Memorial Service
H. L. MENCKEN
It can’t be said of Henry Louis Mencken (1880–1956) that he bid adieu to faith with any reluctance. He seems to have been born with a contempt for it, which was vividly expressed in his early work on Friedrich Nietzsche. Tempted too much by eugenics and “social Darwinism” again, Mencken nonetheless did invaluable work against the biblical fundamentalists and other fanatics who tried to ban both alcohol and the teaching of evolution, and his accounts of the famous Scopes “monkey trial” in Tennessee in 1925 have deservedly become classics of reporting. Here he trains his lynx-like eye on ancient gods and delivers a funeral oration much less regretful than Thomas Hardy’s.
Where is the graveyard of dead gods? What lingering mourner waters their mounds? There was a day when Jupiter was the king of the gods, and any man who doubted his puissance was ipso facto a barbarian and an ignoramus. But where in all the world is there a man who worships Jupiter today? And what of Huitzilopochtli? In one year—and it is no more than five hundred years ago—fifty thousand youths and maidens were slain in sacrifice to him. Today, if he is remembered at all, it is only by some vagrant savage in the depths of the Mexican forest. Huitzilopochtli, like many other gods, had no human father; his mother was a virtuous widow; he was born of an apparently innocent flirtation that she carried on with the sun. When he frowned, his father, the sun, stood still. When he roared with rage, earthquakes engulfed whole cities. When he thirsted he was watered with ten thousand gallons of human blood. But today Huitzilopochtli is as magnificently forgotten as Alien G. Thurman. Once the peer of Allah, Buddha and Wotan, he is now the peer of General Coxey, Richmond P. Hobson, Nan Patterson, Alton B. Parker, Adelina Patti, General Weyler, and Tom Sharkey.
Speaking of Huitzilopochtli recalls his brother, Tezcatilpoca. Tezcatilpoca was almost as powerful: he consumed twenty-five thousand virgins a year. Lead me to his tomb: I would weep, and hang a couronne des perles. But who knows where it is? Or where the grave of Quetzalcoatl is? Or Tialoc? Or Chalchihuitlicue? Or Xiehtecutli? Or Centeotl, that sweet one? Or Tlazolteotl, the goddess of love? Or Mictlan? Or Ixtlilton? Or Omacatl? Or Yacatecutli? Or Mixcoatl? Or Xipe? Or all the host of Tzitzimitles? Where are their bones? Where is the willow on which they hung their harps? In what forlorn and unheard-of hell do they await the resurrection morn? Who enjoys their residuary estates? Or that of Dis, whom Cæsar found to be the chief god of the Celts? Or that of Tarves, the bull? Or that of Moccos, the pig? Or that of Epona, the mare? Or that of Mullo, the celestial jack-ass? There was a time when the Irish revered all these gods as violently as they now hate the English. But today even the drunkest Irishman laughs at them.
But they have company in oblivion: the hell of dead gods is as crowded as the Presbyterian hell for babies. Damona is there, and Esus, and Drunemeton, and Silvana, and Dervones, and Adsalluta, and Deva, and Belisama, and Axona, and Vintios, and Taranuous, and Sulis, and Cocidius, and Adsmerius, and Dumiatis, and Caletos, and Moccus, and Ollovidius, and Albiorix, and Leucitius, and Vitucadrus, and Ogmios, and Uxellimus, and Borvo, and Grannos, and Mogons. All mighty gods in their day, worshiped by millions, full of demands and impositions, able to bind and loose—all gods of the first class, not dilettanti. Men labored for generations to build vast temples to them—temples with stones as large as hay-wagons. The business of interpreting their whims occupied thousands of priests, wizards, archdeacons, evangelists, haruspices, bishops, archbishops. To doubt them was to die, usually at the stake. Armies took to the field to defend them against infidels: villages were burned, women and children were butchered, cattle were driven off. Yet in the end they all withered and died, and today there is none so poor to do them reverence. Worse, the very tombs in which they lie are lost, and so even a respectful stranger is debarred from paying them the slightest and politest homage.
What has become of Sutekh, once the high god of the whole Nile valley? What has become of:
Resheph
Baal
Anath
Astarte
Ashtoreth
Hadad
El
Addu
Nergal
Nebo
Ninib
Shalem
Dagon
Sharrab
Melek
Yau
Ahijah
Isis
Amon-Re
Osiris
Ptah
Sebek
Anubis
Molech
All these were once gods of the highest eminence. Many of them are mentioned with fear and trembling in the Old Testament. They ranked, five or six thousand years ago, with Jahveh himself; the worst of them stood far higher than Thor. Yet they have all gone down the chute, and with them the following:
Bilé
Gwydion
Lêr
Manawyddan
Arianrod
Nuada Argetlam
Morrigu
Tagd
Govannon
Goibniu
Gunfled
Odin
Sokk-mimi
Llaw Gyffes
Memetona
Lleu
Dagda
Ogma
Kerridwen
Mider
Pwyll
Rigantona
Ogyrvan
Marzin
Dea Dia
Mars
Ceros
Jupiter
Vaticanus
Cunina
Edulia
Potina
Adeona
Statilinus
Iuno Lucina
Diana of Ephesus
Saturn
Robigus
Furrina
Pluto
Vediovis
Ops
Consus
editrina
Cronos
Vesta
Enki
Tilmun
Engurra
Zer-panitu
Belus
Merodach
Dimmer
U-ki
Mu-ul-lil
Dauke
Ubargisi
Gasan-abzu
Ubilulu
Elum
Gasan-lil
U-Tin-dir ki
U-dimmer-an-kia
Marduk
Enurestu
Nin-lil-la
U-sab-sib
Nin
U-Mersi
Persephone
Tammuz
Istar
Venus
Lagas
Bau
U-urugal
Mulu-hursang
Sirtumu
Anu
Ea
Beltis
Nirig
Nusku
Nebo
Ni-zu
Samas
Sahi
Ma-banba-anna
Aa
En-Mersi
Allatu
Amurru
Sin
Assur
AbilAddu
Aku
Apsu
Beltu
Dagan
Dumu-zi-abzu
Elali
Kuski-banda
Isum
Kaawanu
Mami
Nin-azu
Nin-man
Lugal-Amarada
Zaraqu
Qarradu
Suqamunu
Ura-gala
Zagaga
Ueras
You may think I spoof. That I invent the names. I do not. Ask the rector to lend you any good treatise on comparative religion: you will find them all listed. They were gods of the highest standing and dignity—gods of civilized peoples—worshipped and believed in by millions. All were theoretically omnipotent, omniscient, and immortal. And all are dead.
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