Another oldie but goody. 

Smell is perhaps our strongest sense and the one most keenly tied into memory. This afternoon I was shopping at the health food store when my partner handed me a canister of mulling spices to sniff. The citrus and cinnamon and other herbs instantly transported me back to my childhood when my mother would make cinnamon-scented ornaments for our Christmas tree, brew hot apple cider, and read to me from a scratch and sniff holiday book while I was nestled cozily in her lap. I hadn’t remembered any of that for probably ten years now – and yet all of those associations were stored away in my brain, waiting for that scent to unlock the floodgates of memory.

The perfume industry spends millions each year marketing new fragrances to make us more alluring to each other or to make us feel more confident and daring, because they understand that like other animals, scents trigger chemical reactions in the brain which we are neither consciously aware of nor capable of controlling. It should come as no surprise then that scent plays a large part in religion.

Historian Walter Burkert writes, “Nothing lends a more unique and unmistakable character to an occasion than a distinctive fragrance; fire speaks not only to eye, ear and physical sensation, but also to the sense of smell. The sacred is experienced as an atmosphere of fragrance.” (Greek Religion, pg. 62)

The use of special scents to enhance the setting of a religious observance goes back to the earliest period in Greek history when choice woods and leaves were used to light the sacred fires for the “fragrant altars of the gods,” as Homer puts it (Iliad 8.48). Patroklos scatters something in the fire as an offering to the gods (Iliad 9.220) and Apollo orders the Cretan sailors he has chosen to serve as his priests at Delphoi to “build an altar there where the sea’s surf breaks; upon it kindle a flame, offer white barley and pray while standing about it close by” (Homeric Hymn to Apollo 491). Sappho invokes Aphrodite to “come from Krete, down from heaven, come, for here your shrine in a charming grove of apple trees keeps its altars smoking with incense” (Fragment 2). Hesiod advocates, “Sacrifice to the deathless gods purely and cleanly, and burn rich meats also, and at other times propitiate them with libations and incense, both when you go to bed and when the holy light has come back, that they may be gracious to you in heart and spirit, and so you may buy another’s holding and not another yours.” (Works and Days 338)

The two most popular kinds of incense for the ancient Greeks were libanon (frankincense) and myrron (myrrh). These came to Greece from southern Arabia via Phoenician traders and retained their original Semitic names. Both were especially connected with the goddess Aphrodite. According to Apollodorus (3.14.4) and Ovid (Metamorphoses 10.519-559), Myrrha was originally a young woman who incurred the wrath of the goddess and was punished with an insatiable lust for her father. Aided by her nurse, Myrrha deceived her father into sleeping with her and when he discovered what she had tricked him into doing, he pursued her with his sword and would have killed her had the gods not heard the prayers of Myrrha and transformed her into the tree which bears her name. Her tears became the precious gum of the tree from which incense is made, and nine months later the myrrh tree split open and Adonis, who was to become the beloved of Aphrodite, was found within. Thus myrrh was burned in rites for the couple, as well as frankincense, the first attestation of which in Greek literature is to be found in the poem already quoted by Sappho.

While these two incenses were characteristic of the worship of Aphrodite, and may have come to the Greek mainland from her cult center in Cyprus, they soon passed into common usage in Greek cult everywhere. For as Burkert notes, “to strew a granule of frankincense in the flames is the most widespread, simplest, and also the cheapest act of offering.” (Greek Religion, pg. 62)

We also find frankincense being offered to Hermes, the Muses, and Apollo Musagetes in an inscription dating from 200 BCE at a school at Miletos (Syll 3 577) and the Greek Magical Papyri asserts that it is the proper incense for Helios (13.17-20).

The Orphic Hymns, which were composed probably in the early period of the Roman Empire and at Pergamon if the hypothesis of Otto Kern is correct, gives an extensive listing of deities for whom frankincense may be offered: Apollon, Ares, Artemis, Asklepios, Bakkhai, Dike, Eos, Hephaistos, Herakles, Hermes, Hygeia, Kouretes, Muses, Nike, Satyros, Silenos, Tethys, Themis and the Titans. In fact, the only deity that they specifically prohibit this incense for is Dionysos Khthonios.

Other incenses which the Orphic Hymns suggest are myrrh for Leto, Nereus and Poseidon, storax for Khthonic Hermes, Dionysos, Eleusinian Demeter, the Erinyes, the Graces, Kronos, Semele and Zeus, and aromatic herbs for Adonis, Athene, Eros, the Eumenides, the Fates, Hera, Hestia, the Horai, the Nereids, the Nymphs, Okeanos and Rheia.

In addition to frankincense for Helios, PGM 13.17-20 also proposes storax for Kronos “because it is heavy and fragrant; of Zeus, malabethron; of Ares, kostos, of Aphrodite, Indian nard; of Hermes, cassia, of Selene, myrrh. These are secret incenses.”

And Plutarch (On Isis and Osiris 383d-e) gives the following recipe for kyphi, the traditional Egyptian temple incense which was popular in Rome and the Greek east: “Kyphi is a compound composed of sixteen ingredients: honey, wine, raisins, cyperus, resin, myrrh, aspalathus, seselis, mastich, bitumen, rush, sorrel, and in addition to these both the junipers, of which they call one the larger and one the smaller, cardamum, and calamus. These are compounded, not at random, but while the sacred writings are being read to the perfumers as they mix the ingredients.”

This incense would be suitable for Dionysos and Demeter since he, like Herodotos, asserts that they are the same as the Osiris and Isis of the Egyptians.

Another scent which can be burned for Dionysos is pine, since the pine tree was sacred to him (Pausanias 2.27) as well as the myrtle (Scholium to Aristophanes’ Frogs 330) and any bark or leaf since, as Plutarch said, Dionysos was worshipped everywhere as the god of trees. (Symposium 5.3.1)

The leaves of the laurel, however, belong especially to Apollo for whom they were burnt in antiquity (Kallimakhos, Hymn to Apollo) in commemoration of his beloved Daphne who gave her name to the bay tree. (Ovid, Metamorphoses 1.452-567)

Barley-groats, in addition to being tossed on the altar as an aparchei or first-fruits offering, can be burned in the fire, along with wheat and other grains, for Demeter since these were her gifts to mankind. (Homeric Hymn to Demeter II)

Flowers, especially the narcissus, the lotus, and roses can be burned or ground up into an incense for Aphrodite, since these were said to spring up under her feet where she walked. (Homeric Hymn V)

There is an extensive literature on incenses and perfumes which may be used in the worship of our gods, but I have refrained from citing these since I have tried to stick with primary sources throughout this article. However, they can be invaluable resources, especially if you accept the Qabbalistic correspondences upon which they are usually based. The best volume to consult for this is Aleister Crowley’s 777 which provides extensive listings of perfumes, herbs, plants, gems, colors, etc. for each of the gods. However, for the untrained student who is not familiar with the Qabbalah and the spheres of the Tree of Life, his tables can be difficult to wade through, so I would recommend the companion volumes The Witches’ God and The Witches’ Goddess by Janet and Stewart Farrar which have compiled that information in easily accessible encyclopedic entries under the names of the respective deities. Another volume, which has great information on how to make your own incenses and perfumes, as well as recipes for a number of the gods, is Scott Cunningham’s Complete Book of Incense, Oils & Brews. Whatever faults the above authors may have in regards to other matters, when it comes to making things smell pretty they sure know their stuff!

So I’m looking through a collection of inscriptions when I come across this list of priestly perquisites and other sacrificial expenses for the deme of Aixone in Attica, which includes the following:

For the priestess of Dionysos Anthios: as priestly emoluments: 5 dr.; the skin of the he-goat; on the table, a thigh, a side of hip, a half-head stuffed with intestines. (CGRN 57)

In all my time serving Dionysos and his community no one has given me half a goat’s head stuffed with intestines.

So Missouri State Representative Mike Moon doesn’t want the beautiful statue of Ceres returned to the Capitol building, has called her a false God and gone so far as to declare that his state needs no Gods but Jesus.

I’ve heard this story before.

Let’s check back in on the Show-Me State in six months or so, shall we? Anyone want to lay money down on them being in the midst of a record-level drought – maybe with a side of famine and plague for good measure?

I mean, indifference towards the Gods is one thing. But when you are actively hostile towards them and an elected representative of the people … woah, boy.

As Euripides once wrote, “Often an entire polity has suffered because of the wicked deeds of a single man.”

 

We live in a hectic, fast-paced society where everything happens at the speed of light and no one ever seems to have enough time. Our lives are taken up with work, commute, family obligations, social functions, and countless other events which eat up our time like ravenous vermin devouring grain in a silo.

Finding time in our busy and demanding schedules for religious activity can be difficult, if next to impossible for some people. Additionally, our living arrangements may make keeping a shrine problematic: teen-agers living at home with disapproving Fundamentalist parents, college students who have to contend with cramped quarters and oblivious room-mates who spill bong water all over the altar, parents with overly curious toddlers who like to play “dress up” with mommy’s pretty Greek dolls, spouses that are allergic to incense smoke, and so forth.

Some people may not have the financial means to acquire statues, incense, altar stands, votive gifts, or any of the other necessary items for a shrine. And lastly, after a chaotic, stressful, and overly-laden day, one may lack the peace of mind or motivation to do anything more ambitious than collapse on the couch and watch reruns of old CSI episodes.

All of these, and countless other considerations, can make worshipping in the home difficult at times, however well-intentioned we might be. But should we allow these things to impede our religious practice? Absolutely not! Arrian writes that Alexander the Great, after receiving a terrible wound on the battlefield became so ill that he was forced to remain bed-ridden. However, “he was carried out on a couch to perform the sacrifices custom prescribed for each day; after making the offerings he lay down in the men’s apartments till dark.” (VII.25.2)

So if this man, mortally wounded, inconceivably far from home, and engaged in leading probably one of the greatest military campaigns known to history could find time in his day for the Gods, so should we.

The first thing that we have to get out of our heads is that there is only one type of acceptable worship, and that for it to be pleasing to the Gods, you have to have all of the right tools. Yes, it’s nice to have beautiful statues, special bowls and plates for libations and offerings, barley, chernips, a Hestia flame, pure incense, fresh flowers and fruit, music, hymns, pre-written prayers, and a good hour where you can be alone and undisturbed. Yes, all of this stuff makes for good ritual – but is any of it absolutely necessary? Not in the least. True worship is performed in the heart anyway. One of the Greek words for religion is eusebia, meaning a reverential awe before the divine. Without this key element – coupled with its kindred emotions love and devotion – all of the props in the world won’t amount to a hill of beans. However, our religion is not simply an internalized emotion, where it’s sufficient to have warm, happy, fuzzy feelings about the Gods, and never actually do anything with them. Eusebia has value only when it is embodied in an action – through the recitation of prayers, the offering of sacrifices and libations, the creation of beautiful things, and just living that testifies to our relationship with the Gods. So what follows are suggestions about ways that we can integrate this aspect of worship into our daily lives, regardless of how busy and hectic they may be.

An important thing to remember is that having a shrine or altar in the house is a fairly modern innovation. True, wealthy individuals had their own private chapels, as we see for instance in some of the estates at Pompeii, which was a resort town for upper-class Romans of the 1st century before Vesuvius blew its top, and there were also shrines to Zeus Herkeios in the courtyard, Zeus Ktesios in the pantry, Zeus Ephestios at the hearth, as well as those for household Gods, one’s ancestors, and of course to Hestia, who was both worshipped at, and manifest in the family hearth, which was the center of a household. But most of these things were beyond the means of poorer citizens, and at any rate, all of the large public festivals took place outside the temples, which were viewed as the homes of the Gods. When people had pressing spiritual needs they would travel to the temples, oracles, healing centers, or to mountains, springs, groves, or other important natural locales in order to worship there. So it is by no means necessary to honour the Gods exclusively in your own private shrine in your home.

Some people even find natural settings more conducive to a spirit of worship. As the Stoic philosopher Seneca wrote, “If you have ever come on a dense wood of ancient trees that have risen to an exceptional height, shutting out all sight of the sky with one thick screen of branches upon another, the loftiness of the forest, the seclusion of the spot, your sense of wonderment at finding so deep and unbroken a gloom out of doors, will persuade you of the presence of a deity. Any cave in which the rocks have been eroded deep into the mountain resting on it, its hollowing out into a cavern of impressive extent not produced by the labours of men but the result of the processes of nature, will strike into your soul some kind of inkling of the divine. We venerate the source of important streams; places where a mighty river bursts suddenly from hiding are provided with altars; hot springs are objects of worship; the darkness or unfathomable depth of pools has made their waters sacred.”

Parks, rest-stops, gardens, or woods can all be great places to worship at, and you will often – especially if you come early in the morning or late at night – find the privacy necessary to conduct your rituals in peace. However, even at the busiest times – say the park near your job on lunch-break – you can usually find enough space to pour out a libation and offer part of your meal with a brief prayer. It doesn’t have to be anything complex, nor is it necessary to have a cult image to make offerings to. You can simply recite your prayers, trusting that it will reach the ears of the Gods, or close your eyes and envision the deity to whom you are making sacrifice, before actually offering it. This, in itself, can be a very rewarding practice, helping you to perceive the divinity in a more concrete form, instead of as just some nebulous force floating around in the sky. Take a few moments to really envision them in your head: do they appear in human guise, or some other way? If human, how are they dressed, what colour skin, eyes, and hair do they have, what symbols accompany them, do you get any other impressions from them, and so on and so forth. You may also choose to envision yourself making the offering to them directly, the God consuming its spiritual substance even as you give its physical substance over to them.

Nor is it absolutely necessary to go to a natural location in order to make your sacrifices. (Prayers, obviously, can be recited at any time and in any place.) For instance, when I lived in Las Vegas, I would frequently have a forty-five minute wait between buses, and since I took two buses to and from work each day, this meant that my commute time approached five hours. That was a considerable chunk of my day, especially since I worked around nine hours on top of that, five days a week – so it put plenty of time that wasn’t entirely my own in my hands. Near one of my bus-stops there was a 7-Eleven which sold little one-shot bottles of wine which I found perfect for making libations. I would buy the wine and often something else – lunch, candy, granola, cheap incense – and take these to an abandoned lot near the bus stop. There were all these boulders and rocks strewn about, and out of these and some dirt I had shaped a little mound upon which I poured my libations, lit my incense, and offered my sacrifices. I’m sure that my fellow commuters wondered at my strange behaviour – why is that odd man mumbling to himself and throwing out his food – but the little old Mexican ladies never said a word to me.

And this is the sort of thing that anyone can do, at any time. Yes you may be very busy, far from home, and lacking in proper ritual items – but I think that just about anyone could sneak away for a couple minutes, buy a few items – or bring them from home – and perform this sort of impromptu ritual. You could probably even do it at work, if need be, on lunch or at another break. Go behind the building, or to the smoking area, or even at your desk. Perhaps you could light a candle, set up flowers or votive gifts, sprinkle a few granules of incense, even if you can’t light them, set aside a portion of your lunch for the Gods until you can properly dispose of it for them – anything, as long as it’s something. Most of these activities would go entirely unnoticed by co-workers, or if they saw them, they’d probably assume that you were just decorating your work space. They don’t have to know – what matters is that you and the Gods know the true intention of your acts. But if they happened to comment on it, you could use this as an opportunity to share your religion with them. After all, that, too can be a profound way to honour the Gods.

Another way to worship on the fly is through creativity. You can do artistic things to honour the Gods, such as writing poetry, hymns, essays, or short stories to celebrate them. You could even compose meandering meditations on the Gods and your experiences with them, just random thoughts and associations that come to you – it doesn’t have to be anything great or something you would necessarily have to share with anyone else. But the act of focusing your thoughts upon the Gods and writing can be a profound form of worship. The same holds true for drawing, sketching, painting, sculpting, collaging, mask-making, sewing, etc – any act of creativity. In fact, this form of devotion has an added benefit, as you can use these creative expressions to decorate your shrine or in building ritual items for use later on. This is an especially powerful form of devotion if you are not terribly skilled in these art forms. The effort you put into learning them, the time you devote and progress you make in your studies, are all forms of sacrifice in a way. Just try not to get frustrated or disappointed with the finished product if it doesn’t quite turn out as you had intended. What matters is that you keep your mind focused on the Gods while you are performing the task and that you offer them your best efforts.

Another form of devotion can be simply listening to music. Put together mix tapes with songs that remind you of a particular God, and let your thoughts roam as you listen to the music, either while commuting, at work, going for a walk, while performing other rituals, or just while relaxing. If you are so skilled – and believe me, I am not – you could even play music in their honour, or compose new pieces for them. Anyone, regardless of talent, can sing and dance, both of which were important features of ancient Greek religion. A similar way that you can use your body to honour the Gods is through exercise – especially going on long walks – martial arts, Yoga, Tai Chi, making love, or other physical activities.

And a final method of non-traditional worship would be devoting your time, money, and other resources to charitable causes on behalf of the Gods. For instance, some people collect food and clothing and donate them to drives on behalf of Zeus Xenios or Demeter. Giving money to a wildlife protection organization, or going to a park and cleaning up litter would be a great way to honour Artemis. Volunteering at a community theater project or manning the phones at a crisis center are activities appropriate for Dionysos. And advocating for the rights of sex workers or donating money to local arts and music programs would certainly be pleasing to Aphrodite. Or best of all, you can write big fat checks to keep your favorite authors – such as myself – afloat. This would be pleasing to all of the Gods, and ensure you a blessed place in Elysium. Well, maybe not. But I’m sure you can think of many other options that are both within your power and consistent with your interests and personal ethics. What matters is that you find something that helps draw you closer to your Gods, and does good in your community.

So, as you can see there are plenty of ways to integrate religion and a stronger relationship with the Gods into your life, regardless of how busy, strapped for time and cash you are, or how chaotic your home-life may be.

 

Judging by the frequency of it’s use, I’d guess the verse of Scripture most familiar to Pagans is Jesus’ injunction, “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” Often this is used to repel zealous Christians who have invaded the Pagan chats to share the good news that we’re all going to Hell. However, I’ve seen it quoted a number of times when there was nary a Christian in sight, merely someone with the audacity to point out the faults of another. It usually succeeds too. Either by shutting up the judgmental person or redirecting the topic of conversation – often to how hypocritical Christians are for not following the teachings of Jesus, or, if I’m there, why Pagans steal moral teachings from other religions instead of quoting the wise sayings of the learned women and men of their own tradition.

It’s unfortunate that this is the most popular piece of Christian moral teaching among Pagans, because while the Bible contains much of value, and many excellent doctrines – this is certainly not one of them. Oh sure, it sounds good. It has a simple, homey quality to it that almost guarantees it’s truthfulness. And no one really likes to be judged. But when you look at what it’s really saying – namely, “I’ll let you slide, if you don’t point out my faults” – it’s basically the worst sort of moral cowardice, clothed in pretty words.

From top to bottom, this is bad advice. “Judge not,” Jesus tells us – despite the fact that elsewhere in the Bible the authors repeatedly make the point that discernment – the ability to tell right from wrong – is the most important, the most uniquely human quality that we possess. Animals have no moral sense. For them, instinct and survival govern all. It falls to man to reflect on actions and discern their moral quality. Only man can look at something that would seem to benefit him, and judge it wrong because it violates his sense of ethics. This moral awareness – that we are not alone, that we function within a society, and that our needs and desires are not more important than those of the other members of our society – reflects the best and noblest within man.

No man is born moral. It is something that develops over time, that he is taught, that he learns by watching as it’s demonstrated, that he acquires through habitual practice. It’s a parent’s duty to instill in their child moral responsibility and discernment. But imagine if a parent followed this bit of advice, and never judged their child. Never told them that it was wrong to hit or steal, never warned them about touching an open flame, never put into them the shame which makes potty training possible. How well do you think this child would get along in the world? Ill-prepared to face both Nature and the society of man – all because its parent failed to judge.

How high would you esteem the able-bodied young man who stood by and watched as an old woman was beaten and raped, without so much as raising his voice to stop it? I don’t think there are words to accurately describe the indignation most of us would feel upon hearing of such a situation. His crime is almost greater than that of the rapist – and yet, what exactly is he guilty of, besides not judging? Part of belonging to a society is accepting the responsibility to judge our neighbors. To condemn their actions and thoughts when they are harmful, to intercede when they will not stop themselves from doing harm. This critique and check goes both ways. We must also be willing to accept chastisement from our neighbors. I know that I am grateful for it. There have been times when I simply went too far. When a joke stopped being funny, when justifiable anger became blind hatred, when the thin line separating right from wrong became blurry, and I crossed it. Thankfully, there have always been people around me willing to offer a gentle word of reproach, who have challenged me to look at it from a different perspective, who asked me, “Are you aware of the consequences of this path?” or who simply said, “Stop it. This is wrong. If you continue, I won’t be your friend any longer.” We need that censure sometimes. If we could do it ourselves, no one would ever do wrong. Who chooses evil, thinking it’s evil? It always seems like a good to them – sometimes a lesser good, but a good nonetheless. It’s the outsider’s perspective we get when someone judges us. That helps us reevaluate the problem. And if we still do it, at least we’re doing it with our eyes open.

Which brings us to the second part of this teaching, “lest ye be judged.” What this is saying is that if you judge, you open yourself up to being judged. Why should one fear that? Why should one hide their faults? If you accept that it’s a fault, you should welcome the chastisement, and openly work on bettering yourself. Hiding it, pretending it doesn’t exist, protecting yourself from embarrassment – allows the sin to take root in you, gives it nourishment and shade in which to grow. One must expose it to the light, and work to weed it out of your heart. This can only be done in the open, and by accepting the judgment of others. The second option – that what the person is judging, you do not feel to be a fault, is not made better by hiding it. If you accept it as a part of yourself, and value it, then don’t hide it. Openly, boldly proclaim it, and tell them that you don’t accept their value judgment. Because that’s an important thing I haven’t mentioned during the course of this. Not everyone’s opinion matters. Yes, you should feel free to let people know when you think they’re doing wrong, and yes, you should be willing to listen when people give you the same advice – but just because it’s said, doesn’t mean that will stop it from happening. The person still chooses whether or not they will do the action or think the thought. Opinions are like assholes, the saying goes: everyone has one. And not everyone’s opinion is equally valid. (Or is that asshole equally fresh?) I’m more inclined to follow the advice of someone I know to be wise, successful, and who has some familiarity with the topic than, say, a complete stranger off the street. (Though one shouldn’t discount them just because they’re a stranger off the street.) And, even though this person has been wise in the past, that doesn’t guarantee that their advice is correct on this matter. After all, Jesus had a good many fine things to say. But he also said, “Judge not, lest ye be judged.”

Ah yes, it’s that time of the month again. No, I’m not talking about some lunar phenomena or a woman’s menstrual cycle, but something that happens with almost the same regularity. Yup, there’s been another flame-war in the Hellenic community. *yawn* I know, hardly anything extraordinary, and probably not even worth commenting on. In fact, if you missed this one you can probably just wait a couple more weeks and there’ll be a whole new one for you to participate in. Although the subjects that set us off change periodically (though not with enough randomness to keep things interesting) they all pretty much follow the same pattern. Person A makes an unfounded or generalized comment. Person B calls them on it, demanding they clarify or provide apropriate sources. Person A gets defensive and attacks Person B. Persons C, D, and E jump in, attacking Person A for attacking B and not providing the proper sources; Persons F, G, and H rush to A’s defense; I and J make sarcastic comments at everyone’s expense; K pleads for sanity and an end to the constant bickering, and then all hell breaks loose until either the Moderators have to step in or someone leaves the list in a huff, crying alligator tears and saying they’re never coming back and going to practice as a solitary for the rest of their life. (Which usually lasts about two to three weeks until they come slinking back because they’re bored or masochistic.) Somewhere along the line someone will have called somebody else a Wiccan. Another person will try to invalidate the traditionalist stance by pointing to slaves, pederasty, and the role of women in antiquity. Whoever invokes Hitler or the Nazis first automatically loses. Old hat. We’ve all been there, done that before. Plenty of us have the battle-scars to show for it, too. In fact, it’s kind of a rite of passage. If you can stand your ground, take it as good as you give, and actually make the occasional intelligent comment instead of being driven off with your tail between your legs, you will have gained respect points from the old guard. Last long enough – about two years – and you will have become part of the old guard.

That’s life in the Hellenic polytheist community. We’re a hard-headed, stubborn, passionately bellicose lot. There are a number of reasons why we’re like this. Partly it has to do with who our cultural ancestors are. The Greeks loved to argue. In fact, they made an art-form out of it and wrote plenty of legal speeches never intended to be delivered in court. They just liked the flow of words, the formation of arguments, getting the blood boiling with righteous indignation. They’d argue in the agora or marketplace; they’d argue at the assembly; they’d argue at festivals; they’d argue over wine at dinner-parties. In fact, husbands probably argued with their wives while they were making love. And the Greeks would literally argue about anything and everything. In fact, one argument at the library of Alexandria became so heated that it broke out into fisticuffs in the street by the opposing parties. Do you know what caused this rumble among the scholars? A debate as to whether the Achaeans at Troy used a razor to shave their faces based on an obscure verb in Homer. I kid you not.

Another reason why we argue today is because, let’s face it, we’re all a bunch of nerds. Most of us are college educated or reading books that are intended for college-level courses. And whereas college kids are forced to read those excruciatingly dry texts, we do it for pleasure. (Recently a lot of us got together at Pantheacon, and one of the rare treats was when we all unpacked our libraries – yes, we traveled with our own libraries – and oohed and ahhed over each other’s rare texts.) We love to quote those books, too, chapter and verse, and then discuss them down to their tiniest details. We keep our fingers on the pulse of academia, and as soon as a theory has fallen out of favor with the Ivy Leaguers, we lambast anyone who is out of date and has the temerity to quote the discredited information – even if it was the norm just a few short years ago. Additionally, plenty of us are in the computer industry, or spend an inordinate amount of time online. (After all, considering the widespread geographical distribution of our community, the ‘net is pretty much the only place we’re likely to meet a co-religionist.) A lot of us are into science-fiction and fantasy, RPGs, fandoms, alternative sexualities, and assorted other geekly activities. Considering how contentious all of those groups are, and that many of us belong to several simultaneously – it’s a wonder we’re ever civil to each other. As nerds we are very committed to clear-thinking, articulate communication, factual accuracy, and proper terminology. Unless, of course, these things get in the way of us making a point.

Additionally, this is a religion for us. It involves deeply cherished beliefs, things that touch the remotest parts of our souls, that encompass how we view the world around us, how we should relate to our fellow men, the very nature of divinity itself. We are passionate in our convictions – and so are the people who hold convictions opposed to ours. Looking back at the history of man, nothing has caused more wars, oppression, and general suffering than religion and philosophy. Frankly, we should be pleased with ourselves that the worst thing that any of us has ever done to each other was call someone an uncharitable name when we could be lynching people and setting fire to their books. (There’s a greater probability that we’d lynch someone than actually burn a book, however.) Unlike many religions, ours is a highly diverse and individualistic faith. From the time that the first Greek-speaking peoples entered Hellas to the closing of the last temples by Theodosius and the philosophical schools by Justinian, you’ve got almost two thousand six hundred years of history. Each polis or city-state had its own laws, traditions, religious practices, and even dialects of Greek. That is a huge amount of material to consider, and each of us focuses on different areas, different time periods, different gods and customs when forming our own personal practice and views. That is bound to cause at least some conflict when discussing these very important issues.

And, lastly, another contributing factor to our frequent ‘net battles is the fact that we are communicating with each other through the printed word. It’s very easy to read the wrong emotion into text. Most of the communication that we do is actually non-verbal. Tone, expression, gesture, stance, etc. can radically alter how our message is conveyed. Something said with a wry grin and a chuckle would likely not offend as much as the same sentence coming across e-mail. We often forget about that in the heat of the moment, when a dozen e-mails are coming across our inbox in the span of five minutes, and everything is immediate, intense, and seems far more important than it normally would. Often, I suspect people do not read e-mails in their entirety, but scan them to find the passage most liable to offend.

So, considering all of this, it’s easy to see why these sorts of flame-wars keep frequently popping up. Some of us simply take them in stride, seeing them as inevitable and hoping that each new manifestation will subside quickly so that we can get back to the important business at hand: fellowship, worship, and the building of a real community, both on and off the internet. Some even think it’s a good thing, showing our diversity, and allowing us to refine and come to a better understanding of our beliefs through exchanges and conflict. Others decry the situation, saying that no real community can be built amidst such a situation, that it’s all just ego-driven dick-waving and that a religion is not a pissing contest. When the people making this point are sincere and refrain from fanning the flames, I applaud their efforts at peace-keeping. Unfortunately, all too often the people who are so vociferously condemning the uncivil tone of discourse and waving the white flag are the same people who either started the flame-war in the first place, or fed it throughout. As soon as they see that their side is losing they’ll jump onto the pacifist train and condemn the other side as trouble-makers, malcontents, and enemies of peace, harmony, and understanding.

So, what’s the solution? Someone doesn’t write this long about a topic such as this unless they’ve got something to contribute.

It’s simple, really. If you want to stop the flame-wars, take a good, hard look in the mirror. A flame-war begins and ends with you, my friend. Yes, I know. Personal responsibility is never a pleasant pill to swallow, and it’s so much easier to blame everyone else. After all, you’re just responding to something they said, right? They set the tone, you’re just following their lead. Well, that’s the thing. Everyone thinks they’re in the right. No one wants to admit that they’re the one causing all the trouble. To their mind, they’re just expressing their views – and you’re the one twisting their words, antogonizing them, and generally being an asshole. And when you follow along, returning force for force, things have a way of escalating. It’s like how Herodotos describes the origin of the enmity between the Greeks and Persians. Some Phoenician sailors came to Greece to hawk their wares. They spotted some pretty Greek princesses, and once all their goods had sold, they fled off with the girls in tow. The Greeks eventually gave chase, abducted the Phoenician king’s daughters, and before you know it you’ve got the Trojan War and the Persian Wars and a whole hell of a lot of dead Greeks and barbarians. Retribution and retaliation always spiral out of control, because each side only sees itself as aggrieved and never the aggriever. Also, it’s pretty damn childish. That’s the behavior you’d expect out of a two year old – not an adult. It is only when one can begin to temper themselves, to use self-control and restraint – sophrosune in the Greek – to keep their anger in check, reply with civility, respect, and gentleness, that one shows the true maturity of an adult and a human. Yes, I admit, being an adult is not very much fun. It’s so much easier to let yourself get swept up in the moment, to give in to your baser, violent, animal instincts, to tear out the throat of the person you think has done you wrong, to show your strength and intelligence for all to see. But think about it. Which takes more strength, keeping yourself in check or smiting an enemy? Which shows more intelligence – making a witty, insulting comment, or finding a way to communicate your point in a manner that doesn’t offend? In the end, you may be completely in the right, but if you act like a total asshole, no one is going to listen to you. They’re just going to dismiss you and everything you say. So, if you truly want to overcome your enemy, overcome yourself first. Let them look like the raging fool, the out of control animal, the belligerent, ignorant creep. You do not have to lower yourself to their level. Never lose sight of who you are and aspire to be. The second you do that, they’ve already won, no matter how off-base their points are.

Of course, I’m not saying that it’s easy, by any means. Hell, if it was easy we’d all be doing it. And anyone who knows me knows that I sure as hell haven’t lived up to this standard plenty of times myself. But the thing is, it’s something you can keep working on, every day, in every exchange, a continually unfolding process. And you’re going to slip, you’re going to lose your temper – we all do, we’re human – but the key is, don’t stop trying. If this is something that’s important to you, it’s worth working at. And here are some guidelines that might help.

* When you feel yourself losing control, step away from the computer. Calm down and come back to it later. Nothing, absolutely nothing, has to be sent off just this second. Give yourself time and space to really think about what you’re going to say. Is it absolutely necessary? Are there any other ways to express it? Are you just repeating yourself? What effect is this going to have on the conversation? Is it just going to keep things going and piss off the other person – or does it represent an actual breakthrough, a new idea or way of looking at something? Write out everything that’s in your head, no matter how angry and insulting it is. Then delete it, and start all over again.

* Learn to communicate clearly. Electronic communication is fraught with peril. As already said, it’s hard to read intent in such a cerebral form of expression. Also, understand that there is often a difference between what’s in your head and what comes out. In our head there are all of these companion concepts, associations, words, history, etc. We think completely, but communicate only partially. Since very few people are mind-readers, don’t presume anything and take extra care in how you communicate your ideas. And, let’s face it, not everyone is on the same experential or intellectual level. Some people can become very sensitive about this fact and react badly when they think you are intentionally talking over their head. Complicating this is the fact that not everyone you will communicate with has English as their first or primary language. Because they understand words and concepts differently, this can open the doors to all sorts of unpleasant misunderstandings. Try to make your points as clearly and concisely as possible. If people seem to be misunderstanding you, offer to restate your views in a better manner.

* Whenever possible, provide sources for what you are claiming, especially when it’s regarding a controversial subject. When asked for sources, don’t get offended. That doesn’t mean that people are trying to show you up or that they even doubt what you’re saying. They may simply be curious and want to see how you came to your understanding, or to learn about something they previously didn’t know. If there is no basis for your view beyond your own personal opinion or experience, clearly state that. That is a perfectly fine source in and of itself, and will often avert a lot of heated discussion.

* Learn how to disagree with people without making it personal. Don’t take pot-shots or bring up unrelated issues. Keep private matters out of public discource. Separate the idea and action from the indivdual themselves. No matter what this person believes, they are still a person just like you, and thus worthy of decency and respect. It’s okay if you don’t see eye to eye. Very few issues are so important that you should stop being friends with the person simply because you disagree with them. Alternately, no matter what an asshole this person may be, eventually they’re going to have something good to say. Don’t dismiss their ideas out of hand, simply because you don’t like them. Make sure that what you are disagreeing with is the idea itself, and not the person expressing it.

* Don’t take things so damn seriously! In the middle of an argument it can seem like everything’s on the line, like it’s a life or death issue. It’s not. Believe me, very few things in life are worth getting that upset over. Someone disagrees with you, someone makes a snotty comment, someone even says something not so nice to you – so what? Does their having said so make it true? Grow a thick skin and learn to let stuff roll off your back like water off a tortoise shell. I’m not saying that you should be a doormat and never stick up for yourself – just choose your battles wisely, and understand that not everything is as intense as you’re feeling it right this second. Find a way to laugh at things. If you can find the humor in a situation, you’ll be much better off. Plenty of volatile situations have been defused with laughter.

* Don’t be a drama-whore. If your disagreement with an individual or a group is so great that you no longer feel that you can associate with them, simply leave. Don’t make long-winded and accusatory good-bye speeches. Try to move on without having to attack the individuals in question, to recriminate or “blow the lid off their shit”, or to demand that everyone you know choose your side over theirs. This only perpetuates the unpleasantness and puts everyone in a difficult position. Trust that things will work out in the end, and that you don’t have to right every wrong. People are smart. They notice patterns. They can figure things out without us having to tell them or rub their faces in it. Of course, if it is a serious situation which might potentially harm others, you do have an obligation to speak up. But know clearly that you are addressing a serious problem and not just spreading rumours and making hateful comments about someone you don’t like. And don’t go running to Livejournal and make a million posts, both private and public, in order to keep the cycle of conflict going. Because inevitably, the other side will do it, too, and then you will have to respond to what they respond to, and then they’ll respond, and really, it just keeps going on and on and on, long after the initial confrontation has blown over, bringing in individuals who had no part in the initial fray. And, if things do get resolved you’ll be sitting there with egg all over your face, having to explain the nasty things you said and how you no longer believe them. Much better to let things blow over, make sure the bridges have really been burnt before saying anything. And don’t talk about people behind their back. Gossip and spreading nasty rumours about people may be cathartic in the moment – but just consider that the same thing might be being done about you behind your back. And really, we’re a small community. Can you be sure that the person you’re talking to won’t talk to someone else, and that that person in turn won’t talk to the indvidual you’re talking about? When it gets back to them, it opens up a whole new can of worms.

I could go on, but hopefully you get my point. Really, it all comes down to the words of the Roman slave and philosopher Epictetus, “What you would avoid suffering yourself, seek not to impose on others.” Sounds like pretty good advice to me. If you want the madness to stop (and there’s no reason to assume that everyone does) it must stop with you. Take the initiative – or in the parlance of the self-help movement, be proactive and be the first one to do what’s right. Not only will you be looked up to as an elder and leader in our community, a person of wisdom and self-control – but you will know, at the very least, that you are not contributing to an evil, even if others are.

Apomainesthai (to end the frenzy of the mind)

Preparation:
Find a place where you won’t be disturbed for at least five minutes. You may choose to light candles or incense, or play calming music, if such things are conducive to your relaxation. But these are not necessary.

The rite:
Stand with your arms raised heavenward, fingers extended. Imagine that you are reaching up to Olympos, the Abode of the Gods.

Say:

“Dionysos, Lord, you are a blessing to mortalkind, you who carry off our sorrows and fill our hearts to bursting with joy.”

Now slowly lower your arms, and envision a calming light descending through your body, from the top of your head to your belly and beyond, as warm wine fills you when it’s drunk. As you lower your arms, intone his names, vibrating each syllable carefully. Feel the God’s presence enfold you, his power dissolving all of the anxieties, mental blocks, and daimonic hindrances that are keeping you from reaching a state of contentment.

Appropriate names for this exercise are:

Bakchos, Lysios, Bromios, Bassareus, Zagreus

But you may use whichever ones you have a strong connection to.

Stop when your hands reach your sides, and extend them in front of you, with palms down, facing the earth. Stand like this in silence for several moments, and feel the calmness, strength, and fecundity of the earth flowing into you through your hands. Imagine that energy rising up to meet the heavenly energy that you drew down, mingling into one.

Now slowly bring your hands up and fold them over your chest, so that you resemble a mummy. Remain in this stance for several moments, envisioning ivy tendrils wrapping themselves around your legs, working themselves up your body until they have formed a cocoon around you. This is the cool, soothing ivy that kept the baby Dionysos safe in the womb while the flames devoured Semele around him. Similarly, they shall protect you from whatever anxieties, mental blocks, or daimonic hindrances were troubling you.

Perform this rite as frequently as you like. It works great as a daily devotional act, as well as preparation for sacred workings, or a way of stilling your mind and calming your emotions.

Seilenos was reclining in the shade of a pine tree to escape the mid-day sun when the satyr Chreios* sought him out.

Chreios said, “Father Seilenos, I come to you in great need! Everyone everywhere recognizes your wisdom, for it was you who instructed our Lord Dionysos in the arts and philosophy when he was but a nursling in the groves of Nysa. I am very poor, and need a magic charm that will bring me wealth.”

Seilenos replied: “Very well my son. Make yourself a satchet of pure linen, and place in it 3 parts patchouli, 2 parts basil, 1 part cinnamon, and 1 part cedar.

“Patchouli will draw to you fertility and the richness of the earth.

“Basil will keep off negative influences, and ensure the happy conclusion of your endeavors.

“Sweet cinnamon purifies like a mighty fire and attracts as the flames of lust.

“And strength you will need to accomplish your will, as the ancient cedars of Lebanon.

“Now when you mix these ingredients in your satchet, recite the following prayer:

“Lord Dionysos, when you were torn to pieces by the Titans your blood spilled onto the rich, fertile earth, and everywhere that a drop fell a new plant sprouted up. May the power of these herbs bring me the wealth I so deeply desire, you who are the giver of every blessing.

“Then put the satchet in a bath of pure water, and immerse yourself in it. Feel the power of the herbs flow into your body as you bathe, and you shall surely find the wealth you desire when you arise.”

“Thank you!” Chreios exclaimed, “A hundred times, thank you! However can I repay you for this boon?”

“By stepping out of my shade, child. It is very hot out.”

And Seilenos turned over and went back to sleep.

* Chreios’ name is apparently derived from the Greek word χρεια meaning ‘want’, ‘necessity’, or ‘business’.

Hear me, kindly Lord of the Earth’s rich bounty,
master of my passionate heart,
Dionysos at the head of the triumphant procession,
Bromios entwined in ivy and ripe bunches of grapes,
Zagreus who dwells in the Deep and hunts beneath the Moon’s full light,
and by whatever other names you like, hear me, as you have heard me before!
Lord who weaves the fantastic dreams while we sleep,
who sends forth oracles by day and night,
who fills minds and bodies with powerful, prophetic spirits,
who dances with the mad women on the side of the mountain.
Hither, O Blessed One, O mighty son of heavenly Zeus,
be kind and look upon me graciously,
and to your passionate servant reveal a sign,
and when I sleep send to me
an oracular dream, true and without fault.

A pre-Starry Bull account of the myths of Dionysos. 

There are many accounts of Dionysos’ birth. I shall begin with the Orphic one. In it, Demeter and her daughter Kore, who one day would be called Persephone, lived on the island of Sicily, where they made their home in a cave near the spring of Kyane. One day, Zeus, the father of the girl, came to the cave when the mother was gone, and in the form of a snake lay with his daughter and conceived by her a child, the bull-horned God Zagreus, the first Dionysos.

Now Zeus took the child back to Olympus with him, and his wife Hera grew jealous, for Zagreus was a most special child. Because of her jealousy, Hera plotted against the child, and when the guards who Zeus had placed over the boy were distracted, Hera caused the Titans to rise up from the underworld and set upon the child with their murderous knives. Brave Zagreus sought to evade the Titans by turning himself into a number of different creatures, a lion, a horse, a man, and finally a bull, but all his effort was for naught, for the Titans eventually caught the child, holding him by hoof and horn, and fulfilled their obligation to the Goddess by tearing the child to pieces. These pieces they cooked in a stew of milk, and then roasted over a fire, before they commenced their awful feast. The smell of roasting flesh drew the boy’s father, and Zeus upon discovering what happened, hurled his mighty lightning-bolts at the Titans, burning them up where they stood. Athena managed to save the heart of the child, and with this Zeus was able to conceive the God again. He did this either by eating the heart himself, or by giving it in a potion to the daughter of King Cadmus, who, however it was done, soon was with child.

Now when Hera discovered that Semele, as the girl was called, was pregnant with Zeus’ child, and the child was none other than Zagreus reborn, her wrath knew no limit. Immediately Hera disguised herself as the girl’s old nurse, Beroë, and with cunning words began to set doubt in the girl’s mind as to whether her lover was a God indeed, or just some rascal out to play a trick on her. The only proof, Hera claimed, was for her lover to reveal himself in his fullness, otherwise Semele’d never know if Zeus really was a God. The next time that Zeus came to lay with the girl, for he had fallen in love with her, Semele made him promise to grant her wish, whatever it would be. Impetuous Zeus made his promise, only to regret it when she made her request. Now, once a God has given his word, he cannot go back on it, however much he’d like to. Zeus put off his human form, and revealed himself to her in his fullness. The sight of Zeus in this form proved too great for her, and the girl was burned up at once.

The child in her womb would have died too, but for a miracle. Lush foliage wrapped itself round the baby in his mother’s womb and kept him safe from the heavenly fire that consumed her. And when Zeus saw that the child was safe, he immediately lifted the fetus up, and sewed it into a pocket in his thigh, there to keep him safe ’till he should come to term. When Zeus got back to Olympus, Hermes laughed at the funny way he walked, and so it was that the child was called Dionysos, for one meaning of that name is “the limp of Zeus.”

When the child was born, Zeus gave him into the care of his aunt, Ino, whose husband was Athamas. To hide him from the wrath of Hera, they dressed little Dionysos as a girl, and kept him in the women’s quarters of the palace. This only succeeded for a short time, and then Hera’s vengeance caught up with the child and his foster parents. Hera sent a madness against them, and Ino and Athamas slew their children, thinking that they were killing the boy. Dionysos, however, had turned himself into a kid, and so escaped the terrible trap.

Zeus sent Hermes to retrieve the boy and find a safe place for him. The Messenger of the Gods traveled far until he came to the mountain of Nysa, where there were some Nymphs into whose care the child was placed. Sources differ as to which Nysa the God was brought to – the one in Ethiopia, the one in Thrace, the one in India, or some other Nysa.

Now the Nymphs took good care of their charge, and loved him dearly. They suckled him on milk from their breasts, and later wild honey from nearby caves, until Dionysos gave them wine to drink and neither they nor the child never again tasted that inferior food. The Nymphs kept the boy entertained by singing songs to him, and playing the drums and pipes for him. Little Dionysos loved the pipes very much, and he begged them to teach him how to play. The Nymphs could refuse the boy nothing, and before long he had mastered the pipes. Animals and birds came to listen to him; trees and rocks too. Never before had the world heard such fine playing as Dionysos on his pipes – it was only the memory of the God’s playing that made people respond so to that Thracian and his lyre.

Silenus, that half man, half horse Satyr, wisest of the daimons, was the God’s own teacher. Every day he sat the boy down and gave him his lessons. It wasn’t long before Dionysos had surpassed his teacher in rhetoric and philosophy and then it was the boy who was schooling the Satyr in these weighty matters.

For all that, Dionysos preferred to spend his time in the forests surrounding Nysa. He would run through the vales, his joyful songs filling the forest with their gay sound. The Nymphs and Silenus tried to keep up with him, but Dionysos knew the forest as if he had spent his whole life there, and they would always fall behind. No part of the forest was unknown to him – all the creatures that dwelt there acknowledged him as their Lord. Frequently the God would hunt in the forest. After chasing down a goat, he would catch the creature and tear it apart with his bare hands. Once he had eaten its raw flesh, he would bring the goat back to life, that they might run and hunt another day.

This was how the God spent his youth, and while Dionysos loved his Nurses and wise old Silenus, he nevertheless grew bored at Nysa, and longed to travel the world. When he explained this to the Nymphs, they tried to dissuade the youth by explaining that he was safe from Hera only on the holy mountain. If he left, there would be no protection. Like all youths, Dionysos was headstrong and in his heart he did not fear Hera. So Dionysos left his home to explore the world, and suffer many great adventures. The Nymphs, unwilling to be without their Lord, came too.

The first of these great adventures happened shortly after leaving. Dionysos was sitting on a beach, appearing to all as a handsome youth with rich purple robes and long golden locks, when some pirates came upon him. The Tyrrhenians, for that was their race, spotted the boy and thought him some wealthy king’s son who had wandered off. If they caught him, certainly the boy’s father would pay a hefty ransom for his return, and so they plotted his capture. When Dionysos hailed the sailors, and begged passage to the island of Naxos, the Tyrrhenians agreed, and took the boy aboard their ship. Now their helmsman was a man named Acoetes, and he was good in his heart. When he saw the beautiful youth, he immediately recognized him as something more than mortal, and begged his fellows to set the boy free, warning them that they had taken some God aboard their ship and that he would not take kindly to their plans. The captain did not listen to this man’s wise words, and in fact he punished him for speaking them. Just as his crewmen were about to toss Acoetes over the side of the ship a sound of flutes was heard. Though there was a stiff breeze in its sails, the ship stood still. Ivy and grapevines twined themselves about the masts, and the oars turned into snakes. The ship was flooded with sweet wine, and on the deck appeared wild creatures – panthers, lions, and bears, who presently set upon the treacherous crew. The captain was devoured by a lion, or else Dionysos leapt upon him and attacked him with the fierceness of a lion. Those crewmen who were not mauled by the fierce creatures tried to jump to safety over the side of the ship, though when they hit the water they were no longer men, but dolphins. Acoetes, fearing for his life, tried to jump over the side with his former friends, but the God stopped him, saying that he had nothing to fear. For the kindness that he had shown the God, he would grant Acoetes whatever he wished. And so it was that Acoetes joined the holy band of the God’s followers, for that was his wish. Dionysos placed a dolphin in the sky to commemorate this event, and, no doubt, as a warning to all sailors.

Hera saw this, and grew angry. Some claimed that Hera had sent the pirates to catch the young God, others that it made Hera fear for her safety, for in this encounter the power of Dionysos was revealed. Out of her anger, Hera sent a madness to Dionysos, and it drove the young God across the face of the earth. He wandered through Egypt, Syria, and other lands, and in his madness did many terrible things. He killed a whole race of Amazons, flaying them alive. He made the Argive women think that they were cows, and made them eat the children that they had suckled at their breast. And he almost laid waste to the oracle at Delphi, and would have succeeded had Apollo, thinking quickly, not offered the God rule of the oracle during the winter months, which succeeded in checking the God’s wrath. Finally the God came to Phrygia where, in a swamp, he collapsed as he tried to cross the marsh. Two asses came along and helped the God across the marsh, where he found a temple to Cybele. In gratitude, the God placed one of the asses in the sky, and gave the other a human voice.

As it happened, Cybele was present in her temple, and when she spotted her grandson (for this was the same Goddess whom the Greeks called Rheia, the Mother of Zeus) she brought him inside, and tended to his needs. She purified the God, freeing him from the grip of madness, and taught him her ancient rites, which she gave over to Dionysos. It was also in Phrygia that he adopted the oriental costume that he and his followers would wear.

Dionysos met up with his Nurses at Dodona, where they had been waiting for him. (In some accounts, this was their original home.) Together, they traveled the world, establishing his worship and giving to those who honored him the gifts of wine and ecstasy. In that holy band there were Nymphs and Satyrs, mortal women called Mainads and Thyiades and Bassarides and Bacchae, and mortal men too, who dressed in the same flowing robes as the women, and everyone, whether mortal or immortal, man or woman, wore crowns of ivy, laurel, or myrtle, and carried the God’s emblem, the thyrsos-wand topped with a pine cone and twined with ivy or colored ribbons. Through the God, the Mainadic women were able to accomplish many great things: they could carry fire unscathed by its flames, speak with animals, conjure milk and wine with the touch of their thyrsic wands, and they possessed the ability to control weather. Mainad rites culminated in states of ecstasy where the God and his followers became one. While in these ecstatic states Mainads were impervious to physical harm, gifted with the arts of prophecy, and possessed incredible amounts of strength so that they could lift a full-sized bull over their heads, or tear apart a sacrificial goat with their bare hands. The Mainads honored Dionysos with drumming and dances and with the special rite of omophagia or the eating of raw flesh. Everywhere they went, women left their homes to join the revels of the God. Most returned after fulfilling their duty – some stayed with the God the whole of their lives, traveling with him across the world, part of the triumphant army of Lord Dionysos.

There were many places that accepted the fabulous gifts of the God, and gladly worshipped him, among them the Laconians, the Delians, the Eleans, the Carians, and all the people of the Islands – but their stories are not the most famous ones, for the poets preferred tales of opposition. And the first and greatest of those who opposed the God was Lycurgus, Dryas’ son, that violent fool who ruled the Edonians. Now the Edonians lived on the banks of the river Strymon and their soil was such that it received the grapevines of the God with ease, and before long the vines were everywhere. Now the people liked this, for they were fond of the God’s wine, but Lycurgus detested the plants, and the nocturnal rites that Dionysos had established with them. Therefore one night when the followers of the God, and Dionysos with them, had gathered to perform their holy dances outside the city, Lycurgus and his men crept upon them to disrupt the sacred rites. Lycurgus, brandishing an ox-goad, burst upon the group and scattered them, chasing the women to the shores of the river where they, urged on by Dionysos, sought refuge under the waves with the Oceanid Thetis, who kept the girls from drowning out of her love for the God. Now Lycurgus thought that he had won, since he had gotten the Mainads to drop their thyrsi and run, fleeing with their God into the river. This only confirmed the king’s contempt for the God, for he had fled from a mere mortal, and what sort of God would do that? Little did he understand that it was not fear that drove the God to flee, but concern for his followers, and so, once they were safe, the God came back up and confronted the king, who was busy trying to pull up all of the God’s vines. It was an easy thing to beat the king – indeed he was already half-mad to begin with. All that the God did was put before his eyes a vision of endless rows of grapevines, one after the other, grapevines that multiplied as the king and his men tried to pull them up. All through the morning, and into the day the king labored in his fields, and still they were full of vines. He bid his servants tear up the hateful plants, and when they were too slow, or grew tired and begged for rest, the king leapt upon them, and beat them with his ox-goad. The king’s son began to worry for his father, and when the boy approached Lycurgus to beg him to put off this madness, the king picked up an ax and began hacking away at his son, thinking as he did, that the boy was covered in vines. When the son’s blood splattered on Lycurgus, Dionysos made him think that the vines had taken hold of him – and so the king took the ax to his own legs. This seemed to bring the villain’s fit to an end – or at least stopped him from harming others with his madness. Fearing the man they had once proclaimed king, the Edonians banished the son of Dryas to a nearby mountain, Pangaeüs where the panthers roamed. Those wild beasts, sacred to the God, hunted down Lycurgus, tearing him apart like a fawn in the hands of a Mainad.

Another man who resisted the worship of God, and should have known better, was Pentheus the king of Thebes, whose own mother was the sister of Semele. Dionysos came to the daughters of Cadmus – Agave, Autonoe and Ino who had returned to the city of her father after the evil done in her husband’s home. Dionysos sought to convince these women that he was a God, and that his mother had indeed conceived him from a God. They would not listen: they persisted in their belief that Semele had only ascribed her pregnancy to Zeus, and that for this lie she had been punished with death. To them, Dionysos had died in his mother’s womb – they would not hear Ino’s tale of nursing the child, thinking as they did, that it was a delusion born of her madness. They spoke other lies against their sister, and spread this falsehood among the women of Thebes, who, on hearing it believed, and doubted the God. This was intolerable for the God, and so he drove the women of Thebes into the mountains outside their city, and there on Cithaeron they honored the God whom they had denied, honored him with songs and dances and the red, raw feast which so delights him.

The men of Thebes, Pentheus chief among them, found the situation unbearable, and so the king sent his soldiers into the hills to flush the women out. This got them nothing, for Dionysos was among his followers, and through him they were able to resist the armed men, working wonders before their awe-struck eyes. The women were able to turn aside the soldiers’ sharp-bladed swords, and cut through their bronze shields with the ivy-wrapped wands that they carried. Women held fire in their hands, and caused milk and wine to flow along the mountain’s side. Tiny girls, through the God, found the strength to lift full-grown men over their heads, and wild creatures ran at their sides, sharers in the holy mysteries of God. The women routed Pentheus’ finest soldiers: even so, a few Bacchants allowed themselves to be captured, that they might greet the king, and show him the ways of God. Among those that Pentheus’ men captured was Dionysos himself, disguised as a mortal priest in the robes of God.

Pentheus interrogated him at length, thinking correctly that he was the leader of the Bacchae, and though the God answered his questions in all truth, it made no sense to the king, for his mind was closed to all but the narrowest of truths. As the God continued on, trying to teach Pentheus a better way, the king grew enraged, for he thought that the God mocked him. Finally, when Pentheus was near to tears, the God ended the conversation, saying that if Pentheus intended to punish him, he should let nothing stand in his way. While Pentheus attempted to do just that, it proved a far difficulter task than he had expected. The chains that he had bound the God with fell from him and his followers at a word from Dionysos. When the king ordered his men to take hold of the prisoners, they could not move their limbs till the God gave them leave to, and when Pentheus tried to run the God through with his own sword, he found in Dionysos’ place one of the tall columns of the palace, the God having set before him a confounding image to do battle with.

The king was powerless to stop him, yet still he would not concede and grant the God that which he deserved, namely to be honored in the city that once housed his mother. Recognizing that, Dionysos placed before the king the method of his own demise, and Pentheus, blinded by his own foolishness, grasped for it as a thirsty man grasps for a cup of wine. Dionysos persuaded the king to follow him into the hills, where the Bacchae awaited them. He promised an end to this war, and the return of peace to Thebes. Pentheus interpreted this as the death of the Mainads – it was his own death that the God offered him.

Dressed as a Mainad, in gown and crown and ivy-wrapped wand, the king crept upon the camp of the Mainads, eager to see what infernal rites they were up to. When the king couldn’t see things as well as he had hoped, he climbed a pine tree to spy on the women in their nocturnal rites. From that vantage point all was revealed to Pentheus – and Pentheus was revealed to all. The Mainads saw the intruder, and were upon him in an instant, pulling the king from his tree, and tearing him apart once they had him on the ground. Chief among those who mauled the king were Autonoe and Agave, the very aunt and mother of Pentheus. When the deed was done, the women returned to their proper states of mind – only to witness the horrible things that they had done. All who had partaken in the savage rite were banished from Thebes, and wandered the world alone until alone they died. This, then, was the fate incurred by those who mocked the God in his own home – to commit an awful crime, and die a hideous death.

This should have proved a warning to all those who would deny another’s right to honor the God. However, the daughters of Minyas paid no attention to the fate of Pentheus, and when the holy band came to their city, and people filled the streets with revelry, the girls remained in their father’s bower, busying themselves with the “proper” work of women. Dionysos did not care that they refused to honor him – but when he heard that they would not allow their slaves to join the celebration, the God was forced to visit on them the punishment which comes to all those who refuse him – namely the madness which leads to death. The daughters, spurred on by the God, ate each other’s children, and then were themselves turned into bats who fled into the hills and the darkness, both of which they had previously felt were unfit places for well-bred women to frequent.

At Tangara they accepted the God, and their women honored him in the proper way. But Tritons, those terrible creatures who live under the sea, sought to disrupt their holy rites – though the God would not let them. He battled the Tritons to keep his voataries safe, and drove them far from Tangara once he had vanquished their leader, that they might never harm that holy people again. When Butes and his men tried to rape the Thessalian Mainads, the God hunted them down, until every last one of those black-hearts had paid the penalty for assaulting those dear to the God. To the daughters of Anius he gave the gift of growth, that they might produce corn, wine, and oil for their drought-stricken land. And when Agamemnon’s men tried to carry the girls off to feed his army, Dionysos kept them safe, turning them into doves that they might fly to freedom. He punished the Thracian bacchants when they killed his chosen prophet, Orpheus of the splendid voice, giving the singer’s head into the care of the Lesbians, that it might continue to give oracles in times of great need. Dionysos honored his votary Dirce when she died by causing a holy spring to rise up on the spot. He placed the Haliae in the sky when they were slain by Perseus the king of Mycenae for bringing wine into his city and getting his soldiers drunk while he was at war with the Aegean islands. (Perseus was well punished for his hastiness, although he eventually repented and established the God’s worship in his city.) And he danced up the rains for the people of Limos, an eastern city.

When Dionysos came to Attica it was not a king that greeted the God, but a humble shepherd, who offered the God his hospitality – modest though it was – and so was rewarded with the gift of wine and the knowledge of its cultivation. Icarius, for that was the shepherd’s name, took such great pleasure in the God’s wine – before then, all that he had had to drink was water, the same as his sheep – that he immediately wanted to go off and share this wonderful gift with his neighbors, for he was indeed generous of heart. Erigone, the man’s daughter, agreed with her father that they must share that which the God had given to them, and so the girl watched her father’s flocks while he went to the neighboring farm to bestow on them the rich wine of Dionysos. Now in his eagerness Icarius did not cut the wine with water, as the God had taught him to do, and so his neighbor’s sons were soon quite drunk, for they liked the wine as much as Icarius had. When the father came upon his sons in their drunken state, he thought that Icarius had poisoned them, for they had passed out and would not waken, or stumbled about in their drunken stupor. The neighbor and his friends sought vengeance against the kindly shepherd, killing him with heavy rocks and sticks plucked from the ground. When the boys awoke, no worse for wear, the father and his friends repented their hasty action, but too late, for Icarius was already dead. Fearing that others might find out what they had done, the men carried Icarius’ body to a nearby well and stuffed it in there, that he might be hidden from the eyes of men, and their dark deed go unpunished.

When Erigone’s father did not return, the girl began to despair. With her faithful dog Maeara, the girl searched out her father, and eventually found the well where his body was hidden, directed to the spot by the light of the moon. When the girl saw her father’s lifeless body, madness took hold of her, and the girl hung herself from a tree that grew near the spot. The dog, abandoned by those that he had loved, flung himself into the well where he died.

Now the men did not escape their evil deeds – as always happens, vengeance caught up with them. The Lord sent a madness upon the women of Attica, and as Erigone had hung herself from a tree, so too did they hang themselves. Nothing that the men of Attica could do stopped their women from taking their lives – even force of arm failed to stop the maddened women. In desperation the men of Attica consulted the Delphic oracle, where they discovered the cause of their plague and the means by which they could remedy it. First, they hunted down the killers of Icarius, slaying the impetuous men as they had slain the helpless shepherd. Next, they instituted a festival of Dionysos, the Aiora or “swinging festival” which was held during the grape harvest. During the Aiora young girls swung from trees on swings, in imitation of Erigone, and all sorts of small images were hung on trees and swung, and fruits were brought as an offering to the father and daughter. Dionysos relented, and the women regained their sanity, those that had not killed themselves. He further honored his votaries by placing them in the sky as the constellations Boötes, Virgo and Canicula or Porcyon.

In Aetolia the God recieved a hospitable welcome from Oeneus, king of Calydon. Not only did he entertain Dionysos and his holy band, but when the king recognized that Dionysos had taken an interest in his wife, he arranged so that he was called away on urgent business, that the two might be left alone. For his generosity, Dionysos gave him the vine, and taught him to make wine. Calydon prospered from its production of wine, and became, in time, one of the richest of nations. By Althea, the wife of Oeneus, the God bore a daughter, Deïaneira, the future bride of Heracles.

Crete had been at war with the nations of the Aegean, and because of her greater naval strength, and the fact that the Gods loved her above every other nation, she was able to overcome them. As a result of this, Minos forced Athens to pay tribute, in the form of seven youths and seven maids which she was forced to send to Crete on every ninth year. These youths were then sacrificed to the Minotaur, a monstrous creature – half-man and half-bull – that lived in the labyrinth, a giant maze that Minos had constructed under his palace. Despite his father’s pleas, Theseus volunteered to be one of the fourteen, and came to Crete to slay the beast and topple Minos’ rule. When Ariadne met the handsome youth, she immediately fell in love with Theseus. She gave the dashing young hero a silver thread, which, unraveled as he wandered through the labyrinth, would help him find his way out again – a thing no one, including the Minotaur, had been able to do before. When Theseus succeded in killing the beast and overthrowing Minos, he left for his home and took Ariadne with him as he had agreed to do. But on their way home, they stopped off on the Isle of Naxos where Theseus – who didn’t really love Ariadne – abandoned her to die. Some time later, Dionysos arrived at the island and found the princess near to death from exposure and heartbreak. He nursed her back to health, and when she recovered her strength, married the God, as they had fallen in love while she was recuperating. Ariadne bore many children for the God, and theirs was a most happy marriage. But it was not without sorrow, for the Goddess Artemis, thinking that Ariadne had betrayed Dionysos with Theseus, killed the princess on the Isle of Dia, which some claimed was the same as Naxos. Devastated, the wine-God placed the bridal crown of Ariadne in the heavens as the Corona Borealis, and, unable to bear the loss of his great love, begged his father Zeus to bring Ariadne back to life. Though it went against the very laws of heaven, Zeus consented, and Ariadne was made a Goddess. Together, the two immortals dwelt happily on Olympus and on the world, their love ever flowing.

Dionysos sought to share his mysteries and the gift of wine with all the men of the world, not just the Greeks and Asiatics who clung to the shores of the Mediterranean. Indeed, the God and his army – for that is how the holy band came to be called – carried his message to the very ends of the earth, “through Syria and Arabia and Palestine they traveled, into Egypt and Persia and Bactria they came, and on to India they went, that land of a hundred tongues” as the poets have it. Everywhere he went the God accomplished many wonderful things, teaching men to plant the vine and harvest wine and worship the Gods through mysteries. He got the Arabians to stop eating the flesh of men, and established among them civilization, with laws and art and worship of the Gods. In Egypt, the holy band was lost, and would have died of thirst, but for the intervention of the God Ammon, who, appearing as a ram, led the votaries back to their God, who caused a spring to rise up that they might drink and lose their thirst. For this kindness, Dionysos established a shrine to the ram-headed God Ammon, and placed a ram in the sky as Aries. Also in Egypt, Dionysos won the throne of Egypt back for its rightful owner, punishing the interloper who had taken it with madness, so that he wandered the land thinking himself a cow like Io – only there was no Isis to take pity on the man, and his days were ended as some farmer’s dinner. Dionysos was well loved in India – many of the ascetics’ wives fled to him, longing for that which their husbands would not give them, simple love. Dionysos taught the women powerful magics to win back the affections of their husbands, and taught the men to see in their wives an image of the Goddess, so that in making love to them they worshipped the divine. Seeing the popularity of the God, an Indian king declared war on him. The two armies met, the king’s and the assorted followers of the God, and they prepared to make fierce war, but the God gave a great shout, and the king’s army fled in fear, leaving the holy band victorious. This was how they conquered the world, without the shedding of blood. In order to cross the Euphrates (some said that it was the mother of rivers, the Ganges) Dionysos constructed a bridge of plaited vines and ivy strands for his followers to cross, and as for the Tigris – how else should he cross that river, but on the back of a tiger?

One day as the holy band was traveling through Phrygia, Silenus, the God’s old teacher, disappeared, and no one could find him. Finally, escorted by an honor guard sent along by Midas, king of the Mygdonians, the old Satyr returned. The king, or some of his peasants, had easily captured the ever-thirsty old man by setting out some wine-bowls, and once the old man had prophecized for him – that was what Satyrs were supposed to do when they were captured – Midas entertained him with splendid hospitality, giving him his best men as an escort when the old Satyr wished to return to the God. Dionysos rewarded the king for his kindness by agreeing to grant whatever Midas wished – and Midas foolishly asked that everything he touch turn to gold. Reluctantly – for once a God has given his word, he cannot turn back – Dionysos did so, and the God was not surprised when the king sought him out the next day, begging that his gift be withdrawn. It had worked too well, and he was starving since his very food turned to gold as well. Dionysos gladly told the king how he might banish his “golden touch” by bathing in the icy waters of the river Pactolus, a river rich with gold to this day.

Now that all the world worshipped him as a God, Dionysos took his place with the other immortals on Mount Olympus, but not, however, before he had descended into the underworld to bring up his mother out of that dark land. He took his mother up to Olympus with him, where she assumed the name Thyone and lived among the Gods.

Dionysos soon found himself involved in the war between the Gods and the Giants. Warlike Dionysos battled the Giant Eurythus with his wand, vanquishing his fierce opponent. Next the God took on Alcyoneus who was awed by the God’s powers and forsook battle with the Lord. Chthonious was not so wise – Dionysos dug a pit which the Giant fell into, and then filled the pit with wine, drowning his opponent. Pelorus and Porphyrian attacked the God together – together they were torn apart by the God’s fierce panthers. The other Giants were routed by the braying of the asses on which Dionysos and his Satyr companions rode. And when the Gods finally overcame the Giants, it was Dionysos’ suggestion which brought them victory. The God said that only by taking on their animal forms could they hope to vanquish their foes. The Gods feared losing their place in the world by lowering themselves in this way. As it turned out, only by adopting their bestail natures were they able to keep their noble place in heaven.

His role in the War with the Giants had gone a long way towards resolving the enimity between him and Hera – when a Giant had threatened to rape the Goddess, it had been Dionysos not Zeus who came to her aid. It was the following incident which completely ended it.

Hephaestus had always resented being abandoned as a child by his mother. So one day he hatched a plan to get revenge on her. The Great Artisan crafted for the Gods marvelous gifts, each one greater than the last. Finally, he presented to them the greatest gift of all – a marvelous golden throne for his mother, a chair inlaid with gems and precious stones, and sculpted with all her favorite things. The Queen of the Gods sat in her throne and proclaimed it the most comfortable thing she had ever sat upon in all her long lifetime. Hephaestus replied that that was good, because she was going to be spending a lot of time in the chair – and when the Goddess tried to rise from her seat, she found that she was quite stuck. Many of the strongest Gods tried to pull her free – they would have yanked the Goddess’ arms off before they would have pulled her free. In all the commotion, the throne was overturned and that is how it remained, hanging upside down with the Goddess still stuck in it. After the Gods had all gotten a good laugh, kingly Zeus ordered Hephaestus to free his mother (noting, as he had, the fierce look in her eyes) but the smith-God was nowhere to be found. He had gone down to his home below the waves, where his great smithy was. Now Ares, angry at the rough treatment of his mother, volunteered to go down and bring back the God – but this was a task easier to declare than to fulfill. Hephaestus was waiting for the war-God under the waves, and when Ares approached, Hephaestus began to fling fiery brands at the God, and drove him back to the shore, where he fled, nursing his wounds.

Dionysos proved more successful in his attempt. He did not try to bring the artisan back by force, knowing, as he did, that that path would not succeed. Instead the God brought his best wine, and he and the smith began to talk, speaking about Hera and Olympus and the problems that they had had with both. Before long Hephaestus was drunk – this was, after all, Dionysos’ best wine – and Dionysos managed to convince the God to relent. But because the God was so drunk he couldn’t make it back up to Olympus under his own power. Dionysos placed the heavy God on the back of an ass and led him up the high path to Olympus where the Gods were waiting anxiously for their return. Drunk Hephaestus agreed to set Hera free – but only on the condition that she acknowledge him as her child, and Zeus grant him the beautiful Aphrodite as his bride. All his demands were met, and Hera was released.

Out of gratitude for this service done her, Hera relented in her wrath. Further, she nominated Dionysos to the ruling council of the Gods, and all agreed that this was a grand idea.

So ends my account of the things that Dionysos did, the wonders he wrought, the gifts he shared, the marvel he became. In him is our redemption. Great is the God Dionysos!

Look at how the young boys run! Chests heaving, fists pumping, thighs tensing, naked feet slapping the pavement as they hurtle towards the prize. The grape-laden man runs, not naked like them, but draped with fillets of wool in the hot summer sun. He is sweating and his cheeks puffing – but he is fast – far faster than the boys expected! They thought it’d be easy to catch the old man. Slap his back and smile as he proclaimed the blessing for the city. Then there would be feasting and beautiful hymns, and the great circle dances with the pretty young girls and their loose brown hair and slender ankles.

But the grape-man is so far ahead – what if he reaches the altar before they can touch him? Will Apollo Karneios really turn his face from them? And what would that mean? The failure of the crops, certainly – and war. Perhaps even plague, like that which befell the Greeks when they unknowingly cut down Apollo’s sacred cherry-grove on Mount Ida to build the Trojan Horse. Raging, the God afflicted them with disease – and only the institution of the Karneia was able to appease his wrath. But what if they should fail in the race?

Unbidden, the images fly into Alexis’ brain. He sees the grapes rotting on the vine in his uncle’s vineyard, black and poisonous looking things. And he sees his cousin take a dagger in the side and collapse under the press of bodies as the black smoke rises from the charred hulls of his city’s buildings. And worse yet is the image of his sisters and mother puking black blood into their hands, their once red cheeks white like bone. All this, because he failed to obtain the grape-laden man’s blessing for his city.

Alexis digs deep. His legs burn, and his chest is tight so that even the shallow runner’s breaths are hard to draw. But he drives away these concerns like an old woman chasing away a stray dog with a stick. Even if his legs splintered, he would run. Even if his heart burst in his chest, he would run. The other boys, winded, start to fall off, but Alexis won’t let himself give in, won’t let the bad things happen. He has to touch the back of the old fat man – everyone depends on him.

He is five, now four strides behind. He might just make it! But no – he can see the altar of the God at the end of the track. If the grape-laden man reaches it, it’s all over. His arm burns as he reaches out, his muscles straining. His vision is blurred by sweat and tears, and his heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of his chest. Closer, closer they draw to the altar of Apollo, harder, harder he pushes himself, trying desperately to close the distance between them. His fingers shake, longing to touch something solid, to feel the sweaty wollen fellets, and the soft flesh of the man’s back. “Apollo,” the boy prays, “make me worthy to save my city.”

And then there are no more thoughts, no more fears and longing. He is just sinew and flesh, muscle and sweat. A body, working perfectly, pure instinct. He feels his steps grow lighter, the distance shrinking, and he reaches out again, and slaps the back of the grape-laden man!

The touch startles the old man, and he tumbles to the ground in a flury of limbs and wollen fillets, and Alexis trips over him and crashes to the ground himself, bloodying his knees. But he is elated! Joy washes over him, and his spirit leaps into the sky like a giant eagle. He did it, he saved his city! Even as his legs are gripped with cramps, and his chest pounds so hard that he’s sure his heart is going to burst any minute, and his vision goes black from the pounding in his ears that sounds like the Bacchic drums at night, he is happier than he has ever been in his short life. The other boys arrive and lift him up, and carry his limp body to the altar, cheering and patting his back to await the blessing of the grape-laden man. Alexis smiles, and continues to sweat and bleed for Apollo.

Something I wrote back on 8-25-01:

Something has been lost from the world. We dwell in our comfortable cities, in our comfortable homes, living our comfortable lives, dying each day as our soul is stifled by the comfort around us. We go to jobs we hate so we’ll have enough money to buy things we don’t really need, because we’re convinced that they’ll bring us some sense of happiness or the completion that we so desperately want. But they never do, and the more things we acquire, the more lonely we feel. We do what everyone expects us to do. We go to school, get a respectable job, get married, have kids, take part in community volunteer activities, go to the right Church, read the right books, buy all the right things – all that is expected of us, whether we want to do it or not. We never go outside of our bounds, challenge ourselves, follow our dreams – because that would be silly and impractical, and what would the neighbors think? And so, each day, the chasm grows wider, our lives have less meaning and less joy, until we are filled with emptiness and self-hatred, and we can barely get up in the morning, afraid of the hellish drudgery that our existence has become.

This is the plight of modern man. We have become monsters, alienated from everything that is good and true in life. We no longer live with the rhythms of nature, no longer feel the vital, fluid power that courses through all things. We’re disconnected from our bodies – they’re just flesh suits that house our minds. We don’t feel any real connection with the people around us, because we’re afraid of opening ourselves up and letting another person really, truly touch our lives. We suppress our dreams, finding a million reasons why it will never work out, even though this is the only thing that will bring us true happiness in life. This is what our world has become. A nightmare place of darkness and depression, far worse than the torments of any mythical Hell.

Why did it become like this? The reason is that man banished the Old Gods from his life. In his arrogance he said, “We can make it on our own. We know best what will make us happy. It is too much to pay you the proper respects, so we aren’t going to do that any more.” And the Gods said, “Very well, if that is what you want, it will be so. Your will is free, we do not command respect, though it is properly ours. Foolish man, if you can make it on your own, then do so.” And so the Gods no longer spoke with man, no longer gave him their wise council. In time, man forgot the ancient rites, which were a source of great happiness in his life, and he ceased to see the wonder and beauty of the world around him. With piety gone from his heart, greed and arrogance took over, upsetting the natural balance, so that there was no longer room for joy and peace. Man warred with nature, killing the other animals, building his ugly cities everywhere, poisoning the air and water and land around him. He was no kinder to his fellow man, making murder and war and suffering the common lot. Man thinks he knows best, but his life is filled with sadness and aching and fear and desperation. And the worst part is – it doesn’t have to be this way!

For you see, the Gods never went away. They have been here the whole time, working for our best, even though they did so in the shadows, the mass of men neither noticing nor honoring them for their help. A few men of great vision have seen the Gods at work in their lives, and have honored them properly, keeping the memory of the Gods alive through art and philosophy, and here and there through the keeping of the Gods’ festivals. And now, in our darkest hour, more and more people are stepping into the light, seeing the Gods and honoring them. The Old Ways are coming back, in all their wonderful diversity. People are saying, “This horrible thing that you say should be enough – this modern life – I will have no part of it. I claim more from life, I want fullness, and real joy. And I will honor the Gods for the wonderful things they do, and because it is proper to honor them!”

The God who has remained the closest to man, and who is now so busy in our world, is Dionysos, the wild God of fluid nature, of wine and drunkenness, of madness and blessed release. He appears to people and helps them to truly see what life is about, waking them up from the terrible nightmare, and bringing them out to dance wild in the hills, where they can discover their true selves, and drink deeply of all that life has to offer, the bitter and the sweet. Dionysos transforms everything that he touches. He takes our suffering, and turns it into joy; he cracks the coward’s shell to let the wild Satyr free. Dionysos dissolves all boundaries: between people, between the worlds, between our souls and our body. Everything becomes unified in the sacred dance of the God.

Many people are feeling the call of Dionysos, though, perhaps, they do not always realize that it is Dionysos who is calling them. These people want to honor the God, but they are often alone, with no one else who has ever felt anything like they have, or they do not know the proper ways to worship Dionysos. Sure, they make do with their solitary devotions, but there is always the sense that there is something missing, that they need to gather with other worshippers, and perform the rituals as they once were for it to have meaning. This is why I believe the time is right to bring back the formal worship of Dionysos. I think that we need to create groups that will gather to learn about the God, and to observe his festivals. Groups to fellowship, to celebrate our shared experiences with Dionysos, to create a place where those experiences can happen. To bring back the revels, bring back the triennial feasts, bring back the wine festivals and sacred theater. To create new rituals in his honor. To go through the Mysteries once more.

I want to find a group of people to work with, to practice these rituals and undergo initiation with. There is so much I, myself, have to learn and experience. I want to learn trance techniques and experience states of ecstasy. I want to become transformed, to discover who I truly am, to feel the God rise up and take possession of me. I want to live the Mysteries, and I want to be there for others, and teach them how to do this, guide them along the path.

That is my goal, my dream, the thing I have dedicated my life to accomplishing. And while it is difficult – the pressure to do it right, the difficulty of breaking free of the inertia of a bad life, the fears and insecurity about whether it will ever actually happen – the rewards are well worth it. I cannot think of anything I would rather do. This is my True Will, the meaning of my life. Io euoi! Io Bacchus!

The Hudson Valley Bakcheion will be hosting our first public ritual in early January. If you’re going to be in the area and would like to join us, shoot me an email. 

Here are the central panels of the dual Dionysos shrines, waiting to be installed.

Bakcheios

Lusios

For perspective these panels are about 3 1/2 to 4 feet tall – which is gonna make for some big shrines. 

And here is Θηρώ (“beastly”) the taxidermy temple fox. (And my thyrsos, barely visible in the corner.) She is bringing a trophy of the hunt to her master Bassareos.

 

Pausanias, Description of Greece 2.2.5-7
The things worthy of mention in Corinth include the extant remains of antiquity, but the greater number of them belong to the period of its second ascendancy. On the market-place, where most of the sanctuaries are, stand Artemis surnamed Ephesian and wooden images of Dionysos, which are covered with gold with the exception of their faces; these are ornamented with red paint. They are called Lusios and Bakcheios, and I will now give the story told about them.

They say that Pentheus treated Dionysos spitefully, his crowning outrage being that he went to Cithaeron to spy upon the women, and climbing up a tree beheld what was done. When the women detected Pentheus, they immediately dragged him down, and joined in tearing him, living as he was, limb from limb. Afterwards, as the Corinthians say, the Pythian priestess commanded them by an oracle to discover that tree and to worship it equally with the God. For this reason they have made these images from the tree.

Damascius, Commentary on the Phaedo 1.11
Dionysos is the cause of release, whence the God is also called Lusios. And Orpheus says: “Men performing rituals will send hekatombs in every season throughout the year and celebrate festivals, seeking release from lawless ancestors. You, having power over them, whomever you wish you will release from harsh toil and the unending goad.”

Gold tablet from Pelinna
Now you have died and now you have been born, thrice blessed one, on this very day. Say to Persephone that Bakchios himself set you free. A bull you rushed to milk. Quickly, you rushed to milk. A ram you fell into milk. You have wine as your fortunate honor. And rites await you beneath the earth, just as the other blessed ones.

Herodotos, The Histories 4.79
Skyles conceived a desire to be initiated into the rites of Dionysos Bakcheios; and when he was about to begin the sacred mysteries, he saw the greatest vision. He had in the city of the Borysthenites a spacious house, grand and costly (the same house I just mentioned), all surrounded by sphinxes and griffins worked in white marble; this house was struck by a thunderbolt. And though the house burnt to the ground, Skyles none the less performed the rite to the end. Now the Skythians reproach the Greeks for this Bacchic revelling, saying that it is not reasonable to set up a God who leads men to madness. So when Skyles had been initiated into the Bacchic rite, some one of the Borysthenites scoffed at the Skythians, `You laugh at us, Skythians, because we play the Bacchant and the God possesses us; but now this deity has possessed your own king, so that he plays the Bacchant and is maddened by the God. If you will not believe me, follow me now and I will show him to you.’ The leading men among the Skythians followed him, and the Borysthenite brought them up secretly onto a tower; from which, when Skyles passed by with his company of worshipers, they saw him raving like a Bacchant; thinking it a great misfortune, they left the city and told the whole army what they had seen. After this Skyles rode off to his own place; but the Skythians rebelled against him. […] Sitalkes sent this message to Octamasadas, by a herald, and Octamasadas, with whom a brother of Sitalkes had formerly taken refuge, accepted the terms. He surrendered his own uncle to Sitalkes, and obtained in exchange his brother Skyles. Sitalkes took his brother with him and withdrew; but Octamasadas beheaded Skyles upon the spot. Thus rigidly do the Skythians maintain their own customs, and thus severely do they punish such as adopt foreign usages.

I am putting the finishing touches on my substantially redesigned temple space in preparation for Foundation Day, which will inaugurate Year Two of the Bakcheion. It will consist of a divination station, a shrine to the Retinue of Dionysos (including several allied divinities) and separate shrines to Dionysos Lusios and Dionysos Bakcheios.  Because I’m me I compiled playlists for each of them. Here are the Lusios and Bakcheios playlists, for your delectation.

Spiders blamed after broken siren played creepy nursery rhymes randomly at night to UK townsfolk

The range of this woman is extraordinary. 

Just – wow!

Rummelsnuff

I am often asked what the position of the Starry Bull tradition is with regard to metempsychosis or reincarnation.

We don’t have one.

This may strike some as peculiar since we place such a strong emphasis on eschatology but there is nothing within our system of belief which depends on or is refuted by reincarnation, therefore it remains a matter which each member must make their own decisions about. (An approach which, incidentally, reflects the custom of our ancient Bacchic Orphic predecessors who were in universal agreement on almost nothing.) For every quote you dig up that’s pro you can find another that’s con. Most, in fact, are so ambiguous that they can be read in any number of ways depending on the preferences of the interpreter.

I tend, for instance, to interpret many of these quotes as referring to metempsychosis but not reincarnation.

Originally this word meant the transfer of a soul from one body to another. Obviously reincarnation (wherein a person dies and their soul gets reborn in a different body) is a type of metempsychosis but it is not the only type. For instance it could also refer to things like sending one’s soul out to take possession of another person’s body, the transformation of an individual (whether here or in another realm) into an animal or bird, the generation of some kind of spiritual body or it could be a metaphor for the start of a new life and identity post initiation. None of these require the catalyst of a physical death.

Indeed, there are plenty of reasons to reject the notion of reincarnation, particularly as it is understood in the West so often with a radically reductionist view of the soul. The majority of ancient Greeks, whether they held to a more traditional Homeric view or aligned with marginal folks like Empedokles, Aristeas, Parmenides and Pythagoras, did not conceive of man as just a ghost in a fleshy machine. Man is made up of many parts, including various spiritual bodies and non-localized organs of intelligence, perception and emotion. Some of these are bound to the body until death and after; some may separate and roam free even in life; some only come into being once the person has crossed over to the other side. Which, of course, begs the question – if all of these different parts have different destinations how much of “you” gets recycled into a new body? And if everyone automatically gets reincarnated why do we make offerings to ancestors, heroes, daimones and restless spirits? For that matter, how can the dead walk the earth once more on Anthesteria, Lemuria, Samain, Día de Muertos or Yule? (Depending on your tradition and locale.)

Now, of course, none of these preclude at least some type of reincarnation from taking place (part of what we are going to simplistically refer to as the soul may go on to abide with the ancestors while a different part gets implanted into a gestating fetus) but that is largely irrelevant for the Bacchic Orphic who intends to spend at least some portion of eternity in drunken carousel with Dionysos and his Retinue. The whole point of initiation is to prepare us for that underworld journey and the dangers and obstacles we shall encounter upon the way. (It also keeps us whole so we can remember who we are.) There’s no lock on the door, however. You can wander off any time. Explore other parts of the underworld, or the endless corridors of the Labyrinth and all the places they lead; if you wanted, you could even put on another meatsuit and see again what exquisite pleasures and suffering the world of the living contains. Sometimes birth is a punishment for wicked deeds; sometimes an accident. And sometimes you enter at different points in the stream of time. (Like, what if past lives are actually future lives, man? *bong hit*)

Maybe. Maybe not.

I’d never pretend I have it all figured out. Hell, I wouldn’t want to know all the secret mechanics of life and shit even if I could.

That’d be boring.

So what do you think will happen when you die?