Note: The reader is cautioned that this is a work in progress, and much of this material is taken from memory, awaiting confirmation by later reading. It should not be viewed as being an authoritative source, in any way, but only as a springboard for further reading on the subject.

When one seeks to borrow from other cultures, one can easily be tripped up by the assumptions that one doesn't know about, and there will be many. A simple shift from assuming a modern Anglo-Saxon point of view to a more traditionally Mediterranean one can completely transform a narrative.

Here's a small example. Around "All Souls Day" (about the time some will celebrate Samhain), some will tell the story of Hades and Persephone. (Proserpine, actually, but why quibble ). As you may recall, Hades, desiring Persephone, abducted her and took her beneath the earth to his kingdom below. Persephone made the mistake of eating a few pomegranate seeds and so was trapped in the realm of the dead. Demeter, her mother, withheld her life giving presence from the earth and soon the grain ceased to grow. As the prayers of the starving reached Olympus, the other gods asked Demeter to relent, but she would not. Finally, a compromise was struck. For six months out of the year, Persephone (or the maiden Kore, as she was called before her abduction) would live above the earth, which Demeter would then allow to bring forth new life. But six months out of the year, she would return to her husband in the underworld and Demeter, in her displeasure, would leave the earth barren. Those from an Anglo-Saxon background hear this story and some immediately are scornful of the harsh and capricious attitude of the Olympians, who deprive their young relative of her freedom merely for declining to starve herself. (Let us remember that Kore, being an immortal goddess, couldn't starve to death). They don't understand why those of a Southern European background are smiling at them as they relate this. But from a Southern European perspective, it seems no more a coincidence that a pomegranate was the fruit eaten than it would be a coincidence that one's mother saw fit to walk down an aisle with one's father, some years ago. There's a significance to the act.

The offering of a pomegranate is a traditional part of the act of betrothal. With its many seeds, it is symbolic of fertility and its offering is symbolic of a wish that the one accepting bring forth children. (The symbolism is not obscure. The woman takes the man's seed into her and brings forth children. The earth takes another sort of seed into it and new life will come forth from it as a result. Thus, on a metaphorical level, one event represents the other. Many seeds - many children. Let us note that the primary earth deities in the Greek mythos - Gaea and Demeter - are female.)

Its acceptance is a symbolic indication that this wish is mutual. When the story tells us of Persephone's eating of the seeds, it tells us that she had become engaged to Hades. But she only ate six seeds. The acceptance of his love was a hesitant decision on her part, less than total enthusiasm being displayed. Poetically, the ancient story teller connects the six reluctantly consumed seeds with the six months the land lies barren between harvest and the next year's planting.

Some will ask whether the teller of the story (actually, the poet who sings the hymn) has Persephone take six seeds because of the length of the barren season or to show us Persephone's reluctance in yielding to Hades' desires. This is in keeping with linear method of construction many Anglo-American story tellers will use. But life is not so tidy as to fit into a linear narrative construction and neither is the making of this story. One element does not 'cause' the presence of the other but each, in being present, makes the other seem more fitting. The story, like a poem, acts on a number of mutually reinforcing levels. Let us remember that the myth was not the fabrication of a single poet, but grew organically from retelling to retelling, as one poet learned it from another. The myth passed, in this fashion, from generation to generation down through the centuries, gradually evolving along the way, those versions that proved the most compelling having the greatest impact on those that followed.

At this point, the reader may begin to see the humorous nature of the misunderstanding. Imagine encountering someone from a predominantly Wiccan society who, being unfamiliar with contemporary Anglo-American culture, hears of the story of a young woman who is taken far away by a kidnapper. He is told that by the time the distraught mother, opposing the desires of the kidnapper to be her daughter's suitor, caught up to the couple, it was too late - they had already walked down the aisle. Now, our hypothetical outsider would have grown up in a culture where weddings (handfastings) were customarily held in the outdoors, so the reference to an "aisle" would mean nothing to him. There are no aisles in the forest.

Imagine him asking, in shock and dismay, if the teller could possibly be serious. That just because the daughter had walked down an aisle with someone, did that mean she would lose her freedom? How barbaric! Patiently, one might try to explain to our bewildered outsider that this merely referred to her having taken part in a wedding ceremony, of which the walk down the aisle was a traditional part. "And if he tricks a naive young girl who doesn't know about this into taking that walk, she is trapped?" No, you might try to explain, that isn't what is being said at all. What he has encountered is an idiom based on custom familiar to those who use it, which alludes to a wedding that she agreed to. "But you said it was too late", he persists, perhaps seeming quite dense. As he truly will be, until he accepts that his cultural frame of reference can't be taken as a given.

In the language of any well developed society, there will be any number of such allusions built into the language. As a narrative is constructed in that language, the narrator will make use of these established allusions to summon forth a wealth of associations through the use of relatively few words. These built in associations are an integral part of the culture and they vary from culture to culture. If they should cause some confusion for outsiders, that is a nonissue. The narrative is written, not only to be heard but to be heard by a specific audience. One that continually reexplained the culture of its teller to those who grew up in it, would rapidly become tiresome to its audience.

Now, as for the warning given Demeter ...

One should remember than in a Mediterranean context the offering of food and drink by the host, rather than being viewed as merely being a chore necessary for the maintenance of his guests' health, is done for their pleasure and lies at the heart of his hospitality. While the Anglo-Saxon may rush through the ordeal he has made of his dinner (as well he might), it is customary among Southern Europeans (who have not been Saxonised) to linger over the meal, mixing the leisurely taking of it with conversation and the rest of the evening's entertainment. One would never dream of being silent throughout such a meal. To break bread with one's guests is to be with them in the spirit of friendship. So it has been, for thousands of years.

The other gods of Olympus weren't warning Demeter that if the young captive were to break a rule that she was unaware of, that they would respond with an arbitrary punishment. They were warning her that if Persephone were to accept her captor's hospitality, then he would succeed in seducing her. As the only faces around her would those of Hades' followers, and as she had been seperated from the protection and support of her own family, she would have been left extremely vulnerable to the coaxing of her captor. It would be so easy and make her feel so much less threatened, to yield. She could resist only by keeping to herself and ignoring those she found herself surrounded by.

Once Hades had successfully exploited the vulnerabilities of his naive young captive, in this environment that was so totally under his control, she herself would believe that the love she had been softly pressured into accepting had touched her heart. (In the modern West, we would speak of the Stockholm syndrome). At that point, she would truly be lost, as she would no longer be willing to be saved.

An ancient Greek, who obviously wouldn't be referring to the not yet founded capital of Sweden, would point out that while Kore's family (ie. Demeter) had not blessed this union and Kore, as an honorable woman, knew that she shouldn't wed without that blessing, her resolve would have been weakened in the course of her captivity. In a society where assertiveness in the face of authority was not encouraged in women, he would easily understand why she might yield. Hades, after all, was an imposing figure, second only to Zeus among the gods of his generation. (Strictly speaking, he was a cthonic, or underworld, diety, so we won't refer to him as an Olympian). She was out of contact with her mother and help in general for a long time, and had no husband that she might hope would come for her.

To our groans, he would have probably gone on to say that she was, after all, but a woman and a young one at that. (Kore means "maiden" - ie. a virgin, a woman in her early youth). Like his modern descendants, he might recognise the heartache that Persephone might feel on liberation, because she believed that she had come to love her captor. (A love that she does proclaim in the course of the story, shocking less compassionate Anglo-American sensibilities, unaccustomed to making allowances for any sort of hardship or vulnerability when judging another's actions). And, in a sense, she could be right. Even if an emotional bond made is made for the worst of reasons and with the one who will not bring one happiness, it is reinforced as it is acted upon. What begins as a delusion one is conditioned into believing in, may become a heartfelt bond, that eventually it might even be wrong to break.

(Some might argue that this is not far from the nature of the bond between parent and child. Indeed, when Persephone proclaims her love for him, Hades responds in a grim, almost paternal tone, all too familiar to those of us who grew up under Stoicism, seeming more fatherly than romantic. The difference is that instinct makes the bond with one's birth parents an irreplacable one and for better or worse, one can't choose one's parents, surrogate parental figures being no substitute. On the other hand, one can choose one's mate, if one's freedom has not been obstructed).

Even if the present situation should become one that justifies the preservation of that bond, the past actions that lead to the creation of that undesirable present are not necessarily justified in the process. The damage has been done, but it is damage and responsibility accrues. The question is, at what point does the damage become irreversible and to what extent should one reward the wrongful action that does it? One thing that is clear, is that if one would rescue the kidnapped bride, one had best do it quickly, before the bonds solidify and the bride herself will see fit to fight on behalf of her own rapist.

In the myth, the other Olympians and Zeus in particular, rather than immediately storming the Underworld to to take away that which Hades forcibly obtained (control over Kore's movements), stalled. One might note, should Hades have kidnapped Kore without Zeus' permission, he would have violated his own oath to honor Zeus' - his brother's - sovereignty over the world above ground, violating the demands of honor and betraying his own brother in the process. Demeter couldn't have failed to notice this. Nor would the Greeks expect her to overlook it. In an extended family culture, dependent on the trust of one family member for the other for its very stability, such an act takes on an especially dark significance.

Zeus, as king, was responsible for the defense of those in his realm, but was now put in the awkward position of having to choose between his loyalty to his older brother and his duty to his subjects - and seemingly, couldn't decide which unpalatable option to accept. In some accounts, he didn't merely fail to act, but, as Persephone's father, actually gave Hades permission to do as he did, considering the sensibilities of neither mother nor daughter. In the process, in undermining the civil order he was charged with preserving, he would have failed in his duties.

To an ancient, it would have been one thing for a father to give away his daughter - yes, even as a gift. The ancients would have regarded her duty of obedience to him as being absolute. The rationale, found intact in Plato's account of the Death of Socrates, is that the child would not even exist but for the father's decision to bring her into the world, and thus her life itself was a gift to her from him, anyway. Apparently, the Ancient Greeks didn't view the transfer of ownership coming in gift giving in quite our absolute terms, and the demands of gratitude could be onerous. This outlook is preserved in the old argument that the roots of piety lie in gratitude. And, to an infuriating extent, in some of our parents.

Some things never change.

It would be another thing entirely, however, for him to sanction what would have the appearance of lawless conduct against those who, unlike the mortals below, were part of the society he reigned over. Citizens, if you will, rather than slaves. Worse still, to give away his daughter as if she was a slave to be taken, rather than a wife to be recieved with all proper and joyous ceremony by her husband. It was an unprovoked insult to mother and daughter alike (and an affront to their dignity and honor) for such a display to occur. The father, while a dictator, was still expected to be a benevolent dictator. Nor could this father have plead poverty as an excuse to make a slave of this apparently good child, in the eyes of all witnessing what had occured. He could well have afforded her dowry.

Meanwhile, Kore, seperated from her home and family, was being lost to her captor. In a sense, as Hades wore her down, she was being transformed into a new person, her old self disappearing. The change of name (in this case) was thus not altogether inappropriate. Demeter, outraged by the unwillingness of the other Olympians to intervene in this subtle brainwashing, felt understandably vindictive at this failure of those around her to come to the defense of her child, when the understood order of things had so clearly been breached. Once Kore became Persephone, submitting to Hades, the other gods decided it was too late to act. Demeter, the protective mother, was not going to accept that Hades should receive that which he wrongly obtained - the stolen love of his new queen - merely by benefit of having waited long enough. Zeus, now having no good way to clean up this mess, simply cut the difference between the wishes of mother and husband down the middle. In a slightly different modern Southern European perspective, one might say that Persephone's own individual wishes had been made obscure by the situation. In antiquity, when marriages were often arranged, the attitude might have been that Demeter's desire to be heard when Kore was to be given away had been clearly ignored, but that Persephone's pain if she should be seperated from her husband forever would have to be considered. At some undisclosed point in between, the ancient attitude became the modern one with neither ever completely out of the picture, owing to the conflicts in attitude within the societies in question.

Given the increasing prevalence of marriages freely entered into by both parties during the time of the Roman Empire, that point in time may reasonably be guessed to have been reached during late antiquity, rather than during our own era.

Demeter, given half a loaf, offered half a loaf in return and restored the world to life as requested - but only for half the year. Tit for tat, in measured fashion.

What, naively approached, might seem a story about capriciousness, is instead a story about the importance of the involvement of the entire family in the development of worthy romantic attachments and of the honoring of traditional expectations by those involved (For a Hellenic deity, this would have to be the nuclear family, as they are all fairly closely related in the myths as formulated in the Classical period). Sadly, in the case of this story, by showing the consequences of the absence of just that. It is commented in the myths that follow that the formerly cheerful Persephone had become as grim and foreboding as her husband. It is not really going to be a happy ending.

Nor a Christian one, as one might point out to latter day apologists of the institution of arrainged marriages. Persephone goes on to develop a romantic attachment to Adonis, all too reminiscent of the one her husband has developed to her, which is acted on in an enduring fashion while she is still married to Hades, as she is to remain. True, Kore, as Zeus' daughter, would be expected to honor her father's choice, were he to not relent. But even had this occured, there would be no illusion that she could feel a heartfelt joy in it, merely because it had been decreed. In this case, even if she found herself thinking herself to be in love, the dark reality was ever present. A marriage, forced in any sense, is never a happy one nor is the dedication of the coerced spouse to it, ever to be trusted.

Hera, who freely accepted the love of Zeus and dictated the terms on which she would do so, is ever faithful. Zeus, who was lured into an unwanted marriage through his uncontrollable desire for Hera, rarely is. Aphrodite, who was blatantly given to Hephaestus without her consent, is defiantly unfaithful, sleeping with who she wishes, not with who is chosen for her. Persephone's level of consent falls somewhere in the middle and so will her level of fidelity. The lack of respect shown by Hades carries a price in the level of devotion he can hope for.

Persephone will not have many loves as does the utterly coerced Aphrodite, but she will have her one lover who she has freely chosen. Such an arrangement between spouses was not unknown in places in the Mediterranean basin where marriage often was still arranged by the parents, even in living memory though, of course, it was generally held to be the husband's and not the wife's perogative. Not that the latter was unknown, but the posture was taken by fashion that it was more shameful that infidelity should be seen out of the wife, and thus had to be done more discreetly. The reason, in those places, was as simple as it was barbarous. The husband, more aggressive by nature and expected to be so, would be both more willing to engage in violence - and, given the mockery he could expect if his cuckolding were to become public, far more motivated to be so. That which leads reliably to bloodshed, is feared. Those who are caught, bring such fear to the surface. (*)

An immortal goddess was free from such concerns, however. As was her lover, once Zeus decreed the terms of his periodic stay among the living and the dead. If, in the process he should be cuckolding his own brother, that brother had quite a debt of gratitude, in that it was Zeus himself who gave him his bride in the first place. And now Zeus provided the daughter he so ill treated by arranging her marriage in so traumatic and humiliatingly unseemly a fashion for her by giving her someone who would be a source of joy for her, during the dark months she spent in the underworld (dark in both senses of the word). Hades wouldn't have dared to retaliate or even complain.

So much for fidelity, in life and myth alike. How fortunate and yet unsurprising, given how such marriages worked out among its faithful, that the Roman Catholic Church, which teaches that fidelity is divinely commanded, went on to specifically prohibit the arranging of marriages. It is now an article of Canon Law that such marriages are invalid. If one examines the accounts of the marriages seen in myth, the insight into human nature that this change reflects would seem to be a very old one, one that some needed to rediscover. Let us hope that demipagans will not repeat history, and feel the need to relearn that lesson for themselves.

Would an ancient Greek, or a modern one, give such an elaborate explanation? No, because it would, for him, be a lengthy exposition on the painfully obvious. It only becomes complex, when, as we did here, begin with an Anglo-Saxon attitude as a given and feel the need to explain the differences. If they should seem mystifying at first, remember that modern Greeks are just as mystified by Anglo-American culture. Note the way in which even a simple story is completely transformed by the change in cultural assumptions, however - and this, with a story from a culture having a deep connection to those of the rest of the Western World.

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Ethnocentricism in the Reading of Myth

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(*) In all fairness, there is one very significant difference between infidelity between the spouses. An unfaithful husband will not leave the wife with cause to wonder if her children are really her own. The reverse is not the case. The injury done to the husband was greater, especially during an era when the sexually transmitted diseases we would have to worry about today were still off in the future.

Not that it seems likely that the husband of an unfaithful wife would defend the double standard in such an analytical way, but he could have.