Ritual and belief

by Edwin Sidney Hartland

It would be easy to expand the list. Enough has, however, been said to show that over a wide area of the world and in the most various stages of civilization what we call supernatural beings are concerned with the preparation of the magician’s career, and that the Arunta beliefs do not differ in this respect from those current among many other peoples. In none of the foregoing cases does the shaman or magician as such exercise the functions of priest. He offers no sacrifices, he addresses no prayers on behalf of the community to the divinities. He performs wonders by the aid of the spirits; but the spirits who first invade and then help him are by no means everywhere those who are the object of worship. It is not my intention to discuss the psychological and physiological aspects of the phenomena. They recall the phenomena of “conversion” among ourselves. Occurring, as they usually do, at or shortly after the commencement of adult life, they display the effervescence of puberty, accentuated by the neurotic peculiarities of the individual, acted upon, directed and controlled by the social environment. As in the case of “conversion,” too, they are liable to become epidemic, particularly at times of social and political crisis, where feeling in the tribe is more than commonly excited.

Before passing away from the subject we may turn to a different type of shaman. Among the Veddas the shaman is in effect the priest. The spirits to whom offerings are made are those of the dead. It is the shaman who makes the offering, and performs the invocation; and he is in return possessed by them. But here the novice is chosen and trained by one who already exercises the profession. He does not become possessed in his capacity as novice. Possession only takes place at the public ceremonies; it is temporary; and it may affect others besides the shaman. The position of shaman is practically hereditary, for the novice trained is usually the shaman’s son, or his sister’s son, that is to say, his actual or potential son-in-law. The Veddas are on a level of civilization as low as the Arunta. Though they do not practise rites of such senseless and revolting cruelty, in their natural condition and apart from external influence they live entirely by hunting and the collection of honey; they build no huts, but take advantage of caves and rock-shelters; their pottery is of the roughest description; and the iron arrowheads, axes and other implements which they possess are obtained by barter from the Sinhalese, for they do not exercise the art of smithying. The lowest and wildest of them, however, know nothing of hostile magic. Even protective magic is hardly practised; and the charms they make use of appear to be derived from the neighbouring Sinhalese. It is true they have traditions that it used to be customary to seek strength and confidence to avenge insults by chewing a small dried piece of the liver of a man who had been killed for the purpose. This is an application of a well-known magical principle.^[113.1] But, so far as our information goes, it is a solitary case. If therefore the Vedda shaman is not initiated by the spirits, it is not because the Veddas have not yet passed out of the age of magic. If there be an age of magic in which religion is unknown, for aught that appears they have not yet passed into it. At all events they cannot be said to confirm the generalization that magic precedes religion; for magical practices once adopted persist with remarkable tenacity into the highest planes of culture.

There is, finally, an example of a functionary occupying an ambiguous position as priest or magician, at which we may glance for a moment. The Mincopies of the Andaman Islands, before the arrival of strangers in modern times, were, like the Arunta, living in the Stone Age. They had no agriculture; their food was supplied by the chase, or the search for insects, roots, and honey. They had indeed learned to build huts; and they had the use of fire, but they were ignorant how to produce it. They are divided into local tribes, ruled by elected chiefs with very limited power. The chiefs acquire such authority as they have by their skill in hunting and fishing and their reputation for generosity and hospitality; and it is on these qualifications that social status mainly depends. Social and political organization is therefore, as well as religion, in a somewhat rudimentary stage. Nor is magic more advanced than religion. The only persons who exercise any magical or religious functions are called by the title of oko-paiad, or Dreamer. Such a man obtains his position by relating an extraordinary dream foreshadowing some future event, which afterwards happens. Since these practitioners are credited with the power of communicating in dreams with the spirits, it may be presumed that the initial dream is in the nature of a “call” by them. The oko-paiad does not seem to be subject to possession by the spirits; but he is believed to have powers of second sight and a mysterious influence over the fortunes and lives of his neighbours. He is therefore the constant recipient of presents, which are in effect bribes for his favour. Our information concerning his proceedings is of the scantiest description. It does not extend to any active attempt at magical interference with the fate or the actions of others. Perhaps we may conclude that any interference he may be held to exercise is confined to his intercourse in dreams with the spirits. However this may be, his only recorded overt acts are on the occurrence of an epidemic, when “he brandishes a burning log, and bids the evil spirit keep at a distance.” Sometimes as a further precaution he plants stakes in front of each hut, and smears them in stripes with black beeswax, the smell of which, being peculiarly offensive to the demon, ensures his speedy departure.^[114.1] If any inference can be drawn from this account it hardly seems to favour the priority of the evolution of magic over religion; for the oko-paiad, if not initiated by the spirits, is essentially one who is in communication with them, and who exercises his powers not merely against individuals (of which there is no direct evidence), but in favour of them and of the community.

The conclusion is that there is no solid and convincing proof of the development of magic prior to religion. If the Mincopies, the Veddas, and the tribes of Central Australia fail us, whither shall we turn for evidence?

Yet there is a consideration generally applicable to savage life that must not be overlooked here. Vague, uncertain, and contradictory as the savage may be in his beliefs, sluggish as his mind may be in regard to matters of speculation,—in matters of practical importance, the provision of food and shelter, the protection of his women and children, and the defence of his little community against aggression by human foes or the wild beasts, he is bound to be on the alert and to act. His wits are therefore sharpened for action. Action is natural to him; thought which has no immediate objective in action is strange. The energies remaining when the body is satisfied with food, when shelter is assured, and hostilities against his fellow-man or the lower animals are for the moment forgotten, must be expended in other kinds of action. Bodily recreation—play—satisfies this craving for movement and excitement, while at the same time it fulfils the useful purpose (albeit unconsciously to him) of keeping his faculties, bodily and mental, ready and supple, and of training them still further for more directly practical ends. This form of activity, organized into dances and games, easily begets ritual. The Hottentots danced all night at full moon with extravagant gestures, saluting the moon and invoking her for cattle-fodder and milk.^[115.1] The Wichita of North America played every year in the spring a game of shinny, which represented, there can be little doubt, the contest of winter and spring.^[116.1] In such cases as these, and they are legion, a recreation has been indulged in at a period appropriate for it—the dance in the clear, cool night, the game under the mild returning warmth and stimulating influences of the early spring. Because it thus naturally recurs at definite times it comes to be regarded as proper, even necessary: it develops into a rite. To a similar game played by the Omaha was attached, in the phrase of the writers who describe it, “a cosmic significance.”^[116.2] The impulse to movement, to exertion, liberates emotion; the emotion is in turn intensified by its collective expression; and this intensification would lead to the conviction that the expression has somehow or other in itself an influence on external nature, just as it would have in human relations. The exact mechanism by which it acted probably would not trouble the savage at an early stage. Later, it would be fitted into the framework of his ideas. The Hottentot rite came to be addressed to the moon. The Wichita rite seems to have been thought to assist directly in conquest of the evil power of winter and the renewal of life.

But we may go further back still. I have referred to the make-believe that is a relief to overcharged feelings. Emotional stress is felt at times by everybody, be he savage or civilized. It causes a reaction, more or less powerful in proportion to the magnitude of the cause or the excitability of the person who undergoes it. It is expressed in acts sometimes of the wildest extravagance, sometimes rhythmic and partially controlled. These acts are spontaneous, automatic. Recurrence of the emotional stress would tend to be accompanied by repetition of the acts in which the reaction had been previously expressed. If the recurrence were sufficiently frequent, the form of the reaction would become a habit to be repeated on similar occasions, even where the stress was less vivid or almost absent. It can hardly be doubted that many rites owe their existence to such reactions. The Pawnees, like the Wichita, a tribe belonging to the Caddoan stock of North America, summoned with song and dance and other elaborate rites the buffaloes which were the mainstay of their existence. Everything depended—sustenance, provision of clothing and tents and all other necessaries, hence the very continuance of the tribal life—on the buffaloes. Their movements about the great central plains of the continent were mysterious. The true causes were unknown; the course was not predicable with certainty. Accordingly, the period of expectation while the people were awaiting the advent of the herd was one of great emotional tension. It was relieved by a series of acts, originally automatic, or quasi-automatic, which would gradually assume more and more definitely the calling and enticement of the expected herd. This form of reaction to the particular stress would become habitual. It would end as a solemn rite, which was believed to have a powerful influence in bringing the animals and effecting a satisfactory capture. The orenda of the performers, expressed in the manner consecrated by tradition, would then be held to exercise a compelling power.^[117.1]

To such an origin must be ascribed the rehearsal of a battle that takes place in many savage tribes before the warriors go forth on a raid, and the dances and other ceremonies accomplished by women left at home when their husbands are absent fighting or hunting. More obviously must it be held responsible for a variety of other performances, of which the common spell in this country and on the continent of Europe, to recover an article stolen or the waning affections of a lover, is a type. The love-lorn maiden takes some object, frequently a shoulder-bone of lamb, and sticks a knife or a pin into it, saying:

“’Tis not this bone I mean to stick,

But my lover’s heart I mean to prick,

Wishing him neither rest nor sleep

Till he comes with me to speak.”

Of spells like this the preparation of an effigy, and the assaults upon it representing acts done to the person for whom the effigy stands, are an elaboration. The overcharged emotion first of all finds a vent in an attack upon any convenient object. Then from various causes a special object is singled out as the appropriate vehicle of the performer’s wrath, hatred or jealousy, the act gradually becomes more solemn and deliberate, and a formal rite is evolved.

It should hardly be necessary to say that it is not claimed that the foregoing paragraphs explain the genesis of all rites. But that many do thus originate accords with all we know of human nature. In any case a rite was not instituted because men were previously convinced of its efficacy. The primitive savage may have been a man of preternatural stupidity; but even he would not have been equal to putting the cart before the horse in that fashion. The rite must have been an established habit before a conscious meaning filtered into it. Interpretation would be a gradual process. If the rite were shared by the social group, and by expansion or accretion attained sufficient importance, the interpretation might take the form of a myth. The myth in turn would contribute to the stability of the rite, by means of the sacred character it would affix to it, or the reminiscence of an ancient experience it would be supposed to embody.