The Bwili or 'Flying Tricksters' of Malakula: A Critical Discussion of Recent Debates on Rock

Art, Ethnography and Shamanisms

Author(s): Robert J. Wallis
Source: The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, Vol. 8, No. 4 (Dec., 2002), pp. 735-
760
Published by: Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3134941
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 THE BWILI OR 'FLYING TRICKSTERS' OF
MALAKULA: A CRITICAL DISCUSSION OF
RECENT DEBATES ON ROCK ART,
ETHNOGRAPHY AND SHAMANISMS

ROBERTJ. WALLIS
Universityof Southampton

The use of 'shamanism' and/or neuropsychology in the interpretation of rock art imagery
has been much contested, with opinions often polarized between so-called 'shamaniacs' and
'shamanophobes' who support or oppose these lines of enquiry, respectively. Ethnographic
analyses have, arguably, suffered most in this controversy. In this article I explore Layard's
ethnography of the bwili or 'flying tricksters' of Malakula, Melanesia, to interpret rock art
in the northwest of the island - in the same region and, apparently, of the same era as
Layard'sbwili. In contrast to uncritical shamaniac interpretations and their misleading equa-
tion of'entoptics = shamanism', and as a challenge to the criticisms of shamanophobes, I
theorize the term 'shamanisms', scrutinize Layard'sethnography, and critically apply Lewis-
Williams and Dowson's (1988) neuropsychological model to interpret the rock art of north-
west Malakula. The article therefore seeks to reinstate these approaches - ethnography and
neuropsychology - as complementary elements in the interpretation of rock art.

Introduction
'Shamanism' has been at the centre of interpretative rock art research for well
over a decade. A debate rages between so-called 'shamaniacs', primarily
Dowson (e.g. 1998a),Whitley (e.g. 1992), and Lewis-Williams (e.g. 1998), and
'shamanophobes', most vocally represented by Bahn (e.g. 1997; 1998), with
comments from Quinlan (1998), Solomon (e.g. 2000), and Kehoe (2000).
This controversy began with Lewis-Williams's (e.g. 1975; 1981) proposal of
connections between Southern African rock art, nineteenth-century ethno-
graphic records of the San (Bushmen), and twentieth-century anthropologi-
cal research on Bushman healing practices in the Kalahari. Researchers
world-wide applauded Lewis-Williams's research (e.g. Bahn 1988) and many
of them looked optimistically towards the potential of ethnographic analogy
for expanding the interpretations of other rock art traditions (e.g. Conkey
1987). In 1988 two papers were published (Davenport & Jochim 1988;
Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1988), the former rather less famous, now, than
the latter. Davenport and Jochim's suggestion (following others, e.g. Kirchner
1952; Lommel 1967) that the 'wounded man' in the Lascaux shaft-scene might
be an Upper Palaeolithic shaman had no great or long-lasting impression on
? Royal Anthropological Institute 2002.
J. Roy. anthrop.Inst. (N.S.) 8, 735-760
736 ROBERT J. WALLIS

rock art research, despite its innovative approach to apparent avian character-
istics shared by both human and bird-topped staff. In notable contrast, Lewis-
Williams and Dowson's proposal of the controversial 'neuropsychological
model' and its application to cave art imagery of the European Upper
Palaeolithic had an immense impact. Rock art researchers thenceforth split
into two camps, shamaniacs and shamanophobes.
The neuropsychological model has since been applied to a vast corpus of
imagery as diverse as northwest European passage tomb art (e.g. Dronfield
1996), Californian rock art (Patterson 1998), Australian rock art (Sales 1992),
and even British Iron Age coinage (Creighton 2000). The situation is certainly
troubling: in far too many instances the neuropsychological model is applied
uncritically in a search for 'entoptics' (as set out by Dowson 1999), the
geometric visual phenomena endogenous to trance and characteristic of'stage
one' in Lewis-Williams and Dowson's neuropsychological model.' The mis-
taken equation was entoptics = shamanism.Yet some of these authors not only
ignored trance stages two and three, and the principles of transformation steer-
ing the perception of imagery (Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1993), but also
ignored the heterogeneity of rock art and shamanisms in what has aptly been
termed 'a steamroller approach' (Garlake 1995).
Critics of the shamanistic approach were only too happy to point out such
flaws, as well as inaccurate readings of ethnographic sources: Sales's (1992) lack
of direct ethnographic evidence for 'Pilbara shamanism' and homogenizing
notion of 'Pan-Australian shamanism', for example, is open to criticism
(Chippindale, Smith and Tacon's [2000] application of Elkin's [1997] 'clever
men' ethnography to 'dynamic figures' of Western Arnhem Land is more rig-
orous and convincing). The use of San ethnography to interpret rock art has
been challenged on similar grounds. Both the idea of a 'Pan-San' world-view
and the application of the Bleek and Lloyd /Xam ethnographies to paintings
from KwaZulu-Natal, southern Africa, have been criticized: the one for being
generalist; the latter seen as an inappropriate ethnographic analogy. Critics also
argue that the /Xam ethnography is more concerned with mythology and
gender relations than with shamanistic themes (a debate which continues
between Solomon [e.g. 2000] - proponent of the latter - and Lewis-Williams
[e.g. 1998]).
Ethnographic analyses (e.g. Sales 1992) of rock art have arguably been the
greatest victims of shamanophobia. This article therefore has two aims: first,
to demonstrate the strength of ethnography in providing insights into the
shamanistic nature of certain rock art traditions, with specific discussion of
the rock art in northwest Malakula (see Map), Melanesia, in the context of
J.W. Layard'searly twentieth-century ethnography of the bwili,or 'flying trick-
sters', of the same region; and, secondly, to demonstrate the value of both
ethnography and neuropsychology as complementary and mutually support-
ing approaches by critically applying the neuropsychological model. A criti-
cal application requires dismissing the overtly simplistic entoptics = shamanism
equation and utilizing the model in its entirety: identification of endogenous
visual phenomena, principles of transformation of visual imagery, and specific
cultural contexts of iconic images. The article draws on preliminary fieldwork
conducted by the Vanuatu Cultural and Historic Sites Survey (hereafter
VCHSS) (Roe 1991) to investigate possible connections between the ethnog-
 ROBERT J. WALLIS 737

MAP. Map of Malakula,Vanuatu, with approximate locations of rock art sites discussed in
the text.

raphy of the bwili approached as shamanistic practice, neuropsychological

processes, and rock art. It serves as an initial exploration of this much-
neglected data and seeks to reinstate the potential of ethnographic analysis
(where available), complemented by neuropsychological data (e.g. Dowson
1989), at the forefront of shamanistic interpretations in rock art research.

Archaeology and anthropology in Vanuatu

Malakula is the second-largest island of the Vanuatu archipelago, situated
approximately half-way between the Solomon Islands and Fiji. The landscape
738 ROBERT J. WALLIS

consists of a rugged jungle interior surrounded by uplifted coral terraces.

Archaeological research in Vanuatu has focused mainly on the southern islands
of Erromango and Aneityum, with Spriggs (1997b) also examining the north-
ern island of Maewo. Following Leaney's (1965) preliminary archaeological
survey of Malakula, investigations were conducted by the VCHSS (Roe 1991)
which recorded rock art at three sites discussed in this article.
Recent excavations (Bedford, Spriggs, Wilson & Regenvanu 1998) have
established a basic cultural sequence for most islands of Vanuatu and parallel
sequences of environmental change based on pollen cores.Vanuatu was colo-
nized around three thousand years ago by settlers who brought dentate-
stamped Lapita ceramics. The earliest settlers of Malakula inhabited sheltered
bays with reliable water sources, making permanent settlements inland at a
later point. In northwest Malakula, the location of rock art discussed here,
there is a concentration of cave sites with evidence for intensive ceramic
production (for a detailed summary of archaeological research in Vanuatu, see
Bedford, Spriggs, Wilson & Regenvanu 1998).
Earliest ethnographic documentation of Vanuatu is by Codrington (1891)
and Speiser (1990), with reports from specific islands thereafter (e.g. Lane
[1965] for Pentecost and Bonnemaison [1994] for Tanna), particularly regard-
ing 'cargo cults' (e.g. Worsley 1957), and detailed records for Malakula are
provided by Deacon (e.g. 1934b) and Layard (e.g. 1942). Despite the major
contributions from Melanesia to anthropological theorizing (e.g. A. Strathern
1971; M. Strathern 1999), there has been less input from Vanuatu, and even
less from Malakula: examples include discussion of the politics of rank and
gender Jolly 1991) and textiles as 'captivating' agents (Bolton 2001), in north-
ernVanuatu, and analysis of animist-Christian syncretism in southern Malakula
(Curtis 1999).

Rock art researchin Western Oceania

Western Oceanic rock art and its social context have been consistently
neglected, but a number of scholars have explored areas which increase our
understanding of the art: Gorecki and Jones (1987) report indigenous beliefs
concerning the art and the potential of blood in rock-painting pigments
for its dating. Roe (1992) demonstrates connections between the art, other
artistic media, and the spread of Austronesian-speaking peoples; Ballard (1992a)
documents locational evidence in western Melanesia for a rock art tradition
based on Austronesian language groups and suggests (1992b) similarities with
Australian cave art; Wilson (1998) conducts a multivariate exploration of
similarity/closeness and difference/distance in Pacific rock art and argues for
a Southeast Asian common ancestor; Bedford, Spriggs,Wilson, and Regenvanu
(1998) propose a preliminary temporal sequence for Vanuatu's rock art; and
most recently,Wilson, Spriggs, and Lawson (2001) have obtained AMS radio-
carbon dates for rock art of the European contact period from Hopnarop in
northwest Malakula. For the most part, however, published works have
provided descriptive documentation (e.g. Ballard 1988; Frimigacci & Monnin
1980; Franklin 1996; Specht 1979; Spriggs & Mumford 1992): documentation
and the analysis of formal properties is a vital first step in rock art research,
 ROBERT J. WALLIS 739

but it is only the first step and does not take place in a theoretical vacuum
(e.g. Lewis-Williams 1990). The widespread misconception that recording is
'objective' and should be our primary concern is to the detriment of inter-
pretation which is no less 'subjective': ample documentation has been com-
pleted in certain areas for interpretation to begin.
Yet, interpretative research is notably sparse.Wilson (1999) proposes links
between Erromango's black linear rock art in caves and gendered imagery on
other media, and between the production of rock art and use of the caves by
women during periods of warfare.Thus far these interpretations suggest that
Wilson's rock art recording and analysis project should produce further fasci-
nating results in the near future, but such interpretative research is the excep-
tion to the rule. Gunn (1986) is instead content with an outmoded diffusionist
perspective; Ewins (1995) presents an exhaustive discussion of rock art from
Vatulele (Fiji), only to produce generalized conclusions based on broad defi-
nitions of Austronesian/non-Austronesian stylistic conventions and circum-
stantial chronological evidence; and while other research has been repetitive
(e.g. Rosenfeld 1988), Specht (1979) proposes that meaning in the art is
inaccessible without contemporary ethnography. Landscape archaeology (e.g.
Bradley 1997; Nash 2000) and folklore (e.g. Alves 2001) mark two avenues of
enquiry which have proved beneficial where ethnographic records are unavail-
able in European rock art research, but, nevertheless, Specht's point can now
be addressed:in this article the ethnography from Malakula provides the access
he demands. I demonstrate how this primary ethnographic evidence for a
form of shamanism in Malakula, alongside neuropsychological analysis of
the imagery, lends substantial support to the shamanistic approach.This article
thus challenges the current interpretative malaise in much Oceanic rock art
research and, perhaps more significantly, challenges the shamanophobia in
certain quarters of rock art research world-wide.

'Shamanism' of the bwili

The anthropologist J.W. Layard is 'a forgotten figure in anthropology ...
the last of the diffusionists of the psychological persuasion' (Gell 1998: 87).
Prior to researching Malakulan sand-drawings (e.g. Layard 1936), Layard
became intrigued by reports of the sorcerors known as bwili. Layard did
not meet a bwili but, according to his informants, these 'flying tricksters'
were believed to exist until at least the early 1930s in northwest Malakula
(Layard 1930a: 504).2 Their existence appears to be unknown currently,
but 'magicians' called 'kleva' men (Bislama-language term from the English
'clever') perform throughout Vanuatu. Layard's ethnographic records are
replete with accounts of the bwili'sspirit-world exploits, from practical jokes
(such as pretending to be the husband of an unsuspecting woman) to accounts
of transformation into snakes, fowl, and plants, ritual dismemberment, and the
killing of enemies. Layard describes the bwili as 'sorcerers' and suggests that
the various beliefs surrounding them are connected to 'shamanism' and the
ideology of death (Layard 1930b; see also Codrington's discussions of magic
[1891: 191-217], possession by ghosts [1891: 209, 218-27], and the tavogivogi
'changeling' spirits [1891: 172] which are directly comparable with the bwili).
740 ROBERT J. WALLIS

As noted by Herdt (1977), there has been limited research on shamanisms in

Melanesia.3
Layard'sidentification of the bwili as shamans, in the early 1930s, is strik-
ing: not only had the term 'shaman' yet to gain currency outside Siberia, but
his detailed discussion also anticipates more recent theorizations of the term
in place of the off-the-cuff remarks found elsewhere. If Layardwere to suggest
that the bwili were shamans today, however, he would probably meet consid-
erable shamanophobic opposition. Since Layard'sday, Eliade (1964) popular-
ized the term 'shamanism' as an 'archaic technique of ecstasy' for which he
has been widely - and justifiably - criticized (Humphrey 1994: 191; 1996:
47-64; also Smith 1987). Eliade set the trend for homogenizing a plethora of
highly diverse practices (e.g. Drury 1989; Harner 1980), and decades of
research have yet to yield an agreed theoretical and practical definition (e.g.
Harvey forthcoming). The issue stems, largely, from the Western invention of
the term in the seventeenth century and the manner of its application ever
since.'Shamans' were first encountered in Siberia by Russian explorers but
these samna:i/saman(the written form is phonetic since the Evenk had no
written language) had various social locations and practices; they were not all
the same, even here (see also Price 2001). A pristine or original 'shamanism'
never existed, however much Eliade and followers wanted to find one: the
'Siberian cradle' or locus classicusof shamanisms is more a Western construct
than an Evenk reality. Anthropologists consistently struggle to represent the
cultural specificity - using local terms, such as 'Kam' (Korea),'Baksy' (Central
Asia), 'Angakkoq' (Greenland), 'Curandero' (Peru) - while at the same time
recognizing cross-cultural similarities. Few can avoid reference to shamanisms
altogether (e.g. Atkinson 1989), and others reluctantly utilize this occidental
fabrication for comparative purposes (e.g.Vitebsky 1993).
The crux of the problem, and I am by no means alone in recognizing the
difficulty, is that the term 'shamanisim'aptly fits certain ritual specialists but
at the same time neglects the variety of specific social contexts. Some an-
thropologists may suggest that we abandon the term altogether and employ
indigenous terminology instead but we would still need a term, be it 'ritual
specialist', 'medicine man', 'sorcerer', and so on, that would translate the local
usages into English for comparative purposes, and 'shamanism' is the term
we have - it has currency. Rock art research has a similarly problematic
relationship with shamanisms, particularly a search for check-list features.
Lewis-Williams's (1998) ten characteristics of shamanism, for example, mark
an attempt to pin shamanisms down; but if ten, why not twenty - where do
we draw the line? We require a theorizing of'shamanism' (or, more correctly,
shamanisms) in archaeology - an archaeology of shamanisms - which
acknowledges cross-cultural similarity, but also embraces diversity. Dowson
(1999) argues that definitions belie such requirements and that a conceptual
shift is required in which we approach 'elements of shamanism' and explore
the diversity of themi in specific coimmunities, rather than 'define' or catego-
rize 'shamans'.These elements are as follows: agents consistently (a) alter con-
sciousness,4 (b) these altered states are accepted as ritual practices by the agent's
community, and (c) knowledge concerning altered consciousness is controlled
in effecting certain socially sanctioned practices (after Dowson 1999). This
approach acknowledges global consistencies but, following recent interpreta-
 ROBERT J. WALLIS 741

tive trends away from generalities and towards localized socio-political con-
texts of shamans in shamanisms (e.g. Humphrey 1994; 1996; Thomas 1994)
and rock art (e.g. Dowson 1998b) studies, it explicitly requires examination of
the specificity and diversity of shamanisms and rock art.
The efficacy of this approach can be demonstrated with regard to the
northwest Malakulan bwili. In an initiation ceremony (Layard 1930a: 507-9)
the boy to be initiated approaches a bwili, who is a relation. The initiation
procedure, which may last several days, involves the boy eating a 'pudding'
containing the red leaves of a rowarebwili plant.While the initiate lies on roware
bwili leaves, the bwili is said to amputate the initiate's limbs and his head, and
both 'laugh' at each stage of dismemberment. The body parts are replaced, and
the initiate is covered completely by the leaves. The bwili transforms into a
fowl by chanting a magic word, and lands on the initiate three times. The boy
remains motionless in the first instance, shakes violently in the second, and
stands up in the third. When the bwili returns in human form and the boy
stands, both again 'laugh'. The boy is now a fully fledged bwili and both bwili
proceed to trick the boy's mother by transforming themselves into pigs and
fowl. Aspects of the account which attest to its shamanistic character include:
length of initiation, dismemberment, chanting of a word of power, metamor-
phosis into non-human beings and flying, ritual combat and death, shaking
violently, and the role of a specific plant. In the following discussion of these
'elements of bwili shamanism', I focus on the enigmatic plant species and argue
that this may provide access to the socio-political idiosyncrasy of Malakulan
shamanism, specifically its context in beliefs surrounding the dead.

'ELEMENTS' OF BWILI SHAMANISM: AGENTS ALTER CONSCIOUSNESS

There are specific features in the initiation tale which indicate that the bwili
alters consciousness. At the outset, Layard (1930a: 509) suggests that the ini-
tiation period may last several days; further specific details are lacking in the
account, but intensive initiations can induce sensory deprivation and altered
consciousness, as for example in the 'vision quests' of many Native American
communities (Lyon 1996), the sacred Huichol journey to Wirikuta (Fikes
1993), and the San trance dance (Katz, Biesele & St Denis 1997).The ensuing
trance, for the bwili, involves violent trembling. Sensory deprivation is also
evident in initiation ceremonies into men's secret societies in the region,
which can last many days (Codrington 1891; Deacon 1934b; Layard 1928).
Added to this evidence of inducing altered consciousness, the possible use of
an entheogen5 by the bwili gives further weight to my argument that they can
be usefully approached as shamans.
In Layard'saccount of initiation, the boy lies on, and is later wrapped up in,
the leaves of the rowarebwili plant. Layard provides no other information on
this species of plant, and I have not encountered ethnobotanical or botanical
literature referring to it. It is probably of some significance, however. Not only
do shamanic and other initiatory ordeals in Melanesia (e.g. Herdt 1977: 156-
7, 161-2, 164) often involve direct contact with specific leaves (though not to
my knowledge the rowarebwili), specifically to attract spirit-helpers (or'famil-
iars'), as might be apparent in Layard'sdescription of the bwili'sinitiation, but
742 ROBERT J. WALLIS

also, after ingesting a brew containing rowarebwili and being wrapped in the
leaves - and only while wrapped - the candidate shakes violently, which might
indicate the plant itself promotes this reaction and/or trance. South American
shamans, in particular,ingest entheogenic plants to induce trance (e.g. Taussig
1987), but there is also evidence for such use of leaves in shamanic rituals else-
where in Melanesia (Herdt 1977: 157).Although botanical identification of the
Malakulan rowarebwili is elusive, it may be entheogenic, and the most likely
candidate is 'kava' (Piper methysticum forst), prepared as a ritual and social drink
in Malakula,Vanuatu, and a large part of the Pacific, and used as a means of
interceding with the supernatural world and contacting the dead (e.g. Brunton
1989; Lebot, Merlin & Lindstrom 1992; Pollock 1995). Ingesting large quan-
tities of kava leads to 'intoxication' and 'trance' (Lebot & Cabalion 1988: 11-
23), andThomas comments on kava use in 'religious ecstasy'in parts of Melanesia
(Thomas 1989). Specific to Malakula, kava was used in men's degree-taking
rites (Deacon 1934b), so a connection with Layard'sdescription of the bwili's
trance" is not illogical. Indeed, if moderate quantities of kava may cause 'slight
nervous trembling' (Lebot & Cabalion 1988: 11), it is conceivable that more
substantial amounts caused the bwili'sviolent trembling.
Entheogen ingestion is only one way in which shamans induce altered con-
sciousness, and other aspects of the initiation tale hint at these. During the
ritual, the initiate is dismembered by the bwili. Such descriptions of shamanic
initiatory dismemberment are widespread, as described, for example, by the
Sakha (Yakut) shaman Sofron Zateyev (Eliade 1964: 36), the Greenlandic
Angakkoq (Jakobsen 1999), and the Iban of Borneo (Roth 1968: 281). In this
Malakulan instance, dismemberment is indicative of shamanic experience and
may describe the painful transition into trance, and/or the transition from
neophyte to initiated shaman, stripping away the life previous to initiation.
As the story unfolds, the bwili says a word of power. The word is unspec-
ified, but its status as a word of power, and the fact that it is chanted, seems
significant. Shamans consistently have chants, songs, and specific words which
facilitate the onset of trance, and invoke spirit-helpers. These chants are an
integral part of shamanic rites, for instance, for the Malay bomoh (Laderman
1991), the kuran of the eastern Indian Sora (Vitebsky 1993), and the Korean
kam (Kendall 1985). For the buili, chanting allows him to engage with a spirit
world in which transformation into a fowl and flying are possible. Such meta-
morphosis and flight accord with various shamans' descriptions of spirit-
helpers who facilitate travel to the spirit world, such as among Scandinavian
Sami (Backman 1987), Amazonian Shuar (Harner 1984 [1972]), and Daur
Mongolian (Humphrey 1996) shamans.The metaphor of flight is particularly
noteworthy, since subjects of Western neuropsychological experiments also
describe trance in terms of weightlessness and flight (Siegel 1977).

'ELEMENTS' OF BWILI SHAMANISM: THESE ALTERED STATES ARE ACCEPTED

AS RITUAL PRACTICES BY THE AGENT'S COMMUNITY

There are a number of ethnographic accounts in which the bwili is said to

shape-shift into someone's husband or wife so that he may seduce and then
kill the victim of his trickery (Layard 1930a: 509-10). The bwili is also able to
 ROBERT J. WALLIS 743

kill enemies by transforming himself into fruit or a snake (Layard 1930a: 513;
see also Codrington's discussion [1891: 207-8] of metamorphosis, and the mae
snake, a familiar which is very similar to the bwili [1891: 188]). These instances
of shape-shifting and flight illustrate another widespread aspect of shamanisms
- combat with enemies and killing them (e.g. Harner 1984); both of these
practices of 'sorcery' are an integral part of social life. At first glance these
activities may not appear the most likely candidates for an 'accepted' ritual
practice. However, such practices are consistent in shamanisms and, while 'the
dark side of the shaman' (Brown 1989) has often been neglected, the 'sorcery',
'trickery', and other malevolent aspects of the bwili are, I argue, vital for socially
constituting bwili shamanism (a point also made by Herdt [1977: 155, 161] for
Sambian shamans).
Since the 1960s, Western entheogen use has been widely stigmatized as
criminal and/or aberrant, with the effect of distorting or over-simplifying
understandings of shamanisms. In response, researchers repeatedly assert that
shamans are not drug abusers, nor are their supernatural activities 'evil'. Most
recently, the spread of neo-Shamanist practices has given rise to romanticized
representations of the shaman as an idealized healer and New Age spiritual
guide, thus sanitizing the more complex realities of shamanic practices in non-
Western contexts (Wallis 1999). There are, however, numerous ethnographic
accounts of socially embedded ritual practices in which shamans are seen to
suffer, injure, and kill, as well as heal. This 'dark side' (Brown 1989) is promi-
nent for example, among the Greenlandic Angakkoq (Jakobsen 1999) and
Amazonian Shuar (Harner 1984), and I argue that it must be reinstated -
where applicable - if we are to not homogenize shamanisms.The example of
the bwili, with his coveting of neighbours' wives, ritual combat with enemies,
killing via supernatural means, and general trickery or sorcery, is a case in
point. It is here, in the practice of sorcery, that I locate acceptance of the
bwili'suse of altered consciousness by his community. While Godelier (1986:
113 ff.) also discusses the overlap of shamanisms and sorcery in Melanesia with
the case of the Baruya, it is noteworthy that the bwili's trickery, specifically
adultery, is similar to Herdt's (1977: 158) shaman-informant Baindo whose
familiar is a 'lecherous fornicator as Baindo would like to be'.

'ELEMENTS' OF BWILI SHAMANISM: KNOWLEDGE CONCERNING ALTERED

CONSCIOUSNESSIS CONTROLLEDIN EFFECTINGCERTAIN SOCIALLY
SANCTIONED PRACTICES

In order to do full justice to the distinctiveness of bwili shamanism, and

thus to avoid reifying a metanarrative of'shamanism', it is crucial to locate
the practices in specific socio-political contexts. In this regard we have much
evidence of a shamanism which is peculiar to the region, and I locate these
practices within the distinctiveness of Malakulan kinship ties and beliefs sur-
rounding the dead.The neophyte in Layard'sdescription is initiated by a family
member and, accordingly, ritual knowledge is restricted by lineage in Melane-
sia, especially in men's secret societies. Furthermore, shamanisms are heredi-
tary in parts of Oceania (e.g. Thomas 1989: 56) and kava use in Vanuatu was
limited to initiated men until recent times. So the bwili-lineage probably exer-
744 ROBERT J. WALLIS

cised a similar control over their means of trance induction - possibly an

entheogen. Bwili initiation is unlike other initiation ceremonies in Melanesian
religion, however (e.g. Codrington 1891: 69-100; Deacon 1934b: 231-70;
Layard 1928), since the candidate is not initiated into a secret society, but into
the practice of'sorcery' or 'trickery'.
A further socio-political idiosyncrasy of bwili shamanism is marked by its
connections to beliefs surrounding the dead. In Melanesia there is intimate
contact between the living of the 'ordinary' world and dead ancestors of the
'supernatural'world (Western terms which do little justice to the complexi-
ties of Melanesian world-views). People believe that their soul will only enter
the afterworld if strict rituals, taboos, and sacrifices are observed and main-
tained (Layard1934: 118), which continually presences the supernatural in the
mundane world. By way of example, a Malakulan island of the dead lies just
off the coast, ancestor rituals allow communication with the dead throughout
Melanesia, ghosts of the dead frequently manifest themselves among the living
(Deacon 1934b: 550-77), the landscape is filled with paths of the dead and
places of the spirits, and in everyday activities certain paths and places of spirits
are fervently avoided (Roe, Regenvanu, Wadra & Avaho 1994).
These instances, alongside the drinking of kava to contact the supernatural
world, exemplify how social relations with the dead are, I argue, intrinsic to
bwili shamanism. Characteristic of the bwili is his mediation between the super-
natural and mundane worlds by transforming into spirit-helpers (Layard1930b:
531), thus sharing the ability to transform with ancestor spirits (Layard1930b:
536). The bwili'sclose contact with the realm of the dead suggests that some
of these helpers or 'familiars' were once those of the ancestors who are so
prominent in Melanesian cosmology. Layard points out (Layard 1930b: 532)
that Siberian and other shamans have shaman-ancestors as spirit-helpers (e.g.
Shirokogoroff 1935; Thomas 1989). Application of this notion to the bwili
might appear anachronistic; it would be more accurate, given that the closest
ethnographic evidence is within Melanesia itself (e.g. Herdt 1977: 154-5), to
propose that the bwili'sinheritance of shamanic abilities is via the inheritance
(and/or possession) of the deceased parent's familiars, rather than the spirit of
the parent himself.
Furthermore, Layard suggests that the violent trances of the bwili appeared
to observers as a death and rebirth, identifying the bwili with spirits of the
dead. This was potentially a useful political tool for the bwili, conferring on
him the power of ghosts and elevating him to the ranks of the 'living dead'
(Layard 1930b: 526, 533, 548). Such experiences of death and resurrection
were utilized in the Maki degree-taking rite in Malakula, which was based
on mortuary rituals in which men took their place 'among the hierarchy of
the living dead' (Layard 1934: 116); and, in Guadalcanal (Solomon Islands),by
'Moro' who augmented a politically powerful 'cultural revival movement'
(Davenport & C(oker 1967). The former example illustrates the intimate asso-
ciations between death, the dead, mortuary rites, and rites of passage among
the living; the latter illustrates the political potency of institutionalized altered
states, and how the bwili may have implemented and negotiated trance prac-
tices in day-to-day socio-political relations. If the ethnography proves suffi-
ciently robust, closer inspection of the bwili as social agents may prove fruitful,
particularly in the context of the hierarchical restriction or proliferation of
 ROBERT J. WALLIS 745

'sorcery' at times of socio-political crisis and change (Herdt & Stephen 1989;
Hogbin 1935; Lattas 1993; Sillitoe 2000; Tonkinson 1981; Zelenietz &
Lindenbaum 1981), and in the light of prominent studies regarding leadership
differences between 'great men' (including shamans) and 'big men' (e.g. A.
Strathern 1994), and particularly gift-exchange, fractal personhood, gendered
rank, and graded systems (Godelier & Strathern 1991; Jolly 1991; Lutkehaus
& Roscoe 1995; M. Strathern 1999). Having argued that the bwili can be
appropriately approached as shamans, and having examined aspects of their
social contexts, the remainder of this article seeks to demonstrate connections
between bwili shamanism and Malakulan rock art.

Malakulan rockart
Malakulan rock art (Map; Figs. 1-9) is characterized by geometrics (Figs. 3-4),
anthropomorphic figures (Figs. 5-8), birds, fish (Fig. 9), and dogs. The imagery
from three cave sites in Malakula were first reported and described by Leaney
(1965). The VCHSS (Roe 1991) survey of Malakula produced further details
of sites 3.22 Navap Ousei, 3.24 Tenmial ('Yalu A' in Leaney's survey), and 3.6
Abeialau ('Yalu B' in Leaney's survey), and, according to a later paper, five sites
were known in 1996 (Roe 1996). No doubt the Vanuatu Archaeology Project
will add significantly to the Malakulan dataset. In this article, which offers a
first step in interpretative analysis based on current data only, Roe's tracings
from Tenmial and Abeialau (Navap Ousei's art has yet to be recorded) and his
field notes (1991) on local beliefs surrounding the caves and their art, have
been invaluable. Sketch-plans of Tenmial and Abeialau with approximate loca-
tion of traced art are shown in Figures 1 and 2. It is noteworthy that the rock
art and bwili are both recorded in northern Malakula, and the caves themselves
were perhaps suitable locations for inducing altered consciousness via sensory
deprivation: natural light would have been minimal and, despite their large size
overall, alcoves and low passages restrict body movement.
The Tenmial site figures strongly in local religious beliefs, and its rock art
is explicitly associated with the dead. A 'path of the dead' also terminates there;
the cave is referred to as a 'home of the dead', and a naturally formed 'trumpet'
in the wall of the entrance is used to inform the spirits that people will enter.
Spirits of the recently deceased manifest themselves as footprints in the ground
of the southern chamber; perhaps engravings of footprints and painted hand
stencils in other chambers were once conceived of in a similar way. It is per-
tinent to note how the small size of this chamber and its virtual darkness
could have been conducive to inducing visions. Abeialau, on the other hand,
does not figure in contemporary beliefs, and the rock art is not attributed
with any meaning, while Navap Ousei, like Tenmial, incorporates a 'road of
the dead'. Clearly, the cave sites and their rock art are thoroughly embedded
in Malakulan beliefs surrounding the dead.

Contesting entoptics = shamanism

The 'search for entoptics' has misappropriated Lewis-Williams and Dowson's
model and misconstrued their intentions. As Dowson suggests (pers. comm.),
746 ROBERT J. WALLIS

0 20
lm

Hand
stencils

'Trumpet'
(hole in limestonerockface- V
used to announcepresence to spirits) (Sea = 50 m)

FIGURE1. Field sketch: plan of Site 3.24, Tenmial Cave, Malakula.

the replication of their table (Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1988: fig. 1), with
the addition of geometric imagery from yet another rock art tradition,7 per-
petuates a monolithic approach to rock art and other visual culture. I attempt
to avoid such metanarrativesby discussing the imagery in relation to a specific
ethnographic context, and by asserting (as Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1993:
56 have done) that the neuropsychological model is not centred around endoge-
nous forms: the identification of endogenous forms alone is insufficient for
arguing that rock art is derived from altered consciousness. Trance stages two
and three, as well as the seven principles of transformation, are integral parts
of the neuropsychological model and should not be neglected. My exploration
of the origins of Malakulan rock art depictions in neuropsychological experi-
ences is not fundamental to my argument that the bwili were shamans. It does,
however, provide additional supporting evidence for this contention, demon-
strates connections between the art and altered consciousness, and, by impli-
cation, suggests via the bridge of altered states/neuropsychology an intrinsic
relationship between the art and the bwlili.In addition, it marks an instance of
how the neuropsychological model, when critically applied, can identify con-
 ROBERT J. WALLIS 747

0 20
, 'm
'

N I

) - Anthropomorphs
Anthropomorphs

FIGURE 2. Field sketch: plan of Site 3.6, Abeialau Cave, Malakula.

sistencies in phenomena arising from the human central nervous system while
simultaneously embracing culturally based idiosyncrasies in the art.
In the first stage of trance, subjects experience endogenous forms; such
images are ubiquitous in the Malakulan art. Most important is how these
images are subjected to the transformational principles (often ignored in rock
art literature, e.g. Dronfield 1996), and also how this is evident in the art.
Figure 3 shows grids and lines which are subject to replication and fragmen-
tation, and the endogenous filigree and broken zigzag in Figure 4 are inte-
grated. In the second stage of trance, subjects try to make sense of such images,
resulting in the construal of endogenous and iconic forms, the latter - impor-
tantly - being culturally derived. Lewis-Williams and Dowson (1988) point
our how the fluidity of stage two means that 'construals' are rarely depicted
in static art forms. Accordingly, there are not such images currently recorded
in Malakula, but Figure 5 shows how dots are construed to form the eyes of
anthropomorphs in the third stage of trance. While endogenous forms and
their transformation are recognizable in many rock art traditions, their
manifestation in the Malakulan 'style' is markedly different, thereby challeng-
ing the monolithic 'search for entoptics' and its neglect of diversity (follow-
ing Dowson 1999).
Further differences are evident in the Malakulan rock art which represents
stage three, or the deepest level of trance in which subjects of Western
neuropsychological experiments feel dissociated from their own bodies and
their surroundings, and often become part of their imagery. Somatic experi-
ences occur, with endogenous phenomena being intensified; shamans describe
similar neuropsychologically derived sensations within their own culture-
specific frameworks. Both shamans and Western subjects report, for example,
748 ROBERT J. WALLIS

FIGURE 3a,b. Site 3.24 Tenmial.

First stage of trance: endo-
genous grids and lines are sub-
/~tl~'q
x~, _-1'~ jected to the transformational
.~ &~
^^?_ y ^^
-principles v
of fragmentation and
.&=$^; 1 Y (after Roe 1991).
Treplication
A

'p

'^s '

0 10
[ -'I
? - ',,cm

FIGURE 4. Site 3.24 Tenmial. First stage of

trance: endogenous filigree and zigzag are
integrated (after Roe 1991).

10
_*CLj '^0
i ~''ccm
f

a tingling sensation at the top of the head (Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1999:
75). Rock art depictions which perhaps relate to this sort of experience are
widespread (e.g. Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1999: figs. 33a-c), and the heads
in Figures 6-8 from Malakula have lines extending from the cranium, but the
in
way in which these lines are portrayed is clearly very different from that
other rock art traditions.
The amalgamation of anthropomorphic figures and endogenous forms in
Figure 6 is particularly striking in this regard but is difficult to interpret:
certainly themes of'everyday life' or 'hunting magic'- outdated functionalist
explanations of rock art imagery - are inappropriate here. In terms of trance
 ROBERT J. WALLIS 749

FIGURE 5. Site 3.6 Abeialau.

Third stage of trance:
endogenous dots are inte-
.
z*'- - .- .
i .6.
grated and replicated (at
top), and construed to ,?-? 1-..0-.1
p~~~~~~~
form the eyes of anthro-
pomorphic heads (after
Roe 1991).

0 20
II cm

FIGURE 6. Site 3.24 Tenmial.

Third stage of trance: con-
torted human figure (on
left) with somatic sensa-
tions highlighted through-
out the body (after Roe
1991) (interpreted more
fully in the text).

0 20
-. ..--'
-- . -J ,cm

experience it is worth considering that during the intense peak of trance,

shamans believe themselves to be what they 'see'. The blurring and confusion
of the five human senses, synaesthesia,is characteristic of trance, and is recorded
in neuropsychological literature.All the normal constraints of reality disappear
in trance; one subject felt that his legs consisted of 'spirals' and that these
750 ROBERT J. WALLIS

FIGURE 7. Site 3.6 Abeialau.

Third stage of trance: anthro-
pomorph with somatic sensa-
_ _PjHr~ t^hi^^^^^^tions expressed by various
exaggerated features (after
Roe 1991) (interpreted more
fullyin the text).

0 20
_.-. i . cm

somatic spirals blended with a visual spiral which rotated: 'one has the sen-
sation of somatic and optic unity' (Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1988: 211).
In the Malakulan art there are no recorded spirals, reflecting cultural choice
over which imagery was depicted, but the experience of unity may be
expressed in the imagery in Figure 6. I have mentioned in particular the line
emanating from its head, but, in addition, the whole body is fragmented and
severely contorted. Furthermore, subjects of neuropsychological and ethno-
graphic reports consistently describe deep 'third stage' trances in terms of
moving through tunnels, vortices, holes in the ground, and so on (e.g.
Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1988; Dronfield 1996), suggesting that the strong
association between art, caves, and shamanism on Malakula was far from
coincidental.
It niay be particularly significant that in Figure 6 the hairs on the anthro-
pomorph's head are markedly erect. Rayed-head figures are common in
Melanesian rock art (e.g. Williams 1931: 145), and particularly prominent in
Fiji (Ewins 1995), and the southeast Moluccas (Ballard 1988). Such imagery
in southern Africa has been approached in relation to the experiences of San
shamans and the subjects of neuropsychological experiments who describe
somatic experiences involving the feeling of erect hairs (Lewis-Williams &
Dowson 1999: 50). The erect hair in Figure 7 indicates that at least one
Malakulan shaman underwent similar somatic experiences which were, no
doubt, interpreted in a very different, idiosyncratic way.
In terms of idiosyncratic images, one of the most unusual of these from
Malakula is represented in Figure 7: the skull/head is enlarged, the arm elon-
gated, and the leg attached to the torso in an unnatural way. Digits of the
hand and foot, and the genitals, are exaggerated, as if somatic sensations were
concentrated there. The position of the arm - held in front of the torso, raised
 ROBERT J. WALLIS 751

FIGURE 8. Site 3.6

Abeialau. Third stage of \ i X
trance: four fragmented \
anthropomorphs (after
Roe 1991) (interpreted
more fully in the text).

mrO cm

and bent at the elbow, with the forearm upwards - is of interest, especially
since there is at least one other image like it at Abeialau. Given that many
shamans assume trance postures to induce altered consciousness, often nego-
tiating with the spirits to facilitate this process, perhaps these anthropomorphs
stand in a peculiarly Malakulan trance posture. The feature emanating from
the head in Figure 7 might hint at the trance experiences of attenuation men-
tioned above, but in this instance a more likely interpretation is that this is
a feather. Feathers are common sacred objects worn by initiated men in
Melanesia, but while more than one cassowary, parrot, or other unusually
shaped feather may be worn by such initiates, for New Guinea Baruya
shamans in particular, a single eagle feather is attached to the head of future
shamans in the Koulakita ceremony and is thenceforth worn at the top of the
head as a mark of their status and to repel evil spirits (e.g. Godelier 1986; see
also Herdt 1977: 158 for the use of eagle feathers in Sambia shamanic rituals).
Feather ornaments - plumes of cock and hen feathers in particular - are
prominent in grade-taking and other initiation rites for Malakulan men (e.g.
Deacon 1934b; Speiser 1990). It seems significant, therefore, not only that a
similar feather ornament may be worn by the enigmatic anthropomorph in
Figure 7 but also that the bwili is closely associated with fowl in Layard's
descriptions.
The anthropomorphs in Figure 8 are also enigmatic, with fragmented lines
emanating from their heads, and limbs distinctly fragmented from their bodies.
The head of the central figure is a considerable distance from its body and
this figure is superimposed on an endogenous filigree. The left-hand figure,
in contrast, has one arm missing, and one of the clearly visible hands of the
figure on the right has no arm to join it to the torso. The producer of the
image has decided to represent the lower half of the body as a line which
becomes fragmented. Although it might be suggested these depictions are
simply poor artistic attempts at portraiture, such an explanation better exem-
plifies the inappropriateness of applying Western aesthetic values to the art of
752 ROBERT J. WALLIS

FIGURE 9. Site 3.6

Abeialau. These fish
and bird paintings may
portray spirit-helpers
and/or express trance
experiences of being
underwater, and
weightlessness or flight
(after Roe 1991).

0 10
' cm
1 .

other cultures. I propose, rather, that shamans purposely depict themselves in

such ways to portray trance experience, suggesting that this Malakulan
example is indeed trance-derived; Figure 8 is particularly suggestive of intense
shamanic experience. Perhaps whoever engraved the figure that is situated
second from the left felt that their head was dissociated from their body during
the peak of trance. Moreover, somatic sensations may have concentrated in
their head, a common trance experience, overwhelming all sensations in the
rest of their body (this may be one explanation for heads alone being depicted
in Figure 5).
Anthropomorphs predominate in Malakulan art, with fish and birds
predominating in the recorded, identifiable examples of animals (Fig. 9). This
seems significant given that some shamans (who may use such creatures as
spirit-helpers) and subjects of neuropsychological experiments specifically use
images of fish and birds, and concomitant experiences of being underwater
and flight or weightlessness, to describe trance. The bird metaphor is immedi-
ately reminiscent of the bwili'stransformation into a fowl in Layard'sdescrip-
tion, although the form of representation in Figure 8 is simply too fragmentary
to decide whether or not the three-toed feet of the three anthropomorphs
might hint at bird-like features. None the less, one particular creature in
the Pacific Ocean, the turtle, is a likely candidate for shamanic spirit-helper
and underwater metaphor for trance. Turtle motifs occur in rock art from
Aneityum, Southern Vanuatu (Spriggs & Mumford 1992) and New
Caledonia (Frimigacci & Monnin 1980), and while none are currently
recorded for Malakula - though they are recorded in ground drawings - we
might expect to find them in future investigations given their prevalence else-
where. Taboos surround consumption of the turtle inVanuatu because of their
associations with spirits (e.g. Speiser 1990: 142). The turtle then, may com-
prise an underwater metaphor for trance and spirit-helpers idiosyncratic to
some shamans in Vanuatu. Furthermore, beliefs surrounding the dead may
enhance our understanding of the preponderance of anthropomorphs; their
 ROBERT J. WALLIS 753

FIGURE 10. Ground drawing (after Deacon 1934a: fig. 73)

found as a rock art motif in Aneityum, southern
Vanuatu (Spriggs & Mumford 1992: fig. 4). ,

location at 'homes of the dead' and 'paths of the dead', alongside my earlier
suggestion that the bwili may have gained shamanic abilities via the inheri-
tance (and/or possession) of a deceased parent's familiars, leads me to the ten-
tative suggestion that it may be these familiars which are depicted in the
imagery.

Conclusions
Further discoveries of rock art may provide additional support for these
arguments, as well as greater correspondences between rock art and other
artistic media (cf. Ballard 1992a; Roe 1996; Spriggs 1997a: 183;Wilson 1999).
These media are entrained within Vanuatu beliefs surrounding the dead
(Biihler 1946-9: fig. 4; Layard 1928: 212-13, pl. xviii; Leaney 1965: 14) and
may contain endogenous imagery. Similarities across this material are striking:
rock art from Feles Cave on Lelepa Island, Efate, central Vanuatu (Garanger
1972), for instance, is very similar to the Malakulan art. Ground drawings, too,
may be of particular significance as motifs express beliefs regarding the dead
(e.g. Deacon 1934a; Layard 1936; Fig. 10), and their production may be asso-
ciated with altered consciousness (Crowe 1976). Moreover, both rock art and
ground drawings contain similar endogenous-like motifs - with one design
being identical (Figure 9; see Spriggs & Mumford 1992) - as well as bird,
fish, and turtle motifs. I suggest that these are all beings which relate to trance
metaphors and spirit-helpers. In addition, kava bowls, the contents of which
I have posited may be linked to the bwili'ssupernatural activities,8 are some-
times elaborately carved with rock-art-like geometric designs. The relation-
ships between and social effects of these artistic media - rock art, ground
drawings, and decorated kava bowls - may profitably be studied according to
Gell's (1992: 1998) anthropological theory of art as a 'technology of enchant-
ment'. Other connections, between the bwili, rock art, and archaeological
monuments, for example, may yet be elucidated; Layard's(1934: 116) discus-
sion of'dolmens' and 'monoliths' in relation to the Maki ritual which confers
on men the status of 'living dead' is particularly intriguing, not only in the
context of Melanesian shamanisms, but also with possible implications for
archaeological interpretation - for example, the production and consumption
of megaliths elsewhere in the world, such as Neolithic Britain. The location
of rock art in the Malakulan cave sites is also likely to prove significant.
754 ROBERT J. WALLIS

Concentrations of particular motifs and the differences between paintings and

engravings, particularly their location at cave sites (also noted by Bedford,
Spriggs, Wilson & Regenvanu 1998: 185), requires detailed analysis.
I conclude that the entoptic = shamanism equation has led to an avoidance
of neuropsychology and a maligning of the shamanistic approach in rock art
research. This has, in turn, promoted negative views of researchers utilizing
ethnography in rock art interpretation. My discussion of Malakulan ethnog-
raphy suggests that where available, ethnography has demonstrable potential
in the search for meaning in rock art imagery. Critical application of the
shamanistic approach and neuropsychological data add to the ethnographic
resources to form strong 'relations of relevance' (Lewis-Williams 1991) which
suggest that the bu,ili were central to the production and consumption of
Malakula's rock art. Indeed, ethnography and rock art not only have shaman-
istic connections which reinforce one another, but are also capable of stand-
ing alone as evidence for the use of altered consciousness in the region.
Further, it seems highly significant that the blwiliof the early twentieth century
are only documented in northern Malakula, in the same region as the
recorded rock art, whilst AMS radiocarbon dates from the nearby cave of
Hopnarop testify to a rock art tradition or traditions in the region at the time
of (and after) Layard'srecords (Wilson, Spriggs & Lawson 2001). This article's
attempt to offer preliminary interpretations of Malakula's rock art thus offers
a challenge to shamanophobic criticisms of the shamanistic approach and seeks
to move beyond the monolithic search for entoptics by so-called shamaniacs.
There is abundant evidence, in Vanuatu at least, to assert that the search for
meaning in rock art is not a worthless exercise in interpretation, but can and
should be attempted.

NOTES

This paper would not have been possible without the encouragement of David Roe and his
kind pernmissionto use field notes and tracings. I am indebted to both David Roe and espe-
cially Thomas Dowson for their support and detailed, constructive criticism. Useful comments
on the text were welcomed from Jenny Blain, Edward Evans, Darren Glazier, Graham Harvey,
Andrew Jones, Kenneth Lymer, Alexander Woodcock, and two anonymous JRAI readers. I thank
Sophia Jundi for her line drawings, and students on the MA Archaeology and Anthropology
of Rock Art and MA Art aIld Representation courses, Department of Archaeology,
University of Southampton, for lively debates which contributed to the arguments presented
in this article.
The neuropsychological model proposes three loosely defined stages of trance: stage one,
perception of entoptics; stage two, construal of entoptics; and stage three, perception of entop-
tics and iconics. In all stages, imagery may be subject to seven principles of visual transforma-
tion: replication, fragmentation, integration, superpositioning, juxtapositioning, reduplication,
and rotation (Lexis-Williams & Dowson 1988).
2Similar sorcerers were named bh,ile on Ambrym, and abile and nabviwil on Pentecost (Lane
1965: 26(0-1).
3Followiing early reports such as Layard's (1930a; 1930b; see also Wright 1940), there has
been more recent interpretative research (esp. Stephen 1979a; Eves 1995, and brief coimments
in Trompf 1991), for example, in Polynesia (e.g. Thomas 1989: 1994), though the subject has
received most attention in New Guinea (e.g. Godelier 1986; Herdt 1977; Herdt & Stephen
1989; Modjeska 1991; Stephen 1979b; 1987a; 19871; A. Strathern 1994).
4Use of the terms 'trance', 'altered states', or 'ecstasy' as the major defining characteristic of
shamanisms, as Eliade (1964) and Lewis (1989) have done, is contested by Humphrey (1996:
 ROBERT J. WALLIS 755

30-1). As well as the presence of altered consciousness (arguably a more nuanced term that
'altered state' or 'altered state of consciousness'), the approach advocated here requires two other
'elements of shamanisms' to infer shamanisms. Not all shamanic practices require altered con-
sciousness; this approach accommodates such diversity but stresses that altered consciousness is
consistently present in the shaman's vocation.
5For explanation of this term and its appropriateness over such value-laden categories as
'psychoactive' and 'hallucinogen', see Forte (1997) and Council on spiritual practices:
<www.csp.org.>
6This is in contrast to his interpretation of the violent shaking as associated with epilepsy:
current thinking avoids pejorative links between mental illness and shamanism made by earlier
scholars. The violent shaking, apparently quite separate from the 'laughing', may also be indica-
tive of possession by spirits (e.g. Langness 1965); I follow Lewis (1989) in not divorcing shaman-
isms from possession or mediumship where specific socially constituted instances show
permeability between such Western imposed categories.
7See, for example, Patterson (1998: fig. 4); Sales (1992: fig. 2); see also Creighton (2000: fig.
2.7), on Iron Age coinage.
XSherratt (1995: 31) links the advent of kava use in Melanesia to the arrival of Lapita ware.

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Les 'bwili', escrocs volants de Malakula: une discussion

critique des debats recents sur l'art rupestre, l'ethnographie
et les shamanismes

Resume

L'utilisation du 'shamanisme', de la neuropsychologie ou de tous les deux dans l'inter-

pretation des images de l'art rupestre a et6 tres contest&e, et les avis sont souvent polarises
entre ce qu'on pourrait appeler 'shamaniaques' et 'shamanphobes' selon qu'ils appuient ou
s'opposent a ces lignes d'enquete. Or ce sont les analyses ethnographiques qui ont le plus
souffert dans cette controverse. Dans cet article, j'explore l'ethnographie qu'a faite Kayard
des bivili ou 'escrocs volants' de Malakula en Melanesie afin d'interprter l'art rupestre au
Nord-ouest de l'ile- dans la meme region et, selon les apparences, de la meme epoque
que les bwili de Layard. Par contraste avec les interpretations shamaniaques sans discerne-
ment et 1'equation erronee 'entoptique = shamanisme', ainsi qu'en defi aux critiques des
shamanophobes, je theorise le terme 'shamanismes', j'examine scrupuleusement l'ethnogra-
phie de Layardpuis j'applique en critique le modele neuropsychologique de Lewis-Williams
et Dowson (1988) pour offrir une interpretation de l'art rupestre du Nord-ouest de
Malakula. Le but de cet article est donc de retablir ces demarches - ethnographie et
neuropsychologie - dans leurs fonctions d'elements complementaires dans l'interpretation de
l'art rupestre.

Departmenetof Archaeology,Universityof Southanpton,ThleAvenue, Highfield, Soutlhampton55017 IBJ.

rjw(Dsoton.ac.uk