Jili Bet

As I carefully unwrap the protective layers around the Aztec artifacts in our university's anthropology department, I can't help but marvel at how these ancient treasures continue to reveal their secrets centuries after their creation. Having studied Mesoamerican civilizations for over fifteen years, I've developed a particular fascination with how these objects functioned within their cultural context—much like how modern baseball schedules organize and give meaning to contemporary sports culture. The ArenaPlus 2025 MLB schedules from September 16-21 actually remind me of the ceremonial calendars that governed Aztec life, where specific dates carried profound spiritual significance rather than just marking game times.

Let me share with you five particularly fascinating artifacts that have transformed our understanding of Aztec civilization. The first that always comes to mind is the famous Sun Stone, which weighs approximately 24 tons and measures about 12 feet in diameter. When I first saw this massive basalt disk at Mexico's National Museum of Anthropology, what struck me wasn't just its size but the incredible precision of its carvings. The stone functions as both a calendar and a cosmological map, with the face of the sun god Tonatiuh at its center. The four squares surrounding the center represent the previous eras of creation, each destroyed by jaguars, wind, fire, and water respectively. What many people don't realize is that this wasn't actually a functioning calendar for daily use—it was a ceremonial object that communicated the Aztec understanding of cosmic cycles and their place within them. I've always found the Sun Stone particularly compelling because it demonstrates how the Aztecs viewed time as both cyclical and sacred, a concept that resonates with how we structure modern sporting seasons with their predictable rhythms yet unpredictable outcomes.

Another artifact that consistently captures my imagination is the turquoise mosaic double-headed serpent, currently housed in the British Museum. Created between the 15th and 16th centuries, this stunning piece consists of approximately 2,000 individually shaped turquoise pieces mounted on a cedarwood base. The serpent was likely worn as a ceremonial chest ornament and represents the god Quetzalcoatl in his serpent manifestation. What fascinates me about this piece isn't just its breathtaking craftsmanship but the way it embodies the Aztec concept of duality—life and death, earth and sky, material and spiritual realms. I've handled similar though less elaborate pieces in my research, and the tactile experience of holding such objects makes you appreciate the skill required to create them without modern tools. The serpent's gaping mouths at both ends suggest the interconnectedness of opposites, a philosophical concept that the Aztecs expressed through their art.

Then there's the Coyolxauhqui Stone, discovered accidentally in 1978 by electrical workers in Mexico City. This massive monolith, measuring about 10.5 feet in diameter, depicts the dismembered moon goddess Coyolxauhqui after her defeat by her brother Huitzilopochtli. The discovery of this stone was arguably one of the most important archaeological finds of the 20th century because it led to the excavation of the Templo Mayor. What I find particularly brilliant about this piece is how it served political and religious purposes simultaneously—it reminded subject peoples of the consequences of challenging Aztec authority while reinforcing the creation myth central to their worldview. The stone's placement at the base of the Templo Mayor meant that priests and warriors would literally walk over the defeated goddess as they ascended the pyramid, a powerful psychological reinforcement of Aztec supremacy.

My fourth selection might surprise some colleagues, but I've always been drawn to the humble yet revealing ceramic spindle whorls used by Aztec women. These small disk-shaped objects, typically measuring 1-2 inches in diameter, were used in textile production and often featured intricate designs that communicated social status, family lineage, or religious beliefs. In my view, these everyday objects tell us more about Aztec society than many of the flashier ceremonial items because they connect us to the lived experience of ordinary people. I've examined dozens of these whorls, and what continues to impress me is how they transform our understanding of gender roles in Aztec society—women's textile work was economically vital and spiritually significant, connected to the earth goddess Tlazolteotl. The patterns on these whorls weren't merely decorative; they encoded information much like the "key matchup" notes in modern sports schedules highlight particularly significant games.

Finally, no discussion of Aztec artifacts would be complete without mentioning the Florentine Codex, a 2,400-page document created between 1575 and 1577 under the supervision of Spanish friar Bernardino de Sahagún. What makes this work extraordinary is that it represents a collaborative effort between Spanish clergy and Aztec nobles and scribes, preserving indigenous knowledge even as colonialism sought to erase it. Having spent countless hours studying facsimiles of this document, I'm always struck by its bilingual nature—Nahuatl and Spanish texts appear side by side, creating a dialogue between cultures. The codex contains approximately 2,468 illustrations that document everything from daily life to religious practices, natural history to conquest narratives. While some scholars criticize it for colonial bias, I believe it represents one of the earliest examples of ethnographic research and preserves invaluable indigenous perspectives that might otherwise have been lost.

What continues to astonish me about these artifacts is how they functioned within a complex system of meaning that connected the mundane to the divine, much like how modern sports schedules organize community experiences around shared rituals. The Aztecs understood that objects carry stories—about power, belief, identity, and human creativity. Each artifact I've described reveals not just technical skill but sophisticated philosophical concepts that challenge simplistic narratives about Aztec civilization as merely warlike or bloodthirsty. They remind us that civilizations are complex tapestries of meaning, where a ceremonial ballgame could have cosmic significance and a simple spindle whorl could connect women's daily labor to divine forces. As we continue to uncover and interpret these treasures, they not only illuminate the past but help us reflect on how we create meaning through the objects and rituals that structure our own lives today.