RITES OF ATONEMENT AND THE AMBIGUITY OF THE SACRED

Howsoever much they may differ from one another in the nature of the gestures they imply, the positive rites which we have been passing under review have one common characteristic: they are all performed in a state of confidence, joy and even enthusiasm. Though the expectation of a future and contingent event is not without a certain uncertainty, still it is normal that the rain fall when the season for it comes, and that the animal and vegetable species reproduce regularly. Oft-repeated experiences have shown that the rites generally do produce the effects which are expected of them and which are the reason for their existence. Men celebrate them with confidence, joyfully anticipating the happy event which they prepare and announce. Whatever movements men perform participate in this same state of mind: of course, they are marked with the gravity which a religious solemnity always supposes, but this gravity excludes neither animation nor joy.

The positive rites we have reviewed differ greatly in the gestures they involve. Yet they all share one characteristic: they are performed with confidence, joy, and even enthusiasm. Waiting for an event that may happen in the future involves some uncertainty. Even so, rain normally falls when its season comes, and animal and plant species normally reproduce regularly. Repeated experience has shown that the rites generally produce the expected effects for which they exist. People perform the rites with confidence, joyfully anticipating the happy event they prepare for and announce. Whatever movements people make reflect this same state of mind. Of course, their movements have the seriousness that a religious ceremony always requires. But this seriousness does not rule out energy or joy.

These are all joyful feasts. But there are sad celebrations as well, whose object is either to meet a calamity, or else merely to commemorate and deplore it. These rites have a special aspect, which we are going to attempt to characterize and explain. It is the more necessary to study them by themselves since they are going to reveal a new aspect of the religious life to us.

These are all joyful feasts. But there are also sad celebrations, meant either to respond to a disaster or simply to remember and mourn it. These rites have a distinctive character, which we will try to describe and explain. It is especially important to study them separately because they will reveal a new aspect of religious life.

We propose to call the ceremonies of this sort piacular. The term piaculum has the advantage that while it suggests the idea of expiation, it also has a much more extended signification. Every misfortune, everything of evil omen, everything that inspires sentiments of sorrow or fear necessitates a piaculum and is therefore called piacular.¹²³³ So this word seems to be very well adapted for designating the rites which are celebrated by those in a state of uneasiness or sadness.

We propose calling ceremonies of this kind piacular. The term piaculum is useful because it suggests expiation but also has a much broader meaning. Every misfortune, every bad omen, and everything that inspires sorrow or fear requires a piaculum and is therefore called piacular.¹²³³ So this word seems well suited to describing rites performed by people who are uneasy or sad.

Mourning offers us a first and important example of piacular rites.

Mourning is the first important example of piacular rites.

However, a distinction is necessary between the different rites which go to make up mourning. Some consist in mere abstentions: it is forbidden to pronounce the name of the dead,¹²³⁴ or to remain near the place where the death occurred;¹²³⁵ relatives, especially the female ones, must abstain from all communication with strangers;¹²³⁶ the ordinary occupations of life are suspended, just as in feast-time,¹²³⁷ etc. All these practices belong to the negative cult and are explained like the other rites of the same sort, so they do not concern us at present. They are due to the fact that the dead man is a sacred being. Consequently, everything which is or has been connected with him is, by contagion, in a religious state excluding all contact with things from profane life.

However, we must distinguish between the different rites that make up mourning. Some consist simply of abstaining from certain things. People are forbidden to speak the name of the dead person,¹²³⁴ or to remain near the place where the death occurred.¹²³⁵ Relatives, especially women, must avoid all contact with strangers.¹²³⁶ Ordinary activities are suspended, just as they are during a feast,¹²³⁷ and so on. All these practices belong to the negative cult and are explained in the same way as other similar rites. So they do not concern us now. They arise because the dead person is a sacred being. As a result, everything connected with the dead person, now or in the past, becomes religiously charged by contagion. This religious state excludes all contact with things from ordinary, profane life.

But mourning is not made up entirely of interdicts which have to be observed. Positive acts are also demanded, in which the relatives are both the actors and those acted upon.

But mourning does not consist entirely of prohibitions that must be observed. It also requires actions in which relatives both act and are acted upon.

Very frequently these rites commence as soon as the death appears imminent. Here is a scene which Spencer and Gillen witnessed among the Warramunga. A totemic ceremony had just been celebrated and the company of actors and spectators was leaving the consecrated ground when a piercing cry suddenly came from the camp: a man was dying there. At once, the whole company commenced to run as fast as they could, while most of them commenced to howl. "Between us and the camp," say these observers, "lay a deep creek, and on the bank of this, some of the men, scattered about here and there, sat down, bending their heads forwards between their knees, while they wept and moaned. Crossing the creek we found that, as usual, the men's camp had been pulled to pieces. Some of the women, who had come from every direction, were lying prostrate on the body, while others were standing or kneeling around, digging the sharp ends of yam-sticks into the crown of their heads, from which the blood streamed down over their faces, while all the time they kept up a loud, continuous wail. Many of the men, rushing up to the spot, threw themselves upon the body, from which the women arose when the men approached, until in a few minutes we could see nothing but a struggling mass of bodies all mixed up together. To one side, three men of the Thapungarti class, who still wore their ceremonial decorations, sat down wailing loudly, with their backs towards the dying man, and in a minute or two another man of the same class rushed on to the ground yelling and brandishing a stone knife. Reaching the camp, he suddenly gashed both thighs deeply, cutting right across the muscles, and, unable to stand, fell down into the middle of the group, from which he was dragged out after a time by three or four female relatives, who immediately applied their mouths to the gaping wounds while he lay exhausted on the ground." The man did not actually die until late in the evening. As soon as he had given up his last breath, the same scene was re-enacted, only this time the wailing was still louder, and men and women, seized by a veritable frenzy, were rushing about cutting themselves with knives and sharp-pointed sticks, the women battering one another's heads with fighting clubs, no one attempting to ward off either cuts or blows. Finally, after about an hour, a torchlight procession started off across the plain, to a tree in whose branches the body was left.¹²³⁸

These rites often begin as soon as death seems near. Spencer and Gillen witnessed one such scene among the Warramunga. A totemic ceremony had just ended, and the performers and spectators were leaving the sacred ground. Suddenly, a piercing cry came from the camp, where a man was dying. Everyone immediately began to run as fast as they could, and most began to howl. “Between us and the camp,” the observers say, “was a deep creek. On its bank, some of the men sat scattered here and there. They bent their heads forward between their knees as they wept and moaned. After crossing the creek, we found that the men’s camp had been pulled to pieces, as usual. Some women, who had come from every direction, were lying face down on the body. Others stood or knelt around it, digging the sharp ends of yam-sticks into the tops of their heads. Blood streamed down their faces, and all the while they kept up a loud, continuous wail. Many of the men rushed to the spot and threw themselves on the body. The women rose as the men approached. Within a few minutes, we could see nothing but a struggling mass of bodies, all mixed together. To one side, three men of the Thapungarti class sat wailing loudly, with their backs to the dying man. They still wore their ceremonial decorations. A minute or two later, another man of the same class rushed onto the ground, yelling and brandishing a stone knife. When he reached the camp, he suddenly slashed both thighs deeply, cutting right across the muscles. Unable to stand, he fell into the middle of the group. After a while, three or four female relatives dragged him out. As he lay exhausted on the ground, they immediately put their mouths to the gaping wounds.” The man did not actually die until late that evening. As soon as he breathed his last, the same scene took place again, but this time the wailing was even louder. Men and women, seized by a real frenzy, rushed about cutting themselves with knives and sharp-pointed sticks. The women beat one another’s heads with fighting clubs. No one tried to ward off the cuts or blows. Finally, after about an hour, a torchlight procession set off across the plain. It went to a tree, where the body was left in the branches.¹²³⁸

Howsoever great the violence of these manifestations may be, they are strictly regulated by etiquette. The individuals who make bloody incisions in themselves are designated by usage: they must have certain relations of kinship with the dead man. Thus, in the case observed by Spencer and Gillen among the Warramunga, those who slashed their thighs were the maternal grandfather of the deceased, his maternal uncle, and the maternal uncle and brother of his wife.¹²³⁹ Others must cut their whiskers and hair, and then smear their scalps with pipe-clay. Women have particularly severe obligations. They must cut their hair and cover the whole body with pipe-clay; in addition to this, a strict silence is imposed upon them during the whole period of mourning, which may last as long as two years. It is not rare among the Warramunga that, as a result of this interdiction, all the women of a camp are condemned to the most absolute silence. This becomes so habitual to them that even after the expiration of the period of mourning, they voluntarily renounce all spoken language and prefer to communicate with gestures—in which, by the way, they acquire a remarkable ability. Spencer and Gillen knew one old woman who had not spoken for over twenty-four years.¹²⁴⁰

However violent these acts may be, strict rules of conduct govern them. Custom determines who must make bloody cuts in their own bodies. They must have certain kinship ties to the dead man. Spencer and Gillen observed one such case among the Warramunga. The people who slashed their thighs were the deceased man’s maternal grandfather and maternal uncle, and his wife’s maternal uncle and brother.¹²³⁹ Others must cut their whiskers and hair, then smear their scalps with pipe-clay. Women have especially severe obligations. They must cut their hair and cover their whole bodies with pipe-clay. They must also remain strictly silent throughout the mourning period, which may last as long as two years. Among the Warramunga, this rule often condemns all the women in a camp to complete silence. Silence becomes so habitual that, even after mourning ends, they voluntarily give up speaking and prefer to communicate through gestures. They become remarkably skilled at using gestures. Spencer and Gillen knew one old woman who had not spoken for over twenty-four years.¹²⁴⁰

The ceremony which we have described opens a long series of rites which succeed one another for weeks and even for months. During the days which follow, they are renewed in various forms. Groups of men and women sit on the ground, weeping and lamenting, and kissing each other at certain moments. These ritual kissings are repeated frequently during the period of mourning. It seems as though men felt a need of coming close together and communicating most closely; they are to be seen holding to each other and wound together so much as to make one single mass, from which loud groans escape.¹²⁴¹ Meanwhile, the women commence to lacerate their heads again, and, in order to intensify the wounds they make, they even go so far as to burn them with the points of fiery sticks.¹²⁴²

The ceremony we have described begins a long series of rites that follow one another for weeks or even months. In the days that follow, the rites are repeated in various forms. Groups of men and women sit on the ground, weeping and lamenting. At certain moments, they kiss one another. These ritual kisses are repeated frequently during the mourning period. The mourners seem to feel a need to come together and connect as closely as possible. They hold on to one another and intertwine until they form a single mass, from which loud groans emerge.¹²⁴¹ Meanwhile, the women begin to cut their heads again. To make the wounds worse, they even burn them with the tips of burning sticks.¹²⁴²

Practices of this sort are general in all Australia. The funeral rites, that is, the ritual cares given to the corpse, the way in which it is buried, etc., change with different tribes,¹²⁴³ and in a single tribe they vary with the age, sex and social importance of the individual.¹²⁴⁴ But the real ceremonies of mourning repeat the same theme everywhere; the variations are only in the details. Everywhere we find this same silence interrupted by groans,¹²⁴⁵ the same obligation of cutting the hair and beard,¹²⁴⁶ or of covering one's head with pipe-clay or cinders, or perhaps even with excrements;¹²⁴⁷ everywhere, finally, we find this same frenzy for beating one's self, lacerating one's self and burning one's self. In central Victoria, "when death visits a tribe there is great weeping and lamentation amongst the women, the elder portion of whom lacerate their temples with their nails. The parents of the deceased lacerate themselves fearfully, especially if it be an only son whose loss they deplore. The father beats and cuts his head with a tomahawk until he utters bitter groans, the mother sits by the fire and burns her breasts and abdomen with a small fire-stick. Sometimes the burns thus inflicted are so severe as to cause death."¹²⁴⁸

Practices like these are common throughout Australia. Funeral rites include the ritual care given to the body and the way it is buried. These rites differ among tribes,¹²⁴³ and within a single tribe, they vary according to the person’s age, sex, and social importance.¹²⁴⁴ But mourning ceremonies follow the same pattern everywhere. Only the details vary. Everywhere, there is the same silence, interrupted by groans,¹²⁴⁵ and the same obligation to cut the hair and beard.¹²⁴⁶ People also cover their heads with pipe clay or ashes, or perhaps even excrement.¹²⁴⁷ Finally, everywhere there is the same frenzy of beating, cutting, and burning oneself. In central Victoria, "when death comes to a tribe, the women weep and lament greatly. The older women scratch their temples with their nails. The deceased person’s parents cut themselves terribly, especially if they are mourning the loss of an only son. The father beats and cuts his head with a tomahawk until he groans bitterly. The mother sits by the fire and burns her breasts and abdomen with a small burning stick. Sometimes these burns are so severe that they cause death."¹²⁴⁸

According to an account of Brough Smyth, here is what happens in one of the southern tribes of the same state. As the body is lowered into the grave, "the widow begins her sad ceremonies. She cuts off her hair above her forehead, and becoming frantic, seizes fire-sticks, and burns her breasts, arms, legs and thighs. She seems to delight in the self-inflicted torture. It would be rash and vain to interrupt her. When exhausted, and when she can hardly walk, she yet endeavours to kick the embers of the fire, and to throw them about. Sitting down, she takes the ashes into her hands, rubs them into her wounds, and then scratches her face (the only part not touched by the fire-sticks) until the blood mingles with the ashes, which partly hide her cruel wounds. In this plight, scratching her face continually, she utters howls and lamentations."¹²⁴⁹

According to Brough Smyth, this is what happens in one of the southern tribes of the same state. As the body is lowered into the grave, "the widow begins her sad ceremonies. She cuts off the hair above her forehead. Becoming frantic, she grabs fire-sticks and burns her breasts, arms, legs, and thighs. She seems to take pleasure in the pain she inflicts on herself. It would be rash and pointless to interrupt her. Even when exhausted and barely able to walk, she still tries to kick the embers and scatter them. She sits down, takes the ashes in her hands, and rubs them into her wounds. Then she scratches her face, the only part untouched by the fire-sticks. She scratches until the blood mixes with the ashes, which partly hide her cruel wounds. In this state, she howls and laments while continually scratching her face."¹²⁴⁹

The description which Howitt gives of the rites of mourning among the Kurnai is remarkably similar to these others. After the body has been wrapped up in opossum skins and put in a shroud of bark, a hut is built in which the relatives assemble. "There they lay lamenting their loss, saying, for instance, 'Why did you leave us?' Now and then their grief would be intensified by some one, for instance, the wife, uttering an ear-piercing wail, 'My spouse is dead,' or another would say, 'My child is dead.' All the others would then join in with the proper term of relationship, and they would gash themselves with sharp stones and tomahawks until their heads and bodies streamed with blood. This bitter wailing and weeping continued all night."¹²⁵⁰

Howitt’s description of the Kurnai mourning rites is remarkably similar to the others. The body is wrapped in opossum skins and placed in a bark shroud. Then a hut is built where the relatives gather. "There they lay mourning their loss, saying, for example, 'Why did you leave us?' Now and then, someone would intensify their grief. A wife, for example, might let out a piercing wail, 'My spouse is dead,' or someone else might say, 'My child is dead.' All the others would then join in, each using the appropriate term for their relationship to the deceased. They would cut themselves with sharp stones and tomahawks until their heads and bodies streamed with blood. This bitter wailing and crying continued all night."¹²⁵⁰

Sadness is not the only sentiment expressed during these ceremonies; a sort of anger is generally mixed with it. The relatives feel a need of avenging the death in some way or other. They are to be seen throwing themselves upon one another and trying to wound each other. Sometimes the attack is real; sometimes it is only pretended.¹²⁵¹ There are even cases when these peculiar combats are organized. Among the Kaitish, the hair of the deceased passes by right to his son-in-law. But he, in return, must go, in company with some of his relatives and friends, and provoke a quarrel with one of his tribal brothers, that is, with a man belonging to the same matrimonial class as himself and one who might therefore have married the daughter of the dead man. This provocation cannot be refused and the two combatants inflict serious wounds upon each other's shoulders and thighs. When the duel is terminated, the challenger passes on to his adversary the hair which he had temporarily inherited. This latter then provokes and fights with another of his tribal brothers, to whom the precious relic is next transmitted, but only provisionally; thus it passes from hand to hand and circulates from group to group.¹²⁵² Also, something of these same sentiments enters into that sort of rage with which each relative beats himself, burns himself or slashes himself: a sorrow which reaches such a paroxysm is not without a certain amount of anger. One cannot fail to be struck by the resemblances which these practices present to those of the vendetta. Both proceed from the same principle that death demands the shedding of blood. The only difference is that in one case the victims are the relatives, while in the other they are strangers. We do not have to treat especially of the vendetta, which belongs rather to the study of juridic institutions; but it should be pointed out, nevertheless, how it is connected with the rites of mourning, whose end it announces.¹²⁵³

Sadness is not the only emotion expressed during these ceremonies. It is generally mixed with a kind of anger. The relatives feel a need to avenge the death in some way. They can be seen attacking one another and trying to wound each other. Sometimes the attack is real. Sometimes it is only pretend.¹²⁵¹ In some cases, these peculiar fights are even organized. Among the Kaitish, the deceased man's hair passes by right to his son-in-law. In return, the son-in-law must go with some relatives and friends and provoke a quarrel with a tribal brother. This means a man in the same matrimonial class as himself, who could therefore have married the dead man's daughter. The man cannot refuse the challenge. The two fighters inflict serious wounds on each other's shoulders and thighs. When the duel is over, the challenger passes the hair he had temporarily inherited to his opponent. The opponent then challenges and fights another of his tribal brothers. He passes the precious relic on to that man, but only temporarily. In this way, the hair passes from hand to hand and circulates from group to group.¹²⁵² Some of these same feelings also enter into the kind of rage with which each relative beats, burns, or cuts himself. Sorrow that reaches such an extreme is not without a certain amount of anger. The similarities between these practices and those of the vendetta are striking. Both arise from the same principle: death demands the shedding of blood. The only difference is that in one case the victims are relatives, while in the other they are strangers. We do not need to deal specifically with the vendetta, which belongs more properly to the study of legal institutions. But its connection with the rites of mourning should still be noted. The vendetta announces the end of those rites.¹²⁵³

In certain societies, the mourning is terminated by a ceremony whose effervescence reaches or surpasses that produced by the inaugural ceremonies. Among the Arunta, this closing rite is called Urpmilchima. Spencer and Gillen assisted at two of these rites. One was celebrated in honour of a man, the other of a woman. Here is the description they give of the latter.¹²⁵⁴

In some societies, mourning ends with a ceremony whose excitement equals or exceeds that of the opening ceremonies. Among the Arunta, this closing rite is called Urpmilchima. Spencer and Gillen attended two of these rites. One was held in honor of a man, the other in honor of a woman. Here is their description of the rite for the woman.¹²⁵⁴

They commence by making some ornaments of a special sort, called Chimurilia by the men and Aramurilia by the women. With a kind of resin, they fixed small animal bones, which had previously been gathered and set aside, to locks of hair furnished by the relatives of the dead woman. These are then attached to one of the head-bands which women ordinarily wear and the feathers of black cockatoos and parrots are added to it. When these preparations are completed, the women assemble in their camp. They paint their bodies different colours, according to their degree of kinship with the deceased. After being embraced by one another for some ten minutes, while uttering uninterrupted groans, they set out for the tomb. At a certain distance, they meet a brother by blood of the dead woman, who is accompanied by some of his tribal brothers. Everybody sits down on the ground, and the lamentations recommence. A pitchi¹²⁵⁵ containing the Chimurilia is then presented to the elder brother, who presses it against his stomach; they say that this is a way of lessening his sorrow. They take out one of the Chimurilia and the dead woman's mother puts it on her head for a little while; then it is put back into the pitchi, which each of the other men presses against his breast, in his turn. Finally, the brother puts the Chimurilia on the heads of two elder sisters and they set out again for the tomb. On the way, the mother throws herself on the ground several times, and tries to slash her head with a pointed stick. Every time, the other women pick her up, and seem to take care that she does not hurt herself too much. When they arrive at the tomb, she throws herself on the knoll and endeavours to destroy it with her hands, while the other women literally dance upon her. The tribal mothers and aunts (sisters of the dead woman's father) follow her example; they also throw themselves on the ground, and mutually beat and tear each other; finally their bodies are all streaming with blood. After a while, they are dragged aside. The elder sisters then make a hole in the earth of the tomb, in which they place the Chimurilia, which had previously been torn to pieces. Once again the tribal mothers throw themselves on the ground and slash each other's heads. At this moment, "the weeping and wailing of the women who were standing round seemed to drive them almost frenzied, and the blood, streaming down their bodies over the white pipe-clay, gave them a ghastly appearance. At last only the old mother was left crouching alone, utterly exhausted and moaning weakly on the grave."¹²⁵⁶ Then the others raised her up and rubbed off the pipe-clay with which she was covered; this was the end of the ceremony and of the mourning.¹²⁵⁶

They begin by making special ornaments called Chimurilia by the men and Aramurilia by the women. They use a kind of resin to attach small animal bones to locks of hair. The bones had already been collected and set aside, and the dead woman's relatives had provided the hair. They then attach these to a headband of the kind women usually wear. They also add black cockatoo and parrot feathers. When the preparations are complete, the women gather in their camp. They paint their bodies different colors according to how closely they were related to the dead woman. They embrace one another for about ten minutes, groaning without interruption. Then they set out for the tomb. Some distance away, they meet a blood brother of the dead woman, accompanied by some of his tribal brothers. Everyone sits on the ground, and the wailing begins again. A pitchi¹²⁵⁵ containing the Chimurilia is then presented to the elder brother, who presses it against his stomach. They say this lessens his sorrow. They take out one of the Chimurilia, and the dead woman's mother wears it on her head briefly. Then it is put back in the pitchi, which each of the other men presses against his chest in turn. Finally, the brother puts the Chimurilia on the heads of two elder sisters, and they set out again for the tomb. On the way, the mother throws herself to the ground several times and tries to slash her head with a pointed stick. Each time, the other women pick her up and seem to take care that she does not hurt herself too badly. When they reach the tomb, she throws herself onto the mound and tries to destroy it with her hands. Meanwhile, the other women literally dance on her. The tribal mothers and aunts (sisters of the dead woman's father) follow her example. They too throw themselves on the ground and beat and tear at one another. At last, their bodies are all streaming with blood. After a while, they are dragged aside. The elder sisters then make a hole in the earth of the tomb. They place the Chimurilia in it, after tearing them to pieces. Once again, the tribal mothers throw themselves on the ground and slash one another's heads. At this moment, "the weeping and wailing of the women standing around seemed to drive them almost into a frenzy. Blood streamed down their bodies over the white pipe-clay, giving them a ghastly appearance. At last, only the old mother was left, crouching alone on the grave, utterly exhausted and moaning weakly."¹²⁵⁶ Then the others helped her up and rubbed off the pipe-clay that covered her. This marked the end of the ceremony and of the mourning.¹²⁵⁶

Among the Warramunga, the final rite presents some rather particular characteristics. There seems to be no shedding of blood here, but the collective effervescence is translated in another manner.

Among the Warramunga, the final rite has some distinctive features. There seems to be no bloodshed, but the shared excitement takes another form.

Among his people, before the body is definitely interred, it is exposed upon a platform placed in the branches of a tree; it is left there to decompose slowly, until nothing remains but the bones. Then these are gathered together and, with the exception of the humerus, they are placed inside an ant-hill. The humerus is wrapped up in a bark box, which is decorated in different manners. The box is then brought to camp, amid the cries and groans of the women. During the following days, they celebrate a series of totemic rites, concerning the totem of the deceased and the mythical history of the ancestors from whom the clan is descended. When all these ceremonies have been terminated, they proceed to the closing rite.

Among his people, before the body is finally buried, it is laid on a platform in the branches of a tree. It is left there to decompose slowly until only the bones remain. Then the bones are gathered and placed inside an anthill, except for the humerus. The humerus is wrapped in a bark box, which is decorated in various ways. The box is then brought to the camp, while the women cry and groan. Over the following days, they perform a series of totemic rites. These concern the deceased person's totem and the mythical history of the ancestors from whom the clan is descended. When all these ceremonies are over, they perform the final rite.

A trench one foot deep and fifteen feet long is dug in the field of the ceremony. A design representing the totem of the deceased and certain spots where the ancestor stopped is made on the ground a little distance from it. Near this design, a little ditch is dug in the ground. Ten decorated men then advance, one behind another, and with their hands crossed behind their heads and their legs wide apart they stand astraddle the trench. At a given signal, the women run from the camp in a profound silence; when they are near, they form in Indian file, the last one holding in her hands the box containing the humerus. Then, after throwing themselves on the ground, they advance on their hands and knees, and pass all along the trench, between the legs of the men. The scene shows a state of great sexual excitement. As soon as the last woman has passed, they take the box from her, and take it to the ditch, near which is an old man; he breaks the bone with a sharp blow, and hurriedly buries it in the debris. During this time, the women have remained at a distance, with their backs turned upon the scene, for they must not see it. But when they hear the blow of the axe, they flee, uttering cries and groans. The rite is accomplished; the mourning is terminated.¹²⁵⁷

A trench one foot deep and fifteen feet long is dug in the ceremonial field. A short distance away, a design is drawn on the ground. It represents the deceased person’s totem and certain places where the ancestor stopped. A small ditch is dug near the design. Ten decorated men then come forward, one behind another. They stand astride the trench, with their hands crossed behind their heads and their legs wide apart. At a signal, the women run from the camp in complete silence. As they approach, they form a single line. The last woman carries the box containing the humerus in her hands. Then they throw themselves on the ground and move forward on their hands and knees. They pass along the trench between the men’s legs. The scene shows a state of great sexual excitement. As soon as the last woman has passed, they take the box from her. They carry it to the ditch, where an old man stands nearby. He breaks the bone with a sharp blow and quickly buries it in the debris. During this time, the women have remained at a distance, with their backs to the scene, because they must not see it. But when they hear the blow of the axe, they flee, crying and groaning. The rite is complete, and the mourning is over.¹²⁵⁷

These rites belong to a very different type from those which we have studied hitherto. We do not mean to say that important resemblances cannot be found between the two, which we shall have to note; but the differences are more apparent. Instead of happy dances, songs and dramatic representations which distract and relax the mind, they are tears and groans and, in a word, the most varied manifestations of agonized sorrow and a sort of mutual pity, which occupy the whole scene. Of course the shedding of blood also takes place in the Intichiuma, but this is an oblation made with a movement of pious enthusiasm. Even though the motions may be the same, the sentiments expressed are different and even opposed. Likewise, the ascetic rites certainly imply privations, abstinences and mutilations, but ones which must be borne with an impassive firmness and serenity. Here, on the contrary, dejection, cries and tears are the rule. The ascetic tortures himself in order to prove, in his own eyes and those of his fellows, that he is above suffering. During mourning, men injure themselves to prove that they suffer. By all these signs, the characteristic traits of the piacular rites are to be recognized.

These rites are very different from those we have studied so far. We do not mean that there are no important similarities between the two. We will need to note those similarities, but the differences are more obvious. The earlier rites feature joyful dances, songs and dramatic performances that distract and relax the mind. Here, the whole scene is filled instead with tears, groans, and many other expressions of anguished sorrow and a kind of mutual pity. Blood is also shed during the Intichiuma, of course, but this is an offering made with devout enthusiasm. Even if the actions are the same, the feelings they express are different and even opposed. Ascetic rites also involve deprivation, abstinence and mutilation. But these must be endured with unflinching firmness and calm. Here, by contrast, dejection, cries and tears are the rule. Ascetics inflict pain on themselves to prove to themselves and others that they are above suffering. During mourning, people injure themselves to prove that they suffer. All these signs reveal the characteristic features of piacular rites.

But how are they to be explained?

But how can they be explained?

One initial fact is constant: mourning is not the spontaneous expression of individual emotions.¹²⁵⁸ If the relations weep, lament, mutilate themselves, it is not because they feel themselves personally affected by the death of their kinsman. Of course, it may be that in certain particular cases, the chagrin expressed is really felt.¹²⁵⁹ But it is more generally the case that there is no connection between the sentiments felt and the gestures made by the actors in the rite.¹²⁶⁰ If, at the very moment when the weepers seem the most overcome by their grief, some one speaks to them of some temporal interest, it frequently happens that they change their features and tone at once, take on a laughing air and converse in the gayest fashion imaginable.¹²⁶¹ Mourning is not a natural movement of private feelings wounded by a cruel loss; it is a duty imposed by the group. One weeps, not simply because he is sad, but because he is forced to weep. It is a ritual attitude which he is forced to adopt out of respect for custom, but which is, in a large measure, independent of his affective state. Moreover, this obligation is sanctioned by mythical or social penalties. They believe, for example, that if a relative does not mourn as is fitting, then the soul of the departed follows upon his steps and kills him.¹²⁶² In other cases, society does not leave it to the religious forces to punish the negligent; it intervenes itself, and reprimands the ritual faults. If a son-in-law does not render to his father-in-law the funeral attentions which are due him, and if he does not make the prescribed incisions, then his tribal fathers-in-law take his wife away from him and give him another.¹²⁶³ Therefore, in order to square himself with usage, a man sometimes forces tears to flow by artificial means.¹²⁶⁴

One basic fact remains constant: mourning is not a spontaneous expression of individual emotions.¹²⁵⁸ Relatives do not weep, wail, and injure themselves because they feel personally affected by their kinsman’s death. Of course, in some cases, the grief they express may be genuine.¹²⁵⁹ But more often, there is no connection between what the mourners feel and what they do during the rite.¹²⁶⁰ Someone may speak to the mourners about an ordinary concern just when they seem most overwhelmed by grief. Their expressions and tone often change at once. They may begin smiling and chatting as cheerfully as imaginable.¹²⁶¹ Mourning is not a natural expression of private feelings wounded by a cruel loss. It is a duty imposed by the group. A person weeps not simply because they are sad, but because they are compelled to weep. They must adopt this ritual behavior out of respect for custom. But the behavior is largely independent of how they feel. Moreover, mythical or social penalties enforce this obligation. For example, people believe that if a relative does not mourn properly, the dead person’s soul follows and kills them.¹²⁶² In other cases, society does not leave religious forces to punish those who neglect their duty. Society intervenes and punishes failures to observe the rite. If a son-in-law does not give his father-in-law the required funeral attentions and make the prescribed cuts, his tribal fathers-in-law take his wife away and give him another.¹²⁶³ Therefore, to comply with custom, a man sometimes forces himself to produce tears by artificial means.¹²⁶⁴

Whence comes this obligation?

Where does this obligation come from?

Ethnographers and sociologists are generally satisfied with the reply which the natives themselves give to this question. They say that the dead wish to be lamented, that by refusing them the tribute of sorrow which is their right, men offend them, and that the only way of preventing their anger is to conform to their will.¹²⁶⁵

Ethnographers and sociologists are generally satisfied with the answer the natives themselves give to this question. The natives say the dead want to be mourned. If people deny the dead the sorrow they are owed, they offend them. The only way to prevent the anger of the dead is to do as they wish.¹²⁶⁵

But this mythological interpretation merely modifies the terms of the problem, without resolving it; it is still necessary to explain why the dead imperatively reclaim the mourning. It may be said that it is natural for men to wish to be mourned and regretted. But in making this sentiment explain the complex system of rites which make up mourning, we attribute to the Australian affective exigencies of which the civilized man himself does not always give evidence. Let us admit—as is not evident a priori—that the idea of not being forgotten too readily is pleasing to a man who thinks of the future. It is still to be established that it has ever had enough importance in the minds of the living for one to attribute to the dead a state of mind proceeding almost entirely from this preoccupation. It seems especially improbable that such a sentiment could obsess and impassion men who are seldom accustomed to thinking beyond the present moment. So far is it from being a fact that the desire to survive in the memory of those who are still alive is to be regarded as the origin of mourning, that we may even ask ourselves whether it was not rather mourning itself which, when once established, aroused the idea of and the taste for posthumous regrets.

But this mythological interpretation only changes the terms of the problem. It does not solve it. We still need to explain why the dead demand to be mourned. One might say that people naturally wish to be mourned and missed. But if we use this feeling to explain the complex system of mourning rites, we make an assumption about Australians. We assume that they have emotional needs that even civilized people do not always show. Let us suppose that a person thinking about the future would like not to be forgotten too quickly. This is not obvious a priori. Even so, we must still establish that this concern has ever been important enough to the living. Only then can we attribute to the dead a state of mind based almost entirely on this concern. It seems especially unlikely that such a feeling could obsess and inflame people who seldom think beyond the present moment. The desire to live on in the memories of the living can hardly be taken as the origin of mourning. We might even ask whether mourning itself, once established, gave rise to the idea of being missed after death and the desire for it.

The classic interpretation appears still more unsustainable when we know what the primitive mourning consists in. It is not made up merely of pious regrets accorded to him who no longer is, but also of severe abstinences and cruel sacrifices. The rite does not merely demand that one think of the deceased in a melancholy way, but also that he beat himself, bruise himself, lacerate himself and burn himself. We have even seen that persons in mourning sometimes torture themselves to such a degree that they do not survive their wounds. What reason has the dead man for imposing such torments upon them? Such a cruelty on his part denotes something more than a desire not to be forgotten. If he is to find pleasure in seeing his own suffer, it is necessary that he hate them, that he be thirsty for their blood. This ferocity would undoubtedly appear natural to those for whom every spirit is necessarily an evil and redoubted power. But we know that there are spirits of every sort; how does it happen that the soul of the dead man is necessarily an evil spirit? As long as the man is alive, he loves his relatives and exchanges services with them. Is it not strange that as soon as it is freed from his body, his soul should instantly lay aside its former sentiments and become an evil and tormenting genius? It is a general rule that the dead man retains the personality of the living, and that he has the same character, the same hates and the same affections. So this metamorphosis is not easily understandable by itself. It is true that the natives admit it implicitly when they explain the rite by the exigencies of the dead man, but the question now before us is to know whence this conception came. Far from being capable of being regarded as a truism, it is as obscure as the rite itself, and consequently cannot account for it.

The traditional interpretation seems even less sustainable once we know what primitive mourning involves. It consists not just of reverent sorrow for the person who has died, but also of severe abstinence and cruel sacrifices. The rite requires mourners not merely to think sadly of the deceased. It also requires them to beat, bruise, cut, and burn themselves. We have even seen mourners torture themselves so severely that they die from their wounds. Why would the dead person impose such torment on them? Such cruelty suggests more than a desire not to be forgotten. To take pleasure in seeing his loved ones suffer, he must hate them and thirst for their blood. This ferocity would no doubt seem natural to those who believe every spirit is necessarily an evil and fearsome power. But we know that there are spirits of every kind. Why, then, must a dead person's soul be an evil spirit? While a person is alive, he loves his relatives and exchanges services with them. Is it not strange that, once freed from his body, his soul should instantly abandon those feelings? Is it not strange that it should become an evil spirit that torments them? As a general rule, the dead person retains the personality he had in life, with the same character, hates, and affections. This transformation is therefore not easy to understand on its own. The natives do implicitly accept the transformation when they explain the rite as a response to the dead person's demands. But the question before us is where this conception came from. Far from being self-evident, it is as obscure as the rite itself. It therefore cannot explain the rite.

Finally, even if we had found the reasons for this surprising transformation, we would still have to explain why it is only temporary. For it does not last beyond the period of mourning; after the rites have once been accomplished, the dead man becomes what he was when alive, an affectionate and devoted relation. He puts the new powers which he receives from his new condition at the service of his friends.¹²⁶⁶ Thenceforth, he is regarded as a good genius, always ready to aid those whom he was recently tormenting. Whence come these successive transfers? If the evil sentiments attributed to the soul come solely from the fact that it is no longer in life, they should remain invariable, and if the mourning is due to this, it should be interminable.

Finally, even if we found the reasons for this surprising transformation, we would still need to explain why it is temporary. It lasts only through the mourning period. Once the rites are complete, the dead man becomes what he was in life: an affectionate and devoted relative. He uses the new powers he receives from his new condition to help his friends.¹²⁶⁶ From then on, he is seen as a benevolent spirit, always ready to help those he had recently tormented. What causes these successive changes? If the soul’s supposed hostility comes solely from its being dead, that hostility should remain unchanged. And if mourning is due to this hostility, it should never end.

These mythical explanations express the idea which the native has of the rite, and not the rite itself. So we may set them aside and face the reality which they translate, though disfiguring it in doing so. If mourning differs from the other forms of the positive cult, there is one feature in which it resembles them: it, too, is made up out of collective ceremonies which produce a state of effervescence among those who take part in them. The sentiments aroused are different; but the arousal is the same. So it is presumable that the explanation of the joyous rites is capable of being applied to the sad rites, on condition that the terms be transposed.

These mythical explanations express how the native understands the rite, not the rite itself. So we may set them aside and look at the reality they describe, though they distort it. Mourning differs from other forms of the positive cult, but it has one feature in common with them. It too consists of collective ceremonies that create a state of heightened excitement among those who take part. The feelings aroused are different, but the process of arousing them is the same. So the explanation of joyful rites can presumably be applied to sad rites, provided the terms are adjusted accordingly.

When some one dies, the family group to which he belongs feels itself lessened and, to react against this loss, it assembles. A common misfortune has the same effects as the approach of a happy event: collective sentiments are renewed which then lead men to seek one another and to assemble together. We have even seen this need for concentration affirm itself with a particular energy: they embrace one another, put their arms round one another, and press as close as possible to one another. But the affective state in which the group then happens to be only reflects the circumstances through which it is passing. Not only do the relatives, who are effected the most directly, bring their own personal sorrow to the assembly, but the society exercises a moral pressure over its members, to put their sentiments in harmony with the situation. To allow them to remain indifferent to the blow which has fallen upon it and diminished it, would be equivalent to proclaiming that it does not hold the place in their hearts which is due it; it would be denying itself. A family which allows one of its members to die without being wept for shows by that very fact that it lacks moral unity and cohesion: it abdicates; it renounces its existence. An individual in his turn, if he is strongly attached to the society of which he is a member, feels that he is morally held to participating in its sorrows and joys; not to be interested in them would be equivalent to breaking the bonds uniting him to the group; it would be renouncing all desire for it and contradicting himself. When the Christian, during the ceremonies commemorating the Passion, and the Jew, on the anniversary of the fall of Jerusalem, fast and mortify themselves, it is not in giving way to a sadness which they feel spontaneously. Under these circumstances, the internal state of the believer is out of all proportion to the severe abstinences to which they submit themselves. If he is sad, it is primarily because he consents to being sad, and he consents to it in order to affirm his faith. The attitude of the Australian during mourning is to be explained in the same way. If he weeps and groans, it is not merely to express an individual chagrin; it is to fulfil a duty of which the surrounding society does not fail to remind him.

When someone dies, the family group to which the person belongs feels diminished. To respond to this loss, the family gathers. A shared misfortune has the same effect as an approaching happy event. Shared feelings are renewed, leading people to seek one another out and gather together. We have even seen this need to come together expressed with particular force. People embrace, put their arms around one another, and press as close together as possible. But the group’s emotional state at such a time reflects the circumstances it is experiencing. The relatives most directly affected bring their personal sorrow to the gathering. But society also puts moral pressure on its members to bring their feelings into line with the situation. If society allowed its members to remain indifferent to the blow that has diminished it, it would be denying itself. It would be admitting that it does not hold the place it deserves in their hearts. A family that lets a member die without being mourned shows that it lacks moral unity and cohesion. It gives up its claim to exist. In turn, a person who is strongly attached to society feels morally bound to share in its sorrows and joys. To take no interest in them would be to break the bonds tying the person to the group. It would mean giving up all desire for the group and contradicting oneself. During ceremonies commemorating the Passion, Christians fast and practice self-denial. Jews do the same on the anniversary of the fall of Jerusalem. They do not do this because they are giving way to sadness they feel spontaneously. In these circumstances, the believer’s inner state is far out of proportion to the severe acts of self-denial undertaken. If the believer is sad, it is mainly because the believer agrees to be sad, and does so to affirm their faith. The Australian’s conduct during mourning can be explained in the same way. If the Australian weeps and groans, it is not merely to express personal sorrow. It is also to fulfill a duty that the surrounding society makes sure to recall.

We have seen elsewhere how human sentiments are intensified when affirmed collectively. Sorrow, like joy, becomes exalted and amplified when leaping from mind to mind, and therefore expresses itself outwardly in the form of exuberant and violent movements. But these are no longer expressive of the joyful agitation which we observed before; they are shrieks and cries of pain. Each is carried along by the others; a veritable panic of sorrow results. When pain reaches this degree of intensity, it is mixed with a sort of anger and exasperation. One feels the need of breaking something, of destroying something. He takes this out either upon himself or others. He beats himself, burns himself, wounds himself or else he falls upon others to beat, burn and wound them. Thus it became the custom to give one's self up to the veritable orgies of tortures during mourning. It seems very probable that blood-revenge and head-hunting have their origin in this. If every death is attributed to some magic charm, and for this reason it is believed that the dead man ought to be avenged, it is because men must find a victim at any price, upon whom the collective pain and anger may be discharged. Naturally this victim is sought outside the group; a stranger is a subject minoris resistentiæ; as he is not protected by the sentiments of sympathy inspired by a relative or neighbour, there is nothing in him which subdues and neutralizes the evil and destructive sentiments aroused by the death. It is undoubtedly for this same reason that women serve more frequently than men as the passive objects of the cruellest rites of mourning; since they have a smaller social value, they are more obviously designated as scapegoats.

We have seen elsewhere how human feelings grow stronger when people share and express them together. Sorrow, like joy, grows more intense as it passes from mind to mind. It therefore finds outward expression in exuberant and violent movements. But these movements no longer express the joyful excitement we observed before. They take the form of shrieks and cries of pain. Each person is swept along by the others, producing a real panic of sorrow. When pain reaches this intensity, it becomes mixed with a kind of anger and exasperation. People feel the need to break or destroy something. They take this feeling out on themselves or on others. They beat, burn, or wound themselves, or they attack others to beat, burn, and wound them. Thus it became customary during mourning to indulge in what were truly orgies of torture. It seems very likely that blood revenge and headhunting originated in this. Every death is attributed to a magic charm, and people believe the dead person must therefore be avenged. This is because they must find a victim at any cost, someone on whom to vent their collective pain and anger. Naturally, they look for this victim outside the group. A stranger is a person minoris resistentiæ, or one who offers less resistance. A stranger is not protected by the sympathy people feel for a relative or neighbor. So there is nothing about the stranger to subdue and neutralize the evil and destructive feelings aroused by the death. This is undoubtedly also why women more often than men are the passive objects of the cruelest mourning rites. Because women have a lower social value, they are more obvious choices as scapegoats.

We see that this explanation of mourning completely leaves aside all ideas of souls or spirits. The only forces which are really active are of a wholly impersonal nature: they are the emotions aroused in the group by the death of one of its members. But the primitive does not know the psychical mechanism from which these practices result. So when he tries to account for them, he is obliged to forge a wholly different explanation. All he knows is that he must painfully mortify himself. As every obligation suggests the notion of a will which obliges, he looks about him to see whence this constraint which he feels may come. Now, there is one moral power, of whose reality he is assured and which seems designated for this rôle: this is the soul which the death has liberated. For what could have a greater interest than it in the effects which its own death has on the living? So they imagine that if these latter inflict an unnatural treatment upon themselves, it is to conform to its exigencies. It was thus that the idea of the soul must have intervened at a later date into the mythology of mourning. But also, since it is thus endowed with inhuman exigencies, it must be supposed that in leaving the body which it animated, the soul lays aside every human sentiment. Hence the metamorphosis which makes a dreaded enemy out of the relative of yesterday. This transformation is not the origin of mourning; it is rather its consequence. It translates a change which has come over the affective state of the group: men do not weep for the dead because they fear them; they fear them because they weep for them.

We see that this explanation of mourning leaves aside all ideas of souls or spirits. The only forces truly at work are entirely impersonal: the emotions a death arouses in the group. But the primitive does not understand the psychological process that produces these practices. So, when trying to explain them, he must invent a completely different explanation. All he knows is that he must painfully punish himself. Every obligation suggests the will of someone who imposes it. So he looks around for the source of the constraint he feels. There is one moral power whose reality he is sure of and which seems suited to this role: the soul freed by death. What could be more interested in the effects of its own death on the living? So people imagine that the living treat themselves unnaturally to meet the soul’s demands. The idea of the soul must thus have entered the mythology of mourning at a later stage. But the soul is thought to make inhuman demands. So it must also be assumed to leave every human feeling behind when it leaves the body it animated. This explains the transformation of yesterday’s relative into a feared enemy. That transformation is not the origin of mourning. Rather, it is a consequence of mourning. It expresses a change in the group’s emotional state: people do not weep for the dead because they fear them. They fear the dead because they weep for them.

But this change of the affective state can only be a temporary one, for while the ceremonies of mourning result from it, they also put an end to it. Little by little, they neutralize the very causes which have given rise to them. The foundation of mourning is the impression of a loss which the group feels when it loses one of its members. But this very impression results in bringing individuals together, in putting them into closer relations with one another, in associating them all in the same mental state, and therefore in disengaging a sensation of comfort which compensates the original loss.—Since they weep together, they hold to one another and the group is not weakened, in spite of the blow which has fallen upon it. Of course they have only sad emotions in common, but communicating in sorrow is still communicating, and every communion of mind, in whatever form it may be made, raises the social vitality. The exceptional violence of the manifestations by which the common pain is necessarily and obligatorily expressed even testifies to the fact that at this moment, the society is more alive and active than ever. In fact, whenever the social sentiment is painfully wounded, it reacts with greater force than ordinarily: one never holds so closely to his family as when it has just suffered. This surplus energy effaces the more completely the effects of the interruption which was felt at first, and thus dissipates the feeling of coldness which death always brings with it. The group feels its strength gradually returning to it; it begins to hope and to live again. Presently one stops mourning, and he does so owing to the mourning itself. But as the idea formed of the soul reflects the moral state of the society, this idea should change as this state changes. When one is in the period of dejection and agony, he represents the soul with the traits of an evil being, whose sole occupation is to persecute men. But when he feels himself confident and secure once more, he must admit that it has retaken its former nature and its former sentiments of tenderness and solidarity. Thus we explain the very different ways in which it is conceived at different moments of its existence.¹²⁶⁷

But this change in emotional state can only be temporary. The mourning ceremonies result from the change, but they also bring it to an end. Little by little, the ceremonies counteract the very causes that gave rise to them. Mourning is rooted in the sense of loss a group feels when one of its members dies. But this sense of loss brings people together and draws them closer to one another. It unites them all in the same state of mind. This in turn produces a feeling of comfort that makes up for the original loss. Because they weep together, they hold on to one another. The group is not weakened, despite the blow it has suffered. Of course, they share only sad emotions. But sharing sorrow is still a form of communication. Any sharing of thoughts and feelings, whatever form it takes, increases the vitality of the group. The exceptionally intense displays required to express their shared pain show that society is now more alive and active than ever. In fact, whenever the sense of social connection is painfully wounded, it responds with greater force than usual. People never hold so closely to their family as when it has just suffered. This extra energy more completely erases the effects of the disruption first felt. It thus dispels the feeling of coldness that death always brings. The group feels its strength gradually returning. It begins to hope and live again. Eventually, people stop mourning, and they do so because of the mourning itself. But the idea people form of the soul reflects the moral state of society. So this idea should change as society's state changes. During a period of dejection and agony, people imagine the soul as an evil being whose only occupation is persecuting people. But when they feel confident and secure again, they must accept that the soul has regained its former nature and its former feelings of tenderness and solidarity. This explains the very different ways people imagine the soul at different moments of its existence.¹²⁶⁷

Not only do the rites of mourning determine certain of the secondary characteristics attributed to the soul, but perhaps they are not foreign to the idea that it survives the body. If he is to understand the practices to which he submits on the death of a parent, a man is obliged to believe that these are not an indifferent matter for the deceased. The shedding of blood which is practised so freely during mourning is a veritable sacrifice offered to the dead man.¹²⁶⁸ So something of the dead man must survive, and as this is not the body, which is manifestly immobile and decomposed, it can only be the soul. Of course it is impossible to say with any exactness what part these considerations have had in the origin of the idea of immortality. But it is probable that here the influence of the cult is the same as it is elsewhere. Rites are more easily explicable when one imagines that they are addressed to personal beings; so men have been induced to extend the influence of the mythical personalities in the religious life. In order to account for mourning, they have prolonged the existence of the soul beyond the tomb. This is one more example of the way in which rites react upon beliefs.

Mourning rites shape not only some of the secondary qualities attributed to the soul. They may also play a part in the belief that the soul survives the body. To understand the practices he follows when a parent dies, a person must believe that they matter to the deceased. The blood shed so freely during mourning is a genuine sacrifice offered to the dead person.¹²⁶⁸ So something of the dead person must survive. It cannot be the body, which is clearly motionless and decaying, so it can only be the soul. Of course, it is impossible to say exactly how much these considerations contributed to the idea of immortality. But the influence of religious practices here is probably the same as elsewhere. Rites are easier to explain when people imagine that they are addressed to personal beings. So people have been led to give mythical figures a greater role in religious life. To explain mourning, they have extended the soul’s existence beyond the grave. This is another example of how rites influence beliefs.

But death is not the only event which may disturb a community. Men have many other occasions for being sorry and lamenting, so we might foresee that even the Australians would know and practise other piacular rites besides mourning. However, it is a remarkable fact that only a small number of examples are to be found in the accounts of the observers.

But death is not the only event that may disturb a community. People have many other reasons to grieve and lament. So we might expect even the Australians to know and practice other piacular rites besides mourning. However, observers’ accounts contain remarkably few examples of these other rites.

One rite of this sort greatly resembles those which have just been studied. It will be remembered that among the Arunta, each local group attributes exceptionally important virtues to its collection of churinga: this is this collective palladium, upon whose fate the fate of the community itself is believed to depend. So when enemies or white men succeed in stealing one of these religious treasures, this loss is considered a public calamity. This misfortune is the occasion of a rite having all the characteristics of mourning: men smear their bodies with white pipe-clay and remain in camp, weeping and lamenting, during a period of two weeks.¹²⁶⁹ This is a new proof that mourning is determined, not by the way in which the soul of the dead is conceived, but by impersonal causes, by the moral state of the group. In fact, we have here a rite which, in its structure, is indistinguishable from the real mourning, but which is, nevertheless, independent of every notion of spirits or evil-working demons.¹²⁷⁰

One ritual of this kind closely resembles those just examined. Among the Arunta, each local group considers its collection of churinga exceptionally powerful. The collection is the group’s collective safeguard, and the community’s fate is believed to depend on it. So when enemies or white men manage to steal one of these religious treasures, the loss is considered a public disaster. This misfortune leads to a ritual with all the characteristics of mourning. Men smear their bodies with white pipe-clay and stay in camp, weeping and lamenting for two weeks.¹²⁶⁹ This is further proof that mourning is determined not by how people conceive of the dead person’s soul, but by impersonal causes, namely, the group’s moral state. In fact, this ritual is structurally indistinguishable from actual mourning. Yet it is independent of any idea of spirits or evil-working demons.¹²⁷⁰

Another circumstance which gives occasion for ceremonies of the same nature is the distress in which the society finds itself after an insufficient harvest. "The natives who live in the vicinity of Lake Eyre," says Eylmann, "also seek to prevent an insufficiency of food by means of secret ceremonies. But many of the ritual practices observed in this region are to be distinguished from those which have been mentioned already: it is not by symbolic dances, by imitative movements nor dazzling decorations that they try to act upon the religious powers or the forces of nature, but by means of the suffering which individuals inflict upon themselves. In the northern territories, it is by means of tortures, such as prolonged fasts, vigils, dances persisted up to the exhaustion of the dancers, and physical pains of every sort, that they attempt to appease the powers which are ill-disposed towards men."¹²⁷¹ The torments to which the natives submit themselves for this purpose sometimes leave them in such a state of exhaustion that they are unable to follow the hunt for some days to come.¹²⁷²

Another occasion for similar ceremonies is the hardship a society faces after a poor harvest. "The natives who live near Lake Eyre," says Eylmann, "also try to prevent food shortages through secret ceremonies. But many ritual practices in this region differ from those already mentioned. They do not try to influence religious powers or the forces of nature through symbolic dances, imitative movements, or dazzling decorations. Instead, individuals inflict suffering on themselves. In the northern territories, they try to appease powers hostile to people through torture. This includes prolonged fasting, keeping awake, dancing until exhaustion, and physical pain of every kind."¹²⁷¹ The suffering the natives endure for this purpose sometimes leaves them so exhausted that they cannot hunt for several days afterward.¹²⁷²

These practices are employed especially for fighting against drought. This is because a scarcity of water results in a general want. To remedy this evil, they have recourse to violent methods. One which is frequently used is the extraction of a tooth. Among the Kaitish, for example, they pull out an incisor from one man, and hang it on a tree.¹²⁷³ Among the Dieri, the idea of rain is closely associated with that of bloody incisions made in the skin of the chest and arms.¹²⁷⁴ Among this same people, whenever the drought is very great, the great council assembles and summons the whole tribe. It is really a tribal event. Women are sent in every direction to notify men to assemble at a given place and time. After they have assembled, they groan and cry in a piercing voice about the miserable state of the land, and they beg the Mura-mura (the mythical ancestors) to give them the power of making an abundant rain fall.¹²⁷⁵ In the cases, which, by the way, are very rare, when there has been an excessive rainfall, an analogous ceremony takes place to stop it. Old men then enter into a veritable frenzy,¹²⁷⁶ while the cries uttered by the crowd are really painful to hear.¹²⁷⁷

These practices are used especially to fight drought. This is because a shortage of water leads to widespread hardship. To remedy this, people turn to violent methods. One common method is to pull out a tooth. Among the Kaitish, for example, they pull out one man’s incisor and hang it on a tree.¹²⁷³ Among the Dieri, the idea of rain is closely associated with bloody cuts made in the chest and arms.¹²⁷⁴ Among the Dieri, whenever the drought is very severe, the great council meets and summons the whole tribe. It is truly a tribal event. Women are sent in every direction to tell the men to gather at a particular place and time. Once assembled, they groan and cry out in piercing voices about the miserable state of the land. They beg the Mura-mura (the mythical ancestors) to give them the power to make abundant rain fall.¹²⁷⁵ In the very rare cases of excessive rainfall, a similar ceremony takes place to stop it. The old men then enter a genuine frenzy,¹²⁷⁶ while the cries of the crowd are truly painful to hear.¹²⁷⁷

Spencer and Gillen describe, under the name of Intichiuma, a ceremony which may well have the same object and the same origin as the preceding ones: a physical torture is applied to make an animal species multiply. Among the Urabunna, there is one clan whose totem is a variety of snake called wadnungadni. This is how the chief of the clan proceeds, to make sure that these snakes may never be lacking. After having been decorated, he kneels down on the ground, holding his arms straight out. An assistant pinches the skin of his right arm between his fingers, and the officiant forces a pointed bone five inches long through the fold thus formed. This self-mutilation is believed to produce the desired result.¹²⁷⁸ An analogous rite is used among the Dieri to make the wild-hens lay: the operators pierce their scrotums.¹²⁷⁹ In certain of the Lake Eyre tribes, men pierce their ears to make yams reproduce.¹²⁸⁰

Spencer and Gillen describe a ceremony called Intichiuma. It may have the same purpose and origin as the preceding ceremonies. Physical torture is used to make an animal species multiply. Among the Urabunna, one clan has as its totem a variety of snake called wadnungadni. The clan chief performs the following ceremony to ensure that these snakes never become scarce. After being decorated, he kneels on the ground and holds his arms straight out. An assistant pinches a fold of skin on his right arm between his fingers. The chief then pushes a pointed bone five inches long through the fold. This self-mutilation is believed to produce the desired result.¹²⁷⁸ The Dieri use a similar rite to make wild hens lay eggs. The men performing it pierce their scrotums.¹²⁷⁹ In certain Lake Eyre tribes, men pierce their ears to make yams reproduce.¹²⁸⁰

But these partial or total famines are not the only plagues which may fall upon a tribe. Other events happen more or less periodically which menace, or seem to menace, the existence of the group. This is the case, for example, with the southern lights. The Kurnai believe that this is a fire lighted in the heavens by the great god Mungan-ngaua; therefore, whenever they see it, they are afraid that it may spread to the earth and devour them, so a great effervescence results in the camp. They shake a withered hand, to which the Kurnai attribute various virtues, and utter such cries as "Send it away; do not let us be burned." At the same time, the old men order an exchange of wives, which always indicates a great excitement.¹²⁸¹ The same sexual licence is mentioned among the Wiimbaio whenever a plague appears imminent, and especially in times of an epidemic.¹²⁸²

But these partial or total famines are not the only disasters that may strike a tribe. Other events happen fairly regularly that threaten, or seem to threaten, the group’s existence. The southern lights, for example, are one such event. The Kurnai believe the lights are a fire lit in the sky by the great god Mungan-ngaua. Whenever they see the lights, they fear the fire may spread to earth and devour them. As a result, the camp becomes greatly agitated. They shake a withered hand, which the Kurnai believe has various powers, and cry out, "Send it away, do not let us be burned." At the same time, the old men order an exchange of wives, which always indicates great excitement.¹²⁸¹ The same sexual licence is reported among the Wiimbaio whenever a disaster seems imminent, especially during an epidemic.¹²⁸²

Under the influence of these ideas, mutilations and the shedding of blood are sometimes considered an efficient means of curing maladies. If an accident happens to a child among the Dieri, his relations beat themselves on the head with clubs or boomerangs until the blood flows down over their faces. They believe that by this process, they relieve the child of the suffering.¹²⁸³ Elsewhere, they imagine that they can obtain the same end by means of a supplementary totemic ceremony.¹²⁸⁴ We may connect with these the example already given of a ceremony celebrated specially to efface the effects of a ritual fault.¹²⁸⁵ Of course there are neither wounds nor blows nor physical suffering of any sort in these two latter cases, yet the rite does not differ in nature from the others: the end sought is always the turning aside of an evil or the expiation of a fault by means of an extraordinary ritual prestation.

Under the influence of these ideas, people sometimes consider self-mutilation and bloodshed effective ways to cure illness. If a Dieri child has an accident, the child’s relatives beat their own heads with clubs or boomerangs. They beat themselves until blood flows down their faces. They believe that by doing this, they relieve the child’s suffering.¹²⁸³ Elsewhere, people believe they can achieve the same result through an additional totemic ceremony.¹²⁸⁴ We may connect these practices with the example already given of a ceremony performed especially to erase the effects of a ritual fault.¹²⁸⁵ Of course, neither of these last two ceremonies involves wounds, blows, or physical suffering of any kind. Yet these rites are no different in nature from the others. In every case, the aim is to turn aside an evil or atone for a fault through an extraordinary ritual act.

Outside of mourning, such are the only cases of piacular rites which we have succeeded in finding in Australia. To be sure, it is probable that some have escaped us, while we may presume equally well that others have remained unperceived by the observers. But if those discovered up to the present are few in number, it is probably because they do not hold a large place in the cult. We see how far primitive religions are from being the daughters of agony and fear from the fact that the rites translating these painful emotions are relatively rare. Of course this is because the Australian, while leading a miserable existence as compared with other more civilized peoples, demands so little of life that he is easily contented. All that he asks is that nature follow its normal course, that the seasons succeed one another regularly, that the rain fall, at the ordinary time, in abundance and without excess. Now great disturbances in the cosmic order are always exceptional; thus it is noticeable that the majority of the regular piacular rites, examples of which we have given above, have been observed in the tribes of the centre, where droughts are frequent and constitute veritable disasters. It is still surprising, it is true, that piacular rites specially destined to expiate sins, seem to be completely lacking. However, the Australian, like every other man, must commit ritual faults, which he has an interest in redeeming; so we may ask if the silence of the texts on this point may not be due to insufficient observation.

Apart from mourning, these are the only cases of piacular rites we have found in Australia. Some probably escaped our notice, and we may equally assume that observers missed others. But if few have been discovered so far, they probably do not have a large place in religious practice. Rites expressing painful emotions are relatively rare. This shows how far primitive religions are from being born of agony and fear. Of course, the Australian leads a miserable life compared with more civilized peoples. But he asks so little of life that he is easily contented. All he asks is that nature follow its normal course, with the seasons changing regularly. He also asks that rain fall at the usual time, plentifully but not excessively. Major disturbances in the natural order are always exceptional. So it is noteworthy that most of the regular piacular rites described above have been observed among tribes in central Australia. There, droughts are frequent and cause real disasters. It is still surprising, however, that piacular rites meant specifically to atone for sins seem to be completely absent. Yet the Australian, like everyone else, must commit ritual faults that he has an interest in making amends for. So we may ask whether the texts say nothing about such rites because observers did not look closely enough.

But howsoever few the facts which we have been able to gather may be, they are, nevertheless, instructive.

But however few facts we have been able to gather, they are still instructive.

When we study piacular rites in the more advanced religions, where the religious forces are individualized, they appear to be closely bound up with anthropomorphic conceptions. When the believer imposes privations upon himself and submits himself to austerities, it is in order to disarm the malevolence attributed by him to certain of the sacred beings upon whom he thinks that he is dependent. To appease their hatred or anger, he complies with their exigencies; he beats himself in order that he may not be beaten by them. So it seems as though these practices could not arise until after gods and spirits were conceived as moral persons, capable of passions analogous to those of men. For this reason, Robertson Smith thought it possible to assign a relatively late date to expiatory sacrifices, just as to sacrificial oblations. According to him, the shedding of blood which characterizes these rites was at first a simple process of communion: men poured forth their blood upon the altar in order to strengthen the bonds uniting them to their god. The rite acquired a piacular and penal character only when its original significance was forgotten and when the new idea which was formed of sacred beings allowed men to attribute another function to it.¹²⁸⁶

When we study piacular rites in more advanced religions, where religious forces are represented as individuals, these rites seem closely tied to humanlike conceptions of sacred beings. Believers deprive themselves and submit to hardships to disarm the ill will they attribute to certain sacred beings. They believe they depend on these beings. To appease their hatred or anger, believers meet their demands. They beat themselves so that the sacred beings will not beat them. So it seems that these practices could arise only after gods and spirits were imagined as moral persons, capable of passions like those of humans. For this reason, Robertson Smith thought it possible to date expiatory sacrifices relatively late, as he did sacrificial offerings. According to him, the shedding of blood that marks these rites was originally a simple act of communion. People poured their blood on the altar to strengthen their bonds with their god. The rite took on a piacular and punitive character only when its original meaning was forgotten. By then, people had also formed a new idea of sacred beings, which allowed them to give the rite another purpose.¹²⁸⁶

But as piacular rites are met with even in the Australian societies, it is impossible to assign them so late an origin. Moreover, all that we have observed, with one single exception,¹²⁸⁷ are independent of all anthropomorphic conceptions: there is no question of either spirits or gods. Abstinences and effusions of blood stop famines and cure sicknesses directly and by themselves. No spiritual being introduces his action between the rite and the effect it is believed to produce. So mythical personalities intervened only at a late date. After the mechanism of the ritual had once been established, they served to make it more easily representable in the mind, but they are not conditions of its existence. It is for other reasons that it was founded; it is to another cause that it owes its efficacy.

But piacular rites are found even in Australian societies, so they cannot have originated so late. Moreover, all the rites we have observed, with one exception,¹²⁸⁷ are independent of any humanlike conception of divine beings. There is no question of spirits or gods. Acts of abstinence and bloodletting stop famines and cure sicknesses directly, by themselves. No spiritual being acts between the rite and the effect it is believed to produce. So mythical figures entered the picture only later. Once the ritual’s workings were established, these figures made the ritual easier to imagine. But they are not necessary for the ritual to exist. The ritual was established for other reasons. Its effectiveness is due to another cause.

It acts through the collective forces which it puts into play. Does a misfortune which menaces the group appear imminent? Then the group unites, as in the case of mourning, and it is naturally an impression of uneasiness and perplexity which dominates the assembled body. Now, as always, the pooling of these sentiments results in intensifying them. By affirming themselves, they exalt and impassion themselves and attain a degree of violence which is translated by the corresponding violence of the gestures which express them. Just as at the death of a relative, they utter terrible cries, fly into a passion and feel that they must tear and destroy; it is to satisfy this need that they beat themselves, wound themselves, and make their blood flow. When emotions have this vivacity, they may well be painful, but they are not depressing; on the contrary, they denote a state of effervescence which implies a mobilization of all our active forces, and even a supply of external energies. It matters little that this exaltation was provoked by a sad event, for it is real, notwithstanding, and does not differ specifically from what is observed in the happy feasts. Sometimes it is even made manifest by movements of the same nature: there is the same frenzy which seizes the worshippers and the same tendency towards sexual debauches, a sure sign of great nervous over-excitement. Robertson Smith had already noticed this curious influence of sad rites in the Semitic cults: "in evil times," he says, "when men's thoughts were habitually sombre, they betook themselves to the physical excitement of religion as men now take refuge in wine.... And so in general when an act of Semitic worship began with sorrow and lamentation—as in the mourning for Adonis, or the great atoning ceremonies which became common in later times—a swift revulsion of feeling followed, and the gloomy part of the service was presently succeeded by a burst of hilarious revelry."¹²⁸⁸ In a word, even when religious ceremonies have a disquieting or saddening event as their point of departure, they retain their stimulating power over the affective state of the group and individuals. By the mere fact that they are collective, they raise the vital tone. When one feels life within him—whether it be in the form of painful irritation or happy enthusiasm—he does not believe in death; so he becomes reassured and takes courage again, and subjectively, everything goes on as if the rite had really driven off the danger which was dreaded. This is how curing or preventive virtues come to be attributed to the movements which one makes, to the cries uttered, to the blood shed and to the wounds inflicted upon one's self or others; and as these different tortures necessarily make one suffer, suffering by itself is finally regarded as a means of conjuring evil or curing sickness.¹²⁸⁹ Later, when the majority of the religious forces had taken the form of moral personalities, the efficacy of these practices was explained by imagining that their object was to appease an evil-working or irritated god. But these conceptions only reflect the rite and the sentiments it arouses; they are an interpretation of it, not its determining cause.

It acts through the collective forces it sets in motion. Does a misfortune appear to threaten the group? Then the group comes together, as it does in mourning. Naturally, uneasiness and confusion dominate the gathering. As always, sharing these feelings intensifies them. As people express their feelings, they become more excited and impassioned. Their feelings reach such violence that the gestures expressing them become equally violent. Just as when a relative dies, they let out terrible cries, fly into a rage, and feel compelled to tear and destroy. To satisfy this need, they beat and wound themselves and draw their own blood. Such intense emotions may be painful, but they are not depressing. On the contrary, they show a state of excitement that mobilizes all our active forces and even brings in energy from outside. It does not matter that a sad event caused this excitement. The excitement is real nonetheless, and it is not essentially different from what we see at joyful celebrations. Sometimes it even appears in the same kinds of behavior. The worshippers are seized by the same frenzy and show the same tendency toward sexual excess. This is a sure sign of intense nervous excitement. Robertson Smith had already noticed this curious effect of sorrowful rites in Semitic cults: "in bad times, when people's thoughts were habitually gloomy, they turned to the physical excitement of religion as people now turn to wine.... So, generally, when an act of Semitic worship began with sorrow and lamentation, as in the mourning for Adonis or the great ceremonies of atonement that became common in later times, a swift change of feeling followed. The gloomy part of the service was soon succeeded by an outburst of joyful revelry."¹²⁸⁸ In short, religious ceremonies retain their power to stimulate the feelings of the group and its members, even when they begin with a disturbing or saddening event. Simply because they are collective, they raise people's sense of vitality. When people feel life within them, whether as painful agitation or joyful enthusiasm, they do not believe in death. They feel reassured and regain courage. In their own experience, everything happens as if the rite had really driven away the danger they feared. This is how people come to credit their movements, cries, spilled blood, and self-inflicted wounds or wounds inflicted on others with powers to cure or prevent harm. These different forms of torment necessarily cause suffering. So suffering itself finally comes to be seen as a way to ward off evil or cure illness.¹²⁸⁹ Later, most religious forces came to be understood as moral beings. People then explained the effectiveness of these practices by imagining that their purpose was to appease a malicious or angry god. But these ideas only reflect the rite and the feelings it arouses. They are an interpretation of the rite, not the cause that determines it.

A negligence of the ritual acts in the same way. It, too, is a menace for the group; it touches it in its moral existence for it touches it in its beliefs. But if the anger which it causes is affirmed ostensibly and energetically, it compensates the evil which it has caused. For if it is acutely felt by all, it is because the infraction committed is an exception and the common faith remains entire. So the moral unity of the group is not endangered. Now the penalty inflicted as an expiation is only a manifestation of the public anger, the material proof of its unanimity. So it really does have the healing effect attributed to it. At bottom, the sentiment which is at the root of the real expiatory rites does not differ in nature from that which we have found at the basis of the other piacular rites: it is a sort of irritated sorrow which tends to manifest itself by acts of destruction. Sometimes it is assuaged to the detriment of him who feels it; sometimes it is at the expense of some foreign third party. But in either case, the psychic mechanism is essentially the same.¹²⁹⁰

Neglecting a ritual has the same effect. It, too, threatens the group. It touches the group’s moral existence because it touches its beliefs. But if the anger caused by this neglect is expressed openly and forcefully, it makes up for the harm done. For if everyone feels the anger keenly, that is because the violation is an exception and the shared faith remains intact. So the group’s moral unity is not endangered. The penalty imposed as expiation is simply an expression of public anger and material proof that everyone shares it. So the penalty really does have the healing effect attributed to it. At its root, the feeling behind true expiatory rites is no different in nature from the feeling behind the other piacular rites. It is a kind of angry sorrow that tends to express itself through acts of destruction. Sometimes it is relieved at the expense of the person who feels it. Sometimes it is relieved at the expense of an outside third party. But in either case, the psychological mechanism is essentially the same.¹²⁹⁰

One of the greatest services which Robertson Smith has rendered to the science of religions is to have pointed out the ambiguity of the notion of sacredness.

One of Robertson Smith’s greatest contributions to the study of religion was pointing out the ambiguity of sacredness.

Religious forces are of two sorts. Some are beneficent, guardians of the physical and moral order, dispensers of life and health and all the qualities which men esteem: this is the case with the totemic principle, spread out in the whole species, the mythical ancestor, the animal-protector, the civilizing heroes and the tutelar gods of every kind and degree. It matters little whether they are conceived as distinct personalities or as diffused energies; under either form they fulfil the same function and affect the minds of the believers in the same way: the respect which they inspire is mixed with love and gratitude. The things and the persons which are normally connected with them participate in the same sentiments and the same character: these are holy things and persons. Such are the spots consecrated to the cult, the objects which serve in the regular rites, the priests, the ascetics, etc.—On the other hand, there are evil and impure powers, productive of disorders, causes of death and sickness, instigators of sacrilege. The only sentiments which men have for them are a fear into which horror generally enters. Such are the forces upon which and by which the sorcerer acts, those which arise from corpses or the menstrual blood, those freed by every profanation of sacred things, etc. The spirits of the dead and malign genii of every sort are their personified forms.

Religious forces are of two kinds. Some are beneficial. They guard the physical and moral order and give life, health, and all the qualities people value. These include the totemic principle, spread throughout the whole species, the mythical ancestor, the animal protector, civilizing heroes, and guardian gods of every kind and rank. It makes little difference whether people imagine these forces as distinct beings or as energies spread throughout the world. In either form, they serve the same function and affect believers in the same way. The respect they inspire is mixed with love and gratitude. The things and people normally associated with them share the same character and inspire the same feelings. These are holy things and people. They include places dedicated to worship, objects used in regular rites, priests, ascetics, and so on. On the other hand, there are evil and impure powers. They cause disorder, death, and sickness, and incite people to commit sacrilege. The only feeling people have toward them is fear, usually mixed with horror. These include the forces a sorcerer acts upon and uses, those that arise from corpses or menstrual blood, and those released whenever sacred things are profaned. The spirits of the dead and evil spirits of every kind are these powers in personal form.

Between these two categories of forces and beings, the contrast is as complete as possible and even goes into the most radical antagonism. The good and salutary powers repel to a distance these others which deny and contradict them. Therefore the former are forbidden to the latter: any contact between them is considered the worst of profanations. This is the typical form of those interdicts between sacred things of different species, the existence of which we have already pointed out.¹²⁹¹ Women during menstruation, and especially at its beginning, are impure; so at this moment they are rigorously sequestered; men may have no relations with them.¹²⁹² Bull-roarers and churinga never come near a dead man.¹²⁹³ A sacrilegious person is excluded from the society of the faithful; access to the cult is forbidden him. Thus the whole religious life gravitates about two contrary poles between which there is the same opposition as between the pure and the impure, the saint and the sacrilegious, the divine and the diabolic.

The contrast between these two categories of forces and beings is as complete as possible. It amounts to the most fundamental opposition. The good and beneficial powers repel those that deny and contradict them. Therefore, the latter are forbidden contact with the former. Any contact between them is considered the worst kind of profanation. This is a typical example of the prohibitions between different kinds of sacred things that we have already noted.¹²⁹¹ Women are impure during menstruation, especially at the beginning. So they are strictly isolated at this time, and men may have no contact with them.¹²⁹² Bull-roarers and churinga are never brought near a dead man.¹²⁹³ A sacrilegious person is excluded from the community of the faithful and forbidden to take part in worship. Thus, all religious life revolves around two opposing poles. The opposition between them is the same as that between the pure and the impure, the saint and the sacrilegious, the divine and the diabolic.

But while these two aspects of the religious life oppose one another, there is a close kinship between them. In the first place, both have the same relation towards profane beings: these must abstain from all contact with impure things just as from the most holy things. The former are no less forbidden than the latter: they are withdrawn from circulation alike. This shows that they too are sacred. Of course the sentiments inspired by the two are not identical: respect is one thing, disgust and horror another. Yet, if the gestures are to be the same in both cases, the sentiments expressed must not differ in nature. And, in fact, there is a horror in religious respect, especially when it is very intense, while the fear inspired by malign powers is generally not without a certain reverential character. The shades by which these two attitudes are differentiated are even so slight sometimes that it is not always easy to say which state of mind the believers actually happen to be in. Among certain Semitic peoples, pork was forbidden, but it was not always known exactly whether this was because it was a pure or an impure thing¹²⁹⁴ and the same may be said of a very large number of alimentary interdictions.

But although these two aspects of religious life oppose each other, they are closely related. First, both have the same relation to profane beings. Profane beings must avoid all contact with impure things, just as they must avoid the holiest things. Impure things are no less forbidden than holy things. Both are kept out of circulation. This shows that impure things, too, are sacred. Of course, the feelings inspired by the two are not identical. Respect is one thing, disgust and horror another. Yet if people act the same way in both cases, the feelings expressed cannot differ in kind. In fact, religious respect includes an element of horror, especially when the respect is intense. And the fear inspired by evil powers generally has a certain reverence as well. Sometimes the differences between these two attitudes are so slight that believers’ actual state of mind is hard to identify. Among certain Semitic peoples, pork was forbidden. But it was not always clear whether this was because pork was pure or impure¹²⁹⁴. The same may be said of a great many food prohibitions.

But there is more to be said; it very frequently happens that an impure thing or an evil power becomes a holy thing or a guardian power, without changing its nature, through a simple modification of external circumstances. We have seen how the soul of a dead man, which is a dreaded principle at first, is transformed into a protecting genius as soon as the mourning is finished. Likewise, the corpse, which begins by inspiring terror and aversion, is later regarded as a venerated relic: funeral anthropophagy, which is frequently practised in the Australian societies, is a proof of this transformation.¹²⁹⁵ The totemic animal is the pre-eminently sacred being; but for him who eats its flesh unduly, it is a cause of death. In a general way, the sacrilegious person is merely a profane one who has been infected with a benevolent religious force. This changes its nature in changing its habitat; it defiles rather than sanctifies.¹²⁹⁶ The blood issuing from the genital organs of a woman, though it is evidently as impure as that of menstruation, is frequently used as a remedy against sickness.¹²⁹⁷ The victim immolated in expiatory sacrifices is charged with impurities, for they have concentrated upon it the sins which were to be expiated. Yet, after it has been slaughtered, its flesh and blood are employed for the most pious uses.¹²⁹⁸ On the contrary, though the communion is generally a religious operation whose normal function is to consecrate, it sometimes produces the effects of a sacrilege. In certain cases, the persons who have communicated are forced to flee from one another as from men infected with a plague. One would say that they have become a source of dangerous contamination for one another: the sacred bond which unites them also separates them. Examples of this sort of communion are numerous in Australia. One of the most typical has been observed among the Narrinyeri and the neighbouring tribes. When an infant arrives in the world, its parents carefully preserve its umbilical cord, which is believed to conceal a part of its soul. Two persons who exchange the cords thus preserved communicate together by the very act of this exchange, for it is as though they exchanged their souls. But, at the same time, they are forbidden to touch or speak to or even to see one another. It is just as though they were each an object of horror for the other.¹²⁹⁹

But there is more to say. An impure thing or an evil power often becomes a holy thing or a protective power. Its nature does not change, only its external circumstances do. We have seen how a dead person's soul, feared at first, becomes a protective spirit once mourning ends. Likewise, a corpse initially inspires terror and disgust, but later it is regarded as a revered relic. The practice of eating the dead, common in Australian societies, is proof of this transformation.¹²⁹⁵ The totemic animal is the most sacred being of all. Yet it causes the death of anyone who eats its flesh improperly. More generally, a person who commits sacrilege is simply a profane person infected by a benevolent religious force. This force changes its nature when it changes where it resides. It defiles rather than sanctifies.¹²⁹⁶ Blood from a woman's genitals is evidently as impure as menstrual blood, yet it is often used as a remedy for sickness.¹²⁹⁷ The victim killed in an expiatory sacrifice is charged with impurities. The sins to be expiated have been concentrated upon it. Yet after the victim is killed, its flesh and blood are put to the most pious uses.¹²⁹⁸ Conversely, communion is generally a religious act whose normal function is to consecrate. Yet it sometimes produces the effects of sacrilege. In certain cases, those who have taken communion must flee from one another as if infected with a plague. They seem to have become sources of dangerous contamination for one another. The sacred bond that unites them also separates them. Examples of this kind of communion are numerous in Australia. One of the most typical was observed among the Narrinyeri and neighboring tribes. When a child is born, its parents carefully preserve its umbilical cord. They believe the cord contains part of the child's soul. When two people exchange the cords preserved for them, the exchange itself establishes communion between them. It is as though they exchanged their souls. But at the same time, they are forbidden to touch, speak to, or even see one another. It is as though each were an object of horror to the other.¹²⁹⁹

So the pure and the impure are not two separate classes, but two varieties of the same class, which includes all sacred things. There are two sorts of sacredness, the propitious and the unpropitious, and not only is there no break of continuity between these two opposed forms, but also one object may pass from the one to the other without changing its nature. The pure is made out of the impure, and reciprocally. It is in the possibility of these transmutations that the ambiguity of the sacred consists.

So the pure and the impure are not separate classes. They are two varieties within the same class, which includes all sacred things. There are two kinds of sacredness: favorable and unfavorable. But there is no clear break between these opposing forms. An object may pass from one to the other without changing its nature. The pure can be made from the impure, and the impure from the pure. The possibility of these transformations is what makes the sacred ambiguous.

But even if Robertson Smith did have an active sentiment of this ambiguity, he never gave it an express explanation. He confined himself to remarking that, as all religious forces are indistinctly intense and contagious, it is wise not to approach them except with respectful precautions, no matter what direction their action may be exercised in. It seemed to him that he could thus account for the air of kinship which they all present, in spite of the contrasts which oppose them otherwise. But the question was only put off; it still remains to be shown how it comes that the powers of evil have the same intensity and contagiousness as the others. In other words, how does it happen that they, too, are of a religious nature? Also, the energy and force of expansion which they have in common do not enable us to understand how, in spite of the conflict which divides them, they may be transformed into one another or substituted for each other in their respective functions, and how the pure may contaminate while the impure sometimes serves to sanctify.¹³⁰⁰

But even if Robertson Smith was keenly aware of this ambiguity, he never explicitly explained it. He only noted that all religious forces are equally intense and contagious. So it is wise to approach them with respectful precautions, whatever direction their action takes. He thought this explained the family resemblance among religious forces, despite the contrasts that otherwise set them apart. But he had only postponed the question. He still needed to show why the powers of evil are as intense and contagious as other religious forces. In other words, why are the powers of evil also religious in nature? The energy and power to spread that all religious forces share also leave another question unanswered. How can these forces change into one another or take over one another’s functions, despite their conflict? And how can the pure contaminate, while the impure sometimes serves to sanctify?¹³⁰⁰

The explanation of piacular rites which we have proposed enables us to reply to this double question.

Our proposed explanation of piacular rites allows us to answer both questions.

We have seen, in fact, that the evil powers are the product of these rites and symbolize them. When a society is going through circumstances which sadden, perplex or irritate it, it exercises a pressure over its members, to make them bear witness, by significant acts, to their sorrow, perplexity or anger. It imposes upon them the duty of weeping, groaning or inflicting wounds upon themselves or others, for these collective manifestations, and the moral communion which they show and strengthen, restore to the group the energy which circumstances threaten to take away from it, and thus they enable it to become settled. This is the experience which men interpret when they imagine that outside them there are evil beings whose hostility, whether constitutional or temporary, can be appeased only by human suffering. These beings are nothing other than collective states objectified; they are society itself seen under one of its aspects. But we also know that the benevolent powers are constituted in the same way; they, too, result from the collective life and express it; they, too, represent the society, but seen from a very different attitude, to wit, at the moment when it confidently affirms itself and ardently presses on towards the realization of the ends which it pursues. Since these two sorts of forces have a common origin, it is not at all surprising that, though facing in opposite directions, they should have the same nature, that they are equally intense and contagious and consequently forbidden and sacred.

We have seen that evil powers are the product of these rites and symbolize them. When circumstances make a society sad, confused, or angry, it puts pressure on its members. It makes them express their sorrow, confusion, or anger through meaningful acts. Society imposes on them the duty to weep, groan, or wound themselves or others. These collective expressions reveal and strengthen a shared moral bond. In this way, they restore the energy that circumstances threaten to take away from the group, allowing it to regain stability. People interpret this experience by imagining that evil beings exist outside them. They imagine that the hostility of these beings, whether permanent or temporary, can be soothed only by human suffering. These beings are nothing more than collective states made into objects. They are society itself seen in one of its aspects. But we also know that benevolent powers are formed in the same way. They, too, arise from collective life and express it. They, too, represent society, but in a very different mood. They represent society when it confidently affirms itself and eagerly pursues its goals. Since both kinds of forces have a common origin, it is not surprising that they have the same nature, although they point in opposite directions. They are equally intense and contagious, and therefore equally forbidden and sacred.

From this we are able to understand how they change into one another. Since they reflect the abjective state in which the group happens to be, it is enough that this state change for their character to change. After the mourning is over, the domestic group is re-calmed by the mourning itself; it regains confidence; the painful pressure which they felt exercised over them is relieved; they feel more at their ease. So it seems to them as though the spirit of the deceased had laid aside its hostile sentiments and become a benevolent protector. The other transmutations, examples of which we have cited, are to be explained in the same way. As we have already shown, the sanctity of a thing is due to the collective sentiment of which it is the object. If, in violation of the interdicts which isolate it, it comes in contact with a profane person, then this same sentiment will spread contagiously to this latter and imprint a special character upon him. But in spreading, it comes into a very different state from the one it was in at first. Offended and irritated by the profanation implied in this abusive and unnatural extension, it becomes aggressive and inclined to destructive violences: it tends to avenge itself for the offence suffered. Therefore the infected subject seems to be filled with a mighty and harmful force which menaces all that approaches him; it is as though he were marked with a stain or blemish. Yet the cause of this blemish is the same psychic state which, in other circumstances, consecrates and sanctifies. But if the anger thus aroused is satisfied by an expiatory rite, it subsides, alleviated; the offended sentiment is appeased and returns to its original state. So it acts once more as it acted in the beginning; instead of contaminating, it sanctifies. As it continues to infect the object to which it is attached, this could never become profane and religiously indifferent again. But the direction of the religious force with which it seems to be filled is inverted: from being impure, it has become pure and an instrument of purification.

This helps us understand how they change into one another. They reflect the abject state of the group, so their character changes when the group’s state changes. Once mourning is over, the family group has been calmed by the mourning itself. Its members regain confidence. The painful pressure they felt is relieved, and they feel more at ease. So it seems to them that the spirit of the deceased has given up its hostility and become a benevolent protector. The other transformations we have cited can be explained in the same way. As we have already shown, a thing is sacred because of the collective feeling directed toward it. If it comes into contact with a profane person, in violation of the prohibitions that keep it separate, this feeling spreads to that person. It is contagious and marks the person with a special character. But in spreading, the feeling changes greatly from its original state. It is offended and irritated by the profanation involved in this improper and unnatural spread. It becomes aggressive and prone to destructive violence. It seeks to avenge the offense it has suffered. The affected person therefore seems filled with a powerful, harmful force that threatens all who come near. It is as though the person were marked by a stain or blemish. Yet this blemish is caused by the same mental state that, in other circumstances, consecrates and makes things sacred. But if an expiatory rite satisfies the anger thus aroused, the anger subsides. The offended feeling is appeased and returns to its original state. So it acts once more as it did at first. Instead of contaminating, it makes things sacred. Because the feeling continues to affect the object to which it is attached, the object can never become profane and religiously indifferent again. But the religious force that seems to fill the object is reversed. What was impure has become pure and an instrument of purification.

In résumé, the two poles of the religious life correspond to the two opposed states through which all social life passes. Between the propitiously sacred and the unpropitiously sacred there is the same contrast as between the states of collective well-being and ill-being. But since both are equally collective, there is, between the mythological constructions symbolizing them, an intimate kinship of nature. The sentiments held in common vary from extreme dejection to extreme joy, from painful irritation to ecstatic enthusiasm; but, in any case, there is a communion of minds and a mutual comfort resulting from this communion. The fundamental process is always the same; only circumstances colour it differently. So, at bottom, it is the unity and the diversity of social life which make the simultaneous unity and diversity of sacred beings and things.

In summary, the two poles of religious life correspond to the two opposing states through which all social life passes. The contrast between the favorably sacred and the unfavorably sacred is like the contrast between collective well-being and collective suffering. But both states are equally collective, so the myths that symbolize them are closely related in nature. Shared feelings range from extreme despair to extreme joy, from painful irritation to ecstatic enthusiasm. But in every case, minds come together and find mutual comfort in that shared experience. The basic process is always the same. Only the circumstances give it a different character. So, at its core, the unity and diversity of social life make sacred beings and things both unified and diverse.

This ambiguity, moreover, is not peculiar to the idea of sacredness alone; something of this characteristic has been found in all the rites which we have been studying. Of course it was essential to distinguish them; to confuse them would have been to misunderstand the multiple aspects of the religious life. But, on the other hand, howsoever different they may be, there is no break of continuity between them. Quite on the contrary, they overlap one another and may even replace each other mutually. We have already shown how the rites of oblation and communion, the imitative rites and the commemorative rites frequently fulfil the same function. One might imagine that the negative cult, at least, would be more sharply separated from the positive cult; yet we have seen that the former may produce positive effects, identical with those produced by the latter. The same results are obtained by fasts, abstinences and self-mutilations as by communions, oblations and commemorations. Inversely, offerings and sacrifices imply privations and renunciations of every sort. The continuity between ascetic and piacular rites is even more apparent: both are made up of sufferings, accepted or undergone, to which an analogous efficacy is attributed. Thus the practices, like the beliefs, are not arranged in two separate classes. Howsoever complex the outward manifestations of the religious life may be, at bottom it is one and simple. It responds everywhere to one and the same need, and is everywhere derived from one and the same mental state. In all its forms, its object is to raise man above himself and to make him lead a life superior to that which he would lead, if he followed only his own individual whims: beliefs express this life in representations; rites organize it and regulate its working.

This ambiguity is not unique to the idea of sacredness. We have found something similar in all the rites we have studied. Of course, it was essential to distinguish among these rites. To confuse them would have meant misunderstanding the many aspects of religious life. But however different the rites may be, there is no sharp break between them. On the contrary, they overlap and can even replace one another. We have already shown how rites of oblation and communion, imitative rites, and commemorative rites often serve the same function. One might imagine that the negative cult, at least, would be more clearly separated from the positive cult. Yet we have seen that the negative cult can produce positive effects identical to those of the positive cult. Fasts, abstinence, and self-mutilation produce the same results as communions, oblations, and commemorations. Conversely, offerings and sacrifices involve all kinds of privation and renunciation. The continuity between ascetic and piacular rites is even clearer. Both consist of suffering, whether accepted or endured, and both are thought to have similar effects. Thus, like beliefs, practices do not fall into two separate classes. However complex its outward forms may be, religious life is fundamentally one and simple. Everywhere it responds to the same need and comes from the same mental state. In all its forms, its purpose is to raise people above themselves. It makes them lead a higher life than they would if they followed only their own individual whims. Beliefs express this life in representations. Rites organize it and regulate how it works.