Quote:
Originally Posted by JerZ
Most major religions utilize massive doses of what by pretty much any definition would be called "magic". Prayer (calling upon and petitioning a supernatural entity), eating a wafer that has magically transformed into the flesh of a now-dead person, drinking the wine which has been transmigrated as well (actually, these are both basically a spirit "possession" of objects), or if literal transmigration is not believed, the ritual ingestion of food/drink in order to attain unity with otherwordly beings (in other words, the object itself is magic and can effect spirit communication/betterment of the person ingesting it/"cleansing" of the person via ingestion of the magic object), chanting memorized verses in order to attain an altered state of consciousness and conjure entities, for a few varieties - speaking in tongues (possession of the body by an entity), a risen dead body made alive again, "cleansing" via ritual and special magical water as well as a set of chants (baptism), the burning of candles to focus one's metaphysical energies (prayer, for example), possessed objects (crying/bleeding statues), ritual magic objects which must be "called upon" in a specific format and order (i.e. the rosary), visions of non-physical entities (some claim they have "seen" angels, as an example), they're really all magic.
Voodoo is another form of magic, yes.
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Good post. Such practices inspired the Quaker John Greenleaf Whittier's poem, The Brewing of Soma (Soma was a drug used in the Vedic religion to attain contact with the divine). The poem admonishes Christians to just a live a quiet life of example and listening to God from within oneself in silence ("The Inner Light", as the Friends call it) rather than participating in rituals or other practices such as described above. Christians will recognize the last six stanzas as a well-known hymn.
The Brewing of Soma
"These libations mixed with milk have
been prepared for Indra: offer Soma to the
drinker of Some." Vashista, translated
by Max Muller.
The fagots blazed, the caldron's
smoke
Up through the green wood curled;
"Bring honey from the hollow oak,
Brink milky sap," the brewers spoke,
In the childhood of the world.
And brewed they well or brewed they ill,
The priests thrust in their rods,
First tasted, and then drank their fill,
And shouted, with one voice and will,
"Behold, the drink of the gods!"
They drank, and lo! in heart and brain
A new, glad life began;
They grew of hair grew young again,
The sick man laughed away his pain,
The cripple leaped and ran.
"Drink, mortals, what the gods have sent,
Forget you long annoy."
So sang the priests, From tent to tent
The Soma's sacred madness went,
A storm of drunken joy.
Then knew each rapt inebriate
A winged and glorious birth,
Soared upward, with strange joy elate,
Beat, with dazed head, Varuna's gate,
And sobered, sank to earth.
The land with Soma's praises rang;
On Gihon's banks of shade
Its hymns the dusky maidens sang;
In joy of life or mortal pang
All men to Soma prayed.
The morning twilight of the race
Sends down these matin psalms;
And still with wondering eyes we trace
The simple prayers to Soma's grace,
That verdic verse embalms.
As in the child-world's early year,
Each after age has striven
By music, incense, vigils drear,
And trance, to bring the skies more near,
Or life men up to heaven!
Some fever of the blood and brain,
Some self-exalting spell,
The scourger's keen delight of pain,
the Dervish dance, the Orphic strain,
The wild-haired Bacchant's yell, -
The desert's hair-grown hermit sunk
The saner brute below;
The naked Santon, haschish-drunk,
The cloister madness of the monk,
The fakir's torture show!
And yet the past comes round again,
And new doth old fulfill;
In sensual transports wild as vain
We brew in many a Christian fane
The heathen Soma still!
Dear Lord and Father of mankind,
Forgive our foolish ways!
Reclothe us in our rightful mind,
In purer lives Thy service find,
In deeper reverence, praise.
In simple trust like theirs who heard
Beside the Syrian sea
The gracious calling of the Lord,
Let us, like them, without a word
Rise up and follow Thee.
O Sabbath rest by Galilee!
O calm of hills above,
Where Jesus knelt to share with Thee
The silence of eternity
Interpreted by love!
With that deep hush subduing all
Our words and works that drown
The tender whisper of Thy call,
And noiseless let Thy blessing fall
As fell Thy manna down.
Drop thy still dews of quietness,
Till all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess
Thy beauty of Thy peace.
Breathe through the hearts of our desire
Thy coolness and Thy balm;
Let sense be numb, let flesh retire;
Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,
O still, small voice of calm!
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