Persephone, Lady of the Mysteries

Pytia in the Adyton (via link)

“Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.”

William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

Is one even allowed to talk about the gods of the underworld? For Rudolf Otto, a twentieth-century theologian, the holy or the numinous manifests in two forms: as mysterium tremendum, which is a mystery that frightens and repels, and as mysterium fascinosum, which we are drawn to despite our fears. The Greek word hieros (sacred) was used to describe votive offerings, the ground on which temples were built as well as ways walked during Mysteries, for example the way to Eleusis, or days on which the gods were present. (1) A person could also be “hieros” if they were initiated in mysteries or worked in temples. Natural phenomena such as mountains, rivers or corn were also believed to possess sacred power. Sacred places were “surrounded by prohibitions,” for example the names of certain gods, especially underworld gods, were not to be uttered; temples contained abatons or adytons – restricted sanctuaries not to be entered by the prophane. (2) Gods were never described as “hieros,” but rather as “hagios;” while the concept of “hieros,” concludes Burkett, was “as it were the shadow cast by divinity.”

Under the entry “Abaddon” in The Women’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets stands:

“The god Apollo was a solar king in heaven during the day, and a Lord of Death in the underworld at night. … Apollo-Python was the serpent deity in the Pit of the Delphic oracle, who inspired the seeress with mystic vapors from his nether world. The Greek word for the Pit was abaton, which the Jews corrupted into Abaddon later a familiar Christian synonym for hell.

Also called a mundus or earth-womb, the abaton was a real pit, standard equipment in a pagan temple. Those who entered it to ‘incubate,’ or to sleep overnight in magical imitation of the incubatory sleep in the womb, were thought to be visited by an “incubus” or spirit who brought prophetic dreams. Novice priests went down into the pit for longer periods of incubation, pantomiming death, burial, and rebirth from the womb of Mother Earth. …

The same burial-and-resurrection ritual is found in the lives of many ancient sages. It was said of the Pythagorean philosopher Thales of Miletus, accounted one of the Seven Wise Men of the ancient world, that he derived his intellectual skills from communion with the Goddess of Wisdom in an abaton.” (3)

According to Peter Kingsley, the goddess of wisdom mentioned above was Persephone, Queen of the Dead. (4)

The Rider-Waite tarot deck – The High Priestess with pomegranates

Funerary practices were the most ancient manifestations of culture and religion. Being human has always meant sharing “the dread of something after death, the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns,” to quote from Hamlet’s famous monologue. The world is like the cosmic cave, said Neoplatonists, with its southern entrance (into life) and northern exit (into death). This was described in detail by Porphyry in his essay “On the Cave of the Nymphs.” All the invisible, occult powers act in this moist hidden place, where souls descend into generation. Through the gate of Cancer, a water sign, souls “lapse into generation,” while “the spirit becomes moist and more aqueous through the desire of generation.” The gate of Cancer is thus “the gate of men.” The gate of Capricorn, meanwhile, is “the gate of the gods,” and the exit from the cosmic cave. (5)

hampoin

Adrian Lester as Hamlet in Peter Brook’s production

Some souls have barely entered through the gate of Cancer only to die a premature death. I remember Ram Dass say in one of his talks that these wise souls chose liberation from the samsara. But parents dealing with the death of a child, like Demeter desperately seeking Persephone, cannot find any solace. I was struck by a passage from a non-fiction book that I am currently reading:

“In the shallow sandy soil of northern Europe, some 6,000 years ago, the body of a young woman – dead in childbirth along with her son – is lowered gently into a grave. Next to her is laid the white wing of a swan. Then onto the wing is placed the body of her son, so that the baby is doubly cradled in death – by the swan’s feathers and his mother’s arms. A round mound of earth is raised to mark their burial place: the woman, the child and the white swan’s wing.” (6)

The book is called The Underland: A Deep Time Journey and explores the worlds under our feet, going deep down into the bowels of the earth. Its author Robert MacFarlane writes that

“humanitas in Latin comes first and properly from humando, meaning ‘burying, burial’, itself from humus, meaning ‘earth’ or ‘soil’… In burial, the human body becomes a component of the earth, returned as dust to dust – inhumed, restored to humility, rendered humble.” (7)

On the other hand, James Hillman wrote that “the underworld of Hades and Persephone is so remote from our world that those removed there can have no influence upon the life and doings of men on earth.” (8) He called for drawing a categorical distinction between the chthonic darkness of soul and the earthy blackness of soil, but I am not convinced. In the world of myth, to mention just Osiris and Demeter/Persephone as most prominent examples, and in all funerary rites, these two worlds commingle, nourished by one another.

One of the ancient religious movements which recognized the divinity of the soul and the possibility of symbolic death during life was Orphism. In recent decades researchers have made groundbreaking discoveries regarding this doctrine and the so-called Orphic-Bacchic mysteries, in which Persephone played a crucial role. Jan N. Bremmer refers to Orpheus as a founder of the Mysteries and “father of songs.” (9) Orpheus cast a spell on animals and trees with his music. In a well-known myth, he descended to the Underworld to fetch his wife Eurydice, which explains Orphic devotion to the chthonic wisdom of the Underworld. He died torn to piece by maenads, possessed by divine frenzy.

John Roddam Spencer Stanhope, “Orpheus and Eurydice on the Banks of the Styx”

Orphic theogony differs from Homeric myth quite substantially. As narrated in Greek Religion by Walter Burkert, Zeus transforms into a snake and mates with his daughter Persephone, who gives gave birth to Dionysos. Zeus places the child on the throne as the ruler of the world. “But Hera sends the Titans who distract the child with toys and… he is dragged from the throne, killed, and torn to pieces, then boiled, roasted and eaten. Zeus hereupon hurls his thunderbolt to burn the Titans, and from the rising soot there spring men…”. (10)

The idea that people are partly divine, through coming from Dionysos’ dismembered body, had an enormous bearing on Orphism, which espoused the belief in the immortal soul, metempsychosis (reincarnation) and descent to the underworld (i.e. death) during life to find rebirth and renewal. Barbara Walker compared Orphism to Buddhism since it included the ideas of “escape from the karmic wheel effected by ascetic contemplation, spiritual journeys of the astral-projection type, and elaborate revelations.” An initiated Orphic mystic announced to the world: “”I have sunk beneath the bosom of Persephone, Queen of the Underworld.”(11) Orphics were strongly anti-collectivist and emphasized the doctrine of individual salvation. They were vegetarian and did not practice animal sacrifice.

But what was the symbolic meaning of dismemberment, which seems to permeate the Orphic myth so markedly? The Book of Symbols offers the following insights:

“Belonging to the family of ‘death mysteries,’ dismemberment calls for fertility and resurrection, freeing libido by breaking down defensive structures… The myth of world creation by dismemberment of a primordial being is universal… Each act of dismemberment recapitulates the Creation.

…

Divine scapegoats such as Jesus were symbolically dismembered in order to effect renewal…

Gods personifying the dynamics of dismemberment, such as Osiris, Dionysus and Kali, personify the prospective potentials of this archetypal experience: violence, loss, grief, catastrophe, privation, illness, despair, envy, fury and ecstasy induce altered states that dismember by delinking the personality from its habitual moorings.

…

Dionysus, personifying the dismembering frenzy of ecstasy, possession by unconscious manias and obsessions, opening of boundaries and being ‘torn-up,’ symbolizes many forms of ‘madness’ that dismember as a first step in the fertility magic where dissolution provides the seeds of rebirth.” (12)

Jean Delville, “The Death of Orpheus”

Orphism seemed like a demanding life path, certainly only for the chosen and the elite. A more egalitarian way of guaranteeing oneself a blessed afterlife was taking part in the Eleusinian Mysteries. Unlike in Orphism, those who took part in those did not have to change their lives as a result. I have recently listened to Demetra George’s webinar “The Disappearance of the Daughter – The Eleusinian Mystery Rites of Ceres and Persephone,” which I can recommend wholeheartedly (13). I was also inspired to reread her book Mysteries of the Dark Moon: the Healing Power of the Dark Goddess. There she summarizes her painstaking research into the subject, offering a lot of insights into the significance of these greatest mysteries of the ancient world.

Eduardo Chicharro y Aguera, “Demeter, Kore and Hekate”

In the well-known myth, based on Homeric hymn to Demeter, Persephone is gathering flowers with her female companions when her attention is drawn to a particularly beautiful narcissus. Little did she know that it had been placed there by the earth goddess Rhea, who collaborated with Zeus and Hades. Hades had fallen in love with Persephone, and Zeus agreed to let him marry her without asking Demeter or Persephone. The abduction of Persephone reached the ears of Hekate in her cave and was seen by Helios, the sun god. Demeter fell into utter despair, looking for her daughter everywhere with flaming torches, assisted by Hekate. Finally, they found out the truth from Helios. Demeter fell into an even deeper mourning and despair, letting the earth be bare, with no crops:

“She avoided the company of the Olympians altogether, and traveled instead among the cities of men, in appearance like an old woman, one who has endured many sorrows, who has reached the time when she is through with love and children. Her lush, thick hair was thin and gray, her face wrinkled, her arms and legs like bones. In this state she entered the territory of Keleos, at Eleusis, not far from Athens, and sat down to rest in the shade near the Maiden Well, where the women of the neighborhood came daily to draw water.” (14)

Demeter talked to the young women she met there and soon found a job as a nanny to a high-born baby boy. At night, she would hold him in the ashes fire so that he would grow godlike but once his mother saw her and cried out in despair:

“At this, Demeter, becoming angry, threw the child to the floor, away from the fire, shouting, ‘Stupid, witless humans! You don’t even know what’s good for you! Now he will have to die, like all other mortals. … Know this: I am Demeter, mankind’s greatest joy and aid.’ As she spoke, the goddess changed appearance, until she looked her divine self, taller and more fair, her golden hair flowing over her shoulders. A sweet fragrance wafted from her clothing and a gentle glow pulsed from her skin, filling the whole house with light. With a last command—that the people of Eleusis should build a great temple on the hill to seek her favor—Demeter left the hall.” (15)

Zeus found himself powerless in the face of Demeter’s relentlessness, so he gave in and sent Hermes to retrieve Persephone from the Underworld. But the young goddess was tricked by Hades into eating three grains of pomegranate. Thus, she had to return to the Underworld for a third of the year in winter while she was allowed to spend the fertile seasons with her mother on the earth.

The symbolism of the myth is in part agrarian:

“Demeter represented the fertile earth that nourishes the mature crop, the ripened grain of the harvest in the above world. Persephone stood for the seed germ of the grain, which is buried in the below world during the barren winter months and then emerges as the young vegetation of spring.” (16)

The Goddess of the Grain was also the Goddess of the Dead, since “the earth was both the reviver of their crops and the storehouse of their dead.” (17) Or as Carl Kerenyi, puts it “the being” (Demeter) is sustained by “the non-being” (Persephone). (18)

The Eleusinian Mysteries were the greatest religious festival of the Ancient Greece. The participants had the opportunity to experience the whole range of Demeter’s emotions:

“To enter into the figure of Demeter means to be pursued, to be robbed, raped, to fail to understand, to rage and grieve, but then to get everything back and be born again.” (19)

“The Eleusinian Mysteries”

Both men and women, also slaves, were allowed to take part in the Mysteries and become one with the goddess and follow the Demetrian path. The initiates were the ones who closed their eyes and mouths in an act of surrender to the mystery. In the first part of the mysteries, the participants took part in a procession, during which they immersed themselves in the sea and sacrificed little pigs, which each of them had brought. After a feew days, in the most important part of the event:

“Having sipped her holy drink by the site of Demeter’s well, initiates filed into the omphalos, the cave or navel of the world. This represented the passage to the underworld. As the seekers entered the darkened Telesterion, the Greater Mysteries began. In a mystic drama, the part of the legend dealing with death was imparted. The initiates experienced fear in all its physical symptoms: cold sweats, tremors, and nausea, as the hallucinogenic barley drink coursed through them, and dreadful apparitions howled through the halls.” (20)

Gustave Courbet, “The Grain Sifters”

As a final part of the mysteries, the Hierophant sounded a gong and a happy reunion of mother and daughter took place, together with an announcement of the birth of a child. The Goddess of Death has given birth. The Hierophant showed in utter silence a single ear of corn to the crowd. I love how Kérenyi compared that moment to the famous flower sermon of Buddha, in which his teaching consisted in holding a flower in front of his listeners. Demetra George sums up:

“As the seed died awaiting germination, the initiate died to the old self; and like the sprouting grain, the new soul was reborn into the company of those who had gone before, the epoptai.” (21)

The aim of the mysteries for the mystai (initiates) was to counteract the fear of death. The individual death was demonstrated as something which ensures the continuance of life. The experience was non-communicable and allowed the participants as assimilate themselves into the holy symbols, said Demetra George in her webinar. The symbolism of myth and ritual accompanying the mysteries is extremely rich. Feminist researcher Mara Lynn Keller wrote about the main symbols and ritual objects found on the grounds of the Eleusinian temple, which included images of “sheaves of wheat or barley; the many-seeded pomegranate, …; poppies, symbol of sleep and death; and the snake.” In addition, she offers a fascinating take on the sphinx and a handful of other symbols associated with Demeter and Persephone:

“Another spiritual symbol found in the artwork of Eleusis is the sphinx, in whom the artist combines spiritual, psychic and physical elemental powers, which for preurban peoples were not seen as separate or distinct. The sphinx was a great winged creature with a powerful lion’s body and, most usually, a woman’s head, sometimes crowned by a diadem. Perhaps the sphinx represents the shamanic ability to participate in the bird’s power of flying close to the heavens and seeing great distances, and in the feline’s power to roam the mountains and plains unafraid. In riddles of patriarchy (as alluded to, for example, in Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex), the sphinx-like women who give birth, raise children and attend the dying-knew the beginning, middle and end of life. Oedipus could not unseat the great sphinx until he too had begun to understand these mysteries. The great winged creature is probably a direct descendant of the Neolithic Bird Goddess; … I see the sphinx, like the snake, as a major symbol of the early mother-clan or mother-rite culture. Another animal sacred to Demeter was the pig, whose “prolific character” manifested the abundant fertility and nurturance of nature. In Arcadia, Demeter was also associated with the horse, the peaceful dove and the playful dolphin.” (23)

The goddess holding wheat, poppy bulbs and horned snakes

The pomegranate is a symbol strictly associated with Persephone rather than Demeter. Like Eve’s apple, it symbolizes her transformation from Kore (Maiden) into a conscious, grown woman, Persephone, the queen of the underworld, equal to her husband and equally terrifying. Kérenyi connects her with Medusa, endowed with the consummate wisdom of the snake, which in its profound symbolism encompasses “pure energy, water, treasure, wisdom of the deep, and the feminine principle.” (24) The pomegranate, next to being the symbol of fertility, also symbolizes oneness of the universe and “reconciliation of the multiple and diverse within apparent unity.” The dismembered world is brought to unity by the goddess, just as Isis put together the fragments of Osiris’ body. Persephone, “the Bride of Darkness,” as Tennyson refers to her in his poem, unifies the upper- and underworld, mediating between the two.

Dante Gabriel Rosetti, “Proserpine”

Notes:

(1) Walter Burkert, Greek Religion

(2) Ibid.

(3) Barbara Walker, Women’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets

(4) Peter Kingsley, In the Dark Places of Wisdom

(5) http://www.tertullian.org/fathers/porphyry_cave_of_nymphs_02_translation.htm

(6) Robert MacFarlane, The Underland: A Deep Time Journey

(7) Ibid.

(8) James Hillman, The Dream and the Underworld

(9) Jan N. Bremmer, Initiation into the Mysteries of the Ancient World

(10) Walter Burkert, Greek Religion

(11) Barbara Walker, Women’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets

(12) The Book of Symbols: Reflections on Archetypal Images, ed. by Ami Ronnberg, ARAS

(13) https://www.demetra-george.com/shop/The-Disappearance-of-the-Daughter-The-Eleusinian-Mystery-Rites-of-Ceres-and-Persephone-p150717054

(14) Richard P. Martin, Myths of the Ancient Greeks

(15) Ibid.

(16) Demetra George, Mysteries of the Dark Moon: the Healing Power of the Dark Goddess

(17) Ibid.

(18) Carl Kerényi, Kore, in: Introduction to a Science of Mythology by C.G. Jung and C. Kerényi

(19) Ibid.

(20) Ibid.

(21) Demetra George, Mysteries of the Dark Moon: the Healing Power of the Dark Goddess

(22) Mara Lynn Keller, “The Eleusinian Mysteries of Demeter and Persephone,” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion, Vol. 4, No. 1

(23) Ibid.

(24) Juan Eduardo Cirlot, Dictionary of Symbols

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Reading The Red Book (11)

“I am all that has been and is and shall be; and no mortal has ever lifted my veil.”

(the words inscribed on the statue of Isis of Sais)

The title of Chapter IX of The Red Book (Liber Primus) is Mysterium. Encounter. This chapter contains a powerful vision, in which Jung sees the prophet Elijah with a black serpent at his feet, accompanied by who the prophet says is his daughter, Salome. She is blind, which symbolizes the wisdom of the inner vision and the blind power of instincts. The vision is illustrated by a painting, which shows the figures at night in the mountains.

Liz Greene notes that this is the first female figure in The Red Book (1), which marks an important stage and a major qualitative change. Suddenly the air is electrified with the utterance of the mysterious name – Salome. “My wisdom and my daughter are one,” says Elijah, while Jung seems horrified because he remembers that Salome was the woman who danced before Herod and as her reward asked for the head of John the Baptist. Salome speaks to him:

“S: ‘Do you love me?’
I: ‘How can I love you? How do you come to this question? I see only one thing, you are Salome, a tiger, your hands are stained with the blood of the holy one. How should I love you?’
S: ‘You will love me.’

At this stage Jung is still not ready to love his anima. But Elijah insists: “I and my daughter have been one since eternity.”

Liz Greene points out to the red moon and red robes in the painting featured above. Jung says:

“I hear wild music, a tambourine, a sultry moonlit night, the bloody-staring head of the holy one – fear seizes me. Woe, was she the hand of the God? I do not love her, I fear her. Then the spirit of the depths spoke to me and said: ‘Therein you acknowledge her divine power.'”

Salome had just a passing reference in the Bible, where her name was not even mentioned. She was later identified as Salome by the Jewish historian Flavius Josephius. But her enduring myth, which has survived until today, was created by Oscar Wilde in his tragedy Salome.  There Salome falls in love with John the Baptist, who spurns her. She enchants king Herod with the dance of the seven veils. The king offers her anything she wants so she requests the head of John the Baptist on a silver platter. She proceeds to kiss his bloody lips. Sickened, Herod orders her to be killed, too. In the sky rises the blood red moon.

Aubrey Beardsley, “The Dancer’s Reward”

Wilde had been influenced by a number of sources, one of which was a painting by the French Symbolist Gustave Moreau. The work Salome dancing before Herod created real frenzy when it was displayed at the Salon in Paris in 1876. Holding a lotus flower, Salome is dancing in an ornate eclectic palace:

“Everything … about the painting … is extraordinary, particularly in its fusion of different cultural elements. These have been associated with the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, the Alhambra in Granada, the Great Mosque of Cordoba, and several mediaeval cathedrals. Motifs have been identified from Etruscan, Roman, Egyptian, Indian, and Chinese art and culture.”

via https://eclecticlight.co/2016/02/02/the-story-in-paintings-gustave-moreau-and-the-dissolution-of-history/

Gustave Moreau, “Salome Dancing Before Herod”

Toni Bentley, who herself used to dance with George Balanchine’s New York City Ballet, is an author of a book about four famous dancers, who embodied the spirit of Salome in the period after Oscar’s Wilde play gave rise to a real Salome mania. Her interpretation of the myth of Salome is quite provocative. She writes:

“This fictional female, whose erotic allure leads men into danger, destruction, and even death, was created by the male masochistic mind, resolving his contradictory desire for sexual connection and his even deeper fear of castration and annihilation.

…

Oscar Wilde gave Salome what she had heretofore lacked: a personality, a psychology all her own. Wilde transformed Salome from an object of male desire and fear into the subject of her own life. Wilde saw Salome from her own point of view and completed her evolution into a real woman with real motivations.” (2)

Bentley compares the dance of the seven veils to Inanna’s descent to the underworld. The Mesopotamian goddess also had to relinquish her robes and jewellery at each of the seven gates:

“Oscar Wilde assigned this symbolic descent to the underworld of the unconscious, a ceremony that equates stripping naked to being in a state of truth, the ultimate unveiling, to Salome.

…

… a naked woman still conceals the darkness where life begins. The hymen veils the womb, the womb veils the origin of life itself.” (3)

The encounter of the dark goddess is not comfortable for Jung, who longs to go back to the light of the day. In the second part of the chapter, he tries to make sense of the powerful vision, perhaps in order to rationalize it:

“Because I have fallen into the source of chaos, into the primordial beginning, I myself become smelted anew in the connection with the primordial beginning, which at the same time is what has been and what is becoming.”

He meditates on the symbolism of the snake with its “changeability and germination”, which he sees as the unconscious earthly essence of man, and “the mystery that flows to him from the nourishing earth-mother.”

Once more Jung returns to the theme of opposites. He says:

“It is always the serpent that causes man to become enslaved now to one, now to the other principle, so that it becomes error.”

He identifies Salome with pleasure and Eros, while Elijah symbolizes “forethinking” and Logos. He says that human moves between thinking and pleasure according to his or her personal preference:

“He who prefers to think than to feel, leaves his feelings to rot in darkness. It does not grow ripe, but in moldiness produces sick tendrils that do not reach the light. He who prefers to feel than to think leaves his thinking in darkness, where it spins its nets in gloomy places, desolate webs in which mosquitoes and gnats become enmeshed. The thinker feels the disgust of feeling, since :the feeling in him is mainly disgusting. The one who feels thinks the disgust of thinking, since the thinking in him is mainly disgusting. So the serpent lies between the thinker and the one who feels. They are each other’s poison and healing.”

It seems that Salome is the overpowering presence in this chapter. Although Jung appeals for balance between Eros and Logos, as we need both, nevertheless the power of the goddess seems irresistible. Jung admonishes:

“A thinker should fear Salome, since she wants his head, especially if he is a holy man. … You must turn back to  motherly forethought to obtain renewal.”

Gustave_Moreau_-_l'Apparition

Gustave Moreau, “l’Apparition”

Footnotes:

(1) Liz Greene, The Astrological World of Jung’s Liber Novus: Daimons, Gods and the Planetary Journey, Kindle edition

(2) Toni Bentley, Sisters of Salome, Yale University Press: New Haven&London, 2002

(3) Ibid.

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Reading The Red Book – part 1

Reading The Red Book – part 2

Reading The Red Book – part 3

Reading The Red Book – part 4

Reading The Red Book – part 5

Reading The Red Book – part 6

Reading The Red Book – part 7

Reading The Red Book – part 8

Reading The Red Book – part 9

Reading The Red Book – part 10

Reading The Red Book – part 12

Reading The Red Book – part 13

Reading The Red Book – part 14

Reading The Red Book – part 15

Reading The Red Book – part 16

Reading The Red Book – part 17

Reading The Red Book – part 18

Reading The Red Book – part 19

Reading The Red Book – part 20

Reading The Red Book – part 21

Reading The Red Book – part 22

Reading The Red Book – part 23

Reading The Red Book – part 24 

Reading The Red Book – part 25

Reading The Red Book – part 26

Reading The Red Book – part 27

Reading The Red Book – part 28

Reading The Red Book – part 29

Reading The Red Book – part 30

Reading The Red Book – part 31

Reading The Red Book – part 32

Reading The Red Book – part 33

Reading The Red Book – part 34

Reading The Red Book – part 35

Reading The Red Book – part 36

Reading The Red Book – part 37

Reading The Red Book – part 38

Reading The Red Book – part 39

Reading The Red Book – part 40

 

Reading The Red Book – part 41

 

Reading The Red Book – part 42

Posted in The Red Book by C.G. Jung, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Reading The Red Book (10)

“The good and the beautiful freeze to the ice of the absolute idea and the bad and hateful become mud puddles full of crazy life.”

C.G. Jung, The Red Book (Liber Primus, chapter VIII)

Giuseppe Bernardino Bison, “Don Juan in Hell”

Chapter VIII of The Red Book (Liber Primus) was given the title The Conception of the God. Jung starts by quoting the parable of the mustard seed from the Gospel of Matthew:

“The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and sowed in his field: Which indeed is the least of all seeds: but when it is grown, it is the greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree.”

The death of the hero, discussed in part 9 of the series, has planted a seed. This seed will grow into a new God, who will take the life of Jung’s psyche in a new direction. The new God is likened to “a wondrous child,” who was conceived in pain but whose birth will be joyful. Like the mustard seed, also the divine child is fragile, easily overlooked and disregarded by the guardians of the status quo, who dedicate their life to the spirit of our time:

“We passed by in our ridiculousness and senselessness when we caught sight of you.

Our eyes were blinded and our knowledge fell silent when we received your radiance.

…

The constellation of your birth is an ill and changing star.”

The psychology of the child archetype was analyzed by Jung in a volume which he co-wrote with Karl Kerenyi. Typically in myth, the birth of the divine child, which in psychological terms is “the nascent form of the Self,”(1) is miraculous, yet early childhood is plagued by abandonment and persecution. The abandonment is a necessary consequence of “evolving towards independence,” says Jung (3). It is vital for the divine child to detach from his/her origins. The conscious factors seek to stifle the child and all the new psychological content that the child represents. The child is therefore “easily overlooked and falls back into the unconscious.” (4)

Peter Paul Rubens, “Boy with Bird”

But like the seed the child has also emerged from the depths of Nature and, as Jung says, “represents the strongest, the most ineluctable urge in very being, namely the urge to realize itself.” (5) As such the child becomes also the symbol of the unity of the opposites, as it “anticipates the self which is produced through the synthesis of the conscious and unconscious elements of the personality,” explains the editor of The Red Book in the footnotes.

Next Jung asks a question, which is hotly debated in Jungian circles to this day: does God encompass evil or is he pure good:

“If the God is absolute beauty and goodness, how should he encompass the fullness of life, which is beautiful and hateful, good and evil, laughable and serious, human and inhuman?”

Jung argues that there are no heights without depths, but the descent to the underworld if full of peril. He warns:

“The depths would like to devour you whole and choke you in mud. He who journeys to Hell also becomes Hell; therefore do not forget from whence you come. The depths are stronger than us; so do not be heroes, be clever and drop the heroics, since nothing is more dangerous than to play the hero. The depths want to keep you.”

The newly emerged consciousness is fragile like a child and always in danger of being swallowed, devoured by the depths. But ascent will only come after “night and Hell,” which is why Christ journeyed to the underworld after his death. The dead, says Jung, require sacrificial gifts, “golden cups full of the sweet drink of life.” Such ambiguity, which consists in being poised between darkness and light, is the way of life.

Another important quality of the divine child is uniqueness. Jung always warned against imitation, which he saw as harmful to true individuation. The hero, whom everyone wanted to imitate, had to suffer a metaphorical death, so that a new identity of the psyche could be forged. Jung says:

“Imitation was a way of life when men still needed the heroic prototype. … Human apishness has lasted a terribly long time, but the time will come when a piece of that apishness will fall away from men. That will be a time of salvation and the dove, and the eternal fire, and redemption will descend.”

The notion of individuation means also being able to achieve singleness within oneself, if necessary also outside of “the communal” and “the external.” As Jung says in this chapter:

“If we are in ourselves, we fulfill the need of the self, we prosper, and through this we become aware of the needs of the communal and can fulfill them.”

According to Jung, those who have achieved individuation can serve their community better than those who have been leading communal or conditioned lives. God dwells within the individualized Self (in some interpretations – the Self is God),  not without. It has to be emphasized that individuation does not mean perfection; quite the contrary. By acknowledging that he or she cannot imitate the heroes, an individual accepts his or her “incapacity,” which is a necessary step towards achieving inner unity. In his interpretative guide to reading The Red Book, Sanford L. Grob makes an important point about the hero being “insulated from the negative poles of the features that make him/her heroic.” It is often the unacknowledged opposite that brings about the hero’s downfall.

Grob reminds us that complete unity of opposites is not a desirable effect since it is the conflict between them which “produces interest and activity.” When oppositions are overcome, there is no more energy, no more life, or to quote Jung (after Grob) from his Psychological Types: “He who has… gradually given up all attachments and is freed from all pairs of opposites reposes in Brahman alone.”

William Blake, Illustration from The Gates of Paradise

Footnotes:

(1) Liz Greene, The Astrological World of Jung’s Liber Novus: Daimons, Gods and the Planetary Journey, Kindle edition

(2) Carl Jung, Karl Kerenyi, Introduction to a Science of Mythology: The Myth of the Divine Child and the Mysteries of Eleusis, Routledge and Kegan Paul Ltd, London 1951

(3) Ibid.

(4) Ibid.

(5) Ibid.

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Reading The Red Book – part 1

Reading The Red Book – part 2

Reading The Red Book – part 3

Reading The Red Book – part 4

Reading The Red Book – part 5

Reading The Red Book – part 6

Reading The Red Book – part 7

Reading The Red Book – part 8

Reading The Red Book – part 9

Reading The Red Book – part 11

Reading The Red Book – part 12

Reading The Red Book – part 13

Reading The Red Book – part 14

Reading The Red Book – part 15

Reading The Red Book – part 16

Reading The Red Book – part 17

Reading The Red Book – part 18

Reading The Red Book – part 19

Reading The Red Book – part 20

Reading The Red Book – part 21

Reading The Red Book – part 22

Reading The Red Book – part 23

Reading The Red Book – part 24 

Reading The Red Book – part 25

Reading The Red Book – part 26

Reading The Red Book – part 27

Reading The Red Book – part 28

Reading The Red Book – part 29

Reading The Red Book – part 30

Reading The Red Book – part 31

Reading The Red Book – part 32

Reading The Red Book – part 33

Reading The Red Book – part 34

Reading The Red Book – part 35

Reading The Red Book – part 36

Reading The Red Book – part 37

Reading The Red Book – part 38

Reading The Red Book – part 39

Reading The Red Book – part 40

Reading The Red Book – part 41

Reading The Red Book – part 42

Posted in The Red Book by C.G. Jung, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Beauty and Wonder in Olafur Eliasson’s Art

The Danish-Icelandic artist Olafur Eliasson is perhaps most known for his stunning The weather project (2003).  In a giant hall of the Tate Modern gallery in London, viewers were mesmerized by an installation which consisted of a yellow sun shining through a mist, imitating the setting sun in Africa. Those who were there spoke of a supernatural experience, many were feeling the heat though in fact there was not any:

“People responded to their transformation in the most extraordinary ways: they lay down flat, flapping their arms and legs as if they could make snow angels on the Tate’s concrete floor, talking to strangers in the mist.”

via https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2019/09/26/olafur-eliasson-filling-eyes-sunshine/

One of Eliasson’s earlier works, entitled By Means of a Sudden Intuitive Realization (1996), looks futuristic and spiritual at the same time, which is perhaps a rare and surprising combination, and quite typical of his art. In its dark interior, “a white geodesic dome of hexagonal and pentagonal fibreglass panels” contains a fountain illuminated by a strobe light. Such domes were designed by architect-mathematician Einar Thornstein to be used in geothermal drilling in Iceland. You can see this work and many others on the artist’s website:

https://olafureliasson.net/archive/artwork/WEK101732/by-means-of-a-sudden-intuitive-realization

Michelle Kuo explains:

“The brief moments of illumination allow the viewer to see the water’s ever-shifting form as a sequence of frozen instants.” (1)

In an interview Eliasson, who has an Icelandic father (also an artist), recalled his childhood expeditions to Iceland as a source of his mythical imagination:

“… they’d [his father and his father’s friend – another artist] talk about the moss and the stones and get lost in the various reds and browns and greens. … They’d see trolls’ faces in the sides of the mountains. … I guess, I grew up surrounded by art that embraced both abstraction and mythology and allowed plenty of space for imagination.” (2)

In 1999 he finished The Glacier Series, which is a haunting photo catalogue of Icelandic glaciers. By now, many of the glaciers have disappeared or substantially diminished. He has always been at the avant-garde of the environmental consciousness. In his Berlin studio cooking “organic, vegetarian and locally sourced food” is a vital part of the artistic process.

His signature is bringing nature into the art gallery on the one hand and intervening artistically in the landscape on the other (https://olafureliasson.net/archive/artwork/WEK110139/fog-assembly). The examples of the former are numerous, starting with the extraordinary Moss Wall, an artificial pond, lava floor and last but not least the river bed, an installation which invited visitors to walk upstream to the source. One of his obsessions and a frequent motif is the horizon, the symbolism of which conjures depth, infinity, adventure, and also the abyss, as the sun disappears behind the horizon.

I feel drawn to his art precisely because of these qualities of expansiveness and contemporaneity, which are at the same time rooted in primal, ancient, mythological, instinctual bedrock, which has remained constant for the human race since our beginning. Isn’t Sunspace to Shibukawa a modern answer to Stonehenge?

“The ceiling of this small pavilion… is pierced by an arc of lenses aligned with the arc of the sun through the sky at the site over the course of the year. … Every two weeks, on days that correspond with a traditional Japanese seasonal calendar, a rainbow is projected as a perfect circle within the pavilion.” (3)

 

Olafur Eliasson on the cover of Wired

Footnotes:

(1) Michelle Kuo (author), Olafur Eliasson (editor), Olafur Eliasson: Experience, Phaidon Press 2018

(2) Ibid.

(3) Ibid.

Inspiration:

https://www.wired.co.uk/article/olafur-eliasson-creative-manifesto

 

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Reading The Red Book (9)

“In October [1913], while I was alone on a journey, I was suddenly seized by an overpowering vision: I saw a monstrous flood covering all the northern and low-lying lands between the North Sea and the Alps. When it came up to Switzerland I saw that the mountains grew higher and higher to protect our country. I realized that a frightful catastrophe was in progress. I saw the mighty yellow waves, the floating rubble of civilization, and the drowned bodies of uncounted thousands. Then the whole sea turned to blood. This vision last about one hour. I was perplexed and nauseated, and ashamed of my weakness.”

C.G. Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections

“The Grindelwald Glacier” by Ferdinand Hodler (1912)

Murder of the Hero – chapter VII of The Red Book (Liber Primus) – deals with a crucial dream/vision of Jung, which he had in 1913:

“I was with a youth in high mountains. It was before daybreak, the Eastern sky was already light. Then Siegfried’s horn resounded over the mountains with a jubilant sound. We knew that our mortal enemy was coming. We were armed and lurked beside a narrow rocky path to murder him. Then we saw him coming high across the mountains on a chariot made of the bones of the dead. He drove boldly and magnificently over the steep rocks and arrived at the narrow path where we waited in hiding. As he came around the turn ahead of us, we fired at the same time and he fell slain. Thereupon I turned to flee, and a terrible rain swept down. But after this  I went through a torment unto death and I felt certain that I must kill myself if I could not solve the riddle of the murder of the hero.”

The murder of the hero illustrated by Jung in The Red Book

The symbolism of the hero’s murder is multi-faceted. First, it was viewed by Jung as the annihilation of his own power, boldness and pride, or as Sanford L. Drob puts it in his guide to The Red Book, “his narcissistic investment in his dominant thinking function.” Some researchers viewed Siegfried’s death as metaphor for the painful break-up with Freud, supporting their thesis with the fact that Siegfried’s father was called Sigmund.

Other interpretations refer to more collective themes. Siegfried was a well-known symbol of German nationalism. Although Jung’s vision took place before the first world war, the importance of Siegfried’s myth for the German identity continued into the 1930s. It is a well-known fact that Hitler, who was deeply obsessed with Wagner’s Ring Cycle (Der Ring des Nibelungen), identified himself with its hero Siegfried.

Simply put, Siegfried is a typical dragon slaying solar hero, who prevails over the forces of chaos and darkness or the devouring mother complex.  In Jung’s dream the murder occurs at sunrise, as the day breaks, further emphasizing the identification of the hero with the solar principle. When the solar hero is slain, the sun disappears and it starts to rain. Jung closes this chapter of The Red Book by talking about the rain:

“The rain is the great stream of tears that will come over the peoples, the tearful flood of released tension after the constriction of death had encumbered the peoples with horrific force. It is the mourning of the dead in me, which precedes burial and rebirth. The rain is the fructifying of the earth, it begets the new wheat, the young, germinating God.”

The quote anticipates the atrocities of war that are to come to Europe, showcasing the prophetic qualities of The Red Book. The distortion of the solar principle, not balanced by the feeling function and its associated compassion, leads to over-ambition, narcissism and the need to conquer and dominate. According to some interpreters, the Nazi SS symbol was the duplication of the rune Sowilo (the Sun). The ancient name of that rune was Sieg (German for victory, which is also part of Siegfried’s name). Perhaps the runes are too potent to be so thoughtlessly duplicated.

The rune Sowilo

The theme of the new god replacing the old one is also crucial in The Red Book. In this chapter Jung says:

“But this is the bitterest for mortal men: our Gods want to be overcome, since they require renewal. … If the God grows old, he becomes shadow, nonsense, and he goes down. The greatest truth becomes the greatest lie, the brightest day becomes darkest night.”

Much of The Red Book is a reflection on how the changing of the guard occurs when a new Aion starts (1). Jung also writes:

“If men kill their princes, they do so because they cannot kill their Gods, and because they do not know that they should kill their Gods in themselves.”

This is a very Age of Aquarius sentiment. In the Aion of Pisces humans were sustained (and oppressed) by religious doctrines. The Age of Aquarius will bring the realization of gods as the inner reality, while humanity will be sustained by its conscious, individualized members.

Footnotes:

(1) Liz Greene, The Astrological World of Jung’s Liber Novus: Daimons, Gods and the Planetary Journey, Kindle edition

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Reading The Red Book – part 1

Reading The Red Book – part 2

Reading The Red Book – part 3

Reading The Red Book – part 4

Reading The Red Book – part 5

Reading The Red Book – part 6

Reading The Red Book – part 7

Reading The Red Book – part 8

Reading The Red Book – part 10

Reading The Red Book – part 11

Reading The Red Book – part 12

Reading The Red Book – part 13

Reading The Red Book – part 14

Reading The Red Book – part 15

Reading The Red Book – part 16

Reading The Red Book – part 17

Reading The Red Book – part 18

Reading The Red Book – part 19

Reading The Red Book – part 20

Reading The Red Book – part 21

Reading The Red Book – part 22

Reading The Red Book – part 23

Reading The Red Book – part 24 

Reading The Red Book – part 25

Reading The Red Book – part 26

Reading The Red Book – part 27

Reading The Red Book – part 28

Reading The Red Book – part 29

Reading The Red Book – part 30

Reading The Red Book – part 31

Reading The Red Book – part 32

Reading The Red Book – part 33

Reading The Red Book – part 34

Reading The Red Book – part 35

Reading The Red Book – part 36

Reading The Red Book – part 37

Reading The Red Book – part 38

Reading The Red Book – part 39

Reading The Red Book – part 40

Reading The Red Book – part 41

Reading The Red Book – part 42

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Reading The Red Book (8)

“But how does the mind free itself of its accumulated violence, cultured violence, self-protective violence, the violence of aggression, the violence of competition, the violence of trying to be somebody, the violence of trying to discipline oneself according to a pattern, trying to become somebody, trying to suppress and bully oneself, brutalise oneself, in order to be non-violent – how is the mind to be free of all such forms of violence?”

Jiddu Krishnamurti, via http://jiddu-krishnamurti.net/en/beyond-violence/1970-04-07-jiddu-krishnamurti-beyond-violence-violence

JMW Turner, “Apollo and Python”

In chapter VI of The Red Book (Liber Primus), which is called Splitting of the Spirit, Jung’s descent into the underworld and confrontation with his shadow continue. The spirit of the depths commands him, “Climb down into your depths, sink!” He is still at the desert surrounded by monstrous beings, who have attached themselves to him. He says:

“I have evidently taken on a completely monstrous form in which I can no longer recognize myself. It seems to me that I have become a monstrous animal form for which I have exchanged my humanity.”

Jung feels indignation at his soul for trapping him in such darkness but the soul replies with a riddle: “”My path is light ” and “My light is not of this world.” Jung cannot stop raging because he is not yet ready to accept the existence of “another world.” He has lost his footing in the reality he has known thus far but he has not been able to establish himself in the new, wider world of the spirit. In his interpretative guide to reading The Red Book, Sanford L. Grob points to Jung’s ambivalence  about the existence of “another world,” which is similar to the realm of Platonic ideals. At times Jung would criticize any statements regarding the actual existence of the archetypal reality as non-empirical. Nevertheless, he frequently emphasized that the imprints of that reality can be seen everywhere in the world. The very word archetype comes from the Greek word “archē, ” beginning”, and typos, ” imprint.”

Throughout the chapter, Jung’s anger and confusion grow. He feels “transformed into a rapacious beast,” full of rage towards “the hero and the prince.” The title “splitting of the spirit” refers to what he calls “the civil war within:”

“I myself was the murderer and the murdered. The deadly arrow was stuck in my heart, and I did not know what it meant. My thoughts were murder and the fear of death, which spread like poison everywhere in my body.”

On the one hand, he identifies with the desire to murder the hero, on the other hand the hero symbolizes his old ego structure, which has to die to open the way to richer and deeper psychological reality, which would encompass the shadow and a relationship with the spirit of the depths. A cause of the hero’s death is presented:

“The God becomes sick if he oversteps the height of the zenith. That is why the spirit of the depths took me when the spirit of this time had led me to the summit.”

When he was embarking on the journey of The Red Book, his worldly success and all the trappings of fame were not authentic to Jung any more. In one of the footnotes to this chapter a significant quote of Jung is revealed. In 1917 during a discussion at the Association for Analytical Psychology, he said:

“The hero-the beloved figure of the people, should fall. All heroes bring themselves down by carrying the heroic attitude beyond a certain limit, and hence lose their footing.”

Th masculine hero archetype seems to have lost his footing in our still patriarchal culture. And what is left now of the Roman Empire, upon which the sun was said to never set? The value of Jung’s vision was its prophetic quality due to his sensitive feel of the collective pulse. He was born at the sunset, when the sun – the consciousness – steps into the netherworld to find renewal and rebirth. But before rebirth occurs, “the sun makes its way through the pitch black of the night sea, battling chaos and extinction, threatened by the vast, eclipsing coils of the primal serpent Apophis…” (1)

The sunset is a moment when the opposition of light and darkness is palpable even to the least poetic of us:

“Sunset is variously depicted as the surrender, union or tension between the relatively fixed solar element and the watery, changeable element, signified by the ascendance of twilight and the waxing and waning moon.” (2)

Bringing together of the opposites, their tension, their union, their eternal dance, was the great achievement of The Red Book and of Jung’s life and work.

Georgia O’Keeffe, “Sunset – Long Island”

Footnotes:

(1) The Book of Symbols: Reflections on Archetypal Images, ed. by Ami Ronnberg, ARAS

(2) Ibid.

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Reading The Red Book – part 1

Reading The Red Book – part 2

Reading The Red Book – part 3

Reading The Red Book – part 4

Reading The Red Book – part 5

Reading The Red Book – part 6

Reading The Red Book – part 7

Reading The Red Book – part 9

Reading The Red Book – part 10

Reading The Red Book – part 11

Reading The Red Book – part 12

Reading The Red Book – part 13

Reading The Red Book – part 14

Reading The Red Book – part 15

Reading The Red Book – part 16

Reading The Red Book – part 17

Reading The Red Book – part 18

Reading The Red Book – part 19

Reading The Red Book – part 20

Reading The Red Book – part 21

Reading The Red Book – part 22

Reading The Red Book – part 23

Reading The Red Book – part 24 

Reading The Red Book – part 25

Reading The Red Book – part 26

Reading The Red Book – part 27

Reading The Red Book – part 28

Reading The Red Book – part 29

Reading The Red Book – part 30

Reading The Red Book – part 31

Reading The Red Book – part 32

Reading The Red Book – part 33

Reading The Red Book – part 34

Reading The Red Book – part 35

Reading The Red Book – part 36

Reading The Red Book – part 37

Reading The Red Book – part 38

Reading The Red Book – part 39

Reading The Red Book – part 40

Reading The Red Book – part 41

Reading The Red Book – part 42

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On Silence

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I have recently read two magnificent books on the same topic – silence. One was written in 1948 by Max Picard, a Swiss philosopher of art and entitled The World of Silence, the other – called Quest for Silence (published in 2000) – is a work of Harry Wilmer, a psychiatrist and Jungian analyst. Neither of the books is contemporary, yet it made me think a lot about the noise of the Internet that we are all caught in. Picard does vent against the meaningless chatter of the radio, though, which can be easily related to the worldwide web of words – the endless updates, comments, blog posts that we are flooded with at our own choosing. Wilmer quotes from Nietzsche’s Thus spoke Zarathustra:

“Everyone among them talks – no one knows how to understand any more. … Everyone cackles, but who wants to sit quietly in the nest and hatch eggs?”

I found both books very nourishing and both pointing at what Meister Eckhart called “the central silence, … where no creature may enter, nor any idea, and there the soul neither thinks nor acts nor entertains any idea… .”

I do not have much to add to the wonderful passages from both books. In Wilmer’s book I was especially moved by the chapters dedicated to the trauma of the war (Hiroshima, Vietnam and the second world war with the Holocaust) and the chapter on the Japanese word MA – “the silent space in painting, music, speech, and between things.” The Japanese believe that it is thanks to that opening, that space, that light can shine through. Wilmer devoted a lot of space to communication, listening and silence. I was quite astounded that dolphins communicate by means of the intervals of silence between the sound they emit. For them, silence communicates.

Some of Max Picard’s passages deserve to be quoted extensively. Here I present a handful of them – I believe any comment would be gratuitous:

“When language ceases, silence begins. But it does not begin BECAUSE silence ceases. The absence of language simply makes the presence of silence more apparent.”

***

“…language becomes emaciated if it loses its connection with silence.”

***

“Silence contains everything within itself.”

***

“Here in Silence is the Holy Wilderness…”

***

“Speech came out of silence, out of the fullness of silence. The fullness of silence would have exploded if it had not been able to flow into speech.”

***

“… the silence that precedes speech is the pregnant mother who is delivered of speech by the creative activity of the spirit.”

***

“Silence reveals itself in a thousand inexpressible forms: in the quiet of dawn, in the noiseless aspiration of trees toward the sky, in the stealthy descent of night, in the falling moonlight, trickling down into the night like a rain of silence, but above all in the silence of the inward soul…”

***

“Silence can exist without speech but speech cannot exist without silence. The word would be without depth if the background of silence were missing.”

***

“Words that merely come from other words are hard and aggressive. Such words are also lonely, and a great part of the melancholy in the world today is due to the fact that man has made words lonely by separating them from silence.”

***

“On the river of tears man travels back into silence.”

***

“The world of myth lies between the world of silence and the world of language. Like figures that seem to loom larger than life in the gathering twilight, the figures of the world of myth seem huge as they emerge from the twilight of silence.”

***

“Ekbatana, the city of the Medes, had seven circular walls, each with different coloured battlements. They were, according to Herodotus, the heavenly spheres enclosing the sun castle, and the obelisks were sunrays in stone. No word could express so well the power of the heavenly spheres as this monument in the silence of stone. In the silence of these stones the heavenly spheres and the rays of the sun lived again on earth, and in their silence one heard their movement in the sky.”

***

“Silence has locked itself up in cathedrals and protected itself with walls.”

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The Splendour of Córdoba

“Córdoba is not a decadent town, one of those haughty cities languishing in its own past, in which life becomes stifled. It maintains its own elegant poise, made of the web of dreams and the substance of time itself. There are places here which seem to contain the entire essence of the universe hidden and untouched.”

Antonio Muñoz Molina (1)

It is very easy to forget which century we are in while walking through the streets of the old town of Córdoba. There is an intellectual nimbus that crowns this city of great minds: Seneca in the Roman times, the Muslim Averroës, masterful commentator on Aristotle, and the Jewish Maimonides, called the greatest Jewish sage since the biblical Moses, all walked these streets. The cultural legacy of Muslim Spain still dazzles.

The Roman Bridge and the roof of the Mezquita in the distance

Córdoba was the capital of Muslim Spain or Al-Andalus. During the ninth and tenth centuries it was most probably as powerful as Constantinople. Muslims, Jews and Christians are said to have coexisted peacefully there, though not without incidents. Ancient Greek texts were being translated into Arabic, Hebrew and Latin. There were 3000 mosques in the city, the most wonderful of which was La Mezquita. It was not only a place of worship but also a centre of learning, where the Caliph invited greatest thinkers of the Arabic kingdoms. The Moors may have been responsible for the rebirth of classical learning long before the Renaissance began in Europe:

“Normally the Renaissance is traced back to Florentine and Venetian Italy, and with good reason: Venetian trade with the Arabic world did indeed allow Classical learning to re-enter Europe through Italy. But studying the Spanish roots of the Renaissance allows us to ponder how Classical learning only declined in certain parts of Europe, that it continued to flourish in both the Byzantine and Arabic worlds, and that it was returned to Europe via al-Andalus – “Moorish Spain” – roughly 500 years before the Italian Renaissance.”

via https://webpages.uidaho.edu/engl257/Don%20Quixote/moorish_influence_on_renaiss.htm

Of course in those times there were predominantly men who wrote cultural scripts and were allowed personal freedom. Yet there are stories of liberated Islamic women, for example Wallada the Omayyad, who was a member of caliphal aristocracy. She chose not to wear a hijab and was criticized for frivolous clothing. But more importantly, she was a renowned poet and the founder of the most prestigious literary salon in the city. She would walk through the streets of Córdoba with her poems embroidered on her clothes.

Today the Mezquita remains a remarkable monument containing the elements of all cultures that once lived on the Iberian peninsula. The building materials were salvaged by the Moors from Roman and Visigoth structures. But the most astounding effect was achieved by superimposing a cathedral on the existing mosque.

Upon entering the eye rests on the endless sea of white and red arches. Light filters through them delicately and the whole space seems to be floating. There is a sense of lightness and openness. A. Muñoz Molina spoke of “the sensation of space repeating itself and expanding towards the ubreachably far horizon.” Then you realize that you are not in a mosque but in a Catholic cathedral of the Blessed Mary, whose beautiful image adorns one of the columns.

The Christian additions to the mosque – the fifty chapels, the high altar, the choir and high windows, flood the space with light but also, in my opinion, dispel the aura of mystery. The legend says that the king who ordered these additions was horrified when he saw the end result of the work. He lamented that the builders had destroyed unique beauty.

The heart of the temple is not the altar however but indisputably the mihrab (the niche in a mosque indicating the direction of the Kaaba in Mecca – see image above), beautifully decorated with gold mosaic cubes and crowned by a white marble dome in the shape of a shell. The Mihrab has a miraculous presence as a symbol of the Absolute – a doorway to eternity. The shell is a rich symbol both in Islam, where it is viewed as the source of life, and Christianity, which associates it with Mary. In 2004 Spanish Muslims petitioned the Pope to permit them to worship in the Mezquita again. The Vatican said no.

Maimonides statue in the Jewish Quarter

The third great religious group – the Jews – was said to have been in cordial relations with the Muslims during Córdoba’s golden age. The Jewish quarter was large and located near the Mezquita, not in the outskirts of the city like in many other places in Europe. But when the free thinking Umayyad dynasty fell and the rule of the radical Almohads started, the Jews and the Christians were either forced to convert to Islam or chose exile. This was the choice of Maimonides and many others. Another dark chapter in the history of religious freedom on the Iberian peninsula started with the Christian reconquest and was sealed by the actions of the Spanish Inquisition. In 1391 the Jewish quarter was destroed. Bloody auto-da-fés were carried out until the eighteenth century. The model of neighbourly coexistence between Jews, Arabs and Christians had vanished. The roots of Spanish nationalism are attributed to that period while the Jihad ideology of the Almohads further fuelled the hostilities.

A courtyard in the museum dedicated to Sephardic Jews

The patron saint of Córdoba is Archangel Raphael, whose statues are dispersed all over the city. The most famous one overlooks the great Roman bridge and there is a smaller one on the bridge itself. Raphael is the Watcher of the North and he represents the royal star Regulus. His name means “God Heals.” He is an important figure in all the three religions that for a brief moment in history peacefully coexisted here.

Footnotes:

(1) Córdoba in Focus, ed. by J. Augustin Nuñez, published by Edilux, S.I.

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The Alhambra

“I have heard O King, that the king walked to the center of the palace and looked around, but saw no one. The palace was furnished with silk carpets and leather mats and hung with drapes. There were also settees, benches, and seats with cushions, as well as cupboards. In the middle there stood a spacious courtyard, surrounded by four adjoining recessed courts facing each other. In the center stood a fountain, on top of which crouched four lions in red gold, spouting water from their mouths in droplets that looked like gems and pearls, and about the fountain singing birds fluttered under a high net to prevent them flying away … ”

‘The Tale of the King’s Son and the She-Ghoul’, The Arabian Nights, translated by Hussein Haddawy, quoted by Robert Irwin (see footnotes)

The Fall of Granada in 1492 marked the end of the Muslim rule in the Iberian Peninsula. The Nasrids (1238-1492) were the last Muslim dynasty that reigned in Spain with the Alhambra (Arabic for the red castle) as the bastion of their power. The 250 years of their reign was marked by cultural and intellectual splendour achieved despite being besieged by Christianity. Rafael Hierro Caleja stated that the Nasrids sensed that their civilization was coming to an end. (1) This is why they poured all their creative wisdom into the Alhambra, which is more richly decorated than any other Muslim monuments. Caleja suggests that the palace was the swan song of the Muslims who were “suffocated by increasing pressure from the Christian kingdoms”:

“This may well be an indication of a ‘fear of emptiness’ (the Latin horror vacui), which Johan Huizinga referred to in his marvellous book “The Autumn of the Middle Ages” as characteristic of the spirit’s final periods.”

What is written in official guidebooks about the magnificent seat of the Nasrid caliphs should not be taken for granted, says the researcher Robert Irwin (2):

“…there are very few facts about the Alhambra that are securely established and agreed upon. It is a sunlit place of many mysteries.”

The Muslim peoples, says Calleja, lived their lives looking inwards and this is why their buildings looked simple on the outside but were opulently decorated indoors. There is grandeur but there is also intimacy, according to Irwin, who adds that while most architecture is planned for the day, the Alhambra was intended to be seen at night, caressed by moonlight. The place used to be lit by vast candles from Damascus, which were reflected in water. It is a pity that the site is now so overrun by tourists, who visit it mostly in the blazing sun. There is little left of the intimacy but still the enchanting beauty of the place can be overshadowed by nothing.

Though we know little of the purpose of the elaborate designs, Irwin offers a beautiful suggestion:

“The Alhambra was designed by and for intellectuals with mystical inclinations. It was a machine for thinking in. Its lacework decoration and watery reflections hint at the impermanence of all material and visible things. The beauty of the Alhambra is based upon proportion and upon abstract geometric designs of staggering complexity. …The Alhambra is a stone book in more than one sense, for not only are its walls decorated with religious and poetical texts, but those texts are framed by geometrical designs that are, to all intents and purposes, demonstrations of mathematical theorems.”

Like in many other ancient monuments, there is plenty of astronomical symbolism. The ceiling of the Hall of Ambasadors, says Irwin, is a representation of the seven heavens or the seven classical planets – “the celestial court presided over by the sun king:
“The moon was his chief minister and heir to the throne. Mercury was the katib (scribe), Mars the army commander, Jupiter the qadi (judge), Saturn the treasurer and Venus the maidservant.”

A further beautiful example of astrological symbolism is encoded in The Hall of the Two Sisters. The poetry written on its walls translates:
“The constellation of Gemini holds out its hand to you on a sign of friendship and the moon goes up to it to talk in secret.”

The twelve lions in the Courtyard of the Lions may have stood for the twelve Zodiac signs, but it is not certain. A more plausible theory, according to Calleja, sees their origin in Hebrew art:
“There are twelve white marble lions holding up the sea, the twelve lions of Judah or the twelve tribes of Israel.”

It was a gift of the Jewish vizier and poet to the king of Alhambra, which, in Calleja’s words “reminds us of the peace and coexistence of the three monotheistic religions in medieval times in Spain.”

Another poetic inscription found in The Hall of the Two Sisters says: “In this place the soul shall find a stunning dream.” Calligraphy, vegetal motifs and geometric shapes are repeated endlessly on the walls of the Alhambra. This, together with the interplay of light, shadows and shapes transports the mind to another dreamlike dimension.

Footnotes:

(1) Rafael Hierro Calleja, Granada and the Alhambra: Art, Architecture, History, Ediciones Miguel Sánchez

(2) Robert Irwin, The Alhambra (Wonders of the World), kindle edition

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Museo Picasso in Málaga, His Birthplace

I felt a sort of a spiritual communion with Pablo Picasso while visiting Museo Picasso in his home town of Málaga (featured in the photo above). Never before had I received his art so intensely. The museum is housed in an old Moorish palace, which was built on the foundations of a much older Phoenician dwelling. As the guide book to the museum says:

“While radical in its modernity, Picasso’s art also drew extensively on the past, nourishing its creative vitality with the treasure of bygone centuries. His museum in Málaga reflects the man by including historical strata in the modern building.”

Málaga is the second-most populous city on Andalusia and one of the most ancient cities in the world. Typically of Andalusia, it is a harmonious blend of aesthetic influences of various cultures, especially Muslim and Catholic, which resulted in the so called Mudejar style combining Christian and Islamist elements. Picasso’s Andalusian roots reached deep and defined him as an artist.

The exhibition featured some amazing quotes by Picasso. The first one I want to share relates to his Andalusian homeland:

“I was born of a white father and a small glass of Andalusian eau de vie I was born to a mother the daughter of a fifteen year-old girl born in the Percheles of Málaga the handsome bull who sired me with his forehead crowned with jasmine”.

Jasmine is the well-known symbol of Málaga. I had not realized before how talented a writer Picasso was. He also had a deep understanding of art as an activity that both creates and expresses symbols. He said:

“I always aim at the resemblance. An artist should observe nature but never confuse it with painting. It is only translatable into painting by signs. But such signs are not invented. To arrive at the sign, you have to concentrate hard on the resemblance. To me, surreality is nothing, and has never been anything but this profound resemblance, something deeper than the forms and the colors in which objects present themselves.”

(you can find this and more quotes with their sources on the Museum’s website: https://www.museopicassomalaga.org/en/new-collection/5-unconscious-and-sculpture)

Picasso’s art was not only strongly archetypal and mythological, it was also decidedly carnal, even bestial. He relished the constant company of animals:

“Picasso may like or detest men, but he adores all animals […]. At the Bateau-Lavoir he had three Siamese cats, a dog, a monkey, and a turtle, and a domesticated white mouse made its home in a drawer of his table. […] In Vallauris he had a goat; in Cannes, a monkey.”

There were a lot of works of art featured in the museum that made a profound impression on me. First of all, “The Three Graces,” which was his rebellion against “academic training in beauty.” The guide book to the museum offers the following commentary on the painting:

“This play of shadow and light creates a perfect balance between solids and voids, between what we see and what we imagine. … One dressed, another naked, and the third simply draped, they silently impose their light, ghostly presence, like apparitions that have emerged from thin air. Picasso chose to represent them alone, on a monochrome ground devoid of anything suggesting an environment, and this adds to the timeless feel of the image.”

“Weeping Woman in Front of a Wall” was another striking work. The drawing was a preparation to the later “Guernica,” the famous anti-war painting. Picasso managed to convey the horrors and torments of the war through many of his paintings. There is s Madonna like feel to this particular drawing, which bestows profound sadness on the viewer.

But because there was a whole emotional spectrum in Picasso’s work, there was also a lot of childlike playfulness. One of the brilliant examples was the head of a bull, which is described on the museum’s website:

“The work reflects an already established procedure in his working process in which he joined two completely different elements – in this case a seat and handlebars of a bicycle – in order to give rise to new meanings through their assemblage.“

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