Modern Mythology

THE PHILOLOGICAL METHOD IN ANTHROPOLOGY

Our author is apt to remonstrate with his anthropological critics, and to assure them that he also has made studies in ethnology. ‘I am not such a despairer of ethnology as some ethnologists would have me.’ He refers us to the assistance which he lent in bringing out Dr. Hahn’s Tsuni-Goam (1881), Mr. Gill’s Myths and Songs from the South Pacific (1876), and probably other examples could be added. But my objection is, not that we should be ungrateful to Mr. Max Müller for these and other valuable services to anthropology, but that, when he has got his anthropological material, he treats it in what I think the wrong way, or approves of its being so treated.

Here, indeed, is the irreconcilable difference between two schools of mythological interpretation. Given Dr. Hahn’s book, on Hottentot manners and religion: the anthropologist compares the Hottentot rites, beliefs, social habits, and general ideas with those of other races known to him, savage or civilised. A Hottentot custom, which has a meaning among Hottentots, may exist where its meaning is lost, among Greeks or other ‘Aryans.’ A story of a Hottentot god, quite a natural sort of tale for a Hottentot to tell, may be told about a god in Greece, where it is contrary to the Greek spirit. We infer that the Greeks perhaps inherited it from savage ancestors, or borrowed it from savages.

This is the method, and if we can also get a scholar to analyse the names of Hottentot gods, we are all the luckier, that is, if his processes and inferences are logical. May we not decide on the logic of scholars? But, just as Mr. Max Müller points out to us the dangers attending our evidence, we point out to him the dangers attending his method. In Dr. Hahn’s book, the doctor analyses the meaning of the name Tsuni-Goam and other names, discovers their original sense, and from that sense explains the myths about Hottentot divine beings.

Here we anthropologists first ask Mr. Max Müller, before accepting Dr. Hahn’s etymologies, to listen to other scholars about the perils and difficulties of the philological analysis of divine names, even in Aryan languages. I have already quoted his ‘defender,’ Dr. Tiele. ‘The philological method is inadequate and misleading, when it is a question of (1) discovering the origin of a myth, or (2) the physical explanation of the oldest myths, or (3) of accounting for the rude and obscene element in the divine legends of civilised races.’

To the two former purposes Dr. Hahn applies the philological method in the case of Tsuni-Goam. Other scholars agree with Dr. Tiele. Mannhardt, as we said, held that Mr. Max Müller’s favourite etymological ‘equations,’ Sarameya=Hermeias; Saranyu=Demeter-Erinnys; Kentauros=Gandharvas and others, would not stand criticism. ‘The method in its practical working shows a lack of the historical sense,’ said Mannhardt. Curtius – a scholar, as Mr. Max Müller declares (i. 32) – says, ‘It is especially difficult to conjecture the meaning of proper names, and above all of local and mythical names.’ 112 I do not see that it is easier when these names are not Greek, but Hottentot, or Algonquin!

Thus Achilles may as easily mean ‘holder of the people’ as ‘holder of stones,’ i.e. a River-god! Or does Αχ suggest aqua, Achelous the River? Leto, mother of Apollo, cannot be from λαθειν, as Mr. Max Müller holds (ii. 514, 515), to which Mr. Max Müller replies, perhaps not, as far as the phonetic rules go ‘which determine the formation of appellative nouns. It, indeed, would be extraordinary if it were..’ The phonetic rules in Hottentot may also suggest difficulties to a South African Curtius!

Other scholars agree with Curtius – agree in thinking that the etymology of mythical names is a sandy foundation for the science of mythology.

‘The difficult task of interpreting mythical names has, so far, produced few certain results,’ says Otto Schrader. 113

When Dr. Hahn applies the process in Hottentot, we urge with a friendly candour these cautions from scholars on Mr. Max Müller.

In Custom and Myth (p. 207), I examine the logic by which Dr. Hahn proves Tsuni-Goam to be ‘The Red Dawn.’ One of his steps is to say that few means ‘sore,’ or ‘wounded,’ and that a wound is red, so he gets his ‘red’ in Red Dawn. But of tsu in the sense of ‘red’ he gives not one example, while he does give another word for ‘red,’ or ‘bloody.’ This may be scholarly but it is not evidence, and this is only one of many perilous steps on ground extremely scabreux, got over by a series of logical leaps. As to our quarrel with Mr. Max Müller about his friend’s treatment of ethnological materials, it is this: we do not believe in the validity of the etymological method when applied to many old divine names in Greek, still less in Hottentot.

Our scepticism is confirmed by the extraordinary diversity of opinion among scholars as to what the right analysis of old divine names is. Mr. Max Müller writes (i. 18): ‘I have never been able to extract from my critics the title of a single book in which my etymologies and my mythological equations had been seriously criticised by real scholars.’ We might answer, ‘Why tell you what you know very well?’ For (i. 50) you say that while Signer Canizzaro calls some of your ‘equations’ ‘irrefutably demonstrated,’ ‘other scholars declare these equations are futile and impossible.’ Do these other scholars criticise your equations not ‘seriously’? Or are you ignorant of the names of their works?

Another case. Our author says that ‘many objections were raised’ to his ‘equation’ of Athênê=Ahanâ=‘Dawn’ (ii. 378, 400, &c.). Have the objections ceased? Here are a few scholars who do not, or did not, accept Athênê=Ahanâ: Welcker, Benfey, Curtius, Preller, Furtwängler, Schwartz, and now Bechtel (i. 378). Mr. Max Müller thinks that he is right, but, till scholars agree, what can we do but wait?

The evidence turns on theories of phonetic laws as they worked in pre-Homeric Greece. But these laws, as they apply to common ordinary words, need not, we are told, be applied so strictly to proper names, as of gods and heroes. These are a kind of comets, and their changes cannot be calculated like the changes of vulgar words, which answer to stars (i. 298). Mr. Max Müller ‘formerly agreed with Curtius that phonetic rules should be used against proper names with the same severity as against ordinary nouns and verbs.’ Benfey and Welcker protested, so does Professor Victor Henry. ‘It is not fair to demand from mythography the rigorous observation of phonetics’ (i. 387). ‘This may be called backsliding,’ our author confesses, and it does seem rather a ‘go-as-you-please’ kind of method.

Mr. Max Müller argues at length (and, to my ignorance, persuasively) in favour of a genial laxity in the application of phonetic rules to old proper names. Do they apply to these as strictly as to ordinary words? ‘This is a question that has often been asked.. but it has never been boldly answered’ (i. 297). Mr. Max Müller cannot have forgotten that Curtius answered boldly – in the negative. ‘Without such rigour all attempts at etymology are impossible. For this very reason ethnologists and mythologists should make themselves acquainted with the simple principles of comparative philology.’ 114

But it is not for us to settle such disputes of scholars. Meanwhile their evidence is derived from their private interpretations of old proper names, and they differ among themselves as to whether, in such interpretations, they should or should not be governed strictly by phonetic laws. Then what Mr. Max Müller calls ‘the usual bickerings’ begin among scholars (i. 416). And Mr. Max Müller connects Ouranos with Vedic Varuna, while Wackernagel prefers to derive it from ουρον, urine, and this from ουρεω=Sk. Varshayâmi, to rain (ii. 416, 417), and so it goes on for years with a glorious uncertainty. If Mr. Max Müller’s equations are scientifically correct, the scholars who accept them not must all be unscientific. Or else, this is not science at all.

A science in its early stages, while the validity of its working laws in application to essential cases is still undetermined, must, of course, expect ‘bickerings.’ But philological mythologists are actually trying to base one science, Mythology, on the still shifting and sandy foundations of another science, Phonetics. The philologists are quarrelling about their ‘equations,’ and about the application of their phonetic laws to mythical proper names. On the basis of this shaking soil, they propose to build another science, Mythology! Then, pleased with the scientific exactitude of their evidence, they object to the laxity of ours.

As an example of the philological method with a Vedic god, take Indra. I do not think that science is ever likely to find out the whole origins of any god. Even if his name mean ‘sky,’ Dyaus, Zeus, we must ask what mode of conceiving ‘sky’ is original. Was ‘sky’ thought of as a person, and, if so, as a savage or as a civilised person; as a god, sans phrase; as the inanimate visible vault of heaven; as a totem, or how? Indra, like other gods, is apt to evade our observation, in his origins. Mr. Max Müller asks, ‘what should we gain if we called Indra.. a totem?’ Who does? If we derive his name from the same root as ‘ind-u,’ raindrop, then ‘his starting-point was the rain’ (i. 131). Roth preferred ‘idh,’ ‘indh,’ to kindle; and later, his taste and fancy led him to ‘ir,’ or ‘irv,’ to have power over. He is variously regarded as god of ‘bright firmament,’ of air, of thunderstorm personified, and so forth. 115 His name is not detected among other Aryan gods, and his birth may be after the ‘Aryan Separation’ (ii. 752). But surely his name, even so, might have been carried to the Greeks? This, at least, should not astonish Mr. Max Müller. One had supposed that Dyaus and Zeus were separately developed, by peoples of India and Greece, from a common, pre-separation, Aryan root. One had not imagined that the Greeks borrowed divine names from Sanskrit and from India. But this, too, might happen! (ii. 506). Mr. Max Müller asks, ‘Why should not a cloud or air goddess of India, whether called Svârâ or Urvasî, have supplied the first germs from which Βοωπις ποτνια Ηρη descended?’ Why not, indeed, if prehistoric Greeks were in touch with India? I do not say they were not. Why should not a Vedic or Sanskrit goddess of India supply the first germs of a Greek goddess? (ii. p. 506). Why, because ‘Greek gods have never been Vedic gods, but both Greek and Vedic gods have started from the same germs’ (ii. 429). Our author has answered his own question, but he seems at intervals to suppose, contrary to his own principles, as I understand them, that Greek may be ‘derived from’ Vedic divine names, or, at least, divine names in Sanskrit. All this is rather confusing.

If Indra is called ‘bull,’ that at first only meant ‘strong’ (ii. 209). Yet ‘some very thoughtful scholars’ see traces of totemism in Indra! 116 Mr. Max Müller thinks that this theory is ‘obscuring the Veda by this kind of light from the Dark Continent’ (America, it seems). Indra is said to have been born from a cow, like the African Heitsi Eibib. 117 There are unholy stories about Indra and rams. But I for one, as I have said already, would never deny that these may be part of the pleasant unconscious poetry of the Vedic hymnists. Indra’s legend is rich in savage obscenities; they may, or may not, be survivals from savagery. At all events one sees no reason why we should not freely compare parallel savageries, and why this should ‘obscure’ the Veda. Comparisons are illuminating.

CRITICISM OF FETISHISM

Not always are comparisons illuminating, it seems. Our author writes, ‘It may be said – in fact, it has been said – that there can at all events be no harm in simply placing the myths and customs of savages side by side with the myths and customs of Hindus and Greeks.’ (This, in fact, is the method of the science of institutions.)

‘But experience shows that this is not so’ (i. 195). So we must not, should not, simply place the myths and customs of savages side by side with those of Hindus and Greeks. It is taboo.

Now Dr. Oldenberg, it seems, uses such comparisons of savage and Aryan faiths. Dr. Oldenberg is (i. 209) one of several ‘very thoughtful scholars’ who do so, who break Mr. Max Müller’s prohibition. Yet (ii. 220) ‘no true scholar would accept any comparison’ between savage fables and the folklore of Homer and the Vedas ‘as really authoritative until fully demonstrated on both sides.’ Well, it is ‘fully demonstrated,’ or ‘a very thoughtful scholar’ (like Dr. Oldenberg) would not accept it. Or it is not demonstrated, and then Dr. Oldenberg, though ‘a very thoughtful,’ is not ‘a true scholar.’

Once more, Mr. Max Müller deprecates the making of comparisons between savage and Vedic myths (i. 210), and then (i. 220) he deprecates the acceptance of these very comparisons ‘as really authoritative until fully demonstrated.’ Now, how is the validity of the comparisons to be ‘fully demonstrated’ if we are forbidden to make them at all, because to do so is to ‘obscure’ the Veda ‘by light from the Dark Continent’?

I am not writing ‘quips and cranks;’ I am dealing quite gravely with the author’s processes of reasoning. ‘No true scholar’ does what ‘very thoughtful scholars’ do. No comparisons of savage and Vedic myths should be made, but yet, ‘when fully demonstrated,’ ‘true scholars would accept them’ (i 209, 220). How can comparisons be demonstrated before they are made? And made they must not be!

It would be useful if Mr. Max Müller were to define ‘scholar,’ ‘real scholar,’ ‘true scholar,’ ‘very thoughtful scholar.’ The latter may err, and have erred – like General Councils, and like Dr. Oldenberg, who finds in the Veda ‘remnants of the wildest and rawest essence of religion,’ totemism, and the rest (i. 210). I was wont to think that ‘scholar,’ as used by our learned author, meant ‘philological mythologist,’ as distinguished from ‘not-scholar,’ that is, ‘anthropological mythologist.’ But now ‘very thoughtful scholars,’ even Dr. Oldenberg, Mr. Rhys, Dr. Robertson Smith, and so on, use the anthropological method, so ‘scholar’ needs a fresh definition. The ‘not-scholars,’ the anthropologists, have, in fact, converted some very thoughtful scholars. If we could only catch the true scholar! But that we cannot do till we fully demonstrate comparisons which we may not make, for fear of first ‘obscuring the Veda by this kind of light from the Dark Continent.’

It is not my affair to defend Dr. Oldenberg, whose comparisons of Vedic with savage rites I have never read, I am sorry to say. One is only arguing that the method of making such comparisons is legitimate. Thus (i. 232) controversy, it seems, still rages among scholars as to ‘the object of the Eleusinian Mysteries.’ ‘Does not the scholar’s conscience warn us against accepting whatever in the myths and customs of the Zulus seems to suit our purpose’ – of explaining features in the Eleusinia? If Zulu customs, and they alone, contained Eleusinian parallels, even the anthropologist’s conscience would whisper caution. But this is not the case. North American, Australian, African, and other tribes have mysteries very closely and minutely resembling parts of the rites of the Eleusinia, Dionysia, and Thesmophoria. Thus Lobeck, a scholar, describes the Rhombos used in the Dionysiac mysteries, citing Clemens Alexandrinus. 118 Thanks to Dr. Tylor’s researches I was able to show (what Lobeck knew not) that the Rhombos (Australian turndun, ‘Bull-roarer’) is also used in Australian, African, American, and other savage religious mysteries. Now should I have refrained from producing this well-attested matter of fact till I knew Australian, American, and African languages as well as I know Greek? ‘What century will it be when there will be scholars who know the dialects of the Australian blacks as well as we know the dialects of Greece?’ (i. 232) asks our author. And what in the name of Eleusis have dialects to do with the circumstance that savages, like Greeks, use Rhombi in their mysteries? There are abundant other material facts, visible palpable objects and practices, which savage mysteries have in common with the Greek mysteries. 119 If observed by deaf men, when used by dumb men, instead of by scores of Europeans who could talk the native languages, these illuminating rites of savages would still be evidence. They have been seen and described often, not by ‘a casual native informant’ (who, perhaps, casually invented Greek rites, and falsely attributed them to his tribesmen), but by educated Europeans.

Mr. Max Müller defends, with perfect justice, the existence of abstract ideas among contemporary savages. It appears that somebody or other has said – ‘we have been told’ (i. 291) – ‘that all this’ (the Mangaian theory of the universe) ‘must have come from missionaries.’ The ideas are as likely to have come from Hegel as from a missionary! Therefore, ‘instead of looking for idols, or for totems and fetishes, we must learn and accept what the savages themselves are able to tell us… ’ Yes, we must learn and accept it; so I have always urged. But if the savages tell us about totems, are they not then ‘casual native informants’? If a Maori tells you, as he does, of traditional hymns containing ideas worthy of Heraclitus, is that quite trustworthy; whereas, if he tells you about his idols and taboos, that cannot possibly be worthy of attention?

From these extraordinary examples of abstract thought in savages, our author goes on to say that his theory of ‘the perception of the Infinite’ as the origin of religion was received ‘with a storm of unfounded obloquy’ (i. 292). I myself criticised the Hibbert Lectures, in Mind; 120 on reading the essay over, I find no obloquy and no storm. I find, however, that I deny, what our author says that I assert, the primitiveness of contemporary savages.

In that essay, which, of course, our author had no reason to read, much was said about fetishism, a topic discussed by Mr. Max Müller in his Hibbert Lectures. Fetishism is, as he says, an ill word, and has caused much confusion.

Throughout much of his work our author’s object is to invalidate the anthropological method. That method sets side by side the customs, ideas, fables, myths, proverbs, riddles, rites, of different races. Of their languages it does not necessarily take account in this process. Nobody (as we shall see) knows the languages of all, or of most, of the races whose ideas he compares. Now the learned professor establishes the ‘harm done’ by our method in a given instance. He seems to think that, if a method has been misapplied, therefore the method itself is necessarily erroneous. The case stands thus: De Brosses 121 first compared ‘the so-called fetishes’ of the Gold Coast with Greek and Roman amulets and other material objects of old religions. But he did this, we learn, without trying to find out why a negro made a fetish of a pebble, shell, or tiger’s tail, and without endeavouring to discover whether the negro’s motives really were the motives of his ‘postulated fetish worship’ in Greece, Rome, or Palestine.