Everyone’s a Shaman Now: The Western World’s Spiritual Obsession

From ancestral traditions to modern spirituality, exploring the history, meaning, and responsibility behind one of the spiritual world's most frequently claimed titles.

Somewhere along the way, the Western spiritual world developed a fascination with becoming shamans.

Attend a few ceremonies, complete a medicine facilitator training, collect a handful of certifications, buy a drum, and suddenly there's a new shaman in town. Apparently, business is booming.

These days, you'll find shamans offering everything from plant medicine ceremonies and energy healing to breathwork, soul retrieval, chakra alignments, and spiritual activations. Some have dedicated decades to studying traditional practices, while others have completed a few online courses and added the title to their social media bio.

The difference between those two paths is worth discussing.

Let me be clear about something from the beginning. There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to become a shaman, being drawn to ancestral traditions, learning from indigenous teachers, or dedicating your life to spiritual work.

The question is not whether someone from the Western world can become a shaman. The question is what actually qualifies someone to carry that title.

Learning about a tradition is not the same as being initiated into it. Completing a training is not necessarily the same as earning recognition within it, and having a powerful spiritual experience does not automatically make someone an authority on spiritual matters.

Before we start handing out more titles, perhaps we should explore where the word shaman comes from, what it originally represented, and how it became such a popular identity in modern spirituality.

Shall we?

Where Does the Word Shaman Come From?

The word shaman did not originate in the Amazon rainforest, a Mexican medicine ceremony, or a Western spiritual retreat. Its linguistic history takes us to Siberia.

The English word comes through European and Russian usage from a Tungusic term commonly associated with the Evenki, an indigenous people of northern Asia. In Evenki and related Tungusic languages, forms of the word saman referred to ritual specialists whose roles involved relationships with spirits and responsibilities connected to the well-being of their communities.

The exact deeper etymology is debated, but its historical association with Siberian ritual specialists is well established.

The term reached European writing through encounters between travelers, explorers, Russian authorities, and indigenous Siberian populations. It entered English usage by the late seventeenth century. Over time, European scholars began applying the word to spiritual specialists from other parts of the world, including people whose languages and cultures had entirely different names for their roles.

Historically, the title referred to a role rooted in specific cultural traditions, rather than a general identity adopted by anyone who practiced spirituality. Being familiar with spiritual practices was not the same as holding a recognized spiritual role within a tradition.

Understanding that distinction is essential before examining what shamans actually did, how they were trained, and how they came to be recognized within their communities.

What Did a Shaman Actually Do?

In traditional Siberian settings, a shaman was not simply someone who knew how to perform a ceremony. The role existed within a broader cultural understanding of relationships between people, spirits, ancestors, animals, nature, illness, and misfortune.

Depending on the specific tradition, shamans might conduct rituals intended to communicate with spirits, investigate spiritual explanations for illness, assist their communities during difficult circumstances, perform divination, or maintain relationships with ancestral and other spiritual beings.

These responsibilities varied among cultures. Some specialists focused on particular forms of healing or ritual work, while others held broader responsibilities within their communities. Across these traditions, shamanic roles were closely connected to cultural knowledge, spiritual responsibilities, and the communities in which practitioners served.

The shaman's work was not simply a personal spiritual practice. It could serve important functions within the collective life of the community, including helping people navigate illness, uncertainty, spiritual concerns, and significant life events.

The role carried expectations that extended beyond conducting rituals. It represented a responsibility toward others, not simply an identity someone chose for themselves.

How Did Someone Become a Shaman?

Becoming a shaman was not traditionally equivalent to deciding to identify as one. Across different cultures, the process varied, but the role was connected to established systems of learning, initiation, and recognition.

In some traditions, unusual dreams, visions, or spiritual experiences could be interpreted by the community as signs of a calling. A calling, however, was not necessarily a qualification. It could mark the beginning of a process rather than its completion.

Apprenticeship, ritual initiation, practical knowledge, family traditions, and responsibilities toward a community could all play important roles, depending on the tradition. An aspiring practitioner might spend significant time learning from an experienced teacher, understanding ceremonial responsibilities, developing knowledge of traditional practices, and demonstrating the ability to fulfill the role.

Researchers Carolina Ivanescu and Sterre Berentzen explored these distinctions in their 2020 study, Becoming a Shaman: Narratives of Apprenticeship and Initiation in Contemporary Shamanism. Their research examines how apprenticeship, initiation, spiritual experiences, and recognition are understood within different contemporary shamanic contexts.

The important distinction is that a personal spiritual experience and recognition within an established tradition are not necessarily the same thing.

Someone may feel deeply called toward healing work, and that experience may inspire them to seek teachers, develop their knowledge, and begin a spiritual path. Experiencing that calling does not automatically mean they have acquired the preparation or responsibilities associated with the role.

Being called to a path and being qualified to guide others along that path are two different things. This distinction becomes particularly important when we examine how spiritual titles are adopted today. The Sacrifices Behind the Title

What rarely gets discussed in today's spiritual world is the sacrifice that traditional spiritual training can demand.

In several Amazonian healing traditions, becoming a respected healer involves years of apprenticeship under experienced elders or master healers. The training extends far beyond learning which plants to serve or how to conduct a ceremony.

Apprentices may spend extended periods in isolation, following strict plant diets known as dietas. These can involve restrictions on salt, sugar, certain foods, alcohol, sexual activity, and social interaction. Some periods of training involve near-fasting, solitude in the forest, and learning directly from experienced teachers.

And these aren't simply weekend detox programs. Within these traditions, dietas are understood as a way of developing discipline, deepening relationships with medicinal plants, and receiving teachings that cannot be reduced to a classroom lesson.

The process can take years, with repeated periods of training, personal sacrifice, and responsibilities to the community.

Of course, traditions differ. There is no single universal path to becoming a shaman, and not every Indigenous healing tradition uses that title.

But that distinction makes the modern obsession with claiming it even more questionable.

Because somewhere along the way, the Western spiritual industry managed to turn something that could demand years of discipline, sacrifice, and community responsibility into a certificate, an Instagram bio, and a weekend retreat.

And perhaps that's the part we should be questioning.

Shamanism Beyond Siberia: What About the Amazon?

Today, the word shaman is widely used in discussions about Amazonian healing practices, especially those involving ayahuasca. Some indigenous healers and practitioners use the term themselves, particularly when communicating with international visitors, while others prefer the names traditionally used within their own cultures.

Across South America, different communities have developed their own terminology for ceremonial specialists and traditional healers.

In parts of the Peruvian Amazon, terms such as curandero, vegetalista, and maestro are used in particular healing contexts. Among the Shipibo-Konibo, onanya is an important term associated with ancestral healing knowledge.

In Colombia and other areas of the northwestern Amazon, taita is used in certain indigenous and ceremonial contexts, particularly in relation to respected elders and traditional medicine practitioners. In Brazil, pajé is widely used in Portuguese to describe indigenous spiritual and healing specialists, although the specific roles and meanings vary among communities.

These names are not interchangeable, nor do they all belong to the same tradition. They reflect different cultural histories and systems of knowledge.

There is a historical example that speaks directly to this discussion.

The Yarinacocha Declaration of 2018

On August 19, 2018, Shipibo-Konibo-Xetebo traditional medicine practitioners issued the Yarinacocha Declaration in Peru. As part of that gathering, they rejected the imported terms shaman and shamanism as inadequate descriptions of their own cultural practices.

Instead, they adopted the Shipibo designation Onanya for their ancestral healers and established an organization known as ASOMASHK.

Their declaration also raised concerns about cultural appropriation, spiritual tourism, economic inequalities, and the transmission of traditional knowledge to younger generations. One concern was particularly relevant: foreign apprentices could have greater access to the resources needed for training than young people within the indigenous communities themselves.

Think about that for a moment.

While people from other parts of the world travel to the Amazon searching for ancient wisdom, some of the communities preserving that knowledge are concerned about their own younger generations losing access to it.

At the same time, ancestral practices increasingly appear in Western retreats, training programs, and spiritual businesses, while traditional practitioners raise questions about who controls the representation and commercial use of their knowledge.

The Yarinacocha Declaration does not represent every indigenous community in the Amazon, and some traditional practitioners continue using the word shaman. Nevertheless, it demonstrates something important.

The people whose traditions are being taught, promoted, and commercialized have their own perspectives on the titles, knowledge, and responsibilities involved. Those perspectives deserve to be heard.

How Shamanism Became Popular in the Western World

Western fascination with shamanism did not begin with Instagram. Its history stretches back centuries, through European exploration, colonial encounters, religious scholarship, and anthropology.

During the twentieth century, academic and popular interest expanded significantly. One influential figure was Mircea Eliade, whose book Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy, originally published in French in 1951, helped popularize the idea of shamanism as a widespread category of spiritual practice.

Later, anthropologist Michael Harner published The Way of the Shaman in 1980. Harner developed an approach known as core shamanism, presenting selected practices as methods that people from different cultural backgrounds could learn. His work became influential in contemporary Western shamanic movements.

These developments contributed to what researchers commonly describe as neo-shamanism: modern spiritual practices inspired by, adapted from, or interpreted through ideas associated with traditional shamanism.

Neo-shamanism is not a single organized tradition. Some practitioners openly describe their work as contemporary spirituality. Others incorporate teachings received from indigenous practitioners, while some use ancestral imagery and terminology without clearly explaining their relationship to the traditions being referenced.

The modern movement created new opportunities for people to explore spiritual practices outside their own cultural backgrounds. It also introduced questions about how traditional knowledge could be separated from its original context, adapted, taught, and commercialized.

These questions become even more important when modern practitioners begin claiming traditional spiritual titles.

Traditional Shamanism vs. Modern Neo-Shamanism: Where Do We Draw the Line?

One of the most important differences between traditional shamanism and modern neo-shamanism is the relationship between spiritual practice, cultural knowledge, and recognition.

In many traditional settings, ceremonial knowledge was passed down through established relationships, apprenticeships, initiation processes, and community responsibilities. These practices were deeply connected to cultural histories, languages, spiritual beliefs, and ways of life.

Contemporary neo-shamanism developed as a modern approach inspired by traditional shamanic practices. Techniques such as shamanic journeying, drumming, and soul retrieval became part of Western workshops, retreats, and training programs. Learning these techniques, however, is not the same as receiving recognition within a traditional shamanic role.

Interestingly, even the Foundation for Shamanic Studies, founded by Michael Harner and one of the most influential organizations in Western shamanic education, makes this distinction.

The Foundation uses the term shamanic practitioner for modern practitioners and discourages individuals from simply declaring themselves shamans. It also states that its training programs do not certify anyone as a shaman. Instead, they provide certificates acknowledging completion of specific educational programs.

Think about that. Even an organization dedicated to teaching modern shamanic practices recognizes that completing its training does not automatically make someone a shaman.

When another training program claims to produce shamans, some reasonable questions deserve answers. What exactly is being taught? What authority does the organization have to grant that title? Is the student being recognized within an established tradition, or simply receiving a certificate from a private school?

A modern school can certify its own training. It cannot automatically grant recognition on behalf of an ancestral tradition it does not represent.

That is where we should draw the line: not at who is allowed to learn, but at the difference between learning a practice and claiming an authority that has not been established.

Ancient Lineage vs. Western Ego: The Rise of the Self-Proclaimed Shaman

The number of people introducing themselves as shamans seems considerably larger than the number explaining how they actually became one.

Some have spent years developing their knowledge through serious study, practical experience, and relationships with traditional teachers. Others appear to have discovered their shamanic identity somewhere between completing an online certification and updating their social media bio.

This is where the conversation about spiritual ego becomes particularly interesting.

The title shaman can carry an impression of wisdom, spiritual depth, ancestral knowledge, and extraordinary abilities. For someone trying to establish themselves in the spiritual world, that identity may appear considerably more impressive than simply introducing themselves as a practitioner or facilitator.

An impressive title, however, does not establish an impressive level of knowledge.

Imagine taking a course in human anatomy and introducing yourself as a physician the following week. People would have questions. Yet in certain corners of the modern spiritual world, completing a short medicine training and introducing yourself as a shaman seems to have become surprisingly normal.

What makes this phenomenon particularly interesting is how easily spiritual identity can begin replacing actual experience. The focus shifts from what someone has learned, how they've been trained, and how responsibly they practice to the image they want to project.

Suddenly, it's less about the depth of their knowledge and more about the impression their title creates. In a world where spiritual authority can sometimes be self-declared, an impressive introduction can easily be mistaken for impressive credentials.

There is nothing wrong with developing confidence in your abilities, embracing your spiritual identity, or recognizing the value of your work. Confidence is not competence, self-identification is not recognition, and an impressive title is not evidence of either.

When the title becomes more important than the preparation behind it, spiritual identity can begin to look suspiciously like spiritual ego.

Shamanism vs. the Modern Spiritual Market

A friend of mine recently shared a term that made me laugh, but also made me think: culture vultures.

She made another observation that stayed with me: history seems to be repeating itself.

There's something deeply ironic about the Western world's history of colonizing indigenous lands and suppressing ancestral traditions, only for certain spiritual circles to now enthusiastically adopt the identities and titles associated with those very traditions.

Apparently, Christopher Columbus wasn't the only one interested in claiming things that already belonged to someone else. These days, even sacred titles seem to be up for grabs.

Perhaps that's worth examining in the modern spiritual marketplace.

Sacred symbols become branding. Cultural identities become marketing strategies. Ancient traditions become selling points. Somewhere in the process, the focus shifts from the practice itself to the image being created around it.

Of course, learning from another culture is not the same as colonizing it. Many practitioners, myself included, have studied with different teachers and traditions, integrating what we've learned into our own work. The issue isn't cultural exchange. It's when someone takes that knowledge and begins presenting themselves as an authority they haven't actually become.

There's also nothing wrong with building a business around spiritual practices, offering retreats, teaching, or being compensated for the knowledge, time, and dedication involved. Spiritual practitioners deserve to earn a living just like anyone else.

There's a difference, however, between building a business around your knowledge and building a business on an image of authority you haven't earned.

A spiritual title can become a powerful marketing tool, particularly when it suggests ancestral wisdom, initiation, or experience that the practitioner may not actually possess.

Apparently, being spiritual isn't always enough anymore. Now we need to look the part, sound the part, and have an impressive title to go with it.

Respecting ancestral knowledge means being honest about what you've learned, where it comes from, and who you really are within that work.

The Certification-to-Shaman Pipeline

There is another aspect of modern spiritual training worth examining. What happens when someone completes a training, begins calling themselves a shaman, and then opens a school where students are encouraged to adopt the same title?

Eventually, we can end up with an entire network of practitioners whose spiritual authority appears to come primarily from other people using the same title.

The certificates multiply, the schools expand, and the titles become part of the marketing. Yet an important question may remain unanswered.

Who originally established the authority being passed along?

Was it a recognized traditional community? An established cultural lineage? A contemporary spiritual organization openly teaching its own modern system? Or was it simply an identity that became accepted through repetition?

This raises an important question about the responsibility of spiritual educators. A teacher is not only passing along information; they are also influencing how students understand their own preparation, abilities, and professional responsibilities.

If a school encourages students to adopt a title that implies ancestral authority, it should be able to explain the basis for that claim. When a teacher's own title was self-assigned, repeating it among students does not establish an ancestral lineage. It simply creates more people using the same title.

A school can develop a curriculum, teach its methods, evaluate students, and issue certificates documenting the training completed. Education should be represented accurately, especially when the title being promoted carries expectations that extend beyond the curriculum itself.

A certificate should tell people what you learned, not imply an authority that the training never established.

When Spiritual Experiences Become Qualifications

There is another conversation we cannot avoid: spiritual calling.

People can have profound experiences during meditation, ceremonies, illness, grief, or personal transformation. Some interpret these experiences as spiritual awakenings or signs that they are meant to pursue healing work.

I understand that because I've been there myself. My own path into this work began with a spiritual calling. Experiencing a calling and being prepared to take responsibility for another person's well-being, however, are two different things.

I've even encountered people who genuinely believe they don't need formal training because they were shamans in a past life.

Apparently, their qualifications carried over from one incarnation to the next. Who knew your spiritual résumé came with transferable credentials? No training, no apprenticeship, no experience necessary. Just show up and pick up where you left off 500 years ago.

Before anyone gets the wrong idea, I believe in reincarnation and past lives myself. Believing in them doesn't mean I consider them a substitute for learning and preparation.

Believing you held a spiritual role in another lifetime does not demonstrate that you have the knowledge, preparation, or practical skills required to hold that responsibility today. A past-life identity is a personal spiritual belief, not a substitute for present-life preparation.

When someone's well-being is in your hands, what you believe you were in another lifetime matters considerably less than what you actually know how to do in this one.

This is where spiritual ego can become remarkably creative. Personal revelations can be presented as evidence of extraordinary authority, spiritual experiences can be treated as qualifications, and questioning those claims may be interpreted as questioning someone's spiritual identity.

Spiritual development should not make anyone immune to reasonable questions about their experience, preparation, or accountability. After all, humility is not demonstrated by the number of times someone describes themselves as humble, and wisdom is certainly not established by the number of spiritual titles attached to a name.

Final Thoughts: A Title Is Not a Transformation

The word shaman carries centuries of history, cultural knowledge, and spiritual responsibility. Its journey from Siberian traditions into the modern Western spiritual world is fascinating, yet somewhere along the way, the title itself seems to have become more desirable than understanding what it represents.

Perhaps that's where we need to reconsider what truly gives someone's work value.

There is nothing wrong with being a student, a practitioner, or a facilitator. These are meaningful roles that require dedication, integrity, and continuous learning. You don't need a more impressive title to make your work more valuable.

There is also something else worth considering. People are becoming more discerning about whom they trust with their personal and spiritual well-being. They're asking questions, researching backgrounds, and paying closer attention to whether someone's presentation actually reflects their experience.

What once sounded impressive may now raise more questions than admiration. Ironically, the very title someone adopts to elevate their image may end up undermining the credibility they're trying to establish.

Authenticity is one of the most powerful forms of credibility.

If you're genuinely skilled at what you do, your knowledge, integrity, and the way you show up for the people you serve will speak far louder than any title. You don't need to exaggerate your qualifications or present yourself as more spiritually advanced to give your work meaning.

Let your experience speak, your actions reflect your knowledge, and the quality of your work build your reputation.

Ultimately, the people who entrust you with their well-being aren't simply looking for an impressive spiritual title. They're looking for someone they can trust.

If you choose to call yourself a shaman, perhaps the most important question isn't whether the title sounds right to you. It's whether your preparation, responsibilities, and recognition genuinely support what you're claiming.

A title can be claimed in seconds. The integrity behind it takes considerably longer to establish, and no certificate, spiritual revelation, or impressive social media bio can replace that.

References and Further Reading

1. Cox, James L. (2020). Shamanism. The SAGE Encyclopedia of the Sociology of Religion. Western Sydney University.

   
   

2. Online Etymology Dictionary. Shaman.

   
   

3. Ivanescu, Carolina, and Sterre Berentzen (2020). Becoming a Shaman: Narratives of Apprenticeship and Initiation in Contemporary Shamanism. Religions, 11(7), 362.

   
   

4. Grant, Bruce (2021). Slippage: An Anthropology of Shamanism. Annual Review of Anthropology, 50, 9–22.

   
   

5. Eliade, Mircea (1951). Le Chamanisme et les techniques archaïques de l'extase. Published in English as Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy.

   
   

6. Harner, Michael (1980). The Way of the Shaman. Harper & Row.

   
   

7. Foundation for Shamanic Studies (2021). What Is a Shaman?

   
   

8. Foundation for Shamanic Studies. Ethical Practice FAQ.

   
   

9. Shipibo-Konibo-Xetebo Traditional Medicine Practitioners (2018). The Yarinacocha Declaration. Shipibo Conibo Center of New York.

   
   

10. ASOMASHK and COSHIKOX (2019). Pronouncement on the Globalization of Ayahuasca.