Horapollo, referring to the serpent symbol, says of it:—“When the Egyptians would represent the Universe they delineate a serpent bespeckled with variegated scales, devouring its own tail, the scales intimating the stars in the Universe. The animal is extremely heavy, as is the earth, and extremely slippery like the water, moreover, it every year puts off its old age with its skin, as in the Universe the annual period effects a corresponding change and becomes renovated, and the making use of its own body for food implies that all things whatever, which are generated by divine providence in the world, undergo a corruption into them again.”
Nothing is more certain than that the serpent at a very remote period was regarded with high veneration as the most mysterious of living creatures. Its habits were imperfectly understood, and it was invested, as we perceive from the above quotations, with the most extraordinary qualities. Alike the object of fear, admiration, and wonder, it is not surprising that it became early connected with man’s superstitions, but how it obtained so general a predominance it is difficult to understand.
Perhaps there is no circumstance in the natural history of the serpent more striking than that alluded to by Sanchoniathon, viz.: the annual sloughing of its skin, or supposed rejuvenation.
“As an old serpent casts his sealy vest,
Wreaths in the sun, in youthful glory dressed,
So when Alcides’ mortal mould resign’d,
His better part enlarged, and grew refin’d.”—Ovid.
It was probably this which connected it with the idea of an eternal succession of forms, constant reproduction and dissolution, a process which was supposed by the ancients to have been for ever going on in nature. This doctrine is illustrated in the notion of a succession of Ages which prevailed among the Greeks, corresponding to the Yugs of the Hindus, and Suns of the aboriginal Mexicans. It is further illustrated by the annual dissolution and renovation exhibited, in the succession of the seasons, and which was supposed to result from the augmentation and decline of the active principle, the Sun.
The mysteries of Osiris, Isis, and Horus, in Egypt; Atys and Cybéle, in Phrygia; Ceres and Proserpine, at Eleusis; of Venus and Adonis in Phœnicia; of Bona Dea, and Priapus, in Rome, are all susceptible of one explanation. They all set forth and illustrated, by solemn and impressive rites and mystical symbols, the grand phenomena of nature, especially as connected with the creation of things and the perpetuation of life. In all, it is worthy of remark, the serpent was more or less conspicuously introduced, always as symbolical of the invigorating or active energy of nature. In the mysteries of Ceres and Proserpine, the grand secret communicated to the initiated was thus enigmatically expressed: Taurus Draconem genuit, et Taurum Draco; “The bull has begotten a serpent, and the serpent a bull.” The bull, as already seen, was a prominent emblem of generative force, the Bacchus Zagreus, or Tauriformis.
The doctrine of an unending succession of forms was not remotely connected with that of regeneration, or new birth, which was part of the phallic system, and which was recognised in a form more or less distinct in nearly all the primitive religions. In Hindustan, this doctrine is still enforced in the most unequivocal manner, through the medium of rites of portentous solemnity and significance to the devotees of the Hindu religion. “For the purpose of regeneration,” says Wilford, “it is directed to make an image of pure gold of the female powers of nature in the shape of either a woman or a cow. In this statue the person to be regenerated is enclosed, and afterwards dragged out through the usual channel. As a statue of pure gold, and of proper dimensions would be too expensive, it is sufficient to make an image of the sacred Yoni, through which the person to be regenerated is to pass.”
We have seen the serpent as a symbol of productive energy associated with the egg as a symbol of the passive elements of nature. The egg does not, however, appear except in the earlier cosmogonies. “As the male serpent,” says Faber, “was employed to symbolize the Great Father, so the female serpent was equally used to typify the Great Mother. Such a mode of representation may be proved by express testimony, and is wholly agreeable to the analogy of the entire system of Gentile mythology. In the same manner that the two great parents were worshipped under the hieroglyphics of a bull and cow, a lion and lioness, &c., so they were adored under the cognate figures of a male and female serpent.”
Nearly every inquirer into the primitive superstitions of men has observed a close relationship, if not an absolute identity, in what are usually distinguished as Solar, Phallic, and Serpent Worship, yet the rationalé of the connection has been rarely detected. They really are all forms of a single worship. “If (as it seems certain) they all three be identical,” observes Mr. O’Brien, “where is the occasion for surprise at our meeting the sun, phallus, and serpent, the constituent symbols of each, occurring in combination, embossed upon the same table, and grouped upon the same architrave.”
We turn again to America. The principal God of the Aztecs, subordinate to the great Unity, was the impersonation of the active, creative energy, Tezcatlipoca or Tonacatlecoatl. He was also called Tonacatenctli.