Se. The Algonkin Myth of Michabo.

THE MYTH OF THE GIANT RABBIT-THE RABBIT CREATES THE WORLD-HE MARRIES THE
MUSKRAT-BECOMES THE ALL-FATHER-DERIVATION OF MICHABO-OF WAJASHK, THE
MUSKRAT-THE MYTH EXPLAINED-THE LIGHT-GOD AS GOD OF THE EAST-THE FOUR
DIVINE BROTHERS-MYTH OF THE HUAROCHIRIS-THE DAY-MAKERS-MICHABO’S
CONTESTS WITH HIS FATHER AND BROTHER-EXPLANATION OF THESE-THE SYMBOLIC
FLINT STONE-MICHABO DESTROYS THE SERPENT KING-MEANING OF THIS
MYTH-RELATIONS OF THE LIGHT-GOD AND WIND-GOD-MICHABO AS GOD OF WATERS
AND FERTILITY-REPRESENTED AS A BEARDED MAN.

Se. The Iroquois Myth of Ioskeha.

THE CREATION OF THE EARTH-THE MIRACULOUS BIRTH OF IOSKEHA-HE OVERCOMES
HIS BROTHER, TAWISCARA-CREATES AND TEACHES MANKIND-VISITS HIS
PEOPLE-HIS GRANDMOTHER, ATAENSIC-IOSKEHA AS FATHER OF HIS
MOTHER-SIMILAR CONCEPTIONS IN EGYPTIAN MYTHS-DERIVATION OF IOSKEHA AND
ATAENSIC-IOSKEHA AS THARONHIAWAKON, THE SKY SUPPORTER-HIS BROTHER
TAWISCARA OR TEHOTENNHIARON IDENTIFIED-SIMILARITY TO ALGONKIN MYTHS.

Nearly all that vast area which lies between Hudson Bay and the Savannah river, and the Mississippi river and the Atlantic coast, was peopled at the epoch of the discovery by the members of two linguistic families-the Algonkins and the Iroquois.  They were on about the same plane of culture, but differed much in temperament and radically in language.  Yet their religious notions were not dissimilar.

Se. The Algonkin Myth of Michabo.

Among all the Algonkin tribes whose myths have been preserved we find much is said about a certain Giant Rabbit, to whom all sorts of powers were attributed.  He was the master of all animals; he was the teacher who first instructed men in the arts of fishing and hunting; he imparted to the Algonkins the mysteries of their religious rites; he taught them picture writing and the interpretation of dreams; nay, far more than that, he was the original ancestor, not only of their nation, but of the whole race of man, and, in fact, was none other than the primal Creator himself, who fashioned the earth and gave life to all that thereon is.

Hearing all this said about such an ignoble and weak animal as the rabbit, no wonder that the early missionaries and travelers spoke of such fables with undisguised contempt, and never mentioned them without excuses for putting on record trivialities so utter.

Yet it appears to me that under these seemingly weak stories lay a profound truth, the appreciation of which was lost in great measure to the natives themselves, but which can be shown to have been in its origin a noble myth, setting forth in not unworthy images the ceaseless and mighty rhythm of nature in the alternations of day and night, summer and winter, storm and sunshine.

I shall quote a few of these stories as told by early authorities, not adding anything to relieve their crude simplicity, and then I will see whether, when submitted to the test of linguistic analysis, this unpromising ore does not yield the pure gold of genuine mythology.

The beginning of things, according to the Ottawas and other northern Algonkins, was at a period when boundless waters covered the face of the earth.  On this infinite ocean floated a raft, upon which were many species of animals, the captain and chief of whom was Michabo, the Giant Rabbit.  They ardently desired land on which to live, so this mighty rabbit ordered the beaver to dive and bring him up ever so little a piece of mud.  The beaver obeyed, and remained down long, even so that he came up utterly exhausted, but reported that he had not reached bottom.  Then the Rabbit sent down the otter, but he also returned nearly dead and without success.  Great was the disappointment of the company on the raft, for what better divers had they than the beaver and the otter?

In the midst of their distress the (female) muskrat came forward and announced her willingness to make the attempt.  Her proposal was received with derision, but as poor help is better than none in an emergency, the Rabbit gave her permission, and down she dived.  She too remained long, very long, a whole day and night, and they gave her up for lost.  But at length she floated to the surface, unconscious, her belly up, as if dead.  They hastily hauled her on the raft and examined her paws one by one.  In the last one of the four they found a small speck of mud.  Victory!  That was all that was needed.  The muskrat was soon restored, and the Giant Rabbit, exerting his creative power, moulded the little fragment of soil, and as he moulded it, it grew and grew, into an island, into a mountain, into a country, into this great earth that we all dwell upon.  As it grew the Rabbit walked round and round it, to see how big it was; and the story added that he is not yet satisfied; still he continues his journey and his labor, walking forever around and around the earth and ever increasing it more and more.

The animals on the raft soon found homes on the new earth.  But it had yet to be covered with forests, and men were not born.  The Giant Rabbit formed the trees by shooting his arrows into the soil, which became tree trunks, and, transfixing them with other arrows, these became branches; and as for men, some said he formed them from the dead bodies of certain animals, which in time became the “totems” of the Algonkin tribes; but another and probably an older and truer story was that he married the muskrat which had been of such service to him, and from this union were born the ancestors of the various races of mankind which people the earth.

Nor did he neglect the children he had thus brought into the world of his creation.  Having closely studied how the spider spreads her web to catch flies, he invented the art of knitting nets for fish, and taught it to his descendants; the pieces of native copper found along the shores of Lake Superior he took from his treasure house inside the earth, where he sometimes lives.  It is he who is the Master of Life, and if he appears in a dream to a person in danger, it is a certain sign of a lucky escape.  He confers fortune in the chase, and therefore the hunters invoke him, and offer him tobacco and other dainties, placing them in the clefts of rocks or on isolated boulders.  Though called the Giant Rabbit, he is always referred to as a man, a giant or demigod perhaps, but distinctly as of human nature, the mighty father or elder brother of the race.

Such is the national myth of creation of the Algonkin tribes, as it has been handed down to us in fragments by those who first heard it.  Has it any meaning?  Is it more than the puerile fable of savages?

Let us see whether some of those unconscious tricks of speech to which I referred in the introductory chapter have not disfigured a true nature myth.  Perhaps those common processes of language, personification and otosis, duly taken into account, will enable us to restore this narrative to its original sense.

In the Algonkin tongue the word for Giant Rabbit is Missabos, compounded from mitchi or missi, great, large, and wabos, a rabbit.  But there is a whole class of related words, referring to widely different perceptions, which sound very much like wabos.  They are from a general root wab, which goes to form such words of related signification as wabi, he sees, waban, the east, the Orient, wabish, white, bidaban (bid-waban), the dawn, waban, daylight, wasseia, the light, and many others.  Here is where we are to look for the real meaning of the name Missabos.  It originally meant the Great Light, the Mighty Seer, the Orient, the Dawn-which you please, as all distinctly refer to the one original idea, the Bringer of Light and Sight, of knowledge and life.  In time this meaning became obscured, and the idea of the rabbit, whose name was drawn probably from the same root, as in the northern winters its fur becomes white, was substituted, and so the myth of light degenerated into an animal fable.

I believe that a similar analysis will explain the part which the muskrat plays in the story.  She it is who brings up the speck of mud from the bottom of the primal ocean, and from this speck the world is formed by him whom we now see was the Lord of the Light and the Day, and subsequently she becomes the mother of his sons.  The word for muskrat in Algonkin is wajashk, the first letter of which often suffers elision, as in nin nod-ajashkwe, I hunt muskrats.  But this is almost the word for mud, wet earth, soil, ajishki.  There is no reasonable doubt but that here again otosis and personification came in and gave the form and name of an animal to the original simple statement.

That statement was that from wet mud dried by the sunlight, the solid earth was formed; and again, that this damp soil was warmed and fertilized by the sunlight, so that from it sprang organic life, even man himself, who in so many mythologies is “the earth born,” homo ab humo, homo chamaigenes.

This, then, is the interpretation I have to offer of the cosmogonical myth of the Algonkins.  Does some one object that it is too refined for those rude savages, or that it smacks too much of reminiscences of old-world teachings?  My answer is that neither the early travelers who wrote it down, nor probably the natives who told them, understood its meaning, and that not until it is here approached by modern methods of analysis, has it ever been explained.  Therefore it is impossible to assign to it other than an indigenous and spontaneous origin in some remote period of Algonkin tribal history.

After the darkness of the night, man first learns his whereabouts by the light kindling in the Orient; wandering, as did the primitive man, through pathless forests, without a guide, the East became to him the first and most important of the fixed points in space; by it were located the West, the North, the South; from it spread the welcome dawn; in it was born the glorious sun; it was full of promise and of instruction; hence it became to him the home of the gods of life and light and wisdom.

As the four cardinal points are determined by fixed physical relations, common to man everywhere, and are closely associated with his daily motions and well being, they became prominent figures in almost all early myths, and were personified as divinities.  The winds were classified as coming from them, and in many tongues the names of the cardinal points are the same as those of the winds that blow from them.  The East, however, has, in regard to the others, a pre-eminence, for it is not merely the home of the east wind, but of the light and the dawn as well.  Hence it attained a marked preponderance in the myths; it was either the greatest, wisest and oldest of the four brothers, who, by personification, represented the cardinal points and the four winds, or else the Light-God was separated from the quadruplet and appears as a fifth personage governing the other four, and being, in fact, the supreme ruler of both the spiritual and human worlds.

Such was the mental processes which took place in the Algonkin mind, and gave rise to two cycles of myths, the one representing Wabun or Michabo as one of four brothers, whose names are those of the cardinal points, the second placing him above them all.

The four brothers are prominent characters in Algonkin legend, and we shall find that they recur with extraordinary frequency in the mythology of all American nations.  Indeed, I could easily point them out also in the early religious conceptions of Egypt and India, Greece and China, and many other old-world lands, but I leave these comparisons to those who wish to treat of the principles of general mythology.

According to the most generally received legend these four brothers were quadruplets-born at one birth-and their mother died in bringing them into life.  Their names are given differently by the various tribes, but are usually identical with the four points of the compass, or something relating to them.  Wabun the East, Kabun the West, Kabibonokka the North, and Shawano the South, are, in the ordinary language of the interpreters, the names applied to them.  Wabun was the chief and leader, and assigned to his brothers their various duties, especially to blow the winds.

These were the primitive and chief divinities of the Algonkin race in all parts of the territory they inhabited.  When, as early as 1610, Captain Argoll visited the tribes who then possessed the banks of the river Potomac, and inquired concerning their religion, they replied, “We have five gods in all; our chief god often appears to us in the form of a mighty great hare; the other four have no visible shape, but are indeed the four winds, which keep the four corners of the earth."

Here we see that Wabun, the East, was distinguished from Michabo (missi-wabun), and by a natural and transparent process, the eastern light being separated from the eastern wind, the original number four was increased to five.  Precisely the same differentiation occurred, as I shall show, in Mexico, in the case of Quetzalcoatl, as shown in his Yoel, or Wheel of the Winds, which was his sacred pentagram.

Or I will further illustrate this development by a myth of the Huarochiri Indians, of the coast of Peru.  They related that in the beginning of things there were five eggs on the mountain Condorcoto.  In due course of time these eggs opened and from them came forth five falcons, who were none other than the Creator of all things, Pariacaca, and his brothers, the four winds.  By their magic power they transformed themselves into men and went about the world performing miracles, and in time became the gods of that people.

These striking similarities show with what singular uniformity the religious sense developes itself in localities the furthest asunder.

Returning to Michabo, the duplicate nature thus assigned him as the Light-God, and also the God of the Winds and the storms and rains they bring, led to the production of two cycles of myths which present him in these two different aspects.  In the one he is, as the god of light, the power that conquers the darkness, who brings warmth and sunlight to the earth and knowledge to men.  He was the patron of hunters, as these require the light to guide them on their way, and must always direct their course by the cardinal points.

The morning star, which at certain seasons heralds the dawn, was sacred to him, and its name in Ojibway is Wabanang, from Waban, the east.  The rays of light are his servants and messengers.  Seated at the extreme east, “at the place where the earth is cut off,” watching in his medicine lodge, or passing his time fishing in the endless ocean which on every side surrounds the land, Michabo sends forth these messengers, who, in the myth, are called Gijigouai, which means “those who make the day,” and they light the world.  He is never identified with the sun, nor was he supposed to dwell in it, but he is distinctly the impersonation of light.

In one form of the myth he is the grandson of the Moon, his father is the West Wind, and his mother, a maiden who has been fecundated miraculously by the passing breeze, dies at the moment of giving him birth.  But he did not need the fostering care of a parent, for he was born mighty of limb and with all knowledge that it is possible to attain. Immediately he attacked his father, and a long and desperate struggle took place.  “It began on the mountains.  The West was forced to give ground.  His son drove him across rivers and over mountains and lakes, and at last, he came to the brink of the world.  ‘Hold!’ cried he, ’my son, you know my power, and that it is impossible to kill me.’” The combat ceased, the West acknowledging the Supremacy of his mighty son.

It is scarcely possible to err in recognizing under this thin veil of imagery a description of the daily struggle between light and darkness, day and night.  The maiden is the dawn from whose virgin womb rises the sun in the fullness of his glory and might, but with his advent the dawn itself disappears and dies.  The battle lasts all day, beginning when the earliest rays gild the mountain tops, and continues until the West is driven to the edge of the world.  As the evening precedes the morning, so the West, by a figure of speech, may be said to fertilize the Dawn.

In another form of the story the West was typified as a flint stone, and the twin brother of Michabo.  The feud between them was bitter, and the contest long and dreadful.  The face of the land was seamed and torn by the wrestling of the mighty combatants, and the Indians pointed out the huge boulders on the prairies as the weapons hurled at each other by the enraged brothers.  At length Michabo mastered his fellow twin and broke him into pieces.  He scattered the fragments over the earth, and from them grew fruitful vines.

A myth which, like this, introduces the flint stone as in some way connected with the early creative forces of nature, recurs at other localities on the American continent very remote from the home of the Algonkins.  In the calendar of the Aztecs the day and god Tecpatl, the Flint-Stone, held a prominent position.  According to their myths such a stone fell from heaven at the beginning of things and broke into sixteen hundred pieces, each of which became a god.  The Hun-pic-tok, Eight Thousand Flints, of the Mayas, and the Toh of the Kiches, point to the same association.

Probably the association of ideas was not with the flint as a fire-stone, though the fact that a piece of flint struck with a nodule of pyrites will emit a spark was not unknown.  But the flint was everywhere employed for arrow and lance heads.  The flashes of light, the lightning, anything that darted swiftly and struck violently, was compared to the hurtling arrow or the whizzing lance.  Especially did this apply to the phenomenon of the lightning.  The belief that a stone is shot from the sky with each thunderclap is shown in our word “thunderbolt,” and even yet the vulgar in many countries point out certain forms of stones as derived from this source.  As the refreshing rain which accompanies the thunder gust instills new life into vegetation, and covers the ground parched by summer droughts with leaves and grass, so the statement in the myth that the fragments of the flint-stone grew into fruitful vines is an obvious figure of speech which at first expressed the fertilizing effects of the summer showers.

In this myth Michabo, the Light-God, was represented to the native mind as still fighting with the powers of Darkness, not now the darkness of night, but that of the heavy and gloomy clouds which roll up the sky and blind the eye of day.  His weapons are the lightning and the thunderbolt, and the victory he achieves is turned to the good of the world he has created.

This is still more clearly set forth in an Ojibway myth.  It relates that in early days there was a mighty serpent, king of all serpents, whose home was in the Great Lakes.  Increasing the waters by his magic powers, he began to flood the land, and threatened its total submergence.  Then Michabo rose from his couch at the sun-rising, attacked the huge reptile and slew it by a cast of his dart.  He stripped it of its skin, and clothing himself in this trophy of conquest, drove all the other serpents to the south. As it is in the south that, in the country of the Ojibways, the lightning is last seen in the autumn, and as the Algonkins, both in their language and pictography, were accustomed to assimilate the lightning in its zigzag course to the sinuous motion of the serpent, the meteorological character of this myth is very manifest.

Thus we see that Michabo, the hero-god of the Algonkins, was both the god of light and day, of the winds and rains, and the creator, instructor and teacher of mankind.  The derivation of his name shows unmistakably that the earliest form under which he was a mythological existence was as the light-god.  Later he became more familiar as god of the winds and storms, the hero of the celestial warfare of the air-currents.

This is precisely the same change which we are enabled to trace in the early transformations of Aryan religion.  There, also, the older god of the sky and light, Dyaus, once common to all members of the Indo-European family, gave way to the more active deities, Indra, Zeus and Odin, divinities of the storm and the wind, but which, after all, are merely other aspects of the ancient deity, and occupied his place to the religious sense. It is essential, for the comprehension of early mythology, to understand this twofold character, and to appreciate how naturally the one merges into and springs out of the other.

In almost every known religion the bird is taken as a symbol of the sky, the clouds and the winds.  It is not surprising, therefore, to find that by the Algonkins birds were considered, especially singing birds, as peculiarly sacred to Michabo.  He was their father and protector.  He himself sent forth the east wind from his home at the sun-rising; but he appointed an owl to create the north wind, which blows from the realms of darkness and cold; while that which is wafted from the sunny south is sent by the butterfly.

Michabo was thus at times the god of light, at others of the winds, and as these are the rain-bringers, he was also at times spoken of as the god of waters.  He was said to have scooped out the basins of the lakes and to have built the cataracts in the rivers, so that there should be fish preserves and beaver dams.

In his capacity as teacher and instructor, it was he who had pointed out to the ancestors of the Indians the roots and plants which are fit for food, and which are of value as medicine; he gave them fire, and recommended them never to allow it to become wholly extinguished in their villages; the sacred rites of what is called the meday or ordinary religious ceremonial were defined and taught by him; the maize was his gift, and the pleasant art of smoking was his invention.

A curious addition to the story was told the early Swedish settlers on the river Delaware by the Algonkin tribe which inhabited its shores.  These related that their various arts of domestic life and the chase were taught them long ago by a venerable and eloquent man who came to them from a distance, and having instructed them in what was desirable for them to know, he departed, not to another region or by the natural course of death, but by ascending into the sky.  They added that this ancient and beneficent teacher wore a long beard. We might suspect that this last trait was thought of after the bearded Europeans had been seen, did it not occur so often in myths elsewhere on the continent, and in relics of art finished long before the discovery, that another explanation must be found for it.  What this is I shall discuss when I come to speak of the more Southern myths, whose heroes were often “white and bearded men from the East.”

Se. The Iroquois Myth of Ioskeha.

The most ancient myth of the Iroquois represents this earth as covered with water, in which dwelt aquatic animals and monsters of the deep.  Far above it were the heavens, peopled by supernatural beings.  At a certain time one of these, a woman, by name Ataensic, threw herself through a rift in the sky and fell toward the earth.  What led her to this act was variously recorded.  Some said that it was to recover her dog which had fallen through while chasing a bear.  Others related that those who dwelt in the world above lived off the fruit of a certain tree; that the husband of Ataensic, being sick, dreamed that to restore him this tree must be cut down; and that when Ataensic dealt it a blow with her stone axe, the tree suddenly sank through the floor of the sky, and she precipitated herself after it.

However the event occurred, she fell from heaven down to the primeval waters.  There a turtle offered her his broad back as a resting-place until, from a little mud which was brought her, either by a frog, a beaver or some other animal, she, by magic power, formed dry land on which to reside.

At the time she fell from the sky she was pregnant, and in due time was delivered of a daughter, whose name, unfortunately, the legend does not record.  This daughter grew to womanhood and conceived without having seen a man, for none was as yet created.  The product of her womb was twins, and even before birth one of them betrayed his restless and evil nature, by refusing to be born in the usual manner, but insisting on breaking through his parent’s side (or armpit).  He did so, but it cost his mother her life.  Her body was buried, and from it sprang the various vegetable productions which the new earth required to fit it for the habitation of man.  From her head grew the pumpkin vine; from her breast, the maize; from her limbs, the bean and other useful esculents.

Meanwhile the two brothers grew up.  The one was named Ioskeha.  He went about the earth, which at that time was arid and waterless, and called forth the springs and lakes, and formed the sparkling brooks and broad rivers.  But his brother, the troublesome Tawiscara, he whose obstinacy had caused their mother’s death, created an immense frog which swallowed all the water and left the earth as dry as before.  Ioskeha was informed of this by the partridge, and immediately set out for his brother’s country, for they had divided the earth between them.

Soon he came to the gigantic frog, and piercing it in the side (or armpit), the waters flowed out once more in their accustomed ways.  Then it was revealed to Ioskeha by his mother’s spirit that Tawiscara intended to slay him by treachery.  Therefore, when the brothers met, as they soon did, it was evident that a mortal combat was to begin.

Now, they were not men, but gods, whom it was impossible really to kill, nor even could either be seemingly slain, except by one particular substance, a secret which each had in his own keeping.  As therefore a contest with ordinary weapons would have been vain and unavailing, they agreed to tell each other what to each was the fatal implement of war.  Ioskeha acknowledged that to him a branch of the wild rose (or, according to another version, a bag filled with maize) was more dangerous than anything else; and Tawiscara disclosed that the horn of a deer could alone reach his vital part.

They laid off the lists, and Tawiscara, having the first chance, attacked his brother violently with a branch of the wild rose, and beat him till he lay as one dead; but quickly reviving, Ioskeha assaulted Tawiscara with the antler of a deer, and dealing him a blow in the side, the blood flowed from the wound in streams.  The unlucky combatant fled from the field, hastening toward the west, and as he ran the drops of his blood which fell upon the earth turned into flint stones.  Ioskeha did not spare him, but hastening after, finally slew him.  He did not, however, actually kill him, for, as I have said, these were beings who could not die; and, in fact, Tawiscara was merely driven from the earth and forced to reside in the far west, where he became ruler of the spirits of the dead.  These go there to dwell when they leave the bodies behind them here.

Ioskeha, returning, peaceably devoted himself to peopling the land.  He opened a cave which existed in the earth and allowed to come forth from it all the varieties of animals with which the woods and prairies are peopled.  In order that they might be more easily caught by men, he wounded every one in the foot except the wolf, which dodged his blow; for that reason this beast is one of the most difficult to catch.  He then formed men and gave them life, and instructed them in the art of making fire, which he himself had learned from the great tortoise.  Furthermore he taught them how to raise maize, and it is, in fact, Ioskeha himself who imparts fertility to the soil, and through his bounty and kindness the grain returns a hundred fold.

Nor did they suppose that he was a distant, invisible, unapproachable god.  No, he was ever at hand with instruction and assistance.  Was there to be a failure in the harvest, he would be seen early in the season, thin with anxiety about his people, holding in his hand a blighted ear of corn.  Did a hunter go out after game, he asked the aid of Ioskeha, who would put fat animals in the way, were he so minded.  At their village festivals he was present and partook of the cheer.

Once, in 1640, when the smallpox was desolating the villages of the Hurons, we are told by Father Lalemant that an Indian said there had appeared to him a beautiful youth, of imposing stature, and addressed him with these words:  “Have no fear; I am the master of the earth, whom you Hurons adore under the name Ioskeha.  The French wrongly call me Jesus, because they do not know me.  It grieves me to see the pestilence that is destroying my people, and I come to teach you its cause and its remedy.  Its cause is the presence of these strangers; and its remedy is to drive out these black robes (the missionaries), to drink of a certain water which I shall tell you of, and to hold a festival in my honor, which must be kept up all night, until the dawn of day.”

The home of Ioskeha is in the far East, at that part of the horizon where the sun rises.  There he has his cabin, and there he dwells with his grandmother, the wise Ataensic.  She is a woman of marvelous magical power, and is capable of assuming any shape she pleases.  In her hands is the fate of all men’s lives, and while Ioskeha looks after the things of life, it is she who appoints the time of death, and concerns herself with all that relates to the close of existence.  Hence she was feared, not exactly as a maleficent deity, but as one whose business is with what is most dreaded and gloomy.

It was said that on a certain occasion four bold young men determined to journey to the sun-rising and visit the great Ioskeha.  They reached his cabin and found him there alone.  He received them affably and they conversed pleasantly, but at a certain moment he bade them hide themselves for their life, as his grandmother was coming.  They hastily concealed themselves, and immediately Ataensic entered.  Her magic insight had warned her of the presence of guests, and she had assumed the form of a beautiful girl, dressed in gay raiment, her neck and arms resplendent with collars and bracelets of wampum.  She inquired for the guests, but Ioskeha, anxious to save them, dissembled, and replied that he knew not what she meant.  She went forth to search for them, when he called them forth from their hiding place and bade them flee, and thus they escaped.

It was said of Ioskeha that he acted the part of husband to his grandmother.  In other words, the myth presents the germ of that conception which the priests of ancient Egypt endeavored to express when they taught that Osiris was “his own father and his own son,” that he was the “self-generating one,” even that he was “the father of his own mother.”  These are grossly materialistic expressions, but they are perfectly clear to the student of mythology.  They are meant to convey to the mind the self-renewing power of life in nature, which is exemplified in the sowing and the seeding, the winter and the summer, the dry and the rainy seasons, and especially the sunset and sunrise.  They are echoes in the soul of man of the ceaseless rhythm in the operations of nature, and they become the only guarantors of his hopes for immortal life.

Let us look at the names in the myth before us, for confirmation of this. Ioskeha is in the Oneida dialect of the Iroquois an impersonal verbal form of the third person singular, and means literally, “it is about to grow white,” that is, to become light, to dawn. Ataensic is from the root aouen, water, and means literally, “she who is in the water." Plainly expressed, the sense of the story is that the orb of light rises daily out of the boundless waters which are supposed to surround the land, preceded by the dawn, which fades away as soon as the sun has risen.  Each day the sun disappears in these waters, to rise again from them the succeeding morning.  As the approach of the sun causes the dawn, it was merely a gross way of stating this to say that the solar god was the father of his own mother, the husband of his grandmother.

The position of Ioskeha in mythology is also shown by the other name under which he was, perhaps, even more familiar to most of the Iroquois.  This is Tharonhiawakon, which is also a verbal form of the third person, with the dual sign, and literally means, “He holds (or holds up) the sky with his two arms." In other words, he is nearly allied to the ancient Aryan Dyaus, the Sky, the Heavens, especially the Sky in the daytime.

The signification of the conflict with his twin brother is also clearly seen in the two names which the latter likewise bears in the legends.  One of these is that which I have given, Tawiscara, which, there is little doubt, is allied to the root, tiokaras, it grows dark.  The other is Tehotennhiaron, the root word of which is kannhia, the flint stone.  This name he received because, in his battle with his brother, the drops of blood which fell from his wounds were changed into flints. Here the flint had the same meaning which I have already pointed out in Algonkin myth, and we find, therefore, an absolute identity of mythological conception and symbolism between the two nations.

Could these myths have been historically identical?  It is hard to disbelieve it.  Yet the nations were bitter enemies.  Their languages are totally unlike.  These same similarities present themselves over such wide areas and between nations so remote and of such different culture, that the theory of a parallelism of development is after all the more credible explanation.

The impressions which natural occurrences make on minds of equal stages of culture are very much alike.  The same thoughts are evoked, and the same expressions suggest themselves as appropriate to convey these thoughts in spoken language.  This is often exhibited in the identity of expression between master-poets of the same generation, and between cotemporaneous thinkers in all branches of knowledge.  Still more likely is it to occur in primitive and uncultivated conditions, where the most obvious forms of expression are at once adopted, and the resources of the mind are necessarily limited.  This is a simple and reasonable explanation for the remarkable sameness which prevails in the mental products of the lower stages of civilization, and does away with the necessity of supposing a historic derivation one from the other or both from a common stock.