that 
 all the various coverings by which primitive man con- 
 ceals his nakedness, by attracting the attention are 
 likely to produce a sort of sexual stimulation in the 
 primitive spectator. 1 In some cases, for instance that 
 of the dancing girdles, which are especially put on for 
 the occasion of erotic dances and festivals, this stimula- 
 tion is evidently intentional. 2 But it seems impossible 
 to assume that a knowledge of this effect can have been 
 the motive for the use of those phallocrypts which are 
 worn by the Amaxosas in South Africa, by the natives 
 of Central Brazil, by the Melanesians in the Admiralty 
 
 1 Cf. Westermarck, Human Marriage, pp. 195, 200, 201. 
 
 2 Westermarck, I.e. pp. 196-198 ; cf. also Finsch, Ethnologische Erfahrungen, 
 p. 44 (New Zealand).
 
 216 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 Islands and on the north-western and south-western 
 coasts of New Guinea, by the Australians of north- 
 western Central Queensland, and by the Polynesians of 
 the Marquesas Islands. 1 As far as we know, it is only in 
 Australia that these things are especially employed at 
 corroborees and public rejoicings. 2 Nor is there any- 
 thing that could attract the eye in all the simple bamboo 
 sheets that can be seen at the Museum fiir Volkerkunde 
 in Berlin. In some cases they have perhaps been worn 
 for the purely practical purpose of protecting a sensitive 
 part against insect bites. 3 But it seems more probable, 
 on an examination of their shape, that they really are 
 intended as means of concealment in the proper mean- 
 ing of the word. There is of course no reason why they 
 should not be considered as fulfilling the requirements of 
 modesty. But even if such be their purpose now, it is 
 difficult to assume that they were originally called into 
 existence by a feeling which, from the evolutionist point 
 of view, one rather would consider as a product of clothes 
 than as their cause. 4 
 
 This difficulty, however, is easily avoided by re- 
 ference to another feeling which in psychical evolution 
 has probably preceded the appearance of modesty. It 
 is perhaps impossible to decide at what stage sexual 
 life began to be surrounded with feelings of shame, in 
 other words, in what instances one is entitled to speak 
 of modesty and conscious chastity. But there is no doubt 
 that even among the lowest savages the facts of genera- 
 
 1 Fritsch, Die Eingeborenen Sud-Afrikas, pp. 58, 59 ; Steinen, Unter den 
 Naturvolkem, pp. 191, 192 ; Lisiansky, Voyage, p. 86 ; Moseley in Journ. 
 Anthr. Inst. vi. p. 398; Finsch, I.e. pp. 64, 85, 225; Roth, W. E., N.W.C. 
 Queensland Aborigines, p. 113; Wilken, Nederlandsch- Indie, pp. 37, 38; 
 Fuhrer durch das Museum fiir Volkerkunde, p. 87. 
 
 2 Roth, I.e. p. 114. 
 
 3 Wilken, Lc. p. 38 ; cf. also Steinen, I.e. pp. 195, 196. 
 
 4 Westennarck, Human Marriage, p. 209.
 
 xvi THE ORIGINS OF SELF-DECORATION 217 
 
 tion are regarded with a wonder which sometimes ap- 
 proaches awe, and sometimes rises to religious respect. 1 
 Since at a somewhat higher degree of development 
 phallic symbols occupy so dominant a place in religious 
 systems, it is only natural to suppose that the realities 
 represented by these symbols have been regarded by the 
 primitive with superstitious feelings. It is probable, 
 therefore, that there are many primitive tribes which, in 
 the same way as the aborigines of the New Hebrides, 
 cover themselves in the most scrupulous manner, " not 
 at all from a sense of decency, but to avoid Narak, i.e. 
 magic influence," the sight even of another man's naked- 
 ness being considered as most dangerous. 2 The large 
 prevalence of phallic motives in amulets and magically 
 protecting paintings, 3 the supposed effective sorcery of 
 indecent gestures, so widely used even now by the 
 modern Italians, 4 indicate that the organs of generation 
 have been universally considered as the seat of a power- 
 ful and dangerous magic. Perhaps this superstitious 
 idea has even been the original source of the notion that 
 exposure involves the gravest offence against the honour 
 
 1 For some curious superstitions of this kind see Schneider, Die Naturvolker, 
 i. p. 269. 
 
 2 Somerville, in Journ. Anthr. List, xxiii. p. 368 (Notes on the New 
 Hebrides). 
 
 3 Elworthy, The Evil Eye, pp. 16, 148-154 ; Schurtz, in Archiv fur Anthro- 
 pologie, xxii. p. 60 (Amulette und Zaubermittel) ; Svoboda, Geschichte der Ideale, 
 i. pp. 294-296, on obscene amulets in classical art. It may be remarked that 
 ithyphallic talismans are especially numerous in and about New Guinea. Cf. 
 Schmeltz in De Clercq, Nederlandsch Nieuw- Guinea, p. 244. 
 
 4 Kleinpaul, Sprache ohne Worte, p. 275. Of. also the obscene and indecent 
 character of the devil dances on Ceylon Sirr, Ceylon, ii. p. 52. To the same 
 superstitious motives we may perhaps also ascribe the occurrence of improper 
 dances and pantomimes at funerals, i.e. at an occasion when there is especial 
 reason to fear the influence of malignant spirits. For instances of such funeral 
 ceremonies see Laing, Travels, p. 368 (Soolimas) ; Metz, Neilglierry Hills, pp. 
 77, 78 (Badagas) ; Waitz, Anthropologie der Naturvolker, vi. p. 407 (Polynesia). 
 The interpretation of these peculiar rites must, however, necessarily be only 
 hypothetical. For other explanations of them see Re"clus, Les Primitifs, p. 
 242, and Svoboda, I.e. i. p. 557.
 
 218 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 of the beholder. 1 Sometimes, on the other hand, dread 
 of this supposed mysterious power may have prompted 
 the evolution of moral institutions, and thus indirectly 
 furthered the moral feelings. But it is evident that 
 even before any such transformation took place regard 
 for public safety may have induced the males to conceal 
 the seat of so dangerous an influence. 
 
 The reproductive organs, however, are not only, in 
 virtue of their connection with the mysterious miracle 
 of life, objects of superstitious awe : they themselves, 
 owing to the same consideration, need more than any- 
 thing else to be protected against dangerous influences. 
 Fear of the evil eye has thus, as Ratzel suggests, had 
 something to do with the origin of male and female 
 dress. 2 And the notion of malignant looks is only one 
 of the superstitions that keep the savage man in a state 
 of constant fear. All the innumerable spirits that 
 populate his atmosphere constitute so many dangers, 
 against which he has to protect himself by every possible 
 means. This necessity is probably even greater for the 
 female sex than for the men. 
 
 In Messrs. Spencer and Gillen's work on Australia 
 there is one passage which suggests another possible cause 
 for the origin of female dress. When speaking about the 
 souls of ancestors, which, for the purpose of reincar- 
 nation, try to find a way to the bodies of young women, 
 the authors say that " spirit children are also supposed 
 to be especially fond of travelling in whirlwinds, and 
 on seeing one of these, which are very frequent at 
 
 1 On exposure as an offence cf. the instructive instances quoted in Ellis, 
 Man and Woman, p. 61. 
 
 2 Ratzel, Vdlkerkunde, i. p. 64. On superstitious motives for covering the 
 organs of generation cf. also Crawley in Journ. Anthr. Inst. xxiv., especially 
 pp. 441, 442 (Sexual Taboo). The Bible text (Genesis ix. 21-25), which has- 
 been interpreted by Schurtz (Philosophic der Tracht, p. 56) as a case of modesty, 
 is undoubtedly to be explained by reference to phallic superstitions.
 
 xvi THE ORIGINS OF SELF-DECOKATION 219 
 
 certain times of the year, approaching her a woman 
 will at once run away." l Now, this notion that the 
 wind is capable of bringing about impregnation is by 
 no means confined to the Australian aborigines. Mr. 
 Hartland has been able to adduce testimonies of its 
 occurrence not only in savage tribes, but also among the 
 Komans of Virgil's time. 2 And the Hottentots have an 
 almost similar superstition, viz. that a pouring rain, 
 when falling on the naked body, promotes conception. 3 
 The belief in the fertilising powers of sunshine, well 
 known from European folklore and frequently illustrated 
 in literature, from the Danae legends upwards to the 
 mysterious warnings of Hamlet to Ophelia, can of 
 course be quoted as indications of the same universal 
 " folk-belief." 4 It would only be natural if the women, 
 who so anxiously try to escape from the dangers of 
 fecundation that surround them on all sides in the 
 atmosphere, had found out the simple expedient of pro- 
 tecting themselves by clothing. 
 
 We cannot, of course, positively assert that the 
 wearing of clothes was originally due to superstitious 
 reasons. We have only wished to point out that 
 such an hypothesis can be proposed and consistently 
 defended. It accounts not only for the especial char- 
 acter of the simplest dresses, but also, which is more 
 important, for the fact of their being adopted only when 
 sexual maturity is reached. 
 
 There are other reasons, moreover, why this last- 
 mentioned circumstance, which apparently affords so 
 
 1 Spencer and Gillen, Native Tribes, p. 125. On somewhat similar notions 
 entertained by the North American Indians, cf. the instances quoted in Tylor, 
 Primitive Culture, ii. p. 24. 
 
 2 Hartland, Legend of Perseus, i. pp. 179, 180 ; cf. also Marsden, Sumatra, 
 p. 297 (Lampongs). 
 
 3 Hartland, I.e. i. p. 170. 
 
 4 Ibid. i. p. 170 ; Frazer, The Golden Bough, ii. p. 237.
 
 220 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 strong support to the theory of Darwin and his followers, 
 cannot be adduced as decisively solving the problem of 
 purely decorative garments. In laying so great a stress 
 upon the time of life when the body is decorated for the 
 first time, 1 the advocates of the theory of erotic pro- 
 pitiation seem to have overlooked that almost every- 
 where sexual maturity coincides with civic majority. 
 There is thus something to be said for the view that 
 tattooing, feather-dresses, and so on, are conferred upon 
 young men and women as outward signs of their 
 change'd status. And similarly all ulterior decorations 
 can be explained as indications of later acquired rank. 
 In ethnological literature, especially in German works, 
 a great body of facts has been produced which speak in 
 favour of such an analogy between primitive ornaments 
 and modern signs of rank and merit. 2 By relying on 
 this interpretation too we may often explain, without 
 any reference to the advantages of courtship, the fact 
 that in primitive races men are generally more decorated 
 
 1 Of. Westennarck, Human Marriage, pp. 173 sq. ; Joest, Tatowiren, p. 56. 
 
 2 Of. Tetens and Kubary in Journal des Museum Godeffroy, ii. p. 16 (Yap) ; 
 Kubary, I.e. viii. p. 133 (Pelew Islands: Gems and bracelets as badges and 
 class distinctions) ; Angas, Polynesia,, pp. 293, 297 (Tahiti : different ranks 
 among the Areoi distinguished by different tattooings) ; Schmeltz, EthnoL 
 Abtheilung des Museum Godeffroy, pp. 182 sq., 259-261, 478 sq. (Fiji ; Marquesas 
 Islands ; Samoa : tattooings as connected with distinctions of rank). These 
 facts are, as Schmeltz remarks, in direct opposition to the statements of Finsch 
 in Verhandlungen d. Berlin Anthropol. Gesellschaft, 1879, p. 414. Liitke does not 
 himself think that the richness of tattoo patterns on the Caroline Islands stands 
 in any relation to the rank of the tattooed individual ; but he admits that some 
 members of his expedition had got such an impression, Voyage, i. pp. 359, 360. 
 The belief of the Fijians, to which so curious an analogy has been found among 
 the Eskimos (Lubbock, Prehist. Times, p. 565 ; Hall, Arctic Researches, p. 570), 
 that only tattooed people are entitled to happiness after death may perhaps be 
 connected with notions of an Elysium reserved for individuals of a certain rank. 
 Cf. also Ymer, iv. p. 317, on the views of the Pelew islanders as to nose ornaments 
 as a condition for entering the realm of spirits, and Finsch, Eihnol. Erfahrungen, 
 p. 316, quoting, with reservation, Kirby on a Gilbert's Island paradise, open only 
 to the spirits of tattooed people. With regard to the African tribes we are unable 
 to adduce any unambiguous instances of scars as denoting rank and status. See, 
 however, Ellis, Ewe-speaking Peoples, p. 146.
 
 xvi THE ORIGINS OF SELF-DECORATION 221 
 
 than women. An extreme Darwinist may perhaps 
 object that the proportion between the ornaments of 
 the sexes has been inverted since the male sex began 
 to practise selection. But it is to be remembered that 
 even now in the classes for which rank distinctions are 
 most important, viz. in military and diplomatic circles, 
 men generally are more gorgeously arrayed than 
 women. 1 And it may further be adduced as an 
 exception which proves the rule that on Pelew and 
 Ponape Islands, where mothers give children their rank, 
 women are richly tattooed. 2 
 
 It cannot of course be contended that man at the 
 lowest stages of culture could have intentionally 
 created a fixed system of signs for denoting rank and 
 merit. Anything of that kind presupposes a social 
 differentiation which has not yet been arrived at by all 
 savage tribes. In thus substituting distinction-marks 
 for the means of attraction one might therefore apparently 
 be exposed to the reproof of preferring the complex to 
 the simple. Such a criticism must, however, lose its 
 force when applied to the theories which try to trace 
 the development of distinctive marks back to their 
 most simple and primitive sources. Von den Steinen, 
 in whose work these questions are subjected to a 
 detailed study, has, with special reference to the Xingu 
 tribes in the interior of Brazil, succeeded in amply 
 corroborating the theory of Spencer that the simplest 
 ornaments have been trophies of war and chase. In the 
 feather crowns of the chiefs, for example, we may thus 
 see only a later development of proudly arranged spoils 
 of chase, by which a successful hunter proclaims his 
 
 1 Wundt, Ethik. p. 152. 
 
 2 Kubary, Journal des Museum Godeffroy, viii. p. 133 (Pelew and Ponape 
 Islanders).
 
 222 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 achievements. 1 And the incised scars so common 
 among savage tribes can, in accordance with the same 
 ingenious explanation, be considered as imitations of the 
 glorious wounds with which eminent warriors have 
 been adorned when returning from battle. 2 
 
 In the cases where this interpretation holds true 
 the chief aim of the decoration is, of course, not to 
 make the man more beautiful and charming, but only 
 to show off his skill and courage, and thus to inspire 
 respect and fear. It is needless to point out that 
 in times of war such decorations must be of eminent 
 advantage by inspiring their wearer with pride at the 
 same time that they strike his enemies with terror. 
 But boasting adornments are by no means restricted to 
 military purposes. Many apparently ornamental scars 
 and tattooings are probably worn as proud traces of heroic 
 feats performed at initiations or funeral ceremonies. 3 
 And, to quote instances of less lofty pride, there is no 
 end to the cases in which gems are worn chiefly for 
 producing an impression of wealth. 4 It would be 
 absurd to suppose that this show of valour or wealth 
 must always be addressed to women. The impulse to 
 ostentation has thus undeniably, independent of sexual 
 selection, aided in the origin of self-decoration. 
 
 It is not necessary for the present purpose to submit 
 
 1 Spencer, Principles of Sociology, ii. pp. 75, 174 sq., 184 sq. ; Steinen, Unter 
 den Naturvolkern, p. 179. 
 
 2 With regard to the later developments of such triumphal signs compare 
 e.g. Wuttke, Geschichte d. Schrift, i. pp. 108 sq. ; Wilken, Nederlandsch- Indie, 
 pp. 36, 37 ; Joest, WeU-Fakrten, ii. p. 301 (Formosa^; Burchell, Travels, ii. 
 p. 535 (Bachapins). 
 
 3 Schneider, Die NaJLurvolker, i. pp. 109, 110 ; Robley, Moko, p. 46 ; Goddeu 
 in Journ. Anthr. Inst. xxvi. p. 185 (Nagas) ; Man, Journ. Anthr. List. xii. p. 35, 
 thinks that the Andamanese tattooing is executed ' ' primarily as ornamental, 
 and secondarily as proving the courage of the individual and his (or her) power 
 of enduring pain." 
 
 4 Schneider, I.e. i. p. 107.
 
 xvi THE ORIGINS OF SELF-DECORATION 223 
 
 to a close analysis all the other theories of bodily em- 
 bellishment which oppose an unrestricted application 
 of the Darwinian interpretation. Suffice it to say that 
 facts exist which support almost every one of these views. 
 Thus it seems quite unquestionable that tattooings often 
 serve as a means of conveying intellectual information. 1 
 Not only are exploits of valour which provide an 
 occasion for boasting ornament registered by incisions 
 on the body, but this primitive record may also be used 
 in order to commemorate other events that have made 
 a great impression on the individual in question. 
 
 The most instructive example of such essentially 
 commemorative self-decoration that is known in ethno- 
 logical literature is no doubt the tattooing of Tepane, 
 the native of the Eastern Island whom Dr. Stolpe met 
 in Tahiti. On his right fore-arm this highly interesting 
 individual wore a pattern which, although insignificant 
 at first sight, on closer examination showed itself to 
 be nothing less than a pictorial description of the 
 memorable event when the great stone idols, now out- 
 side the British Museum, were hauled down from their 
 original place to the British ship which was going to 
 take them over sea. Among the figures on this little 
 historical picture Tepane himself was able to point out 
 the first and second officer of the Topaz, who, stand- 
 ing somewhat apart, watched the work of the sailors. 2 
 It is indeed exceptional to meet with such complete 
 realistic drawings among the "motives" of tattoo. 
 But there is no doubt that by symbolical representation 
 sights and events have often been recorded on the 
 
 o 
 
 body, this most primitive of all commonplace-books. 
 
 1 On tattooing as a pictography compare Wuttke, Gcschichte der Schrift, 
 L pp. 97-99, 102. 
 
 2 Stolpe, Tatowiruny der Oster-Insulaner, p. 8.
 
 224 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 There is no default of instances showing that decora- 
 tion, fixed as well as detached, has been largely used as 
 a magical protection against illness, bewitching, or evil 
 eye. 1 This superstitious intention appears with un- 
 mistakable evidence in the decorations of the Xingu 
 tribes of the interior Brazil, where children and preg- 
 nant women, i.e. persons who particularly need to 
 be guarded against malignant influences, are richly 
 decorated with collars of beads, teeth, bones, and so on. 2 
 Among these Indians Professor von den Steinen was 
 also able to find some typical examples of the process, 
 which has been observed in several other tribes, by 
 which a cosmetic painting of the body is developed 
 from a purely practical greasing with earth or fat, 
 executed in order to preserve the skin against weather 
 or insect bites. 3 
 
 Perhaps more important still than any of the above- 
 mentioned motives is the one to which Herr Lippert 
 has called attention. 4 In a nation where, owing to the 
 
 1 Cf. Sarasin, Forschungen auf Ceylon, iii. p. 511 (Magical cords worn by the 
 Veddas : the custom considered to be of Singhalese origin) ; Man, Journ. Anthr. 
 Inst, xii. p. 86 (Bone necklaces worn by the Andamanese as a cure for sickness) - r 
 Ibid. p. 170 (Superstitious notions of the Andamanese with regard to tattooing) ; 
 Stevens, "Wilde Stamme Malakas," in Veroff. d. Mus. Volkerkunde, ii. p. 145 
 (Amulet collars) ; Marshall, Todas, p. 49 (Rings and bracelets as charms) ; 
 Elliot, Memoirs on the Races of the N. W. Provinces of India, i. p. 240 (Black 
 ' ' mouches " worn on the face for averting evil eye) ; Bock, Temples and 
 Elephants, p. 170 (Superstitious tattooings among Burmese and Ngious) ; Smyth, 
 Victoria, i. p. 112; andTaplin, "The Narrinyeri," in Woods, Native Tribes, p. 21 
 (Hair of deceased worn around the head in order to make "the eyes large and 
 the sight keen ") ; Roth, Tasmania, p. 76 (Bones of deceased worn as amulets) ; 
 Kingsley, Travels, p. 448 (Charm-gems in W. Africa) ; Ellis, W. African 
 Sketches, p. 9 (Bodily painting as medical cure among Fantis), pp. 191, 192 
 (Tattooing supposed to strengthen a child). For further interesting instances 
 see Wuttke, Geschichte der Schrift, i. p. 77 ; cf. also the facts about laceration as 
 medical cure collected on p. 67 in the preceding. 
 
 2 Steinen, Uhier den Naturvdlkern, p. 184. 
 
 3 Ibid. I.e. pp. 173, 186 ; cf. the assertions of Burton, Lake Regions, ii. 
 p. 63 (Wajiji Tribe : Tattooing explained as a protection against the humid, 
 atmosphere) ; Roth, Tasmania, pp. 139-141. 
 
 4 Lippert, Kulturgeschichte, i. pp. 18, 365, 366.
 
 xvi THE OEIGINS OF SELF-DECOEATION 225 
 
 undeveloped division of labour, all people necessarily 
 become more or less like each other, the individual 
 must, he thinks, feel a strong desire to develop a fixed 
 ego, a personality apart, which can be distinguished 
 from all his fellows. This craving may perhaps, as 
 Lippert thinks, have something to do with the growth 
 of a philosophical consciousness. But it may also be 
 considered from a purely practical point of view. In 
 the same way as ornaments on weapons and implements 
 often serve as owners' marks, 1 so the ornaments on the 
 body may serve as means of identifying, for social and 
 political purposes, the man who is decorated with them. 
 The Moko patterns of the Maoris, for instance, have in 
 fact been used as legally recognised marks, and copies 
 of them applied, instead of signatures, to documents. 2 
 Whether the utilitarian or the more philosophic ex- 
 planation be preferred, it is evident that, even if there 
 had been no necessity to attract the attention of the 
 opposite sex, the impulse to create an appearance which 
 is at least to some degree personal would have led to 
 the different systems of embellishment. Thus among 
 people who wear clothes any details in dresses and 
 gems would be made distinctive; where the naked 
 body is lightly coloured, so as to make tattooing con- 
 spicuous, distinguishing patterns would be incised; 
 among darker nations, on the other hand, simple scars 
 
 1 Cf. Haddon, Evolution in Art, p. 203 ; Grosse, Anfdnge der Kunst, pp. 
 130-133. 
 
 2 Robley, Moko, pp. 10-16. Cf., however, Shortland (New Zealand, pp. 16. 
 17), who explains Moko as being only a "fashionable mode of adornment," and 
 Dieffenbach (New Zealand, ii. p. 34), who thinks that the use of Moko for 
 signatures is a modern invention. Tattooings which serve as individual marks 
 of Recognition are mentioned by Heriot, Travels through the Canadas, p. 293 ; 
 Fraser, Aborigines of New South Wales, p. 45 ; Herr Koeler (Monatsberichte der 
 Gesellschaft fur Erdkunde, iii. p. 51) thinks that the scars of the Australians 
 "these genealogical indices" may to some extent make up for the want of 
 proper names.
 
 226 THE OKIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 would be cut; and finally, in the blackest tribes, on 
 whose skin not even scars stand out, modes of hair- 
 dressing would afford a last expedient for differentiation. 
 And it is evident that tribes in their intercourse with 
 each other would be led by the same considerations as 
 individuals. 1 Even in a fictitious unisexual mankind 
 there might thus have appeared precisely the same 
 kind of common and fixed signs by which tribes are 
 differentiated from each other, and of individual signs 
 by which members of the same tribe are distinguished 
 by variations from the common type. These signs 
 must necessarily, as was shown in the foregoing, 
 
 1 With regard to marks of tribal distinction compare the facts collected by 
 Spencer, Principles of Sociology, ii. pp. 72-75 ; Frazer, Totemism, pp. 26-30. 
 Even those who do not believe in Mr. Frazer's assertion that the paintings, 
 coiffures, tattooings, etc., aim at an imitation of the totem animal, will be com- 
 pelled to admit that they often serve as means of distinguishing members of the 
 same totem group. Buckland, Anthropological Studies, pp. 224, 225, 231 (On 
 tattooing) ; Starcke, The Primitive Family, pp. 42, 62 ; Wuttke, Geschichte der 
 Schrift, i. pp. 80 sq. 
 
 Further instances, unmentioned by these authors, are to be found in Godden, 
 Journ. Anthr. Inst. xxvi. pp. 184, 185 (Nagas and other Frontier Tribes of 
 North-East India) ; Fytche, Burma, i. pp. 351, 352 (Khyengs said to tattoo 
 their women in order to prevent their being carried off by neighbouring tribes) ; 
 Im Thurn, Indians of Guiana, pp. 196, 305 ; Dobrizhoffer, The Abipones, ii. p. 
 19 ; Steinen, Unter den Naturvdlkern Central Brasiliens, pp. 179, 180, 190 ; 
 Kingsley, Travels in West Africa, pp. 530, 531 ; Ellis, West African Sketches, 
 p. 191 ; Ewe-speaking Peoples, p. 146 ; Lander, Journal, iii. p. 61 (Kacundas) ; 
 Johnston, British Central Africa, pp. 422-424 ; Ward in Journ. Anthr. Inst. 
 xxiv. p. 294 (Congo Tribes) ; Wissman, Im Inneren Afrikas, p. 246 (Bacubas). 
 In his account of the Niger tribes M. Binger has succeeded in minutely classify- 
 ing the tattoo patterns according to tribes and families (Binger, Du Niger, etc. , 
 ii. pp. 408-411). It is evidently impossible to decide to how great a degree the 
 uniformity in the decorative systems of the several tribes has its origin in an 
 intentional endeavour to develop a distinct tribal appearance. It may in many 
 cases be merely a result of limited powers of invention. 
 
 As to the scarification of the Australian natives the evidence seems to be 
 contradictory. If we are to believe Mr. Taplin's informer, incisions on the 
 body would have been used by the Noocoonas in order to distinguish tribes 
 "before whites came" (Taplin, Folklore of S. Australia, p. 65). These asser- 
 tions have, however, been called in question by the informers of Curr (Australian 
 Race, ii. pp. 468, 475), by Spencer and Gillen (Native Tribes, pp. 42-44), and by 
 Stirling (Rep. Horn Exp. IV. Anthropology, p. 24); cf. also Roth, N.W.C. 
 Queensland, pp. 110, 115.
 
 xvi THE OKIGINS OF SELF-DECORATION 227 
 
 exercise a powerful influence on the opposite sex, and 
 their development may therefore have been to some 
 extent furthered by sexual selection. But it seems 
 impossible to contend that they have been invented 
 only for the purposes of courtship. 1 
 
 We have deemed it superfluous to report in this 
 connection all the instances which show that among 
 sundry tribes of mankind self -decoration is executed 
 especially with a view of pleasing. For copious collec- 
 tions of such facts it is sufficient to refer to the works 
 of Westermarck and Joest. Other interesting instances 
 have later been communicated by Finsch, Stirling, 
 Stoke, and others. 2 While necessarily sceptical with 
 regard to theories on sexual preference as a universal, 
 art- creating influence, we have of course no reason to 
 doubt the accuracy of individual statements. From 
 the point of view of the present research we have only 
 to emphasise the fact that there is no possibility of 
 deciding with any certainty in how great a degree con- 
 siderations for the favour of the opposite sex have 
 influenced the development of self-decoration. 
 
 1 For some further instances illustrating the use of "decoration" for purely 
 practical purposes see Mallery, in Eep. Bur. Ethnol. x. p. 418 ; Westermarck, 
 Human Marriage, p. 176. 
 
 2 Finsch, Ethnologische Erfahrungen, pp. 283, 284 (Mikronesia) ; in Ver- 
 handlungen d. Berlin Anthropol. Gesellschaft, 1879, p. 414 (Markesas Islands) ; 
 and in Zeitschrift filr Ethnologie, xii. p. 308 (Ponape) ; Stirling in Rep. Horn 
 Exp. iv. p. 31 (Central Australia) ; Stokes, Discoveries, i. pp. 58, 59 (South- 
 western Australia) ; Bock, Temples and Elephants, pp. 170-172 (Laos).
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 EROTIC ART 
 
 WHEN from the discouraging examination of decorative 
 arts as connected with sexual selection we turn our 
 attention to the department of poetry and drama, we 
 reasonably expect to attain some less ambiguous results. 
 In every work of literary art one should think that the 
 subject ought to afford some indication as to its purpose. 
 The dances, songs, and pantomimes of the lower tribes 
 are, however, in this respect not very instructive. No 
 doubt there can be quoted a great number of artistic 
 manifestations in which love is represented or described 
 in all its phases. But we are not thereby justified in 
 assuming that these dramas, pantomimes, and poems 
 were called into existence by the preferences of the 
 other sex. It would be absurd to adduce the porno- 
 graphic art of modern times as proof of sexual selection. 
 And it is equally absurd to cite in favour of Darwin's 
 thesis travellers' tales of indecent dances or ceremonies 
 in which no mention is made of the presence of the 
 opposite sex. 
 
 On the other hand, it must be conceded that the 
 influence of sex on the evolution of art cannot, as Mr. 
 Spencer seems to think, be completely disproved by an 
 appeal to the mere fact that erotic motives occupy so
 
 CHAP, xvn EEOTIC ART 229 
 
 insignificant a space in the most primitive art. 1 Even 
 if there were any certainty that the existing dearth of 
 information on erotic dances and poems corresponds 
 with a real lack of erotic art, it might still be main- 
 tained that the favour of the other sex was the aim 
 of all the purely lyrical kinds of music and dance. 
 And the analogy with our own stage of culture might 
 be adduced as a witness that activities and manifesta- 
 tions which in their original purpose are anything but 
 erotic may still be used as effective means of courtship. 
 War dances, for example, in which all the qualities 
 of the male body are displayed must of course be 
 eminently capable of charming the opposite sex. 
 Although undoubtedly called into existence by the 
 need of military exercise and warlike stimulation, 
 this kind of dramatic art may therefore have been 
 assisted in its development by the encouraging in- 
 fluence of female spectators. 2 In which cases such an 
 influence has operated, and how great have been its 
 effects, can only be determined by a close examination 
 not only of the works of art themselves, but also, and 
 chiefly, of the circumstances connected with the per- 
 formance of them. As poetry and drama on primitive 
 stages generally have reference to a particular occasion, 
 these circumstances ought to appear with greater clear- 
 ness than in the case of pictorial arts. 
 
 For the purposes of this research there is, however, 
 a great deficiency of reliable information. In the 
 descriptions of dances and pantomimes which can be 
 gathered from the literature of travel the most im- 
 
 1 Spencer, Essays, ii. pp. 433-435 (The Origin of Music). 
 
 2 On the stimulating influence which women may exercise on warriors, and on 
 the sensitiveness of warriors to female appreciation or criticism, see for example 
 Spencer, Descr. Soc. Div. I. Nr. iii. p. 60 (Tasmanians) ; Nr. v. p. 3 (Bedouins) ; 
 Mantegazza, Physiologic des Hasses, pp. 143-145.
 
 230 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 portant point is generally omitted whether the per- 
 formances in question were executed in the presence of 
 the other sex or not. From the general records of 
 savage life one may indeed draw some conclusions 
 bearing upon this question. But these conclusions, 
 even when, taken apart, they seem to be sufficiently 
 reliable, are, when considered collectively, full of contra- 
 diction. With regard to a great number of tribes the 
 strict separation between the sexes which prevails in 
 all phases of social life in work as well as in amuse- 
 ments provides a negative argument against the 
 theory of female influence on art. This circumstance 
 has of course been adduced by opponents of the selec- 
 tion theory; and it was Mr. Gurney's chief objection 
 to Wagner's assertion that the earliest popular dances 
 were erotic pantomimes. 1 But the adherents of Dar- 
 win's theory are no less able to support their assertion 
 by ethnological facts. This is made obvious, for instance, 
 by Wallaschek's Primitive Music, which work, as far 
 as we know, gives the most complete account existent 
 of primitive dances and pantomimes. After having 
 enumerated a great variety of tribes in which the 
 sexes are separated when dancing, the author says, 
 "As a rule, however, both sexes dance together." 
 And he then corroborates this statement by a still 
 greater number of instances in which dances, often 
 of a decidedly erotic character, are performed either 
 by both sexes together or by one sex before the 
 other. 2 Thus facts confront facts in a most bewilder- 
 ing contradiction which is indeed trying to the believer 
 in ethnological argumentation. No sound statistician 
 
 1 Gurney, Power of Sound, p. 159, quoted by Wallaschek, Primitive Music, 
 p. 211. 
 
 2 Wallaschek, I.e. pp. 210-213.
 
 xvii EROTIC ART 231 
 
 would base any conclusions on majorities made up of 
 such confused masses of contradictory instances. The 
 question of sex influence on art would therefore be 
 for ever undecided if there were no expedient for 
 classifying the units and balancing them against each 
 other in greater groups. 
 
 Such a classification is of course no less possible 
 than it is necessary. But it presupposes a close 
 examination of every single instance quoted. Owing 
 to our insufficient knowledge of some of the most 
 interesting tribes, a satisfactory arrangement is there- 
 fore as yet involved in great difficulty. In this work, 
 at any rate, it would not be possible to enter into all 
 these detailed researches. We shall restrict ourselves 
 to a few short indications of the mode in which we 
 think that this much-debated question is to be solved. 
 
 In all that has been written against Darwin's 
 Descent of Man there is perhaps nothing that is so 
 relevant to the main issue as Mr. Hudson's criticism. 
 He observes that Darwin has gathered together from 
 all regions of the globe unconnected facts about various 
 species without closely examining the habits and actions 
 of these species. 1 It goes without saying that such an 
 examination would be extremely difficult with regard 
 to animals, the social life of which is as yet so in- 
 sufficiently known. For one not a zoologist, at least, it 
 would be too audacious to present any classification of 
 the instances, and therefore we did not even mention 
 this possibility in the treatment of animal art. In this 
 connection, however, one may suggest, without positively 
 asserting, that perhaps even the animal manifestations 
 of dance and music may be classified in groups which 
 correspond to the prevailing social conditions of the 
 
 1 Hudson, The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 279.
 
 232 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 respective species. There is at least a striking simi- 
 larity between the types of song, serene with all their 
 passion, with which the males of the monogamous 
 songsters entertain their mates those mates which, if 
 one may believe the brothers Miiller, have been chosen 
 even before the pairing season. 1 And, on the other 
 hand, these graceful and harmonious utterances stand 
 in the strongest contrast to the vehement display of 
 promiscuous wood-birds and polygamous fowl. 
 
 However presumptuous it may be to draw any 
 general conclusions from these coincidences, it is evi- 
 dently indispensable, when treating of sexual selection 
 in man, to look for some connection between the various 
 forms of courtship and prevailing social institutions. 
 This necessity was fully understood by Darwin himself. 2 
 But it has been too much overlooked by his successors, who, 
 when discussing his thesis, have defended or attacked 
 it by promiscuous collections of facts in which barbaric 
 Malays and degenerate Polynesians are quoted alongside 
 primitives like the Veddas and Fuegians. If this con- 
 fusion is disentangled by a proper arrangement of the 
 instances according to stages of culture, the seeming in- 
 consistency of the ethnological evidence will be removed. 
 
 There is a prima facie ground for believing that 
 the employment of art for gaining the favour of the 
 other sex is characteristic of a certain advance in 
 social development. The tribes in which we have most 
 reason to suppose that the practice of self-decoration 
 does not rest on political or religious grounds, and may 
 thus aim exclusively at pleasing, are to be found among 
 the Polynesians, the Malays, and some of the nations 
 of India. From Polynesia also Berchon derived his 
 
 1 Groos, The Play of Animals, pp. 244, 245. 
 2 Darwin, The Descent of Man, ii. pp. 387-409.
 
 xvii EROTIC ART 233 
 
 chief support for the curious assertion which seems 
 to be true of scarcely any other ethnological province 
 that the patterns used in tattooing are quite indifferent, 
 provided only that they effectually embellish the decor- 
 ated part of the body ; l in short, that tattooing has a 
 purely decorative purpose. With regard to dancing, 
 there also is practised in Tahiti, by the dramatic society 
 of the Areoi, a dance most typical of the kind which 
 aims at an erotic excitement in the spectators. 2 
 
 As is well known, the " oriental " dancing, such as 
 is performed in the barbaric Negro states and in the 
 Mohammedan communities of Northern Africa, as well 
 as in Persia, Turkey, China, and Japan, is mainly a 
 gross pantomime of physical love executed by a woman 
 to the delight of her male spectators. 3 In most of .these 
 
 1 Berchon, " Le tatouage," in Actes de I'Acade'mie de Bordeaux, 1885, pp. 806, 
 807. Cf. also Joest, Tdtowiren, pp. 29, 53-55, 60-65. Although Berchon him- 
 self remarks (p. 811) that in Polynesia the reverence for tattooing is dying out, 
 he has not happened to think that this circumstance may have been the cause of 
 the laxity in tattoo composition. 
 
 2 Cf. Cook, (1st) Voyage, pp. 206-208 ; cf. p. 265 (Tahiti). For other Poly- 
 nesian erotic dances see Marques in Boletim da Sociedade de Oeographia de 
 Lisboa, viii. p. 60 (Samoa) ; Turner, Samoa, p. 125 ; Gill, South. Pacific, p. 20 
 (Hervey Islands) ; Rienzi, Oceanie, iii. p. 160 (Maori Slave Girls). On Polynesian 
 dance parties, arranged in order to bring into notice the daughters of the chiefs 
 and nobles, cf. Gill, From Darkness to Light, pp. 29, 253 (Mangaia) ; Ellis, Pol. 
 Ees. i. pp. 215-217 (Tahiti); Vancouver, Voyage, i. p. 119. (Tahiti). Examples 
 of similar dances and pantomimes, often in plain connection with sexual orgies, 
 can be found among Australians and Melanesians. Cf. especially Eyre, Expedi- 
 tions into Central Australia, ii. p. 235 ; Mathew in Curr, Australian Race, iii. 
 pp. 168, 169 (Mary River Natives). Koeler in his list of Australian words 
 describes ' ' Korrobbora " as an obscene dance-pantomime performed by men 
 before the women ; Monatsber. d. Ges. fur Erdkunde zu Berlin, iii. p. 53 ; 
 Mathews in Journ. Anthr. Inst. xxv. pp. 226-228 (Kamilaroi) ; Woods, Native 
 Tribes, p. 38 (Taplin, "The Narrinyeri "), p. 243 (Schiirmann, "Port Lincoln 
 Tribe, " men and women dancing some rounds together) ; Spencer and Gillen, 
 Native Tribes, p. 381. Few of these facts, however, entitle us to assume a 
 simple purpose of pleasing the opposite sex. 
 
 3 Burton, Zanzibar, i. pp. 430, 431 ; Ellis, West African Sketches, p. 226 
 (Country Dance in Mankessin) ; Laing, Travels, pp. 104, 105 (Timannees) ; Nachti- 
 gal, Sahara und Suddn, i. pp. 101, 102 (Murzuk, Fezzan) ; Span-man, Resa, i. 
 p. 421 (Hottentots). For general descriptions of this kind of dancing see Fr. 
 Muller, Allgemeine Ethnographic, p. 172.
 
 234 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 cases, however, the dancers are outcast women, who are 
 paid with money for their performance. 
 
 Somewhat closer, it seems, is the connection between 
 erotic dance and sexual selection in the native popula- 
 tion of the East Indian Islands. 1 And finally, among the 
 aboriginal tribes of India, the Mundaris, Rasas, Kolhs, 
 Sonthals, Bhuiyas, Chukmas, and Khyoungthas, court- 
 ship is pervaded by art and aesthetic activities. 2 In 
 some of the villages there still survives the same kind of 
 romantic love-making which is so well known from 
 the old Indian poems and tales. The Bhuiya youths 
 pay visits to the camp of the girls, and are received by 
 them with dances and songs ; and, says Mr. Dalton y 
 " after such daylong festivals the morning dawns on 
 more than one pair of pledged lovers." 3 In the Bayar 
 tribe one of the " methods of bringing about marriage " 
 is a dance, performed by both sexes, who face each 
 other in rows and exchange impromptu love couplets. 
 Similar festivals are also met with among the Bendkars 
 and Khonds. 4 The Hos and Mundaris, on the other 
 hand, afford an example of sexual selection in its grossest 
 form at their yearly festivals, during which excited 
 dionysiac dances and obscene and blasphemous speeches 
 are connected with wild promiscuous orgies. 5 
 
 In the improvised ditties that are sung during these 
 dances Darwin would, of course, have found the most 
 convincing proofs of the applicability of his theory to 
 
 1 Marsden, Sumatra, p. 298 (Lampong Country) ; Brenner, JBesuch bei den 
 Kannibalen, p. 331 (Sumatra) ; Joest, Weltfahrten, ii. pp. 159, 160 (Seram) ; 
 Blumentritt, Filippinen, p. 17 (Tagals), p. 41 (Catalangans). 
 
 2 Dalton, Ethnology of Bengal, pp. 196-198 (Hos and Mundaris) ; Lewin,. 
 Wild Races, pp. 123-125 (Khyoungtha Love Songs), p. 188 (Chukma Songs) ; 
 Muller, I.e. p. 471 (Kolh Dances). 
 
 3 Dalton, I.e. pp. 142-144 (Bhuiyas). 
 
 4 Ibid. pp. 135, 149, 300. 
 6 Ibid. p. 196.
 
 xvii EROTIC ART 235 
 
 poetry. Among love-inspired songs few specimens can 
 be found which are so genuine, and at the same time 
 so full of delicate feeling, as the harvest antiphonies 
 sung by the Khyoungtha boys and girls. 1 How high an 
 opinion of the power in poetry to charm is held by these 
 tribes can be judged from the fact that the Chukmas 
 never allow any songs but those of a religious character 
 to be sung in their villages. Our girls would be 
 demoralised, they say, if boys were allowed to sing 
 freely. When living in the jungle, however, where the 
 rules of morality are laxer, the Chukmas allow their 
 poetry greater license. 2 
 
 It is needless to say that some kind of erotic poetry 
 is generally to be found in all the tribes where dancing 
 expresses love. There have been translated some ex- 
 quisite samples of erotic songs composed by the Malay 
 tribes of Java and Sumatra. In some instances it is 
 quite evident that these songs have been used as means 
 of winning the favour of the women. In other cases, 
 however, it seems safest to draw no conclusions as to 
 their purpose. At any rate, love occupies an important 
 place in the poetry which has been collected in Malaysia, 
 not only among the Malays proper, but also among the 
 Tagals, Alfuras, Battaks, etc. 3 
 
 In some of their dancing songs the Australian ab- 
 original poets are said to describe the charms of their 
 sweethearts. 4 But we know of no poems in which 
 they appear to be directly addressed. Neither have 
 
 1 Lewin, Wild Races, pp. 123-125. 
 
 2 Ibid. p. 188. 
 
 3 Selenka, Sonnige Welten, pp. 349-352 ; Brenner, Besucli bei den Kanni- 
 balen, pp. 328 sq. (Bataks) ; Forbes, Wanderings, p. 149 ; Marsden, Sumatra, 
 pp. 197, 198, 267 ; Rienzi, Ocfanie, i. pp. 134, 135, all on poetry from Sumatra ; 
 Blumentritt, Filippinen, p. 17 ; Jagor, Filippinen, p. 236 (Bisayas) ; Martin, 
 Mollukken, pp. 292, 293 ; Hickson, Cekbes, pp. 272-274, 301-304. 
 
 4 Curr, Australian Race, iii. pp. 168, 169.
 
 236 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 we found any decisive statement as to the character of 
 the erotic poetry in Tahiti and New Zealand. 1 
 
 Purer and more unmistakable examples of singing 
 used as a means of erotic propitiation can be adduced 
 from some of the American nations. The Iroquois, for 
 whom dancing festivals are of great importance in the 
 intercourse between the sexes, are well aware of the 
 powers of a serenade when they wish to entice a girl 
 from her hut to a meeting. 2 In old Mexico and Peru, 
 where erotic poetry had reached a high degree of refine- 
 ment, songs and music were undoubtedly used in court- 
 ship. 3 But with these barbaric but not savage peoples 
 we have already left primitive man far behind. 
 
 It is undeniable that increased knowledge of the 
 various tribes of mankind may necessitate important 
 corrections in the above review of erotic art. There 
 might be collected, for instance, specimens of love- 
 inspired poetry from the really primitive tribes, such as 
 the Veddas, the Fuegians, etc. Perhaps also it may be 
 proved that dancing and singing really serve the pur- 
 poses of erotic propitiation to a much greater extent 
 than travellers hitherto have been able to discover. 
 But the general conclusions are very unlikely to be 
 changed by any further researches. It is sufficiently 
 obvious that the Darwinian aesthetic has its chief 
 support in the productions of barbaric nations, whose 
 social conditions have been eminently favourable 
 for the development of erotic art. This view might 
 be in danger if we had no knowledge of any artistic 
 activity in the most primitive tribes. But as a rela- 
 
 1 Of. on the erotic poetry in Tahiti, Cook, (3rd) Voyage, ii. p. 149 ; on 
 Maori erotic poetry, Dieffenbach, New Zealand, ii. p. 57. 
 
 2 Morgan, Iroquois, pp. 260, 284-287; Baker, Miusik der Nordamerikanischen 
 Wilden, p. 56. 
 
 3 Cf. Brinton, Essays, pp. 293-297 ; Markham, Ollanta, pp. 1, 2.
 
 xvn EEOTIC AET 237 
 
 tively developed religious drama, and perhaps even 
 some traditional mythical songs have been found among 
 the Fuegians ; * as the Veddas have at least one dance, 
 possibly religious, and various magic poems ; 2 as the 
 Bushmen are masters of pictorial art and develop a 
 great dramatic power in their pantomimic imitations of 
 animals ; 3 as among the Australians the surprisingly 
 high development of theatrical management and in- 
 struction 4 stands in the strongest contrast to their poor 
 erotic lyric ; in a word, as the religious, superstitious, 
 and traditional forms of art among the lower savages 
 have such an unmistakable predominance over those of 
 erotic propitiation, there is no ethnological support for 
 the assertion that the beginnings of art were due to the 
 impulse " to attract by pleasing." 
 
 It may, of course, be argued that the Fuegians, the 
 Veddas, the Bushmen, and the rest, far from repre- 
 senting primitive man, are really to be considered as 
 degenerate types. And it may furthermore be con- 
 tended that before marriage customs and other social 
 institutions had reached those forms which now prevail 
 among the lower tribes, the promiscuous intercourse 
 between all males and females during a fixed pairing 
 
 1 Hyades, Mission Scientifique, vii. p. 377 ; cf. p. 239. 
 
 2 Bailey, Trans. Ethnol. Soc. N. S. ii. p. 301 ; Davy, Ceylon, p. 118 ; Des- 
 champs, Au pays des Veddas, pp. 386-389 ; Emerson Tennent, Ceylon, ii. p. 450 ; 
 Hoffmeister, Travels, p. 164 ; Sarasin, Ergebnisse, iii. pp. 512-518, 546; Schmidt, 
 Ceylon, pp. 73, 74 ; De Zoysa, Journ. Ceylon Br. R. A. S. 1881, p. 114, all on 
 Vedda dancing. 
 
 Sarasin, I.e. pp. 510, 519-523 ; Bailey, I.e. p. 289 ; Deschamps, I.e. pp. 386 
 sq. ; Nevill in The Taprobanian, ii. pp. 121-127 ; De Zoysa, Lc. pp. 98-115, 
 all on Vedda poetry. 
 
 3 See Fritsch, Eingeborenen Sud-Afrikas, pp. 425, 426 ; Holub, Sud-Afrika, 
 ii. pp. 465, 469, 470 ; and the interesting communication in The Academy, 1878, 
 p. 463. 
 
 4 Roth, W. E., N. W.C. Queensland Aborigines, pp. 119, 120, 131 ; Spencer 
 and Gillen, Native Tribes, passim (On the elaborate decorations and para- 
 phernalia used in the dramatic rites of initiation) ; Hill and Thornton, Aborigines 
 of New South Wales, pp. 7, 8 ; Lang, Australia, pp. 28, 29.
 
 238 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 season must have produced an erotic art. Whatever 
 value such reasoning may have, it at any rate implies 
 the admission that the art-creating influence of sexual 
 selection cannot be proved on historical grounds. The 
 question how primitive society is to be reconstructed 
 cannot as yet be considered to be finally solved. But 
 even if the original marriage customs had been such as 
 Darwin supposes, and even if courtship at this unknown 
 stage of evolution had been carried on by means of art, 1 
 the fact that several existing tribes appear to be quite 
 devoid of poetic and dramatic forms of erotic propitia- 
 tion restricts the validity of Darwin's principle in a 
 considerable degree. 
 
 The attraction of the Darwinian theory is of course 
 obvious. After having realised the important part 
 which sexual selection plays in the " artistic " activities 
 of animals, one is naturally tempted to apply the same 
 principle to all similar activities in men. The influence 
 of erotic preferences is a biological datum, and, as such, 
 a principle of a more universal order, so to speak, than 
 any one of the social or religious motives. 2 However 
 advantageous it may be to apply this all-embracing 
 explanation to the whole field of art, a descriptive study 
 of the facts must needs compel us to pay attention to 
 the sociological influences which assist or impede the 
 operation of sexual selection. There is no doubt that 
 there are some secondary sexual characters and activi- 
 ties which are developed under all social conditions. 
 And it is no less certain that both sexes are every- 
 where influenced by individual predilections. But these 
 
 1 Cf. Darwin, The Descent of Man, ii. pp. 400, 401, 418. 
 
 2 Scott, "Sex and Art," in American Journal of Psychology, vii., especially 
 p. 183.
 
 xvn EROTIC ART 239 
 
 predilections cannot, of course, be regarded as factors 
 of importance in a society where strictly-fixed marriage 
 customs allow the partners no freedom of choice. They 
 will, on the other hand, produce special and differentiated 
 means of attraction where, either from demoralisation, 
 as in Tahiti, or as the result of institutional polygamy, 
 as in the Mohammedan countries, or owing to free and 
 idyllic conditions of life, as among the various tribes of 
 India, competition for the favour of a male or a female 
 is unrestricted. 
 
 It is impossible, without transgressing the limits 
 of the present work, to give a complete account of the 
 influences of society on erotic art. An author who 
 should be able to embrace in his treatment all stages of 
 evolution, the latest and most highly developed as well 
 as the earliest, would undoubtedly contribute an inter- 
 esting chapter to art-philosophy if he were to explain in 
 detail and with examples how, e.g., lyric poetry has 
 changed with changed marriage customs. Taking the 
 art of historic nations, the contrast between the litera- 
 ture of polygamous Orientals and that of Europeans, 
 whose notions of love are influenced by marriage insti- 
 tutions at least officially monogamous, would afford an 
 opportunity for most suggestive comparisons. And 
 even within the limits of modern art a comparison 
 perhaps equally instructive may be made between the 
 different classes of society with their varying forms of 
 sexual life. No task could be more interesting than 
 that of finding out to how great an extent the marvel- 
 lously refined and differentiated expressions of romantic 
 love which characterise some schools of modern poetry 
 are dependent upon the peculiar forms of sexual life 
 prevailing among the upper classes. As social factors 
 of powerful, though never sufficiently recognised in-
 
 240 THE ORIGINS OF AET CHAP. 
 
 fluence, the veiled polyandry and polygamy which lie 
 at the bottom of modern society have undoubtedly 
 influenced aesthetic notions as well as* artistic activities. 
 By causing a division of the sexual impulses these 
 conditions have facilitated the development of an ideal 
 and aesthetic love - literature which never would have 
 appeared, and cannot even be understood, among nations 
 where this division does not exist. On the other hand, 
 the same causes have, as it is needless to point out, 
 produced a literature and an art which, by their deliberate 
 grossness, stand in the strongest contrast not only to 
 the romantic utterances of civilised nations, but even to 
 the more na'ive products of primitive tribes. 
 
 We cannot in this connection do more than indicate 
 these general views, the validity of which may be easily 
 tested by the reader by application to modern art. 
 Within the boundaries of ethnological art that is, 
 between the stages of evolution represented by Tierra 
 del Fuego on one side and ancient Mexico at the other 
 end there can, however, be found sufficient proofs of 
 the general law which manifests itself more fully in the 
 richer and more highly differentiated products of modern 
 art. Love, although fundamentally one and uniform as 
 a feeling, is in its utterances ever changing with changing 
 conditions of life. If its ground is biological, its nuances 
 are always determined by sociological influences. With- 
 out taking into due account all these nuances it is 
 impossible to assert anything about the influences of 
 sexual selection on art. 
 
 The considerations adduced in this chapter have 
 led to results which, by their negative character, may 
 seem to be very unsatisfactory. It was shown first 
 of all that artistic activities, in so far as they 
 emphasise the qualities of either sex, must necessarily
 
 EROTIC ART 241 
 
 exercise an attractive influence on the opposite sex. 
 From a psychological point of view we tried to prove 
 that the various forms of self-decoration, such as are to 
 be met with among primitive tribes, must have been 
 eminently effectual as means of such attraction. But 
 we were, on the other hand, compelled to admit that the 
 primary origin of dress and ornaments in many cases 
 could be quite as well explained without any reference 
 to the relation between the sexes. Thus it became 
 necessary to examine closely the dramatic and poetic 
 art for the purpose of ascertaining in which tribes com- 
 petition for the favour of the opposite sex can be as- 
 sumed as a cause of the art. The ethnological evidence, 
 as quoted in the works on sexual selection, appeared too 
 incomplete and inconsistent to admit of any general 
 conclusions being drawn, and it seemed indispensable to 
 sift the information as well as to classify the instances. 
 Instead of one all-explaining principle, which could be 
 applied in all the various cases, we were confronted by 
 a multitude of causes and conditions, all of which needed 
 to be investigated separately and weighed against each 
 other. A reader who thinks every discussion fruitless 
 which leads to no dogmatic conclusion might perhaps 
 object that our re-examination of this much -debated 
 question has utterly failed in its purposes. We may, 
 however, be allowed to point out that although our 
 investigation has not led to any definite estimate of the 
 importance of sexual preferences for the development of 
 art, it may perhaps have contributed in some degree to 
 the elucidation of the connection between art, beauty, 
 and sex. 
 
 We have seen that even in the conditions which are 
 the most favourable for its influence, sexual selection 
 can never by itself create any quality of beauty. What
 
 242 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 kind of ideal the preferences of either sex are able to 
 call into existence is sufficiently shown by the hideous 
 deformations of the body which are to be found among 
 primitive tribes as well as among the most civilised 
 nations. Wherever, through favourable conditions of 
 life and work, beauty, i.e. grace and harmony, is 
 developed in the human body and its movements, there 
 these qualities will often be enhanced by the selection 
 that is exercised by either sex. But this selection can, 
 of course, be of influence only where the sexes enjoy 
 freedom of choice. This inquiry thus leads to the 
 general conclusion, which, we hope, will be confirmed 
 by the reasoning of all the following chapters, that the 
 problems of beauty and art can never be separated from 
 the general problems of social life. 
 
 We have endeavoured to show that sexual selection 
 has only called forth artistic activities in uncivilised 
 man when the conditions have been especially favour- 
 able. As a cause of artistic activity, sexual selection 
 does not operate everywhere. But even where there is 
 no competition between rivals, sexual emotions may 
 still find an artistic expression. In short, sexual selec- 
 tion is a cause of erotic art, but it is not the only cause. 
 With less freedom of choice for the females, there is, of 
 course, less need for the males to develop especial 
 activities for the purpose of erotic propitiation. But 
 even where the female is thus deprived of the signal 
 influence which she, through her favouring or rejecting 
 selection, can exercise on the appearance and the activi- 
 ties of the race, her instinctive coyness may necessitate 
 some means of erotic persuasion. This purpose is already 
 served by the various kinds of caressing movements 
 which are to be found not only among men, but also
 
 xvii EROTIC ART 243 
 
 among many species of animals. 1 But it is also probable 
 that primitive man, in the same way as the birds, may 
 have resorted to song and dance as a mode of winning 
 the female's consent. These activities, which are pre- 
 liminary to pairing, cannot, of course, be of the same 
 importance to evolution as those which aim at securing 
 preference in the selection of mates. But they may 
 none the less attain a high degree of development. In 
 degenerate tribes especially, erotic dancing is no doubt 
 used as an effectual aphrodisiac. 
 
 It is not necessary, however, to seek for biological 
 advantages in erotic dances, pantomimics, and poems. 
 The strong emotional tension which accompanies pair- 
 ing must of itself give rise to some mode of seeking 
 relief by sound or movement. These manifestations, on 
 the other hand, will by association revive the pleasur- 
 able feelings with which they have been connected. 
 As, moreover, among primitive men sexual exaltation 
 is one of the strongest in peaceful tribes even the 
 strongest feeling which occurs in their life, any other 
 rapture will borrow the form of its expression from 
 this elementary passion. It is well known that even in 
 civilised nations intense delight tends to express itself 
 in erotic gestures. In some cases, as, e.g., that of 
 abnormal religious exaltation, one might think that 
 a state of high-strung emotion, by suspending all 
 intellectual life, does in fact leave a man at the mercy 
 of overwhelming animal impulses. The exaggerated 
 devotion of all emotional religions sets at liberty the 
 bete humaine, which can be kept under control only by 
 the continuous competition with the higher faculties. 
 In other instances, such as those when people who have 
 received some good news feel an inclination to embrace 
 
 1 Cf. Biichner, Liebe und Liebes-Leben, p. 53.
 
 244 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 or kiss each other, it is more natural to assume a 
 process of association. In either case the psychology 
 of civilised man enables us to understand why erotic 
 dances are so generally used by primitive tribes, even 
 on occasions when they seem least appropriate. 
 
 It would be superfluous to undertake an ethnological 
 review of erotic motives in art. As we have already 
 remarked in the preceding chapter, there are tribes 
 which, according to the reports of travellers, not only 
 are completely devoid of erotic art in the sense of 
 love-propitiation, but do not even allow love any place 
 as a subject of art. It seems, however, safest to draw 
 no conclusions from this deficiency of data. Erotic art, 
 as everything else connected with sexual life, has too 
 often been overlooked by ethnological authors. Savage, 
 "W. Ellis, Wyatt Gill, Eomilly, and many others, con- 
 sider themselves bound by modesty to pass over such 
 pantomimes as are " too indelicate and obscene to be 
 mentioned." l Even the brothers Sarasin, who other- 
 wise have aimed at the greatest possible completeness 
 in their account of the Veddas, candidly say that they 
 have observed no " Lusttanze," but also never inquired 
 about them. 2 It would not be surprising, therefore, if 
 some less discreet traveller should at some future time 
 describe hitherto unknown erotic dances and songs from, 
 say, the Bushmen or the Andamanese. And there is 
 the more reason to anticipate that a closer intimacy with 
 primitive man may bring to light illustrations of erotic 
 art, as in many savage tribes sexual matters are hedged in 
 by taboo, and are especially concealed from white visitors. 3 
 
 1 Savage, New Zealand, pp. 84, 85 ; Ellis, Polynesian Res. i. p. 217 (Tahiti) ; 
 Gill, The South. Pacific, p, 20 ; Romilly, My Verandah in New Guinea, p. 88. 
 
 2 Sarasin, Ergebnisse, iii. p. 518. 
 
 3 Cf. e.g. Johnston, British Central Africa, p. 408 ; Crawley, "Sexual Taboo," 
 passim, in Journ. Anthr. Inst. xxiv.
 
 xvii EROTIC ART 245 
 
 On the other hand it is very probable that the 
 erotic element in primitive art has often been over- 
 rated. It seems doubtful whether the expressions " im- 
 proper " and " indecent," as used by the travellers in 
 descriptions of dances and dramas, are always intended 
 to signify that the representations in question were of 
 an erotic nature. 1 And even when, for the civilised 
 spectator, a pantomime appears to be most immoral, this 
 impression may be due to a misunderstanding of its real 
 meaning. No doubt, ignorance of the language and the 
 customs of the various tribes has often occasioned false 
 interpretations. Mr. Reeves, who warns us against 
 uncritical belief in travellers' tales, has been able to 
 adduce from his own experience a most telling example 
 of such a mistake. When witnessing a performance of 
 short dramas, " mekes," in Samoa, he and his party 
 felt extremely shocked by the indecent action of one of 
 the interludes. Afterwards, however, he learned from 
 the natives that the objectionable pantomime was only 
 intended to represent the movements of a woman 
 gathering fishes in a basket. 2 
 
 In a descriptive account of primitive art it would, 
 of course, be necessary to reckon with all these in- 
 adequacies of ethnological evidence. The general 
 results, such as are wanted for a philosophical treat- 
 ment, would not be affected by corrections in single 
 instances. The probability is that in every tribe, 
 independently of its social state and of its forms of 
 sexual selection, erotic feelings have always expressed 
 themselves in some way or other. With varying 
 
 1 Cf. e.g. Liitke, Voyage, ii. pp. 276, 277, on Tschuktschi dance ; Cook, 
 (3rd) Voyage, i. p. 251, on the dance of the Hapaee women, some of the 
 motions in which would, by a European, be thought rather indecent, though 
 perhaps they meant only to display the astonishing variety of their move- 
 ments. 2 Reeves, Brown Men and, Women, p. 160.
 
 246 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 conditions of life these modes of expression have, of 
 course, acquired greater or less importance for art. 
 Where war occupies the attention of the tribe to an 
 exclusive degree, erotic motives can never occupy a 
 prominent place in art. Where, as is alleged to be the 
 case among some Australian tribes, notions of decorum 
 forbid any expression of the feelings of affection and 
 love, love songs and dances will hardly be publicly 
 acknowledged in public art. 1 On the other hand, an 
 erotic literature will be prominent in such communities 
 as that of Tahiti. 2 And when, as in Kamschatka, 
 poems generally are composed by women, it is only 
 natural that their subjects should be chiefly "love, 
 hate, grief, and hope." 3 These facts are all so self- 
 evident that there is no need to argue upon them. 
 
 More interesting than all these sociological agencies 
 is the influence of prevailing religious and superstitious 
 notions. As has been already pointed out, sexual taboo 
 has in many cases checked the development of erotic 
 poetry and dance as a public art. But perhaps more 
 frequent than the cases of such prevention are those 
 where they have been furthered by phallic systems of 
 religion. This is of course an additional reason for 
 caution in accusing primitive art of immorality when it 
 shocks our feelings of modesty. 4 Thus the indecency 
 of religious sculptures connected with ancestor- worship 
 has undoubtedly often a serious and symbolical meaning. 6 
 In some tribes indecent pantomimes, which otherwise 
 are strictly forbidden, will be performed, evidently for 
 
 1 Curr, Austr. Race, iii. p. 169 (Mathew, Mary River), on songs describing 
 the charms of a sweetheart. ' ' Such songs are only known to a few individuals, 
 and are sung in private." 
 
 2 Cook, (3rd) Voyage, ii. p. 149. 
 
 3 Spencer, Descr. Soc. Division I. Nr. v. p. 30. 
 
 4 Cf. Johnston, British Central Africa, p. 408. 
 6 Schurtz, Das Augenornament, pp. 49, 54.
 
 xvii EEOTIC ART 247 
 
 some superstitious reason, at funeral ceremonies. 1 Per- 
 haps, also, some superstitious notion about sympathetic 
 magic lies behind the obscene rites and songs which so 
 often accompany wedding ceremonies. This principle 
 appears more unmistakable in the dramatic rites which 
 are performed by many people as means of removing 
 sterility. Finally, owing to a combination of sym- 
 pathetic magic and animistic conceptions of nature, 
 erotic pantomime has acquired a prominent place 
 among agricultural rites. 
 
 All these manifestations of pictorial and literary art, 
 which in aim and intention cannot, properly speaking, 
 be called erotic at all, will be treated of in the following 
 chapters. In this connection it is only necessary to 
 mention the naturalistic dramas which in Africa and 
 Australia are represented at the initiation of boys in man- 
 hood. We need not explain that the performances in 
 the male camps, by which the youths are introduced to 
 all the features of men's life, naturally assume an obscene 
 character. But it is interesting that the pantomimes, 
 which, from our standpoint at least, are so revolting, 
 sometimes seem to be meant to serve the interests of 
 morality. Mr. Mathews, in his description of the Bora 
 ceremony among the Kamilaroi, says that this panto- 
 mimic representation was enacted for the purpose of teach- 
 ing youths to abstain from homo-sexual vices. 2 Knowing 
 the degree of immorality which has been reached by 
 many savage tribes, one may readily understand that 
 the old men in the tribe have resorted to these radical 
 means of dissuading the boys from vice. And one feels 
 tempted to apply Mr. Mathews' explanation to similar 
 rites in other tribes than the Kamilaroi. The initiation 
 
 1 Cf. p. 217 in the preceding. 
 2 Mathews in Journ. Anthr. Inst. xxiv. p. 424.
 
 248 THE OKIGINS OF ART CHAP, xvn 
 
 ceremonies of the Amazulus, for instance, which would 
 in no case be possible in any but extremely degenerate 
 nations, might be explained on the same hypothesis. 1 
 
 It is significant that the Kamilaroi, in vindication of 
 their obscene art, have hit upon the very same apology 
 which was adduced in defence of the French literature 
 of the eighteenth century. But in both cases, among 
 the primitives as well as in civilised communities, the 
 supposed beneficial effects of erotic art seem to be very 
 questionable. Where dances, dramas, and songs speak 
 only of sensual pleasure, they will soon kill intellectual 
 inquisitiveness as well as zeal for work. Sir Henry 
 Johnston, who has more right than any one else to speak 
 about the populations of Africa, thinks that the sudden 
 arrest in the intellectual development of African boys 
 which can generally be noticed at the time of puberty 
 is a result of ^the overpowering sexual stimulation to 
 which they are at that time exposed. 2 As the same 
 cause, i.e. an art and a social life which are full of 
 erotic suggestions, operates in many savage tribes, it 
 may perhaps account to some extent for the fact, 
 recently commented upon by Kidd, that, notwithstand- 
 ing the marvellous teachableness of primitive children, 
 savages always prove inferior to white men after the 
 attainment of maturity. 8 And it gives a reason for the 
 tendency fruitless, no doubt, but none the less sincere 
 which is to be found among some of the strongest 
 nations, the ancient Maori, for instance, to repress and 
 quench by all possible means the development of an 
 art that aims deliberately at erotic stimulation. 4 
 
 1 Fritsch, Die Eingeborenen Sild-Afrikas, p. 140. 
 
 2 Johnston, British Central Africa, p. 408. 
 
 3 Kidd, Social Evolution, p. 279 ; cf. Spencer, Principles of Sociology, i. pp. 
 88, 89. 
 
 4 Johnstone, Maoria, p. 43.
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII 
 
 ART AND WORK 
 
 IN our treatment of erotic art we have been led far 
 away from the connection between art and the mainte- 
 nance of species. Whatever the case may be for animals 
 and those primitive men whose sexual life is restricted 
 within a short and fixed pairing season, an artificial 
 stimulation of the erotic feelings is no biological require- 
 ment for the existing tribes of man. Where art has 
 mainly served this purpose, it has not, as has been 
 shown, by any means exercised a beneficial influence on 
 the race. The most typical illustrations in the last 
 chapter were therefore found in the artistic productions of 
 degenerate tribes which no doubt would, if brought into 
 conflict with less licentious neighbours, prove inferior in 
 the struggle for existence. And all these instances afford 
 invaluable arguments to those philosophers who consider 
 art as a checking and weakening factor in progress. 
 
 It is hoped, however, that the present chapter will 
 contribute towards the refutation of such one-sided 
 views. We intend to adduce instances from various 
 stages of culture which will bring out the importance 
 of art as a favouring factor in the struggle for life. 
 
 It is evident that a pantomimic imitation of any 
 activity must, as exercise and stimulation, facilitate the
 
 250 THE OKIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 subsequent real execution of the same activity. Indi- 
 viduals and nations who have grown familiar in play 
 with the most important actions in life's work have thus 
 acquired an unquestionable advantage in the struggle 
 for existence. After the publication of Professor 
 Groos's great works on animal and human recreations 
 it is needless to dwell upon this point. This eminent 
 psychologist has, with regard to the evolutionary value 
 of sportive representations or, as he prefers to say, 
 " prae-presentations " of life, been led to consider them 
 as based on inherited instinctive impulses. Instead of 
 the play-impulse, which only serves to provide an out- 
 flow for the superfluous energy in the organism, he has 
 thus introduced the conception of an activity which 
 exercises an important positive influence on life. And r 
 on the other hand, his consummate researches have 
 brought out with especial clearness the intimate connec- 
 tion between play and art. A great many of the instances 
 he has collected present all the technical qualifications 
 of a manifestation of dramatic art. As Groos himself 
 remarks, only the addition of a disinterested aesthetic 
 attention in the players is needed in order to transform 
 the instinctive activities into artistic ones. How this 
 transition has taken place is a question which will un- 
 doubtedly be treated in the great system of art-philosophy 
 to which the hitherto published works of Professor 
 Groos constitute the introduction. We have therefore 
 only to point out how much support these views derive 
 from the study of primitive art. In the various tribes, 
 with their differing types of life, there is afforded a 
 singular opportunity of observing the connection be- 
 tween play, or art, and the serious occupations of life. 
 The games of the children, as well as the dances and 
 pantomimes of the full-grown, almost everywhere cor-
 
 xviii ART AND WORK 251 
 
 respond to the prevailing activities in the various 
 communities. The North American Indians, the Malays, 
 the Maoris, the tribes of Central Asia, and others, all 
 furnish instances of the familiar law that the amuse- 
 ments of warlike nations mainly consists in exercises 
 which are preliminary to, or reminiscent of, the experi- 
 ences of battle. A war dance or a mimic fight is the 
 traditional type not only of their public entertainments, 
 but also of their state ceremonial. No example could 
 be more telling than that of the Dahomey state dances, 
 which, however they may begin, always seem to end 
 with an imitation of the greatest social action in the 
 country decapitation. 1 Where the struggle for existence 
 is a contest with nature and not with fellow-men, a 
 hunting or fishing pantomime usually takes the place of 
 these military performances. It is true that such re- 
 presentations of work often lose their importance in 
 national art when the conditions of life grow easier. 
 Mr. Taplin thus contrasts the rich and varied entertain- 
 ments of the Polynesians, who without any exertion 
 obtain their subsistence from their bountiful soil, with 
 the amusements of the poor Narrinyeri, who even in 
 their dances and pantomimes have always practised 
 " those arts which were necessary to get a living." : But 
 it is significant that even the inhabitants of these 
 " happy islands " in their dramatic performances intro- 
 duce imitations of rowing, fighting, and other kinds of 
 common work. And at still higher degrees of develop- 
 ment, where the division of labour has given rise to 
 special trades, all these various crafts will often, as was 
 the case in Dahomey, in ancient Peru, and in mediaeval 
 
 1 Cf. Burton, Mission to Gelelc, i. pp. 46, 51, 210, 267, 382 ; ii. p. 10 ; Forbes, 
 Dahomey, i. p. 24. 
 
 2 Woods, Native Tribes, p. 37 (Taplin, "The Narrinyeri").
 
 252 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 Europe, be a favourite subject for pantomimic repre- 
 sentation. 1 If such representations have been of no 
 especial value as exercise, they may nevertheless, by 
 bringing about an association between work and pleasure, 
 have made toil and labour less repugnant. The exertions 
 called forth by the struggle for existence have thus at 
 all stages of culture, except that of modern industrialism, 
 been to some extent facilitated by art. 
 
 Perhaps even more important in their influences than 
 the imitation of work in play or drama are the artistic 
 activities which accompany the actual performance of 
 work. As these kinds of dance and song have been 
 somewhat overlooked by Professor Groos, there is reason 
 to make them the subject of a closer investigation. 
 
 When explaining the manifestations of art which 
 can thus, in the literal meaning of the word, be called 
 songs and dances of action, we have to divide our atten- 
 tion between two different points of view. First, the 
 need of stimulation and regulation of the work of the 
 individual, and, second, the need of co-operation in the 
 work of different individuals. In both these respects 
 art has had an importance among primitive tribes which 
 can scarcely be overrated. 
 
 It is well known that at a lower degree of mental 
 development the power of instantaneous muscular exer- 
 tion is far less than among educated men. Broca's 
 experiments showed that artisans with somewhat trained 
 intelligence generally reached higher figures on a dyna- 
 mometer than working men who were only used to 
 bodily exertions. And the Negroes, whose forces were 
 tested by Fe're, were far below the average of Europeans. 2 
 
 1 Burton, Mission to Gelele, i. pp. 149, 150 ; Acosta, History of the Indies, 
 ii. p. 444. For European trade dances see, e.g., Bohme, Tanz in Deutschland, 
 i. pp. 63 sq., 209. 
 
 2 Fe're", Sensation et mouvement, p. 4.
 
 xviii ART AND WORK 253 
 
 As in these experiments the natives were introduced to 
 new and unaccustomed movements, the evidence of 
 the psychometric apparatus must be considered as 
 somewhat extenuated by the circumstances. Broadly 
 speaking, these experiments can, however, be taken as 
 indications of a general psychological law. 1 The ex- 
 perimental evidence is, moreover, corroborated by the 
 common complaints of Europeans who have had to 
 rely on natives. The slowness with which the primitive 
 man gets into swing with his work has no doubt been 
 referred to times without number by slavekeepers 
 when advocating their methods of treating natives. 
 Strange to say, there are some tribes which themselves 
 candidly admit their own inertness, and voluntarily sub- 
 mit to whipping in order to get " their blood a little 
 agitated." 2 
 
 The slowness and the insensibility of the Guarani are, 
 however, as appears from Mr. Kengger's description, 
 exceptional and pathological. 3 But it seems as if almost 
 all tribes had invented some means of inciting them- 
 selves to work. Only, these means are seldom such as 
 Europeans would feel inclined to avail themselves of 
 when urging on their workers. That they can never- 
 theless be as effectual as even the slavekeeper's whip 
 is shown by Signer Salvado. His description of his 
 experiences with Australian natives as farm-labourers 
 is delightful: "How often," says he, "have I not used 
 their dancing songs in order to encourage and urge them 
 on in their work. I have seen them, not once, but a 
 thousand times lying on the ground with minds and 
 bodies wearied by their labour ; yet as soon as they 
 
 1 Cf. Spencer, Principles of Sociology, i. p. 48. 
 
 2 Rengger, Saeugethiere von Paraguay, p. 12. 
 
 8 Cf. the facts adduced by Rengger, I.e. p. 11.
 
 254 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 heard me singing the Machielb-Machiele, which is one 
 of their commonest and favourite dancing songs, they 
 would yield to an irresistible impulse, and rise and join 
 me with their voices. They would even begin to dance 
 joyfully and contentedly, especially when they saw me 
 singing and dancing among them, like any other 
 savage. After a few minutes of dancing I would seize 
 the opportunity to cry out to them in a merry voice, 
 Mingo ! Mingo ! a word meaning breast, which is also 
 used in the same way as our word courage. After 
 such an exhortation they would gradually set to work 
 again. And they would begin afresh with such good- 
 will and eagerness, that it seemed as if the dance of 
 Machielb had communicated to them new courage and 
 new vigour." l 
 
 From many parts of the world there may be quoted 
 examples of savages who always raise a chant when 
 compelled to overcome their natural laziness. 2 In many 
 cases they seem, as in Salvado's anecdote, to avail 
 themselves of words and melodies which perhaps were 
 originally intended only for amusement. 3 But it is also 
 well known that working men everywhere stimulate 
 themselves by special songs of exhortation. 4 And when 
 employed in prolonged and monotonous work they 
 everywhere seem to know that toil may be relieved by 
 
 1 Salvado, Voyage en Australie, pp. 182, 183. 
 
 2 As regards the general psychology of musical and poetical exhortation to 
 work cf. Chardin, Voyages, i. p. 160, quoted in Biicher's Arbeit und Rhythmus, 
 pp. 48, 367. For typical instances see Reade, The African Sketch Book, ii. p. 
 313 (Krumen) ; Wissman, Unter devtschen Flagge, p. 43 (West African Carriers) ; 
 Burton, Lake Regions, ii. p. 291 (East Africa) ; Grove, Dancing, p. 16 (Egypt) ; 
 Turner, Nineteen Years in Polynesia, pp. 817, 345 ; Lewin, Wild Races, p. 271 
 (Lhoosai) ; Thomson, New Zealand, i. p. 167 ; Dieffenbach, New Zealand, ii. p. 57. 
 
 3 Cf. The satirical and erotic boat songs of the Gold Coast Negroes Winter- 
 bottom, Africans of Sierra Leone, i. p. 112, and the historical and erotic plough- 
 ing songs of the ancient Peruvians Markham, Ollanta, pp. 1, 2. 
 
 4 A collection of such working songs from among various civilised nations has 
 been brought together by Professor Biicher in his Arbeit und Rhythmus.
 
 xviii ART AND WORK 255 
 
 song. 1 The majority of these work poems may perhaps 
 be of no great poetical or musical merit, but that 
 does not affect their great evolutionistic importance. 
 Whether Noire is right or not in his theory that lan- 
 guage has developed from the work cries of primitive 
 men, 2 there is no doubt that some of the simplest and 
 perhaps earliest specimens of poetry are to be found 
 among the short ditties sung by labourers during their 
 work. The stimulus which is provided by such songs 
 is easily understood without any explanation. But 
 their invigorating power will be perceived more clearly 
 when we take into account that emotional susceptibility 
 to musical impressions which has been remarked in so 
 many primitive tribes. 3 Besides these invigorating 
 effects, every musical accompaniment will also, by 
 virtue of its rhythmic elements, regulate the movements 
 of work, and thereby produce a saving of force deployed. 
 When the words of the work-songs refer to the 
 action itself, the effect will be strengthened by verbal 
 suggestion. It is true that many of the songs which 
 are sung during the manufacture of weapons and 
 utensils, during boat-building and such-like, are magical 
 in their intention. 4 But there is no doubt that the 
 ideas of poetical magic are to a great extent derived 
 from a psychological experience of the suggestive power 
 of words. Without committing ourselves to any super- 
 stition, we can easily believe that in Polynesia as well 
 
 1 Cf. e.g. the interesting chapter on mill songs in Bucher's above-mentioned 
 work. As an addendum to this collection we may adduce the corn-grinding song 
 of the Mapuche' women Smith, The Araucanians, p. 306. 
 
 2 Noire, Der Ursprung der Sprache, pp. 331 sq. 
 
 3 Cf. e.g. Lenz, Skizzen aus Westafrica, pp. 198, 199, on the exciting effects 
 exercised by tam-tam music on the Okandes. 
 
 4 See the boat-building songs of the Hervey Islanders (Gill, South Pacific, 
 p. 22), which form so striking an analogy to the magical " Kunos " of the old 
 Finns. Cf. also Mason, Origins of Invention, p. 150 (Maoris).
 
 256 THE ORIGINS OF AET CHAP. 
 
 as in ancient Finland canoes were better built when 
 the " boat-building " song was properly recited by the 
 builder. Only we prefer to think that the magic 
 operated on the workman and not on his material. 
 
 The psychological influence of the work dances is 
 still easier to understand. Preliminary movements, 
 even when undirected, always make the subsequent 
 action more effective ; witness a golfer's flourish before 
 driving. As Lagrange has pointed out, their effect will 
 be to develop that amount of animal heat which is 
 necessary for every muscular contraction. 1 When, 
 moreover, they are fixed and differentiated in their 
 form, the influence will of course be all the greater. 
 By every attempt to execute a special movement, the 
 idea of such movement is made more and more distinct. 
 And as hereby the ideomotor force of this represent- 
 ation is increased, the final action must be executed 
 with greater ease and greater efficacy. The validity 
 of this law may be easily proved by experimental 
 psychology. Fe're' has in his dynamometrical tests 
 observed that the second pressure always attains a 
 higher figure than the first one. " La premiere pression 
 a pour effet de renforcer la representation mentale du 
 mouvement." 2 Without any theoretical knowledge of 
 these psychological facts, the common man has always 
 been able to avail himself of the beneficial effects which 
 are to be derived from preliminary imitations of any 
 difficult movement. Hence the curious pantomimes of 
 experimentation which we may always observe in the 
 artisan who has to give a finishing touch to his work, or 
 in the athlete who tries to perform a new and unaccus- 
 tomed exercise. 
 
 1 Lagrange, Physiologie des exercises du corps, pp. 32-35 ; Souriau, L'esth&ique 
 du movement, pp. 58, 59. 2 F<Sre, Sensation et mouvement, p. 12.
 
 xviii AET AND WORK 257 
 
 The psychology of movement-perception, as we have 
 described it in the foregoing, makes it evident that a 
 similar prompting influence may be exercised by the 
 actions of others. 1 This is an experience which must 
 have occurred, we should imagine, to every one who 
 has been coached in golf by a professional. When 
 concentrating his attention upon each successive 
 movement in the instructor's model performance, the 
 beginner in sports and gymnastics receives with his 
 whole body, so to speak, an impression of the exercise 
 he has to go through. The representation thus gains 
 in distinctness as well as in motor force, and the sub- 
 sequent movement is executed in an almost automatic 
 way. 
 
 These familiar facts from the psychology of every- 
 day life will explain why among the savage tribes we 
 so often meet with the institution of the prsesul. When 
 any labour is to be performed which requires the co- 
 operation of many hands, such as the harvest or row- 
 ing, the prsesul demonstrates in dance or pantomime 
 the sequence of movements which the others have to 
 go through. 2 By the suggestive influence of his 
 performance all the individual workers are stimulated 
 in their exertions. More important, however, than this 
 stimulation is the co-ordination of labour which is 
 effected by the element of rhythm in ' song and 
 dance. 
 
 We have in a previous chapter spoken at sufficient 
 length of the incalculable aesthetic importance of rhythm 
 
 1 Cf. the dynamogenic experiments of Fre", Sensation et tnouvement, pp. 13, 
 14, and the remarks of Schmidkunz, Psychologic der Suggestion, p. 222. 
 
 2 Bucher, Arbeit und Rhythmus, p. 261 ; Polack, New Zealanders, i. p. 222 ; 
 ii. pp. 31-32 (on the chiefs who, standing up in the canoes, direct the rowing 
 with help of their spear-truncheons) ; Kollman, The Victoria Nyanza, p. 164 
 (Ussuknma). 
 
 S
 
 258 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 as a means of producing emotional community between 
 different individuals. In this connection we have still 
 to point out that a fixed time-division must in the same 
 way facilitate common activity. From the historical 
 point of view this practical aspect is undoubtedly the 
 more important. However fundamental and primordial 
 the aesthetic function of the perception of rhythm may 
 seem for the theorist, it is most probable that the 
 development of this faculty has been chiefly furthered 
 by its utilitarian advantages. There is no doubt that 
 even the most primitive man may feel the want of 
 associating his fellow-men in his emotions, and that for 
 this purpose he may be able to give the expression of 
 them a fixed rhythmical form. But the power of per- 
 ceiving this time-division as a rhythm, and of obeying it 
 closely in song and dance, would, as Dr. Wallaschek 
 has shown, certainly not have attained so high a degree 
 of development if this power had not, by facilitating 
 common activity, been of such immense advantage for 
 the maintenance of species. 1 It goes without saying 
 that any work which necessitates the co-operation of 
 several workers must be executed with greater efficiency 
 the more closely the individuals follow to a common 
 rhythm. 
 
 There is no doubt, therefore, that, as Spencer 
 remarks, the incompetence of the Arab and Nubian 
 boatmen on the Nile is chiefly a result of their in- 
 ability to act together. As an Arab dragoman is 
 reported to have said, a few Europeans would, by virtue 
 only of their superior powers of co-operation, do in a 
 few minutes what now occupies hundreds of men. 2 
 Such an incapacity for concerted action is, however, 
 
 1 Of. pp. 87-91 in the preceding. 
 2 Spencer, Principles of Sociology, ii. pp. 271, 272.
 
 xvin ART AND WORK 259 
 
 quite exceptional among the lower tribes of men. Some 
 tribes, as e.g. the farmer Negroes in West Africa and the 
 Malay and Polynesian boatmen, are even famous for the 
 wonderful regularity of their work. 1 This regularity, on 
 the other hand, has been explained by all travellers as a 
 result of the rhythmical songs by which their work is 
 accompanied. 
 
 It is significant that the most typical specimens of 
 working songs and dances should be met with in the 
 tribes of Oceania. The insular life, which even in other 
 respects has been so favourable to the development of 
 art, has necessitated a most intimate co-operation 
 between individuals. 2 Hence the development of canoe 
 dances and boating songs, by help of which the move- 
 ments of the rowers are adjusted according to common 
 and fixed rhythms. 3 The same necessity has of course 
 produced similar results, in a greater or less degree, in 
 every community where the type of life makes collective 
 action needful. It has not given rise to any important 
 manifestations of art among the pastoral tribes, in which 
 individuals can do well enough without help from each 
 other. In agricultural societies, on the other hand, it 
 has called forth those sowing and harvest dances or 
 songs which are so familiar in the folklore of the 
 civilised nations. 4 And, more than any other of life's 
 
 1 Laing, Travels, pp. 252, 253 ; Brenner, Kannibalen Sumatras, p. 258 ; 
 Shortland, Traditions and Superstitions of the New Zealanders, pp. 140, 144, 145, 
 150. 
 
 2 Vodskov, Sjaeledyrkelse og Naturdyrkelse, pp. Ixxix. -Ixxxi. ; Ratzel, Vdlker- 
 Jcunde, I. Einleitung, p. 89. 
 
 3 On songs and dances connected with boating see Muller, Industrie des 
 Cafres, p. 47 ; Burton, Gorilla Land, i. pp. 166, 167 ; Spencer, Descr. Soc. Div. 
 i. Nr. 3, p. 62 (Javanese) ; Angas, Savage Life, i. p. 102 (Australia, canoe dance 
 of the Rufus) ; Smyth, Victoria, i. pp. 174, 175 (Australian canoe dance) ; 
 Eienzi, Oc^anie, iii. p. 159 (New Zealand), and the facts collected by Biicher 
 Arbeit und RhytJimus, pp. 180-191. 
 
 4 Biicher, I.e. pp. 200-202.
 
 260 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP.XVIII 
 
 occupations, war has required an active coherence 
 between the individual members of the tribe. The 
 influence of military institutions on art is, however, in 
 more than one respect so important that its treatment 
 must be reserved for a special chapter.
 
 CHAPTEE XIX 
 
 ART AND WAR 
 
 IN the Principles of Sociology Mr. Spencer has 
 devoted some of his most forcible paragraphs to a treat- 
 ment of the social influences of war. By adducing and 
 comparing with each other types of social life among 
 different tribes, he has been able to show how military 
 customs everywhere tend to reduce the individual liberty 
 and strengthen the central power. 1 Many other writers 
 on sociology have perceived and commented on the 
 truism that the internal coherence of tribes has been 
 chiefly produced by the need of combination for 
 defensive purposes. 2 But perhaps sufficient attention 
 has not been paid to the share which art has had in the 
 development of those peculiarities which are common to 
 all military nations. And yet as a means of facilitating 
 tribal unity of action and feeling, music and dance must 
 be of exceptional sociological importance in warlike 
 communities. 3 
 
 We shall therefore meet with highly developed choral 
 dances in those nations in whose life war is a customary 
 
 1 Spencer, Principles of Sociology, i. pp. 553-555, 567-574. 
 
 2 Mitchell, The Past in the Present, p. 192 ; Groos, Die Spiele der Menschen, 
 pp. 435, 437. 
 
 3 Cf. Wallaschek in International 'Congress of Psychology, 2nd Session, p. 
 75.
 
 262 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 occurrence. The North American Indians, 1 as well as 
 the Dahomey an s, 2 are noted for the soldier-like regularity 
 of their dances. But nowhere among the lower tribes 
 of mankind is the time-sense so refined as among the 
 pre-eminently warlike Maori. Notwithstanding the 
 furious movements in their war dances, the gesticulation 
 of all the participants is always uniform and regular. 8 
 According to Cruise the very slightest motions of their 
 fingers are simultaneous ; 4 and, if we are to believe Mr. 
 Bid will, even their eyes all move together. 5 Highly 
 accomplished dancers as are certain other Polynesian 
 tribes 6 less warlike than the Maori, it will be admitted 
 that such a pitch of more than Prussian precision would 
 never have been attained if it were not for its military 
 advantages. To the same cause one is also tempted to 
 ascribe the regularity of the Kaffir dances, 7 which by 
 
 1 Cf. e.g. Lafitau, Mosurs des sauvages, i. p. 522 (" Les Iroquois, et les autres 
 sauvages leurs voisins ") ; Powers, Tribes of California, p. 29 (Karok). 
 
 2 Cf. Forbes, Dahomey, ii. p. 61. Mr. Forbes's admiration for the discipline 
 and order displayed in the mass movements will be well understood by all who 
 witnessed the Dahomeyan dances performed at the Crystal Palace in the summer 
 season 1893. 
 
 3 Thomson, New Zealand, i. pp. 126, 127 ; Earle, New Zealand, p. 70 ; 
 Mundy, Our Antipodes, pp. 129, 183 ; Shortland, Trad, and Superst. of the 
 New Zealanders, pp. 150-152. 
 
 4 Cruise, New Zealand, pp. 30, 31. 
 
 5 Bidwill, Rambles in New Zealand, pp. 81, 82. 
 
 6 On ensemble and exact time in dancing cf. Cook, (1st) Voyage, pp. 206-208 
 (Tahiti) ; (3rd) Voyage, i. p. 188 (Wateoo), pp. 247, 248, 255 (Hapaee) ; Ellis, 
 Pol. Ees. i. p. 215 ; Marques in Boletim, etc., viii. p. 59 (Samoa) ; Reeves, 
 Brown Men and Women, p. 158 (Samoa) ; Williams, Fiji, p. 142; Kleinschmidt 
 in Journ. d. Mus. Godeffroy, xiv. p. 268 (Fiji) ; Liitke, Voyage, i. p. 383 
 (Ualan. Caroline Islands) ; Tetens and. Kubary in Journ. d. Mus. Godeffroy, 
 ii. p. 23 (Yap, Caroline Islands) ; Hernsheim, Sudsee-Erinnerungen, p. 34 
 (Yap). 
 
 The same virtues have also been admired in Australian dancing. See e.g. 
 Fraser, Aborigines of N.S. Wales, p. 66 ; Smyth, Victoria, i. p. 168 ; ii. p. 294 ; 
 Woods, Native Tribes, pp. xxxii., xxxiii., 272. Cf. also Dalton, Ethnology of 
 Bengal, pp. 254, 255 (Oraons) ; Lewin, Wild Races, p. 227 (Kumis) ; p. 313 
 (Shendoos). 
 
 7 Fritsch, Eingeborenen Sud-Afrikas, p. 91 (Ama Xosa) ; Casalis, The Basutos, 
 p. 147 (Kaffir and Basuto dance).
 
 xix AET AND WAR 263 
 
 their choral character stand in so marked a contrast to 
 the amusements of the neighbour tribe, the peaceful 
 Hottentots, among whom every dancer acts " separately 
 for himself." 1 
 
 It is evident that a regular co-operation in fighting 
 is effectually promoted by rhythmical music. And we 
 do in fact find that music, especially instrumental music, 
 at the lower stages of development is closely connected 
 with war. 2 It is, however, more natural to assume that 
 military music, and similarly military poetry and dance, 
 have had their chief importance not as regulating but 
 as stimulating influences. There are many tribes which 
 seem quite unable to observe any kind of military 
 discipline. But even in the undeveloped and un- 
 methodical warfare of the lowest savages, music, songs, 
 and dances have been used as means of infusing courage 
 and strength. The psychology of these military stimuli 
 is of course the same as that of industrial art. But the 
 general principles appear with far greater clearness when 
 applied to this peculiar kind of activity. 
 
 First of all, the need of stimulation is never so great 
 as when a man has to risk his life, in an open battle. 
 If in work he has to overcome his natural inertia, 
 laziness, he has here to overcome the still stronger 
 obstacle of fear. Contrary to the romantic notions of 
 popular literature, primitive man seems to be timorous 
 rather than brave when not encouraged by adventitious 
 excitement. 3 This cowardice can, however, to a great 
 
 1 Fritsch, I.e. p. 328. The authority of Heir Fritsch gives sufficient credit to 
 this assertion, although it is in direct opposition to the statement of Kolbe, 
 Reise, pp. 530, 531. Heir Fritsch's account of Hottentot dancing is, moreover, 
 in substantial agreement with Span-man's description, Resa, i. pp. 375, 376. 
 
 2 Cf. with regard to the employment of horns, drums, pipes, etc., as military 
 signals, Wallaschek, Primitive Music, pp. 88, 99, 100, 104, 111-113. 
 
 3 See, for instance, the descriptions of Khond warfare in Spencer, Descriptive 
 Sociology, Division I. Nr. 5, p. 17 (quoting Campbell, Khondistan, p. 42), and
 
 264 THE ORIGINS OF AET CHAP. 
 
 extent be explained by defective military organisation. 
 Where the mutual support which the well-drilled soldiers 
 of a regular army render each other is lacking, the need 
 of personal courage is of course so much the greater. 
 Civilised warfare tries to avoid the conflict between the 
 instinct of self-preservation and of a soldier's duty by 
 the pressure of strict discipline ; savage warfare, which 
 cannot count on the same forces of submission and 
 mental control, is compelled to minimise this conflict by 
 deadening the consciousness of peril. Hence the in- 
 dispensability of some means of producing violent excite- 
 ment by which the necessary forgetfulness of danger 
 and death may be attained. 1 
 
 Apart from the influence of fear, the task of slaughter 
 is one which, from its very nature, cannot be performed 
 in cold blood. Even where the element of danger is 
 absent, as when unarmed foes are killed or tortured, 
 the savage executioners do not generally get to work 
 straight away. As soon as a beginning has been made, 
 a sort of intoxication will indeed be produced by mental 
 as well as physical agencies, such as the sight of blood 
 or the pride of conquest. But this intoxication, so 
 eagerly desired by savages in civilised as well as in 
 primitive communities, cannot be produced even in the 
 lowest tribes of man without a preliminary working up. 
 The passion of cruelty, like that of love, is, in its higher 
 and more ecstatic forms, too overwhelming in its mental 
 effects to be attained without an artificial enhancement 
 of psychical capacity. But whereas the erotic feelings 
 
 the reflections of Mr. Bidwill on Maori courage as dependent upon musical and 
 saltatory stimulation, Rambles in New Zealand, pp. 82, 83. As these instances 
 refer to tribes which have been noted for the personal bravery which they 
 develop when excited, the need of artificial excitement must be far stronger 
 among timid tribes. 
 
 1 Cf. the acute reflections of Cook, (1st) Voyage, p. 344.
 
 xix AET AND WAR 265 
 
 tend with growing development to become more and 
 more a private matter, cruelty is among warlike tribes 
 an emotion of national importance. The incitement to 
 slaughter is therefore apt to become social that is, 
 common to several individuals at once. This is one of 
 the reasons why war is of so much greater importance 
 than love as a motive for tribal art. 
 
 There are some tribes in which the soldiers try to 
 acquire courage and thirst for blood by magical ex- 
 pedients, such as smearing themselves with some 
 powerful unguent, or eating the raw meat of a newly 
 slaughtered ox. 1 Sometimes a joint tattooing of the 
 whole corps with a common pattern is undertaken, most 
 probably for the same magical purpose. 2 But however 
 effectually such ceremonies may be supposed to operate, 
 savages do not generally put so much trust in them as 
 to give up their favourite means of stimulation music 
 and dancing. In people who sincerely believe in their 
 own magic any rite will of course arouse increased con- 
 fidence and courage. But this suggestive influence is 
 only indirect in comparison with the immediate psycho- 
 logical effects of inciting dances. 
 
 Popular novels have familiarised us all with the 
 weird war dances which play such an important part in 
 the warfare of the North American Indians. In its 
 main features this type of pantomimic incitement is 
 the same everywhere among the African and Oceanic 
 tribes as well as among the savage nations described in 
 classic literature. 3 By imitating the movements of a 
 
 1 Beecham, Ashanti, p. 211 ; Schoolcraft, Information, i. pp. 79, 80 
 (Dacotas) ; Wood, Nat. Hist, of Man, i. p. 116 (Kaffir war medicine). 
 
 2 Kubary on Micronesian war tattooings in Joest, Tatowiren, p. 80. 
 
 3 Mann in Trans. Ethn. Soc. N. S. v. p. 295 (Kaffirs) ; Livingstone, Miss, 
 Travels, pp. 198, 199 (llakololo dance demonstration as a preparation to an 
 intended fight) ; Schoolcraft, Information, iv. p. 62 (Dacotas dance when they 
 come in the neighbourhood of the enemy's country) ; Schomburgk, Guiana, ii.
 
 266 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 real fight, by exulting cries, deafening noise, and 
 brandishing of weapons, the dancers work themselves 
 up to a pitch of frenzy which cannot be compared to 
 anything but a transient madness. Especially among 
 the nations of America war dances often arouse so much 
 excitement, even when performed during times of 
 perfect peace, that they become dangerous to friendly 
 and peaceful onlookers. 1 Here also just as in the 
 Hungarian "Enlistment" dancing is used as a means 
 of enticing men to join the ranks of the war chief who 
 wants recruits for some war-expedition. 3 
 
 It is evident that the influence of such pantomimes 
 is not restricted to a generalised stimulation and 
 encouragement. These sham fights, just as the sportive 
 imitations of work, must facilitate the execution of those 
 movements which they imitate. And even those who 
 do not join the dance will profit by watching the 
 evolutions which they themselves will afterwards be 
 called on to perform in reality. Thus there may 
 originally have been a very utilitarian reason for the 
 curious warfare of the Headhunters of Ceram, who 
 always have the Jakalele dance performed in front of 
 their fighting line. It is pathetic to read that even in 
 
 p. 322 (Macusis) ; Cook, (1st) Voyage, pp. 467, 468, and Angas, Savage Life, i. 
 pp. 328, 329 (Maoris) ; Cahusac, La danse, i. p. 108, on the ancient Ethiopians, 
 quoting Lukianos. 
 
 Ethnological literature affords numberless descriptions of dances performed as 
 an exercise to battle. As in the present connection we have only to deal with 
 means of stimulation, which immediately precede the real action, all these 
 instances are not to the point. 
 
 1 Carver, Travels, pp. 174, 175 ; Schoolcraft, Information, iii. p. 187, quoting 
 Golden (of 1747) on the Iroquois ; Acosta, History of the Indies, ii. p. 444 
 (Peru) ; cf. also Lang, Australia, p. 29 ; Blumentritt, Filippinen, p. 16 (Tagal 
 excitement during the performance of war-pantomimes). 
 
 2 Heckewelder, Hist, of the Indian Nations, p. 209 ; Schoolcraft, Information 
 ii. p. 59 (N.A. Indians in general) ; v. pp. 526, 684 (Chippewas and Com- 
 anches) ; Morgan, Iroquois, pp. 268, 339 ; Burton, City of the Saints, p. 177 
 (Prairie Indians) ; Casalis, The Easutos, pp. 334, 335 ; Czervinski, Geschichte des 
 Tames, pp. 251, 252 (Hungary).
 
 xix AET AND WAR 267 
 
 their wars with the Dutchmen a few fantastically dressed 
 dancers head the advance against the repeating guns of 
 the European force. 1 
 
 This fact, which is certainly not without its parallels 
 in other savage tribes, gives the most convincing proof 
 of the indispensability of pantomimic stimulation to 
 savage warfare. Although less intimately connected 
 with fighting itself, poetry has had for war an import- 
 ance which can scarcely be estimated at a much lower 
 rate. Words, of course, can never provoke such a direct 
 and almost physiological stimulation as the imitation of 
 actions. But words, on the other hand, have a greater 
 effect on the mind. The suggestive power of the war 
 songs is also attested by the descriptions of travellers 
 among various tribes. In Australia, for instance, four 
 or five mischievously inclined old women can soon stir 
 up forty or fifty men to any deed of blood by means of 
 their chants, which are accompanied by tears and groans, 
 until the men are worked into a perfect state of frenzy. 2 
 " The savage blood of the Ahts always boiled when the 
 war songs were recited, their fingers worked convulsively 
 on the paddles, and their eyes gleamed ferociously ; 
 altogether they were two hundred murderous -looking 
 villains." 3 In Ashanti and in New Zealand in short, 
 amongst all the most warlike tribes the military singers 
 are able to bring themselves and their audience up to 
 a pitch of frenzy which is almost equal to that produced 
 by the dances. 4 
 
 1 Joest, Weltfahrten, ii. pp. 160, 161. On a similar institution among the 
 Negroes see Mantegazza, Physiologic des Rosses, p. 318. 
 
 2 Grey, Journals, ii. p. 303 ; cf. also Calvert, Western Australia, p. 32 ; 
 Salvado, Voyage, p. 182. 
 
 3 Sproat, Scenes and Studies, p. 190. 
 
 4 Cf. especially the quotations from Dupuis in Spencer, Descr. Soc. Division I. 
 Nr. 4, p. 47 (Ashantis) ; Ellis, Pol. Res. i. p. 287 (Tahiti) ; Cook, (1st) 
 Voyage, p. 344 (New Zealand).
 
 268 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 In one of the preceding chapters we have already 
 pointed out how invaluable a support historic art has 
 given to national pride. This feeling, on the other hand, 
 is never so indispensable as in time of war. Wherever 
 a tribe has any traditions of its past history, such tradi- 
 tions are always revived and recited to the soldiers 
 before and during the battles. 1 And if a people has no 
 glorious ancestors to boast of, it can none the less gain 
 the necessary confidence by glorifying its own valour 
 and reviling its enemies. Even tribes like the Bakairis, 
 for example, are thus able to " sing themselves full of 
 courage " in boasting and defiant exultation. 2 
 
 According to competent observers, such songs are 
 more particularly employed when the natives are afraid. 3 
 The expression of bravery, even if originally affected, 
 must necessarily awaken some real feeling of pride or 
 confidence. Contempt, on the other hand, however 
 laboriously worked up, is the most effectual means of 
 preserving equanimity under the stress of depressing 
 feelings, admiration, envy, or fear. Songs and panto- 
 mimes, such as, for instance, those with which the 
 Polynesians invariably begin their battles, must therefore 
 have a great power of emboldening the warriors. 4 And 
 while such outward shows of valour enable the performers 
 
 1 Dobrizhoffer, The Abipones, ii. pp. 366, 367, 422-424, 427 ; Thomson, New 
 Zealand, i. pp. 126, 169. 
 
 2 Dobrizhoffer, I.e. pages adduced above ; Steinen, Durch Central-Brazilien, 
 p. 175, cf. also p. 165. 
 
 3 Cf. Dobrizhoffer, I.e. ii. pp. 376, 385 sq. 
 
 4 Cf. Ellis, Pol. Res. i. p. 286 (Tahiti) ; Spencer, Descr. Soe. Division I. Nr. 
 3, p. 15 (Fiji) ; Thomson, New Zealand, i. p. 128 ; Pritchard, Pol. Hem. p. 56 ; 
 Wood, Nat. Hist, of Man, ii. pp. 58, 59, 280, 356 (Australia, Fiji, Samoa). 
 
 How great a part of the boastful expressions of contempt for the enemy plays 
 in the warfare of the American tribes can be seen from Heriot, Travels, p. 449 
 (Iroquois). Cf. also Eyre, Expeditions into Central Australia, ii. p. 224 ; Schwein- 
 furth, Im Herzen von Afrika, ii. p. 25 (Niam Niam) ; Shooter, The Kafirs, 
 pp. 197-199 ; Wood, Nat. Hist, of Man, i. p. 581 (Cammas).
 
 xix ART AND WAR 269 
 
 to reconquer their courage, the enemy is intimidated by 
 these manifestations of a feeling which is as yet incipient 
 within themselves. In warfare, where the hostile armies 
 stand within sight and hearing of each other, this con- 
 sideration must of course be of extreme importance. 
 
 It seems, indeed, as if natural selection had developed 
 in man an almost instinctive tendency to overcome fear 
 by simulating the expressions proper to valour and 
 menace. Just as animals, when frightened, make 
 themselves bigger and more formidable to their enemies, 
 whether from fear or anger we know not, so man tries 
 to awaken fear in the enemy confronting him at the 
 same time, and by the same means, as he vanquishes 
 his own fear. This appears with especial clearness in 
 wars between savage races, where both sides often seem 
 to be as timid as they try to appear formidable and 
 courageous. Their threats and boastings are terrifying 
 enough, but the real fights are very bloodless and free 
 from danger. Among the Gammas " the words really 
 seem to do more damage than the blows." l The gallant 
 game of bluff is in primitive politics not restricted to 
 diplomatic negotiations ; it plays an important part in 
 the actual fighting. This remains true even with regard 
 to tribes which are capable of real courage, not only in 
 stealthy assault, but also in open battle. The Maorian 
 military pantomimes afford the best example of such a 
 manifestation, which not only stimulates the warriors to 
 fight and regulates their movements in the battle, but 
 also, as a European traveller has been compelled to 
 admit, " strikes terror into the heart of any man." ' In 
 
 1 Wood, Nat. Hist, of Man, i. p. 581. A typical and instructive example of 
 undangerous warfare on the Marshall Islands is described by Finsch in Ethno- 
 logische Erfahrungen, p. 392. 
 
 2 Bidwill, Rambles in New Zealand, p. 81 ; cf. Cook, (3rd) Voyage, pp. 
 161, 162.
 
 270 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 this case the terrible effect is further strengthened by 
 the hideous grimaces, rolling of the eyes, protruding of 
 the tongue, and so on, with which the warriors 
 accompany their dance. 1 So important is this distortion 
 of the countenance considered by the Maoris, that 
 instruction in the art of grimacing forms a part in their 
 military education. 2 The most warlike of savage tribes 
 thus does not despise the naive expedient which con- 
 stitutes almost the sole means of self-defence among 
 peaceful Eskimos. 3 And so highly do the Maoris 
 appreciate the terrifying effects of the protruded tongue, 
 that they carve the grimace upon their spears, the 
 " hanis," evidently in the belief that such representa- 
 tions will perhaps by some magic power demoralise 
 the enemy. 4 
 
 This pictorial pantomime brings us to the employ- 
 ment of formative arts in war. To some extent even 
 painting, especially in its decorative branches, may be 
 considered as a means of exhortation. The various 
 decorations of the body which are usually adopted for 
 fighting no doubt raise the courage of their wearers. 
 A festival dress, when assumed for battle for example, 
 by the Khonds must needs bring with it a light and 
 festive mood. 5 The red colour, so often used in 
 military dress, tends, on the other hand, to arouse in- 
 creased vigour by direct physiological as well as by 
 associative action. 6 Perhaps also, as some old authors 
 suggest, the use of red may have had a negative im- 
 
 1 (Maning), Old New Zealand, p. 49 ; Polack, New Zealanders, i. p. 88 ; ii. 
 pp. 166, 167. 
 
 2 Polack, I.e. i. p. 28. 
 
 3 Richardson, Arctic Expedition, i. p. 356 ; Bancroft, Native Races, i. p. 68. 
 
 4 Angas, Savage Life, ii. pp. 149, 150 ; Wood, Nat. Hist, of Man, ii. pp. 
 161, 162. 
 
 5 llacpherson, Memorials of Service in India, p. 79. 
 
 6 Of. Grosse, Anfange der Kunst, pp. 58-60.
 
 xix AET AND WAR 271 
 
 portance by concealing the wounds and the blood, 
 which else might depress the men and encourage their 
 enemies. 1 Like every beautiful thing, highly orna- 
 mented weapons will afford their owners an invigorating 
 feeling of pride, which, however, to judge from the 
 unheroic character of many tribes whose weapons are 
 most gorgeously decorated, does not seem to be of any 
 great military advantage. 2 
 
 Military ensigns, such as banners, standards, and 
 the like, will naturally, as outward symbols of the tribe, 
 exercise an exciting influence on the warriors. Even 
 for barbarous nations, with their undeveloped feelings 
 of patriotism, in the modern sense of the word, a flag 
 may represent la patrie en marche. Well knowing 
 the moral value of these apparently unimportant 
 things, the Aztecs employed in their army men whose 
 only task was " to remove from the eyes of the enemy 
 every object that could heighten their courage and 
 inflame their pride." 3 
 
 The importance of field badges is of course increased 
 when, as generally is the case, they are adorned with 
 some religious or magical representation. Be it a 
 tutelar saint, a heathen god, or simply a totem animal, 
 which is depicted, these images will always be relied 
 upon as a strong support to the army. 4 The marvellous 
 tales of assistance afforded by idols which have been 
 carried in the front of battle may of course have some 
 
 1 Wuttke, Geschichte der Schrift, p. 74, quoting Silius Italicus, Aelianus, 
 and Valerius Maximus. Further quotations adduced in Fairer, Military Manners 
 and Customs, pp. 222-224. Cf. also Letourneau, La guerre, p. 153. 
 
 2 Cf. the remarks of Wood in Nat. Hist, of Man, ii. p. 599. 
 
 3 Clavigero, The History of Mexico, i. p. 371. 
 
 4 As to magical paintings on banners, standards, and shields, see Hein, Die 
 Uldenden Kiinste lei den Dayaks auf Borneo, pp. 71, 72. Cf. also the old 
 Slavonic traditions related by Nagele in Zeitschrift fur Volkerpsychologie, xvii. 
 p. 278 (Der Schlangen-Cultus).
 
 272 THE OKIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 real foundation in the encouraging mental effects pro- 
 duced upon the warriors. 
 
 It thus appears that ornaments, painting, and sculp- 
 ture have been of no small influence in enhancing the 
 fighting powers of warlike nations. Among the lower 
 tribes of man these arts are, however, on the whole 
 much more appreciated as means of frightening the 
 enemy. As was mentioned in a preceding chapter, 
 some bodily deformations are, if we may believe the 
 natives, undertaken solely for this purpose. 1 Other 
 warlike tribes endeavour to make themselves dreaded 
 by their enemies by staining their bodies with ghastly 
 colours, blood-red, azure, or black. Tattooing may, of 
 course, often aim at the same end. And among the 
 detached ornaments there is an especial class for 
 which the German ethnologists have invented the 
 characteristic designation " Schreckschmuck " which 
 are only worn in order to make the appearance more 
 frightful. The war helmets of the Thlinkeets 2 and the 
 curious tooth masks of the Papuas are the most 
 typical specimens of this pre-eminently warlike decora- 
 tion. 3 
 
 The highest development of art as a means of terri- 
 fying is, however, to be found in the decorated shields 
 of the Dyaks. No form of pictorial threat could be 
 more effectual than the devices which ornament the 
 face of these ghastly weapons. A grinning mouth, with 
 sharp tusks in either jaw, is always to be found in the 
 middle of the shield. Above it stand a pair of staring, 
 
 1 Joest, Tatowiren, p. 20 ; Polack, New Zealanders, i. p. 28 (Tahiti deforma- 
 tions of the skull). 
 
 * Bancroft, Native Races, i. pp. 101, 105 (Thlinkeets). 
 
 3 Romilly, My Verandah, p. 42 ; Finsch, Samoafahrten, p. 91, Atlas, Tafel 
 xxii. ; Efhiwlogische Erfahrungen, p. 99 (Motu, New Guinea), p. 243 (Kaiser 
 Wilhelms Land, New Guinea), p. 630 (Bismarck- Archipel). Some fine specimens 
 to be seen in the British Museum.
 
 xix AET AND WAR 273 
 
 circular eyes, usually surrounded by dark and light con- 
 centric rings. Sometimes also there is a highly simpli- 
 fied outline of the lower parts of the body. The trunk 
 is completely ignored, and arms and legs are quite 
 swamped in a bewilderment of entangled lines, which 
 extend over the whole surface of the shield. But in this 
 ornamentation the warlike motive is repeated over and 
 over again. Tusks protrude from the scrolls, and big 
 round eyes stare menacingly out between them. Thus 
 even the decorative "padding " (Einfullung) operates as 
 a multiplied expression of defiant menace. As an 
 eloquent commentary on this text the whole shield is 
 furthermore hung with tufts of human hair, trophies 
 of vanquished enemies, which partly conceal the brown, 
 red, and black design. 1 The whole composition, which 
 in a description may seem merely bizarre and brutal, 
 is, however, executed with a severe symmetry and a wild 
 grace which afford a most peculiar contrast to the weird 
 motive. By these aesthetic qualities the ornamentation 
 acquires an art-value which is quite independent of its 
 supposed military advantages. One can indeed easily 
 understand that the savage foes of the Dyaks may be 
 paralysed with terror when confronted in battle with 
 those glaring eyes and menacing jaws. But even the 
 civilised observer who examines at his ease the shields 
 which stand in the glass cases of ethnological collec- 
 tions must needs be impressed by their power. Though 
 they do not frighten us, they are not, as might be ex- 
 pected, mere examples of ridiculous grimace. They 
 still extort our admiration for that weird kind of beauty 
 which, in primitive art as well as in animal warning- 
 
 1 In later times, however, the Dyaks have begun to avail themselves for this 
 purpose of the hair of their deceased. Cf. Hein, Die Bildenden Kiinste bei den 
 Dayaks, p. 74. 
 
 T
 
 274 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 coloration, is so often found in close connection with 
 the feelings of terror. 
 
 We have deemed it profitable to dwell at some 
 length on these remarkable products of savage decora- 
 tive art. The demon shields of the Dyaks, in spite 
 of the fact that their motives have evidently been 
 borrowed from Chinese and Indian art, 1 are eminently 
 representative of the nation and its social milieu. 
 These wild men of the woods have been able to express 
 in their ornamental composition, better than would 
 have been possible in any higher form of art, all the 
 intense feelings of their wild romantic life. The terror 
 and intoxication of slaughter, as they are experienced in 
 a tribe for which furtive murder is the holiest of all 
 religious actions, speak their violent language in the 
 glaring patterns. But at the same time the elegant design, 
 which is so characteristic a peculiarity of the shields, as 
 well as of every other specimen of Dyak art, corresponds 
 to the graceful and elegant personal appearance which, 
 according to the unanimous verdict of all travellers, 
 distinguishes these fierce savages. 2 And it seems as if 
 this gracefulness, no less than the weird emotional 
 content of the pictures, may be derived from the custom 
 of head-hunting. The continuous insecurity which has 
 given its own character even to the Dyak architecture 3 has 
 of course not been without its influence on the physical 
 development of the tribe itself. Where assault from 
 insidious enemies is always to be expected, and where 
 the type of fighting is single combat, lightness and 
 suppleness of movement must be indispensable for the 
 struggle for existence. We can, therefore, easily under- 
 
 1 Hein, Die Bildenden Kiinste bei den DayaTcs auf Borneo, p. 85. 
 
 2 Marryat, Borneo, pp. 14, 15, 74 - 76 ; Selenka, Sonnige Welten, pp. 
 80, 81. 
 
 3 Hein, I.e. p. 19.
 
 xix AET AND WAR 275 
 
 stand how these people have acquired that natural 
 grace which similar utilitarian causes have developed 
 among all mountainous animals, and among most beasts 
 of prey. 1 Nor is it difficult to comprehend that this 
 beauty of the human body, once called into existence 
 by natural selection, must have awakened aesthetic atten- 
 tion to form and grace, and thus indirectly influenced 
 even the manifestations of ornamental art. 
 
 If it be objected that such sociological explanations 
 of decorative patterns are too far-fetched, we at once 
 refer to the marvellous Maori ornaments, in which the 
 temperament of another warlike tribe has found a most 
 characteristic expression. Like the fantastic convolutions 
 on the Dyak shields, the flaming scrolls of black and 
 red which extend over the ceilings and walls of the 
 Maori houses unmistakably attest their origin from a 
 nation which war has made violent, vigorous, and in- 
 tensely energetic. 2 Generally speaking, it may be futile 
 to seek for any differentiated expressional qualities in 
 such an impersonal and unemotional art as that of 
 linear ornament. But in face of these powerful designs 
 even the most neutral observer will be struck with the 
 strong emotional exaltation which has here found a vent, 
 not in words, or sounds, or images, but in pure lines 
 and colours. Such mighty strokes, so full of life and 
 agitation, could never have been drawn by any peaceful 
 and quiet natives. The velocity and the wild inspira- 
 tion of these patterns are only possible in a nation 
 which has experienced in continuous fights an ever- 
 repeated state of high-strung emotional excitement. 
 
 The more official Maori decorative art, the Moko, as 
 
 1 For detailed arguments on this point see the author's Forstudier till en 
 konstfilosofi, chap, iv., "On Gracefulness." 
 
 2 Of. the illustrations in Hamilton's The Art Workmanship of the Maori
 
 276 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 well as the Maori sculpture, probably because of their close 
 connection with religion, are too rigid in their traditional 
 character to admit of any strongly pronounced emotional 
 content. But the influence of warlike exaltation has 
 instead made itself felt in the poetical productions of 
 the race. And, as has already been pointed out, but 
 for the military type of life dancing could not have 
 reached so marvellous a degree of development. Owing 
 to the more organised character of Maori warfare, mili- 
 tary customs do not, as among the Dyaks, aim chiefly 
 at producing suppleness and graceful movements in the 
 individual. But one has only to read the enthusiastic 
 descriptions of the painter Earle in order to realise 
 the influence which military customs have even here 
 exercised on the development of plastic beauty. 1 
 
 The Dyaks and Maoris are but two of the most 
 typical among savage tribes whose artistic productions 
 have grown up under the auspices of war. For a com- 
 plete account of art in its connection with war it would be 
 necessary to dwell on the war songs of the North American 
 Indians, 2 to give some account of the art-style which is 
 found in the military despotisms of Western Africa, 3 and 
 to describe in detail the poetry which has been called 
 into existence by the continuous tribal feuds of the 
 North African nomadic hordes. 4 In its broad aspects, 
 however, the aesthetic importance of war will, we hope, 
 appear with sufficient clearness from the cursory review 
 which has been given above. 
 
 We have seen that war, as the hardest form of the 
 struggle for life, has needed, more than any other kind 
 
 1 Earle, New Zealand, pp. 160, 161 ; cf. also Jolmstone, Maoria, p. 50. 
 
 2 Cf. especially the specimens translated in Schoolcraft, Information, ii. pp. 
 59 sq. 
 
 3 See the specimens of leather, bone, and textile works preserved in ethno- 
 logical collections, especially in Muse"e de Trocadero, Paris. 
 
 4 Cf. Posnett, Comparative Literature, p. 133.
 
 xix ART AND WAE 277 
 
 of work, the support which aesthetic stimulation affords 
 to practical activities. And the art which has developed 
 under its influence has, to a greater degree than is 
 usual in primitive production, fulfilled the conditions of 
 emotional community and emotional intensity. More- 
 over, the requirements of fighting have called forth 
 aesthetic qualities of power and gracefulness in the 
 physical type which seem to be reflected even in artistic 
 creation. Thus the art-production of military tribes 
 has everywhere, independently of racial and climatic in- 
 fluences, acquired some common qualities ; their decora- 
 tive arts, as well as their poetry and dramatic dances, 
 are always characterised by an intense and forcible life, 
 which is often combined with dignified power and 
 graceful elegance. 
 
 All these are, of course, only restricted merits, which 
 correspond to some striking deficiencies. It is easily 
 understood that art-life in a military state of society 
 always tends to be circumscribed within the narrow 
 boundaries of tribal sympathy. It may also be pointed 
 out, at least as a curious and significant coincidence, 
 that descriptive and figurative art, in the sense of 
 realistic, faithful rendering of nature and life, has never 
 attained any high development among the most military 
 tribes. Such a sympathetic interest in the picturesque 
 qualities of the human and animal body as that which 
 characterises the art of the prehistoric European cave- 
 dwellers, the Bushmen, and the Eskimo, does not seem 
 compatible with the customs of war. In this connection it 
 is not our business to estimate critically the comparative 
 importance of these merits and deficiencies : we have 
 only to point out the undeniable significance which, 
 from an historical point of view, must be accorded to 
 war as a factor in the development of art.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 ART AND MAGIC 
 
 SYMPATHETIC magic has in recent times become a 
 favourite subject of scientific study. We may there- 
 fore proceed to trace the influence which this important 
 factor has exercised on the development of art-forms 
 without going through the labour of presenting and 
 describing the evidence of its occurrence at the different 
 stages of evolution. It is sufficient to refer to the 
 copious and detailed researches of Hartland, Frazer, 
 Beranger-Feraud, and others. What we need is only a 
 psychological interpretation of all the facts which have 
 been brought together by these authors. 
 
 The instances of sympathetic magic are naturally 
 divided into two main classes, which, broadly speaking, 
 correspond to the two types of association. But just as 
 in psychology it is often difficult to decide whether a 
 given associative process has its origin in a relation of 
 contiguity or in one of similarity, so it is often an open 
 question to which group a given superstition is to be 
 assigned. It may even be possible to deduce both 
 groups from one common and fundamental magical 
 principle. 
 
 However the definitive theoretical explanation may 
 turn out, we have for the present to uphold a distinction
 
 CHAP, xx AKT AND MAGIC 279 
 
 between the two forms. And in order to start from the 
 facts that are simpler and easier to explain, we shall 
 first devote our attention to sympathetic magic based on 
 a material connection between things. 
 
 The superstitious notions which can be brought 
 together under this heading are familiar to every one. 
 There is scarcely a single book on ethnology or folklore 
 which does not present some illustrations of the belief 
 that by acting upon a part of a given whole we may 
 influence this whole as well as all its other parts. This 
 universal doctrine of a solidarity between the things 
 that have entered as parts in the same material totality 
 has given rise all over the world to beliefs and practices 
 which, although varying in details, are essentially similar 
 in general character. We need only refer to the well- 
 known folk-beliefs as to the necessity of caution in dis- 
 posing of clippings of hair or nails, of saliva, or anything 
 else removed from the human body. Such objects, it is 
 supposed, would give any enemy into whose hands they 
 might fall the power of injuring through them the 
 person from whom they had proceeded. 1 Almost 
 equally universal is the belief that close relatives, as 
 being ingredients in or perhaps rather partakers of 
 the same whole, the family, are bound together in a 
 quite material solidarity of suffering. From the socio- 
 logical point of view this group of superstitions, owing 
 to the social importance of the last-mentioned totality, 
 is of especial interest ; and therefore the curious customs 
 concerning the relation between a father and his unborn 
 
 1 Spencer, Principles of Sociology, vol. i. p. 102 ; Lang, Myth, Ritual, and 
 Religion, i. pp. 94-100 ; Frazer, The Golden Bough, i. pp. 9-12, 193-206. For 
 further instructive instances see Ellis, Eie Peoples, pp. 98, 99 ; Tshi Peoples, 
 pp. 108, 109 ; Curr, Australian Race, i. pp. 45-48 ; Woods, Native Tribes, 
 pp. 23-26 (Facts referring to Polynesia and Australia) ; Kotzebue, Entdeckungs- 
 reise, ii. p. 20 (Hawaji) ; DieQenbach, New Zealand, ii. p. 59 ; Musters, Pata- 
 gonia, p. 12 (Tehuelches).
 
 280 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 child, between husband and wife, ancestors and de- 
 scendants, etc., which no doubt are all based on the idea 
 of a material connection, have been treated of with 
 due completeness in sociological literature. 1 Equally 
 valuable for the psychological interpretation, although 
 less pregnant with social import, are all the petty tricks 
 of sorcery in connection with hunting, fishing, agricul- 
 ture, and so on, which are practised even now among 
 most European nations. 2 From the array of facts in- 
 serted by Mr. Hartland in his monumental commentary 
 on the Legend of Perseus, we can form an opinion 
 of the wide and deep-going influences which the belief 
 in magical connection between things materially con- 
 nected has exercised in all departments of life. And 
 besides this ethnological apparatus, Mr. Hartland gives 
 us in this work a most complete and definite account 
 of the world-view which lies behind all these superstitious 
 beliefs and practices. 
 
 More light, however, is thrown on the philosophy 
 of this superstition by the researches of M. Rochas 
 d'Aiglun than by any work on scientific ethnology 
 and folklore. This is not said in order to detract in 
 any way from the merits of Messrs. Hartland and 
 Frazer. But although nothing could surpass the erudi- 
 tion of these scholars, they could not, in point of 
 
 1 See literature on the Couvade, and on the precautions to be observed by 
 men who expect to become fathers. We cannot here dwell on the interesting 
 theories, according to which totemistic doctrines and regulations ought to be 
 interpreted as based upon the conception of a quite material substratum, con- 
 necting for eternity with each other all individuals and generations of the same 
 family. However fantastic they may have appeared, the probability of these 
 views has undeniably been increased by the publication of those hitherto un- 
 known details of Australian ceremonialism that have been brought to light by 
 Messrs. Spencer and Gillen. But in questions like these it seems almost im- 
 possible to discriminate between symbolical ideas and actions on the one hand, 
 and magical practices based on a real belief on the other. 
 
 2 Cf. Andree, Mhnographische Purallelen, Neue Folge, p. 46 ; Hartland, The 
 Legend of Perseus, ii. p. 267.
 
 xx ART AND MAGIC 281 
 
 sympathetic and intelligent representation, stand on a 
 level with an author who himself believes in the reality 
 of his facts. For those, therefore, who wish to under- 
 stand the motives, conscious or unconscious, by which 
 the adepts of sympathetic magic justify their practices, 
 nothing could be more instructive than a perusal of 
 L'exteriorisation de la motricite and L'exteriorisation 
 de la sensibilite. In these works M. Rochas has not 
 only minutely summarised the seventeenth century 
 theories and observations of Digby and Papin : * he 
 has also supplemented these old " facts " with his own 
 experiments on objects that have been saturated with 
 sensibility and motor power by contact with living 
 bodies. The power of relics, love philtres, and charms 
 is thus explained in a way which, however fantastic, is 
 nevertheless undeniably consistent and methodical. 2 A 
 savage or an uneducated man would indeed be unable to 
 put his case in the logical form which M. Rochas gives 
 it. But if he understood scientific terminology, he 
 would doubtless ratify, as a true interpretation of his 
 own vague conceptions, the theory of sensitive and motor 
 effluvia which emanate from all living beings, and link 
 them to all objects to which they may pass. As a bona 
 fide statement of magic principles in the language of 
 modern psychology and modern physics, M. Rochas' 
 works bring the old superstitions home to us with 
 unsurpassable force. We learn here to appreciate the 
 powerful influence which may in all times be exercised 
 by the underlying belief in an invisible magical chain 
 connecting things which appear to be severed. When 
 we see a man of modern civilisation falling back upon 
 these crude notions, which appeared for a long time to 
 
 1 Of. Rochas, L ' exUrioriscttion de la sensibilitt, pp. 117-139. 
 2 Ibid. p. 72.
 
 282 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 be quite forgotten, we must needs be convinced that the 
 world-view of magic, however erroneous, is, so to speak, 
 a constitutional fallacy of the human mind. In every 
 department of human ethos, therefore, there is reason 
 to look for the possible effects of these conceptions. 
 
 For the present, however, we have to admit that 
 sympathetic magic in its simplest form seems to be 
 without any influence on the origin of works of art. 
 It is very different with the second kind of magic 
 namely, that where the occult influence is based upon a 
 likeness between things. 
 
 To judge from the literature of ethnology and folk- 
 lore, this principle seems to be almost as universal as 
 that of magic by virtue of material connection. Its 
 influence can be traced in beliefs and practices, not only 
 of the lowest savages, but also of civilised nations. It 
 has received elaborate theoretical justification in the old 
 systems of Greek philosophy, in the theories of Agrippa 
 and Paracelsus, and in the tenets of modern homoeopaths. 
 And there are even some real facts, such as the beneficial 
 effects of inoculation and the " katharsis" action of poetry 
 the curing of sorrow by tragedy which are some- 
 times quoted in support of the thesis that " like affects 
 like." 1 Apart from all regard to such spurious argu- 
 ments the theory of this form of magic is scarcely less 
 irrational than that underlying the first group of facts. 
 From our point of view, however, even the crudest 
 forms of " homoeopathic " magic are of far greater 
 interest than the examples of sorcery by means of 
 material connection. Whereas the adepts of the latter 
 need only procure a nail, a tuft of hair, or a few articles 
 of clothing belonging to the man they wish to bewitch, 
 
 1 For the most illustrious and at the same time most lucid statement of this 
 analogy see the remarks of Milton in the preface to Samson Agonistes.
 
 xx AET AND MAGIC 283 
 
 the sorcerer who works by similarities is compelled to 
 create a representation of things and beings in order to 
 acquire an influence over them. Thus magical purposes 
 call forth imitations of nature and life which, although 
 essentially non-aesthetic in their intention, may never- 
 theless be of importance for the historical evolution of 
 art. 
 
 To how great an extent works of art derive their 
 material from old magical practices, the real meaning 
 of which has gradually fallen into oblivion, may be 
 shown in all the various departments of art. There 
 is not a single form of imitation which has not been 
 more or less influenced by this principle. Pantomimic 
 representation, which for us is of value only in virtue 
 of its intellectual or emotional expressiveness, was in 
 lower stages of culture used as a magical expedient. 
 Even a single gesture may, according to primitive 
 notions, bring about effects corresponding to its import, 1 
 and a complete drama is sincerely believed to cause the 
 actual occurrence of the action which it represents. 
 Students of folklore know that there is practically no 
 limits to the effects which primitive man claims to 
 produce by magical imitation. He draws the rain 
 from heaven by representing in dance and drama the 
 appropriate meteorological phenomena. 2 He regulates 
 
 1 Cf. the curious instances and interpretations in Briere, Essai sur le 
 symbolisme, pp. 38-41. 
 
 2 For dramatic elements in the ceremonies of rain-making, see Frazer, The 
 Golden Bough, i. pp. 13-18, 20 ; BeYenger-Feraud, Superstitions et survivances, 
 i. chap. viii. ; iii. pp. 177-207 ; Grimm, Teutonic Mythology, pp. 593-595 (vol. 
 iL ) ; Lang, Myth, Ritual, and Religion, i. pp. 97, 98 .; ii. p. 78. Further 
 instances in Roth, N.W.C. Queensland, pp. 167, 168; Woods, Native Tribes, 
 pp. 276-278 (Gason, "Dieyerie Tribe") ; Williams, Fiji, p. 194 ; Dalton, Ethnology 
 of Bengal, p. 261 (Oraons) ; Skeat, Malay Magic, p. 108 ; Weston in Journ. 
 Anthr. Inst. xxvi. p. 30 (Highlands of Central Japan) ; Stevenson in Rep. 
 Bur. Ethn. 1889-90, pp. 80, 94, 110, 111, 115, 116 (The Sia) ; Ralston, Songs 
 of the Russian People, pp. 227, 228 ; Bonghi, Romische Feste, p. 181. Equally 
 interesting is the curious kind of negative magic that is practised by the
 
 284 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 the movements of the sun and encourages it in the 
 labour of its wanderings by his dramatic sun-rituals ; l 
 and he may even influence the change of the seasons by 
 dramas in which he drives winter away and brings 
 summer in. 2 By those phallic rites to which we have 
 already referred in the chapter on erotic art, he tries 
 in the same way to act upon the great biological 
 phenomena of human life. 3 And again, when sickness 
 is to be cured, he tries to subdue the demons of disease 
 to neutralise their action or to entice them out of 
 the body of the patient by imitating in pantomime 
 the symptoms of the particular complaint. 4 Finally, 
 when the assistance of a divine power is required, the 
 god himself may be conjured to take his abode in the 
 body of the performer, who imitates what is believed to 
 be his appearance, movements, and behaviour. 5 Thus 
 the belief in the effectual power of imitation has all over 
 the world given rise to common dramatic motives as 
 universal as the belief itself, and uniform as the chief 
 requirements of mankind. 
 
 There are, no doubt, many instances of dramatic 
 
 Javanese " rain preventers." See Glimpses of the Eastern Archipelago, pp. 68-70 
 (J. Kreemer, " Rain Preventers "). 
 
 1 Frazer, The Golden Bough, i. pp. 22, 23 ; Grove, Dancing, p. 85 ; Ralston, 
 Songs of the Russian People, pp. 186-188, 243 sq. 
 
 - Grimm, Teutonic Mythology, pp. 764-772 (vol. ii.); Ralston, I.e. pp. 210, 
 244-246; Zacher, "Kampf des Sommers und Winters," in Globus, xxxi. pp. 
 266-269, 284-286. 
 
 3 Be>enger-Feraud, I.e. v. pp. 177-266 ; Hartland, The Legend of Perseus, i. 
 pp. 173, 174; Soldi, La langue sacree, p. 317 (France); Powers, Tribes of 
 California, p. 169 (The Senel). 
 
 4 Selenka, Sonnigc Welten, pp. 429-431 (Sinhalese) ; Fraser, Aborigines of 
 New South Wales, p. 65. 
 
 5 That the priests who in dance and drama impersonate a god are considered 
 and perhaps also consider themselves as embodiments of this god is a 
 view the probability of which is borne out by many details of religious 
 ritualism. If definite proofs are wanted we need only refer to the express 
 statements of the Zuni Indians as related by Mrs. Stevenson, Rep. Bur. Ethn. 
 1889-90, p. 116 (Stevenson, "The Sia") ; 1883-84, p. 549 (Stevenson, "Religious 
 Life of the Zuni Child ").
 
 xx ART AND MAGIC 285 
 
 ritual the purpose of which is as yet a matter of 
 discussion. With regard to some of the symbolic 
 dances representing hunting or fishing or the move- 
 ments of game-animals, much may be said in favour of 
 Mr. Farrer's view that the object of the pantomime is 
 to make clearer to the deity a prayer regarding the 
 things imitated. 1 Similarly it is open to doubt whether 
 the dramatic performances at initiation ceremonies, such 
 as, for instance, the kangaroo dance described by Collins, 
 are meant to impart instruction concerning the customs 
 of the animals to the novitiates, or to confer upon them 
 a magic power over the game. 2 In the therapeutic 
 practices of primitive tribes we may find still more 
 puzzling points of controversy. The sucking cure, for 
 instance, by which the medicine-man pretends to extract 
 from the patient the cause of his illness in the form of 
 some small object a pebble, a tuft of hair, or the like 
 may be, as Professor Tylor thinks, a mere " knavish 
 trick/' 3 But it is also possible, we believe, that, at least 
 originally, it may have been performed as a bona fide 
 magic, based upon the notion of the efficacy of vehicles 
 and symbolic action. The method of restoring sick people 
 and sick cattle to health by pulling them through a 
 narrow opening, for instance, in a tree, which has been 
 explained by most authors as a case of magical trans- 
 
 1 Farrer, Primitive Manners and Customs, pp. 65, 66. This view may of 
 course also be applied to the interpretation of "pictorial prayers," such as e.g. 
 the wonderful sand-mosaics of the Pueblo Indians. 
 
 2 Collins, The English Colony ofN.S. Wales, i. p. 367. 
 
 3 As regards this almost universal practice see the collection of instances in 
 Tylor, Early History, pp. 277-279 ; and Primitive Culture, ii. p. 146 ; Peschel, 
 Vo'lkerkunde, p. 274 ; Stoll, Suggestion und Hypnotismus, pp. 166, 167. Further 
 instructive instances in Brinton, Nagualism, p. 11 (Modern Mexico) ; Castre"n, 
 Nordiska Eesor. i. p. 137 (Russian Lapps) ; Casalis, The Basutos, p. 280 ; 
 Lumholtz, Among Cannibals, p. 281 (Australia). Winterbottom, Native 
 Africans of Sierra Leone, i. pp. 252, 253, adduces some ethnological examples, 
 and refers for comparison to Paracelsus.
 
 286 THE OKIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 ference by contact i.e. transference of the disease from 
 the patient and of the vital power represented by the 
 tree to him l ought, according to the brilliant hypo- 
 thesis of Professor Nyrop, to be considered as a magic- 
 ally symbolic representation of regeneration. 2 
 
 While leaving undecided all these subtle questions, 
 each of which would require a chapter of its own in 
 order to be definitively treated, we have only to maintain 
 the great probability which stands on the side of the 
 dramatic interpretation. However fantastic the belief 
 in a magical connection between similar things may 
 appear at the outset, a continued ethnological study 
 must needs convince every one of its incalculable 
 importance in the life of primitive man. And such a 
 conviction can only become confirmed by an examina- 
 tion of the influence which this superstition has 
 exercised on the formative arts. 
 
 The belief in picture magic is evinced by its negative 
 as well as by its positive results. All over the world we 
 meet with the fear of being depicted. In so far as this 
 superstition has given rise to a prohibition of painting 
 and sculpture, it has thus seriously arrested the develop- 
 ment of art. But, on the other hand, the same notion has 
 commonly called forth pictorial representation, the aim of 
 which is to gain a power over the things and beings re- 
 presented. Most frequent, perhaps, of all these specimens 
 of magical art are the volts, i.e. those dolls and drawings 
 used for bewitching, which are spoken of as early as in 
 the ancient Chaldean incantations, which are used by 
 the majority of savage tribes, and which may incidentally 
 
 1 Be'renger-Fe'raud, Superst. et surviv. i. pp. 523-540 ; cf. also Gaidoz, Un 
 vieux rite medical, pp. 73-84. 
 
 2 Nyrop, " Kludetraedet " in Dania, i., particularly pp. 21-23; cf. also 
 Dania, i. p. 310 ; iii. pp. 139-141.
 
 xx AET AND MAGIC 287 
 
 be found even now among the European nations. 1 But 
 owing to their necessarily clandestine character these 
 charms have never exercised any important influence on 
 the pictorial art. More important, from the historical 
 point of view, than these black and cryptic arts is the 
 white magic by which social benefits are pursued. Just 
 as the principal forms of magical drama correspond to the 
 chief requirements of mankind, so the most important 
 magical sculptures and paintings are found in connec- 
 tion with agricultural rites, 2 the observances of hunting 
 and fishing, 3 medical practices, 4 and ceremonies for 
 removing sterility. 5 And in the same way as dramatic 
 representation, but with far greater efficacy, pictorial 
 representation has been able to satisfy the highest 
 material as well as spiritual requirement by bringing 
 
 1 Lenormant, Magic imd Wahrsagekunst der Chald&er, p. 73 ; Rochas, 
 L ' exUriorisation de la sensibilit^, pp. 74-113 (rich collection of instances referring 
 to savage tribes, to mediaeval Europe, and to modern folklore) ; further instances 
 in Skeat, Malay Magic, pp. 569-574 ; Romilly, Western Pacific, p. 35 (New 
 Britain) ; Selenka, Sonnige Welten, p. 215 (Japan). That this crude supersti- 
 tion has been at the bottom of many ceremonies which, from our point of view, 
 appear purely symbolical is shown by the curious death -sentences on absent 
 criminals to be executed in effigy, "jusqu'a mort s'en suive" which M. Tarde 
 has unearthed from among the old law -proceeds of Pe"rigord. Tarde, fitudes 
 penales et sociales, p. 241. 
 
 2 Cf. as to dolls representing the corn spirits, Frazer, The Golden Bough, i. 
 pp. 332-346. 
 
 3 Haddon in Journ. Anthr. Inst. xix. p. 427 (Tribe of Torres Strait ; Models 
 of Dugong used as charms to attract the fishes) ; Woldt in Arch, fur Ethnographic, 
 i. p. 106 (Kultusgegenstande der Golden und Giljakeu ; sculptures of fishes used 
 for the same purpose by the Golds) ; Spencer, quoting Motolinia, Descr. Soc. Div. 
 ii. Nr. 2, p. 39 (similar customs among the old Azteks). 
 
 4 Cf. especially the Sinhalese masks representing the symptoms of various 
 diseases as exhibited in the Museum fur Volkerkuride in Berlin. 
 
 5 On images of children worn by barren women in order to remove sterility 
 see Binger, Du Niger, ii. p. 230 (Agnis, Wolofs) ; Casalis, The Basutos, p. 251 ; 
 Taylor, Te Ika a Maui, p. 213 ; Powers, Tribes of California, p. 318 (Nishinam). 
 In this connection we may also refer to the bird-shaped amulets of the North 
 American Indians, which by some authors have been explained as emblematic 
 of maternity. Cf. Abbott, Primitive Industry, p. 370. Whether they also have 
 been thought of as possessing a magical efficacy is, however, impossible to 
 decide.
 
 288 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 the deity in concrete relation with man through the 
 sympathetic force of the image. The art of conjuring 
 a spirit to take its abode in what is believed to be a 
 counterfeit of its corresponding body has thus given 
 rise to the fashioning of idols and the subsequent ador- 
 ing of them. Although essentially the same as in the 
 simple medical cures and the practices of sorcery, 
 pictorial magic has in these cases of idol -making 
 exercised a more far-reaching and thorough influence 
 on mankind than in any of its other manifestations. 
 
 We need not dwell at any length on the super- 
 stitions connected with poetic or literary descriptions of 
 things. The universal objection to the mentioning of 
 proper names is evidently based upon a belief in the 
 efficacy of words. And, on the other hand, this same 
 belief lies behind the equally universal use of incanta- 
 tions. Songs that are sung in order to facilitate the 
 labour of workers and to increase the result of it, poems 
 that aim at conjuring the favour of a hard-hearted or 
 indifferent woman, charms for invoking or expelling 
 spirits, and medical spells, all these forms of poetic 
 magic are too familiar to be more than mentioned. 
 
 From the point of view of the civilised observer the 
 above-quoted examples of dramatic, pictorial, and poetic 
 magic may seem to have an obvious and ready explana- 
 tion. A work of art always gives to the spectator, and 
 no doubt also to the creator, an illusion of reality. As, 
 moreover, primitive man is notoriously unable to dis- 
 tinguish between subjective and objective reality, it 
 seems natural to assume that it is the mental illusion 
 created by his work which makes the magician believe 
 that he has acquired a power over the things represented 
 by it. And this assumption is all the more tempting 
 because even to civilised, enlightened man there is
 
 ART AND MAGIC 289 
 
 something magical in the momentary satisfaction which 
 art affords to all our unfulfilled longings by its semblance 
 of reality. Strong desire always creates for itself an 
 imaginary gratification which easily leads the uncritical 
 mind to a belief in the power of will over the external 
 world. The whole of art-creation may thus be looked 
 upon as an embodiment of the greatest wishes of man- 
 kind, which have sought the most convincing appearance 
 of their fulfilment in the form and shape of objective 
 works. What is in us a conscious and intentional self- 
 deception, may be in the unsophisticated man a real 
 illusion. The main psychological aspects of the activity 
 could not be changed by these different subjective atti- 
 tudes on the part of the producer. The essential point 
 is that in both cases the greatest possible resemblance to 
 the original would be sought for in order to increase in 
 the one case the magical efficacy of the work, in the 
 other the pleasure to be derived from the illusion. The 
 belief in a magical connection between similar things 
 would thus exercise an incalculable influence on the 
 growth of realism in art. But, unfortunately, this easy 
 explanation is not corroborated by an impartial ex- 
 amination of the lower stages of art-development. The 
 statement of M. Guaita as to the volt, Plus la res- 
 semblance est complete plus le malefice a chance de 
 reussir, 1 does not appear to be borne out by the evidence. 
 The only instance we know of in which greater or less 
 resemblance to the model is thought of as bearing on 
 the magical efficacy of a painting is that of the East 
 Indian artists. We are told that it was in order to 
 evade the Mohammedan prohibition of painting that 
 they resorted to that style of treating nature, bordering 
 on caricature, which is so characteristic of, say, Javanese 
 
 1 Guaita, Sciences maudites, ii., i. p. 185. 
 U
 
 290 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 art. 1 Similarly it is by an appeal to their virtue of non- 
 resemblance that artists among the Laos defend their 
 pictures as being harmless and innocent. 2 But such 
 references to barbaric or semi-barbaric art do not tell 
 us much about the conditions prevailing at the beginning 
 of art-development. The primitive man who avails him- 
 self of dolls and drawings in order to bewitch is generally 
 quite indifferent to the life-like character of his magical 
 instruments. The typical volt gives only a crude outline 
 of the human body, and, which is most remarkable, it 
 does not display any likeness to the man who is to be 
 bewitched. As a rule the same vagueness can also be 
 noticed in the paintings and sculptures which serve the 
 aims of medical cure and religious cultus. With due 
 allowance for the deficient technical ability and the naive 
 suggestibility of primitive man, it seems hard to believe 
 that illusion could have been either intended or effected 
 by the rude works of pictorial magic. Thus it becomes 
 doubtful whether the belief in the magical power of 
 painting and sculpture can have been based upon a con- 
 fusion between subjective and objective reality. 
 
 This doubt can only be increased when we see how 
 little confidence primitive men themselves put in the 
 mere likeness as such. When M. Rochas produced his 
 modern imitations of the volt, he was always anxious to 
 have his wax dolls sufficiently saturated by contact 
 with the person over whom they were intended to 
 give him power. 3 And in this he closely followed the 
 methods of the. native sorcerers, who generally tried to 
 increase the efficiency of their magical instruments by 
 attaching to them such objects as nail-cuttings, locks of 
 
 1 Raffles, History of Java, i. pp. 375, 376. For a similar reasoning cf. Skeat, 
 Malay Magic, pp. 23, 24. 
 
 2 Bock, Temples and Elephants, p. 245. 
 
 3 Rochas, L ' ext6riorisation de la sensibilite, p, 101.
 
 xx ART AND MAGIC 291 
 
 hair, or pieces of cloth belonging to the man to be 
 bewitched. 1 In the making of idols we can often 
 observe the same principle. The statue itself is not 
 sacred by virtue of its form ; it acquires divine power only 
 by being put in material connection with the deity. The 
 most obvious example is that of the West African 
 Negroes, who, when they wish to transplant the wood 
 deity from his original home to their towns and villages, 
 build up a wooden doll of branches taken from the tree 
 in which he lives. 2 The god is certainly supposed to feel 
 a special temptation to take up his abode in the idol 
 made in his own likeness ; but it is evident that the 
 material link established by the choice of the wood is 
 thought of as being of no less, perhaps even of greater, 
 importance than the resemblance. The same close and 
 inseparable combination of magic by connection and 
 magic by similarity meets us in the ancestor statues of 
 New Guinea, which contain the skull of the dead in 
 hollows inside their head. 3 And although the procedure 
 is more indirect, the underlying thought is nevertheless 
 the same in the curious practices found, e.g., on the 
 island of Nias. The spirit of the deceased is here con- 
 ducted to his statue by means of some small animal 
 which has been found in the neighbourhood of his grave. 4 
 In none of these examples which might be supple- 
 
 1 Cf. e.g. Gooneratne in Journ. Ceylon Branch R. Asiatic Soc. 1865, 1866, p. 
 71 (Demonology in Ceylon) ; Skeat, Malay Magic, pp. 45, 571. The same com- 
 bination of the two classes of magic, as applied to a medical cure, is instanced 
 by Walhouse in Journ. Anthr. Inst. iv. p. 372 (Account of a leaf-wearing tribe). 
 
 2 Cf. Ellis, Yoruba Peoples, pp. 99, 278 ; Tshi Peoples, pp. 98, 101, 176, 
 195. 
 
 3 Schurtz in Alhandlungen d. Sachs. Ges. d. Wissensch. Ph. Cl. xv. p. 52, 
 quoting De Clercq en Schmeltz, Nieuw Guinea, p. 185. For an interesting 
 analogy see De Landa, Relation des causes de Yucatan, p. 199. 
 
 * Schurtz, I.e. p. 47. Cf. with regard to other means of animating idols by 
 contact, Brenner, Kannibalen Swmatras, pp. 225, 226 ; Pleyte Wzn in Globus, 
 Ix. p. 289 (Religiose Anschaungen der Bataks).
 
 292 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 meuted by analogous instances from various tribes do 
 we see any hint of that manner of regarding statues 
 and paintings which prevails among civilised men. 
 While with us the mental impression on the spectator 
 constitutes, so to speak, the object and the essential 
 purport of the work of art, the magicians and the 
 idolaters seem to look chiefly for material power and 
 influence in their simulacra. 
 
 The way in which pictorial art is used for curative 
 purposes affords us if further proofs are wanted a 
 still more telling example of the difference between the 
 magical and the aesthetic points of view. Nothing 
 could be more crude and primitive than the notions 
 held by the Navajo with regard to the salutary influ- 
 ences of their famous sand -paintings. The cure is 
 effected, they believe, not by the patient's looking at 
 the represented figures, but by his rolling himself on 
 them, or having the pigments of the mosaic applied to 
 the corresponding parts of his own body. The more of 
 the sacred sand he can thus attach to his body, the 
 more complete is his recovery. 1 Among other tribes 
 at the same stage of development as the Navajos the 
 prevailing views are almost equally materialistic. 2 And 
 even among the barbaric and semi- civilised peoples, 
 although we do not meet with quite as gross super- 
 stitions, the fundamental idea of pictorial magic appears 
 often to be the same. The power of a painting or a 
 sculpture is thought of as something which is quite 
 independent of its mental effects upon the spectator. 
 That interpretation of sympathetic magic, therefore, 
 which to us seemed most natural, cannot possibly be 
 applied to its lower forms. 
 
 1 Matthews, The Mountain Chant, in Eep. Bur. Mhn. 1883, 1884, especially 
 pp. 426, 427. 
 
 2 Cf. the Kalmuck tales quoted in Stoll, Suggestion und Hypnotismus, p. 31.
 
 xx ART AND MAGIC 293 
 
 As the concepts by which primitive man justifies to 
 himself his beliefs and practices are naturally vague and 
 hazy, it may seem futile to attempt to reconstruct his 
 reasoning. Nothing final or definite can be asserted on 
 so obscure a topic. But we may legitimately discuss 
 the most consistent and most probable way in which to 
 account for the various forms of sympathetic magic. 
 And with regard to this question of probabilities we 
 may rely to some extent upon the illustrative and 
 suggestive analogies to primitive thought which can be 
 found in scientific philosophies. For it is evident that 
 a philosophical doctrine, if it fits in with the facts of 
 primitive superstition, may be explanatory of those 
 vague and latent notions which, without logical justifi- 
 cation or systematical arrangement, lie in the mind of 
 the magician and the idolater. Such a doctrine is pre- 
 sented to us in the familiar emanation-theories, accord- 
 ing to which every image of a thing constitutes a 
 concrete part of that thing itself. According to the 
 clear and systematic statement of this doctrine given 
 by the old Epicurean philosophers, shadows, reflections 
 in a mirror, visions, and even mental representations 
 of distant objects, are all caused by thin membranes, 
 which continually detach themselves from the surface 
 of all bodies and move onward in all directions through 
 space. 1 If there are such things as necessary miscon- 
 ceptions, this is certainly one. Such general facts of 
 sensuous experience as reflection, shadow, and mirage 
 will naturally appear as the result of a purely material 
 decortication as in a transfer picture. 2 How near at 
 hand this theory may lie even to the modern mind 
 
 1 Cf. Lucretius, De rerum natura y iv. w. 1-1035. 
 
 2 Cf. the facts collected by Re"clus in his pamphlet, L'dme comme souffle, 
 ombre et reflet, and by Frazer in The Golden Hough, i. pp. 143-149.
 
 294 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 appears from the curious fact that such a man as Balzac 
 fell back upon it when attempting to explain the newly- 
 invented daguerrotype, that most marvellous of all 
 image-phenomena. 1 
 
 To the primitive mind it is only natural to apply 
 this reasoning even to artificial images. Whether the 
 likeness of a thing is fashioned by nature in water or 
 air, or whether it be made by man, it is in both cases 
 thought of as depriving the thing itself of some part of 
 its substance. Such a notion, which cannot surprise us 
 when met with among the lower savages, seems to have 
 been at the bottom of even the Mohammedan prohibition 
 of the formative arts. 2 It is evident that, wherever 
 images are explained in this crude manner, magic by 
 similarity in reality becomes merely a case of magic by 
 contiguity. 
 
 The materialistic thought which lies behind the 
 belief in a solidarity between similar things appears 
 nowhere so clearly as within the department of pictorial 
 magic. But we believe that its influence can also be 
 traced in all the other superstitions regarding sympa- 
 thetic causation. In spite of that feeling of superiority 
 so common in nations which have no leaning towards 
 formative arts, poetical and musical magic in its lower 
 forms is founded on quite as crude a conception as any 
 idolatry or pictorial sorcery. It would indeed be un- 
 natural if the theory of corporeal emanations had not 
 been applied to acoustic as well as to optical phenomena. 
 To the unscientific mind sounds and reverberations are 
 something quite synonymous with sights and reflections. 
 The sounds connected with the impression of a being, 
 thing, or phenomenon will therefore be conceived as 
 
 1 Rochas, L'exUriorisation de la sensibility p. 103. 
 2 Andree, Ethnographische Parallelen, Neue Folge, p. 19.
 
 xx ART AND MAGIC 295 
 
 being a part of the being, thing, or phenomenon itself. 
 To these easily-explained notions there are to be added 
 the peculiar superstitions entertained with regard to a 
 class of sounds which are only associated with things, 
 viz. their names. To the primitive man a name literally 
 constitutes a part of the object it denotes. The magician 
 may therefore get the mastery over the spirits he in- 
 vokes and the men he bewitches by merely mentioning 
 their names. 1 In many cases a most potent spell con- 
 sists of unintelligible words, which to the conjurer him- 
 self has no meaning at all. In other cases, although the 
 words really have a sense, we can easily observe that 
 they are not used for the purpose of creating an illusion 
 of reality. The typical incantation may indeed in a 
 manner be called descriptive. The singer is anxious 
 not to pass by any detail, the omitting of which may 
 be injurious to the potency of his magic. But the 
 result is only a sort of inventory, which seldom suggests 
 a full and vivid mental picture. Many of the Shaman 
 prayers and songs show us by their whole character that 
 in their case at least poetical illusion has had nothing 
 to do with the belief in the power of words over things. 2 
 Thus, according to the magical- world view, a system 
 of material connections links together in close solidarity 
 things and their images, sounds, or names. But this 
 network of connections may even, we believe, extend 
 further, so as to bring into its chain of causation 
 qualities and actions, in short, abstract notions, which 
 cannot be considered as material objects possessing 
 material parts. Just as an image which presents the 
 figure and shape of a given thing is conceived as a part 
 
 1 Cf. Ellis, Erie-speaking Peoples, p. 98. 
 
 2 Cf. as the perhaps most typical example, Matthews, "The Prayer of a 
 Navajo Shaman," in The American Anthropologist, i. (1888).
 
 296 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 of that thing itself, so all things which have distinctive 
 qualities in common may be thought of as being parts 
 of a common whole. As a fantastic but still natural 
 product of the primitive mind, there may thus appear 
 the idea of an invisible connection, which binds to- 
 gether all things similar and draws them to each other. 
 Vaguely and dimly even savages may have been able to 
 anticipate in some measure those imposing thoughts 
 which received an organised and consistent statement 
 in the doctrine of universal ideas. But to primitive 
 man these "ideas" must appear as concrete objects and 
 beings, exercising their influence on phenomena in a 
 quite material manner. 
 
 To those who are familiar with that peculiar com- 
 bination of spiritual conceptions of the world and 
 material conceptions of the spirit which makes up the 
 primitive cosmology, this explanation will not appear 
 far-fetched or strained. But it is to be admitted that 
 in many cases it may be difficult, or even impossible, to 
 lay one's finger on the elements of magic by contiguity 
 which lie at the root of a given instance of imitative 
 witchcraft. No doubt the mental effects produced by 
 the imitation on its creator and spectators will in many 
 cases contribute to the belief in its power. In the more 
 artistic forms of poetic magic the suggestive power of 
 the words replaces the brute force of their sound. And 
 in dramatic magic an illusion, whether intended or un- 
 intended, must necessarily affect the performers as well 
 as their audience. Therefore, however the psychological 
 basis of magic may be explained, it cannot be denied 
 that in some of its developments magic has become 
 closely connected with art. The self-deceit by which 
 * we enjoy in art the confusion between real and unreal 
 is indeed, by its intentional character, distinct from the
 
 xx ART AND MAGIC 297 
 
 illusion to which primitive man is led, more perhaps by 
 his deficient powers of observation than by any strength 
 of imaginative faculty. But still there exists a kinship, 
 and that belief in an overlapping of the tangible and 
 intangible life which is fostered by magic in the lower 
 art affords, as it were, a premonition of the effects pro- 
 duced by imagination in the higher.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 CONCLUSIONS 
 
 THERE are several aspects of the history of art which 
 have had to be ignored in the preceding chapters. A 
 student of ethnology, for instance, will blame us because 
 in our hasty review of primitive art no mention has 
 been made of the important influence which political 
 institutions and religious systems have exercised on the 
 development of art. Nor can there be any question of 
 denying that these factors ought to be properly treated 
 of in every research which aims at a descriptive com- 
 pleteness. From the historical point of view indeed 
 nothing could be more interesting than to pursue 
 throughout the general history of art that line of 
 investigation which Mr. Posnett has applied to the 
 study of literature. Not only in the lower stages of 
 culture, but also among civilised nations, one might 
 show how in all its forms and branches art has been 
 influenced for good and bad by the progress of 
 political development. Tribal drama, tribal sculpture, 
 and tribal poetry might thus be instructively contrasted 
 with the art of commonwealths and monarchic states. 
 Still wider results might be attained by tracing those 
 differences in types of art which arise from differences 
 in the religious systems. But such researches, however
 
 CHAP, xxi CONCLUSIONS 299 
 
 important they might be, would not have much bearing 
 upon the subject of the present work. Notwithstanding 
 the differentiation of art-forms that has arisen from the 
 varying political and religious conditions, we do not 
 meet in these different forms with any principle of art 
 that has not been treated of already in the preceding 
 chapters. To explain, for instance, the art which serves 
 as a means of political propitiation, we need only refer 
 to our investigation of the aesthetic forms of sexual 
 selection. It is true that songs, dances, and pantomimes 
 will necessarily change in character when addressed to 
 a chief or king instead of to a woman. But the purpose 
 to gain the favour of the spectator is still the same in 
 both cases. And from this identity of purpose there 
 arises a general similarity between all manifestations 
 of propitiatory art, which, from our point of view, is 
 more important than the individual differences of these 
 manifestations. As in tribes where social conditions 
 have favoured the development of sexual selection 
 erotic art acquires the distinction of attractiveness and 
 sensuous beauty, so these qualities will also be prominent 
 in the songs and dances by which people endeavour to 
 conciliate the favour and benevolence of a mighty ruler. 
 And as on the lower stages of culture men attribute to 
 their gods their own likings and aversions, the same 
 qualities will naturally be found to characterise those 
 classes of art by which worshippers pay their homage 
 to a divine spectator. And, finally, as a conspicuous 
 outcome of the motive " to attract by pleasing " we 
 meet with a similar group of dances, songs, and panto- 
 mimes addressed to the spirits of the deceased those 
 spectators whose favour or disfavour is of paramount 
 importance to primitive man. 
 
 Side by side with this element of propitiation we
 
 300 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 find in the artistic manifestations connected with funeral 
 ceremonies examples of almost all those aspects of 
 art to which attention has been called in the preceding 
 chapters. The purpose of information is represented by 
 pictorial, poetic, or dramatic representations in which 
 the doings of the deceased are displayed before the 
 survivors. 1 The dances and songs may in many cases 
 be reasonably explained as aiming at a stimulation of 
 the spirit, which certainly needs an increase of force in 
 order to surmount all the hardships and the weary 
 wanderings of its transitional life. 2 In other cases funeral 
 art is evidently intended to produce upon invisible 
 enemies the same kind of terrifying effects which have 
 already been spoken of in connection with military 
 paintings and pantomimes. 3 And, lastly, it is probably 
 in the endeavour to exert a sympathetic influence upon 
 the combats which the deceased must undergo before 
 he can attain his peace and rest that the survivors hold 
 magical sham-fights and tugs of war over his grave. 4 
 Thus in this one branch of art we can see how each of 
 the sociological art-principles is of much wider applica- 
 bility than has been possible to trace within the limits 
 of this work. But, on the other hand, the crucial in- 
 stance of funeral art shows us how even in such artistic 
 manifestations as at the outset appear to be quite 
 irreducible we may by a closer investigation reveal the 
 influence of those general factors which have been 
 
 1 Cf. e.g. Svoboda, Gesch. d. Ideate, i. pp. 495, 496. 
 
 2 Cf. the theories of Reclus and Svoboda referred to in p. 217, note 4, of the 
 preceding. 
 
 3 Cf. e.g. the typical instances of Naga funeral ceremonies described by 
 Dalton in Ethnology of Bengal, p. 40. 
 
 4 This interpretation seems to be indicated e.g. in the case of the rope-pull- 
 ing at Chukma funerals (Lewin, Wild Races, p. 185). As to the use of tugs of 
 war for purposes of agricultural magic cf. Haddon, The Study of Man, pp. 
 270-276.
 
 xxi CONCLUSIONS 301 
 
 selected for treatment in the preceding chapters. And 
 therefore, without entering upon a detailed examination 
 of all the varying forms of art, we feel entitled to hold 
 that the utilitarian motives of information, propitiation, 
 stimulation, and magical efficiency afford a sufficiently 
 complete list from a theoretical point of view of the 
 most important non-aesthetic factors that have favoured 
 the development of art. 
 
 The attentive reader will probably have remarked 
 that those very aspects of art with which we have been 
 engaged in the latter part of this work broadly corre- 
 spond to some of the most important interpretations 
 of the art-impulse offered by aesthetic theories. To give 
 information that is, to widen our knowledge of nature 
 and life ; to propitiate that is, to flatter our senses 
 by the display of beauty ; to stimulate that is, to 
 heighten our vital energy, and thus make life easier to 
 live and life's work easier to perform ; to work magic 
 that is, to produce an illusion of reality capable of 
 leading to a confusion between the subjective and ob- 
 jective world ; these are all purposes which have been 
 represented as essential to art. From our summary in- 
 vestigation of primitive art it has, we hope, appeared 
 how fully we admit the close connection of these pur- 
 poses with the historical development of art. And it 
 might be shown, if our investigation were pursued into 
 the later stages of development, that art on its highest 
 plane still bears the same relation to concrete utilities 
 as it does on the lowest. Art never ceases to inform, 
 never ceases to please, never ceases to stimulate, never 
 loses something of a magical efficacy. But while 
 acknowledging the importance of all these purposes, we 
 have, on the other hand, to maintain the view which was
 
 302 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 set out in the psychological chapters of the opening 
 that it is only by assuming an independent art-impulse 
 that we can explain the essential character of art. To 
 make plain the distinction between these two points of 
 view it is advisable to summarise in brief the arguments 
 of either part of our investigation. 
 
 In the first chapters the writer attempted to show 
 that the art-impulse in its broadest sense must be taken 
 as an outcome of the natural tendency of every feeling- 
 state to manifest itself externally, the effect of such a 
 manifestation being to heighten the pleasure and to 
 relieve the pain. We found in this fact the primary 
 source of art as an individual impulse. But art is essen- 
 tially social ; and this also we explained on psychological 
 grounds. The secondary effect of the exteriorisation of 
 a feeling-state is to awaken similar feelings in other 
 human beings who perceive the manifestation ; and their 
 sympathetic feeling acts upon the author of the original 
 manifestation, heightening in him the feeling - state 
 which gave rise to it. 
 
 Now, all works of art have a common element not- 
 withstanding their diversity. They express, each in 
 their own medium, a mood or moods of the artist ; they 
 arise, that is, out of the impulse to expression, which is 
 as primitive as feeling itself. Every man seeks auto- 
 matically to heighten his feelings of pleasure and to 
 relieve his feelings of pain. The artist is the man who 
 finds that he can gain such enhancement or relief, not 
 only by the direct action of giving expression to his 
 feeling, but also by arousing a kindred feeling in others. 
 
 / o 
 
 Hence originates in him that desire to transmit his 
 moods to an external audience which must be regarded 
 as the simplest and most primordial inducement to 
 artistic production. And also as a further means of
 
 xxi CONCLUSIONS 303 
 
 realising the same purpose there arises the endeavour to 
 give the artistic product that is to say, the externalised 
 expression of his mood a form which may facilitate the 
 revival of the original state in an ever wider circle of 
 sympathisers. Thus from the reflex outlet for a strong 
 emotional pressure we are led to a deliberate creation, 
 in which the intellectual and volitional elements pre- 
 ponderate increasingly over the automatic, emotional 
 impulse. But from this gain in consciousness there 
 does not result any change in the essential character 
 of the artistic activity. However great the difference 
 between the highest forms of art, such as, for instance, 
 a drama or a sculpture, and the primitive dance-panto- 
 mime, the underlying impulse is still the same in both 
 cases. Perpetuation that is, expression which is ad- 
 dressed to a fictitious audience can only be explained 
 by reference to the enhancing and relieving effects 
 which man has experienced as results of emotional 
 transmission. And all the intentional activities, the 
 artistic composition, the artistic technique, and so on, by 
 which perpetuation is secured can thus be regarded as 
 subservient to the emotionalistic purpose. Moreover, 
 these same activities, however unemotional they may 
 be in themselves, will enable the artist to extort an 
 increased emotional value from his " motives " ; for in- 
 stance, the greater a man's skill in suggesting the 
 peculiar thrill of colour, the greater will be his pleasure 
 in colour itself. Technical excellency, which to the 
 outsider is a cold and neutral thing, may thus to the 
 artist and to the intelligent critic be full of expressional 
 significance. From whichever point of view we may 
 look at art, we shall have to interpret its central and 
 essential characteristics in terms of feeling. In this 
 way we can account for it as a self-sufficing, or as we
 
 304 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP. 
 
 have said, autotelic activity. And in this way only 
 can we explain the strength of that compelling force 
 which urges an artist to an exertion from which he 
 derives no external utility. 
 
 But it cannot be contended that primitive human 
 nature furnishes not only the impulse to expression but 
 also the medium. The artist in man had the feeling ; 
 he had to discover a way to exteriorise it. Nearest 
 perhaps to primitive art lie the immediate manifestations 
 by regulated gesture and regulated sounds of the voice, 
 which are also in their highest development the most 
 potent means for transmitting an emotion. Yet the 
 different utilities of life offered also other means as it 
 were, words of a language in which the feeling could 
 express itself and transmit itself from mind to mind. 
 The man who used drawing as a means of communicating 
 thoughts could express in a drawing the terror which 
 a beast inspired or the delight he had derived from 
 watching its movements. And just as the purpose of 
 imparting information whether by word or image- 
 afforded a natural medium through which the art- 
 impulse could work to its own ends, so also the purpose 
 of propitiation afforded in dance or decoration some- 
 thing which might be diverted from its original object 
 and be used with the single intention of expressing, for 
 instance, the dancer's mood. Similarly each of the other 
 purposes that have been discussed or alluded to 
 afforded, as it were, a concrete material for art a shape 
 in which the primitive impulse to gesture could embody 
 and develop itself. And beyond the fact that art has 
 been obliged to avail itself of media which have origin- 
 ally been called into existence by utilitarian, non- 
 sesthetic needs, there lies another fact. To these 
 external " origins " we can also trace some of the most
 
 xxi CONCLUSIONS 305 
 
 important qualities which we appreciate in a work of 
 art. In this way it is open to us to explain how 
 several of the virtues of art, as we know it, may be 
 derived from the primitive needs which it subserved ; 
 how, for instance, the lucidity of art may find its ex- 
 planation in art's use for conveying information ; how 
 the sensuous and attractive qualities of all art may be 
 traced to the need for propitiating favour; how the 
 power that resides in art to brace and stimulate the 
 mind may be transmitted from the days when the artist 
 was appointed to nerve his fellows for work or war. 
 And, lastly, it might be argued that a most characteristic 
 quality of art, the imagination, which is in a sense faith 
 in the reality of the unreal (whether native to the 
 human mind or not), may have been immensely 
 heightened by the use of art for purposes of magic, 
 which fuses the visible and the invisible. 
 
 There is thus suggested a further point. We were 
 able to derive those qualities of artistic composition, which 
 in all aesthetic systems have been insisted on as the most 
 primordial, from the distinctive qualities of the self- 
 sufficing art-impulse, by showing how the unity, the 
 concentration, and the subordination of parts to a whole 
 correspond to the unity of a feeling-state which it is the 
 object of the art-impulse to convey and to perpetuate in 
 its entirety. On the other hand, we are forced to 
 acknowledge that by the side of these primordial 
 qualities there exist certain secondary qualities which 
 have been of great importance in facilitating and securing 
 the transmission and perpetuation of the original feeling- 
 state ; and we have shown how these qualities arise out 
 of the vassalage by which art in its historical develop- 
 ment has been bound to the necessities and utilities of 
 practical life. For those who crave a theoretical basis
 
 306 THE ORIGINS OF ART CHAP, xxi 
 
 for the estimation of art there is offered a field of 
 research in the comparison and relative valuation of 
 these two orders of qualities. By studying the alternate 
 influences which the primary and the derived factors 
 have exercised on the character of works of art, it may 
 even be possible to lay down a kind of scale by which 
 to rank general qualities as well as individual manifesta- 
 tions. But all this train of thought, though cognate to 
 our inquiry, is not a part of it. This book has aimed 
 simply to give an answer to the question, How did art 
 originate ? To those minds which see no value in an 
 aesthetic inquiry that neither purposes to offer guidance 
 for the artist in producing works of art, nor for the 
 student in appreciating them, the whole discussion may 
 probably appear futile. The author on his part has 
 thought that such investigation into an important and 
 typical human energy must be of interest at least, if not 
 of value. But upon the practical question it is his 
 personal opinion that the loss would be greater than the 
 gain if theories and judgments based upon philosophical 
 considerations were allowed to influence either the 
 production or the enjoyment of art.
 
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 Volkerkunde. Band II. Hefte 3-4. 1892. 
 Stevenson, Matilda Coxe, The Sia. In Annual Eeport of the Bureau of Ethnology, 
 
 XI. 
 Stevenson, Mrs. Tilly E., The Religious Life of the Zuni Child. In Annual Report 
 
 of the Bureau of Ethnology. V. 
 Stewart, Dugald, Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind. I. -III. London, 
 
 1792-1827. 
 
 Stewart, Dugald, Philosophical Essays. Edinburgh, 1810. 
 Stirling, E. C., Anthropology. In Report of the Work of the Horn Scientific 
 
 Expedition. Part IV. Edited by Baldwin Spencer. 
 Stokes, J. Lort, Discoveries in Australia ; in the Years 1837-43. I. -II. London, 
 
 1846. 
 
 Stoll, Otto, Suggestion und Hypnotismus in der Volkerpsychologie. Leipzig, 1894. 
 Stolpe, Hjalmar, Ueber die Tatowirung der Oster-Insulaner. In Abhandlungen und 
 
 Berichte des k. zool. und anthropol. -ethnogr. Museums zu Dresden, 1899. 
 
 Festschrift fiir A. B. Meyer. 
 
 Stolpe, Hjalmar, Utvecklingsforeteelser i naturfolkens ornamentik. In Ymer. 1890-91. 
 Stout, G. F., Analytic Psychology. I.-II. London, 1896. 
 Stout, G. F., A Manual of Psychology. London, 1899. 
 Strieker, S., Studien iiber die Bewegungsvorstellungen. Wien, 1882. 
 Sully, James, The Human Mind. A Text-Book of Psychology. I.-II. London, 1892. 
 Sully-Prudhomme [Rene Franois Armand], L'expression dans les beaux-arts. Ap- 
 plication de la psychologie a 1'etude de 1'artiste et des beaux-arts. ((Euvres de 
 
 Sully-Prudhomme. III.) Paris, 1883. 
 
 Svoboda, Adalbert, Kritische Geschichte der Ideale. I. Leipzig, 1886. 
 Svoboda, W., Die Bewohner des Nicobaren Archipels. In Internationales Archiv 
 
 fiir Ethnographic. V. 
 
 Swettenham, Frank Athelstane, Malay Sketches. London and New York, 1895. 
 Symons, Arthur, The Symbolist Movement in Literature. London, 1899. 
 
 Taine, H., De 1'ideal dans 1'art. Paris, 1867. 
 Taine, H., Philosophic de 1'art. Paris, 1865. 
 Taplin, G., The Folk-lore, Manners, Customs, and Languages of the South Australian 
 
 Aborigines. First Series. Adelaide, 1879. 
 
 Taplin, G., The Narrinyeri. In Woods, J. D., The Native Tribes of South Australia. 
 Taprobanian, The, A Dravidian Journal of Oriental Studies in and around Ceylon. 
 
 Edited by Hugh Nevill. Bombay. 
 
 Tarde, G., Etudes penales et sociales. Lyon et Paris, 1892. 
 Tarde, G., Foules et sectes au point de vue criminel. In Revue des deux mondes. 
 
 Tome CXX. 1893. 
 
 Tarde, G., La logique sociale. Paris, 1895. 
 Taylor, Richard, Te Ika a Maui ; or, New Zealand and its Inhabitants. London, 
 
 1870. 
 Tennent, James Emerson, Ceylon. 5th ed., thoroughly revised. I.-II. London, 
 
 1860. 
 Tetens, Alf., und Johann Kubary, Die Karolineninsel Yap oder Guap. In Journal 
 
 des Museum Godeffroy. II. 
 Thomson, Arthur S., The Story of New Zealand : Past and Present Savage and 
 
 Civilized. I.-II. London, 1859. 
 Tilskueren. Rj0benhavn. 
 
 Tolstoy, Leo, What is Art ? Translated by A. Maude. London, 1899. 
 Transactions of the Ethnological Society of London. London. 
 
 Turner, George, Nineteen Years in Polynesia: Missionary Life, Travels, and Re- 
 searches in the Islands of the Pacific. London, 1861.
 
 AUTHOEITIES QUOTED 321 
 
 Turner, George, Samoa a Hundred Years ago and long before. With a Preface by 
 
 E. B. Tylor. London, 1884. 
 
 Tylor, Edward B., Primitive Culture. I.-II. London, 1891, 
 Tylor, Edward B., Researches into the early History of Mankind and the Development 
 
 of Civilization. 3rd ed., revised. London, 1878. 
 
 U.S. Geol. and Geogr. Survey. See Annual Report, and Powers, Stephau. 
 
 Vancouver, George, A Voyage of Discovery to the North Pacific Ocean, and round 
 
 the World, etc., performed in the Years 1790-95. I. -III. London, 1798. 
 Van Dyke, John C., Principles of Art. New York, 1887. 
 Van Ende, U., Histoire naturelle de la croyance. Premiere partie. L'animal. Paris, 
 
 1887. 
 
 Varigny, C. de, Quatorze ans aux lies Sandwich. Paris, 1874. 
 Verhandlungen der Berliner Gesellschaft fur Anthropologie, Ethnologic und Urge- 
 
 schichte. Berlin. 
 Vernon Lee and Anstruther Thompson, Beauty and Ugliness. In The Contemporary 
 
 Review. ' Vol. LXXII. 1897. 
 
 Verdffentlichungen aus dem koniglichen Museum fur Volkerkunde. Berlin. 
 Vischer, Friederich Theodor, Aesthetik oder Wissenschaft des Schonen. I.-III. 
 
 Reutlingen und Leipzig, 1846-1857. 
 Vodskov, H. S., Sjseledyrkelse og Naturdyrkelse. Bidrag til Bestemmelsen af den 
 
 mytologiske Metode. Forste Bind : Rig- Veda og Edda. Kj0benhavn, 1890. 
 
 Wagner, Richard, Gesammelte Schriften und Dichtungen. I.-X. Leipzig, 1871-83. 
 Waitz, Theodor, Anthropologie der Naturvolker. I. -VI. (Theil VI. von G. Gerland. ) 
 
 Leipzig, 1859-72. 
 Walhouse, M. J., Some Account of a Leaf- wearing Tribe on the Western Coast of 
 
 India. In Journal of the Anthropological Institute. IV. 
 Walkley, A. B., Frames of Mind. London, 1899. 
 Wallace, Alfred Russel, Darwinism : an Exposition of the Theory of Natural Selection, 
 
 with some of its Applications. London, 1889. 
 
 Wallace, Alfred Russel, Tropical Nature, and other Essays. London, 1878. 
 Wallaschek, Richard, Natural Selection and Music. In International Congress of 
 
 Experimental Psychology. Second Session. 1892. 
 
 Wallaschek, Richard, On the Difference of Time and Rhythm in Music. In Mind. IV. 
 Wallaschek, Richard, Primitive Music. An Inquiry into the Origin and Development 
 
 of Music, Songs, Instruments, Dances, and Pantomimes of Savage Races. Lon- 
 don, 1893. 
 Ward, Herbert, Ethnographical Notes relating to the Congo Tribes. In Journal of 
 
 the Anthropological Institute. XXIV. 
 Welcker, F. G., Kleine Schriften zur griechischen Litteraturgeschichte. I. Bonn, 
 
 1844. 
 
 Westermarck, Edward, The History of Human Marriage. 2nd ed. London, 1894. 
 Weston, Walter, Customs and Superstitions in the Highlands of Central Japan. In 
 
 Journal of the Anthropological Institute. XXVI. 
 Wilken, G. A., Handleiding voor de Vergelijkende Volkenkunde van Nederlandsch- 
 
 Indie. Leiden, 1893. 
 Williams, Thomas, Fiji and the Fijians ; Extended, with Notices of Recent Events ; 
 
 by James Calvert. Edited by George Stringer Rowe. London, 1870. 
 Wilson, C. T., and Felkin, R. W., Uganda and the Egyptian Soudan. I.-II. London, 
 
 1882. 
 Winterbottom, Thomas, An Account of the Native Africans in the Neighbourhood of 
 
 Sierra Leone. I.-II. London, 1803. 
 
 Wissmann, Hermann von, Im innern Afrikas. 3. Aufl. Leipzig, 1891. 
 Wissmann, Hermann von, Unter deutscher Flagge quer durch Afrika von West nach 
 
 Ost. Von 1880 bis 1883 aus gefuhrt. Berlin, 1889. 
 Woldt, A., Die Kultusgegenstiinde der Golden und Giljakeu. In Internationales 
 
 Archiv fur Ethnographic. I. 
 Wood, J. G., The Natural History of Man ; being an Account of the Manners and 
 
 Customs of the uncivilised Races of Men. I.-II. London, 1868-1870. 
 
 Y
 
 322 THE ORIGINS OF ART 
 
 Woods, J. D., The Native Tribes of South Australia. Adelaide, 1879, 
 
 Wundt, Wilhelm, Ethik. Eine Untersuchung der Thatsachen und Gesetze des 
 
 sittlichen Lebens. Zweite umgearb. Aufl. Stuttgart, 1892. 
 Wundt, Wilhelm, Zur Lehre von den Gemiithsbewegungeu. In Philosophische 
 
 Studien. VI. 
 Wuttke, Heinrich, Geschichte der Schrift und des Schriftthums von den rohen An- 
 
 fangen des Schreibens in der Tatuirung bis zur Legiing elektromagnetischer 
 
 Driihte. Leipzig, 1872. 
 Wzn, C. M. Pleyte, Zur Kenntnis der religiosen Anschauungen der Bataks. In Globus. 
 
 Vol. LX. 
 
 Ymer. Tidskrift utgifven af Svenska sallskapet for antropologi och geografi. Stock- 
 holm. 
 
 Zacker, Konrad, Kampf des Sommers und Winters. In Globus. XXXI. 
 
 Zeitschrift fiir Ethnologie. Berlin. 
 
 Zeitschrift fiir Volkerpsychologie und Sprachwissenschaft. Leipzig. 
 
 Ziemssen, H. von, Cyclopaedia of the Practice of Medicine. Transl. I. -XVIII. 
 
 London, 1875-1881. 
 Zoysa, Louis de, Note on the Origin of the Veddas, with a few Specimens of their 
 
 Songs and Charms. In Journal of the Ceylon Branch of the Royal Asiatic 
 
 Society, 1881. Vol. VII. Part II.
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS 
 
 Abbott, 287 
 
 Abercromby, 173 
 
 Acosta, 252, 266 
 
 Agrippa, 282 
 
 Ahlqvist, 159, 211 
 
 Allen, 8, 194 
 
 Amiel, 32, 38 
 
 Andree, 176, 280, 294 
 
 Angas, 67, 220, 259, 266, 270 
 
 Archer, 53 
 
 Aristotle, 23 
 
 Aubry, 82 
 
 Bailey, 237 
 
 Bain, 32, 33, 44 
 
 Baker, 236 
 
 Baldwin, 14, 24, 25, 79 
 
 Balfour, 147 
 
 Bancroft, 270, 272 
 
 Barrington, 198 
 
 Bartels, 67 
 
 Bashkirtseff, 61 
 
 Batchelor, 67, 159 
 
 Baumgarten, 1, 2 
 
 Beccari, 195 
 
 Beecham, 265 
 
 Berchon, 233 
 
 Berenger-Feraud, 278, 283, 284, 286 
 
 Bernays, 60 
 
 Bernier, 67 
 
 Bidwill, 262, 264, 269 
 
 Binet, 81, 197 
 
 Binger, 226, 287 
 
 Blumentritt, 234, 235, 266 
 
 Boccaccio, 68 
 
 Bock, 227, 290 
 
 Bohme, 252 
 
 Bonghi, 283 
 
 Bonwick, 159, 160 
 
 Bosanquet, 2 
 
 Bouillier, 32, 37, 51 
 
 Bourget, 122 
 
 Bourgoing, 89 
 
 Bourke, 67, 169 
 
 Brehm, 84, 189, 199 
 
 Brenner, 234, 235, 259, 291 
 
 Bridges, 165 
 
 Briere, 283 
 
 Brinton, 63, 67, 156, 174, 211, 212, 
 
 236, 285 
 Broca, 252 
 Brown, Baldwin, 111 
 Brown, John, 94, 185 
 Biicher, 88, 106, 254, 255, 257, 259 
 Biichner, 194, 243 
 Buckland, 226 
 Buffon, 192 
 Burchell, 222 
 Burke, 77 
 Burton, 152, 179, 224, 233/251,252, 
 
 254, 259, 266 
 
 Cahusac, 94, 266 
 
 Calmeil, 61 
 
 Calvert, 267 
 
 Cameron, 182 
 
 Campanella, 77 
 
 Campbell, 263 
 
 Carlyle, 123 
 
 Carpenter, 134 
 
 Carver, 92, 183, 266 
 
 Casalis, 262, 266, 285, 287 
 
 Castren, 285 
 
 Catlin, 11 
 
 Chamisso, 159 
 
 Champfleury, 68 
 
 Chappuy, 159 
 
 Charcot and Richer, 109 
 
 Chardin, 254 
 
 Clapperton, 158 
 
 Clavigero, 271 
 
 Clercq, de, 291 
 
 Codrington, 165, 175 
 
 Colden, 266 
 
 Collins, 182, 285 
 
 Combarieu, 108 
 
 Cook, 66, 158, 166, 233, 236, 245, 246, 
 
 262, 264, 266, 267, 269 
 Cornish, 194 
 Crane, 184 
 Cranz, 66, 152, 165 
 Crawley, 218, 244
 
 324 
 
 THE ORIGINS OF ART 
 
 Creuzer, 107 
 
 Cruickshank, 160, 175 
 
 Cruise, 262 
 
 Curr, 67, 152, 159, 226, 235, 246, 279 
 
 Czervinski, 266 
 
 Dale, 182 
 
 Ball, 66 
 
 Dalton, 234, 262, 283, 300 
 
 Darwin, 32, 33, 48, 187, 189, 191, 194, 
 
 195, 198, 201, 232, 238 
 Davy, 237 
 Day, 67, 160 
 Delbceuf, 35 
 Deschamps, 237 
 Dieffenbach, 225, 236, 254, 279 
 Digby, 281 
 
 Dobrizhoffer, 180, 226, 268 
 Diiben, 79 
 Dumont, 32, 35 
 Dupuis, 267 
 Dyer, 111 
 
 Earle, 154, 262, 276 
 
 Ehrenreich, 160 
 
 Elliot, 224 
 
 Ellis, A. B., 220, 224, 226, 233, 279, 
 
 291, 295 
 
 Ellis, Havelock, 19, 218 
 Ellis, W., 66, 179, 233, 244, 262, 267, 
 
 268 
 
 El worthy, 217 
 Emmanuel, 106, 109 
 Engel, 24, 95 
 Erman, 160, 174 
 Espinas, 84, 188, 192, 199 
 Eyre, 160, 233, 268 
 
 Faguet, 59 
 
 Fairer, 271, 285 
 
 Fechner, 40 
 
 Fere, 30, 40, 44, 94, 199, 252, 256, 257 
 
 Fewkes, 170 
 
 Figuier, 61 
 
 Finsch, 175, 215, 216, 220, 227, 269, 
 
 272 
 
 Fison, 182 
 Flaubert, 40 
 
 Forbes, Fr. E., 179, 251, 262 
 Forbes, H. 0., 180, 235 
 Fornander, 161, 178 
 Fouillee, 76 
 
 Fraser, 153, 225, 262, 284 
 Frazer, 182, 219, 226, 278, 279, 280, 283, 
 
 284, 287, 293 
 Freycinet, 67 
 
 Fritsch, 216, 237, 248, 262, 263 
 Fytche, 226 
 
 Gaidoz, 286 
 Gason, 67, 283 
 
 Gautier, 4 
 
 Geddes and Thomson, 189 
 
 Gill, 160, 178, 179, 233, 244, 255 
 
 Godden, 222, 226 
 
 Godferuaux, 44, 94 
 
 Goethe, 105 
 
 Goncourt, 40, 68, 80 
 
 Gooneratne, 291 
 
 Gratiolet,.32 
 
 Grey, 159, 178, 267 
 
 Grimm, 283, 284 
 
 Groos, 20, 26, 27, 59, 75, 78, 108, 146, 
 
 156, 172, 197, 199, 200, 232, 261 
 Grosse, 8, 87, 92, 225, 270 
 Grove, 254, 284 
 Guaita, 289 
 Gurney, 230 
 Guyau, 8, 13, 19, 28 
 
 Haddon, 147, 184, 225, 287, 300 
 
 Hall, 220 
 
 Hamilton, Aug., 275 
 
 Hamilton, W., 33, 37, 51, 54 
 
 Hauslick, 7 
 
 Hansson, 122 
 
 Harless, 80 
 
 Harnack, 130, 136 
 
 Hartland, 67, 219, 278, 280, 284 
 
 Hecker, 68 
 
 Heckewelder, 266 
 
 Hein, 271, 273, 274 
 
 Hellwald, 197 
 
 Helvetius, 61 
 
 Hemsterhuis, 122 
 
 Hennequin, 8 
 
 Herckenrath, 59 
 
 Heriot, 225, 268 
 
 Hernsheim, 262 
 
 Hickson, 235 
 
 Higgins, 169 
 
 Hill, 111 
 
 Hill and Thornton, 237 
 
 Hirn, 36, 46, 54, 116, 169, 170, 199 
 
 275 
 
 Hirth, 135 
 Hoffman, 176 
 Hoffmeister, 237 
 Hogarth, 76 
 Holmes, Edm., 134 
 Holmes, William H., 147 
 Holub, 237 
 Holz, 117 
 Home, 76, 155 
 Howitt, 182 
 Hudson, 26, 198, 231 
 Humboldt, 212 
 Hyades, 164, 165, 237 
 
 Im Thurn, 158, 176, 226 
 Jacobowski, 94
 
 INDEX OF AUTHOES 
 
 325 
 
 Jagor, 235 
 
 James, 44, 48, 51-53 
 
 Jefferies, 61 
 
 Joest, 66, 212, 220, 222, 233, 234, 267, 
 
 272 
 
 Johnston; 226, 244, 246, 248 
 Johnstone, 92, 248, 276 
 Jouffroy, 75 
 
 Kane, 167 
 
 Kant, 2, 8, 32 
 
 Keating, 67 
 
 Kidd, 248 
 
 Kierkegaard, 38, 63 
 
 Kingsley, 152, 159, 174, 224, 226 
 
 Kirby, 220 
 
 Kleinpaul, 217 
 
 Kleinschmidt, 165, 262 
 
 Koeler, 225, 233 
 
 Kolbe, 263 
 
 Kollman, 257 
 
 Kotzebue, 159, 279 
 
 Kreemer, 284 
 
 Kubary, 220, 221, 265 
 
 Kussmaul, 151 
 
 Lafitau, 262 
 
 Lagrange, 256 
 
 Laing, 180, 217, 233, 259 
 
 Laiida, de, 291 
 
 Lander, 67, 158, 226 
 
 Lang, A., 67, 279, 283 
 
 Lang, G., 237, 266 
 
 Lange, Carl, 44, 54, 62, 97 
 
 Lange, Julius, 105, 134 
 
 Le Bon, 82 
 
 Leconte de Lisle, 137 
 
 Lehmann, 31, 33, 34, 46, 54, 58 
 
 Lenormant, 287 
 
 Lenz, 160, 255 
 
 Lessing, 60 
 
 Lethermann, 166 
 
 Letourneau, 271 
 
 Levertin, 159 
 
 Lewin, 234, 235, 254, 262, 300 
 
 Lichtenberg, 96 
 
 Lichtenstein, 11 
 
 Lindsay, 194 
 
 Lippert, 209, 212, 224 
 
 Lipps, 75, 76 
 
 Lisiansky, 216 
 
 Livingstone, 265 
 
 Lloyd, G. T., 167 
 
 Lloyd, L., 189 
 
 Lobeck, 59, 65 
 
 Logau, 38 
 
 Lombroso, 40 
 
 Lubbock, 166, 174, 220 
 
 Lucretius, 293 
 
 Lukianos, 266 
 
 Lumholtz, 67, 285 
 
 Ltitke, 220, 245, 262 
 
 Macpherson, 270 
 
 Magitot, 208 
 
 Mallery, 151, 152, 153, 156, 157, 176, 
 
 227 
 
 Man, 67, 222, 224 
 Maning, 270 
 Mann, 265 
 
 Mantegazza, 32, 50, 229, 267 
 March, 10, 134, 147 
 Markham, 179, 236, 254 
 Marques, 233, 262 
 Marryat, 274 
 Marsden, 219, 234, 235 
 Marshall, H. R., 6, 22, 24, 25, 34, 35- 
 
 37, 40, 54, 57, 66 
 Marshall, W. E., 224 
 Martial, 164 
 Martin, 92, 235 
 Mason, 255 
 Mathew, 159, 233 
 Mathews, 233, 247 
 Matthews, 166, 292, 295 
 Maupassant, 94 
 Metz, 159, 217 
 Meyer, 177 
 Michelet, 40, 68, 110 
 Mill, 100 
 Milton, 282 
 Mitchell, 261 
 Moliere, 64 
 Mollien, 160 
 Moouey, 172 
 Morgan, 11, 236, 266 
 Moseley, 216 
 Motolinia, 287 
 Mouat, 67 
 
 Miiller, Fr., 233, 234 
 Muller, H., 259 
 Mulsant, 196 
 Mundy, 262 
 Musters, 279 
 
 Nachtigal, 233 
 Nagele, 271 
 Nevill, 237 
 Nietzsche, 103, 113 
 Nilsson, 189, 194, 201 
 Noire, 255 
 Nyrop, 286 
 
 Oldfield, 158 
 Oviedo, 179 
 
 Papin, 281 
 Paracelsus, 282, 285 
 Parker, 182 
 Paulhan, 44, 61 
 Peron, 67 
 Perraud, 108
 
 326 
 
 THE ORIGINS OF ART 
 
 Peschel, 285 
 
 Petherick, 160 
 
 Poe, 122 
 
 Polack, 92, 159, 175, 179, 257, 270, 272 
 
 Posnett, 179, 276, 298 
 
 Poulton, 201 
 
 Powers, 262, 284, 287 
 
 Preller, 65 
 
 Preyer, 80 
 
 Pritchard, 67, 179, 268 
 
 Quilter, 131 
 
 Baffles, 290 
 
 Raftnesque, 156 
 
 Ralston, 283, 284 
 
 Rapp, 112 
 
 Ratzel, 218, 259 
 
 Read, 10 
 
 Reade, 11, 254 
 
 Reclus, 59, 173, 217, 293, 300 
 
 Reeves, 245, 262 
 
 Rengger, 253 
 
 Ribot, 40, 44, 63, 188 
 
 Richardson, 270 
 
 Rienzi, 92, 160, 233, 235, 259 
 
 Ritchie, 12 
 
 Robley, 66, 175, 222, 225 
 
 Rochas, 280, 281, 287, 290; 294 
 
 Rohde, 112 
 
 Romanes, 151, 194 
 
 Romilly, 165, 244, 272, 287 
 
 Roth, Ling, 67, 224 
 
 Roth, W. K, 153, 158, 216, 226, 237, 
 
 283 
 Ruskin, 6, 107, 131, 134 
 
 St. John, 160 
 
 Salvado, 254, 267 
 
 Sarasin, 224, 237, 244 
 
 Savage, 244 
 
 Sayce, 151, 153 
 
 Scherer, 60 
 
 Schiller, 8, 26 
 
 Schlegel, 87 
 
 Schmeltz, 175, 217, 220 
 
 Schmidkunz, 74, 79, 257 
 
 Schmidt, -237 
 
 Schneider, G. H., 192, 199 
 
 Schneider, W., 66, 160, 217, 222 
 
 Schomburgk, 265 
 
 Schoolcraft, 66, 166, 183, 265, 266, 276 
 
 Schiirmann, 233 
 
 Schurtz, 206, 217, 218, 246, 291 
 
 Schweinfurth, 175, 268 
 
 Scott, 238 
 
 Seckendorff, 95 
 
 Selenka, 235, 274, 284, 287 
 
 Seneca, 24 
 
 Shelley, 59 
 
 Shooter, 179, 268 
 
 Shortland, 154, 225, 259, 262 
 
 Sirr, 217 
 
 Sittl, 59 
 
 Skeat, 283, 287, 290, 291 
 
 Smith, Adam, 74, 84 
 
 Smith, E. R., 255 
 
 Smyth, 66, 224, 259, 262 
 
 Soldi, 284 
 
 Somerville, 217 
 
 Souriau, 89, 256 
 
 Sparrman, 233, 263 
 
 Spencer and Gillen, 152, 167, 173 219, 
 226, 233, 237, 280 
 
 Spencer, Herbert, 8, 21, 26, 37, 48, 49, 
 51, 67, 76, 79, 92, 109, 165, 166, 
 170, 179, 198, 222, 226, 229, 246, 
 248, 253, 258, 259, 261, 263, 267, 
 268, 279, 287 
 
 Sproat, 267 
 
 Stanley, 77 
 
 Starcke, 226 
 
 Stein, 130, 136 
 
 Steinen, 153, 156, 161, 168, 176, 216, 
 222, 224, 226, 268 
 
 Stern, 75 
 
 Stevens, 224 
 
 Stevenson, M. C., 283, 284 
 
 Stevenson, T. E., 284 
 
 Stewart, 53, 74, 76, 77, 80, 153 
 
 Stirling, 152, 226, 227 
 
 Stokes, 227 
 
 Stoll, 61, 79, 285, 292 
 
 Stolpe, 10, 223 
 
 Stout, 36, 37, 44 
 
 Strange, 196 
 
 Strieker, 77 
 
 Start, 79 
 
 Sully, 54, 57 
 
 Sully- Prudhomme, 95, 99 
 
 Svoboda, A., 217, 300 
 
 Svoboda, W., 177 
 
 Swettenham, 79 
 
 Symons, 122 
 
 Taine, 6, 23, 118, 119, 130, 131, 134 
 
 Taplin, 159, 160, 224, 226, 233, 251 
 
 Tarde, 74, 94, 149, 287 
 
 Taylor, 59, 66, 67, 287 
 
 Tennent, 237 
 
 Tennyson, 64 
 
 Tetens, 220, 262 
 
 Thompson, 76, 91, 97 
 
 Thomson, 254, 262, 268 
 
 Tolstoy, 134 
 
 Turner, 233, 254 
 
 Tylor, 151, 152, 153, 155, 172, 219, 285 
 
 Vancouver, 233 
 Van Dyke, 139 
 Van Elide, 84, 198 
 Varigny, 161
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS 
 
 327 
 
 Vernon Lee, 76, 91, 97 
 Vischer, Fr. Th., 6, 23, 118 
 Vischer, Eobert, 75 
 Vodskov, 259 
 
 Wagner, 70, 124 
 
 Waitz, 217 
 
 Walhouse, 291 
 
 Walkley, 59 
 
 Wallace, 12, 26, 189, 190, 191, 192, 
 
 198 
 
 Wallaschek, 12, 87, 106, 230, 261, 263 
 Ward, 183, 226 
 Weddel, 79 
 Welcker, 59 
 Westermarck, 190, 193, 205, 209, 212, 
 
 215, 216, 220, 227 
 
 Weston, 283 
 
 Wilken, 216, 222 
 
 Williams, 165, 262, 283 
 
 Wilson and Felkin, 158 
 
 Winterbottom, 254, 285 
 
 Wissman, 254 
 
 Woldt, 287 
 
 Wood, 152, 265, 268, 269, 270, 271 
 
 Woods, 159, 160, 224. 233, 251, 262, 
 
 279, 283 
 Wundt, 62, 221 
 
 Wuttke, 222, 223, 224, 226, 271 
 Wzn, 291 
 
 Zacher, 284 
 Ziegler, 200 
 Zoysa, de, 237
 
 
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 
 
 Acquired pleasure-gettings, 57 
 
 Acting, psychology of, 52, 53 
 
 Activity and feeling, 32-35 ; activity 
 involved in dolcefar niente, 37 
 
 ./Esthetic, its position as a science, 1, 2, 
 4, 5 ; its development 1-3; its 
 methods, 5, 6 
 feelings, 141 
 
 judgment, presupposing some degree 
 of intellectual and moral develop- 
 ment, 188 
 
 of the hen, 187 ; its development in 
 apparent conflict with natural 
 selection, 189 
 
 Agricultural rites, 287 
 
 Anaesthesia and self-woundings, 61-65 
 
 Ancestor worship, 175 
 
 Anger, 47, 48, 54, 62 
 
 Animal display, 186-202 
 
 Animating idols, means of, 291 
 
 Aphasia, 151 
 
 Apolline serenity versus Dionysiac rap- 
 ture, 105 
 
 Architecture, the, of the Dyaks, 274 ; of 
 the Maoris, 275 
 
 Art, as explained by supernatural causes, 
 12 ; as excitement and sedative, 
 70, 71 ; as connected with sexual 
 selection, 203-213 ; its higher and 
 lower forms, 140 
 the, of animals, 202 
 the reliever, 102-110 
 
 Art-impulse, the, 15, 18-29, 84, 85, 100, 
 101, 303 ; a racial possession of 
 mankind, 21 22 ; intellectualistic 
 definitions, 23 
 
 Art-sense, the conditions of its develop- 
 ment, 141, 142 
 
 Artistic intuition, 125 
 
 Association between pleasure and activity, 
 33 
 
 Attract by pleasing, impulse to, 24, 25, 
 186, 187, 214, 215, 233 sq, 
 
 ' Attractive " qualities of the work of 
 art, 99 
 
 Autotelic activities outside the depart- 
 ment of art, 19, 20 
 character of art, 7-15, 88, 304 
 
 "Balls on sockets," 193 
 Bird-shaped amulets, 287 
 Boasting adornments, 222 
 Boating-songs and dances, 259, 260 
 Brilliancy, the physiological effects 
 created by, 194-197 
 
 Choral dances, 261 
 
 Chorus, the, in the ancient drama, 94 
 
 Classification of instances of erotic art, 
 
 231-238 
 Clothing, the origin of, 204-206, 215- 
 
 220 
 
 Cognitio sensitiva, 2 
 Collective feeling, 81, 82 
 
 psychology, 74-85 
 Consciousness of self, 62-64 
 Contempt, expression of, its importance 
 
 in primitive tactics, 268, 269 
 Couvade, 280 
 
 Coyness of the female, 197, 198 
 Creation, artistic, involved- in artistic 
 
 enjoyment, 18, 19 
 Criterion of art, the, 7 sq. 
 Crying feasts and ceremonial wailings, 
 
 59 
 Cure, medical, of restoring people by 
 
 pulling them through a narrow 
 
 opening, 285, 286 
 
 Dance, 87, 89, 92, 230 
 
 Dances, choral, 262 ; common to both 
 sexes or separate, 230, 231 ; con- 
 nected with sexual selection, 233- 
 235 ; with war, 266, 267 ; with 
 work, 251, 253, 254 
 
 Dance-pantomimes, obscene, 233, 245 
 
 Dancing girdles, 215 
 
 Deaf-mutes, their language, 151, 155 
 
 Death and resurrection represented in 
 primitive drama, 182-184
 
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 
 
 329 
 
 Decoration, bodily, subserving a com- 
 memorative purpose, 223 ; used as 
 a means of frightening, 272 ; as 
 a means of individual and tribal 
 identification, 225-227 ; as magical 
 protection, 218, 224 ; denotes civic 
 majority, 220 ; executed in order 
 to protect the skin, 224 ; denoting 
 rank or wealth, 222 
 
 Decorative art, the, of military tribes, 
 277 
 
 Demon-shields of the Dyaks, 272-274 
 
 Dignity, 116 
 
 Dionysiac state, the, 64, 65, 105, 109, 
 112, 113 
 
 Dionysos, god of art and music, 110 
 
 Disinterestedness, the, of artistic activity. 
 See Autotelic Character of Art 
 
 Drama, the earliest of imitative arts, 
 149, 150 
 
 Dramatic element, the, of art, 95-98 
 
 "Einhaltsstreben," 150 
 
 Emanations, magic theory of, 281, 293 
 
 Emotional element, the, in art, 137-139, 
 
 303 
 Emotions, the psychology of, 42-55 ; 
 
 connection between emotions and 
 
 movement-sensations, 44-47 
 Enjoyment of pain, 55, 56-71 
 Enlistment, dances of, 266 
 Ephemeral character of primitive art, 
 
 161 
 
 Epic element, the, in art, 98, 99 
 Epidemics, mental, 69, 81 
 Erotic art, 238-248 ; dearth of infor- 
 mation on, 229, 244 ; spurious 
 
 instances of, 245 
 gestures and pantomimes used as 
 
 expressions of joy, 243, 244 
 pantomimes and dances performed with 
 
 a moral intention, 247, 248 
 poems, 235, 236, 246 
 propitiation, 234-236 
 Etiological myths, 171, 172 
 Euhemerism, 168, 169 
 Europeans as subjects of primitive art, 
 
 160, 166, 167, 178 
 Experimentation, plays of, 145 
 Expression of feeling, 41, 42, 47-54 ; 
 
 primary and secondary forma of 
 
 expression, 42, 47, 52, 68, 69, 199 ; 
 
 expression as a mythogenic factor, 
 
 93, 94 
 
 " Expressive qualities," the, of nature, 98 
 Extempore design, 156, 161 
 
 "Facultemaitresse," 118-120, 126 
 Fandango, apologue concerning the, 89 
 Fascination, 103 
 Fear, 52, 54, 103 
 
 Feeling- tone of sensation, 30-42 ; experi- 
 ments on sensation, feeling and 
 movement, 31 ; dynamic conditions 
 of feeling, 32-35 ; static conditions 
 of feeling, 35 ; association between 
 pleasure and movement, 33 ; pains 
 of restriction, 38 ; pain as motor 
 incitement, 40, 66, 253 ; relative 
 character of pleasure and pain, 56, 
 57 ; acquired pleasure-gettings, 57 ; 
 the philosophical importance of 
 pain, 63, 64 
 
 Festal development of art, 111 
 
 "Foreign" purposes, the, in art, 10-12, 
 15-17, 127, 147, 148, 301, 304-306 
 
 Form and content, 139 
 
 French and English art, difference 
 between, 131 
 
 Funeral ceremonies and art, 300 
 dances of obscene character, 217 
 
 Garrick, the contagious power of his 
 
 acting, 96 
 
 Gesture-language, 151-154 
 Gracefulness, 116, 275, 276 
 Grief, 50 
 Grimacing, its importance for primitive 
 
 tactics, 270 
 "Gymnastic" dances, 92 
 
 " Happiness " of the unconscious, 69, 
 70 
 
 Higher and lower forms of art, distinc- 
 tion between, 140 
 
 Historical art, 164-182, 223 
 
 and psychological methods, distinction 
 
 between, 16, 112, 148, 301 
 poems used in magical ceremonies, 
 173 
 
 History born of pride, 181 
 
 Histrionic factor in literature, 96 ; in 
 formative arts, 96, 97 
 
 " Homo sapiens ferus," 151 
 
 Humiliation, 46, 50 
 
 Hunting and fishing rites, 285, 287 
 
 Idea, the, its place in German-zesthetic 
 
 systems, 23, 118 
 Ideal of beauty, the, and sexual selection, 
 
 202, 213, 241, 242 
 Idealistic schools of art, 132 
 Idols, 174, 288, 291 
 " Illusions particulieres " versus essential 
 
 qualities, 128, 129 
 Imitation, impulse to, 24 ; connected 
 
 with the instincts, 75 
 sympathetic, 59, 74-85, 96 
 See Internal Imitation, Pathologic 
 
 Imitation
 
 330 
 
 THE ORIGINS OF ART 
 
 Impregnation by wind, rain, or sunshine, 
 
 219 
 Indispensability of accustomed sensations, 
 
 58 
 
 In effigie sentences, 287 
 Information and art, 149-163, 184, 185 
 Instantaneous muscular exertion, power 
 
 of, 252, 253 
 
 Insular life, its influence on art, 259 
 Intellectual elements of the artistic 
 
 activity ; their influence on the 
 
 mental state of the artist, 102-107 
 Invention in primitive art, 160, 161 
 
 Jakalele dance in Ceram, 266, 267 
 Joy, 48 ; distinguished from the sense 
 
 of comic, 48, 49 ; pantomimic 
 
 expression of, 92-94, 244 
 
 "Kina" (Fuegian drama), 165 
 
 Limited amount of energy, 36, 37 
 
 Lustre. See Brilliancy 
 
 Luxury of sentimental sorrow, 51. See 
 
 also Enjoyment of Pain 
 Lyre and flute, allegory of, 107 
 
 Maenads, 65, 108-110, 112 
 
 Magic and art, 278-297 
 
 two classes of, 278, 279 ; by connec- 
 tion, 279-282, 291-294 ; by likeness, 
 282-290 ; expedients for acquiring 
 courage in war, 265 ; power of the 
 obscene, 217 ; pantomimes, 11 ; 
 songs, 288, 295 
 
 Masses, psychology of. See Collective 
 Psychology 
 
 Means of attraction, 203-213 
 
 Medical rites, 284, 287 
 
 Military dances, 265, 266 ; used as 
 salutation, 92, 93 ; performed before 
 female spectators, 229 
 dresses and uniforms, 270 ; ensigns, 
 271 ; signals, 263 
 
 Modesty and clothing, 216-218 
 
 Moko tattooing used as a means of 
 identification, 175, 225 
 
 Moods of sadness deliberately enhanced, 
 51 
 
 Moral influence of art, 108 
 
 Movement-perception, the dynamogeuic 
 influence of, 257 
 
 Music, 87 
 
 Narrative art, its simplest forms, 157-161 
 Novelty, predilection for, 208 
 
 "Opisthotonos," 109 
 
 Ornament, concealed meaning of, 10 
 
 and mimetic transmission of feeling, 98 
 
 and rhythm, 91 
 
 Ornaments, the, of the Dyaks, 272-274 ; 
 of the Maoris, 275, 276 
 
 Pain, pantomimic expression of, 39, 40, 
 93, 94. See also Feeling-tone 
 
 Pautomimics, erotic, 233-235, 245-248 ; 
 magic, 11, 283, 284 ; military, 265, 
 266 ; narrative, 152-155 ; repre- 
 senting work, 250-252, 257 
 
 Parnassians, 136, 137 
 
 Pathologic imitation, 79 
 
 Petroglyphs, 175, 176 
 
 Phallic amulets, 217 ; rites, 284, 287 
 
 Phallocrypts, 215, 216 
 
 Pictographs, 149, 155-157, 161 
 
 Pictorial art, the, of the Bushmen, 237 
 prayers, 285 
 
 Play, as connected with art, 29 ; with 
 exercise, 250, 251 ; with the in- 
 stincts, 27 
 
 Play-impulse, 26-28, 145, 146, 250 
 
 Please, impulse to, 24, 25 
 
 Pleasure. See Feeling-tone 
 
 Political propitiation and art, 299 
 
 Portraiture, commemorative, 174, 175 
 
 Practical motives for clothing and self- 
 decoration, 216, 224 
 
 Prsesul, 257 
 
 Preliminary movements, their dynamo- 
 genie influence, 256 
 
 Pride, 46, 137, 181, 222, 268 
 
 Proportion, 117 
 
 Rain-making and rain-preventing, 283, 
 
 284 
 
 Realism and magic, 289-290 
 Realistic movement in literature, 117, 
 
 118 
 
 Recognition marks, 190 
 Religious doctrines influencing erotic art, 
 
 246 
 Repugnance for qualities deviating from 
 
 the tribal type, 209, 210 
 Retroaction from sympathisers, craving 
 
 for, 84 
 
 Rhetoric, primitive, 154 
 Rhythm, 87-91, 258-260 
 
 Salutation dances, 92 
 
 Sand paintings, the, of the Navajos, 292 
 
 Scarification, 61, 66, 67 
 
 Scars of the Australians explained by 
 
 Koeler as means of identification, 
 
 225 
 
 Science as an end in itself, 19, 20 
 Secondary sexual characters, 190-192 
 
 activities, 191 
 Selbstzweck. See Autotelic Character of 
 
 Art 
 
 Self-exhibiting impulse, 25 
 Self-woundings, 61, 66, 67
 
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS 
 
 331 
 
 Sentimentalism, 136, 137 
 Sex-distinction, marks for accentuating, 
 
 192 209 
 
 Sexual ideal, 204, 213, 242 
 Social conditions influencing erotic art, 
 
 238-242 
 
 expression, 72-85, esp. 83-85 
 Solidarity of suffering between members 
 
 of the same family, 279 
 Songs, ephemeral, 159, 160 ; erotic, 235, 
 
 236, 246 ; exhorting to work, 254, 
 
 255, 259; magic, 255, 256, 288, 
 
 295 ; military, 267-269 
 Sport as end in itself, 20, 21 
 Storage of nutritive supply, 36, 37 
 Sucking cure, 285 
 Sun-rituals, 284 
 Superstitious motives for clothing, 217- 
 
 219, 224 
 
 Surplus of vigour, 26, 198 
 Symmetry, 117 
 Sympathetic imitation, 59, 74-85, 154, 
 
 155 
 magic. See Magic 
 
 Tangi, 59 
 
 Technical medium, the, of art, 145 
 perfection in art, 135, 139, 303 
 Technique, its influence on decorative 
 
 art, 146, 147 
 Theatrical management and regie among 
 
 the Australians, 237 
 Theurgic rites, 284, 288 
 Time-sense, its high development among 
 
 primitive tribes, 262 
 
 Trade-dances, 252 
 
 Traditions, primitive, . preserving the 
 
 memory of European visitors, 166, 
 
 167, 178 
 
 Tragedy, enjoyment of, 59 
 Transference of energy, 36, 37 
 Travels described in primitive art, 158- 
 
 160, 178 
 Trophies, 221 
 
 Universal ideas, their importance in 
 assthetic systems, 130 ; their place 
 in primitive philosophy, 296 
 
 Vehicles of emotional transmission, 120- 
 
 124 
 
 Vital sensation and pain, 60-65 
 Volts, 286 
 
 War, its social influence, 261 ; its in- 
 fluence on art, 261-277 ; on plastic 
 beauty, 276 ; on decorative art, 275- 
 277 
 
 a prominent subject in history and 
 narrative art, 178-180 ; the need of 
 stimulation for, 263 
 
 Werther, 104, 105 
 
 Witches, Bacchantes, and hysteric 
 patients, 109 
 
 Wordless tribes, stories about, 152 
 
 Work, stimulation to, 252-257 ; regula- 
 tion of, 88, 257-260 
 and art, 12, 88, 249-260 
 
 THE END 
 
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