Since time immemorial, soldiers have invoked the divine to protect them in battle—and performed rituals and incantations to curry favor with it.

No human endeavor is so uncertain, and so devastating, as warfare. Soldiers and their commanders do everything they can to prepare for the battles ahead, hoping to win the victory and save the lives of themselves and their men. Yet no plan survives first contact with the enemy; even with perfect preparations, things can still go awry, resulting in casualties or defeat.

Faced with the uncertainty of victory, warriors throughout history have always looked for every edge, including invoking the supernatural. Such invocations often take a religious tone, especially since nearly every army in history has believed that God (or the gods, if one prefers) is marching with it. Seeking divine aid on the battlefield is as old as warfare itself, and a vast array of scholarly research examines the subject. But we can look at a few examples to give us the flavor of how such beliefs and practices manifest themselves, even in our recent history.

Looking for Omens with Greeks and Romans

The practice of augury deals with examining and interpreting the actions of birds to determine the gods’ favor or disfavor on a particular endeavor. The Greek world was well familiar with augury, as evidenced by Homer’s description of Calchas, the bird diviner (or augur) to the Mycenaean King Agamemnon in The Iliad, which dates to around 750 BC, but draws on centuries of oral tradition. Historians generally agree that the Trojan War took place around 1200 BC.

Sparta was possibly the most superstitious of any of the Classical Greek city-states. Spartan warriors looked for omens in nearly everything they did, and refused to deviate from their religious observances, even in dire emergencies. In one famous historical instance, the Spartan army skipped the critical Battle of Marathon in 490 BC because it took place during a religious festival—leaving the Athenians to fend off the mighty Persian invasion on their own. The Spartans also practiced haruspicy, which involved examining the entrails of sacrificed animals to determine whether their planned actions had good auspices or ill.

These practices seem to have been transferred to the Etruscans on the Italian peninsula, and from them to the Romans. Augury in Roman military settings usually took the form of the tripudium, or “sacred dance.” Before each battle, food was scattered in front of caged chickens, and the door was opened. If the chickens came out and ate, the auspices were good and the commander could expect victory. If the chickens refused to eat, the auspices were bad, and the commander might reconsider his dispositions or even the timing of the impending battle. (With that said, there is ample evidence that some commanders purposely starved the chickens before the ritual, thus ensuring “divine approval” for their plans. Simon Magus was hardly the first person in history to fake miracles!)

Possibly the most famous—or infamous—use of the tripudium dates to the 249 BC Battle of Drepana during the First Punic War. The Roman Consul Publius Claudius Pulcher deployed his 123-ship fleet to surprise his Carthaginian enemy, which was anchored in the Sicilian port of Drepana. While sailing toward Drepana, Pulcher reportedly consulted the auspices via the sacred dance, but the chickens refused to eat. The furious Pulcher is said to have cast the chickens overboard, suggesting that if they were not hungry, then perhaps they were thirsty. 

Pulcher should have listened to the chickens. A short time later, Carthaginian scouts spotted the Roman fleet, allowing the Carthaginian admiral Adherbal to put to sea. The Carthaginian fleet pinned the slower, less maneuverable Romans against the coast, winning a great victory. Only 30 Roman ships escaped. The rest were captured or sunk, and the Romans lost 20,000 men. Pulcher, who survived the battle, was recalled and charged with treason, though he was convicted merely of the lesser charge of sacrilege over his handling of the sacred dance; the Senate exiled him in lieu of execution.

The Norse Strengthened Their Swords with Their Ancestors’ Bones

Scandinavia was a violent and unstable land, even before the rise of the Viking kingdoms from the mid-800s onwards. Iron Age Norse smiths struggled to produce quality weapons due to the inferior nature of the native iron. Their primary source was “bog iron,” which was subjected to oxidizing bacteria, leading to softer, less pure metal.

Norse smiths believed that incorporating bone powder from their ancestors’ graves would grant their blades extra power and strength. Norse warriors saw the smiths as performing divine labor, and considered their persons and forges inviolate, lest interrupting their sacred work anger the gods.

The smiths were actually correct about this—though not for the reasons they believed.

Archaeologists have found evidence to suggest that graves were often looted a few years, or even decades, after an individual’s death—in part to recover items with mystical significance, but also to retrieve bones for the ritual forging of blades. Burning bones in a low-oxygen environment produces bone-coal, which is similar to the charcoal made from burning wood the same way. Carbon from charcoal is a necessary ingredient for making steel. Using the bone-coal created a rudimentary form of low-grade steel, which was better than the iron weapons produced without it.

In other words, forging bones into a sword actually made it stronger—a practice that must have seemed divine to those who were unaware of the underlying physical chemistry.

The Norse practice of carving runes on sword blades to provide extra strength or protection illustrates the same attitude. This practice is described in the epic poem Sigrdrífumál, in which the Valkyrie Sigrdrífa teaches the hero Sigurd how to inscribe victory runes on his sword’s hilt, invoking the god Týr. Other passages describe runes associated with protection, healing, and safely navigating the sea.

Sadly, Anti-Bullet Incantations Have Never Worked

From roughly the 1500s onward, wars were increasingly fought with guns and bullets—meaning someone could be killed instantly from a great distance away by a threat they could not see or fight against. The effect of guns in battle was terrifying to those who had not encountered them before and were not familiar with their use. Many religious traditions that came into contact with the projectile weapons instinctively reached for incantations that they believed would protect their wearers from harm.

During the Manifest Destiny era of the mid-1800s in the United States, several Indigenous peoples were said to wear magic amulets and sashes or carry shields that were charmed to protect their bearers from missiles such as arrows, spears, and bullets. In 1892, US Army officer John G Bourke studied the Apache practice of making ditzi, amulets made from lightning-struck pine or other wood. Combined with medicine shirts or sashes, they were believed to protect their wearers from harm.

The Cheyenne-Anglo writer George Bent related similar accounts of medicine men making charms worn in the hair or around the neck, along with war bonnets and shields. Again, they were said to ward off arrows and bullets in battle.

Research on the Navajo Long Walk Period (1858-1868) describes sacred Navajo shields empowered through generations of prayers, songs and ritual offerings. Tradition held that the shields would prevent hostile magic, arrows, and bullets from harming the bearer.

There’s no evidence to suggest that possession of such objects made warriors reckless in battle. But possessing such an object could conceivably gird a man’s courage and positively affect his morale when confronted by an enemy.

In Africa, the story was much the same. In early 1905, a spiritual medium named Kinjikitile “Bokero” Ngwale led an anti-colonial uprising against Germany in German East Africa (modern Tanzania). A practitioner of Islam mixed with folk beliefs, Ngwale claimed to be possessed by a snake spirit who had given him the formula to a magic war medicine that would turn German bullets to water, or maji. After his followers drank the medicine, they courageously went forth to attack German settlers and colonial officials, who called the revolt the “Maji Maji rebellion” due to its spiritual origins.

Ngwale’s “medicine” failed to work as promised, and he was killed in August 1905. But belief is a powerful thing; even after his death, the rebellion persisted for another two years, and is regarded in Tanzania today as a proto-nationalist movement predating the era of decolonization by decades.

Charms in the Great War

World War I introduced humanity to warfare on an industrial scale. Unimaginable casualties resulted from the fire and steel of massed artillery barrages, machine guns, and poison gas. Wounded or dead soldiers disappeared into the mud of No Man’s Land, or even their own trenches, their bodies never recovered. Little wonder that these soldiers grabbed onto anything that might protect them in even the smallest way.

Some soldiers found, or rediscovered, religion, carrying rosaries, crosses, devotionals, and Bibles. Others embraced generic superstitions, employing good luck charms that offered them protection via magic or folk traditions. Some were supposedly lucky by nature. Others were accompanied by small rituals, like the woolen “Nenette” and “Rintintin” dolls. They were made from red, white, and blue wool, marking the flags of France, Great Britain, and the United States. They were often made by French schoolchildren and given as gifts to fighting men. In fact, they supposedly only became lucky once they were gifted by the maker. Allied soldiers and sailors had them, but they were especially prized by pilots. The famous canine Hollywood star, Rin Tin Tin, was brought home from Europe by a returning American soldier and was named for the type of doll.

Some soldiers also carried Touchwood Charms. They resembled a naked baby with the body painted gold under a dark wooden head. They were mass-marketed and believed to bring good luck. The Touchwood charm even had its own jingle from the Fums Up company:

This charm, just born, MUST

Bring Good Luck;

It’s head’s “Touchwood;”

It’s name’s “FUMS UP.” 

Divine Prophecies Are Good Public Relations

Whether beseeching the gods for victory, or asking their protection, commanders and soldiers have always looked for that extra edge. Good omens all but guaranteed good morale among the troops—leading to commanders “massaging” the results. The most famous instances of such manipulation may be two examples from the Greco-Persian Wars.

The Oracle at Delphi proclaimed that Greece would be spared from Xerxes’ Persian hordes if a Spartan king was killed in her defense. The Spartan King Leonidas used that prophecy to rally his men for the 480 BC stand at Thermopylae (depicted in the movie “300”). At that battle, he was indeed killed, along with all but one of his entire contingent. Leonidas seemed to have understood the impossible odds his men faced at Thermopylae, and was willing to give his own life in Sparta’s defense if it meant illustrating to his countrymen that the prophecy would be fulfilled.

The same oracle later told Athens to “look to the wooden wall” for its salvation. Some Athenians interpreted that prophecy to mean that Athens should wait behind its city walls for the Persians to leave. Yet the great Athenian admiral Themistocles convinced the city’s assembly that the “wooden walls” instead referred to the hulls of his ships. Emboldened by that interpretation, his men sailed against the Persians at the crucial 479 BC Battle of Salamis, wrecking the Persian invasion fleet and sending them back across the Aegean.

Of course, both prophecies are widely believed to have been influenced by suitable bribes from the two men, as was common practice among the great and powerful. But real prophecies or not, both Leonidas and Themistocles got what they wanted; the oracle’s assurances united the squabbling Greeks against a foe that seemed unstoppable, paving the way to the ultimate victory.

We can be certain that individual Greek soldiers carried their own good luck charms, most likely for protection or personal morale boosters. Those traditions have carried through to the present day, especially among combat soldiers. I personally know an Iraq War veteran who will absolutely not part from a certain piece of equipment that served him well at a vital moment. Is this so different from the amulets of the Apache, or the swords of the Norsemen?

Given our natures, and warfare’s deadly uncertainty, such practices aren’t likely to change, no matter how far our technology and society advance.

About the Author: William Lawson

William Lawson is a military historian focusing on World War II and 20^th century conflicts and the American Civil War. His specialty is operational level warfare, especially American amphibious doctrine. He writes on history, politics, and firearms for multiple publications and historical journals. He serves on the editorial advisory board for the Saber & Scroll Journal and Military History Chronicles and is a member of the Society for Military History and the American Historical Association. Lawson is based in Virginia.

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