B. The Psychology of Symbolism.

Signor G. Ferrero[196] has investigated the psychological laws of symbolism, using that term in its widest aspect. After giving a sketch of the history of the Fylfot, which is largely borrowed from that by Count Goblet d’Alviella, he proceeds to give its psychological interpretation in the following words (p. 148):—

“I believe that this symbol of the motion of the sun became transformed into a mystic symbol, precisely because it was a metaphorical symbol. The signification of a pictographic symbol can not be forgotten, for the sensation of the symbol directly recalls the image or the idea of the object; there are not in that case intermediate states of consciousness which can be eliminated. But when it concerns a metaphorical symbol, these intermediate states of consciousness exist, for the symbol must be interpreted, especially if a very imperfect and rude delineation is in question, whose relation to the object represented is of the slightest. The figure of a tree directly recalls to me the idea or image of the tree; but a circle drawn with three or four legs does not directly suggest to me in itself the precise idea of the motion of the sun; there is at least the possibility of different interpretations, and at all events there must be an original and independent act of interpretation. The significance of the symbol, finally, can only be known if one undertakes an investigation of induction and interpretation, or if one associates with an inspection of the symbol the remembrance of an explanation which has been given, or of an interpretation which we had formerly discovered for ourselves.

“Now this state of consciousness, which serves for the interpretation of the symbol, would have been necessary if the symbol of the cross had ministered to the needs of existence, to commerce or politics, for example; but as it was a religious symbol whose use did not vary according to the truth and the exactness of its interpretation, it is evident that this state of consciousness would become useless in the long run, and the brain would relieve itself of it in a short time. The croix gammée (fylfot) was, like genuflexions and the other mimic symbols of ceremonial, a symbol employed in relation with the divinity; accordingly, the same cause which rendered useless in the ceremonial the state of consciousness, which we have called γ,[197] has rendered useless the state of consciousness which could interpret the solar signification of the cross. It was, in short, a religious symbol employed in relation to God; rightly or wrongly interpreted as it may be, prayer and other propitiations tended to the same result; the state of consciousness which served for its interpretation was then not necessary, and the brain little by little relieved itself from it. This state of consciousness being eliminated, it was forgotten that the sign of the cross represented the sun, because this was a metaphorical symbol too vague to directly recall the idea of solar movement.

“When the state of consciousness which served for the interpretation of the design was gradually eliminated, all the religious sentiments which had the sun and its cult for their object were addressed to the cross; that is why it has become the object of so profound a veneration, without any one knowing its signification or origin; the cross reaps for its profit the inheritance of the solar cult of which it has ceased to be a symbol, in order to become almost a divinity by itself. The cross thus became a mystic symbol of which the applications became very numerous, and even very confused.

“All this, I repeat, is only a supposition, but it may enable us to affirm that, whatever may be the origin of the cross, its evolution, very probably, can only be explained from the point of view of the theory of the ideo-emotional arrest.”

A. Note on Mental Inertia.

This is the emotional arrest. It is notorious that in religion the adoration which should be paid to God in heaven is often arrested at the images which represent the divinity, as when the elders of Israel said, “Let us fetch the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of Shiloh unto us, that, when it cometh among us, it may save us out of the hand of our enemies ... and the Philistines were afraid, for they said, God is come into the camp.”[198]

(3.) There is yet a third psychological process by which the confusion between the symbol and the thing symbolised is possible; it is the ideo-emotional arrest. In an analysis of the mental state of a man who performs acts of social ceremonial, this author finds (p. 133) that “to each completed act there corresponds, in the spirit of man, three states of consciousness, quite distinct and associated:—

• “1. The desire to cause the man to be favourable to him in whose presence the ceremonial act is accomplished (α);
• “2. The idea that the ceremonial act can serve this purpose (β);
• “3. The idea that the act can serve this purpose because the suppliant understands that he who has put himself in the position where he is unable to do harm cannot have any dangerous intention (γ).

“The mental state of those who entreat the gods was, in this primitive period, composed of the same three states of consciousness, quite distinct but inter-related:—

• “1. The desire to make the divinity favourable to oneself (α);
• “2. The idea that certain acts or practices (prayers, visits, etc., etc.) conduce to this result (β);
• “3. The idea of the reason for which these acts have this power—that is to say, the conviction that they are adapted to the character attributed to the divinity (γ).

“It is evident that if we compare the mental state of men who are in harmony with ceremonial observances in this primitive period of ceremonial with the mental state of civilised men who still observe ceremonial, social, and religious rules, we find that in the mental state of civilised men the third state of consciousness—that is to say γ, has been eliminated. In fact, we have remarked that, among civilised man, the performance of a ceremonial act is determined by the desire to render himself favourable to, or at least not to offend another person or a God (α), and from the idea that these acts can produce this effect (β); without knowing why (that is to say that γ has been eliminated).

“We have seen that by the law of mental inertia, a state of consciousness—image, idea, emotion—cannot last for ever, after the exciting cause has ceased to act, for a state of consciousness is a transformation of energy, and it finishes when it has exhausted its initial quantity of force.

“Only the states of consciousness which, being necessary for the needs of existence, are preserved by permanent excitation,—be this excitation simple and direct or complex and indirect—can have an apparently eternal persistence; the duration of useless states of consciousness is limited.

“This is true for individuals or bodies of men. To each institution, to each custom, etc., there correspond in the mind of man a certain number of associated ideas, which have determined alike its birth and transformation; but, according to this law, only the ideas which are necessary should be preserved in this association of ideas; the others should be gradually eliminated.

“This interesting psychological phenomenon of ideo-emotional arrest concludes by profoundly modifying ideas and feelings. It modifies ideas, for it induces what I have termed a mental arrest; the ideation, in fact, by the loss of the state of consciousness γ, is arrested at β; and the mind is contented to know that a certain act will produce a certain effect, or will express a certain sentiment, without troubling itself with the cause, without seeking for an explanation. It modifies, and, so to speak, displaces the feelings, for it produces that what I call an emotional arrest: in fact, when the idea of the true character of the ceremonial act is lost, the act is no longer a sign of certain inclinations of sentiment, but itself becomes an object of veneration. We see men who pay attention only to ceremonial and who neglect the feelings on which it should be based ... they believe they have fulfilled their religious duties, even if love and devotion are wanting, if they have not neglected the ceremonies. It is the same with the social ceremonial; for the majority of men, social duty does not consist in loyalty, in mutual affection, in a spirit of justice towards others, but in ceremonial observances; and when the ceremonial code is not violated they are persuaded that they have nothing for which to reproach themselves. It is a true emotional arrest, for the sentiments of social and religious duty are, so to speak, arrested midway in purely external acts.”[199]

THE SCIENTIFIC METHOD OF STUDYING DECORATIVE ART.

I am not aware that much has been done towards establishing a physical basis for art. The pleasurable sensations which line, form, and colour may give rise to are doubtless analogous to those caused by musical sounds, but with this difference, that the latter are caused by the orderly sequence of particular vibrations, whereas the vibrations of the former are synchronous. It is possible that not only must the character of these vibrations be taken into account, but that the structure of the human eye and personal equation must be allowed for in an analysis of the pleasurable sensations caused by any work of art. These remarks necessarily refer only to the forms of things; their meaning and the sensations thereby evoked belong to the domain of psychology.

I. Application of Biological Deductions to Designs.

There are certain styles of ornamentation which, at all events in particular cases, may very well be original, taking that word in its ordinary sense, such, for example, as zigzag lines, cross-hatching, and so forth. The mere toying with any implement which could make a mark on any surface might suggest the simplest ornamentation to the most savage mind. This may or may not have been the case, and it is entirely beyond proof either way, and therefore we must not press our analogy too far. It is, however, surprising, and it is certainly very significant, that the origin of so many designs can now be determined, although they are of unknown age.

It is therefore not too much to say that savages do not deliberately invent patterns or designs; in other words, artistic expression is the result of a pre-existing visual impression.

Great difficulty presents itself when we apply this statement to communities of a higher culture; but there is no reason for believing that the case is different for barbaric races from what it is among the more savage.

It is when we come to highly civilised people that the problem becomes well-nigh insoluble. People often designedly “invent” patterns, and imagine that such designs are truly original. It is impossible to prove whether or no the artist has ever seen either a similar pattern, or at all events the elements of which his design is composed. It is very difficult to conceive that the latter is not the case. All that we can do is to fall back on the simple conditions, and we have already seen what obtains there.

This argument is strengthened by the fact that those who wish to “invent” new designs so often have recourse to objective assistance. The students in our schools of art are instructed to study natural forms, especially plants. Not only have they to manipulate the plant as a whole, but the flower has to be dissected, and even such details as the cross-section of the seed capsule are taken into account. Intelligent selection and rejection and judicious grouping may give rise to an infinitude of designs and patterns.

More mechanical aids are often pressed into service, and the compasses and other drawing instruments are employed, perhaps as often on the chance of a pleasing combination resulting or being suggested, as to elaborate some definite idea. The well-known Japanese pattern books afford a good foreign example of this method.

Instructors have not overlooked such optical aids as the kaleidoscope or analogous apparatus for pattern-making.

Once a design is started, be it the simplest of geometrical forms or a representation of a definite object, its subsequent fate is subject to vicissitudes very similar to those which beset the existence of any organism.

Organisms have offspring which at the same time resemble and differ from their parents.

This is the commonest experience one meets with in studies in ornament; certain simple patterns, on account of their simplicity, may be indefinitely repeated, and that without appreciable variation. Like simple chemical compounds, they are stable because there are few combining elements, and these are well linked together.

On the other hand, the more complex the original idea the greater opportunity there is for variation, in fact variation is inevitable. Just as in the highly unstable molecules which build up protoplasm, there is practically no alternative except for metabolism to take place.

In no case have we a series of designs which are known to be, so to speak, genetically related. We cannot say that this was a copy of that, and that of some other known form, and so on. Neither have we in Palæontology. A student of the latter science brings together as many specimens as he can from different geological horizons, and finding that the forms of a more recent deposit resemble with but slight differences those from an earlier formation, he not unreasonably concludes that the former were descended from the latter, and that the differences in the species are to be accounted for by the fixing and isolating of variations such as are commonly to be met with in members of one family.

The biologist, recognising the great importance of the theory of evolution, now rears generation after generation of animals to see how far actual experience will bear out theoretical deductions, and by this means definite facts are being accumulated. The credit of first applying this principle to art is due to General Pitt-Rivers. He gave a certain drawing to some one (A) to copy; his rendering was sent on to another person (B) to copy, this copy was handed on to a third individual (C), and so on, each copyist having only the preceding person’s performance before him. In each case fresh variations occur according to the greater or less imitative skill of the artist. The General has collected some very curious examples of series of this kind.

Mr. H. Balfour,[200] following this suggestion, describes how he started a similar experiment. He says, “An original drawing of my own, representing a snail crawling over a twig, was given out to different people to be copied as I have described. In a series of twelve to fifteen copies thus obtained, the snail’s shell gradually leaves the snail and becomes a kind of boss upon the twig, and finally the design is turned upside down; the artists at this stage being convinced that the sketch is intended to represent a bird, the ‘horns’ of the snail having become the forked tail of the bird. It is seen that the extremes of the series are absolutely unlike each other, but in no case are any two adjacent sketches very dissimilar.”

Unfortunately, in the examples given in the earlier pages of this book, as in those presented by other writers, we are not in a position to definitely affirm that one particular design is genetically related to another one. We have the same difficulty in palæontology; but the impossibility of absolute proof does not weaken the strong presumptive evidence in its favour.

We are also brought face to face with another interesting zoological parallel, and that is the co-existence of primitive, intermediate, and late types. It is not always easy to suggest explanations in zoology why some forms should persist and others disappear, but these difficulties are no argument against evolution having occurred. Amongst savage peoples we often find a surprising number of intermediate stages, but one explanation is ready to hand. The original is usually always before them, and all stages in the evolution of a design are decorative; they are all “fit” enough to survive, and the majority of them may persist for an indefinite time. In the animal world small changes in the environment may produce far-reaching effects on organisms, and the persistence, not the change of type, is the greatest marvel.

In zoology it appears that the more complex animals, or perhaps rather the more complex members of a group, vary more than the simpler. It would be interesting to work out whether the same occurs in patterns. I am inclined to think that this will be found to be very generally the case. Increased variation occurs because there is more material to vary. The next step is to determine what directions the variations take.

Development may take place (1) with a general tendency towards complexity, or (2) towards simplification, or (3) these two may be coincident. That is, there may be (1) an upward or specialising evolution, or (2) degeneration, or (3) selection, which implies partial elimination and a specialisation of the selected details.

(1) Not many examples present themselves of the evolution of a particular motive as a whole; as usually one portion of it diminishes and another increases. What may be termed symmetrical evolution must necessarily be of rare occurrence. An example will be found in the progressive development of a fish-hook into an ornament in Torres Straits (p. 76, Fig. 44).

Occasionally one meets with examples of a considerable amount of partial complexity without a degradation of the remainder.

(2) The simplification of original types is of extremely common occurrence in decorative art. This has often impressed itself on those who have interested themselves in handicrafts of savages. In addition to the numerous examples I have brought together in this book I need only refer to the pioneer observations of Sir John Evans in 1849 in his well-known study[201] of the degeneration which occurred in the Gaulish and British copying of the gold stater of Philip II. of Macedon. Later,[202] he says, “those varieties appear to have become more or less persistent, which, in the ‘struggle for existence,’ have presented advantages over the present form in their relation to external conditions. But in the succession of types of these British coins, the requirements which new types had to fulfil in order to become to a certain extent persistent, were, firstly, to present facility of imitation, and secondly, symmetry of form. The natural instincts of uncivilised man seem to lead to the adoption of simple yet symmetrical forms of ornament, while in all stages of culture the saving of trouble is an object of universal desire.[203] The reduction of a complicated and artistic design into a symmetrical figure of easy execution was the object of each successive engraver of the dies of these coins, though probably they were themselves unaware of any undue saving of trouble on their part, or the results which ensued from it.”

While degeneration is of so frequent occurrence in the history of decorative art, one must not assume that this must invariably be the case; every series must be judged independently. One commonly finds that the earlier representations of glyptic art were crude and highly conventional, but they became more life-like as the artists gained more command over their material, and perhaps at the same time the fabricators or the purchasers were gradually educated to prefer greater truth to nature.

(3) The third alternative is by far the most frequent. Typical examples are to be met with in the rich field of the decorative art of the Papuan Gulf. Fig. 13, p. 36, will serve as an example: here each star-like figure is the remains of two human faces; the eye-spot is the amalgamation of the two pairs of eyes, the lateral angled lines represent the cheek-folds, and the curved lines next to these are the lower eye-lashes of each face, and nothing more of the faces persists.

It would be absurd to endeavour to make the evolution of decorative art run on all fours with that of animals, as there are certain art forms which have no parallel in zoology. In patterns, for example, the two essential elements are symmetry and repetition; the latter implicates not only the whole design but portions of it as well. Thus, if in an early stage of a realistic design there is a blank area, the vacancy will usually be filled up by repetitions of that detail of the whole design which is nearest to it. For example, the scroll pattern of the Massim district of British New Guinea originates, as we have seen, from serial repetitions of a bird’s head. In the simplest forms of this pattern there are blank triangular areas, but these are usually filled up by a series of crescentic lines (Fig. 26), which are repetitions of the curve bounding the base of each triangle. In the Elema district the designs have an increasing tendency towards angularity, so, similarly, areas unoccupied by the main design are very frequently filled up with chevrons, as in Fig. 16.

The objection to this method of treating art may be urged that the decorated objects, whatever their nature may be, are inanimate, that they are merely pieces of wood or stone, and that they are therefore not to be compared with living beings. It is perfectly obvious that ethnological objects cannot change themselves or develop themselves into anything else. On the other hand, though animals are alive they also have no voluntary power to alter themselves, nor can they develop themselves in any direction. They are almost as passive as fabricated objects.

The small amount of change which may occur in the adult existence of an animal (I purposely exclude all changes which take place during development and growth) are due to forces acting upon the animal, and to which the animal more or less responds; they are not self-induced. The zoological and ethnological specimens, in this respect, are in precisely the same case.

The direction which evolution takes, whether it makes for a more highly sensitive being or for degeneration, has reference to offspring alone and not to their parents, immediate or remote. There is no conscious and protracted effort on the part of a particular group of animals to evolve in a determinate direction, this latter is circumscribed by the environment. Thus it comes about that consciousness has no part in evolution whether of an animal or of a pattern. The offspring of an animal vary more or less from the parent just as copies of designs vary, and both are alike subject to an external selection. If this selection proceeds sufficiently long in one general direction, a distinct and non-relapsing variation is established, and so on indefinitely.

One distinction between the evolution of animals and that of patterns must not be lost sight of: in the former the survival of the fittest appears to be mainly due to an elimination of the un-fittest, whereas in the latter there is a certain amount of conscious selection.

A further argument against this view may be urged from the standpoint that however unconscious the evolution of the lower animals may be, the case is very different with man. He is conscious and self-conscious, and he can direct his own evolution. In the first place, “Can he do so?” and in the second, “Has he done so?” First let us see what has happened.

I suppose it is one of the best established teachings of history that the evolution of a nation has not been consciously directed by the individuals which compose it. A few men may have sought to guide the course of politics or to adjust its foreign policy; but their efforts are futile unless supported by the people themselves, and the luxuriousness of living of the majority, the laxity of their morals, or some other irresponsible factor, may entirely wreck individual effort. Nations as a whole have blindly worked out their own salvation or ruin in just the same way as a group of animals living in geological times may have survived to the present day or may have become extinct.

The essential conservatism of the human mind is a fact of prime importance. Savages, children, and the less intelligent of the civilised races are similar in this respect. This has long been recognised, and that “there is no new thing under the sun” is an oft-repeated, widely-recognised truism. In proportion as change is rare, so progress is slow. It is only the happy coincidence of certain combinations which acts as a stimulant to variation, but this appears to have an increasing tendency to occur. The more savage the race the more conservative it is as a rule.

Just as the tendency to variability is of necessity a steadily increasing factor in the evolution of animals, so it is in man, and proportionately more so as he is raised above the level of the brute. Increase of complexity leads to that instability which is the mother of variability.

The above-mentioned statements are merely expressions of facts known to all. It will probably be admitted that among less civilised peoples their evolution may have been undirected by themselves; but with increased complexity comes augmented mental power, and it may be urged that this may, so to speak, take the helm; but I would venture to ask, Is there much evidence in support of this view? The mind of man is subject, like his body, to the ordinary operations of the universe, his individuality is apparent rather than real, and just as one may move to and fro on the face of the earth yet at the same time the traveller and the bed-ridden person are revolving round the axis of the earth at the same rate, and are equally trundling with the globe through space, so, too, mind cannot escape from the forces which act on the body.

It is believed by some that there were periods in the history of organisms when evolution took place more rapidly than at other times; perhaps this was due to variability occurring more extensively, which again may have been partly due to changes in the environment. There is no reason to believe that variation (which is the material that makes evolution possible) occurs uniformly. There is no need to touch further upon these yet unsolved problems of Biology; at all events we find that in decorative art evolution has been spasmodic or discontinuous, that there are periods of quiescence and of activity. I have already suggested that the isolation of a people and uniformity in their existence will tend to stagnation in art, and that intercourse with other peoples, whether by trade, war or migration, serves as a stimulus to artistic expression.

To return to our more immediate subject, consciousness of purpose has extremely little to do with human evolution, nor has it much more to say to the evolution of patterns among primitive peoples.

The selection of one design instead of another, or of a particular part of a design, is a conscious act, but probably in the great majority of cases an unreasoning one. And the selection is limited to that individual object. It is inconceivable that a savage should copy or adapt a certain design because it promises to develop into a more pleasing pattern. While there is a certain amount of conscious selection, the variation as a whole of any design is an entirely unguided operation so far as the intelligence of the human units is concerned.

II. The Geographical Distribution of Animals and of Designs.

By tabulating the denizens of different countries, the latter can be grouped according to their animals, and in this way zoologists have formed zoological regions, which may be further subdivided into sub-regions or provinces. All such divisions are characterised (1) by their characteristic animals, (2) by their peculiar animals, and (3) by the absence of certain groups of animals. The negative character in this case being perhaps the most valuable one.

Organisms may in a rough manner be distributed into zones corresponding with climate, which may be horizontal and largely dependent upon latitude, or vertical and directly dependent upon altitude, which varies, however, according to latitude. Such a kind of distribution is much more manifest in plants than in animals.

Further, there is a phenomenon known as “discontinuous distribution,” which is one of great importance. For example, the tapirs are only found in Central America and in the Malay Archipelago, the camel group in South America and the deserts of Asia, the ostrich group in South America, Africa, Australia, New Guinea, and New Zealand. It is needless to multiply examples. The explanation is simple enough. The tapirs are representatives of old generalised ungulates of early tertiary times that formerly lived in the northern hemisphere, but which have since become exterminated in the region of their origin and abundance, and have survived at only two extreme points of their old habitat. Ancestral camels are common in the tertiary beds of North America; the one group wandered southwards, and finding competition less keen on the plateaux of South America, were enabled to develop into llamas, alpacas, and so forth. The other group was modified so as to exist in the deserts of Asia, the less specialised forms in the intermediate countries having died out. The same general argument applies to the ostrich group, and in the rhea of South America, the ostrich of Africa, the cassowary of New Guinea, the emu of Australia, the diminutive apteryx and the gigantic extinct moas of New Zealand we have outliers, so to speak, of an extremely ancient group of birds, the other members of which have become exterminated in the intermediate districts.

Then again, there may be what are termed “local types and species,” forms which differ but slightly from the characteristic or “central” type of the species, and which are restricted to special regions. For example, in an island off a mainland there are often what are termed “insular varieties,” and in an archipelago it is of frequent occurrence that each island is characterised by possessing its peculiar varieties and even peculiar species. Isolated geographical features, such as commanding and separated mountains, may have what may equally be termed “insular faunas,” or again, the various valleys of a mountain chain may have appreciable faunistic differences.

The reason for this is not far to seek. These varieties differ from others merely by being intensified by local conditions and by isolation. Variation is more widespread than is generally supposed, but granting freedom of intercourse over a wide area and a stability of environment, the extreme variations are less liable to occur, and, furthermore, it is the average organism which is the most stable. Thus a fairly constant mean level is maintained. The isolation of portion of such a uniform population introduces new factors, and the isolated individuals tend to arrive at a condition of stable equilibrium which must of necessity be different from that of the parent stem.

Colonies are probably of rare occurrence in the zoological world. By such I mean the sudden peopling of a district by an animal new to that part of the country. An example of how this may occur is illustrated by the sporadic excursion into Europe of Pallas’ sand-grouse. It will be remembered that a few years ago large numbers of this Siberian bird made their appearance in Europe. Similar inroads are on record for past years.

Supposing the conditions were favourable, the sand-grouse might very well have established itself in one or more localities, and then formed colonies in the true sense of the term. Artificial colonies are being continually formed by man: witness the rabbits in Australia and the pheasant in England.

The dispersion of animals is caused by the favouring conditions of physical features, or by the carrying power of winds and currents. The isolation of animals is also similarly caused; winds and currents may be in such a direction as to prevent migration, and the physical features may be otherwise unfavourable to dispersion.

We now have to apply these general remarks to the province of art, and to see how far similar conclusions may be drawn.

The conclusions of the synthetical zoologist who studies the problems of zoogeography, as it is sometimes called, are entirely dependent upon the tedious labours of the analytical or systematic zoologist. General conclusions are worth nothing if the data upon which they are erected are untrustworthy; hence an accurate identification of the fauna of a country is an absolutely necessary precursor to any theorising upon its affinity.

This self-evident proposition equally applies to the geographical distribution of art-forms. It is first of all necessary to determine the exact nature of any given pattern or design. I have often called attention to the danger which there is in assuming that similarity is identity, the most instructive example of this being exhibited in the fret-pattern group and the allied scroll-patterns. Instances could be multiplied were it necessary. One of the main objects of the present volume is to emphasise this fact, and to demonstrate that the signification of a design, that is, what it really is, can only be ascertained by an exhaustive study of that particular region where it occurs or from whence it has been derived. Analysis must precede synthesis. This has not yet been attempted on a large enough scale, and so it is at present impossible to deduce wide generalisations.

Art is subject to two prime factors—(1) the solidarity of the human race, and (2) ethnic idiosyncrasy. It is the extreme difficulty in distinguishing between these two factors which complicates the comparative study of customs and beliefs.

To the second of these we owe, for example, the evolution of the various forms of fret and scroll pattern, and to the first of them their world-wide retention as patterns.

It is difficult to avoid the expectation that whatever artistic provinces may be defined in the future, they will ultimately prove to be related to racial divisions.

Possibly certain stages of artistic evolution may be determined through which the artistic development of all the more cultivated people have passed. These stages, should they be established, are illustrations of the solidarity of mankind, but the precise level to which the art of particular country or district has attained, or the direction it has taken (irrespective of the stage of development), these are ethnic idiosyncrasies.

Before the geographical distribution of art can be mapped out it will be necessary to accurately define the various artistic expressions, and to discriminate between designs, which though apparently similar are fundamentally distinct. Not till then will it be possible to determine whether particular designs are world-wide in distribution on account of the essential identity of human thought, or whether they are not really different patterns which admit of being grouped into definite regions having a more or less ethnic value.

It is not sufficient to attempt a rapid solution of this problem by assuming that artistic and ethnic boundaries are coterminous. My study of Papuan art indicates that the artistic expression of a people is more delicate than the characters usually utilised by ethnologists, and that, whereas the physical anthropologist can at present barely distinguish between the natives of contiguous districts, their art at once suggests distinctions, and then a fresh appeal has to be made to the physical anthropologist for a more searching investigation.

On the other hand, there is no doubt that in some countries art is more uniform, certainly so in countries which have long been civilised.

In Australia the art appears to be very uniform, this may be chiefly due to the fact that the Australians, though subdivided into numerous tribes, are nevertheless a very homogeneous people.[204] It is true that some anthropologists have sought to distinguish primitive divisions among these people; but these endeavours have not yet been thoroughly established, and no investigations have as yet been made as to whether the arts and crafts of the Australians support these conclusions. Another factor in the uniformity of Australian art arises from the fact that all the Australians are virtually on the same level of evolution. The uniformity of condition of life and environment induces uniformity in art.

This latter fact may account for the general resemblance in artistic treatment which yet more distinct peoples may exhibit who live under very similar conditions; their ethnic idiosyncrasy may be levelled by the monotony of their environment.

Lastly, uniformity may be arrived at, as in most civilised countries of to-day, by continual and rapid intercourse between peoples. It is just this condition, together with a certain amount of stability in the environment, which makes for the uniformity and fixation of species in the animal world.

I am inclined to believe in an ethnical feeling for art, but much more work will have to be done to establish this as a fact. In our detailed study of the decorative art of British New Guinea we find a sudden and very characteristic change in Papuan art when we come to the Massim district. The characteristic Papuan ornamentation by means of straight lines and angles suddenly gives way to a variety of scrolls and loops, straight lines, except as bounding a pattern, rarely occur, and angles are more rare than bowed lines are in other parts of New Guinea. The facies of the style of decoration is exactly reversed. This surely has a deeper significance than tribal distinction, and it was noticing this fact which first led me to study New Guinea art. The explanation which suggested itself to me was one which subsequent investigation has confirmed—namely, that it is one expression of the influence of a foreign race on the Papuans of the region in question. Professor E. T. Hamy has marshalled numerous facts in support of this view in an able paper (“Étude sur les Papouas de la Mer d’Entrecasteaux,” Revue d’Ethnographie, vii., 1888, pp. 503-519), to which I have already referred.

So far then as present evidence goes, we may assert that the ornamentation of the indigenes of New Guinea is essentially composed of straight lines and angles. The characteristic fretwork and carving of Netherlands New Guinea—notably that of Geelvink Bay—is clearly due to foreign influence. The same also applies, as we have just seen, to the opposite corner of New Guinea. Future research must determine the amount and geographical extension of analogous influences in these portions of New Guinea, and also extend this line of inquiry to other parts of the world.

In seeking to establish artistic provinces we must note (1) the characteristic forms and designs, (2) those that are peculiar to the district, and (3) the deficiencies.

To take examples:—(1) the white lotus (Nymphæa lotus) is as decidedly characteristic of the decorative art of Ancient Egypt as the frigate-bird is of that of the Solomon Islands or of the Massim district of British New Guinea; but these are not peculiar to these districts, as both the lotus and the frigate-bird motives extend beyond the regions named.

(2) The employment of highly conventionalised and degenerate human figures to cover comparatively large areas is, so far as I am aware, peculiar to the Hervey Group,[205] as also is the device of nature-printed ferns on tapa in certain Polynesian islands.

(3) The absence of the frigate-bird as a decorative motive throughout the greater part of British New Guinea is as important a fact as its presence in a comparatively small district. The absence of scroll designs, and practically of sigmoid lines, in Torres Straits and Daudai and throughout the greater part of the Central District of British New Guinea, is as significant as their occurrence in the Massim district; or their general absence in Eastern Polynesia with their prevalence in New Zealand.

What is known as a zonal distribution in organisms only occurs in anthropology when a district is inhabited by different peoples that live concentrically to one another. Such, for example, as the Negritto populations which inhabit the centre of the Mollaccan Peninsula or the centre of some of the islands of the Malay Archipelago and are surrounded by Malay peoples; here we have a core, so to speak, of one type of decorative art surrounded by a different type.

Discontinuous distribution occurs in art as well as zoology, and the solution of each problem must be attempted from the scientific standpoint.

A good example of such a problem is to be found in the distribution of the fret and scroll patterns to which I have frequently alluded. Further study is necessary before we can say definitely whether a given fret or meander pattern has been independently evolved, or whether it has spread from elsewhere. In our study the problem is more complicated than in zoology, for a multiple origin of a given design or pattern is always possible and often probable, whereas this is not known to occur for a single species of animal. Discontinuity in distribution in ethnography may mean either that the form has a multiple origin or that it has migrated without establishing itself in the intermediate districts, or that it has disappeared from those districts.

It is evident that every pattern or set of patterns in the first instance has to be separately studied in a limited area, in order to determine whether it is of indigenous or foreign origin. No casual application of general principles will suffice, for it is possible that in certain cases a design may be apparently fairly uniformly distributed over a certain area, and on the face of it one might be tempted to regard this as a case of uniform distribution, whereas on a more minute examination it may be found that the designs are analogues and not homologues, that they have spread from different centres of origin, and thus the apparent uniformity of distribution may be essentially invalid. I suspect this is largely the case in the meander and scroll patterns.

We often find that a particular type of decoration occurs over a certain area, but within the limits of that district there are several distinct varieties. Students at home usually have a great difficulty in studying this problem owing to the very imperfect and unsatisfactory way in which objects are labelled by collectors. In my memoir on The Decorative Art of British New Guinea I have attempted to work out the local varieties both of form and decoration of the lime spatulas of the Massim district. According to the material at my disposal, it does seem that certain types are characteristic of, if not peculiar to, particular groups of islands. The more or less complete isolation of tribes or peoples, owing to geographical conditions or inter-tribal wars, is sufficient to account for local types and insular varieties, even when the people all belong to the one stock. If that stock is a mixed one, variations are much more likely to occur than if it is a pure race or a people that have become homogeneous by prolonged isolation.

Local types may, however, be due to the presence of a colony from another district. There are numerous examples of this in Melanesia, where colonies of Polynesians have arrived from more eastern island groups in Oceania, and as I have pointed out, there are Melanesian colonies in British New Guinea. To use a geological term, these are ethnological outliers.

As decorated objects must be conveyed by man, the means for their dispersal and the barriers which militate against it are the same as those which operate on human migrations; but there is one difference. Where men go we may assume that they carry their artistic efforts and proclivities with them, but decorated objects may be carried further than the actual distance covered by the manufacturer, or even than the recognised middleman or trader.

This brings us to a very important aspect of the subject, and that is the question of trade-routes. Trade-routes are culture-routes, and in order to appreciate the history of culture it is necessary to know the directions in which it flowed. Until we have a more complete knowledge of the ancient trade-routes of Europe we cannot recover the history of pre-historic Europe. The information for this is being rapidly accumulated, and for a summary of our information I would refer the reader to Mr. George Coffey’s “Origins of Pre-Historic Ornament in Ireland.”[206] I would support my position with the following quotations from Count Goblet d’Alviella:—

“Whatever the similarity of form, and even of meaning, may be between two symbolic figures of different origin, it is proper, ere we assert their relationship, to show the probability, or at least the possibility, of international relations which would have served as a vehicle for transport. This point once set at rest, it remains to be seen who was the giver and who the receiver.[207]

“Whether we start from Japan, from Greece, from India, or even from Lybia, from Etruria, or from Gaul, we always arrive, after many halting-places, at two great centres of artistic diffusion, partially irreducible as regards one another, Egypt and Chaldæa—with this difference, that, towards the eighth century before our era, Mesopotamia took lessons from Egypt, whilst Egypt learnt little of any country.[208] Not only did symbols follow the same paths as purely ornamental schemes, but they were also transmitted in the same manner, at the same periods, and in nearly the same proportion. Concerning symbols as well as artistic products, we everywhere find, by the side of aboriginal types, the deposit of a powerful current which has its more or less distant origin in the symbolism of the banks of the Euphrates, or the Nile. In a word, the two classes of importations are joined together to such a degree that in writing the history of art we write to a great extent the history of symbols, or, at least, of their migrations.”[209]

These quotations from Count Goblet d’Alviella enunciate the right method of studying symbols. He points out, as I have again and again insisted for patterns, that mere resemblance must not be mistaken for identity; before two similar symbols in different countries can be regarded as being the same symbol, it must be proved that there has been direct or indirect intercourse between those countries. Hence the primary importance of the study of trade routes, for these are also culture routes, and patterns and symbols are the flotsam and jetsam of the influences that flow along them.

We may then recognise several main influences which may make for the distribution of designs—(1) the swarmings of peoples; (2) the establishment of organised or adventitious colonies; (3) the inroads of armies; (4) a general drift which is so slight as to be scarcely appreciable; and (5) trade, which usually proceeds along definite routes, and it is these that armies also generally follow.

A word of caution is necessary in dealing with trade-routes. Whereas the decorated objects pass along them and are distributed far and wide, it does not always necessarily follow that the ornamentation itself is naturalised. It is probable that in many cases a certain style of decoration is associated with a particular kind of object, and it might not occur to people to transfer that decorative style to other objects, or at all events the process would doubtless be slow.

One very good reason is that the indigenous objects are already decorated, a type of ornamentation is associated with a type of object and the feeling of expectancy demands for its satisfaction that this shall continue to be the case.

Again, we know that the majority of peoples do not appreciate new designs or patterns. They know nothing about them, they have no associations with them, they take no interest in them. In other words, it may take a long time for an exotic to become naturalised.

An example of this occurs in British New Guinea. The great annual trading voyages between the Motu and the Gulf tribes have not, so far as I am aware, had the least influence on the art of the two peoples; neither in technique nor designs have I seen any object which indicated that a borrowing had taken place. I consider this a strong argument in favour of the value of art in ethnological inquiries.

III. General Remarks on the Method of Study.

In all studies a right method is of fundamental importance, and in an attempt to understand the meaning of decorative art, as in other matters, a slight deviation from the right method of procedure may lead one far from the truth. Nothing is easier than to be led astray by superficial resemblances, and it is impossible to be too much on one’s guard in this matter. Of this I have given some examples, but I have refrained from giving as many as I might have done, as it is not pleasant to show up the mistakes of pioneers, even if it be only for the purpose of warning others. As Professor Max Müller has said,[210] “Identity of form does as little prove identity of origin in archæology as identity of sound proves identity of origin in etymology. Comparative studies are very useful, so long as they do not neglect the old rule, Divide et impera—Distinguish, and you will be master of your subject!”

There are practically but two methods of work—(1) Inquiry from the people who employ the designs, or the testimony of written evidence when the people no longer know the significance of the designs; or (2) an investigation of induction and interpretation where oral or written tradition fail.

Beyond all question the most valuable results are obtained from oral information. I need only refer the reader to the investigations of Professors Ehrenreich and Karl von den Steinen (p. 174), and of Mr. H. Vaughan Stevens (p. 236), to demonstrate that by no other method could we ever gain any idea as to what was the meaning of these particular patterns and designs. In fact, the observations of these travellers make one very sceptical of any interpretations by outsiders.

This is undoubtedly the most important and pressing work in this subject. Only those who have visited backward peoples of certain grades of culture who have come into contact with the white man, can realise how rapidly the old lore is passing away. This may or may not be advantageous, but no one will deny that it is a thousand pities that scarcely any one thinks it his duty to inquire about and to put on record all that can be gathered about those peoples which our civilisation is either modifying or destroying. Every one who can will collect “curios,” especially those which are decorated; but out of the hundreds of collectors, how many units have ever thought of asking the natives what was the significance of the ornamentation? I have already drawn attention to this need for Australia, but it is equally pressing in many other parts of the world. Even museum curators have in the past regarded ethnographical specimens more as “trophies” than as materials for the study of a history of mankind.

There are still some “collectors” (that is, purchasers of “curios”) who think that when they know where an object comes from, and, may be, what is its native name, they know pretty well all that is worth knowing about it. Others have realised that there is a history in every form and pattern.

What is wanted is an interpretation of the form, of the meaning of odd little details of contour, of indentation, or of projection. No apparently insignificant superfluity is meaningless, they are silently eloquent witnesses of a past signification like the mute letters in so many of our words. Almost every line or dot of every ornament has a meaning, but we are without understanding, and have eyes and see not.

But again, we must not stop short when we have determined what a form means, or what is the original of a device. We have to discover why it was so. The reasons for a motive, the meaning of its present form, have also to be sought. So we come to higher and finer analysis, and at last find ourselves studying psychology.

With so much to learn, it is evident that we must be sure of our premises, and hence the necessity for going to the original sources. But there is always considerable difficulty in getting at the truth, and a statement made by a native must never be accepted as evidence until it has been independently confirmed from other sources. Nothing is easier than to get unreliable information. This is not the place to enter into the various possible sources of error, but I would like to warn those who have the opportunity of getting information first hand, that it is impossible to take too much care, and all suggestive interrogation or leading questions should be totally avoided.

When we are dealing with written evidence the method is one of historical procedure. The means of information of the writer, his credibility, and other factors have to be taken into account; often, too, there is a sparsity, or even an absence of corroborative evidence, which tends to make the testimony uncertain.

Failing these direct methods of obtaining information, there remains the deductive and comparative method. The best example of this mentioned in the preceding pages is Count Goblet d’Alviella’s investigation of the fylfot; indeed his book is a model for method. In another field Dr. Stolpe’s study of the decorative art of the Hervey Islands is a memorable and instructive piece of work.

With the examples of method which are here brought together the student should be in a position to prosecute researches in the innumerable fields which lay open to him.

I would, however, like to take this opportunity to say a word or two to those who wish to commence a study of decorative art from the biological standpoint.

No amount of trouble must be grudged in collecting the data, whether it be in the form of photographs, sketches, tracings, or rubbings; right conclusions largely depend upon a wealth of suitable material.

Rubbings of carved ornament can be made with great facility on tough, thin Japanese paper by means of heel-ball (Ullathorne’s is the best, and it can be obtained from almost any working shoemaker; the paper is more difficult to obtain). The paper is firmly held on to the object, and then rubbed hard with the heel-ball; it is best to always rub the latter in one direction. Whenever possible it is desirable to make a rubbing of the whole of an object, but if only a portion is decorated the outline of the remaining portions need alone be rubbed. Next to photographs, rubbings are the most satisfactory method of obtaining copies of carved objects, as every detail and vagary is accurately reproduced, and they lend themselves very readily to reproduction in the form of “process-blocks,” but it will be found that details will often have to be supplemented by sketches. There are, of course, many carved objects of which it is impossible to make rubbings. A very little experience will soon teach the beginner as to the best methods of procedure in any special case.

Professor A. Grünwedel[211] calls attention to the necessity there is for absolute accuracy when copying the ornamentation of savages. “Still more dangerous [than mistaken interpretation] is the attempted ‘correct’ reproduction of aboriginal ornament according to the European, so-called, feeling for beauty, whereby somewhat crooked lines are replaced by straight ones, and unequal halves, which are deemed corresponding, are made alike. This method causes fundamental error, since through its corrections, it renders impossible a critical examination of the visual ability of wild races. The Orang-hûtan draws a curve and sees it as a straight line, he makes too many legs, too few fingers, but has, in spite of these faults, according to our conceptions, the power of seizing abbreviations of parts of the body in a picturesque manner, of skilfully interpreting contours and of preparing intelligent ground-plans. The diagrammatic copying of primitive ornamental forms can therefore have no scientific value.”

Two most important points to note are the locality whence an object comes, and the date of its manufacture and collection.

The former is essential, and it is not sufficient to obtain a vague locality like “New Guinea” or the “Solomon Islands,” but it is necessary to know the district or the particular island, and, if possible, the exact spot. Information must also be obtained whether the object was made there or merely procured there. The native name of every object must be obtained, also the name of the several parts of it as well as of the details of its ornamentation. Of course the meaning should, if possible, be ascertained, but on no account should only one explanation be accepted as correct; it is necessary to check all such information by inquiry from independent sources, as there are numerous ways in which error can creep in, even when there is no question of intentional deceit.

It is rarely possible to ascertain the date of manufacture when dealing with ordinary ethnographical specimens in museums; as most of these are quite recent no sequence in time can be made out. Even when objects are collected in the field it is rarely possible to obtain a succession of objects from a historical point of view. In all inquiries relating to historical or pre-historical objects, the time-element is as important as the place-element, and great care must be taken in order to ascertain dates and the relation of periods.

A great deal of light can often be thrown upon the meaning of ornament by a study of the manners and customs of a people; this is especially the case for their religion, using that term in its widest sense.

As long ago as 1857 Mr. Kemble[212] urged that ornamentation should be taken “seriously into consideration, because it forms one of the most important and characteristic criterions by which to judge of the tendency of a race. There is some reason in every ornament why it recommended itself to some particular people. We do not know what the reason was, but the difference itself is of the deepest moment.” He points out that the spirit or feeling of art may be made the measure of culture when the workman is at liberty to impose what form and lines he will upon his material. Quite recently Professor Flinders Petrie said,[213] “Art is one of the most important records of a race. Each group of mankind has its own style and favourite manner, more particularly in the decorative arts. A stray fragment of carving without date or locality can be surely fixed in its place if there is any sufficient knowledge of the art from which it springs. This study of the art of a people is one of the highest branches of anthropology, and one of the most important, owing to its persistent connection with each race. No physical characteristics have been more persistent than the style of decoration. When we see on the Celtic work of the period of La Téne, or on Irish carvings, the same forms as on mediæval ironwork, and on the flamboyant architecture of France, we realise how innate is the love of style, and how similar expressions will blossom out again from the same people. Even later we see the hideous C-curves, which are neither foliage nor geometry, to be identical on late Celtic bronze, on Louis XV. carvings, and even descending by imitation into modern furniture. Such long descent of one style through great changes of history is not only characteristic of Celtic art, but is seen equally in Italy. Further east, the long-persistent styles of Egypt, of Babylonia, of India, of China, which outlived all changes of government and history, show the same vitality of art. We must recognise, therefore, a principle of ‘racial taste,’ which belongs to each people as much as their language, which may be borrowed, like language, from one race by another, but which survives changes and long eclipses even more than language. Such a means of research deserves more systematic study than it has yet received.”

It may be asked why I have so largely confined my attention to the decorative art of savage peoples. The answer to this not unnatural question will be found in my introductory remarks.