The material on the goddess Themis leads to the most renowned oracular shrine of all—Delphi—which literally means “womb.” Tucked away in the foothills of the craggy Phedriades Mountains of Greece, Delphi, though most often described as a temple of the male Apollo, dates back to the Mycenaean period of Greece (about 1400 BC), when it was a holy place of the Mother of Themis, the creator goddess known as Gaia. Since it took ten pages in the book to cover the evidence on Gaia and the accounts of the loss of the shrine of Delphi to the priests of Apollo, I will simply say here that it was Gaia who was described by Aeschylus as the Primeval Prophetess and that the first priestesses, the Pythias, who gave the prophetic oracles at Delphi, conveyed the messages of Gaia—not Apollo. The conquest of the shrine by Dorian invaders and its eventual control by the priests of Apollo may be reflected in mythic accounts such as that of Daphne fleeing from Apollo’s attempt to rape her. Or there is the priestess Delphyna, who stood in Apollo’s way and was shot down by his fiery arrow, and the story of Cassandra, who was tortured with the curse of being able to foresee the future but never to be believed. Greek myth tells us this curse was placed upon Cassandra for resisting the sexual advances of, who else but, Apollo.
So full circle, though very briefly covered under the pressure of orally describing thousands of years and many unfamiliar names and places in such a short period of allotted time, I return to thoughts of the haunting image of Cassandra. And suddenly the voice of Intuition, silent since the last crack about the clergy being in the image of the deity, now says, “Well, that should at least get the point across that it was, and is, the natural role of woman to look into the future and to offer the wisdom of women’s counsel on it.” With fingers tired from typing, papers and books now scattered all over the room, I say, “Intuition, I’m truly glad you suggested doing this, but now I am feeling very hesitant about leaving in the beginning of this paper and admitting to all the women at the Chico conference that I hear voices—your voice to be specific—and even more damning that I answer back and argue with you.” She does not answer, and now I worry that she is offended by this challenge to her very existence. Trying to veer over to a less painful subject, I ask, “Why do so many people speak of intuition as ‘women’s intuition’? If all women hear your voice, and women are the majority of people on this Earth, then perhaps hearing voices should be considered normal.” She is still silent, and my mind travels back to some of the places and times I have just been writing about, remembering how often priestesses were thought to be conveying messages of the Goddess.
Really feeling a bit crazy at this point and quite exhausted, I say defensively, “But it’s true: they do say ‘women’s intuition,’ almost always ‘women’s intuition.’” Still no answer. I decide to look up the word in a massive old Webster’s Dictionary. Webster’s says “intuition” is “inner tuition,” and suggests I look up “tuition.” I wonder, as I turn the pages to T, if following Webster’s advice is really any sounder than following Intuition’s. “Tuition—the watch or care of a tutor or guardian, watchful, protective.” I digest the meaning of “intuition” as an inner tutor, an inner guardian or adviser. At this point, I am not sure if it is my voice or hers that whispers, “The Goddess within each woman.” Of course, I think, Intuition is a woman’s balance of perceiving existent external realities while, at the same time, being advised or tutored about what we see from within. Women listened to her voice before they (we) were frightened by stories of Cassandra or were told that if we heard a woman’s voice it must be our imagination because Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Isaiah, and the rest said that true prophecy came from hearing a man’s voice. But, all my life, this woman’s voice has been telling me to listen to her. In exhaustion and total exasperation, I plead, “Intuition, truly you are driving me crazy. Are you my own voice? Are you the voice of the Goddess? Do you really exist?” Finally, an answer, as I hear the voice say, “That’s a rather complex theological, philosophical, and psychological question, one that I think we had better save for another time. But before you finish this paper, do add that as women demand to have their voices heard in the future, I, too, would like to be heard and to have my ideas considered seriously. I don’t mind arguing or having to defend my point of view, but I do resent being ignored. And, oh, one more thing before you get up from the typewriter: don’t forget to mention that the future always was, is, and will be beginning right now.”
I would like to finish by saying that by sharing this with you, I am not advocating an undigested acceptance of the voice of Intuition in each of us. But by exploring the areas that our intuitions suggest, taking the time and trouble to examine our intuitive ideas, balancing what we know from Intuition with our tuition of all that is happening around us, we may find that we, as women, possess the most perfectly balanced compass for navigation into the future.
The Global Garden
by Merlin Stone
(An unpublished article dated May 2, 1992)
Bertrand Russell once asked, “Do you think of your skin as separating you from the rest of the world, or as connecting you to it?” At the time I heard this, perhaps forty years ago, I laughed and decided that I simply thought of my skin as something to keep me from leaking.
Since that time I have given a great deal of thought to this question of separation and connection, especially in relation to how this matter might emerge in times to come. So much spiritual contemplation arrives at the perception of everyone, everything, being connected, interwoven in a sacred web of life. Yet so many people perceive themselves as separate, not only from most or all other people, but from other species, from other forms of nature, even from our planet.
It seems to me that one of the most powerful emotions that acts as a lens for a perception of separateness is fear—a deep, unconscious fear of things getting out of control, a fear of a dangerous chaos. It is this fear of chaos that leads to emotional and material fortressing. It leads to building walls of protection around the heart and mind. It leads to an amassing of material goods and wealth as walls to protect one’s comforts, body, and ego. The greater the fear of chaos, the greater the fortressing.
The fear of a dangerous chaos leads people to try to maintain a rigid control of themselves. It also leads to an effort to control everyone and everything else by judging, shaming, and humiliating them, as well as by constructing hierarchies based on gender, race, nationality, ethnicity, religion, economics, class, education, species, and other aspects of life. Feelings of trust or compassion become close to impossible if they in any way seem to threaten any one of the numerous fortresses constructed to achieve a sense of control.
One of the most noticeable manifestations of a fear of chaos is a resistance to flow, to process, to change. What could be more threatening to frightened efforts to maintain control? If there is one change that I would like to see in the future, it would be a lessening of the fear of chaos, even the ability to embrace it as a stage of incipient creation. This would allow for a deeper comprehension and trust of time and process, a greater courage to continually consider all possibilities and options. It would encourage a greater spontaneity and creativity in thinking about the way we live. We would not embrace change merely for the sake of change, but would be free to choose those changes that work best for all life on the planet, free to move in more compassionate, life-nurturing directions, and to embark upon these paths with courage, hope, and trust.
If we could stop being so protective of our separated selves, we could tear down the individual fortresses, step out into the lush global garden of infinite possibilities, and finally experience what it means to be fully alive.
Women in Armed Combat
by Merlin Stone
Written in 1991, the source notes for this essay have been lost, but based on the thorough scholarship of Merlin’s other published works, we confidently publish this essay here. —David B. Axelrod
Women in combat? It’s a prospect that anti-f
eminists and some feminists have found equally unthinkable for opposing reasons: women’s physical “inferiority” and need for protection on one hand, and women’s moral “superiority” and opposition to violence on the other. Both viewpoints could benefit from historical records. Women have fought and killed in battle; that much is clear. Was it out of aggression or self-defense? Was there actually a need to conquer, or was it fueled by a will to survive? Only by looking at the reasons for violence can we fully understand why women may be both physically capable of fighting and killing in combat as well as culturally likely to resort to it for different reasons.
One of the better known accounts of an ancient woman soldier is that of Boudicca (Boadicea), Queen of the Celtic Iceni tribe that inhabited the area that is now Norfolk in Great Britain. The Roman writer Dio Cassius reported that Boudicca personally led a mass rebellion against the invading Roman army in 61 AD and burned the town of Llundein (London) to the ground. He described her as “huge of frame, terrifying of aspect, and possessing a harsh voice.” He further explained that a mass of red hair fell to her knees, that she held a long spear to frighten all who came before her, and that she prayed to the Celtic battle goddess Andrasta before entering battle. Perhaps she was also influenced by the fact that Roman soldiers had raped her daughters.
Cartimandua, a Celtic woman who lived during the same period as Boudicca, was queen of the large Brigante tribe that lived in the area now called Yorkshire. Tacitus recorded that Cartimandua chose to sign a peace treaty with the invading Romans, divorcing her husband (who preferred to fight) in order to do so. The Celtic text known as the Tain Bo Cualnge includes many passages about Medb, queen of the Irish county of Connaught. Though initially put into written form in the seventh century AD, the Tain is a compilation of accounts that had long been retained through oral recitations. Judging from the place names and events described in it, Celtic scholars believe that some of the accounts may be as old as the Le Tene Period of about 500 BC. According to the Tain, Medb led the mounted Connaught troops in battle against the troops of Ulster. References to other well-known women soldiers such as Scathach, Aoife, and the Gwyddynod of Gloucester are also recorded in Roman and Celtic records. Ammianus Marcellinus, writing of the Roman invasions of Celtic territories, commented, “An entire troop of foreigners would not be able to withstand a single Gaul (Celt) if he called his wife to his assistance.”
Tomyris, chief of the Massagetae tribes that lived near the Caspian Sea, led the battle that resulted in the retreat of invading Persian armies and the death of their leader, Cyrus of Persia, in 530 BC. According to the Greek historian Herodotus, writing in about 425 BC, Tomyris decided to engage the Persian troops in battle after a series of attempts at peaceful negotiations. Her decision to attack was made after discovering that her son, Spagapides, had been captured by Cyrus and had died in the enemy camp. The battle was a bloody one that began with mounted troops using bows and arrows and ended with spears and daggers in hand to hand combat. When the battle was over, Tomyris sought out the body of Cyrus on the battlefield. Her rage was so great that she then beheaded the slain king. The account of this incident, as recorded by Herodotus, includes the words that Tomyris spoke at that moment: “Though I have conquered you and I still live, truly you have defeated me by killing my son.”
Artemisia, sovereign of Halicarnassus, appears in the accounts of Herodotus as a naval commander of five ships in a Persian-led retaliation against a Greek incursion of Aegean islands. She is described not only as an extremely competent naval officer but also as an outstanding strategist of naval battle. Her expertise became so renowned that the Greeks offered a reward of ten thousand drachmae to anyone who could capture her alive. The reward was never claimed. After the battle at Salamis, in 480 BC, Artemisia returned safely to her homeland in Anatolia (now Turkey).
Numerous lengthy passages that appear in many of the Greek and Roman classics refer to women as “amazons.” These accounts, along with bas reliefs and paintings depicting women in battle, have been dismissed as fantasy by many writers of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Yet well-known classical writers—Callimachus, Diodorus Siculus, Herodotus, Homer, Pausanius, Pindar, Plutarch, Strabo, and others—described women warriors in various areas of the Near East and Caucasus regions, some not far from the Massagetae territories of the later Tomyris. The oldest of the Greek accounts is that of Homer. Since several different groups of women are described in these accounts, each would require a separate dating analysis. Homer’s passages, linked to the Trojan War, are generally believed to refer to the Mycenaean Period of about the fourteenth century BC. The very specific geographical areas designated, and the extremely detailed accounts of some of the battles, do not allow a casual dismissal of women as soldiers.
Archaeological evidence supports descriptions of ancient female deities—most often associated with fertility, wisdom, and compassion—that include attributes so martial that contemporary scholars often refer to them as battle goddesses. Although ancient goddess figures might be regarded today as theological inventions, the question remains: Why were such powerful, martial deities in so many different cultures perceived as female? The classical Greek Athena is perhaps the battle goddess most familiar to us, but the image of female deity as warrior was far from unique in ancient periods. The image of the helmeted Athena has been traced back to earlier Minoan Crete, and to several artifacts that depict the Minoan goddess with helmet and spear. In turn, both the Minoan goddess and Athena are thought to have been derived from the warrior goddess Neith, who was known in early dynastic periods of Egypt and Libya.
Tablets of the fourteenth-century-BC city-state of Ugarit in northern Canaan, currently Ras Shamra in Syria, contain detailed accounts of battles of the Semitic goddess Anath. One major epic described how she defended her temple against invaders. Bas reliefs of Anath depict her with spear and battle helmet in portrayals similar to those of Athena. Japanese literature describes the sun goddess Amaterasu appearing in the heavens holding a bow in one hand, five hundred arrows in the other, and a quiver of one thousand arrows on her back. The Purana texts of India offer several different versions of the battles fought by the goddess Durga against various manifestations of the demon of evil. A seventh-century-AD carved stone relief adorns a temple at Mamallapuram on the coast of India, some thirty miles from Madras. It depicts troops of the demon in retreat as Durga rides forth upon a lion. The weapons attributed to Durga were bow and arrows, spear and trident. Babylonian cuneiform tablets depicting the goddess Ishtar were inscribed: “When at the front of combat she is seen, she is a flood of light whose strength is mighty. Ishtar is the one who cannot be opposed. She is the whirlwind that roars against all wrong.”
Along with these accounts are those of Strabo’s passages regarding the women warriors of India; Briffault’s accounts of women soldiers in Indonesia and Polynesia; the oral traditions about the woman Potai (war chief) Pohaha of the Cottonwood Clan of the Native American Pueblo; accounts of women soldiers such as Mary E. Wise, Elizabeth Compton, Sophie Thompson, Frances Hook, and Anna Ella Carroll, all of whom took part in the U.S. Civil War; and, of course, the more familiar accounts of Joan of Arc. French and English reports of nineteenth-century Dahomey told of the royal bodyguard of one hundred women who fought alongside King Gueso in the battle at Abeokuta, a town in Nigeria close to the Dahomey border. The martial skills and courage of these women were said to be equaled only by their prowess in the elephant hunts. An account of the Dahomean women soldiers appeared in the Paris edition of the New York Herald Tribune on December 2, 1964. The story told of an elite corps of women soldiers who fought in the war for the independence of Malawi (Nyasaland).
Women of the Native American Iroquois tribes of the northeastern U.S. participated in martial strategy in a somewhat unusual way. Although it was the Iroquois males who actually participated in combat, the women had total control of the food supply. Refusing to supply food to the warriors constitu
ted a veto against that particular conflict, thus canceling many a battle.
Historical evidence makes it clear that women are both physically and psychologically capable of engaging in war and armed combat. It helps us to understand that when a majority of women in the past and present have avoided war as the solution to world problems, this has not been by default, but by choice. In this era of technological warfare, women are perhaps even more capable of participating in war, while the reasons for speaking out against it have become increasingly obvious. Perhaps when we consciously acknowledge that women are inherently capable of engaging in combat, women’s voices calling for peaceful solutions will be given more serious consideration.
Two Poems by Merlin Stone
I Trust the Voice
(1987)
We are the Goddess
creating the world ever new.
Our strength and our courage
grow when we do what we do.
I trust the voice inside of me.
I trust the voice inside of you.
As sisters we grow together
weaving our wisdom so old,
shaping a new world together
with patterns and colors so bold.
I trust the voice inside of me.
I trust the voice inside of you.
Merlin Stone Remembered Page 17
