What’s the Difference Between Religion and Magic? | Crash Course Religions #4

Hi, I'm John Green. Welcome to Crash Course Religions. In some Christian traditions, people experience glossolalia, or the gift of tongues. It's described as a gift from the Holy Spirit that allows the receiver to speak a language they don't understand. But this gift isn't unique to Christianity. When spirit mediums aim to speak with the dead, they sometimes enter a trance where, in a similar way, a new voice flows through them. One of these is often recognized as a religious experience, while the other is often considered magic or superstition. So what's the difference between a spell and a prayer? Between channeling spirits and channeling the Holy Spirit? Where's the line between religion and magic? Like religion, magic, of course, means different things to different people. Like to me, magic means being terrified as a child of a man who apparently had the ability to spontaneously generate guinea pigs from a top hat because, as he later explained to my mom, rabbits were too expensive. But that's not the only definition of magic. Also like religion, there's no one way to do magic. The word groups together a bunch of diverse practices that call on invisible powers to influence the physical world. Rituals deemed magical are often personal, private, and goal-oriented, striving to heal or defend or transform someone's life. Like when I convince myself that if I just win this game of video game soccer, AFC Wimbledon will win a game of actual soccer, that's magical thinking, right? Now in some traditions, people gain magical abilities by chance, like Tang Qi, spirit mediums in parts of China and Southeast Asia who are believed to heal the sick and bring good luck, piercing their own skin as they write messages from the spirits possessing them. Only those born at certain times and on certain dates are capable of becoming Tang Qi. But in other traditions, anyone can learn magic by studying the occult or secret knowledge of supernatural forces, like Wicca, which aims to revive the pagan worldviews of pre-Christian Europe. Most Wiccans practice magic alone, but they also come together at seasonal gatherings called sabbats and in networks called covens. But regardless of how it's practiced, the idea of magic often comes with negative stereotypes, right? Some view it as dubious or even demonic, reserved for sinners and charlatans. And pop culture hasn't always helped with that. But it wasn't always that way. The English word magic comes from the ancient Greek megeia, a word they got from the Persian Magi, which you might recognize as another name for the wise men who went all out for the Virgin Mary's baby shower. In ancient Greece, people from all walks of life sought out things like amulets and potions for protection and healing, and occasionally revenge. Megeia was seen as closer to philosophy and medicine than spirituality and religion. But no one really called their own practices megeia. Greek and Roman authorities used the term to demonize people they didn't like or rituals they found weird or spooky. In fact, the Greek philosopher Celsus hurled allegations of magic at someone you may have heard of—Jesus Christ. Fast forward to medieval Western Europe, and these accusations went into overdrive. Christianity was growing, and the Church saw magic as a threat—something that only those in league with the devil practiced. Accusations of magic and witchcraft were often lobbed at women and people in marginalized communities, and for centuries in Europe and eventually North America, this had deadly consequences. It's estimated that over 50,000 people were executed across Europe for witchcraft between the 15th and 18th centuries—the vast majority women, and often single women, who were deemed dangerous because they weren't tied to a man. In New England, between 1638 and 1725, women with little power were disproportionately accused of witchcraft. During the infamous Salem Witch Trials of 1692, an enslaved indigenous woman named Tituba was one of the first to be accused after confessing to quote, signing the devil's book and bewitching young girls, though scholars today argue it's almost certain her confession was coerced. By the 19th century, the meaning of the word magic had evolved further. Scholars saw it as irrational, theorizing that magic was the earliest stage of cultural development followed by religion and eventually science, once a culture had shaken off its old superstitions. But no one could agree on where to draw the line between magic and religion. Bronislaw Malinowski argued that religions asked spiritual beings for help, while magic manipulated those spiritual beings. Emile Durkheim, meanwhile, said that religions were communal, while magic was more of a solo thing. But whatever the rule, there were always exceptions to it. And even today, academics can't agree on a definition of magic. Scholar Drew Wilburn names a variety of qualities that make something magic, including attempting to manipulate objects and using religious practices like prayer and sacrifice and performing actions to serve an individual. Other scholars see magic as a quality of a ritual, where you're working toward a specific effect. Still others see magic as a term that maligns legitimate practices and doesn't have a practical use at all. And it gets even more complicated when you consider how to apply these boundaries, which were conceptualized in Western Europe, to the rest of the world. Like the Islamic term sahir often gets translated as magic, even though it describes things that wouldn't fit in the English category, like gossip and slander, not just sorcery and demons. Plus, traditions like Tibetan Buddhism just aren't so keyed up over the differences between prayers and spells. And that's something I think about a lot, because religion and magic have often overlapped in my world. I used to be a student chaplain at a children's hospital, and I developed a private superstition. I always laid out my shoes and my chaplain jacket in a very particular way, designed to ward off injuries and illnesses among the kids in the hospital. And I guess that's a private and superstitious practice, like magic. But I would also pray for the protection and health of all children in the hospital, which I suppose is a religious practice. So it's not just common for these things to coexist, I would argue it's almost inevitable. Even those of us who don't believe in the supernatural still wish and hope, after all. While the hierarchy of magic bad, religion better, science best has a long and sordid history, it doesn't necessarily help us to understand why people practice magic. For that, let's head to the Thought Bubble. Three snakeskins, a sacrificed sheep, three days and three nights without food, water, or clothes. That's what it took for author Zora Neale Hurston to be welcomed into the world of hoodoo. Before Hurston was a novelist, she was an anthropologist, and she came to New Orleans in the late 1920s to study this closely guarded, often misunderstood tradition. Hoodoo had started with enslaved people who adapted West and Central African rituals at a time when openly practicing their traditions was a crime. Hoodoo combined knowledge of plants, spirits, and ancestors, and was believed to have the power to hurt people or help them. Hurston went all in, earning experts' trust and training with them for months. Some specialized in death, others had recipes for changing someone's mind or dealing with a bad landlord or landing a job. They taught her their spells for the hard parts of life—betrayal, breakups, gossip, loneliness. Like, to keep a secret, you could write it down, fold the paper up, and slip it into a corpse's hands, whispering the secret in its ear. Or to split up spouses, you could put dirt from a fresh grave in the corners of their bedroom while repeating, Just fuss and fuss till you go away from here. Hoodoo was full of supernatural solutions for everyday problems, including protection from violence—a major concern for generations of black Americans. And because Hoodoo didn't shy away from that reality, it gave a sense of power to people who'd been without it for so long. Today, some Hoodoo practitioners embrace the magic label, while others claim it's just a way of life. Either way, as Hurston wrote in 1931, Nobody knows for sure how many thousands in America are warmed by the fire of Hoodoo. Thanks Thought Bubble. So, whether we call it religious, spiritual, or magical, traditions like Hoodoo often reflect the social conditions of the people practicing them. And by the 1930s, anthropologists like E.E. Evans Pritchard were starting to argue that magic wasn't necessarily at odds with rational thinking. People often used both magical and scientific reasoning to explain events. For example, if a building fell down and killed someone, the Azande of what's now South Sudan might suggest witchcraft as the reason why this terrible accident happened at that moment to that person. But they'd also diagnose that termites had gnawed the wooden beams and caused it to collapse. Where science could answer the question, why? Magic could answer the question, why me? Magical practices are essentially strategies that help people make sense of the world and manage uncertainty. Like a 22-year-old chaplain who doesn't know what the night holds in store. And often we see really similar strategies within established religions. Like consider protective objects like this Jewish amulet created to shield a young girl from evil forces. Or this shirt wrapped with verses from the Quran and the 99 names of God intended to protect the person wearing it. And we also find the use of specific words or phrases of power in many established religions. Like the Hindu mantra Om Namah Shivaya, which people repeat to bring healing and calm. Or how some Muslims say Ayat al-Kursi twice a day for protection. Or like how I recite the Lord's Prayer whenever I'm on an airplane. Twice actually. Once when it takes off and once when it lands. And it's not weird. Nobody thinks it's weird. And what might otherwise be called magic sometimes goes by another name. Like miracles. There's a long history of Catholic reports of the Virgin Mary appearing in shrouds or the sky and statues weeping tears or blood. Some Hindu gurus gain authority through healing and mind-reading and conjuring. And in Myanmar, Buddhist Weiza, or wizards, are said to have special powers to heal and fly and turn metal into gold. When we recognize how common magical practices are, even among established religions, we can see how they respond to the many uncertainties and fears that make us human. These days, magic is as commonplace as good luck charms and as visible as witches sharing spells on TikTok. And while some stigma certainly remains from centuries of bad PR, many magical communities are reclaiming their identities. For example, brujería has roots in indigenous practices that were punished and demonized and driven into hiding by colonizers in the Catholic Church, leading to centuries of stigmatization throughout Latin America and the Afro-Caribbean. But today's brujas are working to reclaim their image by talking publicly about how their practices help them find balance and a feeling of connection to their ancestors. It's important to remember that these categories are created. They're created by us. And we create categories like magic or religion to make sense of the world around us. They may be just words, but those words cast ideas into the world. And those ideas create structure and meaning in society, building and reinforcing systems of power. These words can even conjure illusions, like the idea that some people deserve persecution or that their practices are somehow inferior to others. But when we part that veil and peer beyond, we can see that the lines that would divide us are, at best, murky, and that the definition of magic is as malleable as we need it to be. Sometimes we bend it to wield power, others to fight against it. But one thing is certain, these traditions can conjure feelings of empowerment and resilience and connection, even in a world that's difficult and uncertain. And no matter which way you define it, there is a certain magic in that. In our next episode, we'll ask the question, what does it mean to be Hindu? I'll see you then. Thanks for watching this episode of Crash Course Religions, which was filmed in our studio here in Indianapolis, Indiana, and was made with the help of all of these nice people. If you want to help keep Crash Course free for everyone, forever, you can join our community on Patreon.