Cryptozoology in the medieval and modern worlds

Folklore, August, 2006 by Peter Dendle

Abstract

Popular interest in cryptozoology (the study of unconfirmed species, such as bigfoot and chupacabra) has been fuelled by a recent publishing frenzy of encyclopaedias, dictionaries, and guides devoted to the subject, as well as by unprecedented opportunities for enthusiasts to collect data and exchange stories via the Internet. The author situates the emotional commitment many exhibit toward cryptids (the creatures themselves) in a broad historical context. Unconfirmed species served as an implicit ground of conflict and dialogue between untutored masses and educated elite, even prior to the rise of academic science as a unified body of expert consensus. The psychological significance of cryptozoology in the modern world has new facets, however: it now serves to channel guilt over the decimation of species and destruction of the natural habitat; to recapture a sense of mysticism and danger in a world now perceived as fully charted and over-explored; and to articulate resentment of and defiance against a scientific community perceived as monopolising the pool of culturally acceptable beliefs.

"Man, it is true, can, by combination, surmount all his real enemies, and become master of the whole of animal creation: But does he not immediately raise up to himself imaginary enemies, the daemons of his fancy ...?"--David Hume (Smith 1947, 195).

Introduction

When South African villagers in 1997 attributed nine deaths to Mamlambo, the brain-sucking river monster of Mzintlava River, and called for local officials to take action, when Nessie Hunters scour the depths of Loch Ness with sonar and provide twenty-four-hour streaming coverage of the lake surface via Internet webcams, and when "Devil Hunters" organise off-hour expeditions into the Pine Barrens looking for New Jersey's most famous monster, they may not realise they are participating in a very ancient and socially important ritual in which communal space is defined and in which the boundaries of civilisation are constructed. North America has bigfoot, Puerto Rico has the "goat-sucking" gremlin chupacabra, and Sweden has a monster serpent in Lake Storsjon. Babylonian cuneiform tablets record incantations against the "evil spirit" and "evil demon ... that have power by night over the street"; medieval manuscripts include amulet prescriptions against "the elfin race and night-goers"; and the seventh-century Life of Saint Columba describes an encounter between the saint and a savage water monster living in the depths of the River Ness in Scotland. [1] In Ireland, St Senan of Inis Cathaigh (Scattery Island) on the river Shannon, who died c. 544, is said to have banished a gruesome sea and land monster called Cathach, northwards through Co. Clare to Doolough Lake (Dubh Loch: "Black/Dark Lake" at Mount Callan, the largest lake in the county (Kenney 1929, 364-6; Stokes 1890, 66-7 [Irish text], 213-4 [translation]) (see Figure 1) and St Patrick is said to have overcome a reptilic monster in Loch Derg (Loch Dearg: 'Red lake,' coloured by the monster's blood), Co. Donegal (O hOgain 1983, 99-9 and 121-2; de Pontfarcy 1988, 35-8). The beliefs are sufficiently consistent across time and place that the question becomes inevitable: what do they mean? Why does humanity, as a whole, so consistently and ubiquitously populate its border spaces with fascinating and sometimes threatening creatures? This essay serves as a brief meditation on the current significance of cryptids (as the creatures are currently known) in the context of their historical analogues.

[FIGURE 1 OMITTED]

A spate of popular monographs on cryptozoology has appeared recently. Much of this literature seems directly or indirectly apologetic, as though the authors are secretly hoping--even as they critically review the evidence--that the creatures in question truly exist and that they are the brave, early recorders of what science and society will someday acknowledge to be real. These works generally do not engage the very questions they raise, however, regarding the patent psychological and social needs fuelling such stories. Even the introductory sections to guides and encyclopaedias of worldwide cryptozoology do not seem very reflective about the patterns of belief they document so thoroughly. [2]

The point of this paper is not to disparage the important work of responsible cryptozoologists nor to imply that there is no legitimate place for cryptozoology within contemporary zoology. The International Society of Cryptozoology (active from 1982 to 1998), for instance, published sound research and reflection in its newsletter and in a refereed journal (Cryptozoology). There are, of course, new species that remain to be discovered, and early reports of them will naturally appear folkloric before a specimen is secured and the scientific community can verify it. My intention is rather to unpack certain facets of the social significance of the widespread interest and even belief in such creatures before they are confirmed by science. George Eberhart catalogues some 1085 unconfirmed animals in his recent encyclopaedic Guide to Cryptozoology; Michael Newton catalogues 1583 in his Encyclopedia of Cryptozoology. Cryptozoologists themselves acknowledge that only a small percentage of putative species are likely to turn out real--thus conveying the vast majority of such sightings and local beliefs to the province of folklore. The bulk of the work in explaining these beliefs is thus left to folklorists rather than to naturalists.