A Third Set of Threes

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Hello everyone! Kumusta ka! Welcome to today’s episode. And in it, we’re going to continue our discussion on the shifting trinities in Tagalog mythology. To clarify, I do mean that in Tagalog mythology there was a not-quite-rotating trinity of all powerful beings, which might not be what you’re used to. As I see it, this is not a game of theological musical chairs or whatever more dismissive aside you would want to make. To me, there is a rhyme and reason to these transitions.

In my--admittedly--uninformed opinion, this shifting of trinities is a reflection of the way Tagalog culture evolved and changed across time, though the narrative is a bit more simple here. 

Regardless of whether or not I’m right, trying to adapt our understanding of religion or even the dominant understanding of religion around us, whether or not it is our own, won’t fully work in this context. While there are parallels across religions, or even between Judeo-Christian beliefs and the Tagalog mythology, they’ll never have the same framework. And I think the Tagalog mythology is a bit more complicated by design than what you may be inclined to think.

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And that’s not really apparent from the story you know so far. So far we’ve gone over the deaths of two of the three deities of the first trinity, and the second trinity--while still involved in that same creation moment--eventually just filled in the ensuing power gap. 

Throughout the change, Bathala remained constant. Looking at all of that, in many ways, you could say that this tale was what it needed to be. There is something about the human mind that is drawn to tales with victors and losers, but through it all there needs to be a sense of control and security, so losing some in favor of others might just be the logical conclusion. 

In that second trinity, Bathala, Aman Sinaya, and Amihan are secured in the heavens, the sea, and the… inbetween you could call. But it was not that way for long. 

And here, perhaps, is where the story gets a bit muddled. There are details that have been lost, swallowed up by time and unfriendly circumstances. But so the story goes, Aman Sinaya one day chose to dwell not simply in the ocean but underneath it. Deep, deep, deep in the void beneath the water’s surface and away from the world we know and see. But he did not stop there. For Aman Sinaya also rejected the heavens, the world of the gods and goddesses. 

For what reason, who is to say. But one day, Aman Sinaya decided to pull away from it all and reside where he could not be found, where no one could ever seek him out. 

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But as for Amihan, they chose to travel around what is unknown: the middleworld. And I call it unknown because, by certain standards, it is very purgatory-esque. Surviving depictions show it as the middle between the physical and the spiritual. It is the point of transition, seemingly endless despite it being a stopping point along the way. 

Then again, that would have been the convenient interpretation for those who would later come onto the islands as it is the interpretation that matched most closely with their beliefs. So perhaps that is not the interpretation we should go with.

Regardless of where those two gods went, Bathala would have been left alone. And perhaps, he could have been content with that. But that wasn’t meant to be.

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One should remember, from a tale told long ago on this podcast, that Bathala was not the sort of god to seek absolute out power and domination. That was the snake deity who made the fatal error of attacking Bathala in that power-seeking lust. No, Bathala did not deal in absolutes, and power was not his pursuit.

So in time, those two vacancies were filled. With another deity of force and another messenger. Or maybe, once again, I’m keeping things too simple.

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Lakapati was not a god like Aman Sinaya at all. For one, Lakapati was a goddess, and on the other hand, she wasn’t the goddess of the ocean: of a force so visible to the Filipino people. Of something that could be touched, felt, immersed in. Rather, she was a fertility deity, but she did not simply concern herself with the fertility of young couples who wanted children. She was the goddess of the fields and the lands her people cultivated. Farmers would make sacrifices to her and beg her to grant them good fortune and fields full of food for their children. 

Quite obviously, Lakapati was described as an all-powerful deity. I mean, she controlled the food all of her people needed. But in many ways, it would go beyond that.

  Lakapati’s portrayal was not bound by physical norms. Rather, she was often represented by an image with both male and female reproductive parts, though her bodily expression was always kept noticeably feminine. 

It’s possible that Lakapati was thought of more as female, but in many ways, that seems to be playing the odds. Many cultures associated fertility and crops with notions of femininity, though any issue of why is certainly beyond my capacity to explain. But more than that, the choice to include both sets of reproductive organs might have just been an issue of balance or completion: that Lakapati was all things involved in the act of creation, as displayed through the parts involved in creating a new person. 

Perhaps, Lakapati was intersex, but as the Tagalog language or the world as a whole was not so heavily gendered, there was simple no need for clarification. And people were just content to leave things as they were. And really, when it comes to priorities, well making a distinction was not on the top of that list. 

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After all, farming might have denoted that life was a bit more stable, but it didn’t mean things were easy. On one hand, there was no more sailing across the sea for whatever else you needed to sustain you. Which would have been great. True to the pattern of human history, at one point, the Tagalog people found a place to root themselves and did their best to make it their home, a home that would not have to leave or abandon unless there was a great tragedy to strike the community.

But for the Tagalog people, this likely meant a shift from the ocean being the ultimate resource and to the soil being the ultimate source of nourishment and life. And while it might have seemed like a radical shift one some fronts, there was one thing that remained: namely, the powerlessness of it all. The ocean and the land could fail or betray you all the same, in equal measure, and in ways you could not control. Hence the evocation of the divine. 

All in all, the stakes were still high. The need to plead and pray was still there. But because the initial outlet for assurances, was bound to a physical thing, that needed to change as well.

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On the other hand, Amihan--who was now wandering the middleworld--was replaced by a deity named Meylupa who, in many ways, could be seen as Amihan but more intense. Amihan was just a bird, a messenger sent around by Bathala. Okay, admittedly they were also a primordial being, which is no small thing. But Meylupa… Well, Meylupa was also a primordial being and a crow god who seemed to insist on casting a grand presence and demanding the related respect. 

Amihan brought omens. Meylupa was the master of the earth, master of all things between the underworld and the heavens. And… Well that excludes the waters though because, you know, that was already taken. This meant that Meylupa was the most powerful god in the middle earth excluding Amihan who just peaced out to explore, but Meylupa exclusively worked through crows. Which could bring some problems. I mean, it might have been a reason to shy away from him. After all, crows do tend to make people uneasy, but then again, you should not be overly comfortable in the presence of the divine. You would become lax in your duties if you were. You would not show the proper respect. 

So think of the crows again. They are intelligent creatures, and I certainly go out of my way to show those birds a bit of reverence. 

Rather than the stakes shifting, maybe they just intensified. If you were stationary now, as the Tagalog people were in my analogy and quasi-theory, you could not flee the divine spirit of the area should you offend it. You would always have to face the consequences, right? So why not act better? Why not articulate this intensified need to preserve a natural balance or social order with a shift in the religion? Maybe this was the evolution of the Tagalog world. 

Or not. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Because the final trinity begs quite a few questions along those lines.

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Oh hey! Time to be grateful for technical glitches that caused me to re-record this episode multiple times because in that time, I did realize that The Mountain’s Heart, Hugot Podcasting’s first audio fiction show is coming out Monday April 20th. So get ready for that.

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