Custom and Myth New Edition — Reading Companion
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no such piece of metal, there were no such flints, lying there yesterday, and the finder is puzzled about the origin of the objects on which he has lighted. He carries them home, and the village wisdom determines that the wedge-shaped piece of metal is a 'thunder-bolt,' or that the bits of flint are 'elf-shots,' the heads of fairy arrows. Such things are still treasured in remote nooks of England, and the 'thunder-bolt' is applied to cure certain maladies by its touch.
As for the fairy arrows, we know that even in ancient Etruria they were looked on as magical, for we sometimes see their points set, as amulets, in the gold of Etruscan necklaces. In Perugia the arrow-heads are still sold as charms. All educated people, of course, have long been aware that the metal wedge is a celt, or ancient bronze axe-head, and that it was not fairies, but the forgotten peoples of this island, who used the arrows with the tips of flint. Thunder is only so far connected with them that the heavy rains loosen the surface soil, and lay bare its long-hidden secrets.
There is a science, Archæology, which collects and compares the material relics of old races, the axes and arrow-heads. There is a form of study, Folklore, which collects and compares the similar but immaterial relics of old races, the surviving superstitions and stories, the ideas which are in our time but not of it. Properly speaking, folklore is only concerned with the legends, customs, beliefs, of the Folk, of the people, of the classes which have least been altered by education, which have shared least in progress. But the student of folklore soon finds that these unprogressive classes retain many of the beliefs and ways of savages, just as the Hebridean people used spindle-whorls of stone, and bake clay pots without the aid of the wheel, like modern South Sea Islanders, or like their own prehistoric ancestors.[6] The student of folklore is thus led to examine the usages, myths, and ideas of savages, which are still retained, in rude enough shape, by the European peasantry. Lastly, he observes that a few similar customs and ideas survive in the most conservative elements of the life of educated peoples, in ritual, ceremonial, and religious traditions and myths. Though such remains are rare in England, we may note the custom of leading the dead soldier's horse behind his master to the grave, a relic of days when the horse would have been sacrificed.[7] We may observe the persistence of the ceremony by which the monarch, at his coronation, takes his seat on the sacred stone of Scone, probably an ancient fetich stone. Not to speak, here, of our own religious traditions, the old vein of savage rite and belief is found very near the surface of ancient Greek religion. It wants but some stress of circumstance, something answering to the storm shower that reveals the flint arrow-heads, to bring savage ritual to the surface of classical religion. In sore need, a human victim was only too likely to be demanded; while a feast-day, or a mystery, set the Greeks dancing serpent-dances or bear-dances like Red Indians, or swimming with sacred pigs, or leaping about in imitation of wolves, or holding a dog-feast, and offering dog's flesh to the gods.[8] Thus the student of folklore soon finds that he must enlarge his field, and examine, not only popular European story and practice, but savage ways and ideas, and the myths and usages of the educated classes in civilised races. In this extended sense the term 'folklore' will frequently be used in the following essays. The idea of the writer is that mythology cannot fruitfully be studied apart from folklore, while some knowledge of anthropology is required in both sciences.
Andrew Lang's Custom and Myth (new edition, 1893) opens with a preface that situates the work within the emerging anthropological study of folklore. Lang acknowledges the influence of E. B. Tylor's Primitive Culture and references contemporary scholars like Frazer, Mannhardt, and Harrison, noting that their works have since provided further evidence for his conclusions. The preface reveals Lang's awareness of the temptation to 'push a theory too far,' a caution he extends to Frazer's focus on vegetation rituals. This self-reflexive tone, combined with a clear methodological stance, sets the stage for the essays that follow.
The Anthropological Method and Its Limits
Lang's preface explicitly aligns his work with the 'anthropological method' established by Tylor, which interprets myths and customs through comparative study of primitive cultures. He cites Frazer's Golden Bough and Harrison's work on Athenian myths as recent applications of this approach. However, Lang also warns against overreach, noting that Frazer's 'cornstalk does rather threaten to overshadow the whole earth.' This balanced perspective is characteristic of Lang's voice: he is committed to evidence but skeptical of monolithic theories. The preface also addresses criticism that he sees 'Totems everywhere,' clarifying that he does not consider every animal in myth a totem, but finds totemism likely where a tribe bears an animal name, respects it, and places its effigy beside a god. This careful qualification demonstrates Lang's effort to ground his claims in specific cultural practices rather than sweeping generalization.
Ballad, Epic, and the Finnish Kalevala
In the essay on the Kalevala, Lang distinguishes between two forms of early poetry: the ballad and the epic. He defines ballads as short, abrupt, and sung to dance accompaniment, dealing with vague characters in vague settings. Epics, by contrast, are long, sustained in tone, and feature heroes of definite station with recognizable homelands like Ithaca or Argos. Lang places the Kalevala in a middle position, as it combines elements of both forms. He supports his definitions with references to Puttenham's Art of English Poesie (1589), which notes that 'savage and uncivill' peoples sing their 'highest and holiest matters' in versicles. Lang also cites collections by Scott, Motherwell, and Child to illustrate the cross-cultural uniformity of ballad forms. This taxonomic approach reveals Lang's interest in structural classification as a tool for understanding cultural evolution.
Voice and Argumentative Strategy
Lang's prose is marked by a conversational yet authoritative tone. He frequently addresses the reader directly, as when he notes that 'the author has been not unnaturally accused of seeing Totems everywhere.' This self-deprecating humor softens his defensive posture. His arguments are built on cumulative evidence rather than rhetorical flourish; he piles up examples from diverse cultures—Greek, Finnish, Scottish, and others—to support his claims. The pace of the text varies: the preface is brisk and programmatic, while the Kalevala essay slows to carefully define terms. Lang's use of footnotes and references to contemporary scholars (Frazer, Tylor, Mannhardt) situates his work within an ongoing scholarly conversation. He does not claim finality but invites further study, directing readers to works like Rosscher's Ausführliches Lexikon for alternative philological approaches.
Readers approaching Custom and Myth will find a work that balances comparative analysis with methodological caution. Lang's essays reward attention to his use of evidence and his willingness to qualify his own theories. The book is best read as a series of interconnected arguments rather than a unified thesis; each essay stands on its own while contributing to a broader picture of how myths and customs travel across cultures. Lang's voice—learned, wry, and occasionally defensive—makes the text a document of late-Victorian intellectual history as much as a study of folklore.
I've spent many evenings with Lang’s old essays, watching him trace a custom from one shore to another, always finding the human thread beneath. It reminds me of another quiet companion, where a young boy’s fate is woven from older, stranger cloth. Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster — Inside the Classic holds that same fierce, echoing antiquity, a tale told as if from a fireside memory.
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