295

p Dear Sir,

p There is always, in my opinion, a close causal connection between the art of a people and its economy. I must, therefore, when proceeding to examine the art of primitive peoples, first indicate the principal distinguishing features of a primitive economy.

p Generally speaking, it is very natural for the “economic” materialist, as one writer figuratively put it, to "start his tune on the economic string".^^89^^ And in this instance, moreover, there is a specific and very important reason why this “string” should be taken as the starting-point of my research.

p Until very recently the firm conviction prevailed among sociologists and economists acquainted with ethnology that the economy of primitive societies was a communistic economy par excellence. "Nowadays,” M. M. Kovalevsky wrote in 1879, "the historianethnographer studying primitive culture knows that the objects of his research are not sedarate individuals who supposedly enter into agreement with one another to live in common under authorities established by themselves, and not separate families that existed from time immemorial and gradually grow into gentile associations, but herd-like groups of individuals of both sexes, groups within which proceeds a slow and spontaneous process of differentiation, the result of which is the rise of private families and individual—at first only moveable—property."  [295•* 

p Originally even food, that "most important and essential form of moveable property”, was the common possession of the members 296 of the herd-like group, division of the spoils among the various families arising only in tribes that have reached a relatively higher level of development.  [296•* 

p This view of the primitive economic system was also shared by the late N. I. Ziber, whose well-known book, Essays on Primitive Economic Culture, was devoted to a critical examination "of the hypothesis... that the communal system, in its various phases, was the universal form of economic activity in the early stages of development”. On the basis of extensive factual data, whose analysis, it is true, cannot be said to have been strictly systematic, Ziber arrived at the conclusion that "simple labour co-operation in fishing, hunting, attack and defence, tending of cattle, clearing of forest for cultivation, irrigation, tillage, house-building and the making of big implements like nets, boats, etc., has as its natural corollary the joint consumption of everything produced and, hence, common ownership of immoveable and even moveable property, in so far as it can be protected from the encroachment of neighbouring groups".  [296•** 

p I could cite many other and no less authoritative investigators. But you are of course familiar with them yourself. I shall not therefore multiply quotations, but will simply say that there is a tendency nowadays to contest the theory of "primitive communism". Karl Biicher, for instance, whom I quoted in my first letter, considers that it does not accord with the facts. In his opinion, the peoples who really can be called primitive are very far removed from communism. It would be truer to call their economy individualistic; but even this term is incorrect, since their mode of life lacks the most essential features of an “economy”.

p “By an economy,” he says in his essay The Primitive Economic System, "we always mean the joint activity of people aimed at the acquisition of useful things. An economy implies concern not only for the given moment, but also for the future, thrifty use of time and its purposeful distribution; it implies labour, the evaluation of things and the regulation of their consumption, the handing down of cultural acquisitions from generation to generation."  [296•***  Butonly the feeblest rudimentsof these features are to be found in the life of the lower tribes. "Eliminate the use of fire and the bow and arrow from the life of the Bushmen or the Veddahs, and it reduces itself entirely to an individual search for food. Each Bushman must feed himself quite independently. He and his 297 fellows wander naked and unarmed, like wild game, in the close confines of a definite area.... All, both men and women, consume in the raw state what each manages to catch with his hands or tear out of the ground with his finger-nails—lower animals, roots, fruits. Sometimes they gather in small groups or large herds, then again disperse, depending on how rich the given locality is in plant food or game, but such groups never become permanent societies. They do not ease the existence of the individual. This picture may not be very pleasing to the modern cultivated person, but the empirical data simply compels us to paint it in this way. Not a stroke in it is imaginary; we have merely eliminated from the life of the lower hunting peoples that which, by general consent, is already an earmark of culture: the use of weapons and fire."  [297•* 

p It must be admitted that this picture totally differs from the idea of the primitive communistic economy which formed in our minds under the influence of the writings of M. M. Kovalevsky and N. I. Ziber.

p I do not know which of the two pictures “pleases” you, sir. But that is of little interest. The important thing is not what pleases you or me or anyone else, but whether the picture drawn by Bücher is true, whether it corresponds to the facts, accords with the empirical data gathered by science. These questions are not only important for the history of economic development; they are of immense moment to all who investigate one or another aspect of primitive culture. It is not without reason, indeed, that art is called a reflection of life. If the “savage” really is such an individualist as Biicher says he is, then the features of his inherent individualism must inevitably be reproduced in his art. Moreover, art is principally a reflection of social life; and if you look at the savage with the eyes of Bucher, you would be quite consistent if you should tell me that there can be no art where an "individual. search for food" prevails, and where people practically engage in no common activity.

_p And to all this must be added the following: Biicher undoubtedly belongs to the category of thinking scientists, whose number unfortunately is not as large as might be wished, and therefore his views are deserving serious attention even if they happen to be mistaken.

p Let us examine his picture of savage life more closely.

p Bucher painted this picture on the basis of data relating to the mode of life of the so-called lower hunting tribes, and eliminated from this data only the earmarks of culture: the use of weapons and fire. Thus he himself indicates the path we must follow in analysing his picture. Namely, we must first verify the empirical data he calls into service, in other words, we must examine how the 298 lower hunting tribes actually live today, and then select the most probable assumption as to how they lived in those remote times when they were still unfamiliar with the use of fire and weapons. First the facts, then the hypothesis.

p Biicher cites the Bushmen and the Veddahs of Ceylon. Can it be said that the mode of life of these tribes, which undoubtedly do belong to the lower hunting tribes, bears none of the earmarks of an economy, and that the individual is left entirely to his own resources? I affirm that it cannot.

p Take, first, the Bushmen. It is known that they often gather in parties of 200-300 for joint hunting. Being undoubtedly an association of people for productive purposes, such hunting “presumes” both labour and purposeful distribution of time, since on such occasions the Bushmen have to build fences, sometimes stretching several miles, dig deep pits and plant sharp stakes at the bottom of them, and the like.  [298•*  Needless to say, all this is done not only to satisfy the requirements of the moment, hut also for the sake of the future.

p “It has been denied that they have any economic sense,” Theophilus Halm says, "and when they are referred to in books, one author copies the mistakes of another. Certainly the Bushmen have no notion of political or state economy, but this does not prevent them from taking thought for a rainy day."  [298•** 

p And truly, part of the meat of the animals they slay is set aside as a store, which they hide in caves or in well-concealed gorges under the charge of old men who are no longer capable of taking a direct part in the chase.  [298•***  They also lay up stocks of certain bulbous plants. These bulbs, which are gathered in huge quantities, are stored by the Bushmen in birds’ nests.  [298•****  It is also known that they keep stores of locusts, for the catching of which they likewise dig deep, long pits.  [298•***** 

p This shows how very much mistaken Biicher is when he asserts, after Lippert, that the lower hunting tribes never think of laying up stocks.  [298•****** 

p After the collective hunt, it is true, the big Bushmen hunting parties break up into small groups. But, first, it is one thing to be a member of a small group, and quite another to be left to one’s own resources. Secondly, even when they disperse in different directions, the Bushmen continue to communicate with one another. Bechuans told Lichtenstein that the Bushmen constantly 299 signalled to each other with the help of bonfires, thanks to which they were better informed of what was going on over a very large area than any of the neighbouring tribes, which were of a much higher cultural level.  [299•*  I think that such customs could not have arisen among the Bushmen if the individual had been left to his own resources, and if an "individual search for food" prevailed among them.

p Now as to the Veddahs. These hunters (I am referring to the total savages, those the English call Rock Veddahs) live, like the Bushmen, in small clans, within each of which the "search for food" is conducted by the joint effort of all. True, the German researchers Paul and Fritz Sarasin, authors of the latest and in some respects the fullest work on the Veddahs,  [299•**  represent them as pretty confirmed individualists. They say that formerly, when the primitive social relations of the Veddahs had not yet been disrupted by the influence of neighbouring peoples standing at a higher level of cultural development, their hunting territory was divided up among the various families.

p This is an entirely mistaken notion. The evidence on which the Sarasins base their hypothesis concerning the primitive social system of the Veddahs actually points to something quite different. The Sarasins, for instance, cite the testimony of a certain Van-Huns, who was a governor of Ceylon in the 17th century. But from what Van-Huns says it is only evident that the territory inhabited by the Veddahs was divided into separate sectors, but not that these sectors belonged to separate families. Another 17 thcentury writer, Knox, says that in the forests the Veddahs had "boundaries dividing them from one another”, and that "the parties must not overstep these boundaries when hunting or gathering fruits".

p Here the reference is to “parties”, and not to separate families, and it is to be presumed therefore that what Knox had in mind was the boundaries of sectors belonging to fairly large clans, not separate families. Further on, the Sarasins quote the Englishman Tennent. But what does Tennent say? He says that the territory of the Veddahs was divided among "clans of families associated by relationship".  [299•*** 

p A clan and a separate family are different things. Of course, the Veddah clans were numerically small. Tennent calls them explicitly: "small clans”. And this is understandable. Clans cannot be large at that low level of development of productive forces which 300 distinguishes the Veddahs. But that is not the point. What is important for ns to know in this case is not the size of the Veddah clan, but the role it plays in the life of the separate individuals of the tribe. Can it be said that this role is nil, that the clan does not ease the existence of the separate individuals? By no means! It is known that the Veddah clans wander about under the direction of their headmen. It is also known that at night the children and adolescents lie down to sleep around the chief, and that the adult members of the clan dispose themselves around them in a living chain, ready to protect them from enemy attack.  [300•*  This custom, undoubtedly, very much eases the existence of the individual, as of the tribe as a whole. It is no less eased by other manifestations of solidarity. For example, widows continue to receive their share of everything that falls into the possession of the clan.  [300•** 

p If they had no such thing as social cohesion, and if the " individual search for food" really did prevail among them, the lot of women who had lost the support of their husbands would, of course, have been quite different.

p I would add in conclusion that the Veddahs, like the Bushmen, lay up stocks of meat and other products of the chase both for their own needs and for purposes of barter with neighbouring tribes.  [300•***  Captain Ribeiro even claimed that the Veddahs did not eat fresh meat at all, but cut it into strips and preserved it in hollow trees, drawing upon their store only at the end of the year.  [300•****  This is probably an exaggeration, but at any rate I would ask you to note once again, sir, that the example of the Veddahs, as of the Bushmen, definitely refutes Biicher’s opinion that savages do not store provisions. And, according to Biicher, storing provisions is one of the most unquestionable earmarks of an economy.

p The inhabitants of the Andaman Islands, the Mincopi,  [300•*****  are not miichhigher in the cultural scale than the Veddahs, but they too live in clans and often engage in collective hunting. Everything killed by the young unmarried men is common property and is divided as the head of the clan directs. Men who took no part in the hunt receive their share nevertheless, since it is assumed that they would have gone hunting if they had not been busy on other work in the interests of the community. On returning to the camp the hunters seat themselves around the 301 fire and give themselves over to feasting, dancing and singing. The feast is shared by the unlucky ones who rarely kill anything, and even by the sluggards who prefer to spend their time in idleness.  [301•*  Does this resemble an "individual search for food”, and can it be said in view of this that the Mincopi clans do not ease the life of the individual? No. On the contrary, it must be said that the empirical data relating to the life of the Mincopi in no way resemble the “picture” painted by Biicher.

p For his characterisation of the mode of existence of primitive hunting tribes, Biicher borrows Schadenberg’s description of the life of the Negritos of the Philippine Islands. But anyone who reads Schadenberg’s article  [301•**  attentively will see that the Negritos, too, conduct their struggle for existence not as isolated individuals, but by the joint efforts of the clan. Schadenberg quotes a Spanish priest who says that with the Negritos "father, mother and children all have their own arrows and go hunting together”. One might think from this that they live, if not as isolated individuals, at least in small families. But this is not so. The Negrito “family” is a clan, embracing from 20 to 80 persons.  [301•***  The members of the clan wander about in a body, under the direction of a headman who selects the camp sites, appoints the time of the expeditions, and so on. In the daytime the old folk, the infirm and the children sit around a large fire while the healthy adult members of the clan are hunting in the woods. At night they all sleep pele-mele around the fire.  [301•**** 

p Not infrequently, however, children and—this should be particularly noted—the women, too, take part in hunting. In such cases they all go together, "like a troop of orang-outangs on a plundering expedition".  [301•*****  Here, too, I see no evidence of an "individual search for food".

p On the same level of development stand the pigmies of Central Africa, who have become the subject of more or less authentic observation only very recently. All the "empirical data" gathered by the latest investigators concerning these tribes definitively refute the theory of the "individual search for food”. They hunt wild animals collectively, and collectively plunder the fields of neighbouring tillers. "While the men form a vanguard and, if necessary, give battle to the owners of the ravaged fields, the women seize 302 the booty, tie it into bundles or sheaves and carry it off."  [302•*  What we have here is not individualism but co-operation, and even division of labour.

p I shall not discuss the Brazilian Botocudos, nor the Australian aborigines, because if I did, I should have to repeat what I have already said about many other lower hunting tribes.  [302•**  It would be more useful to cast a glance at the primitive peoples whose productive forces have already attained a higher level of development. There are many such peoples in America.

p The Red Indians of North America live in gentes, and expulsion from the gens is a terrible punishment, imposed only for the gravest crimes.  [302•***  This alone shows how far removed they are from individualism, which Bucher claims to be the distinguishingfeature of primitive tribes. With them the gens is the landowner, the lawgiver, the avenger of violations of the rights of the individual, and in many cases his heir and successor. The strength and the viability of the gens depends entirely on the number of its members and, consequently, the death of any member is a severe loss to all the rest. The gens endeavours to make good such losses by adopting new members. Adoption is very widespread among the Red Indians of North America.  [302•****  It shows how greatly important is the combined effort of the group in their struggle for existence, yet Bucher, led astray by his biased view, sees in it only a proof that the sense of kinship is poorly developed among primitive peoples.  [302•***** 

303

p How very important combined effort is in their struggle for existence, is also shown by their widespread custom of hunting and fishing collectively.  [303•*  But, apparently, collective fishing and hunting is even more widespread among the South American Indians. I shall cite, in illustration, the Brazilian Bororo, whose existence, according to von den Steinen, could only be maintained by the constant foregathering of the male members of the tribe, who often engaged in collective hunting of quite considerable duration.  [303•**  And one would be very much mistaken who asserted that collective hunting assumed extreme importance in the life of the American Indians only when they had already quit the lower rung of the hunting mode of life. It must be admitted_r of course, that one of the greatest cultural acquisitions of the indigenous tribes of the New World was agriculture, which many of them pursued with more or less assiduity and constancy. But agriculture could only diminish the importance in their life of hunting generally, and, consequently, of hunting by the, combined effort of many members of the tribe in particular. Collective hunting by the American Indians must therefore be regarded as a natural and very characteristic product precisely of the hunting stage of development.

p But even agriculture did not diminish the significance of cooperation in the life of the primitive American tribes. Far from it. If, with the rise of agriculture, collective hunting did in some degree lose its importance, cultivation of the soil created a new and very broad sphere for the application of co-operation. With the American Indians the fields are (or, at least, were) cultivated by the combined effort of the women, to whose share agricultural work falls. This was already mentioned by Lafitau.   [303•***  Contemporary American ethnologists leave not the slightest doubt on this point: I may cite the work of Powell quoted above, The Wyandot Government. He says: "Cultivation is communal; that is, all of the ablebodied women of the gens take part in the cultivation of each household tract."  [303•****  I could give many examples indicative of the 304 importance of communal labour in the life of primitive peoples in other parts of the world, but lack of space compels me to confine myself to a reference to collective fishing among the New Zealanders.

p The nets, several thousand feet in length, were made by the combined effort of the whole New Zealand clan and were used in the interests of all its members. "This system of universal help,” Polack says, "appears to have been the original plan of the earliest society, from the Creation to the present period, inclusive."  [304•*  What has been said should be enough, I think, for a critical assessment of the picture of savage life given by Biicher.The facts show|fairly convincingly that what prevails among the savages is not an individual search for food, as Biicher claims, but a struggle for existence waged by the combined effort of the whole—more or less numerous—clan, as affirmed by writers who adhered to the view of Ziber and Kovalevsky. This conclusion will be of the greatest value to us in our inquiry on art. It should be firmly borne in mind.

p Let us proceed. The manner in which people live naturally and inevitably determines their whole cast of character. If an " individual search for food" prevailed among the savages, they would necessarily have become complete individualists and egotists, an embodiment, as it were, of Max Stirner’s ideal. That is how Biicher regards them. He says: "The preservation of life, the instinct which governs the animals, is also the predominant instinctive urge of the savage. The action of this instinct is coniined, spacially, to the separate individuals, temporally, to the moment when the need is felt. In other words, the savage thinks only of himself, and only of the present."  [304•** 

p Here, too, I shall not ask whether this picture pleases you. I only ask: is it not contradicted by the facts? In my opinion, it is, and completely.

_p In the first place, we already know that even the lowest hunting tribes lay up stocks of provisions. This shows that concern for the future is not entirely unknown to them. And even if they did not lay up stocks, it would not necessarily imply that they think only of the present. Why does the savage preserve his weapons even after a successful hunt? Because he thinks of future hunts and of future clashes with enemies. And those bags which the women of savage tribes carry on their backs in the constant journeying from place to place? The most superficial acquaintance with the contents of these bags is enough to inspire a fairly high opinion of the economic forethought of the savage. All manner of things are to be found in them—flat stones for macerating edible roots, pieces of quartz for 305 cutting purposes, flint spearheads, spare stone adzes, thongs made of kangaroo sinew, opossum wool, clay of different colours, pieces of bark, lumps of fat, and the fruits and roots gathered on the way.  [305•*  A regular treasure-store! If the savage has no thought for the morrow, why does he make his wife carry all these things with her? To the European mind, of course, the household gear of an Australian woman is pretty wretched. But everything is relative in history generally, and in economic history in particular.

p However, it is the psychological side of the matter that interests me here.

p Since an individual search for food is very far from being prevalent in primitive society, it is not surprising that the savage is by no means the individualist and egotist Biicher makes him out to be. This is distinctly to be seen from the unequivocal evidence of the most trustworthy observers. Here are several vivid examples.

p “As far as food is concerned, the strictest communism prevails among them,” Ehrenreich says of the Botocudos. "The spoils of the chase are divided among all the members of the horde, as are also any presents they are given, even if it means that each member receives a most insignificant portion."  [305•**  The same is true of the Eskimos, with whom, according to Klutschak, food and other moveable property is, so to speak, common property. "So long as a single piece of meat remains in the camp, it belongs to all, and all are taken into account when it is divided, especially the sick and childless widows."  [305•***  Klutschak’s testimony fully accords with the earlier evidence of another authority on the Eskimos, Cranz, who also says that the mode of life of the Eskimos is closely akin to communism. A hunter who returns home with a good bag invariably shares it with others, aboveall with poor widows.  [305•****  Every Eskimo as a rule is well acquainted with his genealogy, and this is a very good thing for the needy, "because nobody is ashamed of his poor relations, and it is enough to prove one’s kinship, however remote, with a rich man, to suffer no want of food."  [305•***** 

p This trait of the Eskimo character is also noted by modern American ethnologists, Boas, for instance.  [305•****** 

p The Australians, who were depicted by earlier investigators as consummate individualists, appear in closer acquaintance in an entirely different light. Letourneau says of them that—within 306 the limits of the clan—everything belongs to all.  [306•*  This statement, of course, must be taken cum grano sails, because it is unquestionable that certain rudiments of private property already exist among the Australians. But rudiments of private property are still a long way from the individualism of which Biicher speaks.

p And Letourneau himself, on the authority of Fison and Howitt, gives a detailed account of the rules observed by certain Australian tribes in dividing the spoils of the chase.  [306•** 

p These rules are intimately associated with the system of kinship, and their very existence is convincing proof that the game secured by the individual members of an Australian clan is not their private property. And it certainly would be their private property if the Australians were individualists, exclusively engaged in an "individual search for food".

p The social instincts of the lower hunting tribes sometimes lead to consequences that would surprise the European. If, for example, a Bushman manages to steal one or more head of cattle from a farmer or herdsman, all the other Bushmen consider themselves entitled to share in the feast which usually follows an exploit of this nature.  [306•*** 

p The primitive communistic instincts continue to persist even at higher levels of cultural development. Contemporary American ethnologists depict the Red Indians as veritable communists. Powell, the director of the North American Bureau of Ethnology whom I have already quoted, declares categorically that with the Red Indians " all property" was possessed in common by the "gens or clan”, and that food, the most important of all, was "by no means" left to be exclusively enjoyed by the individual or family obtaining it. Different tribes had different rules of distributing the meat of animals killed in the chase, but they all amounted in practice to the principle of equal division.

p “The hungry Indian had but to ask to receive and this no matter how small the supply (of the giver), or how dark the future prospect."  [306•****  And note, sir, that this right to receive was not confined to the limits of the gens or tribe. "What was originally a right conferred by kinship connections, ultimately assumed wider proportions, and finally passed into the exercise of an indiscriminate hospitality."  [306•*****  We learn from Dorsey that when the Omaha Indians had plenty of corn and the Parkas and Pawnees had very 307 little, the former shared their stores with the latter, and vice versa.  [307•*  This meritorious custom had already been noted by old Lafitau, who rightly observed that "Europeans do not act this way".  [307•** 

p As to the Indians of South America, it will be sufficient to cite Martius and von den Steinen. The former says of the Brazilian Indians that objects obtained by the joint effort of many members of the community were the common property of these members, while according to the latter the Brazilian Bakairi—of whom he made a close study—lived as one family and shared whatever was obtained by hunting or fishing.  [307•***  The Bororo hunter who kills a jaguar invites other hunters to join him in consuming the flesh of the beast, but donates its skin and teeth to the man or woman who is the nearest relative of the last person to have died in the community.  [307•**** 

p A hunter of the Kaffir tribes of South Africa cannot dispose of his spoils at his own discretion, but must share them with others.  [307•*****  When a manslaughters an ox, all his neighbours come as his guests and remain until the last of the meat has been consumed. Even the “king” bows to this custom and tolerantly entertains his subjects.  [307•******  To borrow the words of Lafitau, Europeans do not act this way!

p We already know from Ehrenreich that when a Botocudo receives a present he shares it among all the members of his clan. Darwin says the same of the Tierra Fuegians,  [307•*******  and Lichtenstein of the primitive peoples of South Africa. According to the latter a man that does not share a gift with others is subjected to the most offensive ridicule.  [307•********  When theSarasins gave a Veddah a silver coin, he would take his hatchet and make as if to hack it to pieces and then, with an expressive gesture, ask for some more coins so that he might give them to the others.  [307•*********  Mulihawang, king of the Bechuans, requested one of Lichtenstein’s companions to give him presents secretly, for otherwise his dark-skinned majesty would be obliged to share them with his subjects.  [307•**********  Nordenskiold relates that when he was visiting the Chukchis one of the juvenile members of the tribe was presented with a piece of sugar, 308 and the dainty immediately began to pass from mouth to mouth.  [308•* 

p Enough. Biicher makes a great mistake when he says that the savage thinks only of himself. The empirical data at the disposal of the modern ethnologist do not leave the slightest doubt on this score. We may therefore now pass from facts to hypothesis and ask how we must picture the mutual relations of our savage progenitors at that extremely remote period when they were still unacquainted with the use of fire and weapons. Have we any grounds for believing that this period saw the reign of individualism, and that the life of the separate individual was not in the least eased by social solidarity?

p It seems to me that we have not the slightest grounds for such a belief. Everything I know concerning the habits of the monkeys of the Old World leads me to think that our forebears were social animals even at the time when they were still only “sub-men”.  Espinas says: "What distinguishes a herd of monkeys from a herd of other animals is, first, the assistance its individuals render one another, or the solidarity of its members; second, the subordination, or obedience of all, even the males, to the leader, who looks after the general welfare."  [308•**  As you see, this is already a social alliance in the full meaning of the term.

p True, the big anthropoid apes apparently have no particular disposition for social life. But even they cannot be called complete individualists. Some of them often foregather and sing in chorus while drumming with their hands on hollow trees. Du Chaillu came across troupes of gorillas comprising from eight to ten individuals; gibbons have been seen in herds of one hundred and even one hundred and fifty. If the orang-outangs live in separate small families, we must take into consideration the exceptional’ conditions of life of these animals. It appears that the anthropoid apes are no longer able to carry on the struggle for existence. They are dying out, their numbers are drastically declining and, as Topinard rightly observes, their present mode of life cannot give us the slightest notion of how they formerly lived.  [308•*** 

p Darwin, at any rate, was convinced that our anthropomorphic progenitors lived in societies,  [308•****  and I am not aware of a single reason to consider this conviction erroneous. And if our anthropomorphic progenitors lived in societies, then it is proper to ask when, at which moment in their subsequent zoological development—and why—should their social instincts have given way to the individualism that is supposedly characteristic of primitive 309 man? I do not know. Nor does Biicher. At least, he tells us nothing whatever on this point.

p His contention, as we see, is as little supported by hypothetical considerations as by the factual data.

p How did an economy evolve out of the individual search for food? This, in Biicher’s opinion, it is now almost impossible to conceive. I think that we can form a conception on this point if we take into consideration that originally the search for food was not individual, but social. Men originally “searched” for food as the social animals “search” for it: the combined efforts of more or less large groups were directed towards the acquisition of the readymade gifts of nature. Earl, whom I quoted above, says on the authority of de la Gironiere that when the Negritos go hunting in whole clans they resemble a troop of orang-outangs on a foray. So do the pigmies of the Akka tribe when, as described above, they join together to ravage the fields of neighbours. If the term “economy” is to be understood as meaning the joint action of people aimed at the acquisition of useful things, then forays like the aforesaid must be recognised as one of the earliest forms of economic activity.

p The original method of acquiring useful things was the gathering of the ready-made gifts of nature.  [309•*  This method, of course, may be subdivided into several categories, fishing and hunting being among their number. Gathering was succeeded by production, the one sometimes passing into the other by a series of almost imperceptible transitions—as is to be seen, for instance, in the early history of agriculture. Agriculture, of course, even the most primitive, already bears all the earmarks of economic activity.  [309•** 

_p And since, originally, fields were very often cultivated by the joint efforts of the clan, here you have a clear illustration of the way the social instincts inherited by primeval man from his anthropoid progenitors might have found wide application in his economic activity. The subsequent history of these instincts was determined by the—constantly changing—relations in which men stood towards one another in their economic activity, or, as Marx put it, in the process of production of their life.^^90^^ Nothing could 310 be more natural, and I cannot conceive what can be incomprehensible in this natural course of development.

p But wait.

p The difficulty, according to Biicher, is as follows. "It would be fairly natural to presume,” he says, "that this crucial change (the transition from the individual search for food to an economy) begins at the point when simple appropriation of the gifts of nature for immediate consumption is superseded by production directed towards a more distant end, and the instinctive activity of the organs is superseded by work, the employment of physical energy with a conscious purpose. But we should as yet gain little from such a purely theoretical premise. Work, as it is practised by primitive peoples, is a rather vague thing. The nearer we approach the point at which its development begins, the closer does it approximate, both in form and content, to play."  [310•* 

p Hence, the obstacle to an understanding of the transition from the simple search for food to economic activity is that it is not easy to draw a boundary line between work and play.

p The relation of work to play—or, if you like, of play to workis a question of the highest importance in elucidating the genesis of art. I would therefore invite you, sir, to listen attentively and carefully weigh everything Biicher has to say on this point. Let him speak for himself.

p “It is probable that man is prompted to go beyond the mere search for food by instincts similar to those which are to be observed among the higher animals, especially the imitative instinct and the instinctive inclination for experiments of every kind. Domestication of animals, for example, begins not with useful animals, but with such as man keeps solely for his pleasure. Everywhere, apparently, the development of manufacturing industry begins with ornamentation of the body, tattooing, piercing or other means of deforming various parts of the body, after which the making of ornaments, masks, drawings on bark, hieroglyphs and similar occupations develop little by little.... Hence, technical skills are acquired in the course of play, and are put to practical use only gradually. The hitherto accepted succession in the stages of development must therefore be replaced by its very opposite: play is older than work, and art is older than the production of useful things."  [310•** 

p You hear this? Play is older than work, and art is older than the production of useful things.

_p Now you will understand why I asked you to pay careful attention to Biicher’s words: they have a very close bearing on the theory of history I am defending. If play really were older than work, 311 and art really older than the production of useful things, then the materialist explanation of history—at least in the form the author of Capital imparts to it—would not stand up to the criticism of facts, and my whole argument would have to be turned upside down: I would have to argue from the dependence of economic activity on art, not from the dependence of art on economic activity. But is Biicher right?

p Let us first verify what he says about play. We shall speak of art later.^^91^^

p According to Spencer, the principal distinguishing feature of play is that it does not directly aid the processes essential for the maintenance of life. The activity of the player pursues no utilitarian purpose. True, the exercise of the organs which are brought into motion in play is useful both for the playing individual and, in the long run, for the whole race. But exercise is not precluded in activities which pursue utilitarian purposes. The important thing is not the exercise, but the fact that utilitarian activity, apart from the exercise and the pleasure it affords, leads to the attainment of some practical object—the securing of food, for example—whereas play has no such object. When a cat chases a mouse, in addition to the pleasure it derives from exercising its organs, it secures a dainty morsel of food; but when the same cat chases a ball of thread on the floor, it gets nothing from the game but pleasure. But if this is so, how could such a purposeless activity have arisen?

p We know how Spencer answers this question. With the lower animals, all the energy of the organism is expended in fulfilling functions essential to the maintenance of life. The activity of the lower animals is solely utilitarian. But this is not so at the higher rungs of the zoological ladder. Here the energy is not entirely absorbed by utilitarian activity. Thanks to better nourishment, a certain amount of surplus energy accumulates in the organism and demands an outlet, and when an animal plays it is obeying this demand. Play is an artificial exercise of energy.  [311•* 

p Such is the origin of play. And what is its content? In other words: if, when playing, an animal exercises its energy, why does one animal exercise it in one way, and another in a different way; why does the manner of play vary with the different species of animals?

p Spencer says that in the case of beasts of prey it is quite evident that their play consists in sham hunting and sham fighting. It is all "a dramatising of the prey—an ideal satisfaction for the destructive instincts in the absence of real satisfaction for them".  [311•**  312 What does this mean? It means that the content of the play of animals is determined by the activity by which they maintain their existence. Which, then, is anterior to the other: play to utilitarian activity, or utilitarian activity to play? It is obvious that utilitarian activity is anterior to play, that the former is “older” than the latter. And what do we find in the case of human beings? "The games of children—nursing dolls, giving tea-parties and so on—are dramatisings of adult activities."  [312•*  But what purposes do] the activities of the adults pursue? In the vast majority of cases they pursue utilitarian purposes. Hence, in the case of human beings too, activity pursuing utilitarian purposes, in other words, activity essential to the maintenance of the life of the individual and of society, is anterior to play and determines its content. Such is the conclusion that logically follows from what Spencer says on the subject of play.

p This logical conclusion fully coincides with the views of Wilhelm Wundt on the subject.

p “Play is the child of work,” the famous psycho-physiologist says. "There is no form of play that does not have its prototype in some serious occupation which, it needs no saying, is antecedent to it in time. For it is vital necessity that compels man to work, but little by little he comes to regard the exertion of his energy as a pleasure."  [312•** 

_p Play springs from the desire to re-experience the pleasure caused by the exertion of energy. And the greater the reserve of energy, the more impelling is the urge to play, other conditions of course being equal. Nothing is easier than to show this quite convincingly.

p Here, as everywhere, I shall demonstrate and explain my thought with the help of examples.

p We know that savage dances often reproduce the movements of animals.  [312•***  What is the explanation? Nothing but the desire to re-experience the pleasure excited by the exertion of energy in the chase. Observe the way an Eskimo pursues a seal: he creeps up to it on his belly; he tries to hold his head the way the seal does; he imitates all its movements, and only when he has stolen very closely upon it does he finally decide to shoot.  [312•****  Imitation of the bodily movements of the animal therefore constitutes a very important part of the chase. Little wonder, then, that when the hunter conceives the desire to re-experience the pleasure caused by the expenditure of energy in hunting, he again begins to 313 imitate the bodily movements of the animals and creates his unique hunting dance. But what determines the character of the dance, that is, of the play? It is determined by the character of the serious occupation, namely, hunting.  Play is the child of work, which is necessarily anterior to it in time.

p Another example. When visiting one of the Brazilian tribes, von den Steinen saw a dance which depicted with amazing dramatic effect the death of a wounded warrior.  [313•*  Which, do you think, was anterior to the other: war to the dance, or the dance to war? I think that war came first, and that the dances depicting warlike scenes arose later; first there was the impression produced on the savage by the death of a comrade wounded in war, then appeared the urge to reproduce this impression through the medium of the dance. If I am right—and I am sure I am—then here, too, I am fully entitled to say that activity pursuing a utilitarian purpose is older than play, and that play is its offspring.

p Biicher would perhaps have said that to primitive man both war and hunting are not so much work as amusement, that is, play. But that would be mere playing with words. At the stage of development to which the primitive hunting tribes belong, hunting and war are essential activities for the subsistence and self-defence of the hunter. Both have a very definite utilitarian purpose, and it is only by a grave and almost deliberate misuse of terms that one can identify them with play, whose distinguishing feature is precisely the lack of such a purpose. What is more, experts in savage life say that savages never hunt for pleasure alone.  [313•** 

p But let us take a third example, one that leaves no doubt whatever as to the correctness of the view I am defending.

p I have already referred to the great importance of social labour in the life of those primitive peoples which, in addition to hunting, engage in agriculture. Now I want to draw your attention to the way fields are socially cultivated by the Bagobosos, one of the indigenous tribes of Southern Mindanao. With them agricultural work is done by both sexes. On the day the rice is to be sown the men and the women gather together early in the morning and set to work. The men go on ahead and dance as they insert their iron hoes into the soil. The women follow, casting the rice seed into 314 the holes made by the men and covering it with earth. All this is done in a solemn and serious manner.  [314•* 

p Here we find play (dancing) combined with work. But the combination does not obscure the true connection between the two. If you do not believe that originally the Bagobosos inserted their hoes in the soil and planted rice for amusement, and only at a subsequent period began cultivating the soil for their subsistence, you are bound to admit that in this case the work is older than the play, and that the play is a product of the specific conditions in which planting is done by the Bagobosos. Play is the child of work which was anterior to it in time.

p Please note that in such cases the dances themselves are a mere reproduction of the bodily movements of the worker. In corroboration, I shall cite Biicher himself. In his Arbeit und Rhythmus, he likewise says that "many of the dances of the primitive peoples are nothing but a conscious imitation of definite production actions.... In the case of such mimic depictions, therefore, work must have necessarily preceded the dance".  [314•**  After this, I simply cannot understand how Biicher can assert that play is older than work.

p Generally, it may be said without the slightest exaggeration that the whole content of Arbeit und Rhythmus is a complete and brilliant refutation of Biicher’s views on the question I am now examining—the relation of play and art to work. It is truly astonishing that Biicher fails to observe this stark and glaring contradiction.

p He was evidently misled by the theory of play recently submitted to the scientific world by Professor Karl Groos of Giessen.  [314•***  An acquaintance with Groos’ theory would therefore not be amiss.

p In the opinion of Groos, the view that play is a manifestation of surplus energy is not entirely borne out by the facts. Puppies’ play with one another until they are exhausted, and resume their play after the briefest rest, which does not impart an excess of energy, but only an amount barely sufficient for the resumption of the game. In the same way our children, although they may be very tired, as for instance after a long walk, immediately forget their fatigue the moment they begin to play. They do not need prolonged rest and the accumulation of excess energy: "instinct impels them to activity not only when, to put it figuratively, the cup is filled to overflowing, but even when it contains but a single drop".  [314•****  Surplus of energy is not a conditio sine qua non of play, but only a favouring circumstance.

p But even if this were not so, Spencer’s theory (Groos calls it 315 the Schiller-Spencer theory) would still be inadequate. It seeks to elucidate the physiological significance of play, but does not explain its biological significance—which is substantial. Play, especially the play of young animals, has a definite biological purpose. Both with men and animals, the play of the young represents the exercise of qualities which are useful for the separate individuals or for the race as a whole.  [315•*  Play trains the young animal for its future life activity. But precisely because it trains the young animal for its future life activity, it is anterior to it, and Groos, consequently, cannot agree that play is the child of work: on the contrary, he maintains that work is the child of play.  [315•** 

p This, as you see, is the same view that we met with in Biicher. Consequently, everything I have said about the real relation of work to play also applies to it. But Groos approaches the question from a different angle: what he has in mind is primarily the play of children, not adults. How will the matter present itself if we, like Groos, examine it from this standpoint?

p Let us again take an example. Eyre says  [315•***  that the children of the Australian aborigines often play at war, and are strongly encouraged to do so by the adults because it develops agility in the future warriors. We find the same thing with the Red Indians of North America, where sometimes many hundreds of children take part in such games under the direction of experienced warriors. Gatlin maintains that this form of play is a material branch of the Indians’ education.  [315•****  Here we have a vivid instance of that training of the young individuals for their future life activity of which Groos speaks. But does this instance corroborate his theory? Yes and no. Because of the "system of education" prevailing among the primitive peoples I have named, in the life of the individual play ing at war precedes actual participation in war.  [315•*****  It follows, then, that Groos is right: regarded from the standpoint of the separate individual, play is really older than utilitarian activity. But why, among the foresaid peoples, has a system of education arisen in which playing at war holds such a big place? Quite understandably, because it is very important for them to have welltrained warriors who are accustomed to military exercises from their childhood. Hence, regarded from the standpoint of society (the race), the matter presents itself in quite a different light: first came real war and the demand it created for good warriors, then followed playing at war in order to satisfy this demand. In 316 other words, regarded from the standpoint of society, utilitarian activity is older than play.

p Another example. One of the things an Australian woman depicts in her dance is the way she pulls nutritious roots out of the ground.  [316•*  This dance is seen by her daughter and, with the child’s customary tendency to imitation, she reproduces the bodily movements of her mother.  [316•**  And she does so at an age when she does not have to occupy herself seriously with the gathering of food. Consequently, in her life the game (dance) of pulling up roots precedes the actual pulling of roots: with her, play is older than work. But in the life of the society, of course, actual pulling of roots preceded the reproduction of the process in the dances of the adults and the games of the children. In the life of society, therefore, work is older than play.  [316•***  This, I think, is perfectly clear. And if it is clear, it only remains to ask from what standpoint should the economist, or any student of social science generally, consider the question of the relation of work to play. I think that the answer to this is also clear: the student of social science must consider this question—just as any other question arising in this science—exclusively from the standpoint of society. He must, because from this standpoint it is much easier to find the reason for the fact that in the life of the individual play is anterior to work; if we did not go beyond the standpoint of the individual, we should not be able to understand why play is anterior to work in his life, nor why he amuses himself with certain games and not others.

p This equally applies to biology, except that here the word “society” must be replaced by the word “race” (more correctly, species). If the purpose of play is to train the young individual for his future task in life, then, obviously, the development of the species first confronts it with a certain task which calls for a definite kind of activity, and only then, and by virtue of this task, come the selection of individuals in accordance with the qualities it requires, and the training of these qualities in childhood. Here, too, play is nothing but the child of work, a [function of utilitarian activity.

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p In this instance the only difference between man and the lower animals is that the development of inherited instincts plays a far smaller part in his upbringing than in that of the animal. The tiger cub is born a beast of prey, but man is not born a hunter or tiller, a soldier or merchant; he becomes these only under the influence of the conditions surrounding him. And this is true of both sexes. An Australian girl is not born with an instinctive urge to pull up roots or to perform other work similarly needed for subsistence. This urge is engendered by her tendency to imitation: she endeavours in her games to reproduce the work of her mother. But why does she imitate her mother, and not her father? Because in the society to which she belongs a division of labour has already been established between man and woman. And this reason too, as you see, does not lie in the instincts of the individuals, but in their social environment. But the more important the social environment, the less is it permissible to abandon the standpoint of society and adopt the standpoint of the individual, as Biicher does in his reflections on the relation of play to work.

p Groos says that Spencer’s theory ignores the biological significance of play. It might be said with far greater warrant that Groos himself has failed to observe its sociological significance. It is possible, however, that this omission will be corrected in the second part of his work, which is to be devoted to the games of human beings. Division of labour between the sexes furnishes ground for examining Biicher’s reflections from another angle. He maintains that with the adult savage work is a pastime. This, of course, is erroneous in itself: with the savage, hunting is not a sport, but a serious occupation essential for the maintenance of life.

p Biicher himself quite rightly observes that "savages often experience dire want, and the girdle which comprises all their clothing does indeed perform the service of what the common folk of Germany call ’Schmachtriemen’, with which they compress their stomachs so as to ease the torments of hunger".  [317•*  Do the savages remain sportsmen on these occasions too—which Biicher himself admits are “frequent”—and hunt for amusement, instead of from dire necessity? Lichtenstein tells us that the Bushmen are sometimes forced to go without food for several days in succession. In these periods of hunger the search for food is, of course, intense. Does it still remain a pastime? The North American Indians dance the "buffalo dance" precisely when they have not come across buffalo for a long time and are threatened with starvation.  [317•**  The dance is continued until buffalo are sighted, and the Indians see a causal connection between the dance and their appearance. 318 Leaving aside the question, which does not concern us here, as to how the idea of such a connection could have arisen in their minds, we can certainly say that neither the "buffalo dance”, nor the hunt which begins with the appearance of the animals, can be regarded as a pastime. Here the dance itself is an activity pursuing a utilitarian purpose, and is closely associated with the principal life activity of the Red Indian.  [318•* 

p Furthermore, consider the wife of our supposed sportsman. During the march she carries heavy burdens, she digs for roots, she builds the hut, makes the fire, curries skins, weaves baskets, and, at a later period, tills the soil.  [318•**  Is all this play, not work? According to F. Prescott, among the Dakota Indians the male in summer works not more than one hour a day. This, if you like, may be called a pastime. But the female of the same tribe works in the same season about six hours a day—and it is harder to believe that this is “play”. And in the winter both husband and wife have to work far more than in the summer—-the husband about six hours a day, and the wife about ten.  [318•*** 

p This, definitely and positively, cannot be regarded as “play”e This is already work sans phrases, and although it is less intensiv. and less exhausting labour than that of the working men in civilised society, it is none the less economic activity of a quite definite kind.

p Consequently, the theory of play offered by Groos does not save the view of Biicher I am examining. Work is just as truly older than play as parents are older than their children and society is older than its individual members.

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p But having touched upon the subject of play, I want to draw your attention to another idea of Biicher’s, one with which you are already partly familiar.

p In his opinion, at the earliest stages of human development cultural acquisitions are not handed down from generation to generation,  [319•*  and this deprives the savage mode of life of a feature that constitutes one of the most essential earmarks of an economy.  [319•**  But if play, even according to Groos, serves in primitive society as a means of training the young individuals for their future tasks in life, then it is obviously one of the links connecting the various generations and, in fact, serves as a medium for the transmission of cultural acquisitions from one generation to the other.

p Biicher says: "It may be conceded, of course, that the latter (i.e., primitive man) cherishes a particular affection for the stone axe, on the making of which he has perhaps toiled for a whole year at the cost of enormous effort, and that the axe seems to him a part of his own being; but it would be a mistake to think that this precious possession will pass down to his children and grandchildren and serve as a basis for future progress.” Certain as it is that such objects conduce to the development of the first concepts of “mine” and “thine”, yet numerous observations show that these concepts are associated with the particular person and disappear with him. "Possessions are buried in the grave together with the owner (Bucher’s italics) whose personal property they were as long as he lived. This custom prevails in all parts of the world, and relics of it are to be met with among many peoples even in the cultural period of their development."  [319•*** 

p This, of course, is true. But with the disappearance of the thing, does the ability to make a similar thing also disappear? No, it does not. Even among the lower hunting tribes we see that the parents strive to transmit to their children all the technical knowledge they themselves acquired. "As soon as the son of an aboriginal Australian learns to walk, his father takes him on hunting and fishing expeditions, teaches him and instructs him in the traditional lore."  [319•****  And the Australians are not an exception in this respect. With the North American Indians it was the practice for 320 the clan to appoint special instructors, whose duty it was to impart to the younger generation all the practical knowledge they might need in the future.  [320•*  With the Koussa Kaffirs all children over the age of ten are trained together under the unflagging supervision of the head of the tribe, the boys being instructed in war and hunting, and the girls in the various kinds of domestic work.  [320•**  Is this not a living link between the generations, the transmission of cultural acquisitions from one generation to the other?

p Although after the death of a man his belongings are very often destroyed at his graveside, the ability to produce these things is transmitted from generation to generation, and this is far more important than the transmission of the things themselves. Of course, the destruction of the deceased s possessions at his graveside retards the accumulation of wealth in primitive society; but, in the first place, it does not, as we have seen, prevent a living connection between generation and generation, and, in the second place, very many things being socially owned, the property of the separate individual is usually not very large. It consists primarily of weapons, and the weapons of the primitive hunter-warrior are intimately fused with his person, constitute, as it were, an extension of it, and are therefore little suited for use by others.  [320•***  For this reason, the fact that they are interred with their deceased owner does not involve so great a loss to society as might appear at a first glance. When, with the subsequent development of technology and social wealth, the interment of the possessions of a dead man becomes a serious loss to his relatives, it is gradually restricted, or discontinued altogether, and is supplanted by merely symbolical destruction.  [320•**** 

p Since Biicher denies the existence among savages of a livingconnection between the generations, it is not surprising that he is very sceptical as to whether they possess parental feeling.

p “Modern ethnographers,” he says, "have laboured hard to show that maternal love is a feature common to all stages of cultural development. It is indeed hard to concede that a feeling which is so charmingly manifested by many species of animals everywhere, could have been wanting in man. But numerous observations have been recorded which would indicate that the spiritual link between 321 parents and children is the fruit of culture, and that with the lower peoples the concern of the individual for the preservation of his own ego is stronger than any other spiritual prompting, and, perhaps, is even his only concern.... This boundless egotism is manifested in the ruthlessness with which many primitive peoples, during their marches, leave to their fate, or abandon in solitary places, the sick and the aged, who might be a hindrance to the sound and strong."  [321•* 

p Unfortunately, Biicher gives very few facts in support of his contention, and we are left in almost complete ignorance as to precisely which observations he is referring to. All that remains, therefore, is to check his statements with such observations as I am familiar with myself.

p The Australians are with every justification classed among the lowest of the hunting tribes. Their cultural development is negligible. We might therefore expect that the "cultural acquisition" known as parental love is still unknown to them. But this expectation is not borne out by the facts: the Australians are passionately attached to their children; they often play with them and fondle them.  [321•** 

p The Veddahs of Ceylon likewise stand at the lowest rung of development. Biicher cites them side by side with the Bushmen as an example of extreme savagery. Yet they, too, on the testimony of Tennent, are "remarkably attached to their children and relatives".  [321•*** 

p The Eskimos, whose culture dates back to the glacial period, are also "extremely fond of their children".  [321•**** 

p That the South American Indians have a great love of their children was already observed by Father Gumilla.  [321•*****  Waitz considered it one of the most outstanding features of the indigenous American character.  [321•****** 

p One might likewise name quite a number of the dark-skinned tribes of Africa whose tender care for their children has attracted the attention of travellers.  [321•******* 

p In a word, the empirical data at the disposal of modern ethnology do not corroborate Biicher’s view in this case either.

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p What was the source of his error? It was that he put a wrong interpretation on the fairly widespread custom among savages of killing children and old folk. To infer from the practice of killing children and old folk that there is no mutual attachment between children and parents seems, at first glance, quite logical. But it only seems so, and only at first glance.

p Infanticide, for instance, is very widespread among the Australian aborigines. In 1860, the Narrinyeri tribe killed one-third of their new-born infants: every child born in a family where there were already little children was slain; so were all malformed infants, twins, etc. But this does not signify that the Australians of this tribe were bereft of parental feeling. On the contrary, having decided that such and such an infant was to remain alive, they tended it "with boundless patience".  [322•*  As you see, the matter is by no means as simple as it first appeared: infanticide did not prevent the Australians from loving their children and tending them patiently. And this is not only true of the Australians. Infanticide was practised in ancient Sparta, but does it follow that the Spartans had not yet attained^^5^^ the level of cultural development at which parents conceive a love for their children?

p As to the slaying of the sick and aged, it is essential to bear in mind the conditions in which it occurs. It is only practised when the old people have become decrepit and are no longer able to accompany their fellow clansmen on the march.  [322•**  Since the means of transport at the disposal of savages is inadequate for the conveyance of such decrepit members of the clan, they are compelled of necessity to abandon them to their fate, in which case death at a friendly hand is the least conceivable evil. It should also be remembered that the abandoning or slaying of old folk is put off to the last possible moment, and therefore occurs very rarely even among the tribes which are most notorious for this practice. Ratzel says that, despite Darwin’s statement, so often repeated, that the Tierra Fuegians eat their old women, aged people are held in high respect by this tribe.  [322•***  Earl says the same of the Negritos of the Philippine Islands,  [322•****  and Ehrenreich (quotingMartius) of 323 the Brazilian Botocudos.  [323•*  The North American Indians were reported by Heckewelder to have a greater reverence for their old folk than any other people.  [323•**  Schweinfurth says of the African Diurs that they not only take tender care of their children, but respect their old people, and that this is to be seen in every village.  [323•***  And according to Stanley, respect for old folk is the general rule throughout inner Africa.  [323•**** 

p Biicher takes an abstract view of a phenomenon that can only be explained if treated quite concretely. Primitive man is led to kill old folk—as well as children—not by his character, or his supposed individualism, or the absence of living ties between the generations, but by the conditions in which the savage has to wage his struggle for existence. In my first letter I recalled Darwin’s assumption that if human beings lived in the same conditions as hive-bees, they would kill the unproductive members of their society without a twinge of conscience, and even with the gratifying sense of performing a duty. In more or less degree, savages live in conditions in which the extermination of unproductive members becomes a moral obligation to society. And in so far as they find themselves in such conditions, in so far they are compelled to kill redundant children and decrepit folk. That, despite this, they are not the egotists and individualists Biicher makes them out to be, is shown by the examples I have given in such abundance. The same conditions of savage life that lead to the slaying of children and old people, likewise lead tothe maintenance of close ties between the surviving members of the clan. This explains the paradox that killing of children and old folk is sometimes practised by tribes in which parental feeling and respect for old people is strongly developed. The explanation lies not in the psychology of the savage, but in his economic conditions.

p Before concluding my examination of Bucher’s views on the character of primitive man, I must make two more remarks concerning them.

p The first is that, in his eyes, one of the most striking manifestations of the individualism he attributes to savages is the very widespread custom among them of each consuming his food in solitude.

p My second remark is this. With many primitive peoples each member of the family has his own moveable property, to which the other members of the family have not the least right, and which as a rule they show no disposition to claim. Not infrequently some members of a big family live separately from the others in small 324 huts. Biicher regards this as a manifestation of extreme individualism. He would be of a different opinion if he were acquainted with the customs of the big peasant families which were once so numerous in Great Russia. The household economy of such families was purely communistic; yet despite this, the individual members of the family—the babi and devki for instance—might have their own moveable property, which custom firmly protected against the encroachment of even the most despotic bolshak.  It was often the case that separate huts were built for married members of such big families in the common courtyard. (In Tambov Gubernia they were called khatki.)  [324•* 

p It is quite possible that you are already thoroughly bored with these reflections on the economy of primitive peoples. But you will admit that I simply could not dispense with them. As I have already sud, art is a social phenomenon, and if the savage really were a complete individualist, it would be vain for us to inquire into the character of his art, for we should not find him displaying the slightest trace of artistic activity. But that he does, is beyond all doubt: primitive art is not a myth. This fact alone might serve as a convincing, though indirect, refutation of Biicher’s view on the "primitive economic system".

p Biicher often repeats the thought that "because his life was one of constant wandering, man was entirely engrossed with the concern for his subsistence to the exclusion even of sentiments which we consider most natural".  [324•**  Yet this selfsame Biicher, as you already know, is firmly convinced that over the course of immeasurable centuries man lived without working, and that even today there are many places where the geographical conditions are such as to permit man to exist with a minimal exertion of effort. To this our author adds the conviction that art is older than the production of useful things, just as play is older than work. It follows: first, that primitive man was able to subsist with the most insignificant exertion of effort;

p second, that this insignificant effort nevertheless absorbed primitive man’s energies so completely as to leave no room for any other activity, or even for any of those sentiments which seem to us natural;

_p third, that man, though he had no thought save for his subsistence, did not begin with the production of things that might at least be useful for his subsistence, but with the satisfaction of his aesthetic requirements.

p This is strange indeed. The contradiction is obvious; but how is it to be resolved?

325

p It cannot be resolved unless we realise the erroneousness of Biicher’s views on the relation of art to activity aimed at the production of useful things.

p Biicher is very much mistaken when he says that manufacturing industry everywhere began with ornamentation of the body. He did not—and, of course, could not—cite a single fact that might lead us to think that ornamentation of the body, or tattooing, antecedes the making of primitive weapons or primitive instruments of labour. Of the not very numerous bodily ornaments of some of the Botocudo tribes, the chief is the celebrated botoque, a piece of wood inserted into the lip.  [325•*  It would be strange in the extreme to assume that the Botocudos used this piece of wood as an ornament before they learned to hunt, or at least to dig nutritious roots out of the ground with the help of a pointed stick. R. Semon says that many of the Australian tribes have no ornaments at all.  [325•**  This, probably, is not quite so: it is probable that all Australian tribes use ornaments of some kind, even if very few and of the most simple kind. But here again it is impossible to assume that these ornaments, however simple and few in number, appeared earlier among the Australians, and occupied a bigger place in their activity than concern for their subsistence and the making of the corresponding instruments of labour, that is, weapons and pointed sticks used for obtaining vegetable food. The Sarasins think that among the primitive Veddahs, before they had known the influence of a foreign culture, ornaments were not used by man, woman or child, and that even today one may meet Veddahs in the mountainous areas who are distinguished by a complete absence of ornament.  [325•***  These Veddahs do not even pierce the ears, yet they are already familiar with the use of weapons, and they already make them themselves. It is obvious that with these Veddahs manufacturing industry concerned with the making of weapons was anterior to manufacturing industry concerned with the making of ornaments.

p It is true that graphic art is practised even by very low hunting tribes—the Bushmen and Australians, for instance: they have regular picture galleries, of which I shall have occasion to speak in other letters.  [325•****  The Chukchi and Eskimos are known for their 326 sculpture and carving.  [326•*  No less distinctive were the artistic proclivities of the tribes which inhabited Europe at the time of the mammoth.  [326•**  All these facts are very important and cannot be ignored by any historian of art. But what grounds are there for saying that the Australians, the Bushmen, the Eskimos or the contemporaries of the mammoth engaged in artistic activity before the production of useful things; that with them art was “older” than work? No grounds whatever. On the contrary, the character of the artistic activity of the primitive hunter testifies quite unequivocally that with him the production of useful things and economic activity generally preceded the beginnings of artistic activity and laid a very strong impress upon it. What do the drawings of the Chukchi depict? They depict scenes from the hunting mode of life.  [326•***  Clearly, the Chukchi engaged in hunting before they began to reproduce it in their drawings. Similarly, if the Bushmen draw animals almost exclusively—baboons, elephants, hippopotami, ostriches, etc.  [326•**** —it is because animals play an immense and decisive part in their life as hunters. At first, man came to stand in a definite relation to animals (began to hunt them), and only then—and precisely because he stood in such a relation to them—did he conceive the desire to draw these animals. Which was anterior to which: work to art, or art to work?

p No, sir, I am firmly convinced that the history of primitive art will be totally incomprehensible if we do not grasp that work is older than art, and that, generally, man first looked upon objects and phenomena from the utilitarian standpoint, and only later did he begin to regard them from the aesthetic standpoint.

I shall give many—and in my opinion quite convincing—proofs of this thought in my next letter, which, however, I shall have to begin with an examination of how far the old and generally known practice of dividing peoples into hunting, pastoral and agricultural, accords with the present state of our ethnological knowledge.