SHAMAN

An International Journal
for Shamanistic Research
 Front and back covers: After drawings on Altai Turkic drums
(A. V. Anokhin, 0DWHULDO\SRVKDPDQVWYDXDOWDɩWVHY, figs. 70 and 77)

Copyright © 1993, 2007 by Molnar & Kelemen Oriental Publishers, Budapest

First edition published 1993. Second edition, revised and expanded 2007
Photographs © Marjorie Mandelstam Balzer, Mihály Hoppál and Kun Shi
All rights resereved. No part of this publicaton may be reproduced, in any form or by any means,
electronic, photocopying or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publishers.

Printed in Hungary
ISSN 1216-7827
 SHAMAN
Volume 1 Numbers 1 & 2 Spring/Autumn 1993
Second Edition, Revised and Expanded 2007

Contents
Articles
Introductory Remarks on the Study of Shamanism
ÅKE HULTKRANTZ 5
Are “Trance,” “Ecstasy” and Similar Concepts Appropriate
in the Study of Shamanism?
ROBERTE N. HAMAYON 17
Some Hyperpragmatic Patterns in Tamang Shamanic Recitations, Nepal
ANDRÁS HÖFER 41
The Shaman in Myths and Tales
ÅKE HULTKRANTZ 53
The Kun-ning-gung Palace in Peking: The Manchu Dynasty’s Shaman
Centre in the “Forbidden City”
TATIANA A. PANG 71
“Praying in the Darkness”:
New Texts for a Little-Known Manchu Shamanic Rite
GIOVANNI STARY 87
Kamidari as a Key Concept of Okinawan Shamanism
MARI YOSHINAGA and YUJI SASAKI 105

Review Articles
Shamanism and the Politics of Culture: An Anthropological View
of the 1992 International Conference on Shamanism, Yakutsk,
the Sakha Republic
MARJORIE MANDELSTAM BALZER 121
Shamanistic Studies in China: A Preliminary Survey of the Last Decade
KUN SHI 149
Book Reviews
ROY ANDREW MILLER und NELLY NAUMANN. Altjapanisch FaFuri.
Zu Priestertum und Schamanismus im vorbuddhistischen Japan
&DWKHULQH8UD\.ŃKDOPL  
GIOVANNI STARY (ed.) Das “Schamanenbuch” der Sibe-Mandschuren;
TATJANA A. PANG. Die sibemandschurische Handschrift
“Der Schamanenhof.” Die sibemandschurische Handschrift
6DPDQNŗZDUDQLELWKHaus der Sammlung N. Krotkov;
ALESSANDRA POZZI. Manchu-Shamanica Illustrata.
'LHPDQGVFKXULVFKH+DQGVFKULIWGHU7Ŀ\ĿEXQND
.HQN\ŗVKR7ĿN\Ŀ'DLNDNX (Shamanica Manchurica
&ROOHFWD9ROV²  &DWKHULQH8UD\.ŃKDOPL  

News and Notes

Report on the First Conference of the International
Society for Shamanistic Research,
Held 22–28 July, 1991, Seoul, Korea (Mihály Hoppál) 170
Report on the “Shamanism as a Religion: Origin,
Reconstruction and Traditions,” Conference,
Held August 15–22, 1992, Yakutsk, Russia (Mihály Hoppál) 174
VOL. 1. NOS. 1-2. SHAMAN SPRING/AUTUMN 1993/2007

Introductory Remarks on the Study

of Shamanism

ÅKE HULTKRANTZ STOCKHOLM

The publication of this first international journal on shamanism is a

sign that shamanic studies have come of age. As recently demonstrated,
interest in shamanism dates back to the seventeenth century, when
the first more comprehensive reports of this phenomenon were writ-
ten down (Flaherty 1992). Analytical studies began to appear in the
eighteenth century. A hundred years later, in 1870, Sir John Lubbock
specified shamanism as the fourth stage of the evolution of religion. At
this stage, he maintained, “the superior deities are far more powerful
than man, and of a different nature. Their place of abode also is far
away, and accessible only to Shamans.” (Lubbock 1870: 119) His work
opened floodgates to accounts of shamanism; the theories about its
nature and history have also been refined over the years. Today, there is
an enormous output of documents and research results on shamanism.
Most of them are descriptions in ethnographical monographs, but there
is no lack of theoretical works in the recent literature. Indeed, it seems
that almost every writer on shamanism comes up with his own theory.
It is, therefore, timely that a new journal, Shaman, should undertake
to be the forum of the scholarly discussion of shamanism. Today, sha-
manism is being investigated in many countries and from all possible
angles. And yet, there is little fruitful interchange of ideas between the
scholars involved. One main reason for this disjunction is the language
barrier; another is the basic differences in scholarly tradition. We
might, for instance, consider and contrast the American and the Rus-
sian research traditions.
6 Åke Hultkrantz

Russia has a long tradition of shamanic research, as has been pointed

out by V. N. Basilov (1984: 1. 46 ff.).1 Basilov emphasizes the volumi-
nous Russian scholarly output on shamanism; as is generally known, A.
A. Popov (1932) could already count more than 650 papers on the sub-
ject in his bibliography of shamanism, most of them, Basilov tells us,
dealing with shamanic clothing, instruments and rituals. Later research
also focused on beliefs and myths. Until the fall of the Soviet regime,
the theoretical framework was (Marxist) evolutionism, religious and
social. Thus, shamanism was supposed to have succeeded to totemism,
and then evolved in close connection with the clan system. Basilov does
not mention, however, whether or not Russian shamanic literature dur-
ing the Soviet era was much preoccupied with ethnogenetic analyses.
Another characteristic of Russian shamanological works is that they
contain very few references to sources and investigations published
outside the former Soviet Union. We get the impression that shaman-
ism only existed in the Soviet area, with some extension to Lapland and
northern Alaska and Canada, and that everything on shamanism worth
mentioning had been written in Russia.
If we turn to shamanic studies in the United States, it is as if we faced
a distorted mirror image of Russian shamanic research. Jane Monnig
Atkinson (1992: 307 ff.) has recently written a survey article, “Shaman-
isms Today,” which, actually, deals almost entirely with Anglo-Saxon,
and particularly North American, works in the genre. Since American
anthropologists have expressed a general distrust of the concept of
shamanism (Atkinson 1992: 308), and have meant by “shamanism” a
variety of phenomena dissociated from larger cultural contexts, their
focus has been on single cultural traditions with strains of “shamanic
features.”
Atkinson’s review is also a catalogue of works where shaman-
ism is treated as an integral part of specific tribal cultures, and this
integration has, then, been analyzed. Such studies demonstrate “that
‘shamanisms’ never occur in isolation but always are embedded in
wider systems of thought and practice.” (Atkinson 1992: 315) In other
words, a continued tendency to break up the conventional concept of
shamanism, as Clifford Geertz and Robert Spencer have done before.2

1
See also the following non-Russian works: Hoppál 1988: 1/87 ff.; Humphrey
1980: 243 ff.; and Voigt 1976: 75 ff.
2
Cf. my criticism Hultkrantz 1977: 87 f.
Introductory Remarks on the Study of Shamanism 7

It strikes me that this disqualification of shamans as a distinct cat-

egory has its historical roots in the indifference to their specific roles
traditional to American research, where concepts like “medicine men”
and “shamans” have been rather carelessly used (cf. below).
The kernel of the problem is stated by Atkinson (in a rejoinder to
me) when she points out that theorizing about shamanism falls outside
anthropology, since a study of shamanism “as a detachable an self-
contained problem” is at odds with the goals of anthropology, which
aims at “understanding historically situated and culturally mediated
social practice” (Atkinson 1992: 309). However, it is impossible to
agree that generalizations about shamanism cannot be made, given
that due attention is paid to relevant historical and cultural facts. Miss
Atkinson’s interpretation is, evidently, rooted in that exclusive empha-
sis on the microperspective in history which has ruled American
anthropology since the 1930s, and has, unfortunately, hampered so
much historical research.
These short characterizations of Russian and American shamanic
studies should suffice to demonstrate the need for debate between the
different “schools” of shamanism, and where could this be done if not
in an international journal of shamanism?
It stands to reason that any effort to define “shaman” and “sha-
manism” will be a challenge to the many scholars in the field who
have found their own definitions. Still, after having criticized other
approaches to shamanism, I think I owe it to the reader to give my per-
sonal interpretation of these terms. For those who have not yet found a
suitable definition, my efforts might prove provocative—in the positive
or negative sense.
One of the first scientific definitions of “shaman” was given by the
5XVVLDQHWKQRJUDSKHU900LNKDɩORYVNLɩ  ZKRVWDWHGWKDW
the shaman is “an intermediary in man’s relations with the world of
spirits.” This is a very realistic and accurate characterization of the
shaman’s central meaning, his position as a mediator between two
worlds: the natural world and the supernatural. Another famous scholar
of shamanism, Mircea Eliade, whose investigations on the subject
started with studies of yoga, saw the shaman as a master of ecstasy,
and shamanism as a technique of ecstasy (1964: 4). One could say that
Eliade here mirrors the religious psychology approach associated with
scholars like M. A. Czaplicka, T. K. Oesterreich and G. Nioradze, to
8 Åke Hultkrantz

mention a few names. Together these two definitions span the scope of
the shaman concept, but neither covers the whole field.
Without entering into a discussion of the definitions which have been
suggested by present-day shamanologists, I should like to repeat here
my own definition from a former paper: the shaman is “a social func-
tionary who, with the help of guardian spirits, attains ecstasy in order
to create a rapport with the supernatural world on behalf of his group
members” (Hultkrantz 1973: 34, and also 1978: 30–42). By “shaman,”
thus, I understand a person, male or female, who through his/her train-
ing or spiritual endowment is able to act as a mediator between mem-
bers of his/her social group (in some cases members of another social
group) and the supernatural powers. The contact with the other world
is realized through ecstasy or trance, two words for the same thing.3
The trance signals the entrance of the guardian spirits. In its full-blown
forms, it may also mean the appearance of mighty spirits coming
from distant places to give information and help.4 The flights of the
shaman’s own soul presuppose a deep, sometimes cataleptic trance.5
These flights could involve the retrieving of lost souls, the transporting
of a dead person’s soul to the land of the dead, a scouting expedition to
places in this world or the other world, or a visit to the high supernatu-
ral beings who control the fate and welfare of human beings.
It is obvious from this definition that “shaman” is best defined in terms
of religio-phenomenological criteria. I will not deny that his social func-
tions are also a part of his identity, but they do not describe the nature of
his role as distinct from other religious and ritual functionaries.
It is likewise obvious that our definition is based on Siberian sha-
manic phenomenology. ‘Shaman’ is possibly a Tunguzian word for
‘magician’ and ‘conjurer’, and early it became a terminus technicus
for the ecstatic performer among Siberian peoples.6 Subsequently,
when persons fulfilling similar functions were identified among other

3
For the identification of ecstasy and trance, see Arbman 1963: 347 ff. Ecstasy is
a theological and humanistic concept; trance a medical and psychiatric term, cf. Hult-
krantz 1978: 41.
4
Eliade completely neglects this aspect of shamanism, cf. Hultkrantz 1978: 42.
5
On the correlation between trance depth and visionary contents in shamanism, see
Bäckman and Hultkrantz 1978: 90 ff. See now also Walsh 1989.
6
The endless discussion of the origin of the word shaman is still going on, see the
interesting article by Voigt (1984).
Introductory Remarks on the Study of Shamanism 9

peoples on roughly the same level of societal development, these per-

sons were also called “shamans” by scholars. In particular, the peoples
variously labelled as “Arctic,” “circumpolar” or “northern” were found
to have true shamans.7 Finally, the ecstatic healers and diviners of
Central Asia, North and South America, Southeast Asia and the Pacific
Islands were also recognised to be shamans. However, there has been
no unanimity among scholars as to the geographic range of shamanic
practitioners. For instance, most Russian writers have concentrated
on Siberian shamans, and a scholar of the stature of Åke Ohlmarks
(1939) has declared that the Arctic regions and Siberia were the only
areas where true shamans were to be found. Today, most though not
all shamanologists would agree that shamans and shamanism occur in
most continents, with the possible exceptions of Africa and Australia.8
Whilst the shaman may be defined as has been suggested in the
foregoing, we can, of course, also distinguish his/her main functions
(Hultkrantz 1978: 35 ff.). The dominant function is that of a curing
doctor or medicine man/medicine woman (although there are shamans
who are not doctors but instead fulfill some other shamanic function).
There are, as we know, also other categories of medical specialists:
the non-shamanic medicine man who receives his calling through the
spirits, or through spiritual heritage, but whose curing activity takes
place in a weak trance, or no trance at all, so that soul journeys are,
as a rule, excluded; and the herbalist, often an elderly man or woman
whose skills have been learned through family tradition and practical
experience (Hultkrantz 1985: 511 ff., 1989: 334, 1992: 17 ff.). There are
also bone surgeons and trepanners, specialists who can rarely, however,
be considered shamans. The shaman’s particular task as a doctor is
to retrieve a patient’s lost soul or to expel a disease spirit (an activity
which sometimes takes place in a state of possession). Other healing
techniques are also resorted to, such as pointing out the culprit who,
supposedly, caused the disease through witchcraft.9 In soul retrievals,

7
The concept “northern peoples,” earlier used by scholars like Anisimov, Vdovin
and Haekel, has been revived by Pentikäinen (1992).
8
There are scholars who defend the existence of shamans in Africa, for instance,
Lewis (1971 and 1984), to whom shamanic ecstasy means possession. Similarly, Lom-
mel (1989) has found something similar to shamans in Australia.
9
See Hultkrantz e.g. 1992: 58 f. (Tlingit).
10 Åke Hultkrantz

the shaman sometimes transforms himself into his guardian spirit, or

sends out his guardian spirit, not his soul.
In several cases, the shaman is also a psychopomp, and a guide to the
other world for people ignorant in eschatological matters. He is, fur-
thermore, a diviner, and the middleman between man and the powers,
the one responsible for bringing on hunting luck. Thus, the shaman acts
as a beadsman who implores the supernatural masters of the animals to
put the animals at the disposal of the hunters. Taryo Obayashi (1991: 1
ff.) has recently called attention to the importance of the shaman’s role
in hunting rituals, and Roberte Hamayon (1990: 287 ff.) has analyzed,
in a new and impressive work, the Siberian shaman’s dependence on
hunting and the natural environment as sources of inspiration for his
spiritual world of imagination.
The shaman’s connection to sacrificial ritual is a challenging subject.
We have ethnographical sketches and analyses, but no coherent com-
parative theory.10
With all these functions, shamans are, naturally, the main agents
of shamanism. We may define shamanism as the complex of beliefs,
rituals and myths that has developed around the shaman.11 Its concrete
reference varies, however. When László Vajda (1964: 268) pinpointed
the elements of Siberian shamanism he did so not because he wanted to
confine the term ‘shamanism’ only to Siberian shamanism, but because
he was uncertain as to what extent shamanism as identified in Siberia
was found in other areas. His range of shamanic phenomena includes
ritual ecstasy (and only secondarily possession), theriomorphic guard-
ian spirits, a leading female animal guardian or Tiermutter (‘animal
mother’), ritual initiation into the profession, with ecstatic experience
of how the spirits dismember and then renew the shaman candidate’s
body, a cosmology of three vertical world zones (heaven, earth, under-
world) and a world pillar, ritual fights between shamans, a ceremonial
dress and a drum (Vajda 1964: 268–290). Vajda rightly points out that
many of these phenomena, for instance guardian spirits, a three-tiered
cosmology and the world pole, are to be found outside the world of

10
Cf. however, Paulson 1964: 140 f.
11
Hultkrantz 1973: 36. Mihály Hoppál (1985: 135 f.) underlines the importance of
the “belief system.” For an alternative, less adequate and wider concept of shamanism
which takes in all types of medicine men and is used mostly in North America, see
Hultkrantz 1979: 85 f.
Introductory Remarks on the Study of Shamanism 11

shamanism. It is the simultaneous occurrence of the entire set of the

indicated phenomena that constitutes shamanism.12
It is, therefore, a mistake to say that shamanism is a separate religion,
the religion of Siberia, as some scholars have done in the past.13 Sibe-
rian religions contain many elements which cannot be subsumed under
the heading “shamanism.” And there are many shamanisms in other
areas showing a different constellation of traits, many of which do not
occur in Siberian shamanism.
The element index provided by Vajda is, thus, only partly appli-
cable to other shamanic areas. Certainly, with some exceptions, it fits
Eurasian Arctic shamanism outside Siberia rather well: for instance,
the Saami share the initiation ceremony of their Siberian colleagues
(Bäckman 1986: 265 f.), but lack their ceremonial gown. This gown is
restricted to Siberian shamans, and seems to be a late development.14
We must note, however, that features such as a Tiermutter, death
and revival rituals (e.g. the ecstatic experience of dismemberment
and revival of the shaman candidate), initiation rituals, ritual duels,
shamanic drum and other paraphernalia are not necessarily indica-
tions that we are having to do with shamanism. The same might be
said about spiritual possession, which, according to Hans Findeisen’s
interpretation, should characterize Siberian shamanism.15 Actually,
shamanism with possession is not all that common in Siberia. This is
not to deny that there is consistent spiritual possession in the case of
some tribes in Siberia and vicinity, such as the Ainu. Emiko Ohnuki-
Tierney (1976: 178 f., 181, 183) notes that Ainu shamans have a passive
role in shamanic séances. Perhaps one should, as Anna-Leena Siikala
(1978: 334 f.) suggests, speak of “role identification” rather than of
possession among Siberian shamans, since many séances are best
interpreted as being on the borderline between inspirational and pos-
sessional shamanism.

12
Vajda 1964: 291; Hultkrantz 1978: 29 f. These remarks will, I hope, answer
Siikala’s criticism of my view of shamanism as a religious configuration; Siikala and
Hoppál 1992: 19.
13
See my discussion: Hultkrantz 1978: 29.
14
Bäckman in Bäckman and Hultkrantz 1978: 78 f.; Lönnqvist 1987:150 ff., 156.
15
Findeisen (1967: 43 ff.) calls the Siberian shaman a “priest of (spiritual) posses-
sion.” Cf. my discussion: Hultkrantz 1978: 43 ff.
12 Åke Hultkrantz

Possession in a psychological sense is more characteristic of Tibet

and Central Asia where, on the other hand, there is very little evidence
of soul journeys—in Eliade’s opinion, the most typical shamanic trait
(Basilov 1976: 149 ff.; Berglie 1978: 39 ff.).
The range of shamanic elements, thus, varies from region to region.
As is clear from my definition of ‘shaman’, I consider trance, direct
contact with spiritual beings and guardian spirits, together with the
mediating role played by the shaman in a ritual setting, to constitute the
minimum requirement for a case of shamanism. The presence of guard-
ian spirits during the trance and following shamanic actions is, as I see
it, a most necessary element, and one that delimits shamanic trance
from other states of trance.16 The above describes what I would call the
salient features of “general shamanism,” the simple form of shamanism
that we find everywhere,17 in contradistinction to the more specialized
shamanic pattern such as Arctic shamanism, Siberian shamanism, and
Mongolian shamanism. Maybe general shamanism should be seen as
a defoliated but nevertheless ideologically meaningful shamanism, a
kind of spiritual platform from which the more specialized and devel-
oped forms of shamanism have grown. Its wide distribution ever the
world points to its being rooted in the world of hunters, as Andreas
Lommel (1965: 7 ff.) suggested thirty years ago.18
Many specialized shamanic elements typical of Siberia may be found
outside this area, probably as archaic residues or results of diffusion.
This is the case in the Americas, where we certainly come across not
only ecstasy, animal guardian spirits and a tripartite world, but also a
notched tree with steps for the climbing shaman, as in Siberia—the tree
being a ritual replica of the world pillar—and a drum that sometimes
has the drum-skin painted with cosmic figures, exactly like the Sibe-
rian drum. Indeed, we even find an almost Siberian shamanic phenom-
enology among the Mapuche Indians in Chile (Hultkrantz 1991: 20 ff.).

16
See also Waida 1984: 225 ff.
17
Hultkrantz 1967: 35. In contradistinction to specialized and institutionalized
shamanism I have also called it “lowly shamanism.” General shamanism should be
distinguished from “general shamanizing” (see below).
18
It is likely that this type of shamanism dates from the time when all humans were
hunters, that is, paleolithic times. Ulla Johansen (1987 :11) cautiously points out that
such an early age for shamanism cannot be proved. I agree. However, shamanism’s
integration with the religion of the hunters points in that direction.
Introductory Remarks on the Study of Shamanism 13

South American Indians have, otherwise, a vague shamanic pattern,

where the role of the helping spirits is played down, their place as insti-
gators of trance states being taken by psychotropic drugs.19 At the same
time, the spirits show themselves as an effect of the drugs.
North American shamanism in many respects shows similarities
to Siberian shamanism, particularly among the Eskimo groups and
among the Indians of the American West, where cases of possession
have been reported.20 In large parts of North America, particularly on
the Plains, shamanism has been outgrown, and replaced by individual
ecstatic power acquisition.21
Such “democratized” shamanism (Lowie) is obviously a case of later,
degenerated shamanism. We also find it in parts of Eurasia, where it
takes the form of “family shamanism” among the Chuchee and the
Koryak, and of guardian spirit belief among the Saami.22 This “general
shamanizing” does not represent the beginnings of shamanism, but
rather its disintegration (Hultkrantz 1978: 34 f.). Nevertheless, it prob-
ably dates quite far back, as my American data suggest.
Our main task will, of course, be to examine traditional shamanism,
whether it occurs in traditional or modernized societies. We should not
forget, however, that there is today a dynamic new movement in mod-
ern societies, an attempt to synthesize the insights of shamanism with
modern therapy. I refer to Michael Harner’s well-known “neo-shaman-
ism.” This universal movement deviates from classical shamanism. As
Harner points out, in neo-shamanism—or as he terms it, “shamanic
counseling”—the shaman does not undertake a journey to the other
world on behalf of his client, but the client is counselled to become
his or her own shaman for this type of journey (Harner 1988: 179).
This, however, does not exclude an experienced shaman’s helping other
people in more traditional shamanic ways (Harner 1988: 185).

19
See for instance Baer 1984: 199 ff.; and Luna 1986.
20
On possession on the American Northwest Coast, see Hultkrantz 1992: 58 f.
21
Hultkrantz 1986: 41 f. Not only shamanism but also beliefs in the supernatural
masters of animals—so common in other parts of America—have been supplanted by
general guardian spirit beliefs on the Plains and in surrounding areas. I refer here to
my investigations for a coming book on North American Indian religious history.
22
The Chukchee and Koryak cases are well-known. For the Saami, see Hultkrantz
1987: 110 ff.; and Bäckman 1975: 114 ff.
14 Åke Hultkrantz

This is just a sampling of the types of problems that a student of sha-

manism, will encounter. A great many aspects of shamanism have been
the objects of investigation in the past, and even more will arise. It is
good to think that we now have a proper forum for discussion and for the
presentation of new materials from the wonderful world of shamanism.

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VOL. 1. NOS. 1-2. SHAMAN SPRING/AUTUMN 1993/2007

Are “Trance,” “Ecstasy” and Similar Concepts

Appropriate in the Study of Shamanism?*

ROBERTE N. HAMAYON EPHE, PARIS

The terms “trance” and “ecstasy” are used in many definitions of sha-
manism to mean both a culturally defined form of behavior and a spe-
cific correlative physical and mental state. In fact, however, there is no
evidence to indicate that this identification is warranted. According to
the symbolic representations of shamanistic societies, the shaman’s ritual
behavior is the mode of his direct contact with his spirits, hence it is
functional behavior that follows a prescribed pattern. The use of the word
“trance” to describe the shaman’s behavior, associated as it is with a
specific physical and psychological state, has given Western religions an
excuse to condemn this type of behavior, the associated state being con-
sidered in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries as wild and devilish,
and later, as pathological. What is in fact condemned is the assumption
implicit in shamanism, i.e. that man and the spirits are similar in essence
and status, a hypothesis which is unacceptable to ideologies based on
divine transcendence. The idealized view of “trance” that is fashionable
nowadays also results from Western concerns. However, there is still
much to do with the notion of “symbolic function.”

Most definitions and descriptions of shamanism contain terms such as

“trance” and “ecstasy,” and place shamanism in the same category of
religious phenomena as spirit possession. Often, these terms are even
used to characterize these phenomena, and appear in the titles of gen-
eral works such as those of Mircea Eliade ([1951] 1968) and Ioan M.
Lewis (1971), or of the collective book Transe, chamanisme, posses-
sion, the subtitle of which is From Festival to Ecstasy. However, the

*
This paper was presented at the 2nd Conference of the ISSR held July 11–17,
1993, Budapest, Hungary. I am very grateful to Margaret Buckner for her supervision
of my English version of this paper. A longer version of this paper has been published
in French (Hamayon 1995), and a continuation of it in English (Hamayon 1998).
18 Roberte N. Hamayon

meaning of these terms is rarely specified in detail,1 nor is their use

usually justified, as though their appropriateness had been established
in advance once and for all.
Fortunately, Gilbert Rouget’s work ([1980] 1990) is an exception to
the last statement. The author carefully distinguishes the two terms
with regard to their respective implications, these being situated mostly
in the psycho-physiological domain.2 He considers only “trance” to be
appropriate to the shaman’s behavior.
This paper is not aimed at discussing definitions of shamanism which
use “trance” or “ecstasy,” nor at comparing different uses of these
terms. Its purpose is to call into question the presuppositions implied
by their use. It will be necessary, first, to recall how shamanism was
discovered and investigated. This will lead to the statement that the
approach using such terms as “trance” and “ecstasy” for the study of
shamanism is both an historical heritage and an obstacle to the anthro-
pological analysis of shamanism. Finally, it will be suggested that the
set of facts usually designated by these terms could fruitfully be exam-
ined from other points of view.

Historical Survey
The first observers (orthodox priests) considered the shaman to be a
religious figure, but in the devil’s service rather than God’s. The first
of these, the archpriest Avvakum,3 did so explicitly. He was exiled to

1
Precisions are scarce, but do exist. Thus Luc de Heusch accounts for his use of
“ecstatic religions” as an expression encompassing shamanism and possession (1971:
227), Heinze accounts for her respective use of “ecstasy” and “trance” (1988: 342,
362–363 & passim). Hultkrantz considers “trance” to be “medical” and “ecstasy” to
be theological, but uses them “alternatingly, for they refer to the same state of mind”
(1992: 18–19).
2
In summarizing their respective features, Rouget (1985: 11) characterizes ecstasy
by “immobility, silence, solitude, no crisis, sensory deprivation, recollection, halluci-
nations,” and trance by “movement, noise, in company, crisis, sensory overstimula-
tion, amnesia, no hallucinations.” The author suggests that one of the reasons of the
confusion between these two terms in Western languages comes from the absence
of an adjective corresponding to “trance,” whereas “ecstatic” does exist. I reviewed
Rouget’s book after its first edition (Hamayon 1981).
3
See Pascal 1938.
Are “Trance,” “Ecstasy” and Similar Concepts Appropriate 19

Siberia at the end of the seventeenth century and introduced the word
“shaman” into travel literature (Pascal 1938; Delaby 1976).
The next group of observers in Siberia, in the eighteenth and nine-
teenth centuries, had other opinions. In addition to missionaries, there
were travellers, colonial administrators, political convicts, and explor-
ers sent by the Russian Academy of Sciences. In the meantime, the age
of Enlightenment had progressed, along with the colonization process,
which was overtaking native peoples who had been able up to that
time to continue their traditional way of life. Thus, both observers and
observed had changed.
The main points of view obtaining during this period fall into three
categories. According to the first, which could be called Voltairian, the
shaman is a “quack” who takes advantage of peoples’ credulousness,
and, therefore, is more to be denounced than described. According to
the second, issuing from a positivist state of mind, the shaman is the
agent of an archaic religious form to be found among primitive societ-
ies almost everywhere in the world.4 The problem becomes, then, that
it is impossible to characterize shamanism as a religious form at a theo-
retical level, for it has neither dogma nor clergy, temples nor liturgy,
and each shaman has his own manner of doing things, and this manner
varies with each ritual. The third viewpoint was expressed primarily by
doctors and administrators in the field. They were especially sensitive
to the shaman’s healing activity, which indeed was expanding more and
more as colonization proceeded. According to this view, the shaman
is a sort of madman who, by keeping his own illness under control, is
able to help other madmen.
All of this resulted, at the beginning of the twentieth century, in
research being oriented towards the psychological profile of the sha-
man. This orientation can be recapitulated by Van Gennep’s statement,
in 1903, that the shaman is “a certain kind of man,”5 and it is echoed
in 1973 by Lot-Falck’s expression: “[The nature of] man prevails [over

4
For instance, Mikhailowski brings together Siberian data and similar practices
observed in other parts of the world.
5
“There can be no more question of shamanistic beliefs than of shamanic cult,
therefore of shamanic religion. The reason why is simply that this word does not des-
ignate a set of beliefs expressed in a set of practices, but asserts only the existence of
a certain kind of man who plays a social and religious role” (Van Gennep 1903: 52)
(my translation).
20 Roberte N. Hamayon

social structure].” Throughout the 20th century, psychological interpre-

tations have spread. They fall into two trends. First, a long-lasting psy-
cho-pathological trend describes shamanism as a therapeutic practice
of a psychoanalytic or para-psychoanalytic type. Second, a mystical
trend, starting from an overinterpretation of Eliade’s book but extend-
ing far beyond this author’s views, especially from the sixties on, holds
that shamanism is an exemplary kind of spiritual quest or a technique
for seeking self-promoting “powers.”
It is the merging of these two tendencies, therapeutical and mystical,
that “neoshamanistic” movements originate. In return, these tenden-
cies are reinforced. Although anthropological literature abounds with
good monographs, hardly have methodological and theoretical prob-
lems been really debated. They were mostly left aside to the benefit of
descriptions, or even radically considered to be vain and void (shaman-
ism is a “desiccated” category, wrote Geertz 1966). These problems
were perpetuated through the continued use of the term “trance” to
describe the shaman’s ritual behaviour for lack of attention. In addition,
variegated literature on shamanism started blossoming disconcertingly
since the late 1970s. The overview published by J. M. Atkinson in 1992
terminates in a call to anthropologists to face new developments. This
author classifies the topics dealt with at that time in two categories with
meaningful headings: “the psychologizing of shamanism” and “sha-
manism as therapy.” In this way, shamanism becomes the initial refer-
ence for varied trends, going from “return to Nature” to “self-actualiza-
tion,” sharing a common understanding of shamanism as a “technique
of ecstasy” attainable, as any other technique, through training.

Trance in Question
For the sake of simplification, only the term “trance” will be examined
here, although the same arguments could obtain against “ecstasy.”
Not only is “trance” the most frequently used term, and, as Rouget
stated, the only adequate one, but also, most authors who use the term
“ecstasy” use it with the same general meaning as others ordinarily
assign to “trance.”
This paper does not specifically seek to reject outright this type of
terminology. Rather, through the very use of such terms, it has become
obvious that they are unfit to serve, first, as descriptive tools, and,
Are “Trance,” “Ecstasy” and Similar Concepts Appropriate 21

secondly, as analytical concepts. The main objection springs from the

underlying interpretative views they implicitly call into play.
One is hindered by the lack of descriptive precision (even if one
agrees with the criteria established by Rouget). According to current
descriptions, “the shaman is in trance, enters or falls into a trance,”
or, “in trance, the shaman calls forth spirit or performs ritual action,”
leaving the reader free to imagine exactly how the shaman behaves.6
Innumerable questions arise as to one of the simplest criteria, that of
movement: is the shaman shaking, whirling, jumping, or dancing? And
if moving is a necessary criterion, what should be done with cataleptic
trance,7 during which the shaman lies motionless? Such troublesome
questions can be followed by two general observations.
First, shamanic societies do not make use of native terms homologous
to “trance,” which comes from Latin transire ‘to die, to go beyond, to
pass from one state to another.’8 They do not refer to a change of state
to designate the shaman’s ritual action, though they may qualify his
behavior as enraged or furious during that time. It even seems that the
very notion of “trance” is irrelevant for them. When asked whether
the shaman is or is not “in trance,” they are for the most part unable
to answer. Certainly, this is not surprising in itself, since analytical
categories and native categories do not necessarily coincide with each
other. On the contrary, as a rule, ideologically important matters are
not explicitly expressed. However, as an analytical concept, “trance”
becomes open to two types of criticism, the first with respect to its
appropriateness to its object, and the second insofar as it does not
belong to the system of representations which is the ultimate subject
matter of the anthropological analysis.
The second observation is that most shamanic societies interpret
the ritual episode which observers have called “trance,” in terms of

6
Here are the principal symptoms listed by Rouget (1985: 13): “trembling, shud-
dering, horripilation, swooning, falling to the ground, yawning, lethargy, convulsions,
foaming at the mouth, protruding eyes, large extrusions of the tongue, paralysis of a
limb, thermal disturbances [. . .], insensivity to pain, tics, noisy breathing, fixed stare,
and so on.”
7
Lot-Falck distinguishes two types of “trance”: dramatic and cataleptic (1973:
9–10). I have also made use of this terminology in earlier studies on shamanism (for
instance 1978), but the progress of the analysis led me to get rid of it.
8
This is the etymology on which Rouget’s analysis is based.
22 Roberte N. Hamayon

relationships with supernatural entities or spirits9 and make meaning-

ful distinctions according to the type of physical behavior. In particu-
lar, the shaman’s various gestures and movements are interpreted as
expressing different types of relations with the spirits.
In short, the shaman’s behavior, called “trance” by observers, is
qualified by shamanic societies with reference not to a specific physi-
cal or psychic state, but to the shaman’s being in direct contact with
the spirits.10 And no wonder, since, for his community, the shaman
is primarily the agent of a social function, and contact with spirits is
both the means and the proof of his carrying out this function. In this
respect, one should not confuse shamanizing (i.e. indulging in an indi-
vidual practice void of ritual value for the community), which is more
or less open to everyone in most shamanic societies, and acting as sha-
man, which is reserved for those who have been recognized as such by
their community. Shamanic societies never confuse the behavior of the
shaman with that of the shamanizing individual.11
Next, one is hampered by the absence of explicit methodological
and theoretical implications involved in the use of the word “trance.”
It is not a “falsifiable” concept as scientifically required. There are no
connected considerations which would allow for verification. The very
question “Is this shaman in trance?” can entail endless discussion and
only be settled from a subjective point of view. The concept of trance
spans several conceptual levels and is not precisely defined in any of
them. Moreover, it has an underlying implication which threatens to
distort analysis, as I will now attempt to show.
The main difficulty with the word “trance” comes from the fact that
three different levels of considerations merge implicitly with its use:
physical behavior (possible attitudes and gestures), psychic state (or

9
In spite of semantic disadvantages, the term “spirit” has a well-defined and well-
established meaning. Let us recall the main implication of its use: spirits are supernatural
entities whose essence and status are similar to the human soul’s (Hamayon 1993).
10
“During the onset of the trance, her toes stiffen and curl. When the depth of her
trance decreases and she permits a release of tension, her toes uncurl. [. . .] Her clients,
however, look the ‘god’ in the face and do not pay any attention to his (or her) toes.
They do not ‘see’ any difference.” (Heinze 1992: 135)
11
However this confusion is made by Western movements of “neo-shamanism” or
“urban shamanism.” Actually, these consist in adepts’ training for shamanizing with
the help of an “initiated” person.
Are “Trance,” “Ecstasy” and Similar Concepts Appropriate 23

state of consciousness12) and culturally-defined behavior. A link—of

correlation if not of causality—is thus implied between body and mind
on one hand, nature and culture on the other hand. However, such a link
can be either acknowledged or denied, but it cannot be properly demon-
strated. This means that the merging of the levels in question is forced.
That this conceptual fusion of physical, psychological and cultural
aspects occurs implicitly through the use of the word “trance” is born
out in the literature by the frequent recurrence of two problems: that of
specifying exactly what induces trance, and that of its authenticity or
genuineness. Both these problems derive from the implied link between
physical, psychological and cultural factors. They can be formulated by
questions such as: How important are physical factors in bringing about
the particular psychic state suited for the shaman’s culturally-defined
behavior? Does the expected psychic state necessarily accompany the
culturally-defined behavior and, if not, can the rite be valid?
Rouget’s book deals with the first problem extensively and thorough-
ly, even though this is not the author’s main concern.13 Examining the
relations between music and trance, Rouget points out that music “does
not physiologically determine trance,” but “does organize and socialize
the trance,” “at the service of a creed,” “within an inclusive situation”
and in relation with “essential intellectual ideas.”14 His demonstration
can be extended to all other possible factors of physiological determi-
nation. Starting from the statement that trance arises from a “natural

12
Rouget (1985: 3) considers the “state of mind” to be primary in his definition of
“trance.” He starts the first chapter of his book with this statement: “Axiomatically,
trance will be considered in this book as a state of consciousness composed of two
components, one psycho-physiological, the other cultural.”
13
The main purpose of the book is to define the role of music, and its conclusion is
quite clear in this respect: music does not cause trance.
14
“The technique operates only because it is at the service of a belief, and because
trance constitutes a cultural model integrated into a certain general representation of
the world. Here we have an essential intellectual datum, which underlies both the
psychology and physiology of trance. This is why entry into trance always seems to
depend upon a kind of restrictive clause: however well prepared one may be, physi-
cally and psychologically, one must still be prepared intellectually, and have made the
decision (more or less unconsciously) to succumb to the trance state.” (Rouget 1985:
320–321)
24 Roberte N. Hamayon

predisposition,”15 the author asserts that this disposition gives rise to

trance only within the specific socio-cultural framework and with the
appropriate ideological goal. Thus, there is no conditioning factor able
to automatically trigger or induce a trance: one must believe in it, and
give in to it. In other words, Rouget considers the underlying symbolic
representations to be the crucial factor for inducing trance. In his opin-
ion, it is the ideological conviction that, with or without external factors
(such as beating drum, whirling round, or taking drugs), is determinant
for bringing into play the natural propensity to trance lying in the struc-
ture of consciousness.16 This is the reason why he insists that symbolic
representations are the true subject matter of research on trance.
Moreover, in my opinion, cultural diversity is so great that the so-
called natural propensity to trance becomes lost in generalities or
inconsistencies. This is one more reason for studying representations,
as a means to account for this diversity. Only through such study, in
addition to sociological analysis, can we, for instance, account for the
fact that in so many societies the ritual behavior known as trance is
the prerogative of one sex, the other sex being either prohibited from
indulging in such behavior or sanctioned with marginalization.
Yet, postulating natural propensity—to any extent—is not irrelevant
per se. The point here is not that it means deciding in advance what
are the respective parts of cognitive experience and mental structure
in the elaboration of symbolic systems. The point is rather that it
predetermines the interpretation of religious forms in which trance is
present. The very fact that trance is held to be a mode of organizing,
socializing and ritualizing a natural propensity makes the religious

15
“The universality of trance indicates that it corresponds to a psychophysiological
disposition innate in human nature, although, of course, developed to varying degrees
in different individuals. The variability of its manifestations is the result of the variety
of cultures by which it is conditioned.” (Rouget 1985: 3)
16
“[. . .] in possession cults, [trance is] a socialized form of behavior resulting from
the conjunction of several factors: 1) at the level of the individual: a given innate to
the structure of consciousness making it susceptible of being invaded by an emotional
event that submerges its normal state and leads to hysteriform behavior; 2) at the level
of collective representations: (a) interpretation of this event as a sign of the will or
presence of a spirit or divinity; (b) exploitation or [. . .] domestication of the event,
with the intention of establishing it as a mode of communication with the divine; (c)
identification of the entranced subject with the divinity held to be responsible for the
trance; and (d) theatralization of this identificatory behavior.” (Rouget 1985: 322)
Are “Trance,” “Ecstasy” and Similar Concepts Appropriate 25

elaboration second to the natural propensity. This amounts to imply-

ing that these religious forms (shamanism and spirit possession) are
more or less dependent on nature (in that they either channel or exploit
natural dispositions), that is, it denies primacy to representations. This
happens implicitly, without the knowledge of the authors themselves,
and therefore all the more insidiously. This aspect will be further dealt
with below.
The second problem (genuineness) indirectly rejoins the first (induce-
ment) and emphasizes its importance. It is often expressed through the
choice between genuine or simulated trance: does the shaman (or the
possessed individual) really meet with the spirits or does he only pre-
tend to? We also find such statements as: “it is often difficult to decide
whether the trance is real or feigned,” “the trance can be effective as
well when it is only feigned,” “the ritual does not necessarily oper-
ate when the trance is authentic” and, conversely, “the ritual can be
operative even if no trance is manifested at all.” On the whole, such
considerations amount to disqualifying “trance” as fit to characterize
shamanism, since they show that it is neither sufficient nor necessary
to shamanic ritual action. There are so many obvious examples that
there seems to be no need to quote any of them.
Interestingly, the question of the genuineness of trance rests on a
strong hypothesis about the notion of belief. Now, this hypothesis
seems to reflect a twofold misunderstanding: it implies inferring first
from representation to belief, and second from belief to reality. Rep-
resentations, however, taken as constituents of the symbolic system
and possible objects of belief, only represent—this is trivial to recall.17
In other words, representations cannot be identified with what they
express, for they do not coincide with what they express, but refer to
something else. Holding to them—which is generally the case in tradi-
tional contexts, even though adhesion remains unconscious—does not
make them stop being mere ideas. Certainly, representations may have
the force of reality for those who adhere to them, but they are not of the
same cognitive order as ordinary reality. If this were the case, it would
denote a type of madness. Is not the inability to distinguish reality from
fancy one of the most obvious signs of insanity?

17
Similarly, Oosten (1989: 335) criticizing Merkur remarks: “All ritual behavior is
symbolic behavior, and as such it does not coincide with the behavior it represents.”
26 Roberte N. Hamayon

Surely everyone has at one time or another experienced the fact that
it is not necessary to really believe to indulge in a religious practice.
Conversely, believing corrupts knowing, as shown by Mannoni in his
famous paper “I know that quite well, but nevertheless . . .” («Je sais
bien, mais quand même.»)18 Remember also Quesalid,19 the Kwakiutl
shaman described by Levi-Strauss, who was surprised by the confi-
dence his healing inspired in others when he himself knew he was
shamming, copying the traditional ways and cheating when exhibiting
concrete causes of illness.20 Everyone would also admit that somehow
“believing” and “doubting” are close to each other (this is the case
everywhere, though other cultures may not express it so strongly as
Western societies), as shown by Pouillon (1979). Huizinga stresses that
one can be “both knowing and dupe” at the same time. Could not the
following sentences, written by Huizinga about a famous Christian,
equally refer to a shaman meeting a spirit?

Saint Francis of Assisi worships Poverty, his bride, with the most intimate
pious conviction, in holy ecstasy. But if we are asked whether he believed
in a spiritual heavenly being named Poverty, therefore in a being who really
was the idea of Poverty, we are stopped short. The mere asking this question
in such purely logical terms forces the feeling conveyed by this idea. Francis
both believed and did not believe. [. . .] The most fitting expression for this
spiritual activity would be to say that Francis was playing with the figure of
Poverty. (my translation) (Huizinga 1951: 228)

18
“I know well that the katchina are not spirits, they are my fathers and uncles,
but nevertheless the katchina are here when my fathers and uncles are dancing with
masks” (my translation) (Mannoni 1969: 16). This argument is already present in
Huizinga’s Homo ludens. In order to illustrate the fact that, when one plays, the one
who plays knows that he is playing, Huizinga mentions the fearful distress of women
when the masks come near them, although they know quite well who hides behind
each mask. Huizinga underlines that the distress can be partly sincere, but that it is also
a duty (Huizinga [1938] 1951: 50).
19
The hero of Levi-Strauss’s (1958) famous paper “The sorcerer and his magic.”
20
This is why one is surprised to read: “It can happen not only that the trance is feigned
[. . .], but also that the extraordinary powers attributed to it are merely illusionist’s tricks.
[. . .] They are indisputably cases of fraud.” (Rouget 1985: 328, note 34) There certainly
are cases of trickery, but they cannot be decided by referring them to the fact that states
which are supposed to give rise to “extraordinary” feats are simulated.
Are “Trance,” “Ecstasy” and Similar Concepts Appropriate 27

Why should it be easier to consider as real the spirits’ taking control

of the possessed, or the shaman’s changing into an animal, than the
Carmelites’ enjoying Christ, their Husband?21 How would Christians
react if non-believers took such words for matter of fact?22
Along these lines, let us recall a remarkable, eye-opening case, pre-
sented by Laurel Kendall. It took place during the second attempt to
perform an initiation ritual on a young Korean girl named Chini.23 She
was so clumsy and stiff that she did not manage to move and speak in
a way suitable to persuade the audience that the spirits took hold of her.
First the old shamanesses who conducted the ritual encouraged her:

When you are jumping, when you feel an urge to grab a spirit’s costume,
then grab it and jump like crazy. Today all you have to do is dance with the
costume . . .

Then, facing Chini’s failure, they rebuked her:

Do you think that the spirits will show up if you just stand there waiting for
them? [. . .] Hey, do you think some spirit would go so far as to move your
tongue for you? [. . .] When the Heavenly King kept coming in your visions,
may be you didn’t know enough to say “I am the Heavenly King, I need a
crown,” but could not you at least have made the right gestures for a crown?
[. . .] You cannot ignore that when you are divining.

And finally, they gave her the following hint:

21
The sentence, quoted by Rouget (1985: 6) is the following: “Those who seek soli-
tude in order to enjoy Christ, their Husband, have every possibility of living constantly
in his company.” (Sainte Thérèse d’Avila, Œvres complètes 1949: 413)
22
To be ridden by a spirit as the possessed one is, to marry a spirit daughter as
the shaman does, to have Poverty as a bride as Saint Francis of Assisi does, to enjoy
Christ, their Husband, as the Carmelites do, all these are representations which are not
to be taken for realities. However, their contents are not irrelevant; indeed, they are
all the more relevant in that they are all in the same metaphorical series: love relation-
ships. Let me ask, as an aside: could relationships with imaginary beings be other than
metaphorical?
23
Usually one has to perform several rituals before being considered to be an initi-
ate. In some societies repeated failures are necessary, for the access to the function
obeys a logic of overcoming hardships. As a rule, one claims no other apprenticeship
than the one “directly provided by the spirits.”
28 Roberte N. Hamayon

[To-day] cry your heart out and next time do not cry, just give a terrific per-
formance.24

In addition, some authors, intending to restore the native tone—which

is quite sound and valuable from another point of view—write their
descriptions exactly as if they shared local beliefs and, they present the
spirits and their relations with humans as matters of fact: the spirits
exist, attack the possessed, provoke the shaman, and the society does
its best to react to their actions. Now, even if this merely results from
translations, the very fact that authors use these representations directly
in their descriptions and analyses results in hiding their symbolic char-
acter.25 One is led to forget that spirits are an element of a world view,
the product of collective imagination. Moving from representation to
belief is not a self-evident inference. Stating that a type of cultural
behavior is performed in a specific state of consciousness is a still more
debatable inference. Not to mention the fact that such a determining
relation between physical behaviour, state of mind and cultural gesture,

24
It is worth quoting the footnote added by Kendall to this term: “The verb nolda
subsumes notions of ‘play’, ‘amusement’ and ‘performance’. Shamans commonly
describe the action of spirits at a kut as nolda, as in ‘The Supernatural Official’ plays
well with me.” It is also worth bringing it together with the last sentence of Huizinga
quoted above.
25
The same way, the fact that one never recounts what happened during a “trance”
in the end comes to be taken for a physical correlate of trance, amnesia. However,
this may be a mere outcome of current ideas in shamanic societies, such as: (1) the
spirits do not permit their Elected to disclose their relationships, nor do they like
to be disturbed for no purpose, which is the case if one calls them forth outside the
ritual framework; (2) since the shaman is then supposed to be “else” and “elsewhere,”
recounting his “trance” in ordinary words would mean admitting his sham. Therefore,
the question is more of a cultural prohibition than of amnesia. Such is the impression
given by this remark made by Moréchand “No Hmong shaman will ever admit to
remembering the trance he has just experienced.” (quoted by Rouget 1985: 9) Let me
also quote a similar remark made by Leiris: “As soon as the zâr [the spirit] is supposed
to act instead of the possessed human, obviously the latter can only appear ignorant of
what the spirit supposed to speak and act in his place has effectively done and said; not
to seem ignorant would mean admitting not to have been really possessed, in which
case all gestures would remain meaningless agitation.” (Leiris [1938] 1980: 114).
Are “Trance,” “Ecstasy” and Similar Concepts Appropriate 29

would preclude social dissimulation, therefore make social life impos-

sible, as underscored by Rodney Needham.26
On the whole, these two problems (inducement and genuineness)
arise when the symbolic essence of the shaman’s behavior is not suf-
ficiently taken into account. In taking it into account, one is prompted
not to relate the cultural background of this behavior to either the
shaman’s physical or psychic state. The question of the genuineness of
the “trance” then vanishes (and with it, that of the shaman’s normalcy
or pathology27). As a matter of fact, the shaman does nothing other than
respect the model of behavior prescribed for his function. He takes up
his role as a shaman,28 a role that consists of portraying his contact with
the spirits. The fact that his function is performed in a staged, ritual

26
“Even when we are convinced that a person genuinely believes what he says he
believes, our conviction is not based on objective evidence of a distinct inner state.
If it were possible for us to have this knowledge, then all the social dissimulation
would not matter, for in that case there would be a true archetype which the dis-
semblers artfully affected; but this is not so, and all we actually have are assertions
of belief [my emphasis, R. H.] and the acts and postures which may conventionally
accompany them. If these culturally formulated token of belief are taken away, or
discounted, does anything remain?” (Needham 1972: 100–101)
27
In most cases, this question has been left aside on other accounts: the shaman is
normal outside the ritual performances; the fact that a community could entrust a mad-
man with such a responsibility as the shaman’s is unbelievable.
28
Such is the conclusion given by Siikala (1978) and Mitrani (1982), who, how-
ever, started from quite different points of view: Siikala from an ecstatic view of the
shamanic practice, Mitrani from a view to bringing together shamanic healing and
psychoanalysis. More recent works by Siikala (1992) suggest that this author does not
conclude the same way I did when reading her book from her applying the notion of
role to the shaman’s behavior. At least this did not lead her to leave aside the ecstatic
approach of shamanism, which she attempts to combine with the notion of role.
Undoubtedly the fact that the role theory has so rarely and weakly been applied to
shamanism has something to do with the very topic of this paper. However, several
authors long ago tried to analyze the shaman’s behavior as a social role. Filliozat
(1943: 79–80) did so as early as 1943 in his book Magie et médecine: “The shaman
does not behave at random in his frenzy, everything is going on as if he were playing
a frantic role the way an actor would, a role for which the unfolding of gestures and
words would be decided in advance. However this is not inconsistent with a possession
state. The possession which possessed people believe they are undergoing is indeed a
role they play, but this does not prevent the role from being played quite sincerely, a
role which consists both in adopting a definite type of behavior and believing that this
behavior comes from an outside force.” (my translation)
30 Roberte N. Hamayon

framework reinforces the point that the shaman acts out a role and
brings his behavior still closer to a dramatic performance.29 The sha-
man “in trance” is like the actor on the stage. Debating about whether
the shaman’s trance is sincere or shammed, about whether the actor
believes or does not believe he is the character he plays, may enrich the
study of their respective psychological profile, but will never allow us
to understand what shamanism or theatre is. These cannot be defined
by reference to the sincerity of the respective performers. Any social
role requires nervous strain, energy, close attention, and at least some
feeling of involvement,30 but no role can be justified or validated by
such factors. Only its symbolic efficacy can be influenced by them.31
It should be stated that comparing the shaman to an actor was only
meant to illustrate how the shaman’s behavior is the acting out of the
role assigned for his function. This does not at all mean likening the
shaman to an actor, shamanism to theatre, ritual to play-acting.32 The
shaman’s actions address supernatural entities and not an audience, and
aim at producing symbolic effects in other realms and not at merely
entertaining or being an end in itself.
Let us return to the notion of role and to its implication that there can
be no confusion between the person who plays a role and the character
he is representing. “If [an actor] believes in the reality of his role, he
becomes prone to alienation,” writes Caillois ([1958] 1967: 111), as if he
were echoing shamanic societies’ opinion. Actually, these societies pay
great attention to the management of relationships with spirits, for they
believe these relationships are indispensable to their very existence as
societies. This is why a community presses some of its members to

29
Studies of Korean shamanism have best brought to light the theatrical aspect of
shamanic ritual, especially when mudang represent the spirits they are supposed to
embody (Laurel Kendall, Chungmoo Choi, etc.).
30
One cannot be cynical with respect to one’s own role. Generalized cynicism
would finally bring the role to an end. However this applies to all social roles and is
not to be made into an element of definition in the case of “trance.” In that case, one
would have to admit that trance characterizes the rock-singer as well as the shaman.
31
Usually a successful practice is the condition for a shaman to be recognized as
such. He may be deprived of his social role for lack of efficacy. In short, things turn
bad if he does not take up the role, i.e. does not perform the appropriate ritual; but
taking up his role is not sufficient for the situation to improve, he must play it well.
32
I do not totally agree with the series of criteria for distinguishing between ritual
and theater set up by Schechner 1976.
Are “Trance,” “Ecstasy” and Similar Concepts Appropriate 31

develop such relationships, yet, on the other hand, compels them to

maintain these relationships only in the ritual framework culturally set
up for that purpose, and keeps their practice under control. Conversely,
a community keeps other members from doing the same. The exhibi-
tion of such relationships on their part would be seen as pathological.33
Let us refer, as an example, to the hunting societies of the Siberian
forest. Any community expects its shaman to obtain promises of game
from the game-giving spirit. This is why it prompts the shaman to
enter into a love relationship with a name-giving spirit’s daughter or
sister, envisioned as an elk or reindeer, the main species of game. Then
it organizes rituals for sanctioning his “marriage” with this female-
spirit and for reactualizing it periodically. In these rituals the shaman
imitates the behavior of a male reindeer or elk in mating: he troats,
prances, jumps, stamps his feet, snorts. The fact that he mimics a stag
in rut is enough to explain the “wild” aspect of his movements stigma-
tized in descriptions.34 Various members of the community, excepting
the shaman himself, are responsible for fashioning his ritual gear and
paraphernalia. If the shaman dressed and behaved as a spirit-spouse
outside the ritual framework, he would be deemed mad, rejected and
disqualified as shaman. On the other hand, a mere hunter is prevented
from “going wild” out of love for game-giving spirit-girls and consid-
ered mad if he persists in such behavior (Hamayon 1990: 517–528). In
short, relationships with spirits are possible only on the part of spe-
cialists recognized as such, within a ritual framework, and under the
community’s control.35 This triple constraint allows us to state that the
shaman’s behavior is to be defined as the acting out of a role culturally
defined and socially organized.

33
As a rule, it would give rise to shamanic healing.
34
The shaman’s “animalisation” is also represented by his gear. The idea of sexual
intercourse between the shaman and his supernatural wife also explains why he enjoys
ample possibilities for improvisation, and therefore why the shaman’s practice is
reputed for having a personal touch.
35
The statements made by Leiris ([1938] 1980: 41–42, 57) with respect to possession
among the Ethiopians of Gondar illustrate such control: “Possession crises appear only
after the healer’s intervention. The healer trains the patient to manifest by his behavior
the signs recognized as those of possession by such or such spirit. [. . .] Manifestations of
possession obey a periodicity ruled by the calendar and coincide with the periods in the
year when social relations are most intense. They disappear when seasonal conditions or
economic circumstances hinder these relations.” (my translation)
32 Roberte N. Hamayon

In a more general way, this Siberian example illustrates that physi-

ological or psychological considerations are useless to explain the sha-
man’s behavior. This behavior can better be accounted for by the con-
ceptualization of the spirits and of the relationships entertained with
them. This is what dictates to the shaman a particular physical mani-
festation. In other words, focusing the analysis on symbolic grounds is
both necessary and sufficient. In this way, a starting question such as:
“How are the spirits conceived of so as to justify the shaman’s hyste-
ria-like behavior when meeting them?” may lead us to understand the
symbolic references of his behavior. His behavior is, first of all, the
expression of the role prescribed by the conception of the spirits. As
for any role, there are individuals who are better than others at acting
out and getting involved in it. It is obvious that performing this role,
as any role, has an effect on his performers’ psyche, but this effect is
secondary and contingent.

Trance as a Tool of Deprecation:

Devilization, Medicalization
According to the substantial data collected by Rouget, trance is not
equally present allover the world. As a rule, it is condemned, marginal-
ized or absorbed by all transcendental religions, whereas it is typical
for all other religions.36 In any context influenced by a world religion,
trance can only be sectarian, deviant or peripheral as a religious form37
or it is not religious at all. It is here that the ideological basis of the
notion appears and it cannot be denied, unless one considers—prob-
ably an impudent and preposterous hypothesis—that meditation also
expresses an alternative natural aptitude. After all, remaining still,
kneeling, and bowing one’s head, could also be considered as cultur-
ally defined behavior performed in a ritual framework with a musi-
cal accompaniment. The definition of trance as being based on latent

36
Poly (1992) provides examples of condemnation of trance as “pagan” in the early
Middle Age in France.
37
“In the early days of Christianity, people in trances were called energoumenoi
[. . .], a word still in current use in seventeenth-century France to designate people who
were possessed, notably the nuns of Loudun” (Rouget 1985: 14).
Are “Trance,” “Ecstasy” and Similar Concepts Appropriate 33

natural propensity appears to serve to belittle peoples whose religious

practice is based on trance. It leads to say that, if in a society trance is
allowed and practiced, it is for channeling and organizing this innate
aptitude, and hence interpretation easily slides towards “wildness” or
nervous or mental pathology.38 In other words, whoever goes into trance
gives proof that he does not totally master his nature. As a representative
of an ethnic group, he is primitive, as an individual, he is ill. Such is the
ideological baggage of the term “trance” which, in my opinion, impedes
anthropological analysis of the shaman’s behavior.
This is the reason why the definition of trance as based on an innate
disposition could be used by world religions as an argument to con-
demn it ideologically and to exclude it from accepted practice, without
opposing this innate disposition as such. To return briefly to the history
of shamanistic studies, both of the two main approaches use the term
“trance”: they can be characterized as devilization and medicalization
respectively. The first consists in linking the shaman to the devil, and
is derived from a religious point of view; it is based on the animal-
like aspect of the shaman’s jumping, shouting and costume. Although
purely secular, the second shows continuity with the first. This shift
from devilization to medicalization was observed by Delaby (1986)
and Hoppál (1989: 89) by examining figurative representations of the
shaman. According to engravings of the seventeenth–eighteenth centu-
ries, the shaman is a savage, retaining animal features, but nevertheless
commands respect due to his quality as a magician. On the other hand,
the realistic photographs of the twentieth century depict him as miser-
able and backward. In short, in Western opinion, characterization of
the shaman has shifted from ideological to psychological “otherness.”
It should be mentioned that anthropological literature still retains a medi-
cal approach. Most authors still consider therapy to be shamanism’s raison
d’être, and healing to be the shamanic ritual par excellence. Of course
the therapeutic aspect of shamanism is obvious and cannot be denied. But
it should be recalled39 that healing is neither the model for the shaman’s
activity in general nor the main substance of his social role.

38
“The individual in a trance state is thus recognizable by the fact [. . .] [that] 3) he
can fall prey to certain neurophysiological disturbances [. . .].” (Rouget 1985: 14) See
also Heusch 1971: 227.
39
I have developed this point many times (Hamayon 1982, 1990, 1992a: 153, 156–157).
34 Roberte N. Hamayon

With regard to the reasons why world religious condemn trance,

Rouget offers a clue concerning spirit possession. He states that, on
one hand, possession occurs only when the ritual is aimed at identify-
ing the possessed individual with a spirit and that, on the other hand,
“non-identificatory trance” is tied to transcendental religions.40 And he
remarks (1985: 28): “Would imitating Allah, Jehovah, or the Holy Ghost
be conceivable? [. . .] There is no question of identifying with Him or
imitating Him.”41 A similar idea holds for shamanism. Although the
type of contact in this case does not imply identification, it nevertheless
also presupposes being on an equal footing with spirits. And shaman-
ism is still more subversive than possession, since contact with spirits
is stated as a means of acting upon them. Obviously such attitudes are
contrary to the aloofness and respectful submission to God required in
world religions. Transcendence precludes direct contact, identification
and imitation, all which amount to denying it. This is the reason why
Christian churches not only condemned shamanism and spirit posses-
sion, but have also had troubles with their own mystics.

Trance as a Tool of Idealization of the Self

This is intended to characterize the Eliadian trend and some types of
neo-shamanisms, particularly mystical and elitist. The modes of behav-
iour that were previously labelled “devilish” or “pathological” are now
considered to be both means and tokens of self-expression, creativity,
inner transformation, self-actualization. This characterization, as con-
tingent as the previous two, is similarly derived from typically Western
concerns. However, it becomes also popular among some formerly sha-

40
“There is possession when the ritual is identificatory, and only in this case [. . .]
Thus non-identificatory trance (inspiration or communion trance) appears to be char-
acteristic of Islam, Christianity and Judaism. In other words, it seems to be linked with
the logic of religions of transcendence.” (Rouget 1985: 28)
41
However, some Christian sects did or do pretend to such identification. “Jeanne
des Anges, the most notorious of the possessed nuns of Loudun, was described
[. . .] as ‘possessed’. Jean Cavalier, the famous Camisard, was described [. . .] as
‘inspired’—with the exception of the papists, who described him as possessed in order
to make people believe that the devil was in fact possessing him.” (Rouget 1985: 25)
The author also says: “It was apparently spiritism that first gave the word ‘trance’ the
meaning it currently has today in the anthropology of religion.” (Rouget 1985: 7)
Are “Trance,” “Ecstasy” and Similar Concepts Appropriate 35

manic societies, as a correlate of both the emergence of the individual

subject and the access to market economy in a modernizing context.

The Conception of the Soul and Symbolic Function

Whereas the shaman’s psychic state as such is not to be taken into
account from an anthropological viewpoint, the idea that specific states
are associated with meeting the spirits is relevant to the analysis of the
underlying symbolic system. For instance, the shaman, as a rule, is
supposed to become acquainted with his electing spirit in a dream. In
many societies, certain states (dreaming, drunkenness, fasting, mental
illness, sleeping, etc.42) are conceived of as modes of dissociating the
soul from the body, and are thereby considered to favor direct contact
with spirits. These states form a group on account of their common
symbolic reference.
Although the conceptualization of the soul is not uniform among
shamanic societies, in most of them, the soul (or a type of soul) is
definable in terms of its link to the body and the body’s life, and, con-
versely, in terms of its ability to part from the body. As a rule, this link
is expressed and guaranteed by wakefulness, normal eating and speak-
ing. In opposite states such as sleeping, dreaming, fasting or drunken-
ness, the soul is thought to be released from the body, hence to become
similar to the spirits and be able to meet with them. Silence, shouting
and some uses of the voice are also considered as evidence of contact
with spirits. But it should be emphasized, first, that such states are rel-
evant not as such but as representations regardless of and independent
of psychic realities, second, that their point in common is that they are
different from ordinary states. It is this difference from ordinary states
which appears to be the condition for contact with the world of spirits,
which differs from the ordinary world.
These other-than-ordinary states are considered to be signs of pos-
sible contact with spirits only previous to a shaman taking up his func-

42
These states are usually called “altered states of consciousness,” an expression
which makes sense in psychiatry. Recently it has been replaced by “alternate states
of consciousness” or “alternate states of feeling” in some works on shamanism. We
prefer not to use it in order to avoid letting the psychic aspect interfere in the analysis
of representations. On these questions, see also Bourguignon 1973.
36 Roberte N. Hamayon

tion, or outside the shaman’s ritual activity. They are not constituent of
the shaman’s ritual. They are typical of the individual who shamanizes,
not of the shaman acting as such. A shaman who got drunk in order
to begin ritual would be deemed second-rate. As to the alleged fasting
before a ritual, in reality it is rather a question of refraining from eat-
ing culturally prohibited food. If a shaman has to point out which spirit
caused misfortune or to foretell what the weather will be like, he does
not dream, but performs a divinatory ritual. More precisely, his ritual
activity consists of songs and dances, and on these rests the efficacy of
his practice. This does not prevent him from dreaming of spirits outside
the ritual context. In short, a shaman becomes trained to his function
through certain states in private circumstances, and he carries out his
function through specific actions in a public ritual framework.
By way of conclusion, here are three proposed directions for further-
ing the analysis.
(1) From a functional perspective, one might try to define the respec-
tive technical properties assigned to the various states suitable for
direct contact with spirits. For instance, is a particular state more likely
to help to “see” or “hear” or “feel” in the world of spirits? Answers
to such questions could lead to typological precisions, depending, for
instance, on whether one is supposed to have “visions,” “calls” or “rev-
elations.” Then one could seek correlation between the type of state
associated with the access to the function, and the type of divination
associated with its practice. A certain type of preparatory state might
be associated with a practice focusing more on singing, on dancing or
on miming.
(2) From a formal perspective, it is tempting to try to apply to the
shaman’s ritual behavior the model of analysis set up by Caillois with
respect to the notion of “play.” The notion of playing is widely used
to qualify the shaman’s or the possessed individual’s action towards
the spirits, the latter’s action towards the former, or both (Yakut oyun,
Buriat naadaxa, Korean nolda, Hindi k(h)elna, etc.). All religious or
ritual playing has been condemned by world religions on account of its
being opposed to praying.43 The notion of play encompasses the main

43
See for instance Bakhtine 1970; Lhôte 1976: 71; Le Goff 1990; Poly 1992; Van
der Veer 1992; Hamayon 1992a, etc.
Are “Trance,” “Ecstasy” and Similar Concepts Appropriate 37

features of the shaman’s ritual behavior, while also indicating that he

acts out a role, and is both “conscious and dupe” of his role.
(3) From a symbolic perspective, the analysis could focus on the very
simple idea that everything in the shaman’s qualifying procedure and
ritual behavior is other-than-ordinary (state, voice, gesture, expres-
sion, etc.) and thereby gives him legitimacy and efficacy for acting in
a realm which is also other-than-ordinary (be it called, sacred, ritual,
symbolic, religious or other).44 This also fulfills one of the main opera-
tive conditions of symbolic function.

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ROBERTE N. HAMAYON is a professor at the Department of Religious Studies

of the Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes (EPHE), Sorbonne, Paris. Her field-
work has taken her mainly to Mongolia and Buriatia. She is the founder of the
Centre d’études mongoles et sibériennes, and its journal Etudes mongoles et
sibériennes (EPHE). Her main books concern shamanism (La chasse à l’âme.
Nanterre, 1990; Chamanismes. Paris PUF, 2003). She organised the fifth con-
ference of the ISSR, held in Chantilly, France in 1997.
VOL. 1. NOS. 1-2. SHAMAN SPRING/AUTUMN 1993/2007

Some Hyperpragmatic Patterns in Tamang

Shamanic Recitations, Nepal*

ANDRÁS HÖFER HEIDELBERG UNIVERSITY

The article focusses on the classificatory logic in the oral poetry of the
Tamang shamans in Nepal. Three types of specific phraseological config-
urations are examined to demonstrate how and to what extent “doctrinal
content” of extra-textual provenance and intra-textual phonic–prosodic
potentials interact. This interaction, it is argued, results in poetic quali-
ties which are likely to enhance the persuasive effect of the text in per-
formance, and also to condition the formation of the text as part of an
oral tradition. The discussion concludes with a plea for a more text-based
approach to shamanism in ethnography and comparative research.

Anthropologists tend to neglect the formal aspects of a given text. They

leave the task of dealing with phraseology, rhythm, meter and prosody
in general to folklorists or literary scientists. In the anthropologists’
approach to oral ritual texts, there is often a tacit assumption that texts
constitute a rather passive vehicle of ideas or concepts. Language is
treated as a medium to express these concepts, as if any linguistic
configuration owed its existence to an authorial referentiality or mean-
ing that is preexistent to this configuration as such. This is tantamount
to saying that the “content” is invariably prior to what we usually call
“form.” In this article, I shall try to show that the reverse can also be
the case—in some instances at least.
Three typical patterns should be examined, namely enumeration,
crasis (ellipsis) and binarism.

*
This article is based on a paper read at the meeting of the Himalayan Oral Tradi-
tions Study Group (established at the French–German Conference on the History and
Anthropology of Nepal in Arc-et-Senans, France, in 1990) in January 1993 in Heidel-
berg. I wish to thank Patricia Klamerth for kindly correcting my English.
42 András Höfer

Enumeration
As a rule, we find in the Tamang shaman’s texts1 very few abstractions
for reducing the manifold to something like a “sum,” a “generic term”
or a “lowest common denominator.” Among these few abstractions are
rèkki lumbu, ‘the whole world’; G͝EJH ‘multitude’; thamjye, ‘all’; etc.
Otherwise, the texts show a conspicuous concern for a listing of the
parts which make up a whole, a concern for detailing and completing.
This concern becomes manifest, among other things, in the preference
for enumerations of various kinds. Enumerations play an important
role because the bulk of the recitation is a divinatory procedure in that
the shaman enumerates all sorts of possible illnesses and all sorts of
possible remedies to find out the “right ones” applying to an individual
patient’s case.
Three types of enumerations may be distinguished:
(1) Itinerary enumerations consisting in long recitations of names of
places and divine beings following a more or less fixed route. This cor-
responds to what is called “ritual journey” in the literature.
(2) Categorical enumerations. They contain (a) names of superhu-
man beings and ritual implements representing superhuman beings; (b)
species of animals, plants, kinds of illnesses and their causes, kinds
and devices of black magic, kinds of magic substances or energies,
categories of superhuman beings, kin categories, etc.; then (c) parts of
a whole: parts or organs of the human or animal body, components of
the physical environment (lowland versus upland, etc.); and finally (d)
“properties” or “attributes” of superhuman beings or ritual implements.
The following quotation from the shaman’s search for the soul of a
woman patient may serve as an example:

1
Most of the (exclusively oral) texts include parts recited in Nepali. From the
viewpoint of vocabulary and morphology, the language of the parts recited in Tamang
is somewhat different from modern colloquial Tamang and has also been influenced
by Tibetan, the ritual language of the Tamang lamas. – The various Tamang dialects
belong to the Gurung Branch of the Bodish Section within the Bodic Division of Sino-
Tibetan (Shafer 1974: 123 ff.). – Nepali is transliterated according to the method of R.
L. Turner; the transliteration of Tibetan follows the Pelliot system. In the transcription
RI7DPDQJ̝ʽ UHWURIOH[x SDODWDOQDVDO ´Q\µ ˵ YHODUQDVDOOH[LFDOSLWFKHVj
qHWF KLJKIDOOLQJ WHQVHYRZHO ipHWF PLGIDOOLQJ EUHDWK\YRZHO ͋͝HWF
ORZOHYHO EUHDWK\YRZHO WKHKLJKOHYHOSLWFK WHQVHYRZHO LVXQPDUNHG
Hyperpragmatic Patterns in Tamang Shamanic Recitations 43

Has the soul of the mistress been carried off to the place
(of) a harmful agent which inhabits the sphere of the
homestead?
Has it been carried off to the place (of) a harmful agent
which inhabits the sphere of the fields? [. . .]
Has it been carried off to the place (of) a harmful agent
which roams above?
Has it been carried off to the place (of) a harmful agent
which roams below?
Has it been carried off to the place (of) a harmful agent
which roars with (like) the leopard?
Has it been carried off to the place (of) a harmful agent
which roars with (like) the wild boar?
Has it been carried off to the place (of) the magic arrow
(made) of the VDGD˵Vz wood?
Has it been carried off to the place (of) the harming charm
(conveyed by means of the magic arrow made) of the VDGD˵Vz wood?
Has it been carried off to the place (of) the harmful agent
which roams above?
Has it been carried off to the place (of) a harmful agent
which roams below?
Has it been carried off to the place (of) a harmful agent of
the upper crossroads?
Has it been carried off to the place (of) a harmful agent of
the lower crossroads? [. . .]

(3) The third type may be termed cumulative enumerations. They

contain (a) an accumulation of synonyms; or (b) an accumulation of the
various names and epithets of a divinity, etc. In such cumulative enu-
merations we often find names which are etymologically or conceptually
rather obscure and which cannot therefore be treated as epithets or other
unequivocally functional or categorical specifications. The cumulative
tendency is particularly manifest in the case of the “wild hunter” god
ʼ͋EOD 7LEHWDQdgra-lha/dgra-bla) in that some of the various names of
this divinity are obviously combined to provide further names. Thus, in
44 András Höfer

DQLQYRFDWLRQZHKDYH+ͩV\Hʼ͋EODDQG3KRODʼ͋EOD2 on the one hand,

DQGWKHLUFRPELQDWLRQLQWR+ͩV\H3KRODʼ͋EODRQWKHRWKHU7KHVDPH
tendency seems to have led to the “invention” of names which are non-
sensical from the etymological viewpoint at least. Such an “invention”
RFFXUV ZKHQ WKH HSLWKHW ̜KDGX˵³GHULYLQJ IURP 7LEHWDQ NKUDJ·WKX˵
OLW¶EORRGGULQNLQJ·³EHFRPHVFRPSOHWHGE\D6\DGX˵ 7LEHWDQ*ša-
·WKX˵) which would literally mean ‘flesh-drinking’.

Crasis, Ellipsis
In other configurations, the reverse is the case: something is omitted
or subtracted. Thus, a conspicuous feature of categorical enumerations
is the frequent omission of suffixes (crasis). For example, the genitive
suffix -i/-gi is consistently suppressed in all phrases of the type

 ´QRFF\HQJO͋ULNKXUM\LZD"µ LQVWHDGRI´QRFF\HQgiJO͋ULµ 
‘has (the soul) been carried off to the place [of] the harmful agent?’

This is as if one said: “the harmful agent-place,” instead of “the place

of the harmful agent.” This kind of composite would be rather unusual
in Tamang, however. So to suppress the suffix is to suppress or at least
to de-specify the relationship between the two, namely the ‘agent’ and
the ‘place’. This becomes evident if one considers the types of relation-
ships which would be possible in the Tamang concept of pantheon:

possessed relationship possessor

the place place of origin of? the harmful
(JO͋)
is
! abode of?
controlled by?
like? etc.
# agent
(noccyen)

2
Etymologically, +ͩV\H 7LEHWDQ ye-šes, ‘divine wisdom’, and Phola 7LEHWDQ
pho-la, lit. ‘male god’ (tutelary divinity).
Hyperpragmatic Patterns in Tamang Shamanic Recitations 45

Which of these relational modalities is meant is left open.3 We thus

may perhaps say that due to the crasis, a fusion between the ‘harmful
agent’ and the ‘place’ is asserted. But why is this so?
We may assume that the crasis has an economizing function in that
it facilitates the concentration on the actual task to be tackled by the
shaman. The “compression” allows of a particularly trenchant listing
to the effect that the enumeration remains exhaustive with regard to
what is essential at the present stage of the ritual and leaves the rest
implicit, to be explicated elsewhere in the text or to be completed by the
exegetic knowledge of the listener. The shaman’s task, at this point of
the recitation, is to “scan” a complete list of possible harmful agents. In
a sense, what stands in the foreground (in the actual context) is not the
particular place as such where the soul is being kept, but the specific
harmful agent which keeps the soul in captivity in a place which, in
turn, is specific to this harmful agent. In other words, it is sufficient to
identify the harmful agent by enumerating his/her/its distinctive, func-
tional epithets (‘the one who roams above’, etc.) in order to identify the
place which is specific to the former.
And yet, this conclusion states the effect, rather than the origin of the
crasis. In other words, while the suppression of the suffix in noccyen[gi]
is to be considered a metaplasm, its origin cannot be imputed with cer-
tainty to referential intention alone; it cannot be imputed to something
like an original authorial intention to generate—purposely—such an
effect on the listener, or to facilitate—purposely—the task for the sha-
man. The—possibly gradual—disappearance of the suffix might have
also been conditioned by prosodic factors alone in that a rapid pronuncia-
tion resulted in compression. And this compression appears to be justi-
fied by the fact that the suffix -gi was felt to be sufficiently represented
by the subsequent g- in the word JO͋UL Graphically illustrated:

 QRFF\HQ >JL@AJ O͋ULsinceJLƤJ

3
Normally, to specify these modalities, a further “relator” would be necessary, such
as, for example, ̝KX˵ELLQWKHSKUDVH´\͋UDNK\XJSDLQRFF\HQ̝KX˵ELJO͋ULµ ¶WRWKH
place of origin of the harmful agent who roams above’.
46 András Höfer

In this instance, once the suffix had been abraded, the resulting cra-
sis might have become an established “manner of saying,” a kind of
stylistic convention.

Binarisms
For the purpose of the present discussion, I use the term “binarism” in a
wider sense, namely for any coupling of two units (terms, phrases) into
a pair justified as such by any structuring principle whatsoever. I treat
as binarisms (a) binomials and echo-words such as

 J\͵PDJ\͵VHU ¶HQWUDLOV·OXZDE͵ZD ¶GRZQ\KDLUVIHDWKHUV·

 Pi˵P͵˵ ¶VSLULWV· ¶Pi˵ and related superhuman beings’);
 $MLPă%DMLPă QDPHRIDJRGGHVVHWF

and (b) a number of paratactic configurations which in some instances

are identical with parallelisms, such as

 ´NKD˵VDL noccyen wa:? (+) V\ͩ˵VDLQRFF\HQZD"µ

‘is it a harmful agent which inhabits the sphere of the homestead?
(+) is it a harmful agent which inhabits the sphere of the fields?’

Binarisms in this sense occur frequently together with what we have

termed categorical enumerations, and they are obviously resorted to in
order to break down the listings into smaller units. One may say that
binarisms subdivide the text into sub-totalities, enhance its organizational
transparency and supersede, to some extent, conscious analysis (cf. Jakob-
son 1979: 253 ff.). One may even say that in our examples, binarisms prove
to do more than simply marking off sub-totalities; they also perform, as
it were, these sub-totalities and make them “experiencible” through the
operations which set, amplify and accommodate all that is empirically
disparate in oppositions and/or complementarities. This dynamic character
of theirs provides an additional illustration of Jakobson’s (1979: 254) thesis
that grammatical figures can be a substitute for the tropes proper.
More often than not, binary units are clearly audible as a kind of
two-stroke modulation in the recitation. This does not mean that their
existence is conditioned by prosody, verbal or musical, alone. On the
Hyperpragmatic Patterns in Tamang Shamanic Recitations 47

contrary, what “holds them together” is basically a semantic relation-

ship: either they draw on oppositions, such as above/below, front/back,
earth/sky, good/bad, male/female, etc.; or they suggest the exploitation
of some complementary relationship.
Nevertheless, many binarisms prove to be secondary patterns that seem
to result from the autodynamics of a general tendency to “make two out of
one.” Thus, we have the pairings (with reference to the sacrificial animal)

 ´QDJX  PͩJXµ ¶QRVH·¶EHDN·  ¶H\HV·

and

 ´ND˵ED  O͋NSDµ ¶OHJV·  ¶KDQGV·¶ZLQJV·

These terms sound contracted into QDJXPͩJX and ND˵EDO͋NSD in the

recitation, and it is indeed difficult to decide as to whether they are to be
seen as complementary pairs (‘nose and eyes’ standing for the totality of
head, etc.) or simply as a product of a prosodic contamination by the over-
riding binary modulation in the textual environment. If they are a product
of such contamination, these pairs lack any semantic justification.
By contrast, the term VDEGDOX˵HQ (clearly articulated as a com-
pound) seems to owe its existence to such a contamination alone. From
the etymological viewpoint, this is the result of a metanalysis. The
compound results from some sort of a creative misunderstanding in
that VDEGDOX˵HQ ultimately derives from a standard enumeration in
Tibetan, namely “sa-bdag, klu, gñan.” This enumeration, originally
denoting three different kinds of superhuman beings,4 has become in
Tamang a compound term that denotes one single kind of being.5 Now
the compound is not a binarism because it conveys no parallels, no
opposition and no complementarity recognizable as such. Still, sabda-
OX˵HQ is a by-product of the same contractive tendency to form pairs—a
tendency which facilitates the emergence of binary patterns in general.

4
Three classes of superhuman beings of the genius loci-type: the malevolent,
subterranean sa-bdag (lit. ‘lord of the soil’); the aquatic klu (often identified with the
serpent-bodied QăJDs of the Indian pantheon); and the gñan, demons dwelling in rocks
and trees, and causing plagues.
5
Tamang informants described VDEGDOX˵HQ as an aquatic-subterranean being, but
could not comment on its specific identity.
48 András Höfer

A similar precedence of the structural over the conceptual might have

resulted in a genuine binarism in

 ´\͋UDV\HOQH  P͋UDV\HOQHµ
lit. ‘rinsing-up, (+) rinsing-down’, for ‘vomiting’ + ‘diarrhoea’,
that is, the symptoms of cholera or gastro-enteritis.

In this example, \͋UDV\HOQH appears to be a later addition to complete

P͋UDV\HOQH for the sake of a polar totality ‘up’ versus ‘down’.6
Let us examine a few more cases. The two phrases

 ´SKRLOL˵GRVDOED  GͫLQHPEDJ͝OEDµ
‘to heal the SKRLOL˵GR (+) to destroy the GͫLQHPED’

also sound contracted in the recitation, but inasmuch as the meaning of phoi
OL˵GR is unknown, its opposition or complementarity to GͫLQHPED cannot
be ascertained semantically. All one can state is that an opposition is estab-
lished by what is different between the two phrases (3 words versus 3 other
words), and that what makes them cohere consists in a homoeophony of
phoi and GͫL the end echo -oi being common to both (homoioptoton).
As the following examples show, repetition is applied with the aim of
amplifying an entity. This is the case with the names of (partly obscure)
divinities, such as

 7Kă7KăNăOL0ăL/D˵JD/D˵JD̝ă*XEKă*XEKăMXHWF

+HUHWKHILUVWPHPEHUVVXFKDV´7Kăµ´/D˵JDµDQG´*XEKăµDUHHDFK
D SDUW RI WKH ZKROHV QDPHO\ RI ´7KăNăOLµ ´/D˵JD̝ăµ DQG ´*XEKăMXµ
What these reduplications express is not a complementarity between
parts, but—conspicuously—a complementarity between the whole, on
the one hand, and just one part of this whole, on the other.
These binomials have most probably been influenced by those typical
compound names which either include both the male and the female partner

6
The steps of the process were probably as follows: Tibetan *dmar-bšal-nad,
¶UHGGLDUUKRHDLOOQHVV· ¶G\VHQWHU\·!7DPDQJP͋U D V\HOQH, wherein Tibetan dmar,
‘red’ (for ‘blood’) was “misunderstood” for Tibetan ma(r),¶EHORZ· 7DPDQJP͋U D
‘below’. The process might have been facilitated by the fact that the Tamang words
P͋U D  ‘below,’ and P͋U ER  7LEHWDQdmar-po), ‘red’, have the same pitch.
Hyperpragmatic Patterns in Tamang Shamanic Recitations 49

RIDGLYLQHFRXSOHVXFKDV%Kă̝%KD̝HQLRUSDUWLFXODUL]HDGLYLQLW\E\LQGL-
FDWLQJLWVVSHFLILFDWWULEXWHWKHORFDOLW\RILWVZRUVKLSHWFVXFKDVVD\.ăOR
%KDLUDZRU*RUNKă.ăOLNă7:KLOH7KăLQ7Kă7KăNăOL8 resists any further
DWWHPSWDWDQDO\VLV/D˵JD/D˵JD̝ăDQG*XEKă*XEKăMXE\FRQWUDVWVHHP
to derive their “right of existence” from associations with phonetically simi-
lar terms of religious significance. That is, both binomials draw on a seman-
tic plasma to make the reduplication appear less playful, less arbitrary, since
/D˵JD´JUDIWHGRQWRµ/D˵JD̝ă 1HSDOLOD˵D̋ROD˵JD̝ă, lit. ‘lame’), does
RFFXUHOVHZKHUHLQWKHWH[WVDVDQREYLRXVGHULYDWHRI/D˵Nă &H\ORQDVDQ
LPSRUWDQWVLWHRI+LQGXP\WKRORJ\ DQG*XEKă´JUDIWHGRQWRµ*XEKăMX
(Newar Buddhist priest), is likely to evoke the Nepali word JXSKă (lit.
‘cave’) in the idiomatic expression for ‘initiation’ (JXSKăSDVQH).9
There is also a contrasting of two repetitions. This is the case in

 ´V͋˵VDPV͋˵EDLtemrul pheñi,  x͝QVDPx͝PEDLtemrul pheñiµ

‘if it is a good omen, let us go and get at the good omen,
(+) if it is a bad omen, let us go and get at the bad omen!’

The contrasting lends not only additional rhetoric emphasis to the reso-
luteness of facing both possibilities, come what may. It also stresses the
opposition between these possibilities, and accommodates this opposi-
tion, at the same time, in a complementary relationship by means of the
double repetition, namely the repetition of the differing and the repeti-
tion of the common. That is, while the polyptotonic repetitions (V͋˵VDP
V͋˵EDL + x͝QVDP x͝PEDL) aggrandize the difference between good
and bad (V͋˵ED versus x͝PED), the repetition of the common element,
namely temrul pheñi, connects good and bad as antithetic qualities so
as to make them appear as parts constitutive of a whole.
The repetition can also involve a positional change. This is the case
in the invocation (in which the shaman, reciting in Nepali, urges the

7
%Kă̝%KD̝HQLLVWKHQDPHRIDGHLILHG%UDKPLQFRXSOHZKRSURWHFWFKLOGUHQDQG
ZKRVHWHPSOHLVLQWKHROGFLW\RI.ă̝KPă˷ʽX.ăOR%KDLUDZ WKH´EODFN NăOR) mani-
IHVWDWLRQµRIWKHJRG%KDLUDYD*RUNKă.ăOLNăLVWKHORFDOPDQLIHVWDWLRQRIWKHJRGGHVV
.ăOLNăZRUVKLSSHGLQ*RUNKăZHVWHUQFHQWUDO1HSDO
8
 7Kă7KăNăOL  7KăNăOL WKH 1HSDOL QDPH RI WKH LQKDELWDQWV RI WKH 7KăN .KROă
region in northern Nepal.
9
Cf. Strickland (1982: 103) on the importance of such “collateral information” for
the analysis of partly obscure pairings in the narrative texts of the Gurung of Nepal.
50 András Höfer

tutelary divinity to help him find out which botanical species of flower
corresponds to a woman patient’s metaphysical “life-flower”):

 ´SKXODLSKXO  SKXOSKXODLMDJăLOHXµ
‘awaken and bring all the flowers, (+) every flower!’

This example shows how “two is made out of one” by the inversion

phulai phul A phul phulai.

This inversion takes advantage of the repetition of the emphatic particle -ai
in Nepali. While the expression ‘all the flowers’ delimitates a multitude in
its exclusive completeness, as it were, the ‘every flower’ specifies what this
multitude contains and suggests a counting or checking “one by one.” Here
the complementarity of the two operations is turned into an opposition
precisely by the chiastic position that results from the inversion.
To sum up, these few examples seem to show how “content” and “form”
exploit each other for the benefit of each. There is a specific expressive
intention, namely a kind of “thinking in contrasts,”10 a “striving for
completeness,” on the one hand, and the phonic-prosodic potential of
the language, on the other. We see how the expressive content gains in
plasticity thanks to the phonic-prosodic potential; and we see, vice versa,
how the phonic-prosodic potential often develops its autodynamics in
producing certain configurations. Of particular interest are those cases
in which formal or structural constraints stimulate the “invention” of a
new term, or a new configuration of terms, which is then—gradually,
tentatively—provided with a (new) meaning, as the examples of sabda-
OX˵HQ (resulting from a metanalysis), V\DGX˵(completing ̝KDGX˵) and
\͋UDV\HOQH (completing P͋UDV\HOQH) seem to suggest.
This is not to say, of course, that “content” and “form” can be neatly
isolated as such. All we can perceive is a subtle interaction between the

10
It might be recalled that for some authors, a thinking in balances, antitheses,
appositions and parallelisms is intrinsic to oral tradition in general (cf., e.g., Finnegan
1977: 128 ff.). – This is not the place to discuss the issue of “formulaic composition”
in the Tamang texts.
Hyperpragmatic Patterns in Tamang Shamanic Recitations 51

two—an interaction in which “the aesthetic play drive of man”11 is at

work. Indeed, neither listeners nor even reciters can ever determine with
certainty where exactly the autonomy of the structural (“form”) begins and
where it stops being valid. Not only does this conform to the specificity
of shamanic performance with its often ludic permutations; it is also that
what makes up the genuinely poetic component in the self-organization of
binary patterns in particular and of the texts of the Tamang shaman in gen-
eral. What Moore and Myerhoff remark on ritual in general, also applies
to the Tamang shaman’s propensity for overdetermination through detail-
ing and multiplying, completing and compressing: whether they are found
accessible to exegesis or obscurely playful, the configurations in his texts
are “a good form for conveying a message as if it were unquestionable, [. . .]
to communicate those very things which are most in doubt.”12
This preliminary analysis invites us to give more consideration to texts
as works of orature in order to arrive at a better understanding of how
shamanic performances “work” and of what shamanic traditions are. (a) It
suggests that the aesthetic or formal aspects should not be treated as some
sort of a residual category,13 since poetic stereotypification in general and
(verbal and musical) prosody in particular may turn out to be quite power-
ful tools of textual pragmatics and to have as much impact on the audience
as that doctrinal meaning which some current (often almost theological
or crudely reductionist sociological) approaches try to isolate as such. (b)
Taking advantage of the growing awareness, in recent literature, of the dia-
logic or interperformative14 character of oral tradition, a more text-oriented
approach can enable us to explore the formation of ritual texts by showing
how they have been constituting themselves by reference to other texts

11
“Der ästhetische Spieltrieb des Menschen,” which in Schiller’s theory is to mediate
between freedom and necessity, between reason and sensuousness (Schiller n.d.: 48 f.,
52 ff.). – It may be recalled that the notion of “innere Form” (as developed by Herder,
Goethe and others) was central to nineteenth century poetry. As the Hungarian poet
János Arany wrote in 1856: “Form—not iambus and trochaeus—but that ‘inner form’
which is nearly identical with the subject. . .” (quoted by Voinovich n.d.: 22).
12
Moore and Myerhoff (1977: 24), emphasis mine. Cf. also Zimmermann’s (1982:
150 ff.) stimulating discussion of the intimate linkage between logic and poetry in
Ayurvedic classifications.
13
Even though it is true that shamanic performance can also fulfill the function of
entertaining its audience.
14
Haring’s (1992: 192 ff., 199) “interperformance” corresponds to the notion of
intertextuality with regard to the relationship between literary texts.
52 András Höfer

within one and the same tradition and/or in other—high-cultural, regional

or local—traditions.

References
Finnegan, Ruth 1977. Oral Poetry. Its Nature, Significance and Social Context.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Haring, Lee 1992. Verbal Arts in Madagascar. Performance in Historical Per-
spective. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.
Jakobson, Roman 1979. Aufsätze zur Linguistik und Poetik. Frankfurt: Ullstein
Verlag.
Moore, Sally F. and Barbara G. Myerhoff 1977. “Secular Ritual: Forms and
Meanings.” In Sally F. Moore and Barbara G. Myerhoff (eds.) Secular Ritual.
Assen: Van Gorcum. 3–24.
Schiller, Friedrich (n.d.). “Über die ästhetische Erziehung des Menschen.” In
Schillers Werke. Achter Teil. Berlin, etc.: Deutsches Verlagshaus Bong & Co.
Shafer, Robert 1974. Introduction to Sino-Tibetan. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.
Strickland, Simon S. 1982. “Beliefs, Practices and Legends: A Study in the Narra-
tive Poetry of the Gurungs of Nepal.” Cambridge (unpubl. Ph.D. thesis).
Voinovich, Géza (ed.) (n.d.). Arany János összes kisebb költeményei. Budapest:
Franklin-Társulat.
Zimmermann, Francis 1982. La jungle et le fumet des viandes. Un thème
écologique dans la médicine hindou. Paris: Gallimard, Le Seuil.

ANDRÁS HÖFER is retired Associate Professor of Asian Anthropology at the

South Asia Institute of Heidelberg University, Germany. He received his Ph.D.
from the University of Vienna, Austria, and was a post-doctoral student at the
Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes and the Ecole Nationale des Langues Vivan-
tes Orientales in Paris. Between 1968 and 1983, he carried out field research
chiefly among a Tamang group in Nepal. His more recent publications include
A recitation of the Tamang shaman in Nepal (Bonn: VGH Wissenschaftsverlag
1994), Tamang ritual texts II. Ethnographic studies in the oral tradition and
folk-religion of an ethnic minority in Nepal (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag
1997), and The caste hierarchy and the State in Nepal: A study of the Muluki
Ain of 1854 (Kathmandu: Himal Books 2004, 2nd revised edition).
VOL. 1. NOS. 1-2. SHAMAN SPRING/AUTUMN 1993/2007

The Shaman in Myths and Tales

ÅKE HULTKRANTZ STOCKHOLM

This article points out two different types of folk tales that have been
grown up around shamans. Where shamanism occurs among simple hunt-
ing peoples the shaman is likely to be spoken of as a gifted and distinctive
individual, and will, perhaps, be considered to be more mysterious after
his/her death. However, as a rule, he/she is still considered to be a human
being. Among the nomads of northern Siberia, however, the shaman is
part of a more complex society: after death, he/she may be the object of
a regular cult, and the tales told will make him/her into a hero/heroine of
divine status. The tales, thus, become myths, and the shamans are trans-
formed into gods.

1. There is among today’s “shamanologists” a growing interest in the

oral traditions surrounding shamans and their activities. Shamanic
folklore has been studied since the last century, but there has never
been as lively a scholarly interest in the topic as in the last while. The
poetry born in the course of shamanic séances—which Meuli (1975. 2:
865) has characterized as “the primeval forms [Urformen] of poetry”—
is one of the areas that has been assiduously investigated.1 I shall, for
the moment, disregard this creative mode, where the shaman himself
plays the role of poet and singer,2 not because it is unimportant—for it
is not—but because as a researcher of shamanism as a religio-magical
complex, I have more to gain from the study of the prose traditions of
shamanism. What follows here is a synopsis of the ways in which such
traditions from different parts of the world reflect the contemporary
notions of shamans and shamanism.

1
Diószegi (1968: 169) characterizes this creativity as follows: “If there ever was a
freely associative creation at all, then it is the shaman chant.” Cf. also Diószegi 1960.
2
See e.g. Siikala 1992c: 41 ff. and Hoppál 1992a: 127 ff. For ethnic examples, see
Hajdú 1978; Joki 1978 and Simoncsics 1978.
54 Åke Hultkrantz

The study of prose traditions surrounding shamanism is a new trend

in shamanistic research, and a product of many developments. Some of
the most important ones will be mentioned here. First of all, there is
the new theoretical interest in shamanism. Mircea Eliade (1951) opened
wider vistas when, ignoring the common restriction of shamanism to
Siberia and the Arctic regions, he included the Americas, the Indo-
Europeans, Southeastern Asia and Oceania in his discussions of the
phenomenology of shamanism. His symbolistic approach was no less
of an innovation.3 Anna-Leena Siikala (1992b: 24 f.) sees as Eliade’s
finest contribution his establishing of shamanism as an integrative
concept of “the basic religious experience of mankind.” The great
Romanian scholar has certainly argued convincingly for the signifi-
cance of shamanic ideas for our understanding of a number of religious
manifestations.
Eliade’s opus has inspired an intensified study of shamanic ideology,
and a fresh dedication to further research in the field. Today, shaman-
istic studies are being conducted in many countries where little inter-
est in shamanism has been shown in the past.4 At the same time, the
study of shamanism has acquired a new impetus in countries that have
a legacy of shamanistic research, such as Russia, Hungary, Germany,
Finland and Sweden. The Hungarian efforts to escalate all phases of
research on shamanism and to coordinate the work being done in dif-
ferent countries deserves particular attention.5 All this means that there
is now the chance that shamanic phenomena, including oral narratives
and recollections of shamans, will be fully covered.
Secondly, there has been an increase in the popular interest in sha-
manism. It seems that the general public has discovered the shaman as
a vatic personality, as well as his enormous importance for the forma-
tion of religion. Today, shamans, or persons who consider themselves
shamans, travel widely throughout the countries of the West where

3
See the evaluation of Eliade’s theories on shamanism by Narr 1983; Ozols 1983;
Hultkrantz 1983; Lewis 1983; Ridington 1983; Basilov 1983 and Te Paske 1983. The
theoretical implications of the more recent research on shamanism, including Eliade’s,
have been analyzed by Motzki 1977.
4
Italy could be mentioned as a good example, with names such as Ernesto de Mar-
tino, Ugo Marazzi, Marcello Massenzio, Roberto Mastromattei and Elémire Zolla.
5
Among present-day Hungarian scholars, we need to mention Vilmos Diószegi,
Mihály Hoppál, László Vajda and Vilmos Voigt.
The Shaman in Myths and Tales 55

until recently shamanism was next to unknown. All over the world, the
anthropologist Michael Harner has introduced what may be called “the
new shamanism,” an opportunity for everybody to regain harmony and
health through exercises modeled on the practices of traditional folk
shamans.6 In this connection, both narratives and eye-witness reports
have proved valuable.
Thirdly, the disappearance of old-time shamanism has given rise to
what might be called shamanic “memory folklore” (patterned after
“memory ethnography”). Whatever we might think about the present
state of shamanism and its future, it is, without a doubt, an institution
that is on the verge of becoming eclipsed by magic arts of a more
simple kind in many cultures, if it has not already disappeared. From
the time of my own investigations among the Wind River Shoshoni of
Wyoming, North America, I recall that there were stories circulating
about some really great shamans who lived at the beginning of this
century. They were credited with having undertaken soul journeys in a
deep trance even to the realm of the dead, whilst their latter-day suc-
cessors who lack this ability could, at best, be characterized as medio-
cre medicine men. Of course, there was inevitably a certain degree of
aggrandizement in the story-tellers’ description of the perfection and
dexterity of the old-time shamans, and the stories probably had little
basis in reality. However, that fact itself would bear out what we have
found to be the case time and again: when shamanic abilities decline
and disappear, the inspiration to create legends will flourish.
Folkloristic and linguistic methods allow the investigation of nar-
ratives dealing with shamans and shamanic deeds from a great many
points of view. In this study, we shall adopt an anthropological and reli-
gio-scientific perspective, and address the issue of how various types of
stories correlate with the various types of shamanism.

2. Since shamanism is so widespread, it is self-evident that the tales

told about shamans will be colored by the narrative traits and modes of
cultural expression specific to the various regions. In this respect, sha-
man tales tally with the other tales investigated by folklorists. From our
point of view, there is one important difference that is directly related
to the kind of shamanism that happens to be prevalent in a particular

6
See Harner 1980; Ingerman 1991; Horwitz 1989: 373 ff. and Hoppál 1992b: 200 ff.
56 Åke Hultkrantz

region: the difference between the rather inchoate, “spontaneous”

shamanism of most hunting societies, and the fairly institutionalized
and ritualized shamanism of the Siberian and North Eurasian peoples.
Siberian shamanism in particular is quite sophisticated: it tends to be
a more dominant cultural force than shamanism elsewhere, bearing
as it does the imprint of a higher civilization and its religions (Bud-
dhism and Lamaism).7 In part, the difference between the two kinds
of shamanism corresponds to the distinction between hunting sha-
manism and pastoral shamanism in Roberte N. Hamayon’s system.8
The structural differences between these two forms of shamanism—
which are not always clearly delimited from one another—are mirrored
in the types of oral traditions.9
Most of the recorded oral narratives about shamans are part of the
Siberian and Eskimo legacy of developed shamanism. However, there
are also some fascinating shamanic tales that have come down to us
from that historical cradle of shamanism, the palaeolithic and meso-
lithic hunting religions of America and Eurasia.10 Let us first look at
the kind of prose traditions that they afford us.
Very often we find among hunting peoples tales of shamanic wonder
workers who have passed on and whose abilities grow more miraculous
with every telling as time goes by. The tales told by the Guajiro Indians
living on the border between Colombia and Venezuela are certainly a
case in point. As the ethnographer, Michel Perrin (1992: 22), tells us,
the local raconteur even exaggerates the feats of living shamans: he
multiplies their powers, and magnifies their deeds. We could say that
the tendency to mythologization is already there, but since the shaman
referred to is still living there are limits to the fantasy.
The raconteur has greater liberty if the shaman has been dead for
some years. Perrin tells us how a young Guajiro recounted the deeds
of a shaman who died in the 1960s, some time before he himself first

7
Hultkrantz 1978: 53 ff., cf. also Hultkrantz 1992: 83.
8
See Hamayon 1994. Mme Hamayon further refers to a third category of shaman-
ism found in more acculturated societies; see also Basilov 1976: 149 ff.
9
See further Hamayon 1990:151 ff.
10
The establishment of the age of shamanism does not allow us to infer the age of
shamanic tales. Eliade assesses the story of the “magic flight” as “probably the oldest
narrative motif” in shamanism; see Eliade 1961: 154. Eliade interprets the story as
representing ascension ecstasy. However, there is no certainty about its age.
The Shaman in Myths and Tales 57

visited Guajiro country. The events that the Indian described transpired
in a milieu which Perrin has described as the place where “mythology
has its roots.”
Eeyasi, so the story goes, was a very powerful shaman, ready to help
out the people of his local group. Among them was an old couple who
were close to starvation. They went way up into the mountains to gather
cactus fruit. Equipped with a sack, they reached the place, picked the
fruit and ate it. However, Pulowi, the mistress of animals and wild
plants, dwelt there underground. In the shape of a gigantic snake she
devoured the elderly couple. Soon their neighbors back home missed
them and started to search for them. They searched the mountains with
torches, but did not find the lost couple. The old shaman was, however,
a man with great powers, and discovered the remains of the man and
his wife. All at once the giant snake Pulowi who lived close by showed
her enormous head. He shot her with his arrows, and she died after
much writhing and coiling. The shaman should have died too, for he
had seen Pulowi; but he did not, so much power had he.
We would say that the old couple died of hunger, adds Perrin (1992:
167 ff.), but to the Indians the story was confirmation of their belief in
the great power of the shaman. Similar stories abound among Native
American peoples in different parts of the Americas. For instance,
we are told that at the beginning of the last century, a famous Tlingit
shaman from Sitka (on the northwest coast) wanted to acquire a new
guardian spirit. It is said that he allowed himself to be thrown into the
sea. He was first wrapped in a mat and tied with an otter-skin strap, this
animal being his shamanic power. Thereafter he was lowered into the
sea. He had been fastened to a line at the end of which his shipmates
had tied the bladder of a land otter. However, he sank to the bottom
faster than a stone, and there was no further sign of life from him. His
friends gave him up for dead. On the fourth day after the event, how-
ever, they heard the sound of a shamanic drum and saw the shaman
hanging on a steep cliff, his face streaming with blood. His friends took
care of him, and he regained consciousness and returned home. He had
acquired a new spirit.11

11
Krause 1956: 196, in the German original 1885: 286 f.
58 Åke Hultkrantz

In this tale the treatment the shaman endures, particularly his being
wrapped up and bound, reminds us of the Shaking Tent and Spirit
Lodge shamanic ceremonies.12
The interesting Orpheus tradition, widely diffused in North America,
has a shamanic background. This story, which generally involves a
human married couple (and thus may be termed a tale), but sometimes
portrays the relationship between a god and his consort (and thus
should be called a myth) varies, naturally, from culture to culture, but
usually expresses one central theme: a loving husband’s pursuit of his
deceased young wife as her soul steers toward the land of the dead.
Sometimes he succeeds in bringing her back to life, sometimes, like
the Greek Orpheus, he does not, and this is the most common version.
The tale is an important source for our knowledge of North American
Indian eschatology. It is evidently built on the experiences of the sha-
man who discharges his soul to the realm of the dead in order to fetch a
sick person’s soul. For the details of this thesis, I refer the reader to my
exposition in a book on the American Orpheus tradition (Hultkrantz
1957: 229 ff., 240 ff.).
I know of only one other tale of shamanic origin that has had such
popularity outside the Siberian and Central Asian area, and that is
the tale about the first shaman and the sun. This tale is known from
northern Asia to the Eskimo and American Indians (Thalbitzer 1928:
419 ff.).

3. We may designate Siberia with Mongolia and Central Asia as an

area of intensified shamanism with features that reveal influences from
southern and eastern high cultures (Hultkrantz 1978: 54). In this vast
area one can find inspired tales of shamanic magic and of the great
shamanic figures of the past. Such tales are often shrouded in mystery,
and endow their heroic shamans with a consequence more of less akin
to that of princes, spirits and gods. It is from this large area that the
myths of the first shaman (Urschaman) have been recorded. The long
historical perspective has certainly contributed to this mystification.
However, it seems that these myths have developed on the basis of the
cult of shamans.

12
Cf. Hultkrantz 1967: 32 ff., see also 1992: 37 ff., 96 ff.
The Shaman in Myths and Tales 59

The cult of shamans is a form of the cult of ethnic heroes that is

widespread among the Volga Finns and the Siberian peoples.13 In these
areas, great ancestors, political and military leaders and shamans were
remembered and hallowed by sacrifices of horses, cows and sheep. The
heroes were considered to be protective spirits or gods who cared about
the welfare of the community, its corn fields and cattle. Shamans who
had passed on were brought to mind with the help of idols or simple
images in sacred groves or lodges (Holmberg 1927: 140 f.). Sometimes
these images come close to the pictures used in elementary ancestor
worship. When a shaman of the Yurak Samoyed dies, a manlike doll
is made out of a plank of his coffin to represent him. The family gives
this doll food for five or six years and then places it beside the coffin.
Some of these dolls have their own little hut. Now and then people visit
the doll, make offerings to it and ask it to counsel them on important
matters of daily life (Lehtisalo 1924: 141 ff.).
The dead shamans are often powerful supernatural beings. Among
the Buriat, for example, both male and female shamans were wor-
shipped after their death. Their images, or ongon, were placed on the
heights where they were buried. They were thought to be protective
spirits (Holmberg 1927: 499). The guardian spirits of the Yakut sha-
man, or ämägät, are dead shamans.14
Cults and ideas of this kind have given rise to the supernatural aura
surrounding North and Central Eurasian shamans in oral tradition. The
longer such a shaman has been dead, the more mysterious and power-
ful he (or she) becomes. The same rule holds here for shamans as for
princes and chiefs of extraordinary qualities. The high social position
of the shaman is a fact allover the Arctic area, but has certainly been
enhanced in parts of Siberia through the growth of clan organization
and, in places, of chiefdoms.15 The exalted political role played by
some Mongolian shamans in medieval times was part and parcel of the
Mongolian imperialistic expansion of those days.
The myths of the first shaman are an obvious expression of these
cultic and socio-political conditions. The first shaman is often por-
trayed as begotten by heavenly powers and capable of performing the
most impossible feats. We hear, for instance, of a Yakut shaman whose

13
Holmberg 1927: 139 ff.; Honko 1971. 1: 192 ff.
14
Holmberg 1927: 497 f.; cf. also Friedrich and Buddruss (eds.) 1955: 36 f.
15
Graburn and Strong 1973: 36 f., 51 f.; Siikala 1992a: 2 ff.
60 Åke Hultkrantz

father was the son of the god of heaven. He was capable of transform-
ing himself into other shapes, and easily healed himself and others
from mortal wounds and diseases.16 A Buriat tradition tells us that the
gods sent an eagle—which in many tales in Siberia and North America
is supposed to be the messenger of the gods—down to earth to help the
first human beings rid themselves of the diseases with which the evil
spirits plagued them. Man, however, did not appreciate the presence of
the eagle, so he had to return to heaven. At the order of the gods, the
eagle then approached a woman sleeping under a tree; she conceived,
and gave birth to a son. The rest of the story has a number of variations:
some say the woman, some say her son could see spirits, and was the
first shaman.17
The first shaman, thus, is attributed direct heavenly descent in many
quarters. No wonder, therefore, if he was a master of magic. An exam-
ple was Dokh, the first shaman of the Ket (or Yenisei Ostiak). He was
a great shaman and lived in mythical times, it is said. Once the death
goddess of the underworld devoured one of his sons. In great anger
he demanded that his people make an iron hammer and some cord of
iron for him. However, all they delivered was a wooden hammer and
some cord made of roots. Equipped with these, the shaman went to the
island at the mouth of the Yenisei River where the goddess of death
lived. He attacked her with his hammer, but it split into a thousand
pieces. Then he threw the cord around her neck to choke her, but the
brittle cord broke. Through the failure of his own tribesmen, death had
come to stay.
At the order of the goddess the shaman and half of his people sac-
rificed a hundred reindeer, made new fur coats and fur boots, and
steered their new sledges to the land of the sky. They wanted to build
tents there, but there was no wood in that place.18 Dokh then beat his
drum until the spirits arrived, and made trees grow. Now the Ket could
construct their tent. However, after a fortnight, they were, struck by
thunder and lightning so terrible that it destroyed them all, except for
Dokh’s wife, who became a star in the sky.19

16
Friedrich and Buddrus 1955: 107 ff., cf. 115 ff.
17
Holmberg 1927: 505, quoting N. N. Agapitov and M. N. Changalov.
18
The tents of the Ket are covered with strips of birch bark.
19
Findeisen (ed.) 1970: 333 f.
The Shaman in Myths and Tales 61

Wondrous stories of this type are myths rather than legends, if we

may use the terminology I have been following in my works: myths are
stories (sometimes sacred stories) of gods and spirits operating at the
beginning of time; legends are stories of spirits, animals and humans
from supposedly historical times (Hultkrantz 1984: 152–156). Myths
often set the patterns of life, as in the Ket tradition just mentioned: we
are told how the failure of the first shaman to bring his dead son back
to life, or to kill the goddess of death, decided the mortality of man-
kind.20 In similar myths from other parts of the world, the party at fault
is usually a divinity of some sort, such as a primordial trickster (Boas
1917). In this light, the first shaman appears as more or less an equal
of the gods, a divine person.21
Several Siberian and Central Asian myths illustrate how shamans
could widen their specific sphere to nature mythology. The Samoyed
relate that a young man who was hunting in the taiga met a man in a
white blanket. The man admonished him to sacrifice seven reindeer
to Num, the god of heaven. The young man did so. His father realized
that the son was now a shaman and gave him a drum. The new sha-
man started a journey to the sky through the smoke-hole. He arrived
up there and saw the white-clad old man he had met in the taiga. The
man, who was evidently a spirit, guided the young shaman through the
different heavens until they reached the seventh golden heaven where
Num was sitting in his golden tent. So dazzling was his light that the
shaman could not bear to look at him. The god of heaven told him that
he wanted to install him as a god of the earth, as a gesture of gratitude
for the sacrifices. Then the young shaman fell through the heavens for
seven days and landed at the upper part of the Ob.22
The tale gives a good picture of the Samoyed upper world, with the
high god seated in the uppermost of the seven heavens. It is to this
upper world that the shaman has access by flying through the smoke-
hole in ecstasy. The tradition also establishes how a shaman was

20
The connection between the first shaman and the origin of death is told in sev-
eral Siberian myths; cf. Massenzio 1984: 203 ff., 207 ff. On the general connection
between shamanism and death, see also Mastromattei 1981: 1 ff.
21
Dokh is actually represented in one mythological tale as the god of the great pri-
meval waters; see Campbell 1959: 275 (after V. I. Anuchin). See also Hultkrantz 1978:
54, note 145.
22
Lehtisalo 1924: 92 ff.
62 Åke Hultkrantz

selected to become the local supernatural ruler of the earth. This is the
highest rank that a mythic shaman could achieve. It is no mere coinci-
dence that the tradition of such a divine transformation comes from the
highly shamanic North Eurasian area.
Though in ways that are difficult to identify, the divinization of the
shaman in mythology may even have played a role in high-cultural
areas. The presence of this mythologem seems to be conspicuous in
Japan where, as Manabu Waida has pointed out, the emperor’s ceremo-
nial dress is almost identical with the Siberian (Tungus) shaman’s.23
On the other hand, there is the possibility that both the shaman dress
and the imperial dress originated in the stream of southern elements
that flowed up with the expansion of high cultures.24
In fact, shamanic mythology may be behind some of the expressions
found in ancient Near Eastern mythology. A. T. Hatto recognizes sha-
manic traits in the Sumerian myth of Gilgamesh. He reminds us that
Gilgamesh went to fight the leafless tree of the goddess Inanna, a tree
which housed a serpent at its roots and an eagle in its crown, and the
wind demon Lilith on its trunk. Gilgamesh handed the tree over to the
goddess who, it is said, made a drum from the roots and a drumstick
from the crown.25 It is obvious that the whole scene is shamanic. Here
we find the world-tree with its antagonistic forces, the eagle and the
serpent, a dualistic concept spread from Scandinavia over Siberia, North
America and Mexico. There is also the North Eurasian idea of the drum
being created from the sacred tree. Thus, behind the myth we can see the
beginnings shrouded in a shamanic milieu in the Middle East, fantastic
as this notion might seem. As Hatto (1970: 19) has pointed out, “Most
if not all high religions owe something to historic shamanism, so that
when the shamanistic cultures of Northern Asia were overtaken by high
religions, a refusion of elements, like to like, took place.”
If, now, we turn to the legends and common tales of shamans of
the alleged historical past we shall find that they are legion. Many of
them “improve” the reputation of well-known shamans, particularly
of shamans who lived long ago and had no living descendants with
reminiscences of their own. The two main sources of these tales are
the recollections of the shaman’s accounts of his trances and ritual

23
Waida 1976: 103, 107., cf. Hultkrantz 1989: 48.
24
See for instance Eliade 1951: 501 f.
25
Hatto 1970: 3 f. The text is taken from Kramer 1963: 197 ff.
The Shaman in Myths and Tales 63

experiences, and the observations and imaginings of the people who

had attended shamanic acts.
The tales of shamanic soul flights do not always reflect a particular
shaman’s experiences; they may generalize shamanic experience. An
example of this is the Tungus tale of the sky-journey of a young man’s
soul. To escape a cannibal who had devoured his brothers and sisters,
his shaman father, his mother the young man hid in a sack. Peeking
out of it after a while, he found that he was in the sky where the Thun-
der lived. However, nobody noticed him, for he was now a soul. Only
when he lay down beside Thunder’s beautiful daughter did she see him.
She recognized him as being a great shaman, since he had managed
to enter the upper world. The girl gave him a horse on which he could
ride back to earth. Alas, the cannibal, in disguise, was awaiting him,
and devoured him.26
In the above, we see the shamanic soul-journey function as the back-
ground to the dramatic action, but no particular shaman can be referred
to since the hero died before returning to life.
Another Tungus tale narrated by the same story teller furnishes evi-
dence of how legendary interpretation can permeate modern shamanic
accounts. A nephew of the narrator, himself a young shaman, went out
for the autumn hunt. He met another Tungusian shaman, and the two
of them decided to compete in flying as high as the trees. They both
flew up, and each landed in a tree top. The contest went on the whole
night; they flew like squirrels from top to top. By early morning they
were tired and went to sleep on the ground. The woodland god then
appeared and killed them. The story teller commented that everybody
knew that shamans can no more fly than other human beings. But those
two shamans had vaunted their powers, and were, therefore, killed by
the god, he added.27
If the story teller was not just having a little joke on the field
researcher, it certainly testifies to the speed with which historical sha-
mans turn into miraculous beings after their death.
Reminiscences of shamanic soul-flights of yore probably lie behind a
well-known story current among the Saami (Lapps) since the middle of

26
Suslov and Menges 1983: 85 ff.
27
Suslov and Menges 1983: 94. Suslov found a living shaman who had the wide-
spread reputation of being able to leave his tent through the smoke-hole by flying
(Suslov and Menges 1983: 73).
64 Åke Hultkrantz

the nineteenth century. The Swedish Archbishop of Uppsala, together with

a small clerical commission, stayed some days with a rich and reputable
Saami conjurer in Lapland. The Saami offered his guests a demonstration
of his magical powers. He would, he said, send his soul to the archbishop’s
home to see what the church leader’s wife was doing. At the same time, he
would leave evidence of his having been there. The archbishop accepted
the man’s proposal. After having inhaled the smoke of some charred herbs,
the Saami sank into a trance and was gone for an hour. Then he revived,
and recounted what had happened to him. He had visited the archbishop’s
residence and found the latter’s wife busy in the kitchen. While she was
preparing the meal, her wedding ring slipped off her finger. The invisible
Saami picked it up and hid it in the coal box. Then he returned to where
his body was. Having heard this report, the archbishop wrote a letter to
his wife asking her what had happened to her that morning. Fourteen days
later he received a reply to his letter. She confessed that at that time she
had lost her ring and could not find it again. She was afraid that it might
have been stolen by a well-dressed Saami who had suddenly come into the
kitchen and then left without saying what errand he was on. Some time
later, the ring was recovered in the coal box.28
Some shamanic legends associate to the supposed initiation rites of
the new shaman—rites that took place not in this world, but were part
of the shaman’s dream-fulfillment. One famous tale concerns the Yakut
shaman Bükäsh Ülläyän, himself the son of a legendary shaman. The
story runs as follows. Before he became a shaman, Bükäsh Ülläyän
and a fellow traveller were in a boat making their way to an island.
Dark clouds arose in the west; rain, thunder and lightning followed.
The two travellers were obliged to wait on the beach for the storm to
abate. However, a frightful burst of thunder suddenly exploded, and
Bükäsh Ülläyän was torn apart. His companion collected the strewn
pieces and went to call the others to help bury the corpse. Some time
later, he returned together with another tribesman. To their surprise, the
two found the dead man alive and well at a camp fire. He explained to
them that he had revived. The Thunder god had come down from the
sky and reduced him to pieces, but had then put him together again and
made him a shaman.29

28
Arbman 1955: 52 ff., 84 f.
29
Friedrich and Buddruss (eds.) 1955: 175 ff.; Findeisen 1970: 339 ff.
The Shaman in Myths and Tales 65

This tale is a mythological interpretation of the idea common in Sibe-

ria that in order to function as a shaman, a person has to be reduced to
a heap of bones, or to pieces of flesh, and then be reborn. As is well
known, this transformation expresses the belief that a would-be shaman
has to go through a death and resurrection experience in order to be
accepted as a shaman.30 In North America, the same thought has been
supplanted by the belief that the spirit plants a precious stone, such as
a quartz crystal, in the shaman candidate’s body.31
In areas where shamanism has long been a thing of the past, many
tales contain only vague, piecemeal or inaccurate recollections of sha-
mans and their like. The whole North Eurasian field offers illustrations
aplenty. I have chosen here an example from the Saami, one of many.
In the southern Lapmarks, there is a big copper kettle, called the magic
kettle of Atjiken. It is said that the Saami who put it there was rich,
powerful and highly skilled in magic. He wanted a kettle big enough to
serve him and his neighbors at feasts. So he went to the coastal town of
Umeå and ordered a kettle of the appropriate size. When the kettle was
ready, remarkable things started to occur. The first Thursday evening,
there was a ticking inside the kettle.32 The second Thursday, it lifted
slightly off the ground, and the third Thursday evening it flew out of
the tinker’s house and travelled with the speed of the wind westward to
the place among the mountains where the powerful shaman lived.33
This story instances the idea of the shaman as a wonder worker,
but his relationship to the kettle is not explained, and I do not know
of similar moves of big kettles through the agency of shamans in the
extant literary material.34

30
For a brief introduction to the subject, see Eliade 1951: 158–165.
31
Cf. Okladnikova 1989: 343 ff.
32
Thursday was a holy day among ancient Scandinavians and Saami, the day of the
Thunder god.
33
Pettersson 1979: 79 f.
34
Another characteristic Saami story deals with a bear who turns into a human per-
son, and vice versa. This transformation story could be a changeover from an original
soul-flight story if, as Juha Pentikäinen (1978: 223 f.) thinks (I presume correctly), the
bear man involved is supposed to be a shaman. The current Saami ideas of the bear’s
anthropomorphism (his features when skinned, his behaviour) may have contributed
to the story. So also possibly has the circumpolar legend of the marriage between a
human and a bear, see Edsman 1956: 36 ff.
66 Åke Hultkrantz

4. Our cursory survey of the types of folktale surrounding shamanism

shows that there is a characteristic difference between the tales current
where shamanism is a more democratic institution—where the shaman is
distinguished only by his distinctive nervous disposition and talents—and
the tales told in a structurally more differentiated society, which also
reflect the shaman’s superior status. In the former case, we are dealing with
the lowly shamanism of primarily hunting societies;35 in the latter case,
with the professional and ritually developed shamanism found in hunter
and nomad societies that have, for the most part, been strongly influenced
by high civilizations. Such peripheral groups as the Saami and the Eskimo
we can count among the latter societies although their shamanism was
touched by higher civilizations only tangentially. In Siberia, shamanism
has such strong hold that many authors refer to the entire religious system
of the North Siberian peoples as shamanism. No wonder that the person
of the shaman has received so much attention in the myths and legends of
this area: cult and myth have elevated him to divine rank.
In the simpler forms of shamanism, its representatives are regarded
with a certain awe, but they have never been deified. It is another
matter that in some cultures, shamans, like other human beings, may
achieve status as powerful spirits after death.

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ÅKE HULTKRANTZ, Ph.D. Stockholm University (1953), Hon. Dr. of Theol-

ogy, University of Helsinki (1997). He was Professor in Comparative Reli-
gion, Stockholm University, from 1958 to 1986. He also served as Visiting
Professor at Brandeis University, MA, 1958, the University of California
(Los Angeles and Santa Barbara), CA, 1973, 1977, 1980 and 1990, and at
the Universities of Budapest (1970), Vienna (1973) and Aberdeen (1976).
He was an occasional lecturer at many European, African, North American
and Japanese universities. He won prizes for scientific accomplishments in
1980 (Americanist Congress in Winnipeg) and 1993 (International Society
for Shamanistic Research, Budapest). He served as Chairman of the Swedish
Americanist Society. He published some twenty-five books and up to 400
articles on American Indians, Lapps and other Arctic peoples, shamanism and
general ethnographical and religio-historical problems. He also gave the Gif-
ford Lectures at Aberdeen University (1981, 1982), and the Foerster Lecture
at the University of California, Berkeley (1983). Åke Hultkrantz served as
Honorary Editor-in-Chief of this journal from 1993 until his death in 2006.
VOL. 1. NOS. 1-2. SHAMAN SPRING/AUTUMN 1993/2007

The Kun-ning-gung Palace in Peking: The Manchu

Dynasty’s Shaman Centre in the “Forbidden City”

TATIANA A. PANG ST PETERSBURG

The Kun-ning-gung, located behind the main palaces of the “Forbidden

City,” was—together with the Tangzi temple—the Qing court’s centre for
shamanic rituals. While the Tangzi has been completely destroyed, the Kun-
ning-gung palace is still open to the public: visitors to the main hall will
find some shamanic furniture, and can then proceed to the kitchen where
the sacrificial meat was cooked. The rituals celebrated in this hall were
carefully described in the Manchu Imperial Ritual (in Manchu Hesei tokto-
buha Manjusai wecere metere kooli bithe) completed in 1747; it is the most
significant passages and prayers of this ritual that are translated here.

The Kun-ning-gung or “Palace of Earthly Tranquillity,” together with

the complex called Tangse in Manchu, was one of the two centres of
the shamanic cult of the Qing dynasty in Peking. While the Tangse (in
Chinese tangzi) has completely disappeared today, the Kun-ning-gung,
situated at the rear of the National Palace Museum, is still one of the
attractions of the former “Forbidden City.”
Almost all of the cultic furnishings1 have disappeared, and only the
kitchen area with its large cooking-pots used for the preparation of the
sacrificial food bears witness to the shamanic rites celebrated during
the reign of the Manchu dynasty.2
Even now, little is known about these rites, and the only available
source is the so-called Manchu Imperial Ritual, completed in 1747
by order of Qianlong and first published in Manchu in 1778 under the

1
Detailed photographic documentation is found in Ishibashi 1934.
2
While no detailed studies in Western languages are available, a number of Chi-
nese studies on the Kun-ning-gung have been published recently: see Fu 1988; Du
1990 and Jiang 1992. For Japanese research findings, see Inoue 1950.
72 Tatiana A. Pang

title Hesei toktobuha Manjusai wecere metere kooli bithe (in Chinese
Qinding Manzhou jishen jitian dianli). Two French translations3 exist,
one incomplete and the other much too free a translation, whilst an
excellent and carefully annotated Russian translation by A.V. Greben-
shchikov has never been published.4
The visitor to the large, gloomy hall of the Kun-ning-gung thus won-
ders what these “secret” rites were, rites in which only the Manchu
were allowed to take part.
As we shall see, the Imperial Ritual provides us with a schematic
description. We find that the various ceremonies followed rites which
were often symbolic and codified down to the smallest detail. These cer-
emonies are described in the first chapter of the Imperial Ritual, entitled
Kun-ning-gung de biyadari wecere dorolon-i ejebun “Description of the
monthly sacrificial rites [celebrated] in the Kun-ning-gung.”
The most important ceremonies took place, as the text informs us,
“on the third day of the first month of the year, and on the first day of
[all other] months” (aniyai biyai ice ilan biyadari ice inenggi), in the
morning and in the evening:5

A yellow silk curtain edged with red silk brocade is strung on a yellow cotton
rope, and the two ends hung on red-lacquered triangular frames covered in gilt
paper and decorated with dragons’ heads which are attached to the western wall.
Two pieces of clean paper are folded in four and four circles are cut out and
hung dangling at the two ends of the curtain.
On a table, on the southern end is placed a little shrine covered in gilt paper,
inside which is a gilt Buddha; the shrine door is left open.
Then the images of Bodhisattva and Guwan Mafa Enduri6 are hung on a cur-
tain, and everything is then hung, facing eastwards, above the big oven-bed.
Two large, low, red-lacquered tables are placed on the oven-bed. Three
incense burners are then placed on the tables, as are three glasses of sweet

3
Langlès 1804a: 241–308; also as an extra volume: Langlès 1804b; and De Harlez
1887.
4
See Pan 1991.
5
Translated from Hesei toktobuha Manjurai wecere metere kooli bithe, ch. 2, pp.
la ss.
6
“God ‘Grandfather’ (or ‘Ancestor’, or ‘Old Man’) Guwan,” corresponds to “Guan-
di shen” (God “Emperor Guan”) in the Chinese version; De Harlez (1887: 84) translated
‘ancêtre domestique’. For Guan-di, see Werner 1961: 227–230.
The Kun-ning-gung Palace in Peking 73

wine, nine plates with seasonal fruit and nine plates with ten fešen efen7 cakes
cut into small squares. One plate is placed under the northern corner of the
table. [Only] in the seventh month are the miyeku efen cakes8 used, [cut] in
the same way as the other one. A red carpet decorated with yellow flowers is
rolled out, and a bottle of sweet wine is placed under the corner of the oven-
bed. A long, low table is placed in front of the bottle, for the wine sacrifice.
Two large yellow china cups are placed on the table. Sweet wine is poured
into one cup; the other cup remains empty. The eunuchs in charge of the sac-
rificial food had previously laid on the floor in front of the cooking-pots of
the main room two sheets of thick Korean greaseproof paper, and had had two
large red-lacquered tables with zinc-plated surfaces brought inside. These are
placed parallel in a westerly direction on the Korean greaseproof paper. At the
right moment, the person responsible for the incense lights it.
The eunuchs in charge of the sacrificial food9 and the person responsible
for the sacrificial food have two pigs brought in and place them outside the
Kun-ning-gung door, so that their heads are turned towards the door and fac-
ing north. Then two eunuchs in charge of the sacrificial food, the official in
charge of the sacrificial food, eight men in charge of the sacrificial food and
two head eunuchs in charge of the sacrificial food come forward in order to
play the three-stringed lutes10 and the four-stringed lutes.11 In front of the
three-stringed lutes and the four-stringed lutes there sit, in two rows and with
their legs crossed, ten men [with their faces] looking upwards, and then they
[begin to] play the three-stringed lutes and the four-stringed lutes and to hit
the wooden clappers. Then the Manchus in charge of the sacrificial food kneel
down on one knee and clap their hands. The shaman himself takes his place
in front of the sacrificial table with the wine and kneels.
The person responsible for the incense raises a glass with a saucer and
gives it to the shaman. The shaman takes it and offers the wine six times [to

7
A kind of steamed bread, mantou.
8
A pastry made of glutinous millet.
9
The following literal translation of the various officers’ Manchu designations
is used: amsun-i taigiyan ‘eunuch in charge of the sacrificial food’; amsun-i urse
(niyalma) ‘men in charge of the sacrificial food’; amsun-i janggin ‘officer in charge of
the sacrificial food’; da taigiyan ‘head eunuch’; hiyan-i da ‘person responsible for the
incense’; hiyan-i hehesi ‘women in charge of the incense’.
10
In Manchu tenggeri, i.e. the Chinese sanxian.
11
In Manchu fifan, Le. the Chinese pipa.
74 Tatiana A. Pang

the gods]. During the sacrifice he pours the offered wine into the empty cup.
Then he adds some new wine from the bottle of sweet wine, pouring it into
two glasses and offers them [to the gods]. During the offering the person
responsible for the sacrificial food recites the prayers.
After making the offering six times, the shaman returns the glass with the saucer
to the person responsible for the incense, bows once, gets up and joins his hands
in prayer. The sound of the three-stringed lutes, of the four-stringed lutes and of
the clappers stops at the same time. The person responsible for the incense and the
women in charge of the incense put the two cups of wine and the sacrificial table
back on the small low table, in front of which the shaman bows.
The person responsible for the incense hands the shaman the magic sword
(halmari). The shaman takes the sword and as he advances, the men in charge
of the sacrificial food play the three-stringed lutes, the four-stringed lutes, the
clappers and clap their hands. The shaman bows once and gets up, while the
men in charge of the sacrificial food recite the prayers. The shaman performs
some magic rites three times with the sword and sings prayers. During the rites
with the sword, the men in charge of the sacrificial food also recite the prayers.
After having performed the rites nine times in this way, and after having recited
the prayers three times, the shaman kneels down, bows once, gets up and per-
forms the rites three more times. Then he gives the sword back to the person
responsible for the incense. The men who have played the three-stringed lutes,
the four-stringed lutes and the clappers get up and retire on both sides.
If the Emperor carries out the ceremonies himself, then the person respon-
sible for the incense moves the little low table—in front of which the shaman
bows—to the north side. The Emperor takes the shamanic hat, and—in the
morning—presents himself to the gods, standing in the centre and looking
upwards. The shaman kneels down as before. The Emperor kneels down and,
after the shaman has turned towards him, the Emperor performs the rites
once. Then he gets up and withdraws. The shaman bows, gets up and joins
his hands in prayer.
When the rites are carried out in the presence of the Empress, then the Emper-
or goes in front and the Empress behind. The official in charge of the sacrificial
food and all the males in charge of the sacrificial food are escorted outside, and
only the women in charge of the sacrificial food and the eunuchs remain.
On the days when the Emperor and Empress do not carry out the rites in
person, the shaman bows and after this the person responsible for the incense
takes away the two glasses of wine placed in front of Buddha and Bodhi-
The Kun-ning-gung Palace in Peking 75

sattva. He then closes the door of the small Buddha shrine, rolls up the image
of Bodhisattva and puts it into the receptacle of yellow-coloured wood.
The eunuchs in charge of the sacrificial food reverently lift up the small
Buddha shrine and carry it out the door, along with two incense burners. [The
shrine] is placed at the western end of the Kun-ning-gung, in a large pavilion,
[where] the incense-burners are also placed.
The table of the little shrine is moved back, the curtain is moved slightly
to the south, and the image of Guwan Mafa is moved to the centre. All the
small cups with the wine and the incense-burners are placed in the centre.
The bottle containing the wine is covered with a clean cloth. The players of
the three-stringed lutes, the four-stringed lutes and clappers come forward
and sit where they were before. The women in charge of the incense fold a
carpet three times and place it near the oven-bed. The person responsible for
the incense hands the shaman a glass with a saucer. The eunuchs in charge of
the sacrificial food lift up a pig, carry it through the door and place it near the
oven-bed, with its head turned towards the west.
A Manchu in charge of the sacrificial food kneels on one knee and holds
the pig down.
While the officer in charge of the sacrificial food, the men in charge of
the sacrificial food, the head-eunuch and the eunuchs play the three-stringed
lutes, the four-stringed lutes and the clappers, and clap their hands, the shaman
kneels down on the red carpet folded in three in front of the oven-bed, facing
southwest, and holds up a glass with a saucer. While he offers it once, the men
in charge of the sacrificial food recite the usual prayers. After the offering,
the shaman prays, and pours the wine from two glasses into one glass. The
Manchu in charge of the sacrificial food holds open one of the pig’s ears and
the shaman pours a liquid12 into the pig’s ear. Then he returns the glass with
the saucer to the person responsible for the incense and bows once.
The three-stringed lutes, the four-stringed lutes and the clappers are put
down for a while.
After the Manchu in charge of the sacrificial food has taken hold of the pigs
by their tails and has turned their heads to face east, the eunuchs in charge of
the sacrificial food come forward, lift up the pigs and stand them up on the
zinc-plated table. The person responsible for the incense offers the glass with

12
This liquid, water or wine, is called jungšun: if the pig’s ear twitches the sacrifice
is accepted by the divinities.
76 Tatiana A. Pang

the saucer to the shaman. The shaman takes the glass with the saucer and then
they bring in the rest of the pigs, and proceed as during the previous sacrifice:
the three-stringed lutes, the four-stringed lutes and the clappers are played and
the prayers are recited, while [the shaman] pours the liquid [into the pigs’ ears].
Then he bows once, gets up and withdraws. At the end of the playing of the
three-stringed lutes, the four-stringed lutes and the clappers everyone gets up
and withdraws. The heads of the two pigs on the large zinc-plated table are
turned towards the west and they are stood up. Then they kill [the pigs]. Two
women in charge of the sacrificial food, near the table, lift up two silvery con-
tainers and collect the blood. The women in charge of the incense roll up the
carpet, pick up a long red-lacquered table and place it in front of the oven-bed.
Then they place on the high table the containers with the pigs’ blood and take
away the cakes, wine and fruit. When the pigs are dead, the men in charge of
the sacrificial food place the pigs to the right of the table, upright, with their
heads facing south. After the hairs are cleaned off, [the pigs] are cooked in the
large cooking-pots. The heads, paws and tails are not cooked [together]. They
are cooked in a large cooking-pot only after the hairs are cleaned off by scorch-
ing them over the fire. The intestines are placed in a zinc-plated container, are
carried outside, and cleaned in another building. They are then placed, together
with the blood, on the ground. A Manchu in charge of the sacrificial food comes
forward, kneels down on one knee in front of the large table, mixes the intes-
tines with the blood and puts them to boil in a large cooking-pot. The eunuchs in
charge of the sacrificial food put the hairs in the appropriate container, and bring
the two high, zinc-plated tables and thick Korean greaseproof paper.
After having put the bile and paws on small plates of red-lacquered wood,
they put them down on the northern side of a large table placed on the oven-
bed. When the meat is cooked, the sacrificial meat is cut into strips on a plate;
they add a pair of chopsticks and [everything] is placed in the centre of the
large, low table. The meat of the two pigs, [that is] the flesh of the front paws
and thighs, is placed at the four corners [of the table], the breast is placed at
the front. The pigs’ heads are placed on top, and the spleen and all the fat is
placed on the snout. It is all put onto a large, low table facing the gods.
The person responsible for the incense lights the incense. After the women
in charge of the incense have laid out the red carpet decorated with yellow
flowers, one of those in charge of the incense lifts up a glass of sweet wine,
and the person in charge of the incense lifts up an empty glass. Both come
forward and stop. Then those in charge of the incense hand over the glasses
The Kun-ning-gung Palace in Peking 77

with the saucers to the shaman. The shaman comes forward, kneels down and
offers the sacrifice of wine [to the gods] three times.
During this sacrifice—that is, while the wine is being poured, while the
eunuchs in charge of the sacrificial food play the three-stringed lutes and the
four-stringed lutes, while the men in charge of the sacrificial food play the
clappers, and the Manchu in charge of the sacrificial food are clapping their
hands—the prayers are recited three times as before.
After having performed the rite of offering three times, [the shaman] gives
the glass with the saucer back to the person responsible for the incense, bows
once, gets up and joins his hands in prayer.
When the Emperor and Empress offer the sacrifice in person, the procedure
is as before.
After they have bowed before the meat, the meat offered [to the gods] is
taken back without taking it out the door; it is placed on plates which are put
in a row at the front of the long table. Then the Emperor and Empress, or the
princes and high dignitaries, are allowed to eat the meat.
On days when the Emperor does not eat the meat, the high dignitaries and
Imperial bodyguards are invited in groups, and they eat it. After the feast, the
eunuchs in charge of the sacrificial food take out the skin and bones and bring
them back into the kitchen. The official in charge of the sacrificial food takes
the bones, bile and paws and carries them to a clean place, burns them and
throws [the ashes] into a river. [. . .]
When the sacrifice to the gods takes place in the evening, first a black silk
curtain edged in red satin is hung on a black-painted frame.
Seven large and small bells are hung with [strips of?] yellow leather to the
west of the frame beam at the far end of a birch pole. [The image of the] god
Murigan is hung to the right of the frame, the images of the divinities are
attached to the centre of the curtain, while the Mongolian divinities are placed
to the left on chairs painted black. All of this is hung above the northern oven-
bed, facing south. Five incense-burners are placed on the table, five glasses
with sweet wine, nine plates with seasonal fruit and nine plates with ten fešen
efen cakes. One plate is put under the western side of the table. A bottle of
sweet wine is put under the oven-bed.
Before the pigs are brought in, two incense-burners for Buddha and Bodhisat-
tva are taken outside and placed in the large pavilion on the western side. In the
meantime, the eunuchs in charge of the sacrificial food bring some greaseproof
paper and some tables. The sacrifice takes place in the same way as the morning
78 Tatiana A. Pang

sacrifice. At the right moment, the pigs are brought in and placed in the usual
position. The person responsible for the incense lights the incense. After the
performance of the shaman, the women in charge of the incense place a black-
lacquered stool in front of the divinities. A eunuch places a drum (tungken)
near the stool. The shaman wears a multi-coloured skirt (DOKD KŗVLKDQ), ties
the bells (siša) around his waist, takes the hand-drum (untun) and the drum-
sticks and stands in front of the gods. Two eunuchs in charge of the sacrificial
food come forward and remain standing, facing westward. A eunuch beats the
drum, another eunuch plays the clappers. The shaman sits on the stool, facing
the divinities, and beats the hand-drum. While he thus invites the divinities, a
eunuch beats the drum with one hand in time to the sound of the hand-drum.
Then the shaman gets up, takes one step backwards, and gives a performance,
playing the bells attached to his waist. A eunuch hits the drum three times with
both hands. While the shaman goes forward playing the bells, the eunuch hits
[his] drum five times in time to the [shaman’s] hand-drum. Then the shaman
stops and while he prays, singing, the drum is hit five times and the clappers are
played three times. [The shaman] withdraws for the second time, turns south-
ward, and while he gives a performance playing the bells, the drum is beaten
seven times. Then when the shaman stops and prays singing, the drum is hit five
times as usual, and the clappers are played three times. While he carries out a
third performance, the drum is beaten ten times. Then the shaman gets up and
prays, singing, for the third time, while the drum is hit four times. At the end,
the two drumsticks are crossed, and the clappers are played three times. At the
end of the third prayer and after having finished beating the drum four times,
the shaman withdraws. He gives the drum and drumsticks back to the women
in charge of the incense and takes off the skirt and the bells.

The various prayers recited during the above-mentioned ceremonies

are based on one basic text which remains unaltered, while the invoca-
tions directed to the different divinities change from case to case.13
This basic text, found also in the prayers of many other Manchu
clans, reads:

13
For a detailed discussion see Stary 1980; the verse-technique of these prayers is
discussed in Stary 1985 (especially on pages 200–201).
The Kun-ning-gung Palace in Peking 79

Fig 1. The shrine in the Kun-ning-gung Palace (f. 33a).

Fig 2. Shamanic pole erected in front of the palace (f. 33b).

From the blockprint Hesei toktobuha Manjusai wecere metere kooli bithe,
kept in the Manuscript Department of the Saint Petersburg Branch of the Institute of
Oriental Studies, call-number C 70xyl, fascicle 6.
80 Tatiana A. Pang

Fig 3. One of the musical instruments used during shamanic sessions (f. 39a).

Fig 4. The apron of a shaman (f. 43a).

From the blockprint Hesei toktobuha Manjusai wecere metere kooli bithe,
kept in the Manuscript Department of the Saint Petersburg Branch of the Institute of
Oriental Studies, call-number C 70xyl, fascicle 6.
The Kun-ning-gung Palace in Peking 81

tere aniyangga osokon beye

tere aniyangga osokon beye-i
julefun gingnembi.
uju de ukufi.
meiren de fehufi.
juleri dalime.
amala alime.
urgun sain-i acabu.
uju-i funiyehe šarambu.
angga-i weihe sorombu.
aniya ambula.
se labdu.
jalgan golmin.
fulehe šumin.
enduri eršeme.
weceku wehiyeme.
aniya se be labdu bahabuki.

The humble person [born] in a certain year,

on behalf of a humble person [born] in a certain year,14
offers a sacrifice.
After gathering around [his] head,
after covering [his] shoulders,
protecting [him] in front,
supporting [him] from behind,
accord [him] joy and benevolence!
May the hair on [his] head become white,
may the teeth in [his] mouth become yellow!
Many years,
long life,
old age,
deep roots,
may [You] gods procure [for him],

14
An addition in small letters explains that the names of those who are officiating
the sacrifice and their year of birth should be mentioned here: wei jalin wececi. wei
EDQMLKDGDDQL\DEHKŗODPEL
82 Tatiana A. Pang

may [You] deities present [him],

may [You] give [him] many years!

A very brief prayer is recited when the liquid (jungšun) is poured into
the pig’s ear. After having invoked some divinities and pronounced the
name of the person celebrating the rite, they add:

julefun gingnere
šusu be urgun sain-i alime gaiki.

offering on behalf of . . .
may [You] accept joyfully and
benevolently this meal!15

Only in two cases are different prayers recited, ones character-

ized by an introduction formula, the latter part of which is used as a
refrain after every single verse. This particular kind of prayer is called
tuibumbi, that is ‘to recite a prayer with the lights extinguished’.16 The
first prayer, accompanied by the sound of bells, reads:

Je.
LUHKXMHQDUKŗQ
XFHIDEHGDOLILVROLPELQDUKŗQ
PXFHQLVXNGXQMXQLWXZDEHJLGDILVROLPELQDUKŗQ
VROLKDEHGDKDPHVRRULQGHZDVLNLQDUKŗQ
WXLEXKHEHGDKDPHWXVHUJHQGHZDVLNLQDUKŗQ
QDGDQGDLKŗQQDQJJLåDPHZDVLNLQDUKŗQ
MRUJRQMXQJJLMRULPHZDVLNLQDUKŗQ
RURQKRQJJRQGHRNVRILHEXNLQDUKŗQ
VLUHQKRQJJRQGHVLåDILHEXNLQDUKŗQ
Je!
,UHKXMHQDUKŗQ

15
In the Chinese version, ch. 1, p. 21b. (Last reprint: Liaohai congshu. Shenyang.
1985. Vol. V.) the Manchu word šusu is translated as can, i.e. ‘meal, food’: see footnote
17.
16
On this prayer, see Giovanni Stary’s article in the present volume of Shaman.
The Kun-ning-gung Palace in Peking 83

After having closed doors and windows, we are inviting [You], QDUKŗQ!
After having removed the pots’ steam and the oven’s fire, we are inviting
[You], QDUKŗQ!
Having been invited, come down to the throne, QDUKŗQ!
Having been prayed to in the darkness, come down to the table, QDUKŗQ!
1DGDQ'DLKŗQEHLQJHQWLFHGFRPHGRZQQDUKŗQ!
Jorgon Junggi, revealing [yourself], come down, QDUKŗQ!
Escorted by magic bells, get down, QDUKŗQ!
Called by magical bells,17 get down, QDUKŗQ!

The second prayer recites:

je.
irehu je gu-i šongkon.
tusergen dere be tukiyefi solimbi gu-i šongkon.
šufangga šusu be sindafi solimbi gu-i šongkon.
soliha be dahame soorin de wasiki gu-i šongkon.
tuibuhe be dahame. tusergen de wasiki gu-i šongkon.
asha dethe be acinggiyame wasiki gu-i šongkon.
siren siša de sišame wasiki gu-i šongkon.
Je!
Irehu je gu-i šongkon!

After having offered tables, we are inviting You, gu-i šongkon!

After having prepared pure meal [or millet?],18 we are inviting [You],
gu-i šongkon!
Having been invited, come down to the throne, gu-i šongkon!
Having been prayed to in the darkness, come down to the table,
gu-i šongkon!
Moving wings and pinions, come down, gu-i šongkon!
Called by magical bells, come down, gu-i šongkon!

17
Both oron honggon and siren honggon are translated as shenling (‘magic bells’)
in the Chinese version, ch. 1. p. 22a.
18
In the Chinese version šusu is translated now with zi, i.e. ‘[sacrificial] millet’. The
word šufangga meaning ‘pure’ is found in the Chinese version as jie (ch. 1. p. 22a).
84 Tatiana A. Pang

These were thus some of the main rites celebrated in the Kun-ning-gung,
as they have been codified in the Manchu Imperial Ritual. There is no
trace in our source of the rites referred to by Arlington (1935: 48–49):

These shamanic rites were very secret; they took place in the early hours of
the morning between 3 and 4 a.m., and none but Manchus were allowed to
take part in them. They were held on the birthdays of Emperors or Empresses,
as also on the 1st of the 1st Moon. The ceremony was opened by the “Guard-
ian of the Nine Gates” giving the signal for a man to crack a long whip three
times, when the huge drum in front of the T’ai Ho Tien was beaten three
times, the music struck up, and the Emperor ascended his throne. Troops of
men, from sixteen to thirty-two in number, arranged in two rows, then gave
a kind of mimic performance. One such pantomime, called Mi-hu-ma-hu,
referred to a legend, that Nurhachu, the real founder of the Manchu dynasty
(1559–1626), had in his youth destroyed tigers and bears that devoured chil-
dren. Killing the tigers was called mi-hu and killing the bears ma-hu. The
performers, half of them dressed in black sheep-skins and half in bear-skins,
were drawn up in two lines facing each other; each man wore a mask of the
animal he was to represent, and a high hat with feathers. The leader of the
troupe who took the part of Nurhachu, in a high helmet and fantastic costume,
rode on a horse between the lines, firing arrows at the opposing “animals.”
One of these, supposed to be hit, then fell down, and the others ran off, as if
terror-stricken.
Another display was that of Yang Shang Shu (Lamb up a Tree). This, too,
originated with a story about Nurhachu who is said to have hung a lamb on a
tree and waited for a tiger to come, when he shot him with an arrow thus sav-
ing the lamb. A third, curious play was that called Kua Po Chi (Scraping the
Winnowing Fan), also taken from the life of Nurhachu who once met a tiger
in a farmyard and, having no weapon to hand, picked up a winnowing-fan,
scraped it with a stick and thus scared the beast away. Still another ceremony
was that of riding on hobby-horses which were supposed to represent the
Eight Banner Corps. The riders each wore a different costume and a different-
coloured flag stuck at the back of their necks, with stilts on their feet covered
with small bells which set up a jingling, as they pranced about on their hobby-
The Kun-ning-gung Palace in Peking 85

horses and imitated the neighing of their steeds. During these ceremonies the
band played martial airs, and at the end of each play, the performers made
obeisance to the Emperor or Empress.
Finally, some further information on the bureaucratic structure of the
shamanic service in the Kun-ning-gung is to be found in Brunnert and
Hagelstrom (1912: 210).19

. . . The staff of shamanic priestesses of the Court numbers twelve; they are
usually the wives of members of the Imperial Bodyguards. For their services
they receive nothing but the dresses used and they are called, officially, Ssy
Chu, Readers of Prayers. Also, there are: 1. 36 Ssu Tsu Fu Jên, shamanic
Sub-priestesses or Supervisors of Sacrificial Attributes, 2. 37 Ssu Tui Fu Jên,
Supervisors of Powdering of Bark, and 3. 19 Ssu Hsiang Fu Jên, Supervisors
of the Preparation of Incense (for shamanic services); these are wives of the
Palace soldiers and receive from one half a tael to two taels and a bag of rice
per month from the Court.
In 1747 a mass-book for the shamanic service was published (in the Manchu
language) called “Hosei T’okt’opuha Manchu-sai Vechere Medere Cooli Pitho.

A new translation of this work, i.e. our Hesei toktobuba Manjusai

wecere metere kooli bithe, which would take account of A. V. Greben-
shchikov’s commentary, would be a great step toward a better under-
standing of Manchu shamanism in general, and of “court shamanism”
in particular.

References
Arlington L. C. and William Lewisohn [1935] 1987. In Search of Old Peking.
Peking: Henri Vetch. Reprint, Hong Kong, New York and Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Brunnert, H. S. and V. V. Hagelstrom [1912] 1971. Present Day Political Orga-
nization in China. Shanghai: Kelly and Walsh. Reprint, Taipei: Ch’eng Wen
Publishing Company.
De Harlez, Charles 1887. La religion nationale des Tartares orientaux. Mand-
chous et Mongols, comparée à la religion des anciens Chinois. Bruxelles:

19
See also the entry sa-man t’ai-t’ai (Shamaness) in Hucker (1985: 395, note
4827).
86 Tatiana A. Pang

Académie Royale de Belgique.

Du Jiaji 1990. “Cong Qingdai de gong zhong jisi ho tangzi jisi kan saman jiao.”
Manzu yanjiu 1: 45–49.
Fu Yuguang 1988. “Qing gong tangzi jisi biankao.” Shehui kexue zhanxian 4:
204–210, 211.
Hucker, Charles O. 1985. A Dictionary of Official Titles in Imperial China. Stan-
ford, Calif.: Stanford University Press.
,QRXH,FKLL´6KLQFKĿN\ŗWHLVKDPDQN\ĿVKLGHQQLWVXLWHµ,QAsiatic Studies
LQ+RQRXURI7ĿUX+DQHGDRQWKH2FFDVLRQRIKLV6L[WLHWK%LUWKGD\0D\
0&0;/,,.\ĿWR7Ŀ\ĿVKL.HQN\ŗNDL
Ishibashi, Ushio 1934. 3HLSLQQRVKDPDQN\ĿQLWVXLWH7ĿN\Ŀ
-LDQJ ;LDQJVKXQ  ´4LQJ JRQJ VDPDQ MLVL ]KRQJ [LVKHQJ MLSLQ KH JHZX GH
gongxian.” Manzu yanjiu 3: 35–43.
Langlès, Louis 1804a. “Recueil des usages et cérémonies établis pour les
offrandes et les sacrifices des Mantchoux.” Notices et extraits des manuscrits
de la Bibliothèque du Roi . . . VII (An. 12, pt. l). Paris. 241–308.
—. 1804b. Rituel des Tartars-Mantchoux, rédigé par l’ordre de l’Empereur
Kienlong . . . Paris: L’impremerie de la republique.
Pan, Tatiana Aleksandrovna 1991. “Arkhivnye materialy A. V. Grebenshchikova
SRVKDPDQVWYXPDQ FK]KXURYµ,Q;;,,QDXFKQDLDNRQIHUHQWVLLD´2EVKFKHVWYR
i gosudarstvo v Kitae.” Tezisy dokladov. Chast’ 3. Moskva: Nauka.
Stary, Giovanni 1980. “Mandschurische Schamanengebete.” Zentralasiatische
Studien 14(2): 7–28.
—. 1985. “Fundamental Principles of Manchu Poetry.” In Ch’en Chieh-hsien
(ed.) Proceedings of the International Conference on China Border Area
Studies. Taipei: Guo li zheng zhi da xue.
Werner E. T. C. 1961. A Dictionary of Chinese Mythology. New York: The Julian
Press.

PANG TATIANA ALEKSANDROVNA earned a Ph.D. in history, and is currently

Head of the Department of the Far East, Saint Petersburg Branch of the Insti-
tute of Oriental Studies, Russian Academy of Sciences. Her main interests
include the history, culture, religion and literature of the Manchu and Sibe
peoples, the history of Manchu Studies, and missionary work in Manchu
China. She teaches a course entitled Introduction to Manchu Studies at the
Saint Petersburg State University.
VOL. 1. NOS. 1-2. SHAMAN SPRING/AUTUMN 1993/2007

“Praying in the Darkness”: New Texts

for a Little-Known Manchu Shamanic Rite

GIOVANNI STARY VENICE

Tuibumbi is a technical term for special prayers, which are recited at

the end of Manchu shamanic rites, when the lanterns have already been
extinguished. It is, therefore, possible to paraphrase it as “praying in the
darkness.” The origin of this ceremony is still unknown, though some
explanation can be found for it in Manchu folk tales. These prayers are
generally addressed to female divinities, and some examples are already
known from the Manchu dynasty’s “Imperial Shamanic Ritual” Manjusai
wecere metere kooli bithe. In this paper, the author gives a translation
and a critical analysis of some newly discovered tuibumbi-prayers, col-
lected mostly in 1981 in Jilin province, Manchuria.

“Praying in the darkness”—this is how the Manchu verb tuibumbi is

translated based on the explanation given of it in the Manchu dictionar-
ies: yamji wecere wajifi dengjan mukiyebufi. dasame emu jergi baire
be tuibumbi sembi—“to pray again when, in the evening the sacrifices
have come to an end and the lanterns have been extinguished, this is
called ‘tuibumbi’.”1
These special prayers are usually dedicated to the female divinities of the
Manchu pantheon, but—as we shall see—there is no lack of direct invoca-
tion to other spirits and connections with particular constellations.

1
For the etymology see Jurchen t’ui-pèn ‘bitten’ (Grube 1896: 23, Nr. 441, and
101); also tuibun—same meaning (Jin Qicong 1984: 21 and 89). See also ôren
tuibumbi ‘Kleid und Hut des Toten am Grabe verbrennen’ (Hauer 1952–55: 744). Note
that the translation ‘to pray with the lanterns carried on the back’ (literally from the
Chinese correspondent beideng ji) is to be considered wrong. See also the definition
given in Manzu dacidian 1990: 506–507.
88 Giovanni Stary

Fig 1. Dengjan mukiyebufi tuibire durun “Praying in the darknes after having
extingiushed the lanterns” (after Pozzi 1992: 146)

The sources available regarding these rites are few and are limited to
the imperial Aisin Gioro clan; only recently have we seen the addition
of documentation relative to the Šušu Gioro clan.2
Great scientific value is thus attributed to a recent collection of Man-
chu shamanic prayers published in 1992 and containing, along with a

2
For the Aisin Gioro clan see the “Imperial Shamanic Ritual” (bibliographical
references and translation of the most significant prayers in Tatiana A. Pang’s article
in the present volume of Shaman). For the Šušu Gioro clan see Pozzi 1992. Finally,
see Mitamura 1958: 536–550.
“Praying in the Darkness” 89

thorough analysis of the present situation of Manchu shamanism com-

plete with magnificent photographic documentation, also 57 prayers
and invocations in the original language.3 The majority of these were
collected in 1981 in the villages of the province of Jilin, in Manchuria.
The prayers, of various sources, are like the tuibumbi some of them
are very fragmentary and characterized by “local” terms which makes
them very difficult to understand. The Chinese translation which
accompanies all the prayers is of little help because it is almost always
limited to a very concise and approximate paraphrase. Given these
premises, even our translation is sometimes to be considered more
interpretative than literal.
The text of the first prayer, probably recited at the start of the rite,
has been provided by the shaman Gao Qishan belonging to the Guwal-
giya (“Gao”) clan of the White Bordered Manchu Banner, at Wulajie
Manzuxiang Gao tuncun, district of Yongji, province of Jilin, in July
1981. As in the case of many tuibumbi prayers (including those already
known of the imperial clan), it is characterized by a constant refrain at
the end of every verse:

HULQDNŗGRERULQDOXKŗQDOXKŗ
WXFLNHåXQLWXFLQWXKHHULQRKRQDOXKŗQDOXKŗ
eldengge šun-i omilehe [erin?]RKRQDOXKŗQDOXKŗ
PLQJJDQGDXVLKDRLORKRHULQRKRQDOXKŗQDOXKŗ
LQGDKŗQIH\HGHJD\DKDWRPRKRHULQRKRQDOXKŗQDOXKŗ

1LJKWZLWKRXWWLPH²QDOXKŗQDOXKŗ
,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFKWKHULVHQVXQVWDUWVWRVHW²QDOXKŗQDOXKŗ
>,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFK@WKHVKLQLQJVXQKLGHV²QDOXKŗQDOXKŗ
,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFKDWKRXVDQGVWDUVDSSHDU²QDOXKŗQDOXKŗ
It is the hour in which the dog, curled up in [its] den, sleeps
²QDOXKŗQDOXKŗ4

A variant of this opening of the sacrifice, spoken by the same sha-

man, stands out first of all for its different refrain:

3
See Li Shutian, Shi Guangwei and Liu Housheng 1992.
4
Linguistic remarks: tuhe tukehe (Li Shutian et al. 1992: 138); see also tucintuha
in the last prayer. Omilehe (not attested in dictionaries) is translated in Chinese with
yinni ‘to hide oneself’; gayaha hayaha.
90 Giovanni Stary

an tucike šun tukehe erin oho hu jan o. hu jan o.

elden šun-i omilehe erin oho. hu jan o. hu jan o.
minggan da usiha mitalaha erin oho. hu jan o. hu jan o.
LQGDKŗQIH\HGHKD\DKDWRPRKRHULQRKRKXMDQRKXMDQR

It is the hour in which the sun, risen as usual, sets – hu jan o. hu jan o.
It is the hour in which the shining sun hides – hu jan o. hu jan o.
It is the hour in which a thousand stars appear – hu jan o. hu jan o.
It is the hour in which the dog, curled up in [its] den, sleeps – hu jan o.
hu jan o.5

The following text is an invocation addressed to various divinities,

whose names, although they are distorted, can be identified with cer-
tain divinities also invoked in the “Imperial Shamanic Ritual” (as fol-
lows and indicated in brackets):

niyeze-i enduri.
ecu-i ayala
PXOL\DQLPXQDKŗ
QDGDQLQDLKŗ
QDOXKŗHQGXULVHPH
katun-i monggolo
baibu janyan
geren-i enduri
gebu be nike seki.6

Niyeze-i enduri [Niyansi enduri]!

Ecu-i ayala [Ancun Ayara]!
0XOL\DQL0XQDKŗ>0XUL0XULKD"@
1DGDQL1DLKŗ>1DGDQ:HLKXUL"@7
1DOXKŗHQGXUL>"@
Katun-i Monggolo [Katun Noyan]!8

5
Remarks: mitalaha (miltanaha in the last prayer) is not attested in the dictionaries,
but see milarambi ‘sich entfalten’ (Hauer 1952–55: 656).
6
“Nike seki” suggests an association with nikembi ‘to lean [on],’ ‘to depend on’ and
‘to rely on’.
7
Lit. ‘Seven Stars’ i.e. the Big Dipper, Ursa Major.
8
In the Manchu pantheon there are two “Mongolian divinities” (monggo weceku).
“Praying in the Darkness” 91

Baibu Janyan [Baiman Janggin ?]!

We trust in the repute
of all [these] divinities.

The following prayer appears to be the most important one in the

rite and consists of an invitation to the gods to descend to the dark and
vapourless hall. The informant was the shaman Guan Borong of the
Guwalgiya clan, belonging to the Red Bordered Manchu Banner, resi-
dent in Wulajie Manzuxiang Han cuntun, Yongji district, Province of
Jilin. The transcription dates back to the month of July 1981. Published
next to it is a variant recited in the Guwalgiya clan of the previously
mentioned village of Wulajie Manzuxiang Gao cuntun, but transcribed
a hundred years earlier, in 1892.

[1981]
uce fa be ungkufi9.
KŗODQåDQJJL\DQJXNHIL10.
jun de yaha gidafi.
niyalma jilgan gidafi.
dai yaha gidafi.
aisin coko meifen bukdafi.
LQGDKŗQMLOJDQPLNHIL11
ihan morin erin kai.
deyere gasha fekume erin kai.
hayaha weihun erin kai12
feksime gurgu dekhe13 erin kai.
tumen usiha tucike erin kai.
minggan usiha mitaha14 erin kai.

9
ungkufi can be a dialectal variant of ungkefi ‘to turn over’; in Manchu houses the
windows were in fact “drop windows.” (See also ungkulefi in the last prayer).
10
gukefi is not attested in the dictionaries; see the corresponding mukiyefi ‘to extin-
guish’ in the second variant.
11
mikefi is not attested in the dictionaries; see the corresponding mimifi ‘to close’ in
the second variant.
12
This verse is untranslatable with traditional dictionaries, where weihun ‘alive’; we
thus translate according to the Chinese paraphrase mangshe panrao.
13
dekhe tehe, second variant?
14
See note 5.
92 Giovanni Stary

ilan usiha ilaha erin kai.

nadan usiha nariha15 erin kai.
ejeku16 usiha eldeke erin kai.
QDGDQQDUKŗQKL\DQJFLHQGXULEHVROLNL
DKŗQQL\DQFLHQGXULEHVROLNL
KŗODUDEHLVHHQGXULEHVROLNL
nekeliyen sefu enduri be soliki.
daimin gasha enduri be soliki.
hasuri17 hala guwaligiya hala elende18
aha angga seme aljafi.
heheri seme gisurefi.
amba amsun arafi.
hatan nure dobofi.
IDKŗQGHIDOLIL
ufuhu de uliki.19
enduri kesi de.
saman seme wajifi.
siranduhai taciki.
enduri foriha gisun ejeki.
yaruha gisun tebuki.
enduri fafun dahafi.

Doors and windows are closed.

The smoke of the chimney is spent.
The coal in the stove has been extinguished.

15
nariha is not attested in the dictionaries; the Chinese text translates shanshuo ‘to
shine’. In the variant the term nicušaha means ‘to blink’.
16
ejeku ‘secretary’, usiha corresponds in the variant to eriku usiha ‘comet’.
17
hasuri (also hasure) hala, attested in many prayers (see as well as Mitamura 1958 and
Pozzi 1992, also Stary 1983: 119–124) remains up until now an enigmatic term. The only
DWWHPSWWRLQWHUSUHWLWZDVPDGHE\;XH+RQJ LQWKHLQWURGXFWLRQWRWKHManzu saman . . .,
see Li Shutian et al. 1992: 6–7), translating it with mu shizu de xingshi (Family name of
the mother’s clan). However, the term has nothing to do with the Hasuri clan, as stated by
Meyer (1989: 232, note 27).
18
elende (elun in other texts: see Pozzi 1992), can be linked to ele ‘all’. An associa-
tion with elen ‘sufficiency’ does not make sense.
19
According to the Chinese paraphrase these two verses which are difficult to
understand mean pigan lidan, that is ‘to open the heart to someone’.
“Praying in the Darkness” 93

The voice of men is silenced.

The coal has been extinguished.
The golden hens have turned their necks.
The voice of the dogs has quieted.
It is the hour of the bulls and horses.
It is the hour in which the birds jump [on the trees]
[and] the snakes coil up.
It is the hour in which the galloping animals lie down.
It is the hour in which 10,000 stars come up.
It is the hour in which 1,000 stars appear.
It is the hour in which 3 stars come out.
It is the hour in which 7 stars sparkle.
It is the hour in which the comets shine.
:HLQYLWHWKHJRG1DGDQ1DUKŗQ+L\DQJFL
:HLQYLWHWKHJRG$KŗQ1L\DQFL
:HLQYLWHWKHJRG+ŗODUD%HLVH
We invite the god Nekeliyen Sefu.
We invite the god Daimin gasha.
The maternal clan,20 all the Guwalgiya clan,
we slaves have voiced our promise,
we have said it solemnly.
We have prepared much sacrificial food,
we have provided a strong brandy.
We have joined together with [our] liver,
we have offered ourselves with [our] lungs21
for the grace of the gods.
The shaman has reached the end,
one after the other we shall begin [the rites].
We shall note the words indicated by the gods,
we shall preserve the words which will guide us,
we shall follow the laws of the gods.

[1892]
uce fa be ungkefi.
KŗODQåDQJJL\DQPXNL\HIL

20
See note 17.
21
See note 19.
94 Giovanni Stary

jun tuwa yaha gidafi.

niyalma jilgan gidafi.
aisin coko meifen bukdafi.
LQGDKŗQMLOJDQPLPLIL
ihan morin bederehe erin kai.
deyere gasha hayaha erin kai.
feksire gurgu tehe erin kai.
tumen usiha tucike erin kai.
minggan usiha mitaha erin kai.
ilan usiha ilaha erin kai.
nadan usiha nicušaha erin kai.
eriku usiha eldehe erin kai.
QDGDQQDUKŗQKL\DQFXHQGXULEHVROLNL
DKŗQQL\DQVLHQGXULEHVROLNL
KŗODUDEHLVHHQGXULEHVROLNL
nekeliyan sefu enduri be soliki.
GDLPLQLJŗQLQHQGXULEHVROLNL
juwe soorin weceku be soliki.
hebe be acafi.
daimin gasha enduri be soliki.
hasuri hala guwalgiya hala elende.
aha angga seme aljafi.
heheri seme gisurefi.
amba amsun arafi.
hatan nure tebufi.
IDKŗQGHIDOLIL
ufuhu de uliki.
enduri kesi de isifi.
sakda saman sakdafi.
ajige saman taciki.
enduri joriha gisun ejeki.
yaruka gisun
enduri fafun dahaki.
“Praying in the Darkness” 95

Doors and windows are closed.

The smoke of the chimney is spent.
The coal’s fire in the stove has been extinguished.
The voice of men is silenced.
The golden hens have turned their necks.
The voice of the dogs has quieted.
It is the hour in which bulls and horses return [to the stable].
It is the hour in which the birds curl up.
It is the hour in which the galloping animals lie down.
It is the hour in which 10,000 stars come up.
It is the hour in which 1,000 stars appear.
It is the hour in which 3 stars come out.
It is the hour in which 7 stars shine.
It is the hour in which the comets shine.
:HLQYLWHWKHJRG1DGDQ1DUKŗQ+L\DQFX
:HLQYLWHWKHJRG$KŗQ1L\DQVL
:HLQYLWHWKHJRG+ŗODUD%HLVH
We invite the god Nekeliyan Sefu.
:HLQYLWHWKHJRG'DLPLQL*ŗQLQ
We invite the divinities of the two thrones.
After a meeting to consult [with each other].
We invite the god Daimin gasha.
The maternal clan, all the Guwalgiya clan,
we slaves have voiced our promise,
we have said it solemnly.
We have prepared much sacrificial food,
we have distilled a strong brandy.
We have joined together with [our] liver,
we have offered ourselves with [our] lungs
to obtain the grace of the gods.
The old shaman has grown [too] old,
the young shaman will begin [the rites].
We shall note the words indicated by the gods,
we shall preserve the words which will guide us,
we shall follow the laws of the gods.

The following text is an invitation to the gods to descend (ebenju

ebunju) from the heavens and to accept the sacrifice. It was recited in
96 Giovanni Stary

July 1981 by the shaman Yan Zhenkuan, at Wulajiezhen, district of

Yongji, province of Jilin. The text, characterized by the refrain nara ula
which underlines the rhythmicity of it, is very difficult, and for this rea-
son the Chinese editors have only provided a very concise paraphrase.

ai dabe nara ula. erin de ebenju nara ula.

erin eyen nara ula. erin de ebenju nara ula.
he-i webe nara ula. heling de ebenju nara ula.
esei webe nara ula. erin de ebenju nara ula.
he-i webe nara ula. erin de ebenju nara ula.
sain webe nara ula. erin de ebenju nara ula.
ai ai be nara ula. ai ebenju nara ula.
sain erin nara ula. sain ebenju nara ula.
he se webe nara ula. erin de ebenju nara ula.
he-i webe nara ula. he erin de ebenju nara ula.
sain webe nara ula. sain ebenju nara ula.
he-i webe nara ula. helingge ebenju nara ula.
sain webe nara ula. sain ebenju nara ula.
sain webe nara ula. jalingga ebenju nara ula.
sain wasin nara ula. kesi sa ebenju nara ula.

Given the impossibility of translating it literally, the text being based

for the most part on a play on words and vocalics, the following is a
translation of the Chinese paraphrase which will give an idea of the
contents of the invocation:

We respectfully pray to the gods to descend from heaven,

to give to the good [people] the goodness they deserve,
to punish the wicked and to keep evil at bay.
We pray to the gods to grant us their benevolence,
so that our children and grandchildren may enjoy peace and tranquility.
We respectfully pray to the gods to descend from heaven.

The following prayer, this also being characterized in part by incom-

prehensible verses and an opening refrain, was recited in July 1981 by
WKHVKDPDQ;L.XLKDLRIWKH;LFODQEHORQJLQJWRWKH3ODLQ%OXH0DQ-
chu Banner, in the village of Wulajie Manzuxiang Yafucun, district of
Yongji, province of Jilin.
“Praying in the Darkness” 97

QDUDDNŗKXOLDNŗ
fudeme sefu fudeli dei dei.
HLWHQVROLQNXFDQQDUDDNŗKXOLDNŗ
fe biya be fudefi, ice biya be alifi.
inenggi ice de biya bolgonde.
amba amsun be arafi dobore22 de belhefi.
sucungga derede jukteme dobofi.
ayan hiyan be na de dobofi.
juru hiyan be julergi de dobofi.
hatan-i arki be hanci ba de dobofi.
suwayan-i nure be soorin sade dobofi.
soorin jalu dobofi.
sain jalu faidafi.
gingguleme gingnefi.
ujuleme baimbi.
gingneme tubihe sefu urhun amba urhusa.
uyun be alifi.
jukteme sain saliki yabure furgid sain saliki.

1DUDDNŗKXOLDNŗ
All the Sefu – fudeli dei dei
we welcome with reverence.23
We have said farewell to the old month, the new month has begun.
On the first day, in the light of the moon,
we have prepared much sacrificial food, we have prepared it by night.
We offer it [to you] sacrificing it on the main table.
We offer the incense24 laid out on the floor,
we offer the incense25 placed in front.
We offer a strong brandy in a place nearby,
we offer a yellow wine on [your] thrones.
We offer the thrones full [of offerings],

22
dobore dobori.
23
Given the impossibility of translating these two verses literally, the translation of
the Chinese paraphrase is given.
24
ayan hiyan is a type of incense ‘zwei Pflanzen, deren Blätter zu Räucherwerk
verarbeitet werden’ (Hauer 1952–55: 63).
25
juru hiyan is a type of incense which it not mentioned in the dictionaries; the
Chinese text translates it with hanxian ‘Chinese incense’.
98 Giovanni Stary

Fig 2. “How to pray in the darkness” (from the “Genealogical Tables” of the
Guwalgiya clan, published in Liaobinta Manzu jiaji. Shenyang 1991: 74)

we have prepared an abundance of good things.

With reverence we offer them to you,
with respect26 we pray to you.
That the Sefu . . .
after accepting the sacrifice27
may appreciate the good things . . . 28

The following prayer, coming from “a Manchu village of the Guwalgiya

clan at Wulajie, Yongji district in Jilin,” is characterized by the phrase soro
de obofi used, we think, as a refrain. Its literal translation means “already

26
ujuleme ujeleme.
27
For uyun, see Meyer 1989.
28
Only the general meaning of these last three verses can be given.
“Praying in the Darkness” 99

washed with a jujube,” and this is how it is also freely translated in the
Chinese paraphrase (xianhong de shanzao yijing xijing “washed by a red
mountain-jujube”). The meaning, nonetheless, remains enigmatic.

enduri be solifi. soro de obofi.

QDGDQQDUKŗQHQGXUL
narhun hiyangci enduri be solifi. soro de obofi.
DKŗQQL\DQFLHQGXULEHVROLILVRURGHRERIL
KŗODUDEHLVHHQGXULEHVROLILVRURGHRERIL
nekeliyen sefu enduri be solifi. soro de obofi.
GDLPLQLJŗQLQHQGXULEHVRURGHRERIL
enduri be soro de obofi.
juwe soorin weceku enduri be solifi. soro de obofi.
daimin gasha enduri be solifi. soro de obofi.
fe biya be fudefi.
ice biya be alifi.
sain inenggi sonjofi.
saman seme tacifi.
muduri aniya aha bifhe tuwame taciki.
enduri eršeki daifu gala bargiyaki.
iui huwang gala aliki.
enduri kesi de isifi.
hiyan fuwa be aliki.

We have invited the gods – soro de obofi.

:HKDYHLQYLWHGWKHJRG1DGDQ1DUKŗQ>²VRURGHRERIL@
>DQG@WKHJRG1DUKŗQ+L\DQJFL²VRURGHRERIL
:HKDYHLQYLWHGWKHJRG$KŗQ1L\DQFL²VRURGHRERIL
:HKDYHLQYLWHGWKHJRG+ŗODUD%HLVH²VRURGHRERIL
We have invited the god Nekeliyen Sefu – soro de obofi.
:HKDYHLQYLWHGWKHJRG'DLOLQL*ŗQLQ²VRURGHRERIL
[and other] gods – soro de obofi.
We have invited the gods and the divinities of the two thrones – soro de obofi.
We have invited the god Daimin Gasha – soro de obofi.
We have said farewell to the old month,
we have welcomed the new month.
We have chosen an appropriate day.
100 Giovanni Stary

The shaman has begun [the rites].

[I,] the slave [born] in the year of the dragon will begin [the rites] by reading
the texts.
May the gods help us and protect us from the hand of the doctors,
may the hand of Iui Huwang29 support us,
may the gods reach us with [their] benevolence!
They will receive incense and fire.

7KHIROORZLQJSUD\HULVWDNHQIURPDVKDPDQPDQXVFULSWRIWKH;X
clan, dated, it seems, “the 3rd day of the 12th month of the 11th year of
Tongzhi” (1st January, 1873), kept in the Institute of Art in Jilin (Jilin
sheng Yishu yanjiu suo). Coming from the area of Wulajie, district of
Yongji, it contains elements of the first, second and fourth prayers, dif-
fering from them, however, in its long opening refrain.

QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURWXFLNHåXQNDLWXKHNHHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURLODQLXVLKDLODQHOGHKHHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURHULNXXVLKDHOGHPEXKHHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURPLQJJDQXVLKDPLOWDQDKDHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURIHNVLUHJXUJXNDLIHNXUHHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURDLVLQFRNRPDULKDHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURLQGDKŗQLKDQEHWKHVXLODKDHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURGHQJMDQLODEHPXNL\HEXKDHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURPXNGHNHåRQNDLPXNL\HKHHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURQDGDQXVLKDQDGDQHOGHKHHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURWXPHQXVLKDWXFLWXKDHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURHLWHQXVLKDHOGHPEXKHHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURGH\HUHJDVKDNDLGHGXKHHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURPHQJJXQFRNRPHLIHQPDULKDHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURXFHIDEHXQJNXOHKHHULQNDL
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRURPXFHQLVXNGXQGHVDPVLKDHULQNDL
fe aniya be fudefi.
ice aniya be alifi.
niyengniyeri forgon de
bayan mene bolgonde

29
Yuhuang, the greatest divinity of Taoism.
“Praying in the Darkness” 101

inenggi ice de sain inenggi be sonjoft.

amsun be arafi.
duleke aniya de tariha jeku be wekji ara be anafi.
ayan amsun belhefi.
suran be suitafi suwayan amsun belhefi.

1DUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRUR²,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFKWKHULVHQVXQVHWV
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRUR²,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFKWKHVWDUVVKLQH
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRUR²,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFKWKHFRPHWVVKLQH
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRUR²,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFKVWDUVDSSHDU
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRUR²,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFKWKHJDOORSLQJDQLPDOV
retire.
QDUKŗ QDUKŗ KRKRUR KRKRUR ² ,W LV WKH KRXU LQ ZKLFK WKH JROGHQ URRVWHU
returns.
QDUKŗ QDUKŗ KRKRUR KRKRUR ² ,W LV WKH KRXU LQ ZKLFK GRJV DQG EXOOV KDYH
tired legs.
QDUKŗ QDUKŗ KRKRUR KRKRUR ² ,W LV WKH KRXU LQ ZKLFK WKH EUDQFKHG
candle-sticks are spent.
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRUR²,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFKWKHULVHQVXQH[SLUHV
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRUR²,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFKWKHVHYHQVWDUVVKLQH
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRUR²,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFKVWDUVULVH
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRUR²,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFKDOOWKHVWDUVVKLQH
QDUKŗQDUKŗKRKRURKRKRUR²,WLVWKHKRXULQZKLFKWKHELUGVVOHHS
QDUKŗ QDUKŗ KRKRUR KRKRUR ² ,W LV WKH KRXU LQ ZKLFK WKH VLOYHU URRVWHU
turns its neck.
QDUKŗ QDUKŗ KRKRUR KRKRUR ² ,W LV WKH KRXU LQ ZKLFK GRRUV DQG ZLQGRZV
are closed.
QDUKŗ QDUKŗ KRKRUR KRKRUR ² ,W LV WKH KRXU LQ ZKLFK WKH VWHDP RI
the pots disperses.
We have said farewell to the old year,
we have welcomed the new year.
In the spring season,
in its truly rich splendour,
we have chosen the first day as the appropriate day,
we have prepared sacrificial food.
We have separated the grains from the bran of the corn which we sowed
last year,
102 Giovanni Stary

and we have got ready rich sacrificial food.

We have thrown away the [cooking] water and we have prepared yellow
food.30

Finally it should be noted that our source also publishes the text of
a prayer already analyzed by Mitamura Taisuke and contained in a
manuscript which has recently been published in its entirety.31
The origin of the use of “praying in the darkness” is still to be clari-
fied. Only the world of Manchu legends provides us with an explana-
tion based on folklore, connected with the life of Nurhaci, forefather of
the Qing dynasty.
One of these legends32 tells us that Nurhaci, as a child, was kept in the
house of the Chinese commander of Liaoning, Li Chengliang. The lat-
ter discovered one day that Nurhaci had seven moles on his body, a sign
that had always marked the great leaders. Fearing thus for the future of
the Ming dynasty, the Chinese general decided to kill the child. But the
plan was revealed to him by a concubine and Nurhaci escaped with a
hasty flight. The next morning, when the general found out, he accused
his concubine of treachery and killed her while she was still in bed.
As a result of this, Nurhaci promised that the Manchus would honour
her in the future with special sacrifices—and, since the concubine was
naked at the time of her death, he ordered that the sacrifices should
take place in darkness.
In a variant of this tale the concubine fled with Nurhaci, but soon
understood that she would only have been a hindrance during the flight.
She therefore decided to commit suicide during the night, hanging herself
from an old, bent pear tree, waili in Chinese. The following day, Nurhaci,
moved by the unselfish gesture of the concubine of Li Chengliang, decid-
ed he would call her “Lady of the bent pear tree” (Waili Mama), and that
the Manchus should offer sacrifices to her. According to folk legends,
this gave rise to the cult of Fodo Mama,33 this being originally the very

30
Based on the previous description of the preparations, it can be deduced that the
“yellow food” refers to cakes: see the expression suwayan bumbi (offer a yellow cake).
31
See Pozzi 1992: 83–86.
32
For these legends, see Stary 1985.
33
A sacrifice to the “Fodo Mama” has been described by Körner (n.d.) and by Pozzi
 6HHDOVR&KHQJ;XQ DQG 
“Praying in the Darkness” 103

Waili (Wali ~ Wanli) Mama,34 also known to the Chinese as “Zisun

niangniang,”35 protector of the descendants, to whom the Manchus had
“to pray in the darkness”—that is, tuibumbi.

References
&KHQJ;XQ´0DQ]XVXRMLQVKHQ²)XRWXRPDPDVKLKH[XUHQµMinjan
wenxue luntan 3: 32–34.
—. 1986. “Manzu nüshen – Fuotuo mama kaobian.” Shehui kexue zhanxian
4: 327–333.
Grube, Wilhelm 1896. 'LH6SUDFKHXQG6FKULIWGHU-XĀHQLeipzig: O. Harrassowitz.
Hauer, Erich 1952–55. Handwörterbuch der Mandschusprache. 3 vols. Tokyo,
Hamburg and Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.
Jin Qicong 1984. Nüzhen wen cidian. Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe.
Körner, Brunhild. n.d. “Der Ahnenkult der Mandschu Peking.” Baessler-Archiv.
Beiträge zur Völkerkunde N. F. 3: 175–193.
Li Shutian, Shi Guangwei and Liu Housheng 1992. Manzu saman tiaoshen yanjiu.
Jilin wenshi chubanshe.
Liu Mau-tsai 1972. “Der Niang-niang Kult in der Mandschurei.” Oriens Extremus
19: 109–119.
Manzu dacidian. 1990. Shenjang: Liaoning daxüe chubanshe.
Meyer, Iben Raphael 1989. “Zum Terminus uyun jafambi im manjurischen Scha-
manismus.” In Klaus Sagaster (ed.) Religious and Lay Symbolism in the Altaic
World and Other Papers. Asiatische Forschungen Band 105. Wiesbaden: Otto
Harrassowitz. 225–238.
0LWDPXUD7DLVXNH´0DQVKŗVKăPDQLVPQRVDLMLQWRVKXNXVKLµ,QIshihama
6HQVHLNRNLNLQHQ7Ŀ\ĿJDNXURQVĿOsaka. 536–550.
Peng Po. 1985. Manzu. Beijing: Minzu chubanshe.
Pozzi, Alessandra 1992. Manchu-Shamanica Illustrata. Shamanica Manchurica
Collecta. Vol. 3. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.
Stary, Giovanni 1983. “Due preghiere nuziali mancesi di origine sciamanica.”
Annali della Facoltà di Lingue e Letterature Straniere di Ca’ Foscari, serie
orientale 14: 119–124.
—. 1985. “Der Mandschukhan Nurhaci als Held mandschurischer Sagen und
Märchen. Teil I: Orale Volksliteratur in Prosa.” In Walther Heissig (ed.) Fragen
der mongolischen Heldendichtung. Teil III. Asiatische Forschungen Band 91.
Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. 410–455.

34
For Waili Wali Wanli, see Peng Po 1985: 129–131.
35
See Liu Mau-tsai 1972.
104 Giovanni Stary

GIOVANNI STARY Full Professor of Manchu Language and Literature at Uni-

versity of Venice. Ph.D. (1969) in Slavic Languages and Classical Chinese at
the Oriental University, Naples, Italy. Humboldt Fellow (1978–1979) at the
Zentralasiatisches Seminar, University of Bonn, specializing in Central Asian
History (Prof. Walther Heissig) and Manchu (Prof. Walter Fuchs). Editor of
the Central Asiatic Journal, Aetas Manjurica and Shamanica Manchurica
Collecta (Otto Harrassowitz Verlag). Awarded the PIAC Gold Medal (Uni-
versity of Bloomington) in 2006.
VOL. 1. NOS. 1-2. SHAMAN SPRING/AUTUMN 1993/2007

Kamidari as a Key Concept of Okinawan

Shamanism

MARI YOSHINAGA and YUJI SASAKI UNIVERSITY OF TOKYO

Kamidari (divine retribution) occurs predominantly among the shamans

of the Okinawan district during the initiation period. Kamidari includes
a wide range of states: psychosis, various hallucinations, and somatic
complains, which are often the concomitants of daily difficulties such as
economic hardship or conflicts among the family members. The authors
found that the shaman’s personality factor, unfortunate life events and the
environment were all causes of the symptoms of kamidari. The practice of
worship as well as the human relationships surrounding the shaman help
her or him to overcome the dysphoric state of kamidari. Based on these
results, the clinical and cultural aspects of kamidari are discussed from
the viewpoint of social psychiatry.

Introduction
The psychiatric approach to shamanism presents several issues for
solution. From the psychopathological and psychoanalytical viewpoint,
it is not enough to examine the personality and life history of a shaman
who has experienced spirit possession, a trance state or ecstasy.
In this paper, we shall be examining kamidari (divine retribution), a
phenomenon specific to the Okinawan district of Japan. In Okinawa,
the symptom of kamidari is generated in certain settings to signal psy-
cho-social distress. Kamidari is considered to be etiologically linked to
a shamanic call, and to the subsequent process of training for the office.
Examination of the shaman’s presentation of kamidari will illustrate
that the symptom links an individual’s personal experience and the
social institutions of the community in a shamanic cosmology.
106 Mari Yoshinaga and Yuji Sasaki

Description of Kamidari

(1) THE OKINAWAN SHAMANIC BELIEF SYSTEM SURROUNDING KAMIDARI

There are several names for Okinawan religious practitioners: yuta

(who mainly takes charge in family rituals and conducts worship
according to oracles), nuru (who formally conducts the religious rituals
and ceremonies of the village), ugansaa (who conducts brief worship
services for families and individuals), and so on. In this study, we shall
treat all of them as shamans, and call them kaminchu, the Okinawan
general term for them all. We shall assume that they all shared in
the kamidari experience prior to becoming a religious practitioner,
whatever the social function they end up fulfilling in the religious and
ceremonial life of the community. In 1980, the number of shamans
throughout the Okinawa prefecture was estimated to be at least two
hundred (Sasaki 1986: 123).
Okinawan apprentice shamans are often unwilling candidates in
the initiation period. As Lebra (1969: 220) has noted, “Most potential
shamans not only do not aspire to their predestined role but also will
attempt to ignore these signs, even though no escape is possible.” The
“signs” suggesting her (his) destiny to be a shaman commonly com-
mence with strange or unusual occurrences or experiences. The “signs”
sometimes suggest divine retribution for the mistakes in the worship
ceremonies held for the ancestors. “Signs” are recognized to be the
commencement of kamidari. In brief, kamidari means both shirashi
(supernatural notification of the potential shaman’s destiny) and fusoku
(sins of omissions in a ritual). The former meaning is the broad sense,
the latter the narrow sense of the term (Sasaki 1986: 149).
Prior to the discussion, two typical examples of kamidari will be
given. We shall be using the shamans’ assumed names in the case
descriptions.

(2) CASE STUDIES

Case #5: Noriko Yonaha (an assumed name). In 1934, a daughter

named Noriko was born to the family of Yonaha on Palau Island in
the Pacific. She was a remarkable child. As a baby, she always had a
high fever after passing through the old shrine, since she could feel
Kamidari as a Key Concept 107

the vibrations of God in the shrine; she could see through doors and,
showed an ability to predict the future; she was referred to as saadaka
unmari (a high-born spirit) among her relatives and acquaintances.
At the age of 33, Noriko had a dream of an old man with a long white
beard standing among golden flowers; she later realized the old man
was her guardian spirit. It is not clear what actually occurred during this
period, but she considered this visitation as the beginning of her spiritual
life. Thereafter, she acquired a crick in the back, arthritis, headaches and
stomachaches, and had difficulty walking. Going from hospital to hospi-
tal in search of a cure, inevitably she had to take time off from her job.
She could retain only liquids, and could not sit up. She frequently lost
consciousness, and had no recollection of her actions. One day, writhing
in pain, she again met the old man, her guardian spirit. He asked her if
she was determined to serve as a disciple of God. When she answered in
the affirmative without much thinking, a big textbook and a key certify-
ing sacrifice to God were given to her. Her conduct became strikingly
mad, and she entered a state of trance and heartfelt devotion, and experi-
enced the sweetness of transcendental bliss.
Her parents, worried about her long sickness, took her to a number
of shamans, asking why she suffered her strange and severe sickness.
Every shaman they took her to suggested that she was born destined to
lead a spiritual life, that is to say, the life of a shaman. They claimed
that her sickness would be cured after she practiced worship in the
places required to find her guardian spirit, and dedicated herself to
that spirit. Her brother refused to heed the oracles and took her to the
psychiatric hospital. There, God took possession of her body, and she
refused the doctor’s examination. She could remember the happening
exactly, and, speaking after the possession, asserted that she had acted
as an interpreter for God. Recognizing the great power of God, she
gave up resisting the shamanic call and decided to dedicate herself to
the worship of God without any medication.
Confirmed by the voice of God encouraging her to establish herself as
a shaman, she was able to ignore her family’s opposition. She now engag-
es in regular worship every weekend with other apprentice shamans, and
herself functions as an oracle, showing the suffering the way to a cure.

Case #9: Hisa Tamashiro (an assumed name). In her youth, she often
had supernatural experiences, like an encounter with a beautiful ship
108 Mari Yoshinaga and Yuji Sasaki

filled with the Seven Deities of Good Fortune, or a flight to the Milky
Way. She, too, was called saadaka unmari by the people around her.
She got married and had two sons. She was filled with despair when
a doctor informed her that both of her children were so frail that they
would not live very long. She prayed sincerely for help, until each of
her children got over their critical phase of growth. Hardly had she
tided over this first trial, when her husband got a cerebral tumor. After
seven operations, he died leaving her and the two children behind. To
make matters worse, her business venture failed entirely. In the depth
of misfortune, she had a vision of a pile of paper money and of one of
her children lying on the leaf of a Japanese banana plant before her,
and heard voices asking her which one she would choose. According to
her later interpretation, God was ordering her to pray for help without
regard to the cost.
After that, she took the office of shaman, and has been flourishing
ever since.

(3) SYMPTOM PRESENTATION IN KAMIDARI

In interviews with sixteen shamans, data concerning their kamidari

experience was collected. Table 1 shows the vital statistics of 16 sha-
mans. From the point of view of modern psychiatry, the representative
symptoms in kamidari can be divided into psychiatric ones and physi-
cal ones as indicated in Table 2.

(a) Psychiatric symptoms. Our informant shamans frequently com-

plained that they had suffered from various voices of someone like their
guardian spirit ordering them to do things or otherwise restricting their
daily activities. Shamans recounted having come across unusual enti-
ties like the dead, their ancestors, and unknown figures asking them for
favors. These dream-like sensations and waking visions can be classified
as hallucinations. Clinically, such symptoms correspond to hallucina-
tions and hypnagogic experience, as well as to pseudo-hallucinations.
The contents of the hallucination have fragments relating to both
traditional Okinawan myths and to modern-day personal predicaments.
The shaman, we noted, is convinced by the messages conveyed in these
“hallucinations,” and reconstructs the whole of her life in their light.
Table 1.
Vital statistics of 16 shamans

Age at
No. Sex Age Role Residence Birth place Marital status
taking office

1 female 65 yuta Ginowan Miyako married 54

2 male 67 yuta Itoman Miyako married 32
3 female 61 yuta Itoman Itoman widowed 44
Kamidari as a Key Concept

4 female 69 yuta Naha Miyako married 50

5 female 57 yuta Nishihara Palau divorced 36
6 female 66 yuta Motobu Motobu married 41
7 female 65 yuta Naha Nakagusuku married 42
8 male 67 yuta Naha Naha unmarried 37
9 female 56 yuta Naha Naha widowed 26
10 female 55 yuta Naha Naha married 32
11 female 71 yuta Tomigusuku Naha married 42
12 male 70 yuta Aguni Aguni married 40
13 female 68 nuru Aguni Aguni married 40
14 female 70 nuru Aguni Aguni married 40
15 female 77 ugansaa Aguni Aguni widowed 60
16 female 53 ugansaa Aguni Aguni remarried unknown
109
110 Mari Yoshinaga and Yuji Sasaki

Table 2.
Percentage of shamans presenting a particular symptom in kamidari

Symptoms %

psychiatric symptoms
hallucination (visual, auditory) 81
possession 44
delusion of being influenced by electric waves 38
syncope 25

physical symptoms
feeling some specific pain 63
feeling badly allover 50
lack of appetite 19
dyspnea 13
insomnia 6
palpitations 6
slight fever 6
uterine bleeding 6
deafness 6
injury 6

Spontaneously, fears rooted in her unstable psychological, economic, or

family situation are often reflected in these hallucinations.
Another major psychiatric symptom that appears in kamidari is the
phenomenon of “possession.” Most of them are “spontaneous dual-
personality possessions, in which the subject is controlled by another
personality but retains consciousness” (Nishimura 1987: 560). Possession
phenomena occur at the climax of kamidari, when the sufferings of the
shaman and the conflicts around her peak. In these extreme situations,
the power of the God possessing her and depriving her of consciousness
comes to be recognized as the greatest power, and she surrenders to it.
Male family members, such as husbands and fathers who have opposed
her establishment as a shaman, mostly change their minds after the great
Kamidari as a Key Concept 111

power possesses her. Conflicts both internal and external are resolved
through the experience of possession in many cases. Yoshino (1978: 166)
has reported a case of invocation psychosis, pointing out that possession
symptoms helped to solve the shaman’s conflicts.
As indicated in the case studies, psychiatric symptoms which start
with visual and auditory hallucinations result in the appearance of
unusual bodily experiences such as possession or syncope.

(b) Physical symptoms. It is important to note that kamidari may apply

to physical as well as to psychiatric symptoms. Among the physical
effects associated with the condition are problems of feeling bad all
over, or feeling some specific pain. Such persons always take a lot
of medication and visit a number of doctors only to find their condi-
tion unchanged. Corresponding evidence indicates that the cases who
emphasize physical symptoms tend subsequently to engage in public
religious functions in the community rather than engage in “individual
tension management” (Yuji Sasaki 1967: 444).
The term kamidari is utilized to encompass a wide range of troubling
states or conditions, in keeping with Kiev’s (1981) definition of cul-
ture-bound syndromes as a disability extending from severe functional
psychosis to various symptoms of neurosis. Nosologically, it bears a
similarity to shinbyong of the mudang described in Korea (Lee 1989:
40; Yuji Sasaki 1989: 26).

The Various Causes of Kamidari

(1) SYMPTOMATOLOGY AND PERSONALITY FACTOR

As previous studies have indicated (Sakurai 1988: 329; Koukan Sasaki

1984: 227) almost all of Okinawan shamans claim in their youth to
have been called saadaka unmari (the person having a sacred disposi-
tion by nature). They had transcendental experiences which people
around them had never had. As seen in cases #5 and #9, the shamans
“saw” God and/or spirits, and heard their voices since their very youth.
They also remembered that their parents and relatives were always
worried about their being so frail.
112 Mari Yoshinaga and Yuji Sasaki

Typically of a saadaka unmari, the shaman “would enter easily

into trance states by minor autosuggestion” (Yuji Sasaki 1969: 237),
and have considerable experience of the supernatural from childhood.
Our informant shamans all experienced kamidari, and subsequently
spontaneously acquired the ability to self-induce an alteration of their
state of consciousness (spontaneous type). Yuji Sasaki (1967: 437) has
already pointed out that the spontaneous type enters trance states more
easily than the shugyo (ascetic type), who can go into trance only after
conscious effort and physical and mental asceticism.

(2) SYMPTOMATOLOGY AND LIFE EVENTS

The other factor frequently mentioned by shamans in addition to

saadaka unmari is undergoing various sufferings which Lebra has
summed up as “long records of discord in interpersonal relations,”
“sexual incompatibility” in marital relations, “divorce, and bickering
with spouses and in-laws” (Lebra 1969: 219). In general, such misfor-
tune is considered as a sign of their being destined to be a shaman.
They are called shirashi and are shown in Table 3.
From the recurrence of these factors in the shamans’ life histories,
we can conclude the following: at birth, they are so vulnerable that they
are strongly affected mentally; the hardships functioned as a trigger to
develop their disposition to altered states of consciousness.
A shaman is a person who has difficulty adopting appropriate behav-
ior and in adhering to cultural norms. As a result they are obliged to
endure a great many personal disappointments without catharsis. It is
the severity of their lives which triggers a line of personality develop-
ment conducive to their falling into altered states of consciousness.

(3) SYMPTOMATOLOGY AND COMMUNITY FACTORS

In the environment conspicuously nurturing of shamans, there seems to

exist a kind of “insanity-induced communication.” This unique form of
communication is based on psychotic association and mutually influ-
ential and persuasive relationships.
Sasaki and Takaishi (1979: 1047) have described the typical case of
kamidari on an isolated island of Okinawa which the authors present as
an example of “psychosis of association” (folie à deux). They pointed
Kamidari as a Key Concept 113

Table 3.
Problems predestining for shamanic activity

Problem Number of shamans with

complaint

incapable of working 6
incapable of going out 6
being treated as a madman 5
incapable of doing housework 4
family member ill 4
economic difficulties 4
family member died 3
in and out of hospitals 3
sexual rejection 2
conflicts with spouse 2
conflicts with family member 2
separation from husband (divorce) 2
(war) 1
interrupted education 1
financial laxity 1
taciturnity 1

out the nature of the mechanism from the point of view of clinical
and social psychiatry: in the same way as kamidari as the beginning
of shamanic initiation can spread to the persons around the candidate
shaman, a shamanic experience of the transcendent will also be shared
by the people near by.
Succeeding to the shamanic role within the family is another com-
munity factor seen in some cases. We could find at least four cases of
shamans (case #1, #9, #13, and #14) where near relatives took office as
a shaman. For instance, in case #1, both her grandmother and mother
were yuta; while case #9 has two sisters who are yuta. It is very inter-
esting to know that case #13 had an aunt who was a very famous and
respected shaman, a nuru, and in the next generation, her daughter took
114 Mari Yoshinaga and Yuji Sasaki

a prosperous office as a shaman, a yuta in Naha city. When she started

functioning as a shaman, she learned all the necessary things from her
aunt and became a helpful shaman on the island, while now she often
visits her daughter to consult her about some recent misfortune in order
to be able to better conduct her daily affairs.
In the light of this element of heritage in the shamanic role, the effect
of imitation, which Wada (1964: 263) indicated to be a factor induc-
ing imu among the Ainu, must not be ruled out in cases of kamidari.
Another possible factor might be the inheritance of the shamanic dis-
position, something that is passed down from mothers to daughters.
We would need to collect many more shaman family histories before
committing ourselves on this score.

Treatment of Kamidari

(1) THE PRACTICES EMPLOYED IN THE PROCESS OF OVERCOMING

KAMIDARI

(a) Frequent visits to other established shamans. In general, the Oki-

nawan shaman’s major religious functions are to offer hanji (oracles)
for the benefit of the client, and to worship with clients as dictated by
prior oracles. In the kamidari phase, a potential shaman will make
repeated and frequent visits to various shamans both near and far. She
seeks her guardian spirit’s historical identity in order to offer appropri-
ate worship. The successive visits are called shijitadashi, and continue
for some time. It is important that the elder shaman’s oracles fit the
communications of the voices or dreams of the potential shaman’s tran-
scendent kamidari experiences (the process is called chijiawase).

(b) Pilgrimages to sacred places for worship. When a potential shaman

has found her guardian spirit to worship in order to escape from kami-
dari, or when she is instructed of the necessity of worship by a senior
shaman, she makes visits to worship at sacred places that are located
all around Okinawa. The worships are called ogami. In ogami, she
makes a promise to dedicate herself to her own guardian spirit. Ogami
varies from a short and single act of worship at a nearby place to long
and complicated journeys of three to seven days. Table 4 shows the
Table 4.
Journey of worship on Aguni Island

No. Place Move Prepare Worship Settle Others Total (min.)

1 home of the head of the family 15 12 16 7 15 65

2 home of a branch of the family 5 7 5 3 5 25
3 home of the parents 5 7 13 5 0 30
Kamidari as a Key Concept

4 site of an old shrine 0 15 26 4 6 51

5 site of an old village 0 10 4 6 10 30
6 old village grave, named uheji 15 22 23 5 0 65
7 grave of ancestors 0 5 4 5 1 15
8 old grave of the head of the family 18 10 10 5 2 45
9 God’s grave, named yahijaa 32 18 16 9 0 75
10 grave of an ancestor 10 1 31 6 7 55
11 present grave of the head the family 43 16 21 5 7 92
total 143 123 169 60 53 548
115
116 Mari Yoshinaga and Yuji Sasaki

time allocation and specifics of certain ogami which took place on the
second day of a 3-day ogami held on Aguni island and was observed
in its entirety by one of the authors, who accompanied a shaman and
her client’s family. From the data we know that ogami involving a few
days’ journey can be divided into several short ogami, each of which
has its own script of special worship.
Another point concerning ogami is its dual structure: at the time of
worship, there is an air of catatonia about the participants, especially
the shaman conducting the worship; while at the times of movement,
preparation and settling, all of them enjoy the moment of release and
relaxation. It seems that the coexistence of the tonic and the atonic in a
journey of ogami contributes to the treatment of kamidari.

(2) THE SHAMAN–CLIENT RELATIONSHIP AND THE LOCAL

TRADITIONAL BELIEF SYSTEM

Through hanji and ogami, an intimate relationship with the senior sha-
mans and colleagues is established, and the process leading to the cure
of kamidari is set in motion. A suffering potential shaman gains new
ways of conceptualizing and can now convert the negative aspects of
her life to positive ones. The traditional cultural belief system comes to
be reevaluated. She also learns to make use of weak points like her frail
physique or unfortunate family circumstances to let people believe in
her notably mystic and spiritual talents, all with a view to setting up as
a prosperous shaman with a lot of clients. A potential shaman can real-
ize a rise in social status for herself and her family, with extra income
from her shamanic work.
The following factors listed by Prince (1989: 13) apply as “exog-
enous” factors of healing in the process of overcoming kamidari: “the
healer’s culturally ascribed extraordinary powers; the healer’s labeling
of the illness, designation of its cause, and selection of therapeutic
measures based upon these; the patients’ expectancy and hope; and of
course, the overriding effect of suggestion.”
It must be noted that the essence of the process of overcoming kami-
dari consists of the repetition of hanji and ogami, and that the estab-
lished shaman uses similar methods with her clients as was employed
in her own “overcoming” process. The potential shaman visiting a
senior shaman regards her as a model, a person who has already recov-
ered from kamidari.
Kamidari as a Key Concept 117

(3) NUTRITION

Hanji and ogami are a from of ascetic training, and have been shown to
involve the intensification of both physical and mental activity. To bor-
row Prince’s (1974: 315, 1976: 115, 1989: 13) term, the “endogenous”
factors clearly play apart. Our knowledge of the biological etiology of
culture-bound syndromes suggests that we focus also on the physical
changes that occur in the process of overcoming kamidari. Nutri-
tion (Landy 1985: 173) has been shown to influence psycho-physical
responses in the case of various culture-bound syndromes. Takiguchi
(1986: 127) has found that most shamans have irregular eating habits
during kamidari. Among our informant shamans, we can find three

Table 5.
Dreams and dream-like experiences in kamidari of Case #3

(1) Scene of an ancient funeral.

(2) She was spirited into a hall in which the floor sud-
denly opened.
(3) A handsome man stood at her bedside, and she
watched her husband diminish to 10 cm in size.
(4) She was about to fall into a deep gorge in a rapid river,
when a man with the very dominant smell of hair oil
appeared to save her.
(5) In a dream she was dropped into strong coal tar and
emerged again.
(6) A man dressed in black kimono and a suit of armor gave
her a pile of bills, told her to do worship with the money
and shook her hand before leaving.
(7) When she was in bed at night, a black man came to her
and possessed her leg so that she could not stand up in
the next morning.
(8) An old man with a white beard dressed in white
clothes tweaked her ear and spoke the name of her
guardian spirit.
(9) Somebody let her ride in a black car and brought her
to the sacred place for worship.
(10) The spirit of someone dead for a short time asked her to
pray for his soul.
118 Mari Yoshinaga and Yuji Sasaki

(19% of all) who have no appetite and probably suffer from insufficient
nutrition (see Table 2). Kamidari might possibly have something to do
with the subjects’ nutritional state.

(4) TRANSCENDENT FUNCTION

The gradual changes in their mind and body are reflected in the
contents of their transcendent experiences. In Table 5, a number of
episodes of kamidari experiences of case #3 are shown for reference.
A “man” and a “God” with a “black” shadow are the expression of her
anxiety in connection with various human relationships. The “reward
from God” or the “present of a pile of money” can be interpreted as the
projection of economic worries, for it involves quite a vast expenditure
to worship with shamans or to receive oracles from them.
Although attention has been called to its abuses (Littlewood 1989:
5), the psychoanalytical approach has proved fruitful in the research of
shamanic phenomena. The shaman is manipulated by the contents of
her dreams and supernatural experiences, while her anxiety and suffer-
ings are given symbolic expression, in keeping with Jung’s theory of the
“transcendent function” of dreams and dream-like experiences. In the
end, the shaman is confirmed in her role by God, and is told how to con-
duct her shamanic work by her guardian spirit in delightful dreams.
Summing up, the essence of overcoming the process of kamidari
is repeated hanji and ogami. The tonic and an atonic contrast can be
observed by turns in the course of hanji and ogami, which enables the
apprentice shaman to receive effective training in their psycho-physi-
cal usefulness. The process of overcoming kamidari varies with each
shaman, but almost all shamans share the experience of the effective
rituals specific to Okinawan shamanism. The process has several fac-
tors in common with the rituals of other faith-healing systems.

References
Kiev, Ari 1981. Magic, Faith and Healing. N.Y.: The Free Press.
Landy, David 1985. “Pibloktoq (Hysteria) and Inuit Nutrition.” Social Science
and Medicine 21(2): 173–185.
Lebra, William 1969. “Shamanism and Client in Okinawa.” In William Caudill
and Tsung-yi Lin (eds.) Mental Health Research in Asia and the Pacific. Hono-
lulu: East-West Center Press.
Kamidari as a Key Concept 119

Lee, Bou-Yong 1989. “Psychotherapeutic Aspects of Shamanism with Special

Reference to Korean Mudang.” Mental Health Research 8. Seoul: The Mental
Health Institute, Hangyang University.
Littlewood, Roland 1989. “Science, Shamanism and Hermeneutics.” Anthropol-
ogy Today 5: 5–11.
Nishimura, Kou 1987. “Shamanism and Medical Cures.” Current Anthropology
28(4): 59–64.
Prince, Raymond 1974. “The Problem of Spirit Possession as a Treatment for
Psychiatric Disorder.” Ethos 2: 315–333.
—. 1976. “Psychotherapy as the Manipulation of Endogenous Healing
Mechanisms.” Transcultural Psychiatry Review 13: 115–133.
—. 1989. “Altered States of Consciousness in Religious Ritual.” Mental Health
Research 8. Seoul: The Mental Health Institute, Hangyang University.
Sakurai, Tokutarou 1988. 1LKRQ VKDPDQLVP QR NHQN\ŗ [The study of Japanese
shamanism]. Tokyo: Yoshikawa-koubun-kan.
Sasaki, Koukan 1984. Shamanism no jinruigaku [The anthropology of shaman-
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shamanism in Japan]. Psychiatria et Neurologia Japonica 69: 429–474.
—. 1969. “Psychiatric Study of the Shamanism in Japan.” In William Caudill
and Tsung-yi Lin (eds.) Mental Health Research in Asia and the Pacific.
Honolulu: East-West Center Press.
—. 1986. “Okinawa no yuta no genkyo [The general feature of recent Okinawan
yuta].” Shukyo kara seishin eisei he [From religion to mental health]. Tokyo:
Kongo Shuppan.
—. 1989. “Shamanism and Community Mental Health.” Mental Health
Research 8. Seoul: The Mental Health Institute, Hangyang University.
Sasaki, Yuji and Toshihiro Takaishi 1979. “Okinawa ni okeru kamidari.” [Intro-
duction to the religious fanatics in Okinawa]. Japanese Journal of Clinical
Psychiatry 8: 1047–1052.
Takiguchi, Naoko 1986. “Shaaman no chiyu taiken” [Therapeutic experiences
of Miyako shamans]. Kokusai kirisuto kyou daigaku shakaikagaku 24(2):
127–153.
Wada Kan 1964. “Imu ni kansuru jakkan no mondai” [Some problems on “imu”].
Japanese Journal of Ethnology 29(3): 263–271.
Yoshino, Masahiro 1978. “Kannousei seishinbyou to kitousei seishinbyou” [Folie
à deux and invocation psychosis]. In Katsumi Kaketa (ed.) Gendai seishin
igaku taikei 6. Tokyo: Nakayama-shoten.
120 Mari Yoshinaga and Yuji Sasaki

MARI YOSHINAGA took her PhD. in Health Science at University of Tokyo in

1995. She is now in the department of Architecture, in Kokushikan Univer-
sity, to teach and research human-environment interaction from the viewpoint
of psychology and is currently specializing in the field of community plan-
ning and children’s action research program. Her other main research interest
is a support system for the various community members and students, and she
is working on a book on pregnancy and childbearing of spinal cord injured
women. She is starting her new activity at another university from this spring,
Showa Pharmaceutical University, in suburbs of Tokyo, to establish a center
for education and coordination for the university–community cooperation.

YUJI SASAKI is a psychiatrist. He is specializing in the field of Community

Mental Health and Shamanism. He completed a M. D. degree program at Uni-
versity of Tokyo in 1957. He is the author of “Psychiatric study of shamanism
in Japan” in Mental Health Research in Asia and the Pacific (eds. William
Caudill and Tsung-yi Lin) by East-West Center Press, Honolulu, 1969. He was
a Professor of Mental Health at Ryukyu University and University of Tokyo
and is currently an honored professor of Dokkyo University, Saitama, Japan,
and a doctor of health care center in Nihon Keizai Shimbun, Inc. (Nikkei).
VOL. 1. NOS. 1-2. SHAMAN SPRING/AUTUMN 1993/2007

Shamanism and the Politics of Culture:

An Anthropological View of the 1992 International
Conference on Shamanism, Yakutsk, the Sakha Republic

MARJORIE MANDELSTAM BALZER GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY

In Fall, 1992, after I had returned to Washington D.C. from the dra-
matic, stimulating and educational conference on shamanism in the Sakha
Republic (Yakutia), I heard a rumor that people in Moscow were discuss-
ing the conference as “an attempt to make shamanism the state religion of
Yakutia.” I reasoned they were joking, but when I heard an American col-
league seriously repeat this formula at a public forum, I realized the joke
had gone too far. The full title of the conference was “Shamanism as Reli-
gion: Genesis, Reconstruction, Tradition,” but this is no reason to attribute
to conference organizers a desire to create a new state religion. Rather, the
conference represented, in its timing, politics and symbolism, a complex
effort to accord aspects of traditional Sakha culture greater credibility.
This essay is an attempt to interpret the shamanism conference in the
light of a strong ethnic and spiritual revival in Yakutia. These building
blocks of a growing Sakha national pride (nationalism) need not and
should not be seen as stimulating national chauvinism. Before dissecting
the issue of the shamanism–nationalism interrelationship, it is important
to explore some of the substantive contributions of Sakha scholars to the
conference, plus the creative contributions of Sakha cultural leaders to
its parallel rituals, exhibits, films and concerts. Discussion concerning
curers, curing, religion and the politics of culture can then continue.1

1
I do not pretend to review the whole range of conference scholarship here. My
views are those of an interested outsider with field experience in Yakutia in 1986, 1991,
1992 and 1993, sponsored predominantly by International Research and Exchanges
Board. I am grateful to my friends and colleagues in the republic, particularly the orga-
QL]HUVRIWKH&RQIHUHQFHRQ6KDPDQLVP$ɩ]D35HVKHWQLNRYD$QDWROLɩ,*RJROHY
(NDWHULQD5RPDQRYD3ODWRQ6OHSWVRYP\KRVWV=LQDɩGDDQG9RORGLD,YDQRY8QDURY
and Ivan E. Alekseev for help with terminology and concepts.
122 Review Article

Sakha Interpretations of Shamanism

$QGUHɩ 6 %RULVRY 0LQLVWHU RI &XOWXUH RI WKH 6DNKD 5HSXEOLF ZHO-
comed the conference over-flow crowd in the Academy of Sciences
auditorium with the statement that he hoped both shamanism and its
study could move onto a plane of focus on “White”—pure, sacred and
benevolent priestly shamanism—away from its dark and debilitating
history of emphasis on Black and then Red shamanism. Both the word
SOD\DQGWKHVHQWLPHQWZHUHW\SLFDOIRU$QGUHɩ%RULVRYZKRKDVEHHQ
a consistent cultural leader of the Sakha in his roles as theater director,
and head of the cultural-political movement Sakha Omuk, the Sakha
People.2 He was building metaphorically on the symbolism that had
led us into the academy, for the conference began outside in Friend-
ship Square, with a series of Sakha rituals cameoing some of the rites
associated with the most sacred of Sakha holidays, the ïhïakh festival,
held annually in June.3
Welcoming rituals included chanted prayers, called algïs, sung by a
GHHSYRLFHG6DNKDEDUG 1LNRODɩ3HWURYOLQJXLVWDQGSRSXODUIRONORUH
propagandist) dressed in the appliqued and fur-trimmed clothing of a
traditional epic singer. His prayers were sung to the fire spirit, as he
poured kumïs (fermented mare’s milk) onto a leaping bonfire. Several
others, including guests from Yamal, Buriatia, and Kirghizstan, were
also asked to participate, showing Siberian and Turkic solidarity. Out-
siders, guests in various degrees, then were drawn into participation
with Sakha residents from all over the republic by a mass distribution
of colored and patterned ribbons, representing offerings of benevolent
wishes. We tied the ribbons on a long string held in arcs by tradition-
ally dressed young dancers, who encircled the crowd and symboli-
cally unified us. Many then joined in the stately Sakha circular line
dance ohuokhay, during which the leader of the dance sings a line of
poetry and the rest of the dancers chant it back, allowing the leader
to improvise the next lines. While these dances sometimes go on for
hours, indeed for days of trance-like mesmerization, ours was merely a
small taste of the power and aesthetic beauty of ohuokhay poetry and

2
)RUPRUHRQ$QGUHɩ%RULVRYDQGRQWKHJURXSSakha Omuk, see Balzer 1993a,
1993b. His reference to Black and Red shamanism stems especially from the Sakha
IRONORULVWUHYROXWLRQDU\3$2ɩXQVNLɩZKRLVGLVFXVVHGEHORZ
3
Cf. Gogolev 1992a.
Review Article 123

rhythm. The poetry was about hopes for success of the conference, as
well as the loveliness of Sakha lands and spirits. Soon we filed into the
academy building, with each person, while passing under an entrance
arbor, given a purification by smoking larch branch. Much of this was
for show, to give visitors an almost tourist-like inkling of Sakha cul-
ture, but the mini-ïhïakh also had a more serious purpose for some of
the Sakha—those who had taken to heart warnings by folk curers that
“spirits need to be appeased when this many ‘extrasenses,’ shamans,
and guests come to one gathering place.”
The conference became intellectually substantive quite quickly,
with a review of shamanism literature and conceptions by ethnog-
UDSKHU $QDWROLɩ , *RJROHY 3URIHVVRU <DNXWVN 8QLYHUVLW\  KHDG RI
the conference “scientific organizing committee.” He had revised
his originally planned statements the night before, partly in response
to debates begun at a “round table” (mass public forum held in the
Cosmophysics Institute) the previous day. Explaining that increased
interest in shamanism was related to people’s striving for both cures
and self-realization, he then discussed the literary–academic heritage
of Siberian shamanism, including seventeenth century writers. He
gave mixed reviews to later (Russian) scholars like G. P. Snesarev, S.
$ 7RNDUHY $ $ 9LWDVKHYVNLɩ DQG 9 ) 7URVKFKDQVNLɩ QRWLQJ WKDW
HVSHFLDOO\ 7URVKFKDQVNLɩ VWUHVVHG VKDPDQLVP DV ´EODFN >UHDG HYLO
anti-Christian] faith.” But now, he observed, shamanism is being tied
to ideas of psychotherapy, telepathy, and understandings of “biopol,”
bioenergy fields. And the figure of the shaman is being rethought, as a
person, and as part of society: sensitive, unusual, but not psychotic or
evil, or not necessarily evil and exploitative. “Nonetheless, the Sakha,
indeed Turkic-Mongolian, shaman should be seen in historical context
. . . tied to early forms of religion, or cults, but not the same as a priest
(sviashchennik) or high priest (zhretz).”
$QDWROLɩ,*RJROHY·VDQDO\VLVUHSUHVHQWHGDEDODQFHDPRQJYDULRXV
views, for example Vladimir N. Basilov’s urging that we see shamanism
in highly specific cultural-historical contexts and my attempt to show
commonalities in Native American and Siberian spiritual and curing
cultures, when seen through the statements of curers themselves. Even
more, he was implicitly reconciling the claims of his Sakha colleagues
$QDWROLɩ1RYLNRY FI ZKRVHHVVKDPDQLVPDVD´FXOWXURORJLFDOµ
124 Review Article

UDWKHUWKDQUHOLJLRXVSKHQRPHQRQDQG1LNRODɩ$OHNVHHY  ZKR

stresses the “white,” “priestly,” roots of Turkic, Sakha shamanism.4
The split between those who study general, cross-cultural issues of
shamanism and those who focus on specific aspects of shamanic per-
sonality and curing was formalized in a pragmatic division between
two halls. This meant that many of the papers read by Sakha scholars
were delivered in the republic library, where focus was on the “person”
(lichnost' ) of the shaman. Papers by international scholars were read
in the main auditorium, with simultaneous translation facilities. It was
delightfully ironic that some of the Sakha translators were former
Communists, who even a few years ago righteously refused to discuss
shamanism in positive terms.
Sakha academic presentations on their own culture can be roughly
divided into: (a) those that shed light on historical dimensions of sha-
manism, including pre- and post-Russian contact history and Soviet
repression; and (b) those that illustrate the richness and complexity of
shamanic symbolism, ritual, thought, and cosmology. For all the Sakha
presenters, an important subtext was the presence in the audience of
the cultural elite of the republic—especially well known writers and
scientists, many of whom were on vacation, but had come into town
from their dachas specially for the August conference.
Some of the most controversial questions for Sakha scholars and
amateur historians concern their distant past and their “ultimate” roots.
The quest for this has led researchers to Turkic sources (Gogolev 1986),
Siberian native sources (Nikolaev, penname Somogotto 1989), and
Indo-Iranian sources (Fefelova 1990). It was not surprising, therefore,
to see these debates carried on through the medium of shamanism.
The cultural enthusiast K. D. Utkin, director of the Khomus (Jaw Harp)
Music Center, choreographer of recent ïhïakh festivals, gave a popular,
prevailing over-view of “sources of Yakut shamanism” by stressing its
links to “Turkic-Mongolian” steppe culture, developed in the “epic of

4
See also Gogolev (1992a, b, c, d). In their jointly published abstract, conference
RUJDQL]HUV $QDWROLɩ *RJROHY DQG $ɩ]D 5HVKHWQLNRYD FRQFOXGH ´LW LV LPSRVVLEOH WR
understand shamanic ideology without incorporating a whole complex of traditional
beliefs, without using its mythological system. Thus shamanism, it seems, appears and
grows within a religious environment, is tied to many religions, and has correlations to
their pantheons and ritual forms.” Unless otherwise mentioned, quotes in this section
are translated excerpts from published conference abstracts (Gogolev et al. 1992).
Review Article 125

metal with the growth of cattle-breeding.” Its world view, speculated

Utkin, was formed out of “udagan culture,” female shamanic predomi-
nance. More nuanced was the position on religious syncretism of F. F.
9DVLO HY ZKR HODERUDWHG WKUHH PDLQ EUDQFKHV RI LQWHUPLQJOLQJ LQIOX-
ences, “Ugrian-Samoyed,” “Manchu-Tungus” and “Turkic-Mongolian.”
Z. F. Semenova had a more concrete approach: the interpretation of
cliff art from Ämigättääkh Khaya, originally found by archaeologist
A. P. Okladnikov and dated to the eighteenth century. She sees a figure
posed in a worshipful position with uplifted hands and head crowned
by a three-pronged antler as a female deity, linking the Sakha goddess
of fertility, Ayïïhït, with the ancient Turkic goddess Umay.5
Several scholars approached the issue of historical roots through lin-
JXLVWLFV9(9DVLO HYIRULQVWDQFHORJLFDOO\VHHVWKHURRWRIEHQHYR-
lent Sakha god-spirits called ayïï in Turkic words for ‘mother’ (e.g.
Uzbek aya or oyi ,X,9DVLO HYDQG*93RSRYWUDFHWKHHW\PRORJ\
of uot kurbastay (fire god) to the Mongolian highest sky god khurmast,
and link this in turn (more adventurously) to Indo-European mythology
and the cult of the fire represented by Zoroastrianism. S. Gabyshev
tackled the important problem of the etymology of the Sakha word
for a male shaman, oyuun,QRWLQJWKDW9)7URVKFKDQVNLɩKDGOLQNHG
it to the Turkic oy- ‘to jump’, or oyna- ‘to play’, while S. I. Nikolaev
(Somogotto) ties it to “Ugrian-Samoyed” yung ‘devil’ or ‘crazy’. The
well-respected linguist N. K. Antonov traces it to the (ancient Turkic)
Chuvash asam ‘witchcraft, magic’ and this tempts Gabyshev, but in the
end he turns to Mongolian for the word oyuun, which means ‘reason’,
or ‘wise one’, in effect, ‘keeper of the memory and tradition of the
people’. He also correlates the Sakha word for female shaman, udagan,
with a Mongolian origin.
A few Sakha analysts are studying literary-historical images of
shamans. For example, A. N. Myreeva analyzed such images in P. A.
2LXQVNLɩ·VGUDPD´7KH*UHDW.XGDQVDµDQGKLVSRHP´7KH5HG6KD-
PDQµ)ROORZLQJ2LXQVNLɩ WKHIRONORULVWUHYROXWLRQDU\ZKRUHPDLQVD
culture hero for his potent pseudonym and life of sacrifice), she sees

5
She notes similar poses for male shamans, explaining “there is no contradiction
here, since in performance of rituals, shamans could transform into women (religious
transvestism), and sometimes wore female dress.” This correlates with papers by V. N.
Basilov and B. Saladin d’Anglure. See also Balzer (1996). The theme of gender flex-
ibility, manipulation and transformation in shamanism is getting increased attention.
126 Review Article

the shamanic world view as created in the period of “feudal-clan struc-

ture.” But she also perceives it as dealing with everyday tensions “of
good and evil, freedom and constraint, fairness and unfairness . . . sky
and earth, humans and fate, the present and the future.” Thus the Red
Shaman becomes the ultimate humanistic transition figure, to quote
2LXQVNLɩ´DSHUVRQRQWKHFURVVURDGVRIWZRHSRFKVµ%XWWKLVFURVV-
URDGVWXUQVRXWWRKDYHEHHQIDUORQJHUDQGPRUHFURRNHGWKDQ2LXQVNLɩ
predicted, as many speakers noted.
One of the most renowned and respected Sakha historian-ethnog-
raphers of shamanism was G. V. Ksenofontov, another key transition
figure, persecuted for his studies and his politics in the 1920s. His
VLJQLILFDQFH ZDV DEO\ UHYLHZHG E\ $ 1 ' LDFKNRYD LQ KHU FRQIHU-
ence presentation and her introduction to the book published for it
.VHQRIRQWRY 7KLVZDVDJUHDWYLFWRU\VLQFH' LDFKNRYDKHUVHOI
in earlier days was heavily discouraged from interest in Ksenofontov.
The book contains his essays and one of the richest compendiums ever
collected of shamanic legends and stories, as told to Ksenofontov by
diverse Sakha in the 1920s. Ksenofontov saw the roots of shamanism
in nomadic Hunnic traditions of Eurasia, and viewed Christianity as
successfully displacing “white shamanism,” without fully obliterat-
ing the more underground and unofficial “black” form. He believed
that, through shamanism, one could discern a dualistic philosophy and
“many aspects of the internal content of Yakut belief,” some of which
are still unexplored today.6
Although it is well known that both shamanism and shamanistic
studies were repressed in the 1920s and ’30s in Siberia, details of
repression in Yakutia are less known. Its extent was described by N. D.
9DVLO HYDDQG61*RURNKRYZKRVHZRUNPRVWO\FRPSOHPHQWVHDFK
RWKHU 9DVLO HYD EOXQWO\ FDOOHG WKHPHDVXUHV DJDLQVW VKDPDQV ´KDUVKµ
and listed various forms, “isolation, loss of citizenship rights, land
requisition, public court proceedings, repression [i.e. jail].” Typically
enforced by starry eyed young Komsomol (Sakha and Russian), these
measures resulted in “ruining the whole religious-philosophical, moral-

6
The issue of Christianity and the influence of Russian Orthodoxy on Sakha cul-
ture was underdeveloped in general, although one Russian Orthodox priest announced
on the final day his approval of scientific shamanic studies, and it was not coincidence
that an article on Orthodoxy appeared during the conference in the popular press
(Okhlopkova 1992).
Review Article 127

ethical and medical knowledge system, such that the national culture
ZDVVHHQWREHZLWKRXWYDOXHµ 9DVLO HYD *RURNKRYTXRWHGWKHILUVW
1924 resolution that declared shamanism in Yakutia “a phenomenon
especially destructive, blocking cultural-national development and
the political growth of the peoples . . .” Mass burnings of shamanic
accoutrements occurred, as “deceiving” and “exploiting” shamans
were humiliated in public. The height of the campaign was during
the 1928–1930 “war of atheism” and struggle for collectivization.
Gorokhov noted not only Sakha but also shamans of other Siberian
nationalities were targets, and he concluded with an awareness that the
official repression did not prevent “the continuation of shamanism in
the memory of the people.”7
One of the most creative ways of showing the effects of repression
of Sakha shamanism, as well as revealing under-studied aspects of its
nature, is through the study of toponyms, made famous in Yakutia by
the once-jailed, meticulous scholar Bagdarïïn Sülbä (M. Ivanov), whose
modest penname means ‘rushing river’. For instance, lake Oyun of
WKH9LOLXɩVNUHJLRQZDVFKDQJHGWRODNH'LULQJ RU'HHS ,QWKH7DWWD
region, the Valley of the Shamans, Oyuuttar Toloottoro, was changed to
Kolkhoz Valley. But some of the new names did not stick with the local
SRSXODFH7KXVLQWKH9LOLXɩVNUHJLRQSHRSOHNQRZWKDW1HZ/DNHLV
really Düngür Ïyaabït (Where they hung the drum). Place names mark-
ing shamanic resting places dot the countryside and are well-known
and protected today.
7KH HOGHU 1 / ,JQDW LHY RI 9LOLXɩVN NQRZQ IRU KLV FXOWXUDO MRXU-
nalism in Sakha language newspapers and his predictions of weather
through traditional Sakha techniques, described specific male and
female shamans through history, as reported in early Russian sources
and by later ethnographers such as the well respected part-Sakha A.
3RSRY ²  ,JQDW LHY UDWKHU GUDPDWLFDOO\ HQGHG KLV SUHVHQWD-
tion with a litany of shamans he knew personally.
Presentations that revealed the ethnographic richness of Sakha sha-
manic rituals, philosophy and symbolism were often more modest in
their goals and less speculative than some of the historical subjects,

7
See also Gorokhov (1992). My conference paper was on a similar, though cross-
cultural theme. It is urgent that Sakha researchers collect, as modern folklore, stories
of repression of shamans and their diverse, sometimes dramatic responses. See also
Balzer (1993a).
128 Review Article

although some of these too had a whiff of controversy or had broad

implications.
E. N. Romanova, one of the conference organizers, an ethnographer
well respected for her role in helping establish the annual June ïhïakh
festival as an official Sakha Republic holiday, gave an over-view of the
“stratigraphy, cult practice, and ideology” of shamanism. She bridged
the gap between history and culture area studies by discussing the
division in Sakha culture between “black” and “white” shamanism as
related to historical syncretism, noting this dualism also occurs among
Tuvinians, Buriats, Altaians and Kirghiz. Linking white shamanism
to the cult of ayïï, in the tradition of G. Ksenofontov and N. Alekseev,
she sees it as the organizing principle behind a whole “religious-ritual
system . . . on which depended the fate and well-being of a whole clan
(tribe).” The white, priestly, or sky-spirit-oriented shaman (ayïï oyuun)
can be traced back to the Sakha culture-hero Älläi, putative founder of
the ïhïakh festival, and, according to many Sakha, founding ancestor
of the Sakha people.
E. Romanova is a member of the Sakha cultural revitalization group
Kut-Sür,QDPHGIRUWKH6DNKDQH[XVRIVRXODQGPLQG FI$IDQDV HYHW
al. 1990). This potentially can reinforce her authority as an ethnographer
searching for the reasoning behind symbols of fertility and renewal that
are recreated today in the Sakha ïhïakh. The spirit of this revitalizing
ïhïakh was partly captured in a Sakha Republic TV film, shot in 1992
DW6XQWDDUDQGķXUEDIRUZKLFK5RPDQRYDZDVDQDGYLVHU
Far less accessible were the fascinating theories of V. I. Okonesh-
nikov (cf. 1992), a self-described “philosophical engineer,” known in
the republic for his writings on Sakha cosmology, and metaphysics.
Featured at the public “round-table,” he drew a schema over a huge
blackboard at the Cosmophysics Institute to indicate the “seman-
tics” of Kut-Sür, simplistically glossed as soul-mind, but reflecting
many aspects of human potential and human-nature interaction. He
discussed and diagrammed nine levels of the Upper World, and four
aspects of Nature, at dizzying speed, and then drew the concepts
“object,” “energy,” and “subject,” as round balls with arrows going
(one way) from one to the other. The crowd was mostly lost but
impressed, as he sent the message that ancient Sakha philosophy
was sophisticated and complex, though he neglected to explain his
methodology—how he knows precisely what ancient Sakha philoso-
phy entailed. His tour de force took the research of scholars like A.
Review Article 129

Mordinov (1982) and A. Gogolev (1983) on Sakha “folk wisdom”

farther than ever before, relating it to shamanism, folk astronomy,
and physics. A Russian scientist then endorsed some of his points as
correlating with ideas now known in physics.8
L. L. Gabysheva focused on one of the more controversial gods of
Sakha cosmology, Uluutuyar Uluu Toyon, associated at times with
white shamanism and the benevolent ayïï, and at times with evil spirits
called abaahï. Some, she explained, have even called this key figure in
Sakha belief “half-ayïï and half-abaahï,” a remarkable merging of cat-
egories rarely joined. Several aspects make this god key to the Sakha:
he gave people shamans, “mediators between people and gods, the
sky and earth, life and death”; he gave people fire, “which marks the
boundary between people and animals, nature and culture”; he took the
form of the raven, “mediator figure in the mythology of many people”;
and he is the controller of thunder and lightening, “capable of sweep-
ing illness and impurity from earth.” In illuminating the symbolism of
this god, Gabysheva easily convinces that multiple interpretations of
his significance reflect multiple manifestations of his personality as a
supernatural mediator.
N. V. Emelianov, senior folklorist in the tradition of the renowned G.
U. Ärgis, also saw the shaman as a mediator, between the three main
worlds of Sakha cosmology (Upper, Middle, Lower), during séances.
He stressed the correlation of the shamanic séance with the Sakha
olonkho (epic poetry) tradition. Loyal to epic studies, he concluded that
the epic form enabled more artistic-aesthetic flexibility than the ritual
restrictiveness of a shamanic séance.9
The shaman’s mediating role between the living and dead in burial
rituals was the subject of Yakutsk university ethnographer R. I. Bravi-

8
My scepticism was mitigated recently by the British cosmophysicist Alan
Johnstone, who is familiar with Sakha philosophy and impressed by their elaborate
“magnetosphere scheme.” A film called Kut-Sür, made by the Minister of Education E.
Zhirkov and the artist R. Petrov for Sakha TV, also explains cosmological complexities
using maps and charts.
9
These conclusions are similar to those of Elena Novik (1997). Folklorist V. M.
Nikiforov too built on the work of Ärgis, and reminded us of the Russian folklorist V. Ia.
Propp’s admiration for Ärgis. Nikiforov’s interests are in the social dimensions of sha-
manism, and the often conflict-laden role of traditional (seventeenth–eighteenth century)
shamans, in competition with more secular Sakha leaders (toyon) and outside priests.
130 Review Article

na’s presentation, which explicitly supplemented Ärgis. R. I. Bravina is

known for her brave excavations of burials, often considered by locals
too sacred to touch, even when they are unconnected with direct Sakha
ancestry. She stressed that shamans were considered best equipped to
guide the souls of deceased Sakha into after-life since shamans them-
selves must go through horrifying tortures of near-death and rebirth
(called ättänii ‘cutting to pieces of the body’) during their “sacraliza-
tion.” Rituals for escorting souls were done on the night after burial,
for example the ritual of kut araarïï, or soul removal, during which a
shaman urged the deceased not to carry away loved ones. Escorting to
the land of the dead was a separate ritual, as was a rite to ensure that
the deceased did not stay on earth to become a sickness-bearing yuyor.
The rituals reinforced and portrayed the pivotal, integrated social and
sacred function of the shaman, protecting the interests of both the liv-
ing and the dead.
Respect for such mediating functions was evident, as usual, in the
work of ethnographer P. A. Sleptsov, another of the talented confer-
ence organizers. Using ritual to decipher “traditional world view,” he
explained the importance of understanding “white,” society-oriented,
and “black,” more individual-oriented, shamanism as both represent-
ing and stimulating development of the Sakha ethnos’s religious values.
He reminded us of a whole range of sacred figures in Sakha society,
besides the oyuun and the udagan. These include the khos kuolay-
daakh kihi ‘bringer into life, midwife’, ElULlĀĀLWWllNKNLKL ‘person with
visible shadow [intuition, telepathy]’, tüüllääkh kihi ‘dream seer’, bilgä
kihi ‘sign interpreter’, N|UE|ĀĀ ‘fortune teller’, otohut ‘curer’, LLĀllQ
‘wise one’, and uus ‘blacksmith’. Harmony and balance was the philo-
sophical and religious goal of shamanism: “the unity of nature and
humans, life and death, spirit and fertility.” In this, Sleptsov’s analysis
fits well with the research of L. I. Vinokurova and A. N. Zhirkov on
Sakha rituals of human and animal fertility, and with various pleas at
the conference to remember the importance of treating Nature with
ecological-spiritual reverence.
The Sakha supernatural world was, and still is for many Sakha,
permeated with various kinds of spirits, not only simply benevolent
upper-world (ayïï) and evil or capricious under-world (abaahï) ones.
The ethnographer P. M. Zykov, who usually writes about Sakha mate-
rial culture, delved into the distinction between abaahï and DϪDUD\
who, in both Buriat and Sakha folklore, are correlated with a “clan”
Review Article 131

emanating from the source of the Lena River, and thus may have
originally been actual human enemies changed into spirit ones. I. S.
Portniagin focused on yet another major category, the LĀĀL-spirits of
the Middle World, earth. Even words have their LĀĀL, and the power of
human words, especially the poetic and prayerful speech of shamans,
is considered compelling precisely because they are imbued with spirit
that acts on human consciousness, especially that of children. Through
this socialization, “terror and honor, fright and respect of shamans is
maintained to this day. ”
Shamanic séances were, and are, addressed to spirits of other worlds
through the crucial XRWLĀĀLWl or fire spirit. But not only shamans give
offerings to the fire, as Portniagin stressed: “At every special occur-
rence in life, for each creative or joyful event, it is necessary to honor
XRWLĀĀLWl with offerings: to toss into the fire the best morsel of food
or to sprinkle oil. 8RWLĀĀLWl is considered the leading and most well-
wishing helper of humans.” Since 1986, my arrival in Sakha friends’
homes and their comings and goings to my home have been marked
by offerings, and sometimes prayers, to the fire spirit. Fire spirits were
fed (often with vodka or wine) at crucial times during the shamanism
conference, especially when participants arrived by boat at the mag-
nificent Lena Cliffs.
Given the living presence of LĀĀL for many Sakha, it was especially
appropriate that an exhibit honoring them was created by curator Wil-
OLDP,DNRYOHYDWWKH5HSXEOLF,DURVODYVNLɩ0XVHXPFRLQFLGLQJZLWKWKH
shamanism conference (cf. Seregina 1992; Savvinov 1992). It depicted
ritual life and various spirit images or housings (ämägät) that have been
used by the Sakha and other peoples of Yakutia through the centuries
in sacred places. Far from being a sacrilege, many Sakha took this
exhibit to be a long-overdue recognition of the merged aesthetic-spiri-
tual value of these objects. I was warned that the objects themselves
still emanated power, and indeed before one carved wooden image,
representing the Sakha fertility goddess Ayïhïït, were offerings of coins
and ribbons spontaneously thrown onto her fur rug. An elderly Sakha
grandmother arrived while I was there, and launched into raptures (in
Sakha) over her joy at seeing so many ancient, revered and yet not long
ago reviled, sacred objects. Many Sakha viewers knew that the exhibit
occupied space recently devoted to Soviet-style propaganda over
industrial progress in Yakutia. Only one thing marred the exhibit—the
museum has yet to replace its absolutely horrifying, full-sized shaman,
132 Review Article

whose wild dance pose and filthy cloak is punctuated by evil, bulging,
animal eyes. A Russian father and son visiting the show hurried by
this left-over Soviet atheist creation, with the son saying, predictably,
“Daddy, get me out of here.” In contrast, the life-sized model of a sha-
PDQ UHFHQWO\ FUHDWHG IRU 'LUHFWRU $ɩ]D 5HVKHWQLNRYD·V 0XVHXP RI
Music and Folklore, which sponsored the conference, is the epitome of
a kindly wise man.
Changing shamanic images were also evident in a show at the
Gabyshev museum, featuring the work of several generations of Sakha
DUWLVWV RQ VKDPDQLF WKHPHV FXUDWHG E\ =LQDɩGD ,YDQRYD8QDURYD ,W
began with a famous 1926 painting by the painter I. V. Popov, portray-
ing the prototype of the scary, evil, deceiving shaman. But it quickly
moved to more diverse and spiritual themes, with images by subse-
quent artists ranging from the haunting depiction of a spirit lake (1976,
Iu. I. Votiakov) to the charmingly whimsical dancing udagan (1981) of
V. Parnikov. It culminated in the complex and monumental paintings
of T. A. Stepanov, from his new (1990–1991) series “Shamans,” which
confronted viewers immediately with the dark lushness of multiple
Sakha supernatural worlds and spirits. Depictions of an elder shaman
passing power to a younger one, and of the initiatory ättänii, or cutting
to pieces of a novice’s body, were especially clear and bold, but all of
the work was imbued with Stepanov’s ethnographic symbolism merged
uniquely with his own more personal shaman-like fantasies.10
At the “Images of the Shaman” opening, one of the National Theater’s
star singers, Gavril Kolesov, sang an improvisational, multi-versed song
in honor of the artists and the new spirit of cultural revitalization. He
had been asked only days before to sing, and had been worried that the
poetic spirit would not move him sufficiently to create, but he need not
have been concerned. His chanted, algïs (prayer-like) poetry was in the
strong and resonant mode of an olonkhohut (epic singer), not surprising
VLQFH KH HDUOLHU UHFRUGHG 0HORGLLD·V YHUVLRQ RI 2LXQVNLɩ·V WH[W RI WKH
epic ķXUJXQ%RRWXU Music of a different nature, yet also drawing on
shamanic and epic roots, was displayed during an evening concert by
the rock group Ay-tal, named in a salute to the benevolent ayïï. Proud

10
6HH6WDURGXEVNDLD  DQGWKHH[KLELWFDWDORJXHE\=LQDɩGD,YDQRYD8QDURYD
(2000) for fuller elaboration. Stepanov’s triumph at this show was in delightful con-
trast to the suspicion in which he was held when I first lived in Yakutia in 1986, and
admired his work.
Review Article 133

of the shamanic heritage of some of their members, they utilize drums,

khomus (jaw harp), chants and electronic animal calls to create a folk
rock synthesis of total immersion music.11
7KH $\WDO SHUIRUPDQFH LQ WKH KXJH QHZO\ QDPHG ´.XODNRYVNLɩ
Center of Culture and Art” (once the Palace of Technology and Cul-
ture), followed several highly theatrical depictions of shamanic séances
by Sakha actors. In one, a sick, limp patient was cured by a shaman
dancing around a fire beating his drum, barely looking at the patient.
In another, a young boy, alternately hysterical and uncontrollably sing-
ing, was recruited by a shaman to become his apprentice. In the finale,
nine shamans danced together to depict a time of community crisis (for
example, an epidemic) in which the rivalries of various great shamans
were suppressed for the greater good of joining to drive out evil forces.
The staging of these vignettes was so artificial that by contrast, one
surprise lone amateur drummer chanting algïs, seated on a chair in
the middle of the auditorium, was more “authentic” in feel, but still far
from the séance that some of the Sakha and their guests were yearning
for. We were asked not to applaud.12
During a conference boat trip, at dawn the morning we reached the
Lena River Cliffs, another kind of ritual was enacted, one associated
with “white” shamanism—the greeting of the sun. The long-grey-
KDLUHG DFWRU $IDQDVLɩ )HGRURY GUHVVHG LQ D IORRUOHQJWK HOHJDQW IXU
trimmed white robe and hat, faced East in the chill dawn, as women
were herded to his left and men to his right. We waited for the ball of
ILUHLWVHOIQRWMXVWLWVUD\V)LQDOO\$IDQDVLɩEHJDQDORQJORZalgïs that
was practically inaudible. We bowed and raised our hands at intervals,
at his cues, as blankets fell off our shoulders and cameras juggled
awkwardly in our hands. We were then led off the boat to a pebbly
EHDFKZKHUHDERQILUHZDVOLWDQG$IDQDVLɩVWHSSHGGDQJHURXVO\QHDU

11
On the relationship of shamanism and music, N. M. Petrov presented interesting
material that linked the khomus with white shamanism, and correlated its etymology
to the Buriat word khobkhon ‘magic’. Ethnomusicologist E. E. Alekseev was creative,
articulate and controversial on the parallels of rock and shamanic séance. His award-
winning film on shamanism, made together with E. Novik and A. Slapinch, called
“Time of Dreams,” was also presented at the conference.
12
A Sakha intelligentsia tradition of theatrical staging of séances itself goes back to at
least the turn of the century. The drummer was a university pedagogical division teacher,
who has recently begun using skills he feels are sent from spirits to cure people.
134 Review Article

the flames to pour an offering of vodka to the fire, singing more algïs.
Suddenly one of the better known female curers, media star Zoia
Duranova appeared, dramatically dressed in a long traditional applique
gown, with head beads and silver breast-plate jewelry. Coming down
the narrow plank off the boat, she was singing her own algïs at the top
of her considerable lungs. When she got to our circle, she started an
HFKRSDWWHUQRIUHSHDWLQJ$IDQDVLɩ·VSKUDVHVRISUDLVHIRUWKHVXQEXW
VKHGLGQ·WPDLQWDLQWKLVIRUORQJ$IDQDVLɩUHWUHDWHGDQGVRRQ=RLDDQG
her husband were ordering us to encircle the fire with stones; indeed
the result was a protected and somehow more tame, human-touched
fire. She walked further down the beach, still singing algïs, trailed by
a string of foreign cameramen. The sun was coming up, shimmering
over the huge blue-grey Lena River. Later some of us fed another fire
and danced ohuokhay in the woods near a sacred tree where offerings
had been left for local spirits.

Of Curers, Curing, Charlatans and Shamans

An underlying tension that at once heightened the significance of the
conference and left it open to criticism as non-academic was the pres-
ence of over thirty self-professed and reputed curers and “extrasenses.”
A wonderfully interactive exchange occurred, especially informally, as
scholars studied the curers, who were studying us, and in some cases
curing us (or attempting to). Some of the Sakha curers were invited par-
ticipants, ones who have proven themselves as knowledgeable in many
aspects of folk healing and metaphysical techniques, only partially
overlapping with shamanism. Some were people who came on their
own, thrilled that shamanism was being recognized as a legitimate
tradition and eager to meet and trade experiences with colleagues, as
at any modern convention.
Only a few people have reputations in the Sakha Republic as cur-
rent full-fledged, initiated by the spirits, oyuun. None of the five best
known of these formally participated in the conference, although one,
Vladimir Kondakov, the head of the Association of Folk Medicine, was
on its planning committee and agreed to speak with foreign guests in
a hall nearby on its last day. When he was asked (by Professor Kim
of Korea) whether he considers himself an oyuun, the large, bearish,
Review Article 135

bearded, longhaired Kondakov paused and replied, “it is possible.” The

reason is simple: a true shaman does not advertise him or herself, but
rather allows deeds of curing, prediction and aid to the society to speak
for themselves.
Kondakov’s message was dual: (1) there were many charlatans in
the republic and at the conference, and he worried that their presence
would harm the credibility of a fledgling respect and effectiveness his
Association was fostering; (2) traditional Sakha shamanism involved
secrets of curing that are well worth study and apprenticeship. As
some of his apprentices sat nearby, he enumerated six main techniques
that underpin Sakha curing. A few, such as süllärdäähin, or ‘operation
without cutting’, nearly have been lost, while others, such as bokhsu-
ruyuu ‘sucking out poisons of illness’, are still common. At the start of
his talk, Kondakov shocked his audience by asking one Sakha woman
to leave. Later he and others explained privately that she had a reputa-
tion for mistreatment of patients, and also for writing a book which
outlined, as Sakha, techniques that Kondakov and others considered
preposterous or harmful. A former schoolteacher and historian, Konda-
kov confirmed that for him, the goal of the “rich shamanic philosophi-
cal system” is to “balance forces of the three worlds and of evil and
good.” But he warned: “The danger today is that the middle world is
destroying itself and the balances are out of kilter.”13
The star of the conference (for me and for many of the Sakha who
attended) was Aleksandra Chirkova, daughter of a well-remembered
shaman, the deceased Konstantin oyuun, and herself a Soviet-trained
VXUJHRQ IURP WKH $E\ɩVN UHJLRQ 7KH ZHOOWDLORUHG SRLVHG &KLUNRYD
recalled her father’s curing practice and his repression in 1928. Though
his nine children were labelled “children of a shaman-charlatan,” she
remembered him as a “person of hugely kind spirit, truly a shaman, a
person with gifts from nature.” With wisdom and foresight he urged
her, as his child with curing potential, to be trained in modern medicine
to avoid accusations of illegitimacy and potentially to merge the best of
Sakha traditional medicine with European techniques. She spent years
as a Komsomol activist, oblivious to spiritual power, until recently
inheriting his shamanic accoutrements and a profound understanding

13
See also his pamphlet (Kondakov 1992a), and Balzer (l993b, 1993c) for more
detail on my talks with him.
136 Review Article

of her roots. She is now considering giving up her post as director of

her region’s medical establishments, to found a new center of folk med-
icine. She introduced a film that she had made in her father’s honor by
saying, “After sixty years, it is time to raise the spirits of those shamans
who suffered repression, to ask their forgiveness, and to honor them.”
Privately, she lamented that the night of the staged shamanic vignettes,
an elderly man from Suntaar had not been allowed to perform, for she
felt he might have been able to accomplish this, even in a large hall. She
also explained: “I can feel my father’s spirit, especially when I don his
cloak and beat the drum. Yes, I do this now. I do it to cure myself . . .
And I’m beginning to do it for others. I want to set up a clinic for folk
healing. I already have a team, a group of people who work with me.
And we are curing people, using the old techniques.”14
One of the people working with Chirkova is Lisa Petrova, a young
woman training as a nurse, with a degree in community theater cultural
work. She was introduced to me as the great-granddaughter of one of the
most famous female shamans (udagan) in Sakha history, Alïkhardaakh.
Although this lineage was later called into question by others, Lisa Petro-
va impressed me as someone who may have some of the natural curing
talents that the Russians call dar. She may also be a ahagas ättääkh
kihi (person with open body), or extraordinary sensitivity. She had been
LOODQGILUVWJRQHWRVHHRQHRIWKHIDPHG6DNKDFXUHUVRIWKH9LOLXɩVN
region, Nikon oyuun, in 1974, returning the next three summers both to
be cured and to observe him. “I was sick for quite a while . . . especially
sick in the Fall, when all of Nature is dying. And I’m ill in Winter, but
when Spring comes, I again recover.” This pattern was repeated for
years, until she began curing others, despite the opposition of her father,
a Communist Party official, and, later, of her husband. “I tried to stop the
curing, but it was my calling,” she lamented.
Though she does not call herself an udagan, Lisa Petrova has mas-
tered at least one of the traditional Sakha curing techniques, bokhsu-
ruyuu or sucking out poisons. I asked her to work with me in my cabin
on the boat, and she gave me a diagnostic full-body massage. To my
surprise, she saw deep inside my body a minor physical defect that my
own doctor had only recently discovered, using very fancy Western

14
Aleksandra Chirkova’s conference presentation is in manuscript, entitled “Vospo-
PLQDQLHRERWVHµZKLFKLVDOVRWKHWLWOHRIKHUILOP6HHDOVR,O LDNKRY  RQERWK
father and daughter.
Review Article 137

HTXLSPHQW´&RXOGVKHEHDKXPDQ;UD\"µ,DVNHGP\VHOIDQGRWKHUV
The answer of several of the Sakha curers, including the former Vice-
President of the Association of Folk Medicine, Aleksander Iakovlev,
was that this is one of the traditional curing-diagnostic techniques that
could be cultivated in certain people.15
Aleksander Iakovlev is a psychologist also trained in sports medicine.
For several years, especially since the relaxation of Soviet propaganda
against folk medicine, he has been working with techniques of hypno-
sis, breathing and trance, helping people stop smoking and drinking,
DPRQJ RWKHU WKLQJV +H WRJHWKHU ZLWK WKH DFWRU $IDQDVLɩ )HGRURY LV
also interested in promoting the curative, calming use of rhythmic
drumming, and of the khomus.16 In a popular presentation as the host
of an evening organized to showcase folk curers, Iakovlev explained his
conception of the difference between folk healers and actual shamans,
making it clear he felt there were very few true shamans. “But both
utilize aspects of hypnosis. There are two main types of hypnosis: one
is the ‘inductor’ type, requiring active and close contact with a patient,
and the other is the ‘prescient’ type, which encompasses far-seeing
abilities (predictions) and clear-seeing (diagnostics). It is rare that one
person has both of these. But some shamans did and do.”
In two public discussions, Vladimir M. Matveev also reinforced
the distinction between “true natural shamans,” and more common
“extrasenses,” people with sensitivities to others’ suffering through
use of “bioenergy.” Matveev, looking like a bogatïr out of the epic
ķXUJXQ %RRWXU is an “extrasense” who heads a community self-help
group Prozrenie “recovery of sight, insight” to cure alcoholism, drug
addiction and smoking. By his own account, he was himself a rowdy
alcoholic until he decided to take control of his life and help others.

15
In another example, a friend with one of the only “spirals,” (IUDs) in the republic
said that her Sakha curer had been able to see her IUD, though she was not told about
it. My position on such phenomenon is similar to that of Novikov (1992): science has
much to learn from traditional medicine and from events we now consider “anoma-
lies.” In recognition of this, a new American division has been opened at the National
Institutes of Health to study traditional medicine on a scientific basis.
16
This is also being fostered by people at the International Khomus Music Center,
for instance Director Ksenofont D. Utkin and President Ivan E. Alekseev, master
khomus player who rescued the instrument from obscurity and made it a symbol of
cultural revitalization throughout the republic.
138 Review Article

His influences include the Western program “Alcoholics Anonymous”;

Slavic curer G. A. Chichko; A. Markova, a Suntaar curer also present
at the conference; and Konstantin Chirkov, whom Matveev had known
in his youth. When Aleksandra Chirkova showed her film about her
father, Matveev in public testified to his greatness, saying Konstantin
oyuun, like others of the most famous Sakha shamans, could control
the weather and walk across water.
Credulity-stretching tales are typical among those who tell stories
about shamans, as anyone who has worked in Siberia knows. In the
weeks before the conference, a competition was launched to collect such
tales, with the following appeal to potential anonymous respondents:
“Freed from scepticism and the fear of being considered superstitious,
share with us your riches” (Okoneshnikov 1992; cf. Novikov 1992).
Behind-the-scenes conference discussions were filled with stories of
shamanic feats, and also with whispered fears concerning the darker
side of beliefs about spirits and shamans. I was admonished not to
discuss by name the long-deceased udagan Alïkhardaakh outside after
dark, and was stopped from describing the possibly telepathic powers
of a young oyuun,ZKR,KDGYLVLWHGLQWKH9LOLXɩVNUHJLRQE\VRPHRQH
worried I would say his name. Naming shamans is considered by many
to court their awareness. More serious, some Sakha were concerned that
the conference itself was not being received well by spirits. Fears for the
children of people involved in the conference were expressed. Before
the conference began, I heard discussions about bad “omens.”
The expressed cause for these fears was sadly concrete. A young art-
ist associated with the Museum of Music and Folklore had been killed
several weeks previously, the victim of robbers, who had apparently
dragged him from his car. His family, after he had been missing several
days, had hired two Sakha with reputations as seers. One had predicted
the body would turn up at a nearby lake, and another, confirming this,
had even pinpointed where the body could be found. While many
versions of this story circulated, some of which praised the seer(s)
more than others, the gist illustrates the degree to which many Sakha,
including highly educated urban Sakha, may turn to seers in a crisis,
Review Article 139

especially when police work has failed. In this case, by most accounts,
the body turned up near where the second seer had said it would.17
At the opening reception of the conference, I met a family of cur-
ers who had come from one of the outlying Sakha regions, and I was
pleased to find them again two days later. The son (part-Russian,
part-Sakha), a curer novice, had not been well; his mother attributed
it to the “intense and electrical” atmosphere generated by “so many
extrasenses and shamans.” She explained, “Too many shamans and
already vampirism occurs . . . I protect myself. I put up a screen with
my mind. Otherwise I could not handle it . . . But we take our energy,
we Yakut shamans, extrasenses, from the sun.” This family was fasci-
nating as proponents of the syncretism of dual curing traditions, Rus-
sian and Sakha, and dual religious traditions, Russian Orthodox and
shamanism. The baptized mother, who claimed that harm befell anyone
who cut her hair, emphasized that shamanism needs to have more of a
moral, “even Christian,” aspect today: “People say we should not cure
without medical training, but if we have talent for curing, and a moral
sense, why shouldn’t we cure?”
During the official show-case of curers, I decided to let the mother,
with whom I had rapport, try to “cure my tiredness.” She gave me a
standard “non-contact massage,” allegedly cleaning impurities and bad
energy from my whole body, from which all jewelry and metal had
been removed. But I failed to feel much different, and was put in the
awkward position of being asked to write something in their comment
book. I thanked her for her concern and warm attention, realizing that
so much of the effectiveness of folk curing, particularly in today’s cha-
otic atmosphere, is precisely the care lavished on people who have been
sadly neglected in Soviet-style clinics and hospitals.
The show-case was a chance for many curers to come out of the
woodwork of Sakha society, where they had been hiding, in some cases
for years. At the invitation of the prestigious Ministry of Culture, they
took over an entire building, presenting first a press conference and
then smaller curing workshops with volunteer patients. Representatives
from all over the republic were present, and far too numerous to fully

17
I am purposely not explicit here about the names of my consultants or of the seers,
one of whom I met and with whom I had a highly unimpressive session of pseudo palm
reading.
140 Review Article

describe here.18 But perhaps the most impressive, according to Sakha

insiders who saw each session, was an elderly blind man from Churap-
chï, Iakov I. Pavlov. He cured by a laying on of hands, in the style of
the revered Nikon oyuun RI 9LOLXɩVN ,Q KLV RIILFLDO VWDWHPHQW WR WKH
crowd, he said in a quavering voice: “I wasn’t allowed to heal people,
so I healed animals. I’ve done this for many years, and now have begun
to heal people again, openly. I am a bloodletter and a bonesetter. I also
know traditional arts of how to help children be conceived and deliv-
ered . . . I’m old now and I want to help train as many people as I can
in the old ways. ”

The Politics of Culture

At the end of the conference, Sakha Republic President Mikhail E.
Nikolaev received a few foreign and local participants and organizers,
on the same day he entertained some South Korean businessmen. With
our group, he stressed the importance of not only republic material-
economic development, but also spiritual and national. He had a sig-
QLILFDQWGLDORJXHZLWKWKHHWKQRJUDSKHU7DUDV0LNKDɩORYRI%XULDWLD
Asked directly whether the Sakha have a “national ideology,” Nikolaev,
taking the question as one on ethnic consciousness rather than national-
ism, replied “Of course . . . If there is such a thing as the Sakha People,
then there must be a national ideology. We have our own distinct cul-
ture, history, language.” He nonetheless suggested that Buriat ideology
was “more developed,” because of Buddhism, and he contrasted Sakha
conversion to Russian Orthodoxy, away from shamanism.
It was clear that Nikolaev, like many Soviet-educated people of his
generation, harbors a Marxist idea of Progress that places shamanism
lower on some universal scale of civilization than Buddhism. But this
didn’t prevent him from being interested in the roots of shamanism,
which he associated, following a few of the Central Asian as well as
Sakha paper givers, with Tengrism and ancient Turkic religion. In his
opening statement, he also proudly referred to the ancient and lovely

18
Those introduced at the showcase were: A. Iakovlev; A. Markova; Ia. Pavlov; Z.
'XUDQRYD ( *HUDVLPRY$ *ULJRUHYD9 0DWYHHY$ &KLUNRYD. 1DɩPRYD0
0DWYHHYD*3HUPLDNRYD 6DNKDɩ 
Review Article 141

palaeolithic archaeological site we had visited on our boat trip, Der-

ingüräkh (discovered by Iu. A. Mochanov). He was understandably
appropriating it as part of “interest in our past,” although it is clear that
if and when any early human remains are found there, they will not
have direct correlations to Sakha ancestors. Nikolaev’s official focus
was cautiously on the value of studying past civilization, rather than
on any current revitalization of shamanism as either a belief or cur-
ing system. Undoubtedly aware of the controversy the conference had
sparked in local media, he could have avoided meeting with us entirely,
but instead chose compromise, as is his style.
Both Russian and Sakha newspaper coverage of the conference was
mixed, and by no means consistently positive in the Sakha papers and
negative in the Russian ones. Vladimir Kondakov, who felt the confer-
ence was “premature,” was interviewed in both Sakha and Russian
papers (cf. Aprosimova 1992; Kim 1992); and published his own data-
filled historical article (1992b) on the Verkhoiansk shaman Gavril I.
Sleptsov. Some comprehensive articles, such as A. Gogolev’s (1992c,
1992d), seized the opportunity to educate the public on the multiethnic
history of shamanism and to its potential selective uses in broadening
understanding of religion, medicine and ecology. A few mentioned
calls for the establishment of Sakha shamanic schools, and the idea of
creating in Yakutsk a “house of spirits,” to bring shamanism out of the
taiga and into the city. Prior to the conference, S. Nikolaev (Somogotto
1992) slammed all trends toward a “new religion” as empty and pho-
ney, but N. Bugaev (Bugay 1992) articulately responded: “If a scientist
. . . rejects the right of his people to a spiritual culture, then are we [that
people] alive?”
The Sakha intelligentsia, judging from the media, conference pre-
sentations and interviews, seem to have split among those seeing
shamanism as valuable for scientific study, those wanting to tap into
and reinterpret its cultural dimensions, those believing in its spiritual
aspects, and those who thought the hoopla was nonsense. The cynics
were a clear minority; and some individuals merged scientific, cul-
tural and spiritual interests. Throughout the republic, thirst for diverse
spiritual experience is understandable after the long Soviet draught, as
the researchers L. I. Vinokurova and A. N. Zhirkov observed in their
abstract for the conference, and the sociologist E. E. Gerasimov found
142 Review Article

in survey research just prior.19 Even more, people hunger for adequate
medical care, notwithstanding the recent opening of an Austrian-built
medical center (Spiridonov 1992). When teams from the Association of
Folk Medicine go to villages for 10-day stretches, patients line up to see
them with enthusiasm. Enormous gratitude for past cures was evident
when I witnessed the reunion of the curer Elena Kopylova with some of
her patients in one Zapadno-Kangalask village (see Figs. 1 and 2).
One of the most poignant Sakha self-criticisms came from profes-
VRU $QDWROLɩ 1RYLNRY ZKR VDLG GXULQJ D SXEOLF GLVFXVVLRQ ´ZH DUH
still mankurtµXVLQJWKH.LUJKL]ZULWHU&KLQJLV$ɩWPDWRY·VSRZHUIXO
metaphor about the debilitating erasure of cultural memory. But by the
end, the conference itself proved otherwise, for it was precisely about
the recapturing of cultural memory, and adapting it for the future. This
ZDVLQSDUWWKHPHVVDJHRI$ɩ]D5HVKHWQLNRYDLQKHUFORVLQJUHPDUNV

Fig 1. Sakha curers Aleksandra Grigoreva and Zoia Duranova (gesturing).

Photo: Marjorie M. Balzer, Summer 1992.

19
While methodological considerations are always tricky regarding surveys on reli-
gious issues, Gerasimov’s reported findings are suggestive. He also found, in republic
provinces, 80% of his Sakha sample believe in shamanism as effective medicine.
Review Article 143

It was also symbolized in the closing remarks of a young neurologist,

Galina Permiakova, reputed to be a potential udagan, who has taken
the culturally significant name Sakhay. As spokesperson for the curers
officially attending the conference, she said that she hoped understand-
ing of shamanism could be put on a more scientific basis in the near
future, and that scientists would support the growth of shamanism into
the next century. Sakhay was trying to bridge a gap that had become
apparent during the conference, as the curers themselves divided over
how much of their “secrets” they should share with perceived outsiders,
who were both Sakha and foreign.
Curing the body politic of a spiritually cut up and bleeding post-
Soviet society is obviously a messy and painful process, metaphori-
cally akin to the transformation of a young shaman during ättänii.
Thus it would be remiss not to mention a xenophobic dimension to
the Sakha cultural revival, especially in connection with shamanism,
and its occult, secret aspects. One evening, a Sakha man I considered
a friend told me somewhat drunkenly, “We will never tell you our
real secrets. At least not until after seven years.” Assuring that I only
wanted to know what could be shared easily was beside the point.
He was creating ethnic “us/them” barriers, in the process of convinc-
ing himself that his cultural differences were important. One of the
paradoxes of the conference was that its very internationalism enabled
many Sakha themselves to feel their own culture and national solidarity
more strongly. But this dialectic does not mean most Sakha are national
chauvinists, or are using shamanism to promote national chauvinism
(Hoppál 1992: 197–209).
It was no accident that when a group of foreign scholars wanted to
go on a fieldtrip to visit a working “shaman,” or at least folk curer,
debate arose as to whether an Evenki rather than Sakha curer should be
chosen. This was partly because the Sakha themselves have long stated
that shamanism was better preserved among the Evenki, as more tradi-
tional, less urban, more “close to nature” (Balzer 1993a). But it was also
because conference organizers could not easily arrange a trip to one of
their true working oyuun, who by definition try to keep outsiders away
and do not perform séances for show. In the end, the elderly, revered
Sakha curer Evdokiia Semenova living near Yakutsk received the visi-
tors. She allowed some limited filming of her home-based practise, and
144 Review Article

Fig 2. Sakha curers, including Elena Kopylova (in striped jacket), in a Lena River
village reunion with patients and friends. Photo: Marjorie M. Balzer, Summer 1992.

blessed the foreigners with a sung algïs, accompanied by hand gestures

over their heads (after she had changed into her best clothes).20
The conference confirmed and reinforced a trend well-known in
Native American studies, but not yet properly appreciated for Siberian
studies: that native ethnographers are making stunning contributions
to international understanding of spiritual culture. Various Siberian
shamanic traditions, such as Yukagir, Nivkh, Nenets and Khanty, were
represented in the presentations. To reach the soul of traditional beliefs,
creative kinds of anthropology, including use and analysis of poetry,
film and art by Siberians, are opening new paths for all of us.

20
See the film “Fieldnotes from Siberia: On the Land of the Shamans” by Mihály
Hoppál and Lajos Nádorfi. Protectiveness concerning shamans was reflected in mixed
reactions to a suggestion that the International Conference on Shamanism meet in
the Sakha Republic every several years. People were honored yet concerned about
invasions of foreigners, studying and misinterpreting their culture. The visit of some
)UHQFKMRXUQDOLVWVIURPWKHFRQIHUHQFHWRD9LOLXɩVNDUHDVKDPDQDQGWKHSXEOLFDWLRQ
of his photo afterward, has aggravated these concerns.
Review Article 145

Official support for the shamanism conference should be seen in the

perspective of the difficult struggle to balance competing cultural sym-
bols of political allegiance in a mixed ethnic republic, where the Sakha
are only about 40% of the population. A local Yakutsk town council in
1992 rejected the idea that a main street of the capital be renamed for one
RI WKH PDMRU 6DNKD LQWHOOHFWXDOV RI WKH WZHQWLHWK FHQWXU\ .XODNRYVNLɩ
FKRRVLQJ LQVWHDG WR NHHS LWV DQWLTXDWHG 6RYLHW QDPH 'HU]KLQVNLɩ 7KH
Presidential Cultural Revival Fund had recently given money to a newly
emerged Cossack group. By openly embracing the study of shamanism,
with its potential, not guaranteed, validity for showing people a route to
their roots, to personal health, and to community solidarity, President
Nikolaev and the Ministry of Culture were hardly advocating a new state
religion. But they were, perhaps unconsciously, endorsing one of the most
potent of the traditional and wise Sakha beliefs: the idea that words them-
selves have spirit, LĀĀL For this reason, it was appropriate that on the last
day of the conference, two different Sakha elders felt it important to offer
prayers, algïs, in the Sakha language. The first, from the Ust-Aldan region,
was spontaneous. He said that “through the Sakha language itself comes
purification and healing.” The second, from Suntaar, was scheduled into
a finale mini-concert. He was the elder who had wanted, cathartically, to
raise the spirits of repressed shamans to ask their forgiveness.

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—. 1992c. “Fenomen shamanizm v istorii religii.” Sovety Iakutii, January 21, p. 8.
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sibirskom shamanizme. Opyt sopostavleniia struktur. 1984. Moskva: Glavna-
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Sovety Iakutii, August 15, p. 4.
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1, p. 3.
6DYYLQRY,JRU´'REU\ɩPLUichchi.” Sovety Iakutii, July 21, pp. 4–5.
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6RPRJRWWR 1LNRODHY61 ´1HRE\FKQ\ɩY]JOLDGSRRE\FKQ\HYHVKFKLµ
Molodezh Iakutii, August 28, p. 9.
—. 1992. “Novaia religiia? Novaia podelka!” Molodezh Iakutii, June 4, p. 8.
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Sovety Iakutii, July 21, p. 6.
6WDURGXEVNDLD 1DWDOLLD  ´3RVWL]KHQLH VXWL 3XW  GROJL\ 0XFKLWHO Q\ɩ µ
Sovety Iakutii, August 19, pp. 4–5.

MARJORIE MANDELSTAM BALZER is Research Professor at Georgetown Univer-

sity in the Sociology/Anthropology Department and the Center for Eurasian,
Russian and East European Studies (CERES). She is editor of the journal
Anthropology and Archeology of Eurasia and of several books, including Sha-
manic Worlds: Rituals and Lore of Siberia and Central Asia (M. E. Sharpe,
1997). Author of The Tenacity of Ethnicity: A Siberian Saga in Global
Perspective (Princeton, 1999), she travels widely in Siberia and has helped
organize exchanges of Native American and Native Siberian leaders. Early
fieldwork was with the Ob-Ugrian Khanty. Fieldwork since 1986 has focused
on the Turkic speaking Sakha (Yakut) of the Russian Federation.
VOL. 1. NOS. 1-2. SHAMAN SPRING/AUTUMN 1993/2007

Shamanistic Studies in China: A Preliminary

Survey of the Last Decade

KUN SHI THE OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY

Serious study of shamanism is a young discipline in China, but documen-

tary evidence of it dates back probably farther than in any other place in
the world. Shamanic rituals in southern and northern China alike were
recorded by poets and historians well over 2,000 years ago (Fu 1988,
1990; Qiu 1985, Song 1989; Waley 1955; Wu 1989; Zhang 1990), and
were inscribed on oracle bones as early as the Shang dynasty before the
eleventh century B.C. (Cai 1988a; Qiu 1985). With the emergence of

Fig. 1. Yao shigong or shamans (Master shaman Su Yulong, left) with Kun Shi in
Jinxiu, Guangxi, 1989.
150 Review Article

Confucianism and the introduction of Buddhism, the ancient wu tradi-

tion (shamanism) of the Han people gradually became taboo. Despite
historical assimilation and persecutions, the shamanic traditions of the
minority peoples—the Daur, Ewenki, Hezhen, Jingpo, Manchu, Mongol,
2URTHQ8\JXU;LEH<DRDQG<XJXU³KDYHHQGXUHGWLOOWRGD\%XWZLWK
a few exceptions (Ling 1934; Shirokogoroff 1935), little was published
on shamanism in China before the Communists came to power (Thomp-
son 1985). From 1949 to the late 1970s, shamanic studies were virtually
prohibited, shamanism being regarded as a superstition that had to be
eradicated, although some work was done within the framework of the
national ethnic identification project in the 1950s. From the early 1980s,
China’s “open-door” policy paved the way for the study of shamanism.
Since then, numerous articles, books and documentary films/videos have
been produced. Some have caught the attention of such internationally
known scholars as Michael Harner, Lauri Honko, Mihály Hoppál and
Tae-gon Kim. But nearly all these publications are in Chinese, and are
little known outside of China. The purpose of this paper is to provide an
overview and an assessment of the recent Chinese literature on shaman-
ism, in the attempt to bridge the rift between the Chinese and the “oth-
ers” in the field of shamanistic studies.

Progress in Shamanistic Studies

Along with the revival of shamanic practices among ethnic minorities
all across China, the last decade has witnessed a veritable revival of
shamanistic studies: hundreds of publications, numerous audio-visual
tapes, dozens of dedicated researchers, organizations, and ongoing
programs focus on shamanism. Although many of the publications
and research projects implement theories and approaches no longer
current in either Russian or Western scholarship, the very volume of
the publications and of the ethnographic research work of the past few
years is ample demonstration of the devotion of Chinese researchers to
the study of shamanism, and there have indeed been some real break-
throughs (e.g. Fu 1990; Fu and Meng 1991). This progress, made after
years of academic suppression, deserves to be celebrated.
Review Article 151

Publications
Academic journals have carried about 200 articles on shamanism among
the Altaic peoples in China. Including the shamanic traditions of some
minority peoples in southern China will at least double this figure. Some
of these journals, such as Shijie Zongjiao Yanjiu (Studies of World Reli-
gions), Beifang Minzu (Northern Nationalities), Minjian Wenxue Luntan
(Tribune of Folklore), and Shehui Kexue Zhanxian (Social Science
Front) are available in major university libraries outside of China. After
the first book on shamanism was published (Qiu 1985), ten more books
of this nature appeared within a period of four years (Cai 1988a; Fu 1988,
1990, Fu and Meng 1991; Liu and Ding 1990; Meng 1990; Song 1989;
Sun 1990; Wu 1989; Zhang 1990), and several collections of shamanic
scriptures, myths and ritual songs have been printed (Aisin-Gioro 1987;
Jalungga 1990; Wang and Chen 1988). A promising sign is that more
books are ready to go to press, including a book of photos on Tunguz
shamanism, several book-length studies by Fu Yuguang and his col-
leagues (personal communication), and seven volumes of monographs on

Fig. 2. Oroqen shaman Meng Jinfu (Chuonnasuan) drumming and chanting with his
wife as an assistant. Photo: Kun Shi, 1994.
152 Review Article

WKH'DXU(ZHQNL+H]KHQ0DQFKX0RQJRO2URTHQDQG;LEH 0DQGX
1992: 118). While some of the articles and books published offer valuable
new ethnographic materials within a solid theoretical framework, most
of them are written from a historical materialist perspective (which is
assessed in the following section).
Worth mentioning here is the major contribution made by Fu
Yuguang and his colleagues (Fu 1990; Fu and Meng 1991; Wang 1991;
;X   7KH\ DUJXH WKDW VKDPDQLVP LV QRW WKH VDPH DV ZLWFKFUDIW
and is more than just a form of religion. It was the foundation for the
emergence of civilization, and traces of it can be found in our present
cultural traditions. It is an important body of knowledge accumulated
through history. This is the first interpretation that recognizes the sha-
man as the “teacher and spirit” of the people, and discovers traces of
shamanic influence in philosophy, literature, art, folklore, belief sys-
tems and social laws. Shamanism, it is argued, should be preserved and
cherished; shamanic knowledge should be explored and used to make
our lives better. Unfortunately, this position is not yet supported by the
majority of researchers, though the study of all shamanic phenomena
is encouraged (Mandu 1992).

Audio-Visual Collection
Although three ethnographic films related to shamanism were made
before the mid-1960s (Du and Yang 1989), it was not until the mid-
1980s that numerous video films and sound tapes focusing on shaman-
ism began to appear. In the past few years at least a dozen documentary
video films were made on the surviving shamanic traditions of the
'DXU(ZHQNL0DQFKX0RQJRO2URTHQ8\JXUDQG;LEH7KHPRVW
notable work was done by Fu Yuguang and Wang Honggang and their
colleagues at the Jilin Institute for Ethnic Studies and the Jilin Folklore
Society. Their pioneering work in making a video recording of the
Tunguz shamanic rituals has proved to be, in Hoppál’s words, a “clas-
sic” and “standard reference” (Siikala and Hoppál 1992: 196) for future
Review Article 153

Fig. 3. The Manchu scholar Fu Yuguang (left) with Kun Shi in Changchun, 2005.

studies of shamanism.1 Fu Yuguang and his colleagues have conducted

comprehensive surveys of Manchu shamans, have made hundreds of
hours of audio recordings, and have collected shamans’ costumes,
drums, scriptures, idols and other artifacts.

1
The representative videos are “The Manchu Shamanic Ritual of the Guar’jia
Clan,” “The Wild Spirits Offering Ritual of the Manchu’s Nimacha Clan,” “The Sha-
manism of the Oroqen Wild Spirit Ritual of the Manchu Nimacha Clan,” and “Idols
and Genealogy.” (These and other videos can be ordered from the Jilin Institute for
Ethnic Studies at non-profit bargain prices.) Some of the elder master shamans who
were pictured in these videos have passed away, making the record more valuable yet.
For an English description of parts of the video scenes, refer to Shi (1991).
154 Review Article

Researchers and Organizations

Fifteen years ago and earlier, shamanism was considered a superstition
in China and no one would take the risk of owning to be a researcher
of shamanism. Today, shamanism has become a hot topic, and many
ethnologists and folklorists (particularly those in northern China2) are
proud of being part of the contingent for shamanistic studies. More
and more researchers and government workers have begun to realize
the cultural and social significance of shamanism. At present, there are
nearly 100 researchers directly or indirectly involved in the study of
shamanism. There are two centers: one at the Institute for Ethnic Stud-
ies of the Academy of Social Sciences in Beijing (headed by research
fellows Qiu Pu and Mandu Ertu), and the other at the Jilin Institute for
Ethnic Studies in Changchun (headed by research fellow Fu Yuguang).
There is also a small group at Liaoning University in Shenyang (headed
by Wu Bing-an). So far, Fu Yuguang’s team has done the most solid
ethnographic work, has had the most publications, and is the best
known both in China and among foreign researchers. The joint effort
to publish a series of ethnographic monographs on shamanism has
become one of the key projects in government-funded programs of
social science research. In June of 1988, the Jilin Institute for Ethnic
Studies sponsored the first conference on shamanic culture ever held
in China, in the course of which the China Society for Shamanic Stud-
ies was founded (with Qiu Pu as its first president). In August of 1991,
the Jilin Institute organized a second conference, and plans to host an
international conference on shamanism in 1994.

2
Most Chinese researchers hold that shamanism in China exists only among
the Tunguz and some Turkic peoples in northern China; phenomena of a similar or
identical nature among some peoples in southern China are associated with the wu
tradition, a so-called “primitive religion.” This traditional idea is being challenged by
some Chinese (Cai 1988b; Li 1976; Ling 1934; Mandu 1992; Shi 1988) and Western
researchers (Atkinson 1992; Harner 1988, 1990, Hoppál in Siikala and Hoppál 1992;
Waley 1955).
Review Article 155

Theoretical Implications and Problems

The assessment of the Chinese literature on shamanism is not meant to
slight the informative ethnographic materials collected, but intends to offer
Chinese researchers some thoughts on shamanistic studies that contrast
with their traditional positions. I understand that some Chinese research-
ers (Fu 1990; Fu and Meng 1991; Mandu 1992) are aware that some of the
problems I shall be pointing out deserve to be taken more seriously.
The gravest problem, to my mind, is the feverish pursuit of “theo-
retical arguments” within set frames of reference (Marxist or unilin-
ear evolutionary), and their substantiation with information selected
from fragmentary historical records or from incomplete field data.
Past records are certainly an important source for shamanistic stud-
ies, but they should be treated cautiously, keeping in mind that they
were recorded in the style of travelogues, in a society dominated by
Confucianism, which despised shamanism. Except for the work of
Fu Yuguang and a few others, little systematic ethnographic work on
shamanism has been carried out; thus, there is a fundamental lack of
reliable field data for theory building. (In the light of the forthcoming
seven-volume series on shamanism, it is to be hoped that focus will
shift to present ethnographic data.) As a result, there appears to be a
misunderstanding of shamanic practices3 (Cai 1988a; 1988b; Fu 1988;
Mandu 1992; Qiu 1985; Song 1989), which has led to biased interpre-
tations. Of course, this problem is not unique to China, being no less
prominent in the former Soviet Union (Michael 1963), and a similar
situation existed only a few decades ago in the West (Atkinson 1992:
307; Flaherty 1992: 208).
One of the major concerns of most Chinese researchers is to discover
the origin and fall of shamanism (Cai 1988a; Fu 1988; Liu and Ding
1990; Mandu 1992; Qiu 1985; Song 1989; Wu 1989; Zhang 1990).
Mainly based on textual clues and the Morganian model, they argue
that shamanism emerged in the late matriarchal period, reached its
prime after the shift to the patriarchal period, and began to fade dur-
ing feudalism. Many of them have predicted that shamanism is bound

3
While judging the work of Chinese researchers, we should bear in mind that
China still officially advocates atheism, and the researchers are conditioned by things
beyond their control. Some may have become used to prejudiced models and are reluc-
tant to accept or initiate new ideas, even when politics is not a big problem.
156 Review Article

to disappear in the new “socialist state” or in post-industrial societies,

and are puzzled by its vitality today. The problem here is that they
have generalized the diverse shamanic traditions (diverse even among
the different Tunguz groups) and have lumped all of them in the same
evolutionary basket. They fail to realize that shamanism, like other
components of tradition, undergoes constant change and adaptation in
order to survive in an ever hostile environment. The Chinese research-
ers have failed to answer the following questions: What facts support
the assumption that shamanism emerged in matriarchal societies?
When exactly was this matriarchal period and what is the supporting
evidence? How much of what we know about shamanism allows us
to predetermine its demise? And why is there a revival of shamanic
practices and studies all over the world as modern science advances?
The effort of Chinese researchers to trace the origin and decline of
shamanism is highly arbitrary. It can be traced back half a million
years, to Homo sapiens, who may have started to worship nature—a
key feature of shamanism. As for the fate of shamanic traditions, they
have survived not only among native “primitive” peoples, but have also
developed in the most industrialized societies, such as the United States
(Atkinson 1992; Harner 1990; Siikala and Hoppál 1992).
Related to the interest in the origin of shamanism is the question of
the geographical distribution of shamanic practices. Except for a few
people (Li 1976; Ling 1934; Shi 1988), most Chinese scholars hold
the traditional view that shamanism existed only among the Tunguz
and some Turkic peoples in northern China, and those spreading from
Scandinavia through Siberia to Alaska. Others acknowledge the exis-
tence of similar traditions in South America and Australia (Cai 1988a,
1988b; Mandu 1992). This view is shared by many European scholars
(Siikala 1978) but is challenged by others (Eliade 1964; Harner 1988,
1990, Hoppál in Siikala and Hoppá1 1992; Waley 1955). While we
should be careful to regard shamanic traditions as universal, we should
not restrict “classical” shamanism to Central Asia, Siberia and the Arc-
tic regions, nor regard it as unique and homogeneous. The socio-eco-
nomic conditions of these peoples are drastically diverse. For example,
the Manchu people are farmers and urbanites, and their social orga-
nization is highly developed (similarly to the Han Chinese); the other
Tunguz peoples are largely herders and hunters, and some of them
(such as the Ewenki, Hezhen and Oroqen) still enjoy a “tribal” way of
life. Also, most of the Tunguz peoples in northeastern China inhabit
Review Article 157

a cold environment with deep forests, in contrast to many peoples

LQFOXGLQJVRPH7XQJX]VXFKDVWKH;LEH LQ&HQWUDO$VLDZKRRIWHQ
occupy open grasslands or deserts. Yet, all researchers agree that all
the above peoples practice shamanism. According to some scholars (Li
1976; Ling 1934; Shi 1988; Thompson 1985; Waley 1955), traditions
identical to shamanism exist among some peoples in southern China.
Our criteria of “shamanic” practices, thus, cannot be their occurrence
in certain geographical locations, but are, rather, the “role-taking”
of the shamanic figure (Siikala 1978), whether ecstasy is involved or
not (Eliade 1964), and whether s/he is a “knower” (Fu 1990; Fu and
Meng 1991). If we also recognize as shamanism the “neo-shamanism”
or “urban shamanism” of contemporary North America and Europe
(Atkinson 1992; Harner 1988, 1990; Siikala and Hoppál 1992: 179–
209), we can hardly deny that shamanism also exists in other parts of
the world and is a worldwide phenomenon. All this, however, calls for
our differentiating between shamans, and mediums and sorcerers.
A major controversy of Chinese scholarship is whether shamanism is
“a later form of primitive religion” and “a transitional form of religion
between polytheism and monotheism” (Cai 1988a, 1988b; Liu and Ding
1990; Mandu 1992; Qiu 1985; Song 1989; Wu 1989; Zhang 1990), or
a form of the Chinese belief systems and a part of its cultural heritage
)X)XDQG0HQJ:DQJ;X ,VWKHVKDPDQD
purely religious figure, or a figure of many functions? Ethnographic
data indicate that the shaman is not only a healer and a leader of ritu-
als, but also a transmitter of culture. This latter interpretation gives
us a whole new perspective on shamanism. The shaman is no longer
an “abnormal” person as most Chinese researchers suggest (although
some shamans are called and initiated after serious sickness); s/he
becomes a community protector and keeper of cultural traditions; s/he
is believed to be able to “communicate” with nature and bring harmony
to the people. Such a position is supported by Michael Harner (1990)
and Mihály Hoppál (Siikala and Hoppál 1992), and is shared by Fu
Yuguang (1990). This is probably why shamanism has persisted to this
day, and is undergoing a renaissance.
Most Chinese researchers admit the importance of shamanism in
historical terms, but are highly skeptical of it today. Some of them (Fu
)XDQG0HQJ:DQJ;X KDYHUHFRJQL]HGVKD-
manic traditions as a form of knowledge, and the shaman as a mediator
of cultural traditions. On the other hand, even as many researchers (Qiu
158 Review Article

Fig. 4. Mongol bö Serenchin (left) at his home with Kun Shi in Inner Mongolia, 2005.

1985, Song 1989; Wu 1989; Zhang 1990) are beginning to appreciate

the role of shamanism in history and argue that it was not a supersti-
tion or “opium of the people,” they conclude that shamanism is no
longer functional in today’s society, and is doomed to be outdated by
the process of development. The former focus on the living tradition
of shamanism in the context of the present, while the latter can see
historical shamanism only with modern eyes.
Some of the above problems are due to a lack of information from the
outside world. Before the early 1980s, almost nothing of shamanistic
studies was allowed to enter China. Then came the only informative
article on the study of shamanism abroad (Zheng 1983). But it was
based on a limited number of sources and was restricted in its distri-
bution, for the journal that carried the article was not for sale to the
public. Recently, a 350-page collection of translated articles has been
published (Sun 1990). It is a good sign for the introduction of works on
shamanistic studies from outside China, but the book relies heavily on
the Russian sources (eleven of the total of eighteen articles), with not
enough attention given to the Western theories (there are no articles
from Europe and only two from the United States by Joseph Campbell
and Mircea Eliade). As a result, most book-length studies in Chinese
Review Article 159

are handicapped when presenting “grand arguments” of the kind pre-

viously mentioned, and none has touched on the therapeutic value of
shamanic healing, as practiced, for instance, in the United States today
(Atkinson 1992).

Prospects
Despite the existing problems, Chinese researchers have made tremen-
dous strides in shamanistic studies as compared to where they stood
ten years ago. Given the present revival of shamanic traditions and a
fair degree of academic freedom in China, researchers there can make
significant contributions to the international study of shamanism if
they modify their approach enough to consider Western theories, and
base their own conclusions on solid ethnographic work.
The traditional prejudice against shamanism needs to be discarded,
and shamanism recognized as an inseparable component of the Chi-
nese cultural tradition and of the corpus of human knowledge. It will
then become possible to take a multidisciplinary approach to shaman-
istic studies, and explore the value of shamanism to the social sciences
as well as to medicine. The puzzling vitality of shamanism will then
become understandable. Shamanistic studies thus having proven its
usefulness, more funding and support will probably be forthcoming
from the authorities.
Secondly, shamanism needs to be viewed in the socio-historical
context in which it grows, is assimilated, endures and revives (or, in
some cases, declines). Due attention must be given to the changes and
diversities of shamanism, bearing in mind that the cultural tradition
of any ethnic group (unless it is completely isolated) is always chang-
ing, and is always a combination of the old and new. It is a mistake to
conclude that there is no place for shamanism in urban life; examples
are the neoshamans across North America and the Hmong shamans in
downtown Chicago. Generalization should be avoided unless specifi-
cally supported by reliable ethnographic data.
Finally, value-free ethnographic work should be done on every aspect
of the shamanic tradition, including rituals, social control, healing
methods, and altered states of consciousness. Sufficient field data must
be obtained before attempting theory building and comparative studies.
Once the facts about shamanism have been separated from fiction, the
160 Review Article

value of shamanism will become evident, as will the extensive influ-

ence of shamanic traditions in our lives. As Flaherty (1992: 215) has
noted, it is time for researchers of shamanistic studies to recognize the
discipline of shamanology.

Update by the Author in November 2006

Since this survey article was published in 1993, tremendous changes
have taken place in China in the field of shamanistic studies. Many
of the problems discussed in this article have either disappeared or
become less apparent. For example, greater attention is paid to field-
work and theories based on ethnographic data, and some researchers
(e.g., Fu Yuguang, Meng Huiying and Guo Shuyun) have ventured
into the areas of psychoanalysis and healing practices of the shaman.
At least two Ph.D. dissertations on shamanism have been published by
Meng Huiying (Zhongguo Beifang Minzu Saman Jiao [Shamanism of
the ethnic groups in Northern China], 2000) and Guo Shuyun (Zhong-
JXR%HLIDQJ0LQ]X6DPDQ7XRKXQKH)XWL;LDQ[LDQJ<DQMLX [A study
of shamanic ecstasy and possession of ethnic groups in Northern
China], 2006), and hundreds of books and documentary videos on
shamanism in China have been published/produced. With continuous
revival of the shamanic tradition and increasing official tolerance and
support, significant achievements have been made by various organiza-
tions in China. For example, Changchun University established the first
Museum of Shamanic Culture in May 2006, and Changchun Teachers
College is starting an M.A. program focused on shamanic studies,
another first of its kind, to enroll students in the autumn of 2007. (The
present author has been associated with both institutions in Chang-
chun, China. More details of the development on shamanistic studies
in China can be found in the author’s forthcoming article in the 2006
Fall/Winter issue of Shamanism.)

The writing of this article is financially supported by the Founda-

tion for Shamanic Studies (FSS), P.O. Box 670, Norwalk, Connecticut
06852 (now P.O. Box 1939, Mill Valley, CA 94942). My special thanks
go to Michael Harner, president of the FSS.
Review Article 161

References
Aisin-Gioro Wulaxichun 1987. Man Zu Gu Shenhua [Ancient myths of the Man-
chu]. (In Manchu, with phonetic transcription and Chinese translation; the well-
known “Nisan Shamaness” included). Hohhot: Mongolian People’s Press.
Atkinson, Jane Monning 1992. “Shamanisms Today.” Annual Review of Anthro-
pology 21: 307–30.
Cai Jiaqi 1988a. Lun Yuanshi Zongjiao [On primitive religions]. Kunming: Yun-
nan Nationalities Press.
—. 1988b. “Shaman” and “Shamanism.” In Zhongguo Da Baike Quanshu Zongjiao
[Encyclopedia Sinica. Religions]. Beijing: Encyclopedia Sinica Press. 325–8.
Du Rongkun and Yang Guangkai 1989. “The Development of Video Show Eth-
nology in China.” New Asia Academic Bulletin 8: 65–73.
Eliade, Mircea 1964. Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy. Bollingen
6HULHV1R/;;9,3ULQFHWRQ3ULQFHWRQ8QLYHUVLW\3UHVV
Fu Yuguang (ed.) 1988. Saman Jiao Wenhua Yanjiu – Di Yi Ji [Studies on sha-
manic culture. Vol. 1]. Changchun: Jilin People’s Press.
—. 1990. Saman Jiao yu Shenhua [Shamanism and mythology]. Shenyang:
Liaoning University Press.
Fu Yuguang and Meng Huiyin 1991. Man Zu Saman Jiao Yanjiu [Studies on Man-
chu shamanism]. Beijing: Beijing University Press.
Flaherty, Gloria 1992. Shamanism and the Eighteenth Century. Princeton: Princ-
eton University Press.
Harner, Michael 1988. “What Is a Shaman? ” In Gary Doore (ed.) Shaman’s Path. Heal-
ing, Personal Growth and Empowerment. Boston and London: Shambala. 5–15.
—. 1990. The Way of the Shaman. A Guide to Power and Healing. San
Francisco: Harper & Row. (First edition: 1980)
Jalungga Hewenjiyun 1990. Saman Jarin – Saman-i Bithe [Shaman’s handbook].
,Q;LEH0DQFKX 8UXPTL;LQMLDQJ3HRSOH·V3UHVV
Li, Yihyuan 1976. “Shamanism in Taiwan: An Anthropological Inquiry.” In W. P.
Lebra (ed.) Culture-Bound Syndromes, Ethnopsychiatry, and Alternate Thera-
pies. Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii.
Ling Chunsheng 1934. 6RQJKXDMLDQJ;LD\RXGH+H]KH=X [The Hezhens on the
lower reaches of the Songhua river]. Nanjing: Academia Sinica.
/LX;LDRPHQJDQG'LQJ<L]KXDQJSaman Jiao yu Dongbei Minzu [Shamanism
and the ethnic groups in Northeastern China]. Changchun: Jilin Education Press.
Mandu Ertu 1992. “Saman Jiao Yanjiu de Shi Nian” [A decade of studies on sha-
manism]. Shijie Zongjiao Yanjiu [Studies of world religions] 2: 116–25.
Michael, Henry N. (ed.) 1963. Studies in Siberian Shamanism. Toronto: Univer-
sity of Toronto Press.
Qiu Pu (ed.) 1985. Saman Jiao Yanjiu [Studies on Shamanism]. Shanghai: Shang-
hai People’s Press.
162 Review Article

Shi, Kun 1988. “Shamanic Practices in Southwest China. ” Temenos 24: 121–35.
—. 1991. “Flying Drums, Dancing Shamans: Shamanic Practices among the
Manchu of Northern China. ” Shaman’s Drum 25: 22–29.
Shirokogoroff, S. M. 1935. Psychomental Complex of the Tunguz. London: Kegan Paul.
Siikala, Anna-Leena 1978. The Rite Technique of the Siberian Shaman. FF Com-
munications 220. Helsinki: Academia Scientiarum Fennica.
Siikala, Anna-Leena and Mihály Hoppál 1992. Studies on Shamanism. Ethnologica
Uralica 2. Helsinki: Finnish Anthropological Society; Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó.
Song Zhaolin 1989. Wu yu Wushu [Wu “shaman” and witchcraft]. Chengdu:
Sichuan Nationalities Press.
Sun Yunlai (ed.) 1990. Saman Jiao Wenhua Yanjiu – Di Er Ji [Studies on sha-
manic culture. Vol. 2]. Tianjin: Tianjin Historical Records Press.
Thompson, Laurence G. 1985. Chinese Religion in Western Languages: A Com-
prehensive and Classified Bibliography of Publications in English, French,
and German through 1980. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.
Waley, Arthur 1955. The Nine Songs: A Study of Shamanism in Ancient China.
London: George Allen and Unwin Ltd.
Wang Honggang 1991. “Guanyu Saman Jiao Wenti de Tantao” [An inquiry on
shamanism]. Beifang Minzu [Northern Nationalities] 1.
Wang Guoxing (recorded) and Chen Junqing (chanted) 1988. Saman Shen Ge
[Sacred songs of the shaman]. Tieling. Liaoning: Tieling Folklore Society
(Circulation within China).
Wu Bin-an 1989. Shenmi de Saman Shijie [The mysterious world of shamanism].
Shanghai: The Joint Press.
;X &KDQJKDQ  ´/XQ 6DPDQ :HQKXD ;LDQ[LDQJ ² ¶6DPDQ -LDR· )HL -LDR
Chuyi.” [On shamanic cultural phenomenon: ‘Shamanism’ is not a religion].
;XH[L\X7DQVXR [Study and exploration] 2.
Zhang Zichen 1990. Zhongguo Wushu [Witchcraft in China]. Shanghai: The Joint
Press.
Zheng Tianxing 1983. “Guo Wai Saman Jiao Yanjiu Gaikuang.” [An introduction
to foreign studies of shamanism]. Shijie Zongjiao Ziliao [References to world
religions] 3.

KUN SHI has done research on shamanism since 1987. He received his M.A.
in cultural anthropology from the Ohio State University in 1992 (and com-
pleted Ph.D. studies in 1995), taught at OSU and Denison University, served
as program developer for social service agencies and program evaluator for
Ohio’s Legislative Office of Education Oversight, and currently is director of
the K-12 Chinese Flagship Program at OSU.
VOL. 1. NOS. 1-2. SHAMAN 163
SPRING/AUTUMN 1993/2007

Book Reviews

ROY ANDREW MILLER und NELLY NAUMANN. Altjapanisch FaFuri. Zu Priestertum

und Schamanismus im vorbuddhistischen Japan. Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft
für Natur- und Völkerkunde Ostasiens e.V. Bd. 116. ISBN 3-928463-51-9. Ham-
burg: OAG. 1991. 127 p.

Roy Andrew Miller, a linguist, and Nelly Neumann, an ethnologist,

undertake the task of investigating the Old Japanese priestly function
of FaFuri in all its linguistic and cultural aspects, including its relation-
ship to shamanism.
The authors begin with cataloguing the priestly functions of FaFuri
of yore, who served in the shrine of a certain deity in the Nara Period.
As the mouthpiece of the deity, he offered animal sacrifices, played an
active part in funeral ceremonies, and was entitled to reprieve those
condemned to death and make them servants of the shrine. They then
go on to trace the root of the word FaFuri, in hope that its linguistic
history will reveal the original functions of this priestly office.
Nicholas N. Poppe has claimed that Altaic *pap ‘witchcraft, sorcery’,
which is attested in Turkic in the form of ap ‘witchcraft’, in Mongol
in the form of ab ‘id.’, and in Tunguz in the form of haptai ‘magician’,
is a borrowing of Chinese fa (Ancient Chinese *p w p ‘law, model,
imitate’). The etymology of the word has already been discussed by
VXFK JUHDW ILJXUHV RI $OWDLVWLFV DV 0DUWWL 5lVlQHQ -RKQ 6WUHHW Ē 9
Sevortian, V. I. Tsintsius and Karl Menges. Miller himself assumes
repeated borrowings. A separate and substantial chapter is devoted to
a detailed history of the word, to its variations and semantic connec-
tions. Based on these considerations, Miller takes it as proven that the
Chinese fa*pap entered Proto-Altaic before the individuation of the
various Altaic languages. Another chapter deals with the morphology
and semantics of FaFuri. Here again, Miller concludes that the Japa-
nese word is a borrowing of Chinese fa ‘device, sorcery’.
164 Book Reviews

The history of the word has Korean connections of significance for

their semantic and cultural history implications. Tracing the Korean
connection allows the authors to present some fascinating information
on early Buddhism, and to discuss the relationship between Buddhism
and shamanism.
Returning to the Old Japanese sources allows the authors to attempt
a more detailed interpretation of the religious and secular powers of the
FaFuri. They emphasize his importance in the reverence accorded to trees
and parks and holy places. He was the one who purified and consecrated,
for instance, the wine that was to be presented as an offering to the god,
and it was through him that the god spoke to make his will known. This
latter was the FaFuri’s most important function. His most bizarre “job”
was to conduct “funeral” ceremonies in the course of which the corpse
was dismembered in gardens specifically set aside for this purpose. He
also offered the animal sacrifices, a relatively new practice that the Japa-
nese had imported from China. (The authors refer at this point to Meuli
(1946),1 and trace the practice of animal sacrifices to the hunting customs
of the Siberian peoples.) In the light of all this, they put the question of how
far the FaFuri can be considered a shaman, if one accepts the definition
of shaman given by Hultkrantz (1974), and compares the functions of the
FaFuri with Shirokogoroff’s (1935) description of the Tunguz shamans.
They conclude that the FaFuri, too, was an “ecstatic” priestly figure, in
fact, the earliest one we know of in the Altaic world.
In the parallel semantic chapter (77–78), Miller compares the mean-
ings of Greek ƬоƫƷ ‘to distribute’ of ƬфƫƮư ‘law’, and of the Altaic
family of words designated by *pap, and offers eight methodological
pointers for a semantic approach to Japanese.
Though the authors marshal an amazing wealth of linguistic and
cultural evidence and point out a great many correlations, in the final
analysis, their argument is not convincing.
Let us consider just their account of the word *pap. Though this designa-
tion for ‘sorcery, witchcraft’, etc. is indeed common in the Altaic languages,
it seems to me to be problematic to trace it to the Chinese fa, meaning ‘law’.
They give absolutely no indication of when and under what circumstances
the assumed borrowing might have occurred, nor of at what level of cultural

1
In my view, the authors basically misunderstand Meuli’s excellent interpretation,
in which he connects the Olympian (Promethian) sacrifice with the feast customarily
held in honor of the slain animal among hunter peoples.
Book Reviews 165

development the borrowing people must have been to adopt a word meaning
‘law’ to indicate ‘magic’. If the borrowing is assumed to have taken place
at the time of Altaic unity, what need was there to adopt a word with the
meaning ‘law’—a notion totally foreign to traditional shamanic activity—to
describe something for which there already were plenty of verbs?
In fact, the activities and social role of the FaFuri differ fundamen-
tally from those of the Siberian—in our case, Tunguz—shamans. The
FaFuri served in the shrine of a particular god, and was that god’s
spokesman. The shamans are not tied to any particular spirit, and their
contacts with the spirit world are on a footing of equality: they repre-
sented the interests of the community vis-à-vis the spirit world employ-
ing the same means as were used to get one’s way with any other out-
sider group—force, craft, bargaining, bribes and gifts. The shaman did
not offer animal sacrifice, but mediated the spiritual significance of the
sacrifice: a gift offered, or a due paid. It is only their reliance on what
is largely obsolete information that has allowed the authors to conclude
that the shaman acts as a psychopomp only under certain restricted
circumstances. In fact—as we know from research and texts that have
appeared since Shirokogoroff and Harva published their findings—he
is under obligation to conduct the souls of the dead in every case. Their
lack of familiarity with the more recent literature stamps the authors’
entire vision and interpretation of shamanism as obsolete.
For all that, the book provides some fascinating new information
on early Japanese religion, and raises some very important questions.
One’s pleasure in reading it is compounded by the satisfaction of hav-
ing a fine term, name and subject Index to refer to.

References
Hultkrantz, Åke 1974. “A Definition of Shamanism.” Temenos 9: 25–37.
Meuli, Karl 1946. “Griechische Opferbräuche.” In Olof Gigon et al. (ed.) Phyl-
lobolia für Peter von der Mühll zum 60. Geburtstag am 1. August 1945. Basel:
B. Schwabe. 185–287.
Shirokogoroff, S. M. 1935. “Versuch einer Erforschung der Grundlagen des Scha-
manentums bei den Tungusen.” Baessler-Archiv. Beiträge zur Völkerkunde 18:
41–96.

BUDAPEST CATHERINE URAY-Kł+$/0,

166 Book Reviews

GIOVANNI STARY (ed.) Das “Schamanenbuch” der Sibe-Mandschuren. Sha-

manica Manchurica Collecta 1. 1992. ISBN 3-447-03244-8. 180 p. TATJANA
A. PANG. Die sibemandschurische Handschrift “Der Schamanenhof.” Die
sibemandschurische Handschrift 6DPDQNŗZDUDQLELWKH aus der Sammlung
N. Krotkov. Shamanica Manchurica Collecta 2. 1992. ISBN 3-447-03245-6.
104 p. ALESSANDRA POZZI. Manchu-Shamanica Illustrata. Die mandschu-
ULVFKH +DQGVFKULIW  GHU 7Ŀ\ĿEXQND .HQN\ŗVKR 7ĿN\Ŀ 'DLNDNX Sha-
manica Manchurica 3. 1992. ISBN 3-447-03246-4. 208 p. Wiesbaden: Otto
Harrassowitz.

Shamanica Manchurica Collecta, a new and eminently useful series

of source publications, is edited by Professor Giovanni Stary, one
of the most outstanding and most prolific of contemporary Manchu
scholars. The purpose of the series is to make accessible in a tran-
scribed form all the shamanic texts extant in Manchu and Shibe,
together with German translations, an index of names and terms,
and where possible, facsimiles of the original texts. The volumes are
likely to prove invaluable not only for the study of Manchu, but also
as sources of religious history, particularly the study of shamanism.
Though the roots of Manchu shamanism go back to the same beliefs
and practices as the shamanism of the Siberian and Amur Valley
Tunguz peoples, it acquired a special position when the Manchu tribes
came to rule the Chinese Empire. Its status in the Imperial Court lent
it a somewhat official hue, and it was also much influenced by Chinese
popular religious practices and Buddhism.
Three volumes of the series have appeared in the very first year. Let
us look at each one in turn.
Giovanni Stary himself edited the first volume, the Schamanenbuch.
7KH 6KLEH ;LEH LQ 3LQ\LQ  DV ZH NQRZ DUH RQH RI WKH 0DQFKXULDQ
tribes relocated by imperial edict from their homelands in the Tsitsikar
DQG0HUJHQUHJLRQVWRGRJXDUGGXW\RQWKH:HVWHUQIURQWLHU;LQMLDQJ
in 1763. They live there still, having retained in that foreign environ-
ment their spoken and literary languages, script and all, while in Man-
churia itself, the old script is long forgotten, and the Manchu dialect
is spoken only by some old timers in the villages. Along with the Old
Manchu dialect and script, they have also preserved their old traditions,
and the old shamanic rites and practices.
Book Reviews 167

The Shaman Book in question was written by Shaman Elsi of the Nara
clan in 1843. The first published version of the manuscript was prepared
by two Shibe literary historians, Jalungga and Hewejiyun, and appeared
in Urumqi in 1990 under the title Saman jarin (Shaman Songs). Though
originally written by Shaman Eisi in literary Manchu, there are passages
in the text which the editors have admitted to being unable to clarify.
The manuscript is divided into two chapters. The first contains short
supplications and songs for use in shaman training and initiation rites:
for instance, the supplication of the candidate shaman, “the one sitting
on the bench,” i.e. awaiting initiation. There are healing songs, songs
inviting to the sacrificial feast, post-sacrifice songs, and a song telling
of the shaman’s eighteen trials on his journey to Isanju Mama, the sha-
mans’ principal guardian spirit. The second chapter contains a lengthy
song recounting the history of the shamans of the Nara clan, the “paper
fortification” rite, the shaman’s secret protective prayer, and a very long
prayer for healing the sick, along with the rites that go with it.
It is very easy to distinguish the various cultural layers that have
settled on top of early shamanism: for instance, in the “nine paper
fortifications” rite, we find not only the various kinds of Manchu
spirits, but also reference to the classical Chinese yin-yang dichotomy,
to Losonhan, the emperor of water dragons, and to Buddha. We find
Buddhist mantra influences in the secret protective prayer, and see
the iconography of tankas reflected in the “shaman picture” depict-
ing the shaman’s trip to the nether world, particularly if we compare
it to the pictures of the related Nanais (Ivanov 1954: 275–284). There
are extraordinarily interesting parallels between the guardian spirits
obstructing the shaman’s progress in the nether world, and the guardian
spirits depicted in the Altai Turkic Maadaj Kara. In both accounts, we
find prairie wolves, black wild boars at the foot of black cliffs, snakes
and bears (Surazakov and Pukhov 1973: 280–289). It is just these ele-
ments that are missing in the account of the guardian spirits standing
in the shaman’s way given in Tatjana Pang’s Der Schamanenhof. Are
the noted parallels a coincidence, one wonders, or are they evidence of
direct influence?
The title of the original of the second volume, Tatjana Pang’s Der
Schamanenhof, is 6DPDQNŗZDUDQLELWKH (The Book of the Shaman’s
Court), one of the many manuscripts collected by the Russian diplomat
and Far East scholar, N. Krotkov. The introduction gives a detailed
account of the collection, kept in St. Petersburg since 1918.
168 Book Reviews

The manuscript contains the songs of three shamans born in the

Year of the Monkey. Written in the Shibe Manchu dialect, the songs
would be difficult indeed to decipher did they not coincide, in part,
with the songs noted down in the Saman jarin manuscript. One song
starts by calling upon the gods and the spirits of the ancestors for
help, continues as a plea for the shaman mirror, and then goes on to
describe the spirits keeping guard over the various stages of the trip
to the nether world. In this song, however, after visiting Isanju Mama,
the shaman also visits Buddha, and receives a book from him. There
is also a reference to the “paper fortification” rite, and to the animal
spirits keeping guard over the Chinese dual hours in connection with
a vague magic diagram. Most informative is the passage in which the
shaman, preparing for a rite, describes one by one the pieces of magic
clothing he puts on, and describes how he prepares his instruments,
made of the bones of stolen animals.
The poem then goes on to describe the rites of healing, which, again, we
are able to understand only with the help of the Saman jarin. The song is
a mine of information for the names and identities of the spirits revered by
the Shibe, some of which strongly suggest Buddhist influences.
The third volume of the series, that edited by Alessandra Pozzi,
publishes a fascinating illustrated manuscript dating to 1771. Written
by Shaman Cancing, it describes, with drawings, everything there is to
know about shamanic ceremonies: the procedure, the paraphernalia,
the clothing the shaman wears, and the movements he makes. The
description, given in Manchu, has Chinese translations and is, as we
have already noted, fully illustrated. Cancing has also recorded the
songs appropriate for the various rites: the sacrifice to the sky, the
night sacrifice, and the sacrifices to “the Mongolian gods.” We learn
the movements of the ritual shamanic dances, and learn how to drive
out evil spirits with the stuffed clothing of a deceased relative. There
are pictures of the sacred willow and of the “cord of the ancestors,”
the paraphernalia of the Fodo Mama rite, and of the small objects
symbolizing the family members. There is no way to enumerate all
the treasures this little book holds. Suffice it to note that it provides an
authentic picture of late Manchu shamanism, strongly ritualized and
admixed with Chinese elements though it was.
The second and third volumes contain full facsimiles of the origi-
nal manuscript; the first volume gives us the sacred numbers. All the
Book Reviews 169

volumes contain an Index of names. One can only look forward with
eagerness to the next volume of the series.

References
Ivanov, S. V. 1954. Materialy po izobrazitel' QRPX LVVNXVWYX QDURGRY 6LELUL ;,;
²QDFKDOD;;Y7UXG\,QVWLWXWDĒWQRJUDILLLP110LNOXNKR0DNODLD16
;;,,0RVNYDDQG/HQLQJUDG
Surazakov, S. S. and I. V. Pukhov 1973. Maaday-Kara. $OWDɩVNLɩ JHURLFKHVNLɩ
ēSRVĒSRVQDURGRY66650RVNYD*ODYUHGYRVWRFKQRɩOLWHUDWXU\

BUDAPEST CATHERINE URAY-Kł+$/0,

VOL. 1. NOS. 1-2. SHAMAN SPRING/AUTUMN 1993/2007

News and Notes

REPORT ON THE FIRST CONFERENCE OF THE INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY FOR

SHAMANISTIC RESEARCH, HELD 22–28 JULY, 1991, SEOUL, KOREA

The First Conference of the International Society for Shamanistic

Research (ISSR) was held in Seoul, Korea, between 22–28 July,
1991. The conference, organized by Tae-gon Kim, president of the
Eastern Office of the ISSR, had “Regional Aspects of Shamanism”
as its central theme. The event was an enormous success, as more
than 80 papers were presented by participants who came from more
than 20 countries, and it offered an opportunity for colleagues from
East and West to meet. After the opening ceremony, two papers were
presented at the plenary session “Shamanism and Korean Religions”
by Yee-hum Yoon and “Shamanism: Structures and Symbols” by
Mihály Hoppál. The afternoon session was dedicated to the theme of
shamanic performances and then there followed a traditional Korean
tea ceremony. During the three working days of the conference,
presentations were held in five different sections: “Shamanism and
Religion,” “Shamanism and Folklore,” “Shamanism and Medicine,”
“Shamanism and Art” and “Theoretical, Historical and Philosophi-
cal Issues of Shamanism.” During the last two days of the confer-
ence the participants were taken to observe some local shamanic
rituals which gave a glimpse into the highly elaborate character of
Korean shamanism.
Thanks are due to the sponsors of the conference, the Korean Minis-
try of Education, the Korean Culture and Art Foundation, the Korean
Science and Engineering Foundation, the Dong-A Publishing and Print-
ing Co. Hd., the Kyung University and the Institute for Ethnological
Studies of the Han Yang University, all of which generously provided
financial help to the scholars attending from ex-socialist countries. The
First International Conference of the ISSR has made history, since it
brought together for the first time Western and Eastern scholars in a
country where shamanism is a continuous and living tradition. There
News and Notes 171

Fig. 1. A Korean shamanic ritual as performed part of the opening

of the conference. Photo: Mihály Hoppál, 1991.

are plans for publishing the proceedings of the conference in Korean

and Japanese. The papers given in English will be published separately,
Otto yon Sadovszky having offered a generous grant for the purpose
from the International Society for Trans-Oceanic Research (ISTOR).
The selected papers of the Seoul conference were published in 1993
(Mihály Hoppál and Keith D. Howard, [eds.] Shamans and Cultures.
ISTOR Books 5. Akadémiai Kiadó: Budapest; International Society for
Trans-Oceanic Research: Los Angeles.)
The Scientific Committee of the ISSR (1991–1993) nominated by the
General Assembly in Seoul, Korea: Vladimir N. Basilov (Russia), Rolf
Gilberg (Denmark), Roberte Hamayon, Treasurer (France), Ruth-Inge
Heinze (USA), Mihály Hoppál, President of the Western Office of
the ISSR, acting president, 1991–1993 (Hungary), Caroline Humprey
172 News and Notes

Fig. 2. A famous Korean shamaness (mudang) with her helpers singing

at the ceremony (kut) at the end of the conference. Photo: Mihály Hoppál, 1991.

(United Kingdom), Ulla Johansen (Germany), Tae-gon Kim, President

of the Eastern Office of the ISSR, acting president (Korea), Juha Pen-
tikäinen, President of the Northern Office of the ISSR, (Finland), Otto
yon Sadovszky, Treasurer (USA), Bernard Saladin d’Anglure (Canada),
Tokutaro Sakurai (Japan), Anna-Leena Siikala (Finland), Giovanni
Stary (Italy), Fu Yuguang (P. R. China).
Founding members of the ISSR, Seoul, Korea, July 25, 1991:
Eduard Alekseev (Russia), Catherine Barbier (France), Jacques
Barbier (France), Marie-Lise Beffa (France), Bill B. Brunton (USA),
Josiane Cauquelin (France), Ronald Chavers (Holland), Maria Silvia
Codecase (Italy), John A. Dooley (United Kingdom), Dashinima
Dugarov (Buriatia), Alex Guillemoz (France), Roberte Hamayon
(France), Ruth-Inge Heinze (USA), Eugene Helimski (Russia),
Mihály Hoppál (Hungary), Roger L. Janelli (USA), Ulla Johansen
(Germany), Shin-pyo Kang (Korea), Laurel Kendall (USA), Seung-
mi Kim (Korea), Tae-gon Kim (Korea), Kahili Serge King (USA),
News and Notes 173

Fig 3. A Korean shamaness in front of her “altar,” a ceremonial table

with ritual offerings heaped up on it. Photo: Mihály Hoppál, 1991.

Peter Knecht (Japan), Martin Kraatz (Germany), Hyeong-gi Kwon

(Korea), Heimo Lappalainen (Finland), Du-Hyun Lee (Korea),
Mee-won Lee (Korea), Young-yae Lee (Korea), Seiichi Matsumoto
(Japan), Hui Qin (China), II-young Park (Korea), Sang-kyu Park
(Korea), Alessandra Pozzi (USA), Otto yon Sadovszky (USA),
Bernard Saladin d’Anglure (Canada), Geoffrey Samuel (Australia),
Giovanni Stary (Italy), Frank M. Tedesco (Korea), Takashi Tsumura
-DSDQ *iERU9DUJ\DV +XQJDU\ 0DQDEX:DLGD 86$ 6QMHçDQD
=RULþ &URDWLD 7DNDNR<DPDGD -DSDQ .LQLFKL<DPDVKLWD -DSDQ 
Dawn-hee Yim (Korea).

BUDAPEST MIHÁLY HOPPÁL

174 News and Notes

REPORT ON THE “SHAMANISM AS A RELIGION: ORIGIN, RECONSTRUCTION

AND TRADITIONS,” CONFERENCE, HELD AUGUST 15–22, 1992,
YAKUTSK, RUSSIA

A conference on “Shamanism as a Religion: Origin, Reconstruction

and Traditions” was held during the week of August 15–22, 1992,
in Yakutsk, the capital city of the Independent Republic of Sakha. It
was the first time that a conference held in Siberia could be openly
dedicated to shamanism. Over a hundred researchers, scholars and
speakers from all over Russia participated, and it was a particu-
larly welcome addition to see representatives of small nations where
shamanism has endured until recent times attend in large numbers.
Some forty foreign (American, Canadian, Japanese, Korean, French,
Finnish and Hungarian) scholars took part as well. The conference
was a great success, for most of the leading figures of present-day
Siberian shamanistic research (e.g. V. P. Diakonova, V. N. Basilov,
,X%6LPFKHQNR(61RYLNDQG700LNKDɩORY ZHUHSUHVHQW
and expressed their views at the plenary session. The published mate-
rial included about 130 very interesting abstracts, some shorter and
some longer, all of them containing heretofore unknown data. The
wide range of topics and the wealth of new information made one
realize how much research work there is still to be done. Totally new,
surprising and highly valuable results were reported in a number of
areas. For example, in Siberian ethnomusicology, O. Seinkin and his
students are working on systematically mapping the characteristics
of shamanic musical dialects, the types of drums that are used and
their acoustic features.
Particularly striking were the presentations centering on Siberian
and Central Asian shamanism as a historical and cultural phenom-
HQRQ 7 0 0LNKDɩORY  DQG WKRVH RQ DQFLHQW 7XUNLF Tengrism
(belief in Tengri, the god of the skies), given by B. Kazimov and F.
S. Baritsu. Several studies were presented on Siberian pictographs
GHSLFWLQJVKDPDQV E\'6DUYLQRY$0DUWLQRYDQG9.XEDUsY 
which, along with archaeological finds, can help establish the time
when Siberian shamanism came into being. Based on archaeologi-
cal finds, some researchers, like A. Vazenov and S. Kisteneev, have
traced early shamanism back to the fourth millennium B.C. Russian
researchers are ever more of the opinion that ancient Iranian culture
News and Notes 175

had a great deal of influence on the peoples of Siberia, that this

influence was strongest in the area of religion, and that this explains
the many similarities between ancient Iranian and Siberian shaman-
ism (A. V. Zaporozhenka). Other scholars go even further, and attri-
bute “white shamanism” in its entirety to Indo-European and Paleo-
Siberian contacts (D. Dugarov, K. Gerasimova, E. Romanova).
A number of talks dealt with the traditional narratives performed
by the shamans, i.e. with the somewhat neglected fact that in certain
Central Asian, primarily Turkic societies, the shaman himself was the
narrator of the epics (A. Khudiakov, H. Korogli, R. Sultangazeeva,
V. Nikoforova). Regrettably few presentations dealt with shamanic
symbolism. All the more welcome, therefore, were exceptions such as
A. Tabishalieva’s paper on the shamanic ornamental motifs used in
Kirghiz folk art; the two in-depth studies on the symbolic meaning in
shamanism of “sex interchange,” i.e. transvestism (V. N. Basilov, and B.
Saladin d’Anglure); and the research reports on the morphology of the
shaman costume (L. Pavlinskaia).
Several presentations dealt with shamanic accessories (drums and
symbolic weapons); others reported on research on shamanism as it was
practiced among specific peoples, for example the Evenek (P. Slepkov,
A. Petrov, A. Alekseev). A number of talks centered on the works of
WKHJUHDWHVWUHVHDUFKHUVRI6LEHULDQVKDPDQLVP6'0DɩQDJDVKHY*
V. Ksenofontov, B. E. Petri and Maria Czaplicka.
On the third day, the conference was moved to a ship sailing on the
Lena River, giving the participants a chance to admire the beautiful
Siberian countryside. One day, at dawn, the participants attended the
sun-greeting ceremony of a “white shaman.” It was an invigorating
experience. On board, they continued to view ethnographic documen-
taries on video, and to engage in productive discussions.
One evening the participants saw an hour-long theatrical presenta-
tion of a shaman play in several acts. The play was a reconstruction
of original folklore material. The players acted out the initiation of a
new shaman, the rituals of healing, and a joint shaman festival with
nine shamans beating their drums simultaneously. The costumes and
the drums were authentic replicas, the drum-playing, the dances, the
movements, the songs and the lyrics were all reproduced from authen-
tic folklore, making the performance a modern rendition of the ancient
traditions. This type of re-awakening (or enlivening, as the drums must
be brought to life for the ceremony) helps to strengthen the feeling of
176 News and Notes

ethnic identity. All in all, the participants experienced an upsurge of

Sakha consciousness, of which shamanism, the religious ideology of
ancient Sakha, is an essential part.*1

BUDAPEST MIHÁLY HOPPÁL

*
See also Marjorie Mandelstam Balzer’s review article in the present issue of Shaman.