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  Their origin is this:

  Taaroa slept with Hina, and of them was born Tii.

  Tii slept with the woman Ani (Desire), and of them were born: Desire-of-the-night, the messenger of shadows and of death; Desire-of-the-day, the messenger of light and of life; Desire-of-the-gods, the messenger of the things of heaven; Desire-of-men, the messenger of the things of the earth.

  Of them in turn were born: Tii of the within who watches over animals and plants; Tii of the without who guards the beings and things of the sea; Tii of the sands, and Tii of the sea-shores, and Tii of the loose earth; Tii of the rocks and Tii of the solid earth.

  Still later were born: the happenings of the night, the happenings of the day, going and coming, flux and reflux, the giving and receiving of pleasure.

  The images of the Tiis were placed at the farthest ends of the maraës (temples), and formed the limit which circumscribed the sacred places. They are seen on the rocks and on the sea-shores. These idols have the mission of marking the boundaries between the earth and the sea, of maintaining the balance between the two elements, and of restraining their reciprocal encroachments. Even modern travelers have seen a few statues of Tiis on the Ile-de-Pâques. They are colossal outlines partaking of human and animal forms, and bear witness to a special conception of beauty and a genuine skill in the art of working in stones, for they are architecturally constructed of superimposed blocks with original and ingenious combinations of color.

  The European invasion and monotheism have destroyed these vestiges of a civilization which had its own grandeur. When the Tahitians to-day raise monuments, they achieve miracles of bad taste—as, for example, the tomb of Pomare. They had been richly endowed with an instinctive feeling for the harmony necessary between human creations and the animal and plant life which formed the setting and decoration of their existence, but this has now been lost. In contact with us, with our school, they have truly become “savages,” in the sense which the Latin occident has given this word. They themselves have remained beautiful as masterpieces, but morally and physically (owing to us) they have become unfruitful.

  The holy images.

  Angels for everybody.

  Some traces of maraës still exist. They were parallelograms broken by openings. Three sides were formed of stone walls, four to six feet in height; a pyramid not as high as it was wide formed the fourth. The whole had a width of about one hundred meters, and a length of forty. Images of Tiis decorated this simple architectural structure.

  The moon had an important place in the metaphysical speculations of the Maoris. It has already been stated that great feasts were celebrated in her honor. Hina is often invoked in the traditional recitals of the Areois.

  But her share or role in the harmony of the world is negative rather than positive.

  This appears clearly in the dialogue between Hina and Tefatou.

  Such texts would offer beautiful material for exegetes, if the Oceanian Bible could be found as a subject for commentary. They would see there first of all the principles of a religion based on the worship of the forces of nature—a characteristic common to all primitive religions. The greater number of Maori gods are in effect personifications of different elements. But an attentive glance, if not misled or depraved by a desire to demonstrate the superiority of our philosophy over that of these “tribes,” would soon discover interesting and singular characteristics in these legends.

  I should like to point out two, but I shall do no more than indicate them. The problem of verifying these hypotheses is a matter for savants.

  It is above all the clearness with which the two only and universal principles of life are designated and distinguished and ultimately resolved into a supreme unity. The one, soul and intelligence, Taaroa, is the male; the other in a certain way matter and body of the same god, is the female, that is Hina. To her belongs all the love of men, to him their respect. Hina is not the name of the moon alone. There is also a Hina-of-the-air, and Hina-of-the-sea, a Hina-of-the-Within, but these two syllables characterize only the subordinate parts of matter. The sun and the sky, light and its empire, all the noble parts of matter, so to speak, or rather all the spiritual elements of matter are Taaroa. This is definitely formulated in more than one text, in which the definition of spirit and matter can be recognized. Or what, if we acquiesce in this definition, is the significance of the fundamental doctrine of the Maori genesis:

  THE GREAT AND HOLY UNIVERSE IS ONLY THE SHELL OF TAAROA—?

  Does not this doctrine constitute a primitive belief in the unity of matter? Is there not in this definition and separation of spirit and matter an analysis of the twofold manifestations of a single and unique substance? However rare such a philosophical intention may be among primitives, it does not follow that one should decline to receive testimony. It is evident that the Oceanian theology had two ends in view in the actions of the god who created the world and conserves it: the generative cause and matter which has become fecund, the motive force and the object acted upon, spirit and matter. It also appears clearly that in the constant interaction between the luminous spirit and the perceptive matter which it vivifies—that is to say in the successive unions of Taaroa with the diverse manifestations of Hina—one should recognize the continual and ever-varying influence of the sun upon things. And in the fruits of these unions are to be seen the changes continually effected in these very elements by light and warmth. When once we have a clear view of this phenomenon out of which the two universal currents proceed, we see that in the fruit are united and mingled the generative cause and the matter which has become fecund, in movement, the motive force and the object acted upon, and in life, spirit and matter, and that the universe just created is only the shell of Taaroa.

  In the second place it appears from the dialogue between Tefatou and Hina, that man and the earth shall perish, but that the moon and the race inhabiting it shall continue. If we recall that Hina represents matter, and that according to the scientific precept, “all things transform but nothing perishes,” we must agree that the old Maori sage who invented the legend knew as much about the subject as we do. Matter does not perish, that is to say it does not lose the qualities which can be perceived by the senses. Spirit, on the contrary, and light, this “spiritual matter,” are subject to transformation. There is night and there is death, when the eyes close, from which light seemed to radiate and to reflect. Spirit, or rather the highest actual manifestation of spirit, is man. “Man must die . . . he dies never to rise again. . . . And man should die.” But even when man and the earth, these fruits of fruits of the union of Taaroa and Hina, have perished, Taaroa himself will remain eternal, and we are told that Hina, matter, will also continue to be. There will then necessarily be present throughout all eternity spirit and matter, light and the object which it strives to illumine. They will be urged on with a mutual desire for a new union from which will arise a new “state” in the infinite evolution of life.

  Evolution! . . . The unity of matter! . . . Who would have thought to find such testimony of a high civilization in the conceptions of former cannibals? I can with good conscience say that I have added nothing to the truth.

  It is true that Tehura had no doubts concerning these abstractions, but she persisted in regarding shooting stars as wandering tupapaüs and genii in distress. In the same spirit as her ancestors, who thought that the sky was Taaroa himself and that the Atuas descended from Taaroa were simultaneously gods and heavenly bodies, she ascribed human feelings to the stars. I do not know in how far these poetic imaginings impede the progress of the most positive science, neither do I know to what point the highest science would condemn them.

  From other points of view it would be possible to give other interpretations to the dialogue between Tefatou and Hina: The counsel of the moon who is feminine might be the dangerous advice of blind pity and sentimental weakness. The moon and women, expressions in the Maori conception for matter, need not know that death alone guards the secrets of life. T
efatou’s reply might be regarded as the stern, but far-sighted and disinterested, decree of supremest wisdom, which knows that the individual manifestations of actual life must give way before a higher being in order that it may come and must sacrifice themselves to it in order that it may triumph.

  In earlier days this response would have had a much more far-reaching implication and the import of a national prophecy. A great spirit of ancient days would have studied and measured the vitality of his race; he would have foreseen the germs of death in its blood without the possibility of recovery or rebirth, and he would have said:

  Tahiti will die, it will die never to rise again.

  Tehura spoke with a kind of religious dread of the sect or secret society of the Areois, which ruled over the islands during the feudal epoch.

  Out of the confused discourse of the child I disentangle memories of a terrible and singular institution. I divine a tragic history full of august crimes, but which it is difficult to penetrate because it is guarded from the curious by a well kept secret.

  After Tehura had told me all she knew on this subject, I made inquiries wherever possible.

  The legendary origin of this famous society is as follows: Oro, the son of Taaroa, and after his father the greatest of the gods, resolved one day to choose a mate from among the mortals.

  He wished her to be a virgin and beautiful, to the end that he might found with her among the multitude of men a race superior and favored above all the others.

  He strode through the seven heavens and descended upon Païa, a high mountain on the island of Bora-Bora, where dwelt his sisters, the goddesses Teouri and Oaaoa.

  Oro, transformed into a young warrior, and his sisters into young girls, set out upon a journey through the islands to find there the creature deserving of the kiss of a god.

  Oro snatched up the rainbow, and placed one end upon the summit of Païa and the other upon the earth; thus the god and the goddesses passed over valleys and tides.

  In the different isles where people hastened to welcome the fair and magnificent visitors, the travelers gave marvelous feasts to which all the women flocked.

  And Oro gazed upon them.

  But his heart was filled with sadness, for the god found love, but he did not love. His glance did not remain long upon any of the daughters of men; in not a single one did he find the virtues and graces of which he had dreamed.

  And after many days had been consumed in vain search, he decided to return to heaven, when he saw at Vaïtape on the island of Bora-Bora a young girl of rare beauty bathing in the little lake of Avaï Aïa.

  She was tall in stature, and all the fires of the sun burned and shone in the splendor of her flesh, while all the magic of love slept in the night of her hair.

  Enchanted, Oro prayed his sisters to speak to the young girl for him.

  He himself retired to the summit of Païa to await the result of their embassy.

  The goddesses in approaching the young woman saluted her, praised her beauty, and told her that they came from Avanaü, a place on Bora-Bora.

  “Our brother asks of you whether you will consent to become his wife.”

  Vaïraümati—for so the young girl was named—carefully scrutinized the strangers, and said to them,

  “You are not from Avanaü, but that does not matter. If your brother is a chief, if he is young and beautiful, let him come. Vaïraümati will be his wife.”

  Without delay Teouri and Oaaoa ascended Païa to tell their brother that he was awaited.

  Then Oro, placing the rainbow again as at first, came down to Vaïtape.

  Vaïraümati had prepared for his reception a table weighed down with the most beautiful fruit, and a couch of the rarest of stuffs and finest of mats.

  And divine in their grace and strength they offered service to love under the tamaris and pandanus, in the forest and on the edge of the sea. Every morning the god reascended the summit of Païa; every evening he came down again to sleep with Vaïraümati.

  No other daughter of men henceforth was permitted to see him in human form.

  And always the rainbow extended between Païa and Vaïtape served him as a way of passage.

  Many moons had shone and become extinguished, and in the deserted Seven Heavens no one knew where was the retreat of Oro. Two other sons of Taaroa, Orotefa and Oürtefa, took on human form and set out to find their brother. For a long time they wandered hither and thither among the islands without finding him. Finally, approaching Bora-Bora, they saw the young god sitting with Vaïraümati in the shadow of a sacred mango-tree.

  They marveled at the beauty of the young woman, and wished to give her presents as a testimony of their admiration. Orotefa transformed himself into a sow, and Oürtefa into red feathers. Immediately taking on human form again, the while the sow and the feathers remained, they approached the two lovers, bearing these presents in their hand.

  Oro and Vaïraümati welcomed the two august travelers with joy.

  That same night the sow threw a litter of seven. The first of these was reserved for a later purpose; the second was sacrificed to the gods; the third was consecrated to hospitality and offered to strangers; the fourth they named Pig of the Hecatomb, in honor of love; the fifth and the sixth were to be preserved for the purpose of multiplying the species until after the first litter; and finally the seventh was roasted entire on hot-stones (according to the Maori custom thus divinely inaugurated), and then eaten.

  Classic old refrains.

  Religious fantasies.

  The brothers of Oro returned to the heavens.

  A few weeks later Vaïraümati told Oro that she was about to become a mother.

  Then Oro took the first of the seven pigs which had been spared, and went to Raïatea to the great maraé, the temple of the god, Vapoa.

  There he encountered a man, Mahi by name, to whom he gave the pig, saying,

  “Maiï maitaï oé teineï boüaa (take this pig and guard it well).”

  And solemnly the god continued,

  “This is the sacred pig. In its blood will be dyed the league of men who shall spring from me. For I am father in this world. These men shall be the Areois. To thee I give their prerogatives and their name. As for myself I can no longer stay here.”

  Mahi sought out the chief of Raïatea, and told him of the happening. But, as he could not guard the sacred trust without being the friend of the chief, he added,

  “My name shall be thy name, and thy name shall be mine.” The chief agreed, and together they took the name Taramanini.

  In the meantime Oro, having returned to Vaïraümati, announced to her that she would bring forth a son, and commanded she name him Hoa Tabou te Raï (sacred friend of the heavens).

  Then he said:

  “The fullness of time has come, and I must leave thee.”

  Immediately he changed into an immense pillar of fire, which majestically rose into the air even above Perirere which is the highest mountain of Bora-Bora. There he disappeared from the view of his weeping wife and the astonished people.

  Hoa Tabou te Raï became a great chief, and did much good toward man. At his death he was raised to heaven, where Vaïraümati herself ranked among the goddesses.

  Oro may very well have been a wandering Brahmin who brought to these islands the doctrine of Brahma to the traces of which in the Oceanian religion I have already referred. When? . . .

  In the purity of this doctrine the Maori genius had its awakening. Minds capable of comprehending recognized each other and became associated for the practice of the prescribed rites, naturally quite apart from the common people. More enlightened than the other men of their race, they soon seized hold of the religious and political government of the island. They arrogated to themselves important prerogatives and established a powerful feudal state which was the most glorious period in the history of the archipelago.

  Though apparently they were ignorant of the art of writing, the Areois nevertheless were men of learning. They passed entir
e nights in reciting scrupulously word by word the ancient “sayings of the gods.” Their text has now become established, but this could not have been accomplished except at the cost of years of assiduous labor. The Areois alone had access to these sayings of the gods, and at the most were only permitted to add commentaries. It gave them the security of an intellectual center, the habit of meditation, the authority of a superhuman mission, and a prestige before which all the others bowed their heads.

  There are in our Christian and feudal Middle Ages very similar institutions, as the reader knows. For myself I know nothing more frightful than the religious and military association, the permanent council of that period, which rendered judgments in the name of God and held absolute power over life and death.

  The Areois taught that human sacrifices are pleasing to the gods, and they themselves sacrificed in the maraës all their children save the first-born. This bloody rite was symbolized by the seven pigs of the legend, all of which except the first, the “sacred pig,” were put to death.

  Let us not be overhasty in criticizing this as savagery. This cruel obligation which many other primitive peoples also had to obey has deep-lying social and general causes. Among very prolific races, such as the Maori race formerly was, unlimited increase of the population is a menace to existence itself, both national and personal. Doubtless life on the islands was easy enough, and it did not require much effort to obtain the necessities for subsistence. But the area was very restricted, and surrounded by an immense ocean, impassable to frail pirogues. It would soon have been insufficient for a people continually increasing. There would not have been sufficient fish in the sea, nor sufficient fruit in the forest. Famine would not have long delayed, and as always everywhere in the world would have had cannibalism as a consequence.