Comparative Religion — Key Ideas to Explore
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ermes was the guardian of the spirits of the departed, whom he conducted {10} to the judgment in the under-world. In this respect, then, Hermes and Michael were akin. But Hermes also played many other parts, and the Greeks identified him with the Egyptian Thoth. When the destinies of Hector and Achilles were weighed against each other, ere the last mortal combat, the vase-painter could represent Hermes as holding the balance in the presence of Zeus, much as Thoth had presided over it before Osiris. The Etruscan artists depicted Mercury, the Italian equivalent of Hermes, fulfilling the same function. True, the purport of the test was different. But the symbol was the same; and when Hermes gave place to Michael, as Christianity was carried to the West, the scales passed from the Hellenic to the Jewish Christian figure, though they had in the one case been used to decide the allotment of fate, and in the other were employed for judgment. Why they remained so long unused in Christian symbolism is obscure. The revival of intercourse with the East through the Crusades may have given new force to the idea as part of the great judgment-process; and the figure to which it was most natural to assign it was that of Thoth-Hermes-Michael.
The religion of the ancient Hindus was founded, as every one knows, upon the venerable hymns collected into one sacred book under the name of the Rig Veda. These hymns, 1017 in number, containing over {11} 10,000 verses, are now arranged in ten books, twice the number of the divisions of the Hebrew Psalter. Like most of the Psalms they are traditionally ascribed to different poets, in whose families they were sung; and their authors were regarded as Rishis, bards, or sages. Of their real origin nothing is definitely known; their composition probably extends over many generations, perhaps over several centuries; and dim suggestions of their super-earthly origin already appear in some of the latest poems. They became the peculiar treasure of the priestly order; the most laborious efforts were devised for the study and preservation of the sacred text; the methods of pronunciation, the rules of grammar, the principles of metre, the derivations of words, were all elaborated with the utmost minuteness into different branches of Vedic lore. Two other smaller Vedas, collections of sacrificial formulæ and hymns, were very early placed beside the main work, and a fourth collection gained similar rank much later. With the development of the great schools of Hindu philosophy, especially after the decline of Buddhism, the whole question of authority as the foundation of belief and reasoning was forced to the front, and this in due time was applied to the Veda. Brahmanical speculation had been long concerned with its divine origin. It sprang from one of the mysterious figures in which the ancient theologians expressed their sense of the real {12} unity of the heavenly powers, Prajāpati, the "lord of creatures," through the medium of Vach, or sacred Speech. As such it was "the firstborn in the universe." But as proceeding from Prajāpati it issued from the world of the _an-anta_, the "un-ending" or "infinite," which was likewise the sphere of the _a-mrita_, the "im-mortal" or "deathless." So it belonged to the realm of the eternal, where it could be beheld, not indeed with the eye of sense, but with the higher discernment of the holy Seer. The philosophical schools occupied themselves accordingly with the defence of the eternity and consequent infallibility of the Veda. Elaborate arguments were devised to explain the relation of words to things, and of sound in the abstract to uttered speech or again to show how behind individuals which had their origin in time there existed species (even of the gods) which belonged to the timeless order transcending our experience. So the conclusion was reached, in the words of the great philosopher Çankara (A.D. 788-820), that "the authority of the Veda with regard to the matters stated by it is independent and direct; just as the light of the sun is the direct means of our knowledge of form and colour."
Carpenter opens his survey not with a definition but with a medieval fresco at South Leigh, Oxfordshire, depicting the Last Judgment with a soul weighed in scales. He immediately juxtaposes this with an Egyptian papyrus from the Eighteenth Dynasty, where the heart is balanced against an ostrich plume before Osiris. This parallel—two judgment scenes separated by millennia—establishes his method: comparing concrete ritual objects and images across cultures to reveal underlying structures of thought.
The book proceeds through a series of such comparisons, moving from the lower culture to spirits, sacred acts, and moral systems. Carpenter's voice is measured, academic, yet attentive to the sensory details of practice: the smear of food on an idol's mouth, the paper house burned for a Chinese ancestor, the morsel of betel-nut thrown for remembrance in Melanesia.
The Scale as Recurring Motif
The image of the balance recurs throughout the excerpts, linking disparate traditions. In the South Leigh fresco, the archangel Michael holds scales; a demon climbs the beam to tip them. In the Egyptian Hall of Truth, Thoth, the dog-headed ape, guards the balance while the heart is weighed. Carpenter does not claim direct influence but uses the motif to show how different cultures visualize moral accountability. The scale becomes a structural device in his own argument, a way of holding two traditions in equipoise without collapsing them into one.
Later, in discussing offerings, he notes that the pastoral nomad brings the firstling of his flock, while the agriculturist adds produce—a different kind of weighing, where the value of the gift is calibrated to economic mode. The reader is invited to see these as variations on a theme of exchange between human and divine, measured by the scale of cultural context.
From Remembrance to Sustenance: The Logic of Offering
Carpenter traces a spectrum of sacrificial acts, from the simplest token to elaborate temple rituals. In Melanesia, a bit of yam or betel-nut is thrown for the dead—not for food, but for remembrance. In ancient India, the dead who received no offerings wandered as ghosts, feeding on garbage; funeral meals were needed to transform them into 'Fathers.' The shift from affection to necessity is subtle but decisive.
He then moves to offerings that aim to increase the god's vigour: food smeared on an idol's mouth, horses driven into the sea for Poseidon, the essence of food conveyed by fire. The physicality of these acts—contact, burial, immersion, burning—reveals a logic of presence and transmission. Carpenter's prose remains concrete, grounding each example in a specific practice: the West African adding a stone to a heap for the Ombwiri, the pilgrim on Lake Tanganyika laying scraps on an altar for Lesa.
The Daily Toilet of the God: Ritual as Service
In the early ritual of an Egyptian temple, the god was robed, painted, oiled, and then his table spread with bread, goose, beef, wine, and water. Carpenter presents this not as exotic but as a logical extension of hospitality: the deity is treated as a honoured guest. The same impulse appears in the Hebrew sanctuary, where the immigrant adopted Canaanite harvest festivals and brought firstlings and tithes 'to see Yahweh's face.'
The daily sacrifice at Babylon under Nebuchadrezzar was an epitome of the whole tillage of the land—choicest fruits, honey, cream, oil, wine. Carpenter's point is that ritual systematizes the ordinary: the god's meal mirrors the human meal, but with heightened care. The progression from simple offering to elaborate temple service is not a fall from purity but a natural elaboration of the logic of giving. He notes that even in Greece, Poseidon's horses were driven into the sea, a violent echo of the same principle.
Carpenter's method demands patience: he accumulates examples rather than arguing abstractly. The reader is best served by attending to the specific images—the fresco, the papyrus, the heap of stones—and noticing how each culture's solution to a common problem (how to relate to the unseen) is both unique and recognizably human. The book rewards those who follow the details rather than seeking a single thesis.
That afternoon, rain blurred the window while I traced Carpenter's Egyptian judgment scenes, the quiet weight of ritual offerings lingering past the page. It made me wonder what animals themselves meant to those ancient believers, beyond symbol. Later, almost idly, I found myself reading Story of the Bible Animals A Description of the Habits and Uses of every living Creature mentioned in the Scriptures, with Explanation of Passages in the Old and New — A Closer Reading, and the connection felt less like study, more like finding a familiar room.
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