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THE NEW STONE AGE
IN NORTHERN EUROPE

The first of the two numbers and the letter in the footnotes designate the position in the Bibliography at the end of the volume of the title referred to; the second refers to the page of the book or article.

THE NEW STONE AGE IN
NORTHERN EUROPE

CHAPTER I

THE COMING OF MAN

MAN has been described as a “walking museum of paleontology.” He is like a mountain whose foundations were laid in a time so ancient that even the paleontologist hardly finds a record to decipher; whose strata testify to the progress of life through all the succeeding ages; whose surface, deeply ploughed by the glaciers, is clothed with grass and forest, flower and fruit, the harvest of the life of to-day.

Some of his organs are exceedingly old, while others are but of yesterday; yet all are highly developed in due proportion, knit and harmonized in a marvellously tough, vigorous, adaptable body, the instrument of a thinking and willing mind. Most surviving animals have outlived their day of progress; they have “exhausted their lead,” to borrow a miner’s expression, and have settled down in equilibrium with their surroundings. But discontented man is wisely convinced that his golden age lies in the future, and that his best possessions are his hopes and dreams, his castles in Spain. He is chiefly a bundle of vast possibilities, of great expectations, compared with which his achievements and realizations are scarcely larger than the central point of a circle compared with its area.

Physically he belongs to the great branch or phylum of vertebrate animals having a backbone—sometimes only a rod of cartilage—an internal locomotive skeleton, giving the possibility of great strength and swiftness, and of large size. Large size, with its greater heat-producing mass relative to its radiating surface, implies the possibility of warm blood, or constant high temperature, resulting in greater activity of all the organs, especially of the glands and the nervous system. Large size, as a rule, is accompanied by long life—giving opportunities for continuous and wide experience, and hence for intelligence. Yet most vertebrates have remained cold-blooded, and only a “saving remnant” even of men is really intelligent. Man belongs to the highest class of vertebrates, the Mammals, which produce living young and suckle them. Among the highest mammals, the Primates, or apes, the length of the periods of gestation, of suckling the young, and of childhood, with its dependence upon the mother, have become so long that she absolutely requires some sort of help and protection from the male parent. From this necessity have sprung various grades and forms of what we may venture to call family life, with all its advantages. How many mammals have attained genuine family life and how many men have realized its possibilities?1

The upward march of our ancestors was neither easy nor rapid. They were anything but precocious. They were always ready to balk at progress, stiff-necked creatures who had to be driven and sternly held in the line of progress by stronger competitors. The ancestors of vertebrates maintained the swimming habit, which resulted in the development of the internal skeleton and finally of a backbone, not because it was easiest or most desirable, but because any who went to the rich feeding-grounds of the sea-bottom were eaten up by the mollusks and crabs. Our earliest air-breathing ancestors were crowded toward, and finally to the land, and into air-breathing by the pressure of stronger marine forms like sharks, or by climatic changes.2 Reptiles, not mammals, dominated the earth throughout the Mesozoic era, and harried our ancestors into agility and wariness; at a later period the apes remained in the school of arboreal life mainly because the ground was forbidden and policed by the Carnivora. They and their forebears were compelled to forego some present ease and comfort, but always kept open the door to the future.

In spite of all this vigorous policing, malingerers and deserters turned aside from the upward line of march at every unguarded point or fork in the road, escaped from the struggle, and settled down in ease and stagnation or degeneration, like our very distant cousins, the monkeys and lower apes. Long-continued progress is a marked exception, not the rule, in the animal world, and is maintained only by the “saving remnant.” And these continue to progress mainly because Nature is “always a-chivying of them and a-telling them to move on,” as Poor Joe said of Detective Bucket, and her guiding wand is the spur of necessity.

The Primates, or apes, are, as we have seen, the highest order of the great class of mammals. Most of them, like other comparatively defenseless vertebrates, are gregarious or even social.3 They have a feeling of kind, if not of kindness, toward one another. This sociability, together with the family as a unit of social structure, has contributed incalculably to human intellectual and moral development. Man is a Primate, a distant cousin of the highest apes, though no one of these represents our “furry arboreal ancestor with pointed ears.” Arboreal life was an excellent preparatory training toward human development. Our primate ancestor was probably of fair size. In climbing he set his feet on one branch and grasped with his hands the branch above his head. Foot and leg were used to support the body, hand and arm for pulling. Thus the hand became a true hand and the foot a genuine foot, opening up the possibility of the erect posture on the ground and the adaptation of the hand to higher uses. Meanwhile the climbing and leaping from branch to branch, the measuring with the eye of distances and strength of branches, the power of grasping the right point at the right instant, and all the complicated series of movements combined in this form of locomotion furnished a marvellous set of exercises not only for the muscles but for the higher centres in the cortex of the brain. Very probably gregarious life and rude play, so common among apes, was an extension course along somewhat similar lines.

Our ancestors became at home in and well adapted to arboreal life, but the adaptation was never extreme. It was rather what Jones4 has called a “successful minimal adaptation.” They used arboreal life without abusing it by over-adaptation, which would have enslaved them, and made life on the ground an impossibility when the time came for their promotion to this new and