Cultural Contact and Transmission

It is risky to contend a priori that heterogeneous groups—ethnically, linguistically, and politically separate (like the Mixtec and Tarascans)—would have a common ancestral religious core. Continued contact over centuries builds bridges, and certain deities end up being shared by various peoples, each of whom provide their own features. This local reaction takes place when a cultural model is imposed—by force or prestige—in a geographic area. This seems to be the case of central Mexico when the Spaniards arrived: there was a convergence between local traditions, sheltered by a common political framework (the Aztec Empire) and a dominant culture (Mexica). Within these criteria, there is an interesting deity that expands along with the dominant group: Huitzilopochtli, the native Mexica Sun god. He is not the only regional solar divinity; he is not even the only Sun in local cosmology. That said, it is interesting to draw a series of comparative lines between this system and Sol’s situation in the Roman Empire during the transition out of late antiquity. In the imperial Mediterranean, the figure of Sol and solar elements became very common across the Empire. There is currently a debate among those that see a god foreign to the Roman world but incorporated into the imperial religious system, versus those that support the evolution of the “native” republican Sol, finding points of common expression with other places in the Mediterranean milieu and building conceptual bridges (onomastics, epigraphy) and artistic ones (in the predominant Hellenistic-Roman iconographic system) (Hijmans, 2009, pp. 1–30; among others).

What is evident in the Mesoamerican cultural framework, beyond whatever level of consistency that one might envision, is a similarity in stylistic and cultic features across a large part of the territory. Some perspectives argue that there is a cultural uniformity at a level comparable to the classical Mediterranean era, sharing places of worship, mythemes, and cosmogony. Aztecs and Texcocans assimilated Toltec institutions, adapting them to their needs, and León-Portilla (1967, p. 42) early on defended the survival of Chichimec elements in the Mexica world. Tenayuca with the Chichimecs and Mexico Tenochtitlan with the Aztecs are good examples of this cultural fusion, where the newly settled peoples adapt customs from their environment (Morante López, 1997, pp. 118–123). The Aztec Triple Alliance [ēxcān tlahtōlōyan] symbolically exemplifies this cultural integration: the Mexica were heir to the Toltecs (through the Culhuas), Texcoco was heir to the historic Chichimecs, and Tlacopan was heir to Azcapotzalco (Hernández et al., 2007, p. 47). However, the Mesoamerican region lacked lasting political unity. One moment when this was almost achieved was that of the Triple Alliance, but even so, they had reached this dominance, in some regions, just decades before the Europeans’ arrival (as in the case of Oaxaca, conquered in the second half of the fifteenth century).

Although some research points to a degree of population replacement in central Mexico from the Classic to the Postclassic periods (Hernández et al., 2007), there is a clear cultural continuity that is also manifest in religion. Florescano (1993) and López Austin (1994) defined a series of common characteristics in Mesoamerican worldview shared by certain distinct traditions. Before them, Nicholson (1971, pp. 395–446) had already tried to explain the Mesoamerican system’s complexity as involving a large grouping of deities arranged through worship, an explanation which even today is practical (Botta, 2004, p. 100). This vision is rounded out by scholars like León-Portilla (1967) who recognize a cultural and religious syncretism during Mexica domination. The Mesoamerican cultural framework encompasses a heterogeneous but united worldview, which does not radically unify thought but allows contrary currents within it (López Austin, 2008: 83).

In the same way that there is cultural contact without political unity in Mesoamerica, we can understand the cultural transmission between the Persian and Greco-Roman areas of influence in the ancient world, where some religious movements like Christianity were shared. Roman sources also tend to see similarity, as between the solar cult of Aurelian (270–275 CE) and that practiced in Persia (SHA Aurel. 5.5), although these should not be considered as genuine equivalencies (Adrych et al., 2017, p. 4).

Religious Adaptation and the Interpretatio Problem

The Mediterranean area reached a high level of eclecticism during the Hellenistic and imperial Roman periods, creating the cultural framework for a common religious system. An example would be Isis; spread over the Mediterranean during the Hellenistic period, she became a common deity during the Empire. But it would be a mistake to understand this Roman imperial Isis as part of the original Egyptian religious system, since she belonged to the imperial Roman world (Alvar Ezquerra, 2008, pp. 3, 10, 14). As for Sol, during the second and fourth centuries CE the solar image was associated with many gods (Ferguson, 1970, p. 219). By then, its iconography stemmed from an authoritative stylistic pattern (Hellenistic), to which an official form of cult defining Sol was added in the third century, a moment when it came to have a predominant role, during the reigns of Heliogabalus (Elagabalus) and Aurelian (Sol Invictus).

While Sol Invictus, “Invincible Sun,” was a nonlocal solar dedication, the Elagabalus deity was a local god of the Syrian city of Emesa that was assimilated to Sol. There are other examples that interact with the solar image, such as Mên (god of the half-moon) and Atis, who are together solarized, belatedly, by their celestial relationship (Turcan, 2001, pp. 71, 74). Syria was, however, the most prolific region, with other examples such as Baal of Baalbek, a celestial god represented occasionally as Iuppiter Optimus Maximus Heliopolitanus (Bêl’s solar messenger), as well as Yarhibôl and Aglibôl (Sun and Moon) from Palmyra; as well as Shamash in some Syrian cities. Eastern Mediterranean gods established in Syria and Palestine owed their uniqueness partly to the Arab world, whose princely elites settled the Syrio-Palestine world in Emesa, Edessa, Palmyra, and Petra (Seyrig, 1971; Turcan, 2001, p. 179; Watson, 1999, pp. 195–196).

This local adaptive response to, and dialogue with, the dominant culture could manifest itself in various modes of equivalence. The term interpretatio is used to understand this process in the Mediterranean world. The word has its origins in its use by Tacitus in a very specific context (Tac. Germ. 43.4), but it has been extended as a historical concept to explain the Greek and Roman sources that were very prolific in interpreting alien deities within their own mindset (Colin, Huck, & Vanséveren, 2015; Marco Simón, 2012). Nevertheless, this is a two-way phenomenon. For instance, indirect references in epigraphic or iconographic testimonies provide a glimpse of the local adaptation of Greco-Roman divine names and cults in the Celtic world (Häeussler, 2012; Marco Simón, 2010).

Interpretatio is important because it brings together different types of local variations of the same god, responding to local views of the cultural dimension of prestige. This phenomenon also has a parallel model in Mesoamerica, in which the unifying roles of Tonantzin and Tlaloc stand out. In this context of religious encounter, the Sun participates in two major processes: the religious acculturation of Mexica power, with Huitzilopochtli and the cosmogonic suns, and the Hispano-Christian religious acculturation that uses Sol’s figure because of its conceptual proximity to Christianity (Lara, 1999). In the ancient Mediterranean world, various Baals from the eastern Mediterranean, as well as Egyptian syncretic deities like Serapis, used Helios-Sol as a vehicle of religious expression during the Roman Empire. It was not the expansion of a native idea of the Roman deity Sol, but rather the projection of local traditions within a Hellenistic and imperial Roman religious system. Would it be possible to consider a similar process in central Mexico?

We certainly know of complex deities like Tlaloc who hide varied nuances and assimilate gods (Botta, 2004, 2009). In other cases, some divine names seem to be polysemic or to assimilate various gods. This is the case with Tonantzin, “Our Mother,” a generic term that refers to Coatlicue, Cihuacoatl, or Teteo Inan, revealing the richness of Mesoamerican heterogeneity (González Torres & Ruiz Guadalajara, 1995, pp. 165–179; Solares, 2007, pp. 347–350, 391–398).

Mesoamerica’s difference in regard to the idea of the Sun as a deity, in comparison to the Roman Empire, is that Huitzilopochtli seems not to participate in this process. Moreover, the absence of an enduring prestige-regulating element tied to the existence of diverse groups—such as the Tarascans, Nahua, Otomi, Matlatzinca, Mixtec, or Chichimec—creates a different context. These peoples developed important political entities independent from the Triple Alliance, such as the Tarascan Empire, the Tlaxcalan confederacy, and the Mixtec kingdoms. This ethnic, linguistic, and political heterogeneity must be considered to understand the multilingual Mesoamerican cultural framework (Wright-Carr, 2017, p. 180). However, linguistic and ethnic diversity was also present in the Mediterranean (Libio-Phoenicians, Syriacs, Copts, Gauls, Illyrians, etc.); therefore, the main difference lies in the intensity, duration, and extension of the political unit under a dominant entity or culture. In fact, López Austin defends the existence of a resilient Mesoamerican religious nucleus, but accepts the discrepancies that can be found within its transmission in Spanish times due to the variety of believers and the absence of a central authority (López Austin, 2016, p. 121). Colonial period sources—including Sahagún (Florentine Codex), Torquemada (Monarquía Indiana [Indian Monarchy]), and the Codex Vaticanus A—tell us about these differences in the representation of the cosmos, placing different gods in different places, even lacking a consensus on the number of heavens (twelve or thirteen) (compare López Austin, 2016, pp. 120–123). However, this information should be taken with caution. We have just spoken of the role of Spanish transmitters and, in the specific case of the Codex Vaticanus A, there have been calls to reconsider the influence of European mentality (Carrasco, 1982, pp. 11–12; Díaz Álvarez, 2009).

The Scant Mythologization of Helios-Sol

In contrast to the New World and many other cultures, Greek religious tradition gives little prominence to the Sun, Helios. He is more of a Titan than a god, as he is the son of Hyperion and Theia (Hom. Od. 12.175, Hes. Theog. 371). He was certainly mentioned in prayers and in mythology, but he was a minor deity. This is not unusual; although mythology includes the divinization of celestial bodies, there was not a significant cult to them in Greek tradition. Only the myth of Phaethon was widely known, and there were not widespread areas of worship, with the exception of Rhodes (Ferguson, 1970, pp. 44–45).

The role of Helios was partially taken over by Phoebus Apollo (Bright Apollo), the first solar assimilation in the Greek world. Both deities were closely linked. Among the first examples of this relationship, we have Pindar singing a paean to Apollo, addressing him as “solar ray” (Pind. Pae. 9). From the classical period on, this special relationship continued throughout Greek history, subsequently bequeathing the Roman world with the divine association of Sol-Apollo in an uninterrupted continuum (e.g., Zos., 2.6, 15–20).

One of the fields where Helios-Sol had some weight is in the definition of the cosmos. Helios-Sol and Selene-Moon form a key iconographic type as a cosmic metaphor, used extensively on reliefs and coins during the Roman Empire (Vermaseren, 1956–1960, Vol. 1, pp. 1292–1293). This is an important but secondary cosmological image, related to the zodiac and the main deity, as the coinage of Perinthus shows.2 The Sun only had a central role in cosmological representations on a few occasions, notably in late antiquity, as in the Roman mosaic from the villa of Münster-Sarmsheim (third century, Bonn, Rheinisches Landesmuseum) and the mosaic of Hammat Tiberias Synagogue, from 364–365 CE (Olszewski, 2005, p. 18), among others, where Helios-Sol is the main element in the context of the zodiac cycle (Magness, 2005, p. 5).

The Sun and Huitzilopochtli’s Inclusion in the Imperial Worldview

Mesoamerican worldview seems akin to some traits of Greco-Roman cosmological symbolism. In both systems, the Sun and the Moon mark the limit of our sphere’s heaven—in stoic terms—but there are other dimensions. In Mesoamerica, however, the Sun has a doubly autonomous role, as a cosmogonic element (figure 4.1) and as a specific deity.3

Huitzilopochtli is the local god native to the Mexica group—the Aztecs from Aztlan—whose epicenter is Mexico Tenochtitlan. Typically the principal deities of emerging powers travel with their worshippers and spread their cult beyond its original borders. This seems to be the case for the Mexica, who catapulted their deity to a high level of dispersion when the Aztec Empire expanded throughout Mesoamerica. Perhaps the Mexica religious-political case can be likened in some respects to the Mesopotamian model, where the city’s god accompanied political power and restructured worldview (see Marduk, in the forward of the Code of Hammurabi). Despite this, it is possible to define some interesting common traits between the Mediterranean under Roman domination, with the god Sol, and the Mesoamerican region controlled by the Mexica, with the god Huitzilopochtli.

Sol, under the advocation of Sol Indiges [Native/Invoked Sun], was one of Rome’s native gods. He had a feast on August 9 and a shrine on Quirinal Hill, according to the Amiternum calendar (CIL 9: 4142). This Roman Sol is from a preimperial phase and corresponds to the autochthonous Sol of Aeneas in Virgil, or the traditional agricultural god that Varro vindicates (Verg. Aen. 12.176, Varro Ling. 5.74, Rust. 1.1, 5). Just as Huitzilopochtli (as a native Aztec god) was integrated into a wider pantheon, the classical Mediterranean Sol did the same, but through its artistic representations.

There is no religious or cult imposition in the Mediterranean case, but there is a Hellenistic-Roman stylistic supremacy that imprints its character, and in some Mediterranean cults, various solar iconographic features as well. In the Celtic world, the Sun is a first-order element that is manifested in the traditional form of a solar wheel or swastika (Aldhouse-Green, 1989, p. 3). However, in Gaul we have the temple to Apollo Vindonnus at Essarois, whose facade has a solar representation of the deity in the Greco-Roman style (Espérandieu & Lantier, 1907, No. 3414.). This god is not Helios-Sol but a local representation of Vindonnus assimilated to Apollo with certain solar traits. The iconographic tools to represent the god were taken from the dominant cultural repertoire; therefore, the Essarois facade does represent the god Sol in a vocabulary common to the Mediterranean, although it may not mean the same as Varro’s Sol.

Nevertheless, it is possible to understand distinct regional traditions with solar attributes underlying broader superstrata. In this context, there is an interesting parallel between the expansion of a predominant cultural form, that of Helios-Sol, and the cult of Huitzilopochtli: the development of a series of shared traits that are due both to regional cultural contact as well as to the fact that the Sun is a heavenly body common to human perception (Galindo Trejo, 2003, p. 16). Precisely this univocity has allowed occasional direct comparisons between both shores, such as the cosmic and solar iconography of Mithraism (of Greco-Roman origin) and the Chamula cultures pointed out by Rober Beck (2006, pp. 74–80). Even so, there is a series of notable differences. In the first place, it is not clear to what extent Huitzilopochtli’s (solar) supremacy was imposed on Aztec-dominated territories (Batalla, de Rojas, & Garandilla, 2008, p. 153), while in the Roman Mediterranean the main deity of reference was Jupiter, a nonsolar god.

One cannot compare the Sun’s importance in the American world with that of the Mediterranean cultures, where cults of a solar nature only stand out in the Egyptian world, with deities such as Amun-Ra. Nevertheless, recent studies have revalued the importance of the appearance of certain solarized local expressions throughout the Roman Empire, such as the case of the Danubian area (Szabó, 2017, p. 76). Comparable with this, we have diverse indications of the Sun’s importance in Mesoamerican religion. In his Apologética Histórica Sumaria [Apologetic Summary History], Bartolomé de Las Casas (1967, p. 658) aims to explain central Mexican and Guatemalan worldviews. In his explanation, the author contends that all peoples have the Sun as their main deity. We also have archaeological examples, such as the great Pyramid of the Sun in Teotihuacan (begun approximately in the first century CE), an obvious example of the heavenly body’s importance (Márquez Sandoval, 2016). This temple can be related to the Templo Mayor, the Great Temple of Mexico Tenochtitlan, in its solar dedication, as the latter structure is doubly dedicated to Huitzilopochtli-Sun and to the ancient rain god Tlaloc.

What can be compared is the emergence of points of correspondence; the “middle ground” discussed by Woolf in the first chapter of this volume applies to different religious situations. Thus, the interpretatio and multiple denominations of gods show local reactions, while universal explanations appear on a more general and theoretical dimension. Along these lines, the evolution of Greco-Roman philosophy, as a response to increasing Mediterranean cultural exchange, makes sense. Examples are the neo-Platonic metaphysics in late antiquity, or the process of the “supralunar detachment” of the main gods subjected to an ulterior entity, very visible in the Stoics (Sen. Ep. 9.16, Origen C. Cels. 4.14).4 Finally, one version of this process will culminate with Sol in the role of an ultimate deity in the Mediterranean-Roman pantheon during the fourth century, as shown by late authors like Macrobius (Macrob. Sat. 1.17–22).

In the American world, we find that certain characteristics of the worldview are widespread, such as the multiple levels of the cosmos-sky. The Nahua version, with thirteen levels, is known through concepts such as the chicnāuhtopan—the nine that are above us—that define the supralunar world (López Austin, 2016, p. 123). There is a similar scheme with an ultimate deity in the case of Ometeuctli and Omecihuatl, as told by the tlamatinimeh [polymath poet-philosophers]. According to León-Portilla’s formulations (1999, p. 137; 2005, p. 161), the work of these tlamatinimeh reflects a Nahua philosophy with a theology centered on Ometeotl, god of duality.5

The duality defended by León-Portilla is not very far from the trinity of the Enneads by Plotinus—the One, the Intellect [noûs], and the Soul—or the similar Sun-based schematic concept from Julian the Apostate (Julian. Or. 4). Moreover, there is a similarity between the role Sol plays as a vehicle for communication among the various celestial strata in Neoplatonic philosophy (irradiation, enlightening of the noûs, Sol as a central element of the various divine hypostases, etc.) and the role of Topiltzin-Quetzalcoatl as an intermediate element of duality, approved by it and moving amidst the multiple heavens (Sahagún, 1979, Vol. 2, f. 124r–v [6.25]). This represents a similar way of thinking, explained by philosophical evolution in the Greco-Roman case, an intellectual answer to the encounter of diverse Mediterranean religious traditions following Hellenism. In both cases, the approach is a theorizing limited to the elite, which coexists with a general, varied polytheistic landscape. We can make out a process in Mexico similar to that of late pagan philosophy; we should ask, however, to what point is there an influence from Christian philosophy in the Spanish authors. Their theology was partly heir to Neoplatonism and was prone to reinterpret certain universal pagan beliefs in a monotheistic-henotheistic code, as Augustine did with the theology of ancient philosophy (August. De civ. D. 8.1, 9.23), and as Franciscans did through Augustine (Botta, in this volume).

Despite the problem of the sources, it is possible to identify certain changes brought about by the great empires. In the Roman Empire, Neoplatonic doctrine sought to explain the metaphysical through the exegesis of Plato’s work. The superior noûs, Intelligence, is explained by way of light emanating from the One that enlightens the Soul (logos I and III of Plotinus’s Sixth Ennead). Reality is explained in descending degrees from idea [eîdos] to the shadow-silhouette [skiá], with a strong dependency on luminous elements. From this way of thinking, the Neoplatonic world would take on religion, notably after Iamblichus.

In the Mexican case, the change is clear, with the incorporation of the Mexica god Huitzilopochtli, which is inserted in a larger, previously existing cosmology. Jacques Soustelle (1982, p. 50) speaks of an Aztec synthesis of older traditions of the Otomi, Huastec, or Yopi peoples. A general vision of the Mesoamerican panorama finds an assimilation of the older Toltec system in the Mexica tradition (León-Portilla, 2005, p. 161). Other authors, like Alfonso Caso (1953/1962, pp. 16–17), follow the same line of argument, claiming that the Aztecs adopted the gods of conquered peoples and preceding cultures into their pantheon. Caso also sees a dichotomy within religion, between the uneducated masses and the priests, where an exaggerated polytheistic vision was confronted by the centripetal priestly belief. An example of this is the priests’ exclusive recognition of Ometochtli among the many gods of drunkenness (Caso, 1953/1962, pp. 17, 69). Huitzilopochtli is the only exception to this intentional syncretism, as a native Aztec god that was included in the main cosmological stories, yet while he was maintaining a possible two-level interpretation (Zantwijk, 2017). There are also authors who emphasize the Mesoamerican world’s religious heterogeneity within a stylistic uniformity. Michael E. Smith (2008, pp. 122, 130–135), for example, defends the religious autonomy of each altepetl (ethnic and territorial unit) in the Aztec Empire under the predominant style and architecture common to an Aztec cultural elite. If this is true, then the situation would not be far from that of the imperial Mediterranean under Greco-Roman cultural preeminence.

The Sun and Huitzilopochtli in Mesoamerica

In the Mexica’s sphere of influence, there was an origin myth about the Sun with similar variants. It usually centered on the gods’ sacrifice to recover the Sun after cycles of destruction in the myth of the four, and then five, Suns. It was a common cosmogenesis, promoted by the Mexica, which existed as an important part of Mesoamerican belief. The Mesoamerican and Greco-Roman worlds considered sacrifice as necessary for the gods’ sustenance; in the New World, however, the considerations were different and transcendental. The value of human blood was such that it became an essential food for both the gods and the proper functioning of the world. The last Sun, that of the current era, needed blood to be able to move, a fact commemorated on the day Four Movement/Earthquake in the tōnalpōhualli religious calendar, the day of the birth and setting forth of this heavenly body (Caso, 1927, p. 88).

According to one of the variants, the Fifth Sun was born of the sacrifice of Nanahuatzin, a modest god who offered himself before the vain Teucciztecatl did (López Austin, 2009, p. 20). This second god, of male gender, gave rise to the Moon who, as in most religious pantheons, was intrinsically tied to the Sun; in the classical world we find the pairing between man (Helios-Sun) and woman (Selene-Moon). Also common across humanity is the relationship of these astral deities to the calendar. In Mesoamerica, the Moon (Mētztli in Nahuatl) named the month, in the same way that Luna appoints the Roman month or the Latin word mensis can be etymologically related to the Indo-European *méh₁�s (Moon) (de Vaan, 2008, p. 373).

In any regard, we should not confuse the solar star per se, Tonatiuh (for the Maya K’in, lord Sun) with Huitzilopochtli, a solar god whose name means “Hummingbird on the Left.” By the same token, neither should we confuse Metztli, the Moon god born of Teucciztecatl, with Coyolxauhqui, the Moon goddess, who in this case coincides with the gender of her Mediterranean counterpart. Despite this differentiation, Huitzilopochtli can be associated with Tonatiuh, since both represented the Sun. Tonatiuh was the physical solar deity that was born of Nanahuatzin’s sacrifice and lived in the third heaven (Codex Vaticanus A).

This ambiguity of suns and moons can be explained by variations on the mythical tales of common Mesoamerican cosmology (López Austin, 2009, p. 18). The Sun god’s theogony is not uniform, probably due to the fusion of traditions. Although the story of Huitzilopochtli’s birth was reinterpreted by Spanish writers, the Huitzilopochtli-Nanahuatzin solar duality invites us to draw a parallel to Apollo and Helios. In contrast to the less important Helios, Huitzilopochtli was the main solar deity at the Spaniards’ arrival, since he was the principal Aztec deity. This is why Bernardino de Sahagún devotes to this deity the first chapter, describing Aztec gods, of his Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva España [General History of the Things of New Spain] (1979, Vol. 1, f. 13r [1.1]). In line with the scholastic trend of comparison with the classic pantheon during the sixteenth century (see the chapter by Olivier, in this volume), Sahagún depicts Huitzilopochtli as a strong and bellicose Hercules, leaving out any mention of his solar aspect.6 Huitzilopochtli’s condition had a distinctly martial character that Apollo never had in the Greco-Roman world and that is found only slightly in Sol Invictus during the third and fourth centuries, when this deity became the Emperors’ patron after Aurelian’s reign (Watson, 1999, pp. 196–202). Warriors who died in battle and those sacrificed to Huitzilopochtli were taken to Tonatiuh Ichan [House of the Sun] so they could accompany him in a military procession during each day’s morning. These soldiers would descend again, four years after passing certain tests, to enjoy a lifetime of delight as hummingbirds—note the connection to the name of the god (Sahagún, 1979, Vol. 2, 144r–145r [6.29]).

There are other Mesoamerican myths about the Sun. The Aztec legend about the birth of the warrior Huitzilopochtli is another great account on the origins of the principal astral deities, also collected by Bernardino de Sahagún in his General History (1979, Vol. 1, ff. 202r–204v [3.1]). According to tradition, the god was born of Mother Earth Coatlicue [Cōātl Īcue, “she who wore a serpent skirt”]. He was begotten by the goddess brushing against a feathered ball, an asexual conception that outraged her other children: the Moon-Night Coyolxauhqui [the one adorned with bells] and her brothers the Centzon Huitznahua [southern stars], who tried to kill their mother before she gave birth. However, the Sun Huitzilopochtli was born already armed and on time to save his mother by defeating his brothers and dismembering Coyolxauhqui. Thus, Huitzilopochtli confirmed both his cosmic role as an adversary of night and darkness as well as a victorious warrior god. An example of this myth’s importance can be found in the disk depicting a dismembered Coyolxauhqui that was found during an underground electrical installation in 1978, in one of the intermediate building stages of Mexico Tenochtitlan’s Templo Mayor.7

Later sources are a problem for accessing pre-Columbian mythology. At best, the compilations from Spanish authors like Bernardino de Sahagún reflect the later state of Aztec or Nahua religious thought and do not extend to all of Mesoamerica nor to the pre-Mexica era. Sources are likely to mythologize this vision of the past (see Sahagún, 1979, Vol. 1, ff. 47v–48r [1: appendix]) and can hide details of a native religious evolution in favor of certain discursive strategies. For example, note how there is a memory of the Toltecs of Tula throughout the work of Diego Durán and how he makes a special link between them and Topiltzin (Durán, 1967). Add to memory’s fragility the setback from dismantling the native priestly elite and their traditional religious culture, which is interpreted and “rationalized” by the final compiler, usually a Spaniard.

A good example of this rationalization and compilation can be found in chapter 11 of Historia de los Mexicanos por sus Pinturas [History of the Mexicans through Their Paintings]. There is found, in the Mexica’s wanderings toward the future Mexico Tenochtitlan, the myth of Huitzilopochtli’s birth from a woman “que se decía Coatlicue, seyendo virgen, tomó vnas pocas de plumas blancas e púsolas en su pecho, y empreñóse sin ayuntamiento de varón” [who was called Coatlicue, being a virgin, took a few white feathers and put them in her bosom and was pregnant with a son without union with a man]. She also bore the four hundred men that Tezcatlipoca made and that were killed by Huitzilopochtli (Garibay K., 1973, p. 43). This is nothing but an adapted myth of the goddess Coatlicue and her solar son defending her from the lunar daughter Coyolxauhqui and the Centzon Huitznahua. This work fuses various myths to create a more or less homogeneous story, a latent example of how the author is interpreting the information received. After the passages quoted as an example, he continues:

Y a estos cuatrocientos que mató Huitzilopochtli los habitadores de la provincia de Cuzco [sic] los quemaron y los tomaron por sus dioses, y fasta agora por tales los tenían, y en este cerro celebraban la primera fiesta del nacimiento de Huitzilopochtli y de los cuatrocientos que mató

[Of these four hundred killed by Huitzilopochtli, the inhabitants of the Cuzco (sic) province were burned and taken by their gods, and up until now they had them as such; and in this mountain they celebrated the first feast of Huitzilopochtli’s birth and of the four hundred men that he killed]. (Garibay K., 1973, p. 44)

There are already studies on the differences between sources, such as the analysis by Mercedes de la Garza Camino (1983) of the Historia de los Mexicanos por sus Pinturas [History of the Mexicans through Their Paintings] and the Leyenda de los Soles [Legend of the Suns]. The Sun in Mesoamerica is not just Huitzilopochtli; he is one of several solar deities that, generally speaking, have great importance in explaining the history of the cosmos. In the Mesoamerican tradition there had been four earths, structured around four previous suns and a current Fifth Sun (figure 4.1). This loss of past celestial bodies with each successive disaster is essential to the mythological explanations surrounding the Fifth Sun and, to a lesser extent, concerning Metztli (Moon), born after Tonatiuh (Sun). It is a cyclic vision of eras represented by the rivalry between Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca (Huitzilopochtli in the General History) that ends with the Fifth Sun. This case is a good example of how Mesoamerican worldview evolved, impacted by the incorporation of Huitzilopochtli.

Graulich (1997, p. 139) explained changes in the story of the five Suns as Chichimec and Aztec innovations. These two groups settled in the region later and added one more Sun as well as a new order of cosmic stages. This organization of eras has some resemblance to the Hesiodic ages (Hes. Theog. 109–200), because in each age there was a different human race that disappeared in a final destruction. However, while in Hellenic tradition there is a regression, Mesoamerican traditions show a notable progression in the Leyenda de los Soles (Codex Chimalpopoca). This tradition was driven by the Aztecs, with peculiar characteristics: a catastrophic vision in which our Fifth Sun will succumb, beginning a final cataclysm including humanity’s destruction—a disaster that could be delayed through the ritual complex of human sacrifice guaranteed by Mexica domination (Tiesler & Olivier, 2020).

The Solar Deity and the Ruler

The Aztecs placed special emphasis on this religious belief through their worship of Huitzilopochtli, with the Mexica state guaranteeing its compliance. Thus, the Sun’s importance and the completion of bloody rituals both guaranteed the preservation of the cosmos and gave legitimacy to Mexico Tenochtitlan’s supremacy. When we talk about the relationship between state and god, the image of the sculpture called the Teocalli of the Sacred War, which was perhaps used as a royal icpalli [seat or throne], easily comes to mind (Caso, 1927). Without a doubt, part of the Mexica worldview is embodied in its reliefs. The front represents Huitzilopochtli at the solar disc’s left while the huēi tlahtoāni [great ruler] Moteuczoma Xocoyotzin accompanies the Sun on the right. The relevance of the ruler, the Sun, and Huitzilopochtli—the three main actors—could not be clearer.

One could easily see this piece as an example of use of public propaganda, but researchers like Michel Graulich (1997) warn about misrepresenting the Mesoamerican context. Regardless of whether art is an element of legitimizing propaganda, this piece reflects a religious and ideological message. I find the author’s proposal particularly thought-provoking, as he interprets the explanation of sacrifice and the myth of Huitzilopochtli against the four hundred huitznahuah as a reworking of prior myths (pp. 152–153), placing the Mexica scheme alongside Tlaloc in a central solar-chthonic duality. Both deities shared the Templo Mayor, and from there they sanctioned the legitimizing role of state, sacrifice, and sacred war in the Mexica worldview. The government’s legitimacy through sacrifice had parallels with the Roman religious mentality that motivated certain imperial actions of authority, such as the edict of Emperor Decius (249 CE) to ensure traditional religion through public sacrifices (Rives, 1999; Mentxaka, 2014, p. 25). However, the route to solar-sacrificial legitimacy that we find in the Aztec Empire did not exist in the classical Mediterranean, although the use of solar iconography in Roman imperial ideology to reinforce the ruler has been studied for some time (Berrens, 2004, pp. 171–229; Chirassi Colombo, 1979, pp. 654–655).

Sol, as a deity protecting emperors, has a special relationship with the ruler and the state. From the perspective of classical studies, this relationship is similar to that observed in the aforementioned Teocalli of the Sacred War. In the Mediterranean world of the third century, Sol is linked to several emperors through coins with legends like comes, aeternitas augusti, conservator augusti (RIC 7: Ticinium 56, 5.1: Gallienus 160, 5.2: Probus 294). Some Severan rulers were even momentarily identified with Sol, as the empress was with Luna (RIC 4.1; SHA, M. Ant. 52–53), but solar promotion reaches an extreme during the Tetrarchy, when Serapis appears holding the head of Helios, during the reigns of Maximinus II (305–312), Licinius (308–324), and even Constantine (306–337).8 The Genius Augusti also appears holding the head of Serapis in Alexandria (RIC 7: Alexandria 2–6; Alexandria 160a, 160b, and 161), while the mint in Antioch has the Genius holding the head of Helios (RIC 6: Antioch 164a–c and 165), reflecting a special bond of the two gods with the imperial numen and the legitimization of Licinius, Maximinus II, and Constantine.

Sol on third-century coinage appears to be increasingly linked to invincibility, with elements like the epithet Invictus or the representation of defeated enemies (RIC 5.1: Aurelian 61–66, 134–135, 137, 5.2: Treveri 116, Diocletian, and others). This is not always the case, however; many of the mintages have no military component. For example, there is no such element in the previously mentioned coins featuring Genius with the emperor and Serapis. Faced with this, the warrior role of the Mesoamerican counterpart is key to understanding the Aztec afterlife.

Evolution of the Solar Figure: From the Agrarian Connection to the Imperial Framework

According to Alfredo López Austin (2008, p. 51), Huitzilopochtli could have had, in his origin, the nature of an aquatic numen of agricultural societies. This would explain the god’s connection to the aniconicity among peoples with a great wealth of representations of deities, and the close relationship with Tlaloc, the rain god. This situation is no less curious considering that similar studies have existed since the 1970s regarding the Palmyrene triad Bêl-Aglibôl-Iarhibôl and that of Bêl-Aglibôl-Malakbêl.

Aglibôl (lunar god) and Iarhibôl (solar god) had their own independent worship in Palmyra; it was not until an undetermined moment around the change of eras that these three deities became associated. According to Lucinda Dirven and other authors, this association took place as a result of modifications made to the Temple of Bêl (Dirven, 1999, pp. 56–57), or in the period around 33 BCE–32 CE (Seyrig, 1971, pp. 89–91; Teixidor, 1979, pp. 35–50). Although Iarhibôl had a previous relationship with the sovereign god Bêl, it was not initially so with Aglibôl, who was absent in the joint dedications of the other two gods in temples such as Dura-Europos. In contrast, Malakbêl—a notably solar god during the Empire (Carbó García, 2010, pp. 198–199)—might, in his origin, have been of a vegetable nature in various contexts. Malakbêl was worshipped along with Aglibôl in the hieròn álsos, “sacred grove” (or gnt’ ‘lym, “garden of the gods”), a shrine run by the Bene Komare (Dirven, 1999, pp. 160–161). Because of the shrine’s partially Canaanite name, it was supposed to have been one of the oldest cultic elements in the city. Aglibôl later went on to become part of Bêl’s triad, and both their temples went on to have a subordinate relationship with the god. But in Palmyra, Malakbêl was also related to Gad Taimi, with both being synnaoí theoì [cohabitant gods] of the temple of Atargatis, fertility goddess of the Bene Mita (Dirven, 1999, pp. 160–170). Overall, the globalizing Hellenistic process during the Empire gave these gods a solar nature, and they were already partially assimilated with Sol when they expanded from their homeland throughout the Empire.

There are many examples of this process of solarization. One has only to review Latin and Greek inscriptions in the western Roman Empire to see the expansion of syncretic deities, sharing a chronological and geographic space among them and with those gods that presented local forms as well (Gaul and Italy). The way they were represented responds to Greco-Roman image patterns (CIL 6: 710, Latin-Palmyrene inscription), as do the coins. Some of them provide interesting examples of fusion under the Tetrarchy, adding attributes and diverse gods like Sol and Serapis (RIC 6: Nicomedia 73).

The level of assimilation varies greatly depending on the political context, such as the famous case of the Syrian emperor Elagabalus (218–222 CE) and the god with the same name from Emesa, where the future Emperor was high priest. His religious commitment is extremely well known in Roman historiography. For the comparison to America, it is interesting to observe how the emperor minted coins dedicated to the local deity in both the Roman fashion and in the traditional local manner (with eagle and baetylus [sacred stone]), but indistinctly called Sol.9 This is one of the clearest examples of local religious response (Sol Elagabalus) to a global cultural phenomenon that can also be observed in some of the few coins minted by Macrinus in 217–218 CE, in which the eagle, an essential element of the Syrio-Phoenician celestial deities, is accompanied by the head of Helios. It is the head of Helios-Sol from an iconographic and Greco-Roman point of view, but Prieur and Prieur (2000, Nos. 976, 988, 1015) interpret this solar figure as Shamash, which these coins possibly reference. Both coins come from the Emesa mint, homeland of Elagabalus, so I think it is also possible to interpret this image as such. The only impediment to this is the monopoly on priesthood held by the family of Elagabalus, the future Emperor who would rise in arms against Macrinus in the year 218 CE.

The process of adapting the Greco-Roman Sol’s symbolism in the Mediterranean world has a possible parallel with Huitzilopochtli’s situation, but also with the Christian image of Jesus in the hands of Spanish missionaries. There are several authors that have dealt with the latter problem, such as Berenice Alcántara Rojas, who focuses on Mesoamerican difrasismos10 that recover the luminous Christian figure with the goal of making metaphorical references that could explain divine concepts in a way understandable from the native viewpoint. In this particular context, biblical references of the “Sun of justice” (Malachi 4:2) or the “light of the world” (John 8:12) are used, and Francisco Plácito explained—within Christian doctrine—the resurrection of Jesus through a biblical solar metaphor of Sol coming out of darkness (Alcántara Rojas, 2009, p. 161). It is a fact that evangelizing elements like missions are a center for reinterpreting indigenous religion (Botta, 2004, p. 97).

Looking at the role of Sol as a missionary tool, the idea of this deity’s use as a binder of pre-Christian memory has not received sufficient attention. In the late Roman world, after Christianity’s official arrival, pagan authors like Macrobius and philosophers like Proclus, and even the emperor Julianus, defended a supposedly traditional view of religion, the applications of which had already been deeply altered. The religious theology of Julianus (Or. 4) makes use of the Neoplatonic movement with strong religious impressions focused on the solar element. In the fifth century, the same philosophical movement encouraged Proclus to pick up and reinterpret traditional pre-Christian religious memory in works like Elements of Theology, Homeric Hymns, and Hymn to Helios. Half a century prior, in his Saturnalia, Macrobius also emphasized Sol’s role as a common element of pagan deities. This is a distorted vision, in which we do not find classic religious approaches such as Cicero’s De Natura Deorum or Ovid’s Metamorphosis. The change may lie in the second- and third-century transformation, with the growing use of solar symbolism and of the polysemic figure of Sol Invictus, a common imperial dedication to the many local dedications to Sol across the Empire.

Conclusion

The Sun’s distinct characteristics in each region could be influenced by the worshipers’ customs and traditions where religious expression developed, but when a common cultural framework was imposed, they tended to end up responding to a common vocabulary. This is the case of the Roman imperial framework. The solar representations became so common in the Mediterranean framework that they were used even in synagogues like that of Hammat in Tiberias (fourth century). While in the (culturally) lax Latin or Greek circles the nimbus was constantly used as a symbol of solar luminosity, this was not the case in the representation of certain gods of Syrian origin. On one hand, Elagabalus seems to carry this element in his anthropomorphic representations; but, on the other hand, various gods like Aglibôl or Malakbêl could appear with him on occasion,11 while other gods like Heliopolitan Jupiter only relate to the Sun by their names. The appearance of solar attributes to represent a god do not follow a geographic logic, as the relief from Serapis shows. This figurative representation of Serapis appears to make use of the nimbus only occasionally, in such disparate places as Gaul and Egypt (figure 4.2).

The figures reproduced in this chapter, together with other representations—such as the coin from Perinthus mentioned in note 2—are good examples of the Sun’s comparison in Mesoamerica and in the classical Mediterranean. These images show the heavenly body’s importance in both worldviews, but also show the distinct relevance it had in each framework. In the Mesoamerican world, plural suns are key, essential to explanation. In the Mediterranean world, on the other hand, the Sun is a key element but in an auxiliary way. It is represented next to the Moon but, although Helios-Sol is the most important of the stars, it is not central to most of the representations but is rather an accessory to the main deity, such as Zeus-Jupiter.

The aesthetic and religious language is a form of communication that enables the transmission of religious feelings. We should ask ourselves up to what point were the shared characteristics, in the Mediterranean or in Mesoamerica respectively, merely an aesthetic resource and up to what point did they have a true symbolic value for their users. These are difficult issues; it would be worthwhile to take them into account when observing differences between the regional tendencies. Did the same symbols have the same value and importance among different groups? From the Mediterranean point of view, it seems like they did not have the same importance. The nimbus or radiant halo is an element that characterizes solar or light gods in imperial Mediterranean circles, while chariot use remains much more related to Sol in the dominant Hellenistic-Latin circle (Pérez Yarza, 2017). The use of solar symbolism varies greatly among different areas like the Syrian, the Egyptian (Serapis), or the Latin (Sol). To some extent this has allowed for imperial interpretations, such as Sol Invictus as a sort of Empire-wide integrating proposal (Chenoll Alfaro, 1994). At any rate, Sol rests on cult elements that are originally distinct but are then inserted into the same imperial Mediterranean framework, employing a common vocabulary to express local sensitivity to distinct traditions.

The universal character of Sol makes it especially interesting. In this chapter we have decided to not delve deeply into the process of the evangelization of New Spain, because the role of Sol in this context has been thoroughly researched and is less useful for comparison with the classic Mediterranean world. The comparison of two deities in formation, Huitzilopochtli and Sol, seems more suggestive, as do the way in which their characteristics could have affected the process of Christianization.

Both gods developed enormously in the final stage prior to the imposition of Christianity. This was especially true in terms of Sol, because the many written sources provide us with a profound view in the centuries prior to the Christian phase, over which the deity grew in importance. Huitzilopochtli was included in a system that existed prior to the arrival of his worshipers. Both deities thrived from having a special relationship with the dominant group, with Huitzilopochtli gaining a place in the Mesoamerican worldview thanks to the Mexica’s imperial thrust.

This special relationship with the dominant state seems to be the pattern. They coexist with other solar dedications, but they serve—directly or indirectly—to legitimize the ruler. This is especially evident in the importance of the warrior god Huitzilopochtli and the role of sacrifice in the Aztec cosmic structure, and by the role of Sol in legitimizing the late Roman ruler.

The important consideration of the solar substrate conditioned some of the missionaries’ tools. It seems that the evident association of the solar and the divine in the late Roman world owed its ideas to late paganism, and it was precisely the coincidences in the pre-Colombian Mesoamerican world which allowed the use of figures like the Sun of Justice as elements of acculturation. Sol’s importance in the pagan world is especially notable in the final pagan memory, written by thinkers like Julianus and Macrobius, who overstated this deity’s role when they idealized some religious aspects of pre-Christian philosophical and religious thought. At least in fourth-century Rome, Sol became a unifying element, a point of reference for pagans. In Mesoamerica, Huitzilopochtli was the Mexica’s main god, and he accompanied them in their expansion and reinforced a key role for the Sun in the Mesoamerican worldview that the Spaniards found.

With their arrival, the idea of Sol retains a close relationship with the Christian deity, which can be expressed through solar metaphors or certain religious expressions. A good example of the Christian interpretation is the representation of Christ-Helios in the Vatican’s Mausoleum M, the close relationship between Christmas and Natalis Solis Invicti, the Birthday of Sol Invictus (Hijmans, 2011), or the Dies Solis (Sunday) and Dominus Dei as the Lord’s day. These equivalences transform Sol into an acceptable metaphor for expressing the divine within Christianity, becoming an understandable tool of acculturation, for both missionaries and the people that were being evangelized.

Notes

References