{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_41360/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_41360","id":"gutenberg_41360","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41360","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Sociology","Cults","Religion","Religion -- Philosophy","Rites and ceremonies","Totemism"],"text":"THE ELEMENTARY FORMS OF THE RELIGIOUS LIFE\n\n\n\n\n EMILE DURKHEIM\n\n _The Elementary Forms\n of the\n Religious Life_\n\n\n TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY\n JOSEPH WARD SWAIN\n M.A.\n\n\n _LONDON_\n GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD\n RUSKIN HOUSE MUSEUM STREET\n\n\n\n\n FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1915\n SECOND IMPRESSION 1926\n THIRD IMPRESSION 1954\n FOURTH IMPRESSION 1957\n FIFTH IMPRESSION 1964\n\n _This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.\n Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private\n study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under\n the Copyright Act, 1956, no portion may be reproduced\n by any process without written permission. Enquiry\n should be made to the publisher._\n\n _\u00a9 George Allen & Unwin Ltd. 1915_\n\n PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN\n BY HOLLEN STREET PRESS LTD\n LONDON W.1\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n SUBJECT OF OUR STUDY: RELIGIOUS SOCIOLOGY AND THE THEORY OF\n KNOWLEDGE\n PAGE\n I.--Principal subject of the book: analysis of the simplest\n religion known to determine the elementary forms of the\n religious life--Why they are more easily found and explained\n in the primitive religions 1\n\n II.--Secondary subject of research: the genesis of the\n fundamental notions of thought or the categories--Reasons for\n believing that their origin is religious and consequently\n social--How a way of restating the theory of knowledge is\n thus seen 9\n\n\nBOOK I\n\nPRELIMINARY QUESTIONS\n\n\n CHAPTER I\n\n DEFINITION OF RELIGIOUS PHENOMENA AND OF RELIGION\n\n Usefulness of a preliminary definition of religion; method to be\n followed in seeking this definition--Why the usual definitions\n should be examined first 23\n\n I.--Religion defined by the supernatural and mysterious--\n Criticism: the notion of mystery is not primitive 24\n\n II.--Religion defined in connection with the idea of God or a\n spiritual being.--Religions without gods--Rites in deistic\n religions which imply no idea of divinity 29\n\n III.--Search for a positive definition--Distinction between\n beliefs and rites--Definition of beliefs--First characteristic:\n division of things between sacred and profane--Distinctive\n characteristics of this definition--Definition of rites in\n relation to beliefs--Definition of religion 36\n\n IV.--Necessity of another characteristic to distinguish magic\n from religion--The idea of the Church--Do individualistic\n religions exclude the idea of a Church? 42\n\n\n CHAPTER II\n\n LEADING CONCEPTIONS OF THE ELEMENTARY RELIGION\n\n I.--_Animism_\n\n Distinction of animism and naturism 48\n\n I.--The three theses of animism: Genesis of the idea of the soul;\n Formation of the idea of spirits; Transformation of the cult of\n spirits into the cult of nature 49\n\n II.--Criticism of the first thesis--Distinction of the idea of\n the soul from that of a double--Dreams do not account for the\n idea of the soul 55\n\n III.--Criticism of the second thesis--Death does not explain the\n transformation of a soul into a spirit--The cult of the souls\n of the dead is not primitive 60\n\n IV.--Criticism of the third thesis--The anthropomorphic\n instinct--Spencer's criticism of it; reservations on this\n point--Examination of the facts by which this instinct is\n said to be proved--Difference between a soul and the spirits\n of nature--Religious anthropomorphism is not primitive 65\n\n V.--Conclusion: animism reduces religion to nothing more than\n a system of hallucinations 68\n\n\n CHAPTER III\n\n LEADING CONCEPTIONS OF THE ELEMENTARY RELIGION--(_continued_)\n\n II.--_Naturism_\n\n History of the theory 71\n\n I.--Exposition of Max M\u00fcller's naturism 73\n\n II.--If the object of religion is to express natural forces, it\n is hard to see how it has maintained itself, for it expresses\n them in an erroneous manner--Pretended distinction between\n religion and mythology 78\n\n III.--Naturism does not explain the division of things into\n sacred and profane 84\n\n\n CHAPTER IV\n\n TOTEMISM AS AN ELEMENTARY RELIGION\n\n I.--Brief history of the question of totemism 88\n\n II.--Reasons of method for which our study will be given\n specially to the totemism of Australia--The place which\n will be given to facts from America 93\n\n\nBOOK II\n\nTHE ELEMENTARY BELIEFS\n\n\n CHAPTER I\n\n TOTEMIC BELIEFS\n\n _The Totem as Name and as Emblem_\n\n I.--Definition of the clan--The totem as name of the clan--Nature\n of the things which serve as totems--Ways in which the totem is\n acquired--The totems of phratries; of matrimonial classes 102\n\n II.--The totem as emblem--Totemic designs engraved or carved upon\n objects; tatooings or designs upon the body 113\n\n III.--Sacred character of the totemic emblem--The churinga--The\n nurtunja--The waninga--Conventional character of totemic emblems 119\n\n\n CHAPTER II\n\n TOTEMIC BELIEFS--(_continued_)\n\n _The Totemic Animal and Man_\n\n I.--Sacred character of the totemic animals--Prohibition to\n eat them, kill them or pick the totemic plants--Different\n moderations given these prohibitions--Prohibition of\n contact--The sacred character of the animal is less marked\n than that of the emblem 128\n\n II.--The man--His relationship with the totemic animal or\n plant--Different myths explaining this relationship--The sacred\n character of the man is more apparent in certain parts of the\n organism: the blood, hair, etc.--How this character varies with\n sex and age--Totemism is not plant or animal worship 134\n\n\n CHAPTER III\n\n TOTEMIC BELIEFS--(_continued_)\n\n _The Cosmological System of Totemism and the Idea of Class_\n\n I.--The classification of things into clans, phratries and classes 141\n\n II.--Genesis of the notion of class: the first classifications of\n things take their forms from society--Differences between the\n sentiment of the differences of things and the idea of class--\n Why this is of social origin 144\n\n III.--Religious significance of these classifications: all of\n the things classified into a clan partake of the nature of the\n totem and its sacred character--The cosmological system of\n totemism--Totemism as the tribal religion 148\n\n\n CHAPTER IV\n\n TOTEMIC BELIEFS--(_end_)\n\n _The Individual Totem and the Sexual Totem_\n\n I.--Individual totem as a forename; its sacred character--\n Individual totem as personal emblem--Bonds between the man and\n his individual totem--Relations with the collective totem 157\n\n II.--The totems of sexual groups--Resemblances and differences\n with the collective and individual totems--Their tribal nature 165\n\n\n CHAPTER V\n\n ORIGINS OF THESE BELIEFS\n\n _Critical Examination of Preceding Theories_\n\n I.--Theories which derive totemism from a previous religion: from\n the ancestor cult (Wilken and Tylor); from the nature cult\n (Jevons)--Criticism of these theories 168\n\n II.--Theories which derive collective totemism from individual\n totemism--Origins attributed by these theories to the\n individual totem (Frazer, Boas, Hill Tout)--Improbability\n of these hypotheses--Reasons showing the priority of the\n collective totem 172\n\n III.--Recent theory of Frazer: _conceptional_ and local\n totemism--The begging of the question upon which it rests--The\n religious character of the totem is denied--Local totemism is\n not primitive 180\n\n IV.--Theory of Lang: that the totem is only a name--Difficulties\n in explaining the religious character of totemic practices from\n this point of view 184\n\n V.--All these theories explain totemism only by postulating other\n religious notions anterior to it 186\n\n\n CHAPTER VI\n\n ORIGINS OF THESE BELIEFS--(_continued_)\n\n _The Notion of the Totemic Principle, or Mana, and the Idea of\n Force_\n\n I.--The notion of the totemic force or principle--Its ubiquity--\n Its character at once physical and moral 188\n\n II.--Analogous conceptions in other inferior societies--The gods\n in Samoa, the wakan of the Sioux, the orenda of the Iroquois,\n the mana of Melanesia--Connection of these notions with\n totemism--The Arunkulta of the Arunta 191\n\n III.--Logical priority of impersonal force over the different\n mythical personalities--Recent theories which tend to admit\n this priority 198\n\n IV.--The notion of religious force is the prototype of that of\n force in general 203\n\n\n CHAPTER VII\n\n ORIGINS OF THESE BELIEFS--(_end_)\n\n _Origin of the Idea of the Totemic Principle or Mana_\n\n I.--The totemic principle is the clan, but thought of under a\n more empirical form 205\n\n II.--General reasons for which society is apt to awaken the\n sensation of the sacred and the divine--Society as an\n imperative moral force; the notion of moral authority--Society\n as a force which raises the individual outside of himself--\n Facts which prove that society creates the sacred 206\n\n III.--Reasons peculiar to Australian societies--The two phases\n through which the life of these societies alternatively passes:\n dispersion, concentration--Great collective effervescence\n during the periods of concentration--Examples--How the\n religious idea is born out of this effervescence 214\n\n Why collective force has been thought of under totemic forms: it\n is the totem that is the emblem of the clan--Explanation of the\n principal totemic beliefs 219\n\n IV.--Religion is not the product of fear--It expresses something\n real--Its essential idealism--This idealism is a general\n characteristic of collective mentality--Explanation of the\n external character of religious forces in relation to their\n subjects--The principle that _the part is equal to the whole_ 223\n\n V.--Origin of the notion of emblem: emblems a necessary condition\n of collective representations--Why the clan has taken its\n emblems from the animal and vegetable kingdoms 230\n\n VI.--The proneness of the primitive to confound the kingdoms and\n classes which we distinguish--Origins of these confusions--How\n they have blazed the way for scientific explanations--They do\n not exclude the tendency towards distinction and opposition 234\n\n\n CHAPTER VIII\n\n THE IDEA OF THE SOUL\n\n I.--Analysis of the idea of the soul in the Australian societies 240\n\n II.--Genesis of this idea--The doctrine of reincarnation\n according to Spencer and Gillen: it implies that the soul is\n a part of the totemic principle--Examination of the facts\n collected by Strehlow; they confirm the totemic nature of\n the soul 246\n\n III.--Generality of the doctrine of reincarnation--Diverse facts\n in support of the proposed genesis 256\n\n IV.--Antithesis of the soul and the body: what there is objective\n in this--Relations of the individual soul with the collective\n soul--The idea of the soul is not chronologically after that\n of mana 262\n\n V.--Hypothesis to explain the belief in its survival 267\n\n VI.--The idea of a soul and the idea of a person; impersonal\n elements in the personality 269\n\n\n CHAPTER IX\n\n THE IDEA OF SPIRITS AND GODS\n\n I.--Difference between a soul and a spirit--The souls of the\n mythical ancestors are spirits, having determined functions--\n Relations between the ancestral spirit, the individual soul\n and the individual totem--Explanation of this latter--Its\n sociological significance 273\n\n II.--Spirits and magic 281\n\n III.--The civilizing heroes 283\n\n IV.--The great gods--Their origin--Their relations with the\n totemic system--Their tribal and international character 285\n\n V.--Unity of the totemic system 295\n\n\nBOOK III\n\nTHE PRINCIPAL RITUAL ATTITUDES\n\n\n CHAPTER I\n\n THE NEGATIVE CULT AND ITS FUNCTIONS\n\n THE ASCETIC RITES\n\n I.--The system of interdictions--Magic and religious\n interdictions--Interdictions between sacred things of different\n sorts--Interdictions between sacred and profane--These latter\n are the basis of the negative cult--Leading types of these\n interdictions; their reduction to two essential types 299\n\n II.--The observance of interdictions modifies the religious state\n of individuals--Cases where this efficacy is especially\n apparent: ascetic practices--The religious efficacy of sorrow--\n Social function of asceticism 309\n\n III.--Explanation of the system of interdictions: antagonism of\n the sacred and the profane, contagiousness of the sacred 317\n\n IV.--Causes of this contagiousness--It cannot be explained by\n the laws of the association of ideas--It is because religious\n forces are outside of their subjects--Logical interest in this\n property of religious forces 321\n\n\n CHAPTER II\n\n THE POSITIVE CULT\n\n I.--_The Elements of Sacrifice_\n\n The Intichiuma ceremony in the tribes of Central Australia--\n Different forms which it presents 326\n\n I.--The Arunta Form--The two phases--Analysis of the first: visit\n to sacred places, scattering of sacred dust, shedding of blood,\n etc., to assure the reproduction of the totemic species 327\n\n II.--Second phase: ritual consumption of the totemic plant or\n animal 333\n\n III.--Interpretation of the complete ceremony--The second rite\n consists in a communion meal--Reason for this communion 336\n\n IV.--The rites of the first phase consists in oblations--Analogies\n with sacrificial oblations--The Intichiuma thus contains the two\n elements of sacrifice--Interest of these facts for the theory of\n sacrifice 340\n\n V.--On the pretended absurdity of sacrificial oblations--How\n they are explained: dependence of sacred beings upon their\n worshippers--Explanation of the circle in which sacrifice seems\n to move--Origin of the periodicity of positive rites 344\n\n\n CHAPTER III\n\n THE POSITIVE CULT--(_continued_)\n\n II.--_Imitative Rites and the Principle of Causality_\n\n I.--Nature of the imitative rites--Examples of ceremonies where\n they are employed to assure the fertility of the species 351\n\n II.--They rest upon the principle: _like produces like_--\n Examination of the explanation of this given by the\n anthropological school--Reasons why they imitate the animal\n or plant--Reasons for attributing a physical efficacy to these\n gestures--Faith--In what sense it is founded upon experience--\n The principles of magic are born in religion 355\n\n III.--The preceding principle considered as one of the first\n statements of the principle of causality--Social conditions\n upon which this latter depends--The idea of impersonal force or\n power is of social origin--The necessity for the conception of\n causality explained by the authority inherent in social\n imperatives 362\n\n\n CHAPTER IV\n\n THE POSITIVE CULT--(_continued_)\n\n III.--_Representative or Commemorative Rites_\n\n I.--Representative rites with physical efficacy--Their relations\n with the ceremonies already described--Their action is wholly\n moral 371\n\n II.--Representative rites without physical efficacy--They confirm\n the preceding results--The element of recreation in religion:\n its importance; its reason for existence--The idea of a feast 376\n\n III.--Ambiguity of function in the various ceremonies studied;\n they substitute themselves for each other--How this ambiguity\n confirms the theory proposed 383\n\n\n CHAPTER V\n\n PIACULAR RITES AND THE AMBIGUITY OF THE NOTION OF SACREDNESS\n\n Definition of the piacular rite 389\n\n I.--Positive rites of mourning--Description of these rites 390\n\n II.--How they are explained--They are not a manifestation of\n private sentiments--The malice attributed to the souls of the\n dead cannot account for them either--They correspond to the\n state of mind in which the group happens to be--Analysis of\n this state--How it ends by mourning--Corresponding changes in\n the way in which the souls of the dead are conceived 396\n\n III.--Other piacular rites; after a public mourning, a poor\n harvest, a drought, the southern lights--Rarity of these rites\n in Australia--How they are explained 403\n\n IV.--The two forms of the sacred: the pure and the impure--Their\n antagonism--Their relationship--Ambiguity of the idea of the\n sacred--All rites present the same character 409\n\n\nCONCLUSION\n\n To what extent the results obtained may be generalized 415\n\n I.--Religion rests upon an experience that is well founded but\n not privileged--Necessity of a science to reach the reality at\n the bottom of this experience--What is this reality?--The human\n groups--Human meaning of religion--Concerning the objection\n which opposes the ideal society to the real society 416\n\n How religious individualism and cosmopolitanism are explained in\n this theory 424\n\n II.--The eternal element in religion--Concerning the conflict\n between science and religion; it has to do solely with the\n speculative side of religion--What this side seems destined to\n become 427\n\n III.--How has society been able to be the source of logical,\n that is to say conceptual, thought? Definition of the concept:\n not to be confounded with the general idea; characterized by\n its impersonality and communicability--It has a collective\n origin--The analysis of its contents bears witness in the same\n sense Collective representations as types of ideas which\n individuals accept--In regard to the objection that they are\n impersonal only on condition of being true--Conceptual thought\n is coeval with humanity 431\n\n IV.--How the categories express social things--The chief category\n is the concept of totality which could be suggested only by\n society--Why the relations expressed by the categories could\n become conscious only in society--Society is not an a-logical\n being--How the categories tend to detach themselves from\n geographically determined groups 439\n\n The unity of science on the one hand, and of morals and religion\n on the other--How the society accounts for this unity--\n Explanation of the r\u00f4le attributed to society: its creative\n power--Reactions of sociology upon the science of man 445\n\n\n\n\nTHE ELEMENTARY FORMS OF THE RELIGIOUS LIFE\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nSUBJECT OF OUR STUDY: RELIGIOUS SOCIOLOGY AND THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE\n\n\nIn this book we propose to study the most primitive and simple religion\nwhich is actually known, to make an analysis of it, and to attempt an\nexplanation of it. A religious system may be said to be the most\nprimitive which we can observe when it fulfils the two following\nconditions: in the first place, when it is found in a society whose\norganization is surpassed by no others in simplicity;[1] and secondly,\nwhen it is possible to explain it without making use of any element\nborrowed from a previous religion.\n\nWe shall set ourselves to describe the organization of this system with\nall the exactness and fidelity that an ethnographer or an historian\ncould give it. But our task will not be limited to that: sociology\nraises other problems than history or ethnography. It does not seek to\nknow the passed forms of civilization with the sole end of knowing them\nand reconstructing them. But rather, like every positive science, it has\nas its object the explanation of some actual reality which is near to\nus, and which consequently is capable of affecting our ideas and our\nacts: this reality is man, and more precisely, the man of to-day, for\nthere is nothing which we are more interested in knowing. Then we are\nnot going to study a very archaic religion simply for the pleasure of\ntelling its peculiarities and its singularities. If we have taken it as\nthe subject of our research, it is because it has seemed to us better\nadapted than any other to lead to an understanding of the religious\nnature of man, that is to say, to show us an essential and permanent\naspect of humanity.\n\nBut this proposition is not accepted before the raising of strong\nobjections. It seems very strange that one must turn back, and be\ntransported to the very beginnings of history, in order to arrive at an\nunderstanding of humanity as it is at present. This manner of procedure\nseems particularly paradoxical in the question which concerns us. In\nfact, the various religions generally pass as being quite unequal in\nvalue and dignity; it is said that they do not all contain the same\nquota of truth. Then it seems as though one could not compare the\nhighest forms of religious thought with the lowest, without reducing the\nfirst to the level of the second. If we admit that the crude cults of\nthe Australian tribes can help us to understand Christianity, for\nexample, is that not supposing that this latter religion proceeds from\nthe same mentality as the former, that it is made up of the same\nsuperstitions and rests upon the same errors? This is how the\ntheoretical importance which has sometimes been attributed to primitive\nreligions has come to pass as a sign of a systematic hostility to all\nreligion, which, by prejudging the results of the study, vitiates them\nin advance.\n\nThere is no occasion for asking here whether or not there are scholars\nwho have merited this reproach, and who have made religious history and\nethnology a weapon against religion. In any case, a sociologist cannot\nhold such a point of view. In fact, it is an essential postulate of\nsociology that a human institution cannot rest upon an error and a lie,\nwithout which it could not exist. If it were not founded in the nature\nof things, it would have encountered in the facts a resistance over\nwhich it could never have triumphed. So when we commence the study of\nprimitive religions, it is with the assurance that they hold to reality\nand express it; this principle will be seen to re-enter again and again\nin the course of the analyses and discussions which follow, and the\nreproach which we make against the schools from which we have separated\nourselves is that they have ignored it. When only the letter of the\nformul\u00e6 is considered, these religious beliefs and practices undoubtedly\nseem disconcerting at times, and one is tempted to attribute them to\nsome sort of a deep-rooted error. But one must know how to go underneath\nthe symbol to the reality which it represents and which gives it its\nmeaning. The most barbarous and the most fantastic rites and the\nstrangest myths translate some human need, some aspect of life, either\nindividual or social. The reasons with which the faithful justify them\nmay be, and generally are, erroneous; but the true reasons do not cease\nto exist, and it is the duty of science to discover them.\n\nIn reality, then, there are no religions which are false. All are true\nin their own fashion; all answer, though in different ways, to the given\nconditions of human existence. It is undeniably possible to arrange them\nin a hierarchy. Some can be called superior to others, in the sense that\nthey call into play higher mental functions, that they are richer in\nideas and sentiments, that they contain more concepts with fewer\nsensations and images, and that their arrangement is wiser. But\nhowsoever real this greater complexity and this higher ideality may be,\nthey are not sufficient to place the corresponding religions in\ndifferent classes. All are religions equally, just as all living beings\nare equally alive, from the most humble plastids up to man. So when we\nturn to primitive religions it is not with the idea of depreciating\nreligion in general, for these religions are no less respectable than\nthe others. They respond to the same needs, they play the same r\u00f4le,\nthey depend upon the same causes; they can also well serve to show the\nnature of the religious life, and consequently to resolve the problem\nwhich we wish to study.\n\n\nBut why give them a sort of prerogative? Why choose them in preference\nto all others as the subject of our study?--It is merely for reasons of\nmethod.\n\nIn the first place, we cannot arrive at an understanding of the most\nrecent religions except by following the manner in which they have been\nprogressively composed in history. In fact, historical analysis is the\nonly means of explanation which it is possible to apply to them. It\nalone enables us to resolve an institution into its constituent\nelements, for it shows them to us as they are born in time, one after\nanother. On the other hand, by placing every one of them in the\ncondition where it was born, it puts into our hands the only means we\nhave of determining the causes which gave rise to it. Every time that we\nundertake to explain something human, taken at a given moment in\nhistory--be it a religious belief, a moral precept, a legal principle,\nan \u00e6sthetic style or an economic system--it is necessary to commence by\ngoing back to its most primitive and simple form, to try to account for\nthe characteristics by which it was marked at that time, and then to\nshow how it developed and became complicated little by little, and how\nit became that which it is at the moment in question. One readily\nunderstands the importance which the determination of the point of\ndeparture has for this series of progressive explanations, for all the\nothers are attached to it. It was one of Descartes's principles that\nthe first ring has a predominating place in the chain of scientific\ntruths. But there is no question of placing at the foundation of the\nscience of religions an idea elaborated after the cartesian manner, that\nis to say, a logical concept, a pure possibility, constructed simply by\nforce of thought. What we must find is a concrete reality, and\nhistorical and ethnological observation alone can reveal that to us. But\neven if this cardinal conception is obtained by a different process than\nthat of Descartes, it remains true that it is destined to have a\nconsiderable influence on the whole series of propositions which the\nscience establishes. Biological evolution has been conceived quite\ndifferently ever since it has been known that monocellular beings do\nexist. In the same way, the arrangement of religious facts is explained\nquite differently, according as we put naturism, animism or some other\nreligious form at the beginning of the evolution. Even the most\nspecialized scholars, if they are unwilling to confine themselves to a\ntask of pure erudition, and if they desire to interpret the facts which\nthey analyse, are obliged to choose one of these hypotheses, and make it\ntheir starting-point. Whether they desire it or not, the questions which\nthey raise necessarily take the following form: how has naturism or\nanimism been led to take this particular form, here or there, or to\nenrich itself or impoverish itself in such and such a fashion? Since it\nis impossible to avoid taking sides on this initial problem, and since\nthe solution given is destined to affect the whole science, it must be\nattacked at the outset: that is what we propose to do.\n\nBesides this, outside of these indirect reactions, the study of\nprimitive religions has of itself an immediate interest which is of\nprimary importance.\n\nIf it is useful to know what a certain particular religion consists in,\nit is still more important to know what religion in general is. This is\nthe problem which has aroused the interest of philosophers in all times;\nand not without reason, for it is of interest to all humanity.\nUnfortunately, the method which they generally employ is purely\ndialectic: they confine themselves to analysing the idea which they make\nfor themselves of religion, except as they illustrate the results of\nthis mental analysis by examples borrowed from the religions which best\nrealize their ideal. But even if this method ought to be abandoned, the\nproblem remains intact, and the great service of philosophy is to have\nprevented its being suppressed by the disdain of scholars. Now it is\npossible to attack it in a different way. Since all religions can be\ncompared to each other, and since all are species of the same class,\nthere are necessarily many elements which are common to all. We do not\nmean to speak simply of the outward and visible characteristics which\nthey all have equally, and which make it possible to give them a\nprovisional definition from the very outset of our researches; the\ndiscovery of these apparent signs is relatively easy, for the\nobservation which it demands does not go beneath the surface of things.\nBut these external resemblances suppose others which are profound. At\nthe foundation of all systems of beliefs and of all cults there ought\nnecessarily to be a certain number of fundamental representations or\nconceptions and of ritual attitudes which, in spite of the diversity of\nforms which they have taken, have the same objective significance and\nfulfil the same functions everywhere. These are the permanent elements\nwhich constitute that which is permanent and human in religion; they\nform all the objective contents of the idea which is expressed when one\nspeaks of _religion_ in general. How is it possible to pick them out?\n\nSurely it is not by observing the complex religions which appear in the\ncourse of history. Every one of these is made up of such a variety of\nelements that it is very difficult to distinguish what is secondary from\nwhat is principal, the essential from the accessory. Suppose that the\nreligion considered is like that of Egypt, India or the classical\nantiquity. It is a confused mass of many cults, varying according to the\nlocality, the temples, the generations, the dynasties, the invasions,\netc. Popular superstitions are there confused with the purest dogmas.\nNeither the thought nor the activity of the religion is evenly\ndistributed among the believers; according to the men, the environment\nand the circumstances, the beliefs as well as the rites are thought of\nin different ways. Here they are priests, there they are monks,\nelsewhere they are laymen; there are mystics and rationalists,\ntheologians and prophets, etc. In these conditions it is difficult to\nsee what is common to all. In one or another of these systems it is\nquite possible to find the means of making a profitable study of some\nparticular fact which is specially developed there, such as sacrifice or\nprophecy, monasticism or the mysteries; but how is it possible to find\nthe common foundation of the religious life underneath the luxuriant\nvegetation which covers it? How is it possible to find, underneath the\ndisputes of theology, the variations of ritual, the multiplicity of\ngroups and the diversity of individuals, the fundamental states\ncharacteristic of religious mentality in general?\n\nThings are quite different in the lower societies. The slighter\ndevelopment of individuality, the small extension of the group, the\nhomogeneity of external circumstances, all contribute to reducing the\ndifferences and variations to a minimum. The group has an intellectual\nand moral conformity of which we find but rare examples in the more\nadvanced societies. Everything is common to all. Movements are\nstereotyped; everybody performs the same ones in the same circumstances,\nand this conformity of conduct only translates the conformity of\nthought. Every mind being drawn into the same eddy, the individual type\nnearly confounds itself with that of the race. And while all is uniform,\nall is simple as well. Nothing is deformed like these myths, all\ncomposed of one and the same theme which is endlessly repeated, or like\nthese rites made up of a small number of gestures repeated again and\nagain. Neither the popular imagination nor that of the priests has had\neither the time or the means of refining and transforming the original\nsubstance of the religious ideas and practices; these are shown in all\ntheir nudity, and offer themselves to an examination, it requiring only\nthe slightest effort to lay them open. That which is accessory or\nsecondary, the development of luxury, has not yet come to hide the\nprincipal elements.[2] All is reduced to that which is indispensable, to\nthat without which there could be no religion. But that which is\nindispensable is also that which is essential, that is to say, that\nwhich we must know before all else.\n\nPrimitive civilizations offer privileged cases, then, because they are\nsimple cases. That is why, in all fields of human activity, the\nobservations of ethnologists have frequently been veritable revelations,\nwhich have renewed the study of human institutions. For example, before\nthe middle of the nineteenth century, everybody was convinced that the\nfather was the essential element of the family; no one had dreamed that\nthere could be a family organization of which the paternal authority was\nnot the keystone. But the discovery of Bachofen came and upset this old\nconception. Up to very recent times it was regarded as evident that the\nmoral and legal relations of kindred were only another aspect of the\npsychological relations which result from a common descent; Bachofen and\nhis successors, MacLennan, Morgan and many others still laboured under\nthis misunderstanding. But since we have become acquainted with the\nnature of the primitive clan, we know that, on the contrary,\nrelationships cannot be explained by consanguinity. To return to\nreligions, the study of only the most familiar ones had led men to\nbelieve for a long time that the idea of god was characteristic of\neverything that is religious. Now the religion which we are going to\nstudy presently is, in a large part, foreign to all idea of divinity;\nthe forces to which the rites are there addressed are very different\nfrom those which occupy the leading place in our modern religions, yet\nthey aid us in understanding these latter forces. So nothing is more\nunjust than the disdain with which too many historians still regard the\nwork of ethnographers. Indeed, it is certain that ethnology has\nfrequently brought about the most fruitful revolutions in the different\nbranches of sociology. It is for this same reason that the discovery of\nunicellular beings, of which we just spoke, has transformed the current\nidea of life. Since in these very simple beings, life is reduced to its\nessential traits, these are less easily misunderstood.\n\nBut primitive religions do not merely aid us in disengaging the\nconstituent elements of religion; they also have the great advantage\nthat they facilitate the explanation of it. Since the facts there are\nsimpler, the relations between them are more apparent. The reasons with\nwhich men account for their acts have not yet been elaborated and\ndenatured by studied reflection; they are nearer and more closely\nrelated to the motives which have really determined these acts. In order\nto understand an hallucination perfectly, and give it its most\nappropriate treatment, a physician must know its original point of\ndeparture. Now this event is proportionately easier to find if he can\nobserve it near its beginnings. The longer the disease is allowed to\ndevelop, the more it evades observation; that is because all sorts of\ninterpretations have intervened as it advanced, which tend to force the\noriginal state into the background, and across which it is frequently\ndifficult to find the initial one. Between a systematized hallucination\nand the first impressions which gave it birth, the distance is often\nconsiderable. It is the same thing with religious thought. In proportion\nas it progresses in history, the causes which called it into existence,\nthough remaining active, are no longer perceived, except across a vast\nscheme of interpretations which quite transform them. Popular\nmythologies and subtile theologies have done their work: they have\nsuperimposed upon the primitive sentiments others which are quite\ndifferent, and which, though holding to the first, of which they are an\nelaborated form, only allow their true nature to appear very\nimperfectly. The psychological gap between the cause and the effect,\nbetween the apparent cause and the effective cause, has become more\nconsiderable and more difficult for the mind to leap. The remainder of\nthis book will be an illustration and a verification of this remark on\nmethod. It will be seen how, in the primitive religions, the religious\nfact still visibly carries the mark of its origins: it would have been\nwell-nigh impossible to infer them merely from the study of the more\ndeveloped religions.\n\nThe study which we are undertaking is therefore a way of taking up\nagain, _but under new conditions_, the old problem of the origin of\nreligion. To be sure, if by origin we are to understand the very first\nbeginning, the question has nothing scientific about it, and should be\nresolutely discarded. There was no given moment when religion began to\nexist, and there is consequently no need of finding a means of\ntransporting ourselves thither in thought. Like every human institution,\nreligion did not commence anywhere. Therefore, all speculations of this\nsort are justly discredited; they can only consist in subjective and\narbitrary constructions which are subject to no sort of control. But the\nproblem which we raise is quite another one. What we want to do is to\nfind a means of discerning the ever-present causes upon which the most\nessential forms of religious thought and practice depend. Now for the\nreasons which were just set forth, these causes are proportionately more\neasily observable as the societies where they are observed are less\ncomplicated. That is why we try to get as near as possible to the\norigins.[3] It is not that we ascribe particular virtues to the lower\nreligions. On the contrary, they are rudimentary and gross; we cannot\nmake of them a sort of model which later religions only have to\nreproduce. But even their grossness makes them instructive, for they\nthus become convenient for experiments, as in them, the facts and their\nrelations are easily seen. In order to discover the laws of the\nphenomena which he studies, the physicist tries to simplify these latter\nand rid them of their secondary characteristics. For that which concerns\ninstitutions, nature spontaneously makes the same sort of\nsimplifications at the beginning of history. We merely wish to put these\nto profit. Undoubtedly we can only touch very elementary facts by this\nmethod. When we shall have accounted for them as far as possible, the\nnovelties of every sort which have been produced in the course of\nevolution will not yet be explained. But while we do not dream of\ndenying the importance of the problems thus raised, we think that they\nwill profit by being treated in their turn, and that it is important to\ntake them up only after those of which we are going to undertake the\nstudy at present.\n\n\nII\n\nBut our study is not of interest merely for the science of religion. In\nfact, every religion has one side by which it overlaps the circle of\nproperly religious ideas, and there, the study of religious phenomena\ngives a means of renewing the problems which, up to the present, have\nonly been discussed among philosophers.\n\nFor a long time it has been known that the first systems of\nrepresentations with which men have pictured to themselves the world and\nthemselves were of religious origin. There is no religion that is not a\ncosmology at the same time that it is a speculation upon divine things.\nIf philosophy and the sciences were born of religion, it is because\nreligion began by taking the place of the sciences and philosophy. But\nit has been less frequently noticed that religion has not confined\nitself to enriching the human intellect, formed beforehand, with a\ncertain number of ideas; it has contributed to forming the intellect\nitself. Men owe to it not only a good part of the substance of their\nknowledge, but also the form in which this knowledge has been\nelaborated.\n\nAt the roots of all our judgments there are a certain number of\nessential ideas which dominate all our intellectual life; they are what\nphilosophers since Aristotle have called the categories of the\nunderstanding: ideas of time, space,[4] class, number, cause, substance,\npersonality, etc. They correspond to the most universal properties of\nthings. They are like the solid frame which encloses all thought; this\ndoes not seem to be able to liberate itself from them without destroying\nitself, for it seems that we cannot think of objects that are not in\ntime and space, which have no number, etc. Other ideas are contingent\nand unsteady; we can conceive of their being unknown to a man, a society\nor an epoch; but these others appear to be nearly inseparable from the\nnormal working of the intellect. They are like the framework of the\nintelligence. Now when primitive religious beliefs are systematically\nanalysed, the principal categories are naturally found. They are born in\nreligion and of religion; they are a product of religious thought. This\nis a statement that we are going to have occasion to make many times in\nthe course of this work.\n\nThis remark has some interest of itself already; but here is what gives\nit its real importance.\n\nThe general conclusion of the book which the reader has before him is\nthat religion is something eminently social. Religious representations\nare collective representations which express collective realities; the\nrites are a manner of acting which take rise in the midst of the\nassembled groups and which are destined to excite, maintain or recreate\ncertain mental states in these groups. So if the categories are of\nreligious origin, they ought to participate in this nature common to all\nreligious facts; they too should be social affairs and the product of\ncollective thought. At least--for in the actual condition of our\nknowledge of these matters, one should be careful to avoid all radical\nand exclusive statements--it is allowable to suppose that they are rich\nin social elements.\n\nEven at present, these can be imperfectly seen in some of them. For\nexample, try to represent what the notion of time would be without the\nprocesses by which we divide it, measure it or express it with objective\nsigns, a time which is not a succession of years, months, weeks, days\nand hours! This is something nearly unthinkable. We cannot conceive of\ntime, except on condition of distinguishing its different moments. Now\nwhat is the origin of this differentiation? Undoubtedly, the states of\nconsciousness which we have already experienced can be reproduced in us\nin the same order in which they passed in the first place; thus portions\nof our past become present again, though being clearly distinguished\nfrom the present. But howsoever important this distinction may be for\nour private experience, it is far from being enough to constitute the\nnotion or category of time. This does not consist merely in a\ncommemoration, either partial or integral, of our past life. It is an\nabstract and impersonal frame which surrounds, not only our individual\nexistence, but that of all humanity. It is like an endless chart, where\nall duration is spread out before the mind, and upon which all possible\nevents can be located in relation to fixed and determined guide lines.\nIt is not _my time_ that is thus arranged; it is time in general, such\nas it is objectively thought of by everybody in a single civilization.\nThat alone is enough to give us a hint that such an arrangement ought to\nbe collective. And in reality, observation proves that these\nindispensable guide lines, in relation to which all things are\ntemporally located, are taken from social life. The divisions into days,\nweeks, months, years, etc., correspond to the periodical recurrence of\nrites, feasts, and public ceremonies.[5] A calendar expresses the\nrhythm of the collective activities, while at the same time its function\nis to assure their regularity.[6]\n\nIt is the same thing with space. As Hamelin has shown,[7] space is not\nthe vague and indetermined medium which Kant imagined; if purely and\nabsolutely homogeneous, it would be of no use, and could not be grasped\nby the mind. Spatial representation consists essentially in a primary\nco-ordination of the data of sensuous experience. But this co-ordination\nwould be impossible if the parts of space were qualitatively equivalent\nand if they were really interchangeable. To dispose things spatially\nthere must be a possibility of placing them differently, of putting some\nat the right, others at the left, these above, those below, at the north\nof or at the south of, east or west of, etc., etc., just as to dispose\nstates of consciousness temporally there must be a possibility of\nlocalizing them at determined dates. That is to say that space could not\nbe what it is if it were not, like time, divided and differentiated. But\nwhence come these divisions which are so essential? By themselves, there\nare neither right nor left, up nor down, north nor south, etc. All these\ndistinctions evidently come from the fact that different sympathetic\nvalues have been attributed to various regions. Since all the men of a\nsingle civilization represent space in the same way, it is clearly\nnecessary that these sympathetic values, and the distinctions which\ndepend upon them, should be equally universal, and that almost\nnecessarily implies that they be of social origin.[8]\n\nBesides that, there are cases where this social character is made\nmanifest. There are societies in Australia and North America where space\nis conceived in the form of an immense circle, because the camp has a\ncircular form;[9] and this spatial circle is divided up exactly like the\ntribal circle, and is in its image. There are as many regions\ndistinguished as there are clans in the tribe, and it is the place\noccupied by the clans inside the encampment which has determined the\norientation of these regions. Each region is defined by the totem of the\nclan to which it is assigned. Among the Zu\u00f1i, for example, the pueblo\ncontains seven quarters; each of these is a group of clans which has had\na unity: in all probability it was originally a single clan which was\nlater subdivided. Now their space also contains seven quarters, and each\nof these seven quarters of the world is in intimate connection with a\nquarter of the pueblo, that is to say with a group of clans.[10] \"Thus,\"\nsays Cushing, \"one division is thought to be in relation with the north,\nanother represents the west, another the south,\" etc.[11] Each quarter\nof the pueblo has its characteristic colour, which symbolizes it; each\nregion has its colour, which is exactly the same as that of the\ncorresponding quarter. In the course of history the number of\nfundamental clans has varied; the number of the fundamental regions of\nspace has varied with them. Thus the social organization has been the\nmodel for the spatial organization and a reproduction of it. It is thus\neven up to the distinction between right and left which, far from being\ninherent in the nature of man in general, is very probably the product\nof representations which are religious and therefore collective.[12]\n\nAnalogous proofs will be found presently in regard to the ideas of\nclass, force, personality and efficacy. It is even possible to ask if\nthe idea of contradiction does not also depend upon social conditions.\nWhat makes one tend to believe this is that the empire which the idea\nhas exercised over human thought has varied with times and societies.\nTo-day the principle of identity dominates scientific thought; but there\nare vast systems of representations which have played a considerable\nr\u00f4le in the history of ideas where it has frequently been set aside:\nthese are the mythologies, from the grossest up to the most\nreasonable.[13] There, we are continually coming upon beings which have\nthe most contradictory attributes simultaneously, who are at the same\ntime one and many, material and spiritual, who can divide themselves up\nindefinitely without losing anything of their constitution; in mythology\nit is an axiom that the part is worth the whole. These variations\nthrough which the rules which seem to govern our present logic have\npassed prove that, far from being engraven through all eternity upon the\nmental constitution of men, they depend, at least in part, upon factors\nthat are historical and consequently social. We do not know exactly what\nthey are, but we may presume that they exist.[14]\n\n\nThis hypothesis once admitted, the problem of knowledge is posed in new\nterms.\n\nUp to the present there have been only two doctrines in the field. For\nsome, the categories cannot be derived from experience: they are\nlogically prior to it and condition it. They are represented as so many\nsimple and irreducible data, imminent in the human mind by virtue of its\ninborn constitution. For this reason they are said to be _a priori_.\nOthers, however, hold that they are constructed and made up of pieces\nand bits, and that the individual is the artisan of this\nconstruction.[15]\n\nBut each solution raises grave difficulties.\n\nIs the empirical thesis the one adopted? Then it is necessary to deprive\nthe categories of all their characteristic properties. As a matter of\nfact they are distinguished from all other knowledge by their\nuniversality and necessity. They are the most general concepts which\nexist, because they are applicable to all that is real, and since they\nare not attached to any particular object they are independent of every\nparticular subject; they constitute the common field where all minds\nmeet. Further, they must meet there, for reason, which is nothing more\nthan all the fundamental categories taken together, is invested with an\nauthority which we could not set aside if we would. When we attempt to\nrevolt against it, and to free ourselves from some of these essential\nideas, we meet with great resistances. They do not merely depend upon\nus, but they impose themselves upon us. Now empirical data present\ncharacteristics which are diametrically opposed to these. A sensation or\nan image always relies upon a determined object, or upon a collection of\nobjects of the same sort, and expresses the momentary condition of a\nparticular consciousness; it is essentially individual and subjective.\nWe therefore have considerable liberty in dealing with the\nrepresentations of such an origin. It is true that when our sensations\nare actual, they impose themselves upon us _in fact_. But _by right_ we\nare free to conceive them otherwise than they really are, or to\nrepresent them to ourselves as occurring in a different order from that\nwhere they are really produced. In regard to them nothing is forced upon\nus except as considerations of another sort intervene. Thus we find that\nwe have here two sorts of knowledge, which are like the two opposite\npoles of the intelligence. Under these conditions forcing reason back\nupon experience causes it to disappear, for it is equivalent to reducing\nthe universality and necessity which characterize it to pure appearance,\nto an illusion which may be useful practically, but which corresponds to\nnothing in reality; consequently it is denying all objective reality to\nthe logical life, whose regulation and organization is the function of\nthe categories. Classical empiricism results in irrationalism; perhaps\nit would even be fitting to designate it by this latter name.\n\nIn spite of the sense ordinarily attached to the name, the apriorists\nhave more respect for the facts. Since they do not admit it as a truth\nestablished by evidence that the categories are made up of the same\nelements as our sensual representations, they are not obliged to\nimpoverish them systematically, to draw from them all their real\ncontent, and to reduce them to nothing more than verbal artifices. On\nthe contrary, they leave them all their specific characteristics. The\napriorists are the rationalists; they believe that the world has a\nlogical aspect which the reason expresses excellently. But for all that,\nit is necessary for them to give the mind a certain power of\ntranscending experience and of adding to that which is given to it\ndirectly; and of this singular power they give neither explanation nor\njustification. For it is no explanation to say that it is inherent in\nthe nature of the human intellect. It is necessary to show whence we\nhold this surprising prerogative and how it comes that we can see\ncertain relations in things which the examination of these things cannot\nreveal to us. Saying that only on this condition is experience itself\npossible changes the problem perhaps, but does not answer it. For the\nreal question is to know how it comes that experience is not sufficient\nunto itself, but presupposes certain conditions which are exterior and\nprior to it, and how it happens that these conditions are realized at\nthe moment and in the manner that is desirable. To answer these\nquestions it has sometimes been assumed that above the reason of\nindividuals there is a superior and perfect reason from which the others\nemanate and from which they get this marvellous power of theirs, by a\nsort of mystic participation: this is the divine reason. But this\nhypothesis has at least the one grave disadvantage of being deprived of\nall experimental control; thus it does not satisfy the conditions\ndemanded of a scientific hypothesis. More than that, the categories of\nhuman thought are never fixed in any one definite form; they are made,\nunmade and remade incessantly; they change with places and times. On the\nother hand, the divine reason is immutable. How can this immutability\ngive rise to this incessant variability?\n\nSuch are the two conceptions that have been pitted against each other\nfor centuries; and if this debate seems to be eternal, it is because the\narguments given are really about equivalent. If reason is only a form of\nindividual experience, it no longer exists. On the other hand, if the\npowers which it has are recognized but not accounted for, it seems to be\nset outside the confines of nature and science. In the face of these two\nopposed objections the mind remains uncertain. But if the social origin\nof the categories is admitted, a new attitude becomes possible, which we\nbelieve will enable us to escape both of the opposed difficulties.\n\nThe fundamental proposition of the apriorist theory is that knowledge is\nmade up of two sorts of elements, which cannot be reduced into one\nanother, and which are like two distinct layers superimposed one upon\nthe other.[16] Our hypothesis keeps this principle intact. In fact, that\nknowledge which is called empirical, the only knowledge of which the\ntheorists of empiricism have made use in constructing the reason, is\nthat which is brought into our minds by the direct action of objects. It\nis composed of individual states which are completely explained[17] by\nthe psychical nature of the individual. If, on the other hand, the\ncategories are, as we believe they are, essentially collective\nrepresentations, before all else, they should show the mental states of\nthe group; they should depend upon the way in which this is founded and\norganized, upon its morphology, upon its religious, moral and economic\ninstitutions, etc. So between these two sorts of representations there\nis all the difference which exists between the individual and the\nsocial, and one can no more derive the second from the first than he can\ndeduce society from the individual, the whole from the part, the complex\nfrom the simple.[18] Society is a reality _sui generis_; it has its own\npeculiar characteristics, which are not found elsewhere and which are\nnot met with again in the same form in all the rest of the universe. The\nrepresentations which express it have a wholly different contents from\npurely individual ones and we may rest assured in advance that the first\nadd something to the second.\n\nEven the manner in which the two are formed results in differentiating\nthem. Collective representations are the result of an immense\nco-operation, which stretches out not only into space but into time as\nwell; to make them, a multitude of minds have associated, united and\ncombined their ideas and sentiments; for them, long generations have\naccumulated their experience and their knowledge. A special intellectual\nactivity is therefore concentrated in them which is infinitely richer\nand complexer than that of the individual. From that one can understand\nhow the reason has been able to go beyond the limits of empirical\nknowledge. It does not owe this to any vague mysterious virtue but\nsimply to the fact that according to the well-known formula, man is\ndouble. There are two beings in him: an individual being which has its\nfoundation in the organism and the circle of whose activities is\ntherefore strictly limited, and a social being which represents the\nhighest reality in the intellectual and moral order that we can know by\nobservation--I mean society. This duality of our nature has as its\nconsequence in the practical order, the irreducibility of a moral ideal\nto a utilitarian motive, and in the order of thought, the irreducibility\nof reason to individual experience. In so far as he belongs to society,\nthe individual transcends himself, both when he thinks and when he\nacts.\n\nThis same social character leads to an understanding of the origin of\nthe necessity of the categories. It is said that an idea is necessary\nwhen it imposes itself upon the mind by some sort of virtue of its own,\nwithout being accompanied by any proof. It contains within it something\nwhich constrains the intelligence and which leads to its acceptance\nwithout preliminary examination. The apriorist postulates this singular\nquality, but does not account for it; for saying that the categories are\nnecessary because they are indispensable to the functioning of the\nintellect is simply repeating that they are necessary. But if they\nreally have the origin which we attribute to them, their ascendancy no\nlonger has anything surprising in it. They represent the most general\nrelations which exist between things; surpassing all our other ideas in\nextension, they dominate all the details of our intellectual life. If\nmen did not agree upon these essential ideas at every moment, if they\ndid not have the same conception of time, space, cause, number, etc.,\nall contact between their minds would be impossible, and with that, all\nlife together. Thus society could not abandon the categories to the free\nchoice of the individual without abandoning itself. If it is to live\nthere is not merely need of a satisfactory moral conformity, but also\nthere is a minimum of logical conformity beyond which it cannot safely\ngo. For this reason it uses all its authority upon its members to\nforestall such dissidences. Does a mind ostensibly free itself from\nthese forms of thought? It is no longer considered a human mind in the\nfull sense of the word, and is treated accordingly. That is why we feel\nthat we are no longer completely free and that something resists, both\nwithin and outside ourselves, when we attempt to rid ourselves of these\nfundamental notions, even in our own conscience. Outside of us there is\npublic opinion which judges us; but more than that, since society is\nalso represented inside of us, it sets itself against these\nrevolutionary fancies, even inside of ourselves; we have the feeling\nthat we cannot abandon them if our whole thought is not to cease being\nreally human. This seems to be the origin of the exceptional authority\nwhich is inherent in the reason and which makes us accept its\nsuggestions with confidence. It is the very authority of society,[19]\ntransferring itself to a certain manner of thought which is the\nindispensable condition of all common action. The necessity with which\nthe categories are imposed upon us is not the effect of simple habits\nwhose yoke we could easily throw off with a little effort; nor is it a\nphysical or metaphysical necessity, since the categories change in\ndifferent places and times; it is a special sort of moral necessity\nwhich is to the intellectual life what moral obligation is to the\nwill.[20]\n\n\nBut if the categories originally only translate social states, does it\nnot follow that they can be applied to the rest of nature only as\nmetaphors? If they were made merely to express social conditions, it\nseems as though they could not be extended to other realms except in\nthis sense. Thus in so far as they aid us in thinking of the physical or\nbiological world, they have only the value of artificial symbols, useful\npractically perhaps, but having no connection with reality. Thus we come\nback, by a different road, to nominalism and empiricism.\n\nBut when we interpret a sociological theory of knowledge in this way, we\nforget that even if society is a specific reality it is not an empire\nwithin an empire; it is a part of nature, and indeed its highest\nrepresentation. The social realm is a natural realm which differs from\nthe others only by a greater complexity. Now it is impossible that\nnature should differ radically from itself in the one case and the other\nin regard to that which is most essential. The fundamental relations\nthat exist between things--just that which it is the function of the\ncategories to express--cannot be essentially dissimilar in the different\nrealms. If, for reasons which we shall discuss later,[21] they are more\nclearly disengaged in the social world, it is nevertheless impossible\nthat they should not be found elsewhere, though in less pronounced\nforms. Society makes them more manifest but it does not have a monopoly\nupon them. That is why ideas which have been elaborated on the model of\nsocial things can aid us in thinking of another department of nature. It\nis at least true that if these ideas play the r\u00f4le of symbols when they\nare thus turned aside from their original signification, they are\nwell-founded symbols. If a sort of artificiality enters into them from\nthe mere fact that they are constructed concepts, it is an\nartificiality which follows nature very closely and which is constantly\napproaching it still more closely.[22] From the fact that the ideas of\ntime, space, class, cause or personality are constructed out of social\nelements, it is not necessary to conclude that they are devoid of all\nobjective value. On the contrary, their social origin rather leads to\nthe belief that they are not without foundation in the nature of\nthings.[23]\n\nThus renovated, the theory of knowledge seems destined to unite the\nopposing advantages of the two rival theories, without incurring their\ninconveniences. It keeps all the essential principles of the apriorists;\nbut at the same time it is inspired by that positive spirit which the\nempiricists have striven to satisfy. It leaves the reason its specific\npower, but it accounts for it and does so without leaving the world of\nobservable phenomena. It affirms the duality of our intellectual life,\nbut it explains it, and with natural causes. The categories are no\nlonger considered as primary and unanalysable facts, yet they keep a\ncomplexity which falsifies any analysis as ready as that with which the\nempiricists content themselves. They no longer appear as very simple\nnotions which the first comer can very easily arrange from his own\npersonal observations and which the popular imagination has unluckily\ncomplicated, but rather they appear as priceless instruments of thought\nwhich the human groups have laboriously forged through the centuries and\nwhere they have accumulated the best of their intellectual capital.[24]\nA complete section of the history of humanity is resumed therein. This\nis equivalent to saying that to succeed in understanding them and\njudging them, it is necessary to resort to other means than those which\nhave been in use up to the present. To know what these conceptions which\nwe have not made ourselves are really made of, it does not suffice to\ninterrogate our own consciousnesses; we must look outside of ourselves,\nit is history that we must observe, there is a whole science which must\nbe formed, a complex science which can advance but slowly and by\ncollective labour, and to which the present work brings some fragmentary\ncontributions in the nature of an attempt. Without making these\nquestions the direct object of our study, we shall profit by all the\noccasions which present themselves to us of catching at their very birth\nsome at least of these ideas which, while being of religious origin,\nstill remain at the foundation of the human intelligence.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I\n\n\nPRELIMINARY QUESTIONS\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nDEFINITION OF RELIGIOUS PHENOMENA AND OF RELIGION[25]\n\n\nIf we are going to look for the most primitive and simple religion which\nwe can observe, it is necessary to begin by defining what is meant by a\nreligion; for without this, we would run the risk of giving the name to\na system of ideas and practices which has nothing at all religious about\nit, or else of leaving to one side many religious facts, without\nperceiving their true nature. That this is not an imaginary danger, and\nthat nothing is thus sacrificed to a vain formalism of method, is well\nshown by the fact that owing to his not having taken this precaution, a\ncertain scholar to whom the science of comparative religions owes a\ngreat deal, Professor Frazer, has not been able to recognize the\nprofoundly religious character of the beliefs and rites which will be\nstudied below, where, according to our view, the initial germ of the\nreligious life of humanity is to be found. So this is a prejudicial\nquestion, which must be treated before all others. It is not that we\ndream of arriving at once at the profound characteristics which really\nexplain religion: these can be determined only at the end of our study.\nBut that which is necessary and possible, is to indicate a certain\nnumber of external and easily recognizable signs, which will enable us\nto recognize religious phenomena wherever they are met with, and which\nwill deter us from confounding them with others. We shall proceed to\nthis preliminary operation at once.\n\nBut to attain the desired results, it is necessary to begin by freeing\nthe mind of every preconceived idea. Men have been obliged to make for\nthemselves a notion of what religion is, long before the science of\nreligions started its methodical comparisons. The necessities of\nexistence force all of us, believers and non-believers, to represent in\nsome way these things in the midst of which we live, upon which we must\npass judgment constantly, and which we must take into account in all our\nconduct. However, since these preconceived ideas are formed without any\nmethod, according to the circumstances and chances of life, they have no\nright to any credit whatsoever, and must be rigorously set aside in the\nexamination which is to follow. It is not from our prejudices, passions\nor habits that we should demand the elements of the definition which we\nmust have; it is from the reality itself which we are going to define.\n\nLet us set ourselves before this reality. Leaving aside all conceptions\nof religion in general, let us consider the various religions in their\nconcrete reality, and attempt to disengage that which they have in\ncommon; for religion cannot be defined except by the characteristics\nwhich are found wherever religion itself is found. In this comparison,\nthen, we shall make use of all the religious systems which we can know,\nthose of the present and those of the past, the most primitive and\nsimple as well as the most recent and refined; for we have neither the\nright nor the logical means of excluding some and retaining others. For\nthose who regard religion as only a natural manifestation of human\nactivity, all religions, without any exception whatsoever, are\ninstructive; for all, after their manner, express man, and thus can aid\nus in better understanding this aspect of our nature. Also, we have seen\nhow far it is from being the best way of studying religion to consider\nby preference the forms which it presents among the most civilized\npeoples.[26]\n\nBut to aid the mind in freeing itself from these usual conceptions\nwhich, owing to their prestige, might prevent it from seeing things as\nthey really are, it is fitting to examine some of the most current of\nthe definitions in which these prejudices are commonly expressed, before\ntaking up the question on our own account.\n\n\nI\n\nOne idea which generally passes as characteristic of all that is\nreligious, is that of the supernatural. By this is understood all sorts\nof things which surpass the limits of our knowledge; the supernatural\nis the world of the mysterious, of the unknowable, of the\nun-understandable. Thus religion would be a sort of speculation upon all\nthat which evades science or distinct thought in general. \"Religions\ndiametrically opposed in their overt dogmas,\" said Spencer, \"are\nperfectly at one in the tacit conviction that the existence of the\nworld, with all it contains and all which surrounds it, is a mystery\ncalling for an explanation\"; he thus makes them consist essentially in\n\"the belief in the omnipresence of something which is inscrutable.\"[27]\nIn the same manner, Max M\u00fcller sees in religion \"a struggle to conceive\nthe inconceivable, to utter the unutterable, a longing after the\nInfinite.\"[28]\n\nIt is certain that the sentiment of mystery has not been without a\nconsiderable importance in certain religions, notably in Christianity.\nIt must also be said that the importance of this sentiment has varied\nremarkably at different moments in the history of Christianity. There\nare periods when this notion passes to an inferior place, and is even\neffaced. For example, for the Christians of the seventeenth century,\ndogma had nothing disturbing for the reason; faith reconciled itself\neasily with science and philosophy, and the thinkers, such as Pascal,\nwho really felt that there is something profoundly obscure in things,\nwere so little in harmony with their age that they remained\nmisunderstood by their contemporaries.[29] It would appear somewhat\nhasty, therefore, to make an idea subject to parallel eclipses, the\nessential element of even the Christian religion.\n\nIn all events, it is certain that this idea does not appear until late\nin the history of religions; it is completely foreign, not only to those\npeoples who are called primitive, but also to all others who have not\nattained a considerable degree of intellectual culture. When we see them\nattribute extraordinary virtues to insignificant objects, and people the\nuniverse with singular principles, made up of the most diverse elements\nand endowed with a sort of ubiquity which is hardly representable, we\nare undoubtedly prone to find an air of mystery in these conceptions. It\nseems to us that these men would have been willing to resign themselves\nto these ideas, so disturbing for our modern reason, only because of\ntheir inability to find others which were more rational. But, as a\nmatter of fact, these explanations which surprise us so much, appear to\nthe primitive man as the simplest in the world. He does not regard them\nas a sort of _ultima ratio_ to which the intellect resigns itself only\nin despair of others, but rather as the most obvious manner of\nrepresenting and understanding what he sees about him. For him there is\nnothing strange in the fact that by a mere word or gesture one is able\nto command the elements, retard or precipitate the motion of the stars,\nbring rain or cause it to cease, etc. The rites which he employs to\nassure the fertility of the soil or the fecundity of the animal species\non which he is nourished do not appear more irrational to his eyes than\nthe technical processes of which our agriculturists make use, for the\nsame object, do to ours. The powers which he puts into play by these\ndiverse means do not seem to him to have anything especially mysterious\nabout them. Undoubtedly these forces are different from those which the\nmodern scientist thinks of, and whose use he teaches us; they have a\ndifferent way of acting, and do not allow themselves to be directed in\nthe same manner; but for those who believe in them, they are no more\nunintelligible than are gravitation and electricity for the physicist of\nto-day. Moreover, we shall see, in the course of this work, that the\nidea of physical forces is very probably derived from that of religious\nforces; then there cannot exist between the two the abyss which\nseparates the rational from the irrational. Even the fact that religious\nforces are frequently conceived under the form of spiritual beings or\nconscious wills, is no proof of their irrationality. The reason has no\nrepugnance _a priori_ to admitting that the so-called inanimate bodies\nshould be directed by intelligences, just as the human body is, though\ncontemporary science accommodates itself with difficulty to this\nhypothesis. When Leibniz proposed to conceive the external world as an\nimmense society of minds, between which there were, and could be, only\nspiritual relations, he thought he was working as a rationalist, and saw\nnothing in this universal animism which could be offensive to the\nintellect.\n\nMoreover, the idea of the supernatural, as we understand it, dates only\nfrom to-day; in fact, it presupposes the contrary idea, of which it is\nthe negation; but this idea is not at all primitive. In order to say\nthat certain things are supernatural, it is necessary to have the\nsentiment that a _natural order of things_ exists, that is to say, that\nthe phenomena of the universe are bound together by necessary relations,\ncalled laws. When this principle has once been admitted, all that is\ncontrary to these laws must necessarily appear to be outside of nature,\nand consequently, of reason; for what is natural in this sense of the\nword, is also rational, these necessary relations only expressing the\nmanner in which things are logically related. But this idea of universal\ndeterminism is of recent origin; even the greatest thinkers of classical\nantiquity never succeeded in becoming fully conscious of it. It is a\nconquest of the positive sciences; it is the postulate upon which they\nrepose and which they have proved by their progress. Now as long as this\nwas lacking or insufficiently established, the most marvellous events\ncontained nothing which did not appear perfectly conceivable. So long as\nmen did not know the immutability and the inflexibility of the order of\nthings, and so long as they saw there the work of contingent wills, they\nfound it natural that either these wills or others could modify them\narbitrarily. That is why the miraculous interventions which the ancients\nattributed to their gods were not to their eyes miracles in the modern\nacceptation of the term. For them, they were beautiful, rare or terrible\nspectacles, or causes of surprise and marvel ([Greek: tha\u00famata],\n_mirabilia_, _miracula_); but they never saw in them glimpses of a\nmysterious world into which the reason cannot penetrate.\n\nWe can understand this mentality the better since it has not yet\ncompletely disappeared from our midst. If the principle of determinism\nis solidly established to-day in the physical and natural sciences, it\nis only a century ago that it was first introduced into the social\nsciences, and its authority there is still contested. There are only a\nsmall number of minds which are strongly penetrated with this idea that\nsocieties are subject to natural laws and form a kingdom of nature. It\nfollows that veritable miracles are believed to be possible there. It is\nadmitted, for example, that a legislator can create an institution out\nof nothing by a mere injunction of its will, or transform one social\nsystem into another, just as the believers in so many religions have\nheld that the divine will created the world out of nothing, or can\narbitrarily transmute one thing into another. As far as social facts are\nconcerned, we still have the mentality of primitives. However, if so\nmany of our contemporaries still retain this antiquated conception for\nsociological affairs, it is not because the life of societies appears\nobscure and mysterious to them; on the contrary, if they are so easily\ncontented with these explanations, and if they are so obstinate in their\nillusions which experience constantly belies, it is because social\nevents seem to them the clearest thing in the world; it is because they\nhave not yet realized their real obscurity; it is because they have not\nyet recognized the necessity of resorting to the laborious methods of\nthe natural sciences to gradually scatter the darkness. The same state\nof mind is found at the root of many religious beliefs which surprise us\nby their pseudo-simplicity. It is science and not religion which has\ntaught men that things are complex and difficult to understand.\n\nBut the human mind, says Jevons,[30] has no need of a properly\nscientific culture to notice that determined sequences, or a constant\norder of succession, exist between facts, or to observe, on the other\nhand, that this order is frequently upset. It sometimes happens that the\nsun is suddenly eclipsed, that rain fails at the time when it is\nexpected, that the moon is slow to reappear after its periodical\ndisappearance, etc. Since these events are outside the ordinary course\nof affairs, they are attributed to extraordinary exceptional causes,\nthat is to say, in fine, to extra-natural causes. It is under this form\nthat the idea of the supernatural is born at the very outset of history,\nand from this moment, according to this author, religious thought finds\nitself provided with its proper subject.\n\nBut in the first place, the supernatural cannot be reduced to the\nunforeseen. The new is a part of nature just as well as its contrary. If\nwe state that in general, phenomena succeed one another in a determined\norder, we observe equally well that this order is only approximative,\nthat it is not always precisely the same, and that it has all kinds of\nexceptions. If we have ever so little experience, we are accustomed to\nseeing our expectations fail, and these deceptions return too often to\nappear extraordinary to us. A certain contingency is taught by\nexperience just as well as a certain uniformity; then we have no reason\nfor assigning the one to causes and forces entirely different from those\nupon which the other depends. In order to arrive at the idea of the\nsupernatural, it is not enough, therefore, to be witnesses to unexpected\nevents; it is also necessary that these be conceived as impossible, that\nis to say, irreconcilable with an order which, rightly or wrongly,\nappears to us to be implied in the nature of things. Now this idea of a\nnecessary order has been constructed little by little by the positive\nsciences, and consequently the contrary notion could not have existed\nbefore them.\n\nAlso, in whatever manner men have represented the novelties and\ncontingencies revealed by experience, there is nothing in these\nrepresentations which could serve to characterize religion. For\nreligious conceptions have as their object, before everything else, to\nexpress and explain, not that which is exceptional and abnormal in\nthings, but, on the contrary, that which is constant and regular. Very\nfrequently, the gods serve less to account for the monstrosities,\nfantasies and anomalies than for the regular march of the universe, for\nthe movement of the stars, the rhythm of the seasons, the annual growth\nof vegetation, the perpetuation of species, etc. It is far from being\ntrue, then, that the notion of the religions coincides with that of the\nextraordinary or the unforeseen. Jevons replies that this conception of\nreligious forces is not primitive. Men commenced by imagining them to\naccount for disorders and accidents, and it was only afterwards that\nthey began to utilize them in explaining the uniformities of\nnature.[31] But it is not clear what could have led men to attribute\nsuch manifestly contradictory functions to them. More than that, the\nhypothesis according to which sacred beings were at first restricted to\nthe negative function of disturbers is quite arbitrary. In fact, we\nshall see that, even with the most simple religions we know, their\nessential task is to maintain, in a positive manner, the normal course\nof life.[32]\n\nSo the idea of mystery is not of primitive origin. It was not given to\nman; it is man who has forged it, with his own hands, along with the\ncontrary idea. This is why it has a place only in a very small number of\nadvanced religions. It is impossible to make it the characteristic mark\nof religious phenomena without excluding from the definition the\nmajority of the facts to be defined.\n\n\nII\n\nAnother idea by which the attempt to define religion is often made, is\nthat of divinity. \"Religion,\" says M. R\u00e9ville,[33] \"is the determination\nof human life by the sentiment of a bond uniting the human mind to that\nmysterious mind whose domination of the world and itself it recognizes,\nand to whom it delights in feeling itself united.\" It is certain that if\nthe word divinity is taken in a precise and narrow sense, this\ndefinition leaves aside a multitude of obviously religious facts. The\nsouls of the dead and the spirits of all ranks and classes with which\nthe religious imagination of so many different peoples has populated\nnature, are always the object of rites and sometimes even of a regular\ncult; yet they are not gods in the proper sense of the term. But in\norder that the definition may embrace them, it is enough to substitute\nfor the term \"gods\" the more comprehensive one of \"spiritual beings.\"\nThis is what Tylor does. \"The first requisite in a systematic study of\nthe religions of the lower races,\" he says, \"is to lay down a\nrudimentary definition of religion. By requiring in this definition the\nbelief in a supreme deity ..., no doubt many tribes may be excluded from\nthe category of religious. But such narrow definition has the fault of\nidentifying religion rather with particular developments.... It seems\nbest ... simply to claim as a minimum definition of Religion, the belief\nin Spiritual Beings.\"[34] By spiritual beings must be understood\nconscious subjects gifted with powers superior to those possessed by\ncommon men; this qualification is found in the souls of the dead,\ngeniuses or demons as well as in divinities properly so-called. It is\nimportant, therefore, to give our attention at once to the particular\nconception of religion which is implied in this definition. The\nrelations which we can have with beings of this sort are determined by\nthe nature attributed to them. They are conscious beings; then we can\nact upon them only in the same way that we act upon consciousnesses in\ngeneral, that is to say, by psychological processes, attempting to\nconvince them or move them, either with the aid of words (invocations,\nprayers), or by offerings and sacrifices. And since the object of\nreligion is to regulate our relations with these special beings, there\ncan be no religion except where there are prayers, sacrifices,\npropitiatory rites, etc. Thus we have a very simple criterium which\npermits us to distinguish that which is religious from that which is\nnot. It is to this criterium that Frazer,[35] and with him numerous\nethnographers,[36] systematically makes reference.\n\nBut howsoever evident this definition may appear, thanks to the mental\nhabits which we owe to our religious education, there are many facts to\nwhich it is not applicable, but which appertain to the field of religion\nnevertheless.\n\nIn the first place, there are great religions from which the idea of\ngods and spirits is absent, or at least, where it plays only a secondary\nand minor r\u00f4le. This is the case with Buddhism. Buddhism, says Burnouf,\n\"sets itself in opposition to Brahmanism as a moral system without god\nand an atheism without Nature.\"[37] \"As it recognizes not a god upon\nwhom man depends,\" says Barth, \"its doctrine is absolutely\natheistic,\"[38] while Oldenberg, in his turn, calls it \"a faith without\na god.\"[39] In fact, all that is essential to Buddhism is found in the\nfour propositions which the faithful call the four noble truths.[40] The\nfirst states the existence of suffering as the accompaniment to the\nperpetual change of things; the second shows desire to be the cause of\nsuffering; the third makes the suppression of desire the only means of\nsuppressing sorrow; the fourth enumerates the three stages through which\none must pass to attain this suppression: they are uprightness,\nmeditation, and finally wisdom, the full possession of the doctrine.\nThese three stages once traversed, one arrives at the end of the road,\nat the deliverance, at salvation by the Nirv\u00e2na.\n\nNow in none of these principles is there question of a divinity. The\nBuddhist is not interested in knowing whence came the world in which he\nlives and suffers; he takes it as a given fact,[41] and his whole\nconcern is to escape it. On the other hand, in this work of salvation,\nhe can count only upon himself; \"he has no god to thank, as he had\npreviously no god to invoke during his struggle.\"[42] Instead of\npraying, in the ordinary sense of the term, instead of turning towards a\nsuperior being and imploring his assistance, he relies upon himself and\nmeditates. This is not saying \"that he absolutely denies the existence\nof the beings called Indra, Agni and Varuna;[43] but he believes that he\nowes them nothing and that he has nothing to do with them,\" for their\npower can only extend over the goods of this world, which are without\nvalue for him. Then he is an atheist, in the sense that he does not\nconcern himself with the question whether gods exist or not. Besides,\neven if they should exist, and with whatever powers they might be armed,\nthe saint or the emancipated man regards himself superior to them; for\nthat which causes the dignity of beings is not the extent of the action\nthey exercise over things, but merely the degree of their advancement\nupon the road of salvation.[44]\n\nIt is true that Buddha, at least in some divisions of the Buddhist\nChurch, has sometimes been considered as a sort of god. He has his\ntemples; he is the object of a cult, which, by the way, is a very simple\none, for it is reduced essentially to the offering of flowers and the\nadoration of consecrated relics or images. It is scarcely more than a\ncommemorative cult. But more than that, this divinization of Buddha,\ngranting that the term is exact, is peculiar to the form known as\nNorthern Buddhism. \"The Buddhist of the South,\" says Kern, \"and the less\nadvanced of the Northern Buddhists can be said, according to data known\nto-day, to speak of their founder as if he were a man.\"[45] Of course,\nthey attribute extraordinary powers to Buddha, which are superior to\nthose possessed by ordinary mortals; but it was a very ancient belief in\nIndia, and one that is also very general in a host of different\nreligions, that a great saint is endowed with exceptional virtues;[46]\nyet a saint is not a god, any more than a priest or magician is, in\nspite of the superhuman faculties frequently attributed to them. On the\nother hand, according to the most authorized scholars, all this theism\nand the complicated mythology which generally accompanies it, are only\nderived and deviated forms of Buddhism. At first, Buddha was only\nregarded as \"the wisest of men.\"[47] Burnouf says \"the conception of a\nBuddha who is something more than a man arrived at the highest stage of\nholiness, is outside the circle of ideas which form the foundation of\nthe simple S\u00fbtras\";[48] and the same author adds elsewhere that \"his\nhumanity is a fact so incontestably recognized by all that the\nmyth-makers, to whom miracles cost so little, have never even had the\nidea of making a god out of him since his death.\"[49] So we may well ask\nif he has ever really divested himself completely of all human\ncharacter, and if we have a right to make him into a god completely;[50]\nin any case, it would have to be a god of a very particular character\nand one whose r\u00f4le in no way resembles that of other divine\npersonalities. For a god is before all else a living being, with whom\nman should reckon, and upon whom he may count; but Buddha is dead, he\nhas entered into the Nirv\u00e2na, and he can no longer influence the march\nof human events.[51]\n\nFinally, whatever one may think of the divinity of Buddha, it remains a\nfact that this is a conception wholly outside the essential part of\nBuddhism. Buddhism consists primarily in the idea of salvation, and\nsalvation supposes only that one know the good doctrine and practise it.\nTo be sure, this could never have been known if Buddha had not come to\nreveal it; but when this revelation had once been made, the work of\nBuddha was accomplished. From that moment he ceased to be a factor\nnecessary to the religious life. The practice of the four holy truths\nwould be possible, even if the memory of him who revealed them were\ncompletely obliterated.[52] It is quite another matter with\nChristianity, which is inconceivable without the ever-present idea of\nChrist and his ever-practised cult; for it is by the ever-living Christ,\nsacrificed each day, that the community of believers continues to\ncommunicate with the supreme source of the spiritual life.[53]\n\nAll that precedes can be applied equally well to another great religion\nof India, Ja\u00efnism. The two doctrines have nearly the same conception of\nthe world and of life. \"Like the Buddhists,\" says Barth, \"the Ja\u00efnas are\natheists. They admit of no creator; the world is eternal; they\nexplicitly deny the possibility of a perfect being from the beginning.\nThe Jina became perfect; he was not always so.\"\n\nJust as the Buddhists in the north, the Ja\u00efnists, or at least certain of\nthem, have come back to a sort of deism; in the inscriptions of Dekhan\nthere is mention of a _Jinapati_, a sort of supreme Jina, who is called\nthe primary creator; but such language, says the same author, is \"in\ncontradiction to the most explicit declarations extracted from their\nmost authorized writings.\"[54]\n\nMoreover, if this indifference for the divine is developed to such a\npoint in Buddhism and Ja\u00efnism, it is because its germ existed already in\nthe Brahmanism from which the two were derived. In certain of its forms\nat least, Brahmic speculation ended in \"a frankly materialistic and\natheistic interpretation of the universe.\"[55] In time, the numerous\ndivinities which the people of India had originally learned to adore,\ncame to merge themselves into a sort of principal deity, impersonal and\nabstract, the essence of all that exists. This supreme reality, which no\nlonger has anything of a divine personality about it, is contained\nwithin man himself, or rather, man is but one with it, for nothing\nexists apart from it. To find it, and unite himself to it, one does not\nhave to search some external support outside himself; it is enough to\nconcentrate upon himself and meditate. \"If in Buddhism,\" says Oldenberg,\n\"the proud attempt be made to conceive a deliverance in which man\nhimself delivers himself, to create a faith without a god, it is\nBrahmanical speculation which has prepared the way for this thought. It\nthrusts back the idea of a god step by step; the forms of the old gods\nhave faded away, and besides the Brahma, which is enthroned in its\neverlasting quietude, highly exalted above the destinies of the human\nworld, there is left remaining, as the sole really active person in the\ngreat work of deliverance, man himself.\"[56] Here, then, we find a\nconsiderable portion of religious evolution which has consisted in the\nprogressive recoil of the idea of a spiritual being from that of a\ndeity. Here are great religions where invocations, propitiations,\nsacrifices and prayers properly so-called are far from holding a\npreponderating place, and which consequently do not present that\ndistinctive sign by which some claim to recognize those manifestations\nwhich are properly called religious.\n\nBut even within deistic religions there are many rites which are\ncompletely independent of all idea of gods or spiritual beings. In the\nfirst place, there are a multitude of interdictions. For example, the\nBible orders that a woman live isolated during a determined period each\nmonth;[57] a similar isolation is obligatory during the lying-in at\nchild-birth;[58] it is forbidden to hitch an ass and a horse together,\nor to wear a garment in which the hemp is mixed with flax;[59] but it is\nimpossible to see the part which belief in Jahveh can have played in\nthese interdictions, for he is wholly absent from all the relations thus\nforbidden, and could not be interested in them. As much can be said for\nthe majority of the dietetic regulations. These prohibitions are not\npeculiar to the Hebrews, but they are found under diverse forms, but\nwith substantially the same character, in innumerable religions.\n\nIt is true that these rites are purely negative, but they do not cease\nbeing religious for that. Also there are others which demand active and\npositive services of the faithful, but which are nevertheless of the\nsame nature. They work by themselves, and their efficacy depends upon no\ndivine power; they mechanically produce the effects which are the reason\nfor their existence. They do not consist either in prayers or offerings\naddressed to a being upon whose goodwill the expected result depends;\nthis result is obtained by the automatic operation of the ritual. Such\nis notably the case with the sacrifice of the Vedic religion. \"The\nsacrifice exercises a direct influence upon the celestial phenomena,\"\nsays Bergaigne;[60] it is all-powerful of itself, and without any divine\ninfluence. It is this, for example, which broke open the doors of the\ncavern where the dawn was imprisoned and which made the light of day\nburst forth.[61] In the same way there are special hymns which, by\ntheir direct action, made the waters of heaven fall upon the earth, and\n_even in spite of the gods_.[62] The practice of certain austerities has\nthe same power. More than that, \"the sacrifice is so fully the origin of\nthings _par excellence_, that they have attributed to it not only the\norigin of man, but even that of the gods.... Such a conception may well\nappear strange. It is explained, however, as being one of the ultimate\nconsequences of the idea of the omnipotence of sacrifice.\"[63] Thus, in\nthe entire first part of his work, M. Bergaigne speaks only of\nsacrifices, where divinities play no r\u00f4le whatsoever.\n\nNor is this fact peculiar to the Vedic religion, but is, on the\ncontrary, quite general. In every cult there are practices which act by\nthemselves, by a virtue which is their own, without the intervention of\nany god between the individual who practises the rite and the end sought\nafter. When, in the so-called Feast of the Tabernacles, the Jew set the\nair in motion by shaking willow branches in a certain rhythm, it was to\ncause the wind to rise and the rain to fall; and it was believed that\nthe desired phenomenon would result automatically from the rite,\nprovided it were correctly performed.[64] This is the explanation of the\nfundamental importance laid by nearly all cults upon the material\nportion of the ceremonies. This religious formalism--very probably the\nfirst form of legal formalism--comes from the fact that since the\nformula to be pronounced and the movements to be made contain within\nthemselves the source of their efficacy, they would lose it if they did\nnot conform absolutely to the type consecrated by success.\n\nThus there are rites without gods, and even rites from which gods are\nderived. All religious powers do not emanate from divine personalities,\nand there are relations of cult which have other objects than uniting\nman to a deity. Religion is more than the idea of gods or spirits, and\nconsequently cannot be defined exclusively in relation to these latter.\n\n\n\nIII\n\nThese definitions set aside, let us set ourselves before the problem.\n\nFirst of all, let us remark that in all these formul\u00e6 it is the nature\nof religion as a whole that they seek to express. They proceed as if it\nwere a sort of indivisible entity, while, as a matter of fact, it is\nmade up of parts; it is a more or less complex system of myths, dogmas,\nrites and ceremonies. Now a whole cannot be defined except in relation\nto its parts. It will be more methodical, then, to try to characterize\nthe various elementary phenomena of which all religions are made up,\nbefore we attack the system produced by their union. This method is\nimposed still more forcibly by the fact that there are religious\nphenomena which belong to no determined religion. Such are those\nphenomena which constitute the matter of folk-lore. In general, they are\nthe debris of passed religions, inorganized survivals; but there are\nsome which have been formed spontaneously under the influence of local\ncauses. In our European countries Christianity has forced itself to\nabsorb and assimilate them; it has given them a Christian colouring.\nNevertheless, there are many which have persisted up until a recent\ndate, or which still exist with a relative autonomy: celebrations of May\nDay, the summer solstice or the carnival, beliefs relative to genii,\nlocal demons, etc., are cases in point. If the religious character of\nthese facts is now diminishing, their religious importance is\nnevertheless so great that they have enabled Mannhardt and his school to\nrevive the science of religions. A definition which did not take account\nof them would not cover all that is religious.\n\nReligious phenomena are naturally arranged in two fundamental\ncategories: beliefs and rites. The first are states of opinion, and\nconsist in representations; the second are determined modes of action.\nBetween these two classes of facts there is all the difference which\nseparates thought from action.\n\nThe rites can be defined and distinguished from other human practices,\nmoral practices, for example, only by the special nature of their\nobject. A moral rule prescribes certain manners of acting to us, just as\na rite does, but which are addressed to a different class of objects. So\nit is the object of the rite which must be characterized, if we are to\ncharacterize the rite itself. Now it is in the beliefs that the special\nnature of this object is expressed. It is possible to define the rite\nonly after we have defined the belief.\n\nAll known religious beliefs, whether simple or complex, present one\ncommon characteristic: they presuppose a classification of all the\nthings, real and ideal, of which men think, into two classes or opposed\ngroups, generally designated by two distinct terms which are translated\nwell enough by the words _profane_ and _sacred_ (_profane_, _sacr\u00e9_).\nThis division of the world into two domains, the one containing all that\nis sacred, the other all that is profane, is the distinctive trait of\nreligious thought; the beliefs, myths, dogmas and legends are either\nrepresentations or systems of representations which express the nature\nof sacred things, the virtues and powers which are attributed to them,\nor their relations with each other and with profane things. But by\nsacred things one must not understand simply those personal beings which\nare called gods or spirits; a rock, a tree, a spring, a pebble, a piece\nof wood, a house, in a word, anything can be sacred. A rite can have\nthis character; in fact, the rite does not exist which does not have it\nto a certain degree. There are words, expressions and formul\u00e6 which can\nbe pronounced only by the mouths of consecrated persons; there are\ngestures and movements which everybody cannot perform. If the Vedic\nsacrifice has had such an efficacy that, according to mythology, it was\nthe creator of the gods, and not merely a means of winning their favour,\nit is because it possessed a virtue comparable to that of the most\nsacred beings. The circle of sacred objects cannot be determined, then,\nonce for all. Its extent varies infinitely, according to the different\nreligions. That is how Buddhism is a religion: in default of gods, it\nadmits the existence of sacred things, namely, the four noble truths and\nthe practices derived from them.[65]\n\nUp to the present we have confined ourselves to enumerating a certain\nnumber of sacred things as examples: we must now show by what general\ncharacteristics they are to be distinguished from profane things.\n\nOne might be tempted, first of all, to define them by the place they are\ngenerally assigned in the hierarchy of things. They are naturally\nconsidered superior in dignity and power to profane things, and\nparticularly to man, when he is only a man and has nothing sacred about\nhim. One thinks of himself as occupying an inferior and dependent\nposition in relation to them; and surely this conception is not without\nsome truth. Only there is nothing in it which is really characteristic\nof the sacred. It is not enough that one thing be subordinated to\nanother for the second to be sacred in regard to the first. Slaves are\ninferior to their masters, subjects to their king, soldiers to their\nleaders, the miser to his gold, the man ambitious for power to the hands\nwhich keep it from him; but if it is sometimes said of a man that he\nmakes a religion of those beings or things whose eminent value and\nsuperiority to himself he thus recognizes, it is clear that in any case\nthe word is taken in a metaphorical sense, and that there is nothing in\nthese relations which is really religious.[66]\n\nOn the other hand, it must not be lost to view that there are sacred\nthings of every degree, and that there are some in relation to which a\nman feels himself relatively at his ease. An amulet has a sacred\ncharacter, yet the respect which it inspires is nothing exceptional.\nEven before his gods, a man is not always in such a marked state of\ninferiority; for it very frequently happens that he exercises a\nveritable physical constraint upon them to obtain what he desires. He\nbeats the fetich with which he is not contented, but only to reconcile\nhimself with it again, if in the end it shows itself more docile to the\nwishes of its adorer.[67] To have rain, he throws stones into the spring\nor sacred lake where the god of rain is thought to reside; he believes\nthat by this means he forces him to come out and show himself.[68]\nMoreover, if it is true that man depends upon his gods, this dependence\nis reciprocal. The gods also have need of man; without offerings and\nsacrifices they would die. We shall even have occasion to show that this\ndependence of the gods upon their worshippers is maintained even in the\nmost idealistic religions.\n\nBut if a purely hierarchic distinction is a criterium at once too\ngeneral and too imprecise, there is nothing left with which to\ncharacterize the sacred in its relation to the profane except their\nheterogeneity. However, this heterogeneity is sufficient to characterize\nthis classification of things and to distinguish it from all others,\nbecause it is very particular: _it is absolute_. In all the history of\nhuman thought there exists no other example of two categories of things\nso profoundly differentiated or so radically opposed to one another. The\ntraditional opposition of good and bad is nothing beside this; for the\ngood and the bad are only two opposed species of the same class, namely\nmorals, just as sickness and health are two different aspects of the\nsame order of facts, life, while the sacred and the profane have always\nand everywhere been conceived by the human mind as two distinct classes,\nas two worlds between which there is nothing in common. The forces\nwhich play in one are not simply those which are met with in the other,\nbut a little stronger; they are of a different sort. In different\nreligions, this opposition has been conceived in different ways. Here,\nto separate these two sorts of things, it has seemed sufficient to\nlocalize them in different parts of the physical universe; there, the\nfirst have been put into an ideal and transcendental world, while the\nmaterial world is left in full possession of the others. But howsoever\nmuch the forms of the contrast may vary,[69] the fact of the contrast is\nuniversal.\n\nThis is not equivalent to saying that a being can never pass from one of\nthese worlds into the other: but the manner in which this passage is\neffected, when it does take place, puts into relief the essential\nduality of the two kingdoms. In fact, it implies a veritable\nmetamorphosis. This is notably demonstrated by the initiation rites,\nsuch as they are practised by a multitude of peoples. This initiation is\na long series of ceremonies with the object of introducing the young man\ninto the religious life: for the first time, he leaves the purely\nprofane world where he passed his first infancy, and enters into the\nworld of sacred things. Now this change of state is thought of, not as a\nsimple and regular development of pre-existent germs, but as a\ntransformation _totius substantiae_--of the whole being. It is said that\nat this moment the young man dies, that the person that he was ceases to\nexist, and that another is instantly substituted for it. He is re-born\nunder a new form. Appropriate ceremonies are felt to bring about this\ndeath and re-birth, which are not understood in a merely symbolic sense,\nbut are taken literally.[70] Does this not prove that between the\nprofane being which he was and the religious being which he becomes,\nthere is a break of continuity?\n\nThis heterogeneity is even so complete that it frequently degenerates\ninto a veritable antagonism. The two worlds are not only conceived of as\nseparate, but as even hostile and jealous rivals of each other. Since\nmen cannot fully belong to one except on condition of leaving the other\ncompletely, they are exhorted to withdraw themselves completely from the\nprofane world, in order to lead an exclusively religious life. Hence\ncomes the monasticism which is artificially organized outside of and\napart from the natural environment in which the ordinary man leads the\nlife of this world, in a different one, closed to the first, and nearly\nits contrary. Hence comes the mystic asceticism whose object is to root\nout from man all the attachment for the profane world that remains in\nhim. From that come all the forms of religious suicide, the logical\nworking-out of this asceticism; for the only manner of fully escaping\nthe profane life is, after all, to forsake all life.\n\nThe opposition of these two classes manifests itself outwardly with a\nvisible sign by which we can easily recognize this very special\nclassification, wherever it exists. Since the idea of the sacred is\nalways and everywhere separated from the idea of the profane in the\nthought of men, and since we picture a sort of logical chasm between the\ntwo, the mind irresistibly refuses to allow the two corresponding things\nto be confounded, or even to be merely put in contact with each other;\nfor such a promiscuity, or even too direct a contiguity, would\ncontradict too violently the dissociation of these ideas in the mind.\nThe sacred thing is _par excellence_ that which the profane should not\ntouch, and cannot touch with impunity. To be sure, this interdiction\ncannot go so far as to make all communication between the two worlds\nimpossible; for if the profane could in no way enter into relations with\nthe sacred, this latter could be good for nothing. But, in addition to\nthe fact that this establishment of relations is always a delicate\noperation in itself, demanding great precautions and a more or less\ncomplicated initiation,[71] it is quite impossible, unless the profane\nis to lose its specific characteristics and become sacred after a\nfashion and to a certain degree itself. The two classes cannot even\napproach each other and keep their own nature at the same time.\n\nThus we arrive at the first criterium of religious beliefs. Undoubtedly\nthere are secondary species within these two fundamental classes which,\nin their turn, are more or less incompatible with each other.[72] But\nthe real characteristic of religious phenomena is that they always\nsuppose a bipartite division of the whole universe, known and knowable,\ninto two classes which embrace all that exists, but which radically\nexclude each other. Sacred things are those which the interdictions\nprotect and isolate; profane things, those to which these interdictions\nare applied and which must remain at a distance from the first.\nReligious beliefs are the representations which express the nature of\nsacred things and the relations which they sustain, either with each\nother or with profane things. Finally, rites are the rules of conduct\nwhich prescribe how a man should comport himself in the presence of\nthese sacred objects.\n\nWhen a certain number of sacred things sustain relations of\nco-ordination or subordination with each other in such a way as to form\na system having a certain unity, but which is not comprised within any\nother system of the same sort, the totality of these beliefs and their\ncorresponding rites constitutes a religion. From this definition it is\nseen that a religion is not necessarily contained within one sole and\nsingle idea, and does not proceed from one unique principle which,\nthough varying according to the circumstances under which it is applied,\nis nevertheless at bottom always the same: it is rather a whole made up\nof distinct and relatively individualized parts. Each homogeneous group\nof sacred things, or even each sacred thing of some importance,\nconstitutes a centre of organization about which gravitate a group of\nbeliefs and rites, or a particular cult; there is no religion, howsoever\nunified it may be, which does not recognize a plurality of sacred\nthings. Even Christianity, at least in its Catholic form, admits, in\naddition to the divine personality which, incidentally, is triple as\nwell as one, the Virgin, angels, saints, souls of the dead, etc. Thus a\nreligion cannot be reduced to one single cult generally, but father\nconsists in a system of cults, each endowed with a certain autonomy.\nAlso, this autonomy is variable. Sometimes they are arranged in a\nhierarchy, and subordinated to some predominating cult, into which they\nare finally absorbed; but sometimes, also, they are merely rearranged\nand united. The religion which we are going to study will furnish us\nwith an example of just this latter sort of organization.\n\nAt the same time we find the explanation of how there can be groups of\nreligious phenomena which do not belong to any special religion; it is\nbecause they have not been, or are no longer, a part of any religious\nsystem. If, for some special reason, one of the cults of which we just\nspoke happens to be maintained while the group of which it was a part\ndisappears, it survives only in a disintegrated condition. That is what\nhas happened to many agrarian cults which have survived themselves as\nfolk-lore. In certain cases, it is not even a cult, but a simple\nceremony or particular rite which persists in this way.[73]\n\nAlthough this definition is only preliminary, it permits us to see in\nwhat terms the problem which necessarily dominates the science of\nreligions should be stated. When we believed that sacred beings could be\ndistinguished from others merely by the greater intensity of the powers\nattributed to them, the question of how men came to imagine them was\nsufficiently simple: it was enough to demand which forces had, because\nof their exceptional energy, been able to strike the human imagination\nforcefully enough to inspire religious sentiments. But if, as we have\nsought to establish, sacred things differ in nature from profane things,\nif they have a wholly different essence, then the problem is more\ncomplex. For we must first of all ask what has been able to lead men to\nsee in the world two heterogeneous and incompatible worlds, though\nnothing sensible experience seems able to suggest the idea of so radical\na duality to them.\n\n\nIV\n\nHowever, this definition is not yet complete, for it is equally\napplicable to two sorts of facts which, while being related to each\nother, must be distinguished nevertheless: these are magic and religion.\n\nMagic, too, is made up of beliefs and rites. Like religion, it has its\nmyths and its dogmas; only they are more elementary, undoubtedly\nbecause, seeking technical and utilitarian ends, it does not waste its\ntime in pure speculation. It has its ceremonies, sacrifices,\nlustrations, prayers, chants and dances as well. The beings which the\nmagician invokes and the forces which he throws in play are not merely\nof the same nature as the forces and beings to which religion addresses\nitself; very frequently, they are identically the same. Thus, even with\nthe most inferior societies, the souls of the dead are essentially\nsacred things, and the object of religious rites. But at the same time,\nthey play a considerable r\u00f4le in magic. In Australia[74] as well as in\nMelanesia,[75] in Greece as well as among the Christian peoples,[76] the\nsouls of the dead, their bones and their hair, are among the\nintermediaries used the most frequently by the magician. Demons are also\na common instrument for magic action. Now these demons are also beings\nsurrounded with interdictions; they too are separated and live in a\nworld apart, so that it is frequently difficult to distinguish them\nfrom the gods properly so-called.[77] Moreover, in Christianity itself,\nis not the devil a fallen god, or even leaving aside all question of his\norigin, does he not have a religious character from the mere fact that\nthe hell of which he has charge is something indispensable to the\nChristian religion? There are even some regular and official deities who\nare invoked by the magician. Sometimes these are the gods of a foreign\npeople; for example, Greek magicians called upon Egyptian, Assyrian or\nJewish gods. Sometimes, they are even national gods: Hecate and Diana\nwere the object of a magic cult; the Virgin, Christ and the saints have\nbeen utilized in the same way by Christian magicians.[78]\n\nThen will it be necessary to say that magic is hardly distinguishable\nfrom religion; that magic is full of religion just as religion is full\nof magic, and consequently that it is impossible to separate them and to\ndefine the one without the other? It is difficult to sustain this\nthesis, because of the marked repugnance of religion for magic, and in\nreturn, the hostility of the second towards the first. Magic takes a\nsort of professional pleasure in profaning holy things;[79] in its\nrites, it performs the contrary of the religious ceremony.[80] On its\nside, religion, when it has not condemned and prohibited magic rites,\nhas always looked upon them with disfavour. As Hubert and Mauss have\nremarked, there is something thoroughly anti-religious in the doings of\nthe magician.[81] Whatever relations there may be between these two\nsorts of institutions, it is difficult to imagine their not being\nopposed somewhere; and it is still more necessary for us to find where\nthey are differentiated, as we plan to limit our researches to religion,\nand to stop at the point where magic commences.\n\nHere is how a line of demarcation can be traced between these two\ndomains.\n\nThe really religious beliefs are always common to a determined group,\nwhich makes profession of adhering to them and of practising the rites\nconnected with them. They are not merely received individually by all\nthe members of this group; they are something belonging to the group,\nand they make its unity. The individuals which compose it feel\nthemselves united to each other by the simple fact that they have a\ncommon faith. A society whose members are united by the fact that they\nthink in the same way in regard to the sacred world and its relations\nwith the profane world, and by the fact that they translate these common\nideas into common practices, is what is called a Church. In all history,\nwe do not find a single religion without a Church. Sometimes the Church\nis strictly national, sometimes it passes the frontiers; sometimes it\nembraces an entire people (Rome, Athens, the Hebrews), sometimes it\nembraces only a part of them (the Christian societies since the advent\nof Protestantism); sometimes it is directed by a corps of priests,\nsometimes it is almost completely devoid of any official directing\nbody.[82] But wherever we observe the religious life, we find that it\nhas a definite group as its foundation. Even the so-called private\ncults, such as the domestic cult or the cult of a corporation, satisfy\nthis condition; for they are always celebrated by a group, the family or\nthe corporation. Moreover, even these particular religions are\nordinarily only special forms of a more general religion which embraces\nall;[83] these restricted Churches are in reality only chapels of a\nvaster Church which, by reason of this very extent, merits this name\nstill more.[84]\n\nIt is quite another matter with magic. To be sure, the belief in magic\nis always more or less general; it is very frequently diffused in large\nmasses of the population, and there are even peoples where it has as\nmany adherents as the real religion. But it does not result in binding\ntogether those who adhere to it, nor in uniting them into a group\nleading a common life. _There is no Church of magic._ Between the\nmagician and the individuals who consult him, as between these\nindividuals themselves, there are no lasting bonds which make them\nmembers of the same moral community, comparable to that formed by the\nbelievers in the same god or the observers of the same cult. The\nmagician has a clientele and not a Church, and it is very possible that\nhis clients have no other relations between each other, or even do not\nknow each other; even the relations which they have with him are\ngenerally accidental and transient; they are just like those of a sick\nman with his physician. The official and public character with which he\nis sometimes invested changes nothing in this situation; the fact that\nhe works openly does not unite him more regularly or more durably to\nthose who have recourse to his services.\n\nIt is true that in certain cases, magicians form societies among\nthemselves: it happens that they assemble more or less periodically to\ncelebrate certain rites in common; it is well known what a place these\nassemblies of witches hold in European folk-lore. But it is to be\nremarked that these associations are in no way indispensable to the\nworking of the magic; they are even rare and rather exceptional. The\nmagician has no need of uniting himself to his fellows to practise his\nart. More frequently, he is a recluse; in general, far from seeking\nsociety, he flees it. \"Even in regard to his colleagues, he always keeps\nhis personal independence.\"[85] Religion, on the other hand, is\ninseparable from the idea of a Church. From this point of view, there is\nan essential difference between magic and religion. But what is\nespecially important is that when these societies of magic are formed,\nthey do not include all the adherents to magic, but only the magicians;\nthe laymen, if they may be so called, that is to say, those for whose\nprofit the rites are celebrated, in fine, those who represent the\nworshippers in the regular cults, are excluded. Now the magician is for\nmagic what the priest is for religion, but a college of priests is not a\nChurch, any more than a religious congregation which should devote\nitself to some particular saint in the shadow of a cloister, would be a\nparticular cult. A Church is not a fraternity of priests; it is a moral\ncommunity formed by all the believers in a single faith, laymen as well\nas priests. But magic lacks any such community.[86]\n\nBut if the idea of a Church is made to enter into the definition of\nreligion, does that not exclude the private religions which the\nindividual establishes for himself and celebrates by himself? There is\nscarcely a society where these are not found. Every Ojibway, as we shall\nsee below, has his own personal _manitou_, which he chooses himself and\nto which he renders special religious services; the Melanesian of the\nBanks Islands has his _tamaniu_;[87] the Roman, his _genius_;[88] the\nChristian, his patron saint and guardian angel, etc. By definition all\nthese cults seem to be independent of all idea of the group. Not only\nare these individual religions very frequent in history, but nowadays\nmany are asking if they are not destined to be the pre-eminent form of\nthe religious life, and if the day will not come when there will be no\nother cult than that which each man will freely perform within\nhimself.[89]\n\nBut if we leave these speculations in regard to the future aside for the\nmoment, and confine ourselves to religions such as they are at present\nor have been in the past, it becomes clearly evident that these\nindividual cults are not distinct and autonomous religious systems, but\nmerely aspects of the common religion of the whole Church, of which the\nindividuals are members. The patron saint of the Christian is chosen\nfrom the official list of saints recognized by the Catholic Church;\nthere are even canonical rules prescribing how each Catholic should\nperform this private cult. In the same way, the idea that each man\nnecessarily has a protecting genius is found, under different forms, at\nthe basis of a great number of American religions, as well as of the\nRoman religion (to cite only these two examples); for, as will be seen\nlater, it is very closely connected with the idea of the soul, and this\nidea of the soul is not one of those which can be left entirely to\nindividual choice. In a word, it is the Church of which he is a member\nwhich teaches the individual what these personal gods are, what their\nfunction is, how he should enter into relations with them and how he\nshould honour them. When a methodical analysis is made of the doctrines\nof any Church whatsoever, sooner or later we come upon those concerning\nprivate cults. So these are not two religions of different types, and\nturned in opposite directions; both are made up of the same ideas and\nthe same principles, here applied to circumstances which are of interest\nto the group as a whole, there to the life of the individual. This\nsolidarity is even so close that among certain peoples,[90] the\nceremonies by which the faithful first enter into communication with\ntheir protecting geniuses are mixed with rites whose public character is\nincontestable, namely the rites of initiation.[91]\n\nThere still remain those contemporary aspirations towards a religion\nwhich would consist entirely in internal and subjective states, and\nwhich would be constructed freely by each of us. But howsoever real\nthese aspirations may be, they cannot affect our definition, for this is\nto be applied only to facts already realized, and not to uncertain\npossibilities. One can define religions such as they are, or such as\nthey have been, but not such as they more or less vaguely tend to\nbecome. It is possible that this religious individualism is destined to\nbe realized in facts; but before we can say just how far this may be the\ncase, we must first know what religion is, of what elements it is made\nup, from what causes it results, and what function it fulfils--all\nquestions whose solution cannot be foreseen before the threshold of our\nstudy has been passed. It is only at the close of this study that we can\nattempt to anticipate the future.\n\nThus we arrive at the following definition: _A religion is a unified\nsystem of beliefs and practices relative to sacred things, that is to\nsay, things set apart and forbidden--beliefs and practices which unite\ninto one single moral community called a Church, all those who adhere to\nthem._ The second element which thus finds a place in our definition is\nno less essential than the first; for by showing that the idea of\nreligion is inseparable from that of the Church, it makes it clear that\nreligion should be an eminently collective thing.[92]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nLEADING CONCEPTIONS OF THE ELEMENTARY RELIGION\n\nI.--_Animism_\n\n\nArmed with this definition, we are now able to set out in search of this\nelementary religion which we propose to study.\n\nEven the crudest religions with which history and ethnology make us\nacquainted are already of a complexity which corresponds badly with the\nidea sometimes held of primitive mentality. One finds there not only a\nconfused system of beliefs and rites, but also such a plurality of\ndifferent principles, and such a richness of essential notions, that it\nseems impossible to see in them anything but the late product of a\nrather long evolution. Hence it has been concluded that to discover the\ntruly original form of the religious life, it is necessary to descend by\nanalysis beyond these observable religions, to resolve them into their\ncommon and fundamental elements, and then to seek among these latter\nsome one from which the others were derived.\n\nTo the problem thus stated, two contrary solutions have been given.\n\nThere is no religious system, ancient or recent, where one does not\nmeet, under different forms, two religions, as it were, side by side,\nwhich, though being united closely and mutually penetrating each other,\ndo not cease, nevertheless, to be distinct. The one addresses itself to\nthe phenomena of nature, either the great cosmic forces, such as winds,\nrivers, stars or the sky, etc., or else the objects of various sorts\nwhich cover the surface of the earth, such as plants, animals, rocks,\netc.; for this reason it has been given the name of _naturism_. The\nother has spiritual beings as its object, spirits, souls, geniuses,\ndemons, divinities properly so-called, animated and conscious agents\nlike man, but distinguished from him, nevertheless, by the nature of\ntheir powers and especially by the peculiar characteristic that they do\nnot affect the senses in the same way: ordinarily they are not visible\nto human eyes. This religion of spirits is called _animism_. Now, to\nexplain the universal co-existence of these two sorts of cults, two\ncontradictory theories have been proposed. For some, animism is the\nprimitive religion, of which naturism is only a secondary and derived\nform. For the others, on the contrary, it is the nature cult which was\nthe point of departure for religious evolution; the cult of spirits is\nonly a peculiar case of that.\n\nThese two theories are, up to the present, the only ones by which the\nattempt has been made to explain rationally[93] the origins of religious\nthought. Thus the capital problem raised by the history of religions is\ngenerally reduced to asking which of these two solutions should be\nchosen, or whether it is not better to combine them, and in that case,\nwhat place must be given to each of the two elements.[94] Even those\nscholars who do not admit either of these hypotheses in their systematic\nform, do not refuse to retain certain propositions upon which they\nrest.[95] Thus we have a certain number of theories already made, which\nmust be submitted to criticism before we take up the study of the facts\nfor ourselves. It will be better understood how indispensable it is to\nattempt a new one, when we have seen the insufficiency of these\ntraditional conceptions.\n\n\nI\n\nIt is Tylor who formed the animist theory in its essential outlines.[96]\nSpencer, who took it up after him, did not reproduce it without\nintroducing certain modifications.[97] But in general the questions are\nposed by each in the same terms, and the solutions accepted are, with a\nsingle exception, identically the same. Therefore we can unite these two\ndoctrines in the exposition which follows, if we mark, at the proper\nmoment, the place where the two diverge from one another.\n\nIn order to find the elementary form of the religious life in these\nanimistic beliefs and practices, three _desiderata_ must be satisfied:\nfirst, since according to this hypothesis, the idea of the soul is the\ncardinal idea of religion, it must be shown how this is formed without\ntaking any of its elements from an anterior religion; secondly, it must\nbe made clear how souls become the object of a cult and are transformed\ninto spirits; and thirdly and finally, since the cult of these spirits\nis not all of any religion, it remains to be explained how the cult of\nnature is derived from it.\n\n\nAccording to this theory, the idea of the soul was first suggested to\nmen by the badly understood spectacle of the double life they ordinarily\nlead, on the one hand, when awake, on the other, when asleep. In fact,\nfor the savage,[98] the mental representations which he has while awake\nand those of his dreams are said to be of the same value: he objectifies\nthe second like the first, that is to say, that he sees in them the\nimages of external objects whose appearance they more or less accurately\nreproduce. So when he dreams that he has visited a distant country, he\nbelieves that he really was there. But he could not have gone there,\nunless two beings exist within him: the one, his body, which has\nremained lying on the ground and which he finds in the same position on\nawakening; the other, during this time, has travelled through space.\nSimilarly, if he seems to talk with one of his companions who he knows\nwas really at a distance, he concludes that the other also is composed\nof two beings: one which sleeps at a distance, and another which has\ncome to manifest himself by means of the dream. From these repeated\nexperiences, he little by little arrives at the idea that each of us has\na double, another self, which in determined conditions has the power of\nleaving the organism where it resides and of going roaming at a\ndistance.\n\nOf course, this double reproduces all the essential traits of the\nperceptible being which serves it as external covering; but at the same\ntime it is distinguished from this by many characteristics. It is more\nactive, since it can cover vast distances in an instant. It is more\nmalleable and plastic; for, to leave the body, it must pass out by its\napertures, especially the mouth and nose. It is represented as made of\nmatter, undoubtedly, but of a matter much more subtile and etherial than\nany which we know empirically. This double is the soul. In fact, it\ncannot be doubted that in numerous societies the soul has been conceived\nin the image of the body; it is believed that it reproduces even the\naccidental deformities such as those resulting from wounds or\nmutilations. Certain Australians, after having killed their enemy, cut\noff his right thumb, so that his soul, deprived of its thumb also,\ncannot throw a javelin and revenge itself. But while it resembles the\nbody, it has, at the same time, something half spiritual about it. They\nsay that \"it is the finer or more aeriform part of the body,\" that \"it\nhas no flesh nor bone nor sinew\"; that when one wishes to take hold of\nit, he feels nothing; that it is \"like a purified body.\"[99]\n\nAlso, other facts of experience which affect the mind in the same way\nnaturally group themselves around this fundamental fact taught by the\ndream: fainting, apoplexy, catalepsy, ecstasy, in a word, all cases of\ntemporary insensibility. In fact, they all are explained very well by\nthe hypothesis that the principle of life and feeling is able to leave\nthe body momentarily. Also, it is natural that this principle should be\nconfounded with the double, since the absence of the double during sleep\ndaily has the effect of suspending thought and life. Thus diverse\nobservations seem to agree mutually and to confirm the idea of the\nconstitutional duality of man.[100]\n\n\nBut the soul is not a spirit. It is attached to a body which it can\nleave only by exception; in so far as it is nothing more than that, it\nis not the object of any cult. The spirit, on the other hand, though\ngenerally having some special thing as its residence, can go away at\nwill, and a man can enter into relations with it only by observing\nritual precautions. The soul can become a spirit, then, only by\ntransforming itself: the simple application of these preceding ideas to\nthe fact of death produced this metamorphosis quite naturally. For a\nrudimentary intelligence, in fact, death is not distinguished from a\nlong fainting swoon or a prolonged sleep; it has all their aspects. Thus\nit seems that it too consists in a separation of the soul and the body,\nanalogous to that produced every night; but as in such cases, the body\nis not reanimated, the idea is formed of a separation without an\nassignable limit of time. When the body is once destroyed--and funeral\nrites have the object of hastening this destruction--the separation is\ntaken as final. Hence come spirits detached from any organism and left\nfree in space. As their number augments with time, a population of\nsouls forms around the living population. These souls of men have the\nneeds and passions of men; they seek to concern themselves with the life\nof their companions of yesterday, either to aid them or to injure them,\naccording to the sentiments which they have kept towards them. According\nto the circumstances, their nature makes them either very precious\nauxiliaries or very redoubtable adversaries. Owing to their extreme\nfluidity, they can even enter into the body, and cause all sorts of\ndisorders there, or else increase its vitality. Thus comes the habit of\nattributing to them all those events of life which vary slightly from\nthe ordinary: there are very few of these for which they cannot account.\nThus they constitute a sort of ever-ready supply of causes which never\nleaves one at a loss when in search of explanations. Does a man appear\ninspired, does he speak with energy, is it as though he were lifted\noutside himself and above the ordinary level of men? It is because a\ngood spirit is in him and animates him. Is he overtaken by an attack or\nseized by madness? It is because an evil spirit has entered into him and\nbrought him all this trouble. There are no maladies which cannot be\nassigned to some influence of this sort. Thus the power of souls is\nincreased by all that men attribute to them, and in the end men find\nthemselves the prisoners of this imaginary world of which they are,\nhowever, the authors and the models. They fall into dependence upon\nthese spiritual forces which they have created with their own hands and\nin their own image. For if souls are the givers of health and sickness,\nof goods and evils to this extent, it is wise to conciliate their favour\nor appease them when they are irritated; hence come the offerings,\nprayers, sacrifices, in a word, all the apparatus of religious\nobservances.[101]\n\nHere is the soul transformed. From a simple vital principle animating\nthe body of a man, it has become a spirit, a good or evil genius, or\neven a deity, according to the importance of the effects with which it\nis charged. But since it is death which brought about this apotheosis,\nit is to the dead, to the souls of ancestors, that the first cult known\nto humanity was addressed. Thus the first rites were funeral rites; the\nfirst sacrifices were food offerings destined to satisfy the needs of\nthe departed; the first altars were tombs.[102]\n\n\nBut since these spirits were of human origin, they interested themselves\nonly in the life of men and were thought to act only upon human events.\nIt is still to be explained how other spirits were imagined to account\nfor the other phenomena of the universe and how the cult of nature was\nsubsequently formed beside that of the ancestors.\n\nFor Tylor, this extension of animism was due to the particular mentality\nof the primitive who, like an infant, cannot distinguish the animate and\nthe inanimate. Since the first beings of which the child commences to\nhave an idea are men, that is, himself and those around him, it is upon\nthis model of human nature that he tends to think of everything. The\ntoys with which he plays, or the objects of every sort which affect his\nsenses, he regards as living beings like himself. Now the primitive\nthinks like a child. Consequently, he also is inclined to endow all\nthings, even inanimate ones, with a nature analogous to his own. Then\nif, for the reasons exposed above, he once arrives at the idea that man\nis a body animated by a spirit, he must necessarily attribute a duality\nof this sort and souls like his own even to inert bodies themselves. Yet\nthe sphere of action of the two could not be the same. The souls of men\nhave a direct influence only upon the world of men: they have a marked\npreference for the human organism, even when death has given them their\nliberty. On the other hand, the souls of things reside especially in\nthese things, and are regarded as the productive causes of all that\npasses there. The first account for health and sickness, skilfulness or\nunskilfulness, etc.; by the second are explained especially the\nphenomena of the physical world, the movement of water-courses or the\nstars, the germination of plants, the reproduction of animals, etc. Thus\nthe first philosophy of man, which is at the basis of the ancestor-cult,\nis completed by a philosophy of the world.\n\nIn regard to these cosmic spirits, man finds himself in a state of\ndependence still more evident than that in regard to the wandering\ndoubles of his ancestors. For he could have only ideal and imaginary\nrelations with the latter, but he depends upon things in reality; to\nlive, he has need of their concurrence; he then believes that he has an\nequal need of the spirits which appear to animate these things and to\ndetermine their diverse manifestations. He implores their assistance, he\nsolicits them with offerings and prayers, and the religion of man is\nthus completed in a religion of nature.\n\nHerbert Spencer objects against this explanation that the hypothesis\nupon which it rests is contradicted by the facts. It is held, he says,\nthat there is a time when men do not realize the differences which\nseparate the animate from the inanimate. Now, as one advances in the\nanimal scale, he sees the ability to make this distinction develop. The\nsuperior animals do not confound an object which moves of itself and\nwhose movements are adapted to certain ends, with those which are\nmechanically moved from without. \"Amusing herself with a mouse she has\ncaught, the cat, if it remains long stationary, touches it with her paw\nto make it run. Obviously the thought is that a living thing disturbed\nwill try to escape.\"[103] Even the primitive men could not have an\nintelligence inferior to that of the animals which preceded them in\nevolution; then it cannot be for lack of discernment that they passed\nfrom the cult of ancestors to the cult of things.\n\nAccording to Spencer, who upon this point, but upon this point only,\ndiffers from Tylor, this passage was certainly due to a confusion, but\nto one of a different sort. It was, in a large part at least, the result\nof numerous errors due to language. In many inferior societies it is a\nvery common custom to give to each individual, either at his birth or\nlater, the name of some animal, plant, star or natural object. But as a\nconsequence of the extreme imprecision of his language, it is very\ndifficult for a primitive to distinguish a metaphor from the reality. He\nsoon lost sight of the fact that these names were only figures, and\ntaking them literally, he ended by believing that an ancestor named\n\"Tiger\" or \"Lion\" was really a tiger or a lion. Then the cult of which\nthe ancestor was the object up to that time, was changed over to the\nanimal with which he was thereafter confounded; and as the same\nsubstitution went on for the plants, the stars and all the natural\nphenomena, the religion of nature took the place of the old religion of\nthe dead. Besides this fundamental confusion, Spencer signalizes others\nwhich aided the action of the first from time to time. For example, the\nanimals which frequent the surroundings of the tombs or houses of men\nhave been taken for their reincarnated souls, and adored under this\ntitle;[104] or again, the mountain which tradition made the cradle of\nthe race was finally taken for the ancestor of the race; it was thought\nthat men were descended from it because their ancestors appeared coming\nfrom it, and it was consequently treated as an ancestor itself.[105] But\naccording to the statement of Spencer, these accessory causes had only a\nsecondary influence; that which principally determined the institution\nof naturism was \"the literal interpretation of metaphorical names.\"[106]\n\nWe had to mention this theory to have our exposition of animism\ncomplete; but it is too inadequate for the facts, and too universally\nabandoned to-day to demand that we stop any longer for it. In order to\nexplain a fact as general as the religion of nature by an illusion, it\nwould be necessary that the illusion invoked should have causes of an\nequal generality. Now even if misunderstandings, such as those of which\nSpencer gives some rare illustrations, could explain the transformation\nof the cult of ancestors into that of nature, it is not clear why this\nshould be produced with a sort of universality. No psychical mechanism\nnecessitated it. It is true that because of its ambiguity, the word\nmight lead to an equivocation; but on the other hand, all the personal\nsouvenirs left by the ancestor in the memories of men should oppose this\nconfusion. Why should the tradition which represented the ancestor such\nas he really was, that is to say, as a man who led the life of a man,\neverywhere give way before the prestige of a word? Likewise, one should\nhave a little difficulty in admitting that men were born of a mountain\nor a star, of an animal or a plant; the idea of a similar exception to\nthe ordinary conceptions of generation could not fail to raise active\nresistance. Thus, it is far from true that the error found a road all\nprepared before it, but rather, all sorts of reasons should have kept it\nfrom being accepted. It is difficult to understand how, in spite of all\nthese obstacles, it could have triumphed so generally.\n\n\nII\n\nThe theory of Tylor, whose authority is always great, still remains. His\nhypotheses on the dream and the origin of the ideas of the soul and of\nspirits are still classic; it is necessary, therefore, to test their\nvalue.\n\nFirst of all, it should be recognized that the theorists of animism have\nrendered an important service to the science of religions, and even to\nthe general history of ideas, by submitting the idea of the soul to\nhistorical analysis. Instead of following so many philosophers and\nmaking it a simple and immediate object of consciousness, they have much\nmore correctly viewed it as a complex whole, a product of history and\nmythology. It cannot be doubted that it is something essentially\nreligious in its nature, origin and functions. It is from religion that\nthe philosophers received it; it is impossible to understand the form in\nwhich it is represented by the thinkers of antiquity, if one does not\ntake into account the mythical elements which served in its formation.\n\nBut if Tylor has had the merit of raising this problem, the solution he\ngives raises grave difficulties.\n\nFirst of all, there are reservations to be made in regard to the very\nprinciple which is at the basis of this theory. It is taken for granted\nthat the soul is entirely distinct from the body, that it is its double,\nand that within it or outside of it, it normally lives its own\nautonomous life. Now we shall see[107] that this conception is not that\nof the primitive, or at least, that it only expresses one aspect of his\nidea of the soul. For him, the soul, though being under certain\nconditions independent of the organism which it animates, confounds\nitself with this latter to such an extent that it cannot be radically\nseparated from it: there are organs which are not only its appointed\nseat, but also its outward form and material manifestation. The notion\nis therefore more complex than the doctrine supposes, and it is doubtful\nconsequently whether the experiences mentioned are sufficient to account\nfor it; for even if they did enable us to understand how men have come\nto believe themselves double, they cannot explain how this duality does\nnot exclude, but rather, implies a deeper unity and an intimate\ninterpenetration of the two beings thus differentiated.\n\nBut let us admit that the idea of the soul can be reduced to the idea of\na double, and then see how this latter came to be formed. It could not\nhave been suggested to men except by the experience of dreams. That they\nmight understand how they could see places more or less distant during\nsleep, while their bodies remained lying on the ground, it would seem\nthat they were led to conceive of themselves as two beings: on the one\nhand, the body, and on the other, a second self, able to leave the\norganism in which it lives and to roam about in space. But if this\nhypothesis of a double is to be able to impose itself upon men with a\nsort of necessity, it should be the only one possible, or at least, the\nmost economical one. Now as a matter of fact, there are more simple ones\nwhich, it would seem, might have occurred to the mind just as naturally.\nFor example, why should the sleeper not imagine that while asleep he is\nable to see things at a distance? To imagine such a power would demand\nless expense to the imagination than the construction of this complex\nnotion of a double, made of some etherial, semi-invisible substance, and\nof which direct experience offers no example. But even supposing that\ncertain dreams rather naturally suggest the animistic explanation, there\nare certainly many others which are absolutely incompatible with it.\nOften our dreams are concerned with passed events; we see again the\nthings which we saw or did yesterday or the day before or even during\nour youth, etc.; dreams of this sort are frequent and hold a rather\nconsiderable place in our nocturnal life. But the idea of a double\ncannot account for them. Even if the double can go from one point to\nanother in space, it is not clear how it could possibly go back and\nforth in time. Howsoever rudimentary his intelligence may be, how could\na man on awakening believe that he had really been assisting at or\ntaking part in events which he knows passed long before? How could he\nimagine that during his sleep he lived a life which he knows has long\nsince gone by? It would be much more natural that he should regard these\nrenewed images as merely what they really are, that is, as souvenirs\nlike those which he has during the day, but ones of a special intensity.\n\nMoreover, in the scenes of which we are the actors and witnesses while\nwe sleep, it constantly happens that one of our contemporaries has a\nr\u00f4le as well as ourselves: we think we see and hear him in the same\nplace where we see ourselves. According to the animists, the primitive\nwould explain this by imagining that his double was visited by or met\nwith those of certain of his companions. But it would be enough that on\nawakening he question them, to find that their experiences do not\ncoincide with his. During this same time, they too have had dreams, but\nwholly different ones. They have not seen themselves participating in\nthe same scene; they believe that they have visited wholly different\nplaces. Since such contradictions should be the rule in these cases, why\nshould they not lead men to believe that there had probably been an\nerror, that they had merely imagined it, that they had been duped by\nillusions? This blind credulity which is attributed to the primitive is\nreally too simple. It is not true that he must objectify all his\nsensations. He cannot live long without perceiving that even when awake\nhis senses sometimes deceive him. Then why should he believe them more\ninfallible at night than during the day? Thus we find that there are\nmany reasons opposing the theory that he takes his dreams for the\nreality and interprets them by means of a double of himself.\n\nBut more than that, even if every dream were well explained by the\nhypothesis of a double, and could not be explained otherwise, it would\nremain a question why men have attempted to explain them. Dreams\nundoubtedly constitute the matter of a possible problem. But we pass by\nproblems every day which we do not raise, and of which we have no\nsuspicion until some circumstance makes us feel the necessity of raising\nthem. Even when the taste for pure speculation is aroused, reflection is\nfar from raising all the problems to which it could eventually apply\nitself; only those attract it which present a particular interest.\nEspecially, when it is a question of facts which always take place in\nthe same manner, habit easily numbs curiosity, and we do not even dream\nof questioning them. To shake off this torpor, it is necessary that\npractical exigencies, or at least a very pressing theoretical interest,\nstimulate our attention and turn it in this direction. That is why, at\nevery moment of history, there have been so many things that we have not\ntried to understand, without even being conscious of our renunciation.\nUp until very recent times, it was believed that the sun was only a few\nfeet in diameter. There is something incomprehensible in the statement\nthat a luminous disc of such slight dimensions could illuminate the\nworld: yet for centuries men never thought of resolving this\ncontradiction. The fact of heredity has been known for a long time, but\nit is very recently that the attempt has been made to formulate its\ntheory. Certain beliefs were even admitted which rendered it wholly\nunintelligible: thus in many Australian societies of which we shall have\noccasion to speak, the child is not physiologically the offspring of its\nparents.[108] This intellectual laziness is necessarily at its maximum\namong the primitive peoples. These weak beings, who have so much trouble\nin maintaining life against all the forces which assail it, have no\nmeans for supporting any luxury in the way of speculation. They do not\nreflect except when they are driven to it. Now it is difficult to see\nwhat could have led them to make dreams the theme of their meditations.\nWhat does the dream amount to in our lives? How little is the place it\nholds, especially because of the very vague impressions it leaves in the\nmemory, and of the rapidity with which it is effaced from remembrance,\nand consequently, how surprising it is that a man of so rudimentary an\nintelligence should have expended such efforts to find its explanation!\nOf the two existences which he successively leads, that of the day and\nthat of the night, it is the first which should interest him the most.\nIs it not strange that the second should have so captivated his\nattention that he made it the basis of a whole system of complicated\nideas destined to have so profound an influence upon his thought and\nconduct?\n\nThus all tends to show that, in spite of the credit it still enjoys, the\nanimistic theory of the soul must be revised. It is true that to-day the\nprimitive attributes his dreams, or at least certain of them, to\ndisplacements of his double. But that does not say that the dream\nactually furnished the materials out of which the idea of the double or\nthe soul was first constructed; it might have been applied afterwards to\nthe phenomena of dreams, ecstasy and possession, without having been\nderived from them. It is very frequent that, after it has been formed,\nan idea is employed to co-ordinate or illuminate--with a light\nfrequently more apparent than real--certain facts with which it had no\nrelation at first, and which would never have suggested it themselves.\nGod and the immortality of the soul are frequently proven to-day by\nshowing that these beliefs are implied in the fundamental principles of\nmorality; as a matter of fact, they have quite another origin. The\nhistory of religious thought could furnish numerous examples of these\nretrospective justifications, which can teach us nothing of the way in\nwhich the ideas were formed, nor of the elements out of which they are\ncomposed.\n\nIt is also probable that the primitive distinguishes between his dreams,\nand does not interpret them all in the same way. In our European\nsocieties the still numerous persons for whom sleep is a sort of\nmagico-religious state in which the mind, being partially relieved of\nthe body, has a sharpness of vision which it does not enjoy during\nwaking moments, do not go to the point of considering all their dreams\nas so many mystic intuitions: on the contrary, along with everybody\nelse, they see in the majority of their dreams only profane conditions,\nvain plays of images, or simple hallucinations. It might be supposed\nthat the primitive should make analogous distinctions. Codrington says\ndistinctly that the Melanesians do not attribute all their dreams\nindiscriminately to the wanderings of their souls, but merely those\nwhich strike their imagination forcibly:[109] undoubtedly by that should\nbe understood those in which the sleeper imagines himself in relations\nwith religious beings, good or evil geniuses, souls of the dead, etc.\nSimilarly, the Dieri in Australia sharply distinguish ordinary dreams\nfrom those nocturnal visions in which some deceased friend or relative\nshows himself to them. In the first, they see a simple fantasy of their\nimagination; they attribute the second to the action of an evil\nspirit.[110] All the facts which Howitt mentions as examples to show how\nthe Australian attributes to the soul the power of leaving the body,\nhave an equally mystic character. The sleeper believes himself\ntransported into the land of the dead or else he converses with a dead\ncompanion.[111] These dreams are frequent among the primitives.[112] It\nis probably upon these facts that the theory is based. To account for\nthem, it is admitted that the souls of the dead come back to the living\nduring their sleep. This theory was the more readily accepted because no\nfact of experience could invalidate it. But these dreams were possible\nonly where the ideas of spirits, souls and a land of the dead were\nalready existent, that is to say, where religious evolution was\nrelatively advanced. Thus, far from having been able to furnish to\nreligion the fundamental notion upon which it rests, they suppose a\nprevious religious system, upon which they depended.[113]\n\n\nIII\n\nWe now arrive at that which constitutes the very heart of the doctrine.\n\nWherever this idea of a double may come from, it is not sufficient,\naccording to the avowal of the animists themselves, to explain the\nformation of the cult of the ancestors which they would make the initial\ntype of all religions. If this double is to become the object of a cult,\nit must cease to be a simple reproduction of the individual, and must\nacquire the characteristics necessary to put it in the rank of sacred\nbeings. It is death, they say, which performs this transformation. But\nwhence comes the virtue which they attribute to this? Even were the\nanalogy of sleep and death sufficient to make one believe that the soul\nsurvives the body (and there are reservations to be made on this point),\nwhy does this soul, by the mere fact that it is now detached from the\norganism, so completely change its nature? If it was only a profane\nthing, a wandering vital principle, during life, how does it become a\nsacred thing all at once, and the object of religious sentiments? Death\nadds nothing essential to it, except a greater liberty of movement.\nBeing no longer attached to a special residence, from now on, it can do\nat any time what it formerly did only by night; but the action of which\nit is capable is always of the same sort. Then why have the living\nconsidered this uprooted and vagabond double of their former companion\nas anything more than an equal? It was a fellow-creature, whose approach\nmight be inconvenient; it was not a divinity.[114]\n\nIt seems as though death ought to have the effect of weakening vital\nenergies, instead of strengthening them. It is, in fact, a very common\nbelief in the inferior societies that the soul participates actively in\nthe life of the body. If the body is wounded, it is wounded itself and\nin a corresponding place. Then it should grow old along with the body.\nIn fact, there are peoples who do not render funeral honours to men\narrived at senility; they are treated as if their souls also had become\nsenile.[115] It even happens that they regularly put to death, before\nthey arrive at old age, certain privileged persons, such as kings or\npriests, who are supposed to be the possessors of powerful spirits whose\nprotection the community wishes to keep. They thus seek to keep the\nspirit from being affected by the physical decadence of its momentary\nkeepers; with this end in view, they take it from the organism where it\nresides before age can have weakened it, and they transport it, while it\nhas as yet lost nothing of its vigour, into a younger body where it will\nbe able to keep its vitality intact.[116] So when death results from\nsickness or old age, it seems as though the soul could retain only a\ndiminished power; and if it is only its double, it is difficult to see\nhow it could survive at all, after the body is once definitely\ndissolved. From this point of view, the idea of survival is intelligible\nonly with great difficulty. There is a logical and psychological gap\nbetween the idea of a double at liberty and that of a spirit to which a\ncult is addressed.\n\nThis interval appears still more considerable when we realize what an\nabyss separates the sacred world from the profane; it becomes evident\nthat a simple change of degree could not be enough to make something\npass from one category into the other. Sacred beings are not\ndistinguished from profane ones merely by the strange or disconcerting\nforms which they take or by the greater powers which they enjoy; between\nthe two there is no common measure. Now there is nothing in the notion\nof a double which could account for so radical a heterogeneity. It is\nsaid that when once freed from the body, the spirit can work all sorts\nof good or evil for the living, according to the way in which it regards\nthem. But it is not enough that a being should disturb his neighbourhood\nto seem to be of a wholly different nature from those whose tranquillity\nit menaces. To be sure, in the sentiment which the believer feels for\nthe things he adores, there always enters in some element of reserve and\nfear; but this is a fear _sui generis_, derived from respect more than\nfrom fright, and where the dominating emotion is that which _la majest\u00e9_\ninspires in men. The idea of majesty is essentially religious. Then we\nhave explained nothing of religion until we have found whence this idea\ncomes, to what it corresponds and what can have aroused it in the mind.\nSimple souls of men cannot become invested with this character by the\nsimple fact of being no longer incarnate.\n\nThis is clearly shown by an example from Melanesia. The Melanesians\nbelieve that men have souls which leave the body at death; it then\nchanges its name and becomes what they call a _tindalo_, a _natmat_,\netc. Also, they have a cult of the souls of the dead: they pray to them,\ninvoke them and make offerings and sacrifices to them. But every\n_tindalo_ is not the object of these ritual practices; only those have\nthis honour which come from men to whom public opinion attributed,\nduring life, the very special virtue which the Melanesians call the\n_mana_. Later on, we shall have occasion to fix precisely the meaning\nwhich this word expresses; for the time being, it will suffice to say\nthat it is the distinctive character of every sacred being. As\nCodrington says, \"it is what works to effect anything which is beyond\nthe ordinary power of men, outside the common processes of nature.\"[117]\nA priest, a sorcerer or a ritual formula have mana as well as a sacred\nstone or spirit. Thus the only tindalo to which religious services are\nrendered are those which were already sacred of themselves, when their\nproprietor was still alive. In regard to the other souls, which come\nfrom ordinary men, from the crowd of the profane, the same author says\nthat they are \"nobodies alike before and after death.\"[118] By itself,\ndeath has no deifying virtue. Since it brings about in a more or less\ncomplete and final fashion the separation of the soul from profane\nthings, it can well reinforce the sacred character of the soul, if this\nalready exists, but it cannot create it.\n\nMoreover, if, as the hypothesis of the animists supposes, the first\nsacred beings were really the souls of the dead and the first cult that\nof the ancestors, it should be found that the lower the societies\nexamined are, the more the place given to this cult in the religious\nlife. But it is rather the contrary which is true. The ancestral cult is\nnot greatly developed, or even presented under a characteristic form,\nexcept in advanced societies like those of China, Egypt or the Greek and\nLatin cities; on the other hand, it is completely lacking in the\nAustralian societies which, as we shall see, represent the lowest and\nsimplest form of social organization which we know. It is true that\nfuneral rites and rites of mourning are found there; but these practices\ndo not constitute a cult, though this name has sometimes wrongfully been\ngiven them. In reality, a cult is not a simple group of ritual\nprecautions which a man is held to take in certain circumstances; it is\na system of diverse rites, festivals and ceremonies which _all have this\ncharacteristic, that they reappear periodically_. They fulfil the need\nwhich the believer feels of strengthening and reaffirming, at regular\nintervals of time, the bond which unites him to the sacred beings upon\nwhich he depends. That is why one speaks of marriage rites but not of a\nmarriage cult, of rites of birth but not of a cult of the new-born\nchild; it is because the events on the occasion of which these rites\ntake place imply no periodicity. In the same way, there is no cult of\nthe ancestors except when sacrifices are made on the tombs from time to\ntime, when libations are poured there on certain more or less specific\ndates, or when festivals are regularly celebrated in honour of the dead.\nBut the Australian has no relations of this sort with his dead. It is\ntrue that he must bury their remains according to a ritual, mourn for\nthem during a prescribed length of time and in a prescribed manner, and\nrevenge them if there is occasion to.[119] But when he has once\naccomplished these pious tasks, when the bones are once dry and the\nperiod of mourning is once accomplished, then all is said and done, and\nthe survivors have no more duties towards their relatives who exist no\nlonger. It is true that there is a way in which the dead continue to\nhold a place in the lives of their kindred, even after the mourning is\nfinished. It is sometimes the case that their hair or certain of their\nbones are kept, because of special virtues which are attached to\nthem.[120] But by that time they have ceased to exist as persons, and\nhave fallen to the rank of anonymous and impersonal charms. In this\ncondition they are the object of no cult; they serve only for magical\npurposes.\n\nHowever, there are certain Australian tribes which periodically\ncelebrate rites in honour of fabulous ancestors whom tradition places at\nthe beginning of time. These ceremonies generally consist in a sort of\ndramatic representation in which are rehearsed the deeds which the myths\nascribe to these legendary heroes.[121] But the personages thus\nrepresented are not men who, after living the life of men, have been\ntransformed into a sort of god by the fact of their death. They are\nconsidered to have exercised superhuman powers while alive. To them is\nattributed all that is grand in the history of the tribe, or even of the\nwhole world. It is they who in a large measure made the earth such as it\nis, and men such as they are. The haloes with which they are still\ndecorated do not come to them merely from the fact that they are\nancestors, that is to say, in fine, that they are dead, but rather from\nthe fact that a divine character is and always has been attributed to\nthem; to use the Melanesian expression, it is because they are\nconstitutionally endowed with mana. Consequently, there is nothing in\nthese rites which shows that death has the slightest power of\ndeification. It cannot even be correctly said of certain rites that they\nform an ancestor-cult, since they are not addressed to ancestors as\nsuch. In order to have a real cult of the dead, it is necessary that\nafter death real ancestors, the relations whom men really lose every\nday, become the object of the cult; let us repeat it once more, there\nare no traces of any such cult in Australia.\n\nThus the cult which, according to this hypothesis, ought to be the\npredominating one in inferior societies, is really nonexistent there. In\nreality, the Australian is not concerned with his dead, except at the\nmoment of their decease and during the time which immediately follows.\nYet these same peoples, as we shall see, have a very complex cult for\nsacred beings of a wholly different nature, which is made up of numerous\nceremonies and frequently occupying weeks or even entire months. It\ncannot be admitted that the few rites which the Australian performs when\nhe happens to lose one of his relatives were the origin of these\npermanent cults which return regularly every year and which take up a\nconsiderable part of his existence. The contrast between the two is so\ngreat that we may even ask whether the first were not rather derived\nfrom the second, and if the souls of men, far from having been the model\nupon which the gods were originally imagined, have not rather been\nconceived from the very first as emanations from the divinity.\n\n\nIV\n\nFrom the moment that the cult of the dead is shown not to be primitive,\nanimism lacks a basis. It would then seem useless to discuss the third\nthesis of the system, which concerns the transformation of the cult of\nthe dead into the cult of nature. But since the postulate upon which it\nrests is also found in certain historians of religion who do not admit\nthe animism properly so-called, such as Brinton,[122] Lang,[123]\nR\u00e9ville,[124] and even Robertson Smith himself,[125] it is necessary to\nmake an examination of it.\n\nThis extension of the cult of the dead to all nature is said to come\nfrom the fact that we instinctively tend to represent all things in our\nown image, that is to say, as living and thinking beings. We have seen\nthat Spencer has already contested the reality of this so-called\ninstinct. Since animals clearly distinguish living bodies from dead\nones, it seemed to him impossible that man, the heir of the animals,\nshould not have had this same faculty of discernment from the very\nfirst. But howsoever certain the facts cited by Spencer may be, they\nhave not the demonstrative value which he attributes to them. His\nreasoning supposes that all the faculties, instincts and aptitudes of\nthe animal have passed integrally into man; now many errors have their\norigin in this principle which is wrongfully taken as a proven truth.\nFor example, since sexual jealousy is generally very strong among the\nhigher animals, it has been concluded that it ought to be found among\nmen with the same intensity from the very beginnings of history.[126]\nBut it is well known to-day that men can practise a sexual communism\nwhich would be impossible if this jealousy were not capable of\nattenuating itself and even of disappearing when necessary.[127] The\nfact is that man is not merely an animal with certain additional\nqualities: he is something else. Human nature is the result of a sort of\nrecasting of the animal nature, and in the course of the various complex\noperations which have brought about this recasting, there have been\nlosses as well as gains. How many instincts have we not lost? The reason\nfor this is that men are not only in relations with the physical\nenvironment, but also with a social environment infinitely more\nextended, more stable and more active than the one whose influence\nanimals undergo. To live, they must adapt themselves to this. Now in\norder to maintain itself, society frequently finds it necessary that we\nshould see things from a certain angle and feel them in a certain way;\nconsequently it modifies the ideas which we would ordinarily make of\nthem for ourselves and the sentiments to which we would be inclined if\nwe listened only to our animal nature; it alters them, even going so far\nas to put the contrary sentiments in their place. Does it not even go so\nfar as to make us regard our own individual lives as something of little\nvalue, while for the animal this is the greatest of things?[128] Then it\nis a vain enterprise to seek to infer the mental constitution of the\nprimitive man from that of the higher animals.\n\nBut if the objection of Spencer does not have the decisive value which\nits author gives it, it is equally true that the animist theory can draw\nno authority from the confusions which children seem to make. When we\nhear a child angrily apostrophize an object which he has hit against, we\nconclude that he thinks of it as a conscious being like himself; but\nthat is interpreting his words and acts very badly. In reality, he is\nquite a stranger to the very complicated reasoning attributed to him. If\nhe lays the blame on the table which has hurt him, it is not because he\nsupposes it animated and intelligent, but because it has hurt him. His\nanger, once aroused by the pain, must overflow; so it looks for\nsomething upon which to discharge itself, and naturally turns toward the\nthing which has provoked it, even though this has no effect. The action\nof an adult in similar circumstances is often as slightly reasonable.\nWhen we are violently irritated, we feel the need of inveighing, of\ndestroying, though we attribute no conscious ill-will to the objects\nupon which we vent our anger. There is even so little confusion that\nwhen the emotion of a child is calmed, he can very well distinguish a\nchair from a person: he does not act in at all the same way towards the\ntwo. It is a similar reason which explains his tendency to treat his\nplaythings as if they were living beings. It is his extremely intense\nneed of playing which thus finds a means of expressing itself, just as\nin the other case the violent sentiments caused by pain created an\nobject out of nothing. In order that he may consciously play with his\njumping-jack, he imagines it a living person. This illusion is the\neasier for him because imagination is his sovereign mistress; he thinks\nalmost entirely with images, and we know how pliant images are, bending\nthemselves with docility before every exigency of the will. But he is so\nlittle deceived by his own fiction that he would be the first to be\nsurprised if it suddenly became a reality, and his toy bit him![129]\n\nLet us therefore leave these doubtful analogies to one side. To find out\nif men were primitively inclined to the confusions imputed to them, we\nshould not study animals or children of to-day, but the primitive\nbeliefs themselves. If the spirits and gods of nature were really formed\nin the image of the human soul, they should bear traces of their origin\nand bring to mind the essential traits of their model. The most\nimportant characteristic of the soul is that it is conceived as the\ninternal principle which animates the organism: it is that which moves\nit and makes it live, to such an extent that when it withdraws itself,\nlife ceases or is suspended. It has its natural residence in the body,\nat least while this exists. But it is not thus with the spirits assigned\nto the different things in nature. The god of the sun is not necessarily\nin the sun, nor is the spirit of a certain rock in the rock which is its\nprincipal place of habitation. A spirit undoubtedly has close relations\nwith the body to which it is attached, but one employs a very inexact\nexpression when he says that it is its soul. As Codrington says,[130]\n\"there does not appear to be anywhere in Melanesia a belief in a spirit\nwhich animates any natural object, a tree, waterfall, storm or rock, so\nas to be to it what the soul is believed to be to the body of man.\nEuropeans, it is true, speak of the spirits of the sea or of the storm\nor of the forest; but the native idea which they represent is that\nghosts haunt the sea and the forest, having power to raise storms and\nstrike a traveller with disease.\" While the soul is essentially within\nthe body, the spirit passes the major portion of its time outside the\nobject which serves as its base. This is one difference which does not\nseem to show that the second idea was derived from the first.\n\nFrom another point of view, it must be added that if men were really\nforced to project their own image into things, then the first sacred\nbeings ought to have been conceived in their likeness. Now\nanthropomorphism, far from being primitive, is rather the mark of a\nrelatively advanced civilization. In the beginning, sacred beings are\nconceived in the form of an animal or vegetable, from which the human\nform is only slowly disengaged. It will be seen below that in Australia,\nit is animals and plants which are the first sacred beings. Even among\nthe Indians of North America, the great cosmic divinities, which\ncommence to be the object of a cult there, are very frequently\nrepresented in animal forms.[131] \"The difference between the animal,\nman and the divine being,\" says R\u00e9ville, not without surprise, \"is not\nfelt in this state of mind, and generally it might be said that _it is\nthe animal form which is the fundamental one_.\"[132] To find a god made\nup entirely of human elements, it is necessary to advance nearly to\nChristianity. Here, God is a man, not only in the physical aspect in\nwhich he is temporarily made manifest, but also in the ideas and\nsentiments which he expresses. But even in Greece and Rome, though the\ngods were generally represented with human traits, many mythical\npersonages still had traces of an animal origin: thus there is Dionysus,\nwho is often met with in the form of a bull, or at least with the horns\nof a bull; there is Demeter, who is often represented with a horse's\nmane, there are Pan and Silenus, there are the Fauns, etc.[133] It is\nnot at all true that man has had such an inclination to impose his own\nform upon things. More than that, he even commenced by conceiving of\nhimself as participating closely in the animal nature. In fact, it is a\nbelief almost universal in Australia, and very widespread among the\nIndians of North America, that the ancestors of men were beasts or\nplants, or at least that the first men had, either in whole or in part,\nthe distinctive characters of certain animal or vegetable species. Thus,\nfar from seeing beings like themselves everywhere, men commenced by\nbelieving themselves to be in the image of some beings from which they\ndiffered radically.\n\n\nV\n\nFinally, the animistic theory implies a consequence which is perhaps its\nbest refutation.\n\nIf it were true, it would be necessary to admit that religious beliefs\nare so many hallucinatory representations, without any objective\nfoundation whatsoever. It is supposed that they are all derived from the\nidea of the soul because one sees only a magnified soul in the spirits\nand gods. But according to Tylor and his disciples, the idea of the soul\nis itself constructed entirely out of the vague and inconsistent images\nwhich occupy our attention during sleep: for the soul is the double, and\nthe double is merely a man as he appears to himself while he sleeps.\nFrom this point of view, then, sacred beings are only the imaginary\nconceptions which men have produced during a sort of delirium which\nregularly overtakes them every day, though it is quite impossible to see\nto what useful ends these conceptions serve, nor what they answer to in\nreality. If a man prays, if he makes sacrifices and offerings, if he\nsubmits to the multiple privations which the ritual prescribes, it is\nbecause a sort of constitutional eccentricity has made him take his\ndreams for perceptions, death for a prolonged sleep, and dead bodies for\nliving and thinking beings. Thus not only is it true, as many have held,\nthat the forms under which religious powers have been represented to the\nmind do not express them exactly, and that the symbols with the aid of\nwhich they have been thought of partially hide their real nature, but\nmore than that, behind these images and figures there exists nothing but\nthe nightmares of primitive minds. In fine, religion is nothing but a\ndream, systematized and lived, but without any foundation in\nreality.[134] Thence it comes about that the theorists of animism, when\nlooking for the origins of religious thought, content themselves with a\nsmall outlay of energy. When they think that they have explained how men\nhave been induced to imagine beings of a strange, vaporous form, such as\nthose they see in their dreams, they think the problem is resolved.\n\nIn reality, it is not even approached. It is inadmissible that systems\nof ideas like religions, which have held so considerable a place in\nhistory, and to which, in all times, men have come to receive the energy\nwhich they must have to live, should be made up of a tissue of\nillusions. To-day we are beginning to realize that law, morals and even\nscientific thought itself were born of religion, were for a long time\nconfounded with it, and have remained penetrated with its spirit. How\ncould a vain fantasy have been able to fashion the human consciousness\nso strongly and so durably? Surely it ought to be a principle of the\nscience of religions that religion expresses nothing which does not\nexist in nature; for there are sciences only of natural phenomena. The\nonly question is to learn from what part of nature these realities come\nand what has been able to make men represent them under this singular\nform which is peculiar to religious thought. But if this question is to\nbe raised, it is necessary to commence by admitting that they are real\nthings which are thus represented. When the philosophers of the\neighteenth century made religion a vast error imagined by the priests,\nthey could at least explain its persistence by the interest which the\nsacerdotal class had in deceiving the people. But if the people\nthemselves have been the artisans of these systems of erroneous ideas at\nthe same time that they were its dupes, how has this extraordinary\ndupery been able to perpetuate itself all through the course of history?\n\nOne might even demand if under these conditions the words of science of\nreligions can be employed without impropriety. A science is a discipline\nwhich, in whatever manner it is conceived, is always applied to some\nreal data. Physics and chemistry are sciences because physico-chemical\nphenomena are real, and of a reality which does not depend upon the\ntruths which these sciences show. There is a psychological science\nbecause there are really consciousnesses which do not hold their right\nof existence from the psychologist. But on the contrary, religion could\nnot survive the animistic theory and the day when its truth was\nrecognized by men, for they could not fail to renounce the errors whose\nnature and origin would thus be revealed to them. What sort of a science\nis it whose principal discovery is that the subject of which it treats\ndoes not exist?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nLEADING CONCEPTIONS OF THE ELEMENTARY RELIGION--_continued_\n\nII.--_Naturism_\n\n\nThe spirit of the naturistic school is quite different. In the first\nplace, it is recruited in a different environment. The animists are, for\nthe most part, ethnologists or anthropologists. The religions which they\nhave studied are the crudest which humanity has ever known. Hence comes\nthe extraordinary importance which they attribute to the souls of the\ndead, to spirits and to demons, and, in fact, to all spiritual beings of\nthe second order: it is because these religions know hardly any of a\nhigher order.[135] On the contrary, the theories which we are now going\nto describe are the work of scholars who have concerned themselves\nespecially with the great civilizations of Europe and Asia.\n\nEver since the work of the Grimm brothers, who pointed out the interest\nthat there is in comparing the different mythologies of the\nIndo-European peoples, scholars have been struck by the remarkable\nsimilarities which these present. Mythical personages were identified\nwho, though having different names, symbolized the same ideas and\nfulfilled the same functions; even the names were frequently related,\nand it has been thought possible to establish the fact that they are not\nunconnected with one another. Such resemblances seemed to be explicable\nonly by a common origin. Thus they were led to suppose that these\nconceptions, so varied in appearance, really came from one common\nsource, of which they were only diversified forms, and which it was not\nimpossible to discover. By the comparative method, they believed one\nshould be able to go back, beyond these great religions, to a much more\nancient system of ideas, and to the really primitive religion, from\nwhich the others were derived.\n\nThe discovery of the Vedas aided greatly in stimulating these ambitions.\nIn the Vedas, scholars had a written text, whose antiquity was\nundoubtedly exaggerated at the moment of its discovery, but which is\nsurely one of the most ancient which we have at our disposition in an\nIndo-European language. Here they were enabled to study, by the ordinary\nmethods of philology, a literature as old as or older than Homer, and a\nreligion which was believed more primitive than that of the ancient\nGermans. A document of such value was evidently destined to throw a new\nlight upon the religious beginnings of humanity, and the science of\nreligions could not fail to be revolutionized by it.\n\nThe conception which was thus born was so fully demanded by the state of\nthe science and by the general march of ideas, that it appeared almost\nsimultaneously in two different lands. In 1856, Max M\u00fcller exposed its\nprinciples in his _Oxford Essays_.[136] Three years later appeared the\nwork of Adalbert Kuhn on _The Origin of Fire and the Drink of the\nGods_,[137] which was clearly inspired by the same spirit. When once set\nforth, the idea spread very rapidly in scientific circles. To the name\nof Kuhn is closely associated that of his brother-in-law Schwartz, whose\nwork on _The Origin of Mythology_,[138] followed closely upon the\npreceding one. Steinthal and the whole German school of\n_V\u00f6lkerpsychologie_ attached themselves to the same movement. The theory\nwas introduced into France in 1863 by M. Michel Br\u00e9al.[139] It met so\nlittle resistance that, according to an expression of Gruppe,[140] \"a\ntime came when, aside from certain classical philologists, to whom Vedic\nstudies were unknown, all the mythologists had adopted the principles of\nMax M\u00fcller or Kuhn as their point of departure.\"[141] It is therefore\nimportant to see what they really are, and what they are worth.\n\nSince no one has presented them in a more systematic form than Max\nM\u00fcller, it is upon his work that we shall base the description which\nfollows.[142]\n\n\nI\n\nWe have seen that the postulate at the basis of animism is that\nreligion, at least in its origin, expresses no physical reality. But Max\nM\u00fcller commences with the contrary principle. For him, it is an axiom\nthat religion reposes upon an experience, from which it draws all its\nauthority. \"Religion,\" he says, \"if it is to hold its place as a\nlegitimate element of our consciousness, must, like all other knowledge,\nbegin with sensuous experience.\"[143] Taking up the old empirical adage,\n\"_Nihil est in intellectu quod non ante fuerit in sensu_,\" he applies it\nto religion and declares that there can be nothing in beliefs which was\nnot first perceived. So here is a doctrine which seems to escape the\ngrave objection which we raised against animism. From this point of\nview, it seems that religion ought to appear, not as a sort of vague and\nconfused dreaming, but as a system of ideas and practices well founded\nin reality.\n\nBut which are these sensations which give birth to religious thought?\nThat is the question which the study of the Vedas is supposed to aid in\nresolving.\n\nThe names of the gods are generally either common words, still employed,\nor else words formerly common, whose original sense it is possible to\ndiscover. Now both designate the principal phenomena of nature. Thus\n_Agni_, the name of one of the principal divinities of India, originally\nsignified only the material fact of fire, such as it is ordinarily\nperceived by the senses and without any mythological addition. Even in\nthe Vedas, it is still employed with this meaning; in any case, it is\nwell shown that this signification was primitive by the fact that it is\nconserved in other Indo-European languages: the Latin _ignis_, the\nLithuanian _ugnis_, the old Slav _ogny_ are evidently closely related to\nAgni. Similarly, the relationship of the Sanskrit _Dyaus_, the Greek\n_Zeus_, the Latin _Jovis_ and the _Zio_ of High German is to-day\nuncontested. This proves that these different words designate one single\nand the same divinity, whom the different Indo-European peoples\nrecognized as such before their separation. Now Dyaus signifies the\nbright sky. These and other similar facts tend to show that among these\npeoples the forms and forces of nature were the first objects to which\nthe religious sentiment attached itself: they were the first things to\nbe deified. Going one step farther in his generalization, Max M\u00fcller\nthought that he was prepared to conclude that the religious evolution of\nhumanity in general had the same point of departure.\n\nIt is almost entirely by considerations of a psychological sort that he\njustifies these inferences. The varied spectacles which nature offers\nman seemed to him to fulfil all the conditions necessary for arousing\nreligious ideas in the mind directly. In fact, he says, \"at first sight,\nnothing seemed less natural than nature. Nature was the greatest\nsurprise, a terror, a marvel, a standing miracle, and it was only on\naccount of their permanence, constancy, and regular recurrence that\ncertain features of that standing miracle were called natural, in the\nsense of foreseen, common, intelligible.... It was that vast domain of\nsurprise, of terror, of marvel, of miracle, the unknown, as\ndistinguished from the known, or, as I like to express it, the infinite,\nas distinct from the finite, which supplied from the earliest times the\nimpulse to religious thought and language.\"[144] In order to illustrate\nhis idea, he applies it to a natural force which holds a rather large\nplace in the Vedic religion, fire. He says, \"if you can for a moment\ntransfer yourselves to that early stage of life to which we must refer\nnot only the origin, but likewise the early phases of Physical Religion,\nyou can easily understand what an impression the first appearance of\nfire must have made on the human mind. Fire was not given as something\npermanent or eternal, like the sky, or the earth, or the water. In\nwhatever way it first appeared, whether through lightning or through the\nfriction of the branches of trees, or through the sparks of flints, it\ncame and went, it had to be guarded, it brought destruction, but at the\nsame time, it made life possible in winter, it served as a protection\nduring the night, it became a weapon of defence and offence, and last,\nnot least, it changed man from a devourer of raw flesh into an eater of\ncooked meat. At a later time it became the means of working metal, of\nmaking tools and weapons, it became an indispensable factor in all\nmechanical and artistic progress, and has remained so ever since. What\nshould we be without fire even now?\"[145] The same author says in\nanother work that a man could not enter into relations with nature\nwithout taking account of its immensity, of its infiniteness. It\nsurpasses him in every way. Beyond the distances which he perceives,\nthere are others which extend without limits; each moment of time is\npreceded and followed by a time to which no limit can be assigned; the\nflowing river manifests an infinite force, since nothing can exhaust\nit.[146] There is no aspect of nature which is not fitted to awaken\nwithin us this overwhelming sensation of an infinity which surrounds us\nand dominates us.[147] It is from this sensation that religions are\nderived.[148]\n\nHowever, they are there only in germ.[149] Religion really commences\nonly at the moment when these natural forces are no longer represented\nin the mind in an abstract form. They must be transformed into personal\nagents, living and thinking beings, spiritual powers or gods; for it is\nto beings of this sort that the cult is generally addressed. We have\nseen that animism itself has been obliged to raise this question, and\nalso how it has answered it: man seems to have a sort of native\nincapacity for distinguishing the animate from the inanimate and an\nirresistible tendency to conceive the second under the form of the\nfirst. Max M\u00fcller rejects any such solution.[150] According to him it is\nlanguage which has brought about this metamorphosis, by the action which\nit exercises upon thought.\n\n\nIt is easily explained how men, being perplexed by the marvellous forces\nupon which they feel that they depend, have been led to reflect upon\nthem, and how they have asked themselves what these forces are and have\nmade an effort to substitute for the obscure sensation which they\nprimitively had of them, a clearer idea and a better defined concept.\nBut as our author very justly says,[151] this idea and concept are\nimpossible without the word. Language is not merely the external\ncovering of a thought; it also is its internal framework. It does not\nconfine itself to expressing this thought after it has once been formed;\nit also aids in making it. However, its nature is of a different sort,\nso its laws are not those of thought. Then since it contributes to the\nelaboration of this latter, it cannot fail to do it violence to some\nextent, and to deform it. It is a deformation of this sort which is said\nto have created the special characteristic of religious thought.\n\nThinking consists in arranging our ideas, and consequently in\nclassifying them. To think of fire, for example, is to put it into a\ncertain category of things, in such a way as to be able to say that it\nis this or that, or this and not that. But classifying is also naming,\nfor a general idea has no existence and reality except in and by the\nword which expresses it and which alone makes its individuality. Thus\nthe language of a people always has an influence upon the manner in\nwhich new things, recently learned, are classified in the mind and are\nsubsequently thought of; these new things are thus forced to adapt\nthemselves to pre-existing forms. For this reason, the language which\nmen spoke when they undertook to construct an elaborated representation\nof the universe marked the system of ideas which was then born with an\nindelible trace.\n\nNor are we without some knowledge of this language, at least in so far\nas the Indo-European peoples are concerned. Howsoever distant it may be\nfrom us, souvenirs of it remain in our actual languages which permit us\nto imagine what it was: these are the roots. These stems, from which are\nderived all the words which we employ and which are found at the basis\nof all the Indo-European languages, are regarded by Max M\u00fcller as so\nmany echoes of the language which the corresponding peoples spoke before\ntheir separation, that is to say, at the very moment when this religion\nof nature, which is to be explained, was being formed. Now these roots\npresent two remarkable characteristics, which, it is true, have as yet\nbeen observed only in this particular group of languages, but which our\nauthor believes to be present equally in the other linguistic\nfamilies.[152]\n\nIn the first place, the roots are general; that is to say that they do\nnot express particular things and individuals, but types, and even types\nof an extreme generality. They represent the most general themes of\nthought; one finds there, as though fixed and crystallized, those\nfundamental categories of the intellect which at every moment in history\ndominate the entire mental life, the arrangement of which philosophers\nhave many times attempted to reconstruct.[153]\n\nSecondly, the types to which they correspond are types of action, and\nnot of objects. They translate the most general manners of acting which\nare to be observed among living beings and especially among men; they\nare such actions as striking, pushing, rubbing, lying down, getting up,\npressing, mounting, descending, walking, etc. In other words, men\ngeneralized and named their principal ways of acting before generalizing\nand naming the phenomena of nature.[154]\n\nOwing to their extreme generality, these words could easily be extended\nto all sorts of objects which they did not originally include; it is\neven this extreme suppleness which has permitted them to give birth to\nthe numerous words which are derived from them. Then when men, turning\ntowards things, undertook to name them, that they might be able to think\nabout them, they applied these words to them, though they were in no way\ndesigned for them. But, owing to their origin, these were able to\ndesignate the forces of nature only by means of their manifestations\nwhich seemed the nearest to human actions: a thunderbolt was called\n_something_ that tears up the soil or that spreads fire; the wind,\n_something_ that sighs or whistles; the sun, _something_ that throws\ngolden arrows across space; a river, _something_ that flows, etc. But\nsince natural phenomena were thus compared to human acts, this\n_something_ to which they were attached was necessarily conceived under\nthe form of personal agents, more or less like men. It was only a\nmetaphor, but it was taken literally; the error was inevitable, for\nscience, which alone could dispel the illusion, did not yet exist. In a\nword, since language was made of human elements, translating human\nstates, it could not be applied to nature without transforming it.[155]\nEven to-day, remarks M. Br\u00e9al, it forces us in a certain measure to\nrepresent things from this angle. \"We do not express an idea, even one\ndesignating a simple quality, without giving it a gender, that is to\nsay, a sex; we cannot speak of an object, even though it be considered\nin a most general fashion, without determining it by an article; every\nsubject of a sentence is presented as an active being, every idea as an\naction, and every action, be it transitory or permanent, is limited in\nits duration by the tense in which we put the verb.\"[156] Our scientific\ntraining enables us to rectify the errors which language might thus\nsuggest to us; but the influence of the word ought to be all-powerful\nwhen it has no check. Language thus superimposes upon the material\nworld, such as it is revealed to our senses, a new world, composed\nwholly of spiritual beings which it has created out of nothing and which\nhave been considered as the causes determining physical phenomena ever\nsince.\n\nBut its action does not stop there. When words were once forged to\nrepresent these personalities which the popular imagination had placed\nbehind things, a reaction affected these words themselves: they raised\nall sorts of questions, and it was to resolve these problems that myths\nwere invented. It happened that one object received a plurality of\nnames, corresponding to the plurality of aspects under which it was\npresented in experience; thus there are more than twenty words in the\nVedas for the sky. Since these words were different, it was believed\nthat they corresponded to so many distinct personalities. But at the\nsame time, it was strongly felt that these same personalities had an air\nof relationship. To account for that, it was imagined that they formed a\nsingle family; genealogies, a civil condition and a history were\ninvented for them. In other cases, different things were designated by\nthe same term: to explain these homonyms, it was believed that the\ncorresponding things were transformations of each other, and new\nfictions were invented to make these metamorphoses intelligible. Or\nagain, a word which had ceased to be understood, was the origin of\nfables designed to give it a meaning. The creative work of language\ncontinued then, making constructions ever more and more complex, and\nthen mythology came to endow each god with a biography, ever more and\nmore extended and complete, the result of all of which was that the\ndivine personalities, at first confounded with things, finally\ndistinguished and determined themselves.\n\nThis is how the notion of the divine is said to have been constructed.\nAs for the religion of ancestors, it was only a reflection of this\nother.[157] The idea of the soul is said to have been first formed for\nreasons somewhat analogous to those given by Tylor, except that\naccording to Max M\u00fcller, they were designed to account for death, rather\nthan for dreams.[158] Then, under the influence of diverse, partially\naccidental, circumstances,[159] the souls of men, being once disengaged\nfrom the body, were drawn little by little within the circle of divine\nbeings, and were thus finally deified themselves. But this new cult was\nthe product of only a secondary formation. This is proven by the fact\nthat deified men have generally been imperfect gods or demi-gods, whom\nthe people have always been able to distinguish from the genuine\ndeities.[160]\n\n\nII\n\nThis doctrine rests, in part, upon a certain number of linguistic\npostulates which have been and still are very much questioned. Some have\ncontested the reality of many of the similarities which Max M\u00fcller\nclaimed to have found between the names of the gods in the various\nEuropean languages. The interpretation which he gave them has been\nespecially doubted: it has been asked if these names, far from being the\nmark of a very primitive religion, are not the slow product, either of\ndirect borrowings or of natural intercourse with others.[161] Also, it\nis no longer admitted that the roots once existed in an isolated state\nas autonomous realities, nor that they allow us to reconstruct, even\nhypothetically, the original language of the Indo-Europeans.[162]\nFinally, recent researches would tend to show that the Vedic divinities\ndid not all have the exclusively naturistic character attributed to them\nby Max M\u00fcller and his school.[163] But we shall leave aside those\nquestions, the discussion of which requires a special competence as a\nphilologist, and address ourselves directly to the general principles of\nthe system. It will be important here not to confound the naturistic\ntheory with these controverted postulates; for this is held by numbers\nof scholars who do not make language play the predominating r\u00f4le\nattributed to it by Max M\u00fcller.\n\nThat men have an interest in knowing the world which surrounds them, and\nconsequently that their reflection should have been applied to it at an\nearly date, is something that everyone will readily admit. Co-operation\nwith the things with which they were in immediate connection was so\nnecessary for them that they could not fail to seek a knowledge of their\nnature. But if, as naturism pretends, it is of these reflections that\nreligious thought was born, it is impossible to explain how it was able\nto survive the first attempts made, and the persistence with which it\nhas maintained itself becomes unintelligible. If we have need of knowing\nthe nature of things, it is in order to act upon them in an appropriate\nmanner. But the conception of the universe given us by religion,\nespecially in its early forms, is too greatly mutilated to lead to\ntemporarily useful practices. Things become nothing less than living and\nthinking beings, minds or personalities like those which the religious\nimagination has made into the agents of cosmic phenomena. It is not by\nconceiving of them under this form or by treating them according to this\nconception that men could make them work for their ends. It is not by\naddressing prayers to them, by celebrating them in feasts and\nsacrifices, or by imposing upon themselves fasts and privations, that\nmen can deter them from working harm or oblige them to serve their own\ndesigns. Such processes could succeed only very exceptionally and, so to\nspeak, miraculously. If, then, religion's reason for existence was to\ngive us a conception of the world which would guide us in our relations\nwith it, it was in no condition to fulfil its function, and people would\nnot have been slow to perceive it: failures, being infinitely more\nfrequent than successes, would have quickly shown them that they were\nfollowing a false route, and religion, shaken at each instant by these\nrepeated contradictions, would not have been able to survive.\n\nIt is undeniably true that errors have been able to perpetuate\nthemselves in history; but, except under a union of very exceptional\ncircumstances, they can never perpetuate themselves thus unless they\nwere _true practically_, that is to say, unless, without giving us a\ntheoretically exact idea of the things with which they deal, they\nexpress well enough the manner in which they affect us, either for good\nor for bad. Under these circumstances, the actions which they determine\nhave every chance of being, at least in a general way, the very ones\nwhich are proper, so it is easily explained how they have been able to\nsurvive the proofs of experience.[164] But an error and especially a\nsystem of errors which leads to, and can lead to nothing but mistaken\nand useless practices, has no chance of living. Now what is there in\ncommon between the rites with which the believer tries to act upon\nnature and the processes by which science has taught us to make use of\nit, and which we now know are the only efficacious ones? If that is what\nmen demanded of religion, it is impossible to see how it could have\nmaintained itself, unless clever tricks had prevented their seeing that\nit did not give them what they expected from it. It would be necessary\nto return again to the over simple explanations of the eighteenth\ncentury.[165]\n\nThus it is only in appearance that naturism escapes the objection which\nwe recently raised against animism. It also makes religion a system of\nhallucinations, since it reduces it to an immense metaphor with no\nobjective value. It is true that it gives religion a point of departure\nin reality, to wit, in the sensations which the phenomena of nature\nprovoke in us; but by the bewitching action of language, this sensation\nis soon transformed into extravagant conceptions. Religious thought does\nnot come in contact with reality, except to cover it at once with a\nthick veil which conceals its real forms: this veil is the tissue of\nfabulous beliefs which mythology brought forth. Thus the believer, like\nthe delirious man, lives in a world peopled with beings and things which\nhave only a verbal existence. Max M\u00fcller himself recognized this, for he\nregarded myths as the product of a disease of the intellect. At first,\nhe attributed them to a disease of language, but since language and the\nintellect are inseparable for him, what is true of the one is true of\nthe other. \"When trying to explain the inmost nature of mythology,\" he\nsays, \"I called it a disease of Language rather than of Thought....\nAfter I had fully explained in my _Science of Thought_ that language and\nthought are inseparable, and that a disease of language is therefore the\nsame thing as a disease of thought, no doubt ought to have remained as\nto what I meant. To represent the supreme God as committing every kind\nof crime, as being deceived by men, as being angry with his wife and\nviolent with his children, is surely a proof of a disease, of an unusual\ncondition of thought, or, to speak more clearly, of real madness.\"[166]\nAnd this argument is not valid merely against Max M\u00fcller and his theory,\nbut against the very principle of naturism, in whatever way it may be\napplied. Whatever we may do, if religion has as its principal object the\nexpression of the forces of nature, it is impossible to see in it\nanything more than a system of lying fictions, whose survival is\nincomprehensible.\n\nMax M\u00fcller thought he escaped this objection, whose gravity he felt, by\ndistinguishing radically between mythology and religion, and by putting\nthe first outside the second. He claims the right of reserving the name\nof religion for only those beliefs which conform to the prescriptions of\na sane moral system and a rational theology. The myths were parasitic\ngrowths which, under the influence of language, attached themselves upon\nthese fundamental conceptions, and denatured them. Thus the belief in\nZeus was religious in so far as the Greeks considered him the supreme\nGod, father of humanity, protector of laws, avenger of crimes, etc.; but\nall that which concerned the biography of Zeus, his marriages and his\nadventures, was only mythology.[167]\n\nBut this distinction is arbitrary. It is true that mythology has an\n\u00e6sthetic interest as well as one for the history of religions; but it is\none of the essential elements of the religious life, nevertheless. If\nthe myth were withdrawn from religion, it would be necessary to withdraw\nthe rite also; for the rites are generally addressed to definite\npersonalities who have a name, a character, determined attributes and a\nhistory, and they vary according to the manner in which these\npersonalities are conceived. The cult rendered to a divinity depends\nupon the character attributed to him; and it is the myth which\ndetermines this character. Very frequently, the rite is nothing more\nthan the myth put in action; the Christian communion is inseparable from\nthe myth of the Last Supper, from which it derives all its meaning. Then\nif all mythology is the result of a sort of verbal delirium, the\nquestion which we raised remains intact: the existence, and especially\nthe persistence of the cult become inexplicable. It is hard to\nunderstand how men have continued to do certain things for centuries\nwithout any object. Moreover, it is not merely the peculiar traits of\nthe divine personalities which are determined by mythology; the very\nidea that there are gods or spiritual beings set above the various\ndepartments of nature, in no matter what manner they may be represented,\nis essentially mythical.[168] Now if all that which appertains to the\nnotion of gods conceived as cosmic agents is blotted out of the\nreligions of the past, what remains? The idea of a divinity in itself,\nof a transcendental power upon which man depends and upon which he\nsupports himself? But that is only an abstract and philosophic\nconception which has been fully realized in no historical religion; it\nis without interest for the science of religions.[169] We must therefore\navoid distinguishing between religious beliefs, keeping some because\nthey seem to us to be true and sane and rejecting others because they\nshock and disconcert us. All myths, even those which we find the most\nunreasonable, have been believed.[170] Men have believed in them no less\nfirmly than in their own sensations; they have based their conduct upon\nthem. In spite of appearances, it is therefore impossible that they\nshould be without objective foundation.\n\nHowever, it will be said that in whatever manner religions may be\nexplained, it is certain that they are mistaken in regard to the real\nnature of things: science has proved it. The modes of action which they\ncounsel or prescribe to men can therefore rarely have useful effects: it\nis not by lustrations that the sick are cured nor by sacrifices and\nchants that the crops are made to grow. Thus the objection which we have\nmade to naturism would seem to be applicable to all possible systems of\nexplanation.\n\nNevertheless, there is one which escapes it. Let us suppose that\nreligion responds to quite another need than that of adapting ourselves\nto sensible objects: then it will not risk being weakened by the fact\nthat it does not satisfy, or only badly satisfies, this need. If\nreligious faith was not born to put man in harmony with the material\nworld, the injuries which it has been able to do him in his struggle\nwith the world do not touch it at its source, because it is fed from\nanother.\n\nIf it is not for these reasons that a man comes to believe, he should\ncontinue to believe even when these reasons are contradicted by the\nfacts. It is even conceivable that faith should be strong enough, not\nonly to support these contradictions, but also even to deny them and to\nkeep the believer from seeing their importance; this is what succeeds in\nrendering them inoffensive for religion. When the religious sentiment is\nactive, it will not admit that religion can be in the wrong, and it\nreadily suggests explanations which make it appear innocent; if the rite\ndoes not produce the desired results, this failure is imputed either to\nsome fault of execution, or to the intervention of another, contrary\ndeity. But for that, it is necessary that these religious ideas have\ntheir source in another sentiment than that betrayed by these deceptions\nof experience, or else whence could come their force of resistance?\n\n\nIII\n\nBut more than that, even if men had really had reasons for remaining\nobstinate, in spite of all their mistakes, in expressing cosmic\nphenomena in religious terms, it is also necessary that these be of a\nnature to suggest such an interpretation. Now when could they have\ngotten such a property? Here again we find ourselves in the presence of\none of those postulates which pass as evident only because they have not\nbeen criticized. It is stated as an axiom that in the natural play of\nphysical forces there is all that is needed to arouse within us the idea\nof the sacred; but when we closely examine the proofs of this\nproposition, which, by the way, are sufficiently brief, we find that\nthey reduce to a prejudice.\n\nThey talk about the marvel which men should feel as they discover the\nworld. But really, that which characterizes the life of nature is a\nregularity which approaches monotony. Every morning the sun mounts in\nthe horizon, every evening it sets; every month the moon goes through\nthe same cycle; the river flows in an uninterrupted manner in its bed;\nthe same seasons periodically bring back the same sensations. To be\nsure, here and there an unexpected event sometimes happens: the sun is\neclipsed, the moon is hidden behind clouds, the river overflows. But\nthese momentary variations could only give birth to equally momentary\nimpressions, the remembrance of which is gone after a little while; they\ncould not serve as a basis for these stable and permanent systems of\nideas and practices which constitute religions. Normally, the course of\nnature is uniform, and uniformity could never produce strong emotions.\nRepresenting the savage as filled with admiration before these marvels\ntransports much more recent sentiments to the beginnings of history. He\nis much too accustomed to it to be greatly surprised by it. It requires\nculture and reflection to shake off this yoke of habit and to discover\nhow marvellous this regularity itself is. Besides, as we have already\nremarked,[171] admiring an object is not enough to make it appear sacred\nto us, that is to say, to mark it with those characteristics which make\nall direct contact with it appear a sacrilege and a profanation. We\nmisunderstand what the religious sentiment really is, if we confound it\nwith every impression of admiration and surprise.\n\nBut, they say, even if it is not admiration, there is a certain\nimpression which men cannot help feeling in the presence of nature. He\ncannot come in contact with it, without realizing that it is greater\nthan he. It overwhelms him by its immensity. This sensation of an\ninfinite space which surrounds him, of an infinite time which has\npreceded and will follow the present moment, and of forces infinitely\nsuperior to those of which he is master, cannot fail, as it seems, to\nawaken within him the idea that outside of him there exists an infinite\npower upon which he depends. And this idea enters as an essential\nelement into our conception of the divine.\n\nBut let us bear in mind what the question is. We are trying to find out\nhow men came to think that there are in reality two categories of\nthings, radically heterogeneous and incomparable to each other. Now how\ncould the spectacle of nature give rise to the idea of this duality?\nNature is always and everywhere of the same sort. It matters little that\nit extends to infinity: beyond the extreme limit to which my eyes can\nreach, it is not different from what it is here. The space which I\nimagine beyond the horizon is still space, identical with that which I\nsee. The time which flows without end is made up of moments identical\nwith those which I have passed through. Extension, like duration,\nrepeats itself indefinitely; if the portions which I touch have of\nthemselves no sacred character, where did the others get theirs? The\nfact that I do not see them directly, is not enough to transform\nthem.[172] A world of profane things may well be unlimited; but it\nremains a profane world. Do they say that the physical forces with which\nwe come in contact exceed our own? Sacred forces are not to be\ndistinguished from profane ones simply by their greater intensity, they\nare different; they have special qualities which the others do not have.\nQuite on the contrary, all the forces manifested in the universe are of\nthe same nature, those that are within us just as those that are outside\nof us. And especially, there is no reason which could have allowed\ngiving a sort of pre-eminent dignity to some in relation to others. Then\nif religion really was born because of the need of assigning causes to\nphysical phenomena, the forces thus imagined would have been no more\nsacred than those conceived by the scientist to-day to account for the\nsame facts.[173] This is as much as to say that there would have been\nno sacred beings and therefore no religion.\n\nBut even supposing that this sensation of being \"overwhelmed\" were\nreally able to suggest religious ideas, it could not have produced this\neffect upon the primitive, for he does not have it. He is in no way\nconscious that cosmic forces are so superior to his own. Since science\nhas not yet taught him modesty, he attributes to himself an empire over\nthings which he really does not have, but the illusion of which is\nenough to prevent his feeling dominated by them. As we have already\npointed out, he thinks that he can command the elements, release the\nwinds, compel the rain to fall, or stop the sun, by a gesture, etc.[174]\nReligion itself contributes to giving him this security, for he believes\nthat it arms him with extended powers over nature. His rites are, in\npart, means destined to aid him in imposing his will upon the world.\nThus, far from being due to the sentiment which men should have of their\nlittleness before the universe, religions are rather inspired by the\ncontrary sentiment. Even the most elevated and idealistic have the\neffect of reassuring men in their struggle with things: they teach that\nfaith is, of itself, able \"to move mountains,\" that is to say, to\ndominate the forces of nature. How could they give rise to this\nconfidence if they had had their origin in a sensation of feebleness and\nimpotency?\n\nFinally, if the objects of nature really became sacred because of their\nimposing forms or the forces which they manifest, then the sun, the\nmoon, the sky, the mountains, the sea, the winds, in a word, the great\ncosmic powers, should have been the first to be raised to this dignity;\nfor there are no others more fitted to appeal to the senses and the\nimagination. But as a matter of fact, they were divinized but slowly.\nThe first beings to which the cult is addressed--the proof will be found\nin the chapters which follow--are humble vegetables and animals, in\nrelation to which men could at least claim an equality: they are ducks,\nrabbits, kangaroos, lizards, worms, frogs, etc. Their objective\nqualities surely were not the origin of the religious sentiments which\nthey inspired.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTOTEMISM AS AN ELEMENTARY RELIGION\n\n\n_History of the Question.--Method of Treating it_\n\nHowsoever opposed their conclusions may seem to be, the two systems\nwhich we have just studied agree upon one essential point: they state\nthe problem in identical terms. Both undertake to construct the idea of\nthe divine out of the sensations aroused in us by certain natural\nphenomena, either physical or biological. For the animists it is dreams,\nfor the naturists, certain cosmic phenomena, which served as the point\nof departure for religious evolution. But for both, it is in the nature,\neither of man or of the universe, that we must look for the germ of the\ngrand opposition which separates the profane from the sacred.\n\nBut such an enterprise is impossible: it supposes a veritable creation\n_ex nihilo_. A fact of common experience cannot give us the idea of\nsomething whose characteristic is to be outside the world of common\nexperience. A man, as he appears to himself in his dreams, is only a\nman. Natural forces, as our senses perceive them, are only natural\nforces, howsoever great their intensity may be. Hence comes the common\ncriticism which we address to both doctrines. In order to explain how\nthese pretended data of religious thought have been able to take a\nsacred character which has no objective foundation, it would be\nnecessary to admit that a whole world of delusive representations has\nsuperimposed itself upon the other, denatured it to the point of making\nit unrecognizable, and substituted a pure hallucination for reality.\nHere, it is the illusions of the dream which brought about this\ntransfiguration; there, it is the brilliant and vain company of images\nevoked by the word. But in one case as in the other, it is necessary to\nregard religion as the product of a delirious imagination.\n\nThus one positive conclusion is arrived at as the result of this\ncritical examination. Since neither man nor nature have of themselves a\nsacred character, they must get it from another source. Aside from the\nhuman individual and the physical world, there should be some other\nreality, in relation to which this variety of delirium which all\nreligion is in a sense, has a significance and an objective value. In\nother words, beyond those which we have called animistic and naturistic,\nthere should be another sort of cult, more fundamental and more\nprimitive, of which the first are only derived forms or particular\naspects.\n\nIn fact, this cult does exist: it is the one to which ethnologists have\ngiven the name of totemism.\n\n\nI\n\nIt was only at the end of the eighteenth century that the word totem\nappeared in ethnographical literature. It is found for the first time in\nthe book of an Indian interpreter, J. Long, which was published in\nLondon in 1791.[175] For nearly a half a century, totemism was known\nonly as something exclusively American.[176] It was only in 1841 that\nGrey, in a passage which has remained celebrated,[177] pointed out the\nexistence of wholly similar practices in Australia. From that time on,\nscholars began to realize that they were in the presence of a system of\na certain generality.\n\nBut they saw there only an essentially archaic institution, an\nethnographical curiosity, having no great interest for the historian.\nMacLennan was the first who undertook to attach totemism to the general\nhistory of humanity. In a series of articles in the _Fortnightly\nReview_,[178] he set himself to show that totemism was not only a\nreligion, but one from which were derived a multitude of beliefs and\npractices which are found in much more advanced religious systems. He\neven went so far as to make it the source of all the animal-worshipping\nand plant-worshipping cults which are found among ancient peoples.\nCertainly this extension of totemism was abusive. The cults of animals\nand plants depend upon numerous causes which cannot be reduced to one,\nwithout the error of too great simplicity. But this error, by its very\nexaggerations, had at least the advantage, that it put into evidence the\nhistorical importance of totemism.\n\nStudents of American totemism had already known for a long time that\nthis form of religion was most intimately united to a determined social\norganization, that its basis is the division of the social group into\nclans.[179] In 1877, in his _Ancient Society_,[180] Lewis H. Morgan\nundertook to make a study of it, to determine its distinctive\ncharacteristics, and at the same time to point out its generality among\nthe Indian tribes of North and Central America. At nearly the same\nmoment, and even following the direct suggestion of Morgan, Fison and\nHowitt[181] established the existence of the same social system in\nAustralia, as well as its relations with totemism.\n\nUnder the influence of these directing ideas, observations could be made\nwith better method. The researches which the American Bureau of\nEthnology undertook, played an important part in the advance of these\nstudies.[182] By 1887, the documents were sufficiently numerous and\nsignificant to make Frazer consider it time to unite them and present\nthem to us in a systematic form. Such is the object of his little book\n_Totemism_,[183] where the system is studied both as a religion and as a\nlegal institution. But this study was purely descriptive; no effort was\nmade to explain totemism[184] or to understand its fundamental notions.\n\nRobertson Smith is the first who undertook this work of elaboration. He\nrealized more clearly than any of his predecessors how rich this crude\nand confused religion is in germs for the future. It is true that\nMacLennan had already connected it with the great religions of\nantiquity; but that was merely because he thought he had found here and\nthere the cult of animals or plants. Now if we reduce totemism to a sort\nof animal or plant worship, we have seen only its most superficial\naspect: we have even misunderstood its real nature. Going beyond the\nmere letter of the totemic beliefs, Smith set himself to find the\nfundamental principles upon which they depend. In his book upon _Kinship\nand Marriage in Early Arabia_,[185] he had already pointed out that\ntotemism supposes a likeness in nature, either natural or acquired, of\nmen and animals (or plants). In his _The Religion of the Semites_,[186]\nhe makes this same idea the first origin of the entire sacrificial\nsystem: it is to totemism that humanity owes the principle of the\ncommunion meal. It is true that the theory of Smith can now be shown\none-sided; it is no longer adequate for the facts actually known; but\nfor all that, it contains an ingenious theory and has exercised a most\nfertile influence upon the science of religions. The _Golden Bough_[187]\nof Frazer is inspired by these same ideas, for totemism, which MacLennan\nhad attached to the religions of classical antiquity, and Smith to the\nreligions of the Semitic peoples, is here connected to the European\nfolk-lore. The schools of MacLennan and Morgan are thus united to that\nof Mannhardt.[188]\n\nDuring this time, the American tradition continued to develop with an\nindependence which it has kept up until very recent times. Three groups\nof societies were the special object of the researches which were\nconcerned with totemism. These are, first, certain tribes of the\nNorth-west, the Tlinkit, the Haida, the Kwakiutl, the Salish and the\nTsimshian; then, the great nation of the Sioux; and finally, the Pueblo\nIndians in the south-western part of the United States. The first were\nstudied principally by Dall, Krause, Boas, Swanton, Hill Tout; the\nsecond by Dorsey; the last by Mindeleff, Mrs. Stevenson and\nCushing.[189] But however rich the harvest of facts thus gathered in all\nparts of the country may have been, the documents at our disposal were\nstill fragmentary. Though the American religions contain numerous traces\nof totemism, they have passed the stage of real totemism. On the other\nhand, observations in Australia had brought little more than scattered\nbeliefs and isolated rites, initiation rituals and interdictions\nrelative to totemism. It was with facts taken from all these sources\nthat Frazer attempted to draw a picture of totemism in its entirety.\nWhatever may be the incontestable merit of the reconstruction undertaken\nin such circumstances, it could not help being incomplete and\nhypothetical. A totemic religion in complete action had not yet been\nobserved.\n\nIt is only in very recent years that this serious deficiency has been\nrepaired. Two observers of remarkable ability, Baldwin Spencer and F. J.\nGillen, discovered[190] in the interior of the Australian continent a\nconsiderable number of tribes whose basis and unity was founded in\ntotemic beliefs. The results of their observations have been published\nin two works, which have given a new life to the study of totemism. The\nfirst of these, _The Native Tribes of Central Australia_,[191] deals\nwith the more central of these tribes, the Arunta, the Luritcha, and a\nlittle farther to the south, on the shores of Lake Eyre, the Urabunna.\nThe second, which is entitled _The Northern Tribes of Central\nAustralia_,[192] deals with the societies north of the Urabunna,\noccupying the territory between MacDonnell's Range and Carpenter Gulf.\nAmong the principal of these we may mention the Unmatjera, the Kaitish,\nthe Warramunga, the Worgaia, the Tjingilli, the Binbinga, the Walpari,\nthe Gnanji and finally, on the very shores of the gulf, the Mara and the\nAnula.[193]\n\nMore recently, a German missionary, Carl Strehlow, who has also passed\nlong years in these same Central Australian societies,[194] has\ncommenced to publish his own observations on two of these tribes, the\nAranda and the Loritja (the Arunta and Luritcha of Spencer and\nGillen).[195] Having well mastered the language spoken by these\npeoples,[196] Strehlow has been able to bring us a large number of\ntotemic myths and religious songs, which are given us, for the most\npart, in the original text. In spite of some differences of detail which\nare easily explained and whose importance has been greatly\nexaggerated,[197] we shall see that the observations of Strehlow, though\ncompleting, making more precise and sometimes even rectifying those of\nSpencer and Gillen, confirm them in all that is essential.\n\nThese discoveries have given rise to an abundant literature to which we\nshall have occasion to return. The works of Spencer and Gillen\nespecially have exercised a considerable influence, not only because\nthey were the oldest, but also because the facts were there presented in\na systematic form, which was of a nature to give a direction to later\nstudies,[198] and to stimulate speculation. Their results were commented\nupon, discussed and interpreted in all possible manners. At this same\ntime, Howitt, whose fragmentary studies were scattered in a number of\ndifferent publications,[199] undertook to do for the southern tribes\nwhat Spencer and Gillen had done for those of the centre. In his _Native\nTribes of South-East Australia_,[200] he gives us a view of the social\norganization of the peoples who occupy Southern Australia, New South\nWales, and a good part of Queensland. The progress thus realized\nsuggested to Frazer the idea of completing his Totemism by a sort of\ncompendium[201] where would be brought together all the important\ndocuments which are concerned either with the totemic religion or the\nfamily and matrimonial organization which, rightly or wrongly, is\nbelieved to be connected with this religion. The purpose of this book is\nnot to give us a general and systematic view of totemism, but rather to\nput the materials necessary for a construction of this sort at the\ndisposition of scholars.[202] The facts are here arranged in a strictly\nethnographical and geographical order: each continent, and within the\ncontinent, each tribe or ethnic group is studied separately. Though so\nextended a study, where so many diverse peoples are successively passed\nin review, could hardly be equally thorough in all its parts, still it\nis a useful hand-book to consult, and one which can aid greatly in\nfacilitating researches.\n\n\nII\n\nFrom this historical r\u00e9sum\u00e9 it is clear that Australia is the most\nfavourable field for the study of totemism, and therefore we shall make\nit the principal area of our observations.\n\nIn his _Totemism_, Frazer sought especially to collect all the traces of\ntotemism which could be found in history or ethnography. He was thus led\nto include in his study societies the nature and degree of whose culture\ndiffers most widely: ancient Egypt,[203] Arabia and Greece,[204] and the\nsouthern Slavs[205] are found there, side by side with the tribes of\nAustralia and America. This manner of procedure is not at all surprising\nfor a disciple of the anthropological school. For this school does not\nseek to locate religions in the social environments of which they are a\npart,[206] and to differentiate them according to the different\nenvironments to which they are thus connected. But rather, as is\nindicated by the name which it has taken to itself, its purpose is to go\nbeyond the national and historical differences to the universal and\nreally human bases of the religious life. It is supposed that man has a\nreligious nature of himself, in virtue of his own constitution, and\nindependently of all social conditions, and they propose to study\nthis.[207] For researches of this sort, all peoples can be called upon\nequally well. It is true that they prefer the more primitive peoples,\nbecause this fundamental nature is more apt to be unaltered here; but\nsince it is found equally well among the most civilized peoples, it is\nbut natural that they too should be called as witnesses. Consequently,\nall those who pass as being not too far removed from the origins, and\nwho are confusedly lumped together under the rather imprecise rubric of\n_savages_, are put on the same plane and consulted indifferently. Since\nfrom this point of view, facts have an interest only in proportion to\ntheir generality, they consider themselves obliged to collect as large a\nnumber as possible of them; the circle of comparisons could not become\ntoo large.\n\nOur method will not be such a one, for several reasons.\n\nIn the first place, for the sociologist as for the historian, social\nfacts vary with the social system of which they form a part; they cannot\nbe understood when detached from it. This is why two facts which come\nfrom two different societies cannot be profitably compared merely\nbecause they seem to resemble each other; it is necessary that these\nsocieties themselves resemble each other, that is to say, that they be\nonly varieties of the same species. The comparative method would be\nimpossible, if social types did not exist, and it cannot be usefully\napplied except within a single type. What errors have not been committed\nfor having neglected this precept! It is thus that facts have been\nunduly connected with each other which, in spite of exterior\nresemblances, really have neither the same sense nor the same\nimportance: the primitive democracy and that of to-day, the collectivism\nof inferior societies and actual socialistic tendencies, the monogamy\nwhich is frequent in Australian tribes and that sanctioned by our laws,\netc. Even in the work of Frazer such confusions are found. It frequently\nhappens that he assimilates simple rites of wild-animal-worship to\npractices that are really totemic, though the distance, sometimes very\ngreat, which separates the two social systems would exclude all idea of\nassimilation. Then if we do not wish to fall into these same errors,\ninstead of scattering our researches over all the societies possible, we\nmust concentrate them upon one clearly determined type.\n\nIt is even necessary that this concentration be as close as possible.\nOne cannot usefully compare facts with which he is not perfectly well\nacquainted. But when he undertakes to include all sorts of societies and\ncivilizations, one cannot know any of them with the necessary\nthoroughness; when he assembles facts from every country in order to\ncompare them, he is obliged to take them hastily, without having either\nthe means or the time to carefully criticize them. Tumultuous and\nsummary comparisons result, which discredit the comparative method with\nmany intelligent persons. It can give serious results only when it is\napplied to so limited a number of societies that each of them can be\nstudied with sufficient precision. The essential thing is to choose\nthose where investigations have the greatest chance to be fruitful.\n\nAlso, the value of the facts is much more important than their number.\nIn our eyes, the question whether totemism has been more or less\nuniversal or not, is quite secondary.[208] If it interests us, it does\nso before all because in studying it we hope to discover relations of a\nnature to make us understand better what religion is. Now to establish\nthese relations it is neither necessary nor always useful to heap up\nnumerous experiences upon each other; it is much more important to have\na few that are well studied and really significant. One single fact may\nmake a law appear, where a multitude of imprecise and vague observations\nwould only produce confusion. In every science, the scholar would be\noverwhelmed by the facts which present themselves to him, if he did not\nmake a choice among them. It is necessary that he distinguish those\nwhich promise to be the most instructive, that he concentrate his\nattention upon these, and that he temporarily leave the others to one\nside.\n\nThat is why, with one reservation which will be indicated below, we\npropose to limit our research to Australian societies. They fulfil all\nthe conditions which were just enumerated. They are perfectly\nhomogeneous, for though it is possible to distinguish varieties among\nthem, they all belong to one common type. This homogeneity is even so\ngreat that the forms of social organization are not only the same, but\nthat they are even designated by identical or equivalent names in a\nmultitude of tribes, sometimes very distant from each other.[209] Also,\nAustralian totemism is the variety for which our documents are the most\ncomplete. Finally, that which we propose to study in this work is the\nmost primitive and simple religion which it is possible to find. It is\ntherefore natural that to discover it, we address ourselves to\nsocieties as slightly evolved as possible, for it is evidently there\nthat we have the greatest chance of finding it and studying it well. Now\nthere are no societies which present this characteristic to a higher\ndegree than the Australian ones. Not only is their civilization most\nrudimentary--the house and even the hut are still unknown--but also\ntheir organization is the most primitive and simple which is actually\nknown; it is that which we have elsewhere called _organization on a\nbasis of clans_.[210] In the next chapter, we shall have occasion to\nrestate its essential traits.\n\n\nHowever, though making Australia the principal field of our research, we\nthink it best not to leave completely aside the societies where totemism\nwas first discovered, that is to say, the Indian tribes of North\nAmerica.\n\nThis extension of the field of comparison has nothing about it which is\nnot legitimate. Undoubtedly these people are more advanced than those of\nAustralia. Their civilization has become much more advanced: men there\nlive in houses or under tents, and there are even fortified villages.\nThe size of the society is much greater, and centralization, which is\ncompletely lacking in Australia, is beginning to appear there; we find\nvast confederations, such as that of the Iroquois, under one central\nauthority. Sometimes a complicated system of differentiated classes\narranged in a hierarchy is found. However, the essential lines of the\nsocial structure remain the same as those in Australia; it is always the\norganization on a basis of clans. Thus we are not in the presence of two\ndifferent types, but of two varieties of a single type, which are still\nvery close to each other. They represent two successive moments of a\nsingle evolution, so their homogeneousness is still great enough to\npermit comparisons.\n\nAlso, these comparisons may have their utility. Just because their\ncivilization is more advanced than that of the Australians, certain\nphases of the social organization which is common to both can be studied\nmore easily among the first than among the second. As long as men are\nstill making their first steps in the art of expressing their thought,\nit is not easy for the observer to perceive that which moves them; for\nthere is nothing to translate clearly that which passes in these obscure\nminds which have only a confused and ephemeral knowledge of themselves.\nFor example, religious symbols then consist only in formless\ncombinations of lines and colours, whose sense it is not easy to divine,\nas we shall see. There are many gestures and movements by which interior\nstates express themselves; but being essentially ephemeral, they\nreadily elude observation. That is why totemism was discovered earlier\nin America than in Australia; it was much more visible there, though it\nheld relatively less place in the totality of the religious life. Also,\nwherever beliefs and institutions do not take a somewhat definite\nmaterial form, they are more liable to change under the influence of the\nslightest circumstances, or to become wholly effaced from the memory.\nThus the Australian clans frequently have something floating and Protean\nabout them, while the corresponding organization in America has a\ngreater stability and more clearly defined contours. Thus, though\nAmerican totemism is further removed from its origins than that of\nAustralia, still there are important characteristics of which it has\nbetter kept the memory.\n\nIn the second place, in order to understand an institution, it is\nfrequently well to follow it into the advanced stages of its\nevolution;[211] for sometimes it is only when it is fully developed that\nits real signification appears with the greatest clearness. In this way\nalso, American totemism, since it has a long history behind it, could\nserve to clarify certain aspects of Australian totemism.[212] At the\nsame time, it will put us in a better condition to see how totemism is\nbound up with the forms which follow, and to mark its place in the\ngeneral historical development of religion.\n\nSo in the discussions which follow, we shall not forbid ourselves the\nuse of certain facts borrowed from the Indian societies of North\nAmerica. But we are not going to study American totemism here;[213] such\na study must be made directly and by itself, and cannot be mixed with\nthe one which we are undertaking; it raises other problems and implies a\nwholly different set of special investigations. We shall have recourse\nto American facts merely in a supplementary way, and only when they seem\nto be able to make us understand Australian facts to advantage. It is\nthese latter which constitute the real and immediate object of our\nresearches.[214]\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II\n\n\nTHE ELEMENTARY BELIEFS\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTOTEMIC BELIEFS\n\n_The Totem as Name and as Emblem_\n\n\nOwing to its nature, our study will include two parts. Since every\nreligion is made up of intellectual conceptions and ritual practices, we\nmust deal successively with the beliefs and rites which compose the\ntotemic religion. These two elements of the religious life are too\nclosely connected with each other to allow of any radical separation. In\nprinciple, the cult is derived from the beliefs, yet it reacts upon\nthem; the myth is frequently modelled after the rite in order to account\nfor it, especially when its sense is no longer apparent. On the other\nhand, there are beliefs which are clearly manifested only through the\nrites which express them. So these two parts of our analysis cannot fail\nto overlap. However, these two orders of facts are so different that it\nis indispensable to study them separately. And since it is impossible to\nunderstand anything about a religion while unacquainted with the ideas\nupon which it rests, we must seek to become acquainted with these latter\nfirst of all.\n\nBut it is not our intention to retrace all the speculations into which\nthe religious thought, even of the Australians alone, has run. The\nthings we wish to reach are the elementary notions at the basis of the\nreligion, but there is no need of following them through all the\ndevelopment, sometimes very confused, which the mythological imagination\nof these peoples has given them. We shall make use of myths when they\nenable us to understand these fundamental ideas better, but we shall not\nmake mythology itself the subject of our studies. In so far as this is a\nwork of art, it does not fall within the jurisdiction of the simple\nscience of religions. Also, the intellectual evolution from which it\nresults is of too great a complexity to be studied indirectly and from a\nforeign point of view. It constitutes a very difficult problem which\nmust be treated by itself, for itself and with a method peculiar to\nitself.\n\nAmong the beliefs upon which totemism rests, the most important are\nnaturally those concerning the totem; it is with these that we must\nbegin.\n\n\nI\n\nAt the basis of nearly all the Australian tribes we find a group which\nholds a preponderating place in the collective life: this is the clan.\nTwo essential traits characterize it.\n\nIn the first place, the individuals who compose it consider themselves\nunited by a bond of kinship, but one which is of a very special nature.\nThis relationship does not come from the fact that they have definite\nblood connections with one another; they are relatives from the mere\nfact that they have the same name. They are not fathers and mothers,\nsons or daughters, uncles or nephews of one another in the sense which\nwe now give these words; yet they think of themselves as forming a\nsingle family, which is large or small according to the dimensions of\nthe clan, merely because they are collectively designated by the same\nword. When we say that they regard themselves as a single family, we do\nso because they recognize duties towards each other which are identical\nwith those which have always been incumbent upon kindred: such duties as\naid, vengeance, mourning, the obligation not to marry among themselves,\netc.\n\nBy this first characteristic, the clan does not differ from the Roman\n_gens_ or the Greek [Greek: genos]; for this relationship also came\nmerely from the fact that all the members of the _gens_ had the same\nname,[215] the _nomen gentilicium_. And in one sense, the _gens_ is a\nclan; but it is a variety which should not be confounded with the\nAustralian clan.[216] This latter is distinguished by the fact that its\nname is also the name of a determined species of material things with\nwhich it believes that it has very particular relations, the nature of\nwhich we shall presently describe; they are especially relations of\nkinship. The species of things which serves to designate the clan\ncollectively is called its _totem_. The totem of the clan is also that\nof each of its members.\n\nEach clan has its totem, which belongs to it alone; two different clans\nof the same tribe cannot have the same. In fact, one is a member of a\nclan merely because he has a certain name. All who bear this name are\nmembers of it for that very reason; in whatever manner they may be\nspread over the tribal territory, they all have the same relations of\nkinship with one another.[217] Consequently, two groups having the same\ntotem can only be two sections of the same clan. Undoubtedly, it\nfrequently happens that all of a clan does not reside in the same\nlocality, but has representatives in several different places. However,\nthis lack of a geographical basis does not cause its unity to be the\nless keenly felt.\n\nIn regard to the word totem, we may say that it is the one employed by\nthe Ojibway, an Algonquin tribe, to designate the sort of thing whose\nname the clan bears.[218] Although this expression is not at all\nAustralian,[219] and is found only in one single society in America,\nethnographers have definitely adopted it, and use it to denote, in a\ngeneral way, the system which we are describing. Schoolcraft was the\nfirst to extend the meaning of the word thus and to speak of a \"totemic\nsystem.\"[220] This extension, of which there are examples enough in\nethnography, is not without inconveniences. It is not normal for an\ninstitution of this importance to bear a chance name, taken from a\nstrictly local dialect, and bringing to mind none of the distinctive\ncharacteristics of the thing it designates. But to-day this way of\nemploying the word is so universally accepted that it would be an excess\nof purism to rise against this usage.[221]\n\nIn a very large proportion of the cases, the objects which serve as\ntotems belong either to the animal or the vegetable kingdom, but\nespecially to the former. Inanimate things are much more rarely\nemployed. Out of more than 500 totemic names collected by Howitt among\nthe tribes of south-eastern Australia, there are scarcely forty which\nare not the names of plants or animals; these are the clouds, rain,\nhail, frost, the moon, the sun, the wind, the autumn, the summer, the\nwinter, certain stars, thunder, fire, smoke, water or the sea. It is\nnoticeable how small a place is given to celestial bodies and, more\ngenerally, to the great cosmic phenomena, which were destined to so\ngreat a fortune in later religious development. Among all the clans of\nwhich Howitt speaks, there were only two which had the moon as\ntotem,[222] two the sun,[223] three a star,[224] three the thunder,[225]\ntwo the lightning.[226] The rain is a single exception; it, on the\ncontrary, is very frequent.[227]\n\nThese are the totems which can be spoken of as normal. But totemism has\nits abnormalities as well. It sometimes happens that the totem is not a\nwhole object, but the part of an object. This fact appears rather rarely\nin Australia;[228] Howitt cites only one example.[229] However, it may\nwell be that this is found with a certain frequency in the tribes where\nthe totemic groups are excessively subdivided; it might be said that the\ntotems had to break themselves up in order to be able to furnish names\nto these numerous divisions. This is what seems to have taken place\namong the Arunta and the Loritja. Strehlow has collected 442 totems in\nthese two societies, of which many are not an animal species, but some\nparticular organ of the animal of the species, such as the tail or\nstomach of an opossum, the fat of the kangaroo, etc.[230]\n\nWe have seen that normally the totem is not an individual, but a species\nor a variety: it is not such and such a kangaroo or crow, but the\nkangaroo or crow in general. Sometimes, however, it is a particular\nobject. First of all, this is necessarily the case when the thing\nserving as totem is unique in its class, as the sun, the moon, such or\nsuch a constellation, etc. It also happens that clans take their names\nfrom certain geographical irregularities or depressions of the land,\nfrom a certain ant-hill, etc. It is true that we have only a small\nnumber of examples of this in Australia; but Strehlow does mention\nsome.[231] But the very causes which have given rise to these abnormal\ntotems show that they are of a relatively recent origin. In fact, what\nhas made certain geographical features of the land become totems is that\na mythical ancestor is supposed to have stopped there or to have\nperformed some act of his legendary life there.[232] But at the same\ntime, these ancestors are represented in the myths as themselves\nbelonging to clans which had perfectly regular totems, that is to say,\nones taken from the animal or vegetable kingdoms. Therefore, the totemic\nnames thus commemorating the acts and performances of these heroes\ncannot be primitive; they belong to a form of totemism that is already\nderived and deviated. It is even permissible to ask if the\nmeteorological totems have not a similar origin; for the sun, the moon\nand the stars are frequently identified with the ancestors of the\nmythological epoch.[233]\n\nSometimes, but no less exceptionally, it is an ancestor or a group of\nancestors which serves as totem directly. In this case, the clan takes\nits name, not from a thing or a species of real things, but from a\npurely mythical being. Spencer and Gillen had already mentioned two or\nthree totems of this sort. Among the Warramunga and among the Tjingilli\nthere are clans which bear the name of an ancestor named Thaballa who\nseems to be gaiety incarnate.[234] Another Warramunga clan bears the\nname of a huge fabulous serpent named Wollunqua, from which the clan\nconsiders itself descended.[235] We owe other similar facts to\nStrehlow.[236] In any case, it is easy enough to see what probably took\nplace. Under the influence of diverse causes and by the very development\nof mythological thought, the collective and impersonal totem became\neffaced before certain mythical personages who advanced to the first\nrank and became totems themselves.\n\nHowsoever interesting these different irregularities may be, they\ncontain nothing which forces us to modify our definition of a totem.\nThey are not, as has sometimes been believed,[237] different varieties\nof totems which are more or less irreducible into each other or into the\nnormal totem, such as we have defined it. They are merely secondary and\nsometimes even aberrant forms of a single notion which is much more\ngeneral, and there is every ground for believing it the more primitive.\n\n\nThe manner in which the name is acquired is more important for the\norganization and recruiting of the clan than for religion; it belongs to\nthe sociology of the family rather than to religious sociology.[238] So\nwe shall confine ourselves to indicating summarily the most essential\nprinciples which regulate the matter.\n\nIn the different tribes, three different systems are in use.\n\nIn a great number, or it might even be said, in the greater number of\nthe societies, the child takes the totem of its mother, by right of\nbirth: this is what happens among the Dieri and the Urabunna of the\ncentre of Southern Australia; the Wotjobaluk and the Gournditch-Mara of\nVictoria; the Kamilaroi, the Wiradjuri, the Wonghibon and the Euahlayi\nof New South Wales; and the Wakelbura, the Pitta-Pitta and the\nKurnandaburi of Queensland, to mention only the most important names. In\nthis case, owing to a law of exogamy, the mother is necessarily of a\ndifferent totem from her husband, and on the other hand, as she lives in\nhis community, the members of a single totem are necessarily dispersed\nin different localities according to the chances of their marriages. As\na result, the totemic group lacks a territorial base.\n\nElsewhere the totem is transmitted in the paternal line. In this case,\nif the child remains with his father, the local group is largely made up\nof people belonging to a single totem; only the married women there\nrepresent foreign totems. In other words, each locality has its\nparticular totem. Up until recent times, this scheme of organization was\nfound in Australia only among the tribes where totemism was in\ndecadence, such as the Narrinyeri, where the totem has almost no\nreligious character at all any more.[239] It was therefore possible to\nbelieve that there was a close connection between the totemic system and\ndescent in the uterine line. But Spencer and Gillen have observed, in\nthe northern part of central Australia, a whole group of tribes where\nthe totemic religion is still practised but where the transmission of\nthe totem is in the paternal line: these are the Warramunga, the Quanji,\nthe Umbia, the Binbinga, the Mara and the Anula.[240]\n\nFinally, a third combination is the one observed among the Arunta and\nLoritja. Here the totem of the child is not necessarily either that of\nthe mother or that of the father; it is that of a mythical ancestor who\ncame, by processes which the observers recount in different ways,[241]\nand mysteriously fecundated the mother at the moment of conception. A\nspecial process makes it possible to learn which ancestor it was and to\nwhich totemic group he belonged.[242] But since it was only chance which\ndetermined that this ancestor happened to be near the mother, rather\nthan another, the totem of the child is thus found to depend finally\nupon fortuitous circumstances.[243]\n\n\nOutside of and above the totems of clans there are totems of phratries\nwhich, though not differing from the former in nature, must none the\nless be distinguished from them.\n\nA phratry is a group of clans which are united to each other by\nparticular bonds of fraternity. Ordinarily the Australian tribe is\ndivided into two phratries between which the different clans are\ndistributed. Of course there are some tribes where this organization has\ndisappeared, but everything leads us to believe that it was once\ngeneral. In any case, there are no tribes in Australia where the number\nof phratries is greater than two.\n\nNow in nearly all the cases where the phratries have a name whose\nmeaning has been established, this name is that of an animal; it would\ntherefore seem that it is a totem. This has been well demonstrated in a\nrecent work by A. Lang.[244] Thus, among the Gournditch (Victoria), the\nphratries are called Krokitch and Kaputch; the former of the words\ndesignates the white cockatoo and the latter the black cockatoo.[245]\nThe same expressions are found again among the Buandik and the\nWotjobaluk.[246] Among the Wurunjerri, the names employed are Bunjil and\nWaang, which designate the eagle-hawk and the crow.[247] The words\nMukwara and Kilpara are used for the same purpose in a large number of\ntribes of New South Wales;[248] they designate the same birds.[249] It\nis also the eagle-hawk and the crow which have given their names to the\ntwo phratries of the Ngarigo and the Wolgal.[250] Among the Kuinmurbura,\nit is the white cockatoo and the crow.[251] Many other examples might be\ncited. Thus we are led to regard the phratry as an ancient clan which\nhas been dismembered; the actual clans are the product of this\ndismemberment, and the solidarity which unites them is a souvenir of\ntheir primitive unity.[252] It is true that in certain tribes, the\nphratries no longer have special names, as it seems; in others where\nthese names exist, their meaning is no longer known, even to the\nmembers. But there is nothing surprising in this. The phratries are\ncertainly a primitive institution, for they are everywhere in a state of\nregression; their descendants the clans have passed to the first rank.\nSo it is but natural that the names which they bore should have been\neffaced from memory little by little, when they were no longer\nunderstood; for they must belong to a very archaic language no longer in\nuse. This is proved by the fact that in many cases where we know the\nanimal whose name the phratry bears, the word designating this animal in\nthe current language is very different from the one employed here.[253]\n\nBetween the totem of the phratry and the totems of the clans there\nexists a sort of relation of subordination. In fact, in principle each\nclan belongs to one and only one phratry; it is very exceptional that it\nhas representatives in the other phratry. This is not met with at all\nexcept among certain central tribes, notably the Arunta;[254] also even\nwhere, owing to disturbing influences, overlappings of this sort have\ntaken place, the great part of the clan is included entirely within one\nor the other of the two groups of the tribe; only a small minority is to\nbe found in the other one.[255] As a rule then, the two phratries do not\noverlap each other; consequently, the list of totems which an individual\nmay have is predetermined by the phratry to which he belongs. In other\nwords, the phratry is like a species of which the clans are varieties.\nWe shall presently see that this comparison is not purely metaphorical.\n\n\nIn addition to the phratries and clans, another secondary group is\nfrequently met with in Australian societies, which is not without a\ncertain individuality: these are the matrimonial classes.\n\nBy this name they designate certain subdivisions of the phratry, whose\nnumber varies with the tribe: there are sometimes two and sometimes four\nper phratry.[256] Their recruiting and operation are regulated by the\ntwo following principles. In the first place, each generation in a\nphratry belongs to different clans from the immediately preceding one.\nThus, when there are only two classes per phratry, they necessarily\nalternate with each other every generation. The children make up the\nclass of which their parents are not members; but grandchildren are of\nthe same class as their grandparents. Thus, among the Kamilaroi, the\nKupathin phratry has two classes, Ippai and Kumbo; the Dilby phratry,\ntwo others which are called Murri and Kubbi. As descent is in the\nuterine line, the child is in the phratry of its mother; if she is a\nKupathin, the child will be one also. But if she is of the Ippai class,\nhe will be a Kumbo; if the child is a girl, her children will again be\nin the Ippai class.\n\nLikewise, the children of the women of the Murri class will be in the\nKubbi class, and the children of the Kubbi women will be Murri again.\nWhen there are four classes per phratry, instead of two, the system is\nnaturally more complex, but the principle is the same. The four classes\nform two couples of two classes each, and these two classes alternate\nwith each other every generation in the manner just indicated. Secondly,\nthe members of one class can in principle[257] marry into only one of\nthe classes of the other phratry. The Ippai must marry into the Kubbi\nclass and the Murri into the Kumbo class. It is because this\norganization profoundly affects matrimonial relations that we give the\ngroup the name of matrimonial class.\n\nNow it may be asked whether these classes do not sometimes have totems\nlike the phratries and clans.\n\nThis question is raised by the fact that in certain tribes of\nQueensland, each matrimonial class has dietetic restrictions that are\npeculiar to it. The individuals who compose it must abstain from eating\nthe flesh of certain animals which the others may consume freely.[258]\nAre these animals not totems?\n\nBut dietetic restrictions are not the characteristic marks of totemism.\nThe totem is a name first of all, and then, as we shall see, an emblem.\nNow in the societies of which we just spoke, there are no matrimonial\nclasses which bear the name of an animal or plant, or which have an\nemblem.[259] Of course it is possible that these restrictions are\nindirectly derived from totemism. It might be supposed that the animals\nwhich these interdictions protect were once the totems of clans which\nhave since disappeared, while the matrimonial classes remained. It is\ncertain that they have a force of endurance which the clans do not have.\nThen these interdictions, deprived of their original field, may have\nspread themselves out over the entire class, since there were no other\ngroups to which they could be attached. But it is clear that if this\nregulation was born of totemism, it represents only an enfeebled and\ndenatured form of it.[260]\n\nAll that has been said of the totem in Australian societies is equally\napplicable to the Indian tribes of North America. The only difference is\nthat among these latter, the totemic organization has a strictness of\noutline and a stability which are not found in Australia. The Australian\nclans are not only very numerous, but in a single tribe their number is\nalmost unlimited. Observers cite some of them as examples, but without\never succeeding in giving us a complete list. This is because the list\nis never definitely terminated. The same process of dismemberment which\nbroke up the original phratries and give birth to clans properly\nso-called still continues within these latter; as a result of this\nprogressive crumbling, a clan frequently has only a very small effective\nforce.[261] In America, on the contrary, the totemic system has better\ndefined forms. Although the tribes there are considerably larger on the\naverage, the clans are less numerous. A single tribe rarely has more\nthan a dozen of them,[262] and frequently less; each of them is\ntherefore a much more important group. But above all, their number is\nfixed; they know their exact number, and they it tell to us.[263]\n\nThis difference is due to the superiority of their social economy. From\nthe moment when these tribes were observed for the first time, the\nsocial groups were strongly attached to the soil, and consequently\nbetter able to resist the decentralizing forces which assailed them. At\nthe same time, the society had too keen a sentiment of its unity to\nremain unconscious of itself and of the parts out of which it was\ncomposed. The example of America thus enables us to explain even better\nthe organization at the base of the clans. We would take a mistaken\nview, if we judged this only on the present conditions in Australia. In\nfact, it is in a state of change and dissolution there, which is not at\nall normal; it is much rather the product of a degeneration which we\nsee, due both to the natural decay of time and the disorganizing effect\nof the whites. To be sure, it is hardly probable that the Australian\nclans ever had the dimensions and solid structure of the American ones.\nBut there must have been a time when the distance between them was less\nconsiderable than it is to-day, for the American societies would never\nhave succeeded in making so solid a structure if the clans had always\nbeen of so fluid and inconsistent a nature.\n\nThis greater stability has even enabled the archaic system of phratries\nto maintain itself in America with a clearness and a relief no longer to\nbe found in Australia. We have just seen that in the latter continent\nthe phratry is everywhere in a state of decadence; very frequently it is\nnothing more than an anonymous group; when it has a name, this is either\nno longer understood, or in any case, it cannot mean a great deal to the\nnative, since it is borrowed from a foreign language, or from one no\nlonger spoken. Thus we have been able to infer the existence of totems\nfor phratries only from a few survivals, which, for the most part, are\nso slightly marked that they have escaped the attention of many\nobservers. In certain parts of America, on the contrary, this\ninstitution has retained its primitive importance. The tribes of the\nNorth-west coast, the Tlinkit and the Haida especially, have now\nattained a relatively advanced civilization; yet they are divided into\ntwo phratries which are subdivided into a certain number of clans: the\nphratries of the Crow and the Wolf among the Tlinkit,[264] of the Eagle\nand the Crow among the Haida.[265] And this division is not merely\nnominal; it corresponds to an ever-existing state of tribal customs and\nis deeply marked with the tribal life. The moral distance separating the\nclans is very slight in comparison with that separating the\nphratries.[266] The name of each is not a word whose sense is forgotten\nor only vaguely known; it is a totem in the full sense of the term; they\nhave all its essential attributes, such as will be described below.[267]\nConsequently, upon this point also, American tribes must not be\nneglected, for we can study the totems of phratries directly there,\nwhile Australia offers only obscure vestiges of them.\n\n\nII\n\nBut the totem is not merely a name; it is an emblem, a veritable\ncoat-of-arms whose analogies with the arms of heraldry have often been\nremarked. In speaking of the Australians, Grey says, \"each family adopt\nan animal or vegetable as their crest and sign,\"[268] and what Grey\ncalls a family is incontestably a clan. Also Fison and Howitt say, \"the\nAustralian divisions show that the totem is, in the first place, the\nbadge of a group.\"[269] Schoolcraft says the same thing about the totems\nof the Indians of North America. \"The totem is in fact a design which\ncorresponds to the heraldic emblems of civilized nations, and each\nperson is authorized to bear it as a proof of the identity of the family\nto which it belongs. This is proved by the real etymology of the word,\nwhich is derived from _dodaim_, which means village or the residence of\na family group.\"[270] Thus when the Indians entered into relations with\nthe Europeans and contracts were formed between them, it was with its\ntotem that each clan sealed the treaties thus concluded.[271]\n\nThe nobles of the feudal period carved, engraved and designed in every\nway their coats-of-arms upon the walls of their castles, their arms, and\nevery sort of object that belonged to them; the blacks of Australia and\nthe Indians of North America do the same thing with their totems. The\nIndians who accompanied Samuel Hearne painted their totems on their\nshields before going into battle.[272] According to Charlevoix, in time\nof war, certain tribes of Indians had veritable ensigns, made of bits of\nbark fastened to the end of a pole, upon which the totems were\nrepresented.[273] Among the Tlinkit, when a conflict breaks out between\ntwo clans, the champions of the two hostile groups wear helmets over\ntheir heads, upon which are painted their respective totems.[274] Among\nthe Iroquois, they put the skin of the animal which serves as totem upon\neach wigwam, as a mark of the clan.[275] According to another observer,\nthe animal was stuffed and set up before the door.[276] Among the\nWyandot, each clan has its own ornaments and its distinctive\npaintings.[277] Among the Omaha, and among the Sioux generally, the\ntotem is painted on the tent.[278]\n\nWherever the society has become sedentary, where the tent is replaced by\nthe house, and where the plastic arts are more fully developed, the\ntotem is engraved upon the woodwork and upon the walls. This is what\nhappens, for example, among the Haida, the Tsimshian, the Salish and the\nTlinkit. \"A very particular ornament of the house, among the Tlinkit,\"\nsays Krause, \"is the totemic coat-of-arms.\" Animal forms, sometimes\ncombined with human forms, are engraved upon the posts at the sides of\nthe door of entry, which are as high as 15 yards; they are generally\npainted with very bright colours.[279] However, these totemic\ndecorations are not very numerous in the Tlinkit village; they are found\nalmost solely before the houses of the chiefs and rich men. They are\nmuch more frequent in the neighbouring tribe of the Haida; here there\nare always several for each house.[280] With its many sculptured posts\narising on every hand, sometimes to a great height, a Haida village\ngives the impression of a sacred city, all bristling with belfries or\nlittle minarets.[281] Among the Salish, the totem is frequently\nrepresented upon the interior walls of the house.[282] Elsewhere, it is\nfound upon the canoes, the utensils of every sort and the funeral\npiles.[283]\n\nThe preceding examples are taken exclusively from the Indians of North\nAmerica. This is because sculpture, engravings and permanent figurations\nare not possible except where the technique of the plastic arts has\nreached a degree of perfection to which the Australian tribes have not\nyet attained. Consequently the totemic representations of the sort which\nwe just mentioned are rarer and less apparent in Australia than in\nAmerica. However, cases of them are cited. Among the Warramunga, at the\nend of the burial ceremonies, the bones of the dead man are interred,\nafter they have been dried and reduced to powder; beside the place where\nthey are deposited, a figure representing the totem is traced upon the\nground.[284] Among the Mara and the Anula, the body is placed in a piece\nof hollow wood decorated with designs characteristic of the totem.[285]\nIn New South Wales, Oxley found engravings upon the trees near the tomb\nwhere a native was buried[286] to which Brough Smyth attributes a\ntotemic character. The natives of the Upper Darling carve totemic images\nupon their shields.[287] According to Collins, nearly all the utensils\nare covered with ornaments which probably have the same significance;\nfigures of the same sort are found upon the rocks.[288] These totemic\ndesigns may even be more frequent than it seems, for, owing to reasons\nwhich will be discussed below, it is not always easy to see what their\nreal meaning is.\n\n\nThese different facts give us an idea of the considerable place held by\nthe totem in the social life of the primitives. However, up to the\npresent, it has appeared to us as something relatively outside of the\nman, for it is only upon external things that we have seen it\nrepresented. But totemic images are not placed only upon the walls of\ntheir houses, the sides of their canoes, their arms, their utensils and\ntheir tombs; they are also found on the bodies of the men. They do not\nput their coat-of-arms merely upon the things which they possess, but\nthey put it upon their persons; they imprint it upon their flesh, it\nbecomes a part of them, and this world of representations is even by\nfar the more important one.\n\nIn fact, it is a very general rule that the members of each clan seek to\ngive themselves the external aspect of their totem. At certain religious\nfestivals among the Tlinkit, the person who is to direct the ceremonies\nwears a garment which represents, either wholly or in part, the body of\nthe animal whose name he bears.[289] These same usages are also found in\nall the North-West of America.[290] They are found again among the\nMinnitaree, when they go into combat,[291] and among the Indians of the\nPueblos.[292] Elsewhere, when the totem is a bird, men wear the feathers\nof this bird on their heads.[293] Among the Iowa, each clan has a\nspecial fashion of cutting the hair. In the Eagle clan, two large tufts\nare arranged on the front of the head, while there is another one\nbehind; in the Buffalo clan, they are arranged in the form of\nhorns.[294] Among the Omaha, analogous arrangements are found: each clan\nhas its own head-dress. In the Turtle clan, for example, the hair is all\nshaved off, except six bunches, two on each side of the head, one in\nfront, and one behind, in such a way as to imitate the legs, the head\nand the tail of the animal.[295]\n\nBut it is more frequently upon the body itself that the totemic mark is\nstamped: for this is a way of representation within the capacity of even\nthe least advanced societies. It has sometimes been asked whether the\ncommon rite of knocking out a young man's two upper teeth at the age of\npuberty does not have the object of reproducing the form of the totem.\nThe fact is not established, but it is worth mentioning that the natives\nthemselves sometimes explain the custom thus. For example, among the\nArunta, the extraction of teeth is practised only in the clans of the\nrain and of water; now according to tradition, the object of this\noperation is to make their faces look like certain black clouds with\nlight borders which are believed to announce the speedy arrival of rain,\nand which are therefore considered things of the same family.[296] This\nis a proof that the native himself is conscious that the object of these\ndeformations is to give him, at least conventionally, the aspect of his\ntotem. Among these same Arunta, in the course of the rites of\nsub-incision, certain gashes are cut upon the sisters and the future\nwife of the novice; scars result from these, whose form is also\nrepresented upon a certain sacred object of which we shall speak\npresently and which is called the _churinga_; as we shall see, the lines\nthus drawn upon the _churinga_ are emblematic of the totem.[297] Among\nthe Kaitish, the euro is believed to be closely connected with the\nrain;[298] the men of the rain clan wear little ear-rings made of euro\nteeth.[299] Among the Yerkla, during the initiation the young man is\ngiven a certain number of slashes which leave scars; the number and form\nof these varies with the totems.[300] An informer of Fison mentions the\nsame fact in the tribes observed by him.[301] According to Howitt, a\nrelationship of the same sort exists among the Dieri between certain\narrangements of scars and the water totem.[302] Among the Indians of the\nNorth-West, it is a very general custom for them to tattoo themselves\nwith the totem.[303]\n\nBut even if the tattooings which are made by mutilations or scars do not\nalways have a totemic significance,[304] it is different with simple\ndesigns drawn upon the body: they are generally representations of the\ntotem. It is true that the native does not carry them every day. When he\nis occupied with purely economic occupations, or when the small family\ngroups scatter to hunt or fish, he does not bother with all this\nparaphernalia, which is quite complicated. But when the clans unite to\nlive a common life and to assist at the religious ceremonies together,\nthen he must adorn himself. As we shall see, each of the ceremonies\nconcerns a particular totem, and in theory the rites which are connected\nwith a totem can be performed only by the men of that totem. Now those\nwho perform,[305] who take the part of officiants, and sometimes even\nthose who assist as spectators, always have designs representing the\ntotem on their bodies.[306] One of the principal rites of initiation, by\nwhich a young man enters into the religious life of the tribe, consists\nin painting the totemic symbol on his body.[307] It is true that among\nthe Arunta the design thus traced does not always and necessarily\nrepresent the totem of the initiated;[308] but these are exceptions,\ndue, undoubtedly, to the disturbed state of the totemic organization of\nthis tribe.[309] Also, even among the Arunta, at the most solemn moment\nof the initiation, which is its crown and consecration, when the\nneophyte is allowed to enter the sanctuary where all the sacred objects\nbelonging to the clan are preserved, an emblematic painting is placed\nupon him; this time, it is the totem of the young man which is thus\nrepresented.[310] The bonds which unite the individual to his totem are\neven so strong that in the tribes on the North-west coast of North\nAmerica, the emblem of the clan is painted not only upon the living but\nalso upon the dead: before a corpse is interred, they put the totemic\nmark upon it.[311]\n\n\nIII\n\nThese totemic decorations enable us to see that the totem is not merely\na name and an emblem. It is in the course of the religious ceremonies\nthat they are employed; they are a part of the liturgy; so while the\ntotem is a collective label, it also has a religious character. In fact,\nit is in connection with it, that things are classified as sacred or\nprofane. It is the very type of sacred thing.\n\nThe tribes of Central Australia, especially the Arunta, the Loritja, the\nKaitish, the Unmatjera, and the Ilpirra,[312] make constant use of\ncertain instruments in their rites which are called the _churinga_ by\nthe Arunta, according to Spencer and Gillen, or the _tjurunga_,\naccording to Strehlow.[313] They are pieces of wood or bits of polished\nstone, of a great variety of forms, but generally oval or oblong.[314]\nEach totemic group has a more or less important collection of these.\n_Upon each of these is engraved a design representing the totem of this\nsame group._[315] A certain number of the churinga have a hole at one\nend, through which goes a thread made of human hair or that of an\nopossum. Those which are made of wood and are pierced in this way serve\nfor exactly the same purposes as those instruments of the cult to which\nEnglish ethnographers have given the name of \"bull-roarers.\" By means of\nthe thread by which they are suspended, they are whirled rapidly in the\nair in such a way as to produce a sort of humming identical with that\nmade by the toys of this name still used by our children; this deafening\nnoise has a ritual significance and accompanies all ceremonies of any\nimportance. These sorts of churinga are real bull-roarers. But there are\nothers which are not made of wood and are not pierced; consequently they\ncannot be employed in this way. Nevertheless, they inspire the same\nreligious sentiments.\n\nIn fact, every churinga, for whatever purpose it may be employed, is\ncounted among the eminently sacred things; there are none which surpass\nit in religious dignity. This is indicated even by the word which is\nused to designate them. It is not only a substantive but also an\nadjective meaning sacred. Also, among the several names which each\nArunta has, there is one so sacred that it must not be revealed to a\nstranger; it is pronounced but rarely, and then in a low voice and a\nsort of mysterious murmur. Now this name is called the _aritna churinga_\n(aritna means name).[316] In general, the word churinga is used to\ndesignate all ritual acts; for example, _ilia churinga_ signifies the\ncult of the emu.[317] Churinga, when used substantively, therefore\ndesignates the thing whose essential characteristic is sacredness.\nProfane persons, that is to say, women and young men not yet initiated\ninto the religious life, may not touch or even see the churinga; they\nare only allowed to look at it from a distance, and even this is only on\nrare occasions.[318]\n\nThe churinga are piously kept in a special place, which the Arunta call\nthe _ertnatulunga_.[319] This is a cave or a sort of cavern hidden in a\ndeserted place. The entrance is carefully closed by means of stones so\ncleverly placed that a stranger going past it could not suspect that the\nreligious treasury of the clan was so near to him. The sacred character\nof the churinga is so great that it communicates itself to the locality\nwhere they are stored: the women and the uninitiated cannot approach it.\nIt is only after their initiation is completely finished that the young\nmen have access to it: there are some who are not esteemed worthy of\nthis favour except after years of trial.[320] The religious nature\nradiates to a distance and communicates itself to all the surroundings:\neverything near by participates in this same nature and is therefore\nwithdrawn from profane touch. Is one man pursued by another? If he\nsucceeds in reaching the ertnatulunga, he is saved; he cannot be seized\nthere.[321] Even a wounded animal which takes refuge there must be\nrespected.[322] Quarrels are forbidden there. It is a place of peace, as\nis said in the Germanic societies; it is a sanctuary of the totemic\ngroup, it is a veritable place of asylum.\n\nBut the virtues of the churinga are not manifested merely by the way in\nwhich it keeps the profane at a distance. If it is thus isolated, it is\nbecause it is something of a high religious value whose loss would\ninjure the group and the individuals severely. It has all sorts of\nmarvellous properties: by contact it heals wounds, especially those\nresulting from circumcision;[323] it has the same power over\nsickness;[324] it is useful for making the beard grow;[325] it confers\nimportant powers over the totemic species, whose normal reproduction it\nensures;[326] it gives men force, courage and perseverance, while, on\nthe other hand, it depresses and weakens their enemies. This latter\nbelief is so firmly rooted that when two combatants stand pitted against\none another, if one sees that the other has brought churinga against\nhim, he loses confidence and his defeat is certain.[327] Thus there is\nno ritual instrument which has a more important place in the religious\nceremonies.[328] By means of various sorts of anointings, their powers\nare communicated either to the officiants or to the assistants; to bring\nthis about, they are rubbed over the members and stomach of the faithful\nafter being covered with grease;[329] or sometimes they are covered with\na down which flies away and scatters itself in every direction when they\nare whirled; this a way of disseminating the virtues which are in\nthem.[330]\n\nBut they are not useful merely to individuals; the fate of the clan as a\nwhole is bound up with theirs. Their loss is a disaster; it is the\ngreatest misfortune which can happen to the group.[331] Sometimes they\nleave the ertnatulunga, for example when they are loaned to other\ngroups.[332] Then follows a veritable public mourning. For two weeks,\nthe people of the totem weep and lament, covering their bodies with\nwhite clay just as they do when they have lost a relative.[333] And the\nchuringa are not left at the free disposition of everybody; the\nertnatulunga where they are kept is placed under the control of the\nchief of the group. It is true that each individual has special rights\nto some of them;[334] yet, though he is their proprietor in a sense, he\ncannot make use of them except with the consent and under the direction\nof the chief. It is a collective treasury; it is the sacred ark of the\nclan.[335] The devotion of which they are the object shows the high\nprice that is attached to them. The respect with which they are handled\nis shown by the solemnity of the movements.[336] They are taken care of,\nthey are greased, rubbed, polished, and when they are moved from one\nlocality to another, it is in the midst of ceremonies which bear witness\nto the fact that this displacement is regarded as an act of the highest\nimportance.[337]\n\nNow in themselves, the churinga are objects of wood and stone like all\nothers; they are distinguished from profane things of the same sort by\nonly one particularity: this is that the totemic mark is drawn or\nengraved upon them. So it is this mark and this alone which gives them\ntheir sacred character. It is true that according to Spencer and Gillen,\nthe churinga serve as the residence of an ancestor's soul and that it is\nthe presence of this soul which confers these properties.[338] While\ndeclaring this interpretation inexact, Strehlow, in his turn, proposes\nanother which does not differ materially from the other: he claims that\nthe churinga are considered the image of the ancestor's body, or the\nbody itself.[339] So, in any case, it would be sentiments inspired by\nthe ancestor which fix themselves upon the material object, and\nconvert it into a sort of fetish. But in the first place, both\nconceptions,--which, by the way, scarcely differ except in the letter of\nthe myth,--have obviously been made up afterwards, to account for the\nsacred character of the churinga. In the constitution of these pieces of\nwood and bits of stone, and in their external appearance, there is\nnothing which predestines them to be considered the seat of an ancestral\nsoul, or the image of his body. So if men have imagined this myth, it\nwas in order to explain the religious respect which these things\ninspired in them, and the respect was not determined by the myth. This\nexplanation, like so many mythological explanations, resolves the\nquestion only by repeating it in slightly different terms; for saying\nthat the churinga is sacred and saying that it has such and such a\nrelation with a sacred being, is merely to proclaim the same fact in two\ndifferent ways; it is not accounting for them. Moreover, according to\nthe avowal of Spencer and Gillen, there are some churinga among the\nArunta which are made by the old men of the group, to the knowledge of\nand before the eyes of all;[340] these obviously do not come from the\ngreat ancestors. However, except for certain differences of degree, they\nhave the same power as the others and are preserved in the same manner.\nFinally, there are whole tribes where the churinga is never associated\nwith a spirit.[341] Its religious nature comes to it, then, from some\nother source, and whence could it come, if not from the totemic stamp\nwhich it bears? It is to this image, therefore, that the demonstrations\nof the rite are really addressed; it is this which sanctifies the object\nupon which it is carved.\n\nAmong the Arunta and the neighbouring tribes, there are two other\nliturgical instruments closely connected with the totem and the\nchuringa itself, which ordinarily enters into their composition: they\nare the _nurtunja_ and the _waninga_.\n\nThe nurtunja,[342] which is found among the northern Arunta and their\nimmediate neighbours,[343] is made up principally of a vertical support\nwhich is either a single lance, or several lances united into a bundle,\nor of a simple pole.[344] Bunches of grass are fastened all around it by\nmeans of belts or little cords made of hair. Above this, down is placed,\narranged either in circles or in parallel lines which run from the top\nto the bottom of the support. The top is decorated with the plumes of an\neagle-hawk. This is only the most general and typical form; in\nparticular cases, it has all sorts of variations.[345]\n\nThe waninga, which is found only among the southern Arunta, the Urabunna\nand the Loritja, has no one unique model either. Reduced to its most\nessential elements, it too consists in a vertical support, formed by a\nlong stick or by a lance several yards high, with sometimes one and\nsometimes two cross-pieces.[346] In the former case, it has the\nappearance of a cross. Cords made either of human hair or opossum or\nbandicoot fur diagonally cross the space included between the arms of\nthe cross and the extremities of the central axis; as they are quite\nclose to each other, they form a network in the form of a lozenge. When\nthere are two cross-bars, these cords go from one to the other and from\nthese to the top and bottom of the support. They are sometimes covered\nwith a layer of down, thick enough to conceal the foundation. Thus the\nwaninga has the appearance of a veritable flag.[347]\n\nNow the nurtunja and the waninga, which figure in a multitude of\nimportant rites, are the object of a religious respect quite like that\ninspired by the churinga. The process of their manufacture and erection\nis conducted with the greatest solemnity. Fixed in the earth, or carried\nby an officiant, they mark the central point of the ceremony: it is\nabout them that the dances take place and the rites are performed. In\nthe course of the initiation, the novice is led to the foot of a\nnurtunja erected for the occasion. Someone says to him, \"There is the\nnurtunja of your father; many young men have already been made by it.\"\nAfter that, the initiate must kiss the nurtunja.[348] By this kiss, he\nenters into relations with the religious principle which resides there;\nit is a veritable communion which should give the young man the force\nrequired to support the terrible operation of sub-incision.[349] The\nnurtunja also plays a considerable r\u00f4le in the mythology of these\nsocieties. The myths relate that in the fabulous times of the great\nancestors, the territory of the tribe was overrun in every direction by\ncompanies composed exclusively of individuals of the same totem.[350]\nEach of these troops had a nurtunja with it. When it stopped to camp,\nbefore scattering to hunt, the members fixed their nurtunja in the\nground, from the top of which their churinga was suspended.[351] That is\nequivalent to saying that they confided the most precious things they\nhad to it. It was at the same time a sort of standard which served as a\nrallying-centre for the group. One cannot fail to be struck by the\nanalogies between the nurtunja and the sacred post of the Omaha.[352]\n\nNow its sacred character can come from only one cause: that is that it\nrepresents the totem materially. The vertical lines or rings of down\nwhich cover it, and even the cords of different colours which fasten the\narms of the waninga to the central axis, are not arranged arbitrarily,\naccording to the taste of the makers; they must conform to a type\nstrictly determined by tradition which, in the minds of the natives,\nrepresents the totem.[353] Here we cannot ask, as we did in the case of\nthe churinga, whether the veneration accorded to this instrument of the\ncult is not merely the reflex of that inspired by the ancestors; for it\nis a rule that each nurtunja and each waninga last only during the\nceremony where they are used. They are made all over again every time\nthat it is necessary, and when the rite is once accomplished, they are\nstripped of their ornaments and the elements out of which they are made\nare scattered.[354] They are nothing more than images--and temporary\nimages at that--of the totem, and consequently it is on this ground,\nand on this ground alone, that they play a religious r\u00f4le.\n\nSo the churinga, the nurtunja and the waninga owe their religious nature\nsolely to the fact that they bear the totemic emblem. It is the emblem\nthat is sacred. It keeps this character, no matter where it may be\nrepresented. Sometimes it is painted upon rocks; these paintings are\ncalled _churinga ilkinia_, sacred drawings.[355] The decorations with\nwhich the officiants and assistants at the religious ceremonies adorn\nthemselves have the same name: women and children may not see them.[356]\nIn the course of certain rites, the totem is drawn upon the ground. The\nway in which this is done bears witness to the sentiments inspired by\nthis design, and the high value attributed to it; it is traced upon a\nplace that has been previously sprinkled, and saturated with human\nblood,[357] and we shall presently see that the blood is in itself a\nsacred liquid, serving for pious uses only. When the design has been\nmade, the faithful remain seated on the ground before it, in an attitude\nof the purest devotion.[358] If we give the word a sense corresponding\nto the mentality of the primitive, we may say that they adore it. This\nenables us to understand how the totemic blazon has remained something\nvery precious for the Indians of North America: it is always surrounded\nwith a sort of religious halo.\n\n\nBut if we are seeking to understand how it comes that these totemic\nrepresentations are so sacred, it is not without interest to see what\nthey consist in.\n\nAmong the Indians of North America, they are painted, engraved or carved\nimages which attempt to reproduce as faithfully as possible the external\naspect of the totemic animal. The means employed are those which we use\nto-day in similar circumstances, except that they are generally cruder.\nBut it is not the same in Australia, and it is in the Australian\nsocieties that we must seek the origin of these representations.\nAlthough the Australian may show himself sufficiently capable of\nimitating the forms of things in a rudimentary way,[359] sacred\nrepresentations generally seem to show no ambitions in this line: they\nconsist essentially in geometrical designs drawn upon the churinga, the\nnurtunga, rocks, the ground, or the human body. They are either straight\nor curved lines, painted in different ways,[360] and the whole having\nonly a conventional meaning. The connection between the figure and the\nthing represented is so remote and indirect that it cannot be seen,\nexcept when it is pointed out. Only the members of the clan can say what\nmeaning is attached to such and such combinations of lines.[361] Men and\nwomen are generally represented by semicircles, and animals by whole\ncircles or spirals,[362] the tracks of men or animals by lines of\npoints, etc. The meaning of the figures thus obtained is so arbitrary\nthat a single design may have two different meanings for the men of two\ndifferent totems, representing one animal here, and another animal or\nplant there. This is perhaps still more apparent with the nurtunja and\nwaninga. Each of them represents a different totem. But the few and\nsimple elements which enter into their composition do not allow a great\nvariety of combinations. The result is that two nurtunja may have\nexactly the same appearance, and yet express two things as different as\na gum tree and an emu.[363] When a nurtunja is made, it is given a\nmeaning which it keeps during the whole ceremony, but which, in the last\nresort, is fixed by convention.\n\nThese facts prove that if the Australian is so strongly inclined to\nrepresent his totem, it is in order not to have a portrait of it before\nhis eyes which would constantly renew the sensation of it; it is merely\nbecause he feels the need of representing the idea which he forms of it\nby means of material and external signs, no matter what these signs may\nbe. We are not yet ready to attempt to understand what has thus caused\nthe primitive to write his idea of his totem upon his person and upon\ndifferent objects, but it is important to state at once the nature of\nthe need which has given rise to these numerous representations.[364]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTOTEMIC BELIEFS--_continued_\n\n_The Totemic Animal and Man_\n\n\nBut totemic images are not the only sacred things. There are real things\nwhich are also the object of rites, because of the relations which they\nhave with the totem: before all others, are the beings of the totemic\nspecies and the members of the clan.\n\n\nI\n\nFirst of all, since the designs which represent the totem arouse\nreligious sentiments, it is natural that the things whose aspect these\ndesigns reproduce should have this same property, at least to a certain\ndegree.\n\nFor the most part, these are animals or plants. The profane function of\nvegetables and even of animals is ordinarily to serve as food; then the\nsacred character of the totemic animal or plant is shown by the fact\nthat it is forbidden to eat them. It is true that since they are sacred\nthings, they can enter into the composition of certain mystical repasts,\nand we shall see, in fact, that they sometimes serve as veritable\nsacraments; yet normally they cannot be used for everyday consumption.\nWhoever oversteps this rule, exposes himself to grave dangers. It is not\nthat the group always intervenes to punish this infraction artificially;\nit is believed that the sacrilege produces death automatically. A\nredoubtable principle is held to reside in the totemic plant or animal,\nwhich cannot enter into the profane organism without disorganizing it or\ndestroying it.[365] In certain tribes at least, only the old men are\nfree from this prohibition;[366] we shall see the reason for this later.\n\nHowever, if this prohibition is formal in a large number of\ntribes[367]--with certain exceptions which will be mentioned later--it\nis incontestable that it tends to weaken as the old totemic organization\nis disturbed. But the restrictions which remain even then prove that\nthese attenuations are not admitted without difficulty. For example,\nwhen it is permitted to eat the plant or animal that serves as totem, it\nis not possible to do so freely; only a little bit may be taken at a\ntime. To go beyond this amount is a ritual fault that has grave\nconsequences.[368] Elsewhere, the prohibition remains intact for the\nparts that are regarded as the most precious, that is to say, as the\nmost sacred; for example, the eggs or the fat.[369] In still other\nparts, consumption is not allowed except when the animal in question has\nnot yet reached full maturity.[370] In this case, they undoubtedly think\nthat its sacred character is not yet complete. So the barrier which\nisolates and protects the totemic being yields but slowly and with\nactive resistance, which bears witness to what it must have been at\nfirst.\n\nIt is true that according to Spencer and Gillen these restrictions are\nnot the remnants of what was once a rigorous prohibition now losing\nhold, but the beginnings of an interdiction which is only commencing to\nestablish itself. These writers hold[371] that at first there was a\ncomplete liberty of consumption and that the limitations which were\npresently brought are relatively recent. They think they find the proof\nof their theory in the two following facts. In the first place, as we\njust said, there are solemn occasions when the members of the clan or\ntheir chief not only may, but must eat the totemic animal or plant.\nMoreover, the myths relate that the great ancestors, the founders of the\nclans, ate their totems regularly: now, it is said, these stories cannot\nbe understood except as an echo of a time when the present prohibitions\ndid not exist.\n\nBut the fact that in the course of certain solemn ceremonies a\nconsumption of the totem, and a moderate one at that, is ritually\nrequired in no way implies that it was once an ordinary article of food.\nQuite on the contrary, the food that one eats at a mystical repast is\nessentially sacred, and consequently forbidden to the profane. As for\nthe myths, a somewhat summary critical method is employed, if they are\nso readily given the value of historical documents. In general, their\nobject is to interpret existing rites rather than to commemorate past\nevents; they are an explanation of the present much more than a history.\nIn this case, the traditions according to which the ancestors of the\nfabulous epoch ate their totem are in perfect accord with the beliefs\nand rites which are always in force. The old men and those who have\nattained a high religious dignity are freed from the restrictions under\nwhich ordinary men are placed:[372] they can eat the sacred thing\nbecause they are sacred themselves; this rule is in no way peculiar to\ntotemism, but it is found in all the most diverse religions. Now the\nancestral heroes were nearly gods. It is therefore still more natural\nthat they should eat the sacred food;[373] but that is no reason why the\nsame privilege should be awarded to the simple profane.[374]\n\nHowever, it is neither certain nor even probable that the prohibition\nwas ever absolute. It seems to have always been suspended in case of\nnecessity, as, for example, when a man is famished and has nothing else\nwith which to nourish himself.[375] A stronger reason for this is found\nwhen the totem is a form of nourishment which a man cannot do without.\nThus there are a great many tribes where water is a totem; a strict\nprohibition is manifestly impossible in this case. However, even here,\nthe privilege granted is submitted to certain restrictions which greatly\nlimit its use and which show clearly that it goes against a recognized\nprinciple. Among the Kaitish and the Warramunga, a man of this totem is\nnot allowed to drink water freely; he may not take it up himself; he may\nreceive it only from the hands of a third party who must belong to the\nphratry of which he is not a member.[376] The complexity of this\nprocedure and the embarrassment which results from it are still another\nproof that access to the sacred thing is not free. This same rule is\napplied in certain central tribes every time that the totem is eaten,\nwhether from necessity or any other cause. It should also be added that\nwhen this formality is not possible, that is, when a man is alone or\nwith members of his own phratry only, he may, on necessity, do without\nan intermediary. It is clear that the prohibition is susceptible of\nvarious moderations.\n\nNevertheless, it rests upon ideas so strongly ingrained in the mind that\nit frequently survives its original cause for being. We have seen that\nin all probability, the different clans of a phratry are only\nsubdivisions of one original clan which has been dismembered. So there\nwas a time when all the clans, being welded together, had the same\ntotem; consequently, wherever the souvenir of this common origin is not\ncompletely effaced, each clan continues to feel itself united to the\nothers and to consider that their totems are not completely foreign to\nit. For this reason an individual may not eat freely of the totems held\nby the different clans of the phratry of which he is a member; he may\ntouch them only if the forbidden plant or animal is given him by a\nmember of the other phratry.[377]\n\nAnother survival of the same sort is the one concerning the maternal\ntotem. There are strong reasons for believing that at first, the totem\nwas transmitted in the uterine line. Therefore, wherever descent in the\npaternal line has been introduced, this probably took place only after a\nlong period, during which the opposite principle was applied and the\nchild had the totem of his mother along with all the restrictions\nattached to it. Now in certain tribes where the child inherits the\npaternal totem to-day, some of the interdictions which originally\nprotected the totem of his mother still survive: he cannot eat it\nfreely.[378] In the present state of affairs, however, there is no\nlonger anything corresponding to this prohibition.\n\nTo this prohibition of eating is frequently added that of killing the\ntotem, or picking it, when it is a plant.[379] However, here also there\nare exceptions and tolerations. These are especially in the case of\nnecessity, when the totem is a dangerous animal,[380] for example, or\nwhen the man has nothing to eat. There are even tribes where men are\nforbidden to hunt the animals whose names they bear, on their own\naccounts, but where they may kill them for others.[381] But the way in\nwhich this act is generally accomplished clearly indicates that it is\nsomething illicit. One excuses himself as though for a fault, and bears\nwitness to the chagrin which he suffers and the repugnance which he\nfeels,[382] while precautions are taken that the animal may suffer as\nlittle as possible.[383]\n\nIn addition to these fundamental interdictions, certain cases of a\nprohibition of contact between a man and his totem are cited. Thus among\nthe Omaha, in the clan of the Elk, no one may touch any part of the body\nof a male elk; in the sub-clan of the Buffalo, no one is allowed to\ntouch the head of this animal.[384] Among the Bechuana, no man dares to\nclothe himself in the skin of his totem.[385] But these cases are rare;\nand it is natural that they should be exceptional, for normally a man\nmust wear the image of his totem or something which brings it to mind.\nThe tattooings and the totemic costumes would not be possible if all\ncontact were forbidden. It has also been remarked that this prohibition\nhas not been found in Australia, but only in those societies where\ntotemism has advanced far from its original form; it is therefore\nprobably of late origin and due perhaps to the influence of ideas that\nare really not totemic at all.[386]\n\nIf we now compare these various interdictions with those whose object is\nthe totemic emblem, contrarily to all that could be foreseen, it appears\nthat these latter are more numerous, stricter, and more severely\nenforced than the former. The figures of all sorts which represent the\ntotem are surrounded with a respect sensibly superior to that inspired\nby the very being whose form these figures reproduce. The churinga, the\nnurtunja and the waninga can never be handled by the women or the\nuninitiated, who are even allowed to catch glimpses of it only very\nexceptionally, and from a respectful distance. On the other hand, the\nplant or animal whose name the clan bears may be seen and touched by\neverybody. The churinga are preserved in a sort of temple, upon whose\nthreshold all noises from the profane life must cease; it is the domain\nof sacred things. On the contrary, the totemic animals and plants live\nin the profane world and are mixed up with the common everyday life.\nSince the number and importance of the interdictions which isolate a\nsacred thing, and keep it apart, correspond to the degree of sacredness\nwith which it is invested, we arrive at the remarkable conclusion that\n_the images of totemic beings are more sacred than the beings\nthemselves_. Also, in the ceremonies of the cult, it is the churinga and\nthe nurtunja which have the most important place; the animal appears\nthere only very exceptionally. In a certain rite, of which we shall have\noccasion to speak,[387] it serves as the substance for a religious\nrepast, but it plays no active r\u00f4le. The Arunta dance around the\nnurtunja, and assemble before the image of their totem to adore it, but\na similar demonstration is never made before the totemic being itself.\nIf this latter were the primarily sacred object, it would be with it,\nthe sacred animal or plant, that the young initiate would communicate\nwhen he is introduced into the religious life; but we have seen that on\nthe contrary, the most solemn moment of the initiation is the one when\nthe novice enters into the sanctuary of the churinga. It is with them\nand the nurtunja that he communicates. The representations of the totem\nare therefore more actively powerful than the totem itself.\n\n\nII\n\nWe must now determine the place of man in the scheme of religious\nthings.\n\nBy the force of a whole group of acquired habits and of language itself,\nwe are inclined to consider the common man, the simple believer, as an\nessentially profane being. It may well happen that this conception is\nnot literally true for any religion;[388] in any case, it is not\napplicable to totemism. Every member of the clan is invested with a\nsacred character which is not materially inferior to that which we just\nobserved in the animal. This personal sacredness is due to the fact that\nthe man believes that while he is a man in the usual sense of the word,\nhe is also an animal or plant of the totemic species.\n\nIn fact, he bears its name; this identity of name is therefore supposed\nto imply an identity of nature. The first is not merely considered as an\noutward sign of the second; it supposes it logically. This is because\nthe name, for a primitive, is not merely a word or a combination of\nsounds; it is a part of the being, and even something essential to it. A\nmember of the Kangaroo clan calls himself a kangaroo; he is therefore,\nin one sense, an animal of this species. \"The totem of any man,\" say\nSpencer and Gillen, \"is regarded as the same thing as himself; a native\nonce said to us when we were discussing the matter with him, 'That one,'\npointing to his photograph which we had taken, 'is the same thing as me:\nso is a kangaroo' (his totem).\"[389] So each individual has a double\nnature: two beings coexist within him, a man and an animal.\n\nIn order to give a semblance of intelligibility to this duality, so\nstrange for us, the primitive has invented myths which, it is true,\nexplain nothing and only shift the difficulty, but which, by shifting\nit, seem at least to lessen the logical scandal. With slight variations\nof detail, all are constructed on the same plan: their object is to\nestablish genealogical connections between the man and the totemic\nanimal, making the one a relative of the other. By this common origin,\nwhich, by the way, is represented in various manners, they believe that\nthey account for their common nature. The Narrinyeri, for example, have\nimagined that certain of the first men had the power of transforming\nthemselves into beasts.[390] Other Australian societies place at the\nbeginning of humanity either strange animals from which the men were\ndescended in some unknown way,[391] or mixed beings, half-way between\nthe two kingdoms,[392] or else unformed creatures, hardly representable,\ndeprived of all determined organs, and even of all definite members, and\nthe different parts of whose bodies were hardly outlined.[393] Mythical\npowers, sometimes conceived under the form of animals, then intervened\nand made men out of these ambiguous and innumerable beings which Spencer\nand Gillen say represent \"stages in the transformation of animals and\nplants into human beings.\"[394] These transformations are represented to\nus under the form of violent and, as it were, surgical operations. It is\nunder the blows of an axe or, if the operator is a bird, blows of the\nbeak, that the human individual was carved out of this shapeless mass,\nhis members separated from each other, his mouth opened and his nostrils\npierced.[395] Analogous legends are found in America, except that owing\nto the more highly developed mentality of these peoples, the\nrepresentations which they employ do not contain confusions so\ntroublesome for the mind. Sometimes it is a legendary personage who, by\nan act of his power, metamorphosed the animal who gives its name to the\nclan into a man.[396] Sometimes the myth attempts to explain how, by a\nseries of nearly natural events and a sort of spontaneous evolution, the\nanimal transformed himself little by little, and finally took a human\nform.[397]\n\nIt is true that there are societies (the Haida, Tlinkit, Tsimshian)\nwhere it is no longer admitted that man was born of an animal or plant;\nbut the idea of an affinity between the animals of the totemic species\nand the members of the clan has survived there nevertheless, and\nexpresses itself in myths which, though differing from the preceding,\nstill retain all that is essential in them. Here is one of the\nfundamental themes. The ancestor who gives his name to the clan is here\nrepresented as a human being, but who, in the course of various\nwanderings, has been led to live for a while among the fabulous animals\nof the very species which gave the clan its name. As the result of this\nintimate and prolonged connection, he became so like his new companions\nthat when he returned to men, they no longer recognized him. He was\ntherefore given the name of the animal which he resembled. It is from\nhis stay in this mythical land that he brought back the totemic emblem,\ntogether with the powers and virtues believed to be attached to it.[398]\nThus in this case, as in the others, men are believed to participate in\nthe nature of the animal, though this participation may be conceived in\nslightly different forms.[399]\n\nSo man also has something sacred about him. Though diffused into the\nwhole organism, this characteristic is especially apparent in certain\nprivileged places. There are organs and tissues that are specially\nmarked out: these are particularly the blood and the hair.\n\nIn the first place, human blood is so holy a thing that in the tribes of\nCentral Australia, it frequently serves to consecrate the most respected\ninstruments of the cult. For example, in certain cases, the nurtunja is\nregularly anointed from top to bottom with the blood of a man.[400] It\nis upon ground all saturated with blood that the men of the Emu, among\nthe Arunta, trace their sacred images.[401] We shall presently see that\nstreams of blood are poured upon the rocks which represent the totemic\nanimals and plants.[402] There is no religious ceremony where blood does\nnot have some part to play.[403] During the initiation, the adults open\ntheir veins and sprinkle the novice with their blood; and this blood is\nso sacred a thing that women may not be present while it is flowing; the\nsight of it is forbidden them, just as the sight of a churinga is.[404]\nThe blood lost by a young initiate during the very violent operations he\nmust undergo has very particular virtues: it is used in various\nceremonies.[405] That which flows during the sub-incision is piously\nkept by the Arunta and buried in a place upon which they put a piece of\nwood warning passers-by of the sacredness of the spot; no woman should\napproach it.[406] The religious nature of blood also explains the equal\nimportance, religiously, of the red ochre, which is very frequently\nemployed in ceremonies; they rub the churinga with it and use it in\nritual decorations.[407] This is due to the fact that because of its\ncolour, it is regarded as something kindred to blood. Many deposits of\nred ochre which are found in the Arunta territory are even supposed to\nbe the coagulated blood which certain heroines of the mythical period\nshed on to the soil.[408]\n\nHair has similar properties. The natives of the centre wear belts made\nof human hair, whose religious functions we have already pointed out:\nthey are also used to wrap up certain instruments of the cult.[409]\nDoes one man loan another one of his churinga? As a sign of\nacknowledgment, the second makes a present of hair to the first; these\ntwo sorts of things are therefore thought to be of the same order and of\nequivalent value.[410] So the operation of cutting the hair is a ritual\nact, accompanied by definite ceremonies: the individual operated upon\nmust squat on the ground, with his face turned in the direction of the\nplace where the fabulous ancestors from which the clan of his mother is\nbelieved to be descended, are thought to have camped.[411] For the same\nreason, as soon as a man is dead, they cut his hair off and put it away\nin some distant place, for neither women nor the non-initiated have the\nright of seeing it: it is here, far from profane eyes, that the belts\nare made.[412]\n\nOther organic tissues might be mentioned which have similar properties,\nin varying degrees: such are the whiskers, the foreskin, the fat of the\nliver, etc.[413] But it is useless to multiply examples. Those already\ngiven are enough to prove that there is something in man which holds\nprofane things at a distance and which possesses a religious power; in\nother words, the human organism conceals within its depths a sacred\nprinciple, which visibly comes to the surface in certain determined\ncases. This principle does not differ materially from that which causes\nthe religious character of the totem. In fact, we have just seen that\nthe different substances in which it incarnates itself especially enter\ninto the ritual composition of the objects of the cult (nurtunja,\ntotemic designs), or else are used in the anointings whose object is to\nrenew the virtues either of the churinga or of the sacred rocks; they\nare things of the same species.\n\nSometimes the religious dignity which is inherent in each member of the\nclan on this account is not equal for all. Men possess it to a higher\ndegree than women; in relation to them, women are like profane\nbeings.[414] Thus, every time that there is an assembly, either of the\ntotemic group or of the tribe, the men have a separate camp, distinct\nfrom that of the women, and into which these latter may not enter: they\nare separated off.[415] But there are also differences in the way in\nwhich men are marked with a religious character. The young men not yet\ninitiated are wholly deprived of it, since they are not admitted to the\nceremonies. It is among the old men that it reaches its greatest\nintensity. They are so very sacred that certain things forbidden to\nordinary people are permissible for them: they may eat the totemic\nanimal more freely and, as we have seen, there are even some tribes\nwhere they are freed from all dietetic restrictions.\n\nSo we must be careful not to consider totemism a sort of animal worship.\nThe attitude of a man towards the animals or plants whose name he bears\nis not at all that of a believer towards his god, for he belongs to the\nsacred world himself. Their relations are rather those of two beings who\nare on the same level and of equal value. The most that can be said is\nthat in certain cases, at least, the animal seems to occupy a slightly\nmore elevated place in the hierarchy of sacred things. It is because of\nthis that it is sometimes called the father or the grandfather of the\nmen of the clan, which seems to show that they feel themselves in a\nstate of moral dependence in regard to it.[416] But in other, and\nperhaps even more frequent cases, it happens that the expressions used\ndenote rather a sentiment of equality. The totemic animal is called the\nfriend or the elder brother of its human fellows.[417] Finally, the\nbonds which exist between them and it are much more like those which\nunite the members of a single family; the animals and the men are made\nof the same flesh, as the Buandik say.[418] On account of this kinship,\nmen regard the animals of the totemic species as kindly associates upon\nwhose aid they think they can rely. They call them to their aid[419] and\nthey come, to direct their blows in the hunt and to give warning of\nwhatever dangers there may be.[420] In return for this, men treat them\nwith regard and are never cruel to them;[421] but these attentions in no\nway resemble a cult.\n\nMen sometimes even appear to have a mysterious sort of property-right\nover their totems. The prohibition against killing and eating them is\napplied only to members of the clan, of course; it could not be extended\nto other persons without making life practically impossible. If, in a\ntribe like the Arunta, where there is such a host of different totems,\nit were forbidden to eat, not only the animal or plant whose name one\nbears, but also all the animals and all the plants which serve as totems\nto other clans, the sources of food would be reduced to nothing. Yet\nthere are tribes where the consumption of the totemic plant or animal is\nnot allowed without restrictions, even to foreigners. Among the\nWakelbura, it must not take place in the presence of men of this\ntotem.[422] In other places, their permission must be given. For\nexample, among the Kaitish and the Unmatjera, whenever a man of the Emu\ntotem happens to be in a place occupied by a grass-seed clan, and\ngathers some of these seed, before eating them he must go to the chief\nand say to him, \"I have gathered these seeds in your country.\" To this\nthe chief replies, \"All right; you may eat them.\" But if the Emu man ate\nthem before demanding permission, it is believed that he would fall sick\nand run the risk of dying.[423] There are even cases where the chief of\nthe group must take a little of the food and eat it himself: it is a\nsort of payment which must be made.[424] For the same reason, the\nchuringa gives the hunter a certain power over the corresponding animal:\nby rubbing his body with a Euro churinga, for example, a man acquires a\ngreater chance of catching euros.[425] This is the proof that the fact\nof participating in the nature of a totemic being confers a sort of\neminent right over this latter. Finally, there is one tribe in northern\nQueensland, the Karingbool, where the men of the totem are the only ones\nwho have a right to kill the animal or, if the totem is a tree, to peel\noff its bark. Their aid is indispensable to all others who want to use\nthe flesh of this animal or the wood of this tree for their own personal\nends.[426] So they appear as proprietors, though it is quite evidently\nover a special sort of property, of which we find it hard to form an\nidea.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTOTEMIC BELIEFS--_continued_\n\n_The Cosmological System of Totemism and the Idea of Class_\n\n\nWe are beginning to see that totemism is a much more complex religion\nthan it first appeared to be. We have already distinguished three\nclasses of things which it recognizes as sacred, in varying degrees: the\ntotemic emblem, the animal or plant whose appearance this emblem\nreproduces, and the members of the clan. However, this list is not yet\ncomplete. In fact, a religion is not merely a collection of fragmentary\nbeliefs in regard to special objects like those we have just been\ndiscussing. To a greater or less extent, all known religions have been\nsystems of ideas which tend to embrace the universality of things, and\nto give us a complete representation of the world. If totemism is to be\nconsidered as a religion comparable to the others, it too should offer\nus a conception of the universe. As a matter of fact, it does satisfy\nthis condition.\n\n\nI\n\nThe fact that this aspect of totemism has generally been neglected is\ndue to the too narrow notion of the clan which has been prevalent.\nOrdinarily it is regarded as a mere group of human beings. Being a\nsimple subdivision of the tribe, it seems that like this, it is made up\nof nothing but men. But in reasoning thus, we substitute our European\nideas for those which the primitive has of man and of society. For the\nAustralian, things themselves, everything which is in the universe, are\na part of the tribe; they are constituent elements of it and, so to\nspeak, regular members of it; just like men, they have a determined\nplace in the general scheme of organization of the society. \"The South\nAustralian savage,\" says Fison, \"looks upon the universe as the Great\nTribe, to one of whose divisions he himself belongs; and all things,\nanimate and inanimate, which belong to his class are parts of the body\ncorporate whereof he himself is a part.\"[427] As a consequence of this\nprinciple, whenever the tribe is divided into two phratries, all known\nthings are distributed between them. \"All nature,\" says Palmer, in\nspeaking of the Bellinger River tribe, \"is also divided into class\n[phratry] names.... The sun and moon and stars are said ... to belong\nto classes [phratries] just as the blacks themselves.\"[428] The Port\nMackay tribe in Queensland has two phratries with the names Yungaroo and\nWootaroo, as do the neighbouring tribes. Now as Bridgmann says, \"all\nthings, animate and inanimate, are divided by these tribes into two\nclasses, named Yungaroo and Wootaroo.\"[429] Nor does the classification\nstop here. The men of each phratry are distributed among a certain\nnumber of clans; likewise, the things attributed to each phratry are in\ntheir turn distributed among the clans of which the phratry is composed.\nA certain tree, for example, will be assigned to the Kangaroo clan, and\nto it alone; then, just like the human members of the clan, it will have\nthe Kangaroo as totem; another will belong to the Snake clan; clouds\nwill be placed under one totem, the sun under another, etc. All known\nthings will thus be arranged in a sort of tableau or systematic\nclassification embracing the whole of nature.\n\nWe have given a certain number of these classifications elsewhere;[430]\nat present we shall confine ourselves to repeating a few of these as\nexamples. One of the best known of these is the one found in the Mount\nGambier tribe. This tribe includes two phratries, named respectively the\nKumite and the Kroki; each of these, in its turn, is subdivided into\nfive clans. Now \"everything in nature belongs to one or another of these\nten clans\";[431] Fison and Howitt say that they are all \"included\"\nwithin it. In fact, they are classified under these ten totems just like\nspecies in their respective classes. This is well shown by the following\ntable based on information gathered by Curr and by Fison and\nHowitt.[432]\n\n PHRATRIES. CLANS. THINGS CLASSED IN EACH CLAN.\n\n { Fish-hawk { Smoke, honeysuckle, certain\n { { trees, etc.\n { Pelican { Blackwood-trees, dogs, fire,\n { { frost, etc.\n KUMITE { Crow { Rain, thunder, lightning,\n { { clouds, hail, winter, etc.\n { Black cockatoo { The stars, the moon, etc.\n { A non-poisonous snake { Fish, seal, eel, the\n { stringybark-tree, etc.\n\n { Tea-tree { Duck, crayfish, owls, etc.\n { An edible root { Bustard, quail, a small\n KROKI { { kangaroo, etc.\n { A white crestless cockatoo { Kangaroo, the summer, the\n { { sun, wind, the autumn, etc.\n { Details are lacking for the fourth and fifth Kroki clans.\n\nThe list of things attached to each clan is quite incomplete; Curr\nhimself warns us that he has limited himself to enumerating some of\nthem. But through the work of Mathews and of Howitt[433] we have more\nextended information to-day on the classification adopted by the\nWotjobaluk tribe, which enables us to understand better how a system of\nthis kind is able to include the whole universe, as known to the\nnatives. The Wotjobaluk also are divided into two phratries called\nGurogity and Gumaty (Krokitch and Gamutch according to Howitt[434]); not\nto prolong this enumeration, we shall content ourselves with indicating,\nafter Mathews, the things classed in some of the clans of the Gurogity\nphratry.\n\nIn the clan of the Yam are classified the plain-turkey, the native cat,\nthe _mopoke_, the _dyim-dyim_ owl, the _mallee_ hen, the rosella parrot,\nthe peewee.\n\nIn the Mussel[435] clan are the grey emu, the porcupine, the curlew, the\nwhite cockatoo, the wood-duck, the _mallee_ lizard, the stinking turtle,\nthe flying squirrel, the ring-tail opossum, the bronze-wing pigeon, the\n_wijuggla_.\n\nIn the Sun clan are the bandicoot, the moon, the kangaroo-rat, the black\nand white magpies, the opossum, the _ng[)u]rt_ hawk, the gum-tree grub,\nthe wattle-tree grub, the planet Venus.\n\nIn the clan of the Warm Wind[436] are the grey-headed eagle-hawk, the\ncarpet snake, the smoker parrot, the shell parrot, the _murrakan_ hawk,\nthe _dikkomur_ snake, the ring-neck parrot, the _mirudai_ snake, the\nshingle-back lizard.\n\nIf we remember that there are many other clans (Howitt names twelve and\nMathews fourteen and adds that his list is incomplete[437]), we will\nunderstand how all the things in which the native takes an interest find\na natural place in these classifications.\n\nSimilar arrangements have been observed in the most diverse parts of\nthe Australian continent; in South Australia, in Victoria, and in New\nSouth Wales (among the Euahlayi[438]); very clear traces of it are found\nin the central tribes.[439] In Queensland, where the clans seem to have\ndisappeared and where the matrimonial classes are the only subdivisions\nof the phratry, things are divided up among these classes. Thus, the\nWakelbura are divided into two phratries, Mallera and Wutaru; the\nclasses of the first are called Kurgilla and Banbe, those of the second,\nWungo and Obu. Now to the Banbe belong the opossum, the kangaroo, the\ndog, honey of little bees, etc.; to the Wungo are attributed the emu,\nthe bandicoot, the black duck, the black snake, the brown snake; to the\nObu, the carpet snake, the honey of stinging bees, etc.; to the\nKurgilla, the porcupine, the turkey of the plains, water, rain, fire,\nthunder, etc.[440]\n\nThis same organization is found among the Indians of North America. The\nZu\u00f1i have a system of classification which, in its essential lines, is\nin all points comparable to the one we have just described. That of the\nOmaha rests on the same principles as that of the Wotjobaluk.[441] An\necho of these same ideas survives even into the more advanced societies.\nAmong the Haida, all the gods and mythical beings who are placed in\ncharge of the different phenomena of nature are classified in one or the\nother of the two phratries which make up the tribe just like men; some\nare Eagles, the others, Crows.[442] Now the gods of things are only\nanother aspect of the things which they govern.[443] This mythological\nclassification is therefore merely another form of the preceding one. So\nwe may rest assured that this way of conceiving the world is independent\nof all ethnic or geographic particularities; and at the same time it is\nclearly seen to be closely united to the whole system of totemic\nbeliefs.\n\n\nII\n\nIn the paper to which we have already made allusion several times, we\nhave shown what light these facts throw upon the way in which the idea\nof kind or class was formed in humanity. In fact, these systematic\nclassifications are the first we meet with in history, and we have just\nseen that they are modelled upon the social organization, or rather that\nthey have taken the forms of society as their framework. It is the\nphratries which have served as classes, and the clans as species. It is\nbecause men were organized that they have been able to organize things,\nfor in classifying these latter, they limited themselves to giving them\nplaces in the groups they formed themselves. And if these different\nclasses of things are not merely put next to each other, but are\narranged according to a unified plan, it is because the social groups\nwith which they commingle themselves are unified and, through their\nunion, form an organic whole, the tribe. The unity of these first\nlogical systems merely reproduces the unity of the society. Thus we have\nan occasion for verifying the proposition which we laid down at the\ncommencement of this work, and for assuring ourselves that the\nfundamental notions of the intellect, the essential categories of\nthought, may be the product of social factors. The above-mentioned facts\nshow clearly that this is the case with the very notion of category\nitself.\n\nHowever, it is not our intention to deny that the individual intellect\nhas of itself the power of perceiving resemblances between the different\nobjects of which it is conscious. Quite on the contrary, it is clear\nthat even the most primitive and simple classifications presuppose this\nfaculty. The Australian does not place things in the same clan or in\ndifferent clans at random. For him as for us, similar images attract one\nanother, while opposed ones repel one another, and it is on the basis of\nthese feelings of affinity or of repulsion that he classifies the\ncorresponding things in one place or another.\n\nThere are also cases where we are able to perceive the reasons which\ninspired this. The two phratries were very probably the original and\nfundamental bases for these classifications, which were consequently\nbifurcate at first. Now, when a classification is reduced to two\nclasses, these are almost necessarily conceived as antitheses; they are\nused primarily as a means of clearly separating things between which\nthere is a very marked contrast. Some are set at the right, the others\nat the left. As a matter of fact this is the character of the Australian\nclassifications. If the white cockatoo is in one phratry, the black one\nis in the other; if the sun is on one side, the moon and the stars of\nnight are on the opposite side.[444] Very frequently the beings which\nserve as the totems of the two phratries have contrary colours.[445]\nThese oppositions are even met with outside of Australia. Where one of\nthe phratries is disposed to peace, the other is disposed to war;[446]\nif one has water as its totem, the other has earth.[447] This is\nundoubtedly the explanation of why the two phratries have frequently\nbeen thought of as naturally antagonistic to one another. They say that\nthere is a sort of rivalry or even a constitutional hostility between\nthem.[448] This opposition of things has extended itself to persons; the\nlogical contrast has begotten a sort of social conflict.[449]\n\nIt is also to be observed that within each phratry, those things have\nbeen placed in a single clan which seem to have the greatest affinity\nwith that serving as totem. For example, the moon has been placed with\nthe black cockatoo, but the sun, together with the atmosphere and the\nwind, with the white cockatoo. Or again, to a totemic animal has been\nunited all that serves him as food,[450] as well as the animals with\nwhich he has the closest connection.[451] Of course, we cannot always\nunderstand the obscure psychology which has caused many of these\nconnections and distinctions, but the preceding examples are enough to\nshow that a certain intuition of the resemblances and differences\npresented by things has played an important part in the genesis of\nthese classifications.\n\nBut the feeling of resemblances is one thing and the idea of class is\nanother. The class is the external framework of which objects perceived\nto be similar form, in part, the contents. Now the contents cannot\nfurnish the frame into which they fit. They are made up of _vague and\nfluctuating_ images, due to the super-imposition and partial fusion of a\n_determined number of individual images_, which are found to have common\nelements; the framework, on the contrary, is a _definite form_, with\nfixed outlines, but which may be applied to an _undetermined number of\nthings_, perceived or not, actual or possible. In fact, every class has\npossibilities of extension which go far beyond the circle of objects\nwhich we know, either from direct experience or from resemblance. This\nis why every school of thinkers has refused, and not with good reason,\nto identify the idea of class with that of a generic image. The generic\nimage is only the indistinctly-bounded residual representation left in\nus by similar representations, when they are present in consciousness\nsimultaneously; the class is a logical symbol by means of which we think\ndistinctly of these similarities and of other analogous ones. Moreover,\nthe best proof of the distance separating these two notions is that an\nanimal is able to form generic images though ignorant of the art of\nthinking in classes and species.\n\nThe idea of class is an instrument of thought which has obviously been\nconstructed by men. But in constructing it, we have at least had need of\na model; for how could this idea ever have been born, if there had been\nnothing either in us or around us which was capable of suggesting it to\nus? To reply that it was given to us _a priori_ is not to reply at all;\nthis lazy man's solution is, as has been said, the death of analysis.\nBut it is hard to see where we could have found this indispensable model\nexcept in the spectacle of the collective life. In fact, a class is not\nan ideal, but a clearly defined group of things between which internal\nrelationships exist, similar to those of kindred. Now the only groups of\nthis sort known from experience are those formed by men in associating\nthemselves. Material things may be able to form collections of units, or\nheaps, or mechanical assemblages with no internal unity, but not groups\nin the sense we have given the word. A heap of sand or a pile of rock is\nin no way comparable to that variety of definite and organized society\nwhich forms a class. In all probability, we would never have thought of\nuniting the beings of the universe into homogeneous groups, called\nclasses, if we had not had the example of human societies before our\neyes, if we had not even commenced by making things themselves members\nof men's society, and also if human groups and logical groups had not\nbeen confused at first.[452]\n\nIt is also to be borne in mind that a classification is a system whose\nparts are arranged according to a hierarchy. There are dominating\nmembers and others which are subordinate to the first; species and their\ndistinctive properties depend upon classes and the attributes which\ncharacterize them; again, the different species of a single class are\nconceived as all placed on the same level in regard to each other. Does\nsomeone prefer to regard them from the point of view of the\nunderstanding? Then he represents things to himself in an inverse order:\nhe puts at the top the species that are the most particularized and the\nrichest in reality, while the types that are most general and the\npoorest in qualities are at the bottom. Nevertheless, all are\nrepresented in a hierarchic form. And we must be careful not to believe\nthat the expression has only a metaphorical sense here: there are really\nrelations of subordination and co-ordination, the establishment of which\nis the object of all classification, and men would never have thought of\narranging their knowledge in this way if they had not known beforehand\nwhat a hierarchy was. But neither the spectacle of physical nature nor\nthe mechanism of mental associations could furnish them with this\nknowledge. The hierarchy is exclusively a social affair. It is only in\nsociety that there are superiors, inferiors and equals. Consequently,\neven if the facts were not enough to prove it, the mere analysis of\nthese ideas would reveal their origin. We have taken them from society,\nand projected them into our conceptions of the world. It is society that\nhas furnished the outlines which logical thought has filled in.\n\n\nIII\n\nBut these primitive classifications have a no less direct interest for\nthe origins of religious thought.\n\nThey imply that all the things thus classed in a single clan or a single\nphratry are closely related both to each other and to the thing serving\nas the totem of this clan or phratry. When an Australian of the Port\nMackay tribe says that the sun, snakes, etc., are of the Yungaroo\nphratry, he does not mean merely to apply a common, but none the less a\npurely conventional, nomenclature to these different things; the word\nhas an objective signification for him. He believes that \"alligators\nreally _are_ Yungaroo and that kangaroos are Wootaroo. The sun _is_\nYungaroo, the moon Wootaroo, and so on for the constellations, trees,\nplants, etc.\"[453] An internal bond attaches them to the group in which\nthey are placed; they are regular members of it. It is said that they\nbelong to the group,[454] just exactly as the individual men make a part\nof it; consequently, the same sort of a relation unites them to these\nlatter. Men regard the things in their clan as their relatives or\nassociates; they call them their friends and think that they are made\nout of the same flesh as themselves.[455] Therefore, between the two\nthere are elective affinities and quite special relations of agreement.\nThings and people have a common name, and in a certain way they\nnaturally understand each other and harmonize with one another. For\nexample, when a Wakelbura of the Mallera phratry is buried, the scaffold\nupon which the body is exposed \"must be made of the wood of some tree\nbelonging to the Mallera phratry.\"[456] The same is true for the\nbranches that cover the corpse. If the deceased is of the Banbe class, a\nBanbe tree must be used. In this same tribe, a magician can use in his\nart only those things which belong to his own phratry;[457] since the\nothers are strangers to him, he does not know how to make them obey him.\nThus a bond of mystic sympathy unites each individual to those beings,\nwhether living or not, which are associated with him; the result of this\nis a belief in the possibility of deducing what he will do or what he\nhas done from what they are doing. Among these same Wakelbura, when a\nman dreams that he has killed an animal belonging to a certain social\ndivision, he expects to meet a man of this same division the next\nday.[458] Inversely, the things attributed to a clan or phratry cannot\nbe used against the members of this clan or phratry. Among the\nWotjobaluk, each phratry has its own special trees. Now in hunting an\nanimal of the Gurogity phratry, only arms whose wood is taken from trees\nof the other phratry may be used, and _vice versa_; otherwise the hunter\nis sure to miss his aim.[459] The native is convinced that the arrow\nwould turn of itself and refuse, so to speak, to hit a kindred and\nfriendly animal.\n\nThus the men of the clan and the things which are classified in it form\nby their union a solid system, all of whose parts are united and vibrate\nsympathetically. This organization, which at first may have appeared to\nus as purely logical, is at the same time moral. A single principle\nanimates it and makes its unity: this is the totem. Just as a man who\nbelongs to the Crow clan has within him something of this animal, so the\nrain, since it is of the same clan and belongs to the same totem, is\nalso necessarily considered as being \"the same thing as a crow\"; for the\nsame reason, the moon is a black cockatoo, the sun a white cockatoo,\nevery black-nut tree a pelican, etc. All the beings arranged in a single\nclan, whether men, animals, plants or inanimate objects, are merely\nforms of the totemic being. This is the meaning of the formula which we\nhave just cited and this is what makes the two really of the same\nspecies: all are really of the same flesh in the sense that all partake\nof the nature of the totemic animal. Also, the qualifiers given them are\nthose given to the totem.[460] The Wotjobaluk give the name _Mir_ both\nto the totem and to the things classed with it.[461] It is true that\namong the Arunta, where visible traces of classification still exist, as\nwe shall see, different words designate the totem and the other beings\nplaced with it; however, the name given to these latter bears witness to\nthe close relations which unite them to the totemic animal. It is said\nthat they are its _intimates_, its _associates_, its _friends_; it is\nbelieved that they are inseparable from it.[462] So there is a feeling\nthat these are very closely related things.\n\nBut we also know that the totemic animal is a sacred being. All the\nthings that are classified in the clan of which it is the emblem have\nthis same character, because in one sense, they are animals of the same\nspecies, just as the man is. They, too, are sacred, and the\nclassifications which locate them in relation to the other things of the\nuniverse, by that very act give them a place in the religious world. For\nthis reason, the animals or plants among these may not be eaten freely\nby the human members of the clan. Thus in the Mount Gambier tribe, the\nmen whose totem is a certain non-poisonous snake must not merely refrain\nfrom eating the flesh of this snake; that of seals, eels, etc., is also\nforbidden to them.[463] If, driven by necessity, they do eat some of it,\nthey must at least attenuate the sacrilege by expiatory rites, just as\nif they had eaten the totem itself.[464] Among the Euahlayi, where it\nis permitted to use the totem, but not to abuse it, the same rule is\napplied to the other members of the clan.[465] Among the Arunta, the\ninterdictions protecting the totemic animal extend over the associated\nanimals;[466] and in any case, particular attention must be given to\nthese latter.[467] The sentiments inspired by the two are\nidentical.[468]\n\nBut the fact that the things thus attached to the totem are not of a\ndifferent nature from it, and consequently have a religious character,\nis best proved by the fact that on certain occasions they fulfil the\nsame functions. They are accessory or secondary totems, or, according to\nan expression now consecrated by usage, they are sub-totems.[469] It is\nconstantly happening in the clans that under the influence of various\nsympathies, particular affinities are forming, smaller groups and more\nlimited associations arise, which tend to lead a relatively autonomous\nlife and to form a new subdivision like a sub-clan within the larger\none. In order to distinguish and individualize itself, this sub-clan\nneeds a special totem or, consequently, a sub-totem.[470] Now the totems\nof these secondary groups are chosen from among the things classified\nunder the principal totem. So they are always almost totems and the\nslightest circumstance is enough to make them actually so. There is a\nlatent totemic nature in them, which shows itself as soon as conditions\npermit it or demand it. It thus happens that a single individual has\ntwo totems, a principal totem common to the whole clan and a sub-totem\nwhich is special to the sub-clan of which he is a member. This is\nsomething analogous to the _nomen_ and _cognomen_ of the Romans.[471]\n\nSometimes we see a sub-clan emancipate itself completely and become an\nautonomous group and an independent clan; then, the sub-totem, on its\nside, becomes a regular totem. One tribe where this process of\nsegmentation has been pushed to the limit, so to speak, is the Arunta.\nThe information contained in the first book of Spencer and Gillen showed\nthat there were some sixty totems among the Arunta;[472] but the recent\nresearches of Strehlow have shown the number to be much larger. He\ncounted no less than 442.[473] Spencer and Gillen did not exaggerate at\nall when they said, \"In fact, there is scarcely an object, animate or\ninanimate, to be found in the country occupied by the natives which does\nnot give its name to some totemic group.\"[474] Now this multitude of\ntotems, whose number is prodigious when compared to the population, is\ndue to the fact that under special circumstances, the original clans\nhave divided and sub-divided infinitely; consequently nearly all the\nsub-totems have passed to the stage of totems.\n\nThis has been definitely proved by the observations of Strehlow. Spencer\nand Gillen cited only certain isolated cases of associated totems.[475]\nStrehlow has shown that this is in reality an absolutely general\norganization. He has been able to draw up a table where nearly all the\ntotems of the Arunta are classified according to this principle: all are\nattached, either as associates or as auxiliaries, to some sixty\nprincipal totems.[476] The first are believed to be in the service of\nthe second.[477] This state of dependence is very probably the echo of\na time when the \"allies\" of to-day were only sub-totems, and\nconsequently when the tribe contained only a small number of clans\nsubdivided into sub-clans. Numerous survivals confirm this hypothesis.\nIt frequently happens that two groups thus associated have the same\ntotemic emblem: now this unity of emblem is explicable only if the two\ngroups were at first only one.[478] The relation of the two clans is\nalso shown by the part and the interest that each one takes in the\nrites of the other. The two cults are still only imperfectly separated;\nthis is very probably because they were at first completely\nintermingled.[479] Tradition explains the bonds which unite them by\nimagining that formerly the two clans occupied neighbouring places.[480]\nIn other cases, the myth says expressly that one of them was derived\nfrom the other. It is related that at first the associated animal\nbelonged to the species still serving as principal totem; it\ndifferentiated itself at a later period. Thus the chantunga birds, which\nare associated with the witchetly grub to-day, were witchetly grubs in\nfabulous times, who later transformed themselves into birds. Two species\nwhich are now attached to the honey-ant were formerly honey-ants,\netc.[481] This transformation of a sub-totem into a totem goes on by\nimperceptible degrees, so that in certain cases the situation is\nundecided, and it is hard to say whether one is dealing with a principal\ntotem or a secondary one.[482] As Howitt says in regard to the\nWotjobaluk, there are sub-totems which are totems in formation.[483]\nThus the different things classified in a clan constitute, as it were,\nso many nuclei around which new totemic cults are able to form. This is\nthe best proof of the religious sentiments which they inspire. If they\ndid not have a sacred character, they could not be promoted so easily to\nthe same dignity as the things which are sacred before all others, the\nregular totems.\n\nSo the field of religious things extends well beyond the limits within\nwhich it seemed to be confined at first. It embraces not only the\ntotemic animals and the human members of the clan; but since no known\nthing exists that is not classified in a clan and under a totem, there\nis likewise nothing which does not receive to some degree something of\na religious character. When, in the religions which later come into\nbeing, the gods properly so-called appear, each of them will be set over\na special category of natural phenomena, this one over the sea, that one\nover the air, another over the harvest or over fruits, etc., and each of\nthese provinces of nature will be believed to draw what life there is in\nit from the god upon whom it depends. This division of nature among the\ndifferent divinities constitutes the conception which these religions\ngive us of the universe. Now so long as humanity has not passed the\nphase of totemism, the different totems of the tribe fulfil exactly the\nsame functions that will later fall upon the divine personalities. In\nthe Mount Gambier tribe, which we have taken as our principal example,\nthere are ten clans; consequently the entire world is divided into ten\nclasses, or rather into ten families, each of which has a special totem\nas its basis. It is from this basis that the things classed in the clan\nget all their reality, for they are thought of as variant forms of the\ntotemic being; to return to our example, the rain, thunder, lightning,\nclouds, hail and winter are regarded as different sorts of crows. When\nbrought together, these ten families of things make up a complete and\nsystematic representation of the world; and this representation is\nreligious, for religious notions furnish its basis. Far from being\nlimited to one or two categories of beings, the domain of totemic\nreligion extends to the final limits of the known universe. Just like\nthe Greek religion, it puts the divine everywhere; the celebrated\nformula [Greek: panta pl\u00ear\u00ea the\u00f4n] (everything is full of the gods),\nmight equally well serve it as motto.\n\nHowever, if totemism is to be represented thus, the notion of it which\nhas long been held must be modified on one essential point. Until the\ndiscoveries of recent years, it was made to consist entirely in the cult\nof one particular totem, and it was defined as the religion of the clan.\nFrom this point of view, each tribe seemed to have as many totemic\nreligions, each independent of the others, as it had different clans.\nThis conception was also in harmony with the idea currently held of the\nclan; in fact, this was regarded as an autonomous society,[484] more or\nless closed to other similar societies, or having only external and\nsuperficial relations with these latter. But the reality is more\ncomplex. Undoubtedly, the cult of each totem has its home in the\ncorresponding clan; it is there, and only there, that it is celebrated;\nit is members of the clan who have charge of it; it is through them\nthat it is transmitted from one generation to another, along with the\nbeliefs which are its basis. But it is also true that the different\ntotemic cults thus practised within a single tribe do not have a\nparallel development, though remaining ignorant of each other, as if\neach of them constituted a complete and self-sufficing religion. On the\ncontrary, they mutually imply each other; they are only the parts of a\nsingle whole, the elements of a single religion. The men of one clan\nnever regard the beliefs of neighbouring clans with that indifference,\nscepticism or hostility which one religion ordinarily inspires for\nanother which is foreign to it; they partake of these beliefs\nthemselves. The Crow people are also convinced that the Snake people\nhave a mythical serpent as ancestor, and that they owe special virtues\nand marvellous powers to this origin. And have we not seen that at least\nin certain conditions, a man may eat a totem that is not his own only\nafter he has observed certain ritual formalities? Especially, he must\ndemand the permission of the men of this totem, if any are present. So\nfor him also, this food is not entirely profane; he also admits that\nthere are intimate affinities between the members of a clan of which he\nis not a member and the animal whose name they bear. Also, this\ncommunity of belief is sometimes shown in the cult. If in theory the\nrites concerning a totem can be performed only by the men of this totem,\nnevertheless representatives of different clans frequently assist at\nthem. It sometimes happens that their part is not simply that of\nspectators; it is true that they do not officiate, but they decorate the\nofficiants and prepare the service. They themselves have an interest in\nits being celebrated; therefore, in certain tribes, it is they who\ninvite the qualified clan to proceed with the ceremonies.[485] There is\neven a whole cycle of rites which must take place in the presence of the\nassembled tribe: these are the totemic ceremonies of initiation.[486]\n\nFinally, the totemic organization, such as we have just described it,\nmust obviously be the result of some sort of an indistinct understanding\nbetween all the members of the tribe. It is impossible that each clan\nshould have made its beliefs in an absolutely independent manner; it is\nabsolutely necessary that the cults of the different totems should be in\nsome way adjusted to each other, since they complete one another\nexactly. In fact, we have seen that normally a single totem is not\nrepeated twice in the same tribe, and that the whole universe is divided\nup among the totems thus constituted in such a way that the same object\nis not found in two different clans. So methodical a division could\nnever have been made without an agreement, tacit or planned, in which\nthe whole tribe participated. So the group of beliefs which thus arise\nare partially (but only partially) a tribal affair.[487]\n\nTo sum up, then, in order to form an adequate idea of totemism, we must\nnot confine ourselves within the limits of the clan, but must consider\nthe tribe as a whole. It is true that the particular cult of each clan\nenjoys a very great autonomy; we can now see that it is within the clan\nthat the active ferment of the religious life takes place. But it is\nalso true that these cults fit into each other and the totemic religion\nis a complex system formed by their union, just as Greek polytheism was\nmade by the union of all the particular cults addressed to the different\ndivinities. We have just shown that, thus understood, totemism also has\nit cosmology.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTOTEMIC BELIEFS--_end_\n\n_The Individual Totem and the Sexual Totem_\n\n\nUp to the present, we have studied totemism only as a public\ninstitution: the only totems of which we have spoken are common to a\nclan, a phratry or, in a sense, to a tribe;[488] an individual has a\npart in them only as a member of a group. But we know that there is no\nreligion which does not have an individual aspect. This general\nobservation is applicable to totemism. In addition to the impersonal and\ncollective totems which hold the first place, there are others which are\npeculiar to each individual, which express his personality, and whose\ncult he celebrates in private.\n\n\nI\n\nIn certain Australian tribes, and in the majority of the Indian tribes\nof North America,[489] each individual personally sustains relations\nwith some determined object, which are comparable to those which each\nclan sustains with its totem. This is sometimes an inanimate being or an\nartificial object; but it is generally an animal. In certain cases, a\nspecial part of the organism, such as the head, the feet or the liver,\nfulfils this office.[490]\n\nThe name of the thing also serves as the name of the individual. It is\nhis personal name, his forename, which is added to that of the\ncollective totem, as the _praenomen_ of the Romans was to the _nomen\ngentilicium_. It is true that this fact is not reported except in a\ncertain number of societies,[491] but it is probably general. In fact,\nwe shall presently show that there is an identity of nature between the\nindividual and the thing; now an identity of nature implies one of name.\nBeing given in the course of especially important religious ceremonies,\nthis forename has a sacred character. It is not pronounced in the\nordinary circumstances of profane life. It even happens that the word\ndesignating this object in the ordinary language must be modified to a\ngreater or less extent if it is to serve in this particular case.[492]\nThis is because the terms of the usual language are excluded from the\nreligious life.\n\nIn certain American tribes, at least, this name is reinforced by an\nemblem belonging to each individual and representing, under various\nforms, the thing designated by the name. For example, each Mandan wears\nthe skin of the animal of which he is the namesake.[493] If it is a\nbird, he decorates himself with its feathers.[494] The Hurons and\nAlgonquins tattoo their bodies with its image.[495] It is represented on\ntheir arms.[496] Among the north-western tribes, the individual emblem,\njust like the collective emblem of the clan, is carved or engraved on\nthe utensils, houses,[497] etc.; it serves as a mark of ownership.[498]\nFrequently the two coats-of-arms are combined together, which partially\nexplains the great diversity of aspects presented by the totemic\nescutcheons among these peoples.[499]\n\nBetween the individual and his animal namesake there exist the very\nclosest bonds. The man participates in the nature of the animal; he has\nits good qualities as well as its faults. For example, a man having the\neagle as his coat-of-arms is believed to possess the gift of seeing into\nthe future; if he is named after a bear, they say that he is apt to be\nwounded in combat, for the bear is heavy and slow and easily\ncaught;[500] if the animal is despised, the man is the object of the\nsame sentiment.[501] The relationship of the two is even so close that\nit is believed that in certain circumstances, especially in case of\ndanger, the man can take the form of the animal.[502] Inversely, the\nanimal is regarded as a double of the man, as his _alter ego_.[503] The\nassociation of the two is so close that their destinies are frequently\nthought to be bound up together: nothing can happen to one without the\nother's feeling a reaction.[504] If the animal dies, the life of the man\nis menaced. Thus it comes to be a very general rule that one should not\nkill the animal, nor eat its flesh. This interdiction, which, when\nconcerning the totem of the clan, allows of all sorts of attenuations\nand modifications, is now much more formal and absolute.[505]\n\nOn its side, the animal protects the man and serves him as a sort of\npatron. It informs him of possible dangers and of the way of escaping\nthem;[506] they say that it is his friend.[507] Since it frequently\nhappens to possess marvellous powers, it communicates them to its human\nassociate, who believes in them, even under the proof of bullets,\narrows, and blows of every sort.[508] This confidence of an individual\nin the efficacy of his protector is so great that he braves the greatest\ndangers and accomplishes the most disconcerting feats with an intrepid\nserenity: faith gives him the necessary courage and strength.[509]\nHowever, the relations of a man with his patron are not purely and\nsimply those of dependence. He, on his side, is able to act upon the\nanimal. He gives it orders; he has influence over it. A Kurnai having\nthe shark as ally and friend believes that he can disperse the sharks\nwho menace a boat, by means of a charm.[510] In other cases, the\nrelations thus contracted are believed to confer upon the man a special\naptitude for hunting the animal with success.[511]\n\nThe very nature of these relations seems clearly to imply that the being\nto which each individual is thus associated is only an individual\nitself, and not a species. A man does not have a species as his _alter\nego_. In fact, there are cases where it is certainly a certain\ndetermined tree, rock or stone that fulfils this function.[512] It must\nbe thus every time that it is an animal, and that the existences of the\nanimal and the man are believed to be connected. A man could not be\nunited so closely to a whole species, for there is not a day nor, so to\nspeak, an instant when the species does not lose some one of its\nmembers. Yet the primitive has a certain incapacity for thinking of the\nindividual apart from the species; the bonds uniting him to the one\nreadily extend to the other; he confounds the two in the same sentiment.\nThus the entire species becomes sacred for him.[513]\n\nThis protector is naturally given different names in different\nsocieties: _nagual_ among the Indians of Mexico,[514] _manitou_ among\nthe Algonquins and _okki_ among the Hurons,[515] _snam_ among certain\nSalish,[516] _sulia_ among others,[517] _budjan_ among the Yuin,[518]\n_yunbeai_ among the Euahlayi,[519] etc. Owing to the importance of these\nbeliefs and practices among the Indians of North America, some have\nproposed creating a word _nagualism_ or _manitouism_ to designate\nthem.[520] But in giving them a special and distinctive name, we run the\nrisk of misunderstanding their relations with the rest of totemism. In\nfact, the same principle is applied in the one case to the clan and in\nthe other to the individual. In both cases we find the same belief that\nthere are vital connections between the things and the men, and that\nthe former are endowed with special powers, of which their human allies\nmay also enjoy the advantage. We also find the same custom of giving the\nman the name of the thing with which he is associated and of adding an\nemblem to this name. The totem is the patron of the clan, just as the\npatron of the individual is his personal totem. So it is important that\nour terminology should make the relationship of the two systems\napparent; that is why we, with Frazer, shall give the name _individual\ntotemism_ to the cult rendered by each individual to his patron. A\nfurther justification of this expression is found in the fact that in\ncertain cases the primitive himself uses the same word to designate the\ntotem of the clan and the animal protector of the individual.[521] If\nTylor and Powell have rejected this term and demanded different ones for\nthese two sorts of religious institutions, it is because the collective\ntotem is, in their opinion, only a name or label, having no religious\ncharacter.[522] But we, on the contrary, know that it is a sacred thing,\nand even more so than the protecting animal. Moreover, the continuation\nof our study will show how these two varieties of totemism are\ninseparable from each other.[523]\n\nYet, howsoever close the kinship between these two institutions may be,\nthere are important differences between them. While the clan believes\nthat it is the offspring of the animal or plant serving it as totem, the\nindividual does not believe that he has any relationship of descent with\nhis personal totem. It is a friend, an associate, a protector; but it is\nnot a relative. He takes advantage of the virtues it is believed to\npossess; but he is not of the same blood. In the second place, the\nmembers of a clan allow neighbouring clans to eat of the animal whose\nname they bear collectively, under the simple condition that the\nnecessary formalities shall be observed. But, on the contrary, the\nindividual respects the species to which his personal totem belongs and\nalso protects it against strangers, at least in those parts where the\ndestiny of the man is held to be bound up with that of the animal.\n\nBut the chief difference between these two sorts of totems is in the\nmanner in which they are acquired.\n\nThe collective totem is a part of the civil status of each individual:\nit is generally hereditary; in any case, it is birth which designates\nit, and the wish of men counts for nothing. Sometimes the child has the\ntotem of his mother (Kamilaroi, Dieri, Urabunna, etc.); sometimes that\nof his father (Narrinyeri, Warramunga, etc.); sometimes the one\npredominating in the locality where his mother conceived (Arunta,\nLoritja). But, on the contrary, the individual totem is acquired by a\ndeliberate act:[524] a whole series of ritual operations are necessary\nto determine it. The method generally employed by the Indians of North\nAmerica is as follows. About the time of puberty, as the time for\ninitiation approaches, the young man withdraws into a distant place, for\nexample, into a forest. There, during a period varying from a few days\nto several years, he submits himself to all sorts of exhausting and\nunnatural exercises. He fasts, mortifies himself and inflicts various\nmutilations upon himself. Now he wanders about, uttering violent cries\nand veritable howls; now he lies extended, motionless and lamenting,\nupon the ground. Sometimes he dances, prays and invokes his ordinary\ndivinities. At last, he thus gets himself into an extreme state of\nsuper-excitation, verging on delirium. When he has reached this\nparoxysm, his representations readily take on the character of\nhallucinations. \"When,\" says Heckewelder, \"a boy is on the eve of being\ninitiated, he is submitted to an alternating r\u00e9gime of fasts and medical\ntreatment; he abstains from all food and takes the most powerful and\nrepugnant drugs: at times, he drinks intoxicating concoctions until his\nmind really wanders. Then he has, or thinks he has, visions and\nextraordinary dreams to which he was of course predisposed by all this\ntraining. He imagines himself flying through the air, advancing under\nthe ground, jumping from one mountain-top to another across the valleys,\nand fighting and conquering giants and monsters.\"[525] If in these\ncircumstances he sees, or, as amounts to the same thing, he thinks he\nsees, while dreaming or while awake, an animal appearing to him in an\nattitude seeming to show friendly intentions, then he imagines that he\nhas discovered the patron he awaited.[526]\n\nYet this procedure is rarely employed in Australia.[527] On this\ncontinent, the personal totem seems to be imposed by a third party,\neither at birth[528] or at the moment of initiation.[529] Generally it\nis a relative who takes this part, or else a personage invested with\nspecial powers, such as an old man or a magician. Sometimes divination\nis used for this purpose. For example, on Charlotte Bay, Cape Bedford or\nthe Proserpine River, the grandmother or some other old woman takes a\nlittle piece of umbilical cord to which the placenta is still attached\nand whirls it about quite violently. Meanwhile the other old women\npropose different names. That one is adopted which happens to be\npronounced just at the moment when the cord breaks.[530] Among the\nYarrai-kanna of Cape York, after a tooth has been knocked out of the\nyoung initiate, they give him a little water to rinse his mouth and ask\nhim to spit in a bucket full of water. The old men carefully examine the\nclot formed by the blood and saliva thus spit out, and the natural\nobject whose shape it resembles becomes the personal totem of the young\nman.[531] In other cases, the totem is transmitted from one individual\nto another, for example from father to son, or uncle to nephew.[532]\nThis method is also used in America. In a case reported by Hill Tout,\nthe operator was a shaman,[533] who wished to transmit his totem to his\nnephew. \"The uncle took the symbol of his _snam_ (his personal totem),\nwhich in this case was a dried bird's skin, and bade his nephew breathe\nupon it. He then blew upon it also himself, uttered some mystic words\nand the dried skin seemed to Paul (the nephew) to become a living bird,\nwhich flew about them a moment or two and then finally disappeared.\nPaul was then instructed by his uncle to procure that day a bird's skin\nof the same kind as his uncle's and wear it on his person. This he did,\nand that night he had a dream, in which the _snam_ appeared to him in\nthe shape of a human being, disclosed to him its mystic name by which it\nmight be summoned, and promised him protection.\"[534]\n\nNot only is the individual totem acquired and not given, but ordinarily\nthe acquisition of one is not obligatory. In the first place, there are\na multitude of tribes in Australia where the custom seems to be\nabsolutely unknown.[535] Also, even where it does exist, it is\nfrequently optional. Thus among the Euahlayi, while all the magicians\nhave individual totems from which they get their powers, there are a\ngreat number of laymen who have none at all. It is a favour given by the\nmagician, but which he reserves for his friends, his favourites and\nthose who aspire to becoming his colleagues.[536] Likewise, among\ncertain Salish, persons desiring to excel especially either in fighting\nor in hunting, or aspirants to the position of shaman, are the only ones\nwho provide themselves with protectors of this sort.[537] So among\ncertain peoples, at least, the individual totem seems to be considered\nan advantage and convenient thing rather than a necessity. It is a good\nthing to have, but a man can do without one. Inversely, a man need not\nlimit himself to a single totem; if he wishes to be more fully\nprotected, nothing hinders his seeking and acquiring several,[538] and\nif the one he has fulfils its part badly, he can change it.[539]\n\nBut while it is more optional and free, individual totemism contains\nwithin it a force of resistance never attained by the totemism of the\nclan. One of the chief informers of Hill Tout was a baptized Salish;\nhowever, though he had sincerely abandoned the faith of his fathers, and\nthough he had become a model catechist, still his faith in the efficacy\nof the personal totems remained unshaken.[540] Similarly, though no\nvisible traces of collective totemism remain in civilized countries, the\nidea that there is a connection between each individual and some\nanimal, plant or other object, is at the bottom of many customs still\nobservable in many European countries.[541]\n\n\nII\n\nBetween collective totemism and individual totemism there is an\nintermediate form partaking of the characteristics of each: this is\nsexual totemism. It is found only in Australia and in a small number of\ntribes. It is mentioned especially in Victoria and New South Wales.[542]\nMathews, it is true, claims to have observed it in all the parts of\nAustralia that he has visited, but he gives no precise facts to support\nthis affirmation.[543]\n\nAmong these different peoples, all the men of the tribe on the one hand,\nand all the women on the other, to whatever special clan they may\nbelong, form, as it were, two distinct and even antagonistic societies.\nNow each of these two sexual corporations believes that it is united by\nmystical bonds to a determined animal. Among the Kurnai, all the men\nthink they are brothers, as it were, of the emu-wren (Yeer[)u]ng), all\nthe women, that they are as sisters of the linnet (Djeetg[)u]n); all the\nmen are Yeer[)u]ng and all the women are Djeetg[)u]n. Among the\nWotjobaluk and the Wurunjerri, it is the bat and the _nightjar_ (a\nspecies of screech-owl) respectively who take this r\u00f4le. In other\ntribes, the woodpecker is substituted for the _nightjar_. Each sex\nregards the animal to which it is thus related as a sort of protector\nwhich must be treated with the greatest regard; it is also forbidden to\nkill and eat it.[544]\n\nThus this protecting animal plays the same part in relation to the\nsexual society that the totem of the clan plays to this latter group. So\nthe expression sexual totemism, which we borrow from Frazer,[545] is\njustified. This new sort of totem resembles that of the clan\nparticularly in that it, too, is collective; it belongs to all the\npeople of one sex indiscriminately. It also resembles this form in that\nit implies a relationship of descent and consanguinity between the\nanimal patron and the corresponding sex: among the Kurnai, all the men\nare believed to be descended from Yeer[)u]ng and all the women from\nDjeetg[)u]n.[546] The first observer to point out this curious\ninstitution described it, in 1834, in the following terms: \"Tilmun, a\nlittle bird the size of a thrush (it is a sort of woodpecker), is\nsupposed by the women to be the first maker of women. These birds are\nheld in veneration by the women only.\"[547] So it was a great ancestor.\nBut in other ways, this same totem resembles the individual totem. In\nfact, it is believed that each member of a sexual group is personally\nunited to a determined individual of the corresponding animal species.\nThe two lives are so closely associated that the death of the animal\nbrings about that of the man. \"The life of a bat,\" say the Wotjobaluk,\n\"is the life of a man.\"[548] That is why each sex not only respects its\nown totem, but forces the members of the other to do so as well. Every\nviolation of this interdiction gives rise to actual bloody battles\nbetween the men and the women.[549]\n\nFinally, the really original feature of these totems is that they are,\nin a sense, a sort of tribal totems. In fact, they result from men's\nrepresenting the tribe as descended as a whole from one couple of\nmythical beings. Such a belief seems to demonstrate clearly that the\ntribal sentiment has acquired sufficient force to resist, at least to a\nconsiderable extent, the particularism of the clans. In regard to the\ndistinct origins assigned to men and to women, it must be said that its\ncause is to be sought in the separate conditions in which the men and\nthe women live.[550]\n\nIt would be interesting to know how the sexual totems are related to the\ntotems of the clans, according to the theory of the Australians, what\nrelations there were between the two ancestors thus placed at the\ncommencement of the tribe, and from which one each special clan is\nbelieved to be descended. But the ethnographical data at our present\ndisposal do not allow us to resolve these questions. Moreover, however\nnatural and even necessary it may appear to us, it is very possible that\nthe natives never raised it. They do not feel the need of co-ordinating\nand systematizing their beliefs as strongly as we do.[551]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nORIGINS OF THESE BELIEFS\n\n_Critical Examination of Preceding Theories_\n\n\nThe beliefs which we have just summarized are manifestly of a religious\nnature, since they imply a division of things into sacred and profane.\nIt is certain that there is no thought of spiritual beings, and in the\ncourse of our exposition we have not even had occasion to pronounce the\nwords, spirits, genii or divine personalities. But if certain writers,\nof whom we shall have something more to say presently, have, for this\nreason, refused to regard totemism as a religion, it is because they\nhave an inexact notion of what religious phenomena are.\n\nOn the other hand, we are assured that this religion is the most\nprimitive one that is now observable and even, in all probability, that\nhas ever existed. In fact, it is inseparable from a social organization\non a clan basis. Not only is it impossible, as we have already pointed\nout, to define it except in connection with the clan, but it even seems\nas though the clan could not exist, in the form it has taken in a great\nnumber of Australian societies, without the totem. For the members of a\nsingle clan are not united to each other either by a common habitat or\nby common blood, as they are not necessarily consanguineous and are\nfrequently scattered over different parts of the tribal territory. Their\nunity comes solely from their having the same name and the same emblem,\ntheir believing that they have the same relations with the same\ncategories of things, their practising the same rites, or, in a word,\nfrom their participating in the same totemic cult. Thus totemism and the\nclan mutually imply each other, in so far, at least, as the latter is\nnot confounded with the local group. Now the social organization on a\nclan basis is the simplest which we know. In fact, it exists in all its\nessential elements from the moment when the society includes two primary\nclans; consequently, we may say that there are none more rudimentary, as\nlong as societies reduced to a single clan have not been discovered, and\nwe believe that up to the present no traces of such have been found. A\nreligion so closely connected to a social system surpassing all others\nin simplicity may well be regarded as the most elementary religion we\ncan possibly know. If we succeed in discovering the origins of the\nbeliefs which we have just analysed, we shall very probably discover at\nthe same time the causes leading to the rise of the religious sentiment\nin humanity.\n\nBut before treating this question for ourselves, we must examine the\nmost authorized solutions of it which have already been proposed.\n\n\nI\n\nIn the first place, we find a group of scholars who believe that they\ncan account for totemism by deriving it from some previous religion.\n\nFor Tylor[552] and Wilken,[553] totemism is a special form of the cult\nof the ancestors; it was the widespread doctrine of the transmigration\nof souls that served as a bridge between these two religious systems. A\nlarge number of peoples believe that after death, the soul does not\nremain disincarnate for ever, but presently animates another living\nbody; on the other hand, \"the lower psychology, drawing no definite line\nof demarcation between the souls of men and of beasts, can at least\nadmit without difficulty the transmigration of human souls into the\nbodies of the lower animals.\"[554] Tylor cites a certain number of\ncases.[555] Under these circumstances, the religious respect inspired by\nthe ancestor is quite naturally attached to the animal or plant with\nwhich he is presently confounded. The animal thus serving as a\nreceptacle for a venerated being becomes a holy thing, the object of a\ncult, that is, a totem, for all the descendants of the ancestor, who\nform the clan descended from him.\n\nFacts pointed out by Wilken among the societies of the Malay Archipelago\nwould tend to prove that it really was in this manner that the totemic\nbeliefs originated. In Java and Sumatra, crocodiles are especially\nhonoured; they are regarded as benevolent protectors who must not be\nkilled; offerings are made to them. Now the cult thus rendered to them\nis due to their being supposed to incarnate the souls of ancestors. The\nMalays of the Philippines consider the crocodile their grandfather; the\ntiger is treated in the same way for the same reasons. Similar beliefs\nhave been observed among the Bantous.[556] In Melanesia it sometimes\nhappens that an influential man, at the moment of death, announces his\ndesire to reincarnate himself in a certain animal or plant; it is easily\nunderstood how the object thus chosen as his posthumous residence\nbecomes sacred for his whole family.[557] So, far from being a primitive\nfact, totemism would seem to be the product of a more complex religion\nwhich preceded it.[558]\n\nBut the societies from which these facts were taken had already arrived\nat a rather advanced stage of culture; in any case, they had passed the\nstage of pure totemism. They have families and not totemic clans.[559]\nEven the majority of the animals to which religious honours are thus\nrendered are venerated, not by special groups of families, but by the\ntribes as a whole. So if these beliefs and practices do have some\nconnection with ancient totemic cults, they now represent only altered\nforms of them[560] and are consequently not very well fitted for showing\nus their origins. It is not by studying an institution at the moment\nwhen it is in full decadence that we can learn how it was formed. If we\nwant to know how totemism originated, it is neither in Java nor Sumatra\nnor Melanesia that we must study it, but in Australia. Here we find\nneither a cult of the dead[561] nor the doctrine of transmigration. Of\ncourse they believe that the mythical heroes, the founders of the clan,\nreincarnate themselves periodically; _but this is in human bodies only_;\neach birth, as we shall see, is the product of one of these\nreincarnations. So if the animals of the totemic species are the object\nof rites, it is not because the ancestral souls are believed to reside\nin them. It is true that the first ancestors are frequently represented\nunder the form of an animal, and this very common representation is an\nimportant fact for which we must account; but it was not the belief in\nmetempsychosis which gave it birth, for this belief is unknown among\nAustralian societies.\n\nMoreover, far from being able to explain totemism, this belief takes for\ngranted one of the fundamental principles upon which this rests; that is\nto say, it begs the question to be explained. It, just as much as\ntotemism, implies that man is considered a close relative of the\nanimal; for if these two kingdoms were clearly distinguished in the\nmind, men would never believe that a human soul could pass so easily\nfrom one into the other. It is even necessary that the body of the\nanimal be considered its true home, for it is believed to go there as\nsoon as it regains its liberty. Now while the doctrine of transmigration\npostulates this singular affinity, it offers no explanation of it. The\nonly explanation offered by Tylor is that men sometimes resemble in\ncertain traits the anatomy and physiology of the animal. \"The half-human\nfeatures and actions and characters of animals are watched with\nwondering sympathy by the savage, as by the child. The beast is the very\nincarnation of familiar qualities of man: and such names as lion, bear,\nfox, owl, parrot, viper, worm, when we apply them as epithets to men,\ncondense into a word some leading features of a human life.\"[562] But\neven if these resemblances are met with, they are uncertain and\nexceptional; before all else, men resemble their relatives and\ncompanions, and not plants and animals. Such rare and questionable\nanalogies could not overcome such unanimous proofs, nor could they lead\na man to think of himself and his forefathers in forms contradicted by\ndaily experience. So this question remains untouched, and as long as it\nis not answered, we cannot say that totemism is explained.[563]\n\nFinally, this whole theory rests upon a fundamental misunderstanding.\nFor Tylor as for Wundt, totemism is only a particular case of the cult\nof animals.[564] But we, on the contrary, know that it is something\nvery different from a sort of animal-worship.[565] The animal is never\nadored; the man is nearly its equal and sometimes even treats it as his\npossession, so far is he from being subordinate to it like a believer\nbefore his god. If the animals of the totemic species are really\nbelieved to incarnate the ancestors, the members of foreign clans would\nnot be allowed to eat their flesh freely. In reality, it is not to the\nanimal as such that the cult is addressed, but to the emblem and the\nimage of the totem. Now between this religion of the emblem and the\nancestor-cult, there is no connection whatsoever.\n\n\nWhile Tylor derives totemism from the ancestor-cult, Jevons derives it\nfrom the nature-cult,[566] and here is how he does so.\n\nWhen, under the impulse of the surprise occasioned by the irregularities\nobserved in the course of phenomena, men had once peopled the world with\nsupernatural beings,[567] they felt the need of making agreements with\nthese redoubtable forces with which they had surrounded themselves. They\nunderstood that the best way to escape being overwhelmed by them was to\nally themselves to some of them, and thus make sure of their aid. But at\nthis period of history men knew no other form of alliance and\nassociation than the one resulting from kinship. All the members of a\nsingle clan aid each other mutually because they are kindred or, as\namounts to the same thing, because they think they are; on the other\nhand, different clans treat each other as enemies because they are of\ndifferent blood. So the only way of assuring themselves of the support\nof these supernatural beings was to adopt them as kindred and to be\nadopted by them in the same quality: the well-known processes of the\nblood-covenant permitted them to attain this result quite easily. But\nsince at this period, the individual did not yet have a real\npersonality, and was regarded only as a part of his group, or clan, it\nwas the clan as a whole, and not the individual, which collectively\ncontracted this relationship. For the same reason, it was contracted,\nnot with a particular object, but with the natural group or species of\nwhich this object was a part; for men think of the world as they think\nof themselves, and just as they could not conceive themselves apart from\ntheir clans, so they were unable to conceive of anything else as\ndistinct from the species to which it belonged. Now a species of things\nunited to a clan by a bond of kinship is, says Jevons, a totem.\n\nIn fact, it is certain that totemism implies the close association of a\nclan to a determined category of objects. But that this association was\ncontracted with a deliberate design and in the full consciousness of an\nend sought after, as Jevons would have us believe, is a statement having\nbut little harmony with what history teaches. Religions are too complex,\nand answer to needs that are too many and too obscure, to have their\norigin in a premeditated act of the will. And while it sins through\nover-simplicity, this hypothesis is also highly improbable. It says that\nmen sought to assure themselves of the aid of the supernatural beings\nupon which things depend. Then they should preferably have addressed\nthemselves to the most powerful of these, and to those whose protection\npromised to be the most beneficial.[568] But quite on the contrary, the\nbeings with whom they have formed this mystic kinship are often among\nthe most humble which exist. Also, if it were only a question of making\nallies and defenders, they would have tried to make as many as possible;\nfor one cannot be defended too well. Yet as a matter of fact, each clan\nsystematically contents itself with a single totem, that is to say, with\none single protector, leaving the other clans to enjoy their own in\nperfect liberty. Each group confines itself within its own religious\ndomain, never seeking to trespass upon that of its neighbours. This\nreserve and moderation are inexplicable according to the hypothesis\nunder consideration.\n\n\nII\n\nMoreover, all these theories are wrong in omitting one question which\ndominates the whole subject. We have seen that there are two sorts of\ntotemism: that of the individual and that of the clan. There is too\nevident a kinship between the two for them not to have some connection\nwith each other. So we may well ask if one is not derived from the\nother, and, in the case of an affirmative answer, which is the more\nprimitive; according to the solution accepted, the problem of the\norigins of totemism will be posed in different terms. This question\nbecomes all the more necessary because of its general interest.\nIndividual totemism is an individual aspect of the totemic cult. Then if\nit was the primitive fact, we must say that religion is born in the\nconsciousness of the individual, that before all else, it answers to\nindividual aspirations, and that its collective form is merely\nsecondary.\n\nThe desire for an undue simplicity, with which ethnologists and\nsociologists are too frequently inspired, has naturally led many\nscholars to explain, here as elsewhere, the complex by the simple, the\ntotem of the group by that of the individual. Such, in fact, is the\ntheory sustained by Frazer in his _Golden Bough_,[569] by Hill\nTout,[570] by Miss Fletcher,[571] by Boas[572] and by Swanton.[573] It\nhas the additional advantage of being in harmony with the conception of\nreligion which is currently held; this is quite generally regarded as\nsomething intimate and personal. From this point of view, the totem of\nthe clan can only be an individual totem which has become generalized.\nSome eminent man, having found from experience the value of a totem he\nchose for himself by his own free will, transmitted it to his\ndescendants; these latter, multiplying as time went on, finally formed\nthe extended family known as a clan, and thus the totem became\ncollective.\n\nHill Tout believes that he has found a proof supporting this theory in\nthe way totemism has spread among certain societies of North-western\nAmerica, especially among the Salish and certain Indians on the Thompson\nRiver. Individual totemism and the clan totemism are both found among\nthese peoples; but they either do not co-exist in the same tribe, or\nelse, when they do co-exist, they are not equally developed. They vary\nin an inverse proportion to each other; where the clan totem tends to\nbecome the general rule, the individual totem tends to disappear, and\n_vice versa_. Is that not as much as to say that the first is a more\nrecent form of the second, which excludes it by replacing it?[574]\nMythology seems to confirm this interpretation. In these same societies,\nin fact, the ancestor of the clan is not a totemic animal; the founder\nof the group is generally represented in the form of a human being who,\nat a certain time, had entered into familiar relations with a fabulous\nanimal from whom he received his totemic emblem. This emblem, together\nwith the special powers which are attached to it, was then passed on to\nthe descendants of this mythical hero by right of heritage. So these\npeople themselves seem to consider the collective totem as an individual\none, perpetuated in the same family.[575] Moreover, it still happens\nto-day that a father transmits his own totem to his children. So if we\nimagine that the collective totem had, in a general way, this same\norigin, we are assuming that the same thing took place in the past which\nis still observable to-day.[576]\n\nIt is still to be explained whence the individual totem comes. The reply\ngiven to this question varies with different authors.\n\nHill Tout considers it a particular case of fetishism. Feeling himself\nsurrounded on all sides by dreaded spirits, the individual experienced\nthat sentiment which we have just seen Jevons attribute to the clan: in\norder that he might continue to exist, he sought some powerful protector\nin this mysterious world. Thus the use of a personal totem became\nestablished.[577] For Frazer, this same institution was rather a\nsubterfuge or trick of war, invented by men that they might escape from\ncertain dangers. It is known that according to a belief which is very\nwidespread in a large number of inferior societies, the human soul is\nable, without great inconvenience, to quit the body it inhabits for a\nwhile; howsoever far away it may be, it continues to animate this body\nby a sort of detached control. Then, in certain critical moments, when\nlife is supposed to be particularly menaced, it may be desirable to\nwithdraw the soul from the body and lead it to some place or into some\nobject where it will be in greater security. In fact, there are a\ncertain number of practices whose object is to withdraw the soul in\norder to protect it from some danger, either real or imaginary. For\nexample, at the moment when men are going to enter a newly-built house,\na magician removes their souls and puts them in a sack, to be saved and\nreturned to their proprietors after the door-sill has been crossed. This\nis because the moment when one enters a new house is exceptionally\ncritical; one may have disturbed, and consequently offended, the spirits\nwho reside in the ground and especially under the sill, and if\nprecautions are not taken, these could make a man pay dearly for his\naudacity. But when this danger is once passed, and one has been able to\nanticipate their anger and even to make sure of their favour through the\naccomplishment of certain rites, the souls may safely retake their\naccustomed place.[578] It is this same belief which gave birth to the\npersonal totem. To protect themselves from sorcery, men thought it wise\nto hide their souls in the anonymous crowd of some species of animal or\nvegetable. But after these relations had once been established, each\nindividual found himself closely united to the animal or plant where his\nown vital principle was believed to reside. Two beings so closely united\nwere finally thought to be practically indistinguishable: men believed\nthat each participated in the nature of the other. When this belief had\nonce been accepted, it facilitated and hastened the transformation of\nthe personal totem into an hereditary, and consequently a collective,\ntotem; for it seemed quite evident that this kinship of nature should be\ntransmitted hereditarily from father to child.\n\nWe shall not stop to discuss these two explanations of the individual\ntotem at length: they are ingenious fabrications of the mind, but they\ncompletely lack all positive proof. If we are going to reduce totemism\nto fetishism, we must first establish that the latter is prior to the\nformer; now, not merely is no fact brought forward to support this\nhypothesis, but it is even contradicted by everything that we know. The\nill-determined group of rites going under the name of fetishism seem to\nappear only among peoples who have already attained to a certain degree\nof civilization; but it is a species of cult unknown in Australia. It is\ntrue that some have described the churinga as a fetish;[579] but even\nsupposing that this qualification were justified, it would not prove the\npriority which is postulated. Quite on the contrary, the churinga\npresupposes totemism, since it is essentially an instrument of the\ntotemic cult and owes the virtues attributed to it to totemic beliefs\nalone.\n\nAs for the theory of Frazer, it presupposes a thoroughgoing idiocy on\nthe part of the primitive which known facts do not allow us to attribute\nto him. He does have a logic, however strange this may at times appear;\nnow unless he were completely deprived of it, he could never be guilty\nof the reasoning imputed to him. Nothing could be more natural than that\nhe should believe it possible to assure the survival of his soul by\nhiding it in a secret and inaccessible place, as so many heroes of myths\nand legends are said to have done. But why should he think it safer in\nthe body of an animal than in his own? Of course, if it were thus lost\nin space, it might have a chance to escape the spells of a magician more\nreadily, but at the same time it would be prepared for the blows of\nhunters. It is a strange way of sheltering it to place it in a material\nform exposing it to risks at every instant.[580] But above all, it is\ninconceivable that a whole people should allow themselves to be carried\ninto such an aberration.[581] Finally, in a very large number of cases,\nthe function of the individual totem is very different from that\nassigned it by Frazer; before all else, it is a means of conferring\nextraordinary powers upon magicians, hunters or warriors.[582] As to the\nkinship of the man and the thing, with all the inconveniences it\nimplies, it is accepted as a consequence of the rite; but it is not\ndesired in its and for itself.\n\nThere is still less occasion for delaying over this controversy since it\nconcerns no real problem. What we must know before everything else is\nwhether or not the individual totem is really a primitive fact, from\nwhich the collective totem was derived; for, according to the reply\ngiven to this question, we must seek the home of the religious life in\none or the other of two opposite directions.\n\nAgainst the hypothesis of Hill Tout, Miss Fletcher, Boas and Frazer\nthere is such an array of decisive facts that one is surprised that it\nhas been so readily and so generally accepted.\n\nIn the first place, we know that a man frequently has the greatest\ninterest not only in respecting, but also in making his companions\nrespect the species serving him as personal totem; his own life is\nconnected with it. Then if collective totemism were only a generalized\nform of individual totemism, it too should repose upon this same\nprinciple. Not only should the men of a clan abstain from killing and\neating their totem-animal themselves, but they should also do all in\ntheir power to force this same abstention upon others. But as a matter\nof fact, far from imposing such a renunciation upon the whole tribe,\neach clan, by rites which we shall describe below, takes care that the\nplant or animal whose name it bears shall increase and prosper, so as\nto assure an abundant supply of food for the other clans. So we must at\nleast admit that in becoming collective, individual totemism was\ntransformed profoundly, and we must therefore account for this\ntransformation.\n\nIn the second place, how is it possible to explain, from this point of\nview, the fact that except where totemism is in full decay, two clans of\na single tribe always have different totems? It seems that nothing\nprevents two or several members of a single tribe, even when there is no\nkinship between them, from choosing their personal totem in the same\nanimal species and passing it on to their descendants. Does it not\nhappen to-day that two distinct families have the same name? The\ncarefully regulated way in which the totems and sub-totems are divided\nup, first between the two phratries and then among the various clans of\nthe phratry, obviously presupposes a social agreement and a collective\norganization. This is as much as to say that totemism is something more\nthan an individual practice spontaneously generalized.\n\nMoreover, collective totemism cannot be deduced from individual totemism\nexcept by a misunderstanding of the differences separating the two. The\none is acquired by the child at birth; it is a part of his civil status.\nThe other is acquired during the course of his life; it presupposes the\naccomplishment of a determined rite and a change of condition. Some seek\nto diminish this distance by inserting between the two, as a sort of\nmiddle term, the right of each possessor of a totem to transmit it to\nwhomsoever he pleases. But wherever these transfers do take place, they\nare rare and relatively exceptional acts; they cannot be performed\nexcept by magicians or other personages invested with special\npowers;[583] in any case, they are possible only through ritual\nceremonies which bring about the change. So it is necessary to explain\nhow this prerogative of a few became the right of all; how that which at\nfirst implied a profound change in the religious and moral constitution\nof the individual, was able to become an element of this constitution;\nand finally, how a transmission which at first was the consequence of a\nrite was later believed to operate automatically from the nature of\nthings and without the intervention of any human will.\n\nIn support of his interpretation, Hill Tout claims that certain myths\ngive the totem of the clan an individual origin: they tell how the\ntotemic emblem was acquired by some special individual, who then\ntransmitted it to his descendants. But in the first place, it is to be\nremarked that these myths are all taken from the Indian tribes of North\nAmerica, which are societies arrived at a rather high degree of culture.\nHow could a mythology so far removed from the origins of things aid in\nreconstituting the primitive form of an institution with any degree of\ncertainty? There are many chances for intermediate causes to have\ngravely disfigured the recollection which these people have been able to\nretain. Moreover, it is very easy to answer these myths with others,\nwhich seem much more primitive and whose signification is quite\ndifferent. The totem is there represented as the very being from whom\nthe clan is descended. So it must be that it constitutes the substance\nof the clan; men have it within them from their birth; it is a part of\ntheir very flesh and blood, so far are they from having received it from\nwithout.[584] More than that, the very myths upon which Hill Tout relies\ncontain an echo of this ancient conception. The founder who gave his\nname to the clan certainly had a human form; but he was a man who, after\nliving among animals of a certain species, finally came to resemble\nthem. This is undoubtedly because a time came when the mind was too\ncultivated to admit any longer, as it had formerly done, that men might\nhave been born of animals; so the animal ancestor, now become\ninconceivable, is replaced by a human being; but the idea persists that\nthis man had acquired certain characteristics of the animal either by\nimitation or by some other process. Thus even this late mythology bears\nthe mark of a more remote epoch when the totem of the clan was never\nregarded as a sort of individual creation.\n\nBut this hypothesis does not merely raise grave logical difficulties; it\nis contradicted directly by the following facts.\n\nIf individual totemism were the initial fact, it should be more\ndeveloped and apparent, the more primitive the societies are, and\ninversely, it should lose ground and disappear before the other among\nthe more advanced peoples. Now it is the contrary which is true. The\nAustralian tribes are far behind those of North America; yet Australia\nis the classic land of collective totemism. _In the great majority of\nthe tribes, it alone is found, while we do not know a single one where\nindividual totemism alone is practised._[585] This latter is found in a\ncharacteristic form only in an infinitesimal number of tribes.[586] Even\nwhere it is met with it is generally in a rudimentary form. It is made\nup of individual and optional practices having no generality. Only\nmagicians are acquainted with the art of creating mysterious\nrelationships with species of animals to which they are not related by\nnature. Ordinary people do not enjoy this privilege.[587] In America, on\nthe contrary, the collective totem is in full decadence; in the\nsocieties of the North-west especially, its religious character is\nalmost gone. Inversely, the individual totem plays a considerable r\u00f4le\namong these same peoples. A very great efficacy is attributed to it; it\nhas become a real public institution. This is because it is the sign of\na higher civilization. This is undoubtedly the explanation of the\ninversion of these two forms of totemism, which Hill Tout believes he\nhas observed among the Salish. If in those parts where collective\ntotemism is the most fully developed the other form is almost lacking,\nit is not because the second has disappeared before the first, but\nrather, because the conditions necessary for its existence have not yet\nbeen fully realized.\n\nBut a fact which is still more conclusive is that individual totemism,\nfar from having given birth to the totemism of the clan, presupposes\nthis latter. It is within the frame of collective totemism that it is\nborn and lives: it is an integral part of it. In fact, in those very\nsocieties where it is preponderating, the novices do not have the right\nof taking any animal as their individual totem; to each clan a certain\ndefinite number of species are assigned, outside of which it may not\nchoose. In return, those belonging to it thus are its exclusive\nproperty; members of other clans may not usurp them.[588] They are\nthought to have relations of close dependence upon the one serving as\ntotem to the clan as a whole. There are even cases where it is quite\npossible to observe these relations: the individual aspect represents a\npart or a particular aspect of the collective totem.[589] Among the\nWotjobaluk, each member of the clan considers the personal totems of\nhis companions as being his own after a fashion;[590] so they are\nprobably sub-totems. Now the sub-totem supposes the totem, as the\nspecies supposes the class. Thus the first form of individual religion\nmet with in history appears, not as the active principle of all public\nreligion, but, on the contrary, as a simple aspect of this latter. The\ncult which the individual organizes for himself in his own inner\nconscience, far from being the germ of the collective cult, is only this\nlatter adapted to the personal needs of the individual.\n\n\nIII\n\nIn a more recent study,[591] which the works of Spencer and Gillen\nsuggested to him, Frazer has attempted to substitute a new explanation\nof totemism for the one he first proposed, and which we have just been\ndiscussing. It rests on the postulate that the totemism of the Arunta is\nthe most primitive which we know; Frazer even goes so far as to say that\nit scarcely differs from the really and absolutely original type.[592]\n\nThe singular thing about it is that the totems are attached neither to\npersons nor to determined groups of persons, but to localities. In fact,\neach totem has its centre at some definite spot. It is there that the\nsouls of the first ancestors, who founded the totemic group at the\nbeginning of time, are believed to have their preferred residence. It is\nthere that the sanctuary is located where the churinga are kept; there\nthe cult is celebrated. It is also this geographical distribution of\ntotems which determines the manner in which the clans are recruited. The\nchild has neither the totem of his father nor that of his mother, but\nthe one whose centre is at the spot where the mother believes that she\nfelt the first symptoms of approaching maternity. For it is said that\nthe Arunta is ignorant of the exact relation existing between generation\nand the sexual act;[593] he thinks that every conception is due to a\nsort of mystic fecundation. According to him, it is due to the entrance\nof the soul of an ancestor into the body of a woman and its becoming the\nprinciple of a new life there. So at the moment when a woman feels the\nfirst tremblings of the child, she imagines that one of the souls whose\nprincipal residence is at the place where she happens to be, has just\nentered into her. As the child who is presently born is merely the\nreincarnation of this ancestor, he necessarily has the same totem; thus\nhis totem is determined by the locality where he is believed to have\nbeen mysteriously conceived.\n\nNow, it is this local totemism which represents the original form of\ntotemism; at most, it is separated from this by a very short step. This\nis how Frazer explains its genesis.\n\nAt the exact moment when the woman realizes that she is pregnant, she\nmust think that the spirit by which she feels herself possessed has come\nto her from the objects about her, and especially from one of those\nwhich attract her attention at the moment. So if she is engaged in\nplucking a plant, or watching an animal, she believes that the soul of\nthis plant or animal has passed into her. Among the things to which she\nwill be particularly inclined to attribute her condition are, in the\nfirst place, the things she has just eaten. If she has recently eaten\nemu or yam, she will not doubt that an emu or yam has been born in her\nand is developing. Under these conditions, it is evident how the child,\nin his turn, will be considered a sort of yam or emu, how he regards\nhimself as a relative of the plant or animal of the same species, how he\nhas sympathy and regard for them, how he refuses to eat them, etc.[594]\nFrom this moment, totemism exists in its essential traits: it is the\nnative's theory of conception that gave rise to it, so Frazer calls this\nprimitive totemism _conceptional_.\n\nIt is from this original type that all the other forms of totemism are\nderived. \"When several women had, one after the other, felt the first\npremonitions of maternity at the same spot and under the same\ncircumstances, the place would come to be regarded as haunted by spirits\nof a peculiar sort; and so the whole country might in time be dotted\nover with totem centres and distributed into totem districts.\"[595] This\nis how the local totemism of the Arunta originated. In order that the\ntotems may subsequently be detached from their territorial base, it is\nsufficient to think that the ancestral souls, instead of remaining\nimmutably fixed to a determined spot, are able to move freely over the\nsurface of the territory and that in their voyages they follow the men\nand women of the same totem as themselves. In this way, a woman may be\nimpregnated by her own totem or that of her husband, though residing in\na different totemic district. According to whether it is believed that\nit is the ancestor of the husband or of the wife who thus follow the\nfamily about, seeking occasions to reincarnate themselves, the totem of\nthe child will be that of his father or mother. In fact, it is in just\nthis way that the Guanji and Umbaia on the one hand, and the Urabunna on\nthe other, explain their systems of filiation.\n\nBut this theory, like that of Tylor, rests upon a begging of the\nquestion. If he is to imagine that human souls are the souls of animals\nor plants, one must believe beforehand that men take either from the\nanimal or vegetable world whatever is most essential in them. Now this\nbelief is one of those at the foundation of totemism. To state it as\nsomething evident is therefore to take for granted that which is to be\nexplained.\n\nMoreover, from this point of view, the religious character of the totem\nis entirely inexplicable, for the vague belief in an obscure kinship\nbetween the man and the animal is not enough to found a cult. This\nconfusion of distinct kingdoms could never result in dividing the world\ninto sacred and profane. It is true that, being consistent with himself,\nFrazer refuses to admit that totemism is a religion, under the pretext\nthat he finds in it neither spiritual beings, nor prayers, nor\ninvocations, nor offerings, etc. According to him, it is only a system\nof magic, by which he means a sort of crude and erroneous science, a\nfirst effort to discover the laws of things.[596] But we know how\ninexact this conception, both of magic and of religion, is. We have a\nreligion as soon as the sacred is distinguished from the profane, and we\nhave seen that totemism is a vast system of sacred things. If we are to\nexplain it, we must therefore show how it happened that these things\nwere stamped with this character.[597] But he does not even raise this\nproblem.\n\nBut this system is completely overthrown by the fact that the postulate\nupon which it rests can no longer be sustained. The whole argument of\nFrazer supposes that the local totemism of the Arunta is the most\nprimitive we know, and especially that it is clearly prior to\nhereditary totemism, either in the paternal or the maternal line. Now as\nsoon as the facts contained in the first volume of Spencer and Gillen\nwere at our disposal, we were able to conjecture that there had been a\ntime in the history of the Arunta people when the totems, instead of\nbeing attached to localities, were transmitted hereditarily from mother\nto child.[598] This conjecture is definitely proved by the new facts\ndiscovered by Strehlow,[599] which only confirm the previous\nobservations of Schulze.[600] In fact, both of these authors tell us\nthat even now, in addition to his local totem, each Arunta has another\nwhich is completely independent of all geographical conditions, and\nwhich belongs to him as a birthright: it is his mother's. This second\ntotem, just like the first, is considered a powerful friend and\nprotector by the natives, which looks after their food, warns them of\npossible dangers, etc. They have the right of taking part in its cult.\nWhen they are buried, the corpse is laid so that the face is turned\ntowards the region of the maternal totemic centre. So after a fashion\nthis centre is also that of the deceased. In fact it is given the name\n_tmara altjira_, which is translated: camp of the totem which is\nassociated with me. So it is certain that among the Arunta, hereditary\ntotemism in the uterine line is not later than local totemism, but, on\nthe contrary, must have preceded it. For to-day, the maternal totem has\nonly an accessory and supplementary r\u00f4le; it is a second totem, which\nexplains how it was able to escape observation as attentive and careful\nas that of Spencer and Gillen. But in order that it should be able to\nretain this secondary place, being employed along with the local totem,\nthere must have been a time when it held the primary place in the\nreligious life. It is, in part, a fallen totem, but one recalling an\nepoch when the totemic organization of the Arunta was very different\nfrom what it is to-day. So the whole superstructure of Frazer's system\nis undermined at its foundation.[601]\n\n\nIV\n\nAlthough Andrew Lang has actively contested this theory of Frazer's, the\none he proposes himself in his later works,[602] resembles it on more\nthan one point. Like Frazer, he makes totemism consist in the belief in\na sort of consubstantiality of the man and the animal. But he explains\nit differently.\n\nHe derives it entirely from the fact that the totem is a name. As soon\nas human groups were founded,[603] each one felt the need of\ndistinguishing between the neighbouring groups with which it came into\ncontact and, with this end in view, it gave them different names. The\nnames were preferably chosen from the surrounding flora and fauna\nbecause animals and plants can easily be designated by movements or\nrepresented by drawings.[604] The more or less precise resemblances\nwhich men may have with such and such objects determined the way in\nwhich these collective denominations were distributed among the\ngroups.[605]\n\nNow, it is a well-known fact that \"to the early mind names, and the\nthings known by names, are in a mystic and transcendental connection of\n_rapport_.\"[606] For example, the name of an individual is not\nconsidered as a simple word or conventional sign, but as an essential\npart of the individual himself. So if it were the name of an animal, the\nman would have to believe that he himself had the most characteristic\nattributes of this same animal. This theory would become better and\nbetter accredited as the historic origins of these denominations became\nmore remote and were effaced from the memory. Myths arose to make this\nstrange ambiguity of human nature more easily representable in the mind.\nTo explain this, they imagined that the animal was the ancestor of the\nmen, or else that the two were descended from a common ancestor. Thus\ncame the conception of bonds of kinship uniting each clan to the animal\nspecies whose name it bore. With the origins of this fabulous kinship\nonce explained, it seems to our author that totemism no longer contains\na mystery.\n\nBut whence comes the religious character of the totemic beliefs and\npractices? For the fact that a man considers himself an animal of a\ncertain species does not explain why he attributes marvellous powers to\nthis species, and especially why he renders a cult to the images\nsymbolizing it.--To this question Lang gives the same response as\nFrazer: he denies that totemism is a religion. \"I find in Australia,\" he\nsays, \"no example of religious practices such as praying to, nourishing\nor burying the totem.\"[607] It was only at a later epoch, when it was\nalready established, that totemism was drawn into and surrounded by a\nsystem of conceptions properly called religious. According to a remark\nof Howitt,[608] when the natives undertake the explanation of the\ntotemic institutions, they do not attribute them to the totems\nthemselves nor to a man, but to some supernatural being such as Bunjil\nor Baiame. \"Accepting this evidence,\" says Lang, \"one source of the\n'religious' character of totemism is at once revealed. The totemist\nobeys the decree of Bunjil, or Baiame, as the Cretans obeyed the divine\ndecrees given by Zeus to Minos.\" Now according to Lang the idea of these\ngreat divinities arose outside of the totemic system; so this is not a\nreligion in itself; it has merely been given a religious colouring by\ncontact with a genuine religion.\n\nBut these very myths contradict Lang's conception of totemism. If the\nAustralians had regarded totemism as something human and profane, it\nwould never have occurred to them to make a divine institution out of\nit. If, on the other hand, they have felt the need of connecting it with\na divinity, it is because they have seen a sacred character in it. So\nthese mythological interpretations prove the religious nature of\ntotemism, but do not explain it.\n\nMoreover, Lang himself recognizes that this solution is not sufficient.\nHe realizes that totemic things are treated with a religious\nrespect;[609] that especially the blood of an animal, as well as that of\na man, is the object of numerous interdictions, or, as he says, taboos\nwhich this comparatively late mythology cannot explain.[610] Then where\ndo they come from? Here are the words with which Lang answers this\nquestion: \"As soon as the animal-named groups evolved the universally\ndiffused beliefs about the _wakan_ or _mana_, or mystically sacred\nquality of the blood as the life, they would also develop the various\ntaboos.\"[611] The words _wakan_ and _mana_, as we shall see in the\nfollowing chapter, involve the very idea of _sacredness_ itself; the one\nis taken from the language of the Sioux, the other from that of the\nMelanesian peoples. To explain the sacred character of totemic things by\npostulating this characteristic, is to answer the question by the\nquestion. What we must find out is whence this idea of _wakan_ comes and\nhow it comes to be applied to the totem and all that is derived from it.\nAs long as these two questions remain unanswered, nothing is explained.\n\n\nV\n\nWe have now passed in review all the principal explanations which have\nbeen given for totemic beliefs,[612] leaving to each of them its own\nindividuality. But now that this examination is finished, we may state\none criticism which addresses itself to all these systems alike.\n\nIf we stick to the letter of the formul\u00e6, it seems that these may be\narranged in two groups. Some (Frazer, Lang) deny the religious character\nof totemism; in reality, that amounts to denying the facts. Others\nrecognize this, but think that they can explain it by deriving it from\nan anterior religion out of which totemism developed. But as a matter of\nfact, this distinction is only apparent: the first group is contained\nwithin the second. Neither Frazer nor Lang have been able to maintain\ntheir principle systematically and explain totemism as if it were not a\nreligion. By the very force of facts, they have been compelled to slip\nideas of a religious nature into their explanations. We have just seen\nhow Lang calls in the idea of sacredness, which is the cardinal idea of\nall religion. Frazer, on his side, in each of the theories which he has\nsuccessively proposed, appeals openly to the idea of souls or spirits;\nfor according to him, totemism came from the fact that men thought they\ncould deposit their souls in safety in some external object, or else\nthat they attributed conception to a sort of spiritual fecundation of\nwhich a spirit was the agent. Now a soul, and still more, a spirit, are\nsacred things and the object of rites; so the ideas expressing them are\nessentially religious and it is therefore in vain that Frazer makes\ntotemism a mere system of magic, for he succeeds in explaining it only\nin the terms of another religion.\n\nWe have already pointed out the insufficiencies of animism and naturism;\nso one may not have recourse to them, as Tylor and Jevons do, without\nexposing himself to these same objections. Yet neither Frazer nor Lang\nseems to dream of the possibility of another hypothesis.[613] On the\nother hand, we know that totemism is tightly bound up with the most\nprimitive social system which we know, and in all probability, of which\nwe can conceive. To suppose that it has developed out of another\nreligion, differing from it only in degree, is to leave the data of\nobservation and enter into the domain of arbitrary and unverifiable\nconjectures. If we wish to remain in harmony with the results we have\nalready obtained, it is necessary that while affirming the religious\nnature of totemism, we abstain from deriving it from another different\nreligion. There can be no hope of assigning it non-religious ideas as\nits cause. But among the representations entering into the conditions\nfrom which it results, there may be some which directly suggest a\nreligious nature of themselves. These are the ones we must look for.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nORIGINS OF THESE BELIEFS--_continued_\n\n_The Notion of the Totemic Principle, or Mana, and the Idea of Force_\n\n\nSince individual totemism is later than the totemism of the clan, and\neven seems to be derived from it, it is to this latter form that we must\nturn first of all. But as the analysis which we have just made of it has\nresolved it into a multiplicity of beliefs which may appear quite\nheterogeneous, before going farther, we must seek to learn what makes\nits unity.\n\n\nI\n\nWe have seen that totemism places the figured representations of the\ntotem in the first rank of the things it considers sacred; next come the\nanimals or vegetables whose name the clan bears, and finally the members\nof the clan. Since all these things are sacred in the same way, though\nto different degrees, their religious character can be due to none of\nthe special attributes distinguishing them from each other. If a certain\nspecies of animal or vegetable is the object of a reverential fear, this\nis not because of its special properties, for the human members of the\nclan enjoy this same privilege, though to a slightly inferior degree,\nwhile the mere image of this same plant or animal inspires an even more\npronounced respect. The similar sentiments inspired by these different\nsorts of things in the mind of the believer, which give them their\nsacred character, can evidently come only from some common principle\npartaken of alike by the totemic emblems, the men of the clan and the\nindividuals of the species serving as totem. In reality, it is to this\ncommon principle that the cult is addressed. In other words totemism is\nthe religion, not of such and such animals or men or images, but of an\nanonymous and impersonal force, found in each of these beings but not to\nbe confounded with any of them. No one possesses it entirely and all\nparticipate in it. It is so completely independent of the particular\nsubjects in whom it incarnates itself, that it precedes them and\nsurvives them. Individuals die, generations pass and are replaced by\nothers; but this force always remains actual, living and the same. It\nanimates the generations of to-day as it animated those of yesterday and\nas it will animate those of to-morrow. Taking the words in a large\nsense, we may say that it is the god adored by each totemic cult. Yet it\nis an impersonal god, without name or history, immanent in the world and\ndiffused in an innumerable multitude of things.\n\nBut even now we have only an imperfect idea of the real ubiquity of this\nquasi-divine entity. It is not merely found in the whole totemic\nspecies, the whole clan and all the objects symbolizing the totem: the\ncircle of its action extends beyond that. In fact, we have seen that in\naddition to the eminently holy things, all those attributed to the clan\nas dependencies of the principal totem have this same character to a\ncertain degree. They also have something religious about them, for some\nare protected by interdictions, while others have determined functions\nin the ceremonies of the cult. Their religiousness does not differ in\nkind from that of the totem under which they are classified; it must\ntherefore be derived from the same source. So it is because the totemic\ngod--to use again the metaphorical expression which we have just\nemployed--is in them, just as it is in the species serving as totem and\nin the men of the clan. We may see how much it differs from the beings\nin which it resides from the fact that it is the soul of so many\ndifferent beings.\n\nBut the Australian does not represent this impersonal force in an\nabstract form. Under the influence of causes which we must seek, he has\nbeen led to conceive it under the form of an animal or vegetable\nspecies, or, in a word, of a visible object This is what the totem\nreally consists in: it is only the material form under which the\nimagination represents this immaterial substance, this energy diffused\nthrough all sorts of heterogeneous things, which alone is the real\nobject of the cult. We are now in a better condition for understanding\nwhat the native means when he says that the men of the Crow phratry, for\nexample, are crows. He does not exactly mean to say that they are crows\nin the vulgar and empiric sense of the term, but that the same principle\nis found in all of them, which is their most essential characteristic,\nwhich they have in common with the animals of the same name and which is\nthought of under the external form of a crow. Thus the universe, as\ntotemism conceives it, is filled and animated by a certain number of\nforces which the imagination represents in forms taken, with only a few\nexceptions, from the animal or vegetable kingdoms: there are as many of\nthem as there are clans in the tribe, and each of them is also found in\ncertain categories of things, of which it is the essence and vital\nprinciple.\n\nWhen we say that these principles are forces, we do not take the word in\na metaphorical sense; they act just like veritable forces. In one sense,\nthey are even material forces which mechanically engender physical\neffects. Does an individual come in contact with them without having\ntaken proper precautions? He receives a shock which might be compared to\nthe effect of an electric discharge. Sometimes they seem to conceive of\nthese as a sort of fluid escaping by points.[614] If they are introduced\ninto an organism not made to receive them, they produce sickness and\ndeath by a wholly automatic action.[615] Outside of men, they play the\nr\u00f4le of vital principle; it is by acting on them, we shall see,[616]\nthat the reproduction of the species is assured. It is upon them that\nthe universal life reposes.\n\nBut in addition to this physical aspect, they also have a moral\ncharacter. When someone asks a native why he observes his rites, he\nreplies that his ancestors always have observed them, and he ought to\nfollow their example.[617] So if he acts in a certain way towards the\ntotemic beings, it is not only because the forces resident in them are\nphysically redoubtable, but because he feels himself morally obliged to\nact thus; he has the feeling that he is obeying an imperative, that he\nis fulfilling a duty. For these sacred beings, he has not merely fear,\nbut also respect. Moreover, the totem is the source of the moral life of\nthe clan. All the beings partaking of the same totemic principle\nconsider that owing to this very fact, they are morally bound to one\nanother; they have definite duties of assistance, vendetta, etc.,\ntowards each other; and it is these duties which constitute kinship. So\nwhile the totemic principle is a totemic force, it is also a moral\npower; so we shall see how it easily transforms itself into a divinity\nproperly so-called.\n\nMoreover, there is nothing here which is special to totemism. Even in\nthe most advanced religions, there is scarcely a god who has not kept\nsomething of this ambiguity and whose functions are not at once cosmic\nand moral. At the same time that it is a spiritual discipline, every\nreligion is also a means enabling men to face the world with greater\nconfidence. Even for the Christian, is not God the Father the guardian\nof the physical order as well as the legislator and the judge of human\nconduct?\n\n\nII\n\nPerhaps someone will ask whether, in interpreting totemism thus, we do\nnot endow the native with ideas surpassing the limits of his intellect.\nOf course we are not prepared to affirm that he represents these forces\nwith the relative clarity which we have been able to give to them in our\nanalysis. We are able to show quite clearly that this notion is implied\nby the whole system of beliefs which it dominates; but we are unable to\nsay how far it is conscious and how far, on the contrary, it is only\nimplicit and confusedly felt. There is no way of determining just what\ndegree of clarity an idea like this may have in obscure minds. But it is\nwell shown, in any case, that this in no way surpasses the capacities of\nthe primitive mind, and on the contrary, the results at which we have\njust arrived are confirmed by the fact that either in the societies\nclosely related to these Australian tribes, or even in these tribes\nthemselves, we find, in an explicit form, conceptions which differ from\nthe preceding only by shades and degrees.\n\nThe native religions of Samoa have certainly passed the totemic phase.\nReal gods are found there, who have their own names, and, to a certain\ndegree, their own personal physiognomy. Yet the traces of totemism are\nhardly contestable. In fact, each god is attached to a group, either\nlocal or domestic, just as the totem is to its clan.[618] Then, each of\nthese gods is thought of as immanent in a special species of animal. But\nthis does not mean that he resides in one subject in particular: he is\nimmanent in all at once; he is diffused in the species as a whole. When\nan animal dies, the men of the group who venerate it weep for it and\nrender pious duties to it, because a god inhabits it; but the god is not\ndead. He is eternal, like the species. He is not even confused with the\npresent generation; he has already been the soul of the preceding one,\nas he will be the soul of the one which is to follow.[619] So he has all\nthe characteristics of the totemic principle. He is the totemic\nprinciple, re-clothed in a slightly personal form by the imagination.\nBut still, we must not exaggerate a personality which is hardly\nreconcilable with this diffusion and ubiquity. If its contours were\nclearly defined, it could never spread out thus and enter into such a\nmultitude of things.\n\nHowever, it is incontestable that in this case the idea of an impersonal\nreligious force is beginning to change; but there are other cases where\nit is affirmed in all its abstract purity and even reaches a higher\ndegree of generality than in Australia. If the different totemic\nprinciples to which the various clans of a single tribe address\nthemselves are distinct from each other, they are, none the less,\ncomparable to each other at bottom; for all play the same r\u00f4le in their\nrespective spheres. There are societies which have had the feeling of\nthis unity with nature and have consequently advanced to the idea of a\nunique religious force of which all other sacred principles are only\nexpressions and which makes the unity of the universe. As these\nsocieties are still thoroughly impregnated with totemism, and as they\nremain entangled in a social organization identical with that of the\nAustralians, we may say that totemism contained this idea in\npotentiality.\n\nThis can be observed in a large number of American tribes, especially\nthose belonging to the great Sioux family: the Omaha, Ponka, Kansas,\nOsage, Assiniboin, Dakota, Iowa, Winnebago, Mandan, Hidatsa, etc. Many\nof these are still organized in clans, as the Omaha[620] and the\nIowa;[621] others were so not long since, and, says Dorsey, it is still\npossible to find among them \"all the foundations of the totemic system,\njust as in the other societies of the Sioux.\"[622] Now among these\npeoples, above all the particular deities to whom men render a cult,\nthere is a pre-eminent power to which all the others have the relation\nof derived forms, and which is called _wakan_.[623] Owing to the\npreponderating place thus assigned to this principle in the Siouan\npantheon, it is sometimes regarded as a sort of sovereign god, or a\nJupiter or Jahveh, and travellers have frequently translated wakan by\n\"great spirit.\" This is misrepresenting its real nature gravely. The\nwakan is in no way a personal being; the natives do not represent it in\na determined form. According to an observer cited by Dorsey, \"they say\nthat they have never seen the wakanda, so they cannot pretend to\npersonify it.\"[624] It is not even possible to define it by determined\nattributes and characteristics. \"No word,\" says Riggs, \"can explain the\nmeaning of this term among the Dakota. It embraces all mystery, all\nsecret power, all divinity.\"[625] All the beings which the Dakota\nreveres, \"the earth, the four winds, the sun, the moon and the stars,\nare manifestations of this mysterious life and power\" which enters into\nall. Sometimes it is represented in the form of a wind, as a breath\nhaving its seat in the four cardinal points and moving everything:[626]\nsometimes it is a voice heard in the crashing of the thunder;[627] the\nsun, moon and stars are wakan.[628] But no enumeration could exhaust\nthis infinitely complex idea. It is not a definite and definable power,\nthe power of doing this or that; it is Power in an absolute sense, with\nno epithet or determination of any sort. The various divine powers are\nonly particular manifestations and personifications of it; each of them\nis this power seen under one of its numerous aspects.[629] It is this\nwhich made one observer say, \"He is a protean god; he is supposed to\nappear to different persons in different forms.\"[630] Nor are the gods\nthe only beings animated by it: it is the principle of all that lives or\nacts or moves. \"All life is wakan. So also is everything which exhibits\npower, whether in action, as the winds and drifting clouds, or in\npassive endurance, as the boulder by the wayside.\"[631]\n\nAmong the Iroquois, whose social organization has an even more\npronouncedly totemic character, this, same idea is found again; the word\n_orenda_ which expresses it is the exact equivalent of the wakan of the\nSioux. \"The savage man,\" says Hewitt, \"conceived the diverse bodies\ncollectively constituting his environment to possess inherently mystic\npotence ... (whether they be) the rocks, the waters, the tides, the\nplants and the trees, the animals and man, the wind and the storms, the\nclouds and the thunders and the lightnings,\"[632] etc. \"This potence is\nheld to be the property of all things ... and by the inchoate mentation\nof man is regarded as the efficient cause of all phenomena, all the\nactivities of his environment.\"[633] A sorcerer or shaman has orenda,\nbut as much would be said of a man succeeding in his enterprises. At\nbottom, there is nothing in the world which does not have its quota of\norenda; but the quantities vary. There are some beings, either men or\nthings, which are favoured; there are others which are relatively\ndisinherited, and the universal life consists in the struggles of these\norenda of unequal intensity. The more intense conquer the weaker. Is one\nman more successful than his companions in the hunt or at war? It is\nbecause he has more orenda. If an animal escapes from a hunter who is\npursuing it, it is because the orenda of the former was the more\npowerful.\n\nThis same idea is found among the Shoshone under the name of _pokunt_,\namong the Algonquin under the name of _manitou_,[634] of _nauala_ among\nthe Kwakiutl,[635] of _yek_ among the Tlinkit[636] and of _sg\u00e2na_ among\nthe Haida.[637] But it is not peculiar to the Indians of North America;\nit is in Melanesia that it was studied for the first time. It is true\nthat in certain of the islands of Melanesia, social organization is no\nlonger on a totemic basis; but in all, totemism is still visible,[638]\nin spite of what Codrington has said about it. Now among these peoples,\nwe find, under the name of _mana_, an idea which is the exact equivalent\nof the wakan of the Sioux and the orenda of the Iroquois. The definition\ngiven by Codrington is as follows: \"There is a belief in a force\naltogether distinct from physical power, which acts in all ways for good\nand evil; and which it is of the greatest advantage to possess or\ncontrol. This is Mana. I think I know what our people mean by it. ... It\nis a power or influence, not physical and in a way supernatural; but it\nshows itself in physical force, or in any kind of power or excellence\nwhich a man possesses. This mana is not fixed in anything, and can be\nconveyed in almost anything. ... All Melanesian religion consists, in\nfact, in getting this mana for one's self, or getting it used for one's\nbenefit.\"[639] Is this not the same notion of an anonymous and diffused\nforce, the germs of which we recently found in the totemism of\nAustralia? Here is the same impersonality; for, as Codrington says, we\nmust be careful not to regard it as a sort of supreme being; any such\nidea is \"absolutely foreign\" to Melanesian thought. Here is the same\nubiquity; the mana is located nowhere definitely and it is everywhere.\nAll forms of life and all the effects of the action, either of men or\nof living beings or of simple minerals, are attributed to its\ninfluence.[640]\n\nTherefore there is no undue temerity in attributing to the Australians\nan idea such as the one we have discovered in our analysis of totemic\nbeliefs, for we find it again, but abstracted and generalized to a\nhigher degree, at the basis of other religions whose roots go back into\na system like the Australian one and which visibly bear the mark of\nthis. The two conceptions are obviously related; they differ only in\ndegree, while the mana is diffused into the whole universe, what we call\nthe god or, to speak more precisely, the totemic principle, is localized\nin the more limited circle of the beings and things of certain species.\nIt is mana, but a little more specialized; yet as a matter of fact, this\nspecialization is quite relative.\n\nMoreover, there is one case where this connection is made especially\napparent. Among the Omaha, there are totems of all sorts, both\nindividual and collective;[641] but both are only particular forms of\nwakan. \"The foundation of the Indian's faith in the efficacy of the\ntotem,\" says Miss Fletcher, \"rested upon his belief concerning nature\nand life. This conception was complex and involved two prominent ideas:\nFirst, that all things, animate and inanimate, were permeated by a\ncommon life; and second, that this life could not be broken, but was\ncontinuous.\"[642] Now this common principle of life is the wakan. The\ntotem is the means by which an individual is put into relations with\nthis source of energy; if the totem has any powers, it is because it\nincarnates the wakan. If a man who has violated the interdictions\nprotecting his totem is struck by sickness or death, it is because this\nmysterious force against which he has thus set himself, that is, the\nwakan, reacts against him with a force proportionate to the shock\nreceived.[643] Also, just as the totem is wakan, so the wakan, in its\nturn, sometimes shows its totemic origin by the way in which it is\nconceived. In fact, Say says that among the Dakota the \"wahconda\" is\nmanifested sometimes in the form of a grey bear, sometimes of a bison, a\nbeaver or some other animal.[644] Undoubtedly, this formula cannot be\naccepted without reserve. The wakan repels all personification and\nconsequently it is hardly probable that it has ever been thought of in\nits abstract generality with the aid of such definite symbols. But Say's\nremark is probably applicable to the particular forms which it takes in\nspecializing itself in the concrete reality of life. Now if there is a\npossibility that there was a time when these specializations of the\nwakan bore witness to such an affinity for an animal form, that would be\none more proof of the close bonds uniting this conception to the totemic\nbeliefs.[645]\n\nIt is possible to explain why this idea has been unable to reach the\nsame degree of abstraction in Australia as in the more advanced\nsocieties. This is not merely due to the insufficient aptitude of the\nAustralian for abstracting and generalizing: before all, it is the\nnature of the social environment which has imposed this particularism.\nIn fact, as long as totemism remains at the basis of the cultural\norganization, the clan keeps an autonomy in the religious society which,\nthough not absolute, is always very marked. Of course we can say that in\none sense each totemic group is only a chapel of the tribal Church; but\nit is a chapel enjoying a large independence. The cult celebrated there,\nthough not a self-sufficing whole, has only external relations with the\nothers; they interchange without intermingling; the totem of the clan is\nfully sacred only for this clan. Consequently the groups of things\nattributed to each clan, which are a part of it in the same way the men\nare, have the same individuality and autonomy. Each of them is\nrepresented as irreducible into similar groups, as separated from them\nby a break of continuity, and as constituting a distinct realm. Under\nthese circumstances, it would occur to no one that these heterogeneous\nworlds were different manifestations of one and the same fundamental\nforce; on the contrary, one might suppose that each of them corresponded\nto an organically different mana whose action could not extend beyond\nthe clan and the circle of things attributed to it. The idea of a single\nand universal mana could be born only at the moment when the tribal\nreligion developed above that of the clans and absorbed them more or\nless completely. It is along with the feeling of the tribal unity that\nthe feeling of the substantial unity of the world awakens. As we shall\npresently show,[646] it is true that the Australian societies are\nalready acquainted with a cult that is common to the tribe as a whole.\nBut if this cult represents the highest form of the Australian\nreligions, it has not succeeded in touching and modifying the principles\nupon which they repose: totemism is essentially a federative religion\nwhich cannot go beyond a certain degree of centralization without\nceasing to be itself.\n\nOne characteristic fact clearly shows the fundamental reason which has\nkept the idea of the mana so specialized in Australia. The real\nreligious forces, those thought of in the form of totems, are not the\nonly ones with which the Australian feels himself obliged to reckon.\nThere are also some over which magicians have particular control. While\nthe former are theoretically considered healthful and beneficent, the\nsecond have it as their especial function to cause sickness and death.\nAnd at the same time that they differ so greatly in the nature of their\neffects, they are contrasted also by the relations which they sustain\nwith the social organization. A totem is always a matter of the clan;\nbut on the contrary, magic is a tribal and even an intertribal\ninstitution. Magic forces do not belong to any special portion of the\ntribe in particular. All that is needed to make use of them is the\npossession of efficient recipes. Likewise, everybody is liable to feel\ntheir effects and consequently should try to protect himself against\nthem. These are vague forces, specially attached to no determined social\ndivision, and even able to spread their action beyond the tribe. Now it\nis a remarkable fact that among the Arunta and Loritja, they are\nconceived as simple aspects and particular forms of a unique force,\ncalled in Arunta _Arungquiltha_ or _Ar\u00fankulta_.[647] \"This is a term,\"\nsay Spencer and Gillen, \"of somewhat vague import, but always associated\nat bottom with the possession of _supernatural evil power_.... The name\nis applied indiscriminately to the evil influence or to the object in\nwhich it is, for the time being, or permanently, resident.\"[648] \"By\nar\u00fankulta,\" says Strehlow, \"the native signifies a force which suddenly\nstops life and brings death to all who come in contact with it.\"[649]\nThis name is given to the bones and pieces of wood from which\nevil-working charms are derived, and also to poisonous animals and\nvegetables. So it may accurately be called a harmful mana. Grey mentions\nan absolutely identical notion among the tribes he observed.[650] Thus\namong these different peoples, while the properly religious forces do\nnot succeed in avoiding a certain heterogeneity, magic forces are\nthought of as being all of the same nature; the mind represents them in\ntheir generic unity. This is because they rise above the social\norganization and its divisions and subdivisions, and move in a\nhomogeneous and continuous space where they meet with nothing to\ndifferentiate them. The others, on the contrary, being localized in\ndefinite and distinct social forms, are diversified and particularized\nin the image of the environment in which they are situated.\n\nFrom this we can see how thoroughly the idea of an impersonal religious\nforce enters into the meaning and spirit of Australian totemism, for it\ndisengages itself with clarity as soon as no contrary cause opposes it.\nIt is true that the arungquiltha is purely a magic force. But between\nreligious forces and magic forces there is no difference of kind:[651]\nsometimes they are even designated by the same name: in Melanesia, the\nmagicians and charms have mana just like the agents and rites of the\nregular cult;[652] the word oranda is employed in the same way by the\nIroquois.[653] So we can legitimately infer the nature of the one from\nthat of the other.[654]\n\n\nIII\n\nThe results to which the above analysis has led us do not concern the\nhistory of totemism only, but also the genesis of religious thought in\ngeneral.\n\nUnder the pretext that in early times men were dominated by their senses\nand the representations of their senses, it has frequently been held\nthat they commenced by representing the divine in the concrete form of\ndefinite and personal beings. The facts do not confirm this presumption.\nWe have just described a systematically united scheme of religious\nbeliefs which we have good reason to regard as very primitive, yet we\nhave met with no personalities of this sort. The real totemic cult is\naddressed neither to certain determined animals nor to certain\nvegetables nor even to an animal or vegetable species, but to a vague\npower spread through these things.[655] Even in the most advanced\nreligions which have developed out of totemism, such as those which we\nfind among the North American Indians, this idea, instead of being\neffaced, becomes more conscious of itself; it is declared with a clarity\nit did not have before, while at the same time, it attains a higher\ngenerality. It is this which dominates the entire religious system.\n\nThis is the original matter out of which have been constructed those\nbeings of every sort which the religions of all times have consecrated\nand adored. The spirits, demons, genii and gods of every sort are only\nthe concrete forms taken by this energy, or \"potentiality,\" as Hewitt\ncalls it,[656] in individualizing itself, in fixing itself upon a\ncertain determined object or point in space, or in centring around an\nideal and legendary being, though one conceived as real by the popular\nimagination. A Dakota questioned by Miss Fletcher expressed this\nessential consubstantiability of all sacred things in language that is\nfull of relief. \"Every thing as it moves, now and then, here and there,\nmakes stops. The bird as it flies stops in one place to make its nest,\nand in another to rest in its flight. A man when he goes forth stops\nwhen he wills. So the god has stopped. The sun, which is so bright and\nbeautiful, is one place where he has stopped. The trees, the animals,\nare where he has stopped, and the Indian thinks of these places and\nsends his prayers to reach the place where the god has stopped and to\nwin help and a blessing.\"[657] In other words, the wakan (for this is\nwhat he was talking about) comes and goes through the world, and sacred\nthings are the points upon which it alights. Here we are, for once, just\nas far from naturism as from animism. If the sun, the moon and the stars\nhave been adored, they have not owed this honour to their intrinsic\nnature or their distinctive properties, but to the fact that they are\nthought to participate in this force which alone is able to give things\na sacred character, and which is also found in a multitude of other\nbeings, even the smallest. If the souls of the dead have been the object\nof rites, it is not because they are believed to be made out of some\nfluid and impalpable substance, nor is it because they resemble the\nshadow cast by a body or its reflection on a surface of water.\nLightness and fluidity are not enough to confer sanctity; they have been\ninvested with this dignity only in so far as they contained within them\nsomething of this same force, the source of all religiosity.\n\nWe are now in a better condition to understand why it has been\nimpossible to define religion by the idea of mythical personalities,\ngods or spirits; it is because this way of representing religious things\nis in no way inherent in their nature. What we find at the origin and\nbasis of religious thought are not determined and distinct objects and\nbeings possessing a sacred character of themselves; they are indefinite\npowers, anonymous forces, more or less numerous in different societies,\nand sometimes even reduced to a unity, and whose impersonality is\nstrictly comparable to that of the physical forces whose manifestations\nthe sciences of nature study. As for particular sacred things, they are\nonly individualized forms of this essential principle. So it is not\nsurprising that even in the religions where there are avowed divinities,\nthere are rites having an efficient virtue in themselves, independently\nof all divine intervention. It is because this force may be attached to\nwords that are pronounced or movements that are made just as well as to\ncorporal substances; the voice or the movements may serve as its\nvehicle, and it may produce its effects through their intermediacy,\nwithout the aid of any god or spirit. Even should it happen to\nconcentrate itself especially in a rite, this will become a creator of\ndivinities from that very fact.[658] This is why there is scarcely a\ndivine personality who does not retain some impersonality. Those who\nrepresent it most clearly in a concrete and visible form, think of it,\nat the same time, as an abstract power which cannot be defined except by\nits own efficacy, or as a force spread out in space and which is\ncontained, at least in part, in each of its effects. It is the power of\nproducing rain or wind, crops or the light of day; Zeus is in each of\nthe raindrops which falls, just as Ceres is in each of the sheaves of\nthe harvest.[659] As a general rule, in fact, this efficacy is so\nimperfectly determined that the believer is able to form only a very\nvague notion of it. Moreover, it is this indecision which has made\npossible these syncretisms and duplications in the course of which gods\nare broken up, dismembered and confused in every way. Perhaps there is\nnot a single religion in which the original mana, whether unique or\nmultiform, has been resolved entirely into a clearly defined number of\nbeings who are distinct and separate from each other; each of them\nalways retains a touch of impersonality, as it were, which enables it to\nenter into new combinations, not as the result of a simple survival but\nbecause it is the nature of religious forces to be unable to\nindividualize themselves completely.\n\nThis conception, to which we have been led by the study of totemism\nalone, has the additional recommendation that many scholars have\nrecently adopted it quite independently of one another, as a conclusion\nfrom very different sorts of studies. There is a tendency towards a\nspontaneous agreement on this point which should be remarked, for it is\na presumption of objectivity.\n\nAs early as 1899, we pointed out the impossibility of making the idea of\na mythical personality enter into the definition of religious\nphenomena.[660] In 1900, Marrett showed the existence of a religious\nphase which he called _preanimistic_, in which the rites are addressed\nto impersonal forces like the Melanesian mana and the wakan of the Omaha\nand Dakota.[661] However, Marrett did not go so far as to maintain that\nalways and in every case the idea of a spirit is logically and\nchronologically posterior to that of mana and is derived from it; he\neven seemed disposed to admit that it has sometimes appeared\nindependently and consequently, that religious thought flows from a\ndouble source.[662] On the other hand, he conceived the mana as an\ninherent property of things, as an element of their appearance; for,\naccording to him, this is simply the character which we attribute to\neverything out of the ordinary, and which inspires a sentiment of fear\nor admiration.[663] This practically amounts to a return to the naturist\ntheory.[664]\n\nA little later, MM. Hubert and Mauss, while attempting to formulate a\ngeneral theory of magic, established the fact that magic as a whole\nreposes on the notion of mana.[665] The close kinship of the magic rite\nand the religious rite being known, it was even possible to foresee that\nthe same theory should be applied to religion. This was sustained by\nPreuss in a series of articles in the _Globus_[666] that same year.\nRelying chiefly upon facts taken from American civilizations, Preuss set\nout to prove that the ideas of the soul and spirit were not developed\nuntil after those of power and impersonal force, that the former are\nonly a transformation of the latter, and that up to a relatively late\ndate they retain the marks of their original impersonality. In fact, he\nshows that even in the advanced religions, they are represented in the\nform of vague emanations disengaging themselves automatically from the\nthings in which they reside, and even tending to escape by all the ways\nthat are open to them: the mouth, the nose and all the other openings of\nthe body, the breath, the look, the word, etc. At the same time, Preuss\npointed out their Protean forms and their extreme plasticity which\npermits them to give themselves successively and almost concurrently to\nthe most varied uses.[667] It is true that if we stick to the letter of\nthe terminology employed by this author, we may believe that for him the\nforces have a magic, not a religious nature: he calls them charms\n(_Zauber, Zauberkr\u00e4fte_). But it is evident that in expressing himself\nthus, he does not intend to put them outside of religion; for it is in\nthe essentially religious rites that he shows their action, for example,\nin the great Mexican ceremonies.[668] If he uses these expressions, it\nis undoubtedly because he knows no others which mark better the\nimpersonality of these forces and the sort of mechanism with which they\noperate.\n\nThus this same idea tends to come to light on every side.[669] The\nimpression becomes more and more prevalent that even the most elementary\nmythological constructions are secondary products[670] which cover over\na system of beliefs, at once simpler and more obscure, vaguer and more\nessential, which form the solid foundations upon which the religious\nsystems are built. It is this primitive foundation which our analysis of\ntotemism has enabled us to reach. The various writers whose studies we\nhave just mentioned arrived at this conclusion only through facts taken\nfrom very diverse religions, some of which even correspond to a\ncivilization that is already far advanced: such is the case, for\nexample, with the Mexican religions, of which Preuss makes great use. So\nit might be asked if this theory is equally applicable to the most\nsimple religions. But since it is impossible to go lower than totemism,\nwe are not exposed to this risk of error, and at the same time, we have\nan opportunity of finding the initial notion from which the ideas of\nwakan and mana are derived: this is the notion of the totemic\nprinciple.[671]\n\n\nIV\n\nBut this notion is not only of primary importance because of the r\u00f4le it\nhas played in the development of religious ideas; it also has a lay\naspect in which it is of interest for the history of scientific thought.\nIt is the first form of the idea of force.\n\nIn fact, the wakan plays the same r\u00f4le in the world, as the Sioux\nconceives it, as the one played by the forces with which science\nexplains the diverse phenomena of nature. This, however, does not mean\nthat it is thought of as an exclusively physical energy; on the\ncontrary, in the next chapter we shall see that the elements going to\nmake up this idea are taken from the most diverse realms. But this very\ncompositeness of its nature enables it to be utilized as a universal\nprinciple of explanation. It is from it that all life comes;[672] \"all\nlife is wakan\"; and by this word life, we must understand everything\nthat acts and reacts, that moves and is moved, in both the mineral and\nbiological kingdoms. The wakan is the cause of all the movements which\ntake place in the universe. We have even seen that the orenda of the\nIroquois is \"the efficient cause of all the phenomena and all the\nactivities which are manifested around men.\" It is a power \"inherent in\nall bodies and all things.\"[673] It is the orenda which makes the wind\nblow, the sun lighten and heat the earth, or animals reproduce and which\nmakes men strong, clever and intelligent. When the Iroquois says that\nthe life of all nature is the product of the conflicts aroused between\nthe unequally intense orenda of the different beings, he only expresses,\nin his own language, this modern idea that the world is a system of\nforces limiting and containing each other and making an equilibrium.\n\nThe Melanesian attributes this same general efficacy to his mana. It is\nowing to his mana that a man succeeds in hunting or fighting, that\ngardens give a good return or that flocks prosper. If an arrow strikes\nits mark, it is because it is charged with mana; it is the same cause\nwhich makes a net catch fish well, or a canoe ride well on the sea,[674]\netc. It is true that if certain phrases of Codrington are taken\nliterally, mana should be the cause to which is attributed \"everything\nwhich is beyond the ordinary power of men, outside the common processes\nof nature.\"[675] But from the very examples which he cites, it is quite\nevident that the sphere of the mana is really much more extended. In\nreality, it serves to explain usual and everyday phenomena; there is\nnothing superhuman or supernatural in the fact that a ship sails or a\nhunter catches game, etc. However, among these events of daily life,\nthere are some so insignificant and familiar that they pass unperceived:\nthey are not noticed and consequently no need is felt of explaining\nthem. The concept of mana is applied only to those that are important\nenough to cause reflection, and to awaken a minimum of interest and\ncuriosity; but they are not marvellous for all that. And what is true of\nthe mana as well as the orenda and wakan, may be said equally well of\nthe totemic principle. It is through this that the life of the men of\nthe clan and the animals or plants of the totemic species, as well as\nall the things which are classified under the totem and partake of its\nnature, is manifested.\n\nSo the idea of force is of religious origin. It is from religion that it\nhas been borrowed, first by philosophy, then by the sciences. This has\nalready been foreseen by Comte and this is why he made metaphysics the\nheir of \"theology.\" But he concluded from this that the idea of force is\ndestined to disappear from science; for, owing to its mystic origins, he\nrefused it all objective value. But we are going to show that, on the\ncontrary, religious forces are real, howsoever imperfect the symbols may\nbe, by the aid of which they are thought of. From this it will follow\nthat the same is true of the concept of force in general.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nORIGINS OF THESE BELIEFS--_end_\n\n_Origin of the Idea of the Totemic Principle or Mana_\n\n\nThe proposition established in the preceding chapter determines the\nterms in which the problem of the origins of totemism should be posed.\nSince totemism is everywhere dominated by the idea of a quasi-divine\nprinciple, imminent in certain categories of men and things and thought\nof under the form of an animal or vegetable, the explanation of this\nreligion is essentially the explanation of this belief; to arrive at\nthis, we must seek to learn how men have been led to construct this idea\nand out of what materials they have constructed it.\n\n\nI\n\nIt is obviously not out of the sensations which the things serving as\ntotems are able to arouse in the mind; we have shown that these things\nare frequently insignificant. The lizard, the caterpillar, the rat, the\nant, the frog, the turkey, the bream-fish, the plum-tree, the cockatoo,\netc., to cite only those names which appear frequently in the lists of\nAustralian totems, are not of a nature to produce upon men these great\nand strong impressions which in a way resemble religious emotions and\nwhich impress a sacred character upon the objects they create. It is\ntrue that this is not the case with the stars and the great atmospheric\nphenomena, which have, on the contrary, all that is necessary to strike\nthe imagination forcibly; but as a matter of fact, these serve only very\nexceptionally as totems. It is even probable that they were very slow in\ntaking this office.[676] So it is not the intrinsic nature of the thing\nwhose name the clan bears that marked it out to become the object of a\ncult. Also, if the sentiments which it inspired were really the\ndetermining cause of the totemic rites and beliefs, it would be the\npre-eminently sacred thing; the animals or plants employed as totems\nwould play an eminent part in the religious life. But we know that the\ncentre of the cult is actually elsewhere. It is the figurative\nrepresentations of this plant or animal and the totemic emblems and\nsymbols of every sort, which have the greatest sanctity; so it is in\nthem that is found the source of that religious nature, of which the\nreal objects represented by these emblems receive only a reflection.\n\nThus the totem is before all a symbol, a material expression of\nsomething else.[677] But of what?\n\nFrom the analysis to which we have been giving our attention, it is\nevident that it expresses and symbolizes two different sorts of things.\nIn the first place, it is the outward and visible form of what we have\ncalled the totemic principle or god. But it is also the symbol of the\ndetermined society called the clan. It is its flag; it is the sign by\nwhich each clan distinguishes itself from the others, the visible mark\nof its personality, a mark borne by everything which is a part of the\nclan under any title whatsoever, men, beasts or things. So if it is at\nonce the symbol of the god and of the society, is that not because the\ngod and the society are only one? How could the emblem of the group have\nbeen able to become the figure of this quasi-divinity, if the group and\nthe divinity were two distinct realities? The god of the clan, the\ntotemic principle, can therefore be nothing else than the clan itself,\npersonified and represented to the imagination under the visible form of\nthe animal or vegetable which serves as totem.\n\nBut how has this apotheosis been possible, and how did it happen to take\nplace in this fashion?\n\n\nII\n\nIn a general way, it is unquestionable that a society has all that is\nnecessary to arouse the sensation of the divine in minds, merely by the\npower that it has over them; for to its members it is what a god is to\nhis worshippers. In fact, a god is, first of all, a being whom men think\nof as superior to themselves, and upon whom they feel that they depend.\nWhether it be a conscious personality, such as Zeus or Jahveh, or merely\nabstract forces such as those in play in totemism, the worshipper, in\nthe one case as in the other, believes himself held to certain manners\nof acting which are imposed upon him by the nature of the sacred\nprinciple with which he feels that he is in communion. Now society also\ngives us the sensation of a perpetual dependence. Since it has a nature\nwhich is peculiar to itself and different from our individual nature, it\npursues ends which are likewise special to it; but, as it cannot attain\nthem except through our intermediacy, it imperiously demands our aid. It\nrequires that, forgetful of our own interests, we make ourselves its\nservitors, and it submits us to every sort of inconvenience, privation\nand sacrifice, without which social life would be impossible. It is\nbecause of this that at every instant we are obliged to submit ourselves\nto rules of conduct and of thought which we have neither made nor\ndesired, and which are sometimes even contrary to our most fundamental\ninclinations and instincts.\n\nEven if society were unable to obtain these concessions and sacrifices\nfrom us except by a material constraint, it might awaken in us only the\nidea of a physical force to which we must give way of necessity, instead\nof that of a moral power such as religions adore. But as a matter of\nfact, the empire which it holds over consciences is due much less to the\nphysical supremacy of which it has the privilege than to the moral\nauthority with which it is invested. If we yield to its orders, it is\nnot merely because it is strong enough to triumph over our resistance;\nit is primarily because it is the object of a venerable respect.\n\nWe say that an object, whether individual or collective, inspires\nrespect when the representation expressing it in the mind is gifted with\nsuch a force that it automatically causes or inhibits actions, _without\nregard for any consideration relative to their useful or injurious\neffects_. When we obey somebody because of the moral authority which we\nrecognize in him, we follow out his opinions, not because they seem\nwise, but because a certain sort of physical energy is imminent in the\nidea that we form of this person, which conquers our will and inclines\nit in the indicated direction. Respect is the emotion which we\nexperience when we feel this interior and wholly spiritual pressure\noperating upon us. Then we are not determined by the advantages or\ninconveniences of the attitude which is prescribed or recommended to us;\nit is by the way in which we represent to ourselves the person\nrecommending or prescribing it. This is why commands generally take a\nshort, peremptory form leaving no place for hesitation; it is because,\nin so far as it is a command and goes by its own force, it excludes all\nidea of deliberation or calculation; it gets its efficacy from the\nintensity of the mental state in which it is placed. It is this\nintensity which creates what is called a moral ascendancy.\n\nNow the ways of action to which society is strongly enough attached to\nimpose them upon its members, are, by that very fact, marked with a\ndistinctive sign provocative of respect. Since they are elaborated in\ncommon, the vigour with which they have been thought of by each\nparticular mind is retained in all the other minds, and reciprocally.\nThe representations which express them within each of us have an\nintensity which no purely private states of consciousness could ever\nattain; for they have the strength of the innumerable individual\nrepresentations which have served to form each of them. It is society\nwho speaks through the mouths of those who affirm them in our presence;\nit is society whom we hear in hearing them; and the voice of all has an\naccent which that of one alone could never have.[678] The very violence\nwith which society reacts, by way of blame or material suppression,\nagainst every attempted dissidence, contributes to strengthening its\nempire by manifesting the common conviction through this burst of\nardour.[679] In a word, when something is the object of such a state of\nopinion, the representation which each individual has of it gains a\npower of action from its origins and the conditions in which it was\nborn, which even those feel who do not submit themselves to it. It tends\nto repel the representations which contradict it, and it keeps them at a\ndistance; on the other hand, it commands those acts which will realize\nit, and it does so, not by a material coercion or by the perspective of\nsomething of this sort, but by the simple radiation of the mental energy\nwhich it contains. It has an efficacy coming solely from its psychical\nproperties, and it is by just this sign that moral authority is\nrecognized. So opinion, primarily a social thing, is a source of\nauthority, and it might even be asked whether all authority is not the\ndaughter of opinion.[680] It may be objected that science is often the\nantagonist of opinion, whose errors it combats and rectifies. But it\ncannot succeed in this task if it does not have sufficient authority,\nand it can obtain this authority only from opinion itself. If a people\ndid not have faith in science, all the scientific demonstrations in the\nworld would be without any influence whatsoever over their minds. Even\nto-day, if science happened to resist a very strong current of public\nopinion, it would risk losing its credit there.[681]\n\nSince it is in spiritual ways that social pressure exercises itself, it\ncould not fail to give men the idea that outside themselves there exist\none or several powers, both moral and, at the same time, efficacious,\nupon which they depend. They must think of these powers, at least in\npart, as outside themselves, for these address them in a tone of command\nand sometimes even order them to do violence to their most natural\ninclinations. It is undoubtedly true that if they were able to see that\nthese influences which they feel emanate from society, then the\nmythological system of interpretations would never be born. But social\naction follows ways that are too circuitous and obscure, and employs\npsychical mechanisms that are too complex to allow the ordinary observer\nto see whence it comes. As long as scientific analysis does not come to\nteach it to them, men know well that they are acted upon, but they do\nnot know by whom. So they must invent by themselves the idea of these\npowers with which they feel themselves in connection, and from that, we\nare able to catch a glimpse of the way by which they were led to\nrepresent them under forms that are really foreign to their nature and\nto transfigure them by thought.\n\n\nBut a god is not merely an authority upon whom we depend; it is a force\nupon which our strength relies. The man who has obeyed his god and who,\nfor this reason, believes the god is with him, approaches the world with\nconfidence and with the feeling of an increased energy. Likewise, social\naction does not confine itself to demanding sacrifices, privations and\nefforts from us. For the collective force is not entirely outside of us;\nit does not act upon us wholly from without; but rather, since society\ncannot exist except in and through individual consciousnesses,[682] this\nforce must also penetrate us and organize itself within us; it thus\nbecomes an integral part of our being and by that very fact this is\nelevated and magnified.\n\nThere are occasions when this strengthening and vivifying action of\nsociety is especially apparent. In the midst of an assembly animated by\na common passion, we become susceptible of acts and sentiments of which\nwe are incapable when reduced to our own forces; and when the assembly\nis dissolved and when, finding ourselves alone again, we fall back to\nour ordinary level, we are then able to measure the height to which we\nhave been raised above ourselves. History abounds in examples of this\nsort. It is enough to think of the night of the Fourth of August, 1789,\nwhen an assembly was suddenly led to an act of sacrifice and abnegation\nwhich each of its members had refused the day before, and at which they\nwere all surprised the day after.[683] This is why all parties,\npolitical, economic or confessional, are careful to have periodical\nreunions where their members may revivify their common faith by\nmanifesting it in common. To strengthen those sentiments which, if left\nto themselves, would soon weaken, it is sufficient to bring those who\nhold them together and to put them into closer and more active relations\nwith one another. This is the explanation of the particular attitude of\na man speaking to a crowd, at least if he has succeeded in entering into\ncommunion with it. His language has a grandiloquence that would be\nridiculous in ordinary circumstances; his gestures show a certain\ndomination; his very thought is impatient of all rules, and easily falls\ninto all sorts of excesses. It is because he feels within him an\nabnormal over-supply of force which overflows and tries to burst out\nfrom him; sometimes he even has the feeling that he is dominated by a\nmoral force which is greater than he and of which he is only the\ninterpreter. It is by this trait that we are able to recognize what has\noften been called the demon of oratorical inspiration. Now this\nexceptional increase of force is something very real; it comes to him\nfrom the very group which he addresses. The sentiments provoked by his\nwords come back to him, but enlarged and amplified, and to this degree\nthey strengthen his own sentiment. The passionate energies he arouses\nre-echo within him and quicken his vital tone. It is no longer a simple\nindividual who speaks; it is a group incarnate and personified.\n\nBeside these passing and intermittent states, there are other more\ndurable ones, where this strengthening influence of society makes itself\nfelt with greater consequences and frequently even with greater\nbrilliancy. There are periods in history when, under the influence of\nsome great collective shock, social interactions have become much more\nfrequent and active. Men look for each other and assemble together more\nthan ever. That general effervescence results which is characteristic of\nrevolutionary or creative epochs. Now this greater activity results in\na general stimulation of individual forces. Men see more and differently\nnow than in normal times. Changes are not merely of shades and degrees;\nmen become different. The passions moving them are of such an intensity\nthat they cannot be satisfied except by violent and unrestrained\nactions, actions of superhuman heroism or of bloody barbarism. This is\nwhat explains the Crusades,[684] for example, or many of the scenes,\neither sublime or savage, of the French Revolution.[685] Under the\ninfluence of the general exaltation, we see the most mediocre and\ninoffensive bourgeois become either a hero or a butcher.[686] And so\nclearly are all these mental processes the ones that are also at the\nroot of religion that the individuals themselves have often pictured the\npressure before which they thus gave way in a distinctly religious form.\nThe Crusaders believed that they felt God present in the midst of them,\nenjoining them to go to the conquest of the Holy Land; Joan of Arc\nbelieved that she obeyed celestial voices.[687]\n\nBut it is not only in exceptional circumstances that this stimulating\naction of society makes itself felt; there is not, so to speak, a moment\nin our lives when some current of energy does not come to us from\nwithout. The man who has done his duty finds, in the manifestations of\nevery sort expressing the sympathy, esteem or affection which his\nfellows have for him, a feeling of comfort, of which he does not\nordinarily take account, but which sustains him, none the less. The\nsentiments which society has for him raise the sentiments which he has\nfor himself. Because he is in moral harmony with his comrades, he has\nmore confidence, courage and boldness in action, just like the believer\nwho thinks that he feels the regard of his god turned graciously towards\nhim. It thus produces, as it were, a perpetual sustenance for our moral\nnature. Since this varies with a multitude of external circumstances, as\nour relations with the groups about us are more or less active and as\nthese groups themselves vary, we cannot fail to feel that this moral\nsupport depends upon an external cause; but we do not perceive where\nthis cause is nor what it is. So we ordinarily think of it under the\nform of a moral power which, though immanent in us, represents within us\nsomething not ourselves: this is the moral conscience, of which, by the\nway, men have never made even a slightly distinct representation except\nby the aid of religious symbols.\n\nIn addition to these free forces which are constantly coming to renew\nour own, there are others which are fixed in the methods and traditions\nwhich we employ. We speak a language that we did not make; we use\ninstruments that we did not invent; we invoke rights that we did not\nfound; a treasury of knowledge is transmitted to each generation that it\ndid not gather itself, etc. It is to society that we owe these varied\nbenefits of civilization, and if we do not ordinarily see the source\nfrom which we get them, we at least know that they are not our own work.\nNow it is these things that give man his own place among things; a man\nis a man only because he is civilized. So he could not escape the\nfeeling that outside of him there are active causes from which he gets\nthe characteristic attributes of his nature and which, as benevolent\npowers, assist him, protect him and assure him of a privileged fate. And\nof course he must attribute to these powers a dignity corresponding to\nthe great value of the good things he attributes to them.[688]\n\nThus the environment in which we live seems to us to be peopled with\nforces that are at once imperious and helpful, august and gracious, and\nwith which we have relations. Since they exercise over us a pressure of\nwhich we are conscious, we are forced to localize them outside\nourselves, just as we do for the objective causes of our sensations. But\nthe sentiments which they inspire in us differ in nature from those\nwhich we have for simple visible objects. As long as these latter are\nreduced to their empirical characteristics as shown in ordinary\nexperience, and as long as the religious imagination has not\nmetamorphosed them, we entertain for them no feeling which resembles\nrespect, and they contain within them nothing that is able to raise us\noutside ourselves. Therefore, the representations which express them\nappear to us to be very different from those aroused in us by collective\ninfluences. The two form two distinct and separate mental states in our\nconsciousness, just as do the two forms of life to which they\ncorrespond. Consequently, we get the impression that we are in relations\nwith two distinct sorts of reality and that a sharply drawn line of\ndemarcation separates them from each other: on the one hand is the world\nof profane things, on the other, that of sacred things.\n\nAlso, in the present day just as much as in the past, we see society\nconstantly creating sacred things out of ordinary ones. If it happens\nto fall in love with a man and if it thinks it has found in him the\nprincipal aspirations that move it, as well as the means of satisfying\nthem, this man will be raised above the others and, as it were, deified.\nOpinion will invest him with a majesty exactly analogous to that\nprotecting the gods. This is what has happened to so many sovereigns in\nwhom their age had faith: if they were not made gods, they were at least\nregarded as direct representatives of the deity. And the fact that it is\nsociety alone which is the author of these varieties of apotheosis, is\nevident since it frequently chances to consecrate men thus who have no\nright to it from their own merit. The simple deference inspired by men\ninvested with high social functions is not different in nature from\nreligious respect. It is expressed by the same movements: a man keeps at\na distance from a high personage; he approaches him only with\nprecautions; in conversing with him, he uses other gestures and language\nthan those used with ordinary mortals. The sentiment felt on these\noccasions is so closely related to the religious sentiment that many\npeoples have confounded the two. In order to explain the consideration\naccorded to princes, nobles and political chiefs, a sacred character has\nbeen attributed to them. In Melanesia and Polynesia, for example, it is\nsaid that an influential man has _mana_, and that his influence is due\nto this _mana_.[689] However, it is evident that his situation is due\nsolely to the importance attributed to him by public opinion. Thus the\nmoral power conferred by opinion and that with which sacred beings are\ninvested are at bottom of a single origin and made up of the same\nelements. That is why a single word is able to designate the two.\n\nIn addition to men, society also consecrates things, especially ideas.\nIf a belief is unanimously shared by a people, then, for the reason\nwhich we pointed out above, it is forbidden to touch it, that is to say,\nto deny it or to contest it. Now the prohibition of criticism is an\ninterdiction like the others and proves the presence of something\nsacred. Even to-day, howsoever great may be the liberty which we accord\nto others, a man who should totally deny progress or ridicule the human\nideal to which modern societies are attached, would produce the effect\nof a sacrilege. There is at least one principle which those the most\ndevoted to the free examination of everything tend to place above\ndiscussion and to regard as untouchable, that is to say, as sacred: this\nis the very principle of free examination.\n\nThis aptitude of society for setting itself up as a god or for creating\ngods was never more apparent than during the first years of the French\nRevolution. At this time, in fact, under the influence of the general\nenthusiasm, things purely la\u00efcal by nature were transformed by public\nopinion into sacred things: these were the Fatherland, Liberty,\nReason.[690] A religion tended to become established which had its\ndogmas,[691] symbols,[692] altars[693] and feasts.[694] It was to these\nspontaneous aspirations that the cult of Reason and the Supreme Being\nattempted to give a sort of official satisfaction. It is true that this\nreligious renovation had only an ephemeral duration. But that was\nbecause the patriotic enthusiasm which at first transported the masses\nsoon relaxed.[695] The cause being gone, the effect could not remain.\nBut this experiment, though short-lived, keeps all its sociological\ninterest. It remains true that in one determined case we have seen\nsociety and its essential ideas become, directly and with no\ntransfiguration of any sort, the object of a veritable cult.\n\nAll these facts allow us to catch glimpses of how the clan was able to\nawaken within its members the idea that outside of them there exist\nforces which dominate them and at the same time sustain them, that is to\nsay in fine, religious forces: it is because there is no society with\nwhich the primitive is more directly and closely connected. The bonds\nuniting him to the tribe are much more lax and more feebly felt.\nAlthough this is not at all strange or foreign to him, it is with the\npeople of his own clan that he has the greatest number of things in\ncommon; it is the action of this group that he feels the most directly;\nso it is this also which, in preference to all others, should express\nitself in religious symbols.\n\nBut this first explanation has been too general, for it is applicable to\nevery sort of society indifferently, and consequently to every sort of\nreligion. Let us attempt to determine exactly what form this collective\naction takes in the clan and how it arouses the sensation of sacredness\nthere. For there is no place where it is more easily observable or more\napparent in its results.\n\n\nIII\n\nThe life of the Australian societies passes alternately through two\ndistinct phases.[696] Sometimes the population is broken up into little\ngroups who wander about independently of one another, in their various\noccupations; each family lives by itself, hunting and fishing, and in a\nword, trying to procure its indispensable food by all the means in its\npower. Sometimes, on the contrary, the population concentrates and\ngathers at determined points for a length of time varying from several\ndays to several months. This concentration takes place when a clan or a\npart of the tribe[697] is summoned to the gathering, and on this\noccasion they celebrate a religious ceremony, or else hold what is\ncalled a corrobbori[698] in the usual ethnological language.\n\nThese two phases are contrasted with each other in the sharpest way. In\nthe first, economic activity is the preponderating one, and it is\ngenerally of a very mediocre intensity. Gathering the grains or herbs\nthat are necessary for food, or hunting and fishing are not occupations\nto awaken very lively passions.[699] The dispersed condition in which\nthe society finds itself results in making its life uniform, languishing\nand dull.[700] But when a corrobbori takes place, everything changes.\nSince the emotional and passional faculties of the primitive are only\nimperfectly placed under the control of his reason and will, he easily\nloses control of himself. Any event of some importance puts him quite\noutside himself. Does he receive good news? There are at once transports\nof enthusiasm. In the contrary conditions, he is to be seen running here\nand there like a madman, giving himself up to all sorts of immoderate\nmovements, crying, shrieking, rolling in the dust, throwing it in every\ndirection, biting himself, brandishing his arms in a furious manner,\netc.[701] The very fact of the concentration acts as an exceptionally\npowerful stimulant. When they are once come together, a sort of\nelectricity is formed by their collecting which quickly transports them\nto an extraordinary degree of exaltation. Every sentiment expressed\nfinds a place without resistance in all the minds, which are very open\nto outside impressions; each re-echoes the others, and is re-echoed by\nthe others. The initial impulse thus proceeds, growing as it goes, as an\navalanche grows in its advance. And as such active passions so free from\nall control could not fail to burst out, on every side one sees nothing\nbut violent gestures, cries, veritable howls, and deafening noises of\nevery sort, which aid in intensifying still more the state of mind which\nthey manifest. And since a collective sentiment cannot express itself\ncollectively except on the condition of observing a certain order\npermitting co-operation and movements in unison, these gestures and\ncries naturally tend to become rhythmic and regular; hence come songs\nand dances. But in taking a more regular form, they lose nothing of\ntheir natural violence; a regulated tumult remains tumult. The human\nvoice is not sufficient for the task; it is reinforced by means of\nartificial processes: boomerangs are beaten against each other;\nbull-roarers are whirled. It is probable that these instruments, the use\nof which is so general in the Australian religious ceremonies, are used\nprimarily to express in a more adequate fashion the agitation felt. But\nwhile they express it, they also strengthen it. This effervescence often\nreaches such a point that it causes unheard-of actions. The passions\nreleased are of such an impetuosity that they can be restrained by\nnothing. They are so far removed from their ordinary conditions of life,\nand they are so thoroughly conscious of it, that they feel that they\nmust set themselves outside of and above their ordinary morals. The\nsexes unite contrarily to the rules governing sexual relations. Men\nexchange wives with each other. Sometimes even incestuous unions, which\nin normal times are thought abominable and are severely punished, are\nnow contracted openly and with impunity.[702] If we add to all this that\nthe ceremonies generally take place at night in a darkness pierced here\nand there by the light of fires, we can easily imagine what effect such\nscenes ought to produce on the minds of those who participate. They\nproduce such a violent super-excitation of the whole physical and mental\nlife that it cannot be supported very long: the actor taking the\nprincipal part finally falls exhausted on the ground.[703]\n\nTo illustrate and make specific this necessarily schematic picture, let\nus describe certain scenes taken from Spencer and Gillen.\n\nOne of the most important religious ceremonies among the Warramunga is\nthe one concerning the snake Wollunqua. It consists in a series of\nceremonies lasting through several days. On the fourth day comes the\nfollowing scene.\n\nAccording to the ceremonial used among the Warramunga, representatives\nof the two phratries take part, one as officiants, the other as\npreparers and assistants. Only the members of the Uluuru phratry are\nqualified to celebrate the rite, but the members of the Kingilli phratry\nmust decorate the actors, make ready the place and the instruments, and\nplay the part of an audience. In this capacity, they were charged with\nmaking a sort of mound in advance out of wet sand, upon which a design\nis marked with red down which represents the snake Wollunqua. The real\nceremony only commenced after nightfall. Towards ten or eleven o'clock,\nthe Uluuru and Kingilli men arrived on the ground, sat down on the mound\nand commenced to sing. Everyone was evidently very excited. A little\nlater in the evening, the Uluuru brought up their wives and gave them\nover to the Kingilli,[704] who had intercourse with them. Then the\nrecently initiated young men were brought in and the whole ceremony was\nexplained to them in detail, and until three o'clock in the morning\nsinging went on without a pause. Then followed a scene of the wildest\nexcitement. While fires were lighted on all sides, making the whiteness\nof the gum-trees stand out sharply against the surrounding darkness, the\nUluuru knelt down one behind another beside the mound, then rising from\nthe ground they went around it, with a movement in unison, their two\nhands resting upon their thighs, then a little farther on they knelt\ndown again, and so on. At the same time they swayed their bodies, now to\nthe right and now to the left, while uttering at each movement a\npiercing cry, a veritable yell, \"_Yrrsh! Yrrsh! Yrrsh!_\" In the meantime\nthe Kingilli, in a state of great excitement, clanged their boomerangs\nand their chief was even more agitated than his companions. When the\nprocession of the Uluuru had twice gone around the mound, quitting the\nkneeling position, they sat down and commenced to sing again; at moments\nthe singing died away, then suddenly took up again. When day commenced\nto dawn, all leaped to their feet; the fires that had gone out were\nrelighted and the Uluuru, urged on by the Kingilli, attacked the mound\nfuriously with boomerangs, lances and clubs; in a few minutes it was\ntorn to pieces. The fires died away and profound silence reigned\nagain.[705]\n\nA still more violent scene at which these same observers assisted was in\nconnection with the fire ceremonies among the Warramunga.\n\nCommencing at nightfall, all sorts of processions, dances and songs had\ntaken place by torchlight; the general effervescence was constantly\nincreasing. At a given moment, twelve assistants each took a great\nlighted torch in their hands, and one of them holding his like a\nbayonet, charged into a group of natives. Blows were warded off with\nclubs and spears. A general m\u00eal\u00e9e followed. The men leaped and pranced\nabout, uttering savage yells all the time; the burning torches\ncontinually came crashing down on the heads and bodies of the men,\nscattering lighted sparks in every direction. \"The smoke, the blazing\ntorches, the showers of sparks falling in all directions and the masses\nof dancing, yelling men,\" say Spencer and Gillen, \"formed altogether a\ngenuinely wild and savage scene of which it is impossible to convey any\nadequate idea in words.\"[706]\n\nOne can readily conceive how, when arrived at this state of exaltation,\na man does not recognize himself any longer. Feeling himself dominated\nand carried away by some sort of an external power which makes him think\nand act differently than in normal times, he naturally has the\nimpression of being himself no longer. It seems to him that he has\nbecome a new being: the decorations he puts on and the masks that cover\nhis face figure materially in this interior transformation, and to a\nstill greater extent, they aid in determining its nature. And as at the\nsame time all his companions feel themselves transformed in the same way\nand express this sentiment by their cries, their gestures and their\ngeneral attitude, everything is just as though he really were\ntransported into a special world, entirely different from the one where\nhe ordinarily lives, and into an environment filled with exceptionally\nintense forces that take hold of him and metamorphose him. How could\nsuch experiences as these, especially when they are repeated every day.\nfor weeks, fail to leave in him the conviction that there really exist\ntwo heterogeneous and mutually incomparable worlds? One is that where\nhis daily life drags wearily along; but he cannot penetrate into the\nother without at once entering into relations with extraordinary powers\nthat excite him to the point of frenzy. The first is the profane world,\nthe second, that of sacred things.\n\nSo it is in the midst of these effervescent social environments and out\nof this effervescence itself that the religious idea seems to be born.\nThe theory that this is really its origin is confirmed by the fact that\nin Australia the really religious activity is almost entirely confined\nto the moments when these assemblies are held. To be sure, there is no\npeople among whom the great solemnities of the cult are not more or less\nperiodic; but in the more advanced societies, there is not, so to speak,\na day when some prayer or offering is not addressed to the gods and some\nritual act is not performed. But in Australia, on the contrary, apart\nfrom the celebrations of the clan and tribe, the time is nearly all\nfilled with lay and profane occupations. Of course there are\nprohibitions that should be and are preserved even during these periods\nof temporal activity; it is never permissible to kill or eat freely of\nthe totemic animal, at least in those parts where the interdiction has\nretained its original vigour; but almost no positive rites are then\ncelebrated, and there are no ceremonies of any importance. These take\nplace only in the midst of assembled groups. The religious life of the\nAustralian passes through successive phases of complete lull and of\nsuper-excitation, and social life oscillates in the same rhythm. This\nputs clearly into evidence the bond uniting them to one another, but\namong the peoples called civilized, the relative continuity of the two\nblurs their relations. It might even be asked whether the violence of\nthis contrast was not necessary to disengage the feeling of sacredness\nin its first form. By concentrating itself almost entirely in certain\ndetermined moments, the collective life has been able to attain its\ngreatest intensity and efficacy, and consequently to give men a more\nactive sentiment of the double existence they lead and of the double\nnature in which they participate.\n\n\nBut this explanation is still incomplete. We have shown how the clan, by\nthe manner in which it acts upon its members, awakens within them the\nidea of external forces which dominate them and exalt them; but we must\nstill demand how it happens that these forces are thought of under the\nform of totems, that is to say, in the shape of an animal or plant.\n\nIt is because this animal or plant has given its name to the clan and\nserves it as emblem. In fact, it is a well-known law that the sentiments\naroused in us by something spontaneously attach themselves to the symbol\nwhich represents them. For us, black is a sign of mourning; it also\nsuggests sad impressions and ideas. This transference of sentiments\ncomes simply from the fact that the idea of a thing and the idea of its\nsymbol are closely united in our minds; the result is that the emotions\nprovoked by the one extend contagiously to the other. But this\ncontagion, which takes place in every case to a certain degree, is much\nmore complete and more marked when the symbol is something simple,\ndefinite and easily representable, while the thing itself, owing to its\ndimensions, the number of its parts and the complexity of their\narrangement, is difficult to hold in the mind. For we are unable to\nconsider an abstract entity, which we can represent only laboriously and\nconfusedly, the source of the strong sentiments which we feel. We cannot\nexplain them to ourselves except by connecting them to some concrete\nobject of whose reality we are vividly aware. Then if the thing itself\ndoes not fulfil this condition, it cannot serve as the accepted basis of\nthe sentiments felt, even though it may be what really aroused them.\nThen some sign takes its place; it is to this that we connect the\nemotions it excites. It is this which is loved, feared, respected; it is\nto this that we are grateful; it is for this that we sacrifice\nourselves. The soldier who dies for his flag, dies for his country; but\nas a matter of fact, in his own consciousness, it is the flag that has\nthe first place. It sometimes happens that this even directly determines\naction. Whether one isolated standard remains in the hands of the enemy\nor not does not determine the fate of the country, yet the soldier\nallows himself to be killed to regain it. He loses sight of the fact\nthat the flag is only a sign, and that it has no value in itself, but\nonly brings to mind the reality that it represents; it is treated as if\nit were this reality itself.\n\nNow the totem is the flag of the clan. It is therefore natural that the\nimpressions aroused by the clan in individual minds--impressions of\ndependence and of increased vitality--should fix themselves to the idea\nof the totem rather than that of the clan: for the clan is too complex a\nreality to be represented clearly in all its complex unity by such\nrudimentary intelligences. More than that, the primitive does not even\nsee that these impressions come to him from the group. He does not know\nthat the coming together of a number of men associated in the same life\nresults in disengaging new energies, which transform each of them. All\nthat he knows is that he is raised above himself and that he sees a\ndifferent life from the one he ordinarily leads. However, he must\nconnect these sensations to some external object as their cause. Now\nwhat does he see about him? On every side those things which appeal to\nhis senses and strike his imagination are the numerous images of the\ntotem. They are the waninga and the nurtunja, which are symbols of the\nsacred being. They are churinga and bull-roarers, upon which are\ngenerally carved combinations of lines having the same significance.\nThey are the decorations covering the different parts of his body,\nwhich are totemic marks. How could this image, repeated everywhere and\nin all sorts of forms, fail to stand out with exceptional relief in his\nmind? Placed thus in the centre of the scene, it becomes representative.\nThe sentiments experienced fix themselves upon it, for it is the only\nconcrete object upon which they can fix themselves. It continues to\nbring them to mind and to evoke them even after the assembly has\ndissolved, for it survives the assembly, being carved upon the\ninstruments of the cult, upon the sides of rocks, upon bucklers, etc. By\nit, the emotions experienced are perpetually sustained and revived.\nEverything happens just as if they inspired them directly. It is still\nmore natural to attribute them to it for, since they are common to the\ngroup, they can be associated only with something that is equally common\nto all. Now the totemic emblem is the only thing satisfying this\ncondition. By definition, it is common to all. During the ceremony, it\nis the centre of all regards. While generations change, it remains the\nsame; it is the permanent element of the social life. So it is from it\nthat those mysterious forces seem to emanate with which men feel that\nthey are related, and thus they have been led to represent these forces\nunder the form of the animate or inanimate being whose name the clan\nbears.\n\nWhen this point is once established, we are in a position to understand\nall that is essential in the totemic beliefs.\n\nSince religious force is nothing other than the collective and anonymous\nforce of the clan, and since this can be represented in the mind only in\nthe form of the totem, the totemic emblem is like the visible body of\nthe god. Therefore, it is from it that those kindly or dreadful actions\nseem to emanate, which the cult seeks to provoke or prevent;\nconsequently, it is to it that the cult is addressed. This is the\nexplanation of why it holds the first place in the series of sacred\nthings.\n\nBut the clan, like every other sort of society, can live only in and\nthrough the individual consciousnesses that compose it. So if religious\nforce, in so far as it is conceived as incorporated in the totemic\nemblem, appears to be outside of the individuals and to be endowed with\na sort of transcendence over them, it, like the clan of which it is the\nsymbol, can be realized only in and through them; in this sense, it is\nimminent in them and they necessarily represent it as such. They feel it\npresent and active within them, for, it is this which raises them to a\nsuperior life. This is why men have believed that they contain within\nthem a principle comparable to the one residing in the totem, and\nconsequently, why they have attributed a sacred character to themselves,\nbut one less marked than that of the emblem. It is because the emblem\nis the pre-eminent source of the religious life; the man participates in\nit only indirectly, as he is well aware; he takes into account the fact\nthat the force that transports him into the world of sacred things is\nnot inherent in him, but comes to him from the outside.\n\nBut for still another reason, the animals or vegetables of the totemic\nspecies should have the same character, and even to a higher degree. If\nthe totemic principle is nothing else than the clan, it is the clan\nthought of under the material form of the totemic emblem; now this form\nis also that of the concrete beings whose name the clan bears. Owing to\nthis resemblance, they could not fail to evoke sentiments analogous to\nthose aroused by the emblem itself. Since the latter is the object of a\nreligious respect, they too should inspire respect of the same sort and\nappear to be sacred. Having external forms so nearly identical, it would\nbe impossible for the native not to attribute to them forces of the same\nnature. It is therefore forbidden to kill or eat the totemic animal,\nsince its flesh is believed to have the positive virtues resulting from\nthe rites; it is because it resembles the emblem of the clan, that is to\nsay, it is in its own image. And since the animal naturally resembles\nthe emblem more than the man does, it is placed on a superior rank in\nthe hierarchy of sacred things. Between these two beings there is\nundoubtedly a close relationship, for they both partake of the same\nessence: both incarnate something of the totemic principle. However,\nsince the principle itself is conceived under an animal form, the animal\nseems to incarnate it more fully than the man. Therefore, if men\nconsider it and treat it as a brother, it is at least as an elder\nbrother.[707]\n\nBut even if the totemic principle has its preferred seat in a determined\nspecies of animal or vegetable, it cannot remain localized there. A\nsacred character is to a high degree contagious;[708] it therefore\nspreads out from the totemic being to everything that is closely or\nremotely connected with it. The religious sentiments inspired by the\nanimal are communicated to the substances upon which it is nourished and\nwhich serve to make or remake its flesh and blood, to the things that\nresemble it, and to the different beings with which it has constant\nrelations. Thus, little by little, sub-totems are attached to the totems\nand from the cosmological systems expressed by the primitive\nclassifications. At last, the whole world is divided up among the\ntotemic principles of each tribe.\n\nWe are now able to explain the origin of the ambiguity of religious\nforces as they appear in history, and how they are physical as well as\nhuman, moral as well as material. They are moral powers because they are\nmade up entirely of the impressions this moral being, the group, arouses\nin those other moral beings, its individual members; they do not\ntranslate the manner in which physical things affect our senses, but the\nway in which the collective consciousness acts upon individual\nconsciousnesses. Their authority is only one form of the moral\nascendancy of society over its members. But, on the other hand, since\nthey are conceived of under material forms, they could not fail to be\nregarded as closely related to material things.[709] Therefore they\ndominate the two worlds. Their residence is in men, but at the same time\nthey are the vital principles of things. They animate minds and\ndiscipline them, but it is also they who make plants grow and animals\nreproduce. It is this double nature which has enabled religion to be\nlike the womb from which come all the leading germs of human\ncivilization. Since it has been made to embrace all of reality, the\nphysical world as well as the moral one, the forces that move bodies as\nwell as those that move minds have been conceived in a religious form.\nThat is how the most diverse methods and practices, both those that make\npossible the continuation of the moral life (law, morals, beaux-arts)\nand those serving the material life (the natural, technical and\npractical sciences), are either directly or indirectly derived from\nreligion.[710]\n\n\nIV\n\nThe first religious conceptions have often been attributed to feelings\nof weakness and dependence, of fear and anguish which seized men when\nthey came into contact with the world. Being the victims of nightmares\nof which they were themselves the creators, they believed themselves\nsurrounded by hostile and redoubtable powers which their rites sought to\nappease. We have now shown that the first religions were of a wholly\ndifferent origin. The famous formula _Primus in orbe deos fecit timor_\nis in no way justified by the facts. The primitive does not regard his\ngods as foreigners, enemies or thoroughly and necessarily malevolent\nbeings whose favours he must acquire at any price; quite on the\ncontrary, they are rather friends, kindred or natural protectors for\nhim. Are these not the names he gives to the beings of the totemic\nspecies? The power to which the cult is addressed is not represented as\nsoaring high above him and overwhelming him by its superiority; on the\ncontrary, it is very near to him and confers upon him very useful powers\nwhich he could never acquire by himself. Perhaps the deity has never\nbeen nearer to men than at this period of history, when it is present in\nthe things filling their immediate environment and is, in part, imminent\nin himself. In fine, the sentiments at the root of totemism are those of\nhappy confidence rather than of terror and compression. If we set aside\nthe funeral rites--the sober side of every religion--we find the totemic\ncult celebrated in the midst of songs, dances and dramatic\nrepresentations. As we shall see, cruel expiations are relatively rare;\neven the painful and obligatory mutilations of the initiations are not\nof this character. The terrible and jealous gods appear but slowly in\nthe religious evolution. This is because primitive societies are not\nthose huge Leviathans which overwhelm a man by the enormity of their\npower and place him under a severe discipline;[711] he gives himself up\nto them spontaneously and without resistance. As the social soul is then\nmade up of only a small number of ideas and sentiments, it easily\nbecomes wholly incarnate in each individual consciousness. The\nindividual carries it all inside of him; it is a part of him and\nconsequently, when he gives himself up to the impulses inspired by it,\nhe does not feel that he is giving way before compulsion, but that he is\ngoing where his nature calls him.[712]\n\nThis way of understanding the origins of religious thought escapes the\nobjections raised against the most accredited classical theories.\n\nWe have seen how the naturists and animists pretend to construct the\nidea of sacred beings out of the sensations evoked in us by different\nphenomena of the physical or biological order, and we have shown how\nthis enterprise is impossible and even self-contradictory. Nothing is\nworth nothing. The impressions produced in us by the physical world can,\nby definition, contain nothing that surpasses this world. Out of the\nvisible, only the visible can be made; out of that which is heard, we\ncannot make something not heard. Then to explain how the idea of\nsacredness has been able to take form under these conditions, the\nmajority of the theorists have been obliged to admit that men have\nsuperimposed upon reality, such as it is given by observation, an unreal\nworld, constructed entirely out of the fantastic images which agitate\nhis mind during a dream, or else out of the frequently monstrous\naberrations produced by the mythological imagination under the\nbewitching but deceiving influence of language. But it remained\nincomprehensible that humanity should have remained obstinate in these\nerrors through the ages, for experience should have very quickly proven\nthem false.\n\nBut from our point of view, these difficulties disappear. Religion\nceases to be an inexplicable hallucination and takes a foothold in\nreality. In fact, we can say that the believer is not deceived when he\nbelieves in the existence of a moral power upon which he depends and\nfrom which he receives all that is best in himself: this power exists,\nit is society. When the Australian is carried outside himself and feels\na new life flowing within him whose intensity surprises him, he is not\nthe dupe of an illusion; this exaltation is real and is really the\neffect of forces outside of and superior to the individual. It is true\nthat he is wrong in thinking that this increase of vitality is the work\nof a power in the form of some animal or plant. But this error is merely\nin regard to the letter of the symbol by which this being is represented\nto the mind and the external appearance which the imagination has given\nit, and not in regard to the fact of its existence. Behind these figures\nand metaphors, be they gross or refined, there is a concrete and living\nreality. Thus religion acquires a meaning and a reasonableness that the\nmost intransigent rationalist cannot misunderstand. Its primary object\nis not to give men a representation of the physical world; for if that\nwere its essential task, we could not understand how it has been able to\nsurvive, for, on this side, it is scarcely more than a fabric of errors.\nBefore all, it is a system of ideas with which the individuals represent\nto themselves the society of which they are members, and the obscure but\nintimate relations which they have with it. This is its primary\nfunction; and though metaphorical and symbolic, this representation is\nnot unfaithful. Quite on the contrary, it translates everything\nessential in the relations which are to be explained: for it is an\neternal truth that outside of us there exists something greater than us,\nwith which we enter into communion.\n\nThat is why we can rest assured in advance that the practices of the\ncult, whatever they may be, are something more than movements without\nimportance and gestures without efficacy. By the mere fact that their\napparent function is to strengthen the bonds attaching the believer to\nhis god, they at the same time really strengthen the bonds attaching the\nindividual to the society of which he is a member, since the god is only\na figurative expression of the society. We are even able to understand\nhow the fundamental truth thus contained in religion has been able to\ncompensate for the secondary errors which it almost necessarily implies,\nand how believers have consequently been restrained from tearing\nthemselves off from it, in spite of the misunderstandings which must\nresult from these errors. It is undeniably true that the recipes which\nit recommends that men use to act upon things are generally found to be\nineffective. But these checks can have no profound influence, for they\ndo not touch religion in its fundamentals.[713]\n\nHowever, it may be objected that even according to this hypothesis,\nreligion remains the object of a certain delirium. What other name can\nwe give to that state when, after a collective effervescence, men\nbelieve themselves transported into an entirely different world from the\none they have before their eyes?\n\nIt is certainly true that religious life cannot attain a certain degree\nof intensity without implying a psychical exaltation not far removed\nfrom delirium. That is why the prophets, the founders of religions, the\ngreat saints, in a word, the men whose religious consciousness is\nexceptionally sensitive, very frequently give signs of an excessive\nnervousness that is even pathological: these physiological defects\npredestined them to great religious r\u00f4les. The ritual use of\nintoxicating liquors is to be explained in the same way.[714] Of course\nthis does not mean that an ardent religious faith is necessarily the\nfruit of the drunkenness and mental derangement which accompany it; but\nas experience soon informed people of the similarities between the\nmentality of a delirious person and that of a seer, they sought to open\na way to the second by artificially exciting the first. But if, for this\nreason, it may be said that religion is not without a certain delirium,\nit must be added that this delirium, if it has the causes which we have\nattributed to it, _is well-founded_. The images out of which it is made\nare not pure illusions like those the naturists and animists put at the\nbasis of religion; they correspond to something in reality. Of course it\nis only natural that the moral forces they express should be unable to\naffect the human mind powerfully without pulling it outside itself and\nwithout plunging it into a state that may be called _ecstatic_, provided\nthat the word be taken in its etymological sense ([Greek: ekstasis]);\nbut it does not follow that they are imaginary. Quite on the contrary,\nthe mental agitation they cause bears witness to their reality. It is\nmerely one more proof that a very intense social life always does a sort\nof violence to the organism, as well as to the individual consciousness,\nwhich interferes with its normal functioning. Therefore it can last only\na limited length of time.[715]\n\nMoreover, if we give the name delirious to every state in which the mind\nadds to the immediate data given by the senses and projects its own\nsentiments and feelings into things, then nearly every collective\nrepresentation is in a sense delirious; religious beliefs are only one\nparticular case of a very general law. Our whole social environment\nseems to us to be filled with forces which really exist only in our own\nminds. We know what the flag is for the soldier; in itself, it is only a\npiece of cloth. Human blood is only an organic liquid, but even to-day\nwe cannot see it flowing without feeling a violent emotion which its\nphysico-chemical properties cannot explain. From the physical point of\nview, a man is nothing more than a system of cells, or from the mental\npoint of view, than a system of representations; in either case, he\ndiffers only in degree from animals. Yet society conceives him, and\nobliges us to conceive him, as invested with a character _sui generis_\nthat isolates him, holds at a distance all rash encroachments and, in a\nword, imposes respect. This dignity which puts him into a class by\nhimself appears to us as one of his distinctive attributes, although we\ncan find nothing in the empirical nature of man which justifies it. A\ncancelled postage stamp may be worth a fortune; but surely this value is\nin no way implied in its natural properties. In a sense, our\nrepresentation of the external world is undoubtedly a mere fabric of\nhallucinations, for the odours, tastes and colours that we put into\nbodies are not really there, or at least, they are not such as we\nperceive them. However, our olfactory, gustatory and visual sensations\ncontinue to correspond to certain objective states of the things\nrepresented; they express in their way the properties, either of\nmaterial particles or of ether waves, which certainly have their origin\nin the bodies which we perceive as fragrant, sapid or coloured. But\ncollective representations very frequently attribute to the things to\nwhich they are attached qualities which do not exist under any form or\nto any degree. Out of the commonest object, they can make a most\npowerful sacred being.\n\nYet the powers which are thus conferred, though purely ideal, act as\nthough they were real; they determine the conduct of men with the same\ndegree of necessity as physical forces. The Arunta who has been rubbed\nwith his churinga feels himself stronger; he is stronger. If he has\neaten the flesh of an animal which, though perfectly healthy, is\nforbidden to him, he will feel himself sick, and may die of it. Surely\nthe soldier who falls while defending his flag does not believe that he\nsacrifices himself for a bit of cloth. This is all because social\nthought, owing to the imperative authority that is in it, has an\nefficacy that individual thought could never have; by the power which it\nhas over our minds, it can make us see things in whatever light it\npleases; it adds to reality or deducts from it according to the\ncircumstances. Thus there is one division of nature where the formula of\nidealism is applicable almost to the letter: this is the social kingdom.\nHere more than anywhere else, the idea is the reality. Even in this\ncase, of course, idealism is not true without modification. We can never\nescape the duality of our nature and free ourselves completely from\nphysical necessities: in order to express our own ideas to ourselves, it\nis necessary, as has been shown above, that we fix them upon material\nthings which symbolize them. But here the part of matter is reduced to a\nminimum. The object serving as support for the idea is not much in\ncomparison with the ideal superstructure, beneath which it disappears,\nand also, it counts for nothing in the superstructure. This is what that\npseudo-delirium consists in, which we find at the bottom of so many\ncollective representations: it is only a form of this essential\nidealism.[716] So it is not properly called a delirium, for the ideas\nthus objectified are well founded, not in the nature of the material\nthings upon which they settle themselves, but in the nature of society.\n\nWe are now able to understand how the totemic principle, and in\ngeneral, every religious force, comes to be outside of the object in\nwhich it resides.[717] It is because the idea of it is in no way made up\nof the impressions directly produced by this thing upon our senses or\nminds. Religious force is only the sentiment inspired by the group in\nits members, but projected outside of the consciousnesses that\nexperience them, and objectified. To be objectified, they are fixed upon\nsome object which thus becomes sacred; but any object might fulfil this\nfunction. In principle, there are none whose nature predestines them to\nit to the exclusion of all others; but also there are none that are\nnecessarily impossible.[718] Everything depends upon the circumstances\nwhich lead the sentiment creating religious ideas to establish itself\nhere or there, upon this point or upon that one. Therefore, the sacred\ncharacter assumed by an object is not implied in the intrinsic\nproperties of this latter: _it is added to them_. The world of religious\nthings is not one particular aspect of empirical nature; _it is\nsuperimposed upon it_.\n\nThis conception of the religious, finally, allows us to explain an\nimportant principle found at the bottom of a multitude of myths and\nrites, and which may be stated thus: when a sacred thing is subdivided,\neach of its parts remains equal to the thing itself. In other words, as\nfar as religious thought is concerned, the part is equal to the whole;\nit has the same powers, the same efficacy. The debris of a relic has the\nsame virtue as a relic in good condition. The smallest drop of blood\ncontains the same active principle as the whole thing. The soul, as we\nshall see, may be broken up into nearly as many pieces as there are\norgans or tissues in the organism; each of these partial souls is worth\na whole soul. This conception would be inexplicable if the sacredness of\nsomething were due to the constituent properties of the thing itself;\nfor in that case, it should vary with this thing, increasing and\ndecreasing with it. But if the virtues it is believed to possess are not\nintrinsic in it, and if they come from certain sentiments which it\nbrings to mind and symbolizes, though these originate outside of it,\nthen, since it has no need of determined dimensions to play this r\u00f4le of\nreminder, it will have the same value whether it is entire or not. Since\nthe part makes us think of the whole, it evokes the same sentiments as\nthe whole. A mere fragment of the flag represents the fatherland just as\nwell as the flag itself: so it is sacred in the same way and to the same\ndegree.[719]\n\n\nV\n\nBut if this theory of totemism has enabled us to explain the most\ncharacteristic beliefs of this religion, it rests upon a fact not yet\nexplained. When the idea of the totem, the emblem of the clan, is given,\nall the rest follows; but we must still investigate how this idea has\nbeen formed. This is a double question and may be subdivided as follows:\nWhat has led the clan to choose an emblem? and why have these emblems\nbeen borrowed from the animal and vegetable worlds, and particularly\nfrom the former?\n\nThat an emblem is useful as a rallying-centre for any sort of a group it\nis superfluous to point out. By expressing the social unity in a\nmaterial form, it makes this more obvious to all, and for that very\nreason the use of emblematic symbols must have spread quickly when once\nthought of. But more than that, this idea should spontaneously arise out\nof the conditions of common life; for the emblem is not merely a\nconvenient process for clarifying the sentiment society has of itself:\nit also serves to create this sentiment; it is one of its constituent\nelements.\n\nIn fact, if left to themselves, individual consciousnesses are closed to\neach other; they can communicate only by means of signs which express\ntheir internal states. If the communication established between them is\nto become a real communion, that is to say, a fusion of all particular\nsentiments into one common sentiment, the signs expressing them must\nthemselves be fused into one single and unique resultant. It is the\nappearance of this that informs individuals that they are in harmony and\nmakes them conscious of their moral unity. It is by uttering the same\ncry, pronouncing the same word, or performing the same gesture in regard\nto some object that they become and feel themselves to be in unison. It\nis true that individual representations also cause reactions in the\norganism that are not without importance; however, they can be thought\nof apart from these physical reactions which accompany them or follow\nthem, but which do not constitute them. But it is quite another matter\nwith collective representations. They presuppose that minds act and\nreact upon one another; they are the product of these actions and\nreactions which are themselves possible only through material\nintermediaries. These latter do not confine themselves to revealing the\nmental state with which they are associated; they aid in creating it.\nIndividual minds cannot come in contact and communicate with each other\nexcept by coming out of themselves; but they cannot do this except by\nmovements. So it is the homogeneity of these movements that gives the\ngroup consciousness of itself and consequently makes it exist. When\nthis homogeneity is once established and these movements have once taken\na stereotyped form, they serve to symbolize the corresponding\nrepresentations. But they symbolize them only because they have aided in\nforming them.\n\nMoreover, without symbols, social sentiments could have only a\nprecarious existence. Though very strong as long as men are together and\ninfluence each other reciprocally, they exist only in the form of\nrecollections after the assembly has ended, and when left to themselves,\nthese become feebler and feebler; for since the group is now no longer\npresent and active, individual temperaments easily regain the upper\nhand. The violent passions which may have been released in the heart of\na crowd fall away and are extinguished when this is dissolved, and men\nask themselves with astonishment how they could ever have been so\ncarried away from their normal character. But if the movements by which\nthese sentiments are expressed are connected with something that\nendures, the sentiments themselves become more durable. These other\nthings are constantly bringing them to mind and arousing them; it is as\nthough the cause which excited them in the first place continued to act.\nThus these systems of emblems, which are necessary if society is to\nbecome conscious of itself, are no less indispensable for assuring the\ncontinuation of this consciousness.\n\nSo we must refrain from regarding these symbols as simple artifices, as\nsorts of labels attached to representations already made, in order to\nmake them more manageable: they are an integral part of them. Even the\nfact that collective sentiments are thus attached to things completely\nforeign to them is not purely conventional: it illustrates under a\nconventional form a real characteristic of social facts, that is, their\ntranscendence over individual minds. In fact, it is known that social\nphenomena are born, not in individuals, but in the group. Whatever part\nwe may take in their origin, each of us receives them from without.[720]\nSo when we represent them to ourselves as emanating from a material\nobject, we do not completely misunderstand their nature. Of course they\ndo not come from the specific thing to which we connect them, but\nnevertheless, it is true that their origin is outside of us. If the\nmoral force sustaining the believer does not come from the idol he\nadores or the emblem he venerates, still it is from outside of him, as\nhe is well aware. The objectivity of its symbol only translates its\nexternalness.\n\nThus social life, in all its aspects and in every period of its history,\nis made possible only by a vast symbolism. The material emblems and\nfigurative representations with which we are more especially concerned\nin our present study, are one form of this; but there are many others.\nCollective sentiments can just as well become incarnate in persons or\nformul\u00e6: some formul\u00e6 are flags, while there are persons, either real or\nmythical, who are symbols. But there is one sort of emblem which should\nmake an early appearance without reflection or calculation: this is\ntattooing. Indeed, well-known facts demonstrate that it is produced\nalmost automatically in certain conditions. When men of an inferior\nculture are associated in a common life, they are frequently led, by an\ninstinctive tendency, as it were, to paint or cut upon the body, images\nthat bear witness to their common existence. According to a text of\nProcopius, the early Christians printed on their skin the name of Christ\nor the sign of the cross;[721] for a long time, the groups of pilgrims\ngoing to Palestine were also tattooed on the arm or wrist with designs\nrepresenting the cross or the monogram of Christ.[722] This same usage\nis also reported among the pilgrims going to certain holy places in\nItaly.[723] A curious case of spontaneous tattooing is given by\nLombroso: twenty young men in an Italian college, when on the point of\nseparating, decorated themselves with tattoos recording, in various\nways, the years they had spent together.[724] The same fact has\nfrequently been observed among the soldiers in the same barracks, the\nsailors in the same boat, or the prisoners in the same jail.[725] It\nwill be understood that especially where methods are still rudimentary,\ntattooing should be the most direct and expressive means by which the\ncommunion of minds can be affirmed. The best way of proving to one's\nself and to others that one is a member of a certain group is to place a\ndistinctive mark on the body. The proof that this is the reason for the\nexistence of the totemic image is the fact, which we have already\nmentioned, that it does not seek to reproduce the aspect of the thing it\nis supposed to represent. It is made up of lines and points to which a\nwholly conventional significance is attributed.[726] Its object is not\nto represent or bring to mind a determined object, but to bear witness\nto the fact that a certain number of individuals participate in the same\nmoral life.\n\nMoreover, the clan is a society which is less able than any other to do\nwithout an emblem or symbol, for there is almost no other so lacking in\nconsistency. The clan cannot be defined by its chief, for if central\nauthority is not lacking, it is at least uncertain and unstable.[727]\nNor can it be defined by the territory it occupies, for the population,\nbeing nomad,[728] is not closely attached to any special locality. Also,\nowing to the exogamic law, husband and wife must be of different totems;\nso wherever the totem is transmitted in the maternal line--and this\nsystem of filiation is still the most general one[729]--the children are\nof a different clan from their father, though living near to him.\nTherefore we find representatives of a number of different clans in each\nfamily, and still more in each locality. The unity of the group is\nvisible, therefore, only in the collective name borne by all the\nmembers, and in the equally collective emblem reproducing the object\ndesignated by this name. A clan is essentially a reunion of individuals\nwho bear the same name and rally around the same sign. Take away the\nname and the sign which materializes it, and the clan is no longer\nrepresentable. Since the group is possible only on this condition, both\nthe institution of the emblem and the part it takes in the life of the\ngroup are thus explained.\n\n\nIt remains to ask why these names and emblems were taken almost\nexclusively from the animal and vegetable kingdoms, but especially from\nthe former.\n\nIt seems probable to us that the emblem has played a more important part\nthan the name. In any case, the written sign still holds a more central\nplace in the life of the clan to-day than does the spoken sign. Now the\nbasis of an emblematic image can be found only in something susceptible\nof being represented by a design. On the other hand, these things had to\nbe those with which the men of the clan were the most immediately and\nhabitually coming in contact. Animals fulfilled this condition to a\npre-eminent degree. For these nations of hunters and fishers, the animal\nconstituted an essential element of the economic environment. In this\nconnection plants had only a secondary place for they can hold only a\nsecondary place as food as long as they are not cultivated. Moreover,\nthe animal is more closely associated with the life of men than the\nplant is, if only because of the natural kinship uniting these two to\neach other. On the other hand, the sun, moon and stars are too far away,\nthey give the effect of belonging to another world.[730] Also, as long\nas the constellations were not distinguished and classified, the starry\nvault did not offer a sufficient diversity of clearly differentiated\nthings to be able to mark all the clans and sub-clans of a tribe; but,\non the contrary, the variety of the flora, and especially of the fauna,\nwas almost inexhaustible. Therefore celestial bodies, in spite of their\nbrilliancy and the sharp impression they make upon the senses, were\nunfitted for the r\u00f4le of totems, while animals and plants seemed\npredestined to it.\n\nAh observation of Strehlow even allows us to state precisely the way in\nwhich these emblems were probably chosen. He says that he has noticed\nthat the totemic centres are generally situated near a mountain, spring\nor gorge where the animals serving as totems to the group gather in\nabundance, and he cites a certain number of examples of this fact.[731]\nNow these totemic centres are surely the consecrated places where the\nmeetings of the clan are held. So it seems as though each group had\ntaken as its insignia the animal or plant that was the commonest in the\nvicinity of the place where it had the habit of meeting.[732]\n\n\nVI\n\nThis conception of totemism will give us the explanation of a very\ncurious trait of human mentality which, even though more marked formerly\nthan to-day, has not yet disappeared and which, in any case, has been of\nconsiderable importance in the history of human thought. It will furnish\nstill another occasion for showing how logical evolution is closely\nconnected with religious evolution and how it, like this latter, depends\nupon social conditions.[733]\n\nIf there is one truth which appears to be absolutely certain to-day, it\nis that beings differing not only in their outward appearance but also\nin their most essential properties, such as minerals, plants, animals\nand men, cannot be considered equivalent and interchangeable. Long\nusage, which scientific culture has still more firmly embedded in our\nminds, has taught us to establish barriers between the kingdoms, whose\nexistence transformism itself does not deny; for though this admits that\nlife may have arisen from non-living matter and men from animals, still,\nit does not fail to recognize the fact that living beings, once formed,\nare different from minerals, and men different from animals. Within each\nkingdom the same barriers separate the different classes: we cannot\nconceive of one mineral having the same distinctive characteristics as\nanother, or of one animal species having those of another species. But\nthese distinctions, which seem so natural to us, are in no way\nprimitive. In the beginning, all the kingdoms are confounded with each\nother. Rocks have a sex; they have the power of begetting; the sun, moon\nand stars are men or women who feel and express human sentiments, while\nmen, on the contrary, are thought of as animals or plants. This state of\nconfusion is found at the basis of all mythologies. Hence comes the\nambiguous character of the beings portrayed in the mythologies; they can\nbe classified in no definite group, for they participate at the same\ntime in the most opposed groups. It is also readily admitted that they\ncan go from one into another; and for a long time men believed that they\nwere able to explain the origin of things by these transmutations.\n\nThat the anthropomorphic instinct, with which the animists have endowed\nprimitive men, cannot explain their mental condition is shown by the\nnature of the confusions of which they are guilty. In fact, these do not\ncome from the fact that men have immoderately extended the human kingdom\nto the point of making all the others enter into it, but from the fact\nthat they confound the most disparate kingdoms. They have not conceived\nthe world in their own image any more than they have conceived\nthemselves in the world's image: they have done both at the same time.\nInto the idea they have formed of things, they have undoubtedly made\nhuman elements enter; but into the idea they have formed of themselves,\nthey have made enter elements coming from things.\n\nYet there is nothing in experience which could suggest these connections\nand confusions. As far as the observation of the senses is able to go,\neverything is different and disconnected. Nowhere do we really see\nbeings mixing their natures and metamorphosing themselves into each\nother. It is therefore necessary that some exceptionally powerful cause\nshould have intervened to transfigure reality in such a way as to make\nit appear under an aspect that is not really its own.\n\nIt is religion that was the agent of this transfiguration; it is\nreligious beliefs that have substituted for the world, as it is\nperceived by the senses, another different one. This is well shown by\nthe case of totemism. The fundamental thing in this religion is that the\nmen of the clan and the different beings whose form the totemic emblems\nreproduce pass as being made of the same essence. Now when this belief\nwas once admitted, the bridge between the different kingdoms was already\nbuilt. The man was represented as a sort of animal or plant; the plants\nand animals were thought of as the relatives of men, or rather, all\nthese beings, so different for the senses, were thought of as\nparticipating in a single nature. So this remarkable aptitude for\nconfusing things that seem to be obviously distinct comes from the fact\nthat the first forces with which the human intellect has peopled the\nworld were elaborated by religion. Since these were made up of elements\ntaken from the different kingdoms, men conceived a principle common to\nthe most heterogeneous things, which thus became endowed with a sole and\nsingle essence.\n\nBut we also know that these religious conceptions are the result of\ndetermined social causes. Since the clan cannot exist without a name and\nan emblem, and since this emblem is always before the eyes of men, it is\nupon this, and the objects whose image it is, that the sentiments which\nsociety arouses in its members are fixed. Men were thus compelled to\nrepresent the collective force, whose action they felt, in the form of\nthe thing serving as flag to the group. Therefore, in the idea of this\nforce were mixed up the most different kingdoms; in one sense, it was\nessentially human, since it was made up of human ideas and sentiments;\nbut at the same time, it could not fail to appear as closely related to\nthe animate or inanimate beings who gave it its outward form. Moreover,\nthe cause whose action we observe here is not peculiar to totemism;\nthere is no society where it is not active. In a general way, a\ncollective sentiment can become conscious of itself only by being fixed\nupon some material object;[734] but by this very fact, it participates\nin the nature of this object, and reciprocally, the object participates\nin its nature. So it was social necessity which brought about the fusion\nof notions appearing distinct at first, and social life has facilitated\nthis fusion by the great mental effervescences it determines.[735] This\nis one more proof that logical understanding is a function of society,\nfor it takes the forms and attitudes that this latter presses upon it.\n\nIt is true that this logic is disconcerting for us. Yet we must be\ncareful not to depreciate it: howsoever crude it may appear to us, it\nhas been an aid of the greatest importance in the intellectual evolution\nof humanity. In fact, it is through it that the first explanation of the\nworld has been made possible. Of course the mental habits it implies\nprevented men from seeing reality as their senses show it to them; but\nas they show it, it has the grave inconvenience of allowing of no\nexplanation. For to explain is to attach things to each other and to\nestablish relations between them which make them appear to us as\nfunctions of each other and as vibrating sympathetically according to an\ninternal law founded in their nature. But sensations, which see nothing\nexcept from the outside, could never make them disclose these relations\nand internal bonds; the intellect alone can create the notion of them.\nWhen I learn that A regularly precedes B, my knowledge is increased by a\nnew fact; but my intelligence is not at all satisfied with a statement\nwhich does not show its reason. I commence to _understand_ only if it is\npossible for me to conceive B in a way that makes it appear to me as\nsomething that is not foreign to A, and as united to A by some relation\nof kinship. The great service that religions have rendered to thought is\nthat they have constructed a first representation of what these\nrelations of kinship between things may be. In the circumstances under\nwhich it was attempted, the enterprise could obviously attain only\nprecarious results. But then, does it ever attain any that are definite,\nand is it not always necessary to reconsider them? And also, it is less\nimportant to succeed than to try. The essential thing was not to leave\nthe mind enslaved to visible appearances, but to teach it to dominate\nthem and to connect what the senses separated; for from the moment when\nmen have an idea that there are internal connections between things,\nscience and philosophy become possible. Religion opened up the way for\nthem. But if it has been able to play this part, it is only because it\nis a social affair. In order to make a law for the impressions of the\nsenses and to substitute a new way of representing reality for them,\nthought of a new sort had to be founded: this is collective thought. If\nthis alone has had this efficacy, it is because of the fact that to\ncreate a world of ideals through which the world of experienced\nrealities would appear transfigured, a super-excitation of the\nintellectual forces was necessary, which is possible only in and through\nsociety.\n\nSo it is far from true that this mentality has no connection with ours.\nOur logic was born of this logic. The explanations of contemporary\nscience are surer of being objective because they are more methodical\nand because they rest on more carefully controlled observations, but\nthey do not differ in nature from those which satisfy primitive thought.\nTo-day, as formerly, to explain is to show how one thing participates in\none or several others. It has been said that the participations of this\nsort implied by the mythologies violate the principle of contradiction\nand that they are by that opposed to those implied by scientific\nexplanations.[736] Is not the statement that a man is a kangaroo or the\nsun a bird, equal to identifying the two with each other? But our manner\nof thought is not different when we say of heat that it is a movement,\nor of light that it is a vibration of the ether, etc. Every time that we\nunite heterogeneous terms by an internal bond, we forcibly identify\ncontraries. Of course the terms we unite are not those which the\nAustralian brings together; we choose them according to different\ncriteria and for different reasons; but the processes by which the mind\nputs them in connection do not differ essentially.\n\nIt is true that if primitive thought had that sort of general and\nsystematic indifference to contradictions which has been attributed to\nit,[737] it would be in open contradiction on this point with modern\nthought, which is always careful to remain consistent with itself. But\nwe do not believe that it is possible to characterize the mentality of\ninferior societies by a single and exclusive inclination for\nindistinction. If the primitive confounds things which we distinguish,\nhe also distinguishes things which we connect together, and he even\nconceives these distinctions in the form of sharp and clear-cut\noppositions. Between two things which are classified in two different\nphratries, there is not only separation, but even antagonism.[738] For\nthis reason, the same Australian who confounds the sun and the white\ncockatoo, opposes this latter to the black cockatoo as to its contrary.\nThe two seem to him to belong to two separate classes between which\nthere is nothing in common. A still more marked opposition is that\nexisting between sacred things and profane things. They repel and\ncontradict each other with so much force that the mind refuses to think\nof them at the same time. They mutually expel each other from the\nconsciousness.\n\nThus between the logic of religious thought and that of scientific\nthought there is no abyss. The two are made up of the same elements,\nthough inequally and differently developed. The special characteristic\nof the former seems to be its natural taste for immoderate confusions as\nwell as sharp contrasts. It is voluntarily excessive in each direction.\nWhen it connects, it confounds; when it distinguishes, it opposes. It\nknows no shades and measures, it seeks extremes; it consequently employs\nlogical mechanisms with a certain awkwardness, but it ignores none of\nthem.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE IDEA OF THE SOUL\n\n\nIn the preceding chapters we have been studying the fundamental\nprinciples of the totemic religion. We have seen that no idea of soul or\nspirit or mythical personality is to be found among these. Yet, even if\nthe idea of spiritual beings is not at the foundation of totemism or,\nconsequently, of religious thought in general, still, there is no\nreligion where this notion is not met with. So it is important to see\nhow it is formed. To make sure that it is the product of a secondary\nformation, we must discover the way in which it is derived from the more\nessential conceptions which we have just described and explained.\n\nAmong the various spiritual beings, there is one which should receive\nour attention first of all because it is the prototype after which the\nothers have been constructed: this is the soul.\n\n\nI\n\nJust as there is no known society without a religion, so there exist\nnone, howsoever crudely organized they may be, where we do not find a\nwhole system of collective representations concerning the soul, its\norigin and its destiny. So far as we are able to judge from the data of\nethnology, the idea of the soul seems to have been contemporaneous with\nhumanity itself, and it seems to have had all of its essential\ncharacteristics so well formulated at the very outset that the work of\nthe more advanced religions and philosophy has been practically confined\nto refining it, while adding nothing that is really fundamental. In\nfact, all the Australian societies admit that every human body shelters\nan interior being, the principle of the life which animates it: this is\nthe soul. It sometimes happens, it is true, that women form an exception\nto this general rule: there are tribes where they are believed to have\nno souls.[739] If Dawson is to be believed, it is the same with young\nchildren in the tribes that he has observed.[740] But these are\nexceptional and probably late cases;[741] the last one even seems to be\nsuspect and may well be due to an erroneous interpretation of the\nfacts.[742]\n\nIt is not easy to determine the idea which the Australian makes of the\nsoul, because it is so obscure and floating; but we should not be\nsurprised at this. If someone asked our own contemporaries, or even\nthose of them who believe most firmly in the existence of the soul, how\nthey represented it, the replies that he would receive would not have\nmuch more coherence and precision. This is because we are dealing with a\nvery complex notion, into which a multitude of badly analysed\nimpressions enter, whose elaboration has been carried on for centuries,\nthough men have had no clear consciousness of it. Yet from this come the\nmost essential, though frequently contradictory, characteristics by\nwhich it is defined.\n\nIn some cases they tell us that it has the external appearance of the\nbody.[743] But sometimes it is also represented as having the size of a\ngrain of sand; its dimensions are so reduced that it can pass through\nthe smallest crevices or the finest tissues.[744] We shall also see that\nit is represented in the appearance of animals. This shows that its form\nis essentially inconsistent and undetermined;[745] it varies from one\nmoment to another with the demands of circumstances or according to the\nexigencies of the myth and the rite. The substance out of which it is\nmade is no less indefinable. It is not without matter, for it has a\nform, howsoever vague this may be. And in fact, even during this life,\nit has physical needs: it eats, and inversely, it may be eaten.\nSometimes it leaves the body, and in the course of its travels it\noccasionally nourishes itself on foreign souls.[746] After it has once\nbeen completely freed from the organism, it is thought to lead a life\nabsolutely analogous to the one it led in this world; it eats, drinks,\nhunts, etc.[747] When it flutters among the branches of trees, it causes\nrustlings and crackings which even profane ears hear.[748] But at the\nsame time, it is believed to be invisible to the vulgar.[749] It is true\nthat magicians or old men have the faculty of seeing souls; but it is in\nvirtue of special powers which they owe either to age or to a special\ntraining that they perceive things which escape our senses. According to\nDawson, ordinary individuals enjoy the same privilege at only one moment\nof their existence: when they are on the eve of a premature death.\nTherefore this quasi-miraculous vision is considered a sinister omen.\nNow, invisibility is generally considered one of the signs of\nspirituality. So the soul is conceived as being immaterial to a certain\ndegree, for it does not affect the senses in the way bodies do: it has\nno bones, as the tribes of the Tully River say.[750] In order to\nconciliate all these opposed characteristics, they represent it as made\nof some infinitely rare and subtle matter, like something ethereal,[751]\nand comparable to a shadow or breath.[752]\n\nIt is distinct and independent of the body, for during this life it can\nleave it at any moment. It does leave it during sleep, fainting spells,\netc.[753] It may even remain absent for some time without entailing\ndeath; however, during these absences life is weakened and even stops if\nthe soul does not return home.[754] But it is especially at death that\nthis distinction and independence manifest themselves with the greatest\nclarity. While the body no longer exists and no visible traces of it\nremain, the soul continues to live: it leads an autonomous existence in\nanother world.\n\nBut howsoever real this duality may be, it is in no way absolute. It\nwould show a grave misunderstanding to represent the body as a sort of\nhabitat in which the soul resides, but with which it has only external\nrelations. Quite on the contrary, it is united to it by the closest\nbonds; it is separable from it only imperfectly and with difficulty. We\nhave already seen that it has, or at least is able to have, its external\naspect. Consequently, everything that hurts the one hurts the other;\nevery wound of the body spreads to the soul.[755] It is so intimately\nassociated with the life of the organism that it grows with it and\ndecays with it. This is why a man who has attained a certain age enjoys\nprivileges refused to young men; it is because the religious principle\nwithin him has acquired greater force and efficacy as he has advanced in\nlife. But when senility sets in, and the old man is no longer able to\ntake a useful part in the great religious ceremonies in which the vital\ninterests of the tribe are concerned, this respect is no longer accorded\nto him. It is thought that weakness of the body is communicated to the\nsoul. Having the same powers no longer, he no longer has a right to the\nsame prestige.[756]\n\nThere is not only a close union of soul and body, but there is also a\npartial confusion of the two. Just as there is something of the body in\nthe soul, since it sometimes reproduces its form, so there is something\nof the soul in the body. Certain regions and certain products of the\norganism are believed to have a special affinity with it: such is the\ncase with the heart, the breath, the placenta,[757] the blood,[758] the\nshadow,[759] the liver, the fat of the liver, the kidneys,[760] etc.\nThese various material substrata are not mere habitations of the soul;\nthey are the soul itself seen from without. When blood flows, the soul\nescapes with it. The soul is not in the breath; it is the breath. It and\nthe part of the body where it resides are only one. Hence comes the\nconception according to which a man has a number of souls. Being\ndispersed in various parts of the organism, the soul is differentiated\nand broken up into fragments. Each organ has individualized, as it were,\nthe portion of the soul which it contains, and which has thus become a\ndistinct entity. The soul of the heart could not be that of the breath\nor the shadow or the placenta. While they are all related, still they\nare to be distinguished, and even have different names.[761]\n\nMoreover, even if the soul is localized especially in certain parts of\nthe organism, it is not absent from the others. In varying degrees, it\nis diffused through the whole body, as is well shown by the funeral\nrites. After the last breath has been expired and the soul is believed\nto be gone, it seems as though it should profit by the liberty thus\nregained, to move about at will and to return as quickly as possible to\nits real home, which is elsewhere. Nevertheless, it remains near to the\ncorpse; the bond uniting them has been loosened, but not broken. A whole\nseries of special rites are necessary to induce it to depart definitely.\nIt is invited to go by gestures and significant movements.[762] The way\nis laid open for it, and outlets are arranged so that it can go more\neasily.[763] This is because it has not left the body entirely; it was\ntoo closely united to it to break away all at once. Hence comes the very\nfrequent rite of funeral anthropophagy; the flesh of the dead is eaten\nbecause it is thought to contain a sacred principle, which is really\nnothing more than the soul.[764] In order to drive it out definitely,\nthe flesh is melted, either by submitting it to the heat of the\nsun,[765] or to that of an artificial fire.[766] The soul departs with\nthe liquids which result. But even the dry bones still retain some part\nof it. Therefore they can be used as sacred objects or instruments of\nmagic;[767] or if someone wishes to give complete liberty to the\nprinciple which they contain, he breaks these.[768]\n\nBut a moment does arrive when the final separation is accomplished; the\nliberated soul takes flight. But by nature it is so intimately\nassociated with the body that this removal cannot take place without a\nprofound change in its condition. So it takes a new name also.[769]\nAlthough keeping all the distinctive traits of the individual whom it\nanimated, his humours and his good and bad qualities,[770] still it has\nbecome a new being. From that moment a new existence commences for it.\n\nIt goes to the land of souls. This land is conceived differently by\ndifferent tribes; sometimes different conceptions are found existing\nside by side in the same society. For some, it is situated under the\nearth, where each totemic group has its part. This is at the spot where\nthe first ancestors, the founders of the clan, entered the ground at a\ncertain time, and where they live since their death. In the subterranean\nworld there is a geographical disposition of the dead corresponding to\nthat of the living. There, the sun always shines and rivers flow which\nnever run dry. Such is the conception which Spencer and Gillen attribute\nto the central tribes, Arunta,[771] Warramunga,[772] etc. It is found\nagain among the Wotjobaluk.[773] In other places, all the dead, no\nmatter what their totems may have been, are believed to live together in\nthe same place, which is more or less vaguely localized as beyond the\nsea, in an island,[774] or on the shores of a lake.[775] Sometimes,\nfinally, it is into the sky, beyond the clouds, that the souls are\nthought to go. \"There,\" says Dawson, \"there is a delectable land,\nabounding in kangaroos and game of every sort, where men lead a happy\nlife. Souls meet again there and recognize one another.\"[776] It is\nprobable that certain of the features of this picture have been taken\nfrom the paradise of the Christian missionaries;[777] but the idea that\nsouls, or at least some souls, enter the skies after death appears to be\nquite indigenous; for it is found again in other parts of the\ncontinent.[778]\n\nIn general, all the souls meet the same fate and lead the same life.\nHowever, a different treatment is sometimes accorded them based on the\nway they have conducted themselves upon earth, and we can see the first\noutlines of these two distinct and even opposed compartments into which\nthe world to come will later be divided. The souls of those who have\nexcelled, during life, as hunters, warriors, dancers, etc., are not\nconfounded with the common horde of the others; a special place is\ngranted to them.[779] Sometimes, this is the sky.[780] Strehlow even\nsays that according to one myth, the souls of the wicked are devoured by\ndreadful spirits, and destroyed.[781] Nevertheless, these conceptions\nalways remain very vague in Australia;[782] they begin to have a clarity\nand determination only in the more advanced societies, such as those of\nAmerica.[783]\n\n\nII\n\nSuch are the beliefs relative to the soul and its destiny, in their most\nprimitive form, and reduced to their most essential traits. We must now\nattempt to explain them. What is it that has been able to lead men into\nthinking that there are two beings in them, one of which possesses these\nvery special characteristics which we have just enumerated? To find the\nreply to this question, let us begin by seeking the origin attributed to\nthis spiritual principle by the primitive himself: if it is well\nanalysed, his own conception will put us on the way towards the\nsolution.\n\nFollowing out the method which we have set before ourselves, we shall\nstudy these ideas in a determined group of societies where they have\nbeen observed with an especial precision; these are the tribes of\nCentral Australia. Though not narrow, the area of our observations will\nbe limited. But there is good reason for believing that these same ideas\nare quite generally held, in various forms, even outside of Australia.\nIt is also to be noted that the idea of the soul, as it is found among\nthese central tribes, does not differ specifically from the one found in\nother tribes; it has the same essential characteristics everywhere. As\none effect always has the same cause, we may well think that this idea,\nwhich is everywhere the same, does not result from one cause here and\nanother there. So the origin which we shall be led to attribute to it as\na result of our study of these particular tribes with which we are going\nto deal, ought to be equally true for the others. These tribes will give\nus a chance to make an experiment, as it were, whose results, like those\nof every well-made experiment, are susceptible of generalization. The\nhomogeneity of the Australian civilization would of itself be enough to\njustify this generalization; but we shall be careful to verify it\nafterwards with facts taken from other peoples, both in Australia and\nAmerica.\n\nAs the conceptions which are going to furnish us with the basis of our\ndemonstration have been reported in different terms by Spencer and\nGillen on the one hand and Strehlow on the other, we must give these two\nversions one after the other. We shall see that when they are well\nunderstood, they differ in form more than in matter, and that they both\nhave the same sociological significance.\n\nAccording to Spencer and Gillen, the souls which, in each generation,\ncome to animate the bodies of newly-born children, are not special and\noriginal creations; all these tribes hold that there is a definite stock\nof souls, whose number cannot be augmented at all,[784] and which\nreincarnate themselves periodically. When an individual dies, his soul\nquits the body in which it dwelt, and after the mourning is\naccomplished, it goes to the land of the souls; but after a certain\nlength of time, it returns to incarnate itself again, and these\nreincarnations are the cause of conception and birth. At the beginning\nof things, it was these fundamental souls which animated the first\nancestors, the founders of the clan. At an epoch, beyond which the\nimagination does not go and which is considered the very beginning of\ntime, there were certain beings who were not derived from any others.\nFor this reason, the Arunta call them the _Altjirangamitjina_,[785] the\nuncreated ones, those who exist from all eternity, and, according to\nSpencer and Gillen, they give the name _Alcheringa_[786] to the period\nwhen these fabulous beings are thought to have lived. Being organized in\ntotemic clans just as the men of to-day are, they passed their time in\ntravels, in the course of which they accomplished all sorts of\nprodigious actions, the memory of which is preserved in the myths. But a\nmoment arrived when this terrestrial life came to a close; singly or in\ngroups, they entered into the earth. But their souls live for ever; they\nare immortal. They even continue to frequent the places where the\nexistence of their former hosts came to an end. Moreover, owing to the\nmemories attached to them, these places have a sacred character; it is\nhere that the oknanikilla are located, the sorts of sanctuaries where\nthe churinga of the clan is kept, and the centres of the different\ntotemic cults. When one of the souls which wander about these\nsanctuaries enters into the body of a woman, the result is a conception\nand later a birth.[787] So each individual is considered as a new\nappearance of a determined ancestor: it is this ancestor himself, come\nback in a new body and with new features. Now, what were these\nancestors?\n\nIn the first place, they were endowed with powers infinitely superior to\nthose possessed by men to-day, even the most respected old men and the\nmost celebrated magicians. They are attributed virtues which we may\nspeak of as miraculous: \"They could travel on, or above, or beneath the\nground; by opening a vein in the arm, each of them could flood whole\ntracts of country or cause level plains to arise; in rocky ranges they\ncould make pools of water spring into existence, or could make deep\ngorges and gaps through which to traverse the ranges, and where they\nplanted their sacred poles (nurtunja), there rocks or trees arose to\nmark the spot.\"[788] It is they who gave the earth the form it has at\npresent. They created all sorts of beings, both men and animals. They\nare nearly gods. So their souls also have a divine character. And since\nthe souls of men are these ancestral souls reincarnated in the human\nbody, these are sacred beings too.\n\nIn the second place, these ancestors were not men in the proper sense of\nthe word, but animals or vegetables, or perhaps mixed beings in which\nthe animal or vegetable element predominated: \"In the Alcheringa,\" say\nSpencer and Gillen, \"lived ancestors who, in the native mind, are so\nintimately associated with the animals or plants the name of which they\nbear that an Alcheringa man of, say, the kangaroo totem may sometimes be\nspoken of either as a man-kangaroo or a kangaroo-man. The identity of\nthe human individual is often sunk in that of the animal or plant from\nwhich he is supposed to have originated.\"[789] Their immortal souls\nnecessarily have the same nature; in them, also, the human element is\nwedded to the animal element, with a certain tendency for the latter to\npredominate over the former. So they are made of the same substance as\nthe totemic principle, for we know that the special characteristic of\nthis is to present this double nature, and to synthesize and confound\nthe two realms in itself.\n\nSince no other souls than these exist, we reach the conclusion that, in\na general way, the soul is nothing other than the totemic principle\nincarnate in each individual. And there is nothing to surprise us in\nthis derivation. We already know that this principle is immanent in each\nof the members of the clan. But in penetrating into these individuals,\nit must inevitably individualize itself. Because the consciousnesses, of\nwhich it becomes thus an integral part, differ from each other, it\ndifferentiates itself according to their image; since each has its own\nphysiognomy, it takes a distinct physiognomy in each. Of course it\nremains something outside of and foreign to the man, but the portion of\nit which each is believed to possess cannot fail to contract close\naffinities with the particular subject in which it resides; it becomes\nhis to a certain extent. Thus it has two contradictory characteristics,\nbut whose coexistence is one of the distinctive features of the notion\nof the soul. To-day, as formerly, the soul is what is best and most\nprofound in ourselves, and the pre-eminent part of our being; yet it is\nalso a passing guest which comes from the outside, which leads in us an\nexistence distinct from that of the body, and which should one day\nregain its entire independence. In a word, just as society exists only\nin and through individuals, the totemic principle exists only in and\nthrough the individual consciousnesses whose association forms the clan.\nIf they did not feel it in them it would not exist; it is they who put\nit into things. So it must of necessity be divided and distributed among\nthem. Each of these fragments is a soul.\n\nA myth which is found in a rather large number of the societies of the\ncentre, and which, moreover, is only a particular form of the preceding\nones, shows even better that this is really the matter out of which the\nidea of the soul is made. In these tribes, tradition puts the origin of\neach clan, not in a number of ancestors, but in only two,[790] or even\nin one.[791] This unique being, as long as he remained single, contained\nthe totemic principle within him integrally, for at this moment there\nwas nothing to which this principle could be communicated. Now,\naccording to this same tradition, all the human souls which exist, both\nthose which now animate the bodies of men and those which are at present\nunemployed, being held in reserve for the future, have issued from this\nunique personage; they are made of his substance. While travelling over\nthe surface of the ground, or moving about, or shaking himself, he made\nthem leave his body and planted them in the various places he is\nbelieved to have passed over. Is this not merely a symbolic way of\nsaying that they are parts of the totemic divinity?\n\nBut this conclusion presupposes that the tribes of which we have just\nbeen speaking admit the doctrine of reincarnation. Now according to\nStrehlow, this doctrine is unknown to the Arunta, the society which\nSpencer and Gillen have studied the longest and the best. If, in this\nparticular case, these two observers have misunderstood things to such\nan extent, their whole testimony would become suspect. So it is\nimportant to determine the actual extent of this divergence.\n\nAccording to Strehlow, after the soul has once been definitely freed\nfrom the body by the rites of mourning, it never reincarnates itself\nagain. It goes off to the isles of the dead, where it passes its days in\nsleeping and its nights in dancing, until it returns again to earth.\nThen it comes back into the midst of the living and plays the r\u00f4le of\nprotecting genius to the young sons, or if such are lacking, to the\ngrandsons whom the dead man left behind him; it enters their body and\naids their growth. It remains thus in the midst of its former family for\na year or two, after which it goes back to the land of the souls. But\nafter a certain length of time it goes away once more to make another\nsojourn upon earth, which is to be the last. A time will come when it\nmust take up again, and with no hope of return this time, the route to\nthe isles of the dead; then, after various incidents, the details of\nwhich it is useless to relate, a storm will overtake it, in the course\nof which it will be struck by a flash of lightning. Thus its career is\ndefinitely terminated.[792]\n\nSo it cannot reincarnate itself; nor can conceptions and births be due\nto the reincarnation of souls which periodically commence new existences\nin new bodies. It is true that Strehlow, as Spencer and Gillen, declares\nthat for the Arunta commerce of the sexes is in no way the determining\ncondition of generation,[793] which is considered the result of mystic\noperations, but different from the ones which the other observers told\nus about. It takes place in one or the other of the two following ways:\n\nWherever an ancestor of the Alcheringa[794] times is believed to have\nentered into the ground, there is either a stone or a tree representing\nhis body. The tree or rock which has this mystic relation with the\ndeparted hero is called _nanja_ according to Spencer and Gillen,[795]\nor _ngarra_ according to Strehlow.[796] Sometimes it is a water-hole\nwhich is believed to have been formed in this way. Now, on each of these\ntrees or rocks and in each of these water-holes, there live embryo\nchildren, called _ratapa_,[797] which belong to exactly the same totem\nas the corresponding ancestor. For example, on a gum-tree representing\nan ancestor of the kangaroo totem there are ratapa, all of which have\nthe kangaroo as their totem. If a woman happens to pass it, and she is\nof the matrimonial class to which the mothers of these ratapa should\nbelong,[798] one of them may enter her through the hip. The woman learns\nof this act by the characteristic pains which are the first symptoms of\npregnancy. The child thus conceived will of course belong to the same\ntotem as the ancestor upon whose mystical body he resided before\nbecoming incarnate.[799]\n\nIn other cases, the process employed is slightly different: the ancestor\nhimself acts in person. At a given moment he leaves his subterranean\nretreat and throws on to the passing woman a little churinga of a\nspecial form, called _namatuna_.[800] The churinga enters the body of\nthe woman and takes a human form there, while the ancestor disappears\nagain into the earth.[801]\n\nThese two ways of conception are believed to be equally frequent. The\nfeatures of the child will reveal the manner in which he was conceived;\naccording to whether his face is broad or long, they say that he is the\nincarnation of a ratapa or a namatuna. Beside these two means of\nfecundation, Strehlow places a third, which, however, is much more rare.\nAfter his namatuna has penetrated into the body of the woman, the\nancestor himself enters her and voluntarily submits to a new birth. So\nin this case, the conception is due to a real reincarnation of the\nancestor. But this is very exceptional, and when a man who has been\nconceived thus dies, the ancestral soul which animated him goes away,\njust like ordinary souls, to the isles of the dead where, after the\nusual delays, it is definitely annihilated. So it cannot undergo any\nfurther reincarnations.[802]\n\nSuch is the version of Strehlow.[803] In the opinion of this author it\nis radically opposed to that of Spencer and Gillen. But in reality it\ndiffers only in the letter of the formul\u00e6 and symbols, while in both\ncases we find the same mythical theme in slightly different forms.\n\nIn the first place, all the observers agree that every conception is the\nresult of an incarnation. Only according to Strehlow, that which is\nincarnated is not a soul but a ratapa or a namatuna. But what is a\nratapa? Strehlow says that it is a complete embryo, made up of a soul\nand a body. But the soul is always represented in material forms; it\nsleeps, dances, hunts, eats, etc. So it, too, has a corporal element.\nInversely, the ratapa is invisible to ordinary men; no one sees it as it\nenters the body of the woman;[804] this is equivalent to saying that it\nis made of a matter quite similar to that of the soul. So it hardly\nseems possible to differentiate the two clearly in this regard. In\nreality, these are mythical beings which are obviously conceived after\nthe same model. Schulze calls them the souls of children.[805] Moreover,\nthe ratapa, just like the soul, sustains the closest relations with the\nancestor of which the sacred tree or rock is the materialized form. It\nis of the same totem as this ancestor, of the same phratry and of the\nsame matrimonial class.[806] Its place in the social organization of the\ntribe is the very one that its ancestor is believed to have held before\nit. It bears the same name,[807] which is a proof that these two\npersonalities are at least very closely related to one another.\n\nBut there is more than this; this relationship even goes as far as a\ncomplete identification. In fact, it is on the mystic body of the\nancestor that the ratapa is formed; it comes from this; it is like a\ndetached portion of it. So it really is a part of the ancestor which\npenetrates into the womb of the mother and which becomes the child. Thus\nwe get back to the conception of Spencer and Gillen: birth is due to the\nreincarnation of an ancestral personage. Of course it is not the entire\nperson that is reincarnated, it is only an emanation from him. But this\ndifference has only a secondary interest, for when a sacred being\ndivides and duplicates itself, all of its essential characteristics are\nto be found again in each of the fragments into which it is broken up.\nSo really the Alcheringa ancestor is entire in each part of himself\nwhich becomes a ratapa.[808]\n\nThe second mode of conception distinguished by Strehlow has the same\nsignificance. In fact, the churinga, and more especially the particular\nchuringa that is called the namatuna, is considered a transformation of\nthe ancestor; according to Strehlow,[809] it is his body, just as the\nnanja tree is. In other words, the personality of the ancestor, his\nchuringa and his nanja tree, are sacred things, inspiring the same\nsentiments and to which the same religious value is attributed. So they\ntransmute themselves into one another: in the spot where an ancestor\nlost his churinga, a sacred tree or rock has come out of the soil, just\nthe same as in those places where he entered the ground himself.[810] So\nthere is a mythological equivalence of a person of the Alcheringa and\nhis churinga; consequently, when the former throws a namatuna into the\nbody of a woman, it is as if he entered into it himself. In fact, we\nhave seen that sometimes he does enter in person after the namatuna;\naccording to other stories he precedes it; it might be said that he\nopens up the way for it.[811] The fact that these two themes exist side\nby side in the same myth completes the proof that one is only a doublet\nof the other.\n\nMoreover, in whatever way the conception may have taken place, there can\nbe no doubt that each individual is united to some determined ancestor\nof the Alcheringa by especially close bonds. In the first place, each\nman has his appointed ancestor; two persons cannot have the same one\nsimultaneously. In other words, a being of the Alcheringa never has more\nthan one representative among the living.[812] More than that, the one\nis only an aspect of the other. In fact, as we already know, the\nchuringa left by the ancestor expresses his personality; if we adopt the\ninterpretation of Strehlow, which, perhaps, is the more satisfactory, we\nshall say that it is his body. But this same churinga is related in the\nsame way to the individual who is believed to have been conceived under\nthe influence of this ancestor, and who is the fruit of his mystic\nworks. When the young initiate is introduced into the sanctuary of the\nclan, he is shown the churinga of his ancestor, and someone says to him,\n\"You are this body; you are the same thing as this.\"[813] So, in\nStrehlow's own expression, the churinga is \"the body common to the\nindividual and his ancestor.\"[814] Now if they are to have the same body\nit is necessary that on one side at least their two personalities be\nconfounded. Strehlow recognizes this explicitly, moreover, when he says,\n\"By the tjurunga (churinga) the individual is united to his personal\nancestor.\"[815]\n\nSo for Strehlow as well as for Spencer and Gillen, there is a mystic,\nreligious principle in each new-born child, which emanates from an\nancestor of the Alcheringa. It is this principle which forms the essence\nof each individual, therefore it is his soul, or in any case the soul is\nmade of the same matter and the same substance. Now it is only upon this\none fundamental fact that we have relied in determining the nature and\norigin of the idea of the soul. The different metaphors by means of\nwhich it may have been expressed have only a secondary interest for\nus.[816]\n\nFar from contradicting the data upon which our theory rests, the recent\nobservations of Strehlow bring new proofs confirming it. Our reasoning\nconsisted in inferring the totemic nature of the human soul from the\ntotemic nature of the ancestral soul, of which the former is an\nemanation and a sort of replica. Now, some of the new facts which we owe\nto Strehlow show this character of both even more categorically than\nthose we had at our disposal before do. In the first place, Strehlow,\nlike Spencer and Gillen, insists on \"the intimate relations uniting each\nancestor to an animal, to a plant, or to some other natural object.\"\nSome of these Altjirangamitjina (these are Spencer and Gillen's men of\nthe Alcheringa) \"should,\" he says, \"be manifested directly as animals;\nothers take the animal form in a way.\"[817] Even now they are constantly\ntransforming themselves into animals.[818] In any case, whatever\nexternal aspect they may have, \"the special and distinctive qualities of\nthe animal clearly appear in each of them.\" For example, the ancestors\nof the Kangaroo clan eat grass just like real kangaroos, and flee before\nthe hunter; those of the Emu clan run and feed like emus,[819] etc. More\nthan that, those ancestors who had a vegetable as totem become this\nvegetable itself on death.[820] Moreover, this close kinship of the\nancestor and the totemic being is so keenly felt by the natives that it\nis shown even in their terminology. Among the Arunta, the child calls\nthe totem of his mother, which serves him as a secondary totem,[821]\n_altjira_. As filiation was at first in the uterine line, there was once\na time when each individual had no other totem than that of his mother;\nso it is very probable that the term _altjira_ then designated the real\ntotem. Now this clearly enters into the composition of the word which\nmeans great ancestor, _altjirangamitjina_.[822]\n\nThe idea of the totem and that of the ancestor are even so closely\nkindred that they sometimes seem to be confounded. Thus, after speaking\nof the totem of the mother, or _altjira_, Strehlow goes on to say, \"This\naltjira appears to the natives in dreams and gives them warnings, just\nas it takes information concerning them to their sleeping friends.\"[823]\nThis _altjira_, which speaks and which is attached to each individual\npersonally, is evidently an ancestor; yet it is also an incarnation of\nthe totem. A certain text in Roth, which speaks of invocations addressed\nto the totem, should certainly be interpreted in this sense.[824] So it\nappears that the totem is sometimes represented in the mind in the form\nof a group of ideal beings or mythical personages who are more or less\nindistinct from the ancestors. In a word, the ancestors are the\nfragments of the totem.[825]\n\nBut if the ancestor is so readily confused with the totemic being, the\nindividual soul, which is so near the ancestral soul, cannot do\notherwise. Moreover, this is what actually results from the close union\nof each man with his churinga. In fact, we know that the churinga\nrepresents the personality of the individual who is believed to have\nbeen born of it;[826] but it also expresses the totemic animal. When the\ncivilizing hero, Mangarkunjerkunja, presented each member of the\nKangaroo clan with his personal totem, he spoke as follows: \"Here is the\nbody of a kangaroo.\"[827] Thus the churinga is at once the body of the\nancestor, of the individual himself and of the totemic animal; so,\naccording to a strong and very just expression of Strehlow, these three\nbeings form a \"solid unity.\"[828] They are almost equivalent and\ninterchangeable terms. This is as much as to say that they are thought\nof as different aspects of one and the same reality, which is also\ndefined by the distinctive attributes of the totem. Their common essence\nis the totemic principle. The language itself expresses this identity.\nThe word ratapa, and the _aratapi_ of the Loritja language, designate\nthe mythical embryo which is detached from the ancestor and which\nbecomes the child; now these same words also designate the totem of this\nsame child, such as is determined by the spot where the mother believes\nthat she conceived.[829]\n\n\nIII\n\nUp to the present we have studied the doctrine of reincarnation only in\nthe tribes of Central Australia; therefore the bases upon which our\ninference rests may be deemed too narrow. But in the first place, for\nthe reasons which we have pointed out, the experiment holds good outside\nof the societies which we have observed directly. Also, there are\nabundant facts proving that the same or analogous conceptions are found\nin the most diverse parts of Australia or, at least, have left very\nevident traces there. They are found even in America.\n\nHowitt mentions them among the Dieri of South Australia.[830] The word\n_Mura-mura_, which Gason translates with Good Spirit and which he thinks\nexpresses a belief in a god creator,[831] is really a collective word\ndesignating the group of ancestors placed by the myth at the beginning\nof the tribe. They continue to exist to-day as formerly. \"They are\nbelieved to live in trees, which are sacred for this reason.\" Certain\nirregularities of the ground, rocks and springs are identified with\nthese Mura-mura,[832] which consequently resemble the Altjirangamitjina\nof the Arunta in a singular way. The Kurnai of Gippsland, though\nretaining only vestiges of totemism, also believe in the existence of\nancestors called _Muk-Kurnai_, and which they think of as beings\nintermediate between men and animals.[833] Among the Nimbaldi, Taplin\nhas observed a theory of conception similar to that which Strehlow\nattributes to the Arunta.[834] We find this belief in reincarnation held\nintegrally by the Wotjobaluk in Victoria. \"The spirits of the dead,\"\nsays Mathews, \"assemble in the _miyur_[835] of their respective clans;\nthey leave these to be born again in human form when a favourable\noccasion presents itself.\"[836] Mathews even affirms that \"the belief in\nthe reincarnation or transmigration of souls is strongly enrooted in all\nthe Australian tribes.\"[837]\n\nIf we pass to the northern regions we find the pure doctrine of the\nArunta among the Niol-Niol in the north-west; every birth is attributed\nto the incarnation of a pre-existing soul, which introduces itself into\nthe body of a woman.[838] In northern Queensland myths, differing from\nthe preceding only in form, express exactly the same ideas. Among the\ntribes on the Pennefather River it is believed that every man has two\nsouls: the one, called _ngai_, resides in the heart; the other, called\n_choi_, remains in the placenta. Soon after birth the placenta is buried\nin a consecrated place. A particular genius, named Anje-a, who has\ncharge of the phenomena of procreation, comes to get this _choi_ and\nkeeps it until the child, being grown up, is married. When the time\ncomes to give him a son, Anje-a takes a bit of the choi of this man,\nplaces it in the embryo he is making, and inserts it into the womb of\nthe mother. So it is out of the soul of the father that that of the\nchild is made. It is true that the child does not receive the paternal\nsoul integrally at first, for the _ngai_ remains in the heart of the\nfather as long as he lives. But when he dies the _ngai_, being\nliberated, also incarnates itself in the bodies of the children; if\nthere are several children it is divided equally among them. Thus there\nis a perfect spiritual continuity between the generations; it is the\nsame soul which is transmitted from a father to his children and from\nthese to their children, and this unique soul, always remaining itself\nin spite of its successive divisions and subdivisions, is the one which\nanimated the first ancestor at the beginning of all things.[839] Between\nthis theory and the one held by the central tribes there is only one\ndifference of any importance; this is that the reincarnation is not the\nwork of the ancestors themselves but that of a special genius who takes\ncharge of this function professionally. But it seems probable that this\ngenius is the product of a syncretism which has fused the numerous\nfigures of the first ancestors into one single being. This hypothesis is\nat least made probable by the fact that the words Anje-a and Anjir are\nevidently very closely related; now the second designates the first man,\nthe original ancestor from whom all men are descended.[840]\n\nThese same ideas are found again among the Indian tribes of America.\nKrauss says that among the Tlinkit, the souls of the departed are\nbelieved to come back to earth and introduce themselves into the bodies\nof the pregnant women of their families. \"So when a woman dreams, during\npregnancy, of some deceased relative, she believes that the soul of this\nlatter has penetrated into her. If the young child has some\ncharacteristic mark which the dead man had before, they believe that it\nis the dead man himself come back to earth, and his name is given to the\nchild.\"[841] This belief is also general among the Haida. It is the\nshaman who reveals which relative it was who reincarnated himself in the\nchild and what name should consequently be given to him.[842] Among the\nKwakiutl it is believed that the latest member of a family who died\ncomes back to life in the person of the first child to be born in that\nfamily.[843] It is the same with the Hurons, the Iroquois, the Tinneh,\nand many other tribes of the United States.[844]\n\n\nThe universality of these conceptions extends, of course, to the\nconclusion which we have deduced from them, that is, to the explanation\nof the idea of the soul which we have proposed. Its general\nacceptability is also proved by the following facts.\n\nWe know[845] that each individual contains within him something of that\nanonymous force which is diffused in the sacred species; he is a member\nof this species himself. But as an empirical and visible being, he is\nnot, for, in spite of the symbolic designs and marks with which he\ndecorates his body, there is nothing in him to suggest the form of an\nanimal or plant. So it must be that there is another being in him, in\nwhom he recognizes himself, but whom he represents in the form of an\nanimal or vegetable species. Now is it not evident that this double can\nonly be the soul, since the soul is, of itself, already a double of the\nsubject whom it animates? The justification of this identification is\ncompleted by the fact that the organs where the fragment of the totemic\nprinciple contained in each individual incarnates itself the most\neminently are also those where the soul resides. This is the case with\nthe blood. The blood contains something of the nature of the totem, as\nis proved by the part it takes in the totemic ceremonies.[846] But at\nthe same time, the blood is one of the seats of the soul; or rather, it\nis the soul itself, seen from without. When blood flows, life runs out\nand, in the same process, the soul escapes. So the soul is confused with\nthe sacred principle which is imminent in the blood.\n\nRegarding matters from another point of view, if our explanation is\nwell-founded, the totemic principle, in penetrating into the individual\nas we suppose, should retain a certain amount of autonomy there, since\nit is quite distinct from the subject in whom it is incarnated. Now this\nis just what Howitt claims to have observed among the Yuin: \"That in\nthis tribe the totem is thought to be in some way part of a man is\nclearly seen by the case of Umbara, before mentioned, who told me that,\nmany years ago, someone of the Lace-lizard totem sent it while he was\nasleep, and that it went down his throat and almost ate his totem, which\nwas in his breast, so that he nearly died.\"[847] So it is quite true\nthat the totem is broken up in individualizing itself and that each of\nthe bits thus detached plays the part of a spirit or soul residing in\nthe body.[848]\n\nBut there are other more clearly demonstrative facts. If the soul is\nonly the totemic principle individualized, it should have, in certain\ncases at least, rather close relations with the animal or vegetable\nspecies whose form is reproduced by the totem. And, in fact, \"the\nGeawe-Gal (a tribe of New South Wales) had a superstition that everyone\nhad within himself an affinity to the spirit of some bird, beast or\nreptile. Not that he sprung from the creature in any way, but that the\nspirit which was in him was akin to that of the creature.\"[849]\n\nThere are even cases where the soul is believed to emanate directly from\nthe animal or vegetable serving as totem. Among the Arunta, according to\nStrehlow, when a woman has eaten a great deal of fruit, it is believed\nthat she will give birth to a child who will have this fruit as totem.\nIf, at the moment when she felt the first tremblings of the child, she\nwas looking at a kangaroo, it is believed that the ratapa of the\nkangaroo has entered her body and fertilized her.[850] H. Basedow\nreported the same fact from the Wogait.[851] We know, also, that the\nratapa and the soul are almost indistinguishable things. Now, such an\norigin could never have been attributed to the soul if men did not think\nthat it was made out of the same substances as the plants and animals of\nthe totemic species.\n\nThus the soul is frequently represented in an animal form. It is known\nthat in inferior societies, death is never considered a natural event,\ndue to the action of purely physical causes; it is generally attributed\nto the evil workings of some sorcerer. In a large number of Australian\nsocieties, in order to determine who is the responsible author of this\nmurder, they work on the principle that the soul of the murderer must\ninevitably come to visit its victim. Therefore, the body is placed upon\na scaffolding; then, the ground under the corpse and all around it is\ncarefully smoothed off so that the slightest mark becomes easily\nperceptible. They return the next day; if an animal has passed by there\nduring the interval, its tracks are readily recognizable. Their form\nreveals the species to which it belongs, and from that, they infer the\nsocial group of which the guilty man is a member. They say that it is a\nman of such a class or such a clan,[852] according to whether the\nanimal is the totem of this or that class or clan. So the soul is\nbelieved to have come in the form of the totemic animal.\n\nIn other societies where totemism has weakened or disappeared, the soul\nstill continues to be thought of in an animal form. The natives of Cape\nBedford (North Queensland) believe that the child, at the moment of\nentering the body of its mother, is a curlew if it is a girl, or a snake\nif it is a boy.[853] It is only later that it takes a human form. Many\nof the Indians of North America, says the Prince of Wied, say that they\nhave an animal in their bodies.[854] The Bororo of Brazil represent the\nsoul in the form of a bird, and therefore believe that they are birds of\nthe same variety.[855] In other places, it is thought of as a snake, a\nlizard, a fly, a bee, etc.[856]\n\nBut it is especially after death that this animal nature of the soul is\nmanifested. During life, this characteristic is partially veiled, as it\nwere, by the very form of the human body. But when death has once set it\nfree, it becomes itself again. Among the Omaha, in at least two of the\nBuffalo clans, it is believed that the souls of the dead go to rejoin\nthe buffalo, their ancestors.[857] The Hopi are divided into a certain\nnumber of clans, whose ancestors were animals or beings with animal\nforms. Now Schoolcraft tells us that they say that at death, they take\ntheir original form again; each becomes a bear or deer, according to the\nclan to which he belongs.[858] Very frequently the soul is believed to\nreincarnate itself in the body of an animal.[859] It is probably from\nthis that the widely-spread doctrine of metempsychosis was derived. We\nhave already seen how hard pressed Tylor is to account for it.[860] If\nthe soul is an essentially human principle, what could be more curious\nthan this marked predilection which it shows, in so large a number of\nsocieties, for the animal form? On the other hand, everything is\nexplained if, by its very constitution, the soul is closely related to\nthe animal, for in that case, when it returns to the animal world at the\nclose of this life, it is only returning to its real nature. Thus the\ngenerality of the belief in metempsychosis is a new proof that the\nconstituent elements of the idea of the soul have been taken largely\nfrom the animal kingdom, as is presupposed by the theory which we have\njust set forth.\n\n\nIV\n\nThus the notion of the soul is a particular application of the beliefs\nrelative to sacred beings. This is the explanation of the religious\ncharacter which this idea has had from the moment when it first appeared\nin history, and which it still retains to-day. In fact, the soul has\nalways been considered a sacred thing; on this ground, it is opposed to\nthe body which is, in itself, profane. It is not merely distinguished\nfrom its material envelope as the inside from the outside; it is not\nmerely represented as made out of a more subtle and fluid matter; but\nmore than this, it inspires those sentiments which are everywhere\nreserved for that which is divine. If it is not made into a god, it is\nat least regarded as a spark of the divinity. This essential\ncharacteristic would be inexplicable if the idea of the soul were only a\npre-scientific solution given to the problem of dreams; for there is\nnothing in the dream to awaken religious emotions, so the cause by which\nthese are explained could not have such a character. But if the soul is\na part of the divine substance, it represents something not ourselves\nthat is within us; if it is made of the same mental matter as the sacred\nbeings, it is natural that it should become the object of the same\nsentiments.\n\nAnd the sacred character which men thus attribute to themselves is not\nthe product of a pure illusion either; like the notions of religious\nforce and of divinity, the notion of the soul is not without a\nfoundation in reality. It is perfectly true that we are made up of two\ndistinct parts, which are opposed to one another as the sacred to the\nprofane, and we may say that, in a certain sense, there is divinity in\nus. For society, this unique source of all that is sacred, does not\nlimit itself to moving us from without and affecting us for the moment;\nit establishes itself within us in a durable manner. It arouses within\nus a whole world of ideas and sentiments which express it but which, at\nthe same time, form an integral and permanent part of ourselves. When\nthe Australian goes away from a religious ceremony, the representations\nwhich this communal life has aroused or re-aroused within him are not\nobliterated in a second. The figures of the great ancestors, the heroic\nexploits whose memory these rites perpetuate, the great deeds of every\nsort in which he, too, has participated through the cult, in a word, all\nthese numerous ideals which he has elaborated with the co-operation of\nhis fellows, continue to live in his consciousness and, through the\nemotions which are attached to them and the ascendancy which they hold\nover his entire being, they are sharply distinguished from the vulgar\nimpressions arising from his daily relations with external things. Moral\nideas have the same character. It is society which forces them upon us,\nand as the respect inspired by it is naturally extended to all that\ncomes from it, its imperative rules of conduct are invested, by reason\nof their origin, with an authority and a dignity which is shared by none\nof our internal states: therefore, we assign them a place apart in our\npsychical life. Although our moral conscience is a part of our\nconsciousness, we do not feel ourselves on an equality with it. In this\nvoice which makes itself heard only to give us orders and establish\nprohibitions, we cannot recognize our own voices; the very tone in which\nit speaks to us warns us that it expresses something within us that is\nnot of ourselves. This is the objective foundation of the idea of the\nsoul: those representations whose flow constitutes our interior life are\nof two different species which are irreducible one into another. Some\nconcern themselves with the external and material world; others, with an\nideal world to which we attribute a moral superiority over the first. So\nwe are really made up of two beings facing in different and almost\ncontrary directions, one of whom exercises a real pre-eminence over the\nother. Such is the profound meaning of the antithesis which all men have\nmore or less clearly conceived between the body and the soul, the\nmaterial and the spiritual beings who coexist within us. Moralists and\npreachers have often maintained that no one can deny the reality of duty\nand its sacred character without falling into materialism. And it is\ntrue that if we have no idea of moral and religious imperatives, our\npsychical life will all be reduced to one level,[861] all our states of\nconsciousness will be on the same plane, and all feeling of duality\nwill perish. To make this duality intelligible, it is, of course, in no\nway necessary to imagine a mysterious and unrepresentable substance,\nunder the name of the soul, which is opposed to the body. But here, as\nin regard to the idea of sacredness, the error concerns the letter of\nthe symbol employed, not the reality of the fact symbolized. It remains\ntrue that our nature is double; there really is a particle of divinity\nin us because there is within us us a particle of these great ideas\nwhich are the soul of the group.\n\n\nSo the individual soul is only a portion of the collective soul of the\ngroup; it is the anonymous force at the basis of the cult, but\nincarnated in an individual whose personality it espouses; it is _mana_\nindividualized. Perhaps dreams aided in determining certain secondary\ncharacteristics of the idea. The inconsistency and instability of the\nimages which fill our minds during sleep, and their remarkable aptitude\nfor transforming themselves into one another, may have furnished the\nmodel for this subtile, transparent and Protean matter out of which the\nsoul is believed to be made. Also, the facts of swooning, catalepsy,\netc., may have suggested the idea that the soul was mobile, and quitted\nthe body temporarily during this life; this, in its turn, has served to\nexplain certain dreams. But all these experiences and observations could\nhave had only a secondary and complimentary influence, whose very\nexistence it is difficult to establish. All that is really essential in\nthe idea comes from elsewhere.\n\nBut does not this genesis of the idea of the soul misunderstand its\nessential characteristic? If the soul is a particular form of the\nimpersonal principle which is diffused in the group, the totemic species\nand all the things of every sort which are attached to these, at bottom\nit is impersonal itself. So, with differences only of degree, it should\nhave the same properties as the force of which it is a special form, and\nparticularly, the same diffusion, the same aptitude for spreading itself\ncontagiously and the same ubiquity. But quite on the contrary, the soul\nis voluntarily represented as a concrete, definite being, wholly\ncontained within itself and not communicable to others; it is made the\nbasis of our personality.\n\nBut this way of conceiving the soul is the product of a late and\nphilosophic elaboration. The popular representation, as it is\nspontaneously formed from common experience, is very different,\nespecially at first. For the Australian, the soul is a very vague\nthing, undecided and wavering in form, and spread over the whole\norganism. Though it manifests itself especially at certain points, there\nare probably none from which it is totally absent. So it has a\ndiffusion, a contagiousness and an omnipresence comparable to those of\nthe _mana_. Like the mana, it is able to divide and duplicate itself\ninfinitely, though remaining entire in each of its parts; it is from\nthese divisions and duplications that the plurality of souls is derived.\nOn the other hand, the doctrine of reincarnation, whose generality we\nhave established, shows how many impersonal elements enter into the idea\nof the soul and how essential those are. For if the same soul is going\nto clothe a new personality in each generation, the individual forms in\nwhich it successively develops itself must all be equally external to\nit, and have nothing to do with its true nature. It is a sort of generic\nsubstance which individualizes itself only secondarily and\nsuperficially. Moreover, this conception of the soul is by no means\ncompletely gone. The cult of relics shows that for a host of believers\neven to-day, the soul of a saint, with all its essential powers,\ncontinues to adhere to his different bones; and this implies that he is\nbelieved to be able to diffuse himself, subdivide himself and\nincorporate himself in all sorts of different things simultaneously.\n\nJust as the characteristic attributes of the mana are found in the soul,\nso secondary and superficial changes are enough to enable the mana to\nindividualize itself in the form of a soul. We pass from the first idea\nto the second with no break of continuity. Every religious force which\nis attached in a special way to a determined being participates in the\ncharacteristics of this being, takes on its appearance and becomes its\nspiritual double. Tregear, in his Maori-Polynesian dictionary, has\nthought it possible to connect the word _mana_ with another group of\nwords, such as _manawa_, _manamana_, etc., which seem to belong to the\nsame family, and which signify heart, life, consciousness.[862] Is this\nnot equivalent to saying that some sort of kinship ought to exist\nbetween the corresponding ideas as well, that is to say, between the\nidea of impersonal force and those of internal life, mental force and,\nin a word, of the soul? This is why the question whether the churinga is\nsacred because it serves as the residence of a soul, as Spencer and\nGillen believe, or because it has impersonal virtues, as Strehlow\nthinks, seems to us to have little interest and to be without\nsociological importance. Whether the efficacy of a sacred object is\nrepresented in an abstract form in the mind or is attributed to some\npersonal agent does not really matter. The psychological roots of both\nbeliefs are identical: an object is sacred because it inspires, in one\nway or another, a collective sentiment of respect which removes it from\nprofane touches. In order to explain this sentiment, men sometimes fall\nback on to a vague and imprecise cause, and sometimes on to a determined\nspiritual being endowed with a name and a history; but these different\ninterpretations are superadded to one fundamental phenomenon which is\nthe same in both cases.\n\nThis, moreover, is what explains the singular confusions, examples of\nwhich we have met with as we have progressed. The individual, the soul\nof the ancestor which he reincarnates or from which his own is an\nemanation, his churinga and the animals of the totemic species are, as\nwe have said, partially equivalent and interchangeable things. This is\nbecause in certain connections, they all affect the collective\nconsciousness in the same way. If the churinga is sacred, it is because\nof the collective sentiments of respect inspired by the totemic emblem\ncarved upon its surface; now the same sentiment attaches itself to the\nanimals or plants whose outward form is reproduced by the totem, to the\nsoul of the individual, for it is thought of in the form of the totemic\nbeing, and finally to the ancestral soul, of which the preceding one is\nonly a particular aspect. So all these various objects, whether real or\nideal, have one common element by which they arouse a single affective\nstate in the mind, and through this, they become confused. In so far as\nthey are expressed by one and the same representation, they are\nindistinct. This is how the Arunta has come to regard the churinga as\nthe body common to the individual, the ancestor and even the totemic\nbeing. It is his way of expressing the identity of the sentiments of\nwhich these different things are the object.\n\nHowever, it does not follow from the fact the idea of the soul is\nderived from the idea of mana that the first has a relatively later\norigin, or that there was a period in history when men were acquainted\nwith religious forces only in their impersonal forms. When some wish to\ndesignate by the word preanimist an historical period during which\nanimism was completely unknown, they build up an arbitrary\nhypothesis;[863] for there is no people among whom the ideas of the soul\nand of mana do not coexist side by side. So there is no ground for\nimagining that they were formed at two distinct times; everything, on\nthe contrary, goes to show that the two are coeval. Just as there is no\nsociety without individuals, so those impersonal forces which are\ndisengaged from the group cannot establish themselves without\nincarnating themselves in the individual consciousnesses where they\nindividualize themselves. In reality, we do not have two different\ndevelopments, but two different aspects of one and the same development.\nIt is true that they do not have an equal importance; one is more\nessential than the other. The idea of mana does not presuppose the idea\nof the soul; for if the mana is going to individualize itself and break\nitself up into the particular souls, it must first of all exist, and\nwhat it is in itself does not depend upon the forms it takes when\nindividualized. But on the contrary, the idea of the soul cannot be\nunderstood except when taken in connection with the idea of mana. So on\nthis ground, it is possible to say that it is the result of a secondary\nformation; but we are speaking of a secondary formation in the logical,\nnot the chronological, sense of the word.\n\n\nV\n\nBut how does it come that men have believed that the soul survives the\nbody and is even able to do so for an indefinite length of time?\n\nFrom the analysis which we have made, it is evident that the belief in\nimmortality has not been established under the influence of moral ideas.\nMen have not imagined the prolongation of their existence beyond the\ntomb in order that a just retribution for moral acts may be assured in\nanother life, if it fails in this one; for we have seen that all\nconsiderations of this sort are foreign to the primitive conception of\nthe beyond.\n\nNor is the other hypothesis any better, according to which the other\nlife was imagined as a means of escaping the agonizing prospect of\nannihilation. In the first place, it is not true that the need of\npersonal survival was actively felt at the beginning. The primitive\ngenerally accepts the idea of death with a sort of indifference. Being\ntrained to count his own individuality for little, and being accustomed\nto exposing his life constantly, he gives it up easily enough.[864] More\nthan that, the immortality promised by the religions he practices is not\npersonal. In a large number of cases, the soul does not continue the\npersonality of the dead man, or does not continue it long, for,\nforgetful of its previous existence, it goes away, after a while, to\nanimate another body and thus becomes the vivifying principle of a new\npersonality. Even among the most advanced peoples, it was only a pale\nand sad existence that shades led in Sheol or Erebus, and could hardly\nattenuate the regrets occasioned by the memories of the life lost.\n\nA more satisfactory explanation is the one attaching the conception of a\nposthumous life to the experiences of dreams. Our dead friends and\nrelatives reappear to us in dreams: we see them act, we hear them speak;\nit is natural to conclude that they continue to exist. But if these\nobservations were able to confirm the idea after it had once been born,\nthey hardly seem capable of creating it out of nothing. Dreams in which\nwe see departed persons living again are too rare and too short and\nleave only too vague recollections of themselves, to have been able to\nsuggest so important a system of beliefs to men all by themselves. There\nis a remarkable lack of proportion between the effect and the cause to\nwhich it is attributed.\n\nWhat makes this question embarrassing is the fact that in itself, the\nidea of the soul does not imply that of its survival, but rather seems\nto exclude it. In fact, we have seen that the soul, though being\ndistinguished from the body, is believed, nevertheless, to be closely\nunited to it: it ages along with the body, it feels a reaction from all\nthe maladies that fall upon the body; so it would seem natural that it\nshould die with the body. At least, men ought to have believed that it\nceased to exist from the moment when it definitely lost its original\nform, and when it was no longer what it had been. Yet it is at just this\nmoment that a new life opens out before it.\n\nThe myths which we have already described give the only possible\nexplanation of this belief. We have seen that the souls of new-born\nchildren are either emanations of the ancestral souls, or these souls\nthemselves reincarnated. But in order that they may either reincarnate\nthemselves, or periodically give off new emanations, they must have\nsurvived their first holders. So it seems as though they admitted the\nsurvival of the dead in order to explain the birth of the living. The\nprimitive does not have the idea of an all-powerful god who creates\nsouls out of nothing. It seems to him that souls cannot be made except\nout of souls. So those who are born can only be new forms of those who\nhave been; consequently, it is necessary that these latter continue to\nexist in order that others may be born. In fine, the belief in the\nimmortality of the soul is the only way in which men were able to\nexplain a fact which could not fail to attract their attention; this\nfact is the perpetuity of the life of the group. Individuals die, but\nthe clan survives. So the forces which give it life must have the same\nperpetuity. Now these forces are the souls which animate individual\nbodies; for it is in them and through them that the group is realized.\nFor this reason, it is necessary that they endure. It is even necessary\nthat in enduring, they remain always the same; for, as the clan always\nkeeps its characteristic appearance, the spiritual substance out of\nwhich it is made must be thought of as qualitatively invariable. Since\nit is always the same clan with the same totemic principle, it is\nnecessary that the souls be the same, for souls are only the totemic\nprinciple broken up and particularized. Thus there is something like a\ngerminative plasm, of a mystic order, which is transmitted from\ngeneration to generation and which makes, or at least is believed to\nmake, the spiritual unity of the clan through all time. And this belief,\nin spite of its symbolic character, is not without a certain objective\ntruth. For though the group may not be immortal in the absolute sense of\nthe word, still it is true that it endures longer than the individuals\nand that it is born and incarnated afresh in each new generation.\n\nA fact confirms this interpretation. We have seen that according to the\ntestimony of Strehlow, the Arunta distinguish two sorts of souls: on the\none hand are those of the ancestors of the Alcheringa, on the other,\nthose of the individuals who actually compose the active body of the\ntribe at each moment in history. The second sort only survive the body\nfor a relatively short time; they are soon totally annihilated. Only the\nformer are immortal; as they are uncreated, so they do not perish. It is\nalso to be noticed that they are the only ones whose immortality is\nnecessary to explain the permanence of the group; for it is upon them,\nand upon them alone, that it is incumbent to assure the perpetuity of\nthe clan, for every conception is their work. In this connection, the\nothers have no part to play. So souls are not said to be immortal except\nin so far as this immortality is useful in rendering intelligible the\ncontinuity of the collective life.\n\nThus the causes leading to the first beliefs in a future life had no\nconnections with the functions to be filled at a later period by the\ninstitutions beyond the tomb. But when that had once appeared, they were\nsoon utilized for other purposes besides those which had been their\noriginal reasons for existence. Even in the Australian societies, we see\nthem beginning to organize themselves for this other purpose. Moreover,\nthere was no need of any fundamental transformation for this. How true\nit is that the same social institution can successively fulfil different\nfunctions without changing its nature!\n\n\nVI\n\nThe idea of the soul was for a long time, and still is in part, the\npopular form of the idea of personality.[865] So the genesis of the\nformer of these ideas should aid us in understanding how the second one\nwas formed.\n\nFrom what has already been said, it is clear that the notion of person\nis the product of two sorts of factors. One of these is essentially\nimpersonal: it is the spiritual principle serving as the soul of the\ngroup. In fact, it is this which constitutes the very substance of\nindividual souls. Now this is not the possession of any one in\nparticular: it is a part of the collective patrimony; in it and through\nit, all consciousnesses communicate. But on the other hand, in order to\nhave separate personalities, it is necessary that another factor\nintervene to break up and differentiate this principle: in other words,\nan individualizing factor is necessary. It is the body that fulfils this\nfunction. As bodies are distinct from each other, and as they occupy\ndifferent points of space and time, each of them forms a special centre\nabout which the collective representations reflect and colour themselves\ndifferently. The result is that even if all the consciousnesses in these\nbodies are directed towards the same world, to wit, the world of the\nideas and sentiments which brings about the moral unity of the group,\nthey do not all see it from the same angle; each one expresses it in its\nown fashion.\n\nOf these two equally indispensable factors, the former is certainly not\nthe less important, for this is the one which furnishes the original\nmatter for the idea of the soul. Perhaps some will be surprised to see\nso considerable a r\u00f4le attributed to the impersonal element in the\ngenesis of the idea of personality. But the philosophical analysis of\nthe idea of person, which has gone far ahead of the sociological\nanalysis, has reached analogous results on this point. Among all the\nphilosophers, Leibniz is one of those who have felt most vividly what a\npersonality is; for before all, the nomad is a personal and autonomous\nbeing. Yet, for Leibniz, the contents of all the monads is identical. In\nfact, all are consciousnesses which express one and the same object, the\nworld; and as the world itself is only a system of representations, each\nparticular consciousness is really only the reflection of the universal\nconsciousness. However, each one expresses it from its own point of\nview, and in its own manner. We know how this difference of perspectives\ncomes from the fact that the monads are situated differently in\nrelation to each other and to the whole system which they constitute.\n\nKant expresses the same sentiment, though in a different form. For him,\nthe corner-stone of the personality is the will. Now the will is the\nfaculty of acting in conformity with reason, and the reason is that\nwhich is most impersonal within us. For reason is not my reason; it is\nhuman reason in general. It is the power which the mind has of rising\nabove the particular, the contingent and the individual, to think in\nuniversal forms. So from this point of view, we may say that what makes\na man a personality is that by which he is confounded with other men,\nthat which makes him a man, not a certain man. The senses, the body and,\nin a word, all that individualizes, is, on the contrary, considered as\nthe antagonist of the personality by Kant.\n\nThis is because individuation is not the essential characteristic of the\npersonality. A person is not merely a single subject distinguished from\nall the others. It is especially a being to which is attributed a\nrelative autonomy in relation to the environment with which it is most\nimmediately in contact. It is represented as capable of moving itself,\nto a certain degree: this is what Leibniz expressed in an exaggerated\nway when he said that the monad was completely closed to the outside.\nNow our analysis permits us to see how this conception was formed and to\nwhat it corresponds.\n\nIn fact, the soul, a symbolic representation of the personality, has the\nsame characteristic. Although closely bound to the body, it is believed\nto be profoundly distinct from it and to enjoy, in relation to it, a\nlarge degree of independence. During life, it may leave it temporarily,\nand it definitely withdraws at death. Far from being dependent upon the\nbody, it dominates it from the higher dignity which is in it. It may\nwell take from the body the outward form in which it individualizes\nitself, but it owes nothing essential to it. Nor is the autonomy which\nall peoples have attributed to the soul a pure illusion; we know now\nwhat its objective foundation is. It is quite true that the elements\nwhich serve to form the idea of the soul and those which enter into the\nrepresentation of the body come from two different sources that are\nindependent of one another. One sort are made up of the images and\nimpressions coming from all parts of the organism; the others consist in\nthe ideas and sentiments which come from and express society. So the\nformer are not derived from the latter. There really is a part of\nourselves which is not placed in immediate dependence upon the organic\nfactor: this is all that which represents society in us. The general\nideas which religion or science fix in our minds, the mental operations\nwhich these ideas suppose, the beliefs and sentiments which are at the\nbasis of our moral life, and all these superior forms of psychical\nactivity which society awakens in us, these do not follow in the trail\nof our bodily states, as our sensations and our general bodily\nconsciousness do. As we have already shown, this is because the world of\nrepresentations in which social life passes is superimposed upon its\nmaterial substratum, far from arising from it; the determinism which\nreigns there is much more supple than the one whose roots are in the\nconstitution of our tissues and it leaves with the actor a justified\nimpression of the greatest liberty. The medium in which we thus move is\nless opaque and less resistant: we feel ourselves to be, and we are,\nmore at our ease there. In a word, the only way we have of freeing\nourselves from physical forces is to oppose them with collective forces.\n\nBut whatever we receive from society, we hold in common with our\ncompanions. So it is not at all true that we are more personal as we are\nmore individualized. The two terms are in no way synonymous: in one\nsense, they oppose more than they imply one another. Passion\nindividualizes, yet it also enslaves. Our sensations are essentially\nindividual; yet we are more personal the more we are freed from our\nsenses and able to think and act with concepts. So those who insist upon\nall the social elements of the individual do not mean by that to deny or\ndebase the personality. They merely refuse to confuse it with the fact\nof individuation.[866]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE IDEA OF SPIRITS AND GODS\n\n\nWhen we come to the idea of the soul, we have left the circle of purely\nimpersonal forces. But above the soul the Australian religions already\nrecognize mythical personalities of a superior order: spirits,\ncivilizing heroes and even gods who are properly so-called. While it\nwill be unnecessary to enter into the detail of the mythologies, we must\nat least seek the form in which these three categories of spiritual\nbeings are presented in Australia, and the way in which they are\nconnected with the whole religious system.\n\n\nI\n\nA soul is not a spirit. In fact, it is shut up in a determined organism;\nthough it may leave it at certain moments, it is ordinarily a prisoner\nthere. It definitely escapes only at death, and we have already seen the\ndifficulties under which the separation is accomplished. A spirit, on\nthe contrary, though often tied by the closest bonds to some particular\nobject, such as a spring, a rock, a tree, a star, etc., and though\nresiding there by preference, may go away at will and lead an\nindependent existence in free space. So it has a more extended circle of\naction. It can act upon the individuals who approach it or whom it\napproaches. The soul, on the contrary, has almost no influence except\nover the body it animates; it is very exceptional that it succeeds in\ninfluencing outside objects during the course of its terrestrial life.\n\nBut if the soul does not have the distinctive characteristics of the\nspirit, it acquires them, at least in part, at death. In fact, when it\nhas been disincarnated, so long as it does not descend into a body\nagain, it has the same liberty of movement as a spirit. Of course, after\nthe rites of mourning have been accomplished, it is thought to go to the\nland of souls, but before this it remains about the tomb for a rather\nlong time. Also, even after it has definitely departed, it is believed\nto prowl about in the brush near the camp.[867] It is generally\nrepresented as a rather beneficent being, especially for the surviving\nmembers of its family; we have seen that the soul of the father comes to\naid the growth of his children or his grandchildren. But it also happens\nsometimes that it shows signs of a veritable cruelty; everything depends\nupon its humour and the manner in which it is treated by the\nliving.[868] So it is recommended, especially to women and children, not\nto venture outside of the camp during the night so as not to expose\noneself to dangerous encounters.[869]\n\nHowever, a ghost is not a real spirit. In the first place, it generally\nhas only a limited power of action; also, it does not have a definite\nprovince. It is a vagabond, upon whom no determined task is incumbent,\nfor the effect of death has been to put it outside of all regular forms;\nas regards the living, it is a sort of a exile. A spirit, on the other\nhand, always has a power of a certain sort and it is by this that it is\ndefined; it is set over a certain order of cosmic or social phenomena;\nit has a more or less precise function to fulfil in the system of the\nuniverse.\n\nBut there are some souls which satisfy this double condition and which\nare consequently spirits, in the proper sense of the word. These are the\nsouls of the mythical personages whom popular imagination has placed at\nthe beginning of time, the Altjirangamitjina or the men of the\nAlcheringa among the Arunta; the Mura-mura among the tribes of Lake\nEyre; the Muk-Kurnai among the Kurnai, etc. In one sense, they are still\nsouls, for they are believed to have formerly animated bodies from which\nthey separated themselves at a certain moment. But even when they led a\nterrestrial life, they already had, as we have seen, exceptional powers;\nthey had a mana superior to that of ordinary men, and they have kept it.\nAlso, they are charged with definite functions.\n\nIn the first place, whether we accept the version of Spencer and Gillen\nor that of Strehlow, it is to them that the care of assuring the\nperiodical recruiting of the clan falls. They have charge of the\nphenomena of conception.\n\nEven when the conception has been accomplished, the task of the ancestor\nis not yet completed. It is his duty to guard over the new-born child.\nLater, when the child has become a man, he accompanies him in the hunt,\nbrings game to him, warns him by dreams of the dangers he may run,\nprotects him against his enemies, etc. On this point, Strehlow is\nentirely in accord with Spencer and Gillen.[870] It is true that someone\nmay ask how it is possible, according to the version of these latter,\nfor the ancestor to fulfil this function; for, since he reincarnates\nhimself at the moment of conception, it seems as though he should be\nconfounded with the soul of the child and should therefore be unable to\nprotect it from without. But the fact is that he does not reincarnate\nhimself entirely; he merely duplicates himself. One part of him enters\nthe body of the woman and fertilizes her; another part continues to\nexist outside and, under the special name of Arumburinga, fulfils the\noffice of guardian genius.[871]\n\nThus we see how great a kinship there is between this ancestral spirit\nand the _genius_ of the Latins or the [Greek: daim\u00f4n] of the\nGreeks.[872] The identification of function is complete. In fact, at\nfirst the genius is the one who begets, _qui gignit_; he expresses and\npersonifies the powers of generation.[873] But at the same time, he is\nthe protector and director of the particular individual to whose person\nhe is attached.[874] He is finally confused with the personality itself\nof this individual; he represents the totality of the proclivities and\ntendencies which characterize him and give him a distinctive appearance\namong other men.[875] Hence come the well-known expressions _indulgere\ngenio_, _defraudere genium_ with the sense of _to follow one's natural\ntemperament_. At bottom, the _genius_ is another form or double of the\nsoul of the individual. This is proved by the partial synonomy of\n_genius_ and _manes_.[876] The manes is the genius after death; but it\nis also all that survives of the dead man, that is to say, his soul. In\nthe same way, the soul of the Arunta and the ancestral spirit which\nserves as his genius are only two different aspects of one and the same\nbeing.\n\nBut it is not only in relation to persons that the ancestor has a\ndefinite situation; he also has one in relation to things. Though he is\nbelieved to have his real residence under the ground, they think that he\nis always haunting the place where his nanja-tree or rock is, or the\nwater-hole which was spontaneously formed at the exact spot where he\ndisappeared into the ground, having terminated his first existence. As\nthis tree or rock is believed to represent the body of the hero, they\nimagine that the soul itself is constantly coming back there, and lives\nthere more or less permanently; it is by the presence of this soul that\nthey explain the religious respect inspired by these localities. No one\ncan break the branch of a nanja-tree without a risk of falling\nsick.[877] \"Formerly the act of breaking it down or injuring it was\npunished with death. An animal or bird taking refuge there could not be\nkilled. Even the surrounding bushes had to be respected: the grass could\nnot be burned, the rocks also had to be treated with respect. It was\nforbidden to remove them or break them.\"[878] As this sacred character\nis attributed to the ancestor, he appears as the spirit of this tree or\nrock, of this water-hole or spring.[879] If the spring is thought of as\nhaving some connection with rain,[880] he will become a spirit of rain.\nThus, the same souls which serve as protecting geniuses for men also\nfulfil cosmic functions at the same time. It is undoubtedly in this\nsense that we must understand the text of Roth where he says that in\nnorthern Queensland, the spirits of nature are the souls of the dead who\nhave chosen to live in the forests or caves.[881]\n\nSo we have here some spiritual beings that are different from the\nwandering souls with no definite powers. Strehlow calls them gods;[882]\nbut this expression is inexact, at least in the great majority of cases.\nIf it were true, then in a society like the Arunta where each one has\nhis protecting ancestor, there would be as many or more gods than there\nare individuals. It would merely introduce confusion into our\nterminology to give the name of god to a sacred being with only one\nworshipper. It may be, of course, that the figure of the ancestor grows\nto a point where it resembles a real divinity. Among the Warramunga, as\nwe have already pointed out,[883] the clan as a whole is thought to be\ndescended from one sole and unique ancestor. It is easily seen how this\ncollective ancestor might, under certain circumstances, become the\nobject of a collective devotion. To choose a notable example, this is\nwhat has happened to the snake Wollunqua.[884] This mythical beast, from\nwhom the clan of the same name is held to be descended, continues to\nlive, they believe, in water-holes which are therefore surrounded with\na religious respect. Thus it becomes the object of a cult which the clan\ncelebrates collectively: through determined rites, they attempt to\nplease him and to win his favours, and they address to him all sorts of\nprayers, etc. So we may say that he is like a god of the clan. But this\nis a very exceptional case, or even, according to Spencer and Gillen, a\nunique one. Normally, the word \"spirits\" is the only one suitable for\ndesignating these ancestral personages.\n\nAs to the manner in which this conception has been formed, we may say\nthat it is evident from what has preceded.\n\nAs we have already shown, the existence of individual souls, when once\nadmitted, cannot be understood unless one imagines an original supply of\nfundamental souls at the origin of things, from which all the others\nwere derived. Now these architype souls had to be conceived as\ncontaining within them the source of all religious efficacy; for, since\nthe imagination does not go beyond them, it is from them and only from\nthem that all sacred things are believed to come, both the instruments\nof the cult, the members of the clan and the animals of the totemic\nspecies. They incarnate all the sacredness diffused in the whole tribe\nand the whole world, and so they are attributed powers noticeably\nsuperior to those enjoyed by the simple souls of men. Moreover, time by\nitself increases and reinforces the sacred character of things. A very\nancient churinga inspires much more respect than a new one, and is\nsupposed to have more virtues.[885] The sentiments of veneration of\nwhich it has been the object during the series of successive generations\nwho have handled it are, as it were, accumulated in it. For the same\nreason, the personages who for centuries have been the subject of myths\nrespectfully passed on from mouth to mouth, and periodically put into\naction by the rites, could not fail to take a very especial place in the\npopular imagination.\n\nBut how does it happen that, instead of remaining outside of the\norganized society, they have become regular members of it?\n\nThis is because each individual is the double of an ancestor. Now when\ntwo beings are related as closely as this, they are naturally conceived\nas incorporated together; since they participate in the same nature, it\nseems as though that which affects one ought to affect the other as\nwell. Thus the group of mythical ancestors became attached to the\nsociety of the living; the same interests and the same passions were\nattributed to each; they were regarded as associates. However, as the\nformer had a higher dignity than the latter, this association takes, in\nthe public mind, the form of an agreement between superiors and\ninferiors, between patrons and clients, benefactors and recipients. Thus\ncomes this curious idea of a protecting genius who is attached to each\nindividual.\n\nThe question of how this ancestor came to have relations not only with\nmen, but also with things, may appear more embarrassing; for, at the\nfirst glance, we do not see what connection there can be between a\npersonage of this sort and a rock or tree. But a fact which we owe to\nStrehlow furnishes us with a solution of this problem, which is at least\nprobable.\n\nThese trees and rocks are not situated at any point in the tribal\nterritory, but, for the most part, they are grouped around the\nsanctuaries, called ertnatulunga by Spencer and Gillen and arknanaua by\nStrehlow, where the churinga of the clan is kept.[886] We know the\nrespect with which these localities are enhaloed from the mere fact that\nthe most precious instruments of the cult are there. Each of these\nspreads sanctity all about it. It is for this reason that the\nneighbouring trees and rocks appear sacred, that it is forbidden to\ndestroy or harm them, and that all violence used against them is a\nsacrilege. This sacred character is really due to a simple phenomenon of\npsychic contagiousness; but in order to explain it, the native must\nadmit that these different objects have relations with the different\nbeings in whom he sees the source of all religious power, that is to\nsay, with the ancestors of the Alcheringa. Hence comes the system of\nmyths of which we have spoken. They imagined that each ertnatulunga\nmarked the spot where a group of ancestors entered into the ground. The\nmounds or trees which covered the ground were believed to represent\ntheir bodies. But as the soul retains, in a general way, a sort of\naffinity for the body in which it dwelt, they were naturally led to\nbelieve that these ancestral souls continued to frequent these places\nwhere their material envelope remained. So they were located in the\nrocks, the trees or the water-holes. Thus each of them, though remaining\nattached to some determined individual, became transformed into a sort\nof _genius loci_ and fulfilled its functions.[887]\n\nThe conceptions thus elucidated enable us to understand a form of\ntotemism which we have left unexplained up to the present: this is\nindividual totemism.\n\nAn individual totem is defined, in its essence, by the two following\ncharacteristics: (1) it is a being in an animal or vegetable form whose\nfunction is to protect an individual; (2) the fate of this individual\nand that of his patron are closely united: all that touches the latter\nis sympathetically communicated to the former. Now the ancestral spirits\nof which we have just been speaking answer to this same definition. They\nalso belong, at least in part, to the animal or vegetable kingdoms.\nThey, too, are protecting geniuses. Finally, a sympathetic bond unites\neach individual to his protecting ancestor. In fact, the nanja-tree,\nrepresenting the mystical body of this ancestor, cannot be destroyed\nwithout the man's feeling himself menaced. It is true that this belief\nis losing its force to-day, but Spencer and Gillen have observed it, and\nin any case, they are of the opinion that formerly it was quite\ngeneral.[888]\n\nThe identity of these two conceptions is found even in their details.\n\nThe ancestral souls reside in trees or rocks which are considered\nsacred. Likewise, among the Euahlayi, the spirit of the animal serving\nas individual totem is believed to inhabit a tree or stone.[889] This\ntree or stone is sacred; no one may touch it except the proprietor of\nthe totem; when it is a stone or rock, this interdiction is still\nabsolute.[890] The result is that they are veritable places of refuge.\n\nFinally, we have seen that the individual soul is only another aspect of\nthe ancestral spirit, according to Strehlow, this serves after a\nfashion, as a second self.[891] Likewise, following an expression of\nMrs. Parker, the individual totem of the Euahlayi, called Yunbeai, is\nthe _alter ego_ of the individual: \"The soul of a man is in his Yunbeai\nand the soul of his Yunbeai is in him.\"[892] So at bottom, it is one\nsoul in two bodies. The kinship of these two notions is so close that\nthey are sometimes expressed by one and the same word. This is the case\nin Melanesia and in Polynesia: _atai_ in the island Mota, _tamaniu_ in\nthe island Aurora, and _talegia_ in Motlaw all designate both the soul\nof the individual and his personal totem.[893] It is the same with\n_aitu_ in Samoa.[894] This is because the individual totem is merely\nthe outward and visible form of the ego or the personality, of which the\nsoul is the inward and invisible form.[895]\n\nThus the individual totem has all the essential characteristics of the\nprotecting ancestor and fills the same r\u00f4le: this is because it has the\nsame origin and proceeds from the same idea.\n\nEach of them, in fact, consists in a duplication of the soul. The totem,\nas the ancestor, is the soul of the individual, but externalized and\ninvested with powers superior to those it is believed to possess while\nwithin the organism. Now this duplication is the result of a\npsychological necessity; for it only expresses the nature of the soul\nwhich, as we have seen, is double. In one sense, it is ours: it\nexpresses our personality. But at the same time, it is outside of us,\nfor it is only the reaching into us of a religious force which is\noutside of us. We cannot confound ourselves with it completely, for we\nattribute to it an excellence and a dignity by which it rises far above\nus and our empirical individuality. So there is a whole part of\nourselves which we tend to project into the outside. This way of\nthinking of ourselves is so well established in our nature that we\ncannot escape it, even when we attempt to regard ourselves without\nhaving recourse to any religious symbols. Our moral consciousness is\nlike a nucleus about which the idea of the soul forms itself; yet when\nit speaks to us, it gives the effect of an outside power, superior to\nus, which gives us our law and judges us, but which also aids and\nsustains us. When we have it on our side, we feel ourselves to be\nstronger against the trials of life, and better assured of triumphing\nover them, just as the Australian who, when trusting in his ancestor or\nhis personal totem, feels himself more valiant against his enemies.[896]\nSo there is something objective at the basis of these conceptions,\nwhether we have in mind the Roman _genius_, the individual totem, or the\nAlcheringa ancestor; and this is why they have survived, in various\nforms, up to the present day. Everything goes just as if we really had\ntwo souls; one which is within us, or rather, which is us; the other\nwhich is above us, and whose function it is to control and assist the\nfirst one. Frazer thought that the individual totem was an external\nsoul; but he believed that this exteriority was the result of an\nartifice and a magic ruse. In reality, it is implied in the very\nconstitution of the idea of the soul.[897]\n\n\nII\n\nThe spirits of which we have just been speaking are essentially\nbenefactors. Of course they punish a man if he does not treat them in a\nfitting manner;[898] but it is not their function to work evil.\n\nHowever, a spirit is in itself just as capable of doing evil as good.\nThis is why we find a class of evil geniuses forming itself naturally,\nin opposition to these auxiliary and protecting spirits, which enables\nmen to explain the permanent evils that they have to suffer, their\nnightmares[899] and illnesses,[900] whirlwinds and tempests,[901] etc.\nOf course this is not saying that all these human miseries have appeared\nas things too abnormal to be explained in any way except by supernatural\nforces; but it is saying that these forces are thought of under a\nreligious form. As it is a religious principle which is considered the\nsource of life, so, all the events which disturb or destroy life ought\nlogically to be traced to a principle of the same sort.\n\nThese harmful spirits seem to have been conceived on the same model as\nthe good spirits of which we have just been speaking. They are\nrepresented in an animal form, or one that is half-animal,\nhalf-man;[902] but men are naturally inclined to give them enormous\ndimensions and a repulsive aspect.[903] Like the souls of the ancestors,\nthey are believed to inhabit trees, rocks, water-holes and subterranean\ncaverns.[904] Taking the Arunta as a particular example, Spencer and\nGillen say expressly that these evil geniuses, known under the name of\nOruncha, are beings of the Alcheringa.[905] Many are represented as the\nsouls of persons who had led a terrestrial life.[906] Among the\npersonages of the fabulous epoch, there were, in fact, many different\ntemperaments: some had cruel and evil instincts which they\nretained;[907] others were naturally of a bad constitution; they were\nthin and emaciated; so after they had entered into the ground, the nanja\nrocks to which they gave birth were considered the homes of dangerous\ninfluences.[908]\n\nYet they are distinguished by special characteristics from their\nconfr\u00e8res, the heroes of the Alcheringa. They do not reincarnate\nthemselves; among living men, there is no one who represents them; they\nare without human posterity.[909] When, judging from certain signs, they\nbelieve that a child is the result of their work, it is put to death as\nsoon as born.[910] Also, these belong to no determined totemic group;\nthey are outside the social organization.[911] By all these traits, they\nare recognized as magic powers rather than religious ones. And in fact,\nit is especially with the magician that they have relations; very\nfrequently it is from them that he gets his powers.[912] So we have now\narrived at the point where the world of religion stops and that of magic\ncommences; and as this latter is outside the field of our research, we\nneed not push our researches further.[913]\n\n\nIII\n\nThe appearance of the notion of spirits marks an important step in\nadvance in the individualization of religious forces.\n\nHowever, the spiritual beings of whom we have been speaking up to the\npresent are as yet only secondary personages. They are either\nevil-working geniuses who belong to magic rather than religion, or else,\nbeing attached to determined individuals or places, they cannot make\ntheir influence felt except within a circle of a very limited radius. So\nthey can only be the objects of private and local rites. But after the\nidea has once been established, it naturally spreads to the higher\nspheres of the religious life, and thus mythical personalities of a\nsuperior order are born.\n\nThough the ceremonies of the different clans differ from one another,\nthey all belong to the same religion, none the less; also, a certain\nnumber of essential similarities exist between them. Since all the clans\nare only parts of one and the same tribe, the unity of the tribe cannot\nfail to make itself felt through this diversity of particular cults. In\nfact, there is no totemic group that does not have churinga and\nbull-roarers, and these are used everywhere in the same way. The\norganization of the tribe into phratries, matrimonial classes and clans,\nand the exogamic interdictions attached to them, are veritable tribal\ninstitutions. The initiation celebrations all include certain\nfundamental practices, the extraction of a tooth, circumcision,\nsubincision, etc., which do not vary with the totems within a single\ntribe. The uniformity on this point is the more easily established as\nthe initiation always takes place in the presence of the tribe, or at\nleast, before an assembly to which the different clans have been\nsummoned. The reason for this is that the object of the initiation is to\nintroduce the neophyte into the religious life, not merely of the clan\ninto which he was born, but of the tribe as a whole; so it is necessary\nthat the various aspects of the tribal religion be represented before\nhim and take place, in a way, under his very eyes. It is on this\noccasion that the moral and religious unity of the tribe is affirmed the\nbest.\n\nThus, in each society there are a certain number of rites which are\ndistinguished from all the others by their homogeneity and their\ngenerality. So noticeably a harmony seemed to be explicable only by a\nunity of origin. So they imagined that each group of similar rites had\nbeen founded by one and the same ancestor, who came to reveal them to\nthe tribe as a whole. Thus, among the Arunta, it was an ancestor of the\nWild Cat clan, named Putiaputia,[914] who is thought to have taught men\nthe way of making churinga and using it ritually; among the Warramunga,\nit was Murtu-murtu;[915] among the Urabunna, Witurna;[916] it was Atnatu\namong the Kaitish[917] and Tendun among the Kurnai.[918] Likewise, the\npractice of circumcision is attributed by the eastern Dieri and many\nother tribes[919] to two special Muramura, and by the Arunta to a hero\nof the Alcheringa, of the Lizard totem, named Mangarkunjerkunja.[920] To\nthis same personage are ascribed the foundation of the matrimonial\ninstitutions and the social organization they imply, the discovery of\nfire, the invention of the spear, the buckler, the boomerang, etc. It\nalso happens very frequently that the inventor of the bull-roarer is\nalso considered the founder of the rites of initiation.[921]\n\nThese special ancestors cannot be put in the same rank as the others. On\nthe one hand, the sentiments of veneration which they inspire are not\nlimited to one clan, but are common to the whole tribe. On the other\nhand, it is to them that men ascribe all that is most esteemed in the\ntribal civilization. For this double reason, they became the object of a\nspecial consideration. For example, they say of Atnatu that he was born\nin heaven at an epoch even prior to the times of the Alcheringa, that he\nmade himself and that he gave himself the name he bears. The stars are\nhis wives and daughters. Beyond the heaven where he lives, there is\nanother one with another sun. His name is sacred, and should never be\npronounced before women or non-initiated persons.[922]\n\nYet, howsoever great the prestige enjoyed by these personages may be,\nthere was no occasion for founding special rites in their honour; for\nthey themselves are only rites personified. They have no other reason\nfor existence than to explain existing practices; they are only another\naspect of these. The churinga and the ancestor who invented it are only\none; sometimes, both have the same name.[923] When someone makes the\nbull-roarer resound, they say that it is the voice of the ancestor\nmaking himself heard.[924] But, for the very reason that each of these\nheroes is confounded with the cult he is believed to have founded, they\nbelieve that he is attentive to the way in which it is celebrated. He is\nnot satisfied unless the worshippers fulfil their duties exactly; he\npunishes those who are negligent.[925] So he is thought of as the\nguardian of the rite, as well as its founder, and for this reason, he\nbecomes invested with a veritable moral r\u00f4le.[926]\n\n\nIV\n\nHowever, this mythological formation is not the highest which is to be\nfound among the Australians. There are at least a certain number of\ntribes who have arrived at a conception of a god who, if not unique, is\nat least supreme, and to whom is attributed a pre-eminent position among\nall the other religious entities.\n\nThe existence of this belief was pointed out long ago by different\nobservers;[927] but it is Howitt who has contributed the most to\nestablishing its relative generality. In fact, he has verified it over a\nvery extended geographical area embracing the State of Victoria and New\nSouth Wales and even extending up to Queensland.[928] In all this entire\nregion, a considerable number of tribes believe in the existence of a\nveritable tribal divinity, who has different names, according to the\ndistrict. The ones most frequently employed are Bunjil or Punjil,[929]\nDaramulun[930] and Baiame.[931] But we also find Nuralie or\nNurelle,[932] Kohin[933] and Mangan-ngaua.[934] The same conception is\nfound again farther west, among the Narrinyeri, where the great god is\ncalled Nurunderi or Ngurrunderi.[935] Among the Dieri, it is probable\nthat there is one of the Mura-mura, or ordinary ancestors, who enjoys a\nsort of supremacy over the others.[936] Finally, in opposition to the\naffirmations of Spencer and Gillen, who declare that they have observed\nno belief in a real divinity among the Arunta,[937] Strehlow assures us\nthat this people, as well as the Loritja, recognize, under the name\nAltjira, a veritable \"good god.\"[938]\n\nThe essential characteristics of this personage are the same everywhere.\nIt is an immortal, and even an eternal being, for it was not derived\nfrom any other. After having lived on earth for a certain length of\ntime, he ascended to heaven, or else was taken up there,[939] and\ncontinues to live there, surrounded by his family, for generally he is\nsaid to have one or several wives, children and brothers,[940] who\nsometimes assist him in his functions. Under the pretext of a visit he\nis said to have made to them, he and his family are frequently\nidentified with certain stars.[941] Moreover, they attribute to him a\npower over stars. It is he who regulates the journey of the sun and\nmoon;[942] he gives them orders.[943] It is he who makes the lightning\nleap from the clouds and who throws the thunder-bolts.[944] Since he is\nthe thunder, he is also connected with the rain:[945] it is to him that\nmen address themselves when there is a scarcity of water, or when too\nmuch falls.[946]\n\nThey speak of him as a sort of creator: he is called the father of men\nand they say that he made them. According to a legend current around\nMelbourne, Bunjil made the first man in the following manner. He made a\nlittle statue out of white clay; then, after he had danced all around it\nseveral times and had breathed into its nostrils, the statue became\nanimated and commenced to walk about.[947] According to another myth, he\nlighted the sun; thus the earth became heated and men came out of\nit.[948] At the same time that he made men,[949] this divine personage\nmade the animals and trees;[950] it is to him that men owe all the arts\nof life, arms, language and tribal rites.[951] He is the benefactor of\nhumanity. Even yet, he plays the r\u00f4le of a sort of providence for them.\nIt is he who supplies his worshippers with all that is necessary for\ntheir existence.[952] He is in communication with them, either directly\nor through intermediaries.[953] But being at the same time guardian of\nthe morals of the tribe, he treats them severely when these are\nviolated.[954] If we are to believe certain observers, he will even\nfulfil the office of judge, after this life; he will separate the good\nfrom the bad, and will not reward the ones like the others.[955] In any\ncase, they are often represented as ruling the land of the dead,[956]\nand as gathering the souls together when they arrive in the\nbeyond.[957]\n\nAs the initiation is the principal form of the tribal cult, it is to the\nrites of initiation that he is attached especially; he is their centre.\nHe is very frequently represented by an image cut on a piece of bark or\nsoaked into the ground. They dance around it; they sing in its honour;\nthey even address real prayers to it.[958] They explain to the young men\nwho the personage is whom this image represents; they tell them his\nsecret name, which the women and the uninitiated cannot know; they\nrelate to them his history and the part attributed to him in the life of\nthe tribe. At other times they raise their hands towards the heaven\nwhere he is thought to dwell, or else they point their arms or the\nritual instruments they have in hand in this direction;[959] this is a\nway of entering into communication with him. They feel his presence\neverywhere. He watches over the neophyte when he has withdrawn into the\nforest.[960] He is attentive to the manner in which the ceremonies are\ncelebrated. The initiation is his cult. So he gives special attention to\nseeing that these are carried out exactly: if there are any faults or\nnegligences, he punishes them in a terrible manner.[961]\n\nMoreover, the authority of each of these supreme gods is not limited to\na single tribe; it is recognized equally by a number of neighbouring\ntribes. Bunjil is adored in nearly all of Victoria, Baiame in a\nconsiderable portion of New South Wales, etc.; this is why there are so\nfew gods for a relatively extended geographical area. So the cults of\nwhich they are the object have an international character. It even\nhappens sometimes that mythologies intermingle, combine and make mutual\nborrowings. Thus the majority of the tribes who believe in Baiame also\nadmit the existence of Daramulun; however, they accord him a slighter\ndignity. They make him a son or brother of Baiame, and subordinate to\nthis latter.[962] Thus the faith in Daramulun has spread in diverse\nforms, into all of New South Wales. So it is far from true that\nreligious internationalism is a peculiarity of the most recent and\nadvanced religions. From the dawn of history, religious beliefs have\nmanifested a tendency to overflow out of one strictly limited political\nsociety; it is as though they had a natural aptitude for crossing\nfrontiers, and for diffusing and internationalizing themselves. Of\ncourse there have been peoples and times when this spontaneous aptitude\nhas been held in check by opposed social necessities; but that does not\nkeep it from being real and, as we see, very primitive.\n\nTo Tylor this conception has appeared to be a part of so elevated a\ntheology that he refuses to see in it anything but the product of a\nEuropean importation: he would have it be a more or less denatured\nChristian idea.[963] Andrew Lang, on the contrary, considers them\nautochthonous;[964] but as he also admits that it is contrasted with all\nthe other Australian beliefs and rests on completely different\nprinciples, he concludes that the religions of Australia are made up of\ntwo heterogeneous systems, superimposed one upon the other, and\nconsequently derived from a double origin. On the one hand, there were\nideas relative to totems and spirits, which had been suggested to men by\nthe sight of certain natural phenomena. But at the same time, by a sort\nof intuition as to the nature of which he refuses to make himself\nclear,[965] the human intelligence succeeded at the first onset in\nconceiving a unique god, creator of the world and legislator of the\nmoral order. Lang even estimates that this idea was purer of foreign\nelements at the beginning, and especially in Australia, than in the\ncivilizations which immediately followed. With time, it was covered over\nand obscured little by little by the ever-growing mass of animistic and\ntotemic superstitions. Thus it underwent a sort of progressive\ndegeneration up to the day when, as the effect of a privileged culture,\nit succeeded in coming into its own and restated itself again with more\nforce and clarity than it had in the first place.[966]\n\nBut the facts allow neither the sceptical hypothesis of Tylor nor the\ntheological interpretation of Lang.\n\nIn the first place, it is certain to-day that the ideas relative to the\ngreat tribal god are of indigenous origin. They were observed before\nthe influence of the missionaries had as yet had time to make itself\nfelt.[967] But it does not follow that it is necessary to attribute them\nto a mysterious revelation. Far from being derived from a different\nsource than the regular totemic beliefs, they are, on the contrary, only\nthe logical working-out of these beliefs and their highest form.\n\nWe have already seen how the notion of mythical ancestors is implied in\nthe very principles upon which totemism rests, for each of them is a\ntotemic being. Now, though the great gods are certainly superior to\nthese, still, there are only differences of degree between them; we pass\nfrom the first to the second with no break of continuity. In fact, a\ngreat god is himself an ancestor of especial importance. They frequently\nspeak to us about him as though he were a man, endowed, to be sure, with\nmore than human powers, but one who lived a human life upon the\nearth.[968] He is pictured as a great hunter,[969] a powerful\nmagician,[970] or the founder of the tribe.[971] He was the first\nman.[972] One legend even represents him in the form of a worn-out old\nman who could hardly move about.[973] If a supreme god named Mura-mura\nhas existed among the Dieri, the very word is significant, for it serves\nto designate the class of the ancestors. Likewise, Nuralie, the name of\na great god among the tribes on the Murray River, is sometimes used as a\ncollective expression which is applied to the group of mythical beings\nwhom tradition places at the origin of things.[974] They are personages\nwholly comparable to those of the Alcheringa.[975] In Queensland, we\nhave already met with a god Anjea or Anjir, who made men but who seems,\nnevertheless, to be only the first man.[976]\n\nA fact that has aided Australian thought to pass from the numerous\nancestral geniuses to the idea of the tribal god is that between the two\nextremes a middle term has been inserted, which has served as a\ntransition: these are the civilizing heroes. The fabulous beings whom we\ncall by this name are really simple ancestors to whom mythology has\nattributed an eminent place in the history of the tribe, and whom it\nhas, for this reason, set above the others. We have even seen that they\nordinarily form a part of the totemic organization: Mangarkunjerkunja\nbelongs to the Lizard totem and Putiaputia to the Wild Cat totem. But on\nthe other hand, the functions which they are believed to fulfil, or to\nhave fulfilled, are closely similar to those incumbent upon a great god.\nHe, too, is believed to have introduced the arts of civilization among\nmen, to have been the founder of the principal social institutions and\nthe revealer of the great religious ceremonies which still remain under\nhis control. If he is the father of men, it is because he manufactured\nthem rather than begat them: but Mangarkunjerkunja also made them.\nBefore his time, there were no men, but only unformed masses of flesh,\nin which the different members and even the different individuals were\nnot yet separated from one another. It was he who cut up this original\nmatter and made real human beings out of it.[977] Between this mode of\nfabrication and the one the myth we have spoken of attributes to Bunjil,\nthere are only shades of difference. Moreover, the bonds uniting these\ntwo sorts of figures to each other are well shown by the fact that a\nrelationship of descent is sometimes established between them. Among the\nKurnai, the hero of the bull-roarer, Tundun, is the son of the great god\nMungan-ngaua.[978] Likewise, among the Euahlayi, Daramulun, the son or\nbrother of Baiame, is identical with Gayandi who is the equivalent of\nthe Tundun of the Kurnai.[979] Of course it is not necessary to conclude\nfrom these facts that the great god is nothing more than a civilizing\nhero. There are cases where these two personages are carefully\ndifferentiated. But if they are not confounded, they are at least\nrelatives. So it sometimes happens that we find it hard to distinguish\nthem; there are some who could be classified equally well in one\ncategory or the other. Thus, we have spoken of Atnatu as a civilizing\nhero; but he comes very near to being a great god.\n\nThe notion of a supreme god even depends so closely upon the entire\nsystem of the totemic beliefs that it still bears their mark. Tundun is\na divine hero, as we have just seen, who is very close to the tribal\ndivinity; now among the Kurnai, the same word means totem.[980]\nSimilarly, among the Arunta, Altjira is the name of a great god; it is\nalso the name of the maternal totem.[981] But there is more to be said\nthan this; many great gods have an obviously totemic aspect. Daramulun\nis an eagle-hawk;[982] his mother, an emu.[983] It is also under the\nfeatures of an emu that Baiame is represented.[984] The Altjira of the\nArunta has the legs of an emu.[985] Before being the name of a great\ngod, Nuralie designated, as we just saw, the ancestor-founders of the\ntribe; now some of these were crows, the others hawks.[986] According to\nHowitt,[987] Bunjil is always represented in a human form; however, the\nsame word serves to designate the totem of a phratry, the eagle-hawk. At\nleast one of his sons is among the totems included in the phratry to\nwhich he has given, or from which he has taken his name.[988] His\nbrother is Pallyan, the bat; now this latter serves as sexual totem for\nthe men in many tribes in Victoria.[989]\n\nWe can even go farther and state more definitely the connection which\nthese great gods have with the totemic system. We have just seen that\nBunjil is the totem of a phratry. Daramulun, like Bunjil, is an\neagle-hawk, and we know that this bird is the totem of phratries in a\nlarge number of south-eastern tribes.[990] We have already pointed out\nthat Nuralie seems to have originally been a collective term designating\nindistinctly either eagle-hawks or crows; now in the tribes where this\nmyth has been observed, the crow is the totem of one of the two\nphratries, the eagle-hawk, that of the other.[991] Also, the legendary\nhistory of the great gods resembles that of the totems of the phratries\nvery closely. The myths, and sometimes the rites, commemorate the\nstruggles which each of these divinities fought against a carnivorous\nbird, over which it triumphed only with the greatest difficulty. Bunjil,\nthe first man, after making the second man, Karween, entered into a\nconflict with him, and in the course of a sort of duel, he wounded him\nseverely and changed him into a crow.[992] The two species of Nurtalie\nare represented as two hostile groups which were originally in a\nconstant state of war.[993] Baiame, on his side, had to fight against\nMullian, the cannibal eagle-hawk, who, by the way, is identical with\nDaramulun.[994] Now, as we have seen, there is also a sort of\nconstitutional hostility between the totems of the phratries. This\nparallelism completes the proof that the mythology of the great gods and\nthat of these totems are closely related. This relationship will appear\nstill more evident if we notice that the rival of the god is regularly\neither a crow or an eagle-hawk, and that these are quite generally the\ntotems of the phratries.[995]\n\nSo Baiame, Daramulun, Nuralie and Bunjil seem to be phratry-totems who\nhave been deified; and we may imagine that this apotheosis took place as\nfollows. It is obviously in the assemblies which take place in regard to\nthe initiation that the conception was elaborated, for the great gods do\nnot play a r\u00f4le of any importance except in these rites, and are\nstrangers to the other religious ceremonies. Moreover, as the initiation\nis the principal form of the tribal cult, it is only on this occasion\nthat a tribal mythology could arise. We have already seen how the\nrituals of circumcision and subincision spontaneously tend to personify\nthemselves under the form of civilizing heroes. However, these heroes\nexercised no supremacy; they were on the same footing as the other\nlegendary benefactors of society. But wherever the tribe acquired a\nlivelier sentiment of itself, this sentiment naturally incarnated itself\nin some personage, who became its symbol. In order to account for the\nbonds uniting them to one another, no matter what clan they belonged to,\nmen imagined that they were all descended from the same stock and that\nthey were all descended from a single father, to whom they owe their\nexistence, though he owed his to no one. The god of the initiation was\npredestined to this r\u00f4le, for, according to an expression frequently\ncoming to the lips of the natives, the object of the initiation is to\nmake or manufacture men. So they attributed a creative power to this\ngod, and for all these reasons, he found himself invested with a\nprestige setting him well above the other heroes of the mythology. These\nothers became his auxiliaries, subordinate to him; they were made his\nsons or younger brothers, as was the case with Tundun, Gayandi,\nKarween, Pallyan, etc. But other sacred beings already existed, who\noccupied an equally eminent place in the religious system of the clan:\nthese were the totems of the phratries. Wherever these are maintained,\nthey are believed to keep the totems of the clans dependent upon them.\nThus they had all that was necessary for becoming tribal divinities\nthemselves. So it was only natural that a partial confusion should arise\nbetween these two sorts of mythical beings; it is thus that one of the\ntwo fundamental totems of the tribe gave his traits to the great god.\nBut as it was necessary to explain why only one of them was called to\nthis dignity and the other excluded, they supposed that this latter, in\nthe course of a fight against his rival, was vanquished and that his\nexclusion was the consequence of his defeat. This theory was the more\nreadily admitted because it was in accord with the rest of the\nmythology, where the totems of the phratries are generally considered\nenemies of one another.\n\nA myth observed by Mrs. Parker among the Euahlayi[996] may serve to\nconfirm this explanation, for it merely translates it into figurative\nlanguage. It is related that in this tribe, the totems were only the\nnames given to the different parts of Baiame's body at first. So the\nclans were, in a sense, the fragments of the divine body. Now is this\nnot just another way of saying that the great god is the synthesis of\nall the totems and consequently the personification of the tribal unity?\n\nBut at the same time, it takes an international character. In fact, the\nmembers of the tribe to which the young initiates belong are not the\nonly ones who assist at the ceremonies of initiation; representatives\nfrom the neighbouring tribes are specially summoned to these\ncelebrations, which thus become sorts of international fairs, at once\nreligious and laical.[997] Beliefs elaborated in social environments\nthus constituted could not remain the exclusive patrimony of any special\nnationality. The stranger to whom they are revealed carries them back to\nhis own tribe when he returns home; and as, sooner or later, he is\nforced to invite his former hosts, there is a continual exchange of\nideas from tribe to tribe. It is thus that an international mythology\nwas established, of which the great god was quite naturally the\nessential element, for it had its origin in the rites of initiation\nwhich it is his function to personify. So his name passed from one\nlanguage to another, along with the representations which were attached\nto it. The fact that the names of the phratries are generally the same\nin very different tribes could not fail to facilitate this diffusion.\nThe internationalism of the totems opened the way for that of the great\ngod.\n\n\nV\n\nWe thus reach the highest conception to which totemism has arrived. This\nis the point where it touches and prepares the religions which are to\nfollow, and aids us in understanding them. But at the same time, we are\nable to see that this culminating idea is united without any\ninterruption to the crudest beliefs which we analysed to start with.\n\nIn fact, the great tribal god is only an ancestral spirit who finally\nwon a pre-eminent place. The ancestral spirits are only entities forged\nin the image of the individual souls whose origin they are destined to\nexplain. The souls, in their turn, are only the form taken by the\nimpersonal forces which we found at the basis of totemism, as they\nindividualize themselves in the human body. The unity of the system is\nas great as its complexity.\n\nIn this work of elaboration, the idea of the soul has undoubtedly played\nan important part: it is through it that the idea of personality has\nbeen introduced into the domain of religion. But it is not true that, as\nthe theorists of animism maintain, it contains the germ of the whole\nreligion. First of all, it presupposes the notion of _mana_ or the\ntotemic principle of which it is only a special form. Then, if the\nspirits and gods could not be conceived before the soul, they are,\nnevertheless, more than mere human souls, liberated by death; else\nwhence would come their supernatural powers? The idea of the soul has\nmerely served to direct the mythological imagination in a new way and to\nsuggest to it constructions of a new sort. But the matter for these\nconceptions has been taken, not from the representation of the soul, but\nfrom this reservoir of the anonymous and diffused forces which\nconstitute the original foundation of religions. The creation of\nmythical personalities has only been another way of thinking of these\nessential forces.\n\nAs for the notion of the great god, it is due entirely to the sentiment\nwhose action we have already observed in the genesis of the most\nspecifically totemic beliefs: this is the tribal sentiment. In fact, we\nhave seen that totemism was not the work of isolated clans, but that it\nwas always elaborated in the body of a tribe which was to some degree\nconscious of its unity. It is for this reason that the different cults\npeculiar to each clan mutually touch and complete each other in such a\nway as to form a unified whole.[998] Now it is this same sentiment of a\ntribal unity which is expressed in the conception of a supreme god,\ncommon to the tribe as a whole. So they are quite the same causes which\nare active at the bottom and at the top of this religious system.\n\nHowever, up to the present, we have considered the religious\nrepresentations as if they were self-sufficient and could be explained\nby themselves. But in reality, they are inseparable from the rites, not\nonly because they manifest themselves there, but also because they, in\ntheir turn, feel the influence of these. Of course the cult depends upon\nthe beliefs, but it also reacts upon them. So in order to understand\nthem better, it is important to understand it better. The moment has\ncome for undertaking its study.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III\n\n\nTHE PRINCIPAL RITUAL ATTITUDES\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE NEGATIVE CULT AND ITS FUNCTIONS THE ASCETIC RITES\n\n\nWe do not have the intention of attempting a complete description of the\nprimitive cult in what is to follow. Being preoccupied especially with\nreaching that which is most elementary and most fundamental in the\nreligious life, we shall not attempt to reconstruct in detail the\nfrequently confused multiplicity of all the ritual forms. But out of the\nmidst of this extreme diversity of practices we should like to touch\nupon the most characteristic attitudes which the primitive observes in\nthe celebration of his cult, to classify the most general forms of his\nrites, and to determine their origins and significance, in order that we\nmay control and, if there is occasion, make more definite the results to\nwhich the analysis of the beliefs has led us.[999]\n\nEvery cult presents a double aspect, one negative, the other positive.\nIn reality, of course, the two sorts of rites which we denominate thus\nare closely associated; we shall see that they suppose one another. But\nstill, they are different and, if it is only to understand their\nconnection, it is necessary to distinguish them.\n\n\nI\n\nBy definition, sacred beings are separated beings. That which\ncharacterizes them is that there is a break of continuity between them\nand the profane beings. Normally, the first are outside the others. A\nwhole group of rites has the object of realizing this state of\nseparation which is essential. Since their function is to prevent undue\nmixings and to keep one of these two domains from encroaching upon the\nother, they are only able to impose abstentions or negative acts.\nTherefore, we propose to give the name negative cult to the system\nformed by these special rites. They do not prescribe certain acts to the\nfaithful, but confine themselves to forbidding certain ways of acting;\nso they all take the form of interdictions, or as is commonly said by\nethnographers, of _taboos_. This latter word is the one used in the\nPolynesian languages to designate the institution in virtue of which\ncertain things are withdrawn from common use[1000]; it is also an\nadjective expressing the distinctive characteristic of these kinds of\nthings. We have already had occasion to show how hard it is to translate\na strictly local and dialectical expression like this into a generic\nterm. There is no religion where there are no interdictions and where\nthey do not play a considerable part; so it is regrettable that the\nconsecrated terminology should seem to make so universal an institution\ninto a peculiarity of Polynesia.[1001] The expression _interdicts_ or\n_interdictions_ seems to us to be much more preferable. However, the\nword taboo, like the word totem, is so customary that it would show an\nexcess of purism to prohibit it systematically; also, the inconveniences\nit may have are attenuated when its real meaning and importance have\nonce been definitely stated.\n\nBut there are interdictions of different sorts which it is important to\ndistinguish; for we shall not have to treat all kinds of interdictions\nin this chapter.\n\nFirst of all, beside those coming from religion, there are others which\nare due to magic. The two have this in common, that they declare certain\nthings incompatible, and prescribe the separation of the things whose\nincompatibility is thus proclaimed. But there are also very grave\ndifferences between them. In the first place, the sanctions are not the\nsame in the two cases. Of course the violation of the religious\ninterdicts is frequently believed, as we shall presently see, to bring\nabout material disorders mechanically, from which the guilty man will\nsuffer, and which are regarded as a judgment on his act. But even if\nthese really come about this spontaneous and automatic judgment is not\nthe only one; it is always completed by another one, supposing human\nintervention. A real punishment is added to this, if it does not\nanticipate it, and this one is deliberately inflicted by men; or at\nleast there is a blame and public reprobation. Even when the sacrilege\nhas been punished, as it were, by the sickness or natural death of its\nauthor, it is also defamed; it offends opinion, which reacts against it;\nit puts the man who did it in fault. On the contrary, the magic\ninterdiction is judged only by the material consequences which the\nforbidden act is believed to produce, with a sort of physical\nnecessity. In disobeying, a man runs risks similar to those to which an\ninvalid exposes himself in not following the advice of his physician;\nbut in this case disobedience is not a fault; it creates no indignation.\nThere is no sin in magic. Moreover, this difference in sanction is due\nto a profound difference in the nature of the interdictions. The\nreligious interdiction necessarily implies the notion of sacredness; it\ncomes from the respect inspired by the sacred object, and its purpose is\nto keep this respect from failing. On the other hand, the interdictions\nof magic suppose only a wholly lay notion of property. The things which\nthe magician recommends to be kept separate are those which, by reason\nof their characteristic properties, cannot be brought together and\nconfused without danger. Even if he happens to ask his clients to keep\nat a distance from certain sacred things, it is not through respect for\nthem and fear that they may be profaned, for, as we know, magic lives on\nprofanations;[1002] it is merely for reasons of temporal utility. In a\nword, religious interdictions are categorical imperatives; others are\nuseful maxims, the first form of hygienic and medical interdictions. We\ncannot study two orders of facts as different as these simultaneously,\nor even under the same name, without confusion. We are only concerned\nwith the religious interdictions here.[1003]\n\nBut a new distinction is necessary between these latter.\n\nThere are religious interdictions whose object is to separate two sacred\nthings of different species from each other. For example, it will be\nremembered that among the Wakelbura the scaffold upon which the corpse\nis exposed must be made exclusively of materials belonging to the\nphratry of the dead man; this is as much as to say that all contact\nbetween the corpse, which is sacred, and the things of the other\nphratry, which are also sacred, but differently, is forbidden.\nElsewhere, the arms which one uses to hunt an animal with cannot be made\nout of a kind of wood that is classed in the same social group as the\nanimal itself.[1004] But the most important of these interdictions are\nthe ones which we shall study in the next chapter; they are intended to\nprevent all communication between the purely sacred and the impurely\nsacred, between the sacredly auspicious and the sacredly inauspicious.\nAll these interdictions have one common characteristic; they come, not\nfrom the fact that some things are sacred while others are not, but from\nthe fact that there are inequalities and incompatibilities between\nsacred things. So they do not touch what is essential in the idea of\nsacredness. The observance of these prohibitions can give place only to\nisolated rites which are particular and almost exceptional; but it could\nnot make a real cult, for before all, a cult is made by regular\nrelations between the profane and the sacred as such.\n\nBut there is another system of religious interdictions which is much\nmore extended and important; this is the one which separates, not\ndifferent species of sacred things, but all that is sacred from all that\nis profane. So it is derived immediately from the notion of sacredness\nitself, and it limits itself to expressing and realizing this. Thus it\nfurnishes the material for a veritable cult, and even of a cult which is\nat the basis of all the others; for the attitude which it prescribes is\none from which the worshipper must never depart in all his relations\nwith the sacred. It is what we call the negative cult. We may say that\nits interdicts are the religious interdicts _par excellence_.[1005] It\nis only these that we shall discuss in the following pages.\n\nBut they take multiple forms. Here are the principal ones which we\nobserve in Australia.\n\nBefore all are the interdictions of contact; these are the original\ntaboos, of which the others are scarcely more than particular varieties.\nThey rest upon the principle that the profane should never touch the\nsacred. We have seen already that the uninitiated may not touch the\nchuringa or the bull-roarers under any circumstances. If adults are\nallowed the free use of them, it is because initiation has conferred a\nsacred character upon them. Blood, and especially that which flows\nduring the initiation, has a religious virtue;[1006] it is under the\nsame interdict.[1007] It is the same with the hair.[1008] A dead man is\nsacred because the soul which animated the body stays with the corpse;\nfor this reason it is sometimes forbidden to carry the bones of a dead\nman about unless they are wrapped up in a piece of bark.[1009] Even the\nplace where the death took place should be avoided, for they believe\nthat the soul of the dead man continues to haunt the spot. That is why\nthey break camp and move some distance away;[1010] in certain cases they\ndestroy it along with everything it contains,[1011] and a certain time\nmust elapse before they can come back to the same place.[1012] Thus it\ncomes about that a dying man creates an empty space about him; they\nabandon him after they have installed him as comfortably as\npossible.[1013]\n\nAn exceptionally intimate contact is the one resulting from the\nabsorption of food. Hence comes the interdiction against eating the\nsacred animals or vegetables, and especially those serving as\ntotems.[1014] Such an act appears so very sacrilegious that the\nprohibition covers even adults, or at least, the majority of them; only\nthe old men attain a sufficient religious dignity to escape this\ninterdict sometimes. This prohibition has sometimes been explained by\nthe mythical kinship uniting the man to the animals whose name he bears;\nthey are protected by the sentiment of sympathy which they inspire by\ntheir position as kin.[1015] But the fact that the consumption of the\nforbidden flesh is believed to cause sickness or death automatically\nshows that this interdiction does not have its origin in the simple\nrevolt of the feeling of domestic relationship. Forces of another sort\nare in action which are analogous to those in all religions and which\nare believed to react against sacrileges.\n\nMoreover, if certain foods are forbidden to the profane because they are\nsacred, certain others, on the contrary, are forbidden to persons of a\nsacred character, because they are profane. Thus it frequently happens\nthat certain animals are specially designated as the food of women; for\nthis reason, they believe that they partake of a feminine nature and\nthat they are consequently profane. On the other hand, the young\ninitiate is submitted to a series of rites of particular severity; to\ngive him the virtues which will enable him to enter into the world of\nsacred things, from which he had up till then been excluded, they centre\nan exceptionally powerful group of religious forces upon him. Thus he\nenters into a state of sanctity which keeps all that is profane at a\ndistance. Then he is not allowed to eat the game which is regarded as\nthe special food of women.[1016]\n\nBut contact may be established by other means than the touch. One comes\ninto relations with a thing by merely regarding it: a look is a means of\ncontact. This is why the sight of sacred things is forbidden to the\nprofane in certain cases. A woman should never see the instruments of\nthe cult; the most that is permitted her is to catch a glimpse of them\nfrom afar.[1017] It is the same with the totemic paintings executed on\nthe bodies of the officiants in the exceptionally important\nceremonies.[1018] The exceptional solemnity of the rites of initiation\nprevents the women in certain tribes from seeing the place where they\nwere celebrated[1019] or even the neophyte himself.[1020] The sacred\ncharacter which is imminent in the ceremony as a whole is naturally\nfound in the persons of those who directed it or took some part in\nit; the result of this is that the novice may not raise his eyes\nto them, and this interdiction continues even after the rite is\naccomplished.[1021] A dead man is also removed from view sometimes: his\nface is covered over in such a way that it cannot be seen.[1022]\n\nThe word is another way of entering into relations with persons or\nthings. The breath expired establishes a communication; this is a part\nof us which spreads outwards. Thus it is forbidden to the profane to\naddress the sacred beings or simply to speak in their presence. Just as\nthe neophyte must not regard either the operators or the assistants, so\nit is forbidden to him to converse with them except by signs; and this\ninterdiction keeps the place to which it has been raised, by means of a\nspecial rite.[1023]\n\nIn a general way, there are, among the Arunta, moments in the course of\nthe great ceremonies when silence is obligatory.[1024] As soon as the\nchuringa are exposed, every one keeps still, or if someone talks, he\ndoes so in a low voice or with his lips only.[1025]\n\nBesides the sacred things, there are words and sounds which have the\nsame character; they should not pass the lips of the profane or enter\ntheir ears. There are ritual songs which women must not hear under pain\nof death.[1026] They may hear the noise of the bull-roarers, but only\nfrom a distance. Every proper name is considered an essential element of\nthe person who bears it; being closely associated in the mind to the\nidea of this person, it participates in the sentiments which this latter\ninspires. So if the one is sacred, the other is. Therefore, it may not\nbe pronounced in the course of the profane life. Among the Warramunga\nthere is one totem which is particularly venerated, this is the snake\ncalled Wollunqua; its name is taboo.[1027] It is the same with Baiame,\nDaramulun and Bunjil; the esoteric form of their name must not be\nrevealed to the uninitiate.[1028] During mourning, the name of the dead\nman must not be mentioned, at least by his parents, except when there is\nan absolute necessity, and even in this case it must be whispered.[1029]\nThis interdiction is frequently perpetual for the widow and certain\nrelatives.[1030] Among certain peoples, this even extends beyond the\nfamily; all the individuals whose name is the same as that of the dead\nman must change theirs temporarily.[1031] But there is more than this:\nthe relatives and intimate friends sometimes abstain from certain words\nin the usual language, undoubtedly because they were employed by the\ndead man; these gaps are filled in by means of periphrases or words\ntaken from some foreign dialects.[1032] In addition to their public and\neveryday names all men have another which is kept a secret: the women\nand children do not know it; it is never used in the ordinary life. This\nis because it has a religious character.[1033] There are even ceremonies\nduring which it is necessary to speak a special language which must not\nbe used for profane purposes. It is the beginning of a sacred\nlanguage.[1034]\n\nNot only are the sacred beings separated from the profane, but also\nnothing which either directly or indirectly concerns the profane life\nshould be confused with the religious life. Complete nudity is\nfrequently demanded of the native as a prerequisite to being admitted to\nparticipation in the rites;[1035] he is required to strip himself of all\nhis habitual ornaments, even those to which he is the most attached, and\nfrom which he separates himself the least willingly because of the\nprotecting virtues he attributes to them.[1036] If he is obliged to\ndecorate himself to play his part in the ritual, this decoration has to\nbe made specially for the occasion; it is a ceremonial costume, a gala\ndress.[1037] As these ornaments are sacred, owing to the use made of\nthem, he is forbidden to use them in profane affairs; when the ceremony\nis finished, they are buried or burnt;[1038] the men must even wash\nthemselves in such a way as to carry away with them no trace of the\ndecorations with which they were adorned.[1039]\n\nIn general, all acts characteristic of the ordinary life are forbidden\nwhile those of the religious life are taking place. The act of eating\nis, of itself, profane; for it takes place every day, it satisfies\nessentially utilitarian and material needs and it is a part of our\nordinary existence.[1040] This is why it is prohibited in religious\ntimes. When one totemic group has loaned its churinga to a foreign clan,\nit is an exceptionally solemn moment when they are brought back and put\ninto the ertnatulunga; all those who take part in the ceremony must fast\nas long as it lasts, and it lasts a long time.[1041] The same rule is\nobserved during the rites,[1042] of which we shall speak in the next\nchapter, as well as at certain moments of the initiation.[1043]\n\nFor this same reason, all temporal occupations are suspended while the\ngreat religious solemnities are taking place. According to a remark of\nSpencer and Gillen,[1044] which we have already had occasion to cite,\nthe life of the Australian is divided into two very distinct parts: the\none is devoted to hunting, fishing and warfare; the other is consecrated\nto the cult, and these two forms of activity mutually exclude and repel\none another. It is on this principle that the universal institution of\nreligious days of rest reposes. The distinctive character of the\nfeast-days in all known religions is the cessation of work and the\nsuspension of public and private life, in so far as it does not have a\nreligious objective. This repose is not merely a sort of temporary\nrelaxation which men have given themselves in order to give themselves\nup more freely to the sentiments of joy ordinarily awakened by the\nfeast-days; for they are sad feasts, consecrated to mourning and\nrepentance, and during which this cessation is no less obligatory. This\nis because work is an eminent form of profane activity: it has no other\napparent end than to provide for the temporal necessities of life; it\nputs us in relations with ordinary things only. On feast days, on the\ncontrary, the religious life attains an exceptional degree of intensity.\nSo the contrast between the two forms of existence is especially marked\nat this moment; consequently, they cannot remain near to each other. A\nman cannot approach his god intimately while he still bears on him marks\nof his profane life; inversely, he cannot return to his usual\noccupations when a rite has just sanctified him. So the ritual day of\nrest is only one particular case of the general incompatibility\nseparating the sacred from the profane; it is the result of an\ninterdiction.\n\nIt would be impossible to enumerate here all the different interdictions\nwhich have been observed, even in the Australian religions alone. Like\nthe notion of sacredness upon which it rests, the system of interdicts\nextends into the most diverse relations; it is even used deliberately\nfor utilitarian ends.[1045] But howsoever complex it may be, it finally\nrests upon two fundamental interdictions, which summarize it and\ndominate it.\n\nIn the first place, the religious life and the profane life cannot\ncoexist in the same place. If the former is to develop, a special spot\nmust be placed at its disposition, from which the second is excluded.\nHence comes the founding of temples and sanctuaries: these are the spots\nawarded to sacred beings and things and serve them as residences, for\nthey cannot establish themselves in any place except on the condition of\nentirely appropriating to themselves all within a certain distance. Such\narrangements are so indispensable to all religious life that even the\nmost inferior religions cannot do without them. The ertnatulunga, the\nspot where the churinga are deposited, is a veritable sanctuary. So the\nuninitiated are not allowed to approach it. It is even forbidden to\ncarry on any profane occupation whatsoever there. As we shall presently\nsee, there are other holy places where important ceremonies are\ncelebrated.[1046]\n\nLikewise, the religious life and the profane life cannot coexist in the\nsame unit of time. It is necessary to assign determined days or periods\nto the first, from which all profane occupations are excluded. Thus\nfeast days are born. There is no religion, and, consequently, no society\nwhich has not known and practised this division of time into two\ndistinct parts, alternating with one another according to a law varying\nwith the peoples and the civilizations; as we have already pointed out,\nit was probably the necessity of this alternation which led men to\nintroduce into the continuity and homogeneity of duration, certain\ndistinctions and differentiations which it does not naturally\nhave.[1047] Of course, it is almost impossible that the religious life\nshould ever succeed in concentrating itself hermetically in the places\nand times which are thus attributed to it; it is inevitable that a\nlittle of it should filter out. There are always some sacred things\noutside the sanctuaries; there are some rites that can be celebrated on\nwork-days. But these are sacred things of the second rank and rites of a\nlesser importance. Concentration remains the dominating characteristic\nof this organization. Generally this concentration is complete for all\nthat concerns the public cult, which cannot be celebrated except in\ncommon. The individual, private cult is the only one which comes very\nnear to the temporal life. Thus the contrast between these two\nsuccessive phases of human life attains its maximum of intensity in the\ninferior societies; for it is there that the individual cult is the most\nrudimentary.[1048]\n\n\nII\n\nUp to the present, the negative cult has been presented to us only as a\nsystem of abstentions. So it seems to serve only to inhibit activity,\nand not to stimulate it or to modify it. And yet, as an unexpected\nreaction to this inhibitive effect, it is found to exercise a positive\naction of the highest importance over the religious and moral nature of\nthe individual.\n\nIn fact, owing to the barrier which separates the sacred from the\nprofane, a man cannot enter into intimate relations with sacred things\nexcept after ridding himself of all that is profane in him. He cannot\nlead a religious life of even a slight intensity unless he commences by\nwithdrawing more or less completely from the temporal life. So the\nnegative cult is in one sense a means in view of an end: it is a\ncondition of access to the positive cult. It does not confine itself to\nprotecting sacred beings from vulgar contact; it acts upon the\nworshipper himself and modifies his condition positively. The man who\nhas submitted himself to its prescribed interdictions is not the same\nafterwards as he was before. Before, he was an ordinary being who, for\nthis reason, had to keep at a distance from the religious forces.\nAfterwards, he is on a more equal footing with them; he has approached\nthe sacred by the very act of leaving the profane; he has purified and\nsanctified himself by the very act of detaching himself from the base\nand trivial matters that debased his nature. So the negative rites\nconfer efficient powers just as well as the positive ones; the first,\nlike the second, can serve to elevate the religious tone of the\nindividual. According to a very true remark which has been made, no one\ncan engage in a religious ceremony of any importance without first\nsubmitting himself to a sort of preliminary initiation which introduces\nhim progressively into the sacred world.[1049] Unctions, lustrations,\nbenedictions or any essentially positive operation may be used for this\npurpose; but the same result may be attained by means of fasts and\nvigils or retreat and silence, that is to say, by ritual abstinences,\nwhich are nothing more than certain interdictions put into practice.\n\nWhen there are only particular and isolated negative rites, their\npositive action is generally too slight to be easily perceptible. But\nthere are circumstances when a whole system of interdictions is\nconcentrated on one man; in these cases, their effects accumulate, and\nthus become more manifest. This takes place in Australia at the time of\nthe initiation. The neophyte is submitted to a great variety of\nnegative rites. He must withdraw from the society in which his existence\nhas been passed up till then, and from almost all human society. Not\nonly is it forbidden for him to see women and uninitiated persons,[1050]\nbut he also goes to live in the brush, far from his fellows, under the\ndirection of some old men who serve him as godfathers.[1051] So very\ntrue is it that the forest is considered his natural environment, that\nin a certain number of tribes, the word with which the initiation is\ndesignated signifies _that which is from the forest_.[1052] For this\nsame reason, he is frequently decorated with leaves during the\nceremonies at which he assists.[1053] In this way he passes long\nmonths,[1054] interspersed from time to time with rites in which he must\ntake a part. This time is a period of all sorts of abstinences for him.\nA multitude of foods are forbidden him; he is allowed only that quantity\nof food which is absolutely indispensable for the maintenance of\nlife;[1055] he is even sometimes bound to a rigorous fast,[1056] or must\neat impure foods.[1057] When he eats, he must not touch the food with\nhis hands; his godfathers put it into his mouth for him.[1058] In some\ncases, he must go to beg his food.[1059] Likewise, he sleeps only as\nmuch as is indispensable.[1060] He must abstain from talking, to the\nextent of not uttering a word; it is by signs that he makes known his\nneeds.[1061] He must not wash;[1062] sometimes he must not move. He\nremains stretched out upon the earth, immobile[1063] and without\nclothing of any sort.[1064] Now the result of the numerous interdictions\nis to bring about a radical change of condition in the initiate. Before\nthe initiation, he lived with the women; he was excluded from the cult.\nAfter it, he is admitted to the society of men; he takes part in the\nrites, and has acquired a sacred character. The metamorphosis is so\ncomplete that it is sometimes represented as a second birth. They\nimagine that the profane person, who was the young man up till then, has\ndied, that he has been killed and carried away by the god of the\ninitiation, Bunjil, Baiame or Daramulun, and that quite another\nindividual has taken the place of the one that no longer is.[1065] So\nhere we find the very heart of the positive effects of which negative\nrites are capable. Of course we do not mean to say that these latter\nproduced this great transformation all by themselves; but they certainly\ncontributed to it, and largely.\n\nIn the light of these facts, we are able to understand what asceticism\nis, what place it occupies in the religious life and whence come the\nvirtues which have generally been attributed to it. In fact, there is no\ninterdict, the observance of which does not have an ascetic character to\na certain degree. Abstaining from something which may be useful or from\na form of activity which, since it is usual, should answer to some human\nneed, is, of necessity, imposing constraints and renunciations. So in\norder to have real asceticism, it is sufficient for these practices to\ndevelop in such a way as to become the basis of a veritable scheme of\nlife. Normally, the negative cult serves only as an introduction and\npreparation for the positive cult. But it sometimes happens that it\nfrees itself from this subordination and passes to the first place, and\nthat the system of interdicts swells and exaggerates itself to the point\nof usurping the entire existence. Thus a systematic asceticism is born\nwhich is consequently nothing more than a hypertrophy of the negative\ncult. The special virtues which it is believed to confer are only an\namplified form of those conferred, to a lesser degree, by the practice\nof any interdiction. They have the same origin; for they both rest on\nthe principle that a man sanctifies himself only by efforts made to\nseparate himself from the profane. The pure ascetic is a man who raises\nhimself above men and acquires a special sanctity by fasts and vigils,\nby retreat and silence, or in a word, by privations, rather than by acts\nof positive piety (offerings, sacrifices, prayers, etc.). History shows\nto what a high religious prestige one may attain by this method: the\nBuddhist saint is essentially an ascetic, and he is equal or superior to\nthe gods.\n\nIt follows that asceticism is not a rare, exceptional and nearly\nabnormal fruit of the religious life, as some have supposed it to be; on\nthe contrary, it is one of its essential elements. Every religion\ncontains it, at least in germ, for there are none in which a system of\ninterdicts is not found. Their only difference in this regard which\nthere may be between cults is that this germ is more or less developed\nin different ones. It should also be added that there probably is not a\nsingle one in which this development does not take, at least\ntemporarily, the characteristic traits of real asceticism. This is what\ngenerally takes place at certain critical periods when, for a relatively\nshort time, it is necessary to bring about a grave change of condition\nin a subject. Then, in order to introduce him more rapidly into the\ncircle of sacred things with which he must be put in contact, he is\nseparated violently from the profane world; but this does not come\nwithout many abstinences and an exceptional recrudescence of the system\nof interdicts. Now this is just what happens in Australia at the moment\nof initiation. In order to transform youths into men, it is necessary to\nmake them live the life of a veritable ascetic. Mrs. Parker very justly\ncalls them the monks of Baiame.[1066]\n\nBut abstinences and privations do not come without suffering. We hold to\nthe profane world by all the fibres of our flesh; our senses attach us\nto it; our life depends upon it. It is not merely the natural theatre of\nour activity; it penetrates us from every side; it is a part of\nourselves. So we cannot detach ourselves from it without doing violence\nto our nature and without painfully wounding our instincts. In other\nwords, the negative cult cannot develop without causing suffering. Pain\nis one of its necessary conditions. Some have been led to think of it as\nconstituting a sort of rite in itself; they have seen in it a state of\ngrace which is to be sought and aroused, even artificially, because of\nthe powers and privileges which it confers in the same way as these\nsystems of interdicts, of which it is the natural accompaniment. So far\nas we know, Preuss is the first who has realized the religious\nr\u00f4le[1067] which is attributed to suffering in the inferior societies.\nHe cites the case of the Arapahs who inflict veritable torments upon\nthemselves in order to become immune from the dangers of battle; of the\nBig Belly Indians who submit to actual tortures on the eve of military\nexpeditions; of the Hupa who swim in icy rivers and then remain\nstretched out on the bank as long as possible, in order to assure\nthemselves of success in their enterprises; of the Karaya who from time\nto time draw blood from their arms and legs by means of scratches made\nout of the teeth of fish, in order to strengthen their muscles; of the\nmen of Dallmannhafen (Emperor William's Land in New Guinea) who combat\nthe sterility of their women by making bloody incisions in the upper\npart of their thighs.[1068]\n\nBut similar facts may be found without leaving Australia, especially in\nthe course of the initiation ceremonies. Many of the rites practised on\nthis occasion consist in systematically inflicting certain pains on the\nneophyte in order to modify his condition and to make him acquire the\nqualities characteristic of a man. Thus, among the Larakia, while the\nyoung men are in retreat in the forest, their godfathers and guardians\ngive them violent blows at any instant, without warning and without\ncause.[1069] Among the Urabunna, at a certain time, the novice is\nstretched out on the ground, his face against the earth. All the men\npresent beat him rudely; then they make four or eight gashes on his\nback, arranged on each side of the dorsal spine and one on the meridial\nline of the nape of his neck.[1070] Among the Arunta, the first rite of\nthe initiation consists in tossing the subject in a blanket; the men\nthrow him into the air and catch him when he comes down, to throw him up\nagain.[1071] In the same tribe, at the close of this long series of\nceremonies, the young man lies down on a bed of leaves under which they\nhave placed live coals; he remains there, immobile in the midst of the\nheat and suffocating smoke.[1072] A similar rite is observed among the\nUrabunna; but in addition, while the patient is in this painful\nsituation, they beat him on the back.[1073] In a general way, all the\nexercises to which he is submitted have this same character to such an\nextent that when he is allowed to re-enter the ordinary life, he has a\npitiful aspect and appears half stupefied.[1074] It is true that all\nthese practices are frequently represented as ordeals destined to prove\nthe value of the neophyte and to show whether he is worthy of being\nadmitted into the religious society or not.[1075] But in reality, the\nprobational function of the rite is only another aspect of its efficacy.\nFor the fact that it has been undergone is proved by its producing its\neffect, that is to say, by its conferring the qualities which are the\noriginal reason for its existence.\n\nIn other cases, these ritual cruelties are executed, not on the organism\nas a whole, but on a particular organ or tissue, whose vitality it is\ntheir object to stimulate. Thus, among the Arunta, the Warramunga and\nmany other tribes,[1076] at a certain moment in the initiation, certain\npersons are charged with biting the novice severely in the scalp. This\noperation is so painful that the patient can hardly support it without\nuttering cries. Its object is to make the hair grow.[1077] The same\ntreatment is applied to make the beard grow. The rite of pulling out\nhairs, which Howitt mentions in other tribes, seems to have the same\nreason for existence.[1078] According to Eylmann, the men and women of\nthe Arunta and the Kaitish make small wounds on their arms with sticks\nred with fire, in order to become skilful in making fire or to acquire\nthe strength necessary for carrying heavy loads of wood.[1079] According\nto this same observer, the Warramunga girls amputate the second and\nthird joints of the index finger on one hand, thinking that the finger\nthus becomes better fitted for finding yams.[1080]\n\nIt is not impossible that the extraction of teeth was sometimes destined\nto produce effects of this sort. In any case, it is certain that the\ncruel rites of circumcision and subincision have the object of\nconferring particular powers on the genital organs. In fact, the young\nman is not allowed to marry until after he has undergone them; so he\nowes them special virtues. What makes this initiation _sui generis_\nindispensable is that in all inferior societies, the union of the sexes\nis marked with a religious character. It is believed to put redoubtable\nforces into play which a man cannot approach without danger, until after\nhe has acquired the necessary immunity, by ritual processes:[1081] for\nthis, a whole series of positive and negative practices is used, of\nwhich circumcision and subincision are the forerunners. By painfully\nmutilating an organ, a sacred character is given to it, since by that\nact, it is put into shape for resisting the equally sacred forces which\nit could not meet otherwise.\n\nAt the beginning of this work, we said that all the essential elements\nof religious thought and life ought to be found, at least in germ, in\nthe most primitive religions: the preceding facts confirm this\nassertion. If there is any one belief which is believed to be peculiar\nto the most recent and idealistic religions, it is the one attributing a\nsanctifying power to sorrow. Now this same belief is at the basis of the\nrites which have just been observed. Of course, it is understood\ndifferently at the different moments of history when it is studied. For\nthe Christian, it acts especially upon the soul: it purges it, ennobles\nit, spiritualizes it. For the Australian, it is the body over which it\nis efficient: it increases its vital energies; it makes its beard and\nhair grow; it toughens its members. But in both cases the principle is\nthe same. In both it is admitted that suffering creates exceptional\nstrength. And this belief is not without foundation. In fact, it is by\nthe way in which he braves suffering that the greatness of a man is best\nmanifested. He never rises above himself with more brilliancy than when\nhe subdues his own nature to the point of making it follow a way\ncontrary to the one it would spontaneously take. By this, he\ndistinguishes himself from all the other creatures who follow blindly\nwherever pleasure calls them; by this, he makes a place apart for\nhimself in the world. Suffering is the sign that certain of the bonds\nattaching him to his profane environment are broken; so it testifies\nthat he is partially freed from this environment, and, consequently, it\nis justly considered the instrument of deliverance. So he who is thus\ndelivered is not the victim of a pure illusion when he believes himself\ninvested with a sort of mastery over things: he really has raised\nhimself above them, by the very act of renouncing them; he is stronger\nthan nature, because he makes it subside.\n\nMoreover, it is by no means true that this virtue has only an \u00e6sthetic\nvalue: the whole religious life supposes it. Sacrifices and privations\ndo not come without privations which cost the worshipper dear. Even if\nthe rites do not demand material gifts from him, they require his time\nand his strength. In order to serve his gods, he must forget himself; to\nmake for them a fitting place in his own life, he must sacrifice his\nprofane interests. The positive cult is possible only when a man is\ntrained to renouncement, to abnegation, to detachment from self, and\nconsequently to suffering. It is necessary that he have no dread of\nthem: he cannot even fulfil his duties joyfully unless he loves them to\nsome extent. But for that, it is necessary that he train himself, and it\nis to this that the ascetic practices tend. So the suffering which they\nimpose is not arbitrary and sterile cruelty; it is a necessary school,\nwhere men form and temper themselves, and acquire the qualities of\ndisinterestedness and endurance without which there would be no\nreligion. If this result is to be obtained, it is even a good thing that\nthe ascetic ideal be incarnated eminently in certain persons, whose\nspeciality, so to speak, it is to represent, almost with excess, this\naspect of the ritual life; for they are like so many living models,\ninciting to effort. Such is the historic r\u00f4le of the great ascetics.\nWhen their deeds and acts are analysed in detail, one asks himself what\nuseful end they can have. He is struck by the fact that there is\nsomething excessive in the disdain they profess for all that ordinarily\nimpassions men. But these exaggerations are necessary to sustain among\nthe believers a sufficient disgust for an easy life and common\npleasures. It is necessary that an elite put the end too high, if the\ncrowd is not to put it too low. It is necessary that some exaggerate, if\nthe average is to remain at a fitting level.\n\nBut asceticism does not serve religious ends only. Here, as elsewhere,\nreligious interests are only the symbolic form of social and moral\ninterests. The ideal beings to whom the cults are addressed are not the\nonly ones who demand of their followers a certain disdain for suffering:\nsociety itself is possible only at this price. Though exalting the\nstrength of man, it is frequently rude to individuals; it necessarily\ndemands perpetual sacrifices from them; it is constantly doing violence\nto our natural appetites, just because it raises us above ourselves. If\nwe are going to fulfil our duties towards it, then we must be prepared\nto do violence to our instincts sometimes and to ascend the decline of\nnature when it is necessary. So there is an asceticism which, being\ninherent in all social life, is destined to survive all the mythologies\nand all the dogmas; it is an integral part of all human culture. At\nbottom, this is the asceticism which is the reason for the existence of\nand the justification of that which has been taught by the religions of\nall times.\n\n\nIII\n\nHaving determined what the system of interdicts consists in and what its\npositive and negative functions are, we must now seek the causes which\nhave given it birth.\n\nIn one sense, it is logically implied in the very notion of sacredness.\nAll that is sacred is the object of respect, and every sentiment of\nrespect is translated, in him who feels it, by movements of inhibition.\nIn fact, a respected being is always expressed in the consciousness by a\nrepresentation which, owing to the emotion it inspires, is charged with\na high mental energy; consequently, it is armed in such a way as to\nreject to a distance every other representation which denies it in whole\nor in part. Now the sacred world and the profane world are antagonistic\nto each other. They correspond to two forms of life which mutually\nexclude one another, or which at least cannot be lived at the same time\nwith the same intensity. We cannot give ourselves up entirely to the\nideal beings to whom the cult is addressed and also to ourselves and our\nown interests at the same time; we cannot devote ourselves entirely to\nthe group and entirely to our own egoism at once. Here there are two\nsystems of conscious states which are directed and which direct our\nconduct towards opposite poles. So the one having the greater power of\naction should tend to exclude the other from the consciousness. When we\nthink of holy things, the idea of a profane object cannot enter the mind\nwithout encountering grave resistance; something within us opposes\nitself to its installation. This is because the representation of a\nsacred thing does not tolerate neighbours. But this psychic antagonism\nand this mutual exclusion of ideas should naturally result in the\nexclusion of the corresponding things. If the ideas are not to coexist,\nthe things must not touch each other or have any sort of relations. This\nis the very principle of the interdict.\n\nMoreover, the world of sacred things is, by definition, a world apart.\nSince it is opposed to the profane world by all the characteristics we\nhave mentioned, it must be treated in its own peculiar way: it would be\na misunderstanding of its nature and a confusion of it with something\nthat it is not, to make use of the gestures, language and attitudes\nwhich we employ in our relations with ordinary things, when we have to\ndo with the things that compose it. We may handle the former freely; we\nspeak freely to vulgar beings; so we do not touch the sacred beings, or\nwe touch them only with reserve; we do not speak in their presence, or\nwe do not speak the common language there. All that is used in our\ncommerce with the one must be excluded from our commerce with the other.\n\nBut if this explanation is not inexact, it is, nevertheless,\ninsufficient. In fact, there are many beings which are the objects of\nrespect without being protected by systems of rigorous interdictions\nsuch as those we have just described. Of course there is a general\ntendency of the mind to localize different things in different places,\nespecially when they are incompatible with each other. But the profane\nenvironment and the sacred one are not merely distinct, but they are\nalso closed to one another; between them there is an abyss. So there\nought to be some particular reason in the nature of sacred things, which\ncauses this exceptional isolation and mutual exclusion. And, in fact, by\na sort of contradiction, the sacred world is inclined, as it were, to\nspread itself into this same profane world which it excludes elsewhere:\nat the same time that it repels it, it tends to flow into it as soon as\nit approaches. This is why it is necessary to keep them at a distance\nfrom one another and to create a sort of vacuum between them.\n\nWhat makes these precautions necessary is the extraordinary\ncontagiousness of a sacred character. Far from being attached to the\nthings which are marked with it, it is endowed with a sort of\nelusiveness. Even the most superficial or roundabout contact is\nsufficient to enable it to spread from one object to another. Religious\nforces are represented in the mind in such a way that they always seem\nready to escape from the points where they reside and to enter\neverything passing within their range. The nanja tree where the spirit\nof an ancestor lives is sacred for the individual who considers himself\nthe reincarnation of this ancestor. But every bird which alights upon\nthis tree participates in this same nature: it is also forbidden to\ntouch it.[1082] We have already had occasion to show how simple contact\nwith a churinga is enough to sanctify men and things;[1083] it is also\nupon this principle of the contagiousness of sacredness that all the\nrites of consecration repose. The sanctity of the churinga is so great\nthat its action is even felt at a distance. It will be remembered how\nthis extends not only to the cave where they are kept, but also to the\nwhole surrounding district, to the animals who take refuge there, whom\nit is forbidden to kill, and to the plants which grow there, which must\nnot be touched.[1084] A snake totem has its centre at a place where\nthere is a water-hole. The sacred character of the totem is\ncommunicated to this place, to the water-hole and even to the water\nitself, which is forbidden to all the members of the totemic\ngroup.[1085] The initiate lives in an atmosphere charged with\nreligiousness, and it is as though he were impregnated with it\nhimself.[1086] Consequently all that he possesses and all that he\ntouches is forbidden to the women, and withdrawn from their contact,\neven down to the bird he has struck with his stick, the kangaroo he has\npierced with his lance or the fish which has bit on his hook.[1087] But,\non the other hand, the rites to which he is submitted and the things\nwhich have a part in them have a sanctity superior to his own: this\nsanctity is contagiously transmitted to everything which evokes the idea\nof one or the other. The tooth which has been knocked out of him is\nconsidered very holy.[1088] For this reason, he may not eat animals with\nprominent teeth, because they make him think of his own lost tooth. The\nceremonies of the Kuringal terminate with a ritual washing;[1089]\nacquatic birds are forbidden to the neophyte because they make him think\nof this rite. Animals that climb to the tops of trees are equally sacred\nfor him, because they are too near to Daramulun, the god of the\ninitiation, who lives in heaven.[1090] The soul of a dead man is a\nsacred thing: we have already seen how this same property passes to the\ncorpse in which the soul resided, to the spot where this is buried, to\nthe camp in which he lived when alive, and which is either destroyed or\nquitted, to the name he bore, to his wife and to his relations.[1091]\nThey, too, are invested, as it were, with a sacred character;\nconsequently, men keep at a distance from them; they do not treat them\nas mere profane beings. In the societies observed by Dawson, their\nnames, like that of the dead man, cannot be pronounced during the period\nof mourning.[1092] Certain animals which he ate may also be\nprohibited.[1093]\n\nThis contagiousness of sacredness is too well known a phenomenon[1094]\nto require any proof of its existence from numerous examples; we only\nwish to show that it is as true in totemism as in the more advanced\nreligions. When once established, it quickly explains the extreme rigour\nof the interdicts separating the sacred from the profane. Since, in\nvirtue of this extraordinary power of expansion, the slightest contact,\nthe least proximity, either material or simply moral, suffices to draw\nreligious forces out of their domain, and since, on the other hand, they\ncannot leave it without contradicting their nature, a whole system of\nmeasures is indispensable for maintaining the two worlds at a respectful\ndistance from one another. This is why it is forbidden to the profane,\nnot only to touch, but even to see or hear that which is sacred, and why\nthese two sorts of life cannot be mixed in their consciousnesses.\nPrecautions are necessary to keep them apart because, though opposing\none another, they tend to confuse themselves into one another.\n\nWhen we understand the multiplicity of these interdicts we also\nunderstand the way in which they operate and the sanctions which are\nattached to them. Owing to the contagiousness inherent in all that is\nsacred, a profane being cannot violate an interdict without having the\nreligious force, to which he has unduly approached, extend itself over\nhim and establish its empire over him. But as there is an antagonism\nbetween them, he becomes dependent upon a hostile power, whose hostility\ncannot fail to manifest itself in the form of violent reactions which\ntend to destroy him. This is why sickness or death are considered the\nnatural consequences of every transgression of this sort; and they are\nconsequences which are believed to come by themselves, with a sort of\nphysical necessity. The guilty man feels himself attacked by a force\nwhich dominates him and against which he is powerless. Has he eaten the\ntotemic animal? Then he feels it penetrating him and gnawing at his\nvitals; he lies down on the ground and awaits death.[1095] Every\nprofanation implies a consecration, but one which is dreadful, both for\nthe subject consecrated and for those who approach him. It is the\nconsequences of this consecration which sanction, in part, the\ninterdict.[1096]\n\nIt should be noticed that this explanation of the interdicts does not\ndepend upon the variable symbols by the aid of which religious forces\nare conceived. It matters little whether these are conceived as\nanonymous and impersonal energies or figured as personalities endowed\nwith consciousness and feeling. In the former case, of course, they are\nbelieved to react against profaning transgressions in an automatic and\nunconscious manner, while in the latter case, they are thought to obey\npassionate movements determined by the offence resented. But at bottom,\nthese two conceptions, which, moreover, have the same practical effect,\nonly express one and the same psychic mechanism in two different\nlanguages. The basis of both is the antagonism of the sacred and the\nprofane, combined with the remarkable aptitude of the former for\nspreading over to the latter; now this antagonism and this\ncontagiousness act in the same way, whether the sacred character is\nattributed to blind forces or to conscious ones. Thus, so far is it from\nbeing true that the real religious life commences only where there are\nmythical personalities, that we see that in this case the rite remains\nthe same, whether the religious beings are personified or not. This is a\nstatement which we shall have occasion to repeat in each of the chapters\nwhich follow.\n\n\nIV\n\nBut if this contagiousness of sacredness helps to explain the system of\ninterdicts, how is it to be explained itself?\n\nSome have tried to explain it with the well-known laws of the\nassociation of ideas. The sentiments inspired in us by a person or a\nthing spread contagiously from the idea of this thing or person to the\nrepresentations associated with it, and thence to the objects which\nthese representations express. So the respect which we have for a sacred\nbeing is communicated to everything touching this being, or resembling\nit, or recalling it. Of course a cultivated man is not deceived by these\nassociations; he knows that these derived emotions are due to mere plays\nof the images and to entirely mental combinations, so he does not give\nway to the superstitions which these illusions tend to bring about. But\nthey say that the primitive na\u00efvely objectifies his impressions, without\ncriticising them. Does something inspire a reverential fear in him? He\nconcludes that an august and redoubtable force really resides in it; so\nhe keeps at a distance from this thing and treats it as though it were\nsacred, even though it has no right to this title.[1097]\n\nBut whoever says this forgets that the most primitive religions are not\nthe only ones which have attributed this power of propagation to the\nsacred character. Even in the most recent cults, there is a group of\nrites which repose upon this principle. Does not every consecration by\nmeans of anointing or washing consist in transferring into a profane\nobject the sanctifying virtues of a sacred one? Yet it is difficult to\nregard an enlightened Catholic of to-day as a sort of retarded savage\nwho continues to be deceived by his associations of ideas, while nothing\nin the nature of things explains or justifies these ways of thinking.\nMoreover, it is quite arbitrarily that they attribute to the primitive\nthis tendency to objectify blindly all his emotions. In his ordinary\nlife, and in the details of his lay occupations, he does not impute the\nproperties of one thing to its neighbours, or _vice versa_. If he is\nless careful than we are about clarity and distinction, still it is far\nfrom true that he has some vague, deplorable aptitude for jumbling and\nconfusing everything. Religious thought alone has a marked leaning\ntowards these sorts of confusions. So it is in something special to the\nnature of religious things, and not in the general laws of the human\nintelligence, that the origin of these predispositions is to be sought.\n\nWhen a force or property seems to be an integral part or constituent\nelement of the subject in which it resides, we cannot easily imagine its\ndetaching itself and going elsewhere. A body is defined by its mass and\nits atomic composition; so we do not think that it could communicate any\nof these distinctive characteristics by means of contact. But, on the\nother hand, if we are dealing with a force which has penetrated the body\nfrom without, since nothing attaches it there and since it is foreign to\nthe body, there is nothing inconceivable in its escaping again. Thus the\nheat or electricity which a body has received from some external source\nmay be transmitted to the surrounding medium, and the mind readily\naccepts the possibility of this transmission. So the extreme facility\nwith which religious forces spread out and diffuse themselves has\nnothing surprising about it, if they are generally thought of as outside\nof the beings in which they reside. Now this is just what the theory we\nhave proposed implies.\n\nIn fact, they are only collective forces hypostatized, that is to say,\nmoral forces; they are made up of the ideas and sentiments awakened in\nus by the spectacle of society, and not of sensations coming from the\nphysical world. So they are not homogeneous with the visible things\namong which we place them. They may well take from these things the\noutward and material forms in which they are represented, but they owe\nnone of their efficacy to them. They are not united by external bonds\nto the different supports upon which they alight; they have no roots\nthere; according to an expression we have already used[1098] and which\nserves best for characterizing them, _they are added to them_. So there\nare no objects which are predestined to receive them, to the exclusion\nof all others; even the most insignificant and vulgar may do so;\naccidental circumstances decide which are the chosen ones. The terms in\nwhich Codrington speaks of the mana should be borne in mind: it is a\nforce, he says, which \"_is not fixed in anything and can be conveyed in\nalmost anything_.\"[1099] Likewise, the Dakota of Miss Fletcher\nrepresented the wakan as a sort of surrounding force which is always\ncoming and going through the world, alighting here and there, but\ndefinitely fixing itself nowhere.[1100] Even the religious character\ninherent in men does not have a different character. There is certainly\nno other being in the world of experience which is closer to the very\nsource of all religious life; none participates in it more directly, for\nit is in human consciousnesses that it is elaborated. Yet we know that\nthe religious principle animating men, to wit, the soul, is partially\nexternal.\n\nBut if religious forces have a place of their own nowhere, their\nmobility is easily explained. Since nothing attaches them to the things\nin which we localize them, it is natural that they should escape on the\nslightest contact, in spite of themselves, so to speak, and that they\nshould spread afar. Their intensity incites them to this spreading,\nwhich everything favours. This is why the soul itself, though holding to\nthe body by very personal bonds, is constantly threatening to leave it:\nall the apertures and pores of the body are just so many ways by which\nit tends to spread and diffuse itself into the outside.[1101]\n\nBut we shall account for this phenomenon which we are trying to\nunderstand, still better if, instead of considering the notion of\nreligious forces as it is when completely formulated, we go back to the\nmental process from which it results.\n\nWe have seen, in fact, that the sacred character of a being does not\nrest in any of its intrinsic attributes. It is not because the totemic\nanimal has a certain aspect or property that it inspires religious\nsentiments; these result from causes wholly foreign to the nature of the\nobject upon which they fix themselves. What constitutes them are the\nimpressions of comfort and dependence which the action of the society\nprovokes in the mind. Of themselves, these emotions are not attached to\nthe idea of any particular object; but as these emotions exist and are\nespecially intense, they are also eminently contagious. So they make a\nstain of oil; they extend to all the other mental states which occupy\nthe mind; they penetrate and contaminate those representations\nespecially in which are expressed the various objects which the man had\nin his hands or before his eyes at the moment: the totemic designs\ncovering his body, the bull-roarers which he was making roar, the rocks\nsurrounding him, the ground under his feet, etc. It is thus that the\nobjects themselves get a religious value which is really not inherent in\nthem but is conferred from without. So the contagion is not a sort of\nsecondary process by which sacredness is propagated, after it has once\nbeen acquired; it is the very process by which it is acquired. It is by\ncontagion that it establishes itself: we should not be surprised,\ntherefore, if it transmits itself contagiously. What makes its reality\nis a special emotion; if it attaches itself to some object, it is\nbecause this emotion has found this object in its way. So it is natural\nthat from this one it should spread to all those which it finds in its\nneighbourhood, that is to say, to all those which any reason whatsoever,\neither material contiguity or mere similarity, has mentally connected\nwith the first.\n\nThus, the contagiousness of sacredness finds its explanation in the\ntheory which we have proposed of religious forces, and by this very\nfact, it serves to confirm our theory.[1102] And, at the same time, it\naids us in understanding a trait of primitive mentality to which we have\nalready called the attention.\n\nWe have seen[1103] the facility with which the primitive confuses\nkingdoms and identifies the most heterogeneous things, men, animals,\nplants, stars, etc. Now we see one of the causes which has contributed\nthe most to facilitating these confusions. Since religious forces are\neminently contagious, it is constantly happening that the same principle\nanimates very different objects equally; it passes from some into others\nas the result of either a simple material proximity or of even a\nsuperficial similarity. It is thus that men, animals, plants and rocks\ncome to have the same totem: the men because they bear the name of the\nanimal: the animals because they bring the totemic emblem to mind; the\nplants because they nourish these animals; the rocks because they mark\nthe place where the ceremonies are celebrated. Now religious forces are\ntherefore considered the source of all efficacy; so beings having one\nsingle religious principle ought to pass as having the same essence, and\nas differing from one another only in secondary characteristics. This is\nwhy it seemed quite natural to arrange them in a single category and to\nregard them as mere varieties of the same class, transmutable into one\nanother.\n\nWhen this relation has been established, it makes the phenomena of\ncontagion appear under a new aspect. Taken by themselves, they seem to\nbe quite foreign to the logical life. Is their effect not to mix and\nconfuse beings, in spite of their natural differences? But we have seen\nthat these confusions and participation have played a r\u00f4le of the\nhighest utility in logic; they have served to bind together things which\nsensation leaves apart from one another. So it is far from true that\ncontagion, the source of these connections and confusions, is marked\nwith that fundamental irrationality that one is inclined to attribute it\nat first. It has opened the way for the scientific explanations of the\nfuture.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE POSITIVE CULT\n\nI.--_The Elements of the Sacrifice_\n\n\nWhatever the importance of the negative cult may be, and though it may\nindirectly have positive effects, it does not contain its reason for\nexistence in itself; it introduces one to the religious life, but it\nsupposes this more than it constitutes it. If it orders the worshipper\nto flee from the profane world, it is to bring him nearer to the sacred\nworld. Men have never thought that their duties towards religious forces\nmight be reduced to a simple abstinence from all commerce; they have\nalways believed that they upheld positive and bilateral relations with\nthem, whose regulation and organization is the function of a group of\nritual practices. To this special system of rites we give the name of\n_positive cult_.\n\nFor some time we almost completely ignored the positive cult of the\ntotemic religion and what it consists in. We knew almost nothing more\nthan the initiation rites, and we do not know those sufficiently well\neven now. But the observations of Spencer and Gillen, prepared for by\nthose of Schulze and confirmed by those of Strehlow, on the tribes of\ncentral Australia, have partially filled this gap in our information.\nThere is one ceremony especially which these explorers have taken\nparticular pains to describe to us and which, moreover, seems to\ndominate the whole totemic cult: this is the one that the Arunta,\naccording to Spencer and Gillen, call the _Intichiuma_. It is true that\nStrehlow contests the meaning of this word. According to him, intichiuma\n(or, as he writes it, _intijiuma_) means \"to instruct\" and designates\nthe ceremonies performed before the young man to teach him the\ntraditions of the tribe. The feast which we are going to describe bears,\nhe says, the name _mbatjalkatiuma_, which means \"to fecundate\" or \"to\nput into a good condition.\"[1104] But we shall not try to settle this\nquestion of vocabulary, which touches the real problem but slightly, as\nthe rites in question are all celebrated in the course of the\ninitiation. On the other hand, as the word Intichiuma now belongs to the\ncurrent language of ethnography, and has almost become a common noun, it\nseems useless to replace it with another.[1105]\n\nThe date on which the Intichiuma takes place depends largely upon the\nseason. There are two sharply separated seasons in Australia: one is dry\nand lasts for a long time; the other is rainy and is, on the contrary,\nvery short and frequently irregular. As soon as the rains arrive,\nvegetation springs up from the ground as though by enchantment and\nanimals multiply, so that the country which had recently been only a\nsterile desert is rapidly filled with a luxurious flora and fauna. It is\njust at the moment when the good season seems to be close at hand that\nthe Intichiuma is celebrated. But as the rainy season is extremely\nvariable, the date of the ceremonies cannot be fixed once for all. It\nvaries with the climatic circumstances, which only the chief of the\ntotemic group, the Alatunja, is qualified to judge: on a day which he\nconsiders suitable, he informs his companions that the moment has\narrived.[1106]\n\nEach totemic group has its own Intichiuma. Even if this rite is general\nin the societies of the centre, it is not the same everywhere; among the\nWarramunga, it is not what it is among the Arunta; it varies, not only\namong the tribes, but also within the tribe, among the clans. But it is\nobvious that the different mechanisms in use are too closely related to\neach other to be dissociated completely. There is no ceremony, perhaps,\nwhich is not made up of several, though these are very unequally\ndeveloped: what exists only as a germ in one, occupies the most\nimportant place in another, and inversely. Yet they must be carefully\ndistinguished, for they constitute just so many different ritual types\nto be described and explained separately, but afterwards we must seek\nsome common source from which they were derived.\n\nLet us commence with those observed among the Arunta.\n\n\nI\n\nThe celebration includes two successive phases. The object of the rites\nwhich take place in the first is to assure the prosperity of the animal\nor vegetable species serving the clan as totem. The means employed for\nthis end may be reduced to two principal types.\n\nIt will be remembered that the fabulous ancestors from whom each clan is\nsupposed to be descended, formerly lived on earth and left traces of\ntheir passage there. These traces consist especially in stones and rocks\nwhich they deposited at certain places, or which were formed at the\nspots where they entered into the ground. These rocks and stones are\nconsidered the bodies or parts of the bodies of the ancestors, whose\nmemory they keep alive; they represent them. Consequently, they also\nrepresent the animals and plants which served these same ancestors as\ntotems, for an individual and his totem are only one. The same reality\nand the same properties are attributed to them as to the actually living\nplants or animals of the same species. But they have this advantage over\nthese latter, that they are imperishable, knowing neither sickness nor\ndeath. So they are like a permanent immutable and ever-available reserve\nof animal and vegetable life. Also, in a certain number of cases, it is\nthis reserve that they annually draw upon to assure the reproduction of\nthe species.\n\nHere, for example, is how the Witchetty grub clan, at Alice Springs,\nproceeds at its Intichiuma.[1107]\n\nOn the day fixed by the chief, all the members of the totemic group\nassemble in the principal camp. The men of the other totems retire to a\ndistance;[1108] for among the Arunta, they are not allowed to be present\nat the celebration of the rite, which has all the characteristics of a\nsecret ceremony. An individual of a different totem, but of the same\nphratry, may be invited to be present, as a favour; but this is only as\na witness. In no case can he take an active part.\n\nAfter the men of the totem have assembled, they leave the camp, leaving\nonly two or three of their number behind. They advance in a profound\nsilence, one behind another, all naked, without arms and without any of\ntheir habitual ornaments. Their attitude and their pace are marked with\na religious gravity: this is because the act in which they are taking\npart has an exceptional importance in their eyes. Also, until the end of\nthe ceremony they are required to observe a rigorous fast.\n\nThe country which they traverse is all filled with souvenirs left by the\nglorious ancestors. Thus they arrive at a spot where a huge block of\nquartz is found, with small round stones all around it. This block\nrepresents the witchetty grub as an adult. The Alatunja strikes it with\na sort of wooden tray called _apmara_,[1109] and at the same time he\nintones a chant, whose object is to invite the animal to lay eggs. He\nproceeds in the same fashion with the stones which are regarded as the\neggs of the animal and with one of which he rubs the stomach of each\nassistant. This done, they all descend a little lower, to the foot of a\ncliff also celebrated in the myths of the Alcheringa, at the base of\nwhich is another stone, also representing the witchetty grub. The\nAlatunja strikes it with his apmara; the men accompanying him do so as\nwell, with branches of a gum-tree which they have gathered on the way,\nall of which goes on in the midst of chants renewing the invitation\npreviously addressed to the animal. About ten different spots are\nvisited in turn, some of which are a mile or more from the others. At\neach of them there is a stone at the bottom of a cave or hole, which is\nbelieved to represent the witchetty grub in one of his aspects or at one\nof the phases of his existence, and upon each of these stones, the same\nceremonies are repeated.\n\nThe meaning of the rite is evident. When the Alatunja strikes the sacred\nstones, it is to detach some dust. The grains of this very holy dust are\nregarded as so many germs of life; each of them contains a spiritual\nprinciple which will give birth to a new being, when introduced into an\norganism of the same species. The branches with which the assistants are\nprovided serve to scatter this precious dust in all directions; it is\nscattered everywhere, to accomplish its fecundating work. By this means,\nthey assure, in their own minds, an abundant reproduction of the animal\nspecies over which the clans guard, so to speak, and upon which it\ndepends.\n\nThe natives themselves give the rite this interpretation. Thus, in the\nclan of the _ilpirla_ (a kind of \"manna\"), they proceed in the following\nmanner. When the day of the Intichiuma arrives, the group assembles near\na huge rock, about fifty feet high; on top of this rock is another, very\nsimilar to the first in aspect and surrounded by other smaller ones.\nBoth represent masses of manna. The Alatunja digs up the ground at the\nfoot of this rock and uncovers a churinga which is believed to have been\nburied there in Alcheringa times, and which is, as it were, the\nquintessence of the manna. Then he climbs up to the summit of the higher\nrock and rubs it, first with the churinga and then with the smaller\nstones which surround it. Finally, he brushes away the dust which has\nthus been collected on the surface of the rock, with the branches of a\ntree; each of the assistants does the same in his turn. Now Spencer and\nGillen say that the idea of the natives is that the dust thus scattered\nwill \"settle upon the mulga trees and so produce manna.\" In fact, these\noperations are accompanied by a hymn sung by those present, in which\nthis idea is expressed.[1110]\n\nWith variations, this same rite is found in other societies. Among the\nUrabunna, there is a rock representing an ancestor of the Lizard clan;\nbits are detached from it which they throw in every direction, in order\nto secure an abundant production of lizards.[1111] In this same tribe,\nthere is a sand-bank which mythological souvenirs closely associate with\nthe louse totem. At the same spot are two trees, one of which is called\nthe ordinary louse tree, the other, the crab-louse tree. They take some\nof this sand, rub it on these trees, throw it about on every side and\nbecome convinced that, as a result of this, lice will be born in large\nnumbers.[1112] The Mara perform the Intichiuma of the bees by scattering\ndust detached from sacred rocks.[1113] For the kangaroo of the plains, a\nslightly different method is used. They take some kangaroo-dung and wrap\nit up in a certain herb of which the animal is very fond, and which\nbelongs to the kangaroo totem for this reason. Then they put the dung,\nthus enveloped, on the ground between two bunches of this herb and set\nthe whole thing on fire. With the flame thus made, they light the\nbranches of trees and then whirl them about in such a way that sparks\nfly in every direction. These sparks play the same r\u00f4le as the dust in\nthe preceding cases.[1114]\n\nIn a certain number of clans,[1115] men mix something of their own\nsubstance with that of the stone, in order to make the rite more\nefficacious. Young men open their veins and let streams of blood flow on\nto the rock. This is the case, for example, in the Intichiuma of the\nHakea flower among the Arunta. The ceremony takes place in a sacred\nplace around an equally sacred rock which, in the eyes of the natives,\nrepresents Hakea flowers. After certain preliminary operations, \"the old\nleader asks one of the young men to open a vein in his arm, which he\ndoes, and allows the blood to sprinkle freely, while the other men\ncontinue the singing. The blood flows until the stone is completely\ncovered.\"[1116] The object of this practice is to revivify the virtues\nof the stone, after a fashion, and to reinforce its efficacy. It should\nnot be forgotten that the men of the clan are relatives of the plant or\nanimal whose name they bear; the same principle of life is in them, and\nespecially in their blood. So it is only natural that one should use\nthis blood and the mystic germs which it carries to assure the regular\nreproduction of the totemic species. It frequently happens among the\nArunta that when a man is sick or tired, one of his young companions\nopens his veins and sprinkles him with his blood in order to reanimate\nhim.[1117] If blood is able to reawaken life in a man in this way, it is\nnot surprising that it should also be able to awaken it in the animal or\nvegetable species with which the men of the clan are confounded.\n\nThe same process is employed in the Intichiuma of the Undiara kangaroo\namong the Arunta. The theatre of the ceremony is a water-hole vaulted\nover by a peaked rock. This rock represents an animal-kangaroo of the\nAlcheringa which was killed and deposited there by a man-kangaroo of the\nsame epoch; many kangaroo spirits are also believed to reside there.\nAfter a certain number of sacred stones have been rubbed against each\nother in the way we have described, several of the assistants climb up\non the rock upon which they let their blood flow.[1118] \"The purpose of\nthe ceremony at the present day, so say the natives, is by means of\npouring out the blood of kangaroo men upon the rock, to drive out in all\ndirections the spirits of the kangaroo animals and so to increase the\nnumber of the animals.\"[1119]\n\nThere is even one case among the Arunta where the blood seems to be the\nactive principle in the rite. In the Emu group, they do not use sacred\nstones or anything resembling them. The Alatunja and some of his\nassistants sprinkle the ground with their blood; on the ground thus\nsoaked, they trace lines in various colours, representing the different\nparts of the body of an emu. They kneel down around this design and\nchant a monotonous hymn. From the fictitious emu to which this chant is\naddressed, and, consequently, from the blood which has served to make\nit, they believe that vivifying principles go forth, which animate the\nembryos of the new generation, and thus prevent the species from\ndisappearing.[1120]\n\nAmong the Wonkgongaru,[1121] there is one clan whose totem is a certain\nkind of fish; in the Intichiuma of this totem also, it is the blood that\nplays the principal part. The chief of the group, after being\nceremoniously painted, goes into a pool of water and sits down there.\nThen he pierces his scrotum and the skin around his navel with small\npointed bones. \"The blood from the wounds goes into the water and gives\nrise to fish.\"[1122]\n\nBy a wholly similar process, the Dieri think that they assure the\nreproduction of two of their totems, the carpet snake and the woma snake\n(the ordinary snake). A Mura-mura named Minkani is thought to live under\na dune. His body is represented by some fossil bones of animals or\nreptiles, such as the deltas of the rivers flowing into Lake Eyre\ncontain, according to Howitt. When the day of the ceremony arrives, the\nmen assemble and go to the home of the Minkani. There they dig until\nthey come to a layer of damp earth which they call \"the excrement of\nMinkani.\" From now on, they continue to turn up the soil with great care\nuntil they uncover \"the elbow of Minkani.\" Then two young men open their\nveins and let their blood flow on to the sacred rock. They chant the\nhymn of Minkani while the assistants, carried away in a veritable\nfrenzy, beat each other with their arms. The battle continues until they\nget back to the camp, which is about a mile away. Here, the women\nintervene and put an end to the combat. They collect the blood which has\nflown from the wounds, mix it with the \"excrement of Minkani,\" and\nscatter the resulting mixture over the dune. When this rite has been\naccomplished, they are convinced that carpet snakes will be born in\nabundance.[1123]\n\nIn certain cases, they use the very substance which they wish to produce\nas the vivifying principle. Thus among the Kaitish, in the course of a\nceremony whose object is to create rain, they sprinkle water over a\nsacred rock which represents the mythical heroes of the Water clan. It\nis evident that they believe that by this means they augment the\nproductive virtues of the rock just as well as with blood, and for the\nsame reasons.[1124] Among the Mara, the actor takes water from a sacred\nhole, puts it in his mouth and spits it out in every direction.[1125]\nAmong the Worgaia, when the yams begin to sprout, the chief of the Yam\nclan sends men of the phratry of which he is not a member himself to\ngather some of these plants; these bring some to him, and ask him to\nintervene, in order that the species may develop well. He takes one,\nchews it, and throws the bits in every direction.[1126] Among the\nKaitish when, after various rites which we shall not describe, the grain\nof a certain grass called Erlipinna has reached its full development,\nthe chief of the totem brings a little of it to camp and grinds it\nbetween two stones; the dust thus obtained is piously gathered up, and a\nfew grains are placed on the lips of the chief, who scatters them by\nblowing. This contact with the mouth of the chief, which has a very\nspecial sacramental virtue, undoubtedly has the object of stimulating\nthe vitality of the germs which these grains contain and which, being\nblown to all the quarters of the horizon, go to communicate these\nfecundating virtues which they possess to the plants.[1127]\n\nThe efficacy of these rites is never doubted by the native: he is\nconvinced that they must produce the results he expects, with a sort of\nnecessity. If events deceive his hopes, he merely concludes that they\nwere counteracted by the sorcery of some hostile group. In any case, it\nnever enters his mind that a favourable result could be obtained by any\nother means. If by chance the vegetation grows or the animals produce\nbefore he has performed his Intichiuma, he supposes that another\nIntichiuma has been celebrated under the ground by the ancestors and\nthat the living reap the benefits of this subterranean ceremony.[1128]\n\n\nII\n\nThis is the first act of the celebration.\n\nDuring the period immediately following, there are no regular\nceremonies. However, the religious life remains intense: this is\nmanifested especially by an aggravation of the system of interdicts. It\nis as though the sacred character of the totem were reinforced: they do\nnot even dare to touch it. In ordinary times, the Arunta may eat the\nanimal or plant which serves as totem, provided they do so with\nmoderation, but on the morrow of the Intichiuma this right is suspended;\nthe alimentary interdiction is strict and without exceptions. They\nbelieve that any violation of this interdict would result in\nneutralizing the good effects of the rite and in preventing the increase\nof the species. It is true that the men of other totems who happen to be\nin the same locality are not submitted to the same prohibition. However,\ntheir liberty is less than ordinary at this time. They may not consume\nthe totemic animal wherever they place, in the brush, for example; they\nmust bring it to camp, and it is there only that it may be cooked.[1129]\n\nA final ceremony terminates this period of extraordinary interdictions\nand definitely closes this long series of rites. It varies somewhat in\ndifferent clans, but the essential elements are the same everywhere.\nHere are the two principal forms which it takes among the Arunta. One of\nthese is in connection with the witchetty grub, the other with the\nkangaroo.\n\nWhen the grubs have attained full maturity and appear in abundance, the\nmen of the totem, as well as others, collect as many of them as\npossible; then they all bring those they have found back to camp and\ncook them until they become hard and brittle. They are then preserved in\nwooden vessels called _pitchi_. The harvest of grubs is possible only\nduring a very short time, for they appear only after the rain. When they\nbegin to be less numerous, the Alatunja summons everybody to the camp;\non his invitation, each one brings his supply. The others place theirs\nbefore the men of that totem. The Alatunja takes one of these _pitchi_\nand, with the aid of his companions, he grinds its contents between two\nstones; after this, he eats a little of the powder thus obtained, his\nassistants do the same, and what remains is given to the men of the\nother clans, who may now dispose of it freely. They proceed in exactly\nthe same manner with the supply provided by the Alatunja. From now on,\nthe men and women of the totem may eat it, but only a little at a time;\nif they went beyond the limits allowed, they would lose the powers\nnecessary to celebrate the Intichiuma and the species would not\nreproduce. Yet, if they did not eat any at all, and especially if the\nAlatunja ate none in the circumstances we have just described, they\nwould be overtaken by the same incapacity.\n\nIn the totemic group of the Kangaroo, which has its centre at Undiara,\ncertain characteristics of the ceremony are more clearly marked. After\nthe rites which we have described have been accomplished on the sacred\nrock, the young men go and hunt the kangaroo, bringing their game back\nto the camp. Here, the old men, with the Alatunja in their midst, eat a\nlittle of the flesh of the animal, and anoint the bodies of those who\ntook part in the Intichiuma with its fat. The rest is divided up among\nthe men assembled. Next, the men of the totem decorate themselves with\ntotemic designs and the night is passed in songs commemorating the\nexploits accomplished by men and animal kangaroos in the times of the\nAlcheringa. The next day, the young men go hunting again in the forest\nand bring back a larger number of kangaroos than the first time, and the\nceremonies of the day before recommence.[1130]\n\nWith variations of detail, the same rite is found in other Arunta\nclans,[1131] among the Urabunna,[1132] the Kaitish,[1133] the\nUnmatjera,[1134] and in the Encounter Bay Tribe.[1135] Everywhere, it is\nmade up of the same essential elements. A few specimens of the totemic\nanimal or plant are presented to the chief of the clan, who solemnly\neats them and who must eat them. If he did not fulfil this duty, he\nwould lose the power of celebrating the Intichiuma efficaciously, that\nis to say, so as to recreate the species annually. Sometimes the ritual\nconsumption is followed by an unction made with the fat of the animal or\ncertain parts of the plant.[1136] This rite is generally repeated by the\nmen of the totem, or at least by the old men, and after it has been\naccomplished, the exceptional interdictions are raised.\n\nIn the tribes located farther north, among the Warramunga and\nneighbouring societies,[1137] this ceremony is no longer found. However,\ntraces are found which seem to indicate that there was a time when it\nwas known. It is true that the chief of the clan never eats the totem\nritually and obligatorily. But in certain cases, men who are not of the\ntotem whose Intichiuma has just been celebrated, must bring the animal\nor plant to camp and offer it to the chief, asking him if he wants to\neat it. He refuses and adds, \"I have made this for you; you may eat it\nfreely.\"[1138] So the custom of the presentation remains and the\nquestion asked of the chief seems to date back to an epoch when the\nritual consumption was practised.[1139]\n\n\nIII\n\nThe interest of the system of rites which has just been described lies\nin the fact that in them we find, in the most elementary form that is\nactually known, all the essential principles of a great religious\ninstitution which was destined to become one of the foundation stones of\nthe positive cult in the superior religions: this is the institution of\nsacrifice.\n\nWe know what a revolution the work of Robertson Smith brought about in\nthe traditional theory of sacrifice.[1140] Before him, sacrifice was\nregarded as a sort of tribute or homage, either obligatory or optional,\nanalogous to that which subjects owe to their princes. Robertson Smith\nwas the first to remark that this classic explanation did not account\nfor two essential characteristics of the rite. In the first place, it is\na repast: its substance is food. Secondly, it is a repast in which the\nworshippers who offer it take part, along with the god to whom it is\noffered. Certain parts of the victim are reserved for the divinity;\nothers are attributed to the sacrificers, who consume them; this is why\nthe Bible often speaks of the sacrifice as a repast in the presence of\nJahveh. Now in a multitude of societies, meals taken in common are\nbelieved to create a bond of artificial kinship between those who assist\nat them: In fact, relatives are people who are naturally made of the\nsame flesh and blood. But food is constantly remaking the substance of\nthe organism. So a common food may produce the same effects as a common\norigin. According to Smith, sacrificial banquets have the object of\nmaking the worshipper and his god communicate in the same flesh, in\norder to form a bond of kinship between them. From this point of view,\nsacrifice takes on a wholly new aspect. Its essential element is no\nlonger the act of renouncement which the word sacrifice ordinarily\nexpresses; before all, it is an act of alimentary communion.\n\nOf course there are some reservations to be made in the details of this\nway of explaining the efficacy of sacrificial banquets. This does not\nresult exclusively from the act of eating together. A man does not\nsanctify himself merely by sitting down, in some way, at the same table\nwith a god, but especially by eating food at this ritual repast which\nhas a sacred character. It has been shown how a whole series of\npreliminary operations, lustrations, unctions, prayers, etc., transform\nthe animal to be immolated into a sacred thing, whose sacredness is\nsubsequently transferred to the worshipper who eats it.[1141] But it is\ntrue, none the less, that the alimentary communion is one of the\nessential elements of the sacrifice. Now when we turn to the rite which\nterminates the ceremonies of the Intichiuma, we find that it, too,\nconsists in an act of this sort. After the totemic animal has been\nkilled, the Alatunja and the old men solemnly eat it. So they\ncommunicate with the sacred principle residing in it and they assimilate\nit. The only difference we find here is that the animal is naturally\nsacred while it ordinarily acquires this character artificially in the\ncourse of the sacrifice.\n\nMoreover, the object of this communion is manifest. Every member of a\ntotemic clan contains a mystic substance within him which is the\npre-eminent part of his being, for his soul is made out of it. From it\ncome whatever powers he has and his social position, for it is this\nwhich makes him a person. So he has a vital interest in maintaining it\nintact and in keeping it, as far as is possible, in a state of perpetual\nyouth. Unfortunately all forces, even the most spiritual, are used up in\nthe course of time if nothing comes to return to them the energy they\nlose through the normal working of things; there is a necessity of the\nfirst importance here which, as we shall see, is the real reason for the\npositive cult. Therefore the men of a totem cannot retain their position\nunless they periodically revivify the totemic principle which is in\nthem; and as they represent this principle in the form of a vegetable or\nanimal, it is to the corresponding animal or vegetable species that they\ngo to demand the supplementary forces needed to renew this and to\nrejuvenate it. A man of the Kangaroo clan believes himself and feels\nhimself a kangaroo; it is by this quality that he defines himself; it is\nthis which marks his place in the society. In order to keep it, he takes\na little of the flesh of this same animal into his own body from time to\ntime. A small bit is enough, owing to the rule: _the part is equal to\nthe whole_.[1142]\n\nIf this operation is to produce all the desired effects, it may not take\nplace at no matter what moment. The most opportune time is when the new\ngeneration has just reached its complete development, for this is also\nthe moment when the forces animating the totemic species attain their\nmaximum intensity. They have just been drawn with great difficulty from\nthose rich reservoirs of life, the sacred trees and rocks. Moreover, all\nsorts of means have been employed to increase their intensity still\nmore; this is the use of the rites performed during the first part of\nthe Intichiuma. Also, by their very aspect, the firstfruits of the\nharvest manifest the energy which they contain: here the totemic god\nacclaims himself in all the glory of his youth. This is why the\nfirstfruits have always been regarded as a very sacred fruit, reserved\nfor very holy beings. So it is natural that the Australian uses it to\nregenerate himself spiritually. Thus both the date and the circumstances\nof the ceremonies are explained.\n\nPerhaps some will be surprised that so sacred a food may be eaten by\nordinary profane persons. But in the first place, there is no positive\ncult which does not face this contradiction. Every sacred being is\nremoved from profane touch by this very character with which it is\nendowed; but, on the other hand, they would serve for nothing and have\nno reason whatsoever for their existence if they could not come in\ncontact with these same worshippers who, on another ground, must remain\nrespectfully distant from them. At bottom, there is no positive rite\nwhich does not constitute a veritable sacrilege, for a man cannot hold\ncommerce with the sacred beings without crossing the barrier which\nshould ordinarily keep them separate. But the important thing is that\nthe sacrilege should be accompanied with precautions which attenuate\nit. Among those employed, the most usual one consists in arranging the\ntransition so as to introduce the worshipper slowly and gradually into\nthe circle of sacred things. When it has been broken and diluted in this\nfashion, the sacrilege does not offend the religious conscience so\nviolently; it is not regarded as a sacrilege and so vanishes. This is\nwhat happens in the case now before us. The effect of the whole series\nof rites which has preceded the moment when the totem is solemnly eaten\nhas been to sanctify those who took an active part in them. They\nconstitute an essentially religious period, through which no one could\ngo without a transformation of his religious state. The fasts, the\ncontact with sacred rocks, the churinga,[1143] the totemic decorations,\netc., have gradually conferred upon him a character which he did not\nhave before and which enables him to approach, without a shocking and\ndangerous profanation, this desirable and redoubtable food which is\nforbidden him in ordinary times.[1144]\n\nIf the act by which a sacred being is first immolated and then eaten by\nthose who adore it may be called a sacrifice, the rite of which we have\njust been speaking has a right to this same name. Moreover, its\nsignificance is well shown by the striking analogies it presents with so\nmany practices met with in a large number of agrarian cults. It is a\nvery general rule that even among peoples who have attained a high\ndegree of civilization, the firstfruits of the harvest are used in the\nritual repasts, of which the pascal feast is the best known\nexample.[1145] On the other hand, as the agrarian rites are at the very\nbasis of the most advanced forms of the cult, we see that the Intichiuma\nof the Australian societies is closer to us than one might imagine from\nits apparent crudeness.\n\nBy an intuition of genius, Smith had an intuition of all this, though he\nwas not acquainted with the facts. By a series of ingenious\ndeductions--which need not be reproduced here, for their interest is now\nonly historical[1146]--he thought that he could establish the fact that\nat the beginning the animal immolated in the sacrifice must have been\nregarded as quasi-divine and as a close relative of those who immolated\nit: now these characteristics are just the ones with which the totemic\nspecies is defined. Smith even went so far as to suppose that totemism\nmust have known and practised a rite wholly similar to the one we have\nbeen studying; he was even inclined to see the original source of the\nwhole sacrificial institution in a sacrifice of this sort.[1147]\nSacrifice was not founded to create a bond of artificial kinship between\na man and his gods, but to maintain and renew the natural kinship which\nprimitively united them. Here, as elsewhere, the artifice was born only\nto imitate nature. But in the book of Smith this hypothesis was\npresented as scarcely more than a theory which the then known facts\nsupported very imperfectly. The rare cases of totemic sacrifice which he\ncites in support of his theory do not have the significance he\nattributed to them; the animals which figure in them are not real\ntotems.[1148] But to-day we are able to state that on at least one point\nthe demonstration is made: in fact, we have just seen that in an\nimportant number of societies the totemic sacrifice, such as Smith\nconceived it, is or has been practised. Of course, we have no proof that\nthis practice is necessarily inherent to totemism or that it is the germ\nout of which all the other types of sacrifices have developed. But if\nthe universality of the rite is hypothetical, its existence is no longer\nto be contested. Hereafter it is to be regarded as established that the\nmost mystical form of the alimentary communion is found even in the most\nrudimentary cults known to-day.\n\n\nIV\n\nBut on another point the new facts at our disposal invalidate the\ntheories of Smith.\n\nAccording to him, the communion was not only an essential element of the\nsacrifice, but at the beginning, at least, it was the unique element.\nNot only is one mistaken when he reduces sacrifice to nothing more than\na tribute or offering, but the very idea of an offering was originally\nabsent from it; this intervened only at a late period and under the\ninfluence of external circumstances; so instead of being able to aid us\nin understanding it, it has rather masked the real nature of the ritual\nmechanism. In fact, Smith claimed to find in the very notion of oblation\nan absurdity so revolting that it could never have been the fundamental\nreason for so great an institution. One of the most important functions\nincumbent upon the divinity is to assure to men that food which is\nnecessary for life; so it seems impossible that the sacrifice, in its\nturn, should consist in a presentation of food to the divinity. It even\nseems self-contradictory that the gods should expect their food from a\nman, when it is from them that he gets his. Why should they have need of\nhis aid in order to deduct beforehand their just share of the things\nwhich he receives from their hands? From these considerations Smith\nconcluded that the idea of a sacrifice-offering could have been born\nonly in the great religions, where the gods, removed from the things\nwith which they were primitively confused, were thought of as sorts of\nkings and the eminent proprietors of the earth and its products. From\nthis moment onwards, the sacrifice was associated with the tribute which\nsubjects paid to their prince, as a price of the rights which were\nconceded to them. But this new interpretation was really an alteration\nand even a corruption of the primitive conception. For \"the idea of\nproperty materializes all that it touches\"; by introducing itself into\nthe sacrifice, it denatured it and made it into a sort of bargain\nbetween the man and the divinity.[1149]\n\nBut the facts which we have described overthrow this argumentation.\nThese rites are certainly among the most primitive that have ever been\nobserved. No determined mythical personality appears in them; there is\nno question of gods or spirits that are properly so called; it is only\nvaguely anonymous and impersonal forces which they put into action. Yet\nthe reasoning which they suppose is exactly the one that Smith declared\nimpossible because of its absurdity.\n\nLet us return to the first act of the Intichiuma, to the rites destined\nto assure the fecundity of the animal or vegetable species which serves\nthe clan as totem. This species is the pre-eminently sacred thing; in it\nis incarnated that which we have been able to call, by metaphor, the\ntotemic divinity. Yet we have seen that to perpetuate itself it has need\nof the aid of men. It is they who dispense the life of the new\ngeneration each year; without them, it would never be born. If they\nstopped celebrating the Intichiuma, the sacred beings would disappear\nfrom the face of the earth. So in one sense, it is from men that they\nget their existence; yet in another way, it is from them that men get\ntheirs; for after they have once arrived at maturity, it is from them\nthat men acquire the force needed to support and repair their spiritual\nbeings. Thus we are able to say that men make their gods, or, at least,\nmake them live; but at the same time, it is from them that they live\nthemselves. So they are regularly guilty of the circle which, according\nto Smith, is implied in the very idea of a sacrificial tribute: they\ngive to the sacred beings a little of what they receive from them, and\nthey receive from them all that they give.\n\nBut there is still more to be said: the oblations which he is thus\nforced to make every year do not differ in nature from those which are\nmade later in the rites properly called sacrifices. If the sacrificer\nimmolates an animal, it is in order that the living principles within it\nmay be disengaged from the organism and go to nourish the divinity.\nLikewise, the grains of dust which the Australian detaches from the\nsacred rock are so many sacred principles which he scatters into space,\nso that they may go to animate the totemic species and assure its\nrenewal. The gesture with which this scattering is made is also that\nwhich normally accompanies offerings. In certain cases, the resemblance\nbetween the two rites may be followed even to the details of the\nmovements effected. We have seen that in order to have rain the Kaitish\npour water over the sacred stone; among certain peoples, the priest\npours water over the altar, with the same end in view.[1150] The\neffusions of blood which are usual in a certain number of Intichiuma are\nveritable oblations. Just as the Arunta or Dieri sprinkle the sacred\nrock or the totemic design with blood, so it frequently happens that in\nthe more advanced cults, the blood of the sacrificed victim or of the\nworshipper himself is spilt before or upon the altar.[1151] In these\ncases, it is given to the gods, of whom it is the preferred food; in\nAustralia, it is given to the sacred species. So we have no ground for\nsaying that the idea of oblation is a late product of civilization.\n\nA document which we owe to Strehlow puts this kinship of the Intichiuma\nand the sacrifice clearly into evidence. This is a hymn which\naccompanies the Intichiuma of the Kangaroo; the ceremony is described at\nthe same time that its expected effects are announced. A morsel of\nkangaroo fat has been placed by the chief upon a support made of\nbranches. The text says that this fat makes the fat of the kangaroos\nincrease.[1152] This time, they do not confine themselves to sprinkling\nsacred dust or human blood about; the animal itself is immolated, or\nsacrificed as one might say, placed upon a sort of altar, and offered to\nthe species, whose life it should maintain.\n\nNow we see the sense in which we may say that the Intichiuma contains\nthe germs of the sacrificial system. In the form which it takes when\nfully constituted, a sacrifice is composed of two essential elements: an\nact of communion and an act of oblation. The worshipper communes with\nhis god by taking in a sacred food, and at the same time he makes an\noffering to this god. We find these two acts in the Intichiuma, as we\nhave described it. The only difference is that in the ordinary\nsacrifice[1153] they are made simultaneously or else follow one another\nimmediately, while in the Australian ceremony they are separated. In the\nformer case, they are parts of one undivided rite; here, they take place\nat different times, and may even be separated by a rather long interval.\nBut, at bottom, the mechanism is the same. Taken as a whole, the\nIntichiuma is a sacrifice, but one whose parts are not yet articulated\nand organized.\n\nThe relating of these two ceremonies has the double advantage of\nenabling us to understand better the nature of the Intichiuma and that\nof sacrifice.\n\nWe understand the Intichiuma better. In fact, the conception of Frazer,\nwhich made it a simple magic operation[1154] with no religious character\nat all, is now seen to be unsupportable. One cannot dream of excluding\nfrom religion a rite which is the forerunner of so great a religious\ninstitution.\n\nBut we also understand what the sacrifice itself is better. In the first\nplace, the equal importance of the two elements entering into it is now\nestablished. If the Australian makes offerings to his sacred beings,\nthere is no reason for supposing that the idea of oblation was foreign\nto the primitive organization of the sacrificial institution and later\nupset its natural arrangement. The theory of Smith must be revised on\nthis point.[1155] Of course the sacrifice is partially a communion; but\nit is also, and no less essentially, a gift and an act of renouncement.\nIt always presupposes that the worshipper gives some of his substance or\nhis goods to his gods. Every attempt to deduce one of these elements\nfrom the other is hopeless. Perhaps the oblation is even more permanent\nthan the communion.[1156]\n\nIn the second place, it ordinarily seems as though the sacrifice, and\nespecially the sacrificial oblation, could only be addressed to personal\nbeings. But the oblations which we have met with in Australia imply no\nnotion of this sort. In other words, the sacrifice is independent of the\nvarying forms in which the religious forces are conceived; it is founded\nupon more profound reasons, which we shall seek presently.\n\nIn any case, it is clear that the act of offering naturally arouses in\nthe mind the idea of a moral subject, whom this offering is destined to\nplease. The ritual acts which we have described become more\nintelligible when it is believed that they are addressed to persons. So\nthe practices of the Intichiuma, while actually putting only impersonal\nforces into play, prepare the way for a different conception.[1157] Of\ncourse they were not sufficient to form the idea of mythical\npersonalities by themselves, but when this idea had once been formed,\nthe very nature of these rites made it enter into the cult; thus, taking\na more direct interest in action and life, it also acquired a greater\nreality. So we are even able to believe that the cult favoured, in a\nsecondary manner, no doubt, but nevertheless one which is worthy of\nattention, the personification of the religious forces.\n\n\nV\n\nBut we still have to explain the contradiction in which Robertson Smith\nsaw an inadmissible logical scandal.\n\nIf the sacred beings always manifested their powers in a perfectly equal\nmanner, it would appear inconceivable that men should dream of offering\nthem services, for we cannot see what need they could have of them. But\nin the first place, in so far as they are confused with things, and in\nso far as they are regarded as principles of the cosmic life, they are\nthemselves submitted to the rhythm of this life. Now this goes in\noscillations in contrary directions, which succeed one another according\nto a determined law. Sometimes it is affirmed in all its glory;\nsometimes it weakens to such an extent that one may ask himself whether\nit is not going to fade away. Vegetation dies every year; will it be\nreborn? Animal species tend to become extinguished by the effect of\nnatural and violent death; will they be renewed at such a time and in\nsuch a way as is proper? Above all, the rain is capricious; there are\nlong periods during which it seems to have disappeared for ever. These\nperiodical variations of nature bear witness to the fact that at the\ncorresponding periods, the sacred beings upon whom the plants, animals,\nrain, etc., depend are themselves passing through grave crises; so they,\ntoo, have their periods of giving way. But men could not regard these\nspectacles as indifferent spectators. If he is to live, the universal\nlife must continue, and consequently the gods must not die. So he seeks\nto sustain and aid them; for this, he puts at their service whatever\nforces he has at his disposition, and mobilizes them for this purpose.\nThe blood flowing in his veins has fecundating virtues; he pours it\nforth. From the sacred rocks possessed by his clan he takes those germs\nof life which lie dormant there, and scatters them into space. In a\nword, he makes oblations.\n\nThe external and physical crises, moreover, duplicate internal and\nmental crises which tend toward the same result. Sacred beings exist\nonly when they are represented as such in the mind. When we cease to\nbelieve in them, it is as though they did not exist. Even those which\nhave a material form and are given by sensible experience, depend upon\nthe thought of the worshippers who adore them; for the sacred character\nwhich makes them objects of the cult is not given by their natural\nconstitution; it is added to them by belief. The kangaroo is only an\nanimal like all others; yet, for the men of the Kangaroo, it contains\nwithin it a principle which puts it outside the company of others, and\nthis principle exists only in the minds of those who believe in\nit.[1158] If these sacred beings, when once conceived, are to have no\nneed of men to continue, it would be necessary that the representations\nexpressing them always remain the same. But this stability is\nimpossible. In fact, it is in the communal life that they are formed,\nand this communal life is essentially intermittent. So they necessarily\npartake of this same intermittency. They attain their greatest intensity\nat the moment when the men are assembled together and are in immediate\nrelations with one another, when they all partake of the same idea and\nthe same sentiment. But when the assembly has broken up and each man has\nreturned to his own peculiar life, they progressively lose their\noriginal energy. Being covered over little by little by the rising flood\nof daily experiences, they would soon fall into the unconscious, if we\ndid not find some means of calling them back into consciousness and\nrevivifying them. If we think of them less forcefully, they amount to\nless for us and we count less upon them; they exist to a lesser degree.\nSo here we have another point of view, from which the services of men\nare necessary to them. This second reason for their existence is even\nmore important than the first, for it exists all the time. The\nintermittency of the physical life can affect religious beliefs only\nwhen religions are not yet detached from their cosmic basis. The\nintermittency of the social life, on the other hand, is inevitable; even\nthe most idealistic religions cannot escape it.\n\nMoreover, it is owing to this state of dependency upon the thought of\nmen, in which the gods find themselves, that the former are able to\nbelieve in the efficacy of their assistance. The only way of renewing\nthe collective representations which relate to sacred beings is to\nretemper them in the very source of the religious life, that is to say,\nin the assembled groups. Now the emotions aroused by these periodical\ncrises through which external things pass induce the men who witness\nthem to assemble, to see what should be done about it. But by the very\nfact of uniting, they are mutually comforted; they find a remedy because\nthey seek it together. The common faith becomes reanimated quite\nnaturally in the heart of this reconstituted group; if is born again\nbecause it again finds those very conditions in which it was born in the\nfirst place. After it has been restored, it easily triumphs over all the\nprivate doubts which may have arisen in individual minds. The image of\nthe sacred things regains power enough to resist the internal or\nexternal causes which tended to weaken it. In spite of their apparent\nfailure, men can no longer believe that the gods will die, because they\nfeel them living in their own hearts. The means employed to succour\nthem, howsoever crude these may be, cannot appear vain, for everything\ngoes on as if they were really effective. Men are more confident because\nthey feel themselves stronger; and they really are stronger, because\nforces which were languishing are now reawakened in the consciousness.\n\nSo we must be careful not to believe, along with Smith, that the cult\nwas founded solely for the benefit of men and that the gods have nothing\nto do with it: they have no less need of it than their worshippers. Of\ncourse men would be unable to live without gods, but, on the other hand,\nthe gods would die if their cult were not rendered. This does not have\nthe sole object of making profane subjects communicate with sacred\nbeings, but it also keeps these latter alive and is perpetually remaking\nand regenerating them. Of course it is not the material oblations which\nbring about this regeneration by their own virtues; it is the mental\nstates which these actions, though vain in themselves, accompany or\nreawaken. The real reason for the existence of the cults, even of those\nwhich are the most materialistic in appearance, is not to be sought in\nthe acts which they prescribe, but in the internal and moral\nregeneration which these acts aid in bringing about. The things which\nthe worshipper really gives his gods are not the foods which he places\nupon the altars, nor the blood which he lets flow from his veins: it is\nhis thought. Nevertheless, it is true that there is an exchange of\nservices, which are mutually demanded, between the divinity and its\nworshippers. The rule _do ut des_, by which the principle of sacrifice\nhas sometimes been defined, is not a late invention of utilitarian\ntheorists: it only expresses in an explicit way the very mechanism of\nthe sacrificial system and, more generally, of the whole positive cult.\nSo the circle pointed out by Smith is very real; but it contains nothing\nhumiliating for the reason. It comes from the fact that the sacred\nbeings, though superior to men, can live only in the human\nconsciousness.\n\nBut this circle will appear still more natural to us, and we shall\nunderstand its meaning and the reason for its existence still better if,\ncarrying our analysis still farther and substituting for the religious\nsymbols the realities which they represent, we investigate how these\nbehave in the rite. If, as we have attempted to establish, the sacred\nprinciple is nothing more nor less than society transfigured and\npersonified, it should be possible to interpret the ritual in lay and\nsocial terms. And, as a matter of fact, social life, just like the\nritual, moves in a circle. On the one hand, the individual gets from\nsociety the best part of himself, all that gives him a distinct\ncharacter and a special place among other beings, his intellectual and\nmoral culture. If we should withdraw from men their language, sciences,\narts and moral beliefs, they would drop to the rank of animals. So the\ncharacteristic attributes of human nature come from society. But, on the\nother hand, society exists and lives only in and through individuals. If\nthe idea of society were extinguished in individual minds and the\nbeliefs, traditions and aspirations of the group were no longer felt and\nshared by the individuals, society would die. We can say of it what we\njust said of the divinity: it is real only in so far as it has a place\nin human consciousnesses, and this place is whatever one we may give it.\nWe now see the real reason why the gods cannot do without their\nworshippers any more than these can do without their gods; it is because\nsociety, of which the gods are only a symbolic expression, cannot do\nwithout individuals any more than these can do without society.\n\nHere we touch the solid rock upon which all the cults are built and\nwhich has caused their persistence ever since human societies have\nexisted. When we see what religious rites consist of and towards what\nthey seem to tend, we demand with astonishment how men have been able to\nimagine them, and especially how they can remain so faithfully attached\nto them. Whence could the illusion have come that with a few grains of\nsand thrown to the wind, or a few drops of blood shed upon a rock or the\nstone of an altar, it is possible to maintain the life of an animal\nspecies or of a god? We have undoubtedly made a step in advance towards\nthe solution of this problem when we have discovered, behind these\noutward and apparently unreasonable movements, a mental mechanism which\ngives them a meaning and a moral significance. But we are in no way\nassured that this mechanism itself does not consist in a simple play of\nhallucinatory images. We have pointed out the psychological process\nwhich leads the believers to imagine that the rite causes the spiritual\nforces of which they have need to be reborn about them; but it does not\nfollow from the fact that this belief is psychologically explicable that\nit has any objective value. If we are to see in the efficacy attributed\nto the rites anything more than the product of a chronic delirium with\nwhich humanity has abused itself, we must show that the effect of the\ncult really is to recreate periodically a moral being upon which we\ndepend as it depends upon us. Now this being does exist: it is society.\n\nHowsoever little importance the religious ceremonies may have, they put\nthe group into action; the groups assemble to celebrate them. So their\nfirst effect is to bring individuals together, to multiply the relations\nbetween them and to make them more intimate with one another. By this\nvery fact, the contents of their consciousnesses is changed. On ordinary\ndays, it is utilitarian and individual avocations which take the greater\npart of the attention. Every one attends to his own personal business;\nfor most men, this primarily consists in satisfying the exigencies of\nmaterial life, and the principal incentive to economic activity has\nalways been private interest. Of course social sentiments could never be\ntotally absent. We remain in relations with others; the habits, ideas\nand tendencies which education has impressed upon us and which\nordinarily preside over our relations with others, continue to make\ntheir action felt. But they are constantly combated and held in check by\nthe antagonistic tendencies aroused and supported by the necessities of\nthe daily struggle. They resist more or less successfully, according to\ntheir intrinsic energy: but this energy is not renewed. They live upon\ntheir past, and consequently they would be used up in the course of\ntime, if nothing returned to them a little of the force that they lose\nthrough these incessant conflicts and frictions. When the Australians,\nscattered in little groups, spend their time in hunting and fishing,\nthey lose sight of what concerns their clan or tribe: their only thought\nis to catch as much game as possible. On feast days, on the contrary,\nthese preoccupations are necessarily eclipsed; being essentially\nprofane, they are excluded from these sacred periods. At this time,\ntheir thoughts are centred upon their common beliefs, their common\ntraditions, the memory of their great ancestors, the collective ideal\nof which they are the incarnation; in a word, upon social things. Even\nthe material interests which these great religious ceremonies are\ndesigned to satisfy concern the public order and are therefore social.\nSociety as a whole is interested that the harvest be abundant, that the\nrain fall at the right time and not excessively, that the animals\nreproduce regularly. So it is society that is in the foreground of every\nconsciousness; It dominates and directs all conduct; this is equivalent\nto saying that it is more living and active, and consequently more real,\nthan in profane times. So men do not deceive themselves when they feel\nat this time that there is something outside of them which is born\nagain, that there are forces which are reanimated and a life which\nreawakens. This renewal is in no way imaginary and the individuals\nthemselves profit from it. For the spark of a social being which each\nbears within him necessarily participates in this collective renovation.\nThe individual soul is regenerated too, by being dipped again in the\nsource from which its life comes; consequently it feels itself stronger,\nmore fully master of itself, less dependent upon physical necessities.\n\nWe know that the positive cult naturally tends to take periodic forms;\nthis is one of its distinctive features. Of course there are rites which\nmen celebrate occasionally, in connection with passing situations. But\nthese episodic practices are always merely accessory, and in the\nreligions studied in this book, they are almost exceptional. The\nessential constituent of the cult is the cycle of feasts which return\nregularly at determined epochs. We are now able to understand whence\nthis tendency towards periodicity comes; the rhythm which the religious\nlife follows only expresses the rhythm of the social life, and results\nfrom it. Society is able to revivify the sentiment it has of itself only\nby assembling. But it cannot be assembled all the time. The exigencies\nof life do not allow it to remain in congregation indefinitely; so it\nscatters, to assemble anew when it again feels the need of this. It is\nto these necessary alternations that the regular alternations of sacred\nand profane times correspond. Since the apparent object, at least, of\nthe cult was at first to regularize the course of natural phenomena, the\nrhythm of the cosmic life has put its mark on the rhythm of the ritual\nlife. This is why the feasts have long been associated with the seasons;\nwe have seen this characteristic already in the Intichiuma of Australia.\nBut the seasons have only furnished the outer frame-work for this\norganization, and not the principle upon which it rests; for even the\ncults which aim at exclusively spiritual ends have remained periodical.\nSo this periodicity must be due to other causes. Since the seasonal\nchanges are critical periods for nature, they are a natural occasion for\nassembling, and consequently for religious ceremonies. But other events\ncan and have successfully fulfilled this function of occasional cause.\nHowever, it must be recognized that this frame-work, though purely\nexternal, has given proof of a singular resistive force, for traces of\nit are found even in the religions which are the most fully detached\nfrom all physical bases. Many Christian celebrations are founded, with\nno break of continuity, on the pastoral and agrarian feasts of the\nancient Hebrews, although in themselves they are neither pastoral nor\nagrarian.\n\nMoreover, this rhythm is capable of varying in different societies.\nWhere the period of dispersion is long, and the dispersion itself is\nextreme, the period of congregation, in its turn, is very prolonged, and\nproduces veritable debauches of collective and religions life. Feasts\nsucceed one another for weeks or even for months, while the ritual life\nsometimes attains to a sort of frenzy. This is what happens among the\nAustralian tribes and many of the tribes of North-western America.[1159]\nElsewhere, on the contrary, these two phases of the social life succeed\none another after shorter intervals, and then the contrast between them\nis less marked. The more societies develop, the less they seem to allow\nof too great intermittences.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE POSITIVE CULT--_continued_\n\nII.--_Imitative Rites and the Principle of Causality_\n\n\nBut the processes which we have just been describing are not the only\nones employed to assure the fecundity of the totemic species. There are\nothers which serve for the same end, whether they accompany the\npreceding ones or replace them.\n\n\nI\n\nIn the very ceremonies which we have been describing, in addition to the\noblations, whether bloody or otherwise, there are other rites which are\nfrequently celebrated, whose object is to complete the former ones and\nto consolidate their effects. They consist in movements and cries whose\nobject is to imitate the different attitudes and aspects of the animal\nwhose reproduction is desired; therefore, we shall call them\n_imitative_.\n\nThus the Intichiuma of the Witchetty grub among the Arunta includes more\nthan the rites performed upon the sacred rocks, of which we have already\nspoken. When these are finished, the men set out to return to camp; but\nwhen they still are about a mile away, they halt and all decorate\nthemselves ritually; after this, the march is resumed. The decorations\nwith which they thus adorn themselves announce that an important\nceremony is going to take place. And, in fact, while the company was\nabsent, one of the old men who had been left to guard the camp had built\na shelter out of branches, called _Umbana_, which represented the\nchrysalis out of which the insect comes. All of those who had taken part\nin the previous ceremonies assemble near the spot where this\nconstruction has been raised; then they advance slowly, stopping from\ntime to time, until they reach the _Umbana_, which they enter. At once\nall the men who do not belong to the phratry of the Witchetty grub\ntotem, and who assist at the scene, though from a distance, lie down on\nthe ground, with their faces against the earth; they must remain in this\nposition without moving until they are allowed to get up again.\nMeanwhile, a chant arises from the interior of the Umbana, which\ndescribes the different phases through which the animal passes in the\ncourse of its development, and the myths of which the sacred rocks are\nthe subject. When this hymn ceases, the Alatunja glides out of the\n_Umbana_, though remaining in a squatting position, and advances slowly\nover the ground before him; he is followed by all his companions who\nreproduce gestures whose evident object is to represent the insect as it\nleaves the chrysalis. Also, a hymn which is heard at just this moment\nand which is like an oral commentary on the rite, consists in a\ndescription of the movements made by the insect at this stage of its\ndevelopment.[1160]\n\nAnother Intichiuma,[1161] celebrated in connection with another kind of\ngrub, the _unchalka_[1162] grub, has this character still more clearly.\nThe actors of this rite decorate themselves with designs representing\nthe _unchalka_ bush upon which this grub lives at the beginning of its\nexistence. Then they cover a buckler with concentric circles of down,\nrepresenting another kind of bush upon which the insect lays its eggs\nwhen it has become adult. When all these preparations are finished, they\nall sit down on the ground in a semicircle facing the principal\nofficiant. He alternately bends his body double by leaning towards the\nground and then rises on his knees; at the same time, he shakes his\nstretched-out arms, which is a way of representing the wings of the\ninsect. From time to time, he leans over the buckler, imitating the way\nin which the butterfly flies over the trees where it lays its eggs. When\nthis ceremony is finished, another commences at a different spot, to\nwhich they go in silence. This time they use two bucklers. Upon one the\ntracks of the grub are represented by zigzag lines; upon the other,\nconcentric circles of uneven dimensions represent the eggs of the insect\nand the seed of the Eremophile bush, upon which it is nourished. As in\nthe former ceremony, they all sit down in silence while the officiant\nacts, representing the movements of the animal when leaving its\nchrysalis and taking its first flight.\n\nSpencer and Gillen also point out certain analogous facts among the\nArunta, though these are of a minor importance: in the Intichiuma of the\nEmu, for example, at a certain moment the actors try to reproduce by\ntheir attitude the air and aspect of this bird;[1163] in the Intichiuma\nof water, the men of the totem utter the characteristic cry of the\nplover, a cry which is naturally associated in the mind with the rainy\nseason.[1164] But in all, the examples of imitative rites which these\ntwo explorers have noted are rather few in number. However, it is\ncertain that their relative silence on this point is due either to their\nnot having observed the Intichiuma sufficiently or else to their having\nneglected this side of the ceremonies; Schulze, on the other hand, has\nbeen struck by the essentially imitative nature of the Arunta rites.\n\"The sacred corrobbori,\" he says, \"are generally ceremonies representing\nanimals\": he calls them _animal tjurunga_[1165] and his testimony is now\nconfirmed by the documents collected by Strehlow. The examples given by\nthis latter author are so numerous that it is impossible to cite them\nall: there are scarcely any ceremonies in which some imitating gesture\nis not pointed out. According to the nature of the animals whose feast\nis celebrated, they jump after the manner of kangaroos, or imitate the\nmovements they make in eating, the flight of winged ants, the\ncharacteristic noise of the bat, the cry of the wild turkey, the hissing\nof the snake, the croaking of the frog, etc.[1166] When the totem is a\nplant, they make the gesture of plucking it,[1167] or eating it,[1168]\netc.\n\nAmong the Warramunga, the Intichiuma generally takes a special form,\nwhich we shall describe in the next chapter and which differs from those\nwhich we have studied up to the present. However, there is one typical\ncase of a purely imitative Intichiuma among this people; it is that of\nthe black cockatoo. The ceremony described by Spencer and Gillen\ncommenced at ten o'clock in the evening. All night long the chief of the\nclan imitated the cry of the bird with a disheartening monotony. He\nstopped only when he had come to the end of his force, and then his son\nreplaced him; then he commenced again as soon as he felt a little\nrefreshed. These exhausting exercises continued until morning without\ninterruption.[1169]\n\nLiving beings are not the only ones which they try to imitate. In a\nlarge number of tribes, the Intichiuma of rain consists essentially in\nimitative rites. One of the most simple of these is that celebrated\namong the Arabunna. The chief of the clan is seated on the ground, all\ncovered with white down and holding a lance in his hands. He shakes\nhimself, undoubtedly in order to detach from his body the down which is\nfixed there and which represents clouds when scattered about in the air.\nThus he imitates the men-clouds of the Alcheringa who, according to the\nlegend, had the habit of ascending to heaven and forming clouds there,\nfrom which the rain then fell. In a word, the object of the whole rite\nis to represent the formation and ascension of clouds, the bringers of\nrain.[1170]\n\nThe ceremony is much more complicated among the Kaitish. We have already\nspoken of one of the means employed: the officiant pours water over the\nsacred stones and himself. But the action of this sort of oblation is\nreinforced by other rites. The rainbow is considered to have a close\nconnection with rain: they say that it is its son and that it is always\nurged to appear to make the rain stop. To make the rain fall, it is\ntherefore necessary that it should not appear; they believe that this\nresult can be obtained in the following manner. A design representing a\nrainbow is made upon a buckler. They carry this buckler to camp, taking\ncare to keep it hidden from all eyes. They are convinced that by making\nthis image of the rainbow invisible, they keep the rainbow itself from\nappearing. Meanwhile, the chief of the clan, having beside him a\n_pitchi_ full of water, throws in all directions flakes of down which\nrepresent clouds. Repeated imitations of the cry of the plover complete\nthis ceremony, which seems to have an especial gravity; for as long as\nit lasts, all those who participate in it, either as actors or\nassistants, may have no relations whatsoever with their wives; they may\nnot even speak to them.[1171]\n\nThe processes of figuration are different among the Dieri. Rain is not\nrepresented by water, but by blood, which the men cause to flow from\ntheir veins on to the assistants.[1172] At the same time they throw\nhandfuls of white down about, which represent clouds. A hut has been\nconstructed previously, in which they now place two large stones\nrepresenting piles of clouds, a sign of rain. After they have been left\nthere for a little while, they are carried a little distance away and\nplaced as high as possible in the loftiest tree to be found; this is a\nway of making the clouds mount into the sky. Powdered gypsum is then\nthrown into a water-hole, for when he sees this, the rain spirit soon\nmakes the clouds appear. Finally all the men, young and old, assemble\naround the hut and with heads lowered, they charge upon it; they rush\nviolently through it, repeating the operation several times, until\nnothing remains of the whole construction except the supporting posts.\nThen they fall upon these and shake and pull at them until the whole\nthing has tumbled down. The operation consisting in running through the\nhut is supposed to represent clouds bursting; the tumbling down of the\nconstruction, the fall of rain.[1173]\n\nIn the north-western tribes studied by Clement,[1174] which occupy the\ndistrict included between the Fontescue and Fitzroy rivers, certain\nceremonies are celebrated whose object is exactly the same as that of\nthe Intichiuma of the Arunta, and which seem to be, for the most part,\nessentially imitative.\n\nThese peoples give the name _tarlow_ to certain piles of stones which\nare evidently sacred, for, as we shall see, they are the object of\nimportant rites. Every animal, every plant, and in fact, every totem or\nsub-totem,[1175] is represented by a _tarlow_ which a special clan[1176]\nguards. The analogy between these _tarlow_ and the sacred rocks of the\nArunta is easily seen.\n\nWhen kangaroos, for example, become rare, the chief of the clan to which\nthe _tarlow_ of the kangaroo belongs goes to it with a certain number of\ncompanions. Here various rites are performed, the chief of which consist\nin jumping around the _tarlow_ as kangaroos jump, in drinking as they\ndrink and, in a word, in imitating all their most characteristic\nmovements. The weapons used in hunting the animal have an important part\nin these rites. They brandish them, throw them against the stones, etc.\nWhen they are concerned for emus, they go to the _tarlow_ of the emu,\nand walk and run as these birds do. The skill which the natives show in\nthese imitations is, as it appears, really remarkable.\n\nOther _tarlow_ are consecrated to plants, such as the cereals. In this\ncase, they imitate the actions of threshing and grinding the grain.\nSince in ordinary life it is the women who are normally charged with\nthese tasks, it is also they who perform the rite, in the midst of songs\nand dances.\n\n\nII\n\nAll these rites belong to the same type. The principle upon which they\nrest is one of those at the basis of what is commonly and incorrectly\ncalled sympathetic[1177] magic.\n\nThese principles are ordinarily reduced to two.[1178]\n\nThe first may be stated thus: _anything touching an object also touches\neverything which has any relation of proximity or unity whatsoever with\nthis object_. Thus, whatever affects the part also affects the whole;\nany action exercised over an individual is transmitted to his\nneighbours, relatives and all those to whom he is united in any way. All\nthese cases are simple applications of the law of contagion, which we\nhave already studied. A condition or a good or bad quality are\ncommunicated contagiously from one subject to another who has some\nconnection with the former.\n\nThe second principle is ordinarily summed up in the formula: _like\nproduces like_. The representation of a being or condition produces this\nbeing or condition. This is the maxim which brings about the rites which\nwe have just been describing, and it is in them that we can best observe\nits characteristics. The classical example of the magic charm, which is\nordinarily given as the typical application of this same precept, is\nmuch less significant. The charm is, to a large extent, a simple\nphenomenon of transfer. The idea of the image is associated in the mind\nwith that of the model; consequently the effects of an action performed\nupon a statue are transmitted contagiously to the person whose traits it\nreproduces. The function of the image is for its original what that of a\npart is for the whole: it is an agent of transmission. Therefore men\nthink that they can obtain the same result by burning the hair of the\nperson whom they wish to injure: the only difference between these two\nsorts of operations is that in one, the communication is made through\nsimilarity, while in the other it is by means of contiguity. It is\ndifferent with the rites which concern us. They suppose not only the\ndisplacement of a given condition or quality, which passes from one\nobject into the other, but also the creation of something entirely new.\nThe mere act of representing the animal gives birth to this animal and\ncreates it; by imitating the sound of wind or falling water, they cause\nclouds to form, rain to fall, etc. Of course resemblance plays an\nimportant part in each case, but not at all the same one. In a charm, it\nonly gives a special direction to the action exercised; it directs in a\ncertain way an action not originating in it. In the rites of which we\nhave just been speaking, it acts by itself and is directly efficacious.\nSo, in contradiction to the usual definitions, the real difference\nbetween the two principles of the so-called sympathetic magic and the\ncorresponding practices is not that it is contiguity acts in one case\nand resemblance in the other, but that in the former there is a simple\ncontagious communication, while there is production and creation in the\nlatter.[1179]\n\nThe explanation of imitative rites therefore implies the explanation of\nthe second of these principles, and reciprocally.\n\nWe shall not tarry long to discuss the explanation proposed by the\nanthropological school, and especially by Tylor and Frazer. Just as in\ntheir attempts to account for the contagiousness of a sacred character,\nthey invoke the association of ideas. \"Hom[oe]opathic magic,\" says\nFrazer, who prefers this expression to imitative magic, \"is founded on\nthe association of ideas by similarity; contagious magic is founded on\nthe association of ideas by contiguity. Hom[oe]opathic magic commits the\nmistake of assuming that things which resemble each other are the\nsame.\"[1180] But this is a misunderstanding of the special nature of the\npractices under discussion. On the one hand, the formula of Frazer may\nbe applied with some fitness to the case of charms;[1181] here, in fact,\ntwo distinct things are associated with each other, owing to their\npartial resemblance: these are the image and the model which it\nrepresents more or less systematically. But in the imitative rites,\nwhich we have just been observing, the image alone is given; as for the\nmodel, it does not exist, for the new generation of the totemic species\nis as yet only a hope and even an uncertain hope at that. So there could\nbe no question of association, whether correct or not; there is a real\ncreation, and we cannot see how the association of ideas could possibly\nlead to a belief in this creation. How could the mere act of\nrepresenting the movements of an animal bring about the certitude that\nthis animal will be born, and born in abundance?\n\nThe general properties of human nature cannot explain such special\npractices. So instead of considering the principle upon which they rest\nin its general and abstract form, let us replace it in the environment\nof which it is a part and where we have been observing it, and let us\nconnect it with the system of ideas and sentiments which the above rites\nput into practice, and then we shall be better able to perceive the\ncauses from which it results.\n\nThe men who assemble on the occasion of these rites believe that they\nare really animals or plants of the species whose name they bear. They\nfeel within them an animal or vegetable nature, and in their eyes, this\nis what constitutes whatever is the most essential and the most\nexcellent in them. So when they assemble, their first movement ought to\nbe to show each other this quality which they attribute to themselves\nand by which they are defined. The totem is their rallying sign; for\nthis reason, as we have seen, they design it upon their bodies; but it\nis no less natural that they should seek to resemble it in their\ngestures, their cries, their attitude. Since they are emus or kangaroos,\nthey comport themselves like the animals of the same name. By this\nmeans, they mutually show one another that they are all members of the\nsame moral community and they become conscious of the kinship uniting\nthem. The rite does not limit itself to expressing this kinship; it\nmakes it or remakes it. For it exists only in so far as it is believed\nin, and the effect of all these collective demonstrations is to support\nthe beliefs upon which they are founded. Therefore, these leaps, these\ncries and these movements of every sort, though bizarre and grotesque in\nappearance, really have a profound and human meaning. The Australian\nseeks to resemble his totem just as the faithful in more advanced\nreligions seek to resemble their God. For the one as for the other, this\nis a means of communicating with the sacred being, that is to say, with\nthe collective ideal which this latter symbolizes. This is an early form\nof the [Greek: homoi\u00f4sis t\u00f4 the\u00f4].\n\nHowever, as this first reason is connected with the most specialized\nportions of the totemic beliefs, the principle by which like produces\nlike should not have survived totemism, if this had been the only one in\noperation. Now there is probably no religion in which rites derived from\nit are not found. So another reason must co-operate with this first one.\n\nAnd, in fact, the ceremonies where we have seen it applied do not merely\nhave the very general object which we have just mentioned, howsoever\nessential this may be; they also aim at a more immediate and more\nconscious end, which is the assurance of the reproduction of the totemic\nspecies. The idea of this necessary reproduction haunts the minds of the\nworshippers: upon it the forces of their attention and will are\nconcentrated. Now a single preoccupation cannot possess a group of men\nto this point without being externalized in a material form. Since all\nthink of the animal or plant to whose destinies the clan is united, it\nis inevitable that this common thought should not be manifested\noutwardly by gestures,[1182] and those naturally designated for this\noffice are those which represent this animal or plant in one of its most\ncharacteristic attitudes; there are no other movements so close to the\nidea filling every mind, for these are an immediate and almost automatic\ntranslation of it. So they make themselves imitate the animal; they cry\nlike it, they jump like it; they reproduce the scenes in which they make\ndaily use of the plant. All these ways of representation are just so\nmany means of ostensibly showing the end towards which all minds are\ndirected, of telling the thing which they wish to realize, of calling it\nup and of evoking it. And this need belongs to no one time, nor does it\ndepend upon the beliefs of any special religion; it is essentially\nhuman. This is why, even in religions very far removed from those we\nhave been studying, the worshippers, when assembled to ask their gods\nfor some event which they ardently desire, are forced to figure it. Of\ncourse, the word is also a way of expressing it; but the gesture is no\nless natural; it bursts out from the organism just as spontaneously; it\neven precedes the word, or, in any case, accompanies it.\n\nBut if we can thus understand how the gestures acquired a place in the\nceremony, we still must explain the efficacy attributed to them. If the\nAustralian repeats them regularly each new season, it is because he\nbelieves them essential to the success of the rite. Where could he have\ngotten the idea that by imitating an animal, one causes it to reproduce?\n\nSo manifest an error seems hardly intelligible so long as we see in the\nrite only the material end towards which it seems to aim. But we know\nthat in addition to the effect which it is thought to have on the\ntotemic species, it also exercises a profound influence over the souls\nof the worshippers who take part in it. They take away with them a\nfeeling of well-being, whose causes they cannot clearly see, but which\nis well founded. They feel that the ceremony is good for them; and, as a\nmatter of fact, they reforge their moral nature in it. How could this\nsort of well-being fail to give them a feeling that the rite has\nsucceeded, that it has been what it set out to be, and that it has\nattained the ends at which it was aimed? As the only end which was\nconsciously sought was the reproduction of the totemic species, this\nseems to be assured by the means employed, the efficacy of which is thus\nproven. Thus it comes about that men attribute creative virtues to their\ngestures, which in themselves are vain. The moral efficacy of the rite,\nwhich is real, leads to the belief in its physical efficacy, which is\nimaginary; that of the whole, to the belief in that of each part by\nitself. The truly useful effects produced by the whole ceremony are like\nan experimental justification of the elementary practices out of which\nit is made, though in reality, all these practices are in no way\nindispensable to its success. A certain proof, moreover, that they do\nnot act by themselves is that they may be replaced by others, of a very\ndifferent nature, without any modification of the final result. It\nappears that there are Intichiuma which include only oblations, with no\nimitative rites; others are purely imitative, and include no oblations.\nHowever, both are believed to have the same efficacy. So if a price is\nattached to these various man[oe]uvres, it is not because of their\nintrinsic value, but because they are a part of a complex rite, whose\nutility as a whole is realized.\n\nWe are able to understand this state of mind all the easier because we\ncan still observe it about us. Especially among the most cultivated\npeoples and environments, we frequently meet with believers who, though\nhaving doubts as to the special efficacy attributed by dogma to each\nrite considered separately, still continue to participate in the cult.\nThey are not sure that the details of the prescribed observances are\nrationally justifiable; but they feel that it would be impossible to\nfree oneself of them without falling into a moral confusion before which\nthey recoil. The very fact that in them the faith has lost its\nintellectual foundations throws into eminence the profound reasons upon\nwhich they rest. This is why the easy criticisms to which an unduly\nsimple rationalism has sometimes submitted ritual prescriptions\ngenerally leave the believer indifferent: it is because the true\njustification of religious practices does not lie in the apparent ends\nwhich they pursue, but rather in the invisible action which they\nexercise over the mind and in the way in which they affect our mental\nstatus. Likewise, when preachers undertake to convince, they devote much\nless attention to establishing directly and by methodical proofs the\ntruth of any particular proposition or the utility of such and such an\nobservance, than to awakening or reawakening the sentiment of the moral\ncomfort attained by the regular celebration of the cult. Thus they\ncreate a predisposition to belief, which precedes proofs, which leads\nthe mind to overlook the insufficiency of the logical reasons, and which\nthus prepares it for the proposition whose acceptance is desired. This\nfavourable prejudice, this impulse towards believing, is just what\nconstitutes faith; and it is faith which makes the authority of the\nrites, according to the believer, whoever he may be, Christian or\nAustralian. The only superiority of the former is that he better\naccounts for the psychological process from which his faith results; he\nknows that \"it is faith that saves.\"\n\nIt is because faith has this origin that it is, in a sense, \"impermeable\nto experience.\"[1183] If the intermittent failures of the Intichiuma do\nnot shake the confidence of the Australian in his rite, it is because\nhe holds with all the strength of his soul to these practices in which\nhe periodically recreates himself; he could not deny their principle\nwithout causing an upheaval of his own being, which resists. But\nhowsoever great this force of resistance may be, it cannot radically\ndistinguish religious mentality from the other forms of human mentality,\neven those which are the most habitually opposed to it. In this\nconnection, that of a scholar differs from the preceding only in degree.\nWhen a scientific law has the authority of numerous and varied\nexperiments, it is against all method to renounce it too quickly upon\nthe discovery of a fact which seems to contradict it. It is still\nnecessary to make sure that the fact does not allow of a single\ninterpretation, and that it is impossible to account for it, without\nabandoning the proposition which it seems to invalidate. Now the\nAustralian does not proceed otherwise when he attributes the failure of\nthe Intichiuma to some sorcery, or the abundance of a premature crop to\na mystic Intichiuma celebrated in the beyond. He has all the more reason\nfor not doubting his rite on the belief in a contrary fact, since its\nvalue is, or seems to be, established by a larger number of harmonizing\nfacts. In the first place, the moral efficacy of the ceremony is real\nand is felt directly by all who participate in it; there is a constantly\nrenewed experience in it, whose importance no contradictory experience\ncan diminish. Also, the physical efficacy itself is not unable to find\nan at least apparent confirmation in the data of objective observation.\nAs a matter of fact, the totemic species normally does reproduce\nregularly; so in the great majority of cases, everything happens just as\nif the ritual gestures really did produce the effects expected of them.\nFailures are the exception. As the rites, and especially those which are\nperiodical, demand nothing more of nature than that it follow its\nordinary course, it is not surprising that it should generally have the\nair of obeying them. So if the believer shows himself indocile to\ncertain lessons of experience, he does so because of other experiences\nwhich seem more demonstrative. The scholar does not do otherwise; only\nhe introduces more method.\n\n\nSo magic is not, as Frazer has held,[1184] an original fact, of which\nreligion is only a derived form. Quite on the contrary, it was under the\ninfluence of religious ideas that the precepts upon which the art of the\nmagician is based were established, and it was only through a secondary\nextension that they were applied to purely lay relations. Since all the\nforces of the universe have been conceived on the model of the sacred\nforces, the contagiousness inherent in the second was extended to the\nfirst, and men have believed that all the properties of a body could be\ntransmitted contagiously. Likewise, when the principle according to\nwhich like produces like had been established, in order to satisfy\ncertain religious needs, it detached itself from its ritual origins to\nbecome, through a sort of spontaneous generalization, a law of\nnature.[1185] But in order to understand these fundamental axioms of\nmagic, they must be replaced in the religious atmosphere in which they\narose and which alone enables us to account for them. When we regard\nthem as the work of isolated individuals or solitary magicians, we ask\nhow they could ever have occurred to the mind of man, for nothing in\nexperience could either suggest or verify them; and especially we do not\nexplain how so deceiving an art has been able to impose itself for so\nlong a time in the confidence of men. But this problem disappears when\nwe realize that the faith inspired by magic is only a particular case of\nreligious faith in general, and that it is itself the product, at least\nindirectly, of a collective effervescence. This is as much as to say\nthat the use of the expression sympathetic magic to designate the system\nof rites which we have just been speaking is not very exact. There are\nsympathetic rites, but they are not peculiar to magic; not only are they\nto be found in religion, but it was from religion that magic received\nthem. So we only risk confusion when, by the name we give them, we have\nthe air of making them something which is specifically magic.\n\nThe results of our analysis thus attach themselves to and confirm those\nattained by MM. Hubert and Mauss when they studied magic directly.[1186]\nThey have shown that this is nothing more nor less than crude industry\nbased on incomplete science. Behind the mechanisms, purely laical in\nappearance, which are used by the magician, they point out a background\nof religious conceptions and a whole world of forces, the idea of which\nhas been taken by magic from religion. We are now able to understand how\nit comes that magic is so full of religious elements: it is because it\nwas born of religion.\n\n\nIII\n\nBut the principle which has just been set forth does not merely have a\nfunction in the ritual; it is of direct interest for the theory of\nknowledge. In fact, it is a concrete statement of the law of causality\nand, in all probability, one of the most primitive statements of it\nwhich has ever existed. A full conception of the causal relation is\nimplied in the power thus attributed to the like to produce the like;\nand this conception dominates primitive thought, for it is the basis\nboth of the practices of the cult and the technique of the magician. So\nthe origins of the precept upon which the imitative rites depend are\nable to clarify those of the principle of causality. The genesis of one\nshould aid us in understanding the genesis of the other. Now we have\nshown how the former is a product of social causes: it was elaborated by\ngroups having collective ends in view, and it translates collective\nsentiments. So we may assume that the same is true for the second.\n\nIn fact, an analysis of the principle of causality is sufficient to\nassure us that the diverse elements of which it is composed really did\nhave this origin.\n\nThe first thing which is implied in the notion of the causal relation is\nthe idea of efficacy, of productive power, of active force. By cause we\nordinarily mean something capable of producing a certain change. The\ncause is the force before it has shown the power which is in it; the\neffect is this same power, only actualized. Men have always thought of\ncausality in dynamic terms. Of course certain philosophers had refused\nall objective value to this conception; they see in it only an arbitrary\nconstruction of the imagination, which corresponds to nothing in the\nthings themselves. But, at present, we have no need of asking whether it\nis founded in reality or not; it is enough for us to state that it\nexists and that it constitutes and always has constituted an element of\nordinary mentality; and this is recognized even by those who criticize\nit. Our immediate purpose is to seek, not what it may be worth\nlogically, but how it is to be explained.\n\nNow it depends upon social causes. Our analysis of facts has already\nenabled us to see that the prototype of the idea of force was the mana,\nwakan, orenda, the totemic principle or any of the various names given\nto collective force objectified and projected into things.[1187] The\nfirst power which men have thought of as such seems to have been that\nexercised by humanity over its members. Thus reason confirms the results\nof observation; in fact, it is even possible to show why this notion of\npower, efficacy or active force could not have come from any other\nsource.\n\nIn the first place, it is evident and recognized by all that it could\nnot be furnished to us by external experience. Our senses only enable\nus to perceive phenomena which coexist or which follow one another, but\nnothing perceived by them could give us the idea of this determining and\ncompelling action which is characteristic of what we call a power or\nforce. They can touch only realized and known conditions, each separate\nfrom the others; the internal process uniting these conditions escapes\nthem. Nothing that we learn could possibly suggest to us the idea of\nwhat an influence or efficaciousness is. It is for this very reason that\nthe philosophers of empiricism have regarded these different conceptions\nas so many mythological aberrations. But even supposing that they all\nare hallucinations, it is still necessary to show how they originated.\n\nIf external experience counts for nothing in the origin of these ideas,\nand it is equally inadmissible that they were given us ready-made, one\nmight suppose that they come from internal experience. In fact, the\nnotion of force obviously includes many spiritual elements which could\nonly have been taken from our psychic life.\n\nSome have believed that the act by which our will brings a deliberation\nto a close, restrains our impulses and commands our organism, might have\nserved as the model of this construction. In willing, it is said, we\nperceive ourselves directly as a power in action. So when this idea had\nonce occurred to men, it seems that they only had to extend it to things\nto establish the conception of force.\n\nAs long as the animist theory passed as a demonstrated truth, this\nexplanation was able to appear to be confirmed by history. If the forces\nwith which human thought primitively populated the world really had been\nspirits, that is to say, personal and conscious beings more or less\nsimilar to men, it was actually possible to believe that our individual\nexperience was enough to furnish us with the constituent elements of the\nnotion of force. But we know that the first forces which men imagined\nwere, on the contrary, anonymous, vague and diffused powers which\nresemble cosmic forces in their impersonality, and which are therefore\nmost sharply contrasted with the eminently personal power, the human\nwill. So it is impossible that they should have been conceived in its\nimage.\n\nMoreover, there is one essential characteristic of the impersonal forces\nwhich would be inexplicable under this hypothesis: this is their\ncommunicability. The forces of nature have always been thought of as\ncapable of passing from one object to another, of mixing, combining and\ntransforming themselves into one another. It is even this property which\ngives them their value as an explanation, for it is through this that\neffects can be connected with their causes without a break of\ncontinuity. Now the self has just the opposite characteristic: it is\nincommunicable. It cannot change its material substratum or spread from\none to another; it spreads out in metaphor only. So the way in which it\ndecides and executes its decisions could never have suggested the idea\nof an energy which communicates itself and which can even confound\nitself with others and, through these combinations and mixings, give\nrise to new effects.\n\nTherefore, the idea of force, as implied in the conception of the causal\nrelation, must present a double character. In the first place, it can\ncome only from our internal experience; the only forces which we can\ndirectly learn about are necessarily moral forces. But, at the same\ntime, they must be impersonal, for the notion of an impersonal power was\nthe first to be constituted. Now the only ones which satisfy these two\nconditions are those coming from life together: they are collective\nforces. In fact, these are, on the one hand, entirely psychical; they\nare made up exclusively of objectified ideas and sentiments. But, on the\nother hand, they are impersonal by definition, for they are the product\nof a co-operation. Being the work of all, they are not the possession of\nanybody in particular. They are so slightly attached to the\npersonalities of the subjects in whom they reside that they are never\nfixed there. Just as they enter them from without, they are also always\nready to leave them. Of themselves, they tend to spread further and\nfurther and to invade ever new domains: we know that there are none more\ncontagious, and consequently more communicable. Of course physical\nforces have the same property, but we cannot know this directly; we\ncannot even become acquainted with them as such, for they are outside\nus. When I throw myself against an obstacle, I have a sensation of\nhindrance and trouble; but the force causing this sensation is not in\nme, but in the obstacle, and is consequently outside the circle of my\nperception. We perceive its effects, but we cannot reach the cause\nitself. It is otherwise with social forces: they are a part of our\ninternal life, as we know, more than the products of their action; we\nsee them acting. The force isolating the sacred being and holding\nprofane beings at a distance is not really in this being; it lives in\nthe minds of the believers. So they perceive it at the very moment when\nit is acting upon their wills, to inhibit certain movements or command\nothers. In a word, this constraining and necessitating action, which\nescapes us when coming from an external object, is readily perceptible\nhere because everything is inside us. Of course we do not always\ninterpret it in an adequate manner, but at least we cannot fail to be\nconscious of it.\n\nMoreover, the idea of force bears the mark of its origin in an apparent\nway. In fact, it implies the idea of power which, in its turn, does not\ncome without those of ascendancy, mastership and domination, and their\ncorollaries, dependence and subordination; now the relations expressed\nby all these ideas are eminently social. It is society which classifies\nbeings into superiors and inferiors, into commanding masters and obeying\nservants; it is society which confers upon the former the singular\nproperty which makes the command efficacious and which makes _power_. So\neverything tends to prove that the first powers of which the human mind\nhad any idea were those which societies have established in organizing\nthemselves: it is in their image that the powers of the physical world\nhave been conceived. Also, men have never succeeded in imagining\nthemselves as forces mistress over the bodies in which they reside,\nexcept by introducing concepts taken from social life. In fact, these\nmust be distinguished from their physical doubles and must be attributed\na dignity superior to that of these latter; in a word, they must think\nof themselves as souls. As a matter of fact, men have always given the\nform of souls to the forces which they believe that they are. But we\nknow that the soul is quite another thing from a name given to the\nabstract faculty of moving, thinking and feeling; before all, it is a\nreligious principle, a particular aspect of the collective force. In\nfine, a man feels that he has a soul, and consequently a force, because\nhe is a social being. Though an animal moves its members just as we do,\nand though it has the same power as we over its muscles, nothing\nauthorizes us to suppose that it is conscious of itself as an active and\nefficacious cause. This is because it does not have, or, to speak more\nexactly, does not attribute to itself a soul. But if it does not\nattribute a soul to itself, it is because it does not participate in a\nsocial life comparable to that of men. Among animals, there is nothing\nresembling a civilization.[1188]\n\nBut the notion of force is not all of the principle of causality. This\nconsists in a judgment stating that every force develops in a definite\nmanner, and that the state in which it is at each particular moment of\nits existence predetermines the next state. The former is called cause,\nthe latter, effect, and the causal judgment affirms the existence of a\nnecessary connection between these two moments for every force. The mind\nposits this connection before having any proofs of it, under the empire\nof a sort of constraint from which it cannot free itself; it postulates\nit, as they say, _a priori_.\n\nEmpiricism has never succeeded in accounting for this apriorism and\nnecessity. Philosophers of this school have never been able to explain\nhow an association of ideas, reinforced by habit, could produce more\nthan an expectation or a stronger or weaker predisposition on the part\nof ideas to appear in a determined order. But the principle of causality\nhas quite another character. It is not merely an imminent tendency of\nour thought to take certain forms; it is an external norm, superior to\nthe flow of our representations, which it dominates and rules\nimperatively. It is invested with an authority which binds the mind and\nsurpasses it, which is as much as to say that the mind is not its\nartisan. In this connection, it is useless to substitute hereditary\nhabit for individual habit, for habit does not change its nature by\nlasting longer than one man's life; it is merely stronger. An instinct\nis not a rule.\n\nThe rites which we have been studying allow us to catch a glimpse of\nanother source of this authority, which, up to the present, has scarcely\nbeen suspected. Let us bear in mind how the law of causality, which the\nimitative rites put into practice, was born. Being filled with one\nsingle preoccupation, the group assembles: if the species whose name it\nbears does not reproduce, it is a matter of concern to the whole clan.\nThe common sentiment thus animating all the members is outwardly\nexpressed by certain gestures, which are always the same in the same\ncircumstances, and after the ceremony has been performed, it happens,\nfor the reasons set forth, that the desired result seems obtained. So an\nassociation arises between the idea of this result and that of the\ngestures preceding it; and this association does not vary from one\nsubject to another; it is the same for all the participators in the\nrite, since it is the product of a collective experience. However, if no\nother factor intervened, it would produce only a collective expectation;\nafter the imitative gestures had been accomplished, everybody would\nawait the subsequent appearance of the desired event, with more or less\nconfidence; an imperative rule of thought could never be established by\nthis. But since a social interest of the greatest importance is at\nstake, society cannot allow things to follow their own course at the\nwhim of circumstances; it intervenes actively in such a way as to\nregulate their march in conformity with its needs. So it demands that\nthis ceremony, which it cannot do without, be repeated every time that\nit is necessary, and consequently, that the movements, a condition of\nits success, be executed regularly: it imposes them as an obligation.\nNow they imply a certain definite state of mind which, in return,\nparticipates in this same obligatory character. To prescribe that one\nmust imitate an animal or plant to make them reproduce, is equivalent to\nstating it as an axiom which is above all doubt, that like produces\nlike. Opinion cannot allow men to deny this principle in theory without\nalso allowing them to violate it in their conduct. So society imposes\nit, along with the practices which are derived from it, and thus the\nritual precept is doubled by a logical precept which is only the\nintellectual aspect of the former. The authority of each is derived from\nthe same source: society. The respect which this inspires is\ncommunicated to the ways of thought to which it attaches a value, just\nas much as to ways of action. So a man cannot set aside either the ones\nor the others without hurling himself against public opinion. This is\nwhy the former require the adherence of the intelligence before\nexamination, just as the latter require the submission of the will.\n\nFrom this example, we can show once more how the sociological theory of\nthe idea of causality, and of the categories in general, sets aside the\nclassical doctrines on the question, while conciliating them. Together\nwith apriorism, it maintains the prejudicial and necessary character of\nthe causal relation; but it does not limit itself to affirming this; it\naccounts for it, yet without making it vanish under the pretext of\nexplaining it, as empiricism does. On the other hand, there is no\nquestion of denying the part due to individual experience. There can be\nno doubt that by himself, the individual observes the regular succession\nof phenomena and thus acquires a certain _feeling_ of regularity. But\nthis feeling is not the _category_ of causality. The former is\nindividual, subjective, incommunicable; we make it ourselves, out of our\nown personal observations. The second is the work of the group, and is\ngiven to us ready-made. It is a frame-work in which our empirical\nascertainments arrange themselves and which enables us to think of them,\nthat is to say, to see them from a point of view which makes it possible\nfor us to understand one another in regard to them. Of course, if this\nframe can be applied to the contents, that shows that it is not out of\nrelation with the matter which it contains; but it is not to be confused\nwith this. It surpasses it and dominates it. This is because it is of a\ndifferent origin. It is not a mere summary of individual experiences;\nbefore all else, it is made to fulfil the exigencies of life in common.\n\nIn fine, the error of empiricism has been to regard the causal bond as\nmerely an intellectual construction of speculative thought and the\nproduct of a more or less methodical generalization. Now, by itself,\npure speculation can give birth only to provisional, hypothetical and\nmore or less plausible views, but ones which must always be regarded\nwith suspicion, for we can never be sure that some new observation in\nthe future will not invalidate them. An axiom which the mind accepts and\nmust accept, without control and without reservation, could never come\nfrom this source. Only the necessities of action, and especially of\ncollective action, can and must express themselves in categorical\nformul\u00e6, which are peremptory and short, and admit of no contradiction,\nfor collective movements are possible only on condition of being in\nconcert and, therefore, regulated and definite. They do not allow of any\nfumbling, the source of anarchy; by themselves, they tend towards an\norganization which, when once established, imposes itself upon\nindividuals. And as action cannot go beyond intelligence, it frequently\nhappens that the latter is drawn into the same way and accepts without\ndiscussion the theoretical postulates demanded by action. The\nimperatives of thought are probably only another side of the imperatives\nof action.\n\nIt is to be borne in mind, moreover, that we have never dreamed of\noffering the preceding observations as a complete theory of the concept\nof causality. The question is too complex to be resolved thus. The\nprinciple of causality has been understood differently in different\ntimes and places; in a single society, it varies with the social\nenvironment and the kingdoms of nature to which it is applied.[1189] So\nit would be impossible to determine with sufficient precision the causes\nand conditions upon which it depends, after a consideration of only one\nof the forms which it has presented during the course of history. The\nviews which we have set forth should be regarded as mere indications,\nwhich must be controlled and completed. However, as the causal law which\nwe have been considering is certainly one of the most primitive which\nexists, and as it has played a considerable part in the development of\nhuman thought and industry, it is a privileged experiment, so we may\npresume that the remarks of which it has been the occasion may be\ngeneralized to a certain degree.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE POSITIVE CULT--_continued_\n\nIII.--_Representative or Commemorative Rites_\n\n\nThe explanation which we have given of the positive rites of which we\nhave been speaking in the two preceding chapters attributes to them a\nsignificance which is, above all, moral and social. The physical\nefficaciousness assigned to them by the believer is the product of an\ninterpretation which conceals the essential reason for their existence:\nit is because they serve to remake individuals and groups morally that\nthey are believed to have a power over things. But even if this\nhypothesis has enabled us to account for the facts, we cannot say that\nit has been demonstrated directly; at first view, it even seems to\nconciliate itself rather badly with the nature of the ritual mechanisms\nwhich we have analysed. Whether they consist in oblations or imitative\nacts, the gestures composing them have purely material ends in view;\nthey have, or seem to have, the sole object of making the totemic\nspecies reproduce. Under these circumstances, is it not surprising that\ntheir real function should be to serve moral ends?\n\nIt is true that their physical function may have been exaggerated by\nSpencer and Gillen, even in the cases where it is the most\nincontestable. According to these authors, each clan celebrates its\nIntichiuma for the purpose of assuring a useful food to the other clans,\nand the whole cult consists in a sort of economic co-operation of the\ndifferent totemic groups; each works for the others. But according to\nStrehlow, this conception of Australian totemism is wholly foreign to\nthe native mind. \"If,\" he says, \"the members of one totemic group set\nthemselves to multiplying the animals or plants of the consecrated\nspecies, and seem to work for their companions of other totems, we must\nbe careful not to regard this collaboration as the fundamental principle\nof Arunta or Loritja totemism. The blacks themselves have never told me\nthat this was the object of their ceremonies. Of course, when I\nsuggested and explained the idea to them, they understood it and\nacquiesced. But I should not be blamed for having some distrust of\nreplies gained in this fashion.\" Strehlow also remarks that this way of\ninterpreting the rite is contradicted by the fact that the totemic\nanimals and plants are not all edible or useful; some are good for\nnothing; some are even dangerous. So the ceremonies which concern them\ncould not have any such end in view.[1190] \"When some one asks the\nnatives what the determining reason for these ceremonies is,\" concludes\nour author, \"they are unanimous in replying: 'It is because our\nancestors arranged things thus. This is why we do thus and not\ndifferently.'\"[1191] But in saying that the rite is observed because it\ncomes from the ancestors, it is admitted that its authority is\nconfounded with the authority of tradition, which is a social affair of\nthe first order. Men celebrate it to remain faithful to the past, to\nkeep for the group its normal physiognomy, and not because of the\nphysical effects which it may produce. Thus, the way in which the\nbelievers themselves explain them show the profound reasons upon which\nthe rites proceed.\n\nBut there are cases when this aspect of the ceremonies is immediately\napparent.\n\n\nI\n\nThese may be observed the best among the Warramunga.[1192]\n\nAmong this people, each clan is thought to be descended from a single\nancestor who, after having been born in some determined spot, passed his\nterrestrial existence in travelling over the country in every direction.\nIt is he who, in the course of his voyages, gave to the land the form\nwhich it now has; it is he who made the mountains and plains, the\nwater-holes and streams, etc. At the same time, he sowed upon his route\nliving germs which were disengaged from his body and, after many\nsuccessive reincarnations, became the actual members of the clan. Now\nthe ceremony of the Warramunga which corresponds exactly to the\nIntichiuma of the Arunta, has the object of commemorating and\nrepresenting the mythical history of this ancestor. There is no\nquestion of oblations or, except in one single case,[1193] of imitative\npractices. The rite consists solely in recollecting the past and, in a\nway, making it present by means of a veritable dramatic representation.\nThis word is the more exact because in this ceremony, the officiant is\nin no way considered an incarnation of the ancestor, whom he represents;\nhe is an actor playing a r\u00f4le.\n\nAs an example, let us describe the Intichiuma of the Black Snake, as\nSpencer and Gillen observed it.[1194]\n\nAn initial ceremony does not seem to refer to the past; at least the\ndescription of it which is given us gives no authorization for\ninterpreting it in this sense. It consists in running and leaping on the\npart of two officiants,[1195] who are decorated with designs\nrepresenting the black snake. When they finally fall exhausted on the\nground, the assistants gently pass their hands over the emblematic\ndesigns with which the backs of the two actors are covered. They say\nthat this act pleases the black snake. It is only afterwards that the\nseries of commemorative ceremonies commences.\n\nThey put into action the mythical history of the ancestor Thalaualla,\nfrom the moment he emerged from the ground up to his definite return\nthither. They follow him through all his voyages. The myth says that in\neach of the localities where he sojourned, he celebrated totemic\nceremonies; they now repeat them in the same order in which they are\nsupposed to have taken place originally. The movement which is acted the\nmost frequently consists in twisting the entire body about rhythmically\nand violently; this is because the ancestor did the same thing to make\nthe germs of life which were in him come out. The actors have their\nbodies covered with down, which is detached and flies away during these\nmovements; this is a way of representing the flight of these mystic\ngerms and their dispersion into space.\n\nIt will be remembered that among the Arunta, the scene of the ceremony\nis determined by the ritual: it is the spot where the sacred rocks,\ntrees and water-holes are found, and the worshippers must go there to\ncelebrate the cult. Among the Warramunga, on the contrary, the\nceremonial ground is arbitrarily chosen according to convenience. It is\na conventional scene. However, the original scene of the events whose\nreproduction constitutes the theme of the rite is itself represented by\nmeans of designs. Sometimes these designs are made upon the very bodies\nof the actors. For example, a small circle coloured red, painted on the\nback and stomach, represents a water-hole.[1196] In other cases, the\nimage is traced on the soil. Upon a ground previously soaked and covered\nwith red ochre, they draw curved lines, made up of a series of white\npoints, which symbolize a stream or a mountain. This is a beginning of\ndecoration.\n\nIn addition to the properly religious ceremonies which the ancestor is\nbelieved to have celebrated long ago, they also represent simple\nepisodes of his career, either epic or comic. Thus, at a given moment,\nwhile three actors are on the scene, occupied in an important rite,\nanother one hides behind a bunch of trees situated at some distance. A\npacket of down is attached about his neck which represents a _wallaby_.\nAs soon as the principal ceremony is finished, an old man traces a line\nupon the ground which is directed towards the spot where the fourth\nactor is hidden. The others march behind him, with eyes lowered and\nfixed upon this line, as though following a trail. When they discover\nthe man, they assume a stupefied air and one of them beats him with a\nclub. This represents an incident in the life of the great black snake.\nOne day, his son went hunting, caught a _wallaby_ and ate it without\ngiving his father any. The latter followed his tracks, surprised him and\nforced him to disgorge; it is to this that the beating at the end of the\nrepresentation alludes.[1197]\n\nWe shall not relate here all the mythical events which are represented\nsuccessively. The preceding examples are sufficient to show the\ncharacter of these ceremonies: they are dramas, but of a particular\nvariety; they act, or at least they are believed to act, upon the course\nof nature. When the commemoration of Thalaualla is terminated, the\nWarramunga are convinced that black snakes cannot fail to increase and\nmultiply. So these dramas are rites, and even rites which, by the nature\nof their efficacy, are comparable on every point to those which\nconstitute the Intichiuma of the Arunta.\n\nTherefore each is able to clarify the other. It is even more legitimate\nto compare them than if there were no break of continuity between them.\nNot only is the end pursued identical in each case, but the most\ncharacteristic part of the Warramunga ritual is found in germ in the\nother. In fact, the Intichiuma, as the Arunta generally perform it,\ncontains within it a sort of implicit commemoration. The places where it\nis celebrated are necessarily those which the ancestor made illustrious.\nThe roads over which the worshippers pass in the course of their pious\npilgrimages are those which the heroes of the Alcheringa traversed; the\nplaces where they stop to proceed with the rites are those where their\nfathers sojourned themselves, where they vanished into the ground, etc.\nSo everything brings their memory to the minds of the assistants.\nMoreover, to the manual rites they frequently add hymns relating the\nexploits of their ancestors.[1198] If, instead of being told, these\nstories are acted, and if, in this new form, they develop in such a way\nas to become an essential part of the ceremony, then we have the\nceremony of the Warramunga. But even more can be said, for on one side,\nthe Arunta Intichiuma is already a sort of representation. The officiant\nis one with the ancestor from whom he is descended and whom he\nreincarnates.[1199] The gestures he makes are those which this ancestor\nmade in the same circumstances. Speaking exactly, of course he does not\nplay the part of the ancestral personage as an actor might do it; he is\nthis personage himself. But it is true, notwithstanding, that, in one\nsense, it is the hero who occupies the scene. In order to accentuate the\nrepresentative character of the rite, it would be sufficient for the\nduality of the ancestor and the officiant to become more marked; this is\njust what happens among the Warramunga.[1200] Even among the Arunta, at\nleast one Intichiuma is mentioned in which certain persons are charged\nwith representing ancestors with whom they have no relationship of\nmythical descent, and in which there is consequently a proper dramatic\nrepresentation: this is the Intichiuma of the Emu.[1201] It seems that\nin this case, also, contrarily to the general rule among this people,\nthe theatre of the ceremony is artificially arranged.[1202]\n\nIt does not follow from the fact that, in spite of the differences\nseparating them, these two varieties of ceremony thus have an air of\nkinship, as it were, that there is a definite relation of succession\nbetween them, and that one is a transformation of the other. It may very\nwell be that the resemblances pointed out come from the fact that the\ntwo sprang from the same source, that is, from the same original\nceremony, of which they are only divergent forms: we shall even see that\nthis hypothesis is the most probable one. But even without taking sides\non this question, what has already been said is enough to show that they\nare rites of the same nature. So we may be allowed to compare them, and\nto use the one to enable us to understand the other better.\n\nNow the peculiar thing in the ceremonies of the Warramunga of which we\nhave been speaking, is that not a gesture is made whose object is to aid\nor to provoke directly the increase of the totemic species.[1203] If we\nanalyse the movements made, as well as the words spoken, we generally\nfind nothing which betrays any intention of this sort. Everything is in\nrepresentations whose only object can be to render the mythical past of\nthe clan present to the mind. But the mythology of a group is the system\nof beliefs common to this group. The traditions whose memory it\nperpetuates express the way in which society represents man and the\nworld; it is a moral system and a cosmology as well as a history. So the\nrite serves and can serve only to sustain the vitality of these beliefs,\nto keep them from being effaced from memory and, in sum, to revivify the\nmost essential elements of the collective consciousness. Through it, the\ngroup periodically renews the sentiment which it has of itself and of\nits unity; at the same time, individuals are strengthened in their\nsocial natures. The glorious souvenirs which are made to live again\nbefore their eyes, and with which they feel that they have a kinship,\ngive them a feeling of strength and confidence: a man is surer of his\nfaith when he sees to how distant a past it goes back and what great\nthings it has inspired. This is the characteristic of the ceremony which\nmakes it instructive. Its tendency is to act entirely upon the mind and\nupon it alone. So if men believe nevertheless that it acts upon things\nand that it assures the prosperity of the species, this can be only as a\nreaction to the moral action which it exercises and which is obviously\nthe only one which is real. Thus the hypothesis which we have proposed\nis verified by a significant experiment, and this verification is the\nmore convincing because, as we have shown, there is no difference in\nnature between the ritual system of the Warramunga and that of the\nArunta. The one only makes more evident what we had already conjectured\nfrom the other.\n\n\nII\n\nBut there are ceremonies in which this representative and idealistic\ncharacter is still more accentuated.\n\nIn those of which we have been speaking, the dramatic representation did\nnot exist for itself; it was only a means having a very material end in\nview, namely, the reproduction of the totemic species. But there are\nothers which do not differ materially from the preceding ones, but from\nwhich, nevertheless, all preoccupations of this sort are absent. The\npast is here represented for the mere sake of representing it and fixing\nit more firmly in the mind, while no determined action over nature is\nexpected of the rite. At least, the physical effects sometimes imputed\nto it are wholly secondary and have no relation with the liturgical\nimportance attributed to it.\n\nThis is the case notably with the ceremonies which the Warramunga\ncelebrate in honour of the snake Wollunqua.[1204]\n\nAs we have already said, the Wollunqua is a totem of a very especial\nsort. It is not an animal or vegetable species, but a unique being:\nthere is only one Wollunqua. Moreover, this being is purely mythical.\nThe natives represent it as a colossal snake whose length is such that\nwhen it rises on its tail its head is lost in the clouds. It resides,\nthey believe, in a water-hole called Thapauerlu, which is hidden in the\nbottom of a solitary valley. But if it differs in certain ways from the\nordinary totems, it has all their distinctive characteristics\nnevertheless. It serves as the collective name and emblem of a whole\ngroup of individuals who regard it as their common ancestor, while the\nrelations which they sustain with this mythical beast are identical with\nthose which the members of other totems believe that they sustain with\nthe founders of their respective clans. In the Alcheringa[1205] times,\nthe Wollunqua traversed the country in every direction. In the different\nlocalities where it stopped, it scattered \"spirit-children,\" the\nspiritual principles which still serve as the souls of the living of\nto-day. The Wollunqua is even considered as a sort of pre-eminent totem.\nThe Warramunga are divided into two phratries, called Uluuru and\nKingilli. Nearly all the totems of the former are snakes of different\nkinds. Now they are all believed to be descended from the Wollunqua;\nthey say that it was their grandfather.[1206] From this, we can catch a\nglimpse of how the myth of the Wollunqua probably arose. In order to\nexplain the presence of so many similar totems in the same phratry, they\nimagined that all were derived from one and the same totem; it was\nnecessary to give it a gigantic form so that in its very appearance it\nmight conform to the considerable r\u00f4le assigned to it in the history of\nthe tribe.\n\nNow the Wollunqua is the object of ceremonies not differing in nature\nfrom those which we have already studied: they are representations in\nwhich are portrayed the principal events of its fabulous life. They show\nit coming out of the ground and passing from one locality to another;\nthey represent different episodes in its voyages, etc. Spencer and\nGillen assisted at fifteen ceremonies of this sort which took place\nbetween the 27th of July and the 23rd of August, all being linked\ntogether in a determined order, in such a way as to form a veritable\ncycle.[1207] In the details of the rites constituting it, this long\ncelebration is therefore indistinct from the ordinary Intichiuma of the\nWarramunga, as is recognized by the authors who have described it to\nus.[1208] But, on the other hand, it is an Intichiuma which could not\nhave the object of assuring the fecundity of an animal or vegetable\nspecies, for the Wollunqua is a species all by itself and does not\nreproduce. It exists, and the natives do not seem to feel that it has\nneed of a cult to preserve it in its existence. These ceremonies not\nonly seem to lack the efficacy of the classic Intichiuma, but it even\nseems as though they have no material efficacy of any sort. The\nWollunqua is not a divinity set over a special order of natural\nphenomena, so they expect no definite service from him in exchange for\nthe cult. Of course they say that if the ritual prescriptions are badly\nobserved, the Wollunqua becomes angry, leaves his retreat and comes to\npunish his worshippers for their negligence; and inversely, when\neverything passes regularly, they are led to believe that they will be\nfortunate and that some happy event will take place; but it is quite\nevident that these possible sanctions are an after-thought to explain\nthe rite. After the ceremony had been established, it seemed natural\nthat it should serve for something, and that the omission of the\nprescribed observances should therefore expose one to grave dangers. But\nit was not established to forestall these mythical dangers or to assure\nparticular advantages. The natives, moreover, have only the very haziest\nideas of them. When the whole ceremony is completed, the old men\nannounce that if the Wollunqua is pleased, he will send rain. But it is\nnot to have rain that they go through with the celebration.[1209] They\ncelebrate it because their ancestors did, because they are attached to\nit as to a highly respected tradition and because they leave it with a\nfeeling of moral well-being. Other considerations have only a\ncomplimentary part; they may serve to strengthen the worshippers in the\nattitude prescribed by the rite, but they are not the reason for the\nexistence of this attitude.\n\nSo we have here a whole group of ceremonies whose sole purpose is to\nawaken certain ideas and sentiments, to attach the present to the past\nor the individual to the group. Not only are they unable to serve useful\nends, but the worshippers themselves demand none. This is still another\nproof that the psychical state in which the assembled group happens to\nbe constitutes the only solid and stable basis of what we may call the\nritual mentality. The beliefs which attribute such or such a physical\nefficaciousness to the rites are wholly accessory and contingent, for\nthey may be lacking without causing any alteration in the essentials of\nthe rite. Thus the ceremonies of the Wollunqua show even better than the\npreceding ones the fundamental function of the positive cult.\n\nIf we have insisted especially upon these solemnities, it is because of\ntheir exceptional importance. But there are others with exactly the same\ncharacter. Thus, the Warramunga have a totem \"of the laughing boy.\"\nSpencer and Gillen say that the clan bearing this name has the same\norganization as the other totemic groups. Like them, it has its sacred\nplaces (_mungai_) where the founder-ancestor celebrated ceremonies in\nthe fabulous times, and where he left behind him spirit-children who\nbecame the men of the clan; the rites connected with this totem are\nindistinguishable from those relating to the animal or vegetable\ntotems.[1210] Yet it is evident that they could not have any physical\nefficaciousness. They consist in a series of four ceremonies which\nrepeat one another more or less, but which are intended only to amuse\nand to provoke laughter by laughter, in fine, to maintain the gaiety and\ngood-humour which the group has as its speciality.[1211]\n\nWe find more than one totem among the Arunta themselves which has no\nother Intichiuma. We have seen that among this people, the\nirregularities and depressions of the land, which mark the places where\nsome ancestor sojourned, sometimes serve as totems.[1212] Ceremonies are\nattached to these totems which are manifestly incapable of physical\neffects of any sort. They can consist only in representations whose\nobject is to commemorate the past, and they can aim at no end beyond\nthis commemoration.[1213]\n\nWhile they enable us to understand the nature of the cult better, these\nritual representations also put into evidence an important element of\nreligion: this is the recreative and esthetic element.\n\nWe have already had occasion to show that they are closely akin to\ndramatic representations.[1214] This kinship appears with still greater\nclarity in the latter ceremonies of which we have spoken. Not only do\nthey employ the same processes as the real drama, but they also pursue\nan end of the same sort: being foreign to all utilitarian ends, they\nmake men forget the real world and transport them into another where\ntheir imagination is more at ease; they distract. They sometimes even go\nso far as to have the outward appearance of a recreation: the assistants\nmay be seen laughing and amusing themselves openly.[1215]\n\nRepresentative rites and collective recreations are even so close to one\nanother that men pass from one sort to the other without any break of\ncontinuity. The characteristic feature of the properly religious\nceremonies is that they must be celebrated on a consecrated ground, from\nwhich women and non-initiated persons are excluded.[1216] But there are\nothers in which this religious character is somewhat effaced, though it\nhas not disappeared completely. They take place outside the ceremonial\nground, which proves that they are already laicized to a certain degree;\nbut profane persons, women and children, are not yet admitted to them.\nSo they are on the boundary between the two domains. They generally deal\nwith legendary personages, but ones having no regular place in the\nframe-work of the totemic religion. They are spirits, more generally\nmalevolent ones, having relations with the magicians rather than the\nordinary believers, and sorts of bugbears, in whom men do not believe\nwith the same degree of seriousness and firmness of conviction as in the\nproper totemic beings and things.[1217] As the bonds by which the events\nand personages represented are attached to the history of the tribe\nrelax, these take on a proportionately more unreal appearance, while the\ncorresponding ceremonies change in nature. Thus men enter into the\ndomain of pure fancy, and pass from the commemorative rite to the\nordinary corrobbori, a simple public merry-making, which has nothing\nreligious about it and in which all may take part indifferently. Perhaps\nsome of these representations, whose sole object now is to distract, are\nancient rites, whose character has been changed. In fact, the\ndistinction between these two sorts of ceremonies is so variable that it\nis impossible to state with precision to which of the two kinds they\nbelong.[1218]\n\nIt is a well-known fact that games and the principal forms of art seem\nto have been born of religion and that for a long time they retained a\nreligious character.[1219] We now see what the reasons for this are: it\nis because the cult, though aimed primarily at other ends, has also been\na sort of recreation for men. Religion has not played this r\u00f4le by\nhazard or owing to a happy chance, but through a necessity of its\nnature. Though, as we have established, religious thought is something\nvery different from a system of fictions, still the realities to which\nit corresponds express themselves religiously only when religion\ntransfigures them. Between society as it is objectively and the sacred\nthings which express it symbolically, the distance is considerable. It\nhas been necessary that the impressions really felt by men, which served\nas the original matter of this construction, should be interpreted,\nelaborated and transformed until they became unrecognizable. So the\nworld of religious things is a partially imaginary world, though only in\nits outward form, and one which therefore lends itself more readily to\nthe free creations of the mind. Also, since the intellectual forces\nwhich serve to make it are intense and tumultuous, the unique task of\nexpressing the real with the aid of appropriate symbols is not enough to\noccupy them. A surplus generally remains available which seeks to employ\nitself in supplementary and superfluous works of luxury, that is to say,\nin works of art. There are practices as well as beliefs of this sort.\nThe state of effervescence in which the assembled worshippers find\nthemselves must be translated outwardly by exuberant movements which are\nnot easily subjected to too carefully defined ends. In part, they escape\naimlessly, they spread themselves for the mere pleasure of so doing, and\nthey take delight in all sorts of games. Besides, in so far as the\nbeings to whom the cult is addressed are imaginary, they are not able to\ncontain and regulate this exuberance; the pressure of tangible and\nresisting realities is required to confine activities to exact and\neconomical forms. Therefore one exposes oneself to grave\nmisunderstandings if, in explaining rites, he believes that each gesture\nhas a precise object and a definite reason for its existence. There are\nsome which serve nothing; they merely answer the need felt by\nworshippers for action, motion, gesticulation. They are to be seen\njumping, whirling, dancing, crying and singing, though it may not always\nbe possible to give a meaning to all this agitation.\n\nTherefore religion would not be itself if it did not give some place to\nthe free combinations of thought and activity, to play, to art, to all\nthat recreates the spirit that has been fatigued by the too great\nslavishness of daily work: the very same causes which called it into\nexistence make it a necessity. Art is not merely an external ornament\nwith which the cult has adorned itself in order to dissimulate certain\nof its features which may be too austere and too rude; but rather, in\nitself, the cult is something \u00e6sthetic. Owing to the well-known\nconnection which mythology has with poetry, some have wished to exclude\nthe former from religion;[1220] the truth is that there is a poetry\ninherent in all religion. The representative rites which have just been\nstudied make this aspect of the religious life manifest; but there are\nscarcely any rites which do not present it to some degree.\n\nOne would certainly commit the gravest error if he saw only this one\naspect of religion, or if he even exaggerated its importance. When a\nrite serves only to distract, it is no longer a rite. The moral forces\nexpressed by religious symbols are real forces with which we must reckon\nand with which we cannot do what we will. Even when the cult aims at\nproducing no physical effects, but limits itself to acting on the mind,\nits action is in quite a different way from that of a pure work of art.\nThe representations which it seeks to awaken and maintain in our minds\nare not vain images which correspond to nothing in reality, and which we\ncall up aimlessly for the mere satisfaction of seeing them appear and\ncombine before our eyes. They are as necessary for the well working of\nour moral life as our food is for the maintenance of our physical life,\nfor it is through them that the group affirms and maintains itself, and\nwe know the point to which this is indispensable for the individual. So\na rite is something different from a game; it is a part of the serious\nlife. But if its unreal and imaginary element is not essential,\nnevertheless it plays a part which is by no means negligible. It has its\nshare in the feeling of comfort which the worshipper draws from the rite\nperformed; for recreation is one of the forms of the moral remaking\nwhich is the principal object of the positive rite. After we have\nacquitted ourselves of our ritual duties, we enter into the profane life\nwith increased courage and ardour, not only because we come into\nrelations with a superior source of energy, but also because our forces\nhave been reinvigorated by living, for a few moments, in a life that is\nless strained, and freer and easier. Hence religion acquires a charm\nwhich is not among the slightest of its attractions.\n\nThis is why the very idea of a religious ceremony of some importance\nawakens the idea of a feast. Inversely, every feast, even when it has\npurely lay origins, has certain characteristics of the religious\nceremony, for in every case its effect is to bring men together, to put\nthe masses into movement and thus to excite a state of effervescence,\nand sometimes even of delirium, which is not without a certain kinship\nwith the religious state. A man is carried outside himself and diverted\nfrom his ordinary occupation and preoccupations. Thus the same\nmanifestations are to be observed in each case: cries, songs, music,\nviolent movements, dances, the search for exciteants which raise the\nvital level, etc. It has frequently been remarked that popular feasts\nlead to excesses, and cause men to lose sight of the distinction\nseparating the licit from the illicit;[1221] there are also religious\nceremonies which make it almost necessary to violate the rules which are\nordinarily the most respected.[1222] Of course this does not mean that\nthere is no way to distinguish these two forms of public activity. The\nsimple merry-making, the profane corrobbori, has no serious object,\nwhile, as a whole, a ritual ceremony always has an important end. Still\nit is to be remembered that there is perhaps no merry-making in which\nthe serious life does not have some echo. The difference consists rather\nin the unequal proportions in which the two elements are combined.\n\n\nIII\n\nA more general fact confirms the views which precede.\n\nIn their first book, Spencer and Gillen presented the Intichiuma as a\nperfectly definite ritual entity: they spoke of it as though it were an\noperation destined exclusively for the assurance of the reproduction of\nthe totemic species, and it seemed as though it ought to lose all\nmeaning, if this unique function were set aside. But in their _Northern\nTribes of Central Australia_, the same authors use a different language,\nthough perhaps without noticing it. They recognize that these same\nceremonies may take place either in the regular Intichiuma or in the\ninitiation rites.[1223] So they serve equally in the making of animals\nor plants of the totemic species, or in conferring upon novices the\nqualities necessary to make them regular members of the men's\nsociety.[1224] From this point of view, the Intichiuma takes on a new\naspect. It is no longer a distinct ritual mechanism, resting upon\nprinciples of its own, but a particular application of more general\nceremonies which may be utilized for very different ends. For this\nreason, in their later work, before speaking of the Intichiuma and the\ninitiation they consecrate a special chapter to the totemic ceremonies\nin general, making abstraction of the diverse forms which they may take,\naccording to the ends for which they are employed.[1225]\n\nThis fundamental indetermination of the totemic ceremonies was only\nindicated by Spencer and Gillen, and rather indirectly at that; but it\nhas now been confirmed by Strehlow in more explicit terms. \"When they\nlead the young novices through the different feasts of the initiation,\"\nhe says, \"they perform before them a series of ceremonies which, though\nreproducing, even in their most characteristic details, the rites of the\nregular cult (viz. _the rites which Spencer and Gillen call the\nIntichiuma_), do not have, nevertheless, the end of multiplying the\ncorresponding totem and causing it to prosper.\"[1226] It is the same\nceremony which serves in the two cases; the name alone is not the same.\nWhen its special object is the reproduction of the species, they call it\n_mbatjalkatiuma_ and it is only when it is a part of the process of\ninitiation that they give it the name Intichiuma.[1227]\n\nMoreover, these two sorts of ceremonies are distinguished from one\nanother among the Arunta by certain secondary characteristics. Though\nthe structure of the rite is the same in both cases, still we know that\nthe effusions of blood and, more generally, the oblations characteristic\nof the Arunta Intichiuma are not found in the initiation ceremonies.\nMoreover, among this same people, the Intichiuma takes place at\na spot regularly fixed by tradition, to which men must make a\npilgrimage, while the scene of the initiation ceremonies is purely\nconventional.[1228] But when the Intichiuma consists in a simple\ndramatic representation, as is the case among the Warramunga, the lack\nof distinction between the two rites is complete. In the one as in the\nother, they commemorate the past, they put the myth into action, they\nplay--and one cannot play in two materially different ways. So,\naccording to the circumstances, one and the same ceremony serves two\ndistinct functions.[1229]\n\nIt may even lend itself to other uses. We know that as blood is a sacred\nthing, women must not see it flow. Yet it happens sometimes that a\nquarrel breaks out in their presence and ends in the shedding of blood.\nThus an infraction of the ritual is committed. Among the Arunta, the man\nwhose blood flowed first must, to atone for this fault, \"celebrate a\nceremony connected with the totem either of his father or of his\nmother\";[1230] this ceremony has a special name, _Alua uparilima_, which\nmeans the washing away of blood. But in itself, it does not differ from\nthose celebrated at the time of the initiation or in the Intichiuma: it\nrepresents an event of ancestral history. So it may serve equally to\ninitiate, to act upon the totemic species or to expiate a sacrilege. We\nshall see that a totemic ceremony may also take the place of a funeral\nrite.[1231]\n\nMM. Hubert and Mauss have already pointed out a functional ambiguity of\nthis same sort in the case of sacrifice, and more especially, in that of\nHindu sacrifice.[1232] They have shown how the sacrifice of communion,\nthat of expiation, that of a vow and that of a contract are only\nvariations of one and the same mechanism. We now see that the fact is\nmuch more primitive, and in no way limited to the institution of\nsacrifice. Perhaps no rite exists which does not present a similar\nindetermination. The mass serves for marriages as for burials; it\nredeems the faults of the dead and wins the favours of the deity for the\nliving, etc. Fasting is an expiation and a penance; but it is also a\npreparation for communion; it even confers positive virtues. This\nambiguity shows that the real function of a rite does not consist in the\nparticular and definite effects which it seems to aim at and by which it\nis ordinarily characterized, but rather in a general action which,\nthough always and everywhere the same, is nevertheless capable of taking\non different forms according to the circumstances. Now this is just what\nis demanded by the theory which we have proposed. If the real function\nof the cult is to awaken within the worshippers a certain state of soul,\ncomposed of moral force and confidence, and if the various effects\nimputed to the rites are due only to a secondary and variable\ndetermination of this fundamental state, it is not surprising if a\nsingle rite, while keeping the same composition and structure, seems to\nproduce various effects. For the mental dispositions, the excitation of\nwhich is its permanent function, remain the same in every case; they\ndepend upon the fact that the group is assembled, and not upon the\nspecial reasons for which it is assembled. But, on the other hand, they\nare interpreted differently according to the circumstances to which they\nare applied. Is it a physical result which they wish to obtain? The\nconfidence they feel convinces them that the desired result is or will\nbe obtained by the means employed. Has some one committed a fault for\nwhich he wishes to atone? The same state of moral assurance will lead\nhim to attribute expiatory virtues to these same ritual gestures. Thus,\nthe apparent efficacy will seem to change while the real efficacy\nremains invariable, and the rite will seem to fulfil various functions\nthough in fact it has only one, which is always the same.\n\nInversely, just as a single rite may serve many ends, so many rites may\nproduce the same effect and mutually replace one another. To assure the\nreproduction of the totemic species, one may have recourse equally to\noblations, to imitative practices or to commemorative representations.\nThis aptitude of rites for substituting themselves for one another\nproves once more both their plasticity and the extreme generality of the\nuseful action which they exercise. The essential thing is that men are\nassembled, that sentiments are felt in common and expressed in common\nacts; but the particular nature of these sentiments and acts is\nsomething relatively secondary and contingent. To become conscious of\nitself, the group does not need to perform certain acts in preference to\nall others. The necessary thing is that it partakes of the same thought\nand the same action; the visible forms in which this communion takes\nplace matter but little. Of course, these external forms do not come by\nchance; they have their reasons; but these reasons do not touch the\nessential part of the cult.\n\nSo everything leads us back to this same idea: before all, rites are\nmeans by which the social group reaffirms itself periodically. From\nthis, we may be able to reconstruct hypothetically the way in which the\ntotemic cult should have arisen originally. Men who feel themselves\nunited, partially by bonds of blood, but still more by a community of\ninterest and tradition, assemble and become conscious of their moral\nunity. For the reasons which we have set forth, they are led to\nrepresent this unity in the form of a very special kind of\nconsubstantiality: they think of themselves as all participating in the\nnature of some determined animal. Under these circumstances, there is\nonly one way for them to affirm their collective existence: this is to\naffirm that they are like the animals of this species, and to do so not\nonly in the silence of their own thoughts, but also by material acts.\nThese are the acts which make up the cult, and they obviously can\nconsist only in movements by which the man imitates the animal with\nwhich he identifies himself. When understood thus, the imitative rites\nappear as the first form of the cult. It will be thought that this is\nattributing a very considerable historical importance to practices\nwhich, at first view, give the effect of childish games. But, as we have\nshown, these na\u00efve and awkward gestures and these crude processes of\nrepresentation translate and maintain a sentiment of pride, confidence\nand veneration wholly comparable to that expressed by the worshippers in\nthe most idealistic religions when, being assembled, they proclaim\nthemselves the children of the almighty God. For in the one case as in\nthe other, this sentiment is made up of the same impressions of security\nand respect which are awakened in individual consciousnesses by this\ngreat moral force which dominates them and sustains them, and which is\nthe collective force.\n\nThe other rites which we have been studying are probably only variations\nof this essential rite. When the close union of the animal and men has\nonce been admitted, men feel acutely the necessity of assuring the\nregular reproduction of the principal object of the cult. These\nimitative practices, which probably had only a moral end at first, thus\nbecame subordinated to utilitarian and material ends, and they were\nthought of as means of producing the desired result. But\nproportionately as, through the development of mythology, the ancestral\nhero, who was at first confused with the totemic animal, distinguished\nhimself more and more, and became a more personal figure, the imitation\nof the ancestor was substituted for the imitation of the animal, or took\na place beside it, and then representative ceremonies replaced or\ncompleted the imitative rites. Finally, to be surer of attaining the end\nthey sought, men felt the need of putting into action all the means at\ntheir disposal. Close at hand they had reserves of living forces\naccumulated in the sacred rocks, so they utilized them; since the blood\nof the men was of the same nature as that of the animal, they used it\nfor the same purpose and shed it. Inversely, owing to this same kinship,\nmen used the flesh of the animal to remake their own substance. Hence\ncame the rites of oblation and communion. But, at bottom, all these\ndifferent practices are only variations of one and the same theme:\neverywhere their basis is the same state of mind, interpreted\ndifferently according to the situations, the moments of history and the\ndispositions of the worshippers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nPIACULAR RITES AND THE AMBIGUITY OF THE NOTION OF SACREDNESS\n\n\nHowsoever much they may differ from one another in the nature of the\ngestures they imply, the positive rites which we have been passing under\nreview have one common characteristic: they are all performed in a state\nof confidence, joy and even enthusiasm. Though the expectation of a\nfuture and contingent event is not without a certain uncertainty, still\nit is normal that the rain fall when the season for it comes, and that\nthe animal and vegetable species reproduce regularly. Oft-repeated\nexperiences have shown that the rites generally do produce the effects\nwhich are expected of them and which are the reason for their existence.\nMen celebrate them with confidence, joyfully anticipating the happy\nevent which they prepare and announce. Whatever movements men perform\nparticipate in this same state of mind: of course, they are marked with\nthe gravity which a religious solemnity always supposes, but this\ngravity excludes neither animation nor joy.\n\nThese are all joyful feasts. But there are sad celebrations as well,\nwhose object is either to meet a calamity, or else merely to commemorate\nand deplore it. These rites have a special aspect, which we are going to\nattempt to characterize and explain. It is the more necessary to study\nthem by themselves since they are going to reveal a new aspect of the\nreligious life to us.\n\nWe propose to call the ceremonies of this sort piacular. The term\n_piaculum_ has the advantage that while it suggests the idea of\nexpiation, it also has a much more extended signification. Every\nmisfortune, everything of evil omen, everything that inspires sentiments\nof sorrow or fear necessitates a _piaculum_ and is therefore called\npiacular.[1233] So this word seems to be very well adapted for\ndesignating the rites which are celebrated by those in a state of\nuneasiness or sadness.\n\n\nI\n\nMourning offers us a first and important example of piacular rites.\n\nHowever, a distinction is necessary between the different rites which go\nto make up mourning. Some consist in mere abstentions: it is forbidden\nto pronounce the name of the dead,[1234] or to remain near the place\nwhere the death occurred;[1235] relatives, especially the female ones,\nmust abstain from all communication with strangers;[1236] the ordinary\noccupations of life are suspended, just as in feast-time,[1237] etc. All\nthese practices belong to the negative cult and are explained like the\nother rites of the same sort, so they do not concern us at present. They\nare due to the fact that the dead man is a sacred being. Consequently,\neverything which is or has been connected with him is, by contagion, in\na religious state excluding all contact with things from profane life.\n\nBut mourning is not made up entirely of interdicts which have to be\nobserved. Positive acts are also demanded, in which the relatives are\nboth the actors and those acted upon.\n\nVery frequently these rites commence as soon as the death appears\nimminent. Here is a scene which Spencer and Gillen witnessed among the\nWarramunga. A totemic ceremony had just been celebrated and the company\nof actors and spectators was leaving the consecrated ground when a\npiercing cry suddenly came from the camp: a man was dying there. At\nonce, the whole company commenced to run as fast as they could, while\nmost of them commenced to howl. \"Between us and the camp,\" say these\nobservers, \"lay a deep creek, and on the bank of this, some of the men,\nscattered about here and there, sat down, bending their heads forwards\nbetween their knees, while they wept and moaned. Crossing the creek we\nfound that, as usual, the men's camp had been pulled to pieces. Some of\nthe women, who had come from every direction, were lying prostrate on\nthe body, while others were standing or kneeling around, digging the\nsharp ends of yam-sticks into the crown of their heads, from which the\nblood streamed down over their faces, while all the time they kept up a\nloud, continuous wail. Many of the men, rushing up to the spot, threw\nthemselves upon the body, from which the women arose when the men\napproached, until in a few minutes we could see nothing but a struggling\nmass of bodies all mixed up together. To one side, three men of the\nThapungarti class, who still wore their ceremonial decorations, sat down\nwailing loudly, with their backs towards the dying man, and in a minute\nor two another man of the same class rushed on to the ground yelling and\nbrandishing a stone knife. Reaching the camp, he suddenly gashed both\nthighs deeply, cutting right across the muscles, and, unable to stand,\nfell down into the middle of the group, from which he was dragged out\nafter a time by three or four female relatives, who immediately applied\ntheir mouths to the gaping wounds while he lay exhausted on the ground.\"\nThe man did not actually die until late in the evening. As soon as he\nhad given up his last breath, the same scene was re-enacted, only this\ntime the wailing was still louder, and men and women, seized by a\nveritable frenzy, were rushing about cutting themselves with knives and\nsharp-pointed sticks, the women battering one another's heads with\nfighting clubs, no one attempting to ward off either cuts or blows.\nFinally, after about an hour, a torchlight procession started off across\nthe plain, to a tree in whose branches the body was left.[1238]\n\nHowsoever great the violence of these manifestations may be, they are\nstrictly regulated by etiquette. The individuals who make bloody\nincisions in themselves are designated by usage: they must have certain\nrelations of kinship with the dead man. Thus, in the case observed by\nSpencer and Gillen among the Warramunga, those who slashed their thighs\nwere the maternal grandfather of the deceased, his maternal uncle, and\nthe maternal uncle and brother of his wife.[1239] Others must cut their\nwhiskers and hair, and then smear their scalps with pipe-clay. Women\nhave particularly severe obligations. They must cut their hair and cover\nthe whole body with pipe-clay; in addition to this, a strict silence is\nimposed upon them during the whole period of mourning, which may last as\nlong as two years. It is not rare among the Warramunga that, as a result\nof this interdiction, all the women of a camp are condemned to the most\nabsolute silence. This becomes so habitual to them that even after the\nexpiration of the period of mourning, they voluntarily renounce all\nspoken language and prefer to communicate with gestures--in which, by\nthe way, they acquire a remarkable ability. Spencer and Gillen knew one\nold woman who had not spoken for over twenty-four years.[1240]\n\nThe ceremony which we have described opens a long series of rites which\nsucceed one another for weeks and even for months. During the days which\nfollow, they are renewed in various forms. Groups of men and women sit\non the ground, weeping and lamenting, and kissing each other at certain\nmoments. These ritual kissings are repeated frequently during the period\nof mourning. It seems as though men felt a need of coming close together\nand communicating most closely; they are to be seen holding to each\nother and wound together so much as to make one single mass, from which\nloud groans escape.[1241] Meanwhile, the women commence to lacerate\ntheir heads again, and, in order to intensify the wounds they make, they\neven go so far as to burn them with the points of fiery sticks.[1242]\n\nPractices of this sort are general in all Australia. The funeral rites,\nthat is, the ritual cares given to the corpse, the way in which it is\nburied, etc., change with different tribes,[1243] and in a single tribe\nthey vary with the age, sex and social importance of the\nindividual.[1244] But the real ceremonies of mourning repeat the same\ntheme everywhere; the variations are only in the details. Everywhere we\nfind this same silence interrupted by groans,[1245] the same obligation\nof cutting the hair and beard,[1246] or of covering one's head with\npipe-clay or cinders, or perhaps even with excrements;[1247] everywhere,\nfinally, we find this same frenzy for beating one's self, lacerating\none's self and burning one's self. In central Victoria, \"when death\nvisits a tribe there is great weeping and lamentation amongst the women,\nthe elder portion of whom lacerate their temples with their nails. The\nparents of the deceased lacerate themselves fearfully, especially if it\nbe an only son whose loss they deplore. The father beats and cuts his\nhead with a tomahawk until he utters bitter groans, the mother sits by\nthe fire and burns her breasts and abdomen with a small fire-stick.\nSometimes the burns thus inflicted are so severe as to cause\ndeath.\"[1248]\n\nAccording to an account of Brough Smyth, here is what happens in one of\nthe southern tribes of the same state. As the body is lowered into the\ngrave, \"the widow begins her sad ceremonies. She cuts off her hair above\nher forehead, and becoming frantic, seizes fire-sticks, and burns her\nbreasts, arms, legs and thighs. She seems to delight in the\nself-inflicted torture. It would be rash and vain to interrupt her. When\nexhausted, and when she can hardly walk, she yet endeavours to kick the\nembers of the fire, and to throw them about. Sitting down, she takes the\nashes into her hands, rubs them into her wounds, and then scratches her\nface (the only part not touched by the fire-sticks) until the blood\nmingles with the ashes, which partly hide her cruel wounds. In this\nplight, scratching her face continually, she utters howls and\nlamentations.\"[1249]\n\nThe description which Howitt gives of the rites of mourning among the\nKurnai is remarkably similar to these others. After the body has been\nwrapped up in opossum skins and put in a shroud of bark, a hut is built\nin which the relatives assemble. \"There they lay lamenting their loss,\nsaying, for instance, 'Why did you leave us?' Now and then their grief\nwould be intensified by some one, for instance, the wife, uttering an\near-piercing wail, 'My spouse is dead,' or another would say, 'My child\nis dead.' All the others would then join in with the proper term of\nrelationship, and they would gash themselves with sharp stones and\ntomahawks until their heads and bodies streamed with blood. This bitter\nwailing and weeping continued all night.\"[1250]\n\nSadness is not the only sentiment expressed during these ceremonies; a\nsort of anger is generally mixed with it. The relatives feel a need of\navenging the death in some way or other. They are to be seen throwing\nthemselves upon one another and trying to wound each other. Sometimes\nthe attack is real; sometimes it is only pretended.[1251] There are even\ncases when these peculiar combats are organized. Among the Kaitish, the\nhair of the deceased passes by right to his son-in-law. But he, in\nreturn, must go, in company with some of his relatives and friends, and\nprovoke a quarrel with one of his tribal brothers, that is, with a man\nbelonging to the same matrimonial class as himself and one who might\ntherefore have married the daughter of the dead man. This provocation\ncannot be refused and the two combatants inflict serious wounds upon\neach other's shoulders and thighs. When the duel is terminated, the\nchallenger passes on to his adversary the hair which he had temporarily\ninherited. This latter then provokes and fights with another of his\ntribal brothers, to whom the precious relic is next transmitted, but\nonly provisionally; thus it passes from hand to hand and circulates from\ngroup to group.[1252] Also, something of these same sentiments enters\ninto that sort of rage with which each relative beats himself, burns\nhimself or slashes himself: a sorrow which reaches such a paroxysm is\nnot without a certain amount of anger. One cannot fail to be struck by\nthe resemblances which these practices present to those of the vendetta.\nBoth proceed from the same principle that death demands the shedding of\nblood. The only difference is that in one case the victims are the\nrelatives, while in the other they are strangers. We do not have to\ntreat especially of the vendetta, which belongs rather to the study of\njuridic institutions; but it should be pointed out, nevertheless, how it\nis connected with the rites of mourning, whose end it announces.[1253]\n\nIn certain societies, the mourning is terminated by a ceremony whose\neffervescence reaches or surpasses that produced by the inaugural\nceremonies. Among the Arunta, this closing rite is called _Urpmilchima_.\nSpencer and Gillen assisted at two of these rites. One was celebrated in\nhonour of a man, the other of a woman. Here is the description they give\nof the latter.[1254]\n\nThey commence by making some ornaments of a special sort, called\n_Chimurilia_ by the men and _Aramurilia_ by the women. With a kind of\nresin, they fixed small animal bones, which had previously been gathered\nand set aside, to locks of hair furnished by the relatives of the dead\nwoman. These are then attached to one of the head-bands which women\nordinarily wear and the feathers of black cockatoos and parrots are\nadded to it. When these preparations are completed, the women assemble\nin their camp. They paint their bodies different colours, according to\ntheir degree of kinship with the deceased. After being embraced by one\nanother for some ten minutes, while uttering uninterrupted groans, they\nset out for the tomb. At a certain distance, they meet a brother by\nblood of the dead woman, who is accompanied by some of his tribal\nbrothers. Everybody sits down on the ground, and the lamentations\nrecommence. A _pitchi_[1255] containing the Chimurilia is then presented\nto the elder brother, who presses it against his stomach; they say that\nthis is a way of lessening his sorrow. They take out one of the\nChimurilia and the dead woman's mother puts it on her head for a little\nwhile; then it is put back into the _pitchi_, which each of the other\nmen presses against his breast, in his turn. Finally, the brother puts\nthe Chimurilia on the heads of two elder sisters and they set out again\nfor the tomb. On the way, the mother throws herself on the ground\nseveral times, and tries to slash her head with a pointed stick. Every\ntime, the other women pick her up, and seem to take care that she does\nnot hurt herself too much. When they arrive at the tomb, she throws\nherself on the knoll and endeavours to destroy it with her hands, while\nthe other women literally dance upon her. The tribal mothers and aunts\n(sisters of the dead woman's father) follow her example; they also throw\nthemselves on the ground, and mutually beat and tear each other; finally\ntheir bodies are all streaming with blood. After a while, they are\ndragged aside. The elder sisters then make a hole in the earth of the\ntomb, in which they place the Chimurilia, which had previously been torn\nto pieces. Once again the tribal mothers throw themselves on the ground\nand slash each other's heads. At this moment, \"the weeping and wailing\nof the women who were standing round seemed to drive them almost\nfrenzied, and the blood, streaming down their bodies over the white\npipe-clay, gave them a ghastly appearance. At last only the old mother\nwas left crouching alone, utterly exhausted and moaning weakly on the\ngrave.\"[1256] Then the others raised her up and rubbed off the pipe-clay\nwith which she was covered; this was the end of the ceremony and of the\nmourning.[1256]\n\nAmong the Warramunga, the final rite presents some rather particular\ncharacteristics. There seems to be no shedding of blood here, but the\ncollective effervescence is translated in another manner.\n\nAmong his people, before the body is definitely interred, it is exposed\nupon a platform placed in the branches of a tree; it is left there to\ndecompose slowly, until nothing remains but the bones. Then these are\ngathered together and, with the exception of the humerus, they are\nplaced inside an ant-hill. The humerus is wrapped up in a bark box,\nwhich is decorated in different manners. The box is then brought to\ncamp, amid the cries and groans of the women. During the following days,\nthey celebrate a series of totemic rites, concerning the totem of the\ndeceased and the mythical history of the ancestors from whom the clan is\ndescended. When all these ceremonies have been terminated, they proceed\nto the closing rite.\n\nA trench one foot deep and fifteen feet long is dug in the field of the\nceremony. A design representing the totem of the deceased and certain\nspots where the ancestor stopped is made on the ground a little distance\nfrom it. Near this design, a little ditch is dug in the ground. Ten\ndecorated men then advance, one behind another, and with their hands\ncrossed behind their heads and their legs wide apart they stand\nastraddle the trench. At a given signal, the women run from the camp in\na profound silence; when they are near, they form in Indian file, the\nlast one holding in her hands the box containing the humerus. Then,\nafter throwing themselves on the ground, they advance on their hands and\nknees, and pass all along the trench, between the legs of the men. The\nscene shows a state of great sexual excitement. As soon as the last\nwoman has passed, they take the box from her, and take it to the ditch,\nnear which is an old man; he breaks the bone with a sharp blow, and\nhurriedly buries it in the debris. During this time, the women have\nremained at a distance, with their backs turned upon the scene, for they\nmust not see it. But when they hear the blow of the axe, they flee,\nuttering cries and groans. The rite is accomplished; the mourning is\nterminated.[1257]\n\n\nII\n\nThese rites belong to a very different type from those which we have\nstudied hitherto. We do not mean to say that important resemblances\ncannot be found between the two, which we shall have to note; but the\ndifferences are more apparent. Instead of happy dances, songs and\ndramatic representations which distract and relax the mind, they are\ntears and groans and, in a word, the most varied manifestations of\nagonized sorrow and a sort of mutual pity, which occupy the whole scene.\nOf course the shedding of blood also takes place in the Intichiuma, but\nthis is an oblation made with a movement of pious enthusiasm. Even\nthough the motions may be the same, the sentiments expressed are\ndifferent and even opposed. Likewise, the ascetic rites certainly imply\nprivations, abstinences and mutilations, but ones which must be borne\nwith an impassive firmness and serenity. Here, on the contrary,\ndejection, cries and tears are the rule. The ascetic tortures himself in\norder to prove, in his own eyes and those of his fellows, that he is\nabove suffering. During mourning, men injure themselves to prove that\nthey suffer. By all these signs, the characteristic traits of the\npiacular rites are to be recognized.\n\nBut how are they to be explained?\n\nOne initial fact is constant: mourning is not the spontaneous expression\nof individual emotions.[1258] If the relations weep, lament, mutilate\nthemselves, it is not because they feel themselves personally affected\nby the death of their kinsman. Of course, it may be that in certain\nparticular cases, the chagrin expressed is really felt.[1259] But it is\nmore generally the case that there is no connection between the\nsentiments felt and the gestures made by the actors in the rite.[1260]\nIf, at the very moment when the weepers seem the most overcome by their\ngrief, some one speaks to them of some temporal interest, it frequently\nhappens that they change their features and tone at once, take on a\nlaughing air and converse in the gayest fashion imaginable.[1261]\nMourning is not a natural movement of private feelings wounded by a\ncruel loss; it is a duty imposed by the group. One weeps, not simply\nbecause he is sad, but because he is forced to weep. It is a ritual\nattitude which he is forced to adopt out of respect for custom, but\nwhich is, in a large measure, independent of his affective state.\nMoreover, this obligation is sanctioned by mythical or social penalties.\nThey believe, for example, that if a relative does not mourn as is\nfitting, then the soul of the departed follows upon his steps and kills\nhim.[1262] In other cases, society does not leave it to the religious\nforces to punish the negligent; it intervenes itself, and reprimands the\nritual faults. If a son-in-law does not render to his father-in-law the\nfuneral attentions which are due him, and if he does not make the\nprescribed incisions, then his tribal fathers-in-law take his wife away\nfrom him and give him another.[1263] Therefore, in order to square\nhimself with usage, a man sometimes forces tears to flow by artificial\nmeans.[1264]\n\nWhence comes this obligation?\n\nEthnographers and sociologists are generally satisfied with the reply\nwhich the natives themselves give to this question. They say that the\ndead wish to be lamented, that by refusing them the tribute of sorrow\nwhich is their right, men offend them, and that the only way of\npreventing their anger is to conform to their will.[1265]\n\nBut this mythological interpretation merely modifies the terms of the\nproblem, without resolving it; it is still necessary to explain why the\ndead imperatively reclaim the mourning. It may be said that it is\nnatural for men to wish to be mourned and regretted. But in making this\nsentiment explain the complex system of rites which make up mourning, we\nattribute to the Australian affective exigencies of which the civilized\nman himself does not always give evidence. Let us admit--as is not\nevident _a priori_--that the idea of not being forgotten too readily is\npleasing to a man who thinks of the future. It is still to be\nestablished that it has ever had enough importance in the minds of the\nliving for one to attribute to the dead a state of mind proceeding\nalmost entirely from this preoccupation. It seems especially improbable\nthat such a sentiment could obsess and impassion men who are seldom\naccustomed to thinking beyond the present moment. So far is it from\nbeing a fact that the desire to survive in the memory of those who are\nstill alive is to be regarded as the origin of mourning, that we may\neven ask ourselves whether it was not rather mourning itself which, when\nonce established, aroused the idea of and the taste for posthumous\nregrets.\n\nThe classic interpretation appears still more unsustainable when we know\nwhat the primitive mourning consists in. It is not made up merely of\npious regrets accorded to him who no longer is, but also of severe\nabstinences and cruel sacrifices. The rite does not merely demand that\none think of the deceased in a melancholy way, but also that he beat\nhimself, bruise himself, lacerate himself and burn himself. We have even\nseen that persons in mourning sometimes torture themselves to such a\ndegree that they do not survive their wounds. What reason has the dead\nman for imposing such torments upon them? Such a cruelty on his part\ndenotes something more than a desire not to be forgotten. If he is to\nfind pleasure in seeing his own suffer, it is necessary that he hate\nthem, that he be thirsty for their blood. This ferocity would\nundoubtedly appear natural to those for whom every spirit is necessarily\nan evil and redoubted power. But we know that there are spirits of every\nsort; how does it happen that the soul of the dead man is necessarily an\nevil spirit? As long as the man is alive, he loves his relatives and\nexchanges services with them. Is it not strange that as soon as it is\nfreed from his body, his soul should instantly lay aside its former\nsentiments and become an evil and tormenting genius? It is a general\nrule that the dead man retains the personality of the living, and that\nhe has the same character, the same hates and the same affections. So\nthis metamorphosis is not easily understandable by itself. It is true\nthat the natives admit it implicitly when they explain the rite by the\nexigencies of the dead man, but the question now before us is to know\nwhence this conception came. Far from being capable of being regarded\nas a truism, it is as obscure as the rite itself, and consequently\ncannot account for it.\n\nFinally, even if we had found the reasons for this surprising\ntransformation, we would still have to explain why it is only temporary.\nFor it does not last beyond the period of mourning; after the rites have\nonce been accomplished, the dead man becomes what he was when alive, an\naffectionate and devoted relation. He puts the new powers which he\nreceives from his new condition at the service of his friends.[1266]\nThenceforth, he is regarded as a good genius, always ready to aid those\nwhom he was recently tormenting. Whence come these successive transfers?\nIf the evil sentiments attributed to the soul come solely from the fact\nthat it is no longer in life, they should remain invariable, and if the\nmourning is due to this, it should be interminable.\n\nThese mythical explanations express the idea which the native has of the\nrite, and not the rite itself. So we may set them aside and face the\nreality which they translate, though disfiguring it in doing so. If\nmourning differs from the other forms of the positive cult, there is one\nfeature in which it resembles them: it, too, is made up out of\ncollective ceremonies which produce a state of effervescence among those\nwho take part in them. The sentiments aroused are different; but the\narousal is the same. So it is presumable that the explanation of the\njoyous rites is capable of being applied to the sad rites, on condition\nthat the terms be transposed.\n\nWhen some one dies, the family group to which he belongs feels itself\nlessened and, to react against this loss, it assembles. A common\nmisfortune has the same effects as the approach of a happy event:\ncollective sentiments are renewed which then lead men to seek one\nanother and to assemble together. We have even seen this need for\nconcentration affirm itself with a particular energy: they embrace one\nanother, put their arms round one another, and press as close as\npossible to one another. But the affective state in which the group then\nhappens to be only reflects the circumstances through which it is\npassing. Not only do the relatives, who are effected the most directly,\nbring their own personal sorrow to the assembly, but the society\nexercises a moral pressure over its members, to put their sentiments in\nharmony with the situation. To allow them to remain indifferent to the\nblow which has fallen upon it and diminished it, would be equivalent to\nproclaiming that it does not hold the place in their hearts which is due\nit; it would be denying itself. A family which allows one of its\nmembers to die without being wept for shows by that very fact that it\nlacks moral unity and cohesion: it abdicates; it renounces its\nexistence. An individual in his turn, if he is strongly attached to the\nsociety of which he is a member, feels that he is morally held to\nparticipating in its sorrows and joys; not to be interested in them\nwould be equivalent to breaking the bonds uniting him to the group; it\nwould be renouncing all desire for it and contradicting himself. When\nthe Christian, during the ceremonies commemorating the Passion, and the\nJew, on the anniversary of the fall of Jerusalem, fast and mortify\nthemselves, it is not in giving way to a sadness which they feel\nspontaneously. Under these circumstances, the internal state of the\nbeliever is out of all proportion to the severe abstinences to which\nthey submit themselves. If he is sad, it is primarily because he\nconsents to being sad, and he consents to it in order to affirm his\nfaith. The attitude of the Australian during mourning is to be explained\nin the same way. If he weeps and groans, it is not merely to express an\nindividual chagrin; it is to fulfil a duty of which the surrounding\nsociety does not fail to remind him.\n\nWe have seen elsewhere how human sentiments are intensified when\naffirmed collectively. Sorrow, like joy, becomes exalted and amplified\nwhen leaping from mind to mind, and therefore expresses itself outwardly\nin the form of exuberant and violent movements. But these are no longer\nexpressive of the joyful agitation which we observed before; they are\nshrieks and cries of pain. Each is carried along by the others; a\nveritable panic of sorrow results. When pain reaches this degree of\nintensity, it is mixed with a sort of anger and exasperation. One feels\nthe need of breaking something, of destroying something. He takes this\nout either upon himself or others. He beats himself, burns himself,\nwounds himself or else he falls upon others to beat, burn and wound\nthem. Thus it became the custom to give one's self up to the veritable\norgies of tortures during mourning. It seems very probable that\nblood-revenge and head-hunting have their origin in this. If every death\nis attributed to some magic charm, and for this reason it is believed\nthat the dead man ought to be avenged, it is because men must find a\nvictim at any price, upon whom the collective pain and anger may be\ndischarged. Naturally this victim is sought outside the group; a\nstranger is a subject _minoris resistenti\u00e6_; as he is not protected by\nthe sentiments of sympathy inspired by a relative or neighbour, there is\nnothing in him which subdues and neutralizes the evil and destructive\nsentiments aroused by the death. It is undoubtedly for this same reason\nthat women serve more frequently than men as the passive objects of the\ncruellest rites of mourning; since they have a smaller social value,\nthey are more obviously designated as scapegoats.\n\nWe see that this explanation of mourning completely leaves aside all\nideas of souls or spirits. The only forces which are really active are\nof a wholly impersonal nature: they are the emotions aroused in the\ngroup by the death of one of its members. But the primitive does not\nknow the psychical mechanism from which these practices result. So when\nhe tries to account for them, he is obliged to forge a wholly different\nexplanation. All he knows is that he must painfully mortify himself. As\nevery obligation suggests the notion of a will which obliges, he looks\nabout him to see whence this constraint which he feels may come. Now,\nthere is one moral power, of whose reality he is assured and which seems\ndesignated for this r\u00f4le: this is the soul which the death has\nliberated. For what could have a greater interest than it in the effects\nwhich its own death has on the living? So they imagine that if these\nlatter inflict an unnatural treatment upon themselves, it is to conform\nto its exigencies. It was thus that the idea of the soul must have\nintervened at a later date into the mythology of mourning. But also,\nsince it is thus endowed with inhuman exigencies, it must be supposed\nthat in leaving the body which it animated, the soul lays aside every\nhuman sentiment. Hence the metamorphosis which makes a dreaded enemy out\nof the relative of yesterday. This transformation is not the origin of\nmourning; it is rather its consequence. It translates a change which has\ncome over the affective state of the group: men do not weep for the dead\nbecause they fear them; they fear them because they weep for them.\n\nBut this change of the affective state can only be a temporary one, for\nwhile the ceremonies of mourning result from it, they also put an end to\nit. Little by little, they neutralize the very causes which have given\nrise to them. The foundation of mourning is the impression of a loss\nwhich the group feels when it loses one of its members. But this very\nimpression results in bringing individuals together, in putting them\ninto closer relations with one another, in associating them all in the\nsame mental state, and therefore in disengaging a sensation of comfort\nwhich compensates the original loss.--Since they weep together, they\nhold to one another and the group is not weakened, in spite of the blow\nwhich has fallen upon it. Of course they have only sad emotions in\ncommon, but communicating in sorrow is still communicating, and every\ncommunion of mind, in whatever form it may be made, raises the social\nvitality. The exceptional violence of the manifestations by which the\ncommon pain is necessarily and obligatorily expressed even testifies to\nthe fact that at this moment, the society is more alive and active than\never. In fact, whenever the social sentiment is painfully wounded, it\nreacts with greater force than ordinarily: one never holds so closely to\nhis family as when it has just suffered. This surplus energy effaces the\nmore completely the effects of the interruption which was felt at first,\nand thus dissipates the feeling of coldness which death always brings\nwith it. The group feels its strength gradually returning to it; it\nbegins to hope and to live again. Presently one stops mourning, and he\ndoes so owing to the mourning itself. But as the idea formed of the soul\nreflects the moral state of the society, this idea should change as this\nstate changes. When one is in the period of dejection and agony, he\nrepresents the soul with the traits of an evil being, whose sole\noccupation is to persecute men. But when he feels himself confident and\nsecure once more, he must admit that it has retaken its former nature\nand its former sentiments of tenderness and solidarity. Thus we explain\nthe very different ways in which it is conceived at different moments of\nits existence.[1267]\n\nNot only do the rites of mourning determine certain of the secondary\ncharacteristics attributed to the soul, but perhaps they are not foreign\nto the idea that it survives the body. If he is to understand the\npractices to which he submits on the death of a parent, a man is obliged\nto believe that these are not an indifferent matter for the deceased.\nThe shedding of blood which is practised so freely during mourning is a\nveritable sacrifice offered to the dead man.[1268] So something of the\ndead man must survive, and as this is not the body, which is manifestly\nimmobile and decomposed, it can only be the soul. Of course it is\nimpossible to say with any exactness what part these considerations have\nhad in the origin of the idea of immortality. But it is probable that\nhere the influence of the cult is the same as it is elsewhere. Rites are\nmore easily explicable when one imagines that they are addressed to\npersonal beings; so men have been induced to extend the influence of\nthe mythical personalities in the religious life. In order to account\nfor mourning, they have prolonged the existence of the soul beyond the\ntomb. This is one more example of the way in which rites react upon\nbeliefs.\n\n\nIII\n\nBut death is not the only event which may disturb a community. Men have\nmany other occasions for being sorry and lamenting, so we might foresee\nthat even the Australians would know and practise other piacular rites\nbesides mourning. However, it is a remarkable fact that only a small\nnumber of examples are to be found in the accounts of the observers.\n\nOne rite of this sort greatly resembles those which have just been\nstudied. It will be remembered that among the Arunta, each local group\nattributes exceptionally important virtues to its collection of\nchuringa: this is this collective palladium, upon whose fate the fate of\nthe community itself is believed to depend. So when enemies or white men\nsucceed in stealing one of these religious treasures, this loss is\nconsidered a public calamity. This misfortune is the occasion of a rite\nhaving all the characteristics of mourning: men smear their bodies with\nwhite pipe-clay and remain in camp, weeping and lamenting, during a\nperiod of two weeks.[1269] This is a new proof that mourning is\ndetermined, not by the way in which the soul of the dead is conceived,\nbut by impersonal causes, by the moral state of the group. In fact, we\nhave here a rite which, in its structure, is indistinguishable from the\nreal mourning, but which is, nevertheless, independent of every notion\nof spirits or evil-working demons.[1270]\n\nAnother circumstance which gives occasion for ceremonies of the same\nnature is the distress in which the society finds itself after an\ninsufficient harvest. \"The natives who live in the vicinity of Lake\nEyre,\" says Eylmann, \"also seek to prevent an insufficiency of food by\nmeans of secret ceremonies. But many of the ritual practices observed in\nthis region are to be distinguished from those which have been mentioned\nalready: it is not by symbolic dances, by imitative movements nor\ndazzling decorations that they try to act upon the religious powers or\nthe forces of nature, but by means of the suffering which individuals\ninflict upon themselves. In the northern territories, it is by means of\ntortures, such as prolonged fasts, vigils, dances persisted up to the\nexhaustion of the dancers, and physical pains of every sort, that they\nattempt to appease the powers which are ill-disposed towards men.\"[1271]\nThe torments to which the natives submit themselves for this purpose\nsometimes leave them in such a state of exhaustion that they are unable\nto follow the hunt for some days to come.[1272]\n\nThese practices are employed especially for fighting against drought.\nThis is because a scarcity of water results in a general want. To remedy\nthis evil, they have recourse to violent methods. One which is\nfrequently used is the extraction of a tooth. Among the Kaitish, for\nexample, they pull out an incisor from one man, and hang it on a\ntree.[1273] Among the Dieri, the idea of rain is closely associated with\nthat of bloody incisions made in the skin of the chest and arms.[1274]\nAmong this same people, whenever the drought is very great, the great\ncouncil assembles and summons the whole tribe. It is really a tribal\nevent. Women are sent in every direction to notify men to assemble at a\ngiven place and time. After they have assembled, they groan and cry in a\npiercing voice about the miserable state of the land, and they beg the\n_Mura-mura_ (the mythical ancestors) to give them the power of making an\nabundant rain fall.[1275] In the cases, which, by the way, are very\nrare, when there has been an excessive rainfall, an analogous ceremony\ntakes place to stop it. Old men then enter into a veritable\nfrenzy,[1276] while the cries uttered by the crowd are really painful to\nhear.[1277]\n\nSpencer and Gillen describe, under the name of Intichiuma, a ceremony\nwhich may well have the same object and the same origin as the preceding\nones: a physical torture is applied to make an animal species multiply.\nAmong the Urabunna, there is one clan whose totem is a variety of snake\ncalled _wadnungadni_. This is how the chief of the clan proceeds, to\nmake sure that these snakes may never be lacking. After having been\ndecorated, he kneels down on the ground, holding his arms straight out.\nAn assistant pinches the skin of his right arm between his fingers, and\nthe officiant forces a pointed bone five inches long through the fold\nthus formed. This self-mutilation is believed to produce the desired\nresult.[1278] An analogous rite is used among the Dieri to make the\nwild-hens lay: the operators pierce their scrotums.[1279] In certain of\nthe Lake Eyre tribes, men pierce their ears to make yams\nreproduce.[1280]\n\nBut these partial or total famines are not the only plagues which may\nfall upon a tribe. Other events happen more or less periodically which\nmenace, or seem to menace, the existence of the group. This is the case,\nfor example, with the southern lights. The Kurnai believe that this is a\nfire lighted in the heavens by the great god Mungan-ngaua; therefore,\nwhenever they see it, they are afraid that it may spread to the earth\nand devour them, so a great effervescence results in the camp. They\nshake a withered hand, to which the Kurnai attribute various virtues,\nand utter such cries as \"Send it away; do not let us be burned.\" At the\nsame time, the old men order an exchange of wives, which always\nindicates a great excitement.[1281] The same sexual licence is mentioned\namong the Wiimbaio whenever a plague appears imminent, and especially in\ntimes of an epidemic.[1282]\n\nUnder the influence of these ideas, mutilations and the shedding of\nblood are sometimes considered an efficient means of curing maladies. If\nan accident happens to a child among the Dieri, his relations beat\nthemselves on the head with clubs or boomerangs until the blood flows\ndown over their faces. They believe that by this process, they relieve\nthe child of the suffering.[1283] Elsewhere, they imagine that they can\nobtain the same end by means of a supplementary totemic ceremony.[1284]\nWe may connect with these the example already given of a ceremony\ncelebrated specially to efface the effects of a ritual fault.[1285] Of\ncourse there are neither wounds nor blows nor physical suffering of any\nsort in these two latter cases, yet the rite does not differ in nature\nfrom the others: the end sought is always the turning aside of an evil\nor the expiation of a fault by means of an extraordinary ritual\nprestation.\n\nOutside of mourning, such are the only cases of piacular rites which we\nhave succeeded in finding in Australia. To be sure, it is probable that\nsome have escaped us, while we may presume equally well that others have\nremained unperceived by the observers. But if those discovered up to the\npresent are few in number, it is probably because they do not hold a\nlarge place in the cult. We see how far primitive religions are from\nbeing the daughters of agony and fear from the fact that the rites\ntranslating these painful emotions are relatively rare. Of course this\nis because the Australian, while leading a miserable existence as\ncompared with other more civilized peoples, demands so little of life\nthat he is easily contented. All that he asks is that nature follow its\nnormal course, that the seasons succeed one another regularly, that the\nrain fall, at the ordinary time, in abundance and without excess. Now\ngreat disturbances in the cosmic order are always exceptional; thus it\nis noticeable that the majority of the regular piacular rites, examples\nof which we have given above, have been observed in the tribes of the\ncentre, where droughts are frequent and constitute veritable disasters.\nIt is still surprising, it is true, that piacular rites specially\ndestined to expiate sins, seem to be completely lacking. However, the\nAustralian, like every other man, must commit ritual faults, which he\nhas an interest in redeeming; so we may ask if the silence of the texts\non this point may not be due to insufficient observation.\n\nBut howsoever few the facts which we have been able to gather may be,\nthey are, nevertheless, instructive.\n\nWhen we study piacular rites in the more advanced religions, where the\nreligious forces are individualized, they appear to be closely bound up\nwith anthropomorphic conceptions. When the believer imposes privations\nupon himself and submits himself to austerities, it is in order to\ndisarm the malevolence attributed by him to certain of the sacred beings\nupon whom he thinks that he is dependent. To appease their hatred or\nanger, he complies with their exigencies; he beats himself in order that\nhe may not be beaten by them. So it seems as though these practices\ncould not arise until after gods and spirits were conceived as moral\npersons, capable of passions analogous to those of men. For this reason,\nRobertson Smith thought it possible to assign a relatively late date to\nexpiatory sacrifices, just as to sacrificial oblations. According to\nhim, the shedding of blood which characterizes these rites was at first\na simple process of communion: men poured forth their blood upon the\naltar in order to strengthen the bonds uniting them to their god. The\nrite acquired a piacular and penal character only when its original\nsignificance was forgotten and when the new idea which was formed of\nsacred beings allowed men to attribute another function to it.[1286]\n\nBut as piacular rites are met with even in the Australian societies, it\nis impossible to assign them so late an origin. Moreover, all that we\nhave observed, with one single exception,[1287] are independent of all\nanthropomorphic conceptions: there is no question of either spirits or\ngods. Abstinences and effusions of blood stop famines and cure\nsicknesses directly and by themselves. No spiritual being introduces his\naction between the rite and the effect it is believed to produce. So\nmythical personalities intervened only at a late date. After the\nmechanism of the ritual had once been established, they served to make\nit more easily representable in the mind, but they are not conditions of\nits existence. It is for other reasons that it was founded; it is to\nanother cause that it owes its efficacy.\n\nIt acts through the collective forces which it puts into play. Does a\nmisfortune which menaces the group appear imminent? Then the group\nunites, as in the case of mourning, and it is naturally an impression of\nuneasiness and perplexity which dominates the assembled body. Now, as\nalways, the pooling of these sentiments results in intensifying them. By\naffirming themselves, they exalt and impassion themselves and attain a\ndegree of violence which is translated by the corresponding violence of\nthe gestures which express them. Just as at the death of a relative,\nthey utter terrible cries, fly into a passion and feel that they must\ntear and destroy; it is to satisfy this need that they beat themselves,\nwound themselves, and make their blood flow. When emotions have this\nvivacity, they may well be painful, but they are not depressing; on the\ncontrary, they denote a state of effervescence which implies a\nmobilization of all our active forces, and even a supply of external\nenergies. It matters little that this exaltation was provoked by a sad\nevent, for it is real, notwithstanding, and does not differ specifically\nfrom what is observed in the happy feasts. Sometimes it is even made\nmanifest by movements of the same nature: there is the same frenzy which\nseizes the worshippers and the same tendency towards sexual debauches, a\nsure sign of great nervous over-excitement. Robertson Smith had already\nnoticed this curious influence of sad rites in the Semitic cults: \"in\nevil times,\" he says, \"when men's thoughts were habitually sombre, they\nbetook themselves to the physical excitement of religion as men now take\nrefuge in wine.... And so in general when an act of Semitic worship\nbegan with sorrow and lamentation--as in the mourning for Adonis, or the\ngreat atoning ceremonies which became common in later times--a swift\nrevulsion of feeling followed, and the gloomy part of the service was\npresently succeeded by a burst of hilarious revelry.\"[1288] In a word,\neven when religious ceremonies have a disquieting or saddening event as\ntheir point of departure, they retain their stimulating power over the\naffective state of the group and individuals. By the mere fact that they\nare collective, they raise the vital tone. When one feels life within\nhim--whether it be in the form of painful irritation or happy\nenthusiasm--he does not believe in death; so he becomes reassured and\ntakes courage again, and subjectively, everything goes on as if the rite\nhad really driven off the danger which was dreaded. This is how curing\nor preventive virtues come to be attributed to the movements which one\nmakes, to the cries uttered, to the blood shed and to the wounds\ninflicted upon one's self or others; and as these different tortures\nnecessarily make one suffer, suffering by itself is finally regarded as\na means of conjuring evil or curing sickness.[1289] Later, when the\nmajority of the religious forces had taken the form of moral\npersonalities, the efficacy of these practices was explained by\nimagining that their object was to appease an evil-working or irritated\ngod. But these conceptions only reflect the rite and the sentiments it\narouses; they are an interpretation of it, not its determining cause.\n\nA negligence of the ritual acts in the same way. It, too, is a menace\nfor the group; it touches it in its moral existence for it touches it in\nits beliefs. But if the anger which it causes is affirmed ostensibly and\nenergetically, it compensates the evil which it has caused. For if it is\nacutely felt by all, it is because the infraction committed is an\nexception and the common faith remains entire. So the moral unity of the\ngroup is not endangered. Now the penalty inflicted as an expiation is\nonly a manifestation of the public anger, the material proof of its\nunanimity. So it really does have the healing effect attributed to it.\nAt bottom, the sentiment which is at the root of the real expiatory\nrites does not differ in nature from that which we have found at the\nbasis of the other piacular rites: it is a sort of irritated sorrow\nwhich tends to manifest itself by acts of destruction. Sometimes it is\nassuaged to the detriment of him who feels it; sometimes it is at the\nexpense of some foreign third party. But in either case, the psychic\nmechanism is essentially the same.[1290]\n\n\nIV\n\nOne of the greatest services which Robertson Smith has rendered to the\nscience of religions is to have pointed out the ambiguity of the notion\nof sacredness.\n\nReligious forces are of two sorts. Some are beneficent, guardians of the\nphysical and moral order, dispensers of life and health and all the\nqualities which men esteem: this is the case with the totemic principle,\nspread out in the whole species, the mythical ancestor, the\nanimal-protector, the civilizing heroes and the tutelar gods of every\nkind and degree. It matters little whether they are conceived as\ndistinct personalities or as diffused energies; under either form they\nfulfil the same function and affect the minds of the believers in the\nsame way: the respect which they inspire is mixed with love and\ngratitude. The things and the persons which are normally connected with\nthem participate in the same sentiments and the same character: these\nare holy things and persons. Such are the spots consecrated to the cult,\nthe objects which serve in the regular rites, the priests, the ascetics,\netc.--On the other hand, there are evil and impure powers, productive of\ndisorders, causes of death and sickness, instigators of sacrilege. The\nonly sentiments which men have for them are a fear into which horror\ngenerally enters. Such are the forces upon which and by which the\nsorcerer acts, those which arise from corpses or the menstrual blood,\nthose freed by every profanation of sacred things, etc. The spirits of\nthe dead and malign genii of every sort are their personified forms.\n\nBetween these two categories of forces and beings, the contrast is as\ncomplete as possible and even goes into the most radical antagonism. The\ngood and salutary powers repel to a distance these others which deny and\ncontradict them. Therefore the former are forbidden to the latter: any\ncontact between them is considered the worst of profanations. This is\nthe typical form of those interdicts between sacred things of different\nspecies, the existence of which we have already pointed out.[1291] Women\nduring menstruation, and especially at its beginning, are impure; so at\nthis moment they are rigorously sequestered; men may have no relations\nwith them.[1292] Bull-roarers and churinga never come near a dead\nman.[1293] A sacrilegious person is excluded from the society of the\nfaithful; access to the cult is forbidden him. Thus the whole religious\nlife gravitates about two contrary poles between which there is the same\nopposition as between the pure and the impure, the saint and the\nsacrilegious, the divine and the diabolic.\n\nBut while these two aspects of the religious life oppose one another,\nthere is a close kinship between them. In the first place, both have the\nsame relation towards profane beings: these must abstain from all\ncontact with impure things just as from the most holy things. The former\nare no less forbidden than the latter: they are withdrawn from\ncirculation alike. This shows that they too are sacred. Of course the\nsentiments inspired by the two are not identical: respect is one thing,\ndisgust and horror another. Yet, if the gestures are to be the same in\nboth cases, the sentiments expressed must not differ in nature. And, in\nfact, there is a horror in religious respect, especially when it is very\nintense, while the fear inspired by malign powers is generally not\nwithout a certain reverential character. The shades by which these two\nattitudes are differentiated are even so slight sometimes that it is not\nalways easy to say which state of mind the believers actually happen to\nbe in. Among certain Semitic peoples, pork was forbidden, but it was not\nalways known exactly whether this was because it was a pure or an impure\nthing[1294] and the same may be said of a very large number of\nalimentary interdictions.\n\nBut there is more to be said; it very frequently happens that an impure\nthing or an evil power becomes a holy thing or a guardian power, without\nchanging its nature, through a simple modification of external\ncircumstances. We have seen how the soul of a dead man, which is a\ndreaded principle at first, is transformed into a protecting genius as\nsoon as the mourning is finished. Likewise, the corpse, which begins by\ninspiring terror and aversion, is later regarded as a venerated relic:\nfuneral anthropophagy, which is frequently practised in the Australian\nsocieties, is a proof of this transformation.[1295] The totemic animal\nis the pre-eminently sacred being; but for him who eats its flesh\nunduly, it is a cause of death. In a general way, the sacrilegious\nperson is merely a profane one who has been infected with a benevolent\nreligious force. This changes its nature in changing its habitat; it\ndefiles rather than sanctifies.[1296] The blood issuing from the\ngenital organs of a woman, though it is evidently as impure as that of\nmenstruation, is frequently used as a remedy against sickness.[1297] The\nvictim immolated in expiatory sacrifices is charged with impurities, for\nthey have concentrated upon it the sins which were to be expiated. Yet,\nafter it has been slaughtered, its flesh and blood are employed for the\nmost pious uses.[1298] On the contrary, though the communion is\ngenerally a religious operation whose normal function is to consecrate,\nit sometimes produces the effects of a sacrilege. In certain cases, the\npersons who have communicated are forced to flee from one another as\nfrom men infected with a plague. One would say that they have become a\nsource of dangerous contamination for one another: the sacred bond which\nunites them also separates them. Examples of this sort of communion are\nnumerous in Australia. One of the most typical has been observed among\nthe Narrinyeri and the neighbouring tribes. When an infant arrives in\nthe world, its parents carefully preserve its umbilical cord, which is\nbelieved to conceal a part of its soul. Two persons who exchange the\ncords thus preserved communicate together by the very act of this\nexchange, for it is as though they exchanged their souls. But, at the\nsame time, they are forbidden to touch or speak to or even to see one\nanother. It is just as though they were each an object of horror for the\nother.[1299]\n\nSo the pure and the impure are not two separate classes, but two\nvarieties of the same class, which includes all sacred things. There are\ntwo sorts of sacredness, the propitious and the unpropitious, and not\nonly is there no break of continuity between these two opposed forms,\nbut also one object may pass from the one to the other without changing\nits nature. The pure is made out of the impure, and reciprocally. It is\nin the possibility of these transmutations that the ambiguity of the\nsacred consists.\n\nBut even if Robertson Smith did have an active sentiment of this\nambiguity, he never gave it an express explanation. He confined himself\nto remarking that, as all religious forces are indistinctly intense and\ncontagious, it is wise not to approach them except with respectful\nprecautions, no matter what direction their action may be exercised in.\nIt seemed to him that he could thus account for the air of kinship which\nthey all present, in spite of the contrasts which oppose them\notherwise. But the question was only put off; it still remains to be\nshown how it comes that the powers of evil have the same intensity and\ncontagiousness as the others. In other words, how does it happen that\nthey, too, are of a religious nature? Also, the energy and force of\nexpansion which they have in common do not enable us to understand how,\nin spite of the conflict which divides them, they may be transformed\ninto one another or substituted for each other in their respective\nfunctions, and how the pure may contaminate while the impure sometimes\nserves to sanctify.[1300]\n\nThe explanation of piacular rites which we have proposed enables us to\nreply to this double question.\n\nWe have seen, in fact, that the evil powers are the product of these\nrites and symbolize them. When a society is going through circumstances\nwhich sadden, perplex or irritate it, it exercises a pressure over its\nmembers, to make them bear witness, by significant acts, to their\nsorrow, perplexity or anger. It imposes upon them the duty of weeping,\ngroaning or inflicting wounds upon themselves or others, for these\ncollective manifestations, and the moral communion which they show and\nstrengthen, restore to the group the energy which circumstances threaten\nto take away from it, and thus they enable it to become settled. This is\nthe experience which men interpret when they imagine that outside them\nthere are evil beings whose hostility, whether constitutional or\ntemporary, can be appeased only by human suffering. These beings are\nnothing other than collective states objectified; they are society\nitself seen under one of its aspects. But we also know that the\nbenevolent powers are constituted in the same way; they, too, result\nfrom the collective life and express it; they, too, represent the\nsociety, but seen from a very different attitude, to wit, at the moment\nwhen it confidently affirms itself and ardently presses on towards the\nrealization of the ends which it pursues. Since these two sorts of\nforces have a common origin, it is not at all surprising that, though\nfacing in opposite directions, they should have the same nature, that\nthey are equally intense and contagious and consequently forbidden and\nsacred.\n\nFrom this we are able to understand how they change into one another.\nSince they reflect the abjective state in which the group happens to be,\nit is enough that this state change for their character to change. After\nthe mourning is over, the domestic group is re-calmed by the mourning\nitself; it regains confidence; the painful pressure which they felt\nexercised over them is relieved; they feel more at their ease. So it\nseems to them as though the spirit of the deceased had laid aside its\nhostile sentiments and become a benevolent protector. The other\ntransmutations, examples of which we have cited, are to be explained in\nthe same way. As we have already shown, the sanctity of a thing is due\nto the collective sentiment of which it is the object. If, in violation\nof the interdicts which isolate it, it comes in contact with a profane\nperson, then this same sentiment will spread contagiously to this latter\nand imprint a special character upon him. But in spreading, it comes\ninto a very different state from the one it was in at first. Offended\nand irritated by the profanation implied in this abusive and unnatural\nextension, it becomes aggressive and inclined to destructive violences:\nit tends to avenge itself for the offence suffered. Therefore the\ninfected subject seems to be filled with a mighty and harmful force\nwhich menaces all that approaches him; it is as though he were marked\nwith a stain or blemish. Yet the cause of this blemish is the same\npsychic state which, in other circumstances, consecrates and sanctifies.\nBut if the anger thus aroused is satisfied by an expiatory rite, it\nsubsides, alleviated; the offended sentiment is appeased and returns to\nits original state. So it acts once more as it acted in the beginning;\ninstead of contaminating, it sanctifies. As it continues to infect the\nobject to which it is attached, this could never become profane and\nreligiously indifferent again. But the direction of the religious force\nwith which it seems to be filled is inverted: from being impure, it has\nbecome pure and an instrument of purification.\n\nIn r\u00e9sum\u00e9, the two poles of the religious life correspond to the two\nopposed states through which all social life passes. Between the\npropitiously sacred and the unpropitiously sacred there is the same\ncontrast as between the states of collective well-being and ill-being.\nBut since both are equally collective, there is, between the\nmythological constructions symbolizing them, an intimate kinship of\nnature. The sentiments held in common vary from extreme dejection to\nextreme joy, from painful irritation to ecstatic enthusiasm; but, in\nany case, there is a communion of minds and a mutual comfort resulting\nfrom this communion. The fundamental process is always the same; only\ncircumstances colour it differently. So, at bottom, it is the unity and\nthe diversity of social life which make the simultaneous unity and\ndiversity of sacred beings and things.\n\nThis ambiguity, moreover, is not peculiar to the idea of sacredness\nalone; something of this characteristic has been found in all the rites\nwhich we have been studying. Of course it was essential to distinguish\nthem; to confuse them would have been to misunderstand the multiple\naspects of the religious life. But, on the other hand, howsoever\ndifferent they may be, there is no break of continuity between them.\nQuite on the contrary, they overlap one another and may even replace\neach other mutually. We have already shown how the rites of oblation and\ncommunion, the imitative rites and the commemorative rites frequently\nfulfil the same function. One might imagine that the negative cult, at\nleast, would be more sharply separated from the positive cult; yet we\nhave seen that the former may produce positive effects, identical with\nthose produced by the latter. The same results are obtained by fasts,\nabstinences and self-mutilations as by communions, oblations and\ncommemorations. Inversely, offerings and sacrifices imply privations and\nrenunciations of every sort. The continuity between ascetic and piacular\nrites is even more apparent: both are made up of sufferings, accepted or\nundergone, to which an analogous efficacy is attributed. Thus the\npractices, like the beliefs, are not arranged in two separate classes.\nHowsoever complex the outward manifestations of the religious life may\nbe, at bottom it is one and simple. It responds everywhere to one and\nthe same need, and is everywhere derived from one and the same mental\nstate. In all its forms, its object is to raise man above himself and to\nmake him lead a life superior to that which he would lead, if he\nfollowed only his own individual whims: beliefs express this life in\nrepresentations; rites organize it and regulate its working.\n\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION\n\n\nAt the beginning of this work we announced that the religion whose study\nwe were taking up contained within it the most characteristic elements\nof the religious life. The exactness of this proposition may now be\nverified. Howsoever simple the system which we have studied may be, we\nhave found within it all the great ideas and the principal ritual\nattitudes which are at the basis of even the most advanced religions:\nthe division of things into sacred and profane, the notions of the soul,\nof spirits, of mythical personalities, and of a national and even\ninternational divinity, a negative cult with ascetic practices which are\nits exaggerated form, rites of oblation and communion, imitative rites,\ncommemorative rites and expiatory rites; nothing essential is lacking.\nWe are thus in a position to hope that the results at which we have\narrived are not peculiar to totemism alone, but can aid us in an\nunderstanding of what religion in general is.\n\nIt may be objected that one single religion, whatever its field of\nextension may be, is too narrow a base for such an induction. We have\nnot dreamed for a moment of ignoring the fact that an extended\nverification may add to the authority of a theory, but it is equally\ntrue that when a law has been proven by one well-made experiment, this\nproof is valid universally. If in one single case a scientist succeeded\nin finding out the secret of the life of even the most protoplasmic\ncreature that can be imagined, the truths thus obtained would be\napplicable to all living beings, even the most advanced. Then if, in our\nstudies of these very humble societies, we have really succeeded in\ndiscovering some of the elements out of which the most fundamental\nreligious notions are made up, there is no reason for not extending the\nmost general results of our researches to other religions. In fact, it\nis inconceivable that the same effect may be due now to one cause, now\nto another, according to the circumstances, unless the two causes are at\nbottom only one. A single idea cannot express one reality here and\nanother one there, unless the duality is only apparent. If among certain\npeoples the ideas of sacredness, the soul and God are to be explained\nsociologically, it should be presumed scientifically that, in principle,\nthe same explanation is valid for all the peoples among whom these same\nideas are found with the same essential characteristics. Therefore,\nsupposing that we have not been deceived, certain at least of our\nconclusions can be legitimately generalized. The moment has come to\ndisengage these. And an induction of this sort, having at its foundation\na clearly defined experiment, is less adventurous than many summary\ngeneralizations which, while attempting to reach the essence of religion\nat once, without resting upon the careful analysis of any religion in\nparticular, greatly risk losing themselves in space.\n\n\nI\n\nThe theorists who have undertaken to explain religion in rational terms\nhave generally seen in it before all else a system of ideas,\ncorresponding to some determined object. This object has been conceived\nin a multitude of ways: nature, the infinite, the unknowable, the ideal,\netc.; but these differences matter but little. In any case, it was the\nconceptions and beliefs which were considered as the essential elements\nof religion. As for the rites, from this point of view they appear to be\nonly an external translation, contingent and material, of these internal\nstates which alone pass as having any intrinsic value. This conception\nis so commonly held that generally the disputes of which religion is the\ntheme turn about the question whether it can conciliate itself with\nscience or not, that is to say, whether or not there is a place beside\nour scientific knowledge for another form of thought which would be\nspecifically religious.\n\nBut the believers, the men who lead the religious life and have a direct\nsensation of what it really is, object to this way of regarding it,\nsaying that it does not correspond to their daily experience. In fact,\nthey feel that the real function of religion is not to make us think, to\nenrich our knowledge, nor to add to the conceptions which we owe to\nscience others of another origin and another character, but rather, it\nis to make us act, to aid us to live. The believer who has communicated\nwith his god is not merely a man who sees new truths of which the\nunbeliever is ignorant; he is a man who is _stronger_. He feels within\nhim more force, either to endure the trials of existence, or to conquer\nthem. It is as though he were raised above the miseries of the world,\nbecause he is raised above his condition as a mere man; he believes that\nhe is saved from evil, under whatever form he may conceive this evil.\nThe first article in every creed is the belief in salvation by faith.\nBut it is hard to see how a mere idea could have this efficacy. An idea\nis in reality only a part of ourselves; then how could it confer upon us\npowers superior to those which we have of our own nature? Howsoever rich\nit might be in affective virtues, it could add nothing to our natural\nvitality; for it could only release the motive powers which are within\nus, neither creating them nor increasing them. From the mere fact that\nwe consider an object worthy of being loved and sought after, it does\nnot follow that we feel ourselves stronger afterwards; it is also\nnecessary that this object set free energies superior to these which we\nordinarily have at our command and also that we have some means of\nmaking these enter into us and unite themselves to our interior lives.\nNow for that, it is not enough that we think of them; it is also\nindispensable that we place ourselves within their sphere of action, and\nthat we set ourselves where we may best feel their influence; in a word,\nit is necessary that we act, and that we repeat the acts thus necessary\nevery time we feel the need of renewing their effects. From this point\nof view, it is readily seen how that group of regularly repeated acts\nwhich form the cult get their importance. In fact, whoever has really\npractised a religion knows very well that it is the cult which gives\nrise to these impressions of joy, of interior peace, of serenity, of\nenthusiasm which are, for the believer, an experimental proof of his\nbeliefs. The cult is not simply a system of signs by which the faith is\noutwardly translated; it is a collection of the means by which this is\ncreated and recreated periodically. Whether it consists in material acts\nor mental operations, it is always this which is efficacious.\n\nOur entire study rests upon this postulate that the unanimous sentiment\nof the believers of all times cannot be purely illusory. Together with a\nrecent apologist of the faith[1301] we admit that these religious\nbeliefs rest upon a specific experience whose demonstrative value is, in\none sense, not one bit inferior to that of scientific experiments,\nthough different from them. We, too, think that \"a tree is known by its\nfruits,\"[1302] and that fertility is the best proof of what the roots\nare worth. But from the fact that a \"religious experience,\" if we choose\nto call it this, does exist and that it has a certain foundation--and,\nby the way, is there any experience which has none?--it does not follow\nthat the reality which is its foundation conforms objectively to the\nidea which believers have of it. The very fact that the fashion in which\nit has been conceived has varied infinitely in different times is enough\nto prove that none of these conceptions express it adequately. If a\nscientist states it as an axiom that the sensations of heat and light\nwhich we feel correspond to some objective cause, he does not conclude\nthat this is what it appears to the senses to be. Likewise, even if the\nimpressions which the faithful feel are not imaginary, still they are in\nno way privileged intuitions; there is no reason for believing that they\ninform us better upon the nature of their object than do ordinary\nsensations upon the nature of bodies and their properties. In order to\ndiscover what this object consists of, we must submit them to an\nexamination and elaboration analogous to that which has substituted for\nthe sensuous idea of the world another which is scientific and\nconceptual.\n\nThis is precisely what we have tried to do, and we have seen that this\nreality, which mythologies have represented under so many different\nforms, but which is the universal and eternal objective cause of these\nsensations _sui generis_ out of which religious experience is made, is\nsociety. We have shown what moral forces it develops and how it awakens\nthis sentiment of a refuge, of a shield and of a guardian support which\nattaches the believer to his cult. It is that which raises him outside\nhimself; it is even that which made him. For that which makes a man is\nthe totality of the intellectual property which constitutes\ncivilization, and civilization is the work of society. Thus is explained\nthe preponderating r\u00f4le of the cult in all religions, whichever they may\nbe. This is because society cannot make its influence felt unless it is\nin action, and it is not in action unless the individuals who compose it\nare assembled together and act in common. It is by common action that it\ntakes consciousness of itself and realizes its position; it is before\nall else an active co-operation. The collective ideas and sentiments are\neven possible only owing to these exterior movements which symbolize\nthem, as we have established.[1303] Then it is action which dominates\nthe religious life, because of the mere fact that it is society which is\nits source.\n\nIn addition to all the reasons which have been given to justify this\nconception, a final one may be added here, which is the result of our\nwhole work. As we have progressed, we have established the fact that the\nfundamental categories of thought, and consequently of science, are of\nreligious origin. We have seen that the same is true for magic and\nconsequently for the different processes which have issued from it. On\nthe other hand, it has long been known that up until a relatively\nadvanced moment of evolution, moral and legal rules have been\nindistinguishable from ritual prescriptions. In summing up, then, it may\nbe said that nearly all the great social institutions have been born in\nreligion.[1304] Now in order that these principal aspects of the\ncollective life may have commenced by being only varied aspects of the\nreligious life, it is obviously necessary that the religious life be the\neminent form and, as it were, the concentrated expression of the whole\ncollective life. If religion has given birth to all that is essential in\nsociety, it is because the idea of society is the soul of religion.\n\nReligious forces are therefore human forces, moral forces. It is true\nthat since collective sentiments can become conscious of themselves only\nby fixing themselves upon external objects, they have not been able to\ntake form without adopting some of their characteristics from other\nthings: they have thus acquired a sort of physical nature; in this way\nthey have come to mix themselves with the life of the material world,\nand then have considered themselves capable of explaining what passes\nthere. But when they are considered only from this point of view and in\nthis r\u00f4le, only their most superficial aspect is seen. In reality, the\nessential elements of which these collective sentiments are made have\nbeen borrowed by the understanding. It ordinarily seems that they should\nhave a human character only when they are conceived under human\nforms;[1305] but even the most impersonal and the most anonymous are\nnothing else than objectified sentiments.\n\nIt is only by regarding religion from this angle that it is possible to\nsee its real significance. If we stick closely to appearances, rites\noften give the effect of purely manual operations: they are anointings,\nwashings, meals. To consecrate something, it is put in contact with a\nsource of religious energy, just as to-day a body is put in contact with\na source of heat or electricity to warm or electrize it; the two\nprocesses employed are not essentially different. Thus understood,\nreligious technique seems to be a sort of mystic mechanics. But these\nmaterial man[oe]uvres are only the external envelope under which the\nmental operations are hidden. Finally, there is no question of\nexercising a physical constraint upon blind and, incidentally, imaginary\nforces, but rather of reaching individual consciousnesses, of giving\nthem a direction and of disciplining them. It is sometimes said that\ninferior religions are materialistic. Such an expression is inexact. All\nreligions, even the crudest, are in a sense spiritualistic: for the\npowers they put in play are before all spiritual, and also their\nprincipal object is to act upon the moral life. Thus it is seen that\nwhatever has been done in the name of religion cannot have been done in\nvain: for it is necessarily the society that did it, and it is humanity\nthat has reaped the fruits.\n\n\nBut, it is said, what society is it that has thus made the basis of\nreligion? Is it the real society, such as it is and acts before our very\neyes, with the legal and moral organization which it has laboriously\nfashioned during the course of history? This is full of defects and\nimperfections. In it, evil goes beside the good, injustice often reigns\nsupreme, and the truth is often obscured by error. How could anything so\ncrudely organized inspire the sentiments of love, the ardent enthusiasm\nand the spirit of abnegation which all religions claim of their\nfollowers? These perfect beings which are gods could not have taken\ntheir traits from so mediocre, and sometimes even so base a reality.\n\nBut, on the other hand, does someone think of a perfect society, where\njustice and truth would be sovereign, and from which evil in all its\nforms would be banished for ever? No one would deny that this is in\nclose relations with the religious sentiment; for, they would say, it is\ntowards the realization of this that all religions strive. But that\nsociety is not an empirical fact, definite and observable; it is a\nfancy, a dream with which men have lightened their sufferings, but in\nwhich they have never really lived. It is merely an idea which comes to\nexpress our more or less obscure aspirations towards the good, the\nbeautiful and the ideal. Now these aspirations have their roots in us;\nthey come from the very depths of our being; then there is nothing\noutside of us which can account for them. Moreover, they are already\nreligious in themselves; thus it would seem that the ideal society\npresupposes religion, far from being able to explain it.[1306]\n\nBut, in the first place, things are arbitrarily simplified when religion\nis seen only on its idealistic side: in its way, it is realistic. There\nis no physical or moral ugliness, there are no vices or evils which do\nnot have a special divinity. There are gods of theft and trickery, of\nlust and war, of sickness and of death. Christianity itself, howsoever\nhigh the idea which it has made of the divinity may be, has been obliged\nto give the spirit of evil a place in its mythology. Satan is an\nessential piece of the Christian system; even if he is an impure being,\nhe is not a profane one. The anti-god, is a god, inferior and\nsubordinated, it is true, but nevertheless endowed with extended\npowers; he is even the object of rites, at least of negative ones. Thus\nreligion, far from ignoring the real society and making abstraction of\nit, is in its image; it reflects all its aspects, even the most vulgar\nand the most repulsive. All is to be found there, and if in the majority\nof cases we see the good victorious over evil, life over death, the\npowers of light over the powers of darkness, it is because reality is\nnot otherwise. If the relation between these two contrary forces were\nreversed, life would be impossible; but, as a matter of fact, it\nmaintains itself and even tends to develop.\n\nBut if, in the midst of these mythologies and theologies we see reality\nclearly appearing, it is none the less true that it is found there only\nin an enlarged, transformed and idealized form. In this respect, the\nmost primitive religions do not differ from the most recent and the most\nrefined. For example, we have seen how the Arunta place at the beginning\nof time a mythical society whose organization exactly reproduces that\nwhich still exists to-day; it includes the same clans and phratries, it\nis under the same matrimonial rules and it practises the same rites. But\nthe personages who compose it are ideal beings, gifted with powers and\nvirtues to which common mortals cannot pretend. Their nature is not only\nhigher, but it is different, since it is at once animal and human. The\nevil powers there undergo a similar metamorphosis: evil itself is, as it\nwere, made sublime and idealized. The question now raises itself of\nwhence this idealization comes.\n\nSome reply that men have a natural faculty for idealizing, that is to\nsay, of substituting for the real world another different one, to which\nthey transport themselves by thought. But that is merely changing the\nterms of the problem; it is not resolving it or even advancing it. This\nsystematic idealization is an essential characteristic of religions.\nExplaining them by an innate power of idealization is simply replacing\none word by another which is the equivalent of the first; it is as if\nthey said that men have made religions because they have a religious\nnature. Animals know only one world, the one which they perceive by\nexperience, internal as well as external. Men alone have the faculty of\nconceiving the ideal, of adding something to the real. Now where does\nthis singular privilege come from? Before making it an initial fact or a\nmysterious virtue which escapes science, we must be sure that it does\nnot depend upon empirically determinable conditions.\n\nThe explanation of religion which we have proposed has precisely this\nadvantage, that it gives an answer to this question. For our definition\nof the sacred is that it is something added to and above the real: now\nthe ideal answers to this same definition; we cannot explain one without\nexplaining the other. In fact, we have seen that if collective life\nawakens religious thought on reaching a certain degree of intensity, it\nis because it brings about a state of effervescence which changes the\nconditions of psychic activity. Vital energies are over-excited,\npassions more active, sensations stronger; there are even some which are\nproduced only at this moment. A man does not recognize himself; he feels\nhimself transformed and consequently he transforms the environment which\nsurrounds him. In order to account for the very particular impressions\nwhich he receives, he attributes to the things with which he is in most\ndirect contact properties which they have not, exceptional powers and\nvirtues which the objects of every-day experience do not possess. In a\nword, above the real world where his profane life passes he has placed\nanother which, in one sense, does not exist except in thought, but to\nwhich he attributes a higher sort of dignity than to the first. Thus,\nfrom a double point of view it is an ideal world.\n\nThe formation of the ideal world is therefore not an irreducible fact\nwhich escapes science; it depends upon conditions which observation can\ntouch; it is a natural product of social life. For a society to become\nconscious of itself and maintain at the necessary degree of intensity\nthe sentiments which it thus attains, it must assemble and concentrate\nitself. Now this concentration brings about an exaltation of the mental\nlife which takes form in a group of ideal conceptions where is portrayed\nthe new life thus awakened; they correspond to this new set of psychical\nforces which is added to those which we have at our disposition for the\ndaily tasks of existence. A society can neither create itself nor\nrecreate itself without at the same time creating an ideal. This\ncreation is not a sort of work of supererogation for it, by which it\nwould complete itself, being already formed; it is the act by which it\nis periodically made and remade. Therefore when some oppose the ideal\nsociety to the real society, like two antagonists which would lead us in\nopposite directions, they materialize and oppose abstractions. The ideal\nsociety is not outside of the real society; it is a part of it. Far from\nbeing divided between them as between two poles which mutually repel\neach other, we cannot hold to one without holding to the other. For a\nsociety is not made up merely of the mass of individuals who compose it,\nthe ground which they occupy, the things which they use and the\nmovements which they perform, but above all is the idea which it forms\nof itself. It is undoubtedly true that it hesitates over the manner in\nwhich it ought to conceive itself; it feels itself drawn in divergent\ndirections. But these conflicts which break forth are not between the\nideal and reality, but between two different ideals, that of yesterday\nand that of to-day, that which has the authority of tradition and that\nwhich has the hope of the future. There is surely a place for\ninvestigating whence these ideals evolve; but whatever solution may be\ngiven to this problem, it still remains that all passes in the world of\nthe ideal.\n\nThus the collective ideal which religion expresses is far from being due\nto a vague innate power of the individual, but it is rather at the\nschool of collective life that the individual has learned to idealize.\nIt is in assimilating the ideals elaborated by society that he has\nbecome capable of conceiving the ideal. It is society which, by leading\nhim within its sphere of action, has made him acquire the need of\nraising himself above the world of experience and has at the same time\nfurnished him with the means of conceiving another. For society has\nconstructed this new world in constructing itself, since it is society\nwhich this expresses. Thus both with the individual and in the group,\nthe faculty of idealizing has nothing mysterious about it. It is not a\nsort of luxury which a man could get along without, but a condition of\nhis very existence. He could not be a social being, that is to say, he\ncould not be a man, if he had not acquired it. It is true that in\nincarnating themselves in individuals, collective ideals tend to\nindividualize themselves. Each understands them after his own fashion\nand marks them with his own stamp; he suppresses certain elements and\nadds others. Thus the personal ideal disengages itself from the social\nideal in proportion as the individual personality develops itself and\nbecomes an autonomous source of action. But if we wish to understand\nthis aptitude, so singular in appearance, of living outside of reality,\nit is enough to connect it with the social conditions upon which it\ndepends.\n\nTherefore it is necessary to avoid seeing in this theory of religion a\nsimple restatement of historical materialism: that would be\nmisunderstanding our thought to an extreme degree. In showing that\nreligion is something essentially social, we do not mean to say that it\nconfines itself to translating into another language the material forms\nof society and its immediate vital necessities. It is true that we take\nit as evident that social life depends upon its material foundation and\nbears its mark, just as the mental life of an individual depends upon\nhis nervous system and in fact his whole organism. But collective\nconsciousness is something more than a mere epiphenomenon of its\nmorphological basis, just as individual consciousness is something more\nthan a simple efflorescence of the nervous system. In order that the\nformer may appear, a synthesis _sui generis_ of particular\nconsciousnesses is required. Now this synthesis has the effect of\ndisengaging a whole world of sentiments, ideas and images which, once\nborn, obey laws all their own. They attract each other, repel each\nother, unite, divide themselves, and multiply, though these combinations\nare not commanded and necessitated by the condition of the underlying\nreality. The life thus brought into being even enjoys so great an\nindependence that it sometimes indulges in manifestations with no\npurpose or utility of any sort, for the mere pleasure of affirming\nitself. We have shown that this is often precisely the case with ritual\nactivity and mythological thought.[1307]\n\n\nBut if religion is the product of social causes, how can we explain the\nindividual cult and the universalistic character of certain religions?\nIf it is born _in foro externo_, how has it been able to pass into the\ninner conscience of the individual and penetrate there ever more and\nmore profoundly? If it is the work of definite and individualized\nsocieties, how has it been able to detach itself from them, even to the\npoint of being conceived as something common to all humanity?\n\nIn the course of our studies, we have met with the germs of individual\nreligion and of religious cosmopolitanism, and we have seen how they\nwere formed; thus we possess the more general elements of the reply\nwhich is to be given to this double question.\n\nWe have shown how the religious force which animates the clan\nparticularizes itself, by incarnating itself in particular\nconsciousnesses. Thus secondary sacred beings are formed; each\nindividual has his own, made in his own image, associated to his own\nintimate life, bound up with his own destiny; it is the soul, the\nindividual totem, the protecting ancestor, etc. These beings are the\nobject of rites which the individual can celebrate by himself, outside\nof any group; this is the first form of the individual cult. To be sure,\nit is only a very rudimentary cult; but since the personality of the\nindividual is still only slightly marked, and but little value is\nattributed to it, the cult which expresses it could hardly be expected\nto be very highly developed as yet. But as individuals have\ndifferentiated themselves more and more and the value of an individual\nhas increased, the corresponding cult has taken a relatively greater\nplace in the totality of the religious life and at the same time it is\nmore fully closed to outside influences.\n\nThus the existence of individual cults implies nothing which contradicts\nor embarrasses the sociological interpretation of religion; for the\nreligious forces to which it addresses itself are only the\nindividualized forms of collective forces. Therefore, even when religion\nseems to be entirely within the individual conscience, it is still in\nsociety that it finds the living source from which it is nourished. We\nare now able to appreciate the value of the radical individualism which\nwould make religion something purely individual: it misunderstands the\nfundamental conditions of the religious life. If up to the present it\nhas remained in the stage of theoretical aspirations which have never\nbeen realized, it is because it is unrealizable. A philosophy may well\nbe elaborated in the silence of the interior imagination, but not so a\nfaith. For before all else, a faith is warmth, life, enthusiasm, the\nexaltation of the whole mental life, the raising of the individual above\nhimself. Now how could he add to the energies which he possesses without\ngoing outside himself? How could he surpass himself merely by his own\nforces? The only source of life at which we can morally reanimate\nourselves is that formed by the society of our fellow beings; the only\nmoral forces with which we can sustain and increase our own are those\nwhich we get from others. Let us even admit that there really are beings\nmore or less analogous to those which the mythologies represent. In\norder that they may exercise over souls the useful direction which is\ntheir reason for existence, it is necessary that men believe in them.\nNow these beliefs are active only when they are partaken by many. A man\ncannot retain them any length of time by a purely personal effort; it is\nnot thus that they are born or that they are acquired; it is even\ndoubtful if they can be kept under these conditions. In fact, a man who\nhas a veritable faith feels an invincible need of spreading it:\ntherefore he leaves his isolation, approaches others and seeks to\nconvince them, and it is the ardour of the convictions which he arouses\nthat strengthens his own. It would quickly weaken if it remained alone.\n\nIt is the same with religious universalism as with this individualism.\nFar from being an exclusive attribute of certain very great religions,\nwe have found it, not at the base, it is true, but at the summit of the\nAustralian system. Bunjil, Daramulun or Baiame are not simple tribal\ngods; each of them is recognized by a number of different tribes. In a\nsense, their cult is international. This conception is therefore very\nnear to that found in the most recent theologies. So certain writers\nhave felt it their duty to deny its authenticity, howsoever\nincontestable this may be.\n\nAnd we have been able to show how this has been formed.\n\nNeighbouring tribes of a similar civilization cannot fail to be in\nconstant relations with each other. All sorts of circumstances give an\noccasion for it: besides commerce, which is still rudimentary, there are\nmarriages; these international marriages are very common in Australia.\nIn the course of these meetings, men naturally become conscious of the\nmoral relationship which united them. They have the same social\norganization, the same division into phratries, clans and matrimonial\nclasses; they practise the same rites of initiation, or wholly similar\nones. Mutual loans and treaties result in reinforcing these spontaneous\nresemblances. The gods to which these manifestly identical institutions\nwere attached could hardly have remained distinct in their minds.\nEverything tended to bring them together and consequently, even\nsupposing that each tribe elaborated the notion independently, they must\nnecessarily have tended to confound themselves with each other. Also, it\nis probable that it was in inter-tribal assemblies that they were first\nconceived. For they are chiefly the gods of initiation, and in the\ninitiation ceremonies, the different tribes are usually represented. So\nif sacred beings are formed which are connected with no geographically\ndetermined society, that is not because they have an extra-social\norigin. It is because there are other groups above these geographically\ndetermined ones, whose contours are less clearly marked: they have no\nfixed frontiers, but include all sorts of more or less neighbouring and\nrelated tribes. The particular social life thus created tends to spread\nitself over an area with no definite limits. Naturally the mythological\npersonages who correspond to it have the same character; their sphere of\ninfluence is not limited; they go beyond the particular tribes and their\nterritory. They are the great international gods.\n\nNow there is nothing in this situation which is peculiar to Australian\nsocieties. There is no people and no state which is not a part of\nanother society, more or less unlimited, which embraces all the peoples\nand all the States with which the first comes in contact, either\ndirectly or indirectly; there is no national life which is not dominated\nby a collective life of an international nature. In proportion as we\nadvance in history, these international groups acquire a greater\nimportance and extent. Thus we see how, in certain cases, this\nuniversalistic tendency has been able to develop itself to the point of\naffecting not only the higher ideas of the religious system, but even\nthe principles upon which it rests.\n\n\nII\n\nThus there is something eternal in religion which is destined to survive\nall the particular symbols in which religious thought has successively\nenveloped itself. There can be no society which does not feel the need\nof upholding and reaffirming at regular intervals the collective\nsentiments and the collective ideas which make its unity and its\npersonality. Now this moral remaking cannot be achieved except by the\nmeans of reunions, assemblies and meetings where the individuals, being\nclosely united to one another, reaffirm in common their common\nsentiments; hence come ceremonies which do not differ from regular\nreligious ceremonies, either in their object, the results which they\nproduce, or the processes employed to attain these results. What\nessential difference is there between an assembly of Christians\ncelebrating the principal dates of the life of Christ, or of Jews\nremembering the exodus from Egypt or the promulgation of the decalogue,\nand a reunion of citizens commemorating the promulgation of a new moral\nor legal system or some great event in the national life?\n\nIf we find a little difficulty to-day in imagining what these feasts and\nceremonies of the future could consist in, it is because we are going\nthrough a stage of transition and moral mediocrity. The great things of\nthe past which filled our fathers with enthusiasm do not excite the same\nardour in us, either because they have come into common usage to such an\nextent that we are unconscious of them, or else because they no longer\nanswer to our actual aspirations; but as yet there is nothing to replace\nthem. We can no longer impassionate ourselves for the principles in the\nname of which Christianity recommended to masters that they treat their\nslaves humanely, and, on the other hand, the idea which it has formed of\nhuman equality and fraternity seems to us to-day to leave too large a\nplace for unjust inequalities. Its pity for the outcast seems to us too\nPlatonic; we desire another which would be more practicable; but as yet\nwe cannot clearly see what it should be nor how it could be realized in\nfacts. In a word, the old gods are growing old or already dead, and\nothers are not yet born. This is what rendered vain the attempt of Comte\nwith the old historic souvenirs artificially revived; it is life itself,\nand not a dead past which can produce a living cult. But this state of\nincertitude and confused agitation cannot last for ever. A day will come\nwhen our societies will know again those hours of creative\neffervescence, in the course of which new ideas arise and new formul\u00e6\nare found which serve for a while as a guide to humanity; and when these\nhours shall have been passed through once, men will spontaneously feel\nthe need of reliving them from time to time in thought, that is to say,\nof keeping alive their memory by means of celebrations which regularly\nreproduce their fruits. We have already seen how the French Revolution\nestablished a whole cycle of holidays to keep the principles with which\nit was inspired in a state of perpetual youth. If this institution\nquickly fell away, it was because the revolutionary faith lasted but a\nmoment, and deceptions and discouragements rapidly succeeded the first\nmoments of enthusiasm. But though the work may have miscarried, it\nenables us to imagine what might have happened in other conditions; and\neverything leads us to believe that it will be taken up again sooner or\nlater. There are no gospels which are immortal, but neither is there any\nreason for believing that humanity is incapable of inventing new ones.\nAs to the question of what symbols this new faith will express itself\nwith, whether they will resemble those of the past or not, and whether\nor not they will be more adequate for the reality which they seek to\ntranslate, that is something which surpasses the human faculty of\nforesight and which does not appertain to the principal question.\n\nBut feasts and rites, in a word, the cult, are not the whole religion.\nThis is not merely a system of practices, but also a system of ideas\nwhose object is to explain the world; we have seen that even the\nhumblest have their cosmology. Whatever connection there may be between\nthese two elements of the religious life, they are still quite\ndifferent. The one is turned towards action, which it demands and\nregulates; the other is turned towards thought, which it enriches and\norganizes. Then they do not depend upon the same conditions, and\nconsequently it may be asked if the second answers to necessities as\nuniversal and as permanent as the first.\n\nWhen specific characteristics are attributed to religious thought, and\nwhen it is believed that its function is to express, by means peculiar\nto itself, an aspect of reality which evades ordinary knowledge as well\nas science, one naturally refuses to admit that religion can ever\nabandon its speculative r\u00f4le. But our analysis of the facts does not\nseem to have shown this specific quality of religion. The religion which\nwe have just studied is one of those whose symbols are the most\ndisconcerting for the reason. There all appears mysterious. These beings\nwhich belong to the most heterogeneous groups at the same time, who\nmultiply without ceasing to be one, who divide without diminishing, all\nseem, at first view, to belong to an entirely different world from the\none where we live; some have even gone so far as to say that the mind\nwhich constructed them ignored the laws of logic completely. Perhaps the\ncontrast between reason and faith has never been more thorough. Then if\nthere has ever been a moment in history when their heterogeneousness\nshould have stood out clearly, it is here. But contrary to all\nappearances, as we have pointed out, the realities to which religious\nspeculation is then applied are the same as those which later serve as\nthe subject of reflection for philosophers: they are nature, man,\nsociety. The mystery which appears to surround them is wholly\nsuperficial and disappears before a more painstaking observation: it is\nenough merely to set aside the veil with which mythological imagination\nhas covered them for them to appear such as they really are. Religion\nsets itself to translate these realities into an intelligible language\nwhich does not differ in nature from that employed by science; the\nattempt is made by both to connect things with each other, to establish\ninternal relations between them, to classify them and to systematize\nthem. We have even seen that the essential ideas of scientific logic are\nof religious origin. It is true that in order to utilize them, science\ngives them a new elaboration; it purges them of all accidental elements;\nin a general way, it brings a spirit of criticism into all its doings,\nwhich religion ignores; it surrounds itself with precautions to \"escape\nprecipitation and bias,\" and to hold aside the passions, prejudices and\nall subjective influences. But these perfectionings of method are not\nenough to differentiate it from religion. In this regard, both pursue\nthe same end; scientific thought is only a more perfect form of\nreligious thought. Thus it seems natural that the second should\nprogressively retire before the first, as this becomes better fitted to\nperform the task.\n\nAnd there is no doubt that this regression has taken place in the course\nof history. Having left religion, science tends to substitute itself for\nthis latter in all that which concerns the cognitive and intellectual\nfunctions. Christianity has already definitely consecrated this\nsubstitution in the order of material things. Seeing in matter that\nwhich is profane before all else, it readily left the knowledge of this\nto another discipline, _tradidit mundum hominum disputationi_, \"He gave\nthe world over to the disputes of men\"; it is thus that the natural\nsciences have been able to establish themselves and make their authority\nrecognized without very great difficulty. But it could not give up the\nworld of souls so easily; for it is before all over souls that the god\nof the Christians aspires to reign. That is why the idea of submitting\nthe psychic life to science produced the effect of a sort of profanation\nfor a long time; even to-day it is repugnant to many minds. However,\nexperimental and comparative psychology is founded and to-day we must\nreckon with it. But the world of the religious and moral life is still\nforbidden. The great majority of men continue to believe that here there\nis an order of things which the mind cannot penetrate except by very\nspecial ways. Hence comes the active resistance which is met with every\ntime that someone tries to treat religious and moral phenomena\nscientifically. But in spite of these oppositions, these attempts are\nconstantly repeated and this persistence even allows us to foresee that\nthis final barrier will finally give way and that science will establish\nherself as mistress even in this reserved region.\n\nThat is what the conflict between science and religion really amounts\nto. It is said that science denies religion in principle. But religion\nexists; it is a system of given facts; in a word, it is a reality. How\ncould science deny this reality? Also, in so far as religion is action,\nand in so far as it is a means of making men live, science could not\ntake its place, for even if this expresses life, it does not create it;\nit may well seek to explain the faith, but by that very act it\npresupposes it. Thus there is no conflict except upon one limited point.\nOf the two functions which religion originally fulfilled, there is one,\nand only one, which tends to escape it more and more: that is its\nspeculative function. That which science refuses to grant to religion is\nnot its right to exist, but its right to dogmatize upon the nature of\nthings and the special competence which it claims for itself for knowing\nman and the world. As a matter of fact, it does not know itself. It does\nnot even know what it is made of, nor to what need it answers. It is\nitself a subject for science, so far is it from being able to make the\nlaw for science! And from another point of view, since there is no\nproper subject for religious speculation outside that reality to which\nscientific reflection is applied, it is evident that this former cannot\nplay the same r\u00f4le in the future that it has played in the past.\n\nHowever, it seems destined to transform itself rather than to disappear.\n\nWe have said that there is something eternal in religion: it is the cult\nand the faith. Men cannot celebrate ceremonies for which they see no\nreason, nor can they accept a faith which they in no way understand. To\nspread itself or merely to maintain itself, it must be justified, that\nis to say, a theory must be made of it. A theory of this sort must\nundoubtedly be founded upon the different sciences, from the moment\nwhen these exist; first of all, upon the social sciences, for religious\nfaith has its origin in society; then upon psychology, for society is a\nsynthesis of human consciousnesses; and finally upon the sciences of\nnature, for man and society are a part of the universe and can be\nabstracted from it only artificially. But howsoever important these\nfacts taken from the constituted sciences may be, they are not enough;\nfor faith is before all else an impetus to action, while science, no\nmatter how far it may be pushed, always remains at a distance from this.\nScience is fragmentary and incomplete; it advances but slowly and is\nnever finished; but life cannot wait. The theories which are destined to\nmake men live and act are therefore obliged to pass science and complete\nit prematurely. They are possible only when the practical exigencies and\nthe vital necessities which we feel without distinctly conceiving them\npush thought in advance, beyond that which science permits us to affirm.\nThus religions, even the most rational and laicized, cannot and never\nwill be able to dispense with a particular form of speculation which,\nthough having the same subjects as science itself, cannot be really\nscientific: the obscure intuitions of sensation and sentiment too often\ntake the place of logical reasons. On one side, this speculation\nresembles that which we meet with in the religions of the past; but on\nanother, it is different. While claiming and exercising the right of\ngoing beyond science, it must commence by knowing this and by inspiring\nitself with it. Ever since the authority of science was established, it\nmust be reckoned with; one can go farther than it under the pressure of\nnecessity, but he must take his direction from it. He can affirm nothing\nthat it denies, deny nothing that it affirms, and establish nothing that\nis not directly or indirectly founded upon principles taken from it.\nFrom now on, the faith no longer exercises the same hegemony as formerly\nover the system of ideas that we may continue to call religion. A rival\npower rises up before it which, being born of it, ever after submits it\nto its criticism and control. And everything makes us foresee that this\ncontrol will constantly become more extended and efficient, while no\nlimit can be assigned to its future influence.\n\n\nIII\n\nBut if the fundamental notions of science are of a religious origin, how\nhas religion been able to bring them forth? At first sight, one does not\nsee what relations there can be between religion and logic. Or, since\nthe reality which religious thought expresses is society, the question\ncan be stated in the following terms, which make the entire difficulty\nappear even better: what has been able to make social life so important\na source for the logical life? It seems as though nothing could have\npredestined it to this r\u00f4le, for it certainly was not to satisfy their\nspeculative needs that men associated themselves together.\n\nPerhaps we shall be found over bold in attempting so complex a question\nhere. To treat it as it should be treated, the sociological conditions\nof knowledge should be known much better than they actually are; we are\nonly beginning to catch glimpses of some of them. However, the question\nis so grave, and so directly implied in all that has preceded, that we\nmust make an effort not to leave it without an answer. Perhaps it is not\nimpossible, even at present, to state some general principles which may\nat least aid in the solution.\n\nLogical thought is made up of concepts. Seeking how society can have\nplayed a r\u00f4le in the genesis of logical thought thus reduces itself to\nseeking how it can have taken a part in the formation of concepts.\n\nIf, as is ordinarily the case, we see in the concept only a general\nidea, the problem appears insoluble. By his own power, the individual\ncan compare his conceptions and images, disengage that which they have\nin common, and thus, in a word, generalize. Then it is hard to see why\nthis generalization should be possible only in and through society. But,\nin the first place, it is inadmissible that logical thought is\ncharacterized only by the greater extension of the conceptions of which\nit is made up. If particular ideas have nothing logical about them, why\nshould it be different with general ones? The general exists only in the\nparticular; it is the particular simplified and impoverished. Then the\nfirst could have no virtues or privileges which the second has not.\nInversely, if conceptual thought can be applied to the class, species or\nvariety, howsoever restricted these may be, why can it not be extended\nto the individual, that is to say, to the limit towards which the\nconception tends, proportionately as its extension diminishes? As a\nmatter of fact, there are many concepts which have only individuals as\ntheir object. In every sort of religion, gods are individualities\ndistinct from each other; however, they are conceived, not perceived.\nEach people represents its historic or legendary heroes in fashions\nwhich vary with the time. Finally, every one of us forms an idea of the\nindividuals with whom he comes in contact, of their character, of their\nappearance, their distinctive traits and their moral and physical\ntemperaments: these notions, too, are real concepts. It is true that in\ngeneral they are formed crudely enough; but even among scientific\nconcepts, are there a great many that are perfectly adequate for their\nobject? In this direction, there are only differences of degree between\nthem.\n\nTherefore the concept must be defined by other characteristics. It is\nopposed to sensual representations of every order--sensations,\nperceptions or images--by the following properties.\n\nSensual representations are in a perpetual flux; they come after each\nother like the waves of a river, and even during the time that they\nlast, they do not remain the same thing. Each of them is an integral\npart of the precise instant when it takes place. We are never sure of\nagain finding a perception such as we experienced it the first time; for\nif the thing perceived has not changed, it is we who are no longer the\nsame. On the contrary, the concept is, as it were, outside of time and\nchange; it is in the depths below all this agitation; it might be said\nthat it is in a different portion of the mind, which is serener and\ncalmer. It does not move of itself, by an internal and spontaneous\nevolution, but, on the contrary, it resists change. It is a manner of\nthinking that, at every moment of time, is fixed and crystallized.[1308]\nIn so far as it is what it ought to be, it is immutable. If it changes,\nit is not because it is its nature to do so, but because we have\ndiscovered some imperfection in it; it is because it had to be\nrectified. The system of concepts with which we think in everyday life\nis that expressed by the vocabulary of our mother tongue; for every word\ntranslates a concept. Now language is something fixed; it changes but\nvery slowly, and consequently it is the same with the conceptual system\nwhich it expresses. The scholar finds himself in the same situation in\nregard to the special terminology employed by the science to which he\nhas consecrated himself, and hence in regard to the special scheme of\nconcepts to which this terminology corresponds. It is true that he can\nmake innovations, but these are always a sort of violence done to the\nestablished ways of thinking.\n\nAnd at the same time that it is relatively immutable, the concept is\nuniversal, or at least capable of becoming so. A concept is not my\nconcept; I hold it in common with other men, or, in any case, can\ncommunicate it to them. It is impossible for me to make a sensation pass\nfrom my consciousness into that of another; it holds closely to my\norganism and personality and cannot be detached from them. All that I\ncan do is to invite others to place themselves before the same object as\nmyself and to leave themselves to its action. On the other hand,\nconversation and all intellectual communication between men is an\nexchange of concepts. The concept is an essentially impersonal\nrepresentation; it is through it that human intelligences\ncommunicate.[1309]\n\nThe nature of the concept, thus defined, bespeaks its origin. If it is\ncommon to all, it is the work of the community. Since it bears the mark\nof no particular mind, it is clear that it was elaborated by a unique\nintelligence, where all others meet each other, and after a fashion,\ncome to nourish themselves. If it has more stability than sensations or\nimages, it is because the collective representations are more stable\nthan the individual ones; for while an individual is conscious even of\nthe slight changes which take place in his environment, only events of a\ngreater gravity can succeed in affecting the mental status of a society.\nEvery time that we are in the presence of a _type_[1310] of thought or\naction which is imposed uniformly upon particular wills or\nintelligences, this pressure exercised over the individual betrays the\nintervention of the group. Also, as we have already said, the concepts\nwith which we ordinarily think are those of our vocabulary. Now it is\nunquestionable that language, and consequently the system of concepts\nwhich it translates, is the product of a collective elaboration. What it\nexpresses is the manner in which society as a whole represents the facts\nof experience. The ideas which correspond to the diverse elements of\nlanguage are thus collective representations.\n\nEven their contents bear witness to the same fact. In fact, there are\nscarcely any words among those which we usually employ whose meaning\ndoes not pass, to a greater or less extent, the limits of our personal\nexperience. Very frequently a term expresses things which we have never\nperceived or experiences which we have never had or of which we have\nnever been the witnesses. Even when we know some of the objects which it\nconcerns, it is only as particular examples that they serve to\nillustrate the idea which they would never have been able to form by\nthemselves. Thus there is a great deal of knowledge condensed in the\nword which I never collected, and which is not individual; it even\nsurpasses me to such an extent that I cannot even completely appropriate\nall its results. Which of us knows all the words of the language he\nspeaks and the entire signification of each?\n\nThis remark enables us to determine the sense in which we mean to say\nthat concepts are collective representations. If they belong to a whole\nsocial group, it is not because they represent the average of the\ncorresponding individual representations; for in that case they would be\npoorer than the latter in intellectual content, while, as a matter of\nfact, they contain much that surpasses the knowledge of the average\nindividual. They are not abstractions which have a reality only in\nparticular consciousnesses, but they are as concrete representations as\nan individual could form of his own personal environment: they\ncorrespond to the way in which this very special being, society,\nconsiders the things of its own proper experience. If, as a matter of\nfact, the concepts are nearly always general ideas, and if they express\ncategories and classes rather than particular objects, it is because the\nunique and variable characteristics of things interest society but\nrarely; because of its very extent, it can scarcely be affected by more\nthan their general and permanent qualities. Therefore it is to this\naspect of affairs that it gives its attention: it is a part of its\nnature to see things in large and under the aspect which they ordinarily\nhave. But this generality is not necessary for them, and, in any case,\neven when these representations have the generic character which they\nordinarily have, they are the work of society and are enriched by its\nexperience.\n\nThat is what makes conceptual thought so valuable for us. If concepts\nwere only general ideas, they would not enrich knowledge a great deal,\nfor, as we have already pointed out, the general contains nothing more\nthan the particular. But if before all else they are collective\nrepresentations, they add to that which we can learn by our own personal\nexperience all that wisdom and science which the group has accumulated\nin the course of centuries. Thinking by concepts, is not merely seeing\nreality on its most general side, but it is projecting a light upon the\nsensation which illuminates it, penetrates it and transforms it.\nConceiving something is both learning its essential elements better and\nalso locating it in its place; for each civilization has its organized\nsystem of concepts which characterizes it. Before this scheme of ideas,\nthe individual is in the same situation as the [Greek: no\u00fbs] of Plato\nbefore the world of Ideas. He must assimilate them to himself, for he\nmust have them to hold intercourse with others; but the assimilation is\nalways imperfect. Each of us sees them after his own fashion. There are\nsome which escape us completely and remain outside of our circle of\nvision; there are others of which we perceive certain aspects only.\nThere are even a great many which we pervert in holding, for as they are\ncollective by nature, they cannot become individualized without being\nretouched, modified, and consequently falsified. Hence comes the great\ntrouble we have in understanding each other, and the fact that we even\nlie to each other without wishing to: it is because we all use the same\nwords without giving them the same meaning.\n\nWe are now able to see what the part of society in the genesis of\nlogical thought is. This is possible only from the moment when, above\nthe fugitive conceptions which they owe to sensuous experience, men have\nsucceeded in conceiving a whole world of stable ideas, the common ground\nof all intelligences. In fact, logical thinking is always impersonal\nthinking, and is also thought _sub species \u00e6trnitatis_--as though for\nall time. Impersonality and stability are the two characteristics of\ntruth. Now logical life evidently presupposes that men know, at least\nconfusedly, that there is such a thing as truth, distinct from sensuous\nappearances. But how have they been able to arrive at this conception?\nWe generally talk as though it should have spontaneously presented\nitself to them from the moment they opened their eyes upon the world.\nHowever, there is nothing in immediate experience which could suggest\nit; everything even contradicts it. Thus the child and the animal have\nno suspicion of it. History shows that it has taken centuries for it to\ndisengage and establish itself. In our Western world, it was with the\ngreat thinkers of Greece that it first became clearly conscious of\nitself and of the consequences which it implies; when the discovery was\nmade, it caused an amazement which Plato has translated into magnificent\nlanguage. But if it is only at this epoch that the idea is expressed in\nphilosophic formul\u00e6, it was necessarily pre-existent in the stage of an\nobscure sentiment. Philosophers have sought to elucidate this sentiment,\nbut they have not succeeded. In order that they might reflect upon it\nand analyse it, it was necessary that it be given them, and that they\nseek to know whence it came, that is to say, in what experience it was\nfounded. This is in collective experience. It is under the form of\ncollective thought that impersonal thought is for the first time\nrevealed to humanity; we cannot see by what other way this revelation\ncould have been made. From the mere fact that society exists, there is\nalso, outside of the individual sensations and images, a whole system of\nrepresentations which enjoy marvellous properties. By means of them, men\nunderstand each other and intelligences grasp each other. They have\nwithin them a sort of force or moral ascendancy, in virtue of which they\nimpose themselves upon individual minds. Hence the individual at least\nobscurely takes account of the fact that above his private ideas, there\nis a world of absolute ideas according to which he must shape his own;\nhe catches a glimpse of a whole intellectual kingdom in which he\nparticipates, but which is greater than he. This is the first intuition\nof the realm of truth. From the moment when he first becomes conscious\nof these higher ideas, he sets himself to scrutinizing their nature; he\nasks whence these pre-eminent representations hold their prerogatives\nand, in so far as he believes that he has discovered their causes, he\nundertakes to put these causes into action for himself, in order that he\nmay draw from them by his own force the effects which they produce; that\nis to say, he attributes to himself the right of making concepts. Thus\nthe faculty of conception has individualized itself. But to understand\nits origins and function, it must be attached to the social conditions\nupon which it depends.\n\nIt may be objected that we show the concept in one of its aspects only,\nand that its unique r\u00f4le is not the assuring of a harmony among minds,\nbut also, and to a greater extent, their harmony with the nature of\nthings. It seems as though it had a reason for existence only on\ncondition of being true, that is to say, objective, and as though its\nimpersonality were only a consequence of its objectivity. It is in\nregard to things, thought of as adequately as possible, that minds ought\nto communicate. Nor do we deny that the evolution of concepts has been\npartially in this direction. The concept which was first held as true\nbecause it was collective tends to be no longer collective except on\ncondition of being held as true: we demand its credentials of it before\naccording it our confidence. But we must not lose sight of the fact that\neven to-day the great majority of the concepts which we use are not\nmethodically constituted; we get them from language, that is to say,\nfrom common experience, without submitting them to any criticism. The\nscientifically elaborated and criticized concepts are always in the very\nslight minority. Also, between them and those which draw all their\nauthority from the fact that they are collective, there are only\ndifferences of degree. A collective representation presents guarantees\nof objectivity by the fact that it is collective: for it is not without\nsufficient reason that it has been able to generalize and maintain\nitself with persistence. If it were out of accord with the nature of\nthings, it would never have been able to acquire an extended and\nprolonged empire over intellects. At bottom, the confidence inspired by\nscientific concepts is due to the fact that they can be methodically\ncontrolled. But a collective representation is necessarily submitted to\na control that is repeated indefinitely; the men who accept it verify it\nby their own experience. Therefore, it could not be wholly inadequate\nfor its subject. It is true that it may express this by means of\nimperfect symbols; but scientific symbols themselves are never more than\napproximative. It is precisely this principle which is at the basis of\nthe method which we follow in the study of religious phenomena: we take\nit as an axiom that religious beliefs, howsoever strange their\nappearance may be at times, contain a truth which must be\ndiscovered.[1311]\n\nOn the other hand, it is not at all true that concepts, even when\nconstructed according to the rules of science, get their authority\nuniquely from their objective value. It is not enough that they be true\nto be believed. If they are not in harmony with the other beliefs and\nopinions, or, in a word, with the mass of the other collective\nrepresentations, they will be denied; minds will be closed to them;\nconsequently it will be as though they did not exist. To-day it is\ngenerally sufficient that they bear the stamp of science to receive a\nsort of privileged credit, because we have faith in science. But this\nfaith does not differ essentially from religious faith. In the last\nresort, the value which we attribute to science depends upon the idea\nwhich we collectively form of its nature and r\u00f4le in life; that is as\nmuch as to say that it expresses a state of public opinion. In all\nsocial life, in fact, science rests upon opinion. It is undoubtedly true\nthat this opinion can be taken as the object of a study and a science\nmade of it; this is what sociology principally consists in. But the\nscience of opinion does not make opinions; it can only observe them and\nmake them more conscious of themselves. It is true that by this means it\ncan lead them to change, but science continues to be dependent upon\nopinion at the very moment when it seems to be making its laws; for, as\nwe have already shown, it is from opinion that it holds the force\nnecessary to act upon opinion.[1312]\n\nSaying that concepts express the manner in which society represents\nthings is also saying that conceptual thought is coeval with humanity\nitself. We refuse to see in it the product of a more or less retarded\nculture. A man who did not think with concepts would not be a man, for\nhe would not be a social being. If reduced to having only individual\nperceptions, he would be indistinguishable from the beasts. If it has\nbeen possible to sustain the contrary thesis, it is because concepts\nhave been defined by characteristics which are not essential to them.\nThey have been identified with general ideas[1313] and with clearly\nlimited and circumscribed general ideas.[1314] In these conditions it\nhas possibly seemed as though the inferior societies had no concepts\nproperly so called; for they have only rudimentary processes of\ngeneralization and the ideas which they use are not generally very well\ndefined. But the greater part of our concepts are equally indetermined;\nwe force ourselves to define them only in discussions or when doing\ncareful work. We have also seen that conceiving is not generalizing.\nThinking conceptually is not simply isolating and grouping together the\ncommon characteristics of a certain number of objects; it is relating\nthe variable to the permanent, the individual to the social. And since\nlogical thought commences with the concept, it follows that it has\nalways existed; there is no period in history when men have lived in a\nchronic confusion and contradiction. To be sure, we cannot insist too\nmuch upon the different characteristics which logic presents at\ndifferent periods in history; it develops like the societies themselves.\nBut howsoever real these differences may be, they should not cause us to\nneglect the similarities, which are no less essential.\n\n\nIV\n\nWe are now in a position to take up a final question which has already\nbeen raised in our introduction[1315] and which has been taken as\nunderstood in the remainder of this work. We have seen that at least\nsome of the categories are social things. The question is where they got\nthis character.\n\nUndoubtedly it will be easily understood that since they are themselves\nconcepts, they are the work of the group. It can even be said that there\nare no other concepts which present to an equal degree the signs by\nwhich a collective representation is recognized. In fact, their\nstability and impersonality are such that they have often passed as\nbeing absolutely universal and immutable. Also, as they express the\nfundamental conditions for an agreement between minds, it seems evident\nthat they have been elaborated by society.\n\nBut the problem concerning them is more complex, for they are social in\nanother sense and, as it were in the second degree. They not only come\nfrom society, but the things which they express are of a social nature.\nNot only is it society which has founded them, but their contents are\nthe different aspects of the social being: the category of class was at\nfirst indistinct from the concept of the human group; it is the rhythm\nof social life which is at the basis of the category of time; the\nterritory occupied by the society furnished the material for the\ncategory of space; it is the collective force which was the prototype of\nthe concept of efficient force, an essential element in the category of\ncausality. However, the categories are not made to be applied only to\nthe social realm; they reach out to all reality. Then how is it that\nthey have taken from society the models upon which they have been\nconstructed?\n\nIt is because they are the pre-eminent concepts, which have a\npreponderating part in our knowledge. In fact, the function of the\ncategories is to dominate and envelop all the other concepts: they are\npermanent moulds for the mental life. Now for them to embrace such an\nobject, they must be founded upon a reality of equal amplitude.\n\nUndoubtedly the relations which they express exist in an implicit way in\nindividual consciousnesses. The individual lives in time, and, as we\nhave said, he has a certain sense of temporal orientation. He is\nsituated at a determined point in space, and it has even been held, and\nsustained with good reasons, that all sensations have something special\nabout them.[1316] He has a feeling of resemblances; similar\nrepresentations are brought together and the new representation formed\nby their union has a sort of generic character. We also have the\nsensation of a certain regularity in the order of the succession of\nphenomena; even an animal is not incapable of this. However, all these\nrelations are strictly personal for the individual who recognizes them,\nand consequently the notion of them which he may have can in no case go\nbeyond his own narrow horizon. The generic images which are formed in my\nconsciousness by the fusion of similar images represent only the objects\nwhich I have perceived directly; there is nothing there which could give\nme the idea of a class, that is to say, of a mould including the _whole_\ngroup of all possible objects which satisfy the same condition. Also, it\nwould be necessary to have the idea of group in the first place, and the\nmere observations of our interior life could never awaken that in us.\nBut, above all, there is no individual experience, howsoever extended\nand prolonged it may be, which could give a suspicion of the existence\nof a whole class which would embrace every single being, and to which\nother classes are only co-ordinated or subordinated species. This idea\nof _all_, which is at the basis of the classifications which we have\njust cited, could not have come from the individual himself, who is only\na part in relation to the whole and who never attains more than an\ninfinitesimal fraction of reality. And yet there is perhaps no other\ncategory of greater importance; for as the r\u00f4le of the categories is to\nenvelop all the other concepts, the category _par excellence_ would seem\nto be this very concept of _totality_. The theorists of knowledge\nordinarily postulate it as if it came of itself, while it really\nsurpasses the contents of each individual consciousness taken alone to\nan infinite degree.\n\nFor the same reasons, the space which I know by my senses, of which I am\nthe centre and where everything is disposed in relation to me, could not\nbe space in general, which contains all extensions and where these are\nco-ordinated by personal guide-lines which are common to everybody. In\nthe same way, the concrete duration which I feel passing within me and\nwith me could not give me the idea of time in general: the first\nexpresses only the rhythm of my individual life; the second should\ncorrespond to the rhythm of a life which is not that of any individual\nin particular, but in which all participate.[1317] In the same way,\nfinally, the regularities which I am able to conceive in the manner in\nwhich my sensations succeed one another may well have a value for me;\nthey explain how it comes about that when I am given the first of two\nphenomena whose concurrence I have observed, I tend to expect the other.\nBut this personal state of expectation could not be confounded with the\nconception of a universal order of succession which imposes itself upon\nall minds and all events.\n\nSince the world expressed by the entire system of concepts is the one\nthat society regards, society alone can furnish the most general notions\nwith which it should be represented. Such an object can be embraced only\nby a subject which contains all the individual subjects within it. Since\nthe universe does not exist except in so far as it is thought of, and\nsince it is not completely thought of except by society, it takes a\nplace in this latter; it becomes a part of society's interior life,\nwhile this is the totality, outside of which nothing exists. The concept\nof totality is only the abstract form of the concept of society: it is\nthe whole which includes all things, the supreme class which embraces\nall other classes. Such is the final principle upon which repose all\nthese primitive classifications where beings from every realm are placed\nand classified in social forms, exactly like men.[1318] But if the world\nis inside of society, the space which this latter occupies becomes\nconfounded with space in general. In fact, we have seen how each thing\nhas its assigned place in social space, and the degree to which this\nspace in general differs from the concrete expanses which we perceive is\nwell shown by the fact that this localization is wholly ideal and in no\nway resembles what it would have been if it had been dictated to us by\nsensuous experience alone.[1319] For the same reason, the rhythm of\ncollective life dominates and embraces the varied rhythms of all the\nelementary lives from which it results; consequently the time which it\nexpresses dominates and embraces all particular durations. It is time in\ngeneral. For a long time the history of the world has been only another\naspect of the history of society. The one commences with the other; the\nperiods of the first are determined by the periods of the second. This\nimpersonal and total duration is measured, and the guide-lines in\nrelation to which it is divided and organized are fixed by the movements\nof concentration or dispersion of society; or, more generally, the\nperiodical necessities for a collective renewal. If these critical\ninstants are generally attached to some material phenomenon, such as the\nregular recurrence of such or such a star or the alternation of the\nseasons, it is because objective signs are necessary to make this\nessentially social organization intelligible to all. In the same way,\nfinally, the causal relation, from the moment when it is collectively\nstated by the group, becomes independent of every individual\nconsciousness; it rises above all particular minds and events. It is a\nlaw whose value depends upon no person. We have already shown how it is\nclearly thus that it seems to have originated.\n\nAnother reason explains why the constituent elements of the categories\nshould have been taken from social life: it is because the relations\nwhich they express could not have been learned except in and through\nsociety. If they are in a sense immanent in the life of an individual,\nhe has neither a reason nor the means for learning them, reflecting upon\nthem and forming them into distinct ideas. In order to orient himself\npersonally in space and to know at what moments he should satisfy his\nvarious organic needs, he has no need of making, once and for all, a\nconceptual representation of time and space. Many animals are able to\nfind the road which leads to places with which they are familiar; they\ncome back at a proper moment without knowing any of the categories;\nsensations are enough to direct them automatically. They would also be\nenough for men, if their sensations had to satisfy only individual\nneeds. To recognize the fact that one thing resembles another which we\nhave already experienced, it is in no way necessary that we arrange them\nall in groups and species: the way in which similar images call up each\nother and unite is enough to give the feeling of resemblance. The\nimpression that a certain thing has already been seen or experienced\nimplies no classification. To recognize the things which we should seek\nor from which we should flee, it would not be necessary to attach the\neffects of the two to their causes by a logical bond, if individual\nconveniences were the only ones in question. Purely empirical sequences\nand strong connections between the concrete representations would be as\nsure guides for the will. Not only is it true that the animal has no\nothers, but also our own personal conduct frequently supposes nothing\nmore. The prudent man is the one who has a very clear sensation of what\nmust be done, but which he would ordinarily be quite incapable of\nstating as a general law.\n\nIt is a different matter with society. This is possible only when the\nindividuals and things which compose it are divided into certain groups,\nthat is to say, classified, and when these groups are classified in\nrelation to each other. Society supposes a self-conscious organization\nwhich is nothing other than a classification. This organization of\nsociety naturally extends itself to the place which this occupies. To\navoid all collisions, it is necessary that each particular group have a\ndetermined portion of space assigned to it: in other terms, it is\nnecessary that space in general be divided, differentiated, arranged,\nand that these divisions and arrangements be known to everybody. On the\nother hand, every summons to a celebration, a hunt or a military\nexpedition implies fixed and established dates, and consequently that a\ncommon time is agreed upon, which everybody conceives in the same\nfashion. Finally, the co-operation of many persons with the same end in\nview is possible only when they are in agreement as to the relation\nwhich exists between this end and the means of attaining it, that is to\nsay, when the same causal relation is admitted by all the co-operators\nin the enterprise. It is not surprising, therefore, that social time,\nsocial space, social classes and causality should be the basis of the\ncorresponding categories, since it is under their social forms that\nthese different relations were first grasped with a certain clarity by\nthe human intellect.\n\nIn summing up, then, we must say that society is not at all the\nillogical or a-logical, incoherent and fantastic being which it has too\noften been considered. Quite on the contrary, the collective\nconsciousness is the highest form of the psychic life, since it is the\nconsciousness of the consciousnesses. Being placed outside of and above\nindividual and local contingencies, it sees things only in their\npermanent and essential aspects, which it crystallizes into communicable\nideas. At the same time that it sees from above, it sees farther; at\nevery moment of time, it embraces all known reality; that is why it\nalone can furnish the mind with the moulds which are applicable to the\ntotality of things and which make it possible to think of them. It does\nnot create these moulds artificially; it finds them within itself; it\ndoes nothing but become conscious of them. They translate the ways of\nbeing which are found in all the stages of reality but which appear in\ntheir full clarity only at the summit, because the extreme complexity of\nthe psychic life which passes there necessitates a greater development\nof consciousness. Attributing social origins to logical thought is not\ndebasing it or diminishing its value or reducing it to nothing more than\na system of artificial combinations; on the contrary, it is relating it\nto a cause which implies it naturally. But this is not saying that the\nideas elaborated in this way are at once adequate for their object. If\nsociety is something universal in relation to the individual, it is none\nthe less an individuality itself, which has its own personal physiognomy\nand its idiosyncrasies; it is a particular subject and consequently\nparticularizes whatever it thinks of. Therefore collective\nrepresentations also contain subjective elements, and these must be\nprogressively rooted out, if we are to approach reality more closely.\nBut howsoever crude these may have been at the beginning, the fact\nremains that with them the germ of a new mentality was given, to which\nthe individual could never have raised himself by his own efforts: by\nthem the way was opened to a stable, impersonal and organized thought\nwhich then had nothing to do except to develop its nature.\n\nAlso, the causes which have determined this development do not seem to\nbe specifically different from those which gave it its initial impulse.\nIf logical thought tends to rid itself more and more of the subjective\nand personal elements which it still retains from its origin, it is not\nbecause extra-social factors have intervened; it is much rather because\na social life of a new sort is developing. It is this international life\nwhich has already resulted in universalizing religious beliefs. As it\nextends, the collective horizon enlarges; the society ceases to appear\nas the only whole, to become a part of a much vaster one, with\nindetermined frontiers, which is susceptible of advancing indefinitely.\nConsequently things can no longer be contained in the social moulds\naccording to which they were primitively classified; they must be\norganized according to principles which are their own, so logical\norganization differentiates itself from the social organization and\nbecomes autonomous. Really and truly human thought is not a primitive\nfact; it is the product of history; it is the ideal limit towards which\nwe are constantly approaching, but which in all probability we shall\nnever succeed in reaching.\n\nThus it is not at all true that between science on the one hand, and\nmorals and religion on the other, there exists that sort of antinomy\nwhich has so frequently been admitted, for the two forms of human\nactivity really come from one and the same source. Kant understood this\nvery well, and therefore he made the speculative reason and the\npractical reason two different aspects of the same faculty. According to\nhim, what makes their unity is the fact that the two are directed\ntowards the universal. Rational thinking is thinking according to the\nlaws which are imposed upon all reasonable beings; acting morally is\nconducting one's self according to those maxims which can be extended\nwithout contradiction to all wills. In other words, science and morals\nimply that the individual is capable of raising himself above his own\npeculiar point of view and of living an impersonal life. In fact, it\ncannot be doubted that this is a trait common to all the higher forms of\nthought and action. What Kant's system does not explain, however, is the\norigin of this sort of contradiction which is realized in man. Why is he\nforced to do violence to himself by leaving his individuality, and,\ninversely, why is the impersonal law obliged to be dissipated by\nincarnating itself in individuals? Is it answered that there are two\nantagonistic worlds in which we participate equally, the world of matter\nand sense on the one hand, and the world of pure and impersonal reason\non the other? That is merely repeating the question in slightly\ndifferent terms, for what we are trying to find out is why we must lead\nthese two existences at the same time. Why do these two worlds, which\nseem to contradict each other, not remain outside of each other, and why\nmust they mutually penetrate one another in spite of their antagonism?\nThe only explanation which has ever been given of this singular\nnecessity is the hypothesis of the Fall, with all the difficulties which\nit implies, and which need not be repeated here. On the other hand, all\nmystery disappears the moment that it is recognized that impersonal\nreason is only another name given to collective thought. For this is\npossible only through a group of individuals; it supposes them, and in\ntheir turn, they suppose it, for they can continue to exist only by\ngrouping themselves together. The kingdom of ends and impersonal truths\ncan realize itself only by the co-operation of particular wills, and the\nreasons for which these participate in it are the same as those for\nwhich they co-operate. In a word, there is something impersonal in us\nbecause there is something social in all of us, and since social life\nembraces at once both representations and practices, this impersonality\nnaturally extends to ideas as well as to acts.\n\nPerhaps some will be surprised to see us connect the most elevated forms\nof thought with society: the cause appears quite humble, in\nconsideration of the value which we attribute to the effect. Between the\nworld of the senses and appetites on the one hand, and that of reason\nand morals on the other, the distance is so considerable that the second\nwould seem to have been able to add itself to the first only by a\ncreative act. But attributing to society this preponderating r\u00f4le in the\ngenesis of our nature is not denying this creation; for society has a\ncreative power which no other observable being can equal. In fact, all\ncreation, if not a mystical operation which escapes science and\nknowledge, is the product of a synthesis. Now if the synthesis of\nparticular conceptions which take place in each individual consciousness\nare already and of themselves productive of novelties, how much more\nefficacious these vast syntheses of complete consciousnesses which make\nsociety must be! A society is the most powerful combination of physical\nand moral forces of which nature offers us an example. Nowhere else is\nan equal richness of different materials, carried to such a degree of\nconcentration, to be found. Then it is not surprising that a higher life\ndisengages itself which, by reacting upon the elements of which it is\nthe product, raises them to a higher plane of existence and transforms\nthem.\n\nThus sociology appears destined to open a new way to the science of man.\nUp to the present, thinkers were placed before this double alternative:\neither explain the superior and specific faculties of men by connecting\nthem to the inferior forms of his being, the reason to the senses, or\nthe mind to matter, which is equivalent to denying their uniqueness; or\nelse attach them to some super-experimental reality which was\npostulated, but whose existence could be established by no observation.\nWhat put them in this difficulty was the fact that the individual passed\nas being the _finis natur\u00e6_--the ultimate creation of nature; it seemed\nthat there was nothing beyond him, or at least nothing that science\ncould touch. But from the moment when it is recognized that above the\nindividual there is society, and that this is not a nominal being\ncreated by reason, but a system of active forces, a new manner of\nexplaining men becomes possible. To conserve his distinctive traits it\nis no longer necessary to put them outside experience. At least, before\ngoing to this last extremity, it would be well to see if that which\nsurpasses the individual, though it is within him, does not come from\nthis super-individual reality which we experience in society. To be\nsure, it cannot be said at present to what point these explanations may\nbe able to reach, and whether or not they are of a nature to resolve all\nthe problems. But it is equally impossible to mark in advance a limit\nbeyond which they cannot go. What must be done is to try the hypothesis\nand submit it as methodically as possible to the control of facts. This\nis what we have tried to do.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n _Alatunja_, 327.\n\n _Alcheringa_, or mythical period, 247.\n\n Ambiguity of sacredness, 409 ff.;\n explanation of, 412 ff.\n\n Animal-worship, totemism not, 94, 139, 170 f.\n\n Animism, as expounded by Tylor and Spencer, 49 ff.;\n how it explains the origin of the idea of the soul, 50 f.;\n of spirits, 51 f.;\n their cult, 52;\n and the nature-cult, 53 f.;\n criticism of these theories, 55 ff.;\n implies that religions are systems of hallucinations, 68;\n which is its best refutation, 70.\n\n Anthropomorphism, not found among primitives, 67 f.;\n denied by Spencer, 53 ff., 65;\n cannot explain totemic view of world, 235,\n or primitive rites, 406 f.\n\n Apriorism, philosophical, 14 f., 368.\n\n Art, why principal forms of, have been born in religion, 381;\n dramatic, in totemic ceremonies, 373, 380;\n totemic emblems first form of, 127 and n. 4.\n\n _Arungquiltha_, or magic force, in Australia, 197 f.;\n how it enables us to understand totemic principle, 198.\n\n Asceticism, nature of, 39, 311;\n based on negative rites, 311;\n essential element of religious life, 311 f.;\n religious function of, 314 ff.;\n sociological import of, 316;\n implied in the notion of sacredness, 317,\n its antagonism to the profane, 39 f., 317,\n and its contagiousness, 318;\n not dependent upon idea of divine personalities, 321;\n positive effects of, 312 ff., 386.\n\n Atonement for faults by rites, 385, 405, 408.\n\n Authority, moral, of society, 207 f., 208 n. 4;\n based on social opinion, 208, 213.\n\n\n Beliefs, how related to rites, 101, 403;\n translate social facts, 431,\n what they seem destined to become, 429 ff.;\n all contain an element of truth, 438.\n\n Blood, human, sacredness of, 126, 137, 330 f.\n\n Body, essentially profane, 262;\n explanation of this, 263.\n\n Bull-roarers, definition of, 119.\n\n\n Categories of the understanding, religious origin of, 9 ff.;\n social origin of, 10 ff., 439;\n necessity of, explained, 17 ff.;\n real function of, 440;\n only social necessity for, 443;\n modelled on social forms, 18 ff., 144 ff., 440.\n\n Causality, law of, 362 ff.;\n first stated in imitative rites, 363;\n social origin, 363, 367 f., 443;\n imposed by society, 368;\n sociological theory of, and classical theories, 368 f., 443;\n varying statements of, 369 and n. 1.\n\n Charms, magic, explanation of, 356.\n\n Church, essential to religion, 44 ff.\n\n _Churinga_, definition of, 119;\n eminently sacred character of, 120;\n due to totemic mark, 122 f.;\n as religious force, 198 and n. 4.\n\n Civilizing heroes, 283 ff.;\n common to whole tribe, 284;\n tribal rites personified, 285;\n moral r\u00f4le of, 285;\n connecting link between spirits and gods, 290 f.\n\n Clan, characteristics of, 102;\n basis of simplest social system known, 96, 167;\n how recruited, 106 f.;\n totem as name of, 102 f.;\n symbolized by totem, 206;\n implied by totemism, 167;\n basis for classification of natural things, 141 ff.\n\n Classes, logical, religious origin of, 148 ff.;\n in higher religions, 144;\n based on social classifications, 141 ff.;\n collective life basis of, 147 ff., 443.\n\n Communion, alimentary, essential to sacrifice, 337;\n found in Australia, 334 f., 337, 340;\n positive effects of, 337 f.\n\n Concept, society's r\u00f4le in the genesis of, 432 ff.;\n not equivalent to general idea, 432;\n distinguished from sensations, 433;\n immutability of, 433;\n universality of, 433;\n essentially social nature of, 435;\n coeval with humanity, 438;\n objective truth of, 437 ff.\n\n Contagiousness of sacredness, 222;\n at basis of ascetic rites, 318 ff.;\n not due to associations of ideas, 321,\n but to the externality of religious forces, 323 f.;\n at basis of logical classifications, 324 f.\n\n Contradiction, idea of, religious nature of, 38 f.;\n social nature of, 12 f.;\n based on social life, 146;\n origin of, 234 ff.\n\n Contraries, logical, nature of primitive, 235, 238 f.\n\n _Corrobbori_, 215 n. 2, 380.\n\n Cosmology of totemism, 141 ff.;\n in all religions, 9, 428 ff.\n\n Cult, needed by gods, 345 ff.;\n moral reasons for, 63, 346, 417 f.;\n social interpretation of, 347 ff.;\n real function of, 386;\n periodical nature of, 63;\n imitative rites first form of, 387;\n \u00e6sthetic nature of, 382.\n\n\n Death, insufficiency of, to make a soul into a spirit, 60 f., 398,\n or give sacredness, 62.\n\n Deity. See _Gods_, _Spiritual Beings_.\n\n Dreams, as origin of idea of double or soul, 50 f., 58 f., 264;\n inadequacy of this theory, 56 f.;\n as suggesting posthumous life, 268.\n\n\n Ecstasy, in religion, explained, 226 f.\n\n Efficacy, idea of, social origin of, 363 f.\n\n Emblem, totem as, of clan, 206, 219 ff.;\n psychological need for, 220, 230;\n creates unity of group, 230;\n and maintains it, 231;\n incarnates collective sentiments, 232;\n why primitives chose theirs in animal or vegetable worlds, 233 f.\n\n Empiricism, philosophical, 13 f., 368.\n\n _Ertnatulunga_, 120, 247.\n\n Eschatology, Australian, 245, 287.\n\n Evil spirits, 281 ff., 420.\n\n Expiatory rites, 406 ff.\n\n\n Faith, religious, nature of, 360 f., 430 f.\n\n Family group, based on totemism, 106 n. 2.\n\n Fear, religion not based on, 223 ff., 406.\n\n Fetishism, 175.\n\n Folk-lore, how related to religion, 41, 83 n. 1;\n related to totemism, 90.\n\n Force, religious, ambiguity of, 222;\n why outside object in which it resides, 229;\n as collective force, 221, 229;\n takes form from society, 336;\n represents how collective consciousness acts on individuals, 223;\n idea of, precedes that of scientific force, 203 f., 363;\n collective force as prototype of physical force, 365.\n See _Sacred_, _Totemic Principle_.\n\n Formalism, religious, explanation of, 35;\n first form of legal, 35 f.\n\n Free-will, doctrine of, how explained, 271 f.\n\n\n Games, born in religion, 381 and n. 1.\n\n Gods, religions without, 30 ff.;\n in Australia, 285 ff.;\n immortal, 286;\n creators, 287;\n benefactors, 287;\n connected with initiation rites, 288;\n international character of, 288, 294 f., 425 ff.;\n of indigenous origin, 289 f.;\n developed form of civilizing heroes, 290 f., 295;\n closely connected with totemic system, 191, 291 f.;\n first conceived in tribal assemblies, 293;\n expressions of tribal unity, 294, 426.\n\n\n Hair, human, sacredness of, 64, 137 f.\n\n Hazing, sociological import of, 313 n. 4.\n\n\n Ideal, the, in religion, 420 ff.;\n formation of, a natural and necessary product of collective life, 422.\n\n Idealism, essential, of social and religious worlds, 228, 345, 347.\n\n Imitative Rites, 351 ff.;\n in Australia, 351 ff.;\n based on so-called sympathetic magic, 355 ff.;\n distinguished from charms, 356;\n reasons for, 357 ff.;\n material efficacy attributed to, 359;\n explained by moral efficacy of, 359 f.;\n first expression of law of causality, 363;\n original form of cult, 387.\n\n Immortality of soul, idea of, not established for moral purposes, 267;\n nor to escape annihilation, 267;\n influence of dreams, 268;\n but this not enough to account for doctrine, 268;\n doctrine of, invented to explain origin of souls, 268 f.,\n and expresses the immortality of society, 268 f.;\n moral value of, an after-thought, 269;\n doctrine of future judgment in Australia, 245, 287;\n influence of mourning upon, 402 f.\n\n Individual totem, 157 ff.;\n relations of, to individual, 158 f.;\n his _alter ego_, 159;\n individual, not a species, 160;\n how related to collective totem, 161;\n how acquired, 161 ff.;\n how related to _genius_, 279;\n origin of, 280 f., 281 n. 1.\n See _Totemism, Individual_.\n\n Individualism, religious, 157 ff., 172 ff., 179 f.;\n importance attributed to, by some, 45 ff., 172;\n how explained, 424 f.\n\n Infinite, conception of, in religion, 74;\n not equivalent to sacred, 85;\n the, not characteristic of religion, 25.\n\n Initiation into tribe by religious ceremonies, 39, 384;\n no special rites for, 385 n. 2.\n\n Interdictions, or taboos, various sorts of, 300 ff.;\n forms of, in Australia, 302 ff.;\n of touch, 302;\n of eating, 303;\n of seeing, 304;\n of speech, 305;\n sexual, 304 and n. 1;\n of all temporal activity on certain days, 306 f., 334;\n ideas at the basis of, 308;\n positive effects of, 309 ff.;\n implied in notion of sacredness, 317.\n\n _Intichiuma_, 326 ff.;\n description of among the Australians, 327-336;\n as elementary form of sacrifice, 336;\n material efficacy expected of, 331, 333;\n alimentary communion in, 334 f., 337;\n imitative elements in, 353;\n commemorative nature of, 371 f.;\n used for initiating young men into tribe, 385 and n. 1.\n\n\n Knowledge, theory of. See _Apriorism_, _Empiricism_, _Sociological_.\n\n\n Language, importance of, for logical thought, 75 ff., 434;\n social character of, 434.\n\n Logic, related to religion and society, 234, 237 ff.;\n basis for, furnished by society, 18 ff., 148, 431 ff.\n\n\n Magic, based on religious ideas, 42 ff., 361 f., 362 n. 1;\n distinguished from religion, 43 ff.;\n hostility of, towards religion, 43;\n sympathetic, 355 ff.\n\n Majesty, essentially religious nature of idea of, 62, cf. 213.\n\n Man, sacred character of, 134,\n explained, 221 f.;\n partakes of nature of totemic animal, 134 ff.;\n sacred to varying degrees, 138 ff.;\n double nature of, 263 f., 444 ff.\n\n Mana, of the Melanesians, 194 f. See _Totemic Principle_.\n\n Matrimonial classes, definition of, 109.\n\n Metempsychosis, not found in Australia, 169, cf. 261 f.\n\n Mourning, 390 ff.;\n nature of, determined by etiquette, 391;\n especially severe for women, 391 ff., 400 ff.;\n anger as well as sorrow expressed in, 393;\n how related to vendetta, 394;\n not the expression of individual emotions, 397,\n but a duty imposed by group, 397;\n classic interpretation of, unsustainable, 398 f.;\n not connected with ideas of souls or spirits, 398, 401;\n social interpretation of, 399 ff.\n\n Mystery in religion, 25;\n idea of, not primitive, 25;\n absent from many religions, 29.\n\n Myths, essential element of religious life, 82;\n distinguished from fables, 83 n. 1;\n as work of art, 82, 101;\n interpret rites, 101, 130;\n as a society's representation of man and the world, 375.\n\n\n _Nanji_, rock or tree, 250 f.\n\n Naturism, as expounded by Max M\u00fcller, 73 ff.;\n seeks to establish religion in reality, 73;\n teaches that gods are personifications of natural phenomena, 73;\n distinguishes between religion and mythology, 81;\n but makes religion a fabric of errors, 79 ff.;\n cannot account for origin of sacredness, 84 ff.\n\n Negative rites, nature of, in Australia, 302 ff.;\n see also _Interdictions_;\n positive effects of, 309 ff.;\n as preparation for positive rites, 310 f.;\n basis of asceticism, 311;\n in mourning, 390.\n\n _Nurtunja_, 124;\n as rallying-centre for group, 125.\n\n\n Oblations, essential to sacrifice, 341;\n this denied by Smith, 340 f.;\n found in Australia, 341 f.;\n vicious circle implied in, 340 f.,\n explained, 344 ff.;\n profound reasons for, 344 f.\n\n _Orenda_, of the Iroquois, 193 f., 198.\n See _Totemic Principle_.\n\n Origins, definition of, 8 n. 1.\n\n\n Pantheism, totemic, 153 f.\n\n Part equal to whole, religious principle that, explained, 229;\n in magic, 229 n. 3;\n in sacrificial communions, 338.\n\n Personality, idea of, double origin of, 270;\n impersonal elements in, 271;\n its alleged autonomy explained, 271;\n importance of social elements in, 272;\n represented by individual totem, 280.\n\n Phratry, definition of, 107 ff.;\n predecessor of clan, 108 and n. 9, 109, 145;\n as basis for classifications of natural things, 141 ff., 145.\n\n Piacular rites, definition of, 389;\n distinguished from ascetic rites, 396;\n based on same needs as positive rites, 399-403;\n material benefits expected of, 404 f.;\n as expiation for ritual faults, 405 f.;\n social function of, 407 f.\n\n _Pitchi_, 334.\n\n Primitives, definition of, 1 n. 1;\n best studied in Australia, 95;\n why especially important for us, 3 ff.\n\n Profane, absolute distinction of, from sacred, 38 f.\n\n\n Ratapa, or soul-germs, 251, 252.\n\n Recreative elements of religion, 379 ff., 382 f.\n\n Reincarnation of souls, doctrine of, in Australia, 169, 250, 253 f.,\n 256, 265.\n\n Religion, must have a foundation in reality, 2, 70, 225;\n none are false, 3, 417, 438;\n real purpose of, 416;\n eternal elements of, 427 ff.;\n as source of all civilization, 9, 70, 223, 418 f., 419 n. 1;\n source of science and philosophy, 9, 203, 238, 325, 362 ff.;\n so-called conflict of, with science, 416 ff.;\n speculative functions of, 430;\n recreative and \u00e6sthetic elements of, 379 ff.;\n as pre-eminent expression of social life, 419 ff.;\n said to be characterized by supernatural, 24 ff.,\n or by idea of spiritual beings, 29 ff.;\n not based on fear, 223 ff.,\n but happy confidence, 224;\n characterized by that which is sacred, 37;\n distinguished from magic, 42 ff.;\n none proceeds on any unique principle, 41;\n importance of primitive, 3 ff.;\n totemism most elementary form of, 167 f.;\n definition of, 47.\n\n Representative rites, 370 ff.;\n value of, for showing real reasons for cult, 371, 378 f.;\n as dramatic representations, 373, 376 ff., 380;\n moral purpose of, evident, 375;\n expect no material benefits, 377 ff.\n\n Respect, inspired by society, 207 f.\n\n Rites, how related to beliefs, 101;\n totemic principle attached to, 200;\n social function of, 226;\n material efficacy attributed to, due to moral efficacy of, 346, 359 f.;\n moral and social significance of, 370 ff.;\n reasons for, as given by Australians, 371;\n as form of dramatic art, 373, 380;\n \u00e6sthetic nature of, 381;\n interchangeability of, 384 ff.\n\n\n Sacred, the, characteristic of all that is religious, 37;\n not characterized by its exalted position, 37,\n but by its distinction from the profane, 38;\n superimposed upon its basis, 229;\n created by society, 206 ff.\n See _Totemic Principle_;\n double nature of, 301, 320, 409 ff.\n\n Sacrifice, forms of, in Australia, 327 ff., 336;\n see _Intichiuma_;\n theory of Robertson Smith of, 336 ff., 340;\n alimentary communion essential part of, 337;\n how this strengthens one's religious nature, 337 f.;\n sacrilege inherent in, explained, 338 f.;\n oblations essential to, 341;\n why gods have need of, 38, 346;\n social function of, 347 ff.\n\n Science, so-called conflict of, with religion, 416 ff., 430, 445;\n religious origin of, 9, 203, 238, 325, 362 ff.;\n supplants religious speculation, 429 ff.;\n but cannot do so completely, 431;\n authority of, 208, 431.\n\n Sexual totems, 165 f.\n\n Social life, basis for religious representations, 221, 316, 347;\n rhythm of, and religion, 219, 349;\n model for philosophical representations, 18, 19 n. 2, 144 ff.\n\n Society, how forms of, determine character of religion, 94, 196 f., 234;\n characterized by institutions, 366 n. 1;\n ideal nature of, 288, 345, 420 ff., 422 f.;\n not an illogical or a-logical being, 444;\n how it recasts animal nature into human nature, 66;\n how it arouses sensations of divine, 206 ff.,\n of dependence, 206 f.,\n of respect, 207,\n of moral authority, 207 f.,\n of an external moral force, 209,\n of kindly external forces, 212,\n of the sacred, 212 ff., 218;\n stimulating and sustaining action of, 209 ff.;\n how it gives men their most characteristic attributes, 212;\n how it exists only through its individual members, 221, 347;\n how this gives men their sacred character, 221 f.;\n foundation of religious experience, 418.\n\n Sociological theory of knowledge, 13, 15 ff., 18 ff., 144 ff., 203 f.,\n 234 ff., 269 ff., 321 ff., 362 ff., 431 ff., 439 ff.\n\n Soul, idea of, found in all religions, 240;\n various representations of, 241 ff.;\n relation of, to body, 242 ff.;\n after death, 244 ff.;\n origin of, according to the Arunta, 247 ff.;\n reincarnation of, 250, 253 ff., 265;\n as totemic principle incarnate in the individual, 248 ff., 254 ff.,\n 259 ff.;\n or parts of totemic divinity, 65, 249;\n close relations of, with totemic animal, 259 f;\n sacred character of, 262;\n notion of, founded in reality, 262 f.;\n represents the social part of our nature, 262 f.;\n reality of our double nature, 263 f., 444 ff.;\n coeval with notion of mana, 266 f.;\n how a secondary formation, 266;\n idea of immortality of, explained, 267 ff., see _Immortality_;\n how related to idea of personality, 269 ff., see _Personality_;\n distinguished from spirit, 273;\n form in which human force is represented, 366;\n social elements of, 366;\n how employed to explain mourning, 401;\n origin of idea of, according to animism, 50 f.\n\n Space, category of, religious and social origin of, 11 f., 441 and n. 1.\n\n Spirits, distinguished from souls, 273;\n from ghosts, 274;\n related to Roman _genius_, 275;\n relations of, to things, 275 f.;\n how derived from idea of soul, 277 f.;\n objective basis of idea of, 280 f.;\n spirits of evil, 281 f., 420;\n animistic theory of origin of, 51 f.\n\n Spiritual beings, as characteristic of religion, 29;\n absent from many religions, 30, 137,\n or strictly religious rites, 35;\n not sufficient to explain religion, 35.\n See _Soul_, _Spirits_.\n\n Spiritualism, Lang's theory of, as origin of idea of soul, 60 n. 1.\n\n Suffering, religious r\u00f4le of, in inferior societies, 312 ff.;\n believed to give extra strength, 314;\n how this idea is well founded, 315.\n\n Supernatural, the, as characteristic of religion, 24 ff.;\n conception of, quite modern, 26;\n not the essential element of religion, 28.\n\n Sympathetic magic, so-called, at basis of imitative rites, 355 ff.;\n fundamental principles of, 356;\n why this term is inexact, 361 f.\n\n\n Taboo, derivation of word, 300. See _Interdictions_.\n\n Tattooings, totemic, 117, 232.\n\n Time, category of, religious and social origin of, 10 f., 440 f.,\n 441 n. 1.\n\n Totality, concept of,\n could never be suggested by individual experience, 441;\n related to concepts of society and divinity, 442 n. 1.\n\n Totem, derivation of word, 103;\n as name of clan, 102 f.;\n nature of things serving as, 103 ff.;\n species, not individuals, 104 f.;\n how inherited, 106 ff.;\n of phratries, 107 ff., 112;\n of matrimonial classes, 109 ff.;\n as emblem or coat-of-arms of group, 113;\n religious nature of, 119;\n relations of, with men and things, 150;\n sub-totems, 151;\n individual totems, 157 ff.;\n symbol of totemic principle of clan, 206;\n clan inseparable from, 167.\n\n Totemic animals,\n interdiction against eating by men of that clan, 128 ff.;\n or by those of other clans of the same phratry, 131 and n. 1;\n and against killing, 132;\n less sacred and powerful than totemic emblems, 133;\n related to men, 134, 139, 259 ff.;\n sacredness of, due to resemblance to emblem, 222.\n\n Totemic emblem, as collective emblem, 113;\n sacred character of, 122, 126;\n conventional nature of, 126 f.;\n more sacred and powerful than totemic animal, 133;\n as first form of art, 127 n. 4.\n\n Totemic principle, or Mana,\n cause of the sacredness of things, 62 ff., 188, 199 f.;\n totem material representation of, 189, 206;\n as a force, 190;\n as source of moral life of clan, 190;\n compared to totemic god, 189;\n personified in gods of higher religions, 191, 199, 291 f.;\n as Wakan, 192 f.;\n as Orenda, 193 f.;\n as Mana, 194 f.;\n ubiquity of, 189, 193, 194;\n multiformity of, 193;\n used in magic, 198, 201 f.;\n attached to rites, words, etc., 200;\n as representation of clan, 206, 214 ff.;\n first conceived in the midst of great social effervescence, 218 f.;\n how it comes to be symbolized by totem, 219 ff.\n\n Totemic system, unity of, 295 f.;\n work of whole tribe, 154 f., 283, 295.\n\n Totemism, early theoricians of, 88 ff.;\n Australia as classic land of, 93 f.;\n importance of American, 96 f.;\n as most elementary religion, 88, 167;\n former universality of, unimportant, 95;\n religious nature of, unquestionable, 167;\n not animal-worship, 139, 170 f.,\n nor nature-cult, 171 f.;\n contains all the elements of the religious life, 415;\n conceptional totemism, inadequacies of, 180 ff.\n\n Tribe, totemic system work of whole, 154 f., 283, 295;\n unity of, expressed by great gods, 294 f.\n\n\n Universalism, religious, 294 f.;\n how explained, 425 ff.\n\n\n Vendetta, how related to rites of mourning, 394.\n\n\n _Wakan_, or \"great spirit\" of Sioux, 192 f., 195 f., 199.\n See _Totemic Principle_.\n\n _Waninga_, 124.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n\n[1] In the same way, we shall say of these societies that they are\nprimitive, and we shall call the men of these societies primitives.\nUndoubtedly the expression lacks precision, but that is hardly evitable,\nand besides, when we have taken pains to fix the meaning, it is not\ninconvenient.\n\n[2] But that is not equivalent to saying that all luxury is lacking to\nthe primitive cults. On the contrary, we shall see that in every\nreligion there are beliefs and practices which do not aim at strictly\nutilitarian ends (Bk. III, ch. iv, \u00a7 2). This luxury is indispensable to\nthe religious life; it is at its very heart. But it is much more\nrudimentary in the inferior religions than in the others, so we are\nbetter able to determine its reason for existence here.\n\n[3] It is seen that we give a wholly relative sense to this word\n\"origins,\" just as to the word \"primitive.\" By it we do not mean an\nabsolute beginning, but the most simple social condition that is\nactually known or that beyond which we cannot go at present. When we\nspeak of the origins or of the commencement of religious history or\nthought, it is in this sense that our statements should be understood.\n\n[4] We say that time and space are categories because there is no\ndifference between the r\u00f4le played by these ideas in the intellectual\nlife and that which falls to the ideas of class or cause (on this point\nsee, Hamelin, _Essai sur les \u00e9l\u00e9ments principaux de la repr\u00e9sentation_,\npp. 63, 76).\n\n[5] See the support given this assertion in Hubert and Mauss, _M\u00e9langes\nd'Histoire des Religions_ (_Travaux de l'Ann\u00e9e Sociologique_), chapter\non _La Repr\u00e9sentation du Temps dans la Religion_.\n\n[6] Thus we see all the difference which exists between the group of\nsensations and images which serve to locate us in time, and the category\nof time. The first are the summary of individual experiences, which are\nof value only for the person who experienced them. But what the category\nof time expresses is a time common to the group, a social time, so to\nspeak. In itself it is a veritable social institution. Also, it is\npeculiar to man; animals have no representations of this sort.\n\nThis distinction between the category of time and the corresponding\nsensations could be made equally well in regard to space or cause.\nPerhaps this would aid in clearing up certain confusions which are\nmaintained by the controversies of which these questions are the\nsubject. We shall return to this point in the conclusion of the present\nwork (\u00a7 4).\n\n[7] _Op. cit._, pp. 75 ff.\n\n[8] Or else it would be necessary to admit that all individuals, in\nvirtue of their organo-physical constitution, are spontaneously affected\nin the same manner by the different parts of space: which is more\nimprobable, especially as in themselves the different regions are\nsympathetically indifferent. Also, the divisions of space vary with\ndifferent societies, which is a proof that they are not founded\nexclusively upon the congenital nature of man.\n\n[9] See Durkheim and Mauss, _De quelques formes primitives de\nclassification_, in _Ann\u00e9e Sociologique_, VI, pp. 47 ff.\n\n[10] See Durkheim and Mauss, _De quelques formes primitives de\nclassification_, in _Ann\u00e9e Sociologique_, VI, p. 34.\n\n[11] _Zu\u00f1i Creation Myths_, in _13th Rep. of the Bureau of Amer.\nEthnol._, pp. 367 ff.\n\n[12] See Hertz, _La pr\u00e9\u00e9minence de la main droite_. _Etude de polarit\u00e9\nreligieuse_, in the _Revue Philosophique_, Dec., 1909. On this same\nquestion of the relations between the representation of space and the\nform of the group, see the chapter in Ratzel, _Politische Geographie_,\nentitled _Der Raum in Geist der V\u00f6lker_.\n\n[13] We do not mean to say that mythological thought ignores it, but\nthat it contradicts it more frequently and openly than scientific\nthought does. Inversely, we shall show that science cannot escape\nviolating it, though it holds to it far more scrupulously than religion\ndoes. On this subject, as on many others, there are only differences of\ndegree between science and religion; but if these differences should not\nbe exaggerated, they must be noted, for they are significant.\n\n[14] This hypothesis has already been set forth by the founders\nof the _V\u00f6lkerpsychologie_. It is especially remarked in a short\narticle by Windelbrand entitled _Die Erkenntnisslehre unter\ndem V\u00f6lkerpsychologischen Gesichtspunke_, in the _Zeitsch. f.\nV\u00f6lkerpsychologie_, viii, pp. 166 ff. Cf. a note of Steinthal on\nthe same subject, _ibid._, pp. 178 ff.\n\n[15] Even in the theory of Spencer, it is by individual experience that\nthe categories are made. The only difference which there is in this\nregard between ordinary empiricism and evolutionary empiricism is that\naccording to this latter, the results of individual experience are\naccumulated by heredity. But this accumulation adds nothing essential to\nthem; no element enters into their composition which does not have its\norigin in the experience of the individual. According to this theory,\nalso, the necessity with which the categories actually impose themselves\nupon us is the product of an illusion and a superstitious prejudice,\nstrongly rooted in the organism, to be sure, but without foundation in\nthe nature of things.\n\n[16] Perhaps some will be surprised that we do not define the apriorist\ntheory by the hypothesis of innateness. But this conception really plays\na secondary part in the doctrine. It is a simple way of stating the\nimpossibility of reducing rational knowledge to empirical data. Saying\nthat the former is innate is only a positive way of saying that it is\nnot the product of experience, such as it is ordinarily conceived.\n\n[17] At least, in so far as there are any representations which are\nindividual and hence wholly empirical. But there are in fact probably\nnone where the two elements are not found closely united.\n\n[18] This irreducibility must not be taken in any absolute sense. We do\nnot wish to say that there is nothing in the empirical representations\nwhich shows rational ones, nor that there is nothing in the individual\nwhich could be taken as a sign of social life. If experience were\ncompletely separated from all that is rational, reason could not operate\nupon it; in the same way, if the psychic nature of the individual were\nabsolutely opposed to the social life, society would be impossible. A\ncomplete analysis of the categories should seek these germs of\nrationality even in the individual consciousness. We shall have occasion\nto come back to this point in our conclusion. All that we wish to\nestablish here is that between these indistinct germs of reason and the\nreason properly so called, there is a difference comparable to that\nwhich separates the properties of the mineral elements out of which a\nliving being is composed from the characteristic attributes of life\nafter this has once been constituted.\n\n[19] It has frequently been remarked that social disturbances result in\nmultiplying mental disturbances. This is one more proof that logical\ndiscipline is a special aspect of social discipline. The first gives way\nas the second is weakened.\n\n[20] There is an analogy between this logical necessity and moral\nobligation but there is not an actual identity. To-day society treats\ncriminals in a different fashion than subjects whose intelligence only\nis abnormal; that is a proof that the authority attached to logical\nrules and that inherent in moral rules are not of the same nature, in\nspite of certain similarities. They are two species of the same class.\nIt would be interesting to make a study on the nature and origin of this\ndifference, which is probably not primitive, for during a long time, the\npublic conscience has poorly distinguished between the deranged and the\ndelinquent. We confine ourselves to signalizing this question. By this\nexample, one may see the number of problems which are raised by the\nanalysis of these notions which generally pass as being elementary and\nsimple, but which are really of an extreme complexity.\n\n[21] This question will be treated again in the conclusion of this work.\n\n[22] The rationalism which is imminent in the sociological theory of\nknowledge is thus midway between the classical empiricism and apriorism.\nFor the first, the categories are purely artificial constructions; for\nthe second, on the contrary, they are given by nature; for us, they are\nin a sense a work of art, but of an art which imitates nature with a\nperfection capable of increasing unlimitedly.\n\n[23] For example, that which is at the foundation of the category of\ntime is the rhythm of social life; but if there is a rhythm in\ncollective life, one may rest assured that there is another in the life\nof the individual, and more generally, in that of the universe. The\nfirst is merely more marked and apparent than the others. In the same\nway, we shall see that the notion of class is founded on that of the\nhuman group. But if men form natural groups, it can be assumed that\namong things there exists groups which are at once analogous and\ndifferent. Classes and species are natural groups of things.\n\nIf it seems to many minds that a social origin cannot be attributed to\nthe categories without depriving them of all speculative value, it is\nbecause society is still too frequently regarded as something that is\nnot natural; hence it is concluded that the representations which\nexpress it express nothing in nature. But the conclusion is not worth\nmore than the premise.\n\n[24] This is how it is legitimate to compare the categories to tools;\nfor on its side, a tool is material accumulated capital. There is a\nclose relationship between the three ideas of tool, category and\ninstitution.\n\n[25] We have already attempted to define religious phenomena in a paper\nwhich was published in the _Ann\u00e9e Sociologique_ (Vol. II, pp. 1 ff.).\nThe definition then given differs, as will be seen, from the one we give\nto-day. At the end of this chapter (p. 47, n. 1), we shall explain the\nreasons which have led us to these modifications, but which imply no\nessential change in the conception of the facts.\n\n[26] See above, p. 3. We shall say nothing more upon the necessity of\nthese preliminary definitions nor upon the method to be followed to\nattain them. That is exposed in our _R\u00e8gles de la M\u00e9thode sociologique_,\npp. 43 ff. Cf. _Le Suicide_, pp. 1 ff. (Paris, F. Alcan).\n\n[27] _First Principles_, p. 37.\n\n[28] _Introduction to the Science of Religions_, p. 18. Cf. _Origin and\nDevelopment of Religion_, p. 23.\n\n[29] This same frame of mind is also found in the scholastic period, as\nis witnessed by the formula with which philosophy was defined at this\ntime: _Fides qu\u00e6rens intellectum_.\n\n[30] _Introduction to the History of Religions_, pp. 15 ff.\n\n[31] _Introduction to the History of Religions_, p. 23.\n\n[32] See below, Bk. III, ch. ii.\n\n[33] _Prolegomena to the History of Religions_, p. 25 (tr. by Squire).\n\n[34] _Primitive Culture_, I, p. 424. (Fourth edition, 1903.)\n\n[35] Beginning with the first edition of the _Golden Bough_, I, pp.\n30-32.\n\n[36] Notably Spencer and Gillen and even Preuss, who gives the name\nmagic to all non-individualized religious forces.\n\n[37] Burnouf, _Introduction \u00e0 l'histoire du bouddhisme indien_, sec.\nedit., p. 464. The last word of the text shows that Buddhism does not\neven admit the existence of an eternal Nature.\n\n[38] Barth, _The Religions of India_, p. 110 (tr. by Wood).\n\n[39] Oldenberg, _Buddha_, p. 53 (tr. by Hoey).\n\n[40] Oldenberg, _ibid._, pp. 313 ff. Cf. Kern, _Histoire du bouddhisme\ndans l'Inde_, I, pp. 389 ff.\n\n[41] Oldenberg, p. 250; Barth, p. 110.\n\n[42] Oldenberg, p. 314.\n\n[43] Barth, p. 109. In the same way, Burnouf says, \"I have the profound\nconviction that if \u00c7\u00e2kya had not found about him a Pantheon already\npeopled with the gods just named, he would have felt no need of\ninventing them\" (_Introd. \u00e0 l'hist. du bouddhisme indien_, p. 119).\n\n[44] Burnouf, _op. cit._, p. 117.\n\n[45] Kern, _op. cit._, I, p. 289.\n\n[46] \"The belief, universally admitted in India, that great holiness is\nnecessarily accompanied by supernatural faculties, is the only support\nwhich he (\u00c7\u00e2kya) should find in spirits\" (Burnouf, p. 119).\n\n[47] Burnouf, p. 120.\n\n[48] _Ibid._, p. 107.\n\n[49] _Ibid._, p. 302.\n\n[50] This is what Kern expresses in the following terms: \"In certain\nregards, he is a man; in certain others, he is not a man; in others, he\nis neither the one nor the other\" (_op. cit._, I, p. 290).\n\n[51] \"The conception\" \"was foreign to Buddhism\" \"that the divine Head of\nthe Community is not absent from his people, but that he dwells\npowerfully in their midst as their lord and king, so that all cultus is\nnothing else but the expression of this continuing living fellowship.\nBuddha has entered into Nirv\u00e2na; if his believers desired to invoke him,\nhe could not hear them\" (Oldenberg, p. 369).\n\n[52] \"Buddhist doctrine might be in all its essentials what it actually\nis, even if the idea of Buddha remained completely foreign to it\"\n(Oldenberg, p. 322).--And whatever is said of the historic Buddha can be\napplied equally well to the mythological Buddhas.\n\n[53] For the same idea, see Max M\u00fcller, _Natural Religion_, pp. 103 ff.\nand 190.\n\n[54] _Op. cit._, p. 146.\n\n[55] Barth, in _Encyclop\u00e9die des sciences religieuses_, VI, p. 548.\n\n[56] Oldenberg, _op. cit._, p. 53.\n\n[57] 1 Sam. xxi., 6.\n\n[58] Levit. xii.\n\n[59] Deut. xxii., 10 and 11.\n\n[60] _La religion v\u00e9dique_, I, p. 122.\n\n[61] _Ibid._, p. 133.\n\n[62] \"No text,\" says Bergaigne, \"bears better witness to the\nconsciousness of a magic action by man upon the waters of heaven than\nverse x, 32, 7, where this belief is expressed in general terms,\napplicable to an actual man, as well as to his real or mythological\nancestors: 'The ignorant man has questioned the wise; instructed by the\nwise, he acts, and here is the profit of his instruction: he obtains the\nflowing of streams'\" (p. 137).\n\n[63] _Ibid._, p. 139.\n\n[64] Examples will also be found in Hubert, art. _Magia_ in the\n_Dictionnaire des Antiquit\u00e9s_, VI, p. 1509.\n\n[65] Not to mention the sage and the saint who practise these truths and\nwho for that reason are sacred.\n\n[66] This is not saying that these relations cannot take a religious\ncharacter. But they do not do so necessarily.\n\n[67] Schultze, _Fetichismus_, p. 129.\n\n[68] Examples of these usages will be found in Frazer, _Golden Bough_,\n2 edit., I, pp. 81 ff.\n\n[69] The conception according to which the profane is opposed to the\nsacred, just as the irrational is to the rational, or the intelligible\nis to the mysterious, is only one of the forms under which this\nopposition is expressed. Science being once constituted, it has taken a\nprofane character, especially in the eyes of the Christian religions;\nfrom that it appears as though it could not be applied to sacred things.\n\n[70] See Frazer, _On Some Ceremonies of the Central Australian Tribes in\nAustralian Association for the Advancement of Science_, 1901, pp. 313\nff. This conception is also of an extreme generality. In India, the\nsimple participation in the sacrificial act has the same effects; the\nsacrificer, by the mere act of entering within the circle of sacred\nthings, changes his personality. (See, Hubert and Mauss, _Essai sur le\nSacrifice in the Ann\u00e9e Sociologique_, II, p. 101.)\n\n[71] See what was said of the initiation above, p. 39.\n\n[72] We shall point out below how, for example, certain species of\nsacred things exist, between which there is an incompatibility as\nall-exclusive as that between the sacred and the profane (Bk. III, ch.\nv, \u00a7 4).\n\n[73] This is the case with certain marriage and funeral rites, for\nexample.\n\n[74] See Spencer and Gillen, _Native Tribes of Central Australia_, pp.\n534 ff.; _Northern Tribes of Central Australia_, p. 463; Howitt, _Native\nTribes of S.E. Australia_, pp. 359-361.\n\n[75] See Codrington, _The Melanesians_, ch. xii.\n\n[76] See Hubert, art. _Magia_ in _Dictionnaire des Antiquit\u00e9s_.\n\n[77] For example, in Melanesia, the _tindalo_ is a spirit, now\nreligious, now magic (Codrington, pp. 125 ff., 194 ff.).\n\n[78] See Hubert and Mauss, _Th\u00e9orie G\u00e9n\u00e9rale de la Magie_, in _Ann\u00e9e\nSociologique_, vol. VII, pp. 83-84.\n\n[79] For example, the host is profaned in the black mass.\n\n[80] One turns his back to the altar, or goes around the altar\ncommencing by the left instead of by the right.\n\n[81] _Loc. cit._, p. 19.\n\n[82] Undoubtedly it is rare that a ceremony does not have some director\nat the moment when it is celebrated; even in the most crudely organized\nsocieties, there are generally certain men whom the importance of their\nsocial position points out to exercise a directing influence over the\nreligious life (for example, the chiefs of the local groups of certain\nAustralian societies). But this attribution of functions is still very\nuncertain.\n\n[83] At Athens, the gods to whom the domestic cult was addressed were\nonly specialized forms of the gods of the city ([Greek: Zeus kt\u00easios,\nZeus herkeios]). In the same way, in the Middle Ages, the patrons of the\nguilds were saints of the calendar.\n\n[84] For the name Church is ordinarily applied only to a group whose\ncommon beliefs refer to a circle of more special affairs.\n\n[85] Hubert and Mauss, _loc. cit._, p. 18.\n\n[86] Robertson Smith has already pointed out that magic is opposed to\nreligion, as the individual to the social (_The Religion of the\nSemites_, 2 edit., pp. 264-265). Also, in thus distinguishing magic from\nreligion, we do not mean to establish a break of continuity between\nthem. The frontiers between the two domains are frequently uncertain.\n\n[87] Codrington, _Trans. and Proc. Roy. Soc. of Victoria_, XVI, p. 136.\n\n[88] Negrioli, _Dei Genii presso i Romani_.\n\n[89] This is the conclusion reached by Spencer in his _Ecclesiastical\nInstitutions_ (ch. xvi), and by Sabatier in his _Outlines of a\nPhilosophy of Religion, based on Psychology and History_ (tr. by Seed),\nand by all the school to which he belongs.\n\n[90] Notably among numerous Indian tribes of North America.\n\n[91] This statement of fact does not touch the question whether exterior\nand public religion is not merely the development of an interior and\npersonal religion which was the primitive fact, or whether, on the\ncontrary, the second is not the projection of the first into individual\nconsciences. The problem will be directly attacked below (Bk. II, ch. v,\n\u00a7 2, cf. the same book, ch. vi and vii, \u00a7 1). For the moment, we confine\nourselves to remarking that the individual cult is presented to the\nobserver as an element of, and something dependent upon, the collective\ncult.\n\n[92] It is by this that our present definition is connected to the one\nwe have already proposed in the _Ann\u00e9e Sociologique_. In this other\nwork, we defined religious beliefs exclusively by their obligatory\ncharacter; but, as we shall show, this obligation evidently comes from\nthe fact that these beliefs are the possession of a group which imposes\nthem upon its members. The two definitions are thus in a large part the\nsame. If we have thought it best to propose a new one, it is because the\nfirst was too formal, and neglected the contents of the religious\nrepresentations too much. It will be seen, in the discussions which\nfollow, how important it is to put this characteristic into evidence at\nonce. Moreover, if their imperative character is really a distinctive\ntrait of religious beliefs, it allows of an infinite number of degrees;\nconsequently there are even cases where it is not easily perceptible.\nHence come difficulties and embarrassments which are avoided by\nsubstituting for this criterium the one we now employ.\n\n[93] We thus leave aside here those theories which, in whole or in part,\nmake use of super-experimental data. This is the case with the theory\nwhich Andrew Lang exposed in his book, _The Making of Religion_, and\nwhich Father Schmidt has taken up again, with variations of detail, in a\nseries of articles on _The Origin of the Idea of God_ (_Anthropos_,\n1908, 1909). Lang does not set animism definitely aside, but in the last\nanalysis, he admits a sense or intuition of the divine directly. Also,\nif we do not consider it necessary to expose and discuss this conception\nin the present chapter, we do not intend to pass it over in silence; we\nshall come to it again below, when we shall ourselves explain the facts\nupon which it is founded (Bk. II, ch. ix, \u00a7 4).\n\n[94] This is the case, for example, of Fustel de Coulanges who accepts\nthe two conceptions together (_The Ancient City_, Bk. I and Bk. III, ch.\nii).\n\n[95] This is the case with Jevons, who criticizes the animism taught by\nTylor, but accepts his theories on the origin of the idea of the soul\nand the anthropomorphic instinct of man. Inversely, Usener, in his\n_G\u00f6tternamen_, rejects certain hypotheses of Max M\u00fcller which will be\ndescribed below, but admits the principal postulates of naturism.\n\n[96] _Primitive Culture_, chs. xi-xviii.\n\n[97] _Principles of Sociology_, Parts I and VI.\n\n[98] This is the word used by Tylor. It has the inconvenience of seeming\nto imply that men, in the proper sense of the term, existed before there\nwas a civilization. However, there is no proper term for expressing the\nidea; that of primitive, which we prefer to use, lacking a better, is,\nas we have said, far from satisfactory.\n\n[99] Tylor, _op. cit._, I, pp. 455 f.\n\n[100] See Spencer, _Principles of Sociology_, I, pp. 143 ff., and Tylor,\n_op. cit._, I, pp. 434 ff., 445 ff.\n\n[101] Tylor, II, pp. 113 ff.\n\n[102] Tylor, I, pp. 481 ff.\n\n[103] _Principles of Sociology_, I, p. 126.\n\n[104] _Ibid._, pp. 322 ff.\n\n[105] _Ibid._, pp. 366-367.\n\n[106] _Ibid._, p. 346. Cf. p. 384.\n\n[107] See below, Bk. II, ch. viii.\n\n[108] See Spencer and Gillen, _The Native Tribes of Central Australia_,\npp. 123-127; Strehlow, _Die Aranda- und Loritja-St\u00e4mme in Zentral\nAustralien_, II, pp. 52 ff.\n\n[109] _The Melanesians_, pp. 249-250.\n\n[110] Howitt, _The Native Tribes of South-Eastern Australia_, p. 358.\n\n[111] _Ibid._, pp. 434-442.\n\n[112] Of the negroes of southern Guinea, Tylor says that \"their sleeping\nhours are characterized by almost as much intercourse with the dead as\ntheir waking are with the living\" (_Primitive Culture_, I, p. 443). In\nregard to these peoples, the same author cites this remark of an\nobserver: \"_All their dreams_ are construed into visits from the spirits\nof their deceased friends\" (_ibid._, p. 443). This statement is\ncertainly exaggerated; but it is one more proof of the frequency of\nmystic dreams among the primitives. The etymology which Strehlow\nproposes for the Arunta word _altjirerama_, which means \"to dream,\" also\ntends to confirm this theory. This word is composed of _altjira_, which\nStrehlow translates by \"god\" and _rama_, which means \"see.\" Thus a\ndream would be the moment when a man is in relations with sacred beings\n(_Die Aranda- und Loritja-St\u00e4mme_, I, p. 2).\n\n[113] Andrew Lang, who also refuses to admit that the idea of the soul\nwas suggested to men by their dream experiences, believes that he can\nderive it from other empirical data: these are the data of spiritualism\n(telepathy, distance-seeing, etc.). We do not consider it necessary to\ndiscuss the theory such as it has been exposed in his book _The Making\nof Religion_. It reposes upon the hypothesis that spiritualism is a fact\nof constant observation, and that distance-seeing is a real faculty of\nmen, or at least of certain men, but it is well known how much this\ntheory is scientifically contested. What is still more contestable is\nthat the facts of spiritualism are apparent enough and of a sufficient\nfrequency to have been able to serve as the basis for all the religious\nbeliefs and practices which are connected with souls and spirits. The\nexamination of these questions would carry us too far from what is the\nobject of our study. It is still less necessary to engage ourselves in\nthis examination, since the theory of Lang remains open to many of the\nobjections which we shall address to that of Tylor in the paragraphs\nwhich follow.\n\n[114] Jevons has made a similar remark. With Tylor, he admits that the\nidea of the soul comes from dreams, and that after it was created, men\nprojected it into things. But, he adds, the fact that nature has been\nconceived as animated like men does not explain how it became the object\nof a cult. \"The man who believes the bowing tree or the leaping flame to\nbe a living thing like himself, does not therefore believe it to be a\nsupernatural being--rather, so far as it is like himself, it, like\nhimself, is not supernatural\" (_Introduction to the History of\nReligions_, p. 55).\n\n[115] See Spencer and Gillen, _Nor. Tr._, p. 506, and _Nat. Tr._, p.\n512.\n\n[116] This is the ritual and mythical theme which Frazer studies in his\n_Golden Bough_.\n\n[117] _The Melanesians_, p. 119.\n\n[118] _Ibid._, p. 125.\n\n[119] There are sometimes, as it seems, even funeral offerings. (See\nRoth, _Superstition, Magic and Medicine_, in _North Queensland Ethnog._,\nBulletin No. 5, \u00a7 69 c., and _Burial Customs_, in _ibid._, No. 10, in\n_Records of the Australian Museum_, Vol. VI, No. 5, p. 395). But these\nofferings are not periodical.\n\n[120] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 538, 553, and _Nor. Tr._, pp.\n463, 543, 547.\n\n[121] See especially, Spencer and Gillen, _Northern Tribes_, ch. vi,\nvii, ix.\n\n[122] _The Religions of Primitive Peoples_, pp. 47 ff.\n\n[123] _Myth, Ritual and Religions_, p. 123.\n\n[124] _Les Religions des peuples non civilis\u00e9s_, II, _Conclusion_.\n\n[125] _The Religion of the Semites_, 2 ed., pp. 126, 132.\n\n[126] This is the reasoning of Westermarck (_Origins of Human Marriage_,\np. 6).\n\n[127] By sexual communism we do not mean a state of promiscuity where\nman knows no matrimonial rules: we believe that such a state has never\nexisted. But it has frequently happened that groups of men have been\nregularly united to one or several women.\n\n[128] See our _Suicide_, pp. 233 ff.\n\n[129] Spencer, _Principles of Sociology_, I, pp. 129 f.\n\n[130] _The Melanesians_, p. 123.\n\n[131] Dorsey, _A Study of Siouan Cults_, in _XIth Annual Report of the\nBureau of Amer. Ethnology_, pp. 431 ff., and _passim_.\n\n[132] _La religion des peuples non civilis\u00e9s_, I, p. 248.\n\n[133] V. W. de Visser, _De Graecorum diis non referentibus speciem\nhumanam_. Cf. P. Perdrizet, _Bulletin de correspondance hell\u00e9nique_,\n1899, p. 635.\n\n[134] However, according to Spencer, there is a germ of truth in the\nbelief in spirits: this is the idea that \"the power which manifests\nitself inside the consciousness is a different form of power from that\nmanifested outside the consciousness\" (_Ecclesiastical Institutions_, \u00a7\n659). Spencer understands by this that the notion of force in general is\nthe sentiment of the force which we have extended to the entire\nuniverse; this is what animism admits implicitly when it peoples nature\nwith spirits analogous to our own. But even if this hypothesis in regard\nto the way in which the idea of force is formed were true--and it\nrequires important reservations which we shall make (Bk. III, ch. iii, \u00a7\n3)--it has nothing religious about it; it belongs to no cult. It thus\nremains that the system of religious symbols and rites, the\nclassification of things into sacred and profane, all that which is\nreally religious in religion, corresponds to nothing in reality. Also,\nthis germ of truth, of which he speaks, is still more a germ of error,\nfor if it be true that the forces of nature and those of the mind are\nrelated, they are profoundly distinct, and one exposes himself to grave\nmisconceptions in identifying them.\n\n[135] This is undoubtedly what explains the sympathy which folk-lorists\nlike Mannhardt have felt for animistic ideas. In popular religions as in\ninferior religions, these spiritual beings of a second order hold the\nfirst place.\n\n[136] In the essay entitled _Comparative Mythology_ (pp. 47 ff).\n\n[137] _Herabkunft des Feuers und G[=o]ttertranks_, Berlin, 1859 (a new\nedition was given by Ernst Kuhn in 1886). Cf. _Der Schuss des Wilden\nJ\u00e4gers auf den Sonnen-hirsch_, Zeitschrift f. d. Phil., I, 1869, pp.\n89-169. _Entwickelungsstufen des Mythus_, Abhandl. d. Berl. Akad., 1873.\n\n[138] _Der Ursprung der Mythologie_, Berlin, 1860.\n\n[139] In his book _Hercule et Cacus_. _\u00c9tude de mythologie compar\u00e9e._\nMax M\u00fcller's _Comparative Mythology_ is there signalized as a work\n\"which marks a new epoch in the history of Mythology\" (p. 12).\n\n[140] _Die Griechischen Kulte und Mythen_, I, p. 78.\n\n[141] Among others who have adopted this conception may be cited Renan.\nSee his _Nouvelles \u00e9tudes d'histoire religieuse_, 1884, p. 31.\n\n[142] Aside from the _Comparative Mythology_, the works where Max M\u00fcller\nhas exposed his general theories on religion are: _Hibbert Lectures_\n(1878) under the title _The Origin and Development of Religion; Natural\nReligion_ (1889); _Physical Religion_ (1890); _Anthropological Religion_\n(1892); _Theosophy, or Psychological Religion_ (1893); _Contributions to\nthe Science of Mythology_ (1897). Since his mythological theories are\nclosely related to his philosophy of language, these works should be\nconsulted in connection with the ones consecrated to language or logic,\nespecially _Lectures on the Science of Language_, and _The Science of\nThought_.\n\n[143] _Natural Religion_, p. 114.\n\n[144] _Physical Religion_, pp. 119-120.\n\n[145] _Ibid._, p. 121; cf. p. 304.\n\n[146] _Natural Religion_, pp. 121 ff., and 149-155.\n\n[147] \"The overwhelming pressure of the infinite\" (_ibid._, p. 138).\n\n[148] _Ibid._, pp. 195-196.\n\n[149] Max M\u00fcller even goes so far as to say that until thought has\npassed this first stage, it has very few of the characteristics which we\nnow attribute to religion (_Physic. Rel._, p. 120).\n\n[150] _Physic. Rel._, p. 128.\n\n[151] _The Science of Thought_, p. 30.\n\n[152] _Natural Religion_, pp. 393 ff.\n\n[153] _Physic. Rel._, p. 133; _The Science of Thought_, p. 219;\n_Lectures on the Science of Language_, II, pp. 1 ff.\n\n[154] _The Science of Thought_, p. 272.\n\n[155] _The Science of Thought_, I, p. 327; _Physic. Rel_., pp. 125 ff.\n\n[156] _M\u00e9langes de mythologie et de linguistique_, p. 8.\n\n[157] _Anthropological Religion_, pp. 128-130.\n\n[158] This explanation is not as good as that of Tylor. According to Max\nM\u00fcller, men could not admit that life stopped with death; therefore they\nconcluded that there were two beings within them, one of which survived\nthe body. But it is hard to see what made them think that life continued\nafter the body was decomposed.\n\n[159] For the details, see _Anthrop. Rel._, pp. 351 ff.\n\n[160] _Anthrop. Rel._, p. 130.--This is what keeps Max M\u00fcller from\nconsidering Christianity the climax of all this development. The\nreligion of ancestors, he says, supposes that there is something divine\nin man. Now is that idea not the one at the basis of the teaching of\nChrist? (_ibid._, pp. 378 ff.). It is useless to insist upon the\nstrangeness of the conception which makes Christianity the latest of the\ncults of the dead.\n\n[161] See the discussion of the hypothesis in Gruppe, _Griechishen Kulte\nund Mythen_, pp. 79-184.\n\n[162] See Meillet, _Introduction \u00e0 l'\u00e9tude comparative des langues\nindo-europ\u00e9ennes_, p. 119.\n\n[163] Oldenberg, _Die Religion des Vedas_, pp. 59 ff.; Meillet, _Le dieu\nIranien Mythra_, in _Journal Asiatique_, X, No. 1, July-August, 1907,\npp. 143 ff.\n\n[164] In this category are a large number of the maxims of popular\nwisdom.\n\n[165] It is true that this argument does not touch those who see in\nreligion a code (especially of hygiene) whose provisions, though placed\nunder the sanction of imaginary beings, are nevertheless well founded.\nBut we shall not delay to discuss a conception so insupportable, and\nwhich has, in fact, never been sustained in a systematic manner by\npersons somewhat informed upon the history of religions. It is difficult\nto see what good the terrible practices of the initiation bring to the\nhealth which they threaten; what good the dietetic restrictions, which\ngenerally deal with perfectly clean animals, have hygienically; how\nsacrifices, which take place far from a house, make it more solid, etc.\nUndoubtedly there are religious precepts which at the same time have a\npractical utility; but they are lost in the mass of others, and even the\nservices which they render are frequently not without some drawbacks. If\nthere is a religiously enforced cleanliness, there is also a religious\nfilthiness which is derived from these same principles. The rule which\norders a corpse to be carried away from the camp because it is the seat\nof a dreaded spirit is undoubtedly useful. But the same belief requires\nthe relatives to anoint themselves with the liquids which issue from a\ncorpse in putrefaction, because they are supposed to have exceptional\nvirtues.--From this point of view, magic has served a great deal more\nthan religion.\n\n[166] _Contributions to the Science of Mythology_, I, pp. 68 f.\n\n[167] _Lectures on the Science of Language_, II, p. 456 ff.; _Physic.\nRel._, pp. 276 ff.--Also Br\u00e9al, _M\u00e9langes_, p. 6, \"To bring the\nnecessary clarity into this question of the origin of mythology, it is\nnecessary to distinguish carefully the _gods_, which are the immediate\nproduct of the human intelligence, from the _fables_, which are its\nindirect and involuntary product.\"\n\n[168] Max M\u00fcller recognized this. See _Physic. Rel._, p. 132, and\n_Comparative Mythology_, p. 58. \"The gods are _nomina_ and not _numina_,\nnames without being and not beings without name.\"\n\n[169] It is true that Max M\u00fcller held that for the Greeks, \"Zeus was,\nand remained, in spite of all mythological obscurations, the name of the\nSupreme Deity\" (_Science of Language_, II, p. 478). We shall not dispute\nthis assertion, though it is historically contestable; but in any case,\nthis conception of Zeus could never have been more than a glimmer in the\nmidst of all the other religious beliefs of the Greeks.\n\nBesides this, in a later work, Max M\u00fcller went so far as to make even\nthe notion of god in general the product of a wholly verbal process and\nthus of a mythological elaboration (_Physic. Rel._, p. 138).\n\n[170] Undoubtedly outside the real myths there were always fables which\nwere not believed, or at least were not believed in the same way and to\nthe same degree, and hence had no religious character. The line of\ndemarcation between fables and myths is certainly floating and hard to\ndetermine. But this is no reason for making all myths stories, any more\nthan we should dream of making all stories myths. There is at least one\ncharacteristic which in a number of cases suffices to differentiate the\nreligious myth: that is its relation to the cult.\n\n[171] See above, p. 28.\n\n[172] More than that, in the language of Max M\u00fcller, there is a\nveritable abuse of words. Sensuous experience, he says, implies, at\nleast in certain cases, \"beyond the known, _something unknown, something\nwhich I claim the liberty to call infinite_\" (_Natural Rel._, p. 195;\ncf. p. 218). The unknown is not necessarily the infinite, any more than\nthe infinite is necessarily the unknown if it is in all points the same,\nand consequently like the part which we know. It would be necessary to\nprove that the part of it which we perceive differs in nature from that\nwhich we do not perceive.\n\n[173] Max M\u00fcller involuntarily recognizes this in certain passages. He\nconfesses that he sees little difference between Agni, the god of fire,\nand the notion of ether, by which the modern physicist explains light\nand heat (_Phys. Rel._, pp. 126 f.). Also, he connects the notion of\ndivinity to that of agency (p. 138) or of a causality which is not\nnatural and profane. The fact that religion represents the causes thus\nimagined, under the form of personal agents, is not enough to explain\nhow they got a sacred character. A personal agent can be profane, and\nalso, many religious forces are essentially impersonal.\n\n[174] We shall see below, in speaking of the efficacy of rites and\nfaith, how these illusions are to be explained (Bk. III, ch. ii).\n\n[175] _Voyages and Travels of an Indian Interpreter._\n\n[176] This idea was so common that even M. R\u00e9ville continued to make\nAmerica the classic land of totemism (_Religions des peuples non\ncivilis\u00e9s_, I, p. 242).\n\n[177] _Journals of Two Expeditions in North-West and Western Australia_,\nII, p. 228.\n\n[178] _The Worship of Animals and Plants._ _Totems and Totemism_ (1869,\n1870).\n\n[179] This idea is found already very clearly expressed in a study by\nGallatin entitled _Synopsis of the Indian Tribes_ (_Arch\u00e6ologia\nAmericana_, II, pp. 109 ff.), and in a notice by Morgan in the _Cambrian\nJournal_, 1860, p. 149.\n\n[180] This work had been prepared for and preceded by two others by the\nsame author: _The League of the Iroquois_ (1851), and _Systems of\nConsanguinity_ and _Affinity of the Human Family_ (1871).\n\n[181] _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, 1880.\n\n[182] In the very first volumes of the _Annual Report of the Bureau of\nAmerican Ethnology_ are found the study of Powell, _Wyandot Government_\n(I, p. 59), that of Cushing, _Zu\u00f1i Fetiches_ (II, p. 9), Smith, _Myths\nof the Iroquois_ (_ibid._, p. 77), and the important work of Dorsey,\n_Omaha Sociology_ (III, p. 211), which are also contributions to the\nstudy of totemism.\n\n[183] This first appeared, in an abridged form, in the _Encyclop\u00e6dia\nBritannica_ (9th ed.).\n\n[184] In his _Primitive Culture_, Tylor had already attempted an\nexplanation of totemism, to which we shall return presently, but which\nwe shall not give here; for by making totemism only a particular case of\nthe ancestor-cult, he completely misunderstood its importance. In this\nchapter we mention only those theories which have contributed to the\nprogress of the study of totemism.\n\n[185] Published at Cambridge, 1885.\n\n[186] First edition, 1889. This is the arrangement of a course given at\nthe University of Aberdeen in 1888. Cf. the article _Sacrifice_ in the\n_Encyclop\u00e6dia Britannica_ (9th edition).\n\n[187] London, 1890. A second edition in three volumes has since appeared\n(1900) and a third in five volumes is already in course of publication.\n\n[188] In this connection must be mentioned the interesting work of\nSidney Hartland, _The Legend of Perseus_, 3 vols., 1894-1896.\n\n[189] We here confine ourselves to giving the names of the authors;\ntheir works will be indicated below, when we make use of them.\n\n[190] If Spencer and Gillen have been the first to study these tribes in\na scientific and thorough manner, they were not the first to talk about\nthem. Howitt had already described the social organization of the\nWuaramongo (Warramunga of Spencer and Gillen) in 1888 in his _Further\nNotes on the Australian Classes_ in _The Journal of the Anthropological\nInstitute_ (hereafter, _J.A.I._), pp. 44 f. The Arunta had already been\nbriefly studied by Schulze (_The Aborigines of the Upper and Middle\nFinke River_, in _Transactions of the Royal Society of South Australia_,\nVol. XIV, fasc. 2): the organization of the Chingalee (the Tjingilli of\nSpencer and Gillen), the Wombya, etc., by Mathews (_Wombya Organization\nof the Australian Aborigines_, in _American Anthropologist_, New Series,\nVol. II, p. 494; _Divisions of some West Australian Tribes_, _ibid._, p.\n185; _Proceedings Amer. Philos. Soc._, XXXVII, pp. 151-152, and _Journal\nRoy. Soc. of N.S. Wales_, XXXII, p. 71 and XXXIII, p. 111). The first\nresults of the study made of the Arunta had also been published already\nin the _Report on the Work of the Horn Scientific Expedition to Central\nAustralia_, Pt. IV (1896). The first part of this _Report_ is by\nStirling, the second by Gillen; the entire publication was placed under\nthe direction of Baldwin Spencer.\n\n[191] London, 1899. Hereafter, _Native Tribes_ or _Nat. Tr._\n\n[192] London, 1904. Hereafter, _Northern Tribes_ or _Nor. Tr._\n\n[193] We write the Arunta, the Anula, the Tjingilli, etc., without\nadding the characteristic _s_ of the plural. It does not seem very\nlogical to add to these words, which are not European, a grammatical\nsign which would have no meaning except in our languages. Exceptions to\nthis rule will be made when the name of the tribe has obviously been\nEuropeanized (the Hurons for example).\n\n[194] Strehlow has been in Australia since 1892; at first he lived among\nthe Dieri, and from them he went to the Arunta.\n\n[195] _Die Aranda- und Loritja-St\u00e4mme in Zentral Australien._ Four\nfascicules have been published up to the present. The last appeared at\nthe moment when the present book was finished, so it could not be used.\nThe two first have to do with the myths and legends, and the third with\nthe cult. It is only just to add to the name of Strehlow that of von\nLeonhardi, who has had a great deal to do with this publication. Not\nonly has he charged himself with editing the manuscripts of Strehlow,\nbut by his judicious questions he has led the latter to be more precise\non more than one point. It would be useful also to consult an article\nwhich von Leonhardi gave the _Globus_, where numerous extracts from his\ncorrespondence with Strehlow will be found (_Ueber einige religi\u00f6se und\ntotemistische Vorstellungen der Aranda und Loritja in Zentral\nAustralien_, in _Globus_, XCI, p. 285). Cf. an article on the same\nsubject by N. W. Thomas in Folk-lore, XVI, pp. 428 ff.\n\n[196] Spencer and Gillen are not ignorant of it, but they are far from\npossessing it as thoroughly as Strehlow.\n\n[197] Notably by Klaatsch, _Schlussbericht \u00fcber meine Reise nach\nAustralien_, in _Zeitschrift f. Ethnologie_, 1907, pp. 635 ff.\n\n[198] The book of K. Langloh Parker, _The Euahlayi Tribe_, that of\nEylmann, _Die Eingeborenen der Kolonie S\u00fcdaustralien_; that of John\nMathews, _Two Representative Tribes of Queensland_, and certain recent\narticles of Mathews all show the influence of Spencer and Gillen.\n\n[199] A list of these publications will be found in the preface to his\n_Nat. Tr._, pp. 8-9.\n\n[200] London, 1904. Hereafter we shall cite this work by the\nabbreviation _Nat. Tr._, but always mentioning the name of Howitt, to\ndistinguish it from the first work of Spencer and Gillen, which we\nabbreviate in the same manner.\n\n[201] _Totemism and Exogamy_, 4 vols., London, 1910. The work begins\nwith a re-edition of _Totemism_, reproduced without any essential\nchanges.\n\n[202] It is true that at the end and at the beginning there are some\ngeneral theories on totemism, which will be described and discussed\nbelow. But these theories are relatively independent of the collection\nof facts which accompanies them, for they had already been published in\ndifferent articles in reviews, long before this work appeared. These\narticles are reproduced in the first volume (pp. 89-172).\n\n[203] _Totemism_, p. 12.\n\n[204] _Ibid._, p. 15.\n\n[205] _Ibid._, p. 32.\n\n[206] It should be noted that in this connection, the more recent work,\n_Totemism and Exogamy_, shows an important progress in the thought as\nwell as the method of Frazer. Every time that he describes the religious\nor domestic institutions of a tribe, he sets himself to determine the\ngeographic and social conditions in which this tribe is placed.\nHowsoever summary these analyses may be, they bear witness nevertheless\nto a rupture with the old methods of the anthropological school.\n\n[207] Undoubtedly we also consider that the principal object of the\nscience of religions is to find out what the religious nature of man\nreally consists in. However, as we do not regard it as a part of his\nconstitutional make-up, but rather as the product of social causes, we\nconsider it impossible to find it, if we leave aside his social\nenvironment.\n\n[208] We cannot repeat too frequently that the importance which we\nattach to totemism is absolutely independent of whether it was ever\nuniversal or not.\n\n[209] This is the case with the phratries and matrimonial classes; on\nthis point, see Spencer and Gillen, _Northern Tribes_, ch. iii; Howitt,\n_Native Tribes_, pp. 109 and 137-142; Thomas, _Kinship and Marriage in\nAustralia_, ch. vi and vii.\n\n[210] _Division du Travail social_, 3rd ed., p. 150.\n\n[211] It is to be understood that this is not always the case. It\nfrequently happens, as we have already said, that the simpler forms aid\nto a better understanding of the more complex. On this point, there is\nno rule of method which is applicable to every possible case.\n\n[212] Thus the individual totemism of America will aid us in\nunderstanding the function and importance of that in Australia. As the\nlatter is very rudimentary, it would probably have passed unobserved.\n\n[213] Besides, there is not one unique type of totemism in America, but\nseveral different species which must be distinguished.\n\n[214] We shall leave this field only very exceptionally, and when a\nparticularly instructive comparison seems to us to impose itself.\n\n[215] This is the definition given by Cicero: _Gentiles sunt qui inter\nse eodem nomine sunt_ (_Top._ 6). (Those are of the same gens who have\nthe same name among themselves.)\n\n[216] It may be said in a general way that the clan is a family group,\nwhere kinship results solely from a common name; it is in this sense\nthat the _gens_ is a clan. But the totemic clan is a particular sort of\nthe class thus constituted.\n\n[217] In a certain sense, these bonds of solidarity extend even beyond\nthe frontiers of the tribe. When individuals of different tribes have\nthe same totem, they have peculiar duties towards each other. This fact\nis expressly stated for certain tribes of North America (see Frazer,\n_Totemism and Exogamy_, III, pp. 57, 81, 299, 356-357). The texts\nrelative to Australia are less explicit. However, it is probable that\nthe prohibition of marriage between members of a single totem is\ninternational.\n\n[218] Morgan, _Ancient Society_, p. 165.\n\n[219] In Australia the words employed differ with the tribes. In the\nregions observed by Grey, they said _Kobong_; the Dieri say _Murdu_\n(Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 91); the Narrinyeri, _Ngaitye_ (Talpin, _in_\nCurr, II, p. 244); the Warramunga, _Mung\u00e1i_ or _Mung\u00e1ii_ (_Nor. Tr._, p.\n754), etc.\n\n[220] _Indian Tribes of the United States_, IV, p. 86.\n\n[221] This fortune of the word is the more regrettable since we do not\neven know exactly how it is written. Some write _totam_, others\n_toodaim_, or _dodaim_, or _ododam_ (see Frazer, _Totemism_, p. 1). Nor\nis the meaning of the word determined exactly. According to the report\nof the first observer of the Ojibway, J. Long, the word _totam_\ndesignated the protecting genius, the individual totem, of which we\nshall speak below (Bk. II, ch. iv) and not the totem of the clan. But\nthe accounts of other explorers say exactly the contrary (on this point,\nsee Frazer, _Totemism and Exogamy_, III, pp. 49-52).\n\n[222] The _Wotjobaluk_ (p. 121) and the _Buandik_ (p. 123).\n\n[223] The same.\n\n[224] The _Wolgal_ (p. 102), the _Wotjobaluk_ and the _Buandik_.\n\n[225] The _Muruburra_ (p. 117), the _Wotjobaluk_ and the _Buandik_.\n\n[226] The _Buandik_ and the _Kaiabara_ (p. 116). It is to be remarked\nthat all the examples come from only five tribes.\n\n[227] Thus, out of 204 kinds of totems, collected by Spencer and Gillen\nout of a large number of tribes, 188 are animals or plants. The\ninanimate objects are the boomerang, cold weather, darkness, fire,\nlightning, the moon, red ochre, resin, salt water, the evening star, a\nstone, the sun, water, the whirlwind, the wind and hail-stones (Nor.\nTr., p. 773. Cf. Frazer, _Totemism and Exogamy_, I, pp. 253-254).\n\n[228] Frazer (_Totemism_, pp. 10 and 13) cites a rather large number of\ncases and puts them in a special group which he calls _split-totems_,\nbut these are taken from tribes where totemism is greatly altered, such\nas in Samoa or the tribes of Bengal.\n\n[229] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 107.\n\n[230] See the tables collected by Strehlow, _op. cit._, II, pp. 61-72\n(cf. III, pp. xiii-xvii). It is remarkable that these fragmentary totems\nare taken exclusively from animal totems.\n\n[231] Strehlow, II, pp. 52 and 72.\n\n[232] For example, one of these totems is a cave where an ancestor of\nthe Wild Cat totem rested; another is a subterranean gallery which an\nancestor of the Mouse clan dug, etc. (_ibid._, p. 72).\n\n[233] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 561 ff. Strehlow, II, p. 71, note 2. Howitt, _Nat.\nTr._, pp. 426 ff.; _On Australian Medicine Men_, _J.A.I._, XVI, p. 53;\n_Further Notes on the Australian Class Systems_, _J.A.I._, XVIII, pp. 63\nff.\n\n[234] Thaballa means \"laughing boy,\" according to the translation of\nSpencer and Gillen. The members of the clan which bear this name think\nthey hear him laughing in the rocks which are his residence (_Nor. Tr._,\npp. 207, 215, 226 note). According to a myth given on p. 422, there was\nan initial group of mythical Thaballa (cf. p. 208). The clan of the\nKati, \"full-grown men,\" as Spencer and Gillen say, seems to be of the\nsame sort (_Nor. Tr._, p. 207).\n\n[235] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 226 ff.\n\n[236] Strehlow, II, pp. 71 f. He mentions a totem of the Loritja and\nArunta which is very close to the serpent Wollunqua: it is the totem of\na mythical water-snake.\n\n[237] This is the case with Klaatsch, in the article already cited (see\nabove, p. 92, n. 3).\n\n[238] As we indicated in the preceding chapter, totemism is at the same\ntime of interest for the question of religion and that of the family,\nfor the clan is a family. In the lower societies, these two problems are\nvery closely connected. But both are so complex that it is indispensable\nto treat them separately. Also, the primitive family organization cannot\nbe understood before the primitive religious beliefs are known; for the\nlatter serve as the basis of the former. This is why it is necessary to\nstudy totemism as a religion before studying the totemic clan as a\nfamily group.\n\n[239] See Taplin, _The Narrinyeri Tribe_, in Curr, II, pp. 244 f.;\nHowitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 131.\n\n[240] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 163, 169, 170, 172. It is to be noted that in all\nthese tribes, except the Mara and the Anula, the transmission of the\ntotem in the paternal line is only a general rule, which has exceptions.\n\n[241] According to Spencer and Gillen (Nat. Tr., pp. 123 ff.), the soul\nof the ancestor becomes reincarnate in the body of the mother and\nbecomes the soul of the child; according to Strehlow (II, pp. 51 ff.),\nthe conception, though being the work of the ancestor, does not imply\nany reincarnation; but in neither interpretation does the totem of the\nchild necessarily depend upon that of the parents.\n\n[242] _Nat. Tr._, p. 133; Strehlow, II, p. 53.\n\n[243] It is in large part the locality where the mother believes that\nshe conceived which determines the totem of the child. Each totem, as we\nshall see, has its centre and the ancestors preferably frequent the\nplaces serving as centres for their respective totems. The totem of the\nchild is therefore that which belongs to the place where the mother\nbelieves that she conceived. As this should generally be in the vicinity\nof the place which serves as totemic centre for her husband, the child\nshould generally follow the totem of his father. It is undoubtedly this\nwhich explains why the greater part of the inhabitants of a given\nlocality belong to the same totem (_Nat. Tr._, p. 9).\n\n[244] _The Secret of the Totem_, pp. 159 ff. Cf. Fison and Howitt,\n_Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, pp. 40 f.; John Mathews, _Eaglehawk and Crow_;\nThomas, _Kinship and Marriage in Australia_, pp. 52 ff.\n\n[245] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 124.\n\n[246] Howitt, pp. 121, 123, 124; Curr, III, p. 461.\n\n[247] Howitt, p. 126.\n\n[248] Howitt, pp. 98 ff.\n\n[249] Curr, II, p. 165; Brough Smyth, I, p. 423; Howitt, _op. cit._, p.\n429.\n\n[250] Howitt, pp. 101, 102.\n\n[251] J. Mathews, _Two Representative Tribes of Queensland_, p. 139.\n\n[252] Still other reasons could be given in support of this hypothesis,\nbut it would be necessary to bring in considerations relative to the\norganization of the family, and we wish to keep these two studies\nseparate. Also this question is only of secondary interest to our\nsubject.\n\n[253] For example, Mukwara, which is the name of a phratry among the\nBarkinji, the Paruinji and the Milpulko, designates the eagle-hawk,\naccording to Brough Smyth; now one of the clans of this phratry has the\neagle-hawk as totem. But here the animal is designated by the word\nBilyara. Many cases of the same thing are cited by Lang, _op. cit._, p.\n162.\n\n[254] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 115. According to Howitt (_op.\ncit._, pp. 121 and 454), among the Wotjobaluk, the clan of the pelican\nis found in the two phratries equally. This fact seems doubtful to us.\nIt is very possible that the two clans may have two varieties of\npelicans as totems. Information given by Mathews on the same tribe seems\nto point to this (_Aboriginal Tribes of N.S. Wales and Victoria_, in\n_Journal and Proceedings of the Royal Society of N.S. Wales_, 1904, pp.\n287 f.).\n\n[255] In connection with this question, see our memoir on _Le\nTot\u00e9misme_, in the _Ann\u00e9e Sociologique_, Vol. V, pp. 82 ff.\n\n[256] On the question of Australian matrimonial classes in general, see\nour memoir on _La Prohibition de l'inceste_, in the _Ann\u00e9e Soc._, I, pp.\n9 ff., and especially for the tribes with eight classes, _L'Organisation\nmatrimoniale des societ\u00e9s Australiennes_, in _Ann\u00e9e Soc._, VIII, pp.\n118-147.\n\n[257] This principle is not maintained everywhere with an equal\nstrictness. In the central tribes of eight classes notably, beside the\nclass with which marriage is regularly permitted, there is another with\nwhich a sort of secondary concubinage is allowed (Spencer and Gillen,\n_Nor. Tr._, p. 106). It is the same with certain tribes of four classes.\nEach class has a choice between the two classes of the other phratry.\nThis is the case with the Kabi (see Mathews, _in_ Curr, III, 162).\n\n[258] See Roth, _Ethnological Studies among the North-West-Central\nQueensland Aborigines_, pp. 56 ff.; Palmer, _Notes on some Australian\nTribes_, _J.A.I._, XIII (1884), pp. 302 ff.\n\n[259] Nevertheless, some tribes are cited where the matrimonial classes\nbear the names of animals or plants: this is the case with the Kabi\n(Mathew, _Two Representative Tribes_, p. 150), the tribes observed by\nMrs. Bates (_The Marriage Laws and Customs of the West Australian\nAborigines_, in _Victorian Geographical Journal_, XXIII-XXIV, p. 47),\nand perhaps in two tribes observed by Palmer. But these facts are very\nrare and their significance badly established. Also, it is not\nsurprising that the classes, as well as the sexual groups, should\nsometimes adopt the names of animals. This exceptional extension of the\ntotemic denominations in no way modifies our conception of totemism.\n\n[260] Perhaps the same explanation is applicable to certain other tribes\nof the South-East and the East where, if we are to believe the informers\nof Howitt, totems specially attached to each matrimonial class are to be\nfound. This is the case among the Wiradjuri, the Wakelbura and the\nBunta-Murra on the Bulloo River (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 210, 221, 226).\nHowever, the evidence collected is suspect, according to his own\nadmission. In fact, it appears from the lists which he has drawn up,\nthat many totems are found equally in the two classes of the same\nphratry.\n\nThe explanation which we propose, after Frazer (_Totemism and Exogamy_,\npp. 531 ff.), raises one difficulty. In principle, each clan and\nconsequently each totem, is represented equally in the two classes of a\nsingle phratry, since one of the classes is that of the children and the\nother that of the parents from whom the former get their totems. So when\nthe clans disappeared, the totemic interdictions which survived should\nhave remained in both matrimonial classes, while in the actual cases\ncited, each class has its own. Whence comes this differentiation? The\nexample of the Kaiabara (a tribe of southern Queensland) allows us to\nsee how it may have come about. In this tribe, the children have the\ntotem of their mother, but it is particularized by some distinctive\nmark. If the mother has the black eagle-hawk as totem, the child has the\nwhite eagle-hawk (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 229). This appears to be the\nbeginning of a tendency for the totems to differentiate themselves\naccording to the matrimonial classes.\n\n[261] A tribe of only a few hundred members frequently has fifty or\nsixty clans, or even many more. On this point, see Durkheim and Mauss,\n_De quelques formes primitives de classification_, in the _Ann\u00e9e\nSociologique_, Vol. VI, p. 28, n. 1.\n\n[262] Except among the Pueblo Indians of the South-West, where they are\nmore numerous. See Hodge, _Pueblo Indian Clans_, in _American\nAnthropologist_, 1st series, Vol. IX, pp. 345 ff. It may always be asked\nwhether the groups which have these totems are clans or sub-clans.\n\n[263] See the tables arranged by Morgan, _Ancient Society_, pp. 153-185.\n\n[264] Krause, _Die Tlinkit-Indianer_, p. 112; Swanton, _Social\nCondition, Beliefs and Linguistic Relationship of the Tlingit Indians_,\nin _XXVIth Rep._, p. 308.\n\n[265] Swanton, _Contributions to the Ethnology of the Haida_, p. 62.\n\n[266] \"The distinction between the two clans is absolute in every\nrespect,\" says Swanton, p. 68; he gives the name clan to what we call\nphratries. The two phratries, he says elsewhere, are like two foreign\nnations in their relations to each other.\n\n[267] Among the Haida at least, the totem of the real clans is altered\nmore than that of the phratries. In fact, usage permits a clan to sell\nor give away the right of bearing its totem, as a result of which each\nclan has a number of totems, some of which it has in common with other\nclans (see Swanton, pp. 107 and 268). Since Swanton calls the phratries\nclans, he is obliged to give the name of _family_ to the real clans, and\nof _household_ to the regular families. But the real sense of his\nterminology is not to be doubted.\n\n[268] _Journals of two Expeditions in N.W. and W. Australia_, II, p.\n228.\n\n[269] _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, p. 165.\n\n[270] _Indian Tribes_, I, p. 420; cf. I, p. 52. This etymology is very\ndoubtful. Cf. _Handbook of American Indians North of Mexico_\n(_Smithsonian Inst. Bur. of Ethnol._, Pt. II, _s.v._, Totem, p. 787).\n\n[271] Schoolcraft, _Indian Tribes_, III, 184; Garrick Mallery, _Picture\nWriting of the American Indians_, in _Tenth Report_, 1893, p. 377.\n\n[272] Hearne, _Journey to the Northern Ocean_, p. 148 (quoted from\nFrazer, _Totemism_, p. 30).\n\n[273] Charlevoix, _Histoire et description de la Nouvelle France_, V, p.\n329.\n\n[274] Krause, _Tlinkit-Indianer_, p. 248.\n\n[275] Erminnie A. Smith, _Myths of the Iroquois_, in _Sec. Rep. of the\nBur. of Ethnol._, p. 78.\n\n[276] Dodge, _Our Wild Indians_, p. 225.\n\n[277] Powell, _Wyandot Government_, in _First Rep. of the Bur. of\nEthnol._, 1881, p. 64.\n\n[278] Dorsey, _Omaha Sociology_, in _Third Rep._, pp. 229, 240, 248.\n\n[279] Krause, _op. cit._, pp. 130 f.\n\n[280] Krause, p. 308.\n\n[281] See a photograph of a Haida village in Swanton, _op. cit._, Pl.\nIX. Cf. Tylor, _Totem Post of the Haida Village of Masset_, _J.A.I._,\nNew Series I, p. 133.\n\n[282] Hill Tout, _Report on the Ethnology of the Statlumh of British\nColumbia_, _J.A.I._, XXXV, p. 155.\n\n[283] Krause, _op. cit._, p. 230; Swanton, _Haida_, pp. 129, 135 ff.;\nSchoolcraft, _op. cit._, I, pp. 52-53, 337, 356. In the latter case the\ntotem is represented upside down, in sign of mourning. Similar usages\nare found among the Creek (C. Swan, _in_ Schoolcraft, V, p. 265) and the\nDelaware (Heckewelder, _An Account of the History, Manners and Customs\nof the Indian Nations who once inhabited Pennsylvania_, pp. 246-247).\n\n[284] Spencer and Gillen, _Nor. Tr._, pp. 168, 537, 540.\n\n[285] _Ibid._, p. 174.\n\n[286] Brough Smyth, _The Aborigines of Victoria_, I, p. 99 n.\n\n[287] Brough Smyth, I, p. 284. Strehlow cites a fact of the same sort\namong the Arunta (III, p. 68).\n\n[288] _An Account of the English Colony in N.S. Wales_, II, p. 381.\n\n[289] Krause, p. 237.\n\n[290] Swanton, _Social Condition, Beliefs and Linguistic Relationship of\nthe Tlingit Indians, in XXVIth Rep._, pp. 435 ff.; Boas, _The Social\nOrganization and Secret Societies of the Kwakiutl Indians_, p. 358.\n\n[291] Frazer, _Totemism_, p. 26.\n\n[292] Bourke, _The Snake Dance of the Moquis of Arizona_, p. 229; J. W.\nFewkes, _The Group of Tusayan Ceremonials called Katcinas_, in _XVth\nRep._, 1897, pp. 151-263.\n\n[293] M\u00fcller, _Geschichte der Amerikanischen Urreligionen_, p. 327.\n\n[294] Schoolcraft, _op. cit._, III, p. 269.\n\n[295] Dorsey, _Omaha Sociol._, _Third Rep._, pp. 229, 238, 240, 245.\n\n[296] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 451.\n\n[297] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 257.\n\n[298] The meaning of these relations will be seen below (Bk. II, ch.\niv).\n\n[299] Spencer and Gillen, _Nor. Tr._, p. 296.\n\n[300] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 744-746; cf. p. 129.\n\n[301] _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, p. 66 n. It is true that other informers\ncontest this fact.\n\n[302] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 744.\n\n[303] Swanton, _Contributions to the Ethnology of the Haida_, pp. 41\nff., Pl. XX and XXI; Boas, _The Social Organization of the Kwakiutl_, p.\n318; Swanton, _Tlingit_, Pl. XVI ff.--In one place, outside the two\nethnographic regions which we are specially studying, these tattooings\nare put on the animals which belong to the clan. The Bechuana of South\nAfrica are divided into a certain number of clans; there are the people\nof the crocodile, the buffalo, the monkey, etc. Now the crocodile\npeople, for example, make an incision in the ears of their cattle whose\nform is like the jaws of this animal (Casalis, _Les Basoutos_, p. 221).\nAccording to Robertson Smith, the same custom existed among the ancient\nArabs (_Kinship and Marriage in Early Arabia_, pp. 212-214).\n\n[304] However, according to Spencer and Gillen, there are some which\nhave no religious sense (see _Nat. Tr._, pp. 41 f.; _Nor. Tr._, pp. 45,\n54-56).\n\n[305] Among the Arunta, this rule has exceptions which will be explained\nbelow.\n\n[306] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 162; _Nor. Tr._, pp. 179, 259,\n292, 295 f.; Schulze, _loc. cit._, p. 221. The thing thus represented is\nnot always the totem itself, but one of those things which, being\nassociated to this totem, are regarded as being in the same family of\nthings.\n\n[307] This is the case, for example, among the Warramunga, the Walpari,\nthe Wulmala, the Tjingilli, the Umbaia and the Unmatjera (_Nor. Tr._,\n339, 348). Among the Warramunga, at the moment when the design is\nexecuted, the performers address the initiated with the following words:\n\"That mark belongs to your place; do not look out along another place.\"\n\"This means,\" say Spencer and Gillen, \"that the young man must not\ninterfere with ceremonies belonging to other totems than his own: it\nalso indicates the very close association which is supposed to exist\nbetween a man and his totem and any spot especially connected with the\ntotem\" (_Nor. Tr._, p. 584 and n.). Among the Warramunga, the totem is\ntransmitted from father to child, so each locality has its own.\n\n[308] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 215, 241, 376.\n\n[309] It will be remembered (see above, p. 107) that in this tribe, the\nchild may have a different totem than his father, his mother, or his\nrelatives in general. Now the relatives on both sides are the performers\ndesignated for the ceremonies of initiation. Consequently, since in\nprinciple a man can have the quality of performer or officiant only for\nthe ceremonies of his own totem, it follows that in certain cases the\nrites by which the young man is initiated must be in connection with a\ntotem that is not his own. That is why the paintings made on the body of\nthe novice do not necessarily represent his own totem: cases of this\nsort will be found in Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 229. That there\nis an anomaly here is well shown by the fact that the circumcision falls\nto the totem which predominates in the local group of the initiate, that\nis to say, to the one which would be the totem of the initiate himself,\nif the totemic organization were not disturbed, if among the Arunta it\nwere what it is among the Warramunga (see Spencer and Gillen, _ibid._,\np. 219).\n\nThe same disturbance has had another consequence. In a general way, its\neffect is to extend a little the bonds attaching each totem to a special\ngroup, since each totem may have members in all the local groups\npossible, and even in the two phratries. The idea that these ceremonies\nof a totem might be celebrated by an individual of another totem--an\nidea which is contrary to the very principles of totemism, as we shall\nsee better after a while--has thus been accepted without too much\nresistance. It has been admitted that a man to whom a spirit revealed\nthe formula for a ceremony had the right of presiding over it, even when\nhe was not of the totem in question himself (_Nat. Tr._, p. 519). But\nthat this is an exception to the rule and the product of a sort of\ntoleration is proved by the fact that the beneficiary of the formula\ndoes not have the free disposition of it; if he transmits it--and these\ntransmissions are frequent--it can be only to a member of the totem\nwhich the rite concerns (_Nat. Tr._, _ibid._).\n\n[310] _Nat. Tr._, p. 140. In this case, the novice keeps the decoration\nwith which he has thus been adorned until it disappears of itself by the\neffect of time.\n\n[311] Boas, _General Report on the Indians of British Columbia in\nBritish Association for the Advancement of Science, Fifth Rep. of the\nCommittee on the N.W. Tribes of the Dominion of Canada_, p. 41.\n\n[312] There are also some among the Warramunga, but in smaller numbers\nthan among the Arunta; they do not figure in the totemic ceremonies,\nthough they do have a place in the myths (_Nor. Tr._, p. 163).\n\n[313] Other names are used by other tribes. We give a generic sense to\nthe Arunta term because it is in this tribe that the churinga have the\nmost important place and have been studied the best.\n\n[314] Strehlow, II, p. 81.\n\n[315] There are a few which have no apparent design (see Spencer and\nGillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 144).\n\n[316] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 139 and 648; Strehlow, II, p. 75.\n\n[317] Strehlow, who writes _tjurunga_, gives a slightly different\ntranslation to the word. \"This word,\" he says, \"means that which is\nsecret and personal _(der eigene geheime_). _Tju_ is an old word which\nmeans hidden or secret, and _runga_ means that which is my own.\" But\nKempe, who has more authority than Strehlow in this matter, translates\n_tju_ by great, powerful, sacred (_Kempe, Vocabulary of the Tribes\ninhabiting Macdonell Ranges_, s.v. _Tju_, in _Transactions of the R.\nSociety of Victoria_, Vol. XIII). At bottom, the translation of Strehlow\nis not so different from the other as might appear at first glance, for\nwhat is secret is hidden from the knowledge of the profane, that is, it\nis sacred. As for the meaning given to _runga_, it appears to us very\ndoubtful. The ceremonies of the emu belong to all the members of that\nclan; all may participate in them; therefore they are not personal to\nany one of them.\n\n[318] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 130-132; Strehlow, II, p. 78. A woman who has seen\na churinga or a man who has shown one to her are both put to death.\n\n[319] Strehlow calls this place, defined in exactly the same terms as by\nSpencer and Gillen, _arknanaua_ instead of _ertnatulunga_ (Strehlow, II,\np. 78).\n\n[320] _Nor. Tr._, p. 270; _Nat. Tr._, p. 140.\n\n[321] _Nat. Tr._, p. 135.\n\n[322] Strehlow, II, p. 78. However, Strehlow says that if a murderer\ntakes refuge near an ertnatulunga, he is unpityingly pursued there and\nput to death. We find some difficulty in conciliating this fact with the\nprivilege enjoyed by animals, and ask ourselves if the rigour with which\na criminal is treated is not something recent and should not be\nattributed to a weakening of the taboo which originally protected the\nertnatulunga.\n\n[323] _Nat. Tr._, p. 248.\n\n[324] _Ibid._, pp. 545 f. Strehlow, II, p. 79. For example, the dust\ndetached by rubbing a churinga with a stone, when dissolved in water,\nforms a potion which restores health to sick persons.\n\n[325] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 545 f. Strehlow (II, p. 79) contests this fact.\n\n[326] For example, the churinga of the yam totem, if placed in the soil,\nmake the yams grow (_Nor. Tr.,_ p. 275). It has the same power over\nanimals (Strehlow, II, pp. 76, 78; III, pp. 3, 7).\n\n[327] _Nat. Tr._, p. 135; Strehlow, II, p. 79.\n\n[328] _Nor. Tr._, p. 278.\n\n[329] _Ibid._, p. 180.\n\n[330] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 272 f.\n\n[331] _Nat. Tr._, p. 135.\n\n[332] One group borrows the churinga of another with the idea that these\nlatter will communicate some of the virtues which are in them and that\ntheir presence will quicken the vitality of the individuals and of the\ngroup (_Nat. Tr._, pp. 158 ff.).\n\n[333] _Ibid._, p. 136.\n\n[334] Each individual is united by a particular bond to a special\nchuringa which assures him his life, and also to those which he has\nreceived as a heritage from his parents.\n\n[335] _Nat. Tr._, p. 154; _Nor. Tr._, p. 193. The churinga are so\nthoroughly collective that they take the place of the \"message-sticks\"\nwith which the messengers of other tribes are provided, when they are\nsent to summon foreign groups to a ceremony (_Nat. Tr._, pp. 141 f.).\n\n[336] _Ibid._, p. 326. It should be remarked that the bull-roarers are\nused in the same way (Mathews, _Aboriginal Tribes of N.S. Wales and\nVictoria_, in _Jour. of Roy. Soc. of N.S. Wales_, XXXVIII, pp. 307 f.).\n\n[337] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 161, 259 ff.\n\n[338] _Ibid._, p. 138.\n\n[339] Strehlow, I, _Vorwort. in fine_; II, pp. 76, 77 and 82. For the\nArunta, it is the body of the ancestor itself; for the Loritja, it is\nonly an image.\n\n[340] When a child has just been born, the mother shows the father the\nspot where she believes that the soul of the ancestor entered her. The\nfather, accompanied by a few relatives, goes to this spot and looks for\nthe churinga which the ancestor is believed to have left at the moment\nthat he reincarnated himself. If it is found there, some old man of the\ngroup undoubtedly put it there (this is the hypothesis of Spencer and\nGillen). If they do not find it, a new churinga is made in a determined\nmanner (_Nat. Tr._, p. 132. Cf. Strehlow, II, p. 80).\n\n[341] This is the case among the Warramunga, the Urabunna, the Worgaia,\nthe Umbaia, the Tjingilli and the Guangi (_Nor. Tr._, pp. 258, 275 f.).\nThen, say Spencer and Gillen, \"_they were regarded as of especial value\nbecause of their association with a totem_\" (_ibid._, p. 276). There are\nexamples of the same fact among the Arunta (_Nat. Tr._, 156).\n\n[342] Strehlow writes _tnatanja_ (I, pp. 4-5).\n\n[343] The Kaitish, the Ilpirra, the Unmatjera; but it is rare among the\nlatter.\n\n[344] The pole is sometimes replaced by very long churinga, placed end\nto end.\n\n[345] Sometimes another smaller one is hung from the top of the\nnurtunja. In other cases, the nurtunja is in the form of a cross or a T.\nMore rarely, the central support is lacking (_Nat. Tr._, pp. 298-300,\n360-364, 627).\n\n[346] Sometimes there are even three of these cross-bars.\n\n[347] _Nat. Tr,_, pp. 231-234, 306-310, 627. In addition to the nurtunja\nand the waninga, Spencer and Gillen distinguish a third sort of sacred\npost or flag, called the kanana (_Nat. Tr._, pp. 364, 370, 629), whose\nfunctions they admit they have been unable to determine. They merely\nnote that it \"is regarded as something common to the members of all the\ntotems.\" According to Strehlow (II, p. 23, n. 2) the kanana of which\nSpencer and Gillen speak, is merely the nurtunja of the Wild Cat totem.\nAs this animal is the object of a tribal cult, the veneration of which\nit is the object might easily be common to all the clans.\n\n[348] _Nor. Tr._, p. 342; _Nat. Tr._, p. 309.\n\n[349] _Nat. Tr._, p. 255.\n\n[350] _Ibid._, ch. x and xi.\n\n[351] _Ibid._, pp. 138, 144.\n\n[352] See Dorsey, _Siouan Cults, XIth Rep._, p. 413; _Omaha Sociology,\nThird Rep._, p. 234. It is true that there is only one sacred post for\nthe tribe, while there is a nurtunja for each clan. But the principle is\nthe same.\n\n[353] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 232, 308, 313, 334, etc.; _Nor. Tr._, 182, 186,\netc.\n\n[354] _Nat. Tr._, p. 346. It is true that some say that the nurtunja\nrepresents the lance of the ancestor who was at the head of each clan in\nAlcheringa times. But it is only a symbolic representation of it; it is\nnot a sort of relic, like the churinga, which is believed to come from\nthe ancestor himself. Here the secondary character of the explanation is\nvery noticeable.\n\n[355] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 614 ff., esp. p. 617; _Nor. Tr._, p. 749.\n\n[356] _Nat. Tr._, p. 624.\n\n[357] _Ibid._, p. 179.\n\n[358] _Ibid._, p. 181.\n\n[359] See the examples given in Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, Fig.\n131. Here are designs, many of which evidently have the object of\nrepresenting animals, plants, the heads of men, etc., though of course\nall are very conventional.\n\n[360] _Nat. Tr.,_ p. 617; _Nor. Tr.,_ p. 716 ff.\n\n[361] _Nat. Tr._, p. 145; Strehlow, II, p. 80.\n\n[362] _Nat. Tr._, p. 151.\n\n[363] _Ibid._, p. 346.\n\n[364] It cannot be doubted that these designs and paintings also have an\n\u00e6sthetic character; here is the first form of art. Since they are also,\nand even above all, a written language, it follows that the origins of\ndesign and those of writing are one. It even becomes clear that men\ncommenced designing, not so much to fix upon wood or stone beautiful\nforms which charm the senses, as to translate his thought into matter\n(_cf._ Schoolcraft, _Indian Tribes_, I, p. 405; Dorsey, _Siouan Cults_,\npp. 394 ff.).\n\n[365] See the cases in Taplin, _The Narrinyeri_, p. 63; Howitt, _Nat.\nTr._, pp. 146, 769; Fison and Howitt, _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, p. 169;\nRoth, _Superstition, Magic and Medicine_, \u00a7 150; Wyatt, _Adelaide and\nEncounter Bay Tribe_, in Woods, p. 168; Meyer, _ibid._, p. 186.\n\n[366] This is the case with the Warramunga (_Nor. Tr._, p. 168).\n\n[367] For example, among the Warramunga, the Urabunna, the Wonghibon,\nthe Yuin, the Wotjobaluk, the Buandik, Ngeumba, etc.\n\n[368] Among the Kaitish, if a man of the clan eats too much of his\ntotem, the members of the other phratry have recourse to a magic\noperation which is expected to kill him (_Nor. Tr._, p. 284; cf. _Nat.\nTr._, p. 204; Langloh Parker, _The Euahlavi Tribe_, p. 20).\n\n[369] _Nat. Tr._, p. 202, n.; Strehlow, II, p. 58.\n\n[370] _Nor. Tr._, p. 173.\n\n[371] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 207 ff.\n\n[372] See above, p. 128.\n\n[373] It should also be borne in mind that in these myths the ancestors\nare never represented as nourishing themselves _regularly_ with their\ntotem. Consumption of this sort is, on the contrary, the exception.\nTheir ordinary food, according to Strehlow, was the same as that of the\ncorresponding animal (see Strehlow, I, p. 4).\n\n[374] Also, this whole theory rests upon an entirely arbitrary\nhypothesis: Spencer and Gillen, as well as Frazer, admit that the tribes\nof central Australia, and especially the Arunta, represent the most\narchaic and consequently the purest form of totemism. We shall presently\nsay why this conjecture seems to us to be contrary to all probability.\nIt is even probable that these authors would not have accepted their\nthesis so readily if they had not refused to regard totemism as a\nreligion and if they had not consequently misunderstood the sacred\ncharacter of the totem.\n\n[375] Taplin, _The Narrinyeri_, p. 64; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 145 and\n147; Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 202; Grey, _loc. cit._; Curr,\nIII, p. 462.\n\n[376] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 160, 167. It is not enough that the intermediary\nbe of another totem: as we shall see, every totem of a phratry is\nforbidden in a certain measure for the members of the phratry who are of\na different totem.\n\n[377] _Nor. Tr._, p. 167. We can now explain more easily how it happens\nthat when an interdiction is not observed, it is the other phratry which\nrevenges this sacrilege (see above, p. 129, n. 2). It is because it has\nan interest in seeing that the rule is observed. In fact, they believe\nthat when the rule is broken, the totemic species may not reproduce\nabundantly. Now the members of the other phratry consume it regularly:\ntherefore it is they who are affected. That is why they revenge\nthemselves.\n\n[378] This is the case among the Loritja (Strehlow, II, pp. 60, 61), the\nWorgaia, the Warramunga, the Walpari, the Mara, the Anula and the\nBinbinga (_Nor. Tr._, pp. 166, 167, 171, 173). It may be eaten by a\nWarramunga or a Walpari, but only when offered by a member of the other\nphratry. Spencer and Gillen remark (p. 167, n.), that in this regard the\npaternal and the maternal totems appear to be under different rules. It\nis true that in both cases the offer must come from the other phratry.\nBut when it is a question of the paternal totem, or the totem properly\nso-called, this phratry is the one to which the totem does not belong;\nfor the maternal totem, the contrary is the case. Probably the principle\nwas first established for the former, then mechanically extended to the\nother, though the situation was different. When the rule had once become\nestablished that the prohibition protecting the totem could be neglected\nonly on the invitation of the other phratry, it was applied also to the\nmaternal totem.\n\n[379] For example, among the Warramunga (_Nor. Tr._, p. 166), the\nWotjobaluk, the Buandik, the Kurnai (Howitt, pp. 146 f.) and the\nNarrinyeri (Taplin, _The Narrinyeri_, p. 63).\n\n[380] Even this is not always the case. An Arunta of the Mosquito totem\nmust not kill this insect, even when it bothers him: he must confine\nhimself to driving it away (Strehlow, II, p. 58; cf. Taplin, p. 63).\n\n[381] Among the Kaitish and the Unmatjera (_Nor. Tr._, p. 160). It even\nhappens that in certain cases an old man gives a young one of a\ndifferent totem one of his churinga, so that he may kill the donor's\ntotem more easily (_ibid._, p. 272).\n\n[382] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 146; Grey, _op. cit._, II, p. 228; Casalis,\n_Basoutos_, p. 221. Among these latter, \"one must be purified after\ncommitting such a sacrilege.\"\n\n[383] Strehlow, II, pp. 58, 59, 61.\n\n[384] Dorsey, _Omaha Sociology, IIIrd Rep._, pp. 225, 231.\n\n[385] Casalis, _ibid._\n\n[386] Even among the Omaha, it is not certain that the interdictions of\ncontact, certain examples of which we have just cited, are really of a\ntotemic nature, for many of them have no direct connection with the\nanimal that serves as totem of the clan. Thus in the sub-clan of the\nEagle, the characteristic interdiction is against touching the head of a\nbuffalo (Dorsey, _op. cit._, p. 239); in another sub-clan with the same\ntotem, they must not touch verdigris, charcoal, etc. (_ibid._, p. 245).\n\nWe do not mention other interdictions mentioned by Frazer, such as those\nof naming or looking at the animal or plant, for it is still less\ncertain that they are of totemic origin, except perhaps for certain\nfacts observed among the Bechuana (_Totemism_, pp. 12-13). Frazer admits\ntoo readily--and in this regard, he has imitators--that the prohibitions\nagainst eating or touching an animal depend upon totemic beliefs.\nHowever, there is one case in Australia, where the sight of the animal\nseems to be forbidden. According to Strehlow (II, p. 59), among the\nArunta and the Loritja, a man who has the moon as totem must not look at\nit very long, or he would be likely to die at the hand of an enemy. But\nwe believe that this is a unique case. We must not forget, also, that\nastronomical totems were probably not primitive in Australia, so this\nprohibition may be the product of a complex elaboration. This hypothesis\nis confirmed by the fact that among the Euahlayi, looking at the moon is\nforbidden to all mothers and children, no matter what their totems may\nbe (L. Parker, _The Euahlayi_, p. 53).\n\n[387] See Bk. III, ch. ii, \u00a7 2.\n\n[388] Perhaps there is no religion which makes man an exclusively\nprofane being. For the Christian, the soul which each of us has within\nhim and which constitutes the very essence of our being, has something\nsacred about it. We shall see that this conception of the soul is as old\nas religious thought itself. The place of man in the hierarchy of sacred\nthings is more or less elevated.\n\n[389] _Nat. Tr._, p. 202.\n\n[390] Taplin, _The Narrinyeri_, pp. 59-61.\n\n[391] Among certain clans of the Warramunga, for example (_Nor. Tr._, p.\n162).\n\n[392] Among the Urabunna (_Nor. Tr._, p. 147). Even when they tell us\nthat the first beings were men, these are really only semi-human, and\nhave an animal nature at the same time. This is the case with certain\nUnmatjera (_ibid._, pp. 153-154). Here we find ways of thought whose\nconfusion disconcerts us, but which must be accepted as they are. We\nwould denature them if we tried to introduce a clarity that is foreign\nto them (cf. _Nat. Tr._, p. 119).\n\n[393] Among the Arunta (_Nat. Tr._, pp. 388 ff.); and among certain\nUnmatjera (_Nor. Tr._, p. 153).\n\n[394] _Nat. Tr._, p. 389. Cf. Strehlow, I, pp. 2-7.\n\n[395] _Nat. Tr._, p. 389; Strehlow, I, pp. 2 ff. Undoubtedly there is an\necho of the initiation rites in this mythical theme. The initiation also\nhas the object of making the young man into a complete man, and on the\nother hand, it also implies actual surgical operations (circumcision,\nsub-incision, the extraction of teeth, etc.). The processes which served\nto form the first men would naturally be conceived on the same model.\n\n[396] This the case with the nine clans of the Moqui (Schoolcraft,\n_Indian Tribes_, IV, p. 86), the Crain clan among the Ojibway (Morgan,\n_Ancient Society_, p. 180), and the Nootka clans (Boas, _VIth Rep. on\nthe N.W. Tribes of Canada_, p. 43), etc.\n\n[397] It is thus that the Turtle clan of the Iroquois took form. A group\nof turtles had been forced to leave the lake where they dwelt and seek\nanother home. One of them, which was larger than the others, stood this\nexercise very badly owing to the heat. It made such violent efforts that\nit got out of its shell. The process of transformation, being once\ncommenced, went on by itself and the turtle finally became a man who was\nthe ancestor of the clan (Erminnie A. Smith, _The Myths of the Iroquois,\nIInd Report_, p. 77). The Crab clan of the Choctaw was formed in a\nsimilar manner. Some men surprised a certain number of crabs that lived\nin the neighbourhood, took them home with them, taught them to talk and\nto walk, and finally adopted them into their society (Catlin, _North\nAmerican Indians_, II, p. 128).\n\n[398] For example, here is a legend of the Tsimshian. In the course of a\nhunt, an Indian met a black bear which took him to its home, and taught\nhim to catch salmon and build canoes. The man stayed with the bear for\ntwo years, and then returned to his native village. But the people were\nafraid of him, because he was just like a bear. He could not talk or eat\nanything except raw food. Then he was rubbed with magic herbs and\ngradually regained his original form. After that, whenever he was in\ntrouble, he called upon his bear friends, who came to aid him. He built\na house and painted a bear on the foundation. His sister made a blanket\nfor the dance, upon which a bear was designed. That is why the\ndescendants of this sister had the bear as their emblem (Boas,\n_Kwakiutl_, p. 323. Cf. _Vth Rep. on the N.W. Tribes of Canada_, pp. 23,\n29 ff.; Hill Tout, _Report on the Ethnology of the Statlumh of British\nColumbia_, in _J.A.I._, 1905, XXXV, p. 150).\n\nThus we see the inconveniences in making this mystical relationship\nbetween the man and the animal the distinctive characteristic of\ntotemism, as M. Van Gennep proposes (_Tot\u00e9misme et m\u00e9thode comparative_,\nin _Revue de l'histoire des religions_, Vol. LVIII, July, 1908, p. 55).\nThis relationship is a mythical representation of otherwise profound\nfacts; but it may be omitted without causing the disappearance of the\nessential traits of totemism. Undoubtedly there are always close bonds\nbetween the people of the clan and the totemic animal, but these are not\nnecessarily bonds of blood-relationship, though they are frequently\nconceived in this form.\n\n[399] There are also some Tlinkit myths in which the relationship of\ndescent between the man and the animal is still more carefully stated.\nIt is said that the clan is descended from a mixed union, if we may so\nspeak, that is to say, one where either the husband or the wife was an\nanimal of the species whose name the clan bears (see Swanton, _Social\nCondition, Beliefs, etc., of the Tlinkit Indians_, _XXVIth Rep._, pp.\n415-418).\n\n[400] _Nat. Tr._, p. 284.\n\n[401] _Ibid._, p. 179.\n\n[402] See Bk. III, ch. ii. Cf. _Nat. Tr._, pp. 184, 201.\n\n[403] _Ibid._, pp. 204, 262, 284.\n\n[404] Among the Dieri and the Parnkalla. See Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp.\n658, 661, 668, 669-671.\n\n[405] Among the Warramunga, the blood from the circumcision is drunk by\nthe mother (_Nor. Tr._, p. 352). Among the Binbinga, the blood on the\nknife which was used in the sub-incision must be licked off by the\ninitiate (_ibid._, p. 368). In general, the blood coming from the\ngenital organs is regarded as especially sacred (_Nat. Tr._, p. 464;\n_Nor. Tr._, p. 598).\n\n[406] _Nat. Tr._, p. 268.\n\n[407] _Ibid._, pp. 144, 568.\n\n[408] _Ibid._, pp. 442, 464. This myth is quite common in Australia.\n\n[409] _Nat. Tr._, p. 627.\n\n[410] _Ibid._, p. 466.\n\n[411] _Ibid._ It is believed that if all these formalities are not\nrigorously observed, grave calamities will fall upon the individual.\n\n[412] _Nat. Tr._, p. 538; _Nor. Tr._, p. 604.\n\n[413] After the foreskin has been detached by circumcision, it is\nsometimes hidden, just like the blood; it has special virtues; for\nexample, it assures the fecundity of certain animal and vegetable\nspecies (_Nor. Tr._, pp. 353 f.). The whiskers are mixed with the hair,\nand treated as such (_ibid._, pp. 604, 544). They also play a part in\nthe myths (_ibid._, p. 158). As for the fat, its sacred character is\nshown by the use made of it in certain funeral rites.\n\n[414] This is not saying that the woman is absolutely profane. In the\nmyths, at least among the Arunta, she plays a religious r\u00f4le much more\nimportant than she does in reality (_Nat. Tr._, pp. 195 f.). Even now\nshe takes part in certain initiation rites. Finally, her blood has\nreligious virtues (see _Nat. Tr._, p. 464; cf. _La prohibition de\nl'inceste et ses origines_, _Ann\u00e9e Sociol._, I, pp. 41 ff.).\n\nIt is upon this complex situation of the woman that the exogamic\nrestrictions depend. We do not speak of them here because they concern\nthe problem of domestic and matrimonial organization more directly than\nthe present one.\n\n[415] _Nat. Tr._, p. 460.\n\n[416] Among the Wakelbura, according to Howitt, p. 146; among the\nBechuana, according to Casalis, _Basoutos_, p. 221.\n\n[417] Among the Buandik and Kurnai (Howitt, _ibid._); among the Arunta\n(Strehlow, II, p. 58).\n\n[418] Howitt, _ibid._\n\n[419] In the Tully River district, says Roth (_Superstition, Magic and\nMedicine_, in _North Queensland Ethnography_, No. 5, \u00a7 74), as an\nindividual goes to sleep or gets up in the morning, he pronounces in a\nrather low voice the name of the animal after which he is named himself.\nThe purpose of this practice is to make the man clever or lucky in the\nhunt, or be forewarned of the dangers to which he may be exposed from\nthis animal. For example, a man who has a species of serpent as his\ntotem is protected from bites if this invocation has been made\nregularly.\n\n[420] Taplin, _Narrinyeri_, p. 64; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 147; Roth,\n_loc. cit._\n\n[421] Strehlow, II, p. 58.\n\n[422] Howitt, p. 148.\n\n[423] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 159-160.\n\n[424] _Ibid._\n\n[425] _Ibid._, p. 225; _Nat. Tr._, pp. 202, 203.\n\n[426] A. L. P. Cameron, _On Two Queensland Tribes_, in _Science of Man,\nAustralasian Anthropological Journal_, 1904, VII, 28, col. I.\n\n[427] _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, p. 170.\n\n[428] _Notes on some Australian Tribes_, _J.A.I._, XIII, p. 300.\n\n[429] In Curr, _Australian Race_, III, p. 45; Brough Smyth, _The\nAborigines of Victoria_, I, p. 91; Fison and Howitt, _Kamilaroi and\nKurnai_, p. 168.\n\n[430] Durkheim and Mauss, _De quelques formes primitives de\nclassification_, in _Ann\u00e9e Sociol._, VI, pp. 1 ff.\n\n[431] Curr, III, p. 461.\n\n[432] Curr and Fison were both informed by the same person, D. S.\nStewart.\n\n[433] Mathews, _Aboriginal Tribes of N.S. Wales and Victoria_, in\n_Journal and Proceedings of the Royal Society of N.S. Wales_, XXXVIII,\npp. 287 f.; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 121.\n\n[434] The feminine form of the names given by Mathews is Gurogigurk and\nGamatykurk. These are the forms which Howitt reproduces, with a slightly\ndifferent orthography. The names are also equivalent to those used by\nthe Mount Gambier tribe (Kumite and Kroki).\n\n[435] The native name of this clan is Dy\u00e0lup, which Mathews does not\ntranslate. This word appears to be identical with Jallup, by which\nHowitt designates a sub-clan of the same tribe, and which he translates\n\"mussel.\" That is why we think we can hazard this translation.\n\n[436] This is the translation of Howitt; Mathews renders the word\nWartwurt, \"heat of the midday sun.\"\n\n[437] The tables of Mathews and Howitt disagree on many important\npoints. It even seems that clans attributed by Howitt to the Kroki\nphratry are given to the Gamutch phratry by Mathews, and inversely. This\nproves the great difficulties that these observations present. But these\ndifferences are without interest for our present question.\n\n[438] Mrs. Langloh Parker, _The Euahlayi Tribe_, pp. 12 ff.\n\n[439] The facts will be found below.\n\n[440] Carr, III, p. 27. Cf. Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 112. We are merely\nmentioning the most characteristic facts. For details, one may refer to\nthe memoir already mentioned on _Les classifications primitives_.\n\n[441] _Ibid._, pp. 34 ff.\n\n[442] Swanton, _The Haida_, pp. 13-14, 17, 22.\n\n[443] This is especially clear among the Haida. Swanton says that with\nthem every animal has two aspects. First, it is an ordinary animal to be\nhunted and eaten; but it is also a supernatural being in the animal's\nform, upon which men depend. The mythical beings corresponding to cosmic\nphenomena have the same ambiguity (Swanton, _ibid._, 16, 14, 25).\n\n[444] See above, p. 142. This is the case among the Gournditch-mara\n(Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 124), in the tribes studied by Cameron near the\nDead Lake, and among the Wotjobaluk (_ibid._, pp. 125, 250).\n\n[445] J. Mathews, _Two Representative Tribes_, p. 139; Thomas, _Kinship\nand Marriage_, pp. 53 f.\n\n[446] Among the Osage, for example (see Dorsey, _Siouan Sociology_, in\n_XVth Rep._, pp. 233 ff.).\n\n[447] At Mabuiag, an island in Torr\u00e8s' Strait (Haddon, _Head Hunters_,\np. 132), the same opposition is found between the two phratries of the\nArunta: one includes the men of a water totem, the other those of earth\n(Strehlow, I, p. 6).\n\n[448] Among the Iroquois there is a sort of tournament between the two\nphratries (Morgan, _Ancient Society_, p. 94). Among the Haida, says\nSwanton, the members of the two phratries of the Eagle and the Crow \"are\nfrequently considered as avowed enemies. Husband and wife (who must be\nof different phratries) do not hesitate to betray each other\" (_The\nHaida_, p. 62). In Australia this hostility is carried into the myths.\nThe two animals serving the phratries as totems are frequently\nrepresented as in a perpetual war against each other (see J. Mathews,\n_Eaglehawk and Crow, a study of Australian Aborigines_, pp. 14 ff.). In\ngames, each phratry is the natural rival of the other (Howitt, _Nat.\nTr._, p. 770).\n\n[449] So Thomas has wrongly urged against our theory of the origin of\nthe phratries its inability to explain their opposition (_Kinship and\nMarriage_, p. 69). We do not believe that it is necessary to connect\nthis opposition to that of the profane and the sacred (see Hertz, _La\npr\u00e9\u00e9minence de la main droite_, in the _Revue Philosophique_, Dec.,\n1909, p. 559). The things of one phratry are not profane for the other;\nboth are a part of the same religious system (see below, p. 155).\n\n[450] For example, the clan of the Tea-tree includes the grasses, and\nconsequently herbivorous animals (see _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, p. 169).\nThis is undoubtedly the explanation of a particularity of the totemic\nemblems of North America pointed out by Boas. \"Among the Tlinkit,\" he\nsays, \"and all the other tribes of the coast, the emblem of a group\nincludes the animals serving as food to the one whose name the group\nbears\" (_Fifth Rep. of the Committee, etc., British Association for the\nAdvancement of Science_, p. 25).\n\n[451] Thus, among the Arunta, frogs are connected with the totem of the\ngum-tree, because they are frequently found in the cavities of this\ntree; water is related to the water-hen; with the kangaroo is associated\na sort of parrot frequently seen flying about this animal (Spencer and\nGillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 146-147, 448).\n\n[452] One of the signs of this primitive lack of distinction is that\nterritorial bases are sometimes assigned to the classes just as to the\nsocial divisions with which they were at first confounded. Thus, among\nthe Wotjobaluk in Australia and the Zu\u00f1i in America, things are ideally\ndistributed among the different regions of space, just as the clans are.\nNow this regional distribution of things and that of the clans coincide\n(see _De quelques formes primitives de classification_, pp. 34 ff.).\nClassifications keep something of this special character even among\nrelatively advanced peoples, as for example, in China (_ibid._, pp. 55\nff.).\n\n[453] Bridgmann, _in_ Brough Smyth, _The Aborigines of Victoria_, I, p.\n91.\n\n[454] Fison and Howitt, _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, p. 168; Howitt, _Further\nNotes on the Australian Class Systems, J.A.I._, XVIII, p. 60.\n\n[455] Curr, III, p. 461. This is about the Mount Gambier tribe.\n\n[456] Howitt, _On some Australian Beliefs, J.A.I._, XIII, p. 191, n. 1.\n\n[457] Howitt, _Notes on Australian Message Sticks, J.A.I._, XVIII, p.\n326; _Further Notes, J.A.I._, XVIII, p. 61, n. 3.\n\n[458] Curr, III, p. 28.\n\n[459] Mathews, _Ethnological Notes on the Aboriginal Tribes of N.S.\nWales and Victoria_, in _Journ. and Proceed. of the Royal Soc. of N.S.\nWales_, XXXVIII, p. 294.\n\n[460] Cf. Curr, III, p. 461; and Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 146. The\nexpressions _Tooman_ and _Wingo_ are applied to the one and the other.\n\n[461] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 123.\n\n[462] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 447 ff.; cf. Strehlow, III,\npp. xii ff.\n\n[463] Fison and Howitt, _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, p. 169.\n\n[464] Curr, III, p. 462.\n\n[465] Mrs. Parker, _The Euahlayi Tribe_, p. 20.\n\n[466] Spencer and Gillen, _Nor. Tr._, p. 151; _Nat. Tr._, p. 447;\nStrehlow, III, p. xii.\n\n[467] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 449.\n\n[468] However, there are certain tribes in Queensland where the things\nthus attributed to a social group are not forbidden for the members of\nthe group: this is notably the case with the Wakelbura. It is to be\nremembered that in this society, it is the matrimonial classes that\nserve as the framework of the classification (see above, p. 144). Not\nonly are the men of one class allowed to eat the animals attributed to\nthis class, but _they may eat no others_. All other food is forbidden\nthem (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 113; Curr, III, p. 27).\n\nBut we must not conclude from this that these animals are considered\nprofane. In fact, it should be noticed that the individual not only has\nthe privilege of eating them, but that he is compelled to do so, for he\ncannot nourish himself otherwise. Now the imperative nature of this rule\nis a sure sign that we are in the presence of things having a religious\nnature, only this has given rise to a positive obligation rather than\nthe negative one known as an interdiction. Perhaps it is not quite\nimpossible to see how this deviation came about. We have seen above (p.\n140) that every individual is thought to have a sort of property-right\nover his totem and consequently over the things dependent upon it.\nPerhaps, under the influence of special circumstances, this aspect of\nthe totemic relation was developed, and they naturally came to believe\nthat only the members of the clan had the right of disposing of their\ntotem and all that is connected with it, and that others, on the\ncontrary, did not have the right of touching it. Under these\ncircumstances, a tribe could nourish itself only on the food attributed\nto it.\n\n[469] Mrs. Parker uses the expression \"multiplex totems.\"\n\n[470] As examples, see the Euahlayi tribe in Mrs. Parker's book (pp. 15\nff.) and the Wotjobaluk (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 121 ff.; cf. the\nabove-mentioned article of Mathews).\n\n[471] See the examples in Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 122.\n\n[472] See our _De quelques formes primitives de classification_, p. 28,\nn. 2.\n\n[473] Strehlow, II, pp. 61-72.\n\n[474] _Nat. Tr._, p. 112.\n\n[475] See especially _Nat. Tr._, p. 447, and _Nor. Tr._, p. 151.\n\n[476] Strehlow, III, pp. xiii-xviii. It sometimes happens that the same\nsecondary totems are attached to two or three principal totems at the\nsame time. This is undoubtedly because Strehlow has not been able to\nestablish with certainty which is the principal totem.\n\nTwo interesting facts which appear from this table confirm certain\npropositions which we had already formulated. First, the principal\ntotems are nearly all animals, with but rare exceptions. Also, stars are\nalways only secondary or associated totems. This is another proof that\nthese latter were only slowly advanced to the rank of totems and that at\nfirst the principal totems were preferably chosen from the animal\nkingdom.\n\n[477] According to the myth, the associate totems served as food to the\nmen of the principal totem in the fabulous times, or, when these are\ntrees, they gave their shade (Strehlow, III, p. xii; Spencer and Gillen,\n_Nat. Tr._, p. 403). The fact that the associate totems are believed to\nhave been eaten does not imply that they are considered profane; for in\nthe mythical period, the principal totem itself was consumed by the\nancestors, the founders of the clan, according to the belief.\n\n[478] Thus in the Wild Cat clan, the designs carved on the churinga\nrepresent the Hakea tree, which is a distinct totem to-day (Spencer and\nGillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 147 f.). Strehlow (III, p. xii, n. 4) says that\nthis is frequent.\n\n[479] Spencer and Gillen, _Nor. Tr._, p. 182; _Nat. Tr._, pp. 151 and\n297.\n\n[480] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 151 and 158.\n\n[481] _Ibid._, pp. 448 and 449.\n\n[482] Thus Spencer and Gillen speak of a pigeon called Inturrita,\nsometimes as a principal totem (_Nat. Tr._, p. 410), sometimes as an\nassociate totem (_ibid._, p. 448).\n\n[483] Howitt, _Further Notes_, pp. 63-64.\n\n[484] Thus it comes about that the clan has frequently been confounded\nwith the tribe. This confusion, which frequently introduces trouble into\nthe writings of ethnologists, has been made especially by Curr (I, pp.\n61 ff.).\n\n[485] This is the case especially among the Warramunga (_Nor. Tr._, p.\n298).\n\n[486] See, for example, Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 380 and\n_passim_.\n\n[487] One might even ask if tribal totems do not exist sometimes. Thus,\namong the Arunta, there is an animal, the wild cat, which serves as\ntotem to a particular clan, but which is forbidden for the whole tribe;\neven the people of other clans can eat it only very moderately (_Nat.\nTr._, p. 168). But we believe that it would be an abuse to speak of a\ntribal totem in this case, for it does not follow from the fact that the\nfree consumption of an animal is forbidden that this is a totem. Other\ncauses can also give rise to an interdiction. The religious unity of the\ntribe is undoubtedly real, but this is affirmed with the aid of other\nsymbols. We shall show what these are below (Bk. II, ch. ix).\n\n[488] The totems belong to the tribe in the sense that this is\ninterested as a body in the cult which each clan owes to its totem.\n\n[489] Frazer has made a very complete collection of the texts relative\nto individual totemism in North America (_Totemism and Exogamy_, III,\npp. 370-456).\n\n[490] For example, among the Hurons, the Iroquois, the Algonquins\n(Charlevoix, _Histoire de la Nouvelle France_, VI, pp. 67-70; Sagard,\n_Le grand voyage au pays des Hurons_, p. 160), or among the Thompson\nIndians (Teit, _The Thompson Indians of British Columbia_, p. 355).\n\n[491] This is the case of the Yuin (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 133), the\nKurnai (_ibid._, p. 135), several tribes of Queensland (Roth,\n_Superstition, Magic and Medicine, North Queensland Ethnography_,\nBulletin No. 5, p. 19; Haddon, _Head-Hunters_, p. 193); among the\nDelaware (Heckewelder, _An Account of the History ... of the Indian\nNations_, p. 238), among the Thompson Indians (Teit, _op. cit._, p.\n355), and among the Salish Statlumh (Hill Tout, _Rep. of the Ethnol. of\nthe Statlumh_, _J.A.I._, XXXV. pp. 147 ff.).\n\n[492] Hill Tout, _loc. cit._, p. 154.\n\n[493] Catlin, _Manners and Customs_, etc., London, 1876, I, p. 36.\n\n[494] _Lettres \u00e9difiantes et curieuses_, new edition, VI, pp. 172 ff.\n\n[495] Charlevoix, _op. cit._, VI, p. 69.\n\n[496] Dorsey, _Siouan Cults, XIth Rep._, p. 443.\n\n[497] Boas, _Kwakiutl_, p. 323.\n\n[498] Hill Tout, _loc. cit._, p. 154.\n\n[499] Boas, _Kwakiutl_, p. 323.\n\n[500] Miss Fletcher, _The Import of the Totem, a Study from the Omaha\nTribe_ (_Smithsonian Rep. for 1897_, p. 583).--Similar facts will be\nfound in Teit, _op. cit._, pp. 354, 356; Peter Jones, _History of the\nOjibway Indians_, p. 87.\n\n[501] This is the case, for example, with the dog among the Salish\nStatlumh, owing to the condition of servitude in which it lives (Hill\nTout, _loc. cit._, p. 153).\n\n[502] Langloh Parker, _Euahlayi_, p. 21.\n\n[503] \"The spirit of a man,\" says Mrs. Parker (_ibid._), \"is in his\nYuanbeai (his individual totem), and his Yuanbeai is in him.\"\n\n[504] Langloh Parker, _Euahlayi_, p. 20. It is the same among certain\nSalish (Hill Tout, _Ethn. Rep. on the Stseelis and Skaulits Tribes_,\n_J.A.I._, XXXIV, p. 324). The fact is quite general among the Indians of\nCentral America (Brinton, _Nagualism, a Study in Native American\nFolklore and History_, in _Proceed. of the Am. Philos. Soc._, XXXIII, p.\n32).\n\n[505] Parker, _ibid._; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 147; Dorsey, _Siouan\nCults, XIth Rep._, p. 443. Frazer has made a collection of the American\ncases and established the generality of the interdiction (_Totemism and\nExogamy_, III, p. 450). It is true that in America, as we have seen, the\nindividual must kill the animal whose skin serves to make what\nethnologists call his medicine-sack. But this usage has been observed in\nfive tribes only; it is probably a late and altered form of the\ninstitution.\n\n[506] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 135, 147, 387; _Australian Medicine Men_,\n_J.A.I._, XVI, p. 34; Teit, _The Shuswap_, p. 607.\n\n[507] Meyer, _Manners and Customs of the Aborigines of the Encounter Bay\nTribe_, in Woods, p. 197.\n\n[508] Boas, _VIth Rep. on the North-West Tribes of Canada_, p. 93; Teit,\n_The Thompson Indians_, p. 336; Boas, _Kwakiutl_, p. 394.\n\n[509] Facts will be found in Hill Tout, _Rep. of the Ethnol. of the\nStatlumh_, _J.A.I._, XXXV, pp. 144, 145. Cf. Langloh Parker, _op. cit._,\np. 29.\n\n[510] According to information given by Howitt in a personal letter to\nFrazer (_Totemism and Exogamy_, I, p. 495, and n. 2).\n\n[511] Hill Tout, _Ethnol. Rep. on the Stseelis and Skaulits Tribes_,\n_J.A.I._, XXXIV, p. 324.\n\n[512] Howitt, _Australian Medicine Men_, _J.A.I._, XVI, p. 34; Lafitau,\n_M[oe]urs des Sauvages Am\u00e9riquains_, I, p. 370; Charlevoix, _Histoire de\nla Nouvelle France_, VI, p. 68. It is the same with the _atai_ and\n_tamaniu_ in Mota (Codrington, _The Melanesians_, pp. 250 f.).\n\n[513] Thus the line of demarcation between the animal protectors and\nfetishes, which Frazer has attempted to establish, does not exist.\nAccording to him, fetishism commences when the protector is an\nindividual object and not a class (_Totemism_, p. 56); but it frequently\nhappens in Australia that a determined animal takes this part (see\nHowitt, _Australian Medicine Men_, _J.A.I._, XVI, p. 34). The truth is\nthat the ideas of fetish and fetishism do not correspond to any definite\nthing.\n\n[514] Brinton, _Nagualism_, in _Proceed. Amer. Philos. Soc._, XXXIII, p.\n32.\n\n[515] Charlevoix, VI, p. 67.\n\n[516] Hill Tout, _Rep. on the Ethnol. of the Statlumh of British\nColumbia_, _J.A.I._, XXXV, p. 142.\n\n[517] Hill Tout, _Ethnol. Rep. on the Stseelis and Skaulits Tribes_,\n_J.A.I._, XXXIV, pp. 311 ff.\n\n[518] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 133.\n\n[519] Langloh Parker, _op. cit._, p. 20.\n\n[520] J. W. Powell, _An American View of Totemism_, in _Man_, 1902, No.\n84; Tylor, _ibid._, No. 1; Andrew Lang has expressed analogous ideas in\n_Social Origins_, pp. 133-135. Also Frazer himself, turning from his\nformer opinion, now thinks that until we are better acquainted with the\nrelations existing between collective totems and \"guardian spirits,\" it\nwould be better to designate them by different names (_Totemism and\nExogamy_, III, p. 456).\n\n[521] This is the case in Australia among the Yuin (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._,\np. 81), and the Narrinyeri (Meyer, _Manners and Customs of the\nAborigines of the Encounter Bay Tribe_, in Woods, pp. 197 ff.).\n\n[522] \"The totem resembles the patron of the individual no more than an\nescutcheon resembles the image of a saint,\" says Tylor (_op. cit._, p.\n2). Likewise, if Frazer has taken up the theory of Tylor, it is because\nhe refuses all religious character to the totem of the clan (_Totemism\nand Exogamy_, III, p. 452).\n\n[523] See below, chapter ix of this book.\n\n[524] Yet according to one passage in Mathews, the individual totem is\nhereditary among the Wotjobaluk. \"Each individual,\" he says, \"claims\nsome animal, plant or inanimate object as his special and personal\ntotem, which he inherits from his mother\" (_Journ. and Proc. of the Roy.\nSoc. of N.S. Wales_, XXXVIII, p. 291). But it is evident that if all the\nchildren in the same family had the personal totem of their mother,\nneither they nor she would really have personal totems at all. Mathews\nprobably means to say that each individual chooses his individual totem\nfrom the list of things attributed to the clan of his mother. In fact,\nwe shall see that each clan has its individual totems which are its\nexclusive property; the members of the other clans cannot make use of\nthem. In this sense, birth determines the personal totem to a certain\nextent, but to a certain extent only.\n\n[525] Heckewelder, _An Account of the History, Manners and Customs of\nthe Indian Nations who once inhabited Pennsylvania, in Transactions of\nthe Historical and Literary Committee of the American Philosophical\nSociety_, I, p. 238.\n\n[526] See Dorsey, _Siouan Cults, XIth Rep._, p. 507; Catlin, _op. cit._,\nI, p. 37; Miss Fletcher, _The Import of the Totem, in Smithsonian Rep._\nfor 1897, p. 580; Teit, _The Thompson Indians_, pp. 317-320; Hill Tout,\n_J.A.I._, XXXV, p. 144.\n\n[527] But some examples are found. The Kurnai magicians see their\npersonal totems revealed to them in dreams (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 387;\n_On Australian Medicine Men_, in _J.A.I._, XVI, p. 34). The men of Cape\nBedford believe that when an old man dreams of something during the\nnight, this thing is the personal totem of the first person he meets the\nnext day (W. E. Roth, _Superstition, Magic and Medicine_, p. 19). But it\nis probable that only supplementary and accessory totems are acquired in\nthis way; for in this same tribe another process is used at the moment\nof initiation, as we said in the text.\n\n[528] In certain tribes of which Roth speaks (_ibid._); also in certain\ntribes near to Maryborough (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 147).\n\n[529] Among the Wiradjuri (Howitt, Nat. Tr., p. 406; _On Australian\nMedicine Men_, in _J.A.I._, XVI, p. 50).\n\n[530] Roth, _loc. cit._\n\n[531] Haddon, _Head Hunters_, pp. 193 ff.\n\n[532] Among the Wiradjuri (same references as above, n. 4).\n\n[533] In general, it seems as though these transmissions from father to\nson never take place except when the father is a shaman or a magician.\nThis is also the case among the Thompson Indians (Teit, _The Thompson\nIndians_, p. 320) and the Wiradjuri, of whom we just spoke.\n\n[534] Hill Tout (_J.A.I._, XXXV, pp. 146 f.). The essential rite is the\nblowing upon the skin: if this were not done correctly, the transmission\nwould not take place. As we shall presently see, the breath is the soul.\nWhen both breathe upon the skin of the animal, the magician and the\nrecipient each exhale a part of their souls, which are thus fused, while\npartaking at the same time of the nature of the animal, who also takes\npart in the ceremony in the form of its symbol.\n\n[535] N. W. Thomas, _Further Remarks on Mr. Hill Tout's Views on\nTotemism_, in _Man_, 1904, p. 85.\n\n[536] Langloh Parker, _op. cit._, pp. 20, 29.\n\n[537] Hill Tout, in _J.A.I._, XXXV, pp. 143 and 146; _ibid._, XXXIV, p.\n324.\n\n[538] Parker, _op. cit._, p. 30; Teit, _The Thompson Indians_, p. 320;\nHill Tout, in _J.A.I._, XXXV, p. 144.\n\n[539] Charlevoix, VI, p. 69.\n\n[540] Hill Tout, _ibid._, p. 145.\n\n[541] Thus at the birth of a child, a tree is planted which is cared for\npiously; for it is believed that its fate and the child's are united.\nFrazer, in his _Golden Bough_, gives a number of customs and beliefs\ntranslating this same idea in different ways. (Cf. Hartland, _Legend of\nPerseus_, II, pp. 1-55.)\n\n[542] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 148 ff.; Fison and Howitt, _Kamilaroi and\nKurnai_, pp. 194, 201 ff.; Dawson, _Australian Aborigines_, p. 52.\nPetrie also mentions it in Queensland (_Tom Petrie's Reminiscences of\nEarly Queensland_, pp. 62 and 118).\n\n[543] _Journ. and Proc. of the Roy. Soc. of N.S. Wales_, XXXVIII, p.\n339. Must we see a trace of sexual totemism in the following custom of\nthe Warramunga? When a dead person is buried, a bone of the arm is kept.\nIf it is a woman, the feathers of an emu are added to the bark in which\nit is wrapped up; if it is a man, the feathers of an owl (_Nor. Tr._, p.\n169).\n\n[544] Some cases are cited where each sexual group has two sexual\ntotems; thus the Wurunjerri unite the sexual totems of the Kurnai (the\nemu-wren and the linnet) to those of the Wotjobaluk (the bat and the\n_nightjar_ owl). See Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 150.\n\n[545] _Totemism_, p. 51.\n\n[546] _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, p. 215.\n\n[547] Threlkeld, quoted by Mathews, _loc. cit._, p. 339.\n\n[548] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 148, 151.\n\n[549] _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, pp. 200-203; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 149;\nPetrie, _op. cit._, p. 62. Among the Kurnai, these bloody battles\nfrequently terminate in marriages of which they are, as it were, a sort\nof ritual precursor. Sometimes they are merely plays (Petrie, _loc.\ncit._).\n\n[550] On this point, see our study on _La Prohibition de l'inceste et\nses origines_, in the _Ann\u00e9e Sociologique_, I, pp. 44 ff.\n\n[551] However, as we shall presently see (ch. ix), there is a connection\nbetween the sexual totems and the great gods.\n\n[552] _Primitive Culture_, I, p. 402; II, p. 237; _Remarks on Totemism,\nwith especial reference to some modern theories concerning it_, in\n_J.A.I._, XXVIII, and I, New Series, p. 138.\n\n[553] _Het Animisme bij den Volken van den indischen Archipel_, pp.\n69-75.\n\n[554] Tylor, _Primitive Culture_, II, p. 6.\n\n[555] Tylor, _ibid._, II, pp. 6-18.\n\n[556] G. McCall Theal, _Records of South-Eastern Africa_, VII. We are\nacquainted with this work only through an article by Frazer, _South\nAfrican Totemism_, published in _Man_, 1901, No. III.\n\n[557] Codrington, _The Melanesians_, pp. 32 f., and a personal letter by\nthe same author cited by Tylor in _J.A.I._, XXVIII, p. 147.\n\n[558] This is practically the solution adopted by Wundt (_Mythus und\nReligion_, II, p. 269).\n\n[559] It is true that according to Tylor's theory, a clan is only an\nenlarged family; therefore whatever may be said of one of these groups\nis, in his theory, applicable to the other (_J.A.I._, XXVIII, p. 157).\nBut this conception is exceedingly contestable; only the clan\npresupposes a totem, which has its whole meaning only in and through the\nclan.\n\n[560] For this same conception, see A. Lang, _Social Origins_, p. 150.\n\n[561] See above, p. 63.\n\n[562] _Primitive Culture_, II, p. 17.\n\n[563] Wundt, who has revived the theory of Tylor in its essential lines,\nhas tried to explain this mysterious relationship of the man and the\nanimal in a different way: it was the sight of the corpse in\ndecomposition which suggested the idea. When they saw worms coming out\nof the body, they thought that the soul was incarnate in them and\nescaped with them. Worms, and by extension, reptiles (snakes, lizards,\netc.), were therefore the first animals to serve as receptacles for the\nsouls of the dead, and consequently they were also the first to be\nvenerated and to play the r\u00f4le of totems. It was only subsequently that\nother animals and plants and even inanimate objects were elevated to the\nsame dignity. But this hypothesis does not have even the shadow of a\nproof. Wundt affirms (_Mythus und Religion_, II, p. 296) that reptiles\nare much more common totems than other animals; from this, he concludes\nthat they are the most primitive. But we cannot see what justifies this\nassertion, in the support of which the author cites no facts. The lists\nof totems gathered either in Australia or in America do not show that\nany special species of animal has played a preponderating r\u00f4le. Totems\nvary from one region to another with the flora and fauna. Moreover, if\nthe circle of possible totems was so closely limited at first, we cannot\nsee how totemism was able to satisfy the fundamental principle which\nsays that the two clans or sub-clans of a tribe must have two different\ntotems.\n\n[564] \"Sometimes men adore certain animals,\" says Tylor, \"because they\nregard them as the reincarnation of the divine souls of the ancestors;\nthis belief is a sort of bridge between the cult rendered to shades and\nthat rendered to animals\" (_Primitive Culture_, II, p. 805, cf. 309, _in\nfine_). Likewise, Wundt presents totemism as a section of animalism (II,\np. 234).\n\n[565] See above, p. 139.\n\n[566] _Introduction to the History of Religions_, pp. 97 ff.\n\n[567] See above, p. 28.\n\n[568] Jevons recognizes this himself, saying, \"It is to be presumed that\nin the choice of an ally he would prefer ... the kind or species which\npossessed the greatest power\" (p. 101).\n\n[569] 2nd Edition, III, pp. 416 ff.; see especially p. 419, n. 5. In\nmore recent articles, to be analysed below, Frazer exposes a different\ntheory, but one which does not, in his opinion, completely exclude the\none in the _Golden Bough_.\n\n[570] _The Origin of the Totemism of the Aborigines of British\nColumbia_, in _Proc. and Transact. of the Roy. Soc. of Canada_, 2nd\nseries, VII, \u00a7 2, pp. 3 ff. Also, _Report on the Ethnology of the\nStatlumh_, _J.A.I._, XXXV, p. 141. Hill Tout has replies to various\nobjections made to his theory in Vol. IX of the _Transact. of the Roy.\nSoc. of Canada_, pp. 61-99.\n\n[571] Alice C. Fletcher, _The Import of the Totem_, in _Smithsonian\nReport for 1897_, pp. 577-586.\n\n[572] _The Kwakiutl Indians_, pp. 323 ff., 336-338, 393.\n\n[573] _The Development of the Clan System_, in _Amer. Anthrop._, N.S.\nVI, 1904, pp. 477-486.\n\n[574] _J.A.I._, XXXV, p. 142.\n\n[575] _Ibid._, p. 150. Cf. _Vth Rep. on the ... N.W. Tribes of Canada_,\n_B.A.A.S._, p. 24. A myth of this sort has been quoted above.\n\n[576] _J.A.I._, XXXV, p. 147.\n\n[577] _Proc. and Transact., etc._, VII, \u00a7 2, p. 12.\n\n[578] See _The Golden Bough_,[2] III, pp. 351 ff. Wilken had already\npointed out similar facts in _De Simsonsage_, in _De Gids_, 1890; _De\nBetrekking tusschen Menschen-Dieren en Plantenleven_, in _Indische\nGids_, 1884, 1888; _Ueber das Haaropfer_, in _Revue Coloniale\nInternationale_, 1886-1887.\n\n[579] For example, Eylmann in _Die Eingeborenen der Kolonie\nS\u00fcdaustralien_, p. 199.\n\n[580] Mrs. Parker says in connection with the Euahlayi, that if the\nYunbeai does \"confer exceptional force, it also exposes one to\nexceptional dangers, for all that hurts the animal wounds the man\"\n(_Euahlayi_, p. 29).\n\n[581] In a later work (_The Origin of Totemism_, in _The Fortnightly\nReview_, May, 1899, pp. 844-845), Frazer raises this objection himself.\n\"If,\" he says, \"I deposit my soul in a hare, and my brother John (a\nmember of another clan) shoots that hare, roasts and swallows it, what\nbecomes of my soul? To meet this obvious danger it is necessary that\nJohn should know the state of my soul, and that, knowing it, he should,\nwhenever he shoots a hare, take steps to extract and restore to me my\nsoul before he cooks and dines upon the animal.\" Now Frazer believes\nthat he has found this practice in use in Central Australia. Every year,\nin the course of a ceremony which we shall describe presently, when the\nanimals of the new generation arrive at maturity, the first game to be\nkilled is presented to men of that totem, who eat a little of it; and it\nis only after this that the men of the other clans may eat it freely.\nThis, says Frazer, is a way of returning to the former the souls they\nmay have confided to these animals. But, aside from the fact that this\ninterpretation of the fact is wholly arbitrary, it is hard not to find\nthis way of escaping the danger rather peculiar. This ceremony is\nannual; long days may have elapsed since the animal was killed. During\nall this time, what has become of the soul which it sheltered and the\nindividual whose life depended on this soul? But it is superfluous to\ninsist upon all the inconceivable things in this explanation.\n\n[582] Parker, _op. cit._, p. 20; Howitt, _Australian Medicine Men_, in\n_J.A.I._, XVI, pp. 34, 49 f.; Hill Tout, _J.A.I._, XXXV, p. 146.\n\n[583] According to Hill Tout himself, \"The gift or transmission (of a\npersonal totem) can only be made or effected by certain persons, such as\nshamans, or those who possess great mystery power\" (_J.A.I._, p. 146).\nCf. Langloh Parker, _op. cit._, pp. 29-30.\n\n[584] Cf. Hartland, _Totemism and some recent Discoveries_, in\n_Folk-Lore_, XI, pp. 59 ff.\n\n[585] Except perhaps the Kurnai; but even in this tribe, there are\nsexual totems in addition to the personal ones.\n\n[586] Among the Wotjobaluk, the Buandik, the Wiradjuri, the Yuin and the\ntribes around Maryborough (Queensland). See Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp.\n114-147; Mathews, _J. of the R. Soc. of N.S. Wales_, XXXVIII, p. 291.\nCf. Thomas, _Further Notes on Mr. Hill Tout's Views on Totemism_, in\n_Man_, 1904, p. 85.\n\n[587] This is the case with the Euahlayi and the facts of personal\ntotemism cited by Howitt, _Australian Medicine Men_, in _J.A.I._, XVI,\npp. 34, 35, 49-50.\n\n[588] Miss Fletcher, _A Study of the Omaha Tribe_, in _Smithsonian\nReport for 1897_, p. 586; Boas, _The Kwakiutl_, p. 322. Likewise, _Vth\nRep. of the Committee ... of the N.W. Tribes of the Dominion of Canada,\nB.A.A.S._, p. 25; Hill Tout, _J.A.I._, XXXV, p. 148.\n\n[589] The proper names of the _gentes_, says Boas in regard to the\nTlinkit, are derived from their respective totems, each gens having its\nspecial names. The connection between the name and the (collective)\ntotem is not very apparent sometimes, but it always exists (_Vth Rep. of\nthe Committee, etc._, p. 25). The fact that individual forenames are the\nproperty of the clan, and characterize it as surely as the totem, is\nalso found among the Iroquois (Morgan, _Ancient Society_, p. 78), the\nWyandot (Powell, _Wyandot Government_, in _Ist Rep._, p. 59), the\nShawnee, Sauk and Fox (Morgan, _Ancient Society_, pp. 72, 76-77) and the\nOmaha (Dorsey, _Omaha Sociology_, in _IIIrd Rep._, pp. 227 ff.). Now the\nrelation between forenames and personal totems is already known (see\nabove, p. 157).\n\n[590] \"For example,\" says Mathews, \"if you ask a Wartwurt man what totem\nhe is, he will first tell his personal totem, and will probably then\nenumerate those of his clan\" (_Jour. of the Roy. Soc. of N.S. Wales_,\nXXXVIII, p. 291).\n\n[591] _The Beginnings of Religion and Totemism among the Australian\nAborigines_, in _Fortnightly Review_, July, 1905, pp. 162 ff., and\nSept., p. 452. Cf. the same author, _The Origin of Totemism_, _ibid._,\nApril, 1899, p. 648, and May, p. 835. These latter articles, being\nslightly older, differ from the former on one point, but the foundation\nof the theory is not essentially different. Both are reproduced in\n_Totemism and Exogamy_, I, pp. 89-172. In the same sense, see Spencer\nand Gillen, _Some Remarks on Totemism as applied to Australian Tribes_,\nin _J.A.I._, 1899, pp. 275-280, and the remarks of Frazer on the same\nsubject, _ibid._, pp. 281-286.\n\n[592] \"Perhaps we may ... say that it is but one remove from the\noriginal pattern, the absolutely original form of totemism\"\n(_Fortnightly Review_, Sept., 1905. p. 455).\n\n[593] On this point, the testimony of Strehlow (II, p. 52) confirms that\nof Spencer and Gillen. For a contrary opinion, see A. Lang, _The Secret\nof the Totem_, p. 190.\n\n[594] A very similar idea had already been expressed by Haddon in his\n_Address to the Anthropological Section_ (_B.A.A.S._, 1902, pp. 8 ff.).\nHe supposes that at first, each local group had some food which was\nespecially its own. The plant or animal thus serving as the principal\nitem of food became the totem of the group.\n\nAll these explanations naturally imply that the prohibitions against\neating the totemic animal were not primitive, but were even preceded by\na contrary prescription.\n\n[595] _Fortnightly Review_, Sept., 1905, p. 458.\n\n[596] _Fortn. Rev._, May, 1899, p. 835, and July, 1905, pp. 162 ff.\n\n[597] Though considering totemism only a system of magic, Frazer\nrecognizes that the first germs of a real religion are sometimes found\nin it (_Fortn. Rev._, July, 1905, p. 163). On the way in which he thinks\nreligion developed out of magic, see _The Golden Bough_,^2 I, pp. 75-78.\n\n[598] _Sur le totemisme_, in _Ann\u00e9e Soc._, V, pp. 82-121. Cf., on this\nsame question, Hartland, _Presidential Address_, in _Folk-Lore_, XI, p.\n75; A. Lang, _A Theory of Arunta Totemism_, in _Man_, 1904, No. 44;\n_Conceptional Totemism and Exogamy_, _ibid._, 1907, No. 55; _The Secret\nof the Totem_, ch. iv; N. W. Thomas, _Arunta Totemism_, in _Man_, 1904,\nNo. 68; P. W. Schmidt, _Die Stellung der Aranda unter der Australischen\nSt\u00e4mmen_, in _Zeitschrift f\u00fcr Ethnologie_, 1908, pp. 866 ff.\n\n[599] _Die Aranda_, II, pp. 57-58.\n\n[600] Schulze, _loc cit._, pp. 238-239.\n\n[601] In the conclusion of _Totemism and Exogamy_ (IV, pp. 58-59),\nFrazer says, it must be admitted, that there is a totemism still more\nancient than that of the Arunta: it is the one observed by Rivers in the\nBanks Islands (_Totemism in Polynesia and Melanesia_, in _J.A.I._,\nXXXIX, p. 172). Among the Arunta it is the spirit of an ancestor who is\nbelieved to impregnate the mother; in the Banks Islands, it is the\nspirit of an animal or vegetable, as the theory supposes. But as the\nancestral spirits of the Arunta have an animal or vegetable form, the\ndifference is slight. Therefore we have not mentioned it in our\nexposition.\n\n[602] _Social Origins_, London, 1903, especially ch. viii, entitled _The\nOrigin of Totem Names and Beliefs_, and _The Secret of the Totem_,\nLondon, 1905.\n\n[603] In his _Social Origins_ especially, Lang attempts to reconstitute\nby means of conjecture the form which these primitive groups should\nhave; but it seems superfluous to reproduce these hypotheses, which do\nnot affect his theory of totemism.\n\n[604] On this point, Lang approaches the theory of Julius Pickler (see\nPickler and Szomolo, _Der Ursprung des Totemismus. Ein Beitrag zur\nmaterialistirchen Geschichtstheorie_, Berlin, 36 pp. in 8vo). The\ndifference between the two hypotheses is that Pickler attributes a\nhigher importance to the pictorial representation of the name than to\nthe name itself.\n\n[605] _Social Origins_, p. 166.\n\n[606] _The Secret of the Totem_, p. 121; cf. pp. 116, 117.\n\n[607] _The Secret of the Totem_, p. 136.\n\n[608] _J.A.I._, Aug., 1888, pp. 53-54; cf. _Nat. Tr._, pp. 89, 488, 498.\n\n[609] \"With reverence,\" as Lang says (_The Secret of the Totem_, p.\n111).\n\n[610] Lang adds that these taboos are the basis of exogamic practices.\n\n[611] _Ibid._, p. 125.\n\n[612] However, we have not spoken of the theory of Spencer. But this is\nbecause it is only a part of his general theory of the transformation of\nthe ancestor-cult into the nature-cult. As we have described that\nalready, it is not necessary to repeat it.\n\n[613] Except that Lang ascribes another source to the idea of the great\ngods: as we have already said, he believes that this is due to a sort of\nprimitive revelation. But Lang does not make use of this idea in his\nexplanation of totemism.\n\n[614] For example, in a Kwakiutl myth, an ancestral hero pierces the\nhead of an enemy by pointing a finger at him (Boas, _Vth Rep. on the\nNorth. Tribes of Canada_, _B.A.A.S._, 1889, p. 30).\n\n[615] References supporting this assertion will be found on p. 128, n.\n1, and p. 320, n. 1.\n\n[616] See Bk. III, ch. ii.\n\n[617] See, for example, Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 482; Sch\u00fcrmann, _The\nAboriginal Tribes of Port Lincoln_, in Woods, _Nat. Tr. of S.\nAustralia_, p. 231.\n\n[618] Frazer has even taken many facts from Samoa which he presents as\nreally totemic (See _Totemism_, pp. 6, 12-15, 24, etc.). It is true that\nwe have charged Frazer with not being critical enough in the choice of\nhis examples, but so many examples would obviously have been impossible\nif there had not really been important survivals of totemism in Samoa.\n\n[619] See Turner, _Samoa_, p. 21 and ch. iv and v.\n\n[620] Alice Fletcher, _A Study of the Omaha Tribe_, in _Smithsonian\nRep._ for 1897, pp. 582 f.\n\n[621] Dorsey, _Siouan Sociology_, in _XVth Rep._, p. 238.\n\n[622] _Ibid._, p. 221.\n\n[623] Riggs and Dorsey, _Dakota-English Dictionary_, in _Contrib. N.\nAmer. Ethnol._, VII, p. 508. Many observers cited by Dorsey identify the\nword wakan with the words wakanda and wakanta, which are derived from\nit, but which really have a more precise signification.\n\n[624] _XIth Rep._, p. 372, \u00a7 21. Miss Fletcher, while recognizing no\nless clearly the impersonal character of the wakanda, adds nevertheless\nthat a certain anthropomorphism has attached to this conception. But\nthis anthropomorphism concerns the various manifestations of the\nwakanda. Men address the trees or rocks where they think they perceive\nthe wakanda, as if they were personal beings. But the wakanda itself is\nnot personified (_Smithsonian Rep. for 1897_, p. 579).\n\n[625] Riggs, _Tah-Koo Wah-Kon_, pp. 56-57, quoted from Dorsey, _XIth\nRep._, p. 433, \u00a7 95.\n\n[626] _XIth Rep._, p. 380, \u00a7 33.\n\n[627] _Ibid._, p. 381, \u00a7 35.\n\n[628] _Ibid._, p. 376, \u00a7 28; p. 378, \u00a7 30; cf. p. 449, \u00a7 138.\n\n[629] _Ibid._, p. 432, \u00a7 95.\n\n[630] _Ibid._, p. 431, \u00a7 92.\n\n[631] _Ibid._, p. 433, \u00a7 95.\n\n[632] _Orenda and a Definition of Religion_, in _American\nAnthropologist_, 1902, p. 33.\n\n[633] _Ibid._, p. 36.\n\n[634] Tesa, _Studi del Thavenet_, p. 17.\n\n[635] Boas, _Kwakiutl_, p. 695.\n\n[636] Swanton, _Social Condition, etc, of the Tlinkit Indians_, _XXVIth\nRep._, 1905, p. 451, n. 2.\n\n[637] Swanton, _Contributions to the Ethnology of the Haida_, p. 14; cf.\n_Social Condition, etc._, p. 479.\n\n[638] In certain Melanesian societies (Banks Islands, North New\nHebrides) the two exogamic phratries are found which characterize the\nAustralian organization (Codrington, _The Melanesians_, pp. 23 ff.). In\nFlorida, there are regular totems, called _butos_ (_ibid._, p. 31). An\ninteresting discussion of this point will be found in Lang, _Social\nOrigins_, pp. 176 ff. On the same subject, and in the same sense, see W.\nH. R. Rivers, _Totemism in Polynesia and Melanesia_, in _J.A.I._, XXXIX,\npp. 156 ff.\n\n[639] _The Melanesians_, p. 118, n. 1. Cf. Parkinson, _Dreissig Jahre in\nder S\u00fcdsee_, pp. 178, 392, 394, etc.\n\n[640] An analysis of this idea will be found in Hubert and Mauss,\n_Th\u00e9orie G\u00e9n\u00e9rale de la Magie_, in _Ann\u00e9e Sociol._, VII, p. 108.\n\n[641] There are not only totems of clans but also of guilds (A.\nFletcher, _Smithsonian Rep. for 1897_, pp. 581 ff.).\n\n[642] Fletcher, _op. cit._, pp. 578 f.\n\n[643] _Ibid._, p. 583. Among the Dakota, the totem is called Wakan. See\nRiggs and Dorsey, _Dakota Grammar, Texts and Ethnol._, in _Contributions\nN. Amer. Ethn._, 1893, p. 219.\n\n[644] _James's Account of Long's Expedition in the Rocky Mountains_, I,\np. 268. (Quoted by Dorsey, _XIth Rep._, p. 431, \u00a7 92.)\n\n[645] We do not mean to say that in principle every representation of\nreligious forces in an animal form is an index of former totemism. But\nwhen we are dealing with societies where totemism is still apparent, as\nis the case with the Dakota, it is quite natural to think that these\nconceptions are not foreign to it.\n\n[646] See below, same book, ch. ix, \u00a7 4, pp. 285 ff.\n\n[647] The first spelling is that of Spencer and Gillen; the second, that\nof Strehlow.\n\n[648] _Nat. Tr._, p. 548, n. 1. It is true that Spencer and Gillen add:\n\"The idea can be best expressed by saying that an Arungquiltha object is\npossessed of an evil spirit.\" But this free translation of Spencer and\nGillen is their own unjustified interpretation. The idea of the\narungquiltha in no way implies the existence of spiritual beings, as is\nshown by the context and Strehlow's definition.\n\n[649] _Die Aranda_, II, p. 76, n.\n\n[650] Under the name Boyl-ya (see Grey, _Journal of Two Expeditions_,\nII, pp. 337-338).\n\n[651] See above, p. 42. Spencer and Gillen recognize this implicitly\nwhen they say that the arungquiltha is a \"supernatural force.\" Cf.\nHubert and Mauss, _Th\u00e9orie G\u00e9n\u00e9rale de la Magie_, in _Ann\u00e9e Sociol._,\nVII, p. 119.\n\n[652] Codrington, _The Melanesians_, pp. 191 ff.\n\n[653] Hewitt, _loc. cit._, p. 38.\n\n[654] There is even ground for asking whether an analogous notion is\ncompletely lacking in Australia. The word churinga, or tjurunga as\nStrehlow writes, has a very great similarity, with the Arunta. Spencer\nand Gillen say that it designates \"all that is secret or sacred. It is\napplied both to the object and to the quality it possesses\" (_Nat. Tr._,\np. 648, s.v. churinga). This is almost a definition of mana. Sometimes\nSpencer and Gillen even use this word to designate religious power or\nforce in a general way. While describing a ceremony among the Kaitish,\nthey say that the officiant is \"_full of churinga_,\" that is to say,\nthey continue, of the \"magic power emanating from the objects called\nchuringa.\" Yet it does not seem that the notion of churinga has the same\nclarity and precision as that of the mana in Melanesia or of the wakan\namong the Sioux.\n\n[655] Yet we shall see below (this book, ch. viii and ix) that totemism\nis not foreign to all ideas of a mythical personality. But we shall show\nthat these conceptions are the product of secondary formations: far from\nbeing the basis of the beliefs we have just analysed, they are derived\nfrom them.\n\n[656] _Loc. cit._, p. 38.\n\n[657] _Rep. Peabody Museum_, III, p. 276, n. (quoted by Dorsey, _XIth\nRep._, p. 435).\n\n[658] See above, p. 35.\n\n[659] In the expressions such as [Greek: Zeus yei] or _Ceres\nsucciditur_, it is shown that this conception survived in Greece as well\nas in Rome. In his _G\u00f6tternamen_, Usener has clearly shown that the\nprimitive gods of Greece and Rome were impersonal forces thought of only\nin terms of their attributes.\n\n[660] _D\u00e9finition du ph\u00e9nom\u00e8ne religieux_, in _Ann\u00e9e Sociol._, II, pp.\n14-16.\n\n[661] _Preanimistic Religion_, in _Folk-Lore_, 1900, pp. 162-182.\n\n[662] _Ibid._, p. 179. In a more recent work, _The Conception of Mana_\n(in _Transactions of the Third International Congress for the History of\nReligions_, II, pp. 54 ff.), Marrett tends to subordinate still further\nthe animistic conception of mana, but his thought on this point remains\nhesitating and very reserved.\n\n[663] _Ibid._, p. 168.\n\n[664] This return of preanimism to naturism is still more marked in\nClodd, _Preanimistic Stages of Religion_ (_Trans. Third Inter. Congress\nfor the H. of Rel._, I, p. 33).\n\n[665] _Th\u00e9orie g\u00e9n\u00e9rale de la Magie_, in _Ann\u00e9e Sociol._, VII, pp. 108\nff.\n\n[666] _Der Ursprung der Religion und Kunst_, in _Globus_, 1904, Vol.\nLXXXVI, pp. 321, 355, 376, 389; 1905, Vol. LXXXVII, pp. 333, 347, 380,\n394, 413.\n\n[667] _Globus_, LXXXVII, p. 381.\n\n[668] He clearly opposes them to all influences of a profane nature\n(_Globus_, LXXXVI, p. 379a).\n\n[669] It is found even in the recent theories of Frazer. For if this\nscholar denies to totemism all religious character, in order to make it\na sort of magic, it is just because the forces which the totemic cult\nputs into play are impersonal like those employed by the magician. So\nFrazer recognizes the fundamental fact which we have just established.\nBut he draws different conclusions because he recognizes religion only\nwhere there are mythical personalities.\n\n[670] However, we do not take this word in the same sense as Preuss and\nMarrett. According to them, there was a time in religious evolution when\nmen knew neither souls nor spirits: a _preanimistic_ phase. But this\nhypothesis is very questionable: we shall discuss this point below (Bk.\nII, ch. viii and ix).\n\n[671] On this same question, see an article of Alessandro Bruno, _Sui\nfenomeni magico-religiosi della communit\u00e0 primitive_, in _Rivista\nitaliana di Sociologia_, XII Year, Fasc. IV-V, pp. 568 ff., and an\nunpublished communication made by W. Bogoras to the XIV Congress of the\nAmericanists, held at Stuttgart in 1904. This communication is analysed\nby Preuss in the _Globus_, LXXXVI, p. 201.\n\n[672] \"All things,\" says Miss Fletcher, \"are filled with a common\nprinciple of life,\" _Smiths. Rep. for 1897_, p. 579.\n\n[673] Hewitt, in _American Anthropologist_, 1902, p. 36.\n\n[674] _The Melanesians_, pp. 118-120.\n\n[675] _Ibid._, p. 119.\n\n[676] See above, p. 103.\n\n[677] Pickler, in the little work above mentioned, had already\nexpressed, in a slightly dialectical manner, the sentiment that this is\nwhat the totem essentially is.\n\n[678] See our _Division du travail social_, 3rd ed., pp. 64 ff.\n\n[679] _Ibid._, p. 76.\n\n[680] This is the case at least with all moral authority recognized as\nsuch by the group as a whole.\n\n[681] We hope that this analysis and those which follow will put an end\nto an inexact interpretation of our thought, from which more than one\nmisunderstanding has resulted. Since we have made constraint the\n_outward sign_ by which social facts can be the most easily recognized\nand distinguished from the facts of individual psychology, it has been\nassumed that according to our opinion, physical constraint is the\nessential thing for social life. As a matter of fact, we have never\nconsidered it more than the material and apparent expression of an\ninterior and profound fact which is wholly ideal: this is _moral\nauthority_. The problem of sociology--if we can speak of _a_\nsociological problem--consists in seeking, among the different forms of\nexternal constraint, the different sorts of moral authority\ncorresponding to them and in discovering the causes which have\ndetermined these latter. The particular question which we are treating\nin this present work has as its principal object, the discovery of the\nform under which that particular variety of moral authority which is\ninherent in all that is religious has been born, and out of what\nelements it is made. It will be seen presently that even if we do make\nsocial pressure one of the distinctive characteristics of sociological\nphenomena, we do not mean to say that it is the only one. We shall show\nanother aspect of the collective life, nearly opposite to the preceding\none, but none the less real (see p. 212).\n\n[682] Of course this does not mean to say that the collective\nconsciousness does not have distinctive characteristics of its own (on\nthis point, see _Repr\u00e9sentations individuelles et repr\u00e9sentations\ncollectives_, in _Revue de M\u00e9taphysique et de Morale_, 1898, pp. 273\nff.).\n\n[683] This is proved by the length and passionate character of the\ndebates where a legal form was given to the resolutions made in a moment\nof collective enthusiasm. In the clergy as in the nobility, more than\none person called this celebrated night the dupe's night, or, with\nRivarol, the St. Bartholomew of the estates (see Stoll, _Suggestion und\nHypnotismus in der V\u00f6lkerpsychologie_, 2nd ed., p. 618, n. 2).\n\n[684] See Stoll, _op. cit._, pp. 353 ff.\n\n[685] _Ibid._, pp. 619, 635.\n\n[686] _Ibid._, pp. 622 ff.\n\n[687] The emotions of fear and sorrow are able to develop similarly and\nto become intensified under these same conditions. As we shall see, they\ncorrespond to quite another aspect of the religious life (Bk. III, ch.\nv).\n\n[688] This is the other aspect of society which, while being imperative,\nappears at the same time to be good and gracious. It dominates us and\nassists us. If we have defined the social fact by the first of these\ncharacteristics rather than the second, it is because it is more readily\nobservable, for it is translated into outward and visible signs; but we\nhave never thought of denying the second (see our _R\u00e8gles de la M\u00e9thode\nSociologique_, preface to the second edition, p. xx, n. 1).\n\n[689] Codrington, _The Melanesians_, pp. 50, 103, 120. It is also\ngenerally thought that in the Polynesian languages, the word _mana_\nprimitively had the sense of authority (see Tregear, _Maori Comparative\nDictionary_, s.v.).\n\n[690] See Albert Mathiez, _Les origines des cultes r\u00e9volutionnaires_\n(1789-1792).\n\n[691] _Ibid._, p. 24.\n\n[692] _Ibid._, pp. 29, 32.\n\n[693] _Ibid._, p. 30.\n\n[694] _Ibid._, p. 46.\n\n[695] See Mathiez, _La Th\u00e9ophilanthropie et la Culte d\u00e9cadaire_, p. 36.\n\n[696] See Spencer and Gillen, _Nor. Tr._, p. 33.\n\n[697] There are even ceremonies, for example, those which take place in\nconnection with the initiation, to which members of foreign tribes are\ninvited. A whole system of messages and messengers is organized for\nthese convocations, without which the great solemnities could not take\nplace (see Howitt, _Notes on Australian Message-Sticks and Messengers_,\nin _J.A.I._, 1889; _Nat. Tr._, pp. 83, 678-691; Spencer and Gillen,\n_Nat. Tr._, p. 159; _Nor. Tr._, p. 551).\n\n[698] The corrobbori is distinguished from the real religious ceremonies\nby the fact that it is open to women and uninitiated persons. But if\nthese two sorts of collective manifestations are to be distinguished,\nthey are, none the less, closely related. We shall have occasion\nelsewhere to come back to this relationship and to explain it.\n\n[699] Except, of course, in the case of the great bush-beating hunts.\n\n[700] \"The peaceful monotony of this part of his life,\" say Spencer and\nGillen (_Nor. Tr._, p. 33).\n\n[701] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 683. He is speaking of the demonstrations\nwhich take place when an ambassador sent to a group of foreigners\nreturns to camp with news of a favourable result. Cf. Brough Smyth, I,\np. 138; Schulze, _loc. cit._, p. 222.\n\n[702] See Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 96 f.; _Nor. Tr._, p. 137;\nBrough Smyth, II, p. 319.--This ritual promiscuity is found especially\nin the initiation ceremonies (Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 267,\n381; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 657), and in the totemic ceremonies (_Nor.\nTr._, pp. 214, 298, 237). In these latter, the ordinary exogamic rules\nare violated. Sometimes among the Arunta, unions between father and\ndaughter, mother and son, and brothers and sisters (that is in every\ncase, relationship by blood) remain forbidden (_Nat. Tr._, pp. 96 f.).\n\n[703] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 535, 545. This is extremely common.\n\n[704] These women were Kingilli themselves, so these unions violated the\nexogamic rules.\n\n[705] _Nor. Tr._, p. 237.\n\n[706] _Nor. Tr._, p. 391. Other examples of this collective\neffervescence during the religious ceremonies will be found in _Nat.\nTr._, pp. 244-246, 365-366, 374, 509-510 (this latter in connection with\na funeral rite). Cf. _Nor. Tr._, pp. 213, 351.\n\n[707] Thus we see that this fraternity is the logical consequence of\ntotemism, rather than its basis. Men have not imagined their duties\ntowards the animals of the totemic species because they regarded them as\nkindred, but have imagined the kinship to explain the nature of the\nbeliefs and rites of which they were the object. The animal was\nconsidered a relative of the man because it was a sacred being like the\nman, but it was not treated as a sacred being because it was regarded as\na relative.\n\n[708] See below, Bk. III, ch i, \u00a7 3.\n\n[709] At the bottom of this conception there is a well-founded and\npersistent sentiment. Modern science also tends more and more to admit\nthat the duality of man and nature does not exclude their unity, and\nthat physical and moral forces, though distinct, are closely related. We\nundoubtedly have a different conception of this unity and relationship\nthan the primitive, but beneath these different symbols, the truth\naffirmed by the two is the same.\n\n[710] We say that this derivation is sometimes indirect on account of\nthe industrial methods which, in a large number of cases, seem to be\nderived from religion through the intermediacy of magic (see Hubert and\nMauss, _Th\u00e9orie g\u00e9n\u00e9rale de la Magie_, _Ann\u00e9e Sociol._, VII, pp. 144\nff.); for, as we believe, magic forces are only a special form of\nreligious forces. We shall have occasion to return to this point several\ntimes.\n\n[711] At least after he is once adult and fully initiated, for the\ninitiation rites, introducing the young man to the social life, are a\nsevere discipline in themselves.\n\n[712] Upon this particular aspect of primitive societies, see our\n_Division du travail social_, 3rd ed., pp. 123, 149, 173 ff.\n\n[713] We provisionally limit ourselves to this general indication: we\nshall return to this idea and give more explicit proof, when we speak of\nthe rites (Bk. III).\n\n[714] On this point, see Achelis, _Die Ekstase_, Berlin, 1902,\nespecially ch. i.\n\n[715] Cf. Mauss, _Essai sur les variations saisonni\u00e8res des soci\u00e9t\u00e9s\neskimos_, in _Ann\u00e9e Sociol._, IX, p. 127.\n\n[716] Thus we see how erroneous those theories are which, like the\ngeographical materialism of Ratzel (see especially his _Politische\nGeographie_), seek to derive all social life from its material\nfoundation (either economic or territorial). They commit an error\nprecisely similar to the one committed by Maudsley in individual\npsychology. Just as this latter reduced all the psychical life of the\nindividual to a mere epiphenomenon of his physiological basis, they seek\nto reduce the whole psychical life of the group to its physical basis.\nBut they forget that ideas are realities and forces, and that collective\nrepresentations are forces even more powerful and active than individual\nrepresentations. On this point, see our _Repr\u00e9sentations individuelles\net repr\u00e9sentations collectives_, in the _Revue de M\u00e9taphysique et de\nMorale_, May, 1898.\n\n[717] See above, pp. 188 and 194.\n\n[718] Even the _excreta_ have a religious character. See Preuss, _Der\nUrsprung der Religion und Kunst_, especially ch. ii, entitled _Der\nZauber der Def\u00e4kation_ (_Globus_, LXXXVI, pp. 325 ff.).\n\n[719] This principle has passed from religion into magic: it is the\n_totem ex parte_ of the alchemists.\n\n[720] On this point see _R\u00e8gles de la m\u00e9thode sociologique_, pp. 5 ff.\n\n[721] Procopius of Gaza, _Commentarii in Isaiam_, 496.\n\n[722] See Th\u00e9venot, _Voyage au Levant_, Paris, 1689, p. 638. The fact\nwas still round in 1862.\n\n[723] Lacassagne, _Les Tatouages_, p. 10.\n\n[724] Lombroso, _L'homme criminel_, I, p. 292.\n\n[725] Lombroso, _ibid._, I, pp. 268, 285, 291 f.; Lacassagne, _op.\ncit._, p. 97.\n\n[726] See above, p. 127.\n\n[727] For the authority of the chiefs, see Spencer and Gillen, _Nat.\nTr._, p. 10; _Nor. Tr._, p. 25; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 295 ff.\n\n[728] At least in Australia. In America, the population is more\ngenerally sedentary; but the American clan represents a relatively\nadvanced form of organization.\n\n[729] To make sure of this, it is sufficient to look at the chart\narranged by Thomas, _Kinship and Marriage in Australia_, p. 40. To\nappreciate this chart properly, it should be remembered that the author\nhas extended, for a reason unknown to us, the system of totemic\nfiliation in the paternal line clear to the western coast of Australia,\nthough we have almost no information about the tribes of this region,\nwhich is, moreover, largely a desert.\n\n[730] The stars are often regarded, even by the Australians, as the land\nof souls and mythical personages, as will be established in the next\nchapter: that means that they pass as being a very different world from\nthat of the living.\n\n[731] _Op. cit._, I, p. 4. Cf. Schulze, _loc. cit._, p. 243.\n\n[732] Of course it is to be understood that, as we have already pointed\nout (see above, p. 155), this choice was not made without a more or less\nformal agreement between the groups that each should take a different\nemblem from its neighbours.\n\n[733] The mental state studied in this paragraph is identical to the one\ncalled by L\u00e9vy-Bruhl the law of participation (_Les fonctions mentales\ndans les soci\u00e9t\u00e9s inf\u00e9rieures_, pp. 76 ff.). The following pages were\nwritten when this work appeared and we publish them without change; we\nconfine ourselves to adding certain explanations showing in what we\ndiffer from M. L\u00e9vy-Bruhl in our understanding of the facts.\n\n[734] See above, p. 230.\n\n[735] Another cause has contributed much to this fusion; this is the\nextreme contagiousness of religious forces. They seize upon every object\nwithin their reach, whatever it may be. Thus a single religious force\nmay animate the most diverse things which, by that very fact, become\nclosely connected and classified within a single group. We shall return\nagain to this contagiousness, when we shall show that it comes from the\nsocial origins of the idea of sacredness (Bk. III, ch. i, _in fine_).\n\n[736] L\u00e9vy-Bruhl, _op. cit._, pp. 77 ff.\n\n[737] _Ibid._, p. 79.\n\n[738] See above, p. 146.\n\n[739] This is the case with the Gnanji; see _Nor. Tr._, pp. 170, 546;\ncf. a similar case in Brough Smyth, II, p. 269.\n\n[740] _Australian Aborigines_, p. 51.\n\n[741] There certainly was a time when the Gnanji women had souls, for a\nlarge number of women's souls still exist to-day. However, they never\nreincarnate themselves; since in this tribe the soul animating a\nnew-born child is an old reincarnated soul, it follows from the fact\nthat women's souls do not reincarnate themselves, that women cannot have\na soul. Moreover, it is possible to explain whence this absence of\nreincarnation comes. Filiation among the Gnanji, after having been\nuterine, is now in the paternal line: a mother no longer transmits her\ntotem to her child. So the woman no longer has any descendants to\nperpetuate her; she is the _finis famili\u00e6 su\u00e6_. To explain this\nsituation, there are only two possible hypotheses; either women have no\nsouls, or else they are destroyed after death. The Gnanji have adopted\nthe former of these two explanations; certain peoples of Queensland have\npreferred the latter (see Roth, _Superstition, Magic and Medicine_, in\n_N. Queensland Ethnog._, No. 5, \u00a7 68).\n\n[742] \"The children below four or five years of age have neither soul\nnor future life,\" says Dawson. But the fact he thus relates is merely\nthe absence of funeral rites for young children. We shall see the real\nmeaning of this below.\n\n[743] Dawson, p. 51; Parker, _The Euahlayi_, p. 35; Eylmann, p. 188.\n\n[744] _Nor. Tr._, p. 542; Sch\u00fcrmann, _The Aboriginal Tribes of Port\nLincoln_, in Woods, p. 235.\n\n[745] This is the expression used by Dawson, p. 50.\n\n[746] Strehlow, I, p. 15, n. 1; Schulze, _loc. cit._, p. 246; this is\nthe theme of the myth of the vampire.\n\n[747] Strehlow, I, p. 15; Schulze, p. 244; Dawson, p. 51. It is true\nthat it is sometimes said that souls have nothing corporeal; according\nto certain testimony collected by Eylmann (p. 188), they are _ohne\nFleisch und Blut_. But these radical negations leave us sceptical. The\nfact that offerings are not made to the souls of the dead in no way\nimplies, as Roth thinks (_Superstition, Magic_, etc., \u00a7 65), that they\ndo not eat.\n\n[748] Roth, _ibid._, \u00a7 65; _Nor. Tr._, p. 530. It sometimes happens that\nthe soul emits odours (Roth, _ibid._, \u00a7 68).\n\n[749] Roth, _ibid._, \u00a7 67; Dawson, p. 51.\n\n[750] Roth, _ibid._, \u00a7 65.\n\n[751] Sch\u00fcrmann, _Aborig. Tr. of Port Lincoln_, in Woods, p. 235.\n\n[752] Parker, _The Euahlayi_, pp. 29, 35; Roth, _ibid._, \u00a7\u00a7 65, 67, 68.\n\n[753] Roth, _ibid._, \u00a7 65; Strehlow, I, p. 15.\n\n[754] Strehlow, I, p. 14, n. 1.\n\n[755] Frazer, _On Certain Burial Customs, as Illustrative of the\nPrimitive Theory of the Soul_, in _J.A.I._, XV, p. 66.\n\n[756] This is the case with the Kaitish and the Unmatjera; see _Nor.\nTr._, p. 506; and _Nat. Tr._, p. 512.\n\n[757] Roth, _ibid._, \u00a7\u00a7 65, 66, 67, 68.\n\n[758] Roth, _ibid._, \u00a7 68; this says that when someone faints after a\nloss of blood, it is because the soul is gone. Cf. Parker, _The\nEuahlayi_, p. 38.\n\n[759] Parker, _The Euahlayi_, pp. 29, 35; Roth, _ibid._, \u00a7 65.\n\n[760] Strehlow, I, pp. 12, 14. In these passages he speaks of evil\nspirits which kill little children and eat their souls, livers and fat,\nor else their souls, livers and kidneys. The fact that the soul is thus\nput on the same plane as the different viscera and tissues and is made a\nfood like them shows the close connection it has with them. Cf. Schulze,\np. 245.\n\n[761] For example, among the peoples on the Pennefather River (Roth,\n_ibid._, \u00a7 68), there is a name for the soul residing in the heart\n(_Ngai_), another for the one in the placenta (_Cho-i_), and a third for\nthe one which is confounded with the breath (_Wanji_). Among the\nEuahlayi, there are three or even four souls (Parker, _The Euahlayi_, p.\n35).\n\n[762] See the description of the _Urpmilchima_ rite among the Arunta\n(_Nat. Tr._, pp. 503 ff.).\n\n[763] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 497 and 508.\n\n[764] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 547, 548.\n\n[765] _Ibid._, pp. 506, 527 ff.\n\n[766] Meyer, _The Encounter Bay Tribe_, in Woods, p. 198.\n\n[767] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 551, 463; _Nat. Tr._, p. 553.\n\n[768] _Nor. Tr._, p. 540.\n\n[769] Among the Arunta and Loritja, for example (Strehlow, I, p. 15, n.\n2; II, p. 77). During life, the soul is called _gumna_, and _ltana_\nafter death. The _ltana_ of Strehlow is identical with the _ulthana_ of\nSpencer and Gillen (_Nat. Tr._, pp. 514 ff.). The same is true of the\ntribes on the Bloomfield River (Roth, _Superstition_, etc., \u00a766).\n\n[770] Eylmann, p. 188.\n\n[771] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 524, 491, 496.\n\n[772] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 542, 504.\n\n[773] Mathews, _Ethnol. Notes on the Aboriginal Tribes of N.S. Wales and\nVictoria_, in _Journal and Proc. of the Roy. Soc. of N.S. Wales_,\nXXXVIII, p. 287.\n\n[774] Strehlow, I, pp. 15 ff. Thus, according to Strehlow, the dead live\nin an island in the Arunta theory, but according to Spencer and Gillen,\nin a subterranean place. It is probable that the two myths coexist and\nare not the only ones. We shall see that even a third has been found. On\nthis conception of an island of the dead, see Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p.\n498; Sch\u00fcrmann, _Aborig. Tr. of Port Lincoln_, in Woods, p. 235;\nEylmann, p. 189.\n\n[775] Schulze, p. 244.\n\n[776] Dawson, p. 51.\n\n[777] In these same tribes evident traces of a more ancient myth will be\nfound, according to which the dead live in a subterranean place (Dawson,\n_ibid._).\n\n[778] Taplin, _The Narrinyeri_, pp. 18 f.; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 473;\nStrehlow, I, p. 16.\n\n[779] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 498.\n\n[780] Strehlow, I, p. 16; Eylmann, p. 189; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 473.\n\n[781] These are the spirits of the ancestors of a special clan, the clan\nof a certain poisonous gland (_Giftdr\u00fcsenm\u00e4nner_).\n\n[782] Sometimes the work of the missionaries is evident. Dawson speaks\nof a real hell opposed to paradise; but he too tends to regard this as a\nEuropean importation.\n\n[783] Dorsey, _XIth Rep._, pp. 419-420, 422, 485. Cf. Marillier, _La\nsurvivance de l'\u00e2me et l'id\u00e9e de justice chez les peuples\nnon-civilis\u00e9s_, _Rapport de l'Ecole des Hautes \u00c9tudes_, 1893.\n\n[784] They may be doubled temporarily, as we shall see in the next\nchapter: but these duplications add nothing to the number of the souls\ncapable of reincarnation.\n\n[785] Strehlow, I, p. 2.\n\n[786] _Nat. Tr._, p. 73, n. 1\n\n[787] On this set of conceptions, see _Nat. Tr._, pp. 119, 123-127, 387\nff.; _Nor. Tr._, pp. 145-174. Among the Gnanji, it is not necessarily\nnear the oknanikilla that the conception takes place. But they believe\nthat each couple is accompanied in its wanderings over the continent by\na swarm of souls of the husband's totem. When the time comes, one of\nthese souls enters the body of the wife and fertilizes it, wherever she\nmay be (_Nor. Tr._, p. 169).\n\n[788] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 512 f.; cf. ch. x and xi.\n\n[789] _Nat. Tr._, p. 119.\n\n[790] Among the Kaitish (_Nor. Tr._, p. 154) and the Urabunna (_Nor.\nTr._, p. 146).\n\n[791] This is the case among the Warramunga and the related tribes, the\nWalpari, Wulmala, Worgaia, Tjingilli (_Nor. Tr._, p. 161), and also the\nUmbaia and the Gnanji (_ibid._, p. 170).\n\n[792] Strehlow, I, pp. 15-16. For the Loritja, see Strehlow, p. 7.\n\n[793] Strehlow even goes so far as to say that sexual relations are not\neven thought to be a necessary condition or sort of preparation for\nconception (II, p. 52, n. 7). It is true that he adds a few lines below\nthat the old men know perfectly well the connection which unites sexual\nintercourse and generation, and that as far as animals are concerned,\nthe children themselves know it. This lessens the value of his first\nassertion a little.\n\n[794] In general, we employ the terminology of Spencer and Gillen rather\nthan that of Strehlow because it is now consecrated by long usage.\n\n[795] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 124, 513.\n\n[796] I, p. 5. _Ngarra_ means eternal, according to Strehlow. Among the\nLoritja, only rocks fulfil this function.\n\n[797] Strehlow translates it by _Kinderkeime_ (children-germs). It is\nnot true that Spencer and Gillen have ignored the myth of the _ratapa_\nand the customs connected with it. They explicitly mention it in _Nat.\nTr._, pp. 336 ff. and 552. They noticed, at different points of the\nArunta territory, the existence of rocks called _Erathipa_ from which\nthe _spirit children_, or the children's souls, disengage themselves, to\nenter the bodies of women and fertilize them. According to Spencer and\nGillen, _Erathipa_ means child, though, as they add, it is rarely used\nin this sense in ordinary conversation (_ibid._, p. 338).\n\n[798] The Arunta are divided into four or eight matrimonial classes. The\nclass of a child is determined by that of his father; inversely, that of\nthe latter may be deduced from the former (see Spencer and Gillen, _Nat.\nTr._, pp. 70 ff.; Strehlow, I, pp. 6 ff.). It remains to be seen how the\nratapa has a matrimonial class; we shall return to this point again.\n\n[799] Strehlow, II, p. 52. It happens sometimes, though rarely, that\ndisputes arise over the nature of the child's totem. Strehlow cites such\na case (II, p. 53).\n\n[800] This is the same word as the _namatwinna_ found in Spencer and\nGillen (_Nat. Tr._, p. 541).\n\n[801] Strehlow, II, p. 53.\n\n[802] Strehlow, II, p. 56.\n\n[803] Mathews attributes a similar theory of conception to the Tjingilli\n(_alias_ Chingalee) (_Proc. Roy. Geogr. Trans. and Soc. Queensland_,\nXXII (1907), pp. 75-76).\n\n[804] It sometimes happens that the ancestor who is believed to have\nthrown the namatuna shows himself to the woman in the form of an animal\nor a man; this is one more proof of the affinity of the ancestral soul\nfor a material form.\n\n[805] Schulze, _loc. cit._, p. 237.\n\n[806] This results from the fact that the ratapa can incarnate itself\nonly in the body of a woman belonging to the same matrimonial class as\nthe mother of the mythical ancestor. So we cannot understand how\nStrehlow could say (I, p. 42, _Anmerkung_) that, except in one case, the\nmyths do not attribute determined matrimonial classes to the Alcheringa\nancestors. His own theory of conception proves the contrary (cf. II, pp.\n53 ff.).\n\n[807] Strehlow, II, p. 58.\n\n[808] The difference between the two versions becomes still smaller and\nis reduced to almost nothing, if we observe that, when Spencer and\nGillen tell us that the ancestral soul is incarnated in the woman, the\nexpressions they use are not to be taken literally. It is not the whole\nsoul which comes to fertilize the mother, but only an emanation from\nthis soul. In fact, according to their own statement, a soul equal or\neven superior in power to the one that is incarnated continues to live\nin the nanja tree or rock (see _Nat. Tr._, p. 514); we shall have\noccasion to come back to this point again (cf. below, p. 275).\n\n[809] II, pp. 76, 81. According to Spencer and Gillen, the churinga is\nnot the soul of the ancestor, but the object in which his soul resides.\nAt bottom, these two mythological interpretations are identical, and it\nis easy to see how one has been able to pass into the other: the body is\nthe place where the soul resides.\n\n[810] Strehlow, I, p. 4.\n\n[811] Strehlow, I, pp. 53 f. In these stories, the ancestor begins by\nintroducing himself into the body of the woman and causing there the\ntroubles characteristic of pregnancy. Then he goes out, and only then\ndoes he leave his namatuna.\n\n[812] Strehlow, II, p. 76.\n\n[813] _Ibid._, p. 81. This is the word for word translation of the terms\nemployed, as Strehlow gives them: _Dies du K\u00f6rper bist; dies du der\nn\u00e4mliche._ In the myth, a civilizing hero, Mangarkunjerkunja, says as he\npresents to each man the churinga of his ancestor: \"You are born of this\nchuringa\" (_ibid._, p. 76).\n\n[814] Strehlow, II, p. 76.\n\n[815] Strehlow, _ibid._\n\n[816] At bottom, the only real difference between Strehlow and Spencer\nand Gillen is the following one. For these latter, the soul of the\nindividual, after death, returns to the nanja tree, where it is again\nconfounded with the ancestor's soul (_Nat. Tr._, p. 513); for Strehlow,\nit goes to the isle of the dead, where it is finally annihilated. In\nneither myth does it survive individually. We are not going to seek the\ncause of this divergence. It is possible that there has been an error of\nobservation on the part of Spencer and Gillen, who do not speak of the\nisle of the dead. It is also possible that the myth is not the same\namong the eastern Arunta, whom Spencer and Gillen observed particularly,\nas in the other parts of the tribe.\n\n[817] Strehlow, II, p. 51.\n\n[818] _Ibid._, II, p. 56.\n\n[819] _Ibid._, I, pp. 3-4.\n\n[820] _Ibid._, II, p. 61.\n\n[821] See above, p. 183.\n\n[822] Strehlow, II, p. 57; I, p. 2.\n\n[823] Strehlow, II, p. 57.\n\n[824] Roth, _Superstition, Magic_, etc., \u00a7 74.\n\n[825] In other words, the totemic species is made up of the group of\nancestors and the mythological species much more than of the regular\nanimal or vegetable species.\n\n[826] See above, p. 254.\n\n[827] Strehlow, II, p. 76.\n\n[828] Strehlow, _ibid._\n\n[829] Strehlow, II, pp. 57, 60, 61. Strehlow calls the list of totems\nthe list of ratapa.\n\n[830] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 475 ff.\n\n[831] _The Manners and Customs of the Dieyerie Tribe of Australian\nAborigines_, in Curr, II, p. 47.\n\n[832] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 482.\n\n[833] _Ibid._, p. 487.\n\n[834] Taplin, _Folk-Lore, Customs, Manners, etc., of the South\nAustralian Aborig._, p. 88.\n\n[835] The clan of each ancestor has its special camp underground; this\ncamp is the miyur.\n\n[836] Mathews, in _Jour. of Roy. Soc. of N.S. Wales_, XXXVIII, p. 293.\nHe points out the same belief among other tribes of Victoria (_ibid._,\np. 197).\n\n[837] Mathews, _ibid._, p. 349.\n\n[838] J. Bishop, _Die Niol-Niol_, in _Anthropos_, III, p. 35.\n\n[839] Roth, _Superstition_, etc., \u00a7 68; cf. \u00a7 69a, gives a similar case\nfrom among the natives on the Proserpine River. To simplify the\ndescription, we have left aside the complications due to differences of\nsex. The souls of daughters are made out of the choi of their mother,\nthough these share with their brothers the ngai of their father. This\npeculiarity, coming perhaps from two systems of filiation which have\nbeen in use successively, has nothing to do with the principle of the\nperpetuity of the soul.\n\n[840] _Ibid._, p. 16.\n\n[841] _Die Tlinkit-Indianer_, p. 282.\n\n[842] Swanton, _Contributions to the Ethnology of the Haida_, pp. 117\nff.\n\n[843] Boas, _Sixth Rep. of the Comm. on the N.W. Tribes of Canada_, p.\n59.\n\n[844] Lafitau, _M[oe]urs des sauvages Am\u00e9riquains_, II, p. 434; Petitot,\n_Monographie des D\u00e9n\u00e8-Dindji\u00e9_, p. 59.\n\n[845] See above, pp. 134 ff.\n\n[846] See above, p. 137.\n\n[847] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 147; cf. _ibid._, p. 769.\n\n[848] Strehlow (I, p. 15, n. 2) and Schulze (_loc. cit._, p. 246) speak\nof the soul, as Howitt here speaks of the totem, as leaving the body to\ngo to eat another soul. Likewise, as we have seen above, the altjira or\nmaternal totem shows itself in dreams, just as a soul or spirit does.\n\n[849] Fison and Howitt, _Kurnai and Kamilaroi_, p. 280.\n\n[850] _Globus_, Vol. CXI, p. 289. In spite of the objections of\nLeonhardi, Strehlow maintains his affirmations on this point (see\nStrehlow, III, p. xi). Leonhardi finds a contradiction between this\nassertion and the theory according to which the ratapa emanate from\ntrees, rocks or churinga. But the totemic animal incarnates the totem\njust as much as the nanja-tree or rock does, so they may fulfil the same\nfunction. The two things are mythological equivalents.\n\n[851] _Notes on the West Coastal Tribes of the Northern Territory of S.\nAustralia_, in _Trans. of the Roy. Soc. of S. Aust._, XXXI (1907), p. 4.\nCf. _Man_, 1909, No. 86.\n\n[852] Among the Wakelbura, where, according to Curr and Howitt, each\nmatrimonial class has its own totems, the animal shows the class (see\nCurr, III, p. 28); among the Buandik, it reveals the clan (Mrs. James S.\nSmith, _The Buandik Tribes of S. Australian Aborigines_, p, 128). Cf.\nHowitt, _On Some Australian Beliefs_, in _J.A.I._, XIII, p. 191; XIV, p.\n362; Thomas, _An American View of Totemism_, in _Man_, 1902, No. 85;\nMathews, _Journ. of the Roy. Soc. of N.S. Wales_, XXXVIII, pp. 347-348;\nBrough Smyth, I, p. 110; _Nor. Tr._, p. 513.\n\n[853] Roth, _Superstition_, etc., \u00a7 83. This is probably a form of\nsexual totemism.\n\n[854] Prinz zu Wied, _Reise in das innere Nord-Amerika_, II, p. 190.\n\n[855] K. von den Steinen, _Unter den Naturv\u00f6lkern Zentral-Br\u00e4siliens_,\n1894, pp. 511, 512.\n\n[856] See Frazer, _Golden Bough_^2, I, pp. 250, 253, 256, 257, 258.\n\n[857] _Third Rep._, pp. 229, 233.\n\n[858] _Indian Tribes_, IV, p. 86.\n\n[859] For example, among the Batta of Sumatra (see _Golden Bough_^2,\nIII, p. 420), in Melanesia (Codrington, _The Melanesians_, p. 178), in\nthe Malay Archipelago (Tylor, _Remarks on Totemism_, in _J.A.I._, New\nSeries, I, p. 147). It is to be remarked that the cases where the soul\nclearly presents itself after death in an animal form all come from the\nsocieties where totemism is more or less perverted. This is because the\nidea of the soul is necessarily ambiguous wherever the totemic beliefs\nare relatively pure, for totemism implies that it participate in the two\nkingdoms at the same time. So it cannot become either one or the other\nexclusively, but takes one aspect or the other, according to the\ncircumstances. As totemism develops, this ambiguity becomes less\nnecessary, while at the same time, spirits more actively demand\nattention. Then the marked affinities of the soul for the animal kingdom\nare manifested, especially after it is freed from the human body.\n\n[860] See above, p. 170. On the generality of the doctrine of\nmetempsychosis, see Tylor, II, pp. 8 ff.\n\n[861] Even if we believe that religious and moral representations\nconstitute the essential elements of the idea of the soul, still we do\nnot mean to say that they are the only ones. Around this central nucleus\nare grouped other states of consciousness having this same character,\nthough to a slighter degree. This is the case with all the superior\nforms of the intellectual life, owing to the special price and dignity\nattributed to them by society. When we devote our lives to science or\nart, we feel that we are moving in a circle of things that are above\nbodily sensations, as we shall have occasion to show more precisely in\nour conclusion. This is why the highest functions of the intelligence\nhave always been considered specific manifestations of the soul. But\nthey would probably not have been enough to establish the idea of it.\n\n[862] F. Tregear, _The Maori-Polynesian Comparative Dictionary_, pp.\n203-205.\n\n[863] This is the thesis of Preuss in his articles in the _Globus_ which\nwe have cited several times. It seems that M. L\u00e9vy-Bruhl also tends\ntowards this conception (see his _Fonctions mentales_, etc., pp. 92-93).\n\n[864] On this point, see our _Suicide_, pp. 233 ff.\n\n[865] It may be objected perhaps that unity is the characteristic of the\npersonality, while the soul has always been conceived as multiple, and\nas capable of dividing and subdividing itself almost to infinity. But we\nknow to-day that the unity of the person is also made up of parts and\nthat it, too, is capable of dividing and decomposing. Yet the notion of\npersonality does not vanish because of the fact that we no longer think\nof it as a metaphysical and indivisible atom. It is the same with the\npopular conceptions of personality which find their expression in the\nidea of the soul. These show that men have always felt that the human\npersonality does not have that absolute unity attributed to it by\ncertain metaphysicians.\n\n[866] For all this, we do not deny the importance of the individual\nfactor: this is explained from our point of view just as easily as its\ncontrary. If the essential element of the personality is the social part\nof us, on the other hand there can be no social life unless distinct\nindividuals are associated, and this is richer the more numerous and\ndifferent from each other they are. So the individual factor is a\ncondition of the impersonal factor. And the contrary is no less true,\nfor society itself is an important source of individual differences (see\nour _Division du travail social_, 3rd. ed., pp. 267 ff.).\n\n[867] Roth, _Superstition, Magic_, etc., \u00a7\u00a7 65, 68; Spencer and Gillen,\n_Nat. Tr._, pp. 514, 516.\n\n[868] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 521, 515; Dawson, _Austral.\nAborig._, p. 58; Roth, _op. cit._, \u00a7 67.\n\n[869] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 517.\n\n[870] Strehlow, II, p. 76 and n. 1; Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp.\n514, 516.\n\n[871] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 513.\n\n[872] On this question, see Negrioli, _Dei Genii presso i Romani_; the\narticles _Daimon_ and _Genius_ in the _Dict. of Antiq._; Preller,\n_Romische Mythologie_, II, pp. 195 ff.\n\n[873] Negrioli, _ibid._, p. 4.\n\n[874] _Ibid._, p. 8.\n\n[875] _Ibid._, p. 7.\n\n[876] _Ibid._, p. 11. Cf. Samter, _Der Ursprung der Larencultus_, in\n_Archiv f. Religions-wissenschaft_, 1907, pp. 368-393.\n\n[877] Schulze, _loc. cit._, p. 237.\n\n[878] Strehlow, I, p. 5. Cf. Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 133;\nGason, in Curr, II, p. 69.\n\n[879] See the case of a Mura-mura who is considered the spirit of\ncertain hot springs, in Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 482.\n\n[880] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 313 f.; Mathews, _Journ. of the Roy. Soc. of N.S.\nWales_, XXXVIII, p. 351. Among the Dieri there is also a Mura-mura whose\nfunction is to produce rain (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 798 f.).\n\n[881] Roth. _Superstition_, etc., \u00a7 67. Cf. Dawson, p. 59.\n\n[882] Strehlow, I, pp. 2 ff.\n\n[883] See above, p. 249.\n\n[884] _Nor. Tr._, ch. vii.\n\n[885] Spencer and Gillen, _Nor. Tr._, p. 277.\n\n[886] Strehlow, I, p. 5.\n\n[887] It is true that some nanja-trees and rocks are not situated around\nthe ertnatulunga; they are scattered over different parts of the tribal\nterritory. It is said that these are places where an isolated ancestor\ndisappeared into the ground, lost a member, let some blood flow, or lost\na churinga which was transformed into a tree or rock. But these totemic\nsites have only a secondary importance; Strehlow calls them _kleinere\nTotempl\u00e4tze_ (I, pp. 4-5). So it may be that they have taken this\ncharacter only by analogy with the principal totemic centres. The trees\nand rocks which, for some reason or other, remind one of those found in\nthe neighbourhood of an ertnatulunga, inspire analogous sentiments, so\nthe myth which was formed in regard to the latter was extended to the\nformer.\n\n[888] _Nat. Tr._, p. 139.\n\n[889] Parker, _The Euahlayi_, p. 21. The tree serving for this use is\ngenerally one of those figuring among the sub-totems of the individual.\nAs a reason for this choice, they say that as it is of the same family\nas the individual, it should be better disposed to giving him aid\n(_ibid._, p. 29).\n\n[890] _Ibid._, p. 36.\n\n[891] Strehlow, II, p. 81.\n\n[892] Parker, _op. cit._, p. 21.\n\n[893] Codrington, _The Melanesians_, pp. 249-253.\n\n[894] Turner, _Samoa_, p. 17.\n\n[895] These are the very words used by Codrington (p. 251).\n\n[896] This close connection between the soul, the guardian genius and\nthe moral conscience of the individual is especially apparent among\ncertain peoples of Indonesia. \"One of the seven souls of the Tobabatak\nis buried with the placenta; though preferring to live in this place, it\nmay leave it to warn the individual or to manifest its approbation when\nhe does well. So in one sense, it plays the r\u00f4le of a moral conscience.\nHowever, its communications are not confined to the domain of moral\nfacts. It is called the younger brother of the soul, as the placenta is\ncalled the younger brother of the child.... In war, it inspires the man\nwith courage to march against the enemy\" (Warneck, _Der bataksche Ahnen\nund Geistercult_, in _Allg. Missionszeitschrift_, Berlin, 1904. p. 10.\nCf. Kruijt, _Het Animisme in den indischen Archipel_, p. 25).\n\n[897] It still remains to be investigated how it comes that after a\ncertain moment in evolution, this duplication of the soul was made in\nthe form of an individual totem rather than of a protecting ancestor.\nPerhaps this question has an ethnological rather than a sociological\ninterest. However, the manner in which this substitution was probably\neffected may be represented as follows.\n\nThe individual totem commenced by playing a merely complimentary r\u00f4le.\nThose individuals who wished to acquire powers superior to those\npossessed by everybody, did not and could not content themselves with\nthe mere protection of the ancestor; so they began to look for another\nassistant of the same sort. Thus it comes about that among the Euahlayi,\nthe magicians are the only ones who have or who can procure individual\ntotems. As each one has a collective totem in addition, he finds himself\nhaving many souls. But there is nothing surprising in this plurality of\nsouls: it is the condition of a superior power.\n\nBut when collective totemism once begins to lose ground, and when the\nconception of the protecting ancestor consequently begins to grow dim in\nthe mind, another method must be found for representing the double\nnature of the soul, which is still felt. The resulting idea was that,\noutside of the individual soul, there was another, charged with watching\nover the first one. Since this protecting power was no longer\ndemonstrated by the very fact of birth, men found it natural to employ,\nfor its discovery, means analogous to those used by magicians to enter\ninto communion with the forces of whose aid they thus assured\nthemselves.\n\n[898] For example, see Strehlow, II, p. 82.\n\n[899] Wyatt, _Adelaide and Encounter Bay Tribes_, in Woods, p. 168.\n\n[900] Taplin, _The Narrinyeri_, pp. 62 f.; Roth, _Superstition_, etc., \u00a7\n116; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 356, 358; Strehlow, pp. 11-12.\n\n[901] Strehlow, I, pp. 13-14; Dawson, p. 49.\n\n[902] Strehlow, I, pp. 11-14; Eylmann, pp. 182, 185; Spencer and Gillen,\n_Nor. Tr._, p. 211; Sch\u00fcrmann, _The Aborig. Tr. of Port Lincoln_, in\nWoods, p. 239.\n\n[903] Eylmann, p. 182.\n\n[904] Mathews, _Journ. of the Roy. Soc. of N.S. Wales_, XXXVIII, p. 345;\nFison and Howitt, _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, p. 467; Strehlow, I, p. 11.\n\n[905] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 390-391. Strehlow calls these evil spirits\n_Erintja_; but this word is evidently equivalent to Oruncha. Yet there\nis a difference in the ways the two are presented to us. According to\nSpencer and Gillen, the Oruncha are malicious rather than evil; they\neven say (p. 328) that the Arunta know no necessarily evil spirits. On\nthe contrary, the regular business of Strehlow's Erintja is to do evil.\nJudging from certain myths given by Spencer and Gillen (_Nat. Tr._, p.\n390), they seem to have touched up the figures of the Oruncha a little:\nthese were originally ogres (_ibid._, p. 331).\n\n[906] Roth, _Superstition_, etc., \u00a7 115; Eylmann, p. 190.\n\n[907] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 390 f.\n\n[908] _Ibid._, p. 551.\n\n[909] _Ibid._, pp. 326 f.\n\n[910] Strehlow, I, p. 14. When there are twins, the first one is\nbelieved to have been conceived in this manner.\n\n[911] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 327.\n\n[912] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 358, 381, 385; Spencer and Gillen, _Nat.\nTr._, p. 334; _Nor. Tr._, pp. 501, 530.\n\n[913] As the magician can either cause or cure sickness, we sometimes\nfind, besides these magical spirits whose function is to do evil, others\nwho forestall or neutralize the evil influence of the former. Cases of\nthis sort will be found in _Nor. Tr._, pp. 501-502. The fact that the\nlatter are magic just as much as the former is well shown by the fact\nthat the two have the same name, among the Arunta. So they are different\naspects of a single magic power.\n\n[914] Strehlow, I, p. 9. Putiaputia is not the only personage of this\nsort of whom the Arunta myths speak: certain portions of the tribe give\na different name to the hero to whom the same invention is ascribed. We\nmust not forget that the extent of the territory occupied by the Arunta\nprevents their mythology from being completely homogeneous.\n\n[915] Spencer and Gillen, _Nor. Tr._, p. 493.\n\n[916] _Ibid._, p. 498.\n\n[917] _Ibid._, pp. 498 f.\n\n[918] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 135.\n\n[919] _Ibid._, pp. 476 ff.\n\n[920] Strehlow, I, pp. 6-8. The work of Mangarkunjerkunja must be taken\nup again later among other heroes; for, according to a belief that is\nnot confined to the Arunta, a time came when men forgot the teaching of\ntheir first initiators and became corrupt.\n\n[921] This is the case, for example, of Atnatu (Spencer and Gillen,\n_Nor. Tr._, p. 153) and the Witurna (_Nor. Tr._, p. 498), If Tendun did\nnot establish these rites, it is he who is charged with the direction of\ntheir celebration (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 670).\n\n[922] _Nor. Tr._, p. 499.\n\n[923] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 493; _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, pp. 197 and\n247; Spencer and Gillen, _Nor. Tr._, p. 492.\n\n[924] For example, see _Nor. Tr._, p. 499.\n\n[925] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 338, 347, 499.\n\n[926] It is true that Spencer and Gillen maintain that these mythical\nbeings play no moral r\u00f4le (_Nor. Tr._, p. 493); but this is because they\ngive too narrow a meaning to the word. Religious duties are duties: so\nthe fact of looking after the manner in which these are observed\nconcerns morals, especially because all morals have a religious\ncharacter at this period.\n\n[927] The fact was observed as early as 1845 by Eyre, _Journals_, etc.,\nII, p. 362, and, before Eyre, by Henderson, _Observations on the\nColonies of N.S. Wales and Van Diemen's Land_, p. 147.\n\n[928] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 488-508.\n\n[929] Among the Kulin, Wotjobaluk and Wo\u00ebworung (Victoria).\n\n[930] Among the Yuin, Ngarrigo and Wolgal (New South Wales).\n\n[931] Among the Kamilaroi and Euahlayi (northern part of New South\nWales); and more to the centre, in the same province, among the\nWonghibon and the Wiradjuri.\n\n[932] Among the Wiimbaio and the tribes on the lower Murray (Ridley,\n_Kamilaroi_, p. 137; Brough Smyth, I, pp. 423, n., 431).\n\n[933] Among the tribes on the Herbert River (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p.\n498).\n\n[934] Among the Kurnai.\n\n[935] Taplin, p. 55; Eylmann, p. 182.\n\n[936] It is undoubtedly to this supreme Mura-mura that Gason makes\nallusion in the passage already cited (Curr, II, p. 55).\n\n[937] _Nat. Tr._, p. 246.\n\n[938] Between Baiame, Bunjil and Daramulun on the one hand, and Altjira\non the other, there is the difference that the latter is completely\nforeign to all that concerns humanity; he did not make man and does not\nconcern himself with what they do. The Arunta have neither love nor fear\nfor him. But when this conception is carefully observed and analysed, it\nis hard to admit that it is primitive; for if the Altjira plays no r\u00f4le,\nexplains nothing, serves for nothing, what made the Arunta imagine him?\nPerhaps it is necessary to consider him as a sort of Baiame who has lost\nhis former prestige, as an ancient god whose memory is fading away.\nPerhaps, also, Strehlow has badly interpreted the testimony he has\ngathered. According to Eylmann, who, it is to be admitted, is neither a\nvery competent nor a very sure observer, Altjira made men (_op. cit._,\np. 134). Moreover, among the Loritja, the corresponding personage,\nTukura, is believed to celebrate the initiation ceremonies himself.\n\n[939] For Bunjil, see Brough Smyth, I, p. 417; for Baiame, see Ridley,\n_Kamilaroi_, p. 136; for Daramulun, see Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 495.\n\n[940] On the composition of Bunjil's family, for example, see Howitt,\n_Nat. Tr._, pp. 128, 129, 489, 491; Brough Smyth, I, pp. 417, 423; for\nBaiame's, see L. Parker, _The Euahlayi_, pp. 7, 66, 103; Howitt, _Nat.\nTr._, pp. 502, 585, 407; for Nurunderi's, Taplin, _The Narrinyeri_, pp.\n57 f. Of course, there are all sorts of variations in the ways in which\nthe families of these great gods are conceived. The personage who is a\nbrother here, is a son there. The number and names of the wives vary\nwith the locality.\n\n[941] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 128.\n\n[942] Brough Smyth, I, pp. 430, 431.\n\n[943] _Ibid._, I, p. 432, n.\n\n[944] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 498, 538; Mathews, _Jour. of the Roy. Soc.\nof N.S. Wales_, XXXVIII, p. 343; Ridley, p. 136.\n\n[945] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 538; Taplin, _The Narrinyeri_, pp. 57-58.\n\n[946] L. Parker, _The Euahlayi_, p. 8.\n\n[947] Brough Smyth, I, p. 424.\n\n[948] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 492.\n\n[949] According to certain myths, he made men but not women; this is\nrelated of Bunjil. But then, the origin of women is attributed to his\nson-brother, Pallyan (Brough Smyth, I, pp. 417 and 423).\n\n[950] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 489, 492; Mathews, _Journ. of the Roy.\nSoc. of N.S. Wales_, XXXVIII, p. 340.\n\n[951] L. Parker, _The Euahlayi_, p. 7; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 630.\n\n[952] Ridley, _Kamilaroi_, p. 136; L. Parker, _The Euahlayi_, p. 114.\n\n[953] L. Parker, _More Austr. Leg. Tales_, pp. 84-89, 90-91.\n\n[954] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 495, 498, 543, 563, 564; Brough Smyth, I,\np. 429; L. Parker, _The Euahlayi_, pp. 79.\n\n[955] Ridley, p. 137.\n\n[956] L. Parker, _The Euahlayi_, pp. 90-91.\n\n[957] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 495; Taplin, _The Narrinyeri_, p. 58.\n\n[958] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 538, 543, 553, 555, 556; Mathews, _loc.\ncit._, p. 318; L. Parker, _The Euahlayi_, pp. 6, 79, 80.\n\n[959] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 498, 528.\n\n[960] Howitt, _ibid._, p. 493; L. Parker, _The Euahlayi_, p. 76.\n\n[961] L. Parker, _The Euahlayi_, p. 76; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 493,\n612.\n\n[962] Ridley, _Kamilaroi_, p. 153; L. Parker, _The Euahlayi_, p. 67;\nHowitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 585; Mathews, _loc. cit._, p. 343. In opposition\nto Baiame, Daramulun is sometimes presented as a necessarily evil spirit\n(L. Parker, _loc. cit._; Ridley, in Brough Smyth, II, p. 285).\n\n[963] _J.A.I._, XXI, pp. 292 ff.\n\n[964] _The Making of Religion_, pp. 187-293.\n\n[965] Lang, _ibid._, p. 331. The author confines himself to stating that\nthe hypothesis of St. Paul does not appear to him \"the most\nunsatisfactory.\"\n\n[966] The thesis of Lang has been taken up again by Father Schmidt in\nthe _Anthropos_ (1908-1909). Replying to Sydney Hartland, who had\ncriticized Lang's theory in an article entitled _The \"High Gods\" of\nAustralia_, in _Folk-Lore_ (Vol. IX, pp. 290 ff.), Father Schmidt\nundertook to show that Baiame, Bunjil, etc., are eternal gods, creators,\nomnipotent, omniscient and guardians of the moral order. We are not\ngoing to enter into this discussion, which seems to have neither\ninterest nor importance. If these different adjectives are given a\nrelative sense, in harmony with the Australian mind, we are quite ready\nto accept them, and have even used them ourselves. From this point of\nview, omnipotent means having more power than the other sacred beings;\nomniscient, seeing things that escape the vulgar and even the greatest\nmagicians; guardian of the moral order, one causing the rules of\nAustralian morality to be respected, howsoever much these may differ\nfrom our own. But if they want to give these words meanings which only a\nspiritualistic Christian could attach to them, it seems useless to\ndiscuss an opinion so contrary to the principles of the historical\nmethod.\n\n[967] On this question, see N. W. Thomas, _Baiame and Bell-bird--A Note\non Australian Religion_, in _Man_, 1905, No. 28. Cf. Lang, _Magic and\nReligion_, p. 25. Waitz had already upheld the original character of\nthis conception in his _Anthropologie d. Naturv\u00f6lker_, pp. 796-798.\n\n[968] Dawson, p. 49; Meyer, _Encounter Bay Tribe_, in Woods, pp. 205,\n206; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 481, 491, 492, 494; Ridley, _Kamilaroi_, p.\n136.\n\n[969] Taplin, _The Narrinyeri_, pp. 55-56.\n\n[970] L. Parker, _More Austr. Leg. Tales_, p. 94.\n\n[971] Brough Smyth, I, pp. 425-427.\n\n[972] Taplin, _ibid._, p. 60.\n\n[973] Taplin, _ibid._, p. 61.\n\n[974] \"The world was created by beings called Nuralie; these beings, who\nhad already long existed, had the forms of crows or of eagle-hawks\"\n(Brough Smyth, I, pp. 423-424).\n\n[975] \"Bayamee,\" says Mrs. Parker, \"is for the Euahlayi what the\nAlcheringa is for the Arunta\" (_The Euahlayi_, p. 6).\n\n[976] See above, pp. 257 f.\n\n[977] In another myth, reported by Spencer and Gillen, a wholly\nanalogous r\u00f4le is filled by two personages living in heaven, named\nUngambikula (_Nat. Tr._, pp. 388 ff.).\n\n[978] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 493.\n\n[979] Parker, _The Euahlayi_, pp. 62-66, 67. This is because the great\ngod is connected with the bull-roarer, which is identified with the\nthunder; for the roaring of this ritual instrument is connected with the\nrolling of thunder.\n\n[980] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 135. The word meaning totem is written\n_thundung_ by Howitt.\n\n[981] Strehlow, I, pp. 1-2 and II, p. 59. It will be remembered that,\namong the Arunta, the maternal totem was quite probably the real totem\nat first.\n\n[982] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 555.\n\n[983] _Ibid._, pp. 546, 560.\n\n[984] Ridley, _Kamilaroi_, pp. 136, 156. He is represented in this form\nduring the initiation rites of the Kamilaroi. According to another\nlegend, he is a black swan (L. Parker, _More Aust. Leg. Tales_, p. 94).\n\n[985] Strehlow, I, p. 1.\n\n[986] Brough Smyth, I, pp. 423-424.\n\n[987] _Nat. Tr._, p. 492.\n\n[988] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 128.\n\n[989] Brough Smyth, I, pp. 417-423.\n\n[990] See above, p. 108.\n\n[991] There are phratries bearing the names Kilpara (crow) and Mukwara.\nThis is the explanation of the myth itself, which is reported by Brough\nSmyth (I, pp. 423-424).\n\n[992] Brough Smyth, I, pp. 425-427. Cf. Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 486. In\nthis case, Karween is identified with the blue heron.\n\n[993] Brough Smyth, I, p. 423.\n\n[994] Ridley, _Kamilaroi_, p. 136; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 585; Mathews,\n_J. of R. S. of N.S. Wales_, XXVIII (1894), p. 111.\n\n[995] See above, p. 145. Cf. Father Schmidt, _The Origin of the Idea of\nGod_, in _Anthropos_, 1909.\n\n[996] _Op. cit._, p. 7. Among these same people, the principal wife of\nBaiame is also represented as the mother of all the totems, without\nbelonging to any totem herself (_ibid._, pp. 7, 79).\n\n[997] See Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 511 f., 513, 602 ff.; Mathews, _J. of\nR.S. of N.S. Wales_, XXXVIII, p. 270. They invite to these feasts not\nonly the tribes with whom a regular _connubium_ is established, but also\nthose with whom there are quarrels to be arranged; the vendetta,\nhalf-ceremonial and half-serious, take place on these occasions.\n\n[998] See above, p. 155.\n\n[999] There is one form of ritual especially which we leave completely\naside; this is the oral ritual which must be studied in a special volume\nof the _Collection de l'Ann\u00e9e Sociologique_.\n\n[1000] See the article _Taboo_ in the _Encyclop\u00e6dia Britannica_, written\nby Frazer.\n\n[1001] Facts prove the reality of this inconvenience. There is no lack\nof writers who, putting their trust in the word, have believed that the\ninstitution thus designated was peculiar to primitive peoples in\ngeneral, or even to the Polynesians (see R\u00e9ville, _Religion des peuples\nprimitifs_, II, p. 55; Richard, _La Femme dans l'histoire_, p. 435).\n\n[1002] See above, p. 43.\n\n[1003] This is not saying that there is a radical break of continuity\nbetween the religious and the magic interdictions: on the contrary, it\nis one whose true nature is not decided. There are interdicts of\nfolk-lore of which it is hard to say whether they are religious or\nmagic. But their distinction is necessary, for we believe that the magic\ninterdicts cannot be understood except as a function of the religious\nones.\n\n[1004] See above, p. 149.\n\n[1005] Many of the interdictions between sacred things can be traced\nback, we think, to those between the sacred and the profane. This is the\ncase with the interdicts of age or rank. For example, in Australia,\nthere are sacred foods which are reserved for the initiated. But these\nfoods are not all sacred to the same degree; there is a hierarchy among\nthem. Nor are the initiated all equal. They do not enjoy all their\nreligious rights from the first, but only enter step by step into the\ndomain of religious things. They must pass through a whole series of\nranks which are conferred upon them one after another, after special\ntrials and ceremonies; it requires months and sometimes even years to\nreach the highest rank. Now special foods are assigned to each of these\nranks; the men of the lower ranks may not touch the foods which\nrightfully belong to the men of the superior ones (see Mathews, _Ethnol.\nNotes_, etc., _loc. cit._ pp. 262 ff.; Parker, _The Euahlayi_, p. 23;\nSpencer and Gillen, _Nor. Tr._, pp. 611 ff.; _Nat. Tr._, pp. 470 ff.).\nSo the more sacred repels the less sacred; but this is because the\nsecond is profane in relation to the first. In fine, all the\ninterdictions arrange themselves in two classes: the interdictions\nbetween the sacred and the profane and the purely sacred and the\nimpurely sacred.\n\n[1006] See above, p. 137.\n\n[1007] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 463.\n\n[1008] _Nat. Tr._, p. 538; _Nor. Tr._, p. 640.\n\n[1009] _Nor. Tr._, p. 531.\n\n[1010] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 518 f.; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 449.\n\n[1011] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 498; Schulze, _loc. cit._, p.\n231.\n\n[1012] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 499.\n\n[1013] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 451.\n\n[1014] If the alimentary interdictions which concern the totemic plant\nor vegetable are the most important, they are far from being the only\nones. We have seen that there are foods which are forbidden to the\nnon-initiated because they are sacred; now very different causes may\nconfer this character. For example, as we shall presently see, the birds\nwhich are seen on the tops of trees are reputed to be sacred, because\nthey are neighbours to the great god who lives in heaven. Thus, it is\npossible that for different reasons the flesh of certain animals has\nbeen specially reserved for the old men and that consequently it has\nseemed to partake of the sacred character recognized in these latter.\n\n[1015] See Frazer, _Totemism_, p. 7.\n\n[1016] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 674.--There is one interdiction of contact\nof which we say nothing because it is very hard to determine its exact\nnature: this is sexual contact. There are religious periods when a man\ncannot have commerce with a woman (_Nor. Tr._, pp. 293, 295; _Nat. Tr._,\np. 397). Is this because the woman is profane or because the sexual act\nis dreaded? This question cannot be decided in passing. We set it aside\nalong with all that concerns conjugal and sexual rites. It is too\nclosely connected with the problems of marriage and the family to be\nseparated from them.\n\n[1017] _Nat. Tr._, p. 134; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 354.\n\n[1018] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 624.\n\n[1019] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 572.\n\n[1020] _Ibid._, p. 661.\n\n[1021] _Nat. Tr._, p. 386; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 655, 665.\n\n[1022] Among the Wiimbaio (Howitt, _ibid._, p. 451).\n\n[1023] Howitt, _ibid._, pp. 624, 661, 663, 667; Spencer and Gillen,\n_Nat. Tr._, pp. 221, 382 ff.; _Nor. Tr._, pp. 335, 344, 353, 369.\n\n[1024] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 221, 262, 288, 303, 378, 380.\n\n[1025] _Ibid._, p. 302.\n\n[1026] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 581.\n\n[1027] _Nor. Tr._, p. 227.\n\n[1028] See above, p. 288.\n\n[1029] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 498; _Nor. Tr._, p. 526;\nTaplin, _Narrinyeri_, p. 19.\n\n[1030] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 466, 469 ff.\n\n[1031] Wyatt, _Adelaide and Encounter Bay Tribes_, in Woods, p. 165.\n\n[1032] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 470.\n\n[1033] _Ibid._, p. 657; Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 139; _Nor.\nTr._, pp. 580 ff.\n\n[1034] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 537.\n\n[1035] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 544, 597, 614, 620.\n\n[1036] For example, the hair belt which he ordinarily wears (Spencer and\nGillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 171).\n\n[1037] _Ibid._, p. 624 ff.\n\n[1038] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 556.\n\n[1039] _Ibid._, p. 587.\n\n[1040] This act takes on a sacred character, it is true, when the\nelements eaten are sacred. But in itself, the act is so very profane\nthat eating a sacred food always constitutes a profanation. The\nprofanation may be permitted or even ordered, but, as we shall see\nbelow, only on condition that rites attenuating or expiating it precede\nor accompany it. The existence of these rites shows that, by itself, the\nsacred thing should not be eaten.\n\n[1041] _Nor. Tr._, p. 263.\n\n[1042] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 171.\n\n[1043] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 674. Perhaps the rule against talking\nduring the great religious solemnities is due to the same cause. Men\nspeak, and especially in a high voice, during ordinary life; then, in\nthe religious life they ought to keep still or talk in a low voice. This\nsame consideration is not foreign to the alimentary interdictions (see\nabove, p. 128).\n\n[1044] _Nor. Tr._, p. 33.\n\n[1045] Since there is a sacred principle, the soul, within each man,\nfrom the very first, the individual is surrounded by interdicts, the\noriginal form of the moral interdicts which isolate and protect the\nhuman person to-day. Thus the corpse of his victim is considered\ndangerous for a murderer (Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 492), and\nis taboo for him. Now the interdicts having this origin are frequently\nused by individuals as a means of withdrawing certain things from common\nuse and thus establishing a property right over them. \"When a man goes\naway from the camp, leaving his arms and food there,\" says Roth,\nspeaking of the tribes on the Palmer River (North Queensland), \"if he\nurinates near the objects he leaves, they become _tami_ (equivalent to\ntaboo) and he may be sure of finding them intact on his return\" (_North\nQueensland Ethnography_, in _Records of the Australian Museum_, Vol.\nVII, No. 2, p. 75). This is because the urine, like the blood, is\nbelieved to contain some of the sacred force which is personal to the\nindividual. So it keeps strangers at a distance. For the same reasons,\nthe spoken word may also serve as a vehicle for these same influences;\nthat is how it becomes possible to prevent access to an object by a mere\nverbal declaration. This power of making interdicts varies with\ndifferent individuals; it is greater as their character is more sacred.\nMen have this privilege almost to the exclusion of women (Roth cites one\nsingle case of a taboo imposed by women); it is at its maximum with the\nchiefs and old men, who use it to monopolize whatever things they find\nit convenient to (Roth, _ibid._, p. 77). Thus the religious interdict\nbecomes a right of property and an administrative rule.\n\n[1046] See below, this book, ch. ii.\n\n[1047] See above, p. 10.\n\n[1048] See above, p. 219.\n\n[1049] See Hubert and Mauss, _Essai sur la nature et la fonction du\nsacrifice_, in _M\u00e9langes d'histoire des religions_, pp. 22 ff.\n\n[1050] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 560, 657, 659, 661. Even the shadow of a\nwoman must not fall upon him (_ibid._, p. 633). Whatever he has touched\nmust not be touched by a woman (_ibid._, p. 621).\n\n[1051] _Ibid._, pp. 561, 563, 670 f.; Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p.\n223; _Nor. Tr._, pp. 340, 342.\n\n[1052] The word Jeraeil, for example, among the Kurnai, or Kuringal\namong the Yuin and Wolgal (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 518, 617).\n\n[1053] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 348.\n\n[1054] Howitt, p. 561.\n\n[1055] Howitt, pp. 633, 538, 560.\n\n[1056] _Ibid._, p. 674; Parker, _Euahlayi_, p. 75.\n\n[1057] Ridley, _Kamilaroi_, p. 154.\n\n[1058] Howitt, p. 563.\n\n[1059] _Ibid._, p. 611.\n\n[1060] _Ibid._, pp. 549, 674.\n\n[1061] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 580, 596, 604, 668, 670; Spencer and\nGillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 223, 351.\n\n[1062] Howitt, p. 557.\n\n[1063] _Ibid_., p. 604; Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 351.\n\n[1064] Howitt, p. 611.\n\n[1065] Howitt, p. 589.\n\n[1066] One may compare these ascetic practices with those used at the\ninitiation of a magician. Just like the young neophyte, the apprentice\nmagician is submitted to a multitude of interdictions, the observation\nof which contributes to his acquisition of his specific powers (see\n_L'Origine des pouvoirs magiques_, in Hubert and Mauss, _M\u00e9langes\nd'histoire des religions_, pp. 171, 173, 176). The same is true for the\nhusband and wife on the day before and the day after the wedding (taboos\nof the betrothed and newly married); this is because marriage also\nimplies a grave change of condition. We limit ourselves to mentioning\nthese facts summarily, without stopping over them; for the first concern\nmagic, which is not our subject, and the second have to do with that\nsystem of juridico-religious rules which relates to the commerce of the\nsexes, the study of which will be possible only in conjunction with the\nother precepts of primitive conjugal morality.\n\n[1067] It is true that Preuss interprets these facts by saying that\nsuffering is a way of increasing a man's magic force (_die menschliche\nZauberkraft_); from this expression, one might believe that suffering is\na magic rite, not a religious one. But as we have already pointed out,\nPreuss gives the name magic, without great precision, to all anonymous\nand impersonal forces, whether they belong to magic or religion. Of\ncourse, there are tortures which are used to make magicians; but many of\nthose which we have described are a part of the real religious\nceremonies, and, consequently, it is the religious state of the\nindividuals which they modify.\n\n[1068] Preuss, _Der Ursprung der Religion und Kunst_, in _Globus_,\nLXXXVIII, pp. 309-400. Under this same rubric Preuss classes a great\nnumber of incongruous rites, for example, effusions of blood which act\nin virtue of the positive qualities attributed to blood and not because\nof the suffering which they imply. We retain only those in which\nsuffering is an essential element of the rite and the cause of its\nefficacy.\n\n[1069] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 331 f.\n\n[1070] _Ibid._, p. 335. A similar practice will be found among the Dieri\n(Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 658 ff.).\n\n[1071] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 214 ff.--From this example we\nsee that the rites of initiation sometimes have all the characteristics\nof hazing. In fact, hazing is a real social institution which arises\nspontaneously every time that two groups, inequal in their moral and\nsocial situation, come into intimate contact. In this case, the one\nconsidering itself superior to the other resists the intrusion of the\nnew-comers; it reacts against them is such a way as to make them aware\nof the superiority it feels. This reaction, which is produced\nautomatically and which takes the form of more or less grave cruelties\nquite naturally, is also destined to shape the individuals for their new\nexistence and assimilate them into their new environment. So it is a\nsort of initiation. Thus it is explained how the initiation, on its\nside, takes the form of hazing. It is because the group of old men is\nsuperior in religious and moral dignity to that of the young men, and\nyet the first must assimilate the second. So all the conditions for\nhazing are given.\n\n[1072] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 372.\n\n[1073] _Ibid._, p. 335.\n\n[1074] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 675.\n\n[1075] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 569, 604.\n\n[1076] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 251; _Nor. Tr._, 341, 352.\n\n[1077] Among the Warramunga, the operation must be made by persons\nfavoured with beautiful hair.\n\n[1078] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 675; this concerns the tribes on the lower\nDarling.\n\n[1079] Eylmann, _op. cit._, p. 212.\n\n[1080] _Ibid._\n\n[1081] References on this question will be found in our memoir on _La\nProhibition de l'incest et ses origines_ (_Ann\u00e9e Sociol._, I, pp. 1\nff.), and Crawley, _The Mystic Rose_, pp. 37 ff.\n\n[1082] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 133.\n\n[1083] See above, p. 121.\n\n[1084] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 134 f.; Strehlow, I, p. 78.\n\n[1085] Spencer and Gillen, _Nor. Tr._, pp. 167, 299.\n\n[1086] In addition to the ascetic rites of which we have spoken, there\nare some positive ones whose object is to charge, or, as Howitt says, to\nsaturate the initiate with religiousness (Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 535).\nIt is true that instead of religiousness, Howitt speaks of magic powers,\nbut as we know, for the majority of the ethnologists, this word merely\nsignifies religious virtues of an impersonal nature.\n\n[1087] Howitt, _ibid._, pp. 674 f.\n\n[1088] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 454. Cf. Howitt, _Nat. Tr._,\np. 561.\n\n[1089] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 557.\n\n[1090] _Ibid._, p. 560.\n\n[1091] See above, pp. 303, 306. Cf. Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p.\n498; _Nor. Tr._, pp. 506, 507, 518 f., 526; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 449,\n461, 469; Mathews, in _J. of R.S. of N.S. Wales_, XXXVIII, p. 274;\nSchulze, _loc. cit._, p. 231; Wyatt, _Adelaide and Encounter Bay\nTribes_, in Woods, pp. 165, 198.\n\n[1092] _Australian Aborigines_, p. 42.\n\n[1093] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 470-471.\n\n[1094] On this question, see Robertson Smith, _Religion of the Semites_,\npp. 152 ff., 446, 481; Frazer, art. _Taboo_ in _Encyc. Brit._, Jevons,\n_Introduction to the History of Religions_, pp. 59 f.; Crawley, _Mystic\nRose_, ch. ii-ix; Van Gennep, _Tabou et Totemisme \u00e0 Madagascar_, ch.\niii.\n\n[1095] See references above, p. 128, n. 1. Cf. _Nor. Tr._, pp. 323, 324;\n_Nat. Tr._, p. 168; Taplin, _The Narrinyeri_, p. 16; Roth, _North\nQueensland Ethnography_. Bull. 10, _Records of Austral. Museum_, VII, p.\n76.\n\n[1096] It is to be remembered that when it is a religious interdict that\nhas been violated, these sanctions are not the only ones; there is also\na real punishment or a stigma of opinion.\n\n[1097] See Jevons, _Introduction to the History of Religions_, pp.\n67-68. We say nothing of the recent, and slightly explicit, theory of\nCrawley (_Mystic Rose_, ch. iv-vii), according to which the\ncontagiousness of taboos is due to a false interpretation of the\nphenomena of contagion. It is arbitrary. As Jevons very truly says in\nthe passage to which we refer, the contagious character of sacredness is\naffirmed _a priori_, and not on a faith in badly interpreted\nexperiences.\n\n[1098] See above, p. 229.\n\n[1099] See above, p. 194.\n\n[1100] See above, p. 190.\n\n[1101] This has been well demonstrated by Preuss in his articles in the\n_Globus_.\n\n[1102] It is true that this contagiousness is not peculiar to religious\nforces; those belonging to magic have the same property; yet it is\nevident that they do not correspond to objectified social sentiments. It\nis because magic forces have been conceived on the model of religious\nforces. We shall come back to this point again (see p. 361).\n\n[1103] See above, p. 235.\n\n[1104] Strehlow, I, p. 4.\n\n[1105] Of course the word designating these celebrations changes with\nthe tribes. The Urabunna call them _Pitjinta_ (_Nor. Tr._, p. 284); the\nWarramunga _Thalaminta_ (_ibid._, p. 297), etc.\n\n[1106] Schulze, _loc. cit._, p. 243; Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp.\n169 f.\n\n[1107] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 170 ff.\n\n[1108] Of course the women are under the same obligation.\n\n[1109] The apmara is the only thing which he brought from the camp.\n\n[1110] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 185-186.\n\n[1111] _Nor. Tr._, p. 288.\n\n[1112] _Ibid._\n\n[1113] _Nor. Tr._, p. 312.\n\n[1114] _Ibid._\n\n[1115] We shall see below that these clans are much more numerous than\nSpencer and Gillen say.\n\n[1116] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 184-185.\n\n[1117] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 438, 461, 464; _Nor. Tr._, pp. 596 ff.\n\n[1118] _Nat. Tr._, p. 201.\n\n[1119] _Ibid._, p. 206. We use the words of Spencer and Gillen, and with\nthem, we say that \"spirits or spirit parts of kangaroo\" are disengaged\nfrom the rocks. Strehlow (III, p. 7) contests the exactness of this\nexpression. According to him, the rite makes real kangaroos, with living\nbodies, appear. But this dispute is without interest, just as the one\nabout the notion of the _ratapa_ was (see above, p. 252). The kangaroo\ngerms thus escaping from the rock are not visible, so they are not made\nout of the same substance as the kangaroos which we see. This is all\nthat Spencer and Gillen mean to say. It is quite certain, moreover, that\nthey are not pure spirits such as a Christian might conceive. Like human\nsouls, they have a material form.\n\n[1120] _Nat. Tr._, p. 181.\n\n[1121] A tribe on the east of Lake Eyre.\n\n[1122] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 287 f.\n\n[1123] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 798. Cf. Howitt, _Legends of the Dieri and\nKindred Tribes of Central Australia_, in _J.A.I._, XXIV, pp. 124 ff.\nHowitt believes that the ceremony is performed by the men of the totem,\nbut is not prepared to say so definitely.\n\n[1124] _Nor. Tr._, p. 295.\n\n[1125] _Ibid._, p. 314.\n\n[1126] _Ibid._, pp. 296 f.\n\n[1127] _Nat. Tr._, p. 170.\n\n[1128] _Ibid._, p. 519.--The analysis of the rites which have just been\nstudied is based solely on the observations of Spencer and Gillen. Since\nthis chapter was written, Strehlow has published the third fascicule of\nhis work, which deals with the positive cult and especially the\nIntichiuma, or, as he says, the rites of the _mbatjalkatiuma_. But we\nhave found nothing in this publication which obliges us to modify the\npreceding description or even to complete it with important additions.\nThe most interesting thing taught by Strehlow on this subject is that\nthe effusions and oblations of blood are much more frequent than one\nwould suspect from the account of Spencer and Gillen (see Strehlow, III,\npp. 13, 14, 19, 29, 39, 43, 46, 56, 67, 80, 89).\n\nMoreover, the information given by Strehlow in regard to the cult must\nbe taken carefully, for he was not a witness of the rites he describes;\nhe confined himself to collecting oral testimony, which is generally\nrather summary (see fasc. III, Preface of Leonhardi, p. v). It may even\nbe asked if he has not confused the totemic ceremonies of initiation\nwith those which he calls _mbatjalkatiuma_, to an excessive degree. Of\ncourse, he has made a praiseworthy attempt to distinguish them and has\nmade two of their distinctive characteristics very evident. In the first\nplace, the Intichiuma always takes place at a sacred spot to which the\nsouvenir of some ancestor is attached, while the initiation ceremonies\nmay be celebrated anywhere. Secondly, the oblations of blood are special\nto the Intichiuma, which proves that they are close to the heart of the\nritual (III, p. 7). But in the description which he gives us of the\nrites, we find facts belonging indifferently to each species of\nceremony. In fact, in what he describes under the name mbatjalkatiuma,\nthe young men generally take an important part (for example, see pp. 11,\n13, etc.), which is characteristic of the initiation. Also, it seems as\nthough the place of the rite is arbitrary, for the actors construct\ntheir scene artificially. They dig a hole into which they go; he seldom\nmakes any allusion to sacred trees or rocks and their ritual r\u00f4le.\n\n[1129] _Nat. Tr._, p. 203. Cf. Meyer, _The Encounter Bay Tribe_, in\nWoods, p. 187.\n\n[1130] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 204.\n\n[1131] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 205-207.\n\n[1132] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 286 f.\n\n[1133] _Ibid._, p. 294.\n\n[1134] _Ibid._, p. 296.\n\n[1135] Meyer, _in_ Woods, p. 187.\n\n[1136] We have already cited one case; others will be found in Spencer\nand Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 208; _Nor. Tr._, p. 286.\n\n[1137] The Walpari, Wulmala, Tjingilli, Umbaia.\n\n[1138] _Nor. Tr._, p. 318.\n\n[1139] For the second part of the ceremony as for the first, we have\nfollowed Spencer and Gillen. On this subject, the recent fascicule of\nStrehlow only confirms the observations of his predecessors, at least on\nall essential points. He recognizes that after the first ceremony (two\nmonths afterwards, he says, p. 13), the chief of the clan eats the\ntotemic animal or plant ritually and that after this he raises the\ninterdicts; he calls this operation _die Freigabe des Totems zum\nallgemeinen Gebrauch_ (III, p. 7). He even tells us that this operation\nis important enough to have a special word for it in the Arunta\nlanguage. He adds, it is true, that this ritual consummation is not the\nonly one, but that the chiefs and old men sometimes eat the sacred plant\nor animal before the first ceremony and that the performer of the rite\ndoes so after the celebration. The fact is not improbable; these\nconsummations are means employed by the officiants or assistants to\nacquire virtues which they acquire; it is not surprising if they are\nnumerous. It does not invalidate the account of Spencer and Gillen at\nall, for the rite upon which they insist, and not without reason, is the\n_Freigabe des Totems_.\n\nOn only two points does Strehlow contest the allegations of Spencer and\nGillen. In the first place, he declares that the ritual consumption does\nnot take place in every case. This cannot be doubted, for there are some\nanimals and plants which are not edible. But still, the rite is very\nfrequent; Strehlow himself cites numerous examples (pp. 13, 14, 19, 23,\n33, 36, 50, 59, 67, 68, 71, 75, 80, 84, 89, 93). Secondly, we have seen\nthat according to Spencer and Gillen, if the chief does not eat the\ntotemic animal or plant, he will lose his powers. Strehlow assures us\nthat the testimony of natives does not confirm this assertion. But this\nquestion seems to us to be quite secondary. The assured fact is that the\nritual consumption is required, so it must be thought useful or\nnecessary. Now, like every communion, it can only serve to confer needed\nvirtues upon the person communicating. It does not follow from the fact\nthat the natives, or some of them, have forgotten this function of the\nrite, that it is not real. Is it necessary to repeat that worshippers\nare generally ignorant of the real reasons for their practices?\n\n[1140] See _The Religion of the Semites_, Lectures vi-xi, and the\narticle _Sacrifice_ in the _Encyclop\u00e6dia Britannica_ (Ninth Edition).\n\n[1141] See Hubert and Mauss, _Essai sur la nature et la fonction du\nsacrifice_, in _M\u00e9langes d'histoire des religions_, pp. 40 ff.\n\n[1142] See the explanation of this rule, above, p. 229.\n\n[1143] See Strehlow, III, p. 3.\n\n[1144] We must not forget that among the Arunta it is not completely\nforbidden to eat the totemic animal.\n\n[1145] See other facts in Frazer, _Golden Bough_, pp. 348 ff.\n\n[1146] _The Religion of the Semites_, pp. 275 ff.\n\n[1147] _The Religion of the Semites_, pp. 318-319.\n\n[1148] On this point, see Hubert and Mauss, _M\u00e9langes d'histoire des\nreligions_, preface, p. v ff.\n\n[1149] _The Religion of the Semites_, pp. 390 ff.\n\n[1150] Smith cites some cases himself in _The Rel. of the Semites_, p.\n231.\n\n[1151] For example, see Exodus xxix. 10-14; Leviticus ix. 8-11; it is\ntheir own blood which the priests of Baal pour over the altar (1 Kings\nxviii. 28).\n\n[1152] Strehlow, III, p. 12, verse 7.\n\n[1153] At least when it is complete: in certain cases, it may be reduced\nto one of its elements.\n\n[1154] Strehlow says that the natives \"regard these ceremonies as a sort\nof divine service, just as a Christian regards the exercises of his\nreligion\" (III, p. 9).\n\n[1155] It should be asked, for example, whether the effusions of blood\nand the offerings of hair which Smith regards as acts of communion are\nnot real oblations (see Smith,_ op_. _cit._, pp. 320 ff.).\n\n[1156] The expiatory rites, of which we shall speak more fully in the\nfifth chapter of this same book, are almost exclusively oblations. They\nare communions only secondarily.\n\n[1157] This is why we frequently speak of the ceremonies as if they were\naddressed to living personalities (see, for example, texts by Krichauff\nand Kemp, in Eylmann, p. 202).\n\n[1158] In a philosophical sense, the same is true of everything, for\nnothing exists except in representation. But as we have shown (p. 227),\nthis proposition is doubly true for religious forces, for there is\nnothing in the constitution of things which corresponds to sacredness.\n\n[1159] See Mauss, _Essai sur les variations saisonni\u00e8res des soci\u00e9t\u00e9s\nEskimos_, in _Ann\u00e9e Sociol._, IX, pp. 96 ff.\n\n[1160] _Nat. Tr._, p. 176.\n\n[1161] _Nor. Tr._, p. 179. It is true that Spencer and Gillen do not say\nexpressly that this is an Intichiuma. But the context allow of no doubt\non this point.\n\n[1162] In the index of totem names, Spencer and Gillen write _Untjalka_\n(_Nor. Tr._, p. 772).\n\n[1163] _Nat. Tr._, p. 182.\n\n[1164] _Nat. Tr._, p. 193.\n\n[1165] Schulze, _loc. cit._, p. 221; cf. p. 243.\n\n[1166] Strehlow, III, pp. 11, 31, 36, 37, 68, 72, 84.\n\n[1167] _Ibid._, p. 100.\n\n[1168] _Ibid._, pp. 81, 100, 112, 115.\n\n[1169] _Nor. Tr._, p. 310.\n\n[1170] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 285-286. Perhaps the object of these movements of\nthe lance is to pierce the clouds.\n\n[1171] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 294-296. It is curious that, on the contrary, the\nAnula regard the rainbow as productive of rain (_ibid._, p. 314).\n\n[1172] The same process is employed among the Arunta (Strehlow, III, p.\n132). Of course we may ask if this effusion of blood is not an oblation\ndesigned to win the powers which produce rain. However, Gason says\ndistinctly that this is a way of imitating the water which falls.\n\n[1173] Gason, _The Dieri Tribe_, in Curr, II, pp. 66-68. Howitt (_Nat.\nTr._, pp. 798-800) mentions other rites of the Dieri for obtaining rain.\n\n[1174] _Ethnological Notes on the Western Australian Aborigines_, in\n_Internationales Archiv. f. Ethnographie_, XVI, pp. 6-7. Cf. Withnal,\n_Marriage Rites and Relationship_ in _Man_, 1903, p. 42.\n\n[1175] We presume that sub-totems may have _tarlow_, for, according to\nClement, certain clans have several totems.\n\n[1176] Clement says a tribal family.\n\n[1177] We shall explain below (p. 362) why this is incorrect.\n\n[1178] On this classification, see Frazer, _Lectures on the Early\nHistory of Kingship_, pp. 37 ff.; Hubert and Mauss, _Th\u00e9orie g\u00e9n\u00e9rale de\nla Magie_, pp. 61 ff.\n\n[1179] We say nothing of what has been called the law of opposition,\nfor, as MM. Hubert and Mauss have shown, a contrary produces its\nopposite only through the intermediacy of a similar (_Th\u00e9orie g\u00e9n\u00e9rale\nde la Magie_, p. 70).\n\n[1180] _Lectures on the History of Kingship_, p. 39.\n\n[1181] It is applicable in the sense that there is really an association\nof the statue and the person encharmed. But it is true that this\nassociation is the simple product of an association of ideas by\nsimilarity. The true determining cause of the phenomenon is the\ncontagiousness peculiar to religious forces, as we have shown.\n\n[1182] For the causes determining this outward manifestation, see above,\npp. 230 ff.\n\n[1183] M. L\u00e9vy-Bruhl, _Les Fonctions mentales dans les soci\u00e9t\u00e9s\ninf\u00e9rieures_, pp. 61-68.\n\n[1184] _Golden Bough_^2, I, pp. 69-75.\n\n[1185] We do not wish to say that there was ever a time when religion\nexisted without magic. Probably as religion took form, certain of its\nprinciples were extended to non-religious relations, and it was thus\nsupplemented by a more or less developed magic. But if these two systems\nof ideas and practices do not correspond to distinct historical phases,\nthey have a relation of definite derivation between them. This is all we\nhave sought to establish.\n\n[1186] _Loc. cit._, pp. 108 ff.\n\n[1187] See above, pp. 203 f.\n\n[1188] Of course animal societies do exist. However, the word does not\nhave exactly the same sense when applied to men and to animals. The\ninstitution is a characteristic fact of human societies; but animals\nhave no institutions.\n\n[1189] The conception of cause is not the same for a scholar and for a\nman with no scientific culture. Also, many of our contemporaries\nunderstand the principle of causality differently, as they apply it to\nsocial facts and to physico-chemical facts. In the social order, men\nfrequently exhibit a conception of causality singularly like that which\nwas at the basis of magic for a long time. One might even ask if a\nphysicist and a biologist represent the causal relation in the same\nfashion.\n\n[1190] Of course these ceremonies are not followed by an alimentary\ncommunion. According to Strehlow, they have another name, at least when\nthey concern non-edible plants: they are called, not mbatjalkatiuma, but\n_knujilelama_ (Strehlow, III, p. 96).\n\n[1191] Strehlow, III, p. 8.\n\n[1192] The Warramunga are not the only ones among whom the Intichiuma\ntakes the form of a dramatic representation. It is also found among the\nTjingilli, the Umbaia, the Wulmala, the Walpari and even the Kaitish,\nthough in certain of its features the ritual of these latter resembles\nthat of the Arunta (_Nor. Tr._, p. 291, 309, 311, 317). If we take the\nWarramunga as a type, it is because they have been studied the best by\nSpencer and Gillen.\n\n[1193] This is the case with the Intichiuma of the black cockatoo (see\nabove, p. 353).\n\n[1194] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 300 ff.\n\n[1195] One of these two actors does not belong to the Black Snake clan,\nbut to that of the Crow. This is because the Crow is supposed to be an\n\"associate\" of the Black Snake: in other words, it is a sub-totem.\n\n[1196] _Nor. Tr._, p. 302.\n\n[1197] _Ibid._, p. 305.\n\n[1198] See Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 188; Strehlow, III, p. 5.\n\n[1199] Strehlow himself recognizes this: \"The totemic ancestor and his\ndescendant, who represents him (_der Darsteller_) are presented as one\nin these sacred hymns.\" (III, p. 6). As this incontestable fact\ncontradicts the theory according to which ancestral souls do not\nreincarnate themselves, Strehlow adds, it is true, in a note, that \"in\nthe course of the ceremony there is no real incarnation of the ancestor\nin the person who represents him.\" If Strehlow wishes to say that the\nincarnation does not take place on the occasion of the ceremony, then\nnothing is more certain. But if he means that there is no incarnation at\nall, we do not understand how the officiant and the ancestor can be\nconfounded.\n\n[1200] Perhaps this difference is partially due to the fact that among\nthe Warramunga each clan is thought to be descended from one single\nancestor about whom the legendary history of the clan centres. This is\nthe ancestor whom the rite commemorates; now the officiant need not be\ndescended from him. One might even ask if these mythical chiefs, who are\nsorts of demigods, are submitted to reincarnation.\n\n[1201] In this Intichiuma, three assistants represent ancestors \"of a\nconsiderable antiquity\"; they play a real part (_Nat. Tr._, pp.\n181-182). It is true that Spencer and Gillen add that these are\nancestors posterior to the Alcheringa. Nevertheless, mythical personages\nare represented in the course of the rite.\n\n[1202] Sacred rocks and water-holes are not mentioned. The centre of the\nceremony is the image of an emu drawn on the ground, which can be made\nanywhere.\n\n[1203] We do not mean to say that all the ceremonies of the Warramunga\nare of this type. The example of the white cockatoo, of which we spoke\nabove, proves that there are exceptions.\n\n[1204] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 226 ff. On this same subject, cf. certain\npassages of Eylmann which evidently refer to the same mythical being\n(_Die Eingeborenen_, etc., p. 185). Strehlow also mentions a mythical\nsnake among the Arunta (_Kulaia_, water-snake) which may not differ\ngreatly from the Wollunqua (Strehlow, I, p. 78; cf. II, p. 71, where the\nKulaia is found in a list of totems).\n\n[1205] We use the Arunta words, in order not to complicate our\nterminology; the Warramunga call this mythical period Wingara.\n\n[1206] \"It is not easy to express in words what is in reality rather a\nvague feeling amongst the natives, but after carefully watching the\ndifferent series of ceremonies, we were impressed with the feeling that\nthe Wollunqua represented to the native mind the idea of a dominant\ntotem\" (_Nor. Tr._, p. 248).\n\n[1207] One of the most solemn of these ceremonies is the one which we\nhave had occasion to describe above (p. 217), in the course of which an\nimage of the Wollunqua is designed on a sort of hillock which is then\ntorn to pieces in the midst of a general effervescence.\n\n[1208] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 227, 248.\n\n[1209] Here are the terms of Spencer and Gillen in the only passage in\nwhich they speak of a possible connection between the Wollunqua and\nrain. A few days after the rite about the hillock, \"the old men say that\nthey have heard Wollunqua speak, that he was satisfied with what had\npassed and that he was going to send rain. The reason for this prophecy\nwas that they, as well as ourselves, had heard thunder rolling at a\ndistance.\" To such a slight extent is the production of rain the\nimmediate object of the ceremony that they did not attribute it to\nWollunqua until several days later, and then after accidental\ncircumstances. Another fact shows how vague the ideas of the natives are\non this point. A few lines below, thunder is spoken of as a sign, not of\nthe Wollunqua's satisfaction, but of its discontent. In spite of these\nprognostics, continue our authors, \"the rain did not fall. But some days\nlater, they heard the thunder rolling in the distance again. The old men\nsaid that the Wollunqua was grumbling because he was not contented\" with\nthe way in which the rite had been celebrated. Thus a single phenomenon,\nthe noise of thunder, is sometimes interpreted as a sign of a favouring\ndisposition, and sometimes as a mark of evil intentions.\n\nHowever, there is one detail of the ritual which, if we accept the\nexplanation of it proposed by Spencer and Gillen, is directly efficient.\nAccording to them, the destruction of the hillock was intended to\nfrighten the Wollunqua and to prevent it, by magic constraint, from\nleaving its retreat. But this interpretation seems very doubtful to us.\nIn fact, in the very case of which we were speaking, where it was\nannounced that the Wollunqua was dissatisfied, this dissatisfaction was\nattributed to the fact that they had neglected to take away the debris\nof the hillock. So this removal is demanded by the Wollunqua itself, and\nin no way intended to intimidate it and exercise a coercive influence\nover it. This is probably merely one case of a more general rule which\nis in force among the Warramunga: the instruments of the cult must be\ndestroyed after each ceremony. Thus the ritual ornamentations with which\nthe officiants are decorated are violently torn off from them when the\nrite is terminated (_Nor. Tr._, p. 205).\n\n[1210] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 207-208.\n\n[1211] _Ibid._, p. 210.\n\n[1212] See, in the list of totems drawn up by Strehlow, Nos. 432-442\n(II, p. 72).\n\n[1213] See Strehlow, III, p, 8. Among the Arunta there is also a totem\n_Worra_ which greatly resembles the \"laughing boy\" totem of Warramunga\n(_ibid._, and III, p. 124). _Worra_ means young men. The object of the\nceremony is to make the young men take more pleasure in the game\n_labara_ (for this game, see Strehlow, I, p. 55, n. 1).\n\n[1214] See above, p. 373.\n\n[1215] A case of this sort will be found in _Nor. Tr._, p. 204.\n\n[1216] _Nat. Tr._, p. 118 and n. 2, pp. 618 ff.; _Nor. Tr._, pp. 716 ff.\nThere are some sacred ceremonies from which women are not wholly\nexcluded (see, for example, _Nor. Tr._, pp. 375 ff.); but this is\nexceptional.\n\n[1217] See _Nat. Tr._, pp. 329 ff.; _Nor. Tr._, pp. 210 ff.\n\n[1218] This is the case, for example, with the corrobbori of the Molonga\namong the Pitta-Pitta of Queensland and the neighbouring tribes (see\nRoth, _Ethnog. Studies among the N.W. Central Queensland Aborigines_,\npp. 120 ff.).--References for the ordinary corrobbori will be found in\nStirling, _Rep. of the Horn Expedition to Central Australia_, Part IV,\np. 72, and in Roth, _op. cit._, pp. 117 ff.\n\n[1219] On this question see the excellent work of Culin, _Games of the\nNorth American Indians (XXIVth Rep. of the Bureau of Am. Ethnol._).\n\n[1220] See above, p. 81.\n\n[1221] Especially in sexual matters. In the ordinary corrobbori, sexual\nlicence is frequent (see Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 96-97, and\n_Nor. Tr._, pp. 136-137). On sexual licence in popular feasts in\ngeneral, see Hagelstrange, _S\u00fcddeutsches Bauernleben im Mittelalter_,\npp. 221 ff.\n\n[1222] Thus the exogamic rules must be violated in the course of certain\nreligious ceremonies (see above, p. 216, n. 1). A precise ritual meaning\nprobably could not be found for these excesses. It is merely a\nmechanical consequence of the state of super-excitation provoked by the\nceremony. It is an example of rites having no definite object\nthemselves, but which are mere discharges of energy (see above, p. 381).\nThe native does not assign them a definite end either; he merely says\nthat if these licences are not committed, the rite will not produce its\neffects; the ceremony will fail.\n\n[1223] Here are the very words used by Spencer and Gillen: \"They (the\nceremonies connected with the totems) are often, though by no means\nalways, associated with the performance of the ceremonies attendant upon\ninitiation of young men, or are connected with the Intichiuma\" (_Nor.\nTr._, p. 178).\n\n[1224] We leave aside the question of what this character consists in.\nIt is a problem which would lead us into a very long and technical\ndevelopment and which must therefore be treated by itself. Moreover, it\ndoes not concern the propositions established in this present work.\n\n[1225] This is chapter vi, entitled _Ceremonies Connected with the\nTotems_.\n\n[1226] Strehlow, III, pp. 1-2.\n\n[1227] This explains the error of which Strehlow accuses Spencer and\nGillen: that they applied to one form of the ceremony the term which is\nmore appropriate for the other. But in these conditions, the error\nhardly seems to have the gravity attributed to it by Strehlow.\n\n[1228] It cannot be otherwise. In fact, as the initiation is a tribal\nfeast, novices of different totems are initiated at the same time. So\nthe ceremonies which thus succeed one another in the same place have to\ndo with several totems, and, therefore, they must take place away from\nthe places with which they are connected by the myth.\n\n[1229] It will now be understood why we have never studied the\ninitiation rites by themselves: it is because they are not a ritual\nentity, but are formed by the conglomeration of rites of different\nsorts. There are interdictions, ascetic rites and representative\nceremonies which cannot be distinguished from those celebrated at the\ntime of the Intichiuma. So we had to dismember this composite system and\ntreat each of the different rites composing it separately, classifying\nthem with the similar rites to which they are to be related. We have\nalso seen (pp. 285 ff.) that the initiation has served as the point of\ndeparture for a new religion which tends to surpass totemism. But it has\nbeen sufficient for us to show that totemism contained the germs of this\nreligion; we have had no need of following out its development. The\nobject of this book is to study the elementary beliefs and practices; so\nwe must stop at the moment when they give birth to more complex forms.\n\n[1230] _Nat. Tr._, p. 463. If the individual may choose between the\nceremonies of his paternal and maternal totems, it is because, owing to\nreasons which we have set forth above (p. 183), he participates in both.\n\n[1231] See below, ch. v, p. 395.\n\n[1232] See _Essai sur le Sacrifice_, in _M\u00e9langes d'histoire des\nReligions_, p. 83.\n\n[1233] _Piacularia auspicia appellabant qu\u00e6 sacrificantibus tristia\nportendebant_ (Paul ex Fest., p. 244, ed. M\u00fcller). The word piaculum is\neven used as a synonym of misfortune. \"_Vetonica herba_,\" says Pliny,\n\"_tantum glori\u00e6 habet ut domus in qua sita sit tuta existimetur a\npiaculis omnibus_\" (XXV, 8, 46).\n\n[1234] _Nor. Tr._, p. 526; Eylmann, p. 239. Cf. above, p. 305.\n\n[1235] Brough Smyth, I, p. 106; Dawson, p. 64; Eylmann, p. 239.\n\n[1236] Dawson, p. 66; Eylmann, p. 241.\n\n[1237] _Nat. Tr._, p. 502; Dawson, p. 67.\n\n[1238] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 516-517.\n\n[1239] _Ibid._, pp. 520-521. The authors do not say whether these were\ntribal or blood relatives. The former hypothesis is the more probable\none.\n\n[1240] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 525 f. This interdiction against speaking, which\nis peculiar to women, though it consists in a simple abstention, has all\nthe appearance of a piacular rite: it is a way of incommoding one's\nself. Therefore we mention it here. Also, fasting may be a piacular rite\nor an ascetic one, according to the circumstances. Everything depends\nupon the conditions in which it takes place and the end pursued (for the\ndifference between these two sorts of rites, see below, p. 396).\n\n[1241] A very expressive illustration showing this rite will be found in\n_Nor. Tr._, p. 525.\n\n[1242] _Ibid._, p. 522.\n\n[1243] For the principal forms of funeral rites, see Howitt, _Nat. Tr._,\npp. 446-508, for the tribes of the South-East; Spencer and Gillen, _Nor.\nTr._, p. 505, and _Nat. Tr._, pp. 497 ff., for those of the centre;\nRoth, _Nor. Queensland Ethnog._, Bull. 9, in _Records of the Australian\nMuseum_, VI, No. 5, pp. 365 ff. (_Burial Customs and Disposal of the\nDead_).\n\n[1244] See, for example, Roth, _loc. cit._, p. 368; Eyre, _Journals of\nExped. into Central Aust._, II, pp. 344 f.\n\n[1245] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 500; _Nor. Tr._, pp. 507, 508;\nEylmann, p. 241; Parker, _Euahlayi_, pp. 83 ff.; Brough Smyth, I, p.\n118.\n\n[1246] Dawson, p. 66; Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 466; Eylmann, pp. 239-240.\n\n[1247] Brough Smyth, I, p. 113.\n\n[1248] W. E. Stanbridge, _Trans. Ethnological Society of London_, N.S.,\nVol. I, p. 286.\n\n[1249] Brough Smyth, I, p. 104.\n\n[1250] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 459. Similar scenes will be found in Eyre,\n_op. cit._, II, p. 255, n., and p. 347; Roth, _loc. cit._, pp. 394, 395,\nfor example; Grey, II, pp. 320 ff.\n\n[1251] Brough Smyth, I, pp. 104, 112; Roth, _loc. cit._, p. 382.\n\n[1252] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 511-512.\n\n[1253] Dawson, p. 67; Roth, _loc. cit._, pp. 366-367.\n\n[1254] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 508-510.\n\n[1255] A little wooden vessel, of which we spoke above, p. 334.\n\n[1256] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 508-510. The other final rite at which Spencer\nand Gillen assisted is described on pp. 503-508 of the same work. It\ndoes not differ essentially from the one we have analysed.\n\n[1257] _Nor. Tr._, pp. 531-540.\n\n[1258] Contrarily to what Jevons says, _Introduction to the History of\nReligion_, pp. 46 ff.\n\n[1259] This makes Dawson say that the mourning is sincere (p. 66). But\nEylmann assures us that he never knew a single case where there was a\nwound from sorrow really felt (_op. cit._, p. 113).\n\n[1260] _Nat. Tr._, p. 510.\n\n[1261] Eylmann, pp. 238-239.\n\n[1262] _Nor. Tr._, p. 507; _Nat. Tr._, p. 498.\n\n[1263] _Nat. Tr._, p. 500; Eylmann, p. 227.\n\n[1264] Brough Smyth, I, p. 114.\n\n[1265] _Nat. Tr._, p. 510.\n\n[1266] Several examples of this belief are to be found in Howitt, _Nat.\nTr._, p. 435. Cf. Strehlow, I, 15-16; II, p. 7.\n\n[1267] It may be asked why repeated ceremonies are necessary to produce\nthe relief which follows upon mourning. The funeral ceremonies are\nfrequently very long; they include many operations which take place at\nintervals during many months. Thus they prolong and support the moral\ndisturbance brought about by the death (cf. Hertz, _La Representation\ncollective de la mort_, in _Ann\u00e9e Sociol._, X, pp. 48 ff.). In a general\nway, a death marks a grave change of condition which has extended and\nenduring effects upon the group. It takes a long time to neutralize\nthese effects.\n\n[1268] In a case reported by Grey from the observations of Bussel, the\nrite has all the aspects of a sacrifice: the blood is sprinkled over the\nbody itself (Grey, II, p. 330). In other cases, there is something like\nan offering of the beard: men in mourning cut off a part of their\nbeards, which they throw on to the corpse (_ibid._, p. 335).\n\n[1269] _Nat. Tr._, pp. 135-136.\n\n[1270] Of course each churinga is believed to be connected with an\nancestor. But it is not to appease the spirits of the ancestors that\nthey mourn for the lost churinga. We have shown elsewhere (p. 123) that\nthe idea of the ancestor only entered into the conception of the\nchuringa secondarily and late.\n\n[1271] _Op. cit._, p. 207; cf. p. 116.\n\n[1272] Eylmann, p. 208.\n\n[1273] _Ibid._, p. 211.\n\n[1274] Howitt, _The Dieri_, in _J.A.I._, XX (1891), p. 93.\n\n[1275] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, p. 394.\n\n[1276] Howitt, _ibid._, p. 396.\n\n[1277] Communication of Gason in _J.A.I._, XXIV (1895), p. 175.\n\n[1278] _Nor. Tr._, p. 286.\n\n[1279] Gason, _The Dieri Tribe_, in Curr, II, p. 68.\n\n[1280] Gason, _The Dieri Tribe_: Eylmann, p. 208.\n\n[1281] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 277 and 430.\n\n[1282] _Ibid._, p. 195.\n\n[1283] Gason, _The Dieri Tribe_, in Curr, II, p. 69. The same process is\nused to expiate a ridiculous act. Whenever anybody, by his awkwardness\nor otherwise, has caused the laughter of others, he asks one of them to\nbeat him on the head until blood flows. Then things are all right again,\nand the one who was laughed at joins in the general gaiety (_ibid._, p.\n70).\n\n[1284] Eylmann, pp. 212 and 447.\n\n[1285] See above, p. 385.\n\n[1286] _The Religion of the Semites_, lect. XI.\n\n[1287] This is the case in which the Dieri, according to Jason, invoke\nthe Mura-mura of water during a drought.\n\n[1288] _Op. cit._, p. 262.\n\n[1289] It is also possible that the belief in the morally tempering\nvirtues of suffering (see above, p. 312) has added something here. Since\nsorrow sanctifies and raises the religious level of the worshipper, it\nmay also raise him up again when he falls lower than usual.\n\n[1290] Cf. what we have said of expiation in our _Division du travail\nsocial_^3, pp. 64 ff.\n\n[1291] See above, p. 301.\n\n[1292] Spencer and Gillen, _Nat. Tr._, p. 460; _Nor. Tr._, p. 601; Roth,\n_North Queensland Ethnography_, Bulletin No. 5, p. 24. It is useless to\nmultiply references for so well-known a fact.\n\n[1293] However, Spencer and Gillen cite one case where churinga are\nplaced on the head of the dead man (_Nat. Tr._, p. 156). But they admit\nthat the fact is unique and abnormal (_ibid._, p. 157), while Strehlow\nenergetically denies it (II, p. 79).\n\n[1294] Smith, _Rel. of Semites_, p. 153; cf. p. 446, the additional\nnote, _Holiness, Uncleanness and Taboo_.\n\n[1295] Howitt, _Nat. Tr._, pp. 448-450; Brough Smyth, I, pp. 118, 120;\nDawson, p. 67; Eyre, II, p. 251; Roth, _North Queensland Ethn._, Bull.\nMo. 9, in _Rec. of the Austral. Museum_, VI, No. 5, p. 367.\n\n[1296] See above, p. 320.\n\n[1297] _Nor. Tr._, p. 599; _Nat. Tr._, p. 464.\n\n[1298] Among the Hebrews, for example, they sprinkled the altar with the\nblood of the expiatory victim (Lev. iv, 5 ff.); they burned the flesh\nand used products of this combustion to make water of purification\n(Numb. xix).\n\n[1299] Taplin, _The Narrinyeri_, pp. 32-34. When two persons who have\nthus exchanged their umbilical cords belong to different tribes, they\nare used as inter-tribal messengers. In this case, the exchange of cords\ntook place shortly after birth, through the intermediary of their\nrespective parents.\n\n[1300] It is true that Smith did not admit the reality of these\nsubstitutions and transformations. According to him, if the expiatory\nvictim served to purify, it was because it had nothing impure in itself.\nAt first, it was a holy thing; it was destined to re-establish, by means\nof a communion, the bonds of kinship uniting the worshipper to his god,\nwhen a ritual fault had strained or broken them. An exceptionally holy\nanimal was chosen for this operation in order that the communion might\nbe as efficacious as possible, and efface the effects of the fault as\ncompletely as possible. It was only when they no longer understood the\nmeaning of the rite that the sacrosanct animal was considered impure\n(_op. cit._, pp. 347 ff.). But it is inadmissible that beliefs and\npractices as universal as these, which we find at the foundation of the\nexpiatory sacrifice, should be the product of a mere error of\ninterpretation. In fact, we cannot doubt that the expiatory victim was\ncharged with the impurity of the sin. We have shown, moreover, that\nthese transformations of the pure into the impure, or the contrary, are\nto be found in the most inferior societies which we know.\n\n[1301] William James, _The Varieties of Religious Experience_.\n\n[1302] Quoted by James, _op. cit._, p. 20.\n\n[1303] See above, pp. 230 ff.\n\n[1304] Only one form of social activity has not yet been expressly\nattached to religion: that is economic activity. Sometimes processes\nthat are derived from magic have, by that fact alone, an origin that is\nindirectly religious. Also, economic value is a sort of power or\nefficacy, and we know the religious origins of the idea of power. Also,\nrichness can confer _mana_; therefore it has it. Hence it is seen that\nthe ideas of economic value and of religious value are not without\nconnection. But the question of the nature of these connections has not\nyet been studied.\n\n[1305] It is for this reason that Frazer and even Preuss set impersonal\nreligious forces outside of, or at least on the threshold of religion,\nto attach them to magic.\n\n[1306] Boutroux, _Science et Religion_, pp. 206-207.\n\n[1307] See above, pp. 379 ff. On this same question, see also our\narticle, \"Repr\u00e9sentations individuelles et repr\u00e9sentations collectives,\"\nin the _Revue de M\u00e9taphysique_, May, 1898.\n\n[1308] William James, _Principles of Psychology_, I, p. 464.\n\n[1309] This universality of the concept should not be confused with its\ngenerality: they are very different things. What we mean by universality\nis the property which the concept has of being communicable to a number\nof minds, and in principle, to all minds; but this communicability is\nwholly independent of the degree of its extension. A concept which is\napplied to only one object, and whose extension is consequently at the\nminimum, can be the same for everybody: such is the case with the\nconcept of a deity.\n\n[1310] It may be objected that frequently, as the mere effect of\nrepetition, ways of thinking and acting become fixed and crystallized in\nthe individual, in the form of habits which resist change. But a habit\nis only a tendency to repeat an act or idea automatically every time\nthat the same circumstances appear; it does not at all imply that the\nidea or act is in the form of an exemplary type, proposed to or imposed\nupon the mind or will. It is only when a type of this sort is set up,\nthat is to say, when a rule or standard is established, that social\naction can and should be presumed.\n\n[1311] Thus we see how far it is from being true that a conception lacks\nobjective value merely because it has a social origin.\n\n[1312] See also above, p. 208.\n\n[1313] L\u00e9vy-Bruhl, _Les fonctions mentales dans les soci\u00e9t\u00e9s\ninf\u00e9rieures_, pp. 131-138.\n\n[1314] _Ibid._, p. 446.\n\n[1315] See above, p. 18.\n\n[1316] William James, _Principles of Psychology_, I, p. 134.\n\n[1317] Men frequently speak of space and time as if they were only\nconcrete extent and duration, such as the individual consciousness can\nfeel, but enfeebled by abstraction. In reality, they are representations\nof a wholly different sort, made out of other elements, according to a\ndifferent plan, and with equally different ends in view.\n\n[1318] At bottom, the concept of totality, that of society and that of\ndivinity are very probably only different aspects of the same notion.\n\n[1319] See our _Classifications primitives_, _loc. cit._, pp. 40 ff.","title":"The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":219237}