[1] I do not share the objections raised by various writers to the term “supernatural.” It has the sanction of common usage; and I consider it preferable to the word “superhuman,” when applied to inanimate things or animals which are objects of worship.
[2] Morgan, Animal Life and Intelligence, p. 339.
[3] Romanes, Animal Intelligence, 455 sq.
[4] Gillmore, quoted by King, The Supernatural, p. 80.
[5] Basil Hall, quoted ibid. p. 81. See also ibid. p. 78 sqq.; Vignioli, Myth and Science, p. 58 sqq.
[6] Sully, Studies of Childhood, p. 205 sq.
But the primitive mind not only distinguishes between the natural and the supernatural, it makes, practically, yet a further distinction. The supernatural, like the natural, may be looked upon in the light of mechanical energy, which discharges itself without the aid of any volitional activity. This is, for instance, the case with the supernatural force inherent in a tabooed object; mere contact with such an object communicates the taboo infection. So also the baneful energy in a curse is originally conceived as a kind of supernatural miasma, which injures or destroys anybody to whom it cleaves; in fact, to taboo a certain thing commonly consists in charging it with a curse. On the other hand, supernatural qualities may also be attributed to the mental constitution of animate beings, especially to their will. Such an attribution makes them supernatural beings, as distinct from any ordinary individuals who, without being endowed with special miraculous gifts, may make use of supernatural mechanical energy in magical practices. This distinction is in many cases vague; a wizard may be looked upon as a god and a god as a wizard. But it is nevertheless essential, and is at the bottom of the difference between religion and magic. Religion may be defined as a belief in and a regardful[7] attitude towards a supernatural being on whom man feels himself dependent and to whose will he makes an appeal in his worship. Supernatural mechanical power, on the other hand, is applied in magic. He who performs a purely magical act utilises such power without making any appeal at all to the will of a supernatural being.[8]
[7] Though somewhat indefinite, the epithet “regardful” seems a necessary attribute of a religious act. We do not call it religion when a savage flogs his fetish to make it submissive.
[8] See infra, [Additional Notes].
This, I think, is what we generally understand by religion and magic. But in the Latin word religio there seems to be no indication of such a distinction. Religio is probably related to religare, which means “to tie.” It is commonly assumed that the relationship between these words implies that in religion man was supposed to be tied by his god. But I venture to believe that the connection between them allows of another and more natural interpretation—that it was not the man who was tied by the god, but the god who was tied by the man. This interpretation was suggested to me by certain ideas and practices prevalent in Morocco. The Moors are in the habit of tying rags to objects belonging to a síyid, that is, a place where a saint has, or is supposed to have, his grave, or where such a person is said to have sat or camped. In very many cases, at least, this tying of rags is ʿâr upon the saint, and l-ʿâr implies the transference of a conditional curse.[9] Thus, in the Great Atlas Mountains I found a large number of rags tied to a pole which was stuck in a cairn dedicated to the great saint Mûlai ʿAbd-ŭl-Ḳâder, and when I asked for an explanation the answer was that petitioners generally fasten a strip of their clothes to the pole muttering some words like these:—“O saint, behold! I promised thee an offering, and I will not release (literally ‘open’) thee until thou attendest to my business.” If the petitioner’s wish is fulfilled he goes back to the place, offers the sacrifice which he promised, and unties the knot which he made. A Berber servant of mine from Aglu in Sûs told me that once when in prison he invoked Lälla Răḥma Yusf, a great female saint whose tomb is in a neighbouring district, and tied his turban, saying, “I am tying thee, Lälla Răḥma Yusf, and I am not going to open the knot till thou hast helped me.” Or a person in distress will go to her grave and knot the leaves of some palmetto growing in its vicinity, with the words, “I tied thee here, O saint, and I shall not release thee unless thou releasest me from the toils in which I am at present.” All this is what we should call magic, but the Romans would probably have called it religio. They were much more addicted to magic than to true religion; they wanted to compel the gods rather than to be compelled by them. Their religio was probably nearly akin to the Greek κατάδεσμος, which meant not only an ordinary tie, but also a magic tie or knot or a bewitching thereby.[10] Plato speaks of persons who with magical arts and incantations bound the gods, as they said, to execute their will.[11] That religio, however, from having originally a magical significance, has come to be used in the sense which we attribute to the term “religion,” is not difficult to explain. Men make use of magic not only in relation to their fellow men, but in relation to their gods. Magical and religious elements are often almost inseparably intermingled in one and the same act; and, as we shall soon see, the magical means of constraining a god are often externally very similar to the chief forms of religious worship, prayer and sacrifice.