Cultural Mythology: Myth, culture, and consciousness

The Egyptian myth of Osiris and Isis, part 2

After many days, the coffin came to rest on the shores of Syria, near the city of Byblos. It lodged at the foot of a tamarisk tree, which grew up around it. This was a magnificent tree. Osiris and the coffin were completely hidden. The tree had a very sweet, special fragrance. Over time people noticed this tree, they told their neighbors about it, and the tree became a bit of a tourist attraction. No one knew that the tree wa a tomb. Finally the king and queen of Byblos came to see the tree. The king was so taken with its tremendous size, its beauty, and its sweet, sweet fragrance that he ordered the tree be cut down, and installed as one of the pillars that held up his palace.

Isis was grief-stricken at the disappearance of her husband. She cut her hair and she mourned.  but she didn’t just sit around weeping. She suspected Seth’s involvement and was determined to find Osiris. But Isis had no idea where to look. So she journeyed up and down the Nile, asking everyone that she met if they had seen her husband. One day Isis encountered some children playing on the banks of the Nile. “Hello my children,” she said (all of the children of Egypt were her metaphorical, spiritual children), “Tell me, have you seen your king, the good king Osiris?” “No my lady,” they answered. “But we did see a beautiful box of cedar and ebony and gold float by.” Isis thought this box was too strange to ignore. The goddess journeyed back down the Nile, floating gently in the manner of a coffin that just might contain Osiris. She reached the ocean. She came ashore in Syria, near the city of Byblos. Now the goddess Isis knew where to look for her husband.

Isis disguised herself as an old woman (it wouldn’t do any good to intimidate people before she had a plan) and went to the palace. She asked if she could join the court of the queen. She sat with the queen’s maids and showed them how to braid hair. When the queen arrived, she noticed that her ladies smelled so lovely, so sweet. “The fragrance you smell,” her ladies told her, “is due to that old woman over there.” Isis was admitted to the court, where she saw (and smelled) the tamarisk tree. She knew that Osiris was in the pillar.

Isis went to the king of Byblos and dropped her disguise. The king was shocked and amazed, and when she told him that she must have the pillar, and that she could remove it without bringing his palace down, he just shook his head and watched in wonder.

Isis took the pillar back to Egypt. She went far into the reeds on a small island in the delta of the Nile. There she dislodged the coffin and discovered the body of her husband. Osiris was dead, but he was a god. He could be revived.

Isis gathered her magic powers and turned herself into a kite. In the form of a small bird she hovered over him, beating her wings. The moving air, like breath, filled the lungs of the dead god and Osiris was revived, revived enough to make love with his wife. Then he fell back into a near death slumber. Isis intuited at once that she was pregnant and that this son would restore proper order to Egypt and avenge his father’s murder. (The son is the falcon god Horus, who does just as his mother prophesied).

The goddess Isis

Isis knew that a more robust and permanent resurrection was possible for Osiris. But she couldn’t bring it about alone. She went to the god Thoth. Thoth was accomplished and just, a kind of artist and alchemist and “man of letters.” He told Isis that they could enact a Ritual of Life for Osiris that would probably work, because he was a god, had an intact body, and had only died once. No one had tried such a thing before, but it stood to reason.

As you might imagine, this ritual took a little time to put together. In the meantime, Seth has heard rumors that Isis is living in the reeds in the Nile River delta. This seems strange. One night, he goes out hunting for boar, under the full moon, and heads for the delta. Seth finds the small island. Isis is not there, but Seth finds the coffin and the body of Osiris. The red-faced god is very angry. He will not be foiled again.

The Egyptian myth of Osiris and Isis, part 1

A long, long time ago, when the Nile first began to flood and replenish the delta, the god Osiris became king of the people. Osiris inherited the throne from his father, Geb, the Earth. At that time the Egyptians were barbarous cannibals. They didn’t know how to live together, or how to take advantage of the gifts of the Nile. Osiris taught the Egyptians what to eat. He showed them the useful grains, like barley, and taught them how to plant and harvest and bake bread and make beer. He showed them which animals are proper and good to eat and how to hunt and cook them. Osiris gave the Egyptians laws. He also taught them how to maintain cosmic harmony through worship of the gods.

When Osiris had bestowed all of these gifts and was done civilizing the Egyptians, he traveled the world to teach other peoples. He asked his wife (and sister), the goddess Isis, who was the paragon of motherly virtues and wielder of many forms of magic, to rule the kingdom in his absence. Which Isis did. Very well. For many, many years. As it turned out, the world needed a lot of civilizing. (The green-faced god pictured is Osiris).

The god-King Osiris was good and kind and generous, and everyone respected and loved him. Everyone that is, except his brother Seth, the red-faced god of harsh, hot desert sands, war, and chaos. Seth was jealous and he coveted the throne, the power, and Queen Isis.

Isis was no fool and she kept Seth somewhat under control and at arm’s length. But Seth secretly appealed to other malcontents and hatched a plan with 72 co-conspirators, a plan that was put into motion when Osiris finally returned to Egypt. (The black, "Typhon-headed" god below is Seth).

The Egyptians were overjoyed when Osiris came home. They filled the streets dancing and singing. They flocked into the temples to thank the gods. Seth hosted a big party to welcome his brother. He spared no expense. The night was warm and soft, and the stars were bright. The wonderful food and drink, the sweet music, and the lovely dancing girls charmed Osiris. Seth brought forth the best of everything and all of the guests were having a very good time. All of the other party guests however, were Seth’s co-conspirators. All 72 of them were present, eating and drinking with the good king. But Osiris didn’t suspect any trouble. Why would he feel any danger in the palace of his brother?

When the festivities were at their height, Seth ordered the musicians to put down their instruments and waited for the room to get quiet. “Welcome friends,” he said, “to this celebration in honor of the great king Osiris, my beloved brother. May he live long and see his people thrive.” Everyone clapped. Seth continued, “I have something beautiful to show you, an object that I treasure above any other. I want to share it with you tonight because I have decided, in honor of my brother, and his vast gracious and generous nature, to give it to one of you as a gift.” The curtains at the back of the hall parted, and six servants came out bearing a sarcophagus made of cedar and ebony from Lebanon (not that soft palm wood found in Egypt), inlaid with ivory, and gilded with gold. The interior was painted with fantastic images of animals and celestial bodies. It was very beautiful, finely conceived and skillfully crafted.  The guests oohed and aahed. Seth basked in the compliments. Then he said, “I will make a gift of this fine sarcophagus in honor of my brother Osiris.  I will give this box to whoever fits inside.”

Being a polite and kindly king, Osiris urged the others to try their luck and each of the 72 other guests took his turn. Some were too short and some too tall, some too fat and some too thin. No one fit. So now Osiris lowered himself into the sarcophagus. It fit him perfectly—no surprise—because Seth had the box made especially for his brother, to his precise dimensions. Delighted, Osiris cried, “Why my brother, I think this fine coffin is now mine!” “Indeed,” Seth hissed and the 72 co-conspirators slammed down the lid and hammered it shut with long nails. Then they sealed the edges with molten lead and dropped the beautiful box into the Nile.

Osiris was soon dead. The coffin floated quietly, smoothly, in the river currents for many miles, down to the sea.

(My telling is based on Plutarch's version. Stay tuned for the rest of the myth).

Achille's Heel

You know the phrase, "Achille's heel?" It's a metaphor for a special vulnerability or blind spot. Mine's been stabbed, poked, squeezed, and rubbed raw over the last couple of weeks. So I've been thinking about Achille's and his story and how it might overlap with my own. Achilles was the greatest of the Greek heros because he was half human, half god. Thetis, his mother, was one of the ancient Titan goddesses, very wise and powerful. She tried to protect her son from his inherited mortality by dipping him the River Styx when he was just an infant. This baptism made him invincible everywhere expect for his heel. One heel didn't get wet because that's where Thetis held onto him.

Doesn't seem like much does it? Here's this huge warrior, a big man with only one small mortal spot. And how likely did it seem that he would be wounded there? This is a guy who took body blows, a warrior of superior strength, courage speed, and ferocity.

Achilles was killed after the Trojan War by Paris, the same man who set the war into motion with the theft of Helen. Paris was not Achille's equal by a long shot. In fact, he was known to be a coward. But he shot the fateful arrow (some say it was guided by the god Apollo) that struck Achilles in the heel. (This image is Achilles on a Greek vase from around 530 BCE).

Achilles went down and no one could save him. Somehow you know that it had to happen, but Paris and the arrow never seems quite fair. So what can we glean from this myth? That no human is invincible, that our weakness is part of our fate, and it's a seemingly small detail, probably not one of the personal imperfections that's routinely noticed, tended, or covered up. So what's my Achille's heel, you ask? We're not going to go there today folks, and I may not even know. Did Achille's? The myth is unclear.

He has inspired some wonderful art. Note the one exposed heel in the big painting to the left, Achilles and Priam, by Bastien Lepage Jules. My favorite is the Abstract expressionist work by Barnett Newman (below), Achilles, 1952. It's going to be featured on a postage stamp. I think I'll buy a roll.

High Desert Mythological RoundTable (R) Group

High Desert Mythological Roundtable

Tuesday April 27th, 7-9PM,

Meditation Hall, Joshua Tree Retreat Center

 

  “The Waning Moon & the Myth of Osiris”

The waning moon slips into darkness, her monthly disappearance and subsequent re-emergence is a cosmic model and image of dismemberment and resurrection. Although the moon is often associated with the goddess, her cycle has been described in many stories about the dying gods. Come hear the Egyptian myth of Osiris in the last in our 3-month series devoted to myths, poems, and fairy tales about the special powers of the moon.

We’re all touched by the mysteries of moonlight and linked to images, past and present, of this celestial body. Come join us! Free. Donation for the room appreciated. Cookies and other goodies gladly shared. The High Desert Mythological Round Table meets the last Tuesday of every month at the JTRC. 

 

Wall Street Titans

It's been awhile since my last post on the influence of the titanic in American culture, and our belief that everything is, and must be "unlimited." For Americans anyway. For some Americans. It's an inhuman and dangerous fantasy and I wish I knew how to change it. Remember the Greek story of the Titanamachia and the defeat of the Titans? Who are those three hideous brothers and will they appear soon?

The mythological references to the Titans are rampant in the language used to report on the recent case against Goldman Sachs and the ongoing struggle for financial regulation. Here are a few excerpts from today's NYT, "Obama Issues Sharp Call for Reforms on Wall Street." If you think to yourself, when you read these, that I've highlighted common, ordinary words that could appear in a front page article about almost anything going on these days, then yes!!---it's that pervasive.

    "WASHINGTON — President Obama is traveling to the shadow of Wall Street on Thursday to counter what he calls “the furious efforts of industry lobbyists” trying to weaken or kill new financial    regulations that he says are needed to stave off a second Great Depression." [. . .]

    "In flying to New York City, the president wants to confront the financial industry more directly  through a sharp speech just a few minutes’ subway ride from Wall Street, and with some of its leading corporate titans in the audience. After castigating their “failure of responsibility” in recent years, he intends to call on them to stop resisting tighter regulation through the army of lobbyists now staked out on Capitol Hill."  [. . .]

    “I take no satisfaction in noting that my comments have largely been borne out by the events that followed,” he says in the excerpts. “But I repeat what I said then because it is essential that we learn the lessons of this crisis, so we don’t doom ourselves to repeat it." [. . .]

    "Imposing the so-called Volcker Rule, named after Paul A. Volcker, the former Federal Reserve chairman who proposed limits on the freewheeling trading and risks taken by banks."  [. . .]

A furious struggle between major powers, a conflict about limits and the definition of responsibility, and the prospect of repeating the crisis, i.e. ending up in the repetitive hell of Tartarus. A refresher on the Titanamachia myth is "A Trio that Acts as a Multitude" posted here in March 2009. There's information on Tartarus in "The fate of the Titans," posted October 2008. 

The image is Goya's painting of Kronos, leader of the Titans, devouring one of his own children for fear that he would be overthrown. Goya painted this in response to the civil strife in Spain shortly before he left on a self-imposed exile to France. Here's one last snippet from the NYT article, a reminder that many Americans are in the belly of this beast:

“Some on Wall Street forgot that behind every dollar traded or leveraged, there is a family looking to buy a house, pay for an education, open a business, or save for retirement,” he says in the excerpts released by the White House. “What happens here has real consequences across our country.”

First Hour

That hour, I was most myself. I had shrugged

my mother off slowly, I lay there

taking my first breaths, as if

the air of the room was blowing me

like a bubble. All I had to do

was go out along the line of my gaze and back,

out and back, on gravity's silk, the

pressure of the air a caress, smelling on my

self her creamy blood. The air

was softly touching my skin and tongue,

entering me and drawing forth the little

sighs I did not know as mine.

I was not afraid. I lay in the quiet

and looked, and did the wordless thought,

my mind getting its oxygen

direct, the rich mix by mouth.

I hated no one. I gazed and gazed,

and everything was interesting, I was

free, not yet in love, I did not

belong to anyone, I had drunk

no milk, yet---no one had

my heart. I was not very human. I did not

know there was anyone else. I lay

like a god, for an hour, then they came for me,

and took me to my mother.

---Sharon Olds, from The Unswept Room

The wines of immortality are heady fare

Dionysus and mystical union and madness are deep (and heady) stuff. You might think that the ancient Greeks (and their gods) would have found the limericks I recently posted disrespectful. Well, there's no accounting for taste and some of them might have rolled their eyes or refused to carve them in stone, but the Greeks were human too and had a sense of humor. Perusing Joseph Campbell's compendium of art and myth, Mythic Image, I came across a photo of this ancient Greek oinochoe (pitcher) with this commentary from Jane Ellen Harrison (1850-1928), that supports the old adage, "The more things change, the more they stay the same." Harrison writes:

"No one but a Greek could have conceived this lovely little vase painting from an oinochoe in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. . . . A beautiful maiden is the center of the scene. She is a worshipper of Dionysos. In her left hand is a tall thyrsos (staff twined in ivy) and she holds a cup of Dionysos, the kantharos, in her right. It is empty, and she seems to ask the Satyr who stands before her to refill it from his oinochoe. But he will not, she has had too much already. Over her beautiful head, slightly inclined as if in weariness, is inscribed---and who but a Greek would have dared to write it?--- her name 'Kraipale' (Drunken Headache). Behind her comes a kindly sober friend bearing in her hand a hot drink, smoking still, to cure her sickness."

Pass the aspirin.

Oinochoe
Greek, about 380 B.C., Athens, Attica, Greece, 31.7 cm (12 1/2 in.), Boston Museum of Fine Arts

Under the new moon

"One summer night, out on a flat headland, all but surrounded by the waters of the bay, the horizons were remote and distant rims on the edge of space.  Millions of stars blazed in darkness, and on the far shore a few lights burned in cottages.  Otherwise there was no reminder of human life.  My companion and I were alone with the stars:  the misty river of the Milky Way flowing across the sky, the patterns of the constellations standing out bright and clear, a blazing planet low on the horizon.  It occurred to me that if this were a sight that could be seen only once in a century, this little headland would be thronged with spectators.  But it can be see many scores of nights in any year, and so the lights burned in the cottages and the inhabitants probably gave not a thought to the beauty overhead; and because they could see it almost any night, perhaps they never will."  ~Rachel Carson

A new moon is up right now---a perfect time to go outside and see the stars.

Mythological Limericks

Lest you think that mythology is all serious navel gazing and philosophizing. . . Thanks to Robert Morris (a photographer and member of the High Desert Mythological RoundTable) for these gems. I tried and tried to match his wit but without success, so if his limericks inspire you to test the form please post a comment and share the results.

The Bacchae

The Bacchae, quite mentally sick,
Will do anything for a kick;
One day for a laugh
They tear Penthy in half,
And bring home his head on a stick.

Oedipus the King

In Sophocles' powerful drama,
Young Oedipus had a great trauma;
He did, it is said,
Kill his papa quite dead,
And then went and married his mama.


      Medusa

Medusa, delightful and fair,
Possessed a mysterious air;
She had charm and grace,
A great figure and face,
But too many snakes in her hair!

Medusa, by Caravaggio

Prometheus Bound

When Prometheus in bindings was placed,
A vulture pecked right through his waist.
Said the bird, it's a treat
This liver to eat,
But some onions would add to the taste.

The Judgment of Paris

Three goddesses stripped themselves bare
And asked Paris to choose the most fair.
Said Paris, it's Venus
Who stiffens my penis;
The victory's hers, I declare!

Peter Paul Rubens. The Judgment of Paris. c.1639. Oil on canvas. Museo del Prado, Madrid, Spain.

Enthusiasm

When you first hear a story like The Bacchae, it seems pretty far out. The idea that Agave and the other women of Thebes, and then Pentheus, are possessed by the god Dionysus, sounds woo-woo and supernatural and borders on being a convenient plot twist. How does Dionysus convince the manly Pentheus to wear a wig and a dress and parade through town? Oh yeah, he possesses the man's mind. And the women mistake him for a lion and tear him apart with their bare hands because, right, they were out of their minds too.

But wait a minute. Here in our "real" world, we all know and regularly experience a wide range of obsessions, appetites, consuming passions, and various forms of madness. They make us lose sleep, eat too much, eat too little, or triple check to see if the door is locked or the stove is off. We develop addictions. We make inspired art. We see red. Sometimes we open our mouths and stand back in fright or embarrassment or awe at what comes out and say, "I don't know what came over me, I just . . ."

Possession happens; it's our perspective on these phenomena that has changed. We've replaced a mythology of immortal deities and the personification of psychological dynamics, with a mythology of clinical pathologies. I don't know that we've gained much. Some insist that psychology is an advance because it's "scientific." Well, we do have some new drugs. But as Jung said, to serve a mania is detestable but to serve a god, divine. Cronus, aka Saturn, the senex, the sage, the old man, is now, ho hum, "depression." The modern epidemic of depression might be traced in part to our gray, dull, depressingly abstract language for the state, and the idea that being down, blue, dried up, or constricted is an abnormality that should be eradicated without respect or insight.

So don't let the word "possession" throw you. You've probably got first hand experience, limb-rending aside. In it's milder form, the Greeks called possession by a god "enthusiasm." Enthusiasm signified a positive and potentially divine inspiration until around 1650, when the Puritans got a hold of the word and that usage fell out of favor.

Did the Greeks believe in literal possession by gods like Dionysus? In The Greeks and the Irrational E.R. Dodds explains the ways that Greek religious beliefs changed over time and explores the cultural tensions between rationality and irrationality (which are not so different from today). Euripides, at time that he wrote The Bacchae, would likely say that the existence of Dionysian energies was proven by the culture, by daily Greek life--- just look around!--- and that delusions, manias, and ecstatic states are  phenomenon contained in the image (which can be a character in a play) of the god Bacchus. Dionysus exists although "he" may not appear dressed in a panther skin.

Mosaic floor in the 'House of Dionysos' at Pella, late 4th century BC, Pella, Archaeological Museum.

Thinking mythically means to take something metaphorically, which means pointing at psychological truth, arguably a crucial type of truth for us human beings.

The distinction made by Jung between serving a mania or a god is a matter of language, perspective, and mythology. It also suggests a mythological way to think about life and offers a reason to do so. The language of myth activates the heart and imagination, a prerequisite for psychological insight, and it relocates our suffering and joys. When we understand our afflictions to be the unique, personal, secret, twisting pathology of our puny souls, we paradoxically reduce and magnify ourselves and our troubles. To be in service to a god on the other hand, here is the opportunity to connect personal distress with the grand sweep of human experience and to get some perspective--- i.e. what is happening to me is not trivial, but it's not like I'm the first one to endure it. I am having a unique experience but others can understand it, it's part of the human condition.

This reminds me of the Rumi poem called "Guesthouse." "This being human is a guesthouse," he writes, "Every morning a new arrival, a joy, a depression, a meanness,... be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond." (Here's the whole poem, "Guesthouse.")

Envoe! Praise to Bacchus!