Demise of Curing Ceremonies and Other Elements of the Traditional Belief System

Like members of other human societies, the Batak traditionally not only sought the support of friends and kin but of spirit beings or deities as well. An emphasis on the presumed functional benefits of religious beliefs and practices has a long and distinguished tradition in anthropology. Recently, Appell (1982:47) has sought to develop an explicit link between indigenous belief systems and adaptive well-being, arguing that it is “through belief and meaning that the cognitive models are built that enable people to organize their lives and their coping capacities.”

The adaptive significance of religious belief systems stems in large part, I believe, from the fact that while such beliefs ostensibly function (by definition) to mobilize supernatural support, they typically mobilize considerable social support as well. Caplan (1974), examining the kinds of support systems that contribute to community mental health, was struck by the importance of religious denominations:

Setting aside the primary theological aspects of religions for the purpose of this discussion, what impresses me most about them are the following support system characteristics: Most denominations are organized in congregations of neighbors. They hold regular meetings and provide a range of opportunities for their members to become friends and to identify with each other. This process is fostered by their joint allegiance to a shared theology and to a common value system and body of traditions. Members are usually enjoined to help each other, especially in times of acute need; religious ceremonials as well as service programs are provided to accomplish this, especially at predictable crisis times such as birth, marriage, illness, and death. These organized social

supports are significantly buttressed by the internal supports of a meaningful value system and set of guidelines for living, so that the religious person does not feel that he is dependent only on his individual wisdom in grappling with life's problems. He can rely on the wisdom of the ages enshrined in his religion. He can also rely on the positive and negative sanctions of a present and cohesive reference group to help him control and direct his impulses and chart the course of his life. (P. 25)

To be sure, Caplan is writing about organized religions in a complex industrial society. But his appraisal of their importance has a definite Durkheimian ring to it, and anthropologists who have studied religions in tribal societies have commented in similar fashion on their supportive functions. According to Endicott (1979b: vii), the ultimate source of the “remarkable vitality and optimism” of the Batak can be found in a set of religious beliefs that give meaning and value to their lives and reassure them that the way they live is right for them and in harmony with the forces of nature. (Endicott also observes that Batek religious beliefs reinforce their characteristic “Negrito” emphasis on freedom of movement.) In the same vein, Rice and Tima (1973:60), preparing a development plan for a Negrito reservation in Luzon, Philippines, warn against the possible deleterious social consequences of cosmological breakdown: “it is their present cosmology which provides the necessary integration of the various customs and social institutions into a reasonable framework for their entire life style.”

Little remains, however, of what was once Batak religion. It has fallen victim to forces of change already discussed. Indeed, attempting to reconstruct what Batak religion once was is a difficult and speculative enterprise. Little was recorded on the subject until Warren's fieldwork in 1950–51, and the resulting account (Warren 1964:98–112) is of a system of beliefs and practices that we must assume was already extensively disrupted. Certainly, by the time I studied the Batak, only the oldest men and women could

give a coherent account of Batak cosmology. Even then it seemed to have nothing of the elegance that Fox (1982) attributes to the religion of the Tagbanua, the Batak's horticultural neighbors to the south. Fox maintains that Tagbanua religion centers on a “cult of the dead” that mirrors the social order of Tagbanua society and reflects their world view. Thus, among Tagbanua, “one social and moral order encompasses the living, the dead, the deities, and the total environment” (ibid.:252). Any such centeredness or cosmological integrity in Batak religion had apparently disappeared by midcentury—in part, ironically, because of borrowings from the Tagbanua, who have much influenced the Batak in ritual and jural realms (Warren 1964:107).

What can be said is that the central elements of Batak religion apparently resembled those of other Southeast Asian tribal societies. The Batak traditionally lived in a world inhabited by a variety of nature spirits and supernatural beings, and they relied on mediums or shamans to mediate their relationships with these spirits and beings (ibid.:98). Most Batak can still identify by name a considerable number of such supernaturals. Most nature spirits fall into two broad classes: malevolent panya'en or capricious, but benevolently inclined, diwata. Visible only to shamans, panya'en and diwata inhabit specific trees, bamboo thickets, rocks, caves, streams, and other places in the natural environment. Such spirits are very humanlike in their lives, actions, and desires. They are said to affect Batak welfare in a variety of ways, most notably, with respect to illness (below), for humans may provoke them by unwittingly violating their territory, destroying their dwellings, or injuring their families (Shimizu 1983:134).

Other supernaturals fall into neither category but are unique and rather fearsome individuals. One is like a large goat in appearance and voice, eats, wild pigs, and chases unwary hunters. Another is humanlike and no bigger than a small boy, but it is extremely aggressive and given to shouting and throwing rocks if disturbed. Finally, there is a group of

powerful supernaturals who are the “leaders” of wild pigs and bees, capable of summoning them or sending them away and thus exerting a powerful influence on the outcome of hunting activities.

Mediating Batak relationships with a world of such supernaturals are the babalians, mediums capable of interceding with spirit beings on behalf of some human enterprise or misfortune. The opening of a new swidden field, a consanguineal marriage, or a local epidemic of illness are all occasions when spirits either are angry or may become angry and thus for which a babalian must organize the appropriate ritual action. Batak rituals are brief and involve little paraphernalia, but glossolalialike chants are performed and all local group members participate. Babalians also pass on the traditional knowledge about the supernatural that all must know, for example, that the human soul leaves the body during sleep and is vulnerable to capture by a panya'en and that violent thunderstorms arise because somewhere a Batak has laughed at an animal or failed to visit a relative.

It is admittedly difficult to draw any specific connections between such beliefs and practices and the kinds of supportive functions that Endicott (1979b ) and Rice and Tima (1973) allege characterize Negrito religions. In consequence, it is speculative to attribute any of the Batak's current adaptive difficulties to the general demise of those beliefs and practices. With respect to beliefs, furthermore, we have the additional uncertainty of not being able to know conclusively just what people “believe” and thus whether their beliefs are in fact even changing. With respect to practices, which can be directly observed, we are on firmer ground.

Thus Scudder (1975:468), viewing the human consequences of compulsory resettlement—a process not unlike rapid culture change—argues that the truncation or cessation of traditional rituals that often follows relocation decreases people's ability to cope with the stresses of uncertainty, misfortune, ill health, and death. While such attributions may still seem speculative, Scudder does muster

evidence that the relocatees he studied in fact suffered increased ill health and death. Many possible causes are still involved, but ritual disruption is indeed a likely one. At least some traditional rituals involved curing, and curing rituals, in whatever society they are held, typically mobilize highly visible social support for ill individuals (Wood 1979:300). Considerable comparative evidence suggests that the indigenous institutions that mobilize social support do make a genuine contribution toward preventing disease and speeding recovery from illness (e.g., Dressler 1982). Thus, we are on firmer ground in asserting that the observable demise of traditional Batak curing ceremonies—one element of their traditional religion—may indeed have undermined Batak adaptive well-being.

The babalian (always a male among the Batak) is the central figure in the curing ceremony. Only he, through song or dance, can enter a trance. Hence, only he can communicate directly with the diwatas, familiar to him from previous trance states, who may be able to intercede on behalf of an ill individual. The nature of the intercession sought depends on the babalian's diagnosis of the illness. Some illnesses arise because an individual accidentally stumbled on and damaged the house of a panya'en or unthinkingly misspoke or misbehaved in a fashion offensive to a panya'en—perhaps by carrying a sack of rice around at midday or by jesting about the guardian spirit of the bees. In such cases, the angered panya'en may throw some object at the person which lodges in his body and causes the illness. To effect a cure, the babalian appeals to his diwata familiars for assistance in drawing out the offending object.

Other illnesses arise because a panya'en has captured the soul of the ill individual, which had wandered during a dream. To effect a cure in this circumstance, the babalian must ask a diwata familiar to attempt to determine what the panya'en's conditions are for the return of the soul. Depending on the symptoms, a babalian may also administer some herbal medicines, which may be the only treatment proffered

in those illnesses with relatively straightforward symptoms (e.g., diarrhea or cough). While only a few Batak ever specialized in curing, many of the adults in each local group would attend and participate in curing ceremonies, thus demonstrating considerable social support for the ill individual and the babalian's efforts to restore his or her health. (A detailed account of a Pinatubo Negrito curing “seance,” similar in many respects to a Batak curing ceremony, is found in Shimizu [1983].)

Today, the traditional Batak curing system is virtually moribund. What is most striking is that the occupation of babalian is disappearing with the current senior generation. Three of the eight Batak local groups have no surviving babalians at all. Furthermore, of the other five groups, only at Tanabag and Maoyon are babalians still actively practicing their trade, and even then their performances are often for tourists. In none of the groups, finally, are any Batak youths preparing to become babalians. While change in cultural values has been important, particularly among the young, simple depopulation has also taken its toll on the status of babalian and the institution of curing. Among the Amahuaca of eastern Peru (Dole 1961) and the Mundurucu of Brazil (Murphy 1958, 1960), depopulation so reduced both the number of suitable individuals available to fill shamanistic roles and the number of individuals available to attend shamanistic ceremonies that these ceremonies simply could not be held (see also Isaac 1977:146–147).

The situation with respect to curing ceremonies at Langogan is typical of that prevailing in other Batak local groups. One babalian still lives at Langogan; two others died recently, in 1971 and 1979. No youths have apprenticed themselves to the present babalian, who last performed a curing ceremony in 1979. No such ceremonies were performed at all during 1980–81, while I lived at Langogan; the babalian lacked motivation, it was said, and the rest of the people lacked interest. This situation was not expected to

change. Even Tanabag and Maoyon, the present strongholds of Batak culture, will eventually go the way of Langogan, and it seems likely that Batak curing ceremonies—at least those aimed at curing and not at tourists—will disappear entirely by the end of the century.

In these circumstances, what kinds of care do the Batak provide for ill individuals? There is still periodic use of herbal medicines. Knowledge of plants with medicinal properties is not limited to babalians, and at times of illness or injury, many adults are capable of suggesting or preparing an appropriate root or leaf concoction. Batak knowledge and use of herbal medicines seems surprisingly scanty, however, for a foraging people who otherwise still preserve a remarkable inventory of knowledge about their forest environment.

The demise of curing ceremonies notwithstanding, Batak do continue to provide care and emotional support to the ill. They are visited frequently by others, and there is always someone, usually a close family member, to provide food, water, and company. In many cases, however, it seemed that little more was provided. During my stay at Langogan, a number of cases of serious illness involved infants or small children. One child had a fever and a bad bronchial condition, another had a fever and suffered from vomiting and convulsions, and so on. In each case, the mother attended to the child constantly, but neither she nor those around her seemed to know what else to do. No herbal medicines were sought or offered, no curing ceremonies were held, little interest was expressed in my own supply of medicines, and not even the most basic precautions were taken to avoid further deterioration in the child's condition. Those adults present to “see the child through” simply seemed to be waiting to see if it would survive or not. In short, and speaking only of the cases of illness that I knew of personally, people were obviously concerned for the ill person's welfare but they did not seem highly motivated to do much about it. Such fatalism reflects, in part, Batak beliefs about

causation in illness. Also, in the case of ill children, a mother's own nutritional and disease status may affect the quality of her mothering.

One particular health problem, tuberculosis, deserves special mention. It is suspected to be a major cause of death among the Batak. Many lay people probably believe that tuberculosis is a straightforward infectious disease, with the appropriate medicine and professional supervision being the keys to cure. But both contraction of and recovery from the disease are known to be powerfully influenced by factors in one's social environment. Jackson (1954), for example, showed that alcoholics who tried to stop drinking on their own were many times more likely to develop tuberculosis symptoms than those alcoholics who attempted to stop drinking with the support of an organized program, such as Alcoholics Anonymous. Holmes (1956) showed that the incidence of tuberculosis in Seattle was highest among people who were “socially marginal”: those living alone in one room; those single or divorced; those of minority status in their neighborhoods; and those who experienced the death of a parent, or divorce of their parents, before age 18. Reviewing a variety of such studies, Chen and Cobb (1960) conclude that tuberculosis is a disease of social isolation, that is, a disease of the failure of social support systems. This circumstance helps to explain, for example, why Bantu working in South African cities suffer one of the highest tuberculosis rates in the world, while Bantu who remain behind in their native villages are largely resistant to infection, despite exposure to their severely ill, city-working kin, many of whom return to their native kraals to die (Dubos and Dubos 1952:194). Thus, more than changes in diet, working conditions, or exposure to the bacilli explain outbreaks of tuberculosis in a society, for such outbreaks reflect as well “the complex of disturbances brought about in the community as a whole by most forms of social upheavals, be they abrupt changes in ancestral habits, rapid industrialization, or wars” (ibid.:195–196).

It must be added that besides disrupting traditional social support systems, incorporation into lowland Philippine society has made available to the Batak some new support systems. I argue in chapter 6 that some interventions by outside individuals and agencies aimed at assisting the Batak in fact made life more stressful for them. But, paradoxically, potential sources of stress in life may also be potential resources for coping with stress. Over the years, for example, some lowland farmers have been genuinely supportive of individual Batak. Patron-client relationships aside, such farmers have provided everything from friendship to material aid to political backing or legal assistance. The same is true of those missionaries, Summer Institute of Linguistics workers, and World Vision project personnel who have worked with Batak in various local groups. Finally, new cosmologies (e.g., Catholicism) and new health maintenance systems (e.g., occasional visits by rural health personnel) that also help cope with the physiological and psychological stresses of life have begun to penetrate Batak society. But in my opinion, these things have not offset the reductions in stress-coping capacity that have resulted from the loss of the traditional social support-providing institutions discussed here.