Imagine the sky as a gateway to the infinite, the earth as a mother in constant labor, and water as the primal force shaping life itself. For most of us, these are poetic metaphors at best. But for religious humanity—the world Mircea Eliade reveals in “The Sacred and the Profane”—these aren’t just symbols. They’re the cosmic keys to understanding existence itself.
Chapter 3 of Eliade’s popular work uncovers how nature—its rhythms, its elements, its cycles—has always been sacred ground. From the power of baptism to the fecundity of women and earth, from sacred trees to celestial marriages, Eliade connects us to a way of seeing the world that modernity has all but erased.
What if the world we think of as ordinary was actually extraordinary? What if the sacred was hiding in plain sight?
Nature Speaks: The Cosmos as Divine Blueprint
For most of us, the natural world is just a backdrop—a collection of atoms doing their thing. To the religious mind, however, nature isn’t just a collection of trees, rivers, and mountains; it is a cosmos—a divinely structured order that speaks of gods and creation. Nature, according to Eliade, is “fraught with religious value.” This perception begins with the idea that the world itself was created by the gods, so it is imbued with divine significance. Religious man, contemplating nature, sees the sacred embedded in its structure. For religious humanity, the cosmos is anything but random. It’s a “design”. The sky, vast and unreachable, is the ultimate symbol of transcendence. People from across the world have looked up, seen the sky’s immensity, and understood it as a symbol of the divine, often attributing storms, thunder, and rain to expressions of divine will. The earth, steady and fertile, is the archetypal mother.
Eliade points out how ancient peoples saw these as more than metaphors. They were manifestations of divinity. The sky’s boundless height was proof of an eternal, unchanging realm. Small wonder that gods took up residence there. Eliade goes on to explain a fascinating phenomenon: over time, these celestial gods often fade from active worship. They become “remote gods,” or “dei otiosi”, gods who withdraw from daily life after setting creation into motion. This shift often happens as societies evolve, placing greater religious emphasis on deities related to fertility, growth, and life cycles—such as earth goddesses or gods of agriculture. While sky gods symbolised a cosmic order, fertility deities embodied the “vital hierophanies” of daily life, bringing gods and goddesses closer to human experience. For instance, the earth, was “Terra Mater”, the universal Genetrix, continuously birthing life.
This change from celestial to earth-bound worship reveals humanity’s growing preoccupation with the tangible elements of existence: agriculture, fertility, birth, and growth. The divine becomes entwined with the rhythms of human life, shifting religious focus to forces more directly involved in survival and prosperity. Eliade notes that as cultures became more agricultural, the earth and its cycles became central to religious life, with gods and goddesses celebrated for their contributions to fertility, harvest, and abundance. Yet, in times of great distress, people often returned to these distant celestial gods, seeking help when other, more “accessible” deities failed to provide answers.
For archaic humanity, contemplating the cosmos wasn’t science; it was communion.
The Waters of Death and Rebirth
Few elements are as paradoxical as water. It nourishes and destroys, cleanses and drowns. It is this duality that makes water sacred. It’s the beginning and the end, the ultimate “reset”.
Water, according to Eliade, represents the “universal sum of virtualities” and is seen as a source of life, rebirth, and endless possibility. Immersion in water signifies death and rebirth, a return to primordial potential that dissolves old forms and creates new ones. This belief is echoed in flood myths across cultures, the idea of immersion as purification, and the symbolic power of water as a force that both ends and begins life. Here, Eliade underscores that water’s religious significance also highlights nature’s intrinsic power to symbolise deeper truths.
Immersion in water has long symbolised a return to the primordial chaos from which life emerges. Christian baptism takes this universal symbolism and elevates it. When early Church Fathers like Tertullian described baptism, they spoke not just of cleansing but of cosmic transformation. The “old man” dies in the waters, and a “new man” rises, reborn into spiritual life.
But baptism doesn’t belong to Christianity alone. Across cultures, water symbolises a confrontation with death and a promise of renewal. From Noah’s Flood to myths of heroes diving into chaotic depths to slay monsters, water rituals are universal dramas of death and resurrection. They remind us that every end is a new beginning—and that chaos is just creation waiting to happen.
Woman, Earth, and the Sacred Dance of Fecundity
If water is the great reset, then the earth is the great mother. For Eliade, women and the earth share an ancient and sacred connection. Just as the earth births life in endless cycles, so does the woman, embodying the creative force of the cosmos itself.
In some myths, the earth doesn’t even need a partner. Gaia, the Greek Earth goddess, famously gave birth to Ouranos (the sky) without assistance. This isn’t just a quirk of mythology—it’s a reflection of how ancient people saw the earth’s boundless creative potential.
Eliade also ties this cosmic fecundity to the rise of agriculture. Women, as the first cultivators of plants, became the symbolic owners of the earth’s fruits, echoing their role as life-givers. This sacred alignment wasn’t just about fertility—it was about power, creation, and the rhythms of the cosmos.
Sky and Earth: The Cosmic Marriage
In many cultures, creation myths centre on the union of a Sky God and Mother Earth—a divine marriage that ensures the world’s fertility. This “hierogamy” (sacred union) became the model for human marriage, with conjugal rituals often mirroring the cosmic union. For example, Vedic texts liken the groom to heaven and the bride to earth,“I am Heaven; you are Earth.” while Greek marriage rites emulate the secret union of Zeus and Hera. Even agricultural rituals mirror this divine coupling, with orgiastic rites dissolving boundaries to ensure the land’s fertility.
This cosmic dimension of marriage extends to agricultural rituals, where fertility is ensured through symbolic reenactments of the union between heaven and earth. In orgiastic rites, participants regress to a pre-creation state, mirroring the chaos that precedes cosmic renewal. These rituals, often tied to New Year celebrations, symbolically dissolve existing structures to make way for new life, ensuring the abundance of crops and the renewal of time itself.
If the earth is a mother and the waters a womb, the tree is a bridge—a connection between heaven and earth, mortality and eternity. Eliade describes how sacred trees appear across cultures, their symbolism as vast as their branches.
The “Tree of Life,” for example, is a universal motif. Myths of the “Tree of Life” appear across cultures, from the Norse Yggdrasil to the biblical Tree of Knowledge. These sacred trees often bear miraculous fruits, granting wisdom, immortality, or divine power. To access these gifts, heroes must confront challenges—slaying dragons or overcoming trials in initiatory ordeals.
But the tree is more than a mythical object. It represents the cycles of life: growth, decay, and renewal. For religious humanity, these rhythms aren’t mundane—they’re sacred. The tree reminds us that life, like the cosmos, is endlessly regenerating.
Lunar Lessons: Cycles of Fertility and Death
Religious humanity views life as a cycle, not a straight line. Fertility myths and rituals highlight this eternal rhythm, where death is a necessary prelude to new life. Lunar symbolism captures this beautifully: the waxing and waning of the moon reflects the eternal dance of birth, death, and rebirth. This lunar symbolism influenced rituals tied to fertility and renewal. Just as the moon’s light always returns, so does life after death. Burial rites, agricultural ceremonies, and initiation rituals all reflect this belief. They’re reminders that darkness isn’t permanent—and that renewal is always on the horizon.
Eliade emphasises that rituals tied to fertility—whether agricultural celebrations, burial rites, or symbolic immersions in water—aren’t just practical. They’re cosmic reenactments, aligning humanity with the rhythms of the universe. Even orgiastic rituals, which might seem chaotic, serve a sacred purpose: dissolving boundaries to return to a pre-creation state, ensuring the regeneration of life.
Losing and Finding the Sacred
Eliade warns that modern humanity has largely lost this sacred perspective. Nature, once seen as a divine organism, is now treated as inert—a resource to exploit or a backdrop to ignore. But even in our secular world, traces of the sacred remain. Sacred symbols and rituals associated with “the high” (such as mountains, cosmic trees, and chains connecting earth to heaven) echo the ancient reverence for the sky’s spiritual significance. In a way, these symbols keep the memory of the celestial alive, even when societies shift focus. Eliade emphasises that even without active worship, these symbols continue to inspire people on a deep, often unconscious level, highlighting the enduring presence of transcendence in human life. Take ancient Chinese miniature gardens, which symbolised the cosmos. Originally used for meditation, these gardens reflected harmony between humanity and the divine. Over time, they became mere decorations—a shift that mirrors the broader desacralisation of nature. And yet, our awe for nature persists. A sunset, a forest, a rushing river—these still stir something primal in us. Perhaps, Eliade suggests, the sacred is harder to kill than we think.
In a world obsessed with utility and progress, Eliade reminds us of a deeper truth: the cosmos is alive with meaning. By rediscovering the sacred in nature, we reconnect with something eternal—a sense of belonging in the great, mysterious dance of creation.
The sacred isn’t gone. It’s just waiting for us to see it again.
The main source of this article is the third chapter of " The sacred and the Profane" written by Mircea Eliade. In the summary and editing of the article, I have heavily used Chat GPT.
Commentaires