CHAPTER IV

MAGIC

“The histories I borrow, I refer them to the consciences of those I

take them from.”—_Montaigne_, I. 20.

§ 1. ANTIQUITY OF MAGIC

Magic, until recently, was somewhat neglected by those who treated of

savage ideas. In Sir E. B. Tylor’s _Primitive Culture_ only one chapter

is given to Magic, against seven to Animism (belief in the agency of

spirits). In Spencer’s _Sociology_, Part I. is almost wholly devoted

to the genesis and development of Animism, without a single chapter on

Magic. The importance of early Animism became such an obsession, that

travellers observed and reported upon it wherever they went, making

only casual references to Magic—much to our loss. The tradition of

this way of thinking seems to run back to Hume’s _Natural History

of Religion_, where he traces the development of religion from a

primitive belief that all natural activities are like our own, and

that everything is possessed and actuated by a spirit. This idea was

adopted by Comte, and elaborated in his celebrated law of the three

stages of the explanation of Nature as determining the growth of human

culture: Fetichism, which ascribes all causation to the particular will

of each object, and which by generalisation leads through polytheism to

monotheism; Metaphysics, which, giving up the notion of personal will,

attributes the activities of things to abstract forces; and Positivism,

which, discarding the variety of forces that can never be known, turns

to the exact description of the order of phenomena. Mill, in turn,

adopted these doctrines from Comte, and gave them currency amongst us,

as part of the extraordinary influence which for many years he exerted

upon all our thoughts. Hence the priority of Animism to every other

theory of things seemed at that time a matter of course.

Recently there have been signs that this conception of primitive

thought is giving way to another, namely, that Animism was preceded

by Magic. Sir J. G. Frazer puts it, that the idea of Magic is simpler

than that of Animism; that Magic is found in full force amongst people

whose Animism is feebly developed, and that its beliefs are more

uniform throughout the world.[101] Substantially—with qualifications

that will appear hereafter—this view of the matter is here accepted.

When one comes to argue it, to produce the primitive facts is, of

course, impossible. It must even be admitted that such evidence as we

have amongst the few facts collected of late years concerning ancient

races of men, gives the earlier date to animistic ideas; for if some of

the cave-paintings of Aurignacian origin, in which, for example, wild

cattle are shown pierced with arrows, may be interpreted as of magical

significance; on the other hand, the burial at Le Moustier, still more

ancient, shows a regard for the corpse, in the disposal of it and in

the things left with it, such as usually goes with the ghost-theory.

These discoveries take us back some thousands of years before Menes;

but probably leave us far from the beginning of human ideas concerning

the supernatural.

If Magic preceded Animism, we must insert a stage of thought at

the beginning of Comte’s series, making four instead of three; and

the suggestion may perhaps be made to appear plausible, that the

Metaphysical stage, the reign of occult forces in explanation, is not

a mere residue of Fetichism after the spirit has departed, but rather

the re-emergence into daylight of magical ideas of force, that always

persisted, but for ages were kept in comparative obscurity by the vogue

of Animism.

§ 2. WHAT IS MAGIC?

In his _Development of Moral Ideas_ (II. 47) Prof. Westermarck observes

that savages distinguish two classes of phenomena; the natural or

familiar, and the supernatural or mysterious. The latter again are

divided into the mechanical (Magic) and the volitional (Animism).

This seems to be true: it corrects the notion, still common, that the

savage explains all natural activities by Animism; recognises that

he takes some phenomena as a matter of course, as the animals do;

and, as to events that are not a matter of course, rightly marks the

distinction between his conceptions of them as either mechanical (due

to some uniformly acting force) or volitional (that is, arbitrary or

capricious). With the savage, then, there are ongoings of things around

him that are _perceived_ to be regular and continuous; and there are

others between which connections are _imagined_ to take place, and

these either regularly or capriciously: for thus I venture to interpret

the difference between the natural and the supernatural; it is the

difference between perception-belief and imagination-belief. Common

sense, Magic, Animism—these are the three great congeries of ideas

that compete for the control of his thoughts and in his interpretation

of the world.

Magic may be defined as a connexion of events imagined to be constant

and to depend upon the agency of some thing or activity possessing an

efficacious quality or force (in fact unreal), and not to depend (as a

connexion) upon the will of any particular person.

Whether Magic is ever wrought by the bare wish or will of a human

being will be discussed below (§ 6). Here, the proviso that a magical

connexion does not depend upon the will of a person, is meant to

exclude Animism. For pure Animism involves the belief that a ghost,

spirit, or god (though he may work by Magic) can produce an effect by

his direct action, without using any visible or invisible means other

than his own spiritual body and force. This is not what a magician

does: he works by means of a connexion of events known (so he thinks)

to himself and often to others. The magical implement (talisman or

spell) that he uses has qualities that are magical facts, just as

the qualities of his spear are physical facts. He can make a stone

spear-head by means of another stone; and he may be able to make a

talisman by means of a spell; but the powers of the talisman or of the

spell are their own; he cannot create Magic, but only discover and use

it. Whether he shall use it, depends upon his choice; but its powers

do not; they are inherent, like physical forces. Faust can conjure

the devil; but so can Wagner, if he knows the spell: the power of the

spell is indifferent to the conjuror. A man may, indeed, be a source of

magical power because he is a chief, or has the evil eye, or is taboo

for unpurged homicide; but these things do not depend upon his will; he

is in the same class with impersonal things that are magical.

A rule of Magic, as describing a uniform connexion of events, resembles

what we call a law of nature; and further in this, that it is not

supposed to be absolute or unconditional, but a tendency, subject to

counteraction by hostile Magic or (perhaps) by demonic force. But it

differs from a law of nature in being wholly imaginary and incapable of

verification.

To practise Magic is to use some such rule in order to obtain an end

desired. This can be attempted by any man, so far as his knowledge

reaches; and the greater his knowledge the greater his power, provided

he have the courage to act upon it. All stages of proficiency may be

traced from the simple layman who swings a bull-roarer to raise the

wind, to the wizard who lives by his art, and is feared by all his

tribe and far beyond it, or to the erudite magician who controls the

demons and vies with the gods.

Magical things, objects or actions, in their simplest forms, are

charms, spells and rites; and since the ends for which they can be used

are either to protect oneself or to exert power over other persons

or things, each of these kinds of magic-thing may be defensive or

offensive. A defensive charm is called an amulet; an offensive charm is

a talisman. For a defensive spell (say, against sickness or accident)

there is, I believe, no appropriate name; offensive spells (say, to

control the weather or to curse an enemy) may be called incantations

(but the usage is not fixed). Rites (that is, any magic actions that

are not spells) may also be defensive (as to touch wood), or offensive

(as to point at a man); but we have no names for these different

intentions. From these simplest beginnings the whole learning and

mystery of Magic seems to have developed.

§ 3. THE BEGINNINGS OF MAGIC

The quest of origins is fascinating, because, if successful, it will

help us to frame that outline of the history of the world which the

philosophic mind regards as a necessary of life. To discuss the

beginnings of Magic must necessarily be, in some measure, a speculative

undertaking; because the facts are lost. If Magic was practised in the

Aurignacian culture (say) 20,000 years ago, how can we get to the back

of it? But speculation is not guess-work, if we always keep in view

such facts as we have; if we are careful to give notice whenever the

facts fail us; if we guide ourselves by scientific principles; and if

we make no assumptions merely to suit our case, but only such as are

generally admitted in all departments. For example:

(1) We may reasonably assume that the simplest magical beliefs and

practices are of the earliest type: and nothing can be simpler than the

belief in charms, rites and spells. It is, indeed, difficult to find

many of these practices—though some can be produced—in their simplest

forms in our records of backward peoples; partly because they have

not been enough observed; partly because Magic is apt everywhere to

become saturated with Animism; partly because charms, rites and spells

are generally, for greater efficacy, compounded with one another. But

these considerations do not affect the simplicity of the idea involved

in the magical beliefs; which is merely this, that a certain object by

its presence, or that an action, or an utterance, by merely entering

into the course of events, will serve our purpose. A bare uniformity

of connexion—if _A_, then _B_—in accordance with the familiar

ongoings of Nature and our common activities, is all that is assumed.

Many kinds of obstacles stop an arrow or a dart; carrion collects the

vultures: so a patterned comb in one’s hair stops the demon of disease;

a patterned quiver, or a certain song, brings the monkeys down from

the tree-tops.[102] A spell assumes merely that certain objects,

or animals, or spirits, must always comply with a wish or command

expressed in words, just as another human being often does. It is their

supposed uniform coerciveness that makes the words magical. If any

form of words ever seems to have been successful, it must be repeated;

because to have the same effect the action must be the same. Immersed

in an indefinite mass of experiences, the postulate that we call “cause

and effect” (unformulated, of course) underlies every action, and

therefore underlies Magic; it is the ground of all expectation and of

all confidence.

(2) The types of Magic that are the most prevalent are probably the

earliest; and these are charms, rites and spells. They are found not

only amongst savages, but the world over: even in civilised countries

most of the uneducated, many of the half-educated, and not a few of

those who have “finished their education,” employ them; whereas more

complicated magical practices, except such as have been taken up

into religious celebrations, are apt to fall into desuetude. What is

universal must be adapted to very simple conditions of existence; these

beliefs, therefore, to mental wants and proclivities that are probably

primitive; and what conditions can be more simple, or more primitive,

or more universal than ignorance of our fate and eagerness to clutch at

anything that may give us confidence.

And not only are charms, rites and spells in all ages and everywhere

employed in their simplest forms; but analysis of the most elaborate

ritual and of nominally animistic practices will discover the same

beliefs at the bottom of them. The idea of the amulet or the talisman

is found in fetiches, beads, praying-wheels, and equally in a long

mimetic dance or a passion-play; whose central purpose always is to

avert some evil or to secure some good—success in hunting, or war, or

agriculture. Similarly, the spell is involved in all rites, so far as

verbal formulæ are used in them; and in all curses or prayers, so far

as their efficacy depends upon a sound form of words.

The persistence of magical beliefs amongst civilised people is, in some

measure, due to tradition; though the tradition could not continue

effective if there were not in every generation a predisposition to

accept it; and how far it is due to tradition, how far to a spontaneous

proclivity, in any one who is inclined to believe in charms, rites

and spells, he himself must judge as best he can. Superstition having

been at one time extremely useful socially, there is some presumption

that tribes addicted to it (within limits) had an advantage, and that

the disposition became hereditary. It is a recent acquisition compared

with the love of climbing; but once ingrained, it must remain till

disutility breeds it out. Meanwhile, it is a stain on the human soul.

So much of one’s early life is always forgotten that no one can be sure

that he was not inoculated with such notions in childhood; especially

when we consider that religious practices, taught before they can be

well understood, must often wear a magical habit to a child; and that

medicines, whose operations nobody used to understand, were on the

same foot with Magic. For my own part, bating the last considerations,

I cannot remember ever to have heard in childhood any sort of Magic

spoken of except with amusement; yet magical beliefs have always

haunted me. With Animism it was otherwise. When six or seven years old,

I was told by a nursemaid—a convinced adherent of one of the many

little sects that have ramified out of Wesleyanism in Cornwall—the

most appalling ghost-stories; and these stories, exciting no doubt

an ancient disposition, and reinforced by a visualising faculty that

nightly peopled the darkness with innumerable spectres, entirely

overpowered the teachings of those whom there was better reason to

trust, that ghosts are a superstition from which true religion has

for ever set us free. The effects lasted into middle age. Andrew Lang

said of ghosts that “he did not believe, but he trembled”; and that

precisely describes my own state of mind for many years. Now, as to

Magic, my impression is that had it been suggested to me in a serious

way, and not merely by casual allusions to “luck,” the experience

would have stuck in my memory. The first time that I can remember

practising rites, I was between ten and eleven years old, living at a

small boarding-school. To keep off a dreaded event, I used to go every

morning to the pump, fill my mouth with water and spurt it out in a

violent stream—three times. This went on for some weeks. To the best

of my recollection, the impulse was spontaneous, and I cannot remember

why the particular rite was adopted: to spout water out of the mouth

may have been symbolic of a pushing away of what was feared; but I do

not think I was conscious of that meaning. Nothing further of the kind

recurs to me until about the age of fifteen, when, at another school,

the master-passion of my life was cricket; and I always practised some

rite before going on the field, and carried a charm in my pocket; but I

cannot recall what they were. At present, a day rarely passes without

my experiencing some impulse to practise Magic. In lighting my first

pipe in the morning (for example), if I remember how I lit it, where I

struck the match, etc., yesterday, and if no misfortune has happened

since, I feel an unmistakable impulse to “light up” again in the same

way. No reason is distinctly present to me for acting so, and therefore

it is hazardous to analyse the attitude; but it is not merely incipient

habit: to the best of my judgment it is this, that such a way of

lighting my pipe was one amongst the antecedents of a quiet time, and

that it will be well to reinstate as many of them as possible. It is

more comfortable to do it than to alter it: one feels more confident.

Inquiry amongst my friends shows that some have similar experiences,

and others (both men and women) have not. A _questionnaire_ on such

a point might be useful; but difficult to arrange without giving

suggestion or exciting bias.[103]

(3) There are causes originating the belief in charms, rites and spells

so simple that nothing could be more natural to the primitive human

mind. What is more universally powerful in producing belief in the

connexion of events, and consequent expectancy of repetition, than an

interesting coincidence? If, says Sir E. F. im Thurn,[104] a Carib

sees a rock in any way abnormal or curious, and if shortly afterwards

any evil happens to him, he regards rock and evil as cause and effect,

and perceives in the rock a spirit. This is animistic; but the same

tendency to be impressed by coincidence underlies Magic. For example:

A hunting party of Esquimos met with no game. One of them went back

to the sledges and got the ham-bone of a dog to eat. Returning with

this in his hand, he met and killed a seal. Ever afterwards he carried

a ham-bone in his hand when hunting.[105] The ham-bone had become a

talisman. Such a mental state as the Esquimo’s used to be ascribed

to the association of ideas; but it is better to consider it as an

empirical judgment. Other circumstances of the event may have been

associated in his mind; but as to the ham-bone and the kill, he thinks

of them together, and judges that they are connected. Then, having

judged that the ham-bone influenced the kill, he carries it with him in

future in order to repeat the conditions of success.

We may perhaps discern the moment when Magic first fastened upon the

human mind by considering how the use of weapons and snares by the

primitive hunter impaired his sense of the mechanical continuity of

the work. In a struggle with prey body to body, success or failure

was thoroughly understood; but with the use of weapons and snares it

became conditional upon the quality of these aids and upon his skill

with them: more and more conditional as the number of steps increased

between the first preparation and the event; at any one of which

unforeseen occurrences might frustrate his plans. Hence an irresistible

desire to strengthen and insure every step of his task; and to gratify

this desire Magic arose.

That Magic should depend upon the assumption that “things connected

in thought are connected in fact” seems unintelligible, until we

consider that the thought in which they are connected is a judgment

concerning the facts. But how is it possible to judge so foolishly?

Absurd association is intelligible; it cannot be helped; but judgment

is not a passive process. Well: a logician might interpret the case

as a fallacy in applying the inductive canons: the Esquimo had two

instances: (_a_) no ham-bone, no seal; (_b_) ham-bone, seal: or, again,

into the circumstances of his expedition he introduced a ham-bone,

and the seal followed. Therefore, the carrying of a ham-bone was the

cause of getting a seal. He had not read Mill, and did not know what

precautions should be taken before adopting such conclusions. The mind

must have begun in this way; and after many thousands of years, the

opportunities of error in empirical judgment began to be appreciated,

and the canons were formulated. The experience of every man at every

stage of life, personal or social (probably evoking an inherited

disposition), continually impresses him with the belief in some

connexion of antecedent and consequent, that each event arises out of

others. But what it is in the antecedent that determines the event can

never, in practical affairs, be exactly known. In definite cases, where

method is applicable, we may analyse the consequent into the tendencies

of forces in amount and direction; or we may sometimes reproduce it by

an experiment exactly controlled. But where these resources fail us, as

they often do in practical affairs, we are little confident of grasping

all, or even the chief conditions of any event that interests us. The

savage knows nothing of method, and, therefore, feels less distrust.

He learns something of the conditions of success in hunting; this is

biologically necessary to him as it is to a tiger; only those survive

that learn them. He knows that he must have weapons as efficient as

possible, must go to the habitat of his prey, must not be heard, or

seen, or smelt. But with all precautions he sometimes fails; therefore

there must be some other condition which he does not understand. Hence

anything observed, or any word or action, that happens to be followed

by success, may have been a means to that success.

And if it once has been, it always will be: not that he thinks of

it in this general way. But even animals, as soon as they have

learnt a sequence, trust to it. Dogs and cats learn faster than

guinea-pigs; monkeys faster than dogs and cats; man quicker still.

But in no case would there be any use in learning, if it did not

lead to action as if the experience had been generalised. There is

no mystery in generalisation; it is spontaneous, and only waits for

language to express itself; the difficult thing to acquire is caution.

In default of method, the only test of truth is relative constancy

in experience—_per enumerationem simplicem_—faulty but broadly

effective; which requires time and practice. Primitive Magic is an

incautious, unexpressed generalisation; and the conditions are such

that the error cannot be easily detected. As long as a savage follows

the instinctive, traditionary and acquired knowledge that he has of

hunting, practices based on wrong judgments, but not interfering with

the traditionary art, such as the carrying about of a bone, or a

crystal, or having a special pattern on his quiver, cannot impair his

success; may add to it by increasing his confidence: so that as long as

success lasts there is nothing to suggest the falsity of the judgment.

A series of failures may make the hunter throw away his talisman, or

(at a later stage of Magic) take it to a medicine-man to be redoctored.

How many thousands of times may Magic have begun in this way and lost

its hold again, before the human mind became chronically infected with

it!

Similarly with amulets, anything unusual that a man happens to have

about him, when attacked by a leopard or snake, from which he escapes,

may be kept as a safeguard against future perils. And with rites:

any gesture or action, however irrelevant, that happens to precede

a successful effort, may be repeated in order to reinstate all the

antecedents of success. So, too, with the origin of spells. It is a

common impulse, and quite spontaneous, to accompany an action with

words, incentive or expletive. If a hunter does so in driving home

his spear successfully, he will next time repeat the words: they then

become a spell.[106] First, then, there are practices of carrying

about charms, repeating words, repeating actions; next, along with

these practices, beliefs grow up as to the nature of their efficacy,

their virtue; and much later it is discovered that some of the

practices seem to involve certain common principles which the savage

had never thought of.

In trying to imagine ourselves in the place of such a man, we must not

omit the emotional excitement that determines his judgment. It is the

intensity of his desire for success, his anxiety about it, that makes

him snatch at, and cling to, whatever may possibly be a means to it: he

does not see how it acts, but will take no risks by omitting it. Since

what is true of primitive hunting is true of all undertakings—that

we know some conditions of success but far from all—and since we are

all of us frequently in this position—the wonder is that we resort so

little to Magic. That many people do so in London is notorious.

§ 4. MAGICAL FORCE AND PRIMITIVE IDEAS OF CAUSATION

Magic is a uniform connexion of events, depending on some impersonal

force that has no real existence. What causes make men believe in such

force? In the first place, everything is necessarily conceived of by

everybody (and probably in some dim way by the higher animals) as a

centre of forces. Its weight, when we try to lift it; inertia, when

we push it, or when it is moving and we try to stop it; degree of

hardness, when we strike or grasp it; elasticity, when the bent bough

of a tree recoils; the sway of torrents and the lift of waves; falling

trees, avalanches, water-spouts, hurricanes: all these things a man

must think of, as he does of other men and animals, in comparison with

his own strength or impotence. Into their actions and reactions he

reads such tension and effort as he himself feels in struggling with

them, or in grappling one of his own hands with the other; and as

their action is full of surprises he does not suppose himself to know

all that they can do.

But, further, the strain exhibited by some objects, especially trees;

the noises they make, creaking and groaning in the wind; the shrieking

and moaning of the wind itself, the threatening and whispering of the

sea, thunder and the roar of torrents: all excite _Einfühlung_ or

empathy, illusory sympathy with things that do not feel. Their voices,

more than anything else, I believe, endow them for our imaginations

with an inward life, which Mr. Marett has well called Animatism,[107]

and which must not be confounded with the Animism that used to be

attributed to all children and all savages—the belief that every

object is actuated by a spirit, or even that it has a consciousness

like our own. What truth there was in that doctrine is fully covered by

Animatism.

Again, the savage is acquainted with invisible forces some of which

seem to act at a distance. The wind is the great type of invisible

force; heat, sound, odour are also invisible, and act at a distance;

the light of the camp-fire acts at a distance, spreading across the

prairie or into the recesses of the forest; and lightnings issue from

the clouds. In dreams, one visits some remote hunting-ground and

returns instantly; distance and time are distorted or annihilated; and

if you can act where you dream, why not where you intensely imagine

yourself?

Hence there are abundant analogues in experience by which the savage

can conceive of his talisman as a force-thing that acts invisibly and

acts at a distance. Australian medicine-men “threw their joïas (evil

magic) invisibly, ‘like the wind,’ as they said.”[108] The talisman

acts at a distance, like a missile; it acts for the person who owns it

as his spear does, and is dangerous to others who have not practised

with it. Sometimes, indeed, magic things have no owners, and are

dangerous to everybody: malignant influence radiating from them, like

the heat of a fire or the stench of a corpse. Such are two stones

described by Messrs. Spencer and Gillen[109] as marking the place

where an old man and two women died for breaking a marriage-taboo.

“They are so full of evil magic that if any but old men go near, it

kills them. Now and then a very old man goes and throws stones and

bushes upon the spot to keep down the evil magic.” It is as if one

covered up a fire or a corpse. And, further, magical force may exist

in a diffused way, like darkness, heat, cold, epidemic disease, tribal

unrest, without necessarily attaching to any particular thing. In the

Western Isles of Torres Straits[110] mishaps may be signs of an unlucky

state of things in general. A fisherman, usually successful, having

once failed at his task, was depressed; but on two women dying in his

village soon after, he was consoled; since this showed that failure

was not his fault. Currents of this magical force, favourable or

unfavourable to things in general, may be seen in the flow and ebb of

the tide, the waxing and waning of the moon, and in the course of the

seasons. From this way of thinking it is but a step to the conception

of _mana_, as it is called in Melanesia:[111] _orenda_ of the Iroquois,

_manitou_ of the Algonquin, _wakanda_ of the Omaha.[112] It is the

power of the wonderful and mysterious in the world, which becomes

especially manifest in Magic and in the agency of spirits. Similar

notions are found in many regions at various stages of culture, but

nowhere (I believe) at the lowest stages; so that it is unreasonable to

treat it as the first source of ideas of the supernatural. It is too

comprehensive a generalisation to find expression amongst savages. The

Arunta have got as far as the generalisation of evil Magic under the

name of _arungquiltha_.[113] But _mana_ is a generalisation of all the

imaginary forces of superstition, vague and mysterious; as “cause,” in

popular use, is a generalisation of all the supposed “forces” of nature.

Rites also act at a distance by invisible force; for this power belongs

to gesture-language, and the simplest rites are gestures. And so do

spells; for wishes, commands, threats expressed in words, act upon

men at a distance by invisible force; and spells are nothing but

such expressions conceived of in a particular way, as having that

uniform efficacity which is Magic. Spells, being thought of as forces,

are reified; so that blessings or curses cling to their objects like

garlands, or like contaminating rags.

Magical force, then, is a notion derived from experience of natural

forces and employed to account for events that are unusual, wonderful,

mysterious, not to be interpreted by that common sense which is the

cumulative result of usual occurrences. It is superimposed upon the

older and wider presumption of causation, and is expected to manifest

itself with the same uniformity; so that, if the laws of it can be

discovered, it supplies a basis for the Art of Magic. So far is Magic

from being the source of the belief in causation! But I have spoken

of the “older and wider _presumption_ of causation”; for (as has been

shown) the definite postulate that all the ongoings of the world may be

analysed upon the principal of cause and effect, can never come into

the minds of primitive men; and even to ourselves it rarely occurs,

except in scientific discussions or logical exercises; but we always

act as if we trusted in it, and so does a savage, and so does a dog.

The presumption is reinforced by every moment’s ordinary experience;

and without it no consistency of life is possible. This ungeneralised

presumption determines all thoughts and actions, mechanical, animistic,

or magical. That the forces implied in superstition are generalised

in such concepts as _mana_ before the principle of causation obtains

expression, is due to the prepotency of the unusual, wonderful,

mysterious in attracting attention.

In our modern analysis of mechanical causation there are four

requirements: (1) every event has a cause; (2) causation is uniform;

(3) the cause is the assemblage of the indispensable conditions of the

effect (and no others); (4) the cause is proportional to the effect. In

the savage’s mind these requirements are also obscurely recognised: (1)

he seeks a cause for everything: (2) he expects it to act uniformly:

(3) he believes in reinstating all the conditions of the effect, as

appears from his preparations for hunting, or war, or marriage, or

whatever he may have in hand; but he is much more ignorant than we are

as to what conditions are indispensable and decisive: (4) he knows

vaguely that the cause is proportional to the effect; for (_a_) he

succeeds in making effective weapons, etc., by mechanical means; (_b_)

he is very susceptible to the “size-weight illusion,” twice as much as

we are,[114] and this implies the adjustment of effort to a supposed

weight; (_c_) he repeats a spell in order to strengthen it, or unites

a talisman, a rite and a spell in one assault, implying that greater

force must be directed against greater resistance; and so on.

Causation, then, is universally assumed: how do Animism and Magic

influence the latent conception? As to Animism, (1) it palters with the

uniformity of causation; for though the ghost or spirit acts from human

motives, no one knows exactly what its motives are. It may be cajoled,

implored, even threatened; but the result does not always answer

desire: there is apparent caprice or free will, with consequent loss of

confidence, and an uncomfortable feeling that leads to a reaction in

favour of controlling the god, or ghost, by Magic. (2) The ghost is at

first merely a man-force disengaged from the visible body, but still

having its own body through which it can produce various effects. But

the fear of a ghost immediately endows it with superhuman power; and in

course of time it becomes more and more powerful, even to omnipotence;

so that it can of itself bring about any event; and, therefore, the

“assemblage of conditions” becomes unnecessary to causation: there

need be no visible conditions: miracles occur; creation out of nothing

is possible. (3) For such a power the “proportionality of cause and

effect” becomes almost meaningless; but not quite, for there are

degrees of spirit-force; and what one cannot do a stronger can.

As to Magic, it has the great merit of (1) preserving the uniformity

of causation. But (2) it vitiates the presumption of causation by

including in the total antecedent unreal conditions, namely, the forces

of rites and spells; and by generating a frame of mind that makes

it impossible to eliminate them. The hunter uses all the resources

of his art in hunting; he also practises rites and spells. To which

does he owe his success? We might suggest that he should try the

hunting without the rites; but he is afraid to; and should he try, his

positivism would probably break down at the first failure to kill.

Well, then, let him try the rites without the hunting; but he is not

such a fool: and, if he were, the medicine-man would tell him that,

of course, he must “use the means.” (3) Magic impairs the sense of

proportionality between cause and effect, by recognising antecedents

which are, in their nature, immeasurable. In their admirable work, _The

Pagan Tribes of Borneo_, Messrs. Hose and McDougall remark[115] that

it is sometimes said, that people of lowly culture have “no conception

of mechanical causation, and that every material object is regarded by

them as animated”; but they do not think that this could be truthfully

said about any of the peoples of Borneo. In the construction of houses,

boats, weapons, traps, they have a nice appreciation of the principles

involved. Yet we find[116] that these skilled artisans believe that

they can retard an enemy’s boat by hanging under one of its benches a

quartz pebble. Similarly, the Boloki of the Congo, having made a good

canoe, before launching, strike it on the stern with an axe “to take

away the weight.”[117] And the Fijians, still better boat-builders,

believe that to put a basket of bitter oranges on a canoe reduces its

speed.[118]

Inasmuch as the possibility of action at a distance is still in debate,

the savage cannot perhaps upon that tenet be confidently corrected.

If there is any truth in the foregoing account of the latent ideas, or

presumptions, of savages concerning causation, it is plain that Magic

(and likewise Animism) did not help, but hindered the development of

these ideas. Notwithstanding (or, perhaps, because of) certain specious

resemblances to science, Magic is, and always has been, the enemy of

science.

§ 5. MAGIC AND MYSTERY

Magic begins with ignorance of some of the conditions of a desired

event, and the adoption (on account of coincidence) of anything that

fixes one’s attention as contributing to the total antecedent. As

the supposed conditions of events grow more and more miscellaneous,

the disposition increases to regard anything as a possible cause of

anything else. Hence unbounded suspicion whenever an interesting event

occurs whose antecedents are not familiar and manifest. The more

unusual any occurrence, the more it must excite attention and be apt to

arouse suspicion; and the first arrival of travellers or missionaries

amongst a wild tribe is an event so unprecedented, that it is likely

enough to occasion exaggerated suspicions and behaviour which, when

reported, misrepresent the tribe’s normal attitude of mind. For this

allowance should be made.

However, in Magic the causation is never traceable; therefore it

becomes mysterious. The sense of mystery arises when something excites

wonder, wonder gives place to curiosity, curiosity is baffled, and

wonder returns with fear. The magical power of an inert object, such

as a black pebble or a shark’s tooth, or of a bone that is pointed

towards a victim, or of a spear that is swung but not thrown, and

nevertheless inflicts a wound, though an invisible one, is something

unknown, or mysterious. That is to say, it is a merely imagined action

which remains obscure and inscrutable, in comparison with the perceived

action of a spear thrown at a deer and slaying it with a visible wound.

The savage has adequate practical knowledge of the latter process; of

the former only a vague analogical image. He feels the difference, and

that the Magic is mysterious; and mystery, being common to all magical

processes, and deeply impressive (especially in black Magic), becomes

what we call a “fundamental attribute” of Magic, pervading the whole

apperceptive mass that is formed by a man’s magic-beliefs. Therefore

whatever excites the sense of mystery tends to be assimilated[119]

by this apperceptive mass and confirmed as magical; just as the mass

of our scientific knowledge assimilates and confirms any proposition

that has the attributes of a scientific law. Hence the savage accepts

the mysterious remedies of an European doctor as magical; and he is

ready to regard as magical, and to fear, anything—a rock, tree, or

water-spout—that by any trait excites his sense of mystery. Magic,

then, does not arise from mystery; but having come into existence, it

appeals to the feeling of mystery; and then whatever else is mysterious

tends to become magical.[120]

Magic being mysterious, the more mysterious the more powerful it must

be. Hence foreign Magic is more dreaded than the home-made; ancient

Magic is more powerful than modern; muttered spells, or formulæ in

a strange language, or in one whose meaning has been lost, are more

efficacious than intelligible speech; written characters and numbers

have a subduing prestige; verse is more subtle than prose (for poets

are everywhere respected); a wizard is more impressive in a mask than

when bare-faced, in a fit than when sober; and operations in the dark,

that ought to excite scepticism, enhance credulity.

Masses of ideas having this mysterious quality form relatively

dissociated systems, which offer resistance to all ideas that want it,

and therefore to what we call “explanation.” Hence the conservative,

inexpugnable character of Magic and its easy alliance with Mysticism.

Resistance to explanation may go the length of denying present

experience; as when a man is seen to be slain by a weapon or by a

falling tree, and yet his death is ascribed to sorcery: the fear of

sorcery having become a fixed idea.

§ 6. VOLITIONAL MAGIC

Magical power inheres in things, rites and spells without regard to the

man who uses them; they may be sold or taught, and then serve the new

possessor. But much the greater part of all known magical operation

depends upon the agency of some person, man or spirit, who sets it

going; and rites and spells are from the first, by their nature,

personal actions.

In the later stages of Magic, no doubt, it is held that a mere wish or

volition may be efficacious: in Cornwall they still tell you, when you

are cold or tired, that you “look wisht,” that is, as if you had been

ill-wisht and were pining away (this meaning is generally forgotten).

But it seems to me improbable that such an idea should be primitive.

People who, in inflicting penalties, do not discriminate between

accidental and intentional offences, cannot be supposed to ascribe

power to a mental process as such; and I have not been able to find

in reports of very backward tribes any case of wish-magic unsupported

by magical implements. Dr. Haddon says[121] that, among the eastern

islanders of Torres Straits, the power of words and the projection of

the will are greatly believed in. A youth who makes love procures a

piece of black lava shaped significantly, and anoints it with coco-nut

oil, etc.; he also anoints his own temples, and thinks as intently as

possible about the girl, and repeats a spell whenever he sees her,

using the names of Sagaro and Pikaro, wife and mistress of the hero

Sida. Now, with this complex apparatus of talisman, rite and spell,

how much is left to wishing or the projection of the will? He thinks

hard about the girl, no doubt; but that needs no voluntary effort: at

least, in this climate, voluntary effort is soon exhausted in trying to

think of anything else. Mr. Weeks, in his book _Among Congo Cannibals_,

describing a people of somewhat higher culture, and much more advanced

Animism than the natives of Torres Straits, explains the nervousness

in the poison ordeal even of those who are innocent of any nefarious

practices, by asking—“For who has not at some time wished another’s

death?”—and by the admitted doctrine that a man may be full of evil

magic without knowing it. From this it seems to be inferable that a

mere wish may be effective. But not justly; for a man full of evil

magic is an incarnate talisman; and such a man may operate without

wishing, as often happens with the evil-eye. At any rate, these casual

Congo wishes do not amount to volition; the faintest velleity is enough

for the hair-trigger of such explosive personalities. In Japan, too,

the angry spirit of a living person may inflict a curse unknown to

himself.[122]

Still, with the progress of Magic, deliberate wishes may acquire

independent power. A man practising evil Magic, and desiring secrecy,

has a strong motive to believe (that is, there is a cause of his

believing) that his tacit wish has the power of invisible action at

a distance; and the way by which he arrives at that belief is quite

clear: for a spell is a magical force; it is also an expressed wish or

command; and, if muttered, is more rather than less powerful than when

uttered aloud. Why not, then, “sub-muttered,” or merely thought?

From this degenerate notion of will-work we must distinguish the

personal power of an accomplished wizard in his whole magical activity.

Whatever a man does with a talisman or a spell, as it were with a

tool or a weapon, may be done with more or less concentration of

energy and proficiency in the performance; and one man will be plainly

superior to another. Success depends upon doing one’s best; therefore

upon the will. And Magic often needs courage and resource; but in the

development of the art it depends still more upon knowledge; wherein

the magician is wont to boast himself. For wizardry is the most

reputable faculty of primitive scholarship: to know all spells and

rites, the arts of divination and medicine, the ancestry and true name

of all dangerous things, which gives control over them: and it is a

universal belief that knowledge is power.

§ 7. THE EVOLUTION OF MAGIC—DIRECT MAGIC

From the simple beginnings thus described, Magic, like everything

else in the world, proceeds to grow and differentiate. It grows by

the lengthening of spells from the briefest wish or command to many

verses;[123] by the extension of rites from the waving of a bough

to raise the wind to the Australian Intichiuma ceremonies that go on

for many days; by the accumulating of charms by the bagful; by the

compounding of rites with spells, and by repetition of them three

times or some other sacred number. It differentiates by being applied

and adapted to more and more purposes: from hunting (if we suppose

it to begin there) to war and love; to birth, marriage and death; to

the giving of diseases and the curing of them; to the protection of

property and to the discovery (or concealment) of theft; to navigation,

building, agriculture, the care of flocks and herds, the procuring of

rain, renewing the vigour of the sun and binding the influence of the

Pleiades. At the same time Magic, originally practised (we may presume)

by individuals, comes to engage the concern and co-operation of

families, clans and tribes; and a distinction grows up between what we

call “white” and “black” Magic: practices that are for the welfare of

the tribe, or of some portion of it, and practices designed to gratify

private passions without regard to their effect upon the community.

One may notice certain stages (not always serial) in the development

of Magic: First, the simple and direct defence of oneself or fellows

against other persons or things, storms, diseases, etc.; or, again,

direct attack upon such hostile powers—by means of charms, spells or

rites. Secondly, indirect or dramatic Magic, operating not upon persons

or things themselves, but (expecting the same effect) upon imitations

of them, or upon detached parts or appurtenances; as in the well-known

device of making a waxen figure of a man and melting it in the fire to

his destruction. Thirdly, the alliance of Magic with Animism, leading

to sorcery, exorcism and ceremonies associated with Religion—discussed

below in the sixth and seventh chapters. Fourthly, the confusion of

Magic with Science, as in Astrology and Alchemy—referred to in the

seventh and tenth chapters.

Direct magical rites begin in very simple ways, probably with gestures:

as to point at a man in threatening; to throw out the open hand in

warding off evil; to claw the air behind a man’s back, as Australian

women do. It becomes more and more elaborate as the result of much

study devoted to a matter of supreme interest: especially after the

rise of a professional class of medicine-men, with whom inventions

accumulate and become traditionary. Similarly, spells are at first

merely wishes, or commands, or warnings. An Australian Wind-doctor

cries, “Let the west wind be bound.”[124] The southern Massim of New

Guinea have a spell to open a cave—“O rock, be cleft!” and, again,

to shut the cave—“O rock, be closed!”[125] Nothing can be simpler.

How spells rise into poetry and are combined with rites and charms is

shown by a Polynesian example: a man being ill with consumption, which

is called _Moomoo_, a medicine-man is sent for. He comes, sits by the

patient, and sings—

“O Moomoo, O Moomoo!

I’m on the eve of spearing you.”

Then, rising, he flourishes his spear over the patient’s head, and goes

away. No one dares speak or smile.[126]

As to charms, the simplest, and perhaps the earliest, are small

pebbles, such as the Australian “bulks,” or crystals.[127] In Papua

there are quartz charms so powerful that it is not safe for even the

owner to touch them. In that country the qualities that make a thing

suitable for a charm are: (1) similarity in contour, or in other ways,

to the object to be influenced; (2) rarity; (3) unusual shape in not

very uncommon objects:[128] in short, whatever arrests attention. Dr.

Codrington says: “A stone takes a man’s fancy; it is like something,

clearly not a common stone; there must be _mana_ in it: puts it in his

garden; and a good crop proves he was right.”[129] Among the Esquimo,

strange or curious objects never before seen are sometimes considered

to bring success to the finder; and charms are carried shaped like

the animals hunted.[130] Such a taste is very ancient, if the same

purpose was served by those animal-shaped stones, retouched to increase

the resemblance, which have been found in considerable numbers in

France and England.[131] In the bag of a West African sorcerer may be

seen a bit of leopard skin, of snake’s skin, hawk’s talons, bone of a

dead man, leaves of certain plants, etc.; each having its own virtue,

and uniting their powers in the interest of the formidable owner.

The _Chanson de Roland_ describes a talisman to which the chief of

Charlemagne’s peers must have owed no small part of his prowess—his

famous sword:—

“Ah! Durendal, most holy, fair indeed!

Relics enough thy golden hilt conceals:

Saint Peter’s Tooth, the Blood of Saint Basile,

Some of the Hairs of my lord, Saint Denise,

Some of the Robe, was worn by Saint Mary.”[132]

I cannot call it fair fighting, and wonder that, thus armed, he should

ever have been mortally wounded by the miscreant hordes of Mahum and

Tervagant, however numerous.

An influential outgrowth of primitive Magic is the taboo. Taboo is the

dangerousness of a person, or thing, or action, or word, conceived of

as a motive for not touching or uttering or meddling therewith. The

dangerousness may either lie in the nature of a person or thing, or

be imposed upon it. A chief, for example, and everything belonging to

him, is generally taboo by inherent sacredness: he is, like Mr. Weeks’s

Congolese, full of evil magic. The idea of the talisman has thus been

extended to include certain men. In many tribes it includes all women;

but since to make them always taboo is too much for human nature, they

are treated as such only periodically, or when a man is about to be

exposed to some further danger, which will be the more likely to injure

him when already contaminated by evil magic.[133] This is very clear in

a case reported by Prof. Seligman:[134] at Yam warriors were forbidden

to sleep with their wives before battle; else “bow and arrow belong

other fellow he smell you, he shoot you, you no got luck.” Still,

physical consequences (which may explain the superstition) are also

considered: a diver for pearl-shell must similarly abstain; because,

else, “man he sleepy.” The continence required of women to ensure the

safety of their husbands when away at war or hunting may be due to a

belief in a “sympathy” or “participation,” as if husband and wife were

in some mysterious _rapport_; but, deeper, there may have been a fetch

of policy. When magical taboos are generally recognised and feared,

it becomes possible to use them for social purposes: one cannot be

sure that every magical observance had its origin in magical belief.

Thus the food-rules of Australian tribes consist of taboos upon the

enjoyment of certain foods by women and young men, and are plainly

devised in the interests of the gerontocracy: so why should not a

fiction be founded on Magic in the interest of absent husbands?

The sanctity or dangerousness of the chief is probably due, first,

to his being really dangerous; but, secondly, to the biological

advantage to a tribe of respecting him, which leads to a selection of

those tribes amongst whom respect for the chief arises. As biological

adaptation is never more than a moving, oscillating equilibrium, this

feeling sometimes becomes excessive, even to the point of insanity.

Everything the chief touches becomes taboo; only a few sacred servants

can approach him; he may be thus reduced to helplessness. It is one

of Nature’s checks upon tyranny. Such is the force of taboo, that a

Maori tribesman, being hungry, seeing some food by the wayside, and

eating it, on learning that it was the remains of the meal of a sacred

chief, immediately fell ill, and died. The offence was fatal—as soon

as it was known. The dangerousness of women has been referred to their

weakness; association with them must be weakening, and is therefore

forbidden when exertion is needed.[135] Prof. Westermarck traces it

to a “horror of blood”;[136] very probably; but other things may

co-operate towards it. The life of women separates them from men, and

brings them into a freemasonry and community of interests, to which men

are not admitted; differentiates their mentality, until the result is

mysterious and therefore magical: the sexual orgasm, being more like

pain than anything that is not pain, at once attractive and revulsive,

acquires the same character. Homicides and mourners, again, are liable

to be taboo, either because there clings to them the mysterious quality

and taint of death (a magical motive), or because they are followed by

the ghosts of the departed.

There are unlucky words which it is a social offence to utter: words

of ill-omen, but especially names of dead people, demons and sometimes

gods; for people are apt to come when they are called, and, if the call

is conceived of according to Magic, come they certainly will. There

are likewise many actions that seem to us entirely innocent, yet in

one or another tribe must be avoided by all who desire a prosperous or

only a tranquil life. The Papagoe Indians of Mexico forbid a girl at a

certain time to scratch her head, or even to touch her hair with her

hand; for which there may be an excuse in the sacredness of the head;

but her brother comes at the same time under the same restriction.[137]

The case seems to be a type of many taboos, as being due wholly to

suspicion and anxiety: an anxious mother who sees her boy scratch

his head is reminded of his sister who must not do so; her fears are

excited, and she prohibits the action that excites her fear: it is

taboo. Writing of a Bantu tribe, M. Jounod says, “Most often taboos are

inexplicable.”[138] So are the penalties that await the breach of them:

the punishment rarely fits the crime. Premature baldness, failure in

hunting or fishing, boils, lameness, dysentery—may avenge the eating

of wild duck or marriage within the forbidden circle. And if any such

thing happens to a man, he is liable to be accused of having broken a

taboo; and that proves the truth of the belief in taboo.

Besides things that are in their magical nature dangerous, and

therefore taboo, things inoffensive in themselves can sometimes be made

taboo by merely declaring them to be so, or by setting up a symbolic

notice that they are so, or by laying a conditional curse upon anybody

who meddles with them. They have then become dangerous. This is the

common case of making a talisman by means of a spell, transferring to

it invisible power. Such practices, especially common in Melanesia, are

often useful as a cheap defence of property (in gardens, for instance),

but are also a means of exaction and tyranny. The prevalence of taboo

amongst savages, by the way, enables them readily to appreciate our

great commandment to do no work on Sunday.[139]

§ 8. INDIRECT OR “SYMPATHETIC” MAGIC

The use of charms, rites and spells, having been established in one

department—say, hunting—may be extended to others by analogy, and is

confirmed there in the same way, namely, by still doing one’s best.

Having obtained the charms and learnt, or invented, the rites and

spells, one applies them, but at the same time makes war or love as

cunningly as one can, cultivates one’s garden, drives a bargain, and so

forth, and ascribes all good results to the Magic. At first, I suppose,

all such action was direct, discharged at the person or thing to be

influenced. To slay an enemy a bone of a dead man was pointed, or a

crocodile’s tooth hurled, in his direction (though, probably, not in

his sight). To keep off evil Magic a wish was expressed—“Never sharp

barn catch me”;[140] or to drive away a pest a command was issued, as

in Borneo: “O rats, sparrows and noxious insects, go feed on the padi

of people down river.”[141] But a time came when Magic began also to be

carried out by practices indirect and purely dramatic, rites performed

and spells recited not at the person or thing to be affected, but upon

some substitute, or representative, or symbol; and this must have

happened pretty early; for dramatic Magic is met with in Australia.

To this sort of Magic belong the widely-diffused methods of operating

upon the image of a man or anything assigned to stand for him, or upon

hair-clippings, remains of food, or footprints instead of himself; or

of tying knots to bind, or untying them to release a curse. With spells

the indirect method is less common, but remarkable examples of it occur

at a low level of culture. The Yabim of New Guinea, to promote the

growth of their taro, tell a story: “Once upon a time, a man labouring

in his field complained that he had no taro-shoots. Then came two doves

flying from Paum. They had devoured much taro, and they perched upon a

tree in the field, and during the night vomited up all the taro. Thus

the man got so many shoots that he was even able to sell some of them

to other people.”[142] Here, then, a mere story of a wish fulfilled is

substituted, as a spell, for the wish itself, and expected to have the

same effect upon the crop; and as that is, indeed, true, any failure

of it is no more liable to be detected. But such practices seem to us

sillier and less promising even than direct Magic. What can be the

meaning of them?

The indirectness of a rite makes it more mysterious and magical, and

that is a recommendation. Moreover, its dramatic character gives

an imaginative satisfaction, which must suffice to initiate such

pantomime again and again. Amongst ourselves many people are prone to

dramatise every situation of their lives; to act in imagination their

loves, their revenges, their opportunities of self-display, and to

derive satisfaction from such imaginations even to the weakening of

their will—satisfaction without effort or danger. But although this

impulse may initiate pantomimic magic, it can hardly maintain it in

the absence of any deeper satisfaction. The belief in its efficacy,

again, once established, the effect of suggestion upon a victim of

black Magic (who by some means is acquainted with what has been done

against him) may have consequences that seem to verify the rites; but

this can only happen when a belief in the efficacy of such practices

already prevails. The power of suggestion depends upon the belief;

it cannot create the belief. We must fall back upon coincidence.

If, indeed, immediate and complete coincidence were requisite, if,

when one practised on an enemy’s life, nothing less than his speedy

death would do, coincidences might be too rare to give the requisite

confirmation. But if some less injury will be acceptable, and if it

need not follow immediately; if a delay of not merely two or three

days, but two or three months will bring the event within the limits

of satisfaction; and if the degree of injury may vary from death to

a bad fall, or some failure in hunting on the victim’s part, or a

quarrel with his wife; if even (as often happens) a misfortune to any

one of his family may suffice—the confirmatory coincidences will be

tolerably frequent. There must, of course, be many disappointments; but

these count for little, because the particular practice is supported

by a general belief in Magic; because men desire to believe and are

afraid to disbelieve; because failures are explained by some error in

performing the rites, or by the counteraction of superior Magic, or by

the intervention of hostile spirits.

Special reasons for practising and believing in indirect operations of

black Magic are their greater secrecy and, therefore, greater safety,

and greater gratification of the love of cunning: which last (I think)

explains much of the elaboration that marks these performances.

In the development of indirect Magic, very many of its practices seem

to involve one or other of the assumptions often called the principles

of sympathetic Magic, namely, Mimesis and Participation: (1) that to

operate upon a likeness or representation, or by analogy, affects the

person, or object, or process imitated or represented as if it were

directly assailed; and (2) that a part or appurtenance of any one may,

in any magical undertaking, be substituted for the whole. Among savages

these principles (as has already been said) are only latent forms of

procedure, tacitly assumed, not formulated, and cannot have been the

source of the practices, but must gradually have been established by

them; but when notions of scientific arrangement came into vogue,

they were discovered and explicitly stated by the early physicians

and alchemists, in whose thoughts Magic and Science were not clearly

differentiated.

It has been supposed that these principles are natural consequences of

the laws of the association (or reproduction) of ideas. According to

the “law of similarity,” an idea of one thing often makes us think of

another that resembles it: hence the thought of an enemy is supposed

to make me think of an image of him, or the sight of his image makes

me think of him. According to the law “of contiguity,” any two things

having been seen or thought of together, thereafter the thought or

sight of one of them makes me think of the other: hence the thought of

an enemy makes me think of his footprint, or his footprint reminds me

of him. Possibly. But must there not have been a long preparation of

ideas before the thought of an enemy awakens in me these particular

associations rather than many others? And if they should occur to me,

how do the laws of association explain my astonishing belief that to

put his image in the fire, or to thrust a thorn into his footprint, or

to dig it up, carry it home and put it in the oven, will make him lame

or afflict him with some wasting disease? There must be some system of

ideas to determine these particular judgments.

Some, again, suppose that savages cannot distinguish similarity from

identity, part from whole; so that an image appears to them to be

in earnest the same thing as a man, or his nail-parings the same as

himself. Yet it is certain that in their work-a-day life they do make

these distinctions, and that otherwise they could not get on at all.

If, then, in certain cases, and in Magic (which is all that concerns

us now), they act or speak as if unable to draw such distinctions, it

must be from an acquired incapacity in that connection; just as in some

cases they suffer from an acquired incapacity to recognise that their

beliefs are contradicted by experience; that is to say, some fixed

idea or dissociation prevents them from comparing the facts; though

sometimes it may be merely that customary forms of speech hinder the

expression of distinctions that really exist among their ideas.

It has been suggested that the supposed force of mimetic Magic rests

upon the belief that as a man’s shadow or reflection implies his

presence, so does his image. And we shall see that, in some cases,

this explanation is not far from the mark, though it cannot serve for

all cases; inasmuch as the image operated upon in any rite need not be

a likeness (of course it never is)—a stick will serve, if declared

to stand for the victim; and, moreover, his presence is not needed in

carrying out rites that act at a distance. What truth there is in this

view has been better expressed by Prof. Yrjö Hirn:[143] namely, that a

unity or solidarity exists between all persons and things that stand

to one another in a relationship of contact or similarity, on account

of a certain magical virtue; and that this solidarity is not destroyed

by any breach of physical continuity. To take away a man’s cloak,

or a lock of his hair, or a remnant of his food, does not interrupt

the magical continuity which contact has established with the man:

something of him, his virtue, remains with it. And in the same way an

image of him contains something of his virtue; for to the immature

mind, images or pictures are nothing but radiations or decortications

of the thing itself, an efflux, like the Epicurean εἴδωλα. Hence the

bones of a saint and his picture convey his virtue to a devotee by the

same process: both are conductors of some emanation from himself. There

is much truth in this theory.

When Animism is called in to explain Magic, this virtue or emanation

of a man is apt to be explained as his soul, or part of it. A savage

dislikes being photographed, lest you should take away his soul.

M. Jounod says the Bantu regard a photograph as “an unsheathing of

soul”;[144] Mr. Dorsey says no Dakota would have his portrait taken

lest one of his souls [out of four] should remain in the picture,

instead of going after death to spirit-land;[145] Mr. Carl Lumholtz

says the Papagoes refused to be photographed, lest part of themselves

should be taken away, and remain behind after death.[146] And it is

a trick with some sorcerers to keep a looking-glass, in which they

pretend to catch the souls of their dupes; and, of course, shadows and

reflections are frequently confounded with the soul. So if the use

of an image in Magic does not imply the presence of the man himself,

generally it does imply the presence of a very important part of him.

And this explanation is strengthened by an apparent exception; for some

Malays, when they make an image of an enemy to compass his destruction,

think it necessary before operating to coax his soul into it by a

potent spell.

“Hither, Soul, come hither!

Hither, little one, come hither!

Hither, bird, come hither!

Hither, filmy one, come hither!”[147]

Must we not infer that these Malays have in some way lost the common

belief, and so are put to this extra trouble?

If it be asked how this account of the matter can justify the use of

a stick or stone instead of a man’s image, merely assigning it to

represent him, the reply (I think) is that the stick is a symbol. Since

images are never much like the man, and may be unlike in all degrees,

the stick is a sort of limiting case. A symbol is always the remainder,

or reminder, of something that once had intrinsic value, as an image,

shadow, or reflection has by being or participating in the man’s

soul. Besides, it is perhaps a tacit assumption of Magic (as in other

departments of life—including Philosophy), “that whatever for one’s

purpose it is necessary to assume, is real or true”: the situation

demands it.

As to the magical continuity between a man and whatever has been

in contact with him, the belief in it may with some confidence be

derived from the fact that it retains his odour; and when an animistic

explanation is required, it is naturally thought that this odour is his

soul or soul-stuff, as the savour of a burnt-offering is its soul-stuff

that regales the gods.

Belief in the participation of an image, or part or appurtenance of a

man in the man himself, or in his virtue, or in his soul, must give to

rites of black Magic a great deal of the subjective satisfaction which

is a secret motive of all Magic. The images, or nail-parings, or what

not, identify the man to be attacked; they fix the wizard’s attention,

vivify his imagination, direct the spell whom to strike (as a dog is

set upon a trail), and heighten the joy of imaginary revenge.

There are, however, many cases usually classed as “sympathetic

Magic” that cannot without great violence be explained in this way;

and I complain of the epithet “sympathetic,” as applied to all

indirect Magic, that it implies this explanation. Consider the Mandan

buffalo-dances, the hunting dance and the mating dance; these are

imitations or dramatic representations of the hunting of buffaloes and

of their mating, which they are designed to prosper: can such dances

be interpreted as the efflux or decortications of the future hunt or

mating? Or, again, the story of the muræna (quoted above, p. 101)

and its resuscitation by the rising tide—is this a radiation of the

budding of the taro which it is expected to expedite? Such cases, which

are pretty numerous, must be understood upon some other ground than

“participation.”

Many rites and observances seem to depend upon the notion of favourable

or unfavourable currents of invisible power, which may be taken

advantage of, or influenced, to obtain one’s ends, in hunting, or in

obtaining rain, or in fertilisation of animals or crops. It is good

to plant seed, or begin any undertaking, when the moon is waxing, or

the tide rising; for these events show that the set of the current

is favourable to increase or prosperity. Again, one may incite the

current or strengthen it, as in bringing on rain by throwing water

in the air, or by leaping to help the crops to grow. To instigate or

assist in such ways the ongoings of Nature is not the same thing as

to cause the event: a rain-wizard does not pretend to procure rain

in the dry season; the times of ploughing, sowing, reaping (whatever

rites may accompany them) are not decided by Magic. Much pantomimic

Magic may be best understood as attempting to set up such currents of

causation rather than as directly causative. Since instances of cause

and effect are observed to repeat themselves, a pantomimic murder, or

a hunting dance, or fertility-rites, may be considered as setting an

example which Nature is expected to follow: the muræna-spell promotes

vitality by merely describing an example of reinvigoration. The Kai of

N.E. New Guinea hold that if a man, by falling on a stump of bamboo in

the path, wounds himself to death, it is because a sorcerer, having

obtained something infected with his victim’s soul-stuff, has spread it

over a pile stuck in the ground, and pretended to wound himself upon

it and to groan with pain.[148] The belief implies that such practices

are in vogue; and they seem to rely upon the assumption that “what

happens once will happen again”; and that who shall repeat the disaster

is determined by the presence, among the conditions, of something

belonging to the victim in default of himself. It is not by sympathy

or participation that the “something infected with his soul-stuff”

acts; but by contributing to reinstate as far as possible all the

circumstances of a cause like the cause of the man’s death.

In other cases an exemplary cause may be constituted by the

substitution of similars that do not imply participation. Dr. Haddon

tells us that in the western islands of Torres Straits[149] the Kuman

vine breaks up in dry weather, and the segments look like human bones;

hence they are employed in Magic. Similarly red ochre or some other

stain may be used instead of blood, so that a skeleton may be coloured

with it as a means of keeping it alive. In Chinese popular religion,

before setting up a new idol, it is first carried to the temple of

an older one, who is besought to let a portion of his soul-stuff

transmigrate into the new one; then, carried to its own temple and

enthroned, its hands, feet, eyes, mouth, nose and ears are smeared

with blood, _or with red paint_, to open its senses and bring its

soul into relation with the outer world.[150] Such a substitution of

similars is true in one sense; red paint is a substitute for blood as

colour: Magic requires that it shall also be a substitute in other

ways; and, therefore, it is so. Thus, down and feathers thrown into

the air in Australian rain-rites are a substitute for clouds; in

Mandan hunting-rites, men disguised in buffalo-skins are a substitute

for buffaloes; and thus, by substitution, a cause can always be

constituted which, once having been set to work, Nature is constrained

to repeat the operation.

Ought we not, then, to recognise two kinds of indirect Magic—the

sympathetic, and what may be called the exemplary?[151]

* * * * *

The rise of the wizard as a professional authority introduces many

changes into magical practice, and decisively alters its social

importance. He sometimes experiments in new rites and spells or in

new versions of the old ones; he decides some matters arbitrarily,

as in imposing taboos on food; generally, he develops the art in the

direction of his professional interests, learning to conjure, act,

ventriloquise, suggest, hypnotise, and to provide excuses for failure;

he begins to train novices, form a school and establish a tradition

which influences the whole life of his tribe. How far arbitrary

elements enter into rites it is impossible to say, until some one

shall discover (as some one may) marks by which to distinguish them.

Meanwhile, there may be many rites, or ritual elements, that cannot be

explained on any known principles of Magic, because in fact they are

arbitrary: still, such things must usually be an imitation of other

magical practices. Prof. Leuba suggests, probably enough, that rites

may sometimes be adopted to relieve excitement, such as the dancing

of women when the men are at war.[152] It was the custom (_e. g._) of

Araucanian women; and as they danced, they swept the dust away with

their fans, and sang: “As we sweep the dust away, so may our husbands

scatter the enemy.” If this was arbitrarily invented, it was by analogy

with much mimetic Magic: they set an example of what should happen and

confirmed it with a spell.[153]

§9. THE DISSOLUTION OF MAGIC

In spite of the human mind’s strong proclivity to Magic, the art, after

rising to a maximum power and reputation, in course of time loses

its influence, and is to be found festering only in the backwater

and stagnant pools of society. Its power is not at the zenith in

primitive society, but much later, when there are men in command of

great wealth who feel insecure, and turn for confidence to diviners and

thaumaturgists, whom they bribe heavily to give what they most desire.

But by that time Magic is confused with Animism. As civil order and

material civilisation prevail, Magic is no longer invoked to increase

one’s confidence, because this is ensured by the regularity of ordinary

affairs. As positive methods in war, building, commerce are learnt and

practised, the magical accompaniments of such undertakings, without

being wholly disused, may become less and less important—what we call

“survivals,” such as the breaking of a bottle of wine on the bows when

launching a ship (it is forgotten that the wine must be red). Or they

may be lost altogether without injury to industry; whereas in savage

economy there is some risk that a most useful craft, such as pottery,

weaving, or canoe-building, may be entirely discontinued, if by the

extinction of some group of men or women the rites and songs are

forgotten with which such labour had always been made good.[154] For

who would trust a pot or a canoe unconsecrated?

The great systematisations of Oneiromancy, Alchemy, Cheiromancy,

Astrology, necessarily come forward late in the day, because they

involve the constitution of science; but for that reason they are

soon discredited by being confronted with the positive sciences;

when, without being forgotten, they are relegated to what may be

euphemistically called “select circles.”

With the growth of Animism, again, pure Magic becomes comparatively

rare; its observances are interpreted according to the fashionable

creed, no longer as setting occult, quasi-mechanical forces to work,

but as requiring the intervention of a spirit or a god. They become

symbolic: ritual now does nothing of itself, but is a sign of what the

god does, or is desired to do. Yet Magic often has its revenge upon

Animism: enchaining by mysterious uniformities the god himself.

In its own nature Magic comprises qualities that tend to weaken it

(at least, to weaken each particular form of it) and to bring about

its decline. Magical rites and spells, on whatever scale performed,

are things to be repeated, and what is repeated is mechanised and

ceases to live. Custom can maintain a practice whilst dispensing with

its meaning; slowly the practice (spell or ritual) is slurred and

corrupted. Economy, “least effort,” is the enemy of all ceremonial.

There is also a tendency to the attenuation of rites on the principle

(unconscious, of course) that “the sign of a sign is a sign of the

thing signified”; whereby a meaning may be disguised in a symbol

for the sake of secrecy, or even for politeness. Prof. Westermarck

has shown how, in Morocco, the full rite for averting the evil eye

is to throw forward the hand with outspread fingers and to exclaim,

“Five in your eye.” But as this is too insulting for common use, you

may instead casually mention the number “five”; or if even that be

too plain-spoken, you can refer to “Thursday,” which happens to be

the fifth day of the week. In this process there is great risk of

forgetting the original meaning of the rite or spell; and when this

comes to pass, we are left with the empty shells of superstition, such

as a dread of “thirteen,” “Friday,” salt-spilling, walking under a

ladder; for hardly a soul knows what they mean.

FOOTNOTES:

[101] _History of the Kingship_, p. 38; cf. also _The Magic Art_, I. p.

235, and footnote: “faith in magic is probably older than a belief in

spirits.”

[102] Skeat and Blagden, _Pagan Races of the Malay Peninsula_, I. p.

417.

[103] In the _American Journal of Psychology_, p. 83 (1919), E. S.

Conkling has an instructive article on _Superstitious Belief and

Practice among College Students_. Of a large group examined 53 per

cent. entertained some superstition (40 per cent. M., 66 per cent.

F.). At some time, now or formerly, 82 per cent. had been so affected

(73 per cent. M., 90 per cent. F.). Half assigned their former

superstitions to the age from twelve to sixteen. Twenty-two per cent.

attributed the disposition to the suggestion of elders, 47 per cent. to

social suggestion, 15 per cent. to social inheritance, and 15 per cent.

to emotions and feelings beyond the control of reason.

[104] _Among the Indians of Guiana_, p. 354.

[105] Quoted by Ames, _Psychology of Religious Experience_, p. 60.

[106] Charms (and possibly rites and spells) are sometimes revealed in

dreams (Howitt, _The Native Tribes of South-East Australia_, p. 378;

and Hose and McDougall, _Pagan Tribes of Borneo_, I. p. 110). But this

can only happen either where the belief in charms already exists (as in

the cases cited), or by the coincidence of the dream with good or bad

fortune. The connexion of events must first of all present itself as

something observed: whether waking or dreaming is indifferent.

For further illustrations of the influence of coincidences in

establishing a belief in Magic, see ch. viii. § 5.

[107] R. R. Marett, _Preanimistic Religion, Folk-Lore_, 1900.

[108] A. W. Howitt, _The Native Tribes of South-East Australia_, p. 371.

[109] _Northern Tribes of Central Australia_, p. 472.

[110] A. C. Haddon, _Reports of the Cambridge Expedition to Torres

Straits_, V. p. 361.

[111] Coddrington, _The Melanesians_, pp. 118-19.

[112] For a comparison of these allied notions see E. S. Hartland’s

_Ritual and Belief_, pp. 36-51.

[113] Spencer and Gillen, _Native Tribes of Central Australia_, p. 548.

[114] W. McDougall, _Reports of the Cambridge Expedition to Torres

Straits_, II. p. 199.

[115] Vol. II. p. 2.

[116] Vol. II. p. 124.

[117] Weeks, _Among Congo Cannibals_, p. 311.

[118] Thomas Williams, _Fiji and the Fijians_, p. 79.

[119] _Tends to be_ assimilated—for if the presentation have some

special character of Animism, it will be assimilated to the animistic

system; or if Animism be the more active and fashionable theory in a

man’s social group.

[120] It has been thought strange that such a thing as a whirlwind

may excite in the savage either fear or anger. To explain this we

must consider the nature of wonder: it is an imaginative expansion

of surprise, temporary paralysis of the imagination, with emotional

disturbance, but no progressive instinct of its own. It either subsides

helplessly, or gives place to curiosity, or passes into some other

emotion that is connected with an instinct. Accordingly, it usually

passes into curiosity or else fear, but sometimes into anger: which of

these emotions shall be aroused depends, partly, upon the character of

the person who wonders, partly, upon circumstances.

[121] _Reports of the Cambridge Expedition to Torres Straits_, VI. p.

321.

[122] W. G. Aston, _Shinto_, p. 52.

[123] One may trace this process in the interesting collection of

spells in Skeat’s _Malay Magic_.

[124] Howitt, _The Native Tribes of South-East Australia_, p. 397.

[125] Seligman, _Melanesians of British New Guinea_, p. 376.

[126] Turner, _Samoa_, p. 138. For further development of the spell,

see (besides Skeat, _op. cit._) the collected examples at the end of

Sayce’s _Religion of the Ancient Babylonians_.

[127] Parker, _The Euahlayi_, p. 26.

[128] Seligman, _The Melanesians of British New Guinea_, pp. 173-5.

[129] _The Melanesians_, pp. 118-19.

[130] Turner, _Ethnology of the Ungava District_, Am. B. of Ethn., XI.

p. 201; and Murdoch, Ethnology of Point Barrow, _Am. B. of Ethn._, IX.

p. 434.

[131] W.M. Newton, On Palæological Figures of Flint, _Journ. of B.

Arch. Ass._, March 1913.

[132] _The Song of Roland_, done into English by C. Scott Moncrieff,

CLXXIII.

[133] T. C. Hodson, _The Naga Tribes of Manipur_, p. 88.

[134] _Reports of the Cambridge Expedition to the Torres Straits_, V.

p. 271.

[135] A. E. Crawley, _J.A.I._, XXIV. p. 123.

[136] _Development of Moral Ideas_, I, c. 26.

[137] Carl Lumholtz, _New Trails in Mexico_, p. 350.

[138] _Life of a South African Tribe_, p. 528.

[139] See the exhaustive treatment of this subject in Frazer’s _Taboo

and the Perils of the Soul_.

[140] A “barn” is a small spindle-shaped stick, supposed to be

thrown in a magical attack by wizards. Howitt, _The Native Tribes of

South-East Australia_, p. 377.

[141] Hose and McDougall, _Pagan Tribes of Borneo_, I. p. 110.

[142] Quoted by Frazer, _Spirits of the Corn and of the Wild_, I. p.

105.

[143] _The Sacred Shrine_, pp. 33-9.

[144] _Life of a South African Tribe_, p. 340.

[145] Sioux Cults, _Am. B. of Ethn._, XI. p. 484.

[146] _New Trails in Mexico_, p. 61.

[147] Skeat, _Malay Magic_, p. 48.

[148] Quoted by Frazer, _Belief in Immortality_, p. 268.

[149] _Reports of the Cambridge Expedition to the Torres Straits_, V.

p. 325.

[150] W. Grube, _Rel. u. K. d. Chinese_, p. 153.

[151] In the _B. of Am. Ethn._, XIII. p. 374, F. H. Cushing, describing

“Zuñi Creation Myths,” says the dramaturgic tendency is to suppose that

Nature can be made to act by men, if “they do first what they wish the

elements to do,” according “as these things were done or made to be

done by the ancestral gods of creation.” The last clause is, perhaps,

an animistic gloss of the Zuñis’, who were, of course, very far from

primitive thought.

[152] _The Psychological Study of Religion_, p. 165.

[153] Cf. S. H. Ray, “People and Language of Lifu,” _J.R.A.I._

(XLVII.), p. 296, who says, a woman whose son or husband was away at

war would place a piece of coral to represent him on a mat, move it

about with her right hand as he might move in fight, and with her left

brush away imaginary evils. This protected him (evidently by exemplary

Magic).

[154] W. H. R. Rivers, _The Disappearance of Useful Arts_, also

_History of Melanesian Society_, II. p. 445; and in Turner’s _Samoa_

(p. 145) we are told that the practice of embalming died out with the

family of embalmers.