Even Christian men and women who have inherited from a parent knowledge of some plant, and who use it rationally for its purely medicinal quality without any reference whatever to spiritual influences, can barely be induced to tell me of it. The fee they obtain is part of their means of living. They make honest “medicine” in the circle of their acquaintances for certain sicknesses for which their drug happens to be fitted. Of a cure for any other sickness they know nothing, and must themselves go to some one else who happens to possess the knowledge.
Even by me my native friends—though with their personal respect or affection for me they would be willing to do much—do not like to be asked. They know that I, in asking for information, expect to utilize it in letters or lectures or books. Their secret would not be safe even with me, and it may die with them. One of the noblest of my native female friends at Gabun, a Christian, well educated, with only a minimum of superstition remaining, and no belief at all in fetich, inherited from her mother much botanical and medicinal knowledge. I observe her decocting a medicine for a sick friend, and I ask her, “What medicine is that?” She turns away her usually frank eyes and simply says, “Sijavi” (leaves). “Yes, I see they are leaves. But I asked you what they are. Where do you get them?” With eyes still turned away, she only says, “Go-iga” (in the forest). “Exactly; of course it’s a plant. But is it a tree or a vine or a shrub, or what?” And she looks at me steadily, and quietly says, “Mi amie” (I don’t know). I have long ago learned that “mi amie,” though only sometimes true, is not always a lie. It is equivalent to our conventional “Not at home,” or a polite version of, “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.” From my friend it is a kind notification that the conversation had better be changed. It having reached this acute stage, the pursuance of it would be worse than useless. I talk about something else, and immediately she resumes her wonted cordiality.
Probably the particular herb selected by the fetich-man does possess some therapeutic value (for cures are effected) of which he does not himself know. He knows that that plant was said by his ancestors to be the proper one to use in case of a certain sickness, but knowledge of the raison d’user has been lost.
The use of drugs in decoctions is less likely to be merely superstitious. The fresh leaves and barks are recognized. There is not likely to be a secret about them. Whatever of fetich is introduced in the case will be in the mode of administration.
The next step, the admixture of the ingredients, is secret. They are ground or triturated, or reduced to ashes, and only the ash or charcoal of their wood is used. Among the common ingredients are colored earths, chalk, or potter’s blue clays. Beyond the usual constituents constantly employed, there are other single ones, which vary according to the end to be obtained by the user of the fetich,—for one end, as elsewhere already mentioned, some small portion of an enemy’s body; for another, an ancestor’s powdered brain; for another, the liver or gall-bladder of an animal; for another, a finger of a dead first-born child; for another, a certain fish; and so on for a thousand possibilities. These ingredients are compounded in secret, and with public drumming, dancing, songs to the spirit, looking into limpid water or a mirror, and sometimes with the addition of jugglers’ tricks, e. g., the eating of fire.
The ingredients having been thus properly prepared, and the spirit, according to the magician’s declaration, having associated itself lovingly with these mixed articles, they and it are put into the cavity of the selected horn or other hollow thing (a gourd, a nut-shell, and so forth). They are packed in firmly. A black resin is plastered over the opening. Perhaps also a twine is netted tightly on the top of it. A red paint—triturated red-wood mixed with palm or other oil—is daubed on it. While the resin is still soft, the red tail-feathers of the gray African parrot are stuck into it. This description is typical. It would be equally true if the chosen material object had no cavity, e. g., if it were a pebble or a piece of bark; in which case the sacred ingredients plastered on it would be held in situ by the twine netting. A hole is bored in the apex of the horn, and it is hung by a string from the neck, arm, waist, or ankle of the purchaser, or from his door, roof, or garden fence; or from the prow of his canoe; or from any one of a hundred other points, according to the convenience of the owner or the object to be obtained by its use.
Those objects may be, all of them, not only desirable, but commendable, even from a Christian point of view. In the exercise of the white art there is no ill-will to or malice against any other known person. The owner of the fetich amulet is only using, from his point of view, one of the known means of success in life,—somewhat as a business man in civilized lands uses his signs and tricks of trade to attract and influence customers.
It is true that our native convert, in abjuring fetich and refraining from the white art, is at a disadvantage, humanly speaking, alongside of his heathen fellow, just as the honest grocer who does not adulterate his foods is somewhat at a disadvantage with the man who does.
The heathen, armed with his fetich, feels strong. He believes in it; has faith that it will help him. He can see it and feel it. He goes on his errand inspired with confidence of success. Confidence is a large part of life’s battle. If he should happen to fail, he excuses the failure by remembering that he had not obeyed all the minute “orunda” directions that the magician told him to follow. It is entirely in his power carefully to obey all directions next time; and then he cannot possibly fail! The Christian convert is weak in his faith. He would like to have something tangible. He is not sure that he will succeed on his errand. He goes at it somewhat half-hearted, and probably fails. His not very encouraging explanation is that God is trying his faith. That explanation is perhaps not the true one, but it is sufficient as his explanation. But it does not nerve him for the next effort; only the strong rise to overcoming faith. The weak ask the missionary whether they may not be allowed to carry a fetich only for “show.” That “show” is for effect on a heathen competitor; for the moral effect on that competitor’s mind,—that he should not think that the convert, in becoming a Christian, was at a disadvantage as to chances of success in the race with him. But that would be allowing even the “appearance of evil.”
It was actually true, in the early days of mission effort, that converts were oppressed by heathen under the idea that, as the gospel proclaimed by the missionary was a message of peace, all the “peace” was to be on the Christian’s side, and that he dared not strike a blow even in self-defence. But we did not understand the angels’ song of good-will as explained by the followers of George Fox, and by precept and example we allowed the use of force in the defence of right.