Category Archives: Interpretatio graeca

Derek Jarman’s Sebastiane and polytheism as a metaphor for homosexuality

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This is possibly one of my favourite films, and not just as an extension of my weakness for ridiculous films about Christian mythos (if you want ridiculous in your Christianity, The Apple is the best yet). While carrying the airs of serious art film, Sebastiane has a ridiculousness to it, don’t get me wrong (from the liberties taken with the saint’s mythos to Jarman’s response to questions about the film’s profuse nudity ["we couldn't afford costumes after the first scene"] to the fact that it inspired an episode of Father Ted, Sebastiane‘s ridiculousness is hard to ignore), my love for this film has more to do with the fact that the more I watch it, the more I see something that I didn’t before realise was there.

This film is a sometimes shallow, but sometimes incredibly deep metaphor for a closet case (and in case you can’t see it, Jarman has explained this in many interviews and in his memoirs, which span seven volumes). Sometimes the metaphor is so deep, you have to view the film repeatedly to get it.

Ceci n'est pas une pénis.

From pretty early on in the film, its established plot focus is the relationship between Sebastiane, the Christian and one of only two characters who isn’t shown to even surrender to sex with men for lack of women (the other being Maximus, who, on repeated viewing, represents society and the Middle Class that Jarman grew up in, in specific — Maximus is not only disdainful of homosexual preferences [to excuse his own presumed, but unseen, occasional dalliances with boys for "a quick one"], and xenophobic in comparing the openly gay characters to “Greeks”, but he is devoid of genuine spirituality, giving it little more than lip-service and making the rare allegory; his most notable references to the Gods of Rome is to mock the Captain in front of the other men), and the Roman army Captain, Severus, ostensibly a polytheist, and the character with an obsessive and unrequited love and lust for the title character. Severus uses his position of power to force Sebastiane into a debatably S&M relationship (which, interestingly, appears initiated by Sebastiane) in which Sebastiane is the tortured one, and which is periodically interrupted with outbursts of pleading from Severus, because this isn’t what he wants — he wants to love, be loved, make love.

This is all pretty obvious to people who can watch the film and think a millimetre or two deeper than the most literal interpretations of what’s on the screen — which would be a bunch of naked guys running around, mostly shouting at each-other in Vulgar Latin (as opposed to the Classical Latin learned by most people today), and occasionally tying each-other up and throwing hot lamp oil on each-other, and a soundtrack by Brian Eno, because why the hell not? [Aside: All who argue the genius of Eno will be beaten with cement-filled milk jugs, with the exception of Eno himself, as that would be counter-productive to my Eno-veneration.]

One of the fuzzier metaphors is Jarman’s use of polytheistic imagery juxtaposed with apparent homosexual longing and used to contrast Sebastiane’s refusal to give in to this longing and his Christianity. Scene Two opens with Sebastiane showering himself from a well with a large water jug one morning as Severus watches on, and Sebastiane’s voice narrates imagery of an unnamed “young god” conquering Nox before standing in his chariot, “his body glittering” being “like the gold in lapis” as the camera focuses on large areas with Sebastiane’s body covered in sun-sparkling droplets of water. To the untrained eye and ear, as Sebastiane’s voice was heard briefly in the previous scene, this may seem a morning prayer with the unnamed “young god” perhaps being Jesus standing high above all other gods (and I know this, because I’ve had to explain to people, yes, even other GBLTs, that this scene wasn’t what they thought it was); but if you do think just a tiny ways further, it’s apparent that this is either Severus imagining Sebastiane’s voice and such imagery as a manifestation of his own longing, or Sebastiane knowingly indulging Severus this pleasure and thus is reciting it himself, and thus giving himself a measure of disconnect from the scene so that even though he was knowingly teasing the other man, the pantheonic imagery allows him to assure himself that his heart wasn’t in it, absolving himself of Christian Sin.

In one of the soon following scenes, Sebastiane leaves the six other men to be by himself in a secluded pool, and in voice-over from Sebastiane is an odd homoerotic prayer all too careful to eschew not only the mention of a single,transcendental deity, but any of the more obvious Christian imagery (to a largely Christian United Kingdom), in favour of something probably more reflective of Jarman’s degrees in art than anything else:

Hail god of the golden sun
The heavens and Earth are united in gold
Comb your hair in the golden rays of light
In your hands the roses of ecstasy burn
The wheel turns full circle [5]
Cooled by breezes from the four quarters
The swallow has risen in the East
The doors are open
Your body, your naked body
Initiated into the mysteries, step forth [10]
That beauty that made all colours different
Comes forth into the world
Hail god of the golden fire
Your beauty holds my heart captive

I’ve watched this film so many times, this prayer no longer has a concrete meaning. I have reason to believe Jarman wanted it this way. The first line is obviously in lock-step with Jesus allusions, at least according to the fine kooks over at JesusNeverExisted.com(1), but the rest is so steeped in homoeroticism, ostensibly pagan imagery (lines 4, 5, 10?, 13), and the only reliable imagery I can muster up from around that period (~300CE) and that region for swallows would be as a symbol of the household Gods and Aphrodite/Venus. I’d accuse Jarman of intentionally making this pagan if it wasn’t for the fact that I know he was a Christian of extremely liberal philosophies (of course, it’s very clear that Sebastiane is not portrayed heroically in this film, but instead as a creature of pity).

The following scene reveals Sebastiane’s “initiation” of the “S&M relationship” between himself and Severus, by refusing to fight. Following the beatings, Justin, Sebastiane’s sole friend and sympathiser in the film, offers comfort and a vague warning that this could go too far.

In a following scene, Severus watches Anthony and Adrian make love in the sun (and despite 1976′s X-rating, this is tamer than the sex in some episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer). He turns to Sebastiane and asks “Are you still a Christian?”
“Yes.”
“Then remove my armour.”

No, seriously, somebody tell me what that branch is from.Severous touches Sebastiane’s shoulder seductively, which Sebastiane refuses. As punishment for this, Severus cock-blocks Anthony and Adrian to come over, after which we see the three of them tying Sebastiane up and out in the scorching sun. Following this, we see the other men playing with a time-travelling Frisbee™ (I can’t really excuse that one, either), and this scene is cut short when we see what is presumed a heat-induced hallucination of Sebastiane’s: Standing over and looking down on him is a youth wearing a leopard skin with head, and carrying a large branch I have yet to identify. Identified as “Leopard Boy” in the credits, he says nothing and apparently fades in and out from Sebastiane’s consciousness. (Feel free to click that image to get the full size; I really want to know what that branch is from — I also apologise for the quality of the image, the film wasn’t shot with the best film, and it’s an inexpensive Kino release, this is honestly the best screen-cap I could catch.)

We then see the other men on a “pig hunt” (because no UK-produced film about anything seems truly complete without allusions to Lord of the Flies, wouldn’t you agree?) During this hunt, Justin throws down his spear and goes to Sebastiane, who is still out in the sun hallucinating Leopard Boy; this is also the scene where it’s made obvious that this is Sebastiane’s hallucination. Justin asks “Why are you doing this?”
“His eyes are so beautiful. He has sky blue eyes.” As does the actor playing Severus.
“What are you talking about?”
“His hair is like the sun’s rays. His body is golden like molten gold. This hand of his will smooth away these wounds….”
Justin looks to the blond Severus, who just then stabs the pig.
“Justin… He is as beautiful as the sun, this sun which caresses me… is his burning desire. He is Phoebus Apollo[n].” Delirious cut to Leopard Boy stepping away. “The sun… is his… burning kiss.”
“This is madness,” notes Justin. “Why don’t you run?”
“His beauty is enhanced by his anger. It is his anger which is divine. His punishments are like Christ’s promise. He takes me in his arm and caresses my bleeding body. I want to be with him. I love him. Justin, you don’t understand. Take it away.” Cut to a pool of blood in the sand surrounded by spears.

Later, there is a scene of S&M-like torture for Sebastiane from Severus, which is conclusively ended when Justin takes some food to Sebastiane and pleads, “You must eat. Why are you doing this?”
“I love him. He is beautiful. More beautiful than Adonis.”

First off, after taking notes from this film last night (including lengthy transcriptions of dialogue by hand because all I have is a desktop computer), and especially after writing this all down for my blog, I’m really confused as to why I’ve ever had to explain this to people — it’s very painfully obvious what’s happening in the desert scene — but for those of you who want to hear it from me, yes, it’s Severus who is being referred to as “Phoebus Apollo” in this delirious speech of Sebastiane’s unattainable desire. The Leopard Boy is most assuredly drawing on Dionysian imagery, implying this may be either a manifestation of Sebastiane’s true nature and desires that he’s cut himself off from, or potentially even divine communique, beckoning Sebastiane to release himself from this pain by allowing himself to love, be loved, make love. The ostensibly polytheist Adrian and Anthony contrast Sebastiane and Severus by being both open and unashamed about their love; the only nay-saying they face is from Maximus, who the other characters seem to barely tolerate. This juxtaposition especially stands out because Jarman’s own Christian beliefs make the positive portrayal of homosexual love between Anthony and Adrian, and the arguable “morality lesson” against closeted and denied homosexual desires of Sebastiane a truly unique specimen.

The comparison to Adonis is also apparently intentionally vague: Is Sebastiane referring to “this” as allowing himself to be tortured as a means to keep himself from giving in to desire, thus he is saying it is Christ who is “more beautiful than Adonis”, or is “this” allowing himself to be tortured just to have Severus touch him, and thus it is Severus who is more beautiful? Perhaps it’s both; actually, considering Jarman’s body of work, it’s almost definitely both. The imageries of both Dionysos and Adonis, it probably could go without noting, are not casual references — these are imageries of life-death-rebirth deities known in Hellenic mythology for bisexuality and (at least occasional forays into) effeminacy. Furthermore, I really can’t help but notice that imagery of Adonis and that of St. Sebastian are often eerily similar.

Hey, look. Goats.

Sebastiane’s execution is preceded first with another S&M scene, one that ends with Sebastiane denouncing Severus as an impotent drunk and defiantly asking “[Do] you think your drunken lust compares to the love of God?” This would be basically a portrayal of “suicide by cop” — lacking the ability to make these desires go away, Sebastiane chooses martyrdom as an easy out. The next scene starts with a virtual ocean of goats on the move, and sitting among them is Sebastiane, in a crown of grapes. This, I had to screen-cap on general principle, it was just so blatantly referencing Dionysos, and really, it has to be seen to be believed. The only conceivable explanations I can imagine for this is perhaps Severus laying one final claim — or possibly Jarman attempting to trick the audience into thinking they’ve seen a Christ-figure in a crown of thorns surrounded by “devils” of goats. Thinking about it for a few seconds, and knowing Jarman’s films the way I do, it’s probably both. But what the hell do I know?

It is instead Justin who is crowned in vines, alluding to Justin as the true Christ-figure in this film, and laying down an implication of Jarman’s own brand of Christianity as all-loving when one considers some earlier scenes in the film (none of which had much, if anything, to do with this piece’s perceptions, so I’ve left them alone for a later time) Severus announces Sebastiane’s execution and immediately falls to tears. At Sebastiane’s execution, Maximus also forces a bow and arrow in the thorn-and-robe-clad Justin’s hands, and makes him pull back and release a final shot — one positioned to seemingly aim for another actor’s buttocks — I believe this imagery was also as intentional as it was to put these characters in that specific scene.

When you re-think Justin as the true Christ-like figure in the film, it’s apparent that the film has Christian sympathies despite Sebastiane himself being very definitely a non-hero and debatably both protagonist and antagonist, as was Severus, but looking at and examining the well-placed polytheist imagery (because the Apollonian and Adonian allusions of St. Sebastian alone simply aren’t enough) reveal that Jarman and his film had other sympathies.

As I’d said at the beginning of this post, the film takes great liberties with traditional St. Sebastian mythos — which tends to portray him as a 3rd Century CE Rasputin (id est, he was hard to kill) — to instead create an Anterotic fable about “the gay closet” and its effective cowardice.

It’s also not lost on me that St. Sebastian is probably one of the Christian saints steeped deepest in polytheistic imagery: His patronage includes not only arrows, but also plague, and even Wikipedia’s writers and editors have noticed the correspondences with Apollon. Being also one of the religion’s earliest saints, it can effectively be said that he’s probably one of the easiest examples of early Christianity syncretising martyrs with the old Gods. At least in my own mind, this makes the Dionysian imagery somehow all the more appropriate, and brings to mind an epithet shared by Dionysos and Eros, “Eleutherios – The Liberator”. Which in turn brings to mind Severus’ relationship with Sebastiane as both “Abros – Tender” and “Algesidoros – Pain Inducer”, both engaged alternated in a futile attempt to release Sebastiane from his self-induced prison of repression.

(1) Like all the best kookery, the Jesus Never Existed people have a bit of truth on there, and a fair amount of internally consistent evidence for their purposes; I also generally agree with them that, at best, the dominating and most consistent “evidence” for the existence of “Jesus Christ” is no more “consistent” than it would need to be to support the hypothesis of “Christ” as a composite of a few rebellious, vaguely Platonic Jews from around 20-35CE of the Roman Empire. I’m outing their “truths” instead as kookery cos the crux of a fair amount of their arguments seem to make their “evidence” into something more than what it is, or outright something that it is not. Don’t take my word for it, though; dig around on their site and judge for yourself.

Antinoos as Hyakintos — think about it, won’t you?

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Recently, I’ve noticed some interest amongst Queer men (and some others) in on-line Hellenic (and Graeco-Roman-Aegyptian) circles in the revived cult-worship of Roman Emperor Hadrian’s deified beloved, Antinous (Antinoos in Greek). To a rather small group of individuals, this mere idea is controversial, at best (though they tend to describe it as “Ew! Icky for-een cultus to a Kept Boy™! get it away from MY Hellenismos!” — oi theoi, I almost wish I was joking). I’m going to ignore them, mainly just for being generally unpleasant, but also because 1) they ignore the fact that within the Hellenic religion, “foreign” cults were embraced often-enough that two rather famous ones, Kybele and Adonis, are generally considered thoroughly Hellenised (and really, it seems Antinoos’ only “crime”, in his veneration, is being born far too late for these people); and 2) even if one doesn’t consider Antinoos of ta theoi, his veneration doesn’t seem out of line with certain schools of ancient hero-worship. That said, well, if certain people wish to continue to breathe farts and talk poopie, I’m hardly going to stand in their way — free country and all that.

Now, I’m on this one Antinoos e-mail list (which I’ve been essentially a “silent lurker” to until about an hour ago) and it hit me as I went back to a few sites of info that, while often likened to Dionysos, I see a closer relationship to Hyakintos in Antinoos. Hell, if I wanted to tke a lead from my Token Hindu Friend™, I may even venture to posit the idea that Antinoos was an “avatar” of Hyakintos.

This is pretty much just one of those ideas that just popped into my head in the last hour, and I thought I’d share, cos there’s no real reason not to.

Also, from that same list, Phillupus had this to say:

Interestingly, Antinous is compared to Hyakinthos (and other flower-boys of Greek myth), but never syncretized to him…In several texts, in fact, Antinous is said to be “better” than these other flower boys (Hylas, Narcissus, Hyakinthos, &c.) for various reasons.

Whether one interprets Antinous’ ancient cultus as heroic or deific, the fact is that he was called “Heros” at some places (e.g. Delphi, Socanica, &c.), and “Theos” (e.g. Rome, Leptis Magna, Mantineia, Antinoopolis, Hadrian’s Villa, &c.) in others…those who dispute this are simply at odd with the facts. His cultus was not a foreign import, he was of Greek ethnicity and culture himself, and he is called a “native god” in places like Mantineia, Arcadia generally, and back home in Bithynia. Again, those who assert otherwise are doing so in ignorance of the facts as they are available on the most reliable sources on this matter.

[snip]

And, Thespiae does have a definite connection to the cultus, at least as I see it. Hadrian’s bear-hunt trophy was dedicated in the Eros temple in Thespiae, asking for the kharis of Aphrodite-Ourania (patroness of male homoerotic love) in finding a young eromenos, and this was right around the time (c. 123-124 CE) that he would have met Antinous, by most estimates.
–Phillupus, ekklesia_antinoou

Antinopolis.org/

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.

polytheists have the hottest Divine...

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.