CHAPTER VI. TABOOED WORDS.

§ 1. Personal Names tabooed.

(M195) Unable to discriminate clearly between words and things, the savage

commonly fancies that the link between a name and the person or thing

denominated by it is not a mere arbitrary and ideal association, but a

real and substantial bond which unites the two in such a way that magic

may be wrought on a man just as easily through his name as through his

hair, his nails, or any other material part of his person.(1186) In fact,

primitive man regards his name as a vital portion of himself and takes

care of it accordingly. Thus, for example, the North American Indian

“regards his name, not as a mere label, but as a distinct part of his

personality, just as much as are his eyes or his teeth, and believes that

injury will result as surely from the malicious handling of his name as

from a wound inflicted on any part of his physical organism. This belief

was found among the various tribes from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and

has occasioned a number of curious regulations in regard to the

concealment and change of names. It may be on this account that both

Powhatan and Pocahontas are known in history under assumed appellations,

their true names having been concealed from the whites until the

pseudonyms were too firmly established to be supplanted. Should his

prayers have no apparent effect when treating a patient for some serious

illness, the shaman sometimes concludes that the name is affected, and

accordingly goes to water, with appropriate ceremonies, and christens the

patient with a new name, by which he is henceforth to be known. He then

begins afresh, repeating the formulas with the new name selected for the

patient, in the confident hope that his efforts will be crowned with

success.”(1187) Some Esquimaux take new names when they are old, hoping

thereby to get a new lease of life.(1188) The Tolampoos of central Celebes

believe that if you write a man’s name down you can carry off his soul

along with it. On that account the headman of a village appeared uneasy

when Mr. A. C. Kruijt wrote down his name. He entreated the missionary to

erase it, and was only reassured on being told that it was not his real

name but merely his second name that had been put on paper. Again, when

the same missionary took down the names of villages from the lips of a

woman, she asked him anxiously if he would not thereby take away the soul

of the villages and so cause the inhabitants to fall sick.(1189) If we may

judge from the evidence of language, this crude conception of the relation

of names to persons was widely prevalent, if not universal, among the

forefathers of the Aryan race. For an analysis of the words for “name” in

the various languages of that great family of speech points to the

conclusion that “the Celts, and certain other widely separated Aryans,

unless we should rather say the whole Aryan family, believed at one time

not only that the name was a part of the man, but that it was that part of

him which is termed the soul, the breath of life, or whatever you may

choose to define it as being.”(1190) However this may have been among the

primitive Aryans, it is quite certain that many savages at the present day

regard their names as vital parts of themselves, and therefore take great

pains to conceal their real names, lest these should give to evil-disposed

persons a handle by which to injure their owners.

(M196) Thus, to begin with the savages who rank at the bottom of the

social scale, we are told that the secrecy with which among the Australian

aborigines personal names are often kept from general knowledge “arises in

great measure from the belief that an enemy, who knows your name, has in

it something which he can use magically to your detriment.”(1191) “An

Australian black,” says another writer, “is always very unwilling to tell

his real name, and there is no doubt that this reluctance is due to the

fear that through his name he may be injured by sorcerers.”(1192) On

Herbert River in Queensland the wizards, in order to practise their arts

against some one, “need only to know the name of the person in question,

and for this reason they rarely use their proper names in addressing or

speaking of each other, but simply their class names.”(1193) In the tribes

of south-eastern Australia “when the new name is given at initiation, the

child’s name becomes secret, not to be revealed to strangers, or to be

mentioned by friends. The reason appears to be that a name is part of a

person, and therefore can be made use of to that person’s detriment by any

who wish to ‘catch’ him by evil magic.”(1194) Thus among the Yuin of New

South Wales the totem name is said to have been something magical rather

than a mere name in our sense, and it was kept secret lest an enemy should

injure its bearer by sorcery. The name was revealed to a youth by his

father at initiation, but very few other people knew it.(1195) Another

writer, who knew the Australians well, observes that in many tribes the

belief prevails “that the life of an enemy may be taken by the use of his

name in incantations. The consequence of this idea is, that in the tribes

in which it obtains, the name of the male is given up for ever at the time

when he undergoes the first of a series of ceremonies which end in

conferring the rights of manhood. In such tribes a man has no name, and

when a man desires to attract the attention of any male of his tribe who

is out of his boyhood, instead of calling him by name, he addresses him as

brother, nephew, or cousin, as the case may be, or by the name of the

class to which he belongs. I used to notice, when I lived amongst the

Bangerang, that the names which the males bore in infancy were soon almost

forgotten by the tribe.”(1196) It may be questioned, however, whether the

writer whom I have just quoted was not deceived in thinking that among

these tribes men gave up their individual names on passing through the

ceremony of initiation into manhood. It is more in harmony with savage

beliefs and practices to suppose either that the old names were retained

but dropped out of use in daily life, or that new names were given at

initiation and sedulously concealed from fear of sorcery. A missionary who

resided among the aborigines at Lake Tyers, in Victoria, informs us that

“the blacks have great objections to speak of a person by name. In

speaking to each other they address the person spoken to as brother,

cousin, friend, or whatever relation the person spoken to bears. Sometimes

a black bears a name which we would term merely a nickname, as the

left-handed, or the bad-handed, or the little man. They would speak of a

person by this name while living, but they would never mention the proper

name. I found great difficulty in collecting the native names of the

blacks here. I found afterwards that they had given me wrong names; and,

on asking the reason why, was informed they had two or three names, but

they never mentioned their right name for fear any one got it, then they

would die.”(1197) Amongst the tribes of central Australia every man,

woman, and child has, besides a personal name which is in common use, a

secret or sacred name which is bestowed by the older men upon him or her

soon after birth, and which is known to none but the fully initiated

members of the group. This secret name is never mentioned except upon the

most solemn occasions; to utter it in the hearing of women or of men of

another group would be a most serious breach of tribal custom, as serious

as the most flagrant case of sacrilege among ourselves. When mentioned at

all, the name is spoken only in a whisper, and not until the most

elaborate precautions have been taken that it shall be heard by no one but

members of the group. “The native thinks that a stranger knowing his

secret name would have special power to work him ill by means of

magic.”(1198)

(M197) The same fear seems to have led to a custom of the same sort

amongst the ancient Egyptians, whose comparatively high civilisation was

strangely dashed and chequered with relics of the lowest savagery. Every

Egyptian received two names, which were known respectively as the true

name and the good name, or the great name and the little name; and while

the good or little name was made public, the true or great name appears to

have been carefully concealed.(1199) Similarly in Abyssinia at the present

day it is customary to conceal the real name which a person receives at

baptism and to call him only by a sort of nickname which his mother gives

him on leaving the church. The reason for this concealment is that a

sorcerer cannot act upon a person whose real name he does not know. But if

he has ascertained his victim’s real name, the magician takes a particular

kind of straw, and muttering something over it bends it into a circle and

places it under a stone. The person aimed at is taken ill at the very

moment of the bending of the straw; and if the straw snaps, he dies.(1200)

A Brahman child receives two names, one for common use, the other a secret

name which none but his father and mother should know. The latter is only

used at ceremonies such as marriage. The custom is intended to protect the

person against magic, since a charm only becomes effectual in combination

with the real name.(1201) Amongst the Kru negroes of West Africa a man’s

real name is always concealed from all but his nearest relations; to other

people he is known only under an assumed name.(1202) The Ewe-speaking

people of the Slave Coast “believe that there is a real and material

connexion between a man and his name, and that by means of the name injury

may be done to the man. An illustration of this has been given in the case

of the tree-stump that is beaten with a stone to compass the death of an

enemy; for the name of that enemy is not pronounced solely with the object

of informing the animating principle of the stump who it is whose death is

desired, but through a belief that, by pronouncing the name, the

personality of the man who bears it is in some way brought to the

stump.”(1203) The Wolofs of Senegambia are very much annoyed if any one

calls them in a loud voice, even by day; for they say that their name will

be remembered by an evil spirit and made use of by him to do them a

mischief at night.(1204) Similarly, the natives of Nias believe that harm

may be done to a person by the demons who hear his name pronounced. Hence

the names of infants, who are especially exposed to the assaults of evil

spirits, are never spoken; and often in haunted spots, such as the gloomy

depths of the forest, the banks of a river, or beside a bubbling spring,

men will abstain from calling each other by their names for a like

reason.(1205) Among the hill tribes of Assam each individual has a private

name which may not be revealed. Should any one imprudently allow his

private name to be known, the whole village is tabooed for two days and a

feast is provided at the expense of the culprit.(1206) A Manegre, of the

upper valley of the Amoor, will never mention his own name nor that of one

of his fellows. Only the names of children are an exception to this

rule.(1207) A Bagobo man of Mindanao, one of the Philippine Islands, never

utters his own name from fear of being turned into a raven, because the

raven croaks out its own name.(1208) The natives of the East Indian island

of Buru, and the Manggarais of West Flores are forbidden by custom to

mention their own names.(1209) When Fafnir had received his death-wound

from Sigurd, he asked his slayer what his name was; but the cunning Sigurd

concealed his real name and mentioned a false one, because he well knew

how potent are the words of a dying man when he curses his enemy by

name.(1210)

(M198) The Indians of Chiloe, a large island off the southern coast of

Chili, keep their names secret and do not like to have them uttered aloud;

for they say that there are fairies or imps on the mainland or

neighbouring islands who, if they knew folk’s names, would do them an

injury; but so long as they do not know the names, these mischievous

sprites are powerless.(1211) The Araucanians, who inhabit the mainland of

Chili to the north of Chiloe, will hardly ever tell a stranger their names

because they fear that he would thereby acquire some supernatural power

over themselves. Asked his name by a stranger, who is ignorant of their

superstitions, an Araucanian will answer, “I have none.”(1212) Names taken

from plants, birds, or other natural objects are bestowed on the Indians

of Guiana at their birth by their parents or the medicine-man, “but these

names seem of little use, in that owners have a very strong objection to

telling or using them, apparently on the ground that the name is part of

the man, and that he who knows the name has part of the owner of that name

in his power. To avoid any danger of spreading knowledge of their names,

one Indian, therefore, generally addresses another only according to the

relationship of the caller and the called, as brother, sister, father,

mother, and so on; or, when there is no relationship, as boy, girl,

companion, and so on. These terms, therefore, practically form the names

actually used by Indians amongst themselves.”(1213) Amongst the Indians of

the Goajira peninsula in Colombia it is a punishable offence to mention a

man’s name; in aggravated cases heavy compensation is demanded.(1214) The

Indians of Darien never tell their names, and when one of them is asked,

“What is your name?” he answers, “I have none.”(1215) For example, the

Guami of Panama, “like the greater part of the American Indians, has

several names, but that under which he is known to his relations and

friends is never mentioned to a stranger; according to their ideas a

stranger who should learn a man’s name would obtain a secret power over

him. As to the girls, they generally have no name of their own up to the

age of puberty.”(1216) Among the Tepehuanes of Mexico a name is a sacred

thing, and they never tell their real native names.(1217)

(M199) In North America superstitions of the same sort are current. “Names

bestowed with ceremony in childhood,” says Schoolcraft, “are deemed

sacred, and are seldom pronounced, out of respect, it would seem, to the

spirits under whose favour they are supposed to have been selected.

Children are usually called in the family by some name which can be

familiarly used.”(1218) The Navajoes of New Mexico are most unwilling to

reveal their own Indian names or those of their friends; they generally go

by some Mexican names which they have received from the whites.(1219) “No

Apache will give his name to a stranger, fearing some hidden power may

thus be placed in the stranger’s hand to his detriment.”(1220) The Tonkawe

Indians of Texas will give their children Comanche and English names in

addition to their native names, which they are unwilling to communicate to

others; for they believe that when somebody calls a person by his or her

native name after death the spirit of the deceased may hear it, and may be

prompted to take revenge on such as disturbed his rest; whereas if the

spirit be called by a name drawn from another language, it will pay no

heed.(1221) Speaking of the Californian Indians, and especially of the

Nishinam tribe, a well-informed writer observes: “One can very seldom

learn an Indian’s and never a squaw’s Indian name, though they will tell

their American titles readily enough.... No squaw will reveal her own

name, but she will tell all her neighbors’ that she can think of. For the

reason above given many people believe that half the squaws have no names

at all. So far is this from the truth that every one possesses at least

one and sometimes two or three.”(1222) Blackfoot Indians believe that they

would be unfortunate in all their undertakings if they were to speak their

names.(1223) When the Canadian Indians were asked their names, they used

to hang their heads in silence or answer that they did not know.(1224)

When an Ojebway is asked his name, he will look at some bystander and ask

him to answer. “This reluctance arises from an impression they receive

when young, that if they repeat their own names it will prevent their

growth, and they will be small in stature. On account of this

unwillingness to tell their names, many strangers have fancied that they

either have no names or have forgotten them.”(1225)

(M200) In this last case no scruple seems to be felt about communicating a

man’s name to strangers, and no ill effects appear to be dreaded as a

consequence of divulging it; harm is only done when a name is spoken by

its owner. Why is this? and why in particular should a man be thought to

stunt his growth by uttering his own name? We may conjecture that to

savages who act and think thus a person’s name only seems to be a part of

himself when it is uttered with his own breath; uttered by the breath of

others it has no vital connexion with him, and no harm can come to him

through it. Whereas, so these primitive philosophers may have argued, when

a man lets his own name pass his lips, he is parting with a living piece

of himself, and if he persists in so reckless a course he must certainly

end by dissipating his energy and shattering his constitution. Many a

broken-down debauchee, many a feeble frame wasted with disease, may have

been pointed out by these simple moralists to their awe-struck disciples

as a fearful example of the fate that must sooner or later overtake the

profligate who indulges immoderately in the seductive habit of mentioning

his own name.

(M201) However we may explain it, the fact is certain that many a savage

evinces the strongest reluctance to pronounce his own name, while at the

same time he makes no objection at all to other people pronouncing it, and

will even invite them to do so for him in order to satisfy the curiosity

of an inquisitive stranger. Thus in some parts of Madagascar it is _fàdy_

or taboo for a person to tell his own name, but a slave or attendant will

answer for him.(1226) “Chatting with an old Sakalava while the men were

packing up, we happened to ask him his name; whereupon he politely

requested us to ask one of his servants standing by. On expressing our

astonishment that he should have forgotten this, he told us that it was

_fàdy_ (tabooed) for one of his tribe to pronounce his own name. We found

this was perfectly true in that district, but it is not the case with the

Sakalava a few days farther down the river.”(1227) The same curious

inconsistency, as it may seem to us, is recorded of some tribes of

American Indians. Thus we are told that “the name of an American Indian is

a sacred thing, not to be divulged by the owner himself without due

consideration. One may ask a warrior of any tribe to give his name, and

the question will be met with either a point-blank refusal or the more

diplomatic evasion that he cannot understand what is wanted of him. The

moment a friend approaches, the warrior first interrogated will whisper

what is wanted, and the friend can tell the name, receiving a

reciprocation of the courtesy from the other.”(1228) This general

statement applies, for example, to the Indian tribes of British Columbia,

as to whom it is said that “one of their strangest prejudices, which

appears to pervade all tribes alike, is a dislike to telling their

names—thus you never get a man’s right name from himself; but they will

tell each other’s names without hesitation.”(1229) Though it is considered

very rude for a stranger to ask an Apache his name, and the Apache will

never mention it himself, he will allow his friend at his side to mention

it for him.(1230) The Abipones of South America thought it a sin in a man

to utter his own name, but they would tell each other’s names freely; when

Father Dobrizhoffer asked a stranger Indian his name, the man would nudge

his neighbour with his elbow as a sign that his companion should answer

the question.(1231) Some of the Malemut Esquimaux of Bering Strait dislike

very much to pronounce their own names; if a man be asked his name he will

appear confused and will generally turn to a bystander, and request him to

mention it for him.(1232) In the whole of the East Indian Archipelago the

etiquette is the same. As a general rule no one will utter his own name.

To enquire, “What is your name?” is a very indelicate question in native

society. When in the course of administrative or judicial business a

native is asked his name, instead of replying he will look at his comrade

to indicate that he is to answer for him, or he will say straight out,

“Ask him.” The superstition is current all over the East Indies without

exception,(1233) and it is found also among the Motu and Motumotu tribes

of British New Guinea,(1234) the Papuans of Finsch Haven in German New

Guinea,(1235) the Nufoors of Dutch New Guinea,(1236) and the Melanesians

of the Bismarck Archipelago.(1237) Among many tribes of South Africa men

and women never mention their names if they can get any one else to do it

for them, but they do not absolutely refuse when it cannot be

avoided.(1238) No Warua will tell his name, but he does not object to

being addressed by it.(1239) Among the Masai, “when a man is called or

spoken to, he is addressed by his father’s name, and his own name is only

used when speaking to his mother. It is considered unlucky for a man to be

addressed by name. The methods employed in finding out what an individual

is called seem apt to lead to confusion. If a man is asked his name, he

replies by giving that of his father, and to arrive at his own name it is

necessary to ask a third person, or to ask him what is the name of his

mother. There is no objection to another person mentioning his name even

in his presence.”(1240) We are told that the Wanyamwesi almost always

address each other as “Mate” or “Friend,” and a man sometimes quite

forgets his own name and has to be reminded of it by another.(1241) The

writer who makes this statement was probably unaware of the reluctance of

many savages to utter their own names, and hence he mistook that

reluctance for forgetfulness. In Uganda no one will mention his totem. If

it is necessary that it should be known, he will ask a bystander to

mention it for him.(1242) The Ba-Lua in the Congo region are unwilling to

pronounce the name of their tribe; if they are pressed on the subject,

they will call on some foreigner to give the required information.(1243)

(M202) Sometimes the embargo laid on personal names is not permanent; it

is conditional on circumstances, and when these change it ceases to

operate. Thus when the Nandi men are away on a foray, nobody at home may

pronounce the names of the absent warriors; they must be referred to as

birds. Should a child so far forget itself as to mention one of the

distant ones by name, the mother would rebuke it, saying, “Don’t talk of

the birds who are in the heavens.”(1244) Among the Bangala of the Upper

Congo, while a man is fishing and when he returns with his catch, his

proper name is in abeyance and nobody may mention it. Whatever the

fisherman’s real name may be, he is called _mwele_ without distinction.

The reason is that the river is full of spirits, who, if they heard the

fisherman’s real name, might so work against him that he would catch

little or nothing. Even when he has caught his fish and landed with them,

the buyer must still not address him by his proper name, but must only

call him _mwele_; for even then, if the spirits were to hear his proper

name, they would either bear it in mind and serve him out another day, or

they might so mar the fish he had caught that he would get very little for

them. Hence the fisherman can extract heavy damages from anybody who

mentions his name, or can compel the thoughtless speaker to relieve him of

the fish at a good price so as to restore his luck.(1245) When the Sulka

of New Britain are near the territory of their enemies the Gaktei, they

take care not to mention them by their proper name, believing that were

they to do so, their foes would attack and slay them. Hence in these

circumstances they speak of the Gaktei as _o lapsiek_, that is, “the

rotten tree-trunks,” and they imagine that by calling them that they make

the limbs of their dreaded enemies ponderous and clumsy like logs.(1246)

This example illustrates the extremely materialistic view which these

savages take of the nature of words; they suppose that the mere utterance

of an expression signifying clumsiness will homoeopathically affect with

clumsiness the limbs of their distant foemen. Another illustration of this

curious misconception is furnished by a Caffre superstition that the

character of a young thief can be reformed by shouting his name over a

boiling kettle of medicated water, then clapping a lid on the kettle and

leaving the name to steep in the water for several days. It is not in the

least necessary that the thief should be aware of the use that is being

made of his name behind his back; the moral reformation will be effected

without his knowledge.(1247)

(M203) When it is deemed necessary that a man’s real name should be kept

secret, it is often customary, as we have seen, to call him by a surname

or nickname. As distinguished from the real or primary names, these

secondary names are apparently held to be no part of the man himself, so

that they may be freely used and divulged to everybody without endangering

his safety thereby. Sometimes in order to avoid the use of his own name a

man will be called after his child. Thus we are informed that “the

Gippsland blacks objected strongly to let any one outside the tribe know

their names, lest their enemies, learning them, should make them vehicles

of incantation, and so charm their lives away. As children were not

thought to have enemies, they used to speak of a man as ‘the father,

uncle, or cousin of So-and-so,’ naming a child; but on all occasions

abstained from mentioning the name of a grown-up person.”(1248) Similarly

among the Nufoors of Dutch New Guinea, grown-up persons who are related by

marriage may not mention each other’s names, but it is lawful to mention

the names of children; hence in order to designate a person whose name

they may not pronounce they will speak of him or her as the father or

mother of So-and-so.(1249) The Alfoors of Poso, in Celebes, will not

pronounce their own names. Among them, accordingly, if you wish to

ascertain a person’s name, you ought not to ask the man himself, but

should enquire of others. But if this is impossible, for example, when

there is no one else near, you should ask him his child’s name, and then

address him as the “Father of So-and-so.” Nay, these Alfoors are shy of

uttering the names even of children; so when a boy or girl has a nephew or

niece, he or she is addressed as “Uncle of So-and-so,” or “Aunt of

So-and-so.”(1250) In pure Malay society, we are told, a man is never asked

his name, and the custom of naming parents after their children is adopted

only as a means of avoiding the use of the parents’ own names. The writer

who makes this statement adds in confirmation of it that childless persons

are named after their younger brothers.(1251) Among the land Dyaks of

northern Borneo children as they grow up are called, according to their

sex, the father or mother of a child of their father’s or mother’s younger

brother, or sister,(1252) that is, they are called the father or mother of

what we should call their first cousin. The Caffres used to think it

discourteous to call a bride by her own name, so they would call her “the

Mother of So-and-so,” even when she was only betrothed, far less a wife

and a mother.(1253) Among the Kukis and Zemis or Kacha Nagas of Assam

parents drop their own names after the birth of a child and are named

Father and Mother of So-and-so. Childless couples go by the names of “the

childless father,” “the childless mother,” “the father of no child,” “the

mother of no child.”(1254) A Zulu woman may not utter her husband’s name;

if she speaks to or of him she says, “Father of So-and-so,” mentioning the

name of one of his children.(1255) A Hindoo woman will not name her

husband. If she has to refer to him she will designate him as the father

of her child or by some other periphrasis.(1256) The widespread custom of

naming a father after his child has sometimes been supposed to spring from

a desire on the father’s part to assert his paternity, apparently as a

means of obtaining those rights over his children which had previously,

under a system of mother-kin, been possessed by the mother.(1257) But this

explanation does not account for the parallel custom of naming the mother

after her child, which seems commonly to co-exist with the practice of

naming the father after the child. Still less, if possible, does it apply

to the customs of calling childless couples the father and mother of

children which do not exist, of naming people after their younger

brothers, and of designating children as the uncles and aunts of

So-and-so, or as the fathers and mothers of their first cousins. But all

these practices are explained in a simple and natural way if we suppose

that they originate in a reluctance to utter the real names of persons

addressed or directly referred to. That reluctance is probably based

partly on a fear of attracting the notice of evil spirits, partly on a

dread of revealing the name to sorcerers, who would thereby obtain a

handle for injuring the owner of the name.(1258)

§ 2. Names of Relations tabooed.

(M204) It might naturally be expected that the reserve so commonly

maintained with regard to personal names would be dropped or at least

relaxed among relations and friends. But the reverse of this is often the

case. It is precisely the persons most intimately connected by blood and

especially by marriage to whom the rule applies with the greatest

stringency. Such people are often forbidden, not only to pronounce each

other’s names, but even to utter ordinary words which resemble or have a

single syllable in common with these names. The persons who are thus

mutually debarred from mentioning each other’s names are especially

husbands and wives, a man and his wife’s parents, and a woman and her

husband’s father. For example, among the Caffres of South Africa a woman

may not publicly pronounce the birth-name of her husband or of any of his

brothers, nor may she use the interdicted word in its ordinary sense. If

her husband, for instance, be called u-Mpaka, from _impaka_, a small

feline animal, she must speak of that beast by some other name.(1259)

Further, a Caffre wife is forbidden to pronounce even mentally the names

of her father-in-law and of all her husband’s male relations in the

ascending line; and whenever the emphatic syllable of any of their names

occurs in another word, she must avoid it by substituting either an

entirely new word, or, at least, another syllable in its place. Hence this

custom has given rise to an almost distinct language among the women,

which the Caffres call _Ukuteta Kwabafazi_ or “women’s speech.”(1260) The

interpretation of this “women’s speech” is naturally very difficult, “for

no definite rules can be given for the formation of these substituted

words, nor is it possible to form a dictionary of them, their number being

so great—since there may be many women, even in the same tribe, who would

be no more at liberty to use the substitutes employed by some others, than

they are to use the original words themselves.”(1261) A Caffre man, on his

side, may not mention the name of his mother-in-law, nor may she pronounce

his; but he is free to utter words in which the emphatic syllable of her

name occurs.(1262) In Northern Nyassaland no woman will speak the name of

her husband or even use a word that may be synonymous with it. If she were

to call him by his proper name, she believes it would be unlucky and would

affect her powers of conception. In like manner women abstain, for

superstitious reasons, from using the common names of articles of food,

which they designate by terms peculiar to themselves.(1263) Among the

Kondes, at the north-western end of Lake Nyassa, a woman may not mention

the name of her father-in-law; indeed she may not even speak to him nor

see him.(1264) Among the Barea and Bogos of Eastern Africa a woman never

mentions her husband’s name; a Bogo wife would rather be unfaithful to him

than commit the monstrous sin of allowing his name to pass her lips.(1265)

Among the Haussas “the first-born son is never called by his parents by

his name; indeed they will not even speak with him if other people are

present. The same rule holds good of the first husband and the first

wife.”(1266) In antiquity Ionian women would not call their husbands by

their names.(1267) While the rites of Ceres were being performed in Rome,

no one might name a father or a daughter.(1268) Among the South Slavs at

the present day husbands and wives will not mention each other’s names,

and a young wife may not call any of her housemates by their true names;

she must invent or at least adopt other names for them.(1269) A Kirghiz

woman dares not pronounce the names of the older relations of her husband,

nor even use words which resemble them in sound. For example, if one of

these relations is called Shepherd, she may not speak of sheep, but must

call them “the bleating ones”; if his name is Lamb, she must refer to

lambs as “the young of the bleating ones.”(1270) After marriage an Aino

wife may not mention her husband’s name; to do so would be deemed

equivalent to killing him.(1271) Among the Sgaus, a Karen tribe of Burma,

children never mention their parents’ names.(1272) A Toda man may not

utter the names of his mother’s brother, his grandfather and grandmother,

his wife’s mother, and of the man from whom he has received his wife, who

is usually the wife’s father. All these names are tabooed to him in the

lifetime of the persons who bear them, and after death the prohibitions

are not only maintained but extended.(1273) In southern India wives

believe that to tell their husband’s name or to pronounce it even in a

dream would bring him to an untimely end. Further, they may not mention

the names of their parents, their parents-in-law, and their

brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law.(1274) Among the Ojebways husbands and

wives never mention each other’s names;(1275) among the Omahas a man and

his father-in-law and mother-in-law will on no account utter each other’s

names in company.(1276) A Dacota “is not allowed to address or to look

towards his wife’s mother, especially, and the woman is shut off from

familiar intercourse with her husband’s father and others, and etiquette

prohibits them from speaking the names of their relatives by marriage.”

“None of their customs,” adds the same writer, “is more tenacious of life

than this; and no family law is more binding.”(1277) In the Nishinam tribe

of California “a husband never calls his wife by name on any account, and

it is said that divorces have been produced by no other provocation than

that.”(1278)

(M205) The Battas or Bataks of Sumatra display a great aversion to

mentioning their own names and a still greater aversion to mentioning the

names of their parents, grandparents, or elder blood-relations. Politeness

forbids the putting of direct questions on this subject, so that the

investigation of personal identity becomes difficult and laborious. When a

Batta expects to be questioned as to his relations, he will usually

provide himself with a friend to answer for him.(1279) A Batak man may

never mention the names of his wife, his daughter-in-law and of his

son-in-law; a woman is most particularly forbidden to mention the name of

the man who has married her daughter.(1280) Among the Karo-Bataks the

forbidden names are those of parents, uncles, aunts, parents-in-law,

brothers and sisters, and especially grandparents.(1281) Among the Dyaks a

child never pronounces the names of his parents, and is angry if any one

else does so in his presence. A husband never calls his wife by her name,

and she never calls him by his. If they have children, they name each

other after them, “Father of So-and-so” and “Mother of So-and-so”; if they

have no children they use the pronouns “he” and “she,” or an expression

such as “he or she whom I love”; and in general, members of a Dyak family

do not mention each other’s names.(1282) Moreover, when the personal names

happen also, as they often do, to be names of common objects, the Dyak is

debarred from designating these objects by their ordinary names. For

instance, if a man or one of his family is called Bintang, which means

“star,” he must not call a star a star (_bintang_); he must call it a

_pariama_. If he or a member of his domestic circle bears the name of

Bulan, which means “moon,” he may not speak of the moon as the moon

(_bulan_); he must call it _penala_. Hence it comes about that in the Dyak

language there are two sets of distinct names for many objects.(1283)

Among the sea Dyaks of Sarawak a man may not pronounce the name of his

father-in-law or mother-in-law without incurring the wrath of the spirits.

And since he reckons as his father-in-law and mother-in-law not only the

father and mother of his own wife, but also the fathers and mothers of his

brothers’ wives and sisters’ husbands, and likewise the fathers and

mothers of all his cousins, the number of tabooed names may be very

considerable and the opportunities of error correspondingly numerous. To

make confusion worse confounded, the names of persons are often the names

of common things, such as moon, bridge, barley, cobra, leopard; so that

when any of a man’s many fathers-in-law and mothers-in-law are called by

such names, these common words may not pass his lips.(1284) Among the

Dyaks of Landak and Tajan it is forbidden to mention the names of parents

and grandparents, sometimes also of great-grandparents, whether they are

alive or dead.(1285) Among the Alfoors or Toradjas of Poso, in central

Celebes, you may not pronounce the names of your father, mother,

grandparents, and other near relations. But the strictest taboo is on the

names of parents-in-law. A son-in-law and a daughter-in-law may not only

never mention the names of their parents-in-law, but if the names happen

to be ordinary words of the language, they may never allow the words in

their common significance to pass their lips. For example, if my father is

called Njara (“horse”), I may not speak of him by that name; but in

speaking of the animal I am free to use the word horse (_njara_). But if

my father-in-law is called Njara, the case is different, for then not only

may I not refer to him by his name, but I may not even call a horse a

horse; in speaking of the animal I must use some other word. The

missionary who reports the custom is acquainted with a man whose

mother-in-law rejoices in the name of Ringgi (“rixdollar”). When this man

has occasion to refer to real rixdollars, he alludes to them delicately as

“large guilders” (_roepia bose_). Another man may not use the ordinary

word for water (_oewe_); in speaking of water he employs a word (_owai_)

taken from a different dialect. Indeed, among these Alfoors it is the

common practice in such cases to replace the forbidden word by a kindred

word of the same significance borrowed from another dialect. In this way

many fresh terms or new forms of an old word pass into general

circulation.(1286) Among the Alfoors of Minahassa, in northern Celebes,

the custom is carried still further so as to forbid the use even of words

which merely resemble the personal names in sound. It is especially the

name of a father-in-law which is thus laid under an interdict. If he, for

example, is called Kalala, his son-in-law may not speak of a horse by its

common name _kawalo_; he must call it a “riding-beast”

(_sasakajan_).(1287) So among the Alfoors of the island of Buru it is

taboo to mention the names of parents and parents-in-law, or even to speak

of common objects by words which resemble these names in sound. Thus, if

your mother-in-law is called Dalu, which means “betel,” you may not ask

for betel by its ordinary name, you must ask for “red mouth” (_mue miha_);

if you want betel-leaf, you may not say betel-leaf (_dalu ’mun_), you must

say _karon fenna_. In the same island it is also taboo to mention the name

of an elder brother in his presence.(1288) Transgressions of these rules

are punished with fines.(1289) In Bolang Mongondo, a district in the west

of Celebes, the unmentionable names are those of parents, parents-in-law,

uncles and aunts.(1290) Among the Alfoors of Halmahera a son-in-law may

never use his father-in-law’s name in speaking to him; he must simply

address him as “Father-in-law.”(1291) In Sunda it is thought that a

particular crop would be spoilt if a man were to mention the names of his

father and mother.(1292)

(M206) Among the Nufoors, as we have seen,(1293) persons who are related

to each other by marriage are forbidden to mention each other’s names.

Among the connexions whose names are thus tabooed are wife, mother-in-law,

father-in-law, your wife’s uncles and aunts and also her grand-uncles and

grand-aunts, and the whole of your wife’s or your husband’s family in the

same generation as yourself, except that men may mention the names of

their brothers-in-law, though women may not. The taboo comes into

operation as soon as the betrothal has taken place and before the marriage

has been celebrated. Families thus connected by the betrothal of two of

their members are not only forbidden to pronounce each other’s names; they

may not even look at each other, and the rule gives rise to the most

comical scenes when they happen to meet unexpectedly. And not merely the

names themselves, but any words that sound like them are scrupulously

avoided and other words used in their place. If it should chance that a

person has inadvertently uttered a forbidden name, he must at once throw

himself on the floor and say, “I have mentioned a wrong name. I throw it

through the chinks of the floor in order that I may eat well.”(1294) In

German New Guinea near relations by marriage, particularly father-in-law

and daughter-in-law, mother-in-law and son-in-law, as well as

brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, must see as little of each other as

possible; they may not converse together and they may not mention each

other’s names, not even when these names have passed to younger members of

the family. Thus if a child is called after its deceased paternal

grandfather, the mother may not call her child by its name but must employ

another name for the purpose.(1295) Among the Yabim, for example, on the

south-east coast of German New Guinea, parents-in-law may neither be

touched nor named. Even when their names are borne by other people or are

the ordinary names of common objects, they may not pass the lips of their

sons-in-law and daughters-in-law.(1296) Among the western tribes of

British New Guinea the principal taboo or _sabi_, as it is there called,

concerns the names of relatives by marriage. A man may not mention the

name of his wife’s father, mother, elder sister, or elder brother, nor the

name of any male or female relative of her father or mother, so long as

the relative in question is a member of the same tribe as the speaker. The

names of his wife’s younger brothers and sisters are not tabooed to him.

The same law applies to a woman with reference to the names of her

husband’s relatives. As a general rule, this taboo does not extend outside

the tribal boundaries. Hence when a man or woman marries out of his or her

tribe, the taboo is usually not applied. And when members of one tribe,

who may not pronounce each other’s names at home, are away from their own

territory, they are no longer strictly bound to observe the prohibition. A

breach of the taboo has to be atoned for by the offender paying a fine to

the person whose name he has taken in vain. Until that has been done,

neither of the parties concerned, if they are males, may enter the men’s

club-house. In the old times the offended party might recover his social

standing by cutting off somebody else’s head.(1297)

(M207) In the western islands of Torres Straits a man never mentioned the

personal names of his father-in-law, mother-in-law, brother-in-law, and

sister-in-law; and a woman was subject to the same restrictions. A

brother-in-law might be spoken of as the husband or brother of some one

whose name it was lawful to mention; and similarly a sister-in-law might

be called the wife of So-and-so. If a man by chance used the personal name

of his brother-in-law, he was ashamed and hung his head. His shame was

only relieved when he had made a present as compensation to the man whose

name he had taken in vain. The same compensation was made to a

sister-in-law, a father-in-law, and a mother-in-law for the accidental

mention of their names. This disability to use the personal names of

relatives by marriage was associated with the custom, so common throughout

the world, that a man or woman is not allowed to speak to these relatives.

If a man wished to communicate with his father-in-law or mother-in-law, he

spoke to his wife and she spoke to her parent. When direct communication

became absolutely necessary, it was said that a man might talk to his

father-in-law or mother-in-law a very little in a low voice. The behaviour

towards a brother-in-law was the same.(1298) Similar taboos on the names

of persons connected by marriage are in force in New Britain and New

Ireland.(1299) Among the natives who inhabit the coast of the Gazelle

Peninsula in New Britain to mention the name of a brother-in-law is the

grossest possible affront you can offer to him; it is a crime punishable

with death.(1300) In the Santa Cruz and Reef Islands a man is forbidden to

pronounce the name of his mother-in-law, and he may never see her face so

long as he lives. She on her side lies under similar restrictions in

regard to him. Further, a man is prohibited from mentioning the name of

his son-in-law, though he is allowed to look at him. And if a husband has

paid money for his wife to several men, none of these men may ever utter

his name or look him in the face. If one of them did by chance look at

him, the offended husband would destroy some of the offender’s

property.(1301) In New Caledonia a brother may not mention his sister’s

name, and she may not mention his. The same rule is observed by male and

female cousins in regard to each other’s names.(1302) In the Banks’

Islands, Melanesia, the taboos laid on the names of persons connected by

marriage are very strict. A man will not mention the name of his

father-in-law, much less the name of his mother-in-law, nor may he name

his wife’s brother; but he may name his wife’s sister—she is nothing to

him. A woman may not name her father-in-law, nor on any account her

son-in-law. Two people whose children have intermarried are also debarred

from mentioning each other’s names. And not only are all these persons

forbidden to utter each other’s names; they may not even pronounce

ordinary words which chance to be either identical with these names or to

have any syllables in common with them. “A man on one occasion spoke to me

of his house as a shed, and when that was not understood, went and touched

it with his hand to shew what he meant; a difficulty being still made, he

looked round to be sure that no one was near and whispered, not the name

of his son’s wife, but the respectful substitute for her name, _amen

Mulegona_, she who was with his son, and whose name was Tuwarina,

Hind-house.” Again, we hear of a native of these islands who might not use

the common words for “pig” and “to die,” because these words occurred in

the polysyllabic name of his son-in-law; and we are told of another

unfortunate who might not pronounce the everyday words for “hand” and

“hot” on account of his wife’s brother’s name, and who was even debarred

from mentioning the number “one,” because the word for “one” formed part

of the name of his wife’s cousin.(1303)

(M208) It might be expected that similar taboos on the names of relations

and on words resembling them would commonly occur among the aborigines of

Australia, and that some light might be thrown on their origin and meaning

by the primitive modes of thought and forms of society prevalent among

these savages. Yet this expectation can scarcely be said to be fulfilled;

for the evidence of the observance of such customs in Australia is scanty

and hardly of a nature to explain their origin. We are told that there are

instances “in which the names of natives are never allowed to be spoken,

as those of a father or mother-in-law, of a son-in-law, and some cases

arising from a connection with each other’s wives.”(1304) Among some

Victorian tribes, a man never at any time mentioned the name of his

mother-in-law, and from the time of his betrothal to his death neither she

nor her sisters might ever look at or speak to him. He might not go within

fifty yards of their habitation, and when he met them on a path they

immediately left it, clapped their hands, and covering up their heads with

their rugs, walked in a stooping posture and spoke in whispers until he

had gone by. They might not talk with him, and when he and they spoke to

other people in each other’s presence, they used a special form of speech

which went by the name of “turn tongue.” This was not done with any

intention of concealing their meaning, for “turn tongue” was understood by

everybody.(1305) A writer, who enjoyed unusually favourable opportunities

of learning the language and customs of the Victorian aborigines, informs

us that “A stupid custom existed among them, which they called

_knal-oyne_. Whenever a female child was promised in marriage to any man,

from that very hour neither he nor the child’s mother were permitted to

look upon or hear each other speak nor hear their names mentioned by

others; for, if they did, they would immediately grow prematurely old and

die.”(1306) Among the Gudangs of Cape York, in Queensland, and the

Kowraregas of the Prince of Wales Islands, a man carefully avoids speaking

to or even mentioning the name of his mother-in-law, and his wife acts

similarly with regard to her father-in-law. “Thus the mother of a person

called Nuki—which means water—is obliged to call water by another

name.”(1307) In the Booandik tribe of South Australia persons connected by

marriage, except husbands and wives, spoke to each other in a low whining

voice, and employed words different from those in common use.(1308)

Another writer, speaking of the same tribe, says: “Mothers-in-law and

sons-in-law studiously avoid each other. A father-in-law converses with

his son-in-law in a low tone of voice, and in a phraseology differing

somewhat from the ordinary one.”(1309)

(M209) It will perhaps occur to the reader that customs of this latter

sort may possibly have originated in the intermarriage of tribes speaking

different languages; and there are some Australian facts which seem at

first sight to favour this supposition. Thus with regard to the natives of

South Australia we are told that “the principal mark of distinction

between the tribes is difference of language or dialect; where the tribes

intermix greatly no inconvenience is experienced on this account, as every

person understands, in addition to his own dialect, that of the

neighbouring tribe; the consequence is that two persons commonly converse

in two languages, just as an Englishman and German would hold a

conversation, each person speaking his own language, but understanding

that of the other as well as his own. This peculiarity will often occur in

one family through intermarriages, neither party ever thinking of changing

his or her dialect for that of the other. Children do not always adopt the

language of the mother, but that of the tribe among whom they live.”(1310)

Among some tribes of western Victoria a man was actually forbidden to

marry a wife who spoke the same dialect as himself; and during the

preliminary visit, which each paid to the tribe of the other, neither was

permitted to speak the language of the tribe which he or she was visiting.

The children spoke the language of their father and might never mix it

with any other. To her children the mother spoke in their father’s

language, but to her husband she spoke in her own, and he answered her in

his; “so that all conversation is carried on between husband and wife in

the same way as between an Englishman and a Frenchwoman, each speaking his

or her own language. This very remarkable law explains the preservation of

so many distinct dialects within so limited a space, even where there are

no physical obstacles to ready and frequent communication between the

tribes.”(1311) So amongst the Sakais, an aboriginal race of the Malay

Peninsula, a man goes to a considerable distance for a wife, generally to

a tribe who speak quite a different dialect.(1312) The Indian tribes of

French Guiana have each their own dialect and would hardly be able to

understand each other, were it not that almost every person marries a wife

or a husband of a different tribe, and thus the newcomers serve as

interpreters between the tribe in which they live and that in which they

were born and brought up.(1313) It is well known that the Carib women

spoke a language which differed in some respects from that of the men, and

the explanation generally given of the difference is that the women

preserved the language of a race of whom the men had been exterminated and

the women married by the Caribs. This explanation is not, as some seem to

suppose, a mere hypothesis of the learned, devised to clear up a curious

discrepancy; it was a tradition current among the Caribs themselves in the

seventeenth century,(1314) and as such it deserves serious attention. But

there are other facts which seem to point to a different

explanation.(1315) Among the Carayahis, a tribe of Brazilian Indians on

the Rio Grande or Araguaya River, the dialect of the women differs from

that of the men. For the most part the differences are limited to the form

and sound of the words; only a few words seem to be quite distinct in the

two dialects. The speech of the women appears to preserve older and fuller

forms than that of the men: for instance, “girl” is _yadokoma_ in the

female speech but _yadôma_ in the male; “nail” is _desika_ in the mouth of

a woman but _desia_ in the mouth of a man.(1316) However such remarkable

differences are to be explained, a little reflection will probably

convince us that a mere intermixture of races speaking different tongues

could scarcely account for the phenomena of language under consideration.

For the reluctance to mention the names or even syllables of the names of

persons connected with the speaker by marriage can hardly be separated

from the reluctance evinced by so many people to utter their own names or

the names of the dead or of chiefs and kings; and if the reticence as to

these latter names springs mainly from superstition, we may infer that the

reticence as to the former has no better foundation. That the savage’s

unwillingness to mention his own name is based, at least in part, on a

superstitious fear of the ill use that might be made of it by his foes,

whether human or spiritual, has already been shewn. It remains to examine

the similar usage in regard to the names of the dead and of royal

personages.

§ 3. Names of the Dead tabooed.

(M210) The custom of abstaining from all mention of the names of the dead

was observed in antiquity by the Albanians of the Caucasus,(1317) and at

the present day it is in full force among many savage tribes. Thus we are

told that one of the customs most rigidly observed and enforced amongst

the Australian aborigines is never to mention the name of a deceased

person, whether male or female; to name aloud one who has departed this

life would be a gross violation of their most sacred prejudices, and they

carefully abstain from it.(1318) The chief motive for this abstinence

appears to be a fear of evoking the ghost, although the natural

unwillingness to revive past sorrows undoubtedly operates also to draw the

veil of oblivion over the names of the dead.(1319) Once Mr. Oldfield so

terrified a native by shouting out the name of a deceased person, that the

man fairly took to his heels and did not venture to shew himself again for

several days. At their next meeting he bitterly reproached the rash white

man for his indiscretion; “nor could I,” adds Mr. Oldfield, “induce him by

any means to utter the awful sound of a dead man’s name, for by so doing

he would have placed himself in the power of the malign spirits.”(1320) On

another occasion, a Watchandie woman having mentioned the name of a

certain man, was informed that he had long been dead. At that she became

greatly excited and spat thrice to counteract the evil effect of having

taken a dead man’s name into her lips. This custom of spitting thrice, as

Mr. Oldfield afterwards learned, was the regular charm whereby the natives

freed themselves from the power of the dangerous spirits whom they had

provoked by such a rash act.(1321) Among the aborigines of Victoria the

dead were very rarely spoken of, and then never by their names; they were

referred to in a subdued voice as “the lost one” or “the poor fellow that

is no more.” To speak of them by name would, it was supposed, excite the

malignity of Couit-gil, the spirit of the departed, which hovers on earth

for a time before it departs for ever towards the setting sun.(1322) Once

when a Kurnai man was spoken to about a dead friend, soon after the

decease, he looked round uneasily and said, “Do not do that, he might hear

you and kill me!”(1323) If a Kaiabara black dies, his tribes-people never

mention his name, but call him _Wurponum_, “the dead,” and in order to

explain who it is that has died, they speak of his father, mother,

brothers, and so forth.(1324) Of the tribes on the Lower Murray River we

are told that when a person dies “they carefully avoid mentioning his

name; but if compelled to do so, they pronounce it in a very low whisper,

so faint that they imagine the spirit cannot hear their voice.”(1325)

Amongst the tribes of Central Australia no one may utter the name of the

deceased during the period of mourning, unless it is absolutely necessary

to do so, and then it is only done in a whisper for fear of disturbing and

annoying the man’s spirit which is walking about in ghostly form. If the

ghost hears his name mentioned he concludes that his kinsfolk are not

mourning for him properly; if their grief were genuine they could not bear

to bandy his name about. Touched to the quick by their hard-hearted

indifference, the indignant ghost will come and trouble them in

dreams.(1326) In these tribes no woman may ever again mention the name of

a dead person, but the restriction on the male sex is not so absolute, for

the name may be mentioned by men of the two subclasses to which the wife’s

father and wife’s brother of the deceased belong.(1327) Among some tribes

of north-western Australia a dead man’s name is never mentioned after his

burial and he is only spoken of as “that one”; otherwise they think that

he would return and frighten them at night in camp.(1328)

(M211) The same reluctance to utter the names of the dead appears to

prevail among all the Indian tribes of America from Hudson’s Bay Territory

to Patagonia. Among the Iroquois, for example, the name of the deceased

was never mentioned after the period of mourning had expired.(1329) The

same rule was rigidly observed by the Indians of California and Oregon;

its transgression might be punished with a heavy fine or even with

death.(1330) Thus among the Karok of California we are told that “the

highest crime one can commit is the _pet-chi-é-ri_, the mere mention of

the dead relative’s name. It is a deadly insult to the survivors, and can

be atoned for only by the same amount of blood-money paid for wilful

murder. In default of that they will have the villain’s blood.”(1331)

Amongst the Wintun, also of California, if some one in a group of merry

talkers inadvertently mentions the name of a deceased person, “straightway

there falls upon all an awful silence. No words can describe the

shuddering and heart-sickening terror which seizes upon them at the

utterance of that fearful word.”(1332) Among the Goajiros of Colombia to

mention the dead before his kinsmen is a dreadful offence, which is often

punished with death; for if it happen on the _rancho_ of the deceased, in

presence of his nephew or uncle, they will assuredly kill the offender on

the spot if they can. But if he escapes, the penalty resolves itself into

a heavy fine, usually of two or more oxen.(1333) So among the Abipones of

Paraguay to mention the departed by name was a serious crime, which often

led to blows and bloodshed. When it was needful to refer to such an one,

it was done by means of a general phrase such as “he who is no more,” eked

out with particulars which served to identify the person meant.(1334)

(M212) A similar reluctance to mention the names of the dead is reported

of peoples so widely separated from each other as the Samoyeds of Siberia

and the Todas of southern India; the Mongols of Tartary and the Tuaregs of

the Sahara; the Ainos of Japan and the Akamba and Nandi of central Africa;

the Tinguianes of the Philippines and the inhabitants of the Nicobar

Islands, of Borneo, of Madagascar, and of Tasmania.(1335) In all cases,

even where it is not expressly stated, the fundamental reason for this

avoidance is probably the fear of the ghost. That this is the real motive

with the Tuaregs of the Sahara we are positively informed. They dread the

return of the dead man’s spirit, and do all they can to avoid it by

shifting their camp after a death, ceasing for ever to pronounce the name

of the departed, and eschewing everything that might be regarded as an

evocation or recall of his soul. Hence they do not, like the Arabs,

designate individuals by adding to their personal names the names of their

fathers; they never speak of So-and-so, son of So-and-so; they give to

every man a name which will live and die with him.(1336) So among some of

the Victorian tribes in Australia personal names were rarely perpetuated,

because the natives believed that any one who adopted the name of a

deceased person would not live long;(1337) probably his ghostly namesake

was supposed to come and fetch him away to the spirit-land. The Yabims of

German New Guinea, who believe that the spirits of the dead pass their

time in the forest eating unpalatable fruits, are unwilling to mention the

names of the deceased lest their ghosts should suspend their habitual

occupation to come and trouble the living.(1338) In Logea, one of the

Samarai Archipelago, off the south-eastern end of New Guinea, no custom is

observed so strictly as the one which forbids the naming of the dead in

presence of their relations. To say to a person “Your fathers are dead,”

is considered a direct challenge to fight; it is an insult which must be

avenged either by the death of the man who pronounced these awful words,

or by the death of one of his relatives or friends. The uttering of the

names of the dead is, along with homicide, one of the chief causes of war

in the island. When it is necessary to refer to a dead man they designate

him by such a phrase as “the father of So-and-so,” or “the brother of

So-and-so.”(1339) Thus the fear of mentioning the names of the dead gives

rise to circumlocutions of precisely the same sort as those which

originate in a reluctance to name living people. Among the Klallam Indians

of Washington State no person may bear the name of his deceased father,

grandfather, or any other direct ancestor in the paternal line.(1340) The

Masai of eastern Africa are said to resort to a simple device which

enables them to speak of the dead freely without risk of the inopportune

appearance of the ghost. As soon as a man or woman dies, they change his

or her name, and henceforth always speak of him or her by the new name,

while the old name falls into oblivion, and to utter it in the presence of

a kinsman of the deceased is an insult which calls for vengeance. They

assume that the dead man will not know his new name, and so will not

answer to it when he hears it pronounced.(1341) Ghosts are notoriously

dull-witted; nothing is easier than to dupe them. However, according to

another and more probable account, the name of a Masai is not changed

after his death; it is merely suppressed, and he or she is referred to by

a descriptive phrase, such as “my brother,” “my uncle,” “my sister.” To

call a dead man by his name is deemed most unlucky, and is never done

except with the intention of doing harm to his surviving family, who make

great lamentations on such an occasion.(1342)

(M213) The same fear of the ghost, which moves people to suppress his old

name, naturally leads all persons who bear a similar name to exchange it

for another, lest its utterance should attract the attention of the ghost,

who cannot reasonably be expected to discriminate between all the

different applications of the same name. Thus we are told that in the

Adelaide and Encounter Bay tribes of South Australia the repugnance to

mentioning the names of those who have died lately is carried so far, that

persons who bear the same name as the deceased abandon it, and either

adopt temporary names or are known by any others that happen to belong to

them.(1343) The same practice was observed by the aborigines of New South

Wales,(1344) and is said to be observed by the tribes of the Lower Murray

River,(1345) and of King George’s Sound in western Australia.(1346) A

similar custom prevails among some of the Queensland tribes; but the

prohibition to use the names of the dead is not permanent, though it may

last for many years. On the Bloomfield River, when a namesake dies, the

survivor is called Tanyu, a word whose meaning is unknown; or else he or

she receives a name which refers to the corpse, with the syllable Wau

prefixed to it. For example, he may be called Wau-batcha, with reference

to the place where the man was buried; or Wau-wotchinyu (“burnt”), with

reference to the cremation of the body. And if there should be several

people in camp all bearing one of these allusive designations, they are

distinguished from each other by the mention of the names of their mothers

or other relatives, even though these last have long been dead and gone.

Whenever Mr. W. E. Roth, to whom we owe this information, could obtain an

explanation of the custom, the reason invariably assigned was a fear that

the ghost, hearing himself called by name, might return and cause

mischief.(1347) In some Australian tribes the change of name thus brought

about is permanent; the old name is laid aside for ever, and the man is

known by his new name for the rest of his life, or at least until he is

obliged to change it again for a like reason.(1348) Among the North

American Indians all persons, whether men or women, who bore the name of

one who had just died were obliged to abandon it and to adopt other names,

which was formally done at the first ceremony of mourning for the

dead.(1349) In some tribes to the east of the Rocky Mountains this change

of name lasted only during the season of mourning,(1350) but in other

tribes on the Pacific Coast of North America it seems to have been

permanent.(1351) Amongst the Masai also, when two men of the same tribe

bear the same name, and one of them dies, the survivor changes his

name.(1352)

(M214) Sometimes by an extension of the same reasoning all the near

relations of the deceased change their names, whatever they may happen to

be, doubtless from a fear that the sound of the familiar names might lure

back the vagrant spirit to its old home. Thus in some Victorian tribes the

ordinary names of all the next of kin were disused during the period of

mourning, and certain general terms, prescribed by custom, were

substituted for them. To call a mourner by his own name was considered an

insult to the departed, and often led to fighting and bloodshed.(1353)

Among Indian tribes of north-western America near relations of the

deceased often change their names “under an impression that spirits will

be attracted back to earth if they hear familiar names often

repeated.”(1354) Among the Kiowa Indians the name of the dead is never

spoken in the presence of the relatives, and on the death of any member of

a family all the others take new names. This custom was noted by Raleigh’s

colonists on Roanoke Island more than three centuries ago.(1355) Among the

Lengua Indians of the Gran Chaco in South America not only is a dead man’s

name never mentioned, but all the survivors change their names also. They

say that Death has been among them and has carried off a list of the

living, and that he will soon come back for more victims; hence in order

to defeat his fell purpose they change their names, believing that on his

return Death, though he has got them all on his list, will not be able to

identify them under their new names, and will depart to pursue the search

elsewhere.(1356) So among the Guaycurus of the Gran Chaco, when a death

had taken place, the chief used to change the names of every person in the

tribe, man and woman, young and old, and it is said to have been wonderful

to observe how from that moment everybody remembered his new name just as

if he had borne it all his life.(1357) Nicobarese mourners take new names

in order to escape the unwelcome attentions of the ghost; and for the same

purpose they disguise themselves by shaving their heads so that the ghost

is unable to recognise them.(1358) The Chukchees of Bering Strait believe

that the souls of the dead turn into malignant spirits who seek to harm

the living. Hence when a mother dies the name of her youngest and dearest

child is changed, in order that her ghost may not know the child.(1359)

(M215) Further, when the name of the deceased happens to be that of some

common object, such as an animal, or plant, or fire, or water, it is

sometimes considered necessary to drop that word in ordinary speech and

replace it by another. A custom of this sort, it is plain, may easily be a

potent agent of change in language; for where it prevails to any

considerable extent many words must constantly become obsolete and new

ones spring up. And this tendency has been remarked by observers who have

recorded the custom in Australia, America, and elsewhere. For example,

with regard to the Australian aborigines it has been noted that “the

dialects change with almost every tribe. Some tribes name their children

after natural objects; and when the person so named dies, the word is

never again mentioned; another word has therefore to be invented for the

object after which the child was called.” The writer gives as an instance

the case of a man whose name Karla signified “fire”; when Karla died, a

new word for fire had to be introduced. “Hence,” adds the writer, “the

language is always changing.”(1360) In the Moorunde tribe the name for

“teal” used to be _torpool_; but when a boy called Torpool died, a new

name (_tilquaitch_) was given to the bird, and the old name dropped out

altogether from the language of the tribe.(1361) Sometimes, however, such

substitutes for common words were only in vogue for a limited time after

the death, and were then discarded in favour of the old words. Thus among

the Kowraregas of the Prince of Wales’ Islands and the Gudangs of Cape

York in Queensland, the names of the dead are never mentioned without

great reluctance, so that, for example, when a man named Us, or quartz,

died, the name of the stone was changed to _nattam ure_, “the thing which

is a namesake,” but the original word would gradually return to common

use.(1362) Again, a missionary, who lived among the Victorian aborigines,

remarks that “it is customary among these blacks to disuse a word when a

person has died whose name was the same, or even of the same sound. I find

great difficulty in getting blacks to repeat such words. I believe this

custom is common to all the Victorian tribes, though in course of time the

word is resumed again. I have seen among the Murray blacks the dead freely

spoken of when they have been dead some time.”(1363) Again, in the

Encounter Bay tribe of South Australia, if a man of the name of Ngnke,

which means “water,” were to die, the whole tribe would be obliged to use

some other word to express water for a considerable time after his

decease. The writer who records this custom surmises that it may explain

the presence of a number of synonyms in the language of the tribe.(1364)

This conjecture is confirmed by what we know of some Victorian tribes

whose speech comprised a regular set of synonyms to be used instead of the

common terms by all members of a tribe in times of mourning. For instance,

if a man called Waa (“crow”) departed this life, during the period of

mourning for him nobody might call a crow a _waa_; everybody had to speak

of the bird as a _narrapart_. When a person who rejoiced in the title of

Ringtail Opossum (_weearn_) had gone the way of all flesh, his sorrowing

relations and the tribe at large were bound for a time to refer to

ringtail opossums by the more sonorous name of _manuungkuurt_. If the

community were plunged in grief for the loss of a respected female who

bore the honourable name of Turkey Bustard, the proper name for turkey

bustards, which was _barrim barrim_, went out, and _tillit tilliitsh_ came

in. And so _mutatis mutandis_ with the names of Black Cockatoo, Grey Duck,

Gigantic Crane, Kangaroo, Eagle, Dingo, and the rest.(1365)

(M216) A similar custom used to be constantly transforming the language of

the Abipones of Paraguay, amongst whom, however, a word once abolished

seems never to have been revived. New words, says the missionary

Dobrizhoffer, sprang up every year like mushrooms in a night, because all

words that resembled the names of the dead were abolished by proclamation

and others coined in their place. The mint of words was in the hands of

the old women of the tribe, and whatever term they stamped with their

approval and put in circulation was immediately accepted without a murmur

by high and low alike, and spread like wildfire through every camp and

settlement of the tribe. You would be astonished, says the same

missionary, to see how meekly the whole nation acquiesces in the decision

of a withered old hag, and how completely the old familiar words fall

instantly out of use and are never repeated either through force of habit

or forgetfulness. In the seven years that Dobrizhoffer spent among these

Indians the native word for jaguar was changed thrice, and the words for

crocodile, thorn, and the slaughter of cattle underwent similar though

less varied vicissitudes. As a result of this habit, the vocabularies of

the missionaries teemed with erasures, old words having constantly to be

struck out as obsolete and new ones inserted in their place.(1366)

Similarly, a peculiar feature of the Comanche language is that a portion

of the vocabulary is continually changing. If, for example, a person

called Eagle or Bison dies, a new name is invented for the bird or beast,

because it is forbidden to mention the name of any one who is dead.(1367)

So amongst the Kiowa Indians all words that suggest the name of a deceased

person are dropped for a term of years and other words are substituted for

them. The old word may after the lapse of years be restored, but it often

happens that the new one keeps its place and the original word is entirely

forgotten. Old men sometimes remember as many as three different names

which have been successively used for the same thing. The new word is

commonly a novel combination of existing roots, or a novel use of a

current word, rather than a deliberately invented term.(1368)

(M217) The Basagala, a cattle-breeding people to the west of Uganda, cease

to use a word if it was the name of an influential person who has died.

For example, after the death of a chief named Mwenda, which means “nine,”

the name for the numeral was changed.(1369) “On the death of a child, or a

warrior, or a woman amongst the Masai, the body is thrown away, and the

person’s name is buried, _i.e._ it is never again mentioned by the family.

Should there be anything which is called by that name, it is given another

name which is not like that of the deceased, For instance, if an

unimportant person called Ol-onana (he who is soft, or weak, or gentle)

were to die, gentleness would not be called _enanai_ in that kraal, but it

would be called by another name, such as _epolpol_ (it is smooth).... If

an elder dies leaving children, his name is not buried for his descendants

are named after him.”(1370) From this statement, which is translated from

a native account in the Masai language, we may perhaps infer that among

the Masai it is as a rule only the childless dead whose names are avoided.

In the island of Buru it is unlawful to mention the names of the dead or

any words that resemble them in sound.(1371) In many tribes of British New

Guinea the names of persons are also the names of common things. The

people believe that if the name of a deceased person is pronounced, his

spirit will return, and as they have no wish to see it back among them the

mention of his name is tabooed and a new word is created to take its

place, whenever the name happens to be a common term of the

language.(1372) Thus at Waga-waga, near the south-eastern extremity of New

Guinea, the names of the dead become taboo immediately after death, and if

they are, as generally happens, the names of common objects, new words

must be adopted for these things and the old words are dropped from the

language, so long at least as the memory of the dead survives. For

example, when a man died whose name Binama meant “hornbill,” a new name

_ambadina_, literally “the plasterer,” was adopted for the bird.

Consequently many words are permanently lost or revived with modified or

new meanings. The frequent changes of vocabulary caused by this custom are

very inconvenient, and nowadays the practice of using foreign words as

substitutes is coming more and more into vogue. English profanity now

contributes its share to the language of these savages.(1373) In the

Caroline Islands the ordinary name for pig is _puik_, but in the Paliker

district of Ponape the pig is called not _puik_ but _man-teitei_, or “the

animal that grubs in the soil,” for the word _puik_ was there tabooed

after the death of a man named Puik. “This is a living instance showing

how under our very eyes old words are dropping out of use in these

isolated dialects and new ones are taking their place.”(1374) In the

Nicobar Islands a similar practice has similarly affected the speech of

the natives. “A most singular custom,” says Mr. de Roepstorff, “prevails

among them which one would suppose must most effectually hinder the

‘making of history,’ or, at any rate, the transmission of historical

narrative. By a strict rule, which has all the sanction of Nicobar

superstition, no man’s name may be mentioned after his death! To such a

length is this carried that when, as very frequently happens, the man

rejoiced in the name of ‘Fowl,’ ‘Hat,’ ‘Fire,’ ‘Road,’ etc., in its

Nicobarese equivalent, the use of these words is carefully eschewed for

the future, not only as being the personal designation of the deceased,

but even as the names of the common things they represent; the words die

out of the language, and either new vocables are coined to express the

thing intended, or a substitute for the disused word is found in other

Nicobarese dialects or in some foreign tongue. This extraordinary custom

not only adds an element of instability to the language, but destroys the

continuity of political life, and renders the record of past events

precarious and vague, if not impossible.”(1375)

(M218) That a superstition which suppresses the names of the dead must cut

at the very root of historical tradition has been remarked by other

workers in this field. “The Klamath people,” observes Mr. A. S. Gatschet,

“possess no historic traditions going further back in time than a century,

for the simple reason that there was a strict law prohibiting the mention

of the person or acts of a deceased individual by _using his name_. This

law was rigidly observed among the Californians no less than among the

Oregonians, and on its transgression the death penalty could be inflicted.

This is certainly enough to suppress all historical knowledge within a

people. How can history be written without names?”(1376) Among some of the

tribes of New South Wales the simple ditties, never more than two lines

long, to which the natives dance, are never transmitted from one

generation to another, because, when the rude poet dies, “all the songs of

which he was author are, as it were, buried with him, inasmuch as they, in

common with his very name, are studiously ignored from thenceforward,

consequently they are quite forgotten in a very short space of time

indeed. This custom of endeavouring persistently to forget everything

which had been in any way connected with the dead entirely precludes the

possibility of anything of an historical nature having existence amongst

them; in fact the most vital occurrence, if only dating a single

generation back, is quite forgotten, that is to say, if the recounting

thereof should necessitate the mention of a defunct aboriginal’s

name.”(1377) Thus among these simple savages even a sacred bard could not

avail to rescue an Australian Agamemnon from the long night of oblivion.

(M219) In many tribes, however, the power of this superstition to blot out

the memory of the past is to some extent weakened and impaired by a

natural tendency of the human mind. Time, which wears out the deepest

impressions, inevitably dulls, if it does not wholly efface, the print

left on the savage mind by the mystery and horror of death. Sooner or

later, as the memory of his loved ones fades slowly away, he becomes more

willing to speak of them, and thus their rude names may sometimes be

rescued by the philosophic enquirer before they have vanished, like autumn

leaves or winter snows, into the vast undistinguished limbo of the past.

This was Sir George Grey’s experience when he attempted to trace the

intricate system of kinship prevalent among the natives of western

Australia. He says: “It is impossible for any person, not well acquainted

with the language of the natives, and who does not possess great personal

influence over them, to pursue an inquiry of this nature; for one of the

customs most rigidly observed and enforced amongst them is, never to

mention the name of a deceased person, male or female. In an inquiry,

therefore, which principally turns upon the names of their ancestors, this

prejudice must be every moment violated, and a very great difficulty

encountered in the outset. The only circumstance which at all enabled me

to overcome this was, that the longer a person has been dead the less

repugnance do they evince in uttering his name. I, therefore, in the first

instance, endeavoured to ascertain only the oldest names on record; and on

subsequent occasions, when I found a native alone, and in a loquacious

humour, I succeeded in filling up some of the blanks. Occasionally, round

their fires at night, I managed to involve them in disputes regarding

their ancestors, and, on these occasions, gleaned much of the information

of which I was in want.”(1378) In some of the Victorian tribes the

prohibition to mention the names of the dead remained in force only during

the period of mourning;(1379) in the Port Lincoln tribe of South Australia

it lasted many years.(1380) Among the Chinook Indians of North America

“custom forbids the mention of a dead man’s name, at least till many years

have elapsed after the bereavement.”(1381) In the Twana, Chemakum, and

Klallam tribes of Washington State the names of deceased members may be

mentioned two or three years after their death.(1382) Among the Puyallup

Indians the observance of the taboo is relaxed after several years, when

the mourners have forgotten their grief; and if the deceased was a famous

warrior, one of his descendants, for instance a great-grandson, may be

named after him. In this tribe the taboo is not much observed at any time

except by the relations of the dead.(1383) Similarly the Jesuit missionary

Lafitau tells us that the name of the departed and the similar names of

the survivors were, so to say, buried with the corpse until, the poignancy

of their grief being abated, it pleased the relations to “lift up the tree

and raise the dead.” By raising the dead they meant bestowing the name of

the departed upon some one else, who thus became to all intents and

purposes a reincarnation of the deceased, since on the principles of

savage philosophy the name is a vital part, if not the soul, of the man.

When Father Lafitau arrived at St. Louis to begin work among the Iroquois,

his colleagues decided that in order to make a favourable impression on

his flock the new shepherd should assume the native name of his deceased

predecessor, Father Brüyas, “the celebrated missionary,” who had lived

many years among the Indians and enjoyed their high esteem. But Father

Brüyas had been called from his earthly labours to his heavenly rest only

four short months before, and it was too soon, in the phraseology of the

Iroquois, to “raise up the tree.” However, raised up it was in spite of

them; and though some bolder spirits protested that their new pastor had

wronged them by taking the name of his predecessor, “nevertheless,” says

Father Lafitau, “they did not fail to regard me as himself in another form

(_un autre lui-même_), since I had entered into all his rights.” (1384)

(M220) The same mode of bringing a dead man to life again by bestowing his

name upon a living person was practised by the Hurons and other Indian

tribes of Canada. An early French traveller in Canada has described the

ceremony of resurrection as it was observed by a tribe whom he calls the

Attiuoindarons. He says: “The Attiuoindarons practise resurrections of the

dead, principally of persons who have deserved well of their country by

their remarkable services, so that the memory of illustrious and valiant

men revives in a certain way in others. Accordingly they call assemblies

for this purpose and hold councils, at which they choose one of them who

has the same virtues and qualities, if possible, as he had whom they wish

to resuscitate; or at least he must be of irreproachable life, judged by

the standard of a savage people. Wishing, then, to proceed to the

resurrection they all stand up, except him who is to be resuscitated, to

whom they give the name of the deceased, and all letting their hands down

very low they pretend to lift him up from the earth, intending by that to

signify that they draw the great personage deceased from the grave and

restore him to life in the person of this other, who stands up and, after

great acclamations of the people, receives the presents which the

bystanders offer him. They further hold several feasts in his honour and

regard him thenceforth as the deceased whom he represents; and by this

means the memory of virtuous men and of good and valiant captains never

dies among them.”(1385) Among the Hurons the ceremony took place between

the death and the great Festival of the Dead, which was usually celebrated

at intervals of twelve years. When it was resolved to resuscitate a

departed warrior, the members of his family met and decided which of them

was to be regarded as an incarnation of the deceased. If the dead man had

been a famous chief and leader in war, his living representative and

namesake succeeded to his functions. Presents were made to him, and he

entertained the whole tribe at a magnificent banquet. His old robes were

taken from him, and he was clad in richer raiment. Thereupon a herald

proclaimed aloud the mystery of the incarnation. “Let all the people,” he

said, “remain silent. Open your ears and shut your mouths. That which I am

about to say is of importance. Our business is to resuscitate a dead man

and to bring a great captain to life again.” With that he named the dead

man and all his posterity, and reminded his hearers of the place and

manner of his death. Then turning to him who was to succeed the departed,

he lifted up his voice: “Behold him,” he cried, “clad in this beautiful

robe. It is not he whom you saw these past days, who was called Nehap. He

has given his name to another, and he himself is now called Etouait” (the

name of the defunct). “Look on him as the true captain of this nation. It

is he whom you are bound to obey; it is he whom you are bound to listen

to; it is he whom you are bound to honour.” The new incarnation meanwhile

maintained a dignified silence, and afterwards led the young braves out to

war in order to prove that he had inherited the courage and virtues as

well as the name of the dead chief.(1386) The Carrier Indians of British

Columbia firmly believe “that a departed soul can, if it pleases, come

back to the earth, in a human shape or body, in order to see his friends,

who are still alive. Therefore, as they are about to set fire to the pile

of wood on which a corpse is laid, a relation of the deceased person

stands at his feet, and asks him if he will ever come back among them.

Then the priest or magician, with a grave countenance, stands at the head

of the corpse, and looks through both his hands on its naked breast, and

then raises them toward heaven, and blows through them, as they say, the

soul of the deceased, that it may go and find, and enter into a relative.

Or, if any relative is present, the priest will hold both his hands on the

head of this person, and blow through them, that the spirit of the

deceased may enter into him or her; and then, as they affirm, the first

child which this person has will possess the soul of the deceased

person.”(1387) The writer does not say that the infant took the name of

the deceased who was born again in it; but probably it did. For sometimes

the priest would transfer the soul from a dead to a living person, who in

that case took the name of the departed in addition to his own.(1388)

(M221) Among the Lapps, when a woman was with child and near the time of

her delivery, a deceased ancestor or relation (known as a _Jabmek_) used

to appear to her in a dream and inform her what dead person was to be born

again in her infant, and whose name the child was therefore to bear. If

the woman had no such dream, it fell to the father or the relatives to

determine the name by divination or by consulting a wizard.(1389) Among

the Khonds a birth is celebrated on the seventh day after the event by a

feast given to the priest and to the whole village. To determine the

child’s name the priest drops grains of rice into a cup of water, naming

with each grain a deceased ancestor. From the movements of the seed in the

water, and from observations made on the person of the infant, he

pronounces which of his progenitors has reappeared in him, and the child

generally, at least among the northern tribes, receives the name of that

ancestor.(1390) Among the Ewe-speaking peoples of Togo, in West Africa,

when a woman is in hard labour, a fetish priest or priestess is called in

to disclose the name of the deceased relative who has just been born again

into the world in the person of the infant. The name of that relative is

bestowed on the child.(1391) Among the Yorubas, soon after a child has

been born, a priest of Ifa, the god of divination, appears on the scene to

ascertain what ancestral soul has been reborn in the infant. As soon as

this has been decided, the parents are told that the child must conform in

all respects to the manner of life of the ancestor who now animates him or

her, and if, as often happens, they profess ignorance, the priest supplies

the necessary information. The child usually receives the name of the

ancestor who has been born again in him.(1392) In Uganda a child is named

with much ceremony by its grandfather, who bestows on it the name of one

of its ancestors, but never the name of its father. The spirit of the

deceased namesake then enters the child and assists him through

life.(1393) Here the reincarnation of the ancestor appears to be effected

by giving his name, and with it his soul, to his descendant. The same idea

seems to explain a curious ceremony observed by the Makalaka of South

Africa at the naming of a child. The spirit of the ancestor (_motsimo_),

whose name the child is to bear, is represented by an elderly kinsman or

kinswoman, according as the little one is a boy or a girl. A pretence is

made of catching the representative of the spirit, and dragging him or her

to the hut of the child’s parents. Outside the hut the pretended spirit

takes his seat and the skin of an animal is thrown over him. He then

washes his hands in a vessel of water, eats some millet-porridge, and

washes it down with beer. Meantime the women and girls dance gleefully

round him, screaming or singing, and throw copper rings, beads, and so

forth as presents into the vessel of water. The men do the same, but

without dancing; after that they enter the hut to partake of a feast. The

representative of the ancestral spirit now vanishes, and the child

thenceforth bears his or her name.(1394) This ceremony may be intended to

represent the reincarnation of the ancestral spirit in the child.