I am Shaman

If you listen to the radio, or podcasts of any kind, and you have not listened to Radiolab (imagine This American Life done by science nerds), then... you should. Anyway, a very long time ago, Radiolab did a show about the placebo effect; you can still download it on iTunes or on their website. The show opens with a story about a Kwakitul shaman named Quesalid, who lived in the Pacific Northwest and was the topic of an anthropological biography by Franz Boas. If you do a google search for Quesalid, you'll find a wide range of scholarly articles about him, his biography, and his impact on medical anthropology. But, that's not what I want to talk about.

Quesalid's path to becoming a shaman was not a traditional one. He began as a skeptic. He believed that the shamans were, to put it bluntly, full of shit, and he decided to infiltrate their ranks and expose them. He asked to apprentice with the shamans and they accepted him. They took him out into the woods and taught him all the healing songs and rituals, and then they taught him their trick. This trick is a variation of one of the oldest tricks in shamanism and faith-healing worldwide. Spiritualist faith healers still use versions of it today.

The trick was to take feathers, chicken feathers, crow feathers, whatever, and tuck them under your lip, or in your cheek before the ritual. The final part of the healing ritual involved bending down over the sick person and sucking on their stomach. At this point, the shaman would bite the inside of their cheek to get a little blood mixed in with the feathers. Then, they would spit the feathers and blood out on the ground and tell the sick person, "That is your sickness that I just drew out of you."

Quesalid had found it. He knew that it was all a sham, and he would expose the shamans. But then, the following occurred. A famous man in Quesalid's tribe had a daughter who was sick, according to Quesalid's biography, very sick. Part of the rules of being a shaman's apprentice was that you had to do all the rituals for free, and so Quesadlid was called to heal this man's daughter. He got to the place, he sang the songs, and he did the trick with the feathers and the blood. And, she got better.

Quesalid didn't really know what to do with this information. He did not pull out any sickness; it was chicken feathers and his own blood on the ground, not any evil spirit. And, yet, the girl got better. After this, Quesalid came to the following conclusion. Although he may not understand it, there is something greater going on here. Each of the individual parts may be completely innocuous, but somehow when put together, they can save a young girl's life.

Quesalid's story is now the topic of much academic pontification, and the intro to a radio show or two, but it got me thinking about something that has very little to do with science.

Am I Quesalid?

As someone who's been involved in nearly every aspect of "the Christian experience," I know exactly what it takes to create a spiritual high, or a mountain-top experience. As a sociologist, I know how to put the right social conditions on a group to bring up the energy and the fervor to a place of delirium. As a story-teller, I know how to lead a group's emotions from the most solemn lows to the most excited highs. In short, I can put the feathers in my mouth and spit them back onto the ground, mingled with my own blood.

And yet, I still believe. I have had mountain-top experiences that have changed the course of my life. (Spoiler warning: This is about to get weird) I've had conversations with God and angels. I've seen visions and been laughed at by demons. I've experienced the kind of ecstasy that comes only from worship, and even as I write this I know that all these things can be explained. I know that a great worship service is like a great meal, so long as you have all the ingredients, all it takes is a skilled chef, and the slightest bit of luck, and bam, there you go.

But, I cannot deny what I am. I am a shaman who knows the parts and pieces intimately. I have bit my cheek enough to have scars on the inside of my mouth. But, I believe that I am a part of something greater. There must be something more than feathers and blood. I believe that there is something beyond my understanding. No matter how much I study, or how much is explained, there will always exist an end to understanding. The edge of the intellect.

I am not a very smart man. I reach the edge of my intellect on a daily basis, and it is there that I believe that I am touched by something greater. I am a shaman. I bleed and I know that it's all an illogical show. But, I still sing the healing songs with earnest and I believe that something greater and more important than me takes notice.