According to the Ojibway of the northwestern woodlands, when the Earth was made, four major spirits were put in place for the benefit of humankind. These spirits lived in each of the four directions and also held up the corners of the heavens. The spirit of the north brought ice and snow, which helped people to track animal footprints. The spirit of the south provided the conditions that were favorable for the cultivation of pumpkins, melons, maize and tobacco. The western spirit was responsible for rain. And the spirit of the east brought light by commanding the sun to travel around the world.
Other Native American people also attributed spirits to the four cardinal points. The Iroquoian Wind Giant, Ga-oh, had four different animals—a bear, a panther, a moose and a fawn—at the mouth of his cave. When the north wind blew, the Iroquois said that the bear was at large in the sky. If the west wind blew, the panther was whining; the east wind was the moose “spreading his breath”; and the warm south wind was the “fawn returning to its doe.”
Some spirits, such as the malevolent spirits of place that crop up in the landscape of the Alaskan Inuit, are best avoided. If resting travellers have mysteriously disappeared beside a certain rock, then future travellers will take care to make their camp at a safe distance from the evil spirit inhabiting that rock.
This fragment of throat armor, made of shell by an ancient mississippian artisan, is incised with crested woodpeckers, spiritual guardians of the four directions, and symbols of war.
Other spirits are be -nign, such as those accorded elaborate honors on the occasion of the Green Corn dance, which was held every autumn by the northeastern Seneca. During the dance, one of the prominent tribal elders would address the servants of the “master of life” who had sustained the people through the year. This long speech began with an expression of collective happiness “because we are still alive in this world.” The thanksgiving continued: “Besides this act, we give thanks to the earth, and we give thanks also to all the things it contains. Moreover, we give thanks to the visible sky. We give thanks to the orb of light that daily goes on its course during the daytime. We give our thanks nightly also to the light orb that pursues its course during the night. So now we give thanks also to those persons, the Thunderers, who bring the rains. Also we give thanks to the servants of the Master of Life, who protect and watch over us day by day and night by night.”
Sometimes, a thoughtless or selfish individual can offend a spirit of nature and affect everyone’s welfare, but a spirit’s wrath need not be experienced as a general, communal crisis. The nature spirits, kachinas (see page 121), of southwestern Pueblo myths will remind individuals of their obligations towards the whole community. A Tewa story describes a day when everyone was told to gather onions. But two girls felt lazy and decided to do something else. Towards evening they thought better of their disobedience, and they had just begun to gather onions when the sun started setting. Suddenly one of them heard a noise. A kachina spirit appeared. It held two long yucca blades. “You don’t obey the chief,’’ said the kachina, and it drew out its whip. “We’ll go with you!’’ cried the girls, assuming the kachina was a human being. “No, I did not come to bring you home,’’ said the kachina, and it started to whip them. The girls ran, followed by the spirit. As they ran, they scattered the onions; the laces of their moccasins broke; their leggings came off; their shawls and belts dropped to the ground. The kachina then said, “Don’t do it again! When people go out, they should all go together. This is what happens to disobedient girls. Now go home.’’ They went home without any onions, and without their moccasins, belts and shawls.
Spirits of the Seasons: Nipinouke and Pipounouke
The eternal cycle of the seasons that is repeated every year is described in this story of the Inuit as a partnership between two powerful spirits. The spirit Nipinouke brings spring and summer, while Pipounouke brings autumn and winter.
The spirits of the seasons are two beings known as Nipinouke and Pipounouke. These spirits divide the world between them, each keeping to his own side for as long as he can. But eventually the time comes when they have to change places.
When Nipinouke comes, he brings with him warmth, birds, green leaves and fresh grass. But as summer wanes, Nipinouke must give up his place.
Pipounouke then arrives, bringing autumnal decay and the winds, ice and snow of winter. He destroys all that Nipinouke created. In this way there is Achitescatoueth—succession in nature and balance in the world.
Native American communities were frequently conscious of a great multitude of invisible forces at work. The Inuit myth world provides a dramatic example of how various this spirit life could be. In the Canadian Arctic, three major spirits ruled: the mother of the sea beasts, the moon spirit and the spirit of the air and weather. If a man spoke too assertively about his hunting skills, he risked offending the spirit of the air and weather and bringing on a chastening blizzard. Similarly, if a woman violated taboo by preparing seal meat during her menstrual period, the offended mother of the sea beasts might withhold seals or walrus from the tribe.
The inuit wind-making spirit, Tomalik, is represented in this 19thcentury shaman’s mask. The winds of summer and winter blow through the tubes fitted in the mouth and forehead; white feathers evoke clouds and seabirds; and the lower pendants represent air bubbles rising from submerged seals.
Of primary importance to the hunters and fishers of the Arctic and the Northwest Coast were the spirits of living animals. Successful hunters did not simply slaughter their prey. Animals would ignore a hunter if he did not promise to acknowledge their spirits by offering them the appropriate death rites. Among the Alaskan Inuit, the whale’s soul, which lay in its head, had to be returned to the sea with the head intact; otherwise the soul could not return to its place of origin and be reborn. Other large or significant animals, such as caribou and wolves, had to be ritually butchered to allow their spirits to escape from their lodgings in the neck. Provided that men and women performed these rites, the animals would help them by “lending their bodies”—that is, by allowing themselves to be hunted.
There was a multitude of other spirits: those of ancestors which dwelled near village graves and camp sites; spirits of place inhabiting lakes and rocks; and spirits invisibly roaming the air that might approach an individual who showed mystical susceptibility and make a shaman of him or her. Many traditional Native American belief systems attributed powerful spirits to animals, plants and other natural phenomena. One of the first native words learned by missionaries and explorers in the northeastern woodlands was the Algonquian term manitou, meaning “power, spirit, mystery.’’ (See page 121.) Manitous were simultaneously forces in their own right and spirits inhabiting animals, places, and the forces of nature. These powers were both helpful and vindictive. Even the shamans who controlled and interpreted spiritual forces were subject to their influence.
The Corn Spirit
For a continuation of their blessings on hunting grounds and gardens, the spirits of nature had to be honored. The northeastern Tuscarora people, as they harvested and stored their staple crop, acknowledged the spirit of corn.
In a village where the corn harvest had always been rich, people became lazy and careless. They forgot to weed and left corn to be trampled. They let the dogs eat the surplus and stored their seed in poorly dug holes and damaged baskets. Worst of all, they neglected to give proper thanks to the spirit of the corn.
Assuming that they could continue to get more food by hunting, the men roamed the forest for game. But the animals had vanished. The hungry people dug up their baskets. But their stores had rotted or been eaten by mice. Only one man, Dayohagwenda, had given thanks for his harvest and stored his corn securely.
Walking in the forest one day, Dayohagwenda came upon an elm bark lodge surrounded by weeds. Seated there was an old man. Dirty and ragged, the old man was weeping. “Grandfather, why do you weep?’’ asked Dayohagwenda. “Because your people have forgotten me,’’ replied the elder. As Dayo
hagwenda pursued his questions, he realized that the old man was the spirit of the corn, and that he was dirty and ragged because the people had become careless and ungrateful. The spirit of corn was weeping because he thought that he had been forgotten.
Dayohagwenda returned to the village and found the people on the verge of starvation. Recounting what he had seen, he warned that the spirit of the corn might leave them forever. If, however, the people began honoring him again, the spirit would help them. Then Dayohagwenda dug up his own supplies and found that the spirit had increased them.
From that time on, the people honored the spirit of the corn. They carefully planted, weeded, harvested and stored. And they always gave thanks to the spirit who blessed them.
This modern painting honors selu, the first woman of Cherokee myth, who gave birth to corn after rubbing her stomach and produced the first beans from her breasts.
Thunder, Lightning, Fire and Rainbow
In many Native American traditions, unpredictable weather forces such as thunder, lightning and torrential rain are personified by the mythical Thunderbird. The more predictable properties of fire are encapsulated in origin myths that tell the story of a primal robbery. Often, as in stories about the theft of daylight, the intrepid fire robbers are led by a Trickster animal.
The Thunderbird on this headdress is recognizable by his feathered horns and downturned beak. The work of a Northwest Coast Kwakiutl artisan, the headdress was collected in 1926 and may date from the 19th century.
Great Man, the mythical creator of the Californian Maidu, made a world that originally was hot. The heat was so great that everything melted and even today there is fire in stones and trees.
According to this conception, thunder is synonymous with Great Man. In other Maidu myths, however, lightning and thunder, though divine, are lesser deities bent on destroying humankind. This is the cue for the rainbow, which often appears at the end of storms, to come into view and plead with the deities to have mercy on humans.
The rainbow is a benevolent spirit in almost all myths. To the Iroquoian Huron, it is a beautiful pathway on which various animals journey to the sky. In a Navajo story, Dawn Boy—a hero figure who aids human beings—ascends a rainbow to petition two powerful sky deities.
A myth of the Creek people of the Southeast describes how an orphan boy came upon two great beings, Tie-Snake and Thunder-Being, wrestling by a river. Each combatant asked the boy to kill its adversary. Tie-Snake offered the boy knowledge, while Thunderbeing promised him “all the thunder’s power.” The boy killed Tie-Snake. As a reward, he could always find game animals; in battle he was invulnerable; and he was able to use thunder and lightning to destroy his enemies.
Thunder is often an ambiguous being—feared and disliked, but capable of being outsmarted. In a story told by the Coeur d’Alene of Idaho, Thunder came to earth and stole a woman from her husband. The man set out in pursuit. At last, after a weary journey, he came to Thunder’s house and found his wife inside. “You are dead. You are no longer a person,” she said, “but let’s dig a hole under the bed for you to hide in. In the meantime, I’ll cook for Thunder. After dinner, he’ll tell me stories. But when he falls asleep, we’ll escape.”
After some time, Thunder fell asleep and started to snore. The woman jumped up and dug out her husband. Picking up Thunder’s shirts, she kept one and destroyed the rest. Then the couple ran to the edge of Thunder’s mountain. The woman put on the shirt that she had taken from Thunder. They flew to Earth. She took off the shirt. “Be torn in pieces!” she cried and threw it away. Meanwhile, Thunder woke to find the woman gone. “There’s no place I don’t know. You are going to die,” he said. He went to get his new shirt, only to find it gone. Defeated, he sat down and cried.
Mythical Fire-Thieves
Almost always, fire is first brought to Earth for the benefit of humanity after a similar conflict. The starting point of most such fire-theft stories is that fire existed as a phenomenon in heaven before it reached Earth. Many fire-stealing stories describe how a team of animals climb a mountain that ascends high into the sky, and, sometimes in relay, make off with fire. In a tale of the southern Paiute, Coyote leads some birds on a fire-stealing mission. By pretending that they have come simply to gamble with their hosts, the fire-thieves trick their way into the fire-owners’ realm. Coyote then makes off with some blazing cedar bark tied to his hair.
When the fire-owners give chase, Coyote passes the fire first to the Crested Jay and then on to the other birds until they have outrun their pursuers. In order to demonstrate the fire thieves’ altruistic motive, Coyote finally announces: “Let’s give heat and fire to all the trees and all the rocks!” Thus wood and stone, in the form of bow drills, firewood and flints, have produced fire ever since.
Another fire-theft story, told by the Maidu casts a being called Thunder as the fire-keeper. Fire has already appeared on earth and Thunder has stolen it; Earth’s animals then set out to win it back. After Thunder has been tricked into parting with his fire, he enlists rain, wind and hail as quenchers of the fire thieves’ booty. Skunk, however, kills Thunder with an arrow, calling out, “Now you must stay up in the sky and be the thunder.” Thus it came about that fire remained on Earth and Thunder went to the sky.
Thunderbird
The fierce and sudden power of thunder is often represented as a huge eagle-like bird.
The Thunderbird is found in many Native American traditions. This immense mythical creature, whose wings make thunder and whose eyes and beak generate lightning, was primarily associated with the rain that brings fertility. Worshipped as a creator of new life, the Thunderbird was thought to inhabit craggy mountain peaks, from where it surveyed its vast hunting grounds. Among Northwest Coast peoples, it was believed to swoop down on the ocean to hunt whales, carrying them off in its talons and flying inland to devour them.
The Thunderbird is depicted on this 19th-century Clayoquot dance robe from the Northwest Coast.
In many Plains cultures, the Thunderbird, which was known to the Lakota as Wakinyan, was regarded as a senior deity, second in rank only to Great Spirit. Images of the Thunderbird were frequently painted on shields, weapons, clothing and tents in order to inspire courage.
The Society of Animals
The many animal characters that are found in Native American myths speak and behave in the same way as the humans whose existence depends on them. Often, the appearance and habits of a particular species, or clan, of animals derive from cosmic conflicts and other events. A common feature of all the stories is an assertion of the animals’ spiritual power and importance.
Myths about the creation of Earth often begin with no people: the world’s first inhabitants are the animals who bring about the conditions in which people can exist. Many creation stories describe a “dream time” in which humans and animals speak the same language and combine their skills to overcome obstacles or confront a mutual enemy (see pages 22–25). In such stories, different never means inferior; on the contrary, the animals of Native America are the spiritual equals of people.
While most stories about animals depict animal heroes (the mythical ancestors of such familiar creatures as coyotes, beavers and jays), there are also many stories that combine an account of the origins of certain animal families with explanations for their continuing behavior. Thus, a story told by the Yana people of northern California about why and when the “geese people” first came to visit Mount Shasta also explains why geese continue to fly north in spring. Just as a traditional Yana headman might have sent a messenger to invite another village to a celebration, a mythical goose chief named Flint Rock sent Hummingbird to invite the crane, geese and heron people to a dance celebration: “Wrapping a wildcat skin about his head, Hummingbird made himself ready and flew south to summon the geese people…Very pretty was Meadow Lark Woman with her apron of rodent bones strung on buckskin tassels.”
To reach the dance hosted by Flint Rock, the mythical geese people took their bea
rings and flew in formation, just as real geese do now: “All the geese people, every sort of person that was there, had wings. The geese people filed up from the south, dancing as they went north. They flew up into the air and continued their dance northwards while flying.”
A 19th-century Tsimshian raven rattle. This raven-humanraven carving illustrates the fusion of animal and human identities in the myths of the Northwest Coast.
A creation story of the Californian Karok describes the first animals as “all alike in power. No one knew which animals should be food for others.” The creator, Kareya, ordained that Man should give the animals their rank. Kareya told Man to make bows and arrows and to give them to each animal. The longest bow would go to the animal that was to have the greatest power, the shortest to the one that was to have the least. The animals then met and went to sleep, awaiting Man’s arrival. When the sun rose the next day, Man gave the longest bows to Mountain Lion and Bear and the shortest to Frog. Coyote, who had slept through the ceremony, received no bow at all. Instead he was awarded cunning, and “therefore was friendly to Man” in the future.
How the Mohawk Rabbit Dance Began
The animals of Native American myths and folktales often live in clan-like groups, under the guidance of an especially wise or experienced chief, or “master.” In this tale, a master rabbit initiates a ritual that is observed forever after by the Mohawk.
A group of hunters was once travelling through the forest when they came to a clearing. As the leader approached the glade, he saw a creature.
The animal was the size of a small black bear, but it was not a bear. In fact it was an enormous rabbit. As the men watched, the rabbit raised its head. But instead of fleeing, it nodded toward the men and thumped the earth with one of its back feet. At this signal, crowds of other rabbits joined the big rabbit. Now the big rabbit started thumping rhythmically, as though beating a drum. The rabbits formed a circle and danced around the rabbit drummer. Suddenly the master rabbit was still. The drumming stopped. He leapt into the air then vanished into the forest.
Native American Myths and Beliefs Page 8
