A week or so ago, our buddy Renaissance Guy mentioned in one of his comments that he’d like to read some more about mythology and its archetypal content and influence. At least, that’s the intention I’m going to project bestow upon him. I’ve been wanting to write about this, and now I have the best possible reason to plunge in: a reader’s request.
I have someplace I’d like to go, and I hope you’ll come with me. This will be a long journey; it may take weeks or even the whole month to post. But if you stick with me until the end, I think each of us will discover treasures and have adventures that we can’t even imagine now, as we begin. I don’t even know quite where we’re going, but I have a compass and a rucksack, and a heart full of intentions.
What I hope to do is complete my series of essays about the Quest, the Monomyth, the Heroic Journey of every hero (and the non-journey of every anti-hero), flesh them out and do a good job of it, so that from now on, whenever you read a story or see a movie, or hear a tale, you’ll say, “Aha! That’s what Eve was telling us about quest mythology. . . I see it right now! There’s that archetypal figure she said would appear to guide the hero!”
After I’ve fully reviewed the quest pattern, I’ll delve into an actual myth. Now, don’t worry: I’ll keep this to manageable blog proportions. You’re all probably much like me: busy, with children or spouses, work to do, groceries to buy, errands to be run, and books to be read. You don’t have time to read 3000 words a day on this one blog. That’s fine, because I won’t be posting 3000 words a day. I promise to keep the posts to manageable proportions so that you’ll get something pithy and meaningful, chaff cut out and the fine wheat left. Maybe not the finest of wheat, as I’m no great writer, but fine enough for Third Eve. I’ll do my best to keep it manageable and useful to you.
Once we can communicate in the common language of Jungian archetypes, then I’m going to re-tell the myth of Venus. Yes, Venus. Of course you know why–she’s been in my header from the birth of this blog. I chose her because I think that Boticelli’s Venus is an archetype of beautiful, radiant virginity. His Venus, arising from the sea on that clam shell is glorious, isn’t she? Lately, as I’ve become more and more aware of my own individuation process, his painting appeals to me in so many ways. Every figure seems bursting with meaning.
I’ve meant to study the myths of Venus (there are two) and Boticelli’s painting for some time now. I’ve learned some fascinating things that I think will surprise and fascinate you, too. For example, Boticelli painted The Birth of Venus in the late 1400s during a time when much secular work arising out of pagan myths, such as his painting, was being burned or destroyed by some nutjobs from the Roman Catholic Church. Boticelli had the Medici family as his patrons, and they protected him and his work, which is how this amazing painting survived.
Many people don’t know that The Birth of Venus was one of two paintings that were meant to hang together. After painting The Birth of Venus, Boticelli painted another large piece called Spring. It depicts Venus after she’s come up out of the sea on the clam shell. She’s fully clothed and her head is covered; she’s quite regal and queenly, as a mature woman ought to be. The same dark woods serve as the backdrop for the scene of her fulfillment, and she is surrounded by even more mythological creatures.
I’ve never studied the myth of Venus or Boticelli’s two paintings before, so this will be an adventure for me, too. You’ll get to see me work and reach for symbols and meanings that have been part of this art and these myths for thousands of years. The last time I did anything like this was when I wrote a paper on Van Gogh’s Field of Wheat with Crows. Studying this painting and several others of his, and reading about him, changed my life. I fell so in love with Van Gogh that I bought the expensive three-volume set of his letters (mostly to his brother). Van Gogh was a devout Christian with a deep faith in God. Like many artists, he was passionate and was regarded as crazy from time to time in his life. Some say it was the absinthe that did it; others say it was God. Whatever the case, when I learned about Van Gogh I came to regard him as a brother and an example of a person who did his best to honor his gifts, and God.
My experience with Van Gogh and his art is what excites me about studying the two Boticellis and reading the myth of Venus. Boticelli researched his painting before he ever painted it; and we’ll research it, too, by reading the myth and thinking about the archetype of wholeness: the Bride and Groom, the Divine Couple, the Syzygy (Jung’s funny word indicating an integrated wholeness, from the Greek σύζυγος (syzygos), meaning “yoked together”). 
My intention in starting this blog has been to write about myths and symbols of wholeness and individuation with a view to the ultimate in being “yoked together,” which is the wedding supper of the Lamb of God. You don’t have to be a Christian to have this imagery; the Divine Marriage exists in every culture in every time among every single people who has ever lived on the planet, as far as we know. There is always a hero; there is always a quest; there is always a shadow type; always a trickster, always a Wise Old Man or Wise Old Woman, always an anima and animus, and always, at the end, a death and a resurrection, a treasure or elixir, and a Divine Marriage and wedding feast.
It’s as inescapable as death, and so we might as well write and talk and think about it.
And, while I’m thinking about it today, let me just say “God bless you” to all you fiction writers out there who keep working away at your art. I hope you never stop. I hope you don’t lose heart. This goes for the artists and musicians too, and for people who dance or beat drums or otherwise create things–even new recipes and wonders from food. Our world needs all the creative magic it can get. We’ve been losing it since the Reformation as we’ve lost our religious symbols and slammed the door on religion. We’re going to have to find them and find our way back home again, and I think we can as long as we keep the home fires burning by being creative and never losing our wonder.
So, come with me. Are you ready? Are you coming with me?
Good. I’m excited!
I heard yesterday that Harry Potter series author J. K. Rowling announced that Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School, is gay. A friend of mine sent me a text message giving me the head’s up.
Or maybe she meant that her readers ought to defy the authority of the life of the transcendant, glorious spirit that pre-dates Harry Potter and J. K. Rowling and will outlive them both? That deep life of the underworld, underground, undertow and misunderstood, the one that drives people to transcendence and ecstasy; the one from which our archetypes and great myths and universal symbols arise? Question and defy that authority? Pardon me while I burst out laughing.
Our classics reading group will have our last discussion about Saint Augustine’s 
What have I to do with men, that they should hear my confessions, as if they were to “heal all my diseases?” I race eager to know about another man’s life, but slothful to correct their own! Why do they seek to hear from me what I am, men who do not want to hear from you what they themselves are?
So beautiful, so well put. I especially like, “But those men whose ears charity opens believe me,” for I’m familiar with the feeling or idea that I know another person whom I’ve just met. My father used to say, “Birds of a feather flock together,” and “Water seeks its own level.” These sayings annoyed me when I was younger. I thought that he meant to comment on people’s narrow-mindedness, whereas the issue for me was my own narrow-mindedness at age 20-something. I was so narrow that I couldn’t recognize myself; I therefore also couldn’t recognize believability in another person.
