CHAPTER XLVIII. Duties to Gods

DUTIES TO GODS

MEN not only believe in the existence of supernatural beings, but enter into frequent relations with them. In every religion we may distinguish between two elements: a belief, and a regardful attitude towards the object of this belief. At the same time the assumption that supernatural beings exist is not necessarily connected with religious veneration of them. Relations may be established with some of them to the exclusion of others. If the relations between man and a certain supernatural being are of a more or less permanent character, the latter is generally called his god.

As man attributes to his gods a variety of human qualities, his conduct towards them is in many respects determined by considerations similar to those which regulate his conduct towards his fellow men. He endows them with rights quite after human fashion, and imposes on himself corresponding duties.

Gods have the rights to life and bodily integrity. They are not necessarily either invulnerable or immortal. According to ancient Egyptian beliefs, the life of a god is indeed longer than that of a man, but death puts an end to the one as well as to the other. The Vedic gods were mortal at first; immortality was only bestowed upon them by Savitr or by Agni, or they obtained it by drinking {603} soma, or by practising continence and austerity, or by the performance of certain ceremonies. Nor were the Greek gods eternal by nature; they secured immortality by feasting on nectar and ambrosia. The Scandinavian gods had in Idun's apples a means of preserving perpetual freshness and youth; but for all that they were subject to the encroachments of age, and their death is spoken of without disguise.

Though liable to death, the invisible anthropomorphic gods generally run little risk of being killed by men. But the case is different with such supernatural beings as live on earth in a visible and destructible shape. They may be, and occasionally are, slain by human hands, although in this case killing hardly means absolute destruction, the soul surviving the death of the body. But to kill such a being is in ordinary circumstances looked upon as a dangerous act. We have noticed above that people are often reluctant to slay animals of certain species for fear lest either the disembodied spirit of the slain animal or others of its kind should avenge the injury; and the danger is naturally increased when the victim and its whole species are regarded as divine. Savages as a rule avoid killing animals of their own totem, and various statements imply that the act is disapproved of.

It has been suggested that this regard for the life of a totemic animal is due to the notion that a man is akin to his totem. But the various taboos imposed upon him with reference to it, and the nature of the penalties incurred by the taboo-breaker, indicate that the relation between a human individual and the animal members of his totem are after all somewhat different from that between cousins. It seems that the totemic animal is in {604} the first place looked upon as a supernatural being, and that a person's attitude towards it depends on the degree of dread or veneration which he feels for it. Such sacred animals as are not conceived to be of one stock with their devotees are equally tabooed; in ancient Egypt, we are told, offences against holy animals were punished even with death. On the other hand, so little respect is not seldom felt for the totem that it is treated in a way to which there is no parallel in the treatment of human relatives. Speaking of the native tribes of Central Australia, Messrs. Spencer and Gillen observe, "That the totemic animal or plant is not regarded exactly as a close relative, whom it would be wrong to kill, or to assist any one else to kill, is very evident; on the contrary, the members of one totem not only, as it were, give their permission to those who are not of the totem to kill and eat the totemic animal or plant, but . . . they will actually help in the destruction of their totems." The South Australian Narrinyeri kill their totemic animals if they are good for food. A Bechuana will kill his totem if it be a hurtful animal, for instance a lion; the slayer then only makes an apology to the beast and goes through a form of purification for the sacrilege. Among the Menomini Indians a man belonging to the Bear clan may kill a bear, although he must first address himself to his victim and apologise for depriving it of life. The Indian tribes in the South-Eastern States had no respect for their totems and would kill them when they got the chance. Among the Thlinkets a Wolf man will hunt wolves without hesitation, although he calls them his relatives when praying them not to hurt him.

In certain cases divine animals are killed as a religious {605} or magical ceremony. Several instances of this have been pointed out by Sir J. G. Frazer. Sometimes, when the revered animal is habitually spared, it is nevertheless killed on rare and solemn occasions. In other cases, when the revered animal is habitually killed, there is a special annual atonement, at which a select individual of the species is slain with extraordinary marks of respect and devotion. Frazer has offered ingenious explanations of both customs. As regards the former one he argues that the savage apparently thinks that a species left to itself will grow old and die like an individual, and that the only means he can think of to avert the catastrophe is to kill a member of the species in whose veins the tide of life is still running strong and has not yet stagnated among the fens of old age; "the life thus diverted from one channel will flow, he fancies, more freshly and freely in a new one." The latter custom, again, is explained by Frazer as a kind of atonement; by showing marked deference to a few chosen individuals of a species the savage thinks himself entitled to exterminate with impunity all the remainder upon which he can lay hands. These explanations, as Frazer himself is the first to admit, are only hypothetical, but, so far as I know, they are the only ones yet offered. However, it is worth noticing that certain acts accompanying the slaughter of divine animals sometimes clearly indicate a desire in the worshippers to transfer to themselves supernatural benefits--as when they eat the flesh of the animal, or sprinkle themselves with its blood, or by other means place themselves in contact with it; and it may be that in such cases the animal is killed for the express purpose of communicating to the people the sanctity, or beneficial magic energy, with which it is endowed. The Madi or Moru tribe of Central Africa furnish an instructive example. Once a year, as it seems, a very choice lamb is killed by a man belonging to a kind of priestly order, who {606} sprinkles some of the blood four times over the assembled people and then smears each individual with the same fluid. But this ceremony is also observed on a small scale at other times--if a family is in any great trouble, through illness or bereavement, their friends and neighbours come together and a lamb is killed with a view to averting further evil. Among the Arunta and some other tribes in Central Australia, as we have noticed above, at the time of Intichiuma, totemic animals are killed with the object of being eaten. But here the sacramental meal is a magical ceremony intended to multiply the species, so as to increase the food supply for other totemic groups; the fundamental idea being that the members of each totemic group are responsible for providing other individuals with a supply of their totem.

Frazer has also called attention to various instances in which a man-god or divine king is put to death by his worshippers, and has suggested the following explanation of this custom:--Primitive people sometimes believe that their own safety and even that of the world is bound up with the life of one of these god-men or human incarnations of the divinity. They therefore take the utmost care of his life, out of a regard for their own. But no amount of care and precaution will prevent the divine king from growing old and feeble and at last dying. And in order to avert the catastrophes which may be expected from the enfeeblement of his powers and their final extinction in death, they kill him as soon as he shows symptoms of weakness, and his soul is transferred to a vigorous successor before it has been seriously impaired by the threatened decay. But some peoples appear to have thought it unsafe to wait for even the slightest symptom of decay and have preferred to kill the divine king while he is still in the full vigour of life. Accordingly, they have fixed a term beyond which he {607} may not reign, and at the close of which he must die, the term fixed upon being short enough to exclude the probability of his degenerating physically in the interval. Thus it appears that in some places the people could not trust the king to remain in full bodily and mental vigour for more than a year; whilst in Ngoio, a province of the ancient kingdom of Congo, the rule obtains that the chief who assumes the cap of sovereignty one day shall be put to death on the next.

Every reader of The Golden Bough must admire the ingenuity, skill, and learning with which its author has worked out his theory, even though he may fail to find the argument in every point convincing. It is obvious that the supernatural power of divine kings is frequently supposed to be influenced by the condition of their bodies. In some cases it is also obvious that they are killed on account of some illness, corporal defect, or symptom of old age, and that the ultimate reason for this lies in the supposed connection between physical deterioration and waning divinity. But, as Frazer himself observes, in the chain of his evidence a link is wanting: he can produce no direct proof of the idea that the soul of the slain man-god is transmitted to his royal successor. In the absence of such evidence I venture to suggest a some what different explanation, which seems to me more in accordance with known facts--to wit, that the new king is supposed to inherit, not the predecessor's soul, but his divinity or holiness, which is looked upon in the light of a mysterious entity, temporarily seated in the ruling sovereign, but separable from him and transferable to another individual.

This modification of Frazer's theory is suggested by certain beliefs prevalent among the Moors. The Sultan of Morocco, who is regarded by the people as "the vicegerent of God," appoints before his death some member of his family--by preference one of his sons--as his successor, and this implies that his baraka, or holiness, will {608} be transferred to the new sovereign. But his holiness may also be appropriated by a pretender during his lifetime, which proves that it is regarded as something quite distinct from his soul. Thus the people told me that the pretender Bu[h.]amâra had come into possession of the Sultan's baraka, and that he would subsequently hand it over to one of the Sultan's brothers, who was then denied his liberty. Like the sultans of Morocco, the divine Kafir kings of Sofala, who were put to death if afflicted with some disease, nominated their successors. In ancient Bengal, again, whoever killed the king and succeeded in placing himself on the royal throne, was immediately acknowledged as king; the people said, "We are faithful to the throne, whoever fills the throne we are obedient and true to it." In the kingdom of Passier, on the northern coast of Sumatra, whose sacred monarch was not allowed by his subjects to live long, "the man who struck the fatal blow was of the royal lineage, and as soon as he had done the deed of blood and seated himself on the throne he was regarded as the legitimate king, provided that he contrived to maintain his seat peaceably for a single day." In these cases, it seems, the sanctity was considered to be inherent in the throne and to be partly communicated to persons who came into close contact with it.

Now, as we have noticed before, holiness is generally held to be exceedingly susceptible to any polluting influence, and this would naturally suggest the idea that, in order to remain unimpaired, it has to be removed from a body which is defiled by disease or blemish. Such an idea may be supposed to underlie those cases in which {609} even the slightest bodily defect is a sufficient motive for putting the divine king to death. It is of the greatest importance for the community that the holiness on which its welfare depends should not be attached to an individual whose organism is no longer a fit receptacle for it, and who is consequently unable to fulfil the duties incumbent upon a divine monarch; and it may be thought that the only way of removing the holiness from him is to kill him. The same explanation would seem to apply to the killing of kings or magicians who have actually proved incapable of bringing about the benefits expected from them, such as rain or good crops, although in these instances the murderous act may also be a precaution against the revenge they might otherwise take for being deposed, or it may be a punishment for their failure, or have the character of a sacrifice to a god. Moreover, the disease, weakness, or physical deterioration of the king might cause his death; and, owing to the extremely polluting effect ascribed to natural death, this would be the greatest catastrophe which could happen to the holiness seated in him. The people of Congo believed that if their pontiff, the Chitomé, were to die a natural death, the world would perish, and the earth, which he alone sustained by his power and merit, would immediately be annihilated; hence, when he fell ill and seemed likely to die, the man who was destined to be his successor entered the pontiff's house with a rope or a club and strangled or clubbed him to death. Similar motives may also have induced people to kill their divine king after a certain period, as everybody is sooner or later liable to fall ill or grow weak and die. But I can also imagine another possible reason for this custom. Supernatural {610} energy is sometimes considered so sensitive to external influences that it appears to wear away almost by itself in the course of time. I have heard from Arabs in Morocco that a pretender's holiness usually lasts only for half a year. And it may be that some of the divine kings mentioned by Frazer were exposed to a similar fatality and therefore had to be slain in time.

As the right to life, generally granted to gods, is thus in certain circumstances abrogated for the benefit of their worshippers, so their right to bodily integrity may be suspended if their behaviour does not answer the expectations of their devotees. Men punish their gods as they punish their fellow men. Among the Amazulu, when it thunders or, as they say, "the heaven is coming badly," the doctors go out and scold it; "they take a stick and say they are going to beat the lightning of heaven." The negro cudgels his fetish unmercifully to make it submissive. The Samoyede flogs his idol or throws it away if he does not succeed in his doings. The idols of the Typees, in the Marquesas Islands, "received more hard knocks than supplications." When his guardian spirit proves stubborn, the Hudson Bay Eskimo deprives it of food, or strips it of its garments.

* * * * *

In normal circumstances men regard it as a duty, not only to refrain from killing or injuring their gods, but positively to promote their existence and comfort. According to early beliefs, supernatural beings are subject to human needs. The gods of the heathen Siberians laboured for their subsistence, engaged in hunting and fishing, and laid up provisions of roots against times of dearth. When the heavens appear checkered with white clouds on a blue surface, the Maoris of New Zealand say that the god is planting his potatoes and {611} other divine edibles. The Fijian gods are described as enormous eaters. The Vedic gods wore clothes, were great drunkards, and suffered from constant hunger; I need only refer to the numerous passages in the Rig-Veda where mention is made of the appetite or thirst of Indra and the pleasure he has in filling his belly. An Egyptian god cannot be conceived without his house in which he lives, in which his festivals are solemnised, and which he never leaves except on professional days. His dwelling has to be cleaned, and he is assisted at his toilet by his attendants; the priest has to dress and serve his god, and places every day on his table offerings of food and drink. So also the Chaldean gods had to be nourished, clothed, and amused; and the stone or wooden statues erected to them in the sanctuaries furnished them with bodies which they animated with their breath.

The idea that supernatural beings have human appetites and human wants leads to the practice of sacrifice. Whatever means they may have of earning their livelihood, they are certainly not indifferent to gifts offered by men. If such offerings fail them they may even suffer want and become feeble and powerless. The Egyptian gods, says M. Maspero, "were dependent upon the gifts of mortals, and the resources of each individual deity, and consequently his power, depended on the wealth and number of his worshippers." We meet with the same idea at every step in the Vedic hymns. Should sacrifices cease for an instant to be offered, the gods would cease to send rain, {612} to bring back at the appointed hour Aurora and the sun, to raise and ripen harvests--not only because they would be unwilling, but because they would be unable to do so. It was by sacrifice that the gods delivered the world from chaos, and it is by sacrifice that man prevents it from lapsing back into the same state; in the 'Laws of Manu' it is said that sacrifices support "both the movable and the immovable creation." The Zoroastrian books likewise represent the sacrifice as an act of assistance to the gods, by which they become victorious in their combats with the demons. When not strengthened by offerings they fly helpless before their foes. Overcome by the demon Apaosha, the bright and glorious Tistrya cries out in distress:--"Woe is me, O Ahura Mazda! . . . Men do not worship me with a sacrifice in which I am invoked by my own name. . . . If men had worshipped me with a sacrifice in which I had been invoked by my own name, as they worship the other Yazatas with sacrifices in which they are invoked by their own names, I should have taken to me the strength of ten horses, the strength of ten camels, the strength of ten bulls, the strength of ten mountains, the strength of ten rivers."

Men are induced by various motives to offer sacrificial gifts to supernatural beings. In early religion the most common motive is undoubtedly a desire to avert evils; and we have reason to believe that such a desire was the first source of religious worship. In spite of recent assertions to the contrary, the old saying holds true that religion was born of fear. Those who maintain that the savage is little susceptible to this emotion, and that he for the most part takes his gods joyously, show ignorance {613} of facts. One of his characteristics is great nervous susceptibility, and he lives in constant apprehension of danger from supernatural powers. We are told of the Samoyedes that a sudden blow on the outside of a tent will sometimes throw the occupants into spasms. "The Indian," says Parkman, "lived in perpetual fear. The turning of a leaf, the crawling of an insect, the cry of a bird, the creaking of a bough, might be to him the mystic signal of weal or woe." From all quarters of the uncivilised world we hear that terror or fear is the predominant element in the religious sentiment, that savages are more inclined to ascribe evil than good to the influence of supernatural agents, that their sacrifices and other acts of worship more frequently have in view to avert misfortunes than to procure positive benefits, or that, even though benevolent deities are believed in, much more attention is paid to malignant ones. And even among peoples who have passed beyond the stage of {614} savagery fear still remains a prominent factor in their religion. The great bulk of Homeric cult-operations lay in propitiatory rites in avoidance of evil. "No one," says Sir Monier-Williams, "who has ever been brought into close contact with the Hind[=u]s in their own country can doubt the fact that the worship of at least ninety per cent. of the people of India in the present day is a worship of fear." In one of the Pahlavi texts we read that "he is not to be considered as faithful who has no fear of the sacred beings." The Egyptian Amon Râ, who is praised as "the beautiful and beloved god, who giveth life by all manner of warmth, by all manner of fair cattle," is at the same time styled "Lord of fear, great one of terror." The Psalmist says that "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom," and, as Nöldeke points out, "the fear of God" was used in its literal sense. Although the Koran has much to tell about the loving kindness of God, the god of Islam evokes much more fear than love. Faith is said by Muhammedan theologians to "stand midway between hope and fear."

Hope, indeed, forms an element in every religion, even the lowest. The assumed authors of painful or alarming events became objects of worship because they were conceived, not as mechanical causes, but as personal agencies which might be influenced by the regardful attitude of the worshipper. The savage is not so irrational as to make offerings to beings from whom he expects no benefits in return. And in proportion as the deities grew more benignant and their sphere of action was extended, their worshippers became more confident, expecting from them not only mercy but positive assistance.

We may suppose that already at an early stage of {615} culture man, occasionally, was struck by some unexpected fortunate event and ascribed it to the influence of a friendly spirit with which he was anxious to keep on amicable terms. Among the Tshi-speaking peoples of the Gold Coast worship is the result not only of fear, but also of the hope of obtaining some direct advantage or protection. The pagans of Siberia accompanied their sacrifices with words like these:--"Behold what I bring you to eat; bring me then in return children, cattle, and a long life." The Point Barrow Eskimo, when he arrives at a river, throws into the air a small piece of tobacco, crying out, "Spirits, spirits, I give you tobacco, give me plenty of fish!" Of the Sia Indians (Pueblos) Mrs. Stevenson writes that their religion is not mainly one of propitiation, but rather of supplication for favours and payment for the same--they "do the will of and thereby please the beings to whom they pray." We even hear of savages making thank-offerings to their gods. In Fiji, after successful fishing for turtle, or remarkable deliverance from danger in war or at sea, or recovery from sickness, a kind of thank-offering was sometimes presented to the deities. When certain natives of Eastern Central Africa, after they have prayed for a successful hunting expedition, return home laden with venison or ivory, they know that they are indebted to "their old relative" for their good fortune, and give him a thank-offering. We are told that in Northern Guinea, when a person has been repeatedly fortunate through the agency of a fetish, "he contracts a feeling of attachment and gratitude to it." Yet we have reason to suspect that the gratitude of the sacrificer is commonly {616} of the kind which La Rochefoucauld defined as "a secret desire to receive greater benefits in the future." Sometimes the thank-offering, if it may be called so, is expressly preceded by a vow. Among the Kansas the warrior, when going to war says, facing the East, "I wish to pass along the road to the foe! O Wakanda! I promise you a blanket if I succeed"; and turning to the West, "O Wakanda! I promise you a feast if I succeed." Even in religions of a higher type the offering of sacrificial gifts is mainly a sort of bargain with the god to whom they are offered. In the Vedic hymns the gods are addressed by phrases like these, "If you give me this, I shall give you that," or, "As you have given me this, I shall give you that." The singer naïvely confesses, "I looked forth in spirit, seeking good, O Indra and Agni, to relations and kinsmen; but I have no other helper than you; therefore I have made you a powerful song." The Greeks expressed the idea connected with their sacrifices in the proverbial saying, [Greek: dô=ra theou\s pei/thei]. The ancient Hebrew view on the subject is illustrated by the vow of Jacob:--"If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat, and raiment to put on, so that I come again to my father's house in peace; then shall the Lord be my God: And this stone, which I have set for a pillar, shall be God's house: and of all that thou shalt give me I will surely give the tenth unto thee."

In many cases the sacrificial victims are intended to serve as substitutes for other individuals, whose lives are in danger. We have previously noticed that the practice of human sacrifice is mainly based on the idea of substitution. We have also seen that a growing reluctance to this practice often led to the offering of animals instead of {617} men. But we have no right to assume that the sacrifice of an animal for the purpose of saving the life of a man is in every case a later modification of a previous human sacrifice. The idea that spirits which threaten the lives of men are appeased by other than human blood may in some instances be primary though in others it is derivative. The Moors invariably sacrifice an animal at the foundation of a new building; and though this is said to be [(]âr upon the spirit owners of the place some idea of substitution seems also to be connected with the act, as they maintain that if no animal were killed the inmates of the house would die or remain childless. A similar practice prevails in Syria, where the people believe that "every house must have its death, either man, woman, child, or animal." Among the Jews it is or has been the custom for the master of each house to kill a cock on the eve of the fast of atonement. Before doing so he strikes his head with the cock three times, saying at each stroke, "Let this cock be a commutation for me, let him be substituted for me"; and when he strangles his victim by compressing the neck with his hand, he at the same time reflects that he himself deserves to be strangled. These customs can certainly not be regarded as survivals of an earlier practice of killing a human being. Moreover an animal is sometimes sacrificed for the purpose of saving the lives of other animals. Thus in a place in Scotland, in 1767, a young heifer was offered in the holy fire during a cattle-plague. And in Great Benin, in West Africa, on the anniversary of the death of Adolo, king Overami's father, not only twelve men, but twelve cows, twelve goats, twelve sheep, and twelve fowls were offered, and Overami, addressing his father, asked him to look after the "cows, goats, and fowls, and everything in the farms," as well as the people. Sacrifices which are {618} substitutional in character may or may not be intended to satisfy the material needs of supernatural beings. In some cases, as we have seen, their object is to appease a resentful god by the mere death of the victim.

We have further noticed that, in the case of human sacrifice, the victim is occasionally regarded as a messenger between the worshippers and their god even though the primary object of the rite be a different one. The same is sometimes true of other offerings as well. The Iroquois sacrifice of the white dog was, according to Mr. Morgan, intended "to send up the spirit of the dog as a messenger to the Great Spirit, to announce their continued fidelity to his service, and, also, to convey to him their united thanks for the blessings of the year"; and in their thanksgiving addresses they were in the habit of throwing leaves of tobacco into the fire from time to time that their words might ascend to the dwelling of the Great Spirit in the smoke of their offerings. The Huichols of Mexico often use the arrows which they sacrifice to their gods as carriers of special prayers.

Not only are sacrifices used as bearers of prayers, but they are also frequently offered for the purpose of transferring curses. In Morocco every síyid of any importance is constantly visited by persons who desire to invoke the saint to whom it is dedicated with a view to being cured of some illness, or being blessed with children, or getting a suitable husband or wife, or receiving help against an enemy, or deriving some other benefit from the saint. To secure his assistance the visitor makes [(]âr upon him; and the Moorish [(]âr, of which I have spoken above, implies the transference of a conditional curse, whether it be made upon an ordinary man or a saint, living or dead. The [(]âr put upon a saint may consist in throwing stones upon a cairn connected with his sanctuary, or making a pile of {619} stones to him, or tying a piece of cloth at the síyid, or knotting the leaves of some palmetto or the stalks of white broom growing in its vicinity, or offering an animal sacrifice to the saint. This making of [(]âr is accompanied by a promise to reward the saint if he grants the request; but the sacrifice offered in fulfilment of such a promise (l-wâ[(]da) is totally distinct from that offered as [(]âr. It is a genuine gift, whereas the [(]âr-sacrifice is a means of constraining the saint. When an animal is killed as [(]âr the usual phrase bismillâh, "In the name of God," is not used, and the animal may not be eaten, except by poor people. On the other hand, the animal which is sacrificed as wâ[(]da is always killed "in the name of God," and is offered for the very purpose of being eaten by the saint's earthly representatives. Nothing can better show than the Moorish distinction between l-[(]âr and l-wâ[(]da how futile it would be to try to explain every kind of sacrifice by one and the same principle. The distinction between them is fundamental: the former is a threat, the latter is a promised reward. But at the same time it is not improbable that the idea of transferring curses to a supernatural being by means of a sacrifice was originally suggested by the previous existence of sacrifice as a religious act, combined with the ascription of mysterious propensities to blood, and especially to sacrificial blood, which, according to primitive ideas, made it a most efficient conductor of curses.

{620} There are obvious indications that the [(]âr-sacrifice of the Moors is not unique of its kind, but has its counterpart among certain other peoples. In ancient religions sacrifice is often supposed to exercise a constraining influence on the god to whom it is offered. We meet with this idea in Zoroastrianism, in many of the Vedic hymns, and especially in Brahmanism. "Here," says Barth, "the rites of religion are the real deities, or at any rate they constitute together a sort of independent and superior power, before which the divine personalities disappear, and which almost holds the place allotted to destiny in other systems. The ancient belief, which is already prominent in the Hymns, that sacrifice conditionates the regular course of things, is met with here in the rank of a commonplace, and is at times accompanied with incredible details." Now, there can be little doubt that this ascription of a magic power to the sacrifice, by means of which it could control the actions of the gods, was due to the idea that it served as a conductor of imprecations; for it was invariably accompanied by a formula which was considered to possess irresistible force. In the invocation lies the hidden energy which gives the efficacy to the sacrifice; without Brahma[n.]aspati, the lord of prayer, sacrifice does not succeed. The Greeks actually offered anathemata, or curses, to their gods. The ancient Arabs, again, after killing the sacrificial animal, threw its hair on a holy tree as a curse. But so little has the true import of such sacrifices been understood even by eminent scholars, that they have been represented as votive offerings or gifts to the deity.

Considering that the idea of sacrifice being a conductor of imprecations has hitherto almost entirely escaped the notice of students of early religion, it is impossible to say {621} how widely it prevails and whether it also occurs in the savage world. We know that the practice of cursing a god not only was familiar to the ancient nations of culture, including the Egyptians, Hebrews, and other Semites, but is common among peoples like the South African Bechuanas and the Nagas of India. And that the shedding of blood is frequently applied as a means of transferring curses is suggested by various cases in which, however, the object of the imprecation is not a god but a man. We have previously noticed the reception sacrifices offered to visiting strangers, presumably for the purpose of transmitting to them conditional curses; and a very similar idea seems to underlie certain cases of oath-taking. Sometimes the oath is taken in connection with a sacrifice made to a god, and then the sanctity of the sacrificial animal naturally increases the efficacy of the self-imprecation. In other instances the oath is taken on the blood of an animal which is killed for the purpose, apparently without being sacrificed to a god. But in either case, I believe, the blood of the animal is thought not only to add supernatural energy to the oath, but to transfer, as it were, the self-imprecation to the very person who pronounces it. The Mrús, a Chittagong hill tribe, "will swear by one of their gods, to whom, at the same time, a sacrifice must be offered." Among the ancient Norsemen both the accused and the accuser grasped the holy ring kept for that purpose on the altar, stained with the blood of a sacrificial bull, and made oath by invoking Freyr, Niordr, and the almighty among the Asas. At Athens a person who charged another with murder made an oath with imprecations upon himself and his family and his house, standing upon the entrails of a boar, a ram, and a bull, {622} which had been sacrificed by special persons on the appointed days. Tyndareus "sacrificed a horse and swore the suitors of Helen, making them stand on the pieces of the horse," the oath being to defend Helen and him who might be chosen to marry her if ever they should be wronged. One of the three binding forms of oath prevalent among the Sânsiya in India is to "kill a cock and pouring its blood on the ground swear over it." When the Annamese swear by heaven and earth, they often kill a buffalo or he-goat and drink its blood. Among the ancient Arabs comrades in arms swore fidelity to each other by dipping their hands in the blood of a camel killed for the purpose.

The last mentioned case, which implies shedding of blood as a means of sealing a compact, leads us to a special class of sacrifices offered to gods, namely, the covenant sacrifice, known to us from Semitic antiquity. The Hebrews, as Professor Robertson Smith observes, thought of the national religion as constituted by a formal covenant sacrifice at Mount Sinai, where half of the blood of the sacrificed oxen was sprinkled on the altar and the other half on the people, or even by a still earlier covenant rite in which the parties were Yahve and Abraham; and the idea of sacrifice establishing a covenant between God and man is also apparent in the Psalms. In various cases recorded in the Old Testament sacrifice is accompanied by a sacrificial meal; "the god and his worshippers are wont to eat and drink together, and by this token their fellowship is declared {623} and sealed." Robertson Smith and his followers have represented this as an act of communion, as a sacrament in which the whole kin--the god with his clansmen--unite, and in partaking of which each member renews his union with the god and with the rest of the clan. At first, we are told, the god--that is, the totem god--himself was eaten, whilst at a later stage the practice of eating the god was superseded by the practice of eating with the god. Communion still remains the core of sacrifice; and it is said that only subsequently the practice of offering gifts to the deity develops out of the sacrificial union between the worshippers and their god. But I venture to think that the whole of this theory is based upon a misunderstanding of the Semitic evidence, and that existing beliefs in Morocco throw new light upon the covenant sacrifice.

The Moorish covenant (l-[(]ahd) is closely connected with the Moorish [(]âr. Whilst l-[(]âr is one-sided, l-[(]ahd is mutual, both parties transferring conditional curses to one another. And here again the transference requires a material conductor. Among the Arabs of the plains and the Berbers of Central Morocco chiefs, in times of rebellion, exchange their cloaks or turbans, and it is believed that if any of them should break the covenant he would be punished with some grave misfortune. Among the Ulád Bu [(]Azîz, in the province of Dukkâla, it is a common custom for persons who wish to be reconciled after a quarrel to go to a holy man and in his presence join their right hands so that the fingers of the one go between the fingers of the other, after which the saint throws his cloak over the united hands, saying, "This is [(]ahd between you." Or they may in a similar manner join their hands at a saint's tomb over the head of the box under which the saint is buried, or they may perform the same ceremony simply in the presence of some friends. In either case the joining of hands is usually {624} accompanied by a common meal, and frequently the hands are joined over the dish after eating. If a person who has thus made a compact with another is afterwards guilty of a breach of faith, it is said that "God and the food will repay him"; in other words, the conditional curse embodied in the food which he ate will be realised. All over Morocco the usual method of sealing a compact of friendship is by eating together, especially at the tomb of some saint. As we have noticed above, the sacredness of the place adds to the efficacy of the imprecation, but its vehicle, the real punisher, is the eaten food, because it contains a conditional curse.

The [(]ahd of the Moors helps us to understand the covenant sacrifice of the ancient Semites. The only difference between them is that the former is a method of establishing a compact between men and men, whilst the latter established a compact between men and their god. The idea of a mutual transference of conditional curses undoubtedly underlies both. It should be noticed that in the Old Testament also, as among the Moors, we meet with human covenants made by the parties eating together. Thus the Israelites entered into alliance with the Gibeonites by taking of their victuals, without consulting Yahve, and the meal was expressly followed by an oath. In other instances, again, the common dish consisted of sacrificial food, either because the sacredness of such food was supposed to make the conditional curse embodied in it more efficacious, or because the deity was included as a third party to the covenant.

Whilst in some cases the object of a sacrifice is to transfer conditional curses either to the god to whom it is made, or to both the god and the worshipper, the victim or article offered may in other instances be used as a vehicle for transferring benign virtue to him who offered it or to other persons. As we have noticed {625} above, a sacrifice is very frequently believed to be endowed with beneficial magic energy in consequence of its contact or communion with the supernatural being to which it is offered, and this energy is then supposed to have a salutary effect upon the person who comes in touch with it. I have said before that in Morocco magic virtue is ascribed to various parts of the sheep which is sacrificed at the "Great Feast," and that every offering to a holy person, especially a dead saint, is considered to participate to some extent in his sanctity. The Vedic people regarded sacrificial food as a kind of medicine. The Siberian Kachinzes blessed their huts with sacrificial milk. The Lapps strewed the ashes of their burnt-offerings upon their heads. It is quite possible that in some instances a desire to receive the benefit of the supernatural energy with which the sacrifice is endowed is by itself a sufficient motive for offering it to a god.

As is the case with other rites, sacrifices also have a strong tendency to survive the ideas from which they sprang. Thus when the materialistic conception of the nature of gods faded away, offerings continued to be made to them, though their meaning was changed. As Sir E. B. Tylor observes, "the idea of practical acceptableness of the food or valuables presented to the deity, begins early to shade into the sentiment of divine gratification or propitiation by a reverent offering, though in itself of not much account to so mighty a divine personage," Sacrifice then becomes mainly, or exclusively, a symbol of humility and reverence. Even in the Rig-Veda, in spite of its crude materialism, we meet with indications of the idea that the value of a sacrifice lies in the feelings of the worshipper; if unable to offer an ox or cow, the singer hopes that a small gift from the heart, a fagot, a libation, a bundle of grass, offered with reverence, {626} will be more acceptable to the god than butter or honey. In Greece, though the sacrificial ritual remained unchanged till the end of paganism, we frequently come upon the advanced reflection that righteousness is the best sacrifice, that the poor man's slight offering avails more with the deity than hecatombs of oxen. According to Porphyry, the gods have no need of banquets and magnificent sacrifices, but we should with the greatest alacrity make a moderate oblation to them of our own property, as "the honours which we pay to the gods should be accompanied by the same promptitude as that with which we give the first seat to worthy men." It is said in the Talmud that "he who offers humility unto God and man, shall be rewarded with a reward as if he had offered all the sacrifices in the world."

I have here spoken of the practice of sacrifice and the ideas on which it is based. But sacrifice has also a moral value attached to it. Though no doubt in many cases optional, it is under various circumstances regarded as a stringent duty. This is particularly the case with the offerings regularly made by the community at large on special occasions fixed by custom.

* * * * *

As supernatural beings have material needs like men, they also possess property like men, and this must not be interfered with. The Fjort of West Africa believe that the spirits of the rivers kill those who drink their waters and sometimes punish those who fish in them for greediness, by making them deaf and dumb. When their chief god "played" by thundering, the Amazulu said to him who was frightened, "Why do you start, because the lord plays? What have you taken which belongs to him?" The Fijians speak of a deluge {627} the cause of which was the killing of a favourite bird belonging to the god Ndengei by two mischievous lads, his grandsons. In Efate, of the New Hebrides, to steal cocoanuts which are consecrated to the worship of the gods at some forthcoming festival "would be regarded as a much greater offence than common stealing." So, too, the pillaging of a temple has commonly been looked upon as the worst kind of robbery. Among the Hebrews any trespass upon ground which was hallowed by the localised presence of Yahveh was visited with extreme punishment. In Arabia people were forbidden to cut fodder, fell trees, or hunt game within the precincts of a sacred place. The Moors believe that a person would incur a very great risk indeed by cutting the branch of a tree or shooting a bird in the [h.]orm of a síyid, or dead saint. The [h.]orm is the homestead and domain of the saint, and he is the owner of everything within its borders. But the offence is not exclusively one against property, and it may be doubted whether originally any clear idea of ownership at all was connected with it. In a holy place all objects are endowed with supernatural energy, and may therefore themselves, as it were, avenge injuries committed against them. This is true of the [h.]orm of a saint, as well as of any other sanctuary, all his belongings being considered to partake of his sanctity. But, as a matter of fact, the so-called tomb of a saint is frequently a place which was at first regarded as holy by itself, on account of its natural appearance, and was only afterwards traditionally associated with a holy person, when the need was felt of giving an anthropomorphous interpretation of its holiness. According to early ideas a {628} sacred object cannot with impunity be appropriated for ordinary purposes; but, on the other hand, visitors are allowed to take a handful of earth from the tomb of the saint or in certain cases to cut a small piece of wood from some tree growing in his [h.]orm, to be used as a charm. It also deserves notice that the saint protects not only his own property, but any goods left in his care; hence the country Arabs of Morocco often have their granaries in the [h.]ór[)u]mat of saints.

Moreover, anybody who takes refuge at a síyid is for the moment safe. The right of sanctuary is regarded as very sacred in Morocco, especially in those parts of the country where the Sultan's government has no power. To violate it is an outrage which the saint is sure to punish. I saw a madman whose insanity was attributed to the fact that he once had forcibly removed a fugitive from a saint's tomb; and of a late Grand-Vizier it is said that he was killed by two powerful saints of Dukkâla, on whose refugees he had laid violent hands. Even the descendants of the saint or his manager (m[k.]áddem) can only by persuasion and by promising to mediate between the suppliant and his pursuer induce the former to leave the place. As is well known, this is not a custom restricted to Morocco. Among many peoples, at different stages of civilisation, sacred places give shelter to refugees.

Among the Central Australian Arunta there is in each local totem centre a spot called ertnatulunga, in the immediate neighbourhood of which everything is sacred and must on no account be hurt. The plants growing there are never interfered with in any way; animals which come there are safe {629} from the spear of the hunter; and a man who was being pursued by others would not be touched so long as he remained at this spot. In Upolu, one of the Samoan Islands, a certain god, Vave, had his residence in an old tree, which served as an asylum for murderers and other great offenders; if that tree was reached by the criminal he was safe, and the avenger could pursue no farther, but had to wait for investigation and trial. In the island of Hawaii there were two puhonuas, or cities of refuge, which afforded an inviolable sanctuary even to the vilest criminal who entered their precincts, and during war offered safe retreat to all the non-combatants of the neighbouring districts who flocked into them, as well as to the vanquished. As soon as the fugitive had entered, he repaired to the presence of the idol and made a short ejaculatory address, expressive of his obligations to him in reaching the place with security. The priests and their adherents would immediately put to death anyone who should have the temerity to follow or molest those who were once within the pale of the pahu tabu, and, as they put it, under the shade or protection of the spirit of Keave, the tutelary deity of the place. After a short period, probably not more than two or three days, the refugee was permitted to return unmolested to his home, the divine protection being supposed still to abide with him. In Tahiti the morais, or holy places, likewise gave shelter to criminals of every kind. At Maiva, in the South-Eastern part of New Guinea, "should a man be pursued by an enemy and take refuge in the dubu [or temple], he is perfectly safe inside. Any one smiting another inside the dubu would have his arms and legs shrivelled up, and he could do nothing but wish to die."

In many North American tribes certain sacred places or whole villages served as asylums, in which those who were pursued by the tribe or even an enemy were safe as soon as they had obtained admission. Among the Acagchemem Indians, in the valley and neighbourhood of San Juan Capistrano in California, a criminal who had fled to a vanquech, or place of worship, was secure not only as long as he remained there, but {630} also after he had left the sanctuary. It was not even lawful to mention his crime, but all that the avenger could do to him was to point at him and deride him, saying, "Lo, a coward, who has been forced to flee to Chinigchinich!" This flight, however, turned the punishment from the head of the criminal upon that of some of his relatives.

The South-Central African Barotse have a city of refuge. "Anyone incurring the king's wrath, or committing a crime, may find safety by fleeing to this town. The man in charge of it is expected to plead for him before the chief, and he can then return to his house in peace." Among the same people the tombs of chiefs are sanctuaries or places of refuge, and this is also the case among the Kafirs. So, too, in the monarchical states of the Gallas homicides enjoy a legal right of asylum if they have succeeded in taking refuge in a hut near the burial-place of the king. Among the Ovambo in South-Western Africa the village of a great chief is abandoned at his death, except by the members of a certain family, who remain there to prevent it from falling into utter decay. Condemned criminals who contrive to escape to one of these deserted villages are safe, at least for a time; for not even the chief himself may pursue a fugitive into the sacred place. In Congo Français there are several sanctuaries:--"The great one in the Calabar district is at Omon. Thither mothers of twins, widows, thieves, and slaves fly, and if they reach it are safe." In Ashantee a slave who flies to a temple and dashes himself against the fetish cannot easily be brought back to his master. Among the Negroes of Accra criminals used to "seat themselves upon the fetish," that is, place themselves under its protection; but murderers who sought refuge with the fetish were always liable to be delivered up to their pursuers. A traveller in the seventeenth century tells us that in Fetu, on the Gold Coast, a criminal who deserved death was pardoned by taking refuge in the hut of the high-priest. Among the Krumen of the Grain Coast the house of the high-priest (bodio) "is a sanctum to which culprits {631} may betake themselves without the danger of being removed by anyone except by the bodio himself." In Usambara a murderer cannot be arrested at any of the four places where the great wizards of the country reside.

In other Muhammedan countries besides Morocco the tombs of saints, as also the mosques, are or have been places of refuge. In Persia the great number of such asylums proved so injurious to public safety, that about the middle of the nineteenth century only three mosques were left which were recognised by the government as affording protection to criminals of every description. Among the Hebrews the right of asylum originally belonged to all altars, but on the abolition of the local altars it was limited to certain cities of refuge. According to the Old Testament manslayers could find shelter there only in the case of involuntary homicide; but this was undoubtedly a narrowing of the ancient custom. Many heathen sanctuaries of the Phnicians and Syrians retained even in Roman times what seems to have been an unlimited right of asylum; and at certain Arabian shrines the god likewise gave shelter to all fugitives without distinction, and even stray or stolen cattle that reached the holy ground could not be reclaimed by their owners.

On the Coast of Malabar a certain temple situated to the south-east of Calicut affords protection to thieves and adulterous women belonging to the Brahmin caste, but this privilege is reckoned among the sixty-four anatcharams, or "abuses," which were introduced by Brahmanism. Among the Káfirs of the Hindu-Kush there are several "cities of refuge," the largest being the village of Mergrom, which is almost entirely peopled by chiles, or descendants of persons who have slain some fellow tribesman. In the Caucasus holy groves offer refuge to criminals, as also to animals, which cannot be shot there.

In Greece many sanctuaries possessed the right of asylum down to the end of paganism, and any violation of this right {632} was supposed to be severely punished by the deity. According to an old tradition, Romulus established a sanctuary, dedicated to some unknown god or spirit, on the slope of the Capitoline Hill, proclaiming that all who resorted to it, whether bond or free, should be safe. This tradition, and also some other statements made by Latin writers, seem to indicate that from ancient times certain sacred places in Rome gave shelter to refugees; but it was only in a comparatively late period of Roman history that the right of sanctuary, under Greek influence, became a recognised institution of some importance. This right was expressly conferred upon the temple which in the year 42 B.C. was built in honour of Cæsar; and other imperial temples, as also the statues of emperors, laid claim to the same privilege. When Christianity became the religion of the State a similar claim was made by the churches; but a legal right of asylum was only granted to them by Honorius in the West and Theodosius in the East. Subsequently it was restricted by Justinian, who decreed that all manslayers, adulterers, and kidnappers of women who fled to a church should be taken out of it.

The right of sanctuary existed among the pagan Slavs, or some of them, and probably also among the ancient Teutons. After their conversion to Christianity the privilege of asylum within the church was recognised in most of their codes. In the Middle Ages and later, persons who fled to a church or to certain boundaries surrounding it were, for a time at least, safe from all persecution, it being considered treason against God, an offence beyond compensation, to force even the most flagrant criminal from His altar. The ordinary of the sacred place, or {633} his official, was the only one who could try to induce him to leave it, but if he failed, the utmost that could be done was to deny the refugee victuals so that he might go forth voluntarily. In the 'Lex Baiuwariorum' it is asserted in the strongest terms that there is no crime which may not be pardoned from the fear of God and reverence for the saints. But the right of sanctuary was gradually subjected to various restrictions both by secular legislation and by the Church. Innocentius III. enjoined that refuge should not be given to a highway robber or to anybody who devastated cultivated fields at night; and according to Beaumanoir's 'Coutumes du Beauvoisis,' dating from the thirteenth century, it was also denied to persons guilty of sacrilege or arson. The Parliament of Scotland enacted that whoever took the protection of the Church for homicide should be required to come out and undergo an assize, that it might be found whether it was committed of "forethought felony" or in "chaudemelle"; and only in the latter case was he to be restored to the sanctuary, the sheriff being directed to give him security to that effect before requiring him to leave it. In England, in the reign of Henry VIII., there were certain places which were allowed to be "places of tuition and privilege," in addition to churches and their precincts. They were in fact cities of permanent refuge for persons who should, according to ancient usage, have abjured the realm, after they had fled in the ordinary way to a church. There was a governor in each of these privileged places, charged with the duty of mustering every day his men, who were not to exceed twenty in each town and who had to wear a badge whenever they appeared out of doors. But when these regulations were made, the protection of sanctuary was taken away from persons guilty of murder, rape, burglary, highway robbery, or arson. The law of sanctuary was then left unchanged till the reign of James I., when, in theory, the privilege in question was altogether denied to criminals. Yet {634} as a matter of fact, asylums continued to exist in England so late as the reign of George I., when that of St. Peter's at Westminster was demolished. In the legislation of Sweden the last reference to the privilege of sanctuary is found in an enactment of 1528. In France it was abolished by an ordonnance of 1539. In Spain it existed even in the nineteenth century. Not long ago the most important churches in Abyssinia, the monastery of Affaf Woira in the same country, and the quarter in Gondar where the head of the Abyssinian clergy has his residence, were reported to be asylums for criminals. And the same is the case with the old Christian churches among the Suanetians of the Caucasus.

The right of sanctuary has been ascribed to various causes. Obviously erroneous is the suggestion that places of refuge were established with a view to protecting unintentional offenders from punishment or revenge. The restriction of the privilege of sanctuary to cases of accidental injuries is not at all general, and where it occurs it is undoubtedly an innovation due to moral or social considerations. Very frequently this privilege has been attributed to a desire to give time for the first heat of resentment to pass over before the injured party could seek redress. But although I admit that such a desire may have helped to preserve the right of asylum where it has once come into existence, I do not believe that it could account for the origin of this right. We should remember that the privilege of sanctuary not only affords {635} temporary protection to the refugee, but in many cases altogether exempts him from punishment or retaliation, and that shelter is given even to animals which have fled to a sacred place. And, if the theory referred to were correct, how could we explain the fact that the right of asylum is particularly attached to sanctuaries?

It has been said that the right of sanctuary bears testimony to the power of certain places to transmit their virtues to those who entered them. But we have no evidence that the fugitive is supposed to partake of the sanctity of the place which shelters him. In Morocco persons who are permanently attached to mosques or the shrines of saints are generally regarded as more or less holy, but this is never the case with casual visitors or suppliants; hence it is hardly for fear of the refugee that his pursuer refrains from laying hands on him. Professor Robertson Smith has stated part of the truth in saying that "the assertion of a man's undoubted rights as against a fugitive at the sanctuary is regarded as an encroachment on its holiness." There is an almost instinctive fear not only of shedding blood, but of disturbing the peace in a holy place; and if it is improper to commit any act of violence in the house of another man, it is naturally considered equally offensive, and also infinitely more dangerous, to do so in the homestead of a supernatural being. In the Tonga Islands, for instance, "it is forbidden {636} to quarrel or fight upon consecrated ground." But this is only one aspect of the matter; another, equally important, still calls for an explanation. Why should the gods or saints themselves be so anxious to protect criminals who have sought refuge in their sanctuaries? Why do they not deliver them up to justice through their earthly representatives?

The answer lies in certain ideas which refer to human as well as divine protectors of refugees. The god or saint is in exactly the same position as a man to whose house a person has fled for shelter. Among various peoples the domicile of the chief or king is an asylum for criminals; nobody dares to attack a man who is sheltered by so mighty a personage, and from what has been said above, in connection with the rules of hospitality, it is also evident why the chief or king feels himself compelled to protect him. By being in close contact with his host, the suppliant is able to transfer to him a dangerous curse. Sometimes a criminal can in a similar way be a danger to the king even from a distance, or by meeting him, and must in consequence be pardoned. In Madagascar an offender escaped punishment if he could obtain sight of the sovereign, whether before or after conviction; hence criminals at work on the highroad were ordered to withdraw when the sovereign was known to be coming by. Among the Bambaras "une fois la sentence prononcée, si le condamné parvient à cracher sur un {637} prince, non-seulement sa personne est sacrée, mais elle est nourrie, logée, etc., par le grand seigneur qui a eu l'imprudence de se tenir à portée de cet étrange projectile." In Usambara even a murderer is safe as soon as he has touched the person of the king. Among the Marutse and neighbouring tribes a person who is accused of any crime receives pardon if he lays a cupa--the fossilised base of a conical shell, which is the most highly valued of all their instruments--at the feet of his chief; and a miscreant likewise escapes punishment if he reaches and throws himself on the king's drums. On the Slave Coast "criminals who are doomed to death are always gagged, because if a man should speak to the king he must be pardoned." In Ashantee, if an offender should succeed in swearing on the king's life, he must be pardoned, because such an oath is believed to involve danger to the king; hence knives are driven through the cheeks from opposite sides, over the tongue, to prevent him from speaking. So also among the Romans, according to an old Jewish writer, a person condemned to death was gagged to prevent him from cursing the king. Fear of the curses pronounced by a dissatisfied refugee likewise, in all probability, underlay certain other customs which prevailed in Rome. A servant or slave who came and fell down at the feet of Jupiter's high-priest, taking hold of his knees, was for that day freed from the whip; and if a prisoner with irons and bolts at his feet succeeded in approaching the high-priest in his house, he was let loose and his fetters were thrown into the road, not through the door, but from the roof. Moreover, if a criminal who had been sentenced to death accidentally met a Vestal virgin on his way to the place of execution, his {638} life was saved. So sensitive to imprecations were both Jupiter's high-priest and the priestesses of Vesta, that the Praetor was never allowed to compel them to take an oath. Now, as a refugee may by his curse force a king or a priest or any other man with whom he establishes some kind of contact to protect him, so he may in a similar manner constrain a god or saint as soon as he has entered his sanctuary. According to the Moorish expression he is then in the [(]âr of the saint, and the saint is bound to protect him, just as a host is bound to protect his guest. It is not only men that have to fear the curses of dissatisfied refugees. Let us once more remember the words which Aeschylus puts into the mouth of Apollo, when he declares his intention to assist his suppliant, Orestes:--"Terrible both among men and gods is the wrath of a refugee, when one abandons him with intent."