Chapter IV: Magic and Ritual

Early man had not the conception of natural law that we now possess. In order even partially to understand his attitude toward things, the man of to-day must abstract from the idea of law and regularity which he has shot through nature, and ignore the knowledge about the antecedents of events which close observation and careful experiment have furnished him with. In the case of magic, just as in the case of mythology, he who wishes to see eye to eye with those who lived long ago must rid himself for the time being both of the knowledge which science has accumulated and of the mental habits of enquiry and causal explanation which have been fostered by it. These habits and this knowledge have become such a part of us that we are not fully conscious of them and of their importance. They are like the clothes we wear or the forms of politeness which we go through with automatically. It is only after the twentieth-century man delves into folklore or reads accounts of the beliefs and practices of the past, that he realizes that he stands on the shoulders of innumerable generations as the inheritor of a long process of mental evolution. Nothing, perhaps, can make him realize this fact more vividly than a study of magic.

What is magic? The best answer is to give examples {45} of magic. "In the Malay Peninsula the magician makes an image like a corpse, a footstep long. If you want to cause sickness, you pierce the eye and blindness results; or you pierce the waist and the stomach gets sick. If you want to cause death, you transfix the head with a palm twig; then you enshroud the image as you would a corpse and pray over it as if you were praying over the dead; then you bury it in the middle of the path which leads to the place of the person whom you wish to charm, so that he may step over it." Ancient agriculture is full of magic rites designed to ward off evils. "To this day a Transylvanian sower thinks he can keep birds from the corn by carrying a lock in the seedbag." To this day, again, in Roumania, Serbia and parts of Germany, the peasants try to bring on a rain by sprinkling water on a young girl. It is supposed that nature will follow suit, and send a beneficent shower upon the thirsty earth. Magic is, then, an ingenious way of making or leading nature to do what you want it to do. As Professor Murray writes: "Agriculture used to be entirely a question of religion; now it is almost entirely a question of science. In antiquity, if a field was barren, the owner of it would probably assume that the barrenness was due to pollution, or offense somewhere. He would run through all his own possible offenses, or at any rate those of his neighbors and ancestors, and when he eventually decided the cause of the trouble, the steps that he would take would all be of a kind calculated not to affect the chemical constitution of the soil, but to satisfy his own emotions of guilt and terror, or the imaginary being he had offended. A modern man in the same predicament would probably not think of religion at all, at any rate {46} in the earlier stages; he would say it was a case for deeper plowing or for basic slag."

Magic is a way of controlling things. Imitate the act desired, in a certain way, and it will come to pass. Talismans and amulets, again, possess a secret power for good and evil. Ancient societies built up a lore of this kind, adding to material objects the agency of demons under the control of magicians. This lore is practically a feature of the past. Even white magic is no longer good form, no longer accredited by the dominant social mind. It slinks into out-of-the-way places beyond the public eye. Yet research is showing that these seemingly discredited beliefs and points of view seldom completely disappear. They smolder beneath the surface and flame up now and then in a startling way to remind us that society in its evolution does not carry all its members along at the same rate. The historian is surprised to find that rites which are given an exalted place in various religions are magical at heart, and go back to beliefs which have long been discredited in other settings.

Some who have specialized in folklore and anthropology are very pessimistic as to the degree in which the scientific outlook upon nature is replacing the more primitive attitude associated with magic. One of the greatest authorities upon primitive beliefs and customs writes as follows: "We seem to move on a thin crust which may at any moment be rent by the subterranean forces slumbering below.... Now and then the polite world is startled by a paragraph in a newspaper which tells how in Scotland an image has been found stuck full of pins for the purpose of killing an obnoxious laird or minister, how a woman has been slowly roasted {47} to death as a witch in Ireland, or how a girl has been murdered and chopped up in Russia to make those candles of human tallow by whose light thieves hope to pursue their midnight trade unseen." The danger to civilization foreseen by the specialist in uncouth customs is undoubtedly exaggerated, but his warning should remind us that education has a very valuable function to perform in training an ever increasing number in scientific habits of thought.

One of the assumptions which underlie magic is the idea that two things are connected in nature because they are like one another. Space is not looked upon as a barrier to this connection. So far as can be seen, anything can affect anything else; and the slightest suggestion of such a relation leads to the belief in its reality. There is almost entire absence of any conception of systematic testing: any accidental association may lead the savage to be assured of an important sign. Thus, if a man went out hunting and saw a rabbit cross his path, and then had bad luck, he would be sure that a rabbit is a sign of bad luck. Moreover, since individuals were on the lookout for hoodoos, they would not tempt providence a second time. This example illustrates the psychology rather than the sociology of the process. It must be remembered that social groups developed what we call superstitions by way of social contagion and suggestion. The laughing acquiescence of the present in hoodoos, mascots and lucky objects cannot be traced back to the credulity of any one individual. Such things come to pass by a process of accretion just as does the belief that a particular house is haunted.

Most writers on the subject classify magic into two {48} kinds, imitative and contagious. These varieties are then carried back to two principles which seem to govern the association of ideas. Imitative magic follows the law of association by similarity, while contagious magic is based on the law of contiguity. To those who have studied psychology this classification will present no difficulties. To others a word of explanation is, perhaps, necessary. Our minds connect things or acts which are similar (the principle of similarity) and those which are experienced or thought of together (principle of contiguity). Connections are thus made between things and, since the principles are so liberal, almost anything can be connected with anything else. It is this liberality which is alien to science. Let us glance at some examples of both kinds of magic.

The most familiar instance of imitative magic is the device by means of which an individual hopes to injure or kill an enemy. A figure of the enemy is made and this is then stuck full of pins or else burned before a slow fire. "In ancient Babylonia it was a common practice to make an image of clay, pitch, honey, fat, or other soft material in the likeness of an enemy, and to injure or kill him by burning, burying, or otherwise ill-treating it." This practice occurs in the highlands of Scotland to-day as well as in Mexico, Italy, China and other countries. Rossetti's poem, _Sister Helen_, has made this example of imitative magic fairly familiar to those who would probably never otherwise have heard of it.

"Why did you melt your waxen man,
Sister Helen?
To-day is the third since you began."

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"The time was long, yet the time ran,
Little brother."
"Oh, the waxen knave was plump to-day,
Sister Helen;
Now like dead folk he has dropped away!"
"Nay now, of the dead what can you say,
Little brother?"

There are many other curious instances of imitative magic. A Bavarian peasant in sowing wheat will sometimes wear a golden ring, in order that the corn may have a fine yellow color. Similarly, in many parts of Germany and Austria, the peasant imagines that he makes the flax grow tall by dancing or leaping high, or by jumping backwards from a table. Telepathic action, or action at a distance, was constantly believed in. The hunter's wife abstained from spinning for fear the game should turn and wind like the spindle and the hunter be unable to hit it.

While imitative magic works through fancied resemblance, contagious magic is based on the principle that what has once been together must remain forever after in a sympathetic relation, so that what is done to one affects the other. In Sussex some forty years ago a maid servant remonstrated strongly against the throwing away of children's cast teeth, affirming that should they be found and gnawed by any animal, the child's new tooth would be, for all the world, like the teeth of the animal that had bitten the old one. It was quite the custom in former years to anoint the sword which wounded a man instead of the wound itself. In Bryden's play, _The Tempest_, Ariel directs Prospero to anoint the sword which wounded Hippolite and to wrap it up close from the air. Footprints, pieces of {50} clothing, pictures, locks of hair, all are connected with the individual and what is done to them reacts on the individual no matter where he is.

At first, mankind resorted to magic as naturally as we resort to the information given us by science. There was nothing nefarious about it. Not to use all the precautions in your power and employ all the means you could think of was simply foolish. As time went on, however, socially approved magic became distinguished from black magic or that which it was wrong to resort to. But magic, like every other activity, tended to become specialized. Certain persons seemed to possess more power than others, and, since no one could tell what was impossible, what appear to us the most absurd claims were put forth. Things were believed because they were impossible. It was under the encouragement of this "will to believe" that magic flourished until the slow growth of civilization and the awakening reason of man cast doubts upon it.

To study the more technical developments of magic is extremely interesting. Magicians as a class evolved a lore which was looked upon by the uninitiated as occult and mysterious. The mass of the people did not know of any bounds which could be set to their power. They and their deeds were shrouded in darkness and surrounded by all the gruesome associations which the awe-struck imagination could conjure up. Such was the case especially when magic became outlawed as an underhand means of obtaining things. But magic had by then fallen on evil days. It was not yet disbelieved but simply condemned because it did not fit in with the dominant religious and social order. The exact {51} relation of religion and magic is a somewhat complex problem which we must postpone for a while.

The orient was always the fertile home of magic: here it reached its more technical developments. In _Lucian_ we read of the reputed power of the Chaldean wise men who were able to recite spells which would move even the gods. All through the East this esoteric science existed. In Egypt the magicians claimed to be able to compel the highest gods to do their bidding. By this time magic had, however, passed beyond its more primitive character. So far as it involved signs and acts, these were of a highly symbolic type. Geometrical figures of intricate construction, phrases consisting of apparently meaningless words or of words supposed to have a peculiar significance, and the names of gods or demons were used with appropriate ceremonies. Many of these magical formulae have come down to us. They are spells which are supposed to constrain even the highest gods.

The story of Faust reflects very well the notion of magic existing in Europe during the Middle Ages. The reader will call to mind the scene in which Faust calls up the Earth-Spirit. Devotees of Victor Hugo will remember the description given in his _Notre-Dame_ of Dom Claude's cell and this ecclesiast's unsuccessful attempts to use the hammer of Ezekiel. The important thing was to discover the magic word which this famous rabbi pronounced as he struck upon the nail with his hammer.

We have frequently called attention to the close connection supposed to exist between name and thing. The name is a genuine part of the nature of the thing. {52} It was this assumption which lay at the root of the more involved magic of spells and incantations. "This is why every ancient Egyptian had two names," writes F. C. Conybeare, "one by which his fellows in this world knew him, and the other, his true or great name, by which he was known to the supernal powers and in the other world." He who possessed knowledge of the name of another had him to that extent in his power. Fear of such an eventuality led many nations to conceal the true name of their god. That is why the real name of the god of the Hebrews is a matter of conjecture to us, and why the Romans had an important deity whose name is completely lost. In an old Egyptian legend, the goddess Isis asks herself this question, "Cannot I, by virtue of the great name of Ra, make myself a goddess and reign like him in heaven and earth?" This conception reminds us of the passage in Matthew, "Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy by thy name, and by thy name cast out devils, and by thy name do mighty works? And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity." Again, in Mark, we have this corresponding passage, "John said unto him, Teacher, we saw one casting out devils in thy name; and we forbade him, because he followed us not." Thus names were things to conjure with in a literal sense. How few of those who read these verses understand their real meaning, that they involved a belief in the magic of names! In the Acts of the Apostles, Peter performs a miracle simply by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Is it necessary to remark that such cures as were possibly performed were due to {53} suggestion of the sort for which ecstatic religious faith prepares the way?

In pre-scientific times, diseases were regarded as the effect of spirits or demons. Death, itself, is considered the work of a malignant agent. It is unnatural and magical. Savages often address diseases respectfully as Grandfather Smallpox. Jesus heals a woman and speaks of her as "a daughter of Abraham whom Satan has bound these eighteen years past." This address is in accord with the beliefs of that day everywhere. That the early Christians held similar views is no matter for surprise. They were children of their age.

Religion and magic were long bound up with one another. It is useless to ask which came first, for they are not mutually exclusive in the beginning. Only as an ethical monotheism, with a high respect for the personality and power of the deity worshiped, develops, is the magical element rejected. There are few religions, even to-day, which do not contain magical elements, and the farther back in time we go, the more conspicuous is the presence of incantations and ritual acts imputed to have a mysterious efficacy. Man had sore need of help, and so he adopted all the means which accident, fancy and ignorance suggested. If certain acts gave him the _mana_ of his god or brought pressure to bear upon a supernatural agent, so much the better. Much of early liturgy is a mingling of spell and prayer, and it is strictly true that much of Christian liturgy bears traces of this origin. The following example shows this intertwining of higher and lower elements: In the blessing of the baptismal water on the eve of Epiphany, a custom prevalent in the earlier Church {54} of Rome, the priest, while praying to God to sanctify the water, dipped a crucifix thrice into it, recalling in his prayer the miracle described in Exodus, the sweetening of the bitter water with wood; then followed antiphonal singing describing Christ's baptism in Jordan, which sanctified the water. "We appear to have here," writes L. D. Farnell, "a combination of the great typical forms of the immemorial religious energy, prayer pure and simple, the potent use of the spiritually charged object, the fetish (in this case the crucifix), and an intoned or chanted narrative which has the spell-value of suggestion."

It has been suggested by certain investigators that magic is nearer science than religion. It is the attempt of man to compel things to do what he desires. In religion, on the other hand, man proclaims his helplessness and his utter dependence upon spiritual powers. There can be little doubt that this difference exists and comes more and more to the front. But it is not until religion evolves into spiritual prayer and communion and away from ritual processes that the separation takes place. Few events are more interesting than the gradual rejection of magic by religion. But does not this rejection involve a similar rejection of science? Here, again, we meet the inevitable compromise. White magic is distinguished from black magic. We shall have more to say of this relationship later.

Only after countless centuries of mistake did the intellect of man discover the actual relations in nature in such a way as to be able to use them with certainty. Subjective associations were then replaced by tested causal connections. Faith in mere imitative acts was {55} lost, and it was finally realized that patient research was a pre-condition of the control of man's environment. Time, alone, could show what was possible and what was impossible.

We have pointed out that, as religion became more idealistic in its conception of deity, magic tended to drop into the background. Moral motives were considered the sole motives capable of moving him to beneficent action. Prayer came to be thought of as a petition for the good, and it was even admitted that this omniscient being knew better than the petitioner what was best. We who have been brought up in the Christian belief have been too much inclined to belittle the character and intellect of races with a different heritage. It may be well, then, to point out that problems which are being thrashed over to-day in Christian communities were discussed and answered in much the same way by other peoples in less enlightened times. Ancient Greece reached the spiritual level expressed in the conclusion of the Lord's Prayer, "Thy will be done." The prayer of Socrates was: "Grant me to become noble of heart." The prayer of Epictetus was: "Do with me what thou wilt: my will is thy will: I appeal not against thy judgments." Is this not the inevitable deduction from an ethical monotheism? Any noble believer in a good god would look at prayer in this way. It is not surprising, then, that the more philosophic adherents of early Christianity questioned the validity of prayers for favors. Take away the support of science, with its healthy scotching of superstition, from the mind of the modern Christian and I doubt whether he would rise to higher ethical levels than any of his forbears.

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But the growth of moral idealism in religion does not involve the rational overthrow of magic. So long as all the events in the world are not assigned directly to God as the sole active agent at work, the basis of magic remains. Moral idealism condemns only black magic, that is, an immoral use of magical powers. But moral condemnation is not a rational denial of the existence of magic. Carried to its logical extreme, ethical monotheism could discredit magic only by substituting personal for impersonal agency, and then proclaiming a monopoly of personal agency. It is evident, then, that science, rather than religion, has been the real foe of magic, because it grappled with it empirically, and in a detailed fashion, in the midst of the here and now of human events. Ethical monotheism is abstract, deductive and dogmatic. What was necessary was a critical movement at once concrete, inductive and empirical. Religion develops only the moral reason and tends to leave the wider reaches of reason an uncultivated field. Hence the traitor of superstition was never far from it, thunder as the preacher would from the pulpit. Victory over darkness requires the spread of light into every nook and cranny of the human soul.

The age-long conflict has passed its crisis. Yet all too few willingly give their whole-hearted allegiance to the ideals and methods of science. The struggle upward from primitive ignorance and superstition to the conception of slow-working impersonal agency has been toilsome and tiring, and the germs of sullen revolt are in more breasts than we often suppose. Man's hold on the good is frail; let us seek to strengthen it and to widen its grasp. Laudation of the practical {57} applications of science is not enough. All are ready to be healed and to be made the masters of nature. Too few are willing to accept the implications of natural science and press on toward a philosophy conflicting with the ideas of the universe cherished by their fathers.

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