Monthly Archives: December 2008

How Eros has Affected My General Worship: Chloris

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Somehow, I think that the especial cult reverence that I afford Eros and the Erotes has helped me to see how the Theoi are connected and interact. One Goddess, Whom I now feel is often overlooked, Chloris (Flora, in Latin), the Goddess of Flowers, is one who I only really noticed after gravitating toward Eros cultus.

After noticing Chloris, it seemed quite obvious why She should be afforded at least some reverence in Erote worship: Many (and I do mean many) love stories in the mythos of ancient Hellas involve a metamorphisis into flowers. Many flowers are sacred to Aphrodite and the Erotes. Even in modern rituals that many people regard as being totally secular, flowers are often given in romance — and, interestingly, flowers are left for our dead. Again, we come to a relationship between Eros and Thanatos, Love and Death, a relationship which is far more pronounced in Gaelig mythology, and as we can see in the sources on Theoi.com, Ovid -in heavily implying Greek origin of this mythology (indeed, he implies it all over the place)- associates Chloris with the Isles of the Blessed in Elysium, and according to Wikipaedia, She is associated with not only Flowers, but also Spring and New Growth — an incredibly apt Goddess to associate with mythos often interpreted as life-death-rebirth mythos, such as Adonis or Hyakinthos, or even Narkissos.

And let us not forget that, botanically, flowers are basically the sex organs of the plant.

In connecting Chloris to Eros, the nymphai of the flowers are next, then the nymphai as a whole, Apollon, Dionysos, Hermes, Artemis… basically any other Theos with strong connections to the nymphai. In connecting Him to Chloris, we bring Him together with the Seasons, the Winds, the Weather Theoi, Zeus. All roads lead to Eros: Love and Creation.

The Stories of Daphne and Hyakinthos

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Re-Told By Ruadhan J McElroy

[Originally published in He Epistole, Summer of 2007, I believe. Edited and revised slightly.]

Once Artemis noted to her twin, “Dear brother, you advise to mortals ‘everything in moderation’, and yet you have lost yourself to the games of Eros at least twice.”

“Ah,” replied Apollon, “this is true. But remember, I advise everything in moderation – this holds especially true for moderation itself!”

This is the story of those instances.

Once, quite a long time ago, Apollon and Eros (who is older than all the Olympian Gods, but still rather child-like in his passions and general outlook), were in a dispute over who was the better archer of the two. Eros mentioned his millennia of years on the silver-bowed seer and how His own abilities of pairing of Gods and men alike had given him much more experience. Apollon scoffed, saying that it was not years, but the time He took to perfect his skill that made Him the superior bowman.

Apollon had decided he had enough of this pettiness and declared he was off to Gaia’s fertile plains to make music for the Nymphai – He may have been Eros’ junior in years, but He was still old enough to know when such an argument was going to go absolutely no-where.

Now Love always has something to prove, and with the encouragement of his companion Aphrodite, Eros simply could not let this go, and his golden arrow struck fair Apollon in the shoulder as the other eternal youth looked up from His lyre to glance at the dancing Naiad Daphne, the nymph of the artesian fountain nearby.

Now it is quite well-known that all nymphai love Apollon dearly, but most of them maintain chaste feelings toward Him, feeling more inclined toward the virile lasciviousness of the satyroi over the God’s refined sense of love-making — the Nymphai are, indeed, quite wild creatures at heart. Quite startled Daphne was when Apollon set down His harp and beckoned her nearer.

“But my Lord,” she replied, “I do not mean to offend, but if it is all the same to you, I would very much rather dance over here.”

“How can you mean that when I want nothing more than to be so nearer to you, sing of your beautiful chestnut hair and whisper sweet nothings in your ear?”

Startled, she began to back away. Unable to see the shaft of Eros’ dart for Apollon’s free-flowing mane, all that she could tell was that this was very much unlike Her God. When Apollon stood up and started toward Her, telling Her of Her beauty, Daphne feared a malevolent spirit was trying to trick Her, had somehow disguised itself as Her dear Apollon, and so She turned from Apollon’s hand and sped off faster than the speed of Eros’ dart.

“My beloved!” the confused God cried out. “Why do you run from your Lord?” Apollon ran to catch up with Daphne.

“You cannot be my Lord Apollon! My Lord knows that my heart belongs to the satyros Argyros, a keeper of hares! Whatever wicked spirit you are, return to where you came from! Do not touch me!”

“How can you not recognise your God? Please, dear woman,” Apollon begged, grabbing a hold of Daphne’s arm. “I beg of you, be done with this nonsense!”

Daphne turned her head and noticed that they had come upon the river of her father, Ladon, and called out to the river-God for help as Apollon held onto her and pleaded with her to allow Him to love her. By the power within Him, Ladon transformed His daughter at her plea that “anything would be better than being pursued by this fiend!”

Daphne’s feet took root into the ground below her as Gaia opened up her pores for the tearful nymphe. Her skin became thick, and like that of a tree as her rich brown hair spiralled up-ward and became covered with leaves thick and flavourful, but sharp to those who should bite them.

At first startled by her metamorphosis, Apollon’s heart then broke at the realisation of what He had driven his old friend to beg for. He then felt the golden head or Eros’ dart under His skin, and realised what the ancient ephebos had done to Him for daring to think Himself better than Nyx’s self-begotten son.

He begged the forgiveness of Ladon for so foolishly pursuing the river-god’s beloved daughter, and asked if He could bless this monument to the fair nymphe. He infused its leaves with the gift of second sight to all who should worship Him. Indeed, even today, followers of Apollon have been known to chew on or burn leaves of the divine daphne, known to the Latin-speaking Romans as “Laurel nobilis” and to modern speakers of the Briton tongue, which some believe is Hyperborean in nature, as “bay”.

Now on another occasion, quite some time after Daphne was but a memory but when mortal men were still in their infancy as a race, and the Gods roamed more freely among us than They do today, Lord Apollon became enchanted by a youth of Spartan nobility. The ephebe’s name was Hyakinthos, and even his mother was so mystified by her son’s beauty and intellect that she, like her neighbours, was hardly above comparing his charms to those of Apollon. Indeed, even His sister Artemis had to look twice when seeing them about, just to make sure that He had not found himself another twin.

“Well, my Brother,” She said when they parted from a playful and loving kiss. “I do believe that you have just proven yourself to not be above vanity. Even your beloved is only distinguishable from you by his mortal aura and the small imperfections in his young skin alone.”

“But do you not see, dear Sister, jealousy is such a waste. I am sure your beloved nymphe could have born Hermes in comfort if only your jealousy did not frighten even our dear Father.”

Artemis knew better that to quarrel with Her twin over the differences between jealousy and the wrath reserved for oath-breakers. He knew the difference, and despite Her wild ways, She was too mannered than to argue with Him in front of His new lover.

Despite his unwavering love for Apollon, Hyakinthos was still mortal and therefore flawed. One of these flaws was that he still could not tell when his own youthful flirting may be taken more seriously than it was intended to be, and this finally was met with sorrow from Zephyros, who had become quite enamoured with the mortal boy.
When Hyakinthos finally realised that Zephyros had fallen in love with him, he apologised to the north wind – he did not mean to mislead Him of his own affections.

“I am gravely sorry, but my heart belongs to Apollon.”

“No! I refuse to believe it!”

“But it is true. And I swear on my life that I had no intentions to make you think I felt that way toward you. I ask that you accept my admittance of this mortal mistake. Just please, I beg of you, dear God, turn your head so that you may see the truth.”

“Why should eruthibios Olympian have the heart of all the lovely young men of the world? Am I not myself attractive?”

“You are indeed fair in your own right, but it is impossible for me to share my heart with two. If I were to even try such a feat, one would become favoured over the other. No mortal can love more than one in the way that I love Apollon. If he tried to, he would fail. There are polygamists who take as many as they can financially provide for equally, but one wife is always awarded the lion’s share of his heart, meaning that his provisions can never be truly equal. Even great Zeus obviously gives more of his heart to Hera than to those he unites with in passing fancy.”

As the boy ran toward Apollon’s beckoning, Zephyros cried out in heartbreak, “Mark my word, fair mortal – if I cannot love you, than neither can He!”

Apollon, honoured by men of the gymnasia, was teaching his young paramour to throw the discus and were now playing an old catching game with the throwing circle as Artemis and Hekate sat by and watched as their dogs ran about with the masculine beings of golden hair.

Then just as Hyakinthos ran to catch the disc as he had been, Hekate could see from the corner of her eye Zephyros, with a jealous look in his.

Hekate cried out “Wait, stop!” but Apollon had already thrown the discus. Zephyros then blew the weighted toy off its course, and quickly did Hyakinthos’ neck snap as the heavy circle beat the mortal youth across his brow.

Where his blood fell, flowers did begin to sprout and take root, as Apollon lifted the boy up, tears pouring down his own face.
Where the story ends here for many people, offering them nothing more than an allegorical tale of the death of childhood. But in Sparta it was said that the fair boy, who was one of their own, by petition of Apollon and the will of Hades, whose heart was softened by his wife Persephone – so girlishly romantic, deep down inside – was reborn as a demigod and every summer in Sparta, they would honour this death with solemn feasts and his rebirth by offering fine clothes to Apollon, singing songs of He and His beloved Spartan boy, and some were even inducted in the mysteries of Apollon and His favourite of all youths.

Caravaggio’s Narcissus

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(By the way, you can click all images for a full-size view and/or description.)

As has been established in my practise and on this blog, I will discuss Narkissos here. Not merely because His mythos are of Boeotian origin and this blog is entitled “Of Thespiae”, but because the reverence I pay Him is, as my shrine suggests, closely entwined with my Eros worship.

There are literally dozens of versions of the story of Narkissos from ancient Greece. Literally. There are more fragments elsewhere on theoi.com and elsewhere on the web, this I assure you. And the many versions mean many things to many people, such as this interesting article I found on WitchVox some time ago showcases. Of course, the only traits that all of these versions really share is that Narkissos’ “doom” lies in noticing His refection in the spring, and that He somehow became fated to this “undoing”, in one way or another.

Now, I could go on about what the Narkissos mythos mean to me, but I honestly feel that it should be obvious in my own version of His story. Instead, I’m going to rave about this painting.

I was in love with Caravaggio’s Narcissus (high-resolution version on ArtRenewal.org) before I even knew who did it, much less anything about who did it. It wasn’t just the extreme “photorealism” that Caravaggio is often credited with bringing into favour, or even the striking use of light and shadows that even the best photographers of today mimic. Don’t get me wrong, these are all very important points that add to the appeal of this painting to me, but I’m not one who typically gets caught up in the details (at least not when I’m enjoying something — when I’m creating something, on the other hand, oi theoi…), I prefer to see the whole picture and enjoy it for what it is, what it represents, and, at most, regard the details as these perfectly-fitted pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that one has sealed with Puzzle Saver and lifted before a window to check for cracks — if any piece proves an imperfect fit, light would shine through and amplify that imperfection.

But, since this is Caravaggio, no imperfections are apparent in such a way to prove such an amplified distraction from the picture.

One of the traits of this painting, and the majority of Caravaggio’s others, is that he not only drew from Christian and Graeco-Roman mythology for his subjects, but he gave the subjects modern relevance but having his models use their own clothing, or in cases such as Amor Vincit Omnia (“Love Conquers All”, commonly known as “Amour Victorious”, in English), a nude, surrounded by modern accoutrements. Considered another “radical” element to Caravaggio’s style, at the time, it’s so apparent to me, in in the twilight of the year 2009 (nearly four hundred years after Caravaggio’s death in 1610) why he made this choice. If these are tales to for all times, then what’s the relevance of recreating an image of a time that we are not a part of? In a fitting tribute to the painter, film-maker Derek Jarman treated his biopic, Caravaggio similarly, carefully blending modern and 17th Century elements to sets and props and costuming, even framing shots to be reminiscent of Caravaggio’s chiaroscuro lighting technique.

This piece first piqued my interest, by my memory, when I was maybe eleven or twelve. At first because my hair-colour was similar to the model’s, and a teacher thought that we had similar faces. I was familiar with the Narkissos story that appears in D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths (which is based on Ovid’s) from about the age of eight, and later, the version relayed by Edith Hamilton in Mythology (similarly based on Ovid’s). It really stood out to me that Caravaggio placed nothing else recognisable in the painting save for Narkissos Himself, and even took care to see that the reflection was fragmented (with the crown of His head lopped off). No other prominent figures from the Narkissos mythos are present, no Goddesses, no Nymphai, Ekho or otherwise, no spurned youth; the canvas is completely consumed by Narkissos and His reflection. His expression is interpreted by many as one of melancholy and seem as foreshadowing of Narkissos’ tragedy; but I see in Narkissos, a look of peace, and in His reflection a look of foreboding — as if the boy Himself has realised His fate and has come to terms with it. He knows His place in Boeotian myth.

The Moirai, The Fates, are important to my theology and how I understand The Divine and my religion. I’ll write more on that at a later time.

Óengus mac ind Og

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There is a certain contingent of people in the Hellenic community that simply misunderstands syncretism, at best, or is attempting to redefine syncretism for their own purposes, at worst (and then, of course, they insist that everybody else is “redefining it for their own purposes”, despite the fact that it’s “everybody else’s” definition that can be backed up by dictionaries and Wikipaedia, and theirs is the definition that cannot). Religious syncretism is defined by Wikipaedia as [link]:

Religious syncretism exhibits blending of two or more religious belief systems into a new system, or the incorporation into a religious tradition of beliefs from unrelated traditions. This can occur for many reasons, and the latter scenario happens quite commonly in areas where multiple religious traditions exist in proximity and function actively in the culture, or when a culture is conquered, and the conquerors bring their religious beliefs with them, but do not succeed in entirely eradicating the old beliefs or, especially, practices.

The Oxford English Dictionary (the standard dictionary of the English language for most of the world) defines syncretism as link]:

• noun the amalgamation of different religions, cultures, or schools of thought.

So, basically, it can be easily concluded that polytheistic syncretism is not merely the adoption of epithets, but the systematic blending of traditions by an individual or a group.

Now, I bring this up because one practise often applied in syncretic traditions, and inevitably brought up in discussions on ancient polytheism and religious syncretism is “Interpretatio graeca“, a Latin term for tendancies among certain Ancient Greek writers (Wikipaedia cites Herodotus as a primary example) to relate foreign Gods to the Theoi of the Hellenic pantheon. The Romans later adopted this practise, along with truly syncretic elements in the adoption of the Greek Apollon, Latinising His name as “Apollo” and adopting as a State Goddess the Hellenic-Phygrian Kybele. But I digress….

Interpretatio graeca/romana is, in and of itself, merely an exercise by some ancients and modern practitioners to relate the Gods of one pantheon to another. Among modern practitioners, the exercise has been adopted by Asatruar and Keltic recons (who each seem to have their own name, depending on whether they’re Gaelig recon, Cymric recon, Gaulish, etc…), even though the only real evidence of this practise that exists among ancient writings exists pretty much among Romans writing of those groups. Interpretatio is, in and of itself, an imperfect means of relating the Theoi of one pantheon to another. Tacitus likens Hercules to Thor, though in modern times, the preference seems to be to compare Thor to Zeus. Other Roman writers compared the Gaelig Lugh to the Roman Mercury, though Moderns prefer to align Him with Apollon. The Gaelig Brighid was comparable to Minerva, in ancient Rome, though modern conventions liken Her to Vesta. The fact remains that Keltic (or Norse) Deity A does share some qualities with Roman/Greek Deity A, but also shares traits with Roman/Greek Deity B. Interpretatio may be a highly flawed means of relating the Theoi to Deities of other pantheons, after all, these Gods are easily determined to be very incongruent in certain ways, but it’s still an interesting exercise, even if one’s practises aren’t syncretic by definition, in studying how certain Theoi can relate to each-other.

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Óengus mac ind Og (“Chosen-One the Young Son” or “Son of Youth” in Irish Gaelig) pantheon. He is a God of Love, Music, and Youthful Beauty, He also has solar associations and is considered the Gaelig counterpart to the Cymric (Welsh) God Mabon ap Modron (“Divine Son of Divine Mother”, in Welsh), a God of Youth and Healing; already, it’s very apparent why He would be of particular interest to me, as one whose primary cultus is paid to Eros and Apollon.

Common descriptions of Óengus state that He is followed by songbirds, who some say total no more than four, and who some say represent kisses; the author of one website I found a few weeks ago (and, of course, my del.icio.us FireFox extension was giving me issues on that day — but the latest FireFox update seems to be wrought with problems, anyway, but I digress) attribute the practise of signing love-letters with “[name] xxxx” to left-over and mostly-forgotten reverence to Óengus, going on to state that four is the perfect number for this, for any less would be platonic or familial, and any more would be wasted or a sign of desperation.

Hyakinthos on Apollon's swan A popular story about Óengus mac ind Og involves His love for the princess Caer Ibormeith: It is said that He had a dream of her and, so wrought with lovesickness, His Divine parents had all the Gods of the land search for this girl in order to bring His spirits back up. When she was found, first the task was in order to make sure that she was the right girl, and Óengus found her pretty much instantly. Then the Gods transformed her and ninety-nine other maids into swans, telling Aengus that if He could find his beloved in her swan form, then their love is one that is truly meant to be. When Óengus found her, He turned Himself into a swan form, and the two flew off, making their own beautiful calls over the other birds left on the ground.

Of Óengus’ adopted children include the hero Díarmait Ua Duibhne, roughly translated to “Díarmait of the Love Spot”, who is said to bear a spot on His forehead that no woman can look upon without falling deeply in love with Him. When he became a beautiful young man, Díarmait was seduced by the maiden Gráinne, who was bethrothed to an aging military leader, Finn. Finn pursued the two, with Gráinne being rescued by Óengus, who had vowed to protect the young lovers, and Díarmait escaped by protecting himself with his weapons given to him by Óengus and other Gods. Eventually, the wear on Díarmait fleeing Finn and protecting himself took its toll and Díarmait was slain by Finn’s wild boars, and though he died, Díarmait’s body was spirited away by Óengus, Who prevented Díarmait’s body from decaying, and Who could occasionally be able to give Díarmait just enough life at a time to speak with Óengus.

Some similarities between Óengus and Eros are apparent — the possible importance of the number four (though the Keltoi had no written language of their own before Christianisation, so I’d need to research this more closely before saying it’s anything more than modern speculation), sacred birds, eternal youth, and a “fated” love story. Other elements to His lore and mythos seem to more closely recall Apollon (solar associations, the gift of spears to Díarmait, the presence of music, also eternal youth), while others (the preservation and short-term periodic revivals of the dead) are at their best, rather difficult to compare to either Apollon or Eros, and indeed are not shared between Óengus and either Theos at all.

But one thing that drawing interpretatio between Eros and other “Love Gods” of other pantheons benefits even one who has little more than academic interest in syncretism is that it brings connections to other Theoi of the Hellenic pantheons to light. Díarmait, for example can be viewed as analogous, in some ways, to Adonis: Their shared mortal births, Divine rearing, perceived irresistability, and death by boar — Díarmait’s ill-fated love was with a young mortal woman, but his death brought from a jealous older competitor can be stretched to be analogous to Ares, in some versions of the Adonis myth; the fact that Díarmait is periodically revived from death is comparable to Adonis’ status as a life-death-rebirth deity in ancient Greece. Adonis is relevant to the Eros/Apollon parallels not merely because of Adonis’ close relations to the Aphrodite cultus in ancient Hellas, but because in some obscurer versions of the Adonis mythos, Adonis is said to “lay as a man with Aphrodite and as a woman with Apollon”, with some implications seeming to be that He spent His third part of the year with Apollon.

Of course, even before I became aware of the obscurer connections of Adonis to Apollon, I had felt especially drawn to the revived reverence of Adonis, simply as an extension of my cult to the Erotes.

Whether or not this means that Eros “is” Óengus or that Díarmait “is” Adonis is, quite frankly, not at all for me to say. It can just as easily be said that Óengus “is” Apollon or “is” a Masculine Interpretation of Aphrodite or Persephone. Regardless of the imperfection of the interpretatio, the Óengus mythos remain dear to me as a tool to learning more about Eros and how he related to the other Theoi. Ill-fated lovers are common in the Apollon mythos (Apollon, though associated with quite strongly Healing, can also bring Pain and Suffering); Adonis was often worshipped alongside Aphrodite, as was Eros — I’m sure that I’d think of more if I wasn’t running a blood-sugar low at the moment.

All very interesting things to mull on in the vast realm of Eros worship.

Hellenismos and Politics

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One of the things that I like most about Hellenic Polytheism is that even amongst what passes for scripture within the religion, many political ideologies can be justified (despite what certain individuals are wont to say, in little more than an effort to push their own political ideologies onto co-religionists). Now, when I say “what passes for scripture”, I mean this: Unlike the Abrahamic faiths (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam), Hellenismos has no centralised text stating exactly what are and what are not “proper” ideas and behaviours for Hellenistai. There are philosophers, whose ideas are incredibly varied. Anthropologists and Archaeologists have concluded that, by and large, it was practise, a certain degree of orthopraxy defined by cultus and / or polis, that united the ancient Hellenes in religion more than a belief. Some commentators even have suggested that the ancient Hellenes simply argued belief and philosophical perspectives for the mere sake of arguing it.

Considering all of this, it sometimes surprises modern Hellenistai, and admittedly, sometimes even myself, to discover that there are co-religionists whose political ideologies differ greatly from one’s own. Speaking for myself, I realise that I’m a pretty Far-Left Socialist in the voting booth (except in U$ Presidential elections, unless I think the Socialist candidate has a fair chance, in which case, I vote Democrat, and I haven’t yet voted in an election where a Socialist Party nominee had a truly fair chance), so I generally expect at least some people’s political leanings to be a little different from my own, even when I consider them to be, in at least some ways, like-minded. Really, it’s only fair for most people to expect at least some minor differences of political opinion from their fellow man. Of course, when I sit down and actually think about it, after the initial sense of being wowed by discovering Libertarians and Republicans amongst my co-religionists, it only makes sense. One who reads and agrees with Plutarch isn’t necessarily going to fall lock in step a Socratic, yet each parties could, in fact, have as much claim to the self-description of Hellenistos/Helleniste as the other.

Seeing another Hellenistos proclaiming any one political candidate as “the most Hellenic”, one should really question that person’s motives and, dare I say, sanity. The facts speak for themselves: There was as much political debate in ancient Greece as there is throughout the modern English-speaking world, probably throughout the modern world, in general. There was hardly even a “one true way” in ancient Hellas as practises differed between Attica, Sparta, Boeotia, Thrace, Lesbos, and so forth; to proclaim otherwise is to be wilfully ignorant of the history that Hellenistai should value, to at least some degree — and to be wilfully ignorant of history is to exist solely for one’s own agendas.

But I digress….

Because I like clicking radio buttons (and I’m hoping that you do, too), I have made another poll. If you don’t know what these terms mean, I suggest the The Politics Test on OKCupid.com, which is generally right in how it defines the ideologies I’ve listed (of course, that test has included some terms that I chose to exclude because at some point, lines get murky between what is one thing and what is another thing).: