Pictorial 66

“Dancing ambiguity” (Trickster, prev) might apply not just to the fantasy lands of Hyboria, but to the real religions and wars depicted in Howard’s historical adventures. Before dealing directly with that, it might be a good idea to go back in time to the superstitious era that predated the medieval battles of faith, from the walls of Vienna to Outremer and beyond.

Hohne, in her book, had something to say on the doctrine of Christianity, such as original sin, that is neither in the Old Testament nor the words of Christ, and were honed into a standard theology by Greek scholars of Alexandria.

This idea of obedience to the established word of doctrine runs through the first chapter of the Turanian Holy War in Conan #19 and, in that instance, Conan and Fafnir are highly sceptical. Fafnir even points to the fact that Makkalet is a trading rival of Aghrapur.

Be that as it may, while it may be healthy to be cynical to organized religion or organized war, it doesn’t follow that religions don’t hold truths of conscience. DH Lawrence, another primeval throwback to pre-industrial days, wrote at least two works on these themes. One is his interpretation of The Book of Revelations, called Apocalypse, which I’ve yet to read. The other is a novela called The Man who Died, a fantasy on the risen Christ meeting and falling for a priestess of Isis.

While reading I’m thinking to myself, why is it not that these mystery religions and cults of the latter days of Rome couldn’t all be said to be superstitions, upheld by the faithful?

 

 

Conan #19 (c) Marvel 1972

Conan’s remark would seem to despise superstitions, or at least in the context of naval wars that may have ulterior motives. However, the concept of knights of faith runs through Howard’s historical adventures. Some, such as Gottfried Von Kalmbach from The Shadow of the Vulture, may be less faithful than others.

John Watkiss

Yet all are Christian knights for the faith against the infidel. Faith, you could say, has to be simple to be pure and it is not dependent on words but on gut instinct.

‘The word is but the midge that bites at evening. Man is tormented with words like midges, and they follow him right into the tomb. But beyond the tomb they cannot go. Now I have passed the place where words can bite no more and the air is clear, and there is nothing to say. And I am alone within my own skin, which is the walls of my domain.’ (page 142, Love Among the Haystacks and other stories, Penguin, 1960)

This is the phenomenal world, which is “dirty and clean together” (page 143). The priestess is a priestess of Isis of the Search, forever on the trail of the bits of Osiris that Seth has scattered over the earth. The priestess has come to wonder if the mysterious stranger in the low brim (Odin?) is actually Osiris, and entices him to her shrine.

‘Great is Isis!’ he said. ‘In her search she is greater than death. Wonderful is such walking in a woman, wonderful the goal. All men praise thee, Isis, thou greater than the mother unto man.’

(page 157)

It is a humble temple, for

..she had built it at her own expense, and tended it for seven years. There it stood, pink and white, like a flower in the little clearing, backed by blackish evergreen oaks; and the shadow of afternoon was already washing over its pillar bases. (page 149)

Descriptions of this phenomenal world on the seashore, with slaves and nets permeate the story and one almost conjures up Greek octopus pots and Minoan frescoes! Simplicity is in the balance of opposing forces, which are here visualised in sealife, yellow narcissus flowers on rocks, the golden sunset.

‘Will you too sit to see the sun go down?’ he said.

He had not risen to speak to her. He had known too much pain. So she sat on the dry brown pine-needles, gathering her saffron mantle round her knees. A boat was coming in, out of the open glow into the shadow of the bay, and slaves were lifting small nets, their babble coming off the surface of the water. (page 159)

Knowing Lawrence, the belief in the needs of the unconscious body is strong, the wholeness of the flesh. The world of the temple in its small enclave is one of Earth-time and Earth movements. Nature is strong in its unthinking glory.

Isn’t all that a type of superstition that can affect the contemplative psyche? None of it exists except in the basic simplicity of the Earth turning on its axis, with no intermediary from word or electronic image or chatter of traffic. Is that part of DH Lawrence’s nostalgia?

An Earth power is not word or intellect, it’s simply a physical reality that is cyclical and cosmic and hence instinctive. It’s also as irregular and imperfect as the stones and flowers of this temple enclave. To experience all that is to experience uncertainty on Earth. A place of physical strength, and therefore where the psyche too intrudes.

Unthinking strength of nature (abandoned inn C6) strident advance

Again, lack of thought makes one thoughtful! In the modern world one is continually listening to words and expected to think rationally. All that happens is that one cannot think in solitary and contemplative ways in the physical reality of Mother Earth in the cosmos (of twinkling stars).

Words are simply facts that are not physically real; they exist to sustain the acolyte’s parallel reality of a sorcerous illusion. In order to escape a sorcerous illusion one has to become uncertain, and that means going back to solitary enclaves set in nature’s vastness. We can then experience the strength of nature, and perhaps that is where superstition comes from?

The undulating Welsh Marches are home to Norman and baronial motte-and-bailey castles, small fortifications that were used to defend England and eventually subdue the rampaging Welshmen.

 

earthwork mound and stone keep, Golden Valley, Herefordshire

Being romantic, one can imagine the odd knight of the round table traipsing across the contemplative landscape. For that matter, one can imagine Conan or Red Sonja traipsing across! One can equally imagine cultish superstitions, and those of the old Welsh druids themselves (sickle and hawthorne).

The undulating bushiness of such regions is not unlike the human body in a vaguely splendid sense. It’s almost like an alternate world of sensual meanderings, and one that is close to the glowing lustiness of DH Lawrence as well as to Howard’s muscular yarns.

This alternate world of romance has the unthinking splendour of the sparkling things of nature, and it is these that provide the room for contemplative thoughts.

In short, one cannot think ABOUT thought; it’s a tautologous situation that we’re in today. One can only contemplate when surrounded by a cosmic vastness, the very thing “they” are busy disabling with hard, straight lines that vanish into a future of.. nothingness.