To treat her as a goddess has always been accounted a sure way of winning a lady’s favour. To the cynic, therefore, it might seem that Mrs. McGovern was bound to speak well of her head-hunting friends of the Formosan hills, seeing that they welcomed her with a respect that bordered on veneration. But of other head-hunters, hailing, say, from Borneo or from Assam, anthropologists have reported no less well, and that though the investigators were accorded no divine honours. The key to a just estimate of savage morality is knowledge of all the conditions. A custom that considered in itself is decidedly revolting may, on further acquaintance with the state of culture as a whole, turn out to be, if not praiseworthy, at least a drawback incidental to a normal phase of the ruder life of mankind.
To treat her as a goddess has always been accounted a sure way of winning a lady's favour. To the cynic, therefore, it might seem that Mrs. McGovern was bound to speak well of her head-hunting friends of the Formosan hills, seeing that they welcomed her with a respect that bordered on veneration. But of other head-hunters, hailing, say, from Borneo or from Assam, anthropologists have reported no less well, and that though the investigators were accorded no divine honours. The key to a just estimate of savage morality is knowledge of all the conditions.
A custom that considered in itself is decidedly revolting may, on further acquaintance with the state of culture as a whole, turn out to be, if not praiseworthy, at least a drawback incidental to a normal phase of the ruder life of mankind.
The "grizzled warrior," we are told, who made oblation to our authoress, bore on his chin the honourable mark of the man-slayer. To her Chinese coolie that formidable badge would have been enough to proclaim the wearer seban-the kind of wicked animal that defends itself when attacked. Thus, if it merely served to warn an[10] invading alien to keep his distance, this crude advertisement of a head-hunting habit would be justified, from the standpoint of the survival of the hard-pressed aborigines. Even had a threat of cannibalism been thrown in, its protective value could hardly be denied; for, much as men object to be killed, they commonly deem it worse to be killed and eaten. Though reputed to be man-eaters, however, the savages of Formosa are not so in fact. Indeed, the boot is on the other foot. I remember Mr. Shinji Ishii telling us at a meeting of the Folk-lore Society that, despite their claim to a higher form of civilization, the Chinese of the adjoining districts will occasionally partake of a head-hunter, chopped up small and disguised in soup: the principle implied in the precaution being, I dare say, sound enough, namely, that of inoculation, though doubtless the application is unfortunate.
Meanwhile, head-hunting has for these wild-folk a function and significance that are not to be understood so long as we consider it as a thing apart. The same canon of interpretation holds good of any other outstanding feature of the social life. Customs are the organic parts of a body of custom. To use a technical expression, they are but so many elements composing a single "culture-complex." Modern research is greatly concerned with the tracing out of resemblances due to the spread of one or another system of associated customs. The method is to try to work back to some ethnic centre of diffusion; where the[11] characteristic elements of the system, whatever might have been their remoter derivation, have been thoroughly fused together, in the course of a long process of adaptation to a given environment. Thereupon it becomes possible to follow up the propagation of influence as it radiates from this centre in various directions outwards. Now it may well be that the tradition rarely, or never, is imparted in its entirety. Selection, or sheer accident, will cause not a little to be left behind. On the other hand, the chances are all against one custom setting forth by itself. Customs tend to emigrate in groups. Thus head-hunting, and a certain mode of tattooing, and the institution of the skull-shelf, and the requirement that a would-be husband must display a head as token of his prowess, are on the face of them associated customs, and such as are suited to have been travelling companions. Hence it is for the ethnologist to see whether he cannot refer the whole assortment to some intrusive culture of Indonesian or other origin.
Yet lest one good method should corrupt the science, we should not forget that there is another side to the study of culture; though from this side likewise there is equal need to examine customs, not apart, but in their organic connexion with each other. Whencesoever derived, the customs of a people have an ascertainable worth here and now for those who live by them. The first business, I should even venture to say, of any[12] anthropologist, be his sphere the study or the field, is to seek to appreciate a given culture as the expression of a scheme of values. Every culture represents a set of means whereby it is sought to realize a mode of life. Unconsciously for the most part, yet none the less actually, every human society pursues an ideal. To grasp this ideal is to possess the clue to the whole cultural process as a spiritual and vital movement. The social inheritance is subject to a constant revaluation, bringing readaptation in its train. There is a selective activity at work, and to apprehend its secret springs one must keep asking all the time, what does this people want, and want most? unconscious though it may largely be, the want is there. Correspondingly, since it is a question of getting into touch with a latent process, the anthropologist must employ a method which I can only describe as one of divination. He must somehow enter into the soul of a people. Introjection, or in plainer language sympathy, is the master-key. Objective methods so-called are all very well; but if, as sometimes happens, they lead one to forget that anthropology is ultimately the science of the inner man, then they but batter at a closed door.
A sure criterion, then, by which to appraise any account of a savage people consists in the measure of the sympathy shown. A summary sketch that has this saving quality will be found more illuminating than many volumes of statistics. Literally[13] or otherwise, the student of wild-folk must have undergone initiation at their hands. Having become as one of themselves, he is qualified to act as their spokesman, putting into such words as we can understand the felt needs and aspirations of a less self-conscious type of humanity. Here, for instance, Mrs. McGovern, though writing for the general public, and reserving a full digest of her material for another work, has sought to present an insider's version of the aboriginal life of Formosa. She was willing to become an initiate, and did in fact become so, almost overshooting the mark, as it were, through translation to a super-human plane. So throughout she tries to do justice to the native point of view. She says enough to make us feel that, despite certain notions more or less offensive to our conscience, the ideal of the Formosan tribesman is in important respects quite admirable. He is on the whole a good man according to his lights. Allowance being made for his handicap, he is playing the game of life as well as he can.
Having thus dealt briefly with principles of interpretation I perhaps ought to stop short, since an anthropologist as such has nothing to do with the bearing of his science on questions of political administration. Mrs. McGovern, however, has a good deal to say about the means whereby it is proposed to convert head-hunters into peaceable and useful citizens. Without going into the facts, upon which I am incompetent to throw any fresh[14] light, I might venture to make some observations of a general nature that depend on a principle already mentioned. This principle was, that to understand a people is to envisage its ideal. The practical corollary, I suggest, is that, to preserve a people, one must preserve its ideal so far as to leave its vital and vitalizing elements intact. In other words, in purging that ideal, as may be done and ought to be done when it is sought to lift a backward people out of savagery, great care should be taken not to wreck their whole scheme of values, to cause all that has hitherto made life worth living for them to seem cheap and futile. Given sympathetic insight into their dream of the good life-one that is, probably, not unlike ours in its main essentials-it ought to prove feasible to curtail noxious practices by substituting better ways of satisfying the same needs. Contact with civilization is apt to produce among savages a paralysis of the will to live. More die of depression than of disease or drink. They lose their interest in existence. Their spirit is broken. When the policy is to preserve them, the mere man of science can lend a hand by pointing out what indeed every experienced administrator knows by the time he has bought his experience at other people's expense. Given, then, the insider's point of view, a sense of what the savage people itself wants and is trying for, and given also patience in abundance, civilization may effectively undertake to fulfil, instead of destroying.
R. R. Marett.
After three loveless years, Neil's betrayal deeply wounded Katelyn. She wasted no time in getting rid of that scoundrel! After the divorce, she devoted herself to career pursuits. Rising to prominence as a top designer, skilled doctor, and brilliant hacker, she became a revered icon. Neil, realizing his grave mistake, tried in vain to win her back, only to witness her magnificent wedding to another. As their vows were broadcast on the world's largest billboard, Vincent slid a ring onto Katelyn's finger and declared, "Katelyn is now my wife, a priceless treasure. Let all who covet her beware!"
Lyric had spent her life being hated. Bullied for her scarred face and hated by everyone-including her own mate-she was always told she was ugly. Her mate only kept her around to gain territory, and the moment he got what he wanted, he rejected her, leaving her broken and alone. Then, she met him. The first man to call her beautiful. The first man to show her what it felt like to be loved. It was only one night, but it changed everything. For Lyric, he was a saint, a savior. For him, she was the only woman that had ever made him cum in bed-a problem he had been battling for years. Lyric thought her life would finally be different, but like everyone else in her life, he lied. And when she found out who he really was, she realized he wasn't just dangerous-he was the kind of man you don't escape from. Lyric wanted to run. She wanted freedom. But she desired to navigate her way and take back her respect, to rise above the ashes. Eventually, she was forced into a dark world she didn't wish to get involved with.
Three years ago, the Moore family opposed Charles Moore's choice to marry his beloved woman and selected Scarlett Riley as his bride. Charles didn't love her. In fact, he hated her. Not long after they got married, Scarlett received an offer from her dream university and jumped on it. Three years later, Charles's beloved woman fell terribly ill. In order to fulfill her last wish, he called Scarlett back and presented her with a divorce agreement. Scarlett was deeply hurt by Charles's abrupt decision, but she chose to let him go and agreed to sign the divorce papers. However, Charles seemed to delay the process deliberately, leaving Scarlett confused and frustrated. Now, Scarlett was trapped between the consequences of Charles's indecision. Would she be able to break free from him? Would Charles eventually come to his senses and face his true feelings?
For as long as Emily can remember, she has wanted to overcome her shyness and explore her sexuality. Still, everything changes when she receives an invitation to visit one of the town's most prestigious BDSM clubs, DESIRE'S DEN. On the day she chose to peruse the club, she noticed three men, all dressed in suits, standing on the upper level, near the railing. Despite her limited vision, she persisted in fixating on them. Their towering statues belied the toned bodies concealed by their sharply tailored suits-or so she could tell. The hair of two of them was short and dark, and the third had light brown-possibly blond-hair that reached the shoulders. The dark, crimson background incised their figures, exuding an air of mystery and strength. They stood in stark contrast to the unfiltered, primal energy that pulsed through the club. Shocked by the desires these men aroused in her, she was disappointed to learn that they were masters seeking a slave to divide and conquer. She couldn't afford the fee, and she also realized that they were outside her league. Emily hurriedly left the club, feeling disappointed and depressed, unaware that she had also caught the group's attention. A world of wicked pleasure, three handsome men. Over the years, they have lived a life of decadence, their lavish lair serving as a stage for their most sinister desires. But despite the unending parade of willing subjects, one woman sticks out. A mysterious stranger with white porcelain skin and a killer body, a slave, a name with no address, the first lady to attract their eye and they will go to any length to obtain her no matter the consequences.
She was the notorious Alana Wilson, a shameful daughter of the Wilson family. Her reputation went downhill after she broke her engagement with her fiance, Albert Harris. They pointed finger at her, calling her a cheater. However, in truth, who was the cheater here? Alana would do anything she could to have her engagement with Albert broken, even if it meant sacrificing her own reputation. Ten years of abuse she endured in her last life was enough. She made sure that in this life, she would never marry that cheating bastard again. As her previous crush, as well as her brother's best friend, Lorenzo Miller is now back to the country, what would happen to her already messed up life? Especially when her ex-fiance also didn't want to leave her alone. Sequel is out now! Rebirth of the Billionaire's Vengeful Actress Wife
As a simple assistant, messaging the CEO in the dead of night to request shares of adult films was a bold move. Bethany, unsurprisingly, didn't receive any films. However, the CEO responded that, while he had no films to share, he could offer a live demonstration. After a night filled with passion, Bethany was certain she'd lose her job. But instead, her boss proposed, "Marry me. Please consider it." "Mr. Bates, you're kidding me, right?"