“I Discovered M y Sin!”:
Aguaruna Evangelical Conversion Narratives
Robert1.Priest
Ducitak, a grandmother,began:
I used to be tudau (“sinful”),pegkegchau (bad). I did many bad things Apujui
(God) does not like. When I heard the word of Apajui, I discovered(dekuwumiajui)
my sin (tudau),what I am. I said, “truly I am going to the place of fire (jiinumap).”
Thinking of this, I wept much. And so I “contractedmyself’ (sujumankumiajai)
to Jisucristui. Then I began to obey the word.
In the 1970s, many Aguaruna-Jivaro villages of northern Peru temporarily
saw a majority convert to evangelical Christianity under the influence of
Aguaruna evangelists. By the time of my field research (1987-1989), the
number of active converts had stabilized at 10 percent to 30 percent in many
villages.Aguaruna assistants helped me tape, transcribe, and translate thirtyfour
conversion narratives that form the base for this chapter.
The concept of sin seems to play a key role in Aguaruna conversion to
Christianity.William James (1902) argued that a “sense of sin” accompanies
a certain kind of personality characterizedby a “sick soul” or a “divided”self.
This sense of sin predisposes people to religious conversion but is itself simply
a personalitytrait, apparentlyunconditioned by prior beliefs, symbols,and
discourses.Others (e.g., Proudfoot 1985)argue that belief is prior to and constitutiveof
experience,and that only where people have been fully socialized
to Christian beliefs is it possible to have a fully Christian conversion experience,
completewith a “sense of sin.” Indeed, anthropologistshave sometimes
implied that indigenouspeoples, lacking such prior socialization,are unlikely
to be moved by “sin discourses” (Kroeber 1948:612; Mead 1949: 126, 164,
277; Sahlins 1996:425)-and thus unlikely to experience genuine religious
conversion to Christianity.
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96 Robert J. Priest
“Sin” does play a part in Aguaruna conversion narratives -with most narratives
containing the same basic elements found in Ducitak’s account above.
However, they typically present preconversion lives as ones without prior socialization
to Christian ideas and without a sense of sin. Puanchig, in his
fifties, says, “In the times before following Apujui . ..I did not sense myself
(dukuptsuijui)to be a sinner (tuduu)and did not feel that what I did was bad.”
The idea of self as sinner is presented as an emergent understanding triggered
by hearing the “word of Apujui.” Nuwakuk, in her forties, says: “[When] they
announced the word of Apajui, I discovered about myself (dekugmumuwumiujui)
that I was a sinner.” Old man Wampagkit says that upon hearing “the
word of Apajui . . . I saw/discovered (wuinmumkumiujui) my sin
(pegkegchuujun).” The theme of lacking a sense of sin is followed by an
emergent discovery of self as sinner and by vigorous affirmations of the self
as sinner: “Truly I am a sinner (tuduunuk)!”“I was very much of a sinner!”
“I was very evil (kufseknuk)!”“I am going to tell you how I worked badness
(pegkegchuun)!”“I used to work much sin.”
A sense of sin is emergent immediately prior to, or as an accompaniment
to, conversion. It does not appear to have preexisted as a core personality trait
or to have been structured by extensive prior socialization to Christian beliefs
and practices. It is this emergent sense of self as sinner that I explore in this
chapter. How are we to understand the statement “I discovered my sin”?
THE VOCABULARY OF SIN
When Aguaruna Christians characterize themselves as pegkegchuu, tuduu,
kutsek, yujuu, untuchu, or tsuwut, they are using everyday vocabulary.
Anything ugly, deformed, dirty, bad-tasting, damaged, or worthless is
pegkegchuu-“bad.” Applied to people, it is a term of moral condemnation.
Those who are thieves, adulterers, slanderers, stingy, lazy, or incestuous are
labeled pegkegchuu. Tuduu carries exclusively moral connotations and is
used to characterize anyone engaged in active transgressions like incest,
bestiality, wife-beating, adultery, sexual exhibitionism, theft, and, above all,
complaining about food one’s wife or mother has prepared. It is not used for
stigmatized but less active character traits like stinginess, gluttony, or laziness.
Kutsek has the underlying idea of “damage.” It is used when one
breaks a pot or bums down a house, whether accidental or not. But it is also
used for adultery, theft, slander, homicide, fighting, and most disapproved
behaviors- with the implication that these are socially damaging. Yujuu is
used of those who are cruel, brutish, malicious, or without normal moral
sentiments. One who is yujuu, I was told, maliciously kills his neighbor’s
‘‘IDiscovered My Sin!” 97
animals, offers his sister to a passing stranger, molests women, carves images
of female genitals along paths, and beats his mother, wife, child, or dog
when angry.Antuchu means “doesn’t listen” but is used to characterize anyone
rebelling against right order. Tsuwat literally means “dirty” but is continually
invoked in moral discourse. Slander is tsuwat chicham (“dirty
speech”) and the slanderer tsuwat wenintin (“one with a dirty mouth”).
Tsuwat anentaintin (“one with a dirty heart”) is someone who outwardly
pretends good moral sentiments but is inwardly malevolent. One who
“works filth” (tsuwat takaamu) is committing adultery or stealing.
“Discovery of sin” for Aguaruna is not a result of new vocabulary being
learned. Contemporary Aguaruna Christians, like Old Testament Jews and
New Testament Christians,employ multiple words from everyday moral discourse
to speak of moral defect and failure. No Aguaruna,Hebrew,or Greek
term has the distinctively religious connotations of our English word “sin.”
Theirs are everyday terms of moral disapproval that are also employed in religious
discourse. The prior existence and deployment of such vocabulary in
everyday moral discourse is a necessary,but not sufficient,precondition for
the “sense of sin” found in Aguaruna conversions.
THE CONTENT OF MORAL IDEAS
But if the “discovery of self as sinner” is not contingent on new vocabulary,
might it not be contingenton new moral ideas that reframe formerly innocent
behaviors as sinful?
Conversion narratives touch on various sins. Sexual transgression is often
mentioned: “I, with women, have worked much sin.” Homicide figures
prominently:“I killed two people, and then another,and another and another.
Altogether I have killed five.” Slander, mockery, and threat are often mentioned:
“I mocked other people.” “I spoke many bad words!” Sometimesbad
thoughts are mentioned: “I thought many bad thoughts!” Wife-beating and
theft are periodically referred to. And the sin of drinking or getting drunk
from manioc beer is a constant refrain. As these are described, narrators occasionally
voice the idea that formerly they did not see these as sinful. In the
context of describing his own homicides, one Christian says, “I saw the
killing which we Aguaruna do, and I thought it was good.” In the context of
listing his sins (“Drinking manioc beer, I beat my wife, and was a killer.”),
Puanchig stressed, “I did not understand that what I did was evil.”
The sins converts referred to tended to be ones already traditionallydisapproved.There
are two clear exceptionsto this. Traditionallymanioc beer was
a core staple, drunk from childhood.Mamai claimed that, as a child, she was
98 Robert J. Priest
told, “When we nampeamu (drink/party)without fighting, this makes Apajui
happy.”Although no other informant attributed such a sentimentto God,Mamai
accurately captures the traditional emphasis. Manioc beer is a source of
joy and pleasure. Moral warnings were against fighting, slandering,and pursuing
affairs while drinking, not against drinkingper se. Here, the moral message
of evangelists, under the influence of Nazarene missionaries, was a teetotaler
message. Drinking was reconfigured as core to other evils.
Dati, a leading Aguaruna evangelist, told a story of Satan (Zwanch) sacrificing
a turkey,jaguar, and pig and pouring their blood over the plants from
which alcoholic beverages derive. Satan’s curse was that people who drink
too much will get puffed up and proud like a turkey, then mean and bad tempered
like a jaguar, and finally lie unconscious in their own filth on the
ground. The audience laughed uproariously,and the story was retold all afternoon.
Clearly, it was felt to reflect experienced realities. Aguaruna Christians
describe preconversion lives where they frequently awoke after a nampet
(drinking party) with shame, anger, and fighting. My observations and
Harner’s (1972: 110) support this description. But although most mark their
conversion,in part, by their break with manioc beer,many subsequentlymodified
their emphasis to an ethic of limited consumption-claiming to preach
only what the ancestors taught: “Don’t get drunk and fight.” On another occasion,
I heard Dati translating for a mestizo preacher. When he preached
against the sin of drinking beer, Dati stopped translating and said forcefully,
“We don’t preach that here! You can preach against getting drunk, but not
against drinking.” Dati, himself a teetotaler, no longer preaches a teetotaler
message.Many pastors have followed his lead.And yet conversionnarratives
usually treat the break with manioc beer as core.
The second marked contrastwith preconversion morality concernsattitudes
toward ikmat-“revenge.” Traditional moral discoursefocused on a rhetoric of
diwi, or “debt.” Every death had to be avenged, thereby canceling the debt.
UnderAguaruna ideology,adult deaths were due either to physical violence or
to witchcraft (witches in this culture being male). And since every death had
to be avenged,homicide rates were high among Jivaroangroups.According to
Michael Brown’s (1984: 197)study,37 percent of adult male deaths were due
to homicide-which he says is lower than in the past.Jane Ross’s study of the
less acculturated Achuar-Jivaro found that 59 percent of adult male deaths
were due to homicide, significantly higher than rates (21 percent and 41 percent)
reported for the Yanomami (Ross 1980:46). When an Aguaruna Christian
says,“I saw the killing which we ...do, and thought it was good,” he accurately
reflects traditional sentiment. Aguaruna homicide is motivated by
indignation and justified as a righteous act of righting a prior wrong. Every
killer’s narrative begins with some other person’s unjustified homicide,which
“I Discovered My Sin!” 99
the killer is rectifying through a fully righteous act of ikmat-which cancels
the diwi. Since homicides were normally carried out by a group of men, each
spearing or shooting into the body and sharing credit for the killing, and since
male standing was directly dependent on participating in such violent acts,
most older men have participated in multiple killings. (For fuller treatment of
Aguaruna homicide, see Priest 1993:244-353.)
Conversion narratives stress radical renunciation of a retaliatory ethic.
As evangelists stressed, “Unless you forgive others, Apajui will not forgive
YOU.” Wishu comments, “I did not know forgiveness until I followed Apajui.
Those who do me harm, I know Apajui will punish, so I do not worry.” And
again, “When my wife was unfaithful, and when they killed my brother,
I made no threats. I just told it to Apajui alone.” Dawai says, “My wife had
an affair ...but I did not beat her. I treated her well.” Albino describes a man
beating him up for an imagined offense: “I did not retaliate. I only said,
‘brother,I reply in the name of Apajui. In vain you do this, but I forgive you.”’
Some traditionalists complain bitterly that pastors “protect witches” from being
killed. Pastors defend accused witches not because they disbelieve the
witchcraft charge, but because God alone has the right to avenge a death.
When one old man, Wampagkit, went blind, others attributed it to witchcraft
and asked his authorization to retaliate against the witch. He refused, saying,
“If my enemy has harmed me, Apajui will defend me when he comes.”
When Aguaruna converts identify nampet (drinking/partying) or homicide
and other retaliatory acts as sins they have repented of, it appears that the
“discovery of self as sinner” is at least partially based on a recoding as sinful
of what was formerly approved. This does not fully explain the emergent
sense of self as sinner, however, since a majority of confessed sins are of a
sort already disapproved of within traditional culture.
BEFORE GOD
Elderly converts report minimal knowledge of Apajui prior to conversion.
Mamai says, “In former times we did not know of Apajui. The old ones just
said, ‘Apajui made the earth, and he lives. He will destroy it.”’ Apajui is featured
in two traditional myths. In one, Apajui and Kumpanam lived on opposite
cliffs where the Maraiion River cuts through the last ridge of mountains.
Apajui forbade Kumpanam from looking at his daughter. When
Kumpanam disobeyed, thus impregnating Apajui’s daughter, Apajui left in
anger for the sky. In another myth, Apajui comes to Earth, dirty and hungry,
seeking lodging. He is mocked and turned away. In anger, he announces a
flood. One family extended hospitality, so he told them to build a balsa raft,
100 Robert J. Priest
put dirt on it, plant crops, and build a house. The incestuous and those who
killed “in vain” (withoutjustification) were excluded. Contact with the rain
by any who committed incest resulted in their flesh liquefying. Adults were
not to look at the sky, lest they die. As the water rose, threatening to crush
them against the sky, children who were sexually innocent were told to put
a staff through the roof and tap three times on the sky-at which point Apajui
caused the waters to recede.
The first of these myths correspondsto myths reported around the world of
a high god who withdraws from humankind after some transgression. The
second corresponds to similar flood myths reported in traditional societies
aroundthe world.Whetheror not such stories antedateor reflect European influences,
they were deeply entrenched as traditional stories prior to the first
sustained presence of missionaries in the late 1920s.
Missionaries initially rejected Apajui as a term for God and used
“Tatayus”-a hybrid from Spanish and Quechua. But in the early 1960s,
when converts were observed addressingApajui in prayer, missionaries concluded
that Apajui was an acceptable term for God. By the time of my fieldwork,
Tatayus was seldom mentioned.
The emergent sense of sin reported by Aguaruna converts is directly dependent
on discourses about Apajui, discourses reporting on “words” understood
as those of Apajui. Wampagkit describes his early life,
I lived in vain. ...I was a nurnpen (drinkedpartier), and a fighter. When someone
would be killed I would participate. My one desire was to be Kukujum. I
would mock other people. Living like this, I was happy. . ..I was not following
Apajui. Why? Because there was no one yet announcing the word of Apajui. At
that time I heard those who were announcing the word of Apajui, a good word.
And so I too followed Apajui. There I saw/discovered (wuinrnumkarniujui)my
sin @egkegchuujun). I said, “It is true. I have done that which Apajui does not
like.” And so I followed upu Jisusun.
REVERSING THE DIRECTION OF MORALACCUSATION
If one compares traditional moral discourses against those of Christian converts,
there does not appear to be a significant increase in the sheer number
of times that words of moral accusationoccur. But there is a shift in where accusation
is directed. Traditionally, it is almost always directed against an
“other,” virtually never against “self.” Some cultures encourage the individual
to attribute misfortune to one’s own moral failure (“moral causal ontology”),
whereas others (“interpersonalcausal ontology”) locate the source of
misfortune in another’s evil (Shweder, Much, Mahapatra, and Park 1997:
‘‘IDiscovered My Sin! ’’ 101
120-23). Aguaruna culture exemplifies the latter. That is, virtually every misfortune
triggers the quest for a guilty “other.”
Under Aguaruna ideology, a witch may be unaware he is a witch. But his
envy, hatred, anger, resentment,jealousy, and animosity toward another have
the mystical power to inflict sickness and death. In a typical scenario, when
someone is dying, a diagnostic process commences that includes social assessments
of the sentiments of neighboring men toward the dying person. Of
course, in a face-to-face community, where neighboring men have competed
for the few marriageable women, where individuals have cuckolded one
another, where some consistently have abundant food while others suffer
with less, and where gossip stirs resentments, animosities, and remembered
grudges, there will often be many whose known or suspected sentiments
make them prime suspects. And since every death must be avenged, every impending
death triggers a diffuse anxiety over who will be blamed as witch and
killed. A few weeks earlier, many may have clearly demonstrated envy, anger,
or resentment toward a healthy individual. As illness brings this person close
to death, however, the whole community shifts dramatically into a mode of
absolute solidarity with the victim, with vigorous pronouncements of righteous
indignation against the evil witch and a proclaimed willingness to
avenge the death of “my brother.” Each individual denies any witch-like sentiments
within the self, adopts a moral stance of righteous indignation, and
joins in a communal act of identifying some other individual as the sole
repository of evil who must be eliminated by a righteous act of homicide.
People kill witches for the very traits often exemplified in their own lives.
Although witch discourse is only one part of moral discourse, it exemplifies
a consistent tendency of traditional Aguaruna discourse to apply terms of
moral evil to “others” and almost never to “self.” “I discovered my sin!” is
notable, not for its moral vocabulary but for directing the accusing words
against the self. Conversion narratives, in agreement with the judgment of
Apajui, direct words of moral accusation against the self in a fundamental divergence
from patterns in the traditional culture. Conversion narratives name
the sins of the self in a context of repentance, confession, and renunciation.
FEAR A N D TREMBLING BEFORE GOD
Mamai’s reference to Apajui destroying the earth doubtless draws on the
flood myth and on the belief that earthquakes are sent by Apajui. In 1928,between
May and December, there was a series of earthquakes and aftershocks
in this region measuring up to 7.3 on the Richter scale. I recorded numerous
Aguaruna accounts of this, including eight eyewitness accounts. Aguaruna
102 Robert J. Priest
accounts describe landslides, salt springs pouring into rivers and killing fish,
and crevasses splitting houses in half. Night animals called out in daytime,
and day animals at night. Children were told not to “mock them.” People
gathered in large homes. They spoke in whispers. It was said Apajui was angry
and would destroy people for being tsuwat-dirty. Rumors spread that
women who had killed their infants would be eaten by worms. No one should
have sex lest Apajui be angry. The incestuous and those who had killed unjustifiably
were to be socially excluded lest everyone be destroyed.The flesh
of the incestuouswould dissolve into liquid.Some said a flood would destroy
the world.Apajui, it was said, would send his chicken as a test. Narrators report
that animals (e.g., opossum, anteater, armadillo,cat, and turkey) entered
homes and acted tame. These were said to be the “animals of Apajui,” which
should be cared for, fed, and released, lest Apajui be angry. People danced
and sangto Apajui, asking why he created them if he is now destroyingthem.
“For what sin (tudau)do you now destroy us?’ They asked for pity and called
attention to their crying children or whimpering dogs. Later, the consensus
emergedthat this dancingmust be done nude.Men and women undressed and
danced, facing away from each other, holding up babies or puppies as they
looked to the sky and asked for pity: “Apajui,you seeall of me, as I was born.
Have pity. Have pity on my crying baby.” As they danced, the earthquake
calmed. Men and women were not to look at each other, but some “bad men”
did not fear and looked at women, or reached out to touch them. Each time
this happened, the earthquake would start again. Adults eventually tired. The
children now sang and danced, puppies held up to Apajui. In some accounts,
only when the children danced, did the quakes stop.This event resulted in no
lasting religiouschanges,but the story,frequentlyretold, highlightsApajui as
one who bringsjudgment.
Fear of judgment by Apajui clearly contributes to many conversions.Anquash
describes visiting a village when an earthquake occurred: “I told them,
don’t be afraid of the earthquake. It is Apajui you should fear. He is fearsome
(ishamainuk).When I said this, everyone from Putjuk contracted themselves
(to Apajui).” Wishu said,
I lived in vain, killing people, getting drunk, fighting and talking in vain. Antonio
announced the word of Apajui, that those not contracted to Apajui will not
go to heaven (nayaimpinmak)but to the place of fire. And so I said, better that
I contract myself to Apajui.
Chijiap provides a similaraccount and concludes,“BecauseI saw the danger,
I followedApajui.” In the context of discoveringherself to be a sinner,Ducitak
told herself, “‘Truly I am going to the place of fire.’ Thinking of this I
wept much.” Chamik heard the word of Apajui but rejected it. Later,as he re-
“I Discovered My Sin!” 103
turned from participating in a homicide, he reports becoming overwhelmed
with fear, “thinking what would happen to me if I did not deliver myself to
Apajui.” A year later, he did so. Anquash, a self-described womanizer and
killer, reports having been warned, “If you don’t leave your sin (tuduu), you
will suffer very much.” The emergent sense of sin is, in part, an emergent fear
of deserved punishment. Prior fears of retaliation by an enemy now become
fear of punishment by an all-seeing and righteous God.
FORGIVENESSAND SALVATION
Dawai ends his lengthy narrative with a two-sentence summary: “Before I
was a drunkard, a fighter (munin) and bad (pegkegchuu).. . .Now I know
what sin is, but I also know who Jesus Christ is.” Esach, after months of inner
turmoil over his spiritual state triggered by the death of a son, describes
going to a pastor’s house: “I wept when I spoke with him. He told me that it
was for my sin that Jesus died. And so I confessed my life before Apajui.”
“Jesus is able to ‘throw out’ sin,” Tiwi affirms. Anquash explains, “I asked
Apajui to forgive me (tsugkugtugtu),to erase (esukutjugtu)my sin.”
Conversion narratives maintain a clear focus on two alternatives, heaven
(nuyuinpinmuk) and hell (jinum).As sinners, people deserve hell. But for
those who renounce sin, seek forgiveness based on the death of Jesus, and
“contract themselves to” Apajui, there is forgiveness. Occasionally converts
describe dreams that feature heaven. Wishu describes a dream in which he
followed the “path of Apajui.” Beautiful flowers, delicious fruit, and perfumed
birds are encountered.
I also saw the doves of Apajui. Their breast was the color of gold, and they sang
beautifully. The houses which I saw from a distance were very beautiful. A being
told me, “you are going to live here. Even though you will suffer, don’t be
disturbed. Your suffering on earth will be in vain.” Telling me all,he showed me
the things of heaven. Even now I do not forget the things Apajui showed me.
In other narratives, individuals describe “dying” and being denied admittance
to a large house filled with followers of Apajui. Reviving, they “contract
themselves” to Apajui.
THE GOOD PATH
Aguaruna conversion narratives construct a vision of two alternative ways of
life. Puanchig says, “Dati preached the word of Apajui and the good path. He
104 Robert J. Priest
preached that a follower of Apajui should not slander. From there I became a
true follower of Apajui.” He was also influenced by a dream in which “I saw
the dove of Apajui. It signaled me saying that this is the path of Apajui. And
so I contracted myself (to Apajui). Having contracted myself, I felt good.”
Repeatedly one hears of dreams in which two paths are faced, and the journey
language of following a path or of following Apajui is frequent. Repeatedly
“the good path” and “good words” and “the word of Apajui” are linked.
“Truly the word of Apajui is good” (Tiwi). “Now I live following good
words” (Shimpu). “I heard good words about Apajui” (Cruz). “I also want the
good path” (Tiwi). Perhaps the most common phrase describing conversion is
simply, “I followed (nemagkamiajai)Apajui.”
Preconversion lives are frequently presented as lives of personal disorder.
“I drank much, sometimes well, sometimes badly. Many times I fought. Village
leaders put me injail. But this didn’t stop me. I drank much, killed someone,
and attacked others (verbally). Those who followed Apajui I criticized. I
beat my wife, and injured her, so that her brothers beat me up” (Ujukam).
Drinking, retaliatory violence, slander, and marital fights and breakups are
typically featured as paradigmatic elements in a way of life subsequently renounced
in conversion. Testimonies and preaching construct a model of the
good life characterized by peace, forgiveness, love, sobriety, and fidelity. This
good life is found by following Apajui and his word. For converts, it was not
simply the condemnatory aspects of the religious message that motivated
them, but also the alternative vision of a good life. “With the word of Apajui,
we live in peace,” says Chamik, a former killer.
This is a society with a high rate of female suicide. In Brown’s (1984:
197)research, 58 percent of adult female deaths were due to suicide. And in
my own case material, it is clear that a majority of these are directly related
to the quality of marital relationships. The stories of suffering that women
tell, frequently as a result of the men in their lives, are poignant. The path
of Apajui provides new ideals. As Unug describes her conversion, following
that of her husband, she tells how, at his initiative, they made a promise
never to leave each other. “Very beautiful it is, to follow Apajui’s path,” she
concludes.
Many communities initially responded in mass to the new vision of peace,
stability, and love. Expectations, for some at least, were utopian. The break
with manioc beer was not sustained by many. Gossip, resentments, and bad
feelings did not fully disappear. Conversion narratives describe great struggles,
on occasion, with sexual desire, desire for manioc beer, and the wish to
retaliate against some offender. Many failed to maintain the new standards
and either temporarily or permanently dropped out of church life.
“I Discovered My Sin!” 105
“The good path” was not fully instantiated in the lives of converts. But this
attractive image of the good is sustained in discourse,partially exemplified in
the lives of converts, and provides the context for discourses about sin. The
discovery of self as sinner is in part a result of an alternative vision of the
good life, against which specific actions and patterns are discovered to be sinfully
problematic. As converts heard the word of Apajui-a word about the
good, not just about the bad-they discovered themselves to be sinners.
APAJUIAS COMPANION AND GUIDE
Although the theme of escape from punishment is one component of these
narratives, a more central theme is that of entering into a personal relationship
with Apajui. Entsakua reports:
I contracted myself to Jesus. I came to know that Apajui loves us. I began to
obey Apajui. Before I knew Apajui I could not travel alone. After I contracted
myself to Jesus, when I traveled I felt as it there were two of us going together.
Now, praying to Apajui, I travel at night to hunt, without fear.
Wishu describes a dream he had at conversion: “Apajui put fragrant medicine
in my hair and bathed me. He said, I will never leave you. You are my son.
Upon awakening, my body had a fragrant smell. And I prayed to Apajui with
deep desire.” Mamai says, “When I contracted myself, I felt very contented,
light and good. I prayed all day to Apajui.” Jempets describes his conversion:
“I was very happy. With Apajui close by always, to talk to. And so I prayed
to Apajui, asking what I should do. Every day I prayed.” Again and again
when narrators describe sufferings undergone, they stress the companionship
of Apajui. Fifty-year-old Mamai describes her travails: “Although I suffered
much, I never left Apajui. .. .Although I suffer, I am with Apajui. .. .When
I get sick, no one cares for me ...but I have Apajui. .. .I have suffered much.
...But whatever the sorrow,it passes. In the new life there are other thoughts.
We receive joy from Apajui.” Again and again, Wishu intersperses accounts
of his afflictions with comments like “Even if I walk alone, I am with Apajui”
and “Although I suffer, I go on with Apajui. Apajui is always with me.”
Puanchig says,
Having converted, I felt good. It seemed the spirit (wukuni)lived in my heart,
that it taught me and strengthened me. I went into the forest to pray. In this manner
I lived, happy. And because I have tried it, I say it is good to pray. . . , It
seems the spirit speaks in my heart, this way I feel what I should do, in my heart.
106 Robert J. Priest
“Don’tdo this, truly you cannot do this,those who work the work of Apajui do
not go about doing transgressions!”And I fear.While others commit faults,and
I have the thought of eating someone else’sfruit-whether papaya or peanutsInto
my heart comes the thoughtthat followersof Apajui do not eat the produce
of others,and this ideaentersmy heart.And so it is truewhat they say,that when
the spirit dwells in us, it teachesus.
SIN AS ONGOING REALITY
Narratives stress sins abandoned and removed at conversion: “All my sins I
left with Apajui” (Shimpu). But in fact their narratives reflect ongoing struggle
with sin. After mentioning his many preconversion sexual affairs, one
man comments, “Because I have worked sin so much, I do not feel sure of
not sinning, although I try.” A traveling evangelist laments. “It is hard to
preach without sinning. .. .With the strong bad desire for women I suffer.
. . .Although I have bad thoughts, I do not act on them.” Another says, “At
that time I confronted the powerful desire in my heart pushing me to sexual
(sin). But I decided to resist.” Another’s narrative includes this: “Then I
lusted greatly for many women. When this happened I went into the mountain
to pray to Apajui. (After fasting and prayer) I felt like a child, without
sexual desire.” The struggle with thirst for manioc beer, and ongoing struggles
with anger and the desire to retaliate for offenses and insults, are likewise
frequent themes.
This chapter focuses on sin in Christian conversion, not sin in postconversion
life. However, it is worth noting that in these narratives ‘‘sin’’is a concept
continually brought to bear in all phases of the Christian’s life. It is ongoing
subjective experiences related to struggling with sin that add greatly to the
grip that this concept has on the lives of Aguaruna converts. Many Aguaruna
who initially converted and subsequently left the church did so under circumstances
involving what was understood both by them and by others as the inability
or unwillingness to overcome some temptation to sin. Indeed, I repeatedly
encountered evidence that many such individuals believed themselves to
be in a state of sin that they someday expected to repent of or that they found
themselves unable to extricate themselves from. Pujupat, a former convert, describes
having been slandered as a follower of Apajui, subsequently having an
affair, leaving the church, adding another wife, and returning to drink.Worrying
that he was “being lost for good,” he decided to spend time praying to
Apajui: “I wept and went into the forest alone. I said to myself, ‘when I do
this, I will feel good andjoyful.’ But I felt only empty. I noted that Apajui did
not speak to me, and that I was completely abandoned. So I understood. From
“I Discovered My Sin!” 107
that time until now I have not been restored in my soul (wakan).Until now I
am like this.” In his narrative, he goes on to try and figure out what went
wrong in his own life. But his reasoning continues to operate within the framework
of Christian symbolism. That is, fully ten years after leaving the church,
Pujupat is gripped by a set of symbols-a pivotal one being that of sin.
In conversion, people grasp and are grasped by a system of symbols that
tells them about themselves and that contributes to the construction of new
selves (Stromberg 1985).One such symbol in evangelical discourses is sin, a
core element in what Hallowell (1976: 24) identifies as Christianity’s “folk
anthropology.” Evangelistic narratives of sin draw on traditional vocabulary,
speak to lived experiences of transgression and moral failure, construct alternative
visions of the good, proclaim the existence of a morally concerned deity,
reconfigure self-identity around a shared sinful condition that requires
conversion,and encourage an active process of personal transformation in accord
with the “word of God” and grounded in a personal relationship with
God. Personal testimony is the preferred form of communication-fusing together
the symbolic and the experiential. Narratives examined in this chapter
fuse together personal experience and religious symbol in a way that provides
personal coherence and models the route to a new self. Even when the new
self remains unattained, the new symbols continue to exert influence and authority
not easily ignored.
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