Like the Algonkian manitou, the Siouan wakonda is thus seen to hover between the Personal and the Impersonal, whereas the Iroquoian orenda clings about persons and things. Yet it is applied in an adjectival form by various Siouan tribes to medicine-men, to the sacred pipe, to the sleight-of-hand tricks performed by the medicine-men or jugglers, and apparently to anyone who displays unusual qualities or powers. Thus it is used for a man who is extraordinarily stingy, to a man who has a habit of loud and rapid speech, to one who is a hard, almost an unmerciful, rider, to a child who speaks or walks for the first time and has thus manifested a new and individual power to act. A woman during her menstrual period is wakan; to perform acts of worship is to make wakan; the secret society among the Dakotas which is the depository of their mysteries is wakanwacipi, the sacred dance. In these cases the word conveys the sense not only of mysterious, powerful, wonderful, but also of sacred, spiritual, taboo. And a Ponka medicine-man once told the late J. O. Dorsey, “I am a wakanda.”[44.1]
Equivalent ideas and expressions are used by other American tribes. Supernatural power impresses the Tlingit, for example, “as a vast immensity, one in kind and impersonal, inscrutable as to its nature, but whenever manifesting itself to men, taking a personal, and it might be said a human personal, form in whatever object it displays itself. Thus the sky-spirit is the ocean of supernatural energy as it manifests itself in the sky, the sea-spirit as it manifests itself in the sea, the bear-spirit as it manifests itself in the bear, the rock-spirit as it manifests itself in the rock, etc. It is not meant that the Tlingit consciously reasons this out thus, or formulates a unity in the supernatural, but such appears to be his unexpressed feeling. For this reason there is but one name, yēk, a name which is affixed to any specific personal manifestation of it.… This supernatural energy must be carefully differentiated from natural energy and never confused with it. It is true that the former is supposed to bring about results similar to the latter, but in the mind of the Tlingit the conceived difference between these two is as great as with us. A rock rolling downhill or an animal running is by no means a manifestation of supernatural energy, although if something peculiar be associated with these actions, something outside of the Indian’s usual experience of such phenomena, they may be thought of as such.” On the other hand, and here we approach the Iroquoian idea, “the number of spirits [yēk] with which this world was peopled was simply limitless.… There is said to have been a spirit in every trail on which one travelled, and one around every fire; one was connected with everything one did.” The writer whom I am quoting goes on to give a large number of instances showing that the heavenly bodies, the wind, the sea, mountains, lakes, trees, animals, in short, all things, were addressed, to conciliate them, to render them friendly, to acquire some gift or advantage, were treated with reverence or with magical intent. And of course the medicine-men or shamans were the special favourites of the spirits, and were endowed with power which they often matched against one another.[45.1]
Thus we have in these North American ideas two distinct conceptions—the possession of what I have called a potentiality or atmosphere of its own by the individual personality, whether human or non-human; and the impersonal, mysterious, undefined reservoir of power in the universe as conceived by the savage. These two conceptions are not mutually exclusive, for the impersonal power is often held to be the source of the personal power or potentiality. As among the American Indian tribes, so elsewhere they are differently emphasized by different peoples. The Bantu of the Lower Congo basin emphasize the impersonal conception. According to the Bafiote, the first ages of the world were ruled by Nzambi, though whether he made everything seems a matter of doubt. When he retired from active interference in the concerns of men, he left behind, or sent, or there remained in the earth, Something. Indeed, it seems to be believed that Nzambi himself, or his power, his vital and creative energy, is still in earth and water, in the air, in plants, animals and men. In any case, the Something remaining on earth since Nzambi’s outward and visible departure is or has Lunyēnsu. The concept of Lunyēnsu is that of natural force, vital energy, power of increase, in short, the All-ruling, the Highest, that penetrates every living thing. It is not life, but an activity bound up with life, its manifestation, its condition. A crippled limb does not possess it, and with death it ceases entirely, it is gone. The Something, however, which either is or has Lunyēnsu is even wider than this. It is represented by Bu-nssi (probably the older name) or Mkissi-nssi. The latter means the supernatural or magical power of the earth, and seems to be due to the later overgrowth of fetishism. The former conveys the idea of the force, the energy of earth. In any case it is not to be confounded with fetish-power, for it is revered as fetish-power is not, nor with the earth-spirit, for the Bafiote know no elemental spirits. It must be conceived as the terrestrial energy, the all-permeating creative force, the all-wielding, the fertility, the becoming. Hence there is a sacredness attaching to the earth; and connected as the earth is with the idea of fecundity and the operations of agriculture, and as it is an inseparable condition of life, these all form a foundation for the right to the soil, for hospitality and the relations of the sexes. The indefiniteness of Bu-nssi is shown by the fact that the natives themselves are not agreed whether it is one or many. In fact, in the use of its synonym, Mkissi, the plural form—and what is significant, the plural personal form—is often heard. Opinion wavers as the needs or the excitement of the moment may demand, or perhaps as tradition wavers with changing mental environment. But those who claim the older faith or the deeper insight adhere to the statement that there is but one Mkissi-nssi, even Bu-nssi.
Thus the conception of Bu-nssi roughly corresponds with that of the reservoir of power we have already found among the Omaha and other tribes. On the other hand, the Bafiote hold that everything in nature has its peculiar property, everything is pervaded by forces. All things influence one another by visible deeds of power or in secret-wise. Hence are evolved manifold relations, among which the most important for man are those that extend to his person. The effect of physical forces is obvious. But experience teaches that there are other forces that are efficacious, although the process is not always understood. Such forces as these act without immediate and perceptible contact. So at least the wise men believe, and they act accordingly. How it happens they do not bother their heads. It is so, and that is enough. If it were otherwise they could not explain the events that happen. Here is, in something more than germ, the Iroquoian orenda. But the more sensual Bafiote, whether from their own nature and social organization, or from the tropical environment in which they live, are preoccupied with the relations of the various forces thus permeating all things. These forces are misused. Prudence and activity, strength of limb and skill do not suffice; far too much evil occurs among them. The Bafiote are obsessed, like all the African peoples, with the idea of witchcraft. They must be protected against it. Power is therefore matched against power, spell against spell. If there were not thoroughly wicked men who sought openly or secretly to injure others, fetishes would hardly be needed. By the use of fetishes they seek to master the forces of which on every side they see indications, and to make them their own. Fetishes are not gods. There is nothing spiritual, nothing independent of men, about them. They are material objects, fabricated by art, so as to embody forces working by mysterious means for the aid or injury of men. The destruction of the fetish involves the annihilation of the forces it embodies, whereas the existence of a god is in nowise imperilled by the destruction of his image. In short, fetishes are magical instruments. Yet such is the inveterate anthropomorphism of mankind that they do acquire a quasi-personal character, and tend to be thought of as individual and conscious beings. But they are never worshipped; the Fiote has no gods. He has only fetishes, the incorporation of powers and energies he sees acting around him everywhere. By that incorporation these powers and energies are appropriated for his benefit, for his particular ends, or for the ends and benefit of the society of which he is a member.[48.1]
Similar ideas of mysterious force wavering between the personal and the impersonal and permeating all things appear to underlie the Chinese conceptions of the Tsing, or operative energy, which inspires, or manifests itself in, the Khi, breath or soul, to produce the living being.[48.2] These ideas have been taken over by the Annamites, among whom the Tinh is “a fluid, a force which resides in all things, and without which no existence can manifest itself,” and is “the essential principle of all action.” Uniting with the Khi, breath or soul, it produces “the life, the movement, the beings and the things peopling the world.” It is their essential condition. The entire system of magic and religion rests on these ideas.[48.3] Much the same may be said of the Japanese Kami, probably connected with Ainu Kamui.[48.4] It is, however, unnecessary to discuss at length the conceptions involved. They have been elaborated through centuries of civilization and philosophical exposition, until it is now difficult to determine how much of their present form and content they owe to archaic savagery.
Let us turn to the Melanesian islands of the South Pacific. “The Melanesian mind,” says Dr Codrington, “is entirely possessed by the belief in a supernatural power or influence, called almost universally mana. This is what works to effect everything which is beyond the ordinary power of men, outside the common processes of nature; it is present in the atmosphere of life, attaches itself to persons and to things, and is manifested by results which can only be ascribed to its operation. When one has got it he can use it and direct it, but its force may break forth at some new point; the presence of it is ascertained by proof. A man comes by chance upon a stone which takes his fancy; its shape is singular, it is like something, it is certainly not a common stone, there must be mana in it.… Having that power, it is a vehicle to convey mana to other stones.… But this power, though itself impersonal, is always connected with some person who directs it; all spirits have it, ghosts generally, some men. If a stone is found to have a supernatural power, it is because a spirit has associated itself with it; a dead man’s bone has with it mana, because the ghost is with the bone; a man may have so close a connexion with a spirit or ghost that he has mana in himself also, and can so direct it as to effect what he desires; a charm is powerful because the name of a spirit or ghost expressed in the form of words brings into it the power which the ghost or spirit exercises through it. Thus all conspicuous success is a proof that a man has mana; his influence depends on the impression made on the people’s mind that he has it; he becomes a chief by virtue of it. Hence a man’s power, though political or social in its character, is his mana; the word is naturally used in accordance with the native conception of the character of all power and influence as supernatural. If a man has been successful in fighting, it has not been his natural strength of arm, quickness of eye or readiness of resource that has won success; he has certainly got the mana of a spirit or of some deceased warrior to empower him, conveyed in an amulet of a stone round his neck, or a tuft of leaves in his belt, in a tooth hung upon a finger of his bow-hand, or in the form of words with which he brings supernatural assistance to his side. If a man’s pigs multiply, and his gardens are productive, it is not because he is industrious and looks after his property, but because of the stones full of mana for pigs and yams that he possesses. Of course a yam naturally grows when planted; that is well known; but it will not be very large unless mana comes into play; a canoe will not be swift unless mana be brought to bear upon it, a net will not catch many fish nor an arrow inflict a mortal wound.” Such a power or influence as this is of course not physical, though it may show itself “in physical force or in any kind of power or excellence which a man possesses.” Finally, “all Melanesian religion consists, in fact, in getting this mana for one’s self, or getting it used for one’s benefit—all religion, that is, as far as religious practices go, prayers and sacrifices.”[50.1] (The very intention that animates the Fiote rites of fetishism.)
It is not easy to formulate a clear idea of the original source of mana. It is said to be impersonal, to be present in the atmosphere of life and communicable to persons and to things. To that extent it resembles the impersonal power or potentiality we have found elsewhere. But wherever it is manifested it is connected with some personal being who originates and directs it.[51.1] It is not a quality inherent in men of more than ordinary power and skill. “If a man,” writes Bishop Codrington, “has been successful in fighting, … he has certainly got the mana of a spirit or of some deceased ancestor to empower him.” And again: “No man has this power of his own; all that he does is done by the aid of personal beings, ghosts or spirits; he cannot be said, as a spirit can, to be mana himself, using the word to express a quality; he can be said to have mana, it may be said to be with him, the word being used as a substantive.”[51.2] It would thus seem as if it were an essential characteristic not of personal beings—even of powerful personal beings—in general, but belonging to the world of spirits, including the spirits of the dead. Yet not to all spirits; for elsewhere we read: “It must not be supposed that every ghost becomes an object of worship,” as a source of mana. “A man in danger may call upon his father, his grandfather, or his uncle; his nearness of kin is sufficient ground for it. The ghost who is to be worshipped is the spirit of a man who in his lifetime had mana in him; the souls of common men are the common herd of ghosts, nobodies alike before and after death. The supernatural power abiding in the powerful living man abides in his ghost after death with increased vigour and more ease of movement.”[51.3] Thus we are found in something like what logicians call a vicious circle. Only those ghosts have mana, or are mana, after death who had mana in their lifetime. But if they had mana in their lifetime, it was because they derived it from ghosts or other spirits. In any case mana appears to be conceived of as transcending humanity, belonging to the mysterious region of the Unknown, embodied in its primitive denizens, flowing from them, by the channel of material objects (amulets), forms of words (charms) or names, to certain human beings, and taken back by the latter into the same great reservoir of power when they die, thence to be communicated afresh to favoured mortals, and so on for ever. Probably, however, no such definite concept finds a place in the Melanesian brain; the mode of savage thought hardly admits of such crystallization.
It is likely that mana (both the word and the meaning) was introduced into the Melanesian islands from Polynesia, where it is widely spread and the word has numerous derivatives. In seeking there its explanation we are at a disadvantage; because, with all their devotion and merits, no missionary and no scientific enquirer has given us such a study of Polynesian mentality as Dr Codrington has given of that of the Melanesians. We turn therefore, in the first place, to the more dangerous guidance of a dictionary. From that we learn that everywhere mana has the signification of power, and almost everywhere of supernatural power. It is also defined as influence, prestige, honour, authority; in Hawaiian it is used to express, besides supernatural power such as would be attributed to the gods, the simpler idea of power, and also spirit (in the sense of energy of character), glory, majesty, intelligence—all doubtless secondary meanings. We need not discuss in detail the derivatives in various Polynesian dialects. Their general trend is towards the expression of thought, opinion or belief, industry, vehement desire, love—all of them activities primarily of the mind or emotions. Manava or manawa is a word meaning the belly or internal organs of the body, then the heart as the seat of affection, the feelings or emotions, soul, conscience, and in one dialect at least, an apparition, a ghost or spirit. Mana, in short, seems to recall the idea of extraordinary qualities, especially power, and the emotional reactions caused by their exhibition. Power or energy, overwhelming, supernatural, is evidently the root-idea, vested in individual, personal beings. One phrase, to be sure, in a Maori myth suggests the independent possession of this power by an object we should not regard as personal: He taiaha whaimana, explained by the lexicographer as “A wooden sword which has done deeds so wonderful as to possess a sanctity and power of its own.” Literally it is “A sword in which mana is resident.” Whether this or the parallel Mangarevan e turuturu mana, a powerful or magical staff, really implies an inherent power independent of spiritual origin, must remain undecided.[54.1] We are led to think of the weapons of Teutonic mythology and romance, having names as if they were personalities, and endowed with powers to render their bearers invincible—nay, when drawn, to inspire them with ungovernable fury. But in the form in which their stories reach us all such weapons owe their peculiar properties, like the curse upon the Nibelung hoard, to some more than earthly being, or at least to a mortal wizard.
Having furnished ourselves with this key, we may examine some of the incidents of Polynesian life and religion reported by competent observers. The inauguration ceremony of a Tahitian king, we are told by the missionary Ellis, consisted in girding him with the maro ura, or sacred girdle of red feathers. This girdle “was made with the beaten fibres of the aoa; with these a number of uru, red feathers, taken from the images of their deities, were interwoven with feathers of other colours. The maro thus became sacred, even as the person of the gods, the feathers being supposed to retain all the dreadful attributes of power and vengeance which the idols possessed, and with which it was designed to endow the king.” So potent indeed was it that “it not only raised him to the highest earthly station, but identified him with” the gods.[55.1] The same missionary elsewhere relates that “throughout Polynesia the ordinary medium of communicating or extending supernatural powers was the red feather of a small bird found in many of the islands and the beautiful long tail-feathers of the tropic or man-of-war bird. For these feathers the gods were supposed to have a strong predilection; they were the most valuable offerings that could be presented; to them the power or influence of the gods was imparted, and through them transferred to the objects to which they might be attached.” On certain ceremonial occasions those persons “who wished their emblems of deity to be impregnated with the essence of the gods, repaired to the ceremony with a number of red feathers, which they delivered to the officiating priest. The wooden idols being generally hollow, the feathers were deposited in the inside of the image, which was filled with them.” When the idols were solid, the feathers were attached on the outside. To anyone who brought fresh feathers, two or three of the same kind which had been thus “united to the god” at a former festival were given in return. “These feathers were thought to possess all the properties of the images to which they had been attached, and a supernatural influence was supposed to be infused into them. They were carefully wound round with very fine cord, the extremities alone remaining visible. When this was done, the new-made gods were placed before the larger images from which they had been taken; and lest their detachment should induce the god to withhold his power, the priest addressed a prayer to the principal deities, requesting them to abide in the red feathers before them. At the close of his ubu, or invocation, he declared that they were dwelt in or inhabited (by the gods), and delivered them to the parties who had brought the red feathers. The feathers, taken home, were deposited in small bamboo-canes, excepting when addressed in prayer. If prosperity attended their owner, it was attributed to their influence, and they were usually honoured with a too, or image, into which they were inwrought; and subsequently, perhaps, an altar and a rude temple were erected for them. In the event, however, of their being attached to an image, this must be taken to the large temple, that the supreme idols might sanction the transfer of their influence.”[56.1]
In the foregoing passages it will be perceived that the missionary is doing something more than describing rites he had no doubt often witnessed; he is labouring also to translate into English and incorporate with his account the explanations he had extracted from his Polynesian friends. He seems to exhaust his spiritual vocabulary in speaking of “powers,” “influence,” “the communication of attributes,” of “the essence of the gods.” But when he recalls the words of the priest, they are even stronger and at the same time simpler than any of these expressions: the god is prayed to “abide in” the feathers; he is declared to “inhabit” them. If these be an accurate translation of the words employed, it would seem that not merely the power but a portion of the personality of the god passed into the feathers, and that while his chief residence was still at the great temple where his principal image dwelt, he was also present whithersoever the bunches of feathers which had been consecrated by deposition within or upon it were carried. He himself inhabited them; and it was this fact that “identified” the king, as the wearer of such feathers, with the gods.