As we approach another sabbat, this is a reminder of how beautiful our universe is.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
I'm attending the joint annual meeting of the Society for Classical Studies and the Archaeological Institute of America in New Orleans from January 6 to 11th 2015 (really excited to finally be going to New Orleans!). I'm on a panel called Greek Shamanism Reconsidered, and I'm presenting a paper titled "Trance-former/Performer: shamanic elements in Late Bronze Age Minoan cult". Here's the abstract:
The religion of Late Bronze Age Minoan Crete was characterised by several features that can be termed “shamanic”. These include ecstatic trance, dialogue with spirits, divine possession, the traversing of other worlds within a tripartite vertical cosmology, and therianthropic metamorphosis. Such activities were publically performed at cult sites situated upon mountains and within caves, as well as at urban locations. In addition they were engraved upon gold signet rings and stone seals, thus the events were both recorded and advertised through the multiplication of images associated with the Minoan administrative sealing process. Initially interpreted in the early twentieth century as blanket depictions of possession, Minoan cult procedure was characterised as involving the ingestion of psychotropic substances, the arrival of a possessing deity in the form of a bird, and the subsequent possession of the human participant – all of which manifested in frenzied dancing signifying a loss of control (Evans, 1901). Later scholars modified this diagnosis of possession, suggesting that rather than being “out of control” the scenes depict altered states of consciousness in which participants underwent non-ordinary bodily states but which were not necessarily characterised by the loss of control suggested by the term “possession” (Morris and Peatfield, 2002). Analysis of “shamanic” activity within Minoan religion can be more precise however. This paper argues that, along with images of classic ecstatic possession, glyptic art also depicts scenes of entasy in which spirits appear outside human figures, soul journeys to different realms, and the subjective trance experience itself. Three types of evidence will be used to support this contention: glyptic art, architecture, and the Minoan landscape. The main focus will be on miniature glyptic scenes on gold rings and stone seals. These depict images in which male and female figures exhibit extensive motor behaviour such as dancing and violently shaking trees, and alternately calm, contemplative visionary states whilst leaning over baetylic stones. Human figures also communicate with tiny airborne human and animal figures, see hovering abstract forms, and undergo possession by, and subsequently enact the role of, deities. These performances occur within the natural landscape, at peak or rural sanctuaries, in caves, and at urban sites. Scenes depicting the subjective trance state, shapeshifting, metamorphosis and therianthropic hybridisation will also be analysed. Architectonised versions of peak and cave sanctuaries such as stepped platforms, tripartite shrines, column shrines and pillar crypts, which evoke the idea of a central world axis through referencing trees, pillars and mountains, and incorporate the vertical cosmology of the Minoans within an urban environment, will also be examined.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Readers of London pal, Ethan Doyle White's, blog Albion Calling, may have seen the recent interview with Professor Ronald Hutton there in which he, among other things, discusses his book on Shamanism. He says there were two reasons why he wrote a book on Shamanism, the second reason being "Carlo Ginzburg's promotion of a universal archaic shamanism as a key influence on early modern images of witchcraft." We all know who Carlo Ginzburg is, right? Author of books useful to modern Witches such as The Night Battles, originally published under the title I benandanti, and particularly Ecstasies: Deciphering the Witches' Sabbath, originally published as Storia notturna: Una decifrazione del Sabba.
Ginzburg's work is often cited by Pagans as some sort of "proof" regarding Witches that counters Hutton's and other sceptical Witchcraft historians' work. But there is no need to polarise the approaches. It's not really an "either-or" situation. Historians of Witchcraft - including Ginzburg - are discussing this, that is Ginzburg's theories of Witchcraft, and there are published results from the Harvard Colloquium Nocturnal Histories: Witchcraft and the Shamanic Legacy of Pre-Christian Europe. I have a copy of this if anyone wants it.
The history of Witchcraft is an ongoing project, and as you can see from Hutton's latest interview there is some pretty interesting scholarship fermenting away right now at Bristol. (Can't wait for that!) Anyway, the main purpose of this blog post is to direct readers to an interesting review essay on Ginzburg by Perry Anderson at the London Review of Books (yes its old, but still worthwhile to get an understanding of Ginzburg's methodology), also a review of Storia Notturna (from 1990, and only partial unless you subscribe, but still interesting).
Friday, May 23, 2014
I have a paper in the upcoming conference, New Antiquities: transformations of the past in the New Age and beyond, happening in Berlin in June 2014.
The conference focuses on the twentieth century surge of fascination with the religious culture of the ancient Mediterranean, whose allure was appropriated in innovative ways by various actors and movements ranging from Rudolf Steiner to Goddess-cult(ure)s, from Neo-Gnostics in Brazil to the Russian New Age.
In these diverse interpretations and productive misunderstandings of antiquity, ancient gods, philosophers, religious specialists, sacred institutions, practices, and artifacts were invoked, employed, and even invented in order to legitimise new developments in religious life. Focusing on the contemporary period (from the 1960s to the present day), the goal is to identify these appropriations and changes of ancient religious life. Conference papers will address transformations of the past in the literature and cultural discourse of the New Age and beyond, extending into movements such as Neo-Paganism and Neo-Gnosticism.
My paper is titled: "The Artifice of Daedalus: Modern Minoica as religious focus in contemporary Paganism", and this is the abstract:
That human society was peaceful, matriarchal and goddesses-worshipping during the Upper Palaeolithic period (45,000–10,000 years ago) until around 3000 BCE with the rise of patriarchy is a common belief within both the modern feminist Goddess Movement and contemporary Paganism. This gynocentric utopia is thought to have reached its height during the Neolithic period (ca. 9500–4000 BCE) but subsequently degenerated, its “last flowering” occurring during the Bronze Age in Minoan Crete (3000–1450 BCE) where it was eventually extinguished by the patriarchal Mycenaean Greeks.
This paper examines the representation of Minoan Crete within the literature of the feminist Goddess Movement from the 1970s up to the present day. In addition it investigates the utilisation of outdated and erroneous interpretations of Minoan religion within the separatist feminist practice of Dianic witchcraft, the predominantly female pursuit of goddess tourism and pilgrimage, and the formation of the male-only Neo-Pagan group, the Minoan Brotherhood. Analysis and critique of the interpretation of Minoan material culture by these groups demonstrates that these archaeological objects are interpreted in a highly ideological manner in order to support both contemporary religious belief and magical practice. That such interpretations often have little to do with actual Minoan religion is emphasised by focussing upon a group of the most important and evocative feminist icons of the Minoan past: the faience and ivory “snake goddesses”. Recent scholarship has demonstrated that these objects range from being heavily reconstructed to outright forgeries and consequently are not reliable representatives of ancient Minoan religion.
The interpretation of “goddesses” for these figurines can be located within the early twentieth century Hellenist intellectual milieu of the Cambridge Ritualists, particularly Jane Ellen Harrison, herself heavily influenced by Sir James Frazer and his model of a Great Mother Goddess and her Dying and Rising consort. The projection back in time of mythical characters from Homeric literature and classical myth onto the non-Greek Minoans, taken for granted as acceptable practice amongst Goddess worshippers today, can be located in Sir Arthur Evans’ early twentieth century interpretation of Minoan Crete. The use of Minoan artefacts of questionable authenticity along with an interpretative reliance upon outdated scholarship by modern Goddess worshippers means that their rituals, festivals and tours function as heterochronies, conceptually transporting participants to an idealised, imaginary past that provides aesthetic compensation for the imperfect world of today.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
The description of the end of the world in Scandinavian myth is found in the Völuspá, which is part of the Poetic Edda. The rooster, Goldcomb, wakes the heroes in Odin’s hall who come forth to fight. Heimdall’s horn sounds the alarm, and Mimir’s [oracular] head tells Odin that the end is nigh. The Rainbow Bridge between Asgard and Midgard crumbles to dust and the cosmic tree, Yggdrasil, shakes. One by one the gods go forth to fight the various menaces that spring up, and then they die. The wolves that ate the sun and moon run free and darkness covers the world… Eventually the chaos ends and
She [the seeress of the Völuspá] sees the earth rising again / out of the waters, green once more; / an eagle flies over rushing waterfalls, / hunting for fish from the craggy heights.
So, is this what happened in the final opera of Wagner’s Ring? Kind of. As I said in a previous post, this opera is not a re-telling of traditional myth but a new story based upon components of Scandinavian and Teutonic myth. I’ve explained the plot of Götterdämmerung below, so now that its all over, I’ll provide my impressions of the Melbourne Ring Cycle overall.
As I said in my previous post, this is a non-traditional, post-modern production. There are no “heroic” Norse-style references either in costume or set design. I understand that sometimes these can seem cliché and predictable, however I can’t say that I am a fan of the complete absence of a heroic – as in elaborate and over-the-top – look of Neil Armfield’s vision for the Melbourne Ring.
While generally the stage design is interesting, what with taxidermied animals, a big spiral ramp that linked Asgard to Midgard, and I especially liked Acts I and II of Siegfried in particular the treatment of Fafner, and in Götterdämmerung the way Siegfried’s corpse was dealt with, on the other hand, the overall look of the production is sparse. But by that I do not mean minimalist, which is another aesthetic kettle of fish entirely.
By “sparse” I mean that the design attitude seems to be “how can we reduce this?” – possibly a decision made so as to communicate the essence of the scenes as directly as possible. The equivalent of using as few words as possible in a sentence. Consequently, whenever anything visually interesting does appear, one devours it – and there certainly are some eye-catching components of this opera.
However….the costumes are mainly vile. Could everyone look any plainer? (Especially you, Norns!) OK, there is a bit of gold in the garments of Freia and the wood bird, that’s fine, but the decision to costume everyone else in “regular” street clothing is just visually boring. Camp it up, I say! I think the approach to the costumes may have been an overall design strategy in which the music and singing – both heroic and enormous – were foregrounded, well, that’s fine, this is opera after all, and the costumes were subdued in order to avoid the charge of sensory overdose. But I don’t think this would have been a problem, not for me anyway.
Opera is not just about the music and singing, otherwise there wouldn’t be acting as well. There are a million things that could be done with costumes for this opera. I think the drabness of the Melbourne Ring costumes – as, I suspect, an attempt to tone down the Huge Mythic Themes of this particular opera – isn’t doing it any favours. Turn It Up, I say! And it’s not a matter of introducing more sparkly lamé, or necessarily full-on traditional “Norse” style costumes (as much as I like them); it’s about matching the look with the story and the sound – all of which are larger than life. All Of Which!
The costumes of the Valkyries win my vote for Most Atrocious. I really don’t want or need to see ugly, plain, military shirts and pants on a Valkyrie. I see enough of that on the television news. Do it if you must, costume designer Alice Babidge, but at least exchange the blands-ville cotton drill for sequins. Being “contemporary” and “realistic” is so ordinary. It’s also patronising to the audience, Oh, we’re too dumb to draw parallels between pre-industrial and modern warfare. Thanks for really explaining that to us.
The set design is better than the costumes. In Act I of Das Rheingold there was even a copy of the original painted backdrop used at Bayreuth – through which the giants Fasolt and Fafner smashed on their cherry pickers. This production was supposed to have an “environmental” message, and so it did, which I guess was basically a bit of an updating of the allegorical message of Wagner’s time – but it was only evident up to and including the second opera, Die Walküre. Then it entirely petered out.
The message was conveyed through the use of the taxidermied animals, some of which were endangered or extinct – a Tasmanian Tiger! – which appeared in crates, as though they’d been lent by the museum and hadn’t been unpacked. At other times they descended from above and hung in the midst of the spiral “car park ramp”. There was also a slightly tawdry Las Vegas visual sub-theme, which while thematically puzzling and incongruous, actually added bit of prettiness – even though it jarred with the rest of the visual theme(s).
So much for what the Melbourne Ring looks like – but what does it SOUND like? Well, impressive. I can’t do justice to it here so you will have to attend an opera or listen to a recording. What I’ve noticed in attending this live mega-opera, and which completely eluded me when listening to a recording or watching a film, is the way the music is continuous – no gaps in between in which to applaud a feat of virtuoso singing. The audience is silent throughout until the end of each act when there’s room for clapping. I also found that I could recognise the leitmotifs – musical motives associated with characters, objects, events and emotions. Hearing these is probably extremely obvious to a Wagner expert, but in my case it probably helped enormously that I had done reading about and listening to The Ring in the fortnight up to the start of the opera.
And then of course there’s the singing… Although I’ve been attending opera performances since around 1990, in varying degrees of intensity – sometimes several in a year, sometimes none for a decade or so – I’m not what could be described as a super-enthusiast or devotee (obviously, otherwise I’d be going all the time), nor am I an expert on opera singing. Fortunately, in this case I attended The Ring with my expert friend, who is a super-enthusiast and devotee, and who filled me in on the nuances of the voices and music, and the successes and failures of the singers and orchestra, while I felt more comfortable critiquing the costumes and sets.
In regard to the Melbourne Ring, my expert friend's assessment was that while Susan Bullock is not a true Brunnhilde and is working with a diminished vocal range, hers was an intelligent, studied characterisation. He thought that Stefan Vinke (Siegfried) was indefatigable in his delivery and that he met the taxing demands of the music on his upper register, and overall, that Terje Stensvold's (Wotan) was the most convincing performance. While I can certainly hear obvious shrieks or croaks when voices misfire, I’m less aurally attuned to whether a singer is singing properly or shouting, so I’m fortunate to have my expert friend filling me in. I take his word for it regarding the quality of individual singers and try and listen more closely.
Besides immersing myself in an enormous visual and aural artistic experience, another reason I attended the Melbourne Ring is because I am interested in the “Reception” of myth, in this case Scandinavian and Teutonic myth, as expressed through the lens of German Romanticism. Also, I adore the 19th century, particularly in regards to the utilisation of aspects of the ancient world. So much of 19th century thinking about the ancient world has been influential on the 20th century, and into the 21st, both in its initial acceptance and then regarding the critique(s) thereof. Plus, I actually like opera, but I definitely prefer the more serious, mythic type – such as The Ring – to frivolous and unimportant ditzy operas.
So, now I’ve seen an entire Ring, and my, how actually attending a performance filled in all the gaps that I didn’t even notice were there by just listening to it or watching a film. Now I’m wiser in the ways of Wagner, a little bit. Overall, did I enjoy The Melbourne Ring? Helrunar Yes!
Monday, December 2, 2013
Over the last week I have spent almost 14 hours at the Melbourne Arts Centre in order to attend the first three operas of Richard Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen, and there is another 6.5 hour one (that includes 2 intervals) tomorrow night. All up that will total 20 hours and 20 minutes of immersion in German opera within one week – no wonder I’m dreaming about it as well.
Der Ring des Nibelungen
So what is Der Ring des Nibelungen? In English the title means “The Ring of the Nibelung” – a Nibelung being a particular kind of dwarf, or black elf. If this reminds you of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings that would not be surprising seeing as Tolkien was familiar with Wagner’s Germanic and Scandinavian source material: the Nibelungenlied and the Völsunga Saga.
Although both Wagner’s and Tolkien’s works feature a cursed ring of power, a dragon on a golden hoard, a broken sword, an old man with a hat and staff, and a game of riddles, according to Tolkien himself when asked about the similarity of his work to Wagner’s he replied that “Both rings were round, and there the resemblance ceases.” Well, that’s debatable.
Wagner’s Ring consists of four operas, or one opera in four parts, designed to be performed on successive nights in a festival atmosphere. As William Berger explains, The Ring is
“a German Romantic view of Norse and Teutonic myth influenced by Greek tragedy and a Buddhistic sense of destiny told with a socio-political deconstruction of contemporary society, a psychological study of motivation and action, and a blueprint for a new approach to music and theatre.”
From my preparatory background reading on The Ring, that sounds about right.
The Four Operas
The four parts of The Ring are: Das Rheingold, Die Walküre, Siegfried, and Götterdämmerung. Featuring recognisable characters from the Norse pantheon: celestial gods, demi-gods, chthonic powers, and heroes, The Ring does not re-tell particular Scandinavian and Germanic myths in its ring-like or spirally-structured narrative, but modifies and re-combines elements thereof in order to tell its own story.
The opera begins with Das Rheingold, actually the Vorabend (“fore-evening”, or prologue) to The Ring. At only about 2.5 hours, this is the shortest of the four operas and was designed without an interval. No problem, who needs a break at this early stage? Actual content and the full story can be read about elsewhere so I will just cover the basics.
The opera opens with three Rhinemaidens (Lorelai) swimming about in the River Rhine. An ugly dwarf (Alberich) is initially attracted to them, but after one of them blurts out information on the powers of the Rheingold they are guarding (the possessor of it can rule the world), the dwarf switches his affections from the Rhinemaidens to their gold, and steals it.
In the next scene Wotan (Odin) and Fricka (Frigg) discuss the fact that Wotan promised the giants, Fasolt and Fafner, Fricka’s sister Freia (Freya) as payment for the giants building Valhalla. In order to stop this transaction Wotan needs to provide something in Freia’s stead. Cunning fire deity, Loge (Loki), tells Wotan about Alberich stealing the Rheingold, Wotan wants this and he and Loge descend to Nibelheim, home of the dwarves deep in the earth, to get the Ring and also a hoard of gold with which to pay the giants – instead of paying them with Freia. The giants keep Freia as a hostage until the gold arrives and with her removal from Asgard (where the gods live) they begin to age as they do not have access to her golden apples of youth (actually Idunn’s apples in myth).
Wotan and Loge trick the gold out of Alberich, including the Ring, return, and swap the gold for Freya. Wotan wants to keep the Ring however, but the giants insist that he include it in the deal. Erda the Earth Goddess appears and prophesies that only bad things will result from keeping the Ring. Wotan capitulates and includes the Ring in the exchange with the giants. They then argue between themselves and Fafner kills his brother Fasolt.
See! Bad things come from possessing the Ring! At least Freia is back with the gods. Donner (Thor) causes a thunderstorm, Fro (Frey) commands a rainbow to appear which the gods then use as a bridge (Bifröst) via which they ascend to Valhalla, leaving Loge behind (because here he is only a demi-god).
Das Rheingold’s Sources
As I’ve mentioned above, Wagner’s Ring does not propose to be a re-telling of Norse myth. But in what way is it different? Mythic material in The Ring was sourced primarily from three Scandinavian and two German sources. The Scandinavian material includes the Völsunga Saga (Icelandic, 13th century CE), the Poetic or Elder Edda (particularly the Völuspá), and Snorri Sturluson’s Prose Edda. The German sources include the Nibelungenlied (Middle High German epic poem), and Thidrik’s Saga of Bern.
The Ring also includes some minor content deriving from other sources: Das Lied vom hürnen Seyfrid, The Märchen of the Brothers Grimm, Die deutsche Heldensage of Wilhelm Grimm, The Deutsche Mythologie of Jacob Grimm, Karl Lachmannís Kritik der Sage von den Nibelungen, the Norna-Gests tháttr, and Friedrich Heinrich von der Hagenís introduction to the first edition of the Poetic Edda.
In regards to Das Rheingold in particular, all traditional content comes from the Prose Edda. This consists of the Andvari story, the builder story, and the Apples of Idunn – the former two which appear in different forms in the Poetic Edda and the Völsunga Saga. Modifications of myth within Wagner's opera are certainly evident, and these include things such as Freya (a Vanir) being the “sister” of Fricka (an Æsir). I’ve already mentioned that Idunn is the keeper of the golden apples, not Freya, and nor is Loki only a demi-god in myth, he is a full deity. In other ways however, the work is faithful to the myth: Freya was a frequent pawn in marriage negotiations, with three giants trying to marry her.
The next opera in the Cycle is Die Walküre. This is the one with the famous “Ride of the Valkyries” that everyone knows – but it doesn’t occur (in full) until Act III. The back story to this opera is that Wotan, intrigued by Erda’s prophesying, followed her in order to find out more, had sex with her and sired nine Valkyries. A Valkyrie is a type of Battle Maiden – think of the Irish Morrigan. Brunnhilde, who features as a major character in this opera, is Wotan’s favourite Valkyrie.
Between Rheingold and Die Walküre Wotan also sired a twin boy and girl, Siegmund and Sieglinde, on a mortal woman. Eventually the twins are separated, only to meet again as adults and fall in love. At the house of Sieglinde and Hunding, the husband Sieglinde is unhappily married to, Siegmund pulls a sword out of a tree (in Arthurian fashion!) that had initially been placed there by Wotan in disguise. Sieglinde recognises that Siegmund is the man who will free her from her unhappy marriage, and they run away together.
Fricka, as goddess of marriage is affronted by this and demands that Wotan remove his protection from Siegmund so that when Hunding pursues and attacks him, he will die. Wotan capitulates unwillingly to Fricka’s demand and instructs the Valkyrie, Brunnhilde, to appear to Siegmund – which normally means certain death – and to bring him to Valhalla after he has been killed.
Brunnhilde confronts Siegmund and Sieglinde but is so impressed by Sigemund’s devotion to Sieglinde that she disobeys Wotan and attempts to save Siegmund, thinking that this was what Wotan really wanted after all anyway. Unfortunately this all goes pear-shaped, Siegmund is killed by Hunding, Wotan kills Hunding, and Brunnhilde has to flee with Sieglinde, who we now learn is pregnant. Brunnhilde goes to her sister Valkyries with Wotan in hot pursuit, initially the other Valkyries try and protect her but Wotan scares them off.
Sieglinde escapes “to the East” and Wotan then punishes Brunnhilde for her disobedience – I think completely unreasonably – and removes her divinity, rendering her mortal. Brunnhilde is condemned to sleep on a mountain, prey to any wandering man. Brunnhilde manages to negotiate and win the promise that, rather than any man, only a true hero will be able to “take” her. The opera ends with Wotan leaving Brunnhilde asleep within a circle of flame.
Die Walküre’s Sources
It was in this opera that I was struck by how much Wotan and Fricka remind me of the Greek Zeus and Hera, and Brunnhilde of Athena. The primary sources for this opera are the Völsunga Saga and the Poetic Edda. Siegmund is based on Sigmund, and Sieglinde is based on Signy and Hjordis from the Völsunga Saga, while Hunding comes from the Poetic Edda and Fricka is based on “The Lay of Grimnir” from the Poetic Edda. Brunnhilde is a combination of the cold and immortal Valkyries of the early Poetic Edda, and the human warrior princess from the later Poetic Edda and the Saga, in which she is the daughter of a human king.
The third opera in the cycle is Siegfried. He is the child of the Völsung Twins, Siegmund and Sieglinde. The back story to this opera is that Sieglinde, pregnant, was found and sheltered by a dwarf – Mime, the brother of Alberich who we met previously in Rheingold. Sieglinde died giving birth and Mime raised the child, Siegfried, ostensibly through pure charity, but in actual fact so that Siegfried could gain the Ring for him which is currently in the possession of the giant Fafner, now transformed into a dragon. After this is accomplished Mime will have no qualms about killing Siegfried.
Mime is a smith, but every sword he makes for the young Siegfried easily smashes. Mime eventually produces the shattered parts of the sword (named Nothung) that belonged to Siegfried’s father Siegmund, and which Sieglinde brought with her. Siegfried himself re-forges the shattered pieces into a sword. He then goes to the forest, slays Fafner, finds the Ring (and the Tarnhelm), gains the ability to understand bird-talk, slays Mime, and goes off to find Brunnhilde on her fiery rock that the helpful wood bird told him about. On the way he is confronted by Wotan (who had previously had another encounter with Erda), Siegfried smashes Wotan’s’ staff, and proceeds up the mountain to awaken the slumbering Brunnhilde, and they fall in love.
Siegfried is really quite an unlikable personality in this opera, however I expect that it is because of his “heroic” character – he’s arrogant and intolerant, but that’s because, so far, everyone disappoints and disgusts him. If one had not done background reading, it may seem that Mime was hard done by – at least initially before he and Siegfried go to the forest – when really he is the (well, a) villain.
The story of Siegfried derives from the Poetic Edda, the Prose Edda, and the Völsunga Saga. Act I combines the Siegfried stories from the Eddas, the Völsunga Saga and Thidriks Saga. Act II derives from “The Lay of Fafnir” from the Poetic Edda and portions of the Völsunga Saga. Wotan’s awakening of is modelled on “Balder’s Dreams” in the Poetic Edda, and the awakening of Brunnhilde comes from the Völsunga Saga and “The Lay of Sigrdrifa” from the Prose Edda.
The final opera is Götterdämmerung, which means “sunset”, “twilight” or “dusk” “of the gods”. As I write this I have not yet seen a live performance but only a film screening of the Met Opera’s 2011 production. I’ll see the live version tomorrow night. This is the longest of the Ring operas, and the audience has to arrive in time for a 4pm start!
Frankly, I find the story here becomes quite frustrating. As we recall from Siegfried, as a punishment for her disobedience to Wotan,Brunnhilde has been demoted to “mortal”, and confined in a ring of fire on a mountain top until a brave and worthy warrior awakens her. Siegfried was this hero and now they are an item (even though she is technically his aunt). So, after this horrible removal of her divinity by Wotan and her twenty-year long sleep, are things now looking rosy for Brunnhilde? No!
The opera begins with a scene in which the Three Norns (in myth, named Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld) are spinning the rope of destiny. The Norns used to live underneath Yggdrasil, the World Ash Tree, until Wotan came and cut his staff from the tree, causing it to wither. The tree has since been cut down and its logs piled around the walls of Valhalla. Wotan has given up trying to influence events now – he actually gave up when he said goodbye to Brunnhilde, and he accepts the inevitable demise of the gods – a theme deriving from Norse myth, as depicted in the Völuspá, a part of the Poetic Edda.
It is not clear how long Brunnhilde and Siegfried have actually been together, but in this opera she is happy for him to go off and seek other adventures. Brunnhilde, now an unadventurous mortal woman, stays on the flame-encircled rock wearing Siegfried’s ring – The Ring! – while he takes her horse and journey’s up the Rhine toward the Gibichung’s Hall. Here, regular mortals, Gunther, his sister Gutrune, and their half-brother Hagen (fathered by the dwarf Alberich), are in conversation about reputation, titles and marriage.
Hagen, a plotter, suggests that Gunther marry a remarkable woman he knows about called Brunnhilde who is currently ensconced up on a rock surrounded by fire, and that Gutrune win the hero Siegfried’s heart so that he will go and win Brunnhilde for Gunther – Gunther and Gutrune are unaware that Brunnhilde and Siegfried are already an item, but Hagen knows. No sooner do they mention Siegfried than he actually appears at their hall. Gutrune gives him a love potion and he instantly forgets Brunnhilde and falls instead for Gutrune. Siegfried and Gunther make a blood pact, and then set off for Brunnhilde's rock.
Meanwhile, Brunnhilde has received a visit from one of her Valkyrie sisters, Waltraute, who tries to convince her to part with the Ring so it can be returned to the Rhinemaidens. Brunnhilde refuses and Waltraute subsequently leaves. Siegfried, with the Tarnhelm on his head and disguised as Gunther, then appears, penetrates the flame, and claims Brunnhilde as his (“Gunther’s”) wife.
After spending the night in a cave with the sword, Nothung, between them for purposes of chastity, Siegfried forces Brunnhilde to come to the Gibechung’s Hall where there will be a double wedding: she and Gunther, and (unbeknownst to her yet) Siegfried and Guturne. In the meantime, Hagen has been visited in his dreams by his father, the dwarf Alberich, who instructed him to destroy Siegfried and get the Ring.
Once back at the Gibechung’s Hall, Brunnhilde is understandably horrified, even more so when she realised it was Siegfried who betrayed her and who appears now not to even recognise her. She then becomes (understandably) vengeful, plotting with Hagen as to how Siegfried can be defeated (by stabbing him in his magically unprotected back). This is planned to occur in the morning when the men are out boar hunting.
The next day Siegfried, out on the boar hunt, runs into the Rhinemaidens and almost returns the Ring to them, but in the end doesn’t. He is killed soon after by Hagen and his body brought back to the Hall. Hagen attempts to take the Ring at this stage, but Siegfried’s arm mysteriously rises and he recoils in fear.
Brunnhilde now mourns Siegfried, demands a funeral pyre be built, takes the Ring and puts it on her own finger, telling the Rhinemaidens to come and claim it from the ashes of the pyre. After the pyre is lit, Brunnhilde rides her horse into it to die with Siegfried, the Rhine’s waters wash up to the ashes of the pyre, Hagen tries to take the Ring again but the Rhinemaidens drown him. They then take back the Ring, the waters recede, and Valhalla can be seen burning in the background. Valhalla crumbles and the world begins anew.
The Norns in this opera derive from several mythic sources where in each case they are responsible for the fates of mortals: the Völuspá in the Poetic Edda, the “Lay of Grimnir”, and in “The First Lay of Helgi Hunding’s Bane”. The rest of the material from the Prologue comes from the Poetic Edda, the Völsunga Saga, and Thidriks Saga. Act I mainly derives form the Nibelungenlied and the Völsunga Saga. In Act II the relationship between Hagen and Alberich is invented by Wagner, having no mythological basis, and the remainder of the Act derives from the Nibelungenlied and the Völsunga Saga, as does the content of Act II.
The Ring in Melbourne
This year, 2013, marks the 100th anniversary of the first performances in Melbourne of Wagner’s Ring in its entirety. It is only the second Australian, fully-staged production and like the 2004 Adelaide Ring, is being mounted as a full cycle (all four operas – sometimes only one or two are staged per year). At a cost of $20 million, the Melbourne Ring is apparently the most expensive project seen on Australian operatic stages. Directed by Neil Armfield, this is a non-traditional (meaning non-“Norse” set and costumes – no Valkyries with horned helmets etc), post-modern production, that I think, has its good and bad points.
The operas are extremely long, 5 – 6 hours, with 2 intervals each in Die Walküre, Siegfried and Götterdämmerung, and they start really early, around 5pm. This means that it is necessary to bring a picnic (or have pre-ordered special Ring hampers) in order to have one’s dinner at the first interval. The operas finish late too, so if one drinks celebratory champagne afterwards it can increase one’s overall tiredness the next day – and there is only one day in between in which to recover. Today is my recovery day in between Siegfried (last night) and Götterdämmerung (tomorrow night). I’ll write the sequel to this blog post after I’ve seen the conclusion to The Ring tomorrow.
The Cambridge Companion to Wagner
Wagner without Fear
Richard Wagner and the Saga of the Volsungs
Sources of Wagner's Ring
Asyniur: Women's Mysteries in the Northern Tradition
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
If you have any familiarity with modern Paganism, especially if you are a woman, then you are probably also familiar with the Goddess Movement. You would be aware of all those wonderful ancient figurines interpreted as Goddesses, and would probably have heard that human societies the world over used to be matriarchal until they were taken over by patriarchal warlords about five thousand years ago. You may not be aware however, that there are problems with the utilisation of archaeology within this scenario and that feminist archaeologists and feminist Goddess Worshippers are not in agreement about the past.
Both Feminist Archaeology and the contemporary Goddess Movement seek to discover women’s lives, roles and status in the past, but for different reasons and with varying degrees of plausibility in their methods and interpretations. This article looks at the way the interpretation of the past is approached by feminist archaeologists and by Goddess Movement participants. A brief explanation of feminism precedes a description of feminist archaeology. This is followed by a portrait of the Goddess Movement and its relationship to archaeology, in particular the Anatolian site of Çatalhöyük. A critique of the Goddess Movement’s claim to be feminist leads to the conclusion that the past should not be distorted to promote political issues in the present.
Feminism is characterised by a political commitment to change existing power relations between men and women and is understood to have developed in three “waves”. “First wave” feminism refers to the suffrage movements of roughly between 1880–1920, devoted to the public emancipation of women, and can be aligned with “liberal feminism” which focused on winning women the same rights as men: to pursue and succeed within a full range of careers, to combine work with childbearing and to have full legal rights.
“Second wave” feminism emerged in the late 1960’s, concentrated on personal issues of equality and was linked with concern for identifying the root causes of women’s oppression. “Radical feminism”, part of the second wave and derived from the New Left movements, did not agree with the liberal feminist agenda of merely slotting women into what they considered the corrupt system of late capitalism. Oppression of women would not be cured by admitting them into the ranks of the powerful because that did not challenge the foundations upon which the system was built. Also derived from the “second wave” is “cultural feminism” or “difference feminism”, which promotes the idea that there is an essential difference between women and men. Cultural feminists believe in an essential “feminine” nature that is peaceful, harmonious and beneficent, better than masculinity, and the preferable alternative to be followed in creating a new social order.
The “third wave” of feminism emerged in the 1990’s and was influenced by post-modernism. It rejects the idea of an essential character or experience which typifies men or women, and incorporates greater pluralism of approaches to the investigation of gender difference. The emphasis is on differences between men and women of different sexualities, ethnicities or social classes. Postmodernist feminism is concerned with examining the creation of subjectivity through approaches like psychoanalysis, discourse analysis or deconstruction and is conscious of cultural relativism. The contrasting concerns between second and third wave feminism have been considered to be a paradigm shift within feminism.
As part of second wave feminism, academics examined the ways in which inequalities and male bias impacted their disciplines with critiques of androcentrism in history, anthropology, primatology and the natural sciences. Feminist archaeology uses feminist critique as the basis for archaeological work and is concerned with critiquing androcentrism, highlighting the careers of women archaeologists of the past, exposing inequalities for women archaeologists today, the gendered aspects of field work, recovering women in the archaeology of past societies, re-examining naturalised assumptions about gender relations such as “essentialism”, and experimentation regarding the communication of archaeology, for example through storytelling or use of the internet.
A concentration on large structures like government, monumental architecture and warfare is replaced by a focus on the everyday people of prehistory and the social dynamics of day-to-day prehistoric life – activities that, according to Gero and Conkey:
“comprise most of the hours of prehistoric time for most of the people, and that account for the greatest accumulation of materials in the archaeological record: ceramic and lithic production in residential contexts, gardening, procuring, producing and distributing food, producing everyday items from common raw materials, burying the dead, constructing, modifying and burning their domiciles.”
Feminist archaeology seeks to problematise underlying assumptions about gender and difference. It rejects an object/subject polarity, resists authoritative and hierarchical texts that situate authors in unassailable positions of authority over readers, seeks along with Post-Processualism to be multivocal and supports the claim that there is neither a single past, nor should there exist a single authoritative account of what the past should be.
According to feminist archaeology, sex and gender are not just basic structures of society but are integrated aspects of our subjectivities and therefore explicit influences on all dimensions of how we, as individuals, organise and experience life, including what it means to be a woman. In short, as Alison Wylie says, “standpoint matters”. A feminist approach to archaeology is important because it exposes and counteracts a tendency toward androcentrism. In the past archaeology has been told to us from a male perspective that adopted “male” as the norm and proceeded from the male experience while the contribution of women lay hidden.
However, gender biases are not rectified simply by replacing men with women in an “add women and stir” approach. The existing frameworks of inquiry that themselves have been derived from intellectual traditions and practices that are either insensitive to gender, androcentric or sexist need to be challenged. A feminist approach attempts to overturn disciplinary paradigms. Potential disadvantages of a feminist approach to archaeology would be a tendency to fall into notions of “essentialism”, to promote a reverse sexism, to settle for an “add women and stir” approach, to be uncritical, to jump to conclusions or give in to wishful thinking.
The Goddess Movement and Archaeology
Whilst there has been a growing awareness in academia of the importance of analysing sex and gender and of applying feminist theory to other disciplines such as archaeology, in the popular realm there has been a simultaneous increase of interest in the role of women in the past. This popular movement is generally subsumed under the umbrella description, the “Goddess Movement”, and its proponents are primarily non-archaeologists – they are artists, psychotherapists, amateur historians, novelists and general enthusiasts. The Goddess Movement’s relevance to archaeology is that it frequently uses archaeological material, especially female figurines or statuettes from the European Upper Paleolithic and Neolithic periods (ca. 30,000–5,000 years ago), to back up its claims. These objects are believed to represent different “aspects” of one “Great Goddess” and are used as material and symbolic evidence for the existence of a world in which women had status and power equal to or higher than men, despite the many criticisms of this interpretation for figurines and the fact that the presence of goddesses in a society does not equate to a high status for human women.
While many authors in disciplines such as anthropology, classics, psychoanalysis, art history and even archaeologists promoted the theory of a Goddess-worshipping matriarchal prehistory, the two figures most relevant to this discussion are James Mellaart, the first excavator of the Anatolian site of Çatalhöyük in Turkey, and Marija Gimbutas, excavator of southern European sites such as Achilleon in Thessaly, whose popularly-written publications, both of which stressed the importance of a Goddess, are used as authoritative accounts of prehistory by members of the women’s spirituality movement. Both Mellaart’s and Gimbutas’s methods of interpreting archaeological material were products of their time and are now considered to be outdated. Both made assumptions regarding ancient cult that were not warranted from the archaeological material.
In Mellaart’s case, he assumed that he had excavated a “priestly quarter” at Çatalhöyük, based on the prevalence of artwork on the walls of the buildings which he interpreted as religious. Stone and ceramic figurines were interpreted as depicting a “goddess of fertility and abundance” and skeletons found within the buildings were said to be “priestesses”. Bucrania decorating the walls of some of the buildings were interpreted as representations of a male deity, however many Goddess Movement aficionados – for whom Çatalhöyük is the most important archaeological site – prefer Dorothy Cameron’s (an artist who worked on Mellaart’s archaeological team) interpretation of the bull’s heads as representing women’s reproductive organs.
Marija Gimbutas’s sanctioned Mellaart’s interpretation of Çatalhöyük. A popularist who mixed mythology, folklore, linguistics, religion and archaeology in her approach to the past, Gimbutas has been tremendously influential in spreading the idea that ancient Goddess-worshipping matriarchies have been archaeologically “proven”. Far from being “feminist” however, her approach was steeped within the outdated “establishment” epistemological framework of polar opposites, rigid gender roles, barbarian invaders, cultural stages and was even sexist. Gimbutas’ method of argument was by assertion and her interpretations were presented in an authoritarian way in which the process of inference, from artefact to interpretation, were not made explicit.
New excavations at Çatalhöyük, conducted under the auspices of Ian Hodder, have revealed that the buildings Mellaart excavated were not so dissimilar to other buildings at the site that they justified the interpretation of a specific “priestly quarter”, let alone were evidence of a monotheistic religion of a “Great Goddess.” Evidence for matriarchal rule at Çatalhöyük has also come up wanting. Evidence concerning the diets of men and women derived from skeletons, which could have shown whether one group ate better than the other, showed no difference between men and women and analysis on the wear of bone joints seems to indicate that men and women carried out similar tasks.
On the Çatalhöyük website, in the Library there is a dialogue between Goddess Movement spokesperson, Anita Louise and Ian Hodder. Hodder explains a possible method of exploring whether society at Çatalhöyük was matrilineal:
“This is to use DNA analysis of the ancient bones found beneath the house floors. The houses are built on top of each other in a long sequence and we assume that the same family inhabited the same house as it was rebuilt over many centuries. If the society is matrifocal we would expect the DNA to show that daughters of daughters of daughters were buried in a house sequence. If the society is patrilocal we would expect the sons of sons of sons to be buried there, with women marrying in from other families.”
I emailed the Çatalhöyük forum (
Although the art of Çatalhöyük may indicate an association between men, hunting and wild animals, and between women and plants and agriculture, current evidence indicates neither a patriarchy nor a matriarchy, but possibly a society in which gender did not rigidly determine one’s role in life.
Despite the results from the current excavations being easily accessible to the public on the Çatalhöyük website, in general, Goddess Movement participants have willfully stuck to Mellaart’s interpretation of the site – steadfastly ignoring the more modern research – because it fits better with what they want to believe about women’s powerful role in the past. Theoretically, the post-processual approach being applied at Çatalhöyük which supposedly welcomes a plurality of positions and provides a forum for other groups who have a vested interest in the site should mean that the Goddess Movement’s interpretations of the site are given validity. However, as Lyn Meskell says, in this case “…plurality and multivocality are not easily achieved without some loss of integrity, since we know that not all pasts are equal.”
Is the Goddess Movement Feminist?
The Goddess Movement’s use of archaeological data to interpret the past is incompatible with the methods used by feminist archaeologists. The Goddess Movement favours an authoritative, totalising account of “the past” designed to implant a type of “Goddess ideology” within the minds of its audience. Gender roles are set and fixed in terms of a male/female bipolarity which impedes the possibility of interpreting any other types of gender. The Goddess Movement’s supposedly “feminist” version of the past is not any different to an androcentric interpretation of women’s place in the past, except that the dominance of the sexes is reversed. Women are still characterised by their reproductive role, but now it is held in high regard. This version of the past fails to challenge the present, or to encourage reconsideration of the dominant epistemologies of inequality and difference. The Goddess Movement’s use of the past is political in that it seeks historical authority for the women’s movement. The narratives it tells are concerned with resistance to, and emancipation from, contemporary conditions and tell us more about the present than the past. Çatalhöyük is used as a utopian model, an explanative story, and a template for change.
Archaeology relies for its intellectual credibility on being able to distinguish good from bad interpretations of the past. A feminist approach calls for rigorous, yet cautious, interpretations of the past to counter unsubstantiated readings of women’s roles in the past performed by non-specialist popularisers who have an ideological agenda to promote. Conkey and Tringham believe that: “a definitive interpretation [of the past], even if it is alternative and gynocentric, does not provide empowerment and liberation from the controlling narratives and practices of androcentric scholarship and cultural logics.”
Instead, they suggest, ambiguity ought to be embraced because it allows:
“the possibilities for reconfiguring and renegotiating meanings, including what constitutes evidence. How can we open up, not shut down the interpretive possibilities?… The recognition of ambiguity mandates necessary dialogues: between alternative accounts of the empirical evidences and among the interpreter, the interpretation and the audiences.”
One can hardly blame women for getting excited about what seem to be important, often majestic-looking, ancient female images such as figurines. Their evocative aesthetic qualities cannot be denied – both for women who have had their “consciousness raised” within the women’s spirituality movement, as well as for archaeologists working within academia. What is necessary however, is to attempt to “tell the truth” about the past – as much as is possible – or at least not to persist with telling comforting lies. This is why a self-reflexive, academic feminist approach to interpreting the past is far more likely to result in feasible depictions regarding women’s roles in past societies – even if they are not particularly pleasant, comforting or empowering scenarios – than the “feel good” popular approaches based on wishful thinking that are rife within the Goddess Movement.
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Stanford Figurines Project
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