From Atlantis to the Sphinx (32 page)

So we have one more proof that ancient man was a superstitious animal. But how is it that he was such a stupid animal that he failed to noticed that his magic
did not work—
that when the tribal shaman had performed some elaborate ceremony to lure bison or reindeer into the hunters’ ambush, the animals simply failed to put in an appearance?

In other words, if the magic was ineffective, why was it not dropped within a few generations?

Sceptics will reply that prayer is probably ineffective, yet people go on praying. But this is an entirely different case. Prayers
seem
to be answered often enough to encourage more prayer; sceptics claim it is coincidence or wishful thinking, and there is no obvious way to decide who is right. But a tribal shaman—like those depicted in so many caves in the Dordogne—performs a long and elaborate ritual the night before the hunt, and its aim is to draw animals to a particular spot. If it failed to work again and again, the hunters would soon realise it was a waste of time.

In fact, there is interesting evidence that, for some odd reason, it
does
seem to work.

It is a striking fact that shamans all over the world, in totally unconnected cultures, have the same basic beliefs and the same basic methods.

Joseph Campbell remarks in the
Primitive Mythology
volume of his
The Masks of God
, published in 1959, of the Ona tribe of Tierra del Fuego and the Nagajnek Indians of Alaska: ‘Drawn ... from the two most primitive hunting communities on earth, at opposite poles of the world, out of touch, certainly for millenniums, with any common point of traditional origin... the two groups have nevertheless the same notion of the role and character of the shaman...’

He cites an example of shamanic magic—observed by a western anthropologist, E. Lucas Bridges—which at first sounds disappointingly like a conjuring trick. In the snow, in bright moonlight, the Ona shaman Houshken chants for a quarter of an hour before he puts his hands to his mouth and brings out a strip of guanaca hide, about the size of a leather bootlace. Then he slowly draws his hands apart until it is four feet long. Then an end is handed to his brother, who steps back until the four feet has become eight feet. Then Houshken takes it back, puts his hand to his mouth, and swallows it. ‘Even an ostrich could not have swallowed those eight feet of hide with one gulp without visible effort.’ Houshken has not flicked the hide up his sleeve for he is naked. After this, he brings from his mouth a quantity of something that looks like semi-transparent dough which is apparently alive, and revolving at great speed. Then, as he draws his hands further apart, the ‘dough’ simply disappears. Again, it sounds like sleight of hand until we recall that the shaman is naked.

A book called
Wizard of the Upper Amazon
is perhaps the clearest and most detailed account in the literature of anthropology of the training and development of a shaman. In this work, which has become a classic in its field, the explorer F. Bruce Lamb acts as amanuensis for a Peruvian youth named Manuel Cordova, who was kidnapped by the Amahuaca Indians of Brazil in 1902. Cordova spent seven years among the Indians, and records their way of life in detail.

And since Cordova eventually became chief of the tribe, it also enables us to begin to understand what must have been involved in being a palaeolithic shaman-chieftain. In order to grasp it fully, it is necessary to read the whole book, which conveys the remarkable sense of
unity
that exists in a primitive tribe,
in which every member is, in a sense
,
a part of an organism
. But the following brief account will at least make it clear why ‘magic’ seems to play an inevitable part in the lives of hunters who live in close contact with nature.

One of the most remarkable chapters of
Wizard of the Upper Amazon
describes how the old chief, Xumu, prepared Cordova for ten days with a special diet, which included drinks that produced vomiting, diarrhoea and accelerated heartbeat. Then, with other members of the tribe, he was given a 'vision extract’, which had the effect of flooding him with strange sensations, colours, and visions of animals and other natural forms. It took many of these sessions before he could control the chaos released by the drug—which was the aim. Finally, the Indians went one night into the depth of the forest, and spent hours gathering vines and leaves. These were pounded and mashed, then placed with elaborate ritual (involving chants) into the earthenware cooking pot. The preparation continued for three days, and then the green extract was poured into small pots.

A hunter who was having bad luck came to the tribal chief and described a series of mishaps that had led to his family being half starved. The chief told him to return the following night for the ‘vision extract’
(honi xuma)
ceremony.

This took place in a large group. Soon after drinking the extract, coloured visions began,
which were shared by all
. The ‘boa chant’ brought a giant boa constrictor, which glided through the clearing, followed by other snakes, then by a long parade of birds, including a giant eagle, which spread its wings in front of them, flashed its yellow eyes, and snapped its beak. After that came many animals—Cordova explains that he can no longer recall much about it, ‘since the knowledge did not originate in my consciousness or experience’. This continued all night.

The next day, the ‘unlucky’ hunter was asked by the chief, Xumu, if he could now dominate the spirits of the forest. He replied that his understanding was renewed, and that the forest would now provide for all his needs.

Later Cordova went on a hunt. The day before, there were elaborate pre-hunt rituals, with potions to drink, herbal baths, and the exposure of the body to various kinds of smoke, made by burning the hair of an animal and feathers of a bird they would be hunting. In the midst of the final ceremony, an owl landed on a branch; the hunters danced around him, chanting a ritual and asking him to direct their arrows at, various animals or birds they named. Finally the owl flew away and everyone went to bed.

Cordova describes the hunt that followed, and how he had to learn to recognise all the signs of the forest—the odour of animals or snakes, the meaning of a broken twig or fallen leaf. And after they had killed wild pigs, the leader described to him their method for ensuring that the pigs always pass that way. The leader, usually an old sow, has to be shot, and her head buried in a deep hole, facing opposite to the way the herd was travelling, with ritual chants to the spirits of the forest. If this is done correctly, it ensures that the pigs will always pass over this spot in every circuit of their territory, and by observing the habits of the pigs, hunters can always be lying in wait for them when they return.

One night they heard a peculiar insect call. The hunters were instantly alert, and two of them slipped off into the forest. Hours later, they returned with an insect wrapped in a leaf. They made a tiny cage for it, explaining that the possession of a ‘wyetee tee’ would guarantee good hunting. The next day, the hunters hid in camouflaged tree huts around the clearing. Just as they had foretold, the wyetee tee brought them such abundance of game that they had to build another smoking rack for smoking it.

Cordova was himself eventually chosen by Xumu as his successor. This was not simply because Cordova could fire a rifle, and had business enterprise enough to show the tribe how to manufacture and sell rubber; it was because he possessed the kind of sensitivity that would enable him to
understand
his fellows.

During my training I became aware of subtle changes in my mental process and modes of thought. I noticed a mental acceleration and a certain clairvoyance in anticipating events and reactions of the tribe. By focusing my attention on a single individual I could divine his reactions and purposes, and anticipate what he would do or what he planned to do... The old man said my power to anticipate and know future events would improve and grow, also that I would be able to locate and identify objects from a great distance.

In fact, Cordova had visions of his mother’s death, which—on his return to civilisation—proved to have been accurate.

The chief himself possessed this clairvoyant power. ‘We waited in the village for many days after the raiding party went out. Finally, the chief said they would return the next day...’ And of course, Xumu was right.

Throughout the book it becomes very clear that much of the ‘magic’ of the Indians is a kind of telepathy. When Cordova is taken into the forest by Xumu for a magical initiation, he is in no doubt that they are in telepathic contact.

‘The chief spoke in a low, pleasant tone, “Visions begin.” He had completely captured my attention with these words of magic. I instantly felt a melting away of any barrier between us; we were as one.’

Then the chief conjures up visions that are shared by Cordova. The sceptical explanation—that the chief is merely using suggestion—fails to fit the facts. The chief says: ‘Let us start with the birds’, and an incredibly detailed image of a bird appears; ‘Never had I perceived visual images in such detail before... The chief then brought a female, and the male went through his mating dance. I heard all of the songs, calls and other sounds. Their variety was beyond anything I had known.’

There is later another lengthy description of visions shared by the whole tribe. After drinking the ‘vision extract’, a chant causes a procession of animals, including a huge jaguar. ‘This tremendous animal shuffled along with the head hanging down, mouth open and tongue lolling out. Hideous, large teeth filled the open mouth. An instant change of demeanour to vicious alertness caused a tremor to pass through the circle of phantom-viewers.’

In fact, Cordova realised that
he
had conjured up this jaguar, which he had once met on a jungle path, and succeeded in ‘staring down’. The other members of the tribe also recognised this, with the result that Cordova was nicknamed ‘jaguar’.

Cordova goes on to speak about scenes of combat with enemy tribes, and with the invading rubber-cutters who had driven the Amahuaca to seek new territory. He sees visions of a village in flames, and the chief killing a rubber planter. The ‘show’ ends with scenes in their new village. In this visionary session, it is obvious that everyone is seeing the same thing, as if they are sitting in a cinema watching a film; but the film is created by their own minds. In his introduction to
Wizard of the Upper Amazon
, Harvard research fellow Andrew Weil comments:

‘Evidently, these Indians experience the collective unconscious as an immediate reality, not just as an intellectual construct.’

Later in the book, Cordova describes how, when the old chief dies, he takes his place. He discovers that, during the drug-induced visions, he is able to control what is seen by means of chants.

No matter how involved or strange the visions, they obeyed my wishes as I expressed them in song. Once the men realised that I had obtained domination over the visions, they all considered my position infinitely superior to theirs. I developed at the same time a more acute awareness of my surroundings and of the people about me—a sense of clairvoyance that enabled me to anticipate any difficult situation that might develop...

He also inherits the old chief’s power of making use of his dreams. ‘One night at the boa camp I had visions in my sleep of trouble back at Xanada...’ On their return, he learned that their territory was being invaded by a neighbouring tribe.

When Cordova eventually returned to civilisation, the training of the old chieftain stayed with him. The visions of his mother’s death—in a flu epidemic—proved to be accurate. And, ‘strange as it may seem to you, at least two other important events in my life I have foreseen in advance. Explain it how you will, I feel that it came from Xumu’s training.’

A sceptic would object that all this proves nothing. Cordova had merely taken part in rituals that the Indians
believed
would bring results, and when results came, they believed that their magic had been responsible. Yet this is simply quite contrary to the impression conveyed by
Wizard of the Upper Amazon
, in which there can be no doubt, as Andrew Weil says, that we are speaking about the ‘collective unconscious’ as an everyday reality.

The following example of shamanistic power cannot be explained in terms of some kind of mass self-deception.

Sir Arthur Francis Grimble was a British colonial administrator who became land commissioner in the Gilbert Islands, in the Pacific Ocean, in 1914. He was to describe his five years there in a delightful autobiography called
Pattern of Islands
(1952), which deservedly became a bestseller. The book is mainly concerned with his everyday life, and is told in an appropriately matter-of-fact tone. Yet in one chapter he describes an event so bizarre that it seems to defy any normal explanation.

An old chieftain named Kitiona criticised Grimble’s skinniness, and recommended him to eat porpoise meat. On enquiring how he might obtain porpoise meat, Grimble was told that Kitiona’s first cousin, who lived in Kuma village, was a hereditary porpoise caller.

Now Grimble had heard of porpoise calling—the ability of certain shamans to cause porpoises to come ashore by some form of magic; he classified it with the Indian rope trick. He enquired how it was done, and was told that it depended on being able to dream a certain dream. If the porpoise caller could dream this dream, his spirit would leave his body, and could visit the porpoise-people and invite them to come and feast and dance in Kuma village. When the porpoises reached the harbour, the spirit of the dreamer would rush back to his body and he would alert the tribe...

Grimble expressed interest, and Kitiona promised to send his canoe for him when his cousin was ready.

In due course the canoe arrived, and Grimble was taken to Kuma. He arrived hot, sweaty and irritable, and was met by a fat, friendly man who explained he was the porpoise caller.