Unpacking Human Sacrifice in the Aztec World Pt. I

Before I eventually dive into the complicated-yet-fascinating experience that is the Aztec Goddess of Filth and Purification, I have to preface this discussion with a warning: I will be examining, explaining, and unpacking the propagation and use of human sacrifice.

Often, I’ve heard the concept of human sacrifice in the Aztec world as existing on a dichotomic scale: it’s brutal and inhumane OR it’s so immensely enchanting that people salivate at the vulgarity of it. I refrain from using “barbaric” and “savage,” for the connotations linked to these terms encourage an ethnocentric view that should be disposed of as much as possible in the academic setting (I’ll speak about the importance of this a little further down, I promise).

What I mean is that it’s rather dissatisfactory to utilize a biased approach when we try to understand cultural practices, traditions and beliefs that exist out of those which we deem “normal” and “appropriate.” We decontextualize them, but not in a way that inhibits biases to encroach our judgment of them. What do we do? We frame cultures not within a culturally relative one (one which utilizes beliefs and values set forth by that respective culture), but our own. This is a big issue. As contemporary viewers and participants that look at established practices of societies and cultures outside of our own, we have to be mindful that these world views and ideologies are not our own, and therefore it is vital that we approach other practices as equally vital as we would consider our own.

This does not mean I will blindingly defend and advocate for the practice of human sacrifice in the civilizations of the Americas. However, it would be disingenuous for me – as a researcher and participant in the academic world – to paint the world of these civilizations of the Americas as “barbaric.”*

* “Well, how can one single term be disrespectful? How is barbaric harmful?”

Quick side lesson: The term barbaric has a fantastic history from the Classical period of Greece, which I encourage everyone to take a look at further. But I’ll try to keep this brief so I can move forward to what I anticipated writing about.

The Art of Mythos Creation in the Aztec Sun Stone

I’d like to begin with that, yes, embodying Mexico into one sole object is tenuous and subjective at best, and I anticipate plenty of Mexicans will come out swinging at me in full force to contest their own victor as that which represents Mexico in its entirety. In my belief, nothing personifies the essence of the Mexican spirit quite like the Aztec sun stone. You see the iconographic symbol printed and branded onto anything and everything – blankets, pseudo-stones that are a fraction of its true monumental size (this thing is freaking huge and I’ll get into that in a bit), calendars, even the human body itself. There is something about the Aztec sun stone – often titled the “Aztec calendar,” which can be contested but I will also get to that point in a bit as well – that makes one stop and try to examine every detail.

There’s something tremendous and awe-inspiring; I’d argue that its significance is the equivalent of the iconographic principles inscribed into Byzantine images of Christ the “Pantocrator” – the Creator of All. The sun stone inhabits this space that makes anyone gape in awe and wonder: well, how did it come to be made? How did the Aztecs do it? Actually, why did they make it so freaking huge?

Awesome, I can’t wait to get into all of those things.

First off, let’s start with the technical aspects. AKA: how big it is, its materiality, and its background/history. Then we can get into everything else, which hinges upon the monumentality and scale of the sun stone.

Just to demonstrate how massive it is, I created an image of size comparisons as best as I could. Check it out:

For reference, the size of that lovely red-figure is five feet and a whopping two inches. The Aztec sun stone has been mounted on the wall of the Museo Nacional de Antropología for viewing purposes – as well as to hinder the need for visitors to touch the stone repeatedly which, given its age, would be inadvisable to do – but that’s another question proposed by scholars: was the stone mounted vertically or placed on the ground as an altar?