Thursday 23 November 2017

Retrovirus - Hollywood Discredits The Meme



retrovirus was a biological particle that infects cells. It reproduced itself by converting its RNA to DNA and incorporating that code into its host cell's genome. The host cell then produced more copies of the retrovirus, possibly leading to its destruction.

Retroviruses could be used as a vector to introduce foreign genes into a cell. The Taresians used retroviruses to transform males from other species into Taresians for mating purposes. (VOY: "Favorite Son")

In late 2370, the Pakleds crossed theDemilitarized Zone to supply theCardassians with a shipment of retrovirus vaccines. (TNG: "Preemptive Strike")

In an illusory future (set in 2383),Beverly Crusher described Will Riker's memory loss as the result of Altarian encephalitis, a retrovirus. This later proved to be, seemingly, part of the Romulan equivalent of a holoprogram. (TNG: "Future Imperfect")

After a pair of Tarkaleans had been infected with Borg nanoprobes in 2153Phlox attempted to slow the devices' progress with a modified retrovirus, with no appreciable affect. (ENT: "Regeneration")

In 2375The Doctor's annual physicals found a nascent alien retrovirus "bouncing" between USS Voyager personnel on decks 10 and 11. He successfully halted its progress. (VOY: "Latent Image")


Mutagenic retrovirus

mutagenic retrovirus was a type of biogenic weapon, comprised of genetically engineered viruses. When used on a population, mutagenic retroviruses could cause millions of casualties in a short period of time.

In 2373, the Regent of Palamar purchased a quantity of mutagenic retrovirus from Hagath and Gaila's arms business for use against General Nassuc's homeworld

However, Quark, unwilling to have the deaths of 28 million people on his conscience, told them that their supplier had sold all his stock to the Minnobia for their war against the Vek. (DS9: "Business as Usual")

Mundus Cerialis


Mondas? 
But isn't that one of the ancient names of Earth? 


Apuleius "says, indeed, that the souls of men are demons, and that men become Lares if they are good, Lemures or Larvae if they are bad, and Manes if it is uncertain whether they deserve well or ill... He also states that the blessed are called in Greek εὐδαίμονες [eudaimones], because they are good souls, that is to say, good demons, confirming his opinion that the souls of men are demons."


— St. Augustine, 
City of God, 
Book IX, Chapter 11

"Of this we have a characteristic example in the ceremony of the aquaelicium, designed to produce rain after a long drought. In classical times the ceremony consisted in a procession headed by the pontifices, which bore the sacred rain-stone from its resting-place by the Porta Capena to the Capitol, where offerings were made to the sky-deity, Iuppiter, but from the analogy of other primitive cults and the sacred title of the stone (lapis manalis), it is practically certain that the original ritual was the purely imitative process of pouring water over the stone.


 Cyril Bailey(1907), The Religion of Ancient Rome

Mundus of Ceres

The mundus cerialis (literally "the world" of Ceres or Caereris mundus) was a hemispherical pit or underground vault in Rome. Its location is uncertain.

It was usually sealed by a stone lid known as the lapis manalis.

On August 24, October 5 and November 8, it was opened with the official announcement "mundus patet" ("the mundus is open"), and offerings were made there to agricultural or underworld deities, including Ceres as goddess of the fruitful earth and guardian of its underworld portals. Its opening offered the spirits of the dead temporary leave from the underworld, to roam lawfully among the living, in what Warde Fowler describes as ‘holidays, so to speak, for the ghosts’.

The days when the mundus was open were among the very few occasions that Romans made official contact with the collective spirits of the dead, the Di Manes (the others being Parentalia and Lemuralia). This secondary or late function of the mundus is attested no earlier than the Late Republican Era, by Varro.[36] The jurist Cato understood the mundus' shape as a reflection or inversion of the dome of the upper heavens.[37]

Roman tradition held that the mundus had been dug and sealed by Romulus as part of Rome's foundation; Plutarch compares it to pits dug by Etruscan colonists, containing soil brought from their parent city, used to dedicate the first fruits of the harvest.[38] Warde Fowler speculates the mundus as Rome's first storehouse (penus) for seed-grain, later becoming the symbolic penus of the Roman state.[39] In the oldest known Roman calendar, the days of the mundus are marked as C(omitiales) (days when the Comitia met). Later authors mark them as dies religiosus (when no official meetings could be held). Some modern scholars seek to explain this as the later introduction and accommodation of Greek elements, grafted onto the original mundus rites.[40] The rites of August 24 were held between the agricultural festivals of Consualia and Opiconsivia; those of October 5 followed the Ieiunium Cereris, and those of November 8 took place during the Plebeian Games As a whole, the various days of the mundus suggest rites to Ceres as the guardian deity of seed-corn in the establishment of cities, and in her function as a door-warden of the afterlife, which was co-ruled during the winter months by her daughter Proserpina, queen-companion to Dis.

Lapis Manalis

This is the term for "Stone of the Underworld," or of the dead, a sacred stone that covers the pit of the manes on the Palatine Hill in Rome. During the annual festival of Mania, the Ancestral Moon-mother, the stone was removed and her children the manes or ghosts-of-ancestors were invited to join the feast. Occasionally the festival was called Parentalia, since it was believed the ghosts of the underworld were synonymous with the di parentes or "parent-gods" from past ages.

In Northern Europe similar festivals were held at Halloween or Samhhain (see Sabbats), when ancestral ghosts were invited. A.G.H.



MUNDUS PATET. 
24TH AUGUST, 5TH OCTOBER, 8TH NOVEMBER. 
By W. WARDE FOWLER, M.A. D. Litt.

The mundus of Rome was believed to be a hole or underground pit or vault on the Palatine. It was said to be closed by a stone called the lapis manalis, which same name, oddly enough, is also given to an entirely different kind of stone, with which the pontifices occasionally worked some sort of magic in a drought.1 Plutarch, in the chapter in which he describes the foundation of Rome,2 says that the mundus, like the process of marking out a city, was of Etruscan origin; that firstfruits of all kinds were thrown into the pit, and that each new settler brought a bit of earth from his own country and cast it into the pit; he places the pit in the Comitium instead of the Palatine, but notes the word mundus as applied to it there, and the identity of this word with that for the heaven or universe.

Plutarch says nothing of another notion, namely that on three days in the year, those noted above, the lapis was removed to give egress to the denizens of the underworld. This we learn from Varro, quoted by Macrobius: "mundus cum patet, deorum tristium atque inferum quasi ianua patet."3 So too Ateius Capito quoted by Festus:4 "Mundus ter in anno patere solet, diebus his: postridie Volcanalia (et a.d. III non. Oct.) et ante diem VI id. Nov. Qui quid ita dicatur sic refert Cato in commentariis iuris civilis: Mundo nomen impositum est ab eo mundo qui supra nos est . . . Eius inferiorem partem veluti consecratam dis manibus clausam omni tempore nisi his diebus qui supra scripti sunt maiores (censuerunt habendam), quos dies etiam religiosos iudicauerunt." Here it is necessary to note that the only words of Cato are those in italics:5 there are other words of his following these, to which I shall refer directly, but Cato had nothing to say of the lapis manalis and the ghosts, so far at least as we know: for these ideas Varro is our oldest authority, followed by Ateius Capito in the age of Augustus.

Since I wrote my book on the Roman Festivals I have often wondered why these three days, 24th August, 5th October, 8th  p26 November were selected as holidays, so to speak, for the ghosts. If the old Romans really believed in their return to the upper world on those days, the days must have had some special importance in connexion with ghost-life; but no one, so far as I know, has ever yet discovered what this importance is. The days fixed in the old Calendar of Numa as those on which ghosts would be roaming about in apparent freedom, and on which they might be expelled from the house by the paterfamilias, were 9th, 11th, and 13th May (Lemuria), and the more civilised festival of the dead was in February (Parentalia). Why should three other days be allowed them for freedom in late summer and autumn?

In the book just referred to,6 taking a hint from O. Müller's Etrusker, I suggested that the ghostly function of the mundus was an accretion, perhaps or probably of Graeco-Etruscan origin, on a very simple original fact. The pit might be the penus of the new city, i.e. the underground storing-place for the grain: and thus we can understand why it should be open on a day (24th August) which follows the Consualia, a festival which almost beyond doubt has reference to harvesting, and immediately precedes the Opiconsivia, which almost as certainly represents the storage of the grain as completed.7 "Nor is it difficult to understand why, when the original use and meaning had vanished, the Graeco-Etruscan doctrine of the underworld should be engrafted on this simple Roman stem. Dis and Proserpina (Greek deities) claim the mundus: it is ianua Orci, faux Plutonis, fancies familiar to Romans who had come under the spell of Greek and Etruscan religious beliefs."

Quite lately I have been able to develop this suggestion a little further. I think, unless I am under a delusion, that I can explain not only 24th August, but with some little probability, also 5th October and 8th November as days on which we might expect the mundus to be open, not for the egress of ghosts, but for a very practical purpose of the farmer. I conjecture that it was the place in which was stored, not, or not only, the grain of the last harvest which would be needed for food, and for which the storehouse (penus) would need to be frequently opened in the old farmhouse, but the place of safety in which the seed-cornº was stored. This was a sacred treasure almost more precious than the grain destined immediately for food: and it must be housed securely and hidden most carefully from enemies of all kinds.

The mundus as Cato describes it, though on the Palatine in his day it would be only a symbolic survival from the original storing-place, seems to me strongly to suggest a use for human beings as well as ghosts. "Mundo nomen impositum est ab eo mundo qui  p27 supra nos est: forma enim eius est, ut ex his qui intravere cognoscere potui."8 The mundus then was a place into which a man might descend: we may imagine it as a kind of cellar with an opening in the centre of its roof, which was closed, except on the three days, by a stone, after the fashion of a trap-door. On the top of this there was no doubt a covering of earth, for the sake of concealment, an obvious safeguard which seems to be reflected in the descriptions both of Plutarch and Ovid.9 The poet wrote:

Fossa fit ad solidum. Fruges iaciuntur in ima
et de vicino terra petita solo.
Fossa repletur homo. . . .
But I must now go on to explain my justification for this very matter-of‑fact conjecture.

In August the opening of the mundus took place the day before the Opiconsivia, i.e. the 24th; and in the latter festival it is pretty well agreed that we should see a representation of the completed storage of the corn of the recent harvest. My conjecture is that on the previous day the seed-corn for the autumn sowing was separated from the rest of the grain, and deposited in an underground storing-place, for the security that was absolutely essential for the existence of the community. Varro tells us that in his time the finest ears were separated on the threshing-floor from the rest of the corn, in order that the semen (seed-corn) might be as good as possible.10 As a rule the corn seems to have been threshed as soon as it was brought home from the field: Varro and Columella imply this,11 though they do not state it in so many words; and in primitive times, when your enemy might at any moment make a raid on you, this would be desirable in order to secure the precious treasure as quickly as possible. We know nothing from literary sources of the place of storage, but I venture to think that not only the curious underground altar of Consus, opened at the Consualia on the 21st, but also the opening of the mundus on the 24th, suggest the method that would obviously be the safest, that of concealing the treasure underground.12

It is of course possible that both the grain for food and the seed-corn were deposited in the same place. But apart from the extra security which two storing-places would give to the farmer,  p28 I think that the dates of the other two openings of the mundus may suggest that it was the receptacle of the seed-corn only.

The oldest kind of grain used for food in Italy was that rough kind of wheat called far, which in historical times was used in the city only for religious purposes. But in some districts it was still grown, and Pliny tells us that the sowing went on through the month of October.13 A date as early as the fifth, in the practice of the later people of the city, would suit well enough for the opening of the storing-place for the purpose of taking out the necessarily amount of grain for sowing. But the third of the days of opening, November 8th, bears more remarkable testimony to their original meaning. All readers of Virgil will remember that in his first Georgic (219, ff.) he urges the postponement of the sowing of wheat (triticum) till after the setting of the Pleiads; and in this he is borne out by Columella.14 No doubt Virgil represents the traditional practice of the Italian farmer. Now the apparent or cosmical setting of the Pleiades, i.e. that which alone can have been known to the husbandman throughout early Roman history, seems to have taken place on or about 9th November; different ancient authorities give different days, but all at the beginning of November, and the writer of the article Astronomia in the Dict. of Antiquities fixes the actual day of apparent setting as the 9th.15 That the opening of the mundus should have taken place on the 8th is thus a striking fact, and strongly suggests that the seed-corn of the better wheat crops, as distinct from the more ancient far, was at this time being taken out of the mundus for the November sowing.

Now supposing that our hypothesis is a reasonable one, and that the mundus was originally a receptacle for seed-corn, how are we to account for the accretion on this simple and useful practice of the doctrine of the mundus as faux Plutonis, ostium Orci and so on, and of the liberation of the ghosts when the stone trapdoor was removed?

In the first place, there is no difficulty in attributing a religious character with taboos such as Varro mentions16 to  p29 such receptacles of the means of man's subsistence: that is sufficiently well shown by the sacred character of the store-chamber of the house, which produced in time its own spirits or deities, the Penates: and the underground altar of Consus points in the same direction. Prof. Deubner has lately shown17 that there are two main periods in early Roman religious thought, when deities and a theology are only in the making, if as far advanced as that. To this older stratum belongs the original use of the mundus as I explain it. No deity is here concerned, unless it be the Ops Consiva of the day following that of the opening of the mundus in August, and that deity is plainly no more than the store itself with its religious character beginning to take tangible shape in a worship.

Upon this older stratum of religious ideas there lies what we can only suppose to be a later stratum deposited by another race, in which the idea of existence after death in an underworld was more important than the practical ideas of the pure agriculturist. Such a race was the Etruscan. In a valuable summary of our present knowledge of Mediterranean burial, kindly sent me by the author, Prof. von Duhn, he attributes a somewhat grossly material idea of the dead alike to the oldest population of Italy, and to the Etruscans, both of which races buried their dead and supplied them with such objects as they were supposed to need, in contrast to the true Italic peoples (Sabines excepted) who used cremation, and show signs of being the ancestors of those who developed the orderly, sensible ritual of the Parentalia. The conjecture in my recent volume18 that the notion of an underworld and its horrors was Etruscan, but resting on a substructure of much more primitive belief, is not so wild as I feared at one time that it might be.

Exactly how the new way of looking at the simple old practice came about it is impossible to say; but each of us can make some kind of a guess for himself if he pleases. My own guess is that the primitive storing pit was transferred from the farm or the pagus to the newly founded city, and the three days of opening were retained and fixed; that in due time its original meaning was lost, owing to the city ceasing to be a practical centre of agricultural operations; and that as this cessation happened about the same time as the Etruscan dominion in Rome, the mundus took on a new meaning connected with the Etruscan ideas of a nether world.19 The stone, of which we are told on a single authority that it was called lapis manalis, the same name as that of the stone of Jupiter  p30 Elicius, took on the name of that other stone through a misinterpretation of the word manalis, which was wrongly supposed to mean "belonging to the Manes."20

Now I may reasonably be asked why, if I make so much of the seed-corn and its place of deposit, we do not find more distinct traces of the importance of these among other peoples, Mediterranean or other. My answer is that I do so find them, though they seem to me to have lain unnoticed since Mannhardt developed his theory of the corn-spirit. For the animistic period that theory undoubtedly holds good, and has been confirmed by the immense mass of additional evidence brought together by Dr. Frazer in his Golden Bough, but I have for some time felt that there is a yet more primitive way of looking at the mystery of the renewal of vegetation; and in many of the examples of the familiar forms of the corn-spirit I am inclined to see traces of the sacred character of the seed-corn itself, and of the place in which it was stored. My friend Dr. Frazer has most kindly pointed me out a number of such unindexed examples in the second volume of the Golden Bough (ed. 2), though without expressing definite approval of my views on this subject; but in order to weigh the matter thoroughly, it is advisable to read the whole of chapter iii in that volume, as well as to let the mind dwell on isolated instances.

I think I see signs that the last sheaf of the harvest, which in innumerable instances is treated with reverence or made into human form, may represent the precious seed-corn set aside at the time of threshing. A good example is taken by Dr. Frazer from Mannhardt.21 At Westerhüsen in Saxony the last corn cut is made into the shape of a woman, brought to the threshing-floor, and kept there till the threshing is done.22 Just below on the same page we have an example from Tarnow, Galicia, in which the last corn cut is made into a wreath and called the wheat-mother, etc.  p31 and kept till spring, when some of the grain is mixed with the seed-corn. The last sheaf is often longer and heavier than the rest, and this Dr. Frazer explains (p176) as a charm, working by sympathetic magic, to ensure a large and heavy crop in the following harvest. Is it not rather a survival of the selection of the finest ears to use as seed-corn? For it seems that this last sheaf is often taken from that part of the field where the corn is finest: examples of this practice will be found on p184 (from Kent), on p189 (Scotland), p193 (ancient Peru), a passage to which I will return directly, and p195 (ancient Mexico); p200 (Malay peninsula) and in Sumatra (p198), the best grains of rice are picked out to form the rice-mother, and are sown in the middle of the bed, with the common seed planted round them. When the time comes to transplant the rice from the nursery to the field, the rice-mother receives a special place either in the middle or in a corner of the field, and is planted with a prayer or charm.

Further, this last sheaf of fine grain is sometimes deposited in a special place, and even in an underground cavity or cellar, like the firstfruits which Plutarch tells us were deposited in the Roman mundus, a practice which I take to be the forerunner of those numberless instances in which the last sheaf or some puppet representing it, is kept stuck up on the farmhouse during the winter. The great care taken of the maiden, as this puppet, garland, or sheaf, is so often called, would be a survival of the care originally taken of the precious seed-corn. A good example of storage in a special granary occurs on p193 (G.B. vol. II), from ancient Peru, described by the historian Acosta: a portion of the most fruitful of the maize is thus deposited with religious ceremony. So in G.B. II, 459, a little hollow filled with grain is left on the threshing-floor, according to Frazer (or his informant Casalis), as a thankoffering to the gods. Is this explanation the right one? Again (p194), in Mexico the priests, with the nobles and the people, went in procession to the maize fields, where they picked out the largest and finest sheaf, brought it home, and laid it upon an altar. "After sacrificing to the harvest-god, the priests carefully wrapped it in fine linen and kept it till seed-time. Then it was carried once more to the field from which it had been taken, and deposited in a subterranean chamber, which was closed and covered over with earth. Then followed the sowing, after sacrifice had been made for an abundant harvest; and finally, when the time of harvest drew near, the buried sheaf was solemnly disinterred by the priests, who distributed the grain to all who asked for it." This I take to be an animistic and magical development of the simple practice of storing the seed-corn. One more example: in Java (pp201‑2), two garlands are made of ears of rice, and called the rice-bride and rice-bridegroom, whose wedding is celebrated just before harvest. "Later on, when  p32 the rice is being got in, a bridal chamber is partitioned off in the barn, furnished with a new mat, a lamp, and all kinds of toilet articles. Sheaves of rice, to represent the wedding guests, are placed beside the bride and bridegroom. Not till this has been done may the whole harvest be housed in the barn. And for the first forty days after the rice has been housed, no one may enter the barn, for fear of disturbing the newly-married pair."23 I read this to mean that the sheaves here called wedding guests were really those reserved for seed-corn, only after which reservation the housing of the general harvest could begin.

Lastly, I will just allude to a feature analogous to some of those just noticed, in the ritual of Demeter and Persephone at the Thesmophoria. Miss Harrison has described this and commented on it in her Prolegomena to the study of Greek Religion, chapter iv, translating a valuable passage from the scholiast on Lucian, Dial. Meretr. ii, 1. "At some time not specified" (so she sums up our information), "but during the Thesmophoria, women carefully purified for the purpose let down pigs into clefts or chasms called megara or chambers. At some other time not precisely specified they descended into the megara, brought up the rotten flesh and placed it on certain altars, whence it was taken and mixed with seed to serve as a fertility charm. As the first day of the festival was called Kathodos and Anodos it seems likely that the women went down and came up on the same day." This account is curiously confirmed by a discovery of Sir Charles Newton at Cnidus, quoted by Miss Harrison on p125. There, in the sanctuary of Demeter, he found a crypt which had originally been circular, though later compressed by an earthquake, in which were bones of pigs and other animals, and the marble pigs which now stand near Demeter of Cnidos in the British Museum. This crypt seems to remind us of the mundus, and so perhaps do the megara described by the scholiast.24 We do not know what the mundus contained, though the description of it given by Cato25 strongly suggests that it contained something, or was originally meant to do so. But the crypt at Cnidus, and the megara of Demeter, contained pigs, which in Greece were the special victims of the deities of earth and fertility, and these were used as a charm, mixed with the seed-corn, to obtain good crops. All this belongs, however, to an age of religion and fully developed deities; and I would here  p33 again suggest that behind it there lies the simple custom of storing the seed-corn for safety in a subterranean crypt. The seed and the crypt are both holy, as we might expect, and as we gather from the fact that women alone, and fully purified, were allowed to descend into the crypt and bring up the necessary supply of seed. It is not without interest to note that the Thesmophoria, when this took place, is in autumn (11th Pyanepsion), and presumably about the time of the autumn sowing.

Dr. Farnell's more elaborate and judicious account26 of the Thesmophoria and kindred festivals of Demeter and Persephone has also many points of interest in connexion with my subject, and I think it may be worth suggesting that experts in Greek religious usages should see whether my theory has any bearing on doubtful points. I note with interest his reference to a fragment of Anacreon27 in support of the possibility that one early (and lost) meaning of θεσμός was θησαυρός. Is it remotely possible that the objects carried at that festival, as indicated by its name, were baskets of seed for sowing? Dr. Farnell tells us that Triptolemus was believed to have distributed the seed for this purpose.28 As so many strange explanations of this mysterious word have been suggested,29 I need hardly fear to suggest yet another. Dr. Frazer30 has hazarded the conjecture that the sacra were called θεσμός because they were the things laid down, or as I would add, put into a thesauros. I only go a step further and suggest that these sacra were originally portions of seed-corn: for the Thesmophoria was a late autumn festival and clearly connected with sowing.

In conclusion, all I have been doing in this paper is to turn over a stone to see if there is by any chance anything there. I am not at all sure that there is anything there really worth picking up; the explanation of the three days may lie somewhere else, and I do not forget that the beginning of November is a great time for ghosts in many parts of the world, a fact which is reflected in the Christian calendar. Or there may be some mysterious connexion between firstfruits and seed-corn, and between both of them and the dead, which has not yet been entirely fathomed. I hope I may be allowed to hazard a hypothesis without doing anyone any serious harm.

The Author's Notes:

1 See my Roman Festivals, 132.



2 Romulus, 11.



3 Macrobius I.16.18. He adds evidence that the days were religiosi: an army might not give battle, nor any military operation of importance be performed; nor might a marriage take place.



4 Festus, 154. Paulus, 156, gives the dates, which are mutilated in Festus, 142.



5 See the fragment in H. Jordan's Catonis Libri Deperditi, 84, with his note.



6 P211. Cf. Müller-Deecke, Etrusker, ii, 100.



7 See Wissowa, Relig. und Kultus der Römer, 168 (ed. 2, p203).



8 Potui is Scaliger's emendation for potuit of the codex.



9 Fasti, IV.821; cf. Plutarch, Rom. 11.



10 Varro, R. R. I.52, init. Quae seges grandissima atque optima fuerit, seorsum in aream secerni oportet spicas, ut semen optimum habeat (i.e. the farmer). Cf. Pliny, XVIII.195; Columella, II.9.11; and also Virgil, Georg. I.197, who says that the farmer must pick out the largest by hand, or they will degenerate in the keeping.



11 Varro, R. R. I.50, 51 and the beginning of 52 already quoted. When the corn has been reaped, it must be brought to the area (threshing-floor, which Varro then describes in c51: then, returning to the crop, he urges the separation of the seed-corn from the rest. The same is clearly implied in Columella, II.21.



12 See Mommsen's note in CIL I, ed. 2, p326, followed by Wissowa Rel. und Kult. 167 (ed. 2, p201). As from 5 to 10 modii of various kinds of seed were needed for each iugerum, a fairly roomy receptacle would be necessary.



13 Plin. H. N. XVIII.205: cf. Varro, I.34.



14 "Ante tibi Eoae Atlantides abscondantur, Gnosiaque ardentis decedat stella Coronae, Debita quam sulcis committas semina quamque Invitae properes anni spem credere terrae." Varro, I.34, rather vaguely describes sowing as extending from the equinox to the bruma; but Columella, II.8, quotes and supports Virgil: only in this passage he seems to be thinking of the true morning setting of the Pleiades, i.e. 24th October, though in other places he obviously alludes to the apparent setting. See Dict. of Antiquities, s.v. Astronomia, p227.



15 Dict. of Antiquities, loc. cit. "The true morning setting was at Rome at that epoch on 29th October, the apparent morning setting on 9th November." This date has been confirmed for the time of the Roman kings by Dr. Fotheringham, who most kindly made elaborate calculations for me. He sums them up thus in a letter: "Anyhow, you will see that the date given in the Dict. of Antiquities (9th November) appears to apply excellently to the time of the kings. It does not seem to apply so well to the time of Julius Caesar, to which it was intended (in the dictionary) to refer." In a later letter he wrote: "As the Roman 8th November did not occupy a fixed place in the natural year before the time of Julius Caesar, I presume that a general and not an exact coincidence with the cosmical setting of the Pleiades is all that is required."



16 Macrobius, I.16.18.



17 In Neue Jahrbücher für das klassische Altertum, 1911, p323.



18 The Religious experience of the Roman people, 391, ff.



19 The best account of the word mundus known to me is in Nettleship's Contributions to Latin Lexicography, p528. I have abstained from invoking the aid of etymology; but if Nettleship is right, the word may be developed from a root mu, meaning to enclose, or fence round. In regard to an Etruscan origin of a similar word see Müller-Deecke, Die Etrusker, ii, 100, n65a.



20 cf. Paulus, 128. In case the contrast between the original Latin meaning of the mundus and that here assumed to have been superimposed, should astonish any one, let me refer him to the remarks of Dr. J. B. Carter in Hastings' Dict. of Religion and Ethics, i, 464. He points out that the Romans do not seem to have been much interested in the lower world, and that every bit of description of it comes from writers under Greek influence, and all the details are identical with those of the Greeks. Hence it is probable that the Roman lower world was not mythologically adorned till Greeks (and Etruscans) did it for them. As we have seen, the idea of a stone covering the abode of the dead, the removal of which gave egress to the ghosts, is found only in Festus, 154, and nowhere alluded to in Roman literature. It has been compared to the Dillestein of German mythology (Preller-Jordan, ii, 67), but a perusal of the description of that mysterious stone in Grimm's Deutsche Mythologie, ii, 806 (Engl. trans.) makes it clear to me that there is nothing in common between the two. The Dillestein was a ceiling or grating of the underworld, lying at the bottom of our earth. I may add to this note a few words of Dr. Frazer's, contained in a letter to me: "The ancient explanation of the mundus is perhaps not wholly irreconcileable with your theory. For observe that the spirits of the dead are often supposed to watch over or further the growth of the crops: that is why the firstfruits are often presented to them. For examples see the Golden Bough (ed. 2), ii, 459, seq." On the connexion at Rome between Tellus Mater, the dead, and the crops, see my Religious experience of the Roman people, 121, 138; cf. Dieterich, Mutter Erde cap. iv.



21 Golden Bough, ii, 172.



22 i.e. it is kept separate, as intended for seed-corn. Cf. Mannhardt, Mythologische Forschungen 334, translated in G.B. p181.



23 Does this mean that the first use of the grain for sowing occurred forty days after it was thus deposited? It is curious that the time between the Opiconsivia on 25th August, and the first opening of the mundus on 5th October, is almost exactly forty days, a coincidence which I do not in the least wish to emphasise, but the number forty has often a religious significance.



24 In his Modern Greek Folklore and Ancient Greek Religion, Mr. J. C. Lawson has some interesting remarks about the beehive structures at Mycenae, suggesting that they may have possibly been megara, "temples of Chthonian deities such as Demeter": see p94, ff.



25 Apud Fest. 154.



26 Cults, iii, 105, ff.



27 Bergk, Poet. Lyr. iii, 271.



28 Cults, iii, 184.



29 See e.g. Miss Harrison's Prolegomena, pp137 and 143.




30 See Miss Harrison, op. cit. 137.

The Man Who Makes People Better




I cross The Void beyond The Mind
The empty space that circles Time
I see where others stumble blind
To seek a Truth they never find
Eternal wisdom is my guide

I am The Doctor

Through cosmic wastes, the TARDIS flies
To taste the secret Source of Life
A presence Science can't deny exists
Within, Outside, Behind
The latitude of The Human Mind

I am The Doctor

My voyage dissects the course of Time
"Who knows?," you say
That I am right
Who searches deep to find The Light
That glows so darkly in The Night
Toward that point I guide my flight

As fingers move to end mankind
Metallic teeth begin their grind
With Sword of Truth I turn to fight
The satanic powers of The Night

Is your fate before your mind..?




Know me :
Am I - The Doctor..?


Tuesday 21 November 2017

Offending The Goddess



“What did you do to offend this Goddess of yours, anyway?’

‘Well. . . ’ Danny took a deep breath. ‘If you’re gonna go away anyway, you might as well go thinking badly of me.’

‘I won’t think badly of you.’

‘You will. There was this girl, mate of a mate. Met her at a club. 

This is when I was still looking for something to be, in my rocker gear. I was really young.’

‘When?’

‘Last year. We got pissed, ’cos I drank then, and she told me that she’d been raped. Long time back. Didn’t know the guy. 

Before that, I’d kind of been thinking that maybe, well, yeah, but that stopped me from thinking that. 

We went back to her place, and spent a few hours talking about stuff and listening to Lou Reed. I was well out of it, but I knew what was going on, I wasn’t totally gone. 

For some reason, I took her hand, and kissed it, and tried what I thought was gonna be the ideal bloody seduction number on somebody who’d been raped. 

I told her that she had every choice, that everything was up to her. 



And she just froze. She went out, told me she wanted to go to the loo, fetched a couple of her flatmates, who came in and sat with us. 

I felt like a worm. 

I left, and thought about it a bit, and then went back and knocked on her door again, wanting to explain, wanting to get back to that great evening of talking and stuff. 

There was also this element of realizing what I’d done, what it’d sound like to other people. I wanted to establish my own version of The Truth.



She called the coppers. Don’t blame her. I got taken to the nick, and would have been up on something, ’cept she didn’t want to press charges. 

The bloke who’d introduced us saw her a few days later, and she said that she’d just felt unable to tell me to piss off, that she’d felt that rabbit in the middle of the road feeling that you get, I suppose, when you’ve been through that. I wrote her a letter, trying to say that I really liked her, and that I didn’t go back to her place thinking about sex. 

Shouldn’t even have written the letter. 

Well, after that, I couldn’t go to the same clubs, couldn’t hang out with the same mates.’

‘Couldn’t?’

‘She didn’t want to see me. I didn’t want to limit what she could do. Everything changed. So that’s what I’ve done. My expertise lies in the field of human betrayal.’


Ace put her hand on his shoulder. ‘I –’

He shrugged it off. ‘I didn’t ask. 

Feel sorry for her. 
You feel sorry for me, it means you don’t understand how bad she felt. 
I’m The Villain, okay? Me.

“If you want to be The Villain, that’s all right.’

‘Good.’


‘But we all want to be The Hero, right? You know we all want to be The One Who Saves The Day?’

‘Yeah. I know just where I am.’

‘Do you often dream about it?’

‘Yeah. Often.’

‘And is that woman in the dreams?’

‘The one with the hair and the eyes? No. I dunno what Freud would have said, do you? Dirty old man. 

You and me, we had the same dream. . . I still can’t believe that.”

“I met her. She’s trapped. Just like you are.

‘Yeah? That’s probably my fault too. I probably tied her down.’ 

Danny sighed, throwing a chunk of brick into the river. ‘So where are you going, then?’

‘Where The Traitors live,’ Ace told him. ‘Where it’s dark.”

Excerpt From “No Future” by Paul Cornell


REBIRTH AND TRANSMIGRATION


CHAPTER XXIII.

REBIRTH AND TRANSMIGRATION.

IN Irish sagas, rebirth is asserted only of divinities or heroes, and, probably because this belief was obnoxious to Christian scribes, while some MSS. tell of it in the case of certain heroic personages, in others these same heroes are said to have been born naturally. There is no textual evidence that it was attributed to ordinary mortals, and it is possible that, if classical observers did not misunderstand the Celtic doctrine of the future life, their references to rebirth may be based on mythical tales regarding gods or heroes. We shall study these tales as they are found in Irish texts.

In the mythological cycle, as has been seen, Etain, in insect form, fell into a cup of wine. She was swallowed by Etar, and in due time was reborn as a child, who was eventually married by Eochaid Airem, but recognized and carried off by her divine spouse Mider. Etain, however, had quite forgotten her former existence as a goddess. 1

In one version of Cúchulainn's birth story Dechtire and her women fly away as birds, but are discovered at last by her brother Conchobar in a strange house, where Dechtire gives birth to a child, of whom the god Lug is apparently the father. In another version the birds are not Dechtire and her women, for she accompanies Conchobar as his charioteer. They arrive at the house, the mistress of

p. 349

which gives birth to a child, which Dechtire brings up. It dies, and on her return from the burial Dechtire swallows a small animal when drinking. Lug appears to her by night, and tells her that he was the child, and that now she was with child by him (i.e. he was the animal swallowed by her). When he was born he would be called Setanta, who was later named Cúchulainn. Cúchulainn, in this version, is thus a rebirth of Lug, as well as his father. 1

In the Tale of the Two Swineherds, Friuch and Rucht are herds of the gods Ochall and Bodb. They quarrel, and their fighting in various animal shapes is fully described. Finally they become two worms, which are swallowed by two cows; these then give birth to the Whitehorn and to the Black Bull of Cuailgne, the animals which were the cause of the Táin. The swineherds were probably themselves gods in the older versions of this tale. 2

Other stories relate the rebirth of heroes. Conchobar is variously said to be son of Nessa by her husband Cathbad, or by her lover Fachtna. But in the latter version an incident is found which points to a third account. Nessa brings Cathbad a draught from a river, but in it are two worms which he forces her to swallow. She gives birth to a son, in each of whose hands is a worm, and he is called Conchobar, after the name of the river into which he fell soon after his birth. The incident closes with the words, "It was from these worms that she became pregnant, say some." 3 Possibly the divinity of the river had taken the form of the worms and was reborn as Conchobar. We may compare the story of the birth of Conall Cernach. His mother was childless, until a

p. 350

[paragraph continues] Druid sang spells over a well in which she bathed, and drank of its waters. With the draught she swallowed a worm, "and the worm was in the hand of the boy as he lay in his mother's womb; and he pierced the hand and consumed it." 1

The personality of Fionn is also connected with the rebirth idea. In one story, Mongan, a seventh-century king, had a dispute with his poet regarding the death of the hero Fothad. The Fian Caoilte returns from the dead to prove Mongan right, and he says, "We were with thee, with Fionn." Mongan bids him be silent, because he did not wish his identity with Fionn to be made known. "Mongan, however, was Fionn, though he would not let it be told." 2 In another story Mongan is son of Manannan, who had prophesied of this event. Manannan appeared to the wife of Fiachna when he was fighting the Saxons, and told her that unless she yielded herself to him her husband would be slain. On hearing this she agreed, and next day the god appeared fighting with Fiachna's forces and routed the slain. "So that this Mongan is a son of Manannan mac Lir, though he is called Mongan son of Fiachna." 3 In a third version Manannan makes the bargain with Fiachna, and in his form sleeps with the woman. Simultaneously with Mongan's birth, Fiachna's attendant had a son who became Mongan's servant, and a warrior's wife bears a daughter who became his wife. Manannan took Mongan to the Land of Promise and kept him there until he was sixteen. 4 Many magical powers and the faculty of shape-shifting are attributed to Mongan, and in some stories he is brought into connection

p. 351

with the síd1 Probably a myth told how he went to Elysium instead of dying, for he comes from "the Land of Living Heart" to speak with S. Columba, who took him to see heaven. But he would not satisfy the saints' curiosity regarding Elysium, and suddenly vanished, probably returning there. 2

This twofold account of Mongan's birth is curious. Perhaps the idea that he was a rebirth of Fionn may have been suggested by the fact that his father was called Fiachna Finn, while it is probable that some old myth of a son of Manannan's called Mongan was attached to the personality of the historic Mongan.

About the era of Mongan, King Diarmaid had two wives, one of whom was barren. S. Finnen gave her holy water to drink, and she brought forth a lamb; then, after a second draught, a trout, and finally, after a third, Aed Slane, who became high king of Ireland in 594. This is a Christianised version of the story of Conall Cernach's birth. 3

In Welsh mythology the story of Taliesin affords an example of rebirth. After the transformation combat of the goddess Cerridwen and Gwion, resembling that of the swine-herds, Gwion becomes a grain of wheat, which Cerridwen in the form of a hen swallows, with the result that he is reborn of her as Taliesin. 4

Most of these stories no longer exist in their primitive form, and various ideas are found in them-conception by magical means, divine descent through the amour of a divinity and a mortal, and rebirth.

As to the first, the help of magician or priest is often

p. 352

invoked in savage society and even in European folk-custom in case of barrenness. Prayers, charms, potions, or food are the means used to induce conception, but perhaps at one time these were thought to cause it of themselves. In many tales the swallowing of a seed, fruit, insect, etc., results in the birth of a hero or heroine, and it is probable that these stories embody actual belief in such a possibility. If the stories of Conall Cernach and Aed Slane are not attenuated instances of rebirth, say, of the divinity of a well, they are examples of this belief. The gift of fruitfulness is bestowed by Druid and saint, but in the story of Conall it is rather the swallowing of the worm than the Druid's incantation that causes conception, and is the real motif of the tale.

Where the rebirth of a divinity occurs as the result of the swallowing of a small animal, it is evident that the god has first taken this form. The Celt, believing in conception by swallowing some object, and in shape-shifting, combined his information, and so produced a third idea, that a god could take the form of a small animal, which, when swallowed, became his rebirth. 1 If, as the visits of barren women to dolmens and megalithic monuments suggest, the Celts believed in the possibility of the spirit of a dead man entering a woman and being born of her or at least aiding conception,--a belief held by other races, 2--this may have given rise to myths regarding the rebirth of gods by human mothers. At all events this latter Celtic belief is paralleled by the American Indian myths, e.g. of the Thlinkeet god Yehl who transformed himself now into a pebble, now into a blade of grass, and, being thus swallowed by women, was reborn.

In the stories of Etain and of Lud, reborn as Setanta, this

p. 353

idea of divine transformation and rebirth occurs. A similar idea may underlie the tale of Fionn and Mongan. As to the tales of Gwion and the Swineherds, the latter the servants of gods, and perhaps themselves regarded once as divinities, who in their rebirth as bulls are certainly divine animals, they present some features which require further consideration. The previous transformations in both cases belong to the Transformation Combat formula of many Märchen, and obviously were not part of the original form of the myths. In all such Märchen the antagonists are males, hence the rebirth incident could not form part of them. In the Welsh tale of Gwion and in the corresponding Taliesin poem, the ingenious fusion of the Märchen formula with an existing myth of rebirth must have taken place at an early date. 1 This is also true of The Two Swineherds, but in this case, since the myth told how two gods took the form of worms and were reborn of cows, the formula had to be altered. Both remain alive at the end of the combat, contrary to the usual formula, because both were males and both were reborn. The fusion is skilful, because the reborn personages preserve a remembrance of their former transformations, 2 just as Mongan knows of his former existence as Fionn. In other cases there is no such remembrance. Etain had forgotten her former existence, and Cúchulainn does not appear to know that he is a rebirth of Lug.

The relation of Lug to Cúchulainn deserves further inquiry. While the god is reborn he is also existing as Lug, just as

p. 354

having been swallowed as a worm by Dechtire, he appears in his divine form and tells her he will be born of her. In the Táin he appears fighting for Cúchulainn, whom he there calls his son. There are thus two aspects of the hero's relationship to Lug; in one he is a rebirth of the god, in the other he is his son, as indeed he seems to represent himself in The Wooing of Emer, and as he is called by Laborcham just before his death. 1 In one of the birth-stories he is clearly Lug's son by Dechtire. But both versions may simply be different aspects of one belief, namely, that a god could be reborn as a mortal and yet continue his divine existence, because all birth is a kind of rebirth. The men of Ulster sought a wife for Cúchulainn, "knowing that his rebirth would be of himself," i.e. his son would be himself even while he continued to exist as his father. Examples of such a belief occur elsewhere, e.g. in the Lawsof Manu, where the husband is said to be reborn of his wife, and in ancient Egypt, where the gods were called "self-begotten," because each was father to the son who was his true image or himself. Likeness implied identity, in primitive belief. Thus the belief in mortal descent from the gods among the Celts may have involved the theory of a divine avatar. The god became father of a mortal by a woman, and part of himself passed over to the child, who was thus the god himself.

Conchobar was also a rebirth of a god, but he was named from the river whence his mother had drawn water containing the worms which she swallowed. This may point to a lost version in which he was the son of a river-god by Nessa. This was quite in accordance with Celtic belief, as is shown by such names as Dubrogenos, from dubron, "water," and genos, "born of"; Divogenos, Divogena, "son or daughter of a god," possibly a river-god, since deivos is a frequent river

p. 355

name; and Rhenogenus, "son of the Rhine." 1 The persons who first bore these names were believed to have been begotten by divinities. Mongan's descent from Manannan, god of the sea, is made perfectly clear, and the Welsh name Morgen = Morigenos, "son of the sea," probably points to a similar tale now lost. Other Celtic names are frequently pregnant with meaning, and tell of a once-existing rich mythology of divine amours with mortals. They show descent from deities--Camulogenus (son of Camulos), Esugenos (son of Esus), Boduogenus (son of Bodva); or from tree-spirits--Dergen (son of the oak), Vernogenus (son of the alder); or from divine animals--Arthgen (son of the bear), Urogenus (son of the urus). 2 What was once an epithet describing divine filiation became later a personal name. So in Greece names like Apollogenes, Diogenes, and Hermogenes, had once been epithets of heroes born of Apollo, Zeus, and Hermes.

Thus it was a vital Celtic belief that divinities might unite with mortals and beget children. Heroes enticed away to Elysium enjoyed the love of its goddesses--Cúchulainn that of Fand; Connla, Bran, and Oisin that of unnamed divinities. So, too, the goddess Morrigan offered herself to Cúchulainn. The Christian Celts of the fifth century retained this belief, though in a somewhat altered form. S. Augustine and others describe the shaggy demons called dusiiby the Gauls, who sought the couches of women in order to gratify their desires. 3

p. 356

[paragraph continues] The dusii are akin to the incubi and fauni, and do not appear to represent the higher gods reduced to the form of demons by Christianity, but rather a species of lesser divinities, once the object of popular devotion.

These beliefs are also connected with the Celtic notions of transformation and transmigration--the one signifying the assuming of another shape for a time, the other the passing over of the soul or the personality into another body, perhaps one actually existing, but more usually by actual rebirth. As has been seen, this power of transformation was claimed by the Druids and by other persons, or attributed to them, and they were not likely to minimise their powers, and would probably boast of them on all occasions. Such boasts are put into the mouths of the Irish Amairgen and the Welsh Taliesin. As the Milesians were approaching Ireland, Amairgen sang verses which were perhaps part of a ritual chant:

"I am the wind which blows over the sea,
I am the wave of the ocean,
I am the bull of seven battles,
I am the eagle on the rock . . .
I am a boar for courage,
I am a salmon in the water, etc." 1

[paragraph continues] Professor Rhŷs points out that some of these verses need not mean actual transformation, but mere likeness, through "a primitive formation of predicate without the aid of a particle corresponding to such a word as 'like.'" 2 Enough, however, remains to show the claim of the magician. Taliesin, in many poems, makes similar claims, and says, "I have been in a multitude of shapes before I assumed a consistent form"--that of a sword, a tear, a star, an eagle, etc. Then he was created, without father or mother. 3 Similar pretensions are common to the medicine-man everywhere. But from another

p. 357

point of view they may be mere poetic extravagances such as are common in Celtic poetry. 1Thus Cúchulainn says: "I was a hound strong for combat . . . their little champion . . . the casket of every secret for the maidens," or, in another place, "I am the bark buffeted from wave to wave . . . the ship after the losing of its rudder . . . the little apple on the top of the tree that little thought of its falling." 2 These are metaphoric descriptions of a comparatively simple kind. The full-blown bombast appears in the Colloquy of the Two Sages, where Nede and Fercertne exhaust language in describing themselves to each other. 3 Other Welsh bards besides Taliesin make similar boasts to his, and Dr. Skene thinks that their claims "may have been mere bombast." 4 Still some current belief in shape-shifting, or even in rebirth, underlies some of these boastings and gives point to them. Amairgen's "I am" this or that, suggests the inherent power of transformation; Taliesin's "I have been," the actual transformations. Such assertions do not involve "the powerful pantheistic doctrine which is at once the glory and error of Irish philosophy," as M. D'Arbois claims, 5 else are savage medicine-men, boastful of their shape-shifting powers, philosophic pantheists. The poems are merely highly developed forms of primitive beliefs in shape-shifting, such as are found among all savages and barbaric folk, but expressed in the boastful language in which the Celt delighted.

How were the successive shape-shiftings effected? To answer this we shall first look at the story of Tuan Mae Caraill, who survived from the days of Partholan to those of S. Finnen. He was a decrepit man at the coming of Nemed,

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and one night, having lain down to sleep, he awoke as a stag, and lived in this form to old age. In the same way he became a boar, a hawk, and a salmon, which was caught and eaten by Cairell's wife, of whom he was born as Tuan, with a perfect recollection of his different forms. 1

This story, the invention of a ninth or tenth century Christian scribe to account for the current knowledge of the many invasions of Ireland, 2 must have been based on pagan myths of a similar kind, involving successive transformations and a final rebirth. Such a myth may have been told of Taliesin, recounting his transformations and his final rebirth, the former being replaced at a later time by the episode of the Transformation Combat, involving no great lapse of time. Such a series of successive shapes--of every beast, a dragon, a wolf, a stag, a salmon, a seal, a swan--were ascribed to Mongan and foretold by Manannan, and Mongan refers to some of them in his colloquy with S. Columba--"when I was a deer . . . a salmon . . . a seal . . . a roving wolf . . . a man." 3 Perhaps the complete story was that of a fabulous hero in human form, who assumed different shapes, and was finally reborn. But the transformation of an old man, or an old animal, into new youthful and vigorous forms might be regarded as a kind of transmigration--an extension of the transformation idea, but involving no metempsychosis, no passing of the soul into another body by rebirth. Actual transmigration or rebirth occurs only at the end of the series, and, as in the case of Etain, Lug, etc., the pre-existent person is born of a woman after being swallowed by her. Possibly the transformation belief has reacted on the other, and

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obscured a belief in actual metempsychosis as a result of the soul of an ancestor passing into a woman and being reborn as her next child. Add to this that the soul is often thought of as a tiny animal, and we see how a point d'appui for the more materialistic belief was afforded. The insect or worms of the rebirth stories may have been once forms of the soul. It is easy also to see how, a theory of conception by swallowing various objects being already in existence, it might be thought possible that eating a salmon--a transformed man--would cause his rebirth from the eater.

The Celts may have had no consistent belief on this subject, the general idea of the future life being of a different kind. Or perhaps the various beliefs in transformation, transmigration, rebirth, and conception by unusual means, are too inextricably mingled to be separated. The nucleus of the tales seems to be the possibility of rebirth, and the belief that the soul was still clad in a bodily form after death and was itself a material thing. But otherwise some of them are not distinctively Celtic, and have been influenced by old Märchen formulæ of successive changes adopted by or forced upon some person, who is finally reborn. This formulæ is already old in the fourteenth century B.C. Egyptian story of the Two Brothers.

Such Celtic stories as these may have been known to classical authors, and have influenced their statements regarding eschatology. Yet it can hardly be said that the tales themselves bear witness to a general transmigration doctrine current among the Celts, since the stories concern divine or heroic personages. Still the belief may have had a certain currency among them, based on primitive theories of soul life. Evidence that it existed side by side with the more general doctrines of the future life may be found in old or existing folk-belief. In some cases the dead have an animal form, as in the Voyage of Maelduin, where birds on an island are said to

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be souls, or in the legend of S. Maelsuthain, whose pupils appear to him after death as birds. 1 The bird form of the soul after death is still a current belief in the Hebrides. Butterflies in Ireland, and moths in Cornwall, and in France bats or butterflies, are believed to be souls of the dead. 2 King Arthur is thought by Cornishmen to have died and to have been changed into the form of a raven, and in mediæval Wales souls of the wicked appear as ravens, in Brittany as black dogs, petrels, or hares, or serve their term of penitence as cows or bulls, or remain as crows till the day of judgment. 3 Unbaptized infants become birds; drowned sailors appear as beasts or birds; and the souls of girls deceived by lovers haunt them as hares. 4

These show that the idea of transmigration may not have been foreign to the Celtic mind, and it may have arisen from the idea that men assumed their totem animal's shape at death. Some tales of shape-shifting are probably due to totemism, and it is to be noted that in Kerry peasants will not eat hares because they contain the souls of their grandmothers. 5 On the other hand, some of these survivals may mean no more than that the soul itself has already an animal form, in which it would naturally be seen after death. In Celtic folk-belief the soul is seen leaving the body in sleep as a bee, butterfly, gnat, mouse, or mannikin. 6 Such a belief is found among most savage races, and, might easily be mistaken for transmigration, or also assist the formation of the idea of transmigration. Though the folk-survivals show that transmigration was not

p. 361

necessarily alleged of all the dead, it may have been a sufficiently vital belief to colour the mythology, as we see from the existing tales, adulterated though these may have been.

The general belief has its roots in primitive ideas regarding life and its propagation--ideas which some hold to be un-Celtic and un-Aryan. But Aryans were "primitive" at some period of their history, and it would be curious if, while still in a barbarous condition, they had forgotten their old beliefs. In any case, if they adopted similar beliefs from non-Aryan people, this points to no great superiority on their part. Such beliefs originated the idea of rebirth and transmigration. 1 Nevertheless this was not a characteristically Celtic eschatological belief; that we find in the theory that the dead lived on in the body or assumed a body in another region, probably underground.


Footnotes

348:1 For textual details see Zimmer, Zeit. für Vergl. Sprach. xxviii. 585 f. The tale is obviously archaic. For a translation see Leahy, i. 8 f.

349:1 IT i. 134 f.; D'Arbois, v. 22. There is a suggestion in one of the versions of another story, in which Setanta is child of Conchobar and his sister Dechtire.

349:2 IT iii. 245; BC xv. 465; Nutt-Meyer, ii. 69.

349:3 Stowe MS. 992, RC vi. 174; IT ii. 210; D'Arbois, v. 3 f.

350:1 IT iii. 393. Cf. the story of the wife of Cormac, who was barren till her mother gave her pottage. Then she had a daughter (RC xxii. 18).

350:2 Nutt-Meyer, i. 45 f., text and translation.

350:3 Ibid. 42 f.

350:4 Ibid. 58. The simultaneous birth formula occurs in many Märchen, though that of the future wife is not common.

351:1 Nutt-Meyer, i. 52, 57, 85, 87.

351:2 ZCP ii. 316L Here Mongan comes directly from Elysium, as does Oisin before meeting S. Patrick.

351:3 IT iii. 345; O'Grady, ii. 88. Cf. Rees, 331.

351:4 Guest, iii. 356 f.; see p. 116supra.

352:1 In some of the tales the small animal still exists independently after the birth, but this is probably not their primitive form.

352:2 See my Religion: its Origin and Forms, 76-77.

353:1 Skene, i. 532. After relating various shapes in which he has been, the poet adds that he has been a grain which a hen received, and that he rested in her womb as a child. The reference in this early poem from a fourteenth century MS. shows that the fusion of the Märchen formula with a myth of rebirth was already well known. See also Guest, iii. 362, for verses in which the transformations during the combat are exaggerated.

353:2 Skene, i. 276, 532.

354:1 Miss Hull, 67; D'Arbois, v. 331.

355:1 For various forms of geno-, see Holder, i. 2002; Stokes, US 110.

355:2 For all these names see Holder, s.v.

355:3 S. Aug. de Civ. Dei, xv. 23; Isidore, Orat. viii. 2. 103. Dusios may be connected with Lithuanian dvaese, "spirit," and perhaps with Θεός (Holder, s.v.). D'Arbois sees in the dusii water-spirits, and compares river-names like Dhuys, Duseva, Dusius (vi. 182; RC xix. 251). The word maybe connected with Irish duis, glossed "noble" (Stokes, TIG 76). The Bretons still believe in fairies called duz, and our word dizzy may be connected with dusios, and would then have once signified the madness following on the amour, like Greek νυμφόλεπτος, or "the inconvenience of their succubi," described by Kirk in his Secret Commonwealth of the Elves.

356:1 LL 12bTOS v. 234.

356:2 2 Rhŷs, HL 549.

356:3 Skene, i. 276, 309, etc.

357:1 Sigerson, Bards of the Gael, 379.

357:2 Miss Hull, 288; Hyde, Lit. Hist. of Ireland, 300.

357:3 RC xxvi. 21.

357:4 Skene, ii. 506.

357:5 D'Arbois, ii. 246, where he also derives Erigena's pantheism from Celtic beliefs, such as he supposes to be exemplified by these poems.

358:1 LU 15a; D'Arbois, ii. 47 f.; Nutt-Meyer, ii. 294 f.

358:2 Another method of accounting for this knowledge was to imagine a long-lived personage like Fintan who survived for 5000 years. D'Arbois, ii. ch. 4. Here there was no transformation or rebirth.

358:3 Nutt-Meyer, i. 24; ZCP ii. 316.

360:1 O'Curry, MS. Mat. 78.

360:2 Wood-Martin, Pagan Ireland, 140; Choice Notes, 61; Monnier, 143; Maury, 272.

360:3 Choice Notes, 69; Rees, 92; Le Braz 2, ii. 82, 86, 307; Rev. des Trad. Pop. xii. 394.

360:4 Le Braz 2, ii. 80; Folk-Lore Jour. v. 189.

360:5 Folk-Lore, iv. 352.

360:6 Carmichael, Carm. Gadel. ii. 334; Rhŷs, CFL 602; Le Braz 2, i. 179, 191, 200.

361:1 Mr. Nutt, Voyage of Bran, derived the origin of the rebirth conception from orgiastic cults.