In Mr. Max Muller's opinion these riddles 'could not but lead to what we
call popular myths or legends.' Very probably; but this does not aid us
to accept the philological method. The very essence of that method is
the presumed absolute loss of the meaning of, e.g. 'the Dark One.' Before
there can be a myth, ex hypothesi the words Dark One must have become
hopelessly unintelligible, must have become a proper name. Thus suppose,
for argument's sake only, that Cronos once meant Dark One, and was
understood in that sense. People (as in the Norse riddle just cited)
said, 'Cronos [i.e. the Dark One--meaning mist] swallows water and wood.'
Then they forgot that Cronos was their old word for the Dark One, and was
mist; but they kept up, and understood, all the rest of the phrase about
what mist does. The expression now ran, 'Cronos [whatever that may be]
swallows water and wood.' But water comes from mist, and water nourishes
wood, therefore 'Cronos swallows his children.' Such would be the
development of a myth on Mr. Max Muller's system. He would interpret
'Cronos swallows his children,' by finding, if he could, the original
meaning of Cronos. Let us say that he did discover it to mean 'the Dark
One.' Then he might think Cronos meant 'night;' 'mist' he would hardly
guess.
That is all very clear, but the point is this--in devinettes, or riddles,
the meaning of 'the Dark One' is _not_ lost:--
'Thy riddle is _easy_
Blind Gest,
To read'--
Heidrick answers.
What the philological method of mythology needs is to prove that such
poetical statements about natural phenomena as the devinettes contain
survived in the popular mouth, and were perfectly intelligible except
just the one mot d'enigme--say, 'the Dark One.' That (call it
Cronos='Dark One'), and that alone, became unintelligible in the changes
of language, and so had to be accepted as a proper name, Cronos--a god
who swallows things at large.
Where is the proof of such endurance of intelligible phrases with just
the one central necessary word obsolete and changed into a mysterious
proper name? The world is full of proper names which have lost their
meaning--Athene, Achilles, Artemis, and so on but we need proof that
poetical sayings, or riddles, survive and are intelligible except one
word, which, being unintelligible, becomes a proper name. Riddles, of
course, prove nothing of this kind:--
Thy riddle is easy
Blind Gest
To read!
Yet Mr. Max Muller offers the suggestion that the obscurity of many of
these names of mythical gods and heroes 'may be due . . . to the riddles
to which they had given rise, and which would have ceased to be riddles
if the names had been clear and intelligible, like those of Helios and
Selene' (i. 92). People, he thinks, in making riddles 'would avoid the
ordinary appellatives, and the use of little-known names in most
mythologies would thus find an intelligible explanation.' Again, 'we can
see how essential it was that in such mythological riddles the principal
agents should not be called by their regular names.' This last remark,
indeed, is obvious. To return to the Norse riddle of the Dark One that
swallows wood and water. It would never do in a riddle to call the Dark
One by his ordinary name, 'Mist.' You would not amuse a rural audience
by asking 'What is the mist that swallows wood and water?' That would be
even easier than Mr. Burnand's riddle for very hot weather:--
My first is a boot, my second is a jack.
Conceivably Mr. Max Muller may mean that in riddles an almost obsolete
word was used to designate the object. Perhaps, instead of 'the Dark
One,' a peasant would say, 'What is the Rooky One?' But as soon as
nobody knew what 'the Rooky One' meant, the riddle would cease to
exist--Rooky One and all. You cannot imagine several generations asking
each other--
What is the Rooky One that swallows?
if nobody knew the answer. A man who kept boring people with a mere
'sell' would be scouted; and with the death of the answerless riddle the
difficult word 'Rooky' would die. But Mr. Max Muller says, 'Riddles
would cease to be riddles if the names had been clear and intelligible.'
The reverse is the fact. In the riddles he gives there are seldom any
'names;' but the epithets and descriptions are as clear as words can be:--
Who are the mother and children in a house, all having bald heads?--The
moon and stars.
Language cannot be clearer. Yet the riddle has not 'ceased to be a
riddle,' as Mr. Max Muller thinks it must do, though the words are 'clear
and intelligible.' On the other hand, if the language is _not_ clear and
intelligible, the riddle would cease to exist. It would not amuse if
nobody understood it. You might as well try to make yourself socially
acceptable by putting conundrums in Etruscan as by asking riddles in
words not clear and intelligible in themselves, though obscure in their
reference. The difficulty of a riddle consists, not in the obscurity of
words or names, but in the description of familiar things by terms, clear
as terms, denoting their appearance and action. The mist is described as
'dark,' 'swallowing,' 'one that fears the wind,' and so forth. The
_words_ are pellucid.
Thus 'ordinary appellatives' (i. 99) are _not_ 'avoided' in riddles,
though _names_ (sun, mist) cannot be used in the question because they
give the answer to the riddle.
For all these reasons ancient riddles cannot explain the obscurity of
mythological names. As soon as the name was too obscure, the riddle and
the name would be forgotten, would die together. So we know as little as
ever of the purely hypothetical process by which a riddle, or popular
poetical saying, remains intelligible in a language, while the mot
d'enigme, becoming unintelligible, turns into a proper name--say, Cronos.
Yet the belief in this process as a vera causa is essential to our
author's method.
Here Mr. Max Muller warns us that his riddle theory is not meant to
explain 'the obscurities of _all_ mythological names. This is a
stratagem that should be stopped from the very first.' It were more
graceful to have said 'a misapprehension.'
Another 'stratagem' I myself must guard against. I do not say that _no_
unintelligible strings of obsolete words may continue to live in the
popular mouth. Old hymns, ritual speeches, and charms may and do
survive, though unintelligible. They are reckoned all the more potent,
because all the more mysterious. But an unintelligible riddle or
poetical saying does not survive, so we cannot thus account for mythology
as a disease of language.