The discussion has led to some anticipation of the argument. We turn
back again to the personal potentiality.
{90}
He for whom the world is full of personal beings and hardly anything
else--a universe of objects interpreted in the terms of conscious
personality and projected on a background of the Unknown with all its
possibilities--he for whom each of those objects, human and non-human,
living and not-living, is invested in a greater or less degree with
_orenda_, will naturally and instinctively on the one hand avail
himself of his own _orenda_, and on the other hand will dread and
endeavour to turn to account the _orenda_ of others. But this very
endeavour to turn others’ _orenda_ to account is an exercise by prayer
or compulsion of his own. I can see no satisfactory evidence that
early man consciously entertained any great faith in the order and
uniformity of nature. Automatically, no doubt, he assumed that night
would follow day and day night, that the winter would follow the
summer or the dry season the wet, that the trees would blossom in the
spring or after the rains set in, as he had been accustomed to see
them. But that was not the result of reflection; it was not an act of
faith. So things had always been, and he could not conceive any
different course. It was not part of his mental furniture; it was no
acquisition of reasoning. It was the very framework of his mind. When
he began to reflect he referred these phenomena to the same cause to
which he referred his own acts, and the more uncertain and capricious
acts of other living beings--to personal will and _orenda_. Even if he
had risen to the large conception of the Siouan _wakonda_, that
impersonal force must, as we have seen, clothe itself with personality
in order to operate. Immediately and for practical purposes the
personal will and _orenda_ of himself or some other object were the
fount of all causation. They impelled and directed all actions, all
means, and were responsible for all effects. If he took aim at his
{91} enemy and flung his spear, or whatever primitive weapon served
the same purpose; if it hit the man, and he fell; he might witness the
result, but the mere mechanical causation, however inevitable in its
action, would be the last thing he would think about. Conscious of his
own will, of his own effort, of the words, perhaps, with which he had
accompanied and directed the spear, he would attribute the result to
such causes as these. His own _orenda_ felt in his passion, his will,
his effort, and displayed in his acts and words, the _orenda_ of the
spear, either inherent in itself, conceived as a personal being, or
conferred by its maker, and manifested in the keenness of its point,
the precision and the force with which it flies to its work and
inflicts the deadly wound--these would be to him the true causes of
his enemy’s fall. His _orenda_ is mightier than his enemy’s and
overcomes it. So, when the enemy is absent and he cannot visibly reach
him, his _orenda_ may yet suffice to accomplish the desired injury. By
a psychological process which Dr Marett has subtly analysed,[91.1] he
is led to perform in pantomime all the acts of a murder in the absence
of the victim, either silently, or to the accompaniment of a chant, or
of spoken words. His foe, who is as convinced as himself of the power
of such a performance, if it come to his knowledge, falls a victim to
the terror it inspires, unless he can call in the aid of some other
person, objective or imaginary, whose _orenda_ is more powerful still.
Nor would the belief lack vindication even in the case of the victim’s
ignorance; for any chance misfortune or sickness would be put down to
a hostile _orenda_; and if he did escape, it would be due to his own
superior _orenda_.
Thus what we generally call magic or witchcraft is {92} primarily an
application of _orenda_. By his _orenda_ a man bewitches his enemy
(or, for a consideration, someone else’s enemy), causes rain or
sunshine, raises and protects the crops, gains success in hunting,
divines the cause of sickness and cures it, raises the dead, spells
out the future. His incantations, his gestures, his apparatus--whether
of plants, stones, animal products, magical drawings, or whatever else
it may be--would be of no avail without this. In Central Australia the
Arunta magician arms his “pointing bone” with _arungquiltha_. In
Central Africa the Murundi impregnates his magical implements with
evil influence by means of his imprecations, his incantations, and his
evocation of spirits. That is, he puts into them his _orenda_ or the
_mana_ of the spirits: until then they are absolutely powerless and
indifferent.[92.1] This influence, this _orenda_, _mana_, or
_arungquiltha_, is the nexus--the copula, as it has been called--which
links the subject, the magician, to the object, the result.
But man is not the only being who possesses _orenda_. The _orenda_ of
his quarry sometimes foils his own. The cicada chirping in the fields
ripens the maize for the Iroquois; the _orenda_ of the rabbit controls
the snow and fixes the depth to which it must fall. The awful
mountain, the treacherous sea, those mighty beings who command the
winds, who send forth the storm, who rule in the darkness and mystery
of the forest, possess an _orenda_ surpassing man’s. It is useless to
pit his _orenda_ against theirs. Therefore he must adopt a different
course. He must lay down his _orenda_ and submit it to theirs. This is
the literal meaning of the Iroquoian phrase which signifies in modern
usage “He habitually prays.”[92.2] He must take such a course as he
would to {93} obtain assistance from a human being (say, a powerful
chief), or to conciliate an enemy. By gift, by abasement, by
abstinence, by self-torture, by cajolery he must win this powerful
_orenda_ to his side. Of these efforts abstinence and abasement are
negative forms of propitiation. They are perhaps the earliest forms.
If our reports be complete (on which we may have our doubts),
abstinence is the only form used among the Andaman Islanders, where
belief is said to outrun active worship.[93.1] In any case a taboo
for propitiatory purposes is very early and very persistent. Not
without insight does the poet tell us that Caliban
“Will let those quails fly, will not eat this month
One little mess of whelks, so he may ’scape.”
And the modern European has still his Lent, and his Ember Days and
Fridays throughout the year. Such abstinence is the laying down and
submission of the _orenda_ to those of mightier beings. On the other
hand, gift, prayer, cajolery are, properly speaking, an active
exercise of _orenda_. The relation of spell and incantation to prayer
has already been alluded to. They are often indistinguishable: they
shade into one another by the finest gradations. Gifts are not mere
self-deprivation. They must be accompanied by rites more or less
elaborate, to render them acceptable to the lofty beings for whom they
are intended. Or they are part of a bargain; they are the performance
on the suppliant’s side which demands a corresponding return on the
side of the god. More than one comparatively civilized people has held
that sacrifices properly performed not merely incline but compel the
gods to grant what their worshipper desires. Gesture-language plays a
large part in savage life. A {94} ceremony such as those familiar to
us in sympathetic magic--to take only one instance, the sticking of
pins into a waxen figure--frequently is, to a large extent,
gesture-language: it helps to suggest to the supernatural personages
of whose _orenda_ the magician desires to make use exactly what is
wanted. It is more than this, of course. It is in part the
make-believe which is a relief to overcharged feelings; in part it is
the means by which the _orenda_ is conveyed to the object intended to
be affected. The concomitant words that form part of the ceremony
emphasize the desire. They fill and strengthen the instrument with the
_orenda_ of the performer, or of the supernatural personage invoked or
compelled to assist; they direct the instrument, considered as a
personal being, in the service it is required to fulfil; or they
allure, entreat, or command the object at which the rite is aimed.
If the view here taken be accurate, the essential opposition between
magic and religion disappears. Nor am I greatly concerned to decide
whether of the two developed the earlier. Their origin is the same;
they grow from one root. Nay, I should hardly be wrong if I changed
the metaphor and said: magic and religion are the two faces of one
medal. From the lowest stage of culture to the highest we find them
inseparable. Gods were not invented because man proved unequal to the
strain of arranging the affairs of the universe by himself; nor has
the age of religion been everywhere preceded by the age of magic. “By
whatever name it is called,” says Dr Codrington, speaking of the
Melanesian _mana_, “it is the belief in this supernatural power and in
the efficacy of the various means by which spirits and ghosts can be
induced to exercise it for the benefit of men that is the foundation
of the rites and practices which can be called religious: and it is
from the same belief that everything {95} which may be called magic
and witchcraft draws its origin. Wizards, doctors, weather-mongers,
prophets, diviners, dreamers, all alike, everywhere in the islands,
work by this power. There are many of these who may be said to
exercise their art as a profession; they get their property and
influence in this way. Every considerable village or settlement is
sure to have someone who can control the weather and the waves,
someone who knows how to treat sickness, someone who can work mischief
with various charms. There may be one whose skill extends to all these
branches; but generally one man knows how to do one thing and one
another. This various knowledge is handed down from father to son,
from uncle to sister’s son [for in many of these islands descent is
still reckoned exclusively through the mother], in the same way as is
the knowledge of rites and methods of sacrifice and prayer; and very
often the same man who knows the sacrifice knows also the making of
the weather and of charms for many purposes besides. But as there is
no order of priests, there is also no order of magicians or
medicine-men. Almost every man of consideration knows how to approach
some ghost or spirit, and has some secret of occult practices.
Knowledge of either kind can be bought, if the possessor chooses to
impart it to any other than the heirs of whatever he has
besides.”[95.1]
Here we see, as yet undistinguished, the beginnings of the
professional magician and the professional priest. Roughly and
provisionally it may be said that the professional magician is he who
in the course of the evolution of society, by birth, by purchase, or
by study and practice in the conventional methods, has acquired the
most powerful _orenda_. Similarly, the professional {96} priest is he
who in these ways, or by prayer and fasting, has obtained the favour
of the imaginary personages believed to influence or control the
affairs of men--who has, in a word, possessed himself of their
_orenda_. The union of these two professions in one person is not
adventitious; it is probably fundamental; it is at least so general
that in describing the society of savages and peoples in low stages of
culture observers are often at a loss whether to call their
functionaries priests or wizards, exorcists or medicine-men.
Consequently, many anthropological writers use the word _shaman_,
borrowed from the Tunguz, a tribe of South-Eastern Siberia, and
including all four meanings. For in that condition of society the
functions of priest and sorcerer and medicine-man are, as Professor
Frazer says, “not yet differentiated from each other.” That could not
be until, in the course of evolution, religion became severed from
magic. Yet it has never become so wholly severed that the primitive
connection may not be traced. Priests have become organized into a
separate order. Triumphant religions have proscribed the conquered
faiths, and have repudiated their practices as magical. Magic has thus
become a term of opprobrium. The conquered faiths under repression
have carried on their religious worship mixed with magical rites and
tending more and more to be degraded, yet never losing all religious
elements. Even the magic of the Middle Ages and later, in Europe, if
we may trust the confessions of the judicial victims themselves, was
mingled with the worship of a being in whom they recognized the devil,
perhaps the last avatar of a heathen god; and witchcraft was one of
the commonest charges against heretics. On the other hand, not even
the highest religions have been able to free themselves wholly from
rites strictly parallel to those {97} characterized as magical, by
which their followers have striven to compass union with the objects
of worship, to avail themselves of the _orenda_ of these objects, to
locate it in their own persons or in the images and implements of
their cult, to intensify their own _orenda_, and to exercise it for
the benefit, spiritual, corporal or pecuniary, of themselves and
others.
It may be well to illustrate the foregoing speculation from the
customs and superstitions of the Arunta of Central Australia. The
Arunta have been represented to be the lowest and least evolved of
known humanity in their beliefs and institutions: they are, it is
said, still in the stage of primitive absence of religion; magic alone
is the object of their belief; magic alone they practise. Now none of
the Australian tribes are, strictly speaking, in a primitive
condition. The civilization of all of them has evolved to some extent.
It has evolved, speaking in general terms, along similar lines; and
these lines have been conditioned by the environment. It is admittedly
significant that, in a land where so many archaic types of the lower
animals have survived, we should find archaic types of human culture.
Yet the most archaic types of Australian culture are far from being
primitive. So far are they that the social organization is of the most
complex character, the product of a succession of stages of
development. The least archaic types exhibit the old social
organization breaking down and new structures in course of formation.
With the evolution of society an evolution of belief has also been
going on. It has not been exactly concurrent. Culture rarely or never
evolves equally in all directions. It is a mental process, partly
conscious, partly unconscious. The collective mind of a given society,
like the individual minds of which it is composed, is not exercised
equally {98} on all subjects at the same time. Hence while, for
example, we find among the Euahlayi tribe, in the north of New South
Wales, an advanced theology and a more developed worship than have
been recorded elsewhere in Australia, the social organization is still
on the basis of female descent; and though the clansmen eat without
scruple their hereditary totems, in other respects the totemic system
seems to be in full force. In the same way the Arunta and their
neighbours certainly preserve relics of a very archaic condition of
thought and social organization. Though for certain purposes a son
inherits from his mother’s husband, it is doubtful whether descent is
counted through the father for social purposes; the physical relation
between father and child, indeed, is but imperfectly recognized. On
the other hand, they have developed a very elaborate theory of
reincarnation, and their totemic system seems to be in course of
transformation into a number of societies bearing in some respects
remarkable resemblance to those of the tribes of British
Columbia.[98.1] Magical practices (chiefly in connection with these
societies or totemic groups) are more prominent than religious.
Yet a closer examination will lead us to the conclusion that something
more than, on any definition of magic, we can call magical practices,
something we must recognize as religion, albeit of a low type, is not
wholly wanting to the natives of Central Australia. We may perhaps
grant that Twanyirika, with whose name the women and {99} uninitiate
children are kept in awe, is a bugbear “to frighten babes withal,” and
nothing more. The Kaitish and the Loritja, adjacent tribes sharing the
general culture of the Arunta, at all events believe in the real
existence of a superior being, who invented the initiation rites and
is pleased when men perform them now.[99.1] Indeed, if Herr
Strehlow’s investigations are to be trusted, the Arunta themselves are
not destitute of belief in such a being, though we learn little about
him, and he has no influence on the destinies of mankind.[99.2] Among
the Warramunga, a tribe a little further to the north, the Wollunqua,
a gigantic mythical snake, is the object of important rites, and one
of the totem-clans is called by its name. It dwells in a certain
water-hole in a lonely valley of the Murchison Range, “and there is
always the fear that it may take it into its head to come out of its
hiding-place and do some damage.” Hence propitiation is necessary.
This is effected by building a mound of sandy earth and delineating on
it a representation of the animal. “They say that when he sees the
mound with his representation drawn upon it, he is gratified, and
wriggles about underneath with pleasure.” On the evening of the day
succeeding that on which the ceremonies in connection with this mound
were witnessed by Messrs. Spencer and Gillen, “the old men who had
made the mound said that they had heard the Wollunqua talking, and
that he was pleased with what had been done and was sending rain; the
explanation of which doubtless was that they, like ourselves, had
heard thunder in the distance. No rain fell, but a few days later the
distant rumble of thunder was again heard at night-time; and {100}
this, the old men now said, was the Wollunqua growling because the
remains of the mound had been left uncovered. They also told the
younger men that a heavy bank of clouds which lay on the western
horizon had been placed there as a warning by the Wollunqua, and at
once cut down boughs and hid the ruins of the mound from view, after
which the Wollunqua ceased from growling, and all went on peacefully
until the end of the series” of ceremonies.[100.1] There are, of
course, myths associated with the Wollunqua. The mound recalled one of
them. During its building and the ceremonies about it chants were sung
referring to the deeds of the Wollunqua, breaking out from time to
time into refrains of words, now at least meaningless, and said to
belong to the language of the mythical past. The name Wollunqua is
avoided in common parlance. A circumlocution is employed instead,
“because, so they told us, if they were to call it too often by its
real name, they would lose their control over it and it would come out
and eat them all up.”[100.2] How does this differ from the familiar
taboo of sacred names? When the explorers were taken to visit the
Wollunqua’s dwelling-place (should we be wrong to call it his
shrine?), the two chief men of the totemic group went down to the
water’s edge and addressed him in whispers with bowed heads, praying
him to remain quiet and do them no harm, for they were mates of his
and had brought up two great white men to see where he lived and to
tell them about him. “We could plainly see that it was all very real
to them, and that they implicitly believed that the Wollunqua was
indeed alive beneath the water, watching them, though they could not
see him.”[100.3] In all these rites (the details {101} of which were
carried out with earnestness and frequently with excitement) it can
hardly be denied that we have the elements of a true cult. The only
one as to which any qualification could be admitted is “the savage
attack,” described as being made on the mound when the ceremony
relating to it was concluded. The result of it was that the figures
delineated on the mound were destroyed, and all that remained was a
rough heap of sandy earth. This is represented as an attempt to
“coerce the mythic beast.” It is not quite certain that the
interpretation is correct, for it does not rest on native statements,
but is an inference of the explorers. The obliteration of sacred
figures drawn on sand or earth for the purpose of a rite is not
confined to the cult of the Wollunqua, nor even to Australia. It is
equally found among the Pueblo tribes of North America and the
Mongolian Buddhists of Central Asia.[101.1] Its object is to hide the
sacred symbols from the eyes of the profane. But if the interpretation
were correct (and it is not inconsistent with some of the expressions
and traditions reported), it is no more than we might expect. If a
savage deals with the mythic figures of his imagination as he deals
with his fellowman, we must not be surprised that he should pass from
cajolery to coercion, from prayer to defiance. Peoples on a much
higher religious horizon (as we shall see hereafter) do not hesitate
to threaten, and even to offer violence to, the objects of their
worship, when they are unable to obtain otherwise what they want.
Nor are the rites of the Wollunqua alone among these tribes in bearing
evidence of something more than magical ceremonies, namely, of
rudimentary worship. {102} When at the close of the initiation rites
among the Arunta someone with a bundle of _churinga_, sacred stones or
sticks in the shape of a bull-roarer, comes up to the newly initiated
youth, saying: “Here is Twanyirika, of whom you have heard so much;
they are _churinga_ and will help to heal you quickly,”[102.1]
neither the neophyte nor his friend regards them as mere toys. The
statement that they will help to heal the neophyte’s wounds is enough
to show this. We must not be misled by the apparent anticlimax to
forget that they are, throughout this group of tribes, mysterious
objects, marked with the emblem of the totem, and in the closest
association with it; to the Arunta and Loritja they are the outward
and visible sign, if not the embodiment, of the ancestral souls or
invisible portions, and as such are regarded with veneration.[102.2]
They are kept cunningly concealed from the eyes of the profane, hidden
in stores which are sanctuaries, places of refuge from the pursuit of
enemies, for men and even for wild animals. Herr Strehlow relates that
when he was trying to find a native word to translate _church_, two
baptized Blackfellows in all seriousness suggested to him the use of
_arknanaua_, the name of these sacred storehouses in their
tongue.[102.3] The very word _churinga_ means, as nearly as can be
rendered in a European tongue, hidden away, secret, appropriated,
sacred. It is used as an adjective to describe objects employed in the
sacred ceremonies, and the secret name bestowed on a child at birth.
In this connection it is {103} important to remember that the sacred
ceremonies, and in fact everything sacred, are among these tribes
secret also from the uninitiate. Though individuals may, at least
among the Arunta and Loritja, have special property in their
_churingas_, the latter are, as a whole, the collective property of
the totemic clan; they are under the control of the ceremonial
headman; their loss is the most serious evil that can befall a group;
and even to lend them to another group, as is occasionally done for
special purposes, is undertaken with the greatest solemnity and
caution. When returned, they are received with every mark of
veneration, with weeping and a low, mournful chant; and both parties
must be strictly fasting.[103.1]
The _churinga_ are, moreover, endowed with power, with _mana_, which
not merely heals wounds, but when they are brought ceremonially in
contact with the body produces other physical, mental, and even moral
effects. In the Kaitish tribe the performance of some ceremonies, in
the course of which the _churinga_ are handled, renders a man so full
of this _mana_, or, as they call it, _churinga_, using the very word,
that he becomes for the time taboo.[103.2] In addition, the
_churinga_ have virtue to make the yams and the grass-seed grow; they
frighten the game, or enable a man to secure it, and so forth. They
are handled in a manner which it is no exaggeration to call devout.
They are polished with red ochre to “soften” them, a term that, as
Messrs Spencer and Gillen remark, “very evidently points to the fact
that the [_churinga_] is regarded as something much more than a piece
of wood or stone. It is intimately associated with the ancestor, and
has ‘feelings,’ just as human beings have, which can be soothed by
rubbing in the same way in which those of living men can be.” We
gather that a man will sing {104} to his _churinga_, that the subject
of his song will be the mythical story of the ancestor (or the
previous incarnation) to whom it belonged, and that as he sings and
rubs it with his hand, “he gradually comes to feel that there is some
special association between him and the sacred object--that a virtue
of some kind passes from it to him, and also from him to it.” So from
generation to generation it gathers more and more of what our authors
describe as magical power--what would certainly be called in Melanesia
_mana_--the mystic potentiality already discussed.[104.1]
Thus the _churinga_ have to the Blackfellow a more or less definitely
personal aspect. It may be said that the songs chanted over them are
after all merely magical spells. But the spell implies some more or
less defined personality in the objects to which it is addressed. In
these tribes rites are performed, called in the Arunta tongue
_Intichiuma_, for the purpose of causing a manifestation of the power
of the totem, of multiplying the totem-animal or plant, and generally
of increasing the prosperity of the totem. In the course of these
rites there is much singing. The members of the group invite the
witchetty grubs to come from all directions and lay their eggs, or the
hakea-trees to flower and their blossoms to fill with honey; they beg
the rain to come and bring fish; they direct the kangaroos to go from
one place to another; and so on. Even when the songs and the actions
performed in the ceremonies recall the events of the mythical past,
they are not necessarily more magical than the words of sacred dramas,
which everywhere in the lower culture inseparably interweave what we
generally speak of as magic and religion. The mighty ancestors (as
elsewhere {105} the gods) whose deeds they chant are present in the
rite. “The totem, the ancestor, and the descendant (that is to say,
the performer) appear in these songs as one. Without keeping in view
the indivisible unity of the totem, the mythic ancestor and the
offspring (_ratapa_), many of the songs are quite
incomprehensible.”[105.1] Thus where invitation or command is not
issued directly to the object, the _mana_ of the ancestors seems to be
evoked for the accomplishment of the end.
Again, so far from the Arunta medicine-men being practitioners of
anything analogous to modern science, they are initiated by, and their
power is derived from, the spirits. These spirits are believed to put
the candidate to death, to carry him down into their abode, and there
to take out his internal organs, replacing them with a new set,
planting in his body a supply of magical crystals by which all his
subsequent wonders will be performed, and then bringing him to life
again. He remains, however, in a condition of insanity for some days.
It is true that an imitation of this process can be performed by
medicine-men of flesh and blood; but candidates thus initiated have a
lower repute (save apparently among the Warramunga) than those
initiated directly by the spirits. The crystals are in any case the
home and symbol of the magician’s powers. They are in fact full of
_mana_. If they be lost, the magician ceases to be a magician, and the
crystals themselves return to the spirits. All over Australia, so far
as we know, the same influence is attributed to them.[105.2] On the
eastern side of the continent, where something like a tribal
All-Father {106} is believed in, he is regarded, like Odin, as the
mightiest of magicians, and the crystals are, as well as the
bull-roarer, among his special attributes. Let me observe too in
passing that it is not a little significant that, as in the witchcraft
of Europe and Africa, portions of dead bodies are in great request in
Australia for magical purposes. The “pointing bone,” to which I
referred just now, is part of a dead man’s leg or arm. A portion of
his personality inheres in it. Consequently, even before it is “sung,”
it is endowed with his _mana_, which the singing only enhances and
directs in its course.[106.1] For the same reason human fat and a
dead man’s hair are important parts of the Australian native’s magical
apparatus.
The initiation of the medicine-man or magician by spirits, often the
spirits of the dead, is practically the universal belief in Australia.
In this respect the Australian medicine-man is in line with many of
his professional brethren elsewhere. In the island of Saghalien the
Gilyak shamans are chosen vessels, to whom their tutelary gods reveal
their high calling in vision or in trance. From the moment that this
is done the gods install themselves as the new shaman’s assistants and
perform his commands. Yet shamanhood is not regarded as a gift, but as
a burden. To become a shaman, either a man must find favour with one
of these assistant tutelary gods, or such a god must be bestowed upon
him by his father or uncle. Conversion into a shaman forms a break in
the life of the chosen, accompanied by many complicated psychical
phenomena. The process in his own case was described by a shaman to a
Russian anthropologist. For more than two months he was sick and lay
without movement or consciousness. As soon {107} as he revived from
one attack he fell under another. “I should have died,” he said, “if I
had not become a shaman.” He began to dream at night that he sang
shaman songs. Visions appeared to him, and he was told to make a drum
and the proper apparatus of a shaman, and to sing. If he were a simple
man, the vision told him, nothing would happen; “but if thou art a
shaman, be a real shaman.” When he awoke he found that it was thought
the spirits had killed him, and preparations for his funeral rites had
been made. But he got a drum and began to sing. This produced a
feeling which hovered between intoxication and death. Then for the
first time he saw his tutelary gods, and received from them
instruction in his business as a shaman.[107.1] Among the Koryak on
the adjacent continent, “nobody can become a shaman of his own free
will. The spirits enter into any person they may choose and force him
to become their servant.” Such persons are “usually nervous young men,
subject to hysterical fits, by means of which the spirits express
their demand” that the patient shall become a shaman. Fasting,
paroxysms, exhaustion succeed one another. Finally, the spirits appear
to the patient in visible form, endow him with power, inspire and
instruct him.[107.2] In other words, they fill him with their _mana_.
Here we have manifestly the wide-spread phenomena of Possession. In
these tribes there are no professional priests. The magicians, though
in a sense the intermediaries between men and the higher powers, are
not charged with the duty of offering sacrifice and prayer. In South
Africa, among the Bantu tribes, also, there are {108} no professional
priests. Ancestor-worship is the religion; and the only worship paid
is paid to the _manes_ of the dead. The proper person to offer
sacrifices is the head of the family for the time being. But
medicine-men or magicians form a regular profession, which is divided
into a number of branches. For some of these branches initiation by
the spirits of the dead is not necessary. For others it is
indispensable. Frequently, however, the same man combines the practice
of several branches of the art. All who practise openly are recognized
as White Wizards, exercising their powers for the wellbeing of
society, in defence of the established order. Yet these very men
sometimes boast of being _baloyi_, a term by which evil wizards are
generally known. They claim to be more powerful than ordinary wizards,
able to discover and baffle their tricks, and to kill. Moreover, there
are good _baloyi_, who use their power to bless. They are sometimes
sent by ancestral spirits to increase the produce of the fields, and
then they are said to have bewitched the fields to make them bring
forth more fruit. Thus it is clear that a hard and fast line cannot be
drawn between the social and the antisocial magicians, at least among
some of the Bantu tribes. One of the chief branches of the profession
is that of exorcist. Now no man can set up as an exorcist without
having been himself possessed by the spirits and exorcised. This is
indeed the regular method of initiation, for a man is not merely
restored to ordinary life by exorcism; he is also aggregated to the
society of magicians; he enters a new life; he becomes a neophyte
among the practitioners, and must undergo further probation which may
result in his becoming more than an exorcist--he may become
clairvoyant or a diviner, a prophet or a worker of marvels; he may
cure diseases or cause the rain to fall. Many practitioners {109}
profess more than one of these accomplishments; the most distinguished
profess several.[109.1]
How far the phenomena of possession are voluntary need not here be
discussed. The Zulu or Xosa patient (if we may call him so) becomes
sickly and abstinent; he distinguishes himself by dreams and visions,
and begins to talk of his intercourse with spirits of the dead; he
becomes “a house of dreams”; he is hysterical; he sings; he behaves as
though he were out of his mind; he is possessed by an _Itongo_, an
ancestral spirit. Then he is admitted to the society of the magicians
and receives instruction from them. Finally, he is accounted a new
creature, whose intercourse with spirits and share in their
supernatural powers is recognized by everyone.[109.2]
Among the Ngombe in the Northern Congo basin, we are told, “the ghosts
call [to the man] from the bowels of the earth. He goes into the
grave, underground, and stays there four months. When the four months
are finished he comes forth, rubs himself with camwood and dances,
contorting his body.” This seems to be the neophyte’s only preparation
for the office of _nganga_. After that, according to the same
authority, “whenever a man is sick he is carried by others to the
_nganga_. They accompany him to the man of ghosts. He looks at the
body, then recites to the spirit. They lift up the man and go out. All
the people dance, and he who is afflicted with sickness is brought to
the doctor for medicine.”[109.3]
On the North American continent the medicine-man was not “possessed,”
as among the Siberian tribes and the Bantu; but his mode of initiation
was similar. The {110} Ojibway sorcerer after prolonged fasting was
initiated by the supernatural powers.[110.1] Among many of the
Californian tribes “a spirit, be it that of an animal, a place, the
sun or other natural object, a deceased relative or an entirely
unembodied spirit, visits the future medicine-man in his dreams, and
the connection thus established between them is the source and basis
of the latter’s power. This spirit becomes his guardian spirit or
‘personal.’ From it he receives the song or rite or knowledge of the
charm, and the understanding which enable him to cause or remove
disease, and to do and endure what other men cannot.”[110.2] The
Skidi Pawnee is allured to the abode of the mysterious animal-powers,
and there taught their knowledge and gifted with their powers; or he
is visited by a supernatural being in dreams for the same
purpose.[110.3]
Among the Sea Dyaks of Borneo “there are two descriptions of _manangs_
[shamans], the regular and the irregular. The regular are those who
have been called to that vocation by dreams, and to whom the spirits
have revealed themselves. The irregular are self-created and without a
familiar spirit.” It is not enough for the _manang_ simply to say
“that he feels himself called; he must prove to his friends that he is
able to commune with the spirits; and in proof of this he will
occasionally abstain from food and indulge in trances, from which he
will awake with all the tokens of one possessed by a devil, foaming at
the mouth and talking incoherently.”[110.4] One of the ways to “get
magic” among the Malays is to meet the ghost of a murdered man. In
order to do this a {111} ceremony must be performed at the grave on a
Tuesday at full moon. The aspirant calls upon the deceased for help,
and states his request. Ultimately an aged man appears, to whom the
request is repeated; and it would seem that the suppliant gets what he
wants.[111.1]
In Europe the dominant religion has proscribed witchcraft with terrors
spiritual and physical, which have emphasized its separation and
intensified its spiritual aspect. The judicial records are full of
stories of initiation to the Black Art that begin by the formal
renunciation of Christian worship and baptism. The novice tramples
upon symbols of the Christian faith, or otherwise treats them with
indignity. He utters incantations with appropriate rites to call up
the devil. That gentleman then appears to receive his formal
profession of allegiance, admit him ceremonially into his band of
worshippers, and tutor him in the methods of his art. That the
confessions of this procedure were not wholly imaginary, and dictated
by the orthodox functionaries who examined the tortured victim, is
rendered probable from the fact that down to the present day, in many
continental countries, if not in the British Islands, the peasant
witch enters upon her trade by a rite recalling its main features.
It would be easy to expand the list. Enough has, however, been said to
show that over a wide area of the world and in the most various stages
of civilization what we call supernatural beings are concerned with
the preparation of the magician’s career, and that the Arunta beliefs
do not differ in this respect from those current among many other
peoples. In none of the foregoing cases does the shaman or magician as
such exercise the functions of priest. He offers no sacrifices, he
addresses no prayers on behalf of the community to the divinities.
{112} He performs wonders by the aid of the spirits; but the spirits
who first invade and then help him are by no means everywhere those
who are the object of worship. It is not my intention to discuss the
psychological and physiological aspects of the phenomena. They recall
the phenomena of “conversion” among ourselves. Occurring, as they
usually do, at or shortly after the commencement of adult life, they
display the effervescence of puberty, accentuated by the neurotic
peculiarities of the individual, acted upon, directed and controlled
by the social environment. As in the case of “conversion,” too, they
are liable to become epidemic, particularly at times of social and
political crisis, where feeling in the tribe is more than commonly
excited.
Before passing away from the subject we may turn to a different type
of shaman. Among the Veddas the shaman is in effect the priest. The
spirits to whom offerings are made are those of the dead. It is the
shaman who makes the offering, and performs the invocation; and he is
in return possessed by them. But here the novice is chosen and trained
by one who already exercises the profession. He does not become
possessed in his capacity as novice. Possession only takes place at
the public ceremonies; it is temporary; and it may affect others
besides the shaman. The position of shaman is practically hereditary,
for the novice trained is usually the shaman’s son, or his sister’s
son, that is to say, his actual or potential son-in-law. The Veddas
are on a level of civilization as low as the Arunta. Though they do
not practise rites of such senseless and revolting cruelty, in their
natural condition and apart from external influence they live entirely
by hunting and the collection of honey; they build no huts, but take
advantage of caves and rock-shelters; their pottery is of the roughest
description; {113} and the iron arrowheads, axes and other implements
which they possess are obtained by barter from the Sinhalese, for they
do not exercise the art of smithying. The lowest and wildest of them,
however, know nothing of hostile magic. Even protective magic is
hardly practised; and the charms they make use of appear to be derived
from the neighbouring Sinhalese. It is true they have traditions that
it used to be customary to seek strength and confidence to avenge
insults by chewing a small dried piece of the liver of a man who had
been killed for the purpose. This is an application of a well-known
magical principle.[113.1] But, so far as our information goes, it is
a solitary case. If therefore the Vedda shaman is not initiated by the
spirits, it is not because the Veddas have not yet passed out of the
age of magic. If there be an age of magic in which religion is
unknown, for aught that appears they have not yet passed into it. At
all events they cannot be said to confirm the generalization that
magic precedes religion; for magical practices once adopted persist
with remarkable tenacity into the highest planes of culture.
There is, finally, an example of a functionary occupying an ambiguous
position as priest or magician, at which we may glance for a moment.
The Mincopies of the Andaman Islands, before the arrival of strangers
in modern times, were, like the Arunta, living in the Stone Age. They
had no agriculture; their food was supplied by the chase, or the
search for insects, roots, and honey. They had indeed learned to build
huts; and they had the use of fire, but they were ignorant how to
produce it. They are divided into local tribes, ruled by elected
chiefs with very limited power. The chiefs acquire such authority as
they have by their skill in hunting and fishing {114} and their
reputation for generosity and hospitality; and it is on these
qualifications that social status mainly depends. Social and political
organization is therefore, as well as religion, in a somewhat
rudimentary stage. Nor is magic more advanced than religion. The only
persons who exercise any magical or religious functions are called by
the title of _oko-paiad_, or Dreamer. Such a man obtains his position
by relating an extraordinary dream foreshadowing some future event,
which afterwards happens. Since these practitioners are credited with
the power of communicating in dreams with the spirits, it may be
presumed that the initial dream is in the nature of a “call” by them.
The _oko-paiad_ does not seem to be subject to possession by the
spirits; but he is believed to have powers of second sight and a
mysterious influence over the fortunes and lives of his neighbours. He
is therefore the constant recipient of presents, which are in effect
bribes for his favour. Our information concerning his proceedings is
of the scantiest description. It does not extend to any active attempt
at magical interference with the fate or the actions of others.
Perhaps we may conclude that any interference he may be held to
exercise is confined to his intercourse in dreams with the spirits.
However this may be, his only recorded overt acts are on the
occurrence of an epidemic, when “he brandishes a burning log, and bids
the evil spirit keep at a distance.” Sometimes as a further precaution
he plants stakes in front of each hut, and smears them in stripes with
black beeswax, the smell of which, being peculiarly offensive to the
demon, ensures his speedy departure.[114.1] If any inference can be
drawn from this account it hardly seems to favour the priority of the
evolution of magic over religion; for the _oko-paiad_, {115} if not
initiated by the spirits, is essentially one who is in communication
with them, and who exercises his powers not merely against individuals
(of which there is no direct evidence), but in favour of them and of
the community.
The conclusion is that there is no solid and convincing proof of the
development of magic prior to religion. If the Mincopies, the Veddas,
and the tribes of Central Australia fail us, whither shall we turn for
evidence?
Yet there is a consideration generally applicable to savage life that
must not be overlooked here. Vague, uncertain, and contradictory as
the savage may be in his beliefs, sluggish as his mind may be in
regard to matters of speculation,--in matters of practical importance,
the provision of food and shelter, the protection of his women and
children, and the defence of his little community against aggression
by human foes or the wild beasts, he is bound to be on the alert and
to act. His wits are therefore sharpened for action. Action is natural
to him; thought which has no immediate objective in action is strange.
The energies remaining when the body is satisfied with food, when
shelter is assured, and hostilities against his fellow-man or the
lower animals are for the moment forgotten, must be expended in other
kinds of action. Bodily recreation--play--satisfies this craving for
movement and excitement, while at the same time it fulfils the useful
purpose (albeit unconsciously to him) of keeping his faculties, bodily
and mental, ready and supple, and of training them still further for
more directly practical ends. This form of activity, organized into
dances and games, easily begets ritual. The Hottentots danced all
night at full moon with extravagant gestures, saluting the moon and
invoking her for cattle-fodder and milk.[115.1] The Wichita of {116}
North America played every year in the spring a game of shinny, which
represented, there can be little doubt, the contest of winter and
spring.[116.1] In such cases as these, and they are legion, a
recreation has been indulged in at a period appropriate for it--the
dance in the clear, cool night, the game under the mild returning
warmth and stimulating influences of the early spring. Because it thus
naturally recurs at definite times it comes to be regarded as proper,
even necessary: it develops into a rite. To a similar game played by
the Omaha was attached, in the phrase of the writers who describe it,
“a cosmic significance.”[116.2] The impulse to movement, to exertion,
liberates emotion; the emotion is in turn intensified by its
collective expression; and this intensification would lead to the
conviction that the expression has somehow or other in itself an
influence on external nature, just as it would have in human
relations. The exact mechanism by which it acted probably would not
trouble the savage at an early stage. Later, it would be fitted into
the framework of his ideas. The Hottentot rite came to be addressed to
the moon. The Wichita rite seems to have been thought to assist
directly in conquest of the evil power of winter and the renewal of
life.
But we may go further back still. I have referred to the make-believe
that is a relief to overcharged feelings. Emotional stress is felt at
times by everybody, be he savage or civilized. It causes a reaction,
more or less powerful in proportion to the magnitude of the cause or
the excitability of the person who undergoes it. It is expressed in
acts sometimes of the wildest extravagance, sometimes rhythmic and
partially controlled. These acts are spontaneous, automatic.
Recurrence of the emotional stress would tend to be accompanied by
repetition of the {117} acts in which the reaction had been previously
expressed. If the recurrence were sufficiently frequent, the form of
the reaction would become a habit to be repeated on similar occasions,
even where the stress was less vivid or almost absent. It can hardly
be doubted that many rites owe their existence to such reactions. The
Pawnees, like the Wichita, a tribe belonging to the Caddoan stock of
North America, summoned with song and dance and other elaborate rites
the buffaloes which were the mainstay of their existence. Everything
depended--sustenance, provision of clothing and tents and all other
necessaries, hence the very continuance of the tribal life--on the
buffaloes. Their movements about the great central plains of the
continent were mysterious. The true causes were unknown; the course
was not predicable with certainty. Accordingly, the period of
expectation while the people were awaiting the advent of the herd was
one of great emotional tension. It was relieved by a series of acts,
originally automatic, or quasi-automatic, which would gradually assume
more and more definitely the calling and enticement of the expected
herd. This form of reaction to the particular stress would become
habitual. It would end as a solemn rite, which was believed to have a
powerful influence in bringing the animals and effecting a
satisfactory capture. The _orenda_ of the performers, expressed in the
manner consecrated by tradition, would then be held to exercise a
compelling power.[117.1]
To such an origin must be ascribed the rehearsal of a battle that
takes place in many savage tribes before {118} the warriors go forth
on a raid, and the dances and other ceremonies accomplished by women
left at home when their husbands are absent fighting or hunting. More
obviously must it be held responsible for a variety of other
performances, of which the common spell in this country and on the
continent of Europe, to recover an article stolen or the waning
affections of a lover, is a type. The love-lorn maiden takes some
object, frequently a shoulder-bone of lamb, and sticks a knife or a
pin into it, saying:
“’Tis not this bone I mean to stick,
But my lover’s heart I mean to prick,
Wishing him neither rest nor sleep
Till he comes with me to speak.”
Of spells like this the preparation of an effigy, and the assaults
upon it representing acts done to the person for whom the effigy
stands, are an elaboration. The overcharged emotion first of all finds
a vent in an attack upon any convenient object. Then from various
causes a special object is singled out as the appropriate vehicle of
the performer’s wrath, hatred or jealousy, the act gradually becomes
more solemn and deliberate, and a formal rite is evolved.
It should hardly be necessary to say that it is not claimed that the
foregoing paragraphs explain the genesis of all rites. But that many
do thus originate accords with all we know of human nature. In any
case a rite was not instituted because men were previously convinced
of its efficacy. The primitive savage may have been a man of
preternatural stupidity; but even he would not have been equal to
putting the cart before the horse in that fashion. The rite must have
been an established habit before a conscious meaning filtered into it.
Interpretation would be a gradual process. If the rite were shared
{119} by the social group, and by expansion or accretion attained
sufficient importance, the interpretation might take the form of a
myth. The myth in turn would contribute to the stability of the rite,
by means of the sacred character it would affix to it, or the
reminiscence of an ancient experience it would be supposed to embody.
Thus ritual, religious or magical, is evolved long before belief has
become definite and cogent. It may emerge from what I may style the
mere surface of human nature, from necessities mainly physical, from
direct nervous reaction. It may, on the other hand, have roots in the
social relations of mankind. The savage naturally, habitually--I might
almost say instinctively--applies the forms of social life to his
relations with his non-human surroundings. Presumably, as we have
seen, primitive man in his rough way did likewise.
But this affords no argument for holding that magic preceded religion.
Rites are not necessarily magical because they are not addressed to
defined personalities. They may be yet inchoate. Not until reflection
has begun to clarify in some degree man’s relation to his environment
(a slow and tedious process, slowest and most tedious of all in the
early stages) can we reckon them satisfactorily under the one head or
the other. If I am right in contending that magic and religion flow
from a common source, rites may remain for generations in an
indecisive condition which is neither, but may crystallize in either
shape according to the specific occasion, the environment, or the
dominant mental and institutional tendency of the social group. Such a
transformation will be gradual and piecemeal, and in large part, if
not entirely, unconscious. Many things done “for luck,” even in the
higher civilizations, are {120} still in this indeterminate state. The
intellectual atmosphere is unfavourable; their development is
arrested, probably for ever. I suspect that an accurate appreciation
of the Intichiuma rites practised by the Arunta and their neighbours
would show that they too are not finally to be assigned to either
category.
The part played by society in the generation of religion demands some
further observations. From whatever type of anthropoid ape man has
been evolved, it is safe to believe that he has from the first lived
in communities. But for this he could have made no progress, if even
he could have existed as man. The condition of the solitary apes is
incapable of improvement. It is incredible that if rudimentary human
beings had lived like them in a group consisting at the utmost of a
male, female, and still dependent young, they would ever have emerged
into humanity, or that if they had emerged they would have been able
to hold their own against the foes that surrounded them. The lowest
human beings are never found solitary. If they wander on the
food-quest, or are driven away from higher and more powerful
societies, they do not fail to come together at certain times to enjoy
the companionship of their fellows, to exchange experiences, to plan
hunts or raids, to perform rites in common and partake of common
pleasures. This implies organization. In fact, such communities, when
they meet and live the communal life, are not found to be a mere
incoherent congeries of individuals. They are true societies,
organized, some more, some less closely, on a definite plan, in which
every individual has his place. The Australian natives have evolved
social institutions of proverbial complexity. The Bushmen of South
Africa, persecuted and broken by intrusive races, have left us on the
walls of the caverns they haunted representations {121} marvellous in
their skill of ceremonies apparently totemic. And if this
interpretation of the drawings be doubtful, such remains as have been
preserved of their traditions afford evidence of an organization by no
means contemptible. The Seri of the Californian Gulf, perhaps on a
still lower plane of civilization, and certainly leading their life in
more miserable surroundings, are divided into clans and furnished with
a social hierarchy built up on a reverence for women almost chivalrous
in its type.[121.1]
The existence everywhere of organized societies implies the paramount
influence of the community over the individual. Nor is that influence
only a matter of implication. Abundant evidence is found of the
control wielded by society over the actions and the very thoughts of
its members. The individual is nothing: the group is everything. As
Professor Durkheim remarks, every society exercises power over its
members, power physical and above all moral. It keeps them in a
sensation of perpetual dependence. It is distinct from the individuals
who compose it, and consequently its interests are distinct from
theirs. But as it cannot attain its ends except through and by means
of the individual, it makes an imperious claim on his assistance,
exacting it even to the sacrifice of his inclinations and interests.
Thus at every moment we are obliged to submit to rules of conduct and
of thought which we have neither made nor wished to make, and which
may even be contrary to our most fundamental instincts.[121.2]
In these days and among civilized societies, when individualism is so
strongly developed in thought and action, we are apt to forget to what
an extent religion is an expression of the social organization. An
eminent {122} Oxford professor, not long ago deceased, used to say
that religion was a social secretion. That may be an excellent way to
phrase the relations between society and religion in modern Europe. It
is a very incomplete account of them as they exist on the Australian
steppe or in the forests of Brazil. In the lower culture religion is
much more than a social secretion: it is one aspect of the social
organization, inseparable from the rest. The organization cannot be
understood without it--nay, it cannot exist apart from it. In these
societies every member has his position and takes his share in
religious rites. Whatever his place in the social scale, he is on the
same level of knowledge, he shares in the same beliefs, with his
fellows. The mental atmosphere of each is charged with the same
electric fluid, which communicates itself to all alike. Especially on
the occasions of reunion its action is intensified, frequently
resulting in excitement, in vehement exaltation, translated into the
wildest and most extravagant actions. But these reunions are not
merely social, they are religious festivals. For religion pervades
every thought and deed both of the individual and of the community. It
binds the members together as no other force could do. The power of
society over the individual is the power of religion. For religion is
not as yet distinguished from politics, from law, from medicine, or
from other forms of social activity that in our stage of culture have
long vindicated their freedom.
Religion has therefore grown up with society. Its form has changed
with the changing forms of society. It cannot be said to be generated
by society, inasmuch as it is coeval with it. The very mould in which
a society in the lower stages of culture is cast is religious. Church
and State are of necessity coterminous, equivalent, {123} one. But
this evolution must of necessity have taken time. The inchoate society
of half-human beings would have had a correspondingly vague and
inchoate religion. As intelligence grew, the bonds of the horde would
gather strength, what we may call public opinion would become more and
more definite with the gradual acquisition of speech, until at last
man emerged in something like a regularly ordered community. It is
difficult for us to imagine the steps of this long process, by which,
with society, what we call religion was evolved. I have tried in an
earlier chapter to sketch the external conditions that would have
impressed humanity in its dawn. These external conditions would have
driven the individual more and more in upon the group, and thus would
have materially contributed to the conscious formation of common
interests founded upon the common need of material help, of sympathy,
and of relief from anxiety and terror, whether of actual or imagined
danger. The formation of common interests must have been accompanied
by the increasing subordination of the individual to the group. In the
extension of the authority of the group over the individual it is that
M. Durkheim finds the origin of the idea of the impersonal force which
the Omaha call _wakonda_. The idea, as I have shown, lies at the root
of the religious conceptions of peoples in more than one vast cultural
area. That such authority of the group, necessarily impersonal as it
is, would operate to strengthen the concept of a general impersonal
force, when once that concept had been formed, there can be no
question. To ascribe to it the origin of the concept, however, seems
to me an unwarranted inference. It is more probable that the conflict
of the Personal and the Impersonal should arise in the awakening mind
as the result of its outlook upon {124} the world. The whole
environment does not present a personal aspect at once. As
personalities grow into relative definiteness one after another, there
remains behind them the Unknown, full of vague possibilities,
impersonal, but the source of personalities, which are for ever
looming forth as the attention is concentrated on successive objects.
Since it is the source of personalities, it is the source of power,
mysterious and far-reaching, everywhere enveloping the beholder. It is
true this power, in order to become effectual, must clothe itself with
personal attributes. That, however, is not because it is formed on
experience of the authority of the group acting by individuals, but
because personalization is the inevitable tendency of the mind.
Professor Durkheim’s theory of religion is exhibited in detail only in
one type. He speaks of “the aptitude of society to erect itself into a
god or to create gods”;[124.1] but he illustrates his thesis only in
the case of totemism, which he takes as an example of the religion of
the least advanced people hitherto thoroughly examined. He is careful
to say that the question whether totemism has been more or less
widespread is of secondary importance; it is at all events the most
primitive and the simplest religion it is possible to reach.[124.2]
But his whole argument, if it prove anything, goes to show the
universality of totemism. For the idea of the soul, according to the
data of ethnography, appears to him to have been coeval with humanity,
and that not merely in germ but in all its essential characters; and
the soul is nothing else than the totemic principle incarnated in each
individual, a portion of the collective soul of the group, that is to
say of the totem, individualized.[124.3] Now totemism is certainly a
very archaic form of religion. That it was universal {125} is,
however, very far from being demonstrated. It may well be that many
branches of the human race have outgrown it, and that its traces have
been obliterated. But among peoples very low down in culture there are
many where it is unknown, or at least unrecognizable. It is more than
possible, could we ascertain the facts, that Bushman society was
organized on the basis of totemism. But there are other tribes no
higher than Bushmen and Australian Blackfellows where we fail to
discern it. The Veddas of Ceylon are indeed divided into clans with
female descent. Yet no totem has emerged after the most careful
enquiries. Their religion is essentially a cult of the dead, based on
fear. The dead man is addressed as “Lord! New Driver-away of Vaeddas!”
Sacrifices are offered and eaten as an act of communion with the
deceased. In addition to the dead of the local group, “certain
long-dead Veddas who may be regarded as legendary heroes” are invoked,
of whom the most important are Kande Yaka, an ancient hunter whose
assistance is implored for good hunting, and his brother Bilindi Yaka,
a sort of pale double of himself. But they are not known among all the
Vedda communities, though Kande is regarded by some as Lord or leader
of the dead. There are also other spirits, who appear to be of foreign
origin and superimposed upon the original cult of the dead, and are
perhaps on their way to become nature-spirits.[125.1] The religion of
the Andaman Islanders “consists of fear of the evil spirits of the
wood, the sea, disease and ancestors, and of avoidance of acts
traditionally displeasing to them.” There is besides an
anthropomorphic being, Puluga, who is said to be “the cause of all
things.” He receives no active worship, though acts thought to be
displeasing to him are avoided “for fear of damage to {126} the
products of the jungle.” There is some evidence that he is the
north-east wind; and Sir R. C. Temple is of opinion that he is
“fundamentally, with some definiteness, identifiable with the storm,
mixed up with ancestral chiefs.” He acts by his daughters, the
Morowin, who are his messengers; but he seems to content himself with
pointing out to the evil spirits offenders against himself, without
actually taking steps against them.[126.1] Totemism is nowhere hinted
at by the enquirers who have busied themselves with this childlike,
and on the whole harmless, but somewhat capricious people.
Still very low in the scale of civilization, though somewhat higher
than these, are the tribes of the interior forests of Brazil. They
people their environment with imaginary beings more or less hostile.
The object of their ceremonies appears to be to conciliate the favour
of these gentry, or to hold them at arm’s length. When once the
death-rites are completed little account is taken of the departed. So
much we may gather from the reports of two German expeditions, written
by distinguished scientific men who led the expeditions. Although they
penetrated different parts of the country, there was a general
resemblance between the civilization of the Indians met with by both
explorers. A French anthropologist has remarked that English and
German observers do not interest themselves to the same degree, or in
the same way, in the social life of peoples in the lower culture; for
whereas the German explorers by preference describe, and that with
praiseworthy minuteness, the nature of the country and the material
civilization of the people, the English, on the other hand, interest
themselves more in the intellectual products, the traditions and
beliefs. In other words, he said, the German is {127} more of an
ethnographer, the Englishman more of a student of folklore and
psychologist. There is perhaps a measure of truth in this remark. It
may go far to explain why more distinct and definite accounts have not
been given either by Professor Karl von den Steinen or Dr Theodor
Koch-Grünberg of the religions of the aboriginal tribes of Brazil. In
any case, we miss much that we should have expected to find in their
reports on the religious beliefs and ceremonies of these tribes. Among
the omissions is that of any mention of totemism--an institution which
concerns organization and government as much as religion. What renders
the omission significant in the case of Professor von den Steinen, and
not merely the result of want of interest in the subject, is that he
has taken pains to ascertain and record the attitude of the natives
towards the lower animals. He makes it clear that they draw no strict
line of demarcation between man and brute. Nay, he goes the length of
saying that we must think the boundary completely away. Human beings
are indebted to the lower animals for the most important elements of
their culture, many of which they have acquired from them by force or
guile. More than that, the Bororó claim to be actually _araras_ (a
kind of bird with brilliant red plumage); their neighbours the Trumai
are believed to be water-animals; a certain cannibal tribe is
descended from the jaguar; and so forth. These beliefs are not
totemic, for they concern not clans but whole tribes.[127.1]
Apparently, therefore, there is no totemism among the wild
forest-tribes investigated.
If the concept of the soul (which, it is needless to say, all these
peoples possess) were coeval with humanity, and if it were only the
totemic principle individualized, then totemism must have been coeval
with humanity, and it {128} must have been universal. If so, it is at
least curious that the Veddas, the Andaman Islanders, and the
forest-tribes of Brazil--all of them on the horizon of civilization on
which totemism is found--should display no traces of it. If the
concept of impersonal force, the substratum of religious and magical
beliefs, be derived from the authority of society over the individual,
and not merely strengthened and developed by it, it is odd that
religious and magical beliefs should, so low down in culture, have
issued in such widely divergent forms. The worship of the dead, the
conciliation of hostile nature-spirits, the fear of an anthropomorphic
being of enormous power, are all explicable as the result of the
action of external conditions on human mentality and emotions. They
are not explicable as the direct product of the authority of the group
over the individual. And if totemism had originally held sway over the
Veddas, the Mincopies and the Brazilian tribes, it is not easy to
conceive how it could have evolved in directions so diverse,--and that
without leaving any authentic witness to its past. It is quite another
thing if the action of the group had been rather to combine and
consolidate, to intensify and to organize the sensations and emotions
awakened in its members by external nature, to give them a measure of
definiteness in the process, and to habituate the individual to
certain modes of reaction to the sensations, and to certain forms of
expression of the beliefs engendered by the emotions thus awakened.