The Telengits of Southern Siberia

Landscape, Religion and Knowledge in Motion

Agnieszka Halemba

• Éditeur: Routledge
• Année: 2006
• ISBN:
  9781134238941
• Édition: 1
• Sujet: Geschichte
• Sous-sujet: Russische Geschichte

In a new and engaging study, Halemba explores the religion and world outlook of the Telengits of Altai. The book provides an account of the Altai, its peoples, clans and political structures, focusing particularly on on the Telengits, whilst also considering the different elements of religious belief exhibited among these native peoples.

Paradoxically, as the demand for national recognition grows among such people, and with it the need for more formal state structures, built around the nation, religion too begins to become formalized, and loses its natural, all-pervasive character. With the Telengits, whose natural religion includes elements of Buddhism, this takes the form of a debate as to whether the state religion of their polity is to be Buddhism or, contrary to the character of shamanism, a formal, structured, fixed shamanism. This is a comprehensive anthropological account of the contemporary religious life of the Telengits, holding important implications for wider debates in sociology and politics.

Part I
Landscape and movement

1 The Altai, the Altaians and the Telengits

The Altai

An introduction to the life of any group of Altaians has to start by introducing the Altai, which, as a geographical notion, is a mountainous area that is divided by the state borders of the Russian Federation, Kazakhstan, Mongolia and China. The Republic of Altai is situated in that part of the Altai Mountains that belongs to the Russian Federation. The contemporary political borders influence the perception of ‘our Altai’, especially when combined with the partial sedentarization of the Altaians that occurred during the Soviet era. The restriction placed on movement by these international borders and the political delineation of the territory of the Republic (in Soviet times an autonomous district) have largely confined Altaian and Telengit discourses on their land to the territory of this political unit.

The character of the Altai Mountains varies considerably. In the north, the mountains comprise small hills coated with thick forest; to the south they boast high peaks covered with snow; and the open steppes, in the district of Kosh-Agach, are surrounded by yellowish bare hills. There are many beautiful places in the Altai, and admiration for the beauty of the landscape is so frequently and colourfully expressed in the Republic that it becomes a kind of cliché. Within the region itself, the Altai is considered to be one of the most beautiful places in the world.

The Altai also has an important place in the imagination of people living in Russia.¹ Not everyone may know where exactly it is situated, who lives there and what its history is, but tell anyone from Russia that you have been to the Altai and they will congratulate you on visiting a place of such natural beauty. If you happen to talk to someone with an interest in spirituality, personal development or mysticism, you can be sure to hear a longer narrative about the power and mystery of the Altai and the potential spiritual revival that awaits you through interaction with the Altai’s natural and mystical qualities. Viktor Erofeev, a famous Russian writer, mentions the Altai in his recent book An Encyclopaedia of the Russian Soul² in a somewhat ironic way, while describing one of his characters, Sasha, who among other spiritually self-enriching activities (such as reading Russian philosophers, studying Buddhism, Hinduism and Theosophy or trying to be a hermit) was ‘looking for his way in the Altai’. Thorough analysis of the Altai’s place in the universe of images and notions that are meaningful to people in contemporary Russia would have to include many different narratives, but all of them would share at least one common feature. Stories about the Altai focus on the land, on its beauty and its power. The Altai in the Russian imagination is a place of nature to be appreciated and nurtured, of power or energy to be received and enjoyed, of wildlife to be protected and admired. The Altai is famous. Yet the Altaians are not.

The popularity of the Altai can be accounted for in part by the activities of Nicholas Roerich, an artist, philosopher, occultist, and, as it is often claimed, a political visionary, whose life history and ideas have inspired many followers to this day. There has been much written about Roerich, though one has to wade through mountains of largely uncritical and glorifying literature on his activities, as well as those of his wife Helena and his friends and family.³ Much of this is to be found on the websites of groups worldwide which are concerned with propagating and popularizing Roerich’s ideas and works.⁴ The most well-known exploits of the Roerichs are the two great expeditions (1925–8 and 1934–6) when the family travelled through Eurasia. The philosophical and literary works, paintings and memoirs that appeared as a result of these expeditions indicate that Tibet, Mongolia, India and the Altai were the most important destinations for the Roerichs.

The precise aims of the Roerichs’ travels are still a subject of debate (McCannon 2002). Yet despite doubts and disagreements concerning the political goals of the expeditions (e.g. the alleged espionage by Nicholas Roerich), one issue is beyond doubt. Apart from being a writer, a painter and perhaps a clandestine political activist, Roerich was, most importantly, a mystic. The image of the Altai has been implanted with an aura of mystery, power and hidden meanings through Roerich’s mystical teachings, paintings and writings. He placed the Altai at the heart of his artistic, political and mystical visions. He searched for the connections between the Altai and the Himalayas (significantly, one of his two accounts of the 1925–8 expedition was entitled Altai-Himalaya), he saw in the Altai the mystical land of Belovod’e⁵ and envisioned it as the centre of a new civilization, which would come to replace the technocratic Western dominance. Most importantly, however, his ideas concerning the Altai have been popularized, and today they attract followers in Russia and beyond. The devotees of a spiritual movement of Agni Yoga (established by the Roerichs in the 1920s) still visit the Altai, and the Uimon Valley where the Roerichs’ expedition stopped in 1926 has become their site of pilgrimage. A Roerich Centre in Barnaul (a large Siberian city closest to the Altai) promotes Roerichs’ mystical beliefs and humanitarian goals (McCannon 2002: 184).

This focus on the spiritual potential of the land, nature protection and the beauty of the Altai has not been monopolized by the Roerichs, however. There have been many famous initiatives in the Soviet Union (and later the Russian Federation) that have turned public attention towards the Altai as a site of natural potential and beauty. These include the establishment of so-called ‘Kedrograd’ in the late 1950s and early 1960s, and the protests against the construction of a hydroelectric power station on the Katun River some 20 years later. ‘Kedrograd’ was a forestry enterprise that worked on an ecological basis of sustainability and care for the environment. It was initiated by a group of students from Leningrad, distressed by the unlimited exploitation of forests by the Soviet lespromkhozy (state forestry enterprises). ‘Kedrograd’ was largely successful for almost 10 years, but later it was closed by the Soviet authorities – though whether this was for political or economic reasons remains unclear.⁶ Importantly though, ‘Kedrograd’ has since become a symbol of sound ecological principles, love and respect for nature on the part of ordinary citizens in the Soviet Union, and a proof that, despite the oppressive authoritarian system, some people did care about the land and tried to stop its reckless exploitation. Nowadays there are multiple organizations, enterprises and ecological initiatives in the Russian Federation that either draw their inspiration from this early initiative or even use the word ‘Kedrograd’ in their name.

Likewise one of the first ecological protests in the Soviet Union to be reported widely in the media took place in the Altai in the 1980s. The attempts of ecological activists to stop the building of the hydroelectric power station on the Katun River in the Altai are remembered in Russia today as the first successful demonstration of citizens’ dissension over ecologically sensitive development by the government. Plans for the hydroelectric power station were abandoned following these protests, and they have only recently been revived by the new authorities, though this time on a local level.

The way in which a particular place can penetrate the social imagination is an interesting theme and the Altai could serve as an engaging focus of such a study. Until now the Altai has been the focus of various international initiatives. A large part of the territory of the Republic is included under the UNESCO World Heritage Programme. There are two strictly observed Natural Reserves (Altaiskiy Zapovednik and Katunskiy Zapovednik including respectively Lake Teletskoe and Mountain Belukha), as well as the Ükok Quiet Zone, which until 2004 was covered the UNESCO programme. In the latter case, UNESCO was mainly interested in protecting the natural resources of the area. While this was also very important to local activists, as well as to many other Altaians (including Telengits), the Ükok Plateau is valued primarily for being the site of the tomb of the Ice Maiden. The Ice Maiden is the mummy of a Scythian woman that was discovered by a team of Russian archaeologists in 1993.⁷ The tattooed body of this mummy is seen to embody much of Altaian history, as everything that is found in the land is seen as having a direct link to the present population of the Altai.

What distinguishes the Altai from other ecologically rich regions in the Russian Federation is its aura of mystery, spiritual energy and power, which, as we have seen, was inspired to a large extent by the Roerichs and the subsequent popularity of their works. It is no coincidence that, in the post-perestroika era, the flagship of the tourist industry in the Altai is the so-called energy tourism (energeticheskii turizm). ‘Energy tourism’ refers to the activities of tourists who believe that the Altai is a place filled with various sorts of energies and who go there in order to ‘charge themselves up’ and ‘find themselves’. The Altai today is frequented by people arriving alone or in groups, dressed all in blue, in white, in orange or stark naked, bald or with long hair and beards, travelling on foot, by bicycle or on horseback, meditating on the mountain passes and conducting rituals unknown to the local people. While local Russian peasants see the ‘energy tourists’ as either harmless eccentrics or, at worst, as morally ambivalent, the Altaians can see them as dangerous. I hope that the argument pursued in this book will, among other things, throw light on the reasons for the Altaian scepticism towards the ‘energy tourists’.

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