Key Ideas in Elementary Religion I: Animism

Armed with this definition, we are now able to set out in search of this elementary religion which we propose to study.

With this definition, we can now search for the elementary religion we intend to study.

Even the crudest religions with which history and ethnology make us acquainted are already of a complexity which corresponds badly with the idea sometimes held of primitive mentality. One finds there not only a confused system of beliefs and rites, but also such a plurality of different principles, and such a richness of essential notions, that it seems impossible to see in them anything but the late product of a rather long evolution. Hence it has been concluded that to discover the truly original form of the religious life, it is necessary to descend by analysis beyond these observable religions, to resolve them into their common and fundamental elements, and then to seek among these latter some one from which the others were derived.

Even the simplest religions known to history and ethnology are already complex. Their complexity does not fit well with the idea some people have of primitive mentality. These religions contain not only a confused system of beliefs and rituals, but also many different principles and a wealth of essential ideas. They seem to be nothing other than the products of a fairly long evolution. Some have therefore concluded that discovering the truly original form of religious life requires going beyond these observable religions. We must analyze them, break them down into their common, fundamental elements, and then look for one element from which the others developed.

To the problem thus stated, two contrary solutions have been given.

Two opposing solutions have been offered to the problem as stated.

There is no religious system, ancient or recent, where one does not meet, under different forms, two religions, as it were, side by side, which, though being united closely and mutually penetrating each other, do not cease, nevertheless, to be distinct. The one addresses itself to the phenomena of nature, either the great cosmic forces, such as winds, rivers, stars or the sky, etc., or else the objects of various sorts which cover the surface of the earth, such as plants, animals, rocks, etc.; for this reason it has been given the name of naturism. The other has spiritual beings as its object, spirits, souls, geniuses, demons, divinities properly so-called, animated and conscious agents like man, but distinguished from him, nevertheless, by the nature of their powers and especially by the peculiar characteristic that they do not affect the senses in the same way: ordinarily they are not visible to human eyes. This religion of spirits is called animism. Now, to explain the universal co-existence of these two sorts of cults, two contradictory theories have been proposed. For some, animism is the primitive religion, of which naturism is only a secondary and derived form. For the others, on the contrary, it is the nature cult which was the point of departure for religious evolution; the cult of spirits is only a peculiar case of that.

Every religious system, ancient or recent, contains what might be called two religions side by side, in different forms. Although closely united and intertwined, they remain distinct. One concerns natural phenomena, including great cosmic forces such as winds, rivers, stars, and the sky. It also concerns the various objects on the earth’s surface, such as plants, animals, and rocks. For this reason, it has been called naturism. The other concerns spiritual beings: spirits, souls, geniuses, demons, and divinities in the strict sense. These are active, conscious beings like humans, but they differ from humans in the nature of their powers. Above all, they differ in how they affect the senses: ordinarily, they are invisible to human eyes. This religion of spirits is called animism. Two contradictory theories have been proposed to explain why these two kinds of worship always exist together. Some hold that animism is the original religion, and that naturism is only a secondary form derived from it. Others, on the contrary, hold that nature worship was the starting point of religious evolution. For them, the worship of spirits is only a special case of nature worship.

These two theories are, up to the present, the only ones by which the attempt has been made to explain rationally⁹³ the origins of religious thought. Thus the capital problem raised by the history of religions is generally reduced to asking which of these two solutions should be chosen, or whether it is not better to combine them, and in that case, what place must be given to each of the two elements.⁹⁴ Even those scholars who do not admit either of these hypotheses in their systematic form, do not refuse to retain certain propositions upon which they rest.⁹⁵ Thus we have a certain number of theories already made, which must be submitted to criticism before we take up the study of the facts for ourselves. It will be better understood how indispensable it is to attempt a new one, when we have seen the insufficiency of these traditional conceptions.

So far, these two theories are the only attempts to explain the origins of religious thought rationally.⁹³ The central question in the history of religions is therefore generally reduced to a choice between them. Or would it be better to combine them, and if so, what place should each element have?⁹⁴ Even scholars who reject these hypotheses in their systematic form still accept some of the propositions on which they rest.⁹⁵ We therefore have several existing theories to examine critically before we study the facts for ourselves. Once we see the shortcomings of these traditional ideas, the need to attempt a new theory will be clearer.

It is Tylor who formed the animist theory in its essential outlines.⁹⁶ Spencer, who took it up after him, did not reproduce it without introducing certain modifications.⁹⁷ But in general the questions are posed by each in the same terms, and the solutions accepted are, with a single exception, identically the same. Therefore we can unite these two doctrines in the exposition which follows, if we mark, at the proper moment, the place where the two diverge from one another.

Tylor developed the main outlines of the animist theory.⁹⁶ Spencer later adopted the theory, but made some changes to it.⁹⁷ In general, however, both pose the questions in the same terms and accept identical answers, with one exception. We can therefore discuss their two theories together below, provided we point out where they differ at the appropriate moment.

In order to find the elementary form of the religious life in these animistic beliefs and practices, three desiderata must be satisfied: first, since according to this hypothesis, the idea of the soul is the cardinal idea of religion, it must be shown how this is formed without taking any of its elements from an anterior religion; secondly, it must be made clear how souls become the object of a cult and are transformed into spirits; and thirdly and finally, since the cult of these spirits is not all of any religion, it remains to be explained how the cult of nature is derived from it.

To find the elementary form of religious life in these animistic beliefs and practices, three requirements must be met. First, this hypothesis holds that the idea of the soul is central to religion. We must therefore show how that idea is formed without drawing any of its elements from an earlier religion. Second, we must explain how souls become objects of worship and are transformed into spirits. Third and finally, the worship of these spirits is not all there is to any religion. We must therefore explain how the worship of nature develops from the worship of spirits.

According to this theory, the idea of the soul was first suggested to men by the badly understood spectacle of the double life they ordinarily lead, on the one hand, when awake, on the other, when asleep. In fact, for the savage,⁹⁸ the mental representations which he has while awake and those of his dreams are said to be of the same value: he objectifies the second like the first, that is to say, that he sees in them the images of external objects whose appearance they more or less accurately reproduce. So when he dreams that he has visited a distant country, he believes that he really was there. But he could not have gone there, unless two beings exist within him: the one, his body, which has remained lying on the ground and which he finds in the same position on awakening; the other, during this time, has travelled through space. Similarly, if he seems to talk with one of his companions who he knows was really at a distance, he concludes that the other also is composed of two beings: one which sleeps at a distance, and another which has come to manifest himself by means of the dream. From these repeated experiences, he little by little arrives at the idea that each of us has a double, another self, which in determined conditions has the power of leaving the organism where it resides and of going roaming at a distance.

According to this theory, the idea of the soul first arose from a misunderstanding of ordinary life. People lead a double life, one when awake and another when asleep. The savage,⁹⁸ according to this theory, gives the same value to waking thoughts and dreams. He treats dreams, like waking thoughts, as representations of external objects. He sees both as images that reproduce the appearance of those objects more or less accurately. So, if he dreams of visiting a distant country, he believes he was really there. But he could not have gone there unless two beings existed within him. One is his body, which stayed lying on the ground and is in the same position when he wakes. The other traveled through space during that time. Similarly, he may seem to talk with a companion he knows was actually far away. He then concludes that his companion, too, is made up of two beings. One is sleeping far away, while the other has come to appear in the dream. Through repeated experiences of this kind, he gradually comes to believe that each of us has a double, another self. Under certain conditions, this other self can leave the body where it lives and roam far away.

Of course, this double reproduces all the essential traits of the perceptible being which serves it as external covering; but at the same time it is distinguished from this by many characteristics. It is more active, since it can cover vast distances in an instant. It is more malleable and plastic; for, to leave the body, it must pass out by its apertures, especially the mouth and nose. It is represented as made of matter, undoubtedly, but of a matter much more subtile and etherial than any which we know empirically. This double is the soul. In fact, it cannot be doubted that in numerous societies the soul has been conceived in the image of the body; it is believed that it reproduces even the accidental deformities such as those resulting from wounds or mutilations. Certain Australians, after having killed their enemy, cut off his right thumb, so that his soul, deprived of its thumb also, cannot throw a javelin and revenge itself. But while it resembles the body, it has, at the same time, something half spiritual about it. They say that "it is the finer or more aeriform part of the body," that "it has no flesh nor bone nor sinew"; that when one wishes to take hold of it, he feels nothing; that it is "like a purified body."⁹⁹

Of course, this double reproduces all the essential features of the visible being that serves as its outer covering. But it also differs from that being in many ways. It is more active because it can travel vast distances in an instant. It is more flexible and capable of changing shape, because it must leave the body through its openings, especially the mouth and nose. It is certainly imagined as made of matter, but of a much finer and more ethereal kind than any we know from experience. This double is the soul. In fact, there can be no doubt that many societies have imagined the soul in the body's image. They believe that it even reproduces deformities acquired through wounds or mutilations. After killing an enemy, certain Australians cut off his right thumb. They do this so that his soul, also deprived of its thumb, cannot throw a javelin and take revenge. But although the soul resembles the body, it also has a partly spiritual quality. They say that "it is the finer or more aeriform part of the body," that "it has no flesh nor bone nor sinew." They also say that a person who tries to grasp the soul feels nothing, and that it is "like a purified body."⁹⁹

Also, other facts of experience which affect the mind in the same way naturally group themselves around this fundamental fact taught by the dream: fainting, apoplexy, catalepsy, ecstasy, in a word, all cases of temporary insensibility. In fact, they all are explained very well by the hypothesis that the principle of life and feeling is able to leave the body momentarily. Also, it is natural that this principle should be confounded with the double, since the absence of the double during sleep daily has the effect of suspending thought and life. Thus diverse observations seem to agree mutually and to confirm the idea of the constitutional duality of man.¹⁰⁰

Other experiences that affect the mind in the same way naturally gather around this basic fact taught by dreams. These include fainting, stroke, catalepsy, ecstasy, and, in short, all cases of temporary insensibility. All of them are well explained by the idea that the principle of life and feeling can temporarily leave the body. It is also natural to confuse this principle with the double. After all, the double’s absence during sleep has the daily effect of suspending thought and life. Thus, these different observations seem to agree with one another and confirm the idea that humans have a dual nature.¹⁰⁰

But the soul is not a spirit. It is attached to a body which it can leave only by exception; in so far as it is nothing more than that, it is not the object of any cult. The spirit, on the other hand, though generally having some special thing as its residence, can go away at will, and a man can enter into relations with it only by observing ritual precautions. The soul can become a spirit, then, only by transforming itself: the simple application of these preceding ideas to the fact of death produced this metamorphosis quite naturally. For a rudimentary intelligence, in fact, death is not distinguished from a long fainting swoon or a prolonged sleep; it has all their aspects. Thus it seems that it too consists in a separation of the soul and the body, analogous to that produced every night; but as in such cases, the body is not reanimated, the idea is formed of a separation without an assignable limit of time. When the body is once destroyed—and funeral rites have the object of hastening this destruction—the separation is taken as final. Hence come spirits detached from any organism and left free in space. As their number augments with time, a population of souls forms around the living population. These souls of men have the needs and passions of men; they seek to concern themselves with the life of their companions of yesterday, either to aid them or to injure them, according to the sentiments which they have kept towards them. According to the circumstances, their nature makes them either very precious auxiliaries or very redoubtable adversaries. Owing to their extreme fluidity, they can even enter into the body, and cause all sorts of disorders there, or else increase its vitality. Thus comes the habit of attributing to them all those events of life which vary slightly from the ordinary: there are very few of these for which they cannot account. Thus they constitute a sort of ever-ready supply of causes which never leaves one at a loss when in search of explanations. Does a man appear inspired, does he speak with energy, is it as though he were lifted outside himself and above the ordinary level of men? It is because a good spirit is in him and animates him. Is he overtaken by an attack or seized by madness? It is because an evil spirit has entered into him and brought him all this trouble. There are no maladies which cannot be assigned to some influence of this sort. Thus the power of souls is increased by all that men attribute to them, and in the end men find themselves the prisoners of this imaginary world of which they are, however, the authors and the models. They fall into dependence upon these spiritual forces which they have created with their own hands and in their own image. For if souls are the givers of health and sickness, of goods and evils to this extent, it is wise to conciliate their favour or appease them when they are irritated; hence come the offerings, prayers, sacrifices, in a word, all the apparatus of religious observances.¹⁰¹

But the soul is not a spirit. It is attached to a body and can leave it only in exceptional cases. As long as the soul is nothing more than this, it is not an object of worship. A spirit, on the other hand, usually has a particular thing as its home, but can leave at will. A person can deal with a spirit only by taking ritual precautions. A soul can therefore become a spirit only by changing. Applying the preceding ideas to death produced this change quite naturally. To a rudimentary intelligence, death is indistinguishable from a long fainting spell or a prolonged sleep. It looks just like them. So death, too, seems to consist of a separation of soul and body, like the separation that occurs every night. But in cases of death, the body does not come back to life. So the separation comes to be seen as having no definite time limit. Once the body is destroyed, the separation is considered final. Funeral rites are intended to speed up this destruction. The result is spirits detached from any body and free to move through space. As the number of spirits grows over time, a population of souls forms around the living. These human souls have human needs and passions. They seek to involve themselves in the lives of their former companions, either helping or harming them. How they act depends on the feelings they still have toward those companions. Depending on the circumstances, their nature makes them either very valuable helpers or very formidable enemies. Because they are extremely fluid, they can even enter the body. There they can cause all kinds of disorders or increase its vitality. So people develop the habit of attributing to souls all events that differ even slightly from the ordinary. There are very few such events that souls cannot explain. Souls thus provide a kind of ready supply of causes. People are never at a loss when looking for an explanation. Does a man seem inspired? Does he speak with energy, as though lifted outside himself and above the ordinary level of men? This is because a good spirit is inside him and animates him. Does he suffer an attack or become mad? This is because an evil spirit has entered him and caused all this trouble. There are no illnesses that cannot be attributed to some influence of this kind. The power of souls is increased by everything people attribute to them. In the end, people find themselves prisoners of this imaginary world, though they are its creators and models. They become dependent on spiritual forces they have created with their own hands and in their own image. For if souls give health and sickness, good and evil, to this extent, it is wise to win their favor or calm them when they are angry. This is the source of offerings, prayers, sacrifices, and, in short, all the practices of religious observance.¹⁰¹

Here is the soul transformed. From a simple vital principle animating the body of a man, it has become a spirit, a good or evil genius, or even a deity, according to the importance of the effects with which it is charged. But since it is death which brought about this apotheosis, it is to the dead, to the souls of ancestors, that the first cult known to humanity was addressed. Thus the first rites were funeral rites; the first sacrifices were food offerings destined to satisfy the needs of the departed; the first altars were tombs.¹⁰²

The soul has now been transformed. It began as a simple life force animating a human body. It has become a spirit, a good or evil guardian spirit, or even a deity. Its status depends on the importance of the effects attributed to it. But death brought about this elevation, so humanity’s first known worship was directed toward the dead, the souls of ancestors. Thus the first rites were funeral rites. The first sacrifices were food offerings meant to satisfy the needs of the departed. The first altars were tombs.¹⁰²

But since these spirits were of human origin, they interested themselves only in the life of men and were thought to act only upon human events. It is still to be explained how other spirits were imagined to account for the other phenomena of the universe and how the cult of nature was subsequently formed beside that of the ancestors.

But because these spirits were human in origin, they were concerned only with human life. They were thought to act only on human events. We still need to explain how people imagined other spirits to account for the rest of the universe’s phenomena. We also need to explain how nature worship later developed alongside ancestor worship.

For Tylor, this extension of animism was due to the particular mentality of the primitive who, like an infant, cannot distinguish the animate and the inanimate. Since the first beings of which the child commences to have an idea are men, that is, himself and those around him, it is upon this model of human nature that he tends to think of everything. The toys with which he plays, or the objects of every sort which affect his senses, he regards as living beings like himself. Now the primitive thinks like a child. Consequently, he also is inclined to endow all things, even inanimate ones, with a nature analogous to his own. Then if, for the reasons exposed above, he once arrives at the idea that man is a body animated by a spirit, he must necessarily attribute a duality of this sort and souls like his own even to inert bodies themselves. Yet the sphere of action of the two could not be the same. The souls of men have a direct influence only upon the world of men: they have a marked preference for the human organism, even when death has given them their liberty. On the other hand, the souls of things reside especially in these things, and are regarded as the productive causes of all that passes there. The first account for health and sickness, skilfulness or unskilfulness, etc.; by the second are explained especially the phenomena of the physical world, the movement of water-courses or the stars, the germination of plants, the reproduction of animals, etc. Thus the first philosophy of man, which is at the basis of the ancestor-cult, is completed by a philosophy of the world.

For Tylor, animism spread in this way because of the particular mentality of the primitive. Like an infant, the primitive cannot distinguish living things from nonliving things. The first beings a child begins to understand are people, namely the child and those around them. So the child tends to think of everything on the model of human nature. The child regards toys and all kinds of objects that affect the senses as living beings like themselves. Now the primitive thinks like a child. So the primitive, too, tends to give all things, even nonliving ones, a nature like their own. Then, if the primitive comes to believe that a person is a body animated by a spirit, for the reasons explained above, they must also attribute this dual nature to inanimate objects, along with souls like their own. Yet human souls and the souls of things could not act in the same sphere. Human souls directly influence only the human world. They show a marked preference for the human body, even when death has set them free. The souls of things, on the other hand, reside mainly in those things. They are regarded as the causes of everything that happens in them. Human souls account for health and sickness, skill and lack of skill, and so on. The souls of things explain, above all, physical phenomena. These include the movement of streams or stars, the germination of plants, and the reproduction of animals. Thus, the first philosophy of humanity, which is the basis of ancestor-cult, is completed by a philosophy of the world.

In regard to these cosmic spirits, man finds himself in a state of dependence still more evident than that in regard to the wandering doubles of his ancestors. For he could have only ideal and imaginary relations with the latter, but he depends upon things in reality; to live, he has need of their concurrence; he then believes that he has an equal need of the spirits which appear to animate these things and to determine their diverse manifestations. He implores their assistance, he solicits them with offerings and prayers, and the religion of man is thus completed in a religion of nature.

Man’s dependence on these cosmic spirits is even more evident than his dependence on his ancestors’ wandering doubles. His relations with those doubles could only be imagined, but his dependence on things is real. To live, he needs their cooperation. So he believes he equally needs the spirits that seem to animate these things and determine their various manifestations. He begs the spirits for help and seeks their favor with offerings and prayers. In this way, the religion of man is completed by a religion of nature.

Herbert Spencer objects against this explanation that the hypothesis upon which it rests is contradicted by the facts. It is held, he says, that there is a time when men do not realize the differences which separate the animate from the inanimate. Now, as one advances in the animal scale, he sees the ability to make this distinction develop. The superior animals do not confound an object which moves of itself and whose movements are adapted to certain ends, with those which are mechanically moved from without. "Amusing herself with a mouse she has caught, the cat, if it remains long stationary, touches it with her paw to make it run. Obviously the thought is that a living thing disturbed will try to escape."¹⁰³ Even the primitive men could not have an intelligence inferior to that of the animals which preceded them in evolution; then it cannot be for lack of discernment that they passed from the cult of ancestors to the cult of things.

Herbert Spencer objects that the facts contradict the hypothesis behind this explanation. According to the hypothesis, he says, there was a time when people did not recognize the difference between living and nonliving things. But the ability to make this distinction develops as one moves up the animal scale. Higher animals do not confuse objects that move on their own and whose movements serve particular purposes with objects moved mechanically by outside forces. "When a cat plays with a mouse she has caught, she touches it with her paw if it stays still for too long, to make it run. Clearly, she thinks that a living thing will try to escape when disturbed."¹⁰³ Even primitive people could not have been less intelligent than the animals that preceded them in evolution. So it cannot have been a lack of discernment that led them from the worship of ancestors to the worship of things.

According to Spencer, who upon this point, but upon this point only, differs from Tylor, this passage was certainly due to a confusion, but to one of a different sort. It was, in a large part at least, the result of numerous errors due to language. In many inferior societies it is a very common custom to give to each individual, either at his birth or later, the name of some animal, plant, star or natural object. But as a consequence of the extreme imprecision of his language, it is very difficult for a primitive to distinguish a metaphor from the reality. He soon lost sight of the fact that these names were only figures, and taking them literally, he ended by believing that an ancestor named "Tiger" or "Lion" was really a tiger or a lion. Then the cult of which the ancestor was the object up to that time, was changed over to the animal with which he was thereafter confounded; and as the same substitution went on for the plants, the stars and all the natural phenomena, the religion of nature took the place of the old religion of the dead. Besides this fundamental confusion, Spencer signalizes others which aided the action of the first from time to time. For example, the animals which frequent the surroundings of the tombs or houses of men have been taken for their reincarnated souls, and adored under this title;¹⁰⁴ or again, the mountain which tradition made the cradle of the race was finally taken for the ancestor of the race; it was thought that men were descended from it because their ancestors appeared coming from it, and it was consequently treated as an ancestor itself.¹⁰⁵ But according to the statement of Spencer, these accessory causes had only a secondary influence; that which principally determined the institution of naturism was "the literal interpretation of metaphorical names."¹⁰⁶

According to Spencer, this transition was certainly caused by confusion, but of a different kind. On this point alone, Spencer differs from Tylor. In large part, at least, the transition resulted from many errors caused by language. In many societies considered inferior, it is very common to name each person after an animal, plant, star, or natural object. The person receives the name either at birth or later. But because his language is so imprecise, a primitive person finds it very difficult to distinguish a metaphor from reality. He soon forgot that these names were only figures of speech. Taking them literally, he came to believe that an ancestor named "Tiger" or "Lion" really was a tiger or a lion. Until then, people had worshipped the ancestor. They now confused the ancestor with the animal and began to worship the animal instead. The same substitution took place for plants, stars, and all natural phenomena. Thus, the religion of nature took the place of the old religion of the dead. Spencer points to other instances of confusion that sometimes reinforced this fundamental error. For example, animals found around tombs or people's homes were taken for reincarnated souls and worshipped as such.¹⁰⁴ In another example, a mountain that tradition called the birthplace of a race was eventually taken for its ancestor. People thought they were descended from the mountain because their ancestors appeared to have come from it. They therefore treated the mountain itself as an ancestor.¹⁰⁵ But Spencer says these additional causes had only a secondary influence. What chiefly led to the establishment of naturism was "the literal interpretation of metaphorical names."¹⁰⁶

We had to mention this theory to have our exposition of animism complete; but it is too inadequate for the facts, and too universally abandoned to-day to demand that we stop any longer for it. In order to explain a fact as general as the religion of nature by an illusion, it would be necessary that the illusion invoked should have causes of an equal generality. Now even if misunderstandings, such as those of which Spencer gives some rare illustrations, could explain the transformation of the cult of ancestors into that of nature, it is not clear why this should be produced with a sort of universality. No psychical mechanism necessitated it. It is true that because of its ambiguity, the word might lead to an equivocation; but on the other hand, all the personal souvenirs left by the ancestor in the memories of men should oppose this confusion. Why should the tradition which represented the ancestor such as he really was, that is to say, as a man who led the life of a man, everywhere give way before the prestige of a word? Likewise, one should have a little difficulty in admitting that men were born of a mountain or a star, of an animal or a plant; the idea of a similar exception to the ordinary conceptions of generation could not fail to raise active resistance. Thus, it is far from true that the error found a road all prepared before it, but rather, all sorts of reasons should have kept it from being accepted. It is difficult to understand how, in spite of all these obstacles, it could have triumphed so generally.

We had to mention this theory to complete our account of animism. But the theory fits the facts too poorly and is too widely abandoned today to deserve further attention. To explain something as widespread as nature religion as an illusion, the illusion would need equally widespread causes. Spencer gives a few rare examples of misunderstandings. But even if such misunderstandings could explain how ancestor worship became nature worship, they do not clearly explain why this change occurred almost everywhere. No mental process made the change inevitable. The word was ambiguous and could have caused confusion. But people’s personal memories of the ancestor should have worked against this confusion. Tradition portrayed the ancestor as he really was, a man who lived a human life. Why should that tradition have given way everywhere to the influence of a word? Likewise, people should have found it somewhat difficult to believe that humans were born from a mountain, a star, an animal, or a plant. The idea of such an exception to ordinary beliefs about human generation could not have failed to meet strong resistance. So the error was far from having a clear path. Instead, all sorts of reasons should have kept people from accepting it. Given all these obstacles, it is difficult to understand how the error could have prevailed so widely.

The theory of Tylor, whose authority is always great, still remains. His hypotheses on the dream and the origin of the ideas of the soul and of spirits are still classic; it is necessary, therefore, to test their value.

Tylor's theory still remains, and his authority is still great. His hypotheses about dreams and the origins of ideas about the soul and spirits remain classics. We must therefore assess their value.

First of all, it should be recognized that the theorists of animism have rendered an important service to the science of religions, and even to the general history of ideas, by submitting the idea of the soul to historical analysis. Instead of following so many philosophers and making it a simple and immediate object of consciousness, they have much more correctly viewed it as a complex whole, a product of history and mythology. It cannot be doubted that it is something essentially religious in its nature, origin and functions. It is from religion that the philosophers received it; it is impossible to understand the form in which it is represented by the thinkers of antiquity, if one does not take into account the mythical elements which served in its formation.

First, we should recognize that theorists of animism have made an important contribution to the study of religion. They have also contributed to the general history of ideas by examining the history of the idea of the soul. Many philosophers have treated the soul as a simple, immediate object of consciousness. Theorists of animism have more correctly viewed the idea of the soul as complex, shaped by history and mythology. There can be no doubt that the idea of the soul is essentially religious in its nature, origin, and functions. Philosophers inherited the idea from religion. We cannot understand how ancient thinkers portrayed the soul without considering the mythical elements that helped shape their idea.

But if Tylor has had the merit of raising this problem, the solution he gives raises grave difficulties.

But although Tylor deserves credit for raising this problem, his solution presents serious difficulties.

First of all, there are reservations to be made in regard to the very principle which is at the basis of this theory. It is taken for granted that the soul is entirely distinct from the body, that it is its double, and that within it or outside of it, it normally lives its own autonomous life. Now we shall see¹⁰⁷ that this conception is not that of the primitive, or at least, that it only expresses one aspect of his idea of the soul. For him, the soul, though being under certain conditions independent of the organism which it animates, confounds itself with this latter to such an extent that it cannot be radically separated from it: there are organs which are not only its appointed seat, but also its outward form and material manifestation. The notion is therefore more complex than the doctrine supposes, and it is doubtful consequently whether the experiences mentioned are sufficient to account for it; for even if they did enable us to understand how men have come to believe themselves double, they cannot explain how this duality does not exclude, but rather, implies a deeper unity and an intimate interpenetration of the two beings thus differentiated.

First, we must question the basic principle of this theory. It assumes that the soul is entirely distinct from the body and is a double of it. It also assumes that the soul normally lives its own independent life, whether inside or outside the body. But we shall see¹⁰⁷ that this is not the primitive person’s conception of the soul. Or, at least, it expresses only one aspect of that conception. For the primitive person, the soul is independent of the body it animates under certain conditions. Yet the soul and body also merge so completely that they cannot be radically separated. Some organs are not only the soul’s appointed seat, but also its outward form and material manifestation. The idea of the soul is therefore more complex than the theory supposes. So it is doubtful whether the experiences mentioned are enough to explain it. Even if those experiences help us understand how people came to believe they had a double, they cannot explain something else. They cannot explain how this duality, rather than ruling out a deeper unity, actually implies one. Nor can they explain how the two beings thus distinguished can intimately interpenetrate each other.

But let us admit that the idea of the soul can be reduced to the idea of a double, and then see how this latter came to be formed. It could not have been suggested to men except by the experience of dreams. That they might understand how they could see places more or less distant during sleep, while their bodies remained lying on the ground, it would seem that they were led to conceive of themselves as two beings: on the one hand, the body, and on the other, a second self, able to leave the organism in which it lives and to roam about in space. But if this hypothesis of a double is to be able to impose itself upon men with a sort of necessity, it should be the only one possible, or at least, the most economical one. Now as a matter of fact, there are more simple ones which, it would seem, might have occurred to the mind just as naturally. For example, why should the sleeper not imagine that while asleep he is able to see things at a distance? To imagine such a power would demand less expense to the imagination than the construction of this complex notion of a double, made of some etherial, semi-invisible substance, and of which direct experience offers no example. But even supposing that certain dreams rather naturally suggest the animistic explanation, there are certainly many others which are absolutely incompatible with it. Often our dreams are concerned with passed events; we see again the things which we saw or did yesterday or the day before or even during our youth, etc.; dreams of this sort are frequent and hold a rather considerable place in our nocturnal life. But the idea of a double cannot account for them. Even if the double can go from one point to another in space, it is not clear how it could possibly go back and forth in time. Howsoever rudimentary his intelligence may be, how could a man on awakening believe that he had really been assisting at or taking part in events which he knows passed long before? How could he imagine that during his sleep he lived a life which he knows has long since gone by? It would be much more natural that he should regard these renewed images as merely what they really are, that is, as souvenirs like those which he has during the day, but ones of a special intensity.

But let us assume that the idea of the soul can be reduced to the idea of a double. Let us then see how the idea of a double arose. Only the experience of dreams could have suggested it to people. While asleep, people could see distant places, even though their bodies remained lying on the ground. To understand this, they seem to have imagined themselves as two beings. One was the body. The other was a second self, able to leave the body it lived in and roam through space. But for the idea of a double to seem necessary, it would have to be the only possible explanation, or at least the simplest. In fact, there are simpler explanations that might have come to mind just as naturally. For example, why should a sleeping person not imagine that he can see distant things while asleep? Imagining such a power would require less effort than constructing the complex idea of a double. This double is made of some ethereal, partly invisible substance, and direct experience offers no example of it. But even if some dreams naturally suggest the animistic explanation, many others are certainly incompatible with it. Our dreams often concern past events. We see again the things we saw or did yesterday, the day before, or even in our youth. Dreams of this kind are frequent and make up a considerable part of our life at night. But the idea of a double cannot explain them. Even if the double can travel through space, it is not clear how it could travel back and forth in time. However limited a person's intelligence may be, how could he wake up believing he had actually witnessed or taken part in events he knew had happened long before? How could he imagine that, while asleep, he had lived a life he knew had long since passed? It would be much more natural for him to regard these images as what they really are. They are memories like those he has during the day, but especially vivid ones.

Moreover, in the scenes of which we are the actors and witnesses while we sleep, it constantly happens that one of our contemporaries has a rôle as well as ourselves: we think we see and hear him in the same place where we see ourselves. According to the animists, the primitive would explain this by imagining that his double was visited by or met with those of certain of his companions. But it would be enough that on awakening he question them, to find that their experiences do not coincide with his. During this same time, they too have had dreams, but wholly different ones. They have not seen themselves participating in the same scene; they believe that they have visited wholly different places. Since such contradictions should be the rule in these cases, why should they not lead men to believe that there had probably been an error, that they had merely imagined it, that they had been duped by illusions? This blind credulity which is attributed to the primitive is really too simple. It is not true that he must objectify all his sensations. He cannot live long without perceiving that even when awake his senses sometimes deceive him. Then why should he believe them more infallible at night than during the day? Thus we find that there are many reasons opposing the theory that he takes his dreams for the reality and interprets them by means of a double of himself.

Moreover, other people often appear alongside us in the scenes we experience and witness in our dreams. We think we see and hear them in the same place where we see ourselves. According to the animists, the primitive person would explain this by imagining that his double had met or been visited by his companions’ doubles. But he would only have to question his companions on waking to find that their experiences do not match his. During the same time, they too have dreamed, but their dreams were entirely different. They did not see themselves taking part in the same scene. They believe they visited entirely different places. Since such contradictions should be the rule in these cases, why would they not lead people to suspect an error? Why would people not think they had merely imagined the experience and been deceived by illusions? The blind credulity attributed to the primitive person is really too simple a view. It is not true that he must treat all his sensations as objective realities. He cannot live long without noticing that his senses sometimes deceive him even when he is awake. So why would he believe his senses are more infallible at night than during the day? Thus, there are many reasons to doubt the theory that he takes his dreams for reality and explains them through a double of himself.

But more than that, even if every dream were well explained by the hypothesis of a double, and could not be explained otherwise, it would remain a question why men have attempted to explain them. Dreams undoubtedly constitute the matter of a possible problem. But we pass by problems every day which we do not raise, and of which we have no suspicion until some circumstance makes us feel the necessity of raising them. Even when the taste for pure speculation is aroused, reflection is far from raising all the problems to which it could eventually apply itself; only those attract it which present a particular interest. Especially, when it is a question of facts which always take place in the same manner, habit easily numbs curiosity, and we do not even dream of questioning them. To shake off this torpor, it is necessary that practical exigencies, or at least a very pressing theoretical interest, stimulate our attention and turn it in this direction. That is why, at every moment of history, there have been so many things that we have not tried to understand, without even being conscious of our renunciation. Up until very recent times, it was believed that the sun was only a few feet in diameter. There is something incomprehensible in the statement that a luminous disc of such slight dimensions could illuminate the world: yet for centuries men never thought of resolving this contradiction. The fact of heredity has been known for a long time, but it is very recently that the attempt has been made to formulate its theory. Certain beliefs were even admitted which rendered it wholly unintelligible: thus in many Australian societies of which we shall have occasion to speak, the child is not physiologically the offspring of its parents.¹⁰⁸ This intellectual laziness is necessarily at its maximum among the primitive peoples. These weak beings, who have so much trouble in maintaining life against all the forces which assail it, have no means for supporting any luxury in the way of speculation. They do not reflect except when they are driven to it. Now it is difficult to see what could have led them to make dreams the theme of their meditations. What does the dream amount to in our lives? How little is the place it holds, especially because of the very vague impressions it leaves in the memory, and of the rapidity with which it is effaced from remembrance, and consequently, how surprising it is that a man of so rudimentary an intelligence should have expended such efforts to find its explanation! Of the two existences which he successively leads, that of the day and that of the night, it is the first which should interest him the most. Is it not strange that the second should have so captivated his attention that he made it the basis of a whole system of complicated ideas destined to have so profound an influence upon his thought and conduct?

But there is more. Even if the idea of a double explained every dream, and nothing else could explain them, one question would remain. Why did people try to explain dreams at all? Dreams certainly present a possible problem. But every day we pass by problems without raising them, or even suspecting they exist, until something makes us feel the need to address them. Even when people develop a taste for speculation for its own sake, they are far from considering every problem they could take up. Only problems of particular interest attract their attention. This is especially true of events that always happen in the same way. Habit easily dulls our curiosity, and we never even think to question them. To shake off this dullness, practical needs, or at least a very pressing theoretical interest, must draw our attention to them. That is why, throughout history, there have been so many things we have not tried to understand. We have not even been aware that we gave up trying. Until very recently, people believed that the sun was only a few feet across. It is hard to understand how a luminous disc so small could light up the world. Yet for centuries people never thought to resolve this contradiction. Heredity has long been known, but only very recently have people tried to develop a theory of it. People even accepted certain beliefs that made heredity completely unintelligible. For example, in many Australian societies we will discuss later, a child is not considered the physiological offspring of its parents.¹⁰⁸ This intellectual laziness is necessarily greatest among primitive peoples. These weak beings struggle so much to stay alive against all the forces that threaten them. They cannot afford the luxury of speculation. They reflect only when driven to do so. Yet it is hard to see what could have led them to make dreams the subject of their reflections. How much do dreams matter in our lives? They have so little place in our lives, especially because they leave such vague impressions and fade so quickly from memory. How surprising, then, that a person of such rudimentary intelligence should have made such efforts to explain them! Of the two lives such a person leads in turn, the life of the day and the life of the night, the first should interest him most. Is it not strange that the second should have held his attention so completely? He made it the basis of a whole system of complicated ideas, which would have such a profound influence on his thoughts and conduct.

Thus all tends to show that, in spite of the credit it still enjoys, the animistic theory of the soul must be revised. It is true that to-day the primitive attributes his dreams, or at least certain of them, to displacements of his double. But that does not say that the dream actually furnished the materials out of which the idea of the double or the soul was first constructed; it might have been applied afterwards to the phenomena of dreams, ecstasy and possession, without having been derived from them. It is very frequent that, after it has been formed, an idea is employed to co-ordinate or illuminate—with a light frequently more apparent than real—certain facts with which it had no relation at first, and which would never have suggested it themselves. God and the immortality of the soul are frequently proven to-day by showing that these beliefs are implied in the fundamental principles of morality; as a matter of fact, they have quite another origin. The history of religious thought could furnish numerous examples of these retrospective justifications, which can teach us nothing of the way in which the ideas were formed, nor of the elements out of which they are composed.

So everything suggests that the animistic theory of the soul must be revised, despite its continued acceptance. Today, it is true, the primitive person attributes dreams, or at least some dreams, to movements of their double. But this does not mean that dreams actually supplied the materials from which the idea of the double or soul first developed. The idea might have been applied later to dreams, ecstasy, and possession, without having come from them. Once an idea has been formed, it is very often used to connect or explain certain facts. The explanation often sheds more apparent than real light. The facts may originally have had no connection to the idea and would never have suggested it on their own. Today, the existence of God and the immortality of the soul are often proved by showing that fundamental moral principles imply these beliefs. In fact, the beliefs have quite another origin. The history of religious thought could provide many examples of such retrospective justifications. They can teach us nothing about how the ideas were formed or what elements they consist of.

It is also probable that the primitive distinguishes between his dreams, and does not interpret them all in the same way. In our European societies the still numerous persons for whom sleep is a sort of magico-religious state in which the mind, being partially relieved of the body, has a sharpness of vision which it does not enjoy during waking moments, do not go to the point of considering all their dreams as so many mystic intuitions: on the contrary, along with everybody else, they see in the majority of their dreams only profane conditions, vain plays of images, or simple hallucinations. It might be supposed that the primitive should make analogous distinctions. Codrington says distinctly that the Melanesians do not attribute all their dreams indiscriminately to the wanderings of their souls, but merely those which strike their imagination forcibly:¹⁰⁹ undoubtedly by that should be understood those in which the sleeper imagines himself in relations with religious beings, good or evil geniuses, souls of the dead, etc. Similarly, the Dieri in Australia sharply distinguish ordinary dreams from those nocturnal visions in which some deceased friend or relative shows himself to them. In the first, they see a simple fantasy of their imagination; they attribute the second to the action of an evil spirit.¹¹⁰ All the facts which Howitt mentions as examples to show how the Australian attributes to the soul the power of leaving the body, have an equally mystic character. The sleeper believes himself transported into the land of the dead or else he converses with a dead companion.¹¹¹ These dreams are frequent among the primitives.¹¹² It is probably upon these facts that the theory is based. To account for them, it is admitted that the souls of the dead come back to the living during their sleep. This theory was the more readily accepted because no fact of experience could invalidate it. But these dreams were possible only where the ideas of spirits, souls and a land of the dead were already existent, that is to say, where religious evolution was relatively advanced. Thus, far from having been able to furnish to religion the fundamental notion upon which it rests, they suppose a previous religious system, upon which they depended.¹¹³

It is also probable that people in primitive societies distinguish between their dreams and do not interpret them all alike. In European societies, many people still regard sleep as a kind of magical and religious state. They believe that, partly freed from the body, the mind sees more clearly than it does when awake. Yet even they do not regard all their dreams as mystical insights. On the contrary, like everyone else, they see most dreams as ordinary experiences, meaningless plays of images, or simple hallucinations. We might suppose that people in primitive societies make similar distinctions. Codrington states clearly that Melanesians do not attribute all their dreams indiscriminately to the wanderings of their souls. They attribute only dreams that strike their imagination strongly to these wanderings.¹⁰⁹ This undoubtedly means dreams in which the sleeper imagines contact with religious beings, good or evil spirits, souls of the dead, and so on. Similarly, the Dieri in Australia sharply distinguish ordinary dreams from nighttime visions in which a deceased friend or relative appears. They see ordinary dreams as mere products of their imagination. They attribute the visions to the action of an evil spirit.¹¹⁰ All the examples Howitt gives to show that Australians attribute to the soul the power to leave the body have an equally mystical character. The sleeper believes they have been transported to the land of the dead or have spoken with a dead companion.¹¹¹ Such dreams are common among people in primitive societies.¹¹² The theory is probably based on these experiences. To explain them, people accept that the souls of the dead return to the living during sleep. The theory was all the more readily accepted because no experience could disprove it. But these dreams were possible only where ideas of spirits, souls, and a land of the dead already existed. In other words, they were possible only where religious development was relatively advanced. Thus, far from providing religion with the fundamental idea on which it rests, these dreams presupposed an earlier religious system. They depended on that system.¹¹³

We now arrive at that which constitutes the very heart of the doctrine.

We now come to the very heart of the doctrine.

Wherever this idea of a double may come from, it is not sufficient, according to the avowal of the animists themselves, to explain the formation of the cult of the ancestors which they would make the initial type of all religions. If this double is to become the object of a cult, it must cease to be a simple reproduction of the individual, and must acquire the characteristics necessary to put it in the rank of sacred beings. It is death, they say, which performs this transformation. But whence comes the virtue which they attribute to this? Even were the analogy of sleep and death sufficient to make one believe that the soul survives the body (and there are reservations to be made on this point), why does this soul, by the mere fact that it is now detached from the organism, so completely change its nature? If it was only a profane thing, a wandering vital principle, during life, how does it become a sacred thing all at once, and the object of religious sentiments? Death adds nothing essential to it, except a greater liberty of movement. Being no longer attached to a special residence, from now on, it can do at any time what it formerly did only by night; but the action of which it is capable is always of the same sort. Then why have the living considered this uprooted and vagabond double of their former companion as anything more than an equal? It was a fellow-creature, whose approach might be inconvenient; it was not a divinity.¹¹⁴

Wherever the idea of a double comes from, even the animists admit that it is not enough to explain ancestor worship. Yet they consider ancestor worship the original form of all religions. For the double to become an object of worship, it must stop being a mere copy of the individual. It must acquire the qualities needed to make it a sacred being. The animists say that death brings about this change. But where does death get the power they attribute to it? The similarity between sleep and death might be enough to make people believe that the soul survives the body. (Even on this point, there are reasons for doubt.) But why should the soul change its nature so completely simply because it is no longer attached to the body? During life, it was only a profane thing, a wandering life force. How, then, does it suddenly become sacred and inspire religious feelings? Death adds nothing essential to the soul except greater freedom of movement. The soul is no longer tied to a particular dwelling. So it can now do at any time what it once did only at night. But the actions it can perform are still of the same kind. Why, then, did the living regard this uprooted, wandering double of their former companion as anything more than an equal? It was a fellow creature whose approach might be inconvenient. It was not a divinity.¹¹⁴

It seems as though death ought to have the effect of weakening vital energies, instead of strengthening them. It is, in fact, a very common belief in the inferior societies that the soul participates actively in the life of the body. If the body is wounded, it is wounded itself and in a corresponding place. Then it should grow old along with the body. In fact, there are peoples who do not render funeral honours to men arrived at senility; they are treated as if their souls also had become senile.¹¹⁵ It even happens that they regularly put to death, before they arrive at old age, certain privileged persons, such as kings or priests, who are supposed to be the possessors of powerful spirits whose protection the community wishes to keep. They thus seek to keep the spirit from being affected by the physical decadence of its momentary keepers; with this end in view, they take it from the organism where it resides before age can have weakened it, and they transport it, while it has as yet lost nothing of its vigour, into a younger body where it will be able to keep its vitality intact.¹¹⁶ So when death results from sickness or old age, it seems as though the soul could retain only a diminished power; and if it is only its double, it is difficult to see how it could survive at all, after the body is once definitely dissolved. From this point of view, the idea of survival is intelligible only with great difficulty. There is a logical and psychological gap between the idea of a double at liberty and that of a spirit to which a cult is addressed.

It seems that death should weaken vital energies rather than strengthen them. In fact, a very common belief in societies considered inferior is that the soul actively shares in the life of the body. If the body is wounded, the soul is wounded in the corresponding place. The soul should therefore grow old along with the body. In fact, some peoples do not give funeral honors to people who have become senile. They treat them as if their souls had also become senile.¹¹⁵ Some peoples even regularly kill certain privileged people before they reach old age. These people, such as kings or priests, are believed to possess powerful spirits whose protection the community wishes to keep. By killing them, the community tries to prevent the physical decline of these temporary guardians from affecting the spirit. To do this, they remove the spirit from the body where it lives before age can weaken it. While the spirit has lost none of its vigor, they transfer it to a younger body, where it can keep its vitality intact.¹¹⁶ So when death results from sickness or old age, it seems that the soul could retain only diminished power. And if the soul is only the body’s double, it is hard to see how it could survive at all once the body has completely dissolved. From this point of view, the idea of survival is very difficult to understand. There is a logical and psychological gap between the idea of a double set free and that of a spirit to which people offer worship.

This interval appears still more considerable when we realize what an abyss separates the sacred world from the profane; it becomes evident that a simple change of degree could not be enough to make something pass from one category into the other. Sacred beings are not distinguished from profane ones merely by the strange or disconcerting forms which they take or by the greater powers which they enjoy; between the two there is no common measure. Now there is nothing in the notion of a double which could account for so radical a heterogeneity. It is said that when once freed from the body, the spirit can work all sorts of good or evil for the living, according to the way in which it regards them. But it is not enough that a being should disturb his neighbourhood to seem to be of a wholly different nature from those whose tranquillity it menaces. To be sure, in the sentiment which the believer feels for the things he adores, there always enters in some element of reserve and fear; but this is a fear sui generis, derived from respect more than from fright, and where the dominating emotion is that which la majesté inspires in men. The idea of majesty is essentially religious. Then we have explained nothing of religion until we have found whence this idea comes, to what it corresponds and what can have aroused it in the mind. Simple souls of men cannot become invested with this character by the simple fact of being no longer incarnate.

The gap seems even wider when we realize how great an abyss separates the sacred world from the profane. Clearly, a mere change of degree cannot move something from one category to the other. Sacred beings differ from profane beings by more than their strange or unsettling forms or their greater powers. There is no common measure between the two. Yet nothing in the idea of a double can explain such a radical difference in nature. It is said that, once freed from the body, the spirit can do all sorts of good or evil for the living, depending on how it regards them. But disturbing those around it is not enough to make a being seem wholly different in nature from those whose peace it threatens. To be sure, believers always feel some reserve and fear toward the things they worship. But this is a fear sui generis, arising more from respect than from fright. The dominant emotion is the one that la majesté inspires in people. The idea of majesty is essentially religious. So we have explained nothing about religion until we find where this idea comes from, what it corresponds to, and what could have awakened it in the mind. Human souls cannot acquire this character simply because they no longer have bodies.

This is clearly shown by an example from Melanesia. The Melanesians believe that men have souls which leave the body at death; it then changes its name and becomes what they call a tindalo, a natmat, etc. Also, they have a cult of the souls of the dead: they pray to them, invoke them and make offerings and sacrifices to them. But every tindalo is not the object of these ritual practices; only those have this honour which come from men to whom public opinion attributed, during life, the very special virtue which the Melanesians call the mana. Later on, we shall have occasion to fix precisely the meaning which this word expresses; for the time being, it will suffice to say that it is the distinctive character of every sacred being. As Codrington says, "it is what works to effect anything which is beyond the ordinary power of men, outside the common processes of nature."¹¹⁷ A priest, a sorcerer or a ritual formula have mana as well as a sacred stone or spirit. Thus the only tindalo to which religious services are rendered are those which were already sacred of themselves, when their proprietor was still alive. In regard to the other souls, which come from ordinary men, from the crowd of the profane, the same author says that they are "nobodies alike before and after death."¹¹⁸ By itself, death has no deifying virtue. Since it brings about in a more or less complete and final fashion the separation of the soul from profane things, it can well reinforce the sacred character of the soul, if this already exists, but it cannot create it.

An example from Melanesia clearly shows this. Melanesians believe that people have souls that leave the body at death. The soul then changes its name and becomes what they call a tindalo, a natmat, etc. They also have a cult of the souls of the dead. They pray to these souls, invoke them, and make offerings and sacrifices to them. But not every tindalo receives these ritual honors. They are given only to souls of people who were believed to possess a very special quality during life. Melanesians call this quality mana. Later, we will define this word precisely. For now, it is enough to say that it is the distinctive quality of every sacred being. As Codrington says, "it is what works to effect anything which is beyond the ordinary power of men, outside the common processes of nature."¹¹⁷ A priest, a sorcerer, or a ritual formula has mana, as does a sacred stone or spirit. Thus, religious rites are performed only for tindalo whose souls were already sacred while their owners were alive. The other souls come from ordinary people, from the crowd of the profane. The same author says that these people are "nobodies alike before and after death."¹¹⁸ Death alone has no power to make anyone divine. Death separates the soul from profane things, more or less completely and finally. It can therefore strengthen the soul's sacred character if that character already exists, but it cannot create it.

Moreover, if, as the hypothesis of the animists supposes, the first sacred beings were really the souls of the dead and the first cult that of the ancestors, it should be found that the lower the societies examined are, the more the place given to this cult in the religious life. But it is rather the contrary which is true. The ancestral cult is not greatly developed, or even presented under a characteristic form, except in advanced societies like those of China, Egypt or the Greek and Latin cities; on the other hand, it is completely lacking in the Australian societies which, as we shall see, represent the lowest and simplest form of social organization which we know. It is true that funeral rites and rites of mourning are found there; but these practices do not constitute a cult, though this name has sometimes wrongfully been given them. In reality, a cult is not a simple group of ritual precautions which a man is held to take in certain circumstances; it is a system of diverse rites, festivals and ceremonies which all have this characteristic, that they reappear periodically. They fulfil the need which the believer feels of strengthening and reaffirming, at regular intervals of time, the bond which unites him to the sacred beings upon which he depends. That is why one speaks of marriage rites but not of a marriage cult, of rites of birth but not of a cult of the new-born child; it is because the events on the occasion of which these rites take place imply no periodicity. In the same way, there is no cult of the ancestors except when sacrifices are made on the tombs from time to time, when libations are poured there on certain more or less specific dates, or when festivals are regularly celebrated in honour of the dead. But the Australian has no relations of this sort with his dead. It is true that he must bury their remains according to a ritual, mourn for them during a prescribed length of time and in a prescribed manner, and revenge them if there is occasion to.¹¹⁹ But when he has once accomplished these pious tasks, when the bones are once dry and the period of mourning is once accomplished, then all is said and done, and the survivors have no more duties towards their relatives who exist no longer. It is true that there is a way in which the dead continue to hold a place in the lives of their kindred, even after the mourning is finished. It is sometimes the case that their hair or certain of their bones are kept, because of special virtues which are attached to them.¹²⁰ But by that time they have ceased to exist as persons, and have fallen to the rank of anonymous and impersonal charms. In this condition they are the object of no cult; they serve only for magical purposes.

Moreover, the animists’ hypothesis holds that the first sacred beings were the souls of the dead. It also holds that the first cult was the cult of the ancestors. If so, the less advanced the societies examined, the greater the place this cult should have in their religious life. But the opposite is true. The ancestral cult is highly developed, or even takes a distinctive form, only in advanced societies. These include China, Egypt, and the Greek and Latin cities. By contrast, it is completely absent from Australian societies. As we shall see, these represent the lowest and simplest form of social organization we know. Australian societies do have funeral and mourning rites. But these practices do not make up a cult, though they have sometimes wrongly been called one. A cult is not simply a set of ritual precautions that a person must take in certain circumstances. It is a system of diverse rites, festivals, and ceremonies that all share one characteristic: they recur periodically. They meet believers’ need to strengthen and reaffirm, at regular intervals, their bond with the sacred beings they depend on. That is why we speak of marriage rites but not a marriage cult. Similarly, we speak of birth rites but not a cult of the newborn child. The events that give rise to these rites do not occur at regular intervals. Likewise, there is no cult of the ancestors unless certain practices occur. Sacrifices must be made at tombs from time to time, or libations poured there on more or less specific dates. Or festivals must be regularly celebrated in honor of the dead. But the Australian has no such relationship with his dead. He must bury their remains according to a ritual and mourn them for a prescribed time and in a prescribed manner. He must also avenge them if the occasion calls for it.¹¹⁹ But once he has performed these pious duties, the matter is settled. Once the bones are dry and the mourning period is over, the survivors have no further duties toward relatives who no longer exist. The dead do sometimes continue to have a place in their relatives’ lives, even after mourning ends. Their hair or certain bones are sometimes kept because of the special powers attributed to them.¹²⁰ But by then the dead have ceased to exist as persons. They have been reduced to anonymous, impersonal charms. In this state, they are not the object of any cult. They serve only magical purposes.

However, there are certain Australian tribes which periodically celebrate rites in honour of fabulous ancestors whom tradition places at the beginning of time. These ceremonies generally consist in a sort of dramatic representation in which are rehearsed the deeds which the myths ascribe to these legendary heroes.¹²¹ But the personages thus represented are not men who, after living the life of men, have been transformed into a sort of god by the fact of their death. They are considered to have exercised superhuman powers while alive. To them is attributed all that is grand in the history of the tribe, or even of the whole world. It is they who in a large measure made the earth such as it is, and men such as they are. The haloes with which they are still decorated do not come to them merely from the fact that they are ancestors, that is to say, in fine, that they are dead, but rather from the fact that a divine character is and always has been attributed to them; to use the Melanesian expression, it is because they are constitutionally endowed with mana. Consequently, there is nothing in these rites which shows that death has the slightest power of deification. It cannot even be correctly said of certain rites that they form an ancestor-cult, since they are not addressed to ancestors as such. In order to have a real cult of the dead, it is necessary that after death real ancestors, the relations whom men really lose every day, become the object of the cult; let us repeat it once more, there are no traces of any such cult in Australia.

However, some Australian tribes periodically perform rites honoring legendary ancestors whom tradition places at the beginning of time. These ceremonies generally take the form of a dramatic performance, reenacting the deeds that myths attribute to these legendary heroes.¹²¹ But the figures represented are not people who lived ordinary human lives and became gods after death. They are believed to have had superhuman powers while alive. All that is grand in the history of the tribe, or even of the whole world, is attributed to them. They largely made the earth and human beings what they are. The glory that still surrounds them does not come merely from their being ancestors, in other words, from their being dead. Rather, it comes from the divine character that has always been attributed to them. To use the Melanesian term, they are endowed with mana by their very nature. These rites therefore offer no evidence that death has the slightest power to turn anyone into a god. Some of these rites cannot even properly be called an ancestor cult, since they are not directed toward ancestors as such. For there to be a real cult of the dead, actual ancestors must become objects of worship after death. These are the relatives whom people lose every day. Let us repeat once more: there are no traces of any such cult in Australia.

Thus the cult which, according to this hypothesis, ought to be the predominating one in inferior societies, is really nonexistent there. In reality, the Australian is not concerned with his dead, except at the moment of their decease and during the time which immediately follows. Yet these same peoples, as we shall see, have a very complex cult for sacred beings of a wholly different nature, which is made up of numerous ceremonies and frequently occupying weeks or even entire months. It cannot be admitted that the few rites which the Australian performs when he happens to lose one of his relatives were the origin of these permanent cults which return regularly every year and which take up a considerable part of his existence. The contrast between the two is so great that we may even ask whether the first were not rather derived from the second, and if the souls of men, far from having been the model upon which the gods were originally imagined, have not rather been conceived from the very first as emanations from the divinity.

Thus, the cult that this hypothesis says should dominate in inferior societies does not exist in them at all. In reality, the Australian is concerned with his dead only at the time of death and immediately afterward. Yet, as we shall see, these same peoples have a very complex cult devoted to sacred beings of a completely different nature. This cult involves numerous ceremonies and often takes weeks or even entire months. We cannot accept that the few rites an Australian performs when he loses a relative gave rise to these permanent cults. The cults return regularly every year and take up a considerable part of his life. The contrast between the two is so great that we may even ask whether the funeral rites instead came from the permanent cults. We may also ask whether human souls, far from being the original model for the gods, were instead conceived from the very beginning as emanations from divinity.

From the moment that the cult of the dead is shown not to be primitive, animism lacks a basis. It would then seem useless to discuss the third thesis of the system, which concerns the transformation of the cult of the dead into the cult of nature. But since the postulate upon which it rests is also found in certain historians of religion who do not admit the animism properly so-called, such as Brinton,¹²² Lang,¹²³ Réville,¹²⁴ and even Robertson Smith himself,¹²⁵ it is necessary to make an examination of it.

Once the cult of the dead is shown not to be primitive, animism loses its basis. It would then seem pointless to discuss the system's third thesis. This thesis concerns the transformation of the cult of the dead into the cult of nature. But some historians of religion accept the assumption behind this thesis, even though they do not accept animism itself. They include Brinton,¹²² Lang,¹²³ Réville,¹²⁴ and even Robertson Smith himself.¹²⁵ So it is necessary to examine this assumption.

This extension of the cult of the dead to all nature is said to come from the fact that we instinctively tend to represent all things in our own image, that is to say, as living and thinking beings. We have seen that Spencer has already contested the reality of this so-called instinct. Since animals clearly distinguish living bodies from dead ones, it seemed to him impossible that man, the heir of the animals, should not have had this same faculty of discernment from the very first. But howsoever certain the facts cited by Spencer may be, they have not the demonstrative value which he attributes to them. His reasoning supposes that all the faculties, instincts and aptitudes of the animal have passed integrally into man; now many errors have their origin in this principle which is wrongfully taken as a proven truth. For example, since sexual jealousy is generally very strong among the higher animals, it has been concluded that it ought to be found among men with the same intensity from the very beginnings of history.¹²⁶ But it is well known to-day that men can practise a sexual communism which would be impossible if this jealousy were not capable of attenuating itself and even of disappearing when necessary.¹²⁷ The fact is that man is not merely an animal with certain additional qualities: he is something else. Human nature is the result of a sort of recasting of the animal nature, and in the course of the various complex operations which have brought about this recasting, there have been losses as well as gains. How many instincts have we not lost? The reason for this is that men are not only in relations with the physical environment, but also with a social environment infinitely more extended, more stable and more active than the one whose influence animals undergo. To live, they must adapt themselves to this. Now in order to maintain itself, society frequently finds it necessary that we should see things from a certain angle and feel them in a certain way; consequently it modifies the ideas which we would ordinarily make of them for ourselves and the sentiments to which we would be inclined if we listened only to our animal nature; it alters them, even going so far as to put the contrary sentiments in their place. Does it not even go so far as to make us regard our own individual lives as something of little value, while for the animal this is the greatest of things?¹²⁸ Then it is a vain enterprise to seek to infer the mental constitution of the primitive man from that of the higher animals.

The cult of the dead is said to have extended to all nature because we instinctively tend to imagine all things in our own image, as living and thinking beings. We have seen that Spencer had already questioned whether this so-called instinct exists. Animals clearly distinguish living bodies from dead ones. So Spencer thought it impossible that humans, who descended from animals, lacked this same ability from the very beginning. But however reliable the facts Spencer cites may be, they do not prove what he claims. His reasoning assumes that all the faculties, instincts, and abilities of animals have passed intact to humans. Yet many errors arise from treating this assumption as an established truth. For example, sexual jealousy is generally very strong among higher animals. Some have therefore concluded that it must have been equally strong among humans from the very beginnings of history.¹²⁶ But we now know that humans can practice sexual communism. This would be impossible if such jealousy could not weaken and even disappear when necessary.¹²⁷ The fact is that humans are not merely animals with certain additional qualities. They are something else. Human nature results from a kind of reshaping of animal nature. In the complex processes that brought about this reshaping, there have been losses as well as gains. How many instincts have we lost? This is because humans live not only in a physical environment but also in a social one. The human social environment is infinitely broader, more stable, and more active than the one that influences animals. To survive, humans must adapt to it. To sustain itself, society often needs us to see things from a certain angle and feel about them in a certain way. As a result, society changes the ideas we would ordinarily form for ourselves and the feelings our animal nature alone would lead us to have. Society even goes so far as to replace those feelings with their opposites. Does it not even make us regard our own individual lives as having little value, while for the animal its individual life is the most valuable thing?¹²⁸ It is therefore pointless to try to infer the mental makeup of primitive humans from that of higher animals.

But if the objection of Spencer does not have the decisive value which its author gives it, it is equally true that the animist theory can draw no authority from the confusions which children seem to make. When we hear a child angrily apostrophize an object which he has hit against, we conclude that he thinks of it as a conscious being like himself; but that is interpreting his words and acts very badly. In reality, he is quite a stranger to the very complicated reasoning attributed to him. If he lays the blame on the table which has hurt him, it is not because he supposes it animated and intelligent, but because it has hurt him. His anger, once aroused by the pain, must overflow; so it looks for something upon which to discharge itself, and naturally turns toward the thing which has provoked it, even though this has no effect. The action of an adult in similar circumstances is often as slightly reasonable. When we are violently irritated, we feel the need of inveighing, of destroying, though we attribute no conscious ill-will to the objects upon which we vent our anger. There is even so little confusion that when the emotion of a child is calmed, he can very well distinguish a chair from a person: he does not act in at all the same way towards the two. It is a similar reason which explains his tendency to treat his playthings as if they were living beings. It is his extremely intense need of playing which thus finds a means of expressing itself, just as in the other case the violent sentiments caused by pain created an object out of nothing. In order that he may consciously play with his jumping-jack, he imagines it a living person. This illusion is the easier for him because imagination is his sovereign mistress; he thinks almost entirely with images, and we know how pliant images are, bending themselves with docility before every exigency of the will. But he is so little deceived by his own fiction that he would be the first to be surprised if it suddenly became a reality, and his toy bit him!¹²⁹

But even if Spencer’s objection is not as decisive as he believes, the animist theory gains no support from the confusions children seem to make. When we hear a child angrily address an object he has bumped into, we conclude that he thinks it is a conscious being like himself. But that badly misinterprets his words and actions. In reality, the child knows nothing of the very complicated reasoning attributed to him. If he blames the table that hurt him, it is not because he thinks it is alive and intelligent. He blames it because it hurt him. Once the pain has aroused his anger, it must overflow. So his anger looks for something to vent itself on. Naturally, it turns toward the thing that provoked it, even though this has no effect. An adult’s behavior in similar circumstances is often just as unreasonable. When we are extremely irritated, we feel the need to complain bitterly or destroy things. Yet we do not believe the objects we vent our anger on are deliberately trying to hurt us. In fact, there is so little confusion that, once a child has calmed down, he can readily distinguish a chair from a person. He does not behave at all the same way toward them. A similar reason explains the child’s tendency to treat his toys as if they were living beings. This gives his extremely intense need to play a way to express itself. Just as before, the strong feelings caused by pain created an object out of nothing. To play knowingly with his jumping-jack, he imagines it as a living person. This illusion comes more easily to him because imagination rules him. He thinks almost entirely in images. And we know how flexible images are, readily bending to every demand of the will. But he is so little deceived by his own fiction that he would be the first to be surprised if it suddenly became real and his toy bit him!¹²⁹

Let us therefore leave these doubtful analogies to one side. To find out if men were primitively inclined to the confusions imputed to them, we should not study animals or children of to-day, but the primitive beliefs themselves. If the spirits and gods of nature were really formed in the image of the human soul, they should bear traces of their origin and bring to mind the essential traits of their model. The most important characteristic of the soul is that it is conceived as the internal principle which animates the organism: it is that which moves it and makes it live, to such an extent that when it withdraws itself, life ceases or is suspended. It has its natural residence in the body, at least while this exists. But it is not thus with the spirits assigned to the different things in nature. The god of the sun is not necessarily in the sun, nor is the spirit of a certain rock in the rock which is its principal place of habitation. A spirit undoubtedly has close relations with the body to which it is attached, but one employs a very inexact expression when he says that it is its soul. As Codrington says,¹³⁰ "there does not appear to be anywhere in Melanesia a belief in a spirit which animates any natural object, a tree, waterfall, storm or rock, so as to be to it what the soul is believed to be to the body of man. Europeans, it is true, speak of the spirits of the sea or of the storm or of the forest; but the native idea which they represent is that ghosts haunt the sea and the forest, having power to raise storms and strike a traveller with disease." While the soul is essentially within the body, the spirit passes the major portion of its time outside the object which serves as its base. This is one difference which does not seem to show that the second idea was derived from the first.

Let us set these doubtful analogies aside. Were early humans really inclined to make the confusions attributed to them? To find out, we should study early beliefs themselves, not animals or children today. If nature spirits and gods were really formed in the image of the human soul, they should show traces of that origin. They should bring to mind the soul’s essential features. The soul’s most important feature is that it is understood as the inner force that animates the body. It moves the body and gives it life. When the soul withdraws, life stops or is suspended. The soul naturally resides in the body, at least while the body exists. But this is not true of the spirits associated with different things in nature. The god of the sun is not necessarily in the sun. Nor is the spirit of a particular rock necessarily in the rock, its main dwelling place. A spirit is undoubtedly closely connected to the body it is attached to. But it is very imprecise to call the spirit that body’s soul. As Codrington says,¹³⁰ "There does not appear to be a belief anywhere in Melanesia that a spirit animates a natural object, such as a tree, waterfall, storm, or rock. No spirit is thought to be to such an object what the soul is believed to be to the human body. Europeans do speak of the spirits of the sea, the storm, or the forest. But the native idea they refer to is that ghosts haunt the sea and the forest. These ghosts have the power to raise storms and strike a traveller with disease." The soul is essentially inside the body. The spirit, by contrast, spends most of its time outside the object that serves as its base. This difference does not seem to suggest that the idea of the spirit came from the idea of the soul.

From another point of view, it must be added that if men were really forced to project their own image into things, then the first sacred beings ought to have been conceived in their likeness. Now anthropomorphism, far from being primitive, is rather the mark of a relatively advanced civilization. In the beginning, sacred beings are conceived in the form of an animal or vegetable, from which the human form is only slowly disengaged. It will be seen below that in Australia, it is animals and plants which are the first sacred beings. Even among the Indians of North America, the great cosmic divinities, which commence to be the object of a cult there, are very frequently represented in animal forms.¹³¹ "The difference between the animal, man and the divine being," says Réville, not without surprise, "is not felt in this state of mind, and generally it might be said that it is the animal form which is the fundamental one."¹³² To find a god made up entirely of human elements, it is necessary to advance nearly to Christianity. Here, God is a man, not only in the physical aspect in which he is temporarily made manifest, but also in the ideas and sentiments which he expresses. But even in Greece and Rome, though the gods were generally represented with human traits, many mythical personages still had traces of an animal origin: thus there is Dionysus, who is often met with in the form of a bull, or at least with the horns of a bull; there is Demeter, who is often represented with a horse's mane, there are Pan and Silenus, there are the Fauns, etc.¹³³ It is not at all true that man has had such an inclination to impose his own form upon things. More than that, he even commenced by conceiving of himself as participating closely in the animal nature. In fact, it is a belief almost universal in Australia, and very widespread among the Indians of North America, that the ancestors of men were beasts or plants, or at least that the first men had, either in whole or in part, the distinctive characters of certain animal or vegetable species. Thus, far from seeing beings like themselves everywhere, men commenced by believing themselves to be in the image of some beings from which they differed radically.

From another point of view, there is another objection. If people were really compelled to project their own image onto things, they should have imagined the first sacred beings as human. But anthropomorphism, far from being primitive, is a sign of a relatively advanced civilization. At first, sacred beings are imagined as animals or plants. Only slowly does the human form emerge from these images. As we will see below, in Australia, animals and plants are the first sacred beings. Even among the Indians of North America, the great cosmic deities are very often represented as animals. These deities are beginning to be worshipped there.¹³¹ Réville observes, not without surprise: "In this state of mind, the difference between animals, humans, and divine beings is not felt. In general, one might say that the animal form is the fundamental one."¹³² To find a god made up entirely of human elements, we must move forward almost to Christianity. Here, God is a man, not only in the physical form he temporarily takes, but also in his ideas and feelings. Even in Greece and Rome, however, many mythical figures still bore traces of animal origins. This was true, though the gods were generally represented with human features. Dionysus, for example, often appears as a bull, or at least with a bull's horns. Demeter is often represented with a horse's mane. There are also Pan and Silenus, the Fauns, and others.¹³³ It is not at all true that people have had such an inclination to impose their own form on things. More than that, they began by thinking of themselves as closely sharing in animal nature. In fact, a belief about human ancestors is almost universal in Australia and very widespread among the Indians of North America. The belief is that human ancestors were animals or plants. Or, at least, it holds that the first humans had some or all of the distinctive features of certain animal or plant species. Thus, far from seeing beings like themselves everywhere, people began by believing they were made in the image of beings radically different from themselves.

Finally, the animistic theory implies a consequence which is perhaps its best refutation.

Finally, the animistic theory has a consequence that is perhaps the best argument against it.

If it were true, it would be necessary to admit that religious beliefs are so many hallucinatory representations, without any objective foundation whatsoever. It is supposed that they are all derived from the idea of the soul because one sees only a magnified soul in the spirits and gods. But according to Tylor and his disciples, the idea of the soul is itself constructed entirely out of the vague and inconsistent images which occupy our attention during sleep: for the soul is the double, and the double is merely a man as he appears to himself while he sleeps. From this point of view, then, sacred beings are only the imaginary conceptions which men have produced during a sort of delirium which regularly overtakes them every day, though it is quite impossible to see to what useful ends these conceptions serve, nor what they answer to in reality. If a man prays, if he makes sacrifices and offerings, if he submits to the multiple privations which the ritual prescribes, it is because a sort of constitutional eccentricity has made him take his dreams for perceptions, death for a prolonged sleep, and dead bodies for living and thinking beings. Thus not only is it true, as many have held, that the forms under which religious powers have been represented to the mind do not express them exactly, and that the symbols with the aid of which they have been thought of partially hide their real nature, but more than that, behind these images and figures there exists nothing but the nightmares of primitive minds. In fine, religion is nothing but a dream, systematized and lived, but without any foundation in reality.¹³⁴ Thence it comes about that the theorists of animism, when looking for the origins of religious thought, content themselves with a small outlay of energy. When they think that they have explained how men have been induced to imagine beings of a strange, vaporous form, such as those they see in their dreams, they think the problem is resolved.

If that were true, we would have to admit that religious beliefs are all hallucinations with no basis in objective reality. They are supposed to come from the idea of the soul because spirits and gods are seen as enlarged souls. But according to Tylor and his disciples, the idea of the soul itself comes entirely from the vague, inconsistent images that occupy our attention during sleep. The soul is the double, and the double is merely a person as he appears to himself in dreams. From this point of view, sacred beings are only imaginary ideas people have produced during a kind of delirium that regularly overtakes them every day. Yet it is impossible to see what useful purpose these ideas serve or what they correspond to in reality. If a person prays, makes sacrifices and offerings, or accepts the many hardships prescribed by ritual, it is because of a kind of inborn eccentricity. This eccentricity has led him to mistake dreams for perceptions, death for a prolonged sleep, and dead bodies for living, thinking beings. Many have argued that the forms in which religious powers are imagined do not represent them exactly. They have also argued that the symbols used to think about these powers partly conceal their real nature. But on this view, the claim goes further: nothing lies behind these images and figures except the nightmares of primitive minds. In short, religion is nothing but a dream, organized into a system and lived out, but without any foundation in reality.¹³⁴ This is why theorists of animism put so little effort into finding the origins of religious thought. They believe they have solved the problem once they think they have explained how people came to imagine beings with strange, mistlike forms, like those they see in dreams.

In reality, it is not even approached. It is inadmissible that systems of ideas like religions, which have held so considerable a place in history, and to which, in all times, men have come to receive the energy which they must have to live, should be made up of a tissue of illusions. To-day we are beginning to realize that law, morals and even scientific thought itself were born of religion, were for a long time confounded with it, and have remained penetrated with its spirit. How could a vain fantasy have been able to fashion the human consciousness so strongly and so durably? Surely it ought to be a principle of the science of religions that religion expresses nothing which does not exist in nature; for there are sciences only of natural phenomena. The only question is to learn from what part of nature these realities come and what has been able to make men represent them under this singular form which is peculiar to religious thought. But if this question is to be raised, it is necessary to commence by admitting that they are real things which are thus represented. When the philosophers of the eighteenth century made religion a vast error imagined by the priests, they could at least explain its persistence by the interest which the sacerdotal class had in deceiving the people. But if the people themselves have been the artisans of these systems of erroneous ideas at the same time that they were its dupes, how has this extraordinary dupery been able to perpetuate itself all through the course of history?

In reality, it is not even approached. We cannot accept that religions are merely a web of illusions. These systems of ideas have played a very important role in history. At all times, people have turned to them for the energy they need to live. Today, we are beginning to realize that law, morality, and even scientific thought were born from religion. For a long time, they were intertwined with religion, and they remain deeply influenced by its spirit. How could an empty fantasy have shaped human consciousness so strongly and for so long? Surely a principle of the science of religion should be that religion expresses only what exists in nature. After all, science studies only natural phenomena. The only question is which part of nature these realities come from. We must also ask what has led people to represent them in the distinctive form peculiar to religious thought. But to raise this question, we must first admit that the things represented are real. Eighteenth-century philosophers saw religion as a vast error invented by priests. At least they could explain its persistence by the priestly class’s interest in deceiving the people. But if the people themselves created these systems of false ideas while also being deceived by them, how has this extraordinary deception lasted throughout history?

One might even demand if under these conditions the words of science of religions can be employed without impropriety. A science is a discipline which, in whatever manner it is conceived, is always applied to some real data. Physics and chemistry are sciences because physico-chemical phenomena are real, and of a reality which does not depend upon the truths which these sciences show. There is a psychological science because there are really consciousnesses which do not hold their right of existence from the psychologist. But on the contrary, religion could not survive the animistic theory and the day when its truth was recognized by men, for they could not fail to renounce the errors whose nature and origin would thus be revealed to them. What sort of a science is it whose principal discovery is that the subject of which it treats does not exist?

One might even ask whether, under these conditions, it is proper to speak of a science of religions. However it is conceived, a science always deals with something real. Physics and chemistry are sciences because physical and chemical phenomena are real. Their reality does not depend on the truths those sciences reveal. There is a science of psychology because conscious minds really exist. They do not depend on psychologists for their right to exist. Religion, by contrast, could not survive once people recognized the truth of the animistic theory. They would have to abandon their errors once the nature and origin of those errors had been revealed to them. What kind of science discovers, above all, that its subject does not exist?