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To forestall inevitable and justifiable criticism, may I say that I have purposely taken a narrow view of my theme. I have tried to concentrate on the hard core of ancestor worship in one type of social system, and more particularly in a single specimen of the type. I have ignored the ramifications and substitutions by means of which the elementary principles of ancestor worship are extended throughout the entire religious system of a people like the Tallensi. I have, for instance, paid no attention to the extremely important role of maternal ancestors in patrilineal ancestor cults. I have also restricted comparative evidence to the minimum needed for my argument. I wish it had been possible to examine matrilineal descent systems with ancestor cults. I can only say that such studies as those of Dr Colson (1954) and Dr Gough (1958) seem to me to confirm my main thesis. Again Polynesian moral and religious customs and beliefs, especially those of the Tikopia on which we now have such splendid and rich material throw penetrating light on the nature of paternal authority and its apothesis. Granted the differences in religious values and beliefs, there is basically a common pattern, in this regard among Tikopia and Tallensi. The relationships of fathers and sons in Tikopia are characteristically patrilineal and strikingly resemble those of the Tallensi (Firth 1936). At all events, the course I have followed was chosen in the belief that the best way to arrive at clear hypotheses is to isolate for analysis what is generally agreed to be the nuclear institution of ancestor worship. Ancestor worship is primarily the religious cult of deceased parents; but not only that. For it presupposes the recognition of ancestry and descent for jural and economic and other social purposes. It is rooted in the antithesis between the inescapable bonds of dependence, for sustenance, for protection from danger and death, in status and personal development, of sons upon their fathers, on the one hand, and the inherent opposition of successive generations, on the other. The ambivalence that springs from this antithesis is due to the fact that a son cannot attain jural autonomy until his father dies and he can legitimately succeed him. The ancestor cult permits this ambivalence to be resolved and succession to take place in such a way that authority itself, as a norm and principle of social order, is never overturned. But to accept the coercion of authority throughout life, first as a jural minor and then in ritual and moral submission, without loss os respect, affection, and trust towards the persons and institutions that must be vested with it for the sake of social order might be difficult if not intolerable. This is where the ideal of pietas enters as a regulative and mollifying directive to conduct.
I said that I have purposely eschewed wide comparison. But I cannot refrain from adducing one striking negative instance in support of my argument, though I am well aware that its value is circumstantial rather than conclusive. Dr Stenning's brilliant analysis of the developmental cycle of the family among the Wodaabe Fulani (Stenning 1959) presents a picture of jural and economic relations between successive patri-filial generations which are in radical contrast to those I have described. Fathers relinquish their control over herds and their authority over persons step by step to their sons during the course of the sons' growth and social development. The process begins when a man's first son is born and culminates when his last son marries with the final handing over to the sons of what is left of the herd and what is left of paternal authority. The father then retires physically, economically, and jurally, becomes dependent on his sons, and is, in Dr Stenning's words, to all intents henceforth socially dead. A parallel process takes place with women. With this is associated progressively increasing skill and responsibility in cattle husbandry for boys, parallel growth into marriage after betrothal for both sexes in early childhood, and a pattern of complementary co-operation between the sexes and the age groups that rules out coercive parental authority. Finally, Wodaabe descent groups generally have a genealogical depth of not more than three or four generations.
In this context of social structure, where there is no need for a man to wait for dead men's shoes in order to attain jural autonomy and economic emancipation, the tensions between successive generations that are characteristic of the patrilineal systems I have been concerned with, do not appear to develop. Does this account for the absence of an ancestor cult among the Wodaabe? Or is it due to their adoption of Islam? Dr Stenning does not think it is due to Islam; 14 and I am naturally attracted to this conclusion since it supports the main thesis of this lecture.
A last question. Is pietas bound up exclusively with ancestor worship or does it reflect a general factor in the relations between successive generations that is only mobilized in a special degree and form in ancestor worship? Do the Wodaabe Fulani, for example, have this notion or not? I cannot attempt to answer this question here. 15 But I am reminded of one of the most delicate descriptions of filial piety known to me.
It occurs in that masterpiece of period ethno-fiction, Anthony Trollope's Barchester Towers. You may remember the scene. The old Bishop ('who had for many years filled the chair with meek authority') is dying. His son, Archdeacon Grantly, is by his bedside, and the question that is in everybody's mind is troubling him, too. Would his father die before the out-going government fell? If he did he Archdeacon would undoubtedly, to quote the narrator, 'have the reversion of the see'. If not, another would as surely be elected. Clearly and compassionately, as one who is himself no stranger to such an event and to such emotions, Trollope describes the old man's last moments and the son's thoughts and feelings. 'He tried to keep his mind away from the subject, but he could not', remarks the chronicler. 'The race was so very close and the stakes were so very high.' He lingers by the bedside for a few minutes and then continues:
'But by no means easy were the emotions of him who sat there watching. He knew it must be now or never. He was already over fifty, and there was little chance that his friends who were now leaving office would soon return to it. No probable British prime minister but he who was now in, he who was soon to be put out, would think of making a bishop of Dr Grantly. Thus he thought long and sadly, in deep silence, and then gazed at that still living face, and then at last dared to ask himself whether he really longed for his father's death.The effort was a salutory one, and the question was answered in a moment. That proud, wishful, wordly man sank on his knees by the bedside, and taking the bishop's hand within his own prayed eagerly that his sins might be forgiven him.'
I need quote no more to establish that the Trollopians were deeply imbued with the sentiments and habits of pietas. It can hardly be an accident that so acute an observer as the narrator of this history should depict the Archdeacon's emotions in the setting of a mature son's compunction over his half-hidden ambition to succeed to his father's office. Nor is it by chance that the Archdeacon is shown to pray for his sins to be forgiven rather than for his father's recovery, improbable as that might be.
Nor is pietas unknown in our present era of unprecedented technological audacity. The other day we learnt from The Times (14 April 1961) how the first cosmonaut prepared himself for his spectacular venture. We are told that 'Major Gagarin was brought to Moscow just before the flight and went to Lenin's tomb in the Red Square "to gather new strength for the fulfilment of his unusual task"'. And nearer home, is not the celebration of Founder's Day at institutions like my own college in Cambridge an act of pietas not too remote in spirit from some of the rites and attitudes I have been discussing?
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