The great quest continues: Joseph Campbell's Romance of the Grail

I’m probably not going to find the holy grail—the cup Joseph of Arimathea used to gather the blood of Christ, and later brought to Glastonbury—in the wooded trail behind my house.

But then again, perhaps I might.

The search for the holy grail is not a search for physical relic, but a spiritual awakening within.

This second, deeper layer is why it and its associated myths endure. These comprise the heart of Joseph Campbell’s Romance of the Grail: The Magic and Mystery of Arthurian Myth.

I find myself needing a daily walk through the woods behind my home to reset from a world that is increasingly online and artificial and ugly. I recently made the mistake of following a thread over to Twitter/X and was confronted with a digital manifestation of The Wasteland, damaged 30-year-old dudebros cursing at one another and asking Grok to confirm the veracity of a series of AI generated text and images that would have made the editors of The Inquirer or Weekly World News blanch, and turn away.

And I turn again to nature, and physical books, for healing. And to those who have sought the path of wisdom.

The Middle Way... an old railroad bed behind my house.

Joseph Campbell examined myths across cultures, looking for patterns and similarities. These patterns led him inexorably back to the human heart. Many researchers err by trying to tie myths to history or prove or disprove them by sifting through physical artifacts, rather than their psychological truths, which are found within. In his words:

“It is one of the prime mistakes of many interpreters of mythological symbols to read them as references, not to mysteries of the human spirit, but to earthly or unearthly scenes and to actual or imagined historical events—the Promised Land as Canaan, for example, and heaven as a district of the sky—or to see the Israelites passage of the Red Sea as an event such as newspaper reporter might have witnessed. It is one of the glories, on the other hand, of the Celtic tradition that in its handling even of religious themes it retranslates them from the languages of imagined fact into a mythological idiom, so that they may be experienced not as time-conditioned but as timeless, telling not of miracles long past but of miracles potential within ourselves, here, now, and forever.”

This truth can be understood by examining the early mythological sources of the grail, as Campbell does in the book. The grail resists a definitive single physical instantiation. For example, in its earliest depictions from Welsh and Celtic sources it took the form not of a cup, but a cauldron. The cauldron of Rebirth/Pair Dadeni, from the central Welsh myth featuring a vessel that can revive dead warriors, which plays a major role in the Mabinogion (and much later, the Prydain Chronicles). The Dagda’s Cauldron, one of the Four Treasures of the Tuatha Dé Danann, an inexhaustible vessel out of deep Irish lore from which "no company ever went away hungry." And Ceridwen’s Cauldron, of Poetic Inspiration and Knowledge, which bestowed wisdom and transformation on its user. 

These were almost certainly the basis for the grail myth, which became transmogrified by the likes of Wolfram von Eschenbach (who depicted the grail as a stone from heaven), and the unfinished romance Perceval le Gallois by Chrétien de Troyes. You can find a good article on that process here. And of course, in this book.

Campbell’s first mythological obsession was the Grail. We get in this book his master’s thesis, “A Study of the Dolorous Stroke,” which he submitted to the Department of English and Comparative Literature at Columbia University in 1927, when he was just 22 years old. It’s a deep examination of the myth of the Fisher King, the story of the wounding of a king by a lance through the thigh or groin (sometimes burning of a hand). The king is left in agony, unable to find relief save through fishing. 

The wound is also spiritual. Fishing is equated to going down into unconscious waters to pull souls, or beings, out of the unconscious state into the light, Campbell says. We’ve all been hurt, deeply. We need someone to, without expectation of reciprocity or mercenary motive, ask the question: what ails you, friend? 

After asking the question, a draught from the grail brings healing, to the king and the land.

Peace is all around us, but our monkey minds won’t permit it to be seen. One path is the search for the grail, through examining its symbolic importance as a vessel of wisdom and rebirth. 

In its stories you might find what it has to teach about your own plight, friend. 

The best chapter is probably Campbell’s examination of Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival, which I do need to read, one of these days. Here Campbell’s does his unique magic of convincingly tying Buddhism to Arthurian Romance. Both are concerned with the search for a path to liberation known as the Middle Way. “The Middle Way between heaven and hell is earned through exercise of the three virtues, plus a fourth: 1) disengagement from the fury of the passions, 2) fearlessness in the face of death, 3) indifference to the opinion of the world, and 4) compassion.” In von Eschenbach’s tale a Muslim knight confronts Anfortas, the Fisher King, on the jousting field; Anfortas kills his foe but receives a wound through his thighs. Campbell interprets this wounding not as a simple battle, but as a symbolic disaster representing "the dissociation within Christendom of spirit from nature". The Christian king (Anfortas) is wounded by a representative of nature (the "oriental" or pagan warrior). These two opposing forces, nature and spirit, can only be resolved through access to a middle way.

Writes Campbell, “The first birth of man, as a physical culture motivated by the animal energies of the body, is biological. Man’s second, properly human birth, is spiritual, of the heart and mind.” 

Or as one of his great inspirations, Carl Jung, said, “your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart, who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside awakes.” 

There are many curious parallels between tales of the Crucifixion and of the dolorous stroke. Both point to a similar lesson:

Nor will people say, ‘Here it is,’ or ‘There it is,’ because the kingdom of God is in your midst.”

Romance of the Grail is studded with insights like this. It will lead you on a merry chase, for example to this terrific video. If you can bear the terrible tinny 80s music and production, a fantastic watch.

Recommended.

***

The path behind my house is a Middle Way. A railroad once ran on it, iron and coal combustion driving freight across the country. Now it’s given way to trucking, the rails and ties torn out. But the bed remains, a path that now accommodates foot traffic into nature.

Probably some type of symbol there. Maybe I’ll find a cauldron out in these woods.

Darkside of Aquarius, Bruce Dickinson

Intelligence has become fetishized.

CEOs of major tech companies with a very high IQ… and zero sense, and zero empathy.  Sam Altman defending AI’s energy toll by saying it also takes a lot to ‘train a human.’ “It takes about 20 years of life – and all the food you consume during that time – before you become smart,” he says.

Chilling.

Being “smart” is the top of his hierarchy of values. And because of the theoretical unlimited computing power of a machine, we know where this leads.

Machine over man.

Intelligence ≠ wisdom.

Bruce Dickinson sang about this eloquently in “Darkside of Aquarius.” Powerfully too, but we expect that. It is Bruce, the human Air Raid Siren.

Peaceful existence and love of fellow man, as symbolized by the wheel of Dharma, is under assault from four apocalyptic hellriders. We've got 5 in the real world but close enough. I don’t put a lot of confidence in the soothsaying accuracy of astrological signs, but the Dark Side of Aquarius is a helpful heuristic here. It’s a psychological state characterized by extreme emotional detachment, stubbornness, and a tendency to be aloof or unpredictable. Intellect is prioritized over emotion.  It celebrates "progress" over human flourishing.

When unbalanced, Aquarians can act coldly and ruthlessly, frequently using their intelligence to justify any action. A God complex. 

The second hellrider came, from flaming seas and molten sands

Pipers playing Hell's commands

Poured out his poison, with his promises of promised lands

Blackened tongues of lying leaders

We need a silver surfer to save us from Galactus about now. This bit is in the song too. 

I’ve also heard that it is a reference to Shakespeare’s “Macbeth,” but it’s too long since I’ve read that to comment. And I have to run to a brewery.

… ANYWAY, grim stuff but a great song. That transition at 4:38 … chills.

I have said before Bruce’s solo stuff is criminally underrated. Accident of Birth is an incredible album for which I need to do a deeper dive at some point. I've covered "Man of Sorrows" before and there is a lot more to mine from this album.

Happy Metal Friday.

Arcane Arts #9

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Ten things I’ve learned after 1000 blog posts

I said this was coming after The Super, Super-Secret History of Sword-and-Sorcery. And here it is. This isn’t a summarization of everything I’ve learned since starting The Silver Key, because since I first pressed publish in September 2007 I’ve read +/- 1,000 books, changed careers, raised children, witnessed deaths and births, seen the world, grown grayer and balder, and hosted a Judas Priest tribute band in my living room. I want to talk instead about what a regular, consistent, and now I have to add—human—writing habit did for me, and could do for you. Blog post by blog post, from one to 1,000.

Having written 1,000 blog posts, if you do the same:

1. You will become a better writer. Over time your posts will read better, they will take better structure and their argumentation, stronger. It will occur slowly but inevitably and inexorably. When you work out with weights you don’t build strength in a week or a few months but over years, one workout after the next. Until suddenly you realize you’ve become a better writer. In my oldest posts my style is there and recognizable, but is abrupt, crabbed, less thoughtful, less ambitious. I am a better writer now and still making incremental improvements.

2. You will become a more rigorous thinker. Reading books is one of the best things a human being can do; writing down your thoughts and impressions as you read and publishing them is the next level. On many occasions I thought I knew what a book was about ... until I began writing about it. And realized I had more thinking to do. I’ve made revelations by committing my clouded, half-baked thoughts to the page, and edited and revised until I understood. As a clear thinker you will start to be seen as an authority, whether you want to or not. 

3.You will build a repository of content that you can turn into books or articles. You can write a book this way; many have done this. Flame and Crimson was built on dozens of sword-and-sorcery book reviews gradually expanding to broader thoughts on genre. My heavy metal memoir is in production and while it’s not precisely what I do with Metal Friday, it is inspired by my memories here, of how I grew up with the greatest genre of music ever conceived for pale teenage boys. 

4. Your interests will change, you will change, and so will your output. I started this blog in the midst of a 10-year D&D campaign and that was the subject of many of my early posts. I no longer play D&D and so my writing on roleplaying has fallen away. These days I am reading a lot less fiction, I find myself more interested in the world, and my psychology. So I write about those topics. I don’t know how others have the will to narrow their focus to say, roleplaying only. Focus is almost certainly better way to build an audience, but that’s not what I’m doing here. And not everyone will like the change to your blog, which leads me to point 5.

5. You will constantly struggle with what to leave out as much to put in. I’ve debated whether I should address some hot social issue of the day. I brush up to politics and religion. And usually leave it out. I am cautious with what I commit to writing, but not overly so; if you round the edges off something enough it becomes shapeless. Some things you write will offend people; I’ve had people leave nasty, insulting comments on my posts for some perceived sleight or for not sharing their same passion for their pearl of a book or movie. I would say I’m sorry but I’m mostly not; I’m a harmless 52-year-old blogger with a point of view. These days I try to lean into positivity, and saying nothing instead of going critical. But if you feel strongly about something, say it. The point is not to antagonize or troll, but if you write clearly and truthfully you will offend someone, somewhere. In fact if no one ever is aroused by something you’ve written, you’re probably playing it too cautious. 

6. You will learn the secret formula: Discipline married to inspiration. Forget about trying to be divinely inspired or profound, just write, regularly. Not every post is going to move mountains. In fact you can’t predict what will land; sometimes you’ll press publish thinking you’ve just written the next “Self-Reliance” and it lands without a sound in the digital void. What’s not important is what you write but that you keep doing it. You don’t have to write every day but if pressed I would say, never let a week go by without a post. In the long run you will need to find what you are passionate about or you will lose steam. Write about what you must. It doesn’t matter if it’s been said before, once or a hundred times; you haven’t said it in your own, unique way. But at some point even your passion will wane, if only temporarily, when that occurs a weekly discipline comes back in.

7. No one else does this so you’ve got superpowers, man! Most websites or blogs go dormant; the number of people who start a blog or a Substack or a website only to have it collect dust in 2 weeks or 6 months is by far and away the norm. If you can do 1000 posts over years you are abnormal, you might even be Batman. You have accomplished something most mortals will not. 

8. You will come to understand that blogs aren’t a popular medium—and that’s OK. Reading is in decline. That’s not my opinion, that is a highly studied and well-surveyed fact. Most people will go to YouTube to watch a video on Conan or the Normandy landings than seek out an article on these topics. The heyday of blogs was probably 2005-2011, which is starting to sound like a long time ago. If your goal is views, or building an audience, you should probably go the YouTube route. I’ve got a face for radio and I’m far more comfortable writing than speaking, and as noted I think writing is transformative for the individual in a way pressing record and speaking is not. If you’re of the same bent just know this medium is considerably less popular.

9. Your ego will never vanish, but your need for approval will weaken its grip. I still sometimes judge whether posts are successful based on views/shares/comments, when I know a much better metric is, is this something I’m proud of, entertained by, or find important? I do appreciate every comment I’ve ever received, every post anyone has ever shared. But ultimately extrinsic rewards are a trap; you can’t control what others think. Basing your happiness or judging your success on these metrics is folly. Write for you.

10. You will come to appreciate the act of writing for its intrinsic, human value. Writing is a beautiful, human act. It’s been with us for thousands of years for a reason. It encodes knowledge. Communication keeps us from wars. Storytelling gives our lives meaning. It has value so the AI companies crawl my blog and the entirety of the internet in ever increasing numbers. An authentic human voice is a finite resource to be mined for their parasitic, dehumanizing tech. Have at it; they’ll never be me. This is my act of rebellion, a bone middle finger encased in flesh aimed at Sam Altman. His machines are dependent on me; they crawl my blog because both he and his product are not creative; they copy. Using AI to write is not writing; you cede the craft and your very thought to a machine. AI writing has nothing to do with writing 1,000 posts, it is “content creation” suited at best for commercial objectives (SEO, advertisement, etc.). And even if you do you use AI, you should be doing your creative writing yourself, for all the reasons listed above. Embrace your unique humanity. Embrace writing for its own sake.

And a bonus observation:

11. It is worth it. 

Thanks for reading.

Defender, Manowar

"More emphasis on 'ride' here, Ross?

This morning while working out under heavy-ish iron I found myself able to recite every line of Orson Welles dramatic lead-in to “Defender.” Before he said it, in my best Wells impression. 

I hadn’t heard this monologue in years. Yet I could speak it aloud without error. How? It was burned into my brain when I was 15 and ready to run through a brick wall for Manowar. I had to go to war against false metal, you see.

This has something to teach us about oral culture.

Imagine dudes hearing Njal’s Saga, or the Iliad, in some smoky Icelandic 14th century feasting hall on the eve of some great real battle, where on the morn they’d be standing in the shield-wall with spear and axe.

Imagine their emotional state, their focus, as they channeled the bard’s song. They’d remember every word. And pass it down to the next generation, without error.

Warrior stuff, that Welles channels here. Oral cultures remembered epic poetry through a system of formulaic phrasing, rhythmic structure, and thematic repetition rather than rote memorization. There is a rhythm to Welles’ phrasing that makes it stick, IMO.

Manowar isn’t known for subtlety, but it was a masterstroke to hire the legendary actor and filmmaker. Read more about how that unfolded here. I love this detail from Ross the Boss/Ross Friedman’s recounting of the story. Welles stepping out of his chariot and walking in the studio was like the coming of Odin:

“Let me tell you something, this man was a big man, Orson Welles, a huge guy in latter days,” Friedman recalled. “When he got out of the limousine … on 57th Street in Manhattan by the Carnegie – y’know, that neighborhood has some hot shit over there. When he stepped out into that neighborhood, women in mink coats were throwing themselves on him. It was just like ‘Oh, Orson, oh.’ It was like Frank Sinatra in the 40s. Seriously, I saw it with my own eyes. People were in awe of this man because he was so incredible.”

“He was a legendary guy, legendary maverick.”

“Defender” has likewise passed into metal legendry. 

If you can’t get fired up for this song you might need to have your pulse checked by a professional. At the 1:50 mark I’m ready for battle. And ready to fight again at 4:12, after Ross’ ripping guitar solo, when Welles comes back in to echo Eric Adams’ powerhouse chorus.

If you haven’t heard it, fix that now.

Defender

Ride like the wind

Fight proud, my son

You’re the defender, God has sent

Manowar is still on my mind after the loss of Ross the Boss (how’s that for rhyme)? This picture of these two men, no longer with us at least on this material plane, moves me on this Metal Friday.

Raise a goblet to Ross and Welles and heavy metal and Manowar and oral poetry.

This pic can get none more epic...

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Some notes on Crime and Punishment

I just finished Crime and Punishment (Bantam Books 1958 edition, translated by Constance Garnett), and its story of Raskolnikov, an idealistic, poverty-stricken young man wracked with guilt after murdering a pawnbroker for what he believes to be a justified, if selfish, cause.

Here’s a few impressions/notes.

***

Among its lessons: Mere theory cannot survive life, and we cannot live by philosophy alone. 

Utilitarianism (permitting acts however terrible if they lead to a greater good, under the rubric that ends justify the means) is seductive but pernicious; placing one’s own ego at the center of your existence (I’m more important/smarter/ideologically pure than my fellow man, and therefore my actions justified) is an error. Our attempts to try to implement constructed, top-down, logically sound societies like communism fail because they cannot account for human irrationality. Humans will be filed off to fit, or marched to the pit for the greater good.

People who set out to be Napoleon and stop at nothing to achieve greatness are not to be admired. When you view those who don’t share your grand visions as lice or vermin, you’ve erred.

We are romantic and irrational creatures; ignore human nature at your peril. It will push up through your theory and crack its very foundations.

Nihilism is seductive but ultimately an error. Life has incredible riches to offer, but we must surrender to it. Commit to this life, and to a higher power. Which even if you don’t believe in God means you must surrender to something beyond you. To love, of another being. To seeing another person for who they are, not as a means to an end.

When you turn the last page on this book you will be shaken … and uplifted. The suffering of the protagonist and his agonizing path to confession is like the interminable wait of the condemned man of Iron Maiden’s “Hallowed be thy Name.” It’s a story of claustrophobia and suffering but with great relief only expiation can bring, and the beginnings of renewal.

Crime and Punishment is a reminder that redemption is possible, even from the most grievous of sins. 

We’ve all made terrible mistakes. I am sorry to those against whom I’ve sinned or been unjust. I accept the unjustness inflicted on me. Through suffering we can reach higher levels of consciousness.

***

I read outside of fantasy and this book gets added to my list of recent recommendations. But you certainly don’t need me to tell you to read what is acknowledged as one of the greatest novels of all time.