OglalaLakota Religion 1The Soul of the IndianCharles Alexander .docx

Oglala/Lakota Religion 1The Soul of the Indian
Charles Alexander Eastman, 1858-1939
Chapter 2
II. THE FAMILY ALTAR
Pre-natal Influence. Early Religious Teaching. The Function of
the Aged. Woman, Marriage and the Family. Loyalty,
Hospitality, Friendship.
THE American Indian was an individualist in religion as in war.
He had neither a national army nor an organized church. There
was no priest to assume responsibility for another's soul. That
is, we believed, the supreme duty of the parent, who only was
permitted to claim in some degree the priestly office and
function, since it is his creative and protecting power which
alone approaches the solemn function of Deity.
The Indian was a religious man from his mother's womb. From
the moment of her recognition of the fact of conception to the
end of the second year of life, which was the ordinary duration
of lactation, it was supposed by us that the mother's spiritual
influence counted for most. Her attitude and secret meditations
must be such as to instill into the receptive soul of the unborn
child the love of the "Great Mystery" and a sense of
brotherhood with all creation. Silence and isolation are the rule
of life for the expectant mother. She wanders prayerful in the
stillness of great woods, or on the bosom of the untrodden
prairie, and to her poetic mind the immanent birth of her child
prefigures the advent of a master-man -- a hero, or the mother
of heroes -- a thought conceived in the virgin breast of primeval
nature, and dreamed out in a hush that is only broken by the
sighing of the pine tree or the thrilling orchestra of a distant
waterfall.

And when the day of days in her life dawns -- the day in which
there is to be a new life, the miracle of whose making has been
intrusted to her, she seeks no human aid. She has been trained
and prepared in body and mind for this her holiest duty, ever
since she can remember. The ordeal is best met alone, where no
curious or pitying eyes embarrass her; where all nature says to
her spirit: "'Tis love! 'tis love! the fulfilling of life!" When a
sacred voice comes to her out of the silence, and a pair of eyes
open upon her in the wilderness, she knows with joy that she
has borne well her part in the great song of creation!
Presently she returns to the camp, carrying the mysterious, the
holy, the dearest bundle! She feels the endearing warmth of it
and hears its soft breathing. It is still a part of herself, since
both are nourished by the same mouthful, and no look of a lover
could be sweeter than its deep, trusting gaze.
She continues her spiritual teaching, at first silently -- a mere
pointing of the index finger to nature; then in whispered songs,
bird-like, at morning and evening. To her and to the child the
birds are real people, who live very close to the "Great
Mystery"; the murmuring trees breathe His presence; the falling
waters chant His praise.
If the child should chance to be fretful, the mother raises her
hand. "Hush! hush!" she cautions it tenderly, "the spirits may be
disturbed!" She bids it be still and listen to the silver voice of
the aspen, or the clashing cymbals of the birch; and at night she
points to the heavenly, blazed trail, through nature's galaxy of
splendor to nature's God. Silence, love, reverence, -- this is the
trinity of first lessons; and to these she later adds generosity,
courage, and chastity.
In the old days, our mothers were single-eyed to the trust
imposed upon them; and as a noted chief of our people was

wont to say: "Men may slay one another, but they can never
overcome the woman, for in the quietude of her lap lies the
child! You may destroy him once and again, but he issues as
often from that same gentle lap -- a gift of the Great Good to
the race, in which man is only an accomplice!"
This wild mother has not only the experience of her mother and
grandmother, and the accepted rules of her people for a guide,
but she humbly seeks to learn a lesson from ants, bees, spiders,
beavers, and badgers. She studies the family life of the birds, so
exquisite in its emotional intensity and its patient devotion,
until she seems to feel the universal mother-heart beating in her
own breast. In due time the child takes of his own accord the
attitude of prayer, and speaks reverently of the Powers. He
thinks that he is a blood brother to all living creatures, and the
storm wind is to him a messenger of the "Great Mystery."
At the age of about eight years, if he is a boy, she turns him
over to his father for more Spartan training. If a girl, she is
from this time much under the guardianship of her grandmother,
who is considered the most dignified protector for the maiden.
Indeed, the distinctive work of both grandparents is that of
acquainting the youth with the national traditions and beliefs. It
is reserved for them to repeat the time-hallowed tales with
dignity and authority, so as to lead him into his inheritance in
the stored-up wisdom and experience the race. The old are
dedicated to the service of the young, as their teachers and
advisers, and the young in turn regard them with love and
reverence.
Our old age was in some respects the happiest period of life.
Advancing years brought with them much freedom, not only
from the burden of laborious and dangerous tasks, but from
those restrictions of custom and etiquette which were
religiously observed by all others. No one who is at all
acquainted with the Indian in his home can deny that we are a

polite people. As a rule, the warrior who inspired the greatest
terror in the hearts of his enemies was a man of the most
exemplary gentleness, and almost feminine refinement, among
his family and friends. A soft, low voice was considered an
excellent thing in man, as well as in woman! Indeed, the
enforced intimacy of tent life would soon become intolerable,
were it not for these instinctive reserves and delicacies, this
unfailing respect for the established place and possessions of
every other member of the family circle, this habitual quiet,
order, and decorum.
Our people, though capable of strong and durable feeling, were
not demonstrative in their affection at any time, least of all in
the presence of guests or strangers. Only to the aged, who have
journeyed far, and are in a manner exempt from ordinary rules,
are permitted some playful familiarities with children and
grandchildren, some plain speaking, even to harshness and
objurgation, from which the others must rigidly refrain. In
short, the old men and women are privileged to say what they
please and how they please, without contradiction, while the
hardships and bodily infirmities that of necessity fall to their lot
are softened so far as may be by universal consideration and
attention.
There was no religious ceremony connected with marriage
among us, while on the other hand the relation between man and
woman was regarded as in itself mysterious and holy. It appears
that where marriage is solemnized by the church and blessed by
the priest, it may at the same time be surrounded with customs
and ideas of a frivolous, superficial, and even prurient
character. We believed that two who love should be united in
secret, before the public acknowledgment of their union, and
should taste their apotheosis with nature. The betrothal might or
might not be discussed and approved by the parents, but in
either case it was customary for the young pair to disappear into
the wilderness, there to pass some days or weeks in perfect

seclusion and dual solitude, afterward returning to the village as
man and wife. An exchange of presents and entertainments
betweens the two families usually followed, but the nuptial
blessing was given by the High Priest of God, the most reverend
and holy Nature.
The family was not only the social unit, but also the unit of
government clan is nothing more than a larger family, with its
patriarchal chief as the natural head, and the union of several
clans by inter-marriage and voluntary connection constitutes the
tribe. The very name of our tribe, Dakota, means Allied People.
The remoter degrees of kinship were fully recognized, and that
not as a matter of form only: first cousins were known as
brothers and sisters; the name of "cousin" constituted binding
claim, and our rigid morality forbade marriage between cousins
in any known degree, or in other words within the clan.
The household proper consisted of a man with one or more
wives and their children, all of whom dwelt amicably together,
often under one roof, although some men of rank and position
provided a separate lodge for each wife. There were, indeed,
few plural marriages except among the older and leading men,
and plural wives were usually, though not necessarily, sisters. A
marriage might honorably be dissolved for cause, but there was
very little infidelity or immorality, either open or secret.
It has been said that the position of woman is the test of
civilization, and that of our women was secure. In them was
vested our standard of morals and the purity of our blood. The
wife did not take the name of her husband nor enter his clan,
and the children belonged to the clan of the mother. All of the
family property was held by her, descent was traced in the
maternal line, and the honor of the house was in her hands.
Modesty was her chief adornment; hence the younger women
were usually silent and retiring: but a woman who had attained
to ripeness of years and wisdom, or who had displayed notable

courage in some emergency, was sometimes invited to a seat in
the council.
Thus she ruled undisputed within her own domain, and was to
us a tower of moral and spiritual strength, until the coming of
the border white man, the soldier and trader, who with strong
drink overthrew the honor of the man, and through his power
over a worthless husband purchased the virtue of his wife or his
daughter. When she fell, the whole race fell with her.
Before this calamity came upon us, you could not find anywhere
a happier home than that created by the Indian woman. There
was nothing of the artificial about her person, and very little
disingenuousness in her character. Her early and consistent
training, the definiteness of her vocation, and, above all, her
profoundly religious attitude gave her a strength and poise that
could not be overcome by any ordinary misfortune.
Indian names were either characteristic nicknames given in a
playful spirit, deed names, birth names, or such as have a
religious and symbolic meaning . It has been said that when a
child is born, some accident or unusual appearance determines
his name. This is sometimes the case, but is not the rule. A man
of forcible character, with a fine war record, usually bears the
name of the buffalo or bear, lightning or some dread natural
force. Another of more peaceful nature may be called Swift Bird
or Blue Sky. A woman's name usually suggested something
about the home, often with the adjective "pretty" or "good," and
a feminine termination. Names of any dignity or importance
must be conferred by the old men, and especially so if they have
any spiritual significance; as Sacred Cloud, Mysterious Night,
Spirit Woman, and the like. Such a name was sometimes borne
by three generations, but each individual must prove that he is
worthy of it.
In the life of the Indian there was only one inevitable duty, --

the duty of prayer -- the daily recognition of the Unseen and
Eternal. His daily devotions were more necessary to him than
daily food. He wakes at daybreak, puts on his moccasins and
steps down to the water's edge. Here he throws handfuls of
clear, cold water into his face, or plunges in bodily. After the
bath, he stands erect before the advancing dawn, facing the sun
as it dances upon the horizon, and offers his unspoken orison.
His mate may precede or follow him in his devotions, but never
accompanies him. Each soul must meet the morning sun, the
new, sweet earth, and the Great Silence alone!
Whenever, in the course of the daily hunt, the red hunter comes
upon a scene that is strikingly beautiful and sublime -- a black
thunder-cloud with the rainbow's glowing arch above the
mountain; a white waterfall in the heart of a green gorge; a vast
prairie tinged with the blood-red of sunset -- he pauses for an
instant in the attitude of worship. He sees no need for setting
apart one day in seven as a holy day, since to him all days are
God's.
Every act of his life is, in a very real sense, a religious act. He
recognizes the spirit in all creation, and believes that he draws
from it spiritual power. His respect for the immortal part of the
animal, his brother, often leads him so far as to lay out the body
of his game in state and decorate the head with symbolic paint
or feathers. Then he stands before it in the prayer attitude,
holding up the filled pipe, in token that he has freed with honor
the spirit of his brother, whose body his need compelled him to
take to sustain his own life.
When food is taken, the woman murmurs a "grace" as she
lowers the kettle; an act so softly and unobtrusively performed
that one who does not know the custom usually fails to catch
the whisper: "Spirit, partake!" As her husband receives the bowl
or plate, he likewise murmurs his invocation to the spirit. When
he becomes an old man, he loves to make a notable effort to

prove his gratitude. He cuts off the choicest morsel of the meat
and casts it into the fire -- the purest and most ethereal
element.
The hospitality of the wigwam is only limited by the institution
of war. Yet, if an enemy should honor us with a call, his trust
will not be misplaced, and he will go away convinced that he
has met with a royal host! Our honor is the guarantee for his
safety, so long as he is within the camp.
Friendship is held to be the severest test of character. It is easy,
we think, to be loyal to family and clan, whose blood is in our
own veins. Love between man and woman is founded on the
mating instinct and is not free from desire and self-seeking. But
to have a friend, and to be true under any and all trials, is the
mark of a man!
The highest type of friendship is the relation of "brother-friend"
or "life-and-death friend." This bond is between man and man,
is usually formed in early youth, and can only be broken by
death. It is the essence of comradeship and fraternal love,
without thought of pleasure or gain, but rather for moral support
and inspiration. Each is vowed to die for the other, if need be,
and nothing denied the brother-friend, but neither is anything
required that is not in accord with the highest conceptions of
the Indian mind.
Chapter 3
III. CEREMONIAL AND SYMBOLIC WORSHIP
Modern Perversions of Early Religious Rites. The Sun Dance.
The Great Medicine Lodge. Totems and Charms. The Vapor-
Bath and the Ceremonial of the Pipe.
THE public religious rites of the Plains Indians are few, and in

large part of modern origin, belonging properly to the so-called
"transition period." That period must be held to begin with the
first insidious effect upon their manners and customs of contact
with the dominant race, and many of the tribes were so in
influenced long before they ceased to lead the nomadic life.
The fur-traders, the "Black Robe" priests, the military, and
finally the Protestant missionaries, were the men who began the
disintegration of the Indian nations and the overthrow of their
religion, seventy-five to a hundred years before they were
forced to enter upon reservation life. We have no authentic
study of them until well along in the transition period, when
whiskey and trade had already debauched their native ideals.
During the era of reconstruction they modified their customs
and beliefs continually, creating a singular admixture of
Christian with pagan superstitions, and an addition to the old
folk-lore of disguised Bible stories under an Indian aspect. Even
their music shows the influence of the Catholic chants. Most of
the material collected by modern observers is necessarily of this
promiscuous character.
It is noteworthy that the first effect of contact with the whites
was an increase of cruelty and barbarity, an intensifying of the
dark shadows in the picture! In this manner the "Sun Dance" of
the Plains Indians, the most important of their public
ceremonials, was abused and perverted until it became a
horrible exhibition of barbarism, and was eventually prohibited
by the Government.
In the old days, when a Sioux warrior found himself in the very
jaws of destruction, he might offer a prayer to his father, the
Sun, to prolong his life. If rescued from imminent danger, he
must acknowledge the divine favor by making a Sun Dance,
according to the vow embraced in his prayer, in which he
declared that he did not fear torture or death, but asked life only
for the sake of those who loved him. Thus the physical ordeal

was the fulfillment of a vow, and a sort of atonement for what
might otherwise appear to be reprehensible weakness in the face
of death. It was in the nature of confession and thank-offering
to the "Great Mystery," through the physical parent, the Sun,
and did not embrace a prayer for future favors.
The ceremonies usually took place from six months to a year
after the making of the vow, in order to admit of suitable
preparation; always in midsummer and before a large and
imposing gathering. They naturally included the making of a
feast, and the giving away of much savage wealth in honor of
the occasion, although these were no essential part of the
religious rite.
When the day came to procure the pole, it was brought in by a
party of warriors, headed by some man of distinction. The tree
selected was six to eight inches in diameter at the base, and
twenty to twenty-five feet high. It was chosen and felled with
some solemnity, including the ceremony of the "filled pipe,"
and was carried in the fashion of a litter, symbolizing the body
of the man who made the dance. A solitary teepee was pitched
on a level spot at some distance from the village the pole raised
near at hand with the same ceremony, in the centre a circular
enclosure of fresh-cut.
Meanwhile, one of the most noted of our old men had carved
out of rawhide, or later of wood, two figures, usually those of a
man and a buffalo. Sometimes the figure of a bird, supposed to
represent the Thunder, was substituted for the buffalo. It was
customary to paint the man red and the animal black, and each
was suspended from one end of the cross-bar which was
securely tied some two feet from the top of the pole. I have
never been able to determine that this cross had any
significance; it was probably nothing more than a dramatic
coincidence that surmounted the Sun-Dance pole with the
symbol of Christianity.

The paint indicated that the man who was about to give thanks
publicly had been potentially dead, but was allowed to live by
the mysterious favor and interference of the Giver of Life. The
buffalo hung opposite the image of his own body in death,
because it was the support of his physical self, and a leading
figure in legendary lore. Following the same line of thought,
when he emerged from the solitary lodge of preparation, and
approached the pole to dance, nude save for his breech-clout
and moccasins, his hair loosened daubed with clay, he must drag
after him a buffalo skull, representing the grave from which he
had escaped.
The dancer was cut or scarified on the chest, sufficient to draw
blood and cause pain, the natural accompaniments of his
figurative death. He took his position opposite the singers,
facing the pole, and dragging the skull by leather thongs which
were merely fastened about his shoulders. During a later period,
incisions were made in the breast or back, sometimes both,
through which wooden skewers were drawn, and secured by
lariats to the pole or to the skulls. Thus he danced without
intermission for a day and a night, or even longer, ever gazing
at the sun in the daytime, and blowing from time to time a
sacred whistle made from the bone of a goose's wing.
[deletion]
There is no doubt that the Indian held medicine close to
spiritual things, but in this also he has been much
misunderstood; in fact everything that he held sacred is
indiscriminately called "medicine," in the sense of mystery or
magic. As a doctor he was originally very adroit and often
successful. He employed only healing bark, roots, and leaves
with whose properties he was familiar, using them in the form
of a distillation or tea and always singly. The stomach or
internal bath was a valuable discovery of his, and the vapor or

Turkish bath was in general use. He could set a broken bone
with fair success, but never practiced surgery in any form. In
addition to all this, the medicine-man possessed much personal
magnetism and authority, and in his treatment often sought to
reestablish the equilibrium of the patient through mental or
spiritual influences -- a sort of primitive psychotherapy.
The Sioux word for the healing art is "wah-pee-yah," which
literally means readjusting or making anew. "Pay-jee-hoo-tah,"
literally root, means medicine, and "wakan" signifies spirit or
mystery. Thus the three ideas, while sometimes associated, were
carefully distinguished.
It is important to remember that in the old days the "medicine-
man" received no payment for his services, which were of the
nature of an honorable functionn or office. When the idea of
payment and barter was introduced among us, and valuable
presents or fees began to be demanded for treating the sick, the
ensuing greed and rivalry led to many demoralizing practices,
and in time to the rise of the modern "conjurer," who is
generally a fraud and trickster of the grossest kind. It is
fortunate that his day is practically over.
Ever seeking to establish spiritual comradeship with the animal
creation, the Indian adopted this or that animal as his "totem,"
the emblematic device of his society, family, or clan. It is
probable that the creature chosen was the traditional ancestress,
as we are told that the First Man had many wives among the
animal people. The sacred beast, bird, or reptile, represented by
its stuffed skin, or by a rude painting, was treated with
reverence and carried into battle to insure the guardianship of
the spirits. The symbolic attribute of beaver, bear, or tortoise,
such as wisdom, cunning, courage, and the like, was supposed
to be mysteriously conferred upon the wearer of the badge. The
totem or charm used in medicine was ordinarily that of the
medicine lodge to which the practitioner belonged, though there

were some great men who boasted a special revelation.
There are two ceremonial usages which, so far as I have been
able to ascertain, were universal among American Indians, and
apparently fundamental. These have already been referred to as
the "eneepee," or vapor-bath, and the "chan-du-hupah-za-pee,"
or ceremonial of the pipe. In our Siouan legends and traditions
these two are preeminent, as handed down from the most
ancient time and persisting to the last.
In our Creation myth or story of the First Man, the vapor-bath
was the magic used by The-one-who-was-First-Created, to give
life to the dead bones of his younger brother, who had been
slain by the monsters of the deep. Upon the shore of the Great
Water he dug two round holes, over one of which he built a low
enclosure of fragrant cedar boughs, and here he gathered
together the bones of his brother. In the other pit he made a fire
and heated four round stones, which he rolled one by one into
the lodge of boughs. Having closed every aperture save one, he
sang a mystic chant while he thrust in his arm and sprinkled
water upon the stones with a bunch of sage. Immediately steam
arose, and as the legend says, "there was an appearance of life."
A second time he sprinkled water, and the dry bones rattled
together. The third time he seemed to hear soft singing from
within the lodge; and the fourth time a voice exclaimed:
"Brother, let me out!" (It should be noted that the number four
is the magic or sacred number of the Indian.)
This story gives the traditional origin of the "eneepee," which
has ever since been deemed essential to the Indian's effort to
purify and recreate his spirit. It is used both by the doctor and
by his patient. Every man must enter the cleansing bath and take
the cold plunge which follows, when preparing for any spiritual
crisis, for possible death, or imminent danger.
Not only the "eneepee" itself, but everything used in connection

with the mysterious event, the aromatic cedar and sage, the
water, and especially the water-worn boulders, are regarded as
sacred, or at the least adapted to a spiritual use. For the rock we
have a special reverent name -- "Tunkan," a contraction of the
Sioux word for Grandfather.
The natural boulder enters into many of our solemn
ceremonials, such as the "Rain Dance," and the "Feast of
Virgins." The lone hunter and warrior reverently holds up his
filled pipe to "Tunkan," in solitary commemoration of a miracle
which to him is as authentic and holy as the raising of Lazarus
to the devout Christian.
There is a legend that the First Man fell sick, and was taught by
his Elder Brother the ceremonial use of the pipe, in a prayer to
the spirits for ease and relief. This simple ceremony is the
commonest daily expression of thanks or "grace," as well as an
oath of loyalty and good faith when the warrior goes forth upon
some perilous enterprise, and it enters even into his
"hambeday," or solitary prayer, ascending as a rising vapor or
incense to the Father of Spirits.
In all the war ceremonies and in medicine a special pipe is used,
but at home or on the hunt the warrior employs his own. The
pulverized weed is mixed with aromatic bark of the red willow,
and pressed lightly into the bowl of the long stone pipe. The
worshiper lights it gravely and takes a whiff or two; then,
standing erect, he holds it silently toward the Sun, our father,
and toward the earth, our mother. There are modern variations,
as holding the pipe to the Four Winds, the Fire, Water, Rock,
and other elements or objects of reverence.
There are many religious festivals which are local and special in
character, embodying a prayer for success in hunting or warfare,
or for rain and bountiful harvests, but these two are the
sacraments of our religion. For baptism we substitute the
"eneepee," the purification by vapor, and in our holy

communion we partake of the soothing incense of tobacco in the
stead of bread and wine.
Chapter 6
VI. ON THE BORDER-LAND OF SPIRITS
Death and Funeral Customs. The Sacred Lock of Hair.
Reincarnation and the Converse of Spirits. Occult and Psychic
Powers. The Gift of Prophecy.
THE attitude of the Indian toward death, the test and
background of life, is entirely consistent with his character and
philosophy. Death has no terrors for him; he meets it with
simplicity and perfect calm, seeking only an honorable end as
his last gift to his family and descendants. Therefore, he courts
death in battle; on the other hand, he would regard it as
disgraceful to be killed in a private quarrel. If one be dying at
home, it is customary to carry his bed out of doors as the end
approaches, that his spirit may pass under the open sky.
Next to this, the matter that concerns him most is the parting
with his dear ones, especially if he have any little children who
must be left behind to suffer want. His family affections are
strong, and he grieves intensely for the lost, even though he has
unbounded faith in a spiritual companionship.
The outward signs of mourning for the dead are far more
spontaneous and convincing than is the correct and well-ordered
black of civilization men and women among us loosen their hair
and cut it according to the degree of relationship or of devotion.
Consistent with the idea of sacrificing all personal beauty and
adornment, they trim off likewise from the dress its fringes and
ornaments, perhaps cut it short, or cut the robe or blanket in
two. The men blacken their faces, and widows or bereaved
parents sometimes gash their arms and legs till they are covered

with blood. Giving themselves up wholly to their grief, they are
no longer concerned about any earthly possession, and often
give away all that they have to the first comers, even to their
beds and their home. Finally, the wailing for the dead is
continued night and day to the point of utter voicelessness; a
musical, weird, and heart-piercing sound, which has been
compared to the, "keening" of the Celtic mourner.
The old-time burial of the Plains Indians was upon a scaffold of
poles, or a platform among the boughs of a tree -- their only
means of placing the body out of reach of wild beasts, as they
had no implements with which to dig a suitable grave. It was
prepared by dressing in the finest clothes, together with some
personal possessions and ornaments, wrapped in several robes,
and finally in a secure covering of raw-hide. As a special mark
of respect, the body of a young woman or a warrior was
sometimes laid out in state in a new teepee, with the usual
household articles and even with a dish of food left beside it,
not that they supposed the spirit could use the implements or eat
the food but merely as a last tribute. Then the whole people
would break camp and depart to a distance, leaving the dead
alone in an honorable solitude.
There was no prescribed ceremony of burial, though the body
was carried out with more or less solemnity by selected young
men, and sometimes noted warriors were the pall-bearers of a
man of distinction. It was usual to choose a prominent with a
commanding outlook for the last resting-place of our dead. If a
man were slain in battle, it was an old custom to place his body
against a tree or rock in a sitting position, always facing the
enemy, to indicate his undaunted defiance and bravery, even in
death.
I recall a touching custom among us, which was designed to
keep the memory of the departed near and warm in the bereaved
household. A lock of hair of the beloved dead was wrapped in

pretty clothing, such as it was supposed that he or she would
like to wear if living. This "spirit bundle," as it was called, was
suspended from a tripod, and occupied a certain place in the
lodge which was the place of honor. At every meal time, a dish
of food was placed under it, and some person of the same sex
and age as the one who was gone must afterward be invited in to
partake of the food. At the end of a year from the time of death,
the relatives made a public feast and gave away the clothing and
other gifts, while the lock of hair was interred with appropriate
ceremonies.
Certainly the Indian never doubted the immortal nature of the
spirit or soul of man, but neither did he care o speculate upon
its probable state or condition in a future life. The idea of a
"happy hunting-ground" is modern and probably borrowed, or
invented by the white man. The primitive Indian was content to
believe that the spirit which the "Great Mystery" breathed into
man returns to Him who gave it, and that after it is freed from
the body, it is everywhere and pervades all nature, yet often
lingers near the grave or "spirit bundle" for the consolation of
friends, and is able to hear prayers. So much of reverence was
due the disembodied spirit, that it was not customary with us
even to name the dead aloud.
An Interview with Arthur Amiotte
Arthur Amiotte, well-known Lakota artist, has been a friend
of PARABOLA since 1976 when “Eagles Fly Over,” the
account of his first vision quest, appeared in our third issue.
His “Sacred Elk” is on the cover of The Sons of the Wind, a
PARABOLA book based on the myths of his people.
Mr. Amiotte has recently completed a section on Sioux visual
arts for The South Dakota Illustrated History of the Arts
(Sioux Falls, South Dakota: Center for Western Studies,
Augustana College, 1989). Currently he is involved with the

establishment of the new Museum of the American Indian in
New York City and Washington D.C. under the auspices of the
Smithsonian Institution.
Having several times experienced his hospitality and that of
his people, we wanted to hear what he had to say about the
Native American viewpoint on this theme. —D.M. Dooling
PARABOLA: To begin with, would you explain what a Sioux
giveaway is, and how it relates to the idea of an exchange
between people or levels which constitutes hospitality?
ARTHUR AMIOTTE: A giveaway is a ceremony among our
people where one family invites a lot of people to attend a
gathering and great quantities of goods and foodstuffs are
distributed to the guests. There are many stories from our
mythology that speak to us of times and places when gods and
human beings and animals were interacting with each other in
the sacred world. The idea of a feast taking place at which the
gods and the humans and other beings were gathered
seems central to all these occasions, wherein people come
together and ”share” in something—the idea of people
gathered in a circle, with food being distributed. Our
mythology tells us that when humans lived beneath the earth,
they raised a particular kind of white fruit (they were
vegetarians, and they would not eat meat). It was their role
to be servants to the gods—the Sun, the Moon, the creator
gods, and the secondary gods—and to give them this fruit
when they gathered at these occasions. So one might say that
the distribution of food is a means of connectedness between
sacred principles and what we are as human beings. It is a
reciprocal kind of activity in which we are reminded of sacred
principles. Indeed the very ceremonies which have come down
to us all include the distribution of food either before or after
or during the rite itself.

P: The idea really is, then, that it is the gods who are fed—
the feast is for the gods. Therefore is the giveaway a three-
way exchange, between the giver, and the recipients, and the
gods?
AA: Yes, it does go beyond just the food. One prime example of
this is during the child sanctification rite. A central part of the
ceremony is the giving away of food and goods. The family
who is sponsoring the ceremony wish to sanctify their child,
honor that child, by reminding it and blessing it in the ways of
the sacred; they are essentially saying, “We love this child so
much that we wish to honor other human beings.” So they take
on another couple as godparents or surrogate parents for this
child in a ritual adoption. Central to the rite is a time when
food is placed at the child’s lips, and the people who are to be
adopted say, “I’m hungry.” The food then is taken away from
the child and given to them. Water is given to the child, and
the adoptees say, “I am thirsty” so the water is taken from the
child and given to them. Then goods, decorated garments and
robes—in modern times, blankets—are placed on the back of
the child, but then the surrogate parents say, “I am cold,” and
the robes are placed instead on their backs. Then the surrogate
parents say, “You have done as a good hunka, a beloved one,
should do. You have taken food from yourself and given it to
someone who is hungry, you have taken water from yourself
and given it to someone who is thirsty, you have taken the
clothes from your back and given it to someone who is cold.
This is the way it should always be. Should you always do this
then you shall live a long life, and you will be blessed with
many children, and many good things will happen to you if
you follow these principles. Even if a poor dog should come to
your door and you have the last bit of food in your mouth, at
least take out half of it and give it to this animal. Even if you
do not have anything to eat and visitors come to your house,
at least give them water. If you should remember to do all
these things, much goodness will come to you in life, you will

be a fortunate person, you will be blessed, you will have all
that you need. If ever you should forget this, then all of your
blessings will be as ashes in your mouth.” In fact,
the hunka children and those families who sponsor them take
a lifelong vow to be of perpetual assistance. It becomes their
mission in life to provide the necessities so that orphans and
poor people can continually come to their homes. When
visitors come to the house, a young girl is expected to serve
food to them, a young man is expected to help serve food and
take care of their needs. On the contemporary reservation, a
trunk is purchased for girls who have been through
this ceremony. The girls have been taught to do beading and
quilling as early as possible, and they are to put this handwork
in the trunk. When visitors come, or when elderly people come
that they have not seen in a long time, all the mother has to do
is give the girl a nod and the girl goes and opens her trunk and
takes out scarves or pieces of calico and gives them to these
guests. This is the means of training the girls in this process.
The young men, when they made their first kill, were expected
to cut up the animal and take parts of it and give it to the
needy and the elderly in the community.
P: Is there a belief that the gods are also fed by this? I am
putting this in a very literal way, but we have to understand
the meaning behind it.
AA: Yes. But usually the foods and the goods are purified
and sanctified, the belief being that the spirit-like selves of
these objects does indeed go to the gods, first. That is why the
offering is usually placed on the ground, it is prayed over, it is
purified with the smoke of sweet grass, and in a sense the
essence of these things becomes first of all the gift to the
gods. The humans participate—but it is like eating the oranges
after all the juice has been squeezed out, eating the peelings,
as it were.

P: If the gods receive the essence, the juice, and the people
receive the orange peels, the goods; what about the giver? Is it
a step towards his own transformation?
AA: For the giver, the greatest part of the transformation
is sacrifice, to give away these wonderful things, as opposed
to hoarding them. It eventually works within one’s mind that
potentially, as Ella Deloria says (in Speaking of Indians,
which was a 1940 publication), ”things are made to be given.”
In time, things will come back to you, yes. And there is a
standard of quality that says: Never give anything away that is
less in quality and beauty than what you yourself would be
proud to own.
P: What is the cultural origin of the giveaway?
AA: Historically it was the transformation from an Eastern
Plains, semisedentary group of people to a nomadic hunting
group. It became necessary to modify their life style by
owning fewer and fewer possessions, because they had to
move about. Prairie fires, tornados, enemies, the hunt—they
had to be able to pick up and move as rapidly as possible. So
it became common for people to own very few things. The
things they did own were transportable, unbreakable, and
many times were the only sources available for decoration.
Some of the ceremonial garb and the interiors of the tipis were
well decorated, because there was a second element at work,
which was the admonition to be industrious, not to be lazy.
This meant that everyone, particularly women and young girls,
were continually making things. They could not keep them, so
according to the sacred principle of helping the less fortunate,
they were given to the orphans and the elderly, so that
everyone within the band would be taken care of. So the idea
was to make things that were beautiful, to concentrate
on technique. They would have women’s feasts when the
women would get together and display the things that they had

made, when actually there would be a competition and the
elder craftswomen would judge these things. The idea was
that you ennobled the object itself, and others within the
group, by giving them these fine things. One of the worst kinds
of insults was to pretend to retain possession over these things
that you had made and given away. The admonition is that if
you think you own these goods even though they belong to
someone else, you must cut yourself off from them and think
in another way.
P: When is a giveaway ceremony done?
AA: There are numerous occasions connected with the
giveaway. The feast and the giveaway actually accompany all
major ceremonies. They are an integral part of them. They
become like one of the offerings that is made to the gods and
to the people on all these occasions.
P: Does it accompany the Sun Dance?
AA: Yes. There are feasts before, during, and after. The dancers
do not eat this food, except at the first one and the last one.
But in between, there are numerous occasions. People are
naming their children, and will have a naming feast for their
child. That would be accompanied by a feast and a giving
away of gifts. There are also the hunka, or the young woman’s
ceremony, or the children’s throwing the ball ceremony. Some
people have a sweatlodge near their homes, and when they
have a ceremony, an important part of it is that when it
is over, a meal is served, maybe not very much, but those who
sponsor it will provide those who have participated in their
sweat ceremony with a meal afterwards.
P: Is the giveaway ever a ceremony by itself?.
AA: No, not by itself. Let me carry it one step further, into

death. Upon the death of a person, in the Sioux tradition, there
is a meal provided after the burial. If the family has goods on
hand or can get goods, they will have a giveaway at that time.
Things will be given to the pall bearers, to the people who
have come and attended the wake, to people who have brought
food or flowers, to friends of the deceased; in some cases the
clergy, if they are invited, will receive things—it’s a way of
reciprocating. Then, usually a year following that, during a
memorial feast, in what was traditionally the old spirit-
keeping ceremony, another, larger feast and giveaway is
held to honor the deceased, at which time members of the
community and visitors from great distances and people who
are significant in the life of the deceased or the family will
receive things. Then there are other occasions; four days or a
week or a month after the death, people who are not in
mourning gather things up to take to the mourners and have a
mourners’ feast, where the relatives of the deceased are
actually fed the good things that have been brought.
And because they have given away all their worldly goods,
dishes, new pots and pans, things of this nature are given to
them.
P: At other kinds of giveaways, what criteria are there
for determining who receives goods? Are the people who come
to a giveaway ceremony all invited guests or friends?
AA: There are three levels of giving away. The first one, which
is considered to be the least important, is Otunhanpi. That is
when an individual person is recognized by being called up in
front of the group and is given goods. At that time it is
appropriate to shake hands or embrace the family who are
giving you these things, and the person in whose honor it is
being given. Otunhanpi implies an individual relationship
between that person and the person being honored or the
family. It can mean that at some time in the past, this person
has been of great help to the family, and that their status

and their knowledge and their wisdom are very special, that
the traits this person exhibits are what the family is
celebrating at this time. For some groups, not so much the
Sioux, but many of the Plains groups, it also implies a
reciprocal arrangement. There are some who would say that
some of the people who are called up are expected at some time
in the future to return something. There are people who will
call up someone who they know is getting ready to give
something away in the next month or so, with the hope of
being called up at their giveaway. So the Trickster still reigns
in all of these kinds of transactions! In this first kind of
giving away, in many cases it is customary to honor people
who are of fine character, of integrity and grace. That’s why
on occasion the elderly people who are called up
werehunka people when they were young, they have given
away all of their life, they are known in every community. So,
whether you know them or not, if they are known to be of this
kind of people who welcome people to their home, who share
with them, who raise their grandchildren, who sacrifice for the
benefit of others, on these occasions they are called up and
honored individually, simply because they belong to
that society of people who do that intentionally. The
second kind of giving away is what is known as ohunkesni—
”the pitiful, the helpless, the needy.” This consists of picking
up the goods and passing them around, indiscriminately, to the
people who are there, and you keep on doing that until
everything is gone. Each person takes what he is given. We
make it a practice in our part of the country to give away fine
things—Pendleton blankets or jackets, quilts, hand towels,
scarves, yardage of cloth, dishes, enamel or plastic ware, and
we hand out these things, as well as giving them to the people
we call up. The ohunkesni form is the equal distribution
of goods. That implies no obligation whatsoever between the
receiver and the giver. The third kind is known
as wihpeyapi, and that literally means ”throwing away.” In
other words, the goods are simply spread out all over the

ground, and whoever wants or needs them can go up and
get them, and the givers just stand back (and suffer!). This
form is considered the ultimate form, the greatest and most
sacred form of sacrifice, because you are above these “things,”
you are concerned with another realm. The idea is that well-
behaved People, well-behaved receivers, will go and choose
something, maybe one or two things, so that the next person
will have something to take. But there are occasions when
there are greedy people who go and just grab armfuls and
armfuls and retreat, and do not leave anything for the
remainder of the people. So this kind of giving away implies
the greater sacrifice, but it also expects a responsibility on the
part of the receivers that they will conduct themselves
modestly. There are occasions when the givers will tell certain
people to go get what they want. That is always very
embarrassing, because if you go and you’re really humble and
take the smallest thing there, the giver will be insulted. But
then if you pick too much, this would insult the giver as well!
Usually the way we handle this is to make piles: a
Pendleton, a shawl—it becomes a unit, and that is what they
are expected to take. The last form is most significant,
because that is what was usually done at funerals. There was a
time when, after the funeral, people were allowed to walk into
the house and take whatever they wanted of the household
goods, the furniture, the linens, the clothing, until the family
was reduced to absolutely nothing. Originally, they gave away
their entire tipi and all their worldly goods. But in those
days, four days later, the people would probably bring you a
new tent and new garments—not always. At that time, that
kind of sacrifice could be done, as a total giving over, as it
were, to the mourning process, to the loss of this beloved one,
making oneself miserable and near death as well, as it was
also a practice to gash their legs and cut their arms. It was this
kind of activity that caused the prohibition of these kinds of
ceremonies in the early days on the reservations.

P: So people were sometimes left then, with nothing? They were
not taken care of?
AA: That’s right. The idea was that if you were a
responsible neighbor, a responsible relative, you would see to
it that they were restored to a modicum of wealth to continue
their lives.
P: That is following a death, a funeral ceremony. In the other
kinds of give-aways, is there any kind of measure of how
much you give away, to what extent you impoverish
yourself?
AA: Yes. It has to do with your collective family wealth. How
much you have, and the quality of the goods. In other words,
if you are following the old admonition to never give away
anything less in value or quality than what you yourself would
be proud to own, that implies then that the things you give
away are very fine if you have high standards. Then you only
give away fine things, which can put a strain on you,
especially if you are an artist, or if your family are craftsmen!
There are other people who will make shoddy goods,
to accumulate a great quantity. The quantity and the quality
are usually determined by the individuals doing it, and their
standard of living. For example, there are some very poor
people who insist on doing this but they really can’t afford to
have the quilts quilted, so they will tack them, tie them. Then
there are those who cannot even afford the batting and the
undersides, so they only make and give away the
tops. Sometimes the tops are made from variegated materials,
they are not color coordinated or matched.
P: When you speak of a “family,” what is the scope of that?
AA: We are talking about an extended family who have
several generations: the grandparents, possibly numerous

aunts and uncles, cousins, the biological parents, or adoptive
parents, the siblings—all contributing things that they have
made or money to purchase materials to have other people
make these things.
P: Is there one person at the center of each family? How are
decisions made?
AA: The decision can be made by “the elders”—for example, in
my own family, my grandmother was the matriarch, and she
often decided things. And then as I grew to maturity, I became
the head man, and my mother and aunts were willing to
participate, because it brought them status, and now with the
passing of my grandmother, that power rests in the hands of
three of my women relatives—my mother and my two aunts
are the ones who have done these traditional kinds
of activities, they are the ones who now decide which names
will be given, and when these good things will take place.
P: It sounds as if there is a certain fluidity of roles. If a
giveaway is in the context of a larger ceremony, then the roles
are always changing. You will be the sponsor of a Sun Dance,
but during that time, someone else might decide to hold a
giveaway. So in relation to our theme about the host and the
guest, these roles are constantly shifting.
AA: Yes. I was thinking about that this morning. Over the
years, in going to these different places, it is not enough for
us to go as ”house guests,” and expect to be fed and housed
and taken care of. We have this tribal or group identity. When
I moved to Standing Rock and was asked to help sponsor the
Sun Dance, and then on up to Manitoba, and eventually was a
major participant, it was not enough for me to go as an
intercessor and expect to be taken care of. My Lakota
identity requires that I reciprocate, out of not “me” but out of
my people’s identity. I had to take my group of people with

me. Hence our encampment, made up of relatives—we had to
have “our own home” where I could reciprocate properly to
these people who had invited me. I suppose it is comparable to
a house guest bringing some of his own food. And then you
also give things to the host. Within our own camp, we had to
be able to offer hospitality while we were in a
foreign country—while we were guests, we also had to
practice hospitality, and reciprocate to our hosts. I am
inclined to think that Lakota hospitality is closely tied in
with a group identity and group mentality and group ethos,
because these things are done as a group. There is a very old
ceremony done on the Plains: When two Sioux groups would
meet on the Plains—they might be northern Sioux
and Oglalas travelling—whenever they would meet, the group
that knew that it was well supplied and could do it would
appear on the prairie, and they would all sit down on their
haunches, and the other group, if it were willing to accept this
group’s hospitality, would advance singing honoring songs
toward the group that was sitting, holding their hands out
toward them. In other words, it was the reversal of what you
would expect guest and host to do. Then they would set up
their camp together, and the ones that were squatting would
host the ones who came forward singing to them. Moving
into modern times, we have nuclear families who live in
single family households, but the element of hospitality can
exist in any variety of ways. If one is abiding by the
traditions, it is customary, when people arrive in a Lakota
home, to immediately offer them something to drink or
something to eat, and to give them a nice place to sit, and then
possibly also to give gifts to them when they leave. So you
may be practicing a Lakota version of hospitality, but
you might be offering Belgian chocolates or espresso
coffee.
P: What is the proper way for the guest to receive
hospitality?

AA: To receive it with grace, fully realizing that he is
being honored, and that at some time in the future, should it
occur, that he will reciprocate in like manner. It makes the
giver feel very good, when people are travelling or coming
from a great distance and are operating at a minimum level, to
take care of their needs. When guests come, you serve them
the best that you have, and you look after them, and the
expectation is that they will be pleased, that they will
be honored to be a guest in your home. If they are of a
special relationship, then you also give them things when they
leave, to ease their journey and make them feel good, because
they are away from their group. And if they are your people,
or your kind of people, then for a moment that places a
reminder of who they are and where they’ve come from, the
kind of people they belong to.
P: What we have been beginning to see in the idea of hospitality
is that there is an exchange between two forces: the force that
must be there and the force that must move. Where that is
lacking or becomes artificial, everything seems to go astray.
There isn’t any real exchange except between these two, they
absolutely have to have each other, they must exchange, for
their own lives.
AA: There is also a recognition of an ultimate possibility that
your situation might change—that whole possibility of loss
and decline, the whole idea of losing the family wealth. If you
should not have any food, at least you can give the visitor
water. The focusing in on the ultimate need of people to meet
and care for each other. Out of that comes all the etiquette,
where you should sit in the tipi and how to behave.
P: There is a different angle that comes in with the expectation
of a return. For instance, in accounts of the West Coast
potlatch, it seems this is done for the purpose of increasing

one’s wealth, because other people must, in honor, pay you
back even more than you have given them.
AA: That is true about the Northwest Coast people and the
meaning of pot-latch, which the Sioux people and the Plains
tribes do not subscribe to. It is a unique system of a people
who live sedentarily in a place for a long time wherein there is
great wealth—the sea and the land there are very rich and gave
them a lot. There was a great deal of trade, and there was a
great influx of non-Indian goods. They had this state system,
their tribal chiefs were almost like kings. They had absolute
control over their units, their clans—they actually owned
slaves. In the Northwest there was also the concept of
interest: I give this thing to you now, and in time it’s going to
grow into four of these, and because of my status as chief,
when it comes time I deserve four of these back. And there
was the system of coppers—copper plaques representing so
much wealth. All these concepts are built on this whole
abstraction of interest.
P: Because of the way they lived, they never had to experience
the role of the one who travels, the guest; they were always
the host.
AA: Sometimes they would play host to other villages, but there
was a sense of “I am the host and I am going to outdo you.”
When this other group went home and decided that they could
outdo the other village, then they would invite them.
P: But that was a sort of artificial recreation of the traveller.
The traveller wasn’t travelling because of any need of his
own, he was travelling because someone important said, “You
come here.” And then he went back and stayed in the same
place he had come from, whereas in the nomadic tradition of
the Plains, people would not necessarily go back to the same
place.

AA: The Northwest tradition is very foreign to the idea of
the giveaway that I am talking about. Some of the Plains
groups have this element of “tit for tat,” but possibly because
they could not carry around all this stuff on the Plains with
them, they had to accommodate to the concept of sacrifice,
total release and transcendence over this kind of materialism.
In exchange, your status grew in the eyes of the people, and
you became a much respected person by how much you
gave away, not by how much you had: by the number of
ceremonies you performed, the number of giveaways your
family had. So the Plains giveaway is an acceptance of the
transitory nature of materialism, that it’s not things that really
count, even though you work very hard creating and
accumulating them. The idea is that you are a much finer and
greater person by not having a great deal of wealth, and by
being able to utilize what you have as a means for ennobling
the human spirit. When you give, it becomes an act of love;
you think more of these people than you do of these goods,
you think more of their particular needs, or what these gifts
symbolize. The robe, the blanket and the shawl symbolize
warmth; no one should be cold. Food is the same way; no one
should be hungry. These objects and the food
become symbolic of the basic needs that people have. When
you give away food, or pots and pans, you are saying “I love
you, the people, or you my tribe, or you my visitor, more than
I love having these things or the money or the power that it
takes to have and keep these things. So I am giving them to
you now, and I expect nothing in return.”
P: I have a very strong impression of the sense of community
and of the need to make sacrifices for the community among
your people—and as you said earlier, that this group ethos is
the basis of your sense of hospitality. I think that connects
with another understanding that the Native American has, that
the adopted American does not: that we are all guests of the

Earth, that it owns us, we don’t own it. The white concept is
that I own this piece of land, I have a deed to it, I put a fence
around it. And Native Americans are being forced into
that kind of attitude, by living in a society where it is the
accepted and unquestioned way of living. What do you
think about the young people, and the possibility of
the preservation of these traditional values, these
traditional understandings of hospitality among your
people?
AA: I don’t know about the future of this. There are some dire
things happening on my home reservation and on many other
reservations, so I am not sure. There is great poverty and there
are serious kinds of medical conditions, all of which will
affect the future generations.
P: How many of them still have their language?
AA: Probably about forty to fifty per cent still speak their
language. But you have to remember that seventy-five per cent
of the reservation population is under the age of eighteen, on
just about every reservation. It is usually the older generation
of people who are carrying on these traditions. These
eighteen-year-olds have to come into their maturity before
they start doing these things.
P: You said earlier that the essence of the gifts given were for
the gods. Is that something that is generally understood?
AA: No, that understanding exists only on an esoteric level.
For instance, an honoring song: when the person is being
honored, the music is primal, it’s primordial, it’s the ultimate
recognition of the person for having sacrificed, and it’s almost
to the point where it’s unexplainable, it reaches far into one’s
psyche, far into one’s innermost self. This feeling becomes the
reward for having done these things: the intensity of the

moment of that song which recognizes this transcendence, that
you have done something spiritual and good, not explained in
terms of the way I have explained it—orange peelings, the
juice, the gods.
P: Are those songs passed on, so that some kind of knowledge
can continue to exist in the music itself?
AA: Yes.
P: And it exists in the language itself. That’s why the language
is so important, because behind the words there is a hidden
meaning, so that even if people only learn the outer form of
the words, the real meaning is there, and it’s being preserved
somehow.
AA: Lakota music is not one of those forms that has crossed
over to be totally appreciated by non-Indian audiences. It is
certainly appreciated by Indian people as sacredness and art.
It’s one of those things that a non-Indian would perhaps never
understand. Inherent in those sounds are the principles that we
are, on some level of our comprehension, moved by and aware
of, in terms of the gods.
P: Is there anything in the language that expresses “please”
and ”thank you?”
AA: There are three forms for “thank you.” For a common,
courteous thank you, a man would say pilamayelo, a woman
would say pilamaye. When you are very grateful,
it’s wopilatanka. And there is a silent form of thanking, which
is to go like this [he moves his hand, as if stroking the air in
front of the interviewer’s face], which means “I am so
grateful, I am stroking your face.” That is the greatest form
of ”thank you.”

P: There is a Lakota phrase that seems almost a “please” and a
“thank you” at the same time: Mitakuye oyasin—”All my
relatives.”
AA: It’s a single prayer by itself, if there is a group having
a ceremonial gathering, whether it is a sweat lodge, or a
night ceremony; but it also comes at the end of most
prayers.Mitakuye oyasin: “All my relatives—I am related to
all.” It’s a closure, a recognition of relationship.
Desperately Seeking Redemption
Diane Bell, Natural History, March 1997, Vol. 106, Issue 2
Writing for the Lakota Times in 1991, Avis Little Eagle
summed up the growing anger of many indigenous peoples
concerning the practices of self-styled New Age shamans.
Throughout the 1980s, the American Indian Movement had
protested, picketed, and passed resolutions condemning those
individuals and institutions that packaged Indian sweat
lodges, vision quests, shamanic healing, and sun dances for
the spiritually hungry. Two years later, at the Parliament of
the World’s Religions in Chicago, the Dakota, Lakota,
andNakota Nations issued a Declaration of War Against
Exploiters of Lakota Spirituality.
This theme has been developed by a number of Native American
writers and activists. Ward Churchill, in Fantasies of the
Master Pace (1992), calls the exploiters “plastic medicine
men” and cites them as evidence of the continuing genocidal
colonization of Native Americans. Poet-anthropologist Wendy
Rose writes of “white shamanism” as a form of cultural
imperialism, and feminist Andrea Smith, in her article ”For
All Those Who Were Indian in a Former Life,” calls
these ”wannabes” to account. Echoing the defiant stand taken
in the nineteenth century by the Lakota and Cheyenne over the

Black Hills, these activists insist that their “spirituality is not
for sale.”
Lynn V. Andrews, the Los Angeles-based author of the highly
successful Medicine Woman trilogy says, “I write of my own
experience. I am not an anthropologist.” The books,
workshops, and promotional tours of this self-proclaimed
shaman, however, have been cited as a prime example of the
appropriation and commercialization of indigenous peoples’
spirituality. According to Andrews, the teachings of
her Canadian spiritual guide, a “Native American medicine
woman” named Agnes Whistling Elk, include Lakota, Cree,
and Hopi terms and concepts. Such eclecticism deeply troubles
many Native Americans, who see the mixing and matching of
different traditions from different tribes as an assault on the
integrity of the extremely personal and specific ties of kin and
country that underpin their beliefs and practices. In addition,
Andrews writes of being introduced into the Sisterhood of the
Shields, a secret organization of forty-four women from
different Native American tribes. Andrews’s loyal
readers, however, are not deterred Over and over, as I research
the appeal of these texts, I hear, “I don’t care if it’s not true;
it speaks to me.”
In Mutant Message Down Under, Marlo Morgan—a self-
described alternative health care provider from Kansas City—
describes her 2,000-mile trek across the burning deserts of
Australia with a hitherto unknown tribe of Aborigines she
calls the Real People. She claims she must keep the location
of their “opal cave” secret for fear that the government might
imprison them or blow up their sacred site. Australian
Aborigines have protested that her book is, at best, nonsense
and, at worst, a violation of their law. HarperCollins lists her
book as fiction, but Morgan continues to lecture on the
Real People as though they were real. Although exposes have
appeared in the American and Australian media, this best-

seller has reached millions of readers, many of whom report,
“It changed my life.”
In both Morgan’s book and Andrews’s Crystal Woman,
Aboriginal life is simple. Neither author (unlike ethnographers
whose careful work rarely reaches a general audience) finds
the need to grapple with the intricacies of kinship and land-
based relations among Aboriginal groups. Both authors avoid
the complexities of local languages, and the books’ spiritual
folks frequently communicate by telepathy or by giggling and
winking their way through the stories. Andrews’s
meeting with the Sisterhood of the Shields takes place in a
native “village” near a brook in the middle of the arid
Australian desert. At this unlikely site, she meets with her
Native American Sisters, as well as with female Aborigines. In
reality, no group of people could travel for a thousand miles
through Australia without having to negotiate access through
the territories of many other groups. (But how convenient for
government authorities if this were true! Relocation policies
would be perfectly acceptable because one piece of land
would be as good as the next to the Aborigines.)
Enraged that a gullible public was consuming
these misrepresentations—and that yet again exotic
stereotypes of Aborigines were obscuring the gritty realities of
the lives of many of these peoples—Robert Eggington.
coordinator of the Dumbartung Aboriginal Corporation
(Western Australia), led a group of Aboriginal elders to Los
Angeles in January 1996 to protest Morgan’s book and
a planned film. Morgan responded to the protest in a radio
interview reported in the Weekend Australian. “I’m terribly
sorry,” she said, ”and my sincere apologies to any Australian
Aboriginal person if I have offended them in any way . . .
please read this book . . . with an open mind and see if there is
anything. anything at all that is derogatory.”

Morgan’s and Andrews’s readers often tell me that these books
offer a vision of a world in which all life forms coexist in
physical and spiritual harmony; where one person’s journey
can undo centuries of abuse; where women are wise; where,
despite differences in language, history, geography, economic
status, and personal skills, we are all one. Here is community,
meaning. belonging—all the connectedness for which the self-
absorbed, postindustrial, fragmented individual yearns. I
certainly agree that we should be open to wisdom from a range
of sources, but must we suspend all critical faculties in the
process? It matters that the beliefs and practices of Native
Americans and Australian Aborigines have been put through a
cultural blender. It matters that the stories of those engaged in
ongoing struggles for their very lives are marginalized, and
that these representations of indigenous peoples are romantic
and ahistorical. Morgan and Andrews shroud their “native
teachers” in mystery while telling us that they hold the keys to
true and authentic ways of knowing.
Marketers of neo-shamanic books and workshops claim that
indigenous wisdom is part of our common human heritage. By
sharing such knowledge, the argument goes, together we can
save the planet. But is this sharing or a further appropriation?
There is a bitter irony in turning to indigenous peoples to
solve problems of affluent urbanites. In the midst of the
wealth of first-world nations, most native peoples endure
appalling health problems, underemployment, and
grinding poverty. A philosophy of reverence for the earth
rings hollow in the reality of toxic waste dumps and nuclear
testing on native lands. As Ines Talamantez, of the University
of California, Santa Barbara, says: ”If the impulse is for
respect and sharing, then come stand with us in our struggles
for religious freedoms and the return of skeletal remains and
against hydroelectric dams and logging roads.”
We anthropologists, too, have been part of the problem. Too

often our power to define “the other” has displaced and
silenced indigenous voices. Here, I am not speaking for
indigenous peoples; rather I am turning the anthropological
gaze on Western cultures so that we may understand why so
many individuals seek healing, meaning, and spiritual answers
in the lives of peoples whose lands and lives have been so
devastated by Western colonialism.
Lakota Responses to Cultural Loss
Last week we looked at how the Lakota are trying to preserve at
least some of their traditions in the face of overwhelming
difficulties
• They face the impossibility of maintaining their old
activities, of practicing the virtues that made them who they
were. This is especially true for the men
• They face the racism of the white culture that sees them as
primitive and backward
• They face their own experience of four generations of
poverty, helplessness, and hopelessness
• Finally, they face their continuing anger at the white
culture that has oppressed them, even tried to exterminate them
• All these factors combine to create a situation where the
Lakota not only are extremely poorly prepared to succeed on the
terms of the white culture, many of them do not even want to
So, in the face of all this, how are Lakota people trying to
regain a sense of cultural pride and identity? I suggest they are
doing this by focusing on their religious traditions
• Wicasa wakan have been the least touched by cultural
degradation because they have been able to stay closest to the
old ways. They do not need "jobs" and do not seek them: they
already have their calling and it depends on inner resources, not
financial ones. They do not even need to be paid with money,
but can accept gifts for their services, as they have traditionally

done.
• Traditionally religious Lakota have been more comfortable
away from the centers of white power and support. For this
reason they have maintained strength in two ways. First, they
have kept their own sense of power, being more able to support
themselves. Second, they have kept the respect of other Lakota
who see them as embodying quite literally the power of the old
ways. They have followed the Red Road, even while others have
followed the Black. Visibly maintaining the good Red Road,
they have visibly maintained the pride of the proud Lakota
Nation.
• This is why traditionals, especially wicasa wakan, have
naturally served as a rallying point for the new activism of AIM
I have tried to show the Lakota response to cultural loss is one
of rescue. The elders who have preserved the old ways are now
at last asked to teach them to a new generation, even two
generations, in an effort to recreate a cohesive culture.
To be strong, that culture must teach its values through shared
experiences of all its members. To do that it needs not just
stories, but rituals, and celebrations, and rites of passage.
Of course the old culture cannot be fully rescued: the brave but
aggressive behavior of warriors has no place in contemporary
Lakota culture. There is even little opportunity for hunting. It
remains to be seen how bravery and stoicism--and especially
aggression--can be rechanneled in the future.
Rites of Passage
• accompany (in fact create) changes in social place
• take the person from a secular state to a sacred state,
changing her or him, and back to a secular state, different from
before
• include most importantly rites of childbirth, maturity,
marriage, and death
• have a structure of separation, transition, and

incorporation. Each rite of passage has each of these three types
of rite within it
• separation usually involves cleansing, change of place and
dress, etc.
• transitional rites happen outside society and the normal
secular structures of life. The transitional space and the persons
and actions within it are powerful and strange; they are wakan.
In that state rules are inverted or unenforced; it is a kind of
anti-society
• incorporation reintroduces the new person to society, can
come back in a higher or better state
• recreate the social bonds of culture. They communicate
and reinforce cultural values at the same time that they involve
at least two generations of the culture in experiences of power
and intimacy. In this way, the culture is carried on
Anglo Responses to Cultural Loss
What about Anglo American culture? What are the rituals and
celebrations and rites of passage that this culture has to
preserve or needs to create? What do our readings suggest?
• We have no rites of birth in this culture, aside from
religious ones, but none of these brings the culture together, and
for many even the religious rites are hollow. Babies are not
usually put into strong relationships with anyone but their
parents. So our culture here loses an opportunity to strengthen
its model of the life cycle
• We cut off ourselves from dying in this culture. Frogatt
teaches that hospitals reduce death to a physical experience
only. Then the person is quickly hidden away and made to look
undead and just as quickly hidden again forever
• Frogatt's article shows how hospices reclaim the journey of
death. They treat dying as a rite of passage, complete with its
rites of separation, transition, and reincorporation. The latter
not so much for the dying person as for the family that must
grieve their loss and go on. So our culture denies aging, then

denies death, but there is a growing movement to acknowledge
it and to give it its power as the last journey of life
• The one place our culture still provides strong rites of
passage is in marriage. Here we have many small rituals that
add up to a powerful transition to married life. These include
rites of separatio, of transition, and of reincorporation. This
strengthens marriages and the culture itself
• The most important rite of passage is for adolescents as
they become adults. Here our culture fails abysmally and in this
failure is destroying itself
• What do we have now? Delaney's article mentions the peer
initiation of "first times" for smoking, drinking, and having sex.
But these are done away from the eyes of adults. They are in
fact not part of taking responsibility for supposedly valued
adult activities, but for avoiding them. Yet is it not totally
obvious that these activities are actually deeply valued by adults
too? But adults are not part of this process, wisdom does not
enter into the teaching. Respect for the older generation is not
fostered because the older generation is not present to help and
guide teenagers through these experiences.
• And there are darker initiations on the street. Many of you
know better than I the reality of gangs. Gangs exist to fill a
void, to provide meaning and power for teenagers, especially
male teenagers. They are serious and they do create real cultural
values, but they are not sustainable values for the whole culture
• Something more positive is needed. High school
graduation is not it, either. It has the trappings of a rite of
passage, but it does not go deep enough. Just as high school has
the form of a liminal period but does not teach enough, does not
teach cultural virtues of real value
• So, what can we do in the absence of such important rites
of passage? We can let teenagers create their own, or we can
create new ones, appropriate ones from other cultures, make
deeper the ones that still cling to life
• Several of the articles we read propose new urban rites
building on the old rites of local religions. One mentions the

Sun Dance, two mention the vision quest. Can these work in our
society? It is too early to tell. Perhaps they can be combined
with religion, as in confirmation. But there are so many
religions in our society, even if they were to all create new rites
of passage, how will they all work together rather than create a
chaos of values?
• It is the next generation that will answer this question. We
can't do it today
A Note on The Simpsons
Homer Simpson is an Everyman character. He gets a bad rap for
being low, lazy, boorish, selfish, etc.—and he is those things,
just as we all are. But he is also sincere, loyal, loving, and
honest with himself, just as we try to be. So Homer represents
American culture as a whole: he is us. While you watch Homer
in this episode, note his choices for his last day and how the day
actually turns out. The Simpsons is a comedy, but it always has
a message.
Perhaps this class has helped you see similar messages in your
own life.
Who are the Oglala?
The Oglala are one band of the Lakota, Lakota meaning "allied
people." The Lakota in turn are one large group of the great
plains nation called the Oceti Sakowin, the Seven Fireplaces.
This nation is divided into the Lakota, the Dakota, and the
Nakota, but all three think of themselves as coming from the
one great nation of the Seven Fireplaces. (Though they may
never have actually been very unified.) This nation is often
called the "Sioux."
Rituals
First, the sacred pipe, the Buffalo Calf Pipe. This the White
Buffalo Calf Woman brought to the Lakota first, and
appropriately it comes first, before all the other rituals. The

pipe is offered and smoked before every one of the Seven
Sacred Ceremonies and before any important decision or action
of the Lakota Nation and of individual traditional Lakotas. It is
the single most intimate and yet most social way for Lakotas to
contact the sacred.
The Seven Sacred Ceremonies:
Purification Ceremony: often called the sweat lodge. Done to
revivify persons. Happens in a small hut made very hot by
heated stones called grandfathers. During the purification the
six directions give energy to the celebrants. There are many
prayers, all followed by mitakuye oyasin ("all my relations"), so
the ceremony also purifies the whole tribe and the whole world
Vision quest: a four day fast, alone in a sacred place, to receive
power through a vision. Wakan persons do this yearly or more
often
Ghost keeping: ghost of recently dead stays for six months or
longer around home; the ritual ensures its return to the spirit
world. This requires a family giving away possessions,
traditionally, all of them
Making of relatives: makes a new relationship, closer than kin,
of older and younger persons (sometimes more than one pair);
they are covered with one blanket and bound together by a
wakan person
Buffalo Ceremony: here a girl becomes a woman, she is
instructed in new obligations and comes into a new relationship
with White Buffalo Calf Woman
Throwing the ball: ball symbolized wakan tanka; people try to
catch it to be close. Girls, too, would play this
Sun dance: huge circle of many bands, the only calendrical

ritual, thus the renewal of whole people; pledging ahead, men
and women at once
• the greatest ritual in theory and the most elaborate in
practice
• a ritual of return/rebirth for culture. Parallels the vision
quest for individuals
• also, the social dimension powerful here. The Sun Dance
binds (re-ligare) the Seven Fireplaces in a sacred unity which is
also political and social
• for dancers a sacrifice of very self to wakan tanka
• so powerful that much healing goes on, especially near the
sacred ttree which is the center of the cosmos and the people,
the most sacred place
The Life Cycle
Traditionally divided into four ages, four being the most sacred
number for the Lakota. Here the ages are childhood,
adolescence, adulthood, and old age. Each age has its role to
play in the society.
Childhood
• Babies as wakan, newly arrived visitors from the sacred
realm
• Played many games, girls equally with boys. These teach
social values
• Throwing the Ball most important: a small child throws it
• At this stage also learning through stories. Generosity, the
primary Lakota virtue learned very young and children
encouraged to give away their own items
• Hunka ceremony, Making of Relatives, often happens at
this time
Adolescence
• Buffalo Ceremony begins adolescence. Here the girl
becomes a woman and is instructed in the virtues of

womanhood. She learns skills, is protected from men, and can
even strive for a vision. She becomes more sacred as she is
associated with White Buffalo Calf Woman, including the
important notion that she is sexually alluring yet sexually pure,
a virgin
• Virgins were essential to the Sun Dance, cutting down the
sacred tree. They symbolized the purity and harmony of the
whole culture
Adulthood
• Marriage the crucial change. Wife goes to live with
husband's band or group, but only as long as he can support her.
She must be supported or goes home
• Sometimes co-wives, but this unusual and difficult
• Possibility of divorce and roughly equal punishments for
infidelity
• Men do share in camp work when possible, but their first
duty is protection. This is why, for example, men go first when
camp moves: it is not sexism but so they might protect the tribe
from possible dangers encountered
• Women care for the children. This makes sense as children
around camp. But men also participate when able
• Women participated in the Sun Dance by cutting circles of
skin from their arms
Old Age
• Grandmothers crucial in raising children
• Grandmothers seen as being wakan as they had received all
the old wisdom and because they were close to being in the
spirit world
• Grandfathers and grandmothers were thus central to the
preservation of the Lakota society, the repositors of culture.
They might be compared to walking libraries, especially the
story-tellers, the shamans, and the medicine persons
• Women seen also as more loving and family-oriented, so
naturally they did the funeral work, and were the chief mourners

• The dead person kept all his or her favorite possessions
and was given new moccasins and dried food for the Ghost
Road to the spirit world
• Old women frequently became medicine women or curing
women
• Ghost Keeping often done by older persons since often
done for dead children
The Dimensions of Hinduism
Ritual:
• The samskaras (rituals), prayer, offerings, pilgrimage, the
many ways of purity (including eating, bathing, kinds of work,
etc.), emotional devotion, fasting
Mythological:
• The trinity of Brahma, Vishnu (also his incarnations, Rama
and Krishna), and Shiva; Goddesses: the shaktas, Parvati and
Shri; also Devi, the Divine Mother; Ganesha and Lakshmi
•These gods have families, they fight, they get involved in wars,
incarnations, etc.
Doctrinal:
• Basic notions: painful and deceitful world, rebirth, karma,
and moksha
• Various ways to do this: the trimarga: karmamarga (path of
action), jñanamarga (path of knowledge), and bhaktimarga (path
of devotion)
Ethical:
• Dharma: that which upholds, supports (the world). Without
dharma all is chaos
• Expressed in relationship to one's varna, one's caste
Social:
• The division of the society into varnas (castes) and jatis

(subcastes). The four varnas are Brahmin, Kshatriya, Vaishya,
and Shudra)
• Varnas in action: the Brahmins pursue their innate
spirituality, the Kshatriyas pursue their heroism, the Vaishyas
their skill, and the Shudras their service
• Sadhus are outside society, they show the spiritual goal
even in this world
• The four ashramas as they organize life into phases with
differing religious duties
Experiential:
• The union of the worshipper with the gods, the dissolution
of the worshipper in brahman, the liberation of moksha (total
release). How? Through following the one of the trimarga
Material:
• This ranges from the clothes one wears and food one eats
all the way to the great temples and the sacred Ganges river. In
a sense, India itself, the very land, is sacred and thus part of the
material dimension
The Hindu Life Cycle:The Caturashrama and its Rituals
Correlated with caturvarga, the four aims of life, the
purushartha. First kama, desire; then artha, wealth. Meanwhile
dharma organizes everyone’s pursuit of the first two. Following
dharma comes moksha
First a pre-stage of childhood, devoted to kama. This ends
somewhere between age 8 and age 12
Student: brahmacarya, begins with the samskara (ritual) of
upanayana (initiation). Here the head is shaved and the boy gets
the sacred thread to be worn for life. The student learns sacred
texts, ritual skills and prayers, discipline of being Brahmin (or
other), how to serve the guru, etc. The aim here is dharma (law,
morality, truth)

Householder: with the greatest samskara, vivaha (marriage), the
student becomes a householder. Here the aim is artha, wealth,
because the duty here is to raise a family. This is the highest
dharma on this earth
Forest-dweller: when his hair goes gray and he sees his son's
son it is time for the next stage: withdrawal into forest-dwelling
(though one does not literally need to go to the forest). An older
couple can do this together, stopping their work on artha and
beginning to devote themselves to moksha
Renunciant: here the real devotee becomes a wondering ascetic,
renouncing the world. The practice here is to possess nothing
and desire nothing. Of course the aim here is moksha. Very few
people reach this stage
Finally there is the sacrament of death, commonly called
shraddha. Here the dead person is transformed into an ancestor,
worthy of veneration. This person takes his or her rightful place
in a good afterlife. This becomes a kind of post-stage and a
readying for continued rebirths on the path to moksha

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