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Vail - Scribal Interaction and The Transmission of Traditional Knowledge. A Postclassic Maya Perspective
Vail - Scribal Interaction and The Transmission of Traditional Knowledge. A Postclassic Maya Perspective
Introduction
120; Reents-Budet 1994: 57), although little information beyond this has
been forthcoming. The few that have survived from the Postclassic period
are very similar to each other in content, style, and their method of manufac-
ture. Sheets of paper made from the inner bark of the ficus tree were glued
together, folded into leaves, and then coated with calcium carbonate to pre-
pare them for painting (Coe and Kerr 1997: 143–44, 171). Studies of scribal
handwriting suggest that the Dresden Codex was the product of more than
one scribe (Nikolai Grube, pers. comm., September 2012), and nine scribal
hands have been identified in the Madrid Codex (Lacadena 2000).1
Scribal Practice
Scribes played an important role in Maya society from the Classic into the
colonial period. Even a generation after the conquest, scribes trained in
the hieroglyphic tradition continued to perform their duties, although this
had to be done in secret because of extirpation campaigns aimed at elimi-
nating idolatrous practices (Chuchiak 2004). A description of a ceremony
performed in August 1566 reveals the continuation of a pre-Hispanic tradi-
tion almost fifty years after initial contact with Europeans: dressed in their
priestly outfits, four Maya priests (ah k’in) met at the house of the head priest
(the Ah K’in May) to celebrate a ritual cleansing of several Maya codices.2
This Pocam festival resembles that described by Bishop Diego de Landa in
his Relación de las cosas de Yucatán as part of the rituals associated with the
month Wo in the indigenous calendar (Tozzer 1941: 153).3 The three hiero-
glyphic codices present at the ceremony were anointed with suhuy ha’ (vir-
gin water) to purify them, after which the Ah K’in May opened the books
to divine the prophecies for the year (Chuchiak 2004: 167).
Classic-Period Scribes
Classic-period sources provide a wealth of information about scribes
and painters from the Maya lowlands in the form of artifactual evidence
(including ink pots and pigments found in archaeological contexts), depic-
tions of scribes in both human and supernatural forms, epigraphic data (the
presence of scribal titles and occasionally artists’ signatures), and architec-
tural features such as buildings and tombs that may have housed scribes
(see, e.g., Coe and Kerr 1997: 100–101; Fash 1991: 120; Reents-Budet 1994:
chap. 2).
A majority of the evidence comes from painted polychrome pottery
vessels that depict scenes within royal courts as well as origin myths and
mythic episodes involving deities and other supernatural beings associated
with the scribal office. The pottery painters themselves are rarely depicted,
Postclassic-Period Scribes
During the Postclassic period, scribes played a less prominent role than
previously, likely because of the decreased emphasis on royal courts and
divinely established ruling lineages. Fewer than a dozen depictions of
Figure 1. Chaak as scribe on Madrid 73b. After Léon de Rosny (1883: pl. 39)
scribes have been identified, and there are no known scribal signatures. On
the other hand, there is substantial physical evidence of the works produced
by ah tz’ib’ in terms of screenfold codices and painted murals.
Painted manuscripts attributed to three separate codical traditions sur-
vive from the Postclassic period; these include: the three or four extant Maya
codices, three of which are believed to derive from Yucatán;5 the codices of
the Borgia group, which can be linked to Puebla, Tlaxcala, Oaxaca, and
possibly the Gulf Coast region; and those associated with the Mixtec tradi-
tion. Ethnohistoric and other lines of evidence make it clear that the number
of codices extant today—twenty or so—in no way reflects the actual situa-
tion at the time of the Spanish Conquest, at which time a large number of
codices were reported to have been seen by or shown to friars and colonial
administrators (Christenson 2003: 33; Chuchiak 2004).
As previously noted (Houston 1994, 2000: 155; Houston and Stuart 1992),
literacy is defined by two aspects: its production and its reception (the read-
ing and exegesis of texts). The former has been considered in detail in the
preceding discussion, making it clear that the production of written texts
was the province of scribes/priests, who were members of the elite class in
both the Classic and Postclassic periods.6
The public versus private context of writing is an important factor that
also needs to be considered, as it relates to the nature of the audience and
who could read the texts. Although there was likely a larger group of people
who could read the hieroglyphic script (or at least certain components, such
as the calendrical information) than were engaged in writing it, it is impor-
tant to keep in mind that many texts were not written to be read silently by
a single reader but were intended instead to be recited or performed orally
(Houston 2000: 155).
In considering pre-Hispanic literacy, it is imperative to view each
region and time period separately. Major shifts in political structure and
the production of hieroglyphic texts occurred during the transition from
the Classic to the Postclassic period (Grube 1999: 340–41), resulting in a
decreased emphasis on public monuments and the increased importance
of highly specialized ritual texts. That the painting tradition continued in
a robust fashion may be seen not only from the hieroglyphic codices but
also in terms of murals found at numerous sites throughout the peninsula.
Examples from Cobá, Pistolas, Playa del Carmen, El Rey, Xelhá, and Santa
Rita include short hieroglyphic captions, often of a calendrical nature.
In light of these data, characterizations of the Postclassic period as a
time associated with the “death” of the hieroglyphic script made by sev-
eral scholars at recent conferences are clearly unjustified. Ethnohistoric
data indicate that indigenous scribes continued to hold an important posi-
tion in the community into the early colonial period (Chuchiak 2004), and
evidence from Landa himself suggests that hieroglyphic codices played a
prominent role in Postclassic daily life and rituals (Tozzer 1941: 111–12,
153). Indeed, Landa notes that codices were of such significance to the
priests that they were buried with them, and they were said to be the most
important among the possessions taken when Mayapán was abandoned in
the mid-fifteenth century (ibid.: 39).
Although it is possible that such codices were kept as heirlooms rather
than being actively used, evidence to the contrary is provided by the Span-
ish themselves (see Chuchiak 2004; Tozzer 1941).7 Witnesses to an indige-
nous ritual celebrated in August 1566 in the Yucatec community of Calot-
mul, Yucatán, for example (described above), report that three hieroglyphic
codices were anointed with suhuy ha’ and then consulted by the Ah K’in
May to pronounce the prophecies for the year (Chuchiak 2004: 167).
Clearly, then, the tradition of recording prophecies, calendrical infor-
mation, and ritual texts in hieroglyphic books was as important—if not
more so—during the Postclassic period in the Maya area as was the case
during the Classic period. While it is indisputable that texts were recorded
less frequently on other types of media, claims that the Postclassic period
was devoid of literary endeavors or a literate class are completely unjustified.
that most of the tables have base dates in the Late/Terminal Classic period
(eighth and ninth centuries) but use dates falling in the thirteenth and four-
teenth centuries; (4) the presence of both Yucatecan and Ch’olan vocabu-
lary and morphological features (although the two rarely occur in the same
almanac or table); and (5) the presence of almanacs with cognates in the
Dresden, the Madrid, and sometimes the Paris codices.
Texts in the Dresden Codex demonstrate a mixed literary/lexical tra-
dition, stemming from both the Yucatecan and Ch’olan language families
(Vail and Hernández 2013a). This may result from the fact that Yucatecan
scribes were copying texts originally written in a Ch’olan language and at
the same time incorporating Yucatecan spellings into their updated manu-
scripts (Vail 2000). A Ch’olan substrate would make sense if the texts being
copied were originally from Classic- period manuscripts, since current
scholarship suggests that an ancestral form of Ch’olti’an served as a lingua
franca throughout the Maya area during the Classic period (Houston 2000;
Houston, Robertson, and Stuart 2000). Almanacs written in a Yucatecan
language may indicate the translation of an earlier text or be a new addition
to the codex (e.g., drafted by one of the Postclassic scribes responsible for
painting the Dresden Codex).
There is less evidence of an underlying Ch’olan substrate in the Madrid
Codex, although it does include some Ch’olan vocabulary. It is likely, how-
ever, that these were archaic forms that had become fossilized graphically,
much as was true of the month glyphs used in the codices. Evidence from
the codex instead reflects what appears to be a period of intense interaction
between scribes (and/or populations more generally) from Yucatán and
highland Mexico. This may be seen, for example, in an almanac format
unique to the Madrid and Borgia group codices—the in extenso almanac,
which explicitly lists all 260 days of the ritual calendar. Correspondences
between those on pages 12b–18b and 75–76 of the Madrid Codex and
examples in the Borgia codices, as well as other connections between the
Madrid almanacs and codices in the Borgia group (figs. 2–3; also see Boone
2005; Just 2004; Lacadena 2010; Thomas 1884), have raised questions con-
cerning what types of interactions may have led to the sharing of this alma-
nac type. Moreover, other almanac structures (such as circular and “cross-
over” almanacs), although present in small numbers in the Dresden Codex,
are far more common in the Madrid Codex and in the Mexican tradition.
The present composition of the codices can be explained by positing
that its almanacs and tables consist of those copied from Classic-period
codices—sometimes without modification but more often with revisions
(ranging from minor to quite extensive)—and newer instruments drafted
by Postclassic scribes, often in situations of culture contact (V. Bricker
and H. Bricker 1992; Macri and Vail 2009; Vail and Hernández 2013b).
An example of the former situation involves the k’atun pages in the Paris
Codex, which span the period from AD 475 to 731 (H. and V. Bricker 2011:
359)9—beginning a full millennium before the physical codex in which they
were included was actually painted! For reasons that remain unknown,
rather than recording a contemporary k’atun cycle, the scribe considered
the information from the earlier cycle to be more important to preserve.
The original version of the almanac was likely copied from a Classic-period
manuscript into new codices a dozen or more times before it found its way
into the Paris Codex. Unfortunately, none of these intermediary steps was
preserved.
Among the Aztec, the tlamatinime were the creators and keepers of tradi-
tional knowledge; they painted and owned the books in which “knowledge
was codified through painted images” (Boone 2005: 21). The Venus table
in the Dresden Codex provides a useful example for considering the ways
in which scribes were both keepers of traditional knowledge and innova-
tors responsible for keeping written records current, based on its earliest
use date in the tenth century and subsequent updates to make it relevant to
thirteenth- and fourteenth-century users. It is significant that not only the
contemporary version of the table but also the earlier ones were considered
important enough to have been included in the Dresden Codex.
We do not, unfortunately, know what the earliest version looked like
and whether its iconography and texts would have matched those of the
later version—questions that are of particular interest with regard to better
understanding scribal process and interaction. The five pages of the table
proper include three registers characterized by texts and pictures on their
right-hand sides that refer specifically to a beginning date in AD 1221. The
upper register pictures a series of deities who are named in the hieroglyphic
text as “feeding” and/or “arming” chak ek’, or Venus. These five deities
(Pawah Ayin, Kimil, Kan Pawahtun, the moon goddess, and Hun Ahaw)
are all Maya in origin and have links to Classic-period iconography and
mythic cycles (gallery 2a).
Venus, or the great star, appears in five different manifestations in the
middle register, mirroring the five different paths the planet follows as a
Morning Star in the sky (gallery 2b). The first of these, God L, has clear
underworld associations, as seen not only in the codices but also at Classic-
period sites such as Palenque (Taube 1992: 81). The next such figure, Lahun
Chan (Ten Sky) is the morning star aspect of Venus on Dresden 47, a deity
mentioned in the Book of Chilam Balam of Chumayel in reference to the west-
ern aspect of the planet (Knowlton 2010: 70) and described in the Corde-
mex dictionary as being of central Mexican origin, introduced to Yucatán
via the “Putun” Itzá (Barrera Vásquez et al. 1980: 432).
The third figure depicting the Morning Star/warrior aspect of Venus
is of particular interest, as it appears in the guise of a Monkey Man scribe
or artisan such as those pictured on Classic-period vessels. Rather than an
inkpot and brush, however, this figure holds the atlatl and darts associated
with both Maya and Mexican Morning Star deities. Moreover, the name
given in the hieroglyphic caption is Tawisikal, likely a Mayanization of the
Nahuatl name Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli, the Aztec god of Venus as Morning
Star (Whittaker 1986).
The fourth manifestation of Venus in its warrior aspect, on Dresden
49, is Xiuhtecuhtli, the Mexican god of hearths, fire, and time. The same
deity is pictured, in a very similar pose, on page 1 of the Codex Fejérváry-
Mayer (see fig. 2), one of the manuscripts from the Borgia group, as Bricker
(2010: 314) and others have previously noted. The caption to the Dresden
frame names this deity as chak xiwitei (“red” or “great” Xiwitei), a clear
Maya adaptation of the Nahuatl name (Taube and Bade 1991).
On the last page of the Venus table, the deity pictured as the Morning
Star/warrior aspect of Venus is Itztlacoliuhqui-Ixquimilli, the Mexican god
of stone, cold, and castigation (Riese 1982; Taube 1992: 110). This figure is
frequently depicted, as he is here, as blindfolded and having a dart in his
headdress. Although the Maya have a version of this deity named Kisin
who is also pictured with bound eyes on occasion, they chose to represent
the Mexican deity in place of Kisin in the Venus table. Rather than being
given the name more commonly associated with this figure, however, his
name was instead recorded as ka-ka-tu-na-la, which may be interpreted as
Ka Akat Tunal, meaning Two (ka) Reed (akat for actatl) Day or Spirit (tunal
for tonal).10 This calendrical name signifies an association with Reed days
(Miller and Taube 1993: 164).
The bottom register shows the victims of Venus’s darts (gallery 2c),
who correspond closely with those from the Venus almanac on pages 53–54
of the Borgia Codex (fig. 4). Associations between the two are shown in
table 1, leading to the question of whether these correspondences are indica-
tive of scribal interchange or are the result of a shared ideology.
The two almanacs seem to be very closely associated, with the Dresden
version providing a Maya “translation” of the events depicted in the Mexi-
can manuscript. Specifically, Vail and Hernández (2013b: chap. 7) suggest
that its five pages represent a retelling of Maya and Mexican stories of cre-
ation leading to the birth of the present sun (Hun Ahaw), who is pictured
having risen into the sky from the underworld on Dresden 50a.
Why would Maya scribes have included Mexican deities in their
account of Venus’s descent to the underworld and its reemergence as a dan-
gerous warrior deity? Clearly, this could only have occurred as a result of
close interaction among members of two separate literary traditions, much as
occurred in later colonial-period contexts with the intersection of European
and indigenous traditions (seen, for example, in the Yucatec Books of Chilam
Balam). The author(s) of the Dresden Venus table undertook a comparison of
creation accounts from the two traditions, which were then combined into
a single narrative with multiple strands—a reenvisioning in which the five
manifestations of Venus were framed within the Mexican story of the Five
Suns and the battles between the sun and Venus, which are also described in
colonial Yucatec accounts concerning Oxlahun-ti’-K’uh and Bolon-ti’-K’uh,
or Thirteen As God and Nine As God (Vail and Hernández 2013b).
The Dresden narrative in its entirety is discussed in Gabrielle Vail and
Christine M. Hernández (ibid.); here, a single example suffices to show the
interplay of Maya and highland Mexican elements in the table. Dresden
48 appears to be concerned with the Sun of Wind, the second of the five
This retelling of a mythic narrative with elements from both Maya and
Mexican cosmogony serves to situate the events in the Venus table in both
primordial and historical time. Not only does the mythic past conflate with
the historical present, but the events that took place in that long-ago era
have a very real effect on events in present time. In this sense, the Venus
table functions not only as a predictive instrument to highlight times of
danger associated with Venus’s heliacal rise during the thirteenth and four-
teenth centuries (H. Bricker and V. Bricker 2011: chap. 8) but, addition-
ally, as an explanatory device highlighting the mythological basis of these
predictions.
Although scholars have previously commented on the presence of
Nahuatl deities in the Venus table, there has been little attempt to contex-
tualize the epigraphic and iconographic data in light of the dialogic pro-
cesses involved in creating them. My analysis suggests that the table was
created in much the same way as that documented by Timothy W. Knowl-
ton (2010: chap. 3) in relation to the Books of Chilam Balam, which were
written during the process of negotiating Maya and European identities
and worldviews. Knowlton characterizes mythological texts (which would
apply to those in the Venus table) as “a species of discourse, by which cul-
tural knowledge emerges during its negotiation via one or more languages,
languages being historical and social verbal-ideological systems that may
or may not coincide with our traditional concept of unitary ‘national lan-
guages’” (8). In the case of the Dresden Venus table, the underlying systems
being negotiated involved Maya and highland Mexican ideologies.
A similar process of negotiation, as Paja Faudree (2015, this issue)
notes, was involved in the creation of the Spanish translation of the Chon-
tal text found in the Title of Acalan-Tixchel. Both examples stem from situa-
tions of cultural contact, although the Venus table is not a product of colo-
nialism (despite the fact that there may have been a differential prestige
attributed to Maya and Mexican ideologies). In considering the process by
which Nahua concepts were adopted and transmitted to a Maya audience,
it is important to keep in mind Faudree’s observation that “translation can
be a locus where meaning is constructed—rather than merely distorted or
destroyed”; she further notes the role of translators who “navigate divergent
cultural systems and create a space at their interface not only for themselves
but also for other hybrid figures” (ibid.). Much like the translators Faudree
describes, the Dresden scribe who transcribed and recast the Venus table
to incorporate Mexican ideologies can likewise be thought of as a “trans-
discursive agent.”
Final Considerations
which this occurred are not known, but ethnohistoric sources, as well as
archaeological evidence from the Classic period, make it clear that work-
shops and/or schools served as training centers for the sons of the nobility to
become educated in the sciences, arts, calendar, and other forms of esoteric
knowledge. Thus, for Maya elite in the colonial period, the schools estab-
lished by the friars to teach reading, writing, and the catechism reflected in
most respects an institution already familiar to them.
Scribes were not only the keepers of traditional knowledge, however;
they were also the ones who created new knowledge (Boone 2005: 21–22).
Innovation of this nature is clearly evident in the Maya codices, as sug-
gested by the painting of new versions of almanacs that were intended for
use during the Postclassic period as well as the incorporation of Mexican
structural elements, dating methods, deities, and vocabulary. Similar types
of innovation likewise may be seen in adaptations of colonial text genres
to indigenous purposes (see, e.g., respectively, George-Hirons, Hanks, and
Knowlton 2015, this issue).
Maya literary traditions were kept alive over a period of two millennia
through the training of nobles in the scribal arts, astronomy, mathematics,
calendrics, mythology, history, and other subjects. Following the conquest,
this tradition continued, albeit under Spanish control, through colonial-
period religious institutions. Despite the imposition of this new authority,
Maya scribes continued to produce texts in the indigenous tradition (Chu-
chiak 2004) while also adopting other genres introduced by the clerics and
administrators of the new realm. Literacy remained alive and well across
not only the Terminal Classic/Postclassic divide but also for several cen-
turies following the disruptions occasioned by the arrival of the Europeans.
A recent revival promises that this literary tradition will regain its vitality
and flourish in the globalized world of the twenty-first century.
Notes
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