In many cases the sacrificial victims are intended to serve as substitutes for other individuals, whose lives are in danger. We have previously noticed that the practice of human sacrifice is mainly based on the idea of substitution.77 We have also seen that a growing reluctance to this practice often led to the offering of animals instead of men.78 But we have no right to assume that the sacrifice of an animal for the purpose of saving the life of a man is in every case a later modification of a previous human sacrifice. The idea that spirits which threaten the lives of men are appeased by other than human blood may in some instances be primary though in others it is derivative. The Moors invariably sacrifice an animal at the foundation of a new building; and though this is said to be ʿâr upon the spirit owners of the place some idea of substitution seems also to be connected with the act, as they maintain that if no animal were killed the inmates of the house would die or remain childless. A similar practice prevails in Syria, where the people believe that “every house must have its death, either man, woman, child, or animal.”79 Among the Jews it is or has been the custom for the master of each house to kill a cock on the eve of the fast of atonement. Before doing so he strikes his head with the cock three times, saying at each stroke, “Let this cock be a commutation for me, let him be substituted for me”; and when he strangles his victim by compressing the neck with his hand, he at the same time reflects that he himself deserves to be strangled.80 These customs can certainly not be regarded as survivals of an earlier practice of killing a human being. Moreover an animal is sometimes sacrificed for the purpose of saving the lives of other animals. Thus in a place in Scotland, in 1767, a young heifer was offered in the holy fire during a cattle-plague.81 And in Great Benin, in West Africa, on the anniversary of the death of Adolo, king Overami’s father, not only twelve men, but twelve cows, twelve goats, twelve sheep, and twelve fowls were offered, and Overami, addressing his father, asked him to look after the “cows, goats, and fowls, and everything in the farms,” as well as the people.82 Sacrifices which are substitutional in character may or may not be intended to satisfy the material needs of supernatural beings. In some cases, as we have seen, their object is to appease a resentful god by the mere death of the victim.83

We have further noticed that, in the case of human sacrifice, the victim is occasionally regarded as a messenger between the worshippers and their god even though the primary object of the rite be a different one.84 The same is sometimes true of other offerings as well.85 The Iroquois sacrifice of the white dog86 was, according to Mr. Morgan, intended “to send up the spirit of the dog as a messenger to the Great Spirit, to announce their continued fidelity to his service, and, also, to convey to him their united thanks for the blessings of the year”; and in their thanksgiving addresses they were in the habit of throwing leaves of tobacco into the fire from time to time that their words might ascend to the dwelling of the Great Spirit in the smoke of their offerings.87 The Huichols of Mexico often use the arrows which they sacrifice to their gods as carriers of special prayers.88

Not only are sacrifices used as bearers of prayers, but they are also frequently offered for the purpose of transferring curses. In Morocco every síyid89 of any importance is constantly visited by persons who desire to invoke the saint to whom it is dedicated with a view to being cured of some illness, or being blessed with children, or getting a suitable husband or wife, or receiving help against an enemy, or deriving some other benefit from the saint. To secure his assistance the visitor makes ʿâr upon him; and the Moorish ʿâr, of which I have spoken above,90 implies the transference of a conditional curse, whether it be made upon an ordinary man or a saint, living or dead. The ʿâr put upon a saint may consist in throwing stones upon a cairn connected with his sanctuary, or making a pile of stones to him, or tying a piece of cloth at the síyid, or knotting the leaves of some palmetto or the stalks of white broom growing in its vicinity, or offering an animal sacrifice to the saint.91 This making of ʿâr is accompanied by a promise to reward the saint if he grants the request; but the sacrifice offered in fulfilment of such a promise (l-wâʿda) is totally distinct from that offered as ʿâr. It is a genuine gift, whereas the ʿâr-sacrifice is a means of constraining the saint. When an animal is killed as ʿâr the usual phrase bismillâh, “In the name of God,” is not used, and the animal may not be eaten, except by poor people.92 On the other hand, the animal which is sacrificed as wâʿda is always killed “in the name of God,” and is offered for the very purpose of being eaten by the saint’s earthly representatives. Nothing can better show than the Moorish distinction between l-ʿâr and l-wâʿda how futile it would be to try to explain every kind of sacrifice by one and the same principle. The distinction between them is fundamental: the former is a threat, the latter is a promised reward.93 But at the same time it is not improbable that the idea of transferring curses to a supernatural being by means of a sacrifice was originally suggested by the previous existence of sacrifice as a religious act, combined with the ascription of mysterious propensities to blood, and especially to sacrificial blood, which, according to primitive ideas, made it a most efficient conductor of curses.

There are obvious indications that the ʿâr-sacrifice of the Moors is not unique of its kind, but has its counterpart among certain other peoples. In ancient religions sacrifice is often supposed to exercise a constraining influence on the god to whom it is offered. We meet with this idea in Zoroastrianism,94 in many of the Vedic hymns,95 and especially in Brahmanism. “Here,” says Barth, “the rites of religion are the real deities, or at any rate they constitute together a sort of independent and superior power, before which the divine personalities disappear, and which almost holds the place allotted to destiny in other systems. The ancient belief, which is already prominent in the Hymns, that sacrifice conditionates the regular course of things, is met with here in the rank of a commonplace, and is at times accompanied with incredible details.”96 Now, there can be little doubt that this ascription of a magic power to the sacrifice, by means of which it could control the actions of the gods, was due to the idea that it served as a conductor of imprecations; for it was invariably accompanied by a formula which was considered to possess irresistible force. In the invocation lies the hidden energy which gives the efficacy to the sacrifice; without Brahmaṇaspati, the lord of prayer, sacrifice does not succeed.97 The Greeks actually offered anathemata, or curses, to their gods.98 The ancient Arabs, again, after killing the sacrificial animal, threw its hair on a holy tree as a curse.99 But so little has the true import of such sacrifices been understood even by eminent scholars, that they have been represented as votive offerings or gifts to the deity.100

Considering that the idea of sacrifice being a conductor of imprecations has hitherto almost entirely escaped the notice of students of early religion, it is impossible to say how widely it prevails and whether it also occurs in the savage world. We know that the practice of cursing a god not only was familiar to the ancient nations of culture, including the Egyptians,101 Hebrews, and other Semites,102 but is common among peoples like the South African Bechuanas103 and the Nagas of India.104 And that the shedding of blood is frequently applied as a means of transferring curses is suggested by various cases in which, however, the object of the imprecation is not a god but a man. We have previously noticed the reception sacrifices offered to visiting strangers, presumably for the purpose of transmitting to them conditional curses;105 and a very similar idea seems to underlie certain cases of oath-taking. Sometimes the oath is taken in connection with a sacrifice made to a god, and then the sanctity of the sacrificial animal naturally increases the efficacy of the self-imprecation. In other instances the oath is taken on the blood of an animal which is killed for the purpose, apparently without being sacrificed to a god. But in either case, I believe, the blood of the animal is thought not only to add supernatural energy to the oath, but to transfer, as it were, the self-imprecation to the very person who pronounces it. The Mrús, a Chittagong hill tribe, “will swear by one of their gods, to whom, at the same time, a sacrifice must be offered.”106 Among the ancient Norsemen both the accused and the accuser grasped the holy ring kept for that purpose on the altar, stained with the blood of a sacrificial bull, and made oath by invoking Freyr, Niordr, and the almighty among the Asas.107 At Athens a person who charged another with murder made an oath with imprecations upon himself and his family and his house, standing upon the entrails of a boar, a ram, and a bull, which had been sacrificed by special persons on the appointed days.108 Tyndareus “sacrificed a horse and swore the suitors of Helen, making them stand on the pieces of the horse,” the oath being to defend Helen and him who might be chosen to marry her if ever they should be wronged.109 One of the three binding forms of oath prevalent among the Sânsiya in India is to “kill a cock and pouring its blood on the ground swear over it.”110 When the Annamese swear by heaven and earth, they often kill a buffalo or he-goat and drink its blood.111 Among the ancient Arabs comrades in arms swore fidelity to each other by dipping their hands in the blood of a camel killed for the purpose.112

The last mentioned case, which implies shedding of blood as a means of sealing a compact, leads us to a special class of sacrifices offered to gods, namely, the covenant sacrifice, known to us from Semitic antiquity. The Hebrews, as Professor Robertson Smith observes,113 thought of the national religion as constituted by a formal covenant sacrifice at Mount Sinai, where half of the blood of the sacrificed oxen was sprinkled on the altar and the other half on the people,114 or even by a still earlier covenant rite in which the parties were Yahve and Abraham;115 and the idea of sacrifice establishing a covenant between God and man is also apparent in the Psalms.116 In various cases recorded in the Old Testament sacrifice is accompanied by a sacrificial meal;117 “the god and his worshippers are wont to eat and drink together, and by this token their fellowship is declared and sealed.”118 Robertson Smith and his followers have represented this as an act of communion, as a sacrament in which the whole kin—the god with his clansmen—unite, and in partaking of which each member renews his union with the god and with the rest of the clan. At first, we are told, the god—that is, the totem god—himself was eaten, whilst at a later stage the practice of eating the god was superseded by the practice of eating with the god. Communion still remains the core of sacrifice; and it is said that only subsequently the practice of offering gifts to the deity develops out of the sacrificial union between the worshippers and their god.119 But I venture to think that the whole of this theory is based upon a misunderstanding of the Semitic evidence, and that existing beliefs in Morocco throw new light upon the covenant sacrifice.

The Moorish covenant (l-ʿahd) is closely connected with the Moorish ʿâr. Whilst l-ʿâr is one-sided, l-ʿahd is mutual, both parties transferring conditional curses to one another. And here again the transference requires a material conductor. Among the Arabs of the plains and the Berbers of Central Morocco chiefs, in times of rebellion, exchange their cloaks or turbans, and it is believed that if any of them should break the covenant he would be punished with some grave misfortune. Among the Ulád Bu ʿAzîz, in the province of Dukkâla, it is a common custom for persons who wish to be reconciled after a quarrel to go to a holy man and in his presence join their right hands so that the fingers of the one go between the fingers of the other, after which the saint throws his cloak over the united hands, saying, “This is ʿahd between you.” Or they may in a similar manner join their hands at a saint’s tomb over the head of the box under which the saint is buried, or they may perform the same ceremony simply in the presence of some friends. In either case the joining of hands is usually accompanied by a common meal, and frequently the hands are joined over the dish after eating. If a person who has thus made a compact with another is afterwards guilty of a breach of faith, it is said that “God and the food will repay him”; in other words, the conditional curse embodied in the food which he ate will be realised. All over Morocco the usual method of sealing a compact of friendship is by eating together, especially at the tomb of some saint. As we have noticed above,120 the sacredness of the place adds to the efficacy of the imprecation, but its vehicle, the real punisher, is the eaten food, because it contains a conditional curse.

The ʿahd of the Moors helps us to understand the covenant sacrifice of the ancient Semites. The only difference between them is that the former is a method of establishing a compact between men and men, whilst the latter established a compact between men and their god. The idea of a mutual transference of conditional curses undoubtedly underlies both. It should be noticed that in the Old Testament also, as among the Moors, we meet with human covenants made by the parties eating together.121 Thus the Israelites entered into alliance with the Gibeonites by taking of their victuals, without consulting Yahve, and the meal was expressly followed by an oath.122 In other instances, again, the common dish consisted of sacrificial food, either because the sacredness of such food was supposed to make the conditional curse embodied in it more efficacious, or because the deity was included as a third party to the covenant.

Whilst in some cases the object of a sacrifice is to transfer conditional curses either to the god to whom it is made, or to both the god and the worshipper, the victim or article offered may in other instances be used as a vehicle for transferring benign virtue to him who offered it or to other persons. As we have noticed above, a sacrifice is very frequently believed to be endowed with beneficial magic energy in consequence of its contact or communion with the supernatural being to which it is offered, and this energy is then supposed to have a salutary effect upon the person who comes in touch with it. I have said before that in Morocco magic virtue is ascribed to various parts of the sheep which is sacrificed at the “Great Feast,” and that every offering to a holy person, especially a dead saint, is considered to participate to some extent in his sanctity.123 The Vedic people regarded sacrificial food as a kind of medicine.124 The Siberian Kachinzes blessed their huts with sacrificial milk.125 The Lapps strewed the ashes of their burnt-offerings upon their heads.126 It is quite possible that in some instances a desire to receive the benefit of the supernatural energy with which the sacrifice is endowed is by itself a sufficient motive for offering it to a god.

As is the case with other rites, sacrifices also have a strong tendency to survive the ideas from which they sprang. Thus when the materialistic conception of the nature of gods faded away, offerings continued to be made to them, though their meaning was changed. As Sir E. B. Tylor observes, “the idea of practical acceptableness of the food or valuables presented to the deity, begins early to shade into the sentiment of divine gratification or propitiation by a reverent offering, though in itself of not much account to so mighty a divine personage,”127 Sacrifice then becomes mainly, or exclusively, a symbol of humility and reverence. Even in the Rig-Veda, in spite of its crude materialism, we meet with indications of the idea that the value of a sacrifice lies in the feelings of the worshipper; if unable to offer an ox or cow, the singer hopes that a small gift from the heart, a fagot, a libation, a bundle of grass, offered with reverence, will be more acceptable to the god than butter or honey.128 In Greece, though the sacrificial ritual remained unchanged till the end of paganism, we frequently come upon the advanced reflection that righteousness is the best sacrifice, that the poor man’s slight offering avails more with the deity than hecatombs of oxen.129 According to Porphyry, the gods have no need of banquets and magnificent sacrifices, but we should with the greatest alacrity make a moderate oblation to them of our own property, as “the honours which we pay to the gods should be accompanied by the same promptitude as that with which we give the first seat to worthy men.”130 It is said in the Talmud that “he who offers humility unto God and man, shall be rewarded with a reward as if he had offered all the sacrifices in the world.”131

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

As supernatural beings have material needs like men, they also possess property like men, and this must not be interfered with. The Fjort of West Africa believe that the spirits of the rivers kill those who drink their waters and sometimes punish those who fish in them for greediness, by making them deaf and dumb.132 When their chief god “played” by thundering, the Amazulu said to him who was frightened, “Why do you start, because the lord plays? What have you taken which belongs to him?”133 The Fijians speak of a deluge the cause of which was the killing of a favourite bird belonging to the god Ndengei by two mischievous lads, his grandsons.134 In Efate, of the New Hebrides, to steal cocoanuts which are consecrated to the worship of the gods at some forthcoming festival “would be regarded as a much greater offence than common stealing.”135 So, too, the pillaging of a temple has commonly been looked upon as the worst kind of robbery.136 Among the Hebrews any trespass upon ground which was hallowed by the localised presence of Yahveh was visited with extreme punishment.137 In Arabia people were forbidden to cut fodder, fell trees, or hunt game within the precincts of a sacred place.138 The Moors believe that a person would incur a very great risk indeed by cutting the branch of a tree or shooting a bird in the ḥorm of a síyid, or dead saint. The ḥorm is the homestead and domain of the saint, and he is the owner of everything within its borders. But the offence is not exclusively one against property, and it may be doubted whether originally any clear idea of ownership at all was connected with it. In a holy place all objects are endowed with supernatural energy, and may therefore themselves, as it were, avenge injuries committed against them. This is true of the ḥorm of a saint, as well as of any other sanctuary, all his belongings being considered to partake of his sanctity. But, as a matter of fact, the so-called tomb of a saint is frequently a place which was at first regarded as holy by itself, on account of its natural appearance, and was only afterwards traditionally associated with a holy person, when the need was felt of giving an anthropomorphous interpretation of its holiness.139 According to early ideas a sacred object cannot with impunity be appropriated for ordinary purposes;140 but, on the other hand, visitors are allowed to take a handful of earth from the tomb of the saint or in certain cases to cut a small piece of wood from some tree growing in his ḥorm, to be used as a charm.141 It also deserves notice that the saint protects not only his own property, but any goods left in his care; hence the country Arabs of Morocco often have their granaries in the ḥórŭmat of saints.