Let us now see what ideas are symbolised by the serpent. We are told that he is “an emblem of the Sun, Time, Kronos, and Eternity.” The serpent was, indeed, the Sun-God, or spirit of the sun, and therefore Power, Wisdom, Light, and a fit type of creation and generative power. Dr. Donaldson came to the conclusion that the serpent has always a Phallic significance, a remark which exactly accords with General Forlong’s experience, “founded simply upon close observation in Eastern lands, and conclusions drawn by himself, unaided by books or teachers, from thousands of stories and conversations with Eastern priests and people.” The testimony of a competent and honest observer is all important, and we must believe when we are told that the serpent, or the constant early attendant on the Lingam, is the special symbol which veils the actual God. The same may be said, indeed, of Tree Worship, and as tree-worship and serpent-worship embrace the Phallic faith, the first three streams of faiths are represented by them. It is evident, however, that Phallic ideas are at the foundation of both tree and serpent-worship, and the Phallic stream of faith should be given the first place as the actual source of the Rivers of Life. General Forlong does, indeed, affirm that Phallic worship enters so closely into union with all faiths to the present hour that it is impossible to keep it out of view. We can well understand how this should be as to the tree, serpent, and solar cults, but it is not so evident at first sight in relation to fire-worship. If fire was, however, regarded as the servant of Siva, and all creating gods, there is no difficulty in accepting the position. The object of the worship offered to the sacred fire is consistent with that view. Thus Greeks, Romans, and Hindoos “besought Agni by fervent prayers for increase of flocks and families, for happy lives and serene old age, for wisdom and pardon from sin.” General Forlong appears to see in the worship of fire essentially a household faith, and this was undoubtedly so if his explanation of the Lares and Penates is correct. These symbols represented “the past vital fire or energy of the tribe, as the patriarch, his stalwart sons and daughters did that of the present living fire the sacred hearth.” General Forlong states, indeed, that everything relating to blood used to be connected with fire, and he supposed, therefore, that agnatio may have been relation by fire, for the agnati can only be those of the fire or father’s side.

If the father derived his authority in the household from the sacred hearth-fire, we can understand why General Forlong has assigned to ancestor-worship the last place in his scheme. He says, moreover, that ancestor-worship is “a development and sequence of that idiosyncracy of man which has led him to worship and deify even the living—that which, according to the teaching of Euemerus, accounts for all the mythological tales of the gods and god-like men of Greece.” The ancestor was worshipped in the great chief, the Father of Fathers, each of whom was worshipped in the Dii Gentiles of his own class, and this not only during the comparatively modern Roman sway, but during the ages of serpent, fire, and solar faiths. In the still earlier faiths he was represented in the rude pillar, as well as in the little Lares and Penates of the hearths. In this case, however, ancestor-worship would seem to be entitled to stand on the same level as tree-worship and serpent-worship as a phase of the Phallic faith. In fact, it is in a sense identified with serpent-worship. General Forlong remarks that among the Greeks and Romans “the ancestor came to be honoured and worshipped only as the Generator, and so also the serpent as his symbol.” This agrees with the conclusion I have elsewhere endeavoured to establish, that the serpent is really regarded as the representative of the ancestor, in which case ancestor-worship is a very primitive faith, although, in a specialised form, it may possibly, as asserted by General Forlong, come later than fire-worship.

It can hardly now be doubted that the same ideas underlie all the early faiths. This view is entertained by General Forlong, who says: “So imperceptibly arose the serpent on pure Phallic faiths, fire on these, and sun on all, and so intimately did all blend with one another, that even in the ages of true history it was often impossible to descry the exact God alluded to.” The foundations of all those faiths, and of ancestor-worship as allied to them, must therefore be sought in the ideas entertained by mankind in the earliest times, “when the races lived untaught, herded with their cattle, and had as their sole object in life the multiplication of these and of themselves.” The question arises, however, whether the simple faith which man then entertained was the earliest he had evolved. General Forlong answers this question in the negative, for he says, then referring to the serpent Buddhism of Kambodia, that “Fetish worship was the first worship, and to a great extent is still the real faith of the ignorant, especially about these parts.” He finds that nearly one quarter of the world yet deifies, or at least reverences, sticks and stones, rams’ horns and charms, a practice not unknown even to later faiths. The fundamental belief which furnishes the key to those phenomena, as well as to the animal-worship which is so closely associated with one or other of the great faith streams, should not be lost sight of. Jacob Grimm pointed out, in his “Teutonic Mythology,”[1] that all nature was thought of by the heathen Germans as living. Gods and men transformed themselves into trees, plants, or beasts; spirits and elements attained animal forms; and therefore we cannot wonder at the heavenly bodies, and even day and night, summer and winter, being actually personified. These ideas lend themselves as well to fetishism as to sun-worship, and all the ancient faiths alike may justly, therefore, be regarded as phases of one universal nature-worship. Mankind prays only for that which is thought good, and if one man seeks to obtain his desire through the agency of a stick or a stone, and another through a serpent or planetary god, the difference between them is purely objective. The prayers which were offered to the Vedic gods would be equally appropriate in the mouth of a native of Western Africa. They had relation simply to temporal needs, and were, says Mr. Talboys Wheeler,[2] for plenty of rain, abundant harvests, and prolific cattle, for bodily vigour, long life, numerous offspring, and protection against all foes and robbers. Moreover, the observances of the more advanced faiths have little practical difference from the fetishist. All alike have for their object the compelling the good countenance, or counteracting the evil designs, of the gods or spirits, and the real difference is to be sought in the symbols under which they are represented. Thus the Vedic Aryans regarded their deified abstractions as personified with human wants, and invoked them with rites which “may have formed an accompaniment to every meal, and may have been regarded almost as a part of the cooking.” Mr. Wheeler adds[3] that “Sometimes a deity is supposed to be attracted by the grateful sound of the stone and mortar by which the soma juice was expressed from the plant, or by the musical noise of the churning sticks by which the wine was apparently stirred up and mixed with curds; and the eager invokers implore the god not to turn aside to the dwelling of any other worshipper, but to come to them only, and drink the libation which they had prepared, and reserve for them all his favours and benefits.”

[CHAPTER II.]
PHALLISM IN ANCIENT RELIGIONS.

Dr. Faber, when treating of the ancient mysteries in opposition to Bishop Warburton’s views of their original purity, says: “Long before the time of Apuleius, whom he (Warburton) would describe as quitting the impure orgies of the Syrian Goddess for the blameless initiations of Isis, did the Phallic processions, if we may credit Herodotus and Diodorus, form a most conspicuous and essential part, not only of the mysteries in general, but of these identical Isiac or Osiric mysteries in particular. Nor is there any reason to doubt their accuracy on this point. The same detestable rites prevailed in Palestine among the votaries of Siton, or Adonis, or Baal-Peor, long before the exodus of Israel from Egypt. The same also, anterior at least to the days of Herodotus, in Babylonia, Cyprus, and Lydia. The same likewise from the most remote antiquity in the mountains of Armenia, among the worshippers of the great mother Anais; and the same, from the very first institution of their theological system, as we may fairly argue from the uniform general establishment of this peculiar superstition, among the Celtic Druids both of Britain and of Ireland. Nor do we find such orgies less prevalent in Hindostan. Every part of the theology of that country ... is inseparably blended with them, and replete with allusions to their fictitious origin.”[4] It will not be necessary for me to give details of the rites by which the Phallic superstition is distinguished, as they may be found in the works of Dulaure,[5] Richard Payne Knight,[6] and many other writers. I shall refer to them, therefore, only so far as may be required for the due understanding of the subject to be considered, the influence of the Phallic idea in the religions of antiquity. The first step in the inquiry is to ascertain the origin of the superstition in question. Faber ingeniously referred to a primitive universal belief in a Great Father, the curious connection seen to exist between nearly all non-Christian mythologies, and he saw in Phallic worship a degradation of this belief. Such an explanation as this, however, is not satisfactory, since not only does it require the assumption of a primitive divine revelation, but proof is still wanting that all peoples have, or ever had, any such notion of a great parent of mankind as that supposed to have been revealed. And yet there is a valuable germ of truth in this hypothesis. The Phallic superstition is founded essentially in the family idea. Captain Richard Burton recognised this truth when he asserted that “amongst all barbarians whose primal want is progeny, we observe a greater or less development of the Phallic worship.”[7] This view, however, is imperfect. There must have been something more than a mere desire for progeny to lead primitive man to view the generative process with the peculiar feelings embodied in this superstition. We are, in fact, here taken to the root of all religions—awe at the mysterious and unknown. That which the uncultured mind cannot understand is viewed with dread or veneration, as it may be, and the object presenting the mysterious phenomenon may itself be worshipped as a fetish or the residence of a presiding spirit. But there is nothing more mysterious than the phenomena of generation, and nothing more important than the final result of the generative act. Reflection on this result would naturally cause that which led to it to be invested with a certain degree of superstitious significance. The feeling generated would have a double object, as it had a double origin—wonder at the phenomenon itself and a perception of the value of its consequences. The former, which is the most simple, would lead to a veneration for the organs whose operation conduced to the phenomena, hence the superstitious practices connected with the phallus and the yoni among primitive peoples. In this, moreover, we have the explanation of numerous curious facts observed among Eastern nations. Such is the respect shown by women for the generative organ of dervishes and fakirs. Such also is the Semitic custom referred to in the Hebrew Scriptures as the putting of the hand under the thigh, which is explained by the Talmudists to be the touching of that part of the body which is sealed and made holy by circumcision; a custom which was, up to a recent date, still in use among the Arabs as the most solemn guarantee of truthfulness.[8]

The second phase of the Phallic superstition is that which arises from a perception of the value of the consequences of the act of generation. The distinction between this and the preceding phase is that, while the one has relation to the organs engaged, the other refers more particularly to the chief agent. Thus the father of the family is venerated as the generator, and his authority is founded altogether on the act and consequences of generation. We thus see the fundamental importance, as well as the Phallic origin, of the family idea. From this has sprung the social organisation of all primitive peoples. An instance in point may be derived from Mr. Hunter’s account of the Santals of Bengal. He says that the classification of this interesting people among themselves depends “not upon social rank or occupation, but upon the family basis.” This is shown by the character of the six great ceremonies in a Santal’s life, which are, “admission into the family; admission into the tribe; admission into the race; union of his own tribe with another by marriage; formal dismission from the living race by incremation; lastly, a reunion with the departed fathers.”[9] We may judge from this of the character of certain customs which are widespread among primitive peoples, and the Phallic origin of which has long since been lost sight of. The value set on the results of the generative act would naturally make the arrival at the age of puberty an event of peculiar significance. Hence we find various ceremonies performed among primitive, and even among civilised peoples, at this period of life. Often when the youth arrives at manhood other rites are performed to mark the significance of the event. Marriage, too, derives an importance which it would not otherwise possess. Thus, among many peoples, it is attended with certain ceremonies denoting its object, or at least marking it as an event of peculiar significance in the life of the individual or even in the history of the tribe. The marriage ceremonial is especially fitted for the use of Phallic rites or symbolism, the former among semi-civilised peoples often being simply the act of consummation itself, which appears to be looked on as part of the ceremony. The symbolism we have ourselves retained to the present day in the wedding-ring, which had undoubtedly a Phallic origin, if, as appears probable, it originated in the Samothracian mysteries.[10] Nor does the influence of the Phallic idea end with life. The veneration entertained for the father of the family, as the “generator,” led in time to peculiar care being taken of the bodies of the dead, and finally to the worship of ancestors, which, under one form or another, distinguished all the civilised nations of antiquity, as it does even now most of the peoples of the heathen world.

There is one Phallic rite which, from its wide range, is of peculiar importance. I refer to circumcision. The origin of this custom has not yet, so far as I am aware, been satisfactorily explained. The idea that, under certain climatic conditions, circumcision is necessary for cleanliness and comfort,[11] does not appear to be well founded, as the custom is not universal, even within the tropics. Nor is the reason given by Captain Richard Burton, in his “Notes connected with the Dahoman,” for both circumcision and excision, perfectly satisfactory. The real origin of these customs has been forgotten by all peoples practising them, and therefore they have ceased to have their primitive significance. That circumcision at least had a superstitious origin may be inferred from the traditional history of the Jews. The old Hebrew writers, persistent in their idea that they were a peculiar people, chosen by God for a special purpose, asserted that this rite was instituted by Jehovah as a sign of the covenant between Him and Abraham. Although we cannot doubt that this rite was practised by the Egyptians and Phœnicians[12] long before the birth of Abraham, yet two points connected with the Hebrew tradition are noticeable. These are, the religious significance of the act of circumcision—it is the sign of a covenant between God and man—and its performance by the head of the family. These two things are indeed intimately connected; since, in the patriarchal age, the father was always the priest of the family, the officer of the sacrifices. We have it on the authority of the Veda that this was the case also among the primitive Aryan people.[13] Abraham, therefore, as the father and priest of the family, performed the religious ceremony of circumcision on the males of his household.

Circumcision, in its inception, is a purely Phallic rite,[14] having for its aim the marking of that which from its associations is viewed with peculiar veneration, and it connects the two phases of this superstition, which have for their objects respectively the instrument of generation and the agent. We are thus brought back to the consideration of the simplest form of Phallic worship, that which has for its object the generative organs, viewed as the mysterious instruments in the realisation of that keen desire for children which distinguishes all primitive peoples. This feeling is so nearly universal that it is a matter of surprise to find the act by which it is expressed stigmatised as sinful. Yet such is the case, although the incidents in which the fact is embodied are so veiled in figure that their true meaning has long been forgotten. Clemens Alexandrinus tells us that “the bacchanals hold their orgies in honour of the frenzied Bacchus, celebrating their sacred frenzy by the eating of raw flesh, and go through the distribution of the parts of butchered victims, crowned with snakes, shrieking out the name of that Eva by whom error came into the world.” He adds that “the symbol of the Bacchic orgies is a consecrated serpent,” and that, “according to the strict interpretation of the Hebrew term, the name Hevia, aspirated, signifies a female serpent.”[15] We have here a reference to the supposed fall of man from pristine “innocence,” Eve and the serpent being very significantly introduced in close conjunction, and indeed becoming in some sense identified with each other. In fact, the Arabic word for serpent, hayyat, may be said also to mean “life,” and in this sense the legendary, first human mother is called Eve or Chevvah, in Arabic hawwa. In its relations, as an asserted fact, the question of the fall has an important bearing on the subject before us. Quite irrespective of the impossibility of accepting the Mosaic Cosmogony as a divinely-inspired account of the origin of the world and man—a cosmogony which, with those of all other Semitic peoples, has a purely “Phallic” basis[16]—the whole transaction said to have taken place in the Garden of Eden is fraught with difficulties on the received interpretation. The very idea on which it is founded—the placing by God in the way of Eve of a temptation which he knew she could not resist—is sufficient to throw discredit on the ordinary reading of the narrative. The effect, indeed, that was to follow the eating of the forbidden fruit appears to an ordinary mind to furnish the most praiseworthy motive for not obeying the commandment to abstain. That the “eating of the forbidden fruit” was simply a figurative mode of expressing the performance of the act necessary to the perpetuation of the human race—an act which in its origin was thought to be the source of all evil—is evident from the consequences which followed and from the curse entailed.[17] As to the curse inflicted on Eve, it has always been a stumbling block in the way of commentators. For what connection is there between the eating of a fruit and sorrow in bringing forth children? The meaning is evident, however, when we know that conception and child-bearing were the direct consequences of the act forbidden. How far this meaning was intended by the compiler of the Mosaic books we shall see further on.

The central feature of the Mosaic legend of the “fall” is the reference to the tree of knowledge or wisdom. It is now generally supposed that the forbidden fruit was a kind of citrus,[18] but certain facts connected with aborolatry clearly show this opinion to be erroneous. Among peoples in the most opposite regions of the world various species of the fig-tree are considered sacred. In almost every part of Africa the banyan is viewed with a special veneration. Livingstone noticed this among the tribes on the Zambesi and the Shire,[19] and he says that the banyan is looked upon with veneration all the way from the Barotse to Loanda, and thought to be a preservative from evil.[20] Du Chaillu states that in almost every Ishogo and Ashango village he visited in Western Equatorial Africa there was a large ficus “standing about the middle of the main street, and near the mbuiti or idol-house of the village.” The tree is sacred, and if it dies the village is at once abandoned.[21] Captain Tuckey found the same thing on the Congo, where he says the ficus religiosa is considered sacred.[22] Again, according to Caillié, at Mouriosso, in Western Central Africa, the market was held under a tree, which, from his description, must have been the banyan, and he noticed the same thing in other towns.[23] It is evident from Dr. Barth’s “Travels in Central Africa,” that superstitious regard for certain trees is found throughout the whole of the region he traversed, and among some tribes the fig-tree occupies this position. Thus, he says, “the sacred grove of the village of Isge was formed by magnificent trees, mostly of the ficus tribe.”[24] Nor is this superstition unknown among other dark races of the Southern Hemisphere. A species of the fig-tree is planted by the New Zealanders close to the temples of their gods. The superstition is traceable, according to Mr. Earle, even among the aborigines of Northern Australia, certain peculiar notions connected with the banyan tree being common to the inhabitants of the Coburg Peninsula and of the Indian Islands.[25] Mr. Marsden met with this superstition among the Sumatrans, and we learn from Mr. Wallace that in one of the towns of Eastern Java the market is held under the branches of a tree allied to the sacred fig-tree.[26] If we turn to India, we find that while the banyan is venerated by the Brahmans, it is the bo-tree which is held sacred by many of the followers of Gautama Buddha. This may be because, under the name of the Pilpel, it was the peculiar tree of the first recorded Buddha, of whom Gautama was supposed by his disciples to be an incarnation. Both of these trees belong to the genus ficus, and it is curious that, although probably in consequence of Semitic influence, the ficus sycamorus was the sacred tree in ancient Egypt, of which it was the symbol, its place appears ultimately to have been taken by the banyan (ficus indica),[27] so highly venerated in other parts of Africa. Now, what is the explanation of the peculiar character ascribed to these trees by peoples who must, on any hypothesis, have been separated for thousands of years? The bo-tree of the Buddhists itself derived a more sacred character from its encircling the palm—the Palmyra Palm being the kalpa-tree, or “tree of life,” of the Hindu paradise.[28] The Buddhists term this connection “the bo-tree united in marriage with the palm.” The Phallic significance of the palm is well known, and in its connection with the bo-tree we have the perfect idea of generative activity, the combining of the male and female organs, a combination intended by the Hebrew legend when it speaks of the tree of life, and also of “the knowledge of good and evil.”[29] “The palm-tree,” says Dr. Inman, “is figured on ancient coins alone, or associated with some feminine emblem. It typified the male creator, who was represented as an upright stone, a pillar, a round tower, a tree stump, an oak-tree, a pine-tree, a maypole, a spire, an obelisk, a minaret, and the like.”[30] As we have just seen, the Palmyra Palm is the kalpa-tree, or the “tree of life” of the Hindu paradise, and this was not the only kind of tree with which the idea of life was thus associated.