By the Gods!

Caligula

We recently talked about Augustus, the first Emperor of Rome, and how he had been placed in the Roman Pantheon of Gods posthumously. He was a fairly amazing gent, after all—what harm could there be in worshipping him as a transcendant spirit akin to those who wrought the world from Chaos? A few emperors down the line, though, came Caligula. This guy took deification to a new, literal (probably quite embarrassing for Romans at the time) level.

When Caligula (whose real name was Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, with “Caligula” being a nickname meaning “little soldier’s boot”) ascended to the role of Emperor, things went well at first, and we was beloved among the people throughout the vast empire. As you might imagine, however, all of that love, all those sacrifices in your name, all the knee-bending and praise might eventually go to one’s head. And it did. Oh, did it ever.

Eventually, Caligula’s political payments for support, luxury and extravagance exhausted the Roman treasuries, and there was a wee bit ‘o famine. Despite the proverbial and literal belt-tightening occurring throughout the empire, Caligula went on a construction spree, and didn’t do much to disprove the accusations of his fiscal inadequacy. About this time, he got wound up in a few sex scandals, too, and was said to be extra-perverted, even among the hedonistic Roman upper-class. Now that’s an accomplishment.

Caligula clearly believed that he was the bees knees, and then began making it a state requirement that everyone else think the same. He declared himself a living god. The story goes that, when several kings came to Rome and each argued about the nobility of his own descent, Caligula burst out “Let there be one Lord, one King!” and I have a sneaking suspicion that he was referring to himself. He began to appear in public dressed as Hercules, Mercury, Venus, and Apollo to name a few of his costumes du jour, and began referring to himself in documents and in person as Jupiter. After a few years of this, he told his court that he wished to be worshipped as Neos Helios, meaning “New Sun,” and was represented as the Sun God on Egyptian coins.

Eventually Caligula was assassinated through a plot devised and carried out by his own Praetorian Guard, the elite men trusted with guarding the Emperor at all costs. You know you must’ve screwed something up when the guys blood-sworn to protect you bring the hurtin’.

It’s not like Caligula was the first guy to claim divinity, but he sure went about it in a big way. Dressing up like Venus, the goddess of love, takes cohones no matter when you’re from.

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. 

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.

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.

Perseus

Time to roll out yet another son of Zeus (too many to count). Today’s pleasure: the mighty Perseus!  Obviously the bolt-slinger was the father, but the mother of Perseus, Danae (a mortal princess) was a tough prize for old Zeusie to get at. Acrisius, king of Argos and father of Danae, had shut his daughter up in a bronze tower to avoid a prophecy suggesting her son would be his end. If there’s one lesson we should take away from Greek Myth, however, it’s that nothing can stop a horny Zeus. He visited her through a ceiling grate in the form of a golden shower, and knocked her up no problem. When lil’ Perseus popped out, a terrified Acrisius shut mother and son in a wooden chest and cast it on the sea, but the protection of Zeus was enough to bring them safely to Seriphos, where Perseus grew up among fishermen. Good, simple folk.

Once he was a grown-ass man, Perseus was tasked by the local ruler, Polydectes, to fetch the head of the Gorgon Medusa. For those who professed to crave continued life, this was a bad deal. Perseus learned from the Graiae, three old hags, all about Medusa: that she could turn you to stone with her eyes, and that she was an all-around ass-butt, besides. Luckily for P-man, Athena hated Medusa more than most, and offered her assistance. Perseus was hooked up with a cap of invisibility, winged shoes from Hermes, and a bag for the gorgon’s head. Using his shield’s reflection to track her movements, Perseus cut Medusa’s ugly ol’ head off, and put it in the legendary sack. 

The magic head and magic sack were put to good use on his trip home, helping save the beautiful Andromeda from a sea monster, and turning a few jerks to stone who stood in Perseus’ way. He and Andromeda then returned to Danae, gave the magic gear back to Hermes, and got hitched. Poor old Acrisius, still in a constant state of fear-induced-diarrhea, eventually saw the prophecy fulfilled when a disc thrown by Perseus during a competition flew wide and beaned him in the head, killing him. 

Athena placed both Perseus and Andromeda in the sky as constellations after their deaths, in honour of their exploits.