Produced by Judith Boss
THE SOUL OF THE INDIAN
An Interpretation
By Charles Alexander Eastman (Ohiyesa)
TO MY WIFE
ELAINE GOODALE EASTMAN
IN GRATEFUL RECOGNITION OF HER
EVER-INSPIRING COMPANIONSHIP
IN THOUGHT AND WORK
AND IN LOVE OF HER MOST
INDIAN-LIKE VIRTUES
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
I speak for each no-tongued tree
That, spring by spring, doth nobler be,
And dumbly and most wistfully
His mighty prayerful arms outspreads,
And his big blessing downward sheds.
--SIDNEY LANIER.
But there’s a dome of nobler span,
A temple given
Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban--
Its space is heaven!
It’s roof star-pictured Nature’s ceiling,
Where, trancing the rapt spirit’s feeling,
And God Himself to man revealing,
Th’ harmonious spheres
Make music, though unheard their pealing
By mortal ears!
--THOMAS CAMPBELL.
God! sing ye meadow streams with gladsome voice!
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the elements,
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!...
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises GOD!
--COLERIDGE.
FOREWORD
“We also have a religion which was given to our forefathers, and has
been handed down to us their children. It teaches us to be thankful, to
be united, and to love one another! We never quarrel about religion.”
Thus spoke the great Seneca orator, Red Jacket, in his superb reply to
Missionary Cram more than a century ago, and I have often heard the same
thought expressed by my countrymen.
I have attempted to paint the religious life of the typical American
Indian as it was before he knew the white man. I have long wished to do
this, because I cannot find that it has ever been seriously, adequately,
and sincerely done. The religion of the Indian is the last thing about
him that the man of another race will ever understand.
First, the Indian does not speak of these deep matters so long as
he believes in them, and when he has ceased to believe he speaks
inaccurately and slightingly.
Second, even if he can be induced to speak, the racial and religious
prejudice of the other stands in the way of his sympathetic
comprehension.
Third, practically all existing studies on this subject have been made
during the transition period, when the original beliefs and philosophy
of the native American were already undergoing rapid disintegration.
There are to be found here and there superficial accounts of strange
customs and ceremonies, of which the symbolism or inner meaning was
largely hidden from the observer; and there has been a great deal of
material collected in recent years which is without value because it is
modern and hybrid, inextricably mixed with Biblical legend and Caucasian
philosophy. Some of it has even been invented for commercial purposes.
Give a reservation Indian a present, and he will possibly provide you
with sacred songs, a mythology, and folk-lore to order!
My little book does not pretend to be a scientific treatise. It is as
true as I can make it to my childhood teaching and ancestral ideals,
but from the human, not the ethnological standpoint. I have not cared to
pile up more dry bones, but to clothe them with flesh and blood. So much
as has been written by strangers of our ancient faith and worship
treats it chiefly as matter of curiosity. I should like to emphasize its
universal quality, its personal appeal!
The first missionaries, good men imbued with the narrowness of their
age, branded us as pagans and devil-worshipers, and demanded of us that
we abjure our false gods before bowing the knee at their sacred altar.
They even told us that we were eternally lost, unless we adopted a
tangible symbol and professed a particular form of their hydra-headed
faith.
We of the twentieth century know better! We know that all religious
aspiration, all sincere worship, can have but one source and one goal.
We know that the God of the lettered and the unlettered, of the Greek
and the barbarian, is after all the same God; and, like Peter, we
perceive that He is no respecter of persons, but that in every nation he
that feareth Him and worketh righteousness is acceptable to Him.
CHARLES A. EASTMAN (OHIYESA)
CONTENTS
I. THE GREAT MYSTERY 1
II. THE FAMILY ALTAR 25
III. CEREMONIAL AND SYMBOLIC WORSHIP 51
IV. BARBARISM AND THE MORAL CODE 85
V. THE UNWRITTEN SCRIPTURES 117
VI. ON THE BORDER-LAND OF SPIRITS 147
I. THE GREAT MYSTERY
Solitary Worship. The Savage Philosopher. The Dual Mind.
Spiritual Gifts versus Material Progress. The Paradox of
“Christian Civilization.”
The original attitude of the American Indian toward the Eternal, the
“Great Mystery” that surrounds and embraces us, was as simple as it
was exalted. To him it was the supreme conception, bringing with it the
fullest measure of joy and satisfaction possible in this life.
The worship of the “Great Mystery” was silent, solitary, free from all
self-seeking. It was silent, because all speech is of necessity feeble
and imperfect; therefore the souls of my ancestors ascended to God in
wordless adoration. It was solitary, because they believed that He is
nearer to us in solitude, and there were no priests authorized to come
between a man and his Maker. None might exhort or confess or in any way
meddle with the religious experience of another. Among us all men were
created sons of God and stood erect, as conscious of their divinity. Our
faith might not be formulated in creeds, nor forced upon any who were
unwilling to receive it; hence there was no preaching, proselyting, nor
persecution, neither were there any scoffers or atheists.
There were no temples or shrines among us save those of nature. Being
a natural man, the Indian was intensely poetical. He would deem it
sacrilege to build a house for Him who may be met face to face in the
mysterious, shadowy aisles of the primeval forest, or on the sunlit
bosom of virgin prairies, upon dizzy spires and pinnacles of naked rock,
and yonder in the jeweled vault of the night sky! He who enrobes Himself
in filmy veils of cloud, there on the rim of the visible world where our
Great-Grandfather Sun kindles his evening camp-fire, He who rides
upon the rigorous wind of the north, or breathes forth His spirit upon
aromatic southern airs, whose war-canoe is launched upon majestic rivers
and inland seas--He needs no lesser cathedral!
That solitary communion with the Unseen which was the highest expression
of our religious life is partly described in the word bambeday,
literally “mysterious feeling,” which has been variously translated
“fasting” and “dreaming.” It may better be interpreted as “consciousness
of the divine.”
The first bambeday, or religious retreat, marked an epoch in the life of
the youth, which may be compared to that of confirmation or conversion
in Christian experience. Having first prepared himself by means of
the purifying vapor-bath, and cast off as far as possible all human or
fleshly influences, the young man sought out the noblest height, the
most commanding summit in all the surrounding region. Knowing that God
sets no value upon material things, he took with him no offerings or
sacrifices other than symbolic objects, such as paints and tobacco.
Wishing to appear before Him in all humility, he wore no clothing save
his moccasins and breech-clout. At the solemn hour of sunrise or sunset
he took up his position, overlooking the glories of earth and facing
the “Great Mystery,” and there he remained, naked, erect, silent, and
motionless, exposed to the elements and forces of His arming, for a
night and a day to two days and nights, but rarely longer. Sometimes he
would chant a hymn without words, or offer the ceremonial “filled pipe.”
In this holy trance or ecstasy the Indian mystic found his highest
happiness and the motive power of his existence.
When he returned to the camp, he must remain at a distance until he had
again entered the vapor-bath and prepared himself for intercourse with
his fellows. Of the vision or sign vouchsafed to him he did not speak,
unless it had included some commission which must be publicly fulfilled.
Sometimes an old man, standing upon the brink of eternity, might reveal
to a chosen few the oracle of his long-past youth.
The native American has been generally despised by his white conquerors
for his poverty and simplicity. They forget, perhaps, that his religion
forbade the accumulation of wealth and the enjoyment of luxury. To him,
as to other single-minded men in every age and race, from Diogenes to
the brothers of Saint Francis, from the Montanists to the Shakers, the
love of possessions has appeared a snare, and the burdens of a complex
society a source of needless peril and temptation. Furthermore, it was
the rule of his life to share the fruits of his skill and success with
his less fortunate brothers. Thus he kept his spirit free from the clog
of pride, cupidity, or envy, and carried out, as he believed, the divine
decree--a matter profoundly important to him.
It was not, then, wholly from ignorance or improvidence that he failed
to establish permanent towns and to develop a material civilization.
To the untutored sage, the concentration of population was the prolific
mother of all evils, moral no less than physical. He argued that food is
good, while surfeit kills; that love is good, but lust destroys; and not
less dreaded than the pestilence following upon crowded and unsanitary
dwellings was the loss of spiritual power inseparable from too close
contact with one’s fellow-men. All who have lived much out of doors know
that there is a magnetic and nervous force that accumulates in solitude
and that is quickly dissipated by life in a crowd; and even his enemies
have recognized the fact that for a certain innate power and self-poise,
wholly independent of circumstances, the American Indian is unsurpassed
among men.
The red man divided mind into two parts,--the spiritual mind and the
physical mind. The first is pure spirit, concerned only with the essence
of things, and it was this he sought to strengthen by spiritual prayer,
during which the body is subdued by fasting and hardship. In this type
of prayer there was no beseeching of favor or help. All matters of
personal or selfish concern, as success in hunting or warfare, relief
from sickness, or the sparing of a beloved life, were definitely
relegated to the plane of the lower or material mind, and all
ceremonies, charms, or incantations designed to secure a benefit or to
avert a danger, were recognized as emanating from the physical self.
The rites of this physical worship, again, were wholly symbolic, and the
Indian no more worshiped the Sun than the Christian adores the Cross.
The Sun and the Earth, by an obvious parable, holding scarcely more of
poetic metaphor than of scientific truth, were in his view the parents
of all organic life. From the Sun, as the universal father, proceeds the
quickening principle in nature, and in the patient and fruitful womb of
our mother, the Earth, are hidden embryos of plants and men. Therefore
our reverence and love for them was really an imaginative extension of
our love for our immediate parents, and with this sentiment of filial
piety was joined a willingness to appeal to them, as to a father, for
such good gifts as we may desire. This is the material or physical
prayer.
The elements and majestic forces in nature, Lightning, Wind, Water,
Fire, and Frost, were regarded with awe as spiritual powers, but always
secondary and intermediate in character. We believed that the spirit
pervades all creation and that every creature possesses a soul in some
degree, though not necessarily a soul conscious of itself. The tree, the
waterfall, the grizzly bear, each is an embodied Force, and as such an
object of reverence.
The Indian loved to come into sympathy and spiritual communion with his
brothers of the animal kingdom, whose inarticulate souls had for him
something of the sinless purity that we attribute to the innocent and
irresponsible child. He had faith in their instincts, as in a mysterious
wisdom given from above; and while he humbly accepted the supposedly
voluntary sacrifice of their bodies to preserve his own, he paid homage
to their spirits in prescribed prayers and offerings.
In every religion there is an element of the supernatural, varying with
the influence of pure reason over its devotees. The Indian was a logical
and clear thinker upon matters within the scope of his understanding,
but he had not yet charted the vast field of nature or expressed her
wonders in terms of science. With his limited knowledge of cause and
effect, he saw miracles on every hand,--the miracle of life in seed and
egg, the miracle of death in lightning flash and in the swelling deep!
Nothing of the marvelous could astonish him; as that a beast should
speak, or the sun stand still. The virgin birth would appear scarcely
more miraculous than is the birth of every child that comes into the
world, or the miracle of the loaves and fishes excite more wonder than
the harvest that springs from a single ear of corn.
Who may condemn his superstition? Surely not the devout Catholic, or
even Protestant missionary, who teaches Bible miracles as literal fact!
The logical man must either deny all miracles or none, and our American
Indian myths and hero stories are perhaps, in themselves, quite as
credible as those of the Hebrews of old. If we are of the modern type
of mind, that sees in natural law a majesty and grandeur far more
impressive than any solitary infraction of it could possibly be, let
us not forget that, after all, science has not explained everything. We
have still to face the ultimate miracle,--the origin and principle
of life! Here is the supreme mystery that is the essence of worship,
without which there can be no religion, and in the presence of
this mystery our attitude cannot be very unlike that of the natural
philosopher, who beholds with awe the Divine in all creation.
It is simple truth that the Indian did not, so long as his native
philosophy held sway over his mind, either envy or desire to imitate
the splendid achievements of the white man. In his own thought he rose
superior to them! He scorned them, even as a lofty spirit absorbed
in its stern task rejects the soft beds, the luxurious food, the
pleasure-worshiping dalliance of a rich neighbor. It was clear to
him that virtue and happiness are independent of these things, if not
incompatible with them.
There was undoubtedly much in primitive Christianity to appeal to this
man, and Jesus’ hard sayings to the rich and about the rich would have
been entirely comprehensible to him. Yet the religion that is preached
in our churches and practiced by our congregations, with its element of
display and self-aggrandizement, its active proselytism, and its open
contempt of all religions but its own, was for a long time extremely
repellent. To his simple mind, the professionalism of the pulpit, the
paid exhorter, the moneyed church, was an unspiritual and unedifying
thing, and it was not until his spirit was broken and his moral and
physical constitution undermined by trade, conquest, and strong drink,
that Christian missionaries obtained any real hold upon him. Strange as
it may seem, it is true that the proud pagan in his secret soul despised
the good men who came to convert and to enlighten him!
Nor were its publicity and its Phariseeism the only elements in the
alien religion that offended the red man. To him, it appeared shocking
and almost incredible that there were among this people who claimed
superiority many irreligious, who did not even pretend to profess the
national faith. Not only did they not profess it, but they stooped so
low as to insult their God with profane and sacrilegious speech! In our
own tongue His name was not spoken aloud, even with utmost reverence,
much less lightly or irreverently.
More than this, even in those white men who professed religion we found
much inconsistency of conduct. They spoke much of spiritual things,
while seeking only the material. They bought and sold everything:
time, labor, personal independence, the love of woman, and even the
ministrations of their holy faith! The lust for money, power, and
conquest so characteristic of the Anglo-Saxon race did not escape moral
condemnation at the hands of his untutored judge, nor did he fail to
contrast this conspicuous trait of the dominant race with the spirit of
the meek and lowly Jesus.
He might in time come to recognize that the drunkards and licentious
among white men, with whom he too frequently came in contact, were
condemned by the white man’s religion as well, and must not be held to
discredit it. But it was not so easy to overlook or to excuse national
bad faith. When distinguished emissaries from the Father at Washington,
some of them ministers of the gospel and even bishops, came to the
Indian nations, and pledged to them in solemn treaty the national honor,
with prayer and mention of their God; and when such treaties, so made,
were promptly and shamelessly broken, is it strange that the action
should arouse not only anger, but contempt? The historians of the white
race admit that the Indian was never the first to repudiate his oath.
It is my personal belief, after thirty-five years’ experience of it,
that there is no such thing as “Christian civilization.” I believe that
Christianity and modern civilization are opposed and irreconcilable,
and that the spirit of Christianity and of our ancient religion is
essentially the same.
II. THE FAMILY ALTAR
Pre-natal Influence. Early Religious Teaching. The
Function of the Aged. Woman, Marriage and the Family.
Loyalty, Hospitality, Friendship.
The American Indian was an individualist in religion as in war. He had
neither a national army nor an organized church. There was no priest
to assume responsibility for another’s soul. That is, we believed, the
supreme duty of the parent, who only was permitted to claim in some
degree the priestly office and function, since it is his creative and
protecting power which alone approaches the solemn function of Deity.
The Indian was a religious man from his mother’s womb. From the moment
of her recognition of the fact of conception to the end of the second
year of life, which was the ordinary duration of lactation, it was
supposed by us that the mother’s spiritual influence counted for most.
Her attitude and secret meditations must be such as to instill into the
receptive soul of the unborn child the love of the “Great Mystery” and
a sense of brotherhood with all creation. Silence and isolation are
the rule of life for the expectant mother. She wanders prayerful in the
stillness of great woods, or on the bosom of the untrodden prairie, and
to her poetic mind the immanent birth of her child prefigures the advent
of a master-man--a hero, or the mother of heroes--a thought conceived in
the virgin breast of primeval nature, and dreamed out in a hush that is
only broken by the sighing of the pine tree or the thrilling orchestra
of a distant waterfall.
And when the day of days in her life dawns--the day in which there is
to be a new life, the miracle of whose making has been intrusted to her,
she seeks no human aid. She has been trained and prepared in body and
mind for this her holiest duty, ever since she can remember. The ordeal
is best met alone, where no curious or pitying eyes embarrass her; where
all nature says to her spirit: “‘Tis love! ‘tis love! the fulfilling of
life!” When a sacred voice comes to her out of the silence, and a pair
of eyes open upon her in the wilderness, she knows with joy that she has
borne well her part in the great song of creation!
Presently she returns to the camp, carrying the mysterious, the holy,
the dearest bundle! She feels the endearing warmth of it and hears its
soft breathing. It is still a part of herself, since both are nourished
by the same mouthful, and no look of a lover could be sweeter than its
deep, trusting gaze.
She continues her spiritual teaching, at first silently--a mere pointing
of the index finger to nature; then in whispered songs, bird-like, at
morning and evening. To her and to the child the birds are real people,
who live very close to the “Great Mystery”; the murmuring trees breathe
His presence; the falling waters chant His praise.
If the child should chance to be fretful, the mother raises her hand.
“Hush! hush!” she cautions it tenderly, “the spirits may be disturbed!”
She bids it be still and listen--listen to the silver voice of the
aspen, or the clashing cymbals of the birch; and at night she points
to the heavenly, blazed trail, through nature’s galaxy of splendor to
nature’s God. Silence, love, reverence,--this is the trinity of first
lessons; and to these she later adds generosity, courage, and chastity.
In the old days, our mothers were single-eyed to the trust imposed upon
them; and as a noted chief of our people was wont to say: “Men may slay
one another, but they can never overcome the woman, for in the quietude
of her lap lies the child! You may destroy him once and again, but he
issues as often from that same gentle lap--a gift of the Great Good to
the race, in which man is only an accomplice!”
This wild mother has not only the experience of her mother and
grandmother, and the accepted rules of her people for a guide, but she
humbly seeks to learn a lesson from ants, bees, spiders, beavers, and
badgers. She studies the family life of the birds, so exquisite in its
emotional intensity and its patient devotion, until she seems to feel
the universal mother-heart beating in her own breast. In due time
the child takes of his own accord the attitude of prayer, and speaks
reverently of the Powers. He thinks that he is a blood brother to all
living creatures, and the storm wind is to him a messenger of the “Great
Mystery.”
At the age of about eight years, if he is a boy, she turns him over to
his father for more Spartan training. If a girl, she is from this time
much under the guardianship of her grandmother, who is considered the
most dignified protector for the maiden. Indeed, the distinctive work
of both grandparents is that of acquainting the youth with the
national traditions and beliefs. It is reserved for them to repeat the
time-hallowed tales with dignity and authority, so as to lead him into
his inheritance in the stored-up wisdom and experience of the race. The
old are dedicated to the service of the young, as their teachers and
advisers, and the young in turn regard them with love and reverence.
Our old age was in some respects the happiest period of life. Advancing
years brought with them much freedom, not only from the burden of
laborious and dangerous tasks, but from those restrictions of custom and
etiquette which were religiously observed by all others. No one who is
at all acquainted with the Indian in his home can deny that we are a
polite people. As a rule, the warrior who inspired the greatest terror
in the hearts of his enemies was a man of the most exemplary gentleness,
and almost feminine refinement, among his family and friends. A soft,
low voice was considered an excellent thing in man, as well as in
woman! Indeed, the enforced intimacy of tent life would soon become
intolerable, were it not for these instinctive reserves and delicacies,
this unfailing respect for the established place and possessions of
every other member of the family circle, this habitual quiet, order, and
decorum.
Our people, though capable of strong and durable feeling, were not
demonstrative in their affection at any time, least of all in the
presence of guests or strangers. Only to the aged, who have journeyed
far, and are in a manner exempt from ordinary rules, are permitted
some playful familiarities with children and grandchildren, some plain
speaking, even to harshness and objurgation, from which the others must
rigidly refrain. In short, the old men and women are privileged to say
what they please and how they please, without contradiction, while the
hardships and bodily infirmities that of necessity fall to their lot are
softened so far as may be by universal consideration and attention.
There was no religious ceremony connected with marriage among us, while
on the other hand the relation between man and woman was regarded as in
itself mysterious and holy. It appears that where marriage is solemnized
by the church and blessed by the priest, it may at the same time be
surrounded with customs and ideas of a frivolous, superficial, and even
prurient character. We believed that two who love should be united in
secret, before the public acknowledgment of their union, and should
taste their apotheosis alone with nature. The betrothal might or might
not be discussed and approved by the parents, but in either case it was
customary for the young pair to disappear into the wilderness, there
to pass some days or weeks in perfect seclusion and dual solitude,
afterward returning to the village as man and wife. An exchange of
presents and entertainments between the two families usually followed,
but the nuptial blessing was given by the High Priest of God, the most
reverend and holy Nature.
The family was not only the social unit, but also the unit of
government. The clan is nothing more than a larger family, with its
patriarchal chief as the natural head, and the union of several clans by
intermarriage and voluntary connection constitutes the tribe. The very
name of our tribe, Dakota, means Allied People. The remoter degrees of
kinship were fully recognized, and that not as a matter of form only:
first cousins were known as brothers and sisters; the name of “cousin”
constituted a binding claim, and our rigid morality forbade marriage
between cousins in any known degree, or in other words within the clan.
The household proper consisted of a man with one or more wives and their
children, all of whom dwelt amicably together, often under one roof,
although some men of rank and position provided a separate lodge for
each wife. There were, indeed, few plural marriages except among
the older and leading men, and plural wives were usually, though not
necessarily, sisters. A marriage might honorably be dissolved for cause,
but there was very little infidelity or immorality, either open or
secret.
It has been said that the position of woman is the test of civilization,
and that of our women was secure. In them was vested our standard of
morals and the purity of our blood. The wife did not take the name of
her husband nor enter his clan, and the children belonged to the clan
of the mother. All of the family property was held by her, descent
was traced in the maternal line, and the honor of the house was in her
hands. Modesty was her chief adornment; hence the younger women were
usually silent and retiring: but a woman who had attained to ripeness
of years and wisdom, or who had displayed notable courage in some
emergency, was sometimes invited to a seat in the council.
Thus she ruled undisputed within her own domain, and was to us a tower
of moral and spiritual strength, until the coming of the border white
man, the soldier and trader, who with strong drink overthrew the honor
of the man, and through his power over a worthless husband purchased the
virtue of his wife or his daughter. When she fell, the whole race fell
with her.
Before this calamity came upon us, you could not find anywhere a happier
home than that created by the Indian woman. There was nothing of the
artificial about her person, and very little disingenuousness in her
character. Her early and consistent training, the definiteness of her
vocation, and, above all, her profoundly religious attitude gave her
a strength and poise that could not be overcome by any ordinary
misfortune.
Indian names were either characteristic nicknames given in a playful
spirit, deed names, birth names, or such as have a religious and
symbolic meaning. It has been said that when a child is born, some
accident or unusual appearance determines his name. This is sometimes
the case, but is not the rule. A man of forcible character, with a fine
war record, usually bears the name of the buffalo or bear, lightning or
some dread natural force. Another of more peaceful nature may be called
Swift Bird or Blue Sky. A woman’s name usually suggested something about
the home, often with the adjective “pretty” or “good,” and a feminine
termination. Names of any dignity or importance must be conferred by the
old men, and especially so if they have any spiritual significance; as
Sacred Cloud, Mysterious Night, Spirit Woman, and the like. Such a name
was sometimes borne by three generations, but each individual must prove
that he is worthy of it.
In the life of the Indian there was only one inevitable duty,--the duty
of prayer--the daily recognition of the Unseen and Eternal. His daily
devotions were more necessary to him than daily food. He wakes at
daybreak, puts on his moccasins and steps down to the water’s edge. Here
he throws handfuls of clear, cold water into his face, or plunges in
bodily. After the bath, he stands erect before the advancing dawn,
facing the sun as it dances upon the horizon, and offers his unspoken
orison. His mate may precede or follow him in his devotions, but never
accompanies him. Each soul must meet the morning sun, the new, sweet
earth, and the Great Silence alone!
Whenever, in the course of the daily hunt, the red hunter comes upon a
scene that is strikingly beautiful or sublime--a black thundercloud with
the rainbow’s glowing arch above the mountain; a white waterfall in
the heart of a green gorge; a vast prairie tinged with the blood-red of
sunset--he pauses for an instant in the attitude of worship. He sees no
need for setting apart one day in seven as a holy day, since to him all
days are God’s.
Every act of his life is, in a very real sense, a religious act. He
recognizes the spirit in all creation, and believes that he draws from
it spiritual power. His respect for the immortal part of the animal, his
brother, often leads him so far as to lay out the body of his game in
state and decorate the head with symbolic paint or feathers. Then he
stands before it in the prayer attitude, holding up the filled pipe, in
token that he has freed with honor the spirit of his brother, whose body
his need compelled him to take to sustain his own life.
When food is taken, the woman murmurs a “grace” as she lowers the
kettle; an act so softly and unobtrusively performed that one who
does not know the custom usually fails to catch the whisper: “Spirit,
partake!” As her husband receives the bowl or plate, he likewise murmurs
his invocation to the spirit. When he becomes an old man, he loves to
make a notable effort to prove his gratitude. He cuts off the choicest
morsel of the meat and casts it into the fire--the purest and most
ethereal element.
The hospitality of the wigwam is only limited by the institution of
war. Yet, if an enemy should honor us with a call, his trust will not
be misplaced, and he will go away convinced that he has met with a royal
host! Our honor is the guarantee for his safety, so long as he is within
the camp.
Friendship is held to be the severest test of character. It is easy, we
think, to be loyal to family and clan, whose blood is in our own veins.
Love between man and woman is founded on the mating instinct and is not
free from desire and self-seeking. But to have a friend, and to be true
under any and all trials, is the mark of a man!
The highest type of friendship is the relation of “brother-friend” or
“life-and-death friend.” This bond is between man and man, is usually
formed in early youth, and can only be broken by death. It is the
essence of comradeship and fraternal love, without thought of pleasure
or gain, but rather for moral support and inspiration. Each is vowed to
die for the other, if need be, and nothing is denied the brother-friend,
but neither is anything required that is not in accord with the highest
conceptions of the Indian mind.
III. CEREMONIAL AND SYMBOLIC WORSHIP
Modern Perversions of Early Religious Rites. The Sun Dance.
The Great Medicine Lodge. Totems and Charms. The Vapor-Bath
and the Ceremonial of the Pipe.
The public religious rites of the Plains Indians are few, and in large
part of modern origin, belonging properly to the so-called “transition
period.” That period must be held to begin with the first insidious
effect upon their manners and customs of contact with the dominant race,
and many of the tribes were so influenced long before they ceased to
lead the nomadic life.
The fur-traders, the “Black Robe” priests, the military, and finally the
Protestant missionaries, were the men who began the disintegration of
the Indian nations and the overthrow of their religion, seventy-five to
a hundred years before they were forced to enter upon reservation life.
We have no authentic study of them until well along in the transition
period, when whiskey and trade had already debauched their native
ideals.
During the era of reconstruction they modified their customs and beliefs
continually, creating a singular admixture of Christian with pagan
superstitions, and an addition to the old folk-lore of disguised Bible
stories under an Indian aspect. Even their music shows the influence of
the Catholic chants. Most of the material collected by modern observers
is necessarily of this promiscuous character.
It is noteworthy that the first effect of contact with the whites was an
increase of cruelty and barbarity, an intensifying of the dark shadows
in the picture! In this manner the “Sun Dance” of the Plains Indians,
the most important of their public ceremonials, was abused and perverted
until it became a horrible exhibition of barbarism, and was eventually
prohibited by the Government.
In the old days, when a Sioux warrior found himself in the very jaws of
destruction, he might offer a prayer to his father, the Sun, to prolong
his life. If rescued from imminent danger, he must acknowledge the
divine favor by making a Sun Dance, according to the vow embraced in his
prayer, in which he declared that he did not fear torture or death, but
asked life only for the sake of those who loved him. Thus the physical
ordeal was the fulfillment of a vow, and a sort of atonement for what
might otherwise appear to be reprehensible weakness in the face of
death. It was in the nature of confession and thank-offering to the
“Great Mystery,” through the physical parent, the Sun, and did not
embrace a prayer for future favors.
The ceremonies usually took place from six months to a year after the
making of the vow, in order to admit of suitable preparation; always
in midsummer and before a large and imposing gathering. They naturally
included the making of a feast, and the giving away of much savage
wealth in honor of the occasion, although these were no essential part
of the religious rite.
When the day came to procure the pole, it was brought in by a party of
warriors, headed by some man of distinction. The tree selected was six
to eight inches in diameter at the base, and twenty to twenty-five
feet high. It was chosen and felled with some solemnity, including
the ceremony of the “filled pipe,” and was carried in the fashion of a
litter, symbolizing the body of the man who made the dance. A solitary
teepee was pitched on a level spot at some distance from the village,
and the pole raised near at hand with the same ceremony, in the centre
of a circular enclosure of fresh-cut boughs.
Meanwhile, one of the most noted of our old men had carved out of
rawhide, or later of wood, two figures, usually those of a man and
a buffalo. Sometimes the figure of a bird, supposed to represent the
Thunder, was substituted for the buffalo. It was customary to paint the
man red and the animal black, and each was suspended from one end of the
crossbar which was securely tied some two feet from the top of the
pole. I have never been able to determine that this cross had any
significance; it was probably nothing more than a dramatic coincidence
that surmounted the Sun-Dance pole with the symbol of Christianity.
The paint indicated that the man who was about to give thanks publicly
had been potentially dead, but was allowed to live by the mysterious
favor and interference of the Giver of Life. The buffalo hung opposite
the image of his own body in death, because it was the support of his
physical self, and a leading figure in legendary lore. Following
the same line of thought, when he emerged from the solitary lodge
of preparation, and approached the pole to dance, nude save for his
breechclout and moccasins, his hair loosened and daubed with clay, he
must drag after him a buffalo skull, representing the grave from which
he had escaped.
The dancer was cut or scarified on the chest, sufficient to draw blood
and cause pain, the natural accompaniments of his figurative death. He
took his position opposite the singers, facing the pole, and dragging
the skull by leather thongs which were merely fastened about his
shoulders. During a later period, incisions were made in the breast
or back, sometimes both, through which wooden skewers were drawn, and
secured by lariats to the pole or to the skulls. Thus he danced without
intermission for a day and a night, or even longer, ever gazing at the
sun in the daytime, and blowing from time to time a sacred whistle made
from the bone of a goose’s wing.
In recent times, this rite was exaggerated and distorted into a mere
ghastly display of physical strength and endurance under torture, almost
on a level with the Caucasian institution of the bull-fight, or the
yet more modern prize-ring. Moreover, instead of an atonement or
thank-offering, it became the accompaniment of a prayer for success in
war, or in a raid upon the horses of the enemy. The number of dancers
was increased, and they were made to hang suspended from the pole by
their own flesh, which they must break loose before being released.
I well remember the comments in our own home upon the passing of
this simple but impressive ceremony, and its loss of all meaning and
propriety under the demoralizing additions which were some of the fruits
of early contact with the white man.
Perhaps the most remarkable organization ever known among American
Indians, that of the “Grand Medicine Lodge,” was apparently an indirect
result of the labors of the early Jesuit missionaries. In it Caucasian
ideas are easily recognizable, and it seems reasonable to suppose that
its founders desired to establish an order that would successfully
resist the encroachments of the “Black Robes.” However that may be, it
is an unquestionable fact that the only religious leaders of any note
who have arisen among the native tribes since the advent of the white
man, the “Shawnee Prophet” in 1762, and the half-breed prophet of the
“Ghost Dance” in 1890, both founded their claims or prophecies upon the
Gospel story. Thus in each case an Indian religious revival or craze,
though more or less threatening to the invader, was of distinctively
alien origin.
The Medicine Lodge originated among the Algonquin tribe, and extended
gradually throughout its branches, finally affecting the Sioux of the
Mississippi Valley, and forming a strong bulwark against the work of the
pioneer missionaries, who secured, indeed, scarcely any converts
until after the outbreak of 1862, when subjection, starvation, and
imprisonment turned our broken-hearted people to accept Christianity,
which seemed to offer them the only gleam of kindness or hope.
The order was a secret one, and in some respects not unlike the Free
Masons, being a union or affiliation of a number of lodges, each
with its distinctive songs and medicines. Leadership was in order of
seniority in degrees, which could only be obtained by merit, and women
were admitted to membership upon equal terms, with the possibility of
attaining to the highest honors. No person might become a member unless
his moral standing was excellent, all candidates remained on probation
for one or two years, and murderers and adulterers were expelled. The
commandments promulgated by this order were essentially the same as the
Mosaic Ten, so that it exerted a distinct moral influence, in addition
to its ostensible object, which was instruction in the secrets of
legitimate medicine.
In this society the uses of all curative roots and herbs known to us
were taught exhaustively and practiced mainly by the old, the younger
members being in training to fill the places of those who passed away.
My grandmother was a well-known and successful practitioner, and both my
mother and father were members, but did not practice.
A medicine or “mystery feast” was not a public affair, as members only
were eligible, and upon these occasions all the “medicine bags” and
totems of the various lodges were displayed and their peculiar “medicine
songs” were sung. The food was only partaken of by invited guests, and
not by the hosts, or lodge making the feast. The “Grand Medicine
Dance” was given on the occasion of initiating those candidates who had
finished their probation, a sufficient number of whom were designated
to take the places of those who had died since the last meeting.
Invitations were sent out in the form of small bundles of tobacco.
Two very large teepees were pitched facing one another, a hundred feet
apart, half open, and connected by a roofless hall or colonnade of
fresh-cut boughs. One of these lodges was for the society giving the
dance and the novices, the other was occupied by the “soldiers,” whose
duty it was to distribute the refreshments, and to keep order among the
spectators. They were selected from among the best and bravest warriors
of the tribe.
The preparations being complete, and the members of each lodge
garbed and painted according to their rituals, they entered the hall
separately, in single file, led by their oldest man or “Great Chief.”
Standing before the “Soldiers’ Lodge,” facing the setting sun, their
chief addressed the “Great Mystery” directly in a few words, after which
all extending the right arm horizontally from the shoulder with
open palm, sang a short invocation in unison, ending with a deep:
“E-ho-ho-ho!” This performance, which was really impressive, was
repeated in front of the headquarters lodge, facing the rising sun,
after which each lodge took its assigned place, and the songs and dances
followed in regular order.
The closing ceremony, which was intensely dramatic in its character, was
the initiation of the novices, who had received their final preparation
on the night before. They were now led out in front of the headquarters
lodge and placed in a kneeling position upon a carpet of rich robes and
furs, the men upon the right hand, stripped and painted black, with a
round spot of red just over the heart, while the women, dressed in their
best, were arranged upon the left. Both sexes wore the hair loose, as
if in mourning or expectation of death. An equal number of grand
medicine-men, each of whom was especially appointed to one of the
novices, faced them at a distance of half the length of the hall, or
perhaps fifty feet.
After silent prayer, each medicine-man in turn addressed himself to his
charge, exhorting him to observe all the rules of the order under the
eye of the Mysterious One, and instructing him in his duty toward his
fellow-man and toward the Ruler of Life. All then assumed an attitude
of superb power and dignity, crouching slightly as if about to spring
forward in a foot-race, and grasping their medicine bags firmly in both
hands. Swinging their arms forward at the same moment, they uttered
their guttural “Yo-ho-ho-ho!” in perfect unison and with startling
effect. In the midst of a breathless silence, they took a step forward,
then another and another, ending a rod or so from the row of kneeling
victims, with a mighty swing of the sacred bags that would seem to
project all their mystic power into the bodies of the initiates.
Instantly they all fell forward, apparently lifeless.
With this thrilling climax, the drums were vigorously pounded and the
dance began again with energy. After a few turns had been taken about
the prostrate bodies of the new members, covering them with fine robes
and other garments which were later to be distributed as gifts, they
were permitted to come to life and to join in the final dance. The whole
performance was clearly symbolic of death and resurrection.
While I cannot suppose that this elaborate ritual, with its use of
public and audible prayer, of public exhortation or sermon, and other
Caucasian features, was practiced before comparatively modern times,
there is no doubt that it was conscientiously believed in by its
members, and for a time regarded with reverence by the people. But at
a later period it became still further demoralized and fell under
suspicion of witchcraft.
There is no doubt that the Indian held medicine close to spiritual
things, but in this also he has been much misunderstood; in fact
everything that he held sacred is indiscriminately called “medicine,” in
the sense of mystery or magic. As a doctor he was originally very adroit
and often successful. He employed only healing bark, roots, and leaves
with whose properties he was familiar, using them in the form of a
distillation or tea and always singly. The stomach or internal bath
was a valuable discovery of his, and the vapor or Turkish bath was in
general use. He could set a broken bone with fair success, but never
practiced surgery in any form. In addition to all this, the medicine-man
possessed much personal magnetism and authority, and in his treatment
often sought to reestablish the equilibrium of the patient through
mental or spiritual influences--a sort of primitive psychotherapy.
The Sioux word for the healing art is “wah-pee-yah,” which literally
means readjusting or making anew. “Pay-jee-hoo-tah,” literally root,
means medicine, and “wakan” signifies spirit or mystery. Thus the three
ideas, while sometimes associated, were carefully distinguished.
It is important to remember that in the old days the “medicine-man”
received no payment for his services, which were of the nature of an
honorable function or office. When the idea of payment and barter was
introduced among us, and valuable presents or fees began to be demanded
for treating the sick, the ensuing greed and rivalry led to many
demoralizing practices, and in time to the rise of the modern
“conjurer,” who is generally a fraud and trickster of the grossest kind.
It is fortunate that his day is practically over.
Ever seeking to establish spiritual comradeship with the animal
creation, the Indian adopted this or that animal as his “totem,” the
emblematic device of his society, family, or clan. It is probable that
the creature chosen was the traditional ancestress, as we are told that
the First Man had many wives among the animal people. The sacred
beast, bird, or reptile, represented by its stuffed skin, or by a rude
painting, was treated with reverence and carried into battle to insure
the guardianship of the spirits. The symbolic attribute of beaver,
bear, or tortoise, such as wisdom, cunning, courage, and the like, was
supposed to be mysteriously conferred upon the wearer of the badge.
The totem or charm used in medicine was ordinarily that of the medicine
lodge to which the practitioner belonged, though there were some great
men who boasted a special revelation.
There are two ceremonial usages which, so far as I have been able
to ascertain, were universal among American Indians, and apparently
fundamental. These have already been referred to as the “eneepee,” or
vapor-bath, and the “chan-du-hu-pah-yu-za-pee,” or ceremonial of the
pipe. In our Siouan legends and traditions these two are preeminent, as
handed down from the most ancient time and persisting to the last.