When the philosopher reads over the histories which adventurous travellers, or Christian missionaries, have given of the religions of the savage, or uncivilized, people whom they have visited, he feels painfully conscious that the accounts are not implicitly to be relied upon. In some he recognizes the fact that communications only take place between the one party and the other by signs, which not only may be, but very generally are, misinterpreted on both sides; in others he is able to see, or, at least, he comes to the conclusion, that the untaught barbarians have not a single idea which is not connected with eating and drinking, war, revenge, and love;—that such, indeed, resemble brute beasts, who have no more conception of hell or heaven, God and the soul, than an elephant has of aerostation, or a crow of theology. In other narratives the observer notices, that the individuals who interrogate the savages are themselves enthusiasts of a high order, who ask leading questions, and are content to receive, as a satisfactory answer, anything which can be considered as a reply. By this means very erroneous ideas have crept in amongst ourselves, and writers have built arguments upon a foundation as flimsy as a shifting sand. For example, I have repeatedly heard it alleged that every known tribe, in every part of the world which has yet been visited, has a tradition respecting an universal deluge, and the salvation of their progenitors by a floating vessel; and on this has been founded the hypothesis that all architecture, and even written characters, have an ark for their type. This development has been very ingeniously supported by J. P. Lesley, in Man's Origin and Destiny (Trubner, London, 1868), a work replete with learning, and bold, but somewhat unsound, deductions. This assumed fact has also been used in support of the Biblical story of Noah, his ark, and the universal deluge—a myth so palpably extravagant, that everyone who professes to credit it is compelled to object to some detail, and to lean upon some frail reed, with the hope that he may thus be pardoned for his credulity. Since the above was written, it has been ascertained that the tale of Noah and his deluge is adapted from an Assyrian or Babylonian legend, written apparently with a view to make a story fitting to the sign of the Zodiac called Aquarius, one to the full as fabulous as that of the birth of Bacchus, and the amours of Zeus.
In some instances, moreover, and palpably in those cases where the account of the religion of barbarous nations is given by fanatics, such as the Roman Catholic invaders of America, or by such conquerors as Cæsar and others, who have themselves very hazy notions of their own faith, the philosopher feels that the savage is intentionally misrepresented; consequently, in these, as in all other instances, it behoves the philosopher to examine the evidence at his command with critical acumen, rather than accept the statements made by more or less careless observers. Endeavouring, therefore, to avoid these difficulties as far as possible, let us summarize the result of our reading, and record the impressions left upon our mind respecting the faith, ritual, and practice of certain modern and ancient barbarians.
Beginning with the vast American continent, we find that the Esquimaux appear to have no conception whatever of a Creator, of a future state, of a mundane theocracy, or of any unseen agency but good or bad "luck." But they, nevertheless, put a certain amount of faith in conjurers—cunning men or women who profess to be able to insure them a good supply of seals or walrus, and protection from Arctic dangers. For such a people as this the wants of the day form the chief, if not the only, object of thought; and they resemble lions or eagles, who are now all but famished in the hunt for food, and now gorged to repletion with the result of their quest. To such a nation, Heaven, as described in the Bible, with its sea of glass, its harpists and singers, would afford no temptation, and, unless it was furnished with abundance of oily food, an Esquimaux would not visit it; nor would the fires and heat of Hell have any terrors for one whose torments on earth are connected with miserable cold. In practice, the Esquimaux are very much what they are made by their neighbours and visitors: they are very decently behaved to those who treat them well, and cruel, barbarous, and revengeful to strangers after they have themselves been worried by invaders. Alternately gluttons and starving they obey the necessities of their existence—they eat to keep themselves warm, and they must be anchorets as rigid as any Theban hermit whilst they are seeking their prey. With a temperature below zero, and winter huts constructed of ice, chastity is almost a necessary virtue, and adultery cannot possibly be frequent. Where everything of value is rare, covetousness is not common; but if the holder of the coveted prize be always alert, it is quite natural that murder shall be attempted, either by the thief or his victim. The reverence of parents here, as elsewhere, is a necessary accompaniment of savage life, and is quite independent of any knowledge of the decalogue. To prevent reiteration of this observation, let us consider for a moment, the chief if not the main cause, of the reverence given to the father, and, more rarely, to the mother in the economy of human life. We see that the Almighty has implanted an instinct in one or both parents, throughout the larger part of the animal creation, to nourish, guide, and teach their young. The duck leads her brood to a pond; the hen keeps her chicks from water, but teaches them to pick up seeds, grubs, and worms; whilst the cock keeps order amongst the family, The weasel teaches its offspring how to attack its prey most advantageously, and the eagle instructs her young ones to fly. In like manner, man is at the head of his own household; he is the first power to which the young ones bow; they know the weight of his arm, and dread his anger, knowing that they will suffer from it when it is stirred up. We all know, as a rule, that a habit contracted in childhood adheres to us throughout life, consequently, the dread of the father which exists in the youth becomes, very generally, filial reverence in the man. But we also know that almost throughout the animal creation, the young and sturdy males will, as they grow up to maturity, fight for supremacy, even with their parents. So long as the latter retain the mastery they are respected; but as soon as age and its accompanying weakness have made them succumb, all filial respect vanishes. If, therefore, a parent, when old, is unable to make himself feared by his prowess, revered for his good sense or knowledge, or beloved for some faculty which makes him pleasing to his family or the tribe, he is neglected, and often sacrificed, so that the young shall have only themselves to provide food for. Even in Christian England, where filial regard is cultivated as an essential part of our religion, we too frequently find that parents are wholly neglected by their adult offspring, as soon as they become, from sickness, age, or other infirmity, useless members of the family.
Without having ever heard of a law, or set of laws, given in a desert from Mount Sinai, the Esquimaux are as moral as modern Christians, and more so than the ancient Jews: they certainly have not more gods than one, and do not worship any graven image. Amongst them blasphemy is unknown. Parents are honoured; chastity is general; murder is very rare; theft only exists when strangers come amongst them with valuable matters, such as cutting weapons. Amongst such a primitive people false witness is unknown, and covetousness only exists in the presence of travellers who have well-stocked ships or sledges. But the Esquimaux do not keep a Sabbath of rest every seventh day; how, indeed, could they, when many of their days have a duration of six weeks—according to the Hebrew computation, which measures the day by sunsets. It is clear, then, that what many persons designate Christian virtues do not necessarily depend upon a knowledge of Jehovah, of Jesus, or of both.
The North American Indian appears to have been, when first discovered, wholly without any distinct religious faith. It is true that some authors have described him as reverencing his manitou, or great spirit, and speaking of some happy hunting ground to which his soul will pass after death; but I am unable to find any reliable testimony in support of this poetic notion. To me it seems that the Red Indian is nothing more than one of a ferocious tribe of men, who, having to subsist by the chase alone, bestows all his thoughts upon getting meat, and driving off his neighbours from interfering in his lands. To such an one a teeming population is equivalent to a diminution in the supply of game, and this, again, involves starvation. With him, therefore, the murder of his neighbours becomes a matter of necessity, one which may be regarded by him as an absolute virtue, a matter of public policy, and essentially a moral duty; and as he is little superior to a tiger or a cat, he does not scruple to add cruelty to homicide. He who has seen a carnivorous beast seize its living prey, disable, without killing it, and then lie by and watch its victim, rising now and again to give it a shake, or a pat with its claw, can well understand how a Blackfoot Indian might gloat over a dying Delaware, or a Mandan torture an Iroquois when he had the chance, each regarding the other as men consider wasps and hornets. Yet, though without religion, the Indian is not without fear. He is terrified by strange noises, and by weird sights; there is a being whom he dreads; and there is in every tribe a "medicine man," who is supposed to have supernatural power, and to be able to attract good or to banish evil fortune from the chief and his people. Practically, the Red Indian is as superstitious about lucky and unlucky days as was the Hebrew David and the Persian Haman, and, prior to the starting of an expedition, the diviner is consulted, who may, possibly, answer in the words of the Lord (?) of Judah, "let it be when thou hearest the sound of a going in the tops of the mulberry trees, then thou shalt bestir thyself, for then shall the Lord go out before thee to smite the host of the Philistines" (2 Sam. v. 24).
But though without religion, in the usual acceptation of the word, the Indians were not, when first the white man knew them, wholly without ritual, or what has been designated a sacred ceremony. The celebration to which we refer occurred every year, was conducted by a definite set of actors, and was attended to with wonderful reverence. A full account of such ceremony is given by G. Catlin, in a work entitled, O Kee Pa (Trübner, London, 1867). In it figures a mystic messenger, who comes to demand the initiation of the young men of the tribe who have attained a fighting age; tents are then prepared, and men and women are duly painted and otherwise disguised to represent buffaloes and bugbears, the bad spirit, etc.; the main intention of the whole being to test the courage, strength, and endurance of the young men by frightful tortures, which are too disgusting for description here. At the end of the trial, however, each votary sacrifices a joint of the little finger of one hand to the bad spirit. At this feast-some doll-like effigies are used to mark the "mystery" tent.
Amongst barbarians like these are, it will readily be imagined that such virtues as chastity and charity have no existence,—that successful theft ennobles the robber, and that the slaughter of an enemy, either by treachery or in fair fight, is regarded as a proof of courage, much as it was amongst the Spartan Greeks. Polygamy is simply a matter of wealth and arrangement, and women are purchased and treated like slaves. It is the man's business to hunt and fight, it is the woman's duty to make the best or the most of the spoils of the chase.
Yet, with this general absence of all religion, there appears to be, here and there, a reverence for certain strange phenomena of nature—such as hot or bubbling fountains, sulphur springs, steaming geysers, and curious rocks, like the celebrated pipe-stone rock in the Sioux territory. From this all pipes ought to be made, there being as much of orthodoxy in such bowls amongst the Indians as there is in an "Agnus Dei" amongst Christian papists. There is, too, a reverence for the dead occasionally to be met with, but it cannot be said to amount to worship. In some instances, but I do not find that the custom is general, a man is interred with his horse, weapons, and medicine bag, as if it was expected that he would live beyond the tomb, and require in his other state of existence that which he wanted in this.
What we have said of the North American aborigines applies with equal, if not with greater, force to those of the South.
From what the savage redskins are, and have been, during the last two or three centuries, a transition to what they have been in the past is very natural; and, whilst making the step, the philosopher will be reminded of the observation made by some profound observer, to the effect—-"go where you will, no matter how savage the nation, you will be sure to find the remains of a previous empire, nation, or civilization." Vast forests, scarcely yet fully explored, cover ancient cities in Ceylon and Central America alike, and men, who toiled to build vast temples, towers, palaces, and fortresses, are replaced by wild animals. In the Bashan of Palestine, primeval houses of stone still stand, where scarcely a resident is to be found, and the present inhabitants are far inferior to the ancient race that built these enduring dwellings. Thus the Abbé Domenech writes (Seven Years Residence in the Great Deserts of North America, London, Longman, 1860), vol. I., p. 353—"From Florida to Canada, from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, the American soil is strewn with gigantic ruins of temples, tumuli, entrenched camps, fortifications, towers, villages, towers of observation, gardens, wells, artificial meadows, and high roads of the most remote antiquity."