RELIGIOUS BELIEFS AND PRACTICES

All those who have come personally into contact with a primitive Malay people will, I think, agree that belief in the “All Father” idea (such as certain anthropologists suggest is “natural to the child-mind of primitive man”) does not hold true of this particular branch of primitive man. Certainly as far as the Formosan aborigines are concerned, there seems no trace of anything of the sort, except possibly among the Ami, of the east coast; and such hazy idea of a Supreme Being as they may perhaps be considered to hold seems probably derived from teachings of the Dutch missionaries given to their ancestors. When questioned at all closely as to their religious belief, they speak of several deities. These are usually in pairs—male and female—as for example Kakring and Kalapiat. These deities seem concerned with the thunderstorms which are frequent on the east coast; these storms being due, according to Ami belief, to the quarrels between the god, Kakring, and his wife, Kalapiat; Kakring causing the thunder by stamping and by throwing about the pots (the latter being the most prized possession of every Ami house-wife), and Kalapiat bringing about lightning by completely disrobing herself in her anger—this being a method of showing displeasure frequently adopted by Ami women. Earthquakes—frequent in Formosa—are supposed to be caused by a spirit in the shape of a great pig scratching himself against a pole, which extends from earth to heaven. Sun, moon, and stars were created by Dgagha and Bartsing—god and goddess, respectively. The earth the Ami believe to be flat; the sun goes under it at night, the moon and stars under it during the day.

The Ami seem more democratic in religion, as well as in politics, than the mountain tribes; that is, the theocracy of the priestesses seems less strong. Priestesses, however, exist among them, and in time of illness or danger they are asked to intercede with the various deities. Intercession takes the form of a sort of chanting prayer, growing louder and wilder as it continues, accompanied by the throwing into the air of small coloured pebbles (now sometimes glass beads bartered from Chinese and Japanese), together with small pieces of the flesh of wild pig—this apparently as an offering to the deities.

When a tribal group among the Ami is in serious distress or danger, or faced by the necessity of a decision of importance, the elders of the group[64]—or village, if only one village is affected—usually repair to a cave, or to a place near a high cliff—wherever an echo may be heard—accompanied by several priestesses. The latter dance and chant themselves into a state of frenzy, until they fall exhausted in a swoon, real or simulated. When they return to consciousness, which is sometimes not until next day, they say that the spirits which “sang back” at them from cliff or cave during the chanting have told them what measures the people must take in order to meet the emergency in question. This can be communicated only to the elders; and only the elders are allowed to watch this especially sacred dance. For any of the younger people to do so would be considered a heinous sin.

The red stones, or beads, used by the priestesses in their incantations are also sometimes used by the older warriors and huntsmen. An old hunter, just before starting into the mountains in search of game, will put a red pebble into a freshly opened betel-nut, lay this in the palm of his hand and wave it before his face, palm upward, toward the sky. This is supposed to bring him good luck in the chase. The same ceremony is said to have been performed in the olden days, just before starting on a head-hunting expedition.

The ideas of the Ami regarding heaven and hell also suggest that these may be the vestiges of missionary teachings once given by the Dutch (the present-day missionaries in Formosa confine their attention to the Chinese-Formosans as before explained). Good men and women, the Ami believe, go to “heaven,” and bad ones to “hell.” Heaven they believe to be situated “somewhere in the north”; hell “somewhere in the south.” One wonders if this belief as regards direction represents a tribal recollection of their former home—perhaps of a massacre, which caused the emigration of those remaining; perhaps of hunger, thirst, and terror on the voyage between the “land to the south” and Formosa. At any rate, their tradition is that their ancestors drifted to the coast, which is now their home, in a “long boat.” The very spot of their debarkation is pointed out—a place near Pinan.[65] Once a year a commemoration festival is held at this spot, when food and drink are offered to the spirits of their ancestors. Their own ancestors of course have gone to heaven, where they themselves will go after death; equally of course the people of the other tribes, especially those with whom they happen to be at enmity, will go to hell (savage and civilized psychology being on some points strangely alike). The Ami say, however, that hell cannot be any worse than the earth; otherwise spirits would not remain there.

With the Piyuma—the small east coast tribe living just south of the Ami—the most sacred spot is a bamboo-grove a few miles inland called by themselves “Arapani.” Here, according to Piyuma tradition, was planted the staff of a god, which grew into a bamboo. From different joints of this bamboo sprang the first man and the first woman, ancestors of the Piyuma people. Markings on a stone near Arapani are said to be footprints of this first couple. Hence this stone is considered most sacred.

The tradition of being descended from ancestors sprung from a bamboo is held by other tribes than the Piyuma; in fact, it is held by practically all the Formosan tribes; also by the Tagalog tribe of the Philippines. A similar tradition is referred to in the Japanese tale of Taketori-Monogatari—now, I believe, translated into English.[66]

The Paiwan—the tribe south of the Piyuma—and indeed the southernmost of the main island—is the only aboriginal tribe that has anything approaching what missionaries would call “idols”—that is, carved representations of deity. Before the house of the chief of every tribal group among the Paiwan stands an upright block of slate on which is carved a figure supposed to be human, this figure often being surrounded by markings representing serpents.[67] Both human and serpentine figures are carved in the slate by means of sharpened flint, or other stone harder than slate. As the Paiwan also build their houses of slate (by a method to be spoken of more in detail under the head of Arts and Crafts), representations of human heads and snakes are carved always on the lintel over the doorway of the chief; and often on that over the doorways of successful warriors and huntsmen.[68]

Some anthropologists might see in this frequent representation of the snake evidence of snake totemism on the part of the Paiwan. I do not, however, think this is the case. The Paiwan venerate the snake as being the most dangerous of living creatures (in the tropical jungles of Formosa there are naturally many deadly species); but this veneration is more in the nature of theriolatry than totemism. They seem to think that by having constantly before their eyes representations of this the most dreaded of all the creatures of the jungle, they will, through a sort of sympathetic magic, be inspired with the bravery, as they regard it—if not the wisdom—of the serpent.

As for the figure in human semblance carved on the slate tablet, or monument, in front of the chief’s house, I am inclined to think this represents rather a glorified ancestor—in the sense in which the Japanese often use the word “Kami” (Chinese character)—rather than “god” in the Western sense of that word. Certainly the Paiwan—like the other aboriginal tribes—pay greater reverence to the spirits of ancestors than to any deity. Besides the ancestral spirits believed to inhabit the ancient swords or knives, previously referred to,[69] there are other spirits whose dwelling-place they believe to be the forest or jungle. All these are worshipped twice a year, at millet planting time and at harvest, when food and drink are offered to the spirits of the dead, at the same time that feasting and drinking are going on among the living; and once every five years at the time of the harvest festival occurs the great celebration, when there is played the game of Mavay aiya,[70] already described.

Adjoining the territory of the Paiwan, on the north-west,[71] is that of the Tsarisen. Among the latter there is a tradition that their ancestors came down from the moon, bringing with them twelve jars of baked clay, or earthenware. At the home of the chief of the principal tribal group of this now small people are kept two or three old baked-clay pots, or jars, believed by the tribes-people to be of lunar origin—a remnant of the original twelve brought down by their ancestors. These of course are never used, but are regarded by them as being most sacred, only the chief and the priestesses being allowed to touch, or even to go near, them. By the side of the old jars is kept a large, circular white stone, also carefully cherished, believed to be in some way connected with the moon; but whether it was brought from the moon, or whether its appearance suggests the full moon, is not clear.

It is before these treasures that the priestesses dance, and also before them that at the semi-annual festivals they place offerings of millet and millet wine, also sometimes of fruit and other food, chanting as they do so. This chanting is supposed to invoke the spirits of the moon-ancestors, who come down during the ceremony and bestow blessings upon the tribe. In other groups within the Tsarisen tribe, where there are no sacred jars or stones, the priestesses arrange the food-offerings in little piles close together, forming a circle: this to simulate the full moon. To step within the charmed circle would be sacrilege unspeakable; an offence so serious that only the death of the offender, the tribes-people say, would remove from the tribe the blight that otherwise would fall upon it. It is not on record that any member of the tribe has ever had the temerity to attempt this; and no member of any other tribe is allowed to come near the sacred spot.

North of the Tsarisen are the Tsuou and Bunun tribes; the former a very small tribe, numbering now less than two thousand, the latter numbering about fifteen thousand, roughly speaking.

The religious belief—or rather religious ceremonial, for with primitive people ritual apparently counts for more than dogma—of the Tsuou is closely bound up with what is sometimes called “tree-worship.” That is, within, or very near, each village there is a certain tree which is regarded as holy; and once a year—at harvest-time—millet wine is sprinkled near the roots of the tree, and singing, dancing, and feasting carried on under its branches. I do not consider, however, that this constitutes true tree-worship, nor do I think that the Tsuou have a “tree-cult.” Rather, their ceremonial is connected with ancestor-worship, for they seem to think that the spirits of their ancestors dwell in the sacred trees, and it is to these spirits that wine is offered at harvest time, and invocations made.

The Tsuou also regard a certain orchid which grows in that part of the island as being of peculiar sanctity. They transplant it from the forest where it grows to the ground at the root of the sacred tree of each village. During the dry season the priestesses water it, and always they tend it with scrupulous care. This custom also is obviously connected with the reverence in which the tribes-people hold their ancestors, for the latter, they believe, wore this orchid when they went to battle with neighbouring tribes, and through its magic efficacy achieved victory. The Tsuou seem to think that in some way this orchid will eventually restore—or be instrumental in restoring—the former dominance and prosperity of their tribe.

The Bunun, unlike their neighbours, the Tsuou, regard a certain kind of tall grass, which grows in the mountainous region in which they live, as being of even greater sanctity than trees. Twice a year—at seed-time and at harvest-time—great bundles of this green grass are brought into the houses, millet wine is sprinkled before the doorway of each house, and invocations to ancestors are sung and danced in the open, between the houses of each village.

Among the Bunun, as also among all the tribal groups of the great Taiyal “nation,”[72] there exists the peculiar custom of starting a “new fire” at the time of the sowing and harvest festivals. This “new fire” is ceremonially kindled. At other times, should the fire go out (though this is considered a thing of evil omen), or should hunters, away from home, wish to start a fire, flint-and-steel percussion is used—this method apparently having been learned from the Dutch of the seventeenth century, or possibly from the Chinese. On the ceremonial days of the year, however—the days when offerings are made to ancestors—fire must be kindled by a method in use in the “days of the fathers.”

Among the Bunun this takes the form of the “fire-drill”—the twirling of a pointed stick of hard wood of some sort in a depression made in a stick of softer wood, until the friction heats the flakes of soft wood, thus “eaten away,” to a point where flame can be produced by placing against this hot wood-dust bits of very dry grass or leaves, and blowing upon it. In order thus to produce fire, the chief of the tribal group—among the Bunun usually a man—shuts himself up alone in his hut, which for the time being it is tabu for his subjects to approach, twirling the fire-drill and blowing upon the wood-dust and tinder, until the sacred fire is “born.” From the flame thus kindled is lighted first his own domestic fire; then those of all the other members of the village or group, who, after the actual kindling of the flame, are invited into the hut of the chief.

The Taiyal method of lighting the sacred fire is a little different from that employed by the Bunun. Among the Taiyal the duty of producing the ceremonial “new fire” devolves upon the priestesses. These “vestals of the flame,” however, are not virgins. Only middle-aged and elderly women are priestesses; and all those whom I saw—or of whom I heard when among the Taiyal—were widows, and usually the mothers of children. What becomes of the Taiyal spinsters one wonders; there seem to be none. Yet they are a strictly monogamous people; and considering how frequently the men of this tribe lose their heads—in a very literal sense—a disproportion of women, consequently a number of unmarried ones, might be expected. But this does not seem to be the case, judging both from my own observation and also from the reply to questions put to the Japanese Aiyu (military police) stationed at various points among the Taiyal. It may be that those anthropologists[73] are right who hold that the so-called hardships of savage life—frequent insufficiency of food, necessity of hard physical toil on the part of the women, and similar conditions—result in a greater number of male infants being born than is the case under conditions of civilization.[74] (A not impossible hypothesis: since many stock-breeders hold that the relative leanness or fatness of cattle has a decided effect upon the sex of the offspring—“lean years,” i.e. those of scarcity of food, more males; “fat years,” those of plenty, more females. This fact—if it be a fact—may also be the basis of the popular idea that shortly after wars a greater number of males among the genus homo are born than at other times.)

However, to return to our muttons—that of sacred fire, as produced by the Taiyal. On the ceremonial day when the “new fire” is to be kindled, the chief priestess of each group carefully unsheathes her “fire machine” from the wrapping of bamboo leaves in which it is kept swathed during the greater part of the year. This “fire machine” consists of two pieces of bamboo. One piece, used as a saw, is sharpened on one edge to a knife-like keenness; the other edge is left blunt. This blunt edge is held in the hand of the officiating priestess. In a shallow groove cut in the other piece of bamboo the priestess inserts the sharp edge of the short, wedge-shaped, bamboo saw. To and fro she draws it, chanting as she does so. Usually she is seated in the open, before the door of her hut, her congregation of apparently awestruck subjects being seated in a semicircle, at a respectful distance from her. Gradually the bamboo saw “eats” down through the other piece of bamboo across which it is being drawn. The sawdust resulting is as hot as that which is produced by means of the fire stick, or “drill,” already described, and by applying to this dust tinder—very dry grass, usually—and by blowing upon it, flame is produced. When the tinder actually lights, the priestess gives a cry of exultation, which is echoed by the waiting people; then feasting and dancing begin.

This kindling of the sacred fire by the Taiyal priestesses occurs at the time of the celebrations in honour of the spirits of the ancestors of this tribe. These celebrations take place on the night of the full moon at seed-time and at harvest-time. The day before “full-moon night,” on these semi-annual occasions, the people hang balls of boiled millet, usually wrapped in banana leaves, from the branches of trees, in or near their respective villages. These are to feed the ancestral spirits, which are supposed to descend through the air that night, from the high mountain on which they usually reside, into the trees at the moment of the kindling of the ceremonial fire. This fire lights the spirits on their way to the trees, from which the food is suspended—though moonlight also, it would seem, is necessary, since these “spirit-feeding” celebrations among the Taiyal occur always at full-moon time.

In this connection I was much touched on one harvest-time occasion, when among the Taiyal, at being presented—by a grizzled warrior, tattooed with the successful head-hunter’s mark—with a mass of boiled millet carefully wrapped in a large banana leaf. This, he explained, was because he regarded me as a reincarnation of one of the Dutch “spiritual protectors” of his ancestors.

Reverence for ancestors constitutes almost the whole of Taiyal religion. None of the people of this tribe—or “nation”—seem to hold a belief in creators of the universe, such as is held by the Ami. The only deity—other than deified ancestors—whom the Taiyal apparently take into account is the rain-god, or rather, rain-devil. He, however, is a being very much to be taken into account in a country like that in which the Taiyal live—the mountainous part of the island—where torrential downpours of such violence sometimes occur during the rainy season that the bamboo and grass huts of the people are washed away. The Taiyal are not a people who cringe for mercy at the feet of deity or devil, any more than at those of Chinese or Japanese. Therefore, instead of prayers and offerings to propitiate the wrath or evil temper of the rain-devil, who is supposed to be responsible for the downpour, the chief priestess and assistant priestesses of the tribal group that is being inundated gather together, with long knives in their hands—these of the sort that are used by the men in head-hunting—and begin to dance and gesticulate. The dancing becomes wilder and more frenzied as it goes on, the gesticulations with the knives—thrusting and slashing at imaginary figures—more violent; the priestesses cry or chant in a threatening manner, while the people, both men and women, standing about, howl and wail. Often the priestesses foam at the mouth in their excitement, their eyes look as if they would start from their heads, and this knife-dance usually ends with their falling exhausted in a swoon, throwing their knives from them as they fall. At this climax the people shout with joy, declaring that the rain-devil has been cut to pieces; or, sometimes, that because he has been cut with the knives of the priestesses, he has fled away and been drowned in one of the ponds that he has been responsible for creating—being thus destroyed in the “pit which he had digged for himself.” Whenever the rain ceases—as in course of time it inevitably must—this is attributed to the warfare which the priestesses have waged against the rain-devil.[75]

After having witnessed the almost maniacal madness of some of these sacred dances and ceremonies of exorcism on the part of aboriginal Formosan priestesses, one comes to the conclusion that the so-called “arctic madness,” of which some anthropologists speak (in connection with dances and other religious rites of shamans and medicine-men of the North) is not peculiar to Hyperborean peoples, but is characteristic of all Mongol and Malay races, when under stress of religious fervour or other strong excitement. The same habit of almost hypnotic imitation, one of another, when under stress of terror or excitement that is said, by those who have been among them, to be common to sub-arctic peoples, also characterizes the Malay aborigines of Formosa, this being perhaps particularly noticeable among the Taiyal tribe.

All groups of the Taiyal hold sacred the small bird to which reference has already been made in connection with head-hunting customs—whose cry is regarded as an omen of good or evil, according to the note, and followed accordingly. The flight of this bird is also noted when starting on either a hunting expedition or on one of warfare (head-hunting). The warriors or hunters will stop on the spot at which the bird is seen to alight, and there lie in wait for either enemy or game, according to the nature of the expedition. This bird cannot, I think, in spite of the reverence in which it is held, be regarded as the totem of the Taiyal people. Rather, the tribes-people seem to regard it as the spokesman of some ancestor—one who was in his day a famous warrior, and who thus, through the medium of the bird, continues to guide his descendants, and all members of the tribal group to which during his lifetime he had belonged. Sometimes it is the spirit of a priestess which is supposed thus to continue to guide and guard her people.

The Taiyal word for spirit, or ghost—often used in the sense in which the Christian would use guardian angel—is Ottofu. This seems to correspond with the Atua of the Polynesians. Sometimes, however, it seems to be used much as Mana is used by other Oceanic peoples. Unless one understands really thoroughly the language of a primitive people (and I do not pretend so to understand Taiyal) it is difficult always to trace the association of ideas; but apparently, in this connection, the association is that when a man is guided minutely by the spirit of some powerful ancestor, he himself becomes imbued with more than human power and wisdom and strength.

The heart and the pupil of the eye seem closely associated by the Taiyal with the spirit of each individual and are sometimes spoken of, separately and together, as Ottofu. The spirit of oneself is thought to separate itself from one’s body during sleep; also it is liable to jump out suddenly if one sneezes, and in this case perhaps be lost permanently; hence a sneeze is considered to portend bad luck.

As regards life after death, the Taiyal believe that only the good spirits go to the “high mountain,” to which reference has been made. This local Mount Olympus seems to be situated on one of the high peaks of the great central mountain range of the island. In order to reach it—or to attempt to reach it—each spirit, after death, must pass over a narrow bridge spanning a deep chasm. The men who have been successful as warriors and as huntsmen pass over in safety; also the women who have been skilful at weaving. Men who have been unsuccessful in war or in the chase, and women who have lacked skill at the loom, or have been idle, fall from the bridge down into the dirty water that lies at the bottom of the chasm.

Most of the Taiyal tribal groups believe—as do the majority of the other tribes of the island—that their ancestors sprang from the bamboo. But one of the Taiyal sub-groups—the Taruko, the “High-cliffs people,” to whom I have already referred as being of lighter colour and more regular feature than most of the Taiyal tribes-people—have a curious legend as to their origin. They believe that they are the descendants of a princess who was married to a dog “somewhere over the mountains.” A similar legend is said to be current among some tribes in Java and Sumatra, which is not surprising; nor is it surprising that the same belief should be held by many of the Lu-chu Islanders—these being obviously kindred peoples. But an interesting point is that the same folk-tale is said to exist among certain tribes in Siberia.

The few remaining members of the Saisett tribe have adopted most of the practices, religious and otherwise, of their powerful neighbours, the Taiyal; so these need not be considered separately.

So much, then, for the religious beliefs and observances of the aborigines of the main island.

The Yami—the tribe living on the tiny thirty-mile-in-circumference island of Botel Tobago (or “Koto Sho,” as the Japanese call it), about thirty-five miles south of Formosa proper—differ somewhat in religion, as in other matters, from their neighbours of the large island. The Yami also observe a semi-annual religious festival; but in their case the celebration is in honour of the “Sea God,” offerings of fruit, of food, and of flowers being cast into the sea on these occasions. No offering of wine is made, as is the case with the other tribes at their religious festivals, for the reason that the Yami seem to know nothing of either the making or the drinking of wine—one of the few primitive peoples of whom this is true. They have a tradition that their ancestors “came up out of the sea”; hence their worship of the “Sea God”—a reminiscence probably of the fact that their ancestors came across the sea from some other island, possibly from one of the Philippine group, judging from the resemblance of the Yami, generally speaking, to a Philippine tribe—that of Batan island.[76]

At the time of their celebrations in honour of the “Sea God” the Yami wear wonderful hats, or helmets, made of silver coins, beaten thin. These coins they obtain from the Japanese, in exchange for the products of their own marvellously fertile little island, when the Japanese boats stop at Botel Tobago, which they now do once a month. The beaten coins are pierced and strung together on grass fibres—or on wires, when these can be obtained from the Japanese. The stiff bands thus made are built up into enormous pyramid-shaped head-pieces, worn by both men and women.[77] These constitute the chief article of dress, the Yami being less skilled in weaving than the aborigines of the main island, although the women wear garlands of flowers and of shells.

As the spring festival in honour of the “Sea God” comes at the time of the vernal equinox, coinciding approximately with the Christian Easter, the great silver helmets of the Yami can but remind one of the Easter hats of more civilized lands. And now that the fact is generally accepted by students of comparative religion and folk-lore that “Easter” is a pre-Christian festival—common to many lands and races, only, at the present time in the Western world, given an Anno Domini interpretation, as is the case with Christmas and the other festivals of the Church—it is perhaps justifiable to wonder whether the custom of donning gala attire at Easter may not have a very ancient origin, as many centuries pre-Christian as the festival itself in celebration of the awakening of the earth to renewed life.

With the Yami—the Botel Tobago folk—the New Year is reckoned from the great spring festival. Most of the tribes on the main island of Formosa count the New Year as beginning at the time of the harvest festival in the autumn.

Before leaving the subject of Religion as this is counted among the aborigines, it may be mentioned that the seventeenth-century Dutch writers—Father Candidius and others—speak of numerous temples—“one to every sixteen houses”—as existing among the aborigines. They do not mention which tribe, or tribes, had these temples, but the context would seem to imply the Paiwan, or perhaps the Ami. While these temples doubtless existed at the time that the Dutch Fathers wrote, they no longer do so. The nearest approach to a temple is the house of chief or priestess, especially among the Paiwan, where such carvings as have been described are found. These carved tablets perhaps represent a system of temples and temple-worship which once existed.