By the Gods!
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Janus
There’s no better time to learn about Janus than in January, his very own special little month. As Janus is the Roman god of beginnings, (among other things) it’s fairly apropos to talk about him in the first days of a brand new year (on western calendars).
Besides being the patron of beginnings, (and endings) Janus is the god of transitions, as represented by doors and gates. Big fan of a good door, that Janus. Oh, and he’s also the god of time, and thus the two faces: looking back into the past and forward into the future.
Janus is actually difficult to classify in the Roman Pantheon: he’s one of those everything and nothing types of deities. It’s been debated exactly what he presides over, since things like “time” and “transitions” are nebulous. Is he everywhere, and perhaps all powerful, or is he literally just hiding behind a rock, watching you get out of bed and start your day? Many Roman philosophers saw him as both the spark that caused every beginning, and the shadow that brought about every end.
Janus is certainly one mysterious deity, and was the topic of countless debates in western culture since the days of the old Roman Kingdom.
El
The supreme deity of the ancient Canaanites, El was big man on the Levant-campus back in the day. El was the father of Ba’al, who would eventually become more popular than his dad throughout the Middle-East, and husband of Asherah (a semitic mother goddess).
In many depictions, El wore the same bull horns as did Ba’al, though we often see him portrayed in the fancy hats of an ancient Mesopotamian king. The power of fancy hats was one worth flaunting, after all. Though his main priority was sitting in a throne, enjoying being the boss, he was accredited with being a patron deity of fertility, thunder, mountains, deserts, oceans, and war. A real Renaissance-god.
Now, even though Ba’al was the god of storm and sky (a position usually held by a chief deity) his papa was #1, at least in the inception of the Pantheon. El’s full title was El Shaddai, which loosely translates (we’re pretty sure, anyway) to God of the Mountain. The Mesopotamian Holy Mountain was a big deal, and a fitting place for a king of the Gods to dwell, one might think. El was too popular for his own good, though. Or, for our good, at least; he’s brought up in so many places in so many different forms, it’s difficult to pin down what exactly he was to whom.
The most popular reference to El would be in the Hebrew Torah, where El Shaddai is the God of Abraham, and is synonymous with Yahweh. Does this mean that Abraham was originally a practitioner of the Canaanite faith? Quite possible! But either way, it seems the Hebrews adopted the title of the supreme deity in Canaan and used it as a feather in Yahweh’s cap. Ol’ El has also drawn comparisons to the Babylonian Ea (Enki) and Poseidon, if you can believe it.
Whoever you are, El, you’re almost definitely a badass.
Sango
Alright, let me level with you here: when it comes to the mythic structure of the Yoruba religion (the Yoruba being one of the largest ethnic group in West Africa), I’m not exactly in my comfort zone. I’m familiar with the concepts, but the specifics are new for me, as I’d imagine they’d be for many of you. That said, we’re setting on the proverbial goldmine of interesting info, so let’s dive in by talking about Sango, the god of thunder and lightning, and the progenitor of the Yorubas themselves.
Sango (also Shango) has a variety of stories floating around about between different cultural groups, and it’s difficult to hammer down any consistency in the myths, but there was definitely somethin’ going on with those wives of his, Oba, Oshun, and Oya. Sango had three wives and three families, who in some stories he lived with at the same time in the same compound, thus creating the first Full House scenario centuries before it would be popularized and perfected by Saget and Stamos.
In one of the Yoruba stories, Sango is trying to get rid of his powerful and ambitious generals, Timi and Gbonka, by pitting them against each other. Each of them wields the power of fire, and after what can only be an incredible elemental battle (á la Avatar: Last Airbender, probably) Timi is slain. Gbonka then asks to be burned alive, and is reduced to ashes. However, three days after his death, he is resurrected (alert: be aware of diffusion and popular mythological facets being borrowed and reused between cultures!). His resurrection shames Sango, who then leaves town and takes his own life, supposedly. It was the hope and belief of the Yoruba, however, that he did not truly kill himself, but instead left to watch over the people from on high. The followers of Sango would kill any who claimed that the god had taken his own life with the lightning they had been allowed to wield by their now-gone lord.
In Haitian Vodou, Sango is seen as a more powerful god of thunder and lightning, but the Yoruba stories venerate him as a legendary, mostly-human founder of their line, and attribute fewer omniscient qualities to him, instead seeing him as a holy ancestor. As we’ve seen before, it’s only natural for a degree of deification to filter its way into veneration in polytheistic and/or natural religions. Hey, when I think about my great-great-grandfather, you’d better believe he’s shooting fire from his fingers and riding a manta ray through the sky.
The Demiurge
When we’re talking about the Gnostics, all the rules change for what you know about Christianity. Well, not all the rules, but the big ones. The Demiurge was the name for the Gnostic deity who jealously guarded and reigned over the world, lost in a fog of its own ignorance. In the Gnostic view, this was the god of the Bible (at that time, this would be referring to the Hebrew Bible, as the New Testament was still in the process of being assembled and standardized).
Right off the bat— that definition of the Demiurge is a simplified one. The Gnostic view, one developed through decades of philosophical and theological debate, was that Wisdom, known as Sophia, was the true creator of the world, and her child was the Demiurge. The Demiurge was born into a cloud of its own ignorance, and remained unaware of Sophia’s existence above itself; it thus assumed that it was the greatest force in the universe, the creator of our world, and our natural ruler. The goal of the Gnostic movement was to reunite the spirit with the divine spark of Sophia through thought, prayer, and internal discovery.
To sum up, the Gnostics thought of the Hebrew/Christian God as a pouty infant with both hands on the wheel of a speeding universe. This high-speed baby they named the Demiurge.
One last thing— while this is what the Gnostic view of the Demiurge consisted of, there was also the idea of the Demiurge developed by Plato, centuries earlier, which referred to a more benevolent artisan of the universe. Be aware of the difference, for as you know: knowledge is power. While that thought may be laughably cliché, I use it in a form as un-ironic as possible.
Unless I’m just being really ironic.
Sobek
Sobek is the Egyptian god of crocodiles. While that might not sound so impressive when compared to your Zeus’ or Thors, Sobek was no pushover. In a nation that depended so much on the Nile, crocodiles were a real threat. Think about it: a population that has to roll the dice on encountering a super hungry giant lizard every time they want a glass of water is definitely going to turn to prayer in a hurry, and that’s where Sobek comes in.
Often depicted as a crocodile himself, or a man with a crocodile’s head, Sobek eventually came to represent more than just scary lizards. From god of crocodiles, it was only a small leap to being god of the Nile’s bounty as well. Sobek was commonly prayed to for not only safe travel on the river, but fertility blessings as well. Don’t think Sobek went soft in his old age though; he is also credited as the patron god of Egypt’s military. Thus began a long tradition of the ferocious animal mascot that lives on today in all the coolest sports teams.
Sobek’s temples were often built close to the Nile, or wherever a copious count of crocodiles was common. The city Arsinoe was so commonly associated with Sobek that the Greeks began calling it “Crocodilopolis.” One can speculate that its chief exports were Sobek bobble-heads and reptile-themed nightmares.
Týr
The original Germanic god of war and the patron god of justice, the precursor of Odin. At the time of the Vikings, Tyr had to make way for Odin, who became the god of war himself. Tyr was by then regarded as Odin’s son (or possibly of the giant Hymir). He is the boldest of the gods, who inspires courage and heroism in battle. Tyr is represented as a man with one hand, because his right hand was bitten off by the gigantic wolf Fenrir (in old-Norse, the wrist was called ‘wolf-joint’). His attribute is a spear; the symbol of justice, as well as a weapon.
At the day of Ragnarok, Tyr will kill the hound Garm, the guardian of the hell, but will die from the wounds inflicted by the animal. In later mythology, “Tyr” became to mean “god”. He is also known as Tîwaz, Tiw and Ziu.
This is definitely a blog worth following if Norse/Germanic myth is your thing. Lots of updates, great information! We’ve talked about Tyr here before, but a refresher couldn’t hurt, seeing as he is a tremendous badass.
Prajapati
In Hindu mythology, Prajapati is the master of created beings. Now: let me stop right here, and say that Hindu mythology is a complex thing, with several layers of religious texts written in different periods and locations, often conflicting (not that this is any different than most religions). I don’t personally have the confident grip on it that I do with other cultural mythologies, but hey: I’m workin’ on it.
Back to ol’ Prajapati. In the Hindu epic, the Mahabharata, he is the protector of the sexual organ (not the worst job).
He produces a number of children including a daughter, Ushas (“dawn”) who he then attempts to do a lil’ incest on/with. Now, when Ushas sees Prajapati coming at her in a lustful rage, she transforms herself into a deer and hauls ass out of there. Prajapati, to match her speed, turns himself into a stag, and catches up to do the deed. The offspring they have, predictably, is a baby deer. This cycle repeated itself not once, not twice, but 200-bajillion times; every time Prajapati got the urge, Ushas would pick a different female form and run, and Praj’ would pick the corresponding male form, catch her, and make a baby in said form. In this fashion, Prajapati and Ushas gave rise to all living creatures, including man.
Another myth tells how Prajapati rose, weeping, from the primordial waters. His tears that fell to the water became the earth, whereas those that the god wiped away became the sky and air. Prajapati then created the night and day, the seasons, death, and people to relieve his loneliness. This story conflicts with other Hindu stories, such as the creation by Brahma. The name Prajapati, however, sometimes refers to a variety of gods, including Indra, Shiva, Garuda, Vishnu, Krishna, and Brahma. Brahma, specifically, is often attributed with myths that later became associated with Prajapati. Whether or not it’s viewed as a title for the master of sex organs/the creator or a specific deity’s name depends on which text you’re looking at.
Virtues
Continuing with the hierarchy of Angels in Christian mythology, we arrive at the choir of the Virtues. Beneath the First Sphere (containing Seraphim, Cherubim and Thrones) is the Second Sphere of Angelic Choirs, functioning as celestial government. While the Dominions (the chiefs of this sphere) act as lords over the lower angels, the Virtues supervise the movements of heavenly bodies themselves, ensuring that the cosmos stays on track and keeps on… cosmosing. They’re credited with the ability to control the elements, and keep the planets and stars on their appointed routes.
Dionysius the Areopagite believed that the Virtues were constantly channeling the divine power and energy of God into the universe itself, and into humankind, giving them a tiny taste of the “source of virtue.”
Virtues, like Thrones, are a strange bunch. It seems that by the virtue of their very existence they keep the universe working the way the Christian God/Yahweh planned it (Note: we link to Yahweh, the original conception of the Hebrew monotheistic God, though the God of the Christians and the New Testament certainly has notable differences in temperament, attitude, worship criteria). Some texts believe that Virtues and Thrones were originally the same divine beings, though later deuterocanonical texts desired nine tidy choirs.
We don’t know what the Virtues look like, exactly, but there’s a chance that they look like their brothers in the higher sphere, the Thrones, whirling wheels of fire and eyeballs. There’s also the chance that they’re the most formless and metaphysical of all the Angels, existing in the Aether beyond even the sight of their brethren. Some more recent Catholic sources state that each choir takes the form of a beautiful, winged, humanlike creature, (the picture of angels we’re used to) with accessories and gear befitting their choir.
Dominions
And so, after a long delay, we return to the Hierarchy of Angels (the Christian version). Remember, way back in the day, when we discussed the 9 Choirs of Angels, divided into 3 spheres? Well, the first and most powerful/holy sphere of angels contains the Choirs of Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones.
The second sphere functions as heavenly government, and begins with the Dominions, ranked 4th among all the choirs. The Dominions (translated from the Greek term kyriotites) act as lords over the lower choirs of angels, regulating their divine duties. Dominions are said to rarely make themselves physically known to humans, but instead send the Angels, Archangels and Principalities (all from the third and lowest sphere) to do their divine work on Earth. The work of the Dominions, of course, would be the work of God; orders come down from the top, as usual.
Dominions are also the angels that preside over specific nations. This suggests that each Dominion would have his own specific territory to concern himself with. I wonder if they go by current political borders, or strictly biblical… I guess the Pope could probably answer that.
The Dominions, though rarely seen, look like divinely beautiful humans, glowing with light, bearing a pair of majestic, feathered wings. I know, I know, that just sounds like a particularly nice ‘n clean version of any “angel.” To distinguish themselves, they also carry a sceptre with a shining orb of light fastened to the head, or a jewelled sword with an orb of light on the pommel.
Satan
Buckle up, kids–-we’re in for a big one! Satan, the big baddie, is a character that most people throughout the world are at least marginally familiar with. He wears quite a few different hats, however, and his role has changed a great deal over the 2,300-odd years he’s been around.
His first appearance was in the book of Job, where he speaks to the god of the Israelites (Yahweh) about the nature of humanity’s faith. He is named as Satan, which means “the Adversary.” All Satan did was ask the big questions: he observed that those mortals who led rich and happy lives had no problem worshipping God, but how would they feel if they had it all taken away? God saw the point, and picked poor Job, a rich farmin’ man, to prove himself correct. He killed Job’s family, took all of his money, land, and cattle, and covered him with boils. Through it all, Job continued to worship, and God got to whip out the satisfying “told you so!” to Satan.
Satan, you see, was just another divine dude up in heaven with God. Ipso facto, he was an angel. After the Job story, the Hebrews began to see ol’ Satan as an evil force, and eventually the source of all evil. This suggests the influence of Persian thinking: a battle between good and evil, going forever. After all, the Israelites came from Persia before the whole Egypt/Exodus debacle, and it only makes sense that some mythological and cultural diffusion can be seen there. They created a hierarchy of demons for him to control, to oppose God and his angelic hierarchy, and eventually he had his own origin story put together: the tale, as far as ancient Jewish lore is concerned, had Satan rebelling against God and was hurled by an angel (probably Michael, if you’re curious) into the abyss.
Now, the Christians really ran with the Satan-stuff. “The Devil” can be traced back to the Latin diabolus, which is the source of “diabolical,” and became synonymous with Satan back in the day. In the Apocryphal book of John the Evangelist, Jesus describes Satan’s transformation into an handsome fellow with a tail and cloven hoofs. After that, more and more of the world’s wicked side became attributed to Satan.
Dante Alighieri’s The Inferno (a part of his Divine Comedy) had Satan at the innermost ring of hell as a great three-faced beast, half-frozen in ice, eternally devouring Judas Iscariot, Brutus and Cassius (Dante was a 14-th century Italian, and not a fan of the whole Julius Caesar-murder-thing). Note: no fire and brimstone. Milton, who expanded on the rebellion motif, put together Paradise Lost in the 17th century, which told the tale of Satan (aka Lucifer) and his rebellion in heaven. In the poem Satan sets himself up as the defeated rebels’ leader, and founds hell on the platform of poisoning God’s favourite thing: mankind. “Lucifer” translates to the title “Morning Star” or “Light-bearer,” which was how Satan was known before he was cast out of heaven. Back then, he was a powerful angel, according to Christian lore, and was either a Cherubim or Power in the Angelic Hierarchy.
About By the Gods!
