CHAPTER V

RELIGIOUS BELIEFS AND RITES

Similarity between the philosophical conceptions of uncivilized races--Most of the ritual derived from magic--Dualism--Private and public talismans--The Pi--The Legend of the Dog-King--Totemism--Sorcery--Rebel Moï.

A study of the general history of mankind reveals many striking resemblances between the crude ideas which pass for philosophical conceptions among nations in their infancy.

Whether the Moï is considered as an undeveloped or a degenerate being (and the consideration will be determined by the school of thought to which the inquirer adheres) it is beyond dispute that he must be classed among the half-civilized portion of mankind, if only because his ideas of the supernatural are those which the brain of the savage has evolved at all times and in all places. Unlike the civilized races, he has never been able to distinguish the natural from the supernatural. He still believes that the world is controlled by invisible forces set in motion by Spirits constituted like himself, susceptible to emotions and passions like his own, and ready to shape their actions at the dictates of humour or caprice.

This belief is the foundation of the multifarious rites which accompany the most trivial daily act of the group which we are now studying.

Since the invisible Beings who thus direct and sway the fortunes of men are susceptible of love, pity, and even, it seems, of fear, it is both possible and advisable to appeal to these emotions to secure their assistance, or, at least, their neutrality.

It will readily be accepted that experience of life does little or nothing to shake this belief in the perpetual intervention of the supernatural, for naturally it is seldom that the desired event does not follow, sooner or later, the particular ceremony in which that desire finds expression.

For example, a great sacrifice is celebrated to secure a cessation of drought. Even if there is no rain for several weeks afterwards, it will still be regarded as an answer to supplication.

The Moï is still in utter ignorance of the connection between cause and effect, largely because he has only the most elementary notions of time and space.

It is an almost universal rule that from the earliest times religion grew out of a belief in magic. Indeed it is worthy of remark at this point that most of the customs and traditions found among civilized races are in essence forms of ancient magical rites which have been adapted to changing conditions.

The most recent investigations by the most eminent ethnologists confirm the view that a great number of ritualistic ceremonies are founded on the principles of imitative or sympathetic magic. This fact must be kept in mind.

Imitative magic is based on a belief which obtains general currency that the effect resembles the cause which produces it. The rudimentary intelligence of the savage infers from this that it is possible to bring about the commission of some act merely by imitating it.

Suppose a Moï desires success in the chase. Before starting on his expedition he will prick himself with one of his arrows, or else he will go through a series of contortions resembling the struggles of an animal caught in his net. He never doubts for a moment that by imitating his action, his prey will become an easy victim to his toils.

"Sympathetic" magic is based on another equally prevalent belief that objects which have once been in contact will continue to influence each other after the contact has ceased and that such continuance of influence remains unaffected either by time or distance.

It follows as a logical conclusion from this belief that all that is necessary to obtain or maintain influence over any person or object is to get possession of some part of that person or object. Accordingly the Sorcerer's first task is to secure some portion of his intended victim, a few hairs, perhaps, or some blood, or a piece of nail. By tormenting the image he will inflict the same sufferings on the original. In the same way a rejected lover will dress a burnt-clay figure in a fragment of the robe of his mistress and by supplications addressed to her representative seek to turn her hard heart towards himself.

Thanks to the new light thrown on these fundamental principles by the untiring efforts of Frazer, van Gennep and other eminent ethnologists, analysis of the better known beliefs of the Moï has become both practicable and intelligible. We can at any rate distinguish their salient characteristics.

As the Spirits are susceptible to human passions their natural inclination is to be malevolent towards man, for passions excite to ill-will and ill-doing rather than to benevolence. To counteract this baneful tendency it is highly desirable to incite the supernatural powers to turn their anger upon one another, and this is the more easy of accomplishment because they are numerous, jealous, and have each their particular domain.

To this origin must we assign the idea of provoking a supernatural conflict--dualism--which inspires the accomplishment of certain rites.

Further, it is impossible to secure either the assistance or even the neutrality of the superior powers without a talisman. The Sorcerer supplies these indispensable instruments, of which he enjoys the monopoly. Their nature and appearance vary with the object which their wearer has in view. If a native fears the attack of some particular animal his talisman will be some part of the object of his fears. The teeth of wild animals, the claws of tigers, the tongues of serpents, figure frequently among the talismans of those who fear an encounter with these formidable enemies. As a rule they are enclosed in a small wallet and suspended round the neck.

In a sense this is as natural an instinct as that which prompts savages of all races to make a protective amulet of the object of their fears, for, by an analogous association of ideas, they have frequently found the remedy in the apprehended evil itself. Anyone who has lived in the bush knows that immunity from the ill effects of a scorpion's bite can be obtained by injecting under the skin a paste made from the tails of those venomous creatures.

Some of these talismans are valueless to all save their original owner, and sometimes even to him only so long as he remains attached to his tribe and village. They are, so to speak, personal and not transferable.

On the other hand there are what I may call "collective" talismans endowed with powers to protect a family, a community, or even a whole tribe. They are displayed in some prominent position, hung on the door-post, a sacred tree, the mast of a canoe, or the palisade of a village.

Others are endowed with medicinal properties and are alleged to cure fevers and dysentery. Our portable chemist's shop was regarded as a very sacred grove of the Spirits of Healing. These august deities consented to appear in the form of a white powder (quinine) or of fire-water (tincture of iodine) to allay human ills. A bottle of chlorodyne which I used frequently in the many cases of dysentery and cholera was elevated to the rank of a deity.

I must confess also that there were many occasions on which I took advantage of their credulity in these matters. There were times when my request for food and lodging for our party met with hesitation and even point-blank refusal. In such circumstances a simple threat to grind them all to powder produced a prompt compliance with our wishes.

The Moï apply the generic term of "Pi" to all the occult powers whose intervention in human affairs is a matter of daily terror. The word "Pi" roughly denotes the idea of supernatural action. It corresponds to the "Orenda" of the Iroquois and the "Mana" of the savage tribes of Polynesia.

The Spirits who claim sway over the region of the forest-clad mountains are both numerous and quarrelsome. Those whose intentions towards men are known to be beneficent are neglected while worship and sacrifice are concentrated on the propitiation of the malevolent ones.

The "Chicken-Devil" is an object of the greatest terror to women. Legend relates that once upon a time he was imprisoned within the body of an ogress by whose murder he was restored to liberty.

The malevolent disposition of this Spirit is displayed by his habit of poisoning the breath of all the women who cross his path. A woman thus contaminated poisons every particle of food with which she comes in contact.

No less dangerous are the Spirits which have been liberated from bondage by the violent death or suicide of their masters. Woe betide the traveller who encounters them on his journey. If his escort be not large and his weapons of the latest pattern he will go to swell the already lengthy list of victims of the powers of evil.

Farther on lurks a fresh horror.

The road is long, the sun overpowering, the earth a burning carpet. Suddenly a tree offers welcome rest and shelter to the weary traveller. He loses no time in seeking its grateful shade and, selecting a suitable branch for a fly-swish, prepares to cut it with his knife.

Heaven help him if he carries out his intention. The tree is haunted by the spirit of a chief slain in war. It will snatch up the sacrilegious criminal and bear him to the great Beyond.

It is a horrible catastrophe to meet with certain Ghouls, whose method of progression is a rolling motion like that of a barrel, and who devour all the refuse of the roads. If a woman is with you their vengeance will fall upon her. She will become barren and gradually rot away.

On moonlight nights young warriors often meet with ravishing nymphs who beckon them to follow into the depths of the forest. The loveliness and wiles of these mystic temptresses soon overpower the strongest will and the young men yield to the spell and disappear in the darkness. Soon the vision vanishes. The victims, terror-stricken, walk round in fruitless circles until dawn. Their tormentors are malignant spirits who assume the form of lovely nymphs solely to gratify their cunning spite by hindering and terrorizing their victims.

Among the numerous uncivilized groups of Indo-China it is curious that only one offers the peculiar characteristic of possessing a totem. The "Man" or "Yaos" believe that their first ancestor was a dog. Accordingly, their veneration for that animal is profound, and it is strictly forbidden to use its flesh for food.

If we are to believe one legend which at least has the sanction of general acceptance, about 525 B.C. Pen Hung, who was at that time ruler of the Chinese province of Su, promised his daughter's hand and the half of his kingdom to the hero who should rid him of the conquering marauder Cu-Hung, who was menacing his security. The invader's reputation for valour had preceded him and was such that no man dared cross swords with him. When all seemed lost a dog named Phan-Hu undertook the task of destroying the enemy, and, having succeeded in slaying Cu-Hung in mortal combat, he returned to claim from the King the fulfilment of his promise.

The King gave his daughter to the victor, but in order to keep to himself the more fertile portion of his kingdom, he assigned only the uncultivated mountain-tops as the dog's share. This unfairness was resented by the Dog-King, and to remedy it special concessions were granted to his descendants.

The copy of a charter in which these privileges are set forth is still preserved among what we may call the archives of the "Man." This apocryphal document has been translated by Colonel Bonifacy of the Colonial Infantry, who was the first to call the attention of Europeans to its existence. On the other hand, if we are to believe the twelfth-century historian Fan-Chi-Hu, the dog Phan-Hu was no other than a savage who took that name and did in fact marry a princess as the prize for a very remarkable triumph in a personal combat.

However that may be, it is incontestable that individuals are found in every country whose excessive hairiness suggests a striking resemblance to the dog, especially as regards the face. The Toda of India and the Birmans have recently furnished several striking examples of the freak which is popularly known as the "dog-faced man." But to return to the legend, we may at least conclude that the marriage took place at a much earlier period than that suggested.

The "Man," the issue of this union, have shown a marked tendency to expand. From the mountain-tops which formed their original kingdom they have penetrated into Tonkin, Annam and the region of the lakes. They seem to have made ample use of a provision in their ancient Charter which entitled them to set fire to any forest which impeded their progress. They claim that this authority is still valid and subsisting, and we had the greatest difficulty in enforcing obedience to our forest regulations. The most interesting feature of this ethnical group is that it shows undoubted traces of the existence of an alliance formed in immemorial times with some species of animal. Now the underlying idea of totemism is that of a compact between an aggregation (family, or group) of human beings and some animal species from which has sprung a relationship at once physical and social.

The recent controversy over the definition of totemism seems to make it both redundant and impertinent for me to enlarge on a subject which is still fresh in the memory of all. Nor is the matter of great moment, for I am convinced that, with few exceptions, if the peoples whom I am studying have any connection with these quite special phenomena, that connection is too remote to be regarded as a basis for any satisfactory deductions.

Besides, it is well known that competent observers have frequently confused totemic practices with certain customs whose origin is rather to be looked for in zoolatry or theriolatry (_thēr_, a wild beast).

Theriolatry embraces such curiosities as tiger and crocodile-worship, while zoolatry signifies the worship of the domestic animals. It must be admitted that when the totem of a group is a wild beast the totemism is probably theriolatric, but it is impossible to dispute van Gennep's statement that all theriolatry is not necessarily totemic.

Organization in groups or totemic clans is only found among races that are just emerging from barbarism, and proof is not lacking that several peoples in classical antiquity had passed through that stage of progress before the period of recorded history begins.

Sorcerers, among the Moï, fall into two categories, those who are gifted with the faculty of divination whereby the guilty can be detected, and those whose exorcisms are confined and directed to the healing of disease.

As a rule the Spirit himself selects the individual whom he proposes to endow with these divine functions.

The first intimation to the happy mortal on whom the choice of Heaven has thus fallen is a feeling of violent colic or sickness of a peculiar kind which leaves no doubt as to its message or mission. The sufferer suffers gladly.

It is by no means the rule that initiation is followed by an immediate assumption of the divine functions. In most cases a prolonged interval elapses, for a candidate who feels unequal to the rôle thus suddenly thrust upon him will prefer exile rather than a return to the ranks of common mortals, a set-back which would make him a public laughing-stock.

Among the Djarai, one of the most important of the Indo-Chinese groups, there are two sorcerers of the greatest renown, known as the "King of Fire" and the "King of Water."

It is probable that these mythological names originally personified the incarnation of Agni, God of Fire, and Varouna, God of Water, and are themselves traces of Brahminism which at one time exercised immense influence over the southern Indo-Chinese peoples and which cannot be said to be entirely defunct to-day.

The Hindu god Agni is always represented as armed with a lance. The "King of Fire" carries, not a lance, but a sword, to which an extraordinary magical power is attributed. If its guardian were to draw it merely an inch or two from its scabbard the sun would cease to illumine the earth. If he drew it out altogether a paralysing lethargy would settle upon his subjects.

Hardly less astonishing are the powers ascribed to the two fetishes which are in the official keeping of the "King of Water." One is the fruit of a creeper which shows not the slightest trace of decay though it was plucked at the time of the Deluge. The other is a sacred rattan which, though of immemorial antiquity, looks as fresh as on its first day of existence. The owner of these talismans has only to utter a word and the universe will disappear beneath the celestial cataracts.

The Cambodians and the Cham assert that these talismans formerly belonged to their kings and were stolen from them by treachery. More than once they have organized expeditions to recover their treasure, but the Spirits have willed otherwise, and the Djarai have never had any difficulty in repelling the invaders.

The predecessors of Norodom, as long as they held sway and directed the destinies of Cambodia, brought presents each year to their cousins, the Kings of the Savage Lands. These gifts took the form of an elephant gorgeously caparisoned, a quantity of brass and some superb pieces of silk destined for the sheath of the sacred sword. As a fitting reply to this act of homage, the King of Fire condescended to leave the imprint of his august finger on a cake of wax, which was then sent to Pnom-Penh, and on two gourds filled with rice.

India, as well as Cambodia, is familiar with the custom of preserving the print of the foot or hand of anyone who has become an object of veneration. Oil of sesame figures frequently in ritual sacrifices, especially when offered by those guilty of intemperance. It is said to purify the worshipper and be grateful to the outraged Spirit.

Wax and corn are alleged to have a remarkably soothing effect on Spirits with a tendency to active malevolence.

But to return to the two Potentates, it must be admitted that they have no effective political authority, though their influence in the sphere of religion is unchallenged.

Their residences lie at a distance of several miles from each other on opposite sides of the watershed between the rivers of Annam and the lakes.

Their offices are hereditary and, if we are to believe the current legend, the family are always present at the death of a pontiff to assist his passage to the next world. This is not from any urgent desire to succeed him but to accomplish a traditional rite. The next step in the proceedings is remarkable. The individual on whom the mantle of the deceased has fallen by hereditary right takes refuge in flight. He is pursued and caught, and in spite of his repeated refusals is compelled to continue the dynasty.

This solemn mockery, parading as a custom, is by no means confined to the group of which I am speaking. In all lands and all periods men are to be found who meet their appointment to places of high honour with sincere or insincere refusals. For one case of genuine apprehension of unfitness there are ten of mock-modesty.

In many cases, it must be admitted, the office of Chief is both onerous and precarious. Sometimes the Chief is only the titular head of the tribe, bound hand and foot by custom and tradition and held responsible for all the misfortunes that overtake his country during his reign. In these circumstances it is hardly to be wondered at that there is some misgiving among those elected to the burdensome office. The Princes of Loango, the Sheik of Gardaia, and the King of the Hobbé in Central Nigeria all take to ignominious flight when their turn comes to assume the reins of government.

In most cases, however, the refusal has become a tradition, whether spontaneous in its origin or not. The Moslem is doing no more than to imitate Mahomet's modest denials when the angel Gabriel came to announce his selection as the prophet of Allah. Even in our days, how many times have we not seen the good citizen professing his unworthiness of a proffered honour and accepting under the pretence of compulsion that on which his heart has long been set!

We have an interesting account of a visit to the "King of Fire" from the lips of Commandant Cupet of the Pavie mission. The Potentate put every conceivable obstacle in the way of the expedition and spared no pains to make their residence in the country as uncomfortable as possible. Having surmounted these obstacles, however, the explorers were faced with a flat refusal to allow them to depart. The situation was becoming extremely strained when a happy accident relieved it. The Pontiff chanced to see a compass, and was so impressed by the movements of the magnetic needle, which he attributed to some magic power, that he withdrew his opposition and allowed the expedition to proceed unmolested.

Tragically otherwise was the experience of my friend Prosper Odend' Hal, Director of the Indo-Chinese Civil Service, during the archæological and ethnographical mission of 1904.

Some days before the departure of his expedition under the auspices of the French School in the Far East, he came to ask me if I would lend him my Moï vocabularies, which he wished to complete during the journey. In the course of our conversation he told me of his intention to dispense with an escort other than an interpreter and a few boys, with a view to facilitating movement and saving time. I had already had sufficient experience of the insecurity of the regions he proposed to explore to know the danger of such a course, and I exhausted every argument to turn him from his purpose. The country was far from pacified and the guerilla warfare which detached bodies of the Moï carried on against us seemed likely at any moment to break out in open conflict. Nothing appeared to me more foolhardy than to go among them defenceless at a time when force was the only argument they could appreciate. Unhappily Odend' Hal remained firm in his conviction that a mark of confidence would fire their imaginations and touch their hearts. He professed a high regard for these unregenerate savages and endowed them, quite gratuitously, with all manner of virtues.

This blind confidence was the cause of his undoing. He started from Phan-Rang at the end of March, crossed the Annamite range, the mountains of Langbian and the plateau of the Darlac, then penetrated into the interior of Phuyen (Annam), the land of the "King of Fire."

It seems that from the first he had made up his mind to see the renowned sacred sword. After much negotiation, its royal owner had intimated his pleasure to gratify the desire and invited the explorer to a great banquet to be given in his house.

On the seventh of April Odend' Hal attended, accompanied only by his interpreter and unarmed, to demonstrate his confidence in the loyalty of his host. Some hours later his servants were aroused by a report of fire. In an isolated hut, already wrapped in flames, they found the bodies of the two victims pierced through and through with spears.

Odend' Hal was a senior officer of the same standing as myself. He had taken part in our earliest expeditions at the time of the conquest, and lived more than twenty years in the country, where his kindness and outstanding ability had won universal respect.

More than one punitive expedition had to be sent out after this outrage, and some of them met with open and unremitting hostility from detached bodies of the Moï. I have mentioned before that even during the mission on which I was engaged MM. Canivey and Barbu, who were in command of the Militia, had to organize a flying column to operate to the north of Langbian, where we were then engaged on a topographical survey. These two officers themselves commanded the force, which was composed of fifty militiamen and the same number of coolies.

They left Dalat, where we had made our headquarters, and marched in the direction of the Darlac. Within a few days they were in touch with the rebels, who pursued the policy of retiring before their advance, abandoning their villages and attempting to draw the column into the forest-clad mountains, where numerous defiles offered special advantages for guerilla warfare. Captain Canivey was not to be deceived by such tactics, and advisedly gave the order for retreat, leaving the subjugation of the rebels to a later occasion.

When the first stage of the return journey was almost completed the advance-guard reported towards evening that their progress was impeded by small bamboo stakes fixed into the ground. Rifle in hand Canivey at once went forward, suspecting an ambush. Behind the palisade of thorny bamboo he thought he detected several dark dots moving hither and thither. Suddenly two arrows, then a third, struck him, and a fourth followed. Captain Barbu, who rushed to the rescue, was received by a shower of missiles.

The Linhs, or native soldiers, threw themselves flat on the ground and fired volley after volley in the direction of the attack. The Moï replied with an avalanche of arrows and javelins, but the rapidity of our fire soon proved too much for them and, after their ranks had been seriously depleted, they gave way and fled, leaving all but a few of their wounded. We made prisoners of all the rebels thus left to their fate and buried the corpses in an effective, if summary, manner.

It was long before MM. Canivey and Barbu recovered from their wounds, but after many anxious moments their natural vitality triumphed, and within a short time a new expedition was organized which proved a complete success.