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Maori Religion and Mythology Part 1

Origin of Religion

Origin of Religion

Concerning the origin of religion there is little to be said in this paper. Many assert that all religion originated in fear—fear of the forces of nature, fear of unseen demons, fear of the unknown. Others urge that fear was the origin of demonology only—that religion sprang from minds of a higher nature. There can be little doubt but that superstitions originated in fear, and, to a great extent, religions seem to have been developed from superstitions; then, as a religion gradually assumed a higher and more intellectual phase, other and more refined influences were recognized and accepted, thus introducing into the cultus of the people spiritual ideas of a much more advanced nature.

As to the particular stage of development during which morality and religion were combined, it is not easy to form an opinion. We believe that the beginning of such a union can be seen in two aspects of Maori religion—viz., in the cult of Io, and in the curious beliefs pertaining to certain rites, such as those performed over men about to tread the trail of war. We know that Christianity was a highly moral religion in its younger days; that in after-times, at certain places, it was very much the reverse, and also that for generations past it has gradually been sloughing off the unwholesome accretion accumulated during the dark time of Europe. The fact that such purifying processes have invariably originated in public opinion, and not in a voluntary mandate from the priesthood, stands as a token of how religions are developed. A people evolves its own form of religion, the form that suits it. If one of too high a type is forced upon it, that cult will be degraded to the mental plane of such people; should the mentality of the people advance beyond the plane of that religion, then it will either be altered accordingly or abandoned for some higher form. You cannot force a people abruptly into a higher state of culture, moral, spiritual, and intellectual, by thrusting a higher type of religion on to them. Of this we have many examples before our own eyes—eyes that too often cannot see. This is an error that has marked many missionary ventures among uncivilized races. A great deal of good has been effected by missionaries throughout the Pacific, but they cannot change the nature of the people they teach, they cannot abruptly force the natives into a higher culture plane; it is a foregone conclusion, an age-old law of nature against which man strives in vain.

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Some idealists have contended that all sense of morality has emanated from religion, but omit to note that the low forms of religion have no connection with morality, the latter being the result of public opinion. This is well illustrated in Maori social life. Such are the lessons we learn by a study of natural religion, as opposed to the claims of revealed religion. In his work on the Malay Archipelago Wallace expresses the opinion that civilized man has not progressed so much in morals as he has in intellectual development. Lord Avebury objects to this view, and holds that man "has perhaps made more progress in moral than in either material or intellectual advancement." He admits that savages may possess many material and intellectual attainments, but it seems to him that they are entirely wanting in moral feeling. This seems to be somewhat hard on the hapless savage, and is probably untrue; but as the present writer has no intimate knowledge of any savage folk, he declines to do more than express the opinion that most savages have evolved, and uphold, certain rules of morality, as appears in the evidence collected. That a barbaric folk such as the Maori possesses moral laws is certain to those who study them closely. It may here be noted that, in an appendix to his Origin of Civilization (1912 edition), Lord Avebury seems to qualify the above assertion somewhat when he says, "the fair inference seems to be that savages are more innocent, and yet more criminal, than civilized races; they are by no means in the lowest possible moral condition, nor are they capable of the higher virtues."

Samuel Laing held that the element of morality was one of the latest to appear in religion, and draws attention to the development of morality noticeable in the Bible. P. G. Hamerton, in his work The Intellectual Life, explains that morality and philosophy cannot supply the place of religion; that intellectual religion is simply intellectual morality, "not religion in the sense which all humanity has attached to religion during all the ages that have preceded ours." He seems to show that such a purely intellectual cult is cold and lifeless, as it lacks any form of emotionalism and spiritual animation. Grant Allen states that the ethical element is not essential to religion, and that the philosophical element, theology or mythology, occupies much the same position—their origins are different, their union is adventitious. He also remarks that no such conditions as a really primitive religion now exists; that the lowest forms of belief have hundreds of thousands of years behind them.

Professor Tylor tells us that the religion of low races is not immoral but unmoral; a code of morality exists, but it is not connected with religion, showing that morality is not necessary to natural page 24religion. A peculiar atavic phase is often noted in the highest forms of religion, wherein individuals are emphatically religious in attendance to forms and observances, but at the same time remarkably immoral. The present writer has frequently noted this characteristic among the priesthood of Spanish-American lands.

The Maori institutions of tapu and muru were undoubtedly connected with morality—that is to say, they were important deterrent forces, as will appear later.

We have been told that "all religion is the daughter of fear and ignorance, and consists in adoration of the unknown" (Vogt, quoted by Quatrefages). It is not only improbable that such a conception as that of Io and his attributes sprang from fear and ignorance, but we are also prepared to maintain that no people whose religious feelings are based on fear and ignorance would adore the unknown, or anything else. No Maori ever adored the gods he dreaded—he placated them; and if worship means ceremonial performances, as it assuredly seems to with some folk, then he may be said to have worshipped his gods of lower order, but adoration or love for such beings was utterly unknown to him, and indeed impossible.

We may note certain inconsistencies in our higher cults of to-day—teachings concerning a loving and ever-merciful Deity, and warnings of a vengeful Judge who condemns erring man to agonies unspeakable. But, even in my own span of life, public opinion has, among the more enlightened sects, much reduced the temperature of the burning lake that served to terrorize our forbears.

Baring Gould has wisely remarked: "The function of reason in religion is to act as the balance-wheel of the spirit. Reason is not the mainspring, not the motive power of religion: it is its controlling, moderating faculty." In his remarks on "strange survivals" this writer clearly recognizes that religion, even in its highest forms, is rooted in superstition; that all religions have been evolved from gross superstitions and practices of savagery. In writing of Hobbes, the English rationalist, J. B. Bury says: "What he really thought of religion could be inferred from his remark that the fanciful fear of things invisible (due to ignorance) is the natural seed of that feeling which, in himself, a man calls religion, but in those who fear or worship the invisible power differently, superstition." Baring Gould further tells us that, among primitive folk, "the idea of an all-pervading spirit is inchoate." Quite possibly it is, and among barbaric races we often find this belief illustrated in a very peculiar manner. In this wise: the upper class of the priesthood proclaim the names, attributes, and functions of a page 25number of gods, with instructions as to worship, offerings, and other observances to be kept or practised by the people. These gods are accepted by the common people—that is, by the great majority of the nation—as so many distinct and separate gods, whereas the esoteric teaching and inner belief show that they are merely different names for one god, and illustrate his various aspects, functions, and manifestations. This peculiar arrangement is most noticeable in the cults of ancient Egypt and Chaldea, while we shall see that something of the same nature obtained among our Maori folk of New Zealand.

Mr. H. G. F. Spurrell, in his remarkable work on Modem Man and his Forerunners, remarks that "Religion grew out of the constant mystification of early members of the human groups before the phenomena of nature, and is a deep-rooted instinct in man." Spencer held that all religion sprang from ancestor-worship. Other writers trace it to this or that cause, but Max Muller claims a multiple origin for all religion.

In Carpenter's Comparative Religion we read that "Among the factors of early religious life will be found the beginnings of wonder, reverence, and awe." Naturally this would be so, so far as those emotions are concerned, though possibly their beginnings may date from a time long anterior to the birth of religious feeling in man, and indeed be traced to the lower animals, even as the qualities of affection and loyalty can be. Many writers assign the origin of religion to fear—fear of natural phenomena, of the unknown; and a religion dominated by that emotion might certainly produce such a God as the Jehovah of the Old Testament, but it never produced Io, the Supreme God of the Maori. This latter conception is an advanced one, and can only have been evolved by means of a long process of introspective and metaphysical thought. Possibly this high-class belief was a borrowed one, but if so it must have been so gained many centuries ago. We know that religions are formed largely by borrowing from other and older systems, as Christianity borrowed from Judaism and paganism, and the former from still older cults. This brings us to the recognition of a highly important fact, the relationship of religions to each other—the connecting-links that exist between high- and low-grade systems, and between those of a similar culture grade. True isolation in religion is unknown; a chain of connection runs through all, from the lowest to the highest; and herein lies the key to the great advantages to be derived from a study of comparative religion, as connected with, and illustrating, the marvellous history of the development of human culture.

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It is also a recognized fact that religions change in course of time; moreover, that religions must change, or, as time wears on, become stale and unprofitable, or die out. Religion is an evolution, and in this brief axiom lies the kernel of the fruit of all our researches into the history of religious development. A religion is evolved or adapted, not discovered or invented. Timbers from former houses are ever taken to form a new structure. A superior religion may have little effect in lifting a people to a higher culture stage, but as a people advance in general culture, mental and otherwise, their religion must advance with them; it must be refined and elevated, or fall into desuetude, or be confined to an interested few, such as a priesthood. Samuel Laing, in his Human Origins, shows us how religious systems are developed from crude animistic concepts and malignant ghosts onward and upward until morals are combined with religion, and the priesthood devote much time to philosophical thought and research. Other writers, such as Tylor and Lord Avebury (Sir John Lubbock) have treated the subject at greater length. We must also bear in mind that a nation as a whole must be prepared to accept, and be fitted for, a higher grade of religion ere it can be a living force among the people; the opinions or beliefs of a few advanced thinkers cannot cause the tree to flourish. And when the higher plane is reached by the majority of the nation, ever certain low-grade beliefs and practices will linger on as survivals of the former culture stage.

We are told by anthropologists that the element of morality is one of the latest to appear in religion, and we know, by studying Christianity during the Dark Age of Europe, how that element may be smothered by adverse influences. A study of the Bible will provide illustration of development of morality in religion, for we encounter therein a wide range of thought, from savage ritual and a God to whom blood offerings were sweet, to the Sermon on the Mount. Some writers state that all gods of lower savages are viewed as evil, malignant beings, though Andrew Lang seems to have thought otherwise. To Lord Avebury the gods of low races are never good; they are to be propitiated by sacrifices but not by prayer; they are not creators, and not omniscient. The present writer refrains from offering an opinion on this subject simply because he has not spent a lifetime among savages and is not qualified to speak decisively. But he does claim to have some knowledge of one barbaric people, the Maori, and of that one only, and will, in the pages that lie before, give some proof that the natives of these isles were beginning to recognize the want of the element of morality in their religion.

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In any comments on degeneracy in religions it seems well to bear in mind that though religions may decline, or seem to perish, yet the new wave that carries us onward is composed to a considerable extent of the waters of the receding wave, albeit somewhat purified and improved. Marett maintains that religion has as many roots as human life and mentality. He classifies religions under two heads: (1) Mechanical and ineffective, (2) spiritual and effective. He also views magic as a congener of religion, both belonging to the same department of human experience, the supernormal world, and concludes that magic includes all the bad ways and religion all the good ways of dealing with the supernormal—that is, bad and good from their point of view, not necessarily the same as ours. Religion, he remarks, contains comfort that produces courage in crises, and, psychologically regarded, "the function of religion is to restore men's confidence when it is shaken by crisis."

The evolution of all human culture is as a chain, and does not consist of disconnected or sporadic occurrences. "For one religion builds upon another," as Carpenter puts it. We know how this truism is illustrated in Christianity, which has borrowed from many sources; how pagan gods were admitted as saints, and pagan ceremonial incorporated; how the Egyptian Trinity, and Isis, the Divine Mother, with the infant Horus in her lap, reappeared in Christianity. We speak of the deification of ancestors as belonging to inferior religions, yet admit some twenty-five thousand, more or less, of such ancestors as saints in the Christian pantheon. These survivals of primitive thought are not always recognized as such, and when met with among other folk often create surprise. Many minds cannot grasp the fact that Christianity borrowed its myths, rites, and customs from semi-civilized folk who had inherited them from more barbarous peoples. The missionaries, when they encounter these superstitions, rites, &c., among such a folk as the Maori, often declare that such items were borrowed from Christianity, whereas the truth lies the other way round. The lower culture stages evolved these myths and practices, Christianity borrowed them ready-made.

It is of interest to note the curious survivals of primitive superstitions met with among ourselves. In a little work lately published, on life in New Zealand in the early days of the colony, the Rev G. Clarke tells us that, in his childhood, a curious passage in one of the few books he had access to aroused his childish curiosity. The passage is as follows: "It is wicked to look at the sun, and to point at it with the finger." Here we have a survival of one of the oldest of superstitions, the belief that the sun is an animate and supernatural being; indeed, it may be termed a survival of sun-worship. page 28Many writers have remarked on the tendency to anthropomorphism in the lower religions, but few seem to recognize the fact it also enters largely into the superior religions. Moreover, we still, to some extent, keep alive the barbaric habit of personification, as shown in our use of the term "Brittania," "Peace," "Mercy," "Charity," &c. Thus we often note the curious fact of two forms of religion being practised by a people. These two phases may coalesce, or they may continue to exist side by side. The condition of two forms of religion existing among an otherwise homogeneous people is not by any means an unusual one. In speaking of the Greeks, Baring Gould says: "They had their temples, their priests, their mythology. But this was beyond the spiritual range of some, and these had recourse to the Goetoi, true shamans…. These Goetoi were, in fact, the successors of the medicine-men of pre-historic Hellas." In some lands we may observe a peculiar condition of degeneration of a particular form of religion, and this is exemplified in the case of the Spanish-American countries. From observations made by the writer he is confident that modern Christianity is too advanced a religion to be grasped and practised by such a people as the Mexicans. Among such a folk a superior type of religion must degenerate. When the mentality of those people is so improved and refined as to call for a higher form of expression, then the change will come about by means of public opinion. The church—that is to say, the priesthood—does not lead in such matters; it is led. "Every great historical religion," says Carpenter, "passes through numerous phases, as it is brought into contact with different cultures, and evokes various forms of speculative thought and inward experience."

To those who have studied the history and vicissitudes of the better-known religions it becomes clear that a time comes in such a history when the religion becomes "stale"; when the life and vigour of former times seems to die out of it; when its followers rely on the due performance of certain ritual, to the neglect of healthful morality and spiritual belief in higher forms of life.

In Modem Man and his Forerunners Mr. Spurrell remarks that "Religion, fundamentally necessary to national health, shows decay either by (a) over-refinement, (b) internal dissention, (c) degradation into magic, or (d) scepticism." Further on he writes: "The foundations of civilization have always depended upon religious organization; but with the continued growth of civilization the national religion decays… The tendency of groups of individuals to dissent from the religious life of the nation comes with the increasing individualism at a definite stage of national growth… In every great civilization, provided it lasts long enough, we see in the page 29multiplication of religious nonconformists a symptom of its decay." This writer views the decline of national religions, as manifested at the present time, as an evidence of decay in the foundations of civilization. He also believes that other forms of decay are allied with it, such as the deterioration of social life, the shirking of duties and responsibilities, the craving for State aid, and other weaknesses of the present time.

Maning, in his Old New Zealand, says: "Laws, if not made, will grow"—a truly wise and epigrammatic remark. In like manner we may say, "Religion, if not borrowed, will be evolved"—that is to say, as a people advance in culture, and attain to a higher intellectual plane, so will their religion advance, or be discarded for a higher type. They must purify and improve their religion, or no longer have faith in it.

It is evident to observing and unbiased minds that Christianity is, at the present time, passing through a very curious and interesting phase of development. Many of the gross superstitions that were incorporated with it in former times have, by means of the power of public opinion, been rejected and cast aside. At one time the Christian priests of Europe loved to terrify us with hideous and abominable pictures of the tortures of hell as invented by that gentle fraternity. For long, weary centuries they held the dark pall over Europe, and taught us that woman is not a human creature, but a vile being sent into the world by the devil to tempt man. And what would human mentality be if we could adore the god of the Old Testament? Slowly but surely reason is asserting itself and is purifying a cultus that commenced life with fair promise but was gradually debased and degraded by an ignorant and superstitious priesthood.

Religion is recognized as an important phase of human culture. It is the expression of man's efforts to understand things, to seek the origin of the universe, of natural phenomena, of life; to find some power to afford him protection and help, and of man's desire to attain life beyond the grave. Religion has had a great effect on human mentality and the development of culture; such effects have been at times good, at others evil beyond words. It is one of the deepest-rooted feelings in human nature; hence the wild remarks sometimes heard anent the eradication of this feeling in man are scarce worthy of notice. Religion is here to stay; our manifest duty is to purify it.

In studying these beliefs of uncivilized man we must ever bear in mind his ignorance and his firm conservatism, as also the fact that among the conditions that prevailed it was extremely difficult for any person to break away on a new line of thought, or to institute any page 30reform, simply because such reform meant change, which was objected to. Superstition and ignorance are serious drags on advancement, and, under certain circumstances, they may be exceedingly dangerous. When allied with bigotry anything may happen in the way of persecution.

A progressive form of religion appears to pass through three stages of development in regard to its outlook on other cults. In the more primitive phase—for example, in such a religion as that of the Maori—we note a "live and let live" attitude, a spirit of tolerance. But when a higher stage of development is reached, when a powerful priesthood exists, and a system of public worship is established, then persecution may appear and run its course, inaugurated by the priesthood. This phase is well illustrated in the life-story of Christianity. The third stage is attained when public opinion gradually eliminates the priest-made feature of persecution, and the cultus swings back into the tolerance of the savage, which now assumes a more refined aspect. The history of Christianity is extremely interesting and enlightening, as illustrating this peculiar evolutionary process. Its mild tenets and practices during the early period of its career were remarkable, but after it escaped from persecution, and the priesthood gained power, this aspect gradually changed, until Europe was darkened by abominable persecution, chicanery, and ferocity. After long centuries of darkness the light of reason slowly dissipated the gloom of fanaticism and cruelty, public opinion gradually enforced reforms, and the light of tolerance appeared once more; but the end is not yet.

A dominant feature in higher forms of religion given to intolerance is the belief that its own followers alone are ensured a life of happiness in the spirit-world; the adherents of other creeds are supposed to be doomed to endless tortures in the next world. This highly objectionable belief is by no means eradicated among Christians, but is slowly being expunged. Daino has said, "We know what we have to destroy—namely, superstitious fear of the unknown; but we never can know what we can construct, seeing that social morality has to evolve and develop along with all other conditions of society." This fear of the unknown is largely replaced in Christianity by the fear of death—or, rather, of what follows death—and this fear has been implanted in us by truculent priesthoods of past centuries. The life after death can scarcely be said to be unknown if we believe the teachings of such gentry, for they ever dwelt lovingly on the horrors invented by themselves. The object of their ruthless behaviour was to gain and retain a close control of the people.

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If we commence our study of Maori religion with the belief that religion is a matter of evolution we shall be enabled to note some interesting evidence in its tenets, and examine an inferior cult in a very peculiar stage of development. In his Man before Metals Joly remarks: "Revealed religion commands our faith and subjugates our reason." We have now to examine, not a dictated religion, but one in the process of making.

Uncivilized folk, such as our Maori, may not do any great amount of thinking, or purposely indulge in metaphysical studies, but they certainly feel human weakness and experience fear of supernormal powers. They seem to feel desire for some higher, or supernatural, power to protect them, a feeling common to all divisions of the human race. Such a feeling might be the origin of a belief in one deity, or more than one, but some such belief would be sure to result. After all, can it be wondered at that uncivilized man evolves a polytheistic cult, when we know he was brought into contact with many things and forces that he did not understand? Rather let us marvel that he ever achieved the concept of such a Supreme Being as Io, a being to whom no offerings were made, and whom it was not necessary to placate; who did not demand sacrifices of man or beast like unto the Semitic Deity, or condemn the souls of erring man to post mortem tortures.

Although, however, a certain type of religion, or belief in a certain type of gods, may have originated in fear of the unknown, it would appear improbable that the concept of such a deity as Io could have been so evolved. It appears more probable that such a state of mind would lead to a belief in a more austere, or even malignant, being, one that could, and must, be placated by divers means. The conception of Io must have resulted from a very different mental state. What was the nature of that state ? Joly, of Man before Metals fame, seems to think that it was a study of causality that led to the discovery of God; that man, seeking the cause of innocuous phenomena, evolved the idea of a Great First Cause. Was there no other cause? Was no other trail of thought followed up by the men of yore? Have we the monopoly of the higher type of feelings, of the power to grasp the beauties and majesty of nature, the mysteries and joys of life; the courage to thrust aside the veil and gaze upon the splendid sun; the intellectual yearning to know whence we came and whither we are bound? Who shall say that Christian mentality, that Christian eyes alone can see the truth, can grasp the belief in a Supreme power that evolved all universes, that always has, and ever will exist?

Delve into the origins of religion, its age-long evolution, its long, weary development amid savagery, barbarism, and civilization: you page 32shall see that progress is still called for, that the goal is yet afar off, and that, to the earnest, broad-minded thinker, to the sympathetic mind, all existing cults are too cramped, all creeds too narrow.

Our task now is to explain the beliefs and practices of the Maori folk of these isles, as they were held and practised in pre-European times; to examine them and draw such conclusions as may be possible. There is much to learn from a study of such beliefs, much food for thought in the varied phases of Maori religion, from its gross shamanism to its cult of the Supreme Being. In common justice this examination calls for detachment, for a careful analysis of many singular phases of human mentality without allowing preconceived notions or teachings to mar our judgment. Such is our task.

The following remarks from Holmes's Poet at the Breakfast Table illustrate the position: "We know a good deal about the earth on which we live. But the study of man has been so completely subjected to our preconceived opinions that we have got to begin all over again. We have studied anthropology through theology; we have now to begin the study of theology through anthropology."