RELIGIOUS BELIEFS AND RITES
Similarity between the philosophical conceptions of uncivilized
races--Most of the ritual derived from magic--Dualism--Private
and public talismans--The Pi--The Legend of the
Dog-King--Totemism--Sorcery--Rebel Moï.
A study of the general history of mankind reveals many striking
resemblances between the crude ideas which pass for philosophical
conceptions among nations in their infancy.
Whether the Moï is considered as an undeveloped or a degenerate being
(and the consideration will be determined by the school of thought to
which the inquirer adheres) it is beyond dispute that he must be
classed among the half-civilized portion of mankind, if only because
his ideas of the supernatural are those which the brain of the savage
has evolved at all times and in all places. Unlike the civilized
races, he has never been able to distinguish the natural from the
supernatural. He still believes that the world is controlled by
invisible forces set in motion by Spirits constituted like himself,
susceptible to emotions and passions like his own, and ready to shape
their actions at the dictates of humour or caprice.
This belief is the foundation of the multifarious rites which
accompany the most trivial daily act of the group which we are now
studying.
Since the invisible Beings who thus direct and sway the fortunes of
men are susceptible of love, pity, and even, it seems, of fear, it is
both possible and advisable to appeal to these emotions to secure
their assistance, or, at least, their neutrality.
It will readily be accepted that experience of life does little or
nothing to shake this belief in the perpetual intervention of the
supernatural, for naturally it is seldom that the desired event does
not follow, sooner or later, the particular ceremony in which that
desire finds expression.
For example, a great sacrifice is celebrated to secure a cessation of
drought. Even if there is no rain for several weeks afterwards, it
will still be regarded as an answer to supplication.
The Moï is still in utter ignorance of the connection between cause
and effect, largely because he has only the most elementary notions of
time and space.
It is an almost universal rule that from the earliest times religion
grew out of a belief in magic. Indeed it is worthy of remark at this
point that most of the customs and traditions found among civilized
races are in essence forms of ancient magical rites which have been
adapted to changing conditions.
The most recent investigations by the most eminent ethnologists
confirm the view that a great number of ritualistic ceremonies are
founded on the principles of imitative or sympathetic magic. This fact
must be kept in mind.
Imitative magic is based on a belief which obtains general currency
that the effect resembles the cause which produces it. The rudimentary
intelligence of the savage infers from this that it is possible to
bring about the commission of some act merely by imitating it.
Suppose a Moï desires success in the chase. Before starting on his
expedition he will prick himself with one of his arrows, or else he
will go through a series of contortions resembling the struggles of an
animal caught in his net. He never doubts for a moment that by
imitating his action, his prey will become an easy victim to his
toils.
"Sympathetic" magic is based on another equally prevalent belief that
objects which have once been in contact will continue to influence
each other after the contact has ceased and that such continuance of
influence remains unaffected either by time or distance.
[Illustration:
_From "Les Tribes Moï"_] [_By Henri Maître._
A Hut of Propitiation containing Offerings to the Gods.]
[Illustration:
_From "Les Tribes Moï"_] [_By Henri Maître._
Tombs fenced with Bamboo and decorated with Elephants' Tusks.]
[Illustration:
_Photo by_] [_A. Cabaton._
Woven Bamboo Baskets used to carry Offerings to the Priests.]
It follows as a logical conclusion from this belief that all that is
necessary to obtain or maintain influence over any person or object is
to get possession of some part of that person or object. Accordingly
the Sorcerer's first task is to secure some portion of his intended
victim, a few hairs, perhaps, or some blood, or a piece of nail. By
tormenting the image he will inflict the same sufferings on the
original. In the same way a rejected lover will dress a burnt-clay
figure in a fragment of the robe of his mistress and by supplications
addressed to her representative seek to turn her hard heart towards
himself.
Thanks to the new light thrown on these fundamental principles by the
untiring efforts of Frazer, van Gennep and other eminent ethnologists,
analysis of the better known beliefs of the Moï has become both
practicable and intelligible. We can at any rate distinguish their
salient characteristics.
As the Spirits are susceptible to human passions their natural
inclination is to be malevolent towards man, for passions excite to
ill-will and ill-doing rather than to benevolence. To counteract this
baneful tendency it is highly desirable to incite the supernatural
powers to turn their anger upon one another, and this is the more easy
of accomplishment because they are numerous, jealous, and have each
their particular domain.
To this origin must we assign the idea of provoking a supernatural
conflict--dualism--which inspires the accomplishment of certain rites.
Further, it is impossible to secure either the assistance or even the
neutrality of the superior powers without a talisman. The Sorcerer
supplies these indispensable instruments, of which he enjoys the
monopoly. Their nature and appearance vary with the object which their
wearer has in view. If a native fears the attack of some particular
animal his talisman will be some part of the object of his fears. The
teeth of wild animals, the claws of tigers, the tongues of serpents,
figure frequently among the talismans of those who fear an encounter
with these formidable enemies. As a rule they are enclosed in a small
wallet and suspended round the neck.
In a sense this is as natural an instinct as that which prompts
savages of all races to make a protective amulet of the object of
their fears, for, by an analogous association of ideas, they have
frequently found the remedy in the apprehended evil itself. Anyone who
has lived in the bush knows that immunity from the ill effects of a
scorpion's bite can be obtained by injecting under the skin a paste
made from the tails of those venomous creatures.
Some of these talismans are valueless to all save their original
owner, and sometimes even to him only so long as he remains attached
to his tribe and village. They are, so to speak, personal and not
transferable.
On the other hand there are what I may call "collective" talismans
endowed with powers to protect a family, a community, or even a whole
tribe. They are displayed in some prominent position, hung on the
door-post, a sacred tree, the mast of a canoe, or the palisade of a
village.
Others are endowed with medicinal properties and are alleged to cure
fevers and dysentery. Our portable chemist's shop was regarded as a
very sacred grove of the Spirits of Healing. These august deities
consented to appear in the form of a white powder (quinine) or of
fire-water (tincture of iodine) to allay human ills. A bottle of
chlorodyne which I used frequently in the many cases of dysentery and
cholera was elevated to the rank of a deity.
I must confess also that there were many occasions on which I took
advantage of their credulity in these matters. There were times when
my request for food and lodging for our party met with hesitation and
even point-blank refusal. In such circumstances a simple threat to
grind them all to powder produced a prompt compliance with our wishes.
The Moï apply the generic term of "Pi" to all the occult powers whose
intervention in human affairs is a matter of daily terror. The word
"Pi" roughly denotes the idea of supernatural action. It corresponds
to the "Orenda" of the Iroquois and the "Mana" of the savage tribes of
Polynesia.
The Spirits who claim sway over the region of the forest-clad
mountains are both numerous and quarrelsome. Those whose intentions
towards men are known to be beneficent are neglected while worship and
sacrifice are concentrated on the propitiation of the malevolent ones.
The "Chicken-Devil" is an object of the greatest terror to women.
Legend relates that once upon a time he was imprisoned within the body
of an ogress by whose murder he was restored to liberty.
The malevolent disposition of this Spirit is displayed by his habit of
poisoning the breath of all the women who cross his path. A woman
thus contaminated poisons every particle of food with which she comes
in contact.
No less dangerous are the Spirits which have been liberated from
bondage by the violent death or suicide of their masters. Woe betide
the traveller who encounters them on his journey. If his escort be not
large and his weapons of the latest pattern he will go to swell the
already lengthy list of victims of the powers of evil.
Farther on lurks a fresh horror.
The road is long, the sun overpowering, the earth a burning carpet.
Suddenly a tree offers welcome rest and shelter to the weary
traveller. He loses no time in seeking its grateful shade and,
selecting a suitable branch for a fly-swish, prepares to cut it with
his knife.
Heaven help him if he carries out his intention. The tree is haunted
by the spirit of a chief slain in war. It will snatch up the
sacrilegious criminal and bear him to the great Beyond.
It is a horrible catastrophe to meet with certain Ghouls, whose method
of progression is a rolling motion like that of a barrel, and who
devour all the refuse of the roads. If a woman is with you their
vengeance will fall upon her. She will become barren and gradually rot
away.
On moonlight nights young warriors often meet with ravishing nymphs
who beckon them to follow into the depths of the forest. The
loveliness and wiles of these mystic temptresses soon overpower the
strongest will and the young men yield to the spell and disappear in
the darkness. Soon the vision vanishes. The victims, terror-stricken,
walk round in fruitless circles until dawn. Their tormentors are
malignant spirits who assume the form of lovely nymphs solely to
gratify their cunning spite by hindering and terrorizing their
victims.
Among the numerous uncivilized groups of Indo-China it is curious that
only one offers the peculiar characteristic of possessing a totem. The
"Man" or "Yaos" believe that their first ancestor was a dog.
Accordingly, their veneration for that animal is profound, and it is
strictly forbidden to use its flesh for food.
If we are to believe one legend which at least has the sanction of
general acceptance, about 525 B.C. Pen Hung, who was at that time
ruler of the Chinese province of Su, promised his daughter's hand and
the half of his kingdom to the hero who should rid him of the
conquering marauder Cu-Hung, who was menacing his security. The
invader's reputation for valour had preceded him and was such that no
man dared cross swords with him. When all seemed lost a dog named
Phan-Hu undertook the task of destroying the enemy, and, having
succeeded in slaying Cu-Hung in mortal combat, he returned to claim
from the King the fulfilment of his promise.
The King gave his daughter to the victor, but in order to keep to
himself the more fertile portion of his kingdom, he assigned only the
uncultivated mountain-tops as the dog's share. This unfairness was
resented by the Dog-King, and to remedy it special concessions were
granted to his descendants.
The copy of a charter in which these privileges are set forth is still
preserved among what we may call the archives of the "Man." This
apocryphal document has been translated by Colonel Bonifacy of the
Colonial Infantry, who was the first to call the attention of
Europeans to its existence. On the other hand, if we are to believe
the twelfth-century historian Fan-Chi-Hu, the dog Phan-Hu was no other
than a savage who took that name and did in fact marry a princess as
the prize for a very remarkable triumph in a personal combat.
However that may be, it is incontestable that individuals are found in
every country whose excessive hairiness suggests a striking
resemblance to the dog, especially as regards the face. The Toda of
India and the Birmans have recently furnished several striking
examples of the freak which is popularly known as the "dog-faced man."
But to return to the legend, we may at least conclude that the
marriage took place at a much earlier period than that suggested.
The "Man," the issue of this union, have shown a marked tendency to
expand. From the mountain-tops which formed their original kingdom
they have penetrated into Tonkin, Annam and the region of the lakes.
They seem to have made ample use of a provision in their ancient
Charter which entitled them to set fire to any forest which impeded
their progress. They claim that this authority is still valid and
subsisting, and we had the greatest difficulty in enforcing obedience
to our forest regulations. The most interesting feature of this
ethnical group is that it shows undoubted traces of the existence of
an alliance formed in immemorial times with some species of animal.
Now the underlying idea of totemism is that of a compact between an
aggregation (family, or group) of human beings and some animal species
from which has sprung a relationship at once physical and social.
The recent controversy over the definition of totemism seems to make
it both redundant and impertinent for me to enlarge on a subject which
is still fresh in the memory of all. Nor is the matter of great
moment, for I am convinced that, with few exceptions, if the peoples
whom I am studying have any connection with these quite special
phenomena, that connection is too remote to be regarded as a basis for
any satisfactory deductions.
Besides, it is well known that competent observers have frequently
confused totemic practices with certain customs whose origin is rather
to be looked for in zoolatry or theriolatry (_thēr_, a wild beast).
Theriolatry embraces such curiosities as tiger and crocodile-worship,
while zoolatry signifies the worship of the domestic animals. It must
be admitted that when the totem of a group is a wild beast the
totemism is probably theriolatric, but it is impossible to dispute van
Gennep's statement that all theriolatry is not necessarily totemic.
Organization in groups or totemic clans is only found among races that
are just emerging from barbarism, and proof is not lacking that
several peoples in classical antiquity had passed through that stage
of progress before the period of recorded history begins.
Sorcerers, among the Moï, fall into two categories, those who are
gifted with the faculty of divination whereby the guilty can be
detected, and those whose exorcisms are confined and directed to the
healing of disease.
As a rule the Spirit himself selects the individual whom he proposes
to endow with these divine functions.
The first intimation to the happy mortal on whom the choice of Heaven
has thus fallen is a feeling of violent colic or sickness of a
peculiar kind which leaves no doubt as to its message or mission. The
sufferer suffers gladly.
It is by no means the rule that initiation is followed by an immediate
assumption of the divine functions. In most cases a prolonged interval
elapses, for a candidate who feels unequal to the rôle thus suddenly
thrust upon him will prefer exile rather than a return to the ranks of
common mortals, a set-back which would make him a public
laughing-stock.
Among the Djarai, one of the most important of the Indo-Chinese
groups, there are two sorcerers of the greatest renown, known as the
"King of Fire" and the "King of Water."
It is probable that these mythological names originally personified
the incarnation of Agni, God of Fire, and Varouna, God of Water, and
are themselves traces of Brahminism which at one time exercised
immense influence over the southern Indo-Chinese peoples and which
cannot be said to be entirely defunct to-day.
The Hindu god Agni is always represented as armed with a lance. The
"King of Fire" carries, not a lance, but a sword, to which an
extraordinary magical power is attributed. If its guardian were to
draw it merely an inch or two from its scabbard the sun would cease to
illumine the earth. If he drew it out altogether a paralysing lethargy
would settle upon his subjects.
Hardly less astonishing are the powers ascribed to the two fetishes
which are in the official keeping of the "King of Water." One is the
fruit of a creeper which shows not the slightest trace of decay though
it was plucked at the time of the Deluge. The other is a sacred rattan
which, though of immemorial antiquity, looks as fresh as on its first
day of existence. The owner of these talismans has only to utter a
word and the universe will disappear beneath the celestial cataracts.
The Cambodians and the Cham assert that these talismans formerly
belonged to their kings and were stolen from them by treachery. More
than once they have organized expeditions to recover their treasure,
but the Spirits have willed otherwise, and the Djarai have never had
any difficulty in repelling the invaders.
The predecessors of Norodom, as long as they held sway and directed
the destinies of Cambodia, brought presents each year to their
cousins, the Kings of the Savage Lands. These gifts took the form of
an elephant gorgeously caparisoned, a quantity of brass and some
superb pieces of silk destined for the sheath of the sacred sword. As
a fitting reply to this act of homage, the King of Fire condescended
to leave the imprint of his august finger on a cake of wax, which was
then sent to Pnom-Penh, and on two gourds filled with rice.
India, as well as Cambodia, is familiar with the custom of preserving
the print of the foot or hand of anyone who has become an object of
veneration. Oil of sesame figures frequently in ritual sacrifices,
especially when offered by those guilty of intemperance. It is said to
purify the worshipper and be grateful to the outraged Spirit.
Wax and corn are alleged to have a remarkably soothing effect on
Spirits with a tendency to active malevolence.
But to return to the two Potentates, it must be admitted that they
have no effective political authority, though their influence in the
sphere of religion is unchallenged.
Their residences lie at a distance of several miles from each other on
opposite sides of the watershed between the rivers of Annam and the
lakes.
Their offices are hereditary and, if we are to believe the current
legend, the family are always present at the death of a pontiff to
assist his passage to the next world. This is not from any urgent
desire to succeed him but to accomplish a traditional rite. The next
step in the proceedings is remarkable. The individual on whom the
mantle of the deceased has fallen by hereditary right takes refuge in
flight. He is pursued and caught, and in spite of his repeated
refusals is compelled to continue the dynasty.
This solemn mockery, parading as a custom, is by no means confined to
the group of which I am speaking. In all lands and all periods men are
to be found who meet their appointment to places of high honour with
sincere or insincere refusals. For one case of genuine apprehension of
unfitness there are ten of mock-modesty.
In many cases, it must be admitted, the office of Chief is both
onerous and precarious. Sometimes the Chief is only the titular head
of the tribe, bound hand and foot by custom and tradition and held
responsible for all the misfortunes that overtake his country during
his reign. In these circumstances it is hardly to be wondered at that
there is some misgiving among those elected to the burdensome office.
The Princes of Loango, the Sheik of Gardaia, and the King of the Hobbé
in Central Nigeria all take to ignominious flight when their turn
comes to assume the reins of government.
In most cases, however, the refusal has become a tradition, whether
spontaneous in its origin or not. The Moslem is doing no more than to
imitate Mahomet's modest denials when the angel Gabriel came to
announce his selection as the prophet of Allah. Even in our days, how
many times have we not seen the good citizen professing his
unworthiness of a proffered honour and accepting under the pretence of
compulsion that on which his heart has long been set!
We have an interesting account of a visit to the "King of Fire" from
the lips of Commandant Cupet of the Pavie mission. The Potentate put
every conceivable obstacle in the way of the expedition and spared no
pains to make their residence in the country as uncomfortable as
possible. Having surmounted these obstacles, however, the explorers
were faced with a flat refusal to allow them to depart. The situation
was becoming extremely strained when a happy accident relieved it. The
Pontiff chanced to see a compass, and was so impressed by the
movements of the magnetic needle, which he attributed to some magic
power, that he withdrew his opposition and allowed the expedition to
proceed unmolested.
Tragically otherwise was the experience of my friend Prosper Odend'
Hal, Director of the Indo-Chinese Civil Service, during the
archæological and ethnographical mission of 1904.
Some days before the departure of his expedition under the auspices of
the French School in the Far East, he came to ask me if I would lend
him my Moï vocabularies, which he wished to complete during the
journey. In the course of our conversation he told me of his
intention to dispense with an escort other than an interpreter and a
few boys, with a view to facilitating movement and saving time. I had
already had sufficient experience of the insecurity of the regions he
proposed to explore to know the danger of such a course, and I
exhausted every argument to turn him from his purpose. The country was
far from pacified and the guerilla warfare which detached bodies of
the Moï carried on against us seemed likely at any moment to break out
in open conflict. Nothing appeared to me more foolhardy than to go
among them defenceless at a time when force was the only argument they
could appreciate. Unhappily Odend' Hal remained firm in his conviction
that a mark of confidence would fire their imaginations and touch
their hearts. He professed a high regard for these unregenerate
savages and endowed them, quite gratuitously, with all manner of
virtues.
This blind confidence was the cause of his undoing. He started from
Phan-Rang at the end of March, crossed the Annamite range, the
mountains of Langbian and the plateau of the Darlac, then penetrated
into the interior of Phuyen (Annam), the land of the "King of Fire."
It seems that from the first he had made up his mind to see the
renowned sacred sword. After much negotiation, its royal owner had
intimated his pleasure to gratify the desire and invited the explorer
to a great banquet to be given in his house.
On the seventh of April Odend' Hal attended, accompanied only by his
interpreter and unarmed, to demonstrate his confidence in the loyalty
of his host. Some hours later his servants were aroused by a report of
fire. In an isolated hut, already wrapped in flames, they found the
bodies of the two victims pierced through and through with spears.
Odend' Hal was a senior officer of the same standing as myself. He had
taken part in our earliest expeditions at the time of the conquest,
and lived more than twenty years in the country, where his kindness
and outstanding ability had won universal respect.
More than one punitive expedition had to be sent out after this
outrage, and some of them met with open and unremitting hostility from
detached bodies of the Moï. I have mentioned before that even during
the mission on which I was engaged MM. Canivey and Barbu, who were in
command of the Militia, had to organize a flying column to operate to
the north of Langbian, where we were then engaged on a topographical
survey. These two officers themselves commanded the force, which was
composed of fifty militiamen and the same number of coolies.
They left Dalat, where we had made our headquarters, and marched in
the direction of the Darlac. Within a few days they were in touch with
the rebels, who pursued the policy of retiring before their advance,
abandoning their villages and attempting to draw the column into the
forest-clad mountains, where numerous defiles offered special
advantages for guerilla warfare. Captain Canivey was not to be
deceived by such tactics, and advisedly gave the order for retreat,
leaving the subjugation of the rebels to a later occasion.
When the first stage of the return journey was almost completed the
advance-guard reported towards evening that their progress was impeded
by small bamboo stakes fixed into the ground. Rifle in hand Canivey at
once went forward, suspecting an ambush. Behind the palisade of thorny
bamboo he thought he detected several dark dots moving hither and
thither. Suddenly two arrows, then a third, struck him, and a fourth
followed. Captain Barbu, who rushed to the rescue, was received by a
shower of missiles.
The Linhs, or native soldiers, threw themselves flat on the ground and
fired volley after volley in the direction of the attack. The Moï
replied with an avalanche of arrows and javelins, but the rapidity of
our fire soon proved too much for them and, after their ranks had been
seriously depleted, they gave way and fled, leaving all but a few of
their wounded. We made prisoners of all the rebels thus left to their
fate and buried the corpses in an effective, if summary, manner.
It was long before MM. Canivey and Barbu recovered from their wounds,
but after many anxious moments their natural vitality triumphed, and
within a short time a new expedition was organized which proved a
complete success.