We've touched on sacred objects before, as they're often integrated with other aspects of religion, but we haven't looked at them directly. We're going to do that now not only because it's a key element of practically every religion, but because these turn out to be the hook upon which cultures have hung some fascinating behaviors!

Anything can potentially be a sacred object, but there are some general patterns. In many cultures, an image of the deity, whether painted or sculpted, is the example par excellence -- but that's not universal; Islam and Protestant Christianity are both notably aniconic. A cross may remind the faithful of Jesus, but it's not a direct representation of God the Son. (Sometimes aniconism rises to the level of being an outright prohibition of any material representation, meaning that crucifix or a painting of Jesus would be blasphemous.) In some cases the deity is believed to be present within the image, either as a constant state, or when temporarily invited there by ritual. If the presence is constant, there may be a rite at the end of the crafting process that brings the image spiritually to life: sanctification, painting in the eyes or the pupils of the eyes, blowing on it to give it breath, or some other moment of transition.

Saints' relics are a special case of representation. While some relics are objects associated with a deity or sanctified person -- things they once owned or touched, which acquire a numinous aura as a result -- Catholicism famously has a tradition of body parts as relics, be they locks of hair, bones, vials of blood, or even the foreskin from Jesus' circumcision. Seen more broadly, though, this isn't unique to Catholicism; ancestor veneration, for example, may include enshrining and making offerings to the skulls of ancestors. To outsiders this may seem morbid, but after all, nothing is more intensely personal than bodily remains.

What's fascinating to me is the question of how much it matters whether the body part is actually that of the person in question. We may understandably chuckle at hearing that the Fourth Crusade looted two different heads of John the Baptist from Constantinople (and four places claim to have it today!), but not everyone historically considered the multiplicity of relics a logical problem: either it was seen as a miracle, or the significance ascribed to the object mattered more than the what we would consider the factual reality, especially if the relic was documented as producing wonders. Of course, this opened the door to all kinds of scam artists selling what they knew were forgeries!

Bits of bone are hardly impressive to look at, though, and if there's one common thread with sacred objects, it's that we frequently want them to appear special. Sometimes this is by having the object itself be something elite, like a sword, but very often it manifests in materials and craftsmanship. Gold and silver, gems, precious wood, intricate carving, and more all give glory to the divine through the money and effort invested in the item -- though periodically you get a backswing in the other direction, with movements that champion simplicity and humility. If the object itself must be humble, as with a saint's relic, then it's liable to be housed in a much fancier box, elevating it by means of its surroundings.

A special nature can also lie in how the object is treated. It is hugely common for sacred objects to be hedged about with restrictions, such that only certain people can touch it, or only at certain times, or only after purifying rites, or all of the above. This can even apply to looking at the thing! Year Seven's discussion of sacred architecture mentioned the layers of restriction that can apply as you move deeper into a holy site; at the extreme end, Judaism's First Temple kept the Ark of the Covenant in the Holy of Holies, a room only the high priest was permitted to enter, and even then only on Yom Kippur. Sacred Shintō objects, the shintai or "divine bodies," may be natural features visible to anybody, but they may also be artifacts permanently shrouded in silk and elaborate cases -- to the point where no one, not even the priests of a shrine, has seen that object in generations or centuries, and may not even know what form it takes! But as with the multiplicity of relics, an insistence on knowledge and observation misses the spiritual point.

Sometimes these items get to go on a trip, though. Lots of religious festivals involve bringing sacred objects out into the streets for the faithful to see -- or at least to see the boxes that hold them, if not the things themselves. This might be an annual celebration, or a ceremony of thanksgiving for a one-off event like a military victory, or a desperate measure taken in times of calamity, like a plague. Even when the object is normally visible to the ordinary worshipper in a temple or church, it's still a special occasion; when it's less accessible than that, it might be a memory someone treasures for the rest of their life. Nor is this limited only to local display: particularly famed or wonder-working objects might be sent out through the countryside, bringing them to visit people who could never journey to their usual home.

. . . or the journey might be more permanent. During the Roman Republic, certain wars included ritual of evocatio or "evocation," which promised better temples and offerings if the enemy's deity came over to Rome's side instead. This could be inflicted on a defeated or surrendered foe, taking a sacred statue away to its new Roman home, but the non-material stage could also be a form of psychological warfare during a siege: We're bribing your gods out from under you. I can't find a source for this now, but I recall reading that ancient Mesopotamian societies had a similar practice -- though whether they did or not is beside the point from a worldbuilding perspective, as you're free to put it into a fictional setting!

The Inca turned this into a full-on hostage situation. I believe the official rhetoric was that the Incan emperor was showing honor to the deities of their subject peoples by removing their sacred objects to Cuzco, but in actual practice, it was comparable to having children or important people as "guests." Any misbehavior on the part of a conquered society could result in the icons of their gods being destroyed: a loss of far more than just the materials and labor that went into those relics. When you believe in the power of such things, the consequences of losing them may be devastating.

Me being the sort of writer I am, this kind of thing is absolute catnip. We have plenty of stories where the religion of a subjugated people is persecuted or prohibited, but what about a god that's been tempted away or kidnapped? Of course a sacred object is rarely seen as being the whole existence of a deity, but if it's the channel through which prayers are conveyed, the point of connection between the mortal world and the divine, then losing that is tantamount to losing the deity themself. Which makes a story about trying to get that back far more than a simple challenge of getting a gold icon off a pedestal without triggering a booby trap. The spiritual dimension can be the seed of an entire plot on its own!



(originally posted at Swan Tower: https://is.gd/EI2tlh)