In general the Tabu signified a prohibition. It interdicted the visiting of certain spots, the use of certain articles of food, the touching of certain objects, the use of certain words, the performance of certain actions, and he who, for instance, touched the dead body of a chieftain was subjected during several months to a tabu, and was then not allowed to carry his victuals to his mouth with his own hands. When hungry and no one near at hand to feed him, he was obliged to creep on all fours and seize his victuals with his lips.
The Tabu spread its influence over every occurrence of life. It was political or religious, general or individual, of limited duration or perpetual. Sometimes it proceeded from the whim of a chieftain, or the caprice of a priest; sometimes it appeared as a measure of general utility, and then again as a protection for individual property; sometimes it extended over a whole people, and in other cases was limited to a single individual. Its yoke lay particularly heavy on the women, whom it deprived of many enjoyments, and subjected to many irksome restrictions. But, though frequently tyrannical and oppressive, it often performed the salutary part of our laws and police regulations, with this difference, however, in its favour: that whereas many of us are, more or less, inclined to infringe the law, no Polynesian would have ventured to disobey the Tabu, being perfectly convinced that this crime would immediately entail upon him the signal vengeance of his gods. Every chieftain had the right to subject his inferiors to a Tabu, and was in a like manner obliged to submit to the interdictions pronounced by his superior. If by some chance he had infringed a Tabu, he could only be exonerated by a chieftain of higher rank. Thus the Tabu placed an enormous power in the hands of the privileged castes, and secured by the chains of superstition the eternal slavery of the people.
As among the ancient Greeks an invisible world of gods ruled over the visible phenomena of nature, thus also the fertile fancy of the Polynesians peopled earth and heaven, the ocean and the mountains with a mighty host of spirits. They recognized their presence in the rising sun, the mild moonlight, the howling storm, the roaring breaker, and the soft evening breeze. The peak of the mountain, the fleecy vapours hanging on its side, the foaming waterfall, and above all the volcano and the earthquake, were all palpable objects, connected with a presiding divinity. Most of these gods were vindictive, proud, irascible beings, ever ready to do mischief in a material or immaterial form; and even the spirits of deceased relations were feared as malignant demons. Thus, here as elsewhere, superstition added its fantastical terrors to the real evils of existence.
The Polynesian Pantheon, a strange mixture of poetry and absurdity, was as richly peopled as that of the ancient Greeks or Scandinavians. Tangaloa was the creator of their little world, which, according to the Tonga account, he fished up from the sea. Tahiti was the first part that appeared. Just as its rock showed above water, the line broke. However, the rock in which the hook stuck could still be seen on the island of Hoonga, and the family of Tuitonga were in possession of the hook. In Tahiti and Samoa the workman was the same, but the work different. The Tahitian Tangaloa formed the ocean from the sweat of his brow—so hard did he work in making the land.
The Samoan sent down his daughter Toli in the shape of a snipe to survey the world below. As she saw nothing but sea, her father rolled down a stone, which became one island, and another which became a second, and so on. The first growth of such islands was wild vine. They were pulled out of the ground and heaped up to rot, so that worms were produced. Out of these worms grew men and women.
Oro, the god of war, was the mighty protector of Tahiti. His father, Taaroa, was the son of night, for here also, as among the Greeks, all originally proceeded from darkness.
Hiro, the Polynesian Neptune, likewise played a considerable part in legendary lore. Once the monsters of the deep had lulled him with a profound sleep while the god of winds raised a terrible storm to destroy a vessel in which his friends were embarked. Their destruction seemed inevitable, but a good spirit penetrated into the sea-grot where the god was dozing, awoke him from his slumbers, and told him of the danger his followers were in. Instantly he rose to the surface, where his presence scared away the weaker storm-god, and his friends were saved.
In the Sandwich Islands, the chief divinities resided in the burning craters of Mauna Loa, for no phenomenon of nature was equal in terrific grandeur to these explosions of subterranean fire, and the mysterious powers which caused them were necessarily prominent in power. There dwelt Pele the supreme goddess of fire, with a whole train of subordinate deities, such as Kamoho ‘the king of steam,’ Teoahitamatana ‘the fire-spitting son of war,’ Hiatawawahilani ‘the sky-rending cloud-compeller.’ The roar of the volcano was the music to which their deities danced, their delight was to swim in the waves of the fiery sea. Never did these dreadful beings leave their abodes for a beneficial purpose, but only to receive offerings or to wreak vengeance: the quaking of the earth, the outpouring lava stream announced their coming. This religion of dread placed of course an enormous power in the hands of the priests, who profited largely by the terrors of a credulous people.
As in Greece, the divinities of the Polynesian Pantheon were worshipped under the palpable form of idols in large temples, or inclosures; but while Apollo or Jove fashioned by the hand of a Phidias or Scopas still command the admiration of a world which has long since ceased to believe in them, the rude figures which the Tahitian or the Hawaiian adored were models of hideous deformity.
Like the ancient Greeks, the Polynesians had also their Elysium. The higher gods, and the souls of kings, chiefs and councillors, resided in a happy island, more beautiful than any on earth; but the common people were excluded from this abode of felicity, as they have been debarred from all political rights in life. The idea of a retributive justice had no room in the Polynesian mind, and birth claimed its privileges even after death, while merit was ignored.