Signs-Sacred-Shamans - Genealogy of Religion

Transcription

Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 28 (2009) 177–190
Contents lists available at ScienceDirect
Journal of Anthropological Archaeology
journal homepage: www.elsevier.com/locate/jaa
The signs of the sacred: Identifying shamans using archaeological evidence
Christine S. VanPool *
Department of Anthropology, 201 Swallow Hall, University of Missouri, Columbia, MO 65211-1440, United States
a r t i c l e
i n f o
Article history:
Received 24 September 2008
Revision received 15 February 2009
Available online 26 March 2009
Keywords:
Religion
Shamanism
Iconography
Southwest
a b s t r a c t
Anthropologists have determined that shamanism is a robust cross-cultural pattern, but they still have
many methodological and theoretical issues to resolve. Central to archaeological religious studies is
the need to develop a general and rigorous methodology for identifying the presence and structure of
shamanism. This discussion begins by discussing shamans as a polythetic class and proposes that shamans and priests as they are commonly defined do not represent dichotomous religious structures,
but rather reflect two ends of a continuum. The paper then presents a methodology for identifying and
studying shamanism based on cross-cultural regularities in shamanic tools (sacra) and shamanic experiences. The methodology is then applied to the Casas Grandes region and Pottery Mound, both from the
North American Southwest, and indicates that shamanic ritual was likely present during the late prehistoric occupation of the region.
Ó 2009 Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Introduction
Archaeological analyses of past religious systems are becoming
increasingly common, and represent a major area of anthropological research (Rakita and Buikstra, 2008, p. 2). This includes a fluorescence of books and articles written on shamanism by
professional archaeologists over the past decade (Aldhouse-Green
and Aldhouse-Green, 2005; Emerson, 2003; Lewis-Williams,
2002; Lewis-Williams and Pearce, 2005; McCall, 2007; Pearson,
2002; VanPool and VanPool, 2007; Whitley, 2000). These studies
are based on a robust empirical pattern initially identified by ethnologists who found that religious practitioners from across the
globe initiate trance states, generally called altered states of consciousness (ASC), for the purpose of communing with spirits. Subsequent research by other anthropologists and researchers in
related fields have further validated the etic category of shamanism, defined as individual, part-time practitioners who commune
with spirits (Jones, 2006).
Interest in shamanism in general has been increasing
amongst anthropologists. The journal Anthropology of Consciousness, published by the American Anthropological Association, in
fact lists shamanism as one of its major areas of interest, and
a recent review of shamanic studies finds there is a robust body
of scholarly research on the subject (Jones, 2006). Archaeological
research, however, is absent from Jones’s (2006) review, presumably indicating it has yet to contribute significantly to this research topic.
* Fax: +1 573 884 5450.
E-mail address: [email protected]
0278-4165/$ - see front matter Ó 2009 Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
doi:10.1016/j.jaa.2009.02.003
Given that shamanism has been documented around the world,
archaeologist can be certain it was also present in the past. A number of regionally isolated studies indicates this is true, but the lack
of systematic archaeological study of the topic is an impediment to
the anthropological study of religion. One key to improving the
archaeological study of shamanism is the development of a general
methodology for identifying the presence of shamanism and discovering its basic structure using material culture. Research into
shamanism using archaeological data has focused on a heuristic
set of tools that shift from context to context and researcher to researcher. Whilst there is nothing inherently wrong with methodological flexibility, a more general methodology based on a
synthesis of the relevant characteristics of shamanic practice
should allow more useful insights. An explicitly stated methodology should increase the rigour of the arguments by identifying
variables and their behavioural correlates that can be examined
and evaluated in archaeological contexts. Put another way, a methodology based on middle-range research (sensu Arnold, 2003) connecting archaeological data and shamanism will increase the
rigour of archaeological analyses of past religions by clearly explicating the connection between data and the interpretations of shamanic practice. Here I outline such a methodology based on wellestablished worldwide shamanic patterns. I begin by defining
priests and shamans and defending the analytic appropriateness
of the concept of shamanism. I then discuss the physiological
mechanisms that underlie shamanic experiences and summarise
the analytic frameworks used to describe and organise shamanism.
Next I discuss the shamanic sacra (the tools and iconographic
depictions), and propose that archaeologists can determine the
presence and nature of shamanic practice by identifying the occurrences and contexts of these sacra. Finally, I provide case studies
178
C.S. VanPool / Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 28 (2009) 177–190
from the North American Southwest that illustrate the application
of the proposed methodology and how it can be used to further addresses anthropological and regional concerns.
omplex
Co
State-level
State
level
Societies
Simple
e
Although many scholars of comparative religion are moving beyond it (Carr and Case, 2005; Miller and Taube, 1993, p. 152; Rakita, 2009; Winkelman, 1992), many studies divide religious
practitioners into two groups, shamans and priests. These ‘‘types”
are often seen as mutually exclusive, alternate states such that a
society either has shamans or priests. Priests are full-time religious
specialists, typically associated with agricultural societies with social differentiation. They act as representatives working for deities
and are relegated to performing standardised liturgies that seek to
propitiate the supernatural and mediate contact with the sacred
(Rakita, 2009; Miller and Taube, 1993, p. 152; Table 1). Winkelman
(1992, pp. 7, 28–36) explicitly argues that priests do not seek altered states of consciousness (ASC), and rarely if ever directly interact with supernatural agents. Often their rites are systematically
‘‘depersonalise” and are designed to inhibit the expression of
self-referential messages. In contrast, shamans do use ASC and directly interact with supernatural entities whilst working for the
people they represent either for healing, finding game animals, or
procuring rain (Boyd, 1996; Grim, 1983; Vitebsky, 2001). They typically do have ‘‘personal,” individual specific rituals, and are most
common in simple, hunter and gatherer societies.
One of the key traits, therefore, for differentiating shamans
and priests is the use of altered states of consciousness and the
emphasis on becoming a ‘‘non-human” spirit agent (Jokic, 2008;
Wilbert, 1972). ASC takes many forms from day-dreams to hallucinations (Lewis-Williams, 2002; McCall, 2007, p. 226). The differences between dream states and ‘‘reality” are actually socially
constructed (Al-Issa, 1995). The clarity of these differences have
caused shamans and priest to become religious ‘‘archetypes” that
are thought to be associated with different subsistence strategies
and levels of social complexity (Winkelman, 1992). Many other
traits (e.g., apprenticeship, altars) have also been associated with
these archetypes (Figs. 1 and 2), although these has been critiqued (Kehoe, 2000; Whitley, 2001). As intuitive as it may seem,
however, shamans and priests are not appropriate archetypes and
do not reflect dichotomous or essentialist ‘‘types” in the sense
that they are immutable states wholly distinct from one another.
Instead they are analytically useful groupings that reflect the cooccurrence of religious traits that tend to correspond with one
another as the level of cultural complexity shifts (Fig. 1). Not surprisingly at each end of the continua, the groupings of shamans
and priests appear distinct, but there is too much variation and
mixed associations of traits to allow researchers to use one or
S man
Sham
n-lik
ike Priiestt-lik
ke
Priests AND shamans, not priest OR shamans
Shamans
Shaman-Priest
Individual practitioners (own their own
Rit and
d spirit
i it creatures)
t
)
Rites
ssa
imple
P
i
Priests
Full time Practitioners (with
codified knowledge and rituals)
Complex
Fig. 1. Illustration of variables that shift with increasing complexity to create the
polythetic classes of shamans and priests. Ovals encompass the commonly accepted
traits of shamans in the lower left-handed side, and priests in the upper portion of
the graph.
the other of these terms in every situation (at least if one wants
them to be meaningful). Researchers of course often recognise
this (albeit they have not quite conceptualised it like Fig. 1),
which is why some use terms like shaman-like or shaman–priests
(Carr and Case, 2005; VanPool, 2003a). It is entirely possible that
aspects of shamanic practices continue long after the focus of a
religious system has shifted to full-time practitioners (priests)
(Miller and Taube, 1993, p. 152). Maya scholars for example have
identified the continuation of shamanic practices in Mesoamerica
despite the rise of social complexity, state sponsored rituals and
the development of priesthoods (Freidel et al., 1993; Furst,
1968; Miller and Taube, 1993, p. 152). Winkelman (1992, p. 55)
further observes that the presence of priests does not indicate
the complete absence of shamanism; shaman-healers were frequently found in societies that have other types of religious practitioners for example (Winkelman, 1992, p. 55). This topic leads
to a second, related issue—the appropriateness of shamanism as
an analytical concept.
Table 1
Sacra for shamans and priests at the tails of the continua (Figs. 1 and 2). These are based on cross-cultural comparison presented by Rakita (2009), Whitley (2001), Winkelman
(1992), and Wilbert (1987).
Shamans
Priests
Iconography including: entopics (e.g., grids, nets, dots, spirals), anthropomorphic figures,
tutelary creatures, liminal creatures
Psychoactive plants
Tutelary creatures in iconography and as fetishes
Liminal creatures
Individually owned and/or created tools such as pipes, noisemakers (especially drums),
crystals, fetishes, and sucking tubes. These may be buried with their owner or transferred
to an apprentice shaman, if the spirit requests it
Private or personal ritual space and also places with controlled access to liminal spaces (e.g.,
caves or mountaintop shrines)
Sacra stored in private spaces or left in caves or shrines. Therefore there should not be a
systematic pattern to the sacra, although they may be clustered in certain locations
The divine ‘‘written word”. Limited specialists to write and read ‘‘the word”.
Standardised texts
Statuary and carvings of the deities
Standardised ritual paraphernalia that should be found within a broad region
(e.g., chalices, statuary). Musicians associated with the priesthood
Large-scale public ceremonial spaces
Storage area(s) for sacra when not in use, potentially creating repeated
standardised caches of sacra within the ceremonial complex
Simple
e
S man
Sham
n-lik
ike Priiestt-lik
ke
P sts
Prie
s
Co
omplex
State-level
State
level
Societies
Shamans
Individual practitioners (own their own
Rites and spirit creatures)
Simple
Priests
Full time Practitioners (with
codified knowledge and rituals)
Complex
Fig. 2. Ritual paraphernalia (sacra) used by Shamans and/or Priests. Utilized tools
represent polythetic units that are adapted as they are needed by different
practitioners.
Shamanism as a polythetic class
The concept of shamanism has a long and productive history in
anthropological analysis, but has also been heavily critiqued in
large part because the term cannot be defined to refer to a uniform
homogeneous group dichotomous with priests. This ‘‘ambiguity”
has led to three related objections: the term is inconsistently defined, it obscures significant behavioural variation, and it is insensitive to peoples who practice culturally unique religions (e.g.,
Aldhouse-Green and Aldhouse-Green, 2005; Hays-Gilpin, 2004,
pp. 13, 89; Kehoe, 1996, 2000; McCall, 2007; Tedlock, 2005). Each
of these criticisms (which could be applied equally well to terms
such as priest) has some validity, but ultimately fail to undermine
the analytic utility of shamanism for several reasons (see Whitley,
2001; Womack, 2001).
Kehoe (1996), for example, argues that shamanism is so inconsistently defined that it cannot refer to a meaningful behavioural
pattern. She is correct that there are many different ‘‘definitions”
of shamanism, some of which are indeed incompatible. These differences reflect honest disagreements amongst scholars and regional differences in culture and local historical sequences that
produces different associations of the traits illustrated in Fig. 1.
Shamanism cannot be defined as an internally homogeneous type
but instead should be defined polythetically, in which members
share many, but not all of the defining characteristics (cultural historical types and biological taxa are also polythetic [Mayr, 1969;
Simpson, 1959]). This is of course true for priests, ceremonialists
or any other group of religious practitioners one defines. Thus, critiques like that of McCall (2007) that holds one should not simply
add the term shaman and ‘‘stir” to come up with an interpretation
are well reasoned, and underscores the need to clearly indicate the
structure of shamanic practice in its specific cultural–historical setting as opposed to reflecting an essentialist type that needs only to
be discovered.
As with all archaeological interpretations, studies of shamanism
(and religion in general) should be based on multiple lines of evi-
179
dence. However, the inconsistent definition of shamanism does
not necessitate that the concept is worthless (Jones, 2006; Kendall,
2002; Womack, 2001). Most archaeological terms, from ‘‘bifacial
thinning flake” to a ‘‘chiefdom,” are defined in different ways by
various researchers (see for example Bawden, 1996 and Leonard
and Jones, 1987 who document the inconsistent definitions of socio-political designations such as band-tribe-chiefdom-state), yet
archaeologists still find these terms analytically useful so long as
they are clearly defined in specific contexts. Discarding all terms
that are inconsistently defined would require the elimination of
virtually all archaeological nomenclature, including such basic
terms such as archaeological sites, which can mean very different
things in different culture areas and legal contexts (Dunnell,
1992; Ebert, 2001). Further, eliminating terms such as shamanism
that profitably label similar cultural practices identified through
time from across the globe undermines the comparative approach
that underlies anthropological research.
A more useful alternative to just rejecting the label is to accept
that shamanism is an etic term that by its very nature will be applied in slightly different ways by those who encounter different
religious systems. Here I use a broad, but generally accepted definition: a religious system in which individuals work for their people by directly interacting with the spirit world1 (Freidel et al.,
1993, pp. 33–38; Grim, 1983; Hays-Gilpin, 2004, p. 61; Joralemon
and Sharon, 1993; Lewis-Williams and Dowson, 1988; Myerhoff,
1976, p. 99; Narby and Huxley, 2001; Peters and Price-Williams,
1980; Vitebsky, 2001; Whitley, 2000, p. 156; Wilbert, 1987).
The inconsistency of shamanism’s definition leads into the second criticism, that using this term obscures significant behavioural
variation. Whilst anthropologists acknowledge that every culture
is unique in regards to both its history and specific cultural practices, much knowledge has been generated by identifying crosscultural similarities as well as differences (e.g., Ember and Ember,
2001; Lekson, 2002; Peregrine, 2004; Womack, 2001). It is a truism
that all cross-cultural patterns imperfectly reflect the variation in
specific cultural traditions, but failing to consider the cross-cultural patterns would irreparably harm both the practice and the
potential of anthropological archaeology (Ember and Ember,
1995; Trigger, 2003). This is especially true for the study of religion, which is in its formative years in archaeological research
(Rakita and Buikstra, 2008; VanPool et al., 2006a). Examining difference and similarities between past cultures will provide greater
insight and a more intellectually robust anthropological study than
a return to extreme cultural particularism (Chrisomalis, 2006; Peregrine, 2004).
This in turn raises the third objection, that the use of the term
shamanism is culturally insensitive because it ignores the culturally specific terms and frameworks for various religious practitioners in each culture (Kehoe, 1996, 2000). Undoubtedly the emic
terms people use for their religious practitioners should be used
when possible, whether they are curanderos (Peruvian), chayanyi
(Keresan), or any of the other shamanistic terms people have used
for at least the last 50,000 years since we started having clear religious expression. This would be more respectful to the people
anthropologists study (Kehoe, 2000), but there would still be a
need for synthetic concepts such as shamans and priests. Most
archaeologists, however, work with extinct cultures and it is simply impossible to know what the culturally specific nomenclature
was for their religious practitioners. Using some sort of ‘‘alternative” terms such as brujo (Spanish for ‘‘witch”) and overly ambiguous terms such as ‘‘healer,” ‘‘seer,” or ‘‘religious practitioners” are
1
While shamans might gatherer social prestige and power, shamans who use their
shamanic abilities for their own empowerment are typical considered witches,
whereas those who use their abilities for the ‘‘good of the community” are considered
shamans.
180
not viable alternatives given that these are no more (and may in
fact be less) culturally and analytically appropriate than shaman,
priest, and other commonly used terms.
In short, studies of shamanism can usefully and reliably describe a cross-cultural religious pattern (Jones, 2006, p. 20) whilst
providing the analytic flexibility to examine variation within the
pattern in specific cultural contexts. What is necessary is to be
mindful of the fact that there will be considerable variation
amongst different cultures, and that identifying ‘‘shamans,”
‘‘priests,” or any other category of religious practitioners is only
the first step towards understanding a culture’s religious structure.
The use of these concepts will then help researchers identity and
communicate the traits that are unique to each culture. Far from
obscuring cultural variation as Kehoe (2000) suggests, analytical
units such as shamanism are useful tools for identifying it.
The mechanics of shamanism
As previous mentioned, shamanism is generally defined as a
religious system in which individuals act as religious intermediaries between humans and supernaturals. Shamans are capable of directly interacting with spirits during waking or dreaming, but
sometimes it is necessary for a shaman to transforms into spirit
beings themselves. They transform into spiritual creatures through
rituals that induce Altered States of Consciousness (ASC) to create
what Harner (1980) has called Shamanic States of Consciousness
(SSC). SSC is distinct from ASC in that SSC is considered a supernatural encounter within its cultural framework. All SSC are based on
ASC, but not all ASC are SSC. Here I use these terms to distinguish
between the process of creating a trance states (ASC) and the interpretation of these trances as to gain access to the spirit world (SSC).
During SSC, shamans often report travelling to the supernatural
realm to gain help/knowledge from spirits for healing, manipulating weather (e.g., rain seeking), divinations, ensuring successful
hunts or raids, finding lost objects, killing enemies, or other important activities such as ensuring fertility and fecundity for the benefit of their people (Atkinson, 1987; Boyd, 1996; Dobkin de Rios,
1976; Eliade, 1964, p. 35; Freidel et al., 1993; Furst, 1972; Grim,
1983; Joralemon and Sharon, 1993; Myerhoff, 1976, p. 99; Narby
and Huxley, 2001; Peters and Price-Williams, 1980; VanPool,
2003a; Vitebsky, 2001; Whitley, 2000, p. 156; Wilbert, 1987).
Physiological uniformity and the structure of the human neurophysiologic system limit the ways that ASC is achieved and experienced cross-culturally. This in turn creates consistencies in some
shamanic practices and allows one to form expectations of how
shamanic ritual can be expressed in a culture, its archaeological remains and iconography (Lewis-Williams and Dowson, 1988; Whitley, 2001).
ASC can be initiated through fasting, dehydration, extreme pain,
blood loss, sleep deprivation, drumming and chanting, and ingesting psychoactive chemicals. These are not mutually exclusive, and
most shamans use them in combination. Sometimes only a minor
difference in a state of being is needed (dreaming). Other times,
the shaman will initiate powerful hallucinations often with psychoactive plants and possibly lose consciousness (e.g., witch hunting [Schultes and Hofmann, 1979; Parsons, 1996]). The use of
psychotropic plants for inducing ASC is a global phenomenon
(Schultes et al., 2001). New World shamans commonly used tobacco, peyote, and/or datura, each of which produces different experiences in ASC (Brown, 1997; Furst, 1972; Huckell and VanPool,
2006; Myerhoff, 1976; Schultes and Hofmann, 1979; Von Gernet,
1992, 2000; Wilbert, 1987). The sensations differs depending on
the specific psychoactive agent and other means to reach ASC,
but humans generally experience visual and auditory hallucinations, the feeling of flight or swimming, and extreme emotional
experiences including fear and perhaps the sense of dying. These
experiences are often depicted in rock art and other mediums such
as Huichol yarn paintings or Casas Grandes Medio period pottery
(Boyd, 1999; Furst, 2003; Lewis-Williams, 2002; Schaafsma,
1998; VanPool and VanPool, 2007; Whitley, 2000).
ASC is fundamentally an experience of sight (visual hallucinations), typically consisting of geometric ‘‘entopic” images such as
dots, grids, lattices, honeycombs, checkerboards, arcs, cobwebs,
tunnels, stars, and spirals (Bressloff et al., 2001; Klüver, 1966; Lewis-Williams and Dowson, 1988; Siegel and Jarvik, 1975). Humans,
even the blind, report seeing ‘‘geometric visual hallucinations” of
these entopic images in the complete absence of light (Bressloff
et al., 2001, p. 300).
Bressloff et al. (2001) and Lewis-Williams and Dowson (1988, p.
202) differentiate between entopics, defined as being ‘‘largely geometric visual percepts, ” and hallucinations, which are ‘‘more complex iconic visions” that take recognisable forms beyond the
geometric shapes (Lewis-Williams and Dowson, 1988, p. 202). Both
entopic images and hallucinations are universal, but their utilisation and interpretation by shamans in SSC are culturally specific.
Geometric ‘‘zigzags” with grids might be labelled snakes in some
cultures or plumed serpents in others (VanPool and VanPool,
2007, p. 75). Often the utilisation and interpretation of entopic
imagery is taught through apprenticeships with experienced shamans (Whitley, 1994, p. 366).2 Understanding the cultural filter
used to interpret the hallucinations encountered during SSC should
be central to the anthropology of religion, given that it reflects cultural transmission between the practitioners, aspects of a culture’s
cosmology, and their view of the spirit world.
Perhaps surprising to most who smoke cigarettes today, the extremely high nicotine content in native tobacco causes powerful
hallucinations (Wilbert, 1987). It was consequently one of the preferred hallucinogens used nearly everywhere in the Americas,
where it is commonly associated with pipe ceremonialism and bird
imagery (Brown, 1997, p. 474; Huckell, 1998; Huckell and VanPool,
2006; Jones and Morris, 1960; Robicsek, 1978; Switzer, 1969, p. 1;
VanPool, 2003a; Von Gernet, 1992, p. 137, Von Gernet, 2000, pp.
79–80; Whitley, 2000; Wilbert, 1987, p. 184; Winter, 2000). The
focus on pipes is also not surprising given that smoking is the most
efficient means of getting nicotine into the system (Wilbert, 1987,
pp. 124, 141).
According to ethnographic reports and medical studies, extreme
nicotine intoxication from tobacco blocks the colour receptors,
causing the intoxicated individual to see only white, yellow, and
black; tobacco shamans report that people look ‘‘ghost-like” (Wilbert, 1987, pp. 167–171). In contrast, buds of peyote, a small spineless cactus, can be chewed fresh or after they are dried to cause
vividly coloured hallucinations (Furst, 2003; MacLean, 2001;
Schultes and Hofmann, 1979; Schultes et al., 2001). Peyote has
been used since at least the Archaic period in northern Mexico
and the American Southwest (Boyd, 1996), and continues to be
used today by various groups in North America, especially by
members of the Native American Church and the Huichol of West
Mexico. MacLean (2001), Furst (2003) and Siegel and West (1975)
all note that the beaded and yarn art of the Huichols often depict
shamanic themes, and employ vivid colours characteristic of the
visions seen in peyote induced ASC. Furthermore, MacLean’s work
with a Huichol shaman indicates that peyote SSC not only produces
certain vivid colours3 (violet, purple, brownish oranges, blue, chocolate browns, light dove-gray browns, fluorescent greenish-yellow,
and fluorescent orange-yellow—‘‘what used to be called Day-go colours on psychedelic posters of the 1960s”), but also lacks green,
2
Siegel and West (1975) found that it was critical to train their subjects in their
clinical test when taking hallucinogenic drugs.
3
For interpretation of color in Figs. 3, 8, 9, the reader is referred to the web version
of this article.
black, and white (MacLean, 2001, pp. 314, 315) (Fig. 3). This is quite
distinct from nicotine intoxication in which black and white are two
of the three primary ‘‘colours” observed.
Datura from its root to its nectar possesses powerful and extremely poisonous alkaloids (scopolamine, hyoscyamine, and atropine)
(Bye, 1986: Table 4). As members of the tropane alkaloid group, they
inhibit activities of the central nervous system, and produce extremely powerful and often quite disturbing hallucinations (Claus
et al., 1970). Like tobacco and peyote it has been used for millennia
throughout the New World by various groups (Brown, 1997; Huckell
and VanPool, 2006; Schultes and Hofmann, 1979).
Schultes and Hofmann (1979, p. 142) found that South American shamans frequently boiled datura seeds (which can have a particular strong assay of D. stramonium [Morton, 1977: Table 1]) to
make a brew. The effects of datura were often so violent that the
partaker needed to be physical restrained until he passes out. Then
‘‘the medicine man interprets the visions as visitations of the spirits and is supposedly thus able to diagnose disease, apprehend
thieves, and prophesy the future” (Schultes and Hofmann, 1979,
p. 51; see also Harner, 1973a).
Datura was used in the American Southwest beginning by at
least Basketmaker III (AD 400–700) times and into the historic period (Huckell and VanPool, 2006). Historically it was occasionally
used by the Zuni and Hopi for divination and in healing ceremonies
(Schultes and von Thenen de Jaramillo-Arango, 1998, p. 110; Yarnell, 1959). Stevenson (1915) reports that datura was given to
put a Zuni patient asleep so that she could undergo breast surgery.
When compared to both native tobacco and peyote, datura creates violent and disturbing ASC (Claus et al., 1970, pp. 232, 235,
239; Gowdy, 1972; Shervette et al., 1979). Those who ingest it
are commonly reported as bing ‘‘Hot as a hare, blind as a bat, dry
as a bone, red as a beet, and mad as a hatter” (Clancy and KleinSchwartz, 2001, pp. 911; Huckell and VanPool, 2006, p. 149). Datura frequently has analgesic effects and is often associated with
memory loss (Schultes et al., 2001, p. 110).
Medical reports rarely discuss in detail the patients’ hallucinations, but anecdotal information from Erowid (http://www.erowid.
org), a webpage devoted to ‘‘providing reliable, non-judgmental
information about psychoactive plants and chemicals,” has a number of ‘‘experimental experts” that report their experiences with
datura (as well as other psychoactive plant). The personal narra-
181
tives about datura are in accord with academic reports (Clancy
and Klein-Schwartz, 2001, p. 911; Claus et al., 1970, pp. 232, 235,
239; Schultes et al., 2001) and commonly state that datura intoxicated people cannot differentiate between what is real and what is
hallucinatory and frequently had conversations with people that
were not present and seeing people they had not seen for a long
time or were deceased (see also Andrews, 2000, p. 70; Clancy
and Klein-Schwartz, 2001, p. 911; Claus et al., 1970, pp. 232, 235,
239; Schultes and Hofmann, 1979). This is consistent with the
use of datura amongst traditional people to talk to the ancestors,
the dead, or other spirits (Schultes and Hofmann, 1979).
Datura also causes the pupils to dilate, thereby affecting one’s
sight. Several of the experimental experts reported not being able
to read and one reports that pages ‘‘looked like bar codes”. Many
worried that they had permanently damaged their eyes. Colours
during ASC are apparently not as intense as those associated with
peyote, but none of the accounts (either medical or personal) report any colour loss as is the case with both nicotine (only black,
white, and yellow) and peyote (with the loss of green, black, and
white).
As mentioned previously, rhythmic sounds and chanting are
commonly used in addition to psychoactive substances such as datura, tobacco, and peyote to initiate ASC. Common noisemakers include drums, rattles, and bells (Grim, 1983; Harner, 1980; Peters
and Price-Williams, 1980; Price-Williams and Hughes, 1994, p. 7;
Van Deysen, 2004; Whitley, 2001). Popular lore holds that prolonged exposure to constant rhythmic sounds can induce ASC
(Wikipedia, 2009), but Price-Williams and Hughes (1994, pp. 7–
8; see also Rouget, 1985, p. 175; Vitebsky, 2001, p. 81) observe that
there is no direct evidence that the ‘‘beating of a drum elicited certain waves in the brain, thereby effecting an altered state of consciousness”. Regardless, shamans commonly use noisemakers and
other noisemakers to draw or house the spirit creatures (Van Deysen, 2004).
Often in ASC people experience sensation of vertigo, falling or
flying, which is sometime called ‘‘soul flight” or ‘‘magical flight”
(Lewis-Williams and Dowson, 1988; Siegel and West, 1975). Shamans frequently report feeling as if they emerge into a New World
full of creatures and spirits. In some SSC the shaman ‘‘sees” spirits
but also remains ‘‘awake” and cognizant of the physical world. Tarahumara shamans, for example, can initiate SSC that allow them to
see disagíki, harmful spirit birds sent by witches (Bennett and
Zingg, 1976, p. 265). In other cases, a shaman will completely loose
consciousness, and (especially with tobacco shamanism) appear
dead or near dead to the casual observer (Wilbert, 1987). In these
cases, the hallucinations may be considered completely divorce
from the mundane world, reflecting the underlying ‘‘real” spirit
world. In this realm the supernatural entities nearly always include
ancestors that can ‘‘speak” through the shaman to help guide or
warn their descendants (Steadman and Palmer, 1994).
Shamanistic ritual and practice
Fig. 3. Peyote shamanic imagery with ‘‘Day-go” colours (adapted from Siegel and
West, 1975: colour plates).
Because shamans mediate between the spirit realm and world
of the mundane, they are liminal people who, in the words of
Myerhoff (1976, p. 103) ‘‘are at the thresholds of form, forever betwixt and between”. Ethnologists state that liminal states (e.g.,
from girl to woman) are dangerous and thereby require rituals to
ensure the safety of those who are involved (Myerhoff, 1976; Sharon, 1993; Turner, 1969; Wilbert, 1987). The shamanic transformation from the physical to the spiritual is typically viewed as
dangerous perhaps in large part because there is true physiological
danger in digesting hallucinogens, blood letting, extreme fasting,
and other activities for inducing hallucinations (Freidel et al.,
1993; Myerhoff, 1976; Sharon, 1993; Wilbert, 1972). Some shamans go so far as to claim that they have died, been reassembled
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and merged with their tutelary spirits, and have been resurrected
such that their tutelary animal is part of them (Wilbert, 1972;
Jokic, 2008). Consequently, the rites associated with shamans are
elaborated with rituals and symbols to ensure safe passage between the worlds (e.g., Bawden, 1996, pp. 65–75; Sharon, 1993,
pp. 166–168; Wilbert, 1972, 1987).
In cases of extreme ASC, shamanic rituals frequently involve
individuals, usually other shamans, caring for the shaman’s ‘‘spiritless” (and defenceless) body (Wilbert, 1987, pp. 157–158), but
tutelary spirits (e.g., bears or jaguars), especially bird are ritually
sent with the shamans to guide and aid them during their flights
(Bawden, 1996, pp. 65–70; Harner, 1973b; Sharon, 1993; Wilbert,
1987; Vitebsky, 2001). Typically these tutelary animals are ‘‘liminal creatures,” which according to Whitley (1994, p. 25) can ‘‘move
between one kind of environment and another: earth–water;
earth–sky; earth surface–underground.
Shamanic rituals also involve a variety of tools such as pipes or
other paraphernalia to ingest drugs, ‘‘curing sticks” or tubes that
are used to find and remove illnesses, shrines or altars that serve
as entry points into the spirit world, and sand paintings or rock
art that summons the spirits for the shamans (Lewis-Williams
and Dowson, 1988; Parsons, 1996; Sharon, 1993; Vitebsky, 2001).
These object form sacra, which are those objects associated with
a specific cult institution (Knight, 1986). There is variation both
within and between cultures in shamanic sacra (e.g., Tarahumara
shaman-singers whose only role is to sing during community
rites), but shamanic sacra by their very nature form consistent
assemblages that reflect the shamans’ need to induce SSC (Boyd,
1996; Furst, 1972; Joralemon, 1984; Lewis-Williams and Dowson,
1988; Vitebsky, 2001; Whitley, 2000; Wilbert, 1987). Hallucinogens are often administered with objects (e.g., pipes for tobacco
or enemas for datura juice) (Schultes and Hofmann, 1979). Shamanic rituals also invoke physical symbols, and shamans are
known to use feathers, drums, rattles or other noisemakers, headdresses and ritual clothing (Eliade, 1964; Vitebsky, 2001). They frequently build altars that are accompanied by fetishes and quartz
crystals (Parsons, 1996, pp. 708–710; Sharon, 1993; Whitley,
2001). These ‘tool kits” should be observable in the archaeological
record. Further, this sacra will provide direct evidence about the
content of shamanic ritual and provide insights into the culture’s
cosmology, especially in regards to the composition of the spirit
world. In the following section, I outline general expectations
regarding how archaeologists can identify and interpret such sacra
and, by extension, how archaeologists can detect and study shamanic practices based on multiple lines of evidence using the
archaeological record.
Ritual sacra
Please note that the discussion presented here is only a starting
point and researchers in each region can add or delete components
depending on their culture area. Identifying sacra is a hermeneutic
process that requires archaeologists to work back and forth between the ethnographic and archaeological records to increase
our knowledge about human physiology and the social significance
of shamanism, paying especially close attention to the contexts
and range of behaviour. The use of multiple lines of evidence is
fundamental for creating strong inferences about the presence
and structure of shamanic-based religion in a given culture. Still,
the most commonly used, and one of the potentially most informative, lines of evidence is imagery that depicts the shamans directly
interacting with the spirits. Priests or other religious practitioners,
on the other hand, generally do not travel to the spirit realm, are
not thought to die and be united with their tutelary creatures,
nor turn into anthropomorphic creatures in SSC (Winkelman,
1992).
Imagery
Shamans often utilise imagery (e.g., rock art, sand paintings) to
interact with their tutelary spirits and other spirits (Lewis-Williams and Dowson, 1988; Sharon, 1993; Vitebsky, 2001). Rock art
panels that are thought be created by shamans typically have entopic imagery (Clottes et al., 1998; Lewis-Williams and Dowson,
1988; Whitley, 1994, 2000), although the validity of this association has been questioned (e.g., Bahn, 1988; Davis, 1988). How
can one determine if geometric images reflect entopics that are
part of SSC? Because shamans are defined as religious practitioners
who interact directly with the spirit world, entopic imagery should
ideally be embedded with aspects of the spirit world. Thus, entopic
images should not occur in isolations but will instead be combined
into cosmologically significant beings, such as the horned serpent
of the Medio period Casas Grandes region, which combines checkerboard collars, ‘‘zigzag” body morphology, and other geometrics
indicative of entopic imagery into a single creature (VanPool and
VanPool, 2007, p. 79).
Further, the entopic images and their related spirit creatures
will most likely be directly associated with images of tutelary
animals and liminal creatures that assist shamans during their
rituals. Both Von Gernet (1992, p. 137, 2000), p. 80) and Wilbert (1987, p. 184) have argued that tobacco shamanism is always associate with bird imagery, perhaps because the
physiological and biochemical reaction from nicotine intoxication causes people to ‘‘see” flashes of movement that are commonly interpreted as birds (Wilbert, 1987, pp. 133–148). Other
culturally powerful animals, such as bears or jaguars are also
summoned as helpers and depicted in shamanic art in many
New World cultures (Freidel et al., 1993; Miller and Taube,
1993). Shamanic imagery also shows shamans with characteristics of an animal or bird as s/he becomes a spiritual creature
(Dobkin de Rios, 1976, pp. 61–62, 73) or uniting into one conglomerate creature with his/her tutelary spirits that always resides in the initiated shaman’s body (Jokic, 2008; Wilbert,
1972). It is not surprising, therefore, that rock art researchers
find that unmasked anthropomorphic figures are commonly
associated with shamanism (Boyd, 1996; Hays-Gilpin, 2004;
Schaafsma, 1994; Whitley, 2000, 2001).
The shamanic cosmos is full of liminal creatures and it reflects the ‘‘underlying chaos of the unconceptualized domain
which has not yet been made a part of the cosmos by the cultural activity of naming and defining” (Myerhoff, 1976, p. 102).
Therefore shamans should interact with liminal creatures and
the ‘‘chaos,” or, to use Turner’s (1969) term, the anti-structure.
Such liminal creatures in the New World include feathered serpents because they have attributes of both the upper world
(feathers) and the lower world (serpents), enabling them to
transcend the distinction between the earth and the sky (VanPool and VanPool, 2007, p. 135). As a result, imagery used by
shamans typically contains patterned geometric shapes (entopics) associated with images of tutelary creatures (especially
birds or powerful creatures such as bear), supernatural non-naturalistic entities reflecting liminality (e.g., featured serpents),
and anthropomorphs that combine the attributes of humans
and animals.
Further, shamanic imagery likely provides insight into what
hallucinogens were used. For example, the colours used in shamanic symbolism can reflect the use of agents such as tobacco
(white, yellow, and black images) or peyote (Day-go colours)
(Furst, 2003; MacLean, 2001). The colours depicted in shamanic
imagery may in fact be central its meaning; some Huichol shamans
believe that the colours seen in SSC (as opposed to some sort of
spoken word) are the means through which the ‘‘gods” communicate. MacLean (2001, p. 309) states,
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In the case of Huichol shamanic art, colour has more intrinsic
spiritual meaning than the subjects of the depictions themselves.
Given that shamanic experiences are universal experiences, shamanic imagery will likely emphasise variation between the ‘‘real”
world and the ‘‘spirit world” through colour. Hallucinogenic agents
differ in their impact on colour perception. The specifics of the
imagery can be assessed by considering the compatibility of available hallucinogens with the colour symbolism of the proposed
‘‘shamanic images”. How nicotine and datura might be reflected
in prehistoric iconography is further explored in the archaeological
case studies.
not all cultures have specific shamanic ritual locations, and even
when present, shamans will perform some rituals away from these
locations (e.g., travelling with war parties or a house blessing). Still,
the concentration of possible shamanic sacra in a specific location
consistent with shamanic ritual (e.g., caves) will strengthen the
certainty that shamanic-based religious practices were present
and help focus the archaeologist’s attention on a location that
can provide greater insight into the religious system.
Such shamanic ritual locations will likely contain the tools used
to administer psychoactive agents, drums or other noise makers,
and shamanic symbolism focused on the transformed shaman.
Other tools like quartz crystals, fetishes, and altars are also commonly used (Sharon, 1993; Whitley, 2001; Wilbert, 1972, p. 81).
(Quartz has a property called triboluminescence that allows energy
stored in its crystalline matrix to be released as a flash of light
when it is rubbed or scratched with another stone. Shamans worldwide commonly employed quartz to show ‘‘magical” power [Whitley, 2001, p. 140].)
Noisemakers and musical instruments
A summary of the components of shamanic sacra
Noisemakers and in particular drums are the most frequent
items used by shamans (Van Deysen, 2004; Vitebsky, 2001). Drums
and other rhythmic instruments are often used to summon spirits
and evoke SSC (Van Deysen, 2004; Vitebsky, 2001, p. 54). Many
shamans consider their drums to be animated entities whose spirits can help the shamans on their journey (Potapov, 1999, p. 25;
Vitebsky, 2001, p. 85). Potapov’s (1999, p. 25) work with Altai Turk
shamans provides such an example:
Taken together, the common components of shamanic sacra
create expectations using multiple lines of evidence that will reflect the presence and form of shaman-based religion. Shamanic
sacra as a set of tools should ideally reflect the need of the shamans
to attract tutelary creatures, which help them conduct rituals such
as curing, travelling safely between realms, and bringing back
knowledge and prayers given to them by their deities. They should
also ideally indicate that the shamans directly communicated with
the supernatural. Table 1 has some generalised suggestions for
identifying both the presence of shamans and contrary evidence
typical of priests and other types of religious practitioners. These
should be useful for helping determine when shamans are not
present or if there are religious practitioners that fall somewhere
on the continuum between ‘‘shaman” and ‘‘priest,” which has been
frequently ignored by archaeologists.
Whilst shamanism is found around the globe, not all cultures
employ a shaman-based religious system (McCall, 2007). The presence of any one of these characteristics will not adequately establish that shamanism was present in a culture (e.g., images of an
anthropomorphic ‘‘werewolf” doesn’t necessarily establish the
presence of shamans that transformed into wolf-like spirit beings).
However, the co-occurrence of many of these lines of evidence will
strength the certainty that shamanism was practiced. Also confounding the issue is that shamans and priests can use similar paraphernalia (e.g., incense, altars, images of deities) and concepts
(apprenticeship, prayers, and request for divine blessing) (Fig. 2),
but they will differ in where, when, and how they access the supernatural (Table 1). The use of non-specialised sacra may also be a
productive means of determining shamanism. Caution is also warranted because some of the characteristics that are commonly
found in shamanic systems may not necessarily be reflected in
the archaeological record. Yanamano shamans have a set of sacra
that matches the above expectations but is composed entirely of
perishable materials (e.g., the long reed tubes used to ingest ebene
[Ritchie, 1996]). Next I explore the utility of this approach using
two case studies from the North American Southwest.
The shaman hears and understands by means of color. These
colors are not words or symbols in a linguistic sense—that is,
they do not function as a symbolic language in which color x
means one thing and colour y means another. Rather, the colors
themselves seem to be comprehended in a multisensory way
that is meaningful to the shaman.
the drum symbolically fulfilled his role of a superior animal, on
which the shaman journeyed into all spheres of the universe.
But when in the course of the journey the shaman’s path was
blocked by a river, the drum transformed itself into a boat
and the shaman’s whip into an oar . . . The drum also served
as a shelter for . . . the soul of the shaman.
Furthermore drums and other noisemakers tend to be painted
with important symbols that contain sacred knowledge to augment their power (Potapov, 1999, p. 25). Shamanism should therefore be reflected by the presence of actual drums or other
noisemakers in ritual contexts associated with shamanic imagery
and/or with the depictions of noisemakers in shamanic imagery.
Psychoactive plants and chemicals
Although not universal, most shamanic rituals include some
form of hallucinogenic agent. Shamanic sacra will therefore be
indicated by its association with the agents themselves (e.g., macrobotanical remains of datura) and the tools used to administer
them (e.g., pipes for smoking tobacco). This can be compared with
the imagery (e.g., colour symbolism, types of images depicted) to
determine if they correspond with one another.
Altars and activity spaces
Shamanic sacra is quite extensive, and the use of drums, the creation of shamanic symbolism, and ingesting psychoactive agents
often, but not always, involves the use of fixed ‘‘ritual areas” where
altars and other embellishments are created. These spots are typically viewed as the literal doorway between the spirit and physical
worlds, and are often an opening into the earth (caves or springs)
or elevated spaces (mountains) and even caves in mountains (Lewis-Williams, 2002; Pearson, 2002). These are viewed as literal entrances into the underworld and upperworld (Bean, 1975; Pearson,
2002, pp. 69–70; Wilbert, 1972; Vitebsky, 2001, p. 70). However,
Archaeological case studies
The prehistoric record of the North American Southwest reflects
iconic families and other evidence of shamanic sacra (Boyd, 1996;
Hays-Gilpin and LeBlanc, 2007, p. 127; Schaafsma, 1994; VanPool,
2003a; VanPool and VanPool, 2006, 2007). I present two case studies where the various lines of evidence described above indicate
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both the presence of shamanism and provide insight into its practice. The first comes from the Medio period (AD 1200–1450) of the
Casas Grandes culture, where I have previously identified what I
believe to be shamanic imagery and tobacco shamanic sacra (VanPool, 2003a,b; VanPool and VanPool, 2007). My arguments relied
on an incipient form of the methodology presented here, but are
strengthened and more clearly formalised by using the proposed
methods. Many of the traits listed above co-occur in the iconography and archaeological record at Paquimé, the ceremonial centre of
the Casas Grandes world. In Medio Period iconography (AD 1200–
1450) a classic shamanic journey can be identified by following a
‘‘pound sign”. This curious design is found only on a subset of
males smoking, dancing, and transforming into macaw-headed
individuals to interact with the spirit world (Fig. 4). Male smoker
effigies are depicted with pipes that are morphological similar to
those found at Paquimé (Fig. 4). These individuals are colourfully
dressed with distinctive face markings and textile patterns typical
of Casas Grandes figures. They also appear as painted images depicted in odd positions indicative of ritual dancing and other movement whilst wearing headdresses. Similar individuals are depicted
with their headdress beside them and a horn or spiral coming out
of their heads (Fig. 4), which I believe show the human transforming into a spiritual being (VanPool, 2003a,b).
The next figure of Fig. 4 reflects a macaw-headed man, which I
have proposed is the shaman fully transformed into a spirit creature. The anthropomorphs have lost the facial markings and clothing reflected on the Casas Grandes human effigy jars. Tobacco
shamans are typically thought to lose their ‘‘humanness” as they
become spirit beings (Jokic, 2008; Wilbert, 1972, 1987). A bird
rides on top of his leg (Fig. 4). It does not resemble anything found
in nature (Casas Grandes artists frequently accurately depict
snakes and birds that are identifiable at the genus or species level
[VanPool and VanPool, 2009]). Its uniqueness and the fact that it is
on the leg suggest that it is a tutelary bird travelling with the shaman’s spirit. Furthermore, the macaw-headed anthropomorphs are
sometimes depicted in a horizontal position indicative of ‘‘soul
flight”.
Again, the transformed shamans are completely devoid of the
facial markings and clothing typical of human figures. They are also
formed as negative images (outlined with black paint on a lightcoloured surface), making them appear whitish on the pottery
(Figs. 4–6) (VanPool, 2003a,b; VanPool and VanPool, 2007). Wilbert
(1987), as discussed above, found that nicotine intoxication causes
shamans to see only yellow, white, and black. Anthropomorphic
figures are often depicted on black and white painted pots with little to no red paint (e.g., Fig. 6). This is odd given that the majority
(98%) of Casas Grandes Medio Period pottery is polychrome, which
have visually striking red and black interlocking designs. Male
smoker effigies in particular are vividly painted with colourful
red and black sashes and leggings, but the anthropomorphic figures consistently lack red designs on their bodies (Fig. 4). Fig. 6
is a perfect example of such an anthropomorphic figure on a black
and white jar, which is also associated with tutelary birds. Colour
choice or the lack of it is certainly symbolically meaningful. Here
I suggest that as part of his SCC the shaman saw himself as
ghost-like as a result of nicotine intoxication.
Finally the macaw-headed shamans with pound signs on their
bodies are seen interacting with two liminal creatures (feathered
horned serpents and double-headed macaw diamonds) that Todd
VanPool and I have suggested elsewhere are the primary deities
of the Casas Grandes world (VanPool and VanPool, 2007; Fig. 5).
Fig. 5, which is a rollout of a pot, reflects lots of entopic geometrics
including grids, as well as horned serpents with checkerboards,
zigzag bodies, and other complex geometric designs or ‘‘visual hallucinations”. This vessel flouts all of the artistic rules of Casas Grandes art, which typically includes obsessively bounded design
spaces with open designs composed of interlocking and balances
geometric forms that are limited to a central band on the upper
two-thirds of the outside of jars, and is painted from top to bottom.
This pot in contrast is ‘‘busy” without open space and clearly
demarcated design panels. It encompasses all of the characteristics
of shamanic imagery as outlined above, especially those characteristic of tobacco shamanism: entopic imagery imbedded all around
anthropomorphs, zigzags that are embellished and interpreted to
be the plumed horned serpent (powerful liminal creatures), tutelary birds, and the use of primarily negative anthropomorphic figures without substantial red designs on their body (there is a touch
of red associated with the macaw designs that might reflect blood
or some other spiritually powerful substance coming from its
mouth).
There is also evidence of a shamanic ritual space at a man-made
‘‘cave” dug into the earth right in the heart of Paquimé called the
Fig. 4. Casas Grandes shamanic transformation (adapted from VanPool, 2003b).
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Fig. 5. Casas Grandes supernatural realm (adapted from VanPool, 2003b).
Pottery Mound
Fig. 6. White macaw-headed shaman outline in back. Courtesy of the El Paso
Museum of Archaeology, Catalogue no. 59-9-57.
House of the Walk-in Well (VanPool and VanPool, 2007; for discussion of the well see Di Peso et al., 1974, pp. 7, 305–306). The well
descends over seven metres to the ground water level. It has limited access from within the community, and likely was not used
for potable water because complete animals (e.g., a bison) and possibly other potential offerings were found in it (Di Peso et al., 1974,
pp. 4: 305–306). The well’s compound had two ‘‘shamanic caches”
(jars with mineral concretions, quartz, and small fetishes), seven of
the nine pipes found at Paquimé, large quantities of copper bells
and shell tinklers (noisemakers), and a large jar (ca. 50 cm high)
with depictions of two shamans transformed with their headdresses beside them. To enter into the well, one would literally have to
step over a human skull embedded in the floor. The contexts of the
pipes, the shamanic caches, and the olla decorated with shamans
in the House of the Walk-in Well all have the expected characteristics of shamanic sacra and likely reflect a shamanic ritual space
associated with tobacco use. If so, then the smoking, pipes, shaman
caches, and shamanic iconography at the House of the Walk-in
Well constitute an ‘‘iconic family” that according to Knight
(1986, p. 676) is a ‘‘set of sacra particularly associated with a corresponding cult institution”. This cult institution at Paquimé was in
all likelihood concerned with water making or rejuvenation, given
the context of the Walk-in Well (VanPool, 2003a, p. 708). Multiple
lines of evidence, which includes Casas Grandes architecture, sacra,
and iconography, support the notion that shamans were present in
the region during the Medio Period. In short, all of the elements
outlined above co-occur as expected with shamanism and are distinct with other religious practitioners.
For the second case study, I have selected a more ‘‘difficult” context to study the potential presence of shamanism. It is in such
cases that the methodology presented here should be most useful
in clarifying and strengthening archaeological reasoning and presenting new ideas that can be further explored. Anthropologists
have debated whether the historic Southwestern pueblos had practicing shamans. Ellis (1979), Parsons (1996), and Winkelman
(1992) suggest that at least some of them had shaman-healers or
medicine men. In fact, Parsons (1996, p. 132, originally published
in 1939) believed that the term ‘‘priests” for Hopi, Zuni, and the
Keresan speaking pueblos was for ‘‘comparative purposes misleading,” and should be replaced by ‘‘shaman” or more generally,
‘‘doctor”.
More recently, Hays-Gilpin and LeBlanc (2007, p. 127) observe
that ‘‘shamanism as a form of ritual practice has been documented
for many Keresan pueblos,” a point that Ellis (1979, p. 444)
stressed decades ago, although others disagree (Underhill, 1938,
p. 50; see also Lamphere, 1983, p. 762). Archaeologists working
in the region rarely use the concept of shamanism and in fact most
of the overview books on Southwestern archaeology such those by
Cordell (1997, pp. 11, 520) and Plog (1997, p. 23) only use the term
when discussing the non-pueblo Rancherias people (e.g., Tohono
O’odham).
Although she does not believe that shamanic practices were
continued in the pueblos, cultural anthropologist Lamphere
(1983, p. 755) found that ‘‘pueblo religion seems to be based on
an essentially shamanic worldview adapted to the needs of an agricultural people” (which is what one would expect given Fig. 1).
This shamanic underpinning and the actual shamanic practices
are perhaps evident as early as the Archaic period (prior to AD
400), but Southwesternists typically assume that shamanism
ended before the start of the ancestral pueblo period, an assumption that has not been systematically defended (Cordell, 1997;
Crotty, 1992; Plog, 1997; Schaafsma, 1980, 1994). Assumption
aside, exactly when (and even if) shamanism dropped completely
from the religious systems of the Pueblos and their immediate
ancestors is an unanswered question. Again I stress that the distinction between priests and shaman-based religions is not a
clear-cut dichotomy.
Here I suggest that evidence indicates that datura and tobacco
visions inspired some of the imagery found on the kiva murals at
Pottery Mound, a late prehistoric pre-Pueblo site dating to the
16th Century in New Mexico. Starting with the imagery, Crotty
(1992, p. 51) found that ‘‘protohistorical Anasazi” rock art and kiva
murals had ‘‘a relatively high incidence of anthropomorphic and
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‘‘mothmen” (Fig. 8). The O’odham and other Southwestern groups
note that hawkmoths feed on datura nectar, causing them to become drunk and dizzy (Grant and Grant, 1983; Nabhan, 1997; Russell, 1975, p. 300; Yarnell, 1959). The inhabitants of Pottery Mound
and elsewhere almost certainly would have known about this association as well, given that aboriginal peoples throughout the world
tend to have detailed knowledge of the plants and animals surrounding them.
The ‘‘mosquito men” (Hibben, 1975, pp. 63 and 115), another
common anthropomorphic figure, recorded at Pottery Mound
(Hibben, 1975: Figs. 45, 86) could also be mothmen (Fig. 9). Unlike
mosquitoes, these anthropomorphic figures have the coiled proboscises, which mosquitoes do not have, as well as similar wings
to those found on the proposed mothmen. These figures, along
with one holding datura stalks, are colourful and contain red, black,
brown, yellow, and white—much like the earthed colours found in
the Southwest today. Recall that datura intoxication does not seem
to impact colour perception, so the colour of the depictions seem
also reasonable for datura-based SSC.
Fig. 7. Masked birdman from Pottery Mound (adapted from Hibben, 1975: Fig. 18).
zoomorphic figures,” although she avoids shamanism as a concept.
Kiva murals from Pottery Mounds follow this general pattern (Hibben, 1975: Figs. 1, 2, 8, 12, 17, 18, 37, 69, 76). These images could
potentially represent kachina, but this is unlikely. According to
Adams (2000, p. 35; see also Cole, 1989), ‘‘the only reliable indicator” of a kachina is a figure with a clearly depicted mask (Adams,
2000, p. 35, see also Cole, 1989). Only one of the six anthropomorphic ‘‘birdmen” is clearly wearing a mask (Fig. 7) (Hibben, 1975:
Fig. 18). If Adams is correct, then only one masked birdman can
be considered a kachina. The other five images may reflect actual
‘‘birdmen”.
Likewise several ‘‘human-headed insect” figures depicted without masks might be transformed shamans. They have antennae,
humanoid legs and arms, large wings coming off of their backs,
and a smaller set of wings coming off the ends of their bodies. They
also hold stalks of plants with spiny round terminal capsules (Hibben, 1975: Fig. 8) that Lisa Huckell identified as datura capsules
(personal communication 2003). These anthropomorphs are likely
Fig. 9. ‘‘Mosquito men” that might be mothmen from Pottery Mound (adapted from
Hibben, 1975: Fig. 86).
Fig. 8. Mothmen from Pottery Mound holding datura capsules (adapted from Hibben, 1975: Fig. 7).
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Fig. 10. Birdman from Pottery Mound without a mask (adapted from Hibben, 1975,
pp. 32 106).
Fig. 12. Pottery Mound figure with feathered headdress and mask (adapted from
Hibben (1975, p. 113).
One of the ‘‘birdmen” depicted in a mural from Kiva 2, Layer
1, north wall (Hibben, 1975, p. 32) is a negative image, which is
outlined in black paint (Fig. 10). This anthropomorphic figure is
not masked, has dorsal wings, and is wearing a white necklace.
Against the dark earthen tone wall of the kiva this birdman
looks ghost-like. Given his ghost-like appearance it is possible
that he reflects tobacco shamanism. The birdman is depicted
behind a solid yellow and solid red human. The red human is
holding a colourful shield, indicating that he is a warrior
(Schaafsma, 2007, pp. 144–146).
Pottery Mound has many images of liminal creatures, such as
the horned/plumed serpents (Fig. 5, for additional figures see
Hibben, 1975: Figs. 34, 42, 83) (Fig. 11) that could have been
used in shamanic rituals to transcend the world of the mundane.
One of the kiva murals also depicts a human wearing a horned
serpent ‘‘headdress” and mask (Fig. 12; Hibben, 1975, p. 113),
which is similar to the plumed serpent headdresses worn by Casas Grandes shamans (Fig. 4). It is possible that the horned/
plumed serpent headdresses were used as regalia in shamanic
ritual; Furst (1998) and Wilbert (1987) found that feathers and
feathered headdresses are commonly used as part of the shaman
ensemble elsewhere.
Hibben (1975, pp. 51, 71) also found several ‘‘stylised/abstract
murals” at Pottery Mound. Many of these murals have entopic-like
imagery. Two panels in particular (Hibben, 1975: Figs. 22 [p. 39],
51 [p. 71]) are strikingly similar to hallucinations reproduced by
medical researchers Siegel and West (1975): colour plates. Both
of these stylised panels at Pottery Mound have brightly coloured
central designs (a tunnel) that have arch-shapes with bird wing
motifs around them (Hibben, 1975, pp. 22, 51). The bird wing
motifs (which could reflect the general sensation of flying or the
presence of tutelary animals) and arch-shapes give these panels a
sense of motion or spinning.
Hibben (1975, p. 39) also reports that one of these stylised murals has Sikyatki-style designs from Hopi. Hopi potters of northern
Arizona produced Sikyatki polychromes from the 1400 to the
1600s. This polychrome tradition is highly abstract and is often
imbued with bird imagery including wings, beaks, and feathers.
Although I have only looked at a handful of these complex ceramics, they tend to have a central area surrounded by arch designs
that are very similar to the abstract murals from Pottery Mound.
What is perhaps more intriguing about Sikyatki polychromes is
that the shoulder around the jar’s opening is decorated with
entopic imagery, feathers, and stars. When the vessel is viewed
from the top, it causes the entopic-like images to appear as though
they are swirling around an actual ‘‘tunnel” formed by the pot’s
orifice. This causes them to look similar to ASC imagery reported
in Siegel and West (1975). It is possible that the Sikyatki-style
mural at Pottery Mound has entopic images surrounding an open
area symbolic of a vortex—a portal to the spirit world.
Collectively the kiva murals at Pottery Mound and in fact kiva
murals from throughout the region (Crotty, 1995; Hibben, 1975)
are dominated by entopic images with vortexes, liminal creatures such as horned serpents, winged anthropomorphs including ‘‘hawkmoth” men, ghost-like birdmen, lots of birds
(especially macaws, Hibben, 1975, pp. 93–94), and colour symbolism that is consistent with both datura and tobacco induced
visions. All of these are consistent with shamanic imagery, but
less so with priest and the concepts of the ‘‘divine world”. In
addition datura seeds were recovered from the floor of a deeply
buried room (Yarnell, 1959), and three smoking pipes are
Fig. 11. Liminal creature: horned/plumed serpent from Pottery Mound (adapted from Hibben, 1975: Fig. 34).
188
reported in the recently published 1954 site report for Pottery
Mound (Ballagh and Phillips, 2006, pp. 47, 89, 93) (none were
reported in the 1955 report). Likewise a few quartz crystals
are reported (Ballagh and Phillips, 2006, pp. 23, 71; Ballagh
and Phillips, 2008, pp. 92, 97) although they too do not appear
to be associated with sacra caches. No altars, drums, or rattles
have been reported thus far, although more reports are forthcoming. However, six ‘‘unfinished” fetishes were found in Room
3–11 (Ballagh and Phillips, 2008, pp. 14). The pipes, crystals, and
fetishes outside of clear priestly ritual spaces suggest that these
items were lost personal items, perhaps used in personal rituals.
This too is suggestive of shamanic behaviours (individualistic
rituals) as opposed to ritual storage of ‘‘priestly” sacra (see
Table 1).
The available evidence indicates that shamanic-like imagery
and hallucinogenic agents were present at Pottery Mound (see also
Hays-Gilpin and LeBlanc, 2007, p. 127). Microbotanical evidence
might have been greater if all the sediment had been screened
and if flotation samples had been taken.
Conclusions
As with any archaeological endeavour, interpretations should
be based on multiple lines of evidence with the most parsimonious
explanation being chosen (Kelley and Hanen, 1988). The concept of
shamanic sacra as a complex assemblage reflecting rituals focused
on transformation to communicate with the supernatural should
take precedence in interpreting past shamanism. Shamanic sacra
reflected in nonrandom association of traits such as hallucinogens,
anthropomorphic images, entopic imagery, animal fetishes, crystals, and the other materials is likely going to be a more productive
means of recognising a complex behavioural pattern like shamanism than is relying on any single trait such as the presence of
anthropomorphs.
Southwestern archaeologists typically believe that priests were
prominent during the late prehistoric period (e.g., Cordell, 1997;
Plog, 1997; Schaafsma, 2000, p. 4), but cultural anthropologists debate whether the historical and modern pueblo peoples had shamans, priests, or ceremonialists (Dozier, 1970, p. 155; Dutton,
1983; Eggan, 1972; Ellis, 1979; Lamphere, 1983; Parsons, 1996).
This is not an all-or-nothing debate; Winkelman (1992) suggested
that some pueblos had both priests and shaman-healers, and
Lamphere (1983, p. 755) suggested pueblo cosmology was essentially ‘‘shamanic” even if shamanism wasn’t practiced. Given the
variation in religious practices documented by ethnographers, perhaps archaeologists should adopt an equally nuanced view of past
religion, eschewing a commitment to ‘‘priestly” pre-Puebloan religion that likely obscures significant variation. Instead it is time to
consider the range of variation in religious expression even within
the same community (see Rakita, 2009 for an example of how this
can be done).
The kachina tradition is clearly represented at Pottery Mound in
murals depicting masked beings. Pottery Mound also has anthropomorphs that are distinct from the masked figures. Accepting
Lamphere’s (1983, p. 755) conclusion that modern pueblo religion
has an underlying shamanic framework, this co-occurrence of
‘‘shamanists” imagery mixed with the development of ‘‘priestly”
deity impersonation may reflect a developmental reorganization
underlying ethnographically documented Pueblo religion as shamanic transformation was modified to include priestly impersonations. It is therefore consistent with the ‘‘continuum” of
religious practices I present in Fig. 1.
Importantly, though, the rise of Pueblo ‘‘priests” occurred in the
context of shamanic practice, a process that has not been adequately explored archaeologically. I have systematically examined
thousands of Casas Grandes pots (VanPool, 2003a,b; VanPool and
VanPool, 2007), stone effigies in many museums4 and images of
shell and stone artifacts in Di Peso et al.’s (1974) seminal eight volume site report on Casas Grandes, and I have yet to find a clear representation of a masked figure in this tradition. This suggests that
the kachina religion did not begin in the Casas Grandes region at
least during the Medio period (AD 1200–1450), even though it is
present in the Salado region by the mid-1300s (Adams, 2000;
Schaafsma, 2000). Casas Grandes and Salado cultures are often
thought of as similar if not directly related cultures (e.g., Nelson
and LeBlanc, 1986, pp. 8–12). Previously Todd VanPool and I proposed that Casas Grandes and Salado systems are fundamentally different based on differential use of serpent iconography and platform
mound types (VanPool et al., 2006b). We did not, however, consider
masked impersonators as part of the differences between the systems but we could do so now. This again suggests minimally that
there is a greater range of religious variability than previously discussed in past religious practice of the Southwest. The same is surely
true in other cultural areas. Such insights are only possible when
consistent methodologies for studying religion are explored. The
methodology I employ here is intended to help further such efforts.
Colonization and the efforts of missionaries throughout the
world have greatly impacted native peoples’ religious systems. It
should not surprise us that the ethnographic record does not capture all the religious diversity that was once present. Casas Grandes iconography and archaeology, like Maya iconography and
archaeology (Freidel et al., 1993), has evidence for leaders using
SSC. Both the Casas Grandes and the Maya cases validate Winkelman’s (1992) argument that some shamanic positions evolved into
more priestly ones. However, because of the nature of the interaction of humans becoming or uniting with spiritual entities to interact with the ‘‘supernatural” instead of acting as their
representatives (priests), I suggest that the term shaman or shaman-like are therefore more useful in many cases. The key attribute is in identifying shamanism, and differentiating it from
other religious systems, is the relationship between the religious
practitioners and the supernatural. Urbanization and increased social complexity can (and does) result in large-scale ceremonial
structures, but this does not reflect a complete shift away from a
shamanistic concept of the cosmos and its deities. The proposed
methodology and critical use of ethnographies indicates that both
written accounts of people and archaeological data will be necessary for understanding how shamanic and priestly behaviours
may be potentially related, and how an older shamanic substrate
might be reorganized or included into a newer religious system
such as the kachina religion.
Acknowledgments
I am thankful for the beneficial comments and suggestions provided by Grant McCall, Lee Lyman, John O’Shae, Gordon Rakita,
Todd VanPool, and David Whitley.
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Signs-Sacred-Shamans - Genealogy of Religion

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