In Homer, we find that sacrifice is frankly conceived as a sort of
present to the gods, for which they were in fairness bound to an
equivalent return; and the nature of the bargain is fully recognised by
the gods themselves.
"Hector," says Zeus to Hera, "was dearest to the gods of all mortals
that are in Ilios. So was he to me at least, for nowise failed he in the
gifts I loved. Never did my altar lack seemly feast, drink-offering and
the steam of sacrifice, even the honour that falleth to our due."
[Footnote: Iliad xxiv. 66.--Translated by Lang, Leaf and Myers.] And he
concludes that he must intervene to secure the restoration of the body
of Hector to his father.
The performance of sacrifice, then, ensures favour; and on the other
hand its neglect entails punishment. When Apollo sends a plague upon the
Greek fleet the most natural hypothesis to account for his conduct is
that he has been stinted of his due meed of offerings; "perhaps," says
Agamemnon, "the savour of lambs and unblemished goats may appease him."
Or again, when the Greeks omit to sacrifice before building the wall
around their fleet, they are punished by the capture of their position
by the Trojans. The whole relation between man and the gods is of the
nature of a contract. "If you do your part, I'll do mine; if not, not!"
that is the tone of the language on either side. The conception is
legal, not moral nor spiritual; it has nothing to do with what we call
sin and conscience.
At a later period, it is true, we find a point of view prevailing which
appears at first sight to come closer to that of the Christian. Certain
acts we find, such as murder, for example, were supposed to infect as
with a stain not only the original offender but his descendants from
generation to generation. Yet even so, the stain, it appears, was
conceived to be rather physical than moral, analogous to disease both in
its character and in the methods of its cure. Aeschylus tells us of the
earth breeding monsters as a result of the corruption infused by the
shedding of blood; and similarly a purely physical infection tainted the
man or the race that had been guilty of crime. And as was the evil, so
was the remedy. External acts and observations might cleanse and purge
away what was regarded as an external affection of the soul; and we know
that in historic times there was a class of men, comparable to the
mediaeval "pardoners", whose profession it was to effect such cures.
Plato has described them for us in striking terms. "Mendicant prophets,"
he says, "go to rich men's doors and persuade them that they have a
power committed to them of making an atonement for their sins or those
of their fathers by sacrifices or charms with rejoicings and games; and
they promise to harm an enemy whether just or unjust, at a small charge;
with magic arts and incantations binding the will of heaven, as they
say, to do their work.... And they produce a host of books written by
Musaeus and Orpheus, who were children of the Moon and the Muses--that
is what they say--according to which they perform their ritual, and
persuade not only individuals, but whole cities, that expiations and
atonements for sin may be made by sacrifices and amusements which fill a
vacant hour." [Footnote: Plato's Republic, II. 364b.--Jowett's
translation.]
How far is all this from the Puritan view of sin! How far from the
Christian of the "Pilgrim's Progress" with the burden on his back! To
measure the distance we have only to attend, with this passage in our
mind, a meeting, say, of the "Salvation Army". We shall then perhaps
understand better the distinction between the popular religion of the
Greeks and our own; between the conception of sin as a physical
contagion to be cured by external rites, and the conception of it as an
affection of the conscience which only "grace" can expel. In the one
case the fact that a man was under the taint of crime would be borne in
upon him by actual misfortune from without--by sickness, or failure in
business, or some other of the troubles of life; and he would ease his
mind and recover the spring of hope by performing certain ceremonies and
rites. In the other case, his trouble is all inward; he feels that he is
guilty in the sight of God, and the only thing that can relieve him is
the certainty that he has been forgiven, assured him somehow or other
from within. The difference is fundamental, and important to bear in
mind, if we would form a clear conception of the Greek view of life.