Curiosities of Superstition, and Sketches of Some Unrevealed Religions — Story, Setting & Ideas
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rows of the watchman, but the officer in command was himself a devout Buddhist, and he not only allowed Hiouen-thsang to proceed, but gave him letters of recommendation to the governors of the other towers. At the last tower, however, he was refused leave to pass, and neither bribes nor entreaties proved of any avail. He was compelled to retrace his steps, and make a long détour, in the course of which he lost his way. His water-bag burst, and for the first time his courage wavered. Should he not return? But no; he had taken an oath never to make a step backward until he had reached India. It were better to die with his face to the West, than return to the East and live.
For four nights and five days he traversed the Desert, without a drop of water to quench his thirst, with no other refreshment than that which he derived from his prayers; and that these should afford any hope or consolation seems strange enough, when we remember that Buddhism held out to him no hope of a God or a Saviour. “It is incredible in how exhausted an atmosphere the Divine spark within us will glimmer on, and even warm the dark chambers of the human heart.” Comforted by his prayers, he resumed his onward march, and in due time arrived at a large lake in the country of the Oigom Tatars, by whom he was received with an abundant hospitality. One of the Tatar Khans insisted that he should reside with him and teach his people; and as he would listen to no remonstrances or explanations, Hiouen-thsang was driven to a desperate expedient. The king, he said, might fetter his body, but had no power over his mind and will; and he refused all food, with a view to put an end to a life which he no longer regarded as of value. In this resolution he persisted for three days, and the Khan, afraid that he would perish, was compelled at last to yield. But he extracted from him a promise that on his return to China he would visit him, and abide with him for three years. At last, after a month’s detention, during which the Khan and his court daily attended the lectures of the pious monk, he resumed his journey, attended by a strong escort, and furnished with letters of introduction to the twenty-four princes whose dominions he must cross.
His route lay through what is now called Dsungary, across the Musur-dabaghan mountains, the northern chain of the Belur-tag, the valley of the Yaxartes, Bactria, and Kabulistan. The pilgrim’s description of the scenes through which he passed is interesting and vivid; he was a keen observer, and gifted with considerable powers of expression.
Of the Musur-dabaghan mountains he says:--
“The crest of these heights rises to the sky. Since the beginning of the world the snow has been accumulating, and it is now transformed into masses of ice, which never melt, either in spring or summer. Hard shining sheets of snow are spread out until they vanish into the infinite, and mingle with the clouds. If one looks at them, one’s eyes are dazzled by the splendour. Frozen peaks impend over both sides of the wood, some hundred feet in height, and some twenty or thirty feet in thickness. It is not without difficulty and danger that the traveller can clear them or climb over them. Sudden gusts of hurricane and tornadoes of snow attack the pilgrims. Even with double shoes, and in thick furs, one cannot help trembling and shivering.”
But as Max Müller justly observes, what is more important in the early portion of our traveller’s narrative than any descriptions of scenery, is his account of the high degree of civilisation that then obtained among the tribes of Central Asia. Historians have learned to believe in the early civilisation of Egypt, Babylon, China, India; but they will have to abandon all their old ideas of barbarism and barbarians now that they find the Tatar hordes possessing, in the seventh century, “the chief arts and institutions of an advanced society.” The theory of M. Oppert, who gives to a Turanian or Scythian race the original invention of the cuneiform letters and a civilisation anterior to that of Babylon and Nineveh, ceases to be improbable; since no new wave of civilisation could have touched these countries between the cuneiform period of their literature and history and the epoch of Hiouen-thsang’s visit.[13]
Adams opens with a striking image: a workman in Chinese Tartary twirling a brass cylinder as he walks—a prayer-wheel, a device that mechanizes invocation. This concrete detail sets the pattern for a work that moves across continents by way of specific, often startling, practices. The book does not argue a single thesis but instead presents a series of sketches, each anchored in reported observation. From the spinning prayer-wheel to the Fijian basket-murder trick, Adams privileges the visible, the tactile, the strange. His method is to let the curiosity of the practice lead, then to draw out its religious or superstitious context.
The Prayer-Wheel as Structural Motif
The prayer-wheel recurs as both object and organizing principle. Adams begins with Miss Gordon Cumming's account of Lamas spinning cylinders, then immediately contrasts this with the Catholic rosary, asking: “what then are we to think of prayer by machinery?” This question—about the boundary between devotion and mechanism—echoes through later chapters. In the Fiji section, a juggler spins like a top, securing eggs in nooses while rotating at “undiminished speed.” The body becomes a wheel. Adams does not explicitly connect these scenes, but the reader notices the pattern: a fascination with repetitive, circular motion as a vehicle for the sacred or the magical. The wheel, the spin, the loop—these are the book’s hidden armature.
The Juggler’s Body as Evidence
Adams devotes unusual attention to the physical performance of ritual. The Fijian egg-spinner is described in precise, almost clinical detail: the fillet, the twenty strings, the nooses, the basket. The woman “spun round and round like a top,” then stopped “without the movement of a limb, or even the vibration of a muscle, as if she had been suddenly transformed into marble.” This is not hearsay; it is testimony. Adams treats the juggler’s body as a text to be read. The basket-murder trick receives even fuller treatment: the child’s cries, the blood, the sword, the sudden silence. Adams insists on the realism of the deception—“it is impossible to believe that you are witnessing a deception”—before revealing the trick. The body’s apparent suffering becomes a proof of belief, or at least of the power of staged belief.
Comparative Silence: What Adams Does Not Say
For all its breadth, the book is notably reticent about its own method. Adams does not explain why he juxtaposes a Tibetan prayer-wheel with a Fijian juggler. He offers no overarching theory of superstition. The epigraph from Statius—“Primus in orbe Deos fecit timor” (Fear first made gods in the world)—hints at a thesis, but the chapters do not argue it. Instead, they accumulate. The reader must infer connections. This structural choice gives the work a documentary quality, but also a certain opacity. Adams seems to trust that the curiosities themselves will instruct. The absence of explicit commentary is itself a kind of editorial position: let the practices speak, and let the reader judge.
The Inexhaustible Basket: A Closing Image
Near the end of the Fiji section, Adams describes a conjuror who produces a Pariah dog, then a bitch with seven puppies, then a goat, then a pig, from a single basket—“this inexhaustible cornucopia.” The image is a fitting emblem for the book’s own structure. Each chapter lifts the lid on a new practice, and the variety seems endless. Yet the basket trick is also a deception: the animals were never inside. Adams knows this, and he lets the reader know. The book, too, is a kind of basket—full of wonders that are also, in some sense, tricks of belief. The closing note is not skepticism but wonder at the ingenuity of human credulity.
Readers approaching Curiosities of Superstition should expect a travelogue of the strange, not a systematic treatise. Adams moves quickly from continent to continent, and the transitions can feel abrupt. The value lies in the details: the exact number of strings on a Fijian fillet, the precise wording of a Buddhist invocation. Pay attention to what Adams chooses to describe at length—those are the moments where the book’s own curiosity is most alive.
Holding this old survey of prayer-wheels and witch-finders, I remembered my grandmother’s quiet nod at odd beliefs, never mocking. The Bible, King James version, Book 6: Joshua — Edition Insights once gave me that same hush—ancient walls falling to a different kind of certainty. Both books feel like candlelight on strange maps, not to follow, just to see by.
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Sophia Rodriguez
1 month ago