Magic and sorcery
Mana and tapu fit well with ideas of divine sources of authority and efficacy characteristic of Polynesian chiefdoms. Magic of various kinds, on the other hand, coheres closely with the notion that personal will can bypass the body and directly influence the universe. As such, it sits most easily with an egalitarian social structure characteristic of many Melanesian societies. The folk theory behind magic is that personal volition can be greatly enhanced by putting into practice assumptions that symbols and their significata are causally connected (Brown 1997). Symbols are, after all, the language of thought, and thought is the medium of volition.
Frazer (1900), around the beginning of the twentieth century, distinguished between religion and magic. Magic, he said, assumed a universe governed by mechanistic laws of cause and effect. Thus, if one uttered the proper spells and performed rituals correctly, one could bring about any desired results. Religion, by contrast, involved the existence of spiritual beings who controlled the universe and to whom humans could only appeal in the hope that their prayers would be heard. Sorcery has been depicted as a form of evil magic—a learned art that involves performance of curses, spells, and manipulation of ritually-charged objects for purposes of doing injury to others. Sometimes ‘sorcery’ is used in Oceania to refer to socially sanctioned use of lethal magic to maintain order or chiefly authority, as opposed to ‘witchcraft’, which may be an inherent, unlearned, unintentional, or antisocial magical cause of death and destruction (see Stephen 1987). Depending on its place and form in particular societies, one might conceptualize sorcery as the use of a magically enhanced personal will to harm for some greater (often selfish) good, and witchcraft as a sort of cancer of the negative will.
Since Frazer’s day, anthropologists have observed that the distinction between magic and religion is not always clear-cut. Spells and prayers, for example, may be thought to work by inducing spiritual beings to perform one’s bidding. Both magic and religion, furthermore, attempt to explain natural events in terms of extraordinary, intangible causal links. Still, most anthropologists distinguish between practices that rely predominantly on spells, often spoken in private, and public worship ceremonies performed in concert by a group of people (cf. Durkheim 1955 [1912]; Malinowski 1948). The former often continues to be designated “magic”; the latter, “religion.” In general, ethnographic accounts have dwelt at length on magic and sorcery in Melanesia and religion in Polynesia. Nonetheless, elements of each can be found—to varying degrees—in both regions.
Among the Polynesian outliers, those that have been least influenced by contact with Melanesia—notably, Tikopia and Anuta—are also least preoccupied with sorcery and magic. Those with the most extensive Melanesian contacts are also most concerned with curses and spells, used both for good and ill.
Anutans and Tikopians are not particularly concerned with magical spells or formulae. In an article ostensibly on Tikopian magic, Firth (1967d [1954]) begins:
The classical forms of magic hardly occur in Tikopia. There are almost no spells of the conventional kind, believed to be effective through the peculiar power of the vocables uttered. There are few special substances of virtue…. There are not beliefs in witchcraft of a personal order, based upon a psycho-physical disposition or endowment of the actor.
On these islands, health, safety, and prosperity are, since conversion, either associated with adherence to Christian precepts concerning appropriate behavior or are extensions of indigenous notions of mana and tapu. Chiefs and other persons of high rank should use their mana, as well as their influence with the spirit world, to ensure good weather, freedom from disease, productive fishing, and fertility of crops. Should anyone of rank speak ill of another person, or foretell disaster, those words are likely to bring misfortune for the person toward whom they are directed. This, however, is not a matter of memorizing or reciting particular formulae but a consequence of the speaker’s mana. Conversely, should someone fail to obey or show proper ritual respect toward a social superior, the offender is likely to fall ill or suffer some other misfortune. Once again, however, that is not because of the conscious will of the offended party. Indeed, it may be despite his or her wishes to the contrary. Rather, it is a consequence of the automatic workings of a universe in which mana and tapu are driving forces.
All of this is not to say that Tikopians and Anutans are unconcerned with sorcery or magic. When living on such Melanesian islands as Ndeni or Guadalcanal, they worry about the magical propensities of others who may wish to do them harm, and they take such precautions as refusing to walk through the bush alone. Such malevolent powers, however, are invariably attributed to outsiders like the infamous “wild men of Santa Cruz.” Firth encountered more formulaic pronouncements on Tikopia in the 1920s than did Feinberg on Anuta in the 1970s and since. However, even here Firth is equivocal, calling for:
The recognition of an intermediary category between spell and prayer. If spell is the mandatory or compulsive word, and prayer is the invocatory or propitiatory word, the Tikopia formula is, above all, the hortatory word. It neither commands nor beseeches, it urges compliance. (Firth 1967d [1954]:206-207)
Firth’s early experience on Tikopia was confirmed by Macdonald’s observations in the 1980s. Although magic and sorcery were not a matter of great importance, she recalls a case of ‘leaf magic’ (rau rākau) being practiced on Tikopia to change the sex of an unborn child and affect land inheritance. However, the ‘leaf magic’ came from a Melanesian island. She also observed ritual utterances designed to bring about a certain outcome such, as the Ariki Taumako calling on the gods of the sea, with which he had a special relationship, to give her a safe passage to Honiara. Similarly, young girls told her of ‘magic’ that they, or boys, could perform to make someone love them; but there were few concrete details, and Macdonald suspects this was an idea that came from elsewhere.
Sorcery beliefs on Sikaiana appear similar to those on Tikopia and Anuta. Donner heard occasional accusations that people from other islands used sorcery (lapu) both on one another and, occasionally, on Sikaiana people. The Sikaiana, however, rarely if ever resorted such measures. A possible exception is love magic (penupenu), but, as on Tikopia, the practice seems to have been learned in most cases from outsiders.
As on Tikopia and Anuta, sorcery and magic appear not to have weighed heavily upon the minds of Rennellese and Bellonese. The terms cannot be found in Monberg’s description of Bellona and its spiritual beliefs. By contrast, the Nukumanu, Ontong Javanese, Taumako, Vaeakau, and West Futunans are preoccupied with sorcery and magic. On Nukumanu in the 1980s, people kept records of spells and prayers to pagan spirits in family notebooks, which were carefully hidden from non-family members. These utterances had power to cause sickness, injury, healing, or good luck in fishing, and to affect the weather. Feinberg (1990, 1995b) was permitted to record a few of the more minor ones in his notebooks, and to tape a prayer intended to treat a troublesome skin eruption. These invocations work, however, not by activating the mechanisms inherent in a mechanistic universe but by appealing to spiritual beings and requesting their assistance.
Ritual symbolism is important in Nukumanu daily life. The leaf of a plant called valovalo, for example, symbolizes ‘good’ and is associated with positive fortune. Rubbing valovalo leaf on one’s hands before a fishing trip ensures that fish will bite. In days of old, a man would place a sprig of valovalo leaves through his perforated earlobe before embarking on a ritually charged tuna-fishing expedition; and valovalo leaves continue to be used as dance decorations. A valovalo bundle also plays an important role in the sau ceremony (Feinberg 1990).
Another leaf with ritual powers is called te lonu. Whereas the valovalo represents forces of good (tauleka; laoi), te lonu connotes evil (haaeo). If one rubs lonu leaf on his hands before a fishing trip, no fish will touch his bait. Whereas te valovalo is used in dance decoration, te lonu is not. In treatment of diarrhea, lonu leaf is rubbed into the small of the patient’s back. And in the sau ritual, a sprig of lonu leaves is used to render the patient invisible to evil spirits.
Similarly, on Taumako in 2007-08, Feinberg observed healing rituals and magic intended to prevent rain or to calm rough seas. Most of the healing practices involved rubbing spiritually-powerful substances on various parts of the body or having the patient eat or drink such substances. Rain was magically deflected by covering specially-prepared hibiscus-wood sticks with lime and pointing them in the direction from which the rain was expected to arrive. Magic to calm the seas or ensure good fishing involved waving a bunch of special leaves in a ritually-prescribed way and then tossing them into the sea. In most cases, the physical actions were accompanied by words invoking assistance of “the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” and that was the ultimate source of their power. Hence prayer and magic were mixed in this instance.