The Cats and Cathedral of Cadiz

With my laptop out of commission as far as any wireless connection was concerned, I had not been able to enjoy my photographs of the Mediterranean for a long time, nor to be able to update this site as I would have liked.

It was tonight that I finally looked at some of my Mediterranean photographs again. Like a vagabond of the ethernet, I have been taking my external drive from computer to computer, never able to call any computer home...

In any event, I rediscovered Cadiz tonight. Some of the smaller ports of the Mediterranean, like Cadiz and Valletta were exquisite jewels. I miss the ocean terribly now that I live inland, and being able to walk along the beachfronts with the wind in my face, beneath the shadow of walls and buildings hundreds of years old, was an unforgettable experience. I long to return.

Cadiz is one of the oldest cities in Iberia, and in fact is believed to be the oldest city in Western Europe that remains standing. Its official foundation date is 1104 B.C. Its original name was Gadir. As an outpost established by the Phoenicians, Gadir was a thriving port.

The Greeks believed that Hercules himself founded Gadir after he completed his 10th labour, the slaying of Geryon, a giant with three heads, three torsos and a single pair of legs. As late as the third century, a tumulus in Gadir was associated with the burial of Geryon.

One of the most famous temples in Gadir in antiquity was dedicated to the Phoenician god Melqart and some believe the columns of this temple to have been the original source of the legend of the Pillars of Hercules.

In 500 B.C., Hannibal used Gadir as a base of operations in his conquest of Iberia. Actually, 'conquest' may be misleading in this context as the Punic wars consisted of a conflict between two nations, Carthage and Rome. Cities in Iberia basically allied themselves first with one and then the other during this period.

The sands of Cadiz were threaded with tiny perfect shells. As I waded in the shallow waters close to the shore, collecting souvenirs, I thought of the ancient warriors from Carthage and Rome who conquered and reconquered this city. The contemporary atmosphere of lazy peace that pervades this quiet civilised port is undisturbed by echoes of far those brutal struggles... Yet reminders of conflict can be found in the architecture of every port in the Mediterranean. The silhouettes of magnificent forts and city walls may not resonate now with the cries of the doomed, but their purpose primarily was defence from a world that sought to control their native populations.

Thousands of years later, one can explore the history of those conflicts while retaining emotional distance from the true reality of war. Ancient war was no more romantic than contemporary warfare, and yet anything that remote from us in time achieves an undeniable mystique, transforming conflicts based in greed and exploitation to mythical heroics.

One of the most delightful encounters in Cadiz was an unexpected sight of the cats who lived at the beach. Unlike the feral cats of mainland Italia, who tend to be half-starved, these cats appeared almost pampered. Residents obviously provided them regularly with food and water. Little dishes and bowls were stashed discreetly in niches along the rocky shoreline.

The Cathedral was too large to be called 'exquisite' but it was magnificent. I wish I could spend a fortnight or so in Cadiz. One day was not sufficient by any means.

Carthage in Literature

Literature about Carthage focuses mainly on the Punic Wars and Hannibal. All original sources were written by the enemies of this incredible civilisation. The actual founding of the city is the stuff of legends and when Aeneas was injected into the tale, it made the legends even more unlikely. It is difficult to find good historical fiction that deals with ordinary life in Carthage but upon my return from my brief visit to La Goulette, I was fired with the need to immerse myself in the atmosphere of that ancient civilisation.

I wrote about two good factual studies of Roman civilisation in North Africa in an earlier post. Since then, I discovered two excellent contemporary novels about Carthage. 'Fire and Bronze' by Robert Raymond is a compelling account of the founding of Carthage by Dido. 'Carthage' by Peter Huby deals with the ultimate horrific destruction of the city by the Romans. Both attempt to decipher the reality that underlies the legends and ancient political propaganda to create a plausible realistic sequence of events and both succeed admirably.

Furthermore, I was astounded by the beauty of the prose, especially in view of the fact that 'Fire and Bronze' is a first novel. The two writers are very different but both demonstrate a love of words and images and an expert ability to alternate extraordinary lyricism with graphic realism. In fact, having finished the two novels, I was hungry for more. I found Peter Huby's first novel, 'Pasiphae' and devoured that as well.

I recommend all three of these novels. I read all the 'Classics' as a child but I have to admit that there are many contemporary writers who may supercede some of the Victorian 'Masters'. If I were to teach a class in ancient History, I would be inclined to include these novels in any discussion of Carthage.

I have one negative criticsm of 'Carthage' and I am not alone in this. Many readers remarked upon the writer's use of anachronisms in this book. Some of them were more irritating than others. I found the writer's inaccurate correlation of Phoenicians with Jews to be unjustifiable and infuriating as well, essentially writing the ancestors of the Arab Nation out of the equation. The Phoenicians were NOT Jews. At the time when Qart Hadasht was founded, the Hebrews were well-known as a separate ethnic group.

Qart Hadasht or 'New Town' is the real name of Carthage. As is often the case, however, the victorious Romans ultimately triumphed in history as well as in life, leaving us with their name for the civilisation that may have been Rome's greated rival. So determined was Rome to destroy Kart Hadasht that it sowed the land with salt, preventing any crops from growing there for a hundred years.

One of the few details about ancient Carthage familiar to the general public even when nothing else is known is the practice of infant sacrifice. The entire civilisation has been demonised because of a religious tradition poorly, if at all, comprehended. 'Fire and Bronze' tackles this subject well. In a period of history when mystery religions often demanded the sacrifice of a man's genitals, the sacrifice of the first-born would be an example of true devotion and a very profound faith in the gods and in a world beyond this one.

Religions such as Christianity and Islam stress the principle that this life is transient. If one accepts the premise that the world beyond this is far more substantial in spiritual terms and is the only one that endures, human sacrifice will be perceived not as a cruel and barbaric act but one that sets the 'victim' above and beyond ordinary humans. The child that is sacrificed in essence becomes one with the gods, entering an existence that is free from pain and suffering.

Comprehending a ritual or tradition is not tantamount to agreement with it. Recoiling from horror from the practice of infant sacrifice prohibits any true exploration of a civilisation that was extremely sophisticated and one that based itself on a code of law that was far from barbaric. Religion in any civilisation is a tree that has deep roots in another world, with a distinct logic that is divorced from ordinary existence. If one were to view the principles of 'Holy Communion' and 'Transubstantiation' without reference to the underlying philosophy of Christianity, one might find them horrific as well. An actual need for a god to die in human form in extreme torment upon a wooden cross is the foundation of Christian religion. How one perceives the ultimate sacrifice depends upon comprehension of the system of philosophy that underlies the act rather than the act itself. Infant sacrifice is no different in this respect.

Neither novels are centred upon the religion of ancient Carthage but they touch upon it en passant. In this particular aspect, Robert Raymond's spiritual comprehension of ancient cultures was far more convincing. Peter Huby's insistence on equating the Carthaginians with the Jews severely marred his account of ancient religion. The appearance of Orthodox Jews on the streets of Kart Hadasht was bizarre, to say the least. Even though he included some of the ancient Canaanite tales in his account, his attempt to address Carthaginian beliefs was unsuccessful in my view. He did far better with 'Pasiphae'.

'Pasiphae' incidentally is a tale of ancient Crete and the central character, despite the title, is Daedalus. Sadly, although it is very high on my list of places I long to visit, I have not been to Crete yet. Peter Huby's work deals with the passion of the Queen for the Sacred Bull in the context of Daedalus' own passion to create and explore the limits of human possibilities. Although he missed the point here as well in terms of ancient mystery religions, in my opinion, it is an incredible book and his exploration of human passions is very fine.

The Glory that was Rome ... in Africa

Spending half a day in Tarquinia, half a day in Pompeii and half a day on the site of ancient Carthage inspired me to study history again. I came home and read Susan Raven's 'Rome in Africa' and Paul Lachlan's 'The North African Stones Speak'. I would recommend both even to casual readers. Paul Lachlan's cultural prejudices are exposed in a comment here and there, but on the whole, style and content are wonderful. Both books are older studies that have been brought up to date and republished.

History of Carthage

What is amazing to me is how much ancient history I do not know, despite an avid interest in the subject throughout my life. For every site I have visited, moreover, there are a hundred I have not seen. There is no substitute for actual experience, although actual experience is magnified enormously by knowledge. I wish I had read those books BEFORE I visited Carthage, but if I had, I suspect that my frustration at being allowed only a few hours in Tunisia would have overwhelmed me.

I spent almost a month in Roma once, and yet it seems as though North Africa has far more of ancient Roma to show the world now than any site in Italia. The Roman Empire, whether you hate it or admire it, was rather amazing. To think of the thousands of miles that it covered, from England to Libya! All the roads and aquaducts, amphitheatres and temples... but beyond that, the fact that they laid grids everywhere. Surveyors tirelessly working on plans, whether or not the plans ever came to fruition.

It is difficult sometimes to visualise the past. The topography of the countries have changed. What once was a port may be miles inland now. That certainly is the case where Etruscan ports are concerned.

I do not know why the distant past holds such fascination for me. I never wanted to travel to the future, but I still long to go back in time, to see the England of Charles the First, and even further back, to live among the earliest Neolithic settlers of Europe. The Roman Empire is fairly modern in terms of civilisations. It is no wonder really that we see resemblances to our own 'civilisation' in all the works of Rome.

Perhaps my longing to visit Libya is partly based on the fact that it wouldn't be thronging with tourists. The negative part of visiting Pompeii was the fact that one could not look down any path without seeing veritable hordes of 21st century tourists. Carthage wasn't much different actually. Coachloads of tourists swarming over the ruins...

And yet, who knows? Perhaps Libya would be the same. One of my greatest contacts with the ancient world occurred in the Long Barrow near Silbury Hill one rainy afternoon. Not a tourist in sight, enabling me to commune silently with the past. I went over a little gate on a path that was made for sheep rather than humans and walked up a muddy hill to Long Kennet.

West Kennet Long Barrow

I visited Avebury the same day. Avebury is very different from Stonehenge because very little remains of its original configuration. The standing stones have been moved, removed, or otherwise realigned. A major highway cuts through the original grounds. Nonetheless, something magical remains.

That was an odd experience as my own visit at twilight coincided with a professional photography shoot. I can't recall what they were shooting, but it was some sort of advertisement with the stones of Avebury in the background.

Where on earth can one go now, though, and truly expect to be 'off the beaten track'? There are shows like 'Globe Trekker', visiting every corner of the globe and televising the journey to the masses.

In my own case, however, it is not as if I would like to deprive others of the journey but merely to have a few moments by myself in these places. If only...

In that sense, Montserrat was the antithesis of a spiritual pilgrimage. It was more like queueing for a ride at an entertainment park than any religious experience. In fact, the pushing and shoving and queue-jumping was horrific and one wondered at times what spiritual benefit possibly could be gained by such behaviour. The fact that the shrine was due to shut in less than half an hour may have offered some excuse for the indecent attitudes that prevailed in certain quarters. In the same crowd, however, were others who went out of their way to help the infirm and disabled.

Perhaps part of the true nature of a spiritual pilgrimage is to test the soul. Grace is earned through patience and selflessness in these situations rather than a brief glimpse of an icon or statue. I am an animist and I do believe in the efficacy of certain objects or locations to some extent. I do think that these powers are partly dependent on the state of mind and will of the 'pilgrim' rather than independent in nature. In that sense, we do create our own gods.

Despite the negative circumstances of the visit, I did have some magical if fleeting moments at Montserrat. The mountain range rather than the statue was the source of the energy I felt. No wonder the ancients thought of mountains as the ladders to heaven! There is a sense of entering a borderland that stands between our earthly state and the realm of the gods. I expect centuries of reverence and wonder play a part in this as well. In any event, despite the fact that the buildings and pilgrims were modern, one sensed ghostly footsteps, becoming part of an endless chain of humanity that sought to touch the sky.

On the other hand, travel to historic sites of any kind is a pilgrimage of sorts. Whether it is an ancient Bath or a Temple, the passage of time as well as the attention of the masses for hundreds or thousands of years creates a peculiar power that resides in the stones as well as their silhouettes. Places become icons. Witness the 'leaning tower of Pisa' and the 'Eiffel Tower', possibly more visited than any phallic representation of an ancient Power. These buildings are recognised by people throughout the globe, despite the fact that they actually are devoid of any significant content or historical event. Any place, object or structure can become imbued with special significance by virtue only of its long popularity.

I am including two photographs of pillars here. One is the site of a famous martyrdom. The other is nothing more than the site of an ancient bathhouse, yet both possess a special aura of power and mystery now. The blood shed on one site may make it a place of religious pilgrimage but one could argue that ancient Baths are dedicated to the elemental power of Water and when situated by the sea, have tremendous spiritual potency that overrides the simple functional nature of the place. After all, ablutions are a fundamental spiritual rite in almost every religion.

In any case, I would have liked nothing better than to have had the time to wade into the sea on the site of the Baths of Antoninus in Tunis. To watch the sun set framed by the silhouettes of ancient pillars and arches, in the midst of all that ruined splendour would have been a very spiritual experience. Instead, I was forced to adhere to a tour schedule, to be bundled back to the ship with the rest of the tourists...

I should not be ungrateful. At least I saw these places. I breathed the air. My feet trod the ancient stones. It is far, far better than nothing but, like an incipient addict, I long for more.

From Antonio Gaudi back to Carthage

The extraordinary popularity of Antonio Gaudi among individuals who have little interest in the history or development of architecture in general for the most part conditioned me almost to reject his work, despite the fact that his philosophy should have been attractive to me as some one who is obsessed with caves and natural temples. Yet, like any other subject or artist who becomes too trendy, from Pachelbel's Canon to Mozart, Gaudi was damned in my eyes before I ever saw his work firsthand by too much praise.

Nonetheless, as with respect to so many natural and man-made wonders, there is no substitute for firsthand experience and actually BEING A WITNESS. Barcelona in general surprised me. Again, it is so popular with the masses, even among those with little knowledge of culture or art, that I was prepared to disregard it completely in favour of Montserrat. In the end, however, I had to come down from the lofty mountain to spend a few hours on the ground and in the streets of the city of Barcelona.

In fact, the descent from Montserrat to Barcelona was what gave me true appreciation of Gaudi's work. It was then that I realised he captured nature's handiwork in his own caves and turrets. Every one speaks of the organic quality of Gaudi, of course, but it is the 'feeling' of a mountain range or cave that he captures so completely as well as the shimmer of moonlight or sunlight on water or the ever-changing reflection of light on leaves and stones, creating a mosaic of colour. Gaudi never will be a favourite of mine because he is too modern, and indeed I always will prefer the original Cathedral in Barcelona to the Sagrada Familia simply because it is steeped in history as well as for the sake of its incredible cloisters. Nonetheless, I left Barcelona with a greater appreciation of Antonio Gaudi.

As far as Montserrat was concerned, my interest initially was sparked by its great antiquity as a sacred site that far predated Christianity. In fact, the Black Madonna was found in a cave there and legend claims that it was created by angels. This made me believe that it could have been connected to an original earlier statue of the Great Mother, Cybele.

Meteorites always were considered to have magical powers and to have been sent to earth by the gods or some divine power. I always thought that the black stone of Cybele brought to Roma to save the land was a meteorite. Certainly there are many theories of why the Madonna of Montserrat is black, but to me, the most compelling is the ancient connection with the Great Mother.

Whether the statue was carved by human hand or that of an angel or spirit, and whether or not the colour of the Madonna is black because of the slow effect of candle-burning or because of association with Cybele is really irrelevant. 'Black Madonnas' exist throughout the Mediterranean and it is the natural surroundings, in my view, that determined the power of the place.

The Mother of a God will be perceived in different forms. There is a wonderful passage in Apuleius' 'Golden Ass' when the Goddess Isis declares that: 'My name, my divinity is adored throughout all the world, in divers manners, in variable customs, and by many names.'

Initially, every cave on this Earth was revered as the womb of the Great Mother and the birthplace of every great god from Attis to Zeus to Christ.

Be that as it may, the journey to Montserrat was undertaken as a pilgrim to try to discover whether or not it were a sacred place quite apart from its Christian significance and powers.

The actual buildings at Montserrat are fairly modern, as it served as the location for a series of battles between the French and the Spanish during the Napoleonic Wars. The Spanish tend to blame Napoleon for the damage, but it was they who first used the monastery as a military position. The French, however, did not have enough soldiers to occupy the position permanently after routing the Spaniards and thus, Monserrat was occupied, vacated and re-occupied a number of times until finally, the buildings were destroyed to prevent it from being used again for military purposes.

Nevertheless, it is not the buildings but the surrounding mountains that truly are the home of the Black Virgin. She is housed in a tiny chapel in the Church, access to which is gained through a series of side chapels and finally by mounting a number of steep, narrow, winding staircases higher and higher into the very heart of the Church. Only two or three individuals can stand in the actual chapel and therefore, as the number of pilgrims and curious tourists is enormous, one is not permitted to linger for more than a moment there. To make matters worse, the statue now is protected by a large dome of glass or acrylic as though an exhibit in a museum. In the view of the ancients, whatever sacred powers she may possess have been isolated in the capsule into which she has been imprisoned. One cannot touch her foot as so many of the faithful are wont to do when appealing to statues of saints, the Blessed Virgin or her Son in other churches and sanctuaries throughout the Mediterranean region.

Preservation of historical monuments for posterity undoubtedly is a noble aim, but there is something to be said for direct contact with any object of power or virtue. I felt somewhat cheated to be honest.

Even so, the ascent to the chapel was arduous and rather magical. My favourite stairwell was a narrow tunnel with Byzantine mosaics of all the greatest holy women in Christian history from Eve onwards depicted on either side. The fact that I cannot walk easily in the best of circumstances and even more poorly when ascending stairs or a steep incline added the element of personal sacrifice and suffering to the experience, like it or not. Burning with agony therefore, I finally reached the summit of my quest and gazed upon the ancient statue of the Blessed Mother or Great Goddess.

Her face and bearing are austere and stern. She is a very different woman from the pretty Madonnas of the Renaissance or of Lourdes and Fatima. In that sense, she did inherit the mantle of the ancient Great Goddess Cybele, who was a figure of omnipotence to be feared as well as loved. Does she exhibit compassion? No more nor less than Nature herself... She is a mother, of course, and holds the Divine Child on her lap, offering him to the world. One does sense her role as a Protective Guardian, powerful enough to counter any threat, to answer any plea or prayer, powerful enough to crush the head of the ancient Serpent beneath her heel or to cause or stay any earthquake or other natural disaster.

She has been credited with many miracles and many victories. The youth of Barcelona still make pilgrimages on foot from the city to the shrine of the Black Madonna. They depart from Barcelona in the evening and arrive at Montserrat early the next morning. The devotion of the people feeds the power of any shrine. When one considers that these mountains housed temples to other gods and goddesses from time immemorial, one does recognise a true seat of spiritual power.

At Fatima years ago, faced with a large concrete pavement in the place of the fields that once surrounded the site of the tree where the Blessed Virgin made her appearance, I was conscious of great power suffocated by a manmade structure. In the vast ancient caves near Fatima, however, the power remained undiminished. I felt as though charged with electricity as I walked along those dark paths in the very womb of Nature. There, I believe, was the true source of the power that created the apparition.

I am a deeply religious individual but I do believe that humans create most of the rules, regulations and descriptions of the Divine. Strip the Divine of all the human accretions and you find the caves near Fatima and the mountains surrounding Monserrat. The source of inspiration is there.

I have strayed far from my original intention which was to link Gaudi with Carthage via Montserrat...

The area of Tunisia where the ancient sites of Carthage can be found is extremely beautiful, if slightly arid. Trees and vegetation are everywhere, but it is the subtle green of the desert rather than the lush colours of the North.

The first site I visited was a 2nd century Roman amphitheatre, almost entirely obliterated but with a rather powerful history. Originally five floors, only the first floor above ground and one that is underground remain.

Once, there was seating for over 50,000 spectators and in fact, the amphitheatre could be flooded for naumachias (mock naval battles). Historically now it is known best for its connection with early Christian characters such as St. Perpetua and St. Augustine. The former was martyred there with a number of others by being trampled to death by wild cows.

The cow as a feature of the martyrdom cannot be coincidence. From the ancient bull dances of Crete to contemporary bullfights, the cow and bull have been agents of the gods. It is difficult to separate fact from myth where early Christian history is concerned, but it is possible that the mode of martyrdom had religious significance in ancient times, long before the life and death of Christ or St. Perpetua.

The 2nd Century amphitheatre certainly was not the most magnificent ruin I have seen but the visit was a memorable one.

First, I startled a lizard who was basking on the stones of an ancient archway. It disappeared into the ruins but not before drawing my attention to the composition of the stones themselves. They contained a mixture of materials, including small rocks, concrete and seashells. In fact, I noted what appeared to be many local contemporary offerings of snail shells as well as seashells left in crevices between huge stones or in tiny niches and scars in the rocks created by Nature through the centuries.

These shell offerings, coupled with the many wildflowers growing in the cracks and in archways, served to wed the ruins to Nature. Through the thousands of years they have endured, the land has embraced them, becoming a very organic structure.

The architecture was in no way similar to that of Antonio Gaudi but the organic quality of the stones reminded me of him.

More later about Carthage. Meanwhile, here is a link to quite a good site about the ancient civilisation:


Ancient Carthage

I have included photographs here of the Gaudi house in Barcelona, the mountains of Montserrat, the ruins of the amphitheatre in Carthage and the Tree of Attis in the ruins of the Punic Quarter near the National Museum. Unfortunately, there was so little time at each location. I always was the last person to return to the group, and being at a port for less than a day in each case and having little money myself made it impossible really to venture forth alone to explore. Taking organised group tours is NOT my preferred way to explore any location anywhere in the world, to be quite honest. I would prefer to spend a month in one location than a week in a dozen different places.