Guilhem Olivier

Translated by Layla Wright-Contreras

Expelled from the Old World as the spreading of the Gospel progressed, pagan gods and the Devil himself found refuge in the Indies, where they could continue to deceive their inhabitants. Mesoamerican thought had numerous divination practices at its core, similar in many respects to the ancient Greek and Roman practices that Bartolomé de Las Casas described and condemned. Hence the Dominican friar’s suspicion that Apollo, a deity closely linked to divination, “had come to these Indies” (Las Casas, 1967, Vol. 2, p. 429). Now, unlike Islam, which considered divination techniques as part of the profane sciences and therefore detached from religion (Fahd, 1966), Christianism generally condemned these “pagan” practices. The Christian position, however, evolved throughout the centuries and occasionally became ambiguous in terms of certain divinatory practices such as “natural astrology” (Boudet, 2006; Díaz 2020, pp. 232–237; Fox, 1986, pp. 631–632; Ryan, 2011).

The attitude of the Catholic Church toward the use of holy books for prophesy also fluctuated: the Greeks resorted to Homer and the Romans to Virgil, opening their books at random to make predictions based on the paragraphs found (Bouché-Leclercq, 1879, pp. 195–196; Meerson, 2019). Similarly, Christians would use the “lucky Bible” and or “consult the Gospel” and would attach prophetic value to the passages arbitrarily chosen (Boglioni, 2000; Boudet, 2006, pp. 95–96; Van der Horst, 2019; Wilkinson, 2019).2 Even Saint Augustine and Saint Francis made this type of consultation to confirm their vocations, though some versions on the life of the founder of the Franciscan order minimize this action, claiming that it was God who had asked Saint Francis to carry out the consultation (Boglioni, 2000, pp. 52–54).3

As for other ancient divination techniques, they were mostly categorically condemned by the Bible (Leviticus 20, 6, 27; Deuteronomy 18, 9–14) and then by Church Fathers, starting with Saint Augustine in his De Doctrina Christiana (6.21) and subsequently by others such as Saint Isidore of Seville (2004, pp. 700–707). The latter equaled divination to magic, condemning sorcerers and soothsayers for usurping God’s powers and for their associations with demons. Astrologers, who Isidore of Seville classified as astrologi, genethliaci, mathematici, or horoscopi, were also censured in his writings. Astronomy, however, was accepted inasmuch as it constituted the “natural” part of astrology. The concept of “natural astrology,” of Greco-Arab origin, is essential to understand the reactions of the Spanish chroniclers toward Mesoamerican astrology and divination. Indeed, the arrival in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Spain of Arabic science and Greek and Hebrew texts on astrology, divination, and magic involved profound changes in the perception of these disciplines in the Occident (Ryan, 2011, pp. 66–70, 83–91). As Jean-Patrice Boudet (2006, p. 19) explains, “the translations [of these texts] in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries contributed to promoting amongst the clergy and some royal courts a sophisticated knowledge of astrology, considered one of the essential motivations for astronomical studies and a useful aid in medical and political praxis.”

Around 1460, a chair for the teaching of astrology was endowed at the University of Salamanca, were Bernardino de Sahagún was studying (Boudet, 2006, p. 286; León-Portilla, 1999, p. 33; Mendieta, 1997, Vol. 2, p. 380 [5.41]). The University’s interest in this science is illustrated in the superb mural painted by Fernando Gallego on the vault of its library between 1483 and 1486. In the Flemish style, inspired by ancient classical models and Islamic astrology, the painter depicted the planetary gods (the Sun and Mercury), the signs of the zodiac, the northern and southern constellations, the winds, and the stars (Martínez Frías, 2006).

It is therefore not surprising that in the Castilian text of book 7 of the Florentine Codex, where Sahagún more or less accurately translates Nahuatl texts obtained from his collaborators, he matches certain indigenous beliefs to European astrology:

Hacía esta gente particular reverencia y particulares sacrificios a los Mastelejos del cielo que andan cerca de las Cabrillas, que es el signo del Toro . . . A aquellas estrellas que en algunas partes se llaman El Carro, esta gente las llama Escurpión, porque tienen figura de escurpión o alacrán. Y así se llaman en muchas partes del mundo

[These people particularly revered and offered special sacrifices to the Mastelejos of the sky which are near the Cabrillas, which is the sign of the Bull. . . . The stars known in some places as The Chariot are called by these people Scorpion, because they resemble a scorpion. And that is what they are called in many parts of the world]. (Sahagún, 2000, Vol. 2, pp. 699–700 [7.3–4])

He felt, however, greatly disappointed when he learned about the Nahua knowledge of the stars, also described in book 7:

Razón tendrá el lector de desgustarse en la lectión deste Séptimo Libro, y mucho mayor la tendrá si entiende la lengua indiana. . . . Esto es porque los mismos naturales dieron la relación de las cosas que en este libro se tratan muy baxamante, según que ellos las entienden, y en baxo lenguaje. Y así se traduxo en la lengua española, en baxo estilo y en baxo quilate de entendimiento, pretendiendo solamente saber y escrebir lo que ellos entendían en esta materia de astrología y filosofía natural, que es muy poco y muy baxo

[The reader will have reason for displeasure in the reading of this seventh Book, and will have even more if he deals with the Indian language. . . . This is because the natives themselves gave the account of the things treated in this Book very crudely, according as they understood them, and in crude style. And so it was translated into the Spanish language in crude style, with little excellence of understanding, with the sole object of knowing and recording what they understood of this subject of astrology and natural philosophy, which is very little and very crude]. (Sahagún, 1950–1982, Pt. 1, pp. 67–68; 2000, Vol. 2, pp. 478–479 [7: prologue])

Rather than displeased—the seventh book contains one of the most beautiful versions of the myth of the origin of the Sun and the Moon and a superb description of the New Fire ceremony—modern readers might feel surprised by Sahagún’s opinion and, certainly, by the dearth of indigenous testimonies. Were ancient Mesoamericans not experts in star observation? The alignment of their monuments, analyzed by archaeoastronomers, and their complex calendar systems, which continue to foster research and abundant debate, reveal their advanced level in astronomy. Were Sahagún’s Nahua collaborators not aware of the knowledge of native astronomers?

Other hypotheses may be ventured: firstly, we must bear in mind that this knowledge was closely linked to native deities. In fact, when Sahagún asks about the Sun, his informers first describe the festival celebrated every 260 days to honor the god Tonatiuh (Sahagún, 1950–1982, Pt. 8, p. 1 [7.1]). As for the Moon, after briefly describing its phases, the Nahua naturally recount the attractive myth of the birth of the Sun and the Moon in Teotihuacan (Pt. 8, pp. 3–9 [7.2]). This was obviously not what Sahagún expected. According to him, such myths were nothing but “ridiculosas fábulas” [ludicrous fables] (Sahagún, 2000, Vol. 2, p. 689 [7: prologue]). Despite his disapproval, he did record them in this essential text. We could have pondered, however, on the existence of other mythical cycles linked to the stars that failed to be transmitted. I would, for instance, suggest the relevance of the planet Venus in Mesoamerica, manifest in numerous pre-Hispanic codices. Sahagún’s collaborators devote only about twelve lines to it (1950–1982, Pt. 8, pp. 11–12 [7.3]). Possibly the friar’s questions, biased by his Western approach, did not correspond to the indigenous collaborators’ way of conveying their knowledge, who would tread cautiously when transmitting it so as not to raise suspicions of idolatry.

Sahagún’s attitude toward “judicial astrology or Indian divinatory practice,” dealt with in book 4 of the Florentine Codex, is also quite revealing. The length of the prologue and especially of the appendix to book 4 is quite striking, being an indication of the relevance Sahagún gave to those matters, as well as to the need to clarify questions regarding native calendars (1950–1982, Pt. 1, pp. 61–62; Pt. 5, pp. 137–146; 2000, Vol. 1, pp. 345–346, 421–432). Sahagún begins the prologue to book 4 describing the “astrologers called genethliaci” who, given the day and time of birth of a person, “pronostican las inclinaciones naturales de los hombres” [prognosticate the natural inclinations of men], based on the star sign and on the conjunction of the planets. It should be recalled that Isidore of Seville, following Saint Augustine’s definition, used the term genethliaci to designate a category of astrologers who would describe the fate of newborns based on the position of the stars.4 Sahagún remarks that this type of astrology was tolerated,5 inasmuch as “ningún poder tiene sobre el libre albedrío” [it has no power over free will].6 As for the Nahua fortune tellers, the tōnalpōuhqueh, after explaining their role “adivinar las condiciones, vida y muerte de los que nacían” [to foretell the attributes, the life and death of those who were born], Sahagún explains that this divinatory practice originated in the god Quetzalcoatl and was based on a 260-day calendar (figure 8.1). According to Sahagún, however,

Esta manera de adivinanza en ninguna manera puede ser lícita, porque ni se funda en la influencia de las estrellas, ni en cosa ninguna natural, ni su círculo es conforme al círculo del año, porque no contiene más de doscientos y sesenta días, los cuales acabados tornan al principio

[This manner of soothsaying can in no way be valid, because it is based neither on the influence of the stars, nor on any natural thing. Neither is its cycle in accordance with the year cycle, as it contains only two hundred and sixty days which, when they end, begin again]. (1950–1982, Pt. 1, p. 61; 2000, Vol. 1, p. 345 [4: prologue])

The lack of a “natural” astronomical reference—for example a 365-day cycle—seems to raise his suspicions and trigger his disapproval of the Mesoamerican divinatory calendar. The shrewd effacer of idolatry concludes:

Este artificio de contar o es arte de nigromanticia o pacto y fábrica del Demonio, lo cual con toda diligencia se debe desarraigar

[This trick of reckoning is either a necromantic craft or a pact and invention of the Devil which should be uprooted with all diligence]. (Sahagún, 2000, Vol. 1, p. 345 [4: prologue])

In the setting of a battle to the death against the Devil ruling in the Indies, a supposed pact with the Devil establishes a key argument to condemn the use of the 260-day divinatory calendar (figure 8.2).7 Actually, in the very title of book 4, Sahagún (2000) emphasizes the idolatrous nature of the indigenous divinatory system:

Libro cuarto: De la astrología judiciaria o arte de adivinar que estos mexicanos usaban para saber cuáles días eran bien afortunados y cuáles mal afortunados, y qué condiciones tendrían los que nacían en los días atribuidos a los caracteres o signos que aquí se ponen, y parece cosa de nigromancia, que no de astrología

[Book four: On judicial astrology, or the art of predicting, which these Mexicans used to know which days were lucky and which were unlucky, and what would be the nature of those born on the days attributed to the characters or signs explained here, and this seems a matter of necromancy, rather than astrology]. (Vol. 1, p. 347)

The use of the word nigromanticia is quite telling. Indeed, we find in Isidore of Seville (Sevilla, 2004) that “necromantii sunt, quorum praecantationibus videntur resuscitati mortui divinare, et ad interrogata respondere” [The necromantici are those who seem to awaken the dead so as the dead foresee and reply to questions made to them] (pp. 704–705). In addition, blood is poured over the corpse in order to awaken it. In the year 1256, under King Alfonso X of Castile, an Arab treatise on astral magic, the renowned Picatrix, had been translated into Castilian and later into Latin (Ryan, 2011, pp. 94–101). This volume, whose original Arabic title was Ghâyât al-Hakîm [The Guide of the Wise], records the word nigromantia as “the science dealing with all things unknown to intelligence, which most men do not comprehend how they are made nor what causes them”; the term nigromantia is used here to translate the Arabic word sihr, “magic” (Boudet, 2006, p. 129). Finally, Alfonso X, in his Siete Partidas [Seven-Part Code], defines nigromancia “as a strange science intended for invoking evil spirits,” linked to dangerous nocturnal practices which may unleash death or insanity (Boudet, 2006, p. 264). These various meanings might have been taken into consideration by Sahagún to stress both the esoteric use of the divinatory calendar—which he then explains—and the alleged pact with the Devil, due to the “unnatural” approach of the tōnalpōhualli. It should be added that in the Nahuatl text, Sahagún’s collaborators also state, based on the title of book 4: “Auh in, y, tonalamatl oc cenca ie melaoac, ic motocaiotiz, naoallotl, ca naoalti intech povia” [And this book of days is more correctly called sorcery, for it belonged to the sorcerers] (Sahagún, 1950–1982, Pt. 5, p. 1). In this context, the tōnalpōuhqueh become nāhualtin, acquiring all the negative connotations attached to the term in the colonial period, during which it is often translated as “warlocks” or “witches” (Martínez González, 2007; Molina, 1880/1970, Pt. 1, f. 21v; Pt. 2, f. 63v).

In the long appendix to book 4, Sahagún insists on condemning the idolatrous nature of the indigenous divinatory calendar:

Esta cuenta, muy perjudicial y muy supersticiosa y muy llena de idolatría, como parece en este libro Cuarto, algunos la alaban mucho, diciendo que era muy ingeniosa y que ninguna mácula tenía. Esto dixeron por no entender a qué fin se endereza esta cuenta, el cual es muy malo, idolátrico. De poco entendieron la muchedumbre de supersticiones y fiestas y sacrificios idolátricos que en ella se contienen y llamaron a esta cuenta el calendario de los indios, no entendiendo que esta cuenta no alcanza a todo el año . . . Y cierto fue grande inadvertencia y culpable ignorancia loar por palabra y por escrito una cosa tan mala y tan llena de idolatría

[This very pernicious count, superstitious and full of idolatry, as is seen in this fourth book, some praise highly, saying that it was very ingenious and contained no blemish. This they said because they did not understand for what purpose this count, which is very evil and idolatrous, was established. Little did they appreciate the multitude of superstitions, feasts, and idolatrous sacrifices involved in it. And they called this count the calendar of the Indians, not understanding that this count doth not extend through all of the year. . . . And surely it was great carelessness and culpable ignorance to praise by word of mouth and in writing something so evil and full of idolatry]. (1950–1982, Pt. 5, p. 139; 2000, Vol. 1, pp. 422–423)

Sahagún even quotes two fragments of a treatise written by a coreligionist who describes and expresses admiration for the native calendar, claiming that “es de saber que en este calendario no hay cosa de idolatría” [it should be known that in this calendar there is nothing idolatrous] (Sahagún, 1950–1982, Pt. 5, p. 140; 2000, Vol. 1, p. 423 [4: appendix]).8 Sahagún not only refutes this opinion but also ruthlessly criticizes the flawed interpretation made by the anonymous writer who ignored the idolatrous nature of the tōnalpōhualli:

En lo que dice que los indios se composiero desta cuenta se mostraron filósofos naturales es falsísimo, porque esta cuenta no le llevan por ninguna orden natural, porque fue invención del Demonio y arte de adivinación

[As to what he saith, that the Indians (who) devised this count showed themselves to be natural philosophers: this is most false. For they do not carry out this count according to any natural order; for it was an invention of the Devil and an art of soothsaying]. (1950–1982, Pt. 5, p. 141; 2000, Vol. 1, p. 424)

Parenthetically speaking, this denial by Sahagún of the role of “natural philosopher” conferred on the Indians contrasts with the admiring opinion that he himself expresses in the texts of book 6 of the Florentine Codex, even of the prayers dedicated to the pagan gods, as he mentions in the prologue to book 9:

El Sexto Libro, que hace volumen por sí, trata de la retórica y filosofía moral que estos naturales alcanzaban, donde se pone muchas maneras de oraciones, muy elegantes y muy morales, y aun las que tocan a los dioses y a sus cerimonias, se pueden decir muy teologales

[The sixth book, which forms a volume by itself, deals with the rhetoric and moral philosophy which these natives achieved. In it are set forth many forms of very elegant, very moral prayers. And even those that touch upon the gods and their ceremonies can be said to be very theological]. (1950–1982, Pt. 1, p. 71; 2000, Vol. 2, p. 787)

Now, this Nahuatl-language “rhetoric and moral philosophy”—which includes, among other texts, the famous huēhuetlahtōlli, “ancient words”—was to be used by Sahagún himself as a model for his writings intended for evangelization, such as his sermon book and the Psalmodia Cristiana [Christian Psalmody], the only work published by the Franciscan in his lifetime (Alcántara Rojas, 2008). As we have noted, Sahagún’s attitude toward the 260-day indigenous divinatory calendar is different; although he did modify the annual 365-day calendar to adapt it to the Christian model, his implacability in regard to the idolatrous nature of the tōnalpōhualli leads him to forcefully refute prior writings:

de manera que ninguna verdad contiene aquel tratado arriba puesto que aquel religioso escribió, mas antes contiene falsedad y mentira muy perniciosa

[so that the treatise aforementioned, which that member of a religious order wrote, containeth no truth but rather very pernicious error and falsehood]. (1950–1982, Pt. 5, p. 141; 2000, Vol. 1, p. 425 [4: appendix])

The second quotation refers to the general knowledge of these calendar counts, to which Sahagún retorts that actually only the tōnalpōuhqueh (figure 8.3) were able to use the divinatory calendar “porque contiene muchas dificultades y obscuridades” [because it containeth many difficulties and obscurities] (1950–1982, Vol. 4, p. 142; 2000, Vol. 1, p. 426 [4: appendix]). Sahagún adds, regarding the tōnalpōuhqueh:

Teníanlos como profetas y sabidores de las cosas futuras. Y ansí, acudían a ellos en muchas cosas, como antiguamente los hijos de Israel acudían a los profetas

[They considered them to be prophets and knowers of future things. Hence, they depended upon them for many things, as in days of old the sons of Israel depended upon the prophets]. (1950–1982, Vol. 4, p. 142; 2000, Vol. 1, p. 426)

Some scholars, like Georges Baudot (1983, pp. 316–317, 462–466) and Jesús Bustamante García (1990, pp. 311–314), have investigated the identity of the unnamed “member of a religious order” mentioned by Friar Bernardino. The discovery in 1991 of a document from the Tribunal of the Inquisition, dating from August 14, 1572, helps solve the mystery surrounding him:

fray Bernardino de Sahagún de la orden de Sant Francisco, residente en el Convento de Tlatilulco de edad de se[te]nta y tres años y dixo quel viene a dezir y manifestar por descargo de su conciencia . . . que por esta Nueva España anda una obra que todos entienden que es de fray Toribio Motolina [sic] o de Benavente fraile de su orden en la qual justifica la adivinança que los yndios de esta Nueva España tenían, lo qual declara para que se advierta de ello y se rremedie si conviniere

[Friar Bernardino de Sahagún of the Order of Saint Francis resides at the Convent of Tlatelolco, seventy-three years of age, and states and manifests so as to ease his conscience . . . that in this New Spain a work circulates which everybody understands as being [the work] of Friar Toribio Motolinía or de Benavente, a friar of his order, in which he justifies the soothsaying that the Indians of this New Spain had, which he declares to warn about it, so as it may be remedied should it be convenient]. (Baudot, 1991, p. 129)

It should be recalled that Sahagún’s accusation took place several years after the death of Friar Toribio Motolinía in 1569.

The Indian divinatory calendar recurred in the writings and endeavors of Friar Bernardino de Sahagún. It appears in the Primeros Memoriales [First Memorials], compiled in the years 1558–1561, which includes a chapter on the tōnalpōhualli (Sahagún, 1993, ff. 286r–303r), and again in book 4 of the Florentine Codex, written around 1576; his interest in indigenous calendars would last until the end of his life. Sahagún wrote a Kalendario Mexicano, Latino y Castellano [Calendar in Mexican, Latin, and Castilian] and an Arte Adivinatoria [Art of Divination] in 1585 (Bustamante García, 1990, pp. 372–382; García Icazbalceta, 1954, p. 383), preserved in the volume known as Cantares Mexicanos [Mexican Songs] (1994, ff. 100r–125r). In his Kalendario, Sahagún remarkably alters the structure of the pre-Hispanic solar calendar—incorporating five twenty-one-day months—so as to put an end to the nemontēmi (the five fateful days closing the 365-day year) and the superstitions linked to them (Bustamante García, 1990, p. 373). His Arte Adivinatoria is preceded by a prologue where he severely censures the first evangelization carried out by the Franciscans, stating for instance that the Christian god was accepted by the Indians yet worshipped alongside pagan gods,

conforme a la costumbre antigua que tenían que quando venia alguna gente forastera a poblar cerca de los que estauan ya poblados quando les parecía tomaban por dios al dios que traían los rezien llegados

[abiding by the ancestral custom they had, that when foreigners arrived to live near those that were already settled, when they saw fit they would take the god that the newcomer brought as their god]. (García Icazbalceta, 1954, pp. 382–383)

He expresses his profound pessimism, concluding that

esta Iglesia nueva [en la Nueva España] quedó fundada sobre falso, y aun con haberle puesto algunos estribos, está todavía bien lastimada y arruinada

[this new Church (in New Spain) was founded on spurious grounds, and even after having shored it up, it is still damaged and ruined]. (p. 383)

Also in his prologue to his Arte adivinatoria, Sahagún provides several instances of the persistence of idolatry amongst evangelized Indians and warns other members of his order of the need to know the old indigenous religion so as to fight it. Good instances of his persistent denunciation of the idolatrous nature of the divinatory calendar are provided in passages where he recommends refraining from certain practices:

Ni cuando nacen vayan a preguntar al agorero (que se llama Tonalpouhqui) por la ventura del que nació, ni crean lo que dicen los agoreros o Tonalpouhques acerca de la ventura de los que nacen, que todas son palabras del diablo y todas son mentiras

[Neither should you ask the soothsayer (who is called tōnalpōuhqui) when children are born what their fate might be, nor should you believe what the soothsayers or tōnalpōuhqueh say about the fortune of those who are born, for they are all the words of the Devil and they are all lies]. (García Icazbalceta, 1954, p. 384)

In fact, Sahagún explains that Friar Rodrigo de Sequera described to him how “the Moors from Granada,” after baptizing their children in the church, “tornan a baptizar a las criaturas en sus casas, según el baptismo mahomético” [baptize them again in their homes, observing the Muslim baptism] (García Icazbalceta, 1954, p. 383). This is a very interesting fact. Let us remember that Sequera was the Franciscans’ general commissioner and that he literally saved Sahagún and his Nahua collaborators’ work by taking it to Spain when the Spanish administration, under King Philip II, forbade works on ancient New Spain, as well as indigenous language translations of texts for evangelization (Baudot, 1969). Sahagún (2000, Vol. 2, p. 473) actually profusely thanks him for his help in finalizing, in this difficult context, the Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva España [General History of the Things of New Spain]. Unfortunately—with the exception of the Sahagún fragment quoted above—we do not have any further news on Sequera’s work among the Moors from Granada (Baudot, 1969, pp. 51–52). Be that as it may, the Spanish friars’ experience with the Moors undoubtedly sets an important precedent for the New World’s evangelization (Garrida Aranda, 1980; Hamann, 2010).9 Going back to the quote in the Arte Adivinatoria, this shows us that Sahagún had taken seriously Sequera’s warning about the Moors’ attitude toward their children’s baptism.

In order to prevent that kind of behavior amongst Indians in New Spain, the knowledge of the indigenous divinatory calendar and its function, above all in naming children, was essential. This explains some of Sahagún’s eagerness to record the various names of “pagan” gods, with the clear purpose of not letting the Indians adopt them (Olivier, 2002, p. 68). Thus, when speaking about four aspects of the goddess Tlazolteotl, Sahagún (2000) explains that:

Destas cuatro diosas tomaban y toman sus nombres las mujeres mexicanas, que son Tiacapan, Teicu, Tlacu, Xuco. Conviene quitárselos

[Mexican women took and take their names from these four goddesses that are Tiacapan, Teicu, Tlacu, Xuco. It is advisable to take these away from them]. (Vol. 1, p. 122 [1: appendix])

Sahagún (2000, p. 245) also tells us that children born on special days—for example, cē miquiztli [1 Death]—would be named after gods associated with these dates (figure 8.4):

el mismo día que nacían le baptizaban y le ponían nombre . . . Y si era varón el que nacía, poníanle por nombre Míquiz, o Yáutl, o Ceyáutl, o Nécoc Yáutl, o Chicoyáutl, o Yaumáuitl. Dábanle uno destos nombres ya dichos que eran todos de Tezcatlipoca, y decían que al tal nadie le podía aborrecer, nadie le podía desear la Muerte

[If, at this time, someone were born, then they bathed him and gave him a name. . . . If a boy had been born, they therefore called forth (as his name) Miquiz, or Yaotl, Cenyaotl, Necoc Yaotl, Chicoyaotl, or Yaomahuitl. So they placed on him a name of Tezcatlipoca. Of this one it was said: “None may wish him harm: none may wish him to die”]. (1950–1982, Pt. 4, p. 34; 2000, Vol. 1, pp. 367–368 [4:9])

Furthermore, the fact that the nobles or “principals” adopted a deity’s name is mentioned. For example, after enumerating a list of twelve pulque deities, Sahagún contends that “hasta hoy duran estos diabólicos nombres entre los principales” [to this day, these diabolical names persist among the principals] (2000, Vol. 1, pp. 124–125 [1: appendix]). Thus, the Franciscan’s interest in documenting the Nahua’s divinatory calendar had the purpose of eradicating their persistent “idolatrous” practices, which influenced his way of presenting indigenous testimonies.

Notwithstanding this, did Sahagún’s description of the tōnalpōhualli actually correspond to its effective use in the pre-Hispanic period? As Eloise Quiñones Keber (2002) aptly observed, book 4 of the Florentine Codex contemplates not the complex ritualistic divinatory processes conducted by the tōnalpōuhqueh but the outcome of consultations similar to European almanacs (see also Díaz, 2020, pp. 360–365). In fact, according to Quiñones Keber (2002, pp. 266–267), “the texts and images of Book 4 drastically attenuated what were undoubtedly regarded as the pagan aspects of the tonalamatl that is deities and divination. They accentuated instead more innocuous aspects, such as the naming and bathing of newborn children, which had some correspondence to Christian rituals.”

It could, therefore, be inferred that Western approaches could have exerted some influence on the writing of book 4, for instance via the repertorios de los tiempos (almanacs) circulating in New Spain at the time. These repertorios contained, amongst other topics, predictions at birth based on star signs that were similar in some respects to those linked to the tōnalpōhualli. Some repertorios were even translated into Nahuatl, such as the manuscript found alongside a copy of the Doctrina Christiana en Lengua Mexicana, published in 1553 by Friar Pedro de Gante (López Austin, 1973), and later texts such as Manuscript BNF-Mex 381, held by the National Library of France (Tavarez, 2012, pp. 236–249), and Manuscript 3523–2, kept at the Tropenmuseum of Amsterdam (Wichmann & Heijnen, 2008).10 Furthermore, the library of the Colegio Imperial de la Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco held a copy of the Chronographia o Repertorio de los Tiempos by Jerónimo de Chaves, published in Seville in 1566 (Mathes, 1982, p. 33). A collation ought to be carried out of the predictions contained in the Spanish repertorios and those recorded not only in Sahagún’s work but also in other sources such as the Codex Telleriano-Remensis, the Codex Vaticanus A, the Codex Borbonicus or in the writings of Diego Durán.11 Indeed, these documents contain brief divinatory notes, quite similar to the style used in the repertorios.

In terms of Sahagún’s Nahua collaborators, curtailing the part played by divination could be a form of avoiding delving into sensitive matters which could lead to accusations of idolatry. In the same period, the authors of the Codex Mexicanus drew inspiration from the Spanish repertorios—they included zodiacal elements and even a “zodiac man” in some plates—as Lori Boornazian Diel (2016) has demonstrated. However, according to her, in one part of the manuscript dealing with the calendar “presumably, additional information pertaining to the sacred features of each trecena [thirteen-day cycle] would have been added, but in the Codex Mexicanus, the pages are now mostly blank with only faint traces of imagery visible under the gesso coating. The original contents may have been whitewashed at some point in the manuscript’s history, perhaps because of fears that such information would be deemed suspect by Spanish authorities” (p. 442).

To end my contribution on Bernardino de Sahagún’s attitude toward Nahua divinatory practices, I would like to highlight a most peculiar instance, where Sahagún surprisingly comments with unusual flippancy on the customs which he had firmly condemned in other parts of his work. Thus, in the first part of book 11, which deals with animals, he translates or summarizes in Castilian the beliefs of his Nahua collaborators regarding animals. For instance, his collaborators describe auguries linked to encounters with a certain type of large cockroach called pīnāhuiztli (1950–1982, Pt. 12, p. 89 [11.5]) (figure 8.5). The vermin could announce that something shameful would happen to the one who saw it—the related word pīnāhuiliztli means “shame” (Molina, 1880/1970, Pt. 2, f. 82r)12—or perhaps the encounter meant death, or something in their favor. Sahagún’s comment is quite unexpected: “Pones aquí en la letra, el razonamiento que haze el que topa a algunas destas savandixas es graciosa” [Put here in writing the reasoning of someone who stumbles upon this creepy-crawly; it is funny] (2000, Vol. 3, pp. 1049–1050 [11.5]). We must admit that the text is unclear: does the word graciosa [funny] refer to the creature? Could it be a spelling mistake using the female adjective (which would apply to the creepy-crawly) and should it be read as the masculine gracioso referring to the Indian’s “reasoning”? Sahagún seems to have forgotten that predictions linked to the pīnāhuiztli had also been recorded in book 5, on auguries, where it is mentioned that a cross is made on the ground to speculate on the direction the creature would follow (1950–1982, Pt. 6, pp. 169–170 [5.8]).13 Yet in the prologue to book 5, Sahagún did declare:

por caminos no lícitos y vedados procuramos de saber las cosas que nuestro señor Dios no es servido que sepamos, como son las cosas futuras y las cosas secretas. Y esto a las veces por la vía del Demonio, a las veces conjecturando por los bramidos de los animales o garridos de las aves o por el parecer de algunas sabandijas

[we try through illicit and forbidden ways to know of the things which our Lord God has not willed that we should know, such as the things of the future and secret things. And this is (done) sometimes by way of the Devil, sometimes guessing by the howls of the animals or the cries of the birds or by the appearance of some vermin]. (1950–1982, Pt. 1, p. 63; 2000, Vol. 1, p. 435 [5: prologue])

How may we explain the fact that he considers “funny” how the Indians react when they see a pīnāhuiztli? This seems quite bewildering. Could he be expressing disdain toward their “silliness” or “childishness”? When referring to the Cihuateteo, deified women who had died in childbirth, he exclaimed: “Es esta adoración de mujeres cosa tan de burlar y de reir, que no hay para qué hablar de la confutar por autoridades de la Sagrada Escriptura” [This worship of women is such a laughable and preposterous thing that there is no need to talk about having it confuted by the authorities of the Holy Scripture] (2000, Vol. 1, p. 122 [1: appendix]) (figure 8.6).14 Or else, it could be a case of carelessness on Sahagún’s part that the Tribunal of the Holy Office would not have hesitated to condemn. Could Sahagún’s interest in the customs of his collaborators—in this case not so different from European beliefs in terms of auguries linked to animals15—have turned into attraction so that he found them even amusing? Could Sahagún have swapped his implacable role as the scrutinizer of indigenous idolatry for that of a curious observer, even partaking in the sense of humor of his collaborators? Plus, should this be the case, by humorously commenting on the auguries, the Christian Nahua perhaps conveniently tried to present themselves in the eyes of the friar as no longer attached to their lapsed beliefs of long ago. We can consider the existence of a similar attitude among informants to Dominican Friar Diego Durán (1995), when he asked them about their funeral customs: “hacian tanta multitud de ceremonias y niñerias que los mismos indios se rien y espantaban de ver tanto juguete y niñerías en que sus antepasados estribaban” [they carried out so many ceremonies and child’s play that the Indians themselves laugh and are frightened to see such playfulness and childishness in what their ancestors espoused] (p. 178).

Without a doubt—and lacking a clear declarative context—it is extremely hard to choose from among the different hypotheses proposed to explain Friar Bernardino de Sahagún’s amusement by the pīnāhuiztli augury. Either way, I think it illustrates the ambiguity of Christian answers to the phenomenon of divination in general and, in particular, to Mesoamerican divination practices—a topic that warrants more systematic research (Olivier, 2012). This anecdote also reflects the Franciscan’s doubts, born of the prolonged coexistence with his collaborators, regarding the level of civilization the Indians achieved, the Devil’s influence on their customs and beliefs, and finally their ability to become faithful Christians. To analyze Sahagún’s perception of the Nahua’s divinatory calendar and their divinatory practices also brings us to the interpretative models required by the friar. We find a mix of references: to Greco-Latin antiquity, the way of defining and classifying Mexica gods, for example (Laird, 2016; Olivier, 2016); to the Bible and to the Church Fathers, Saint Augustine especially (Botta, in this volume); and to popular Spanish beliefs, a set of references from which Sahagún variably establishes a network of explanations to understand or judge the ancient Nahua as well as the indigenous Christian neophytes. The topic of divination reveals these various postures, displaying Sahagún as an attentive scrutineer and eradicator of native ritual practices, but also, perhaps, sensitive to the indigenous sense of humor, a little-known facet of the complex dialogue that took place between the friar and his Nahua collaborators over the years.