THE TWO AMERICAN RIDDLES.
Humboldt's caution.--Antiquities of the Old World long
involved in mystery, now explained. Ancient ruins never
fully realized by description.--The two extremes of
theorists.--A medium.--My own conclusion.--Reasons for
it.--1. Absence of Tradition.--Necessity and importance of
tradition.--Most likely to be found among the Aztecs.--An
attempt to account for its absence.--Answered.--The Toltecs
and their works.--A choice of conclusions.--2. Character and
condition of ruins.--Widely different from each other.--The
works of different and distant ages.--Probable origin of the
people.--One universal tradition, its relevancy to the
question.--Variety of opinions.--Variety of ancient
works.--Conclusion.
The great problems of the origin of the American races, and of American
civilization, though volumes have been written upon them, are yet unsolved.
Whether, according to the inquisitive and sagacious Humboldt, we ought to
regard it as lying "without the limits prescribed to history, and even
beyond the range of philosophical investigation," or whether we may look
upon it as still open to the examination of those who are curious in
ancient lore, must be determined rather by the ultimate result of our
discoveries, and of the speculations based upon them, than upon the
exaggerated notions of the difficulty of the question, which the first
confused revelations of the travelled enquirer may seem to suggest.
I am by no means convinced in my own mind, that this question is one which
cannot now be reached, or which must be looked upon as every year receding
farther and farther from our grasp. The antiquities of the old world,
buried for so many ages in midnight oblivion, had remained through a long
course of centuries, the standing enigma of Time. With the help even of
some imperfect records from the archives of ancient history, and the aid of
what seemed to be a fair line of tradition, the origin and purpose of many
of them, and the hidden meaning of their hieroglyphical embellishments, had
continued to be an inexplicable mystery quite down to our own times. Much
learned investigation, from acute observers, and profound reasoners, had
been expended upon them, without arriving at any satisfactory result. And
yet, after all, the nineteenth century has expounded the riddle. The lapse
of ages, instead of scattering beyond recovery the dim, uncertain twilight
that hung about these august monuments of the solemn Past, has miraculously
preserved it, as it were embalmed by a magic spiritual photography, to be
concentrated into a halo of glory around the brow of Champollion. May it
not be so with the now mysterious relics of the ancient races of America?
It may be remarked, and I think the remark cannot fail to commend itself to
the good sense of every reflecting mind, that no description, however
perfect, or however faithfully and ably illustrated by the art of the
engraver, can convey any adequate idea of the character of these ruins, or
furnish, to one who has not seen them with his own eyes, the basis of a
rational argument upon their origin. Were it possible to transport them
entire to our own fields, and reconstruct them there, in all their
primitive grandeur and beauty, it would not help us to solve the
mystery--it would not convey to us any just notion of what they have been,
or what they are. To be realized and understood, they must be studied where
they are, amid the oppressive solitude of their ancient sites, surrounded
with the luxuriant vegetation and picturesque scenery of their native
clime, the clear transparent heaven of the tropics above them, and their
own unwritten, unborrowed associations lingering dimly about them.
There are two errors, lying at the two extremes of the broad area of
philosophical inquiry, into which men are liable to fall, in undertaking
the discussion of questions of this nature. The one leads to hasty
conclusions upon imperfect, ill-digested premises; the other shrinks from
all conclusions, however well supported, and labors only to deepen the
shadows of mystery, which hang about its subject. One forms a shallow
theory of his own, suggested by the first object he meets with on entering
the field--or, perhaps borrows that of some equally superficial observer
who had gone before him, or even of some cloistered speculator, who has
never ventured beyond the four walls of his own narrow study--and, clinging
to it with the tenacity of a parental instinct to its first born
impression, sees nothing, hears nothing, conceives nothing, however
palpable and necessary, that will not illustrate and aggrandize his one
idea. The most convincing proofs are lost upon him. Demonstration assails
him in vain. He started with his conclusion in his hand, and it is no
marvel if he comes back as ignorant as he went, having added nothing to his
argument, but the courage to push it somewhat more boldly than before.
Another enters the field, thoroughly convinced that it is impossible to
come to any conclusion at all. He fears to see any thing decisive, lest it
should compel him to favor an opinion. He dreads an object that suggests a
definite idea, lest it should draw him perforce to support some tangible
theory. He stumbles blindfold over palpable facts, and clearly defined
analogies, and converses only with shadows. His philosophy consists in
leaning to whatever embarrasses a conclusion, and following only those
contradictory lights, which perplex the judgment, and prevent it from
arriving at a precise and positive inference.
Unsafe as it is to trust to the guidance of a mere theorist, there is
little satisfaction in attempting to follow the timid lead of the universal
doubter. Is it not possible to find a medium course?--to proceed with
philosophic prudence and caution, taking due heed to all our steps, and yet
to look facts and analogies boldly in the face, listen fearlessly to all
their suggestions, collate, compare, and digest every hint and intimation
they put forth, and venture, without exposing ourselves to the uncharitable
imputation of dogmatism, to form and express a definite opinion? If any
thing would deter _me_ from so bold a step, it would be the formidable
array of eminent names in the list of the doubters. When so many of the
wisest have given it up as hopeless, it requires no less courage than skill
to assume to be an Oedipus. But, having already, on a former occasion,
been driven to a positive inference from the narrow premises afforded by
the question, and being answerable therefor at the bar of public criticism,
I have less at stake than I should otherwise have, upon the opinion which I
have now to offer.
I am free to acknowledge then, that the impressions formed by my first
"rambles" among the ruined cities of Yucatan, have been fully confirmed by
what I have now been permitted to see in Mexico. I am compelled, in view of
all the facts and analogies which they present, to assign those ruins, and
the people who constructed them, to a very remote antiquity. They are the
works of a people who have long since passed away, and not of the races, or
the progenitors of the races, who inhabited the country, at the epoch of
the discovery.
To this conclusion I am led, or rather driven, by a variety of
considerations, which I will endeavor to state, with as much brevity and
conciseness as the nature of the case will admit.
The first consideration to which I shall allude, in support of the opinion
above expressed, is the absence of all tradition respecting the origin of
these buildings, and the people by whom they were erected. Among all the
Indian tribes in all Central America, it is not known that there is a
solitary tradition, that can throw a gleam of light over the obscurity that
hangs about this question. The inference would seem to be natural and
irresistible, that the listless, unintellectual, unambitious race of men,
who for centuries have lingered about these ruins, not only without
knowing, but without caring to know, who built them, cannot be the
descendants, nor in any way related to the descendants, of the builders.
Tradition is one of the natural and necessary elements of the primitive
stages of society. Its foundations are laid deep in the social nature of
man. And it is only because it is supplanted by other and more perfect
means of transmission, as civilization advances, that it is not, always and
every where, the only channel of communication with the past, the only link
between the living and the dead. In all ages, among all nations, where
written records have been wanting, tradition has supplied the blank, and,
generation after generation, the story of the past has been transmitted
from father to son, and celebrated in the song of the wandering bard, till,
at length, history has seized the shadowy phantom, and given it a place and
a name on her enduring scroll. This is the fountain head of all ancient
history. True, it is often so blended with the fabulous inventions of
poetry, that it is not always easy to sift out the truth from the fiction.
Still, it is relied upon in the absence of records: while the very fable
itself is made subservient to truth, by shadowing forth, in impressive
imagery and graceful drapery, her real form and lineaments. What else than
fable is the early history of Rome?
Now, if these ruins of America are of comparatively modern date, if, as
some have undertaken to show, they were constructed and occupied by the not
very remote ancestors of the Indian races who now dwell among them, in a
state of abject poverty and servitude, is it reasonable, is it conceivable,
that there should not be found a man among them acquainted with their
ancient story, claiming affinity with their builders, and rehearsing in
song, or fable,
The marvels of the olden time?
With these splendid and solemn reminiscences always before their eyes, with
all the hallowed and affecting associations that ever linger about the
ancient homes of a cultivated people,--the temples of its worship, the
palaces of its kings and nobles, the sepulchres of its founders and
fathers, always present and constantly renewed to their minds, is it
possible they could, in three brief centuries, forget the tale, and lose
every clue to their own so gloriously illustrated history. I cannot admit
it. I cannot conceive of it.
The attempt to lay aside, or narrow down, this argument from tradition, or
the absence of it, in order to arrive at an easy explanation of the mystery
of these ruined cities, appears to me to be unphilosophical in another
point of view. If I understand aright the character and history of the
people who once flourished here, this is just the region, and they are just
the people, where this kind of evidence would exist and abound. The Aztecs
were a highly imaginative and poetical people. The picture writing, which
prevailed among them, and in which they had attained so high a degree of
perfection, was precisely the material on which to build traditionary lore,
and cultivate a taste for it among the common people. It was the poetry of
hieroglyphics--a national literature of tropes and figures. It selected a
few prominent comprehensive images, as the representatives of great events.
Strongly drawn and highly colored, these would impress themselves
powerfully on the minds and memories of the people, and be associated with
all that was dear to their hearts. Their personal histories, their family
distinctions, their national pride, would all be involved in them, and all
have a part in securing their faithful preservation and transmission.
Inexhaustible fountains of national song and poetical fable, they would be
recited in their public assemblies, and handed down from generation to
generation. They would be to America what the Homeric poems were to Greece,
and many long ages would not obliterate or destroy them.
It has been argued, by way of anticipating such views as these, that the
unexampled severities and oppressions of the Spanish conquerors, broke the
spirit of these once proud nations, and so trampled them in the dust, as to
annihilate those sentiments and affections, which form the basis of
national pride and traditionary lore. It is a violent assumption,
unsupported by any parallel in history, ancient or modern. Remove them from
their ancient inheritance, transplant them to other climes, surround them
with other scenes, amalgamate them with other people, and they may, in
process of time, forget their origin and their name. But, in the midst of
their father's sepulchres, with their temples, their pyramids, their
palaces, all around them,
Their native soil beneath their feet,
Their native skies above them,--
it is inconceivable, impossible.
At this point I shall probably be interrupted, by the inquisitive reader,
with the question, whether I am not overturning my own position, by
insisting that the ancient Aztecs, and their works, must necessarily live
in tradition, while I allow that the Mexican Indians retain no memory of
their ancestors. I conceive not. The ruins to which I refer, are not those
of the Mexican and Tezcucan cities, which were sacked by the Spaniards,
almost demolished, and then rebuilt in a comparatively modern style of
architecture. Of those we need no native tradition. The Spanish histories
have told us all that we can know of them.
But even of these, as the Spaniards found them, we have no certain evidence
that the people who then occupied them, were the _sole_ builders. We have
both tradition and history to justify us in asserting that they were not.
Another race had preceded them, and filled the country with their works of
genius and art. The Toltecs, whose advent into the territory of Anahuac, is
placed as far back as the seventh century of the Christian era, were not
inferior to the Aztecs in refinement, and the knowledge of the mechanic
arts. To them the Aztec paintings accord the credit of most of the science
which prevailed among themselves, and acknowledged them as the fountain
head of their civilization. The capital of their empire was at Tula, north
of the Mexican valley, and the remains of extensive buildings were to be
seen there at the time of the conquest. To the same people were ascribed
the ruins of other noble edifices, found in various places throughout the
country, so vast and magnificent, that, with some writers, "the name,
_Toltec_, has passed into a synonyme for _architect_." Following in their
footsteps, and acknowledging them as their teachers, it would not be
strange if the Aztecs should, in some instances, have occupied the
buildings _they_ left behind, and employed the remnant that still remained
in the country, in erecting others.
But, without insisting upon this conjecture, it is clear that there were
other and earlier builders than the Aztecs. The Toltecs passed away, as a
nation, a full century, according to the legend, before the arrival of the
Aztecs. Their works filled the country. Accounts of them abounded in the
Tezcucan tablets. They were celebrated by the Aztec painters. They were
still magnificent and wonderful in ruins, when the Spaniards arrived. And
yet, among the present race of Indians in Mexico, there is no tradition
respecting them, no knowledge of their origin, no interest whatever in
their history.
From these premises, we have a choice of two conclusions. Either the ruined
buildings and cities of Anahuac are not the work of the comparatively
modern race of Aztecs, or the present Indians are not the descendants of
that race. That the former conclusion is true, I think there cannot be a
doubt. The latter _may_ be true, also, to a great extent. That refined and
haughty people may have wasted entirely away under the grinding yoke of
their new task-masters, and the indolent inefficient slaves, that remain as
their nominal representatives, may be only the degenerate posterity of
inferior tribes, the vassals of the Mexican crown.
Another consideration which strongly favors the view I have taken, with
respect to the antiquity of these ruins, is the character of the ruins
themselves, and the condition in which they are found. That they do not all
belong to one race, nor to one age, it seems to me no careful or candid
observer can deny. They are of different constructions, and different
styles of architecture. They are widely different in their finish and
adornments. And they are in every stage of decay, from a habitable and
tolerably comfortable dwelling, to a confused mass of undistinguishable
ruins. In all these particulars, as well as in the gigantic forests which
have grown up in the walls and on the terraces of some of them, and the
deep deposit of vegetable mould which has accumulated upon others, they are
clearly seen to belong to different and distant ages, and consequently to
be the work of many different artists. That some of them were the work of
the Toltecs, is well substantiated, as we have already seen. What portion
of the great area of ruins to assign to them, I know not. But if, as one of
the most cautious and judicious historians supposes, they were the
architects of Mitla, Palenque and Copan, thus fixing the date of those
magnificent cities several centuries anterior to the rise of the Aztec
dynasty, they could not have been the _first_ of the American builders.
_Their_ works are still in a comparatively good state of preservation, and
may remain, for ages to come, the dumb yet eloquent monuments of their
greatness; while others, not only in their immediate vicinity, but in
different parts of the country, are crumbled, decayed, scattered, and
buried, as if long ages had passed over them, before the foundations of the
former were laid. There is every thing in the style and appearance of the
ruins to favor this conclusion, and to confirm the opinion, that some of
them are farther removed in their origin from the Toltecs, than the Toltecs
are from us. Some of those described in the preceding chapters of this
work, are manifestly many ages older than those of Chi-chen, Uxmal and
others in Yucatan, which I visited on a former occasion.
Having extended these remarks somewhat farther than I intended, perhaps I
ought to apologize to the reader for asking his attention, a few moments,
to another problem growing out of this subject, which has given rise to
more discussion, and been attended with less satisfaction in its results,
than any other. I refer to the origin of the ancient American races. From
what quarter of the globe did they come? And how did they get here?
The last question I shall not touch at all. It will answer itself, as soon
as the other is settled. And, if that cannot be settled at all--if we are
utterly foiled in our efforts to ascertain whence they came--it will be of
little avail to inquire for the how.
The learned author of "The Vestiges of Creation," and other equally
profound speculators of the Monboddo school, would probably find an easy
way to unravel the enigma, on their sceptical theory of the progressive
generation of man. But regarding the Mosaic history as worthy not only of a
general belief, but of a literal interpretation, I cannot dispose of the
question in that summary way. I would rather meet it with all its seemingly
irreconcilable difficulties about it, or not meet it at all, than favor the
subtle atheism of these baptized canting Voltaires, and relinquish my early
and cherished faith, that man is the immediate offspring of God, the
peculiar workmanship of his Divine hand. There is nothing soothing to my
pride of reason, nothing grateful to my affections, nothing elevating to
my faith, in the idea that man is but an improved species of monkey, a
civilized ourang-outang, with his tail worn off, or driven in.
There is but one solitary tradition among all the American races, bearing
upon the general question of their origin; and that, singularly enough, is
universal among them. It represents them as coming from northwest. From
what other portion of the world, from what distance, at what time, and in
what manner, it does not in any way declare, or intimate. Whether it was
five centuries ago, or fifty, there is not, I believe, a single tribe that
pretends to know, or to guess. And yet there is not a tribe on this side
the great northern lakes, among whom this general tradition of the
migration of their ancestors from the northwest, is not found. There are
many and various traditions among them in respect to other matters,
presenting many and curious coincidences with the traditionary and fabulous
history of some of the oldest nations in the world. But, on this point, the
origin of their own races, they have nothing to say, except that, at a
remote period of antiquity, their fathers came from the northwest.
With such an index as this, pointing so decidedly and unchangeably to
Behring's strait, where the coast of Asia approaches within fifty miles of
that of America, it would seem, at first sight, that the question might be
easily answered. And so it could be, but that some authors are more fond of
conjecture than of certainty, of doubt than of probability. To those who
believe, with Moses, that the peopling of the earth commenced in Asia,
there is manifestly no mode of accounting for the population of America, so
natural as that to which this one omni-prevalent tradition points. It
would have been considered abundantly sufficient and satisfactory, if it
had not been continually involved with other questions, on the solution of
which it does not necessarily depend.
One writer, for example, thinks it impossible that these people could have
come to America, by way of Behring's Strait, because there are _animals_ in
the tropical regions who could not have come that way. Be it so. The
question relates not to animals, but to _men_. By whatever other way they
might have come, it is not at all probable that they would have brought
tigers, monkeys, or rattle-snakes with them. If it could be proved, by
authentic and unquestionable records, that they crossed the Atlantic or the
Pacific in ships, the mystery of the tropical animals would still remain to
be solved.
Another, and it is a numerous class, whose imagination is inflamed with
fancied resemblances in the languages, customs, traditions and mythology of
the Indian races, to those of particular nations in the old World, deems it
absolutely necessary to construct some other ancient, but now obliterated
highway, to our shores, from those parts of Europe or Asia, nearest to that
from which his favorite theory supposes them to have sprung. To some,
Iceland was the natural stepping stone, a half-way house, from the North of
Europe. To others, a chain of islands once stretched from the shores of
Africa to those of South America--a sort of Giant's Causeway from Continent
to Continent, miraculously thrown up for the purpose of stocking this
Western World with men and animals, and then, like a useless draw-bridge,
as miraculously laid aside. Other theories, not less extravagant than
these, have been invented, and strenuously maintained, for the benevolent
purpose of accommodating the poor Aborigines with an easy passage from
their supposed birth place to their present homes. Yet, strange to say,
those obstinate and ungrateful savages all persist in declaring that, when
their ancestors arrived in this country, they came by way of the northwest.
It is one of the prominent errors of most of the writers on this subject,
that, with the exception of the Esquimaux, they aim to find a common origin
for all the American tribes. True, there is a common type to all the North
American Indians, and there is good reason to suppose that they sprung from
a common stock. But it is not so with the nations of Central and South
America, or rather with those of them whose mighty works have given rise to
these discussions. I think it cannot be questioned, that there were among
them, the representatives of many different nations or races. Of this the
sculptured heads we have exhibited from among the ruins of their ancient
cities, bear witness. Compare the outlines and features of the heads
represented on pages 128, 130, 136, and 178, of the present work, first
with each other, then with the different representations of the human head,
as found among these ancient relics by other travellers, and then again
with the types of the four great divisions of the human family. The
comparison exhibits this curious result, that the American, or Indian type,
has no representative among these sculptured figures; while almost every
variety of the Caucasian and Mongolian is found there. If the portrait of
Montezuma, in the second volume of Prescott's Conquest of Mexico, be taken
as a genuine likeness, it is plain that he did not belong to the American
race. There is no mark of the Indian about it.
It will be admitted, I suppose, that Art, in all ages, and among all
nations, is but a humble imitator of Nature. The Sculptor, and the Painter,
works always by a model. His _beau ideal_ is the highest form of living
beauty which he sees around him. He may select and combine the features of
several subjects, to make a perfect whole. But these features are all those
of the living beings with whom he is conversant, and represent the race to
which he belongs. And whenever he departs from the living model, except to
select and combine, his figures become invariably grotesque, ridiculous and
disgusting.
Was it because the ancient American artists, at the time when their works
of art were executed, had never seen a specimen of what we call the
American race, that there is no good representation of the Indian head
among their works? We are not surprised that the African is wanting there;
for, notwithstanding the "Giant's Causeway" above alluded to, no individual
of that race seems ever to have visited the shores of America, except by
compulsion. They were unknown to the Aborigines, till they were introduced
by the whites, as slaves. Shall I venture to infer, from the absence of the
Indian type, that that race was also unknown here, at the time when these
artists flourished on the American soil? Were all these great works
constructed and finished before the present races of Indians found their
way into that part of the Continent? How old, then, are the works? Who
were the builders? From what part of the great human family did they
spring?
In treating banteringly of the "Talismanic Penates," in my tenth chapter, I
presumed to draw from them some evidence of the Asiatic origin of the
people by whom they were cherished. The figures on the 178th page are
representatives of originals found only in that part of the world. The
solitary tradition referred to above, points in the same direction. Did
Tartary, China, or Japan, furnish to America, ages ago, a race of sculptors
and palace-builders?
In the early ages of the world's history, the families of men were far more
unsettled, and migratory in their habits, than they now are. It was not an
uncommon thing for whole nations to change their abodes at once. The north
of Europe, and the adjacent regions of Asia, like an over-populous hive,
sent out many swarms of restless adventurers, to overrun and occupy the
fairer fields of the south. Goths, Vandals, Huns, swept over the land, in
successive deluges, that threatened to overturn every vestige of ancient
civilization. But the mighty flood rolled back from the walls of Rome, and
carried with it the arts and sciences, and the enervating luxuries of the
south. In all these desperate encounters of barbarism with civilization,
there was an extensive interchange, and blending of nations and races. Each
melted into each, like the glaciers of the mountain, and the lakes of the
valley, blended and lost in the stream that bears them both to the ocean.
The same irruptions, the same amalgamations of conquerors with the
conquered, took place in earlier ages, in the far east. And there is no
violent improbability in supposing, that the overcharged fountain of
humanity, in the central regions, sometimes overleaped its eastern
barriers, as well as its western, and, meeting with no resistance, as in
the south, spread itself quite to the shores of the Pacific, and thence
into the neighboring continent of America. This may have been done at many
different and distant periods, even back to the dispersion of Babel. Who
shall say it was not so? We know almost as little of ancient eastern Asia,
as of ancient America. But we _do_ know that it _might_ have furnished all
the races that are known, or supposed, to have existed here. If we had not
authentic records for the irruptions of the northern hordes, and for the
great crusades of the Middle Ages, the Old World would furnish enigmas, as
difficult to be solved, as those of the New.
End of Project Gutenberg's Rambles by Land and Water, by B. M. Norman