I have seen no reason to withdraw the explanation of the priesthood of Aricia which forms the central theme of my book. On the contrary, the probability of that explanation appears to me to be greatly strengthened by some important evidence which has come to light since my theory was put forward. Readers of the first edition may remember that I explained the priest of Aricia—the King of the Wood—as an embodiment of a tree-spirit, and inferred from a variety of considerations that at an earlier period one of these priests had probably been slain9 every year in his character of an incarnate10 deity11. But for an undoubted parallel to such a custom of killing12 a human god annually13 I had to go as far as ancient Mexico. Now from the Martyrdom of St. Dasius, unearthed14 and published a few years ago by Professor Franz Cumont of Ghent (Analecta Bollandiana, xvi. 1897), it is practically certain that in ancient Italy itself a human representative of Saturn—the old god of the seed—was put to death every year at his festival of the Saturnalia, and that though in Rome itself the custom had probably fallen into disuse before the classical era, it still lingered on in remote places down at least to the fourth century after Christ. I cannot but regard this discovery as a confirmation15, as welcome as it was unlooked for, of the theory of the Arician priesthood which I had been led independently to propound16.
Further, the general interpretation17 which, following W. Mannhardt, I had given of the ceremonies observed by our European peasantry in spring, at midsummer, and at harvest, has also been corroborated18 by fresh and striking analogies. If we are right, these ceremonies were originally magical rites20 designed to cause plants to grow, cattle to thrive, rain to fall, and the sun to shine. Now the remarkable21 researches of Professor Baldwin Spencer and Mr. F. J. Gillen {xix} among the native tribes of Central Australia have proved that these savages22 regularly perform magical ceremonies for the express purpose of bringing down rain and multiplying the plants and animals on which they subsist23, and further that these ceremonies are most commonly observed at the approach of the rainy season, which in Central Australia answers to our spring. Here then, at the other side of the world, we find an exact counterpart of those spring and midsummer rites which our rude forefathers24 in Europe probably performed with a full consciousness of their meaning, and which many of their descendants still keep up, though the original intention of the rites has been to a great extent, but by no means altogether, forgotten. The harvest customs of our European peasantry have naturally no close analogy among the practices of the Australian aborigines, since these savages do not till the ground. But what we should look for in vain among the Australians we find to hand among the Malays. For recent enquiries, notably25 those of Mr. J. L. van der Toorn in Sumatra and of Mr. W. W. Skeat in the Malay Peninsula, have supplied us with close parallels to the harvest customs of Europe, as these latter were interpreted by the genius of Mannhardt. Occupying a lower plane of culture than ourselves, the Malays have retained a keen sense of the significance of rites which in Europe have sunk to the level of more or less meaningless survivals.
Thus on the whole I cannot but think that the course of subsequent investigation26 has tended to confirm the general principles followed and the particular conclusions reached in this book. At the same time I am as sensible as ever of the hypothetical nature of much that is advanced in it. It has been my wish and intention to draw as sharply as possible the line of demarcation between my facts and the hypotheses by which I have attempted to colligate them. Hypotheses are necessary but often temporary bridges built to connect isolated27 facts. If my light bridges should sooner or later {xx} break down or be superseded28 by more solid structures, I hope that my book may still have its utility and its interest as a repertory of facts.
But while my views, tentative and provisional as they probably are, thus remain much what they were, there is one subject on which they have undergone a certain amount of change, unless indeed it might be more exact to say that I seem to see clearly now what before was hazy29. I mean the relation of magic to religion. When I first wrote this book I failed, perhaps inexcusably, to define even to myself my notion of religion, and hence was disposed to class magic loosely under it as one of its lower forms. I have now sought to remedy this defect by framing as clear a definition of religion as the difficult nature of the subject and my apprehension30 of it allowed. Hence I have come to agree with Sir A. C. Lyall and Mr. F. B. Jevons in recognising a fundamental distinction and even opposition31 of principle between magic and religion. More than that, I believe that in the evolution of thought, magic, as representing a lower intellectual stratum32, has probably everywhere preceded religion. I do not claim any originality33 for this latter view. It has been already plainly suggested, if not definitely formulated34, by Professor H. Oldenberg in his able book Die Religion des Veda, and for aught I know it may have been explicitly36 stated by many others before and since him. I have not collected the opinions of the learned on the subject, but have striven to form my own directly from the facts. And the facts which bespeak37 the priority of magic over religion are many and weighty. Some of them the reader will find stated in the following pages; but the full force of the evidence can only be appreciated by those who have made a long and patient study of primitive38 superstition39. I venture to think that those who submit to this drudgery40 will come more and more to the opinion I have indicated. That all my readers should agree either with my definition {xxi} of religion or with the inferences I have drawn from it is not to be expected. But I would ask those who dissent41 from my conclusions to make sure that they mean the same thing by religion that I do; for otherwise the difference between us may be more apparent than real.
As the scope and purpose of my book have been seriously misconceived by some courteous42 critics, I desire to repeat in more explicit35 language, what I vainly thought I had made quite clear in my original preface, that this is not a general treatise43 on primitive superstition, but merely the investigation of one particular and narrowly limited problem, to wit, the rule of the Arician priesthood, and that accordingly only such general principles are explained and illustrated44 in the course of it as seemed to me to throw light on that special problem. If I have said little or nothing of other principles of equal or even greater importance, it is assuredly not because I undervalue them in comparison with those which I have expounded45 at some length, but simply because it appeared to me that they did not directly bear on the question I had set myself to answer. No one can well be more sensible than I am of the immense variety and complexity46 of the forces which have gone towards the building up of religion; no one can recognise more frankly47 the futility48 and inherent absurdity49 of any attempt to explain the whole vast organism as the product of any one simple factor. If I have hitherto touched, as I am quite aware, only the fringe of a great subject—fingered only a few of the countless50 threads that compose the mighty51 web,—it is merely because neither my time nor my knowledge has hitherto allowed me to do more. Should I live to complete the works for which I have collected and am collecting materials, I dare to think that they will clear me of any suspicion of treating the early history of religion from a single narrow point of view. But the future is necessarily uncertain, and at the best {xxii} many years must elapse before I can execute in full the plan which I have traced out for myself. Meanwhile I am unwilling52 by keeping silence to leave some of my readers under the impression that my outlook on so large a subject does not reach beyond the bounds of the present enquiry. This is my reason for noticing the misconceptions to which I have referred. I take leave to add that some part of my larger plan would probably have been completed before now, were it not that out of the ten years which have passed since this book was first published nearly eight have been spent by me in work of a different kind.
There is a misunderstanding of another sort which I feel constrained53 to set right. But I do so with great reluctance54, because it compels me to express a measure of dissent from the revered55 friend and master to whom I am under the deepest obligations, and who has passed beyond the reach of controversy56. In an elaborate and learned essay on sacrifice (L’Année Sociologique, Deuxième Année, 1897–1898), Messrs. H. Hubert and M. Mauss have represented my theory of the slain god as intended to supplement and complete Robertson Smith’s theory of the derivation of animal sacrifice in general from a totem sacrament. On this I have to say that the two theories are quite independent of each other. I never assented57 to my friend’s theory, and so far as I can remember he never gave me a hint that he assented to mine. My reason for suspending my judgment58 in regard to his theory was a simple one. At the time when the theory was propounded59, and for many years afterwards, I knew of no single indubitable case of a totem sacrament, that is, of a custom of killing and eating the totem animal as a solemn rite19. It is true that in my Totemism, and again in the present work, I noted60 a few cases (four in all) of solemnly killing a sacred animal which, following Robertson Smith, I regarded as probably a totem. But none even of these four cases included the {xxiii} eating of the sacred animal by the worshippers, which was an essential part of my friend’s theory, and in regard to all of them it was not positively61 known that the slain animal was a totem. Hence as time went on and still no certain case of a totem sacrament was reported, I became more and more doubtful of the existence of such a practice at all, and my doubts had almost hardened into incredulity when the long-looked-for rite was discovered by Messrs. Spencer and Gillen in full force among the aborigines of Central Australia, whom I for one must consider to be the most primitive totem tribes as yet known to us. This discovery I welcomed as a very striking proof of the sagacity of my brilliant friend, whose rapid genius had outstripped62 our slower methods and anticipated what it was reserved for subsequent research positively to ascertain63. Thus from being little more than an ingenious hypothesis the totem sacrament has become, at least in my opinion, a well-authenticated fact. But from the practice of the rite by a single set of tribes it is still a long step to the universal practice of it by all totem tribes, and from that again it is a still longer stride to the deduction64 therefrom of animal sacrifice in general. These two steps I am not yet prepared to take. No one will welcome further evidence of the wide prevalence of a totem sacrament more warmly than I shall, but until it is forthcoming I shall continue to agree with Professor E. B. Tylor that it is unsafe to make the custom the base of far-reaching speculations65.
To conclude this subject, I will add that the doctrine66 of the universality of totemism, which Messrs. Hubert and Mauss have implicitly67 attributed to me, is one which I have never enunciated68 or assumed, and that, so far as my knowledge and opinion go, the worship of trees and cereals, which occupies so large a space in these volumes, is neither identical with nor derived69 from a system of totemism. It is possible that further enquiry may lead me to regard as {xxiv} probable the universality of totemism and the derivation from it of sacrifice and of the whole worship both of plants and animals. I hold myself ready to follow the evidence wherever it may lead; but in the present state of our knowledge I consider that to accept these conclusions would be, not to follow the evidence, but very seriously to outrun it. In thinking so I am happy to be at one with Messrs. Hubert and Mauss.
When I am on this theme I may as well say that I am by no means prepared to stand by everything in my little apprentice70 work, Totemism. That book was a rough piece of pioneering in a field that, till then, had been but little explored, and some inferences in it were almost certainly too hasty. In particular there was a tendency, perhaps not unnatural71 in the circumstances, to treat as totems, or as connected with totemism, things which probably were neither the one nor the other. If ever I republish the volume, as I hope one day to do, I shall have to retrench72 it in some directions as well as to enlarge it in others.
Such as it is, with all its limitations, which I have tried to indicate clearly, and with all its defects, which I leave to the critics to discover, I offer my book in its new form as a contribution to that still youthful science which seeks to trace the growth of human thought and institutions in those dark ages which lie beyond the range of history. The progress of that science must needs be slow and painful, for the evidence, though clear and abundant on some sides, is lamentably73 obscure and scanty74 on others, so that the cautious enquirer75 is every now and then brought up sharp on the edge of some yawning chasm76 across which he may be quite unable to find a way. All he can do in such a case is to mark the pitfall77 plainly on his chart and to hope that others in time may be able to fill it up or bridge it over. Yet the very difficulty and novelty of the investigation, coupled with the extent of the intellectual prospect78 which suddenly opens {xxv} up before us whenever the mist rises and unfolds the far horizon, constitute no small part of its charm. The position of the anthropologist79 of to-day resembles in some sort the position of classical scholars at the revival80 of learning. To these men the rediscovery of ancient literature came like a revelation, disclosing to their wondering eyes a splendid vision of the antique world, such as the cloistered81 student of the Middle Ages never dreamed of under the gloomy shadow of the minster and within the sound of its solemn bells. To us moderns a still wider vista82 is vouchsafed83, a greater panorama84 is unrolled by the study which aims at bringing home to us the faith and the practice, the hopes and the ideals, not of two highly gifted races only, but of all mankind, and thus at enabling us to follow the long march, the slow and toilsome ascent85, of humanity from savagery86 to civilisation87. And as the scholar of the Renaissance88 found not merely fresh food for thought but a new field of labour in the dusty and faded manuscripts of Greece and Rome, so in the mass of materials that is steadily89 pouring in from many sides—from buried cities of remotest antiquity90 as well as from the rudest savages of the desert and the jungle—we of to-day must recognise a new province of knowledge which will task the energies of generations of students to master. The study is still in its rudiments91, and what we do now will have to be done over again and done better, with fuller knowledge and deeper insight, by those who come after us. To recur92 to a metaphor93 which I have already made use of, we of this age are only pioneers hewing94 lanes and clearings in the forest where others will hereafter sow and reap.
But the comparative study of the beliefs and institutions of mankind is fitted to be much more than a means of satisfying an enlightened curiosity and of furnishing materials for the researches of the learned. Well handled, it may become a powerful instrument to expedite progress if it lays bare certain weak spots in the foundations on which modern {xxvi} society is built—if it shews that much which we are wont95 to regard as solid rests on the sands of superstition rather than on the rock of nature. It is indeed a melancholy96 and in some respects thankless task to strike at the foundations of beliefs in which, as in a strong tower, the hopes and aspirations97 of humanity through long ages have sought a refuge from the storm and stress of life. Yet sooner or later it is inevitable98 that the battery of the comparative method should breach99 these venerable walls, mantled100 over with the ivy101 and mosses102 and wild flowers of a thousand tender and sacred associations. At present we are only dragging the guns into position: they have hardly yet begun to speak. The task of building up into fairer and more enduring forms the old structures so rudely shattered is reserved for other hands, perhaps for other and happier ages. We cannot foresee, we can hardly even guess, the new forms into which thought and society will run in the future. Yet this uncertainty103 ought not to induce us, from any consideration of expediency104 or regard for antiquity, to spare the ancient moulds, however beautiful, when these are proved to be out-worn. Whatever comes of it, wherever it leads us, we must follow truth alone. It is our only guiding star: hoc signo vinces.
To a passage in my book it has been objected by a distinguished105 scholar that the church-bells of Rome cannot be heard, even in the stillest weather, on the shores of the Lake of Nemi. In acknowledging my blunder and leaving it uncorrected, may I plead in extenuation106 of my obduracy107 the example of an illustrious writer? In Old Mortality we read how a hunted Covenanter, fleeing before Claverhouse’s dragoons, hears the sullen108 boom of the kettledrums of the pursuing cavalry109 borne to him on the night wind. When Scott was taken to task for this description, because the drums are not beaten by cavalry at night, he replied in effect that he liked to hear the drums sounding there, and {xxvii} that he would let them sound on so long as his book might last. In the same spirit I make bold to say that by the Lake of Nemi I love to hear, if it be only in imagination, the distant chiming of the bells of Rome, and I would fain believe that their airy music may ring in the ears of my readers after it has ceased to vibrate in my own.
J. G. FRAZER.
CAMBRIDGE, 18th September 1900.
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bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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folklore
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| n.民间信仰，民间传说，民俗 | |
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slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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propound
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| v.提出 | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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corroborated
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| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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subsist
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| vi.生存，存在，供养 | |
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forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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notably
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| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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hazy
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apprehension
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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stratum
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| n.地层，社会阶层 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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explicitly
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| ad.明确地，显然地 | |
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bespeak
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| v.预定；预先请求 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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expounded
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| 论述，详细讲解( expound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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futility
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| n.无用 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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propounded
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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outstripped
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| v.做得比…更好，（在赛跑等中）超过( outstrip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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enunciated
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| v.（清晰地）发音( enunciate的过去式和过去分词 )；确切地说明 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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70
apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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71
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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72
retrench
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| v.节省，削减 | |
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73
lamentably
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| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
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74
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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75
enquirer
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| 寻问者，追究者 | |
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76
chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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77
pitfall
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| n.隐患，易犯的错误；陷阱，圈套 | |
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78
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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79
anthropologist
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| n.人类学家，人类学者 | |
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80
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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81
cloistered
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| adj.隐居的，躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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83
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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84
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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85
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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86
savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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87
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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88
renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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89
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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90
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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91
rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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92
recur
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| vi.复发，重现，再发生 | |
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93
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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94
hewing
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的现在分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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96
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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98
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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99
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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100
mantled
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| 披着斗篷的，覆盖着的 | |
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101
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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102
mosses
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| n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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103
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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104
expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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105
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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106
extenuation
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| n.减轻罪孽的借口；酌情减轻；细 | |
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107
obduracy
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| n.冷酷无情，顽固，执拗 | |
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108
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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109
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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