Elements of Folk Psychology / Outline of a Psychological History of the Development of Mankind

here and when did religion originate? For is not religion always concerned with the supernatural? Now, in certain cases, even primitive man supplements the sensuous world in which he li

of myth-formation derives largely from the very fact that the problem is intimately bound up with that of the origin of religion. Merely in itself the origin of the myth might have relatively little interest for us. The question, however, as to how religion arose ac

estion at once arises as to the source of this belief in magic and in demons, and as to the influences by which it is sustained. Now, in respect to this point two views prevail, even among the ethnologists who have made an intensive study of primitive peoples. The one view may briefly be called that of nature-mythology. It assumes that even far back under early conditions the phenomena of the heavens were the objects that peculiarly fascinated the thought of man and elevated it above its immediate sensible environment. All mythology, therefore, is supposed originally to have been mythology of nature, particularly of the heavens. Doubtless this would already involve a religious element, or, at least, a religious tendency. The second view carries us even farther in the same direction. It holds that the ideas of primitive man, so far as they deal with the supersensuous, are simpler than those of the more highly developed peoples. Just for this reason, however, it regards these ideas as more perfect and as approaching more nearly the beliefs of the higher religions. As a matter of fact, if we compare, let us say, the Semangs and the Senoi, or the Veddahs, with the natives of Australia, we find a very great difference as regards this point. Even the mythology of the Australians is undoubtedly much more complex than that of these peoples of nature, and the farther we trace this myth development the greater the complexity becomes. That which is simple, however, is supposed to be also the higher and the more exalted, just as it is the more primitive. The beginning is supposed to anticipate the end, as a revelation not yet distorted by human error. For, the highest form of religion is not a mythology including a multitude of gods, but the belief in one God-that is, monotheism. It was believed, therefore, that the very discovery of primitive man offered new support for this view. This theo

an and subsequently (though with regard to this there are various versions) he created woman. She was either created directly, as was man, or man himself created her out of a piece of wood, possibly a reminiscence of Adam's rib. Then God gave man laws forbidding theft, murder, adultery, etc., forbidding him, furthermore, to eat of the fruits of the first rainy season. But man did not keep the Divine commandments. The Lord therefore sent a universal flood, in which perished all living things with the exception of two men and two women who happened to be in a boat. In this story, much is naturally distorted, confused, and adapted to the medium into which the legend is transplanted. But that it points to the Biblical accounts of the Creation, Paradise, and the Flood, there cannot, in my opinion, be the slightest doubt. If it is objected that the Andamans are altogether too far separated from the rest of the world by the sea, and also that no missionaries have ever been seen on these islands, our answer would be: Whatever may be the 'when' and the 'how,' the fact that the Biblical tradition at some time did come to the Andamanese is proven by the legend itself. This conclusion is just as incontestable as is the inference, for example, that the correspondence of certain South American and Asiatic myths is proof of a transmission. Indeed, the two latter regions are separated by an incomparably wider expanse of sea than that which divides the Andamans from Indo-China and its neighbouring islands. It should also be added that the inhabitants of the Andaman Islands have obviously progressed far beyond the condition in which we find the inland tribes of Malacca, the Veddahs of Ceylon, or the Negritos of the Philippines. They practise the art of making pottery-an art never found among peoples who are properly called primitive; they have a social organization, with chiefs. These phenomena all characterize a fairly advanced culture. When, therefore, we are concerned with the beliefs of peoples who are really primitive, the Andamanese must be left out of consideration. According to the available proofs, however, these people possess a belief neither in on

hich has brought death to the recently deceased person himself. Primitive man cannot think of death except as the sudden departure from the dying person of that which originally brought life. Nevertheless, there is evidently bound up with this conception the further idea that powers of life are still resident in the body; the latter remains firmly associated in the mind of primitive man with the impression of life. Here, then, we have the original source of the contradictory idea of a something that generates life and is therefore independent of the body, while nevertheless being connected with it. So far as we can gain knowledge of the impression which death makes on the mind of primitive man, two disparate motives are indissolubly united. He regards life as something that, in part, continues in some mysterious manner to dwell within the corpse, and, in part, hovers about, invisible, in its vicinity. For this reason, the dead person becomes to him a demon, an invisible being capable of seizing upon man, of overpowering or killing him, or of bringing sickness upon him. In addition to this primitive idea of demons, we also find the conception of a corporeal soul, meaning by this the belief that

of death and the fright caused by an unexpected attack of sickness. The dead person, therefore, continues to remain the seat of demoniacal powers; these he can repeatedly direct against the living persons who approach him. Primitive man believes that the demon may assume any form whatsoever within the body, and deceitful medicine-men take advantage of this in ostensibly removing the sickness in the form of a piece of wood or of a stone. But it is precisely these ideas that are totally unrelated to that of a psyche and its embodiments. Though the corpse is perhaps the earliest object that suggests sickness-demons, it is in no wise the only one. Indeed, the attack of sickness is in itself sufficient to arouse fear of a demon. Thus, the Semangs a

h by means of his counter-magic, but he can himself directly practise magic. Since he has power over demons, he can exorcise them from the body; but he can also magically cause them to enter it. Thus, the medicine-man has a twofold calling. He is feared, but he is also valued as a helper in need. His position differs according as the one or the other emotion predominates. He was the first to investigate the effect of herbs on man. He probably discovered the poisons, and, by rendering the arrow poisonous, gained a still higher authority in the eyes of the savage. For the arrow, too, is a means of magic. But he also discovered methods of removing poisons, and thereby transformed poisonous plants into articles of food. His calling, then, is a supremely important one, though also at all times da

life. The belief in magic, for example, assumes the form of protective magic, of magical defence against demoniacal influences. In this form, it probably determines the original modes of

which serves the purposes both of dress and of adornment. But what was its real meaning? An incident from the life of the Veddahs may perhaps furnish the answer to this question. When the Veddah enters into marriage, he binds a cord about the loins of his prospective wife. Obviously this is nothing else than a form of the widely current 'cord-magic,' which plays a not inconsiderable r?le even in present-day superstition. Cord-magic aims to bring about certain results by means of a firmly fastened cord. This cord is not a symbol, but is, as all symbols originally were, a means of magic. When a cord is fastened about a diseased part of the body and then transferred to a tree, it is commonly believed that the sickness is magically transplanted into the tree. If the tree is regarded as representing an enemy, moreover, this act, by a further association, is believed to transfer sickness or death to the enemy through the agency of the tree. The cord-magic of the Veddah i

the same to him-an exchange of magic-working fetters which is a striking anticipation of the exchange of rings still customary with us upon betrothal or marriage. For the exchange of rings, to a certain extent, represents in miniature the exchange of cords practised by primitive man, though there is, of course, this enormous difference that, in the primitive ceremony the binding has a purely magical significance, whereas the later act is merely symbolical. All these phenomena indicate that even the beginnings of clothing involve ideas of magic. Later, of course, a number of other motives also enter in, gradually leading to a change in meaning and to a wide departure from the idea originally entertained. Owing to the influence of climatic changes, there arises, in the first place, the need of protection; and the greater this becomes, the more does magic recede. And so, even among primitive tribes, the loin-cord is gradually replaced by the apron proper, which no longer requires a special cord for its support. In the course of this transition into a means of protection, the feeling of modesty more and more enters into the development as a contributing factor. According to a law operative everywhere, even under very different conditions, modesty is always connected with such parts of the body as are required by custom to be kept covered. To do what custom forbids arouses the feeling of shame, particularly in such cases as this, where the violation is so direct and apparent. It is for this reason that the feeling of shame may be aroused by the exposure of very

e owner-that is to say, it is a talisman. Similar in its powers to the necklace, furthermore, is the bracelet-found even in primitive culture-and also the head-fillet, which encircles the forehead and the back part of the head. The Semangs and Senoi of the Malaccan forests are invested with the head-fillet by the medicine-man, who exchanges it for another at particularly important turning-points of life, such, for example, as the entrance of the youth into manhood, or of the woman upon marriage. The head-fillets that have been removed are preserved in the house of the medicine-man. If the woman is widowed, her former fillet is placed on her he

o generation, being scrupulously guarded and occasionally augmented by additional magical elements. It is for this reason that, in the presence of the extraordinarily complicated dances and magical ceremonies of primitive peoples, we sometimes ask in amazement: How could such a wealth of connected ideas possibly arise and become expressed in action? To this it might briefly be replied that they did not arise at all as creations of a single moment. The meaning of the ceremonies has for the most part long been lost to the participants themselves, and was probably unknown even to their ancestors. The general reason for the various acts that are executed according to ancient usage is that they serve a magical purpose. The performers firmly believe that the acts will secure that which is desired

ythology as a whole, including that of primitive man, the idea is even to-day widely current that mythological thought was from the very beginning a na?ve attempt at an interpretation of the phenomena which man encounters in nature or in his own life. That is to say, all mythology is regarded as a sort of primitive science, or, at any rate, as a precursor of philosophy. This innate need for explanation is then usually associated with an alleged a priori principle of causality inherent in the mind. The mythological view of nature, therefore, is supposed to be nothing but an application-imperfect as yet, to be sure-of the causal law to the nexus of phenomena. But if we call to mind the condition of natural man as revealed in his actions, no trace can be found of any need for explanation such as requires the initial employment of the concept of causality. Indeed, as regards the phenomena of daily life and those that surround him on all hands and constantly recur in a uniform manner, primitive man experiences no need at all for explanation. For him everything is as it is just because it has always been so. Just as he dances about an arrow because his father and his grandfather practised this custom in the past, so also does he hold that the sun rises to-day because it rose yesterday. The regularity with which a phenomenon recurs is for him sufficient testimony and explanation of its existence. Only that which arouses his emotion and calls forth particularly fear and terror comes to be an object of magical and demoniacal belief. The primitive level of mythological thought differs from th

the orderly sequence of perceptions and ideas is constant. That the former preceded the latter is, nevertheless, of great importance. For the causality of natural law, as we know it, would hardly have been possible had not magical causality prepared the way for it. Yet the later arose from the earlier just at that moment in which the attention of men ceased to be held by the unusual, the startling, and the fearful, and occupied itself with the orderly, the regular, and commonplace. For this reason the very greatest advance in the investigation of natural laws was made by Galileo, when he took