Ir you were to ask almost any intelligent and unsophisticated child, who hadn't read Robert Elsmere, "What is religion?" he would answer offhand, with the clear vision of youth, "Oh, it's say ing your prayers, and reading your Bible, and singing hymns, and going to church, don't you know, on Sundays." If you were to ask any intelligent and unsophisticated Hindu peasant the same question, he would answer in almost the self-same spirit, "Oh, it's doing poojah regularly, and paying your dues every day to Mahadeo." If you were to ask any simpleminded African savage, he would similarly reply, "It's giving the gods flour, and oil, and native beer, and goat-mutton." And finally, if you were to ask a devout Italian contadino, he would instantly say, "It's offering up candles and prayers to the Madonna, attending mass, and remembering the saints on every festa."

And they would all be quite right.
NEW SERIES.-VOL. LI., No. 2.

This, in its essence, is precisely what we call religion. Apart from the special refinements of the higher minds in particular cults or creeds, which strive to import into it all, according to their special tastes or fancies, a larger or smaller dose of philosophy, or of metaphysics, or of ethics, or of mysticism, this is just what religion means and has always meant to the vast majority of the human species. What is common to it throughout is Custom or Practice a certain set of more or less similar Observances: propitiation, prayer, praise, offerings: the request for divine favors, the deprecation of divine anger or other misfortunes: and as the outward and visible adjuncts of all these, the altar, the sacrifice, the temple, the church, priesthood, services, vestments, ceremonial.

What is not at all essential to religion in its wider aspect-taking the world round, both past and present, Pagan, Buddhist, Mohammadan, Christian, savage,

and civilized—is the ethical element, properly so-called. And what is very little essential indeed is the philosophical element, theology or mythology, the abstract theory of spiritual existences. This theory, to be sure, is in each country or race closely related with religion under certain aspects; and the stories told about the gods or God are much mixed up with the cult in the minds of worshippers; but they are no proper part of religion, strictly so called. In a single word, I contend that religion, as such, is essentially practical theology or mythology, as such, is essentially theoretical.

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Moreover, I also believe, and shall attempt to show, that the two have to a large extent distinct origins and roots: that the union between them is in great part adventitious and that, therefore, to account for or explain the one is by no means equivalent to accounting for and explaining the other. Frank recognition of this difference of origin between religion and mythology would, I imagine, largely reconcile the two conflicting schools of thought which at present divide opinion between them on this interesting problem in the evolution of human ideas. On the one side, we have the mythological school of interpreters, whether narrowly linguistic, like Professor Max Müller, or broadly anthropological, like Mr. Andrew Lang, attacking the problem from the point of view of myth or theory alone. On the other side, we have the truly religious school of interpreters, like Mr. Herbert Spencer, and to some extent Mr. Tylor, attacking the problem from the point of view of pracfice or real religion. The former school, it seems to me, have failed to perceive that what it is accounting for is not the origin of religion at all-of worship, which is the central-root idea of all religious observance, or of the temple, the altar, the priest, and the offering, which are its outer expression-but merely the origin of myth or fable, the mass of story and legend about various beings, real or imaginary, human or divine, which naturally grows up in every primitive community. The latter school, on the other hand, while correctly interpreting the origin of all that is essential and central in religion, have perhaps underestimated the value of their opponents' work through regarding it as really opposed to their own, instead of accepting what part of it may be true

in the light of a contribution to an independent but allied branch of the same inquiry.

In short, if the view here suggested be correct, Spencer and Tylor have paved the way to a true theory of the Origin of Religion: Max Müller, Lang, and the other mythologists have thrown out hints of varying value toward a true theory of the Origin of Mythology, or of its more modern equivalent and successor, Theology.

A brief outline of facts will serve to bring into clearer relief this view of religion as essentially practical-a set of observances, rendered inevitable by the primitive data of human psychology. It will then be seen that what is fundamental and essential in religion is the body of practices, remaining throughout all stages of human development the same, or nearly the same, in spite of changes of mythological or theological theory; and that what is accidental and variable is the particular verbal explanation or philosophical reason assigned for the diverse rites and ceremonies.

In its simplest surviving savage type, religion consists wholly and solely in certain acts of deference paid by the living to the ghosts of the dead. I shall try to show in the sequel that down to its most highly evolved modern type in the most cultivated societies, precisely similar acts of deference, either directly to ghosts as such, or indirectly to gods who were once ghosts, or were developed from ghosts, form its essence still. But to begin with I will try to bring a few simple instances of the precise nature of religion in its lowest existing savage mode.

I might if I chose take my little collection of illustrative facts from some theoretical writer, like Mr. Herbert Spencer, who has collected enough instances in all conscience to prove this point; but I prefer to go straight to an original observer of savage life and habit, a Presbyterian missionary in Central Africa-the Rev. Duff Macdonald, author of Africana--who had abundant opportunities at the Blantyre Mission for learning the ideas and practice of the natives, and who certainly had no theoretic predisposition toward ultimately resolving all religious notions into the primitive respect and reverence for the worship of ancestors.

Here, in outline, but in Mr. Macdonald's own words, are the ideas and observances which this careful and accurate

On the question, "Who the gods are ?" Mr. Macdonald says

"In all our translations of Scripture where we found the word GoD we used Mulungu, but this word is chiefly used by the natives as a general name for spirit. The spirit of a deceased man is called his Malungu, and all the prayers and offerings of the living are presented to such spirits of the dead. It is here that we find the great centre of the native religion. The spirits of the dead are the gods of the living.

"Where are these gods found? At the grave? No. The villagers shrink from yonder gloomy place that lies far beyond their fields on the bleak mountain side. It is only when they have to lay another sleeper beside his forefathers that they will go there. Their god is not the body in the grave, but the spirit, and they seek this spirit at the place where their departed kinsman last lived among them. It is the great tree at the veranda of the dead man's house that is their temple, and if no tree grow here they erect a little shade, and there perform their simple rites. If this spot become too public the offerings may be defiled, and the sanctuary will be removed to a carefully-selected spot under some beautiful tree. Very frequently a man presents an offering at the top of his own bed beside his head. He wishes his god to come to him and whisper in his ear as he sleeps."

And here, again, we get the origin of nature-worship :

"The spirit of an old chief may have a whole mountain for his residence, but he dwells chiefly on the cloudy summit. There he sits to receive the worship of his votaries,

and to send down the refreshing showers in answer to their prayers."

Almost as essential to religion as these prime factors in its evolution-the god, worship, offerings, presents, holy places, temples-is the existence of a priesthood. Here is how the Central Africans arrive at that special function :

in approaching the gods. In no case can a A certain amount of etiquette is observed little boy or girl approach these deities, neither can any one that has not been at the mysteries. The common qualification is that a person has attained a certain age, about twelve or fourteen years, and has a house of his own. Slaves seldom pray, except when they have had a dream. Children that have had a dream tell their mother, who approaches the deity on their behalf. (A present for the god is necessary, and the slave or child may not have it.) Apart from the case of dreams and a few such private matters, it is not usual for any one to approach the gods except the chief of the village. He is the recognized high priest who presents prayers and offerings on behalf of all that live in his village. If the chief is from home his wife will act, and if both are absent, his younger brother. The natives worship not so much individually as in villages or communities. Their religion is more a public than a private matter."

But there are also further reasons why priests are necessary. Relationship forms always a good ground for intercession. A mediator is needed.

"The chief of a village," says Mr. Macdonald, "has another title to the priesthood. It is his relatives that are the village gods. Every one that lives in the village recognizes these gods; but if any one remove to another village he changes his gods. He recognizes now the gods of his new chief. One wishing to pray to the god (or gods) of any village naturally desires to have his prayers presented through the village chief, because the latter is nearly related to the village god, and may be expected to be better listened to than a stranger.

A little further on Mr. Macdonald says,

"On the subject of the village gods opinions differ. Some say that every one in the village, whether a relative of the chief or not, must worship the forefathers of the chief. Others say that a person not related to the chief must worship his own forefathers, otherwise their spirits will bring trouble upon him. To reconcile these authorities we may mention that nearly every one in the village is related to its chief, or if not related is, in courtesy, considered so. Any person not related to the village chief would be polite enough on all public occasions to recognize the village god : on occasions of private prayer (which are not

Besides, there might be a god of the land. The chief Kapeni prays to his own relatives, and also to the old gods of the place. His own relatives he approaches himself, the other deities he may also approach himself, but he often finds people more closely related and congequently more acceptable to the old gods of the land.'

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The African pantheon is thus widely peopled. Elimination and natural selection next give one the transition from the ghost to the god, properly so called.

"The gods of the natives then are nearly as numerous as their dead. It is impossible to worship all; a selection must be made, and, as we have indicated, each worshipper turns most naturally to the spirits of his own departed relatives; but his gods are too many still, and in farther selecting he turns to those that have lived nearest his own time. Thus the chief of a village will not trouble himself about his great-great-grandfather; he will present his offering to his own immediate predecessor, and say, 'O father, I do not know all your relatives, you know them all, invite them to feast with you.' The offering is not simply for himself, but for himself and all his relatives."

Ordinary ghosts are soon forgotten with the generation that knew them. Not so a few select spirits, the Cæsars and Napoleons, the Charlemagnes and Timurs of savage empires.

66 A great chief that has been successful in his wars does not pass out of memory so soon. He may become the god of a mountain or a lake, and may receive homage as a local deity long after his own descendants have been driven from the spot. When there is a supplication for rain the inhabitants of the country pray not so much to their own forefathers as to the god of yonder mountain on whose shoulders the great rain clouds repose. (Smaller hills are seldom honored with a deity.)"

Well, in all this we get, it seems to me, the very essentials and universals of religion generally, the things without which no religion could exist-the vital part, with out the ever-varying and changeable additions of mere gossipping mythology. In the presents brought to the dead man's grave to appease the ghost, we have the central element of all worship, the practical key of all cults, past or present. On the other hand, I have just re-read carefully, for the purpose of comparison, my friend Mr. Andrew Lang's Myth, Ritual, and Religion, in order to see if I could find in it anywhere any light thrown by mythology on these, the eternal and im

mutable factors of religious practice. I found in it none. There is much learning, many strange myths, great comparison of stories spread all the world over, a profusion of knowledge about the tales which Greeks told of Halcyon or Deucalion, and which Maoris tell of Maui and Tani, but not one word from beginning to end that

helps one to explain the origin of worship, prayer, sacrifices, altars, temples, churches, praise, adoration. In short, in spite of its name, that able work appears to me to contain a great deal about myth, very little about ritual, and hardly anything at all about true religion.*

Now, mythology is a very interesting study in its own way, and Mr. Lang has done excellent work in rescuing it from the clutches of the solar faddists: but to treat as religion a mass of stories and legends about gods or saints, with hardly a single living element of practice or sacrifice, seems to me simply to confuse two totally distinct branches of human enquiry. The origin of tales has nothing at all to do with the origin of worship.

When we come to read Mr. Macdonald's account of a native funeral, on the other tack; we can understand, as by the aid of hand, we are at once on a totally different an electric flash, the genesis of the primitive acts of sacrifice and religion.

Along with the deceased is buried a considerable part of his property. We have already seen that his bed is buried with him, so also are all his clothes. If he possesses several tusks of ivory one tusk or more is ground to a powder between two stones and put beside him. Beads are also ground down in the same way. These precautions are taken to prevent the witch [who is supposed to be answerable for his death] from making any use of the ivory or beads.

"If the deceased owned several slaves an enormous hole is dug for a grave. The slaves either cast into the pit alive, or the underare now brought forward, They may be

takers may cut all their throats. The body of their master or their mistress is then laid down to rest above theirs, and the grave is covered in.

"After this the women come forward with the offerings of food, and place them at the

head of the grave. The dishes in which the

* Exception may be made in favor of a few scattered passages about the worship of unhewn stones (i. 274), and about human sacrifices and other really religious exercises. I should add in justice that Mr. Lang disclaims (i. 327), which he considers to be "beyond the all enquiry into the origin of the idea of a god ken of history and of speculation."

food was brought are left behind. The pot that held the drinking water of the deceased and his drinking cup are also left with him. These, too, might be coveted by the witch, but a hole is pierced in the pot, and the drinking calabash is broken.

"The man has now gone from the society of the living, and he is expected to share the meal thus left at his grave with those that have gone before him. The funeral party breaks up; they do not want to visit the grave of their friend again without a very good reason. Any one found among the graves may be taken for a cannibal. Their friend has become a citizen of a different village. He is with all his relatives of the past. He is entitled to offerings or presents which may come to him individually or through his chief. These offerings in most cases he will share with others, just as he used to do when alive."

Sometimes the man may be buried in his own hut.

"In this case the house is not taken down, but is generally covered with cloth, and the veranda becomes the place for presenting offerings. His old house thus becomes a kind of temple. The deceased is now in the spirit world, and receives offerings and adoration. He is addressed as 'Our great spirit that has gone before.' If any one dream of him, it is at once concluded that the spirit is up to something.' Very likely he wants to have some of the survivors for his companions. The dreamer hastens to appease the spirit by an offering."

So real is this society of the dead that Mr. Macdonald says,—

"The practice of sending messengers to the world beyond the grave is found on the West

Coast. A chief summons a slave, delivers to him a message, and then cuts off his head. If the chief forget anything that he wanted to say, he sends another slave as a postscript."

I have quoted at such length from this recent and extremely able work because I want to bring into strong relief the fact that we have here going on under our very eyes, from day to day, de novo, the entire genesis of new gods and goddesses, and of all that is most central and essential to religion-worship, the temple, the altar, sacrifice. Nothing that the mythologists can tell us about the Dawn, or the Stormcloud, or Little Red Riding Hood, or Cinderella and the Glass Slipper, comes anywhere near the Origin of Religion in these its central and universal elements. Those stories or guesses may be of immense interest and importance as contributions to the history of ideas in our race; but nothing we can learn about the savage survival in the myth of Cupid and Psyche, or about the primitive cosmology in the myth of

the children of Kronos, helps us to get one inch nearer the origin of prayer, of worship, of religious ceremonial, of the temple, the church, the sacrifice, the mass, or any other component part of what we really know as religion in its essence. These myths may be sometimes philosophic guesses, sometimes primitive folktales, but they certainly are not the truths of religion. On the other hand, the living facts, here so simply detailed by a careful, accurate, and unassuming observer, strengthened by the hundreds of other similar facts collected by Tylor, Spencer, and others, do help us at once to understand the origin of the central core and kernel of religion as universally practised all the world over.

For, omitting for the present the mythological and cosmological factor, which so often comes in to obscure the plain religious facts in missionary narrative or highlycolored European accounts of native religions, what do we really find as the underlying truths of religion? That all the world over practices essentially similar to those of these eavage Central Africans prevail among mankind; practices whose affiliation upon the same primitive ideas has been abundantly proved by Mr. Her bert Spencer; practices which have for their essence the propitiation or adulation of a spiritual being or beings, derived from ghosts, and conceived of as similar, in all except the greatness of the connoted attributes, to the souls of men. Whenever the [Indian] villagers are questioned about their creed," says Sir William Hunter, "the same answer is invariably given: The common people have no idea of religion, but to do right [ceremonially] and to worship the village god." "

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In short, I maintain that religion is not mainly, as the mistaken analogy of Christian usage makes us erroneously call it, Faith or Creed, but simply and solely Ceremony, Custom, or Practice.

If one looks at the vast mass of the world, ancient and modern, it is quite clear that religion consists, and has always consisted, of observances essentially similar to those just described among the Central African tribes. Its core is worship. The religion of China is to this day almost entirely one of pure ancestor cult. The making of offerings and burning of joss-paper before the family dead form its principal ceremonies. In India, while the three great gods of the