MYTHOLOGY AND FOLK-LORE.
INTRODUCTORY.
Fashions in the study of mythology come and go with something like the
rapidity of change in costume feminine, subject to the autocracy of a
Parisian man-modiste. Myths have been held in turn to be of some deep
historical, or moral, or physical purport, and their content has been
sought through psychologic or philologic analysis. Just now, all these
methods are out of fashion. The newest theory is that myths generally
mean nothing at all; that they are merely funny or fearsome stories and
never were much more; and that at first they were not told of anybody in
particular nor about anything in particular.
As for philologic analysis, it is accused of failures and contradictory
results; the names which it makes its material are alleged not to have
belonged to the original story; and their etymology casts no more light
on the meaning or the source of the myth than if they were Smith or
Brown.
According to this facile method, the secret of all mythology is an open
one, because there is no secret at all. No painful preliminary study of
language is necessary to the science, no laborious tracing of names
through their various dialectic forms and phonetic changes to their
first and original sense, for neither their earlier nor later sense is
to the purpose.
This new method goes still further. Some former mythologists had
supposed that even in the savage state man feels a sense of awe before
the mighty forces of nature and the terrible mysteries of life; that joy
in light and existence, dread of death and darkness, love of family and
country, are emotions so intimate, so native to the soul, as nowhere to
be absent—so potent as to find expressions in the highest imaginative
forms of thought and speech. Not so the latest teachers. They sneer at
the possibility of such inspiration even in the divine legends of
cultivated nations, and are ready to brand them all as but the later
growths of “myths, cruel, puerile and obscene, like the fancies of the
savage myth-makers from which they sprang.”[125]
Like other fashions, this latest will also pass away, because it is a
fashion only, and not grounded on the permanent, the verifiable facts of
human nature. Etymology is as yet far from an exact science, and
comparative mythologists in applying it have made many blunders: they
have often erred in asserting historical connections where none existed;
they have been slow in recognizing that primitive man works with very
limited materials, both physical and mental, and as everywhere he has
the same problems to solve, his physical and mental productions are
necessarily very similar. These are objections, not against the method,
but against the manner of its application.
Those who have studied savage races most intimately and with most
unbiased minds have never found their religious fancies merely “puerile
and obscene,” as some writers suppose, but significant and didactic.
Savage symbolism is rich and is expressed both in object and word; and
what appears cruelty, puerility or obscenity assumes a very different
aspect when regarded from the correct, the native, point of view, with a
full knowledge of the surroundings and the intentions of the myth-makers
themselves.
In the sections which follow I have endeavored to illustrate these
opinions by some studies from American mythology. I have chosen a series
of unpromising names from the sacred books of the Quiches of Guatemala,
and endeavored to ascertain their exact definition and original purport.
I have taken up the most unfavorable aspect of the Algonkin hero-god,
and shown how parallel it is to the tendencies of the human mind
everywhere; in the Journey of the Soul, the striking analogies of
Egyptian, Aryan and Aztec myth have been brought together and an
explanation offered, which I believe will not be gainsaid by any
competent student of Egyptian symbolism. The Sacred Symbols found in all
continents are explained by a similar train of reasoning; while the
modern folk-lore of two tribes of semi-Christianized Indians of to-day
reveals some relics of the ancient usages.
THE SACRED NAMES IN QUICHE MYTHOLOGY.[126]
_Contents._—The Quiches of Guatemala, and their relationship—Their
Sacred Book, the _Popol Vuh_—Its opening words—The name
Hun-Ahpu-Vuch—Hun-Ahpu-Utiu—Nim-ak—Nim-tzyiz—Tepeu—Gucumatz—Qux-cho
and Qux-palo—Ah-raxa-lak and Ah-raxa-sel—Xpiyacoc and
Xmucane—Cakulha—Huracan—Chirakan—Xbalanque and his Journey to
Xibalba.
Of the ancient races of America, those which approached the nearest to a
civilized condition spoke related dialects of a tongue, which from its
principal members has been called the “Maya-Quiche” linguistic stock.
Even to-day, it is estimated that about half a million persons use these
dialects. They are scattered over Yucatan, Guatemala and the adjacent
territory, and one branch formerly occupied the hot lowlands on the Gulf
of Mexico, north of Vera Cruz.
The so-called “metropolitan” dialects are those spoken relatively near
the city of Guatemala, and include the Cakchiquel, the Quiche, the
Pokonchi and the Tzutuhil. They are quite closely allied, and are
mutually intelligible, resembling each other about as much as did in
ancient Greece the Attic, Ionic and Doric dialects. These closely
related members of the Maya-Quiche family will be referred to under the
sub-title of the Quiche-Cakchiquel dialects.
The civilization of these people was such that they used various
mnemonic signs, approaching our alphabet, to record and recall their
mythology and history. Fragments, more or less complete, of these
traditions have been preserved. The most notable of them is the National
Legend of the Quiches of Guatemala, the so-called _Popol Vuh_. It was
written at an unknown date in the Quiche dialect, by a native who was
familiar with the ancient records. A Spanish translation of it was made
early in the last century by a Spanish priest, Father Francisco Ximenez,
and was first published at Vienna, 1857.[127] In 1861 the original text
was printed in Paris, with a French translation by the Abbé Brasseur (de
Bourbourg). This original covers about 175 octavo pages, and is
therefore highly important as a linguistic as well as an archæologic
monument.
Both these translations are open to censure. It needs but little study
to see that they are both strongly colored by the views which the
respective translators entertained of the purpose of the original.
Ximenez thought it was principally a satire of the devil on
Christianity, and a snare spread by him to entrap souls; Brasseur
believed it to be a history of the ancient wars of the Quiches, and
frequently carries his euhemerism so far as to distort the sense of the
original.
What has added to the difficulty of correcting these erroneous
impressions is the extreme paucity of material for studying the Quiche.
A grammar written by Ximenez has indeed been published, but no
dictionary is available, if we except a brief “Vocabulary of the
Principal Roots” of these dialects by the same author, which is almost
useless for critical purposes.
It is not surprising, therefore, that some writers have regarded this
legend with suspicion, and have spoken of it as but little better than a
late romance concocted by a shrewd native, who borrowed many of his
incidents from Christian teachings. Such an opinion will pass away when
the original is accurately translated. To one familiar with native
American myths, this one bears undeniable marks of its aboriginal
origin. Its frequent obscurities and inanities, its generally low and
narrow range of thought and expression, its occasional loftiness of
both, its strange metaphors, and the prominence of strictly heathen
names and potencies, bring it into unmistakable relationship to the true
native myth. This especially holds good of the first two-thirds of it,
which are entirely mythological.
As a contribution to the study of this interesting monument, I shall
undertake to analyze some of the proper names of the divinities which
appear in its pages. The especial facilities that I have for doing so
are furnished by two MS. Vocabularies of the Cakchiquel dialect,
presented to the library of the American Philosophical Society by the
Governor of Guatemala in 1836. One of these was written in 1651, by
Father Thomas Coto, and was based on the previous work of Father
Francisco Varea. It is Spanish-Cakchiquel only, and the final pages,
together with a grammar and an essay on the native calendar, promised in
a body of the work, are unfortunately missing. What remains, however,
makes a folio volume of 972 double columned pages, and contains a mass
of information about the language. The second MS. is a copy of the
Cakchiquel-Spanish Vocabulary of Varea, made by Fray Francisco Ceron in
1699. It is a quarto of 493 pages. I have also in my possession copies
of the _Compendio de Nombres en Lengua Cakchiquel_, by P. F. Pantaleon
de Guzman (1704), and of the _Arte y Vocabulario de la Lengua
Cakchiquel_, by the R. P. F. Benito de Villacañas, composed about 1580.
Father Coto observes that the natives loved to tell long stories, and to
repeat chants, keeping time to them in their dances. These chants were
called _nugum tzih_, garlands of words, from _tzih_, word, and _nug_, to
fasten flowers into wreaths, to set in order a dance, to arrange the
heads of a discourse, etc. As preserved to us in the _Popol Vuh_, the
rhythmical form is mostly lost, but here and there one finds passages,
retained intact by memory no doubt, where a distinct balance in diction,
and an effort at harmony are noted.
The name _Popol Vuh_ given to this work is that applied by the natives
themselves. It is translated by Ximenez “libro del comun,” by Brasseur
“livre national.” The word _popol_ is applied to something held in
common ownership by a number; thus food belonging to a number is _popol
naim_; a task to be worked out by many, _popol zamah_; the native
council where the elders met to discuss public affairs was _popol tzih_,
the common speech or talk. The word _pop_ means the mat or rug of woven
rushes or bark on which the family or company sat, and from the
community of interests thus typified, the word came to mean anything in
common.
_Vuh_ or _uuh_ is in Quiche and Cakchiquel the word for _paper_ and
_book_. It is an original term in these and connected dialects, the Maya
having _nooh_, a letter, writing; _uoch_, to write.
There is a school of writers who deprecate such researches as I am about
to make. They are of opinion that the appellations of the native gods
were derived from trivial or accidental circumstances, and had no
recondite or symbolic meaning. In fact, this assertion has been made
with reference to the very names which I am about to discuss.
I do not share this opinion. Many of the sacred names among the American
tribes I feel sure had occult and metaphorical significance. This is
proved by the profound researches of Cushing among the Zuñis; of Dorsey
among the Dakotas; and others. But to reach this hidden purport, one
must study all the ideas which the name connotes, especially those which
are archaic.
I begin with the mysterious opening words of the _Popol Vuh_. They
introduce us at once to the mighty and manifold divinity who is the
source and cause of all things, and to the original couple, male and
female, who in their persons and their powers typify the sexual and
reproductive principles of organic life. These words are as follows:
“Here begins the record of what happened in old times in the land of
the Quiches.
“Here will we begin and set forth the story of past time, the outset
and starting point of all that took place in the city of Quiche, in
the dwelling of the Quiche people.
“Here we shall bring to knowledge the explanation and the disclosure
of the Disappearance and the Reappearance through the might of the
builders and creators, the bearers of children and the begetters of
children, whose names are Hun-ahpu-vuch, Hun-ahpu-utiu,
Zaki-nima-tzyiz, Tepeu, Gucumatz, u Qux-cho, u Qux-palo,
Ah-raxa-lak, Ah-raxa-tzel.
“And along with these it is sung and related of the
grandmother-grandfather, whose name is Xpiyacoc and Xmucane, the
Concealer and Protector; two-fold grandmother and two-fold
grandfather are they called in the legends of the Quiches.”[128]
It will be here observed that the declaration of the attributes of the
highest divinity sets forth distinctly sexual ideas, and, as was often
the case in Grecian, Egyptian and Oriental mythology, this divinity is
represented as embracing the powers and functions of both sexes in his
own person; and it is curious that both here and in the second
paragraph, the _female_ attributes are named _first_.
First in the specific names of divinity given is _Hun-ahpu-vuch_. To
derive any appropriate signification for this has baffled students of
this mythology. _Hun_ is the numeral _one_, but which also, as in most
tongues, has the other meanings of first, foremost, self, unique, most
prominent, “the one,” etc. _Ah pu_ is derived both by Ximenez and
Brasseur from the prefix _ah_, which is used to signify knowledge or
possession of, or control over, mastership or skill in, origin from or
practice in that to which it is prefixed; and _ub_, or _pub_, the
_sarbacana_ or blowpipe, which these Indians used to employ as a weapon
in war and the chase. _Ah pu_, therefore, they take to mean, He who uses
the sarbacane, a hunter. _Vuch_, the last member of this compound name,
is understood by both to mean the opossum.
In accordance with these derivations the name is translated “an opossum
hunter.”
Such a name bears little meaning in this relation; little relevancy to
the nature and functions of deity; and if a more appropriate and not
less plausible composition could be suggested, it would have intrinsic
claims for adoption. There is such a composition, and it is this: The
derivation of Ahpu from _ah-pub_ is not only unnecessary but hardly
defensible. In Cakchiquel the sarbacane is _pub_, but in Quiche the
initial _p_ is dropped, as can be seen in many passages of the _Popol
Vuh_. The true composition of this word I take to be _ah-puz_, for _puz_
has a signification associated with the mysteries of religion; it
expressed the divine power which the native priests and prophets claimed
to have received from the gods, and the essentially supernatural
attributes of divinity itself. It was the word which at first the
natives applied to the power of forgiving sins claimed by the Catholic
missionaries; but as it was associated with so many heathen notions, the
clergy decided to drop it altogether from religious language, and to
leave it the meaning of necromancy and unholy power. Thus Coto gives it
as the Cakchiquel word for _magic_ or _necromancy_.[129]
The word _puz_ is used in various passages of the _Popol Vuh_ to express
the supernatural power of the gods and priests; but probably by the time
that Ximenez wrote, it had, in the current dialect of his parish, lost
its highest signification, and hence it did not suggest itself to him as
the true derivation of the name I am discussing.
The third term, _Vuch_ or _Vugh_, was chosen according to Ximenez
because this animal is notoriously cunning, “_por su astucia_.” This may
be correct, and we may have here a reminiscence of an animal myth. But
the word has several other significations which should be considered. It
was the name of a sacred dance; it expressed the trembling in the ague
chill; the warmth of water; and the darkness which comes before the
dawn.[130]
Of these various meanings one is tempted to take the last, and connect
Hun-ahpu-vuch with the auroral gods, the forerunners of the light, like
the “Kichigouai, those who make the day,” of Algonkin mythology.
There is a curious passage in the _Popol Vuh_ which is in support of
such an opinion. It occurs at a certain period of the history of the
mythical hero Hunahpu. The text reads:
“Are cut ta chi r’ah zakiric, “And now it was about to become
white,
“Chi zaktarin, And the dawn came,
“U xecah ca xaquinuchic. The day opened.
“Ama x-u ch’ux ri Vuch? ‘Is the _Vuch_ about to be?’
“Ve, x-cha ri mama. Yes, answered the old man.
“Ta chi xaquinic; Then he spread apart his legs;
“Quate ta chi gekumar chic; Again the darkness appeared;
“Cahmul xaquin ri mama. Four times the old man spread his
legs.
“Ca xaquin-Vuch,” ca cha vinak “Now the opossum (_Vuch_) spreads
vacamic. his legs,” say the people yet
(meaning that the day
approaches).
As the same word _Vuch_ meant both the opossum and the atmospheric
change which in that climate precedes the dawn, the text may be
translated either way, and the homophony would give rise to a double
meaning of the name. This homophony contains, indeed, rich material for
the development of an animal myth, identifying the _Vuch_ with the God
of Light, just as the similarity of the Algonkin _waubisch_, the dawn,
and _waubos_, the rabbit, gave occasion to a whole cycle of curious
myths in which the Great Hare or the Mighty Rabbit figures as the
Creator of the world, the Day Maker, and the chief God of the widely
spread Algonkin tribes.[131]
In the second name, _Hun-ahpu-utiu_, the last member _utiu_ means the
coyote, the native wolf, an animal which plays an important symbolic
part in the cosmogonical myths of Californian, Mexican and Central
American tribes. It appears generally to represent the night, and I
would render the esoteric sense of the two names by “Master of the
Night,” and “Master of the Approaching Dawn.”
The same concealed sense seems to lurk in the next name,
_Zaki-nima-tzyiz_, literally, “The Great White Pisote,” the pisote being
the proboscidian known as _Nasua narica_, L.
These names are repeated in a later passage of the _Popol Vuh_ (p. 20).
“Make known your name, Hun-ahpu-vuch, Hun-ahpu-utiu, twofold bearer
of children, twofold begetter of children, Nim-ak, Nim-tzyiz, master
of the emerald, etc.”
The name _Nim-ak_ is elsewhere given _Zaki-nim-ak_. The former means
“Great Hog,” the latter “White, Great Hog.” Brasseur translates _ak_ as
wild boar (_sanglier_), but it is the common name for the native hog,
without distinction of sex. In a later passage,[132] we are informed
that it was the name of an old man with white hair, and that
Zaki-nima-tzyiz was the name of an old woman, his wife, all bent and
doubled up with age, but both beings of marvelous magic power. Thus we
find here an almost unique example of the deification of the hog; for
once, this useful animal, generally despised in mythology and
anathematized in religion, is given the highest pedestal in the
Pantheon.
Perhaps we should understand these and nearly all similar brute gods to
be relics of a primitive form of totemic worship, such as was found in
vigor among some of the northern tribes. Various other indications of
this can be discovered among the branches of the Maya family. The
Cakchiquels were called “the people of the bat” (_zoq’_), that animal
being their national sign or token, and also the symbol of their
god.[133] The _tucur_ owl, _chan_ or _cumatz_ serpent, _balam_ tiger,
and _geh_ deer, are other animals whose names are applied to prominent
families or tribes in these nearly related myths.
The priests and rulers also assumed frequently the names of animals, and
some pretended to be able to transform themselves into them at will.
Thus it is said of Gucumatz Cotuha, fifth king of the Quiches, that he
transformed himself into an eagle, into a tiger, into a serpent, and
into coagulated blood.[134] In their dances and other sacred ceremonies
they used hideous masks, carved, painted and ornamented to represent the
heads of eagles, tigers, etc. These were called _coh_, as _cohbal ruvi
cot_, the mask of an eagle; _cohbal ruvi balam_, the mask of a tiger,
etc. In Maya the same word is found, _koh_, and in the Codex Troano, one
of few original Maya manuscripts we have left, these masks are easily
distinguished on the heads of many of the persons represented. Recent
observers tell us that in the more remote parishes in Central America
these brute-faced masks are still worn by the Indians who dance in
accompanying the processions of the Church![135] Even yet, every
new-born child among the Quiches is solemnly named after some beast by
the native “medicine man” before he is baptized by the padre.[136]
This brings me to a name which has very curious meanings, to wit,
_Tepeu_. It is the ordinary word in these dialects for lord, ruler,
chief or king. Its form in Cakchiquel is _Tepex_, in Maya _Tepal_, and
it is probably from the adjective root _tep_, filled up, supplied in
abundance, satisfied. In Quiche and Cakchiquel it is used synonymously
with _galel_ or _gagal_ and _ahau_, as a translation of Señor or
Cacique. But it has another definite meaning, and that is, the disease
_syphilis_; and what is not less curious, this meaning extends also in a
measure to _gagal_ and _ahau_.
This extraordinary collocation of ideas did not escape the notice of
Ximenez, and he undertakes to explain it by suggestion that as syphilis
arises from cohabitation with many different women, and this is a
privilege only of the great and powerful, so the name came to be applied
to the chiefs and nobles, and to their god.[137]
Of course, syphilis has no such origin; but if the Indians thought it
had, and considered it a proof of extraordinary genetic power, it would
be a plausible supposition that they applied this term to their divinity
as being the type of the fecundating principle. But the original sense
of the adjective _tep_ does not seem to bear this out, and it would
rather appear that the employment of the word as the name of the disease
was a later and secondary sense. Such is the opinion of Father Coto, who
says that the term was applied jestingly to those suffering from
syphilitic sores, because, like a chieftain or a noble, they did no
work, but had to sit still with their hands in their laps, as it were,
waiting to get well.[138]
The same strange connection occurs in other American mythologies. Thus
in the Aztec tongue _nanahuatl_ means a person suffering from syphilis;
it is also, in a myth preserved by Sahagun, the name of the Sun-God, and
it is related of him that as a sacrifice, before becoming the sun, he
threw into the sacrificial flames, not precious gifts, as the custom
was, but the scabs from his sores.[139] So also Caracaracol, a prominent
figure in Haytian mythology, is represented as suffering from sores or
buboes.
The name _Gucumatz_ is correctly stated by Ximenez to be capable of two
derivations. The first takes it from _gugum_, a feather; _tin gugumah_,
I embroider or cover with feathers. The second derivation is from _gug_,
feather, and _cumatz_, the generic name for serpent. The first of these
is that which the writer of the _Popol Vuh_ preferred, as appears from
his expression; “They are folded in the feathers (_gug_), the green
ones; therefore their name is Gugumatz; very wise indeed are they” (p.
6). The brilliant plumage of the tropical birds was constantly used by
these tribes as an ornament for their clothing and their idols, and the
possession of many of these exquisite feathers was a matter of pride.
The names _u Qux cho, Qux palo_, mean “the Heart of the Lake, the Heart
of the Sea.” To them may be added _u Qux_ _cah_, “the Heart of the Sky,”
and _u Qux uleu_, “the Heart of the Earth,” found elsewhere in the
_Popol Vuh_, and applied to divinity. The literal sense of the word
heart was, however, not that which was intended; in those dialects this
word had a much richer metaphorical meaning than in our tongue; in them
it stood for all the psychical powers, the memory, will and reasoning
faculties, the life, the spirit, the soul.[140]
It would be more correct, therefore, to render these names the “spirit”
or “soul” of the lake, etc., than the “heart.” They represent broadly
the doctrine of “animism” as held by these people, and generally by man
in his early stages of religious development. They indicate also a dimly
understood sense of the unity of spirit or energy in the different
manifestations of organic and inorganic existence.
This was not peculiar to the tribes under consideration. The heart was
very generally looked upon, not only as the seat of life, but as the
source of the feelings, intellect and passions, the very soul
itself.[141] Hence, in sacrificing victims it was torn out and offered
to the god as representing the immaterial part of the individual, that
which survived the death of the body.
The two names _Ah-raxa-lak_ and _Ah-raxa-sel_ literally mean, “He of the
green dish,” “He of the green cup.” Thus Ximenez gives them, and adds
that forms of speech with _rax_ signify things of beauty, fit for kings
and lords, as are brightly colored cups and dishes.
_Rax_ is the name of the colors blue and green, which it is said by many
writers cannot be distinguished apart by these Indians; or at least that
they have no word to express the difference. _Rax_, by extension, means
new, strong, rough, violent, etc.[142] Coming immediately after the
names “Soul of the Lake,” “Soul of the Sea,” it is possible that the
“blue plate” is the azure surface of the tropical sea.
In the second paragraph I have quoted, the narrator introduces us to
“the ancestress (_iyom_), the ancestor (_mamom_), by name Xpiyacoc,
Xmucane.” These were prominent figures in Quiche mythology; they were
the embodiments of the paternal and maternal powers of organic life;
they were invoked elsewhere in the _Popol Vuh_ to favor the germination
of seeds, and the creation of mankind; they are addressed as “ancestress
of the sun, ancestress of the light.” The old man, Xpiyacoc, is spoken
of as the master of divination by the _tzite_, or sacred beans; the old
woman, Xmucane, as she who could forecast days and seasons (_ahgih_);
they were the parents of those mighty ones “whose name was Ahpu,”
masters of magic.[143] From this ancient couple, Ximenez tells us the
native magicians and medicine men of his day claimed to draw their
inspiration, and they were especially consulted touching the birth of
infants, in which they were still called upon to assist in spite of the
efforts of the padres. It is clear throughout that they represented
mainly the peculiar functions of the two sexes.
Their names perhaps belonged to an archaic dialect, and the Quiches
either could not or would not explain them. All that Ximenez says is
that Xmucane means _tomb_ or _grave_, deriving it from the verb _tin
muk_, I bury.
In most or all of the languages of this stock the root _muk_ or _muc_
means to cover or cover up. In Maya the passive form of the verbal noun
is _mucaan_, of which the _Diccionario de Motul_[144] gives the
translation “something covered or buried,” the second meaning arising
naturally from the custom of covering the dead body with earth, and
indicated that the mortuary rites among them were by means of interment;
as, indeed, we are definitely informed by Bishop Landa.[145] The
feminine prefix and the terminal euphonic _e_ give precisely
_X-mucaan-e_, meaning “She who is covered up,” or buried.
But while etymologically satisfactory, the appropriateness of this
derivation is not at once apparent. Can it have reference to the seed
covered by the soil, the child buried in the womb, the egg hidden in the
nest, etc., and thus typify one of the principles or phases of
reproduction? For there is no doubt, but that it is in the category of
divinities presiding over reproduction this deity belongs. Not only is
she called “primal mother of the sun and the light,”[146] but it is she
who cooks the pounded maize from which the first of men were formed.
Both names may be interpreted with appropriateness to the sphere and
functions of their supposed powers, from radicals common to the Maya and
Quiche dialects. _Xmucane_ may be composed of the feminine prefix _x_
(the same in sound and meaning as the English pronominal adjective _she_
in such terms as _she-bear_, _she-cat_): and _mukanil_, vigor, force,
power.
_Xpiyacoc_ is not so easy of solution, but I believe it to be a
derivative from the root _xib_, the male, whence _xipbil_,
masculinity,[147] and _oc_ or _ococ_, to enter, to accouple in the act
of generation.[148]
We can readily see, with these meanings hidden in them, the subtler
sense of which the natives had probably lost, that these names would be
difficult of satisfactory explanation to the missionaries, and that they
would be left by them as of undetermined origin.
* * * * *
The second fragment of Quiche mythology which I shall analyze is one
that relates to the Gods of the Storm. These are introduced as the three
manifestations of _Qux-cha_, the Soul of the Sky, and collectively
“their name is Hurakan:”
“Cakulha Hurakan is the first; Chipi-cakulha is the second; the
third is Raxa-cakulha; and these three are the Soul of the Sky.”
Elsewhere we read:
“Speak therefore our name, honor your mother, your father; call ye
upon Hurakan, Chipi-cakulha, Raxa-cakulha, Soul of the Earth, Soul
of the Sky, Creator, Maker, Her who brings forth, Him who begets;
speak, call upon us, salute us.”[149]
_Cakulha_ (Cakchiquel, _cokolhay_) is the ordinary word for the
lightning; Raxa-cakulha, is rendered by Coto as “the flash of the
lightning” (_el resplandor del rayo_); Chipi-cakulha is stated by
Brasseur to mean “le sillonnement de l’eclair;” _chip_ is used to
designate the latest, youngest or least of children, or fingers, etc.,
and the expression therefore is “the track of the lightning.”
There remains the name Hurakan, and it is confessedly difficult.
Brasseur says that no explanation of it can be found in the Quiche or
Cakchiqùel dictionaries, and that it must have been brought from the
Antilles, where it was the name applied to the terrible tornado of the
West Indian latitudes, and, borrowed from the Haytians by early
navigators, has under the forms _ouragan_, _huracan_, _hurricane_,
passed into European languages. I am convinced, however, that the word
Hurakan belongs in its etymology to the Maya group of dialects, and must
be analyzed by them.
One such etymology is indeed offered by Ximenez, but an absurd one. He
supposed the word was compounded of _hun_, one; _ru_ his; and _rakan_,
foot, and translates it “of one foot.” This has very properly been
rejected.
On collating the proper names in the _Popol Vuh_ there are several of
them which are evidently allied to Hurakan. Thus we have _Cabrakan_, who
is represented as the god of the earthquake, he who shakes the solid
earth in his might and topples over the lofty mountains. His name is the
common word for earthquake in these dialects. Again, one of the titles
of Xmucane is _Chirakan Xmucane_.
The terminal _rakan_ in these names is a word used to express greatness
in size, height or bigness. Many examples are found in Coto’s
_Vocabulario_.[150]
For a person tall in stature he gives the expression _togam rakan_: for
large in body, the Cakchiqùel is _naht rakan_, and for gigantic, or a
giant, _hu rakan_.
This idea of strength and might is of course very appropriate to the
deity who presides over the appalling forces of the tropical
thunderstorm, who flashes the lightning and hurls the thunderbolt.
It is also germane to the conception of the earthquake god. The first
syllable, _cab_, means twice, or two, or second; and apparently has
reference to _hun_, one or first, in _hurakan_. As the thunderstorm was
the most terrifying display of power, so next in order came the
earthquake.
The name _Chirakan_ as applied to Xmucane may have many meanings; _chi_
in all these dialects means primarily _mouth_; but it has a vast number
of secondary meanings, as in all languages. Thus, according to Coto, it
is currently used to designate the mouth of a jar, the crater of a
volcano, the eye of a needle, the door of a house, a window, a gate to a
field, in fact, almost any opening whatever. I suspect that as here used
as part of the name of the mythical mother of the race and the
representation of the female principle, it is to be understood as
referring to the _ostium vaginæ_, from which, as from an immeasurable
_vagina gentium_, all animate life was believed to have drawn its
existence.
If the derivation of Hurakan here presented is correct, we can hardly
refuse to explain the word as it occurs elsewhere with the same meaning
as an evidence of the early influence of the Maya race on other tribes.
It would appear to have been through the Caribs that it was carried to
the West India islands, where it was first heard by the European
navigators. Thus the _Dictionaire Galibi_ (Paris, 1743,) gives for
“diable,” _iroucan_, _jeroucan_, _hyorokan_, precisely as Coto gives the
Cakchiquel equivalent of “diablo” as _hurakan_. This god was said by the
Caribs to have torn the islands of the West Indian archipelago from the
mainland, and to have heaped up the sand hills and bluffs along the
shores.[151] As an associate or “captain” of the hurricane, they spoke
of a huge bird who makes the winds, by name _Savacon_, in the middle
syllable of which it is possible we may recognize the bird _vaku_, which
the Quiches spoke of as the messenger of Hurakan.
* * * * *
I now pass to the myth of the descent of the hero-god, Xbalanque, into
the underworld, Xibalba, his victory over the inhabitants, and
triumphant return to the realm of light. The exploits of this demigod
are the principal theme of the earlier portion of the _Popol Vuh_.
It was the vague similarity of this myth to the narrative of the descent
of Christ into hell, and his ascent into heaven, to which we owe the
earliest reference to these religious beliefs of the Guatemalan tribes;
and it is a gratifying proof of their genuine antiquity that we have
this reference. Our authority is the Bishop of Chiapas, Bartolome de las
Casas, with other contemporary writers. The Bishop writes that the
natives of Guatemala alleged that Xbalanque was born at Utlatlan, the
ancient Quiche capital, and having governed it a certain time with
success, went down to hell to fight the devils. Having conquered them,
he returned to the upper world, but the Quiches refused to receive him,
so he passed on into another province.[152]
As related in the _Popol Vuh_, the myth runs thus:
The divine pair, Xpiyacoc and Xmucane had as sons Hunhun-Ahpu and
Vukub-Hun-Ahpu (Each-one-a-Magician and Seven-times-a-Magician). They
were invited to visit Xibalba, the Underworld, by its lords, Hun-Came
and Vukub-Came (One-Death and Seven-Deaths), and accepting the
invitation, were treacherously murdered. The head of Hunhun-Ahpu was cut
off and suspended on a tree. A maiden, by name Xquiq, (Blood,) passed
that way, and looking at the tree, longed for its fruit; then the head
of Hunhun-Ahpu cast forth spittle into the outstretched palm of the
maiden, and forthwith she became pregnant. Angered at her condition, her
father set about to slay her, but she escaped to the upper world and
there brought forth the twins Hun-Ahpu and Xbalanque. They grew in
strength, and performed various deeds of prowess, which are related at
length in the _Popol Vuh_, and were at last invited by the lords of the
Underworld to visit them. It was the intention of the rulers of this
dark land that the youths should meet the same fate as their father and
uncle. But, prepared by warnings, and skilled in magic power, Xbalanque
and his brother foiled the murderous designs of the lords of Xibalba;
pretending to be burned, and their ashes cast into the river, they rose
from its waves unharmed, and by a stratagem slew Hun-Came and
Vukub-Came. Then the inhabitants of the Underworld were terrified and
fled, and Hun-Ahpu and Xbalanque released the prisoners and restored to
life those who had been slain. The latter rose to the sky to become its
countless stars, while Hunhun-Ahpu and Vukub-Hun-Ahpu ascended to dwell
the one in the sun, the other in the moon.
The portion of the legend which narrates the return of Xbalanque to the
upper world, and what befell him there, as referred to in the myth
preserved by Las Casas, is not preserved in the _Popol Vuh_.
The faint resemblance which the early missionaries noticed in this
religious tradition to that of Christ would not lead any one who has at
all closely studied mythology to assume that this is an echo of
Christian teachings. Both in America and the Orient the myths of the
hero god, born of a virgin, and that of the descent into Hades, are
among the most common. Their explanation rests on the universality and
prominence of the processes of nature which are typified under these
narratives. It is unscientific to attempt to derive one from the other,
and it is not less so to endeavor to invest them with the character of
history, as has been done in this instance by the Abbé Brasseur and
various other writers.
The Abbé maintained that Xibalba was the name of an ancient State in the
valley of the Usumasinta in Tabasco, the capital of which was
Palenque.[153] He inclined to the belief that the original form was
_tzibalba_, which would mean _painted mole_, in the Tzendal dialect and
might have reference to a custom of painting the face. This far-fetched
derivation is unnecessary. The word _Xibalba_, (Cakchiquel _Xibalbay_,
Maya _Xibalba_, _Xabalba_, or _Xubalba_) was the common term throughout
the Maya stock of languages to denote the abode of the spirits of the
dead, or Hades, which with them was held to be under the surface of the
earth, and not, as the Mexicans often supposed, in the far north. Hence
the Cakchiquels used as synonymous with it the expression “the centre or
heart of the earth.”[154]
After the conquest the word was and is in common use in Guatemalan
dialects to mean _hell_, and in Maya for _the devil_. Cogolludo states
that it was the original Maya term for the Evil Spirit, and that it
means “He who disappears, or vanishes.”[155] He evidently derived it
from the Maya verb, _xibil_, and I believe this derivation is correct;
but the signification he gives is incomplete. The original sense of the
word was “to melt,” hence “to disappear.”[156] This became connected
with the idea of disappearance in death, and of ghosts and specters.
It is interesting to note how the mental processes of these secluded and
semi-barbarous tribes led them to the same association of ideas which
our greatest dramatist expresses in Hamlet’s soliloquy:
“O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew;”
and which Cicero records in the phrase _dissolutio naturæ_, in the sense
of death.[157]
The natural terror and fright with which death and ghosts are everywhere
regarded, and especially, as Landa remarks, by this people, explain how
this secondary meaning became predominant in the word. The termination
_ba_ means in the Guatemalan dialects, where, whence, whither, _bey_, a
path or road; _Xibilbay_ thus signifies, in the locative sense, “the
place where they (_i. e._ the dead) disappear,” the Hades, the Invisible
Realm, which was supposed to be under the ground.
It was a common belief among many tribes in America, that their earliest
ancestors emerged from a world which underlies this one on which we
live, and in ancient Cakchiquel legend, the same or a similar notion
seems to have prevailed.
The name of the hero-god _Xbalanque_ is explained by the Abbé Brasseur
as a compound of the diminutive prefix _x_, _balam_, a tiger, and the
plural termination _que_.[158] Like so many of his derivations, this is
quite incorrect. There is no plural termination _que_, either in the
Quiche or in any related dialect; and the signification “tiger” (jaguar,
_Felix unca_ Lin. in Mexican _ocelotl_), which he assigns to the word
_balam_, is only one of several which belong to it.
The name is compounded of the prefix, either feminine or diminutive,
_x_; _balam_, or, as given by Guzman, _balan_;[159] and _queh_, deer.
This is the composition given by Ximenez, who translates it literally as
“a diminutive form of tiger and deer.”[160]
The name _balam_, was also that of a class of warriors: of a
congregation of priests or diviners; and of one of the inferior orders
of deities. In composition it was applied to a spotted butterfly, as it
is in our tongue to the “tiger-lily;” to the king-bee; to certain
rapacious birds of prey, etc.
None of the significations concerns us here; but we do see our way when
we learn that both _balam_ and _queh_ are names of days in the
Quiche-Cakchiquel calendar. The former stood for the twelfth, the latter
for the seventh in their week of twenty days.[161] Each of the days was
sacred to a particular divinity, but owing to the inadequate material
preserved for the study of the ancient calendars of Guatemala, we are
much in the dark as to the relationship of these divinities.
Suffice it to say that the hero-god whose name is thus compounded of two
signs in the calendar, who is born of a virgin, who performs many
surprising feats of prowess on the earth, who descends into the world of
darkness and sets free the sun, moon and stars to perform their daily
and nightly journeys through the heavens, presents in these and other
traits such numerous resemblances to the Divinity of Light, reappearing
in so many American myths, the Day-maker of the northern hunting tribes,
that I do not hesitate to identify the narrative of Xbalanque and his
deeds as one of the presentations of this widespread, this well-nigh
universal myth—guarding my words by the distinct statement, however,
that the identity may be solely a psychological, not a historical one.
THE HERO-GOD OF THE ALGONKINS AS A CHEAT AND LIAR.[162]
In the pleasant volume which Mr. Charles G. Leland has written on the
surviving aboriginal folk-lore of New England,[163] the chief divinity
of the Micmacs and Penobscots appears under what seems at first the
outrageously incongruous name of _Gluskap, the Liar!_ This is the
translation of the name as given by the Rev. S. T. Rand, late missionary
among the Micmacs, and the best authority on that language. From a
comparison of the radicals of the name in related dialects of the
Algonkin stock, I should say that a more strictly literal rendering
would be “word-breaker,” or “deceiver with words.” In the Penobscot
dialect the word is divided thus,—_Glus-Gahbé_, where the component
parts are more distinctly visible.[164]
The explanation of this epithet, as quoted from native sources by Mr.
Leland, is that he was called the liar because “when he left earth, like
King Arthur, for fairy land, he promised to return, and has never done
so.”
It is true that the Algonkian Hero-God, like all the American
culture-heroes, Ioskeha, Quetzalcoatl, Zamna, Bochica, Viracocha, and
the rest, disappeared in some mysterious way, promising again to visit
his people, and has long delayed his coming. But it was not for that
reason that he was called the “deceiver in words.” Had Mr. Leland made
himself acquainted with Algonkin mythology in general, he would have
found that this is but one of several, to our thinking, opprobrious
names they applied to their highest divinity, their national hero, and
the reputed saviour and benefactor of their race.
The Crees, living northwest of the Micmacs, call this divine personage,
whom, as Father Lacombe tells us, they regard as “The principal deity
and the founder of these nations,” by the name _Wisakketjâk_, which
means “the trickster,” “the deceiver.”[165] The Chipeways apply to him a
similar term, _Nenaboj_, or as it is usually written, _Nanabojoo_, and
_Nanaboshoo_, “the Cheat,” perhaps allied to _Nanabanisi_, he is
cheated.[166]
This is the same deity that reappears under the names _Manabozho_,
_Michabo_, and _Messou_, among the Chipeway tribes; as _Napiw_ among the
Blackfeet; and as _Wetucks_ among the New England Indians where he is
mentioned by Roger Williams as “A man that wrought great miracles among
them, with some kind of broken resemblance to the Sonne of God.”[167]
These appellations have various significations. The last mentioned is
apparently from _ock_ or _ogh_, father, with the prefix _wit_, which
conveys the sense “in common” or “general.” Hence it would be “the
common father.”
_Michabo_, constantly translated by writers “the Great Hare,” as if
derived from _michi_, great, and _wabos_, hare, is really a verbal form
from _michi_ and _wabi_, white, and should be translated, “the Great
White One.” The reference is to the white light of the dawn, he, like
most of the other American hero-gods, being an impersonation of the
light.
The name _Wisakketjâk_, though entirely Algonkin in aspect, offers
serious etymological difficulties, so unmanageable indeed that one of
the best authorities, M. Cuoq, abandons the attempt.[168] Its most
apparent root is _wisak_, which conveys the sense of annoyance, hurt or
bitterness, and the name would thus seem to be applied to one who causes
these disagreeable sensations.
In all the pure and ancient Algonkin cosmogonical legends, this divinity
creates the world by his magic powers, peoples it with game and animals,
places man upon it, teaches his favorite people the arts of the chase,
and gives them the corn and beans. His work is disturbed by enemies of
various kinds, sometimes his own brothers, sometimes by a formidable
serpent and his minions.
These myths, when analyzed through the proper names they contain, and
compared with those of the better known mythologies of the old world,
show plainly that their original purport was to recount, under
metaphorical language, on the one hand the unceasing struggle of day
with night, light with darkness, and on the other, that no less
important conflict which is ever waging between the storm and sunshine,
the winter and summer, the rain and the clear sky.
Writers whose knowledge of religions was confined to that of the Semitic
race, as represented in our Bible, have maintained that the story of
Michabo’s battles with the serpent, who is certainly represented as a
master of magic and subtlety, and hence dangerous to the human race,
must have come from contact with the missionaries. A careful study of
the myth will dispel all doubts on this point. Years ago, Mr. E. G.
Squier showed that this legend was unquestionably of aboriginal source;
but he failed to perceive its significance.[169] The serpent, typical of
the sinuous lightning, symbolizes the storm, the rains and the water.
But to return to the class of names with which we began. The struggles
of Michabo with these various powerful enemies I have just named,
constitute the principal theme of the countless tales which are told of
him by the native story-tellers, only a small part of which, and those
much disfigured, came under the notice of Mr. Leland, among the long
civilized eastern tribes. Mr. Schoolcraft frequently refers to these
“innumerable tales of personal achievement, sagacity, endurance, miracle
and trick which place him in almost every scene of deep interest which
can be imagined.”[170] These words express the spirit of the greater
number of these legends. Michabo does not conquer his enemies by brute
force, nor by superior strength, but by craft and ruses, by transforming
himself into unsuspected shapes, by cunning and strategy. He thus comes
to be represented as the arch-deceiver; but in a good sense, as his
enemies on whom he practices these wiles are also those of the human
race, and he exercises his powers with a benevolent intention.
Thus it comes to pass that this highest divinity of these nations, their
chief god and culture-hero, bears in familiar narrative the surprising
titles, “the liar,” “the cheat,” and “the deceiver.”
It would be an interesting literary and psychological study to compare
this form of the Michabo myth with some in the old world, which closely
resemble it in what artists call _motive_. I would name particularly the
story of the “wily Ulysses” of the Greeks, the “transformations of Ebu
Seid of Serug” and the like in Arabic, and the famous tale of Reynard
the Fox in medieval literature. The same spirit breathes in all of them;
all minister to the delight with which the mind contemplates mere
physical strength beaten in the struggle with intelligence. They are all
peans sung for the victory of mind over matter. In none of them is there
much nicety about the means used to accomplish the ends. Deceit by word
and action is the general resource of the heroes. They all act on the
Italian maxim:
“O per fortuna, o per ingano,
Il vencer sempre e laudabil cosa.”
THE JOURNEY OF THE SOUL.[171]
I am about to invite your attention to one of the many curious results
of comparative mythology. This science, which is still in its infancy,
may be regarded by some of you, as it is by the world at large, as one
of little practical importance, and quite remote from the interests of
daily life and thought. But some of the results it attains are so
startling, and throw such a singular light on various familiar customs
and popular beliefs, that the time is not far off when it will be
recognized as one of the most potent solvents in the crucible of
intelligence.
The point to which I shall address myself to-night is the opinion
entertained by three ancient nations, very wide apart in space, time and
blood, concerning the journey of the soul when it leaves the body.
These nations are the ancient Egyptians, the ancient Aryans, and the
Aztecs or Nahua of Central Mexico.
All these people believed, with equal faith, in the existence of a soul
or spirit in man, and in its continuing life after the death of the
body. How they came by this belief does not concern my present thesis;
that they held it in unquestioning faith none can deny who has studied
even superficially their surviving monuments. They supposed this assumed
after-life was continued under varying conditions in some other locality
than this present world, and that it required a journey of some length
for the disembodied spirit to reach its destined abode. It is the events
which were supposed to take place on this journey, and the goals to
which it led, that I am about to narrate. It will be seen that there are
several curious similarities in the opinions of these widely diverse
peoples, which can only be explained by the supposition that they based
their theories of the soul’s journey and goal on some analogy familiar
to them all.
I begin with the Egyptian theory. It appears in its most complete form
in the sepulchral records of the New Kingdom, after the long period of
anarchy of the Shepherd Kings had passed, and when under the 18th, 19th
and 20th dynasties, Egypt may be said to have risen to the very pinnacle
of her greatness.
The collection of the sacred funerary texts into the famous ritual known
as “The Book of the Dead,” dates from this time. Many of its chapters
are, indeed, very much older; but Egyptian religion, which was not
stationary, but constantly progressive toward higher intellectual forms
and purer ethical standards, can best be judged as it was in this
period, that of the Theban dynasties of the New Kingdom. To assign a
date, we may say in round numbers, two thousand years before the
Christian era.
From that invaluable document, therefore, the “Book of the Dead,” we
learn what this ancient people expected to happen to the soul when it
left the body. Of the millions of mummies which were zealously prepared
in those ages, none was complete unless it had folded with it one or a
number of chapters of this holy book, the formulas in which were
safeguards and passwords to the spirit on its perilous journey.
The general statement is that the soul on leaving the corpse passes
toward the West, where it descends into the divine inferior region
called Amenti, over which presides Osiris, “chief of chiefs divine,” who
represents the Sun-god in his absence, in other words the sun at night,
the sun which has sunk in the west and stays somewhere all night.
In this place of darkness the soul undergoes its various tests. The
deeds done in the flesh, the words spoken in life, the thoughts of the
heart, are brought up against it by different accusers, who appear in
the form of monsters of the deep. As the sun has to combat the darkness
of the night and to overcome it before it can again rise, so the soul
has to combat the record of its sins, and conquer the frightful images
which represent them. This was to be done in the Egyptian, as in almost
all religions, by the power of magic formulas, in other words by
prayers, and the invocation of holy names.
Having succeeded, the soul saw the nightly constellations and the
heavenly stars, and reached the great celestial river, whose name was
Nun. This was the self-created, primordial element. From its green
depths all created things, even the gods themselves, took their origin.
It is called in the texts, “father of all gods.” From it rose Ra, the
Sun-god, in his brightness. In its dark depths lies bound in chains of
iron the serpent Refref, the symbol of evil, otherwise called Apap. But,
though bound, this monster endeavors to seize each soul that crosses the
river. The fortunate soul repels the serpent by blows and incantations
which destroy its power, but the unfortunate one is swallowed up and
annihilated.
This danger passed, the soul reaches the farther strand, and rises from
the waters, as Horus, who represents the sun at dawn, rises from the
eastern waves. This is the purpose of all the rites and prayers—to have
the soul, as the expression is, “rise at day” or “rise in the daytime.”
In other words, to rise as the sun and with the sun, or, to use again
the constant formula of the “Book of the Dead,” to “enter the boat of
the Sun;” for the Sun was supposed to sail through celestial and
translucent waters on its grand journey from horizon to zenith and
zenith to horizon. Starting at dawn as the child Horus, son of the slain
and lost Osiris, the orb of light became at midday the mighty Ra, and as
evening approached, was transformed into Khep-Ra or Harmachis, again to
become Osiris when it had sunk beneath the western verge.
So strict and absolute was the analogy supposed by the Egyptians to
exist between the course of the sun and the destiny of the soul, that
every soul was said to become Osiris at the moment of death, and in the
copies of the “Book of the Dead,” enclosed in a mummy, the proper name
of the defunct is always preceded by the name “Osiris,” as we might say
“Osiris Rameses” or “Osiris Sesostris.”
To illustrate further what I have said, I will translate a few passages
from the most recent and correct version of the “Book of the Dead,” that
published at Paris a few months ago, and made by Prof. Paul Pierret, of
the Egyptian Museum of the Louvre.
The following is an extract from the first chapter of this Ritual:
“O ye who open the roads! O ye who make smooth the paths to the souls in
the abode of Osiris! Make smooth the paths, open the roads to Osiris
Such-a-one that he may enter, by the aid of this chapter, into the abode
of Osiris; that he may enter with zeal and emerge with joy; that this
Osiris Such-a-one be not repulsed, nor miss his way, that he may enter
as he wishes and leave when he wills. Let his words be made true and his
orders executed in the abode of Osiris.
“This Osiris Such-a-one is journeying toward the west with good fortune.
When weighed in the balance he is found to be without sin; of numerous
mouths, none has condemned him; his soul stands erect before Osiris; out
of his mouth when on earth no impurity proceeded.”
(Here the soul speaks:)
“I place myself before the master of the gods; I reach the divine abode;
I raise myself as a living god; I shine among the gods of heaven; I am
become as one of you, O ye gods. I witness the progress of the holy
stars. I cross the river Nun. I am not far removed from the fellowship
of the gods. I eat of the food of the gods. I sit among them. I am
invoked as a divine being; I hear the prayers offered to me; I enter the
boat of the sun; my soul is not far from its lord. Hail to thee, Osiris!
Grant that I sail joyously to the west, that I be received by the lords
of the west; that they say to me, ‘Adoration, adoration and peace be
thine;’ and that they prepare a place for me near to the chief of chiefs
divine.”
Through the rhetoric of this mystic rhapsody we see that the soul goes
to the abode of Osiris, is judged and tested as to its merits, and if
approved crosses in safety the river Nun and becomes as one of the gods
themselves; a companion of Osiris and Ra.
Such, in broad outline, was the orthodox Egyptian doctrine. There was a
vast amount of accessory matter and mysticism added to this simple
statement, but the foundation is always the same.
To one or two points I will call attention for later reference in this
paper.
In the 13th Chapter of the “Book of the Dead,” the defunct is supposed
to repeat the following formula:
“I arrive as a hawk, I depart as a phenix. I am the God of the morning.
I have finished the journey and worshipped the sun in the lower world.
Heavily braided is the hair of Osiris. I am one of the dogs of Horus. I
have finished the journey and worshipped Osiris.”
The reference to the hair of Osiris and the transformation of the soul
into a dog, are incidents to which I shall refer in another connection.
Another interesting fact is the frequent recurrence of the numbers four
and eight in the Egyptian theories of the spiritual world. In the 16th
Chapter of the “Book of the Dead,” it is prescribed that four pictures
as set forth should be painted on the sarcophagus, in order that the
soul may pass through the four apertures of the sky. The chapter
identifies these with the cardinal points from which blow the four
winds. In chapter 17, which is one of the oldest texts in the book,
reference is made to the eight gods of Hermapolis; elsewhere the number
is mentioned. This illustrates the easy transfer of the plan of
terrestrial geography to that of the spiritual world.
Passing now to the mythology of the Aryan nations, we find that the
three great cycles of its poetry, the Indian, the Greek, and the Norse,
agree closely in their opinions of the destination of the soul.
After death, according to their belief, the soul descended into a world
below the surface of the earth. The Greeks called it the realm of Hades,
from the name of its ruler, otherwise known as Pluto. The latter name
signifies the wealthy, because sooner or later all the children of men
and all their possessions come under his power. The meaning of Hades is
unknown, as its derivation from _æidos_, unseen, is now generally
doubted by the best Greek scholars.
The entrance to this realm was supposed to be guarded by two dogs, the
more famous of which, Cerberus in Greek, is in the Vedas spoken of by
the same name, Carvara. The soul must pacify these dogs and pass them
without injury if it would enjoy the delights that lay beyond. Within
the gates stretched a broad desert through which flowed the river
Acheron, which in later myths came to have various branches, the Styx,
Lethe, Polyphegmon, etc. This was to be crossed in the boat of Charon,
the silent ferryman, who spake no word but exacted of each ghost a toll.
The dark river crossed, the spirit appeared before the judges, and by
them its future fate was decided. An adverse decision condemned it to
wander lonely in the darkness, but a favorable verdict authorized its
entrance into the happy fields of Elysium. This joyous abode was in the
far west, in that land beyond the shining waters and the purple sunset
sea, where the orb of light goes to rest himself at night. Its light is
eternal, its joys perennial, its happiness perfect.
With little difference, this faith was shared by ancient Indians and
ancient Norsemen. The latter often buried with the dead a canoe or boat,
destined to convey the soul across the waves to the happy land beyond.
Even the ancient Kelt of Cornwall or Brittany had this same myth of the
Islands of the Blessed, lying somewhere far out in the Western Sea. What
to the Greek was the Garden of the Hesperides with its fruit of golden
quinces, was to the Kelt the Isle of Avalon, with its orchards of
apples.
Thither was conveyed the noble Arthur when slain on the field of
Lyoness. He was borne away in a royal boat by the fairy women of the
strand. There Ogier the Dane, worn by the wars of a hundred years, was
carried by his divine godmother to be restored to youth and strength,
and to return again to wield his battle-axe under the Oriflamme of
France.
Wherever we turn, whether in the most ancient chants of the Vedas, in
the graceful forms of the Greek religious fancy, in the gaunt and weird
imaginings of the Norse poets, or in the complex but brilliant pictures
of mediæval romance, we find the same distinct plan of this journey of
the soul.
I pass now to the New World, almost to the antipodes of India, and take
up the doctrines of the Aztecs. We have sufficiently ample accounts of
their notions, preserved by various early writers, especially by Father
Sahagun, who took down the words of the priests in their own tongue, and
at a date when their knowledge was not dimmed or distorted by Christian
teaching. Something may also be learned from Tezozomoc, a native
chronicler, and others.
From these it appear that the Aztecs held that after death the souls of
all people pass downward into the under-world, to the place called
_Mictlan_. This is translated by the missionaries as “hell” or
“inferno,” but by derivation it means simply “the place of the slain,”
from an active verb meaning “to kill.”
To explain this further, I add that in all primitive American tribes,
there is no notion of natural death. No man “dies,” he is always
“killed.” Death as a necessary incident in the course of nature is
entirely unknown to them. When a person dies by disease, they suppose he
has been killed by some sorcery, or some unknown venomous creature.
The journey to Mictlan was long and perilous. The soul first passed
through a narrow defile between two mountains which touched each other,
where it was liable to be crushed; it then reached a path by which lay
in wait a serpent; next was a spot where a huge green lizard whose name
was “The Flower of Heat,” was concealed. After this, eight deserts
stretched their wild wastes, and beyond these, eight steep hills reared
their toilsome sides into the region of snow. Over their summits blew a
wind so keen that it was called “The Wind of Knives.” Much did the poor
soul suffer, exposed to this bitter cold, unless many coats of cotton
and other clothing were burnt upon his tomb for use at this lofty pass.
These hills descended, the shivering ghost reached the river called “By
the Nine Waters.” It was broad, and deep, and swift. Little chance had
the soul of crossing its dark current, was the aid for this purpose
forgotten during life, or by the mourners. This aid was a dog, of the
species trained by the Aztecs and held in high esteem by them.
But the dog must be of a particular color; white would not answer, else
he would say, when brought to the brink, “As for me, I am already
washed.” Black would fail as much, for the animal would say, “I am too
black myself to help another wash.” The only color was red, and for this
reason great numbers of reddish curs were fostered by the Aztecs, and
one was sacrificed at each funeral. Clinging to it, the soul crossed the
river and reached the further brink in safety, being purged and cleansed
in the transit of all that would make it unfit for the worlds beyond.
These worlds were threefold. One was called “The nine Abodes of the
Dead,” where the ordinary mass of mankind were said to go and forever
abide. The second was paradise, Tlalocan, the dwelling-place of the
Tlalocs, the gods of fertility and rain. It was full of roses and
fruits. No pain was there, and no sorrow. Scorching heat and cold were
alike unknown. Green fields, rippling brooks, balmy airs and perpetual
joy, filled the immortal days of the happy souls in Tlalocan. Those who
were destined for its Elysian years were divinely designated by the
diseases or accidents of which they died. These were of singular
variety. All struck by lightning or wounded, the leprous, the gouty, the
dropsical, and what at first sight seems curious, all those who died of
the forms of venereal diseases, were believed to pass directly to this
Paradise.
The third and highest reward was reserved for the brave who died upon
the field of battle, or, as captives, perished by the malice of public
enemies, and for women who died in childbirth. These went to the sun in
the sky, and dwelt up in the bright heavens. After four years they
returned to earth, and under the form of bright-plumaged singing birds
rejoiced the hearts of men, and were again spectators of human life.
In this Aztec doctrine the ruler of the underworld is spoken of as
_Mictlantecutli_, which the obtuse missionaries persistently render as
the devil.
The name means simply “Lord of the Abode of the Slain,” or of the dead.
In several of myths he is brought into close relation with the Aztec
national hero-god, Quetzalcoatl.
Like Osiris, Quetzalcoatl was said to be absent, to have gone away to
the home of the sun, that home where the sun rests at night. More
specifically, this was said to be under the earth, and it was spoken of
as a place of delights, like Tlalocan. Its name was _Cincalco_, which
means the House of Abundance; for no want, no dearth, no hunger and no
suffering, were known there. With him dwelt the souls of his disciples
and the Toltecs, his people, and at some day or other he and they would
return to claim the land and to restore it to its pristine state of
perfection.
The thoughts in these faiths which I have described are the same. In
each of them the supposed history of the destiny of the soul follows
that of the sun and the stars. In all of them the spirits are believed
to descend into or under the surface of the earth, and then, after a
certain lapse of time, some fortunate ones are released to rise like the
orbs of light into the heavens above.
Striking analogies exist among them all. The river which in each flows
through the underworld, is nothing else than the great world-stream
which in the primitive geography of every nation is believed to surround
the habitable land, and beyond which the sun sinks at night. To reach
the abode of the sun in the west this river must be crossed.