Chapter I: Consecrated Actions (1)

Adoration, or worship, is a direct result of one of the most universal of human instincts. After the instincts which impel us to provide for the necessities of the body, and to satisfy the passion of love, there is perhaps none more potent or more general. Men are driven to pray by an irresistible impulse. Differing widely as to the object of worship; differing not less widely as to its mode; differing in a minor degree as to the blessings it secures; they are agreed as to the fundamental ideas which it involves. In the first place it presupposes a power superior to, or at any rate different from, the power of man; in the second place it assumes a belief that this superhuman or non-human power can be approached by his worshipers; can be induced to listen to their desires, and to grant their petitions.

Of the first of the two elements thus implied in prayer, this is not the appropriate place to speak at length. In a very early and primitive stage of man's existence, he begins to feel his dependence upon powers invisible to his mortal eyes, whose mode of action he can but imperfectly comprehend. His way of conceiving these beings will depend upon his mental elevation, upon historical influences, upon local conditions, and other causes. Among very rude nations, the commonest and apparently most unimpressive objects will serve as fetishes, or incarnations of the mysterious force. Pieces of wood, stones, ornaments worn on the person, or almost anything, may under some circumstances do duty in this capacity. It is a further stage of progress when the more conspicuous objects of nature, lofty mountains, rivers, trees, fountains, and so forth, are deified, to the exclusion of more insignificant things. Still higher is the adoration of bodies which do not belong to this earth at all, and whose nature is, therefore, more mysterious—the sun, the moon, the planets or the stars, the clouds and tempests, the winds, and similar imposing phenomena. And this stage passes naturally into one where the gods, at first merely forces of nature personified, lose their character of forces, and become exclusively persons. They are then conceived as beings in human form, but endowed with much more than human faculties. Actual persons, especially the ancestors of the living generation, are also the frequent recipients of religious adoration. By other races, or by the same races at a later period, the numerous gods of polytheism are merged in one supreme god, to whom the others are subordinated as agents of his will, or before whose grandeur they disappear altogether; while this worship of powers conceived as beneficent is very frequently accompanied, more or less avowedly, by a parallel worship of powers conceived as malevolent, and whom, by reason of that very malevolence, it is occasionally deemed the more needful to conciliate.

The second element—the conviction that these deities are accessible to human requests—is shown both by the fact of worship being offered and by the mode in which it is conducted. In the first place, it is plain that prayer would not be offered at all but for the belief that it exercises some influence on the beings prayed to. But the theory does not require that they should be equally amenable to it at all times, from all persons, or in whatever way it is uttered. On the contrary, accessibility to prayer implies in these who receive it an inclination to listen with attention to the language in which they are addressed, and to be more or less moved by it according to its nature.

Reasoning from the authorities of earth whom he knows, to those of heaven whom he does not know, the primitive man concludes that the best way of obtaining the satisfaction of his wishes from the latter will be to address them in a tone of humble supplication, intermingled with such laudatory epithets as he deems most suitable to the deity invoked, or most likely to be agreeable to his ear. Hence we have the two devotional acts of prayer and praise, which in all religions constantly accompany one another, and constitute the simplest, most natural, and most ancient expression on the part of human beings of their consciousness of an overruling power, and of their desire to enter into relations with that dreaded and venerated agency.

Prayer in its original form is simply a request for some personal advantage addressed by the worshipers to their god. Whatever loftier associations it may afterwards acquire, its intention at the outset is unquestionably this, as may be proved by reference to innumerable instances, quoted by travelers or scholars, of savage prayer, where the benefit expected from the deity is demanded in the most barefaced manner. But even after men have long ceased to be savages, the primary object of prayer may easily be discerned; sometimes plainly avowed by the persons praying, sometimes cloaked under complimentary phrases or devotional utterances. However disguised, the fact remains, that prayer was originally designed, and to a large extent is designed still, to obtain certain advantages for ourselves, either as individuals, or as a community. Private prayer, partaking to some extent of the character of a meditation, may, and no doubt often does, form an exception to this rule; but even this very frequently falls under it, and of the prayer offered by tribes or nations it always holds good.

Two excellent specimens of primitive prayer are given by Brinton in his "Myths of the New World." According to that writer, the Nootka Indian, on preparing for war, thus expresses his wishes:—"Great Quahootzee, let me live, not be sick, find the enemy, not fear him, find him asleep, and kill a great many of him."

The next instance, quoted by him from Father Breboeuf, is equally apposite. It is the prayer of a Huron:—"Oki, thou who livest in this spot, I offer thee tobacco. Help us, save us from shipwreck, defend us from our enemies, give us a good trade, and bring us back safe and sound to our villages" (M. N. W., p. 297).

The Kafirs, according to Shooter, address the "spirits" whom they worship in the following style: "Take care of me, take care of my children, take care of my wives, take care of all my people. Remove the sickness, and let my child recover. Give me plenty of children—many boys and a few girls. Give me abundance of food and cattle. Make right all my people" (K. N., p. 163).

Of the negroes on the Caribbean Islands, Oldendorp says, "Their concerns which they lay before God in their prayers, even on their knees, have reference only to the body, to health, fine weather, a good harvest, victory over their enemies, and so forth" (G. d. M., p. 325).

The Samoans, on taking their evening "cup of ava," would thus express their petitions to the gods: "Here is ava for you, O gods! Look kindly towards this family: let it prosper and increase; and let us all be kept in health. Let our plantations be productive, let fruit grow, and may there be abundance of food for us, your creatures. Here is ava for you, our war-gods! Let there be a strong and numerous people for you in this land. Here is ava for you, O sailing gods! Do not come on shore at this place; but be pleased to depart along the ocean to some other land" (N. Y., p. 200).

Mr. Turner, to whom I am indebted for the above prayer, remarks that in Tanna, another of the Polynesian islands, the chief of a village repeats a short prayer at the evening meal, "asking health, long life, good crops, and success in battle" (Ibid., p. 85).

The authors of the Vedic hymns, though standing on a far higher level of civilization, do not differ essentially from these rude people in the character of the objects for which they pray. The several deities are continually invoked to grant health, wealth, prosperity, posterity, and other temporal blessings. Thus (to quote one instance among many) in Mandala 1, Sûkta 64, translated by Max Müller, the Maruts are requested to grant "strength, glorious, invincible in battle, brilliant, wealth-conferring, praiseworthy, known to all men;" and again, "wealth, durable, rich in men, defying all onslaughts; wealth a hundred and a thousandfold, always increasing" (R. V. S., i. 64, 14, 15,—Vol. i. p. 93). The liturgies of the Zend-Avesta, while sometimes assuming a loftier strain, frequently move upon the same level. The same tone is to be observed in the Hebrew Scriptures. Solomon's prayer, for instance, at the dedication of the temple, may be taken as an enumeration of the objects commonly prayed for among the ancient Hebrews. It specifies among the objects to be obtained at the hands of Jehovah, the prevention of famine, of pestilence, blasting, mildew, locust or caterpillar, plague or sickness (1 Kings viii. 37). Christian liturgies contain the same universal elements, though intermingled with many others, and not in general put forward with the same crudity of language.

Besides these general objects, there are others of an ephemeral and special kind which are generally drawn within the sphere of prayer. Rain is a common object of prayer, and other changes of weather are equally prayed for if they are held to be important. Callaway, for example, was informed by a "very old man" in South Africa that "if it does not rain, the heads of villages and petty chiefs assemble and go to a black chief; they converse and pray for rain" (R. S. A., vol. i. p. 59). Another native described the mode of supplication more particularly. A certain chieftain named Utshaka "came and made his prayers greater than those who preceded him." When he desired rain, he sang the following song, which "consists of musical sounds merely, without any meaning:"—

"_One Part_—I ya wu; a wu; o ye i ye."

"_Second Part or Response_—I ya wo."

And this prayer, so touching in its simplicity, was as successful as the most elaborate composition of Jewish prophet or Christian bishop; for the narrator states that Utshaka "Sang a song and prayed to the Lord of heaven; and asked his forefathers to pray for rain to the Lord of heaven. _And it rained_" (R. S. A., vol. i. p. 92). The efficacy of prayer is plainly independent of the creed of him who offers it.

The Mexicans held an important annual festival in the month of May, of which the main purpose was to entreat for water from the sky, this being the season at which there was the greatest need of rain (H. I., b. v. ch. 28). They used to address an elaborate prayer to a god named Tlaloc, the king of the terrestrial paradise, to obtain deliverance from drought. They entreated him not to visit the offenses they had committed with such severity as to continue the privation under which they were laboring.[1] The Tannese, when put to much inconvenience by the dust falling from a certain volcano, "were in the habit of praying to their gods for a change of wind" (N. Y., p. 75). Certain other South Sea Islanders used to pray to their gods to avert the supposed calamity of a lunar eclipse. "As the eclipse passes off, they think it is all owing to their prayers," a mode of reasoning which presents an exact parallel to that employed by many Christians.

Sir John Davis gives a very interesting specimen of a prayer for rain employed by Taou-Kuâng, the Emperor of China, in 1832, on the occasion of a long drought in that country (Chinese, vol. ii. p. 75). As may be expected from so civilized a people, this prayer rises far above the outspoken begging of savage petitions, yet it has in substance precisely the same end. The emperor describes himself as "scorched with grief," and pathetically inquires whether he has been remiss in sacrifice, has been proud or prodigal, irreverent, unjust, or wanting in discretion in the exercise of patronage. Here we see the intrusion of the theological idea that calamities are sent as punishments for sin, which plays no small part in Christian theology; but this only serves to veil, without effacing, the essential character of the prayer. The very same notion, that sin is visited by unfavorable weather, is found in the prayer of Solomon, whose mind upon this question seems to have been in the same stage of thought as that attained by the Chinese emperor. "When heaven is shut up, and there is no rain, because they have sinned against thee" (1 Kings viii. 35), is the language of Solomon: "My sins are so numerous that it is hopeless to escape their consequences," so runs the penitent confession of Taou-Kuâng. But whatever may be the cause to which the drought is attributed, the prayer, whether uttered by Chinaman, Jew, or Christian, is still simply the petition to the Amazulu, the South Sea Islander, or the native American—a request that God will so influence the phenomena of the skies as to suit our convenience. The notion that this object may sometimes be attained by our prayers is not extinct even among ourselves.

Other special occasions are sometimes held to call for prayer. Such are national calamities; as a pestilence among men or cattle, the illness of some eminent person, and other similar misfortunes. A good harvest is very generally prayed for; so is victory in time of war. The ancient Aryans, who composed the Vedic hymns one thousand years or more before Christ, continually prayed for this last blessing; and we ourselves, when engaged in warfare, piously continue the same custom.

Very frequently the notion of a bargain between the god and his worshiper appears in prayer. The worshiper claims to have rendered some service for which the god ought in equity to reward him; or he holds out the discontinuance of his former devotion as a motive to induce the concession of his desires. The constant conjunction of praise with prayer is explicable on this principle of a reciprocity of benefits. If the worshiper gains much from the god, yet the god gains something from him, being addressed in a strain of unbounded eulogy. His power, his greatness, his goodness, his excellences of all kinds are vaunted in glowing terms, no doubt sincerely used by the worshiper, but repeated and accumulated to satiety from an impression that they are pleasing to their object, and may dispose him to beneficence. Titles thus bestowed upon their deities are aptly described by the Amazulus as "laud-giving names" (R. S. A., vol. i. p. 72, and vol. ii. p. 149). In the Vedic hymns and in the Psalms, the deities spoken of are constantly addressed by such complimentary epithets. One of the hymns to the Maruts begins by announcing the poet's intention to praise "their ancient greatness." And at the conclusion, after he has done so, he says, "May this praise, O Maruts, ... approach you (asking) for offspring to our body, together with food. May we find food, and a camp with running water" (R. V. S., vol. i. pp. 197, 201). The Psalmists were never weary of exalting the extraordinary might and majesty of Jehovah, mingling petitions with panegyric; and a large portion of the worship of Christians consists in expressions of pious admiration at the extraordinary goodness of their God, especially for his redemption of the world which he had himself condemned. All these extravagant eulogies betray a latent impression that the Deity is, after all, a very arbitrary personage, and may be moved to more merciful conduct than he would otherwise pursue by large doses of flattery.

Still more clearly does the idea of a commercial relationship with the gods make its appearance in a poet who stands on a higher intellectual and moral level than the writers of the Hebrew Psalms, namely Aischylos. In the Seven against Thebes, Eteokles implores Zeus, the Earth, and the tutelar deities of the city to protect Thebes; and subjoins as a motive for compliance, "And I trust that what I say is our common interest; for a prosperous city honors the gods" (Aisch. Sept. c. Th. 76, 77—Dindorf). And there is a similar appeal to the divine selfishness further on in the same play, where the chorus inquires of the gods what better plain they can expect to obtain in exchange for this one, if they shall suffer it to pass into the enemy's hands (Aisch., Sept. c. Th. 304).

In the Choephoræ, Zeus is distinctly asked in the prayer of Agamemnon's children whence he can expect to obtain the sacrifice and honors which have been paid him by Orestes and Electra if he should suffer them to perish (Aisch., Choeph., 255). While in the Electra of Sophocles the converse motive of gratitude is appealed to: the god Apollon being desired to remember not what he may get, but what he already has got, from the piety of his supplicant (Soph. El., 1376—Schneidewin). And Jacob, who was a good hand at a bargain, makes his terms with Jehovah in a thoroughly business-like spirit. "_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 up for a pillar, shall be God's house: and of all that thou shalt give me I will surely give the tenth unto thee." The adoption of Jehovah as Jacob's God being thus entirely dependent on the performance by that Deity of his share in the contract (Gen. xxviii. 20-22).

Sometimes it is quaintly suggested that were the worshiper in the place of the god, _he_ would not neglect the interests of his devotee. Thus, the author of a hymn in the Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ, addressing the Gods of Tempest, exclaims: "If you, sons of Prisni, were mortals, and your worshiper an immortal, then never should your praiser be unwelcome, like a deer in pasture grass, nor should he go on the path of Yama" (R. V. S., vol. i. p. 65). Another unsophisticated poet gives the following hint to the god Indra, the Hindu Jupiter: "Were I, Indra, like thee, the sole lord of wealth, the singer of my praises should be rich in cattle" (S. V., i. 2. i. 3. p. 218). And the same god is asked elsewhere in the Veda: "When wilt thou make us happy? for it is just this that is desired" (S. V., i. 5. i. 3. p. 233). With equal plainness is the expectation of a _quid pro quo_ enunciated in one of the most ancient hymns, contained in the sacred books of the Parsees:—"Every adoration, O True One, consists in actions whereby one may obtain good possessions, full of security, and happiness round about" (F. G. vol. ii. p. 54.—Yama 51. i).

More emphatically still is this conception of a reciprocity of benefits expressed in another consecrated action, that of Sacrifice. Sacrifice holds a most important place in all religions. It originates in a stage of the human mind which, if not quite as primitive as that which gives rise to prayer, is nevertheless so early as to be practicably inseparable from it. Wherever we find prayer, we find sacrifice; but as the latter is generally found organized under definite forms, and confined to certain specified objects, we may conclude that in the state in which we recognize it, it implies a certain degree of regulation and forethought on the part of religious authorities which we do not meet with in the simplest types of prayer. Prayer is often the mere natural outpouring of our wants before a power which is considered capable of fulfilling them: sacrifice, though doubtless in the first instance an equally artless offering of gifts to beings who are regarded with veneration and gratitude, is soon converted into a formal presentation of acknowledged dues, performed under ecclesiastical supervision. No doubt prayer also tends to assume this formal character; but we have hitherto considered it in its uncorrupted aspect; its treatment in its later developments belongs to another portion of this chapter.

The idea which presides over sacrifice is obvious. The sacrificer argues that if he can make acceptable presents to the gods, they will smile upon him and be disposed to promote his ends; whereas if he keeps the whole of his possessions for worldly purposes, they will regard him with indignation, and refuse him their assistance when he may happen to stand in need of it. There is also involved in sacrifice a sense of gratitude: the gods having given us the fruits of the earth, behooves us to make some acknowledgment of their bounty.

Such notions, once propounded, were certain to be fertile. Every motive of piety and of interest would combine to support them. The piety of the worshipers, coupled with their hopes of advantage, would be stimulated by the self-interest of the priests, who generally share in the sacrifices offered. If any piece of good fortune occurred to one who was devout and liberal in sacrificing, it would be attributed to the satisfaction felt by the gods at his exemplary conduct. If ill fortune befell those who had neglected to sacrifice, this would be an equally manifest indication of their high displeasure. As soon, therefore, as the step was taken—and it was one of the earliest in the religious history of man—of instituting sacrifices to idols or to deities, the worshipers vied with one another in the liberality of their offerings. Adopted as a mode of propitiating the celestial beings by spontaneous gifts, it became, among all nations whose religious belief had arrived at a state of flexity and consolidation, a positive duty; much as monarchs have frequently exacted large and burdensome contributions under the guise of voluntary presents.

Illustrations of this conception, that sacrifice is a sort of payment for services rendered or to be rendered, might be found abundantly in many quarters. Perhaps it is seldom more quaintly expressed than by the Amazulus, who, when going to battle, sacrifice to the Amatongo, or manes of their ancestors, in order that these, in their own language, "may have no cause of complaint, because they have made amends to them, and made them bright." On reaching the enemy, they say, "Can it be, since we have made amends to the Amadhlozi, that they will say we have wronged them by anything?" And when it comes to fighting, they are filled with valor, observing that "the Amatongo will turn their backs on us without cause" (R. S. A., vol. ii. p. 133).

The objects of sacrifice are very various, but it is noticeable that they are almost invariably things held in esteem among men, and either possessing a considerable value as commodities, or capable by their properties of ministering to their pleasure. All sacrifices of meat and corn or other edibles belong to the former class; those of flowers to the latter, for these, though of little value in the market yet give great pleasure, and are much esteemed. An exception is indeed presented by the wild hordes in Kamtschatka, who, according to Steller, offer nothing to their gods but what is valueless to themselves (Kamtschatka, p. 265). If this statement does not originate in a misunderstanding of the traveler, the fact must be due to the singularly low religiosity of those people, who seem to have little reverence for the very objects of their worship.

The most valuable sacrifice that can possibly be made—that of human beings—has always been common among savage or uncivilized nations. Thus, in some of the South Sea Islands, human sacrifices were "fearfully common" (N. M. E., p. 547). They prevailed among some of the negro tribes known to the missionary Oldendorp (G. d. M., p. 329).

In Mexico, where the natives had arrived at a far higher condition, human sacrifices still prevailed, though the original brutality of the rite was modified by the fact of the victims being enemies. Indeed, Montezuma, when at the height of his power, expressly refused to conquer a certain province which he might easily have added to his dominions; assigning as his first reason, that he desired to keep the Mexican youth in practice; as his second and principal one, that he might reserve a province for the supply of victims to sacrifice to the gods (H. I., b. v. ch. 20).

At the great Mexican festival of the Jubilee, however, it was not an enemy, but a slave, who was offered. This slave had represented the idol during the period of a year, and had received the greatest honor during his term of office, at the end of which his head was severed from his body by the priest, who then held it as high as he could, and showed it to the Sun and to the idol (H. I., b. v. ch. 28).

Next in value to the human race are cattle, and these too are frequently immolated in honor of the gods. Thus among the Kafirs, "the animals offered are exclusively cattle and goats. The largest ox in a herd is specially reserved for sacrifices on important occasions; it is called the Ox of the Spirits, and is never sold except in cases of extreme necessity" (Kafirs, p. 165). Here we find it expressly stated that it is the best ox, in other words, the most valuable portion of the sacrificer's property, which is devoted to the gods. And the principle which leads in Natal to this reservation of the best will be found predominating over sacrifice throughout the world. The Soosoos, a people inhabiting the west coast of Africa, are so careful to propitiate their deity, that they "never undertake any affair of importance until they have sacrificed to him a bullock" (N. A., vol. i. p. 230).

Other domestic and edible animals, being of great importance to mankind, are held worthy of the honor of sacrifice. The same writer to whom I owe the last quotation tells us of the Western Africans, that "before they begin to sow their plantations, they sacrifice a sheep, goat, fowl, or fish to the ay-min, to beg that their crop may abound; for were this neglected, they are persuaded that nothing would grow there" (Ibid., vol. i. p. 223). Oldendorp, who was particularly familiar with the Caribbean Islands, describes the sacrifices of the negroes as consisting of "oxen, cows, sheep, goats, hens, palm-oil, brandy, yams, &c." (G. d. M., p. 329).

Besides porcelain collars, tobacco, maize, and skins, the American Indians used to offer "entire animals, especially dogs, on the borders of difficult or dangerous roads or rocks, or by the side of rapids." These offerings were made to the spirits who presided in these places. The great value attached by the natives of America to the dog is well known, and it is deserving of remark that the dog was the commonest victim, and that at the war-festival, which was a sort of sacrifice, it was always dogs that were offered.

In China, the animals slain are "bullocks, heifers, sheep, and pigs," which are duly purified for a certain period beforehand (C. O., vol. ii. p. 192). Among the Jews, pigs, whose flesh was regarded as impure, were not offered; bullocks, goats, and sheep were the chief sacrificial animals; and extreme care was taken in their law that they should be entirely without blemish; that is, that, like the ox of the Kafirs, they should be the best obtainable (Lev. xxii. 17-25). This is a remarkable illustration of the tendency to offer only articles of value in human estimation to God; for here that which would be good enough for men is treated as unfit for Jehovah. Animals of lesser magnitude are sometimes offered; as, for instance, the quails which the Mexicans used to sacrifice (H. I., b. v. ch. 18). Birds are not unfrequently chosen as fitting objects to present to the gods. Among the Ibos, a negro tribe, it is the custom for women, six weeks after childbirth, to present a pair of hens as an offering, which, however, are not killed, but liberated after certain ceremonies. In like manner the Hebrew woman after her delivery was enjoined to bring a lamb and a pigeon or turtle-dove; or, if she were unable to bring the lamb, two young pigeons or two turtle-doves (Lev. xii. 6-8). In addition to animals, a considerable variety of objects is sacrificed, generally the fruits of the earth or flowers. There is, however, no limit to the number of things which may be held suitable for presentation to the gods. Thus, in Samoa (in Polynesia), the offerings were "principally cooked food" (N. Y. p. 241). In other Islands "the first fruits are presented to the gods" (Ibid., p. 327), a practice which corresponds, as the missionary who records it justly remarks, to that of the ancient Israelites. The Red Indians used to offer to their spirits "petun, tobacco, or birds." In honor of the Sun, and even of subordinate spirits, they would throw into the fire everything they were in the habit of using, and which they acknowledged as received from them (N. F., vol. iii. pp. 347, 348). Acosta divides the sacrifices of the Mexicans and Peruvians into three classes: the first, of inanimate objects; the second, of animals; the third, of men. In the first class are included cocoa, maize, colored feathers, seashells, gold and silver, and fine linen (H. I., b. v. ch. 18). Among the sacrifices offered by the Incas to the sun, the most esteemed, according to Garcilasso de la Vega, were lambs, then sheep, then barren ewes. Besides these, they sacrificed tame rabbits, all _edible_ birds (remark the limitation), and fat of beasts, as well as all the grains and vegetables up to cocoa, and the finest linen (observe again the care that it should be fine) (C. R., b. ii. ch. 8). At a certain Hindu festival described by Wilson, a goddess named Varadá Chaturthi "is worshipped with offerings of flowers, of incense, or of lights, with platters of sugar and ginger, or milk or salt, with scarlet or saffron-tinted strings and golden bracelets" (W. W., vol. ii. pp. 184, 185). Among the Parsees the sacrifices consist of little loaves of bread, and of Haoma, the sacred plant. The Indian Parsees send from time to time to Kirman to obtain Haoma-branches from this holy territory (Z. A., vol. ii. p. 535). The Parsees also offer flowers, fruits, rice, odoriferous grains, perfumes, milk, roots of certain trees, and meat. The Jews, like them, offered the productions of the soil in sacrifice.

Beauty, and even utility, when not accompanied by considerable value in exchange, do not suffice to constitute fitness for religious sacrifice. Common plants and shrubs, branches of trees, wild birds or insects, are some of them among the most beautiful productions of nature; yet they are not sacrificed. Stones and wood are both useful, but they are obtained, as a rule, at little cost; and they are not sacrificed. Flowers, which certainly have no high value, were sometimes offered to idols in the form of wreaths and garlands: they scarcely constitute an exception to the rule, for they are prized as ornaments by men, and the process of plucking and weaving them into appropriate shapes imposes trouble—the equivalent of cost—on the devotee. It is plainly not owing to any accidental circumstance that highly valuable objects have been selected by all the nations of the earth as alone appropriate for religious sacrifice. Two reasons may be assigned for this selection. In the first place, the general assimilation of deities to mankind goes far to account for it. Everywhere, and at all times—as we shall have occasion frequently to observe in this work—men have reasoned as to the divine nature from their knowledge of their own. A noteworthy instance of this is to be seen in Malachi, who does not scruple to tell the Jews that their God feels the same kind of offense at the poverty of their offerings as a human governor would do. "And if," says that prophet, "ye offer the blind for sacrifice, is it not evil? and if ye offer the lame and sick, is it not evil? _offer it now unto thy governor_; will he be pleased with thee, or accept thy person? saith the Lord of hosts." A few verses later he recurs to the sorrow felt by Jehovah at such insults. "And ye bring that which is robbed, and the lame, and the sick; thus ye bring an offering: should I accept this of your hand? saith the Lord. But cursed be the deceiver, which hath in his flock a male, and voweth and sacrificeth unto the Lord a bad female." It would be difficult to find the theory of God's resemblance to man expressed in a cruder form. Even as a governor will show the greatest favor to those who approach him with the costliest gifts, so the mouthpiece of the Hebrew deity declares in his name that he must have the pick of his servant's flocks—the males, not the females, the sound and the perfect, not the sickly or the maimed. In a precisely similar spirit, it is enjoined in one of the sacred books of the Buddhists that no spoilt victuals or drinks may be used in sacrifice (Wassiljew, p. 211).

Men's notion of their god was often derived, like Malachi's, not only from human nature, but from those who were by no means the best specimens of human nature,—the rulers. The religious emotion, imbued with this conception of its deities, shrank through a sense of piety from the irreverent, and, as it seemed, sacrilegious act of presenting them with anything but the best. But there was another reason which, doubtless, had its weight. Not only must the offering be of a kind acceptable to the god to whom it was given; it must also impose some cost upon the worshiper. Religious sentiment imperatively required that there should be an actual sacrifice of something which the owner valued, and the surrender of which imposed a burden upon him. This seemed to be involved in the very notion of sacrifice. Its sense and purpose was, that the devotee, coming to his god, and desiring to obtain some favor from him, should show the high importance he attached to it by parting with some portion of his possessions. And plainly this portion must be such as to indicate by its character the esteem and reverence felt by the worshiper for the being whom he worshiped. To indicate this, it must be something which he would unwillingly resign but for his religious feelings. Hence a special part of the fruits of the soil would be an appropriate offering. It would involve a real diminution in the wealth of the worshiper, a real surrender of something useful and valuable to mankind. To these two reasons may be added a third, which, no doubt, must have had its weight. In many cases, a portion of the sacrifices was the property of the priests. As will be more fully shown hereafter, the priesthood frequently contrived to transfer to themselves the piety which was felt towards the gods. Hence the sacrifices, originally given to the divine beings, were in part appropriated by their ministers; and it was obviously of importance to them that the thing sacrificed should be such as they could profit by and enjoy.

It sometimes happens that the sacrifice, or a portion of it, is consumed either by the worshipers in general, or by their priests. A case of the former kind is mentioned by Oldendorp. When the young men among the Tembus (negroes) are going to battle, the old men offer sheep and hens to their god Zioo for their success; the blood and bowels they bestow upon Zioo, and the flesh they eat themselves (G. d. M., p. 330). Sometimes the thing sacrificed is itself regarded as an idol or god, and is eaten religiously, under a belief that it is a food of peculiar efficacy. Such is the case with the Christian sacrament; and such was the case, too, with the remarkable custom observed among the Mexicans at the feast of Vitziliputzli, where an idol composed of corn and honey used to be solemnly consecrated, and afterwards distributed to be eaten by the people, who received it with extreme reverence, awe, and tears, as the flesh and bones of the god himself (H. I., b. v. ch. 24). It is an exception, however, when the laity partake in the consumption of the sacrifices; they are generally reserved for the priests. Among the Jews, it was the privilege of the priests to eat certain portions of the animals brought for sacrifice; and in like manner the Parsee priest, or Zaota, eats the bread and drinks the Haoma (Av., vol. ii. p. lxxii). And it deserves especial mention, that the Haoma, a plant of which the juice is thus drunk in certain rites both in the Indian and the Parsee religions, is in both considered a god as well as a plant; just as the wine of the Christian sacrament is both the juice of the grape and the blood of the Redeemer (Av., vol. i. p. 8).

In the above cases, food consecrated to the gods is eaten by men. The converse practice, that of bestowing a portion of the ordinary food of men upon the gods, is also common. The habit of the ancients of making libations is well known. But the same practice has prevailed, or prevails still, in many distinct parts of the world. A traveler who visited Tartary in the thirteenth century states that it was the custom of the Tartar chiefs of one thousand or one hundred men, before they ate or drank anything, to offer some of it to an idol which they always kept in the middle of their dwelling place (Bergeron, Voyage de Carpin, art. iii., p. 30). In Samoa, when a family feast was held in honor of the household gods, "a cup of their intoxicating ava draught was poured out as a drink-offering" (N. Y., p. 239). Among the Soosoos, on the west coast of Africa, a custom prevails "which resembles the ancient practice of pouring out a libation: they seldom or never drink spirits, wine, etc., without spilling a little of it upon the ground, and wetting the gree-gree or fetish hung round the neck: at the same time they mutter a kind of short prayer" (N. A., p. 123). Again, in Sierra Leone, "when they want to render their devil propitious to any undertaking, they generally provide liquor: a very small libation is made to him, and the rest they drink before his altar" (S. L., p. 66). While in Thibet, "the execution by a Lama is not required for the usual libations to the personal genii, nor to those of the house, the country, etc., in whose honor it is the custom to pour out upon the ground some drink or food, and to fill one of the offering vessels ranged before their images before eating or drinking one's self" (B. T., p. 247).

Great importance is in all religions attached to sacrifice. It is universally supposed to conciliate, to soften, or to appease the deity in whose honor it is offered. Sometimes it is even conceived to have an actual material power of its own, the spirits deriving a positive benefit from the food presented to them. Spiegel states that the subordinate genii in the Parsee hierarchy of angels derive from the sacrifices strength and vigor to fulfil their duties (Av., vol. ii. p. lxiii). Generally, however, the conception of the influence of sacrifice is less materialistic. The Amazulus naively express the general sentiment by saying, that, in prospect of a battle, they sacrifice to their ancestors in order that they "may have no cause of complaint." Much more mystical were the views entertained on this point by the ancient Hindus, among whom the theory of sacrifice was probably more highly elaborated than in any other nation. Of a certain sacrificial ceremony it is stated, that the gods, after having performed it, "gained the celestial world. Likewise a sacrificer, after having done the same, gains the celestial world" (A. B., vol. ii. p. 22). And it is added, that the sacrificer who performs this rite "succeeds in both worlds, and obtains a firm footing in both worlds" (A. B., vol. ii. p. 25). While to another rite the following promise is attached: "He who, knowing this, sacrifices according to this rite, is born (anew) from the womb of Agni and the offerings, and participates in the nature of the Rik, Yajus, and Sâman, the Veda (sacred knowledge), the Brahma (sacred element), and immortality, and is absorbed in the deity" (A. B., vol. ii. p. 51). Often it is the forgiveness of some offense that is sought to be obtained by pacifying the indignant deity with a gift. In the Jewish law a large portion of the sacrifices enjoined have this object. They are termed sin-offerings or trespass-offerings.

The general idea which leads to sacrifice is in all religions the same. Respect is intended to be shown to the deity in whose honor the sacrifice is made by depriving ourselves of some valuable possession, and bestowing it on him. The pleasure supposed to be felt by God on receiving such presents is somewhat coarsely but emphatically expressed in the Hebrew Bible by the statement that when Aaron had made a sacrifice in the wilderness there came a fire from the Lord and consumed the meat which had been laid upon the altar (Lev. ix. 24).

Christianity offers only an apparent exception to the rule of the universal predominance of this idea. We do not, indeed, find among Christians the periodical and stated offerings, either of animals or of the products of the soil, which exist elsewhere. Nevertheless, the idea of sacrifice subsists among them in all its force. Indeed, it is the fundamental conception of the Christian religion itself, in which the sacrifice of the founder upon the cross embodies all those notions which are held to legitimate the custom of sacrificing among heathen nations. We have first the notion of an angry and exacting deity, who can only be rendered placable towards mankind by the surrender to him of some valuable thing; we have, consequently, the sacrifice of the most valuable thing that can possibly be offered, namely, the life of a human being; we have, lastly, the belief that this sacrifice was accepted, and that promises of mercy were in consequence held out to the human race. By a peculiar exaltation of the idea, the life thus given up is declared to be that of his own son—a conception by which the value of the sacrifice, and consequently the advantages it is capable of procuring, are indefinitely heightened.

Thus the idea of sacrifice is carried to its extreme limits in the religion of Christendom. Had it not been for the absolute necessity of some sacrifice being offered to God, there would—according to the theory of the Christian faith—have been absolutely no reason for the execution of Christ. He might have taught every doctrine associated with his name, performed every miracle related in the Gospels, have drawn to himself every disciple named in them, and yet have died, like the Buddha, in the calm of a venerated and untroubled old age. He was obliged to undergo this painful and melancholy death, if we accept the general belief of Christendom, solely because God required a sacrifice, and because without that sacrifice he could not forgive the offenses of mankind.

Simple prayer and sacrifice are, then, the most primitive and most general methods by which man approaches those whom his nature impels him to worship. But as these acts are repeated from time to time, and as their frequent repetition is supposed to be highly agreeable to their objects, it naturally happens that some particular mode of performing them comes to be preferred to others. By and by, the mode of worship usually adopted will become habitual; and a habit once formed will be strengthened by every repetition of the acts in question. Not only will certain forms of prayer, certain ways of sacrificing, certain postures, certain gestures, and a certain order of proceeding become established as usual and regular, but they will be regarded as the only appropriate and respectful forms, every attempt to depart from them being treated as a sacrilegious innovation. The form will be deemed no less essential than the substance.

Hence Ritual, which we do not find in the most primitive religions, but which is discovered in all of those that have advanced to a higher type. Even in the earliest Vedic hymns—those of the Rig-Veda-Sanhitâ—we perceive clear traces of an established ritual from the manner in which the sacrifices are spoken of as having been duly offered. In the Zend-Avesta, elaborate ritualistic directions are given for certain specified purposes, especially for that of purification after any defilement. The oldest books of the Jewish Bible are in like manner full of instructions for the due observance of ritual. Both the Buddhists, who broke off from Brahminism, and the Christians, who made a schism from Judaism, established a ritual of their own; and this ritual was soon regarded as no less sacred than that which they had abandoned. Everywhere, when religion has passed out of its first unsettled condition, we find a fixed ritual, and its fixity is one of its most striking features. Dogmas, in spite of the efforts of sacerdotal orders, inevitably change. If the words in which they are expressed remain unaltered, yet the meaning attached to them continually varies. But ritual does not change, or changes only when some great convulsion uproots the settled institutions of the country. From age to age the same forms and the same prayers remain, sometimes long after their original meaning has been forgotten.

Thus prayer, ceasing to be spontaneous and irregular, becomes formal, ceremonial, and regular. And as there are many occasions besides sacrifice on which men desire to pray, so there will be many besides this on which the craving for order, and the readiness to believe that God is better pleased with one form of devotion than another, will lead to the establishment of ritual.

Rites may be performed daily, weekly, or at any other interval. Sometimes, indeed, they are still more frequent, haunting the every-day life of the devotee, and intruding upon his commonest actions. Thus the Parsees are required to repeat certain prayers on rising, before and after eating, on going to bed, on cutting their nails or their hair, and on several other natural occasions, besides praying to the sun three times a day (Z. A., vol. ii. p. 564-567). The Jews are encompassed with obligations which, if less minute, are of a like burdensome character. A devout Jew has to repeat a certain prayer on rising; he has to wear garments of a particular kind, and to wash and dress in a particular order (Rel. of Jews, p. 1-8). Mussulmans are commanded to pray five times a day, turning their faces towards Mecca (Sale, prel. discourse, pp. 76, 77).

Ritual, however, is not always of this purely personal nature, but is generally performed by a congregation to whose needs it refers, or by priests on their behalf. And in this case, again, a longer or shorter interval may elapse between the recurrence of the rites. In the Mexican temples, for instance, the ministering priests were in the habit of performing a service before their idols four times a day (H. I., b. v. ch. p. 14). "The perpetual exercise of the priests," says Acosta, speaking of these temples, "is to offer incense to the idols." The ritual of the Catholic Church, like that of the ancient Mexicans, is repeated every day. The morning and evening services of the Church of England were framed with the same intention; and the Ritualistic clergy, rightly conceiving the teaching of their Church, have introduced the practice of so employing them. Weekly or bi-monthly observances prevail among Hindus, Singhalese, Jews, and Christians. With the Hindus, the seventh lunar day, both during the fortnight of the moon's waxing and during that of her waning, is a festival, the first seventh day in the month being peculiarly holy, and observed with very special rites. More than this, the weekly period is known to them; for, according to Wilson, "a sort of sanctity is, or was, attached even to Sunday, and fasting on it was considered obligatory or meritorious" (W. W., vol. ii. p. 199). In Ceylon the people attend divine service twice a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays; besides which, there are in each month four days devoted to religious acts—the 8th, 15th, 23d, and 30th (A. I. C., pp. 222, 223; H. R. C., p. 76). The Jewish ritual differs on the Sabbath-day from that used on week-days; and such is the solemnity attached to this festival, that a quasi-personality is attributed to the day itself, which is exalted in the service for Friday evening as the bride of God, and which the congregation is invited to go in quest of, and to meet (Rel. of Jews, p. 128). A similar sanctity is considered by many Christians to pertain to the Sunday, while all of them observe it as an important festival, and mark it by peculiar rites. Friday, too, is regarded by the majority of Christians as a day to be observed with distinctive rites, of which fasting is the principal.

When the interval observed between the performance of certain rites exceeds some very short period—as a day or week—it is generally a year. In this case, the time, whether it be a month, a week, a few days, or any other period, set apart for their performance assumes the character of a Festival. Under the general term Festival I include any annually recurrent season, whether it be one of mourning or rejoicing, of fasting or feasting, which is consecrated by the observance of special ceremonies of a religious order. In all religions above the lowest stage such festivals occur. The time of their occurrence is generally marked out by the seasons of the year. Mid-winter, or the season of sowing; spring, or the time when the seed is in the ground or beginning to spring up; and autumn, when the harvest has been gathered in,—are the most natural seasons for festivals; and it is at these that they usually take place. For instance, Oldendorp states that nearly all the Guinea nations have an annual harvest-festival, at which solemn thank-offerings are presented to the Gods (G. d. M., p. 332). In China, this reference to the seasons is obvious. "At every new moon, and the change of the season, there are festivals." Of these, "the most imposing" is "the emperor's plowing the sacred field. This takes place when the sun enters the fifteenth degree of Aquarius." But the precise day is determined by astrologers. This is the winter festival, or that of sowing. The "Leih-chun, at the commencement of the spring, continues for ten days." And in autumn the feast of harvest is celebrated with great merriment (C. O., vol. ii. p. 195-199). The Parsees have numerous festivals, which it would be tedious to enumerate in detail (Z. A., vol. ii. p. 574-581.). After the Gahanbars, which refer to creation, the two principal ones are the No rouz and the Meherdjan, and of these Anquetil du Perron expressly states that the first originally corresponded to spring, and the second to Autumn (Ibid., vol. ii. p. 603). Of the Hindu festivals described by Wilson, by far the greatest are the Pongol, at the beginning of the year, and the Holi, in the middle of March (W. W., vol. ii. p. 151). Compared with these, the rest are insignificant; and these plainly refer to the processes of nature. That the great festivals of the Jews had the same reference, needs no proof; for the passover took place in spring, and the feast of Pentecost, as well as the feast of tabernacles, after harvest. Our Christmas and Easter correspond to the Pongol and Holi of the Hindus in point of time; and even the observances usual at Christmas have, as Wilson has pointed out, much resemblance to those of the Pongol.

There are in Ceylon five annual festivals, of which one, occurring at the commencement of the year (in April), is marked by the singular circumstance that "before New Year's day every individual procures from an astrologer a writing, fixing the fortunate hours of the approaching year on which to commence duties or ceremonies." Of the five festivals the most important was the Paraherra, which lasted from the new moon to the full moon in July, and consisted mainly in a series of religious processions, concluding with one in which the casket containing the Dalada, or tooth of Buddha, was borne upon an elephant. The fifth festival, called that of "New Rice," was held at the commencement of the great harvest, and was the occasion of offerings made with a view to good crops (E. Y., vol. i. p. 314-318).