by Bob Curran
And yet such a belief is slightly ambiguous, because, as we have seen, the raising of the dead and restoration of life seems to be a rather well-established belief in both the Jewish and Christian traditions. Indeed, in Orthodox Jewish law the resurrection of the dead by various rabbis remains the last of the 13 Precepts advocated by the philosopher and theologian Moses Maimonides (1135–1204), who taught in Anatolia, Morocco, and parts of Egypt. He states: “I believe with the complete faith that there will be Techiat Hameitim—the revival of the dead—whenever it will be God’s (blessed be He) desire to arise and do so.”
Maimonides suggests that by calling on Yahweh’s (God’s) name any holy rabbi might be able to raise the dead or perhaps even return from the dead himself in accordance with God’s wishes. This idea was later assimilated as a rule of law into some forms of rabbinical teaching and codes of practice. These rabbis were considered to be the successors to the prophets, and it firmly established the notion of resurrection by supernatural means within the Hebrew and Jewish traditions.
The idea of raising the dead was being established within the Christian tradition, too. Not only had Jesus allegedly brought individuals back to life and had come back from the dead himself, but he instructed his followers to heal lepers, cast out spirits, and raise the dead through the power of God in the style of the prophets of old. It was also one of the “gifts” that were, according to the New Testament, given to the apostles when the Holy Spirit descended upon them at pentecost. The fathers of the Church, who were the apostles’ successors, reputedly carried on this tradition. Within the teachings of the Catholic Church, a number of saints are credited with miraculously raising the dead—symbolizing their holiness and God’s mercy. These include St. Francis Xavier, St. Rose of Lima (the first saint to be born on American soil), and the Blessed Margaret of Castello, who was said to be a midget, a hunchback, blind, and lame. However, despite all of these things, she supposedly raised a number of deceased victims of a deadly plague that was sweeping Italy in the 13th century. Throughout the Middle Ages, many localized saints and religious people were also credited with such powers, and although many of them are now discounted, they formed a distinct corpus of lore within the Christian tradition that persisted throughout the West across the centuries.
Celtic Mythology
So far we have looked at the notion of returning from the dead in early Middle Eastern and Semitic mythology, and this is certainly the area in which many of these original myths arose. There is also, however, a similar tradition among the Celtic peoples, which has made the Semitic ideal of resurrection more easily assimilated in some areas, such as the central tenet of the Christian faith as it began to move across the Celtic lands. Indeed, the notions of death and resurrection (rebirth or renewal) were central to the Celtic perception of the world. The Celts, who settled in Western Europe, were largely an agricultural people who viewed existence in the form of a great wheel that turned through the world of the living and the dead throughout the course of the year—giving rise, of course, to the seasons. Thus, in summer, everything was green, vibrant, and bursting with life, but soon it began to wither and die as autumn and winter set in. In the heart of winter, the ground was hard, frosty, and seeming sterile—nothing would grow and the very world itself seemed dead. But the wheel turned, and subsequently life returned in the spring; buds burst forth and foliage blossomed. This, to the Celtic mind, was a return to life after the death of winter—it was the natural way of things. And if this ideal could be applied to the world all around, then surely it could also be applied to individuals as well.
This ideal tied in with another persistent notion among the Celts—that, as farmers, they were somehow the actual physical embodiment of the landscape within which they lived. This was especially relevant in the case of a local ruler or monarch who was believed to be the landscape in physical form, or, at the very least, inextricably connected to the area over which they ruled. Consequently, no monarch could rule if he or she had a blemish on his or her body, because his or her body was supposed to reflect the land. An ancient Irish king, known as Conn of the Hundred Battles, had to step down from the throne when he lost an eye in a conflict, just in case his facial disfigurement would blight his realm in some way. Not only were the Celtic monarchs a part of the land, but they were also closely connected to the seasons. As the monarch grew older, he or she became more stooped, grayer, and feebler, moving toward death. There was a fear among the subjects that the monarch’s frailty might be reflected in the land—there might be droughts, the winters might be more severe, and so on. The monarch had to die and then return to life, thus ensuring that warmth and greenery would return to land, and the crops would be plentiful. This translated into what may have been a ritual killing of the aging monarch, with another younger person to inherit the spirit that the old ruler had embodied. Thus, the legends of the King of the Wood, Green Jack, and The Green Man were born. The returning king symbolized good fortune for his people and ensured that the landscape remained verdant and vibrant. Resurrection and the return to life also symbolized prosperity for the people, and paralleled the Wheel of the Year.
And it may not only have been monarchs who returned from the grave (albeit perhaps symbolically). The Celtic peoples also believed that mighty warriors might be revived from the dead after being slain on the battlefield provided they were anointed with some form of magic. Initially such magic was contained in elements such as water.
Water
In ancient Celtic lore—as in the traditions of other cultures—water was a special element with great cleansing and restorative powers, but it also had power of life and death. In the prehistoric legend of the Sons of Partholon, the four protagonists had ridden out on a quest to find the fabled Waters of Oblivion, which could both kill and restore in equal measure. On finding the fountain, three of them approached it without reciting the appropriate incantations, and were all slain as soon as they drank it. Hearing of the tragedy and assuming that all his sons were dead (therefore there was no successor), Partholon himself committed suicide, overcome with grief. However, his youngest son (who had survived) gave him the Waters to drink and restored him to life, after which he continued to reign for many years—perhaps a metaphor for the death and resurrection of the king in many traditions—including Celtic. The legend, which is extremely old, may have formed the base of some Semitic, Roman, and Greek tales, and may even have been Mesopotamian in origin. The name may also have been a variation of Partholon, an ancient Greek king who is supposed to have fled Greece and come to Ireland in some former time. The idea of the Waters of Oblivion, however, may have laid the foundation for the belief that the element could take away disease and maybe even restore life itself.
In Scottish legend, too, the Dalriadic king Fergus McErc (Dalriada was an ancient Celtic kingdom that stretched between the north of Ireland and the west coast of Scotland), was dying of leprosy and was told by a Highland witch that, if he washed his face in a certain well in Ireland, he would be cured and his life would be saved. Fergus knew where the well might be, so he set out for it. However, during a storm, the ship was driven off course and was wrecked on the Irish coast, drowning all the crew, including the king himself. The place where he met his end, however, is still known as Fergus’s Rock (Carrig Fergus)—in the Antrim town of Carrickfergus. But the legend of the well with its wonderful powers still remained.
The notions of water being associated with immortality appear in many cultures. We have only to think of the Fountain of Youth, sought after by the Spanish explorer and founder of the state of Florida, Juan Ponce de Leon, back in the 1500s, to grasp the significance of this mystical and miraculous element.
The Cauldron of Goibniu
Celtic Lore
In Celtic lore, such a belief appears. In his General Topography of Ireland, the monk Geraldus Cambrensis, who came to Ireland in 1185 as Confessor to Prince John, recounts a story about a certain lake in Munster, which could restore youth. If a
man washed his hair in its waters, Gerald declared, though it is gray, it would be restored to its natural color. Of course, we need to treat most of what Gerald says with extreme skepticism; he was extremely gullible and believed even the wildest, imaginative stories about Ireland—but his story does serve to show that the idea of water and the ideas of restoration, renewal, and immortality were closely linked in the Celtic mind.
From the idea of immortality, cleansing, and the banishing of illness and disease, it was only a small step to linking water sources with the return and revival from the dead. If certain wells could take away potentially fatal diseases, such as the leprosy, that affected Fergus McErc, then perhaps others might even restore a dead person to life again. Similar to the Fountain of Youth, some wells therefore became associated with immortality; these were scattered throughout the Celtic world and the locations of most of them have been lost. There was said, for example, to be a well in Brittany, France, which was guarded by Druids, where men could regain their youth and be restored to life if need be. It was said that elderly men were placed in its waters, and after having done so, emerged as young babies. The well was said to be Pagan—sacred to ancient Celtic gods—and so it was destroyed by the monks from the monastery at Cluny, who saw it as an affront to Christianity and a mockery of Jesus’ sacrifice for Mankind. Another such well was said to exist somewhere in Wales, and was apparently visited by a number of ancient kings—including King Arthur.
Cauldrons
As time passed, the idea of a well began to change and became slightly more sophisticated. It was replaced, in the popular mind, by the image of a cauldron or a pot. The word cauldron has its origins in the Irish word (derived from early Celtic) coire, coiri, or ceare (there are many variants in spelling), which simply meant “a vessel for holding liquid”; some whirlpools and deep-sea caverns are sometimes referred to as “cauldrons.” This is also the root of our word chalice, and it has always been associated with centrality, ritual, and the abundance of life. Indeed, the notion of a life-giving cauldron—often referred to as “The Cauldron of Rebirth”—a great utensil within which warriors slain in battle might be supernaturally restored to life—is featured in a number of Celtic legends and tales.
Cauldrons or great cooking pots were often central facets of Celtic life, and it is known that there were a number of ceremonial vessels that may have been used for feasting during special occasions. They were associated with full stomachs and well being, life, and vitality. Many were said to resemble a womb or container in which life might start. It is not surprising, therefore, that they were also associated with rebirth, resurrection, and renewal. According to Gerald of Wales, a mystical cauldron was used in the inauguration of kings of Ulster in a ceremony that also symbolized death and rebirth. After ritual intercourse with a white mare, which was then slaughtered, the prospective monarch was placed in a cauldron where he was fed the mare’s meat in order to “fatten” him up. He was then symbolically “cooked,” emerging as a new and reinvigorated being who was ready to rule his people. Whether Gerald actually witnessed this ceremony is open to question, but the story serves to demonstrate that the tradition connecting the cauldron to the notion of resurrection was very much alive in the Celtic mind.
In a tale from the second branch of the Welsh Mabinogion, for example, Branwen, the sister of Bran, the ancient giant and king (described as “Bran the Blessed—King of England”) was given in marriage to Matholwch, an Irish king. As the festivities were in full swing, Bran’s irascible half-brother Efnisen arrived unexpectedly and asked what the occasion might be. On hearing that his half-sister had been given in marriage without asking his consent, Efnisen flew into a terrible rage and mutilated all of Matholwch’s horses. In recompense Bran offered him a number of items, including a great and magical cauldron, which, if a dead warrior was put into it, he would live again, completely whole as before, although he would not have the power of speech. This Bran had obtained from a giantess whom he had rescued from a fire in an iron house, and to whom the king had shown a kindness. The gift may have been a variant of the Sacred Cauldron of Goibniu, which was forged by a giant out of magic metal in the earliest times; the cauldron could produce food, heal, and even restore the dead to life. Matholwch seemed satisfied with the compensation and returned to Ireland with his bride. Some of his men, however, still grumbled over the mutilation of the horses, and said that Bran and Efnisen had got off far too lightly. Some of the Irish nobles resolved to make war on Bran at the first opportunity.
Back in Ireland, Matholwch treated Branwen abominably, forcing Bran to lead a troop of warriors from Wales to support his sister. In another variant of the tale, Matholwch contemplated putting Branwen’s son Gwern on the Irish throne and a number of nobles rose up and threatened him, forcing Bran’s army to threaten Ireland. A peace was hammered out between the two kings but the Irish nobles saw their chance. They decided to hide in meal sacks that Bran was taking back with him, and surprise the British king and possibly kill him. Efnisen, however, got wind of their plans and had the British warriors run the sacks through with their swords, killing all within. Such slaughter could not be allowed to pass without retaliation, and a war broke out between Britain and Ireland. The cauldron that had been given in compensation to Matholwch now became very important, for the Irish simply gathered up their fallen, placed them in the pot, and they sprang out alive again. In this way, the Irish forces never diminished, although those of the Britons and Welsh—who had no such cauldron—did.
However, the cunning Efnisen came up with a plan. He lay down among the dead, was gathered up, and placed in the cauldron. Once inside he began to expand himself, pushing on the sides of the cauldron until it burst asunder. With the cauldron broken, the Irish could not revive their dead and the sides were evened up once more. The battle that followed was long and bloody, and in the end Bran triumphed, but was severely wounded and had only seven men left. He returned to England, where he died, his body buried in present-day London. The fragments of the cauldron were gathered together and buried, so that no man might use them again.
Although this is perhaps one of the best-known tales concerning such a cauldron and its power to raise men from the dead, there is no doubt that there were other stories about such artifacts from earlier times. As has already been noted, the cauldron was usually the center of the household or the feast, and was the symbol of fecundity and plenty. It would later be translated into the image of a horn, becoming the Horn of Plenty, which is featured in many legends from ancient times.
Just as the sons of Partholon rode out searching for the Waters of Oblivion, so there are hints of other quests in the prehistoric world, with the protagonists trying to find such wonderful cauldrons and containers in order to bring prosperity and immortality to their communities. It was generally assumed—as with the magic cauldron of Bran—that such vessels had been forged by the giants in some dim and distant time but had since been lost and now lay somewhere in the world. The Cauldron of Rebirth therefore became an almost unobtainable “quest item” among many ancient peoples and cultures. However, the perception of the cauldron was about to undergo another change throughout Europe as the times changed once again.
The Quest for the Cauldron of Rebirth was in many respects a Pagan one—the item was closely associated with heathen ritual, and therefore it did not sit easily with the emerging Christian faith that was beginning to establish itself across Western Europe. The quest for the Cauldron began to morph into something else as the new faith took hold and the magical pot became a religious vessel that would intrigue Christendom to the present day. The Cauldron of Rebirth became the Holy Grail, and the quest for the Pagan artifact would become transformed into the romantic search for the sacred icon throughout medieval times and beyond.
Search for the Holy Grail
The Grail has long occupied a central place in Christian mythology. The name comes from the ancient French word graal, meaning “a deep serving dish or platter.” I
n other words, it may have started out as a large container, capable of serving many men, such as the cauldron. In medieval Christian romance, however, it became a cup, though explanations of its origins and functions are often somewhat contradictory. For some it was the wine cup, blessed by Jesus at the Last Supper, but for others it was the sacred receptacle that had caught some of his blood at the foot of the Cross, held by either the Virgin Mary or Joseph of Arimathea (a wealthy follower who had donated a tomb in which to lay Jesus’ body). In either respect it was considered an extremely holy object throughout the Christian world and in many respects a symbol of Jesus himself. The Grail was now believed to be lost, and so formed the basis of many quests to find it.
The idea of the dead and resurrected Jesus symbolized in a cup fit in well with older myths and beliefs, particularly with the idea of the Cauldron of Life. The notion of blood being shed for his people—a central tenet of the Christian faith—paralleled the idea of the Pagan king dying and then rising again to bring well being and salvation to his people. Life could once again emerge out of the death of the Divine Protagonist; even the language surrounding Christianity contained these elements. Today certain Protestant sectors of the Christian church speak about being “born again,” “resurrected in Christ,” or “restored to life everlasting,” which perhaps dates back to the early Pagan concepts embodied in the early stories of the Grail. To drink from the sacred cup reputedly restored youth, granted immortality, and returned to life those that were dead. In effect, it was the Christian embodiment of many old Pagan beliefs.