"Our long voyage of discovery is over and our bark has drooped her weary sails in port at last. Once more we take the road to Nemi."(The Golden Bough, 827)

Our last official day of class was lovely, though not untinged by the bitterness of parting. Though as Corrin observes in her final blog so wonderfully, we are mythologically fated never to part. In the words of Eliot we must be still and still moving into another intensity for a further union, a deeper communion, through the dark cold and the empty desolation.

Michelle's observation of her readings of Dawkins and Hitchins was as telling as Mary Sean's. It brings up the need for understanding what is true and what is True. These authors, militant atheists as they are, feel that religion(which at a fundamental level is indistinguishable from myth)must be combated for the evil it has done to the human race--which cannot be denied, because it does exist. The dark side of myth can be very dark. But Dawkins and Hitchins make the same error that religious fundamentalists of every stripe do. They treat something as "true" that really is "True". Eliade said that myth is a True Story. And so it is, and so resides the power and eternal relevance of it.

Kari has enjoyed this class enormously. The rest is silence--Great Silence!

"For it is a common belief that the effect of contact with a sacred object must be removed, by washing or otherwise, before a man is free to mingle with his fellows. Thus the Jews wash their hands after reading the sacred scriptures."(The Golden Bough: Osiris as a Pig)

Day two of presentations went swimmingly. Even though Melinda may have dreaded having so many presentations on Henderson the Rain king, this was unfounded due to the sheer variety of interpretations that people came up with. Great presentation with a great aid, by the way Melinda.

I was impressed particularly with Mary Sean's presentation on what she had learned; namely, that mythology did not threaten her Catholicism but actually complimented it in a deeply enriching way(it probably should be said, if your faith was threatened or destroyed by hearing stories from Ovid or reading about the ritualistic killing of the King in Frazer, than your faith probably wasn't that deep to begin with). Her's paired nicely with Sally's on her own personal life expectations of literal eschatology and coming to understand that the world is actually ending all the time and we just didn't know it. This is illuminated by a line of Gerard Manly Hopkins': "Each day dies with sleep."

Way to go everyone, and read blogs for the final exam!

"We are told that in Chios men were rent in pieces as a sacrifice to Dionysus; and since they died the same as their god, it is reasonable to suppose that they personated him. The story that the Thracian Orpheus was similarly torn limb from limb by the Bacchanals seems to indicate that he too perished in the character of the god whose death he died."(The Golden Bough, 439-440)

Concerned as I am with Orpheus and the endurance of his myth, but mostly for the sake of my own petty pleasure, I thought I would do a blog here about the film Moulin Rouge(Baz Luhrmann, 2001) and how it stands as an adaptation of the Orphic story.

Luhrmann's movie is a story within a story(featuring a play within a play within the story within the story--a frame narrative!--) told by a poet with a genius gift for song, Christian(played by Ewan MacGregor). The way in which his creative power is expressed is through late 20th century pop/rock songs. The film's nominal setting is Paris at the beginning of the 20th century(a faint hint of the millennial, perhaps?). Shortsighted critics have complained about this being "unrealistic". They misunderstand--it is a unabashedly a created world, but a created world made accessible and immediate by the use of familiar songs.

The Eurydice to Christian's Orpheus is Satine(Nicole Kidman), chief courtesan at the Moulin Rouge nightclub, which serves as the Underworld(with Jim Broadbent's impresario Harold Zidler standing in as Hades). The tradition of Bohemian fin de siecle literature is acknowledged here as well--Dumas fils' La Dame Aux Camellias is a clear precursor, as are the films Camille and Children of Paradise--. As in the Greco-Roman story, our artist hero loses his true love to death, and is left to tell the story. And it is through telling the story that the immortality that the lovers couldn't achieve literally is reached anagogically. Art is the only form of lasting union that can be achieved("I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secrets of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita." Lightbulbs anyone?) This is an undeniable component of the Orpheus story; even if the greatest artist in the world is only human and cannot live forever, the beauty of their creation can. Or to quote the final lines of the film: "Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. And then, one not so very special day, I went to my typewriter. I sat down, and I wrote our story. A story about a time, a story about a place, a story about the people. But above all things a story about love. A love that will live forever."

Maybe Kari is babbling on senselessly. But I still think that something is here of substance.

"We are now in a position to hazard a conjecture as to the meaning of the tradition that Virbius, the first of the divine Kings of the Wood at Aricia, had been killed in the character of Hippolytus by horses." (The Golden Bough, 552)

Today was the first day of group presentations. Groups 1,2 and 3 were all entertaining, and appropriately so, since the trope of games cropped up in all of their performances. Group 4 will have an interesting challenge when our time comes, as it always does.

Individual presentations begin next week, I will be in the first batch to go. My paper is most likely going to be an examination of the Orphean myth, likely giving particular emphasis on a modern film adaptation of it, Baz Lurhmann's Moulin Rouge(which is one of Kari's favorite movies--perhaps a petty motivation). I shall see what I can do, in any case.

"In Siam it used to be difficult to ascertain the king's real name, since it was carefully kept secret from fear of sorcery; any one who mentioned it was clapped into gaol." (The Golden Bough, 299)

We wrapped up the one minute Ovid presentations, which were very entertaining, I thought. It can be said(well actually said by Mr. Sexson) that The Metamorphoses is one of the exemplar examples in the annual of Mythologies of Text, where the litmus test for greatness becomes this: does this text have everything in the world in it or not? Obviously, there are few books that could pass this test truthfully. But then again, if you think it's mythological, that makes it so(there is a poem by Wallace Stevens called Anything Is Beautiful If You Say It Is which gets at pretty much the same thing). If you can find everything that there is to be found in the Bible, for example, than the Bible becomes the book that contains absolutely everything--like in The Secret of Kells--.

But you have to be able to bring everything to any text. It's a matter of right perception again. Just as you must percieve the metaphorical meaning of Apocalypse, so you must perceive the possibility of finding everything in a text. You than become what Eliade would describe as a "specialist in ecstasy". Which means you truly have gone off the deep end. But that's just so it goes.

"By the advice of the god of wisdom she took refuge in the papyrus swamps of the Delta. Seven scorpions accompanied her in her flight." (The Golden Bough, 422)

This Apocalyptic imagery of this passage has hopefully been noted. Because we have to make a distinction between literal eschatology(where, if you are idiot friends of my mother's, you believe that there is a specific historical time and moment where the world comes to an end once and for all) and mythical apocalypse(which is the end of the way you used to see the world). Do those who believe in a literal Apocalypse know they are engaging in a deep mythological patterns that run deeper than they can comprehend? Do college boys drink beer?

We also discussed the vast influence of The Golden Bough, throughout literary history, and also in terms of popular culture: it's one of the three books that Curtz has in his room in Apocalypse Now, alongside Jessie Weston's From Ritual to Romance(heavily influenced by GB) and the Bible.

We also prepared questions for the test, which will be apocalyptic for all of us, I am sure.

"Herodotus tells us that the grave of Osiris was at Sais in Lower Egypt, and that there was a lake there upon which the sufferings of the god were displayed as a mystery by night." (The Golden Bough, p. 433)

This a belated blog about Thursday's splendid class, which dealt with eschatology and apocalypse(which may or may not be the same thing) and the unavoidable reality of sadness. The possible truth arises that we can only deal with sadness by attempting to transmute it into beauty. This isn't a justification or a vindication, it is simply all that we can do. And every now and then we actually succeed! It may be as Freud said, that we laugh to keep from crying. But then we have those indelible moments of crying and laughing at the same time--which it turns out there is nearly a word for: dacrygelosis, or alternate laughing and crying. Thank you Rio!

I also had a lightbulb moment when we were discussing Finnegans Wake, and the motif of female memory in mythology. How the male "forgets" when he falls asleep for the winter or dies or what have you. When he awakens, he has forgotten everything. But She has not. She has to make him remember that he is her lover, father brother... and this is going to go on endlessly and it makes her infinitely weary.

Well, it reminded me of this 40's Hollywood movie called Random Harvest, starring Greer Garson and Ronald Colman. Its about an amnesiac soldier who falls in love with a dance hall girl but then is hit on the head, remembers who he really is(a powerful industry tycoon) and goes back to his old life, forgetting her. She than goes to work for him, trying to make him remember. Talk about a tear-jerker! Anyway, I just realized that it was true; mythology is everywhere. Random Harvest and Finnegans Wake are united in common mythos, strange as it may be.

I am also going to be writing about the Orphean myth for my term paper, which makes me twitch with anticipation.