The Tahitians regarded this uncreated God, moreover, as almost a pure spirit, and he was undoubtedly so in the estimation of the more enlightened islanders. Certain traditions represent him with a body; but, says General Ribourt’s manuscript, this body is invisible, and further it is merely, “a shell which is frequently renewed, and which the God loses, as a bird its feathers.” In Moerenhout’s song, it is he who changes himself into the universe; but “the great and sacred universe is only the shell of Taaroa.” In that of M. Gaussin, Taaroa raises his head out of his covering, which disappears and becomes the earth. In the magnificent dialogue, also translated by M. Gaussin, and in which Taaroa calls, so to speak, upon all the different parts of the universe, who in turn answer him, it is said: “The soul of Taaroa remained God.” Unfortunately, after the creation was finished, this God seems to have reassumed his state of repose, and to have left to the inferior deities the government of this world.
We see here, again, that as far as the first conception is concerned, we are far above the Zeus of the Greeks, or the Jupiter of the Romans. And yet who would dream of comparing the Tahitian civilization with the civilization or the intellectual productions of the Greeks? It is one of the many facts which show the independence of the phenomena of the intelligence and those of the religious feeling.
It is not in Tahiti alone that this elevated spiritualism has been observed, though concealed under very different appearances. The rude images, the toos placed in the moraï have been regarded by almost all travellers as statues of atouas. They are, in reality, nothing more than tabernacles hollow within, and destined to receive different objects, oblations, etc. A priest of the Sandwich Islands told Byron that, when a child, it happened that he eat something which had been deposited in the sacred images. Surprised and reprimanded by his father, he excused himself by saying that he had found out by various experiments that these gods of wood neither saw nor heard. The old priest then said to him in a severe tone: “My son, the wood, it is true, neither sees nor hears; but the spirit which is above sees and hears all, and punishes wicked actions.”
Do many among ourselves draw such a clear distinction between the spirit and the wood?
A remarkable feature of the Tahitian religion is, that we find in it no trace of Manicheism. They have, in fact, only gods, and no devils. It is true that the priests spoke in the name of the Atouas, and that the sorcerers, hated and feared in Tahiti as elsewhere, addressed themselves solely to the Tiis. But the latter were not in any way considered as antagonistic to the Atouas. Moerenhout tells us that their images might be seen as guardians at the entrance of the moraï and sacred enclosures.
Although not so clearly defined as those of the Tahitians, the religious beliefs of the Algonquin and Mingwe Red-Skins are very superior in some respects. Their Great Spirit, the Michabou of the Algonquins, the Agrescoue of the Iroquois, is the Father of all existing things. To him alone true worship is rendered in smoking the sacred calumet towards the four points of the horizon and the zenith. The Creator of all that exists, he is not so disinterested in his work as Taaroa. He himself, or his messengers, watch over children, and direct the events of the world. Again, it is to him, before all others, that the Red-Skin addressed his prayers when he asks, and his thanks when he has gained his demands. I might here multiply examples and quotations. I shall confine myself to reproducing in part the song of the Lenapes on the eve of their departure for war, as it has been preserved for us by Heckewelder. It is a national song, and of itself refutes many strange assertions frequently made with regard to the populations who once occupied the territory of the United States.
“Oh, poor me—who am just about to depart to fight the enemy—and know not if I shall return—to enjoy the embraces of my children and wife.”
“Oh, poor creature—who cannot order his own life—who has no power over his own body—but who tries to do his duty—for the happiness of his nation.”
“Oh, thou Great Spirit above—take pity upon my children—and upon my wife—keep them from sorrowing on my account—grant that I may succeed in my enterprise—that I may kill my enemy—and bring back trophies of war.”
“Give me strength and courage to fight my enemy—grant that I may return and see my children again—see my wife and my relations—have pity upon me and preserve my life—and I will offer to thee a sacrifice.”