rat Bocs [set ogee ° eae ae ts is AAS : WH ee Ree 3 Stars. ESTs ge beeh aerate AT Nr cal UR et RR PS SAS Sh . ‘ SOS * . x : S SSN SS SS RAN: AX ANG SSASRON eS SSS . . ~ Sick = : SS re SS SOS Y SORTA WIAs ¢ LECTURES ON THE RELIGION OF THE SEMITES BY THE SAME AUTHOR THE OLD TESTAMENT IN THE JEWISH CHURCH | A COURSE OF LECTURES ON BIBLICAL CRITICISM Second Edition, Revised and much Enlarged THE PROPHETS OF ISRAEL AND THEIR PLACE IN HISTORY TO THE CLOSE OF THE EIGHTH CENTURY B.C. Second Edition WITH INTRODUCTION AND ADDITIONAL NOTES BY THE Rev. Ty. Re CHEYNEL Nia ORIEL PROFESSOR OF THE INTERPRETATION OF HOLY SCRIPTURE AT OXFORD, CANON OF ROCHESTER KINSHIP AND MARRIAGE IN EARLY ARABIA NEW EDITION, WITH ADDITIONAL NOTES BY THE AUTHOR, AND BY PROFESSOR IGNAZ GOLDZIHER, Budapest Epitep By STANLEY A. COOK, Lirr.D. [Out of Print THE LIFE AND LECTURES OF W. ROBERTSON SMITH BY J. SUTHERLAND BLACK & GEORGE CHRYSTAL Vol. I. Tue LIFE. [Out of Print Vol. If. THE LECTURES. [Out of Print Prorrssor WILLIAM ROBERTSON SMITH (about 1891) From a photograph by the late A. Dew Smith LECTURES ON ‘THE RELIGION OF THE SEMITES THE FUNDAMENTAL INSTITUTIONS BY THE LATE WILLIAM ROBERTSON SMITH, M.A., LL.D. R THOMAS ADAM THIRD EDITION WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND ADDITIONAL NOTES BY STANLEY A. COOK, Lirt.D. FELLOW OF GONVILLE AND CAIUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY LECTURER IN HEBREW AND ARAMAIC NEW YORK THE MACMILLAN COMPANY LONDON: A. © C. BLACK LTD. 1927 ‘oF Printed in Great Britain ‘ ATM QD is OL AOA so. a CONTENTS PAGE PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION : 4 A : é ix PREFACE TO THE First Epririon 4 ; . ; . xiii Note TO THE SECOND EpITION . : ' ? : le ab ¢ List oF ABBREVIATIONS AND BIBLIOGRAPHY . : 2 . xxi INTRODUCTION p 3 , F 4 t . XXVii LECTURE I INTRODUCTION: THE SUBJECT AND THE METHOD oF ENQUIRY . 1 LECTURE II THE NATURE OF THE RELIGIOUS COMMUNITY, AND THE RELATION OF THE GODS TO THEIR WORSHIPPERS : : 28 LECTURE III THE RELATIONS OF THE Gops To NATURAL THINGS—HoLy PLAacEs —THE JINN . : - i . $ ‘ 84. LECTURE IV Hoty PLAcEs IN THEIR RELATION TO MAn . : : ae , LECTURE V SANCTUARIES, NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL—HoLy WATERS, TREES, 4 : . 165 CAVES, AND STONES . : : LECTURE VI SACRIFICE—PRELIMINARY SURVEY : ‘ : : aie Bs te = a Vt tard f . ¢ g : Saget ‘ ccd ado lh hee ett = ° te le. vibes ,aty Janinkea ‘3 } ‘ ; ’ ’ ‘ ' Fear pw? < * i : f Sots i ey rRe rari a * \ ee e |. eee) oe 4 cae 4 s é : t Mal t+ i 1 Pe * ica +06 ’ P i ; * > PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION THE continuous demand for the “ Religion of the Semites”’ enduced the publishers, when the necessity for another reprint drew near, to consider the possibility of a new edition. Many years have passed since the second edition, revised by Robertson Smith himself—the last of his labours—was seen through the press by his friend and subsequent biographer, the late Dr. John Sutherland Black (1894). But for nearly three decades con- tinental scholars have had, in Sttibe’s German translation, what is in several respects virtually a new edition ; and for this and other reasons a mere reprint seemed undesirable. Needless to say, a work that in its day was regarded as epoch-making for the powerful stumulus it gave to the study of Semitic religion, and indeed of religion in general, could be revised only by its author. It touched upon so many delicate and controversial subjects, and the treatment was so inciswe and characteristie, that what Robertson Smith thought and wrote must remain unchanged. Accordingly, apart from the correction of a few trifling misprints, the text has been left unaltered. In the foot- notes references to various classical works (by Frazer, Well- hausen, and others) have been tacitly brought up to date, and a few new references added, with sundry other minor changes that could be made on the plates. Besides this, the present edition contains a number of new notes to which the attention of readers 1s drawn by asterisks in the margin of the text. For these and for the Introduction I 1X 5 nih PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION am wholly responsible. Naturally, the notes could have been enlarged and multiplied. What has been done was suggested (1) by Robertson Smith’s MS. notes in his copies of the first edition both of this work and of Wellhausen’s great ‘‘ Reste Arabischen Heidentums,”’ now in the library of Christ's College, Cambridge}; (2) by the additions in the German translation ? ; (3) by the work of Baudissin, Frazer, Lagrange, and others since 1894; and (4) by what I conceive to be the trend of Robertson Smuth’s work. Criticism, since his day, has forced an entire reconsideration of his arguments and theories, and many of the topics with which he deals now appear in another light. This fact has. shaped the Introduction and the Notes. Robertson Smith has often been regarded as the founder of the modern Comparative Study of Religion—he was, I venture to think, the founder of what I would call the Science and Theory of Religion. He opened up in a new way questions of religion and magic ; of ritual, theology, and myth ; of personality, human and divine ; of sin and atonement ; of sacramentalism, tmmanence, and transcendence ; and even of production and property. Whereas theologians naturally discuss such subjects as these within the limits of Christan theology, Robertson Smith went farther afield, to the most essential ideas, and those not of Christianity alone. Western thought is throughout indebted to Christianity and to Greek and Roman civilization ; Robertson Smith went down deeper, to the more primitive modes of thought of mankind. His temperament and lus profound personal faith, coupled with marvellous erudition, gave him an insight into the funda- 1A certain amount of Robertson Smith’s unpublished material was utilized in the Encyclopedia Biblica. 2 R. Stiibe, Die Religion der Semiten, with preface by E. Kautzsch ; Freiburg i. B. 1899. This edition, with thirteen illustrations, modifies the “ lecture’ form and expands numerous references and citations ; it has various additions and a few omissions. A Comparative Table of Pagination will be found at the end of this volume (p. 693). ‘PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION xl mental theories of Religion which, it seems safe to affirm, has never been surpassed. It would be difficult, of not impossible, to find elsewhere so stumulating an approach to the serious study of Religion ; and of enthusiastic disciples have sometimes gone too far and wandered from the track he blazed, there is no doubt that his critics have not always understood either the man himself, or the problems of Religion as they presented themselves to him. It must, indeed, be frankly admitted that some of his arguments now appear too difficult, and are sometimes unnecessary for his position as a whole ; but no less frankly may the belief be ex- pressed that his position is far more significant than has often been thought, and that he has much to offer those who at the present day are interested in religious problems. It is with such convictions as these that the Introduction and Notes have been prepared. In this task I have to express grateful thanks to many for advice and help, including Prof. A. A. Bevan (especially for the notes signed with his initials), Sir James Frazer (for the references on p. xl n.), Dr. Alan Gardner and Prof. Eric Peet (on some Egyptological points), Prof. Halliday (on some pownts of Greek religion), Mr. W. T. Vesey (for the information on p. 519 n. 1), Dr. A. S. Tritton, and Dr. and Mrs. Selagman. My indebtedness to the works of Sttibe (viz. the German trans- lation), Baudissin, Durkheim, Lagrange, G. F. Moore, Wester- marck, and very many others, will be evident in the course of the notes. The reproduction, after all these years, of a photograph of Robertson Smith will, it is hoped, gratify those to whom he is stall more than a name.! To me he and his work have been an unfailing inspiration since 1894-5, when I dimly began to feel that the “ Religion of the Semites’’ revealed a new world 1 The original hangs in the Combination Room of Christ’s College. Xil PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION to be explored. Years of exploration have only convinced me that the study of Religion along the lines he laid down is destined in the future to inaugurate a new era in the history of religious thought ; and if in this tribute to his memory an enthusiastrc disciple has strayed from the path, the fault 1s not the master’s. STANLEY A. COOK. CAMBRIDGE, August 1927. PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION —_——_——— In April 1887 I was invited by the trustees of the Burnett Fund to deliver three courses of lectures at Aberdeen, in the three years from October 1888 to October 1891, on “The primitive religions of the Semitic peoples, viewed in relation to other ancient religions, and to the spiritual religion of the Old Testament and of Christianity.” I gladly accepted this invitation; for the subject proposed had interested me for many years, and it seemed to me possible to treat it in a way that would not be uninteresting to the members of my old University, in whose hall the Burnett Lectures are delivered, and to the wider public to whom the gates of Marischal College are opened on the occasion. In years gone by, when I was called upon to defend before the courts of my Church the rights of historical research, as applied to the Old Testament, I had reason to acknowledge with gratitude the fairness and independence of judgment which my fellow-townsmen of Aberdeen brought to the discussion of questions which in most countries are held to be reserved for the learned, and to be merely disturbing to the piety of the ordinary layman; and I was glad to have the opportunity of commending to the notice of a public so impartial and so intelligent the study of a branch of comparative religion which, as I venture to think, is indispensable to the future progress of Biblical research. xiii XIV PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION In Scotland, at least, no words need be wasted to prove that a right understanding of the religion of the Old Testament is the only way to a right understanding of the Christian faith; but it is not so fully recognised, except in the circle of professed scholars, that the doctrines . and ordinances of the Old Testament cannot be thoroughly comprehended until they are put into comparison with the religions of the nations akin to the Israelites. The value of comparative studies for the study of the religion of the Bible was brought out very clearly, two hundred years ago, by one of the greatest of English theologians, Dr. John Spencer, Master of Corpus Christi College in Cambridge, whose Latin work on the ritual laws of the Hebrews may justly be said to have laid the foundations of the science of Comparative Religion, and in its special subject, in spite of certain defects that could hardly have been avoided at the time when it was composed, still remains by far the most important book on the religious antiquities of the Hebrews. But Spencer was so much before his time that his work was not followed up; it is often ignored by professed students of the Old Testament, and has hardly - exercised any influence on the current ideas which are the common property of educated men interested in the Bible. In modern times Comparative Religion has become in some degree a popular subject, and in our own country has been treated from various points of view by men of eminence who have the ear of the public; but nothing considerable has been done since Spencer’s time, either in England or on the Continent, whether in learned or in popular form, towards a systematic comparison of the religion of the Hebrews, as a whole, with the beliefs and ritual practices of the other Semitic peoples. In matters of detail valuable work has been done; but this work hag PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION XV been too special, and for the most part too technical, to help the circle to whom the Burnett Lectures are addressed , which I take to be a circle of cultivated and thinking men and women who have no special acquaintance with Semitic lore, but are interested in everything that throws light on their own religion, and are prepared to follow a sustained or even a severe argument, if the speaker on his part will remember that historical research can always be made intelligible to thinking people, when it is set forth with orderly method and in plain language. There is a particular reason why some attempt in this direction should be made now. The first conditions of an effective comparison of Hebrew religion, as a whole, with the religion of the other Semites, were lacking so long as the historical order of the Old Testament documents, and especially of the documents of which the Pentateuch is made up, was unascertained or wrongly apprehended ; but, thanks to the labours of a series of scholars (of whom it is sufficient to name Kuenen and Wellhausen, as the men whose acumen and research have carried this inquiry to a point where nothing of vital importance for the historical study of the Old Testament religion still remains uncertain), the growth of the Old Testament religion can now be followed from stage to stage, in a way that is hardly possible with any other religion of antiquity. And so it is now not only possible, but most necessary for further progress, to make a fair com- parison between Hebrew religion in its various stages and the religions of the races with which the Hebrews were cognate by natural descent, and with which also they were historically in constant touch. The plan which I have framed for my guidance in carrying out the desires of the Burnett trustees is ex- plained in the first lecture. JI begin with the institutions Xv1 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION of religion, and in the present series I discuss those institutions which may be called fundamental, particularly that of sacrifice, to which fully one half of the volume is devoted. It will readily be understood that, in the course of the argument, I have found it convenient to take up a good many things that are not fundamental, at the place where they could most naturally be explained ; and, on the other hand, I daresay that students of the subject may sometimes be disposed to regard as funda- mental certain matters which I have been compelled to defer. But on the whole I trust that the present volume will be found to justify its title, and to contain a fairly adequate analysis of the first principles of Semitic worship. It would indeed have been in some respects more satis- factory to myself to defer the publication of the first series of lectures till I could complete the whole subject of institutions, derivative as well as primary. But it seemed due to the hearers who may desire to attend the second series of lectures, to let them have before them in print the arguments and conclusions from which that series must start; and also, in a matter of this sort, when one has put forth a considerable number of new ideas, the value of which must be tested by criticism, one is anxious to have the judgment of scholars on the first part of one’s work before going on to further developments. I may explain that the lectures, as now printed, are considerably expanded from the form in which they were delivered; and that only nine lectures of the eleven were read in Aberdeen, the last two having been added to complete the discussion of sacrificial ritual. In dealing with the multiplicity of scattered evidences on which the argument rests, I have derived great assist- ance from the researches of a number of scholars, to whom acknowledgment is made in the proper places. For Arabia PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION xvi I have been able to refer throughout to my friend Wellhausen’s excellent volume, Reste arabischen Heiden- thumes (Berl. 1887), in which the extant material for this branch of Semitic heathenism is fully brought together, and criticised with the author’s well-known acumen. For the other parts of Semitic heathenism there is no standard exposition of a systematic kind that can be referred to in the same way. In this country Movers’s book on Phenician religion is often regarded as a ‘standard authority for the heathenism of the Northern Semites ; but, with all its learning, it is a very unsafe guide, and does not supersede even so old a book as Selden, De diis Syris. | In analysing the origin of ritual institutions, I have often had occasion to consult analogies in the usages of early peoples beyond the Semitic field. In this part of the work I have had invaluable assistance from my friend, Mr. J. G. Frazer, who has given me free access to his unpublished collections on the superstitions and religious observances of primitive nations in all parts of the globe. I have sometimes referred to him by name, in the course of the book, but these references convey but an imperfect idea of my obligations to his learning and _ intimate familiarity with primitive habits of thought. In this connection I would also desire to make special acknow- ledgment of the value, to students of Semitic ritual and usage, of the comparative studies of Dr. Wilken of Leyden; which I mention in this place, because Dutch work is too apt to be overlooked in England. In transcribing Oriental words, I have distinguished the emphatic consonants, so far as seemed necessary to preclude ambiguities, by the usual device of putting dots under the English letters that come nearest to them in sound. But aaa of & (p) I write c, following a precedent set by XVill PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION eminent French Orientalists. In Eastern words both ¢ and g are always to be pronounced hard. But where there is a conventional English form for a word I retain it; thus I write “Caaba,” not “Ka‘ba;” “Caliph,” not “ Khalifa ” ; “Jehovah,” not “Yahveh” or “ Tahwé.”? As regards the references in the notes, it may be useful to mention that CIS. means the Paris Corpus Inseriptionem Semiticarum, and ZDMG. the Zeitschrift of the German Oriental Society ; that when Wellhausen is cited, without reference to the title of a book, his work on Arabian Heathenism is meant; and that Kinship means my book on Kinship and Marriage im Early Arabia (Cambridge, University Press, 1885).? Finally, I have to express my thanks to my friend, Mr. J. S. Black, who has kindly read the whole book in proof, and made many valuable suggestions. W. RoBERTSON SMITH. Curist’s COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, lst October 1889. 1{In the new notes & has commonly been employed in the place of c, and other spellings—e.g. Yahweh—adopted in conformity with modern usage. | 2 [See now the List of Abbreviations, etc., on pp. xxi sgq.] ~ NOTE TO THE SECOND EDITION THE failure of Professor Smith’s health from 1890 onwards made it impossible for him to prepare for publication the Second and Third Series of Burnett Lectures, delivered in March 1890 and December 1891; but the subject never ceased to interest him, and the comparatively manageable task of embodying in a new edition of the First Series the results of further reading and reflection, as well as of criticisms from other workers in the same field, was one of his latest occupations. On March 17th, only a fortnight before his lamented death, he handed over to my care the annotated print, and also the manuscript volume of new materials, with the remark that, apart from some adjust- ments in detail, which he hoped he might yet find strength to make as the work passed through the press, he believed the revision was practically complete. In making the adjustments referred to, it has been my endeavour to carry out with absolute fidelity the author’s wishes so far as I knew or could divine them; and in the majority of instances the task has not been difficult. My best thanks are due to Mr. J. G. Frazer, and also to Professor Bevan .both of Cambridge), for much valuable help in correcting the proofs. J. S. B. EDINBURGH, 3rd October 1894, LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AND BIBLIOGRAPHY This list is confined to an explanation of abbreviations and of works often cited in abbreviated form. Unless otherwise specified, English and French books are printed in London and Paris respectively. A. A. B.: A. A. Bevan. Abelson, J.: The Immanence of God in Rabbinical Literature. 1912. Agh.: Kitab al-Aghani. Bulac, 1285. AR.: Archiv fiir Religionswissenschaft. B.: Banu (sons) (p. 127, n. 1, etc.). B.B: Bar Bahlil. B. B.: Baba Bathra (p. 102, n. 2). Bancroft, H. H.: The Native Races of the tw States of North America. 5-6. Barton, G. A.: Sketch of Semitic Origins, Social and Religious. New York, 1902. Baudissin: Adonis und Esmun; Hine Untersuchung zur Geschichte des Glaubens an Auferstehungsgétter und an Heilgétter. Leipzig, 1911. Studien zur semitischen Religions- geschichte. Leipzig, 1876. “Der gerechte Gott in altsemit. Relig.,” in Festgabe to A. von Harnack, 1 sqgg. Tiibingen, 1921. Black, J. S., and W. Chrystal: The Life of W. Robertson Smith and Lectures and Essays. 1912. Bousset-Gressmann: Die Religion des Judentums tm Spit-hellenistischen Zeitalter, by W. Bousset. 3rded by Hugo Gressman. Tiibingen, 1926. Breasted, James Henry: Ancient Records of Egypt: Historical Documents. 5 vols. Chicago, 1906. Development of Religion and Thought in Ancient Egypt. 1912. Bichler, Adolph: Types of Jewish- Palestinian Piety from T0 B.c.E. to Oc. The Ancient Pious Men. CAH.: The Cambridge Ancient History. _ Cambridge, i. 1923. Canaan, T.: Articles in the Journal of the Palestine Oriental Society, on Palestinian religion, custom, and folklore, Cesnola, Palma di: Antiquities of Cyprus. 1873 Chwolson, D.: Die Ssabier und der Ssabismus. 2 vols. St. Peters- burg, 1856. CIGr.: Corpus Inscriptionum Grecarum. Berlin, 1828. CIL.: C.Inscr. Latinarum. Berlin, 1863. CIS.: C. Inser. Semiticarum. Paris, 1885. (Where the volume is not indicated, the reference is to Vol. I. Phoenician Inscriptions.) Clermont-Ganneau : Recweil d’Archéologie Orientale. 8 vols. 1888-1907. Cook, Arthur Bernard (Queens’ College, Cambridge): Zeus; A Study in Ancient Religion. i. 1914; ii. 1 and 2, 1925. Cambridge. Cook, Stanley Arthur (Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge): The Laws of Moses and the Code of Hammurabt. The Study of Religions. 1914. Cooke, George Albert (Regius Professor of Hebrew, Christchurch, Oxford) : A Text-Book of North-Semitic In- scriptions. Oxford, 1903. (The references, when not to the num- ber of the inscription, are to the page.) Cornford, F. M.: From Religion to Philosophy: A Study in_ the Origins of Western Speculation. - 1912. CR.: Comptes Rendus. Crawley, A. E : The Mystic Rose: A Study of Primitive Marriage (1902). (2nd ed. revised and enlarged by T. Besterman, has since appeared. 2 vols. 1927.) The Tree of Infe. 1905. The Idea of the Soul. 1909. Curtiss, S. I.: Primitive Semitic Religion To-day. 1902. Cumont, F.: The Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism. Chicago, 1911. Etudes Syriennes. 1917. xxi XXII LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AND BIBLIOGRAPHY A aa aS A Nv ann Dhorme, P.: La Religion Assyro-Baby- lonienne. 1910. Déller, J.: Die Reinheits- und Speise- gestze des Alten Testaments. Mun- ster i. W., 1917. Doughty, C. M.: Travels in Arabia Deserta. 2 vols. Cambridge, 1888. Driver, G. R.: “The Modern Study of ‘the Hebrew Language,” in People and the Book. See Peake. “The Psalms in the Light of Baby- lonian Research,” in The Psalmists. See Simpson. Driver, 8. R.: Commentary on Deuteron- omy. 1895. Durkheim, E.: Zhe Elementary Forms of the "Religious Life, 1919. (Transl. of Les Formes Elémentaires de la Vie Religieuse- le Systeme Totém- aque en Australie. 1912.) Dussaud, René: Les Origines Cananéennes du Sacrifice Israélite. 1921. EBi.: Encyclopedia Biblica. 4 vols. 1899-1903. Eitrem, S: Opferritus und Voropfer der Griechen und Rémer. Christiania, 1915 Ency. Brit.: Encyclopedia Britannica, llth ed., 1910-11. (To the 9th ed. W. R. S. made valuable con- tributions, and of the last part of it he was the editor, 1875-89.) Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics. 12 vols. 1908-21. Index. 1926. Euting, J.: MNabatéische Inschriften aus Arabien. Berlin, 1885. Sinditische Inschriften. Berlin, 1891. ERE. : Farnell, L. R.: The Cults of the Greek States. 5 vols. Oxford, 1896. Greece and Babylon: A Comparative Sketch of Mesopotamian, Anatolian, and Hellenic Religions. Edinburgh, 1911. The Evolution of Religion. 1905. FHG.: Fragmenta Hist. Graec. ed. Miller. Fihrist : Ed. Flugel and Rédiger and P. Miller. Leipzig, 1871-2. FOT.: See Frazer. Frankel, S.: Die aramdischen Fremd- worter tm arabischen. Leiden, 1886. Frazer, Sir James George: The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion. 3rd ed. 1911-20. GB. i. The Magic Art and the Evolution of Kings, vol. i. ii. The Magic Art and the Evolution of Kings, vol. ii. iii. Taboo and the Perils of the Soul. iv. The Dying God. v. Adonis, Attis, Osiris, vol. i. Frazer, Sir James George : B. vi. Adonis, Attis, Osiris, vol. ii. vii. Spirits of the Corn and of the Wild, vol. i. vill. Spirits of or Corn and of the Wild, vol. i ix. The Sca pan x. Balder the Beautiful, vol. i. xi. Balder the Beautiful, vol. ii. xii. Bibliography and General Index. Faroe e edition in one vol, 1925.) Tot. Ex.: Totemism and Exogamy : A Treatise on Certain Early Forms 0 of Superstition and Society. 4 vols. 1910. FOT.: Folklore in the.Old Testament. 3 vols. 8. Pausanias’s Description of Greece: Translation and Commentary. 6 vols. 1898. Belief in Immortality and the Worship of the Dead, i.-. 1913-. Psyche’s Task. 2nd ed. 1913. The Sites» of Nature, vol.i. 1926. Garstang, J.: The Syrian Goddess, a translation of Lucian’s “ De Dea Syria,’ with a Life of Lucian, by H. A. Strong. 1918. Gaudefroy-Demombynes: Pélerinage a la Mekke. 19238. GB: See Frazer, Golden Bough. Gennep, Arnold Van: Les Rites de Passage. 1909. eee actuel dw Probleme Totémique. Gl(ossary) Beladhori (p. 99 n.). Goldziher, I. : Muhammedanische Studien, i. 1889 ; li. 1890. Halle a. S. Abhandlungen zur arabischen Philo- logie,i. Leiden, 1896. Gray, G. B.: Commentary on Numbers. Edinburgh, 1903. Sacrifice in the Old Testament: Its Theory and Practice. (Posthum- ous.) Oxford, 1925 Gressmann, Hugo: "Mose und seine Zeit. Ein Kommentar zu den Mose-sagen. Gottingen, 1913. Aliorientalische Texte zum _ Alten Testament. 2nd ed. Leipzig, 1926. (Egyptian texts by H. Ranke, Bab.-Ass. by E. Ebeling, Old South Arabian by Rhodo- kanakis.) “Die Paradiessage ” in Festgabe to A. von Harnack, 24 sgg. Tiibin- gen, 1921. Guarmani, Carlo: I? Neged Settentrionale (p. 99n.). Jerusalem, 1866. Halliday, W. R.: Greek Divination: A are of its Methods and Principles. 913. ae LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AND BIBLIOGRAPHY xxii Harnack: Fesigabe. Tiibingen, 1921. Harrison, Miss Jane: Themis; A Study of the Social Origins of Greek Religion. Cambridge, 1912. Hartland, E. S.: Primitive Paternity : The Myth of Supernatural Birth in Relation to the History of the Family. 2 vols. 1909. Ritual and Belief: Studies m the History of Religion. 1914. Primitive Law. 1924. Hartmann, M.: Der islamische Orient, ii. Leipzig, 1909. Head, B. W.: Historra Numorwm. Oxford, 1887. Hehn, J.: Die biblische und die babylon- ische Gottesidee. Leipzig, 1913. Hermann: Gottesdienstliche Altertiimer. Hobhouse, L. T., G. C. Wheeler, and M. Ginsberg: The Material Cul- ture and Social Institutions of the Simpler Peoples. 1915. Morals in Evolution: A Study im Comparative Ethics. 1915. Hoffman, J. G. E.: Ausziige aus syrischen Akten persischer Martyrer. Leip- zig, 1880. Julianos der Abtriinnige. Leiden, _, 1881. Uber einige phan. inschr. Gottingen, Hommel,. Fritz: Hthnologie wnd Geo- graphie des Alten Orrents. Munich, 1926. Hubert and Mauss: Mélanges d’ Histoire des Religions (1909). [A translation by A. J. Nelson, The Open Court, xl. (1926), 33 sqq. 93 sqq. 169 sqq.] Ibn Doreid: Kittabu ’l-tshtikak, ed. Wiistenfeld. 1854. Isaac of Antioch, ed. Bickell, 1873-6; and Bedjan, 1903. Isaac: Jacob, G.: Altarabische Parallelen zum Alten Testament. Berlin, 1897. Altarabisches Beduinenleben. 2nd ed. Berlin, 1897. Jahnow, Hedwig: Das hebraische Leichen- lied im Rahmen der V élkerdichtung. Giessen, 1923. JAOS.: Journal of the American Oriental Society. JAs.: Journal Asiatique. Jastrow, M.: Die Religion Babyloniens und Assyriens. 2 vols. Giessen, Rel. Bel.: Aspects of Religious Belief and Practice in Bab. and Ass. _ New York, 1911. Jaussen, Antonin: Coutwmes des Arabes au pays de Moab. 1908. JBL.: Journal of Biblical Interature. JEA.: Journal of Egyptian Archeology. Jeremias, Alfred : Handbuch der altorien- talischen Geisteskultur. Leipzig, 191 The Old Testament in the Light of the Ancient East. 1911. Jevons, F. B.: Introduction to the History of Religion. Tth*ed. 1896. Introduction to the Study of Compara- tive Religion. New York, 1908. The Idea of God in Early Religions. Cambridge, 1910. Comparative Religion. Cambridge, 1918. Joannes Lydus : See Lydus. Johns, C. H. W.: Babylonian and Assyrian Laws, Contracts and Letters. Edinburgh, 1904. JPOS.: Journal of the Palestine Oriental Socvrety. JQR.: Jewish Quarterly Review. JRAI.: Journal of the Royal Anthropo- logical Institute. JRAS.: Journal of the Royal Astatic Society. JSOR.: Journal of the Society of Oriental Research. JTS.: Journal of Theological Studies. KAT.: Die Keilinschriften und das Alte Testament. 3rd ed. by H. Zim- mern and H. Winckler. Berlin, 1903. King, Irving: The Development of Religion: A Study in Anthropology and Social Psychology. New York, 1910. King, L. W.: History of Swmer and Akkad. 1910. History of Babylon. 1915. Kinship: See Smith, W. R. Knudtzon, J. A.: Die El-Amarna-Tafeln mit Einleitung und Erléuterungen. With notes, etc., by O. Weber and E. Ebeling. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1915. Kreglinger, R.: Etudes sur l’Origine et le Développement de la Vie Religieuse, i. Brussels, 1919. Kremer, A. von: Studien zur vergleichenden Kulturgeschichte. Sitzuwngs-berichte. Vol. exx. Vienna, 1890. Kuenen, A.: Gesammelte Abhandlungen zur biblischen Wissenschaft aus dem Hollindischen iibersezt, by K. Budde. Freiburg i. B., 1894. Lagrange, P. Marie-Joseph: Etudes sur les Religions Sémitiques. 2nd ed. Paris, 1905. Landberg, C. Graf von: Arabica, iv. v. Leiden, 1897-8. Etudes sur les dialectes de l’Arabe méridionale. i, ii, 1-3. Leiden, 1901-13. Lectures and Essays: See Smith, W. R. XXIV Lidzbarski, M.: Handbuch der nord- semitischen Epigraphik nebst aus- gewihlten Inschrifien. Text und Tafeln. Weimar, 1898. Ephemeris fiir semitische Epigraphik, i. (1900-2); Giessen, 1902. ii. (1903-7); 1908. iii. (1909-15) ; 1915. Lisan al-' Arab: Cairo, 1308. Loisy, A.: Essai Historique sur le Sacri- fice. 1920. Lydus, Joannes (c. 490-570 a.p.) : On the editions by Wachsmuth, Leipzig, 1897 ; Wuensch, ibid. 1898, etc.; see Stiibe’s note, p. 337, n. 764. Macculloch, J. A.: Comparative Theology. 2 McLennan, J. F.: Primitive Marriage. Edinburgh, 1865; reprinted in Studies in Ancient History. 2nd ed. 1886. Studies in Ancient History: Second ; Series, Comprising an Inquiry into the Origin of Exogamy. 1896 Mader, E.: Die Menschenopfer der alten Hebrier und der benachbarten Volker. Freiburg i. B., 1909. Malinowski, B.: ‘‘ Magic, Science and Religion,” in Science, Religion and Reality, ed. Joseph Needham (1925), pp. 20-84. Myth in Primitive Psychology. 1926. Articles in Psyche. Marett, R. R.: Anthropology and the Classics. Oxford, 1908. The Threshold of Religion. 2nd ed. London, 1914. Psychology and Folklore. 1920. Marti-Festschrift : Ed. Budde. Giessen, 1925. Meek, C. K.: The Northern Tribes of Nigeria. 2 vols. 1925. Meyer, Ed., and B. Luther: Die Israeliten und ihre Nachbarstimme. Walle a. S. i Meyer, Eduard : Geschichte des Altertums. 3rd ed. i. 1. Hinleitung. Elemente der An- thropologie. i. 2. Die dltesten geschichilichen V élker und Kulturen bis zum sechzehnien Jahrhundert. Stuttgart and Berlin, 1907, 1913. (References are made to the sections.) MGWJ.: Monatsschrift fiir Gesch. u. Wiss. d. Judentums. Moore, G. F,: Articles in Encyclopedia Biblica on Asherah, High Place, Idolatry and Primitive Religion, Molech, Nature-Worship, Queen of Heaven, etc., and especially Sacrifice. History of Religions, i. 1914; ii. 920. LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AND BIBLIOGRAPHY Mordtmann, J. H., and D. H. Miiller: Sabdische Denkmédler. Vienna, 1882. Morgenlindische Forschungen: Fest- schrift fiir Fleischer. Leipzig, 1875. Morgenstern, J.: “‘ The Doctrine of Sin in the Babylonian Religion,” MVAG., 1905, iii. (to which reference is always made, except on pp. 558, 577). Muh. i. Med.: See Wellhausen. MVAG.: Mitteilungen der vorderasia- tischen Gesellschaft. Needham : See Malinowski. Nielsen, D.: Der dreieinige Gott im religionshistorischer Beleuchtung. Copenhagen, 1922. (The refer- ences are, unless stated, to this volume.) Handbuch der Altarabischen Alter- tumskunde (with Hommel and Rhodokanakis), i. Copenhagen, «LOT Nilsson, N. M. P.: A History of Greek Religion. Transl. by F. J. Fielden, with a preface by Sir J. G. Frazer. Oxford, 1925. See Migne, P.Gr. lxxix. Citations Dy p. 99 sqg., Lagrange, 258. Noldeke-Festschrift: Ed. Bezold. Gies- sen, 1906 Nilus : Oesterley, W. O. E.: Immortality and the Unseen World: A Study in Old Testament Religion. 1921. OLZ.: Orientalistische Literaturzeitung. OTJC.: See Smith, W. R. Peake, A. S.: The People and the Book. (Essays on the O.T. by various scholars.) Oxford, 1925. PEF.: Palestine Exploration Fund. PEF, Qy. St.: Palestine Exploration Fund Quarterly Statements. PGr.: Patrologia Greca (Migne). Pietschmann, R.: Geschichte der Phénizier. Berlin, 1889. Pilter, W. T.: Index of the South Arabian Proper-names in CJS. iv. fasc. 1-5. Proc. of the Soc. of Biblical Archeology, xxxix. 99-112, 115-132. Potter, M.A.: Sohraband Rustem. 1902. PRE.: Real-Encyklopadie fiir Protestant- ische Theologie und Kirche. Prophets: See Smith, W. R. PSBA.: Proceedings of the Society of Biblical Archeology. PW.: Pauly-Wissowa, Real-Encyclopaidie der classischen Altertumswissen- schaft. LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AND BIBLIOGRAPHY xxv Rasmussen : Additamenta ad hist. Arabum ante islamismum. Copenhagen, 1921. Reinach, Salomon: Cultes, Mythes et Religions. 4 vols. 1905-12. REJ.: Revue des Etudes Juives. Revue Biblique. Revue de V Historie des Religions. Ridgeway, Sir William: Hssays and Studies Presented to, ed. E. C Quiggin. Cambridge, 1913. Robinson, K.: Biblical Researches in Palestine, Mt. Sinai, and Arabia. 3 vols, 1841; nd ed, 1846, Robinson, H. Wheeler: ‘“ Hebrew Psy- chology ” in People and the Book, ed. Peake (q.v.). Sachau-Festscbrift : Berlin, 1915. SB.: Sitzwngs-berichte. Seligman, C. G.: “Some Aspects of the Hamitic Problem in the Anglo- Egyptian Sudan,” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, xlili. (1913), 593-705. Seligman, Mrs. Brenda Z.: “ Studies in Semitic: Kinship,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental Studies, London Institution, iii. 1924-5. Seligman, C. G. and B. Z.: “The Kababish, A Sudan and Arab Tribe,” Harvard African Studies, ii, 105-186. Cambridge, U.S.A Ed. by G. Weil. 1918. Simpson, D. C.: The Psalmists. (Essays hy various scholars.) Oxford, 1926. Skizzen iv.: See Wellhausen. Smith, W. "Robertson: “ Animal Wor- ’ ship and Animal Tribes among the Arabs and the Old Testament,” Journal of Philology, ix. (1880) ; ; reprinted in Lectures and Essays (below). Kinship: Kinship and Marriage in Early Arabia. 2nd ed. 1894. OTJC.: The Old Testament in the Jewish Church. 2nd ed. 1892. Prophets: The Prophets of Israel. 2nd ed, 1902. Lectures and Essays: Ed. J. S. Black and G. W. Chrystal. 1912. Spencer, Sir Baldwin, and F. J. Gillen: The Native Tribes of Central Australia. 1899. The Northern Tribes of Central Australia. 1904. Spencer, John: De Legibus Hebraeoruwm Ritualibus et earwm Rationibus. 1st ed. Cambridge. 1685. Sprenger: Das Leben wnd die Lehre des Mohammads. 2nd ed. 838. vols. Berlin, 1861-5 and 1869. Stitbe, R.: Die Religion der Semiten (German translation of Religion of the Semites), with 18 illustrations, and a preface by Professor E. Kautzsch. Freiburg i. B., 1899. Stade’s Zeitschrift: See ZATW. Thompson, R. Campbell: Semitic Magic : Its Origins and Development. 1908. The Devils and Evil Spirits of Baby- lonia. 2 vols. 1903-4. Thomson, Joseph: Through Masai-Land. 1885. Tot. Ez.: See Frazer. Toy, C. H.: Introduction to the History of Religions. U.S.A , 1913, Tylor, Sir Edward B.: Primitive Culture. 4th ed. 1903, Van Gennep: See Genne Vincent, H.: Canaan eee ? Exploration Récente. 1907. Vogiié, Vicomte de: Inscriptions Semitiques. Syrie Centrale : 1868-77. Waddington, W. H. (and le Bas.) : Voyage archéologique. (The proper names in the Greek and Latin inscriptions are indexed by Chabot in the Revue Archéologique, 1896.) Webster, Hutton: Primitive Secret Societies: A Study in Early Politics and Religion. New York. 1908. Wellhausen, J.: Reste Arabischen Heidentums. 1st ed. Berlin, 1887 (=Skizzen und Vorarbeiten, iii.); 2nd ed. Berlin, 1897, to which all references are made, unless other- wise specified. Muh.i. Med.: Muhammedin Medina. Berlin, 1882. Skizzen iv.: (1) Medina vor dem Islam ; (2) Muhammads Gemein- deordnung von Medina, etc. Berlin, 1889. Ein Gemeinwesen Obrigkeit. Gottingen, 1 ohne Wellhausen-Festschift : "Ed. Marti. Gies- sen, 1914. Westermarck, Edward A.: The Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas. 2 vols. 1906. Ritual and Belief in Morocco. 2 vols. 1926. (Invaluable.) The History of Human Marriage. 3 vols. 1921. A Short History of Marriage. 1926. Festskrift tiullegnad Westermarck. Helsingfors, 1912. Wheeler, G. C. W. C.: The Tribe and Intertribal Relations in Australia. XXVI1 Wrede, A. v.: Reise in Hadhramaut, ed. Maltzau. Brunswick, 1870. Wright, William: Notule Syrice. Cam- bridge, 1887. Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles. 1871. W.R.S.: See Smith, W. R. WZKM.: Wiener Zeitschrift fiir -die Kunde des Morgenlandes. Yakut : Geog. Wérterbuch, ed. Wiisten- feld. LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AND BIBLIOGRAPHY ZA.: Leitschrifi fiir Assyriologie. Zapletal, Vinc., P.: Der Totemismus 18.190 die Religion Israels. Freiburg 1 ZATW. Zeitschrift Mies die alttestament- liche Wissenschaft. ZDMG.: Z. der deutschen Morgenlindi- schen Gesellschaft. ZDPV): des deutschen Paldstina- V ereins. ZNTW.: Z. fiir d. neutestamentliche Wissenschaft. INTRODUCTION Tuis book grew out of a small monograph on “ Animal Worship and Animal Tribes among the Arabs and in the Old Testament,” published in 1880.1 It was followed by lectures on Kinship and Marriage in Early Arabia (1885), and by an article on ‘‘ Sacrifice’ in the Ninth Edition of the Encyelo- pedia Britannica (1886), wherein Robertson Smith began to develop those views which were to make the book a land- mark.? The Religion of the Semites had an immediate effect upon the critical study of religion; and, exercising powerful influence upon a host of scholars—one may mention Sir James Frazer and Principal F. B. Jevons, Salomon Reinach in France, and the German scholar Stade—left its im- pression upon all subsequent literature, even where the name of the original author ceased to be mentioned. If Dr. John Spencer, once Master of Corpus Christi College, ‘‘ may justly be said to have laid the foundations of the science of Com- parative Religion” (p. xiv above), Robertson Smith, by reason of his comprehensive and stimulating treatment, came to be regarded in many quarters as one of the founders, 1 Reprinted in Lectures and Essays, edited by J. S. Black and G. W. Chrystal, 1912. 2 It is interesting to recall that already in The Old Testament in the Jewish Church (First Ed. 1881), his doctrine of sacrifice was recognized by one of his opponents as involving ‘‘ a new theory of the essential char- acter of the Old Testament religion,” one which “‘ cut away the basis on which the whole doctrine of salvation rests’ (see Life of W. R. Smith, by Black & Chrystal, 1912, p. 417 sq.). Strangely enough, this was not pursued in the controversy which was then raging about his writings. xxvii XXVli INTRODUCTION if not pre-eminently as the founder, of the modern study of Semitic and other religions.+ The volume, the first of a series, is admittedly incom- plete. Originally three courses of lectures were planned, to culminate in an inquiry into the part played by Semitic religion in the general progress of humanity. The second series was delivered, from notes, in March 1890; and in three lectures covered Feasts, Priests, Prophecy, and Divination.2. Publication was proposed, but failing health forbade all hopes. Of the third series (three lectures given in December 1891), apart from fragmentary notes and meagre press reports, little survived, but enough to emphasize the profound spiritual difference which he had always maintained between the Old Testament and other literature. We know that in 1893 he was anxious to finish the second and third series of lectures, and “‘ complete his argument,” but this was not granted him. He lived to finish the preparation of the second edition of this volume, and perhaps the very considerable difference between the two editions and the more decisive exposition of his main principles which he was able to furnish may reconcile us to the loss of what one of the most . powerful of intellects would have given had he been spared to round off his argument as he desired. As it is, The Religion of the Semites is, as the biographers acknowledge—one of them a friend of many years’ standing —a fragment. “The arrangement is not so methodical as could be wished, the canvas is overcrowded, and there are repetitions and digressions.” The book contains, as its author says, “‘ a considerable number of new ideas,” and the biographers remark rightly: “‘He expected much help— 1 Spencer’s interpretation of the ‘‘ Red Heifer” in De Legibus Hebrae- orum Ritualibus et earum Rationibus (1685), marks an epoch. See H. P. Smith, Hssays in Biblical Interpretation (Boston, U.S.A., 1921), pp. 106 sqq. 2 See the Synopsis, Life, pp. 525 sqq. 3 See Life, pp. 535 sqq. INTRODUCTION XX1X perhaps more than he ultimately received—tfrom his critics.” Looking back, we are bound to admit that he laid down principles, some of which have hardly received the attention they deserve; he opened out a new field of research, or rather, he opened it out in a new manner ; and his life-work, taken as a whole, has a significance which perhaps may be more readily understood now than when he wrote as a pioneer.! While, on the one hand, attention has commonly been directed to particular and more sensational theories—notably to sacramental communion as the fundamental idea in ancient sacrifice and its totemic origin; on the other, the problems with which he was occupied are now studied in the light of a far greater wealth of material than was accessible in his day. The whole subject has become more intricate, and the differences among experts, as concerns attitude, treatment, and conclusions, more confusing. ‘The mass of data which he collected has been increased, and occasionally modified or corrected; his most conspicuous theories have been closely criticized, but—one may venture to assert—they have not been replaced by better ones. It is true that it would now be agreed that the course of religious development did not run so simply as he thought; but all theories of the evolution of culture are under consideration. Again, the problems of totemism no longer stand where they did when J. F. M‘Lennan revealed to him the value of anthropological research ; but totemism is immensely more complex than it once seemed. Robertson Smith’s central theory of sacrifice as primarily a communion is sometimes felt to be exagger- ated ; but subsequent study on this subject has only shown that we are still far from an adequate treatment of the network of questions with which sacrifice is intertwined. Robertson Smith’s temperament, religion, and standpoint 1The present writer may refer in this connexion to his notice in the Hibbert Journal, xi. (1912) pp. 211 sqgq. xxx INTRODUCTION are so characteristic of him as man and scholar that it is not easy, particularly for those who would not share his religious convictions, to understand either his attitude or the nature of his achievement. In the critical or scientific study of re- ligions it is obvious that unprejudiced inquiry inevitably affects the growth of a man’s religious or philosophical out- look; also, that a man’s religious or philosophical convictions inevitably influence his attitude to and treatment of his data. This invariable interaction of personal conviction and the data of religion—which so often become data only as the result of a bona fide though subjective interpretation of the material—will, it may perhaps be found, explain Robertson Smith’s most characteristic and most permanent work. Our most pressing task, then, is to understand him ; and the aim of this Introduction is, in the first instance, to indicate what seems to be the genetic connexion between his life-work as a whole and his theories of religion. In Robertson Smith there was a man of really astonishing erudition and acute speculative ability. Brilliant in con- versation and dexterous in argument, his letters reveal that . to the very end he was a man of the deepest religious feelings. Moreover, he was, at least as a young man, profoundly in- terested in theology. In The Old Testament in the Jewish Church (1881) he did more than any one else to interpret to English-speaking readers the new stage in Old Testament criticism, the importance of which for the study of Semitic religion he has described in his Preface (p. xv). In his highly technical studies, first on Semitic sociology, later on Semitic religion and religious institutions, he might seem to have outgrown the theologian and the biblical critic. Yet he attracted attention as much by his uncompromising treatment of the minutia of Israelite and Oriental life, seriously offending those who would sever the Bible from the world which gave birth to it and in which it grew up, as by his insistence to the INTRODUCTION XxXxl last upon the real difference between Biblical Religion and all else. He was born in November 1846, and, when barely turned twenty-two, in a paper on “Christianity and the Super- natural ’’ he comes before us as a keen reformer: “ It is the business of Christianity to conquer the whole universe to itself and not least the universe of thought.’’! He desires a new Reformation, for, as he found occasion to complain, in many respects “the first promise of the Reformation was not fulfilled in the sequel’’ (p. 401). The Reformers gradually departed from their own principles and began to explain and justify themselves to themselves. But they had had a new way of looking at the Bible—in contrast to the un- historical intellectualism of their opponents ; and he upholds the “ historical treatment ”’ of Scripture, asserting that “ just as it requires a historic sense to understand profane history, it requires a spiritual sense to understand sacred history.” So he would restore the Reformation principles of Biblical criticism, and readers of The Old Testament in the Jewish Church will remember how, especially in his opening chapter, he is at pains to combine the principles of a thorough-going criticism with the principles which permeated Western Europe at the Reformation. Throughout he takes his stand upon the Bible. The Bible is not a Book of Infallible Truth, nor is it mainly a Divine Body of Doctrine, or a supernatural communication of Doctrines. It has the Holy Spirit behind it ; it is the historic manifestation of God in Christ, and speaks from the heart and to the heart : this is a cardinal point in the genuine Reforma- tion which Protestant theology has almost forgotten (p. 406). The Bible when diligently studied is “‘the true manual of a Catholic religious life.” He looked for a new Catholicity, and 1 Lectures, p. 135, dated January 1869. The quotations that follow are, of course, of different dates. XXX INTRODUCTION by this he did not mean “ toleration and compromise ” (p. 332) —that would have been unlike the man he ever was! Cur- rent theology dissatisfied him. As early as 1869 he was asserting that it was necessary “frankly to recognize the need of progress in our theological conceptions,” for to cling to an unchangeable dogma is to cease to cling to the Christ of the Gospels who transcends the theology of every age (pp. 151, 162). Current theology, he complained, had not rightly defined its relation to Scripture and its relation to human thought ; and, in a striking, though little known, essay on “ The Place of Theology in the Work and Growth of the Church ”’ (1875), he laments the lack of advance in the Church and the inability of theology to speak ‘‘ any decisive and convincing word in the questions of the day.” As he says in one of his trenchant remarks, ‘“‘a Church which ceases to theologize ceases in the 99 same moment to grow.’ He demands a “vigorous theology ”’: ‘a religion without theology means, for the most part, a religion without God.” Theology is a safeguard against the mysticism which regards with complacency a degree of ignorance in the laity which is inconsistent with truly moral growth. Loose unshaped knowledge is a hindrance, and side by side with Christian experience there must go “an exercise of real hard thought before our knowledge takes scientific shape and is really worthy to be called theology ”’ (p. 160). Accordingly, a theology of permanent value is not to be shaped with reference to the present attitude of unbelief, the cause of which he finds in the “actual im- perfection of the existent state of the Church ” (p. 314, dated 1875). He maintained that the relation between practical religion and theology requires serious consideration. Christian know- ledge should be in direct contact with faith and practice ; and if inarticulate, it is “‘deep inarticulate knowledge elaborated INTRODUCTION XXXill in practice.” The true function of theology is to make explicit and elaborate truths which “in the shape of practical tact and insight lie at the root of untheological wisdom ”’ (pp. 321 sqq.). “The theology of a living Church,” he had said earlier, ‘‘does not start from the mere outward form and vehicle of Christianity’; there can be no true theology where there is no true Christian life (pp. 152, 155; cf. 133). It is religious experience which makes us believe in the authority of Scripture and not the reverse. So writes the young theologian, insisting upon the difference between the practical religious life, on the one side, and on-the other, the theology which once alive has become defective and moribund. As we read his early addresses it is very difficult not to perceive that the way is being paved for his subsequent recognition of the superior significance, for the study of the world’s religions, of the unspoken ideas embodied in traditional ritual (cf. below, pp. 25 foot, 26 top). Hence, just as theology is of varying value according to its relation to the circum- stances of the age, so myth in turn is commonly of secondary importance. The theology of a living Church, he had asserted (in 1869), comes when the Church is conscious that she holds the true substance of Christianity (Lectures, p. 155) ; and we shall miss the point of Robertson Smith’s later re- searches if we ignore the fact that the man who hoped for a new Catholicity was, consciously or unconsciously, looking for the factors which are creative in religious development, and that in years to come he was to turn from the contrast between a living Christian faith and an imperfect theology to the contrast between the practical, working religion of primitive peoples and the secondary myths. 1 We must recognize that sweeping condemnation of all myth is not intended, and that some myths may be of immediate value (see below, p. 501). Cc XXXIV INTRODUCTION Theology, he declares, is needed in order to make Christ- ianity a social thing; it implies a knowledge which can be put into words and imparted to a man who has not shared the experience of him who imparts it. It is a social bond ; for a Christian society is not the sum of its individuals but an organic unity, and the fellowship or the corporate spirit which makes such a unity is a moral, not a physical fact. No outward sign but an invisible bond unites the Church invisible, the mystic body of Christ; and we cannot tell what partakers of the sacraments are true members of Christ.1 Repeatedly he returns to the personal intercourse between God and man ; and he quotes with approval Luther’s saying that Faith unites the soul to Christ as a bride to her bridegroom (pp. 115, 225 sq.). This conviction of a close personal relationship is central in his early essays on Christian religion and theology, and it becomes of cardinal importance in The Religion of the Semites. It is, therefore, of the highest interest to perceive how the theologian was reaching out towards his pregnant generalization of the significance of the social unit—of the group and’ group-religion—which subsequent writers have developed further along different lines. Hebrew Prophecy interested him from the first, and his great book on the Prophets of Israel (first ed. 1882 ; second ed. 1902) is still a great classic. True prophecy, he laid down, rests upon the conviction of a personal and living power, the utterance of a new life, which sprang from the infinite source of all life (Lectures, pp. 189, 365). In what he has to say of the prophets, of Christ, and of the Reformers, and in his own religious idealism—throughout there peers the germ of his fine theory that the consciousness of .communion is the most vital phenomenon in all religion. Not that all 1 Pp. 325 sqq., cf. 275, 319. There is no grace ex opere operato (p. 223, cf. p. 152). INTRODUCTION XXXV else is unessential, but that it vitalizes religion, and without it the progressive development of religion would be inex- plicable. It is in this sense that the idea of communion is original or primary, and much confusion has been caused because this has not been fully realized. Religion has its ebb and flow, and different stages have their distinctive criteria. The Reformation was marked by the new growth of the religious spirit, a new self-consciousness separates the Reformers from their fore-goers ; a new stage was reached, and it was of supreme importance for the dynamics of religion. From time to time there comes the stage when a distinction can be drawn between the sign and the signified, between the word and its real meaning, between the outward letter and the experiences demanding expression. “ With the Reformation begins a great awakening into new self-conscious personal life” (p. 225). So it came to pass that while acknowledging himself a son of the Reformation, he was profoundly dissatisfied with the conditions in which he found himself, and gradually passed from his arresting treatment of current religion and theology to the inquiry into the systematic treatment of Semitic religion. The task of restating religious truths gave way to the distinctly specialised study of ancient religion, and almost at the close of his life we find this surely noteworthy admission, “I begin to think I never can have been a theologian ” (Life, p. 535). But throughout he placed the Bible by itself, and in- sisted that Christianity must be supernatural. Yet as early as 1869 he was saying that the significance of the super- natural falls away when man’s redemption ceases to be imperfect (p. 119). More precisely, this means that the fellowship of God and Man, with its implication o! divine ““ijmmanence,” is accompanied with the consciousness of the gulf between the human and the divine. Prophets XXXVIl INTRODUCTION were filled with the conviction of a “ personal” communion with God; they were inspired by something distinct from themselves and not by ‘“‘ the immanent spirit of the universe working in their own hearts” (p. 365). Their supreme consciousness of the nearness and immediacy of the Divine was of ‘‘a transcendent,” not an ‘‘immanent’”’ power, and it is essential to remember that wholly characteristic of Robertson Smith’s position is his denial of Semitic mono- theism and his recognition that “immanence ”’ no less than “transcendence ’’ distinguishes Semitic religion generally. The significance of this has hardly been sufficiently realized, and demands a few words. In a very notable essay on “ Prophecy and Personality ” January 1868) the young scholar pointed out how the prophet’s personality builds up the vision which he sees (p. 98). The subjective side is vital—we have only to com- and observe the difference in content and value due to the difference in 2 pare the “ varieties of religious experience ’ training and temperament of each prophet, seer, or mystic. But, as he himself says a little later, ‘a consciousness originally subjective in character, is not . . . purely sub- jective in origin.” There is no “ dictation from on high of truths about God and man ”’; and he is as anxious to avoid false ideas of inspiration and revelation as to escape “the no less dangerous extreme of mysticism giving an unbounded play to an unrestrained subjectivity ” (p. 157 sq.). In a remarkable essay on the “ Poetry of the Old Testament,” written in 1877, he takes a wider view of religion. Com- menting upon the absence of calm, disciplined, and intel- lectual effort among primitive peoples, he lays stress upon the intensely practical nature of their religion. ‘‘ All thought stands in immediate contact with living impressions and feelings, and so, if incapable of rising to the abstract, is prevented from sinking to the unreal,’ Religious truths INTRODUCTION XXXVII centre in human life and human interests. There was no “dreamy unpractical sentimentalism,’”’ and he has the profound observation that it is the preponderance of the emotional rather than of the rational part of a man’s nature that makes a strong personality able to conquer all diffi- culties, whereas intellectual acuteness is often associated with a restlessness of purpose that can attain nothing great (p. 443). It is a remark which one is tempted to take as an unconscious self-revelation. Now to the Semites and other primitive peoples the Universe is “‘a complex of living powers ”’ with which man enters into a fellowship; he is awed by their might, or he b) 3 boastfully bends them to his service. All nature is “‘in- stinct with life which vibrates responsive to each change in his personal feelings and spiritual relations”’ (p. 421 sq.). Kverywhere man sees in nature life bearing directly upon him. All life has a meaning for man, the fascination for the Semitic mind of the idea of practical lordship over powers mightier than himself “‘ finds a loftier and truer, but not less character- istic, expression in the Old Testament.” His ethical mono- theism alone saved the Israelite. In vivid sentences Robertson Smith paints ‘“‘ the nature-worship of the heathen Semites,” the “religion of passionate emotion,’ the worship ** of those inner powers, awful because unseen, of which outer things are only the symbol,” the “‘sombre horror” and ‘wildest sensuality.” “‘The very tone of mind which makes Semitic heathenism the most hideous of false worships, enabled the Hebrew nation to grasp with unparalleled tenacity and force the spiritual idea of Jehovah.” These are weighty words, and they must be before us when some writers with the best intentions draw idyllic pictures of religion prior to the prophets,and unwittingly make of these majestic figures an unintelligible phenomenon in the history of religion, unintentionally accusing them of grossest exaggeration. XXXVIll INTRODUCTION “To the Hebrew, force is life and life is personality ” (ib.) ; and we come to perceive that what we call “‘ religion ” is, as it were, woven upon a texture of beliefs and customs which cannot be called by that name, and that a social- religious system is the safeguard against the dangerous kinship of Magic with Religion. The lofty spiritual heights of the Israelite prophets are a reaction against the crudest physical and material depths ; and in the darkness, cruelty and coarsest orgies of the Semite—ever prone to extremes—it was left for the few to enunciate truths of spiritual intimacy with the Divine and of man’s place in the Universe. One has only to read the pages on Hebrew poetry and on the Semite’s sense of personal fellowship with the life of all that surrounds him—animate and inanimate—to realize how natural was the transition from the theologian writing in 1877 on the “‘ Poetry of the Old Testament,” to the anthro- pologist who, in July 1880, had begun to view the Old Testa- ment and the Semites in the light of M‘Lennan’s researches on totemism. The merit of M‘Lennan’s totem-hypothesis lies, according to Robertson Smith, in the fact that “it does justice to the intimate relation between religion and the fundamental structure of society which is so characteristic of the ancient world.” + It threw new light upon the history of religion as a social system; and it is not surprising, when we con- sider his readiness to recognize both the lighter and darker sides of primitive religion, that his own theory of totem- sacrament seemed to him to provide the key to the develop- ment of religion from its lowest to its highest forms. The theory was justly called by Reinach “‘one of the most brilliant discoveries of modern science’ ;? and in spite of 1 Kinship and Marriage, p. 258 sq. 28. Reinach, Cultes, Mythes et Religions, iv. 23 (cited in Life, p. 567). Reinach’s well-known mot concerning Robertson Smith—‘ genuit Frazerum”’ INTRODUCTION XXX1X the extent to which totemism has been abused, this rudi- mentary type of cult still provides one of the most intricate problems of the modern study of religion.t The reasons for this can be briefly summarized. (1) There are the ex- tremely difficult technical problems of distinguishing between the varieties of totemism and totemic, totemistic and therio- morphic beliefs and practices. (2) Animal deities and animal imagery prevail even among advanced peoples. (3) There is a persistence or recrudescence of the animal features (whether totemic or not) by the side of and in spite of distinctly high forms of cult. (4) Besides the obvious and essential points of contrast between totemic (and all related) features and anthropomorphic religion, there are no less essential points of contact and a genetic connexion can apparently be traced between them. At all events, no theory of the phenomena of religion can be entertained which does not do adequate justice to these beliefs and practices which seem to be so remote from our way of thinking. For (5) totemism involves a way of thinking which it is difficult or impossible for us to grasp; and in the attempt to understand the true relation between it and higher modes of thought we immensely enlarge our knowledge of mental processes and the lines along which they have developed. To put the fundamental problem otherwise, we have to determine (1) whether the most rudimentary types of religion were (a) anthropomorphic or (b) theriomorphic, and specifi- cally totemic ; (2) whether the latter type (b) can reasonably be derived from the former (a); and (3) into what did the latter develop, if at all. If theriomorphism is, as at times it seems to be, a refuge from an inadequate or impoverished anthropomorphism, was it—was totemism—normal before —can be supplemented by the remarks of his biographers in the Life, p. 494 sq., and by Sir James Frazer’s own Preface to The Golden Bough. 1 See especially A. van Gennep, L’Hiat actuel du Probléme Totémique (1920). For a recent definition of totemism, see below, p. 535 n. 1. xl INTRODUCTION there was anthropomorphic religion ? Such questions cannot be ignored by those who are interested in the line of develop- ment which religion has taken hitherto. Sir James Frazer, who dedicated The Golden Bough to his friend Robertson Smith, ‘‘in gratitude and admiration,” refers in the Preface of the Second Edition (1900) to the famous discoveries made in Central Australia by Sir Baldwin Spencer and Mr F. J. Gillen which revolutionized ideas of totemism, and indeed of rudimentary religion in general. He points out that while these have proved that there were indeed—as Robertson Smith had surmised—clans who killed and solemnly ate their totem animal, this fact did not make the rite either a universal one or the origin of animal sacrifice in general. More than that, the totem was not a god, but on a more equal relationship; and the rites were not “‘religious ’’ but “‘ magical.” Hence, if Robertson Smith’s insight was thus triumphantly justified im some essential particulars, it now appeared that totemism was not the sort of cult that he had supposed. Naturally no one would wish to minimize the importance of Sir James Frazer’s candid admissions in The Golden Bough and else- where, but several points have certainly to be taken into consideration. Jevons, Marett, and Durkheim, all most highly equipped and competent observers, and writing from rather different standpoints, do not agree that Robertson Smith is refuted by the character of the Australian evidence. And Malinowski, in the course of a valuable study of primi- tive religion, while speaking of Central Australian totemism as “a system of magical co-operation,’ emphasizes its sur- vival value, and observes that “totemism appears . . . as a blessing bestowed by religion on primitive man’s efforts in dealing with his useful surroundings.” + Obviously 1 In Science, Religion and Reality (ed. J. Needham, 1925), p. 46. The italics are ours. INTRODUCTION xli iad our conceptions of religion”? and “‘magic” are at stake. Further, the totem is not, after all, precisely the equal of man, and in totemism we find ruder forms of what is familiar in anthropomorphic religion: imitation of and identification with the sacred being, appeal to it, and value attached to its name. Nay, more, with his usual courtesy and invariable loyalty to facts, Sir James Frazer has drawn the attention of the present writer to certain cases where the totem is actually the object of a cult.1_ The importance of the new evidence is undeniable, and it brings to the front two urgent questions. The first is, is it desirable to have only the two pigeon-holes—either Religion or Magic— wherein to distribute the relevant data? Do we not also need the description Magico-Religious ? The second con- cerns degrees of Religion and the varying quality of Deity. Even in anthropomorphic religion gods often stand in a very close relationship to their worshippers, and, as frequently in personal religion and mysticism, the attitude of dependence upon the god is by no means the only one. Again, there are both near and remote gods; and they vary in status, even as at the present day saints or Eastern welts are not “‘ gods ”’ from the point of view of the orthodox and national religion, though they are apt to be very adequate deities from that of the inhabitant of the locality wherein they are commanding figures. Further, as a general rule, religion is much more “ prac- tical’ than is recognized by writers who have adversely criticized Robertson Smith’s leading positions; and the 1 Jn a letter of April 27, 1925, Sir James Frazer states that the cases which he had lately noticed of worship or sacrifices regularly offered to totems are (1) in the Bombay Presidency, R. E. Enthoven, Folklore of Bombay (Oxford, 1924), pp. 19, 209-211 ; (2) in the Ivory Coast, L. Tauxier, Negres Gouro et Gagou (Paris, 1924), pp. 145, 160, 183, 205, 223, 256, 257 ; and (3) in the Solomon Islands, C. E. Fox, The Threshold of the Pacific (London, 1924), pp. 10 sqg., 72, 73, 74, 75, 275. xiii INTRODUCTION extent to which directness, intimacy, and a confidence verging on compulsion colour much that is remote from “‘ magic,” and can only be regarded as “ religion,” is as significant as it is surprising. Long ago an acute critic remarked that Robertson Smith’s idea of a primitive communion “ seemed too theologically abstract to be at the basis of savage rites of sacrifice.”’1 But, as has been seen, Smith had already insisted upon the practical nature of primitive, and especially of Semitic religion.2 The longing for Atonement and the rites which brought together gods and worshippers were ultimately for the “‘ material ”’ as for the “ spiritual ” well- being of men. This is both Biblical and primitive religion, and students, compelled to formulate the difference between Religion and Magic, and between degrees of Deity, may yet find themselves compelled to consider what shall be the criterion of “ spiritual ”’ religion (see pp. 676 sqq.). If the objection just referred to appears to rest on the frequent confusion of the perception of metaphysical or theological facts with the capacity for metaphysical or theological reasoning—on which, see p. 655 and n.2—a more forcible criticism is that which objects, and not unjustly, that Robertson Smith carried simplification too far and formulated too simple a theory of the history of religion.® In his theory of the totem-sacrament, while freely recog- nizing the prominence of the gift-idea in all religion, he gave the priority to the communion idea. The most recent study of the subject emphasizes the strength and persistence of the gift idea, but clearly recognizes that it does not explain all the data.4 The eminent Dominican, Father Lagrange, 1 Jos. Jacobs, Studies in Biblical Archeology (1894), p. 33 sq. 2 Cf. Lectures, p. 443 (above, p. xxxvi sq.), and Old Testament in the Jewish Church, p. 441 (cited below, p. 671). 3 See Life, p. 517 sq. 4G. Buchanan Gray, Sacrifice in the Old Testament (Oxford, 1925), p. 352, etc. This posthumous volume covers a very wide field; and it is much to be deplored that so splendid a scholar, who made so many INTRODUCTION xiii author of a work which in many respects is scarcely less indispensable than The Relgiwon of the Semites, makes many valuable criticisms; but he agrees that communion is a constitutive element in sacrifice, and that the do ut des element does not explain the horror sacer.1 Rather is it that the author, like all pioneers, is deemed to have exag- gerated the prevalence and significance of the communion idea. So, Hubert and Mauss in their important monograph on sacrifice, while agreeing with Robertson Smith’s general treatment of taboos and the ideas of holy and unclean, decisively reject his genealogical explanation of the history of sacrifices? And Durkheim, too, who perhaps more than any other writer has most powerfully supplemented his treatment of religion as a social institution, points out that ideas of gift, renunciation, and expiation are very early.3 Harnest heed must be paid to these criticisms ; yet, when all has been said, is it not true that every profound religious act 1s, In a sense, an act of communion? So, as G. F. Moore has pointed out, the sacrificial feast at the sanctuary must have strengthened the bond of religion by the sense of God’s presence and friendliness. Malinowski speaks of the gifts of food to the gods as ‘‘ communion in beneficent abundance.’”® To be sure, a more careful study might lead us to attempt to draw the lines between friendliness, fellowship, communion, permanent contributions to Biblical Studies, was not spared to give unity and completeness to this admirable collection of lectures. 1 Hiudes des Religions Sémitiques, p. 267. The value of this work will be evident from the many references to it in the new notes to this edition. Its attitude can be gauged from the statement in the Preface that The Religion of the Semites “‘ est constamment dominé par une idée fausse, limportance exagérée du totémisme dans I’ histoire de la religion.” 2 Mélanges @ Hist. des Religions, Preface, p. iv. 3 The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life: a Study in Religious Sociology (London, 1915), pp. 343, 406. 4 Hncy. Biblica, art. ‘‘Sacrifice” (§ 42 end); still the completest synopsis of the subject from the Biblical point of view. ® Op. cit., p. 43. -xliv INTRODUCTION and identity. In this way it might be possible to discuss “ the degree of at-one-ment present in the various Sacrifices, ’ how far, for example, ‘‘ any sense of Divine indwelling ”’ was conveyed by the Jewish Peace Offering. Buchanan Gray himself, in the volume already referred to, is at pains to discuss the different nuances of the sacrificial ceremonies. Undoubtedly much could be done along such lines. One could compare and contrast the relative psychological effect of sacred stones (and other inanimate objects), sacred animals (varying in utility or in character), and sacred men (ancestors, saints, divine rulers, etc.). One could consider the sort of ideas which would naturally be symbolized, sug- gested, or carried by each of these. One could discuss the possible place of each in the social group. In this way much light could be thrown upon the self-evident effects—social, moral, intellectual—which different sorts of sacred persons, things, or rites could have upon a religion and its vicissitudes. But there would remain ultimate problems which, even if they are not handled, cannot be dismissed. The difficulty of interpreting rites is notorious ; they may not retain their apparently obvious meaning, and may perhaps have acquired a new one. The most solemn of rites may have only a transitory value for the worshipper, and the most simple of commemorative occasions may be charged with the profoundest meaning. Further, the study of the history of religion reveals the essential fact that at certain periods religion has lost that reality which had once made it a force in the life of a people ; or a line is drawn between the existing religion and new spiritual tendencies, and the standard of real and true religion is set so high that it cannot 1 See the criticisms of M. H. Pinard de la Boullaye, S.J., in his elaborate work, Ltude Comparée des Religions : Essai Critique (Paris, 1922 and 1925), i a C. Gayford, Sacrifice and Priesthood (London, 1914), pp. 33, 39. INTRODUCTION xlv be ignored in an estimate of religion in general. The inquiry into the vicissitudes of religious beliefs and practices is that into men’s convictions concerning what to them were supreme realities, and it cannot be indifferent to the great periods which force the question whether and in what way the ultimate realities of the Universe are themselves involved in those convictions which are explicit or implicit in religion. The student who has grasped the spirit of the Bible knows that in the last analysis no human being or human institution can determine the real value of convictions of the relations between man and God. Robertson Smith wrote in 1871 that men cannot judge who are true members of Christ (above, p. xxxiv). There are Biblical passages which imply that the Deity may be in fellowship with men who do not recognize Him, and that He does not necessarily operate in accordance with the ways in which He has been apprehended. Such are among the data of religion, and no impartial student can refuse to find a place for them in the final synthesis. It is this transcendence of the ultimate realities, and the knowledge that convictions and theories are approximations, and that the progress of thought enables us to test these approxima- tions, which combine to make the newer study of the world’s religions a landmark in the history of religion. Views are extensively held to the effect that Magic is absolutely prior to Religion, that Fear is primary, and that Sacrifice served originally to propitiate gods and avert their anger—and so forth. One’s own personal religion may make it impossible to accept such views; one’s experience may convince one that familiarity certainly breeds indifference, and that it is natural to seek to placate the anger only of one who isknown. But, quite apart from one’s personal religion, it is puzzling to see how ideas could ever arise in the first instance of a supersensuous being with particular attributes ; and the yiews in question labour under the double disadvan- xlvi INTRODUCTION tage of surreptitiously introducing all the question-begging elements and of doing scanty justice to their rivals. On the other hand, on the assumption of the relative priority of Religion certain tendencies are seen to be normal and inevit- able. On the assumption of certain conceptions of the Ultimate Realities the variation and vicissitudes of ideas of gods and men can be more or less intelligibly traced, and the interrelation between the religious (magical, etc.) and the non-religious spheres can be fruitfully studied. When what is called “‘ religion,” in its divers forms, makes its appearance in an individual’s life and thought it becomes so fused with the ‘non-religious,’ that the really vital problem for modern research is not the Conflict of Science and Religion, so called, but the varying relations between the “religious” and ‘non-religious ’’ phases of life and their mutual interaction. Thus there quickly arises the need for a more theoretical treatment of religion which is able to do justice to those views, on the one side or the other, which are pronounced improbable or impossible ; and of this theoretical treatment Robertson Smith, because of his line of approach, may be claimed as the founder. It is of the utmost importance that we should distinguish between actual historical origins and whatever inaugurates new lines of development. Robertson Smith is concerned with creative ideas, with those that recur and govern the evolution of faith and worship. It is an inquiry, as he himself admits, of real interest to the ‘‘ philosophical student ”’ (p. 15). And when he argues that the communion of the group with their god stands at the head of all developments it is easy to see how extraordinarily impressive the theory is from the theistic standpoint, but how delicate, directly we perceive that of the great variety of experiences which can be classed as “‘numinous,”’ only some are of definite “religious ” significance, and these, after what has been said, differ in OE OS a ee ee a INTRODUCTION xlvii quality and value.t Now Robertson Smith is not merely concerned with creative ideas and creative experiences— the factors that make for new developments in religion— he takes a very definite Christian standpoint, and the ques- tion is really a very important one, whether this has prejudiced or facilitated his researches. His peculiar interest in the Reformation and Protestant- ism, his desire for some new formulation of theology, and his pioneering work in the criticism of the Old Testament, in particular the function of the prophets, and finally his in- variable distinction between “ natural ’’ and “‘ supernatural ” religion have recognizably influenced the lines he has taken. Accordingly, the ebb and flow of beliefs and the vicissitudes of cults are not so significant for him as that progressive development which would undoubtedly strike him as he looked back upon the “ heathenism ”’ of the Semites and the more rudimentary cults of primitive peoples, and looked forward to a further development in religion. The problems as they presented themselves to him were necessarily other than those that confront scholars whose main work has lain in other fields, or whose deepest sympathies are perchance differently directed. The training which might have en- couraged the most hesitating and mediating of inquiries made him at all events the most uncompromising of investiga- tors ; and if The Religion of the Semites marks an epoch, it was because it came from the hands of a man who combined with unequalled knowledge a sympathetic insight into the most advanced and the most rudimentary religions in a way which has not been equalled by his successors, and whose genius saw new prospects opening out in the world of thought. With him : la théorie c’est Vhomme. 1 According to Hubert and Mauss the sacrifice establishes a communica- tion between the sacred sphere and the profane (cf. Toy’s summary, Introduction to the History of Religion, § 1049). This is much more general- ized than Robertson Smith’s theory of the communion of worshippers xviii INTRODUCTION That Robertson Smith’s arguments were influenced by current evolutionary ideas was inevitable, and one can but say that the study of beliefs and customs as such can only be pursued along evolutionary lines, and that those writers who object to one theory of development usually prove to be cherishing another of their own. In point of fact, we pass from the ‘comparative’ treatment of the data of religion to the best method of presenting them, and enter upon the most difficult part of the subject. In the first place, then, it may be observed that the main argument of The Religion of the Semates does not require us to believe that the communion idea is some absolutely prior abstraction. His recognition of aberration, degradation, etc. (pp. 354, 394), indicates that by the “ origin ”’ of sacrifice is not meant that which characterized the earliest prehistoric religion alone. It is rather that this idea, although it operated from the very first, lies at the back of the new and significant stages in the development of sacrificial ritual. On the same analogy, it can be seen that similar tendencies explain initiation, in one place into a tribal group, in another into important secret societies, and in a third into small guilds or unions (cf. p. 607 sq.). Further, revolutionary aims and methods, very similar in several respects, will differ everywhere according to current conditions. And even as regards the “animal” features in totemism, there are significant anal- ogies not only in “totemistic”’ rites (those that are not strictly “‘totemic”’), but also in those that can only be called “‘theriomorphic”’ (cf. p. 538 sq.). Thus, there are similar recurrent elements which take different forms peculiar to each age, land, and community, and a Science of Religion must do justice alike to the essential resemblances and the equally essential differences. with their god ; but less so than the more recent conception of experiences — of the ‘‘ numinous,” see p. 554. a Sw INTRODUCTION xlix In the present state of knowledge, ambiguity and vague- ness are here unavoidable. None the less we can under- stand Robertson Smith’s meaning when he speaks of “ the more ancient idea of a living communion ”’ and its “‘ element of permanent truth” (p. 396). He has in mind the recur- rence of the idea at different stages; and its “truth” is proved by the fact that it is constantly reappearing, though reshaped, and evidently answers to some vital need. Again, when both ordinary and extraordinary sacrifices go back to the same principle (p. 312), we may use symbols and say that the x which is found in] reappears in mand n. But, we ask, do n and m go back to lJ, or to the common factor zx ? Analysis takes us back to what Buchanan Gray suggestively calls the “‘ actual creative idea.” 1 But instead of inaugural or creative ideas—or experiences—we can go back to an initiator or originator, to an arkhé.? Or else we arrive at the embodi- ment of an idea, or some system or some stage which, by reason of its evident primary position, is commonly regarded as the true “origin.” Thus it is easy to see how confusion can arise when the attempt is made to account for recurring tendencies or to trace back things to their “ beginnings.”’ Indeed, when sacrificial rites—or aught else for that matter—are traced back to a single ancestor, it is easier to criticize the fallaciousness of this simple procedure than to find a better one that is not too intricate.2 We cannot intelligently conceive any absolute beginning: our most ancient data are relatively recent, considering the antiquity of man; the most primitive communities have a history behind them; and repeatedly it can be seen that ancient evidence is not necessarily prior—sociologically speaking— 1 Gray, Sacrifice, p. 359 n. 2 See especially J. L. Myres, The Political Ideas of the Greeks (1927), Index, s.v. 3 Cf. p. 499. Instead of seeking a single ancestor, the attempt is often made to find a single ancestral home, cf. p. 497. ad ] INTRODUCTION to that which is later. As a general rule one must be guided by a knowledge of actual known processes in the vicissitudes of religious and other thought, and by “ methodological necessity ’’—the most effective treatment of the data. Many cases will be found in these pages where we gradually pass from mere “‘ comparison ” to “‘ methodology,” and problems arise which are much too technical for discussion EES Some of them may be mentioned as illustrations. The theory of the absolute priority of mother-right— of which there are sevéral varieties—was adopted by Robert- son Smith, and after being under a cloud, has again become respectable. We must recognize that certain conditions would give mother-right prominence at certain periods and— what is no less interesting—they can also make the theory itself more attractive! Thus the Arabian evidence belongs on the whole to a transitional period, after the decline of the great cultures to which the South Arabian inscriptions testify ; and while it is arguable that in prehistoric times mother-right would completely overshadow father-right, it is a little difficult to see why it should be given absolute priority.1 Next, if we consider the theory of a primitive promiscuity—now fallen into the background—it can be argued that promiscuity is likely to lead to the inauguration of some social régime, even as rampant lawlessness will force the effort to institute order. Promiscuity and lawlessness can hardly be regarded as a stage of evolution “ prior” to the “‘introduction ” of social order and justice, but rather as a step leading thereto, and doubtless often following upon 1 It may be noticed that the question of the relative priority of gods as ‘brothers’ or as “‘ fathers”? (pp. 510, 512) is complicated by such an observation as Oswald Spengler’s on the Russian tendency away from the Father-God to a fraternal relationship ; see Decline of the West, i. 201 n. 2 (‘‘ Christ, even, is conceived as a Brother’’). The tendencies which affect conceptions of (a) supreme gods, and (b) those near at hand and more closely associated with men, cannot be treated as stages in any poet development. eed J —_—— - INTRODUCTION li the collapse of some earlier system. In other words, we can only deal effectively with systems, and although the social group is made up of individuals, the group rather than the socius is the more effective unit. Individual religion and individual property are secondary (p. 247 sq.), though it is obvious that to men of personality all the great changes are due. Among rudimentary peoples both personal religion and personal property can be traced, but the cases are often irrelevant, just in the same way as the social equality which we discern among primitive peoples disappears on closer inspection, but the inequalities are negligible for the particular purpose of our initial inquiry. Again, in tracing back the development of life and thought, we go from our modern highly differentiated and specialized conditions to conditions so extremely simple as to appear absolutely undifferentiated. But the most homogeneous clan-units and the simplest elements which we reach prove to be integral parts of some larger system or organism. It is perfectly true that development is towards specialization and complexity; but the facts that can be adduced in support of this must be balanced with the facts that point back to societies or systems possessing a differentiation and specialization peculiar to themselves.1_ It would be safer to say that the process of development or evolution is from one system to another. Some important developments may preferably be re- garded as alternations, or as extreme forms of transition which are otherwise so normal as not to attract attention. Such, for example, is the change from happy (or confident) to gloomy (and pessimistic) types of religion. Some writers find evidence enough to prove that primitive man must -1 For example, the dichotomies good and bad, the sacred and profane, and the supernatural and natural are clearly recognized, but the contents are differently arranged. hi INTRODUCTION have lived in a state of fear, oppressed by unknown terrors ; whereas Robertson Smith is more concerned with the creative moments, the confidence and assurance which make for progressive development (see p. 519 sq.). Again, while it is indubitably suggestive to conceive of an absolute develop- ment from the ‘“ childhood ” of humanity to its adolescence or maturity (p. 257), there is an increase or growth of con- sciousness which is of immense importance for the history of separate peoples or of individuals, and this in turn differs qualitively from many less epoch-making changes. The transition from the ‘natural’ to the “conscious ”’ state will mark eras; but it is precisely the new awakening, awareness, and rebirth which cause discontinuity and shatter facile theories of a continuous development. The “childish unconsciousness” of inexorable laws (p. 257) is, unfortunately, by no means confined to primitive peoples, but it is only another example of a perfectly in- telligible statement which is extremely helpful, though its limitations are evident. It is legitimate to speak of the “triumph of the gods over the demons ” (p. 122), or to say that gods “ become ”’ demons, or that Baal was “ changed ” from a god of rain to one of springs, or even that totems ‘“become’”’ gods. The words express intelligibly enough certain vicissitudes in ideas concerning gods or supernatural beings; but it is necessary to observe that this simple terminology is really hindering more fruitful ways of handling the events in the world of thought, and that the alternative to this ‘‘ mythology ” would take us away from Comparative Religion to a department of Mental Science.? 1 This is not to say that the “ evolutionary ’’ fagon de penser is wrong, but that it stands in need of a more careful application. 2 Instinctively, and surely with some justification, we said at the be- ginning of this Introduction that The Religion of the Semites “ grew out ”’ of certain preliminary work; but the process, it will now be seen, is much more complex and difficult to describe. On the other hand, the more INTRODUCTION hii Next we observe that Robertson Smith’s main theories have far-reaching implications which have yet to be worked out. His theory of the communion of gods and men leads back to the “ naturally holy,” to an inherent sanctity which is more primary than any process of sanctification. The unity of gods and men is primary, the unity is always being broken, and the compact or covenant is secondary. The unity is potential, and the rite which actualizes it really cements it afresh. The facts of aberration and deterioration, and the consciousness of a higher ideal from which one has lapsed, have gone to create the conception of a “ Fall’ as some original event in human history, as distinct from the many occasions when one is painfully conscious of one’s lapses and of the terrible difference between the ordinary self and the harmony which, in theistic experience, is the fellowship of God and Man. Another similar translation of psychological experience into an historical event is the “Primitive Revelation.’’ Without the consciousness of the Holy or Sacred there could be neither religion of social importance nor any great steps in the development of religion ; but inasmuch as every experience of a Sacred Power will be determined by contemporary conditions of knowledge, mode of life, and so forth, the farther back we travel in human history, the more difficult is it to imagine the content of prehistoric religion. And though, from the solely in- tellectual point of view, “God” is also a methodological necessity and prior to all things, the meaning it had for the most primitive social-religious cult can be set down only in the most abstract terms. We may agree with Robertson Smith that the terrestrial Baal is older than the cosmic, for ideas of the remote are tangible and intelligible cases of development, such as the genesis of Robert- son Smith’s volume, may perhaps enable one to apprehend and illustrate those which are more complicated (cf. p. 499, near foot), and to discover that a similar sort of process rules throughout. liv INTRODUCTION based upon a knowledge of the near. An experience of a transcendent power will bring about the development of the positive knowledge of the day ; but such an experience will, in the first instance, be limited by ordinary experience. Ideas concerning the gods are influenced by men who them- selves have been influenced by transcendent experiences ; men have learnt that they must imitate the gods, but they have also had to learn what it was they had to imitate. A curious complexity manifests itself as we follow the mutual interaction of the religious and the non-religious spheres of life and thought; but the facts of social development and the facts of religious experience, when taken together, point to a development from the totem-stage upwards by the side of a gradually deepening theism under the influence of out- standing men and their more “ ethical ”’ ideas and “‘ anthro- pomorphic” type of religion (see p. 670). In a word, the data of “‘ theistic ’’ development do not by any means exclude Robertson Smith’s theory which takes back sacrifice to the “theriomorphic ” totem-stage. His theory of the unity of group and its god has another very important issue. This group-unit has its ordinary, secular or ‘‘ profane ’’ interests, and it can therefore be said that the social system includes within itself both the “ sacred ”’ (e.g. the gods, sacred ceremonies, etc.) and the “secular.” The social group is a practical working system, a “ natural ” one, and the god and other supernatural beings form a “natural ”’ part of it. Indeed, so much so is this the case that there is a tendency for men to take their gods for granted and the result is detrimental to the religious and social development of the group. The occasions when the group and gods come together, and usually for the practical pur- poses of life, are specifically “ sacred,’’ and—psychologically —they are essentially different from the “secular,” even as the “sacred”? and “secular” states of the individual are INTRODUCTION lv two essentially different phases in one and the same in- dividual. Hence the gods are a “ natural ”’ part of the social unit. But they are also “supernatural”; and at a higher stage of development it becomes more clear that the god is a natural part of the natural environment, and therefore “immanent.” At the same time, he is felt to be on another and higher plane of existence, and the gulf between him and man makes him “transcendent.” To the genuine theist God is a Transcendent Being, but He is also a natural part of the Universe (i.e. of the ultimate whole of which man knows only a part). Hence there are two senses of the “natural ’—(a) that which is opposed to the supernatural, and (6) that which includes this dichotomy ; and already in the primitive religions of the practical group- unit of gods and men there are implicit those paradoxical facts of personal experience which are fundamental for theology. _. Analysis takes us back to personal experiences of a religious or spiritual order; but no less to impersonal pro- cesses which are self-vindicating, a power or a mechanism which men use or misuse, and agencies such that the failure to do right or the deed that is positively wrong has inevitable consequences. Again, we are led back to single origins; whence it comes to pass that religion is very often supposed to be derived from a single factor. But one also gets back to complementary ideas: Transcendence and Immanence, Rights and Duties; they are dynamic, and upon them our conception of the typical working social-religious unit can be constructed.!. The familiar processes of scission, isolation, and disintegration, which we so readily trace in history, point back to a system; and a working social system can be regarded as a system of interrelated sentiments, ideas, and aims. With all this, however, it does not follow that 1 See Encyc. of Religion and Ethics, art. ‘‘ Religion,” §§ 29, 31 (1). lvi INTRODUCTION the ideal system which we logically construct existed ; but the system so constructed forms an ideal type whereby to evaluate social religious facts.! Now in the course of differentiation of society and thought, new structures—whether sects or theories—are frequently built upon the narrowest bases, and at this point the question arises whether Robertson Smith has not been guilty of a gross methodological error in the use he has made of Nilus’s Saracens. The student who is already acquainted with The Religion of the Semites will be aware of the prominence which is given to them and their bloody rite. Since Smith’s day a little quiet fun has sometimes been poked at his Saracens, and we have to meet a typical criticism expressed in Lagrange’s words that the rite is admittedly barbaric, but “c'est trop isolé pour qu’on tire de ce seul cas toute la théorie du sacrifice ”’ (Etudes, p. 258). In reply to this, we are entitled at the outset to ask whether it is sound method to start from the normal rites, or at least those which correspond to ordinary instincts (1b. p.259n.). Are we to cry, “‘ Mais cette sauvagerie n’a rien de religieux”? ? Are we to take our stand upon some definition: ‘‘ When I mention religion, 1 mean . . .” ? On the contrary, no science or philosophy of religion can start from any division into what is and what is not religious, even as science cannot at the outset rule out mongrels or weeds. Further, although human sacrifice has been common enough, Robertson Smith treats it as exceptional (p. 394) ; whereas old Nilus, however isolated, gives us ‘‘ a very typical embodiment of the main ideas that underlie Semitic sacri- fices ’ (p. 345). And this is entirely justified if we analyse 1 Inevitably one passes from ‘‘ comparative” religion to the more theoretical treatment of the data; and the history of comparison in the world of organic life will warn us to avoid such an error as the single abstract generalized type conceived by Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire (EK. W. Hobson, T'he Domain of Natural Science, p. 385 sq.). INTRODUCTION lvii the rite and observe the parallels which can be found for every element. A more careful reading of The Religion of the Semites should have shown opponents that the com- munion-theory is not based upon and does not start from Nilus—as we have seen, it has a much profounder inception. The unprejudiced reader will discover for himself that it is part of a network of ideas which are common to mankind, even as every religion can be viewed as a particular structure of the numerous beliefs and practices which make up the world of religion. It must, of course, be granted that Robertson Smith has given every prominence to Nilus, but the value of his work does not rest upon Nilus, and he and his Saracens are no longer so vital. His evidence is still ex- tremely important, but we do not need it asa clue.t We are assured that “‘ even in its details it probably comes nearer ”’ the primitive form of Semitic sacrifice (see p. 345): that is to say, Robertson Smith, so far from starting from it, con- siders that he has found in it the most rudimentary embodi- ment of the main sacrificial ideas which he has discovered elsewhere. Late and isolated Nilus may be, but an advanced stage of culture never excludes gross barbaric ideas, or rites, either outside or—at certain periods at least—within ; nor does it exclude the emergence of “primitive” types of thought, however we may choose to evaluate them.? Hence while, on the one hand, the evidence of Nilus is an isolated example of a combination of tpyical ideas, human sacrifice, on the other hand, affords numerous examples of ideas which, for 1 How a clue may come to be of secondary value is well seen in the literary criticism of the Pentateuch and the book of Joshua, where the difference in the Divine Names led to very important discoveries, which are of permanent value, whereas this particular criterion was soon found to be of relatively secondary importance. 2 That is to say, the ‘‘ primitive” is barbaric or it is spiritual, and it is a false conception of evolution which tends to regard it as necessarily the former. lvili INTRODUCTION reasons given, are not representative of the main develop- ment of religion. And here we have to remember the essential difference between Robertson Smith and some of his critics: human sacrifice, licentious cults, and so forth abound, and—like what Renan said of the Arabic Lexicon— the student of comparative religion can pick and choose the evidence for the theory he prefers; but from first to last Smith is concerned with the factors that make for the pro- gressive development of religion, and he is distinguishing between a systematic arrangement of the mere data of religion and the crucial facts of the history of religion.+ Exceptional and isolated are also the peculiar ceremonies of the totem clans in Central Australia, which partly confirm Robertson Smith, while putting his problems in a new light (above, p. xl). They afford most rudimentary examples of the pregnant ideas that mark the higher religions—as Durkheim in particular has shown—and there is no necessity to suppose that they correspond to, or even in their details approximate primitive prehistoric cults. It seems impossible to conceive more primitive systems; and the totem cults bring to a head the problems of primitive religion in a way that is far more important for the Science of Religion than— and this must be admitted—for the ordinary theologian. The evidence is so remarkable as to demand some explana- tion. For, as ‘‘ Mana ”’ accounts for the unusual or abnormal (cf. p. 553), or as Religion is supposed, on one view, to fill the “ gaps ” in knowledge, so we are compelled to find a way of co-ordinating the more extraordinary phenomena of re- 1 After all, Nilus is not quite isolated. Van Gennep (Totémisme, pp. 249 sgq.) cites from E. Doutté, Les‘ Aissdoua a Tlemcen (1900), who claims to have found a modern parallel. The evidence is certainly striking, and Van Gennep is hardly convincing when he disputes its value because of the interval of space and time which severs it from Nilus, and because the rite can be explained on the principles that actuate the brotherhood who practise it, INTRODUCTION lix ligion and the more ordinary. The fact that various unusual, superstitious, or even abnormal beliefs seem to satisfy tribes is as important as the fact that the animal or plant species is, for very rudimentary peoples, a sufficient embodiment of profound ideas. Indeed, totemism enlarges the range of facts upon which we base our inductions, it widens our con- ception of the development of human personality ; and it enables us to consider, on the one side, the place of rude stone cults in the development of religion, and, on the other, the relations between theriomorphic and anthropomorphic supernatural beings who stand in a personal relationship to men. Robertson Smith took totemism more seriously than most other workers in the field, and, to judge from the in- fluence this volume has had upon the study of religions, most would agree that his insight more than justified itself. There are phenomena in the history of religion that are of pre-eminent value to others than theologians. They raise questions which do not occur to the students of current theology and philosophy, but upon the answer to them the future development of theology and philosophy seems to rest. It commonly happens that as new religions arise they ignore— perhaps inevitably, perhaps rightly—beliefs and practices which had been of no little value and efficacy, and had been efficacious and “‘true”’ for normal men. But in religious as in other thought men will strike off on a new line, and only in course of time is it found necessary to come to terms with that which had been ignored, if not condemned. So, as regards the lengthy history of religion, when one has atten- tively read the work of Sir James Frazer on the sacred man and the slain god, or of MM. Hubert and Mauss on the function of sacrifice, or of M. Emile Durkheim on the significance of social religious systems for the vicissitudes of mental develop- ment, it is impossible to resist the conviction that, not only lx INTRODUCTION the great religions of history other than the “ highest,” but even the very rudimentary religions, with their naive ex- periences of the Universe, have something of permanent value to contribute to modern knowledge and western types of experience and thought (see pp. 683 sqq.). Robertson Smith’s insistence upon the social-religious unit, upon the working systems as distinct from less organized peoples—Pygmies and others, even with their “ Supreme Gods ’’—is entirely characteristic of the man who in his early years demanded a systematized theology. He fully realized the necessity for organizing knowledge—as befitted an Kditor of the Encyclopedia Britannica !—but he did not live to attempt the task of undertaking a fresh systematization of the results which he had reached. Such a task awaits the future. Questions arise concerning the relation between communion, fellowship, and the like (p. xlii sg. above), between totemic, totemistic, and theriomorphic cults, be- tween gods (of varying degree of divinity), heroes, and saints, between friendly and unfriendly supernatural beings, between 99 ¢¢ “* religious,” ‘‘ magical,” and “‘ magico-religious ”’ beliefs and practices. This is no exaggerated statement of the task that already confronts the student of the religions; and as he proceeds to systematize his definitions he will discover that the Science of Religion is reaching out towards, we will not say a “ Theology,” but, an interpretation of the data of religion far more “‘ Catholic”? than even Robertson Smith himself divined. Nor is this all. Repeatedly the inter- pretation of the evidence can only be “ mystical,” in the sense that a sympathetic understanding of religious and mystical types of experience alone enables one man to interpret and another to test the interpretation. This will be one of the difficulties—perhaps one of the embarrassments —of the future, for there is much that is ambiguous in re- or is only subjectively so ; ? ligion, that seems ‘‘ religious,’ INTRODUCTION Ix1 and on this account less question-begging terms should perhaps be employed.! Our Theology and Philosophy, if not specifically Christian, is Western, whereas Robertson Smith combined the keenest Christian sympathies with a profound knowledge of Semitic, or rather Oriental, modes of thought—and the consequences were far-reaching. Prediction is idle work, but whereas the rise of Christianity led to the theology and philosophy which characterize western thought, the tendency of the study of the world’s religions is to lay new foundations upon which the thinkers and systematizers of the future will build. One need not commit oneself to the “‘ phenomenology of religion,” or any other specific school or tendency of to-day, but the deeper inquiry into the way in which we ourselves have come to think as we do and to hold the beliefs that we do, and of the relation between different types of thinking, is opening out new lines of research, and fashioning new and powerful tools for the future. More fundamental than any given religious or scientific inquiry is the inquiry into the processes of differentiation, development, and systematization of ideas, and at the present day the precise relationship between Religion and Science is of less primary importance than the critical study of the interrelation between religious and non- religious experience and expression. The Religion of the Semites, when we consider the author and his work, is a veritable symptom. Some there are who do not find it difficult to foreshadow the ‘‘ Decline of the West ”’: the point has been reached where all that is creative has exhausted itself, serious thought has found itself in a 1 Thus, M. Pinard de la Boullaye (ii. p. 11 sg.; see p. xliv n., above) suggests the terms hierography (the history of religion), hierology (com- parative religion and scientific generalization of the data), and hierosophy (metaphysical speculation); cf. also Count Goblet d’Alviella (Ozford Congress of Religions, 1908, ii. p. 365), who proposes Mierography (analysis and description) and hierology (synthesis). |xii INTRODUCTION cul-de-sac, and the confidence which beheld a world picture, a scheme of history culminating in one’s own personal or national standpoint, has given place to the chill yet not unjust realization that a more objective survey of man, his history and his religion, must base its theology and philosophy upon a far wider synthesis. But Robertson Smith is con- cerned with the physiology rather than the morphology of cultures ; and, instinctively a prophet, he is dynamic, feeling out towards the future, to a Reformation, a Rebirth or a Renaissance. The past shows us dying and dead cultures, but also new developments and progress; and those who realize that vast movements in history le behind the Bible will agree that, although there can be no assurance that any particular line of development must be continued, there is no justification for the conviction that there can not be a further development embodying the best of all that has gone before and creating a new continuity with the past. And it may be claimed that when Robertson Smith, the theologian and the anthropologist, went down to primitive and ancient religion, he took up the past and carried it forward, indicating the lines upon which further progress might most fruitfully be made. A vast amount has been written upon Semitic and other religions, but the independence of his position is still astonish- ing. Much of the literature does not touch the central problems of religion. Much is out of sympathy with the mystical or transcendental element in religion, which it is crass obscurantism to reject and intellectual suicide to accept uncritically. Again, much ignores the religions at either end of the scale. Not as slavish copyists of what Robertson Smith wrote, but as sympathetic and critical students of the greatest of all subjects, can one find in his life and work a new source of inspiration. And since a man is more than his theories, and this man’s standpoint so eminently character- INTRODUCTION Ixiil istic, no more interesting subject for the study of personal evolution can well be found when we consider his life, his work, and his influence—for evolution in human personality and that in the world which the scientist has constructed cannot, on philosophical grounds, be ultimately separated. As explained in the Preface, Robertson Smith has been left to speak for himself, and for the new notes, which are printed apart by themselves, the present writer is entirely responsible. These notes give bibliographical information, and contain additional illustrative matter, especially from modern Palestine and the ancient surrounding civilizations. No attempt is made to refer to all available sources, the aim being merely to emphasize afresh the fact that Palestine and the Semites cannot be treated in isolation, and that the religion—or, as some would prefer to say, the religions—of the Semites: must be viewed in the light of our knowledge of religion in general. Accordingly, attention is drawn to the close interrelation between the lower and the higher religions, between various types of religious and related experiences, and between the religious and non-religious spheres of life and thought. Some notice is taken of criticisms of Robert- son Smith’s theories, and fuller evidence has been given for the different sorts of beliefs and practices expressing contact, fellowship, communion, or at-one-ment with the supernatural or divine. The “practical”? and often quasi-‘‘ magical ”’ element in religion has been illustrated, in view of its import- ance: for the development of ideas concerning man’s place in and control over Nature, and for the relationship between the “ physical’ and “ spiritual’? phases in the history of 1 The reference is to the Right Hon. J. C. Smuts on the importance of ‘* personology,” see Holism and Evolution (1926), pp. 284 sqqg. The present writer may perhaps be permitted to refer to his Study of Religions (1914), pp. 64 sqq., 338 sq., and his review of the Life of Robertson Smith in the Hibbert Journal, xi. p. 214. lxiv INTRODUCTION religion. The significance of group-units and systems has been developed, for the problem is not to explain the variation of belief and practice—this must be taken as given—but to co-ordinate the systematizing and regulating tendencies throughout the Cosmos. Further, as will have been seen in this Introduction, the immense importance of specifically ‘religious ’’ data for studies which, in a sense, are “ non- religious’ can no longer be ignored, and the problem of “evolution ’’ in the world of thought has become of the first importance for the presentation of the data of religion. Owing partly to lack of space, archeological material has rarely been introduced ; the writer hopes to utilize it in his Schweich Lectures on The Religion of Palestine in the Inght of Archeology. Moreover, since the Second Edition of The Religion of the Semites omits on p. 414 a very striking paragraph which appeared in the First Edition, p. 393, on the death of the God-man and the “ germ” of John xvii. 19,1 it seemed undesirable to develop the bearing of comparative religion upon the interpretation of Christianity. But although Robertson Smith evidently preferred to omit the paragraph, his volume not merely opens out a treatment of religion more systematic than others which might be named, it also inaugurates a theoretical study of all religions, from the varieties of Christian belief and practice to the humblest cults of totemic and other rude communities, and it is, per- haps, no exaggeration to see in his work the foundation of the Science and Theory of Religion. STANLEY A. COOK. CAMBRIDGE, August 1927. 1 On this omission, see also Sir James Frazer, in his essay on Robertson Smith, reprinted in The Gorgon’s Head and other Literary Pieces (1927), pp. 278-290. LECTURE If INTRODUCTION: THE SUBJECT AND THE METHOD OF ENQUIRY Tu subject before us is the religion of the Semitic peoples, that is, of the group of kindred nations, including the Arabs, the Hebrews and Pheenicians, the Arameans, the Baby- lonians and Assyrians, which in ancient times occupied the great Arabian Peninsula, with the more fertile lands of * Syria Mesopotamia and Irac, from the Mediterranean coast to the base of the mountains of Iran and Armenia. Among these peoples three of the great faiths of the world had their origin, so that the Semites must always have a peculiar interest for the student of the history of religion. Our subject, however, is not the history of the several religions that have a Semitic origin, but Semitic religion as a whole in its common features and general type. Judaism, Christianity and Islam are positive religions, that is, they did not grow up like the systems of ancient heathenism, under the action of unconscious forces operat- ing silently from age to age, but trace their origin to the teaching of great religious innovators, who spoke as the organs of a divine revelation, and deliberately departed from the traditions of the past. Behind these positive religions lies the old unconscious religious tradition, the 1 2 POSITIVE AND TRADITIONAL LECT. I. body of religious usage and belief which cannot be traced to the influence of individual minds, and was not propagated on individual authority, but formed part of that inheritance from the past into which successive generations of the Semitic race grew up as it were instinctively, taking it as a matter of course that they should believe and act as their fathers had done before them. The positive Semitic religions had to establish themselves on ground already occupied by these older beliefs and usages; they had to displace what they could not assimilate, and whether they rejected or absorbed the elements of the older religion, they had at every point to reckon with them and take up a definite attitude towards them. No positive religion that has moved men has been able to start with a tabula rasa, and express itself as if religion were beginning for the first time; in form, if not in substance, the new system must be in contact all along the line with the older ideas and practices which it finds in possession. A new scheme of faith can find a hearing only by appealing to religious instincts and susceptibilities that already exist in its audience, and it cannot reach these without taking account of the traditional forms in which all religious feeling is embodied, and without speaking a language which men accustomed to these old forms can understand. Thus to comprehend a system of positive religion thoroughly, to understand it in its historical origin and form as well as in its abstract principles, we must know the traditional religion that preceded it. It is from this point of view that I invite you to take an interest in the ancient religion of the Semitic peoples; the matter is not one of mere antiquarian curiosity, but has a direct and important bear- ing on the great problem of the origins of the spiritual religion of the Bible. Let me illustrate this by an example. You know how large a part of the teaching of the New ed) LECT. I. RELIGION AMONG THE SEMITES Testament and of all Christian theology turns on the ideas of sacrifice and priesthood. In what they have to say on these heads the New Testament writers presuppose, as the basis of their argument, the notion of sacrifice and priest- hood current among the Jews and embodied in the ordinances of the Temple. But, again, the ritual of the Temple was not in its origin an entirely novel thing; the precepts of the Pentateuch did not create a priesthood and a sacrificial service on an altogether independent basis, but only reshaped and remodelled, in accordance with a more spiritual doctrine, institutions of an older type, which in many particulars were common to the Hebrews with their heathen neighbours. Every one who reads the Old Testa- ment with attention is struck with the fact that the origin and rationale of sacrifice are nowhere fully explained; that sacrifice is an essential part of religion is taken for granted, as something which is not a doctrine peculiar to Israel but is universally admitted and acted on without as well as within the limits of the chosen people. Thus, when we wish thoroughly to study the New Testament doctrine of sacrifice, we are carried back step by step till we reach a point where we have to ask what sacrifice meant, not to the old Hebrews alone, but to the whole circle of nations of which they formed a part. By considerations of this sort we are led to the conclusion that no one of the religions of Semitic origin which still exercise so great an influence on the lives of men can be completely understood without enquiry into the older traditional religion of the Semitic race. You observe that in this argument I take it for granted that, when we go back to the most ancient religious conceptions and usages of the Hebrews, we shall find them to be the common property of a group of kindred peoples, and not the exclusive possession of the 4 MEANING OF THE LECT. L tribes of Israel. The proof that this is so will appear more clearly in the sequel; but, indeed, the thing will hardly be denied by any one who has read the Bible with care. In the history of old Israel before the captivity, nothing comes out more clearly than that the mass of the people found the greatest difficulty in keeping their national religion distinct from that of the surrounding nations. Those who had no grasp of spiritual principles, and knew the religion of Jehovah only as an affair of inherited usage, were not conscious of any great difference between themselves and their heathen neighbours, and fell into Canaanite and other foreign practices with the greatest facility. The significance of this fact is manifest if we consider how deeply the most untutored religious sensi- bilities are shocked by any kind of innovation. Nothing appeals so strongly as religion to the conservative instincts ; and conservatism is the habitual attitude of Orientals The whole history of Israel is unintelligible if we suppose that the heathenism against which the prophets contended was a thing altogether alien to the religious traditions of the Hebrews. In principle there was all the difference in the world between the faith of Isaiah and that of an idolater. But the difference in principle, which seems so clear to us, was not clear to the average Judean, and the reason of this was that it was obscured by the great similarity in many important points of religious tradition and ritual practice. The conservatism which refuses to look at principles, and has an eye only for tradition and usage, was against the prophets, and had no sympathy with their efforts to draw a sharp line between the religion of Jehovah and that of the foreign gods. This is a proof that what I may call the natural basis of Israel’s worship was very closely akin to that of the neighbouring cults. LECT. 1. WORD SEMITIC 5 The conclusion on this point which is suggested by the facts of Old Testament history, may be accepted the more readily because it is confirmed by presumptive arguments of another kind. Traditional religion is handed down from father to child, and therefore is in great measure an affair of race. Nations sprung from a common stock will have a common inheritance of traditional belief and usage in things sacred as well as profane, and thus the evidence that the Hebrews and their neighbours had a large common stock of religious tradition falls in with the evidence which we have from other sources, that in point of race the people of Israel were nearly akin to the heathen nations of Syria and Arabia. The populations of this whole region constitute a well-marked ethnic unity, a fact which is usually expressed by giving to them the common uame of Semites. The choice of this term was originally suggested by the tenth chapter of Genesis, in which most of the nations of the group with which we are concerned are represented as descended from Shem the son of Noah. But though modern historians and ethnographers have borrowed a name from the book of Genesis, it must be understood that they do not define the Semitic group as coextensive with the list of nations that are there reckoned to the children of Shem. Most recent interpreters are disposed to regard the classification of the families of mankind given in Genesis x. as founded on principles geographical or political rather than ethnographical; the Pheenicians and other Canaanites, for example, are made to be children of Ham and near cousins of the Egyptians. This arrangement corresponds to historical facts, for, at a period anterior to the Hebrew conquest, Canaan was for centuries an Egyptian dependency, and Pheenician religion and civilisation are permeated by Egyptian influence. But ethnographically the Canaanites were akin to the 6 LANGUAGE AS A LECT. 1 Arabs and Syrians, and they spoke a language which is hardly different from Hebrew. On the other hand, Elam and Lud, that is Susiana and Lydia, are called children of Shem, though there is no reason to think that in either country the mass of the population belonged to the same stock as the Syrians and Arabs. Accordingly it must be remembered that when modern scholars use the term Semitic, they do not speak as interpreters of Scripture, but include all peoples whose distinctive ethnical characters assign them to the same group with the Hebrews, Syrians and Arabs. The scientific definition of an ethnographical group depends on a variety of considerations ; for direct historical evidence of an unimpeachable kind as to the original seats and kindred of ancient peoples is not generally to be had. The defects of historical tradition must therefore be supplied by observation, partly of inherited physica characteristics, and partly of mental characteristics, habits and attainments such as are usually transmitted from parent to child. Among the indirect criteria of kinship between nations, the most obvious, and the one which has hitherto been most carefully studied, is the criterion of language; for it is observed that the languages of man- kind form a series of natural groups, and that within each group it is possible to arrange the several languages which it contains in what may be called a genealogical order, according to degrees of kinship. Now it may not always be true that people of the same or kindred speech are as closely related by actual descent as they seem to be from the language they speak; a Gaelic tribe, for example, may forget. their ancient speech, and learn to speak a Teutonic dialect, without ceasing to be true Gaels by blood. But, in general, large groups of men do not readily change their language, but go on from generation to generation speaking ee a a a LECT. 1, CRITERION OF RACE 7 the ancestral dialect, with such gradual modification as the lapse of time brings about. Asa rule, therefore, the classi- fication of mankind by language, at least when applied to large masses, will approach pretty closely to a natural classi- fication; and in a large proportion of cases the language of a mixed race will prove on examination to be that of the stock whose blood is predominant. Where this is not the case, where a minority has imposed its speech on a majority, we may safely conclude that it has done so in virtue of a natural pre-eminence, a power of shaping lower races in its own mould, which is not confined to the sphere of language, but extends to all parts of life. Where we find unity of language, we can at least say with certainty that we are dealing with a group of men who are subject to common influences of the most subtle and far- reaching kind; and where unity of speech has prevailed for many generations, we may be sure that the continued action of these influences has produced great uniformity of physical and mental type. When we come to deal with groups which have long had separate histories, and whose languages are therefore not identical but only cognate, the case is not so strong; but, on the whole, it remains true that the stock which is strong enough, whether by numbers or by genius, to impress its language on a nation, must also exercise a predominant influence on the national type in other respects; and to this extent the classification of races by language must be called natural and not artificial. Especially is this true for ancient times, when the absence ~ of literature, and particularly of religious books, made it much more difficult than it has been in recent ages for a new language to establish itself in a race to which it was originally foreign. All Egypt now speaks Arabic—a Semitic tongue—and yet the population is very far from having assimilated itself to the Arabic type. But this 8 UNITY AND HOMOGENEITY LECT. 1. could not have happened without the Coran and the religion of the Coran. The Semitic nations are classed together on the ground of similarity of language; but we have every reason to recognise their linguistic kinship as only one manifestation of a very marked general unity of type. The unity is not perfect; it would not, for example, be safe to make generalisations about the Semitic character from the Arabian nomads, and to apply them to the ancient Babylonians. And for this there are probably two reasons. On the one hand, the Semite of the Arabian desert and the Semite of the Babylonian alluvium lived under alto- gether different physical and moral conditions; the difference of environment is as complete as possible. And, on the other hand, it is pretty certain that the Arabs of the desert have been from time immemorial a race practically unmixed, while the Babylonians, and other members of the same family settled on the fringes of the Semitic land, were in all probability largely mingled with the blood of other races, and underwent a corresponding modification of type. But when every allowance is made for demonstrable or possible variations of type within the Semitic field, it still remains true that the Semites form a singularly well marked and relatively speaking a very homogeneous group. So far as language goes the evidence to this effect is parti- cularly strong. The Semitic tongues are so much alike that their affinity is recognised even by the untrained observer ; and modern science has little difficulty in tracing them back to a single primitive speech, and determining in a general way what the features of that speech were. On the other hand, the differences between these languages and those spoken by other adjacent races are so funda- mental and so wide, that little or nothing can be affirmed ; | | ; LECT. 1 - OF THE SEMITIC RACE 9 with certainty as to the relation of the Semitic tongues to other linguistic stocks. Their nearest kinship seems to be with the languages of North Africa, but even here the common features are balanced by profound differences. The evidence of language therefore tends to show that the period during which the original and common Semitic speech existed apart, and developed its peculiar characters at a distance from languages of other stocks, must have been very long in comparison with the subsequent period during which the separate branches of the Semitic stock, such as Hebrew Aramaic and Arabic, were isolated from one another and developed into separate dialects. Or, to draw the historical inference from this, it would appear that before the Hebrews, the Arameans, and the Arabs spread themselves over widely distant seats, and began vheir course of separate national development, there must have been long ages in which the ancestors of all these nations lived together and spoke with one tongue. And as this was in the infancy of mankind, the period of human history in which individuality went for nothing, and all common influences had a force which we moderns can with difficulty conceive, the various swarms which ultimately hived off from the common stock and formed the Semitic nations known to history, must have carried with them a strongly marked race character, and many common posses- sions of custom and idea, besides their common language. And further, let us observe that the dispersion of the Semitic nations was never carried so far as the dispersion of the Aryans. If we leave out of account settlements made over the seas,—the South Arabian colonies in East Africa, and the Phcenician colonies on the coasts and isles of the Mediterranean,—we find that the region of Semitic occupation is continuous and compact. Its great immov- able centre is the vast Arabian peninsula, a region naturally 10 UNITY AND HOMOGENEITY LECT. 1 isolated, and in virtue of its physical characters almost exempt from immigration or change of inhabitants. From this central stronghold, which the predominant opinion of modern scholars designates as the probable starting-point of the whole Semitic dispersion, the region of Semitic speech spreads out round the margin of the Syrian desert till it strikes against great natural boundaries, the Mediter- ranean, Monnt Taurus, and the mountains of Armenia and Iran. From the earliest dawn of history all that lies within these limits was fully occupied by Semitic tribes speaking Semitic dialects, and the compactness of this settlement must necessarily have tended to maintain uni- formity of type. The several Semitic nations, when they were not in direct contact with one another, were divided not by alien populations, but only by the natural barriers of mountain and desert. These natural barriers, indeed, were numerous, and served to break up the race into a number of small tribes or nations; but, like-the mountains of Greece, they were not so formidable as to prevent the separate states from maintaining a great deal of intercourse, which, whether peaceful or warlike, tended to perpetuate the original community of type. Nor was the operation of these causes disturbed in ancient times by any great foreign immigration. The early Egyptian invasions of Syria were not followed by colonisation ; and while the so-called Hittite monuments, which have given rise to so much speculation, may afford evidence that a non-Semitic people from Asia Minor at one time pushed its way into Northern Syria, it is pretty clear that the Hittites of the Bible, wa. the non-Aramaic communities of Ccele-Syria, were a branch of the Canaanite stock, though they may for a time have been dominated by a non-Semitic aristocracy. At one time it was not uncommon to represent the Philistines as a non-Semitic people, but it is now generally recognised LECT. I. OF THE SEMITIC RACE 1] that the arguments for this view are inadequate, and that, though they came into Palestine from across the sea, from Caphtor, ze. probably from Crete, they were either mainly of Semitic blood, or at least were already thoroughly Semi- tised at the time of their immigration, alike in speech and in religion. Coming down to later times, we find that the Assyrian Babylonian and Persian conquests made no considerable change in the general type of the population of the Semitic lands. National and tribal landmarks were removed, and there were considerable shiftings of population within the Semitic area, but no great incursion of new populations of alien stock. In the Greek and Roman periods, on the contrary, a large foreign element was introduced into the towns of Syria; but as the immigration was practically confined to the cities, hardly touching the rural districts, its effects in modifying racial type were, it would seem, of a very transitory character. For in Hastern cities the death- rate habitually exceeds the birth-rate, and the urban population is maintained only by constant recruital from the country, so that it is the blood of the peasantry which ultimately determines the type of the population. Thus it is to be explained that, after the Arab conquest of Syria, the Greek element in the population rapidly disappeared. Indeed, one of the most palpable proofs that the populations of all the old Semitic lands possessed a remarkable homo- geneity of character, is the fact that in them, and in them alone, the Arabs and Arab influence took permanent root. The Moslem conquests extended far beyond these limits ; but, except in the old Semitic countries, Islam speedily took new shapes, and the Arab dominations soon gave way before the reaction of the mass of its foreign subjects. Thus the whole course of history, from the earliest date to which authentic knowledge extends down to the time ot 12 THE SEMITES OF LECT. L the decay of the Caliphate, records no great permanent disturbance of population to affect the constancy of the Semitic type within its original seats, apart from the temporary Hellenisation of the great cities already spoken of. Such disturbances as did take place consisted partly of mere local displacements among the settled Semites, partly, and in a much greater degree, of the arrival and establishment in the cultivated lands of successive hordes of Semitic nomads from the Arabian wilderness, which on their settlement found themselves surrounded by popula- tions so nearly of their own type that the complete fusion of the old and new inhabitants was effected without difficulty, and without modification of the general character of the race. If at any point in its settlements, except along the frontiers, the Semitic blood was largely modified by foreign admixture, this must have taken place in prehistoric times, or by fusion with other races which may have occupied the country before the arrival of the Semites. How far anything of this sort actually happened can only be matter of conjecture, for the special hypotheses which have sometimes been put forth—as, for example, that there was a considerable strain of pre-Semitic blood in the Pheenicians and Canaanites—rest on presumptions of no conclusive sort. What is certain is that the Semitic settlements in Asia were practically complete at the first dawn of history, and that the Semitic blood was constantly reinforced, frem very early times, by fresh immigrations from the desert. There is hardly another part of the world where we have such good historical reasons for presuming that linguistic affinity will prove a safe indica- tion of affinity in race, and in general physical and mental type. And this presumption is not belied by the results of nearer enquiry. Those who have busied themselves with the history and literature of the Semitic peoples, bear LECT. 1. BABYLONIA AND ASSYRIA 13 uniform testimony to the close family likeness that runs through them all. It is only natural that this homogeneity of type appears to be modified on the frontiers of the Semitic field. To the West, if we leave the transmarine colonies out of view, natural conditions drew a sharp line of local demarcation between the Semites and their alien neighbours. The Red Sea and the desert north of it formed a geographical barrier, which was often crossed by the expansive force of the Semitic race, but which appears to have effectually checked the advance into Asia of African populations. But on the East, the fertile basin of the Euphrates and Tigris seems in ancient as in modern times to have been a meeting-place of races. The preponderating opinion of Assyriologists is to the effect that the civilisation of Assyria and Babylonia was not purely Semitic, and that the ancient population of these parts contained a large pre-Semitic element, whose influence is especially to be recognised in religion and in the sacred literature of the cuneiform records. If this be so, it is plain that the cuneiform material must be used with caution in our enquiry into the type of traditional religion characteristic of the ancient Semites. That Babylonia is the best starting-point for a compara- tive study of the sacred beliefs and practices of the Semitic peoples, is an idea which has lately had some vogue, and which at first sight appears plausible on account of the great antiquity of the monumental evidence. But, in matters of this sort, ancient and primitive are not synonymous terms; and we must not look for the most primitive form of Semitic faith in a region where society was not primitive. In Babylonia, it would seem, society and religion alike were based on a fusion of two races, and so were not primitive but complex. Moreover, the official system of Babylonian and Assyrian religion, as it is known 14 SOURCES AND METHOD LECT. I to us from priestly texts and public inscriptions, bears clear marks of being something more than a popular traditional faith ; it has been artificially moulded by priestcraft and statecraft in much the same way as the official religion of Egypt; that is to say, it is in great measure an artificial combination, for imperial purposes, of elements drawn from a number of local worships. In all probability the actual religion of the masses was always much simpler than the official system; and in later times it would seem that, both in religion and in race, Assyria was little different from the adjacent Aramean countries. These remarks are not meant to throw doubt on the great importance of cuneiform studies for the history of Semitic religion ; the monumental data are valuable for comparison with what we know of the faith and worship of other Semitic peoples, and peculiarly valuable because, in religion as in other matters, the civilisation of the Euphrates-Tigris valley exercised a great; historical influence on a large part of the Semitic field. But the right point of departure for a general study of Semitic religion must be sought in regions where, though our knowledge begins at a later date, it refers to a simpler state of society, and where accordingly the religious phenomena revealed to us are of an origin less doubtful and a character less complicated. In many respects the religion of heathen Arabia, though we have little information con- cerning it that is not of post-Christian date, displays an extremely primitive type, corresponding to the primitive and unchanging character of nomadic life. With what may be gathered from this source we must compare, above all, the invaluable notices, preserved in the Old Testament, of the religion of the small Palestinian states before their conquest by the great empires of the Hast. For this period, apart from the Assyrian monuments and a few precious fragments of other evidence from inscriptions, we LECT. I. | OF THE ENQUIRY 15 have no contemporary documents outside the Bible. At a later date the evidence from monuments is multiplied, and Greek literature begins to give important aid; but by this time also we have reached the period of religious syncretism—the period, that is, when different faiths and worships began to react on one another, and produce new and complex forms of religion. Here, therefore, we have to use the same precautions that are called for in dealing with the older syncretistic religion of Babylonia and Assyria; it is only by careful sifting and comparison that we can separate between ancient use and modern innovation, between the old religious inheritance of the Semites and things that came in from without. Let it be understood from the outset that we have not the materials for anything like a complete com- parative history of Semitic religions, and that nothing of the sort will be attempted in these Lectures. But a careful study and comparison of the various sources is sufficient to furnish a tolerably accurate view of a series of general features, which recur with striking uniformity in all parts of the Semitic field, and govern the evolution of faith and worship down to a late date. These widespread and permanent features form the real interest of Semitic religion to the philosophical student; it was in them, and not in the things that vary from place to place and from time to time, that the strength of Semitic religion lay, and it is to them therefore that we must look for help in the most important practical application of our studies, for light on the great question of the relation of the positive Semitic religions to the earlier faith of the race. Before entering upon the particulars of our enquiry, I must still detain you with a few words about the method and order of investigation that seem to be prescribed by the nature of the subject. To get a true and well-defined 16 SOURCES AND METHOD LECT. I picture of the type of Semitic religion, we must not only study the parts separately, but must have clear views of the place and proportion of each part in its relation to the whole. And here we shall go very far wrong if we take it for granted that what is the most important and prominent side of religion to us was equally important in the ancient society with which we are to deal. In connection with every religion, whether ancient or modern, we find on the one hand certain beliefs, and on the other certain institutions ritual practices and rules of conduct. Our modern habit is to look at religion from the side of belief rather than of practice; for, down to comparatively recent times, almost the only forms of religion seriously studied in Europe have been those of the various Christian Churches, and all parts of Christendom are agreed that ritual is important only in connection with its inter- pretation. Thus the study of religion has meant mainly the study of Christian beliefs, and instruction in religion has habitually begun with the creed, religious duties being presented to the learner as flowing from the dogmatic truths he is taught to accept. All this seems to us so much a matter of course that, when we approach some strange or antique religion, we naturally assume that here also our first business is to search for a creed, and find in it the key to ritual and practice. But the antique religions had for the most part no creed; they consisted entirely of institutions and practices. No doubt men will not habitually follow certain practices without attaching a meaning to them; but as a rule we find that while the practice was rigorously fixed, the meaning attached to it was extremely vague, and the same rite was explained by different people in different ways, without any question of orthodoxy or heterodoxy arising in conse- quence. In ancient Greece, for example, certain things LECT. 1. OF THE ENQUIRY 17 were done at a temple, and people were agreed that it would be impious not to do them. But if you had asked why they were done, you would probably have had several mutually contradictory explanations from different persons, and no one would have thought it a matter of the least religious importance which of these you chose to adopt. Indeed, the explanations offered would not have been of a kind to stir any strong feeling; for in most cases they would have been merely different stories as to the circum- stances under which the rite first came to be established, by the command or by the direct example of the god. The rite, in short, was connected not with a dogma but with a myth. In all the antique religions, mythology takes the place of dogma; that is, the sacred lore of priests and people, * so far as it does not consist of mere rules for the perform- ance of religious acts, assumes the form of stories about the gods; and these stories afford the only explanation that is offered of the precepts of religion and the pre- scribed rules of ritual. But, strictly speaking, this mythology was no essential part of ancient religion, for it had no sacred sanction and no binding force on the worshippers. The myths connected with individual sanc- tuaries and ceremonies were merely part of the apparatus of the worship; they served to excite the fancy and sustain the interest of the worshipper; but he was often offered a choice of several accounts of the same thing, and, provided that he fulfilled the ritual with accuracy, no one cared what he believed about its origin. Belief in a certain series of myths was neither obligatory as a part of true religion, nor was it supposed that, by believing, aman acquired religious merit and conciliated the favour of the gods. What was obligatory or meritorious was the exact performance of certain sacred acts prescribed by 2 18 THE DEPENDENCE OF LECT. I, religious tradition. This being so, it follows that mythology ought not to take the prominent place that is too often assigned to it in the scientific study of ancient faiths. So far as myths consist of explanations of ritual, their value is altogether secondary, and it may be affirmed with con- fidence that in almost every case the myth was derived from the ritual, and not the ritual from the myth; for the ritual was fixed and the myth was variable, the ritual was obligatory and faith in the myth was at the discretion of the worshipper. Now by far the largest part of the myths of antique religions are connected with the ritual of par- ticular shrines, or with the religious observances of par- ticular tribes and districts. In all such cases it is probable, in most cases it is certain, that the myth is merely the explanation of a religious usage; and ordinarily it is such an explanation as could not have arisen till the original sense of the usage had more or less fallen into oblivion. As a rule the myth is no explanation of the origin of the ritual to any one who does not believe it to be a narrative of real occurrences, and the boldest mythologist will not believe that. But if it be not true, the myth itself requires to be explained, and every principle of philosophy and common sense demands that the explanation be sought, not in arbitrary allegorical theories, but in the actual facts of ritual or religious custom to which the myth attaches. The conclusion is, that in the study of ancient religions we must begin, not with myth, but with ritual and traditional usage. Nor can it be fairly set against this conclusion, that there are certain myths which are not mere explanations of traditional practices, but exhibit the beginnings of larger religious speculation, or of an attempt to systematise and reduce to order the motley variety of local worships and beliefs. For in this case the secondary character of the LECT. 1. MYTH ON RITUAL 19 myths is still more clearly marked. They are either pro- ducts of early philosophy, reflecting on the nature of the universe ; or they are political in scope, being designed to supply a thread of union between the various worships of groups, originally distinct, which have been united into one social or political organism ; or, finally, they are due to the free play of epic imagination. But philosophy politics and poetry are something more, or something less, than religion pure and simple. There can be no doubt that, in the later stages of ancient religions, mythology acquired an increased import- ance. In the struggle of heathenism with scepticism on the one hand and Christianity on the other, the supporters of the old traditional religion were driven to search for ideas of a modern cast, which they could represent as the true inner meaning of the traditional rites. To this end they laid hold of the old myths, and applied to them an allegorical system of interpretation. Myth interpreted by the aid of allegory became the favourite means of infusing a new significance into ancient forms. But the theories thus developed are the falsest of false guides as to the original meaning of the old religions. On the other hand, the ancient myths taken in their natural sense, without allegorical gloss, are plainly of great importance as testimonies to the views of the nature of the gods that were prevalent when they were formed. For though the mythical details had no dogmatic value and no binding authority over faith, it is to be supposed that nothing was put into a myth which people at that time were not prepared to believe without offence. But so far as the way of thinking expressed in the myth was not already expressed in the ritual! itself, it had no properly religious sanction; the myth apart from the ritual affords only a doubtful and slippery kind of evidence. Before we 20 ANALOGY OF RELIGIOUS LECT. L can handle myths with any confidence, we must have some definite hold of the ideas expressed in the ritual tradition, which embodied the only fixed and statutory elements of the religion. All this, I hope, will become clearer to us as we pro- ceed with our enquiry, and learn by practical example the use to be made of the different lines of evidence open to us. But it is of the first importance to realise clearly from the outset that ritual and practical usage were, strictly speaking, the sum-total of ancient religions. Religion in primitive times was not a system of belief with practical applications ; it was a body of fixed tradi- tional practices, to which every member of society con- formed as a matter of course. Men would not be men if they agreed to do certain things without having a reason for their action; but in ancient religion the reason was not first formulated as a doctrine and then expressed in practice, but conversely, practice preceded doctrinal theory. Men form general rules of conduct before they begin to express general principles in words; political institutions are older than political theories, and in like manner religious institutions are older than religious theories. This analogy is not arbitrarily chosen, for in fact the parallelism in ancient society between religious and political institutions is complete. In each sphere great importance was attached to form and precedent, but the explanation why the precedent was followed consisted merely of a legend as to its first establishment. That the precedent, once established, was authoritative did not appear to require any proof. The rules of society were based on precedent, and the continued existence of the society was sufficient reason why a precedent once set should continue to be followed. Strictly speaking, mdeed, I understate the case when LECT. I, AND POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS 21 I say that the oldest religious and political institutions present a close analogy. It would be more correct to say that they were parts of one whole of social custom. Religion was a part of the organised social life into which a man was born, and to which he conformed through life in the same unconscious way in which men fall into any habitual practice of the society in which they live. Men took the gods and their worship for granted, just as they took the other usages of the state for granted, and if they reasoned or speculated about them, they did so on the presupposition that the traditional usages were fixed things, behind which their reasonings must not go, and which no reasoning could be allowed to overturn. To us moderns religion is above all a matter of individual conviction and reasoned belief, but to the ancients it was a part of the citizen’s public life, reduced to fixed forms, which he was not bound to understand and was not at liberty to criticise or to neglect. Religious nonconformity was an offence against the state; for if sacred tradition was tampered with the bases of society were undermined, and the favour of the gods was forfeited. But so long as the prescribed forms were duly observed, a man was recognised as truly pious, and no one asked how his religion was rooted in his heart or affected his reason. Like political duty, of which indeed it was a part, religion was entirely comprehended in the observance of certain fixed rules of outward conduct. The conclusion from all this as to the method of our ‘investigation is obvious. When we study the political structure of an early society, we do not begin by asking what is recorded of the first legislators, or what theory men advanced as to the reason of their institutions; we try to understand what the institutions were, and how they shaped men’s lives. In lke manner, in the study of Semitic eligion, we must not begin by asking what was 22 THE NATURE LECT. & told about the gods, but what the working religious institutions were, and how they shaped the lives of the worshippers. Our enquiry, therefore, will be directed to the religious institutions which governed the lives of men of Semitic race. In following out this plan, however, we shall do well not to throw ourselves at once upon the multitudinous details of rite and ceremony, but to devote our attention to certain broad features of the sacred institutions which are sufficiently well marked to be realised at once. If we were called upon to examine the political institutions of antiquity, we should find it convenient to carry with us some general notion of the several types of government under which the multifarious institutions of ancient states arrange themselves. And in like manner it will be useful for us, when we examine the religious institutions of the Semites, to have first some general knowledge of the types of divine governance, the various ruling conceptions of the relations of the gods to man, which underlie the rites and ordinances of religion in different places and at different times. Such knowledge we can obtain in a provisional form, before entering on a mass of ritual details, mainly by considering the titles of honour by which men addressed their gods, and the language in which they expressed their dependence on them. From these we can see at once, in a broad, general way, what place the gods held in the social system of antiquity, and under what general categories their relations to their worshippers fell. The broad results thus reached must then be developed, and at the same time controlled and rendered more precise, by an examination in detail of the working institutions of religion. The question of the metaphysical nature of the gods, as distinct from their social office and function, must be left LECT. I. OF THE GODS 23 in the background till this whole investigation is com- pleted. It is vain to ask what the gods are in themselves till we have studied them in what I may call their public life, that is, in the stated intercourse between them and their worshippers which was kept up by means of the prescribed forms of cultus. From the antique point of view, indeed, the question what the gods are in themselves is not a religious but a speculative one; what is requisite to religion is a practical acquaintance with the rules on which the deity acts and on which he expects his worshippers to frame their conduct—what in 2 Kings xvii. 26 is called the “manner” or rather the “ customary law” (mishpat) of the god of the land. This is true even of the religion of Israel When the prophets speak of the knowledge of God, they always mean a practical knowledge of the laws and principles of His government in Israel) and a summary expression for religion as a whole is “the knowledge and fear of Jehovah,” ? «ae. the knowledge of what Jehovah prescribes, combined with a reverent obedience. An extreme scep- ticism towards all religious speculation is recommended in the Book of Ecclesiastes as the proper attitude of piety, for no amount of discussion can carry a man beyond the plain rule to “fear God and keep His commandments.”*® This counsel the author puts into the mouth of Solomon, and so represents it, not unjustly, as summing up the old view of religion, which in more modern days had unfortunately begun to be undermined. The propriety of keeping back all metaphysical questions as to the nature of the gods till we have studied the practices of religion in detail, becomes very apparent if we consider for a moment what befel the later philosophers and theosophists of heathenism in their attempts to con- 1 See especially Hosea, chap. iv, 2 Toa, xi, 2. 3 Eccles, xii, 13, 24 THE RELATIONS BETWEEN LECT, I. struct a theory of the traditional religion. None of these thinkers succeeded in giving an account of the nature of the gods from which all the received practices of worship could be rationally deduced, and those who had any pre- tensions to orthodoxy had recourse to violent allegorical interpretations in order to bring the established ritual into accordance with their theories! The reason for this is obvious. The traditional usages of religion had grown up gradually in the course of many centuries, and reflected habits of thought characteristic of very diverse stages of man’s intellectual and moral development. No one con- ception of the nature of the gods could possibly afford the clue to all parts of that motley complex of rites and ceremonies which the later paganism had received by inheritance, from a series of ancestors in every state of culture from pure savagery upwards. The record of the religious thought of mankind, as it is embodied in religious institutions, resembles the geological record of the history of the earth’s crust; the new and the old are preserved side by side, or rather layer upon layer. The classification of ritual formations in their proper sequence is the first step towards their explanation, and that explanation itself must take the form, not of a speculative theory, but of a rational life-history. I have already explained that, in attempting such a life- history of religious institutions, we must begin by forming some preliminary ideas of the practical relation in which the gods of antiquity stood to their worshippers. I have now to add, that we shall also find it necessary to have before us from the outset some elementary notions of the relations which early races of mankind conceived to subsist between gods and men on the one hand, and the material universe on the other. All acts of ancient 1 See, for example, Plutarch’s Greek and Roman Questions, LECT {. GODS MEN AND NATURE 25 worship have a material embodiment, the form of which is determined by the consideration that gods and men alike stand in certain fixed relations to particular parts or aspects of physical nature. Certain places, certain things, even certain animal kinds are conceived as holy, ze. as standing in a near relation to the gods, and claiming special reverence from men, and this conception plays a very large part in the development of religious institu- tions. Here again we have a problem that cannot be solved by @ priort methods; it is only as we move onward from step to step in the analysis of the details of ritual observance that we can hope to gain full insight into the relations of the gods to physical nature. But there are certain broad features in the ancient conception of the universe, and of the relations of its parts to one another, which can be grasped at once, upon a merely preliminary survey, and we shall find it profitable to give attention to these at an early stage of our discussion. I propose, therefore, to devote my second lecture to the nature of the antique religious community and the relations of the gods to their worshippers. After this we will proceed to consider the relations of the gods to physical nature, not in a complete or exhaustive way, but in a manner entirely preliminary and provisional, and only so far as is necessary to enable us to understand the material basis of ancient ritual. After these preliminary enquiries have furnished us with certain necessary points of view, we shall be in a position to take up the institutions of worship in an orderly manner, and make an attempt to work out their life-history. We shall find that the history of religious institutions is the history of ancient religion itself, as a practical force in the development of the human race, and that the articulate efforts of the antique intellect to comprehend the meaning of religion, the nature of the 26 PLAN OF LECT. 1 gods, and the principles on which they deal with men, take their point of departure from the unspoken ideas embodied in the traditional forms of ritual praxis. Whether the con- scious efforts of ancient religious thinkers took the shape of mythological invention or of speculative construction, the raw material of thought upon which they operated was derived from the common traditional stock of religious conceptions that was handed on from generation to genera- tion, not in express words, but in the form of religious custom. In accordance with the rules of the Burnett Trust, three courses of lectures, to be delivered in successive winters, are allowed me for the development of this great subject. When the work was first entrusted to me, I formed the plan of dividing my task into three distinct parts. In the first course of lectures I hoped to cover the whole field of practical religious institutions. In the second I proposed to myself to discuss the nature and origin of the gods of Semitic heathenism, their relations to one another, the myths that surround them, and the whole subject of religious belief, so far as it is not directly involved in the observances of daily religious life. The third winter would thus have been left free for an ex- amination of the part which Semitic religion has played in universal history, and its influence on the general progress of humanity, whether in virtue of the early contact of Semitic faiths with other systems of antique religion, or— what is more important—in virtue of the influence, both positive and negative, that the common type of Semitic religion has exercised on the formulas and structure of the great monotheistic faiths that have gone forth from the Semitic lands. But the first division of the subject has grown under my hands, and I find that it will not be possible in a single winter to cover the whole field of LECT, I. THESE LECTURES 27 religious institutions in a way at all adequate to the fundamental importance of this part of the enquiry. It will therefore be necessary to allow the first branch of the subject to run over into the second course, for which I reserve, among other matters of interest, the whole history of religious feasts and also that of the Semitic priesthoods. I hope, however, to give the present course a certain completeness in itself by carrying the investigation to the end of the great subject of sacrifice. The origin and meaning of sacrifice constitute the central problem of ancient religion, and when this problem has been disposed of we may naturally feel that we have reached a point of rest at which both speaker and hearers will be glad to make s pause. LECTURE II THE NATURE OF THE RELIGIOUS COMMUNITY, AND THE RELATION OF THE GODS TO THEIR WORSHIPPERS WE have seen that ancient faiths must be looked on ag matters of institution rather than of dogma or formulated belief, and that the system of an antique religion was part of the social order under which its adherents lived; so that the word “system” must here be taken in a practical sense, as when we speak of a political system, and not in the sense of an organised body of ideas or theological opinions. Broadly speaking, religion was made up of a series of acts and observances, the correct performance of which was necessary or desirable to secure the favour of the gods or to avert their anger; and in these observances every member of society had a share, marked out for him either in virtue of his being born within a certain family and community, or in virtue of the station, within the family and community, that he had come to hold in the course of his life. A man did not choose his religion or frame it for himself; it came to him as part of the general scheme of social obligations and ordinances laid upon him, as a matter of course, by his position in the family and in the nation. Individual men were more or less religious, as men now are more or less patriotic; that is, they discharged their religious duties with a greater or less degree of zeal accord- ing to their character and temperament; but there was no such thing as an absolutely irreligious man. A certain 28 LECT. Il. RELIGION AND NATURAL SOCIETY 29 amount of religion was required of everybody ; for the due performance of religious acts was a social obligation in which every one had his appointed share. Of intolerance in the modern sense of the word ancient society knew nothing ; it never persecuted a man into particular beliefs for the good of his own soul. Religion did not exist for the saving of souls but for the preservation and welfare of society, and in all that was necessary to this end every man had to take his part, or break with the domestic and political community to which he belonged. Perhaps the simplest way of putting the state of the case is this. Every human being, without choice on his own part, but simply in virtue of his birth and upbringing, becomes a member of what we call a natural society. He belongs, that is, to a certain family and a certain nation, and this membership lays upon him definite obligations and duties which he is called upon to fulfil as a matter of course, and on pain of social penalties and disabilities, while at the same time it confers upon him certain social rights and advantages. In this respect the ancient and modern worlds are alike; but there is this important difference, that the tribal or national societies of the ancient world were not strictly natural in the modern sense of the word, for the gods had their part and place in them equally with men. The circle into which a man was born was not simply a group of kinsfolk and fellow-citizens, but embraced also certain divine beings, the gods of the family and of the state, which to the ancient mind were as much a part of the particular community with which they stood connected as the human members of the social circle. The relation between the gods of antiquity and their worshippers was expressed in the language of human relationship, and this language was not taken in a figurative sense but with strict literality. If a god was spoken of as father and his wor- 30 RELIGION AND LECT. I. shippers as his offspring, the meaning was that the worship- pers were literally of his stock, that he and they made up one natural family with reciprocal family duties to one another. Or, again, if the god was addressed as king, and the worshippers called themselves his servants, they meant that the supreme guidance of the state was actually in his hands, and accordingly the organisation of the state in- cluded provision for consulting his will and obtaining his direction in all weighty matters, and also provision for approaching him as king with due homage and tribute. Thus a man was born into a fixed relation to certain gods as surely as he was born into relation to his fellow- men; and his religion, that is, the part of conduct which was determined by his relation to the gods, was simply one side of the general scheme of conduct prescribed for him by his position as a member of society. There was no separation between the spheres of religion and of ordinary life. Every social act had a reference to the gods as well as to men, for the social body was not made up of men only, but of gods and men. This account of the position of religion in the social system holds good, I believe, for all parts and races of the ancient world in the earlier stages of their history. The causes of so remarkable a uniformity lie hidden in the mists of prehistoric time, but must plainly have been of a general kind, operating on all parts of mankind without distinction of race and local environment; for in every region of the world, as soon a8 we tind a nation or tribe emerging from prehistoric darkness into the light of authentic history, we find also that its religion conforms to the general type which has just been indicated. As time rolls on and society advances, modifications take place. In religion as in other matters the transition from the antique to the modern type of life is not sudden and unprepared, but is LECT. 11. NATURAL SOCIETY 31 gradually led up to by a continuous disintegration of the old structure of society, accompanied by the growth of new ideas and institutions. In Greece, for example, the inti- mate connection of religion with the organisation of the family and the state was modified and made less exclusive, at a relatively early date, by the Pan-Hellenic conceptions which find their theological expressions in Homer. If the Homeric poems were the Bible of the Greeks, as has so often been said, the true meaning of this phrase is that in these poems utterance was given to ideas about the gods which broke through the limitations of local and tribal worship, and held forth to all Greeks a certain common stock of religious ideas and motives, not hampered by the exclusive- ness which in the earlier stages of society allows of no fellowship in religion that is not also a fellowship in the interests of a single kin or a single political group. In Italy there never was anything corresponding to the Pan- Hellenic ideas that operated in Greece, and accordingly the strict union of religion and the state, the solidarity of gods and men as parts of a single society with common interests and common aims, was characteristically exhibited in the institutions of Rome down to quite a late date. But in Greece as well as in Rome the ordinary traditional work-a- day religion of the masses never greatly departed from the primitive type. The final disintegration of antique religion in the countries of Greco-Italian civilisation was the work first of the philosophers and then of Christianity. But Christianity itself, in Southern Europe, has not altogether obliterated the original features of the paganism which it displaced. The Spanish peasants who insult the Madonna of the neighbouring village, and come to blows over the merits of rival local saints, still do homage to the same antique conception of religion which in Egypt animated the feuds of Ombos and Tentyra, and made hatred for each x 32 RELIGION AND LECT, Ik other’s gods the formula that summed up all the local jealousies of the two towns. The principle that the fundamental conception of ancient religion is the solidarity of the gods and their worshippers as part of one organic society, carries with it important consequences, which I propose to examine in some detail, with special reference to the group of religions that forms the proper subject of these lectures. But though my facts and illustrations will be drawn from the Semitic sphere, a great part of what I shall have to say in the present lecture might be applied, with very trifling modifi- cations, to the early religion of any other part of mankind. The differences between Semitic and Aryan religion, for example, are not so primitive or fundamental as is often imagined. Not only in matters of worship, but in social organisation generally—and we have seen that ancient religion is but a part of the general social order which embraces gods and men alike—the two races, Aryans and Semites, began on lines which are so much alike as to be almost indistinguishable, and the divergence between their paths, which becomes more and more apparent in the course of ages, was not altogether an affair of race and innate tendency, but depended in a great measure on the operation of special local and historical causes. In both races the first steps of social and religious development took place in small communities, which at the dawn of history had a political system based on the principle of kinship, and were mainly held together by the tie of blood, the only social bond which then had absolute and undisputed strength, being enforced by the law of blood revenge. As a rule, however, men of several clans lived side by side, forming communities which did not possess the absolute homogeneity of blood brotherhood, and yet were united by common interests and the habit LECT, II. NATURAL SOCIETY 33 ab of friendly association. The origin of such associations, which are found all over the world at a very early stage of society, need not occupy us now. It is enough to note the fact that they existed, and were not maintained by the feeling of kindred, but by habit and community of interests. These local communities of men of different clans, who lived together on a footing of amity, and had often to unite in common action, especially in war, but also in affairs of polity and justice, were the origin of the antique state. There is probably no case in ancient history where a state was simply the development of a single homogeneous clan or gens, although the several clans which united to form a state often came in course of time to suppose themselves to be only branches of one great ancestral brotherhood, and were thus knit together in a closer unity of sentiment and action. But in the begin- ning, the union of several clans for common political action was not sustained either by an effective sentiment of kinship (the law of blood revenge uniting only members of the same clan) or by any close political organisation, but was produced by the pressure of practical necessity, and always tended towards dissolution when this practical pressure was withdrawn. The only organisation for common action was that the leading men of the clans consulted together in time of need, and their influence led the masses with them. Out of these conferences arose the senates of elders found in the ancient states of Semitic and Aryan antiquity alike. The kingship, again, as we find it in most antique states, appears to have ordinarily arisen in the way which is so well illustrated by the history of Israel. In time of war an individual leader is indispensable ; in a time of prolonged danger the temporary authority of an approved captain easily passes into the lifelong leadership at home as well as in the field, which 3 34 THE OLDEST LECT, I. was exercised by such a judge as Gideon; and at length the advantages of having a permanent head, both as a leader of the army and as a restraint on the perennial feuds and jealousies of clans that constantly threaten the solidity of the state, are recognised in the institution of the kingship, which again tends to become hereditary, as in the case of the house of David, simply because the king’s house naturally becomes greater and richer than other houses, and so better able to sustain the burden of power. | Up to this point the progress of society was much alike in the East and in the West, and the progress of religion, as we shall see in the sequel, followed that of society in general. But while in Greece and Rome the early period of the kings lies in the far background of tradition, and only forms the starting-point oz the long development with which the historian of these countries is mainly occupied, the independent evolution of Semitic society was arrested at an early stage. In the case of the nomadic Arabs, shut up in their wildernesses of rock and sand, Nature herself barred the way of progress. The life of the desert does not furnish the material conditions for permanent advance beyond the tribal system, and we find that the religious development of the Arabs was propor- tionally retarded, so that at the advent of Islam the ancient heathenism, like the ancient tribal structure of society, had become effete without having ever ceased to be barbarous. The northern Semites, on the other hand, whose pro- gress up to the eighth century before Christ certainly did not lag behind that of the Greeks, were deprived of political independence, and so cut short in their natural develop- ment, by the advance from the Tigris to the Mediterranean of the great Assyrian monarchs, who, drawing from the a a LECT. II. SEMITIC COMMUNITIES 35 rich and broad alluvium of the Two Rivers resources which none of their neighbours could rival, went on from conquest to conquest till all the small states of Syria and Palestine had gone down before them. The Assyrians were con- querors of the most brutal and destructive kind, and wherever they came the whole structure of ancient society was dissolved. From this time onwards the difference between the Syrian or Palestinian and the Greek was not one of race alone; it was the difference between a free citizen and a slave of an Oriental despotism. Religion as well as civil society was profoundly affected by the catastrophe of the old free communities of the northern Semitic lands; the society of one and the same religion was no longer identical with the state, and the old solidarity of civil and religious life continued to exist only in a modified form. It is not therefore surprising that from the eighth century onwards the history of Semitic religion runs a very different course from that which we observe on the other side of the Mediterranean. The ancient Semitic communities were small, and were separated from each other by incessant feuds. Hence, on the principle of solidarity between gods and their worshippers, the particularism characteristic of political society could not but reappear in the sphere of religion. In the same measure as the god of a clan or town had indisputable claim to the reverence and service of the community to which he belonged, he was necessarily an enemy to their enemies and a stranger to those to whom they were strangers. Of this there are sufficient evidences in the way in which the Old Testament speaks about the relation of the nations to their gods. When David in the bitterness of his heart complains of those who “have driven him out from connection with the heritage of Jehovah,” he represents them as saying to 36 THE NATIONS LECT. IL. him, “Go, serve other gods.”1 In driving him to seek refuge in another land and another nationality, they compel him to change his religion, for a man’s religion is part of his political connection. “Thy sister,’ says. Naomi to Ruth, “is gone back unto her people and untc her gods”; and Ruth replies, “Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God” :? the change of nationality involves a change of cult. Jeremiah, in the full conscious- ness of the falsehood of all religions except that of Israel, remarks that no nation changes its gods although they be no gods:? a nation’s worship remains as constant as its political identity. The Book of Deuteronomy, speaking im like manner from the standpoint of monotheism, reconciles the sovereignty of Jehovah with the actual facts of heathenism, by saying that He has “allotted” the various objects of false worship “unto all nations under the whole heaven.”* The “allotment” of false gods among the nations, as property is allotted, expresses with precision the idea that each god had his own determinate circle of worshippers, to whom he stood in a peculiar and exclusive relation. The exclusiveness of which I have just spoken naturally finds its most pronounced expression in the share taken by the gods in the feuds and wars of their worshippers. The enemies of the god and the enemies of his people are identical; even in the Old Testament “the enemies of Jehovah” are originally nothing else than the enemies of Israel. In battle each god fights for his own people, and to his aid success is ascribed ; Chemosh gives victory to Moab, and Asshur to Assyria;® and often the divine 1] Sam. xxvi. 19. 2 Ruth i. 14 sgq. 3 Jer. ii. 11. 4 Deut. iv. 19. 61 Sam. xxx. 26, ‘‘ the spoil of the enemies of Jehovah” ; Judg. v. 31. 6 See the inscription of King Mesha on the so-called Moabite Stone, and the Assyrian inscriptions, passim. LECT, IL AND THEIR GODS 37 image or symbol accompanies the host to battle. When the ark was brought into the camp of Israel, the Philistines said, “Gods are come into the camp; who can deliver us from the hand of these mighty gods?”! They judged from their own practice, for when David defeated them at Baal- perazim, part of the booty consisted in their idols which had been carried into the field? When the Carthaginians, in their treaty with Philip of Macedon,’ speak of “ the gods that take part in the campaign,” they doubtless refer to the inmates of the sacred tent which was pitched in time * of war beside the tent of the general, and before which prisoners were sacrificed after a victory. Similarly an Arabic poet says, “ Yaghtth went forth with us against Morad”;° that is, the image of the god Yaghtith was carried into the fray. You observe how literal and realistic was the conception of the part taken by the deity in the wars of his worshippers. When the gods of the several Semitic communities took part in this way in the ancestral feuds of their worshippers, it was impossible for an individual to change his religion without changing his nationality, and a whole community could hardly change its religion at all without being absorbed into another stock or nation. Religious like political ties were transmitted from father to son; for a man could not choose a new god at will; the gods of his fathers were the only deities on whom he could count as friendly and ready to accept his homage, unless he forswore his own kindred and was received into a new 1] Sam. iv. 7 sqq. 22 Sam. v. 21. 3 Polybius, vii. 9. 4 Diodorus, xx. 65, 5 Yaciit, iv. 1023. A survival of the same idea is seen in the portable tabernacle of the Carmathians (Ibn al-Jauzi, ap. De Goeje, Carmathes [1886], pp. 180 220 sg.) from which victory was believed to descend. De Goeje compares the portable sanctuary of Mokhtar (Tabari, ii. 702 sgg.) and the ‘otfa still used by Bedouin tribes (Burckhardt, Bed. and Wah. i. 145 ; Lady Anne Blunt, Bedouin Tribes, ii. 146 ; Doughty, i. 61, ii. 304). 38 THE NATIONS LECT. 1 circle of civil as well as religious life. In the old times hardly any but outlaws changed their religion; ceremonies of initiation, by which a man was received into a new religious circle, became important, as we shall see by and by, only after the breaking up of the old political life of the small Semitic commonwealths. On the other hand, all social fusion between two communities tended to bring about a religious fusion also. This might take place in two ways. ‘Sometimes two gods were themselves fused into one, as when the mass of the Israelites in their local worship of Jehovah identified Him with the Baalim of the Canaanite high places, and carried over into His worship the ritual of the Canaanite shrines, not deeming that in so doing they were less truly Jehovah- worshippers than before. This process was greatly facili- tated by the extreme similarity in the attributes ascribed to different local or tribal gods, and the frequent identity of the divine titles.1_ One Baal hardly differed from another, except in being connected with a different kindred or a different place, and when the kindreds were fused by intermarriage, or lived together in one village on a footing of social amity, there was nothing to keep their gods permanently distinct. In other cases, where the several deities brought together by the union of their worshippers into one state were too distinct to lose their individuality, they continued to be worshipped side by side as allied 1 It will appear in the sequel that the worship of the greater Semitic deities was closely associated with the reverence which all primitive pastoral tribes pay to their flocks and herds. To a tribe whose herds consisted of kine and oxen, the cow and the ox were sacred beings, which in the oldest times were never killed or eaten except sacrificially. The tribal deities themselves were conceived as closely akin to the sacred species of domestic animals, and their images were often made in the likeness of steers or heifers in cow-keeping tribes, or of rams and ewes in shepherd tribes. It is easy to see how this facilitated the fusion of tribal worships, and how deities originally distinct might come to be identified on account of the similarity of their images and of the sacrifices offered to them. See p. 297 sqq. LECT. 1. AND THEIR GODS 39 divine powers, and it is to this kind of process that we must apparently ascribe the development of a Semitic pantheon or polytheistic system. A pantheon, or organised commonwealth of gods, such as we find in the state religion of Egypt or in the Homeric poems, is not the primitive type of heathenism, and little trace of such a thing appears in the oldest documents of the religion of the smaller Semitic communities. The old Semites believed in the existence of many gods, for they accepted as real the gods of their enemies as well as their own, but they did not worship the strange gods from whom they had no favour to expect, and on whom their gifts and offerings would have been thrown away. When every small community was on terms of frequent hostility with all its neighbours, the formation of a polytheistic system was impossible. Hach group had its own god, or perhaps a god and a goddess, to whom the other gods bore no relation whatever. It was only as the small groups coalesced into larger unities, that a society and kinship of many gods began to be formed, on the model of the alliance or fusion of their respective worshippers; and indeed the chief part in the development of a systematic hierarchy or commonwealth of Semitic deities is due to the Babylonians and Assyrians, among whom the labours of statesmen to build up a consolidated empire out of a multitude of local communities, originally independent, were seconded by the efforts of the priests to give a correspond- ing unity of scheme to the multiplicity of local worships. Thus far we have looked only at the general fact, that in a Semitic community men and their gods formed a social and political as well as a religious whole. But to 1 In the eighth century B.c. some of the Western Semitic states had a con- siderable pantheon, as appears most clearly from the notices of the ‘‘ gods of Ya’di” on the inscriptions found (in 1890) at Zenjirli in North-West Syria, at the foot of Mount Amanus. See Cooke, Nos. 61-63. 40 THE FATHERHOOD LECT. make our conceptions more concrete we must consider what place in this whole was occupied by the divine element of the social partnership. And here we find that the two leading conceptions of the relation of the god to his people are those of fatherhood and of kingship. We have learned to look on Semitic society as built up on two bases—on kinship, which is the foundation of the system of clans or gentes, and on the union of kins, living inter- mingled or side by side, and bound together by common interests, which is the foundation of the state. We now see that the clan and the state are both represented in religion : as father the god belongs to the family or clan, as king © he belongs to the state; and in each sphere of the social order he holds the position of highest dignity. Both these conceptions deserve to be looked at and illustrated in some detail. The relation of a father to his children has a moral as well as a physical aspect, and each of these must be taken into account in considering what the fatherhood of the tribal deity meant in ancient religion. In the physical aspect the father is the being to whom the child owes his life, and through whom he traces kinship with the other members of his family or clan. The antique conception of kinship is participation in one blood, which passes from parent to child and circulates in the veins of every member of the family. The unity of the family or clan is viewed as a physical unity, for the blood is the life,—an idea familiar to us from the Old Testament,1—and it is the same 1Gen. ix. 4; Deut. xii. 28. Among the Arabs also nafs is used of the life-blood. When a man dies a natural death his life departs through the nostrils (mata hatfa anfiht), but when he is slain in battle ‘‘ his life flows on the spear point” (Hamasa, p. 52). Similarly /@ najfsa lahu sailatun means la dama lahu yajri (Misbah, s.v.). To the use of nafs in the sense of blood, the Arabian philologists refer such expressions as nifas, childbirth ; na/fsa, puerpera. The use of nafisat or nufisat in the sense of hddat (Bokhari, i. 72, 1. 10) appears to justify their explanation. 3 4 - 2 Ma. - Ne ee eee LECT. II, OF THE GODS 41 blood and therefore the same life that is shared by every descendant of the common ancestor. The idea that the race has a life of its own, of which individual lives are only parts, is expressed even more clearly by picturing the race as a tree, of which the ancestor is the root or stem and the descendants the branches. This figure is used by all the Semites, and is very common both in the Old Testament and in the Arabian poets. The moral aspect of fatherhood, again, lies in the social relations and obligations which flow from the physical relationship—in the sanctity of the tie of blood which binds together the whole family, and in the particular modification of this tie in the case of parent and child, the parent protecting and nourishing the child, while the child owes obedience and service to his parent. In Christianity, and already in the spiritual religion of the Hebrews, the idea of divine fatherhood is entirely dissociated from the physical basis of natural fatherhood. Man was created in the image of God, but he was not begotten ; God-sonship is not a thing of nature but a thing of grace. In the Old Testament, Israel is Jehovah’s son, and Jehovah is his father who created him;! but this creation is not a physical act, it refers to the series of gracious deeds by which Israel was shaped into a nation. And so, though it may be said of the Israelites as a whole, “Ye are the children of Jehovah your God,’? this sonship is national, not personal, and the individual Israelite has not the right to call himself Jehovah’s son. But in heathen religions the fatherhood of the gods is physical fatherhood. Among the Greeks, for example, the idea that the gods fashioned men out of clay, as potters fashion images, is relatively modern. The older conception is that the races of men have gods for their ancestors, or 1 Hos. xi. 1; Deut. xxxii. 6. 2 Deut. xiv. 1, 42 THE FATHERHOOD LECT. II, are the children of the earth, the common mother of gods and men, so that men are really of the stock or kin of the gods. That the same conception was familiar to the older Semites appears from the Bible. Jeremiah describes idolaters as saying to a stock, Thou art my father; and toa stone, Thou hast brought me forth.? In the ancient poem, Num. xxi. 29, the Moabites are called the sons and daughters of Chemosh, and at a much more recent date the prophet Malachi calls a heathen woman “the daughter of a strange god.”* These phrases are doubtless accommoda- tions to the language which the heathen neighbours of Israel used about themselves; they belong to an age when society in Syria and Palestine was still mainly organised on the tribal system, so that each clan, or even each complex of clans forming a small independent people, traced back its origin to a great first father; and they indicate that, just as in Greece, this father or apynyérns of the race wat commonly identified with the god of the race. With this it accords that in the judgment of most modern enquirers several names of deities appear in the old genealogies of nations in the Book of Genesis. Edom, for example, the progenitor of the Edomites, was identified by the Hebrews with Esau the brother of Jacob, but to the heathen he was a god, as appears from the theophorous proper name Obededom, “ worshipper of Edom.”* The remains of such 1 See details and references in Preller-Robert, Griechische Mythol. (1887) i. 78 sqq. 2 Jer. li. 27. 3 Mal. ii. 11. 4 Bathgen, Bettrdge zur Semitischen Religionsg. p. 10, objects that not all names compounded with Ay are theophorous, And it is true that on the Nabatzan inscriptions we find names of this form in which the second element is the name of a king; but this is in a state of society where the king was revered as at least quasi-divine, and where the apotheosis of dead kings was not unknown. Cf. Wellh. p. 2 sg.; Euting, Mabat. Inschr. p. 32 sq. ; and especially Clermont-Ganneau, Rec. d’ Archéol. Or. i. 89 sqg. It must, however, be admitted that in questions of the history of religion, arguments derived from names are apt to be somewhat inconclusive ; it ia LECT. 11. OF THE GODS 43 mythology are naturally few in records which have come to us through the monotheistic Hebrews. On the other hand, the extant fragments of Phcenician and Babylonian cosmogonies date from a time when tribal religion and the connection of individual gods with particular kindreds was forgotten or had fallen into the background. But in a generalised form the notion that men are the offspring of the gods still held its ground. In the Phcenician cosmogony of Philo Byblius it does so in a confused shape, due to the author’s euhemerism, that is, to his theory that deities are nothing more than deified men who had been great bene- factors to their species. But euhemerism itself can arise, as an explanation of popular religion, only where the old gods are regarded as akin to men, and where, therefore, the deification of human benefactors does not involve any such patent absurdity as on our way of thinking. Again, in the Chaldean legend preserved by Berosus the belief that men are of the blood of the gods is expressed in a form too crude not to be very ancient; for animals as well as men are said to have been formed out of clay mingled with the blood of a decapitated deity. Here we have a blood-kinship possible, though surely very improbable, that the national name DIN (always written plene) means ‘‘men,” Arabic anadm, and is different from the god-name DN ; see Noldeke in ZDM@. xlii. 470. As examples of god-names in the genealogies of Genesis, I have elsewhere adduced Uz (Gen. xxii. 21, xxxvi. 28; LXX, Of, QM, Qs; and in Jobi. 1, Avouris)=' Aud (Kin. 59-61) and Yeush (Gen. xxxvi. 14)=Yaghith. The second of these identifications is accepted by Néldeke, but rejected by Lagarde, Mitth. ii. 77, Bildung der Nomina, p. 124. The other has been criticised by Noldeke, ZDMG. xl. 184, but his remarks do not seem to me to be conclusive. That the Arabian god is a mere personification of Time is a hard saying, and the view that ‘audo or ‘auda in the line of al-A‘sha is derived from the name of the god, which Noldeke finds to be ‘‘ doch etwas bizarr,” has at least the authority of Ibn al-Kalbi as cited by Jauhari, and more clearly in the Lisan. A god })‘p bearing the same name as the ante- diluvian Cainan (Gen. v. 9) appears in Himyaritic inscriptions; ZDMG, xxxi. 86; CJS. iv. p. 20. 1Miiller, Fr. Hist. Gr. ii. 497 sq. 44 KINSHIP OF LECT, IL of gods men and beasts, a belief which has points of contact with the lowest forms of savage religion. It is obvious that the idea of a physical affinity between the gods and men in general is more modern than that of affinity between particular gods and their worshippers; and the survival of the idea in a generalised form, after men’s religion had ceased to be strictly dependent on tribal con- nection, is in itself a proof that belief in their descent from the blood of the gods was not confined to this or that clan, but was a widespread feature in the old tribal religions of the Semites, too deeply interwoven with the whole system of faith and practice to be altogether thrown aside when the community of the same worship ceased to be purely one of kinship. That this was really the case will be seen more clearly when we come to speak of the common features of Semitic ritual, and especially of the ritual use of blood, which is the primitive symbol of kinship. Meantime let us observe that there is yet another form in which the idea of divine descent survived the breaking up of the tribal system among the northern Semites. When this took place, the worshippers of one god, being now men of different kindreds, united by political bonds instead of bonds of blood, could not be all thought of as children of the god. He was no longer their father but their king. But as the deities of a mixed community were in their origin the old deities of the more influential families, the members of these families might still trace their origin to the family god, and find in this pedigree matter of aristocratic pride. Thus royal and noble houses among the Greeks long con- tinued to trace their stem back to a divine forefather, and the same thing appears among the Semites. We are told by Virgil and Silius Italicus,! that the royal house of Tyre 1 An. i. 729; Punica, i. 87. LECT, II, GODS AND MEN 45 and the noblest families of Carthage claimed descent from the Tyrian Baal; among the Aramean sovereigns of Damascus, mentioned in the Bible, we find more than one Ben-hadad, “son of the god Hadad,” and at Zenjirli the king Bar-RKB seems from his name to claim descent from the god RKB-EL‘ Among the later Aramzans names like Barlaha, “son of God,” Barba‘shmin, “son of the Lord of Heaven,’ Barate, “son of Ate,” are not uncommon. At Palmyra we have Barnebo, “son of Nebo,” Barshamsh, “son of the Sun-god”; and in Ezra ii. the eponym of a family of temple slaves is Barkos, “son of the god Caus.” Whether any definite idea was attached to such names in later times is doubtful; perhaps their diffusion was due to the constant tendency of the masses to copy aristocratic names, which is as prevalent in the East as among ourselves.” 1 For the god-sonship of Assyrian monarchs, see Tiele, Babylonisch-Assyr. Gesch. p. 492. * Among the Hebrews and Pheenicians personal names of this type do not appear; we have, however, the woman’s name byana, ‘daughter of Baal,” CUS. pt. i. Nos. 469, 727, etc. On the other hand, the worshipper is called brother (that is, kinsman) or sister of the god in such names as the Phenician 7$on, noopn, orn; ydonn, nadpnn, mpbonn, ndnn, nonn, ‘‘ sister of Tanith,” and the Hebrew Syn, mns. A singular and puzzling class of theophorous names are those which have the form of an Arabic konya; as Abibaal, ‘‘ father of Baal.’’ It has been common to evade the difficulty by rendering ‘“‘ my father is Baal”; but this view breaks down before such a woman’s name as JOWNION (CIS. No. 881), ‘“‘ mother of the god Eshmun.” See Noldeke in ZDMG. xlii. (1888) p. 480, who seems dis- posed to believe that ‘‘ father” has here some metaphorical sense, comparing Gen. xlv. 8. For my own part I hazard the conjecture that the konya was in practice used as equivalent to the patronymic ; the custom of calling the eldest son after the grandfather was so widespread that M, son of N, was pretty sure to be known also as M, father of N, and the latter, as the more polite form of address, might very well come to supersede the patronymic altogether. I think there are some traces of this in Arabic ; the poet ‘Amr b. Kolthum addresses the king ‘Amr b. Hind as Abu Hind (Moall. 1. 23). In Hebrew the prefixes ‘8, "N&, 3% are used in forming names of women as well as men, and so in Phenician Abibaal may be a woman’s name (CJS. No. 378), as ya, 7oON are in Himyaritic (CIS. pt. iv. Nos. 6, 85); but for this linguistic peculiarity Noldeke has adduced satisfactory analogies. 46 KINSHIP OF LECT. Il. The belief that all the members of a clan are sons and daughters of its god, might naturally be expected to survive longest in Arabia, where the tribe was never lost in the state, and kinship continued down to the time of Mohammed to be the one sacred bond of social unity. In point of fact many Arabian tribes bear the names of gods, or of celestial bodies worshipped as gods, and their members are styled “sons of Hobal,” “sons of the Full Moon,” and the like! There is no adequate reason for refusing to explain these names, or at least the older ones among them, on the analogy of the similar clan-names found among the northern Semites; for Arabian ritual, as well as that of Palestine and Syria, involves in its origin a belief in the kinship of the god and his worshippers. In the later ages of Arabian heathenism, however, of which alone we have any full accounts, religion had come to be very much dis- sociated from tribal feeling, mainly, it would seem, in consequence of the extensive migrations which took place in the first centuries of our era,and carried tribes far away from the fixed sanctuaries of the gods of their fathers.” Men forgot their old worship, and as the names of gods were also used as individual proper names, the divine ancestor, even before Islam, had generally sunk to the rank of a mere man. But though the later Arabs worshipped gods that were not the gods of their fathers, and tribes of alien blood were often found gathered together on festival 1See Kinship, p. 241 sqq., and Wellhausen, Heidenthum, p. 7 sqq., who explains all such names as due to omission of the prefix “Abd or the like. In some cases this probably is so, but it must not be assumed that because the same tribe is called (for example) ‘Auf or ‘Abd ‘Auf indifferently, Banu ‘Auf is a contraction of Banu ‘Abd ‘Auf. It is quite logical that the sons of ‘Auf form the collective body of his worshippers; cf. Mal. iii. 17 ; and for the collective use of ‘abd cf. Hamasa, p. 312, first verse. Personal names indicating god-sonship are lacking in Arabia ; see on supposed sein examples, D. H. Miller, ZDMG. xxxvii. 12 sq., 15. * See Wellhausen, wt supra, p. 215 sq., and compare 1 Sam. xxvi. 19. LECT. 1, | GODS AND MEN 47 occasions at the great pilgrim shrines, there are many evidences that all Arabic deities were originally the gods of particular kins, and that the bond of religion was originally coextensive with the bond of blood. A main proof of this lies in the fact that the duties of blood were the only duties of absolute and indefeasible sanctity. The Arab warrior in the ages immediately pre- ceding Islam was very deficient in religion in the ordinary sense of the word; he was little occupied with the things of the gods and negligent in matters of ritual worship. But he had a truly religious reverence for his clan, and a kinsman’s blood was to him a thing holy and inviolable. This apparent paradox becomes at once intelligible when we view it in the light of the antique conception, that the god and his worshippers make up a society in which the same character of sanctity is impressed on the relations of the worshippers to one another as on their relations to their god. The original religious society was the kindred group, and all the duties of kinship were part of religion. And so even when the clan-god had fallen into the back- ground and was little remembered, the type of a clan- religion was still maintained in the enduring sanctity of the kindred bond.? Again, the primitive connection of religion with kindred is attested by the existence of priesthoods confined to men of one clan or family, which in many cases was of a 1 When the oracle at Tabala forbade the poet Imraulcais to make war on the slayers of his father, he broke the lot and dashed the pieces in the face of the god, exclaiming with a gross and insulting expletive, ‘‘If it had been thy father that was killed, thou wouldst not have refused me vengeance.” The respect for the sanctity of blood overrides respect for a god who, by taking no interest in the poet’s blood-feud, has shown that he has no feeling of kindred for the murdered man and his son. Imraulecais’s act does not show that he was impious, but only that kinship was the principle of his religion. That with such principles he consulted the oracle of a strange god at all, is perhaps to be explained by the fact that his army was a miscellaneous band of hirelings and broken men of various tribes, 48 KINSHIP OF LECT. Il different blood from the class of the worshippers. Cases of this sort are common, not only among the Arabs, but among the other Semites also, and generally throughout the ancient world. In such cases the priestly clan may often represent the original kindred group which was once in exclusive possession of the sacra of the god, and con- tinued to administer them after worshippers from without were admitted to the religion. And further, it will appear when we come to the subject of sacrifice, that when tribes of different blood worshipped at the same sanctuary and adored the same god, they yet held themselves apart from one another and did not engage in any common act that united them in religious fellowship. The circle of worship was still the kin, though the deity worshipped was not of the kin, and the only way in which two kindreds could form a religious fusion was by a covenant ceremony, in which it was symbolically set forth that they were no longer twain, but of one blood. It is clear, therefore, that among the Arabs the circle of religious solidarity was originally the group of kinsmen, and it needs no proof that, this being so, the god himself must have been conceived as united to his worshippers by the bond of blood, as their great kinsman, or more specifically as their great ancestor. It is often said that the original Semitic conception of the godhead was abstract and transcendental; that while Aryan religion with its poetic mythology drew the gods down into the sphere of nature and of human life, Semitic religion always showed an opposite tendency, that it sought to remove the gods as far as possible from man, and even contained within itself from the first the seeds of an abstract deism. According to this view, the anthropomorphisms of Semitic religion, that is, all expres- 1 Wellhausen, p. 130 39. LECT. Il. GODS AND MEN 49 sions which in their literal sense imply that the gods have a physical nature cognate to that of man, are explained away as mere allegory, and it is urged, in proof of the fundamental distinction between the Aryan and Semitic conceptions of the divine nature, that myths like those of the Aryans, in which gods act like men, mingle with men and in fact live a common life with mankind, have little or no place in Semitic religion. But all this is mere unfounded assumption. It is true that the remains of ancient Semitic mythology are not very numerous; but mythology cannot be preserved without literature, and an early literature of Semitic heathenism does not exist. The one exception is the cuneiform literature of Babylonia, and in it we find fragments of a copious mythology. It is true, also, that there is not much mythology in the poetry of heathen Arabia; but Arabian poetry has little to do with religion at all: it dates from the extreme decadence of the old heathenism, and is preserved to us only in the collections formed by Mohammedan scholars, who were careful to avoid or obliterate as far as possible the traces of their fathers’ idolatry. That the Semites never had a mythological epic poetry comparable to that of the Greeks is admitted ; but the character of the Semitic genius, which is deficient in plastic power and in the faculty of sustained and orderly effort, is enough to account for the fact. We cannot draw inferences for religion from the absence of an elaborate mythology ; the question is whether there are not traces, in however crude a form, of the mythological point of view. And this question must be answered in the affirmative. I must not turn aside now to speak at large of Semitic myths, but it is to the point to observe that there do exist remains of myths, and not only of myths but of sacred usages, involving a conception of the divine beings and their relation with man which entirely 4 50 KINSHIP OF LECT. 1, justifies ‘us in taking the kinship of men with gods in its literal and physical sense, exactly as in Greece. In Greece the loves of the gods with the daughters of men were referred to remote antiquity, but in Babylon the god Bel was still, in the time of Herodotus, provided with a human wife, who spent the night in his temple and with whom he was believed to share his couch In one of the few fragments of old mythology which have been transplanted unaltered into the Hebrew Scriptures, we read of the sons of gods who took wives of the daughters of men, and be- came the fathers of the renowned heroes of ancient days. Such a hero is the Gilgamesh of Babylonian myth, to whom the great goddess Ishtar did not disdain to offer her hand. Arabian tradition presents similar legends. The clan of ‘Amr b, Yarbi‘ was descended from a s¢‘Jdt, or she-demon, who became the wife of their human father, but suddenly disappeared from him on seeing a flash of lightning. In this connection the distinction between gods and demi-gods is immaterial; the demi-gods are of divine kind, though they have not attained to the full position of deities with a ‘recognised circle of worshippers.® There is then a great variety of evidence to show that the type of religion which is founded on kinship, and in which the deity and his worshippers make up a society united by the. bond of blood, was widely prevalent, and 1 Herod. i. 181 sg. This is not more realistic than the custom of pro- viding the Hercules (Baal) of Sanbulos with a horse, on which he rode out to hunt by night (Tac. Ann. xii. 13; cf. Gaz. Archéol. 1879, p. 178 sqq.). 2 Ibn Doreid, Kitab al-ishticac, p. 1389. It is implied that the demoniac wife was of lightning kind. Elsewhere also the si‘7d¢ seems to be a fiery scorching being... In Ibn Hishim, p. 27, 1. 14, the Abyssinian hosts resemble Sa'‘ali because they ravage the country with fire, and the green trees are scorched up before them. See also Rasmussen, Addit. p. 71, 1. 19 of the Ar. text. : . 3 Modern legends of marriage or courtship between men and jinn, Doughty, ii. 191 sg.; ZDPV. x. 84. Whether such marriages are lawful is solemnly discussed by Mohammedan jurists. | LECT. Il, GODS AND MEN 51 that at an early date, among all the Semitic peoples. But the force of the evidence goes further, and leaves no reasonable doubt that among the Semites this was the original type of religion, out of which all other types grew. ‘That it was so is particularly clear as regards Arabia, where we have found the conception of the circle of worship and the circle of kindred as identical to be so deeply rooted that it dominated the practical side of religion, even after men worshipped deities that were not kindred gods. But among the other branches of the Semites also, the connection between religion and kinship is often manifested in forms that cannot be explained except by reference to a primitive stage of society, in which the circle of blood relations was also the circle of all religious and social unity. Nations, as dis- tinguished from mere clans, are not constructed on the principle of kinship, and yet the Semitic nations habitually feigned themselves to be of one kin, and. their national religions are deeply imbued, both ‘in legend and in ritual, with the idea that the god and his worshippers are of one stock. This, I apprehend, is good evidence that the fundamental lines of all Semitic religion were laid down, long before the begin- nings of authentic history, in that earliest stage of society when kinship was the only recognised type of permanent friendly relation between man and man, and therefore the only type on which it was possible to frame the conception. of a permanent ‘friendly relation between a group of men and-:a‘supernatural being. That all human societies have: been developed: from this stage is now generally recognised; and the evidence shows that amongst the Semites the historical forms of religion can be traced back to such a stage. - Recent researches into the history of the family render 52 THE RELIGION LECT. II it in the highest degree improbable that the physical kinship between the god and his worshippers, of which traces are found all over the Semitic area, was originally conceived as fatherhood. It was the mother’s, not the father’s, blood which formed the original bond of kinship among the Semites as among other early peoples, and in this stage of society, if the tribal deity was thought of as the parent of the stock, a goddess, not a god, would necessarily have been the object of worship. In point of fact, goddesses play a great part in Semitic religion, and that not merely in the subordinate réle of wives of the gods; it is also noticeable that in various parts of the Semitic field we find deities originally female changing their sex and becoming gods, as if with the change in the rule of human kinship.’ So long as kinship was traced through the mother alone, a male deity of common stock with his worshippers could only be their cousin, or, in the language of that stage of society, their brother. This in fact is the relationship between gods and men asserted by Pindar, when he ascribes to both alike a common mother Earth, and among the Semites a trace of the same point of view may be seen in the class of proper names which designate their bearers as “brother” or “sister” of a deity.” If this be so, we must distinguish the religious significance belonging to the wider and older conception of kinship between the deity and the race that worshipped him, from the special and more advanced ideas, conformed to a higher stage of social development, that were added when the kindred god came to be revered as a father. Some of the most notable and constant features of all ancient heathenism, and indeed of all nature-religions, 1 See Kinship, p. 298 sqq., note E. I hope to return to this subject on a future opportunity. 2 See above, p. 45, note 2. LECT. IL OF KINSHIP 53 from the totemism of savages upward, find their sufficient explanation in the physical kinship that unites the human and superhuman members of the same religious and social community, without reference to the special doctrine of divine fatherhood. From this point of view the natural solidarity of the god and his worshippers, which has been already enlarged upon as characteristic of antique religion, at once becomes intelligible; the indissoluble bond that unites men to their god is the same bond of blood-fellow- ship which in early society is the one binding link between man and man, and the one sacred principle of moral obligation. And thus we see that even in its rudest forms religion was a moral force; the powers that man reveres were on the side of social order and tribal law; and the fear of the gods was a motive to enforce the laws of society, which were also the laws of morality. But though the earliest nature-religion was fully identified with the earliest morality, it was not fitted to raise morality towards higher ideals; and instead of leading the way in social and ethical progress, it was often content to follow or even to lag behind. Religious feeling is naturally conservative, for it is bound up with old custom and usage; and the gods, who are approached only in traditional ritual, and invoked as giving sanction to long-established principles of conduct, seem always to be on the side of those who are averse to change. Among the Semites, as among other races, religion often came to work against a higher morality, not because it was in its essence a power for evil, but because it clung to the obsolete ethical standard of a bygone stage of society. To our better judgment, for example, one of the most offensive features in tribal religion is its particularism ; a man is held answerable to his god for wrong done to So | 54 _ HE RELIGION LECT. i a member of his own kindred or political community, but he may deceive, rob, or kill an alien without offence to religion ; the deity cares only for his own kinsfolk. This is a very narrow morality, and we are tempted to call it sheer immorality. But such a judgment would be alto- gether false from an historical point of view. The larger morality which embraces all mankind has its basis in habits’ of loyalty, love, and self-sacrifice, which were originally formed and grew strong in the narrower circle of the family or the clan; and the part which the religion of kinship played in the development and maintenance of these’ habits, is one of the greatest services it has done to human progress. This service it was able to render because the gods were themselves members of the kin, and the man who was untrue to kindred duty had to reckon with them as with his human clansmen. An eloquent French writer has recently quoted with approval, and applied to the beginnings of Semitic religion, * the words of Statius, Primus in orbe deos fecit timor,’ “Man fancied himself surrounded by enemies whom he sought to appease.” But however true it is that savage man feels himself to be environed by innumerable dangers which he does not understand, and so personifies as invisible or mysterious enemies of more than human power, it is not true that the attempt to appease these powers is the founda- tion of religion. From the earliest times, religion, as distinct from magic or sorcery, addresses itself to kindred and friendly beings, who may indeed be angry with their people for a time, but are always placable except to the enemies of their worshippers or to renegade members of the com- munity. It is not with a vague fear of unknown powers, but with a loving reverence for known gods who are knit to their worshippers by strong bonds of kinship, that 1 Renan, Hist. @’ Israel, i. 29. LECT. IL OF KINSHIP 65 religion in the only true sense of the word begins. Religion in this sense is not the child of terror; and the difference between it and the savage’s dread of un- seen foes is as absolute and fundamental in the earliest as in the latest stages of development. It is only in times of social dissolution, as in the last age of the small Semitic states, when men and their gods were alike powerless before the advance of the Assyrians, that magical superstitions based on mere terror, or rites designed to conciliate alien gods, invade the sphere of tribal or national religion. In better times the religion of the tribe or state has nothing in common with the private and foreign superstitions or magical rites that savage terror may dictate to the individual. Religion is not an arbitrary relation of the individual man to a supernatural power, it is a relation of all the members of a community to a power that has the good of the community at heart, and protects its law and moral order. This distinction seems to have escaped some modern theorists, but it was plain enough to the common sense of antiquity, in which private and magical supersti- tions were habitually regarded as offences against morals and the state. It is not only in Israel that we find the suppression of magical rites to be one of the first cares of the founder of the kingdom, or see the introduction of foreign worships treated as a heinous crime. In _ both respects the law of Israel is the law of every well-ordered ancient community. In the historical stage of Semitic religion the kinship of the deity with his or her people is specified as father- hood or motherhood, the former conception predominating, in accordance with the later rule that assigned the son to his father’s stock. Under the law of male kinship woman takes a subordinate place; the father is the natural head 56 FEMALE DEITIES LECT. 1 of the family, and superior to the mother, and accordingly the chief place in religion usually belongs, not to a mother- goddess, but to a father-god. At the same time the concep- tion of the goddess-mother was not unknown, and seems to be attached to cults which go back to the ages of polyandry and female kinship. The Babylonian Ishtar in her oldest form is such a mother-goddess, unmarried, or rather choosing her temporary partners at will, the queen head and firstborn of all gods.1_ She is the mother of the gods and also the mother of men, who, in the Chaldean flood-legends, mourns over the death of her offspring. In like manner the Carthaginians worshipped a “great mother,” who seems to be identical with Tanith-Artemis, the “heavenly virgin,’? and the Arabian Lat was ‘ worshipped by the Nabateans as mother of the gods, and must be identified with the virgin-mother, whose worship at Petra is described by Epiphanius.® 1 Tiele, Babylonisch-Assyrische Gesch. p. 528. . 2n37 ON, CIS. Nos. 195, 380; cf. No. 177. The identification of Tanith with Artemis appears from No. 116, where NINIIYP='Aprsuidwpos, and is confirmed by the prominence of the virgo celestis or numen virginale in the later cults of Punic Africa. The identification of the mother of the gods with the heavenly virgin, ¢.e. the unmarried goddess, is confirmed if not absolutely demanded by Aug. Civ. Dei, ii. 4. At Carthage she seems also to be identical with Dido, of whom as a goddess more in another connection. See Hoffmann, Veb. einige Phan. Inschrr. p. 32 sg. The foul type of worship corresponding to the conception of the goddess as polyandrous prevailed at Sicca Veneria, and Augustin speaks with indignation of the incredible obscenity of the songs that accompanied the worship of the Carthaginian mother-goddess ; but perhaps this is not wholly to be set down as of Punic origin, for the general laxity on the point of female chastity in which such a type of worship originates has always been characteristic of North Africa (see Tissot, La Prov. d’ Afrique, i. 477). 3 De Vogiié, Syr. Centr. Inscr. Nab. No. 8 ; Epiph., Panariwm 51 (ii. 483, Dind.), see Kinship, p. 298 sq. I am not able to follow the argument by which Wellh.', pp. 40, 46, seeks to invalidate the evidence as to the worship of a mother-goddess by the Nabatzeans. He supposes that the XaaSov, which Epiphanius represents as the virgin-mother of Dusares, is really nothing more than the cippus, or betyl, out of which the god was supposed to have been born, 7.e. the image of the god himself, not a distinct deity. But from the time of Herodotus downwards, al-Lat was worshipped in these regions lS ee _— LECT. IL. AS MOTHERS 57 Originally, since men are of one stock with their gods, the mother of the gods must also have been, like Ishtar, the mother of men; but except in Babylonia and Assyria, where the kings at least continued to speak of themselves as the progeny of Ishtar, it is not clear that this idea was present to the Semitic worshipper when he addressed _ his goddess as the great mother. But if we may judge from analogy, and even from such modern analogies as are supplied by the cult of the Virgin Mary, we can hardly doubt that the use of a name appropriated to the tenderest and truest of human relationships was associated in acts of worship with feelings of peculiar warmth and trustful devotion. “Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.”? That such thoughts were not wholly foreign to Semitic heathenism appears, to give a single instance, from the side by side with a god, and the evidence of De Vogiié’s inscription and that of Epiphanius agree in making Lat the mother and the god her son. Epiphanius implies that the virgin-mother was worshipped also at Elusa; and here Jerome, in his life of S. Hilarion, knows a temple of a goddess whom he calls Venus, and who was worshipped ‘‘ ob Luciferum,” on account of her connection with the morning star. Wellhausen takes this to mean that the goddess of Elusa was identified with the morning star; but that is impossible, for, in his comm. on Amos v., Jerome plainly indi- cates that the morning star was worshipped as a god, not as a goddess, This is the old Semitic conception ; see Isa. xiv. 12, ‘‘ Lucifer, son of the Dawn” ; and in the Arabian poets, also, the planet Venus is masculine, as Wellhausen himself observes. I see no reason to believe that the Arabs of Nilus worshipped the morning star as a goddess; nor perhaps does the worship of this planet as a goddess (Al-‘Ozza) appear anywhere in Arabia, except among the Eastern tribes who came under the influence of the Assyrian Ishtar-worship, as it survived among the Arameans. This point was not clear to me when I wrote my Kinship, and want of attention to it has brought some confusion into the argument. That the goddess of Elusa was Al-‘Ozza, as Wellh., p. 48, supposes, is thus very doubtful. Whether, as Tuch thought, her local name was Khalasa is also doubtful, but we must not reject the identification of Elusa with the place still called Khalasa; see Palmer, Desert of the Exodus, p. 423, compared with p. 550 sqq, 1 [sa. xlix. 15, 58 FEMALE DEITIES LECT. 1, language in which Assurbanipal appeals to Ishtar in his time of need, and in the oracle she sends to comfort him." But in this, as in all its aspects, heathenism shows its fundamental weakness, in its inability to separate the ethical motives of religion from their source in a merely naturalistic conception of the godhead and its relation to man. Divine motherhood, like the kinship of men and gods in general, was to the heathen Semites a physical fact, and the development of the corresponding cults and myths laid more stress on the physical than on the ethical side of maternity, and gave a prominence to sexual ideas which was never edifying, and often repulsive. Especially was this the case when the change in the law of kinship deprived the mother of her old pre-eminence in the family, and transferred to the father the greater part of her authority and. dignity. This change, as we know, went hand in hand with the abolition of the old polyandry; and as women lost the right to choose their own partners at will, the wife became subject to her husband’s lordship, and her freedom of action was restrained by his jealousy, at; the same time that her children became, for all purposes of inheritance and all duties of blood, members of his and not of her kin. So far as religion kept pace with the new laws of social morality due to this development, the independent divine mother necessarily became the subordinate partner of a male deity; and so the old polyandrous Ishtar reappears in Canaan and elsewhere as Astarte, the wife of the supreme Baal. Or if the supremacy of the goddess was too well established to be thus undermined, she might change her sex, as in Southern Arabia, where Ishtar is transformed into the masculine ‘George Smith, so that the god himself became the protector of the stranger’s cause. The protected stranger did not necessarily give up his old worship any more than he gave up his old kindred, and in the earliest times it is not to be supposed that he was admitted to full communion in the religion of his protectors, for religion went with political rights. But it was natural that he should acknowledge in some degree the god of the land in which he lived, and indeed, since the stated exercises of religion were confined 1 See further, Kinship, pp. 48-52. 2 This is the space prescribed by the traditions of the prophet, Hariri (De Sacy’s 2nd ed. p. 177; cf. Sharishi, i. 242). A viaticum sufficient for « day’s journey should be added ; all beyond this is not duty but alms, 3 Burckhardt, Bedouins and Wahdbys, i. 336. * Burckhardt, op. cit. i. 174. 6 Ibn Hisham, p. 243 sgq.; Kinship, p. 51. | } 7 | LECT. I1. CLIENT OF HIS GOD vari to certain fixed sanctuaries, the man who was far from his old home was also far from his own god, and sooner or later could hardly fail to become a dependent adherent of the cult of his patrons, though not with rights equal to theirs. Sometimes, indeed, the god was the direct patron of the gér,a thing easily understood when we consider that a common motive for seeking foreign protection was the fear of the avenger of blood, and that there was a right of asylum at sanctuaries. From a Pheenician inscrip- tion found near Larnaca, which gives the monthly accounts of a temple, we learn that the gérim formed a distinct class in the personnel of the sanctuary, and received certain allowances, just as we know from Ezek. xliv. that much of the service of the first temple was done by uncircum- cised foreigners. This notion of the temple-client, the man who lives in the precincts of the sanctuary under the special protection of the god, is used in a figurative sense in Ps, xv., “Who shall sojourn (ydgir, ue. live as a gér) in Thy tabernacle?” and similarly the Arabs give the title of jar allah to one who resides in Mecca beside the Caaba. The importance of this occasional reception of strangers was not great so long as the old national divisions remained untouched, and the proportion of foreigners in any com- munity was small. But the case became very different when the boundaries of nations were changed by the migration of tribes, or by the wholesale deportations that were part of the policy of the Assyrians towards conquered countries where their arms had met with strenuous resist- ance. In such circumstances it was natural for the new- comers to seek admission to the sanctuaries of the ‘“ god of the land,’ which they were able to do by presenting themselves as his clients. In such a case the clients of 1 CIS. No. 86. 22 Kings xvii. 26. 78 THE WORSHIPPER AS LECT. IL the god were not necessarily in a position of political dependence on his old worshippers, and the religious sense of the term gér became detached from the idea of social inferiority. But the relation of the new worshippers to the god was no longer the same as on the old purely national system. It was more dependent and less per- manent; it was constituted, not by nature and inherited privilege, but by submission on the worshipper’s side and free bounty on the side of the god; and in every way it tended to make the relation between man and god more distant, to make men fear the god more and throw more servility into their homage, while at the same time the higher feelings of devotion were quickened by the thought that the protection and favour of the god was a thing of free grace and not of national right. How important this change was may be judged from the Old Testament, where the idea that the Israelites are Jehovah’s clients, sojourning in a land where they have no rights of their own, but are absolutely dependent on His bounty, is one of the most characteristic notes of the new and more timid type of piety that distinguishes post-exilic Judaism from the religion of Old Israel.! In the old national religions a man felt sure of his standing with the national god, unless he forfeited it by a distinct breach of social law; but the client is accepted, so to speak, on his good behaviour, an idea which precisely accords with the anxious legality of Judaism after the captivity. In Judaism the spirit of legality was allied with genuine moral earnestness, as we see in the noble description of the character that befits Jehovah’s gér drawn in Ps. xv.; but among the heathen Semites we find the same spirit of legalism, the same timid uncertainty as to a man’s standing 1Tev. xxv. 23; Ps. xxxix. 12 [Heb, 13]; Ps, exix. 19; 1 Chron, xxix. 15. q | . ~~ - 2. =>) = ee es LECT. Il. CLIENT OF HIS GOD 79 with the god whose protection he seeks, while the con- ception of what is pleasing to the deity has not attained the same ethical elevation. The extent to which, in the disintegration of the old nationalities of the East and the constant movements of population due to political disturbance, men’s religion detached itself from their local and national connections, is seen by the prevalence of names in which a man is designated the client of the god. In Pheenician inscriptions we find a whole series of men’s names compounded with Gér,—Germelkarth, Gerastart, and so forth,—and the same type recurs among the Arabs of Syria in the name Gairelos or Gerelos, “client of El.”? In Arabia proper, where the relation of protector and protected had a great development, and whole clans were wont to attach themselves as dependants to a more powerful tribe, the conception of god and worshipper as patron and client appears to have been specially predominant, not merely because dependent clans took up the religion of the patrons with whom they took refuge, but because of the frequent shiftings of the tribes. Wellhausen has noted that the hereditary priesthoods of Arabian sanctuaries were often in the hands of families that did not belong to the tribe of the worshippers, but apparently were descended from older inhabitants ;? and in such cases the modern worshippers were really only clients of a foreign god. So, in fact, at the great Saban pilgrimage shrine of Riyam, the god Ta lab is adored as “ patron,” and his worshippers are called his clients. To the same conception may be assigned the proper name Salm, “submission,” shortened from such theophorous forms as the Palmyrene Salm al-Lat, “sub- 1 See Noldeke, Sitzwngsb. Berl. Ak. 1880, p. 765. 2 Wellhausen, Heidenthum, p. 131; cf. p. 215. 8 Mordtmann u. Miiller, Sab. Denkm. p. 22, No. 5, 1. 2 sq. (Wom 'w), L 8 sq. (MIDIN) ete. Cf. No. 13, 1. 12, ADIN, the clients of the goddess Shams, * 80 THE WORSHIPPER AS LECT. IL mission to Lat,”! and corresponding to the religious use of the verb zstalama, “he made his peace,” to designate the ceremony of kissing, stroking, or embracing the sacred stone at the Caaba;? and perhaps also the numerous names compounded with taim, which, if we may judge by the profane use of the word motayyam, applied to a deeply attached lover, seems to have some such sense as “devotee.” * But above all, the prevalence of religion based on clientship and voluntary homage is seen in the growth of the practice of pilgrimage to distant shrines, which is so prominent a feature in later Semitic heathenism. Almost all Arabia met at Mecca, and the shrine at Hiera- polis drew visitors from the whole Semitic world. These pilgrims were the guests of the god, and were received as such by the inhabitants of the holy places. They approached the god as strangers, not with the old joyous confidence of national worship, but with atoning ceremonies and rites of self-mortification, and their acts of worship were carefully prescribed for them by qualified instructors,* the prototypes of the modern Meccan Motawwif. The 1 De Vogiié, No. 54. 4 Ibn Doraid, Kit. al-ishticdc, p. 22. Thesame idea of a religion accepted by voluntary submission is expressed in the name Islam. We shall see later that much the same idea underlies the designation of the Christian religion as a ‘‘mystery.” 8 Taim is generally taken to be a mere synonym of ‘Abd; but in Arabic the word is quite obsolete, except as an element in old theophorous names, and the other forms derived from the root give no clear insight into its original sense. In the dialect of the Sinaitic inscriptions, where proper names like Taimallihi, Taimdhiishara are common, faim seems to occur as a common noun in Euting, Sinaitische Inschriften, No. 481, where the editor renders 7'N by ‘‘sein Knecht.” But the Arabic uses of the root seem to point to a somewhat more special sense, perhaps ‘‘captive,” which might be figuratively applied to a devotee, or, when the name compounded with toim is a clan-name, as is the usual Arabian case, to a subject tribe that had adopted the worship of their conquerors. On the other hand, tama is a sheep not sent forth to pasture, but kept at the homestead to be milked, and on this analogy faim may mean domestic. ‘Lucian, De Dea Syria, lvi. LECT, I. CLIENT OF HIS GOD 81 progress of heathenism towards universalism, as it is dis- played in these usages, seemed only to widen the gulf between the deity and man, to destroy the naive trustful- ness of the old religion without substituting a better way for man to be at one with his god, to weaken the moral ideas of nationality without bringing in a higher morality of uni- versal obligation, to transform the divine kingship into a mere court pageant of priestly ceremonies without perman- ent influence on the order of society and daily life. The Hebrew ideal of a divine kingship that must one day draw | all men to do it homage offered better things than these, not in virtue of any feature that it possessed in common with the Semitic religions as a whole, but solely through the unique conception of Jehovah as a God whose love for His people was conditioned by a law of absolute righteousness. In other nations individual thinkers rose to lofty con- ceptions of a supreme deity, but in Israel, and in Israel alone, these conceptions were incorporated in the accepted worship of the national god. And so of all the gods of the nations Jehovah alone was fitted to become the God of the whole earth. At the end of these remarks on the relations of the gods to their worshippers, it may not be amiss to advert to an objection to the whole course of our investigation that will possibly occur to some readers. Most enquirers into Semitic religion have made it their first business to discuss the nature of the gods, and with this view have sought to determine a particular class of natural phenomena or moral actions over which each deity presides. Persons trained in this school may remark on reading the foregoing pages that they are not a whit the better for knowing that the gods 6 82 THE POWER LECT, I, were conceived as parents kings or patrons, since these relationships do not help us to understand what the gods could do for their worshippers. The ancients prayed to their gods for rain and fruitful seasons, for children, for health and long life, for the multiplication of their flocks and herds, and for many other things that no child asked from his father, no subject from his king. Hence it may be argued that fathership and kingship in religion are mere forms of words; the essence of the thing is to know why the gods were deemed able to do for their worshippers things that kings and fathers cannot do. So far as this objection is a general challenge to the method of the present volume, I must leave the sequel to answer it; but the point that the gods did for their worshippers things that human fathers kings and patrons were not expected to do, demands and may receive some elucidation at the present point. And first I will remark that the help of the gods was sought in all matters, without distinction, that were objects of desire and could not certainly be attained by the worshipper’s unaided efforts. Further, it appears that help in all these matters was sought by the worshipper from whatever god he had a right to appeal to. If a Semitic worshipper was sick he called upon his national or tribal god, and the same god was addressed if he desired rain or victory over enemies. The power of a god was not conceived as unlimited, but it was very great, and applied to all sorts of things that men could desire. So far as primitive Semitic heathenism is con- cerned, it is quite a mistake to suppose that a god to whom men prayed for rain was necessarily a god of clouds, while another deity was the god of flocks, and the proper recipient of prayers for increase in the sheepfold. The gods had their physical limitations, as we shall see in the next lecture, but not in the sense that each deity presided over LECT. II. OF THE GODS 83 a distinct department of nature; that is a conception much too abstract for the primitive mind, and proper to an advanced stage of polytheism which most of the Semitic nations never fully reached. In early heathenism the really vital question is not what a god has power to do, but whether I can get him to do it for me, and this depends on the relation in which he stands to me. If I have a god who is my king, I ask him for things that I do not ask from a human chief, simply because he is able to do them, and as his subject I have a claim to his help in all matters where my welfare belongs to the welfare of the state over which he presides. And in fact it is by no means true that in asking the god for rain the Semites went quite beyond what could be asked of a human king; for, strange as it may seem to us, almost all primitive peoples believe that rain-making is an art to which men can attain, and some of them expect their kings to exercise it! To peoples in this stage of development a rainmaker is not a cosmical power, but merely a person, human or divine, possessed of a certain art or charm. To say that a god who can make rain is necessarily an elemental power associated with the clouds and the sky, is as absurd as to say that Hera was the goddess of Love when she borrowed the girdle of Aphrodite. This is a very obvious remark, but it knocks on the head a great deal that has been - written about Semitic religion. 1 Frazer, J'he Golden Bough, i. 247 sqq., 342 sqq., 396, 416, gives sufficient proofs of this. See below, p. 231. LECTURE IT THE RELATIONS OF THE GODS TO NATURAL THINGS— HOLY PLACES——THE JINN In the last lecture I endeavoured to sketch in broad out- line the general features of the religious institutions of the Semites in so far as they rest on the idea that gods and men, or rather the god and his own proper worshippers, make up a single community, and that the place of the god in the community is interpreted on the analogy of human relationships. We are now to follow out this point of view through the details of sacred rite and observance, and to consider how the various acts and offices of religion stand related to the place assigned to the deity in the community of his worshippers. But as soon as we begin to enter on these details, we find it necessary to take account of a new series of relations connecting man on the one hand, and his god on the other, with physical nature and material objects. All acts of ancient worship have a material embodiment, which is not left to the choice of the worshipper but is limited by fixed rules. They must be performed at certain places and at certain times, with the aid of certain material appliances and according to certain mechanical forms. These rules import that the intercourse between the deity and his worshippers is subject to physical conditions of a definite kind, and this 84 LECT, IIL THE GODS AND NATURE 85 again implies that the relations between gods and men are not independent of the material environment. The relations of a man to his fellow-men are limited by physical con- ditions, because man, on the side of his bodily organism, is himself a part of the material universe; and when we find that the relations of a man to his god are limited in the same way, we are led to conclude that the gods too are in some sense conceived to be a part of the natural universe, and that this is the reason why men can hold converse with them only by the aid of certain material things. It is true that in some of the higher forms of antique religion the material restrictions imposed on the legitimate inter- course between gods and men were conceived to be not natural but positive, that is they were not held to be dependent on the nature of the gods, but were looked upon as arbitrary rules laid down by the free will of the deity. But in the ordinary forms of heathenism it appears quite plainly that the gods themselves are not exempt from the general limitations of physical existence; indeed, we have already seen that where the relation of the deity to his worshippers is conceived as a relation of kinship, the kinship is taken to have a physical as well as a moral sense, so that the worshipped and the worshippers are parts not only of one social community but of one physical unity of life. It is important that we should realise to ourselves with some definiteness the primitive view of the universe in which this conception arose, and in which it has its natural place. It dates from a time when men had not learned to draw sharp distinctions between the nature of one thing and another. Savages, we know, are not only incapable of separating in thought between phenomenal and noumenal existence, but habitually ignore the dis- tinctions, which to us seem obvious, between organic and 86 THE GODS AND LECT. OL inorganic nature, or within the former region between animals and plants. Arguing altogether by analogy, and concluding from the known to the unknown with the freedom of men who do not know the difference between the imagination and the reason, they ascribe to all material objects a life analogous to that which their own self-con- sciousness reveals to them. They see that men are liker to one another than beasts are to men, that men are liker to beasts than they are to plants, and to plants than they are to stones; but all things appear to them to live, and the more incomprehensible any form of life seems to them the more wonderful and worthy of reverence do they take it to be. Now this attitude of savage man to the natural things by which he is surrounded is the very attitude attested to us for ancient times by some of the most salient features of antique religion. Among races which have attained to a certain degree of culture, the predominant conception of the gods is anthropomorphic; that is, they are supposed on the whole to resemble men and act like men, and the artistic imagination, whether in poetry or in sculpture and painting, draws them after the similitude of man. But at the same time the list of deities includes a variety of natural objects of all kinds, the sun moon and stars, the heavens and the earth, animals and trees, or even sacred stones. And all these gods, without distinction of their several natures, are conceived as entering into the same kind of relation to man, are approached in ritual of the same type, and excite the same kind of hopes and fears in the breasts of their worshippers. It is of course easy to say that the gods were not identified with these natural objects, that they were only supposed to inhabit them; but for our present purpose this distinction is not valid. A certain crude distinction between soul and body, combined with the idea that the soul may act where the body is not, pers ee LECT I. NATURAL THINGS. 87 is suggested to the most savage races by familiar psychical phenomena, particularly by those of dreams; and the un- bounded use of analogy characteristic of pre-scientific thought extends this conception to all parts of nature which becomes to the savage mind full of spiritual forces, mcre or less detached in their movements and action from the material objects to which they are supposed properly to belong. But the detachment of the invisible life from its visible embodiment is never complete. A man after all is not a ghost or phantom, a life or soul without a body, but a body with its life, and in like manner the unseen life that inhabits the plant, tree, or sacred stone makes the sacred object itself be conceived as a living being. And in ritual the sacred object was spoken of and treated as the god himself; it was not merely his symbol but his embodiment, the permanent centre of his activity in the same sense in which the human body is the permanent centre of man’s activity. In short, the whole conception belongs in its origin to a stage of thought in which there was no more difficulty in ascribing living powers and personality to a stone, tree, or animal, than to a being of human or superhuman build. The same lack of any sharp distinction between the nature of different kinds of visible beings appears in the oldest myths, in which all kinds of objects, animate and inanimate, organic and inorganic, appear as cognate with one another, with men, and with the gods. The kinship between gods and men which we have already discussed is only one part of a larger kinship which embraces the lower creation. In the Babylonian legend beasts as well as man are formed of earth mingled with the life-blood of a god; in Greece the stories of the descent of men from gods stand side by side with ancient legends of men sprung from trees or rocks, or of races whose mother was a tree 88 GODS MEN AND LECT, III, and their father a god! Similar myths, connecting both men and gods with animals plants and rocks, are found all over the world, and were not lacking among the Semites. To this day the legend of the country explains the name of the Beni Sokhr tribe by making them the offspring of the sandstone rocks about Madain Salih To the same stage of thought belong the stories of transformations of men into animals, which are not infrequent in Arabian legend. Mohammed would not eat lizards because he fancied them to be the offspring of a metamorphosed clan of Israelites? | Macrizi relates of the Seiar in Hadramaut that in time of drought part of the tribe change themselves into ravening were-wolves. They have a magical means of assuming and again casting off the wolf shape.* Other Hadramites changed themselves into vultures or kites. In the Sinai Peninsula the hyrax and the panther are believed to have been originally men.® Among the northern Semites transformation myths are not uncommon, though they have generally been preserved to us only in Greek forms. The pregnant mother of Adonis was changed into a myrrh tree, and in the tenth month the tree burst open and the infant god came forth.’ The metamorphosis of Derceto into a fish was related both at Ascalon and at Bambyce, and so forth. In the same spirit is conceived the Assyrian myth which includes the lion, the eagle, and the war-horse among the lovers of 1 Odyssey, xvili. 163; Preller-Robert, i. 79 sq. 2 Doughty, Travels in Arabia, i. 17; see Ibn Doraid, p. 329, 1. 20. Conversely, many stones and rocks in Arabia were believed to be transformed men, but especially women. ODozy, Israeliten te Mekka, p. 201, gives examples. See also Yaciut, i. 123. 8 Damiri, ii. 87; cf. Doughty, i. 326. of Mount Peor, and so forth. In Southern Arabia Baal constantly occurs in similar local connections, e.g. Dhi Samawi is the Baal of the district Bacir, ‘Athtar the Baal of Gumdan, and the sun-goddess the Baalath of several places or regions.® 1 So often in the Old Testament, and also in Phenician. Baalath is used of a female citizen (CZS. No. 120). 2 Cf, Stade in ZA7TW. 1886, p. 303. 3 COIS. Nos. 1, 122. 4 CJS. No. 5. 5 See Judg. iii. 3, where this mountain is called the mountain of the Baal of Hermon. Hermon properly means a sacred place. In the Old Testament place-names like Baal-peor, Baal-meon are shortened from Beth Baal Peor, ‘* house or sanctuary of the Baal of Mount Peor,” etc. 6 Hence we read in the Himyaritic inscriptions of sun-goddesses in the plural (e.g. }ONDOWN, CLS. pt. iv. No. 46), as in Canaan we have a plurality of local Baalim. Special forms of Baal occur which are defined not by the name of a place or region but in some other way, ¢.g. by the name of a sacred object, as Baal-tamar, ‘‘lord of the palm-tree,” preserved to us only in the name of a town, Judg. xx. 33. So too Baal-hamman, on the Carthaginian Tanith inscriptions, may be primarily “lord of the sun-pillar”’; yet compare won Sy, “the divinity of (the place) Hammon” (O78. No. 8, and the inscr. of Ma‘stb); see G. Hoffmann in the Abhandlungen of the Gottingen Academy, vol. xxxvi. (4 May 1889). Baal-zebub, the god of Ekron, is ‘‘owner of flies,” rather than Béwa Muvia, the fly-god. In one or two cases the title of Baa) % ¥ ; LECT, III. BAAL OF HIS LAND 95 As the heathen gods are never conceived as ubiquitous and can act only where they or their ministers are present, the sphere of their permanent authority and influence is naturally regarded as their residence. It will be observed that the local titles which I have cited are generally derived either from towns where the god had a temple, or (as the Semites say) a house, or else from mountains, which are constantly conceived as the dwelling-places of deities. The notion of personal property in land is a thing that grows up gradually in human society, and is first applied to a man’s homestead. Pasture land is common property, but a man acquires rights in the soil by building a house, or by “quickening” a waste place, ue. bringing it under cultiva- seems to be prefixed to the name of a god; thus we have Baal-zephon as a place-name on the frontiers of Egypt, and also a god jbY (CIS. Nos. 108, 265). Similarly the second element in Baal-gad, a town at the foot of Mount Hermon, is the name of an ancient Semitic god. The grammatical] explanation of these forms is not clear to me. Another peculiar form is Baal-berith at Shechem, which in ordinary Hebrew simply means ‘‘ possessor of covenant,” t.e. ‘‘covenant ally,” but may here signify the Baal who presides over covenants, or rather over the special covenant by which the neighbouring Israelites were bound to the Canaanite inhabitants of the city. Peculiar also is the more modern Baal-marcod, xoipavos xwuay (near Bairit), known from inscriptions (Wadd. Nos. 1855, 1856; Ganneau, Rec. d’ Arch. Or. i. 95, 103). The Semitic form is supposed to be “3p 1d by, “lord of dancing,” 7.e. he to whom dancing is due as an act of homage ; cf. for the construction, Prov. iii. 27. In later times Baal or Bel became a proper name, especially in connection with the cult of the Babylonian Bel, and entered into compounds of a new kind like the Aglibol and Malakhbel of Palmyra. Baal Shamaim, ‘‘the lord of heaven,” belongs to the class of titles taken from the region of nature in which the god dwells or has sway. xpi by2 (CIS. No. 41) and movinn nby (ibid. No. 177) are of doubtful interpretation. In the Panamu inscription of Zenjirli, 1. 22, M‘3 bys can hardly mean ‘‘ patron of the royal family,” as Sachau takes it, but rather designates RKB-E] as the local Baal of the sanctuary, or perhaps of the royal city. On the whole there is nothing in these peculiar forms to shake the general conclusion that Baal is primarily the title of a god as inhabitant or owner of a place. 1 Common, that is, to a tribe, for the tribes are very jealous of encroach- ments on their pastures. But, as we have here to do with the personal rights of the Baal within his own community, the question of intertribal rights does not come in. 96 THE GOD AS LECT. III, tion. Originally, that is, private rights over land are a mere consequence of rights over what is produced by private labour upon the land! The ideas of building and cultivation are closely connected—the Arabic ‘amara, like the German bauwen, covers both—and the word for house or homestead is extended to include the dependent fields or territory. Thus in Syriac “the house of Antioch” is the territory dependent on the town, and in the Old Testament the land of Canaan is called not only Jehovah’s land but his house.” If the relation of the Baal to his district is to be judged on these analogies, the land is his, first because he inhabits it, and then because he “quickens” it, and makes it productive. That this is the true account of the relations of the name Baal appears from what Hosea tells us of the religious conceptions of his idolatrous contemporaries, whose nominal Jehovah worship was merged in the numerous local cults of the Canaanite Baalim. To the Baalim they ascribed all the natural gifts of the land, the corn the wine and the oil, the wool and the flax, the vines and fig-trees,” and we shall see by and by that the whole ritual of feasts and sacrifices was imbued with this conception. We can, however, go a step further, and trace the idea to an earlier form, by the aid of a fragment of old heathen phraseology which has survived in the language of Jewish and Arabian agriculture. In the system of Mohammedan taxation land irrigated by the water-wheel or other laborious methods pays five per cent. of its produce in the name of charity-tax, whereas land 1The law of Islam is that land which has never been cultivated or occupied by houses becomes private property by being ‘‘ quickened’”’ (d71- thya). See Nawawi, Minha, ed. Van den Berg, ii. 171. This is in accord. ance with pre-Islamic custom. Cf. Wellhausen, Heidenthwm, p. 108. ? Hos. viii. 1, ix. 15, compared with ix. 3, * Hos, ii, 8 sqq. a 4 q i 4 vq — owe eee a LECT. III. BAAL OF HIS LAND 97 that does not require laborious irrigation pays a full tithe. The latter, according to Arabian jurists, is of various kinds, which are designated by special names; but all these are summed up in the general expression “what the sky waters and what the Ba‘l waters.” Similarly the Mishna and Talmud draw a distinction between land artificially irrigated and land naturally moist, calling the latter the “house of Baal” or “field of the house of Baal.” It must be remembered that in the East the success of agriculture depends more on the supply of water than on anything else, and the “quickening of dead ground” (thya al-mawat), which, as we have seen, creates ownership, has reference mainly to irrigation! Accordingly what the husbandman irrigates is his own property, but what is naturally watered he regards as irrigated by a god and as the field or property of this god, who is thus looked upon as the Baal or owner of the spot. It has generally been assumed that Baal’s land, in the sense in which it is opposed to irrigated fields, means land watered by the rains of heaven, “the waters of the sky” as the Arabs call them, and from this again it has been inferred that the Baal who gives his name to land naturally moist and fertile is the god of the sky (Baal-shamaim), who plays so great a part in later Semitic religion, and is identified by Philo Byblius with the sun. But, strictly regarded, this view, which is natural in our climate and with our meteorological notions, appears to be inconsistent with the conditions of vegetable growth in most parts of the Semitic lands, where the rainfall is precarious or confined to certain seasons, so that the face of the earth is bare and lifeless for the greater part of the year except where it is kept fresh by irrigation or by the natural 1See, for example, Abii Yiisuf Ya'cib, Kitab al-Kharaj, Cairo, A.H. 1302, p. 37. ‘ 7 98 ORIGINAL SENSE LECT. Il. percolation of underground water. To us, of course, it is plain that all fertility is ultimately due to the rains which feed the springs and watery bottoms, as well as the broad corn-fields; but this is a knowledge beyond the science of the oldest Semites;! while on the other hand the distinction between favoured spots that are always green and fruitful and the less favoured fields that are useless during the rainless season, is alike obvious and essential to the most primitive systems of husbandry. In Arabia the rainfall is all-important for pasture, but except in the far south, which comes within the skirts of the monsoon region, it is too irregular to form a basis for agriculture. An occasional crop of gourds or melons may be raised in certain places after copious showers ; and on low-lying plains, where the rain sinks into a heavy soil and cannot flow away, the palm-tree will sometimes live and produce a dry tough fruit of little value.* But on the whole the contrast between land naturally productive and land artificially fertilised, as it presents itself to the Arabian husbandman, has no direct connection with rain- fall, but depends on the depth of the ground-water. Where the roots of the date-palm can reach the sub- terranean flow, or where a fountain sends forth a stream whose branches fertilise an oasis without the toil of the 1 Cf. the remarks of Dillmann in his comm. on Gen. i. 6-8. 2Ibn Sad, No. 80. Here Wellhausen introduces a reference to agri- culture, but in rendering janadbund, ‘‘ our palm gardens,” he departs from the traditional interpretation. (See Lane.) 3 Such palms and the land they grow on are called ‘idhy, pl. a‘dha ; the dates are sahh or casb; see Al-Azhari’s luminous account of the different kinds of date-palms in the isdn, s.v. ba‘7. In the traditions that require a whole tithe to be paid on crops watered by rain the ‘idhy seems to be mainly contemplated ; for in Ibn Sa'd, No. 68, the prophet exacts no tithe on such precarious crops as cucumbers raised on ground watered by rain. I rode in 1880 through a desolate plain of heavy soil some miles to the 8.-E. of Mecca, and was told that after good rain the waste would be covered with patches of melonstand the like. (See Lectures and Essays, p. 508 sqq.) LECT, III. OF BAALS LAND 99 ey water-wheel, the ground is naturally fertile, and such land is “watered by the Bal.” The best Arabian authorities say expressly that bal palm-trees are such as drink by their roots, without artificial irrigation and without rain, “from the water which God has created beneath the earth,”! and in an exact specification of what is liable to the full tithe the bal and the sky are mentioned together, not used interchangeably.? 1 Al-Asmaii and Al-Azhari in the Lisdn, s.v. ba‘l. This article and the materials collected in the Glossary to De Goeje’s Belddhori give almost all the evidence. I may add a ref. to Ibn Sa‘d, No. 119, compared with No. 78, and Macrizi Khitat, ii. 129, and in the next note I will cite some of the leading traditions, which are very inaccurately given by Sprenger in 7DM@. XViii. 2 The fullest expressions are, Bokhari, ii. 122 (Bilac vocalised ed.), ‘‘what is watered by the sky and the fountains or is ‘athari” ; Mowatta (Tunis ed.), p. 94, ‘‘ what is watered by the sky and the fountains and the ba'l” ; ibid. p. 95, ‘‘what is watered by the sky and the fountains or is ba’?.”’ Shorter phrases are, Beladh. p. 70, ‘‘ what is watered by the ba‘7 and what is watered by the sky,” with such variants as ‘‘the surface flow [ghail, sath] and the sky” (ib. p. 71), ‘‘the fountains and the sky” (B. Hisham, 956), ‘*the rivers and the clouds” (Moslim, ed. of A.H. 1290, i. 268). These variations are intelligible if we bear in mind the aspect of the cultivated patches in such a valley as the Batn Marr. The valley is a great water- course, but for the most part the water flows underground, breaking out in powerful springs where there is a sharp fall in the ground, and sometimes flowing for a few hundred yards in a visible stream, which is soon led off in many branches through the palms and tiny corn-fields and presently dis- appears again under the sand and stones. Where the hard bottom is level and near the surface, the palms can drink from their roots where there is no visible stream ; but where the bottom lies deep (as in the neighbourhood of Taif) cultivation is possible only by the use of the water-wheel, and then the tithe is reduced to 5 percent. Where irrigation can be effected by gravita- tion through a pipe or channel, without pumping, the land is still regarded as naturally fertile and pays full tithe ; see G7. Bel. and Ibn Sa‘d, No. 119. According to one interpretation, the obscure word ‘athari, which I have not met with in any tradition except that cited above, means land watered by an artificial channel (‘aéhir). This may be a mere guess, for the oldest and best Arabian scholars seem to have had no clear understanding of the word ; but at least it is preferable to the view which identifies ‘athari and ‘idhy. For a comparison of the traditions given above indicates that ‘athari is either a synonym for ba‘? or some species thereof ; moreover, the oasis in W. Sirhin which Guarmani (p. 209) calls Etera, and Lady Anne Blunt (Nejd, i. 89 sqq.) writes Itheri, can hardly be anything else than ‘ Athavi in a modern pronunciation. (Huber writes it with initial ali/, but his ortho- 100 ORIGINAL SENSE LECT, The Arabian evidence therefore leads us to associate the life-giving operation of the Ba‘l or Baal, not with the rains of heaven, but with springs, streams and underground flow. On the other hand it is clear (eg. from Hosea) that among the agricultural peoples of Canaan the Baalim were looked upon as the authors of all fertility, including the corn crops, which are wholly dependent on rain in most parts of Palestine. And it is here that we find the sky- Baal (Baal-shamaim) with such local forms as Marna “ the lord of rains” at Gaza.1. Thus the question arises whether the original Semitic conception of the sphere of the Baal’s activity has been modified in Arabia to suit its special climate, or whether, on the other hand, the notion of the Baal as lord of rain is of later growth. It would be easier to answer this question if we knew with certainty whether the use of Baal (Ba‘l) as a divine title is indigenous to Arabia or Borrowed from the agri- cultural Semites beyond the peninsula. On the former alternative, which is accepted by some of the first scholars of our day, such as Wellhausen and Noldeke, Baal-worship must be held to be older than the Semitic dispersion, and graphy, as the editors warn us, is not greatly to be trusted.) ‘Athari, for which some good authorities give also ‘aththari (see Lisdn), seems to mean ‘belonging to Athtar,” the S. Arabian god, who corresponds in name, but not in sex, to the Babylonian Ishtar, the Phenician Astarte, and the Aramaic ‘Attar or Athar. Athtar is one of the 8S. Arabian gods who preside over irrigation (CJS. pt. 4; cf. ZDMG. xxxvii. 371); cf. also the place ‘Aththar, described as a jungly haunt of lions (Banat So'dd, 46). The crops dependent on rain are so unimportant in most parts of Arabia that some of the prophet’s decrees pass them by altogether, and simply say that the sath pays full tithe (Ibn Sad, No. 68). Thus it is easy to under- stand how, in less precise speech, the term ba7 is applied a potiori to all crops not artificially irrigated ; and so, when the empire of Islam was extended to lands of more copious rain, confusion arose and the true meaning of ba'l was obscured. The corn crops of Palestine, which strictly speaking are a‘dha (Abulf. ed. Reinaud, p. 227), and those near Alexandria, which are sown on the retiring of the Nile, are alike said by Mocaddasi to be ‘‘on the ba‘l”; but this is not in accordance with the old classical usage. 1 Procopius of Gaza, iii. 19, in Galland, vol. ix,—‘‘ dominus imbrium.” LECT. II. OF BAAL'S LAND 101 to belong to an age when all the Semites were still nomadic. And in that case it can hardly be doubted that the Arabs, as the nearest representatives of ancient Semitic life, held most closely to the original conception of the Baal. Personally I think it most probable that Baal as a divine title entered Arabia with the date-palm, whose culture is certainly not indigenous to the peninsula. There is direct proof from inscriptions of the worship of “the Baal” among the Nabatzans of the Sinaitic desert to the north, and among the Sabeans and Himyarites in the south of the peninsula; but for central Arabia Baal-worship is only an inference from certain points of language, of which the most important is the phrase we have been considering! Thus, to say the least, it is possible that Baal-worship was never known to the pastoral Bedouins except in so far as they came under the influence of the denizens of the agricultural oases, who had borrowed their art from Syria or Irac, and, according to all analogy, could not have failed to borrow at the same time so much of the foreign religion as was deemed necessary to secure the success of their husbandry. But even on this hypothesis I conceive it to be in the highest degree improbable that Baal on entering Arabia was changed from a god of rain to a god of springs and watery bottoms. We have here to do mainly with the culture of the date-palm, and I find no evidence that this tree was largely grown on land watered by rain alone in any part of the Semitic area. And even in Palestine, which is the typical case of a Semitic country dependent on rain, there is so vast a difference between the pro- ductiveness of lands that are watered by rain alone and those which enjoy natural or artificial irrigation, that we can hardly conceive the idea of natural fertility, expressed 1 See Noldeke in ZDMG. xl. 174; and Wellhausen!, p. 170. 102 ORIGINAL SENSE LECT. IIL by the term Baal’s land, to have been originally connected with the former. For my own part I have no doubt that Semitic agriculture began, as it has always most flourished, in places naturally watered by springs and streams, and that the language of agricultural religion was fixed by the conditions prevailing in such places.? I see an important confirmation of this view in the local character of the Baalim, which has always been a hopeless puzzle to those who begin with the conception of the Baal as a sky god, but is at once intelligible if the seats of the gods were originally sought in spots of natural fertility, by springs and river-banks, in the groves and tangled thickets and green tree-shaded glades of mountain hollows and deep watercourses. All the Semites, as we shall presently see, attached a certain sanctity to such places. quite apart from agriculture; and as agriculture must have begun in naturally productive spots, it is inevitable to infer that agricultural religion took its starting - point from the sanctity already attaching to waters groves and meadows.? The difficulty which we 1 A good conception of the material conditions of Palestinian agriculture may be got from an article by Anderlind in ZDPV. ix. (1886). The follow- ing illustration from Belddhori, p. 151, may be helpful. The district of Baho (Baibalissus) was dependent on rain alone, and paid the usual tithes. The inhabitants proposed to Maslama that he should make them an irrigation canal from the Euphrates, and offered to pay him one-third of their crops in addition to the tithe. 2 In this argument I have not ventured to lay any weight on the Mishnic use of the term, ‘‘ Baal’s field.” In Palestine, many centuries before the Mishna was composed, the Baalim were certainly regarded as fertilising the corn crops, and must therefore have been viewed as givers of rain ; thus it is only natural that Baal’s land, as opposed to land artificially irrigated, should include corn-lands wholly dependent on rain, as it plainly does in B. B. iii. 1. On the other hand, there are clear indications that even in Palestine the word was sometimes used in a sense corresponding to the Arabic usage ; in other words, that crops which cannot be raised in Palestine except in spots naturally moist or artificially watered are divided into by and pw. This distinction, for example, is applied to such vegetables as onions and cabbages (Terwm. x. 11; Shebi. ii. 9), and in Suc, iii. 3 we read of a water-willow (populus Euphratica) grown on the ba‘l. Moreover, in Shebt. ii. 9 there is a LECT. mm. OF BAAL’S LAND 103 A ES feel in accepting this view arises mainly from the totally different climate in which we live. When a man has journeyed in the Arabian wilderness, traversing day after day stony plateaus, black volcanic fields, or arid sands walled in by hot mountains of bare rock and relieved by no other vegetation than a few grey and thorny acacias or scanty tufts of parched herbage, till suddenly, at a turn of the road, he emerges on a Wady where the ground-water rises to the surface, and passes as if by magic into a new world, where the ground is carpeted with verdure, and a grove of stately palm-trees spreads forth its canopy of shade against the hot and angry heaven, he does not find it difficult to realise that to early man such a spot was verily a garden and habitation of the gods. In Syria the contrasts are less glaring than in the desert; but only in the spring time, and in many parts of the country not even then, is the general fertility such that a fountain or a marshy bottom with its greensward and thicket of natural wood can fail strongly to impress the imagination. Nor are the religious associations of such a scene felt only by heathen barbarians. “The trees of the Lord drink their fill, the cedars of Lebanon which He hath planted: Where the birds make their nests; as for the stork, the fir-trees are her house” (Ps. civ. 16). This might pass for the description of the natural sanctuary of the Baal of Lebanon, but who does not feel its solemn grandeur ? Or who will condemn the touch of primitive naturalism clear statement that vegetables grown on the bu'l were irrigated, so that the contrast with ‘py’ can only be maintained by supposing that the latter term, as is the case in Arabia, is restricted to laborious irrigation (e.g. by water drawn from a cistern), and that vegetable gardens lying beneath a spring on the hillside, such as still common in Palestine, were reckoned to the ba'‘l. The only vegetables that were and are commonly grown in Palestine on the open field before the summer sun has dried up the ground are those of the gourd and cucumber kind; see Shebi. ii. 1; Klein in ZDPV. iv. 82, and cf. Isa. i. 8. 104 THE BAALIM AS LECT. IIL that colours the comparison in the first Psalm: “ He shall be like a tree planted by watercourses, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season ; his leaf also shall not wither, and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper ” (Ps. 1. 3) ? When the conception of Baal’s land is thus narrowed to its oldest form, and limited to certain favoured spots that seem to be planted and watered by the hand of the gods, we are on the point of passing from the idea of the land of the god to that of his homestead and sanctuary. But before we take this step it will be convenient for us to glance rapidly at the way in which the primitive idea was widened and extended. Ultimately, as we see from Hosea, all agricultural produce was regarded as the gift of the Baalim, and all the worshippers who frequented a par- ticular sanctuary brought a tribute of first-fruits to the local god, whether their crops grew on land naturally moist and fertile, or on land laboriously irrigated, or on fields watered by the rain of heaven. The god therefore had acquired certain proprietary rights, or at least certain rights of suzerainty, over the whole district inhabited by his worshippers, far beyond the limits of the original Baal’s land. The first step in this process is easily understood from the fundamental principles of Semitic land-law. Property in water is older and more important than property in land. In nomadic Arabia there is no property, strictly so called, in desert pastures, but certain families or tribes hold the watering-places without which the right of pasture is useless. Or, again, if a man digs a well he has a pre- ferential right to water his camels at it before other camels are admitted; and he has an absolute right to prevent others from using the water for agricultural purposes unless they buy it from him. This is Moslem law; but 1To the same circle of ideas belongs the conception of the Garden of Eden, planted by God, and watered not by rain but by rivers, LECT. III. LORDS OF WATER 108 it is broadly in accordance with old Arabian custom, and indeed with general Semitic custom, as appears from many passages of the Old Testament.1 On these principles it is clear that even in the nomadic stage of society the god of the waters may be held to exercise certain vague rights over the adjoining pasture lands, the use of which depends on access to the watering-places. And with the intro- duction of agriculture these rights become definite. All irrigated lands are dependent on him for the water that makes them fertile, and pay him first-fruits or tithes in acknowledgment of his bounty. So far all is clear, and in many parts of the Semitic area—notably in the alluvium of the Euphrates and Tigris, the granary of the ancient _ East—agriculture is so completely dependent on irrigation that no more than this is needed to bring all habitable land within the domain of the gods who send forth from the storehouse of subterranean waters, fountains and rivers to quicken the dead soil, and so are the authors of all growth and fertility. But in Palestine the corn crops, which form a chief source of agricultural wealth, are mainly grown without irrigation on land watered by rain alone. Yet in Hosea’s time the first-fruits of corn were offered at the shrines of the Baalim, who had therefore become, in Canaan, the givers of rain as well as the lords of terrestrial waters. The explanation of this fact must be sought in the uncontrolled use of analogy characteristic of early thought. The idea that the Baalim were the authors of all fertility can only have taken shape among communities whose agriculture was essentially dependent on irrigation. But a little consideration will convince 1 Gen. xxi. 25 sgq., xxvi. 17 sgq.; Judg. i. 15; joint ownership in a well, Gen. xxix. 8; Ex. ii. 16. Traces of a water law stricter than that of Islam appear in Deut. ii. 6, 28; but the Arabian law, that the wayfarer and his beasts were allowed to drink freely, but not to anticipate the owners of the water, must always have been the general rule. (Cf. Lectures, p. 520.) 106 THE BAALIM AS LECT, I us that even in Palestine the earliest agriculture was necessarily of this type. Cultivation begins in the most fertile spots, which in that climate means the spots watered by streams and fountains. In such places agricultural villages must have existed, each with its worship of the local Baal, while the broad plains of Sharon or Esdraelon were still abandoned to wandering herdsmen. As _ hus- bandry spread from these centres and gradually covered the whole land, the worship of the Baalim spread with it; the gods of the springs extended their domain over the lands watered by the sky, and gradually added to their old attributes the new character of “lords of rain.” The physical notions of the early Semites lent themselves readily enough to this development. Men saw with their own eyes that clouds rise from the sea (1 Kings xvi. 44) or from “the ends of the earth,” ze. the distant horizon (Jer. x. 13; Ps. exxxv. 7), and so they had no reason to doubt that the rain came from the same storehouse as the fountains and streams of the Baalim! In the oldest poetry of the Hebrews, when Jehovah rides over His land in the thunderstorm, His starting-point is not heaven but Mount Sinai; a natural conception, for in mountainous regions storms gather round the highest summits. And on this analogy we may infer that when the rainclouds lay heavy on the upland glens and wooded crown of Lebanon, where the great Baalim of Phoenicia had their most famous seats at the sources of sacred 1] cannot follow Dillmann in regarding the cosmology of Gen. i., with its twofold storehouse of water above and beneath the firmament, as more primitive than the simpler conception of rising clouds (O°x'w3). The cos- mology of Gen. i. is confined to post-exilic writings (for 2 Kings vii. 2, 19 is not to the point), and involves a certain amount of abstract thought ; while the other view merely represents things as they appear to the eye. It is quite a mistake to find a doctrine of evaporation in passages like Jer. x. 13; the epithet nesi’tm refers to the visible movements of the clouds; ef, such Arabic epithets as hadi, ‘‘a cloud crouching on the horizon.” 1S a a LECT. III. GIVERS OF FERTILITY 107 streams, their worshippers would see a visible proof that the gods of the fountains and rivers were also the givers of rain. In the latest stage of Phcenician religion, when all deities were habitually thought of as heavenly or astral beings, the holiest sanctuaries were still those of the primi- tive fountains and river gods, and both ritual and legend continued to bear witness to the original character of these deities. Many examples of this will come before us in due course; for the present, it may suffice to cite the case of Aphaca, where the Urania or heaven goddess was wor- shipped by casting gifts into the sacred pool, and where it was fabled that once a year the goddess descended into the waters in the shape of a falling star. Finally the life-giving power of the god was not limited to vegetative nature, but to him also was ascribed the increase of animal life, the multiplication of flocks and herds, and, not least, of the human inhabitants of the land. For the increase of animate nature is obviously conditioned, in the last resort, by the fertility of the soil, and primitive races, which have not learned to differentiate the various kinds of life with precision, think of animate as well as vegetable life as rooted in the earth and sprung from it. The earth is the great mother of all things in most mythological philosophies, and the comparison of the life of mankind, or of a stock of men, with the life of a tree, which is so common in Semitic as in other primitive poetry, is not in its origin a mere figure. Thus where the growth of vegetation is ascribed to a particular divine power, the same power receives the thanks and homage of his worshippers for the increase of cattle and of men. Firstlings as well as first-fruits were offered at the shrines 1Sozomen, ii. 5; cf. the fallen star which Astarte is said to have consecrated at the holy isle of Tyre (Philo Byblius in Fr. Hist. Gr. iii. 569). 108 BAAL WORSHIP LECT. IL — of the Baalim,! and one of the commonest classes of per- sonal names given by parents to their sons or daughters designates the child as the gift of the god.” In this rapid sketch of the development of the idea of the local Baalim I have left many things to be confirmed or filled out in detail by subsequent reference to the particulars of their ritual, and I abstain altogether from entering at this stage into the influence which the con- ception of the Baalim as productive and reproductive powers exercised on the development of a highly sensual mythology, especially when the gods were divided into sexes, and the Baal was conceived as the male principle of reproduction, the husband of the land which he fertilised,’ for this belongs rather to the discussion of the nature of the gods. 1 We shall see as we proceed that the sacrifice of firstlings is older than agricultural religion, and was not originally a tribute like the first-fruits. But in religions of the Baal type firstlings and first-fruits were brought under the same general conception. 2 To this class belong primarily the numerous Hebrew and Phenician names compounded with forms of the root jn) or jn’, ‘‘to give” (Heb. Jonathan, Phen. Baaliathon; Heb. Mattaniah, Phen. Mutumbal [mase. and fem.], etc.; Nabatean, Cosnathan [Euting, No. 12]); and Arabic names formed by adding the god’s name to Wahb, Zaid (perhaps also Aus), ‘‘ gift of.” Cognate to these are the names in which the birth of a son is recog- nised as a proof of the divine favour (Heb. Hananiah, Johanan; Phen. Hannibal, No‘ammilkat [CZS. No. 41], etc.; Edomite, Baal-Hanan [Gen. xxxvi. 38]; Ar. Newnan [Wadd. 2143], ‘‘favour of El,” Auf-el, ‘‘[ good? augury from El,” Ovaddnao0s [Wadd. 2372], ‘‘love of El”), or which express the idea that he has helped the parents or heard their prayers (Heb. Azariah, Shemaiah; Phcoen. Asdrubal, Eshmunazar, ete.); cf. Gen. xxix. xxx., 1 Sam. i. Fimally there is a long series of names such as Yehavbaal (CIS. No. 69), Kemoshyehi (De Vogiié, Afélanges, p. 89), ‘‘ Baal, Chemosh gives life.” The great variety of gods referred to in Phenician names of these forms shows that the gift of children was ascribed to all Baalim, each in his own sphere; cf. Hosea, chap. i. 3 This conception appears in Hosea and underlies the figure in Isa, Lxii. 4, where married land (be‘tlah) is contrasted with wilderness ; Wellhausen, Heidenthum1, p. 170. It is a conception which might arise naturally enough from the ideas above developed, but was no doubt favoured by the use of baal to mean “‘ husband.”” How baal comes to mean husband is not po ae ‘“ a seuss. 2 LECT, ITI. IN ARABIA 108 You will observe also that the sequence of ideas which I have proposed is applicable in its entirety only tc agricultural populations, such as those of Canaan, Syria, and Irac on the one hand and of Yemen on the other. It is in these parts of the Semitic field that the concep- tion of the local gods as Baalim is predominant, though traces of Bal as a divine title are found in Central Arabia in various forms. In the central parts of Arabia agriculture was confined to oases, and the vocabulary connected with it is mainly borrowed from the northern Semites.2 Many centuries before the date of the oldest Arabic literature, when the desert was the great highway of Eastern commerce, colonies of the settled Semites, Yemenites, and Arameans occupied the oases and watering-places in the desert that were suitable for commercial stations, and to these immi- grants must be ascribed the introduction of agriculture and even of the date-palm itself. The most developed cukis of Arabia belong not to the pure nomads, but to these agricultural and trading settlements, which the Bedouins visited only as pilgrims, not to pay stated homage to the lord of the land from which they drew their life, but in fulfilment of vows. As most of our knowledge about Arabian cults refers to pilgrimages and the visits of the Bedouins, the impression is produced that all offerings were vows, and that fixed tribute of the fruits of the earth, such as was paid in the settled lands perfectly clear; the name is certainly associated with monandry and the appropriation of the wife to her husband, but it does not imply a servile relation, for the slave-girl does not call her master ba‘7. Probably the key is to be found in the notion that the wife is her husband’s tillage (Coran ii. 233), in which case private rights over land were older than exclusive marital rights. 1 For the evidence see Noldeke in ZDMG. vol. xl. (1886) p. 174; and Wellhausen, Heidenthum', p. Y70; 7 p. 146. 2 Frankel, Aram. Fremdww. p. 125. 110 BAAL WORSHIP LECT. Il. to local Baalim, was unknown; but this impression is not accurate. From the Coran (vi. 137) and other sources we have sufficient evidence that the settled Arabs paid to the god a regular tribute from their fields, apparently by marking off as his a certain portion of the irrigated and cultivated ground! Thus as regards the settled Arabs the parallelism with the other Semites is complete, and the only question is whether cults of the Baal type and the name of Baal itself were not borrowed, along with agriculture, from the northern Semitic peoples. This question I am disposed to answer in the affirma- tive; for I find nothing in the Arabic use of the word ba‘l and its derivatives which is inconsistent with the view that they had their origin in the cultivated oases, and much that strongly favours such a view. ‘The phrase “ land which the Baal waters” has no sense till it is opposed to “land which the hand of man waters,” and irrigation is certainly not older than agriculture. It is questionable whether the idea of the godhead as the permanent or immanent source of life and fertility—-a very different 1 All the evidence on this point has been confused by an early misunder- standing of the passage in the Coran: ‘‘They set apart for Allah a portion of the tilth or the cattle he has created, and say, This is Allah’s—as they fancy—and this belongs to our partners (idols); but what is assigned to idols does not reach Allah, and what is assigned to Allah really goes to the idols.” It is plain that the heathen said indifferently ‘‘ this belongs to Allah,” meaning the local god (cf. Wellh. Heid. p. 217 sq.), or this belongs te such and such a deity (naming him), and Mohammed argues, exactly as Hosea does in speaking of the homage paid by his contemporaries to local Baalim, whom they identified with Jehovah, that whether they say ‘¢ Allah” or ‘‘ Hobal,” the real object of their homage is a false god. But the traditional interpretation of the text is that one part was set aside for the supreme Allah and another for the idols, and this distortion has coloured all accounts of what the Arabs actually did, for of course historical tradition must be corrected by the Coran. Allowance being made for this error, which made the second half of the verse say that Allah was habitually cheated out of his share in favour of the idols, the notices in Ibn Hisham, p. 58, Sprenger, Leb. Moh. iii. 358, Pocock, Specimen, p. 112, may be accepted as based upon fact. In Pocock’s citation from the Nazm al-dorr it appears that irrigated land is referred to. AO Se ig ee et Oe eee LECT, IM. IN ARABIA 111 thing from the belief that the god is the ancestor of his worshippers—had any place in the old tribal religion of the nomadic Arabs. To the nomad, who does not practise irrigation, the source of life and fertility is the rain that quickens the desert pastures, and there is no evidence that rain was ascribed to tribal deities. The Arabs regard rain as depending on the constellations, ze. on the seasons, which affect all tribes alike within a wide range; and so when the showers of heaven are ascribed to a god, that god is Allah, the supreme and non-tribal deity.’ It is to be noted also that among the Arabs the theophorous proper names that express religious ideas most akin to those of the settled Semites are derived from deities whose worship was widespread and not confined to the nomads. Further it will appear in a later lecture that the fundamental type of Arabian sacrifice does not take the form of a tribute to the god, but is simply an act of communion with him. The gift of firstlings, indeed, which has so prominent a place in Canaanite religion, is not unknown in Arabia. But this aspect of sacrifice has very little prominence; we find no approach to the payment of stated tribute to the gods, and the festal sacrifices at fixed seasons, which are characteristic of religions that regard the gods as the source of the annual renovation of fertility in nature, seem to have been confined to the great sanctuaries at which the nomads appeared only as pilgrims before a foreign. god.” In these pilgrimages the nomadic Arabs might learn the name of Baal, but they 1 Wellhausen, Heid. p. 210; cf. Ibn Sa‘d, No. 80; Diw. Hodh. exiii. 18. Note also that rain is not one of the boons prayed for at ‘Arafa (Agh. iii. 4 ; ef. xix. 132. 6), though charms to produce rain were used (Wellh. p. 167). These evidences do not prove that the gods were never appealed to as rain- makers, but they render it very improbable that they were habitually thought of as such. 2 Cf. Wellhausen, Heid.! p. 116; ? p. 121 sq. 112 THE HOMES OR HAUNTS LECT. Ii. could not assimilate the conception of the god as a land- owner and apply it to their own tribal deities, for the simple reason that in the desert private property in land was unknown and the right of water and of pasturage was common to every member of the tribe But in estimating the influence on Arabian religion of agriculture and the ideas connected with settled life, we must remember how completely, in the centuries before Mohammed, the gods of the madar (“glebe,” 2c. villagers and townsfolk) had superseded the gods of the wabar (“hair,” «ie. dwellers in haircloth tents). Much the most important part of the religious practices of the nomads consisted in pilgrim- ages to the great shrines of the town Arabs, and even the minor sanctuaries, which were frequented only by particular tribes, seem to have been often fixed at spots where there was some commencement of settled life. Where the god had a house or temple we recognise the work of men who were no longer pure nomads, but had begun to form fixed homes; and indeed modern observation shows that, when an Arab tribe begins to settle down, it acquires the elements of husbandry before it gives up its tents and learns to erect immovable houses. Again there were sanctuaries without temples, but even at these the god had his treasure in a cave, and a priest who took care of his possessions, and there is no reason to think that the priest was an isolated hermit. The presumption is that 1 We shall see in the next lecture that the institution of the hima or sacred pasture-land is not based on the idea of property but on a principle of taboo. A main argument for the antiquity of Baal religion in Arabia is drawn from the denominative verb ba‘tda = aliha, which means ‘‘to be in a state of helpless panic and perplexity,” literally ‘‘to be Baal-struck.” But such results are more naturally to be ascribed to the influence of an alien god than of a tribal divinity, and the word may well be supposed to have primarily expressed the confusion and mazed perplexity of the nomad when he finds himself at some great feast at a pilgrim shrine, amidst the strange habits and worship of a settled population; cf. Aithiopic ba‘ad, feast.” : j ‘ * ~~ oe eee le Ee LECT. 111. OF THE GODS 113 almost every holy place at the time of Mohammed was a little centre of settled agricultural life, and so also a centre of ideas foreign to the purely nomadic worshippers that frequented it. The final result of this long discussion is that the conception of the local god as Baal or lord of the land, the source of its fertility and the giver of all the good things of life enjoyed by its inhabitants, is intimately bound up with the growth of agricultural society, and involves a series of ideas unknown to the primitive life of the savage huntsman or the pure pastoral nomad. But we have also seen that the original idea of Baal’s land was limited to certain favoured spots that seem to be planted and watered by the hand of the god, and to form, as it were, his homestead. Thus in its beginnings the idea of the land of the god appears to be only a development, in accordance with the type of agricultural life, of the more primitive idea that the god has a special home or haunt on earth. Agricultural habits teach men to look on this home as a garden of God, cultivated and fertilised by the hand of deity, but it was not agriculture that created the conception that certain places were the special haunts of 1In Arabia one section of a tribe is often nomadic while another is agricultural, but in spite of their kinship the two sections feel themselves very far apart in life and ways of thought, and a nomad girl often refuses to stay with a village husband. Im this connection the traditions of the foreign origin of the cult at Mecca deserve more attention than is generally paid to them, though not in the line of Dozy’s speculations. To the tribes of the desert the religion of the towns was foreign in spirit and contrasted in many ways with their old nomadic habits ; moreover, as we have seen, it was probably coloured from the first by Syrian and Nabatean influences. Yet it exercised a great attraction, mainly by appealing to the sensual part of the Bedouin’s nature; the feasts were connected with the markets, and at them there was much jollity and good cheer. They began to be looked on as making up the sum of religion, and the cult of the gods came to be almost entirely dissociated from daily life, and from the customs associated with the sanctity of kinship, which at one time made up the chief part of nomad religion. Cf. Wellh., Heid. p. 215 sq. 8 114 THE HOMES OR HAUNTS LECT, m1. superhuman powers. ‘That the gods are not ubiquitous but subject to limitations of time and space, and that they can act only where they or their messengers are present, is the universal idea of antiquity and needs no explanation. In no region of thought do men begin with transcendental ideas and conceive of existences raised above space and time. Thus whatever the nature of the gods, they were doubtless conceived from the first as having their proper homes or haunts, which they went forth from and returned to, and where they were to be found by the worshippers with whom they had fixed relations. We are not entitled to say & priori that this home would necessarily be a spot on the surface of the earth, for, just as there are fowls of the heaven and fish of the sea as well as beasts of the field, there might be, and in fact were, celestial gods and gods of the waters under the earth as well as godg terrestrial. In later times celestial gods predominate, as we see from the prevalence of sacrifice by-fire, in which the homage of the worshipper is directed upwards in the pillar of savoury smoke that rises from the altar towards the seat of the godhead in the sky. But all sacrifices are not made by fire. The Greeks, especially in older times, buried the sacrifices devoted to gods of the underworld, and threw into the water gifts destined for the gods of seas and rivers. Both these forms of fireless ritual are found also among the Semites; and indeed among the Arabs sacrifices by fire were almost unknown, and the gift of the worshipper was conveyed to the deity simply by being laid on sacred ground, hung on a sacred tree, or, in the case of liquid offerings and sacrificial blood, poured over a sacred stone. In such cases we have the idea of locality connected with the godhead in the simplest form. There is a fixed place on the earth’s surface, marked by a sacred tree or a sacred stone, where the god is wont to LECT. It. OF THE GODS 115 be found, and offerings deposited there have reached their address. In later times the home or sanctuary of a god was a temple, or, as the Semites call it, a “house” or “ palace.” But as a rule the sanctuary is older than the house, and the god did not take up his residence in a place because a house had been provided for him, but, on the contrary, when men had learned to build houses for themselves, they also set up a house for their god in the place which was already known as his home. Of course, as population in- creased and temples were multiplied, means were found to evade this rule, and new sanctuaries were constituted in the places most convenient for the worshippers; but even in such cases forms were observed which implied that a temple could not fitly be erected except in a place affected by the deity, and the greatest and holiest sanctuaries were those which, according to undisputed tradition, he had been known to frequent from time immemorial. That the gods haunted certain spots, which in conse- quence of this were holy places and fit places of worship, was to the ancients not a theory but a matter of fact, handed down by tradition from one generation to another, and accepted with unquestioning faith. Accordingly we find that new sanctuaries can be formed and new altars or temples erected, only where the godhead has given un- mistakable evidence of his presence. All that is necessary to constitute a Semitic sanctuary is a precedent; it is assumed that where the god has once manifested himself and shown favour to his worshippers he will do so again, and when the precedent has been strengthened by frequent repetition the holiness of the place is fully established. Thus in the earlier parts of the Old Testament a theophany is always taken to be a good reason for sacrificing on the spot. The deity has manifested himself either visibly or 116 : HOLY PLACES IN LECT. IIl, by some mighty deed, and therefore an act of worship cannot be out of place. Saul builds an altar on the site of his victory over the Philistines, the patriarchs found sanctuaries on the spot where the deity has appeared to them,? Gideon and Manoah present an offering where they have received a divine message? Even in the Hebrew religion God is not equally near at all places and all times, and when a man is brought face to face with Him he seizes the opportunity for an act of ritual homage. But the ordinary practices of religion are not dependent on extraordinary manifestations of the divine presence; they proceed on the assumption that there are fixed places where the deity has appeared in the past and may be expected to appear again. When Jacob has his dream of a divine apparition at Bethel, he concludes not merely that Jehovah is present there at the moment, but that the place is “the house of God, the gate of heaven.” And accordingly Bethel continued to be regarded as a sanctuary of the first class down to the captivity. In like manner all the places where the patriarchs were recorded to have worshipped or where God appeared to them, figure as traditional holy places in the later history, and at least one of them, that of Mamre, was a notable sanctuary down to Christian times. We are entitled to use these facts as illustrative of Semitic religion in general, and not of the distinctive features of the spiritual religion of the Old Testament; for the worship of Bethel, Shechem, Beer- sheba, and the other patriarchal holy places, was mingled with Canaanite elements and is regarded as idolatrous by the prophets; and the later ritual at Mamre, which was put down by the Christian emperors, was purely heathenish. 11 Sam. xiv. 35. 2 Gen. xii. 7, xxii. 14, xxviii. 18 sqq.; cf. Ex. xvii. 15. 3 Judg. vi. 20, xiii. 19. 4 The evidence is collected by Reland, Palestina, p. 711 sqq. LECT. It. THE OLD TESTAMENT 117 This law of precedent as forming a safe rule for ritual institutions is common to the Old Testament religion and to the surrounding heathenism; the difference lies in the interpretation put on it. And even in this respect all parts of the Old Testament are not on the same level By a prophet like Isaiah the residence of Jehovah in Zion ‘is almost wholly dematerialised. Isaiah has not risen to the full height of the New Testament conception that God, who is spirit and is to be worshipped spiritually, makes no distinction of spot with regard to His worship, and is equally near to receive men’s prayers in every place; but he falls short of this view, not out of regard for ritual tradition, but because, conceiving Jehovah as the king of Israel, the supreme director of its national polity, he necessarily conceives His kingly activity as going forth from the capital of the nation. The ordinary conception of the Old Testament, in the historical books and in the Law, is not so subtle as this. Jehovah is not tied to one place more than another, but He is not to be found except in the places where “ He has set a memorial of His name,” and in these He “comes to His worshippers and blesses them” (Ex. xx. 24). Even this view rises above the current ideas of the older Hebrews in so far as it represents the establishment of fixed sanctuaries as an accommoda- tion to the necessities of man. It is obvious that in the history of Jacob’s vision the idea is not that Jehovah came to Jacob, but that Jacob was unconsciously guided to the place where there already was a ladder set between earth and heaven, and where, therefore, the godhead was peculiarly accessible. Precisely similar to this is the old Hebrew conception of Sinai or Horeb, “the Mount of God.” It is clear that in Ex. iii the ground about the burning bush does not become holy because God has appeared to Moses, On the contrary, the theophany takes place there because 118 THE GODS AND LECT. lI it is holy ground, Jehovah’s habitual dwelling-place. In Ex. xix. 4, when Jehovah at Sinai says that He has brought the Israelites unto Himself, the meaning is that He has brought them to the Mount of God; and long after the establishment of the Hebrews in Canaan, poets and pro- phets describe Jehovah, when He comes to help His peepee as marching from Sinai in thundercloud and storm.? This point of view, which in the Old Testament appears only as an occasional survival of primitive thought, corre- sponds to the ordinary ideas of Semitic heathenism. The local relations of the gods are mr relations ; men worshi at a articular ‘spot “pecause it is the natur ome” or_h ae of. a god, “Holy places in this sense are older than temples, and even older than the beginnings of settled life. The nomad shepherd or the savage hunter has no fixed home, and cannot think of his god as having one, but he has’a district or beat to which his wanderings are usually confined, and within it again he has his favourite lairs or camping-places. And on this analogy he can imagine for himself tracts of sacred ground habitually — frequented by the gods, and ‘special points within these tracts which the deity particularly affects. By and by, under the influence of agricultiire’ “and “settled life, the sacred tract becomes the estate of the god, and the special sacred points within it become his temples; but originally the former is only a mountain or glade in the unenclosed _ wilderness, and the latter are merely spots in the desert - defined by some natural landmark, a cave, a rock, a fountain ‘or a tree. | We have seen that, when a sanctuary was once con- ' stituted, the mere force of tradition and precedent, the 1 Deut. xxxiii. 2; Judg. v. 4 sqqg.; Hab. iii. 3. That the sanctity of Sinai is derived from the law-giving there is not the primitive idea. This appears most clearly from the critical analysis of the Pentateuch, but is sufficiently evident from the facts cited above. LECT. Il. THE JINN 119 continuous custom of worshipping at it, were sufficient to maintain its character. At the more “developed sanctuaries the _temple, the image of the god, the whole apparatus of ritual, the miraculous legends recounted by the” > priests, ‘and the marvels that were actually displayed before. the eyes of the worshippers, were to an uncritical age sufficient confirmation of the belief that the “place was indeed a house of God. But in the most primitive sanctuaries there were no such artificial aids to faith, and it is not so easy to realise the process by which the traditional belief that a spot in the wilderness was the sacred ground of a particular deity became firmly estab- lished. Ultimately, as we have seen, the proof that the deity frequents a particular place lies in the fact that he manifests himself there, and the proof is cumulat. five in sapped eae proportion “Fo 0 the Frequency” ‘ot the ‘manifestations, vant he difficulty about this Tine of proof’ is’ not “that which naturally suggests itself to our minds. We find it hard to think of a visible manifestation of the godhead as an actual occurrence, but all primitive peoples believe in frequent theophanies, or at least in frequent occasions of personal contact~between men and superhuman powers. When all nature is mysterious and full of unknown activities, any natural object or occurrence which appeals strongly to the imagination, or excites sentiments of awe and reverence, is readily taken for a manifestation of divine or demoniac life. But a supernatural being as such is not a god, he becomes a god only when he enters into stated relations with man, or rather with a community of men. In the belief of the heathen Arabs, forexantplé, nature is full of living beings of superhuman - kind, the.. Jinn” 6¥° demons These junm are not pure spirits but RY A NASA AF ati ch Lg NPI LE RRL ROL NERC 1 For details as to the jinn in ancient times, see Wellhausen, Heidenthum, p. 148 sqq. The later form of the belief in such beings, much modified by * 120 THE GODS AND LECT. II corporeal. beings, more like beasts than men, for they are ordinarily represented as hairy, or have some other animal shape, as that of an ostrich or a snake. Their bodies are not phantasms, for if a junnt is killed a solid carcase remains; but they have certain mysterious powers of appearing and disappearing, or even of changing their aspect and temporarily assuming human form, and when they are offended they can avenge themselves in a super- natural way, eg. by sending disease or madness. Like the wild beasts, they have, for the most part, no friendly or stated relations with men, but are outside the pale of man’s society, and frequent savage and deserted places far from the wonted tread of men! It appears from several poetical passages of the Old Testament that the northern Semites believed in demons of a precisely similar kind, hairy beings (s¢tr?m), nocturnal monsters (Jilith), which haunted waste and desolate places, in fellowship with jackals and ostriches and other animals that. shun the abodes of man.” In Islam the gods | of heathenism are degraded into jinn, just as the gods _ of “north Semitic heathenism are BALA AE called _ sé Sirim.3. i in Lev. xvii. 7, or as the gods of Greece mia ce, SY roy RA: and Rome became devils to the early Christians. ‘Tn all these cases the adherents of “a yHighérfaith “were not prepared to deny that the heathen gods really existed, and Islam, is illustrated by Lane in Note 21 of the Introduction to his version of the Arabian Nights. In the old translation of the Arabian Nights they are called Genii. See also Van Vloten in Vienna Or. Jour. 1893, p. 169 sqq., from Al-Jahiz. 1 Certain kinds of them, however, frequent trees and even human habitations, and these were identified with the serpents which appear and disappear so mysteriously about walls and the roots of trees. See Noldeke, Ztschr. f. Vélkerpsych. 1860, p. 412 sqq.; Wellh. ut sup. p. 152 sg. For the snake as the form of the jinn of trees, see Rasmussen, Addit. p. 71, compared with Jauhari and the Lisan, s. rad. \,.—. 2 Isa. xiii. 2], xxxiv. 14; cf. Luke xi. 24. 3 “* Hairy demons,” E.V. “devils,” but in Isa. xiii. 21 “ satyrs.” LECT, III. THE JINN 121 did the things recorded of them; the difference between gods and demons les not in their nature and power— for the heathen themselves did not rate the power of their gods at omnipotence—but in their relations to man. The jinn would make very passable gods, for the cruder forms of heathenism, if they only had a circle of human dependants and worshippers; and conversely a god who loses his worshippers falls back into the ranks of the demons, as a being of vague and indeterminate powers who, having no fixed personal relations to men, is on the whole to be regarded as an enemy. The demons, like the gods, have their particular haunts which are regarded as awful and dangerous places. But the haunt of the jinn differs from a sanctuary as the yunn themselves differ from gods. The one is feared and avoided, the other is approached, not indeed without awe, but yet with hopeful confidence; for though there is no essential physical distinction between demons and gods, there is the funda- mental moral difference that the jinn are strangers and so, by the law of the desert, enemies, while the god, to the worshippers who frequent his sanctuary, is a known and friendly power. In fact the earth may be said to be parcelled out between demons and wild beasts on the one hand, and gods and men on the other To the former belong the untrodden wilderness with all its unknown perils, the wastes and jungles that lie outside the familiar tracks and pasture grounds of the tribe, and which only the boldest men venture upon without terror; to the latter belong the regions that man knows and habitually frequents, and within which he has established relations, not only with his human neighbours, but with the super- 1 The close association between demons and wild beasts is well brought out in a scholion to Ibn Hisham (ii. 9, 1. 20, 23), where wild beasts and serpents swarm round a ruin, and every one who seeks to carry anything away from it is stricken by the jinn. * 122 THE GODS AND LECT. III: natural beings that have their haunts side by side with him. And as man gradually encroaches on the wilderness and drives back the wild beasts before him, so the gods in like manner drive out the demons, and spots that were once feared, as the habitation of mysterious and pre- sumably malignant powers, lose their terrors and either become common ground or are transformed into the seats of friendly deities. From this point of view the recogni- tion of certain spots as haunts of the gods is the religious expression of the gradual subjugation of nature by man. In conquering the earth for himself primitive man has to contend not only with material difficulties but with superstitious terror of the unknown, paralysing his energies and forbidding him freely to put forth his strength to subdue nature to his use. Where the unknown demons reign he is afraid to set his foot and make the good things of nature his own. But where the god has his haunt he is on friendly soil, and has a protector near at hand; the mysterious powers of nature are his allies instead of his enemies, “ he is in league with the stones of the field, and the wild beasts of the field are at peace with him.” 4 The triumph of the gods over the demons, like the triumph of man over wild beasts, must have been effected very gradually, and may be regarded as finally sealed and secured only in the agricultural stage, when the god of the community became also the supreme lord of the land and the author of all the good things therein. When this stage was reached the demons—or supernatural beings that have no stated relations to their human neighbours— were either driven out into waste and untrodden places, or were reduced to insignificance as merely subordinate 1 Job v. 28. The allusion to the wild beasts is characteristic; cf. Hos, ii, 20 (18); 2 Kings xvii. 26. An Arabian parallel in Ibn Sa‘d, No, 145 with Wellhausen’s note, Skizzen, iv. 194, a — ——o LECT III. THE JINN 123 beings of which private superstition might take account but with which public religion had nothing to do. Within the region frequented by a community of men the god of the community was supreme; every pheno- menon that seemed supernatural was ordinarily referred to his initiative and regarded as a token of his personal presence, or of the presence of his messengers and agents ; and in consequence every place that had special super- natural associations was regarded, not as a haunt of unknown demons, but as a holy place of the known god. This is the point of view which prevailed among the ancient Hebrews, and undoubtedly prevailed also among their Canaanite neighbours. Up to a certain point the process involved in all this is not difficult to follow. That the powers that haunt a district in which men live and prosper must be friendly powers is an obvious conclusion. But it is not so easy to see how the vague idea of super- natural but friendly neighbours passes into the precise conception of a definite local god, or how the local power comes to be confidently identified with the tribal god of the community. The tribal god, as we have seen, has very definite and permanent relations to his worshippers, of a kind quite different from the local relations which we have just been speaking of; he is not merely their friendly neighbour, but (at least in most cases) their kinsman and the parent of their race. How does it come about that the parent of a race of men is identified with the superhuman being that haunts a certain spot, and manifests himself there by visible apparitions, or other evidence of his presence satisfactory to the untutored mind? The importance of such an _ identification is enormous, for it makes a durable alliance between man and certain parts of nature which are not subject to his will and control, and so permanently raises his position in 124 THE GODS AND LECT. Ill the scale of the universe, setting him free, within a certain range, from the crushing sense of constant insecurity and vague dread of the unknown powers that close him in on every side. So great a step in the emancipation of man from bondage to his natural surroundings cannot have been easily made, and is not to be explained by any slight a& priori method. The problem is not one to be solved off- hand, but to be carefully kept in mind as we continue our studies. There is one thing, however, which it may be well to note at once. We have seen that through the local god, who on the one hand has fixed relations to a race of men, and on the other hand has fixed relations to a definite sphere of nature, the worshipper is brought into stated and permanent alliance with certain parts of his material environment which are not subject to his will and control. But within somewhat narrow limits exactly the same thing is effected, in the very earliest stage of savage society, and in a way that does not involve any belief in an individual stock-god, through the institution of totemism. In the totem stage of society each kinship or stock of savages believes itself to be physically akin to some natural kind of animate or inanimate things, most generally to some kind of animal. Every animal of this kind is looked upon as a brother, is treated with the same respect as a human clansman, and is believed to aid his human relations by a variety of friendly services.1 The importance of such a permanent alliance, based on the indissoluble bond of kinship, with a whole group of natural beings lying outside the sphere of humanity, is not to be measured by our knowledge of what animals can and cannot do. For 1 See J. G. Frazer, T'otemism (Edinburgh: A. & C. Black, 1887), p. 20 sqq., reprinted in his monumental work Totemism and Exogamy moh 1910), i. 1-87, with numerous additions, iv. 173-266. LECT. Il. THE JINN 125 as their nature is imperfectly known, savage imagination clothes them with all sort of marvellous attributes; it is seen that their powers differ from those of man, and it is supposed that they can do many things that are beyond his scope. In fact they are invested with gifts such as we should call supernatural, and of the very same kind which heathenism ascribes to the gods—for example with the power of giving omens and oracles, of healing diseases and the lke. The origin of totemism is as much a problem as the origin of local gods. But it is highly improbable that the two problems are independent; for in both cases the thing to be explained is the emancipation of a society of men from the dread of certain natural agencies, by the establishment of the conception of a physical alliance and affinity between the two parts. It is a strong thing to suppose that a conception so remarkable as this, which is found all over the world, and which among savage races is invariably put in the totem form, had an altogether distinct and independent origin among those races which we know only in a state of society higher than savagery. The belief in local nature-gods that are also clan-gods may not be directly evolved out of an earlier totemism, but there can be no reasonable doubt that it 1s evolved out of ideas or usages which also find their expression in totemasm, and there- fore must go back to the most primitive stage of savage society. It is important to bear this in mind, if only that we may be constantly warned against explaining primitive religious institutions by conceptions that belong to a relatively advanced stage of human thought. But the comparison of totemism can do more than this negative service to our enquiry, for it calls our attention to certain habits of very early thought which throw light on several points in the conception of local sanctuaries. 126 TOTEMS AND LECT. Ill In the system of totemism men have relations not with individual powers of nature, 2.¢. with gods, but with certain classes of natural agents. The idea is that nature, like mankind, is divided into groups or societies of things, analogous to the groups or kindreds of human society. As life analogous to human life is imagined to permeate all parts of the universe, the application of this idea may readily be extended to inanimate as well as to animate things. But the statistics of totemism show that the natural kinds with which the savage mind was most occupied were the various species of animals. It is with them especially that he has permanent relations of kinship or hostility, and round them are gathered in a peculiar degree his superstitious hopes and fears and observances. Keeping these facts before us, let us look back for a moment at the Arabian jimn. One difference between gods and jinn we have already noted; the gods have worshippers, and the yumn have not. But there is another difference that now forces itself on our attention; the gods have individuality, and the yoann have not. In the Arabian Nights we find jinn with individual names and distinctive personalities, but in the old legends the individual jinni who may happen to appear to a man has no more a distinct personality than a beast... He is only one of a group of beings which to man are indistinguishable from 1 This may be illustrated by reference to a point of grammar which is of some interest and is not made clear in the ordinary books. The Arab says ‘*the ghal appeared,” not ‘‘a ghal appeared,’’ just as David says ‘‘the lion came and the bear” (1 Sam. xvii. 34; Amos iij. 12, v. 19). The definite article is used because in such cases definition cannot be carried beyond the indication of the species. The individuals are numerically different, but qualitatively indistinguishable. This use of the article is sharply to be distinguished from such a case as Y°NF in 1 Sam. ix. 9, where the article is generic, and a general practice of men is spoken of ; and also from cases like p San (Gen. xiv. 13), DARN, OW Ores, etc., where the noun is really a verbal adjective implying an action, and the person is defined by the action ascribed to him. LECT. III. THE JINN 127 one another, and which are regarded as making up a nation or clan of superhuman beings,! inhabiting a par- ticular locality, and united together by bonds of kinship and by the practice of the blood-feud, so that the whole clan acts together in defending its haunts from intrusion or in avenging on men any injury done to one of its members.” This conception of the communities of the jinn is precisely identical with the savage conception of the animal creation. Each kind of animal is regarded as an organised kindred, held together by ties of blood and the practice of blood revenge, and so presenting a united front when it is assailed by men in the person of any of its members. Alike in the Arabian superstitions about the jinn and in savage superstitions about animals it is this solidarity between all the members of one species, rather than the strength of the individual jinnz or animal, that makes it an object of superstitious terror. These points of similarity between the families of the jinn in Arabia and the families of animals among savages are sufficiently striking, but they do not nearly exhaust the case. We have already seen that the jinn usually appear to men in animal form, though they can also take the shape of men. This last feature, however, cannot be regarded as constituting a fundamental distinction between 1 A curious local story about two clans of jinn, the B. Malik and the B. Shaisaban may be read in YAcit, iii. 476 sqqg. It is a genuine Bedouin tale, but like most later stories of the kind is not strictly mythical, but a free invention on the lines of current superstition. The oldest case of a clan of the jinn which is defined by a patronymic and not merely by a local name is perhaps that of the B. Ocaish, Nabigha, xxix. 10; cf. Ibn Hish. p. 282. But Tha lab makes the B. Ocaish a human race, and the words of Nabigha are quite consistent with this view. Jinn with personal names appear in several traditions of the prophet, but only, so far as I can see, in such as are manifestly ‘“ weak,” a.e. spurious. 2 For the blood-feud of the jinn the classical example is that in Azraci, p. 261 (see below). But see also Damiri, s.v. arcam (vol. i. p. 23), where we learn that the slayer of a serpent-demon was likely to die or go mad, and this was held to be the revenge of the kin of the slain. Cf. Wellh. 149. 128 THE JINN AND LECT. Ii them and ordinary animals in the mind of the Arabs, who believed that there were whole tribes of men who had the power of assuming animal form. On the whole it appears that the supernatural powers of the jinn do not differ from those which savages, in the totem stage, ascribe to wild beasts. They appear and disappear mysteriously, and are connected with supernatural voices and warnings, with unexplained sickness or death, just as totem animals are; they occasionally enter into friendly relations or even into marriages with men, but animals do the same in the legends of savages; finally, a madman is possessed by the jinn (majniin), but there are a hundred examples of the soul of a beast being held to pass into a man. The accounts of the jinn which we possess have come to us from an age when the Arabs were no longer pure savages, and had ceased to ascribe demoniac attributes to most animals; and our narrators, when they repeat tales about animals endowed with speech or supernatural gifts, assume as a matter of course that they are not ordinary animals but a special class of beings. But the stories themselves are just such as savages tell about real animals; the blood- feud between the Banu Sahm and the jinn of Dhu Tawa is simply a war between men and all creeping things, which, as in the Old Testament, have a common name? and are regarded as a single species or kindred; and the “wild beast of the wild beasts of the jinn,” which Taabbata Sharran slew in a night encounter and carried home under his arm, was as concrete an animal as one can well imagine.2 The proper form of the jim seems to be 1 The widespread belief in this form of possession ought to be cited by commentators on Dan. iv. 16. 2 Hanash=Heb. yrv, wir. For the story see Azraci, p. 261 s9q.; Wellh. p. 154. 8 Agh. xviii. 210 sgq. Taabbata Sharran is an historical person, and the incident also is probably a fact. From the verses in which he describes his LECT. IIT. ANIMAL -KINDS 129 always that of some kind of lower animal, or a monstrous composition of animal forms, as appears even in later times in the description of the four hundred and twenty species that were marshalled before Solomon. But the tendency to give human shape to creatures that can reason and speak is irresistible as soon as men pass beyond pure savagery, and just as animal gods pass over into anthropo- morphic gods, figured as riding on animals or otherwise associated with them, the jun begin to be conceived as manlike in form, and the supernatural animals of the original conception appear as the beasts on which they ride.2_ Ultimately the only animals directly and constantly identified with the jimnm were snakes and other noxious creeping things. The authority of certain utterances of the prophet had a share in this limitation, but it is foe it would seem that the supposed ghda/ was one of the feline carnivora. In Damiri, ii. 212, last line, a ghil appears in the form of a thieving cat. 1 Cazwini, i. 872 sg. Even when they appear in the guise of men they have some animal attribute, e.g. a dog’s hairy paw in place of a hand, Damiri, ii, 213, 1. 22. * The stories in which the apparition takes this shape are obviously late. When a demon appears riding on a wolf or an ostrich to give his opinion on the merits of the Arabian poets (Agh. viii. 78, ix. 163, cited by Wellh. p. 152), we have to do with literary fiction rather than genuine belief; and similarly the story of a ghil who rides on an ostrich in Cazwini, i. 373 sq., is only an edifying Moslem tale. These stories stand in marked contrast with the genuine old story in Maidani, i. 181, where the demon actually is an ostrich. The transition to the anthropomorphic view is seen in the story of Taabbata Sharran, where the monster ghi/ is called one of the wild beasts of the jinn, as if he were only their animal emissary, The riding beasts of the jinn are of many species; they include the jackal, t%e gazelle, the porcupine, and it is mentioned as an exceptional thing that the hare is not one of them (Sihah, s.v.; Rasmussen, Addit. p. 71, 1. 14), for which reason amulets are made from parts of its body (cf. ZDMG. xxxix. 329). Prof. De Goeje supplies me with an interesting quotation from Zamakhshari, Faic, i. 71: ‘‘Ignorant people think that wild beasts are the cattle of the inn, and that a man who meets a wild beast is affected by them with mental disorder.” The paralysing effect of terror is assigned to supernatural agency. Cf. Arist. Mir. Ausc. 145: ‘‘In Arabia there is said to be a kind of hyena, which when it sees a beast first (¢.e. before being seen, Plato, Rep. i. p. 336 D; Theocr. xiv. 22; Virgil, Hcd. 9. 54) or treads on a man’s shadow, renders it or him incapable of voice and movement.” 9 130 THE JINN AND LECT. IIL natural enough that these creatures, of which men every- where have a peculiar horror and which continue to haunt and molest men’s habitations after wild beasts have been driven out into the desert, should be the last to be stripped of their supernatural character. It appears then that even in modern accounts jinn and various kinds of animals are closely associated, while in the older legends they are practically identified, and also that nothing is told of the jinn which savages do not tell of animals. Under these circumstances it requires a very exaggerated scepticism to doubt that the jinn, with all their mysterious powers, are mainly nothing else than more or less modernised representatives of animal kinds, clothed with the supernatural attributes inseparable from the savage conception of animate nature. A species of jinn allied by kinship with a tribe of men would be indistin- guishable from a totem kind, and instead of calling the jinn gods without worshippers, we may, with greater pre- cision, speak of them as potential totems without human kinsfolk. This view of the nature of the jinn helps us to understand the principle on which particular spots were viewed as their haunts. In the vast solitudes of the Arabian desert every strange sound is readily taken to be the murmuring of the jinn, and every strange sight to be a demoniac apparition. But when certain spots were fixed on as being pre-eminently haunted places, we must neces- sarily suppose that the sights and sounds that were deemed supernatural really were more frequent there than else- where. Mere fancy might keep the supernatural reputation of a place alive, but in its origin even the uncontrolled 1 The snake is an object of superstition in all countries. For superstitions connected with ‘‘ creeping things” in general among the northern Semites, see Ezek. viii. 10. An oath by all the creeping things (hanash) between the two Harras appears in Ibn Hish. 10, |. 14, Tab. i. 911. 20, in a spurious imitation of the style of the heathen soothsayers. LECT. Ill. ANIMAL KINDS U3) imagination of the savage must have some point of contact with reality. Now the nocturnal sights and sounds that affray the wayfarer in haunted regions, and the stories of huntsmen who go up into a mountain of evil name and are carried off by the ghu/, point distinctly to haunted spots being the places where evil beasts walk by night. More- over, while the jinn frequent waste and desert places in general, their special haunts are just those where wild beasts gather most thickly—not the arid and lifeless desert, but the mountain glades and passes, the neigh- bourhood of trees and groves, especially the dense untrodden thickets that occupy moist places in the bottoms of the valleys.! These, it is true, are the places where the spontaneous life of nature is most actively exhibited in all its phases, and where therefore it may seem self-evident that man will be most apt to recognise the presence of divine or at least of superhuman powers. But so general an explanation as this is no explanation at all. Primitive religion was not a philosophical pantheism, and the primitive deities were not vague expressions for the principle of life in nature. What we have to explain is that the places where the life of nature is most intense—or rather some of these places— appeared to the primitive Semite to be the habitations, not 1 All this, and especially the association of the jinn with natural thickets, is well brought out by Wellhausen, Heid.1, p. 136; p.150 sqq. ; though he offers no explanation of the reason why “the direct impression of divine life present in nature ” is associated with so bizarre a conception. In Southern Arabia natural jungles are still avoided as the haunts of wild beasts; no Arab, according to Wrede, willingly spends a night in the Wady Maisha, because its jungles are the haunts of many species of dangerous carnivora (Wrede’s Reise in Hadhramaut, ed. Maltzan, p. 131). The lions of Al-Shara and of the jungles of the Jordan valley (Zech. xi. 3) may be compared, and it is to be remembered that in savage life, when man’s struggle with wild beasts is one of life and death, the awe associated with such places is magni- fied tenfold. Even in the old Mohammedan literature no sharp line is drawn between danger from wild beasts and danger from jinn; see the Bcholion cited supra, p. 121, note. 132 THE FAVOURITE HAUNTS LECT. IIL of abstract divine powers, but of very concrete and tangible beings, with the singular attributes which we have found the jinn to possess, and that this belief did not rest on mere general impressions, but was supported by reference to actual demoniac apparitions. The usual vague talk about an instinctive sense of the presence of the deity in the manifestations of natural life does not carry us a whit nearer the comprehension of these beliefs, but it is helpful to note that spots of natural fertility, untouched by man’s hand and seldom trodden by his foot, are the favoured haunts of wild beasts, that all savages clothe wild beasts and other animals with the very same supernatural qualities which the Arabs ascribe to the jinn, and that the Arabs speak of Baccar as a place famous for its demons in exactly the same matter-of-fact way in which they speak of Al-Shara and its famous lions. While the most marked attributes of the jinn are plainly derived from animals, it is to be remembered that the savage imagination, which ascribes supernatural powers to all parts of animate nature, extends the sphere of animate life in a very liberal fashion. Totems are not seldom taken from trees, which appear to do everything for their adherents that a totem animal could do. And indeed that trees are animate, and have perceptions, passions and a reasonable soul, was argued even by the early Greek philosophers on such evidence as their move- ments in the wind and the elasticity of their branches.! Thus while the supernatural associations of groves and thickets may appear to be sufficiently explained by the fact that these are the favourite lairs of wild beasts, it appears probable that the association of certain kinds of jinn with trees must in many cases be regarded as primary, the trees themselves being conceived as animated demoniac beings. — 1 Aristotle, De plantis, i. p. 815; Plutarch, Place. Philos. v. 26. re ane ~ Seiya LECT, IIL OF THE JINN 133 In Hadramaut it is still dangerous to touch the sensitive Mimosa, because the spirit that resides in the plant will avenge the injury. The same idea appears in the story of Harb b. Omayya and Mirdas b. Abi Amir, historical persons who lived a generation before Mohammed. When these two men set fire to an untrodden and tangled thicket, with the design to bring it under cultivation, the demons of the place flew away with doleful cries in the shape of white serpents, and the intruders died soon after- wards. The jinn it was believed slew them “ because they had set fire to their dwelling-place.”? Here the spirits of the trees take serpent form when they leave their natural seats, and similarly in Moslem superstition the jinn of the ‘oshr and the hamata are serpents which frequent trees of these species. But primarily supernatural life and power reside in the trees themselves, which are conceived as animate and even as rational. Moslim b. ‘Ocba heard in a dream the voice of the gharcad tree designing him to the command of the army of Yazid against Medina® Or again the value of the gum of the acacia (samora) as an amulet is connected wth the idea that it is a clot of menstruous blood (haid), ae. that the tree is a woman.‘ And similarly the old Hebrew fables of trees that speak and act like human beings® have their original source in the savage personification of vegetable species. 1 Wrede’s Reise, ed. Maltzan, p. 181. 2 Agh. vi. 92, xx. 135 sq. 3 Agh. i. 14; Wellh. 205. 4 Rasmussen, Add. p. 71; Zamakhshari, A sds, s.v. adm: New-born children’s heads were rubbed with the gum to keep away the jinn, just as they used to be daubed with the blood of the sacrifice called ‘acica (see my Kinship, p. 179 sq.). The blood of menstruation has supernatural quali- ties among all races, and the value of the hare’s foot as an amulet was connected with the belief that this animal menstruates (Rasm. ut sup.). The same thing was affirmed of the hyena, which has many magical qualities and peculiar affinities to man (Kinship, p. 231 sq.). ® Judg. ix. 8 sqqg.; 2 Kings xiv. 9. 134 SAVAGE VIEWS OF LECT. 111 In brief it is not unjust to say that, wherever the spontaneous life of nature was manifested in an emphatic way, the ancient Semite saw something supernatural. But this is only half the truth; the other half is that the supernatural was conceived in genuinely savage fashion, and identified with the quasi-human life ascribed to the various species of animals or plants or even of inorganic things. For indeed certain phenomena of inorganic nature directly suggest to the primitive mind the idea of living force, and the presence of a living agent. Thus, to take a trivial example, the medizeval Arabs associate a definite class of demons with sand-whirlwinds and apply the name zawabt indifferently to these phenomena and to the jin that accompany or cause them.’ More important is the widespread belief that the stars move because they are alive, which underlies the planet and constellation worship of the Semites as of other ancient nations. Volcanic phenomena, in like manner, are taken for manifestations of supernatural life, as we see in the Greek myths of Typhoeus and in the Moslem legend of the crater of Barahit in Hadramaut, whose rumblings are held to be the groans of lost souls; probably also in the legend of the “fire of Yemen” in the valley of Darawan which in heathen times is said to have served as an ordeal, devour- ing the guilty and sparing the innocent;*® and again, 1 See the lexx. and also Jahiz as cited by Vloten, Vien. Or. J. vii. 180. In several Arabian legends the eccentric movements of dust-whirlwinds are taken to be the visible signs of a battle between two clans of Jinn (Ibn Hish. ii, 42, Yacit, iii. 478; cf. Ibn Hish. 131 sg.). Cf. Goldz. Abh. i. 205, ii. eviii. * See Yacit, i. 598; De Goeje, Hadramaut, p. 20 (Rev. Col. Intern. 1886). Does this belief rest on an early myth connected with the name of Hadramaut itself ? See Olshausen in Rhein. Mus. Ser. 3, vol. viii. p. 332 ; Sitzungsb. d. Berliner Ak. 1879, p. 751 sqq. 3 Ibn Hisham, p. 17, with the scholia ; Bekri, p. 621; Yacit, iii. 470. Yacut describes the valley as accursed ; no plant grew there, no man could traverse it, and no bird fly across it. LECT. III. THE SUPERNATURAL 135 mephitic vapours rising from fissures in the earth are taken to be potent spiritual influences! But remote phenomena like the movements of the stars, and exceptional phenomena like volcanoes, influence the savage imagination less than mundane and everyday things, which are not less mysterious to him and touch his common life more closely. It seems to be a mistake to suppose that distant and ex- ceptional things are those from which primitive man forms his general views of the supernatural; on the contrary he interprets the remote by the near, and thinks of heavenly bodies, for example, as men or animals, like the animate denizens of earth? Of all inanimate things that which has the best marked supernatural associations among the Semites is flowing (or, as the Hebrews say, “ living”) water. In one' of the oldest fragments of Hebrew poetry? the fountain is addressed as a living being; and sacred wells are among the oldest and most ineradicable objects of reverence among all the Semites, and are credited with oracular powers and a sort of volition by which they receive or reject offerings. Of course these superstitions often take the form of a belief that the sacred spring is the dwelling-place of beings which from time to time emerge from it in human or animal form, but the fundamental 1 Tt may be conjectured that the indignation of the jinn at the violation of their haunts, as it appears in the story of Harb and Mirdas, would not have been so firmly believed in but for the fact that places such as the jinn were thought to frequent are also the haunts of ague, which is particularly active when land is cultivated for the first time. According to a Moham- medan tradition, the Prophet assigned the uplands (jals) to the believing jinn, and the deep lowlands (ghawr) to the unbelieving. The latter are in Arabia the homes of fever and plague (Damiri, i. 231). *See Lang, Myth, Ritual and Religion, chap. v. Among the Semites the worship of sun, moon and stars does not appear to have kad any great vogue in the earliest times. Among the Hebrews there is little trace of it before Assyrian influence became potent, and in Arabia it is by no means so prominent as is sometimes supposed ; cf. Wellhausen, p. 209 sqq. 3 Num. xxi. 17,18: ‘‘ Spring up, O well! sing ye toit!”’ See p. 183,n. 2. 136 ORIGIN OF LECT. III. idea is that the water itself is the living organism of a demoniac life, not a mere dead organ. If now we turn from the haunts of the demons to sanctuaries proper, the seats of known and friendly powers with whom men maintain stated relations, we find that in their physical character the homes of the gods are precisely similar to those of the jsymn—mountains and thickets, fertile spots beside a spring or stream, or sometimes points defined by the presence of a single notable tree. As man encroaches on the wilderness, and brings these spots within the range of his daily life and walk, they lose their terror but not their supernatural associations, and the friendly deity takes the place of the dreaded demons. The conclusion to be drawn from this is obvious. The physical characters that were held to mark out a holy place are not to be explained by conjectures based on the more developed type of heathenism, but must be regarded as taken over from the primitive beliefs of savage man. The nature of the god did not determine the place of his sanctuary, but conversely the features of the sanctuary had an important share in determining the development of ideas as to the functions of the god. How this was possible we have seen in the conception of the local Baalim. The spontaneous luxuriance of marshy lands already possessed supernatural associations when there was no thought of bringing it under the service of man by cultivation, and when the rich valley pottoms were avoided with superstitious terror as the haunts of formidable natural enemies. How this terror was first broken through, and the transformation of certain groups of hostile demons into friendly and kindred powers was first effected, we cannot tell; we can only say 1 For the details as to sacred waters among the Semites, see below in Lect. V. LECT. Il. HOLY PLACES 137 that the same transformation is already effected, by means of totemism, in the most primitive societies of savages, and that there is no record of a stage in human society in which each community of men did not claim kindred and alliance with some group or species of the living powers of nature. But if we take this decisive step for granted, the subsequent development of the relation of the gods to the land follows by a kind of moral necessity, and the transformation of the vague friendly powers that haunt the seats of spontaneous natural life into the beneficent agricultural Baalim, the lords of the land and its waters, the givers of life and fertility to all that dwell on it, goes naturally hand in hand with the development of agriculture and the laws of agricultural society. I have tried to put this argument in such a way as may not commit us prematurely to the hypothesis that the friendly powers of the Semites were originally totems, ie. that the relations of certain kindred communities of men with certain groups of natural powers were established before these natural powers had ceased to be directly identified with species of plants and animals. But if my analysis of the nature of the jinn is correct, the conclusion that the Semites did pass through the totem stage can be avoided only by supposing them to be an exception to the universal rule, that even the most primitive savages have not only enemies but permanent allies (which at so early a stage in society necessarily means kinsfolk) among the non-human or superhuman animate kinds by which the universe is peopled. And this supposition is so extrava- gant that no one is likely to adopt it. On the other hand, it may be argued with more plausibility that totemism, if it ever did exist, disappeared when the Semites emerged from savagery, and that the religion of the race, in its 138 SEMITIC LECT. IL higher stages, may have rested on altogether independent bases. Whether this hypothesis is or is not admissible must be determined by an actual examination of the higher heathenism. If its rites usages and beliefs really are independent of savage ideas, and of the purely savage conception of nature of which totemism is only one aspect, the hypothesis is legitimate; but it is not legitimate if the higher heathenism itself is permeated in all its parts by savage ideas, and if its ritual and institutions are through- out in the closest contact with savage ritual and institu- tions of totem type. That the latter is the true state of the case will I believe become overwhelmingly clear as we proceed with our survey of the phenomena of Semitic religion; and a very substantial step towards the proof that it is so has already been taken, when we have found that the sanctuaries of the Semitic world are identical in physical character with the haunts of the jinn, so that as regards their local associations the gods must be viewed as simply replacing the plant and animal demons.’ If this is so we can hardly avoid the conclusion that some of the Semitic gods are of totem origin, and we may expect to find the most distinct traces of this origin at the oldest sanctuaries. But we are not to suppose that every local deity will have totem associations, for new gods as well as new sanctuaries might doubtless spring up at a later stage of human progress than that of which totemism is _ characteristic. Even holy places that had an old connection with the demons may, in many instances, have come to be looked upon as the abode of friendly powers and fit seats of worship, after the demons had ceased to be directly identified with species of plants and animals, and had 1 The complete development of this argument as it bears on the nature of the gods must be reserved for a later course of lectures ; but a provisional discussion of some points on which a difficulty may arise will be found below : see Additional Note A, Gods, Demons, and Plants or Animals. 7. a i a i i i el i ee OT.11. $= TOTEMISM 139 Dr anny , uired quasi-human forms like the nymph and satyrs of » = Rate tele: Os fe ee a when a man was in- jured by enchantment, he brought all the witches suspect to the sea or to a deep pool, tied stones to their backs and threw them into the water. She who did not sink was the guilty person, the meaning evidently being that the sacred element rejects the criminal? That an impure person dare not approach sacred waters is a general principle—whether the impurity is moral or physical is not a distinction made by ancient religion. Thus in Arabia we have found that a woman in her uncleanness was afraid, for her children’s sake, to bathe in the water of Dusares; and to this day among the Yezidis no one may enter the valley of Sheik Adi, with its sacred fountain, unless he has first purified his body and clothes The sacred oil-spring of the Carthaginian sanctuary, described in the book of Wonderful Stories that passes under the name of Aristotle, would not flow except for persons ceremonially pure. An ordeal at a sacred spring based on viii. 8, p. 333). How far Lycian worship was influenced by the Semites is not clear. 1Cf. Job xiii. 16; Isa. xxxiii. 14. 2 De Valle Hadhramaut, p. 26 sq. 3 The story about Mojammi‘ and Al-Ahwas (Agh. iv. 48), cited by Well- hausen, Heid. p. 160, refers to this kind of ordeal, not to a form of magic. A very curious story of the water test for witches in India is told by Ibr Batuta, iv. 37. * Layard, Nineveh, i. 280. 5 Mir, Ause. § 118. 180 THE WATER LECT. ¥. this principle might be worked in several ways,) but the usual Semitic method seems to have been by drinking the water. Evidently, if it is dangerous for the impious person * to come into contact with the holy element, the danger must be intensified if he ventures to take it into his system, and it was believed that in such a case the draught pro- duced disease and death. At the Asbamzan lake and springs near Tyana the water was sweet and kindly to those that swore truly, but the perjured man was at once smitten in his eyes, feet and hands, seized with dropsy and wasting.” In like manner he who swore falsely by the Stygian waters in the Syrian desert died of dropsy within a year. In the latter case it would seem that the oath by the waters sufficed; but primarily, as we see in the other case, the essential thing is the draught of water at the holy place, the oath simply taking the place of the petition which ordinarily accompanies a ritual act. Among the Hebrews this ordeal by drinking holy water is preserved even in the pentateuchal legislation in the case of a woman suspected of infidelity to her husband. MHere also the belief was that the holy water, which was mingled with the dust of the sanctuary, and administered with an oath, produced dropsy and wasting; and the antiquity of the 1 See, for example, the Sicilian oracle of the Palic lake, where the oath of the accused was written on a tablet and cast into the water to sink or swim (Mir. Ause. § 57). 2 Mir. Ausc. § 152; Philostr., Vit. Apollonii, i. 6. That the sanctuary was Semitic I infer from its name ; see below, p. 182. 3 Num. v. 11 sqqg. In Agh. i. 156, 1. 3 sqg., a suspected wife swears seventy oaths at the Caaba, to which she is conducted with circumstances of ignominy—seated on a camel between two sacks of dung. This was under Islam, but is evidently an old custom. In heathen Arabia the decision in such a case was sometimes referred to a diviner, as we see from the story of Hind bint ‘Otba (‘Icd, iii. 273; Agh. viii. 50). An ordeal for virgins accused of unchastity existed at the Stygian water near Ephesus. The accused swore that she was innocent ; her oath was written and tied round her neck. She then entered the shallow pool, and if she was guilty the water rose till it covered the writing (Achilles Tatius. viii. 12). Sea oe LECT. V. OF JEALOUSY 181 ceremony is evident not only from its whole character, but because the expression “holy water” (ver. 17) is unique in the language of Hebrew ritual, and must be taken as an isolated survival of an obsolete expression. Unique though the expression be, it is not difficult to assign its original meaning ; the analogies already before us indicate that we must think of water from a holy spring, and this conclusion is certainly correct. Wellhausen has shown that the oldest Hebrew tradition refers the origin of the Torah to the divine sentences taught by Moses at the sanctuary of Kadesh or Meribah,! beside the holy fountain which in Gen. xiv. 7 is also called “the fountain of judgment.” The principle underlying the administration of justice at the sanctuary is that cases too hard for man are referred to the decision of God. Among the Hebrews in Canaan this was ordinarily done by an appeal to the sacred lot, but the survival of even one case of ordeal by holy water leaves no doubt as to the sense of the “fountain of judgment” (Hn-Mishpat) or “waters of controversy ” (Meribah). With this evidence before us as to the early importance of holy waters among the Hebrews, we cannot but attach significance to the fact that the two chief places of pilgrim- age of the northern Israelites in the time of Amos were Dan and Beersheba.? We have already seen that there was a sacred fountain at Dan, and the sanctuary of Beer- _sheba properly consisted of the “Seven Wells,” which gave the place its name. It is notable that among the Semites a special sanctity was attached to groups of seven wells. In the canons of Jacob of Edessa (Qu. 43) we read of nominally Christian Syrians who bewail their diseases to 1 Prolegomena, viii. 3 (Eng. trans. p. 348). 2 Amos viii. 14; cf. 1 Kings xii. 30. ¥ See Noldeke in Litt. Centralblatt, 22 Mar. 1879, p. 363. 182 SEVEN WELLS LECT. V. eee the stars, or turn for help to a solitary tree or a fountain or seven springs or water of the sea, ete. Among the Mandeans, also, we read of mysteries performed at seven wells, and among the Arabs a place called “the seven wells” is mentioned by Strabo, xvi. 4. 24. The name of the Asbamezan waters seems also to mean “seven waters” (Syr. shab'a maya); the spot is a lake where a number of sources bubble up above the surface of the water. Seven is a sacred number among the Semites, particularly affected in matters of ritual, and the Hebrew verb “to swear” means literally “to come under the influence of seven things.” Thus seven ewe lambs figure in the oath between Abraham and Abimelech at Beersheba, and in the Arabian oath of covenant described by Herodotus (i. 8), seven stones are smeared with blood. The oath of purgation at seven wells would therefore have peculiar force.” It is the part of a divine power to grant to his worshippers not only oracles and judgment, but help in trouble and blessing in daily life. The kind of blessing which it is most obvious to expect from a sacred spring is the quickening and fertilisation of the soil and all that depends on it. That fruitful seasons were the chief object of petition at the sacred springs requires no special proof, for this object holds the first place in all the great religious occasions of the settled Semites, and everywhere we find that the festal cycle is regulated by the seasons of the 1 Cf. also the seven marvellous wells at Tiberias (Cazwini, i. 193), and the Thorayya or ‘‘ Pleiad waters” at Dariya (Yacit, i. 924, iii. 588; Bekri, 214, 627); also the modern Syrian custom of making a sick child that is thought to be bewitched drink from seven wells or cisterns (ZDPV. vii. 106). 2 In Amos viii. 14 there is mention of an oath by the way (ritual ?) of Beersheba. The pilgrims at Mamre would not drink of the water of the well. Sozomen supposes that the gifts cast in made it undrinkable; but at an Oriental market, where every bargain is accompanied by false oaths and protestations, the precaution is rather to be explained by fear of the divine ordeal. a. SS LECT. V. HEALING WATERS 183 agricultural year. Beyond doubt the first and best gift of the sacred spring to the worshipper was its own life- giving water, and the first object of the religion addressed to it was to encourage its benignant flow.? But the life- giving power of the holy stream was by no means confined to the quickening of vegetation. Sacred waters are also healing waters, as we have already seen in various examples, particularly in that of the Syrians, who sought to them for help in disease. I may here add one instance which, though it lies a little outside of the proper Semitic region, is con- nected with a holy river of the Syrians. In the Middle Ages it was still believed that he who bathed in the spring- time in the source of the Euphrates would be free from sickness for the whole year.2 This healing power was not confined to the water itself, but extended to the vegetation that surrounded it. By the sacred river Belus grew the eolocasium plants by which Heracles was healed after his conflict with the Hydra, and the roots continued to be used as a cure for bad sores. At Paneas an herb that healed all diseases grew at the base of a statue which was supposed to represent Christ, evidently a relic of the old heathenism of the place® Thus when Ezekiel describes 1 A myth of the connection of sacred waters with the origin of agriculture seems to survive in modernised form in the medieval legend of ‘Ain al- bacar, ‘‘the oxen’s well,” at Acre. It was visited by Christian, Jewish and Moslem pilgrims, because the oxen with which Adam ploughed issued from it (Cazwini, Yacit). There was a mashhed, or sacred tomb, beside it, perhaps the modern representative of the ancient Memnonium. 2In Num. xxi. 17 we find a song addressed to the well exhorting it to rise, which in its origin is hardly a mere poetic figure. We may compare what Cazwini, i. 189, records of the well of [abistan. When the water failed, a feast was held at the source, with music and dancing, to induce it to flow again. See also the modern Palestinian usage cited above, p. 169, n. 3. 3 Cazwini, i. 194. I may also cite the numerous fables of amulets, to be found in the Tigris and other rivers, which protected their wearers against wild beasts, demons and other dangers (Mir. Ausc. § 159 sg.). 4 Claudius Iolaus, ap. Steph. Byz. s.v."Axy. 6 Theophanes, quoted by Reland, Antig. Hebr. ii. 922. 184 HEALING WATERS LECT, V. the sacred waters that issue from the New Jerusalem as giving life wherever they come, and the leaves of the trees on their banks as supplying medicine, his imagery is in full touch with common Semitic ideas (Ezek. xlvii. 9, 12). The healing power of sacred water is closely connected with its purifying and consecrating power, for the primary conception of uncleanness is that of a dangerous infection. Washings and purifications play a great part in Semitic ritual, and were performed with living water, which was as such sacred in some degree. Whether specially sacred springs were used for purification, and if so under what restrictions I cannot make out; in most cases, I apprehend, they were deemed too holy to be approached by a person technically impure. It appears, however, from Ephrem Syrus that the practice of bathing in fountains was one of the heathen customs to which the Syrians of his time were much addicted, and he seems to regard this as a sort of heathen consecration! Unfortunately the rhetoric of the Syrian fathers seldom condescends to precise details on such matters. From this account of the ritual of sacred wells it will, I think, be clear that the usages and ceremonies are all intelligible on general principles, without reference to par- ticular legends or the worship of the particular deities associated with special waters. The fountain is treated as a living thing, those properties of its waters which we call natural are regarded as manifestations of a divine life, and the source itself is honoured as a divine being, I had almost said a divine animal. When religion takes a form decidedly anthropomorphic or astral, myths are devised to reconcile the new point of view with the old usage, but the substance of the ritual remains unchanged. 1 Opp. iii. 670 sq.; H. et S., ed. Lamy, ii. 395, 411, LECT. ¥. SACRED TREES 185 Let us now pass on from the worship of sacred waters to the cults connected with sacred trees.! That the conception of trees as demoniac beings was familiar to the Semites has been already shown by many examples,? and there is also abundant evidence that in all parts of the Semitic area trees were adored as divine. Tree worship pure and simple, where the tree is in all respects treated as a god, is attested for Arabia (but not on the best authority) in the case of the sacred date-palm at Nejran.? It was adored at an annual feast, when it was all hung with fine clothes and women’s ornaments. A similar tree, to which the people of Mecca resorted annually, and hung upon it weapons, garments, ostrich eggs and other gifts, is spoken of in the traditions of the prophet under the vague name of a dhat anwéat, or “ tree to hang things on.” It seems to be identical with the sacred acacia at Nakhla in which the goddess Al-‘Ozza was believed to reside. The tree at Hodaibiya, mentioned in Sura xlviii. 18, was frequented by pilgrims who thought to derive a blessing from it, till it was cut down by the Caliph ‘Omar lest it should be worshipped like Al-Lat and Al-‘Ozza.5 By the modern Arabs sacred trees are called manahil, places where angels or junn descend and are heard dancing and singing. It is deadly danger to pluck 1 On sacred trees among the Semites, see Baudissin, Studien, ii. 184 sqq. ; for Arabia, Wellhausen, Heid. p. 104. Compare Botticher, Bawmceultus der Hellenen (Berl. 1856), and Mannhardt, Wald- und Feld-Culte (Berl. 1875, 77). 2 Supra, p. 133. 3 Tabari, i. 922 (Ndldeke’s trans. p. 181); Ibn Hish. 22. The authority is Wahb b. Monabbih, who, I fear, was little better than a plausible liar. 4 Wellhausen, pp. 36 sq., 38 sq. 5 Yacit, iii. 261. At Hodaibiya there was also a well whose waters were miraculously increased by the prophet (Ibn Hish. 742 ; Moh. in Med, 247). I suspect that the sanctity of tree and well are older than Mohammed, for the place is reckoned to the Haram but juts out beyond the line of its border (Yacit, ii. 222). 186 SACRED TREES LECT. V so much as a bough from such a tree; they are honoured with sacrifices, and parts of the flesh are hung on them, as well as shreds of calico, beads, ete. The sick man who sleeps under them receives counsel in a dream for the restoration of his health.t Among the heathen Syrians tree worship must have had a large place, for this is one of the superstitions which Christianity itself was powerless to eradicate. We have already met with nominal Christians of Syria who in their sicknesses turned for help to a solitary tree, while zealous Christians were at pains to hew down the “trees of the demons.”” As regards the Phoenicians and Canaanites we have the testimony of Philo Byblius that the plants of the earth were in ancient times esteemed as gods and honoured with libations and sacrifices, because from them the successive generations of men drew the support of their life. To this day the traveller in Palestine frequently meets with holy trees hung like an Arabian dhat anwit with rags as tokens of homage. What place the cult of trees held in the more developed forms of Semitic religion it is not easy to determine. In later times the groves at the greater sanctuaries do not seem to have been direct objects of worship, though they shared in the inviolability that belonged to all the surroundings of the deity, and were sometimes—like the ancient cypresses of Heracles at Daphne—believed to have been planted by the god himself. It was not at the great sanctuaries of cities but in the open field, where the rural population had continued from age to age to practise primitive rites without modification, that the worship of “solitary 1 Doughty, Arabia Deserta, i. 448 sqq. 2 See the citations in Kayser, Jacod v, Edessa, p. 141. 8 Similarly the tamarisk at Beersheba was believed to have been planted by Abraham (Gen. xxi. 33). LECT. Vv. ' THE ASHERA 187 trees” survived the fall of the great gods of Semitic heathenism.! There is no reason to think that any of the greater Semitic cults was developed out of tree worship. In all of them the main place is given to altar service, and we shall see by and by that the beginnings of this form of worship, so far as they can be traced back to a time when the gods were not yet anthropomorphic, point to the cult of animals rather than of trees. That trees are habitually found at sanctuaries is by no means inconsistent with this view, for where the tree is merely conceived as planted by the god or as marking his favourite haunt, it receives no direct homage. When, however, we find that no Canaanite high place was complete without its sacred tree standing beside the altar, and when we take along with this the undoubted fact that the direct cult of trees was familiar to all the Semites, it is hardly possible to avoid the conclusion that some elements of tree worship entered into the ritual even of such deities as in their origin were not tree-gods. The local sanctuaries of the Hebrews, which the prophets regard as purely heathenish, and which certainly were modelled in all points on Canaanite usage, were altar- sanctuaries. But the altars were habitually set up “under green trees,” and, what is more, the altar was incomplete unless an ashera stood beside it. The meaning of this word, which the Authorised Version wrongly renders “srove,” has given rise to a good deal of controversy. What kind of object the ashera was appears from Deut. xvi. 21: “Thou shalt not plant an ashera of any kind of 1 The solitary tree may in certain cases be the last relic of a ruined heathen sanctuary. What Mocaddasi relates about the place called Al-Shajara (‘‘the Tree”; supra, p. 160) points to something of this kind ; for here there was an annual feast or fair. At the Terebinth of Mamre in like manner an altar at least can hardly have been lacking in heathen times, 188 THE CANAANITE LECT. V wood (or, an ashera, any kind of tree) beside the altar of Jehovah”; it must therefore have been either a living tree or a tree-like post, and in all probability either form was originally admissible. The oldest altars, as we gather from the accounts of patriarchal sanctuaries, stood under actual trees; but this rule could not always be followed, and in the period of the kings it would seem that the place of the living tree was taken by a dead post or pole, planted in the ground like an English Maypole The ashera undoubtedly was an object of worship; for the prophets put it on the same line with other sacred symbols, images cippi and Baal-pillars (Isa. xvii. 8; Micah v. 12 sqq.), and the Pheenician inscription of Mastb speaks of “the Astarte in the Ashera of the divinity of Hammon.” The ashera therefore is a sacred symbol, the seat of the deity, and perhaps the name itself, as G. Hoffmann has suggested, means nothing more than the “mark” of the divine presence. But the opinion that there was a Canaanite goddess called Ashera, and that the trees or poles of the same name were her particular symbols, is not tenable; every altar had its ashera, even such altars as in the popular, pre-prophetic forms of Hebrew religion were dedicated to Jehovah.2 This is 1 It is a thing made by man’s hands; Isa. xvii. 8, cf. 1 Kings xvi. 33, etc. In 2 Kings xxi. 7 (cf. xxiii. 6) we read of the Ashera-image. Similarly in 1 Kings xv. 13 there is mention of a ‘‘grisly object” which Queen Maacah made for an Ashera. These expressions may imply that the sacred pole was sometimes carved into a kind of image. That the sacred tree should degenerate first into a mere Maypole, and then into a rude wooden idol, is in accordance with analogies found elsewhere, e.g. in Greece ; but it seems quite as likely that the ashera is described as a kind of idol simply because it was used in idolatrous cultus. An Assyrian monument from Khorsabad, figured by Botta and Layard, and reproduced in Rawlinson, Monarchies, ii. 37, and Stade, Gesch. Isr. i. 461, shows an ornamental pole planted beside a portablealtar. Priests stand before it engaged in an act of worship, and touch the pole with their hands, or perhaps anoint it with some liquid substance, 2The prohibition in Deut. xvi. 21 is good evidence of the previous practice of the thing prohibited. See also 2 Kings xiii. 6. LECT. V. ASHERA 189 not consistent with the idea that the sacred pole was the symbol of a distinct divinity; it seems rather to show that in early times tree worship had such a vogue in Canaan that the sacred tree, or the pole its surrogate, had come to be viewed as a general symbol of deity which might fittingly stand beside the altar of any god. 1 If a god and a goddess were worshipped together at the same sanctuary, as was the case, for example, at Aphaca and Hierapolis, and if the two sacred symbols at the sanctuary were a pole and a pillar of stone, it might naturally enough come about that the pole was identified with the goddess and the pillar with the god. The worship of Tammuz or Adonis was known at Jerusalem in the time of Ezekiel (viii. 14), and with Adonis the goddess Astarte must also have been worshipped, probably as the ‘‘ queen of heaven” (Jer. vii., xliv.; cf. on this worship Kuenen in the Verslagen, etc., of the Royal Acad. of Amsterdam, 1888). It is not therefore surprising that in one or two late passages, written at a time when all the worship of the high places was regarded as entirely foreign to the religion of Jehovah, the Asherim seem to be regarded as the female partners of the Baalim; i.e. that the ashera is taken as a symbol of Astarte (Judg. iii. 7). The prophets of the ashera in 1 Kings xviii. 19, who appear along with the prophets of the Tyrian Baal as ministers of the foreign religion introduced by Jezebel, must have been prophets of Astarte. They form part of the Tyrian queen’s court, and eat of her table, so that they have nothing to do with Hebrew religion. And conversely the old Hebrew sacred poles can have had nothing to do with the Tyrian goddess, for Jehu left the ashera at Samaria standing when he abolished all trace of Tyrian worship (2 Kings xiii. 6). There is no evidence of the worship of a divine pair among the older Hebrews; in the time of Solomon Astarte worship was a foreign religion (1 Kings xi. 5), and it is plain from Jer. ii. 27 that in ordinary Hebrew idolatry the tree or stock was the symbol not of a goddess but of a god. Even among the Pheenicians the association of sacred trees with goddesses rather than with gods is not so clear as is often supposed. From all this it follows that the ‘‘ prophets of the Ashera” in 1 Kings, J.c., are very misty personages, and that the mention of them implies a confusion between Astarte and the Ashera, which no Israelite in Elijah’s time, or indeed so long as the northern kingdom stood, could have fallen into. In fact they do not reappear either in ver. 22 or in ver. 40, and the mention of them seems to be due to a late interpolation (Wellh., Hexateuch, 2nd ed. (1889), p. 281). The evidence offered by Assyriologists that Ashrat = Ashera was a goddess (see Schrader in Zettschr. f. Assyriologie, iii. 363 sq.) cannot over- rule the plain sense of the Hebrew texts. Whether it suffices to show that in some places the general symbol of deity had become a special goddess is a question on which I do not offer an opinion; but see G. Hoffmann, Ueber einige Phen. Inschrr. (1889), p. 26 sqqg., whose whole remarks are note- worthy. In Cit. 51 (ZDMG. xxxv. 424) the goddess seems to be called the 190 LEGENDS OF LECT. V The general adoption of tree symbols at Canaanite sanctuaries must be connected with the fact that all Canaanite Baalim, whatever their original character, were associated with naturally fertile spots (Baal’s land), and were worshipped as the givers of vegetable increase. We have seen already in the case of sacred streams how the life-blood of the god was conceived as diffused through the sacred waters, which thus became themselves impreg- nated with divine life and energy. And it was an easy extension of this idea to suppose that the tree which overshadowed the sacred fountain, and drew perennial strength and freshness from the moisture at its roots, was itself instinct with a particle of divine life. With the ancients the conception of life, whether divine or human, was not so much individualised as it is with us; thus, for example, all the members of one kin were conceived as having a common life embodied in the common blood which flowed through their veins. Similarly one and the same divine life might be shared by a number of objects, if all of them were nourished from a common vital source, and the elasticity of this conception made it very easy to bring natural holy things of different kinds into the cult of one and the same god. Elements of water tree and animal worship could all be combined in the ritual of a single anthropomorphic deity, by the simple supposition that the life of the god flowed in the sacred waters and fed the sacred tree. As regards the connection of holy waters and holy trees, it must be remembered that in most Semitic lands self-sown wood can flourish only where there is under- ground water, and where therefore springs or wells exist beside the trees. Hence the idea that the same life is mother of the sacred pole (FNWNT ON), but the editors of the CIS (No. 13) read NUN. See Cooke, No. 14. LECT. Y. HOLY TREES 191 manifested in the water and in the surrounding vegetation could hardly fail to suggest itself, and, broadly speaking, the holiness of fountains and that of trees, at least among the northern Semites, appear to be parts of the same religious conception, for it is only in exceptional cases that the one is found apart from the other. Where a tree was worshipped as the symbol of an anthropomorphic god we sometimes find a transformation legend directly connecting the life of the god with the vegetative life of the tree. This kind of myth, in which a god is transformed into a tree or a tree springs from the blood of a god, plays a large part in the sacred lore of Phrygia, where tree worship had peculiar prominence, and is also common in Greece. The Semitic examples are not numerous, and are neither so early nor so well attested as to inspire confidence that they are genuine old legendyg independent of Greek influence.2 The most important of them is the myth told at Byblus in the time of Plutarch, of the sacred erica which was worshipped in the temple of Isis, and was said to have grown round the dead body of Osiris. At Byblus, Isis and Osiris are really Astarte and Adonis, so this may possibly be an original Semitic legend of a holy tree growing from the grave of a god.? 1 An interesting example of the combination may here be added to those cited above. The Syriac text of Epiphanius, De pond. et mens. § 62 (Lagarde, V. T. Fragm. p. 65 ; Symmicta, ii. 203), tells us that Atad of Gen. 1. 11 was identified with the spring and thorn-bush of Beth-hagla near Jericho, and the explanation offered of the name Beth-hagla seems to be based on a local tradition of a ritual procession round the sacred objects. See also the Onomastica, s.v. Area Atath. In Greece also it is an exception to find a sacred tree without its fountain ; Botticher, p. 47. 2 Cf. Baudissin, op. cit. p. 214. 3 Plut. Js. & Os. §§ 15, 16. One or two features in the story are note- worthy. The sacred erica was a mere dead stump, for it was cut down by Isis and presented to the Byblians wrapped in a linen cloth and anointed with myrrh like a corpse. It therefore represented the dead god. But as a mere stump it also resembles the Hebrew ashera. Can it be that the rite of draping and anointing a sacred stump supplies the answer to the unsolved 192 FIERY LECT. Y. I apprehend, however, that the physical link between trees and anthropomorphic gods was generally sought in the sacred water from which the trees drew their life. This is probable from the use of the term bal to denote trees that need neither rain nor irrigation, and indeed from the whole circle of ideas connected with Baal’s land. A tree belonged to a particular deity, not because it was of a particular species, but simply because it was the natural wood of the place where the god was worshipped and sent forth his quickening streams to fertilise the earth. The sacred trees of the Semites include every prominent species of natural wood—the pines and cedars of Lebanon, the evergreen oaks of the Palestinian hills, the tamarisks of the Syrian jungles, the acacias of the Arabian wadies, and so forth! So far as these natural woods are concerned, the attempts that have been made to connect individual species of trees with the worship of a single deity break down altogether ; it cannot, for example, be said that the cypress belongs to Astarte more than to Melcarth, who planted the cypress trees at Daphne. Cultivated trees, on the other hand, such as the palm, the olive and the vine, might @ priori be expected, among the Semites as among the Greeks, to be connected with the special worship of the deity of the spot from which their culture was diffused; for religion and agricultural question of the nature of the ritual practices connected with the Ashera? Some sort of drapery for the ashera is spoken of in 2 Kings xxiii. 7, and the Assyrian representation cited on p, 188, note 1, perhaps represents the anointing of the sacred pole. | 1 In modern Palestine the carob tree is peculiarly demoniac, the reddish hue of the wood suggesting blood (ZDPV. x. 181). According to PEF. Qu. St, 1893, p. 203 sq., fig, carob and sycamore trees are haunted by devils, and it is dangerous to sleep under them, whereas the lotus tree (sidr) and the tamarisk appear to be inhabited by a wely (saint). But a tree of any species may be sacred if it grows at a Macam or sacred spot. . ee, Ae a ee ee ee ee Ne ee SS Ll LECT, Vv. APPARITIONS 193 arts spread together and the one carried the other with it Yet even of this there is little evidence; the palm was a familiar symbol of Astarte, but we also find a “Baal of the palm-tree” (Baal-tamar) in a place-name in Judg. xx. 33. The only clear Semitic case of the association of a particular deity with a fruit tree is, I believe, that of the Nabatzan Dusares, who was the god of the vine. But the vine came to the Nabatzans only in the period of Hellenic culture,’ and Dusares as the wine-god seems simply to have borrowed the traits of Dionysus. At Aphaca at the annual feast the goddess appeared in the form of a fiery meteor, which descended from the mountain-top and plunged into the water, while according to another account fire played about the temple, presumably, since an electrical phenomenon must have lain at the foundation of this belief, in the tree-tops of the saered grove.” Similarly it was believed that fire played about the branches of the sacred olive tree between the Ambrosian rocks at Tyre, without scorching its leaves.? In like manner Jehovah appeared to Moses in the bush in flames of fire, so that the bush seemed to burn yet not to be consumed. The same phenomenon, according to Africanus 4 and Eustathius,® was seen at the terebinth of Mamre; the whole tree seemed to be aflame, but when the fire sank again remained unharmed. As lights were set by the well under the tree, and the festival was a nocturnal one, this was probably nothing more than an optical delusion exaggerated by the superstitious imagination, a mere artificial contrivance to keep up an ancient belief which must once have had wide currency in connection with 1 Diodorus, xix. 94. 3. 2 Supra, p. 175, note 1. 3 Achilles Tatius, ii. 14; Nonnus, xl. 474; cf. the representation on & coin of Gordian 111. figured in Pietschmann, Phanizier, p. 295. 4 Georg. Syncellus, Bonn ed. p. 202. > Cited by Reland, p. 712. 13 % 194 DIVINATION LECT, Vv sacred trees, and is remarkable because it shows how a tree might become holy apart from all relation to agri- culture and fertility. Jehovah, “ who dwells in the bush” (Deut. xxxiil. 16), in the arid desert of Sinai, was the God of the Hebrews while they were still nomads ignorant of agriculture; and indeed the original seat of a conception like the burning bush, which must have its physical basis in electrical phenomena, must probably be sought in the clear dry air of the desert or of lofty mountains. The apparition of Jehovah in the burning bush belongs to the same circle of ideas as His apparition in the thunders and lightnings of Sinai. : When the divine manifestation takes such a form as the flames in the bush, the connection between the god and the material symbol is evidently much looser than in the Baal type of religion, where the divine life is immanent in the life of the tree; and the transition is comparatively easy from the conception of Deut. xxxiii. 16, where Jehovah inhabits (not visits) the bush, as elsewhere He is said to inhabit the temple, to the view prevalent in most parts of the Old Testament, that the tree or the pillar at a sanctuary is merely a memorial of the divine name, the mark of a place where He has been found in the past and may be found again. The separation between Jehovah and physical nature, which is so sharply drawn by the prophets and constitutes one of the chief points of distinction between their faith and that of the masses, whose Jehovah worship had all the characters of Baal worship, may be justly considered as a development of the older type of Hebrew religion. It has sometimes been supposed that the conception of a God immanent in nature is Aryan, and that of a transcendental God Semitic; but the former view is quite as characteristic of the Baal worship of the agricultural Semites as of the early faiths LECT. V. FROM TREES 195 of the agricultural Aryans. It is true that the higher developments of Semitic religion took a different line, but they did not grow out of Baal worship. As regards the- special forms of cultus addressed to sacred trees, I can add nothing certain to the very scanty indications that have already come before us. Prayers were addressed to them, particularly for help in sickness, but doubtless also for fertile seasons and the like, and they were hung with votive gifts, especially garments and ornaments, perhaps also anointed with unguents as if they had been real persons. More could be said about the use of branches, leaves or other parts of sacred trees in lustrations, as medicine, and for other ritual purposes. But these things do not directly concern us at present ; they are simply to be noted as supplying additional evidence, if such be necessary, that a sacred energy, that is, a divine life, resided even in the parts of holy trees. The only other aspect of the subject which seems to call for notice at the present stage is the connection of sacred trees with oracles and divination. Oracles and omens from trees and at tree sanctuaries are of the com- monest among all races, and are derived in very various ways, either from observation of phenomena connected with the trees themselves, and interpreted as mani- festations of divine life, or from ordinary processes of divination performed in the presence of the sacred object. Sometimes the tree is believed to speak with an articulate voice, as the gharcad did in a dream to Moslim;? but except in a dream it is obvious that the voice of the tree can only be some rustling sound, as of wind in the branches, like that which was given to David as a token 1 Cf. Botticher, op. cit. chap. xi. 2 Supra, p. 133. The same belief in trees from which a spirit speaks oracles occurs in a modern legend given by Doughty, Ar. Des. ii. 209. 196 HOLY TREES LECT. V. of the right moment to attack the Philistines and requires a soothsayer to interpret it. The famous holy tree near Shechem, called the tree of soothsayers in Judg. ix. 37? and the “tree of the revealer” in Gen. xii. 6, must have been the seat of a Canaanite tree oracle*® We have no hint as tc the nature of the physical indications that guided the soothsayers, nor have I found any other case of a Semitic tree oracle where the mode of procedure is described. But the belief in trees as places of divine revelation must have been widespread in Canaan. The prophetess Deborah gave her responses under a palm near Bethel, which according to sacred tradition marked the grave of the nurse of Rebekah That the artificial sacred tree or ashera was used in divination would follow from 1 Kings xviii. 19, were it not that there are good grounds for holding that in this passage the prophets of the ashera are simply the prophets of the Tyrian Astarte. But in Hos. iv. 12 the “stock” of which the prophet’s contemporaries sought counsel can hardly be anything else than the ashera.® Soothsayers who draw their inspiration 12 Sam. v. 24, 7 A.V. ‘plain of Meonenim.” * It was perhaps only one tree of a sacred grove, for Deut. xi. 30 speaks of the “* trees of the revealer”’ in the plural. Sam. and LXX read “‘ oak.” “Gen. xxxv. 8. There indeed the tree is called an allén, a word generally rendered oak. But allén, like dah and élon, seems to be a name applicable to any sacred tree, perhaps to any great tree. Stade, Gesch. Is. i, 455, would even connect these words with é, god, and the Phenician alonim. 5 As the next clause says, ‘‘and their rod declareth to them,” it is commonly supposed that rhabdomancy is alluded to, 7.e. the use of divining rods. And no doubt the divining rod, in which a spirit of life is supposed to reside, so that it moves and gives indications apart from the will of the man who holds it, is a superstition cognate to the belief in sacred trees ; but when ‘‘their rod” occurs in parallelism with ‘‘their stock” or tree, it lies nearer to cite Philo Byblius, ap. Eus. Pr. Hv. i. 10. 11, who speaks of rods and pillars consecrated by the Pheenicians and worshipped by annual feasts. On this view the rod is only a smaller ashera. Drusius therefore rneems to hit the mark in comparing Festus’s note on delwbrum, where the oe ~~ ye eee ee le eee — a - LECT. v. AND CAVES 197 from plants are found in Semitic legend even in the Middle Ages. To the two great natural marks of a place of worship, the fountain and the tree, ought perhaps to be added grottoes and caves of the earth. At the present day almost every sacred site in Palestine has its grotto, and that this is no new thing is plain from the numerous symbols of Astarte worship found on the walls of caves in Phoenicia. There can be little doubt that the oldest Pheenician temples were natural or artificial grottoes, and that the sacred as well as the profane monuments of Phoenicia, with their marked preference for monolithic forms, point to the rock-hewn cavern as the original type that dominated the architecture of the region.” But if this be so, the use of grottoes as temples in later times does not prove that caverns as such had any primitive religious significance. Religious practice is always con- servative, and rock-hewn temples would naturally be used after men had ceased to live like troglodytes in caves and holes of the earth. Moreover, ancient temples are in most instances not so much houses where the gods live, as storehouses for the vessels and treasures of the sanctuary. The altar, the sacred tree, and the other divine symbols to which acts of worship are addressed, stand outside in front of the temple, and the whole service is carried on in the open air. Now all over the Semitic world caves and pits are the primitive storehouses, and we know that in Arabia Romans are said to have worshipped pilled rods as gods. See more on rod worship in Botticher, op. cit. xvi. 5. Was the omen derived from the rod flourishing or withering? We have such an omen in Aaron’s rod (Num. xvii.) ; and Adonis rods, set as slips to grow or wither, seem to be referred to in Isa. xvii. 10 sqg., a passage which would certainly gain force if the withering of the slips was an ill omen. Divination from the flourishing and withering of sacred trees is very common in antiquity (Botticher, * shap. xi.). 1 Chwolsohn, Ssadier, ii. 914. 4 Renan, Phénicie, p. 822 sq. 198 HOLY CAVES LECT. V. a pit called the ghabghab, in which the sacred treasure was stored, was a usual adjunct to sanctuaries.. But there are weighty reasons for doubting whether this is the whole explanation of cave sacrifices. In other parts of the world, e.g. in Greece, there are many examples of caves associated with the worship of chthonic deities, and also with the oracles of gods like Apollo who are not usually regarded as chthonic or subterranean; and the acts performed in these caves imply that they were regarded as the peculiar seats of divine energy. The common opinion seems to be that Semitic gods were never chthonic, in the sense that their seats and the source of their influence were sought underground. But we know that all branches of the Semites believed in chthonic demons, the Hebrew 00, the Syrian zakkiré, the Arabian ahl al-ard or “ earth-folks,” ” with whom wizards hold fellowship. Again, the ordinary usages of Semitic religion have many points of contact with the chthonic rites of the Greeks. The Arabian ghabghad is not a mere treasury, for the victim is said to be brought to it, and the sacrificial blood flows into the pit. Similarly the annual human sacrifice at Dumetha (Duma) was buried under the altar-idol* As regards the northern Semites the chthonic associations of the Baalim as gods of the subterranean waters are unquestionable, particularly at sanctuaries like Aphaca, where the tomb of the Baal was shown beside his sacred stream ;° for a buried god is a god that dwells underground. The whole N. Semitic area was dotted over with sacred tombs, Memnonia, Semiramis 1 Wellhausen, p. 103. 2 For the 6b see especially Isa, xxix. 4; for the zakkiré, Julianos, ed. Hoffmann, p. 247, and 7DMG., xxviii. 666. For the ahi al-ard the oldest passage I know is Ibn Hisham, p. 258, 1. 19, where these demons appear in connection with witchcraft, exactly like the 6b and the zakkiré, 3 Yacit, iii. 772 sqg.; Ibn Hisham, p. 55,1.18; cf. Wellhausen, wt supra. * Porphyry, De Abst. ii. 56. 5 Supra, p. 174, note. LECT, V. AND PITS 199 mounds and the like, and at every such spot a god or demigod had his subterrancan abode.t No part of old Semitic belief was more deeply graven on the popular imagination than this, which still holds its ground among the peasantry, in spite of Christianity and Islam, with the merely nominal modification that the ancient god has been transformed into a wonder-working sheikh or wely. In view of these facts it can hardly be doubted that remark- able caves or passages, leading into the bowels of the earth, were as Jikely to be clothed with supernatural associations among the Semites as among the Greeks. And there is at least one great Semitic temple whose legends distinctly indicate that the original sanctuary was a chasm in the ground. According to Lucian, this chasm swallowed up the waters of the Flood (Deucalion’s flood, as the Hellenised * form of the legend has it), and the temple with its altars and special ritual of pouring water into the gulf was erected in commemoration of this deliverance.? According to the Christian Melito, the chasm, or “ well,” as he calls it, was haunted by a demon and the water-pouring was designed to prevent him from coming up to injure men.’ Here the primitive sanctity of the chasm is the one fixed point amidst the variations and distortions of later legend; and on this analogy I am disposed to conjecture that in other cases also a cavern or cleft in the earth may have been chosen as a primeval sanctuary because it marked the spot where a chthonic god went up and down between the outer world and his subterranean home, and where he 1 That the Semiramis mounds were really tomb-sanctuaries appears from the testimony of Ctesias cited by Syncellus, i. 119 (Bonn), and John of Antioch (Fr. Hist. Gr. iv. 589), compared with Langlois, Chron. de Michel le Grand (Venice, 1868), p. 40. See also my article on “‘Ctesias and the Semiramis legend ” in Lng. Hist. Rev. April 1887, pp. 303 sqq. 2 De Dea Syria, § 13, cf. § 48. 3 Melito, Spic. Syr. p. 25. 200 ALTARS AND LECT. V. could be best approached with prayers and offerings. What seems particularly to strengthen this conjecture is that the adytum, or dark inner chamber, found in many temples both among the Semites and in Greece, was almost certainly in its origin a cave; indeed in Greece it was often wholly or partially subterranean and is called peyapov—a word which in this application can hardly be true Greek, and mean “hall,” but is rather to be identified with the Semitic myn, “a cave.” The adytum is not a constant feature in Greek temples, and the name feyapov seems to indicate that it was borrowed from the Semites Where it does exist it is a place of oracle, as the Holy of Holies was at Jerusalem, and therefore cannot be looked upon in any other light than as the part of the sanctuary where the god is most immediately present. From this obscure topic we pass at once into clearer light when we turn to consider the ordinary artificial mark of a Semitic sanctuary, viz. the sacrificial pillar, cairn or rude altar. The sacred fountain and the sacred tree are common symbols at sanctuaries, but they are not invariably found, and in most cases they have but a secondary relation to the ordinary ritual. In the more advanced type of sanctuary the real meeting-place between man and his god is the altar. The altar in its developed form is a raised structure upon which sacrifices are pre- sented to the god. Most commonly the sacrifices are fire- offerings, and the altar is the place where they are burned ; but in another type of ritual, of which the Roman lecéi- sterniwm and the Hebrew oblation of shewbread are familiar examples, the altar is simply a table on which a meal is spread before the deity. Whether fire is used or not is a 1 The possibility of this can hardly be disputed when we think of the temple of Apollo at Delos, where the holy cave is the original sanctuary. For this was a place of worship which the Greeks took over from the Pheenicians. LECT, V. SACRIFICIAL STONES 201 detail in the mode of presentation and. does not affect the essence of the sacrificial act. In either case the offering consists of food, “the bread of God” as it is called in the Hebrew ritual,! and there is no real difference between a table and altar. Indeed the Hebrew altar of burnt- offering is called the table of the Lord, while conversely the table of shewbread is called an altar.” The table is not a very primitive article of furniture? and this circumstance alone is enough to lead us to suspect that the altar was not originally a raised platform on which a sacrificial meal could be set forth. In Arabia, where sacrifice by fire is almost unknown, we find no proper altar, but in its place a rude pillar or heap of stones, beside which the victim is slain, the blood being poured out over the stone or at its base* This ritual of the blood is the essence of the offering; no part of the flesh falls as a rule to the god, but the whole is distributed among the men who assist at the sacrifice. The sacred stones, which are already mentioned by Herodotus, are called ansab (sing. nosh), z.e. stones set up, pillars. We also find the name ghariy, “ blood-bedaubed,” with reference to the ritual just described. The meaning of this ritual will occupy us later; meantime the thing to be noted is that the altar is only a modification of the nosb, and that the rude Arabian usage is the primitive type out of which all the elaborate altar ceremonies of the more cultivated Semites grew. Whatever else was done in connection with a sacrifice, the primitive rite of sprinkling 1 Lev. xxi. 8, 17, etc.; cf. Lev. iii. 11. 2 Mal.i. 7,12; Ezek. xli. 22 ; cf. Wellhausen, Prolegomena (Eng.), p. 71. The same word (71) is used of setting a table and disposing the pieces of the sacrifice on the fire-altar. 3 The old Arabian sofra is merely a skin spread on the ground, not a raised table. Cf. H. Bi. col. 2991. 4 Wellhausen, Heid. pp. 43, 101, 116; cf. Kinship, p. 258. 202 ALTARS AND LECT. V. or dashing the blood against the altar, or allowing it to flow down on the ground at its base, was hardly ever omitted;! and this practice was not peculiar to the Semites, but was equally the rule with the Greeks and Romans, and indeed with the ancient nations generally. As regards fire sacrifices, we shall find reason to doubt whether the hearth on which the sacred flesh was con- sumed was originally identical with the sacred stone or cairn over which the sacrificial blood was allowed to flow. It seems probable, for reasons that cannot be stated at this point, that the more modern form of altar, which could be used both for the ritual of the blood and as a sacred hearth, was reached by combining two operations which originally took place apart. But in any case it is certain that the original altar among the northern Semites, as well as among the Arabs, was a great stone or cairn at which the blood of the victim was shed. At Jacob’s covenant with Laban no other altar appears than the cairn of stones beside which the parties to the compact ate together; in the ancient law of Ex. xx. 24, 25, it is prescribed that the altar must be of earth or of unhewn stone; and that a single stone sufficed appears from 1 Sam. xiv. 32 sqq., where the first altar built by Saul is simply the great stone which he caused to be rolled unto him after the battle of Michmash, that the people might slay their booty of sheep and cattle at it, and not eat the flesh with the blood. The simple shedding of the blood by 1 There were indeed altars at which no animal sacrifices were presented. Such are, among the Hebrews, the altar of incense and the table of shew- bread, and among the Pheenicians the altar at Paphos (Tac., Hist. ii. 8) ; perhaps also the ‘‘altar of the pious” at Delos (Porph., De Abst. ii. 28) was of Phenician origin. In later times certain exceptional sacrifices were burned alive or slain without effusion of blood, but this does not touch the general principle. LECT. VY. | SACRIFICIAL STONES 203 the stone or altar consecrated the slaughter and made it a legitimate sacrifice. Here, therefore, there is no difference between the Hebrew altar and the Arabian nosb or ghariy. Monolithic pillars or cairns of stone are frequently mentioned in the more ancient parts of the Old Testament as standing at sanctuaries! generally in connection with a sacred legend about the occasion on which they were set up by some famous patriarch or hero. In the biblical story they usually appear as mere memorial structures without any definite ritual significance; but the penta- teuchal law looks on the use of sacred pillars (masséboth) as idolatrous.? This is the best evidence that such pillars had an important place among the appurtenances of Canaanite temples, and as Hosea (ili. 4) speaks of the masséba as an indispensable feature in the sanctuaries of northern Israel in his time, we may be sure that by the mass of the Hebrews the pillars of Shechem, Bethel, Gilgal and other shrines were looked upon not as mere memorials of historical events, but as necessary parts of the ritual apparatus of a place of worship. That the special ritual acts connected with the Canaanite masséba were essentially the same as in the case of the Arabian mnosb may be gathered from Philo Byblius, who, in his pseudo-historical manner, speaks of a certain Usous who consecrated two pillars to fire and wind, and paid worship to them, pouring out libations to them of the blood of beasts taken in hunting*® From these evidences, and especially from the fact that libations of the same kind 1 At Shechem, Josh. xxiv. 26; Bethel, Gen. xxviii. 18 sgq.; Gilead, {Ramoth-gilead), Gen. xxxi. 45 sqq.; Gilgal, Josh. iv. 5; Mizpah, 1 Sam. vii. 12; Gibeon, 2 Sam. xx. 8; En-rogel, 1 Kings i. 9. 2 Ex. xxxiv. 13; Deut. xii. 8; cf. Mic. v. 13 (12). For pillars A.V. generally gives, incorrectly, ‘ images.” 3 Euseb. Prep. Ev. i. 10. 10. Libations of blood are mentioned as a heathenish rite in Ps. xvi. 4. 204 THE HEBREW LECT. V. are applied to both, it seems clear that the altar is a differentiated form of the primitive rude stone pillar, the nosb or masséba.' But the sacred stone is more than an altar, for in Hebrew and Canaanite sanctuaries the altar, in its developed form as a table or hearth, does not supersede the pillar; the two are found side by side at the same sanctuary, the altar as a piece of sacrificial apparatus, and the pillar as a visible symbol or embodiment of the presence of the deity, which in process of time comes to be fashioned and carved in various ways, till ultimately it becomes a statue or anthropomorphic idol of stone, just as the sacred tree or post was ultimately developed into an image of wood.? It has been disputed whether the sacred stone at Semitic sanctuaries was from the first an object of worship, a sort of rude idol in which the divinity was somehow supposed to be present. It is urged that in the narratives of Genesis the masstéba is a@ mere mark without intrinsic religious significance. But the original significance of the patriarchal symbols cannot be concluded from the sense put on them by writers who lived many centuries after those ancient sanctuaries were first founded; and at the time when the oldest of the pentateuchal narratives were written, the Canaanites and the great mass of the Hebrews certainly treated the masséba as a sort of idol or embodiment of the divine presence. More- over Jacob’s pillar is more than a mere landmark, for it is anointed, just as idols were in antiquity, and the pillar itself, not the spot on which it stood, is called 1 Nosb and masséba are derived from the same root (NSB, ‘‘set up”). Another name for the pillar or cairn is 3'¥3, which occurs in place-names, both in Canaan and among the Arameans (Nisibis, ‘‘the pillars”). * From this point of view the prohibition of a graven image (bpp) in the second commandment stands on one line with the prohibition of an altar of hewn stone (Ex. xx. 25). LECT. V. MASSEBA. 205 “the house of God,”! as if the deity were conceived actually to dwell in the stone, or manifest himself therein to his worshippers. And this is the conception which appears to have been associated with sacred stones every- where. When the Arab daubed blood on the nosb his object was to bring the offering into direct contact with the deity, and in like manner the practice of stroking the sacred stone with the hand is identical with the practice of touching or stroking the garments or beard of a man in acts of supplication before him.? Here, therefore, the sacred stone is altar and idol in one; and so Porphyry (De Abst. ii. 56) in his account of the worship of Duma in Arabia expressly speaks of “the altar which they use as an idol.”? The same conception must have prevailed among the Canaanites before altar and pillar were differentiated from one another, otherwise the pillar would have been simply changed into the more convenient form of an altar, and there could have been no reason for retaining both. So far as the evidence from tradition and ritual goes, we can only think of the sacred stone as consecrated by the actual presence of the godhead, so that whatever touched it was brought into immediate contact with the deity. How such a conception first obtained currency is a matter for which no direct evidence is available, and which if settled at all can be settled only by inference and con- jecture. At the present stage of our inquiry it is not possible to touch on this subject except in a provisional 1 Gen. xxviii. 22. 2 Wellhausen, p. 109; ibid. p. 56. Conversely a holy person con- veys a blessing by the touch of his hand (Ibn Sa‘d, Nos. 90, 130), or even by touching something which others touch after him (Ibn Hisham, 338. 15). 3 So in the well-known line of Al-A‘sha the god to whom the sacred stone belongs is himself said to be mansib, “set up” (Ibn Hish. 256, 8; Morg. Forsch. p. 258). The Arabian gods are expressly called “ gods of stone ’’ in a verse cited by Ibn Sad, No. 118. * 206 SACRED STONES LECT. Y. way. But some things may be said which will at least tend to make the problem more definite. Let us note then that there are two distinct points to be considered—(1) how men came to look on an artificial structure as the symbol or abode of the god, (2) why the particular artificial structure is a stone or a cairn of stones. (1.) In tree worship and in the worship of fountains adoration is paid to a thing which man did not make, which has an independent life, and properties such as to the savage imagination may well appear to be divine. On the same analogy one can understand how natural rocks and boulders, suited by their size and aspect to affect the savage imagination, have acquired in various parts of the world the reputation of being animated objects with power to help and hurt man, and so have come to receive religious worship. But the worship of artificial pillars and cairns of stones, chosen at random and set up by man’s hand, is a very different thing from’ this. Of course not the rudest savage believes that in setting up a sacred stone he is making a new god; what he does believe is that the god comes into the stone, dwells in it or animates it, so that for practical purposes the stone is thenceforth an embodiment of the god, and may be spoken of and dealt with as if it were the god himself. But there is an enormous difference between worshipping the god in his natural embodiment, such as a tree or some notable rock, and persuading him to come and take for his embodiment a structure set up for him by the worshipper. From the metaphysical point of view, which we are always tempted to apply to ancient religion, the worship of stocks and stones prepared by man’s hand seems to be a much cruder thing than the worship of natural life as displayed in a fountain or a secular tree; but practically the idea that the godhead consents to be present in a structure set for LECT. V. SACRED STONES 207 him by his worshippers implies a degree of intimacy and permanency in the relations between man and the being he adores which marks an advance on the worship of natural objects. It is true that the rule of Semitic worship is that the artificial symbol can only be set up in a place already consecrated by tokens of the divine presence; but the sacred stone is not merely a token that the place is frequented by a god, it is also a permanent pledge that in this place he consents to enter into stated relations with men and accept their service. (2.) That deities like those of ancient heathenism, which were not supposed to be omnipresent, and which were commonly thought of as having some sort of corporeal nature, could enter into a stone for the convenience of their worshippers, seems to us a fundamental difficulty, but was hardly a difficulty that would be felt by primitive man, who has most elastic conceptions of what is possible. When we speak of an idol we generally think of an image presenting a likeness of the god, because our knowledge of heathenism is mainly drawn from races which had made some advance in the plastic arts, and used idols shaped in such a way as to suggest the appearance and attributes which legend ascribed to each particular deity. But there is no reason in the nature of things why the physical embodiment which the deity assumes for the convenience of his worshipper should be a copy of his proper form, and in the earliest times to which the worship of sacred stones goes back there was evidently no attempt to make the idol a simulacrum. A cairn or rude stone pillar is not a portrait of anything, and I take it that we shall go on altogether false lines if we try to explain its selection as a divine symbol by any consideration of what it looks like. Even when the arts had made considerable progress the Semites felt no need to fashion their sacred symbols into 208 SACRED STONES LECT. Vv. likenesses of the gods. Melcarth was worshipped at Tyre in the form of two pillars, and at the great temple of Paphos, down to Roman times, the idol was not an anthropomorphic image of Astarte, but a conical stone.” These antique forms were not retained from want of plastic skill, or because there were not well-known types on which images of the various gods could be and often were constructed ; for we see from the second command- ment that likenesses of things celestial terrestrial and aquatic were objects of worship in Canaan from a very early date. It was simply not thought necessary that the symbol in which the divinity was present should be like the god. Phoenician votive cippi were often adorned with rude figures of men, animals and the like, as may be seen in the series of such monuments dedicated to Tanith and Baal Hamman which are depicted in the Corpus Inser. Sem. These figures, which are often little better than hierogly- phics, served, like the accompanying inscriptions, to indicate the meaning of the cippus and the deity to which it was devoted. An image in like manner declares its own meaning better than a mere pillar, but the chief idol of a great sanctuary did not require to be explained in this way ; its position showed what it was without either figure or inscription. It is probable that among the Phoenicians and Hebrews, as among the Arabs at the time of Mohammed, portrait images, such as are spoken of in the second com- 1 Herod. ii. 44. Twin pillars stood also before the temples of Paphos and Hierapolis, and Solomon set up two brazen pillars before his temple at Jerusalem (1 Kings vii. 15, 21). As he named them ‘‘The stablisher” and ‘*In him is strength,” they were doubtless symbols of Jehovah. 2Tac., Hist. ii. 2. Other examples are the cone of Elagabalus at Emesa (Herodian, v. 3. 5) and that of Zeus Casius. More in Zoega, De obeliscis, p. 208. The cone at Emesa was believed to have fallen from heaven, like the idol of Artemis at Ephesus and other ancient and very sacred idols. LECT. V. AND FETICH WORSHIP 209 mandment, were mainly small gods for private use For public sanctuaries the second pillar or ashera sufficed. The worship of sacred stones is often spoken of as if it belonged to a distinctly lower type of religion than the worship of images. It is called fetichism—a merely popular term, which conveys no precise idea, but is vaguely supposed to mean something very savage and contemptible. And no doubt the worship of unshapen blocks is from the artistic point of view a very poor thing, but from a purely religious point of view its inferiority to image worship is not so evident. The host in the mass is artistically as much inferior to the Venus of Milo as a Semitic masséba was, but no one will say that medieval Christianity is a lower form of religion than Aphrodite worship. What seems to be implied when sacred stones are spoken of as fetiches is that they date from a time when stones were regarded as the natural embodiment and proper form of the gods, not merely as the embodiment which they took up in order to receive the homage of their worshippers. Such a view, I venture to think, is entirely without foundation. Sacred stones are found in all parts of the world and in the worship of gods of the most various kinds, so that their use must rest on some cause which was operative in all primitive religions. But that all or most ancient gods were originally gods of stones, inhabiting natural rocks or boulders, and that artificial cairns or pillars are imitations of these natural objects, is against evidence and quite incredible. Among the Semites the sacred pillar is universal, but the instances of the worship of rocks and stones im situ are neither numerous 1 Of the common use of such gods every museum supplies evidence, in the shape of portable idols and amulets with pictured carving. Compare 2 Macc. xii. 40, where we read that many of the army of Judas Maccabeus— Jews fighting against heathenism—wore under their shirts ispapara rav doe "lapvsias siowAwy. 14 210 ORIGIN OF LECT. V. nor prominent, and the idea of founding a theory of the origin of sacred stones in general upon them could hardly occur to any one, except on the perfectly gratuitous supposition that the idol or symbol must necessarily be like the god.? The notion that the sacred stone is a simulacrum of the god seems also to be excluded by the observation that several pillars may stand together as representatives of a single deity. Here, indeed, the evidence must be sifted with some care, for a god and a goddess were often worshipped together, and then each would have a pillar.” But this kind of explanation does not cover all the cases. In the Arabian rite described in Herod. iii. 8, two deities are invoked, but seven sacred stones are anointed with 1 The stone of al-Lat at Taif, in which the goddess was supposed to dwell, is identified by local tradition with a mass which seems to be a natural block tn situ, though not one of unusual size or form. See my Kinship, p. 299, and Doughty, ii. 515. At ‘Okaz the sacred circle was performed roind rocks (sokhir, Yaciit, iii. 705), presumably the remarkable group which I described in 1880 in a letter to the Scotsman newspaper. ‘‘In the S.E. corner of the small plain, which is barely two miles across, rises a hill of loose granite blocks, crowned by an enormous pillar standing quite erect and flanked by lower masses. I do not think that this pillar can be less than 50 or 60 feet in height, and its extraordinary aspect, standing between two lesser guards on either side, is the first thing that strikes the eye on nearing the plain.” The rock of Dusares, referred to by Steph. Byz., is perhaps the cliff with a waterfall which has been already mentioned (supra, p. 168), and — so may be compared with the rock at Kadesh from which the fountain gushed. The sanctity of rocks from which water flows, or of rocks that form a sacred grotto, plainly cannot be used to explain the origin of sacred cairns and pillars which have neither water nor cavern. That the phrase ‘‘ Rock of Israel,’ applied to Jehovah, has anything to do with stone worship may legitimately be doubted. The use of baetylia, or small portable stones to which magical life was ascribed, hardly belongs to the present argument. The idol Abnil at Nisibis is simply ‘‘ the cippus of El” (Assem. i. 27). 2 Cf. Kinship, pp. 60 n., 299 sqqg. Whether the two ghari at Hira and Faid (Wellh. p. 43) belong to a pair of gods, or are a double image of one deity, like the twin pillars of Heracles-Melcarth at Tyre, cannot be decided. Wellhausen inclines to the latter view, citing Hamdsa, 190. 15. But in Arabic idiom the two ‘Ozzas may mean al-Ozzai and her companion goddess al-Lat. Mr. C. Lyall suggests the reading ghariyaini. LECT. V. SACRED STONES 211 blood, and a plurality of sacred stones round which the worshippers circled in a single act of worship are frequently spoken of in Arabian poetry.! Similarly in Canaan the place-name Anathoth means images of ‘Anath in the plural; and at Gilgal there were twelve sacred pillars according to the number of the tweive tribes,? as at Sinai twelve pillars were erected at the covenant sacrifice. Twin pillars of Melcarth have already been noticed at Tyre, and are familiar to us as the “ pillars of Hercules ” in connection with the Straits of Gibraltar. Another view taken of sacred pillars and cippi is that they are images, not of the deity, but of bodily organs taken as emblems of particular powers or attributes of deity, especially of life-giving and reproductive power. I will say something of this theory in a note; but as an explanation of the origin of sacred stones it has not even a show of plausibility. Men did not begin by worshipping emblems of divine powers, they brought their homage and offerings to the god himself. If the god was already conceived as present in the stone, it was a natural exercise of the artistic faculty to put something on the stone to indicate the fact; and this something, if the god was anthropomorphically conceived, might either be a human figure, or merely an indication of important parts of the human figure. At Tabala in Arabia, for 1 Wellh., Herd. p. 102. The poets often seem to identify the god with one of the stones, as al- Ozza was identified with one of the three trees at Nakhla. The ansab stand beside the god (74, iii. 560, 1. 1) or round him, which probably means that the idol proper stood in the midst. In the verse of al-Farazdac, Agh. xix. 3, 1. 30, to which Wellhausen calls attention, the Ox- ford MS. of the Nacaid and that of the late Spitta-Bey read, ‘ala hint la tuhya *l-banatu wa-idh humi ‘ukifun ‘ala ’l-ansabi hawla ’l-mudawwart, and the scholia explain al-mudawwar as sanam yadirina hawlahu. It is impossible to believe that this distinction between one stone and the rest is primitive. 2 Josh. iv. 20. These stones are probably identical with the stone-idols (A.V. “ quarries ”’) of Judg. iii. 19, 26. 3 Ex. xxiv. 4. 212 ORIGIN OF SACRED STONES LECT. V. instance, a sort of crown was sculptured on the stone of al-Lat to mark her head. In like manner other parts of the body may be rudely designated, particularly such as distinguish sex. But that the sacred cippus, as such, is not a sexual emblem, is plain from the fact that exactly the same kind of pillar or cone is used to represent gods and goddesses indifferently. On a review of all these theories it seems most probable that the choice of a pillar or cairn as the primitive idol was not dictated by any other considera- tion than convenience for ritual purposes. The stone or stone-heap was a convenient mark of the proper place of sacrifice, and at the same time, if the deity consented to be present at it, provided the means for carrying out the ritual of the sacrificial blood. Further than this it does not seem possible to go, till we know why it was thought so essential to bring the blood into immediate contact with the god adored. This question belongs to the subject of sacrifice, which I propose to commence in the next lecture.? 1See Additional Note D, Phallic Symbols. 2 One or two isolated statements about sacred stones, not sufficiently important or well attested to be mentioned in the text, may deserve citation ina note. Pliny, H. N. xxxvii. 161, speaks of an ordeal at the temple of Melcarth at Tyre by sitting on a stone seat, ex qua pi facile surgebant.— Yacit, iii. 760, has a very curious account of a stone like a landmark near Aleppo. When it was thrown down the women of the adjoining villages were seized by a shameful frenzy, which ceased when it was set up again. Yaciit had this by very fornial written attestation from persons he names ; but failed to obtain confirmation of the story on making personal inquiry at Aleppo. LECTURE VI SACRIFICE—PRELIMINARY SURVEY WE have seen in the course of the last lecture that the practices of ancient religion required a fixed meeting-place between the worshippers and their god. The choice of such a place is determined in the first instance by the consideration that certain spots are the natural haunts of a deity, and therefore holy ground. But for most rituals it is not sufficient that the worshipper should present his service on holy ground: it is necessary that he should come into contact with the god himself, and this he believes himself to do when he directs his homage to a natural object, like a tree or a sacred fountain, which is believed to be the actual seat of the god and embodi- ment of a divine life, or when he draws near to an artificial mark of the immediate presence of the deity. In the oldest forms of Semitic religion this mark is a sacred stone, which is at once idol and altar; in later times the idol and the altar stand side by side, and the original functions of the sacred stone are divided between them ; the idol represents the presence of the god, and the altar serves to receive the gifts of the worshipper. Both are necessary to constitute a complete sanctuary, because a complete act of worship implies not merely that the worshipper comes into the presence of his god with gestures of homage and words of prayer, but also that he lays before the deity some material oblation. In antiquity an act of 213 214 THE LEVITICAL LECT. V1. worship was a formal operation in which certain prescribed rites and ceremonies must be duly observed. And among these the oblation at the altar had so central a place that among the Greeks and Romans the words ‘epovpyia and sacryfictum, which in their primary application denote any action within the sphere of things sacred to the gods, and so cover the whole field of ritual, were habitually used, like our English word sacrifice, of those oblations at the altar round which all other parts of ritual turned. In English idiom there is a further tendency to narrow the word sacrifice to such oblations as involve the slaughter of a victim. In the Authorised Version of the Bible “sacrifice and offering” is the usual translation of the Hebrew zébah uminia, that is, “bloody and _ bloodless oblations.” For the purposes of the present discussion, however, it seems best to include both kinds of oblation under the term “sacrifice”; for a comprehensive term is necessary, and the word “ offering,” which naturally sug- gests itself as an alternative, is somewhat too wide, as it may properly include not only sacrifices but votive offerings, of treasure images and the like, which form a distinct class from offerings at the altar. Why sacrifice is the typical form of all complete acts of worship in the antique religions, and what the sacrificial act means, is an involved and difficult problem. The problem does not belong to any one religion, for sacrifice is equally important among all early peoples in all parts of the world where religious ritual has reached any con- siderable development. Here, therefore, we have to deal with an institution that must have been shaped by the action of general causes, operating very widely and under conditions that were common in primitive times to all races of mankind. To construct a theory of sacrifice exclusively on the Semitic evidence would be unscientific ; LECT. VI. SACRIFICES 215 and misleading, but for the present purpose it is right to put the facts attested for the Semitic peoples in the fore- ground, and to call in the sacrifices of other nations to confirm or modify the conclusions to which we are led. For some of the main aspects of the subject the Semitic : evidence is very full and clear, for others it is fragmentary : and unintelligible without help from what is known about other rituals. Unfortunately the only system of Semitic sacrifice of which we possess & full account is that of the second temple at Jerusalem ;+ and though the ritual of Jerusalem as described in the Book of Leviticus is undoubtedly based on very ancient tradition, going back to a time when there was no substantial difference, in point of form, between ( 5 ; \ : f i | Hebrew sacrifices and those of the surrounding nations, the system as we have it dates from a time when sacrifice was no longer the sum and substance of worship. In the long years of Babylonian exile the Israelites who remained true to the faith of Jehovah had learned to draw nigh to their God without the aid of sacrifice and offering, and, when they returned to Canaan, they did not return to the old 1The detailed ritual laws of the Pentateuch belong to the post-exilic document commonly called the Priestly Code, which was adopted as the law of Israel’s religion at Ezra’s reformation (444 B.c.). To the Priestly Code belong the Book of Leviticus, together with the cognate parts of the adjacent Books, Ex. xxv.-xxxi., xxxv.-xl., and Num. i.-x., xv.-xix., XXV.-xxxvi. (with some inconsiderable exceptions). With the Code is associated an account of the sacred history from Adam to Joshua, and some ritual matter is found in the historical sections of the work, especially in Ex. xii., where the law of the Passover is mainly priestly, and represents post-exilic usage. The law of Deuteronomy (seventh cent. B.c.) and the older codes of Ex. xx.-xxiii., xxxiv., have little to say about the rules of ritual, which in old times were matters of priestly tradition and not incor- porated in a law-book. A just view of the sequence and dates of the several parts of the Pentateuch is essential to the historical study of Hebrew religion. Readers to whom this subject is new may refer to Wellhausen’s Prolegomena (Eng. trans., Edin. 1883), to the article ‘‘ Pentateuch,” Hncycl. Brit., 9th * ed., to my Old Test. in the Jewish Church (2nd ed. 1892), or to Professor Driver’s Jntroduction. 216 THE LEVITICAL LECT. VI, type of religion. They built an altar, indeed, and restored its ritual on the lines of old tradition, so far as these could be reconciled with the teaching of the prophets and the Deuteronomic law—especially with the principle that there was but one sanctuary at which sacrifice could be accept- — ably offered. But this principle itself was entirely destructive of the old importance of sacrifice, as the stated means of converse between God and man. Im the old time every town had its altar, and a visit to the local sanctuary was the easy and obvious way of consecrating every important act of life. No such interweaving of sacrificial service with everyday religion was possible under the new law, nor was anything of the kind at- tempted. The worship of the second temple was an antiquarian resuscitation of forms which had lost their intimate connection with the national life, and therefore had lost the greater part of their original significance. The Book of Leviticus, with all its fulness of ritual detail, does not furnish any clear idea of the place which each kind of altar service held in the old religion, when all worship took the form of sacrifice. And in some parti- culars there is reason to believe that the desire to avoid all heathenism, the necessity for giving expression to new religious ideas, and the growing tendency to keep the people as far as possible from the altar and make sacrifice the business of a priestly caste, had introduced into the ritual features unknown to more ancient practice. The three main types of sacrifice recognised by the Levitical law are the whole burnt-offering (dla), the sacrifice followed by a meal of which the flesh of the victim formed the staple (shéem, zébah), and the sin-offering (hattath), with an obscure variety of the last named called asham (A.V. “ trespass-offering ”). Of these ‘dla and zébah are frequently mentioned in the older literature, and they LECT. VI. SACRIFICES 217 are often spoken of together, as if, all animal sacrifices fell under one or the other head. The use of sacrifice as an atonement for sin is also recognised in the old literature, especially in the case of the burnt-offering, but there is little or no trace of a special kind of offering appropriated for this purpose before the time of Ezekiel! The formal distinctions with regard to Hebrew sacrifices that can be clearly made out from the pre-exilic literature are— (1) The distinction between animal and vegetable oblations, 2ébah and minha). (2) The distinction between offerings that were consumed by fire and such as were merely set forth on the sacred table (the shewbread). (3) The distinction between sacrifices in which the consecrated gift is wholly made over to the god, to be consumed on the altar or otherwise disposed of in his service, and those at which the god and his worshippers partake together in the consecrated thing. To the latter class belong the zebahim, or ordinary animal sacrifices, in which a victim is slain, its blood poured out at the altar, and the fat of the intestines with certain other pieces burned, while the greater part of the flesh is left to the offerer to form the material of a sacrificial banquet. These three distinctions, which are undoubtedly ancient, and applicable to the sacrifices of other Semitic nations, suggest three heads under which a preliminary survey of the subject may be conveniently arranged. But not till we reach the third head shall we find ourselves brought face to face with the deeper aspects of the problem of the origin and significance of sacrificial worship. 1See Wellhausen, Prolegomena, chap. ii. The Hebrew designations of the species of sacrifices are to be compared with those on the Carthaginian tables of fees paid to priests for the various kinds of offerings, CS. Nos. 165, 164 sqq., but the information given in these is so fragmentary that it ig difficult to make much of it. See below, p. 237 n, 218 THE MATERIAL LECT. VI. 1. The material of sacrifice. The division of sacrifices into animal and vegetable offerings involves the principle that sacrifices—as distinct from votive offerings of garments, weapons, treasure and the lke—are drawn from edible substances, and indeed from such substances as form the ordinary staple of human food. The last statement is strictly true of the Levitical ritual; but, so far as the flesh of animals is concerned, it was subject, even in the later heathen rituals, to certain rare but important excep- tions, unclean or sacred animals, whose flesh was ordinarily forbidden to men, being offered and eaten sacramentally on very solemn occasions. We shall see by and by that in the earliest times these extraordinary sacrifices had a very great importance in ritual, and that on them depends the theory of the oldest sacrificial meals; but, as regards later times, the Hebrew sacrifices are sufficiently typical of the ordinary usage of the Semites generally. The four-footed animals from which the Levitical law allows victims to he selected are the ox the sheep and the goat, that is, the “clean” domestic quadrupeds which men were allowed to eat. The same quadrupeds are named upon the Cartha- ginian inscriptions that give the tariff of sacrificial fees to be paid at the temple,’ and in Lucian’s account of the Syrian ritual at Hierapolis.2 The Israelites neither ate nor sacrificed camels, but among the Arabs the camel was common food and a common offering. The swine, on the other hand, which was commonly sacrificed and eaten in Greece, was forbidden food to all the Semites,? and occurs as a sacrifice only in certain exceptional rites of the kind already alluded to. Deer, gazelles and other kinds of game were eaten by the Hebrews, but not sacrificed, and from Deut. xii. 16 we may conclude that this was an 1 CTS. Nos. 165, 167. 2 Dea Syria, liv. 3 Lucian, wt sup. (Syrians) ; Sozomen, vi. 38 (all Saracens), nT a a ae ie ee ee a ee LECT. VI. OF SACRIFICE 219 ant et eR TO ancient rule. Among the Arabs, in ike manner, a gazelle was regarded as an imperfect oblation, a shabby substitute for a sheep.1 As regards birds, the Levitical law admits pigeons and turtle-doves, but only as holocausts and in certain purificatory ceremonies.?— Birds seem also to be mentioned in the Carthaginian sacrificial lists; what is said of them is very obscure, but it would appear that they might be used either for ordinary sacrifices (shelem kalil) or for special purposes piacular and oracular. That the quail was sacrificed to the Tyrian Baal appears from Atheneeus, ix. 47, p. 392d. See p. 469. Fish were eaten by the Israelites, but not sacrificed ; among their heathen neighbours, on the contrary, fish—or certain kinds of fish—were forbidden food, and were sacri- ficed only in exceptional cases.’ Among the Hebrew offerings from the Yexotable king- dom, meal wine and oil take the chief place,* and these were also the chief vegetable constituents of man’s daily food.° 1 Wellh. p. 118; Hiarith, Mo‘all. 69; especially Lisdn, vi. 211. The reason of this rule, and certain exceptions, will appear in the sequel. 2 Lev. i. 14, xii. 6, 8, xiv. 22, xv. 14, 29; Num. vi. 10. Two birds, of which one is slain and its blood used for lustration, appear also in the ritual for cleansing a leper, or a house that has been affected with leprosy (Lev. xiv. 4 sg., 49 sq.). Further, the turtle-dove and nestling (pigeon) appear in an ancient covenant ceremony (Gen. xv. 9 sqq.). The fact that the dove was not used by the Hebrews for any ordinary sacrifice, involving a sacrificial meal, can hardly be, in its origin, independent of the sacrosanct character ascribed to this bird in the religion of the heathen Semites. The Syrians would not eat doves, and their very touch made a man unclean for a day (Dea Syria, liv,). In Palestine also the dove was sacred with the Pheenicians and Philistines, and on this superstition is based the common Jewish accusation against the Samaritans, that they were worshippers of the dove (see for all this Bochart, Hierozoicon, II. i. 1). Nay, sacred doves that may not be harmed are found even at Mecca. In legal times the dove was of course a ‘‘clean” bird to the Hebrews, but it is somewhat remarkable that we never read of it in the Old Testament as an article of diet-—not even in 1 Kings v. 2 sgg. (A.V. iv. 22 sgqg.)—though it is now one of the commonest table-birds all over the East. * See below, p. 292 sq. *Cf. Mic. vi. 7 with Lev. ii. 1 sgq. © Ps. civ. 14 sq. 220 THE MATERIAL LECT. V1. In the lands of the olive, oil takes the place that butter and other animal fats hold among northern nations, and accordingly among the Hebrews, and seemingly also among the Pheenicians,! it was customary to mingle oil with the cereal oblation before it was placed upon the altar, in conformity with the usage at ordinary meals. In like manner no cereal offering was complete without salt,? which, for physiological reasons, is a necessary of life to all who use a cereal diet, though among nations that live exclusively on flesh and milk it is not indispensable and is often dispensed with. Wine, which as Jotham’s parable has it, “cheereth gods and men,”? was added to whole burnt-offerings and to the oblation of victims of whose flesh the worshippers partook. The sacrificial use of wine, without which no feast was complete, seems to have been well-nigh universal wherever the grape was kncwn,’ and even penetrated to Arabia, where wine was a scarce and costly luxury imported from abroad. Milk, on the other hand, though one of the commonest articles of food among the Israelites, has no place in Hebrew sacrifice, but libations of milk were offered by the Arabs, and also at Carthage® Their absence among the Hebrews may perhaps be explained by the rule of Ex. xxiii, 18, Lev. ii. 11, which excludes all ferments from presentation at the altar; for in hot climates milk ferments rapidly and is generally eaten sour.’ The same principle covers the 1In CIS. No. 165, 1. 14, the S65 is to be interpreted by the aid of Lev. vii. 10, and understood of bread or meal moistened with oil. 2 Lev. ii. 13. 3 Judg. ix. 18. 4 Num. xv. 5. 5 For some exceptions see Aesch., Hum. 107 ; Soph., Oed. Col. 100, with Schol. ; Paus. ii. 11. 4; v. 15. 10 (Greek libations to the Eumenides and to the Nymphs) ; and Athen. xv. 48 (libations to the sun at Emesa), 6 Wellh. p. 114 sg.; CIS. No. 165, 1. 14; No. 167, 1. 10, 7 The rule against offering fermented things on the altar was not observed in northern Israel in all forms of sacrifice (Amos iv. 5), and traces of greater freedom in this respect appear also in Lev. vii. 18, xxiii. 17. It seems strange that wine should be admitted in sacrifice and leaven excluded, for sae ee Cm. ee —— eS ree Oe LECT. VI. OF SACRIFICE Bat prohibition of “honey,”’! which term, like the modern Arabic dibs, appears to include fruit juice inspissated by boiling—a very important article of food in modern and presumably in ancient Palestine. Fruit in its natural state, however, was offered at Carthage and was probably admitted by the Hebrews in ancient times.’ Among the leaven is a product of vinous fermentation, and leavened bread equally with wine is to the nomad a foreign luxury (a/-khamr wal-khamir, Agh. xix. 25), so that both alike must have been wanting in the oldest type of Hebrew sacrifices. Thus the continued prohibition of leaven in sacrifice, after wine was admitted, can hardly be regarded as a mere piece of religious conservatism, but must have some further significance. It is possible that in its oldest form the legal prohibition of leaven applied only to the Passover, to which Ex. xxiii. 18, xxxiv. 25, specially refer. In this connection the prohibition of leaven is closely associated with the rule that the fat and flesh must not remain over till the morning. For we shall find by and by that a similar rule applied to certain Saracen sacrifices nearly akin to the Passover, which were even eaten raw, and had to be entirely consumed before the sun rose. In this case the idea was that the efficacy of the sacrifice lay in the living flesh and blood of the victim. Everything of the nature of putrefaction was therefore to be avoided, and the connection vetween leaven and putrefaction is obvious. The only positive law against the sacrificial use of milk is that in Ex. xxiii. 19, xxxiv. 26: ‘‘Thou shalt not seethe a kid in its mother’s milk.” Mother’s milk is simply goat’s milk, which was that generally used (Prov. xxvii. 27), and flesh seethed in milk is still a common Arabian dish ; sour milk is specified as the kind employed in PEF. Qu. St. 1888, p. 188. The context of the passages in Exodus shows that some ancient. form of sacrifice is referred to; cf. Judg. vi. 19, where we have a holocaust of sodden flesh. A sacrificial gift sodden in sour milk would evidently be of the nature of fermented food ; but I do not feel sure that this goes to the root of the matter. Many primitive peoples regard milk as a kind of equivalent for blood, and thus to eat a kid seethed in its mother’s milk might be taken as equivalent to eating ‘‘with the blood,” and be forbidden to the Hebrews along with the bloody sacraments of the heathen, of which more hereafter. 1 Lev. ii. 11. 2 CIS. No. 166. 8 The term hillilim, applied in Lev. xix. 24 to the consecrated fruit borne by a new tree in its fourth year, is applied in Judg. ix. 27 to the Canaanite vintage feast at the sanctuary. The Carthaginian fruit-offering consisted of a branch bearing fruit, like the ‘‘ethrog” of the modern Jewish feast of Tabernacles. The use of ‘‘ goodly fruits” at this festival is ordained in Lev. xxiii. 40, but their destination is not specified. In Carthage, though the inscription that speaks of the rite is fragmentary, it seems to be clear that the fruit was offered at the altar, for incense is mentioned with it ; and this, no doubt, is the original sense of the Hebrew rite also. * * * 222 THE MATERIAL LECT. VI. Hebrews vegetable or cereal oblations were sometimes presented by themselves, especially in the form of first-fruits, but the commonest use of them was as an accompaniment to an animal sacrifice. When the Hebrew ate flesh, he ate bread with it and drank wine, and when he offered flesh on the table of his God, it was natural that he should add to it the same concomitants which were necessary to make up a comfortable and generous meal. Of these various oblations animal sacrifices are by far the most important in all the Semitic countries. They are in fact the typical sacrifice, so that among the Pheenicians the word zébah, which properly means a slaughtered victim, is applied even to offerings of bread and oil! That cereal offerings have but a secondary place in ritual is not unintelligible in connection with the history of the Semitic race. For all the Semites were originally nomadic, and the ritual of the nemad Arabs and the settled Canaanites has so many points in common that there can be no question that the main lines of sacrificial worship were fixed before any part of the Semitic stock had learned agriculture and adopted cereal food as its ordinary diet. It must be observed, however, that animal food—or at least the flesh of domestic animals, which are the only class of victims admitted among the Semites as ordinary and regular sacrifices— was not a common article of diet even among the nomad Arabs. The everyday food of the nomad con- sisted of milk, of game, when he could get it, and to a limited extent of dates and meal—the latter for the most part being attainable only by purchase or robbery. Flesh Cf. the raisin-cakes (A.V. ‘‘flagons of wine’’), Hos. iii. 1, which from the context appear to be connected with the worship of the Baalim. ' CIS. No. 165, 1. 12; 167, 1. 9. In the context 7¥ can hardly mean geine, but must be taken, as in Josh. ix. 11 sqq., of cereal food, the ordinary ‘* provision” of agricultural peoples. LECT. VI. OF SACRIFICE 925 of domestic animals was eaten only as a luxury or in times of famine.’ If therefore the sole principle that governed the choice of the material of sacrifices had been that they must consist of human food, milk and not flesh would have had the leading place in nomad ritual, whereas its real place is exceedingly subordinate. To remove this difficulty it may be urged that, as sacrifice is food offered to the gods, it ought naturally to be of the best and most luxurious kind that can be attained; but on this principle it is not easy to see why game should be excluded, for a gazelle is not worse food than an old camel.? The true solution of the matter lies in another direction. Among the Hebrews no sacrificial meal was provided for the worshippers unless a victim was sacrificed; if the oblation was purely cereal it was wholly consumed either on the altar or by the priests, in the holy place, ae. by the representatives of the deity. In like manner the only Arabian meal-offering about which we have particulars, that of the god Ocaisir,£ was laid before the idol in handfuls. The poor, however, were allowed to partake of it, being viewed no doubt as the guests of the deity. 1 See the old narratives, passim, and compare Doughty, i. 325 sg. The statement of Frankel, Yremdwérter, p. 31, that the Arabs lived maiuly on flesh, overlooks the importance of milk as an article of diet among all the pastoral tribes, and must also be taken with the qualification that the flesh used as ordinary food was that of wild beasts taken in hunting. On this point the evidence is clear; Pliny, H. NV. vi. 161, ‘‘nomadas lacte et ferina carne uesci’”’; Agatharchides, ap. Diod. Sic. iii. 44. 2; Ammianus, xiv. 4, 6, ‘‘uictus uniuersis caro ferina est lactisque abundans copia qua sustentantur ” ; Nilus, p. 27. By these express statements we must interpret the vaguer utterances of Diodorus (xix. 94. 9) and Agatharchides (ap. Diod. iii. 43. 5) about the ancient diet of the Nabateans: the ‘‘nourishment supplied by their herds” was mainly milk. Certain Arab tribes, like the modern Sleyb, had no herds and lived wholly by hunting, and these perhaps are referred to in what Agatharchides says of the Banizomenes, and in the Syriac life of Simeon Stylites (Assemani, Mart. ii. 345), where, at any rate, besra @haiwathéd means game. 2 Cf. Gen. xxvii. 7. 3 Lev. ii. 3, v. 11, vi. 16 (E.V. 22). 4 Yacit, s.v.; Wellh. p. 62 sqq. 224 SACRIFICE AS THE LECT. VI. The cereal offering therefore has strictly the character of a tribute paid by the worshipper to his god, as indeed is expressed by the name minha, whereas when an animal is sacrificed, the sacrificer and the deity feast together, part of the victim going to each. The predominance assigned in ancient ritual to animal sacrifice corresponds to the predomi- nance of the type of sacrifice which is not a mere payment of tribute but an act of social fellowship between the deity and his worshippers. Why this social meal always includes the flesh of a victim will be considered in a sub- sequent lecture. All sacrifices laid upon the altar were taken by the ancients as being literally the food of the gods. The Homeric deities “feast on hecatombs,”! nay, particular Greek gods have special epithets designating them as the goat-eater, the ram-eater, the bull-eater, even “the cannibal,” with allusion to human sacrifices.2 Among the Hebrews the conception that Jehovah eats the flesh of bulls and drinks the blood of goats, against which the author of Ps. 1. protests so strongly, was never eliminated from the ancient technical language of the priestly ritual, in which the sacrifices are called ovndy ond, “the food of the deity.” In its origin this phrase must belong to the same circle of ideas as Jotham’s “ wine which cheereth gods and men.” But in the higher forms of heathenism the crass materialism of this conception was modified, in the case of fire-offerings, by the doctrine that man’s food must be etherealised or sublimated into fragrant smoke before the gods partake of it. This observation brings us to the second of the points which we have noted in connection with Hebrew sacrifice, viz. the distinction between sacrifices that are merely set forth on the sacred table before the deity, and such as are consumed by fire upon the altar. 1 Tliad, ix. 581. 2 aiyoaryos, xproParyos, ravpoParyes, Arovuros mpenerns, LECT. VL FOOD OF THE GODS 225 2. The table of shewbread has its closest parallel in the lectisternia of ancient heathenism, when a table laden with meats was spread beside the idol. Such tables were set in the great temple of Bel at Babylon,! and, if any weight is to be given to the apocryphal story of Bel and the Dragon in the Greek Book of Daniel, it was popularly believed that the god actually consumed the meal provided for him,? a superstition that might easily hold its ground by priestly connivance where the table was spread inside a temple. A more primitive form of the same kind of offering appears in Arabia, where the meal-offering to Ocaisir is cast by handfuls at the foot of the idol mingled with the hair of the worshipper, and milk is poured over the sacred stones. A narrative of somewhat apocryphal colour, given without reference to his authority by Sprenger, has it that in the worship of “Amm-anas in Southern Arabia, whole hecatombs were slaughtered and left to be devoured by wild beasts. Apart from the exaggeration, there may be something in this; for the idea that sacred animals are the guests or clients of the god is not alien to Arabian thought,’ and to feed them is an act of religion 1 Herod. i. 181, 183; Diod. Sic. ii. 9. 7. 2 The story, so far as it has a basis in actual superstition, is probably drawn from Egyptian beliefs ; but in such matters Egypt and Babylon were much alike; Herod. i. 182. 3 The same thing probably applies to other Arabian meal-offerings, e.g, the wheat and barley offered to Al-Kholasa (Azraci, p. 78). As the dove was the sacred bird at Mecca, the epithet Mof‘im al-tair, ‘‘he who feeds the * birds,” applied to the idol that stood upon Marwa (ibid.), seems to point to similar meal-offerings rather than to animal victims left lying before the god. The ‘‘idol” made of hais, i.e. a mass of dates kneaded up with butter and sour milk, which the B. Hanifa ate up in time of famine (see the Lewz. s.v. dclsj ; Ibn Coteiba, ed. Wiist. p. 299 ; Birini, Chron. p. 210), probably belonged to the widespread class of cereal offerings, shaped as rude idols and eaten sacramentally (Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p, 436 ; ZDMG. xxx. 589). * Leb. Moh. iii. 457. 5 See above, p. 142 sqgg., and the god-name Motim al-tair in the last 15 226 OBLATIONS TO ANIMALS LECT. VI. in many heathen systems, especially where, as in Egypt, the gods themselves are totem-deities, 2.¢. personifications or individual representations of the sacred character and attributes which, in the purely totem stage of religion, were ascribed without distinction to all animals of the holy kind. Thus at Cynopolis in Egypt, where dogs were honoured and fed with sacred food, the local deity was the divine dog Anubis, and similarly in Greece, at the sanctuary of the Wolf Apollo (Apollo Lycius) of Sicyon, an old tradi- tion preserved—though in a distorted form—the memory of a time when flesh used to be set forth for the wolves? It is by no means impossible that something of the same sort took place at certain Arabian shrines, for we have already learned how closely the gods were related to the jinn and the jinn to wild animals, and the list of Arabian deities includes a Lion-god (Yaghith) and a Vulture-god (Nasr),? to whose worship rites like those described by Sprenger would be altogether appropriate. , But while it cannot be thought impossible that sacri- ficial victims were presented on holy ground and left to be devoured by wild beasts as the guests or congeners of the gods, I confess that there seems to me to be no sufficient evidence that such a practice had any considerable place in Arabian ritual. The leading idea in the animal sacrifices of the Semites, as we shall see by and by, was not that of a gift made over to the god, but of an act of communion, note but one; also Hamdani’s account of the offerings at Sawid, supra, p. 177. 1 Strabo, xvii. 1. 39 sg. (p. 812). 2 Pausanias, ii. 9. 7. The later rationalism which changed the Wolf-god into a Wolf-slayer gave the story a corresponding twist by relating that the flesh was poisoned, under the god’s directions, with the leaves of a tree whose trunk was preserved in the temple, like the sacred erica at Byblus. 3 See Kinship, pp. 223, 242; Noldeke, ZDMG. 1886, p. 186. See also, for the Himyarite Vulture-god, 7DMG. xxix. 600, and compare the eagle standard of Morra, Nabigha, iv. 7, Ahlw. =xxi. 7, Der. LECT. VI. SIMILAR OBLATIONS Bat in which the god and his worshippers unite by partaking together of the flesh and blood of a sacred victim. It is true that in the case of certain very solemn sacrifices, especially of piacula, to which class the sacrifices cited by Sprenger appear to belong, the victim sometimes came to be regarded as so sacred that the worshippers did not venture to eat of it at all, but that the flesh was burned or buried or otherwise disposed of in a way that secured it from profanation; and among the Arabs, who did not use burning except in the case of human sacrifices, we can quite well understand that one way of disposing of holy flesh might be to leave it to be eaten by the sacred animals of the god. Or again, when a sacrifice is expressly offered aS a ransom, as in the case of the hundred camels with which ‘Abd-al-Mottalib redeemed his vow to sacrifice his son, it is intelligible that the offerer reserves no part of the flesh, but leaves it to anyone who chooses to help himself; or even (according to another reading) leaves it free to man and beast.1 On the whole, however, all the well-authenticated accounts of Arabian sacrifice seem to indicate that the original principle, that the worshippers must actually eat of the sacred flesh, was very rigorously held to.2 Wellhausen indeed is disposed to think that the practice of slaughtering animals and leaving them beside the altar to be devoured by wild beasts was not confined to certain exceptional cults, but prevailed generally in the case of the ‘atdir (sing. ‘atira) or annual sacrifices pre- sented by the Arabs in the month Rajab, which originally corresponded to the Hebrew Passover-month (Abib, Nisan).? ‘ lbn Hish. p. 100, 1.7; Tabari, i. 1078,1.4. (Wellh. 116.) 2 The evidence of Nilus is very important in this connection ; for the interval between his time and that of the oldest native traditions is scarcely sufficient to allow for the development of an extensive system of sacrifice without a sacrificial meal; infra, p. 338. ® Cf. Wellh.! p. 94 sq., 2 98 sg. To complete the parallelism of the Passover 228 THE ARABIAN LECT. VL “Tt is remarkable,” says Wellhausen, “ how often we hear of the ‘atair lying round the altar-idol, and sometimes in poetical comparisons the slain are said to be left lying on the battlefield like ‘atair.”1 But on the Arabian method of sacrifice the carcases of the victims naturally lie on the ground, beside the sacred stone, till the blood, which is the god’s portion, has drained into the ghabghab, or pit, at its foot, and till all the other ritual prescriptions have been fulfilled. Thus at a great feast when many victims were offered together, the scene would resemble a battle- field; indeed, it is impossible to imagine a more disgusting scene of carnage than is still presented every year at Mina on the great day of sacrifice, when the ground is literally covered with innumerable carcases. It is not therefore necessary to suppose that the ‘atair at Rajab were left to the hyena and the vulture; and, as the name atira seems to be also used in a more general sense of any victim whose blood is applied to the sacred stones at the sanctuary, it is hardly to be thought that there was anything very exceptional in the form of the Rajab ceremony. In the higher forms of Semitic heathenism offerings of the shewbread type are not very conspicuous; in truth the idea that the gods actually consume the solid food deposited with the Rajab offerings, Wellhausen desiderates evidence connecting the ‘atair of Rajab with the sacrifice of firstlings. The traditionists, e.g. Bokhari, vi. 207 (at the close of the Kit. al-‘acica), distinguish between firstlings (fara‘) and ‘atira, but the line of distinction is not sharp. The lexicons apply the name fara’, not only to firstlings sacrificed while their flesh was still like glue (Lisdn, x. 120), but also to the sacrifice of one beast in a hundred, which is what the scholiast on Harith’s Moal/. 69 understands by the ‘atira. Conversely the Zisdn, vi. 210, defines the ‘atira as a first- ling (awwal ma& yuntaj) which was sacrificed to the gods. If we could accept this statement without reserve, in the general confusion of the later Arabs on the subject, it would supply what Wellhausen desiderates. 1 Wellh.! p. 115, ef. 2.121; cf. the verses cited ibid. pp. 18,61; and, for the poetical comparisons, Ibn Hisham, 534. 4; Alcama, vi. 3, Soc. LECT. V1. “ATAIR 229 at their shrines is too crude to subsist without modifica- tion beyond the savage state of society; the ritual may survive, but the sacrificial gifts, which the god is evidently unable to dispose of himself, will come to be the perquisite of the priests, as in the case of the shewbread, or of the poor, as in the meal sacrifice to Ocaisir. In such cases the actual eating is done by the guests of the deity, but the god himself may still be supposed to partake of food in a subtle and supersensuous way. It is interesting to note the gradations of ritual that correspond to this modi- fication of the original idea. In the more primitive forms of Semitic religion the difficulty of conceiving that the gods actually partake of food is partly got over by a predominant use of liquid oblations ; for fluid substances, which sink in and disappear, are more easily believed to be consumed by the deity than obstinate masses of solid matter. The libation, which holds quite a secondary place in the more advanced Semitic rituals, and is generally a mere accessory to a fire offering, has great prominence among the Arabs, to whom sacrifices by fire were practically unknown except, as we shall see by and by, in the case of human sacrifice. Its typical form is the libation of blood, the subtle vehicle of the life of the sacrifice; but milk, which was used in ritual both by the Arabs and by the Pheni- cians, is also no doubt a very ancient Semitic libation. In ordinary Arabian sacrifices the blood which was poured over the sacred stone was all that fell to the god’s part, the whole flesh being consumed by the worshippers and their guests; and the early prevalence of this kind of oblation appears from the fact that the word p3, “to pour,” which in Hebrew means to pour out a drink-offering, is in Arabic the general term for an act of worship. In the North Semitic ritual the most notable feature in 230 LIBATIONS OF LECT. VL the libation, which ordinarily consisted of wine, is that it was not consumed by fire, even when it went with a fire- offering. The Greeks and Romans poured the sacrificial wine over the flesh, but the Hebrews treated it like the blood, pouring it out at the base of the altar! In Eccle- siasticus the wine so treated is even called “the blood of the grape,’* from which one is tempted to conclude that here also blood is the typical form of libation, and that wine is a surrogate for it, as fruit-juice seems to have been in certain Arabian rites.* It is true that the blood of the sacrifice is not called a libation in Hebrew ritual, and in Ps. xvi. 4 “drink-offerings of blood” are spoken of as something heathenish. But this proves that such libations were known; and that the Hebrew altar ritual of the blood is essentially a drink-offering ‘appears from Ps. 1. 13, where Jehovah asks, “ Will I eat the flesh of bulls or drink the blood of goats?” and also from 2 Sam. xxiii, 17, where David pours out as a drink-offering the water from the well of Bethlehem, refusing to drink “ the blood of the men that fetched it in jeopardy of their lives.” Putting all this together, and noting also that hbations were retained as a chief part of ritual in the domestic heathenism of the Hebrew women in the time of Jeremiah,! and that private service is often more conservative than 1 Ecclus. 1. 15; Jos, Andtt. iii. 9.4. Num. xv. 7 is sometimes cited as proving that in older times the wine was poured over the sacrificial flesh, but see against this interpretation Num. xxviii. 7. 2 The term aiua Borpdwy occurs in the Tyrian legend of the invention of wine, Ach. Tatius, ii. 2, and may possibly be the translation of an old Phenician phrase. 3 Kinship, p. 59n.; Wellh. p. 125. 4 Jer. xix. 13, xxxii. 29, xliv. 17, 18. With this worship on the house- tops, cf. what Strabo, xvi. 4. 26, tells of the daily offerings of libations and incense presented to the sun by the Nabatzeans at an altar erected on the house-tops. The sacrificial act must be done in the presence of the deity (cf. Nilus, pp. 30, 117), and if the sun or the queen of heaven is worshipped, a place open to the sky must be chosen. See Wellh. 41. LECT. VI. BLOOD AND WINE 231 public worship, we are led to conclude (1) that the libation of blood is a common Semitic practice, older than fire-sacrifices, and (2) that the libation of wine is in some sense an imitation of, and a surrogate for, the primitive blood-offering. Whether libations of water can properly be reckoned among the drink-offerings of the Semites is very doubtful. David’s libation is plainly exceptional, and in the Levitical ritual offerings of water have no place. In the actual practice of later Judaism, however, water drawn from the fountain of Siloam, and carried into the Temple amidst the blare of trumpets, was solemnly poured out upon the altar on seven days of the Feast of Tabernacles.! According to the Rabbins, the object of this ceremony was to secure fertilising rains in the following year. The explanation is doubtless correct, for it is a common belief all over the world that pouring out water is a potent rain - charm.” This being so, we can well understand that the rite derives no countenance from the law; in truth it does not belong to the sphere of religion at all, but falls under the cate- gory of sympathetic magic in which natural phenomena are thought to be produced by imitating them on a small scale. In some forms of this charm thunder is imitated as well as rain;® and perhaps the trumpet-blowing at the Temple is to be explained in this way. The closest parallel to the water-pouring of the Feast 1See Sucea, iv. 9; Lightfoot on John vii. 37; Reland, Ant. Heb. p. 448 sq., with the refs. there given. The water was poured into a special channel in the altar. * Numerous examples are given by Frazer, Golden Bough, i. 248 sqq., to which I may add the annual ‘“‘ water-pouring”’ at Ispahan (Biriini, Chron. p. 228 sqq. ; Cazwini, i. 84). 8 Frazer, i. 303: a very curious Arabian rain-charm, where cattle (or perhaps antelopes) are driven into the mountains with firebrands attached to their tails, seems to be an imitation of lightning. See Wellhausen, p. 167; Lisan, v. 140; Raghib, i. 94. 2o2 OIL OFFERINGS LECT. VL of Tabernacles is found in the rite of Hierapolis, described by Lucian! Twice a year a great concourse of worshippers assembled at the Temple bearing water from “the sea” (i.e. the Euphrates *), which was poured out in the Temple and flowed away into a cleft which, according to tradition, absorbed the waters of Deucalion’s flood, and so gave occa- sion to the erection of a sanctuary, with commemorative services on the spot.3 In Hebrew ritual oil is not a libation, but when used in sacrifice serves to moisten and enrich a cereal offering. The ancient custom of pouring oil on sacred stones* was presumably maintained at Bethel according to the precedent set by Jacob; and even in the fourth Christian century the Bordeaux pilgrim speaks of the “lapis pertusus” at Jeru- salem “ad quem ueniunt Iudei singulis annis et ungunt eum”; but, as oj] by itself was not an article of food, the natural analogy to this act of ritual is to be sought in the application of unguents to the hair and skin. The use of unguents was a luxury proper to feasts and gala days, when men wore their best clothes and made merry; and from Ps. xlv. 8 (E.V. 7) compared with Isa. Ixi. 3, we may con- 1 Dea Syria, § 13, cf. § 48. The same rite is alluded to by Melito in Cureton, Spic. Syr. p. 25. 2 To the dwellers in Mesopotamia the Euphrates was ‘‘the sea” ; Philo- stratus, Vita Apollonii, i. 20. 3 The ritual of pouring water into the cleft has its parallel in the modern practice at the fountain of water before the gates of Tyre, when in September the water becomes red and troubled, and the natives gather for a great feast and restore its limpidity by pouring a pitcher of sea-water into the source (Volney, Etat pol. de la Syrie, chap. viii.; Mariti, ii. 269). Here the ceremony takes place at the end of the dry season when the water is low, and may therefore be compared with the legend that Mohammed made the empty well of Hodaibiya to overflow by causing it to be stirred with one of his arrows after a pitcher of water had been poured into it (Moh. in Med. p. 247). As a rule the pouring out of water in early superstition is, as we have already seen, a rain-charm, and possibly the rite of Hierapolis was really designed to procure rain, but only in due measure, ‘Gen. xxviii. 18, xxxv. 14. Io bate Gn 4 LECT. VI. OIL OFFERINGS 233 clude that the anointing of kings at their coronation is part of the ceremony of investing them in the festal dress and ornaments appropriate to their dignity on that joyous day (cf. Cant. iii. 11). To anoint the head of a guest was a hospitable act and a sign of honour; it was the completion of the toilet appropriate to a feast. Thus the sacred stone or rude idol described by Pausanias (x. 24. 6) had oil poured on it daily, and was crowned with wool at every feast. We have seen that the Semites on festal occasions dressed up their sacred poles, and they did the same with their idols... With all this the ritual of anointing goes quite naturally ; thus at Medina in the last days of heathenism we find a man washing his domestic idol, which had been defiled by Moslems, and then anointing it? But apart from this, the very act of applying oimtment to the sacred symbol had a religious significance. The Hebrew word meaning to anoint (mashah) means properly to wipe or _ stroke with the hand, which was used to spread the unguent over the skin. Thus the anointing of the sacred symbol is associated with the simpler form of homage common in Arabia, in which the hand was passed over the idol (tamassoh). In the oath described by Ibn Hisham, p. 85, the parties dip their hands in unguent and then wipe them on the Caaba. The ultimate source of the use of unguents in religion will be discussed by and by in connection with animal sacrifice. The sacrificial use of blood, as we shall see hereafter, is connected with a series of very important ritual ideas, turning on the conception that the blood is a special seat of the life. But primarily, when the blood is offered at the altar, it is conceived to be drunk by the deity. Apart from _ Ps. lL. 13 the direct evidence for this is somewhat scanty, so far as the Semites are concerned; the authority usually 1 Ezek. xvi. 18. 2 Ibn Hisham, p. 303. 234 OFFERINGS LECT. VI. appealed to is Maimonides, who states that the Sabians looked on blood as the nourishment of the gods. So late a witness would have little value if he stood alone, but the expression in the Psalm cannot be mere rhetoric, and the same belief appears among early nations in all parts of the globe.! Nor does this oblation form an exception to the rule that the offerings of the gods consist of human food, for many savages drink fresh blood by way of nourishment, and esteem it a special delicacy.” Among the Arabs, down to the age of Mohammed, blood drawn from the veins of a living camel was eaten—in a kind of blood pudding—=in seasons of hunger, and perhaps also at other times. We shall find, however, as we proceed, that sacrificial blood, which contained the life, gradually came to be considered as something too sacred to be eaten, and that in most sacrifices it was entirely made over to the god at the altar. As all slaughter of domestic animals for food was originally sacrificial among the Arabs as well as among the Hebrews, this carried with it the disuse of blood as an article of ordinary food; and 1 See Tylor, Primitive Culture', ii. 381 sq. The story told by Yacit, ii. 882, of the demon at the temple of Riam to whom bowls of sacrificial] blood were presented, of which he partook, seems to have a Jewish origin. According to one version this demon had the form of a black dog (cf. Ibn Hish. p. 18, 1. 3). 2 See, for America, Bancroft, Native Races, i. 55, 492, ii. 344. In Africa fresh blood is held as a dainty by all the negroes of the White Nile (Marno, Reise, p. 79); it is largely drunk by Masai warriors (Thomson, p. 430) ; and also by the Gallas, as various travellers attest. Among the Hottentots the pure blood of beasts is forbidden to women but not to men ; Kolben, State of the Cape, i. 205, cf. 203. In the last case we see that the blood is sacred food. For blood-drinking among the Tartars, see Yule’s Marco Polo, i. 254, and the editor’s note. Where mineral salt is not used for food, the drinking of blood supplies, as Thomson remarks, an important constituent to the system. 3 Maidani, ii. 119; Hamasa, p. 645, last verse. From Agh. xvi. 107. 20, one is led to doubt whether the practice was confined to seasons of famine, or whether this kind of food was used more regularly, as was done, on the other side of the Red Sea, by the Troglodytes (Agatharchides in Fr. Geog. Gy. i. 153). See further the Lexg. s.vv. fasada, ‘ilhiz, bajja, musawwad, LECT. VI. OF BLOOD 235 even when slaughter ceased to involve a formal sacrifice, it was still thought necessary to slay the victim in the name of a god and pour the blood on the ground.! Among the Hebrews this practice soon gave rise to an absolute prohibition of blood-eating; among the Arabs the rule was made absolute only by Mohammed’s legislation.” The idea that the gods partake only of the liquid parts of the sacrifice appears, as has been already said, to indicate a modification of the most crassly materialistic conception of the divine nature. The direction which this modifica- tion took may, I think, be judged of by comparing the sacrifices of the gods with the oblations offered to the dead. In the famous véxwa of the Odyssey? the ghosts drink greedily of the sacrificial blood, and libations of gore form a special feature in Greek offerings to heroes. Among the Arabs, too, the dead are thirsty rather than hungry; water and wine are poured upon their graves.‘ Thirst is a subtler appetite than hunger, and therefore more appropriate to the disembodied shades, just as it is from thirst rather than from hunger that the Hebrews and many other nations borrow metaphors for spiritual longings and intellectual desires. Thus the idea that the gods drink, but do not eat, seems to mark the feeling that they must be thought of as having a less solid material nature than men. 1 Wellh.? 113 sqg., 2.117. In an Arab encampment slaves sleep beside “the blood and the dung” (Agh. viii. 74. 29); cf. 1 Sam. ii. 8. _ 2 Whether the blood of game was prohibited to the Hebrews before the law of Lev. xvii. 13 is not quite clear; Deut. xii. 16 is ambiguous. In Islam as in Judaism the prohibition of blood-eating and the rule that carrion must not be eaten go together (Lev. xvii. 15; Ibn Hish. p. 206, 1. 7). 3 Bk. xi.; cf. Pindar, Ol. i. 90, where the word aiuaxovpla: is explained by Hesychius as ra évayiopara TOy Karoxoudvwy; Pausan. v. 13,$2; Plut., Aristides, 21. 4 Wellhausen, p. 182, 236 SACRIFICES LECT, VL A farther step in the same direction is associated with the introduction of fire sacrifices; for, though there are valid reasons for thinking that the practice of burning the flesh or fat of victims originated in a different line of thought (as we shall by and by see), the fire ritual readily lent itself to the idea that the burnt flesh is simply a food-offering etherealised into fragrant smoke, and that the gods regale themselves on the odour instead of the substance of the sacrifice. Here again the analogy of gifts to the dead helps us to comprehend the point of view; among the Greeks of the seventh century B.C. it was, as we learn from the story of Periander and Melissa, a new idea that the dead could make no use of the gifts buried with them, unless they were etherealised by fire’ A similar notion seems to have attached itself to the custom of sacrifice by fire, combined probably at an early date with the idea that the gods, as ethereal beings, lived in the upper air, towards which the sacrificial smoke ascended in savoury clouds. Thus the prevalence among the settled Semites of fire sacrifices, which were interpreted as offer- ings of fragrant smoke, marks the firm establishment of a conception of the divine nature which, though not purely spiritual, is at least stripped of the crassest aspects of materialism. _ 3. The distinction between sacrifices which are wholly made over to the god and sacrifices of which the god and the worshipper partake together requires careful handling. In the later form of Hebrew ritual laid down in the Levitical law, the distinction is clearly marked. To the former class belong all cereal oblations (Heb. minha; A.V. “ offering” or “ meat-offering ”), which so far as they are not burned on the altar are assigned to the priests, and among 1 Herodotus, v. 92; cf. Joannes Lydus, Mens. iii. 27, where the object of burning the dead is said to be to etherealise the body along with the soul. Te ee fe ee ee > et dl et a a kT — ee LECT. VI. BY FIRE 237 animal sacrifices the sin-offering and the burnt-offering or holocaust. Most sin-offerings were not holocausts, but the part of the flesh that was not burned fell to the priests. To the latter class, again, belong the zebahim or shelamim (sing. zébah, shélem, Amos v. 22), that is, all the ordinary festal sacrifices, vows and freewill offerings, of which the share of the deity was.the blood and the fat of the intestines, the rest of the carcase (subject to the payment of certain dues to the officiating priest) being left to the worshipper to form a social feast.!. In judging of the original scope and meaning of these two classes of sacrifice, it will be convenient, in the first instance, to confine our attention to the simplest and most common forms of offering. In the last days of the kingdom of Judah, and still more after the Exile, piacular sacrifices and holocausts acquired a prominence which they did not possess in ancient times. The old history knows nothing of the Levitical sin-offering; the atoning function of sacrifice is not confined to a particular class of oblation, but belongs to 1%n the English Bible zebahim is rendered ‘‘ sacrifices,” and shelamim “‘neace-offerings.”” The latter rendering is not plausible, and the term shelamim can hardly be separated from the verb shill/em, to pay or discharge, ¢.g. a vow. Zébah is the more general word, including (like the Arabic dhibh) all animals slain for food, agreeably with the fact that in old times all slaughter was sacrificial. In later times, when slaughter and sacrifice were no longer identical, zébah was not precise enough to be used as a technical term of ritual, and so the term shelamim came to be more largely used than in the earlier literature. On the sacrificial lists of the Carthaginians the terms corresponding to aby and M3} seem to be b> and nyyy. The former is the old Hebrew byb5 (Deut. xxxiii. 10; 1 Sam. vii. 9), the latter is etymologically quite obscure. In the Carthaginian burnt - sacrifice a certain weight of the flesh was apparently not consumed on the altar, but given to the priests (CIS. 165), as in the case of the Hebrew sin-offering, which was probably a modification of the holocaust. The 65 nbv,, which appears along with b> and Nyy in CZS. 165 (but not in CJS. 167), is hardly a third co-ordinate species of sacrifice. The editors of the Corpus regard it as a variety of the holocaust (hol. ewcharisticum), which is not easily reconciled with their own restitution of ]. 11 or with the Hebrew sense of pw. Perhaps it is an ordinary sacrifice accompanying a holocaust. 238 SACRIFICIAL MEALS LECT. V1. all sacrifices! The holocaust, again, although ancient, is not in ancient times a common form of sacrifice, and unless on very exceptional occasions occurs only in great public feasts and in association with zebahim. The distressful times that preceded the end of Hebrew independence drove men to seek exceptional religious means to conciliate the favour of a deity who seemed to have turned his back on his people. Piacular rites and costly holocausts became, therefore, more usual, and after the abolition of the local high places this new importance was still further accentu- ated by contrast with the decline of the more common forms of sacrifice. When each local community had its own high place, it was the rule that every animal slain for food should be presented at the altar, and every meal at which flesh was served had the character of a sacrificial feast.2, As men ordinarily lived on bread fruit and milk, and ate flesh only on feast days and holidays, this rule was easily observed as long as the local sanctuaries stood. But when there was no altar left except at Jerusalem, the identity of slaughter and sacrifice could no longer be main- tained, and accordingly the law of Deuteronomy allows men to slay and eat domestic animals everywhere, provided only that the blood—the ancient share of the god—is poured out upon the ground* When this new rule came into force men ceased to feel that the eating of flesh was essentially a sacred act, and though strictly religious meals were still maintained at Jerusalem on the great feast days, the sacrificial meal necessarily lost much of its old signifi- 1To z¢ébah and minha, 1 Sam. iii. 14, xxvi. 19, and still more to the holocaust, Mic. vi. 6, 7. 2 Hos, ix. 4. 3 Deut. xii. 15, 16; cf. Lev. xvii. 10 sg. The fat of the intestines was also from ancient times reserved for the deity (1 Sam. ii. 16), and therefore it also was forbidden food (Lev. iii. 17). The prohibition did not extend to the fat distributed through other parts of the body. LECT, VI. AND HOLOCAUSTS 239 cance, and the holocaust seemed to have a more purely sacred character than the zébah, in which men ate and drank just as they might do at home. But in ancient times the preponderance was all the other way, and the zébah was not only much more frequent than the holocaust, but much more intimately bound up with the prevailing religious ideas and feelings of the Hebrews. On this point the evidence of the older litera- ture is decisive ; 2ébah and minha, sacrifices slain to provide a religious feast, and vegetable oblations presented at the altar, make up the sum of the ordinary religious practices of the older Hebrews, and we must try to understand these ordinary rites before we attack the harder problem of exceptional forms of sacrifice. Now, if we put aside the piacula and whole burnt- offerings, it appears that, according to the Levitical ritual, the distinction between oblations in which the worshipper shared, and oblations which were wholly given over to the deity to be consumed on the altar or by the priests, corre- sponds to the distinction between animal and vegetable offerings. The animal victim was presented at the altar and devoted by the imposition of hands, but the greater part of the flesh was returned to the worshipper, to be eaten by him under special rules. It could be eaten only by persons ceremonially clean, ze. fit to approach the deity ; and if the food was not consumed on the same day, or in certain cases within two days, the remainder had to be burned The plain meaning of these rules is that the flesh is not common but holy,” and that the act of eating it is a part of the service, which is to be completed before men break up from the sanctuary.’ The zébah, therefore, is 1 Ley. vii. 15 sqg., xix. 6, xxii. 30. 2 Hag. ii. 12; cf. Jer. xi. 15, LXX. 8 The old sacrificial feasts occupy but a single day (1 Sam. ix.), or at most two days (1 Sam. xx. 27). 240 CEREAL LECT. VI. not a mere attenuated offering, in which man grudges to give up the whole victim to his God. On the contrary, the central significance of the rite lies in the act of communion between God and man, when the worshipper is admitted to eat of the same holy flesh of which a part is laid upon the altar as “the food of the deity.” But with the minha nothing of this kind occurs; the whole consecrated offering is retained by the deity, and the worshipper’s part in the service is completed as soon as he has made over his gift. In short, while the zébah turns on an act of communion between the deity and his worshippers, the minha (as its name denotes) is simply a tribute. I will not undertake to say that the distinction so clearly laid down in the Levitical law was observed before the Exile in all cases of cereal sacrifices. Probably it was not, for in most ancient religions we find that cereal offerings come to be accepted in certain cases as sub- stitutes for animal sacrifices, and that in this way the difference between the two kinds of offering gradually gets to be obliterated.1_ But in such matters great weight is to be attached to priestly tradition, such as underlies the Levitical ritual. The priests were not likely to invent a distinction of the kind which has been described, and in point of fact there is good evidence that they did not invent it. For there is no doubt that in ancient times the ordinary source of the minha was the offering of first- fruits—this is, of a small but choice portion of the annual produce of the ground, which in fact is the only cereal oblation prescribed in the oldest laws.? So far as can be seen, the first-fruits were always a tribute wholly made 1 So at Rome models in wax or dough often took the place of animals. The same thing took place at Athens: Hesychius, s.vv. Bods and tBdopos fous ; cf. Thucyd. i. 126 and schol. At Carthage we have found the name zébah applied to vegetable offerings (p. 222 n.). 2 Ex. xxii. 29, xxiii. 19, xxxiv. 26, LECT, VI. OFFERINGS 241 over to the deity at the sanctuary. They were brought by the peasant in a basket and deposited at the altar,) and so far as they were not actually burned on the altar, they were assigned to the priests ?—not to the ministrant as a reward for his service, but to the priests as a body, as the household of the sanctuary.? Among the Hebrews, as among many other agricultural peoples, the offering of first-fruits was connected with the idea that it is not lawful or safe to eat of the new fruit until the god has received his due* The offering makes the whole crop lawful food, but it does not make it holy food; nothing is consecrated except the small portion offered at the altar, and of the remaining store clean persons and unclean eat alike throughout the year. This, therefore, is quite a different thing from the consecration of animal sacrifices, for in the latter case the whole flesh is holy, and only those who are clean can eat of it.® In old Israel all slaughter was sacrifice® and a man could never eat beef or mutton except as a religious act, but cereal food had no such sacred associations; as soon as God had received His due of first-fruits, the whole domestic store was common. The difference between cereal and animal food was therefore deeply marked, and though bread was of course brought to the sanctuary to be 1 Deut. xxvi. 1 sgq. 2 Lev. xxiii. 17 ; Deut. xviii. 4. For the purpose of this argument it is not necessary to advert to the distinction recognised by post - Biblical tradition between réshith and bikkiirim, on which see Wellh., Prolegomena, 3rd ed., p. 161 sq. (Eng. trans., p. 157 sq.). 3 This follows from 2 Kings xxiii. 9. The tribute was sometimes paid to a man of God (2 Kings iv. 42), which is another way of making it over to the deity. In the Levitical law also the minha belongs to the priests as a whole (Lev. vii. 10). This is an important point. What the minis- trant receives as a fee comes from the worshipper, what the priests as a whole receive is given them by the deity. 4 Lev. xxiii. 14; cf. Pliny, H. N. xviii. 8. ® Hos. ix. 4 refers only to animal food. $ The same thing is true of Old Arabia ; Wellh. p. 117. 16 242 SACRIFICIAL LECT. VL — IS ea eaten with the zebahim, it had not and could not have the same religious meaning as the holy flesh. It appears from Amos iv. 4 that it was the custom in northern Israel to lay a portion of the worshipper’s provision of ordinary leavened bread on the altar with the sacrificial flesh, and this custom was natural enough ; for why should not the deity’s share of the sacrificial meal have the same cereal accompaniments as man’s share? But there is no indica- tion that this oblation consecrated the part of the bread retained by the worshipper and made it holy bread. The only holy bread of which we read is such as belonged to the priests, not to the offerer.. In Lev. vu. 14, Num. vi. 15, the cake of common bread is given to the priest instead of being laid on the altar, but it is carefully distinguished from the minha. In old times the priests had no altar dues of this kind. They had only the first- fruits and a claim to a piece of the sacrificial flesh,? from which it may be presumed that the custom of offering bread with the zébah was not primitive. Indeed Amos seems to mention it with some surprise as a thing not familiar to Judean practice. At all events no sacrificial meal could consist of bread alone. All through the old history it is taken for granted that a religious feast necessarily implies a victim slain.® 1] Sam. xxi. 4. 2 Deut. xviii. 8, 4; 1 Sam. ii. 13 sqq. 3 What has been said above of the contrast between cereal sacrificial gifts and the sacrificial feast seems to me to hold good also for Greece and Rome, with some modification in the case of domestic meals, which among the Semites had no religious character, but at Rome were consecrated by a portion being offered to the household gods. This, however, has nothing to do with public religion, in which the law holds good that there is no sacred feast without a victim, and that consecrated aparche are wholly given over to the sanctuary. The same thing holds good for many other peoples, and seems, so far as my reading goes, to be the general rule. But there are exceptions. My friend Mr. J. G. Frazer, to whose wide reading I never appeal without profit, refers me to Wilken’s Alfoeren van het eiland Beroe, p- 26, where a true sacrificial feast is made of the first-fruits of rice. Thia LECT. VI. FEAST 243 The distinction which we are thus led to draw between the cereal oblation, in which the dominant idea is that of a tribute paid to the god, and animal sacrifices, which are essentially acts of communion between the god and his worshippers, deserves to be followed out in more detail. But this task must be reserved for another lecture. is called ‘‘eating the soul of the rice,” so that the rice is viewed as a living creature. In such a case it is not unreasonable to say that the rice may be regarded as really an animate victim. Agricultural religions seem often to I:ave borrowed ideas from the older cults of pastoral times, LECTURE VII FIRST-FRUITS, TITHES, AND SACRIFICIAL MEALS It became apparent to us towards the close of the last lecture that the Levitical distinction between minha and zébah, or cereal oblation and animal sacrifice, rests upon an ancient principle; that the idea of communion with the deity in a sacrificial meal of holy food was primarily confined to the zébah or animal victim, and that the proper significance of the cereal offering is that of a tribute paid by the worshipper from the produce of the soil. Now we have already seen that the conception of the national deity as the Baal, or lord of the land, was developed in connection with the growth of agriculture and agricultural law. Spots of natural fertility were the Baal’s land, because they were productive without the labour of man’s hands, which, according to Eastern ideas, is the only basis of private property in the soil; and land which required irrigation was also liable to the payment of a sacred tribute, because it was fertilised by streams which belonged to the god or even were conceived as instinct with divine energy. This whole circle of ideas belongs to a condition of society in which agriculture and the laws that regulate it have made considerable progress, and is foreign to the sphere of thought in which the purely nomadic Semites moved. That the minha is not so ancient a form of sacrifice as the z¢bah will not be doubted, fo nomadic life is older than agriculture. But if the foregoin: argument 244 LECT. vi. TITHES 245 is correct, we can say more than this ; we can affirm that the idea of the sacrificial meal as an act of communion is older than sacrifice in the sense of tribute, and that the latter notion grew up with the development of agricultural life and the conception of the deity as Baal of the land. Among the nomadic Arabs the idea of sacrificial tribute has little or no place; all sacrifices are free-will offerings, and except in some rare forms of piacular oblation— particularly human sacrifice—and perhaps in some very simple offerings such as the libation of milk, the object of the sacrifice is to provide the material for an act of sacrificial communion with the god.’ In most ancient nations the idea of sacrificial tribute is most clearly marked in the institution of the sacred tithe, which was paid to the gods from the produce of the soil, and sometimes also from other sources of revenue.? In antiquity tithe and tribute are practically identical, nor is the name of tithe strictly limited to tributes of one-tenth, the term being used to cover any impost paid in kind upon a fixed scale. Such taxes play a great part in the revenues of Eastern sovereigns, and have done so from a very early date. The Babylonian kings drew a tithe from imports,? and the tithe of the fruits of the soil had the first place among the revenues of the Persian satraps.‘ The Hebrew kings in like manner took tithes of their subjects, and the tribute in kind which Solomon drew from the provinces for the support of his household may 1 Some points connected with this statement which invite attention, but cannot be fully discussed at the present stage of the argument, will be considered in Additional Note E, Sacred Tribute in Arabia. 2 See the instances collected by Spencer, Lib. iii. cap. 10,§ 1; Hermann, Gottesdienstliche Alterth. d. Griechen, 2nd ed., § 20, note 4; Wyttenbach in the index to his edition of Plutarch’s Moralia, s.v. “Hpaxris. 5 Aristotle, Gicon. p. 13526 of the Berlin edition. A tithe on imports is found also at Mecca (Azraci, p. 107; Ibn Hish. p. 72). * Aristotle, con. p. 13455. 246 THE TITHE IN LECT. VII, be regarded as an impost of this sort.1_ Thus the institution of a sacred tithe corresponds to the conception of the national god as a king, and so at Tyre tithes were paid to Melearth, “the king of the city.” The Carthaginians, as Diodorus? tells us, sent the tithe of produce to Tyre annually from the time of the foundation of their city. This is the earliest example of a Semitic sacred tithe of which we have any exact account, and it is to be noted that it is as much a political as a religious tribute; for the temple of Melcarth was the state treasury of Tyre, and it is impossible to draw a distinction between the sacred tithe paid by the Carthaginians and the political tribute paid by other colonies, such as Utica.? The oldest Hebrew laws require the payment of first- fruits, but know nothing of a tithe due at the sanctuary. And indeed the Hebrew sanctuaries in old time had not such a splendid establishment as called for the imposition of sacred tributes on a large scale. When Solomon erected his temple, in emulation of Hiram’s great buildings at Tyre, a more lavish ritual expenditure became necessary ; but, as the temple at Jerusalem was attached to the palace, this was part of the household expenditure of the sovereign, and doubtless was met out of the imposts in natura levied tor the maintenance of the court. In other words, the maintenance of the royal sanctuary was a charge on the king’s tithes; and so we find that a tenth directly paid to the sanctuary forms no part of the temple revenues 11 Sam. viii. 15, 17; 1 Kings iv. 7 sgg. The ‘‘king’s mowings” (Amos vii. 1) belong to the same class of imposts, being a tribute in kind levied on the spring herbage to feed the horses of the king (cf. 1 Kings xviii. 5). Similarly the Romans in Syria levied a tax on pasture-land in the month Nisan for the food of their horses: see Bruns and Sachau, Syrisch-Rém Rechtsbuch, Text L, § 121; and Wright, WMotule Syriace (1887), p. 6. 2 Lib. xx. cap. 14. 3 Jos., Antt. viii. 5. 38, as read by Niese after Gutschmid. ‘Ci. 2 Kings xvi. 15; Ezek. xlv. 9 sgg. LECT, VII. OLD ISRAEL 247 referred to in 2 Kings xii. 4. In northern Israel the royal sanctuaries, of which Bethel was the chief,! were originally maintained, in the same way, by the king himself; but as Bethel was not the ordinary seat of the court, so that the usual stated sacrifices there could not be combined with the maintenance of the king’s table, some special provision must have been made for them. As the new and elaborate type of sanctuary was due to Pheenician influence, it was Phoenicia, where the religious tithe was an ancient institution, which would naturally suggest the source from which a more splendid worship should be defrayed; the service of the god of the land ought to be a burden on the land. And the general analogy of fiscal arrangements in the East makes it probable that this would be done by assigning to the sanctuary the taxes in kind levied on the surrounding district ;? it is therefore noteworthy that the only pre- Deuteronomic references to a tithe paid at the sanctuary refer to the “ royal chapel” of Bethel.? The tithes paid to ancient sanctuaries were spent in various ways, and were by no means, what the Hebrew tithes ultimately became under the hierocracy, a revenue appropriated to the maintenance of the priests; thus in South Arabia we find tithes devoted to the erection of sacred monuments.* One of the chief objects, however, for which they were expended was the maintenance of feasts and sacrifices of a public character, at which the worshippers were entertained free of charge.® This element 1 Amos vii. 18. * Cf. the grant of the village of Betocece for the maintenance of the sanctuary of the place, Waddington, No. 2720a. 3 Gen. xxviii. 22; Amos iv. 4. 4 Mordtm. und Miller, Sab. Denkm. No. 11 (CIS. iv. 19, 1. 7). 5 Xen., Anab. v. 3.9; Waddington, wt swpra. Similarly the tithes of incense paid to the priests at Sabota in South Arabia were spent on the feast which the god spread for his guests for a certain number of days (Pliny, 248 THE TITHE IN LECT, VII. cannot have been lacking at the royal sanctuaries of the Hebrews, for a splendid hospitality to all and sundry who assembled at the great religious feasts was recognised as the duty of the king even in the time of David! And so we find that Amos enumerates the tithe at Bethel as one of the chief elements that contributed to the jovial luxurious worship maintained at that holy place. If this account of the matter is correct, the tithes collected at Bethel were strictly of the nature of a tribute gathered from certain lands, and payment of them was doubtless enforced by royal authority. They were not used by each man to make a private religious feast for himself and his family, but were devoted to the mainten- ance of the public or royal sacrifices. This, it ought to be said, is not the view commonly taken by modern critics. The old festivities at Hebrew sanctuaries before the regal period were maintained, not out of any public revenue, but by each man bringing up to the sanctuary his own victim and all else that was necessary to make up a hearty feast, with the sacrificial flesh as its piéce de resistance. It is generally assumed that this description was still applicable to the feasts at Bethel in Amos’s time, and that the tithes were the provision that each farmer brought with him to feast his domestic circle and friends. At first sight this view looks plausible enough, especially when we find that the Book of Deuteronomy, written a century after Amos prophesied, actually prescribes that the annual tithes should be used by each householder to furnish forth a family feast before Jehovah. But it is not safe to argue back from the reforming ordinances of Deuteronomy to the practices of the northern sanctuaries, without checking the H. N. xii. 63). M. R. Duval (Rev. d’ Assyriologie, etc., 1888, p. 1 sq.) argues that at Taimi, in N. Arabia, there was a tithe on palm trees from which grants were made tothe priest. But this is very doubtful. 12 Sam. vi. 19, 21 Sam,:i..2h 24) x, 3, LECT, VII. OLD ISRAEL 249 inference at every point. The connection between tithe and tribute is too close and too ancient to allow us to admit without hesitation that the Deuteronomic annual tithe, which retains nothing of the character of a tribute, is the primitive type of the institution. And this difficulty is not diminished when we observe that the Book of Deuteronomy recognises also another tithe, payable once in three years, which really is of the nature of a sacred tribute, although it is devoted not to the altar but to charity. It is arbitrary to say that the first tithe of Deuteronomy corresponds to ancient usage, and that the second is an innovation of the author; indeed, some indi- cations of the Book of Deuteronomy itself point all the other way. In Deut. xxvi. 12, the third year, in which the charity tithe is to be paid, is called par excellence “the year of tithing,” and in the following verse the charity tithe is reckoned in the list of “holy things,” while the annual tithe, to be spent on family festivities at the sanctuary, is not so reckoned. In the face of these difficulties it is not safe to assume that either of the Deuteronomic tithes exactly corresponds to old usage. * And if we look at Amos’s account of the worship at Bethel as a whole, a feature which cannot fail to strike us is that the luxurious feasts beside the altars which he describes are entirely different in kind from the old rustic festivities at Shiloh described in 1 Samuel. They are not simple agricultural merry-makings of a popular character, but mainly feasts of the rich, enjoying themselves at the expense of the poor. The keynote struck in chap. ii. 7, 8, where the sanctuary itself is designated as the seat of oppression and extortion, is re-echoed all through the book ; Amos’s charge against the nobles is not merely that they are professedly religious and yet oppressors, but that their luxurious religion is founded on oppression, on the gains of 250 THE TITHE IN LECT. VII. corruption at the sacred tribunal and other forms of ex- tortion. This is nos the association in which we can look for the idyllic simplicity of the Deuteronomic family feast of tithes. But it is the very association in which one expects to find the tithe as I have supposed it to be; the revenues of the state religion, originally designed to main- tain a public hospitality at the altar, and enable rich and poor alike to rejoice before their God, were monopolised by a privileged class. This being understood, the innovations in the law of tithes proposed in the Book of Deuteronomy become sufficiently intelligible. In the kingdom of Judah there was no royal sanctuary except that at Jerusalem, the maintenance of which was part of the king’s household charges, and it is hardly probable that any part of the royal tithes was assigned to the maintenance of the local sanctuaries. But as early as the time of Samuel we find religious feasts of clans or of towns, which are not a mere agglomeration of private sacrifices, and so must have been defrayed out of communal funds; from this germ, as religion became more luxurious, a fixed impost on land for the maintenance of the public services, such as was collected among the Phcenicians, would naturally grow. Such an impost would be in the hands, not of the priests, but of the heads of clans and communes, we. of the rich, and would necessarily be liable to the same abuses as prevailed in the northern kingdom. The remedy which Deuteronomy proposes for these abuses is to leave each farmer to spend his own tithes as he pleases at the central sanctuary. But this provision, if it had stood alone, would have amounted to the total abolition of a communal fund, which, however much abused in practice, was theoretically designed for the maintenance of a public table, where every one had a right to claim a portion, and which was LECT, VII. OLD ISRAEL 251 doubtless of some service to the landless _proletariate, however hardly its collection might press on the poorer farmer.1 This difficulty was met by the triennial tithe devoted to charity, to the landless poor and to the landless Levite. Strictly speaking, this triennial due was the only real tithe left—the only impost for a religious purpose which a man was actually bound to pay away—and to it the whole subsequent history of Hebrew tithes attaches itself. The other tithe, which was not a due but of a mere voluntary character, disappears altogether in the Levitical legislation. If this account of the Hebrew tithe is correct, that institution is of relatively modern origin—as indeed is indicated by the silence of the most ancient laws—and throws very little light on the original principles of Semitic sacrifice. The principle that the god of the land claims a tribute on the increase of the soil was originally expressed in the offering of first-fruits, at a time when sanctuaries and their service were too simple to need any elaborate provision for their support. The tithe originated when worship became more complex and ritual more splendid, so that a fixed tribute was necessary for its maintenance. ‘The tribute took the shape of an impost on the produce of land, partly because this was an ordinary source of revenue for all public purposes, partly because such an impost could be justified from the religious point of view, as agreeing in principle with the oblation of first- fruits, and constituting a tribute to the god from the agricultural blessings he bestowed. But here the similarity between tithes and first-fruits ends. The first-fruits consti- tuted a private sacrifice of the worshipper, who brought 1 The same principle was acknowledged in Greece, ad ray iepwv yap of wruxoi Cwow (Schol. on Aristoph. Plutus, 596, in Hermann op. cit. § 15, note 16). So too in the Arabian meal-offering to Ocaisir (supra, p. 2238). 252 TITHES AND LECT. VII, them himself to the altar and was answerable for the pay- ment only to God and his own conscience. The tithe, on the contrary, was a public burden enforced by the com- munity for the maintenance of public religion. In principle there was no reason why it should not be employed for any purpose, connected with the public exercises of religion, for which money or money’s worth was required; the way in which it should be spent depended not on the individual tithe-payer but on the sovereign or the commune. In later times, after the exile, it was entirely appropriated to the support of the clergy. But in old Israel it seems to have been mainly, if not exclusively, used to furnish forth public feasts at the sanctuary. In this respect it entirely differed from the first-fruits, which might be, and generally were, offered at a public festival, but did not supply any part of the material of the feast. The sacred feast, at which men and their god ate together, was originally quite unconnected with the cereal oblations paid in tribute to the deity, and its staple was the zébah—the sacrificial victim. We shall see by and by that in its origin the zébah was not the private offering of an individual house- holder but the sacrifice of a clan, and so the sacrificial meal had pre-eminently the character of a public feast. Now when public feasts are organised on a considerable scale, and furnished not merely with store of sacrificial flesh, but—as was the wont in Israel under the kings— with all manner of luxurious accessories, they come to be costly affairs, which can only be defrayed out of public moneys. The Israel of the time of the kings was not a simple society of peasants, all living in the same way, who could simply club together to maintain a rustic feast by what each man brought to the sanctuary from his own farm. Splendid festivals like those of Bethel were evi- dently not furnished in this way, but were mainly banquets LECT. VII. PUBLIC FEASTS 253 of the upper classes in which the poor had a very subordi- nate share. The source of these festivals was the tithe, but it was not the poor tithe-payer who figured as host at the banquet. The organisation of the feast was in the hands of the ruling classes, who received the tithes and spent them on the service in a way that gave the lion’s share of the good things to themselves; though no doubt, as in other ancient countries, the principle of a public feast was not wholly ignored, and every one present had some- thing to eat and drink, so that the whole populace was kept in good humour.’ Of course it is not to be supposed that the whole service was of this public character. Private persons still brought up their own vows and _ free-will offerings, and arranged their own family parties. But these, I conceive, were quite independent of the tithes, which were a public tax devoted to what was regarded as the public part of religion. On the whole, therefore, the tithe system has nothing to do with primitive Hebrew religion; the only point about it which casts a light back- wards on the earlier stages of worship is that it could hardly have sprung up except in connection with the idea that the maintenance of sacrifice was a public duty, and that the sacrificial feast had essentially a public character. This point, however, is of the highest importance, and must be kept clearly before us as we proceed. Long before any public revenue was set apart for the maintenance of sacrificial ritual, the ordinary type of Hebrew worship was essentially social, for in antiquity all religion was the affair of the community rather than of the 1 The only way of escape from this conclusion is to suppose that the rich nobles paid out of their own pockets for the more expensive parts of the public sacrifices ; and no one who knows the East and reads the Book of Amos will believe that. Nathan’s parable about the poor man’s one lamb, which his rich neighbour took to make a feast (necessarily at that date sacrificial), is an apposite illustration, 254 SACRIFICIAL LECT. VII individual. a LECT. VIII. SACRIFICE 281 in early times the only thing that brought the clan together for a stated meal. Conversely, every slaughter was a clan sacrifice, that is, a domestic animal was not slain except to procure the material for a public meal of kinsmen. This last proposition seems startling, but it is confirmed by the direct evidence of Nilus as to the habits of the Arabs of the Sinaitic desert towards the close of the fourth Christian century. ‘The ordinary sustenance of these Saracens was derived from pillage or from hunting, to which, no doubt, must be added, as a main element, the milk of their herds. When these supplies failed they fell back on the flesh of their camels, one of which was slain for each clan (cuyyévera) or for each group which habitually pitched their tents together (ovoxyvia)—which according to known Arab usage would always be a fraction of a zlan—and the flesh was hastily devoured by the kinsmen in dog-like fashion, half raw and merely softened over the fire.! To grasp the force of this evidence we must remember that, beyond question, there was at this time among the Saracens private property in camels, and that therefore, so far as the law of property went, there could be no reason why a man should not kill a beast for the use of his own family. And though a whole camel might be too much for a single household to eat fresh, the Arabs knew and practised the art of preserving flesh by cutting it into strips and drying them in the sun. Under these circumstances private slaughter could not have failed to be customary, unless it was absolutely forbidden by tribal usage. In short, it appears that while milk, game, the fruits of pillage were private food which might be eaten in any way, the 1 Nili opera quedam nondum edita (Paris, 1639), p. 27.—The ovyyévera answers to the Arabic bafn, the cvoxnvia to the Arabic hayy, in the sense of encampment. See Kinship, p. 41 sq. 282 SARACEN LECT. VIIL camel was not allowed to be killed and eaten except in a public rite, at which all the kinsmen assisted. This evidence is all the more remarkable because, among the Saracens of whom Nilus speaks, the slaughter of a camel in times of hunger does not seem to have been considered as a sacrifice to the gods. For a couple of pages later he speaks expressly of the sacrifices which these Arabs offered to the morning star, the sole deity that they acknowledged. These could be performed only when the star was visible, and the whole victim—flesh, skin and bones—had to be devoured before the sun rose upon it, and the day-star disappeared. As this form of sacrifice was necessarily confined to seasons when the planet Venus was a morning star, while the necessity for slaughtering a camel as food might arise at any season, it is to be inferred that in the latter case the victim was not recognised as having a sacrificial character. The Saracens, in fact, had outlived the stage in which no necessity can justify slaughter that is not sacrificial. The principle that the god claims his share in every slaughter has its origin in the religion of kinship, and dates from a time when the tribal god was himself a member of the tribal stock, so that his participation in the sacrificial feast was only one aspect of the rule that no kinsman must be excluded from a share in the victim. But the Saracens of Nilus, like the Arabs generally in the last ages of heathenism, had ceased to do sacrifice to the tribal or clan gods with whose worship the feast of kinsmen was originally connected. The planet Venus, or Lucifer, was not a tribal deity, but, as we know from a variety of sources, was worshipped by all the northern Arabs, to whatever kin they belonged. It is not therefore surprising that in case of necessity we should meet with a slaughter in which the non-tribal deity had no part; but it is noteworthy that, after the LECT, vim. ‘SACRIFICE 283 victim had lost its sacrificial character, it was still deemed necessary that the slaughter should be the affair of the whole kindred. That this was so, while among the Hebrews, on the other hand, the rule that all legitimate slaughter is sacrifice survived long after householders were permitted to make private sacrifices on their own account, is characteristic of the peculiar development of Arabia, where, as Wellhausen has justly remarked, religious feeling was quite put in the shade by the feeling for the sanctity of kindred blood. Elsewhere among the Semites we see the old religion surviving the tribal system on which it was based, and accommodating itself to the new forms of national life; but in Arabia the rules and customs of the kin retained the sanctity which they originally derived from their connection with the religion of the kin, long after the kindred god had been forgotten or had sunk into quite a subordinate place. I take it, however, that the eating of camels’ flesh continued to be regarded by the Arabs as in some sense a religious act, even when it was no longer associated with a formal act of sacrifice; for abstinence from the flesh of camels and wild asses was prescribed by Simeon Stylites to his Saracen converts! and traces of an idolatrous significance in feasts of camels’ flesh appear in Mohammedan tradition.” The persistence among the Arabs of the scruple against private slaughter for a man’s own personal use may, I think, be traced in a modified form in other parts of Arabia and long after the time of Nilus. Even in modern times, 1 Theodoret, ed. Nosselt, iii. 1274 sq. 2 Wellh. p. 117; Kinship, p. 60. These traces are the more worthy of notice because we also find indications that, down to the time of the prophet, or even later, the idea prevailed that camels, or at all events certain breeds of camels, were of demoniac origin; see Cazwini, ii. 42, and other authorities cited by Vloten in the Vienna Oriental Journal, Vii. 239. 284 SARACEN _ LECT. VI. when a sheep or camel is slain in honour of a guest, the good old custom is that the host keeps open house for his neighbours, or at least distributes portions of the flesh as far as it will go. To do otherwise is still deemed churlish, though not illegal, and the old Arabic literature leaves the impression that in ancient times this feeling was still stronger than it is now, and that the whole encampment was considered when a beast was slain for food! But be this as it may, it is highly significant to find that, even in one branch of the Arabian race, the doctrine that hunger itself does not justify slaughter, except as the act of the clan, was so deeply rooted as to survive the doctrine that all slaughter is sacrifice. This fact is sufficient to remove the last doubt as to the proposition that all sacrifice was originally clan sacrifice, and at the same time it puts the © slaughter of a victim in a new light, by classing it among the acts which, in primitive society, are illegal to an individual, and can only be justified when the whole clan shares the responsibility of the deed. So far as I know, there is only one class of actions recognised by early nations to which this description applies, viz. actions which involve an invasion of the sanctity of the tribal blood. In fact, a life which no single tribesman is allowed to invade, and which can be sacrificed only by the consent and common action of the kin, stands on the same footing with the life of the fellow-tribesman. Neither may be taken away by private violence, but only by the consent of the kindred 1 Compare especially the story of Mawiya’s courtship (Agh. xvi. 103 sq. ; Caussin de Perceval, ii. 613). The beggar’s claim to a share in the feast is doubtless ultimately based on religious and tribal usage rather than on personal generosity. Cf. Deut. xxvi. 13. Similarly among the Zulus, ‘‘when a man kills a cow—which, however, is seldom and reluctantly done, unless it happens to be stolen property—the whole population of the hamlet assemble to eat it without invitation ; and people living at a distance of ten miles will also come to partake of the feast’? (Shaw, Memorials of South Africa, p. 59). LECT. VIII. SACRIFICE 285 and the kindred god. And the parallelism between the two cases is curiously marked in detail by what I may call a similarity between the ritual of sacrifice and of the execution of a tribesman. In both cases it is required that, as far as possible, every member of the kindred should be not only a consenting party but a partaker in the act, so that whatever responsibility it involves may be equally distributed over the whole clan. This is the mean- ing of the ancient Hebrew form of execution, where the culprit is stoned by the whole congregation. The idea that the life of a brute animal may be pro- tected by the same kind of religious scruple as the life of a fellow-man is one which we have a difficulty in grasping, or which at any rate we are apt to regard as more proper to a late and sentimental age than to the rude life of primitive times. But this difficulty mainly comes from our taking up a false point of view. arly man had certainly no conception of the sacredness of animal life as such, but neither had he any conception of the sacred- ness of human life as such. The life of his clansman was sacred to him, not because he was a man, but because he was a kinsman; and, in like manner, the life of an animal of his totem kind is sacred to the savage, not because it is animate, but because he and it are sprung from the same stock and are cousins to one another. It is clear that the scruple of Nilus’s Saracens about killing the camel was of this restricted kind; for they had no objection to kill and eat game. But the camel they would not kill except under the same circumstances as make it lawful for many savages to kill their totem, z.. under the pressure of hunger or in connection with exceptional religious rites.1_ The parallelism between the Arabian custom and totemism is therefore complete except 1 Frazer, T'otemism and Hxogamy, iv. pp. 19 sq., 45. 286 PROHIBITION OF LECT. VIL in one point. There is no direct evidence that the seruple against the private slaughter of a camel had its origin in feelings of kinship. But, as we have seen, there is this indirect evidence, that the consent and participation of the clan, which was required to make the slaughter of a camel legitimate, is the very thing that is needed to make the death of a kinsman legitimate. And direct evidence we cannot expect to find, for it is most improbable that the Arabs of Nilus’s time retained any clear ideas about the original significance of rules inherited by tradition from a more primitive state of society. The presumption thus created that the regard paid by the Saracens for the life of the camel sprang from the same principle of kinship between men and certain kinds of animals which is the prime factor in totemism, would not be worth much if it rested only on an isolated state- ment about a particular branch of the Arab race. But it is to be observed that the same kind of restriction on the private slaughter of animals must have existed in ancient times among all the Semites. We have found reason to believe that among the early Semites generally no slaughter was legitimate except for sacrifice, and we have also found reason, apart from Nilus’s evidence, for believing that all Semitic sacrifice was originally the act of the community. If these two propositions are true, it follows that all the Semites at one time protected the lives of animals proper for sacrifice, and forbade them to be slain except by the act of the clan, that is, except under such circumstances as would justify or excuse the death of a kinsman. Now, if it thus appears that the scruple against private slaughter of an animal proper for sacrifice was no mere individual peculiarity of Nilus’s Saracens, but must at an early period have extended to all the Semites, it is obvious that the conjecture which connects the scruple with a feeling of LECT. Viti. PRIVATE SLAUGHTER 287 kinship between the worshippers and the victim gains greatly in plausibility. For the origin of the scruple must now be sought in some widespread and very primi- tive habit of thought, and it is therefore apposite to point out that among primitive peoples there are no binding precepts of conduct except those that rest on the principle of kinship.t This is the general rule which is found in operation wherever we have an opportunity of observing rude societies, and that it prevailed among the early Semites is not to be doubted. Indeed among the Arabs the rule held good without substantial modification down to the time of Mohammed. No life and no obligation was sacred unless it was brought within the charmed circle of the kindred blood. Thus the prima face presumption, that the scruple in question had to do with the notion that certain animals were akin to men, becomes very strong indeed, and can hardly be set aside unless those who reject it are prepared to show that the idea of kinship between men and beasts, as it is found in most primitive nations, was altogether foreign to Semitic thought, or at least had no substantial place in the ancient religious ideas of that race. But I do not propose to throw the burden of proof on the antagonist. I have already had occasion in another connection to shew by a variety of evidences that the earliest Semites, like primitive men of other races, drew no sharp line of distinction between the nature of gods, of men, and of beasts, and had no difficulty in admitting a real kinship between (a) gods and men, (0) gods and sacred animals, (c) families of men and families of beasts.2 As regards 1 In religions based on kinship, where the god and his worshippers are of one stock, precepts of sanctity are, of course, covered by the principle of kinship. 2 Supra, pp. 41 sqqg. 85 sqq. 288 THE VICTIM A L¥CT. VIII. the third of these points, the direct evidence is fragment- ary and sporadic; it is sufficient to prove that the idea of kinship between races of men and races of beasts was not foreign to the Semites, but it is not sufficient to prove that such a belief was widely prevalent, or to justify us in taking it as one of the fundamental principles on which Semitic ritual was founded. But it must be remembered that the three points are so connected that if any two of them are established, the third necessarily follows. Now, as regards (a), it is not disputed that the kinship of gods with their worshippers is a fundamental doctrine of Semitic religion; it appears so widely and in so many forms and applications, that we cannot look upon it otherwise than as one of the first and most universal principles of ancient faith. Again, as regards (0), a belief in sacred animals, which are treated with the reverence due to divine beings, is an essential element in the most widespread and important Semitic cults. All the great deities of the northern Semites had their sacred animals, and were themselves worshipped in animal form, or in association with animal symbols, down to a late date; and that this association implied a veritable unity of kind between animals and gods is placed beyond doubt, on the one hand, by the fact that the sacred animals, eg. the doves and fish of Atargatis, were reverenced with divine honours ; and, on the other hand, by theogonic myths, such as that which makes the dove-goddess be born from an egg, and transformation myths, such as that of Bambyce, where it was believed that the fish-goddess and her son had actually been transformed into fish. e 1 Examples of the evidence on this head have been given above ; a fuller account of it will fall to be given in a future course of lectures. Meantime the reader may refer to Kinship, chap. vii. I may here, however, add a general argument which seems to deserve attention. We have seen (supra, p- 142 sgg.) that holiness is not based on the idea of property. Holy ee a oe LECT. VIIt. SACRED ANIMAL 289 Now if kinship between the gods and their worshippers, on the one hand, and kinship between the gods and certain kinds of animals, on the other, are deep-seated principles of Semitic religion, manifesting themselves in all parts of the sacred institutions of the race, we must necessarily conclude that kinship between families of men and animal kinds was an idea equally deep-seated, and we shall expect to find that sacred animals, wherever they occur, will be treated with the regard which men pay to their kinsfolk. Indeed in a religion based on kinship, where the god and his worshippers are of one stock, the principle of sanctity and that of kinship are identical. The sanctity of a kinsman’s life and the sanctity of the godhead are not two things, but one; for ultimately the only thing that is sacred is the common tribal life, or the common blood which is identified with the life. Whatever being partakes in this life is holy, and its holiness may be described indifferently, as participation in the divine life and nature, or as participation in the kindred blood. Thus the conjecture that sacrificial animals were originally treated as kinsmen, is simply equivalent to the conjecture that sacrifices were drawn from animals of a holy kind, whose lives were ordinarily protected by religious scruples and sanctions; and in support of this position a great mass of evidence can be adduced, not merely for Semitic sacrifice, but for ancient sacrifice generally. In the later days of heathenism, when animal food animals, and holy things generally, are primarily conceived, not as belonging to the deity, but as being themselves instinct with divine power or life. Thus a holy animal is one which has a divine life; and if it be holy to a particular god, the meaning must be that its life and his are somehow bound up together. From what is known of primitive ways of thought we may infer that this means that the sacred animal is akin to the god, for all valid and permanent relation between individuals is conceived as kinship. 19 290 MYSTIC LECT. VIIL, was commonly eaten, and the rule that all legitimate slaughter must be sacrificial was no longer insisted on, sacrifices were divided into two classes; ordinary sacrifices, where the victims were sheep, oxen or other beasts habitually used for food, and extraordinary sacrifices, where the victims were animals whose flesh was regarded as forbidden meat. The Emperor Julian’ tells us that in the cities of the Roman Empire such extraordinary sacrifices were celebrated once or twice a year in mystical ceremonies, and he gives as an example the sacrifice of the dog to Hecate. In this case the victim was the sacred animal of the goddess to which it was offered; Hecate is represented in mythology as accompanied by demoniac dogs, and in her worship she loved to be addressed by the name of Dog. Here, therefore, the victim is not only a sacred animal, but an animal kindred to the deity to which it is sacrificed. The same principle seems to lie at the root of all exceptional sacrifices of unclean animals, 2.¢. animals that were not ordinarily eaten, for we have already seen that the idea of uncleanness and holiness meet in the primitive conception of taboo. I leave it to classical scholars to follow this out in its application to Greek and Roman sacrifice; but as regards the Semites it is worth while to establish the point by going in detail through the sacrifices of unclean beasts that are known to us. 1. The swine. According to Al-Nadim the heathen Harranians sacrificed the swine and ate swine’s flesh once a year.2 This ceremony is ancient, for it appears in Cyprus in connection with the worship of the Semitic Aphrodite and Adonis. In the ordinary worship of 1 Orat. v. p. 176. 2 Porph., De Abst. iii. 17, iv. 16. Mr. Bury has suggested that etymologically ‘Exéry7= Hund, hound, as éxarov = hundert, hundred. 3 Fthrist, p. 326, 1. 3 sq. LECT. VIII. SACRIFICES 291 Aphrodite swine were not admitted, but in Cyprus wild boars were sacrificed once a year on April 2. The same sacrifice is alluded to in the Book of Isaiah as a heathen abomination,? with which the prophet associates the sacrifice of two other unclean animals, the dog and the mouse. We know from Lucian that the swine was esteemed sacrosanct by the Syrians,’ and that it was specially sacred to Aphrodite or Astarte is affirmed by Antiphanes, ap. Athen. i. 49.4 2. The dog. This sacrifice, as we have seen, is men- tioned in the Book of Isaiah, and it seems also to be alluded to as a Punic rite in Justin, xviii. 1. 10, where we read that Darius sent a message to the Carthaginians forbidding them to sacrifice human victims and to eat the flesh of dogs: in the connection a religious meal must be understood. In this case the accounts do not connect the rite with any particular deity to whom the dog was sacred,® but we know from Al-Nadim that the dog was sacred among the Harranians. They offered sacrificial gifts to it, and in certain mysteries dogs were solemnly declared to be the brothers of the myste® A hint as to the identity of the god to whom the dog was sacred may perhaps be got from Jacob of Sarug, who mentions “the Lord with the dogs” as one of the deities of Carrhe.’ This god again may be compared with the huntsman : 1 Lydus, De Mensibus, Bonn ed., p. 80. Exceptional sacrifices of swine to Aphrodite also took place at Argos (Athen. iii. 49) and in Pamphylia (Strabo, ix. 5. 17), but the Semitic origin of these rites is not so certain as in the case of the Cyprian goddess. The sacrifice of a sow is represented on the rock sculptures of J’rapta (Renan, Phén. pl. 81; cf. Pietschmann, p. 219, adso Baudissin, Adonis, p. 145). 2 Isa. Ixv. 4, Ixvi. 3, 17. 8 Dea Syria, liv. 4 In a modern Syrian superstition we find that a demoniac swine haunts houses where there is a marriageable maiden, ZDPV. vii. 107. 5 Movers, Phoenizier, i. 104, is quite unsatisfactory. ® Fihrist, p. 326, 1.27; cf. p. 323, 1.28; p. 324, 1 2. 7 ZDMG. xxix. 110; cf. vol. xlii. p. 473. 292 MYSTIC LECT, VI. Heracles of the Assyrians mentioned by Tacitus. The Tyrian Heracles or Melcarth also appears accompanied by a dog in the legend of the invention of the purple dye preserved by Pollux (i. 46) and Malalas (p. 32).? In Mohammedan tradition a demoniac character is ascribed to black dogs, which probably implies that in heathenism they had a certain sanctity.? 3. Fish, or at least certain species of fish, were sacred to Atargatis and forbidden food to all the Syrians, her worshippers, who believed—as totem peoples do—that if they ate the sacred flesh they would be visited by ulcers.‘ 1 Tacitus, Ann. xii. 18. A huntsman god accompanied by a dog is figured on cylinders (Gazette Archéol. 1879, p. 178 sqq.), but Assyriologists seem not to be agreed as to his identity. There were probably more divine huntsmen. than one. 2 Whether the Sicilian god Adranus, whose sacred dogs are mentioned by Ailian, Nat. An. xi. 20 (confirmed by monumental evidence ; Ganneau, Rec. d@ Arch. Or. i. 236), is of Semitic origin is very uncertain. He is generally identified with Adar (the Adrammelech of the Bible); see Holm, Gesch. Sic. i. 95, 377. But the very existence of an Assyrian god Adar is problematical, and the Hadran of Melito (Spice. Syr. p. 25), who is taken by others as the Semitic equivalent of Adranus, is a figure equally obscure. If the conjecture that the Heracles worshipped by the v0éu in the Cynosarges at Athens was really the Phceenician Heracles can be made out, the connection of this deity with the dog will receive further confirmation. For Cynosarges means ‘“‘the dog’s yard” (Wachsmuth, Athen. i. 461). Steph. Byz. s.v. explains the name by a legend that while Diomos was sacrificing to Heracles, a white dog snatched the sacrificial pieces and laid them down on the spot where the sanctuary afterwards stood. The dog is here the sacred messenger who declares the will of the god, like the eagle of Zeus in Malalas, p. 199; cf. Steph. Byz. s.v. yearswra:, The sanctity of the dog among the Pheenicians seems also to be confirmed by the proper names xd, ordyads, and by the existence of a class of sacred ministers called ‘‘dogs” (CIS. No. 86, cf. Deut. xxiii. 18 [19]). Reinach and G. Hoffmann, op. cit. p. 17, are hardly right in thinking of literal dogs; but in any case that would only strengthen the argument. 3 Damiri, ii. 223; Vloten in Vienna Or. Journ. vii. 240. See also the legend of the dog-demon of Riam, B. Hish. p. 18. In Moslem countries dogs are still regarded with a curious mixture of respect and contempt. They are unclean, but it is an act of piety to feed them, and especially to give them drink (Moslim, ii. 196, ed. of A. H. 1290); and to kill a dog, as I have observed at Jeddah, is an act that excites a good deal of feeling. See also ZDPYV, vii. 93. * See the evidence collected by Selden, de Diis Syris, Synt. ii. cap. 8. LECT. VII. SACRIFICES 293 Yet Mnaseas (ap. Athen. viii. 37) tells us that fish were daily cooked and presented on the table of the goddess, being afterwards consumed by the priests; and Assyrian cylinders display the fish laid on the altar or presented before it, while, in one example, a figure which stands by in an attitude of adoration is clothed, or rather disguised, in a gigantic fish skin! The meaning of such a disguise is well known from many savage rituals; it implies that the worshipper presents himself as a fish, @.e. as a being kindred to his sacrifice, and doubtless also to the deity to which it is consecrated. 4. The mouse appears as an abominable sacrifice in Isa. Ixvi. 17, along with the swine and the “abomination ” (ypw). The last word is applied in the Levitical law? to creeping vermin generally (yaw= Arab. hanash), a term which included the mouse and other such small quadrupeds as we also call vermin. All such creatures were unclean in an intense degree, and had the power to communicate un- cleanness to whatever they touched. So strict a taboo is hardly to be explained except by supposing that, like the Arabian hanash, they had supernatural and demoniac quali- ties. And in fact, in Ezek. viii. 10, we find them as objects of superstitious adoration. On what authority Maimonides says that the Harranians sacrificed field-mice I do not know,‘ but the biblical evidence is sufficient for our purpose. 5. The horse was sacred to the Sun-god, for 2 Kings xxiii. 11 speaks of the horses which the kings of Judah had consecrated to this deity—a superstition to which Josiah put an end. At Rhodes, where religion is through- out of a Semitic type, four horses were cast into the sea as a sacrifice at the annual feast of the sun.® The 1 Menant, Glyptique, ii. 53. 2 Lev. xi. 41. 3 Supra, p. 128. + Ed. Munk, vol. iii. p. 64, or Chwolsohn, Ssabier, ii. 456. 5 Festus, s.v. ‘‘ October equus” ; cf. Pausanias, iii. 20. 4 (sacrifice of horses tu the Sun at Taygetus); Kinship, p. 242 sq. 294 MYSTIC LECT, VIII. winged horse (Pegasus) is a sacred symbol of the Cartha- ginians. 6. The dove, which the Semites would neither eat nor touch, was sacrificed by the Romans to Venus;1 and as the Roman Venus-worship of later times was largely derived from the Phoenician sanctuary of Eryx, where the dove had peculiar honour as the companion of Astarte, it is very possible that this was a Semitic rite, though I have not found any conclusive evidence that it was so. It must certainly have been a very rare sacrifice; for the dove among the Semites had a quite peculiar sanctity, and Al-Nadim says expressly that it was not sacrificed by the Harranians.? It was, however, offered by the Hebrews, in sacrifices which we shall by and by see reason to regard as Closely analogous to mystical rites; and in Juvenal, vi. 459 sqq., the superstitious matrons of Rome are represented as calling in an Armenian or Syrian (Commagenian) haruspex to perform the sacrifice of a dove, a chicken, a dog, or even a child. In this association an exceptional and mystic sacrifice is necessarily implied.* The evidence of these examples is unambiguous. When an unclean animal is sacrificed it is also a sacred animal. If the deity to which it is devoted is named, it is the deity which ordinarily protects the sanctity of the victim, and, in some cases, the worshippers either in words or by symbolic disguise claim kinship with the victim and the god. Further, the sacrifice is generally limited to certain solemn occasions, usually annual, and so has the character of a public celebration. In several cases the worshippers partake of the sacred flesh, which at other times it would 1 Propertius, iv. 5. 62. * Milian, Nat. An. iv. 2. ® Fihrist, p. 319, 1. 21. 4Cf. the mpn, CZS. No. 165, 1. 11. Some other sacrifices of wild animals, which present analogies to these mystic rites, will be considered in Additional Note F, Sacrifices of Sacred Animals. LECT. VIII. SACRIFICES 295 be impious to touch. All this is exactly what we find among totem peoples. Here also the sacred animal is forbidden food, it is akin to the men who acknowledge its sanctity, and if there is a god it is akin to the god. And, finally, the totem is sometimes sacrificed at an annual feast, with special and solemn ritual. In such cases the flesh may be buried or cast into a river, as the horses of the sun were cast into the sea but at other times it is eaten as a mystic sacrament.2 These points of contact with the most primitive superstition cannot be accidental ; they show that the mystical sacrifices, as Julian calls them, the sacrifices of animals not ordinarily eaten, are not the invention of later times, but have preserved with great accuracy the features of a sacrificial ritual of extreme antiquity. To a superficial view the ordinary sacrifices of domestic animals, such as were commonly used for food, seem to stand on quite another footing; yet we have been led, by an independent line of reasoning, based on the evidence that all sacrifice was originally the act of the 1 Bancroft, iii. 168; Frazer, Totem. and Fx0g., i. 44 sq., iv. 230 sq. 2 'The proof of this has to be put together out of the fragmentary evidence which is generally all that we possess on such matters. As regards America the most conclusive evidence comes from Mexico, where the gods, though eertainly of totem origin, had become anthropomorphic, and the victim, who was regarded as the representative of the god, was human. At other times paste idols of the god were eaten sacramentally. But that the ruder Americans attached a sacramental virtue to the eating of the totem appears from what is related of the Bear clan of the Ouataouaks (Lettres édif. et cur. vi. 171), who when they kill a bear make him a feast of his own flesh, and tell him not to resent being killed; ‘‘tu as de l’esprit, tu vois que nos enfants souffrent la faim, ils t’aiment, ils veulent te faire entrer dans leur corps, n’est il pas glorieux d’étre mangé par des enfans de Captaine?” The bear feast of the Ainos of Japan (fully described by Scheube in Mitth. Deutsch. Geselisch. S. und S. O. Asiens, No. 22, p. 44 sq.) is a sacrificial feast on the flesh of the bear, which is honoured as divine, and slain with many apologies to the gods, on the pretext of necessity. The eating of the totem as medicine (Frazer, i. 22) belongs to the same circle of ideas. See also infra, p. 314. 296 SANCTITY LECT, VIL clan, to surmise that they also in their origin were rare and solemn offerings of victims whose lives were ordinarily deemed sacred, because, like the unclean sacred animals, they were of the kin of the worshippers and of their god.1 And in point of fact precisely this kind of respect and reverence is paid to domestic animals among many pastoral peoples in various parts of the globe. They are regarded on the one hand as the friends and kinsmen of men, and on the other hand as sacred beings of a nature akin to the gods; their slaughter is permitted only under exceptional circumstances, and in such cases is never used to provide a private meal, but necessarily forms the occasion of a public feast, if not of a public sacrifice. The clearest case is that of Africa. Agatharchides,? describing the Troglodyte nomads of East Africa, a primitive pastoral people in the polyandrous stage of society, tells us that their whole sustenance was derived from their flocks and herds. When pasture abounded, after the rainy season, they lived on milk mingled with blood (drawn apparently, as in Arabia, from the living animal), and in the dry season they had recourse to the flesh of aged or weakly beasts. But the © butchers were regarded as unclean. Further, “they gave the name of parent to no human being, but only to the ox and cow, the ram and ewe, from whom they had their nourishment.”? Here we have all the features which our theory requires: the beasts are sacred and kindred beings, 1 Strictly speaking the thing is much more than a surmise, even on the evidence already before us. But I prefer to understate rather than overstate the case in a matter of such complexity. ? The extracts of Photius and Diodorus are printed together in Fr. Hist. Gr. i. 153. The former has some points which the latter omits. See also Artemidorus, ap. Strabo, xvi. 4. 17. 3 This reminds us of the peculiar form of covenant among the Gallas, in which a sheep is introduced as the mother of the parties (Lobo in Pinkertou’s Collection ; Africa, i, 8). LECT. VIII. OF CATTLE 297 for they are the source of human life and subsistence. They are killed only in time of need, and the butchers are unclean, which implies that the slaughter was an impious act. Similar institutions are found among all the purely pastoral African peoples, and have persisted with more or less modification or attenuation down to our own time.? The common food of these races is milk or game;? cattle are seldom killed for food, and only on exceptional occasions, such as the proclamation of a war, the circum- cision of a youth, or a wedding,? or in order to obtain a skin for clothing, or because the creature is maimed or old.! In such cases the feast is public, as among Nilus’s Saracens,’ all blood relations and even all neighbours having a right to partake. Further, the herd and its members are objects of affectionate and personal regard,® and are surrounded by sacred scruples and taboos. Among the Caffres the cattle kraal is sacred; women may not enter 1 For the evidence of the sanctity of cattle among modern rude peoples, I am largely indebted to Mr. Frazer. 2 Sallust, Jugurtha, 89 (Numidians); Alberti, De Kaffers (Amst. 1810), p. 37; Lichtenstein, Aetsen, i. 144. Out of a multitude of proofs I cite these, as being drawn from the parts of the continent most remote from one another. 8 So among the Caffres (Fleming, Southern Africa, p. 260; Lichtenstein, Reisen, i. 442). The Dinkas hardly kill cattle except for a funeral feast (Stanley, Darkest Africa, i. 424). 4 Alberti, p. 163 (Caffres) ; cf. Gen. iii. 21, and Herod. iv. 189. The religious significance of the dress of skin, which appears in the last cited passage, will occupy us later. 5So among the Zulus (supra, p. 284, note) and among the Caffres (Alberti, wt swpra). 6 See in particular the general remarks of Munzinger on the pastoral peoples of East Africa, Ostafr. Studien (2nd ed., 1883), p. 547: ‘‘ The nomad values his cow above all things, and weeps for its death as for that of a child.” Again: ‘‘They have an incredible attachment to the old breed of cattle, which they have inherited from father and grandfather, and keep a record of their descent ’—a trace of the feeling of kinship between the herd and the tribe, as in Agatharchides. See also Schweinfurth, Heart of Africa, i, 59 (3rd ed., 1878), and compare 2 Sam. xii. 3, 298 SANCTITY LECT. VIII. it, and to defile it is a capital offence* Finally, the notion that cattle are the parents of men, which we find in Agatharchides, survives in the Zulu myth that men, especially great chiefs, “ were belched up by a cow.” These instances may suffice to show how universally the attitude towards domestic animals, described by Agatharchides, is diffused among the pastoral peoples of Africa. But I must still notice one peculiar variation of the view that the life of cattle is sacred, which occurs both in Africa and among the Semites. Herodotus * tells us that the Libyans, though they ate oxen, would not touch the flesh of the cow. In the circle of ideas which we have found to prevail throughout Africa, this distinction must be connected, on the one hand, with the prevalence of kinship through women, which necessarily made the cow more sacred than the ox, and, on the other, with the fact that it is the cow that fosters man with her milk. The same rule prevailed in Egypt, where the cow was sacred to Hathor-Isis, and also among the Pheenicians, who both ate and sacrificed bulls, but would as soon have eaten human flesh as that of the cow.® The importance of this evidence for our enquiry is all the greater because there is a growing disposition among scholars to recognise an ethnological connection of a somewhat close kind between the Semitic and African races. But the ideas which I have attempted to unfold are not 1 Fleming, p. 214. 2 Lichtenstein, i. 479, who adds that the punishment will not seem severe if we consider how holy their cattle are to them, $ Lang, Myth, Ritual, ete. i. 179. 4Bk. iv. chap. 186. 5 See Porphyry, De Absé. ii. 11, for both nations; and, for the Egyptians, Herod. ii. 41. The Phcenician usage can hardly be ascribed to Egyptian influence, for at least a preference for male victims is found among the Semites generally, even where the deity is a goddess. See what Chwolsohn, Ssabier, ii. 77 sqq., adduces in illustration of the statement of the Fihrist, that the Harranians sacrificed only male victims, ny a= . ot ay LECT. VIII. OF CATTLE 299 the property of a single race. How far the ancient holiness of cattle, and especially of the cow, among the Iranians, presents details analogous to those which have come before us, is a question which I must leave to the professed students of a very obscure literature; it seems at least to be admitted that the thing is not an innovation of Zoroastrianism, but common to the Iranians with their Indian cousins, so that the origin of the sacred regard paid to the cow must be sought in the primitive nomadic life of the Indo-European race. But to show that exactly such notions as we have found in Africa appear among pastoral peoples of quite different race, I will cite the case of the Todas of South India. Here the domestic animal, the milk-giver and the main source of subsistence, is the buffalo. “The buffalo is treated with great kindness, even with a degree of adoration,’! and certain cows, the descendants from mother to daughter of some remote sacred ancestor, are hung with ancient cattle bells and invoked as divinities” Further, “there is good reason for believing the Todas’ assertion that they have never at any time eaten the flesh of the female buffalo,” and the male they eat only once a year, when all the adult males in the village join in the ceremony of killing and eating a young bull calf, which is killed with special ceremonies and roasted by a sacred fire. Venison, on the other hand, they eat with pleasure.* At a funeral one or two buffaloes are killed:* “as each animal falls, men, 1 Marshall, Travels among the Todas (1873), p. 180. 2 Ibid. p. 131. 3 Ibid. p. 81. The sacrifice is eaten only by males. So among the Caffres certain holy parts of an ox must not be eaten by women; and in Hebrew law the duty of festal worship was confined to males, though women were not excluded. Among the Todas men and women habitually eat apart, as the Spartans did ; and the Spartan blood-broth may be compared with the Toda animal sacrifice. * Ibid. p. 176. 300 SANCTITY LECT. VIII. women and children group themselves round its head, and fondle, caress, and kiss its face, then sitting in groups of pairs ... give way to wailing and lamentation.” These victims are not eaten, but left on the ground. These examples may suffice to show the wide diffusion among rude pastoral peoples of a way of regarding sacred animals with which the Semitic facts and the inferences I have drawn from them exactly correspond; let us now enquire how far similar ideas can be shown to have prevailed among the higher races of antiquity. In this connection I would first of all direct your attention to the wide prevalence among all these nations of a belief that the habit of slaughtering animals and eating flesh is a departure from the laws of primitive piety. Except in certain ascetic circles, priestly or philosophical, this opinion bore no practical fruit; men ate flesh freely when they could obtain it, but in their legends of the Golden Age it was told how in the earliest and happiest days of the race, when man was at peace with the gods and with nature, and the hard struggle of daily toil had not begun, animal food was unknown, and all man’s wants were supplied by the spontaneous produce of the bounteous earth. This, of course, is not true, for even on anatomical grounds it is certain that our remote ancestors were carni- vorous, and it is matter of observation that primitive nations do not eschew the use of animal food in general, though certain kinds of flesh are forbidden on grounds of piety. But, on the other hand, the idea of the Golden Age cannot be a mere abstract speculation without any basis in tradition. The legend in which it is embodied is part of the ancient folk-lore of the Greeks, and the practical application of the idea in the form of a 1 Hesiod, Works and Days, 109 sqq. Cf. Preller-Robert, I. i. p. 87 sqq., for the other literature of the subject. LECT. VIII. OF CATTLE 301 precept of abstinence from flesh, as a rule of perfection or of ceremonial holiness, is first found, not among in- novating and speculative philosophers, but in priestly circles, e.g. in Egypt and India—whose lore is entirely based on tradition, or in such philosophic schools as that of Pythagoras, all whose ideas are characterised by an extraordinary regard for ancient usage and superstition. In the case of the Egyptian priests the facts set forth by Porphyry in his book De Abstinentia, iv. 6 sqq., on the authority of Cheremon,! enable us to make out distinctly the connection between the abstinence imposed on the priests and the primitive beliefs and practice of the mass of the people. From ancient times every Egyptian had, according to the nome he lived in, his own particular kind of forbidden flesh, venerating a particular species of sacred animal, exactly as totemistic savages still do. The priests extended this precept, being in fact the ministers of a national religion, which gathered into one system the worships of the various nomes; but only some of them went so far as to eat no flesh at all, while others, who were attached to particular cults, ordinarily observed abstinence only from certain kinds of flesh, though they were obliged to confine themselves to a strictly vegetable diet at certain religious seasons, when they were specially engaged in holy functions. It is, however, obvious that the multitude of local prohibitions could not have resulted in a general doctrine of the superior piety of vegetarianism, unless the list of animals which were sacred in one or other part of the country had included those domestic animals which in a highly cultivated country like Egypt must always form the chief source of animal food. 1 The authority is good ; see Bernays, Zheophrastos’ Schrift Ueber Frim- migkett (Breslau, 1866), p. 21, 802 SANCTITY LECT, VIII. In Egypt this was the case, and indeed the greatest and most widely recognised deities were those that had associa- tions with domesticated animals. In this respect Egyptian civilisation declares its affinity to the primitive usages and superstitions of the pastoral populations of Africa generally; the Calf-god Apis, who was supposed to be incarnate in an actual calf at Memphis, and the Cow- goddess Isis-Hathor, who is either represented in the form of a cow, or at least wears a cow’s horns, directly connect the dominant cults of Egypt with the sanctity ascribed to the bovine species by the ruder races of Eastern Africa, with whom the ox is the most important domestic animal ; and it is not therefore surprising to learn that even in later times the eating of cow’s flesh seemed to the Egyptians a practice as horrible as cannibalism. Cows were never sacrificed ; and though bulls were offered on the altar, and part of the flesh eaten in a sacrificial feast, the sacrifice was only permitted as a piaculum, was preceded by a solemn fast, and was accompanied by public lamentation as at the death of a kinsman.! In like manner, at the annual sacrifice at Thebes to the Ram-god Amen, the worshippers bewailed the victim, thus declaring its kin- ship with themselves ; while, on the other hand, its kinship or identity with the god was expressed in a twofold way, for the image of Amen was draped in the skin of the sacrifice, while the body was buried in a sacred coffin.? In Egypt, the doctrine that the highest degree of holi- ness can only be attained by abstinence from all animal food, was the result of the political fusion of a number of local cults in one national religion, with a national priest- hood that represented imperial ideas. Nothing of this sort took place in Greece or in most of the Semitic lands,? and 1 Herod. ii. 39 sq. ® Herod. ii, 42. ® Babylonia is perhaps an exception. 2h LECT. VIII. OF CATTLE 303 in these accordingly we find no developed doctrine of priestly asceticism in the matter of food. Among the Greeks and Semites, therefore, the idea of a Golden Age, and the trait that in that age man was vegetarian in his diet, must be of popular not of priestly origin. Now in itself the notion that ancient times were better than modern, that the earth was more productive, men more pious and their lives less vexed with toil and sickness, needs no special explanation; it is the natural result of psychological laws which apply equally to the memory of individuals and the memory of nations. But the particular trait of primitive vegetarianism, as a characteristic feature of the good old times, does not fall under this general explanation, and can only have arisen at a time when there was still some active feeling of pious scruple about killing and eating flesh. This scruple cannot have applied to all kinds of flesh, eg. to game, but it must have covered the very kinds of flesh that were ordinarily eaten in the agricultural stage of society, to which the origin of the legend of the Golden Age un- doubtedly belongs. Flesh, therefore, in the legend means the flesh of domestic animals, and the legend expresses a feeling of respect for the lives of these animals, and an idea that their slaughter for food was an innovation not consistent with pristine piety. When we look into the details of the traditions which later writers cite in support of the doctrine of primeval vegetarianism, we see that in effect this, and no more than 1 On the supposed case of the Essenes see Lucius’s books on the Essenes and Therapeute, and Schiirer, Gesch. des Jiid. Volkes, ti.4 679. The Thera- peute, whether Jews or Christian monks, appear in Egypt, and most probably they were Egyptian Christians. Later developments of Semitic asceticism almost certainly stood under foreign influences, among which Buddhism seems to have had a larger and earlier share than it has been usual to admit. In old Semitic practice, as among the modern Jews and Mos- lems, religious fasting meant abstinence from all food, not merely from flesh. 304 THE BUPHONIA LECT. VIN. this, is contained in them. The general statement that early man respected all animal life is mere inference, but popular tradition and ancient ritual alike bore testimony that the life of the swine and the sheep,' but above all of the ox,? was of old regarded as sacred, and might not be taken away except for religious purposes, and even then only with special precautions to clear the worshippers from the guilt of murder. To make this quite plain, it may be well to go in some detail into the most important case of all, that of the ox. That it was once a capital offence to kill an ox, both in Attica and in the Peloponnesus, is attested by Varro.2 So far as Athens is concerned, this statement seems to be drawn from the legend that was told in connection with the annual sacrifice of the Dipolia, where the victim was a bull, and its death was followed by a solemn enquiry as to who was responsible for the act. In this trial every one who had anything to do with the slaughter was called as a party : the maidens who drew water to sharpen the axe and knife threw the blame on the sharpeners, they put it on the man who handed the axe, he on the man who struck down the victim, and he again on the one who cut its throat, who finally fixed the responsibility on the knife, which was accordingly found guilty of murder and cast into the sea. According to the legend, this act was a mere dramatic imitation of a piacular sacrifice devised to expiate the offence of one Sopatros, who killed an ox that he saw eating the cereal gifts from the table of the gods. This impious offence was followed by famine, but the oracle 1 Porph., De Abst. ii. 9. 2 Ibid. li. 10, 29 sq.; Plato, Leges, vi. p. 782; Pausanias, viii. 2. 1 sqq. compared with i. 28. 10 (bloodless sacrifices under Cecrops, sacrifice of an ox in the time of Erechtheus), oF. Ae te ‘ Pausanias, i, 24. 4; Theophrastus, ap, Porph., De Abst. ii. 30, LECT. VIII. AT ATHENS 305 declared that the guilt might be expiated if the slayer were punished and the victim raised up again in connection with the same sacrifice in which it died, and that it would then go well with them if they tasted of the flesh and did not hold back. Sopatros himself, who had fled to Crete, undertook to return and devise a means of carrying out these injunctions, provided that the whole city would share the responsibility of the murder that weighed on his conscience ; and so the ceremonial was devised, which con- tinued to be observed down to a late date.1 Of course the legend as such has no value; it is derived from the ritual, and not vice versd; but the ritual itself shows clearly that the slaughter was viewed as a murder, and that it was felt to be necessary, not only to go through the form of throw- ing the guilt on the knife, but to distribute the responsibility as widely as possible, by employing a number of sacrificial ministers—who, it may be observed, were chosen from different kindreds—and making it a public duty to taste of the flesh. Here, therefore, we have a well-marked case of the principle that sacrifice is not to be excused except by the participation of the whole community.? This rite does not stand alone. At Tenedos the priest who offered a bull-calf to Dionysus av@pwroppaiorns was attacked with stones and had to flee for his life;* and at Corinth, in the annual sacrifice of a goat to Hera Acrea, care was taken to shift the responsibility of the death off the shoulders of the community by employing hirelings as 1 Aristophanes alludes to it as a very old-world rite (Nwbes, 985), but the observance was still kept up in the days of Theophrastus in all its old quaintness. In Pausanias’s time it had undergone some simplification, unless his account is inaccurate. * The further feature that the ox chooses itself as victim, by approaching the altar and eating the gifts laid on it, is noticeable, both because a similar rite recurs at Eryx, as will be mentioned presently, and because in this way the victim eats of the table of the gods, 7.e. is acknowledged as divine. 3 Alian, Nat. An. xii. 34. 20 306 THE SEMITIC LECT. VIII ministers. Even they did no more than hide the knife in such a way that the goat, scraping with its feet, procured its own death. But indeed the idea that the slaughter of a bull was properly a murder, and only to be justified on exceptional sacrificial occasions, must once have been general in Greece; for Bovdovia (Bovdoveiv, Bovdovos) or “ox-murder,’ which in Athens was the name of the peculiar sacrifice of the Diipolia, is in older Greek a general term for the slaughter of oxen for a sacrificial feast.? And that the “ox-murder” must be taken quite literally appears in the sacrifice at Tenedos, where the bull-calf wears the cothurnus and its dam is treated like a woman in childbed. Here the kinship of the victim with man is clearly expressed, but so also is his kinship with the “man-slaying” god to whom the sacrifice is offered, for the cothurnus is proper to Bacchus, and that god was often represented and invoked as a bull.? The same combination of ideas appears in the Hebrew and Pheenician traditions of primitive abstinence from flesh and of the origin of sacrifice. The evidence in this case requires to be handled with some caution, for the Phe- nician traditions come to us from late authors, who are gravely suspected of tampering with the legends they record, and the Hebrew records in the Book of Genesis, though they are undoubtedly based on ancient popular lore, have been recast under the influence of a higher faith, and purged of such elements as were manifestly inconsistent 1 Hesychius, 8.v. ai% aia; Zenobius on the same proverb; Schol. on Eurip., Medea. 2 See Jdiad, vii. 466; the Homeric hymn to Mercury, 436, ina story which seems to be one of the many legends about the origin of sacrifice; Aisch., Prom. 530, 8 See especially Plutarch, Qu. Gr. 36. Another example to the same effect is that of the goat dressed up as a maiden, which was offered to Artemis Munychia (Paremiogr. Gr, i. 402, and Eustathius as there cited by the editors), LECT, VIII. GOLDEN AGE 307 with Old Testament monotheism. As regards the Hebrew accounts, a distinction must be drawn between the earlier Jahvistic story and the post-exile narrative of the priestly historian. In the older account, just as in the Greek fable of the Golden Age, man, in his pristine state of innocence, lived at peace with all animals, eating the spontaneous fruits of the earth; but after the Fall he was sentenced to earn his bread by agricultural toil. At the same time his war with hurtful creatures (the serpent) began, and domestic animals began to be slain sacrificially, and their skins used for clothing.” In the priestly history, on the other hand, man’s dominion over animals, and seemingly also the agricultural life, in which animals serve man in the work of tillage, are instituted at the creation.2 In this narrative there is no Garden of Eden, and no Fall, except the growing corruption that precedes the Flood. After the Flood man receives the right to kill and eat animals, if their blood is poured upon the ground,‘ but sacrifice begins only with the Mosaic dispensation. Now, as sacrifice and slaughter were never separated, in the case of domestic animals, till the time of Deuteronomy, this form of the story cannot be ancient ; it rests on the post-Deuteronomic law of sacrifice, and especially on Lev. xvi. 10 sg. The original Hebrew tradition is that of the Jahvistic story, which agrees with Greek legend in connecting the sacrifice of domestic animals with a fall from the state of pristine innocence.® ‘This, of course, is not the main feature in the 1 Of. Isa. xi. 6 sq. 2 Gen. ii. 16 sgq., iii. 15, 21, iv. 4. I am disposed to agree with Budde (Bibl. Urgeschichte, p. 83), that the words of ii. 15, ‘‘ to dress it and to keep it,” are by a later hand. ‘They agree with Gen. i. 26 sqq. (priestly), but not with iii, 17 (Jahvistic), 3 Gen. i. 28, 29, where the use of corn as well as of the fruit of trees is implied. 4 Gen. ix. 1 sq. 5 The Greek legend in the Works and Days agrees with the Jahvistic 308 PH@NICIAN LECT. vim biblical story of the Fall, nor is it one on which the narrator lays stress, or to which he seems to attach any special significance. But for that very reason it is to be presumed that this feature in the story is primitive, and that it must be explained, like the corresponding Greek legend, not by the aid of principles peculiar to the Old Testament revela- tion, but by considerations of a more general kind. There are other features in the story of the Garden of Eden— especially the tree of life—which prove that the original basis of the narrative is derived from the common stock of North Semitic folk-lore ; and that this common stock in- cluded the idea of primitive vegetarianism is confirmed by Philo Byblius,! whose legend of the primitive men, who lived only on the fruits of the soil and paid divine honour to these, has too peculiar a form to be regarded as a mere transcript either from the Bible or from Greek literature. It is highly improbable that among the ancient Semites the story of a Golden Age of primitive fruit-eating can have had its rise in any other class of ideas than those which led to the formation of a precisely similar legend in Greece. The Greeks concluded that primitive man did not eat the flesh of domestic animals, because their sacrificial ritual regarded the death of a victim as a kind of murder, only to be justified under special circumstances, and when it was accompanied by special precautions, for which a definite historical origin was assigned. And just in the same way the Cypro-Phcenician legend which Porphyry? quotes from Asclepiades, to prove that the early Phoenicians did not eat story also in ascribing the Fall to the fault of a woman. But this trait does not seem to appear in all forms of the Greek story (see Preller-Robert, i. 94 sq.), and the estrangement between gods and men is sometimes ascribed to Prometheus, who is also regarded as the inventor of fire and of anima] sacrifice. 1 Ap. Eus., Pr. Ev. i, 106 (Fr. Hist. Gr. iii. 565). 2 De Abst. iv. 15. LECT, VIII. SACRIFICES 309 flesh, turns on the idea that the death of a victim was originally a surrogate for human sacrifice, and that the first man who dared to taste flesh was punished with death. The details of this story, which exactly agree with Lamb’s humorous account of the discovery of the merits of roast sucking pig, are puerile and cannot be regarded as part of an ancient tradition, but the main idea does not seem to be mere invention. We have already seen that the Phoeni- clans would no more eat cow-beef than human flesh; it can hardly, therefore, be questioned that in ancient times the whole bovine race had such a measure of sanctity as would give even to the sacrifice of a bull the very character that our theory requires. And when Asclepiades states that every victim was originally regarded as a surrogate for a human sacrifice, he is confirmed in a remarkable way by the Elohistic account of the origin of burnt-sacrifice in Gen. xxii., where a ram is accepted in lieu of Isaac. This narrative presents another remarkable point of contact with Pheenician belief. Abraham says that God Himself will provide the sacrifice (ver. 8), and at ver. 13 the ram presents itself unsought as an offering. Exactly this prin- ciple was observed down to late times at the great Astarte temple at Eryx, where the victims were drawn from the sacred herds nourished at the sanctuary, and were believed to offer themselves spontaneously at the altar This is quite analogous to the usage at the Diipolia, where a number of cattle were driven round the sacred table, and the bull was selected for slaughter that approached it and ate of the sacred popana, and must be regarded as one of the many forms and fictions adopted to free the worshippers 1 Milian, Nat. An. x. 50; cf. Isa. liii. 7; Jer. xi. 19 (R.V.) ; but especi- ally 1 Sam. vi. 14, where the kine halt at the sacrificial stone (Diog. Laert. i. 10. 3); also Ibn Hisham, p. 293, 1.14. That the victim presents itself spontaneously or comes to the altar willingly is a feature in many worships (Mir. Ausc. 137; Porph., De Abst. i. 25). 310 COW-ASTARTE LECT, VIII of responsibility for the death of the victim. All this goes to show that the animal sacrifices of the Phoenicians were regarded as quasi-human. But that the sacrificial kinds were also viewed as kindred to the gods may be con- cluded from the way in which the gods were represented. The idolatrous Israelites worshipped Jehovah under the form of a steer, and the second commandment implies that idols were made in the shape of many animals. So too the bull of Europa, Zeus Asterius, is, as his epithet implies, the male counterpart of Astarte, with whom Europa was identified at Sidon Astarte herself was figured crowned with a bull’s head,? and the place name Ashteroth Karnaim ? is probably derived from the sanctuary of a horned Astarte. It may indeed be questioned whether this last is identical with the cow-Astarte of Sidon, or is rather a sheep- goddess; for in Deut. vii. 13 the produce of the fiock is called the “ Ashtaroth of the sheep”—an antique expression that must have a religious origin. This sheep- Aphrodite was specially worshipped in Cyprus, where her annual mystic or piacular sacrifice was a sheep, and was presented by worshippers clad in sheepskins, thus declaring their kinship at once with the victim and with the deity.* It is well to observe that in the most ancient nomadic 1 De Dea Syria, iv.; Kinship, p. 308. 2 Philo Byb., fr. 24 (Fr. Hist. Gr. iii. 569). 3 Gen. xiv. 5. Kuenen, in his paper on De Melecheth des Hemels, p. 37, thinks it possible that the true reading is ‘‘ Ashteroth and Karnaim.” But the identity of the later Carnain or Carnion with Ashtaroth or WAAwya, ‘‘the temple of Astarte” (Josh. xxi. 27), is confirmed by the fact that there was a rémeves or sacred enclosure there (1 Macc, v. 43). See further ZDMG. xxix. 431, note 1. The ancient sanctity of the Astarte-shrine has been transferred to the sepulchre of Job; cf. S. Silvie Peregrinatio (Rome, 1887), 56 sqqg. A Punic Baal-Carnaim has lately been discovered in the sanctuary of Saturnus Balcaranensis on Jebel Bi Curnein near Tunis, This, however, may probably be a local designation derived from the ancient name of the double-topped mountain (Mélanges d’ Archéol. etc., Rome, 1892, p. 1 sq.). * See Additional NoteG, The Sacrifice of a Sheep to the Cyprian Aphrodite, J ecu rh Se ee a! LECT. VIII. AND SHEEP-ASTARTE 311 times, to which the sanctity of domestic animals must be referred, the same clan or community will not generally be found to breed more than one kind of domestic animal. Thus in Arabia, though the lines of separation are not so sharp as we must suppose them to have formerly been, there is still a broad distinction between the camel - breeding tribes of the upland plains and the shepherd tribes of the mountains; and in like manner sheep and goats are the flocks appropriate to the steppes of Eastern Palestine, while kine and oxen are more suitable for the well-watered Phcenician mountains, Thus in the one place we may expect to find a sheep-Astarte, and in another a cow-goddess, and the Hebrew idiom in Deut. vii. 13 agrees with the fact that before the conquest of agricultural Palestine, the Hebrews, like their kinsmen of Moab, must have been mainly shepherds, not cowherds.' I have now, I think, said enough about the sanctity of domestic animals; the application to the doctrine of sacri- fice must be left for another lecture. 1 The great ancestress of the house of Joseph is Rachel, ‘‘the ewe.” For * the Moabites see 2 Kings iii. 4. LECTURE 1x THE SACRAMENTAL EFFICACY OF ANIMAL SACRIFICE, AND COGNATE ACTS OF RITUAL— THE BLOOD COVENANT — BLOOD AND HAIR OFFERINGS In the course of the last lecture we were led to look with some exactness into the distinction drawn in the later ages of ancient paganism between ordinary sacrifices, where the victim is one of the animals commonly used for human food, and extraordinary or mystical sacrifices, where the significance of the rite lies in an exceptional act of com- munion with the godhead, by participation in holy flesh which is ordinarily forbidden to man. Analysing this dis- tinction, and carrying back our examination of the evidence to the primitive stage of society in which sacrificial ritual first took shape, we were led to conclude that in the most ancient times all sacrificial animals had a sacrosanct char- acter, and that no kind of beast was offered to the gods which was not too holy to be slain and eaten without a religious purpose, and without the consent and active par- ticipation of the whole clan. For the most primitive times, therefore, the distinction drawn by later paganism between ordinary and extyra- ordinary sacrifices disappears. In both cases the sacred function is the act of the whole community, which is conceived as a circle of brethren, united with one another and with their god by participation in one life or life-blood. The same blood is supposed to flow also in the veins of the 812 S.. LECT, IX. THE BLOOD BOND 313 victim, so that its death is at once a shedding of the tribal blood and a violation of the sanctity of the divine life that is transfused through every member, human or irrational, of the sacred circle. Nevertheless the slaughter of such a victim is permitted or required on solemn occasions, and all the tribesmen partake of its fiesh, that they may thereby cement and seal their mystic unity with one another and with their god. In later times we find the conception current that any food which two men partake of together, so that the same substance enters into their flesh and blood, is enough to establish some sacred unity of life between them; but in ancient times this significance seems to be always attached to participation in the flesh of a sacrosanct victim, and the solemn mystery of its death is justified by the consideration that only in this way can the sacred cement be procured which creates or keeps alive a living bond of union between the worshippers and their god. This cement is nothing else than the actual life of the sacred and kindred animal, which is conceived as residing in its flesh, but especially in its blood, and so, in the sacred meal, is actually distributed among all the participants, each of whom incorporates a particle of it with his own individual life. The notion that, by eating the flesh, or particularly by drinking the blood, of another living being, a man absorbs its nature or life into his own, is one which appears among primitive peoples in many forms. It lies at the root of the widespread practice of drinking the fresh blood of enemies—-a practice which was familiar to certain tribes of the Arabs before Mohammed, and which tradition still ascribes to the wild race of Cahtan 1—and also of the 1 See the evidence in Kinship, p. 296; and cf. Doughty, ii. 41, where the better accounts seem to limit the drinking of human blood by the Cahtan to the blood covenant. See Wellh. 125, n. 6. 314 THE BLOOD LECT, IX. habit observed by many savage huntsmen of eating some part (eg. the liver) of dangerous carnivora, in order that the courage of the animal may pass into them. And in some parts of the world, where men have the privilege of choosing a special kind of sacred animal either in lieu of, or in addition to, the clan totem, we find that the compact between the man and the species that he is thenceforth to regard as sacred is sealed by killing and eating an animal of the species, which from that time forth becomes forbidden food to him,? But the most notable application of the idea is in the rite of blood brotherhood, examples of which are found all over the world.? In the simplest form of this rite, two men become brothers by opening their veins and sucking one another’s blood. Thenceforth their lives are not two but one. This form of covenant is still known in the Lebanon® and in some parts of Arabia. In ancient Arabic literature there are many references to the blood covenant, but instead of human blood that of a victim slain at the sanctuary is employed. The ritual in this case is that all who share in the compact must dip their hands into the gore, which at the same time is applied to the sacred stone that symbolises the deity, or is poured forth at its base. The dipping of the hands into the dish 1 Frazer (Totemism and Exogamy, i. 44 8g.) has collected some evidence of the killing, but not of the eating. For the latter he refers me to Cruick- shank, Gold Coast (1853), p. 133 sq. 2 See the collection of evidence in Trumbull, The Blood Covenant (New York, 1885) ; and compare, for the Arabs, Kinship, pp. 57 sqq., 59 n. ; Wellhausen, p. 125 sqq.; Goldziher, Literaturbl. f. or. Phil. 1886, p. 24, Muh. Stud. p. 67. In what follows I do not quote examples in detail for things sufficiently exemplified in the books just cited. 3 Trumbull, p. 5 sq. 4 Doughty, ii. 41. The value of the evidence is quite independent of the accuracy of the statement that the Cahtan still practise the rite; at least the tradition of such a rite subsists. See also Trumbull, p. 9. LECT. IX. COVENANT 315 implies communion in an act of eating) and so the * members of the bond are called “blood-lickers.” There seems to be no example in the old histories and poems of a covenant in which the parties lick one another’s blood. But we have seen that even in modern times the use of human blood in covenants is not unknown to the Semites, and the same thing appears for very early times from Herodotus’s account of the form of covenant used by the Arabs on the borders of Egypt.? Blood was drawn with a sharp stone from the thumbs of each party, and smeared on seven sacred stones with invocations of the gods. The smearing makes the gods parties to the covenant, but evidently the symbolical act is not complete unless at the same time the human parties taste each other’s blood. It is probable that this was actually done, though Herodotus does not say so. But it is also possible that in course of time the ritual had been so far modified that it was deemed sufficient that the two bloods should meet on the sacred stone? The rite described by Herodotus has for its object the admission of an individual stranger * to fellowship with an Arab clansman and his kin; the compact is primarily between two individuals, but the obligation contracted by the single clansman is binding on all his “ friends,” we. on the other members of the kin. The reason why it is so binding is that he who has drunk a clansman’s blood is no longer a stranger but a brother, and included in the mystic circle of those who have a share in the life-blood that is common to all the clan. Primarily the covenant is not a 1 Matt. xxvi. 23. 2 Herod. iii. 8. 3 Some further remarks on the various modifications of covenant cere- monies among the Semites will be found in Additional Note H. 4 The ceremony might also take place between an Arab and his ‘‘ towns- man” (éc7rs), which, I apprehend, must mean another Arab, but one of a different clan. For if a special contract between two clansmen were meant, there would be no meaning in the introduction to the ‘‘friends”’ who agree to share the covenant obligation. 316 THE BLOOD LECT. 1X, special engagement to this or that particular effect, but a bond of troth and life-fellowship to all the effects for which kinsmen are permanently bound together. And this being so, it is a matter of course that the engagement has a religious side as well as a social, for there can be no brotherhood without community of sacra, and the sanction of brotherhood is the jealousy of the tribal deity, who sedulously protects the holiness of kindred blood. This thought is expressed symbolically by the smearing of the two bloods, which have now become one, upon the sacred stones, which is as much as to say that the god himself is a third blood-licker, and a member of the bond of brother- hood. It is transparent that in ancient times the deity so brought into the compact must have been the kindred god of the clan to which the stranger was admitted; but even in the days of Herodotus the old clan religion had already been in great measure broken down; all the Arabs of the Egyptian frontier, whatever their clan, worshipped the same pair of deities, Orotal and Alilat (Al-Lat), and these were the gods invoked in the covenant ceremony. If, therefore, both the contracting parties were Arabs, of different clans but of the same religion, neither could feel that the covenant introduced him to the sacra of a new god, and the meaning of the ceremony would simply be that the gods whom both adored took the compact under their protection. This is the ordinary sense of covenant with sacrifice in later times, ¢g. among the Hebrews, but also among the Arabs, where the deity invoked is ordinarily Allah at the Caaba or some other great deity of more than tribal consideration. But that the appeal to a god already acknowledged by both parties is a departure from 1 Compare the blood covenant which a Mosquito Indian used to form with the animal kind he chose as his protectors; Bancroft, i. 740 sq. (Frazer, Totemism and Exogamy, i. 50). LECT. IX. COVENANT 317 the original sense of the rite, is apparent from the appli- cation of the blood, not only to the human contractors, but to the altar or sacred stone, which continued to be an in- variable feature in covenant sacrifice; for this part of the rite has its full and natural meaning only in a ceremony of initiation, where the new tribesman has to be introduced to the god for the first time and brought into life-fellowship with him, or else in a periodical clan sacrifice held for the purpose of refreshing and renewing a bond between the tribesmen and their god, which by lapse of time may seem to have been worn out. In Herodotus the blood of the covenant is that of the human parties; in the cases known from Arabic literature it is the blood of an animal sacrifice. At first sight this seems to imply a progress in refinement and an aversion to taste human blood. bBut it may well be doubted whether such an assumption is justified by the social history of the Arabs,’ and we have already seen that the primitive form of the blood covenant has survived into modern times. Rather, I think, we ought to consider that the ceremony described by Herodotus is a covenant between individuals, without that direct participation of the whole kin, which, even in the time of Nilus, many centuries later, was essential in those parts of Arabia to an act of sacrifice involving the death of a victim. The covenants made by sacrifice are generally if not always compacts between whole kins, so that here sacrifice was appropriate, while at the same time a larger supply of blood was necessary than could well be obtained without slaughter. That the blood of an animal was accepted in lieu of the tribesmen’s own blood, is generally passed over by modern writers without explanation. But an explanation is certainly required, 1 See the examples of cannibalism and the drinking of human blood cited in Kinship, p. 296 sq. 318 COVENANT LECT. IX. and is fully supplied only by the consideration that, the victim being itself included in the sacred circle of the kin, whose life was to be communicated to the new-comers, its blood served quite the same purpose as man’s blood. On this view the rationale of covenant sacrifice is perfectly clear. I do not, however, believe that the origin of sacrifice can possibly be sought in the covenant between whole kins—a kind of compact which in the nature of things cannot have become common till the tribal system was weak, and which in primitive times was probably un- known. Even the adoption of individuals into a new clan, so that they renounced their old kin and sacra, is held by the most exact students of early legal custom to be, comparatively speaking, a modern innovation on the rigid rules of the ancient blood-fellowship; much more, then, must this be true of the adoption or fusion of whole zlans. I apprehend, therefore, that the use of blood drawn from a living man for the initiation of an individual into new sacra, and the use of the blood of a victim for the similar initiation of a whole clan, must both rest in the last resort on practices that were originally observed within the bosom of a single kin. To such sacrifice the idea of a covenant, whether be- tween the worshippers mutually or between the worshippers and their god, is not applicable, for a covenant means artificial brotherhood, and has no place where the natural brotherhood of which it is an imitation already subsists. The Hebrews, indeed, who had risen above the conception that the relation between Jehovah and Israel was that of natural kinship, thought of the national religion as constituted by a formal covenant-sacrifice at Mount Sinai, where the blood of the victims was applied to the altar on the one hand, and to the people on the other,! or even 1 Ex, xxiv. 4 sqq. LECT. IX, SACRIFICE 319 by a still earlier covenant rite in which the parties were Jehovah and Abraham.’ And by a further development of the same idea, every sacrifice is regarded in Ps. l. 5 as a covenant between God and the worshipper.2 But in purely natural religions, where the god and his community are looked upon as forming a physical unity, the idea that religion rests on a compact is out of place, and acts of religious communion can only be directed to quicken and confirm the life-bond that already subsists between the parties. Some provision of this sort may well seem to be necessary where kinship is conceived in the very realistic way of which we have had so many illustrations. Physical unity of life, regarded as an actual participation in one common mass of flesh and blood, is obviously subject to modification by every accident that affects the physical system, and especially by anything that concerns the nourishment of the body and the blood. On this ground alone it might well seem reasonable to reinforce the sacred life from time to time by a physical process. And this merely material line of thought naturally combines itself with considerations of another kind, which contain the germ of an ethical idea. If the physical oneness of the 1 Gen. xv. 8 sqq. 2 That Jehovah’s relation to Israel is not natural but ethical, is the doc- trine of the prophets, and is emphasised, in dependence on their teaching, in the Book of Deuteronomy. But the passages cited show that the idea has its foundation in pre-prophetic times ; and indeed the prophets, though they give it fresh and powerful application, plainly do not regard the con- ception as an innovation. In fact, a nation like Israel is not a natural unity like a clan, and Jehovah as the national God was, from the time of Moses downward, no mere natural clan god, but the god of a confederation, so that here the idea of a covenant religion is entirely justified. The worship of Jehovah throughout all the tribes of Israel and Judah is probably older than the genealogical system that derives all the Hebrews from one natural parent; cf. Kinship, p. 34n. Mohammed’s conception of heathen religion as resting on alliance (Wellh. p. 127) is also to be explained by the fact that the great gods of Arabia in his time were not the gods of single clans. 320 OFFERINGS OF LECT. IX. deity and his community is impaired or attenuated, the help of the god can no longer be confidently looked for. And conversely, when famine, plague or other disaster shows that the god is no longer active on behalf of his own, it is natural to infer that the bond of kinship with him has been broken or relaxed, and that it is necessary to retie it by a solemn ceremony, in which the sacred life is again distributed to every member of the community. From this point of view the sacramental rite is also an atoning rite, which brings the community again into harmony with its alienated god, and the idea of sacrificial communion includes within it the rudimentary conception of a piacular ceremony. In all the older forms of Semitic ritual the notions of communion and atonement are bound up together, atonement being simply an act of com- munion designed to wipe out all memory of previous estrangement. The actual working of these ideas may be seen in two different groups of ritual observance. Where the whole community is involved, the act of communion and atone- ment takes the shape of sacrifice. But, besides this communal act, we find what may be called private acts of worship, in which an individual seeks to establish a physical link of union between himself and the deity, apart from the sacrifice of a victim, either by the use of his own blood in a rite analogous to the blood covenant between private individuals, or by other acts involving an identical principle. Observances of this kind are peculiarly instructive, because they exhibit in a simple form the same ideas that lie at the root of the complex system of ancient sacrifice; and it will be profitable to devote some attention to them before we proceed further with the subject of sacrifice proper. By so doing we shall indeed be carried into a considerable digression, but I hope LECT. IX, ONE’S OWN BLOOD 391 that we shall return to our main subject with a firmer grasp * of the fundamental principles involved.! (See p. 336.) In the ritual of the Semites and other nations, both ancient and modern, we find many cases in which the worshipper sheds his own blood at the altar, as a means of recommending himself and his prayers to the deity.2 A classical instance is that of the priests of Baal at the contest between the god of ‘Tyre and the God of Israel (1 Kings xvii. 28). Similarly at the feast of the Syrian goddess at Mabbog, the Galli and devotees made gashes in their arms, or offered their backs to one another to beat,’ exactly as is now done by Persian devotees at the annual commemoration of the martyrdom of Hasan and Hosain.! I have elsewhere argued that the general diffusion of this usage among the Arameans is attested by the Syriac word ethkashshaph, “make supplication,” literally “cut oneself.” ® The current view about such rites in modern as in ancient times has been that the effusion of blood without taking away life is a substitute for human sacrifice,® an explanation which recommends itself by its simplicity, and probably hits the truth with regard to certain cases. But, 1 For the subject discussed in the following paragraphs, compare especially the copious collection of materials by Dr. G. A. Wilken, Ueber das Haaropfer, etc., Amsterdam, 1886-7. 2 Cf. Spencer, Leg. Rit. Heb, ii. 13. 2. 3 Dea Syria, 1. 4 This seems to be a modern survival of the old rites of Anaitis-worship, for the similar observances in the worship of Bellona at Rome under the empire were borrowed from Cappadocia, and apparently from a form of the cult of Anaitis (see the refs. in Roscher, s.v.). The latter, again, was closely akin to the worship of the Syrian goddess, and appears to have been developed to a great extent under Semitic influence. See my paper on **Ctesias and the Semiramis Legend,” Hnglish Hist. Rev., April 1887. 5 Journ. Phil. xiv. 125; cf. Noldeke in ZDMG. xl. 723. § See Pausanias, iii. 16. 10, where this is the account given of the bloody flagellation of the Spartan ephebi at the altar of Artemis Orthia. Similarly Euripides, Zph. Taur. 1458 sqq.; cf. also Bourke, Snake Dance of the Moquwis of Arizona, p. 196; and especially Wilken, op. cit. p. 68 sqq. 21 * 322 OFFERINGS OF LECT. IX as a general explanation of the offering of his own blood by a suppliant, it is not quite satisfactory. Human sacrifice is offered, not on behoof of the victim, but at the expense of the victim on behoof of the sacrificing com- munity, while the shedding of one’s own blood is in many cases a means of recommending oneself to the godhead. Further, there is an extensive class of rites prevalent among savage and barbarous peoples in which _blood- shedding forms part of an initiatory ceremony, by which youths, at or after the age of puberty, are admitted to the status of a man, and to a full share in the social privileges and sacra of the community. In both cases the object of the ceremony must be to tie, or to confirm, a blood-bond between the worshipper and the god by a means more potent than the ordinary forms of stroking, embracing or kissing the sacred stone. To this effect the blood of the man is shed at the altar, or applied to the image of the god, and has exactly the same efficacy as in» the forms of blood covenant that have been already discussed.1 And that this is so receives strong confirma- tion from the identical practices observed among so many nations in mourning for deceased kinsmen. The Hebrew law forbade mourners to gash or puncture themselves in honour of the dead,? evidently associating this practice, which nevertheless was common down to the close of the old kingdom,? with heathenish rites. Among the Arabs 1 That the blood must fall on the altar, or at its foot, is expressly attested in certain cases, e.g. in the Spartan worship of Artemis Orthia, and in various Mexican rites of the same kind ; see Sahagun, Nouvelle Espagne (French Tr., 1880), p. 185. In Tibullus’s account of Bellona worship (Lib. i. El. 6, vv. 45 sqq.) the blood is sprinkled on the idol ; the church-fathers add that those who shared in the rite drank one another’s blood. 2 Lev. xix. 28, xxi. 5; Deut. xiv. 1. 8 Jer. xvi. 6. The funeral feast which Jeremiah mentions in the follow- ing verse (see the Revised Version, and compare Hos. ix. 4), and which has for its object to comfort the mourners, is, I apprehend, in its origin a feast of communion with the dead ; cf. Tylor, Primitive Culturet, ii. 30 sqq. This LECT. IX. ONE'S OWN BLOOD 323 in like manner, as among the Greeks and other ancient nations, it was customary in mourning to scratch the face to the effusion of blood." The original meaning of this practice appears in the form which it has retained among certain rude nations. In New South Wales, “several men stand by the open grave and cut each other’s heads with a boomerang, and hold their heads over the grave so that the blood from the wound falls on the corpse.” ? Similarly in Otaheite the blood as well as the tears shed in mourning were received on pieces of linen, which were thrown on the bier.* Here the application of blood and tears to the dead is a pledge of enduring affection; and in Australia the ceremony is completed by cutting a piece of flesh from the corpse, which is dried, cut up and distributed among the relatives and friends of the deceased ; some suck their portion “to get strength and courage.’ The twosided nature of the rite in this : 2 : : * case puts it beyond question that the object is to make an enduring covenant with the dead. Among the Hebrews and Arabs, and indeed among many other peoples both ancient and modern, the lacera- tion of the flesh in mourning is associated with the practice of shaving the head or cutting off part of the hair and act, of communion consoles the survivors ; but in the oldest times the con- solation has a physical basis; thus the Arabian solwan, or draught that makes the mourner forget his grief, consists of water with which is mingled dust from the grave (Wellh. p. 163), a form of communion precisely similar in principle to the Australian usage of eating a small piece of the corpse. There is a tendency at present, in one school of anthropologists, to explain all death customs as due to fear of ghosts. But among the Semites, at any rate, almost all death customs, from the kissing of the corpse (Gen. 1. 1) onwards, are dictated by an affection that endures beyond the grave. 1 Wellh. p. 181, gives the necessary citations. Cf. on the rites of mourning in general, Bokhari, ii. 75 sqg., and Freytag in his Latin version of the Haméasa, i. 430 sq. 2 F. Bonney in Journ. Anthrop. Inst. xiii. (1884) p. 1384. For this and the following reference I am indebted to Mr. Frazer. ® Cook's First Voyage, Bk. i. chap. i9. 324 OFFERINGS LECT. 1X. depositing it in the tomb or on the funeral pyre.’ Here also a comparison of the usage of more primitive races shows that the rite was originally two-sided, and had exactly the same sense as the offering of the mourner’s blood. For among the Australians it is permitted to pull some hair from the corpse in lieu of a part of its flesh. The hair, in fact, is regarded by primitive peoples as a living and important part of the body, and as such is the object of many taboos and superstitions. 1 See for the Arabs (among whom the practice was confined to women) the authorities referred to above; also Krehl, Rel. der Araber, p. 33, and Goldziher, Muh. Stud. i. 248; note also the epithet halac = halica, ‘‘death.” For the Hebrews—whose custom was not to shave the whole head but only the front of it—see Jer. xvi. 6 ; Amos viii. 10; Ezek. vii. 18; and the legal prohibitions, Lev. xix. 27 ; Deut. xiv. 1; cf. also Lev. xxi. 5; Ezek. xliv. 20. In the Hebrew case it is not expressly said that the hair was laid on the tomb, but in Arabia this was done in the times of heathenism, and is still done by some Bedouin tribes, according to the testimony of modern travellers. A notable feature in the Arabian custom is that after shaving her head the mourner wrapped it in the sicad, a cloth stained with her own blood. See the verse ascribed to the poetess Al-Khansa in 7, s.¥. 2 See Frazer, Golden Bough, iii. 258 sqqg. Wilken (op. cit. p. 78 sqq., and ‘* De Simsonsage,”’ Gids, 1888, No. 5) has collected many instances to show that the hair is often regarded as the special seat of life and strength. It may be conjectured that this idea is connected with the fact that the hair continues to grow, and so to manifest life, even in mature age, and this con- jecture is supported by the fact that the nails are among many peoples the object of similar superstitious regard. The practice of cutting off the hair of the head, or a part of it, is pretty widely diffused ; see Wilken, Haaropfer, p. 74, and for the Arabs an isolated statement of a Mahtby Arabin Doughty, i. 450, to which Mr. Doughty does not appear to attach much weight. Yet it seems to me that a custom of cutting off the hair of the dead is implied when we read that the Bekrites before the desperate battle of Cidda shaved their heads as devoting themselves to death (Ham. 253, 1. 17), and perhaps also in Ibn Hisham, p. 254, 1. 16 sq., where a man dreams that his head is shaven and accepts this as an omen of death. Wilken supposes that the hair was originally cut away from the corpse, or from the dying man, to facilitate the escape of the soul from the body. This notion might very well recommend itself to the savage mind, inasmuch asthe haircontinues to grow for some time after death. But when we find the hair of the dead used as a means of divination, or as a charm, as is done among many peoples (Wilken, Haaropfer, Anh. ii.), we are led to think that the main object in cutting it off must be to preserve it as a means of continued connection with the dead. The possession of hair from a man’s head or of a shaving from his nails is, in LECT. IX, OF HAIR 825 Thus, when the hair of the living is deposited with the dead, and the hair of the dead remains with the living, a permanent bond of connection unites the two. Now among the Semites and other ancient peoples the hair-offering is common, not only in mourning but in the worship of the gods, and the details of the ritual in the two cases are so exactly similar that we cannot doubt that a single principle is involved in both. The hair of Achilles was dedicated to the river-god Spercheus, in whose honour it was to be shorn on his safe return from Troy; but, knowing that he should never return, the hero transferred the offermg to the dead Patroclus, and laid his yellow locks in the hand of the corpse. Arab women laid their hair on the tomb of the dead; young men and maidens in Syria cut off their flowing tresses and deposited them in caskets of gold and silver in the temples.1 The Hebrews shaved the fore part of the head in mourning ; the Arabs of Herodotus habitually adopted a like tonsure in honour of their god Orotal, who was supposed to wear his hair in the same way.? To argue from these parallels primitive magic, a potent means of getting and retaining a hold over him. This, I suppose, is the reason why an Arab before releasing a captive cut off his hair and put it in his quiver; see the authorities cited by Wilken, p. 111, and add Rasmussen, Addit. p. 70sqg., Agh. xii. 128. 1. On the same principle Mohammed’s hair was preserved by his followers and worn on their persons (Afuh. in Med. 429, Agh. xv. 12. 13). One such hair is the famous relic in the mosque of the Companion at Cairawan. 1 Dea Syria, 1x., where modern editors, by a totally inadmissible con- jecture, make it appear that maidens offered their locks, and youths only their beard. Cf. Ephraem Syrus, Op. Syr. i. 246; the Syriac version of Lev. xix. 27 renders ‘‘ ye shall not let your hair grow long,” and Ephraem explains that it was the custom of the heathen to let their hair grow fora certain time, and then on a fixed day to shave the head in a temple or beside a sacred fountain. 2 The peculiar Arab tonsure is already referred to in Jer. xxv. 23, R.V. It is found elsewhere in antiquity, e.g. in Eubcea and in some parts of Asia Minor (Jdiad, ii. 542; Plut. Thes. 5; Strabo, x. 3. 6; Cheerilus, ap. Jos., c. Ap. i. 22; Pollux, ii. 28). At Delphi, where Greek ephebi were wont to offer the long hair of their childhood, this peculiar cut was called énexis, for 326 OFFERINGS LECT. IX. between customs of mourning and of religion that the worship of the gods is based on the cult of the dead, would be to go beyond the evidence; what does appear is that the same means which were deemed efficacious to maintain an enduring covenant between the living and the dead were used to serve the religious purpose of binding together in close union the worshipper and his god. Starting from this general principle, we can explain without difficulty the two main varieties of the hair- offering as it occurs in religion. In its nature the offering is a personal one, made on behalf of an individual, not of a community. It does not therefore naturally find a place in the stated and periodical exercises of local or tribal religion, where a group of men is gathered together in an ordinary act of communal worship. Its proper object is to create or to emphasise the relation between an individual and a god, and so it is in place either in ceremonies of initiation, by which a new member is incorporated into the circle of a particular religion, or in connection with special vows and special acts of devo- tion, by which a worshipper seeks to knit more closely the bond between himself and his god. Thus in Greek religion the hair-offering occurs either at the moment when a youth enters on manhood, and so takes up a full share in the religious as well as the political responsibilities of a citizen, or else in fulfilment of a vow made at some moment when a man is in special need of divine succour. The same thing is true of Semitic religion, but to make this clear requires some explanation. Theseus was said to have shorn only his front locks at the temple. Amiong the Curetes this was the way in which warriors wore their hair ; presumably, therefore, children let the front locks grow long, and sacrificed them on entering manhood, just as among the Arabs the two side locks are the distinguishing mark of an immature lad. LECT. IX. OF HAIR 327 In early societies a man is destined by his birth to become a member of a particular political and social circle, which is at the same time a distinct religious community. But in many cases this destination has to be confirmed by a formal act of admission to the community. The child or immature stripling has not yet full civil privileges and responsibilities, and in general, on the principle that civil and religious status are inseparable, he has no full part either in the rights or in the duties of the communal religion. He is excluded from many religious ceremonies, and conversely he can do without offence things which on religious grounds are strictly forbidden to the full tribesman. Among rude nations the transition from * civil and religious immaturity to maturity is frequently preceded by certain probationary tests of courage and endurance ; for the full tribesman must above all things be a warrior. In any case the step from childhood te manhood is too important to take place without a formal ceremony and public rites of initiation, importing the full and final incorporation of the neophyte into the civil and religious fellowship of his tribe or community.’ It is clear from what has already been said, that the application of the blood of the youth to the sacred symbol, or the depositing of his hair at the shrine of his people’s god, might form a significant feature in such a ritual; and among very many rude peopies one or other of these ceremonies is actually observed in connection with the rites which every young man must pass through before he attains the position of a warrior, and is allowed to marry and exercise the other prerogatives of perfect manhood. Among wholly barbar- ous races these initiation ceremonies have great importance, 1 In some cases the rite seems to be connected with the transference of the lad from the mother’s to the father’s kin. But for the present argu- ment it is not necessary to discuss this aspect of the matter. 328 INITIATORY LECT. IX. and are often extremely repulsive in character. The blood- offering in particular frequently takes a form which makes it a severe test of the neophyte’s courage—as in the cruel flagellation of Spartan ephebi at the altar of Artemis Orthia, or in the frightful ordeal which takes the place of simple circumcision in some of the wilder mountain tribes of Arabia.1 As manners become less fierce, and society ceases to be organised mainly for war, the ferocity of primitive ritual is naturally softened, and the initiation | ceremony gradually loses importance, till at last it becomes a mere domestic celebration, which in its social aspect may be compared to the private festivities of a modern family when a son comes of age, and in its religious aspect to the first communion of a youthful Catholic. When the rite loses political significance, and becomes purely religious, it is not necessary that it should be deferred to the age of full manhood ; indeed, the natural tendency of pious parents will be to dedicate their child as early as possible to the god who is to be his protector through life. Thus circum- cision, which was originally a preliminary to marriage, and so a ceremony of introduction to the full prerogative of manhood, is now generally undergone by Mohammedan boys before they reach maturity, while, among the Hebrews, infants were circumcised on the eighth day from birth. Similar variations of usage apply to the Semitic hair-offering. Among the Arabs in the time of, Mohammed it was common to sacrifice a sheep on the birth of a child, and then to shave the head of the infant and daub the scalp with the blood of the victim. This ceremony— callek ‘acica, or “ the cutting off of the hair ”"——was designed to “avert evil from the child,” and was evidently an act of dedication by which the infant was brought under the _ 1 The connection between circumcision and the initiatory blood-offering will be considered more fully in another place. LECT. IX. HAIR-OFFERINGS 329 protection of the god of the community.1 Among Lucian’s * Syrians, on the other hand, the hair of boys and girls was allowed to grow unshorn as a consecrated thing from birth to adolescence, and was cut off and dedicated at the sanctuary as a necessary preliminary to marriage. In other words, the hair-offering of youths and maidens was a ceremony of religious initiation, through which they had to pass before they were admitted to the status of social maturity. The same thing appears to have occurred, at least in the case of maidens, at Phoenician sanctuaries; for the female worshippers at the Adonis feast of Byblus, who, according to the author just cited, were required to sacrifice either their hair or their chastity,2 appear from other accounts to have been x generally maidens, of whom this act of devotion was exacted as a preliminary to marriage. I apprehend that 1 That the hair was regarded as an offering appears from the Moslem practice, referred by tradition to the example of Fatima, of bestowing in alms its weight of silver. Alms are a religious oblation, and in the similar custom which Herod. ii. 65, Diod. i. 83, attest for ancient Egypt, the silver was paid to the sanctuary. See for further details Kinship, p. 179 sqq.. where I have dwelt on the way in which such a ceremony would facilitate the change of the child’s kin, when the rule that the son followed the father and not the mother began to be established. I still think that this point is worthy of notice, and that the desire to fix the child’s religion, and with it his tribal connection, at the earliest possible moment, may have been one cause for performing the ceremony in infancy. But Noldeke’s remarks in ZDMG. xl. 184, and a fuller consideration of the whole subject of the hair-offering, have convinced me that the name ‘acica is not connected with the idea of change of kin, but is derived from the cutting away of the first hair. In this, however, I see a confirmation of the view that among the Arabs, as among the Syrians, the old usage was to defer the cutting of the first hair till adolescence, for ‘acca is a very strong term to apply to the shaving of the scanty hair of a new-born infant, while it is quite appropriate to the sacrifice of the long locks characteristic of boy- hood. Cf. also the use of the same verb in the phrases ‘occat tamimatuhu (Kamil, 405, 1. 19), ‘acca ’l-shababu tamimati (Taj, s.v.), used of the cutting away, When manhood was reached, of the amulet worn during childhood. In modern Syria (Sidon district) a child’s hair must not be cut till it is a year old (7DPYV. vii. 85). 2 Dea Syria, vi. *Sozomen, v. 10. 7. Of. Socrates, ii 18, and the similar usage in 330 THE HAIR-OFFERING LECT. IX among the Arabs, in like manner, the ‘acica was originally a ceremony of initiation into manhood, and that the transference of the ceremony to infancy was a later innovation, for among the Arabs, as among the Syrians, young lads let their hair grow long, and the sign of immaturity was the retention of the side locks, which adult warriors did not wear.1 The cutting of the side locks was therefore a formal mark of admission into manhood, and in the time of Herodotus it must also have been a formal initiation into the worship of Orotal, for otherwise the religious significance which the Greek historian attaches to the shorn forehead of the Arabs is unintelligible. At that time, therefore, we must conclude that a hair-offering, precisely equivalent to the ‘actca, took place upon entry into manhood, and thereafter the front hair was habitually worn short as a permanent memorial of this dedicatory sacrifice. It is by no means clear that even in later times the initiatory ceremony was invariably performed in infancy, for the name ‘actca, which in Arabic denotes the first hair as well as the religious ceremony of cutting it off, is sometimes applied to the ruddy locks of a lad approaching manhood,? and figurat- ively to the plumage of a swift young ostrich or the tufts of an ass’s hair, neither of which has much resem- blance to the scanty down on the head of a new-born babe.? It would seem, therefore, that the oldest Semitic usage, both in Arabia and in Syria, was to sacrifice the hair of Babylon, Herod. i. 199. We are not to suppose that participation in these rites was confined to maidens before marriage (Euseb. Vit. Const. iii. 58. 1), but it appears that it was obligatory on them. 1See Wellh., Heid. p. 198. 2 Imraulcais, 3.1; see also Lisan, xii. 129, ]. 18, and Dozy, s.v. 3 Zohair, 1. 17; Diw. Hodh. 232. 9. The sense of ‘‘down,” which Noldeke, wt supra, gives to the word in these passages, is hardly appropriate. LECT, IX. IN LATER LIFE 331 childhood upon admission to the religious and social status of manhood. The bond between the worshipper and his god which was established by means of the hair-offering had an enduring character, but it was natural to renew it from time to time, when there was any reason to fear that the interest of the deity in his votary might have been relaxed. Thus it was customary for the inhabitants of Taif in Arabia to shave their heads at the sanctuary of the town whenever they returned from a journey! Here the idea seems to be that absence from the holy place might have loosened the religious tie, and that it was proper to bind it fast again. In like manner the hair-offering formed part of the ritual in every Arabian pilgrimage,” and also at the great feasts of Byblus and Bambyde,? which were not mere local celebrations, but drew worshippers from distant parts. The worshipper in these cases desired to attach himself as firmly as possible to a deity and a shrine with which he could not hope to keep up frequent and regular con- nection, and thus it was fitting that, when he went forth from the holy place, he should leave part of himself behind, as a permanent link of union with the temple and the god that inhabited it. The Arabian and Syrian pilgrimages with which the hair-offering was associated were exceptional services ; in many cases their object was to place the worshipper under the protection of a foreign god, whose cult had no place in the pilgrim’s local and natural religion, and in any case 1 Muh. in Med. p. 381. 2 Wellh. p. 123 sg.; Goldziher, op. cit. p. 249. That the hair was shaved as an offering appears most clearly in the worship of Ocaisir, where it was mixed with an oblation of meal. 3 Dea Syria, vi., lv. In the latter case the eyebrows also were shaved, and the sacrifice of hair from the eyebrow reappears in Peru, in the laws of the Incas. On the painted inscription of Citium (CJS. No. 86) barbers (53) are enumerated among the stated ministers of the temple 332 THE HAIR—OFFERING LECT. IX. the service was not part of a man’s ordinary religious duties, but was spontaneously undertaken as a work of special piety, or under the pressure of circumstances that made the pilgrim feel the need of coming into closer touch with the divine powers. Among the Hebrews, at least in later times, when stated pilgrimages to Jerusalem were among the ordinary and imperative exercises of every man’s religion, the pilgrimage did not involve a hair- offering, nor is it probable that in any part of antiquity this form of service was required in connection with ordinary visits to one’s own local temple. The Penta- teuchal law recognises the hair-offering only in the case of the peculiar vow of the Nazarite, the ritual of which is described in Num. vi. The details there given do not help us to understand what part the Nazirate held in the actual religious life of the Jews under the law, but from Josephus! we gather that the vow was generally taken in times of sickness or other trouble, and that it was therefore exactly parallel to the ordinary Greek vow to offer the hair on deliverance from urgent danger. From the antique point of view, the fact that a man is in straits or peril is a proof that the divine powers on which his life ig dependent are estranged or indifferent, and a warning to bring himself into closer relation with the god from whom he is estranged. The hair-offering affords the natural means towards this end, and, if the offering cannot be accomplished at the moment, it ought to be made the subject of a vow, for a vow is the recognised way of antedating a future act of service and making its efficacy oegin at once. A vow of this kind, aiming at the redin- tegration of normal relations with the deity, is naturally more than a bare promise; it is a promise for the per- formance of which one at once begins to make active 1B. J. ii, 15. 1. LECT. IX. IN VOWS aco preparation, so that the life of the votary from the time when he assumes the engagement is taken out of the ordinary sphere of secular existence, and becomes one continuous act of religion.’ As soon as a man_ takes the vow to poll his locks at the sanctuary, the hair is a consecrated thing, and as such, inviolable till the moment for discharging the vow arrives; and so the flowing locks of the Hebrew Nazarite or of a Greek votary like Achilles are the visible marks of his consecration. In like manner the Arabian pilgrim, whose resolution to visit a distant shrine was practically a vow, was not allowed to poll or even to comb and wash his locks till the pilgrimage was accomplished; and on the same principle the whole course of his journey, from the day when he first set his face towards the temple with the resolution to do homage there, was a period of consecration (thram), during which he was subject to a number of other ceremonial restrictions or taboos, of the same kind with those imposed by actual presence in the sanctuary. The taboos connected with pilgrimages and other vows require some further elucidation, but to go into the matter now would carry us too far from the point immediately before us. I will therefore reserve what I have still to say on this subject for an additional note What has been said already covers all the main examples of the hair-offer- ing among the Semites.© They present considerable variety 1 Of course, if the vow is conditional on something to happen in the future, the engagement does not necessarily come into force till the condition is fulfilled. 2 In Mohammedan law it is expressly reckoned as a vow. 3 Under Islam the consecration of the pilgrim need not begin till he reaches the boundaries of the sacred territory. But it is permitted, and according to many authorities preferable, to assume the thraém on leaving one’s home ; and this was the ancient practice. 4 See Additional Note I, The Taboos incident to Pilgrimages and Vows. 5 Quite distinct from the hair-offering are the cases in which the hair is shaved off (but not consecrated) as a means of purification after pollution ; 334 OFFERINGS OF LECT. IX, of aspect, but the result of our discussion is that they can be referred to a single principle. In their origin the hair- offering and the offering of one’s own blood are precisely similar in meaning. But the blood- offering, while it presents the idea of life-union with the god in the strongest possible form, is too barbarous to be long retained as an ordinary act of religion. It continued to be practised among the civilised Semites, by certain priesthoods and societies of devotees; but in the habitual worship of lay- men it either fell out of use or was retained in a very attenuated form, in the custom of tatooing the flesh with * punctures in honour of the deity.’ The hair-offering, on the other hand, which involved nothing offensive to civilised e.g. Lev. xiv. 9 (purification of leper); Dea Syria, liii. (after defilement by the dead); Deut. xxi. 12. In such cases the hair is cut off because defile- ment is specially likely to cling to it. 1 For the criyuzere« on the wrists and necks of the heathen Syrians the classical passage is Dea Syria, lix.; compare for further evidence the discus- sion in Spencer, Leg. Rit. Heb. ii. 14; and see also Kinship, p. 249 sqq. The tattooed marks were the sign that the worshipper belonged to the god ; thus at the temple of Heracles at the Canobic mouth of the Nile, the fugitive slave who had been marked with the sacred stigmata could not be reclaimed by his master (Herod. ii. 113). The practice therefore stands on one line with the branding or tattooing of cattle, slaves and prisoners of war. But in Lev. xix. 28, where tattooing is condemned as a heathenish practice, it is immediately associated with incisions in the flesh made in mourning or in honour of the dead, and this suggests that in their ultimate origin the stigmata are nothing more than the permanent scars of punctures made to draw blood for a ceremony of self-dedication to the deity. Among the Arabs 4 I find no direct evidence of a religious significance attached to tattooing, and the practice appears to have been confined to women, as was also the habitual ¢ use of amulets in mature life. The presumption is that this coincidence is not accidental, but that the tattooed marks were originally sacred stigmata o like those of the Syrians, and so were conceived to have the force of a charm. ; Pietro della Valle (ed. 1843), i. 395, describes the Arabian tattooing, and says that it is practised all over the East by men as well as by women. But so far as I have observed, it is only Christian men that tattoo in Syria, and with them the pattern chosen is a sacred symbol, which has been shown to me as a proof that a man was exempt from the military service to which Moslems are liable. In Farazdac, ed. Boucher, p. 232, 1. 9, a tattooed hand is the mark of a foreigner. In Egypt men of the peasant class are some- times tattooed. LECT, IX, CLOTHING AND RAGS 335 feelings, continued to play an important part in religion to the close of paganism, and even entered into Christian ritual in the tonsure of priests and nuns." Closely allied to the practice of leaving part of oneself —whether blood or hair—in contact with the god at the sanctuary, are offerings of part of one’s clothes or other things that one has worn, such as ornaments or weapons. In the Jihad, Glaucus and Diomede exchange armour in token of their ancestral friendship; and when Jonathan makes a covenant of love and brotherhood with David, he invests him with his garments, even to his sword, his bow, and his girdle” Among the Arabs, he who seeks pro- tection lays hold of the garments of the man to whom he appeals, or more formally ties a knot in the head- shawl of his protector. In the old literature, “ pluck away my garments from thine” means “ put an end to our attachment.”* The clothes are so far part of a man that they can serve as a vehicle of personal connection. Hence the religious significance of suspending on an idol or Dhit Anwat, not only weapons, ornaments and complete garments, but mere shreds from one’s raiment. These rag - offerings are still to be seen hanging on the sacred 1 The latter was practised in Jerome’s time in the monasteries of Egypt and Syria (Zp. 147 ad Sabinianum). 21 Sam. xviii. 3 sg. I presume that by ancient law Saul was bound to acknowledge the formal covenant thus made between David and his son, and that this ought to be taken into account in judging of the subsequent relations between the three. 3 Wellhausen, Heidenthwm, p. 109, note 3; Burckhardt, Bed. and Wah. i. 130 sq.; Blunt, Bedowin Tribes of the Euphrates, i. 42. The knot, says Burckhardt, is tied that the protector may look out for witnesses to prove the act, and ‘‘the same custom is observed when any transaction is to be witnessed.” But primarily, I apprehend, the knot is the symbolic sign of the engagement that the witnesses are called to prove, and I was told in the Hijaz that the suppliant gets a fragment of the fringe of the shawl to keep as his token of the transaction. In the covenant sacrifice, Herod. iii. 8, the blood is applied to the sacred stones with threads from the garments of the two contracting parties. 4 Tmraule., Moad/. 1. 21 336 ATONING FORCE LECT. IX, trees of Syria and on the tombs of Mohammedan saints ; they are not gifts in the ordinary sense, but pledges of attachment. It is possible that the rending of garments in mourning was originally designed to procure such an offering for the dead, just as the tearing of the hair on the like occasion is not a natural sign of mourning, but a relic of the hair-offermg. Natural signs of mourning must not be postulated lightly ; in all such matters habit is a second nature.” Finally, I may note in a single word that the counter- part of the custom of leaving part of oneself or of one’s clothes with the deity at the sanctuary, is the custom of wearing sacred relics as charms, so that something belonging to the god remains always in contact with one’s person.? The peculiar instructiveness of the series of usages which we have been considering, and the justification for the long digression from the subject of sacrifice into which they have led us, is that the ceremonies designed to establish a life-bond between the worshipper and his god are here dissociated from the death of a victim and from every idea of penal satisfaction to the deity. They have 1 A masterful man, in the early days of Islam, reserves a water for his own use by hanging pieces of fringe of his red blanket on a tree beside it, or by throwing them into the pool; Farazdac, p. 195, Agh. viii. 159. 10 sqq. 2It is to be noted that most of the standing methods of expressing sorrow and distress are derived from the formal usages employed in primitive times in mourning for the dead. These usages, however, are not all to be derived from one principle. While the rudest nations seek to keep up their connection with the beloved dead, they also believe that very dangerous influences hover round death-beds, corpses, and graves, and many funeral ceremonies are observed as safeguards against these, as has been well shown by Mr. Frazer, Journ. Anthr. Inst. xv. 64 sqq.; though I think he has not sufficiently allowed for another principle that underlies many such customs, namely, the affectionate desire of even the rudest peoples to keep up a friendly intercourse with their dead friends and relations. Compare below, p. 370. 3 Thus in Palestine, at the present time, the man who hangs a rag on a sacred tree takes with him in return, as a preservative against evil, one ol the rags that have been sanctified by hanging there for some time before (PEF. Qu. St. 1893, p. 204). LECT. IX. OF BLOOD-OFFERINGS 337 indeed an atoning force, whenever they are used to renew relations with a god who is temporarily estranged, but this is merely a consequence of the conception that the physical link which they establish between the divine and human parties in the rite binds the god to the man as well as the man to the god. Even in the case of the blood-offering there is no reason to hold that the pain of the self-inflicted wounds had originally any significant place in the ceremony. But no doubt, as time went on, the barbarous and painful sacrifice of one’s own blood came to be regarded as more efficacious than the simpler and commoner hair-offering; for in religion what is un- usual always appears to be more potent, and more fitted to reconcile an offended deity. The use of the Syriac word ethkashshaph seems to show that the sacrifice of one’s own blood was mainly associated among the Arameans with deprecation or supplication to an angry god, and though I cannot point among the Semites to any formal atoning ceremony devised on this principle, the idea involved can be well illustrated by a rite still sometimes practised in Arabia, as a means of making atone- ment to a man for offences short of murder. With bare and shaven head the offender appears at the door of the injured person, holding a knife in each hand, and, reciting a formula provided for the purpose, strikes his head several times with the sharp blades. Then, drawing his hands over his bloody scalp, he wipes them on the doorpost. The other must then come out and cover the suppliant’s head with a shawl, after which he kills a sheep, and they sit down together at a feast of reconciliation. The character- istic point in this rite is the application of the blood to the doorpost, which, as in the passover service, is equivalent to applying it to the person of the inmates. Here, there- fore, we still see the old idea at work, that the reconciling 22 338 ARABIAN LECT. IX, value of the rite lies, not in the self-inflicted wounds, but in the application of the blood to make a life-bond between the two parties. On the same analogy, when we turn to those blood- rites in which a whole community takes part, and in which therefore a victim has to be slaughtered to provide the material for the ceremony, we may expect to find that, at least in old times, the significant part of the ceremony does not lie in the death of the victim, but in the appli- cation of its life or life-blood; and in this expectation we shall not be disappointed. Of all Semitic sacrifices those of the Arabs have the rudest and most visibly primitive character; and among the Arabs, where there was no complicated fire-ceremony at the altar, the sacramental meal stands out in full relief as the very essence of the ritual. Now, in the oldest known form of Arabian sacrifice, as described by Nilus, the camel chosen as the victim is bound upon a rude altar of stones piled together, and when the leader of the band has thrice led the worshippers round the altar in a solemn procession accompanied with chants, he inflicts the first wound, while the last words of the hymn are still upon the lips of the congregation, and in all haste drinks of the blood that gushes forth. Forthwith the whole company fall on the victim with their swords, hacking off pieces of the quiver- ing flesh and devouring them raw with such wild haste, that in the short interval between the rise of the day star which marked the hour for the service to begin, and the disappearance of its rays before the rising sun, the entire camel, body and bones, skin, blood and entrails, is wholly devoured. The plain meaning of this is that the victim was 1This must not be regarded as incredible. According to Artemidorus, ap. Strabo, xvi. 4. 17, the Troglodytes ate the bones and skin as well as the flesh of cattle. LECT. IX. SACRIFICE 339 devoured before its life had left the still warm blood and flesh,—raw flesh is called “living” flesh in Hebrew and Syriac,—and that thus in the most literal way all those who shared in the ceremony absorbed part of the victim’s life into themselves. One sees how much more forcibly than any ordinary meal such a rite expresses the establishment or confirmation of a bond of common life between the worshippers, and also, since the blood is shed upon the altar itself, between the worshippers and their god. In this sacrifice, then, the significant factors are two: the conveyance of the living blood to the godhead, and the absorption of the living flesh and blood into the flesh and blood of the worshippers. Each of these is effected in the simplest and most direct manner, so that the meaning of the ritual is perfectly transparent. In later Arabian sacrifices, and still more in the sacrifices of the more civilised Semitic nations, the primitive crudity of the ceremonial was modified, and the meaning of the act is therefore more or less disguised, but the essential type of the ritual remains the same. In all Arabian sacrifices except the holocaust—which occurs only in the case of human victims—the godward side of the ritual is summed up in the shedding of the victim’s blood, so that it flows over the sacred symbol, or gathers in a pit (ghabghab) at the foot of the altar idol. An application of the blood to the summit of the sacred stone may be added, but that is all! What enters the ghabghab is held to be conveyed to the deity; thus at certain Arabian shrines the pit under the altar was the place where votive treasures were deposited. A pit to receive the blood existed also at Jerusalem under the altar of burnt-offering, and similarly in certain Syrian aacrifices the blood was collected in a hollow, which 1 Zohair, x. 24, 340 ARABIAN LECT. IX, apparently bore the name of mashkan, and thus was designated as the habitation of the godhead.? In Arabia, accordingly, the most solemn act in the ritual is the shedding of the blood, which in Nilus’s narrative takes place at the moment when the sacred chant comes to an end. This, therefore, is the crisis of the service, to which the choral procession round the altar leads up? In later Arabia, the tawaf, or act of circling the sacred stone, was still a principal part of religion; but even before Mohammed’s time it had begun to be dissociated from sacrifice, and become a meaningless ceremony. Again, the original significance of the wocif, or “ standing,” which in the ritual of the post-Mohammedan pilgrimage has in like manner become an unmeaning ceremony, is doubtless correctly explained by Wellhausen, who compares it with the scene described by more than one old poet, where the worshippers stand round the altar idol, at a respectful distance, gazing with rapt attention, while the slaughtered victims lie stretched on the ground. The moment of this act of adoration must be that when the slaughter of the victims is just over, or still in progress, and their blood is draining into the ghabghab, or being applied by the priest to the head of the nosb8 In the developed forms of North Semitic worship, where fire-sacrifices prevail, the slaughter of the victim loses its importance as the critical point in the ritual. 1See the text published by Dozy and De Goeje in the Actes of the Leyden Congress of Orientalists, 1883, vol. ili, pp. 337, 363, For the ghabghab, see p. 198 supra, and Wellhausen, p. 103. Compare also the Persian ritual, Strabo, xv. 3. 14, and that of certain Greek sacrifices, Plutarch, Aristides, xxi.: dv ravpoy tis cay rupay ofdtas, 2 The festal song of praise (65x, tahlil) properly goes with the dance round the altar (cf. Ps. xxvi. 6 sq.), for in primitive times song and dance are inseparable. (Cf. Wellh. 110 sq.) 8 Wellh. p. 61 sg.; Yacit, iii. 94, 1. 13 sq. (cf. Néldeke in ZDMG. 1887, p. 721); ibid. p. 182, 1. 2 sq. (supra, p. 228). LECT. 1X. SACRIFICE 341 The altar is above all things a hearth, and the burning of the sacrificial fat is the most solemn part of the service. This, however, is certainly not primitive; for even in the period of fire-sacrifice the Hebrew altar is called nar, that is, “the place of slaughter,”’! and in ancient times the victim was slain on or beside the altar, just as among the Arabs, as appears from the account of the sacrifice of Isaac, and from 1 Sam. xiv. 342 The latter passage proves that in the time of Saul the Hebrews still knew a form of sacrifice in which the offering was completed in the oblation of the blood. And even in the case of fire-sacrifice the blood was not cast upon the flames, but dashed against the sides of the altar or poured out at its foot; the new ritual was not able wholly to displace the old. Nay, the sprinkling of the blood con- tinued to be regarded as the principal point of the ritual down to the last days of Jewish ritual; for on it the atoning efficacy of the sacrifice depended.® As regards the manward part of the ritual, the revolt- ing details given by Nilus have naturally no complete parallel in the worship of the more civilised Semites, or even of the later Arabs. In lieu of the scramble described by Nilus—the wild rush to cut gobbets of flesh from the still quivering victim—we find among the later Arabs a partition of the sacrificial flesh among all who are present at the ceremony. Yet it seems possible that the ydza, or “ permission,” that is, the word of command that terminates the wocif, was originally the permission to fall upon the 1 Aram. madbah, Arab. madhbah ; the latter means also a trench in the ground, which is intelligible from what has been said about the ghabghab. 2 Supra, p. 202. In Ps. ecxviii. 27 the festal victim is bound with cords to the horns of the altar, a relic of ancient usage which was no longer intelligible to the Septuagint translators or to the Jewish traditional expositors. Cf, the sacrificial stake to which the victim is bound in Vedic sacrifices. * Heb. ix. 22; Reland, Ant. Heb. p. 300 (Gem. on Zeb. xlii. 1). 342 BLOOD-EATING IN LECT, IX. slaughtered victim. In the Meccan pilgrimage the ydaza which terminates the woctf at ‘Arafa was the signal for a hot race to the neighbouring sanctuary of Mozdalifa, where the sacred fire of the god Cozah burned; it was, in fact, not so much the permission to leave ‘Arafa as to draw near to Cozah. The race itself is called ifada, which may mean either “dispersion” or “distribution.” It cannot well mean the former, for “Arafa is not holy ground, but merely the point of assemblage, just outside the Haram, at which the ceremonies began, and the station at ‘Arafa is only the preparation for the vigil at Mozdalifa. On the other hand, if the meaning is “ distribution,” the t/ada answers to the rush of Nilus’s Saracens to partake of the sacrifice. The only difference is that at Mozdalifa the crowd is not allowed to assemble close to the altar, but has to watch the performance of the solemn rites from afar; compare Ex. xix. 10—13.1 The substitution of an orderly division of the victim for the scramble described by Nilus does not touch the meaning of the ceremonial. Much more important, from its effect in disguising an essential feature in the ritual, is the modification by which, in most Semitic sacrifices, the flesh is not eaten “alive” or raw, but sodden or roasted. It is obvious that this change could not fail to establish itself with the progress of civilisation; but it was still possible to express the idea of communion in the actual life of the victim by eating its flesh “with the blood.” 1 Tt may be noted that the ceremonies at Mozdalifa lay wholly between sunset and sunrise, and that there was apparently one sacrifice just at or after sunset and another before sunrise,—another point of contact with the ritual described by Nilus. The woci#f corresponding to the morning sacrifice was of course held at Mozdalifa within the Haram, for the pilgrims were already consecrated by the previous service. Nabigha in two places speaks of a race of pilgrims to a place called lal. If the reference is to the Meccan hajj, Ilal must be Mozdalifa not, as the geographers suppose, a place at “Arafa. LECT. IX. LATER SACRIFICES 343 That bloody morsels were consumed by the heathen in Palestine, and also by the less orthodox Israelites, is apparent from Zech. ix. 7 ; Ezek. xxxili. 25 ;1 Lev. xix. 26; and the context of these passages, with the penalty of excommunication attached to the eating of blood in Lev. vii. 27, justify us in assuming that this practice had a directly religious significance, and occurred in connection with sacrifice. That it was in fact an act of communion with heathen deities, is affirmed by Maimonides, not as a mere inference from the biblical texts, but on the basis of Arabic accounts of the religion of the Harranians.2 It would seem, however, that in the northern Semitic lands the ritual of blood-eating must already have been rare in the times to which our oldest documents belong; pre- sumably, indeed, it was confined to certain mystic initiations, and did not extend to ordinary sacrifices.’ 1] cannot comprehend why Cornill corrects Ezek. xxxiii. 25 by Ezek. xviii. 6, xxii. 9, and not conversely ; cf. LXX. on Lev. xix. 26, where the same mistake occurs. 2 Dalalat al-Hairin, iii. 46, vol. iii. p. 104 of Munk’s ed. (Paris, 1866) and p. 371 of his translation. That Maimonides had actual accounts of the Harranians to go on appears by comparing the passage with that quoted above from an Arabic source in the Actes of the Leyden Congress ; but there may be a doubt whether his authorities attested blood-eating among the Harranians, or only supplied hints by which he interpreted the biblical evidence. 3 For the mystic sacrifices of the heathen Semites, see above, p. 290 sqq. That these sacrifices were eaten with the blood appears from a comparison of Isa. Ixv. 4, Ixvi. 3, 17. All these passages refer to the same circle of rites, in which the victims chosen were such animals as were strictly taboo in ordinary life—the swine, the dog, the mouse and vermin (pv) generally. To such sacrifices, as we learn from lxvi. 17, a peculiar con- secrating and purifying efficacy was attached, which must be ascribed to the sacramental participation in the sacrosanct flesh. The flesh was eaten in the form of broth, which in lxv. 4 is called broth of piggilim, 7.e. of carrion, or flesh so killed as to retain the blood in it (Ezek. iv. 14; ef. Zech. ix. 7). We are to think, therefore, of a broth made with the blood, like the black broth of the Spartans, which seems also to have been originally a sacred food, reserved for warriors. The dog-sacrifice in lxvi. 3 is killed by breaking its neck, which agrees with this conclusion. Similarly in the mysteries of the Ainos, the sacred bear, which forms the sacrifice, is killed 344 THE SPRINKLING LECT. IX. In the legal sacrifices of the Hebrews blood was never eaten, but in the covenant sacrifice of Ex. xxiv. it is sprinkled on the worshippers, which, as we have already learned by a comparison of the various forms of the blood covenant between men, has the same meaning. In later forms of sacrifice this feature disappears, and the com- munion between god and man, which is still the main thing in ordinary sacrifices, is expressed by burning part of the flesh on the altar, while the rest is cooked and eaten by the worshippers. But the application of the living blood to the worshipper is retained in certain special cases—at the consecration of priests and the purification of the leper '—whereit is proper to express in the strongest way the establishment of a special bond between the god and his servant,? or the restitution of one who has been cut off from religious fellowship with the deity and the community of his worshippers. In like manner, in the forms of sin-offering described in Lev. iv., it is at least required that the priest should dip his finger in the blood of the victim; and in this kind of ritual, as is expressly stated in Lev. x. 17, the priest acts as the representative of the sinner or bears his sin. Again, the blood of the Paschal lamb is applied to the doorposts, and so extends its efficacy to all within the dwelling—the “house” in all the Semitic languages standing for the household or family.’ without effusion of blood ; cf. the Indian rite, Strabo, xv. 1. 54 (Satapatha Brahmana, tr. Eggeling, ii. 190), and the Cappadocian, tbid. xv. 3. 15; also the Finnish sacrifice, Mannhardt, Ant. Wald- u. Feldkulte, p. 160, and other cases of the same kind, Journ. R. Geog. Soc. vol. iii. p. 283, vol. xl. p- 171. Spencer compares the rux ELEMENTS 679 however, is not provided for by any other rite ; or the rite has implica- tions which, if developed—and there is a tendency to develop them— would impede ethical or intellectual progress. Upon the form in which an idea is clothed, or on the rite with which it is fused, will depend the advance of thought. The spiritual idea that can be found in some physical dress, e.g. the imitation of a god, is neither in isolation nor is it solely spiritual. Primarily, it has some real connexion with its environment. For this and other reasons it is proper to distinguish, where possible, between (a) the magico-religious, which has an evident value, even though it be interwoven with ideas of nature and the control of nature which are no longer held, and (6) the purely magical, wherein individuals profess to control nature in their own right, or there are amulets and other ob- jects to which is ascribed an efficacy which is in no way inherent in them. The difference turns upon their psychological and social value. If, for example, the idea of scapegoats arose merely from a confusion between (1) the possibility of transferring actual physical burdens and (2) the supposition that bodily and mental ailments could be as readily shifted (see Frazer, GB. ix. Preface), the rise and persistence of the rites would be psychologically inexplicable. Hence, although numerous examples of a purely magical order could undoubtedly be cited, the rites must be regarded—when a long view is taken—as primarily ‘‘ magico- religious.” 2 Moreover, it is misleading to stamp religion at the physical stage as necessarily unethical. Early ideas of the Sacred and Holy had not that ethical or moral value which the Hebrew prophets gave them; they were pre-ethical. They did not neces- sarily exclude an ethical meaning, but they were undifferentiated, being interwoven with what was non- and anti-ethical. And as the stress was not laid upon their ethical significance, they not only included but even emphasized (as in the Kedéshdth) what proved to be immoral and anti-social.® 1G, F. Moore (Hist. of Religions, i. 585), referring to the Roman deities Con- cordia, Spes, Pietas, etc., observes that modern authors often regard these as the deification of abstractions and a mark of advanced religious development ; but “it is only the modern who conceives them as abstract : the power which works harmony among citizens is for the antique apprehension no more abstract than the power that works the germination of grain in the earth.” One sees how the treatment of ideas of Concord, Wisdom, etc., were hampered by their embodiment. The Semitic divine abstractions, in South Arabia, etc., are merely appellatives : Hukm is not Wisdom, but “ the wise one ” (Nielsen, Handbuch, i. 195 sq.). 2 Incidentally, it should be noticed that the desire to relate primitive psychology to that of more advanced peoples is itself significant for the science and theory of religion ; cf. ERE. *‘ Religion,” § 12. 3 Cf. p.553. In the same way, ideas of ‘‘ religion” can be at a pre-ethical stage 680 TRANSMUTATION OF IDEAS Differentiation and the development of some particular aspect are the most characteristic features in the history of religious thought, and a distinction has to be drawn between legitimate development, when a spiritual meaning is found in some rite, etc., and the tendencies to find some deeper meaning for which there is no justification—the notorious abuse of the allegorical method of interpretation. Spiritual development does not lie only in making explicit what was formerly implicit, but in processes of transmutation. In a singularly forcible passage, W. R. 8. explains the spiritual ideas of Yahweh as a reaction against the passion of Semitic heathenism (Lectures, p. 425). Error and aberration will force a recognition of elemental ideas which need reshaping, even as gross evil will compel the recognition of the prin- ciples which it violates. Excesses in religion (phallicism, licentious cults, human sacrifice), and all else that is socially destructive, are to be regarded on this account, not as primary phenomena, but as late decadent tendencies. But it is often possible amid certain gross, irrational, and ‘‘ superstitious ”’ beliefs and practices to recover some- thing germinal which needs transmuting, even as, at the conceptual level, an extreme theory, theology, or philosophy may contain ele- ments which in another form are of permanent value." It is instructive to inquire why new spiritual teaching, such as that of the prophets, is ultimately assimilated. It may be found that it has developed and made explicit what was already implicit, or it has fitted in with current belief, or it has transmuted or reshaped it. But the spiritual ideas of great figures tend to be, like themselves, isolated and apart from practical life and thought. They need adjustment and systematization. There is always the danger that spiritual ideas will become merely verbal. Spiritual teaching is preserved by being systematized in tangible or concrete form, in individual or social life, in a doctrinal or other system. The teaching of the prophets became embodied in post-exilic Judaism, and “* without those hard and ossified forms the preservation of its essential elements would have proved impossible.” The example is of the deepest interest as showing that the stage when religion has become “ spiritual” (as in the individual- istic prophets) is never the final stage. Many interesting points at once arise out of the relationship between the pre-spiritual and later stages. It may be asked, e.g., whether the “ priestly” account of the circumcision rite.is recognizably post-prophetic, and whether the national history of Israel in its present form represents pre- prophetic or when attention is directed to the intense subjective meaning that it has for the individual rather than upon its more objective aspects. 1 Cf. Cook, Study of Religions, 211 sqq. 2 Cf. Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 497 sq., cited in Ency. Brit. xv. 390d. ** SPIRITUAL ”’ RELIGION 681 post-prophetic teaching. Moreover, false contrasts are frequently made. The Babylonian psalms, in spite of their many admirable features, seem unspiritual because of their material rewards or the absence of higher feelings of love for god or fellow-men. But a living religion is practical and apt to be material, notably that of Israel. The contrast is as misleading as that between the practical life and religion of Israelites and the height of idealism in the N.T.—as distinct from the troubled history of a worldly Christendom. Religious experience must be made articulate, and therefore needs a theology—as W. R. S. was insisting in his earlier work (Lectures, cf. 323 et passim). So, too, spiritual religion must be in a system which is in a certain harmony with ordinary life and knowledge. In the development of religion the spiritual part, implicit or explicit, has invariably proved the most essential—conversely, that which has been developed is that which was “spiritual”; and at the higher stages it must be embodied in order to preserve it, but it must not be suffocated. The “ congenital defect inherent in every attempt to embody spiritual truth in material forms” (p. 440) is most obvious in rudimentary religion or in the priestly ritual of a post-exilic Judaism. But when W. R. S.—in the earlier part of his career, at least—reiterates his dis- satisfaction with the theology of the day, and looks for a revival of the old Reformation spirit and principles, he is implying that even an explicitly theological system can lose its old spiritual power (see the Introduction). The transition from the physical or material stage through some spiritual movement to a new systematization at the conceptual level is not all; and “ spiritual”’ religion is not merely that which by reason of its terminology stands conspicuously opposed to material or ritual forms. Gray (Sacrifice, 43 sq., 52 sqq.) contrasts the spiritual demand of the prophets that men should be like God, with primitive communion rites and the offering of gifts. The root idea of both of the latter belongs, he asserts, to a ‘‘ grossly material view of religion and of man’s rela- tion to God ”’ (1b. 54). This is forcibly put. There are many practices whereby a man is taken out of himself into a “‘ supersensuous”’ realm, and the occasions will be felt to be “‘ sacred’; but a distinction may well be drawn between those like the use of intoxicating drinks (p. 575; cf. also p. 612 sq.), and those whose demoralizing effects are less patent, notably material gifts (cf. p. 639). Again, even if man’s gift of his own will to God be completely spiritual (Gray), must not this surrender be translated into action? And if so, the question will arise, When is a man doing or not doing the will of his god? If todo God’s will is spiritual religion, it would seem that a distinction should be made between (a) the occasions when the individual is conscious of 682 THE WILL OF THE GOD alternatives, one of which is definitely “‘ higher,” and may be regarded as in accordance with, or in submission to, a Divine Will; and (6) all those where he is at least not consciously acting contrary to his highest ideals. There are other cases which need not be considered ; and it seems evident that in the latter (b) he is, consciously at least, not opposing God’s will, though whether he is therefore doing it brings up questions which do not belong here. All that has to be said now is that one of the most characteristic features of primitive religion is not (1) “‘ my will,” the will of the all-powerful wonder-worker ; nor is it (2) “‘ thy will,” an explicit dependence upon and surrender to a higher power ; it may be called (3) “‘ our will.’ In the last case men are admittedly or virtually or implicitly co-operating with their gods.1 They are a “‘ chosen people,” or “ representative ’’ individuals ; they are symbols or vehicles of the recognized god(s), and it is frequently taken as a matter of course that the gods do the will of their adherents. Or men perform ceremonies to procure that for which elsewhere they appeal directly to the gods; they act qua gods. This type readily develops, in one direction, into explicit subservience and quietism, and in the other, towards the crudest magical attitudes ; and for this reason it can be regarded as primary. ‘‘ Our will” is the typical religion of the narrow group-system consisting of gods and their worshippers; it is religion of an immanental and not transcendental character, and on this account is of the first importance for estimating the nature of “ spiritual ’’ religion. ; W. R. 8S. clearly recognized that his researches bore directly on ‘* the great problem of the origins of the spiritual religion of the Bible” (p. 2). Communion or At-one-ment with a Divine Power, as he had previously insisted, was a moral, a personal thing; it is an invisible bond, not an outward sign (Lectures, 223, 275, 319). It is enough for us to recall the New Covenant to be written on a man’s heart, or the Divine Presence when two or three are gathered together in His Name —in the Talmud when men meet together to study the Torah the Shechinah is in their midst.27 Now amid the many forms in which experiences and convictions of communion, at-one-ment, or fellowship have expressed themselves, we can distinguish (1) the fundamental experience without which the evidence would be unintelligible, and (2) the various forms which we may attempt to evaluate and arrange in some order of development. The x which we trace in J, m, and n is the “‘ spiritual’ element; and ambiguity is caused when with 2, the psychological origin of the forms and their primitive expression, is confused 1, which, as the most rudimentary of forms, is regarded as the 1See ERE. “ Religion,” § 19 (3). ? Bab. Berachoth, 6a (Abelson, 145). a eS ee ee i ey ae a DEVELOPMENT OF RELIGION 683 true origin. Moreover, even to say that 1 developed into m and m into n goes farther than to say that n can be traced back ultimately to I (cf. p. 541, top); and it is obvious that 1 can never represent actual prehistoric primitive data. So, as regards the theory of totem-origins, it is admittedly of extraordinary suggestiveness; it has drawn attention to the potentiality of some very rudimentary cults and to the per- sistence, recurrence, and constant reshaping of elements—of which the idea of communion is only one—which for this reason may be called “ spiritual.”” W. R. S.’s theory of the ‘“‘ totem-origin ” of sacrifice is true, therefore, in the sense that in totemism we find the most primitive types of belief and practice that we can well conceive, and that, as Durkheim clearly showed, it contains in rudimentary form some of the significant features which mark the higher religions. It has been said somewhere that the most ancient religion would be the purest, the most recent the truest: at all events it is an im- portant question whether primitive religion has any real value for or anything to contribute to modern knowledge. Has the “‘ vision”’ of early types of religion any meaning for mature thought which admits of being rationalized ? Now, when Christianity arose, it did not cover the same ground and have the same milieu as pre-Christian Judaism ; and the same can be said of post-exilic Judaism in its relation to the old religion of Israel. In religious as in other thought a new stage will often be more intensive, but on a narrower basis, more idealist, less catholic. In the history of religions and of sects progress in one direction seems often to be accompanied by impoverishment in others. The development is at the cost of earlier material which had some value. It may be that this material is no longer compatible with the new movement, its interests or its milieu; or it is unsuitable for its members, who, it may be, are at a much less mature stage of in- tellectual growth. There are conspicuous occasions where religion has severed itself from non-religious material which it has not even transmuted, and characteristic of primitive religion is much that is of peculiar interest if only because of the profound gulf between it and modern thought. The development of religion has been marked by the extension and differentiation of early ideas. What is true of a vital part of a system becomes true of every part, in both cases conditionally. What is true of the supreme representative individual applies—when allow- ance is made for differentiation of function—to all. We pass—in Egypt—from the eager hope that the great men must surely survive death to the belief that this may be true of all. The cosmic importance of the one or the few, by virtue of their relation to their god, gives way to the supreme value of every individual, and for the same reason. 684 THE ‘‘ SPIRITUAL’ AS “ TRANSCENDENT ” Properly, everything is conditional, dependent upon a man’s place in the system. The divine king and the anthropomorphic god expand conceptions of human personality and of man’s place in the Universe. From the pre-eminent cosmic value of a divine king, and from the governance of the world for a Chosen People, we reach the presupposi- tion that man is the centre of the Universe. It was a rationalizing, as it were, of the mystical experience of man’s oneness or unity with all reality (p. 666 sq.).. Further examples are unnecessary ; it is enough to say that all early and undifferentiated stages of religious and other thought—the relationship between god and man and nature, the unity of the spiritual or psychical with the material or physical, and so forth—demand on our part a rational formulation of the relation between successive stages in the differentiation of thought and between the subsequently differentiated forms. There is much in primitive religion that corresponds to “‘ Divine Immanence”’: the interrelation of gods and worshippers within the system, the ‘‘ material reality of the spiritual,” and the interpenetra- tion where gods and men are alike one with nature. Where this realism prevails the actual world is both matter and spirit, and it seems probable that it is the origin of the dualist systems which have advanced beyond primitive religion and incorporate the learning and the science—or pseudo-science—of their age. This dualism may be said to mark the transition from ancient religion to the victorious Christi- anity which (1) was essentially a social religion rather than a theory of God, Man, and the Universe, and (2) explicitly preserved the teaching of Divine Transcendence. But whereas in this dualism the strictly transcendental aspect falls into the background, in early religion it can constantly be recognized. The divine king, in spite of his extraordinary powers, was subordinate to the supreme god (p. 545); the inter- penetration of man and nature (man’s power over and in nature) did not necessarily exclude the existence of supreme gods (often, no doubt, otiose), or of supreme principles ; and in the early ideas of “‘ holiness ”’ moral elements were by no means always wanting. Even in totemism —which can be described as an “‘ immanental ”’ system—there are, as distinct from the clan-totems, gods of the tribe (cf. p. 668). In general, the tendencies that made for Immanence were, properly speaking, balanced by those that made for Transcendence (p. 564). Religion has struggled between a dual and a triple organization. (a) The world is physical or material and psychical; but the psychical is not necessarily spiritual, even as the “‘ numinous ”’ is not necessarily sacred, or theistic (p. 553 sq.). On the other hand (b) Yahweh is above nature, and therefore above this psychical principle in nature (cf. p. 662). Similarly, man is flesh (sarx) and psyche, but the pnewma is the trans- ee a — THE TRANSCENDENT AS VITALIZING 685 cendent, life-giving source; and without this transcendent element every system ceases to develop, becomes closed, decays and dies. We must recognize, with W. R. 8., that the central fact in religion is its progressive development. The difference between the vicissitudes of religions in general and the continuous explication of ideas up to the present day—no mere subjective conviction—is as vital for the world of thought as is man’s place in the world of organic life. The spiritual teaching of the great creative ages is marked by an utter uncompromising insistence upon Divine Transcendence, and upon the futility of all human anticipations that the mere continuity of any religion hitherto is a guarantee that it will survive, should it lack the essential spirituality. True spiritual religion is not necessarily that which is at the conceptual stage, or is mystical, or expresses itself in psychological or spiritual terms—upon this the lengthy history of religion is decisive. Nor is that which is necessarily embodied—in order to make it effective—in practice or rite, in doctrine or system, necessarily physical, material, or mechanical. The spiritual elements are those which prove to be pregnant ; upon them depends the further development of that which must have some embodiment and must be at least an implicit system. But outside every system is that which makes for its further growth; and without it progressive development sooner or later becomes impossible. Materialism is so far anavoidable that both the perceptual and the conceptual, the physical and the psychical, may belong to “‘ matter.” Even Pure Materialism seems methodologically necessary. But it becomes the closed system devoid of those pregnant elements which are fed from outside the system, and ** matter,” in this sense, is the fixed concept, the absolutely delimited, the data of the statistician, and—as brute matter—it can be weighed and measured. Accordingly, the value of primitive religion lies in the fact that it reveals, not the historic origin, but the exceedingly rudimentary forms of the religious and other ideas from which modern thought has been derived. It shows us why they were true and effective for their environment, and how their strength lay in their interrelation one with another. The difference between the most primitive and the most advanced religion is precisely as instructive as that between the lowest and the highest organisms.1 It is the permanent significance of 1 Although emphasis must be laid upon the increase of differentiation and ‘specialization in the history of thought—and therefore on the distinction between what belongs to Religion and what falls outside it—the periods of relative un- differentiation, when some real unity is found to lie beneath the differences, no less require emphasis, though the questions that arise therefrom are of a philosophical orfmethodological nature and do not belong here. 686 GODS = GOD W. R. S.’s work that problems which are usually approached in the light of definite theological, philosophical, or other presuppositions were being treated de novo by a man of extraordinary attainments, who had a special knowledge of the area wherein the great progressive movements in religion took place, and who, while intensely religious, and with distinct theological interests, had from the first the conviction that a reformulation of religious doctrine was the need of his age.* P. 445. Eronmm.—Cf. Phoenician pbx, used of Nergal (CIS. i. 119.) and of Astarte (Lidzbarski, Hphem. i. 155), and nAep (Lidz. ii. 89). In the Hittite treaties Mitra and Varuna are ildnu, but not Indra, perhaps because he was more clearly individualized as the national god. In the Amarna Letters tldnu is used with a singular verb in No. 96,; and the Pharaoh is addressed as “‘ my god,” tldnu(-1a), and by Abimilk of Tyre as (tlu)Shamshi-ia, ili-ia, ildni-ta (151,). The plural in Semitic does not necessarily refer to a number of single persons or things (Gesenius-Cowley, Heb. Gram. § 124), and the so- called ‘* broken plurals”’ are “‘ in all probability . . . singular abstract forms which gradually came to be used in a concrete and collective sense, and hence pass for plurals” (Wm. Wright, Comp. Gram. Semit. Lang. 148). The plural does not necessarily serve the same function everywhere, and the view that the plural Elohim is derived from polytheism—as though it denoted the Pantheon—has difficulties. In contrast to individualization, tendencies “‘ to pluralize the super- natural”? are recurrent: W. Warde Fowler observes it even in the inscriptions of the Empire (Roman Ideas of Deity, 16 sq.); for Greece, cf, the ‘‘ gentle gods,” etc. (Nilsson, 111 sg., 120). Or the plural is indefinite—“‘ They ’—see Meyer, Israel. 212 n., who considers the pluralis majestatis an inadequate explanation of such cases as Tera- phim, Di Manes, etc. At certain stages of religion the whole animal or tree species is sacred, and not the single specimen, which, in truth, is as eternal as the species and immanent init. In such cases there is a very real “‘ deity,” though it is without clear-cut personality (Durk- heim, 191, on the species-god of Samoa; Crawley, Tree of Infe, 252). Among the Australian Dieri the name for the supreme god Mura- Mura (“‘ very holy’) designates the ancestral beings; and the name Nuralie, the god of the tribes on the Murray River, is sometimes used as a collective expression for the primeval group of mythical beings (Durkheim, 290; cf. Marett, Threshold of Rel. 152 sq.). 1 Though W, R. 8. passed from being an ardent theologian to one of the most penetrating critics of Semitic religion and sociology, he did not himself attempt the necessary task of reformulating theological doctrine. On the contrary, towards the close of his life he found occasion to declare that he felt he never could have been a theologian (Life, p, 535), See the Introduction above. ee —— RITUAL NUDITY 687 P. 451. Nakep and Unsnop.—For nudity in religious ritual, ef. the use at Mecca (Wellh. 110; Gaudefroy-Demombynes, 172); on praying in a state of nudity, see Goldziher, Néldeke- Festschrift, 328 ; for classical examples, besides the Lupercalia (p. 479 above), see Hitrem, 52, and in general J. Heckenbach, De nuditate sacra sacrisque vinculis (Giessen, 1911). At the present day, when Palestinian women implore the help of a god or saint they uncover the breast or go entirely naked as a sign of humiliation (J POS. vi. 15); and in India they strip naked in a ploughing-rite where the rain deity is invoked (JRAS. 1897, pp. 475 sq., 478 sq.; 1898, p. 195). For other Indian examples, see R. E. Enthoven, Folklore of Bombay, 329 sq. (nudity in learning and in practising arts of incantation, fertility rites, etc.). In the Rossel island, off Papua, there are districts each of which (called yaba) is owned by a person of rank and controls some important process of nature (wind, birth, sago, sun and moon, etc.). Any untoward conduct would prevent the owner from exploiting this power of control, and people who visit the yaba always shed their clothing and take nothing with them (W. E. Armstrong, Anthropos, xviil.—xix. [1923-4]). Nudity rites are prehistoric, and the nude female image with crossed arms holding her breasts, etc., is taken to be a fertility charm or fertility goddess. In Palestine people at the present day will go in rags when they pray for rain (JPOS. vi. 157), and the custom of tearing the garment, laying bare arm or shoulder in mourning, may be interpreted, partly, as a survival of a nudity rite (see Jastrow, JAOS. xx. 133-150, xxi. 23-39; ZATW. 1902, pp. 117 sqq.), and partly and more psycho- logically as a mere impulsive action. As regards shoes, the modern peasant will remove them at the shrine of an important weli (Canaan, JPOS. i. 170, 171 n. 1). The custom was in vogue in Babylonian ritual (see Jirku, ZAT'W. xxxvii. 120); and in the Psalms of Solomon ii. 2 the writer complains that alien nations trample the altar with their sandals. For classical references, see Eitrem, 91 n. 6, 392 sqq.; Frazer, Paws. v. 202. P. 456.—Cf. usurtu, taboo, R. Campbell Thompson, Demons and Evil Spirits of Babylonia, ii. pp. xlin. 1, 119, Semitic Magic, 126 n. 2. Muss-Arnolt gives the meaning “‘ magical spell, curse.” P. 456. Paattic SymBots.—Various phallic objects have been found in Palestine, e.g. at the foot of a pillar at Megiddo (G. Schumacher, Tell el-Mutesellim, i. 128), and at Taanach (KE. Sellin, Nachlese auf den Tell Ta'annek, 1905, p. 9, fig. 7); one rudely carved to represent a man at Zakariya (Bliss and Macalister, Hxcavations in Palestine, 136, 1 The Assyrian term for tearing off a garment in mourning is sharatu (see KAT’. 603; Lagrange, 321; Winckler, Altorient. Forsch. ii. 29, 40). On its Arabic equivalent, used of a mark tattooed or cut on the person, see Kinship, 250. 688 PHALLICISM plate Ixvii. no. 7). They were found in “ basketfuls” at the high place of Gezer along with Astarte plaques ; and one of the pillars is evidently itself phallic (Macalister, Gezer, ii. 394; “Vincent, Canaan, 113). Besides some phallic objects at Petra, innumerable emblems were found at Nippur (Peters, JAOS. xli. 132, 141 sq.; cf. MDOG. 1904, June, No. xxii. 26, a phallic-shaped pillar). The phallic origin of the boundary stones (kudurru) is doubtful. For the view that the ideogram IM=rdmdnu=god of the phallus, see Ungnad, ZA. xxxvi. 272. Phallic emblems are rare on Babylonian seals (Ward, 65, 153), and they are not prominent in the cult of Adonis (Baudissin, 179). On the whole, indisputable female emblems on stone pillars are, in spite of arguments to the contrary, relatively rare; and phallicism is a secondary phenomenon in religion. This is not to deny that at times it became extraordinarily prominent; but phallicism never developed into an organized cult, even as phallic interpretations of religion have not succeeded in presenting any reasonable systematized theory of the history of religion. P. 465. Firstporn.—There are few traces of birthright in Baby- Ionia (see Meissner, Beitrdage z. altbab. Privatrecht, 16; Johns, Bab. and Ass. Laws, 162). For ultimogeniture or junior-right in the O.T. and elsewhere, see Frazer, FOT'. i. 429 sqq., who discusses some of the causes which may have led to primogeniture. Reasons for the special treatment of firstborn can be found, e.g., when a child is born to a child- less couple or in response to a vow (cf. GB. iv. 181). Such is the anxiety touching the successful issue of a marriage that sometimes it is only after the birth of a child that a marriage is considered com- plete (Crawley, Mystic Rose, 432, 464). Children, and especially first- born, have been sacrificed to cure barrenness or, more generally, to ensure health, good fortune, and fertility (Westermarck, Moral Ideas, i. 457, 460; GB. iv. 184). There are various savage rites—devouring the firstborn (New South Wales),? or killing them outright; or the firstborn may be sacrificed to ensure the preservation of his successors (FOT. iii. 173). Sometimes the first few children are sacrificed (GB. iv. 181, Abyssinia). Men, and especially children, are slain by a king to restore to life a friend or to preserve the life of a king (Crawley, 277 sq.; GB. vi. 226). It is often believed that the father is reborn in his child ; * for this 1See Lagrange, 190 sq.; Spoer, ZATW. xxviii. 271; Gressmann, xxix. 113- 128; Sellin, OZZ. 1912, col. 119 sg.; Budde, 7b. 247 sg.; and Ganszyniec, Arch. f. Rel. xxi. 499 sqq. (on Lucian, Dea Syr. xvi.). 2 Frazer, Belief in Immortality, ii. 89 n. (refs.). 3 In the Laws of Manu the husband is reborn as an embryo in the wife (GB. iv. 188 sqg.; see ERE. vi. 332, and A. B. Cook, Zeus, ii. 294). EE a SLAYING THE FIRSTBORN 689 reason, at Tahiti and elsewhere, a chief should abdicate when a son is born (GB. iv. 190); hence the infant is put to death. The birth of a son may be an indication that the father will die (the Baganda, FOT'. i, 562). Again, because the son is in some way his father over again, the father’s name must not be given to the firstborn, and in Morocco the son is never called by the name of his father (if alive), unless that name be Mohammed. This name is frequently given to the first son, and the first daughter is called after the Prophet’s daughter Fatima. By a natural variation of the idea, a man is reborn not in his son but in his grandson. Commonly both have the same name (above, p. 510), and sometimes it is considered a misfortune for a chief to see his grandson (FO7'. i. 479 sq., 579 sq.). Throughout, the funda- mental ideas turn upon the perpetuation of the stock. In some social conditions it would be highly doubtful whether the firstborn was the true child of his mother’s husband (C. E. Fox, JRAI. xlix. 119). This might be immaterial (a) where it was enough that he belonged to the group of which his mother was a member, and (6) where “‘ a man is father of all the children of the woman by whom he has purchased the right to have offspring that shall be reckoned to his own kin ”’ (Kinship, 132, where the husband calls in another man). Again, (c) where ceremonial defloration was practised the legitimacy of the firstborn might be doubtful. Among the Banaro “of New Guinea this ceremony “ takes place in the spirit or goblin house of the village,” and the child is “‘ the spirit-child or goblin-child ” (FOT. i, 534); and elsewhere the firstborn will be of at least partly “‘ sacred” origin. Does this throw light upon the “‘ sacredness ”’ of the firstborn in Palestine, with its kedéshim, and its licentious cults ?2_ The evidence is admittedly incomplete (see p. 617 sq.): the firstborn were sacred to Yahweh and must be redeemed ; but infant sacrifice prevailed. The firstborn perpetuate the stock, and Yahweh was the spiritual father of Israel. Spiritual religion requires, not animal or human sacrifice, but * the souls of the righteous, and of children who have not yet sinned ”’ (late Jewish; Gray, Sacrifice, 172); and the Agadah of the third century A.D. developed the doctrine of the efficacious merits of pious children (Marmorstein, Doctrine of Merits, 95, 163). The new-born found interred in the sacred area at Gezer can hardly be proved, in view of the circumstances, to be sin-offerings (Micah, vi. 7), and it cannot, of course, be proved that they were firstborn; but whether they had died a natural death, or—as is more probable— 1 Westermarck, Morocco, ii. 404. Of the same order is the conviction that the same name cannot be borne by any two persons of the same tribe (GB. iii. 370). 2 Psellus (Migne, 832 sq., cited by R. C. Thompson, Sem. Magic, 223) refers to the orgies of the Euchits and the sacrifice of their offspring nine months later. 44 690 THE ASS AND THE QUAIL 4 had been sacrificed, the presence of the “ spirits”’ of infants in a sacred locality may be associated with the common resort of women to shrines in the hope of obtaining offspring—a hope the more intelligible if “‘ spirits”’ of infants were known to be there. P. 469. Ser anp THE Ass.—The “ golden ”’ Set is an old misinter- pretation of ‘‘ Set of Ombos”’ (Prof. T. E. Peet, private communication). — Set’s animal is uncertain; it was perhaps the okapi, which became ~ conventionalized and, in the Greek age, was identified with the ass.1 The ass is generally reddish in colour (#.Bi. col. 344 and n. 1); andin Egypt the sacrifice of “‘ red”? men long persisted (Macalister, HRE. vi. 862; also Mader, 32 sq., 120 sqq.). In the Sumerian pantheon Esignun, one of the subordinate gods, tended the sacred asses of the great god Ningirsu (L. W. King, Sumer and Akkad, 259, 268), and the ass was the animal of the god Labartu. It is possible that the special regard for the ass, in the case of the redemption of the firstling (Ex. xxxiv. 20), was because, as a beast of burden, it performed the work of the gods in the realm of the dead (Campbell Thompson, Semitic Magic, 234). In any case, as an older animal than the horse, and on the analogy of the ‘“‘ horses of the Sun” (cf. 2 Kings xxiii. 11), we might expect it to have been no less sacred in its day. But there is little to be said concerning the ass in Semitic lore (C. J. Ball, PSBA. xxxil. 64 sqq.; cf. also A. B. Cook, Journ. of Hell. Studies, xiv. 81 sqq.). The Sumerian designation of Damascus as “ ass city” can hardly be explained (see, eg., Haupt, ZDMG. Ixix. 168; Winckler, Arab. Semit. Orient. 171 sq.). What Theophrastus (Porph. de Abstin. ii. 26) has to say about the ass and sacrifices may refer not to Judeans but Idumeans (Biichler, ZAT'W. 1902, pp. 206 sqq.). On the ass as a symbol of strength, cf. Wellh.* 157.2 . P. 469. HERACLES AND THE QuatL.—Heracles was slain by Typhon ~ and brought to life by Iolaos; see Frazer, GB. v. 111 sq. On Iolaos see Kinship, 226, 257, and on the “ resurrection”’ of Heracles see Baudissin, 135, 172, Abel, Rev. Bib., 1908, pp. 570,577 sq. The meaning of the — name Eshmun has been much discussed (see Lidzbarski, 111. 260 sqq.), but remains uncertain. The identity of Eshmun and the Arabic swmdna — (quail) is favoured by Barton (267 n. 2) as against both Wellhausen (10) and Baudissin (208, 305 sqq.). Certainly, the meaning of the root ] (oily, fat, luxuriant, robust, etc.; see Baud. 207) is not unsuitable — 1 Roeder, in Roscher’s Lew. iv. T77 sq., cf. 773, 776; see Kees, MV AG. 1924, a j. 25 sg. Newberry (Klio, xii. 397) identified it with Alian’s wart-hog (Phaco- — cherus africanus). 4 2 Among his numerous manuscript notes to his copy of Wellhausen’s Heid- — entwm} (in the Library of Christ’s College, Cambridge), W. R. S. observes that, — according to Cazwini (i. 377,), riding backwards on an ass would cure scorpion — bite ; see also Hetd.1 216. THE QUAIL: COVENANTS 691 for a deity of the Baal type (though it does not seem to enter into theophorous names), and fits the quail, which is a fat, plump bird. Like the penguin, the bird when dead is apt to breed worms (H.Bi. col. 3991), and a characteristic malady produced by the bird was called morbus Herculeus (cf. Hommel, 730). Like the manna of the Israelites in the wilderness, the quail was divinely provided food, and the people, tired of manna and lusting after flesh, were “‘ consecrated’ in order to receive it (Num. xi. 18). But whereas the manna was not to be stored overnight (Ex. xvi. 19), the quails were eaten for a month, and with disastrous results. Further, whereas manna continued to be regarded as divine food and belongs to distinctively Israelite tradition, the quails had associations in both Phcenician and Greek mythology (cf. A. B. Cook, Zeus, i. 544 n.), and they were perhaps burnt alive to Melkart-Heracles at Tyre and to Sandan-Heracles at Tarsus (GB. v. 112, 126 n. 3). It is noteworthy that in another Biblical story (Num. xxi.), where the Israelites complain of the manna and of the lack of flesh, they are thereupon bitten by “‘ serpents,” and the bronze serpent set up to cure them recalls the connexion between the serpent and the healing god Eshmun. P. 469. ApprTionaL Notre G.—For criticisms, see Stiibe, 337 sqq. (with references and fuller details); Eitrem, 391 n.1; Nilsson, Griech. Feste, 368; and Baudissin, 129, 144 (who questions whether Lydus knew of any Adonis festival in spring). Prof. W. R. Halliday (in a private communication) suggests that ckwdio éoxeracpévov (see p. 473) may be a periphrasis for some term like drexros, which meant technic ally an unshorn lamb less than a year old, and so taboo in Athenian sacrifice (Androtion, 41; Philochoros, 64). He compares ezizoxos ‘Exdre €u moder... olv emimoxov tTedéay, 1.€. a mature sheep with wool on or unshorn; Paton and Hicks, Inscriptions of Cos, 401.* W. R. S.’s emendation would then become unnecessary. P. 481. CovENANT CEREMONIES.—Two types are to be distin- guished ; see Meyer and Luther, Jsraeliten, 556 sqq. (1) In Ex. xxiv. 3-8, the blood of the sacrifice is sprinkled over the people and over the altar (representing Yahweh). (2) In Gen. xv., Jer. xxxiv. 18 sqq., the distinctive feature is the passage between the severed animal. The former is a familiar type (cf. Trumbull, Blood Covenant, 4 sqq.), but in the latter the significance of the severance and of the passage is not so clear. Parallels are found in purificatory and in imprecatory cere- monies (Frazer, FOT’. i. 398 sqq., 407; Meyer, 560 n. 1; Trumbull, 186). For the parallel Assyrian imprecatory ceremony, where the victim is not, however, a sacrifice, see Frazer, 401 sq., KAT’. 597, and MV AG. iii. 228 sqq. It has been thought that the passage between the divided 1 See also Halliday, Liverpool Annals of Art and Archeology, xiv. 12, 692 COVENANT AND COMMUNION victim may be a “‘ rite of passage,’ symbolizing the emergence into a new state (cf. Pilcher, PSBA. xl. 8 sqq.); Crawley, however, recalls the ‘* split token,”’ the division of an object so that two contracting parties, by possessing each a half, are themselves parts, as it were, of a whole, and are thus most closely united (Mystic Rose, 238, 248, 258). On the Scythian custom (p. 402 n. 3), see Frazer, FOT'. i. 394, 414; and on the origin of the term bérith, see H.Bi. “* Covenant,” § 1; Lagrange, 234 sq. | Westermarck does not agree that the underlying idea of covenant ceremonies is that of communion. He argues that the blood-covenant imposes duties upon the contracting parties and a penalty for their transgression ; and he invokes the Arabic ‘ar and ‘ahd where, in the former case, a ma_ exerts pressure upon a more powerful individual (or saint, etc.) in order to secure, if not rather to compel, his protection, and, in the latter, a man who undertakes a task “ is believed to expose himself to supernatural danger in case of bad faith.” As regards both, “‘ their primary object was not to establish communion, but to transfer conditional curses both to the men and to the god.”’ On the one hand, Westermarck rightly draws attention to certain forms of belief and practice which might easily be overlooked. On the other, there are gods who are believed to safeguard treaties and covenants (cf. Baal- Berith, p. 534); and when they are mentioned (e.g. in the Egypto- Hittite or the Hittite-Mitannian treaties), their ability to punish any infraction of the conditions is naturally not the only reason for their presence. In covenants and treaties the relationship between the parties and their gods is a more essential fact than the way in which the relationship is used, viz. in imprecations and curses. The very notion of transference of curses implies a relationship, and the object of exerting pressure upon gods (spirits, saints, etc.) is to utilize them in a way that is “ magical”’ rather than “‘ religious.”” Westermarck’s argument involves the theory that the “‘ magical” relation is more primary than the “ religious,” and that even if some covenant cere- monies are of a “religious” nature—which presumably would not be denied—the “‘ magical’’ aspect is more essential than the “ religious.” But W. B.S. throughout argues from the priority of “ religion.” And if this is only a“ theory,” it will claim to deal both with the facts and with % rival theories more adequately than does the “‘ theory” of the priority _ of magic, and to provide a philosophy more true to human nature. 1 Origin and Development of Moral Ideas, ii. 208 sq.; Ritual ‘and Belief in Morocco, i. 564, 569, ee a re, COMPARATIVE TABLE OF PAGINATION In view of the use made by German and other continental scholars of Stiibe’s translation of Religion of the Semites, this adjustment of his table may be useful to English readers. CHAPTER I. eerelas Hace. “ees English. | German. English. a 5 Sl 114 |120 156 Be ere 41 58 | 81-2 115 | 121 157 ae Eur heal? 59 «| «82 116 | 121-2 158 oe g | 42-8 60 | 82-3 117 {122 454 3 7 43 61 83-4 118 122-3 455 Bd 5 43-4 62 | 84 119 | 123 456 “is 44-5 63 | 85 120 |123 158 ars 7 | 45 64 | 85-6 121 1124 159 a - 46 65 | 86 122 |124-5 160 y 6 46-7 66 | 86-7 123 | 125-6 161 8 ‘6 47 67 | 87-8 124 1126 162 ge et 48 68 | 88 125 |127 163 9 12 48-9 69 88-9 126 127 164 A as 49-50 70 ~| 89-90 127 50 71 | 90 128 a Nace 10-11 14 51 as “ee CHAPTER V. 11 15 a 12 16 51-2 73 91-2 130 128 165 $08 17 | 52-3 74 | 92-3 131 }128-9 166 +a He} 88 75 | 93 132 |129-30 167 +4 a5} 38-4 76 | 93-4 133 | 130 168 14-5 39 «| 54-5 77 | 94-5 134 |130-1 169 15-6 21 55 78 95 135 1381-2 170 is i 79 | 96 136 | 132 171 16-7 23 56-7 80 96-7 Tay, 133 ie 17-8 + en 81 97 188 |133-4 173 18 25 58 82 97-8 441 134-5 174 i8 26 58-9 83 98 442 135 175 is te 99 443 1136 176 carmen, | feI0 HE YT CHAPTER IT. , ; 60 84 1101 446 |138 179 19 28 60-1 85 |101 139 |138-9 180 19-20 29 61-2 86 139 181 20-1 30 62 87 1 rains 139-40 182 21 31 | 62-3 88 Caaerme LY 140-1 183 22 32 63 89 | 102 140 |141 184 22-3 33 64 90 102-3 141 142 185 23 34 64-5 91 103 142 142-3 186 24 35 65-6 92 104 143 143 187 24-5 36 66 93 105 144 144 188 25 a7) 66-7 94 |105-6 145 | 144-5 189 26 38 68 95 106-7 146 145-6 190 26-7 39 68 96 107 147. 146 191 27 40 69 97 107-8 148 147 192 28 41 69-70 98 108-9 149 147-8 193 28-9 42 70 99 109 150 148 194 30 43 ral 100 110 151 148-9 195 30-1 44 71-2 101 110-1 152 149-50 196 31-2 45 42, 102 ime! 153 150 197 32-3 46 73 103 112 446 151 198 33-4 47 74 104 112-3 447 151-2 199 34 48 74-5 105 113-4 448 152 200 34-5 49 75 106 114-5 449 152 201 35-6 50 76 107 115-6 450 153-4 202 36 51 (a 108 116 451 154 203 37 52 77 109 a fo Wd 452 154-5 204 37-8 53 78 110 117-8 453 155 205 38 54 78-9 Lit 118 454 156 206 39 55 79-80 112 119 154 156-7 207 39-40 56 80 113 119-20 155 157 208 693 694 COMPARATIVE TABLE OF PAGINATION German. English. | German. English. | German. English. | German. English. q 158 209 "| 203-4 265 || 248-9 324 || 296 384 158-9 210 | 204 266 | 249 325 | 296-7 385 159, 161 211 | 205 267 | 250 326 | 297-8 386 160 456/205 268 | 250-1 827 |208-9 887, 489-00 160-1 4 251-2 2 . 212 252 329 1st CHAPTER VIII. 252-8 830 na CHAPTER oe 253— CHaprer VI. | 206 rip ea fs 332 | 300-1 389 eect Sida 333 | 301-2 390 yee tye Ua 2eL | 255 481 | 302 391 eer en Kee 272 | 255-6 482 | 302-8 302 pe ns io a 278 | 256-7 483 | 303 393 164-5 217 | 210 275 if 258 485 | 304-5 395 165 218 | 210-1 276 is oe AOL ts 276 | 258-0 334 | 305 396 : . 259-60 335 | 305-6 397 esta wing eh 278 | 260-1 336 | 306-7 398 167 221 | 213 e790 1200 ph ay 9 ee ec eee pe {| 2bie8 338 | 307-8 400 168-9 223 | 214 281 . 262 339 | 308-9 401 169-70 924 | 215 289.1) eA ne vibe eter Fa fb ae 288 - | 260-4 341 |310 - 408 A mee hi 28 | 264 342 | 810-1 491 171-2 227 | 216-7 285 | 268 ee a <05 toe ieee ia 286 |265-6 344 | 312 404 ays goF ene 287 | 266 345 | 312-8 405 173-4 230 | 219 2gs | 268 eel var teh 174-5 231 | 219-20 289 267-8 347 |314 407 nike Pee cd 200 | 268 348 | 314-5 408 wh ae er 201 | 268-9 349 | 315 409 dae gop aloes me 350 | 315-6 410 17 222, 0 Be et Ct ea 178-9 237 | 223-4 466 ae a 179 238 | 224-5 467 eee rh 180-81 240 | 226 469, 204 | 974 ase laa ae Ae eh ee 208 it ora 354 | 320-1 417 181-2 242 | 227-8 296 J 272-3 355 | 321-2 418 182 243 | 228 207, Al ata pat ect ep ue oe | 273-4 357 | 322-3 420 230-1 301 183 244-5 | 230-1 301 1275-6 360 | 325 423 184 453 | 231 S07 ues 361 | 325-6 424 184-5 abo een. epi es 362 | 326 125 185-6 ieee 30e [277-8 363 | 327 426 186-7 ND be eae 364 | 327-8 427 187-8 462 See B08. 270 365 | 328 428 188 465 [300 307 | 279-80 366 | 329 429 189 466 eons rinsed bi 367 | 329-30 430 189-90 405%) one p08 erat 368 | 330 431 190 245 | 287 310 | 981-2 369 | 330-1 432 191 246 282 370 | 331-2 433 191-2 247 283 a7 | 332 434 192 248 233- 333 35 193 249 Creer | ae 373 | 333-4 436 193-4 250 | 239 312 | 285 374 | 334-5 437 194 251 | 239-40 313 | 285-6 375 | 335 438 195 252 | 240-1 314 | 286 376 | 336 439 195-6 253 | 241 315 | 287 377 | 336 440 196 254. | 241 479 | 287-8 378 | 337 469 197 255 | 241-2 480 | 288 485 |337-8 470 197-8 256 | 242-3 481, 315 | 289 486 | 338-9 471 198 257 | 243-4 316 | 289-90 487 | 339-40 472 199 258 | 244 317 | 290-2 488 | 341 473 199-200 259 | 244-5 318 | 292 489 |342 474 200 260 | 245 319 | 292-3 379 |343 475 201 261 | 246 320 | 293-4 380 | 344 476 201-2 262 | 246-7 321 | 294 381 | 345-6 477 202 263 | 247 322 | 295 382 | 346-9 478 203 264 | 248 323 | 295-6 383 | 349 479 INDEX OF BIBLICAL PASSAGES GENESIS PAGE eae 518, 535 ale pe . Le i.6-8 . 106 i. 28, 29. 307 li, 5.8q. . 518 ii. 16 sqq. mga) iii. 15, 21 307, 437 iv. 1 ; 513, 610 ae ee 178, 307, 462 iv. 5 sqq. 648 n. 4 ry owe 1 oe abe 4G iv. 14 sq 270 iv. 18 526 v. 9 43 v. 25 526 v. 29 575 Ti.2, 4 446 vi. 5-7 . 663 viii. 3 sqq. 417 viii. 20 . 378 viii. 21 “4. 663 ix, 1 sq. 307 ix. 4 40. n, 601 ibd 11-17 663 ix. 18 sqq. 575 a n 5, 495 Sti, 6 196 Xik k 116 xiv. 5 310 xiv. 7 181 MVS | 126 xv. 3 . 613 xv. 8 sqq. 219, 319, 480, 691 xvi. 2 513 xxi 25. 105 6 4 he ae . 186 Xxil. f 362, 465 eit, J. . 490 xxii. 8-13 309 wo . 378 xxii. 10. ‘ Seas xxii. 13sq. 366, 602 n. 5 xxii. 14. ; =~ 7146 Sx 21. 43 xxiv. ll . 172 xxv. 8 pore Arete LG 5 xxvi. 17 sqq. xxvi. 30 XXVil. 7. : Raw: 15:27 XXVli. 29 : EVIL oo, oO XXvill. 12 Xxvili. 12 sqq. xxviii. 18 sqq. XXVili. 22 a2; 419 i 611,17,30, 92 |Eaih 1G ame. «5D fy. 16 LP ae ie xxii. 28. 576 | t 223 Xx. 30. » B2S9 vi, 16 (22) _ 993 Xxiil. 14 1 DA) Wii20(27) +) 849,401 FE 1 58 |e vi. 22 (29) red estat gad vi. a (30) sa mci 28 _ AGL Vii. : i ; Eel Sl 9290 | XXVii. 28 . 454 Wild os . 242 vii. 15 sqq 239, 387 NUMBERS VEEN? T rene asst ee, 641 viii. 15 436/43 464 viii. 23 344111 sag) 180 x. 9 « ABR a 558 PLT 344, 349) yi 10, 219 xi. 32 sq 447) vi. 13 sq. 332 m4! 293 vi. 15 rime’ xii. 6, 8 Rage ac) vill. 10 . . 423 Sie ods gy: 219, 344,153 18 . 691 14, 22, 49 sao a0 xiv. 14 sqq. 463 vi. 18 « 262 vi. 24 . 454 vi. 26 . 464 Vii. . 454 vii. 1, 11 162, 421 vii. 9 . bes vii. 13 sq . 648 vu. 15 .° ab¢ vii. 19 559 n. INDEX OF BIBLICAL PASSAGES a ie ot ob, 3 RA JOSHUA (contd). vi 240. vill. 30 sqq. Peek . ix. 14 moe. 25, xi: Sx . Xxiv. 26 Sxiy. 27 JUDGES 116, 378, 378, 162. 119, a. 220, _ 221, 254. xv. 3-5. XVi. 23 sqq. Xvii. 2 ax. 29. xx. 26 "xX. oo xx. 40 Ruta i. 14 sqq. lil. 9 iv. 7 636, 94, 193 633 36 674. 636 1 SAMUEL PAGE hae tel a 254 Loa), 24 oo es ii. 8 4 ra on u. 13 sqq ~ ake li. 15 ~ B84 1016 238, 487 it od - Rola ii. 25 Sn atGbL ii. 27 sqq 421 iii. 14 238 iv. 7 sqq. ald Bao ety) 584 n. vi. 14 ; . 3809 Vibe’. . 430, 580 vii. 9 . 368, 402, 464 titi de . oe BOS viii. 15, 17 246, 460 ee bie "4 e 28u ix. 9 126 co 8 Bee Boies bigs ixA2, 13 254, 279 1x. 22 254 » eres 248, 254 Si 402 Sac 66 xii. 19 668 n. arise Oe » 402 Ri 346 mi. 16. . 568 xiv. 15. 580 xiv. 24 sqq. 640 xiv. 32 sq. 202 Xim o4 . 341 Biv au: 116 XV. 454 “i ie) es 362 Xvii. 34 126 XVili. 3 sqq. . 335 xviii. 18 662 tee. Se ae 3 pee Ss xx. 6,29 254, 276, 627 4 et ae 3 . 239 mah 4 242 xxi. 5, 6 455 meteT oe 4.56 Xxi. 9 460 xxii. 7 : 460 ei? 4, 11 640 xxiv. 15 ot OG! xxv. 4 sqq. 254 n. 6 xxv. 29. .” 26386 xxvi. 19 36, 46, 93, 238, 347 xxvii. 6,15. . 640 xxx. 20. 459 xxx. 24 sq. 637 xxx. 26. 36 ori 1) Sard to. 2 SAMUEL Ried d XIV. Vel L xvii. 18 abs @ Plas xx. 8 XXi. xxi. 1 xxi. 9 Ay be . 648 xv. 3 66 hve Oh. 653 n. Kv SS", 559 n. xix. 6 . at6 xxi 18. 648 a | 517 L115 579 1 MACCABEES li. 32 sqq. 640 v.45". 310 2 MACCABEES 1. 14 516 1V,.a3 148 xii. 40 209 MATTHEW Al) vse ‘ . 664 v. 45 644 n., 663 v.48 . - 675 vi. 25-33 639, 663 vi. 32 sq. 552 vii. 22 sq. 528 xi. 30 593 xxv. 40 663 ixxv. 41 sqq. . 528 xxvi. 23 315 LUKE eae 4. 120 xiii. 25 sqq. 528 JOHN vi. 70 652 n. 2 vil. 37 231 RY, Vighhey Mike a eee xiv. 30 652 n. 2 xv. 4 506, 663 Acts in. 15 652 n. 2 xxiii. 14 481 ROMANS PAGE vii. 12-14 665 viii. 19 sqq. 663 1 CoRINTHIANS lii. 6 ; 584 x. 18 sqq. 597 ToaZVo 264 Do. oe et ae 593 2 CORINTHIANS Ley 639 COLOSSIANS i. 18 584 n. 663 n. 1 TrmotTHy ili. 16 647 n. 1 HEBREWS rie 512, 663 ize 7 JhOEs ize? 427 REVELATION xii.~ x : » & B20 xxi. 5 : 650 n. JUBILEES, Book OF 644 xu. 16 sq. : 652 n. 4 xlix. 15 sq. TESTAMENT OF JUDAH Xii. : i Headed «3 yf Xvii. 2 617 PsaLMg oF SOLOMON tee 687 OpES OF SOLOMON V2 ‘ ; - 576 517 GRHENERAL INDEX The references in Roman numerals are to the Introduction “Abd-, names in, 46, 68, 508 Abdi-hiba, 664, 665 n. Abi-, names in, 45 Ablution after a piacular sacrifice, 351 ; removes taboo, 451 sq. Abnil, idol at Nisibis, 210 Absalom, long hair of, 484 Abstinence, original significance of, 485. See Fasting Abstract names of deities, 509, 679 n. ; abstract ideas in concrete form, 669; abstract reasoning, 655. Abyssinian names denoting kinship, 510 Acacia. See Samora Achan’s breach of taboo, 162 ‘Acica, ceremony, 133, 328 sqq., 610 Adar, god, 292 Adon, divine title, 68, 411 Adonia, 411 Adonis, or Tammuz, 68,411; Cyprian Swine-god, 411, 475; at Byblus, 191, 329: mourning for, 262, ail s9.;. gardens of, 177 n. 2, 197 n.; sacred river, 174 Adranus, god, 292 Adytum, 200 Africa, and the Semites, 496; cattle sacred in, 296 sqq., 600 After-birth preserved, 634 n. 6 Agag, sacrifice of, 362, 363, 369, 492 Ahalla, Arabic, 432 Ahaz, altar of, 378, 485 sqq. ‘Ahad, 692 Ahi-, names in, 45 Ahl al-ard, Arabic, 198 Ahura-Mazda, 529-657, 659 ‘Ain al-Bacar, at Acre, 183 Akhyila, Arabic, 157 Allat, 316, 566; at Petra and Elusa, 56 sq.; at Tabala, 212; at Taif, 210 All-Fathers. See Supreme Gods Allon, Hebrew, 196 Al-‘Ozza. See ‘Ozza Al-Shajara, 160, 187 Altar, as table, 202; as place of slaughter, 341; as hearth, 377 sqq., 487; cleansing of, 408; Ahaz’s, 378, 485; heavenly, 633 Altars, candlestick, 384, 487 sq. ‘Am (uncle, people, name of god), 510, 547, 610, 662 Amathus, human sacrifices at, 376 ; asylum, 148 Ambrosian rocks, 193 n. Amen, Ram-god, how worshipped, 302 ; annual sacrifice to, 431 Amharic, an analogy, 496 sq. Amir, Arabic, 62 ‘Amm-anas, South Arabian god, 225 Ammi-zaduga, the name, 659 n., 664. ‘Amr, anecdote of, 162 Amulets and charms, various, 183, 336, 381 sqq., 437, 448, 453, 457, 468 Anaitis, worship of, 321 n. ‘Anath, Anathoth, 211 Ancestors, cult of, 156 n., 508, 544 sqq., 605, 670; dead rejoin ancestors, 675 Androgyny, 472, 478, 517 Angels, in old Hebrew tradition, 445 sq. Animal-names and totemism, 622, 624; in Judah, 625 Animal sacrifice. See Sacrifice Animals, their ‘‘ souls’ preserved, 585; sacred, protected, 543; two kinds of, 357 Animals, and men not distinguished, 588 n. 3, 677, see 541 n.; their kinship with gods and men, see Kinship and Totemism Anointing, 233, 383 sq., 582 sq. Ansab, sacred stones, 201, 211 Anselm, 157 n., 424 701 702 GENERAL INDEX Anthropomorphism, how far primi- tive, 86, 206 sg.; and _ idols, 211; reaction against, 528; and theriomorphism, xxxix, 540 sq., 047, 624 sq., 629, 669 sq. Antioch, anniversary at, 376 Aparchai, payment of, 278; to preserve continuity, 584 Aphaca, pool of, 107, 175, 178, 375, 536 Aphrodite, Cyprian, sheep to, 406, 469 Apis, Calf-god, 302 Apollo Lermenus, inscription of, 454 Apollo Lycius, 226 ‘Ar, Arabic, 692 Arabia, its primitiveness, 495 sqq. ; its primitive language, 498 sq. ; break up of older religion, 46, 71, 258, 462,498; agriculture in, 109; fundamental type of sacrifice in, 338 sqq. ; sacred tracts in, 142 s¢q., 156 sqq.; temples in, 112; com- merce of, 71, 109; taxation in, 458 sqq. ‘Arafa, prayer at, 111, 276; wocuf at, 342 Ares, sacred river, 170 Artel, 488 sq. ‘Arik, Arabic, 448 Aristocracy and kingship, 73 Arkhe (Greek), xlix, 584 n. 3, 657 Dod Artemis Munychia, 306 Artemis Orthia, 321 sq. Article, use of, in Hebrew, 126 Aryans, the, 31 sq., 49, 194, 541 n. Asbamean lake, 180. 182 Asceticism, late Semitic, 303 Asclepiades, 308 Asclepius, sacred river, 170 Asdak, 659 sqq. Asham, 216, 399 sqq. Asherah, 187 sqq., 191, 560 sqq. Ashes, lustrations with, 382; oath by, 479 Ash(i)rat, 561 Ashteroth Karnaim, 310, 602; ‘‘ A. of the sheep,” 310, 477, 603 Ass, wild, sacred, 468 sq., 690; firstling, 463 ; head of, as charm, 468 Asshur, deity, 92 Assyrian conquests, their influence on N. Semitic religion, 35, 65, 77 sq., 256, 258, 358, 472 Assyrian Semites, 13 sacrifice of Astarte, goddess of herds and flocks 310, 355; as Cyprian Aphrodite, 470 ; of Eryx, 471 ; her sacrifices, 471 ; various types of, 477 ; bear- ded, 478. See Asherah, 561 sq. Astral deities, as rain-givers, 107 ; worship of, 135; astral cults, 541 sg. ; symbols, 675 ‘Asur, Hebrew, 456. See Mo‘sir Asylum, right of, 77, 148, 160 szq., 543 sq. Atad, 191 ‘Atair, pl. of ‘Attra, q.v. Atargatis, 172 sqq. Atar-samain, deity and tribe, 509 ‘Athari (Land of ‘Athtar), 99 Athene, cult of, 520 ‘Athtar, South Arabian god, 59, 94, 100, 466, 516 ‘Attra, Arabian sacrifice, 227 Atonement, primitive conception of, as creation of a life bond, 348; function of, ascribed to allsacrifice, 237; as implicit in totemism, 671; with one’s own blood, 337; by gifts, 347 sq., 396 sq.; by sub- stitution, 421; connection with idea of communion, 320, 651 ; day of, in Levitical law, 396 sq.. 416, 430, 452 ; in later times, 644, 672. See Piacula Atoning (piacular) sacrifices, de- velopment of, 353 sqq. ‘Aud, god-name, 43 Authority, its seat, 59 sq., 70; ideas of, 522 sqq. Baal, meaning of the word, 94 <«qq., 533 sqq.; as efficient cause 534 ; house or land of, 97; as divine title (bal) in Arabia, 108 sq. ; antiquity of the name, 532 sq. Baal, in proper names, 94 Baalath, 94 Baal-berith, 95 n., 534, 667 Baal-hamman, 94; votive cippi of, 19], 477 sq. Baalim, as lords of water and givers of fertility, 104; as sustainers, 534 Baal-marcod, 95 n. Baal-peor, 627 Baaras, magical plant, 442 Babylonia and Arabia, influence of, 498; material from, 497; in- habitants of mixed blood, 13 sq. | Babylonian New Year, 642 sq. ; F ‘ Se eS ae tee ee ee eee ee ee Se GENERAL INDEX 703 Betocece, 247 Betylia, 210 Bagradas, etymology of, 171 Ba‘ila, Arabic, 112 n., 532 n. 5 Ba‘l. See Baal Bambyce. See Hierapolis Ban (herem), 150, 371, 453 Banqueting-hall, 254 Bani Sahm, feud with the jinn, 128 Bar-, names in, 45 Barada, sacred river, 17] Barahit i in Hadramaut, 134 Baraka, 551 n., 621 n., 644 Barim, charm, 437 Barkos, theophorous name, 45 Barrenness, cure of, 514 n., 557, 568, 690 Batn, Arabic, 281 Bean juice, for blood, 480 Bed, use of, when forbidden, 484 Bedouin religion, 71 Beersheba, 182, 186 ** Before Yahweh,” meaning of ex- pression, 349, 419 n. Bekri cited, 145, 182 Bel, table spread for, at Babylon, 225; human wife for, 50, 515 Bellona worship in Rome, 321 sq. Belus, sacred river, 174 Ben-hadad, theophorous name, 45 Berosus, legend of creation of men, 43 ; of chaos, 89 Bethel, 116, 205; royal chapel of, 247 sq.; feasts at, 252; altar at, 489 Beth-hagla, 191 Be‘tilah, 108 Biblical criticism, 215 n., 574 Birds, live, in purification, 422, 428, 447 Birds in sacrifice, 219 Birth, supernatural factor in, 513 ; Australian theory of, 623 sq. Bismillah, 279, 417, 432 Black-mail, 459 Blood, as the life, 40, 606; as food, 234, 379 sqq. ; drinking of, 313, ope L.; oss, 343, 368, 379; liba- tions of, 203, 230, 235; sacrificial use of, 233 sq. ; atoning force of, 337; disinfectant or tonic, 651 ; why efficacious, 653; lustrations with, 344, 351, 381 ; bond of, 313 ; offerings of one’s own, 321; sprinkling of, 344, 431 ; sanctity of kindred, 274, 283; of gods, flows in sacred waters, 174; of bulls, superstitions about, 381; of the grape, 230; substitutes for, 480; avoidance of effusion, 602 Blood covenant, 314, 479 Blood revenge, 32, 72, 272, 417, 420, 462 Blood-wit, none for slaughter within kin, 272 Bond, of food, 269 sqq., 597; of blood, 312 sqq., 595 Booths, at Feast of Tabernacles, 484 Booty, law of, 637 Boundaries, sanctity of, 561, 570 Boys, long hair of, 329 sq. ; as exe- cutioners, 417 Brahman sacrifice, 599, 650 Brazen altar at Jerusalem, 486 ‘* Breath, life-giving,” 555, 573 Brothers, gods as, 510 sqq.; cf. Introd. p. 1 note Buddhism, influence of, 303 n. Buffalo, sacred with the Todas, 299 431 Bull, symbolism of, 533 Bull-roarer, 547 n., 551, 607 sq. Bull’s blood, superstitions about,381 Buphonia at Athens, 304 sqq. Burial of sacrifices, 350, 370 Burning, of living victims, 371, 375, 406, 471, 632 ; of the dead, 369 Burning bush, 193 ; cf. 562 Burnt-offering, 418 sy.; before a campaign, 401 sq. See Fire Sacri- fices and Holocaust Byblus, Adonis-worship at, 329, 411, 414; sacred erica at, 191 C. Seealso K Cain, the curse of, 270 Cainan, god-name, 43 Cairns, sacred, 200 sqq., 570 Cais, Arabic, 155, 170 n. 4, 558 Caleb the dog-clan, 603, 626 Camels, sacrificed by Arabs,218, 338; slaughter of, by Nilus’s Saracens, 281 sqq.. 338 sq.; a8 food, 574 ; flesh of, forbidden, 283, 621; sacred in Arabia, 149, 156, 450, 462, 508 Campaign, sacrifice before, 401 sq ., 640 Candlestick altars, 384, 487 sq. Cannibalism, 317, 367, 586, 631 Captives, sacrifice of, 37, 362 s¢q., 491, 641 Carmathians, portable tabernacle of, 37 704 GENERAL INDEX | Carmel, sanctity of, 156 Carnion, or Carnaim, 310, 603 Carob tree in modern Palestine, 192 Carthage, deities of, 169; sacrificial tarifis at, 217, 237, 435; human sacrifice at, 363, 374, 409 Casb, Arabic, 98 Cathartic sacrifices, 425 sqq. Cattle, sanctity of, 223, 296 sq., 302, 600 Caus, god, 68 Caves and pits, sacred, 197 sqq. Cereal offerings, wholly made over to the god, 236 sq., 240, 280 Cervaria ovis, 364, 474 Chaboras, 172, 174 Charms. See Amulets Chastity, sacrifice of, 329, 611 sqq. Chemosh, god, 376, 460 Cherubim, 89 Child-gods, 520 sq. ** Childhood of religion,”’ 257 Children, sacrifices of, 368, 370, 410, 630 n., 688 sg. ; ownership of, 638 Christ, as brother, 512 n., 663, cf. Introd. p. lnote; baptism of, 581; his death, 654; immanent in the world, 663; in Abyssinian names, 510 Christianity, its interpretation of sacrifice, 424; appeal to the in- dividual, 593; its “‘ organic unity,” 594 Chrysorrhoa, Damascene river-god, 171 Chthonic deities and demons, Semi- tic, 198, 566 sq. Church, as organic unity, 594; a primitive idea, 507 n. Churinga (Austral.), 568, 635 Circumcision, 328, 608 sqq., 642 Clan, sacra of, 275 sqq.; defrayed out of communal funds, 250 Clean animals, 218 Clients, worshippers as, 77 sqq., 461, 531; stamped with patron’s camel- mark in Arabia, 149 Clothes, how affected by holy con- tact, 451 sq. Clothing and rags, offerings of, 335 Codas, Arabic, 453 Colocasium, by river Belus, 183 Commemorative stones, ete. See Memorials Commensality, 269 sqq., 596 sqq. Commerce, Arabian, 71; and re- ligion, 461 Communion, and atonement, 320, 651, see Forgiveness ; =reunion, 666, see Unity; by eating, 596, 599; drinking, etc., 574 sq. ; contact, 608, cf. 612 sqq., see Stroking (ritual); by Imitation (q.v.); idea of communion in ancient sacrifice, 240, 396, 439; implicit, in totemism, 671 ; spirit- ual aspect, 593, 681 sq., cf. xxxiv ; criticisms of the theory, xlii sqq. Communism, theoretical, 637 Communities, structure of antique, 32 sqq. See Groups, Systems Compromise, in religion, 528 Coney (hyrax), among Arabs of Sinai, 88, 444 Confession, 646 Consciousness, growth of, 257 Consecration, ritual of, 206, 572 Continence. See Chastity, Sexual intercourse Contrition, ritual expression of, 430 Coran, Sura vi. 137 explained, 110 Cosmopolitan religion, 472 Covenant, —people, 665; by food, 269. sqq.; by sacrifice, 318; of Yahweh and Israel, 318 sq., 593; ritual forms in, 314, 479 sqq.; ceremonies, 315 sqq.; two types, 619 sg.; and reunion, 665; gods of, 534. Cow, not eaten in Libya, Egypt, and Phoenicia, 298, 302. See Cattle Cow-Astarte, 310 Cozah, 558; fire of, at Mozdalifa 342, 490 Creation, ideas of, 513, 518 ‘“‘ Creative’ ideas, xlvi, xlix, 653, cf. 499 Cremation, 372 sq. Cup of consolation, 323 Curse, mechanical operation of, 164, 555 ‘* Cut off ” =outlawry, 162 n. Cynosarges, at Athens, 292 Cyprus, piacular sacrifice in, 406, 469 Dagan, Dagon, 578 Dance, sacrificial, 432 Daphne, 148, 173; oracle of, 178, sacred cypresses at, 186 David and Ahimelech, 455 David and Jonathan, 335 Day of Atonement, 396 sq., 411, 416 eee Pa Re ee a / oe wae eee GENERAL INDEX Dead, disposal of the, 369, 547; fear of, 323, 370; appeal to, 545, 605 ; eating of, 631 Dead, drink-offerings to the, 235, 580; meals for or before, 596 Death of the gods, 370 n. 3, 373 sq., 414 sq. Deborah, palm of, 196 Decollati, cult of, 528 De-divinisation, 546 Deer, sacrifice of, alluded to in David's dirge, 467 ; annual sacri- fice of, at Laodicea, 390, 466 ** Defile hands,” 426, 452, 654 Defloration, ceremonial, 616, 689 Degradation of sacrifices, 354 Delphi, hair-offering at, 325 Demoniac plants, 442 Demons, how distinguished from gods, 119 sqq., 538 sqg.; men descended from, 50; _ serpent, 120, 183; in springs, 168, 172, 557 sq. See Jinn Deutero-Isaiah, period of, 629 Deuteronomic reformation, 54.6, 625 Deuteronomy, law of, 215 n., 238, 248 sqq., 319, 593; the tithe, 249 Sq. Dhat anwat, 185 sq., 335 Diadem, original significance of, 483 Dibs, or grape honey, 221 Dido, 374, 410 Diipolia (Biphonia), 304 sqq. Diké, 656 Dionysus, dvOpwiroppaicrns, 305; and the Queen-Archon, 514; Semitic gods identified with, 193, 262, 457. See Dusares Divine food, 597 Déd, 559 Dog, sanctity of, 392, 621; shrine of, 540 n., 560; as mystic sacri- fice, 291, 626; ‘“‘hire of,” 612; meaning of kalb, 596. See Hecate Dogma, wanting in ancient religions, 16 sq., 422 Domestic animals, sanctity of, 296 8qq., 346, 355, 463, 600 ; domestica- tion of animals, and totemism, 601 Dough offerings, 225, 240 Dove, forbidden food, 219, 294; sacred to Astarte, 7b. ; at Mecca, 225, 578; sacrificed, 219, 294 Drago wells, 172, 558 Dress.nSee Garm ents 45 705 Duma (Dimat al-Jandal), 205; annual human sacrifice at, 370, 409, 633 Dumetha. See Duma Dung as a charm, 382 Dusares, Wine-god (identified with Dionysus), 193, 261, 520, 536 n., 575, 603 sq.; pool of, 168, 179; rock of, 210 Kagle. See Vulture Earth. See Mother Karth Easter rites, 597, 642 Hating, of idols, 225 n., 411 n. ; of totems, 598; efficacy of sacred meal, 599 Hbed-, in proper names, 42, 68, 69 Kestatic states, 554, 574 sq. Eden, garden of, 104, 307 Edessa, sacred fish at, 176 Edom, god-name, 42 Effigy, god burned in, 373; substi- tuted for victim, 410 sq. Egypt, sacred animals in, 225 sq., 301, 539, 578 sq., 626 ; vegetarian- ism in, 301 El, 530, 533, 551 El(a)gabalus, 570 Elam (Susiana), not Sémitic, 6 Elders, the council of, 33; slay the sacrifice, 417; authority of, among primitive peoples, 523 sq. Elephantine, name-giving at, 510; symposia at, 628 Elijah, at Carmel, 582 ; Festival of, 156 Elohim, original sense of, 445, 686 E] Shaddai, 570 n. Elusa, worship of Lat at, 57 Emim, 566 En-rogel, 172, 489 Ephea, fountain at Palmyra, 168 Epic poetry, wanting among the Semites, 49 Erica, sacred at Byblus, 191, 226 n. Eridu, sacred garments of, 674 Eryx, sanctuary of, 294, 305 n., 309, 471; sacrifice to Astarte at, 309 Esar, Hebrew, 481 Esau, the huntsman, 467; a divine name, 508 sq. Eshmun-lolaos, 469, 690 sq. Essenes, 303 Ethical ideas, 53 sq., 58, 265 sqq., 319, 429, 645 sq.; due to in- dividuals, 670 706 GENERAL INDEX Ethkashshaph, “‘ make supplication,” 321, 337, 604 Ethrog, 221 n. Etiquette, sacred, 158 Eucharist, an Aztec parallel, 597 ; and the Mysteries, 599 Kuchitz, 689 n. Euhemerism, 43, 467, 544 Euphrates, sacred river, 172, 183, 558 Kuropa, identified with Astarte, 310 Eve, the name, 567 Kvil, =sin, etc., 645 sq. ; expulsion of, 647 Evolution, in religion, etc., 499, 540, 585, 599, 624 n., 625, 669, 682 sq. ; ‘‘ primary’ or inaugural stages, 499, 543, see Creative Ideas ; ‘secondary ”’ stages, 543, 549, 553, 572, see xlviii sqq. Executions, analogy to sacrifice, 284 sq., 305, 370 sq., 417 sqq. Exile, age of reconstruction, 592 sq. ; age of mystic cults, 622, 628 sq. Exorcism, 428 Expiation, Jewish Day of, 430 Eyebrows, shaving of, 331 n., 619 Ezrah, free tribesman, 75 ** Face, see the,’ 643 Fairs, 187 n., 461 Fall, the, in Hebrew story, 307; in Greek, 307 sq. ; psychology of, liti Family (Heb. mishpahah), 254, 276 Family meal, 275 sq. Fara‘, firstling 228, 368, 462, 579 Fasting, original meaning of, 434, 673 Fat, of intestines, forbidden food, 238; of kidneys, 379; burning of the, 379; as a charm, 383 Fate, ideas of, 509 n. 3, 659; Tab- lets of, 643 sq. Father, authority of, 60 n.; is reborn in child, 688 sq. Fatherhood, divine, 40 sqq., 509 sq. ; in heathen religions is ‘“* physical ’ fatherhood, 41 sqq., 50, 511; in the Bible, 41 Fear of the dead, 323, 370, 605 Fear in religion, 54, 123 sq., 136, 154, 395, 519 sq., 540, 549, 588 Fellowship, by eating together, 264 sq. See Commensality Ferments in sacrifice, 220 sq., 387, 485 Festivals, sacrificial, 252 sqq. Fetichism, sacred stones and, 209, 568 Fiction in ritual, 364 Fines in ancient law, 347, 397; at the sanctuary, 347 Fire, a purifying agent, 632, 647 Fire sacrifices, 217, 236 sq. ; develop- ment of, 371 sq., 385 sq. First, the, efficacy of, 464 sq., 584 ; why preserved, 586; sanctity of firstborn, 465, 617; sacrifice of firstborn, 688 sq. Firstfruits, 240 sqq., 463, 583 sqq. Firstlings, sacrifice of, 464 sq., 688 sgq. ; in Arabia, 111, 228, 450 sq., 458 sqq. . Fish, sacred, at Ascalon, 173; at Hierapolis, 175; at Edessa, 176, 558; mystic sacrifice of, 292 ; forbidden food, 449, 477 Fish oracles, 178 Fish-skin, ministrant clad in, 292, 437 Flagellation, 328, 607 sq. Flesh, laceration of, in worship, 321 ; eaten with blood, 342 ; means kin, 274; as food, 222,300; when first eaten by the Hebrews, 307; of corpse as charm, 323 Flood legend, at Gezer, 567; at Hierapolis, 199, 457 Food, in religion, 600, 628; vehicle of life, 313; its “‘ soul,’ 596; food- gods, 578, 597 sq., 662 ; economic guilds, 628; bond’ of food, 269 8qq. Foreign rites, atonement by, 360 Forgiveness, not subjective, 604, 671 Foundation tablets, 569, 583; foundation sacrifices, 159, 376, 410, 467, 632 sq. Fountains, sacred, Springs, Waters Frankincense, sanctity of, 427, 455 Fringes of garments, 437 Fruit, offered in sacrifice, 222 ; “‘ un- circumcised,” 463; juice of, in ritual, 480 Fumigation, 158, 426, 455 Funeral customs, 322 sq., 336, 370 Fusion of religious communities, 38 169 sqq. See Gad, tribe, =god, 506, 509, 547, 662 Gallas, form of covenant among, 296 Pe eee ee ee ee eee ee , ey . Ce Se ne Pe GENERAL INDEX Galli at Hierapolis, 321 Game, protected at ancient sanctu- aries, 160; as food, 222 ; in sacri- fice, 218 Garments, covenant by exchange of, 335; sacred, 437 sqg., 451 sqq., 674 sq. ; ritually torn, 687 Gazelle, sacrifice of, 218; 444, 466, 468 Gebal, 570 Genius and Baal, 534, 603 Gentile sacrifice, 276 Ger, or client, 75 sq.; in proper names, 79, 531 Gezer, flood-legend, 567; pillars at, 571, 688; infant-burials, 689 ; figurines, 633 Ghabghab, 198, 228, 339 sq., 341 n. Gharcad tree, oracle from, 133, 195 Ghariy (‘‘ bedaubed ’’ stone), 157, 201, 210 Ghil (Ghoul), 129 Gibeonites, 271, 421 Gift theory of sacrifice, its inade- quacy, xlii sq., 385, 390 sqq., 681 Gifts, ancient use of, 346, 458 sq. ; as homage, 346 sq., 461; as pia- cula, 397; their spiritual equiva- lent, 681 Gihon, fountain of, 172, 489 Gilgal, twelve sacred pillars 211 Gilgamesh, 50, 546, 601 Girdle, Elijah’s, 438 Gloomy types of religion, 394, 414 sq., 588 sq., 646 Goat in sacrifice, 218, 467, 472 Goddesses, general character, 510 ; prominence, 521; change sex, 516; are married, 514 sqq. Gods, nature of the, 22 sqq. ; father- hood of, 40 sqqg.; kinship with men, 46 sgqg. ; power of, how lim- ited, 81 sqg.; not omnipresent, _ 207; viewed as a part of nature, 84; physical affinities of, 90 sq. ; local] relations of, 92, 112; eating of the, 225 n.; death of the, 410, 414 sq. ; take part in war, 37, 641 ; as causes, 527, 534. 638; are threatened, 564 Golden Age, legend of, 300, 303, 307, 576, 601 Grape, blood of the, 230, 579 sq. Great Mother, divine title, 56 Greeks and Semites, 11, 31, 34 s¢q., 13, 75 sacred, at, 107 Groups, 503 sqq.; unity of senti- ment, etc., 505; social custom, 522 sq.; system of restrictions, 637; and individuals, 590 sqq. ; rights of individuals, 637; dis- integration and reintegration, 594 ; group religion, 61, 253, 265, 589 ; the group-life, 506, 547; group ‘‘ righteousness,” 660 ; group sanc- tity, 549; the group-god 669, 682 (see Gad); and his immanence, 565, 662 (see Supreme Gods) Groves at sanctuaries, 173, 560 Gudea of Lagash, 592 Guilds, 626, 628 186, Hadad, 533, 545, 641, 661 Hadramaut, were-wolves in, 88; volcanic phenomena in, 134; witches in, 179 Hadran, god, 292 Hair, cut off in mourning, 323 sqq. ; superstitions connected with, 324, 607; as initiatory offering, 327 ; in vows and pilgrimages, 331, 481, 618 Haris, Arabic, 225 Halac, epithet of death, 324 Halla, Arabic, 577 * Halla, Arabic, 482 Hallel, 340, 431 Hamath, etymology of, 150 n., cf. 542 Hammurabi, code of, 499, 522. 530, 558, 655, 659, 672 Hamor, Canaanite name, 468 Hanash, creeping things, 128, 130, 293 Hanging, sacrifice by, 370 sq. Hannibal, oath of, 169 Haoma, 379, 381 Haram of Mecca, 142 Harb b. Omayya, slain by the Jinn, 133 Hare, 129, 133, 672 n. Harith, B., and_ gazelle, 466 Harlotry and apostasy, 616 Harranians, sacrifices of, 290, 299, 343; 348,-351,. 368,470; -cere- monial dress, 674 Hasan and Hosain, 321, 557, 604 Hattath, 216, 399 sqq. Hauf, Arabic, 437 Hawwat, 567 Hayy, Arabic, 281, 506 444, 708 GENERAL INDEX Head, of the victim, not eaten, 379 ; eaten, 406 n.; used as charm, 382, 468; washing and anointing of, 485 Hecate, etymology of, 290, 596; her dog, 351, 567, 596 Heliopolis (Baalbek), 444, 616 Hera, sacrifice of goat to, 305 Heracles, as huntsman, 292 ; at Tar- sus, 373; and the Hydra, 183; of Sanbulos, 50; pillars of, 211 ; ‘at Daphne, 178, 186, 192; resur- rection of, 469, 690; Tyrian, see Melecarth Herem (ban), 150, 370, 453, 641 Hermaphroditus, 478 Hermon, sanctity of, 94, 155, 446 Hésed, 660 Hiel, foundation sacrifice, 633 Hierapolis, pilgrimage centre, 80; sacred fish at, 174,175; sacrificial animals at, 218; pyre-sacrifice in middle of temple court, 378; holo- causts suspended and burnt alive at, 371, 375, 406, 418, 471 ; pre- cipitation at, 371, 418; sacrificial dress at, 438, 474 High places, 171, 489 Hike (Egypt), 551 Hillah panim, 346 n. Hillilim, 221, 577 Hima, or sacred tract in Arabia, 112, 144 sq., 156 sq. ; of Taif, 142 Hinnom, valley of, 372 Hip-sinew, 380 n., 671 sq. Hodaibiya, well at, 185 Holiness, ideas of, 141, 288, 548 sqq.; primitive ideas not neces- sarily unethical, 645 sg., 679; of regions, 142; of animals, 390; relations of, to the idea of pro- perty, 142 sq., 390 sq.; rules of, 148 sqq. ; Semitic roots denoting, 150; relation to uncleanness, 425, 446, 548; to taboo, 152, 390, 446 sqq., 552; contagious, 450 sqq. ; congenital, 464 sq. See Holy Holocaust, origin of, 371, 386; rare in ancient times, 237 sq., 375, 406, 47] Holy, meaning of the word, 91, 140 sqg. See Holiness Holy Fire, ceremony of, 652 n. Holy places, 116 sqq. ; origin of, 136, 150; waters, 166 sq.; caves, 197 sqq. ; stones, 200 sqq.; trees, 185 sqq. ; older than temples, 118 Holy things, intrinsic power to vin- dicate themselves, 162 Homeric poems, religious importance of, 31 Homs, religious community at Mecca, 451 Honey, excluded from altar, 221 ; in Greek sacrifice, 220 ; and milk, 576 Horeb, Mount, 155 Horns, symbol, 478; of the altar, 341, 436 Horse as sacred animal, 293, 469 Hosain. See Hasan Hospitality, law of, 76; in Arabia, 269; at sacrificial feasts, 253, 265, 284, 458 House of Baal, 96 sq. Household gods, 208 sq., 461 House-tops, worship on, 230. See Root Human blood, superstitions about, 369, 417 Human sacrifice, 361 sqq., 366, 409, 466, 630 sq. ; origin of holocaust, 386 Husbands, of land or people, 536 sq., 616; gods as, 513 sqq., 617; of goddesses, 516 Hyena, superstitions about, 129, 133 Hydrophobia, cured by kings’ blood, 369 Hypothesis, test of, 404 Ibn al-Athir quoted, 412 Ibn Mojawir quoted, 444, 466 Ibn Tofail, grave of, 156 Identification. See Imitation Identity of man and animals, 538 n. 3; man and totem, 677 Idhkhir, Arabic, 142 ‘Idhy, Arabic, 98 Idols, not necessarily simulacra, 207; origin of anthropomorphic, 211 ; in animal form, 310; in form of cone, 208 ; of paste in Arabia, 225 Ifada, 342 Thram, 333, 484 Ijaza, 277, 341 sq. Ikhnaton (Amenhotep Iv.), 545, 561, 659, 677 Llal, place, 342 Images, graven, prohibition of, 204; their consecration, 572 Imitation ritual, 325 n., 549, 601, 607, 619, 639, 663, 672, 674 sq. ; implies a communion, 675; practical effect, 663, 676 GENERAL INDEX 709 Immanence, 563 sqg.; in Semitic religion, 194; immanent powers in trees, 194; earth, 518; water, 556 sq., 566; tombs, 544; curses and ordeals, etc., 555, 559; taboos, 162 sq., 523, 548, 550; in society, 523; in the cosmos, 638, 656 sqq. See Transcendence Imposition of hands, 239, 354, 422 Impurity, 158, 428, 447. See Un- cleanness Imraulcais, anecdote of, 47 Inaugural rites, 577, 632. Foundation Sacrifices Incense, used in purification, 426; tithes of, 247; burning of, 490 Incest, 163 n., 506 n., 586 Individual, type of religion, 668 sq. ; property rights, 635 sqq.; and the group, 55, 258 sq., 263 sqq., 590 sqq., cf. li; influence on rudi- mentary religion, 670, cf. liv; growth of individualism, 507, 592, 626, 683 Infanticide, 370, 407, 418, 688 sq. Initiation ceremonies, 327, 358 sq., _ 607 sq. Tolaos, 469 Iphigenia, sacrifice of, 403 Isaac, sacrifice of, 309; blessing of, 467 Ischiac, in Syrian magic, 442 Ishtar, mother goddess, 56 sqq., 520 ; hymn of, 522, 646 n.; Ishtars, 539 n., 603 Isis-Hathor, Cow-goddess, 302 Islam, meaning of, 80 Issar, Hebrew, 481 See Jachin and Boaz, 208, 488 Jacob, hero or god, 546; his wrest- ling, 446, 610 ; limping, 671 Jar, Arabic, 75 Jealousy, of the deity, 157, 162 ; water of, 180, 558 Jehovah. See Yahweh Jehozadak, the name, 660, 662 n. Jephthah’s daughter, 416 Jerusalem, altar at, 485; centre of religion, 662 n., 669 Jesus in Manicheism, etc., 597, 663; “‘ power of Jesus,” 551 n. See Christ Jewels, sacred use of, 453 sq. Jewish theology on atonement, 424, 673 Jinn (Arabian demons, not a loan word, 446), 119 sqq., 441, 514, 538; have no individuality, 120, 445, 539; akin to wild beasts, 121 sqq.; at feud with men, 121 ; intermarry with men, 50 n., 514 ; haunts of, 132 ; sacrifices to, 139 ; jinn and totemism, 538 sqq. Joppa, sacred fountain at, 174 Joyous types of religion, 258 sqq., 394, 589 sq. Judas Iscariot, 652 n. “* Judge,”’ a “‘ deliverer,” 661 Julian, 290, 371 Jus prime noctis, 615 sq. Justice, divine, and piacula, 423 sqq. K. For names in K, see also C Kadesh, fountain of, 181, 210 Kedéshim (-6th), 553, 612, 617, 679, 689 Khalaga, place, 57 Khalaga (Kholasa), deity, 225 Khilb, Arabic, 379 Khors, Arabic, 492 Kid in mother’s milk, 221, 576 Kidney fat, ideas about, 379 sqq. Kin, the oldest circle of moral obliga- tion, 272; how conceived, 273. See Kinship f ‘** Kin ” and “ kind,”’ 660 Kings, blood of, superstition about, 369, 418; as causes of fer- tility, etc., 534, 537, 582; are ritually slain, 621 ; atoning cere- monies, 650; subordinate to gods, 545, 684; gods as, 44, 75; as the individuals, 591 ; cosmic meaning, 653 Kingship, Semitic, origin of, 33 sq. ; character of, 62 ; as a social force, 73; not feudal, 92; divine, 62 sqq., 545, 684 Kinship, is “ psychical,” 319, 505 sq., 667; wide use of terms, 511 ; of gods and men, 41 sq., 54, 90, 287, 509 sqg.; how acquired and maintained, 273 sqqg. ; of gods and animals, 87, 288, 289; of families of men and families of beasts, see Totemism ; among beasts, 127; sanctity of, 289, 400, 549; food and, 269 Kishon, etymology of, 170 Kissing, ritual, 571 Kittér, “ burn flesh,” 490 Kudurrus (Bab.), 569, 688 710 GENERAL INDEX Laceration of flesh in mourning, 322 ; ritual, 321 Lahm (flesh), 274, 578, 595 Land, property in, 104, 636; Baal’s, 95 sqq.; the god’s, 96 sq., 536, 636 Language, how far a criterion of race, 6 sqq. Laodicea ad Mare, 409 sq., 416, 466 sq. Lapis pertusus at Jerusalem, 232 Lat (Al-). See Allat Leah, 603 Leaven, excluded from altar, 220 Leavened bread, offered on altar. 220, 242 Lectisternia, 225 sqq. Lemon-grass at Mecca, 142 Leper, cleansing of, 344, 422, 447 Leucadian promontory, 373, 418 Leviathan, personification of water- spout, 176 Levitical sacrifices, 215 sqq., 350, 423 Leviticus, Book of, not pre-exilic, 216 Libations, 229 sqq., 580 Libyans, sacrifice without bloodshed, 431 ; sacred dress among, 437 Life, concrete ideas of, 555 Lilith, 441 Limping, ritual, 432, 610, 671 sq. Lion, ancestral god of Baalbek, 444 Lion-godin Arabia. See Yaghuth Lishkah (écxn), 254, 587 Live bird in lustrations, 422, 428, 447 Liver, 379, 634 ; divination by, 620, 634 Living flesh. See Raw Flesh Living water. See Water Lizards, metamorphosed men, 88 Lots, 559 n. Lucifer, 57, 166, 282, 545 Lud (Lydia), not Semitic, 6, 495 Lupercalia, 479 Luperci, the, 437 n. Lustrations, with blood, 344, 351, 381 ; with ashes, 382 ; sacrificial, 425 sqq. i Lycurgus, 575 Lydus, 236, 291, 406; De Mens. iv. 45, emended, 473 sqq., 691 Ma‘at, Egyptian goddess of “‘truth,”’ 572, 656, 658 sq. Madar, Arabic, 112 Madhbah, Arabic, 341 Magic, 55, 58, 90, 154; contrasted with religion, 552 ; is secondary, 692; anti-social, 264; Semitic, 442 ‘* Magico-religious,’ the 552, 598, 604, 614, 618, 639 sq., 670, 676, 679 Maimonides on Harranians, 343 Make- believe in ancient religion, 364 Sq. Males, holy food eaten only by, 299 Mamre, sanctuary of, 116; sacred well at, 177, 182; tree at, 193; feast at, 452, 455 ‘‘ Man of,” in proper names, 70, 526 Mana, 550 sqq.; and Taboo, 552, 556, 658, 663, 671 Manéhil, sacred trees, 185 Mandrake, 442 Manicheism, 599, 602 Manna, 691 Manslaughter, how expiated, 420 Markets, 113 n., 187n., 461 Marna, god, 68 n. Marriage of gods and men, 50, 513 sqq., 614; of men and goddesses, 516; communal, 613, 615 sqq. ; symbolism. 514, 516, 536 ‘** Mary ’’=female, 603 n. Marze*h, 626 sqq. Masai, 234, 370, 434 Masks, religious use of, 438, 674 Massébah, sacred stone, 203 sqq., 457 Material, the, and spiritual, 84 sqq., 263, 439 sq., 511, 676 sqq., 685 Meal-offering, in Arabia, 223, 225. See Minhah Meals, sacrificial, more ancient than holocausts, 239 Mecca, haram of, 142, 144, 157; well Zamzam at, 167; idols at, 225; sacred circuit at, 451; foreign origin of cult at, 113 Megaron, etymology of, 200, 567 Melcarth, Tyrian Baal, 67; at Tyre, 208; at Daphne, 178; tithes paid to, 246; at Amathus, 376; limp- ing dance to, 671; and quails, 691. See Heracles Mélek, counsellor, 62 Melek, god. See Moloch Memorials of the god, 194, 203 sq., 569 sq. Menstruation, 447 sq., 550 n. Meribah, or Kadesh, 181 Merits, doctrine of, 661 ; of infants, 689 impurity of, 133, POP ee i, ee eS eee a ee Se Te el a GENERAL INDEX 711 Mesha, king of Moab, 36, 61 ; sacri- fices his son, 376; dedicates part of spoil to Chemosh, 4.60 Metamorphosis, myths of, 88 sq. Mexican human sacrifices, 363, 367, 516 n., 619 Midriff, a seat of life and feeling, 379 Mihash, Arabic, 479 Mitha, of bond of salt, 270 Milk, or king god, 660, 662 Milk, main diet of pastoral nomads, 223; in sacrifice, 221, 459; not sold in Arabia, 459; makes kin- _ ship, 274, 355, 595; is sacred, 577 Mimosa thought to be animate, 133 Minhah, derivation, 573; “ offer- ing,” or bloodless oblation, 217, 224, 236, 240; drawn from first- fruits, 240 ; to whom payable, 241 Mishna, on “‘ Baal’s field,’’ 102 Mishpahah, Hebrew, 254, 276 Mishpét, 656, 661 Mit(h)ra, 534, 667 Mizbeah, Hebrew, 341 MLK, root, 62, 67 Mohammed, compared with Moses, 70, 319, 667 Moharric, Arabian god, 364 Mokhtar, portable sanctuary of, 37 Moloch (Melek), 372 sqq., 394 sq.. 465, 630, 632. See Milk Monajjasa, Arabic, 448 Monotheism, alleged tendency of Semites towards, 74, 526, 530; monarchy and, 74 sq., 530 Monsters in Semitic art, 89 Morality and antique religion, 53, 64, 74, 154, 263 sqq. Morassa‘a, charm, 437 Morning star, worship of. See Lucifer Moses, circumcision-story, 609 sq. See Mohammed Mo‘sir, 448, 456 Mother Earth, 52, 107, 517 Mother of the gods, 56, 512, 520 Motherhood of deities, 56 sqq. Mot‘im al-tair, god-name, 225 Mourning, laceration of flesh in, 322 ; rending of garments in, 336; asa religious function, 430 n., 434, 605 Mouse, mystic sacrifice of, 293 ** Mouth, opening of,’ 572 n. Mozdalifa, 342, 490 Msa‘ide, well of, 168 Murder, how expiated, 420; of animals, etc., to be avoided, 602 Myrtle, in lustration, 475 Mystery, Christianity why so desig- nated, 80 Mystic sacrifices, 289 sqq., 343, 357 sqq., 398 ; restricted, 599 Mystical cults, 357 sqq., 625 sqq.; experiences, 548, 554, 575, 586, 666 sq., 681, 684 Myth, place of, in ancient religion, 17 sqq.; derived from ritual, 18 ; value of, in the study of ancient faiths, 19, 500 sqq., 542 sq., see xxxiii Mythology, Semitic, 49 Naev‘a, sacrifice called, 363, 491 sq., 641 Nadhara, Arabic, 482 Nafs, Arabic, 40 Naga, 619 Nails, finger, 428 n., 434 n. 4 Naked worshippers. See Nudity Nakhla, sacred acacia at, 185 Names, animal-, 622; after grand- father, 45, 510; not after father, 689 Nar-al-hiila, 480 Nasak, 229, 578 Nasr, Vulture-god, 226, 579 Nathan, proper names in, 108 Nationality and religion, 35 sq., 72 sq. ‘Natural’ religion, 29 sqq., 319; society, 666 Nature, 537 n.; control over, 658, 670. See Order Nazarite, 332, 482 Nervus ischiadicus, 380 New Covenant, Jeremiah’s, 593, 682 New Year, 643 sq., 650, 674 2 Nezer, Hebrew, 483 Nigeria, totemism and Islam, 539, 541 n., 631 Nilus, 166, 227 n. 2, 281 sq., 285 sq., 338, 345, 361, 363 sq., 559, 619, ef. lvi sqq. Nimrod, 92, 532 Nisan, sacred month, 406 sq., 470, 641 sgq. Nisibis, etymology of, 204 Nomads, food of, 222 Nosb, altar and idol in one, 201, 204, 340 Nudity, ritual, 451, 687 ** Numinous,”’ the, 554, 568 Oath of purgation, 164, L80 sqq., 480 Ob, Hebrew, 98 ‘Obedath, cult of, 627 712 GENERAL INDEX Obed-Edom, the name, 42, 508 Ocaisir, Arabian god, 223, 225, 229, Slt, aol Oil, in sacrifice, 232 ; sacred foun- tain of, 179; anointing, 582 ‘Okaz, sanctuary of, 210; fair of, 461 ?OndoAvy7, 431, 606 Ombos and Tentyra, feuds of, 31 Omens from animals, 443 Omm ‘Oncdd, 412, 414 Onias, his prayer for rain, 563, 581 Oracles, from trees, 133, 194; at wells, 177 sq. ; from fish, 178 Ordeals by water, 178 sq., 558 Order, general ideas of, 656 sqq.; of nature and society, 537, 654, 663, 654. Orestes, wanderings of, 360 Orgiastic element in ancient religion, 261 sqq. Orgies of the Arabian Venus, 363 ** Origins,” 497, 599 Ornaments, offerings of, 335 sq. Orontes, legends of, 171 sq., 175 sq. Orotal, 316, 325, 330, 520, 603, 607, 667 Orwa, holy well of, 168 Osiris, as a life-principle, 597, 650 ‘Otfa, Bedouin, 37, 508 Outlawry, 60 sq., 163 n., 256, 359 sq. Ownership, ideas of. See Baal, Property Ox, in sacrifice, 218; sacredness of, 298; in Greece, 304. See Bi- phonia, Cattle, Murder al-‘Ozza, 57 n., 185, 210, 466, 521 Palici, lake of, 178, 180 Pallades, the, 612 Palmetum, water at the, 167 Palm-tree, sacred, at Nejran, 185 Palmyra, fountain of Ephea at, 168 Panammu, inscription of, 545 Paneas, grotto of, 171, 183 Pan-Hellenic ideas, 31 Pantheism, 131, 518 n., 566 Pantheon, Semitic, 39 Parallelism of social and natural order, 663 Parricides, punishment of, 418 Particularism of ancient Semitic re- ligion, 35 sqq., 53 Passover, antiquity of ritual of, 406 ; sacrifice of firstlings, 464; not originally a household sacrifice, 280, 464; Arabian equivalent of, 227; blood-sprinkling in, 344, 431, cf. 337; leaven in, 221; haste in, 245; bones not to be broken, 345; in Book of Jubilees, 652 n. 4; and circumcision, 609 sq. Pastoral religion, 38 n., 297, 355 Pasture land, tax on, 246 Patron. See Client Pearls (kadis), 453 n. Pegai, Damascene river-god, 171 Pegasus, 294 Pentateuch, composition of, 215, 574 Perfume, holiness of, 453 Periander and Melissa, story of, 236 Personality, ideas of, 547 sq., 684 Personification, 527 Petra, worship of Allat at, 56 sq., 520 Phallic symbols, 211, 456, 687 sq. Philistines, origin of, 10 Philo Byblius, cosmogony of, 43 ; on Canaanite plant-worship, 186, 308 on rod and pillar worship, 196, 203 ; on legend of Uséus, 467 Pheenicians, influence in the West, 495; salutation, 68 n. 3, 526; deluge myth, 601 Physical, the, and spiritual, 430, 435, 437, 439, 618, 634, 638 sq., 661, 673 sqq. Piacula, special, their origin and meaning, 397, 399; annual, 405 ; Greek and Roman, 350 sq.; Levitical, 325, 348, 423 ; at open- ing of campaign, 401 Piacular rites, distinctive characters of, 398 sq. ; interpretation of, 399; antique features in, how pre- served, 400 sqq.; not originally sin-offerings, 401 sq. Piggtlim, 343 Pilgrimage, based on clientship and voluntary homage, 80; in Arabia, 109 sqq. ; a bond of religious union under Islam, 276 sq. ; hair-offering in connection with, 331, 483 sq. ; taboos incidental to, 481 sqq. ; dress worn in, 485 Pillar altars, 188, 487 sqq. Pillars, sacred, 203 sqq.. 456 sqq., 487 Pillars, twin, as symbols, 438; at Paphos, Hierapolis, Jerusalem, 208 Pit under an altar, 197, 228, 340 Plautus, Penulus, cited, 526 Plural term for god, 686 Pole, sacred, 190 3 . & Bt ’ 3 q GENERAL INDEX 713 Polyandry, 58 sq., 610 sq.- Portable sanctuaries, 37, 508 Post-exilic religion, 215, 574, 593, 618, 664, 680 sq. Practical element in religion, xxxvi sq., Xli sq., 552, 676 sq. Pray, words for, 604 Prayer, element of compulsion, 563 Precipice, captives thrown from, 371, 418 sq. Priesthoods, hereditary, 47, 79 Priestly legislation, 350 Priests, share of, in holocausts and sin-offerings, 349 sq., 435 n., 673 ; in communal holocausts, slay victim, 417 *“* Primitive,” 498 sq. Production and ownership, 638 sq. Progress, no idea of, 649 Proper names, theophorous, 42, 45 sq., 67 sq., 79, 108 sq. Property, 112, 150, 159 sq., 385, 461 ; in land, 95; in water, 104; and idea of holiness, 142 sqq., 449, 548; notion of, introduced into religion, 390 sq¢., 395; general ideas of, 583, 635 sqq. Prophets, teaching of, 61, 66, 74 sq., Sip i217, 140, 163'n-,.194, 319 -n., 429 sq., 528, 561, 565, 617 s¢., 664, cf. xxxvi sqq. Providence of the gods, 64; personal in heathenism, 264 Public opinion, 60, 163, 522 Public parks, sanctuaries as, 147 Punishment, 389, 420, 424 Purification, by sacrifice, 425 sq. ; by bathing, 168, 184, 351, 427 Purity of sacrificer and victim, 620 “ Pyramid Texts”? of Egypt, 512, 545, 632 Pyre-festival Hierapolis not at Hierapolis. See Quail, sacrifice of, 219, 469, 690 sq. ** Quarries,”’ stone idols, 211 Queen of heaven, 189, 509 Rab, Rabbath, Rabbi, divine titles, 68, 70 Rachel, “‘ the ewe,” 311 n., 603 Rag-offerings, 335 Raht, Arabic, 437 Rain, charms, 231 sq., 580 sq. ; de- creed at New Year, 644; makers of, 582; deities as givers of, 107, eel Rajab, sacrificial month, 227, 406, 462, 465, 642 Ram, as a sin-offering, 475 sq. Ransom, 424, 648 Raw or living flesh, 338 sq., 341, 385, 387, 541, 619 Re, Egyptian god of justice, 658 sq. Realism of primitive religion, 676 sq. Rebirth, 608, 620, 649, 677; of year, etc., 650 Rechabites, 485 Re-creation, 650 Red heifer, 351, 354, 376 Reforming movements, 528 sq., 546, 574. Regions, holy, 115, 142 sqq. Xelics worn as charms, 336 Religion, Durkheim’s definition, 507 n. | ; contrasted with magic, 505, 552 (see Magic) Religion, positive and traditional, 1 sq. ; hereditary, 30, 38 ; relation between Hebrew and Canaanite, 4; development of, in Kast and West, contrasted, 35 sq. ; oldest form is religion of kinship, 51 sqq. Religion, ancient, and natural soci- ety, 29 sqq. ; national character of, 35; a part of public life, 22, 29; ethical value of, 265 sq. ; make- believe in, 364 sg. ; materialistic but not selfish, 263 ; offers no con- solation to private suffering, 259; habitually joyous, 260. See Gloomy Types Religous and political institutions, analogy of, 20; beliefs, persistency of, 355; restrictions, moral value of, 155; historiography, law of, 525; communities, structure of, 29 sqq., 276 sq. ; fusion of, 39 Renan quoted, 54, 197 . Repentance, 604, 649 Rephaim, 566 Representatives of god or group, 416, 565, 591 Resurrection, 414, 555; of Heracles, 469, 690 Revealer, tree of the, 196 Rhabdomancy, 196 Right, secular ideas of, 522 Righteousness, ideas of, 600, 655 sqq.; the prophets’ teaching of, 61, 74, 81, 429 Rights, 661 ; of property, 637 Rinnah (Heb.), 432 Rita, ‘‘ order,’ 656 sq., 662 714 GENERAL INDEX Ritual, interpretation of, 16. s¢., 399 ; and myth, 18, 500 sqq. ; and social religion, 502 Rivers, sacred, 155, 169 sqq., 558 Robb, fruit juice, 480 Robe of Righteousness, 438 Rock of Israel, 210 Rocks in situ, seldom worshipped, 209 sq. Rod-worship, 196 sq., 566 Roof cults, 230 n. 4, 544, 580 Sacra gentilicia, 275 Sacramental meal, 225, 295, 405, 586, 596 sqq. Sacred, ideas of, see Holy; regions, 115, 142 sqq. Sacrifice (sacrificiwm, tepovpyia), 213 sq.; terminology, 213 sq., 216, 237, 573 Sacrifice, material of, 218 sqqg.; clean animals, 218; unclean animals, 289 sqq.; meal, 236; wine, 220, 230; oil, 232; salt, 220, 270; leaven, 220; milk, 459; honey, 221; fruit, 220; human beings, 361 sqq. Sacrifice, how offered :—byexposure, 225; by precipitation, 371; by pouring, 229 sqq.; by burying, 114, 370; by shedding of blood, 233; by burning, 217, 335 sqq., 371, 385, 388 ; by hanging, 370 sq. Sacrifice, as tribute (minhah), 217, 226, 236, 240 sq., 448 (cf. First- fruits, Tithes); as communion (zebah, shelem), 239 sq., 243, 265, 269 sqq., 312 sqq., 346 sqq.; as piacular or propitiatory (hattath, asham), 399 sqq.; substitutionary, 422 Sacrifices, Levitical, 215; Cartha- ginian, 237; Arabian (Saracenic), see Nilus Sacrificers, young men as, 417 Sacrificial feast, involves slaughter, 224; social character of, 254, 284; view of life underlying, 257; ethical significance of, 265, 271 ; older than family meal, 279 sq. Saduk (Amarna Letters), ‘“ loyal,” 664 Safaya, 459 Sahh, Arabic, 98 Salambo or Salambas, etymology of, 412 Salm, in proper names, 79 Salman, worship of Moharric at, 364 Salt, in sacrifice, 220; bond of, 270, 667n. ; oath by, 479; strewing of ground with, 454, 594 ‘* Salvation,” 661 Samora (acacia), magic use of gum of the, 133, 185, 427 Sanbulos, huntsman Baal of, 50 Sanctuaries, how constituted, 115 sq., 206, 436; physical characters of, 136, 155; in Arabia, 143 sqq. ; taboos affecting, 156 sqq. Sandan-Heracles, 632, 691 Saracens. See Nilus Sardanapalus, 373, 632 Satan, in Syriac legend, 442 Satisfaction, 424 Saturn, sacrifice to, 373. See Moloch Saturnalia, 592 Satyrs (sétrim), 120, 441 Saul, burning of, 372 Scapegoats, 397, 422, 650, 652, 679 Scriptures, the, defile the hands, 426, 655 S-d-k, meaning of the root, 655 sqq. ; name of a god, 661 sg.; social — origin, 665 Seasons and sacrifice, 405 Sétrim, 120, 441 Selli, at Dodona, 4.84 Semiramis legend, 199 n., 370 n., 375 n. Semitic peoples, 1 ; meaning of word 5,495; unity and homogeneity of race, 8 sqq.; geographical disper- sion of, 9; relation to Egypt, 496, 500; alleged tendency of, to monotheism, 74, 526 Sensuality and cruelty, 415 Serpent-demons, 120, 133, 142 n. ; in springs, 168, 172 Servant of the Lord, 629, 631, 654 Set (Typhon), 468, 469, 690 Seven wells, sanctity of, 181 sq. Sex of deities, 52, 58, 516 sqg.; of sacrificial victim, 298, 472 Sexual intercourse, taboos on, 454, 614, 640; ideas of general fertil- ity, 537, 613 Shamash, sun-god, 516, 532 sq., 659, 668 Shé‘alkim, teetotal god, 575 Shechem, oracular tree at, 196 Sheep-Astarte, 310, 477 sq. Sheep, piacular sacrifice, 476 sq. Sheep-skin worn by sacrificers in Cyprus, 435, 473 GENERAL INDEX Sheikh, religious duties of, 508, 522, 559 Sheikh Adi, valley of, 179 Shelamim (sing. shelem) explained, 237 Shew- bread, 225 sq. Shoes, put off, 453, 687 Shouting, sacrificial, 432 Sicab, Arabic, 324 Sicharbas, 374 Sid, Sidon, 578 Silat, Arabic, 50 Siloam, 231 Sin, moon-deity, 532 sq., 659 Sin, notions of, 401, 406, 415, 645 sq., 663 Sin-offering, 216, 349; viewed as an execution, 423; Hebrew, 344, 349 sq. ; sacrosanct, 350, 451 Sinai, sanctity of, 118 Skin of sacrifice, 435 sqq. ; as sacred dress, 436 sq., 467, 674 ; burial in, 605 Slaughter, private, forbidden, 286 ; of victim, by whom performed, 417; requires consent of clan, 285; originally identical with sacrifice, 234, 241, 307 Slaves sleep beside the blood and the dung, 235; are tattoed, 619 Slippers, sacred, 438 Snakes, as objects of superstition, 130, 442 Society, religious, in antiquity. 28 sq. Sofra, Arabic, 201 Solidarity of gods and their worship- pers, 32, 504 sqq. Solomon, his altar at Jerusalem, 485; his pillars, 488 Solwan, 323 . Sons of gods, 50, 446, 509, 545, 659, 677 ** Soul,’ of food, ete., 556, 585 sq., 596, 602, 624 sq., 678; how pre- served, 634 sq.; prayer for Panammu’s, 545; for a weli’s, 596 Species, gods, etc., 445, 540, 686 Spiritual ideas, in early Egypt, 665 n.; and material, 556, 676 sqq. ; as a transmutation, 618; as vital- izing, 682, 685 Spoils of war, how divided, 459 szq., 637 Spring festivals. See Nisan 715 Springs, sacred, 135 sq.; bathing in, 168, 184. See Waters Sprinkling of blood, 337, 344 s¢., 43] Stag sacrifice at Laodicea, 409 sq., 466 sq. Stars thought to live, 134 sq. ; cults of, 542 State, the, and religion, 32 sqq. Stigmata, 334 Stones, sacred, 200 sqq., 568 sqq. ; origin of, 210; daubed with blood, 201, 205; stroked with the hand, 80, 205, 233; anointed, 232, 582 ; at Bethel, 203; ordeal by, 212; and anthropomorphic religion, 571 Strangers, protected, 75 sq. ; special resort to, 602, 616 n. 4 Strangling, of victim, 343; execu- tion by, 418 Stroking, salutation by, 80, 205, 233, 322, 461 ; ritual, 571 sq. Stygian waters, in Syrian desert, 169, 180 Substitution of animals for human victims, 366; doctrine of, 421 sqq. Sun-gods, 649 sq., 669, 672. See Shamash Supernatural, savage views of the, 134 sqq., 441 Supreme or Great Gods, 529 sqq., 540, 586, 668, 686 Survivals, 442, 444 Swine, holy or unclean, 153. 448 ; forbidden food to all Semites, 218 ; as mystic sacrifice, 290, 291, 621 ; as piacula, 351, 475 Swine-god (Adonis), 411, 475 Symbols, divine, 166 sqq.; phallic, 212, 456 Symposia, 627 Syncretism of later Semitic heathen- ism, 15, 471 Systems, conception of, 28; meth- odology of, 507, 594 ; social, con- trasted with individualism, 528 ; and isolated data, 531; of re- strictions, 637 ; evolution of, 669 ; no real closed, 507, 525, 565, 591, 685, cf. lv sg. See Groups, Individual Taabbata Sharran, 128, 261 Tabala, oracle at, 47; sacred gazelles at, 466 Table of the gods, 201 716 = Taboo explained, 152 sq., 164; re- lation of, to holiness, 446 sqq. ; removed by washing, 451; on sexual intercourse, 454 sqq., 481 ; suicidal taboos, 640. See Mana Taboos affecting the sanctuary, 156 sq., 159 sqq. Tahlil, 279, 340, 431 sq. T'aim, in theophorous names, 80 Taima, 248 n., 587 Ta’lab, 791 Tamar, 612 Tammuz. Tanib, 531 Tanith (Artemis, Dido), 56, 374; pillars of, 208, 456, 477 sq. ; with the face of Baal, 478 T'anjis, Arabic, 448 Tao, 656 sq., 662, 665 Tarpeian Rock, executions at, 419 Tarsus, annual festival at, 373, 377 Tattooing, 334, 619, 687 n. Tawaf, 340 Taxation, ancient Hebrew, 245, 460 Sq. Temple, at Jerusalem, attached to palace, 246; worship of second, 215 sq. ; altars of, 378, 485 sqq. Temples, in Arabia, 102; above towns, 172; treasures at, 147; rock-hewn, 197 Tenedos, sacrifice to Dionysus at, 305, 474 Terebinth, feast and fair of the, 177; at Mamre, burns and is not con- sumed, 193 Theanthropic victim, 409 sq., 412 Theodulus, son of Nilus, 362 sqq. Theophany, constitutes a sanctuary, 115, 119, 436, 450, 633 Theophorous proper names, 42, 45 sq., 67 sq., 79 sq., 108 sq. Therapeute, 303 Thirst, 235, 580 Thorayya, wells called, 182 Thotmes, the name, 509 sq. Throne, worshipped, 562 Tiberias, seven wells at, 182 Tinnin, Arabic, 176 Tithes, 245 sqq., 587; in old Israel, used for public feasts, 252; tribute and, 458 Tobit and Sarah, story of, 615 sq. See Adonis 1 Explained to mean “‘ibex” (MVAQG. 1923, ii. 69). GENERAL INDEX Todas, sacred buffaloes of the, 299, 431, 600 Tonsures, 325 sqq. Tophet, 372; etymology of word, 377 Totemism, importance of, xxxix, lix; defined, 124 sqq., 535 n. 1; in Semitic domain, 137 sqq., 288 sqq.. 443; in Mohammedan Nigeria, 539, 541 n.; in Egypt (q.v.); causes of disappearance, 355 sq., cf. 445, 541; effect on domestication of animals, 601 ; its re-emergence, 629; its rudi- mentary character, 670, 683; in what sense “ primitive,” 539 sq., 541, 599, 671, 683; ‘‘ religion ” or “‘ magic,”’ xl, 598; is economic, 628; not anthropomorphic, 670 ; clan or local, not tribal, 668 Totems, relation to the jinn, 538 sqq.; the animal-names, 622, and their alleged origin, 624; men and totem of same substance, 506, 547, 585, 624 n., 677; dead rejoin, 605, 675; apparent equal- ity of, and men, 511; unite the clan, 506; embodiments of power, 677 n. 3; receive worship, xli; help in battle, 641 ; are imitated, 676; ceremonies to control or multiply, 535, 598, 668, are per- formed in ‘sacred ’”’ state, 586, 671; lives of, are sacred, 285; are eaten, 295, 405, 598; as first- fruits, 535, 586 Touching, rites of. See Stroking Transcendence in Semitic religion, 48, 194, 563; divine, 685; and immanence complementary, 553, 564, 662, cf. xxxvi; and im- manence in primitive religion, 553, 565, 668, 684 Transference, of evil, etc., 64:7 Transformation myths, 88 sqg., 191, 288 Treasures at temples, 147, 197 Trees, viewed as animate or demon- iac, 1382; sacred, 185, 559 aq. ; fiery apparitions at, 193, 562 ; oracles from, 194; deities trans- formed into, 191; how wor- shipped, 195; protected at sanc- tuaries, 159 sq. Trespass-offering (asham), 216, 399 Pe aay Tribal religion in Arabia, 38 sqq. a eS .f. a r—~ a i GENERAL INDEX 717 Tribesman, sacrifice of, 362 Tribute, sacred, 245; in Arabia, 111, 458 sqq. ; on commerce, 458 Troezen, sacred laurel at, 350; Apollo of, 360 Troglodytes, described by Agathar- chides, 296, 338 Truce, 276 ‘True, Truth, ideas of, 655 sqq. Tyche, 467, 508 Typhoeus, 134 Typhon (Set), 468 sq. Tyre, Ambrosian rocks, 193 Umm el-Ghéth, 581 ‘** Uncircumcised ”’ orchard, 159 n., 463, 583 Unclean land means a foreign land, 93 Unclean things in magic, 448 Uncleanness, 425, 446 sqq., 548 sq. ; rules of, 153, 449; infectious, 446 sqq. See Impurity Unction, unguents, ritual of, 233 sq., 383 sq. Undifferentiated thought and so- ciety, 89, 107, 506, 590 sq., 649, 657, 678, 683, 685 Unguents, 383 sq., 426 sq. Unity, mystical experience of, 666 ; after disunity, 592 sq., 664 sqq. ; of gods and worshippers, 32, 503, 549, 594 Universalism in religion, 268, 593, 669 ; its effects, 81 Unshod, 687 Usous, legend of, 203; relation to Esau, 467, 508 Usufruct, 639 Usurtu, 687 Uz. the same as ‘Aud ? 43 Varuna, 529, 534 sq., 657, 662, 667 sq. Vegetable offerings, 219 sqq. Vegetarianism, primitive, belief in, 300, 303 ; Philo Byblius on, 308 Venus, Arabian, orgies of, 363; planet, see Lucifer Vermin, sacrifice of, 293, 357 Vestments. See Garments Victim, a sacred animal, 287 sqq. ; male preferred, 298; by whom slain, 417; effigy substituted for, 410; head of, not eaten, 379; used as charm, 381 ; should offer itself spontaneously, 306, 309, 602; theanthropic, 409, 412; cast from a precipice, 371, 418, 419; new-born, sacrifice of, 368, 407, 462; cut in twain, 480 sq. ; must be pure, 620 ** Virgin land,” 537, 583 Virgin-mother, at Petra and Elusa, 56 sq. Vital “‘ parts,” 381, 634, 674 Volcanoes, superstitions about, 134 Votive offerings, 214, 460 Vows, hair-offering in, 332 ; taboos incidental to, 481 sqq. Vulture-god, 226, 579 ‘** Vultures, Stela of,’’ 570 Wabar, Arabic, 112 Wabr, 444, 625 Wahb b. Monabbih, 185 War opened and closed with sacri- fice, 401 sq., 491 sqq., 640 sq. Warriors, consecrated, 158, 402; taboos on, 158, 455, 482, 640 Washing of garments, 451 ; of head, 485; ritual, 646 sq. Wasm, 480 Water, living, 135, 173, 556, 558; ordeals by, 179 sqqg.; property in, 104; poured into sacred well, 199; as libation, 23]’sq., 580; in lustration, 368 Waters, healing, 183, 557; sacred, 166 sqqg. ; oracles from, 176; dis- coloured at certain seasons, 174 ; blood of gods in, 174; gifts cast into, 177; Stygian, 169, 180 Waterspout personified, 176 ‘“ Way,” the, 658, 662, 665 n. Welt, ancestral sheikh, 508, 546; complex traditions of, 546; female, 521 n.; as ‘‘ fathers,” 514, 557; local gods, 528, 533, 546, ef. xli; sanctity of tomb, 543 sq., 572; trees, 560 Wells, sacred, 167; ritual of, 176 sq. ; ownership of, 105; guardian of, 169, 557; song to, 183 n., 559 Were-wolf, 367; in Hadramaut, 88 Widow, secluded as impure, 448 ; purification of, in Arabia, 422, 428; shaving of, 619 Wild beasts, dread of, 122, 131 Will of the god, doing the, 682 Wine, libations of, 220, 230; re- ligious abstinence from, 485, 575 ; wine and ecstasy, 575 Witches, trial by water, 179 718 Wociuf, 340, 342 Wolf Apollo at Sicyon, 226 Women, exchange of, 612 ; symbol- ise fertility and transmission, 516; virgin soil, 537; may not eat the holiest things, 234, 299, 379; do not eat with men, 279, 595. See Marriage Yabrih (mandrake), 442 Yaghuth (Lion-god), 37, 43, 226, 509. See Yeush Yahweh, in names denoting kin- ship, 510; bisexual, 517; and supernatural birth, 513; and first- born (q.v.); marriage relation to Israel, 514, 610; ethical relation, 319; in the story in Ex. iv., 609; in Gen. xxxii., 610; “testing” of, 564; and Elohim, 512; his GENERAL INDEX “ righteousness,” 54, 565, 660. sqq. ; transcendence, 194, 565, 662 god of a confederation, 319 667; his sovereignty, 66, 75, 81 universality, 512, 669 ae Yeaning time, 407, 462 sth Yeush, god-name, 43. See Yaghuth t Zagharit, 432, 491 Zakkiré, Syriac, 198; S679 [ae Zamzam, holy well, 167 sq., 557 Zamzummim, 567 Zébah, zebahim, meaning of the wo: 222, 237, 578 Zeus Asterius, 310 Zeus Bomos, 571 Zeus Lyczus, 366 n. 5, 631 Zeus Madbachos, 562 Zoroastrianism, 529, 557, 646, 6 sq., 658 sq. il i 1 % 4 * i aa \ . —— +- VO oe ee Sa eG ae 14,2. est) 4 ays Se oe Oe bette ae LENG A Sgt gn $y) bre) Yiewy, oe Ky ‘oF, ty “x “< oF . SRS < peice G UN Gigs << . 2 Ssoeey > STANTS : BNAS Oh ‘ . Se ee . 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