 |
Feb
2008
Guest Editor
Ralph LaCharity
Privileged Miscellanea
|
 |
|
|
 |
Kate
Polak: a possible career in the offing Unraveling
the Echoing down thru the Ages, from the Greeks thru
Blake and on to drama/comic visual operas depicting John
Constantine et al --- one day Kate will tether her insights
to the grum hoi-polloi, the great untutored, the harrowingly
unwashed, the glibly unfettered, all who yearn to know
More, all feeding at the semantikon treasure-trough yet
abuilding, into which you have dipped yourselves this
day.
|
 |
|
|
 |
|
|
 |
| kate
polak, pdf, electronic article, comics, folklore, mythology,
cincinnati, minotaur, analysis |
|
 |
Between Skins:
A Study of the Form and Function of the Human-Animal
Hybrid Monster, as Exemplified by the Minotaur
-Katharine Polak
|
As civilization and literatures have evolved,
the things that go bump in the night have evolved as well.
Though monsters are widely recognized, their forms have changed
in such significant ways over time that there is some question
as to meaning—though they are often theorized as the
personification of cultural fears, or the fleshy manifestations
of the destructive parts of human nature, and both of these
are valid interpretations, they need further analysis when
noted with an eye to their persistence through literature.
There are several general morphologies of monsters that correspond
to the development of human civilization. The human animal
composites and the wholly “other” monster existed
at the same time, and sometimes in the same society at once,
though there are only a few of these types that are still present
in the cultural consciousness today (such as the Yeti). The
classical period in ancient Greece was home to both the composite
monster and the primitive monster—that creature entirely
inhuman, functioning as a displaced version of the fear of
the divine or as a representation of a natural force; the human-animal
composite monster, a combination of human and animal parts,
represents the combination of base impulses and reasoning,
in addition to functioning as the pharmakos, or scapegoat
for society. Also present are the beginnings of the modern
monster—that
which wears a human face, but is essentially primal and inhuman
in nature. In the case of the Classical precursors to modernity,
the monsters are human, but are either symbolic of a severe
violation of natural law, or represent the enactment of natural
law, whereas the modern version has shed its vestiges of humanity
(human in appearance, but lacking a soul).
The nature of the composite monster draws attention
to its construction, as a sort of synecdoche of horror (the parts standing in
for
the whole of Jung’s Shadow). The composites primarily occur
in Classical literatures as harbingers of the Iron Age. The composite
monster has many functions, but can primarily be divided within
the position of the pharmakos, as it is acted out in various
ways. Additionally, each feature of each monster must be individually
analyzed to adequately assess the monster’s full role in
the text. The idea put forward by Heraclitus, that “[t]he
unlike is joined together, and from differences results the most
beautiful harmony, and all things take place by strife,” (Campbell
44) is particularly important to our understanding of composite
monsters. There is very little literature addressing the internal
psychology of non-human sentient beings, though we must assume
that there is some level of conflict about identity1. .
More importantly, we see the composite monster as a non-unified
form—it
is perceived by its parts rather than as a whole. This indicates
the place of the composite monster in literatures: as that which
lies between savagery and enlightenment, but also as that which
lies between two unified periods—the past and the future.
The present is fragmented and unwhole because of the other characters’ limited
perception, and this limitation is embodied in the composite.
The concept of recognition and its association with the uncanny
are at play here—in the human-animal composite monster,
we recognize qualities of humanity displaced via structure and
function, but we also see a displaced version of the immortal.
Monsters are neither gods nor demons, and are generally not spiritual
entities of any kind—they are described as soulless, which
is all the more unnerving given that even the named demons are
acknowledged as spiritual entities. This ultimate physicality
has a number of associations—as it is a threat to the cult
of the eternal—if the body, and the life you are able to
lead within the confines is all you get, then there are no gods,
no afterlife (no matter how depressing the Greek afterlife seems),
and essentially, no need for morality (if one wants to be fatalistic
about it). More importantly, in Western society, the material
is inextricably linked to the maternal, so the form becomes the
tie to the fallen (and prior to Judeo-Christian dominance, the
form is the tie to the old matriarchal cultures). The physical
presence and spiritual absence is sinister, and is a threat to
a society dominated by pursuits beyond the physical realm. But
absolute physicality poses another threat beyond these, and it
is harder to name. It is linked to the idea of the primacy of
natural law, and how man is subject to natural law only in so
far as he is tied to the physical realm. First, man is essentially
tied to the maternal because he is a physical being (his form
configured in the womb), and so can only transcend the bonds
of flesh so far. Also, in reaching beyond this physical realm,
he risks offending the gods, so a balance must be reached in
life between the physical bounds and the drive to ascend. The
human-animal composite monsters, though soulless, partially represent
the need for balance.
The Minotaur is a personification
of broken natural law (i.e. no interspecies coupling), and is
directly linked to flaws in the syzygy. The divine couple,
Minos and Pasiphäe, is failing, and so the Minotaur is produced
in response. Minos’ refusal of the call to the heroic journey
takes the form of his refusal to render the sacrificial bull
to Poseidon and as Pasiphäe’s adultery breaks a primal
taboo, so the Minotaur’s representation as the balance
of natural law is two-fold: clearly, as the correlation between
the violation of the syzygy and the form (in terms of the Minotaur’s
visage), and that the refusal of the call resulting in something
non-speaking. This relates back to the sacrifice as well, in
that Poseidon gives Minos the bull to be offered back to himself—the
gift/sacrifice is meant to be a cycle of birth and death, resulting
in a boon for the kingdom. However, in thwarting this necessary
cycle of offering nature back to itself, Minos thwarts the god’s
power, “that would destroy [his] egocentric system, [and
so creates] a monster” (Campbell 60), and the cycle cannot
be completed, and is instead grounded within the labyrinth, “the
image of lost direction” (Frye 150). The labyrinth relates
not only to this loss of direction in one life, but also exists
as a reminder of both the powers and the failings of reason.
Daedalus’ construction of the maze to house the minotaur
is of course a triumph of human ingenuity, but would have been
unnecessary if not for some other inventions, specifically the
model bull, which may be classified for our purposes as a precursor
to the labyrinth, a smaller version of the demonic archetypal
city, a “perverted work […] because it does not humanize
nature, [it] is unnatural and inhuman” (Frye 150). The
Minotaur himself is the same—it is neither human nor animal,
and through this defiance of classification, becomes something
worse than either could be alone. In the progression of this
myth from its original2. to
the more familiar form, we can clearly see the “advance
from acting out a rite to playing at the rite” (Frye 148),
which is mirrored by the progression of the structure of monsters.
The fact of natural forces being
progressively displaced into monsters more and more similar to
humans can be clearly seen in composite monsters like the Minotaur.
His structure relates to both the older rituals 3. associated
with nature-worship and to the anthropomorphic Greek pantheon
and
in the context of the stories themselves, this can be related
to both Daedelus’ triumph and complicity, as well as the
double violation of the syzygy.
The Minotaur is an example of the pharmakos.
He carries the sins of the mother in his existence—he
is in fact the embodiment of both her infidelity and her bestial
tryst. In addition, he also carries the sins of the father in
his production—in denying Poseidon his bull, Pasiphäe’s
lust is provoked. He is emblematic of the rift in the syzygy,
and as such, he is constructed as a clear product of flawed coupling.
In addition, he carries the sins of Daedelus—his ingenuity
created the possibility of Asterius and the labyrinth trial,
and for the sins of Athens—in Androgeus’ death, another
son of Crete is set with the task of devouring the youth of those
who set death on a youth. His form underpins this classification.
His head is that of a bull, his body of a man. While he is clearly
related in some way to humans, he is not assumed to be equal
to them, primarily because he does not have the faculty of speech,
and therefore is not demonstrably a conscious and reasoning creature.
Though Ariadne refers to him as her half brother4.,
and Minos in fact keeps him rather than killing him outright,
he is seen
less as a member of the household than as a cross that must be
borne. That Asterius’ body is a man’s is particularly
interesting, given his lineage: his human parent is a woman,
so it would seem as though there is even further displacement
from that human side, as well as an emphasis of the binaries
woven through the story. Or perhaps the Minotaur has a man’s
body because he often seen as a punishment of Minos, and so fits
perfectly into the construct of the rift between father and son.
That his head was a bull’s, a sacred animal, could only
enhance this interpretation, given the bull’s connection
with the divine. If “[v]irtue is but the pedagogical prelude
to the culminating insight, which goes beyond all pairs of opposites,” (Campbell
44) the annihilation of the composite monster in the pharmakos position
is the vehicle for the fulfillment of the hero’s
destiny—the monster is the first gatekeeper between the
world of man and that of the gods. The Minotaur is also interesting
in that he remains hidden in the myth—there are only vague
references to a time when Asterius was not cloistered in the
recesses of the labyrinth. Not only is he a private, hidden monster
in fact, but also in narration—in reading the myth, we
are only given second-hand descriptions of the Minotaur’s
form. This is significant to our understanding of the form: that
the pharmakos position is also a hidden one is divergent
from the general pattern, but it is also important that the uncanny
male creature is veiled in the perversion of the city. The Minotaur
myth can tell us about the variety of ways that the pharmakos position
can be played out in this shrouding. Though the scapegoat is
generally publicly burdened and driven from a place, this
would not work in the context of this story. Rather, the Minotaur
is simultaneously the scourge of the Athenian youths and is the
sins of Crete himself, but also does not physically appear. He
is the shadow of the two societies, and can be seen as both a
constructive and destructive force for both—this is why
he remains hidden, but perpetually present in the consciousness
of the society. His relevance to the syzygy has already been
discussed, though it bears repeating that he functions not only
as a physical (though non-present) manifestation of the flaws
in the divine couple. This may be part of the reason that Minos
does not kill him outright—when something is manifest,
it is significantly easier for a warrior-king to fight than if
it remains in the mind. In addition, both the production and
the concealment of the Minotaur require advances in technology—though
they are for a dark purpose, these advances represent the necessity
of invention to the continued health of a civilization. For Athens,
the Minotaur represents the line that must be crossed in order
for the city to ascend from savagery into civilization. Because
of jealousy among the competitors, Androgeus was killed—this
is not condoned in civilized society. Consequently, youths are
sent to Crete to be devoured—the death of the youths signifies
that there will be no future for the society. Only when the devouring
beast can be overcome through diplomatic relations (Ariadne helping
Theseus) can there be a future for Athens. In this, the Minotaur
can be seen as more than his technical function—he is the
gatekeeper not only for the hero journey of Theseus and a representation
of the refusal of the call of Minos, but also as that line dividing
civilization from savagery. His form highlights this, his head
being that of an old mode of worship, his body being that of
a man—the body of the state (but with a flawed head). The
Minotaur is also meant as a living example of the torn bodies
of victims in sacrifice. The bull’s head is both hereditary
and symbolic—his father was meant to be sacrificed to Poseidon,
and so would have had his flesh rended. The human male body is
also a representation of the sparagmos, in that Androgeus’ murder
was the impetus for further sacrifice. The combination is also
a perversion of the concept of recognition—though Asterius
is not Minos’ son by blood, he was produced by his wife
and his property (though the white bull was stolen from
Poseidon). The death of Androgeus, his heir, and the subsequent
tithe of
Athens mimic the cyclic offerings of nature unto nature, but
the monstrous component distorts the ritual to something darker.
One son’s death, in prompting the deaths of other youths,
feeds and sustains the deformed son. Though the Minotaur is a
private monster, he is inextricably tied to the city, as is the
sphinx, a more public beast.
The specific animal parts that
are combined in the composite monster are relevant to both their
phylogeny and their function. The bull is associated with the
Moon, and in Greek mythology with Dionysus. This is especially
important in the myth of the Minotaur, given the god’s
association with intoxication and also with resurrection. The
white bull provided an opportunity to Minos, which, when denied,
became a burden. However, Theseus, in taking the opportunity,
was provided with a chance at redemption by entering the labyrinth/womb
and slaying the creature representing a perversion of the cycles.
The sex of the human component is also necessary to a coherent
understanding of function. Male components of composite monsters
can be related to the father-son conflict, and depending on which
components are human, the monster can either be interpreted as
a representation of the failure of the bloodline, or as the embodiment
of the sins of the father. Male components can also be associated
with a lack of spirituality or transcendence, and may denote
some essential flaw in the syzygy or the hero-journey. Female
components of the composite monster are generally associated
with temptation, as well as with knowledge, riddles, and mysteries.
The female is strongly tied to the material world, and is associated
with that which has form and substance. This is particularly
important in the case of the female as monster, given that monsters
are generally tied to the earth and their bodies. It is important
to note that these associations can be used for the purpose of
analyzing human-animal composite monsters—those monsters
entirely “other” and those entirely human in appearance
require different strategies for interpretation. |
1.
In spite of the lack of study, some recent retellings have
addressed this problem (especially as it concerns
monsters). A recent single issue of The Books of Magic, a comic
series published by DC Vertigo, retold the story of the Minotaur.
It discussed pining after the mother from whom he was separated,
being unable to “play with the littles” because
they broke too easily, etc. Other recent series, including
the graphic novel series The Sandman and Lucifer explore the
question of monsters as conscious beings.
2. Graves notes that “the myth of Pasiphäe
and the bull points to a ritual marriage under an oak between
the Moon-priestess, wearing a cow’s horns, and the Minos-king,
wearing a bull’s mask” (Graves 88.7).
3. Graves notes the rituals associated with the bull god (see
footnote 4). In addition, the bull is set against the unicorn in some Medieval
stories.
4.
Ariadne fell in love with Theseus, and told him 'I will help you
kill my half-brother, the Minotaur" in return for his promise
to
marry her (Graves 98 k). It is interesting to note that once Ariadne was abandoned
by Theseus, “Dionysus […] came to Ariadne’s rescue” (Graves
98 o) the god associated with sparagmos and resurrection rescued
the maiden
who helped destroy a living example of torn flesh.
***
Works Cited
Borges, Jorge Luis. The Book of Imaginary Beings.
Trans. Andrew Hurley. New York: Viking, 2005.
Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces.
Bollingen Series XVII. 3rd ed. Princeton, NJ: Princeton U.P., 1973.
Frye, Northrop. Anatomy of Criticism. Princeton: Princeton U.P., 1957.
Graves, Robert. The Greek Myths Vols. 1 & 2. New York: Penguin, 1955.
Homer. The Odyssey. Trans Robert Fitzgerald. New York: Farrar, Straus and
Giroux, 1998.
Sophocles. Three Theban Plays.
Trans. Robert Fagles. New York: Penguin, 1984.
Dictionary of Symbolism. 1997-2001. Nov 2006 <http://staff.fcps.net/mkearl/links/Online%20Symbolism%20Dictionary.htm>.
Encyclopedia Mythica.
Nov 2006 <http://www.pantheon.org/areas/mythology/europe/greek/articles.html>.
“
Mythological Monsters.” 1998. Monstrous.com.
Nov 2006 <http://monsters.monstrous.com/>.
"
Strangulation." Wikipedia.
15 Nov 2006 <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strangulation>.
Editor's note by Ralph LaCharity: Certain
terminology from the paper’s
body, above, construed for poetics-centric utility, below
Pharmakos – not just the “scapegoat,” but also
one who knows how to deliver enchantment with words; a wizard/witch whose wording
permeates
soulfully, wherein that witch/wizard’s very voice seems attuned to the
divine and/or the supernatural. They can devolve into “outsiders,” whose
language violates the norms of the tribe: Think of a conflation, in the poet’s
office, of both magician AND scapegoat --- of Anne Waldman’s Fast Speaking
Woman, say, or of the oracular denunciations in Allen Ginsberg’s HOWL.
Syzygy – a conjoining of erstwhile polarities and/or singularities;
can symbolize a sharing of the unconscious and of the conscious minds --- passive-active,
male-female, in complementary mode, both dynamically interrelating, while yet
maintaining integrity in and of themselves. Again, with regard to the poet’s
office, think of such pairings as, in their totality, comprising resources
generative of what might well be perceived as inspired, divinatory speech
--- the meta-androgynous Prophet, perhaps.
-RLC
|
|
