Possession, Demoniacal And Other

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Possession, Demoniacal And Other Page 51

by T K Oesterreich


  From the year 118 B.C. we have an account by a Chinese princess of the possession of a Wu-priest,1 from the year A.D. 25, another of the entry of a prince into a Wu-priest;2 and so the attestations continue throughout the various periods.

  Amongst these old stories there is one which is of particular interest to us Europeans. It comes from the celebrated Italian Marco Polo, who visited China at the end of the thirteenth century. His testimony runs:

  And let me tell you that in all those three provinces that I have been speaking of, to wit Carajan, Vochan, and Yachi, there is never a leech. But when any one is ill they send for the Devil-conjurors who are the keepers of their idols. When these are come the sick man tells what ails him, and then the conjurors incontinently begin playing on their instruments and singing and dancing; and the conjurors dance to such a pitch that at last one of them will fall to the ground lifeless, like a dead man. And then the devil entereth into his body. And when his comrades see him in this plight they begin to put questions to him about the sick man’s ailment. And he will reply: “Such and such a spirit hath been meddling with the man, for that he hath angered the spirit and done it some despite.” Then they say: “We pray thee to pardon him, and to take of his blood or of his goods what thou wilt in consideration of thus restoring him to health.” And when they have so prayed, the malignant spirit that is in the body of the prostrate man will (mayhap) answer: “The sick man hath also done great despite to such another spirit, and that one is so ill-disposed that it will not pardon him on any account;”—this at least is the answer they get if the patient be like to die. But if he is to get better the answer will be that they are to bring two sheep, or may be three; and to brew ten or twelve jars of drink, very costly and abundantly spiced. Moreover it will be announced that the sheep must be all black-faced or of some other particular colour as it may happen; and then all those things are to be offered in sacrifice to such and such a spirit whose name is given. And they are to bring so many conjurors and so many ladies, and the business is to be done with a great singing of lauds, and with many lights and store of good perfumes. That is the sort of answer they get if the patient is to get well. And then the kinsfolk of the sick man go and procure all that has been commanded, and do as has been bidden, and the conjuror who has uttered all that gets on his legs again.

  So they fetch the sheep of the colour prescribed, and slaughter them, and sprinkle the blood over such places as have been enjoined, in honour and propitiation of the spirit. And the conjurors come, and the ladies, in the number that was ordered, and when all are assembled and everything is ready, they begin to dance and sing and play in honour of the spirit. And they take flesh-broth, and drink, and lign-aloes, and a great number of lights, and go about hither and thither, scattering the broth and the drink and the meat also. And when they have done this for a while, again shall one of the conjurors fall flat and wallow there foaming at the mouth, and then the others will ask if he has yet pardoned the sick man? And sometimes he shall answer yes! and sometimes he shall answer no! And if the answer be no, they shall be told that something or other has to be done all over again, and then he shall be pardoned; so this they do. And when all that the spirit has commanded has been done with great ceremony, then it will be announced that the man is pardoned and shall be speedily cured. So when they at length receive such a reply, they announce that it is all made up with the spirit, and that he is propitiated, and they fall to eating with great joy and mirth, and he who has been lying lifeless on the ground gets up and takes his share. So when they have all eaten and drunken, every man departs home. And presently the sick man gets sound and well.1

  We see that the connection with primitive Shamanism is here established in the clearest possible manner. The case is not even one of relationship, but of veritable identity; it is “Chinese Shamandom,” as may still be recognized to-day from the manner in which possession is provoked by music. In times of epidemic there are also processions with frenzied dances in which the priests wound themselves in the Turkish manner with sabres and balls stuck with points.

  A Chinese author writes:

  “Among men the dead speak” through living persons whom they throw into a trance and the “wu, thrumming their black chords, call down souls of the dead,” which then speak through the mouths of the wu.2

  In consequence of their accesses of possession in which the spirits even of princely personages entered into them, the influence of the Wu-priests was very considerable; from the purely political point of view it extended to the emperor. Once more we are involuntarily reminded of the position of the shamans amongst primitive peoples.

  The capacity of the wu-ist priesthood to see spirits, and to have intercourse with them and understand them, naturally raised its members to the rank of soothsayers through whom gods and ancestors manifested their will and desires, and their decisions about human fate.3

  As always, the documents are for the most part so laconic that in spite of their fairly large number it is not possible to form the desired exact idea of the states of the Wu-priests. They are, moreover, in China often mingled with accounts of parapsychic phenomena as to the credibility of which no well-founded judgement can yet be given.

  Possession by spirits is demonstrable in the case of men as well as women in the period round about 500 B.C.1

  Exactly as in the Shamanism of the Asiatic primitives we find in Chinese Wu-Shamanism an inadequate distinction between states of possession and visions, as well as alleged prophecies, second sight, etc. From the material collected by de Groot we may conclude in favour of the reality of possession, but the discrimination of these other states, so important from the psychological point of view, is not achieved, so that we have no general survey. I do not know whether the sources permitted of such discrimination.

  A specially interesting feature is that certain aspects of Wu-possession recall what we know of the Greek oracles, particularly the Pythoness, in many ways.

  Amongst the Wu-priests there is a certain body of elect on whom devolves the duty of procuring ecstasy by macerations, these priests being susceptible in the highest degree to abnormal states.

  They are called sîn tông—i.e., “godly youths,” or “youths who have shen or divinity in themselves,” or “youths who belong to a god.” More popularly they are known as ki tông, “divining youth,” or tâng ki, “youthful diviners,” even simply tâng tsi, or “youths.” They are, in fact, in the main young persons, and I have never seen one of advanced age. My Chinese informants probably spoke the truth when they asserted, that the eight characters which constitute their horoscope or fate, are light, so that their constitution is so frail that they are bound to die young. We may then admit that they must be a nervous, impressionable, hysterical kind of people, physically and mentally weak, and therefore easily stirred to ecstasy by their self-conviction that gods descend into them; but such strain on their nerves cannot be borne for many years, the less so because such possession requires self-mutilation entailing considerable loss of blood.

  Most of these dancing dervishes come from the lower class. People of good standing seldom debase themselves to things which were spoken of in terms of contempt by the holy I-yin thirty-five centuries ago, however frequently they may have recourse to them for revelation of unknown things. It is generally asserted, that the capacity to be an animated medium for gods and spirits is no acquisition, but a gift which manifests itself spontaneously. It happens, indeed, especially at religious festivals, celebrated in temples with great concourse of people, that a young man suddenly begins to hop, dance and waddle with wild or drowsy looks, and nervous gestures of arms and hands. Bystanders grasp his arms to sustain him, knowing that, while in this condition, his fall to the ground may cause sudden death. All onlookers at once realize the ïact that one of the gods whose images stand in the temple or some other spirit, has “seized the youth,” liâh tâng, and the parish thus will henceforth rejoice in the possession of one more medium for its intercourse with t
he divine world. Some make obeisance to him, or even prostrate themselves in worship, and in a few moments the officiating sai kong is at hand, to devote all his attention to the interesting case. Uttering efficacious spells, and blowing his buffalo-horn with energy, he dispels all spectres which thwart the divine spirit maliciously, and stiffen the tongue of the youth in ecstasy. The latter now begins to moan; some incoherent talk follows, mingled with cries; but all this is oracular language which reveals unknown things, for in the meantime one or two bystanders have in reality brought the spirit into him, and thus made a seer of him, by busily burning small paper sheets, denoted by the significant name of khai gán tsoá, “paper for unsealing the eyes “or “eye-opening papers.” These sheets are a very inferior kind of paper, yellow coloured, and are not even so large as a hand. By means of a matrix of wood, some ten or twelve men are printed on each in very slovenly fashion; some of these men have memorial tablets in their hands, and are deemed to be messengers in official costume; and the others are servants attending on them with banners and canopies and wild horses and carriages which complete their equipment. The papers being burned, these men, horses and things are set free, and straightway depart to fetch the spirit, who but for such escort, suitable to its taste and dignity, would refuse to come.

  An association of men, as a rule bearing his own tribe-name, is now quickly formed, anxious to attach themselves to the new found “godly youth,” and attract to their pockets a part of the profits which his work, as prophet, seer, and exorcist will yield. Henceforth they are frequently seen in this temple to conjure the spirit into him and interpret the strange sounds he utters; and in the end it is they alone who, by dint of experience and exercise, can understand those inspired sounds and translate them into human language. First of all they try to discover in this way the name of the spirit; indeed, they want it for their spells whenever they have to call him down into the medium, and, moreover, they want to know before which image they have to do this. In this way it is almost always discovered that the spirit is that of an idol of inferior rank, seated or standing somewhere in a temple; for indeed, gods of a notable rank in the divine world and therefore, least of all those who occupy a place in the State Religion, will seldom deign to descend into a material, impure human body, save under exceptional circumstances.…

  Many ki tông gods reside in images which stand on altars in dwelling houses, enjoying a good reputation among the people around for the many oracular hints which they give by the mouths of their mediums, hints whereby the sick are cured, and blessings of various kind obtained….

  When a consultation about a patient is to take place, one or more of his relatives repair to the altar of the ki tông god, light candles on it, and place on it a few dishes of food; and one of them having taken burning incense-sticks in his clasped hands, whispers to the idol the motives of their visit. The medium does not show as yet the slightest symptoms of possession, but is sitting at the altar-table on a stool or form, quietly chatting with his club-brethren,1 while two of these on either side repeatedly utter an incantation in a chanting voice, in order to “invite or bid the spirit,” meanwhile they burn incense and “eye-opening papers,” dropping the ashes of the latter into a pot of water. The invocation is a formula which professedly was uttered once upon a time by the god himself by the mouth of his ki tông, with an additional promise to come whenever he might hear it.

  The symptoms of the descent of the spirit into the medium shortly appear, that is to say, it effects the koan tâng or “communication with the medium.” Drowsily staring, he shivers and yawns, resting his arms on the table, and his head on his arms, as if falling asleep; but as the incantation proceeds with increasing velocity and loudness with the accompaniment of one or more drums, and as the “eye-opening papers”are being burned in a quicker succession, he suddenly jumps up to frisk and skip about. Thus the spirit “sets the medium to hopping or dancing.” Two club-brethren grasp him, and force him back upon the form; which is not always easy, and may require the full exertion of their muscles. His limbs shake vehemently; his arms knock on the table; his head and shoulders jerk nervously from side to side, and his staring eyes, half closed, seem to gaze straight into a hidden world. This is the proper moment for the consultant or the interpreter to put his questions. Incoherent shrill sounds are the answer; but the interpreter translates this divine language with the greatest fluency into the intelligible human tongue, while another brother writes these revelations down on paper. But the moment comes for the spirit to announce in the same way its intention to depart. This is a sign for a brother to beat a drum loudly; and for another to spurt over the medium a draught of the water in which the ashes of the “eye-opening papers “were dropped; and for a third to burn some gold paper money for the spirit, in order to reward it for its revelations, and to buy its forgiveness, should it have been involuntarily displeased or impolitely treated. And the medium jumps up, sinks into the arms of his brethren, or even to the ground, as if in a swoon; but he revives, rubs his eyes, gazes around, and behaves like a normal man. This moment marks the tè tâng of the spirit, its “retreat from the medium.” It is asserted that the man thereupon has not the slightest notion or recollection of what has occurred to him.2

  This information from the celebrated sinologist de Groot is particularly precious. It gives us a glimpse of the genesis of a civilization of oracular divinities, and this with such exactitude that no analogous evidence can be compared to it. The parallel with Delphi forces itself upon us, and we might even speak of identity; here as there we find a possessed medium through whom a god speaks incomprehensible words which are rendered into human speech by functionaries. If it is decided to regard as mere priestly trickery the person and collaboration of the Pythoness, nevertheless genuinely possessed, the analogy is complete. It is probable that neither at Delphi nor in China was the performance purely fraudulent. Possession as described by de Groot naturally belongs to the somnambulistic type.

  Just as the oracles of Delphi had an extraordinary influence on the political life of Greece, the declarations of the possessed in China have had the same effect, as is evidenced in the following account by von der Goltz:

  When the Taoist and Buddhist priests act as mediums, it is assumed that their soul leaves the body in order to give place to a certain divinity. The medium sits down, his assistants arrange the altar, burn incense and invoke the desired deity. After some time one of them goes towards the medium and performs on him various movements which produce a kind of unconsciousness. This is the signal that the medium’s soul has left his body and that the divinity has taken possession of the momentarily empty vessel. All that the medium says from this moment onwards is considered as coming directly from the divinity. Exhibitions are given in Canton (according to Dennys, Folklore, etc.), with hypnotized persons. The performer reads to the subject certain magic spells after which the state of somnambulism is produced. In this state the subject performs the most marvellous gymnastic feats, although he has not learnt them. According to the Chinese the body, which the soul has abandoned during the hypnotic sleep, is taken by the soul of a dead fencing-master. But this superstition is not confined to deceased heads of families, fencing-masters and divinities of the Taoist and Buddhist Pantheon. In the religious sect of the Shang-ti-hui, an association of worshippers of gods whose leaders became later the “kings” of the Taiping rebellion, it happened that when the sect had assembled for divine service one or other of the members had a fit, so that he fell down and his body was bathed in sweat. In this state of ecstasy he then uttered exhortations, reproaches and predictions. The phrases were often unintelligible, but generally rhythmical in arrangement. Yang-hsiu-ch’ing, later “King of the East,” claimed that “Tien-fu,” the heavenly father, used to descend from heaven to take possession of his body and speak by his mouth. Hsiao-chao-kuei, the “King of the West,” proclaimed himself possessed by Jesus Christ.…1

  Beside the above-mentioned form of possession there is an
other similar one designated by the name of “Spirit-hopping.”

  Hardly to be distinguished from the performances of the Shamans is also the T’iao-shân, literally spirit-hopping, as it is described by Liao-chai-chi-i. Here is a translation of the relevant description. In the Tsi country (i.e., Shantung) it is customary for the women of a family when someone is ill to call in an old witch who acts as medium. She beats a tambourine stretched upon an iron frame and executes dances which are called “T’iao-shân,” spirit-jumps. At Pekin this pernicious custom is far more freely observed, and young women of good family often meet together to execute these dances. On a table in the reception-room of the house offerings of wine and meat are laid out, and the room is brightly lighted with large tapers. The medium who executes the dance tucks up her clothes, bends one leg and with the other executes the shan-yang dance. Two of the assembled women and girls support her, one on either side. The dancer mutters without intermission unintelligible words which seem to be now song and now rhythm. The words are not consecutive, but are subject to a certain rhythm. Meanwhile drums resound with a deafening din which contributes still further to make the dancer’s words incomprehensible. Finally the latter’s head droops and she begins to squint. She can no longer stand upright and would fall were it not for the help of her supporters. Suddenly she stretches her neck and leaps a foot into the air with joy. At this signal all the women present cry: “The ancestors have come to eat the offerings.” Then the lights are put out and complete darkness reigns. The company hold their breath and dare not speak, and would not, moreover, be heard because of the noise of drumming. Suddenly the dancer calls by name the father, mother, husband or wife (i.e., one of the deceased heads of the family). As it is customary to refrain out of respect from naming any of the elders, this is the sign that the spirit of one of them has entered into the medium. The tapers are relighted and the curious begin to put their questions concerning the future or other matters which are of interest to them. They see as soon as the lights are put on again that the food and drink have disappeared from the table (whether these have been eaten by the medium or her assistants or someone else is not stated in the text). It is seen from the dancer’s face whether the spirit which has just manifested itself is well or badly disposed. To each question an answer is given….1

 

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