I spent the fall reading four or five biographies of Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), the writer who sparked my initial interest in writing and philosophy. I stumbled upon Walden in August of 1970 and spent that particular fall entirely wrapped up in that book, so revisiting Thoreau as summer turns to fall is a kind of nostalgic journey for me. Except for the fact that I continually discover something new each time I read about him.
For instance, Thoreau wrote a series of eleven journals devoted specifically to information about the Indian tribes of the American northeast yet he never wrote publicly about them. Did he have a project in mind? Or was he simply satisfying his own innate curiosity regarding them?
In Robert Richardson's biography, "Henry Thoreau: A Life of the Mind," it's mentioned that while studying the early interactions between Europeans and Indians, Thoreau read widely in the annual journals of "Jesuit Relations," published between 1630 and 1690, a treasure trove of information as the Jesuits attempted at least to understand the people whom they wished to convert.
This reminded me of something I once read in a 1937 biography of Thoreau --was it Walter Harding's version? -- which was in the preface or introduction, not written by the author himself, and it was a long quote pulled out of these Jesuit journals. I always found it stunning as a kind of mystical anecdote that doesn't fit any spiritual schemata I've encountered. As I'm concurrently doing a deep study of the roots of shamanism, this is something that piques my attention, as perhaps it will yours. The passage that follows is quoted verbatim from that long-ago introduction.
"What increases the aversion of the Indians to Christianity is the influence their powwows have upon them. These are supposed to have a power of foretelling future events, of recovering the sick, and of charming persons to death. And their Spirit, in its various operations, seems to be a Satanical imitation of the spirit of prophecy that the church in early ages was favored with.
"I have labored to gain some acquaintance with this affair, and have for that end consulted the man mentioned in my journal, of the 9th of May, who since his conversion to Christianity has endeavored to give me the best intelligence he could of this matter. But it seems to be such a mystery of iniquity, that I cannot well understand it, and so far as I can learn, he himself has not any clear notions of the thing, now his spirit of divination is gone from him. However, the manner in which he says he obtained this spirit, was, he was admitted into the presence of a Great Man who informed him that he loved, pitied, and desired to do him good. It was not in this world that he saw the Great Man, but in a world above at a vast distance from this. The Great Man, he says, was clothed with the day; yes, with the brightest day he ever saw, a day of many years, yes of everlasting continuance. This whole world, he says, was drawn upon him, so that in him the earth and all things in it might be seen. I asked him if rocks, mountains, and seas were drawn upon him, or appeared in him. He replied that every thing that was beautiful and lovely in the earth was upon him, and might be seen by looking on him, as well as if one was on the earth to take a view of them there. By the side of the Great Man, he said, stood his shadow or spirit. This shadow, he says, was as lovely as the man was himself, and filled all places, and was most agreeable as well as wonderful to him.
"Here, he says, he tarried some time, and was unspeakably entertained and delighted with a view of the Great Man, of his shadow or spirit, and of all things in him. And what is most astonishing, he imagined all this to have passed before he was born. He never had been, he says, in this world at that time. And what confirms him in the belief of this is that the Great Man told him he must come down to earth, be born of such a woman, meet with such and such things, and in particular, that he should once in his life be guilty of murder. At this he was displeased and told the Great Man he would never murder. But the Great Man replied, 'I have said it, and it shall be so.' Which has accordingly happened. At this time, he says, the Great Man asked him what he would choose in life. He replied, first to be a hunter, and afterwards to be a powwow or diviner. Whereupon the Great Man told him he should have what he desired, and that his shadow should go along with him down to earth, and be with him forever. There were, he says, all this time no words spoken between them. This conference was not carried on by any human language, but they had a kind of mental intelligence of each other's thoughts. After this, he says, he saw the Great Man no more; but supposes he came down to earth to be born, but the spirit or shadow of the Great Man still attended him, and ever after continued to appear to him in dreams, and other ways, until he felt the power of God's word upon his heart, since which it has entirely left him.
"There were some times when this spirit came upon him in a special manner, and he was full of what he saw in the Great Man; and then, he says, he was all light, and not only light himself, but it was light all around him, so that he could see through men, and know the thoughts of their hearts. These depths of Satan I leave to others to fathom, and do not know what ideas to affix to such terms, nor can guess what conceptions of things these creatures have at the times when they call themselves all light."
And there you have it. Isn't that an amazing account or occurrence? It certainly doesn't fit the canons of classical shamanism; in fact, is more akin to Middle or Far Eastern forms of mysticism rather than, say, the result of occultism. I find it fascinating, especially the instance of it happening prior to his incarnating on earth. Of course, the Jesuit, bound by the confining conceptions of his own faith, could only ascribe it to Satan and not accept it simply on its own terms, as being outside the realm of his own experience. But the history of Christianity is rife with its repression of anything out of the ordinary, be that of the light or dark. Besides often persecuting its own mystics -- those carriers of the inner light of their professed faith -- it also represses, denies, and then projects its own shadow content onto others. In other words, Christians are afraid of their own shadows, in the Jungian sense of the term.
Anyway, there you go -- a fascinating tidbit from the Jesuit Journals that Thoreau may have read, published in an arcane introduction to a 1937 biography of Henry. You just never know what you're going to stumble across, do you?
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