Among the ancient Greeks in Plato’s time there were soothsayers and medicine-men who professed to have power over the gods, so that they could compel them to do their bidding, even though it were to injure another person.[137.2] I am not aware whether any of their spells have been preserved.[137.3]
Cases like these display the religion of the community applied to the private advantage of the individual. More interesting is the authority which Mr Hodson attributes to the khullakpa, or village priest, of the Naga tribes of Manipur. The khullakpa is to be distinguished from the maiba, or medicine-man, who is doctor and magician in one. The maiba is called in to deal with individual cases; the khullakpa plays the leading part when a village genna is held. It is he who offers the sacrifices and performs the rites. The term genna means forbidden. A genna extending to the whole village excludes strangers from entering, and prohibits the inhabitants from going out and from doing any work while the genna lasts; it may also prescribe fasting, continence, and other observances. In short, “the ordinary routine of life is profoundly modified, if not broken off altogether.” A genna may be either periodical, as for the sake of the crops or the hunting; or it may be occasional, as at a death, or against epidemic sickness, or at an earthquake or eclipse. A sacrifice is invariably a part of the ritual. The khullakpa “acts,” says Mr Hodson, “whenever a rite is performed which requires the whole force of the community behind it, and this force finds its operation through him. These village gennas seem in many cases to be inspired by the belief that man, the man, the khullakpa, when fortified by the whole strength and will of the village, is able to control and constrain forces which are beyond his control if unaided.”[139.1] If this inference, made by an acute observer, be correct, it is a remarkable example of the corporate strength of the society applied by means of religious rites to the coercion of the gods and other supernatural beings.
Not a little significant of the intimate relations of religion and magic is the fact that many peoples have expressly ascribed the authorship and practice of magic to their gods. In New South Wales the figure of Baiame, the idealized headman just developing into a god, is modelled upon that of a magician. He is described by one of the tribes in so many words as “mightiest and most famous of Wirreenun,” or magicians.[139.2] The Arawâk of British Guiana tell of a similar personage in a semi-deified position, named Arawânili or Orowâma, to whom the mysteries of sorcery were revealed by an orehu. The orehu is a sort of mermaid who is an important figure in the mythology of these Indians. She haunts the rivers, a capricious, mischievous, not always malicious and cruel, but sometimes benevolent figure. In one of her kindlier moments she met Arawânili brooding over the condition to which men were reduced by the evil doings of the yauhahu, downright malignant beings, the authors of sickness and death. To combat their depredations she gave him the sorcerer’s rattle and instructed him how to use it. “He followed her directions and thus became the founder of that system which has since prevailed among all the Indian tribes.” According to Arawâk belief Arawânili did not die like other men, but “went up,” that is to say, disappeared or departed in the manner of other American culture-heroes. We have no evidence, however, that he is actually worshipped.[140.1]
The coast-dwellers of the Gazelle Peninsula of New Pomerania, whose effective belief is in spirits, both manes and spirits non-human in origin, presuppose in their witchcraft the existence of these spirits. Sickness and other ills are caused by evil-disposed spirits, and are combated by magic. But this magic is due to the superior might of well-disposed spirits. It is they who reveal the spells by which human ailments may be vanquished and human desires gratified. Among these spirits are especially to be named the Inal, a spirit with wings like a bird’s and face like an owl’s, inhabiting a great giao-tree (Ficus prolixa), and the Kaya, a gigantic python with human face, worshipped by certain of the natives as ancestor. From the ascription to spirits of all spells made use of by the sorcerers, Father Meier, to whom we are indebted for our knowledge of the native beliefs, infers that the belief in spirits preceded witchcraft.[140.2] Whether the inference be right or wrong, there can be no doubt of the fact that this belief and witchcraft are now inseparable.
Among the Lushai-Kuki of Assam, Pathian the creator, a quasi-supreme and benevolent being, was acquainted with, but is not definitely stated to have been the author of, witchcraft. It was taught by his daughter, as a ransom for her life, to Vahrika, who had caught her stealing water from his private supply. Vahrika is described as “something like” Pathian—a purely mythological figure. He in turn taught it all to others.[140.3] In Japan, Jimmu Tennō, the deified legendary founder of the empire, is said to have first taught the use of magical formulæ; while the gods Ohonamochi and Sukunabikona are credited with the invention of medicine and magic.[141.1] The ancient Egyptians held Thoth, the god of writing and guardian of law, “to have written the most sacred books and formulas with his own hand, and therein to have set down his knowledge of magic, in which art Isis was his only rival. His pre-eminence in magic naturally led to his becoming the god of medicine, for magic was fully as important to the medical practitioners of the Nile Valley as knowledge of remedies.”[141.2] In other words, medicine was not yet separated from magic, the physician was a sorcerer, who may have been versed in simples, but whose practice was essentially mysterious and derived its effect rather from what we call supernatural than natural modes of action. Hence to recognize Thoth as god of medicine was equivalent to recognizing him as god of magic, a character peculiarly suitable to a god of letters.
Finally, not to lengthen the list, if we may trust the Ynglinga-saga, Odin was the author of those crafts which men have long since plied, and among them of magic. He “was wise in that craft wherewith went most might, which is called spell-craft; and this he himself followed. Wherefore he had might to know the fate of men and things not yet come to pass; yea, or how to work for men bane or illhap or ill-heal, and to take wit or strength from men and give them unto others.” He was a notorious shape-shifter. “He knew how by words alone to slake the fire or still the sea, and how to turn the wind to whichso way he would.” He could “wake up dead men from the earth.” He “knew of all buried treasures where they were hidden; and he knew lays whereby the earth opened before him, and mountains and rocks and mounds, and how to bind with words alone whoso might be found dwelling therein; and he would go in and take thence what he would. From all this craft he became exceeding famed, and his foes dreaded him, but his friends put their trust in him, and had faith in his craft and himself; but he taught the more part of his cunning to the temple-priests, and they were next to him in all wisdom and cunning: albeit many others got to them much knowledge thereof, and thence sorcery spread far and wide and endured long.”[142.1] Although the opening chapters of the Ynglinga-saga, from which I have extracted these particulars, are a late and euhemerized version of the Scandinavian mythology, the account of Odin’s magical powers contains little that does not appear in the early poems, or cannot be inferred from them. Whatever may have been the primitive form of this renowned god, there can be no doubt that he was before the close of the pagan age regarded as a god of magic and sorcery. His reputation as god of poetry, and probably as war-god, is bound up with this. The magical value attached to verse is very common among peoples in an archaic stage of culture; and it was shared to the full by the ancient Norsemen. Many of them—at least in Viking days, and it is by no means unlikely much earlier—combined in their own persons the warrior with the poet and the sorcerer. Nor shall we go far astray if we conclude that these various strands had been long interwoven to form the character of the Lord of the Anses. The intimate relation existing among the Norse between religion and magic is further indicated by the superior magical knowledge and powers ascribed to them and stated to be originally derived from Odin.
Thus, on the one hand, we find constraint of the higher powers for public or private ends; on the other hand, the invention of spells and practice of magic are attributed to the gods themselves. We may think that constraint of the gods is inconsistent with worship. This is not the notion of peoples among which magic and religion are thus interwoven. The object of religion is to acquire benefits for the individual or the community. With this end men deem themselves justified in applying any means likely to secure it; and they treat their gods as they would powerful fellow-men, seeking favours where favours are to be had for the asking or in return for favours, enforcing compliance with their wishes where prayers will not avail, or cheating them where they get the chance. The repetition of a divine name may be either a favour to the god, or may be compulsion. The votary cares not to distinguish. In either case it brings about the gratification of his wishes. The village genna practised by the Nagas is compulsion. It is none the less worship. Many of the magical texts of ancient Egypt are directed to assisting the gods to overcome their enemies, thus rendering them a favour which they were bound to return. The ritual of the Scapegoat, familiar to us in its Hebrew form,[143.1] but in fact found in many other quarters of the globe, presents another form of these magical practices. The sins of which men have been guilty, the evils from which they have been suffering are laden on the head of the unfortunate victim, who is forthwith put to death or driven away forever from society. Whether in the earliest form of the rite the victim was regarded as divine may be doubted: it is certain that it has been taken up into the cult of the gods in many religions, and has been deemed a pious act, a work of obligation, for the wellbeing of the joint community of gods and men.
Divine beings may even be made accomplices in Black or antisocial Magic without any compulsion. The white-headed carrion-hawk (Haliaster intermedius) is the most important bird of omen observed by the Kenyahs of Borneo. Under the name of Bali Flaki he is looked upon as messenger and intermediary between themselves and Bali Penyalong, the Supreme Being. Apparently every individual hawk is such a messenger, but his sacred character appears in his title Bali: a word probably derived from the Sanskrit and sometimes translated holy, but having the force of “an adjectival equivalent of the mana of the Melanesians, or of the wakanda or orenda of North American tribes, words which seem to connote all power other than purely mechanical.”[144.1] Bali Flaki is appealed to publicly on behalf of the community on various occasions, as on sowing or harvesting the rice-crop, making war or peace, or in fact before any undertaking or decision. His aid may also “be sought privately by any man who wishes to injure another. For this purpose a man makes a rough wooden image in human form, and retires to some quiet spot on the river-bank, where he sets up a tegulun, a horizontal pole supported about a yard above the ground by a pair of vertical poles. He lights a small fire beside the tegulun, and taking a fowl in one hand, he sits on the ground behind it, so as to see through it a square patch of sky, and so waits until a hawk becomes visible upon the patch. As soon as a hawk appears he kills the fowl, and with a frayed stick smears its blood on the wooden image, saying: ‘Put fat in his mouth.’” This appears to be addressed to the hawk. In the description of what is in effect the same rite as practised among some of the Klemantans of the same island, we are definitely told it is so addressed. The expression means, “Let his head be taken”; for the people are head-hunters, and fat is put in the mouth of every head taken. Messrs Hose and M‘Dougall, whom I am quoting, proceed: “And he puts a bit of fat in the mouth of the image. Then he strikes at the breast of the image with a wooden spear, and throws it into a pool of water reddened with red earth, and then takes it out and buries it in the ground,” in the manner in which only persons dying by violence or some much feared disease are buried. “While the hawk is visible he waves it towards the left; for he knows that if it flies to the left he will prevail over his enemy, but that if it goes to the right his enemy is too strong for him.” In the Klemantan rite, as described for us, he also shouts to the hawk to go to the left. When it has gone in the desired direction he addresses a prayer beginning “O Bali Flaki, go your way, let this man (naming him) die; go and put him in the lake of blood, O Bali Flaki; stab him in the chest, Bali Flaki,” and so on, invoking all sorts of evil deaths upon him.[145.1] Now here we have a well-known rite of antisocial magic. But to make it effectual the coöperation of the divine power is requisite. That power is called upon. There is no attempt to coerce Bali Flaki, who, if not himself a god, is at least a messenger and intermediary of the great god Bali Penyalong. Yet there is confidence that he can perform the request, and that he shows by his flight that he will do so.
So on the mainland of India, in the Nilgiri Hills, the Toda sorcerer, having procured some human hair—not that of the person to be injured, for it would be impossible to get it—ties together by its means five small stones, and with a piece of cloth makes a bundle of them. Over them thus tied up he utters his incantation. It begins by calling on his gods; and whether the opening clauses be precisely rendered or not in the following free translation, it is clear that the gods are invoked. Indeed, Dr Rivers, after careful enquiry, expresses the opinion that “in the formulæ used in Toda sorcery appeal to the gods is even more definite than in the prayers of the dairy ritual,” the most important of the religious ceremonies. “In them,” he says, “the names of four most important gods are mentioned, and it seems quite clear that the sorcerer believes he is effecting his purpose through the power of the gods.” The spell runs something like this: “For the sake of Pithioteu, Ön, Teikirzi and Tirshti; by the power of the gods, if there be power; by the gods’ country, if there be a country; may his calves perish; as birds fly away, may his buffaloes go when the calves come to suck; as I drink water, may he have nothing but water to drink; as I am thirsty, may he also be thirsty; as I am hungry, may he also be hungry; as my children cry, so may his children cry; as my wife wears only a ragged cloth, so may his wife wear only a ragged cloth.” The bundle thus enchanted he hides in the thatch of the victim’s hut.[146.1]
Another example of the complicity in hostile magic of a supernatural being, who perhaps can hardly be pronounced a god in the strict sense of the term, though powerful for good and ill, may be cited, this time from the continent of Africa. The religion of the Boloki (Bangala) on the Upper Congo, we are told, “has its basis in their fear of those numerous invisible spirits which surround them on every side, and are constantly trying to compass their sickness, misfortune and death; and the Boloki’s sole object in practising their religion is to cajole or appease, cheat, or conquer and kill those spirits that trouble them—hence their nganga [medicine-man], their rites, their ceremonies and their charms. If there were no evil spirits to be circumvented, there would be no need of their medicine-men and their charms.” Among these various spirits is one called Ejo, the spirit of wealth. “A man who wants to become rich pays a large fee to nganga ya bwaka [the most feared and respected of all the classes of medicine-men], who then uses his influence with Ejo on behalf of his client, who must in all future gains set apart a portion for Ejo, and should he fail to do so, Ejo has the power to punish him.… When a person has received the mono mwa ejo (ejo medicine or charm), and has become wealthy by his luck-giving power, he takes the nail-parings and hair-cuttings of a woman and makes medicine with them; and the woman soon dies and her spirit goes to Ejo as an offering for its help. He is said to lekia nkali (to pass her on as a gift or sacrifice to Ejo).”[147.1] It is difficult to distinguish a transaction like this from the ordinary relations of a man to his god. The votary pays tithe of his gains obtained by favour of the spirit; and over and above the tithe, he is under the necessity of providing a human sacrifice from time to time for the spirit. But the means by which the sacrifice is provided are the exercise of witchcraft, and that with the full knowledge and assistance of the supernatural being who is to be kept in good humour thereby.