Spirits
Chapter 1: Reason of Origin 02/07
A person in primitive society, searching for prey to eat, wanders deep into a dense forest so thick it even blocks out the sunlight. No matter where he looks, trees are everywhere. In this world of green and brown, could it be that he alone possesses a color different from his surroundings? He can almost hear the trees breathing…
Amidst all this, the rustling of the trees made him feel that a great will, beyond his understanding, dwelt within the forest. And as he went about his daily life, he came to sense that not only the forest, but also the wind, the springs, the earth, and everything else connected to his life contained something that human will alone could not fully control; he recognized the existence of a great power in all of these things.
That “great power” is, in essence, nothing more than the projection of human emotions—such as fear and awe—onto individual natural objects and phenomena. The great power that humans “felt” is, after all, something created solely by human consciousness and emotion. It has no intrinsic substance. Yet human emotions perceive it as something that actually exists.
This resolves one question. That question concerns the term “non-living things” in the definition of animism, which states that “Animism refers to the belief held by people who recognize the widespread existence of spirits and souls in the natural world, regardless of whether they are living or non-living things.” We can probably understand—at least intellectually—that spirits and souls dwell within living beings. But why does animism hold that spirits and souls also dwell within non-living things that lack life?
The answer lies in human emotions. In other words, spirits and souls can only exist because of human emotions. What is important in animism is not the fact that spirits or souls actually dwell in grass, trees, rocks, or the earth, but rather that the people belonging to that culture—or simply individuals—think (or believe) that spirits or souls exist. This point must not be misunderstood. That is why spirits can exist even in non-living things. The foundation of animism is not the actual existence of spirits or souls; it is human emotion.
The entities known as spirits and souls—born of human emotions—came to be perceived as symbols representing the attributes of various natural phenomena that exist independently of human emotions. Humans have the ability to categorize and recognize information received through their sensory organs individually. Therefore, humans seek to classify the natural environment with which they regularly interact. And based on these classifications, they assign the entities (spirits and souls) they perceive within that natural environment to the appropriate categories.
Let’s proceed with our explanation, drawing on the report by Associate Professor Yoichi Yamada of Hiroshima University published in the quarterly journal *Kai* (Issue No. 1). We will examine a worldview centered on spirits, using the example of the Waxei, a small group of fewer than 400 people living in the Sepik Highlands of Papua New Guinea.
Amidst all this, the rustling of the trees made him feel that a great will, beyond his understanding, dwelt within the forest. And as he went about his daily life, he came to sense that not only the forest, but also the wind, the springs, the earth, and everything else connected to his life contained something that human will alone could not fully control; he recognized the existence of a great power in all of these things.
That “great power” is, in essence, nothing more than the projection of human emotions—such as fear and awe—onto individual natural objects and phenomena. The great power that humans “felt” is, after all, something created solely by human consciousness and emotion. It has no intrinsic substance. Yet human emotions perceive it as something that actually exists.
This resolves one question. That question concerns the term “non-living things” in the definition of animism, which states that “Animism refers to the belief held by people who recognize the widespread existence of spirits and souls in the natural world, regardless of whether they are living or non-living things.” We can probably understand—at least intellectually—that spirits and souls dwell within living beings. But why does animism hold that spirits and souls also dwell within non-living things that lack life?
The answer lies in human emotions. In other words, spirits and souls can only exist because of human emotions. What is important in animism is not the fact that spirits or souls actually dwell in grass, trees, rocks, or the earth, but rather that the people belonging to that culture—or simply individuals—think (or believe) that spirits or souls exist. This point must not be misunderstood. That is why spirits can exist even in non-living things. The foundation of animism is not the actual existence of spirits or souls; it is human emotion.
The entities known as spirits and souls—born of human emotions—came to be perceived as symbols representing the attributes of various natural phenomena that exist independently of human emotions. Humans have the ability to categorize and recognize information received through their sensory organs individually. Therefore, humans seek to classify the natural environment with which they regularly interact. And based on these classifications, they assign the entities (spirits and souls) they perceive within that natural environment to the appropriate categories.
Let’s proceed with our explanation, drawing on the report by Associate Professor Yoichi Yamada of Hiroshima University published in the quarterly journal *Kai* (Issue No. 1). We will examine a worldview centered on spirits, using the example of the Waxei, a small group of fewer than 400 people living in the Sepik Highlands of Papua New Guinea.
*For this article, it has been difficult to verify the correct spellings of the Papua New Guinean group name Waxei and the names of its spirits. Since the researcher who conducted the fieldwork was Japanese, the English renderings used here are provisional transliterations inferred from the Japanese phonetic spellings.
The Waxei people live surrounded by six types of spirits. These are classified according to where the spirits dwell, and when ranked in order of power, they are: the spirits known as “Sagaim,” which dwell in the rocks and bamboo at the riverbed; the spirits known as “Winghum,” which dwell in rock cavities; the spirits known as “Ungphotum,” which dwell in large trees along rivers; “Shuwobanigatum,” which dwell in the large trees of the mountains; “Mayamotum,” which dwell in lakes and marshes; and “Songum,” which dwell in river coves. All six are considered malevolent beings that pose a threat to humans, attacking those who pass near their dwellings or who defile their habitats. Waxei refers to these beings, which bring misfortune upon such humans, as “Yabosugas.”
The way the spirits of Waxei are classified is very interesting. First, there is the “Sagaim,” which dwells in rocks and bamboo at the riverbed. Why are “rocks at the riverbed” and “bamboo” considered its habitat? To me, it doesn’t seem like there’s a particularly strong connection between “rocks at the riverbed” and “bamboo.” Moreover, why do they specifically specify “rocks at the riverbed”? Furthermore, there are the “Ungphotum,” which dwell in large trees along rivers, and the “Shuwobanigatum,” which dwell in the large trees of the mountains. Why are they classified as “large trees along rivers” and “large trees in the mountains,” respectively? The notion that spirits dwell in large, thick trees rather than small, low ones is easy to understand when you consider that many of the sacred trees at Japanese shrines are large trees—but why, then, is it necessary to distinguish between “riverbanks” and “mountains”? Furthermore, regarding “Sagaim,” which dwells in riverbed rocks and bamboo, and “Songum,” which dwells in river coves—which category would a spirit dwelling on the riverbed of a cove fall into?
However, it would be premature to dismiss this classification as irrational simply because Japanese or Westerners cannot understand it. It may indeed be a classification method that Japanese and Westerners cannot grasp. Yet, for the people of Waxei , the places categorized into these six types— rocks and bamboo at the riverbed, rock cavities, large trees along rivers, large trees of the mountains, lakes and marshes, and river coves—are likely places that loom large as tangible realities in their daily lives. As the Waxei people went about their lives, they likely categorized the environment surrounding them into these six types, and in each of these places, they must have sensed something distinct.
In other words, the term “spirit” refers to completely different things depending on the culture. Therefore, it is dangerous to try to understand all “spirits” based solely on the single word “spirit.” Furthermore, it is easy to make mistakes by interpreting the term “spirit” based on its equivalent in Japanese or other culture. Of course, it is an undeniable fact that we can only vaguely understand the concept by substituting the images we associate with the word “spirit” with things familiar to us…
Now, although spirits are essentially formless entities because they are based on human emotions, they are ultimately given a physical form for practical purposes when performing magic or rituals. That is the “spirit” in its physical form.
Although spirits were merely the projection of human emotions onto the natural environment, they came to be regarded as objects of awe. This is because the sense of intimidation humans felt from the natural environment was something they could not comprehend. Nature envelops humans and tosses them about with overwhelming power. When the first stirrings of human culture began to appear—that is, at a stage when the scope of what humans could control at will was still limited—humans must have feared nature and wished that nature would gently envelop them rather than cast them out.
For example, the Waxei people of Papua New Guinea, whom I mentioned earlier, express the images of certain spirits in the form of wooden carvings and shields. For instance, when they go to the water’s edge to wash dishes or bathe, they create wooden carvings that concretely depict Songum—the spirit that dwells in the river cove I mentioned earlier—to protect themselves from being attacked by Songum. This wooden carving is described as “a side view of Songku (Author’s note: the male Songum), consisting of a long profile with a pointed chin, a straight spine, limbs protruding from it and bent at the joints, a large liver sandwiched between the limbs, and a long tail connected to the spine,” and is frequently crafted by the men of the Waxei. The men believe that as long as they make and possess these wood carvings, Songum will no longer harm humans.
This is perhaps the best example of a spirit taking on a visible form. At this point, the spirit transforms from a mere emotional response to the natural environment into a tangible, concrete entity. And because something that once lacked substance has now acquired it, the spirit’s presence becomes even more pronounced.
It is said that the forms of the spirits depicted on these wooden statues and shields by the Waxei people are by no means fixed; rather, they are shapes created based on personal imagery or forms passed down from somewhere in their surroundings, which resonated with the Waxei people and have been passed down through the generations. In other words, the physical form that spirits have acquired is merely a matter of convenience, and it cannot be said that the shape used to represent a spirit’s form is the actual form of the spirit itself. It seems that quite a few people misunderstand this point.
The way the spirits of Waxei are classified is very interesting. First, there is the “Sagaim,” which dwells in rocks and bamboo at the riverbed. Why are “rocks at the riverbed” and “bamboo” considered its habitat? To me, it doesn’t seem like there’s a particularly strong connection between “rocks at the riverbed” and “bamboo.” Moreover, why do they specifically specify “rocks at the riverbed”? Furthermore, there are the “Ungphotum,” which dwell in large trees along rivers, and the “Shuwobanigatum,” which dwell in the large trees of the mountains. Why are they classified as “large trees along rivers” and “large trees in the mountains,” respectively? The notion that spirits dwell in large, thick trees rather than small, low ones is easy to understand when you consider that many of the sacred trees at Japanese shrines are large trees—but why, then, is it necessary to distinguish between “riverbanks” and “mountains”? Furthermore, regarding “Sagaim,” which dwells in riverbed rocks and bamboo, and “Songum,” which dwells in river coves—which category would a spirit dwelling on the riverbed of a cove fall into?
However, it would be premature to dismiss this classification as irrational simply because Japanese or Westerners cannot understand it. It may indeed be a classification method that Japanese and Westerners cannot grasp. Yet, for the people of Waxei , the places categorized into these six types— rocks and bamboo at the riverbed, rock cavities, large trees along rivers, large trees of the mountains, lakes and marshes, and river coves—are likely places that loom large as tangible realities in their daily lives. As the Waxei people went about their lives, they likely categorized the environment surrounding them into these six types, and in each of these places, they must have sensed something distinct.
In other words, the term “spirit” refers to completely different things depending on the culture. Therefore, it is dangerous to try to understand all “spirits” based solely on the single word “spirit.” Furthermore, it is easy to make mistakes by interpreting the term “spirit” based on its equivalent in Japanese or other culture. Of course, it is an undeniable fact that we can only vaguely understand the concept by substituting the images we associate with the word “spirit” with things familiar to us…
Now, although spirits are essentially formless entities because they are based on human emotions, they are ultimately given a physical form for practical purposes when performing magic or rituals. That is the “spirit” in its physical form.
Although spirits were merely the projection of human emotions onto the natural environment, they came to be regarded as objects of awe. This is because the sense of intimidation humans felt from the natural environment was something they could not comprehend. Nature envelops humans and tosses them about with overwhelming power. When the first stirrings of human culture began to appear—that is, at a stage when the scope of what humans could control at will was still limited—humans must have feared nature and wished that nature would gently envelop them rather than cast them out.
For example, the Waxei people of Papua New Guinea, whom I mentioned earlier, express the images of certain spirits in the form of wooden carvings and shields. For instance, when they go to the water’s edge to wash dishes or bathe, they create wooden carvings that concretely depict Songum—the spirit that dwells in the river cove I mentioned earlier—to protect themselves from being attacked by Songum. This wooden carving is described as “a side view of Songku (Author’s note: the male Songum), consisting of a long profile with a pointed chin, a straight spine, limbs protruding from it and bent at the joints, a large liver sandwiched between the limbs, and a long tail connected to the spine,” and is frequently crafted by the men of the Waxei. The men believe that as long as they make and possess these wood carvings, Songum will no longer harm humans.
This is perhaps the best example of a spirit taking on a visible form. At this point, the spirit transforms from a mere emotional response to the natural environment into a tangible, concrete entity. And because something that once lacked substance has now acquired it, the spirit’s presence becomes even more pronounced.
It is said that the forms of the spirits depicted on these wooden statues and shields by the Waxei people are by no means fixed; rather, they are shapes created based on personal imagery or forms passed down from somewhere in their surroundings, which resonated with the Waxei people and have been passed down through the generations. In other words, the physical form that spirits have acquired is merely a matter of convenience, and it cannot be said that the shape used to represent a spirit’s form is the actual form of the spirit itself. It seems that quite a few people misunderstand this point.