Why attorneys and shamans both use rhythm, repetition, and robes – and who does it better.
Let’s start with the robes. Because if you’re going to call upon unseen forces, you might as well dress for the occasion.
Attorneys and shamans, on the surface, have little in common. One files motions. The other smokes them. But watch closely, and you’ll see it: both step into a sacred space, speak in specialized tongues, and try to make invisible things real.
Shamans summon spirits. We summon precedent.
They call on ancestors. We cite Palsgraf.
They use feathers. We use fonts. (And honestly? The feathers have more dignity.)
Rhythm
You know what wins trials? Tempo. The hypnotic cadence of a closing argument that doesn’t just inform – it incants. A good lawyer doesn’t just recap evidence. They cast a spell of inevitability: Of course the defendant knew. Of course this was foreseeable. Of course the jury must deliver justice. It’s not logic at that point – it’s liturgy.
Ever hear a shaman chant? You don’t need to understand the words to feel your molecules rearranging. Same with a closing argument that lands. The rhythm bypasses reason and walks straight into belief.
Repetition
Say it once, it’s a fact. Say it thrice, it’s gospel.
“He knew the risk.”
“He knew the risk.”
“Ladies and gentlemen – he knew the risk.”
Repetition isn’t lazy. It’s ceremonial. It signals what matters. It binds the listener in a spell of familiarity, and familiarity is just belief with a tuxedo on.
Shamans repeat to summon power. We repeat to summon verdicts. Both want the room to say: “Yes. That. Again.”
Robes
Now to the fashion. Judges don robes for the same reason high priests do: to become something more than individual. The black robe isn’t just a uniform. It’s a costume of archetype – removing ego to elevate role.
And let’s be honest: if shamans wore polyester blend robes with zipper fronts, we’d question the whole ceremony. Yet we show up in synthetic suits and wonder why juries don’t believe the magic. Maybe we should borrow a little fringe and fire.
Who Does It Better?
Shamans don’t bill by the hour.
Lawyers don’t dance around bonfires.
But both understand that meaning is rarely delivered in bullet points. It’s chanted, cloaked, repeated, and believed.
So who does it better?
Depends.
If you want your soul retrieved – see the shaman.
If you want your deductible retrieved – call me.
But if you want to understand why law and ritual feel strangely familiar, follow the rhythm, the repetition, and the robe.
And remember: the courtroom is not just a place for evidence. It’s a place for belief.
And belief – like any good spell – must be performed.
Brian Brijbag 