* * * * *

To understand more clearly the difference between negative and positive types of custom as associated with religion, let us examine in some detail an example of each. It will be well to select our cases from amongst those that show the custom and the religion to be quite inseparable—to be, in short, but two aspects of one and the same fact. Now nothing could be more commonplace and secular a custom than that of providing for one's dinner. Yet for primitive society this custom tends to be likewise a rite—a rite which may, however, be mainly negative and precautionary, or mainly positive and practical in character, as we shall now see.

The Todas, so well described by Dr. Rivers, are a small community, less than a thousand all told, who have retired out of the stress of the world into the fastnesses of the Nilgiri Hills, in southern India, where they spend a safe but decidedly listless life. They are in a backwater, and are likely to remain there. At any rate, their religion is not such as to make them more enterprising. Gods they may be said to have none. The bare names of certain deities of the hill-tops are retained, but whether these were once the honoured gods of the Todas or, as some think, those of a former race, certain it is that there is more shadow than substance about them now. The real religion of the people centres round a dairy-ritual. From a practical and economic point of view, the work of the dairy consists in converting the milk of their buffaloes into the butter and buttermilk which constitute their staple diet. From a religious point of view, it consists in converting something they dare not eat into something they can eat.

Many, though not all, of their buffaloes are sacred, and their milk may not be drunk. The reason why it may not be drunk anthropologists may cast about to discover, but the Todas themselves do not know. All that they know, and are concerned to know, is that things would somehow all go wrong, if any one were foolish enough to commit such a sin. So in the Toda temple, which is a dairy, the Toda priest, who is the dairyman, sets about rendering the sacred products harmless. The dairy has two compartments—one sacred, the other profane. In the first are stored the sacred vessels, into which the milk is placed when it comes from the buffaloes, and in which it is turned into butter and buttermilk with the help of some of the previous brew, this having meanwhile been put by in an especially sacred vessel. In the second compartment are profane vessels, destined to receive the butter and buttermilk, after they have been carefully transferred from the sacred vessels with the help of an intermediary vessel, which stands exactly on the line between the two compartments. This transference, being carried out to the accompaniment of all sorts of reverential gestures and utterances, secures such a profanation of the sacred substance as is without the evil consequences that would otherwise be entailed. Thus the ritual is essentially precautionary. A taboo is the hinge of the whole affair.

And the tendency of such a negative type of religion is to pile precautions on precautions. Thus the dairyman, in order to be equal to his sacred office, must observe taboos without end. He must be celibate. He must avoid all contact with the dead. He is limited to certain kinds of food; which, moreover, must be prepared in a certain way, and consumed in a certain place. His drink, again, is a special milk, which must be poured out with prescribed formulas. He is inaccessible to ordinary folk save on certain days and in certain ways, their mode of approach, their salutations, his greeting in reply, being all regulated with the utmost nicety. He can only wear a special garb. He must never cut his hair. His nails must be suffered to grow long. And so on and so forth. Such disabilities, indeed, are wont to circumscribe the life of all sacred persons, and can be matched from every part of the world. But they may fairly be cited here, as helping to fill in the picture of what I have called the precautionary or negative type of religious ritual.

Further, there is something rotten in the state of Toda religion. The dairymen struck Dr. Rivers as very slovenly in the performance of their duties, as well as vague and inaccurate in their accounts of what ought to be done. Indeed, it was hard to find persons willing to undertake the office. Ritual duties involving uncomfortable taboos were apt to be thrust on youngsters. The youngsters, being youngsters, would probably violate the taboos; but anyway that was their look-out. From evasions to fictions is but a step. Hence when an unclean person approached the dairyman, the latter would simply pretend not to see him. Or the rule that he must not enter a hut, if women were within, would be circumvented by simply removing from the dwelling the three emblems of womanhood, the pounder, the sieve, and the sweeper; whereupon his "face was saved." Now wherefore all this lack of earnestness? Dr. Rivers thinks that too much ritual was the reason. I agree; but would venture to add, "too much negative ritual." A religion that is all dodging must produce a sneaking kind of worshipper.

Now let us turn another type of primitive religion that is equally identified with the food-quest, but allied to its positive and active functions, which it seeks to help out. Messrs. Spencer and Gillen have given us a most minute account of certain ceremonies of the Arunta, a people of central Australia. These ceremonies they have named Intichiuma, and the name will probably stick, though there is reason to believe that the native word for them is really something different. Their purpose is to make the food-animals and food-plants multiply and prosper. Each animal or plant is attended to by the group that has it for a totem. (Totemism amongst this very remarkable people has nothing to do either with exogamy or with lineage; but that is a subject into which it is impossible to go here.) The rites vary considerably from totem to totem, but a typical case or two may be cited.

The witchetty-grub men, for instance, want the grubs to multiply, that there may be plenty for their fellows to eat. So they wend their way along a certain path which tradition declares to have been traversed by the great leader of the witchetty-grubs of the days of long ago. (These were grubs transformed into men, who became by reincarnation ancestors of the present totemites.) The path brings them to a place in the hills where there is a big stone surrounded by many small stones. The big stone is the adult animal, the little stones are its eggs. So first they tap the big stone, chanting an invitation to it to lay eggs. Then the master of the ceremonies rubs the stomach of each totemite with the little stones, and says, "You have eaten much food."

Or, again, the Kangaroo men repair to a place called Undiara. It is a picturesque spot. By the side of a water-hole that is sheltered by a tall gum-tree rises a curiously gnarled and weather-beaten face of quartzite rock. About twenty feet from the base a ledge juts out. When the totemites hold their ceremony, they repair to this ledge. For here in the days of long ago the ancestors who are now reincarnated in them cooked and ate kangaroo food; and here, moreover, the kangaroo animals of that time deposited their spirit-parts. First the face of the rock below the ledge is decorated with long stripes of red ochre and white gypsum, to represent the red fur and white bones of the kangaroo. It is, in fact, one of those rock-paintings such as the palaeolithic men of Europe made in their caves. Then a number of men, say, seven or eight, mount upon the ledge, and, whilst the rest sing solemn chants about the prospective increase of the kangaroos, these men open veins in their arms, so that the blood flows down freely upon the ceremonial stone. This is the first part of the rite. The second part is no less interesting. After the blood-letting, they hunt until they kill a kangaroo. Thereupon the old men of the totem eat a little of the meat; then they smear some of the fat on the bodies of all the party; finally, they divide the flesh amongst them. Afterwards, the totemites paint their bodies with stripes in imitation of the design upon the rock. A second hunt, followed by a second sacramental meal, concludes the whole ceremony. That their meal is sacramental, a sort of communion service, is proved by the fact that henceforth in an ordinary way they allow themselves to partake of kangaroo meat at most but very sparingly, and of certain portions of the flesh not at all.

One more example of these rites may be cited, in order to bring out the earnestness of this type of religion, which is concerned with doing, instead of mere not-doing. There is none of the Toda perfunctoriness here. It will be enough to glance at the commencement of the ritual of the honey-ant totemites. The master of the ceremonies places his hand as if he were shading his eyes, and gazes intently in the direction of the sacred place to which they are about to repair. As he does so, the rest kneel, forming a straight line behind him. In this position they remain for some time, whilst the leader chants in a subdued tone. Then all stand up. The company must now start. The leader, who has fallen to the rear, that he may marshal the column in perfect line, gives the signal. Then they move off in single file, taking a direct course to the holy ground, marching in perfect silence, and with measured step, as if something of the profoundest import were about to take place.

I make no apology for describing these proceedings at some length. It is necessary to my argument to convey the impression that the essentials of religion are present in these apparently godless observances of the ruder peoples. They arise directly out of custom—in this case the hunting custom. Their immediate design is to provide these people with their daily bread. Yet their appeal to the imagination—which in religion, as in science, art, and philosophy, is the impulse that presides over all progress, all creative evolution—is such that the food-quest is charged with new and deeper meaning. Not bread alone, but something even more sustaining to the life of man, is suggested by these tangled and obscure solemnities. They are penetrated by quickenings of sacrifice, prayer, and communion. They bring to bear on the need of the hour all the promise of that miraculous past, which not only cradled the race, but still yields it the stock of reincarnated soul-force that enables it to survive. If, then, these rites are part and parcel of mere magic, most, or all, of what the world knows as religion must be mere magic. But it is better for anthropology to call things by the names that they are known by in the world of men—that is, in the wider world, not in some corner or coterie of it.

* * * * *

In order to bring out more fully the second point that I have been trying to make, namely, the close interdependence between religion and custom in primitive society, let me be allowed to quote one more example of the ritual of a rude people. And again let us resort to native Australia, though this time to the south-eastern corner of it; since in Australia we have a cultural development on the whole very low, having been as it were arrested through isolation, yet one that turns out to be not incompatible with high religion in the making.

Initiation in native Australia is the equivalent of what is known amongst ourselves as the higher education. The only difference is that, with them, every one who is not judged utterly unfit is duly initiated; whereas, with us, the higher education is offered to some who are unfit, whilst many who are fit never have the luck to get it. The initiation-custom is intended to tide the boys over the difficult time of puberty, and turn them into responsible men. The whole of the adult males assist in the ceremonies. Special men, however, are told off to tutor the youth—a lengthy business, since it entails a retirement, perhaps for six months, into the bush with their charges; who are there taught the tribal traditions, and are generally admonished, sometimes forcibly, for their good. Further, this is rather like a retirement into a monastery for the young men, seeing that during all the time they are strictly taboo, or in other words in a holy state that involves much fasting and mortification of the flesh. At last comes the time when their actual passage across the threshold of manhood has to be celebrated. The rites may be described in one word as impressive. Society wishes to set a stamp on their characters, and believes in stamping hard. Physically, then, the lads feel the force of society. A tooth is knocked out, they are tossed in the air to make them grow tall, and so on—rites that, whilst they may have separate occult ends in view, are completely at one in being highly unpleasant.

Spiritual means of education, however, are always more effective than physical, if designed and applied with sufficient wisdom. The bull-roarer, of which something has been already said, furnishes the ceremonies with a background of awe. It fills the woods, that surround the secret spot where the rites are held, with the rise and fall of its weird music, suggestive of a mighty rushing wind, of spirits in the air. Not until the boys graduate as men do they learn how the sound is produced. Even when they do learn this, the mystery of the voice speaking through the chip of wood merely wings the imagination for loftier flights. Whatever else the high god of these mysteries, Daramulun, may be for these people—and undoubtedly all sorts of trains of confused thinking meet in the notion of him—he is at any rate the god of the bull-roarer, who has put his voice into the sacred instrument. But Daramulun is likewise endowed with a human form; for they set up an image of him rudely shaped in wood, and round about it dance and shout his name. Daramulun instituted these rites, as well as all the other immemorial rites of the assembled tribe or tribes. So when over the heads of the boys, prostrated on the ground, are recited solemnly what Mr. Lang calls "the ten commandments," that bid them honour the elders, respect the marriage law, and so on, there looms up before their minds the figure of the ultimate law-giver; whilst his unearthly voice becomes for them the voice of the law. Thus is custom exalted, and its coercive force amplified, by the suggestion of a power—in this case a definitely personal power—that "makes for righteousness," and, whilst beneficent, is full of terror for offenders.

* * * * *

And now it may seem high time to pass on from the sociological and external view that has hitherto been taken of primitive religion to a psychological view of it—one that should endeavour to disclose the hidden motives, the spiritual sources, of the beliefs that underlie and sustain the customary practices. But precisely at this point the anthropological treatment of religion is apt to prove unsatisfactory. History can record that such and such is done with far more certainty than that such and such a state of mind accompanies and inspires the doing. Besides, the savage is no authority on the why and wherefore of his customs. "However else would a reasonable being think of acting?" is his sufficient reason, as we have already seen. Not but what the higher minds amongst savages reflect in their own way upon the meaning of their customs and rites. But most of this reflection is no more than an elaborate "justification after the event." The mind invents what Mr. Kipling would call a "Just-so story" to account for something already there. How it might have come about, not how it did come about, is all that the professed explanation amounts to. And when it comes to choosing amongst mere possibilities, the anthropologist, instead of consulting the savage, may just as well endeavour to do it for himself.

Now anthropological theories of the origin of religion seem to me to go wrong mainly because they seek to simplify too much. Having got down to what they take to be a root-idea, they straightway proclaim it the root-idea. I believe that religion has just as few, or as many, roots as human life and mind.

The theory of the origin of religion that may be said to hold the field, because it is the view of the greatest of living anthropologists, is Dr. Tylor's theory of animism. The term animism is derived from the Latin anima, which—like the corresponding word spiritus, whence our "spirit"—signifies the breath, and hence the soul, which primitive folk tend to identify with the breath. Dr. Tylor's theory of animism, then, as set forth in his great work, Primitive Culture, is that "the belief in spiritual beings" will do as a definition of religion taken at its least; which for him means the same thing as taken at its earliest. Now what is a "spiritual being"? Clearly everything turns on that. Dr. Tylor's general treatment of the subject seems to lay most of the emphasis on the phantasm. A phantasm (as the etymology of the word shows) is essentially an appearance. In a dream or hallucination one sees figures, more or less dim, but still having "vaporous materiality." So, too, the shadow is something without body that one can see; though the breath, except on a frosty day, shows its subtle but yet sensible nature rather by being felt than by being seen. Now there can be no doubt that the phantasm plays a considerable part in primitive religion (as well as in those fancies of the primitive mind that have never found their way into religion, at all events into religion as identified with organized cult). Savages see ghosts, though probably not more frequently than we do; they have vivid dreams, and are much impressed by their dream-experiences; and so on. Besides, the phantasm forms a very convenient half-way house between the seen and the unseen; and there can be no doubt that the savage often says breath, shadow, and so forth, when he is trying to think and mean something immaterial altogether.

But animism would seem sometimes to be used by Dr. Tylor in a wider sense, namely, as "a doctrine of universal vitality." In dealing with the myths of the ruder peoples, as, for example, those about the sun, moon, and stars, he shows how "a general animation of nature" is implied. The primitive man reads himself into these things, which, according to our science, are without life or personality. He thinks that they have a different kind of body, but the same kind of feelings and motives. But this is not necessarily to think that they are capable of giving off a phantasm, as a man does when his soul temporarily leaves him, or when after death his soul becomes a ghost. There need be nothing ghost-like about the sun, whether it is imagined as a shining orb, or as a shining being of human shape to whom the orb belongs. There is not anything in the least phantasmal about the Greek god Apollo. I think, then, that we had better distinguish this wider sense of animism by a different name, calling it "animatism," since that will serve at once to disconnect and to connect the two conceptions.

I am not sure, however, how far we ought to press this "doctrine of universal vitality." Does a savage, for instance, when he is hammering at a piece of flint think of it as other than a "thing," any more than we should? I doubt it. He may say "Confound you!" if it suddenly snaps in two, just as we might do. But though the language may seem to imply a "you," he would mean, I believe, to impute to the flint just as much, or as little, of personality as we should mean to do when using similar language. In other words, I believe that, within the world of his ordinary work-a-day experience, he recognizes both things and persons; without giving a thought, in either case, to the hidden principles that make them be what they are, and act as they do.

When, on the other hand, the thing, or the person, falls within the world of supernormal experience, when they strike the imagination as wonderful and wonder-working, then there is much more reason why he should seek to account to himself for the mystery in, or behind, the strange appearance. Howitt, who knew his Australian natives intimately, cites the following as "a good example of how the native mind works." To the black-fellow his club or his spear are part and parcel of his ordinary life. There is no, "medicine," no "devil," in them. If they are to be made supernaturally potent, they must be specially charmed. But it is quite otherwise with his spear-thrower or his bull-roarer. The former for no obvious reason enables him to throw his spear extraordinarily far. (I have myself seen an Australian spear, with the help of the spear-thrower, fly a hundred and fifty yards, and strike true and deep at the end of its flight.) The latter emits the noise of thunder, though a mere chip of wood on the end of a string. These, then, are in themselves "medicine." There is "virtue" in, or behind, them.

Is, then, to attribute "virtue" the same thing, necessarily, as to attribute vitality? Are the spear-thrower and the bull-roarer inevitably thought of as alive? Or are they, as a matter of course, endowed with soul or spirit? Or may there be also an impersonal kind of "virtue," "medicine," or whatever the wonder-working power in the wonder-working thing is to be called? Now there is evidence that the savage himself, in speaking about these matters, sometimes says power, sometimes vitality, sometimes spirit. But the simplest way of disposing of these questions is to remember that such fine distinctions as these, which theorists may seek to draw, do not appeal at all to the savage himself. For him the only fact that matters is that, whereas some things in the world are ordinary, and can be reckoned on, other things cannot be reckoned on, but are wonder-working.

Moreover, of wonder-working things, some are good and some are bad. To get all the good kind of wonder-workers on to his side, so as to confound the bad kind—that is what his religion is there to do for him. "May blessings come, may mischiefs go!" is the import of his religious striving, whether anthropologists class it as spell or as prayer.

Now the function of religion, it has been assumed, is to restore confidence, when man is mazed, and out of his depth, fearful of the mysteries that obtrude on his life, yet compelled, if not exactly wishful, to face them and wrest from them whatever help is in them. This function religion fulfils by what may be described in one word as "suggestion." How the suggestion works psychologically—how, for instance, association of ideas, the so-called "sympathetic magic," predominates at the lower levels of religious experience—is a difficult and technical question which cannot be discussed here. Religion stands by when there is something to be done, and suggests that it can be done well and successfully; nay, that it is being so done. And, when the religion is of the effective sort, the believers respond to the suggestion, and put the thing through. As the Latin poet says, "they can because they think they can."

What, from the anthropological point of view, is the effective sort of religion, the sort that survives because, on the whole, those whom it helps survive? It is dangerous to make sweeping generalizations, but there is at any rate a good deal to be said for classing the world's religions either as mechanical and ineffective, or as spiritual and effective. The mechanical kind offers its consolations in the shape of a set of implements. The "virtue" resides in certain rites and formularies. These, as we have seen, are especially liable to harden into mere mechanism when they are of the negative and precautionary type. The spiritual kind of religion, on the other hand, which is especially associated with the positive and active functions of life, tends to read will and personality into the wonder-working powers that it summons to man's aid. The will and personality in the worshippers are in need not so much of implements as of more will and personality. They get this from a spiritual kind of religion; which in one way or another always suggests a society, a communion, as at once the means and the end of vital betterment.

To say that religion works by suggestion is only to say that it works through the imagination. There is good make-believe as well as bad; and one must necessarily imagine and make-believe in order to will. The more or less inarticulate and intuitional forces of the mind, however, need to be supplemented by the power of articulate reasoning, if the will is to make good its twofold character of a faculty of ends that is likewise a faculty of the means to those ends. Suggestion, in short, must be purged by criticism before it can serve as the guide of the higher life. To bring this point out will be the object of the following chapter.



CHAPTER IX MORALITY

Space is running out fast, and it is quite impossible to grapple with the details of so vast a subject as primitive morality. For these the reader must consult Dr. Westermarck's monumental treatise, The Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas, which brings together an immense quantity of facts, under a clear and comprehensive scheme of headings. He will discover, by the way, that, whereas customs differ immensely, the emotions, one may even say the sentiments, that form the raw material of morality are much the same everywhere.

Here it will be of most use to sketch the psychological groundwork of primitive morality, as contrasted with morality of the more advanced type. In pursuance of the plan hitherto followed, let us try to move yet another step on from the purely exterior view of human life towards our goal; which is to appreciate the true inwardness of human life—so far at least as this is matter for anthropology, which reaches no farther than the historic method can take it.

It is, of course, open to question whether either primitive or advanced morality is sufficiently of one piece to allow, as it were, a composite photograph to be framed of either. For our present purposes, however, this expedient is so serviceable as to be worth risking. Let us assume, then, that there are two main stages in the historical evolution of society, as considered from the standpoint of the psychology of conduct. I propose to term them the synnomic and the syntelic phases of society. "Synnomic" (from the Greek nomos, custom) means that customs are shared. "Syntelic" (from the Greek telos, end) means that ends are shared.

The synnomic phase is, from the psychological point of view, a kingdom of habit; the syntelic phase is a kingdom of reflection. The former is governed by a subconscious selection of its standards of good and bad; the latter by a conscious selection of its standards. It remains to show very briefly how such a difference comes about.

The outstanding fact about the synnomic life of the ruder peoples is perhaps this—that there is hardly any privacy. Of course, many other drawbacks must be taken into account also—no wide-thrown communications, no analytic language, no writing, no books, and so on; but perhaps being in a crowd all the time is the worst drawback of all. For, as Disraeli says in Sybil, gregariousness is not association. Constant herding and huddling together hinders the development of personality. That independence of character which is the prime condition of syntelic society cannot mature, even though the germs be there. No one has a chance of withdrawing into his own soul. Therefore the individual does not experience that silent conversation with self which is reflection. Instead of turning inwards, he turns outwards. In short, he imitates.

But how, it may be objected, does evolution take place, if every one imitates every one else? Certainly, it looks at first sight like a vicious circle. Nevertheless, there is room for a certain progress, or at any rate for a certain process of change. To analyse its psychological springs would take us too long. If a phrase will do instead of an explanation, we may sum them up, with the brilliant French psychologist, Tarde, as "a cross-fertilization of imitations." We need not, however, go far to get an impression of how this process of change works. It is going on every day in our midst under the name of "change of fashion." When one purchases the latest thing in ties or straw hats, one is not aiming at a rational form of dress. If there is progress in this direction, it is subconscious. The underlying spiritual condition is not inaptly described by Dr. Lloyd Morgan as "a sheep-through-the-gapishness."

From a moral point of view, this lack of capacity for private judgment is equivalent to a want of moral freedom. We have seen how relatively external are the sanctions of savage life. This does not mean, of course, that there is no answering judgment in the mind of the individual when he follows his customs. He says, "It is the custom; therefore it is right." But this judgment can scarcely be said to proceed from a truly judging, that is to say, critical, self. The man watches his neighbours, taking his cue from them. His judgment is a judgment of sense. He does not look inwards to principle. A moral principle is a standard that can, by means of thought, be transferred from one sensible situation to another sensible situation. The general law, and its application to the situation present now to the senses, are considered apart, before being put together. Consequently, a possible application, however strongly suggested by custom, fashion, the action of one's neighbours, one's own impulse or prejudice, or what not, can be resisted, if it appear on reflection not to be really suited to the circumstances. In short, in order to be rational and "put two and two together," one must be able to entertain two and two as distinct conceptions. Perceptions, on the contrary, can only be compared in the lump. Just as in the chapter on language we saw how man began by talking in holophrases, and only gradually attained to analytic, that is, separable, elements of speech, so in this chapter we have to note the strictly parallel development from confusion to distinction on the side of thought.

Savage morality, then, is not rational in the sense of analysed, but is, so to speak, impressionistic. We might, perhaps, describe it as the expression of a collective impression. It is best understood in the light of that branch of social psychology which usually goes by the name of "mob-psychology." Perhaps mob and mobbish are rather unfortunate terms. They are apt to make us think of the wilder explosions of collective feeling—panics, blood-mania, dancing-epidemics, and so on. But, though a savage society is by no means a mob in the sense of a weltering mass of humanity that has for the time being lost its head, the psychological considerations applying to the latter apply also to the former, when due allowance has been made for the fact that savage society is organized on a permanent basis. The difference between the two comes, in short, to this, that the mob as represented in the savage society is a mob consisting of many successive generations of men. Its tradition constitutes, as it were, a prolonged and abiding impression, which its conduct thereupon expresses.

Savage thought, then, is not able, because it does not try, to break up custom into separate pieces. Rather it plays round the edges of custom; religion especially, with its suggestion of the general sacredness of custom, helping it to do so. There is found in primitive society plenty of vague speculation that seeks to justify the existing. But to take the machine to bits in order to put it together differently is out of the reach of a type of intelligence which, though competent to grapple with details, takes its principles for granted. When progress comes, it comes by stealth, through imitating the letter, but refusing to imitate the spirit; until by means of legal fictions, ritual substitutions, and so on, the new takes the place of the old without any one noticing the fact.

Freedom, in the sense of intellectual freedom, may perhaps be said to have been born in one place and at one time—namely, in Greece in the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.[7] Of course, minglings and clashings of peoples had prepared the way. Ideas begin to count as soon as they break away from their local context. But Greece, in teaching the world the meaning of intellectual freedom, paved a way towards that most comprehensive form of freedom which is termed moral. Moral freedom is the will to give out more than you take in; to repay with interest the cost of your social education. It is the will to take thought about the meaning and end of human life, and by so doing to assist in creative evolution.

[Footnote 7: Political freedom, which is rather a different matter, is perhaps pre-eminently the discovery of England.]



CHAPTER X MAN THE INDIVIDUAL

By way of epilogue, a word about individuality, as displayed amongst peoples of the ruder type, will not be out of place. There is a real danger lest the anthropologist should think that a scientific view of man is to be obtained by leaving out the human nature in him. This comes from the over-anxiety of evolutionary history to arrive at general principles. It is too ready to rule out the so-called "accident," forgetful of the fact that the whole theory of biological evolution may with some justice be described as "the happy accident theory." The man of high individuality, then, the exceptional man, the man of genius, be he man of thought, man of feeling, or man of action, is no accident that can be overlooked by history. On the contrary, he is in no small part the history-maker; and, as such, should be treated with due respect by the history-compiler. The "dry bones" of history, its statistical averages, and so on, are all very well in their way; but they correspond to the superficial truth that history repeats itself, rather than to the deeper truth that history is an evolution. Anthropology, then, should not disdain what might be termed the method of the historical novel. To study the plot without studying the characters will never make sense of the drama of human life.

It may seem a truism, but is perhaps worth recollecting at the start, that no man or woman lacks individuality altogether, even if it cannot be regarded in a particular case as a high individuality. No one is a mere item. That useful figment of the statistician has no real existence under the sun. We need to supplement the books of abstract theory with much sympathetic insight directed towards men and women in their concrete selfhood. Said a Vedda cave-dweller to Dr. Seligmann (it is the first instance I light on in the first book I happen to take up): "It is pleasant for us to feel the rain beating on our shoulders, and good to go out and dig yams, and come home wet, and see the fire burning in the cave, and sit round it." That sort of remark, to my mind, throws more light on the anthropology of cave-life than all the bones and stones that I have helped to dig out of our Mousterian caves in Jersey. As the stock phrase has it, it is, as far as it goes, a "human document." The individuality, in the sense of the intimate self-existence, of the speaker and his group—for, characteristically enough, he uses the first person plural—is disclosed sufficiently for our souls to get into touch. We are the nearer to appreciating human history from the inside.

Some of those students of mankind, therefore, who have been privileged to live amongst the ruder peoples, and to learn their language well, and really to be friends with some of them (which is hard, since friendship implies a certain sense of equality on both sides), should try their hands at anthropological biography. Anthropology, so far as it relates to savages, can never rise to the height of the most illuminating kind of history until this is done.

It ought not to be impossible for an intelligent white man to enter sympathetically into the mental outlook of the native man of affairs, the more or less practical and hardheaded legislator and statesman, if only complete confidence could be established between the two. That there are men of outstanding individuality who help to make political history even amongst the rudest peoples is, moreover, hardly to be doubted. Thus Messrs. Spencer and Gillen, in the introductory chapter of their work on the Central Australians, state that, after observing the conduct of a great gathering of the natives, they reached the opinion that the changes which undoubtedly take place from time to time in aboriginal custom are by no means wholly of the subconscious and spontaneous sort, but are in part due also to the influence of individuals of superior ability. "At this gathering, for example, some of the oldest men were of no account; but, on the other hand, others not so old as they were, but more learned in ancient lore or more skilled in matters of magic, were looked up to by the others, and they it was who settled everything. It must, however, be understood that we have no definite proof to bring forward of the actual introduction by this means of any fundamental change of custom. The only thing that we can say is that, after carefully watching the natives during the performance of their ceremonies and endeavouring as best we could to enter into their feelings, to think as they did, and to become for the time being one of themselves, we came to the conclusion that if one or two of the most powerful men settled upon the advisability of introducing some change, even an important one, it would be quite possible for this to be agreed upon and carried out."

This passage is worth quoting at length if only for the admirable method that it discloses. The policy of "trying to become for the time being one of themselves" resulted in the book that, of all first-hand studies, has done most for modern anthropology. At the same time Messrs. Spencer and Gillen, it is evident, would not claim to have done more than interpret the external signs of a high individuality on the part of these prominent natives. It still remains a rare and almost unheard-of thing for an anthropologist to be on such friendly terms with a savage as to get him to talk intimately about himself, and reveal the real man within.

There exist, however, occasional side-lights on human personality in the anthropological literature that has to do with very rude peoples. The page from a human document that I shall cite by way of example is all the more curious, because it relates to a type of experience quite outside the compass of ordinary civilized folk. Here and there, however, something like it may be found amongst ourselves. My friend Mr. L.P. Jacks, for instance, in his story-book, Mad Shepherds, has described a rustic of the north of England who belonged to this old-world order of great men. For men of the type in question can be great, at any rate in low-level society. The so-called medicine man is a leader, perhaps even the typical leader, of primitive society; and, just because he is, by reason of his calling, addicted to privacy and aloofness, he certainly tends to be more individual, more of a "character," than the general run of his fellows.

I shall slightly condense from Howitt's Native Tribes of South-East Australia the man's own story of his experience of initiation. Howitt says, by the way, "I feel strongly assured that the man believed that the events which he related were real, and that he had actually experienced them"; and then goes on to talk about "subjective realities." I myself offer no commentary. Those interested in psychical research will detect hypnotic trance, levitation, and so forth. Others, versed in the spirit of William James' Varieties of Religious Experience, will find an even deeper meaning in it all. The sociologist, meanwhile, will point to the force of custom and tradition, as colouring the whole experience, even when at its most subjective and dreamlike. But each according to his bent must work out these things for himself. In any case it is well that the end of a book should leave the reader still thinking.

The speaker was a Wiradjuri doctor of the Kangaroo totem. He said: "My father is a Lizard-man. When I was a small boy, he took me into the bush to train me to be a doctor. He placed two large quartz-crystals against my breast, and they vanished into me. I do not know how they went, but I felt them going through me like warmth. This was to make me clever, and able to bring things up." (This refers to the medicine-man's custom of bringing up into the mouth, as if from the stomach, the quartz-crystal in which his "virtue" has its chief material embodiment or symbol; being likewise useful, as we see later on, for hypnotizing purposes.) "He also gave me some things like quartz-crystals in water. They looked like ice, and the water tasted sweet. After that, I used to see things that my mother could not see. When out with her I would say, 'What is out there like men walking?' She used to say, 'Child, there is nothing.' These were the ghosts which I began to see."

The account goes on to state that at puberty our friend went through the regular initiation for boys; when he saw the doctors bringing up their crystals, and, crystals in mouth, shooting the "virtue" into him to make him "good." Thereupon, being in a holy state like any other novice, he had retired to the bush in the customary manner to fast and meditate.

"Whilst I was in the bush, my old father came out to me. He said, 'Come here to me,' and then he showed me a piece of quartz-crystal in his hand. When I looked at it, he went down into the ground; and I saw him come up all covered with red dust. It made me very frightened. Then my father said, 'Try and bring up a crystal.' I did try, and brought one up. He then said, 'Come with me to this place.' I saw him standing by a hole in the ground, leading to a grave. I went inside and saw a dead man, who rubbed me all over to make me clever, and gave me some crystals. When we came out, my father pointed to a tiger-snake, saying, 'That is your familiar. It is mine also.' There was a string extending from the tail of the snake to us—one of those strings which the medicine-men bring up out of themselves. My father took hold of the string, and said, 'Let us follow the snake.' The snake went through several tree-trunks, and let us through them. At last we reached a tree with a great swelling round its roots. It is in such places that Daramulun lives. The snake went down into the ground, and came up inside the tree, which was hollow. We followed him. There I saw a lot of little Daramuluns, the sons of Baiame. Afterwards, the snake took us into a great hole, in which were a number of snakes. These rubbed themselves against me, and did not hurt me, being my familiars. They did this to make me a clever man and a doctor.

"Then my father said, 'We will go up to Baiame's Camp.' [Amongst the Wiradjuri, Baiame is the high god, and Daramulun is his son. What 'little Daramuluns' may be is not very clear.] He got astride a thread, and put me on another, and we held by each other's arms. At the end of the thread was Wombu, the bird of Baiame. We went up through the clouds, and on the other side was the sky. We went through the place where the doctors go through, and it kept opening and shutting very quickly. My father said that, if it touched a doctor when he was going through, it would hurt his spirit, and when he returned home he would sicken and die. On the other side we saw Baiame sitting in his camp. He was a very great old man with a long beard. He sat with his legs under him, and from his shoulders extended two great quartz-crystals to the sky above him. There were also numbers of the boys of Baiame, and of his people who are birds and beasts. [The totems.]

"After this time, and while I was in the bush, I began to bring crystals up; but I became very ill, and cannot do anything since."

November, 1911.



BIBLIOGRAPHY

INTRODUCTORY NOTE.—It is impossible to provide a bibliography of so vast a subject, even when first-class authorities only are referred to; whilst selection must be arbitrary and invidious. Here books written in English are alone cited, and those mostly the more modern. The reader is advised to spend such time as he can give to the subject mostly on the descriptive treatises. A few very educative studies are marked by an asterisk. In many cases, to save space, merely the author's name with initials is given, and a library catalogue must be consulted, or a list of authors such as is to be found, e.g. at the end of Westermarck's works.

A. THEORETICAL

GENERAL.—E.B. Tylor, Anthropology* (best manual); Primitive Culture* (the greatest of anthropological classics); Lord Avebury's works; Anthropological Essays presented to E.B. Tylor.

ANTIQUITY OF MAN.—W.J. Sollas, Ancient Hunters and their Modern Representatives (best popular account). Subject difficult without special knowledge, to be derived from, e.g. Sir J. Evans (Stone Implements); J. Geikie (Geology of Ice Age), etc. See also Brit. Mus. Guides to Stone Age, Bronze Age, Early Iron Age.

RACE AND GEOGRAPHICAL DISTRIBUTION.—A.C. Haddon, Races of Man and The Wanderings of Peoples (best short outlines to work from); fuller details in J. Deniker, A.H. Keane; and, for Europe, W.Z. Ripley. See also Brit. Mus. Guide to Ethnological Collections.

SOCIAL ORGANIZATION AND LAW.—J.G. Frazer, Totemism and Exogamy*; L.H. Morgan, Ancient Society*; E. Westermarck, History of Human Marriage*; E.S. Hartland, Primitive Paternity; A. Lang, The Secret of the Totem; N.W. Thomas, Kinship Organization and Group Marriage in Australia; H. Webster, Primitive Secret Societies.

RELIGION, MAGIC, FOLK-LORE.—J.G. Frazer, The Golden Bough* (3rd edit.); E.S. Hartland, The Legend of Perseus (esp. vol. ii); A. Lang, Myth, Ritual and Religion,* The Making of Religion, etc.; W. Robertson Smith, Early Religion of the Semites*; F.B. Jevons, A.C. Crawley, D.G. Brinton, G.L. Gomme, L.R. Farnell, R.R. Marett, etc.

MORALS.—E. Westermarck, Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas*; E.B. Tylor, Contemp. Rev. xxi-ii; L.T. Hobhouse, Morals in Evolution; A. Sutherland, Origin and Growth of the Moral Instinct.

MISCELLANEOUS.—Language: E.J. Payne, History of the New World called America,* vol. ii. Art: Y. Hirn, Origins of Art.* Economics: P.J.H. Grierson, The Silent Trade.

B. DESCRIPTIVE

AUSTRALIA.—B. Spencer and F.J. Gillen, Native Tribes of Central Australia,* Northern Tribes of Central Australia; A.W. Howitt, Native Tribes of South-east Australia*; J. Woods (and others), Native Tribes of South Australia; L. Fison and A.W. Howitt, Kamilaroi and Kurnai; H. Ling Roth, Aborigines of Tasmania.

OCEANIA AND INDONESIA.—R.H. Codrington, The Melanesians*; B.H. Thompson, The Fijians; A.C. Haddon (and others), Report of Cambridge Expedition to Torres Straits; C.G. Seligmann (for New Guinea); G. Turner, W. Ellis, E. Shortland, R. Taylor (for Polynesia); A.R. Wallace, Malay Archipelago; C. Hose and W. McDougall (for Indonesia).

ASIA.—J.J.M. de Groot, The Religious System of China; W.H.R. Rivers, The Todas*; and a host of other good authorities for India, e.g. Sir H.H. Risley, E. Thurston, W. Crooke, T.C. Hodson, P.R.T. Gurdon, C.G. and B.Z. Seligmann (Veddas of Ceylon); E.H. Man, Journ. R. Anthrop. Instit. xii (Andamanese); W. Skeat (for Malay Peninsula).

AFRICA.—South: H. Callaway, E. Casalis, J. Maclean, D. Kidd. East: A.C. Hollis, J. Roscoe, W.S. and K. Routledge, A. Werner. West: M.H. Kingsley, A.B. Ellis. Madagascar: W. Ellis.

AMERICA.—A vast number of important works, see esp. Smithsonian Institution, Reports of the Bureau of Ethnology (J.W. Powell, F. Boas, F. Cushing, A.C. Fletcher, M.C. Stevenson, J.R. Swanton, C. Mindeleff, S. Powers, J. Mooney, J.O. Dorsey, W.J. Hoffman, W.J. McGee, etc.); L.H. Morgan (on Iroquois), J. Teit, C. Hill Tout; C. Lumholtz, Unknown Mexico; Sir E. im Thurn, Among the Indians of Guiana.

EUROPE.—Ancient: L.R. Farnell, Cults of the Greek States; J.E. Harrison, Prolegomena to Greek Religion; W. Warde Fowler, Religious Experience of the Roman People; Anthropology and the Classics, etc. Modern: G.F. Abbott, C. Lawson (to compare modern with ancient), Folk-lore Society's Publications, etc.

C. SUBSIDIARY

C. Darwin, Descent of Man (Part I); W. Bagehot, Physics and Politics*; W. James, Varieties of Religious Experience*; W. McDougall, Introduction to Social Psychology.* And in this series Geddes and Thomson, Newbigin, Myres, McDougall, Keith.



INDEX

Adultery, 195

Africans, 41, 100, 118, 127, 158, 193, 194, 195, 199

Age-grades, 176

Alpine race, 106

Altamira, 52

Americans, 40, 97, 100, 110-114, 124, 128, 133, 138-147, 157, 163, 174, 192, 199

Andamanese, 160, 188, 193

Anglo-Saxons, 193

Animatism, 230

Animism, 228, 230

Anthropo-geography, 23, 84, 95-101, 115, 129

Anthropoid apes, 23, 37, 76-79, 81, 84, 111, 115, 117

Anthropology, 7-30, 186, 204, 227, 242, 244

Asiatics, 37, 59, 82, 99, 105-111, 114-118, 120-122, 128, 132, 133, 142, 150, 160-162, 183, 188, 194, 216-219

Athapascan languages, 112

Atlantic phase of culture, 102

Aurignac, 48

Australians, 39, 49, 51, 52, 54, 118, 120, 127, 147, 157, 162, 167, 174, 190, 191, 198, 207, 219-227, 231, 244-250

Bagehot, W., 84, 185, 187, 201

Baiame, 249, 250

Balfour, H., 40

Basque language, 55, 132, 134

Biology, 10, 13

Bison, 49, 51, 79, 100

Blood-revenge, 189-194

Boas, F., 75, 85

Borneo, 101, 184

Brandon, 56, 59

Bronze-age, 32, 55, 107

Bull-roarer, 125-128, 207, 226, 231

Burial, 35, 79, 177, 202, 206, 248

Bushmen, 39, 81, 87, 108, 119, 126, 160

Butler, S., 66

Buzz, 128

Calaveras skull, 40

Cannibalism, 37

Cartailhac, E., 34

Carthage, 105

Caste, 144, 179

Cave-paintings, 21, 47-53, 221

Chelles, 77

China, 106, 108, 115, 142

Chukchis, 110

Clan, 161, 171, 175, 189, 197, 203

Class (matrimonial), 172

Climate, 83-86, 101, 103, 117, 156

Cogul, 53

Collective responsibility, 189, 192

Colour, 82-86

Commont, V., 33

Confederacy, 174

Consanguinity, 163

Conservatism of savage, 113, 124, 183, 184, 213, 245

Counting, 25, 148, 150

Cranial index, 74

Cranz, D., 191

Creswell Crags, 47

Cro-Magnon, 80

Custom, 38, 183-187, 213-215, 223, 227, 238, 245, 247

Dahomey, 158, 194

Dairy-ritual, 216-219

Daramulun, 207, 226, 249

Darwin, C., 8-11, 22, 64, 65, 69, 132, 157

Demolins, E., 98, 111

Differential evolution, 121

Dog, 118

Dubois, E., 76

Duel, 191, 195, 198

Egypt, 102, 105, 107, 115

Endogamy, 165, 173

Environment, 69, 70, 75, 93, 94-129

Eoliths, 41-48

Eskimo, 39, 111, 190, 191

Eugenics, 63, 70, 93, 95

Eurasian region, 106-110

Europeans, 33-59, 75, 77-82, 93, 102-105, 108, 109, 124, 126, 127, 133, 185, 193, 202, 230, 241

Evans, Sir J., 42, 124

Evolution, 7-12, 14, 22, 61-72, 136, 205

Exogamy, 159, 161-165, 168, 169, 172, 173, 220

Experimental psychology, 23, 88

Family, 159, 160, 164, 171, 178, 196

Family jurisdiction, 196

Flint-mining, 56, 57

Folk-lore, 186, 210

Frazer, J.G., 163, 172, 200

Freedom, 130, 154, 181, 185, 238, 241

Fuegians, 138-140, 145

Galley Hill skull, 46, 80

Gargas, 47-50

Genealogical method, 147

Gesture-language, 134, 149

Ghosts, 229, 230, 248

Gibraltar skull, 78

Greece, 127, 157, 172, 185, 241

Greenwell, W., 56

Grime's Graves, 56

Haddon, A.H., 88, 127

Haeckel, E., 118

Hand-prints, 49

Harrison, B., 41, 44

Head-form, 73-82, 107

Head-hunting, 185

Heidelberg mandible, 77

History, 11, 13-15, 30, 97, 156, 227, 242

Hittites, 107

Hobhouse, L.T., 160

Holophrase, 140-152, 239

Horse, 37, 50, 100, 108

Howitt, A.W., 163, 231, 246

Humility, 212

Ice-age, 21, 33, 36, 38, 46, 106, 112, 132

Icklingham, 38

Imagination, 28, 213, 223, 234

Incest, 189, 200

India, 115

Individuality, 29, 241-250

Indo-European languages, 133

Indonesia, 116, 118, 121, 184

Initiation, 127, 174, 176, 211, 224-227, 246-250

Instinct, 23, 68, 71, 89-91

Intichiuma ceremonies, 51, 167, 220-223

Iron-age, 40, 119

Jacks, L.P., 246

James, W., 247

Jersey, 32, 36, 45, 243

Kellor, F.A., 91

Kent's cavern, 46

Kingship, 194, 195, 200, 202

Kinship, 163, 177

Knappers, 57, 58

Koryaks, 110

La Chapelle-aux-Saints, 79

Lamarck, J.B., 64, 65

La Naulette mandible, 78

Lang, A., 187, 226

Language, 24, 130-152

Lapps, 110

Law, 26, 181-203

Lecky, T., 102

Le Moustier, 38, 45-47, 79

Le Play, F., 98

Levy-Bruhl, L., 138

Lineage, 165, 168

Lloyd Morgan, C., 238

Local association, 177

Luck, 167, 200, 213, 215

McDougall, W., 90

Madagascar, 114, 158

Magic, 27, 51, 177, 202, 208-210, 224, 245, 247

Malaya, 114, 122, 126

Malthus, T., 69, 157

Mammoth, 37, 78, 111, 132

Man, E.H., 188, 198

Mas d'Azil, 54

Masks, 53

Matriarchate, 166

Matrilineal, matrilocal, matripotestal, 165, 196

Medicine-man, 246-250

Mediterranean race, 104, 109, 119

Melanesians, 116, 121, 128

Mendelism, 67

Mentone, 35

Military discipline, 192, 199

Miscegenation, 93

Mob-psychology, 92, 201, 239-241

Moieties, 175

Morality, 29, 235-241

Mother-right, 166, 169, 197

Myres, J.L., 102

Nation, 174

Natural selection, 68-71, 84

Nature, 15, 82, 155, 211, 230

Neanderthal race, 37, 39, 77-81, 87, 120, 206

Negative rites, 216-219, 234

Negritos, 81, 116-118, 120, 160, 188

Negro race, 80, 91, 116, 120

Neolithic age, 40, 53-59, 81, 104, 109

Niaux, 50-53

Nordic race, 109

Ordeal, 191, 195

Pacation, 192, 195

Painted pebbles, 54

Palaeolithic age, 40, 43-54, 108, 124

Papuasians, 116

Patagonians, 114

Patrilineal, patrilocal, patripotestal, 165, 196

Payne, E.J., 138

Persecuting tendency, 187

Perthes, Boucher de, 43

Phantasm, 229

Philosophy, 15-17, 72, 154, 223

Phratry, 172

Pictographs, 51

Pithecanthropus erectus, 76, 115

Policy, 17-19

Polynesians, 121, 128, 183, 194

Positive rites, 219-224, 234

Pottery, 33, 55

Pre-Dravidians, 120

Pre-historic chronology, 34

Pre-history, 21, 31, 97, 111

Pre-natal environment, 94

Prestwich, Sir J., 42

Profane vessels, 217

Property, 179, 192, 195, 198

Proto-history, 31, 97

Quartz crystals, 248-250

Race, 22, 59-94, 96, 99

Ratzel, F., 98

Reincarnation, 167, 221, 224

Reindeer, 37, 55, 78, 106, 110

Religion, 27, 49, 127, 166-168, 204-235, 246-250

Ridgeway, W., 107

Rites, 212, 219-224, 234

River-phase of culture, 102

Rivers, W.H.R., 147, 216, 219

Rutot, A., 41, 46

Sacramental meal, 222

Sacredness, 28, 52, 127, 168, 203, 213, 217, 218, 224, 226

St. Acheul, 33, 45, 46

Sanction, 195, 203

Savagery, 11, 158

Science, 12-15

Secret Societies, 177

Seligmann, C.G. and B.Z., 161, 243

Sex-totems, 176

Shaw, B., 66

Slander, 198

Slavery, 179

Smith, W. Robertson, 213

Snare, F., 57

Social organization, 24-26, 152-181

Solutre, 47, 108

Spear-thrower, 231

Spencer, B., and Gillen, F.J., 39, 163, 175, 220, 244

Spirit, 228, 229

Steinmetz, S.R., 197

Stratigraphical method, 31-36

Suggestion, 233-235, 237-240

Survivals, 186

Sutherland, A., 157

Sympathetic magic, 126, 233

Synnomic phase of society 236

Syntelic phase of society, 236

Taboo, 200-203, 215, 218

Tasmanians, 39-44

Thames gravels, 38-44, 46

Theft, 198

Todas, 210-219

Torres Straits, 88

Totemism, 160, 166-168, 175, 189, 220-223, 250

Tribe, 173

Tylor, E.B., 184, 228-230

Use-inheritance, 64, 93

Variation, 66-68

Veddas, 120, 160, 243

Wallace, A.R., 69, 118, 184

Wealden dome, 43

Weismann, A., 65, 66

Westermarck, E., 235

Witchcraft, 202, 210



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98. Political Thought: From Herbert Spencer to the Present Day. By ERNEST BARKER, M.A.

99. Political Thought: The Utilitarians. From Benthan to J.S. Mill. By WILLIAM L. DAVIDSON.

79. Unemployment. By A.C. PIGOU, M.A., Professor of Political Economy at Cambridge. The meaning, measurement, distribution, and effects of unemployment, its relation to wages, trade fluctuations, and disputes, and some proposals of remedy or relief.

80. Common-Sense in Law. By PROF. PAUL VINOGRADOFF, D.C.L., LL.D. Social and Legal Rules—Legal Rights and Duties—Facts and Acts in Law—Legislation—Custom—Judicial Precedents—Equity—The Law of Nature.

49. Elements of Political Economy. By S.J. CHAPMAN, Professor of Political Economy and Dean of Faculty of Commerce and Administration, University of Manchester.

11. The Science of Wealth. By J.A. HOBSON, author of Problems of Poverty. A study of the structure and working of the modern business world.

1. Parliament. Its History, Constitution, and Practice. By SIR COURTENAY P. ILBERT, Clerk of the House of Commons.

16. Liberalism. By PROF. L.T. HOBHOUSE, author of Democracy and Reaction. A masterly philosophical and historical review of the subject.

5. The Stock Exchange. By F.W. HIRST, Editor of the London Economist. Reveals to the non-financial mind the facts about investment, speculation, and the other terms which the title suggests.

10. The Socialist Movement. By J. RAMSAY MACDONALD, Chairman of the British Labor Party.

28. The Evolution of Industry. By D.H. MACGREGOR, Professor of Political Economy, University of Leeds. An outline of the recent changes that have given us the present conditions of the working classes and the principles involved.

29. Elements of English Law. By W.M. GELDART, Vinerian Professor of English Law, Oxford. A simple statement of the basic principles of the English legal system on which that of the United States is based.

32. The School: An Introduction to the Study of Education. By J.J. FINDLAY, Professor of Education, Manchester. Presents the history, the psychological basis, and the theory of the school with a rare power of summary and suggestion.

6. Irish Nationality. By MRS. J.R. GREEN. A brilliant account of the genius and mission of the Irish people.

NATURAL SCIENCE

68. Disease and Its Causes. By W.T. COUNCILMAN, M.D., LL.D., Professor of Pathology, Harvard University.

85. Sex. By J. ARTHUR THOMPSON and PATRICK GEDDES, joint authors of The Evolution of Sex.

71. Plant Life. By J.B. FARMER, D.Sc., F.R.S., Professor of Botany in the Imperial College of Science. This very fully illustrated volume contains an account of the salient features of plant form and function.

63. The Origin and Nature of Life. By BENJAMIN M. MOORE, Professor of Bio-Chemistry, Liverpool.

90. Chemistry. By RAPHAEL MELDOLA, F.R.S., Professor of Chemistry, Finsbury Technical College. Presents the way in which the science has developed and the stage it has reached.

53. Electricity. By GISBERT KAPP, Professor Of Electrical Engineering, University of Birmingham.

54. The Making of the Earth. By. J.W. GREGORY, Professor of Geology, Glasgow University. 38 maps and figures. Describes the origin of the earth, the formation and changes of its surface and structure, its geological history, the first appearance of life, and its influence upon the globe.

56. Man: A History of the Human Body. By A. KEITH, M.D., Hunterian Professor, Royal College of Surgeons. Shows how the human body developed.

74. Nerves. By DAVID FRASER HARRIS, M.D., Professor of Physiology, Dalhousie University, Halifax. Explains in non-technical language the place and powers of the nervous system.

21. An Introduction to Science. By PROF. J. ARTHUR THOMSON, Science Editor Of the Home University Library. For those unacquainted with the scientific volumes in the series, this would prove an excellent introduction.

14. Evolution. By PROF. J. ARTHUR THOMSON and PROF. PATRICK GEDDES. Explains to the layman what the title means to the scientific world.

23. Astronomy. By A.R. HINKS, Chief Assistant at the Cambridge Observatory. "Decidedly original in substance, and the most readable and informative little book on modern astronomy we have seen for a long time."—Nature.

24. Psychical Research. By PROF. W.F. BARRETT, formerly President of the Society for Psychical Research. A strictly scientific examination.

9. The Evolution of Plants. By DR. D.H. SCOTT, President of the Linnean Society of London. The story of the development of flowering plants, from the earliest zoological times, unlocked from technical language.

43. Matter and Energy. By F. SODDY, Lecturer in Physical Chemistry and Radioactivity, University of Glasgow. "Brilliant. Can hardly be surpassed. Sure to attract attention."—New York Sun.

41. Psychology, The Study of Behaviour. By WILLIAM MCDOUGALL, of Oxford. A well digested summary of the essentials of the science put in excellent literary form by a leading authority.

42. The Principles of Physiology. By PROF. J.G. MCKENDRICK. A compact statement by the Emeritus Professor at Glasgow, for uninstructed readers.

37. Anthropology. By R.R. MARETT, Reader in Social Anthropology, Oxford. Seeks to plot out and sum up the general series of changes, bodily and mental, undergone by man in the course of history. "Excellent. So enthusiastic, so clear and witty, and so well adapted to the general reader."—American Library Association Booklist.

17. Crime and Insanity. By DR. C.A. MERCIER, author of Text-Book of Insanity, etc.

12. The Animal World. By PROF. F.W. GAMBLE.

15. Introduction to Mathematics. By A.N. WHITEHEAD, author of Universal Algebra.

PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION

69. A History of Freedom of Thought. By JOHN B. BURY, M.A., LL.D., Regius Professor of Modern History in Cambridge University. Summarizes the history of the long struggle between authority and reason and of the emergence of the principle that coercion of opinion is a mistake.

55. Missions: Their Rise and Development. By MRS. MANDELL CREIGHTON, author of History of England. The author seeks to prove that missions have done more to civilize the world than any other human agency.

52. Ethics. By G.E. MOORE, Lecturer in Moral Science, Cambridge. Discusses what is right and what is wrong, and the whys and wherefores.

65. The Literature of the Old Testament. By GEORGE F. MOORE, Professor of the History of Religion, Harvard University. "A popular work of the highest order. Will be profitable to anybody who cares enough about Bible study to read a serious book on the subject."—American Journal of Theology

50. The Making of the New Testament. By B.W. BACON, Professor of New Testament Criticism, Yale. An authoritative summary of the results of modern critical research with regard to the origins of the New Testament.

96. A History of Philosophy. By CLEMENT C.J. WEBB, Oxford.

35. The Problems of Philosophy. By BERTRAND RUSSELL, Lecturer and Late Fellow, Trinity College, Cambridge.

44. Buddhism. By MRS. RHYS DAVIDS, Lecturer on Indian Philosophy, Manchester.

46. English Sects: A History of Nonconformity. By W.B. SELBIE, Principal of Manchester College, Oxford.

60. Comparative Religion. By PROF. J. ESTLIN CARPENTER.

88. Religious Development Between Old and New Testaments. By R.H. CHARLES, Canon of Westminster. Shows how religious and ethical thought grew between 180 B.C. and 100 A.D.

LITERATURE AND ART

73. Euripides and His Age. By GILBERT MURRAY, Regius Professor of Greek, Oxford.

81. Chaucer and His Times. By GRACE E. HADOW, Lecturer Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford; Late Reader, Bryn Mawr.

70. Ancient Art and Ritual. By JANE E. HARRISON, LL.D., D.Litt. "One of the 100 most important books of 1913."—New York Times Review.

61. The Victorian Age in Literature. By G.K. CHESTERTON.

97. Milton. By JOHN BAILEY.

59. Dr. Johnson and His Circle. By JOHN BAILEY. Johnson's life, character, works, and friendships are surveyed; and there is a notable vindication of the "Genius of Boswell."

58. The Newspaper. By G. BINNEY DIBBLE. The first full account, from the inside, of newspaper organization as it exists to-day.

62. Painters and Painting. By SIR FREDERIC WEDMORE. With 16 half-tone illustration.

64. The Literature of Germany. By J.G. ROBERTSON.

48. Great Writers of America. By W.P. TRENT and JOHN ERSKINE, of Columbia University.

87. The Renaissance. By EDITH SICHEL, author of Catherine de Medici, Men and Women of the French Renaissance.

101. Dante. By JEFFERSON B. FLETCHER, Columbia University, An interpretation of Dante and his teachings from his writings.

93. An Outline of Russian Literature. By MAURICE BARING, author of The Russian People, etc. Tolstoi, Tourgenieff, Dostoieffsky, Pushkin (the father of Russian Literature), Saltykov (the satirist), Leskov, and many other authors.

40. The English Language. By L.P. SMITH. A concise history of its origin and development.

45. Medieval English Literature. By W.P. KER, Professor of English Literature, University College, London. "One of the soundest scholars. His style is effective, simple, yet never dry."—The Athenaeum.

89. Elizabethan Literature. By J.M. ROBERTSON, M.P., author of Montaigne and Shakespeare, Modern Humanists.

27. Modern English Literature. By G.H. MAIR. From Wyatt and Surrey to Synge and Yeats. "One of the best of this great series."—Chicago Evening Post.

2. Shakespeare. By JOHN MASEFIELD. "One of the very few indispensable adjuncts to a Shakespearean Library."—Boston Transcript.

31. Landmarks in French Literature. By G.L. STRACHEY, Scholar of Trinity College, Cambridge. "It is difficult to imagine how a better account of French Literature could be given in 250 pages."—London Times.

38. Architecture. By PROF. W.R. LETHABY. An introduction to the history and theory of the art of building.

66. Writing English Prose. By WILLIAM T. BREWSTER, Professor of English, Columbia University. "Should be put into the hands of every man who is beginning to write and of every teacher of English that has brains enough to understand sense."—New York Sun.

83. William Morris: His Work and Influence. By A. CLUTTON BROCK, author of Shelley: The Man and the Poet. William Morris believed that the artist should toil for love of his work rather than the gain of his employer, and so he turned from making works of art to remaking society.

75. Shelley, Godwin and Their Circle. By H.N. BRAILSFORD. The influence of the French Revolution on England.

OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 34 West 33d Street New York

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