PERSONAL RELIGION
IN EGYPT
BEFORE CHRISTIANITY
BY
W. M. FLINDERS PETRIE
D.C.L., LL.D., F.R.S., F.B.A.
AUTHOR OF
"THE REVOLUTIONS OF CIVLISATION"
"RELIGION AND CONSCIENCE"
"RELIGION OF ANCIENT EGYPT"
ETC.
1912 PREFACE
The Personal Religion here dealt with is that which concerns private beliefs, rather than public acts, and which stands apart from Ceremonialism, and Religion as belonging to the State. The documents considered have to be viewed entire, and therefore some collateral subjects naturally come within our scope, such as creation and the nature of divinity. But yet such were anciently matters of individual belief rather than of general dogma.
The material here worked over is all published already; but it had not yet received the historical study which it required to place it in its true connection. The new results which justify this restatement of the documents are: (1) the earlier dating of the Hermetic writings, which lie between 500 and 200 B.C., instead of being some centuries later as hitherto supposed. (2) The consequent tracing out of a gradual development of beliefs and terms which place the documents in their relative order of growth. (3) The historical precision of the life of Apollonios, as an evidence of its genuineness.
Some hesitation may be felt in taking the differences between documents as evidences of different age. But first it should be noted that we do not trust to mere silence or omissions of terms, but that the active use of the same word--such as Logos--in different senses, is the criterion followed. Nor can it well be that such was due to different contemporary schools, as the Hermetic writings are closely connected by style, structure, and ideas. Nor can the differences be due to esoteric and exoteric writing for different degrees, as the divine sense of Logos would not be profaned by a false sense being taught to the lower grades of learners. We have to bridge the gap between Logos as the reason of all men and animals in early writing, and Logos as Divine in later works. To place the intermediate writings in the order of development of this, and of various other terms and ideas, is the only right course until some other modifying reason may be proved.
CONTENTS
PREFACE Chapter I. OUR VIEW OF THE MIND 1
Chapter II. THE NATURE OF THE RELIGIOUS MIND 18
Chapter III. THE DATEABLE HERMETIC WRITINGS 38
Chapter IV. THE ASCETICS 59
Chapter V. THE UNDATED HERMETIC WRITINGS 85
Chapter VI. PLUTARCH'S ANALYSIS OF RELIGION 107
Chapter VII. APOLLONIOS, OR THE REVIVALIST 138
Chapter VIII. SUMMARY 166
INDEX 169
PERSONAL RELIGION
IN EGYPT
BEFORE CHRISTIANITY CHAPTER I OUR VIEW OF THE MIND
The religious literature of the centuries immediately before the establishment of Christianity is a region of thought far too little known in general. The documents, though accessible to scholars, are not familiar to the ordinary reader like the other historical material of that time. This is partly due to their more recent discovery, partly to the difficulty of following their ideas and phraseology, partly to a feeling that they bear an unholy resemblance to the accepted scriptures and must be worthless imitations of such, and partly because the whole spirit of these documents is repellent to the modern idea of exact statement of ascertained facts. Each of these reasons is true of one or other of the religious works of that age, and the whole class has suffered a practical oblivion. Yet as the writers are clearly earlier than the apostolic age, their works are among those most needful for an understanding of the modes of thought of that time; further, in the wider view of the history of religion, no period is more worthy of study than that of the rise of spreading systems of thought, seen in Buddhism, Zoroastrianism, Mithraism, Isiism, and Christianity. Even here the interest does not pause, for one of the most remarkable subjects is the mass of variations of Christianity, its interminable sects and heresies which resulted from the spread of a new gospel over all the existing schools of thought and belief, incorporating more or less of all that went before it. In so vast a subject, some kind of classified outline which can serve as key to the scope of it, is much wanted.
Before taking a general view, it is needful to understand what we are to look at, and how to distinguish the parts of the scene and their relation to each other. If we were to study the chemistry or the astronomy of ancient times in Egypt or elsewhere, it would be useless to begin without some scientific knowledge of the subject from a modern point of view. We must know the principal elements and their reactions before we could make any sense of ancient recipes on alchemy, we must understand the real motions of the planets before we can study ancient astronomy or astrology. Similarly it is needful to understand the nature of religious thought and its manifestations, and the principles of mental action, before we can rightly grasp or interpret the maze of theo-cosmosophical ideas and practices which embodied religious thought in the past. Without some preparation for such a subject the modern mind will either turn from it in disgust as tedious word-spinning, or blindly accept it as a beautiful mystery. Fortunately the serious work of analysis of the religious mind has been lately done, in a thorough but reverent and sympathetic manner, by Professor W. James in his Gifford Lectures on The Varieties of Religious Experience. In that we have a textbook of the subject by a trained psychologist, who can disentangle the confusion of motive and feeling, and deal with each mental condition with insight and analysis. Such a work needs careful study, and we propose in the next chapter to give a summary of its system as the basis for our review of the various religious writings that we are to consider.
But before starting on this subject of Religious Experience it is necessary to try to acquire some definite ideas about the mind, and to limit our subject to certain issues. Misconceptions are likely to be presupposed which would prevent the matter being understood as it is here written, and would impart entirely wrong premises into the discussions that follow. We need to fence off certain grounds of consideration, and empty our minds of all reference to questions that are not necessarily in view. The individual mind is too generally in a chaos of beliefs and half-beliefs, which each have their own domain, and are not allowed to logically interfere with each other; such a condition is probably inevitable in the attempt to grasp by human thought the vast subject of being, which is quite incommensurate with it. So very little can be understood at all, that it is hopeless to trace the boundaries between each of the great and contradictory elements that we clumsily try to harmonize in our dogmatic elaborations. A whole system is the most hopeless end to contemplate; all that we can do is to try to see some portions less mistily than before, and to hold to some definite line of attack and analysis.
In the first place, we must rule out of the discussion here the reality of Volition. It is, of course, open to arid philosophical argument whether every action and thought is not a pure automatism, resultant inevitably and fatalistically from pre-existing states, just as it is equally open to such discussion whether there is anything outside of one phantasmagorial mind--whether that of the speaker or of the hearer is never stated. But every human mind in all time has acted on the reality of Volition, and it is even visible to us in the action of the minds of two animals one on the other. The most fanatical materialist does not practically hesitate to attribute moral wrong where it may be painfully obvious to his own feelings.
When we once accept that man can act on nature, by selecting the direction of natural forces--which is all he ever can do--we accept mind interfering with the fortuitous nature of things. When such a gigantic conception is inevitable from experience, it is a minor difficulty whether such mind can exist apart from matter, or whether any forms of it can so exist in what we call a spiritual state. We need not stumble at difficulties of Theism or Superhumanism, when the far greater initial difficulty of conceiving Volition is forced through by the inexorable closure of experience.
Accepting here then the fact of Volition, we must leave aside its nature as being outside of the questions which we are here studying. Our business here is not the inexplicable, but the tracing out some portion of the material processes by which the mind may act, so that we may discern its mechanism. These are successive portions of the subject, the bases of each of which are wholly inexplicable. (1) Life itself, with or without perceptible volition--animal or vegetable. Within this, but further inexplicable, is (2) Partition of life, and growth. Within it also is (3) Volition and the nature of mind, and its possibility of action on matter. Where subjects are so closely united, there is a probability that the conditions of one will be organically applicable to the other; or, if not radically on the same lines, that at least so strong an analogy will exist between them that one will serve as a type or explanation of the other. Now we can see clearly some physical conditions of life apart from mind, and we are therefore encouraged to apply those to the more complex manifestation of mind based upon life. We may thus hope to understand better the mechanism of mind, without attempting to deal with the entirely inexplicable nature of volition or spirit.
Among the mechanical conditions that we may see in life we can trace that (1) Processes are mainly unconscious, and are only touched by consciousness in the borderland of volition, while still less are they under the actual control of volition. The whole of the internal functions of the body are carried on entirely unconsciously, and it is only where they come in touch with the external world that we have any control.
(2) All functional action is performed by two opposing mechanisms of excitation and inhibition. Recent physiological work has been largely occupied with tracing these opposing mechanisms; and one of the strangest failures of action--that in tetanus--is shown to be due to exchange of control of the mechanisms.
(3) All natural form and function is hereditable, and is determined in different portions of it by different hereditary sources. It is a universal observation how a child will resemble one parent or ancestor in one feature, and other ancestors in others.
Now let us transfer these mechanical conditions to the mechanism of the mind, and see how far they serve to explain that; remembering that as they condition the life in general, so probably the same mechanical conditions are those through which the mind is compelled to act.
(1) Processes of mind are mainly unconscious, and volition is almost the limit of consciousness. As Dr. James says: "Our normal waking consciousness, rational consciousness as we call it, is but one special type of consciousness, whilst all about it, parted from it by the filmiest of screens, there lie potential forms of consciousness entirely different" (p. 388). "The subconscious self is nowadays a well-accredited psychological entity. . . . Apart from all religious considerations, there is actually and literally more life in our total soul than we are at any time aware of. The exploration of the transmarginal field has hardly yet been seriously undertaken" (p. 511). The unconsciousness of the great majority of living processes would make us bold to go much further than these statements, and to say that it is only those processes of mind that bring us into contact with the world around, which are conscious and subject to will; and that the great majority of mental process is unconscious, and merges down to the mere control of physiological action throughout the body.
(2) All mental action is performed by two opposing mechanisms. As Dr. James says: "Our moral and practical attitude, at any given time, is always a resultant of two sets of forces within us, impulses pushing us one way and obstructions and inhibitions holding us back" (p. 261). These opposing forces are both needful to all healthy mental action, as they are needful to all physiological action. We may call them impulses and habits, or desire and reflection, or Epicureanism and Stoicism. If either force gain a permanent mastery we have either voluptuousness or fanaticism.
(3) All natural form and function of the mind is hereditable, and descends from various hereditary sources. This is much obscured by education, but the persistence of mental tendencies and tastes is so marked that we cannot doubt that the descent of mind is like that of life in general. The conscious duty should, then, be the cultivation of the best heritages, and the suppression of others, both physically and morally. The objection that acquired qualities cannot be inherited (Weissmanism) is a part of the old view of the mind born as a blank. When we once realise that mind and body are conditioned by a multitude of hereditary tendencies, it seems clear that the cultivation of one existing strain and suppression of another is likely to affect the relative degree of inheritance of those strains. Will does not produce or acquire anything, but it can direct the degree of cultivation of what already exists; and thus it may reasonably be believed to influence the degree of transmission. The inert Merovingians became more effete in every generation; their alert maiordomos became more active, until they culminated in Charlemagne.
Having thus seen that the mechanism of mind is closely similar to, or identical in nature with, the mechanism of life in general in these main outlines, we turn to some details of these general principals.
Of the unconscious mind a very important part is the accumulation of experiences, the details of which have been entirely lost to memory or consciousness, but the effect of which is stored. This is the source of unconscious anticipation which performs a large part in our lives, but which has hardly yet been recognised. It forms the unseen framework and guiding lines of our actions; and we only become aware of it when it is obstructed, and its impetus is spent in mental shock. As an illustration, I was directing a row of groups of workmen, let us call them A, B, C, D, E, with all of which I was equally familiar. I removed group C one day, but forgot to cancel it in my unconscious anticipation. The next day, after seeing B, I thus arrived at D, but was anticipating C. The confusion of thought was so great that, expecting C, I could not recognise D, and it took several minutes of reflection to understand the situation. I was quite as familiar with group D as with group C, yet it seemed wholly strange to me because it was not anticipated in that order. The same effect may be seen on arriving amid familiar streets by a new tube station. All the buildings are well known, but because no train of anticipation has led up to seeing them, a considerable effort of observation and examination is needed to fit the consciousness into its bearings with the seen world. Without unconscious anticipation we should spend most of our time in searching memory for connections with what lay before us. It is obvious that the lower animals have strong anticipation, as they remember roads so well, and know their way better than men.
Not only is anticipation thus our unknown guide, but it conditions much of our happiness. It may be that its fulfilment is a main condition of the sense of well-being. Even sudden changes of good fortune may be most injurious by their check of anticipation. And the deadly effects of disappointment in the destruction of anticipations are familiar to us all. The Irishman's saying neatly draws the distinction between conscious hopes and unconscious anticipation in the phrase, "It is not as much as I expected" (consciously) "and I never thought it would be" (unconsciously). It is not too much to say that the contentment of every person depends on correct anticipation. To form this a wide sense of Nature is required, and a correct realisation of personal function in life. A man who is always expecting to occupy a greater position than he can reach, has an abiding rankle in his mind about what he calls his "bad luck." A Tolstoy who wakes up in middle life to his uselessness, has never learned to anticipate what should be his function to the world at each age; and his formula of rectifying life by simplifying it is really the correction of his anticipation of the utility of life. This correction of anticipation late in life is a considerable part of what is classed as Conversion. A mind that begins by forming a true growth of unconscious anticipation, in harmony with Nature and his own capacities, will not be subject to any great shocks or reversals of habit.
The routine of life is another part of anticipation. Each daily event as it arrives prepares us for the next unconsciously; and much is thus done without calling up will, or even consciousness, to direct our actions. The unconscious mind will perform the whole routine of rising in the morning, of meals, and even of trivial conversation, if the will is otherwise occupied.
The normal condition of the organism, apart from will, is seen in sleep, where the full scope of unconscious mind is carrying on the functions of life unchecked by will. There is no healthier condition, unconscious life is in its fullness, apart from the external stimuli which call will into action. Sleep-walking or sleep-talking is merely the higher and more elaborate action of unconscious mind, and shows how it may be organized by experience to act, without the need of the interference of will. Even the external stimuli of vision and of touch may be called into play on the unconscious mind and its memory, in sleep as in waking, yet without the action of will. We thus see that the unconscious mind not only regulates the organism, but may be educated to perform every action which does not depend upon the variable contact with external things. It is the perfect home and apparatus for the Will. And in this point of view we see the importance of Dr. James' opinion that it may also be the sphere of action of other Will or Wills. "It contains, for example, such things as all our momentarily inactive memories. . . . Our intuitions, hypotheses, fancies, superstitions, persuasions, convictions, and in general all our non-rational operations, come from it. . . . In it arise whatever mystical experiences we may have. . . . It is also the fountain-head of much that feeds our religion. In persons deep in the religious life, as we have now abundantly seen . . . the door into this region seems unusually wide open" (p. 483). We can thus see the meaning of the general feeling that religious matters are not a subject of argument but of belief. Religion and ethics are the convictions of the unconscious mind, not subject to volition, and only very slowly alterable by any external impulse or arguments. The unconscious mind is not altered by the will; and anything that is permanent and fundamental in it can only be very slowly grown into a new shape under new forces. And it is those classes and populations whose will is least called upon, and whose actions are mostly settled by unconscious mind, that are least easy to move in religious beliefs by any appeal to the intellect. Our beliefs and convictions are in the unconscious mind, our intellectual actions alone are the subject of conscious will.
From the purely materialistic point of view the unconscious mind is reflex action or automatism, as distinct from volition. But it is in its higher branches capable of rising to record single impressions, and act upon them in unconscious anticipation: and this implies much more than the reflex of one impulse liberating another by consequence of an organically evolved train of connection. We must either give a new meaning to reflex, quite outside of the usual sense (of actions which become habitual in response to a stimulus, owing to repeated impulses having constructed a nervous connection), or else we must grant that reflexes are but the machinery of the mind of living organism, which only touches consciousness when acted on by volition.
There seems in all this no bar to the Pantheistic view of the unity of all life and mind, apart from volition; and equally no bar to the Theistic view of Wills, human and superhuman, souls and spirits, occupying the unconscious mind of life, and conferring volition upon it. We are thus dealing with a basis which is common ground to all forms of religious thought, and is not opposed to any beliefs.
We now turn to look at the second proposition, that all function is due to opposing forces of excitation and inhibition. Where these two exist in a complete and healthy balance there is no sense of duality. Just as bodily sickness is detrimental to the true use of the body, and does not show the growth of health, so soul sickness--as Dr. James calls it--is detrimental to the true use of the mind, and does not show a normal state of health. The evidences of bodily sickness--such as inflammation and suppuration--may be needful incidents to healing; so the violence of contrition and of dread may be needful stages in healing a sick soul. We must never lose sight of two sayings, "I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance," "There shall be more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth than over ninety and nine righteous persons which need no repentance." The righteous persons, or healthy souls, do not need repentance. It was natural to an age that incessantly treated the body--ill or well--to purgatives and bleeding, to similarly insist on courses of contrition and depletion for the soul--ill or well. As Emerson says, "Our young people are diseased with the theological problems of original sin, origin of evil, predestination, and the like. . . . These are the soul's mumps, and measles, and whooping-coughs" (James, p. 167). As the study of sick bodies helps the knowledge of medicine and surgery and of bodily function, so the study of sick souls helps our understanding of mental function. And
a large part of Dr. James' work is occupied with the aberrations of mental sickness, which give a key to the mechanism of mind. It is the restoration of a balance in each function which is the road to health, both of body and of mind. To atrophy one of the controlling forces is not a healthy state. The voluptuary who allows impulse, desire, and Epicureanism to dominate him is perhaps more repulsive, but not less unhealthy, than the fanatic. The balance of excitation and inhibition is absolutely necessary for healthy function. The picture of St. Michael with his foot on Satan is quoted by Dr. James, with the meaning that "the world is all the richer for having a devil in it, so long as we keep our foot upon his neck" (p. 50).
This existence of a healthy balance, and of the diseased states of excess of either force, enables us to understand much of mental changes. Sudden changes are due to one force, which has hitherto been under the balance. Such changes have no needful relation to moral or religious tendencies. They may occur in a revulsion of hatred against a person or subject, in a change from anxiety to peace, in turning from irreligion to religion, or in turning from religion to non-religion (James, 175-81). The moral perception of balance may be coarse or may be delicate; a large preponderance of one or other force may be but slightly, or may be acutely, felt. The "sense of Sin" is a term covering two different conditions; rightly, it is a sense of balance, a more delicate perception of the true equivalence of forces, a giving both impulse and restraint their full value without denying either; but, in its perverted form, it is applied to all impulse in one direction, and only inhibition is thought right. This leads us at last to such moral monsters as St. Louis of Gonzaga, who "was never tempted, . . . never raised his eyes, . . . did not like to be alone with his own mother," never held a flower, and could not use a sheet of paper without permission of a superior (James, 350-3); or the Indian devotee who will sit for years motionless, with his finger nails growing through the palms of his clenched hands.
Lastly we may look at the cautions needful to both types of mind in dealing with such subjects. The Dogmatist must remember that strong convictions of different schools, mutually exclusive one of another, have been more often wrong than right in past history--that the strongest religious feeling is no evidence of truth, or the derwishes of the Mahdi would be saints--that such feeling may lead to the greatest vices such as untruth (in forged scriptures and suppression of facts) and cruelty (in the Holy Office)--that peculiar mental or mystic conditions have no moral meaning necessarily, but may just as well refer to space or size, or any other non-moral subject--and that the study of the mechanical conditions of mind no more materialises the forces that act through them, than the study of anatomy explains the forces of life and will.
On the other side the Materialist must remember that Atheism may be as fanatical as Theism may be; "the more fervent opponents of Christian doctrine have often enough shown a temper which, psychologically considered, is indistinguishable from religious zeal" (James, p. 35), as when an ancient village church was lately sold by a Materialist majority in France, on condition that not one stone should be left on another. Also we must "renounce the absurd notion that a thing is exploded away as soon as it is classed with others, or its origin is shown" (James, p. 24). And we must recognise the fact that in some persons there is the entire want of the mental perception of music, or of mathematics, or of the beauty of nature, or of moral excellence, or of religious feeling, without at all discrediting the reality of such perceptions to those who are capable of realising and living in them.
To be continued for inquiring minds.
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