The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion (Third Edition, Vol. 03 of 12)

Sometimes all the near relations of the deceased change their names.

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 - J. Dawson, Australian Aborigines, p. 42.] 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 - H. H. Bancroft, Native Races of the Pacific States, i. 248. Compare K. F. v. Baer und Gr. v. Helmersen, Beiträge zur Kenntniss des russischen Reiches und der angränzenden Länder Asiens, i. (St. Petersburg, 1839), p. 108 (as to the Kenayens of Cook's Inlet and the neighbourhood).] 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 - J. Mooney, “Calendar History of the Kiowa Indians,” Seventeenth Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, part i. (Washington, 1898) p. 231.] 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 - F. de Azara, Voyages dans l'Amérique Méridionale (Paris, 1808), ii. 153 sq.] 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 - P. Lozano, Descripcion chorographica, etc., del Gran Chaco (Cordova, 1733), p. 70.] 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 - E. H. Man, “Notes on the Nicobarese,” Indian Antiquary, xxviii. (1899) p. 261. Elsewhere I have suggested that mourning costume in general may have been adopted with this intention. See Journal of the Anthropological Institute, xv. (1886) pp. 73, 98 sqq.] 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 - J. Enderli, “Zwei Jahre bei den Tchuktschen und Korjaken,” Petermanns Mitteilungen, xlix. (1903) p. 257.]

When the name of the deceased is that of a common object, the word is often dropped in ordinary speech and another substituted for it.

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 - R. Brough Smyth, Aborigines of Victoria, ii. 266.] 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 - E. J. Eyre, Journals of Expeditions of Discovery, ii. 354 sq.] 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 - J. Macgillivray, Narrative of the Voyage of H.M.S. Rattlesnake (London, 1852), ii. 10 sq.] 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 - J. Bulmer, in Brough Smyth's Aborigines of Victoria, ii. 94.] 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 - H. E. A. Meyer, in Native Tribes of South Australia, p. 199, compare p. xxix.] 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 - J. Dawson, Australian Aborigines, p. 43. Mr. Howitt mentions the case of a native who arbitrarily substituted the name nobler (“spirituous liquor”) for yan (“water”) because Yan was the name of a man who had recently died (Kamilaroi and Kurnai, p. 249).]

This custom has transformed some of the languages of the American Indians.

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 - M. Dobrizhoffer, Historia de Abiponibus (Vienna, 1784), ii. 199, 301.] 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 - H. Ten Kate, “Notes ethnographiques sur les Comanches,” Revue d'Ethnographie, iv. (1885) p. 131.] 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 - J. Mooney, “Calendar History of the Kiowa Indians,” Seventeenth Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, part i. (Washington, 1898) p. 231.]

A similar custom has modified languages in Africa, Buru, New Guinea, the Caroline Islands, and the Nicobarese.

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 - Rev. J. Roscoe in a letter to me dated Mengo, Uganda, 17th February 1904.] “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 - A. C. Hollis, The Masai (Oxford, 1905), pp. 304 sq. As to the Masai customs in this respect see also above, pp. 354 (#x_21_i7)sq., 356 (#x_21_i9).] 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 - J. H. W. van der Miesen, “Een en ander over Boeroe,” Mededeelingen van wege het Nederlandsche Zendelinggenootschap, xlvi. (1902) p. 455.] 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 - Sir William Macgregor, British New Guinea (London, 1897), p. 79.] 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 - C. G. Seligmann, The Melanesians of British New Guinea (Cambridge, 1910), pp. 629-631.] 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 - F. W. Christian, The Caroline Islands (London, 1899), p. 366.] 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 - F. A. de Roepstorff, “Tiomberombi, a Nicobar Tale,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, liii. (1884) pt. i. pp. 24 sq. In some tribes apparently the names of the dead are only tabooed in the presence of their relations. See C. Hill-Tout, in “Report of the Committee on the Ethnological Survey of Canada,” Report of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, Bradford, 1900, p. 484; G. Brown, Melanesians and Polynesians (London, 1910), p. 399. But in the great majority of the accounts which I have consulted no such limitation of the taboo is mentioned.]

The suppression of the names of the dead cuts at the root of historical tradition.

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 - A. S. Gatschet, The Klamath Indians of South-Western Oregon (Washington, 1890), p. xli. (Contributions to North American Ethnology, vol. ii. pt. I).] 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 - P. Beveridge, “Of the Aborigines inhabiting the great Lacustrine and Riverine Depression of the Lower Murray,” etc., Journal and Proceedings of the Royal Society of New South Wales for 1883, vol. xvii. p. 65. The custom of changing common words on the death of persons who bore them as their names seems also to have been observed by the Tasmanians. See J. Bonwick, Daily Life of the Tasmanians, p. 145.] Thus among these simple savages even a sacred bard could not avail to rescue an Australian Agamemnon from the long night of oblivion.

Sometimes the names of the dead are revived after a certain time. The American Indians used to bring the dead to life again by solemnly bestowing their names on living persons, who were thereafter regarded as reincarnations of the dead.

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 - G. Grey, Journals of two Expeditions of Discovery in North-West and Western Australia, ii. 231 sq.] 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 - J. Dawson, Australian Aborigines, p. 42.] in the Port Lincoln tribe of South Australia it lasted many years.[1380 - C. W. Schürmann, in Native Tribes of South Australia, p. 247.] 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 - H. H. Bancroft, Native Races of the Pacific States, iii. 156.] 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 - Myron Eels, “The Twana, Chemakum, and Klallam Indians of Washington Territory,” Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for 1887, p. 656.] 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 - S. R. M'Caw, “Mortuary Customs of the Puyallups,” The American Antiquarian and Oriental Journal, viii. (1886) p. 235.] 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 - J. F. Lafitau, Mœurs des sauvages ameriquains (Paris, 1724), ii. 434. Charlevoix merely says that the taboo on the names of the dead lasted “a certain time” (Histoire de la Nouvelle France, vi. 109). “A good long while” is the phrase used by Captain J. G. Bourke in speaking of the same custom among the Apaches (On the Border with Crook, p. 132).]

Mode of reviving the dead in the persons of their namesakes among the North American Indians.

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 - Gabriel Sagard, Le Grand Voyage du pays des Hurons, Nouvelle Édition (Paris, 1865), p. 202. The original edition of Sagard's book was published at Paris in 1632.] 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 - Relations des Jésuites, 1636, p. 131; id., 1642, pp. 53, 85; id., 1644, pp. 66 sq. (Canadian reprint, Quebec, 1858).] 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 - Daniel W. Harmon, quoted by Rev. Jedidiah Morse, Report to the Secretary of War of the United States on Indian Affairs (New-Haven, 1822), Appendix, p. 345. The custom seems now to be extinct. It is not mentioned by Father A. G. Morice in his accounts of the tribe (in Proceedings of the Canadian Institute, Third Series, vol. vii. 1888-89; Transactions of the Canadian Institute, vol. iv. 1892-93; Annual Archaeological Report, Toronto, 1905).] 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 - Ch. Wilkes, Narrative of the United States Exploring Expedition (New York, 1851), iv. 453.]

The dead revived in their namesakes among the Lapps, Khonds, Yorubas, Baganda, and Makalaka.

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 - E. J. Jessen, De Finnorum Lapponumque Norwegicorum religione pagana, pp. 33 sq. (bound up with C. Leemius, De Lapponibus Finmarchiae eorumque lingua, vita, et religione pristina commentatio, Copenhagen, 1767).] 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 - Major S. C. Macpherson, Memorials of Service in India (London, 1865), pp. 72 sq.] 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 - C. Spiess, “Einiges über die Bedeutung der Personennamen der Evheer in Togo-Gebiete,” Mittheilungen des Seminars für orientalische Sprachen zu Berlin, vi. (1903) Dritte Abtheilung, pp. 56 sq.] 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 - A. B. Ellis, The Yoruba-speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast, p. 152; id., The Ewe-speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast, pp. 153 sq. In the former passage the writer says nothing about the child's name. In the latter he merely says that an ancestor is supposed to have sent the child, who accordingly commonly takes the name of that ancestor. But the analogy of other peoples makes it highly probable that, as Col. Ellis himself states in his later work (The Yoruba-speaking Peoples), the ancestor is believed to be incarnate in the child. That the Yoruba child takes the name of the ancestor who has come to life again in him is definitely stated by A. Dieterich in Archiv für Religionswissenschaft, viii. (1904) p. 20, referring to Zeitschrift für Missionskunde und Religionswissenschaft, xv. (1900) p. 17, a work to which I have not access. Dieterich's account of the subject of rebirth (op. cit. pp. 18-21) deserves to be consulted.] 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 - J. Roscoe, “Further Notes on the Manners and Customs of the Baganda,” Journal of the Anthropological Institute, xxxii. (1902) p. 32.] 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 - C. Mauch, Reisen im Inneren von Süd-Afrika (Gotha, 1874), p. 43 (Petermann's Mittheilungen, Ergänsungsheft, No. 37).] This ceremony may be intended to represent the reincarnation of the ancestral spirit in the child.

Revival of the names of the dead among the Nicobarese and Gilyaks.

In the Nicobar Islands the names of dead relatives are tabooed for a generation; but when both their parents are dead, men and women are bound to assume the names of their deceased grandfathers or grandmothers respectively.[1395 - Sir R. C. Temple, in Census of India, 1901, vol. iii. 207, 212.] Perhaps with the names they may be thought to inherit the spirits of their ancestors. Among the Tartars in the Middle Ages the names of the dead might not be uttered till the third generation.[1396 - Plan de Carpin (de Plano Carpini), Relation des Mongols ou Tartares, ed. D'Avezac, cap. iii. § iii. The writer's statement (“nec nomen proprium ejus usque ad tertiam generationem audet aliquis nominare”) is not very clear.] Among the Gilyaks of Saghalien no two persons in the same tribe may bear the same name at the same time; for they think that if a child were to receive the name of a living man, either the child or the man would die within the year. When a man dies, his name may not be uttered until after the celebration of the festival at which they sacrifice a bear for the purpose of procuring plenty of game and fish. At that festival they call out the name of the deceased while they beat the skin of the bear. Thenceforth the name may be pronounced by every one, and it will be bestowed on a child who shall afterwards be born.[1397 - P. Labbé, Un Bagne russe, l'île de Sakhaline (Paris, 1903), p. 166.] These customs suggest that the Gilyaks, like other peoples, suppose the namesake of a deceased person to be his or her reincarnation; for their objection to let two living persons bear the same name seems to imply a belief that the soul goes with the name, and therefore cannot be shared by two people at the same time.

Namesakes of the dead treated as the dead in person among the Esquimaux of Bering Strait.

Among the Esquimaux of Bering Strait the first child born in a village after some one has died receives the dead person's name, and must represent him in subsequent festivals which are given in his honour. The day before the great feast of the dead the nearest male relative of the deceased goes to the grave and plants before it a stake bearing the crest or badge of the departed. This is the notice served to the ghost to attend the festival. Accordingly he returns from the spirit-land to the grave. Afterwards a song is sung at the grave inviting the ghost to repair to the assembly-house, where the people are gathered to celebrate the festival. The shade accepts the invitation and takes his place, with the other ghosts, in the fire-pit under the floor of the assembly-house. All the time of the festival, which lasts for several days, lamps filled with seal-oil are kept burning day and night in the assembly-house in order to light up the path to the spirit-land and enable the ghosts to find their way back to their old haunts on earth. When the spirits of the dead are gathered in the pit, and the proper moment has come, they all rise up through the floor and enter the bodies of their living namesakes. Offerings of food, drink, and clothes are now made to these namesakes, who eat and drink and wear the clothes on behalf of the ghosts. Finally, the shades, refreshed and strengthened by the banquet, are sent away back to their graves thinly clad in the spiritual essence of the clothes, while the gross material substance of the garments is retained by their namesakes.[1398 - E. W. Nelson, “The Eskimo about Bering Strait,” Eighteenth Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, part i. (Washington, 1899), pp. 363 sq., 365, 368, 371, 377, 379, 424 sq.] Here the reincarnation of the dead in the living is not permanent, but merely occasional and temporary. Still a special connexion may well be thought to subsist at all times between the deceased and the living person who bears his or her name.

Ceremonies at the naming of children are probably often associated with the idea of rebirth.

The foregoing facts seem to render it probable that even where a belief in the reincarnation of ancestors either is not expressly attested or has long ceased to form part of the popular creed, many of the solemnities which attend the naming of children may have sprung originally from the widespread notion that the souls of the dead come to life again in their namesakes.[1399 - On the doctrine of the reincarnation of ancestors in their descendants see E. B. Tylor, Primitive Culture,

ii. 3-5, who observes with great probability that “among the lower races generally the renewal of old family names by giving them to new-born children may always be suspected of involving some such thought.” See further Totemism and Exogamy, iii. 297-299.]

Sometimes the names of the dead may be pronounced after their bodies have decayed. Arunta practice of chasing the ghost into the grave at the end of the period of mourning.

In some cases the period during which the name of the deceased may not be pronounced seems to bear a close relation to the time during which his mortal remains may be supposed still to hold together. Thus, of some Indian tribes on the north-west coast of America it is said that they may not speak the name of a dead person “until the bones are finally disposed of.”[1400 - H. H. Bancroft, Native Races of the Pacific States, i. 248.] Among the Narrinyeri of South Australia the name might not be uttered until the corpse had decayed.[1401 - G. Taplin, in Native Tribes of South Australia, p. 19.] In the Encounter Bay tribe of the same country the dead body is dried over a fire, packed up in mats, and carried about for several months among the scenes which had been familiar to the deceased in his life. Next it is placed on a platform of sticks and left there till it has completely decayed, whereupon the next of kin takes the skull and uses it as a drinking-cup. After that the name of the departed may be uttered without offence. Were it pronounced sooner his kinsmen would be deeply offended, and a war might be the result.[1402 - H. E. A. Meyer, in Native Tribes of South Australia, p. 199.] The rule that the name of the dead may not be spoken until his body has mouldered away seems to point to a belief that the spirit continues to exist only so long as the body does so, and that, when the material frame is dissolved, the spiritual part of the man perishes with it, or goes away, or at least becomes so feeble and incapable of mischief that his name may be bandied about with impunity.[1403 - Some of the Indians of Guiana bring food and drink to their dead so long as the flesh remains on the bones; when it has mouldered away, they conclude that the man himself has departed. See A. Biet, Voyage de la France équinoxiale en l'Isle de Cayenne (Paris, 1664), p. 392. The Alfoors or Toradjas of central Celebes believe that the souls of the dead cannot enter the spirit-land until all the flesh has been removed from their bones; till that has been done, the gods (lamoa) in the other world could not bear the stench of the corpse. Accordingly at a great festival the bodies of all who have died within a certain time are dug up and the decaying flesh scraped from the bones. See A. C. Kruijt, “Een en ander aangaande het geestelijk en maatschappelijk leven van den Poso-Alfoer,” Mededeelingen van wege het Nederlandsche Zendelinggenootschap, xxxix. (1895) pp. 26, 32 sqq.; id., “Het wezen van het Heidendom te Posso,” ibid. xlvii. (1903) p. 32. The Matacos Indians of the Gran Chaco believe that the soul of a dead man does not pass down into the nether world until his body is decomposed or burnt. See J. Pelleschi, Los Indios Matacos (Buenos Ayres, 1897), p. 102. These ideas perhaps explain the widespread custom of disinterring the dead after a certain time and disposing of their bones otherwise.] This view is to some extent confirmed by the practice of the Arunta tribe in central Australia. We have seen that among them no one may mention the name of the deceased during the period of mourning for fear of disturbing and annoying the ghost, who is believed to be walking about at large. Some of the relations of the dead man, it is true, such as his parents, elder brothers and sisters, paternal aunts, mother-in-law, and all his sons-in-law, whether actual or possible, are debarred all their lives from taking his name into their lips; but other people, including his wife, children, grandchildren, grandparents, younger brothers and sisters, and father-in-law, are free to name him so soon as he has ceased to walk the earth and hence to be dangerous. Some twelve or eighteen months after his death the people seem to think that the dead man has enjoyed his liberty long enough, and that it is time to confine his restless spirit within narrower bounds. Accordingly a grand battue or ghost-hunt brings the days of mourning to an end. The favourite haunt of the deceased is believed to be the burnt and deserted camp where he died. Here therefore on a certain day a band of men and women, the men armed with shields and spear-throwers, assemble and begin dancing round the charred and blackened remains of the camp, shouting and beating the air with their weapons and hands in order to drive away the lingering spirit from the spot he loves too well. When the dancing is over, the whole party proceed to the grave at a run, chasing the ghost before them. It is in vain that the unhappy ghost makes a last bid for freedom, and, breaking away from the beaters, doubles back towards the camp; the leader of the party is prepared for this manœuvre, and by making a long circuit adroitly cuts off the retreat of the fugitive. Finally, having run him to earth, they trample him down into the grave, dancing and stamping on the heaped-up soil, while with downward thrusts through the air they beat and force him under ground. There, lying in his narrow house, flattened and prostrate under a load of earth, the poor ghost sees his widow wearing the gay feathers of the ring-neck parrot in her hair, and he knows that the time of her mourning for him is over. The loud shouts of the men and women shew him that they are not to be frightened and bullied by him any more, and that he had better lie quiet. But he may still watch over his friends, and guard them from harm, and visit them in dreams.[1404 - Spencer and Gillen, Native Tribes of Central Australia, pp. 498-508.]

§ 4. Names of Kings and other Sacred Persons tabooed

The birth-names of kings kept secret or not pronounced.

When we see that in primitive society the names of mere commoners, whether alive or dead, are matters of such anxious care, we need not be surprised that great precautions should be taken to guard from harm the names of sacred kings and priests. Thus the name of the king of Dahomey is always kept secret, lest the knowledge of it should enable some evil-minded person to do him a mischief. The appellations by which the different kings of Dahomey have been known to Europeans are not their true names, but mere titles, or what the natives call “strong names” (nyi-sese). As a rule, these “strong names” are the first words of sentences descriptive of certain qualities. Thus Agaja, the name by which the fourth king of the dynasty was known, was part of a sentence meaning, “A spreading tree must be lopped before it can be cast into the fire”; and Tegbwesun, the name of the fifth king, formed the first word of a sentence which signified, “No one can take the cloth off the neck of a wild bull.” The natives seem to think that no harm comes of such titles being known, since they are not, like the birth-names, vitally connected with their owners.[1405 - A. B. Ellis, The Ewe-speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast, pp. 98 sq.] In the Galla kingdom of Ghera the birth-name of the sovereign may not be pronounced by a subject under pain of death, and common words which resemble it in sound are changed for others. Thus when a queen named Carre reigned over the kingdom, the word hara, which means smoke, was exchanged for unno; further, arre, “ass,” was replaced by culula; and gudare, “potato,” was dropped and loccio substituted for it.[1406 - A. Cecchi, Da Zeila alle frontiere del Caffa, ii. (Rome, 1885) p. 551.] Among the Bahima of central Africa, when the king dies, his name is abolished from the language, and if his name was that of an animal, a new appellation must be found for the creature at once. For example, the king is often called a lion; hence at the death of a king named Lion a new name for lions in general has to be coined.[1407 - Rev. J. Roscoe, “The Bahima,” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, xxxvii. (1907) p. 96.] Thus in the language of the Bahima the word for “lion” some years ago was mpologoma. But when a prominent chief of that name died, the word for lion was changed to kichunchu. Again, in the Bahima language the word for “nine” used to be mwenda, a word which occurs with the same meaning but dialectical variations in the languages of other tribes of central and eastern Africa. But when a chief who bore the name Mwenda died, the old name for “nine” had to be changed, and accordingly the word isaga has been substituted for it.[1408 - J. F. Cunningham, Uganda and its Peoples (London, 1905), pp. 14, 16.] In Siam it used to be difficult to ascertain the king's real name, since it was carefully kept secret from fear of sorcery; any one who mentioned it was clapped into gaol. The king might only be referred to under certain high-sounding titles, such as “the august,” “the perfect,” “the supreme,” “the great emperor,” “descendant of the angels,” and so on.[1409 - De la Loubere, Du royaume de Siam (Amsterdam, 1691), i. 306; Pallegoix, Royaume Thai ou Siam, i. 260.] In Burma it was accounted an impiety of the deepest dye to mention the name of the reigning sovereign; Burmese subjects, even when they were far from their country, could not be prevailed upon to do so;[1410 - J. S. Polack, Manners and Customs of the New Zealanders (London, 1840), ii. 127, note 43.] after his accession to the throne the king was known by his royal titles only.[1411 - A. Fytche, Burma Past and Present (London, 1878), i. 238.] The proper name of the Emperor of China may neither be pronounced nor written by any of his subjects.[1412 - J. Edkins, Religion in China

(London, 1878), p. 35.] Coreans were formerly forbidden, under severe penalties, to utter the king's name, which, indeed, was seldom known.[1413 - Ch. Dallet, Histoire de l'Église de Corée, i. p. xxiv.; Mrs. Bishop, Korea and her Neighbours (London, 1898), i. 48. The custom is now obsolete (G. N. Curzon, Problems of the Far East, Westminster, 1896, p. 155 note).] When a prince ascends the throne of Cambodia he ceases to be designated by his real name; and if that name happens to be a common word in the language, the word is often changed. Thus, for example, since the reign of King Ang Duong the word duong, which meant a small coin, has been replaced by dom.[1414 - E. Aymonier, Notice sur le Cambodge (Paris, 1875), p. 22; id., Le Cambodge, i. (Paris, 1900) p. 58.] In the island of Sunda it is taboo to utter any word which coincides with the name of a prince or chief.[1415 - K. F. Holle, “Snippers van den Regent van Galoeh,” Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal- Land- en Volkenkunde, xxvii. (1882) p. 101.] The name of the rajah of Bolang Mongondo, a district in the west of Celebes, is never mentioned except in case of urgent necessity, and even then his pardon must be asked repeatedly before the liberty is taken.[1416 - N. P. Wilken en J. A. Schwarz, “Allerlei over het land en volk van Bolaang Mongondou,” Mededeelingen van wege het Nederlandsche Zendelinggenootschap, xi. (1867) p. 356.] In the island of Sumba people do not mention the real name of a prince, but refer to him by the name of the first slave whom in his youth he became master of. This slave is regarded by the chief as his second self, and he enjoys practical impunity for any misdeeds he may commit.[1417 - S. Roos, “Bijdrage tot de Kennis van Taal, Land, en Volk op het eiland Soemba,” p. 70, Verhandelingen van het Bataviaasch Genootschap van Kunsten en Wetenschappen, xxxvi. Compare J. H. F. Kohlbrugge, “Naamgeving in Insulinde,” Bijdragen tot de Taal- Land- en Volkenkunde van Nederlandsche-Indië, ii. (1900) p. 173.]

The names of Zulu kings and chiefs may not be pronounced.

Among the Zulus no man will mention the name of the chief of his tribe or the names of the progenitors of the chief, so far as he can remember them; nor will he utter common words which coincide with or merely resemble in sound tabooed names. “As, for instance, the Zungu tribe say mata for manzi (water), and inkosta for tshanti (grass), and embigatdu for umkondo (assegai), and inyatugo for enhlela (path), because their present chief is Umfan-o inhlela, his father was Manzini, his grandfather Imkondo, and one before him Tshani.” In the tribe of the Dwandwes there was a chief called Langa, which means the sun; hence the name of the sun was changed from langa to gala, and so remains to this day, though Langa died more than a hundred years ago. Once more, in the Xnumayo tribe the word meaning “to herd cattle” was changed from alusa or ayusa to kagesa, because u-Mayusi was the name of the chief. Besides these taboos, which were observed by each tribe separately, all the Zulu tribes united in tabooing the name of the king who reigned over the whole nation. Hence, for example, when Panda was king of Zululand, the word for “a root of a tree,” which is impando, was changed to nxabo. Again, the word for “lies” or “slander” was altered from amacebo to amakwata, because amacebo contains a syllable of the name of the famous King Cetchwayo. These substitutions are not, however, carried so far by the men as by the women, who omit every sound even remotely resembling one that occurs in a tabooed name. At the king's kraal, indeed, it is sometimes difficult to understand the speech of the royal wives, as they treat in this fashion the names not only of the king and his forefathers, but even of his and their brothers back for generations. When to these tribal and national taboos we add those family taboos on the names of connexions by marriage which have been already described,[1418 - Above, pp. 335 (#x_19_i21)sq.] we can easily understand how it comes about that in Zululand every tribe has words peculiar to itself, and that the women have a considerable vocabulary of their own. Members, too, of one family may be debarred from using words employed by those of another. The women of one kraal, for instance, may call a hyaena by its ordinary name; those of the next may use the common substitute; while in a third the substitute may also be unlawful and another term may have to be invented to supply its place. Hence the Zulu language at the present day almost presents the appearance of being a double one; indeed, for multitudes of things it possesses three or four synonyms, which through the blending of tribes are known all over Zululand.[1419 - J. Shooter, The Kafirs of Natal and the Zulu Country, pp. 221 sq.; David Leslie, Among the Zulus and Amatongas

(Edinburgh, 1875), pp. 172-179; J. Macdonald, “Manners, Customs, Superstitions, and Religions of South African Tribes,” Journal of the Anthropological Institute, xx. (1891) p. 131. The account in the text is based mainly on Leslie's description, which is by far the fullest.]

The names of living kings and chiefs may not be pronounced in Madagascar.

In Madagascar a similar custom everywhere prevails and has resulted, as among the Zulus, in producing certain dialectic differences in the speech of the various tribes. There are no family names in Madagascar, and almost every personal name is drawn from the language of daily life and signifies some common object or action or quality, such as a bird, a beast, a tree, a plant, a colour, and so on. Now, whenever one of these common words forms the name or part of the name of the chief of the tribe, it becomes sacred and may no longer be used in its ordinary signification as the name of a tree, an insect, or what not. Hence a new name for the object must be invented to replace the one which has been discarded. Often the new name consists of a descriptive epithet or a periphrasis. Thus when the princess Rabodo became queen in 1863 she took the name of Rasoherina. Now soherina was the word for the silkworm moth, but having been assumed as the name of the sovereign it could no longer be applied to the insect, which ever since has been called zany-dandy, “offspring of silk.” So, again, if a chief had or took the name of an animal, say of the dog (amboa), and was known as Ramboa, the animal would henceforth be called by another name, probably a descriptive one, such as “the barker” (famovo) or “the driver away” (fandroaka), etc. In the western part of Imerina there was a chief called Andria-mamba; but mamba was one of the names of the crocodile, so the chiefs subjects might not call the reptile by that name and were always scrupulous to use another. It is easy to conceive what confusion and uncertainty may thus be introduced into a language when it is spoken by many little local tribes each ruled by a petty chief with his own sacred name. Yet there are tribes and people who submit to this tyranny of words as their fathers did before them from time immemorial. The inconvenient results of the custom are especially marked on the western coast of the island, where, on account of the large number of independent chieftains, the names of things, places, and rivers have suffered so many changes that confusion often arises, for when once common words have been banned by the chiefs the natives will not acknowledge to have ever known them in their old sense.[1420 - D. Tyerman and G. Bennet, Journal of Voyages and Travels (London, 1831), ii. 525 sq.; J. Sibree, The Great African Island (London, 1880), pp. 150 sq.; id., “Curiosities of Words connected with Royalty and Chieftainship,” Antananarivo Annual and Madagascar Magazine, No. xi. (Christmas, 1887) pp. 308 sq.; id., in Journal of the Anthropological Institute, xxi. (1887) pp. 226 sqq. On the custom of tabooing royal or chiefly names in Madagascar, see A. van Gennep, Tabou et totémisme à Madagascar (Paris, 1904), pp. 104 sqq.]

The names of dead kings and chiefs are also tabooed in Madagascar.

But it is not merely the names of living kings and chiefs which are tabooed in Madagascar; the names of dead sovereigns are equally under a ban, at least in some parts of the island. Thus among the Sakalavas, when a king has died, the nobles and people meet in council round the dead body and solemnly choose a new name by which the deceased monarch shall be henceforth known. The new name always begins with andrian, “lord,” and ends with arrivou, “thousand,” to signify that the late king ruled over a numerous nation. The body of the name is composed of an epithet or phrase descriptive of the deceased or of his reign. After the new name has been adopted, the old name by which the king was known during his life becomes sacred and may not be pronounced under pain of death. Further, words in the common language which bear any resemblance to the forbidden name also become sacred and have to be replaced by others. For example, after the death of King Makka the word laka, which meant a canoe, was abandoned and the word fiounrâma substituted for it. When Taoussi died, the word taoussi, signifying “beautiful,” was replaced by senga. For similar reasons the word ântétsi, “old,” was changed for matoué, which properly means “ripe”; the word voûssi, “castrated,” was dropped and manapaka, “cut,” adopted in its place; and the word for island (nossi) was changed into varioû, which signifies strictly “a place where there is rice.” Again, when a Sakalava king named Marentoetsa died, two words fell into disuse, namely, the word màry or màre meaning “true,” and the word toetsa meaning “condition.” Persons who uttered these forbidden words were looked on not only as grossly rude, but even as felons; they had committed a capital crime. However, these changes of vocabulary are confined to the district over which the deceased king reigned; in the neighbouring districts the old words continue to be employed in the old sense.[1421 - V. Noel, “Île de Madagascar, recherches sur les Sakkalava,” Bulletin de la Société de Géographie (Paris), IIme Série, xx. (1843) pp. 303-306. Compare A. Grandidier, “Les Rites funéraires chez les Malgaches,” Revue d'Ethnographie, v. (1886) p. 224; A. Walen, “The Sakalava,” Antananarivo Annual and Madagascar Magazine, vol. ii., Reprint of the Second Four Numbers (Antananarivo, 1896), p. 242; A. van Gennep, Tabou et totémisme à Madagascar, pp. 110 sq. Amongst the Sakalavas it is forbidden to mention the name of any dead person. See A. Voeltzkow, “Vom Morondava zum Mangoky, Reiseskizzen aus West-Madagascar,” Zeitschrift der Gesellschaft für Erdkunde zu Berlin, xxxi. (1896) p. 118.] Again, among the Bara, another tribe of Madagascar, “the memory of their deceased kings is held in the very highest respect; the name of such kings is considered sacred – too sacred indeed for utterance, and no one is allowed to pronounce it. To such a length is this absurdity carried that the name of any person or thing whatsoever, if it bear a resemblance to the name of the deceased king, is no longer used, but some other designation is given. For instance, there was a king named Andriamasoandro. After his decease the word masoandro was no longer employed as the name of the sun, but mahenika was substituted for it.”[1422 - R. Baron, “The Bara,” Antananarivo Annual and Madagascar Magazine, vol. ii., Reprint of the Second Four Numbers (Antananarivo, 1896), p. 83.] An eminent authority on Madagascar has observed: “A curious fact, which has had a very marked influence on the Malagasy language, is the custom of no longer pronouncing the name of a dead person nor even the words which resemble it in their conclusions. The name is replaced by another. King Ramitra, since his decease, has been called Mahatenatenarivou, 'the prince who has conquered a thousand foes,' and a Malagasy who should utter his old name would be regarded as the murderer of the prince, and would therefore be liable to the confiscation of his property, or even to the penalty of death. It is easy accordingly to understand how the Malagasy language, one in its origin, has been corrupted, and how it comes about that at the present day there are discrepancies between the various dialects. In Menabe, since the death of King Vinany, the word vilany, meaning a pot, has been replaced by fiketrehane, ‘cooking vessel,’ whereas the old word continues in use in the rest of Madagascar. These changes, it is true, hardly take place except for kings and great chiefs.”[1423 - A. Grandidier, “Madagascar,” Bulletin de la Société de Géographie (Paris), Vme Série, xvii. (1869) pp. 401 sq. The writer is here speaking specially of the Sakalavas, though his remarks appear to be of general application.]

The names of chiefs may not be pronounced in Polynesia.

The sanctity attributed to the persons of chiefs in Polynesia naturally extended also to their names, which on the primitive view are hardly separable from the personality of their owners. Hence in Polynesia we find the same systematic prohibition to utter the names of chiefs or of common words resembling them which we have already met with in Zululand and Madagascar. Thus in New Zealand the name of a chief is held so sacred that, when it happens to be a common word, it may not be used in the language, and another has to be found to replace it. For example, a chief to the southward of East Cape bore the name of Maripi, which signified a knife, hence a new word (nekra) for knife was introduced, and the old one became obsolete. Elsewhere the word for water (wai) had to be changed, because it chanced to be the name of the chief, and would have been desecrated by being applied to the vulgar fluid as well as to his sacred person. This taboo naturally produced a plentiful crop of synonyms in the Maori language, and travellers newly arrived in the country were sometimes puzzled at finding the same things called by quite different names in neighbouring tribes.[1424 - J. S. Polack, Manners and Customs of the New Zealanders, i. 37 sq., ii. 126 sq. Compare E. Tregear, “The Maoris of New Zealand,” Journal of the Anthropological Institute, xix. (1890) p. 123.] When a king comes to the throne in Tahiti, any words in the language that resemble his name in sound must be changed for others. In former times, if any man were so rash as to disregard this custom and to use the forbidden words, not only he but all his relations were immediately put to death.[1425 - Captain J. Cook, Voyages (London, 1809), vi. 155 (Third Voyage). Compare Captain James Wilson, Missionary Voyage to the Southern Pacific Ocean (London, 1799), p. 366; W. Ellis, Polynesian Researches,

iii. 101.] On the accession of King Otoo, which happened before Vancouver's visit to Tahiti, the proper names of all the chiefs were changed, as well as forty or fifty of the commonest words in the language, and every native was obliged to adopt the new terms, for any neglect to do so was punished with the greatest severity.[1426 - Vancouver, Voyage of Discovery to the North Pacific Ocean and round the World (London, 1798), i. 135.] When a certain king named Tu came to the throne of Tahiti the word tu, which means “to stand,” was changed to tia; fetu, “a star,” became fetia; tui, “to strike,” was turned into tiai, and so on. Sometimes, as in these instances, the new names were formed by merely changing or dropping some letter or letters of the original words; in other cases the substituted terms were entirely different words, whether chosen for their similarity of meaning though not of sound, or adopted from another dialect, or arbitrarily invented. But the changes thus introduced were only temporary; on the death of the king the new words fell into disuse, and the original ones were revived.[1427 - United States Exploring Expedition, Ethnography and Philology, by Horatio Hale (Philadelphia, 1846), pp. 288 sq.] Similarly in Samoa, when the name of a sacred chief was that of an animal or bird, the name of the animal or bird was at once changed for another, and the old one might never again be uttered in that chief's district. For example, a sacred Samoan chief was named Pe'a, which means “flying-fox.” Hence in his district a flying-fox was no longer called a flying-fox but a “bird of heaven” (manu langi).[1428 - G. Brown, D.D., Melanesians and Polynesians (London, 1910), p. 280.]

The names of the Eleusinian priests might not be uttered.

In ancient Greece the names of the priests and other high officials who had to do with the performances of the Eleusinian mysteries might not be uttered in their lifetime. To pronounce them was a legal offence. The pedant in Lucian tells how he fell in with these august personages hailing along to the police court a ribald fellow who had dared to name them, though well he knew that ever since their consecration it was unlawful to do so, because they had become anonymous, having lost their old names and acquired new and sacred titles.[1429 - Lucian, Lexiphanes, 10. The inscriptional and other evidence of this Greek superstition was first brought to the notice of anthropologists by Mr. W. R. Paton in an interesting article, “The Holy Names of the Eleusinian Priests,” International Folk-lore Congress, 1891, Papers and Transactions, pp. 202-214. Compare E. Maass, Orpheus (Munich, 1895), p. 70; Aug. Mommsen, Feste der Stadt Athen im Altertum (Leipsic, 1898), pp. 253-255; P. Foucart, Les Grands Mystères d'Eleusis (Paris, 1900), pp. 28-31. The two last writers shew that, contrary to what we might have expected, the custom appears not to have been very ancient.] From two inscriptions found at Eleusis it appears that the names of the priests were committed to the depths of the sea;[1430 - G. Kaibel, Epigrammata Graeca ex lapidibus conlecta, No. 863; Ἐφημερὶς ἀρχαιολογική, 1883, col. 79 sq. From the latter of these inscriptions we learn that the name might be made public after the priest's death. Further, a reference of Eunapius (Vitae sophistarum, p. 475 of the Didot edition) shews that the name was revealed to the initiated. In the essay cited in the preceding note Mr. W. R. Paton assumes that it was the new and sacred name which was kept secret and committed to the sea. The case is not clear, but both the evidence and the probability seem to me in favour of the view that it was rather the old everyday name of the priest or priestess which was put away at his or her consecration. If, as is not improbable, these sacred personages had to act the parts of gods and goddesses at the mysteries, it might well be deemed indecorous and even blasphemous to recall the vulgar names by which they had been known in the familiar intercourse of daily life. If our clergy, to suppose an analogous case, had to personate the most exalted beings of sacred history, it would surely be grossly irreverent to address them by their ordinary names during the performance of their solemn functions.] probably they were engraved on tablets of bronze or lead, which were then thrown into deep water in the Gulf of Salamis. The intention doubtless was to keep the names a profound secret; and how could that be done more surely than by sinking them in the sea? what human vision could spy them glimmering far down in the dim depths of the green water? A clearer illustration of the confusion between the incorporeal and the corporeal, between the name and its material embodiment, could hardly be found than in this practice of civilised Greece.

The old names of members of the Yewe order in Togo may not be uttered.

In Togo, a district of West Africa, a secret religious society flourishes under the name of the Yewe order. Both men and women are admitted to it. The teaching and practice of the order are lewd and licentious. Murderers and debtors join it for the sake of escaping from justice, for the members are not amenable to the laws. On being initiated every one receives a new name, and thenceforth his or her old name may never be mentioned by anybody under penalty of a heavy fine. Should the old name be uttered in a quarrel by an uninitiated person, the aggrieved party, who seems to be oftener a woman than a man, pretends to fall into a frenzy, and in this state rushes into the house of the offender, smashes his pots, destroys the grass roof, and tears down the fence. Then she runs away into the forest, where the simple people believe that she is changed into a leopard. In truth she slinks by night into the conventual buildings of the order, and is there secretly kept in comfort till the business is settled. At last she is publicly brought back by the society with great pomp, her body smeared with red earth and adorned with an artificial tail in order to make the ignorant think that she has really been turned into a leopard.[1431 - H. Seidel, “Der Yew'e Dienst im Togolande,” Zeitschrift für afrikanische und oceanische Sprachen, iii. (1897) pp. 161-173; H. Klose, Togo unter deutscher Flagge (Berlin, 1899), pp. 197-205. Compare Lieut. Herold, “Bericht betreffend religiöse Anschauungen und Gebräuche der deutschen Ewe-Neger,” Mittheilungen aus den deutschen Schutzgebieten, v. (1892) p. 146; J. Spieth, “Der Jehve Dienst der Evhe-Neger,” Mittheilungen der Geographischen Gesellschaft zu Jena, xii. (1893) pp. 83-88; C. Spiess, “Religionsbegriffe der Evheer in Westafrika,” Mittheilungen des Seminars für orientalische Sprachen zu Berlin, vi. (1903) Dritte Abtheilung, p. 126.]

The utterance of the names of gods and spirits is supposed to disturb the course of nature.

When the name is held to be a vital part of the person, it is natural to suppose that the mightier the person the more potent must be his name. Hence the names of supernatural beings, such as gods and spirits, are commonly believed to be endowed with marvellous virtues, and the mere utterance of them may work wonders and disturb the course of nature. The Warramunga of central Australia believe in a formidable but mythical snake called the Wollunqua, which lives in a pool. When they speak of it amongst themselves they designate it by another name, because they say that, were they to call the snake too often by its real name, they would lose control over the creature, and it would come out of the water and eat them all up.[1432 - Spencer and Gillen, Northern Tribes of Central Australia, p. 227.] For this reason, too, the sacred books of the Mongols, which narrate the miraculous deeds of the divinities, are allowed to be read only in spring or summer; because at other seasons the reading of them would bring on tempests or snow.[1433 - G. Timkowski, Travels of the Russian Mission through Mongolia to China (London, 1827), ii. 348.] When Mr. Campbell was travelling with some Bechuanas, he asked them one morning after breakfast to tell him some of their stories, but they informed him that were they to do so before sunset, the clouds would fall from the heavens upon their heads.[1434 - J. Campbell, Travels in South Africa, Second Journey (London, 1822), ii. 204 sq.] The Sulka of New Britain believe in a certain hostile spirit named Kot, to whose wrath they attribute earthquakes, thunder, and lightning. Among the things which provoke his vengeance is the telling of tales and legends by day; stories should be told only at evening or night.[1435 - P. Rascher, “Die Sulka, ein Beitrag zur Ethnographie Neu-Pommern,” Archiv für Anthropologie, xxix. (1904) p. 216. Compare R. Parkinson, Dreissig Jahre in der Südsee, p. 198.] Most of the rites of the Navajo Indians may be celebrated only in winter, when the thunder is silent and the rattlesnakes are hibernating. Were they to tell of their chief gods or narrate the myths of the days of old at any other time, the Indians believe that they would soon be killed by lightning or snake-bites. When Dr. Washington Matthews was in New Mexico, he often employed as his guide and informant a liberal-minded member of the tribe who had lived with Americans and Mexicans and seemed to be free from the superstitions of his fellows. “On one occasion,” says Dr. Matthews, “during the month of August, in the height of the rainy season, I had him in my study conversing with him. In an unguarded moment, on his part, I led him into a discussion about the gods of his people, and neither of us had noticed a heavy storm coming over the crest of the Zuñi mountains, close by. We were just talking of Estsanatlehi, the goddess of the west, when the house was shaken by a terrific peal of thunder. He rose at once, pale and evidently agitated, and, whispering hoarsely, ‘Wait till Christmas; they are angry,’ he hurried away. I have seen many such evidences of the deep influence of this superstition on them.”[1436 - Washington Matthews, “The Mountain Chant, a Navajo Ceremony,” Fifth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology (Washington, 1887), pp. 386 sq.] Among the Iroquois the rehearsal of tales of wonder formed the chief entertainment at the fireside in winter. But all the summer long, from the time when the trees began to bud in spring till the red leaves of autumn began to fall, these marvellous stories were hushed and historical traditions took their place.[1437 - L. H. Morgan, League of the Iroquois (Rochester, U.S., 1851), pp. 167 sq. The writer derives the prohibition to tell tales of wonder in summer “from a vague and indefinable dread.”] Other Indian tribes also will only tell their mythic tales in winter, when the snow lies like a pall on the ground, and lakes and rivers are covered with sheets of ice; for then the spirits underground cannot hear the stories in which their names are made free with by merry groups gathered round the fire.[1438 - H. R. Schoolcraft, Indian Tribes, iii. 314, 492.] The Yabims of German New Guinea tell their magical tales especially at the time when the yams have been gathered and are stored in the houses. Such tales are told at evening by the light of the fire to a circle of eager listeners, the narrative being broken from time to time with a song in which the hearers join. The telling of these stories is believed to promote the growth of the crops. Hence each tale ends with a wish that there may be many yams, that the taro may be big, the sugar-cane thick, and the bananas long.[1439 - K. Vetter, in Mittheilungen der Geographischen Gesellschaft zu Jena, xii. (1893) p. 95; id., Komm herüber und hilf uns! ii. (Barmen, 1898) p. 26; B. Hagen, Unter den Papuas (Wiesbaden, 1898), p. 270. On myths or magical tales told as spells to produce the effects which they describe, compare F. Kauffmann, Balder (Strasburg, 1902), pp. 299 sqq.; C. Fossey, La Magie assyrienne (Paris, 1902), pp. 95-97.]

Winter and summer names of the Kwakiutl Indians.

Among the Kwakiutl Indians of British Columbia the superstition about names has affected in a very curious way the social structure of the tribe. The nobles have two different sets of names, one for use in winter and the other in summer. Their winter names are those which were given them at initiation by their guardian spirits, and as these spirits appear to their devotees only in winter, the names which they bestowed on the Indians may not be pronounced in summer. Conversely the summer names may not be used in winter. The change from summer to winter names takes place from the moment when the spirits are supposed to be present, and it involves a complete transformation of the social system; for whereas during summer the people are grouped in clans, in winter they are grouped in societies, each society consisting of all persons who have been initiated by the same spirit and have received from him the same magical powers. Thus among these Indians the fundamental constitution of society changes with the seasons: in summer it is organised on a basis of kin, in winter on a basis of spiritual affinity: for one half the year it is civil, for the other half religious.[1440 - Fr. Boas, “The Social Organization and the Secret Societies of the Kwakiutl Indians,” Report of the U.S. National Museum for 1895, pp. 396, 418 sq., 503, 504. Compare Totemism and Exogamy, iii. 333 sq., 517 sq.]

§ 5. Names of Gods tabooed

Names of gods kept secret. How Isis discovered the name of Ra, the sun-god.

Primitive man creates his gods in his own image. Xenophanes remarked long ago that the complexion of negro gods was black and their noses flat; that Thracian gods were ruddy and blue-eyed; and that if horses, oxen, and lions only believed in gods and had hands wherewith to portray them, they would doubtless fashion their deities in the form of horses, and oxen, and lions.[1441 - Xenophanes, quoted by Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelii, xiii. 13, pp. 269 sq., ed. Heinichen, and by Clement of Alexandria, Strom. vii. 4, pp. 840 sq., ed. Potter; H. Diels, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker