DEFINING RELIGIOUS PHENOMENA AND RELIGION[25]

If we are going to look for the most primitive and simple religion which we can observe, it is necessary to begin by defining what is meant by a religion; for without this, we would run the risk of giving the name to a system of ideas and practices which has nothing at all religious about it, or else of leaving to one side many religious facts, without perceiving their true nature. That this is not an imaginary danger, and that nothing is thus sacrificed to a vain formalism of method, is well shown by the fact that owing to his not having taken this precaution, a certain scholar to whom the science of comparative religions owes a great deal, Professor Frazer, has not been able to recognize the profoundly religious character of the beliefs and rites which will be studied below, where, according to our view, the initial germ of the religious life of humanity is to be found. So this is a prejudicial question, which must be treated before all others. It is not that we dream of arriving at once at the profound characteristics which really explain religion: these can be determined only at the end of our study. But that which is necessary and possible, is to indicate a certain number of external and easily recognizable signs, which will enable us to recognize religious phenomena wherever they are met with, and which will deter us from confounding them with others. We shall proceed to this preliminary operation at once.

If we are to look for the simplest and most primitive religion we can observe, we must first define religion. Without a definition, we risk calling a system of ideas and practices a religion when it contains nothing religious at all. We also risk overlooking many religious facts because we fail to recognize their true nature. This danger is real, and defining religion is not an empty formality. Professor Frazer, a scholar to whom the science of comparative religions owes a great deal, shows why. Because he did not first define religion, he failed to recognize the profoundly religious character of the beliefs and rites studied below. In our view, these beliefs and rites contain the first seed of humanity’s religious life. We must therefore address this preliminary question before all others. We do not expect to identify immediately the deep characteristics that truly explain religion. We can determine those only at the end of our study. But we can and must identify a number of outward, easily recognizable signs. These will allow us to recognize religious phenomena wherever we encounter them and avoid confusing them with other phenomena. We will begin this preliminary task at once.

But to attain the desired results, it is necessary to begin by freeing the mind of every preconceived idea. Men have been obliged to make for themselves a notion of what religion is, long before the science of religions started its methodical comparisons. The necessities of existence force all of us, believers and non-believers, to represent in some way these things in the midst of which we live, upon which we must pass judgment constantly, and which we must take into account in all our conduct. However, since these preconceived ideas are formed without any method, according to the circumstances and chances of life, they have no right to any credit whatsoever, and must be rigorously set aside in the examination which is to follow. It is not from our prejudices, passions or habits that we should demand the elements of the definition which we must have; it is from the reality itself which we are going to define.

But to achieve the desired results, we must first free our minds of every preconceived idea. People had to form an idea of religion long before the scientific study of religions began comparing them systematically. The needs of daily life force all of us, believers and non-believers alike, to form some idea of religion. We live surrounded by religion, must constantly judge it, and must take it into account in everything we do. But these preconceived ideas are formed without any method, according to life's circumstances and chance events. They deserve no trust and must be rigorously set aside in the examination that follows. We need a definition of religion, but we should not draw its elements from our prejudices, passions, or habits. We should draw them from the reality we are going to define.

Let us set ourselves before this reality. Leaving aside all conceptions of religion in general, let us consider the various religions in their concrete reality, and attempt to disengage that which they have in common; for religion cannot be defined except by the characteristics which are found wherever religion itself is found. In this comparison, then, we shall make use of all the religious systems which we can know, those of the present and those of the past, the most primitive and simple as well as the most recent and refined; for we have neither the right nor the logical means of excluding some and retaining others. For those who regard religion as only a natural manifestation of human activity, all religions, without any exception whatsoever, are instructive; for all, after their manner, express man, and thus can aid us in better understanding this aspect of our nature. Also, we have seen how far it is from being the best way of studying religion to consider by preference the forms which it presents among the most civilized peoples.²⁶

Let us look at this reality. Setting aside general ideas about religion, let us consider actual religions and try to identify what they have in common. Religion can be defined only by characteristics found wherever religion exists. In making this comparison, we will use all the religious systems we can know, both present and past. We will include the most primitive and simple as well as the most recent and refined. We have neither the right nor any logical basis for excluding some and keeping others. For those who see religion as simply a natural expression of human activity, all religions, without exception, are instructive. Each religion expresses humanity in its own way and can therefore help us better understand this aspect of our nature. We have also seen that focusing on the forms religion takes among the most civilized peoples is far from the best way to study it.²⁶

But to aid the mind in freeing itself from these usual conceptions which, owing to their prestige, might prevent it from seeing things as they really are, it is fitting to examine some of the most current of the definitions in which these prejudices are commonly expressed, before taking up the question on our own account.

But familiar ideas can keep us from seeing things as they really are because those ideas command such respect. To help free our minds from them, we should first examine some common definitions that express these prejudices. Then we can take up the question ourselves.

One idea which generally passes as characteristic of all that is religious, is that of the supernatural. By this is understood all sorts of things which surpass the limits of our knowledge; the supernatural is the world of the mysterious, of the unknowable, of the un-understandable. Thus religion would be a sort of speculation upon all that which evades science or distinct thought in general. "Religions diametrically opposed in their overt dogmas," said Spencer, "are perfectly at one in the tacit conviction that the existence of the world, with all it contains and all which surrounds it, is a mystery calling for an explanation"; he thus makes them consist essentially in "the belief in the omnipresence of something which is inscrutable."²⁷ In the same manner, Max Müller sees in religion "a struggle to conceive the inconceivable, to utter the unutterable, a longing after the Infinite."²⁸

One idea generally considered characteristic of everything religious is the supernatural. The supernatural includes all kinds of things beyond the limits of our knowledge. It is the realm of the mysterious, the unknowable, and the incomprehensible. Religion would therefore be a kind of speculation about everything beyond the reach of science or clear thought in general. Spencer said that "Religions diametrically opposed in their overt dogmas" share an unspoken conviction. They agree "that the existence of the world, with all it contains and all which surrounds it, is a mystery calling for an explanation". He therefore sees religion as essentially "the belief in the omnipresence of something which is inscrutable."²⁷ Similarly, Max Müller sees religion as "a struggle to conceive the inconceivable, to utter the unutterable, a longing after the Infinite."²⁸

It is certain that the sentiment of mystery has not been without a considerable importance in certain religions, notably in Christianity. It must also be said that the importance of this sentiment has varied remarkably at different moments in the history of Christianity. There are periods when this notion passes to an inferior place, and is even effaced. For example, for the Christians of the seventeenth century, dogma had nothing disturbing for the reason; faith reconciled itself easily with science and philosophy, and the thinkers, such as Pascal, who really felt that there is something profoundly obscure in things, were so little in harmony with their age that they remained misunderstood by their contemporaries.²⁹ It would appear somewhat hasty, therefore, to make an idea subject to parallel eclipses, the essential element of even the Christian religion.

The sense of mystery has certainly been quite important in certain religions, especially Christianity. But its importance has varied greatly at different times in Christian history. At some periods, the idea becomes less important or even disappears. For example, seventeenth-century Christians saw nothing in religious doctrine that troubled reason. Faith was easily reconciled with science and philosophy. Thinkers like Pascal truly felt that there was something profoundly obscure about things. But they were so out of step with their age that their contemporaries did not understand them.²⁹ It would therefore seem somewhat hasty to make an idea that fades in this way the essential element of even the Christian religion.

In all events, it is certain that this idea does not appear until late in the history of religions; it is completely foreign, not only to those peoples who are called primitive, but also to all others who have not attained a considerable degree of intellectual culture. When we see them attribute extraordinary virtues to insignificant objects, and people the universe with singular principles, made up of the most diverse elements and endowed with a sort of ubiquity which is hardly representable, we are undoubtedly prone to find an air of mystery in these conceptions. It seems to us that these men would have been willing to resign themselves to these ideas, so disturbing for our modern reason, only because of their inability to find others which were more rational. But, as a matter of fact, these explanations which surprise us so much, appear to the primitive man as the simplest in the world. He does not regard them as a sort of ultima ratio to which the intellect resigns itself only in despair of others, but rather as the most obvious manner of representing and understanding what he sees about him. For him there is nothing strange in the fact that by a mere word or gesture one is able to command the elements, retard or precipitate the motion of the stars, bring rain or cause it to cease, etc. The rites which he employs to assure the fertility of the soil or the fecundity of the animal species on which he is nourished do not appear more irrational to his eyes than the technical processes of which our agriculturists make use, for the same object, do to ours. The powers which he puts into play by these diverse means do not seem to him to have anything especially mysterious about them. Undoubtedly these forces are different from those which the modern scientist thinks of, and whose use he teaches us; they have a different way of acting, and do not allow themselves to be directed in the same manner; but for those who believe in them, they are no more unintelligible than are gravitation and electricity for the physicist of to-day. Moreover, we shall see, in the course of this work, that the idea of physical forces is very probably derived from that of religious forces; then there cannot exist between the two the abyss which separates the rational from the irrational. Even the fact that religious forces are frequently conceived under the form of spiritual beings or conscious wills, is no proof of their irrationality. The reason has no repugnance a priori to admitting that the so-called inanimate bodies should be directed by intelligences, just as the human body is, though contemporary science accommodates itself with difficulty to this hypothesis. When Leibniz proposed to conceive the external world as an immense society of minds, between which there were, and could be, only spiritual relations, he thought he was working as a rationalist, and saw nothing in this universal animism which could be offensive to the intellect.

In any case, this idea certainly appears only late in the history of religions. It is completely foreign not only to peoples called primitive, but also to all others who have not reached a considerable level of intellectual culture. We see these peoples attribute extraordinary powers to insignificant objects. We see them fill the universe with unusual forces, made up of the most diverse elements and present almost everywhere in a way we can hardly imagine. We are understandably inclined to find an air of mystery in these beliefs. These ideas are disturbing to our modern reason. So it seems to us that people could have accepted them only because they could not find more rational ones. But in fact, the explanations that surprise us so much seem perfectly simple to primitive people. They do not see these explanations as a kind of ultima ratio, a last resort accepted only when the mind has given up hope of finding others. Instead, they see them as the most obvious way to picture and understand what they see around them. To a primitive person, there is nothing strange about commanding the elements with a mere word or gesture. Nor is it strange to slow down or speed up the stars, bring rain, or make it stop, and so on. People use rites to ensure the fertility of the soil or the reproduction of the animal species they eat. To them, these rites seem no more irrational than the technical methods our farmers use for the same purpose seem to us. Nor do they find anything especially mysterious about the powers they use through these various means. These forces are undoubtedly different from those modern scientists think of and teach us to use. They act differently and cannot be controlled in the same way. But to those who believe in them, they are no less understandable than gravity and electricity are to today’s physicists. Moreover, as we shall see in this work, the idea of physical forces very probably comes from the idea of religious forces. So the two cannot be separated by the gulf that divides the rational from the irrational. Religious forces are often imagined as spiritual beings or conscious wills. But even this is no proof that they are irrational. Reason has no a priori objection to the idea that intelligences direct supposedly inanimate bodies, just as an intelligence directs the human body. Contemporary science, however, has difficulty accommodating this hypothesis. Leibniz proposed that we think of the external world as a vast society of minds. Between these minds there were, and could be, only spiritual relations. He thought he was working as a rationalist and saw nothing in this universal animism that could offend the intellect.

Moreover, the idea of the supernatural, as we understand it, dates only from to-day; in fact, it presupposes the contrary idea, of which it is the negation; but this idea is not at all primitive. In order to say that certain things are supernatural, it is necessary to have the sentiment that a natural order of things exists, that is to say, that the phenomena of the universe are bound together by necessary relations, called laws. When this principle has once been admitted, all that is contrary to these laws must necessarily appear to be outside of nature, and consequently, of reason; for what is natural in this sense of the word, is also rational, these necessary relations only expressing the manner in which things are logically related. But this idea of universal determinism is of recent origin; even the greatest thinkers of classical antiquity never succeeded in becoming fully conscious of it. It is a conquest of the positive sciences; it is the postulate upon which they repose and which they have proved by their progress. Now as long as this was lacking or insufficiently established, the most marvellous events contained nothing which did not appear perfectly conceivable. So long as men did not know the immutability and the inflexibility of the order of things, and so long as they saw there the work of contingent wills, they found it natural that either these wills or others could modify them arbitrarily. That is why the miraculous interventions which the ancients attributed to their gods were not to their eyes miracles in the modern acceptation of the term. For them, they were beautiful, rare or terrible spectacles, or causes of surprise and marvel (θαύματα, mirabilia, miracula); but they never saw in them glimpses of a mysterious world into which the reason cannot penetrate.

Moreover, the idea of the supernatural, as we understand it, is very recent. It presupposes the opposite idea, which it denies. But that opposite idea is not primitive at all. To call some things supernatural, people must first believe that a natural order of things exists. In other words, they must believe that the events of the universe are connected by necessary relationships called laws. Once this principle is accepted, everything contrary to these laws must appear to be outside nature and therefore outside reason. For what is natural in this sense is also rational. These necessary relationships simply express the logical connections between things. But the idea of universal determinism is of recent origin. Even the greatest thinkers of classical antiquity never became fully aware of it. It is an achievement of the positive sciences. It is the assumption on which they rest and which they have proved through their progress. As long as this idea was absent or insufficiently established, even the most astonishing events seemed perfectly conceivable. People did not know that the order of things was unchanging and inflexible. As long as they saw it as the work of wills that could act otherwise, they found it natural that those wills or others could change it at will. That is why the miraculous interventions that the ancients attributed to their gods were not miracles in the modern sense. To them, these events were beautiful, rare, or terrifying sights, or things that caused surprise and wonder (θαύματα, mirabilia, miracula). But they never saw them as glimpses of a mysterious world beyond the reach of reason.

We can understand this mentality the better since it has not yet completely disappeared from our midst. If the principle of determinism is solidly established to-day in the physical and natural sciences, it is only a century ago that it was first introduced into the social sciences, and its authority there is still contested. There are only a small number of minds which are strongly penetrated with this idea that societies are subject to natural laws and form a kingdom of nature. It follows that veritable miracles are believed to be possible there. It is admitted, for example, that a legislator can create an institution out of nothing by a mere injunction of its will, or transform one social system into another, just as the believers in so many religions have held that the divine will created the world out of nothing, or can arbitrarily transmute one thing into another. As far as social facts are concerned, we still have the mentality of primitives. However, if so many of our contemporaries still retain this antiquated conception for sociological affairs, it is not because the life of societies appears obscure and mysterious to them; on the contrary, if they are so easily contented with these explanations, and if they are so obstinate in their illusions which experience constantly belies, it is because social events seem to them the clearest thing in the world; it is because they have not yet realized their real obscurity; it is because they have not yet recognized the necessity of resorting to the laborious methods of the natural sciences to gradually scatter the darkness. The same state of mind is found at the root of many religious beliefs which surprise us by their pseudo-simplicity. It is science and not religion which has taught men that things are complex and difficult to understand.

We can better understand this way of thinking because it has not yet completely disappeared from our own society. Today, determinism is firmly established in the physical and natural sciences. But it was introduced into the social sciences only a century ago, and its authority there is still contested. Only a small number of people are deeply convinced that societies are subject to natural laws and belong to the natural world. As a result, people believe that real miracles are possible in social life. For example, they accept that a lawmaker can create an institution from nothing simply by willing it. They also accept that a lawmaker can transform one social system into another. In the same way, believers in many religions have held that divine will created the world from nothing. They have also held that divine will can change one thing into another at will. When it comes to social facts, we still think like primitive peoples. Yet many of our contemporaries still hold this outdated view of social affairs. This is not because social life seems obscure and mysterious to them. On the contrary, social events seem to them the clearest things in the world. That is why they accept these explanations so readily. It is also why they cling so stubbornly to illusions that experience constantly disproves. They have not yet realized how obscure social life really is. They have not yet recognized the need to use the painstaking methods of the natural sciences to gradually clear away the darkness. The same attitude lies behind many religious beliefs whose apparent simplicity surprises us. It is science, not religion, that has taught people that things are complex and difficult to understand.

But the human mind, says Jevons,³⁰ has no need of a properly scientific culture to notice that determined sequences, or a constant order of succession, exist between facts, or to observe, on the other hand, that this order is frequently upset. It sometimes happens that the sun is suddenly eclipsed, that rain fails at the time when it is expected, that the moon is slow to reappear after its periodical disappearance, etc. Since these events are outside the ordinary course of affairs, they are attributed to extraordinary exceptional causes, that is to say, in fine, to extra-natural causes. It is under this form that the idea of the supernatural is born at the very outset of history, and from this moment, according to this author, religious thought finds itself provided with its proper subject.

But, says Jevons,³⁰ people do not need scientific training to notice that events follow fixed sequences or a consistent order. They can also observe that this order is often disrupted. Sometimes the sun is suddenly eclipsed, rain fails to come when expected, or the moon is slow to reappear after its regular disappearance. Because these events fall outside the ordinary course of things, people attribute them to extraordinary causes, ultimately to causes outside nature. According to Jevons, this is how the idea of the supernatural first arises at the very beginning of history. From that moment, religious thought has its own proper subject.

But in the first place, the supernatural cannot be reduced to the unforeseen. The new is a part of nature just as well as its contrary. If we state that in general, phenomena succeed one another in a determined order, we observe equally well that this order is only approximative, that it is not always precisely the same, and that it has all kinds of exceptions. If we have ever so little experience, we are accustomed to seeing our expectations fail, and these deceptions return too often to appear extraordinary to us. A certain contingency is taught by experience just as well as a certain uniformity; then we have no reason for assigning the one to causes and forces entirely different from those upon which the other depends. In order to arrive at the idea of the supernatural, it is not enough, therefore, to be witnesses to unexpected events; it is also necessary that these be conceived as impossible, that is to say, irreconcilable with an order which, rightly or wrongly, appears to us to be implied in the nature of things. Now this idea of a necessary order has been constructed little by little by the positive sciences, and consequently the contrary notion could not have existed before them.

But first, the supernatural cannot be reduced to the unexpected. New things are just as much a part of nature as familiar ones. We may observe that events generally follow one another in a fixed order. But we also observe that this order is only approximate. It is not always exactly the same, and it has all kinds of exceptions. Even with very little experience, we become accustomed to seeing our expectations fail. These disappointments happen too often to seem extraordinary. Experience teaches us that there is a certain amount of chance, just as it teaches us that there is a certain amount of regularity. We therefore have no reason to attribute chance to causes and forces entirely different from those behind regularity. To arrive at the idea of the supernatural, then, it is not enough to witness unexpected events. We must also think of them as impossible. That is, we must see them as incompatible with an order that, rightly or wrongly, seems to follow from the nature of things. The empirical sciences have gradually constructed this idea of a necessary order. Consequently, the opposite idea could not have existed before those sciences.

Also, in whatever manner men have represented the novelties and contingencies revealed by experience, there is nothing in these representations which could serve to characterize religion. For religious conceptions have as their object, before everything else, to express and explain, not that which is exceptional and abnormal in things, but, on the contrary, that which is constant and regular. Very frequently, the gods serve less to account for the monstrosities, fantasies and anomalies than for the regular march of the universe, for the movement of the stars, the rhythm of the seasons, the annual growth of vegetation, the perpetuation of species, etc. It is far from being true, then, that the notion of the religions coincides with that of the extraordinary or the unforeseen. Jevons replies that this conception of religious forces is not primitive. Men commenced by imagining them to account for disorders and accidents, and it was only afterwards that they began to utilize them in explaining the uniformities of nature.³¹ But it is not clear what could have led men to attribute such manifestly contradictory functions to them. More than that, the hypothesis according to which sacred beings were at first restricted to the negative function of disturbers is quite arbitrary. In fact, we shall see that, even with the most simple religions we know, their essential task is to maintain, in a positive manner, the normal course of life.³²

Also, people have represented the new and unpredictable things revealed by experience in many ways. But nothing in these representations can serve to define religion. Religious ideas aim above all to express and explain what is constant and regular in things, not what is exceptional and abnormal. Very often, gods serve less to explain monstrosities, strange occurrences, and anomalies than the regular course of the universe. They explain the movement of the stars, the rhythm of the seasons, the yearly growth of plants, the continuation of species, and so on. The idea of religion, then, is far from being identical with the idea of the extraordinary or unforeseen. Jevons replies that this view of religious forces is not primitive. People first imagined these forces to explain disturbances and accidents. Only later did they begin to use them to explain the regular patterns of nature.³¹ But it is not clear what could have led people to assign religious forces such clearly contradictory functions. Moreover, the theory that sacred beings were first limited to the negative role of causing disturbances is quite arbitrary. In fact, we shall see that even in the simplest religions we know, their essential task is positive: to maintain the normal course of life.³²

So the idea of mystery is not of primitive origin. It was not given to man; it is man who has forged it, with his own hands, along with the contrary idea. This is why it has a place only in a very small number of advanced religions. It is impossible to make it the characteristic mark of religious phenomena without excluding from the definition the majority of the facts to be defined.

So the idea of mystery did not originate in primitive times. It was not given to humanity. People created it themselves, along with the opposite idea. That is why the idea of mystery appears in only a very small number of advanced religions. We cannot make mystery the defining feature of religious phenomena without excluding most of the facts we want to define.

Another idea by which the attempt to define religion is often made, is that of divinity. "Religion," says M. Réville,³³ "is the determination of human life by the sentiment of a bond uniting the human mind to that mysterious mind whose domination of the world and itself it recognizes, and to whom it delights in feeling itself united." It is certain that if the word divinity is taken in a precise and narrow sense, this definition leaves aside a multitude of obviously religious facts. The souls of the dead and the spirits of all ranks and classes with which the religious imagination of so many different peoples has populated nature, are always the object of rites and sometimes even of a regular cult; yet they are not gods in the proper sense of the term. But in order that the definition may embrace them, it is enough to substitute for the term "gods" the more comprehensive one of "spiritual beings." This is what Tylor does. "The first requisite in a systematic study of the religions of the lower races," he says, "is to lay down a rudimentary definition of religion. By requiring in this definition the belief in a supreme deity ..., no doubt many tribes may be excluded from the category of religious. But such narrow definition has the fault of identifying religion rather with particular developments.... It seems best ... simply to claim as a minimum definition of Religion, the belief in Spiritual Beings."³⁴ By spiritual beings must be understood conscious subjects gifted with powers superior to those possessed by common men; this qualification is found in the souls of the dead, geniuses or demons as well as in divinities properly so-called. It is important, therefore, to give our attention at once to the particular conception of religion which is implied in this definition. The relations which we can have with beings of this sort are determined by the nature attributed to them. They are conscious beings; then we can act upon them only in the same way that we act upon consciousnesses in general, that is to say, by psychological processes, attempting to convince them or move them, either with the aid of words (invocations, prayers), or by offerings and sacrifices. And since the object of religion is to regulate our relations with these special beings, there can be no religion except where there are prayers, sacrifices, propitiatory rites, etc. Thus we have a very simple criterium which permits us to distinguish that which is religious from that which is not. It is to this criterium that Frazer,³⁵ and with him numerous ethnographers,³⁶ systematically makes reference.

Another idea often used to define religion is divinity. "Religion," says M. Réville,³³ "is the shaping of human life by a sense of connection between the human mind and a mysterious mind. The human mind recognizes that this mysterious mind rules both the world and itself, and delights in feeling united with it." If the word divinity is understood in a precise, narrow sense, this definition certainly leaves out many obviously religious facts. Many peoples have imagined nature as populated by the souls of the dead and spirits of every rank and kind. These beings are always the objects of rites, and sometimes even of regular worship. Yet they are not gods in the proper sense of the term. But the definition can include them if we replace "gods" with the broader term "spiritual beings." This is what Tylor does. "The first requirement for a systematic study of the religions of the lower races," he says, "is a basic definition of religion. If this definition requires belief in a supreme deity ..., many tribes may undoubtedly be excluded from the category of religious peoples. But such a narrow definition has the fault of identifying religion with particular developments.... It seems best ... to propose simply the belief in Spiritual Beings as a minimum definition of Religion."³⁴ By spiritual beings, we must understand conscious beings with powers greater than those of ordinary people. The souls of the dead, genii or demons, and divinities properly so called all have these qualities. It is important, then, to consider at once the particular idea of religion implied by this definition. The nature attributed to spiritual beings determines the relations we can have with them. They are conscious beings, so we can act upon them only as we act upon conscious beings in general. That is, we must use psychological means, trying to persuade or move them. We can do this through words, such as invocations and prayers, or through offerings and sacrifices. And since religion exists to regulate our relations with these special beings, religion can exist only where there are prayers, sacrifices, rites of appeasement, and so on. This gives us a very simple criterion for distinguishing what is religious from what is not. Frazer,³⁵ along with many ethnographers,³⁶ systematically relies on this criterion.

But howsoever evident this definition may appear, thanks to the mental habits which we owe to our religious education, there are many facts to which it is not applicable, but which appertain to the field of religion nevertheless.

But this definition may seem obvious because of the habits of mind we have acquired through religious education. Even so, many facts belong to the field of religion, yet the definition does not apply to them.

In the first place, there are great religions from which the idea of gods and spirits is absent, or at least, where it plays only a secondary and minor rôle. This is the case with Buddhism. Buddhism, says Burnouf, "sets itself in opposition to Brahmanism as a moral system without god and an atheism without Nature."³⁷ "As it recognizes not a god upon whom man depends," says Barth, "its doctrine is absolutely atheistic,"³⁸ while Oldenberg, in his turn, calls it "a faith without a god."³⁹ In fact, all that is essential to Buddhism is found in the four propositions which the faithful call the four noble truths.⁴⁰ The first states the existence of suffering as the accompaniment to the perpetual change of things; the second shows desire to be the cause of suffering; the third makes the suppression of desire the only means of suppressing sorrow; the fourth enumerates the three stages through which one must pass to attain this suppression: they are uprightness, meditation, and finally wisdom, the full possession of the doctrine. These three stages once traversed, one arrives at the end of the road, at the deliverance, at salvation by the Nirvâna.

First, some major religions have no idea of gods or spirits, or give such ideas only a minor role. Buddhism is one example. Burnouf says that Buddhism "sets itself in opposition to Brahmanism as a moral system without god and an atheism without Nature."³⁷ Barth says, "As it recognizes not a god upon whom man depends, its doctrine is absolutely atheistic."³⁸ Oldenberg, in turn, calls it "a faith without a god."³⁹ In fact, everything essential to Buddhism is found in four propositions that believers call the four noble truths.⁴⁰ The first states that suffering accompanies the constant change of things. The second identifies desire as the cause of suffering. The third says that ending desire is the only way to end sorrow. The fourth lists the three stages one must pass through to end desire. They are uprightness, meditation, and finally wisdom, or complete mastery of the doctrine. Once a person has passed through these three stages, they reach the end of the path: deliverance, or salvation through Nirvâna.

Now in none of these principles is there question of a divinity. The Buddhist is not interested in knowing whence came the world in which he lives and suffers; he takes it as a given fact,⁴¹ and his whole concern is to escape it. On the other hand, in this work of salvation, he can count only upon himself; "he has no god to thank, as he had previously no god to invoke during his struggle."⁴² Instead of praying, in the ordinary sense of the term, instead of turning towards a superior being and imploring his assistance, he relies upon himself and meditates. This is not saying "that he absolutely denies the existence of the beings called Indra, Agni and Varuna;⁴³ but he believes that he owes them nothing and that he has nothing to do with them," for their power can only extend over the goods of this world, which are without value for him. Then he is an atheist, in the sense that he does not concern himself with the question whether gods exist or not. Besides, even if they should exist, and with whatever powers they might be armed, the saint or the emancipated man regards himself superior to them; for that which causes the dignity of beings is not the extent of the action they exercise over things, but merely the degree of their advancement upon the road of salvation.⁴⁴

None of these principles involves a god. The Buddhist is not interested in knowing where the world he lives and suffers in came from. He takes the world as a given fact,⁴¹ and his only concern is to escape it. But in seeking salvation, he can rely only on himself. "He has no god to thank, as he had previously no god to invoke during his struggle."⁴² Rather than praying in the ordinary sense, turning to a higher being and asking for help, he relies on himself and meditates. This does not mean "that he absolutely denies the existence of the beings called Indra, Agni and Varuna;⁴³ but he believes that he owes them nothing and that he has nothing to do with them." Their power can extend only over the goods of this world, which have no value for him. He is an atheist in the sense that he does not concern himself with whether gods exist. Besides, even if gods do exist, and whatever powers they may have, the saint or emancipated person regards himself as superior to them. For a being’s dignity comes not from the extent of its power over things, but solely from its progress toward salvation.⁴⁴

It is true that Buddha, at least in some divisions of the Buddhist Church, has sometimes been considered as a sort of god. He has his temples; he is the object of a cult, which, by the way, is a very simple one, for it is reduced essentially to the offering of flowers and the adoration of consecrated relics or images. It is scarcely more than a commemorative cult. But more than that, this divinization of Buddha, granting that the term is exact, is peculiar to the form known as Northern Buddhism. "The Buddhist of the South," says Kern, "and the less advanced of the Northern Buddhists can be said, according to data known to-day, to speak of their founder as if he were a man."⁴⁵ Of course, they attribute extraordinary powers to Buddha, which are superior to those possessed by ordinary mortals; but it was a very ancient belief in India, and one that is also very general in a host of different religions, that a great saint is endowed with exceptional virtues;⁴⁶ yet a saint is not a god, any more than a priest or magician is, in spite of the superhuman faculties frequently attributed to them. On the other hand, according to the most authorized scholars, all this theism and the complicated mythology which generally accompanies it, are only derived and deviated forms of Buddhism. At first, Buddha was only regarded as "the wisest of men."⁴⁷ Burnouf says "the conception of a Buddha who is something more than a man arrived at the highest stage of holiness, is outside the circle of ideas which form the foundation of the simple Sûtras";⁴⁸ and the same author adds elsewhere that "his humanity is a fact so incontestably recognized by all that the myth-makers, to whom miracles cost so little, have never even had the idea of making a god out of him since his death."⁴⁹ So we may well ask if he has ever really divested himself completely of all human character, and if we have a right to make him into a god completely;⁵⁰ in any case, it would have to be a god of a very particular character and one whose rôle in no way resembles that of other divine personalities. For a god is before all else a living being, with whom man should reckon, and upon whom he may count; but Buddha is dead, he has entered into the Nirvâna, and he can no longer influence the march of human events.⁵¹

It is true that some branches of the Buddhist Church have sometimes regarded Buddha as a kind of god. He has temples and is the object of worship. This worship, by the way, is very simple. It consists essentially of offering flowers and worshipping consecrated relics or images. It is hardly more than a way of commemorating him. Moreover, this deification of Buddha, if the term is accurate, is peculiar to Northern Buddhism. Kern says: "The Buddhist of the South and the less advanced Northern Buddhists can be said, according to what we know today, to speak of their founder as if he were a man."⁴⁵ Of course, they attribute extraordinary powers to Buddha, beyond those of ordinary mortals. But there was a very old belief in India that a great saint has exceptional powers. This belief is also very common in many different religions.⁴⁶ Yet a saint is not a god, any more than a priest or magician is. This is so despite the superhuman powers often attributed to them. On the other hand, according to the most authoritative scholars, this theism is only a later, altered form of Buddhism. So is the complicated mythology that generally accompanies it. At first, Buddha was regarded only as "the wisest of men."⁴⁷ Burnouf says: "The idea of a Buddha who is more than a man who has reached the highest stage of holiness is outside the ideas that form the foundation of the simple Sûtras."⁴⁸ Elsewhere, Burnouf adds: "His humanity is so unquestionably recognized by all that the myth-makers, who found miracles so easy, have never even thought of making a god of him since his death."⁴⁹ So we may well ask whether Buddha has ever really lost all human character. We may also ask whether we have the right to make him a god completely.⁵⁰ In any case, he would have to be a god of a very particular kind. His role would be nothing like that of other divine beings. For a god is, above all, a living being whom people must take into account and can count on. But Buddha is dead. He has entered into Nirvâna and can no longer influence the course of human events.⁵¹

Finally, whatever one may think of the divinity of Buddha, it remains a fact that this is a conception wholly outside the essential part of Buddhism. Buddhism consists primarily in the idea of salvation, and salvation supposes only that one know the good doctrine and practise it. To be sure, this could never have been known if Buddha had not come to reveal it; but when this revelation had once been made, the work of Buddha was accomplished. From that moment he ceased to be a factor necessary to the religious life. The practice of the four holy truths would be possible, even if the memory of him who revealed them were completely obliterated.⁵² It is quite another matter with Christianity, which is inconceivable without the ever-present idea of Christ and his ever-practised cult; for it is by the ever-living Christ, sacrificed each day, that the community of believers continues to communicate with the supreme source of the spiritual life.⁵³

Finally, whatever one may think about Buddha’s divinity, the idea is entirely outside the essential part of Buddhism. Buddhism is primarily concerned with salvation. Salvation requires only that one know and practice the true doctrine. Of course, the doctrine could never have been known if Buddha had not come to reveal it. But once he had revealed it, his work was done. From that point on, Buddha was no longer necessary to religious life. People could practice the four holy truths even if all memory of the person who revealed them were erased.⁵² Christianity is quite different. It is impossible to conceive of Christianity without the ever-present idea of Christ and the continual worship of him. For it is through the ever-living Christ, sacrificed each day, that the community of believers continues to communicate with the supreme source of spiritual life.⁵³

All that precedes can be applied equally well to another great religion of India, Jaïnism. The two doctrines have nearly the same conception of the world and of life. "Like the Buddhists," says Barth, "the Jaïnas are atheists. They admit of no creator; the world is eternal; they explicitly deny the possibility of a perfect being from the beginning. The Jina became perfect; he was not always so."

Everything said so far applies equally to another major religion of India, Jaïnism. The two doctrines have nearly the same view of the world and of life. As Barth says, "Like the Buddhists, the Jaïnas are atheists. They believe in no creator. The world is eternal. They explicitly deny that a being could be perfect from the beginning. The Jina became perfect. He was not always perfect."

Just as the Buddhists in the north, the Jaïnists, or at least certain of them, have come back to a sort of deism; in the inscriptions of Dekhan there is mention of a Jinapati, a sort of supreme Jina, who is called the primary creator; but such language, says the same author, is "in contradiction to the most explicit declarations extracted from their most authorized writings."⁵⁴

Like the Buddhists in the north, the Jaïnists, or at least some of them, have returned to a kind of deism. Inscriptions in Dekhan mention a Jinapati, a kind of supreme Jina, who is called the primary creator. But the same author says this language is "in contradiction to the most explicit declarations extracted from their most authorized writings."⁵⁴

Moreover, if this indifference for the divine is developed to such a point in Buddhism and Jaïnism, it is because its germ existed already in the Brahmanism from which the two were derived. In certain of its forms at least, Brahmic speculation ended in "a frankly materialistic and atheistic interpretation of the universe."⁵⁵ In time, the numerous divinities which the people of India had originally learned to adore, came to merge themselves into a sort of principal deity, impersonal and abstract, the essence of all that exists. This supreme reality, which no longer has anything of a divine personality about it, is contained within man himself, or rather, man is but one with it, for nothing exists apart from it. To find it, and unite himself to it, one does not have to search some external support outside himself; it is enough to concentrate upon himself and meditate. "If in Buddhism," says Oldenberg, "the proud attempt be made to conceive a deliverance in which man himself delivers himself, to create a faith without a god, it is Brahmanical speculation which has prepared the way for this thought. It thrusts back the idea of a god step by step; the forms of the old gods have faded away, and besides the Brahma, which is enthroned in its everlasting quietude, highly exalted above the destinies of the human world, there is left remaining, as the sole really active person in the great work of deliverance, man himself."⁵⁶ Here, then, we find a considerable portion of religious evolution which has consisted in the progressive recoil of the idea of a spiritual being from that of a deity. Here are great religions where invocations, propitiations, sacrifices and prayers properly so-called are far from holding a preponderating place, and which consequently do not present that distinctive sign by which some claim to recognize those manifestations which are properly called religious.

Moreover, indifference to the divine became so pronounced in Buddhism and Jaïnism because its seeds already existed in Brahmanism. Both religions grew out of Brahmanism. In some of its forms, at least, Brahmanical thought led to "a frankly materialistic and atheistic interpretation of the universe."⁵⁵ Over time, the many deities originally worshipped by the people of India merged into a kind of principal deity. This deity was impersonal and abstract, the essence of everything that exists. This supreme reality no longer has any divine personality. It exists within human beings, or rather, human beings are one with it, since nothing exists apart from it. To find and unite with this reality, a person need not seek any external support. It is enough to focus inward and meditate. "If in Buddhism," says Oldenberg, "the proud attempt is made to imagine a deliverance in which people deliver themselves, and to create a faith without a god, it was Brahmanical thought that prepared the way. It pushed back the idea of a god step by step. The forms of the old gods faded away. And besides Brahma, enthroned in everlasting stillness and exalted far above the fate of the human world, only human beings themselves remain truly active in the great work of deliverance."⁵⁶ Here, then, a considerable part of religious development has involved a growing separation between the idea of a spiritual being and that of a deity. These are major religions in which invocations, acts of appeasement, sacrifices, and prayers in the strict sense are far from having a central place. As a result, they do not show the distinctive sign that some claim identifies expressions that can properly be called religious.

But even within deistic religions there are many rites which are completely independent of all idea of gods or spiritual beings. In the first place, there are a multitude of interdictions. For example, the Bible orders that a woman live isolated during a determined period each month;⁵⁷ a similar isolation is obligatory during the lying-in at child-birth;⁵⁸ it is forbidden to hitch an ass and a horse together, or to wear a garment in which the hemp is mixed with flax;⁵⁹ but it is impossible to see the part which belief in Jahveh can have played in these interdictions, for he is wholly absent from all the relations thus forbidden, and could not be interested in them. As much can be said for the majority of the dietetic regulations. These prohibitions are not peculiar to the Hebrews, but they are found under diverse forms, but with substantially the same character, in innumerable religions.

But even in religions that believe in gods, many rites are completely independent of any idea of gods or spiritual beings. First, there are many prohibitions. For example, the Bible orders a woman to live in isolation for a set period each month.⁵⁷ A similar isolation is required during childbirth.⁵⁸ It is forbidden to harness a donkey and a horse together or to wear a garment made of both hemp and flax.⁵⁹ But it is impossible to see what role belief in Jahveh could have played in these prohibitions. He is completely absent from all the relationships they forbid and could not be interested in them. The same can be said of most dietary rules. These prohibitions are not unique to the Hebrews. They appear in countless religions in different forms, but with substantially the same character.

It is true that these rites are purely negative, but they do not cease being religious for that. Also there are others which demand active and positive services of the faithful, but which are nevertheless of the same nature. They work by themselves, and their efficacy depends upon no divine power; they mechanically produce the effects which are the reason for their existence. They do not consist either in prayers or offerings addressed to a being upon whose goodwill the expected result depends; this result is obtained by the automatic operation of the ritual. Such is notably the case with the sacrifice of the Vedic religion. "The sacrifice exercises a direct influence upon the celestial phenomena," says Bergaigne;⁶⁰ it is all-powerful of itself, and without any divine influence. It is this, for example, which broke open the doors of the cavern where the dawn was imprisoned and which made the light of day burst forth.⁶¹ In the same way there are special hymns which, by their direct action, made the waters of heaven fall upon the earth, and even in spite of the gods.⁶² The practice of certain austerities has the same power. More than that, "the sacrifice is so fully the origin of things par excellence, that they have attributed to it not only the origin of man, but even that of the gods.... Such a conception may well appear strange. It is explained, however, as being one of the ultimate consequences of the idea of the omnipotence of sacrifice."⁶³ Thus, in the entire first part of his work, M. Bergaigne speaks only of sacrifices, where divinities play no rôle whatsoever.

It is true that these rites are purely negative, but they are still religious. Other rites require active, positive services from the faithful, but they are nevertheless of the same nature. They work on their own, and their effectiveness depends on no divine power. They mechanically produce the effects for which they exist. They do not consist of prayers or offerings addressed to a being whose goodwill determines the expected result. Instead, the result comes from the automatic operation of the ritual. This is notably true of sacrifice in the Vedic religion. "The sacrifice has a direct influence on heavenly phenomena," says Bergaigne.⁶⁰ It is all-powerful in itself, without any divine influence. For example, sacrifice broke open the doors of the cave where the dawn was imprisoned. It made the light of day burst forth.⁶¹ Similarly, special hymns, through their direct action, brought the waters of heaven down to earth, even against the will of the gods.⁶² Certain practices of austerity have the same power. More than that, "sacrifice is so fully the origin of things par excellence that it has been credited with the origin of not only humans but even the gods.... Such an idea may well seem strange. It can be explained, however, as one of the ultimate consequences of the idea that sacrifice is all-powerful."⁶³ Thus, throughout the first part of his work, M. Bergaigne discusses only sacrifices in which divinities play no role whatsoever.

Nor is this fact peculiar to the Vedic religion, but is, on the contrary, quite general. In every cult there are practices which act by themselves, by a virtue which is their own, without the intervention of any god between the individual who practises the rite and the end sought after. When, in the so-called Feast of the Tabernacles, the Jew set the air in motion by shaking willow branches in a certain rhythm, it was to cause the wind to rise and the rain to fall; and it was believed that the desired phenomenon would result automatically from the rite, provided it were correctly performed.⁶⁴ This is the explanation of the fundamental importance laid by nearly all cults upon the material portion of the ceremonies. This religious formalism—very probably the first form of legal formalism—comes from the fact that since the formula to be pronounced and the movements to be made contain within themselves the source of their efficacy, they would lose it if they did not conform absolutely to the type consecrated by success.

This fact is not unique to the Vedic religion. On the contrary, it is quite general. Every cult has practices that work on their own, through a power they possess. No god intervenes between the person performing the rite and the desired result. During the so-called Feast of the Tabernacles, Jews shook willow branches in a certain rhythm to stir the air. They did this to make the wind rise and the rain fall. They believed the desired effect would follow automatically, provided the rite was performed correctly.⁶⁴ This explains why nearly all cults place fundamental importance on the physical details of ceremonies. This religious formalism was very probably the first form of legal formalism. It arises because the words spoken and the movements made contain the source of their own power. They would lose that power if they did not conform exactly to the form established by past success.

Thus there are rites without gods, and even rites from which gods are derived. All religious powers do not emanate from divine personalities, and there are relations of cult which have other objects than uniting man to a deity. Religion is more than the idea of gods or spirits, and consequently cannot be defined exclusively in relation to these latter.

So there are rites without gods, and even rites from which gods arise. Not all religious powers come from divine beings. Some religious practices have purposes other than connecting people to a deity. Religion is more than the idea of gods or spirits. Therefore, religion cannot be defined solely in relation to them.

These definitions set aside, let us set ourselves before the problem.

Setting these definitions aside, let us turn to the problem.

First of all, let us remark that in all these formulæ it is the nature of religion as a whole that they seek to express. They proceed as if it were a sort of indivisible entity, while, as a matter of fact, it is made up of parts; it is a more or less complex system of myths, dogmas, rites and ceremonies. Now a whole cannot be defined except in relation to its parts. It will be more methodical, then, to try to characterize the various elementary phenomena of which all religions are made up, before we attack the system produced by their union. This method is imposed still more forcibly by the fact that there are religious phenomena which belong to no determined religion. Such are those phenomena which constitute the matter of folk-lore. In general, they are the debris of passed religions, inorganized survivals; but there are some which have been formed spontaneously under the influence of local causes. In our European countries Christianity has forced itself to absorb and assimilate them; it has given them a Christian colouring. Nevertheless, there are many which have persisted up until a recent date, or which still exist with a relative autonomy: celebrations of May Day, the summer solstice or the carnival, beliefs relative to genii, local demons, etc., are cases in point. If the religious character of these facts is now diminishing, their religious importance is nevertheless so great that they have enabled Mannhardt and his school to revive the science of religions. A definition which did not take account of them would not cover all that is religious.

First, let us note that all these formulas seek to express the nature of religion as a whole. They treat religion as if it were indivisible. In fact, religion is made up of parts. It is a more or less complex system of myths, dogmas, rites, and ceremonies. A whole can be defined only in relation to its parts. So it will be more methodical to begin by describing the various basic phenomena that make up all religions. Only then can we address the system they form together. This method is even more necessary because some religious phenomena belong to no particular religion. These include the phenomena that make up folklore. In general, they are remnants of past religions, survivals that lack any organization. But some have arisen spontaneously under the influence of local causes. In our European countries, Christianity has found itself obliged to absorb and assimilate these phenomena. It has given them a Christian coloring. Nevertheless, many survived until recently or still exist with a degree of independence. Examples include celebrations of May Day, the summer solstice, and carnival, as well as beliefs about spirits and local demons. Although the religious character of these phenomena is now diminishing, their religious importance remains very great. Indeed, they enabled Mannhardt and his school to revive the science of religions. A definition that failed to take account of them would not cover everything that is religious.

Religious phenomena are naturally arranged in two fundamental categories: beliefs and rites. The first are states of opinion, and consist in representations; the second are determined modes of action. Between these two classes of facts there is all the difference which separates thought from action.

Religious phenomena naturally fall into two basic categories: beliefs and rites. Beliefs are states of opinion made up of ideas. Rites are established ways of acting. The difference between these two categories is the full difference between thought and action.

The rites can be defined and distinguished from other human practices, moral practices, for example, only by the special nature of their object. A moral rule prescribes certain manners of acting to us, just as a rite does, but which are addressed to a different class of objects. So it is the object of the rite which must be characterized, if we are to characterize the rite itself. Now it is in the beliefs that the special nature of this object is expressed. It is possible to define the rite only after we have defined the belief.

Rites can be defined and distinguished from other human practices, such as moral practices, only by the distinctive nature of their object. A moral rule tells us how to act, just as a rite does, but it concerns a different class of objects. So, to characterize a rite, we must characterize its object. Beliefs express the distinctive nature of the object of a rite. We can define a rite only after we have defined belief.

All known religious beliefs, whether simple or complex, present one common characteristic: they presuppose a classification of all the things, real and ideal, of which men think, into two classes or opposed groups, generally designated by two distinct terms which are translated well enough by the words profane and sacred (profane, sacré). This division of the world into two domains, the one containing all that is sacred, the other all that is profane, is the distinctive trait of religious thought; the beliefs, myths, dogmas and legends are either representations or systems of representations which express the nature of sacred things, the virtues and powers which are attributed to them, or their relations with each other and with profane things. But by sacred things one must not understand simply those personal beings which are called gods or spirits; a rock, a tree, a spring, a pebble, a piece of wood, a house, in a word, anything can be sacred. A rite can have this character; in fact, the rite does not exist which does not have it to a certain degree. There are words, expressions and formulæ which can be pronounced only by the mouths of consecrated persons; there are gestures and movements which everybody cannot perform. If the Vedic sacrifice has had such an efficacy that, according to mythology, it was the creator of the gods, and not merely a means of winning their favour, it is because it possessed a virtue comparable to that of the most sacred beings. The circle of sacred objects cannot be determined, then, once for all. Its extent varies infinitely, according to the different religions. That is how Buddhism is a religion: in default of gods, it admits the existence of sacred things, namely, the four noble truths and the practices derived from them.⁶⁵

All known religious beliefs, whether simple or complex, share one feature. They assume that everything people think about, both real and imagined, belongs to one of two opposing groups. These groups generally have distinct names, translated well enough as profane and sacred (profane, sacré). This division of the world into sacred and profane domains is the distinctive feature of religious thought. Beliefs, myths, doctrines, and legends are representations or systems of representations. They express the nature of sacred things, the qualities and powers attributed to them, or their relations with one another and with profane things. But sacred things are not limited to personal beings called gods or spirits. A rock, a tree, a spring, a pebble, a piece of wood, or a house can be sacred. In short, anything can be sacred. A rite can also be sacred. In fact, every rite is sacred to some degree. Only consecrated people may pronounce certain words, expressions, and formulas. Not everyone may perform certain gestures and movements. According to mythology, the Vedic sacrifice was powerful enough to create the gods, not merely to win their favor. If the sacrifice had such power, it was because it possessed a power comparable to that of the most sacred beings. The range of sacred objects, then, cannot be fixed once and for all. Its extent varies infinitely among religions. That is how Buddhism is a religion. Although it has no gods, Buddhism recognizes the existence of sacred things, namely, the four noble truths and the practices derived from them.⁶⁵

Up to the present we have confined ourselves to enumerating a certain number of sacred things as examples: we must now show by what general characteristics they are to be distinguished from profane things.

So far, we have only listed a number of sacred things as examples. We must now identify the general features that distinguish sacred things from profane things.

One might be tempted, first of all, to define them by the place they are generally assigned in the hierarchy of things. They are naturally considered superior in dignity and power to profane things, and particularly to man, when he is only a man and has nothing sacred about him. One thinks of himself as occupying an inferior and dependent position in relation to them; and surely this conception is not without some truth. Only there is nothing in it which is really characteristic of the sacred. It is not enough that one thing be subordinated to another for the second to be sacred in regard to the first. Slaves are inferior to their masters, subjects to their king, soldiers to their leaders, the miser to his gold, the man ambitious for power to the hands which keep it from him; but if it is sometimes said of a man that he makes a religion of those beings or things whose eminent value and superiority to himself he thus recognizes, it is clear that in any case the word is taken in a metaphorical sense, and that there is nothing in these relations which is really religious.⁶⁶

One might first be tempted to define sacred things by their usual place in the hierarchy of things. They are naturally considered superior in dignity and power to profane things. In particular, they are considered superior to a person who is merely human and has nothing sacred about them. People see themselves as inferior to and dependent on sacred things. And surely there is some truth in this view. But there is nothing in it that is truly distinctive of the sacred. One thing is not sacred to another merely because the other is subordinate to it. Slaves are inferior to their masters, subjects to their king, and soldiers to their leaders. The miser is inferior to his gold, and the person ambitious for power is inferior to those who withhold it. A person who recognizes the great value and superiority of such beings or things is sometimes said to make a religion of them. But in any such case, the word is clearly used metaphorically. There is nothing truly religious in these relationships.⁶⁶

On the other hand, it must not be lost to view that there are sacred things of every degree, and that there are some in relation to which a man feels himself relatively at his ease. An amulet has a sacred character, yet the respect which it inspires is nothing exceptional. Even before his gods, a man is not always in such a marked state of inferiority; for it very frequently happens that he exercises a veritable physical constraint upon them to obtain what he desires. He beats the fetich with which he is not contented, but only to reconcile himself with it again, if in the end it shows itself more docile to the wishes of its adorer.⁶⁷ To have rain, he throws stones into the spring or sacred lake where the god of rain is thought to reside; he believes that by this means he forces him to come out and show himself.⁶⁸ Moreover, if it is true that man depends upon his gods, this dependence is reciprocal. The gods also have need of man; without offerings and sacrifices they would die. We shall even have occasion to show that this dependence of the gods upon their worshippers is maintained even in the most idealistic religions.

On the other hand, we must remember that sacred things exist in many degrees. A man feels relatively at ease with some of them. An amulet is sacred, yet the respect it inspires is nothing exceptional. Even before his gods, a man does not always feel so clearly inferior. He very often uses actual physical force against them to get what he wants. He beats a fetish he is dissatisfied with. But he makes peace with it again if it eventually becomes more responsive to his wishes.⁶⁷ To bring rain, he throws stones into the spring or sacred lake where the rain god is thought to live. He believes that by doing so, he forces the god to come out and show himself.⁶⁸ Moreover, although man depends on his gods, the dependence is mutual. The gods also need man. Without offerings and sacrifices, they would die. We will even have occasion to show that gods remain dependent on their worshippers in the most idealistic religions.

But if a purely hierarchic distinction is a criterium at once too general and too imprecise, there is nothing left with which to characterize the sacred in its relation to the profane except their heterogeneity. However, this heterogeneity is sufficient to characterize this classification of things and to distinguish it from all others, because it is very particular: it is absolute. In all the history of human thought there exists no other example of two categories of things so profoundly differentiated or so radically opposed to one another. The traditional opposition of good and bad is nothing beside this; for the good and the bad are only two opposed species of the same class, namely morals, just as sickness and health are two different aspects of the same order of facts, life, while the sacred and the profane have always and everywhere been conceived by the human mind as two distinct classes, as two worlds between which there is nothing in common. The forces which play in one are not simply those which are met with in the other, but a little stronger; they are of a different sort. In different religions, this opposition has been conceived in different ways. Here, to separate these two sorts of things, it has seemed sufficient to localize them in different parts of the physical universe; there, the first have been put into an ideal and transcendental world, while the material world is left in full possession of the others. But howsoever much the forms of the contrast may vary,⁶⁹ the fact of the contrast is universal.

But if a purely hierarchical distinction is too general and imprecise a criterion, only their difference remains to characterize the relationship between the sacred and the profane. This difference is enough to distinguish this classification of things from all others, because the difference is distinctive: it is absolute. In the entire history of human thought, no other two categories of things have been so deeply differentiated or so radically opposed. The traditional opposition between good and bad is nothing by comparison. Good and bad are merely two opposed types within the same class, namely morality. Similarly, sickness and health are two different aspects of the same order of facts, life. But the human mind has always and everywhere conceived the sacred and the profane as two distinct classes. They are two worlds with nothing in common. The forces at work in one world are not simply stronger versions of those found in the other. They are different kinds of forces. Different religions have understood this opposition in different ways. In some, placing the two kinds of things in different parts of the physical universe has seemed enough to separate them. In others, sacred things have been placed in an ideal, transcendent world, leaving the material world entirely to profane things. But however much the forms of the contrast may vary,⁶⁹ the contrast itself is universal.

This is not equivalent to saying that a being can never pass from one of these worlds into the other: but the manner in which this passage is effected, when it does take place, puts into relief the essential duality of the two kingdoms. In fact, it implies a veritable metamorphosis. This is notably demonstrated by the initiation rites, such as they are practised by a multitude of peoples. This initiation is a long series of ceremonies with the object of introducing the young man into the religious life: for the first time, he leaves the purely profane world where he passed his first infancy, and enters into the world of sacred things. Now this change of state is thought of, not as a simple and regular development of pre-existent germs, but as a transformation totius substantiae—of the whole being. It is said that at this moment the young man dies, that the person that he was ceases to exist, and that another is instantly substituted for it. He is re-born under a new form. Appropriate ceremonies are felt to bring about this death and re-birth, which are not understood in a merely symbolic sense, but are taken literally.⁷⁰ Does this not prove that between the profane being which he was and the religious being which he becomes, there is a break of continuity?

This does not mean that a being can never pass from one of these worlds into the other. But when such a passage does occur, the way it happens highlights the essential duality of the two realms. It involves a genuine transformation. Initiation rites, as practiced by many peoples, show this especially clearly. Initiation is a long series of ceremonies meant to bring a young man into religious life. For the first time, he leaves the purely profane world in which he spent his early childhood. He enters the world of sacred things. This change of state is not seen as the simple, gradual development of qualities already present. Instead, it is seen as a transformation totius substantiae, of the whole being. At this moment, the young man is said to die. The person he was ceases to exist, and another person instantly takes his place. He is reborn in a new form. The appropriate ceremonies are believed to bring about this death and rebirth. They are understood literally, not merely as symbols.⁷⁰ Does this not prove that there is a break in continuity between the profane being he was and the religious being he becomes?

This heterogeneity is even so complete that it frequently degenerates into a veritable antagonism. The two worlds are not only conceived of as separate, but as even hostile and jealous rivals of each other. Since men cannot fully belong to one except on condition of leaving the other completely, they are exhorted to withdraw themselves completely from the profane world, in order to lead an exclusively religious life. Hence comes the monasticism which is artificially organized outside of and apart from the natural environment in which the ordinary man leads the life of this world, in a different one, closed to the first, and nearly its contrary. Hence comes the mystic asceticism whose object is to root out from man all the attachment for the profane world that remains in him. From that come all the forms of religious suicide, the logical working-out of this asceticism; for the only manner of fully escaping the profane life is, after all, to forsake all life.

The difference between the two worlds is so complete that it often becomes outright antagonism. The two worlds are seen not only as separate, but as hostile and jealous rivals. People can fully belong to one world only if they leave the other completely. So they are urged to withdraw completely from the profane world and lead an exclusively religious life. This is the source of monasticism. Monastic life is deliberately organized outside and apart from the natural environment where ordinary people live their worldly lives. It takes place in a different environment, closed off from the first and nearly its opposite. This is also the source of mystic asceticism, which aims to root out all remaining attachment to the profane world. From this come all forms of religious suicide, the logical outcome of this asceticism. After all, the only way to escape profane life completely is to give up life itself.

The opposition of these two classes manifests itself outwardly with a visible sign by which we can easily recognize this very special classification, wherever it exists. Since the idea of the sacred is always and everywhere separated from the idea of the profane in the thought of men, and since we picture a sort of logical chasm between the two, the mind irresistibly refuses to allow the two corresponding things to be confounded, or even to be merely put in contact with each other; for such a promiscuity, or even too direct a contiguity, would contradict too violently the dissociation of these ideas in the mind. The sacred thing is par excellence that which the profane should not touch, and cannot touch with impunity. To be sure, this interdiction cannot go so far as to make all communication between the two worlds impossible; for if the profane could in no way enter into relations with the sacred, this latter could be good for nothing. But, in addition to the fact that this establishment of relations is always a delicate operation in itself, demanding great precautions and a more or less complicated initiation,⁷¹ it is quite impossible, unless the profane is to lose its specific characteristics and become sacred after a fashion and to a certain degree itself. The two classes cannot even approach each other and keep their own nature at the same time.

The opposition between these two classes has a visible outward sign. This sign makes the special classification easy to recognize wherever it exists. In human thought, the idea of the sacred is always and everywhere separated from the idea of the profane. We imagine a kind of logical gulf between them. The mind therefore resists confusing the things that correspond to these ideas, or even letting them come into contact. Such mingling, or even close contact, would too sharply contradict the separation of the ideas in the mind. The sacred thing is par excellence what the profane should not touch and cannot touch without consequences. Of course, this prohibition cannot make all communication between the two worlds impossible. If the profane could have no relation to the sacred, the sacred would be of no use. But establishing such relations is always a delicate operation. It requires great precautions and a more or less complicated initiation.⁷¹ Moreover, such relations are impossible unless the profane loses its distinct characteristics and becomes sacred in some way and to some degree. The two classes cannot even approach each other while keeping their own natures.

Thus we arrive at the first criterium of religious beliefs. Undoubtedly there are secondary species within these two fundamental classes which, in their turn, are more or less incompatible with each other.⁷² But the real characteristic of religious phenomena is that they always suppose a bipartite division of the whole universe, known and knowable, into two classes which embrace all that exists, but which radically exclude each other. Sacred things are those which the interdictions protect and isolate; profane things, those to which these interdictions are applied and which must remain at a distance from the first. Religious beliefs are the representations which express the nature of sacred things and the relations which they sustain, either with each other or with profane things. Finally, rites are the rules of conduct which prescribe how a man should comport himself in the presence of these sacred objects.

We have now reached the first criterion of religious beliefs. These two basic classes undoubtedly contain subgroups that are also more or less incompatible with one another.⁷² But the defining feature of religious phenomena is that they always assume a division of the entire universe into two classes. These classes include everything that exists, everything known or knowable, but they completely exclude each other. Sacred things are protected and set apart by prohibitions. Profane things are subject to these prohibitions and must remain separate from sacred things. Religious beliefs are ideas that express the nature of sacred things. They also express the relationships among sacred things and between sacred and profane things. Finally, rites are rules of conduct that prescribe how a person should behave in the presence of sacred objects.

When a certain number of sacred things sustain relations of co-ordination or subordination with each other in such a way as to form a system having a certain unity, but which is not comprised within any other system of the same sort, the totality of these beliefs and their corresponding rites constitutes a religion. From this definition it is seen that a religion is not necessarily contained within one sole and single idea, and does not proceed from one unique principle which, though varying according to the circumstances under which it is applied, is nevertheless at bottom always the same: it is rather a whole made up of distinct and relatively individualized parts. Each homogeneous group of sacred things, or even each sacred thing of some importance, constitutes a centre of organization about which gravitate a group of beliefs and rites, or a particular cult; there is no religion, howsoever unified it may be, which does not recognize a plurality of sacred things. Even Christianity, at least in its Catholic form, admits, in addition to the divine personality which, incidentally, is triple as well as one, the Virgin, angels, saints, souls of the dead, etc. Thus a religion cannot be reduced to one single cult generally, but father consists in a system of cults, each endowed with a certain autonomy. Also, this autonomy is variable. Sometimes they are arranged in a hierarchy, and subordinated to some predominating cult, into which they are finally absorbed; but sometimes, also, they are merely rearranged and united. The religion which we are going to study will furnish us with an example of just this latter sort of organization.

When sacred things are coordinated or subordinated to one another, they may form a system with a certain unity. If that system is not part of another system of the same kind, its beliefs and corresponding rites constitute a religion. This definition shows that a religion is not necessarily contained in a single idea. Nor does it necessarily arise from one unique principle that remains fundamentally the same, though it varies in different circumstances. Rather, a religion is a whole made up of distinct, relatively individual parts. Each uniform group of sacred things forms a center around which a group of beliefs and rites, or a particular cult, is organized. Even a single sacred thing of some importance forms such a center. No religion, however unified, recognizes only one sacred thing. Even Christianity, at least in its Catholic form, recognizes the Virgin, angels, saints, the souls of the dead, and others, in addition to the divine personality. Incidentally, that divine personality is three as well as one. Thus, a religion generally cannot be reduced to a single cult. Rather, it consists of a system of cults, each with a certain degree of autonomy. That degree varies. Sometimes the cults are arranged in a hierarchy and subordinated to a dominant cult, into which they are eventually absorbed. At other times, they are simply arranged and united. The religion we are going to study will provide an example of this latter kind of organization.

At the same time we find the explanation of how there can be groups of religious phenomena which do not belong to any special religion; it is because they have not been, or are no longer, a part of any religious system. If, for some special reason, one of the cults of which we just spoke happens to be maintained while the group of which it was a part disappears, it survives only in a disintegrated condition. That is what has happened to many agrarian cults which have survived themselves as folk-lore. In certain cases, it is not even a cult, but a simple ceremony or particular rite which persists in this way.⁷³

This also explains how groups of religious phenomena can exist without belonging to any particular religion. They have either never been part of a religious system or no longer belong to one. One of the cults just mentioned may survive, for some special reason, after the group it belonged to disappears. If so, the cult survives only in a fragmented form. This has happened to many agricultural cults that have survived as folklore. In some cases, it is not even a cult that survives in this way, but a simple ceremony or a particular rite.⁷³

Although this definition is only preliminary, it permits us to see in what terms the problem which necessarily dominates the science of religions should be stated. When we believed that sacred beings could be distinguished from others merely by the greater intensity of the powers attributed to them, the question of how men came to imagine them was sufficiently simple: it was enough to demand which forces had, because of their exceptional energy, been able to strike the human imagination forcefully enough to inspire religious sentiments. But if, as we have sought to establish, sacred things differ in nature from profane things, if they have a wholly different essence, then the problem is more complex. For we must first of all ask what has been able to lead men to see in the world two heterogeneous and incompatible worlds, though nothing sensible experience seems able to suggest the idea of so radical a duality to them.

Although this definition is only a starting point, it shows us how to state the central problem of religious studies. We once believed that sacred beings differed from other beings only in the greater power attributed to them. On that view, the question of how people came to imagine sacred beings was fairly simple. We only had to ask which forces had struck the human imagination strongly enough, through their exceptional energy, to inspire religious feelings. But the problem is more complex if, as we have tried to show, sacred things differ in nature from profane things. It is more complex if sacred things have a wholly different essence. For we must first ask what could have led people to see two different and incompatible worlds within the world, even though nothing in sensory experience seems able to suggest such a radical division.

However, this definition is not yet complete, for it is equally applicable to two sorts of facts which, while being related to each other, must be distinguished nevertheless: these are magic and religion.

However, this definition is not yet complete because it applies equally to two kinds of phenomena: magic and religion. Although they are related, magic and religion must still be distinguished.

Magic, too, is made up of beliefs and rites. Like religion, it has its myths and its dogmas; only they are more elementary, undoubtedly because, seeking technical and utilitarian ends, it does not waste its time in pure speculation. It has its ceremonies, sacrifices, lustrations, prayers, chants and dances as well. The beings which the magician invokes and the forces which he throws in play are not merely of the same nature as the forces and beings to which religion addresses itself; very frequently, they are identically the same. Thus, even with the most inferior societies, the souls of the dead are essentially sacred things, and the object of religious rites. But at the same time, they play a considerable rôle in magic. In Australia⁷⁴ as well as in Melanesia,⁷⁵ in Greece as well as among the Christian peoples,⁷⁶ the souls of the dead, their bones and their hair, are among the intermediaries used the most frequently by the magician. Demons are also a common instrument for magic action. Now these demons are also beings surrounded with interdictions; they too are separated and live in a world apart, so that it is frequently difficult to distinguish them from the gods properly so-called.⁷⁷ Moreover, in Christianity itself, is not the devil a fallen god, or even leaving aside all question of his origin, does he not have a religious character from the mere fact that the hell of which he has charge is something indispensable to the Christian religion? There are even some regular and official deities who are invoked by the magician. Sometimes these are the gods of a foreign people; for example, Greek magicians called upon Egyptian, Assyrian or Jewish gods. Sometimes, they are even national gods: Hecate and Diana were the object of a magic cult; the Virgin, Christ and the saints have been utilized in the same way by Christian magicians.⁷⁸

Magic, too, consists of beliefs and rites. Like religion, it has myths and doctrines, but these are more basic. This is undoubtedly because magic seeks practical, useful ends and does not waste time on pure speculation. Magic also has ceremonies, sacrifices, ritual purifications, prayers, songs, and dances. The beings a magician calls upon and the forces a magician uses are not merely of the same kind as those addressed by religion. Very often, they are exactly the same. Even in the most basic societies, the souls of the dead are essentially sacred things and are the objects of religious rites. But they also play a significant role in magic. In Australia⁷⁴ as well as in Melanesia,⁷⁵ and in Greece as well as among Christian peoples,⁷⁶ magicians most frequently use the souls of the dead, their bones, and their hair as intermediaries. Demons are also commonly used in magic. These demons, too, are beings surrounded by prohibitions. They, too, are set apart and live in a separate world. As a result, it is often difficult to distinguish them from gods in the proper sense.⁷⁷ Moreover, in Christianity itself, is the devil not a fallen god? Even setting aside the question of his origin, does he not have a religious character? After all, the hell he rules is indispensable to the Christian religion. Magicians even call upon some established, officially recognized deities. Sometimes these are the gods of a foreign people. For example, Greek magicians called upon Egyptian, Assyrian, or Jewish gods. Sometimes they are even national gods: Hecate and Diana were worshipped in magical cults. Christian magicians have used the Virgin, Christ, and the saints in the same way.⁷⁸

Then will it be necessary to say that magic is hardly distinguishable from religion; that magic is full of religion just as religion is full of magic, and consequently that it is impossible to separate them and to define the one without the other? It is difficult to sustain this thesis, because of the marked repugnance of religion for magic, and in return, the hostility of the second towards the first. Magic takes a sort of professional pleasure in profaning holy things;⁷⁹ in its rites, it performs the contrary of the religious ceremony.⁸⁰ On its side, religion, when it has not condemned and prohibited magic rites, has always looked upon them with disfavour. As Hubert and Mauss have remarked, there is something thoroughly anti-religious in the doings of the magician.⁸¹ Whatever relations there may be between these two sorts of institutions, it is difficult to imagine their not being opposed somewhere; and it is still more necessary for us to find where they are differentiated, as we plan to limit our researches to religion, and to stop at the point where magic commences.

Must we then say that magic is hardly distinguishable from religion? Must we say that magic is full of religion, just as religion is full of magic? And must we therefore conclude that we cannot separate them or define one without the other? This argument is difficult to maintain because religion strongly dislikes magic, and magic is hostile to religion in return. Magic takes a kind of professional pleasure in profaning holy things.⁷⁹ Its rites do the opposite of religious ceremonies.⁸⁰ For its part, religion has always viewed magical rites with disapproval, even when it has not condemned and prohibited them. As Hubert and Mauss have observed, there is something thoroughly anti-religious in what a magician does.⁸¹ Whatever connections exist between these two kinds of institutions, they must be opposed in some way. It is even more important for us to find where they differ. We plan to limit our research to religion and stop where magic begins.

Here is how a line of demarcation can be traced between these two domains.

Here is how we can draw a boundary between these two domains.

The really religious beliefs are always common to a determined group, which makes profession of adhering to them and of practising the rites connected with them. They are not merely received individually by all the members of this group; they are something belonging to the group, and they make its unity. The individuals which compose it feel themselves united to each other by the simple fact that they have a common faith. A society whose members are united by the fact that they think in the same way in regard to the sacred world and its relations with the profane world, and by the fact that they translate these common ideas into common practices, is what is called a Church. In all history, we do not find a single religion without a Church. Sometimes the Church is strictly national, sometimes it passes the frontiers; sometimes it embraces an entire people (Rome, Athens, the Hebrews), sometimes it embraces only a part of them (the Christian societies since the advent of Protestantism); sometimes it is directed by a corps of priests, sometimes it is almost completely devoid of any official directing body.⁸² But wherever we observe the religious life, we find that it has a definite group as its foundation. Even the so-called private cults, such as the domestic cult or the cult of a corporation, satisfy this condition; for they are always celebrated by a group, the family or the corporation. Moreover, even these particular religions are ordinarily only special forms of a more general religion which embraces all;⁸³ these restricted Churches are in reality only chapels of a vaster Church which, by reason of this very extent, merits this name still more.⁸⁴

Truly religious beliefs are always shared by a particular group. The group declares that it holds these beliefs and practices the rites connected with them. The beliefs are not merely accepted by each member individually. They belong to the group and give it unity. Its members feel united simply because they share a faith. A Church is a society whose members share the same ideas about the sacred world and its relationship to the profane world. Its members are also united by putting these shared ideas into shared practices. In all of history, we find no religion without a Church. Sometimes a Church is confined to one nation. Sometimes it crosses national borders. Sometimes it includes an entire people (Rome, Athens, the Hebrews). Sometimes it includes only part of a people (the Christian societies since the advent of Protestantism). Sometimes a body of priests leads it. Sometimes it has almost no official governing body.⁸² But wherever we observe religious life, we find that it rests on a definite group. Even so-called private cults, such as the cult of a household or a corporation, meet this condition. They are always celebrated by a group, either a family or a corporation. Moreover, even these particular religions are usually only special forms of a more general religion that includes them all.⁸³ These smaller Churches are really only chapels of a larger Church. Because of its greater extent, the larger Church deserves the name even more.⁸⁴

It is quite another matter with magic. To be sure, the belief in magic is always more or less general; it is very frequently diffused in large masses of the population, and there are even peoples where it has as many adherents as the real religion. But it does not result in binding together those who adhere to it, nor in uniting them into a group leading a common life. There is no Church of magic. Between the magician and the individuals who consult him, as between these individuals themselves, there are no lasting bonds which make them members of the same moral community, comparable to that formed by the believers in the same god or the observers of the same cult. The magician has a clientele and not a Church, and it is very possible that his clients have no other relations between each other, or even do not know each other; even the relations which they have with him are generally accidental and transient; they are just like those of a sick man with his physician. The official and public character with which he is sometimes invested changes nothing in this situation; the fact that he works openly does not unite him more regularly or more durably to those who have recourse to his services.

Magic is quite different. Belief in magic is always shared to some extent. It is very often widespread among large sections of the population. Some peoples even have as many believers in magic as in the established religion. But belief in magic does not bind its followers together or unite them in a group with a common life. There is no Church of magic. No lasting bonds unite the magician and the people who consult him, or those people with one another. They do not belong to a shared moral community like that formed by believers in the same god or followers of the same cult. The magician has clients, not a Church. His clients may have no other relationship with one another, or may not even know one another. Even their relationships with the magician are generally occasional and short-lived, like those between a patient and a doctor. The official and public role sometimes given to the magician does not change this. Working openly does not bind him more regularly or more durably to those who use his services.

It is true that in certain cases, magicians form societies among themselves: it happens that they assemble more or less periodically to celebrate certain rites in common; it is well known what a place these assemblies of witches hold in European folk-lore. But it is to be remarked that these associations are in no way indispensable to the working of the magic; they are even rare and rather exceptional. The magician has no need of uniting himself to his fellows to practise his art. More frequently, he is a recluse; in general, far from seeking society, he flees it. "Even in regard to his colleagues, he always keeps his personal independence."⁸⁵ Religion, on the other hand, is inseparable from the idea of a Church. From this point of view, there is an essential difference between magic and religion. But what is especially important is that when these societies of magic are formed, they do not include all the adherents to magic, but only the magicians; the laymen, if they may be so called, that is to say, those for whose profit the rites are celebrated, in fine, those who represent the worshippers in the regular cults, are excluded. Now the magician is for magic what the priest is for religion, but a college of priests is not a Church, any more than a religious congregation which should devote itself to some particular saint in the shadow of a cloister, would be a particular cult. A Church is not a fraternity of priests; it is a moral community formed by all the believers in a single faith, laymen as well as priests. But magic lacks any such community.⁸⁶

It is true that magicians sometimes form societies among themselves. They may meet more or less regularly to perform certain rites together. The importance of witches’ gatherings in European folklore is well known. But such associations are in no way necessary for magic to work. They are rare and rather exceptional. A magician does not need to join other magicians to practise his art. More often, he is a recluse. In general, far from seeking company, he avoids it. "Even with his colleagues, he always maintains his personal independence."⁸⁵ Religion, on the other hand, cannot be separated from the idea of a Church. In this respect, there is an essential difference between magic and religion. More importantly, when magical societies do form, they do not include all followers of magic. They include only magicians. They exclude the laypeople, if we may call them that, for whose benefit the rites are performed. In short, these laypeople correspond to the worshippers in regular religious cults. Now, the magician is to magic what the priest is to religion. But a college of priests is not a Church. Nor would a religious congregation devoted to a particular saint in a cloister be a distinct cult. A Church is not a fraternity of priests. It is a moral community formed by all believers in a single faith, laypeople and priests alike. Magic has no such community.⁸⁶

But if the idea of a Church is made to enter into the definition of religion, does that not exclude the private religions which the individual establishes for himself and celebrates by himself? There is scarcely a society where these are not found. Every Ojibway, as we shall see below, has his own personal manitou, which he chooses himself and to which he renders special religious services; the Melanesian of the Banks Islands has his tamaniu;⁸⁷ the Roman, his genius;⁸⁸ the Christian, his patron saint and guardian angel, etc. By definition all these cults seem to be independent of all idea of the group. Not only are these individual religions very frequent in history, but nowadays many are asking if they are not destined to be the pre-eminent form of the religious life, and if the day will not come when there will be no other cult than that which each man will freely perform within himself.⁸⁹

But if we include the idea of a Church in the definition of religion, does that not exclude private religions? These are religions that individuals establish and practice by themselves. There is hardly a society where such religions are not found. As we shall see below, every Ojibway has a personal manitou, which he chooses and to which he offers special religious services. The Melanesian of the Banks Islands has his tamaniu;⁸⁷ the Roman, his genius;⁸⁸ and the Christian, his patron saint and guardian angel, and so on. By definition, all these forms of worship seem to be independent of any idea of a group. Individual religions are not only very common throughout history. Today, many people also ask whether they are destined to become the leading form of religious life. They ask whether a day will come when the only worship will be what each person freely practices within himself.⁸⁹

But if we leave these speculations in regard to the future aside for the moment, and confine ourselves to religions such as they are at present or have been in the past, it becomes clearly evident that these individual cults are not distinct and autonomous religious systems, but merely aspects of the common religion of the whole Church, of which the individuals are members. The patron saint of the Christian is chosen from the official list of saints recognized by the Catholic Church; there are even canonical rules prescribing how each Catholic should perform this private cult. In the same way, the idea that each man necessarily has a protecting genius is found, under different forms, at the basis of a great number of American religions, as well as of the Roman religion (to cite only these two examples); for, as will be seen later, it is very closely connected with the idea of the soul, and this idea of the soul is not one of those which can be left entirely to individual choice. In a word, it is the Church of which he is a member which teaches the individual what these personal gods are, what their function is, how he should enter into relations with them and how he should honour them. When a methodical analysis is made of the doctrines of any Church whatsoever, sooner or later we come upon those concerning private cults. So these are not two religions of different types, and turned in opposite directions; both are made up of the same ideas and the same principles, here applied to circumstances which are of interest to the group as a whole, there to the life of the individual. This solidarity is even so close that among certain peoples,⁹⁰ the ceremonies by which the faithful first enter into communication with their protecting geniuses are mixed with rites whose public character is incontestable, namely the rites of initiation.⁹¹

But let us set aside these speculations about the future for the moment. If we look only at religions as they exist now or existed in the past, one thing becomes clear. These individual cults are not separate, independent religious systems. They are merely aspects of the shared religion of the whole Church to which individuals belong. A Christian’s patron saint is chosen from the official list of saints recognized by the Catholic Church. Canonical rules even prescribe how each Catholic should practice this private cult. Similarly, the idea that each man necessarily has a protecting genius appears in many American religions and in Roman religion. These are only two examples, and the idea takes different forms in each. As we shall see later, the idea of a protecting genius is closely connected with the idea of the soul. And the idea of the soul cannot be left entirely to individual choice. In short, the Church to which an individual belongs teaches him about these personal gods. It teaches him what they are, what they do, how he should approach them, and how he should honor them. If we systematically analyze the doctrines of any Church, we will sooner or later find doctrines concerning private cults. So these are not two different types of religion moving in opposite directions. Both consist of the same ideas and principles. In one, they are applied to matters that concern the whole group. In the other, they are applied to the individual’s life. The connection is so close that among certain peoples,⁹⁰ the ceremonies through which the faithful first communicate with their protecting geniuses are mixed with unquestionably public rites. These are the rites of initiation.⁹¹

There still remain those contemporary aspirations towards a religion which would consist entirely in internal and subjective states, and which would be constructed freely by each of us. But howsoever real these aspirations may be, they cannot affect our definition, for this is to be applied only to facts already realized, and not to uncertain possibilities. One can define religions such as they are, or such as they have been, but not such as they more or less vaguely tend to become. It is possible that this religious individualism is destined to be realized in facts; but before we can say just how far this may be the case, we must first know what religion is, of what elements it is made up, from what causes it results, and what function it fulfils—all questions whose solution cannot be foreseen before the threshold of our study has been passed. It is only at the close of this study that we can attempt to anticipate the future.

There are still modern aspirations for a religion made up entirely of inner, subjective states, freely created by each of us. But however real these aspirations may be, they cannot affect our definition. The definition must apply only to things that already exist, not to uncertain possibilities. We can define religions as they are or as they have been. We cannot define them as they are more or less vaguely tending to become. This religious individualism may one day become a reality. But before we can say how far it may become a reality, we must first understand religion. We must know what religion is, what it consists of, what causes it, and what function it serves. We cannot know the answers to these questions before we begin our study. Only at the end of the study can we attempt to anticipate the future.

Thus we arrive at the following definition: A religion is a unified system of beliefs and practices relative to sacred things, that is to say, things set apart and forbidden—beliefs and practices which unite into one single moral community called a Church, all those who adhere to them. The second element which thus finds a place in our definition is no less essential than the first; for by showing that the idea of religion is inseparable from that of the Church, it makes it clear that religion should be an eminently collective thing.⁹²

We thus arrive at the following definition: A religion is a unified system of beliefs and practices concerning sacred things. Sacred things are things set apart and forbidden. These beliefs and practices unite all who follow them into a single moral community called a Church. The second element in this definition is just as essential as the first. It shows that the idea of religion is inseparable from the idea of the Church. It therefore makes clear that religion should be a profoundly collective thing.⁹²