Primordial faith, that faith to which all other faiths can be traced, is the assertion of the “nusquam interrupta connexio,” of universal interdependence.³¹⁸ The choice to recognize it, though not necessarily the claim to know it. The other possibility, that of denying it, makes it possible to believe only in what we choose, in what we wish to choose. Here there is no meaning—the meaning is given each time. And, just as it is given, so is it taken away.

The powers find many images in which to manifest themselves—the tree, the rose, the lotus, the pomegranate, all the forms of nature. Connexio, on the other hand, needs an action, a process in order to manifest itself: it needs the sacrifice. And this is the only adequate action for so much: for it contains death, and in that death there is killing, violence, and the life that flows. Sacrifice is the action in which the process of everything is summed up.

“Orate sine intermissione” (“Pray continually”): these words of Paul stand at the threshold of linear time: a line where chasms open, as in the succession of real numbers along the straight line.³¹⁹ Nothing is less uniform than linear time: marking emptiness and fullness, momentary unrelated ignition, conflict of incompatibles, the double life of the discrete and the continuous. Yet it is not defined by these characters, but by its inability to turn back on itself, its nonperiodicity. This makes it possible to think of an action that occurs “sine intermissione”—uninterrupted prayer. Once, prayer had its specific moments. Now the writing in the sky no longer states what is the right moment, prior to which the action would be sacrilege. Now the moment is always right and always wrong. The only solution is a perpetual action: “Orate sine intermissione.”

The ceremony of sacrifice is introduced and accompanied by songs, words, gestures, all prescribed in meticulous detail. But everything proceeds toward a center that is close to silence, an inarticulate murmur (anirukta), grains of sand of inexhaustible life, around the moment of immolation. Those present now avert their gaze and murmur the final formulas. All that can be distinguished is the neutral, sober voice of the priest who indicates the killing actions to the sacrificer. “Agone?” (“Shall I act?”) asks the victimarius or popa (the executioner). That question, those crude Roman words, recall the ancient awareness that every action is a killing. When the priest gave his approval, the victimarius pushed in the knife. In India, it was preferred not to see the blood: a noose was used to strangle the victim.

The extinction of the sacrifice. The victim gradually loses its power: there is a detachment from the animal, it is no longer considered sufficiently close that it can substitute for us; there is a rejection of the human victim, who is now protected by the law. The last victim will therefore be a god who is condemned to death by the law.