Fetishes, Charms, and Magic

88:5.1Since any­thing con­nected with the body could be­come a fe­tish, the ear­li­est magic had to do with hair and nails. Se­crecy at­ten­dant upon body elim­i­na­tion grew up out of fear that an en­emy might get pos­ses­sion of some­thing de­rived from the body and em­ploy it in detri­men­tal magic; all exc­reta of the body were there­fore care­fully buried. Pub­lic spit­ting was re­frained from be­cause of the fear that saliva would be used in dele­te­ri­ous magic; spit­tle was al­ways cov­ered. Even food rem­nants, cloth­ing, and or­na­ments could be­come in­stru­ments of magic. The sav­age never left any rem­nants of his meal on the ta­ble. And all this was done through fear that one’s en­e­mies might use these things in mag­i­cal rites, not from any ap­pre­ci­a­tion of the hy­gienic value of such prac­tices.

88:5.2Mag­i­cal charms were con­cocted from a great va­ri­ety of things: hu­man flesh, tiger claws, croc­o­dile teeth, poi­son plant seeds, snake venom, and hu­man hair. The bones of the dead were very mag­i­cal. Even the dust from foot­prints could be used in magic. The an­cients were great be­liev­ers in love charms. Blood and other forms of bod­ily se­cre­tions were able to in­sure the magic in­flu­ence of love.

88:5.3Im­ages were sup­posed to be ef­fec­tive in magic. Ef­fi­gies were made, and when treated ill or well, the same ef­fects were be­lieved to rest upon the real per­son. When mak­ing pur­chases, su­per­sti­tious per­sons would chew a bit of hard wood in or­der to soften the heart of the seller.

88:5.4The milk of a black cow was highly mag­i­cal; so also were black cats. The staff or wand was mag­i­cal, along with drums, bells, and knots. All an­cient ob­jects were mag­i­cal charms. The prac­tices of a new or higher civ­i­liza­tion were looked upon with dis­fa­vor be­cause of their sup­pos­edly evil mag­i­cal na­ture. Writ­ing, print­ing, and pic­tures were long so re­garded.

88:5.5Prim­i­tive man be­lieved that names must be treated with re­spect, es­pe­cially names of the gods. The name was re­garded as an en­tity, an in­flu­ence dis­tinct from the phys­i­cal per­son­al­ity; it was es­teemed equally with the soul and the shadow. Names were pawned for loans; a man could not use his name un­til it had been re­deemed by pay­ment of the loan. Nowa­days one signs his name to a note. An in­di­vid­ual’s name soon be­came im­por­tant in magic. The sav­age had two names; the im­por­tant one was re­garded as too sa­cred to use on or­di­nary oc­ca­sions, hence the sec­ond or ev­ery­day name—a nick­name. He never told his real name to strangers. Any ex­pe­ri­ence of an un­usual na­ture caused him to change his name; some­times it was in an ef­fort to cure dis­ease or to stop bad luck. The sav­age could get a new name by buy­ing it from the tribal chief; men still in­vest in ti­tles and de­grees. But among the most prim­i­tive tribes, such as the African Bush­men, in­di­vid­ual names do not ex­ist.