MAGIC AND RITUAL
Early man had not the conception of natural law that we now possess.
In order even partially to understand his attitude toward things, the
man of to-day must abstract from the idea of law and regularity which
he has shot through nature, and ignore the knowledge about the
antecedents of events which close observation and careful experiment
have furnished him with. In the case of magic, just as in the case of
mythology, he who wishes to see eye to eye with those who lived long
ago must rid himself for the time being both of the knowledge which
science has accumulated and of the mental habits of enquiry and causal
explanation which have been fostered by it. These habits and this
knowledge have become such a part of us that we are not fully conscious
of them and of their importance. They are like the clothes we wear or
the forms of politeness which we go through with automatically. It is
only after the twentieth-century man delves into folklore or reads
accounts of the beliefs and practices of the past, that he realizes
that he stands on the shoulders of innumerable generations as the
inheritor of a long process of mental evolution. Nothing, perhaps, can
make him realize this fact more vividly than a study of magic.
What is magic? The best answer is to give examples {45} of magic. "In
the Malay Peninsula the magician makes an image like a corpse, a
footstep long. If you want to cause sickness, you pierce the eye and
blindness results; or you pierce the waist and the stomach gets sick.
If you want to cause death, you transfix the head with a palm twig;
then you enshroud the image as you would a corpse and pray over it as
if you were praying over the dead; then you bury it in the middle of
the path which leads to the place of the person whom you wish to charm,
so that he may step over it." Ancient agriculture is full of magic
rites designed to ward off evils. "To this day a Transylvanian sower
thinks he can keep birds from the corn by carrying a lock in the
seedbag." To this day, again, in Roumania, Serbia and parts of
Germany, the peasants try to bring on a rain by sprinkling water on a
young girl. It is supposed that nature will follow suit, and send a
beneficent shower upon the thirsty earth. Magic is, then, an ingenious
way of making or leading nature to do what you want it to do. As
Professor Murray writes: "Agriculture used to be entirely a question of
religion; now it is almost entirely a question of science. In
antiquity, if a field was barren, the owner of it would probably assume
that the barrenness was due to pollution, or offense somewhere. He
would run through all his own possible offenses, or at any rate those
of his neighbors and ancestors, and when he eventually decided the
cause of the trouble, the steps that he would take would all be of a
kind calculated not to affect the chemical constitution of the soil,
but to satisfy his own emotions of guilt and terror, or the imaginary
being he had offended. A modern man in the same predicament would
probably not think of religion at all, at any rate {46} in the earlier
stages; he would say it was a case for deeper plowing or for basic
slag."
Magic is a way of controlling things. Imitate the act desired, in a
certain way, and it will come to pass. Talismans and amulets, again,
possess a secret power for good and evil. Ancient societies built up a
lore of this kind, adding to material objects the agency of demons
under the control of magicians. This lore is practically a feature of
the past. Even white magic is no longer good form, no longer
accredited by the dominant social mind. It slinks into out-of-the-way
places beyond the public eye. Yet research is showing that these
seemingly discredited beliefs and points of view seldom completely
disappear. They smolder beneath the surface and flame up now and then
in a startling way to remind us that society in its evolution does not
carry all its members along at the same rate. The historian is
surprised to find that rites which are given an exalted place in
various religions are magical at heart, and go back to beliefs which
have long been discredited in other settings.
Some who have specialized in folklore and anthropology are very
pessimistic as to the degree in which the scientific outlook upon
nature is replacing the more primitive attitude associated with magic.
One of the greatest authorities upon primitive beliefs and customs
writes as follows: "We seem to move on a thin crust which may at any
moment be rent by the subterranean forces slumbering below.... Now and
then the polite world is startled by a paragraph in a newspaper which
tells how in Scotland an image has been found stuck full of pins for
the purpose of killing an obnoxious laird or minister, how a woman has
been slowly roasted {47} to death as a witch in Ireland, or how a girl
has been murdered and chopped up in Russia to make those candles of
human tallow by whose light thieves hope to pursue their midnight trade
unseen." The danger to civilization foreseen by the specialist in
uncouth customs is undoubtedly exaggerated, but his warning should
remind us that education has a very valuable function to perform in
training an ever increasing number in scientific habits of thought.
One of the assumptions which underlie magic is the idea that two things
are connected in nature because they are like one another. Space is
not looked upon as a barrier to this connection. So far as can be
seen, anything can affect anything else; and the slightest suggestion
of such a relation leads to the belief in its reality. There is almost
entire absence of any conception of systematic testing: any accidental
association may lead the savage to be assured of an important sign.
Thus, if a man went out hunting and saw a rabbit cross his path, and
then had bad luck, he would be sure that a rabbit is a sign of bad
luck. Moreover, since individuals were on the lookout for hoodoos,
they would not tempt providence a second time. This example
illustrates the psychology rather than the sociology of the process.
It must be remembered that social groups developed what we call
superstitions by way of social contagion and suggestion. The laughing
acquiescence of the present in hoodoos, mascots and lucky objects
cannot be traced back to the credulity of any one individual. Such
things come to pass by a process of accretion just as does the belief
that a particular house is haunted.
Most writers on the subject classify magic into two {48} kinds,
imitative and contagious. These varieties are then carried back to two
principles which seem to govern the association of ideas. Imitative
magic follows the law of association by similarity, while contagious
magic is based on the law of contiguity. To those who have studied
psychology this classification will present no difficulties. To others
a word of explanation is, perhaps, necessary. Our minds connect things
or acts which are similar (the principle of similarity) and those which
are experienced or thought of together (principle of contiguity).
Connections are thus made between things and, since the principles are
so liberal, almost anything can be connected with anything else. It is
this liberality which is alien to science. Let us glance at some
examples of both kinds of magic.
The most familiar instance of imitative magic is the device by means of
which an individual hopes to injure or kill an enemy. A figure of the
enemy is made and this is then stuck full of pins or else burned before
a slow fire. "In ancient Babylonia it was a common practice to make an
image of clay, pitch, honey, fat, or other soft material in the
likeness of an enemy, and to injure or kill him by burning, burying, or
otherwise ill-treating it." This practice occurs in the highlands of
Scotland to-day as well as in Mexico, Italy, China and other countries.
Rossetti's poem, _Sister Helen_, has made this example of imitative
magic fairly familiar to those who would probably never otherwise have
heard of it.
"Why did you melt your waxen man,
Sister Helen?
To-day is the third since you began."
{49}
"The time was long, yet the time ran,
Little brother."
"Oh, the waxen knave was plump to-day,
Sister Helen;
Now like dead folk he has dropped away!"
"Nay now, of the dead what can you say,
Little brother?"
There are many other curious instances of imitative magic. A Bavarian
peasant in sowing wheat will sometimes wear a golden ring, in order
that the corn may have a fine yellow color. Similarly, in many parts
of Germany and Austria, the peasant imagines that he makes the flax
grow tall by dancing or leaping high, or by jumping backwards from a
table. Telepathic action, or action at a distance, was constantly
believed in. The hunter's wife abstained from spinning for fear the
game should turn and wind like the spindle and the hunter be unable to
hit it.
While imitative magic works through fancied resemblance, contagious
magic is based on the principle that what has once been together must
remain forever after in a sympathetic relation, so that what is done to
one affects the other. In Sussex some forty years ago a maid servant
remonstrated strongly against the throwing away of children's cast
teeth, affirming that should they be found and gnawed by any animal,
the child's new tooth would be, for all the world, like the teeth of
the animal that had bitten the old one. It was quite the custom in
former years to anoint the sword which wounded a man instead of the
wound itself. In Bryden's play, _The Tempest_, Ariel directs Prospero
to anoint the sword which wounded Hippolite and to wrap it up close
from the air. Footprints, pieces of {50} clothing, pictures, locks of
hair, all are connected with the individual and what is done to them
reacts on the individual no matter where he is.
At first, mankind resorted to magic as naturally as we resort to the
information given us by science. There was nothing nefarious about it.
Not to use all the precautions in your power and employ all the means
you could think of was simply foolish. As time went on, however,
socially approved magic became distinguished from black magic or that
which it was wrong to resort to. But magic, like every other activity,
tended to become specialized. Certain persons seemed to possess more
power than others, and, since no one could tell what was impossible,
what appear to us the most absurd claims were put forth. Things were
believed because they were impossible. It was under the encouragement
of this "will to believe" that magic flourished until the slow growth
of civilization and the awakening reason of man cast doubts upon it.
To study the more technical developments of magic is extremely
interesting. Magicians as a class evolved a lore which was looked upon
by the uninitiated as occult and mysterious. The mass of the people
did not know of any bounds which could be set to their power. They and
their deeds were shrouded in darkness and surrounded by all the
gruesome associations which the awe-struck imagination could conjure
up. Such was the case especially when magic became outlawed as an
underhand means of obtaining things. But magic had by then fallen on
evil days. It was not yet disbelieved but simply condemned because it
did not fit in with the dominant religious and social order. The exact
{51} relation of religion and magic is a somewhat complex problem which
we must postpone for a while.
The orient was always the fertile home of magic: here it reached its
more technical developments. In _Lucian_ we read of the reputed power
of the Chaldean wise men who were able to recite spells which would
move even the gods. All through the East this esoteric science
existed. In Egypt the magicians claimed to be able to compel the
highest gods to do their bidding. By this time magic had, however,
passed beyond its more primitive character. So far as it involved
signs and acts, these were of a highly symbolic type. Geometrical
figures of intricate construction, phrases consisting of apparently
meaningless words or of words supposed to have a peculiar significance,
and the names of gods or demons were used with appropriate ceremonies.
Many of these magical formulae have come down to us. They are spells
which are supposed to constrain even the highest gods.
The story of Faust reflects very well the notion of magic existing in
Europe during the Middle Ages. The reader will call to mind the scene
in which Faust calls up the Earth-Spirit. Devotees of Victor Hugo will
remember the description given in his _Notre-Dame_ of Dom Claude's cell
and this ecclesiast's unsuccessful attempts to use the hammer of
Ezekiel. The important thing was to discover the magic word which this
famous rabbi pronounced as he struck upon the nail with his hammer.
We have frequently called attention to the close connection supposed to
exist between name and thing. The name is a genuine part of the nature
of the thing. {52} It was this assumption which lay at the root of the
more involved magic of spells and incantations. "This is why every
ancient Egyptian had two names," writes F. C. Conybeare, "one by which
his fellows in this world knew him, and the other, his true or great
name, by which he was known to the supernal powers and in the other
world." He who possessed knowledge of the name of another had him to
that extent in his power. Fear of such an eventuality led many nations
to conceal the true name of their god. That is why the real name of
the god of the Hebrews is a matter of conjecture to us, and why the
Romans had an important deity whose name is completely lost. In an old
Egyptian legend, the goddess Isis asks herself this question, "Cannot
I, by virtue of the great name of Ra, make myself a goddess and reign
like him in heaven and earth?" This conception reminds us of the
passage in Matthew, "Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, did
we not prophesy by thy name, and by thy name cast out devils, and by
thy name do mighty works? And then will I profess unto them, I never
knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity." Again, in Mark, we
have this corresponding passage, "John said unto him, Teacher, we saw
one casting out devils in thy name; and we forbade him, because he
followed us not." Thus names were things to conjure with in a literal
sense. How few of those who read these verses understand their real
meaning, that they involved a belief in the magic of names! In the
Acts of the Apostles, Peter performs a miracle simply by the name of
Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Is it necessary to remark that such cures as
were possibly performed were due to {53} suggestion of the sort for
which ecstatic religious faith prepares the way?
In pre-scientific times, diseases were regarded as the effect of
spirits or demons. Death, itself, is considered the work of a
malignant agent. It is unnatural and magical. Savages often address
diseases respectfully as Grandfather Smallpox. Jesus heals a woman and
speaks of her as "a daughter of Abraham whom Satan has bound these
eighteen years past." This address is in accord with the beliefs of
that day everywhere. That the early Christians held similar views is
no matter for surprise. They were children of their age.
Religion and magic were long bound up with one another. It is useless
to ask which came first, for they are not mutually exclusive in the
beginning. Only as an ethical monotheism, with a high respect for the
personality and power of the deity worshiped, develops, is the magical
element rejected. There are few religions, even to-day, which do not
contain magical elements, and the farther back in time we go, the more
conspicuous is the presence of incantations and ritual acts imputed to
have a mysterious efficacy. Man had sore need of help, and so he
adopted all the means which accident, fancy and ignorance suggested.
If certain acts gave him the _mana_ of his god or brought pressure to
bear upon a supernatural agent, so much the better. Much of early
liturgy is a mingling of spell and prayer, and it is strictly true that
much of Christian liturgy bears traces of this origin. The following
example shows this intertwining of higher and lower elements: In the
blessing of the baptismal water on the eve of Epiphany, a custom
prevalent in the earlier Church {54} of Rome, the priest, while praying
to God to sanctify the water, dipped a crucifix thrice into it,
recalling in his prayer the miracle described in Exodus, the sweetening
of the bitter water with wood; then followed antiphonal singing
describing Christ's baptism in Jordan, which sanctified the water. "We
appear to have here," writes L. D. Farnell, "a combination of the great
typical forms of the immemorial religious energy, prayer pure and
simple, the potent use of the spiritually charged object, the fetish
(in this case the crucifix), and an intoned or chanted narrative which
has the spell-value of suggestion."
It has been suggested by certain investigators that magic is nearer
science than religion. It is the attempt of man to compel things to do
what he desires. In religion, on the other hand, man proclaims his
helplessness and his utter dependence upon spiritual powers. There can
be little doubt that this difference exists and comes more and more to
the front. But it is not until religion evolves into spiritual prayer
and communion and away from ritual processes that the separation takes
place. Few events are more interesting than the gradual rejection of
magic by religion. But does not this rejection involve a similar
rejection of science? Here, again, we meet the inevitable compromise.
White magic is distinguished from black magic. We shall have more to
say of this relationship later.
Only after countless centuries of mistake did the intellect of man
discover the actual relations in nature in such a way as to be able to
use them with certainty. Subjective associations were then replaced by
tested causal connections. Faith in mere imitative acts was {55} lost,
and it was finally realized that patient research was a pre-condition
of the control of man's environment. Time, alone, could show what was
possible and what was impossible.
We have pointed out that, as religion became more idealistic in its
conception of deity, magic tended to drop into the background. Moral
motives were considered the sole motives capable of moving him to
beneficent action. Prayer came to be thought of as a petition for the
good, and it was even admitted that this omniscient being knew better
than the petitioner what was best. We who have been brought up in the
Christian belief have been too much inclined to belittle the character
and intellect of races with a different heritage. It may be well,
then, to point out that problems which are being thrashed over to-day
in Christian communities were discussed and answered in much the same
way by other peoples in less enlightened times. Ancient Greece reached
the spiritual level expressed in the conclusion of the Lord's Prayer,
"Thy will be done." The prayer of Socrates was: "Grant me to become
noble of heart." The prayer of Epictetus was: "Do with me what thou
wilt: my will is thy will: I appeal not against thy judgments." Is
this not the inevitable deduction from an ethical monotheism? Any
noble believer in a good god would look at prayer in this way. It is
not surprising, then, that the more philosophic adherents of early
Christianity questioned the validity of prayers for favors. Take away
the support of science, with its healthy scotching of superstition,
from the mind of the modern Christian and I doubt whether he would rise
to higher ethical levels than any of his forbears.
{56}
But the growth of moral idealism in religion does not involve the
rational overthrow of magic. So long as all the events in the world
are not assigned directly to God as the sole active agent at work, the
basis of magic remains. Moral idealism condemns only black magic, that
is, an immoral use of magical powers. But moral condemnation is not a
rational denial of the existence of magic. Carried to its logical
extreme, ethical monotheism could discredit magic only by substituting
personal for impersonal agency, and then proclaiming a monopoly of
personal agency. It is evident, then, that science, rather than
religion, has been the real foe of magic, because it grappled with it
empirically, and in a detailed fashion, in the midst of the here and
now of human events. Ethical monotheism is abstract, deductive and
dogmatic. What was necessary was a critical movement at once concrete,
inductive and empirical. Religion develops only the moral reason and
tends to leave the wider reaches of reason an uncultivated field.
Hence the traitor of superstition was never far from it, thunder as the
preacher would from the pulpit. Victory over darkness requires the
spread of light into every nook and cranny of the human soul.
The age-long conflict has passed its crisis. Yet all too few willingly
give their whole-hearted allegiance to the ideals and methods of
science. The struggle upward from primitive ignorance and superstition
to the conception of slow-working impersonal agency has been toilsome
and tiring, and the germs of sullen revolt are in more breasts than we
often suppose. Man's hold on the good is frail; let us seek to
strengthen it and to widen its grasp. Laudation of the practical {57}
applications of science is not enough. All are ready to be healed and
to be made the masters of nature. Too few are willing to accept the
implications of natural science and press on toward a philosophy
conflicting with the ideas of the universe cherished by their fathers.
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