The term ‘shamanism’ is one that is widely misunderstood. ‘Shaman’ is a Siberian word that has been adopted by western academics to describe those people who engage in a set of practices found in most indigenous cultures all over the world and throughout history. The universality of these practices was originally noticed by anthropologists, made more widely known first by Karl Jung and later by various westerners who studied with indigenous people, and then popularized for the general public. Unfortunately, a number of misconceptions continue to cling to the word, and some of those misconceptions have fueled criticism of teachers of contemporary shamanism. Much of this criticism has come from the Native American community, since a large number of those people teaching a popularized version of shamanism claim to have studied with Native American teachers and to be drawing on Native American practices. Moreover, since some of the people purporting to teach shamanism are irresponsible, unethical, or outright fraudulent, it makes sense that many Native Americans view such people, and the teaching of ‘Native American spirituality’ in general, with contempt and mistrust. These people are understandably suspicious of anything labeled ‘shamanism’ and anyone who claims to have been taught by a Native teacher, and they are rightfully dismayed to see westerners engaging casually in sacred spiritual ceremonies dressed up in the guise of shamanism. All of this is entirely reasonable. It is unfortunate, though, that genuine shamans, like Scarlet Kinney, have also been, at times, unjustly criticized for allegedly teaching a watered-down version of Native American religion and labeling it shamanism, and for teaching without any legitimate authority. For this reason, I wish to make clear my understanding of the Kinney method, gained through my involvement in her three-year apprenticeship program, in an effort to address these criticisms. In order to do so, I shall first explain that Scarlet Kinney is teaching shamanism, not a religion, and then suggest an alternative basis for the ‘authority’ by which she teaches it.

            The distinction between shamanism and religion is an important one, and one that merits further explanation. For the purposes of this discussion, I will characterize religion as a culturally specific set of beliefs and practices. Religious beliefs involve a supernatural being or beings, and religious practices are methods of making contact with these beings for the purposes of worship or intercession. Such practices often include forms of prayer or meditation and rituals or ceremonies. In addition, religions usually provide creation and afterlife stories, as well as moral codes to which believers must adhere.

            Shamanism, in contrast, does not treat shamanic reality or shamanic archetypes as ‘gods’ in the same sense that a religion does, although shamanic entities may bear the name ‘god’ or ‘goddess.’ Nor does shamanism involve either worship or intercession, as I will explain. There are no set moral codes, other than some ethical guidelines for shamans, nor is there any clear sense of an afterlife or a creation myth. Rather, shamanism operates as a separate but compatible set of practices that can dovetail with or overlap religious beliefs and practices.

            The essential features of shamanism are as follows: shamans enter into a state of altered consciousness by means of repetitive drumming or psychotropic drugs, allowing them access to an alternative shamanic reality in which they seek out archetypal spirit guides for practical information. This information is usually related to the physical or psychological well-being of the individual or group. The effectiveness of shamanism is predicated on the belief that the natural world, both material and metaphysical, holds valuable information that human beings can access in order to improve or enrich their lives. This is different from the ‘supernatural’ world of religion, although, as I have mentioned, the two may overlap. In addition, shamanic journeys are neither forms of worship nor intercessory in nature. A shaman does not enter shamanic reality in order to praise or offer gratitude to a supernatural force, nor does a shaman ask such a supernatural force for direct intervention. Instead, shamans respectfully seek information. Spirit guides are teachers who provide information that permits seekers to learn and grow. This information could be in the form of a medicinal plant, or it could be in the form of a psychological insight, or it could be in the form of a song or dance.

            The salient point here is that shamanism has universal qualities that are compatible with the various cultural manifestations of religion, and indeed, virtually all religions have shamans of one kind or another. It is certainly possible to extract some of the universally common features of shamanism that I have described and teach them as a set of practices that could be integrated into any specific religion. This is what Scarlet has done; she does not teach any spiritual ceremonies or practices specific to a certain religion. This should serve to clarify the distinction between shamanism and religion, and now that we know more clearly what Scarlet Kinney does, we can turn our attention to the authority by which she does it.

If shamanism were a form of religion, we might ask a teacher to produce the kinds of credentials we expect of our religious leaders – a seminary education or its equivalent. But since it is not, I would like to suggest instead a model of personal authority that can better be understood through an analogy with the authority we grant artists in our society.

          Artists, generally speaking, engage in an interpretive enterprise. A visual artist perceives the world in a particular way, interprets this perception through some artistic medium, and presents it to others as a means of gaining greater understanding of and connection to the world. This understanding is frequently at an emotional rather than a cognitive level. Gazing at a Monet painting of water lilies, for example, yields no scientific information about these flowers as biological specimens, nor does it provide me with specific information about myself. Nonetheless, looking at the painting is an enriching experience for me. I may feel a kind of love for and connection to flowers, water, light, shadow, and color that affect me in a non-verbal, intuitive way.  The artist himself can be said to have ‘received’ these intuitive understandings and to have ‘transmitted’ them to me. Moreover, it makes no sense for the viewer to ask, “By what authority does Monet present these water lilies in this manner? How do I know that his perception of them is authentic? What right does he have to communicate the message of these flowers to me?” We do not ask these questions about art precisely because we accept the artist’s vision as personally authentic. We believe that Georgia O’Keefe ‘saw’ flowers in the way that she presents them; we believe that Vincent Van Gogh ‘saw’ sunflowers in the way that he did. We can recognize the universality of this artistic impulse; virtually all cultures throughout history have engaged in some form of artistic expression, and we call all of the different practitioners ‘artists’ regardless of their cultural affiliation.

            To extend this analogy further: even though we can recognize the difference between Monet, a three-year-old child, and an adult who takes a weekend water-color seminar, we still acknowledge that they are all engaging in the creation of ‘art’, albeit at vastly different levels of expertise. We do not call the person who attends the weekend seminar ‘fraudulent’, nor do we insist that the child is incapable of artistic expression because she has not had years and years of formal training. On the contrary, we tend to believe that the art made by children is more pure, and more directly expressive, than that made by adults with a great deal of formal training.

            What then, are the features of ‘art’ that I have identified? First, that it involves direct perception of the world on the part of the artist. Second, that this perception is interpreted. Third, that it is communicated to another person. Fourth, that the other person understands the ‘message’ that is being communicated on an intuitive level. Fifth, that there is no need for verification of the artist’s legitimacy by an independent authority. Sixth, that the impulse to create art is universal, and finally, that anyone with the inclination can engage in it.

            What I will demonstrate is that The Kinney method of shamanism meets all of the criteria I have established for an art form, and therefore, it is best understood as an art rather than a religion or a science.  And as an art, it is in a different category from both Native American religion and the pop-shamanism that seeks to exploit it and therefore should not come in for the same criticism.

            I will take each of these criteria in turn.

            First, in the Kinney method, we start with the direct perception of shamanic reality by the shaman or apprentice. Through the use of repetitive drumming, we put ourselves into a frame of mind that allows us to see the archetypal realm. This is a realm of reality that lies both within and beyond our experience of ordinary reality, and the perception of it, like the perception of dreams, is individual and personal. Thus, just as an artist like Monet could look out into his garden and see the water lilies, a person in the proper frame of mind can look out into shamanic reality and see the various archetypal animals, goddesses, and other spirit guides. The water lilies at Giverny were always there as part of ordinary reality and were accessible to anyone who happened to pass by them, but only Monet saw them in the way that he saw them, just as shamanic reality is always there and is accessible to anyone who wishes to enter it, but it will be seen differently by each individual person. So we begin the shamanic experience with the same individual sensory perception with which we approach ordinary reality.

            Second, once we have gathered our perceptions, we must interpret them. The archetypes that we encounter may not always be clear, and we need to engage in a questioning process, either within a journey or on subsequent journeys, to gain further insight, as well as drawing upon our intuitions and feelings, in order to make sense of shamanic information.

            Next, we transmit that information to others. If we are journeying on someone else’s behalf, we communicate the content of the journey to that person for the purpose of assisting him or her with self-understanding. If journeying for ourselves, we communicate the journey to others in our group in order to speak of our experiences aloud and in so doing, bring them to life for a kind of respect and validation.

            The understanding that we have, then, is intuitive and emotional. Symbolic material comes to the surface, and we and others in our group understand its meaning, which can be both personal and universal, in the way of all great art.

            There is no need for independent verification of the legitimacy of our own shamanic experience, then, because it is so deeply personal and at the same time universal. If I am on a journey, and I hear a song, who is to say that I did not hear that song? Who, other than I, can say what the song does or does not mean? And who would claim that I have no legitimate right to sing a song that was given to me? Such an argument would suggest that Mozart had no right to put down on paper the sounds that were given to him, and no right to have an orchestra play his music. The legitimacy of Mozart comes strictly from Mozart; its authority lies solely in its resonance with others. We consider Mozart a ‘great’ artist precisely because his work has resonated with so many people over so many years. Similarly, we would call a shaman a ‘great’ shaman if her journeys were successful, i.e. if they resonated with the people to whom they were communicated and if they offered those people a deeper understanding of themselves and the world.

            Nor would we condemn the six-year-old child who ‘makes up’ a song and sings it. It is her song, and if she perceives it as having been given to her, as something that she, for example, heard in the wind, who are we to say that she didn’t? The impulse to connect with shamanic reality, to enter the realm of archetypes, of symbols and spirit guides, is as universal as the impulse to sing or draw. We all dream, and we all have an unconscious mind that struggles to speak to us through the language of symbols. Shamanism is the urge to give expression to that struggle; it is the collective unconscious seeking expression, breaking through into consciousness and finding creative form.

            Shamanic reality seeks out certain individuals, and others seek it. There are always going to be people who are more naturally perceptive and aware of this symbolic realm, just as there will always be people who are more naturally artistic. For such people, shamanism is not a casual interest to be pursued in a weekend seminar, it is not to be found in the pop-shamanism that is the equivalent of a paint-by-numbers set; for such people, shamanism is a vocation, a calling that will not be denied, as the shamanic realm insists on expression through them. These are the people whom Scarlet Kinney seeks to teach and for whom the Kinney method will work, and this personal, artistic form of authority is the authority by which she can teach them.