A Soul by Any Other Name: The Name-Soul Concept in Circumpolar Perspective

Introduction

In the high-disequilibria environs of the Arctic, where resource scarcity and seasonal shortfalls have always been common and hunting and mobility present daily hazards on land, sea, and ice, pedagogy presents challenges of its own—not singularly that of a steep learning curve where survival is at stake. We propose that one particular aspect of cultural systems common to many high-latitudes societies—the name-soul association and related ancestor-transmigration doctrine—was an ideology that persisted in harsh Arctic environments in part because they substantially, yet subtly, aided the conduction of valuable awareness of kin and community identities across generations. They also mitigated the psychological impacts of losing close friends and relatives in highly isolated small-scale societies that regularly coped with harsh environmental conditions wherein death was a constant looming threat. We contend that the name-soul concept tackles two problems. First, as we will discuss, it ties children to the kinship group and the community seamlessly by the assumption that the newborn is someone who was lost and has now returned. Second, the name-soul protects—through the affirmation of previously lived experiences—the child from the malevolent forces of (super)nature that abound in the Arctic environment. Here we make a review of name-soul and related concepts drawn from ethnographic literature on 11 indigenous societies spanning the circumpolar region. From this, we offer some insights into how such concepts developed in similar yet diverse Arctic environments and may have evolved as part of strategies developed specifically to help cope with extreme disequilibrious environmental conditions and their impacts on everyday life.

Names, Souls, and Name-Souls

Lucile Hoerr Charles (1951) made one of the earliest cross-cultural comparative explorations into the ceremonial significance of naming rituals among indigenous societies, using data from the Human Relations Area Files (HRAF). She observes that

first-naming primarily effects and emphasizes the relationship of infants to the spirit world, by invoking the powers of deities, mythical heroes, magic, and general luck; and the spirits of certain individuals, e.g., dead ancestors who may herewith be reincarnated or who may assist the new person, and the spirits of living relatives, and friends of excellent character. This spirit-invocation is frequently done dramatically by means of divination, by interpretation of dreams, and by keeping the spirit-names sacred and secret. (Charles, 1951, p. 13)

Charles’s work was not alone in its interest in the implications of ritualized and dramatized naming, and we direct the reader to Doja (2006) and Vom Bruck and Bodenhorn (2006) for contributions to the philosophy, theory, and practicalities of the subject. It has become evident to anthropologists that names are more than identifiers, signifiers, and classifiers—more than just capsules of meaning and identity. While they are all of these things, names may also be powerful and even magical commodities. Perhaps nowhere have the dynamics of names and naming been more entwined in time, space, place, and being than as they have been discerned among indigenous Arctic societies.

In his introduction to Body and Mind, William McDougall (1911) mused:

. . .it is matter of common knowledge that “Science” has given its verdict against the soul, has declared that the conception of the soul as a thing, or being, or substance, or mode of existence or activity, different from, distinguishable from, or in any sense or degree independent of, the body is a mere survival from primitive culture, one of the many relics of savage superstition that obstinately persist among us in defiance of the clear teachings of modern science, The greater part of the philosophic world also, mainly owing to the influence of the natural sciences, has arrived at the same conclusion. In short, it cannot be denied that, as William James told us at Oxford three years ago, “souls are out of fashion.” (p. xii)

As McDougall went on to challenge the legitimacy of this verdict against the soul over a century ago by questioning the empirical rigor of scientific disclaimers against the existence of the soul, anthropologists have remained fascinated with indigenous soul concepts and reckonings of its place in traditional cosmologies. Hultkrantz (1953) questions Schmidt’s observation that, among the earliest North American Arctic societies, souls were conceived as being of one variety: “the breath-soul. . . which at death returns to the Creator in heaven” (p. 17). Hultkrantz notes, to the contrary, that diverse “dualistic” notions of the soul exist in many indigenous North American belief systems. In his classic treatise on animism, E. B. Tylor (1871/1891) theorized generally that the earliest beliefs in the existence of souls emerged in a couple of different ways: (a) through the observation of the differences between active, vital, and living bodies and those of the dead, infirm, entranced, or asleep—bodies whom, in both form and function, are recognizably similar yet empirically not the same, and (b) through the observation of shadows and reflections—the “thin unsubstantial human image. . . independently possessing the personal consciousness and volition of its corporeal owner. . . a phantasm separate from the body of which it bears the likeness. . .” (p. 387). Thus, the anthropological literature on the subject espouses these two primeval forms of soul: the “spirit”- or “breath”-soul and the “shadow,” “shade,” or “echo”-soul, or ghost. Other sorts of souls have also been conceptualized, such as the “free-soul” ¹ (see Hultkrantz, 1965).

In addition to these notions of “soul,” scholars have identified a feature typical of indigenous Arctic societies: the name-soul. The name-soul is one of the multiple souls that a person might have. The name-soul represents a concept in which names themselves are intrinsically bound up in the identities or essences—the very life force—of those that possess them. In this sense, the name represents and is the embodiment of a soul, not simply a designation of identity, but the identity itself. As such, conceptually, when a newborn is given the name of a deceased relative, the soul of that relative is also believed to enter the child and become a part of that individual. ² There is not space to comprehensively review the literature on indigenous religions or even just concepts of souls more particularly, and here we intend to examine specific manifestations of some of those beliefs within particular environmental contexts and as a feature of cultural systems. We hypothesize that name-soul and related traditions are a particularly handy means of social resilience as they manifest under extreme living conditions such as those in the Arctic—as mitigating mechanisms between individuals, communities, and the unseen yet experienced malevolencies of the natural world. In this sense, the real world implications of rebirth beliefs may serve adaptive functions not unlike other forms of traditional ecological knowledge (TEK)—as they form a system for navigating and coping with the experienced world and all of its vicissitudes (e.g., Berkes, Colding, & Folke, 2000; Hastrup, 2013; Sugiyama & Sugiyama, 2009; Wenzel, 2004).

We provide a brief overview of the ethnographically documented traditions regarding spirits, the rebirth of souls, and associated naming traditions among a select group of generalized indigenous Arctic societies for which there exists a body of relevant data, to build a cross-cultural comparative examination of the similarities and differences extant between groups (Figure 1). Efforts have been taken to be as comprehensive as possible in our review, but we have also had to generalize many societies into subgroups of larger cultural categories to simplify this initial study. We explicitly recognize that generalizations, omissions, and gaps exist in this article, and hope that further, more detailed research will be forthcoming. For this examination, we jump right in to information relevant to spirits, soul, and rebirth concepts—for in-depth cultural overviews, material culture, history, ecology, and so on, the reader is directed to the literature cited. In most descriptions and discussion, we use the past tense, as this is primarily a review of previous anthropological literature—however, this is not to insinuate that the beliefs and practices discussed are not ongoing features of spiritual life in the societies described or to imply that the societies themselves no longer exist.

OPEN IN VIEWER

Figure 1.

Map showing the general geographic distribution of the cultural groups discussed.

Unless otherwise noted, all the groups discussed in this paper traditionally held an animistic worldview wherein many, if not all, human and non-human, living and non-living, things were believed to possess consciousness, agency, and essences most commonly referred to as souls (anima). Under many other names within these belief systems, the intermediary between humans, the omnipresent denizens of the spirit world(s) and souls, is the shaman.

Sámi

The Sámi are the northernmost indigenous population in Europe. Traditionally, they were Arctic-adapted hunter-fisher-gatherers (and, historically reindeer-herders after around the 17th century ad) ranging across much of what is now northern Scandinavia and the Kola Peninsula of far northwest Russia. Traditionally, the Sámi believed in multiple souls and spirits including those of humans, animals, and those inhabiting sacred places (“seids”); they held a three-tiered cosmology of “upper,” “middle” (earth), and “lower” worlds and placed significant relevance on sacrificial offerings to numerous gods and spirits, and traditional Sámi worldview readily accepted concepts of human–animal and animal–human transformations (Helander-Renvall, 2010; Hultkrantz, 1962).

Kent (2014) cites sources that give some inkling into Sámi child-rearing tradition, noting that, similar to Chukchi tradition, when a child is born, a reindeer is set-aside for him or her with the provision that it will provide the grown child with the foundation of a future herd (see below). Furthermore, Kent notes the use of astrological divination in determining the prospective sex and well-being of an expected newborn, but this differs markedly from the divination strategies employed by many Siberian and North American circumarctic societies. Rydving (1993) points out that a shaman (“nåejtie”) could be asked to reveal what a child should be named or a drum could be used to divine the child’s proper name; regardless, children received a secret name that should not be revealed to non-Sámi, as well as a guardian spirit (p. 116). Names of departed family members were given to children to putatively impart talents or characteristics that the deceased possessed, but names could be changed later in life if for some reason the current name did not fit (Rydving, 1993).

Shumkin (1996, p. 128; see also Helander-Renvall, 2010, p. 48) offers that the Sámi “ancestor cult appeared very archaic” but ties this to the veneration of sacred places, stones, and the like that are associated with ancestors. Rydving (1993) challenges this notion of Sámi ancestor worship, noting that sacrifices and such to the dead or at burial places were not ineludibly done out of veneration per se but could also be seen as simple hospitality—“an exchange of one gift for another between the two worlds” because “the departed were regarded as being able to cause illness and suffering, but they could also guard the reindeer and even children. . .” (p. 141). Thus, departed family members did not cease to be members of the family, but remained relevant to Sámi social structure.

Clearly, Sámi concepts concerning ancestors, birth, and naming were complex and intimately interconnected. Names were powerful designators of individual identity, and at least some bond was believed to exist between the names of ancestors, their qualities, and namesake descendants, but these connections seem metaphorical in their application and not having to do with transmigration, that is, the potential transference of the soul from one vessel to another. Apart from these equivalences, we could find no data to directly suggest name-soul associations or related rebirth ideologies among traditional Sámi people.

Samoyed

Ethnographic data on the Samoyedic peoples in English are difficult to come by. Hajdú (1963) provides a brief discussion on Samoyed religion and folklore. Ristinen’s translation of A. A. Popov’s ethnography of the Nganasan (Popov, 1966) stands as one of the more accessible works, but the translated portion does not touch on religion or non-material traditions. Chard (1963) notes distinctions between the Nganasan and the more “typical” Samoyed society of the Nenets to the west and to their neighbors to the east of the Yenisei River, the Enets and Dolgan, and all three authors are quick to point out significant blending and cross-assimilation of cultural traditions across much of the Taimyr Peninsula and far-reaching adjacent areas. What can be said with some confidence is that the peoples of the larger area of northernmost western and central Siberia were traditionally hunter-fisher-gatherers dependent largely on wild reindeer and numerous varieties of fish (when available); with the introduction of reindeer husbandry sometime around 1000 ad, the subsistence strategy actually changed little, as domesticated reindeer were primarily used for transportation—not as food (Chard, 1963).

Chard (1963, p. 114; see also Popov & Sample, 1963) does provide that the Nganasan believed in supernatural spirit-“owners” for numerous living and non-living things, as well as in malicious human-like spirits (particularly associated with water) and “special spirits, usually zoomorphic, who serve shamans” known as “Dyamada” (Popov, 1964, p. 578). They also placed attention to sacred objects and places of the family or clan—“kuoika” in which dwelt benevolent guardian-spirits that provided good fortune or luck if treated properly (as with sacrifices or by feeding an item by smearing it with blood or fat). Popov and Sample (1963) describes the same belief and practices for both the Nganasan and the Dolgan (the latter designated these spirits “haitaan”), and he notes that people could “settle” such spirits into places and things so as to imbue them with supernatural power (p. 122). He suggests that these phenomena actually represented “any material embodiment whatever of the minor spirits which protected the members of a family or clan” and also provides that the Nganasan believed in other spirits and deities, both good (“nguo”—“masters”) and bad (“barusi”—the malicious human-like spirits mentioned above) (Popov & Sample, 1963, pp. 122-123). Hajdú (1963) conveys that humans possessed both a general soul and a “shadow-soul” and that “when a person dies, his soul leaves his body, but his shadow-soul or spirit. . . survives, and continues to live in the other world” (p. 33).

Particular to the metaphysics of death and rebirth, Popov (1964) relates that

The Nganasan believed in the transmigration of souls. . . after death a person continued to lead his life in a “lower world” similar to the earthly life, while his soul returned to the master of souls and then reentered a child during birth. (p. 579)

Hajdú (1963) notes that spirits of the dead were worshipped—particularly progenitors of the clan, who were represented as having animal forms indicative of the clan’s totem animal. Of naming practices, Chard (1963, p. 113; paraphrasing Popov, 1964, p. 578) suggests that

there is no hurry about naming a child, and it is not uncommon to meet two- or three-year olds who still have no names. Names are assigned by older members of the family. They either serve the function of protecting against evil spirits or are associated with some specific event. For example, a child may be named “Glad” or “Joyful” because four wild deer were bagged on the day of his birth.

Similar naming tradition is mentioned for the Nentsy (Nenet)—namely, that a newborn “child was named after one of the ancestors” (Prokof’yeva, 1964, p. 565).

Overall, these passages reveal a complex animistic cosmology and beliefs in ancestor-soul transmigration among Samoyedic peoples (particularly the Tavgi Samoyed “Nganasan” society), and there is indication that naming practices were at least to some degree mediated by a need to protect young children from spirits, but nothing in the literature here cited suggests any definitive link to name-soul beliefs or practices.

Ob-Ugrian

Literature on the beliefs and practices of diverse Ob-Ugrian peoples comes from numerous sources. Here, we rely principally on Balzer (1987), Chernetsov (1963), Gondatti (1888), Jordan (2003), Karjalainen (1921), and Prokof’yeva, Chernetsov, and Prytkova (1964). Traditionally, the indigenous inhabitants of the Ob region have been hunter-fisher-gatherers and more recently reindeer-herders, after this latter subsistence practice was introduced from the south and east, gradually sometime after the 1st millennium ad (Prokof’yeva et al., 1964). Prokof’yeva et al. (1964) further provide that individual clans within traditional Mansi and Khanty society practiced an ancestor cult and believed in an ancestor-spirit, and that “each clan used to have a certain reserve of names which was connected with the belief in transmigration of the soul of a deceased ancestor into a child born into that clan” (p. 533). Chernetsov (1963) clearly associates the name-soul concept among the Khanty and Mansi with the totemic clan system, stating,

The concept of name-souls, which are reincarnated from generation to generation, is essentially nothing other than an expression of the history of the clan (in its animistic interpretation), and since the clan, counting its members as a quite definite number, traces its origin from a single ancestor, the name-souls too are direct descendants of this ancestor. Naturally, they are like him in appearance, and since the ancestor as a rule is zoomorphic, the clan name-souls also have a zoomorphic aspect corresponding to the image of the totem ancestor. (p. 27)

While this holds true for totemic social reckoning, as among the Mansi and Khanty, Chernetsov’s assertion falls short for explaining non-totemic clan organized social units that also practice name-soul traditions elsewhere in the Arctic.

Shortly after birth, names (and thus returned souls) were deduced in secret by elder women in a manner of divination by lifting, not unlike that practiced by other indigenous societies and exceptionally common among northern peoples. False names and nicknames were given to children to hide their true identity from malevolent spirits, and the genuine inherited name was often not spoken until the child reached a particular point of maturity, sometimes after a series of nicknames had been specified at various stages of youth and/or initiation. The spirit of a child that died before the name-soul was realized was held to have no association to the ancestors or the clan, and was thus thought to become a dangerous evil spirit (Chernetsov, 1963). This demonization of the “uninitiated” illustrates the importance of the immediate kinship structure in delineating both identity and personhood.

Multiple souls were believed to exist in a host, including a shadow-soul and breath-soul, among others (Balzer, 1980; Chernetsov, 1963; Jordan, 2003). The breath-soul is believed to dwell in the head and after death eventually “return as the reincarnation soul” after a stay in the afterworld (Balzer, 1980, p. 79). Souls could be lost, and the souls of individuals suffering “soul-sickness” were often believed to have “been stolen by underground, recently deceased ancestors longing for their company,” and in some groups, ancestor spirits were kept placated through “elaborate burial and memorial rituals” (Balzer, 1987, p. 1087). In addition to being intrinsically connected to name and soul conceptions, clans and phratries were also totemic, tracing ancestors back to various animal—and plant and insect—forms that constituted ceremonial observations such as taboos against killing the totem species. Other association with souls to zoomorphic figures includes the tattooing of birds as a means of guarding the soul during a person’s life (and to accompany the soul to the afterworld) or “holding” an individual’s soul to them—various birds are keenly associated with souls, particularly, but not limited to, the third soul (or dream-soul), understood to take the form of a wood grouse (Chernetsov, 1963, pp. 15-17; see also Balzer, 1987, p. 1089).

Balzer (1980) observes that naming ceremonies were used to “identify reincarnation souls in newborn Khanty children” (p. 84). Referring to the fourth soul—the breath-soul—Gondatti (1888, p. 39, quoted in Chernetsov, 1963, p. 23) states that “the soul. . . after the death of a person, passes into the body of a newborn child belonging to the same clan of which the dead person was a member.” Jordan (2003) sums this association up well, noting that “each child receives the name as well as the soul of the deceased, so that the number of names and souls within the clan are limited” (p. 219). Balzer (1987) also relates an informant’s suggestion that some Khanty mothers “believe that maybe their child is a reborn relative” and offers that “reincarnation is a powerful belief supporting not only the continuity of the extended Khanty family, but also the future of the Khanty as an ethnic group with a past worth remembering” (p. 1091).

Souls tend to be quite mobile in Ob-Ugrian traditions and may be invisible or visible, but to see them is usually a portent of death. Generally speaking, the literature on traditional Ob-Ugrian rebirth concepts denotes beliefs in the presence of multiple souls, some potentially dangerous or malevolent (e.g., the “shadow-soul” “connected with the visible shadow cast by every object,” Chernetsov, 1963, p. 6); others are thought to wander away from the body during sleep or sickness, and others are said to live in the woods, while yet others visit the afterworld and are reborn into subsequent generations. There is interplay between names, souls, and identities at multiple scales: the individual, phratry, clan, and the larger community, particularly as regards the breath- or reincarnation-soul.

Altaic (specifically Northern Tungus)

Here, we concentrate our discussion on the traits of rebirth beliefs generally ascribed to the Northern Tungus (Evenki) as collated by Shirokogoroff (1935, 1966), with additional information drawn from Jochelson (1928), Vasilevich and Smolyak (1964), and Service (1958). As with other Siberian groups included in this study, Russian-language sources were generally inaccessible during the development of this article, but will undoubtedly provide valuable insights not realized here. The Evenki migrated into northern Siberia from the southeast, around the Amur River valley (Jochelson, 1928). Ethnographic accounts describe them as highly nomadic and often credit Northern Tungus groups with introducing reindeer husbandry to much of its late prehistoric range across much of Siberia. Nevertheless, traditional Evenki subsistence strategy is primarily described as hunting-gathering-fishing, not herding—reindeer were used principally for riding. Kinship was clan-based and, at least ethnographically, communities were highly collectivized.

Vasilevich and Smolyak (1964) offer that traditional Evenki religion retained “extremely early archaic forms of belief” including the primary foundations of animism—the “spiritualization” and “personification” of natural phenomena as well as belief in souls, good and bad spirits, and spirit-masters (p. 647). Cyclical rebirth concepts appear conspicuously missing in much of the literature, as Vasilevich and Smolyak (1964, p. 648) relate that

. . .the upper world was the residence of the master of the upper world. . . and omi, the souls of people who have not yet been born, while the lower reaches of the main shaman river became the world for the souls of the dead.

Shirokogoroff (1935) describes his understanding of Tungus cosmology and the place within it of the soul, but his comprehensive appraisal reveals that traditional beliefs in reincarnation—as rich as they are, and even among the northernmost Tungus—illustrate a reincarnation system much more in step with a teleological, karmic-related cosmology. He relates,

If we describe the history of the soul, as it is understood among the Birarčen, it will run as follows. The child is born with what is received from the parents, namely, èrga—the life breathing and what is received from omos’i i.e. omi—the soul,—the self—reproduction and growth energy. (This conception is rather new; it is connected with an originally non—Tungus complex). The soul an’an in small children is not stable at all and at any moment may leave the body (an’an—the “shadow, immaterial substance”, is an old conception, as the stem preserved in Manchu fajaya || fojevo). When it is stabilized (the child becomes conscious) the soul—sus’i—consisting of three parts, settles. However, the first soul may occasionally leave the body without causing any great harm, except loss of consciousness, but it cannot leave for a long time. The second soul may also leave the body, but only for a short time as a long absence would result in death. This soul, after death, goes to the world of the dead and is at the disposal of inmunkan and it may later be returned to this world to some male or female child or to an animal, or it may remain unemployed. The third soul remains with the body as long as the body is not decomposed. When it leaves the body it goes to remain with the family members. The conception of threefold soul is a new one, so that in the Birarčen conception different complexes are included: the old one of an’an, the new one of omi, and at last that of the threefold soul—sus’i. (Shirokogoroff, 1935, p. 135; see also Shirokogoroff, 1966, p. 281)

Shirokogoroff describes in detail how this complex belief system relates (and does not) with Manchurian and Chinese conceptions of soul and spirit mobility; but of importance to the present discussion, the general conclusion is that the Evenki reincarnation cycle is fundamentally different from those of their northernmost circumarctic neighbors and does not place any specific imperatives on name-souls and the like. Service (1958) is vague on this account and describes only that a child’s name “because of its magically suggestive power will have an influence on the child’s development and personality” (p. 101). One important aspect of Northern Tungus soul-related beliefs is that reindeer acted as intermediaries between humans and spirits, and that it was believed that reindeer carried the souls of the dead to the other world (Shirokogoroff, 1966).

On the contrary, Willerslev and Ulturgasheva (2012) describe Eveny (or Even; the northernmost of the Northern Tungus peoples) beliefs regarding the importance of a “guardian reindeer” (khavek) as well as the significance of being given a “proper name,” to the well-being of children and their development—“the safe social molding of a child’s personhood” not only within the living community but also in navigating interactions with “other-than-living agents of both the human and non-human world” (p. 51). They observe that ancestral spirits are believed to prey upon the souls of the very young as a result of their desiring the company of “the souls of their living kin” (Willerslev & Ulturgasheva, 2012, p. 51). They go on to suggest that

. . .danger comes from the ancestral spirit whose name was given to the child. The ancestral namesake of the child strives to get hold of the child’s “open body” and continues to do so until the body “closes”—that is, when it separates from the deceased ancestor. At this stage the child is more its deceased namesake than its own individual being.

Contrary to Shirokogoroff, this affirms the association between names and souls among some populations of Northern Tungus. However, in the Eveny sense of the name-soul link, there is disunion—even hostility—between soul-personhoods rather than the constancy seen in most circumarctic rebirth concepts. In the Eveny example, the namesake ancestor-spirit either absconds with the newborn’s soul (which is also its own) or is eventually assimilated into the personhood of the living; whereas in many other models, if the name-soul is accurately recognized, then the ancestor and the newborn are virtually self-same and intrinsically woven of equivalent personhood. Without delving further into this metaphysical phenomenon, Willerslev and Ulturgasheva (2012) point out another key difference: that

the meaning of naming among the Eveny is always contingent and does not rest solely upon the necessity of invoking a particular human identity with a set of relationships in which “the past is brought into the future” (Bodenhorn, 2006: 148). The practice of creating namesakes or name duplicates works towards a production of ambiguity and uncertainty by means of producing doubles (twins), triples (triplets) and so forth. (p. 57)

It is therefore possible that this aspect of reincarnation beliefs among the northernmost Northern Tungus group represents a blending of ideas in transition—a snapshot of a cosmology attempting to reconcile the merging of discordant concepts: on one hand, the benign cyclical closed-system ancestor-name-soul model common to the high northern-latitudes, and on the other, the hierarchical, karma-based reincarnation eschatology of Indic-influenced central and southeast Asia (e.g., Obeyesekere, 2002, chapter 1).

Yukaghir

Lifeways and cosmology of the Yukaghir have been widely discussed in Siberian ethnography, particularly by Jochelson (1926, 1928) and Stepanova, Gurvich, and Khramova (1964), and more contemporarily by Willerslev (2004, 2007). The traditional Yukaghir have been described as seasonally mobile hunters-fisher-gatherers, and more recently reindeer pastoralists, though not to the degree of their neighbors—Yukaghir reindeer herds tended to be too small to rely on for any sustainable sustenance (Stepanova et al., 1964). Customarily, the Yukaghir were organized into rather loosely defined clans and tribes with a great deal of flexibility of affiliation, and they generally aligned into small, highly egalitarian communities of only a few families, with units based around hunters and their immediate households.

Cosmologically, the Yukaghir conceptualized three souls (aibi or ayibii: literally “shadow”): one in the head, one in the heart, and one inhabiting the whole body. The loss of the head-soul was believed to cause one to became ill, but its loss was not entirely life threatening; the heart-soul was integral to life (analogous to the breath-soul, and was the mechanism of animation), and the third was the shadow-soul. All living things possessed these three souls and even inanimate objects possessed one, presumably the shadow-soul (Jochelson, 1926; Willerslev, 2007).

Cyclical rebirth beliefs among the Yukaghir are well-documented (Willerslev, 2013). Jochelson (1926) notes that “. . .they believe that while the child is yet in the mother’s womb, the soul of some one of the dead relatives enters into it” (p. 97) and he later observes that “. . .the child, while still carried by its mother, is entered by the soul of one of the deceased ancestors” (p. 156). Names and souls were closely connected, as Jochelson (1926) notes,

In former times. . . the child was not named until it began to speak. This was due to the belief that when the child is still in the womb, the soul (aibi) of some one of the father’s or the mother’s deceased relatives enters it, and that the name and the sex of the child are determined by the name and sex of that relative. The child is believed to announce the name of its aibi as soon as it begins to speak. (p. 105; see also p. 160)

In anticipation of the naming of a first-born child, divination-by-lifting (of the bones of a deceased shaman) was used to determine which relative’s soul had returned in the newborn. The name-soul association was so strong that it developed into pedonymic practice—“. . . parents, after the birth of their first child that has taken the name of some deceased relative, abandon their own names, and call themselves the father and mother of the first-born, son or daughter, so and so.” This recycling of the deceased’s name and soul is thus reaffirmed not only in the name of the newborn child but in the parents’ own self-designations of identity. The lineage-reckoning emphasis is thus in continual state of name-soul recycling—there is a generational covenant that reifies transmigrational rebirth between generations (the term “covenant” is used in analogous context to that of Walens, 1981, p. 163, and later Turner, 1994, p. 71, but here to designate the implicit generation–generation connection rather than that of the inherent reciprocal human–animal relationship described by Walens). The souls of the deceased ancestors were believed so influential in the natal process that they might even withhold souls from returning to ill-favored descendants, causing sterility (Jochelson, 1926). The preternatural powers associated with ancestors are also well-illustrated in the development of ancestor worship and cults among the Yukaghir, particularly of the deceased family shaman (Jochelson, 1926). Yukaghir cosmology also distinguishes numerous good and bad supernatural agents, from animal-spirit “Owners” and animal guardian-spirits, to shaman’s spirits, and a host malevolent, often cannibalistic entities called abasi (evil spirit).

Chukchi

Chukchi cosmology has been described in some detail by ethnographers, with considerable attention given in Bogoras (1901; 1904-1909); Antropova and Kuznetsova (1964); and Willerslev (2009, 2013). Traditionally, the Chukchi are divided into two general socio-cultural subgroups: Reindeer Chukchi and Maritime Chukchi, designated as may be deduced from these names, by their subsistence economy—the Reindeer Chukchi being predominantly reindeer breeders and the Maritime Chukchi being primarily coastal sea mammal hunters and fishers. Mobility between these two broad designations was common, with members of either group choosing to move inland or to the coast, as the case may be, and trade between coastal and interior communities was common. Reindeer Chukchi social organization revolved around the ownership of the reindeer herd, and the basic unit was a mobile conglomeration of relatives and unrelated neighbors within a herding “encampment” (Antropova & Kuznetsova, 1964, p. 819). In contrast, Maritime Chukchi community life centered on the village and groups of hunters allied to each other as members of the same baydar (a large skin boat from which sea mammals were hunted, see Bogoras, Part III, 1904-1909).

Bogoras (1904-1909) notes that the Chukchi held a broadly animistic worldview in which “all nature is animated, and that every material object can act, speak, and walk by itself,” and that every such object not only has a “master” or “voice” possessing it with agency, but many things—especially various types animals—have a world of their own beyond the horizon where they live out quite human-like lives (p. 280). Both groups practiced a number of seasonal sacrificial festivals and shared general beliefs in a multitude of spirits both good (“va’irgin” although Bogoras points out that this simply means “being,” and see also Jochelson, Vol. VI, Part I, 1904-1907, p. 24) and evil (“ke’let” or “ke’le”) (Bogoras, 1904-1909, p. 290). Ke’let were distinguished into three varieties: (a) murderous invisible spirits that preyed on the bodies and souls of humans, bringing death and disease; (b) hostile cannibal spirits from a far-off place; and, finally, (c) shamanic spirits. Traditionally, humans were believed to have several souls, and the life-giving soul or “vital force”—“uvi’rit”—was possessed by humans, plants, and animals, but as M. A. Pedersen and Willerslev (2012, p. 485) point out, uvi’rit also means “body.” In traditional Chukchi, reckoning souls were somewhat modular—existing in limbs and other parts of the body as special “limb-souls.” Even ke’let had souls that could be lost or stolen just as those of the living. The dead were believed to exist in “upper” and “lower” worlds and in various regions of the sky, and existence in their lands was similar to the experiences of the living, but abounding with reindeer, walrus, and particular otherworldly oddities. Describing the afterworld, Bogoras (1904-1909), suggests that the soul of the deceased may make its way to heaven by following “the smoke of their funeral pyre” and notes the belief that “children that die here are born there, and vice versa” (pp. 333-334), implying a cyclical rebirth system between worlds.

Willerslev (2009) observes that “when a child is born, a close relative of the deceased person who is believed to have returned in the child normally—but without being obliged to do so—gives the child a reindeer doe. . .” (p. 696). After a child was born, a sacrificial ceremony was performed in which a reindeer was sacrificed and its blood was used to anoint the mother and child (among others). Following this, a name was sought for the child by divination, and once determined, “the people say aloud, Such and such a one has returned to us” (Bogoras, 1904-1909, p. 512). Chukchi naming divination differs from the more common divination-by-lifting method practiced by many other Arctic societies. Instead it consists of dangling an object and asking a question until the object swings, indicating an affirmative answer (i.e., indicating the name of the reborn ancestor). Interestingly, the more common divination-by-lifting method for obtaining a child’s name-soul was also used by the Chukchi, but at the opposite end of the life cycle as part of funerary rites (Bogoras, 1904-1909). Name-souls were also determined in reaction to experiences in dreams and nicknames to seemingly arbitrary observations made shortly after the birth. As among the Mansi and Khanty of the Ob region, such nicknames and circumlocutions were often given to a child with the intent of confusing potentially malignant spirits (Bogoras, 1904-1909). Nevertheless, as Bogoras (1904-1909, p. 512; p. 514) points out, “the name selected is often the name of a deceased relative, which, in days gone by, was chosen in the same manner” and it should suffice that “a great part of the names have reference to the idea of the return of the deceased from another world.”

A prime example of the gravity of the name-soul’s direct connotations of the ancestor-cum-descendent is related by Bogoras (1904-1909):

I met on the Wolverene River a Reindeer Chukchee family who, two years before, had lost their chief, who was much beloved by his sons and nephews. Immediately afterward the wife of the oldest son of the deceased man gave birth to a son, to whom was given the name of his grandfather. He was considered, in a way, as a re-incarnation of the deceased one, and therefore was always spoken of as the house—master. At one time, when the youngest and favorite daughter of the deceased one—but who, nevertheless, had a violent temper—began to abuse her oldest sister, the mother said, “Tell the house-master [meaning the small boy]. Let him try and make her silent. She is his favorite child.” (p. 512)

Koryak

The Koryak, like the Chukchi, are divided into two general socio-cultural subgroups: the Reindeer Koryak and the Maritime Koryak, designations based generally on their subsistence economy and levels of mobility—the Reindeer Koryak being mobile inland reindeer-herders and the Maritime Koryak being more sedentary coastal village-based hunter-fisher-gatherers (Antropova, 1964; Jochelson, 1904-1907). During the early ethnographic period, the Maritime Koryak still retained a fair degree of egalitarianism and family groups gathered for communal fishing and sea mammal hunting, especially during the summer. Reindeer Koryak families also agglomerated their herds at certain times of the year, though economic inequality was certainly a major feature of the reindeer-herding economy, with rich herd-owners presiding over encampments of subordinate herdsmen and their families (Antropova, 1964). Antropova (1964) suggests that, prior to ethnographic accounts, the Koryak likely had clan- and totemic-based kinship systems (especially evident among coastal groups).

The traditional Koryak worldview was filled with supernatural entities. Antropova (1964) describes one class of hostile spirits as “nin’vit’s”—beast-like anthropomorphic creatures that “hunted and ate people by entering them and causing illness” (p. 866). Jochelson (1908) designates malevolent spirits more generally as “kalau” (p. 27). Kalau could be invisible or visible and might take many shapes, from pointy-headed humans to animals to human–animal hybrids; they are nearly always portrayed as cannibalistic and hunt humans just as humans hunt animals (Jochelson, 1904-1907). Apart from these ghastly proclivities, the kalau existed in a sort of mirror reality to that of their human prey—even herding animals and living in villages and with families of their own, and Jochelson makes reference to a few kalau that are indeed not so sinister. “Kalak” (or “kamak”) belonged to a separate class of guardian-spirits tied to specific villages, families, and individuals. In addition, the Koryak acknowledged supernatural spirit-“masters” or “owners” of certain places and animals, and who Bogoras (1904-1909) suggests “are quite similar to those of the Chukchee [sic], and, indeed, are called by the same name” (p. 291).

Jochelson (1908) recounts the Koryak held belief in a high-god—a “supervisor of the course of things on earth” who, in relation to the cycling of souls from generation to generation, “sends the souls of the new-born into the wombs of their mothers. . . after death the human soul returns to The-One-on-High, who, after some time sends it into a relative of its former owner, to be re-born” (p. 26; see also p. 100). Jochelson (1908) goes on to describe that “as soon as a child is born, it is given the name of the dead relative whose soul has been reborn in it” (p. 100). Then, either the newborn’s father uses a divination-by-swinging method similar to that used by the Chukchi to identify which ancestor’s soul has been reborn, or the soul’s identity is deduced by observing the child’s behavior when presented with a list of ancestors’ names.

The principle family possession among both Koryak subgroups was the sacred fire-board, and both “considered the sacred fire-board, first of all, the deity of the household fire, the guardian of the family hearth”—it is unequivocal in its place as the protector of the house, helper in the hunt, and warden of the herds (Jochelson, 1904-1907, p. 34). The hearth too was a sacred family guardian, closely “connected with the deceased relatives whose souls return in new-born children,” and thus both hearth and fire-board were focal points of the Koryak ancestor cult (Jochelson, 1904-1907, p. 749; see also Antropova, 1964, p. 867). Through marriage, the hearth brought both the living and dead relatives of lineages together, adding to the pool of ancestors that might be reborn into the next generation. Of this, Jochelson (1908) observes,

Marriages between two families give free access to the hearth, not only to the members of strange families, but also to the souls of their deceased members. The soul of a deceased relative, both on the father’s and on the mother’s side, may enter the new-born child; and each child borne by the daughter-in-law or engendered by the son-in-law may become the possessor of the soul of a deceased relative of a strange family. Thus a marriage contracted between two families brings nearer not only the living, but also the souls of the dead members, and the guardians of both families. (p. 750)

Like many other northeastern Siberian societies, the Koryak believed that children’s souls were particularly vulnerable to the malevolence of evil spirits and their souls were thought to often stray from the body during sleep or from fright, and various charms and pendants were used to keep the soul from leaving a child’s body (Jochelson, 1904-1907). Similar to the tradition related of the Yukaghir (above), the Koryak used unfavorable nicknames and circumlocutions to obscure a soul’s identity from malignant spirits (Jochelson, 1904-1907).

Bering Strait and the North American Arctic

A rich ethnographic literature exists across much of the North American Arctic. Here we attempt to distill a very broad outline of soul concepts and rebirth traditions in the Arctic, as a comprehensive review is dramatically out of the scope of this chapter. This sketch has been aided generally by contributions to these specific subjects in Mills and Slobodin’s (1994) Amerindian Rebirth and Wachtmeister’s (1956) Naming and Reincarnation Among the Eskimos.

First, we should note that setting up a divide between Inuit societies, particularly those living across the entirety of northernmost North America, is tenuous and at least somewhat arbitrary. This is because there is such a great amount of cultural continuity across the North American Arctic that differences in beliefs or customs are often local variations on more widely shared themes that resonate fairly consistently across a network of interconnected and interrelated small-scale societies. In this sense, “societies” is perhaps not even the right word, as ethnographically delimited groups—“the taxa arbitrarily imposed by ethnology” (Spencer, 1984, p. 323)—could be seen more as local kinship–based communities within a much larger, diverse yet shared, pan-Inuit culture. Such observations are certainly not new and we direct the reader to Burch (1979, p. 86) and Damas (1968, 1969, 1972) for lengthier treatments on this issue while we settle at least with Burch’s (1979, p. 69) distinction between “Yupik Eskimos” and “Inupik Eskimos.” For simplification, we have subdivided these broad categories into a Bering Strait group, a North Slope-to-Mackenzie Delta group (based on the distinction between the mainland abutting the Beaufort Sea and the start of the Arctic Archipelago), an Eastern Canadian group, and a Greenlandic group, while recognizing the subjective nature of such dividing lines.

Generally speaking, spirits abound in the traditional cosmologies of Inuit societies. Across the entire north of the North American continent, these metaphysical incarnations are referred to by variations of the terms “tornaq” (plural “tornat”) or “spirit” and “inua” (plural “inue”) “soul” or “owner,” itself a derivation of the word “inuit”—basically meaning “person” (Merker, 1985, p. 225). Of note, Merker (1985) contends that rather than the general interpretation of the term as “owner” as in “spirit-owner,” iñua instead expresses “an idea that indwells in and imparts individual character to a physical phenomenon. . . the ‘essential existing force’ of a physical phenomenon, that causes it to be what it is” (p. 225). These concepts, in varying yet similar terms and form, span the entirety of the region, from both sides of Bering Strait to Greenland. The concept of iñua, in whichever culturally specific form it takes, is integral to understanding the natural order of the world and one’s place within it (Nuttall, 2009). Here, the Greenlandic term “silanngajaarpoq” provides a good example—where the prefix “sila” represents the fundamental embodiment of the natural world, from wind to weather to the preternatural, undefinable forces of change, but the phrase itself indicates that one has fallen out of equilibrium with nature and literally gone crazy. This is a telling statement of the interconnectedness between the individual and the natural world, and the place of equilibrium between the two, even to the extent of mitigating human sanity. As Nuttall (2009) expounds, “sila. . . is manifest in each and every person. It is an all-pervading, life-giving force connecting a person with the rhythms of the universe, and integrating the self with the natural world” (p. 299). Thus, the self—that is, the name-soul—the in-dwelling spirit—that is, iñua—and the very essence of the natural world—sila—are entwined, not only in the conception of identity but in the very cosmological locus of one’s position in their physical surroundings.

Siberian Yu’pik and Bering Strait Eskimo-Inuit Groups

Eskimo-Inuit societies on both sides of Bering Strait show remarkable cultural congruence, even to the point of having generally mutually intelligible dialects of the Yupik-Inuit language family (Fortescue, 1998; Woodbury, 1984). Indigenous contacts between the Siberian and Alaskan mainlands and islands for many thousands of years is a well-documented fact, and it should come as no surprise that cultures on both sides have developed in tandem (e.g., Ackerman, 1984; Anderson, 1984; Collins, 1943; Fitzhugh, 1988; Ford, 1959; McGhee, 1996). Jochelson (1928, p. 60; see also Hughes, 1984; Ray, 1984) relates that, on the Siberian side, the “Asiatic Eskimo” [sic], or Siberian Yu’pik, had until relatively recently occupied the entire coastal region of the Chukchi Peninsula, having been assimilated by the Chukchi only within the last few centuries. Prior to this, a significant cultural continuum persisted across Bering Strait with considerable cultural interplay from both sides and intervening islands. It is no wonder then that many aspects of rebirth beliefs existed on both margins of the Strait.

Nelson (1900) offers three types of “spiritual essences” that existed to the inhabitants on the Alaskan side: the first, the “invisible shade, is formed exactly in the shape of the body, is sentient, and destined for a future life” (p. 422). The second soul was believed to also be formed like the body but was without awareness—it was “the life-giving warmth” and left the body upon death. Rainey (1947) describes these essences, respectively, as “ilitkosaq” or “spirit or character. . . personality, individuality, or spirit of a person or animal which could be transferred from one individual to another and which could remain at the grave, the village, or the place of death” and “inyusaq” or “soul or life. . . the life quality which disappeared at death” (p. 271). Nelson is vague about the third type, but concedes that it was believed to “remain with the body and to possess evil powers. . .” This last soul or “shade” was thought to linger in the vicinity of its former life and could cause harm or misfortune to the living. Other numina consisted of malevolent spirits: “tornirak” in Siberia and “tornak” or “tornaq” or similar variants across the North American north all the way to Greenland (e.g., “tun ya·q” of the Mackenzie Delta peoples, “tornait” among the Baffinlanders, and “tôrnarssuit” among the Polar Inuit). Animals equally had souls (“inua” in North American Inuit languages and “yu’wa” in Siberian parlance) that were believed to be at least “semihuman” in form, and numerous taboos regarding the treatment of animal remains existed to appease their spirits after death (Burch, 1981, p. 34; Fitzhugh & Kaplan, 1983, p. 6; Nelson, 1900, pp. 422-423). Fienup-Riordan (1988) writes of Yupik beliefs that “all living things participated in an endless cycle of birth and rebirth of which the souls of animals and men were a part, contingent on right thought and action by others as well as self” (p. 256).

Offerings and festivals were given for the dead during which namesakes of the deceased were employed in proxy, allowing the dead to enjoy in the festivities. Of this, Nelson (1900) notes that

when a child is born it is given the name of the last person who died in the village, or the name of a deceased relative who may have lived in another place. The child thus becomes the namesake and representative of the dead person at the feast to the dead. . . (p. 289)

He also observes that given names could be changed later in life. Bogoras (1904-1909, p. 512) suggests that among the Asiatic Eskimo [sic] naming traditions paralleled those of the Chukchi, with names revealed in dreams and often selected from those of deceased relatives, and that nicknames or false names were given to deceive harmful spirits; interestingly, names were also appropriated from Chukchi neighbors.

Rainey (1947) describes in detail the namesake-guardian (“komnaluk”) traditions of the Tikerarmiut of Point Hope, illustrating the highly complex interplay between individual and collective identities, names and notions of personhood, and pedagogy (pp. 273-274). Turner (1994) presents that, among the contemporary Inupiat,

the idea of the transference of the souls of the dead into new bodies is well known among the people of Point Hope. In a sense, the event of the naming of the child is regarded as the material occasion of reincarnation. . . (p. 69)

It should suffice at this point to hypothesize that name-soul associations were deeply emplaced in the indigenous traditions of the Bering Strait region among societies on both sides, and we can assume that those traditions played a major role in shaping notions of identity and connectedness to past generations.

North Alaskan and Mackenzie Delta Groups

As is true of the Arctic in general, the tundra region stretching from the farthest western reaches of the Alaskan North Slope across to the Mackenzie Delta and beyond is a vast and largely inhospitable expanse, largely uninhabited by humans. Where people have ventured here for thousands of years, they have generally followed the arctic coastline in search of sea mammals or traversed the inland tundra in pursuit of migrating caribou. Thus, two general distinctions have arisen regarding the subsistence and mobility strategies (and thus emerging “cultures”) of the coastal and interior inhabitants. Addressing the empirical differences between the interior-dwelling Nunamiut and the coast-dwelling Tagiugmiut of the Alaskan arctic slope, Spencer (1984, p. 323) echoes Burch (1980) in noting that when “the intermediate foothill-tundra-coastal zones are considered, the distinction is less apparent. The presence of a network of social relationships across the coastal and adjacent inland settlements blurs any sense of tribal distinction.” This is to say that while culturally phenotypic differences existed between social units across the region and groups certainly self-identified as specific peoples (i.e., the suffix “-miut”), a remarkable cultural coherence also existed.

Murdoch’s (1892) account of the indigenous peoples at Point Barrow provides a foundation from which to develop a picture of local cosmology at the edge of the Beaufort Sea. Murdoch (1892; see also Smith, 1984) offers that after death, the body was wrapped up and taken to the cemetery on a sledge; the sledge and some of the deceased’s belongings were broken and placed on or with the body, and then all was left exposed to the elements. This may owe much to the surrounding geology and a general lack of sizable stones to cover the body, as is often done elsewhere (or, as Smith, 1984, p. 355, notes for the Mackenzie Delta, the body was covered with driftwood). Murdoch (1892) himself admits to gathering little information regarding spiritual beliefs among the inhabitants of Point Barrow and is therefore vague beyond a brief discussion on the presence of shamans and incidences in which supernatural beings (the dreaded “tu’aña”) play prominently (p. 430). He also observes that offerings were made “as in Greenland” to the “inue [sic] of certain rocks, capes and ice firths” further citing the similarity of this practice with those undertaken by Inuit further east. Gubser (1965) describes that the Nunamiut believed that the essential life (or existence) force of a thing—its iñua—existed forever in the past and into the future, and indicates three soul concepts, iñua, “ishuma” (mind), and “taganiŋa” (shadow), that when they left the body, caused death (pp. 200-217).

Rasmussen (Ostermann, 1942, p. 56) describes of Mackenzie Eskimo cosmology, that

up in the land of the sky lived the souls of dead people—and of dead animals. . . the souls of man and animal were reborn in the realm of Nulijajuk in animal shape and were brought down to earth again by Tatqeq.

He relates, similarly, of the Alaskan Eskimo that

the souls of men and animals are reborn at nuligajuk in animal form and are brought down to the earth again by the moon. When the moon is gone he is bringing souls to the earth in all forms of animals. (Ostermann, 1952, pp. 128-129)

Here, the interconnectedness of the souls of living things is evident, as is the reasoning behind the application of so many taboos regarding the human-as-hunter and animal-as-prey relationship through transmigration; humans and animals were conceptually no different from a soul perspective. Animals were believed to have the ability to “reason and talk” and those taken in the hunt or by trap were treated respectfully in accordance to local practice so as to release the animal’s soul or else appease its spirit (Hall, 1984, p. 343). Breaking with such traditions, or failure to observe other taboos, was believed to cause sickness, or “caused the soul to wander” (Spencer, 1984, p. 335). Regarding general cosmology, Spencer (1984) goes on to inform,

A vast lore existed in the native cultures about the animal realms. Beyond animal spirits, there were no divine or other spiritual beings of significance. Monsters, trolls, and dwarfs figure in the folklore and belief but play no part in any cosmogonic system. Nor was there a defined sense of afterlife. Names of the dead were given to the newly born, suggesting a vague sense of reincarnation, but unlike the animal beliefs, these patterns lacked any systematization (Burch, 1971). (p. 334)

Among the Nunamiut, “it was believed that when a child was named after a deceased relative, the iñua of the dead person helped the child by warding off sickness and bringing good luck in hunting and trapping” (Gubser, 1965, p. 206, see also p. 213). Of the Alaskan Eskimos, Rasmussen (Ostermann, 1942, p. 125) observes that “the mother names the child” and that “names are given regardless of sex, and a mother may call her daughter after her father.” Of naming associations in the Mackenzie Delta, Smith (1984) writes that “many children were named after deceased grandparents and were treated with the respect previously accorded their namesakes” (pp. 354-355) and goes on to describe that individuals had multiple names, and that names were given by shamans, names were sexually ambiguous, and taboos were associated with them.

Here, we see beliefs in human and animal souls accompanied with naming traditions linking souls and names of ancestors to the living. However, there appears to be ambiguity as to the exact nature of transmigration, as Spencer (1984) points out above. While iñua existed in all things and were seen to be able to bring aid or luck to a namesake, rebirth is not directly implicated, but seems instead to be somewhat nebulously implied.

Eastern Canadian Inuit

Combined, the insular Arctic Archipelago and mainland Canadian Arctic coast is the longest arctic coastline in the world. This vast area is and has been home to several peoples, many of whom shared considerably congruent cultural features regarding the shape and scope of cosmology, myth and folklore, and eschatology (at least in the late 19th early 20th centuries ad at the heyday of early anthropological investigations). Various designations for specific Inuit groups have been used by scholars to differentiate between societies and the regions they have inhabited—here we use group names generally as they appear ethnographically (for proper names of specific groups, see synonymy entries in Damas, 1984).

Boas (1901) relates that in the vicinity of Cumberland Sound,

the Eskimo believe that man has two souls. One of these stays with the body, and may enter temporarily the body of a child which is given the name of the departed. The other soul goes to one of the lands of the souls. (p. 130)

The Iglulik also held the notion of compound souls, as Mary-Rousseliere (1984) notes, “man has a double soul: inu’siq, the breath of life, and ta’γniq, the soul proper. One’s name, atiq, is also a kind of soul, generally inherited from an ancestor” (p. 441). Jenness (1922) conveys the belief among the Copper Eskimo that “the soul, nappan, apparently ceases to exist altogether, but the shade, tarrak, is believed to linger for a time round the place where the body was laid” noting also that “a dead man, or more accurately his shade, tarrak, may steal the soul of a living man, who will then pine away and die” (pp. 172-177). Here, we see the shadow-soul as a malevolent power against the living and indeed the tarrak of evil-doers were believed particularly dangerous and could even become evil spirits (tornrait) in their own right (Jenness, 1922). Souls of both humans and animals were believed to stay with the body for 3 days. After this time,

. . .one soul goes to its place of destination, either to heaven or to Sedna’s abode. The other soul stays with the body. When, later on, a child is named after the deceased, this soul enters its body and remains there for about four months. It is said that the soul enters the body because it is in want of a drink. It is believed that its presence strengthens the child’s soul, which is very light, and apt to escape from the body. After leaving the body of the infant, the soul of the departed stays near by [sic], that it may re-enter the infant in case of need. When a year has elapsed after the death of the person, his second soul leaves the grave temporarily and goes hunting, but returns frequently. When the body has entirely decayed, the soul may remain away for a long time. . . the Eskimo believe in the possibility of transmigration of souls. There is one tradition in which it is told how the soul of a woman passed through the bodies of a great many animals, until finally it was born again as an infant. (Boas, 1901, pp. 132-133)

Rasmussen (1931) notes that, to the Netsilik, the human soul is “indissolubly bound up with the body” but

as soon as a person dies the soul leaves the body. . . [and] passes into the other life that is lived away from the surface of the earth. . . the soul is the being and appearance of the living, and therefore is called not only tArnEq, but also ino’sEq. (pp. 214-215)

Balikci (1984, p. 425, citing Rasmussen) observes that the Netsilik conceived of “personal souls. . . name souls. . . and human ghosts” and held that “animals also had souls.” Elsewhere, Balikci (1970) notes that name-souls were believed to be powerful guardians of the name-bearer and that individuals acquired as many names as possible on account of the powers they imparted. As such, name-souls were the mode of reincarnation, not personal souls (Balikci, 1970). Animals’ souls were similarly powerful, and the soul of an animal, unappeased after being killed, might become a dangerous evil spirit. Rasmussen (1931) relates that animals had souls because a powerful shaman changed his soul into that of various animals and lived as them, thus blurring the distinction between human souls and animal souls—even that between humans and animals themselves. The souls of both humans and animals feature prominently throughout Inuit traditions and the two are dynamically and explicitly connected through the observances of hunting etiquettes and taboos. For instance, a successful hunter would take pains not to offend his prey or inflict unnecessary injury, as such harms were believed to accompany the animal’s soul to Sedna (or other “master”-spirit) and be cause for reprisals in the form of sickness or misfortune. Boas (1901) notes that “the transgressions of taboos do not affect the souls of game alone. . . [but] also affects the soul of the evil-doer. . . becomes attached to it, and makes him sick” (p. 124). A parent’s transgression of taboos was especially applicable to the souls of their offspring and was believed to be a cause of sickness in children (Boas, 1901).

Of the Netsilik, Rasmussen (1931) describes that names were thought to protect and make one strong, and that as names were continually recycled from generation to generation, increasing the number of associated ancestors with each reuse, the name “at last forms a long chain of protectors which, unseen, follow the one that bears the name, are with him, work inside him, keep danger away and become his guardian spirits” (pp. 219-220). Boas (1964) similarly observes that, on Davis Strait, a newborn

is always named after the persons who have died since the last birth took place. . . If a relative dies while the child is younger than four years or so, his name is added to the old ones and becomes the proper name by which it is called. (p. 204)

To this, Service (1958) adds generally of the “Canadian Eskimo” that

the dead person’s name, which is felt to be in some manner supernaturally charged with part of his spirit and personality, is assigned to a new baby, preferably a close descendant, such as a grandchild. It is then as though some measure of reincarnation had taken place—the dead person has not been completely lost to the community. (p. 80)

Thus, a complex of names and associated personas (or souls) might build up around an individual child, dramatically informing their own developing notion of personhood and their significance within the community.

Of the Copper Eskimo, Rasmussen (1932) contends that father or grandmother lift the infant immediately after birth and give it the name of a deceased relative. However, Jenness (1922) interestingly notes that this tradition was not associated with rebirth,

despite the inheritance of the names I could find no trace of any belief in the reincarnation of the souls of dead ancestors or relatives, a belief that is held by the Eskimos farther west. Frequent enquiries indeed have convinced me that the doctrine is unknown to the Copper Eskimos. (p. 168, see also p. 177)

Greenlandic Inuit

Ethnographically, the Inuit of Greenland are described by three basic designations: the Polar-, West Greenlandic–, and East Greenlandic–Inuit. The Polar Inuit occupied the farthest reaches of the northwest portion of the island—portions of which lie within the highest latitudes of the Arctic Circle. The West Greenlanders dwelt, as the name implies, along the west coast, south of Melville Bay adjacent to Davis Strait and all the way to the southern tip of the landmass. During the early ethnographic period, the East Greenlanders primarily occupied two sections of the east coast, centered on Scoresby Sound on the central east coast and farther south at Ammassalik; smaller settlements existed around and between these centers. Across the island, widely shared beliefs in the supernatural generally held to the existence of souls (“tarne”), in-dwelling spirit-owners (“inue”), spirits (“tornat” or “tornaq”), ghosts, guardian-spirits (“tornguang”), and the like—all with regional linguistic variations (terms here are from Kroeber, 1899).

The Polar Inuit, in particular, could perhaps be concomitant ethnographically with the Iglulik, as Gilberg (1984) notes that emigration by Baffin Islanders into the Thule District during the mid-19th century ad dramatically influenced several characteristics of Polar Inuit society and “had an extremely important influence on the culture of the Polar Eskimo” (p. 578). Rasmussen (1908) reports that prior to this, the sparse and scattered Polar Eskimo population had been isolated for generations, following an epidemic that had taken the last of their kayak-makers. Without the kayak, mobility was restricted to the sea ice and the interior—effectively limiting much of the resource base, making seasonal food shortages an annual crisis. Rasmussen (1908) offers that, traditionally for the Polar Eskimos, the name was regarded “as a kind of soul. . . associated [with] a certain amount of vitality and dexterity” and that “after the death of the body, the name takes its abode in a woman who is about to bear a child. . .it is born with the child at the same time as the child” (p. 116). Gilberg (1984) notes of Polar Eskimo name-soul beliefs, that “the name had its own soul, with a certain amount of vitality and character; the name was one’s identity. . . connection between the name-soul and identify was so intimate that new names seldom developed” and that the name of the deceased was never spoken “until it was given to a newborn” (p. 586). This is in sharp contrast with the traditions observed of the Alaskan and Mackenzie Delta Eskimo who were said to collect names on account of the powers they bestowed, but shares in the observation made in West Greenland by Cranz, who observed that use of a deceased’s name before it was reissued would elicit extreme expressions of grief (below).

Of soul (“tarnik”) transmigration traditions in Greenland generally, Thalbitzer (1941) writes,

the idea of the migrating soul is ancient and known from distant regions, but here it has been naturalised, i.e. Eskimoicised. In Greenland especially it has assumed a didactic form showing the migration of the human soul and the Eskimo name through the world of nature (i.e. the animals) before the soul and the name reach their common final abode in the child of a human mother. (p. 586)

Wachtmeister (1956) provides David Cratz’s (an early German missionary to the area) observation that

Soon after death, the soul of a deceased enters a newborn child. This child is given the name of the deceased as their own and this gradually placates the loss of the deceased. This is a rebirth or resurrection. Up until this time, mentioning the deceased’s name was considered offensive and would elicit much grief and wailing. It is preferred to name children after deceased grandparents or other close relatives, believing that the child will inherit positive qualities and skills possessed by the namesake. (p. 131, paraphrased from German a translation by the authors)

Of East Greenlandic soul concepts, Bogoras (1904-1909, p. 333; citing Holm) notes,

. . .man has several souls. The largest dwell in the larynx and in the left side, and are tiny men, about the size of a sparrow. The other souls dwell in other parts of the body, and are of the size of a finger-joint. If one of them is taken away, the member to which it belongs sickens.

Thalbitzer (1941) relates that the East Greenlandic myth of Niwaaŋiaq plays out with the main subject’s soul transmigrating through various animals to finally be reborn through his mother and given his original name (this scenario plays out in numerous Inuit myths—see also Thalbitzer, 1941). Thalbitzer (1941) also mentions that the souls of things (especially those things manufactured by the individual or that have been acquired at great cost) may be connected, at least in part, to the souls of their owners and thus, through giving of one’s possessions, an owner “parcels out a part of his own soul” (p. 640). Traditionally, this intermingling of souls through material exchange was recognized by both parties and bound giver and receiver in ways that affected social order and customs, individual reputations, as well as rules of reciprocity. Another curious feature recorded by Thalbitzer (1941) associated with material possessions was the use of a special garment called a “piaarqusiaq” (pp. 601-602)—a parka with a loose hood and other peculiarities. This was worn by a child that was believed to be at particular risk of having their soul stolen by evil spirits. Like the application on nicknames, the garment (or similarly odd applications to attire or appearance) was believed to conceal the true identity of the child from harmful spirits.

But, Thalbitzer (1941) carefully points out, “the child gets the name of some deceased person, and, with this, inherits the soul of the deceased (or, more correctly, one of the souls)” (p. 600, emphasis added). Like the Chukchi, the Greenlandic Inuit also saw souls as being potentially modular, as in the concept of limb-souls. As an individual was believed to have multiple souls, the inheritance was not definitively of the complete essence of the deceased. R. Pedersen (1996) also observes this distinction, writing “the free soul. . . would normally go to the Land of the Dead, either in the sky or under the sea, seemingly freed from its material frame. . . while the so-called ‘name soul’ would, in time, find another human body” (p. 67).

As elsewhere, we see across Greenland a complex worldview in which the divide between the natural and supernatural were perceived as only thinly veiled, if there was at all a division (we suggest at least some division is implied since it was generally held that only shamans [“angakoq”] could typically see spirits). Names and souls were believed intimately connected, and souls moved between humans and animals and from ancestors to descendants with apparent ontological ease.

Final Remarks

In concluding their discussion of body-soul concepts between the Chukchi and the Darhad of northern Mongolia, M. A. Pedersen and Willerslev (2012) posit that

inasmuch as the soul (and, therefore, the body) is nothing more than a perspectivist implication of the constant exchange between different points of view—then there simply cannot be any single term (let alone definition) that encompasses all of these positions. (p. 485)

A similar deduction might be made for this dissection of name-soul beliefs in the circumarctic. The name-soul term may be problematic as we have seen it is dynamically expressed differently in nearly every society in which it is observed, but it does serve to illustrate the deep connection that two categories of identity and personhood—the name and the soul—can have in diverse ontological and cosmological expressions. Lee Guemple (1994) demonstrates the transcendent implications that name-souls carry among so many Arctic societies:

Human actors, those identified by names, have established personalities known to everyone in the community. An individual who at birth takes on one of these name spirits also assumes the burden of the community’s definition of that personality and also what its skills and attributes are. Individual actors may contribute to the reputations of name spirits in their lifetimes and hence pass on something of a personal legacy to the next generation of spirit holders. (p. 121)

It is this personal legacy and the recognition of it after death in the living that permeates the naming traditions of many indigenous Arctic societies.

The Arctic is a big harsh place. It is a region characterized by seemingly preternaturally malevolent seasonal conditions such as bitter temperatures and wind, and extended periods of darkness in winter. Conversely, Arctic summers can be surprisingly warm and fraught with miasmic swarms of mosquitoes and other pests. Biodiversity is relatively low and frequently inconsistent. Year-round subsistence presents considerable challenges, such as the routine physical dangers and success-uncertainties of hunting-gathering and herding for a living, and the subsequent perpetual threat of food shortfalls and starvation. Add to these concerns the constant potential for conflict with neighbors or newcomers, and the general need to maintain relatively small-scale social groups, many of whom had to remain highly mobile in response to animal behaviors and migrations. When thus considered, it is actually remarkable that humans have inhabited the Arctic at all, much less as successfully for millennia.

Across the circumarctic North, the hazards of daily experience—seasonal, environmental, situational, and social—were given substance and personified through animistic cosmologies, through beliefs in spirits, souls, and other (usually) unseen agents. Generally speaking, in the Arctic, nature and the environment can be particularly a capricious. Disequilibrium between humans and the resources they rely upon is constant, if not stochastic in the far North. As Pascal Boyer (2001) has suggested, “the connection between misfortune and religion is salient the world over” (p. 169), that is, gods and spirits exist because they allow cultural forms of explanation to navigate the nature of misfortune, accidents, and the very often harsh realities of life in general. In this sense, religion works because it makes sense (so some degree) of disequilibrium. Across the societies reviewed here, beliefs tend toward the idea that peripheral spirits—the hidden, unknowable, or unforeseen—are both evil and malicious. These evil spirits are often particularly focused on and malevolent to newborns and children vital to the continuation of the group. In each case here, the presence of the name-soul or similar concept suggests that the ancestral essence—the proof of continuity of life through generations—wards against such evil spirits and strengthens the individual. In this way, the myriad dangers of the outside world both real and perceived are protected against by the very affirmation of life within life.

We hypothesize that it is this affirmation of kinship across time in spite of the environment that is a key reason why name-soul traditions persist so widely among circumarctic indigenous societies; in short, they soften the traumatic blow that persistent mortality experiences can cause by perpetuating concepts of cyclical interrelationships between ancestors and descendants which also helped solidify group cohesion and communal identity among highly mobile small-scale bands like the majority of pre-industrial societies across the Arctic.

Here we have attempted simply to illuminate through review and description, from an admittedly functionalist anthropological perspective, that on both sides of Bering Strait, associations between names, souls, and ancestors—while often connected to rebirth beliefs—need not be considered at face value or dismissed as outside the purview of investigation. In many cases, diverse rebirth beliefs and practices have very real, concrete histories and cultural implications. By the very incorporeal, fuzzy nature of the concept itself, the existence of souls is scientifically untestable (at least to date, see Stevenson, 1977). Nevertheless, the existence of beliefs and practices relating to souls in many traditional and contemporary societies abounds. The conceptual interplay between souls and rebirth eschatologies as mitigating forces between human identities and the environment is yet to be fully explored and understood. We look forward to forthcoming research along these lines.