Sacred (n.) is born from an inversion: the community sees itself as passive and its victim as the only actor, guilty of the disorder and the source of the calm — even of its own death.
Sacred (n.) is violence — worshipped only because worshipping it was supposed to bring peace.
Sacred (n.) is produced in inverse proportion to how well its mechanism is understood.
Sacred (n.) depends on a double transference: first hatred falls on the victim, then reconciliation makes it holy — and we moderns can still manage only the first.
Sacred (n.) could never have held humanity so long if it were only banality and nonsense; its power comes from telling people, in real terms, what must and must not be done to live together.
Sacred (n.) is no leap into the irrational: as long as the transferences onto a reconciling victim keep their power, it is the only hypothesis that makes sense.
Sacred (n.) is the phlogiston of the human sciences: it does not exist, yet it described real fires fairly well — and our oxygen is mimesis.
Sacred (n.) is pictured by religious thought as a malevolent quasi-substance that gathers around the victim and turns beneficent once the victim is killed and expelled.
Sacred (n.) is not muddled thinking, for all its tangled meanings, but the original matrix of human thought — the cauldron in which our institutions and modes of thought were forged.
The Sacred (n.) is part of a blind and massive belief, stronger than any we hold, that rests on a more effective scapegoating than our own.
The Sacred (n.) arises when the scapegoat effect reverses persecutors and victim: the passive victim becomes the one omnipotent cause, and the group sees itself as passive.
The Sacred (n.) in its primitive form stands this side of good and evil, not beyond it: the victim's transcendence has not yet split into divine and demonic.
The Sacred (n.) can spring from a victim who was not already powerful or renowned: crowds make the victim sacred, as the metamorphosis of remains into relics shows.