Religion

If they are casual in their attitude toward God, they are more direct when dealing with spirits, and here become voluble and explicit. This is because they are on more familiar terms with the spirits, and because the shamans--the medicine men-- find it useful to keep the idea of spirits very much in the ordinary Inuk's mind. 

In the ancient religion they must once have had I have reached the conclusion that God was regarded as primary, but just too remote to be interested in the affairs of lowly mortals. He was happy by himself in His ethereal abode and bothered little with events below, leaving mundane matters entirely in the hands of lesser authorities, secondary gods that the Eskimos think of as spirits. We find the same kind of crude religion in Siberia and Mongolia, and the same assignment of intermediary power to a class of men, the shamans. The word "shaman" itself is Mongolian, and there is no doubt that the Eskimos brought the tradition of shamanism with them when they crossed the Bering Strait. 

Such is the Eskimo religion today--a rather debased and worldly religion that hardly merits being described as such, for there is in its concept nothing to adore or honor, but only spirits to propitiate. Are they angels or devils? According to the Eskimos, they are a little of both, a mixture of good and evil like human beings. "Since they deal with humans," the Inuk reasons, "must they not be like humans?" According to the Eskimo description, the spirits are something like the jinn of the Arabas, strange imps always looking for mischief, hiding behind corners in wait for human beings, like cranky poliemen who find their fun in picking quarrels with peaceful citizens. 

This shamanism is the only religion we have found among the Eskimos, and a certain body of tradition and formalism surrounds it. There are elements of animism in the Eskimo's vague beliefs. To him each object, be it rock, animal, or ice, is endowed with life. Even ideas, notions, the weather, sickness are thought either to be spirits or to be inhabited by spirits. A caribou is killed, for example. His flesh may be eaten, but his breath, his "soul," is just waiting around, perhaps nearby, and certain conventions are observed that the Eskimo believes will keep the caribou's spirit friendly. They will never, for instance, boil caribou meat, or sew the animal's skin during the months of darkness when the sun is gone. To do so would offend the caribou's "Anernek"--his "breath," "spirit", or "soul." A similar reasoning prompts them, when a relative dies, to give his name quickly to a dog, so that the spirit will have a place to rest until a child is born to inherit it. The Anernek is a fletting thing, easily lost, and every artifice must be brought to bear to prevent its prowling and creating trouble.

You may write it off as superstition, and of course in a way it is just that. Wasn't it Montaigne who observed that "since man has never been able to create a worm, he makes divinities every other day?" We have superstitions among our western peoples. Some otherwise rational and sensible humans in Paris, London, or New York are afraid to begin any venture on the thirteenth day of the month, especially if the thirteenth falls on a Friday. Others refuse to accept the third light from a match, even though the perfectly practical wartime origin of this custom has been explained to them. Some touch wood or cross their fingers, others carry favorite pennies. 

We must be indulgent toward Eskimo superstition, but we shouldn't forget that superstitions are signs of clouding faith, and that the spirits the Eskimos believe in are the last faint glimmers of an extinguished religion.

I once asked an Eskimo friend: "Tell me, now, you have so many evil spirits; aren't there any good ones?"

The old man grinned, considering this, then answered, "Well, Falla, of course there must be some good ones too, but we don't bother thinking about them. If they are good, they won't do us harm, eh? Whereas with the evil ones it is quite a different matter. They are always after us. Trouble? It's their middle name. So we have to coax them all the time, don't you see?"

Children's arithmetic? Maybe. But to the Eskimo it's just diplomacy.

In his serious dealing with the spirits the Eskimo never acts independently or makes a direct approach. He seeks a shaman whose function it is to act as intermediary, to intercede for him. The shaman is always a powerful fellow who is reported to have demonstrated his power in some dramatic fashion.

"Why, that medicine man," Ayaligak told me, "was so powerful he could thrust a harpoon into his chest and draw it out without leaving a scar!"

"Did you see it happen?" I asked.

"Well, no," Ayaligak confessed, "not exactly. But I heard about it. Everybody knows it's true."

One is reminded of the Soviet diplomatists who will describe the most atrocious falsehood as "that well-known fact." "It is a well-known fact," the Communist blandly announces, "that millions of people in the Unites States die each year from starvation." Loud applause from the gallery; perfect belief from the poor sheep. It must be true, you know. Isn't it a "well-known fact"?

So the power of the "Augatko"--the shaman--must be believed if only because it s well-known. Hitler must have had the Inuit in mind when he pronounced the doctrine of the Big Lie. For an Inuk will believe anything if it is stated boldly enough. And usually the Augatko backs up his claims to supernatural power with an act of hypnotism, autosuggestion, or sleight-of-hand. Once he has established himself he is absolutely secure and doesn't have to trouble much about window-dressing for his magic. He can take a piece of filthy caribou skin, roll it up, announce that it's a dog, and send it forth into the night to haunt the client's enemy. The poor Inuk is so completly impressed that he soon believes he is haunted himself and begins to see that awful dog lurking near his igloo. 

In addition to the system of fetishes, there is a multitude of tabus, some general and observed by all, others applying only to particular individuals. Sometimes tabus are handed out as cures for illness, like doctors' prescriptions. (And please don't forget the fee up here either!) Others are peculiar to a class of people. The shamans themselves, for example, are forbidden the best dish on the Eskimo menu--seal liver. Most tabus, though, are thought to apply to the whole Eskimo community, and to the Great Eyebrows too.

"Don't throw rocks down a cliff," they warned me. "This offends the atmosphere, and may cause a storm."

One day, for fun, I rolled some boulders over a cliff and watched the Eskimos as they listened to the great rocks crashing against the foot of the cliff. Nothing happened, no storm, not even a little breeze. There was silence.

"Well, at any rate," one Eskimo observed, "don't kill a crow. That is certain to bring bad weather."

I killed a crow as soon as I could find one. And did I pick the wrong day! Or the wrong crow! A few hours later an Arctic tornado mowed down every tent in the settlement. The Eskimos smiled knowingly at me, saying nothing, but very much amused and quite superior.

Virtue, in the Eskimo's mind, is always rewarded with material success. If a hunter who is usually fortunate returns several times with an empty bag, there is only one conclusion. The scamp has forgotten to wear his amulets, or neglected to observe some tabu. He himself will believe this, and castigate himself, and often become quite frantic in his effort to discover his shortcomings. 

It would be presumptuous to deny that the shaman may have sometimes accomplished preternatural feats with the help of evil spirits. But certainly most of them are frauds as palpable as any gypsy fortuneteller, and their "magic" is the result of hypotism, autosuggestion, and a whole climate of fear and awe that surrounds them as a result of tradition[sounds like most religions to me - Travis]. A shaman, by virtue of his power, functions as a kind of unofficial chieftain, and thus carries considerable weight in the community, though his real duties are curing the sick, altering the weather, making the caribou more disposed to being killed, and conciliating the variety of impish spirits that harry the unfortunate Inuk in his daily living. 

One is not born a shaman, incidently, or made a shaman. One simply discovers that he is a shaman. It may be a dream, a revelation, or some unaccountable, miraculous success that prompts the individual to think, "By golly, I think I've got it!" He believes he is a shaman and now announces the fact to others. His acceptance depends on a certain extent upon his daring and his ability as a salesman. To the gullible Eskimo, a vigorous assertion is usually sufficient. Again the Big Lie, boldly told. The greatest asset the sorcerer has is the fear that lurks in the hearts of his fellows. To most Eskimos, the idea of risking the wrath of the spirits by declaring oneself a shaman when one is not is utterly appalling. So he is apt simply to believe, without question.

Tied up with shamanism is the practice of fetishism. The Eskimos are great people for amulets and charms, and all kinds are carried faithfully, and firmly believed in-bears' teeth, wolves' ears, sections of caribou antler, and so forth. These talismen transmit to tthe wearer the qualities of the animal, and also the ability to conquer it. The claws of a hawk, for instance, will certainly give you a good grip. Caribou ears improve your hearing. "Kahak is really strong," they will tell you, "because he is a bear." Since childhood, you learn, Kahak has worn an amulet that symbolizes Nanuk, the bear. Hence, like Nanuk, he is strong--because he is a bear!

The name given to an Eskimo child, is, in a sense, fetishistic too, for the name is believed to carry with it the spirit and good qualities of the deceased who last bore it. But it also involves an almost certain transfer of the spirit--so we have here a vestige of a past belief in the transmigration of souls.

Preparation for Christ’s Coming—God’s Design in Food Reform 

Again and again I have been shown that God is trying to lead us back, step by step, to His original design—that man should subsist upon the natural products of the earth. Among those who are waiting for the coming of the Lord, meat eating will eventually be done away; flesh will cease to form a part of their diet. We should ever keep this end in view, and endeavor to work steadily toward it.

—Counsels on Health, 450. 

Flesh Foods and Clear Thinking 

God wants the perceptive faculties of His people to be clear and capable of hard work. But if you are living on a flesh diet, you need not expect that your mind will be fruitful. The thoughts must be cleansed; then the blessing of God will rest upon his people.... We want them to understand that the flesh of animals is not the proper food for them to eat. Such a diet cultivates the animal passions in them and in their children. God wants us to educate our children in right habits of eating, dressing, and working.

—Counsels on Dint and Foods, pp. 339, 390-391.

Choose the Best Foods 

In order to know what are the best foods, we must study God’s original plan for man’s diet. He who created man and who understands his needs appointed Adam his food.... Grains, fruits, nuts, and vegetables constitute the diet chosen for us by our Creator.

—The Ministry of Healing, 295, 296. 

Meat is not essential for health or strength, else the Lord made a mistake when He provided food for Adam and Eve before their fall. All the elements of nutrition are contained in the fruits, vegetables, and grains.

—Counsels on Diet and Foods, 395.

Why Use Secondhand Food? 

Those who eat flesh are but eating grains and vegetables at second hand; for the animal receives from these things the nutrition that produces growth. The life that was in the grains and vegetables passes into the eater. We receive it by eating the flesh of the animal. How much better to get it direct, by eating the food that God provided for our use!—The Ministry of Healing, 313.

Few Animals Free From Disease 

The meat diet is the serious question. Shall human beings live on the flesh of dead animals? The answer, from the light that God has given is, No, decidedly No. Health reform institutions should educate on this question. Physicians who claim to understand the [3] human organism ought not to encourage their patients to subsist on the flesh of dead animals. They should point out the increase of disease in the animal kingdom. The testimony of examiners is that very few animals are free from disease.

—Counsels on Diet and Foods, 388. 

Entire System Corrupted 

I have felt urged by the Spirit of God to set before several the fact that their suffering and ill health was caused by a disregard of the light given them upon health reform. I have shown them that their meat diet, which was supposed to be essential, was not necessary, and that, as they were composed of what they ate, brain, bone, and muscle were in an unwholesome condition, because they lived on the flesh of dead animals; that their blood was being corrupted by this improper diet; that the flesh which they ate was diseased, and their entire system was becoming gross and corrupted.

—Counsels on Diet and Foods, 387.

God is Bringing His People Back 

Again and again I have been shown that God is bringing His people back to His original design, that is, not to subsist on the flesh of dead animals. He would have us teach people a better way.... If meat is discarded, if the taste is not educated in that direction, if a liking for fruits and grains is encouraged, it will soon be as God in the beginning designed it should be. No meat will be used by His people.

—Counsels on Diet and Foods, 82. 

Compiled by Request 

By Ellen G. White Estate 

General Conference of Seventh-day Adventists 

Washington, D. C. 

October 5, 1960

Out there between our camp and their shelters the desert was as dark and still as I have ever known it. The only other living things capable of uttering a sound were snakes, and no serpent would have been so foolish as to hiss while about his business on a night so profound. There was no fitful air of summer even, no heat eddy of the frightful day spinning about to rustle what was left of leaf and grass on the scorched earth. But there was this intense electric murmur of the stars at one’s ears. 

Then suddenly, ahead in a band of absolute black with no fire or reflection of fire to pale it down, I thought I heard the sound of a human voice. I stopped at once and listened carefully. The sound came again more distant, like the voice of a woman crooning over a cradle. I stood with my back to the horizon bright with portents of lightning, waiting for my eyes to recover from the glare of our great camp-fire. Slowly, against the water-light of the stars lapping briskly among the breakers of thorn and hardwood around us, emerged the outline of a woman holding out a child in both her hands, high above her head, and singing something with her own face lifted to the sky. Her attitude and the reverence trembling in her voice, moved me so that the hair at the back of my neck stood on end. 

‘What’s she doing?’ I whispered to Dabé, who had halted without a sound, like my own star-shadow beside me. 

‘She’s asking the stars up there,’ he whispered, like a man requested in the temple of his people to explain to a stranger a most solemn moment of their ritual. 

‘She’s asking the stars to take the little heart of her child and to give him something of the heart of a star in return.’ 

‘But why the stars?’ I asked. 

‘Because, Moren,’ he said in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘the stars there have heart in plenty and are great hunters. She is asking them to take from her little child his little heart and to give him the heart of a hunter.’ 

The explanation moved me to a silence which Dabé mistook. Afraid, I suspect, that like most of the people he knew in his life of exile I would scorn a Bushman’s belief, he wanted reassurance immediately. 

‘But why don’t you say something, Moren?’ he asked, almost like an anxious child. ‘Surely you must know that the stars are great hunters? Can’t you hear them? Do listen to what they are crying! Come on! Moren! You are not so deaf that you cannot hear them.’ 

I have slept out under the stars in Africa for too many years not to know that they sound and resound in the sky. From the time I was born until I first went to school, I slept outside a house every night except when it was raining – and that was seldom. My first memories are of the incomparable starlight of the high veld of Southern Africa and the far sea-sound that goes with it. 

I hastened to say, ‘Yes, Dabé, of course I hear them!’ But then I was forced to add, ‘Only I do not know what they are saying. Do you know?’ 

Reassured, he stood for a moment head on one side, while the light of another flash from the horizon flew like a ghost moth by us. Then, with the note of indulgence he could not resist using on me when he felt his authority not in doubt, he said, ‘They are very busy hunting tonight and all I hear are their hunting cries: “Tssik!” and “Tsá!”’ 

Had it not been for the darkness between us he would have seen, I am sure, the shock of amazement on my face. I had known those sounds all my life. Ever since I can remember we ourselves had used them out hunting with our dogs. ‘Tssik!’ repeated sharply thrice was the sound we used to alert our dogs when we were at the cover of bush, grass, cave, or donga in which we suspected our quarry to be hiding. Hearing it, the ears of our dogs would immediately prick up, their eyes shine with excitement and their noses sniff the air diligently for scent. Another ‘Tssik’ would send them to search the cover. ‘Tsá’ was the final imperative note which released them from all restraint and launched them after our chosen quarry when it was flushed. 

I had always wondered about the origin of these sounds. Neither of them had ever seemed European to me. I had asked the oldest of the old people of all races and colours. I asked one of the greatest of all African hunters, too. They could only say that, like me, they had been born into a world in which they were already in long-established use. Stranger still, wherever I went in the world I found that, although hunters outside Africa did not know the sounds and therefore did not use them with their dogs, if I tried them out many of the dogs responded. They would start searching with all their senses: if I kept up the sounds for long, they became exceedingly restless, in the end letting out that involuntary and nostalgic whimper normally provoked in them only by the moon. That had deepened the mystery for me, but now I thought I knew: we had the sounds from the Bushman, and he and the dogs had them straight from the stars. The revelation filled me with awe. I felt as if I had been allowed to witness the coming of the word in the darkness before time. I thought this was enough of magic in a day which in my encounter with the little steenbuck had begun with magic.