An Examination of Book 10 of Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Some Comment on Shakespeare’s Use of the Mythic Traditions in Venus and Adonis

HERE’S AN ESSAY THAT FALLS SHORT OF the grade. It was written long, long ago in times of myth and legend. Randy, the prof, has some criticisms of it that point out its weaknesses. I've edited it some, but more study, more careful reasoning would have made it a better essay. I found parts of it a bit confusing*. Nevertheless, there are points of interest that may prove helpful. WARNING: It goes into the weeds a bit, so bring along your weed-whacker! Prof's comments in red.

 Cheers, Jake. 

 

 

IN BOOK TEN OF OVID’S METAMORPHOSES, the narrator presents tales of transformations. The opening tale is an interesting one because it is an example of a transformation that fails. On her wedding day, Eurydice is bitten by a snake and dies. Her soul descends to the Underworld. Grief stricken, her lover Orpheus follows her and begs Hades, god of the underworld, for her life. He wins her a reprieve, only to lose her again when he fails to follow the rules of the god. By looking back to see if Eurydice follows him out of the land of the dead, Orpheus loses his chance to have her transformed back into the living. She remains in the underworld while he returns to the upper world. There is another transformation occurring later in the myth of Orpheus that I will mention in a moment. For now, I’d like to continue examining those stories from Book 10 that are concerned with successful transformations.

In Book 10 there are transformations from the non-living into the living; from the human into plant or animal, and there are transformations from the human world into the supernatural. When one examines the reasons that the gods have for performing such transformations, several are suggested. They occur when humans follow the rules of the gods, or when humans break the rule of the gods, or they occur simply at the whim of the gods (as is the case of Ganymede who is transformed from an earthbound creature into an Olympian servant). Transformations also occur when the gods are sad or when they are feeling guilty (as in the myths of Adonis and Hyacinthus). They occur to assuage the guilt or grief of humans as well. 

 

The myths of Myrrha and Cyparissus are two such examples. With the myth of Hyacinthus, we have an example of transformation occurring because of the guilt of a god. Apollo inadvertently kills Hyacinthus in a game of discus throwing. He blames himself for the human’s death saying, “my hand/Has been your murderer” (Ovid. The Metamorphoses. ed. Humphries, 10.201). Further, Apollo cannot cure Hyacinthus’ wound because, he continues, “the law of Fate/Keeps us apart” (10.201-02). Instead, the god will transform Hyacinthus into a flower so that he will be with him forever. In the myth of Venus and Adonis, we have a similar transformation following the death of Adonis. Adonis, ignoring Venus’ warnings about hunting, is killed while hunting a boar. Hearing his cries, Venus comes to him, only to find him dead. Grief-stricken, she vows not to be deprived entirely of the presence of her lover. From the blood-soaked ground underneath Adonis, Venus transforms his body into a “lasting monument” (10.726), in the form of an anemone flower. (At this point, I would like to note that Venus transforms Adonis into a flower out of her grief. Apollo, on the other hand, transforms Hyacinthus into a flower because he feels guilty for having caused his death. I’ll suggest the significance of this difference later.)

 

The gods also transform humans when they are angry with them. Venus transforms the Cyprian women into bulls, for example. Moreover, in the tale of Atalanta and Hippomenes, an angry Cybele changes both humans into lions for their crime of desecrating a shrine. In Book XI, Orpheus is murdered and dismembered by the Ciconian women. The god Bacchus is so angered by their violent outrage, that he transforms all the Thracian women into trees who “as consenting to this wicked act were found.” (Ovid. The Metamorphoses. ed. Rouse, 11.79) While the women remained trapped in the form of trees, their victim, Orpheus, journeys to the underworld where he is united with his dead lover, Eurydice. The transformation occurring in this Orphic myth involves neither Orpheus nor Eurydice, but instead, it involves the women who witnessed his murder. What these and other transformation stories show us is that transformations occur for a variety of reasons. But the essential point is that they occur purposefully. A second point to note is that while the gods choose to transform the humans, death is the one transformation that seems to be beyond their power to control. The gods may kill. They may transform. But these tales and others suggest that the gods may not reinstate life once it is gone. (Yes, Pygmalion’s statue is animated and apparently fully functional, but it was not previously alive nor, interestingly, does it gain much in the way of human individuality once Venus transforms it into a woman. Not only does ‘she’ remain anonymous in the tale, but she also does not speak; though nominally alive, she remains statue-like and essentially unchanged from her original state.)

 

    Orpheus in the Underworld

Death occurs, more often than not, because of accident. [Yeh. Some accident] In the Orpheus myth, for example, there is no suggestion that a supernatural hand guides Eurydice’s death. Similarly, Hyacinthus’ death seems purely by chance. Orpheus seems to have just been at the wrong place at the wrong time when he met his death, and Adonis seems to be yet another victim of fate. My point is that in classical mythology there does not seem to be a figure like the Christian God (or even a figure like the medieval Grim Reaper) who controls death. The god Pluto appears more of a ‘caretaker’ of death rather than an active agent who seeks out his victims (like the Grim Reaper). Death seems something that the gods participate in but do not ultimately control. But while the gods don’t control death, they can at least ‘work around it’. 

       

 In a point I made earlier, I suggest the gods act purposefully to   transform humans: After Hyacinthus and Adonis physically die, their respective god-lovers act to transform them into flowers. It is important to note that their transformations into flowers are a direct result of their deaths. Apollo and Venus cannot restore Hyacinthus or Adonis to their former lives, but they can transform them into something else. One asks: Yes, but don’t the gods transform other humans as well into trees or animals? What is the difference? The difference is fundamental—for Hyacinthus and Adonis, their transformations occur after they have died. Myrrha, the Cyprian women, and the rest, who are transformed into trees or animals, do not die.

Examine the images of Cyparissus and Myrrha forever mourning in their forms as trees, or the particularly vivid image of the Cyprian women struggling to free themselves from the bark that slowly hardens and envelopes them. Finally, the image of Atalanta and Hippomenes, who are transformed into lions, where it is apparent that, while their outer forms have changed, inwardly, their identities remain the same. I suggest there is a fundamental difference between the flower transformation of Hyacinthus and Adonis, and the myths where humans are transformed into trees or animals. In the tree myths, the humans are seen to inhabit their new tree forms; they become the trees. In some cases, the trees assume their names, as is the case of Cyparissus, who, in his mourning, is transformed into the Cyprus tree—a tree of mourning. Similarly, Myrrha is said to weep forever. Her tears become myrrh, the sap of the tree that is named for her. The unruly Atalanta and Hippomenes copulate like animals “out of season” (Rouse, 10.809) at the shrine to the old “wooden Goddes” (10.813). Now when they copulate, they do so as animals in the woods. The point I’d like to make is that the transformations, after death, suggest a kind of rebirth. Neither Hyacinthus nor Adonis is seen to inhabit their respective flowers in the way Cyparissus is seen to inhabit his tree. It is true that the human identities of Atalanta and Hippomenes, as lions, are not as apparent as the identities of those humans who are transformed into trees. Nevertheless, I suggest the sense of the myth is that their animal-like behaviour at Cybele’s shrine is now reflected in their animal forms. Perhaps we can say that while their human identities are more obscured in their forms as animals, their human attributes are more clearly expressed. 

    The Fate of Cisparissus

 

Trees, of course, shed their leaves, bear fruit, grow and die. They follow a natural cycle, as do flowers, but I think there is a significant difference in the imagery of change or rebirth as suggested in the life cycle of the tree when compared to the flower: Trees remain trees. They grow slowly over time. They are rooted in one spot. Their trunks and limbs thicken and harden with bark. Their physical presence suggests one of permanence. To ‘become’ a tree suggests that you become like a tree—permanent, fixed, rooted. (Similarly, to become a lion also suggests permanence and a fixed existence. Atalanta and Hippomenes are turned fully into adult lions, and the suggestion here is that they will always remain so.

In contrast, flowers die and renew themselves in annual cycles and they are not fixed or rooted in the same manner as trees. They die and are reborn with the changing seasons. Their bodies disappear into the earth each winter only to emerge, restored, in the spring. Old flowers are seen to be transformed into new ones. While the attributes of the old are in the new, the old are not seen as the new. The old flower dies but its essence does not transform into the new flower. Perhaps we can say that the attributes of the old (its form and characteristics) transform into the new but not its identity (that which made it unique, separate from all other flowers of its kind). Instead, Hyacinthus will be “reborn” (Humphries, 10.205) as a flower. Adonis’ blood “shall be a flower” (10.205). the implication is, for both, some sort of metamorphosis, some transformation of their physical bodies into something else. Neither is in their flower, trapped in its form, as the Cyprian women are trapped in the form of trees. Rather, the sense is that both are changed through the shedding of their blood into something new, and that these flowers have come into being because of their deaths. We are not left with the implication that the flowers are Hyacinthus and Adonis, rather the flowers act to remember them, but the remembrance is also physical—through their blood.

 

    Hyacinthus and Apollo

An issue seems to arise here. Unlike Adonis’ flower, the anemone, Hyacinthus’ flower is named after him. This suggests some sort of connection between the myth of Hyacinthus and the myths of Cyparissus and the rest, who transform into trees that subsequently take their names. I believe there is a connection between the flower myth of Hyacinthus and the tree myths, one that also differentiates the flower myth of Hyacinthus from Adonis’ flower myth. I’ll comment on this later.

I think the difference between the two types of myths (flower myths and tree myths) is clear. In order to transform into a flower, one must die physically. Only then can one be reborn as something new, something that transcends the old. As I have said, to transform into a tree (or a lion) is to remain essentially the same: the form changes, the identity does not. We know that Adonis physically dies, and that Venus transforms him into a flower. However, his consciousness, his identity, that which we recognize as Adonis, is not present in the new flower. We cannot say the same for those who are transformed into trees for their identities remain intact. I suggest death is a key element in the difference between the two types of myths. One must die in order to transcend one’s past, not merely to transform (identity intact) into something else. 

Death, however, is not the only factor that differentiates the two types of myths. The other factor is the gods’ motivations for transforming the humans in the first place. In various myths, we have seen anger, pity, or sorrow as reasons for the gods to transform humans. Interestingly, it is only with the element of death, presented in the flower myths, that there is another reason for transforming humans: guilt. In the two flower myths of Hyacinthus and Adonis, it is significant that one is transformed primarily out of the god’s sense of guilt while the other is transformed because of grief. A question occurs at this point. if both humans are transformed into flowers in the end, why should the reasons the gods have for initiating such transformations matter if the results are the same? To answer this question, we need to examine the differences between the two flower myths.

 

Let us start by looking at the circumstances surrounding the deaths of Hyacinthus and Adonis. Hyacinthus dies because of an accident; he is struck by Apollo’s thrown discus. His death comes directly from the hand of a god, whereas, a mortal creature, a boar, kills Adonis in his myth story. Venus does not have a direct role in his death. (Later I will suggest that Venus’ role in his death is actually ‘played down’ in the Ovid's telling of the myth, while it is more fully illuminated in Shakespeare’s version of the myth.)

Another difference between the two is the fact that Hyacinthus’ flower takes his name. In myths depicting transformations of humans into trees, such a convention suggests an equating of the human with the tree, in the sense that the human and the tree are one, together. Does this then mean there is a similar correspondence between Hyacinthus and his flower? Well, not exactly. (Such a correspondence is not evident between Adonis and his flower.)  Like the Adonis myth, Hyacinthus will be “reborn/As a new flower” (10.205-06). Both flowers emerge from the spilled blood of the dead humans but there is a subtle distinction between the two: Hyacinthus’ identity is not in the flower. Like Adonis, he transforms into something new, not merely inhabiting a new form. But the claim Apollo makes on the new flower compromises the transformation process. While Venus says her “sorrow/Shall have a lasting monument: each year/Your death will be my sorrow but your blood/Shall be a flower” (10.725-28), saying, in other words, that her sorrow shall be an event recalled annually; significantly, it is Adonis’ blood that shall be the flower. Venus makes no claims on the flower itself. By this I mean that the transformation of Adonis into a flower is separate from her grief: The flower does not exist for her grief; it exists because of the blood of Adonis.

 

Contrast this with Hyacinthus when Apollo says: “You will be reborn/As a new flower whose markings will spell out/My cries of grief” (10.205-07). His flower exists to celebrate Apollo’s grief. The god's grieving words are “inscribed’ (10.215) on it. By imposing this requirement on the new flower, Apollo, compromises Hyacinthus’ transformation. His transformation does not completely transcend his past [The plucking of Adonis’ flower also stops his transcendence] and allow the human to be reborn in the manner of Adonis. While Hyacinthus, then, cannot be said to inhabit his flower, there is a sense of the past event—his death—that remains; his past ‘lingers on’ in his new form. The reason Hyacinthus’ past remains will be more clearly understood after examining the guilt of Apollo.

What the story of Apollo and Hyacinthus represents is a mythic event that enacts the principle drama of existence: life and death. What is significant, however, is that they themselves do not participate in the event. In terms of elements that suggest they are non-participants, I think there is as much to be made of the fact that their relationship is a homosexual one as there is to be made of the fact that Hyacinthus’ death occurs during ‘play’. The non-procreative aspect of their relationship suggests they are not part of the cycle of fecundity that is part of the natural world. They do not reflect the sexual processes of begetting life. As well, we must consider that the death of Hyacinthus occurs at a sporting event. When we think of sport, we view it as something separate from the everyday world. It has its own rules and expectations, rewards, and sanctions. We do not go to a baseball game, for example, to work on or continue activities from our daily life—we go there to participate in play or witness it. We also do not go to such an event expecting death to occur. (If death is a part of sport, then it is clearly no longer ‘play’. It is reality.) I think the fact that Hyacinthus’ death occurs at such an event portrays Hyacinthus and Apollo as being non-participants in the second great aspect in the drama of existence: death. If their homosexuality suggest non-participation in the sexual round of existence, so too does their discus-throwing suggest their non-participation in death. I would next like to examine Apollo’s guilt in terms of this element of non-participation suggested in the myth. I will do so by continuing to compare the two flower myths.

 

In the myth of Venus and Adonis, we have a pair of heterosexual lovers. As such, they both reflect and participate in the fecundity of the natural world. They reflect the sexual processes of life begetting life. As well, when we examine Adonis’ death, we note he is killed while hunting. Unlike the play activity of Hyacinthus, Adonis is seen to participate in the second great drama of existence—death. As a hunter, he participates directly in the taking of life, reflecting the natural imperatives of the world: The past must give way for the present; one life must give way for another. Adonis participates in death in a way Hyacinthus does not. The fact that a boar, a natural creature and not a god kills Adonis, further suggests his greater participation in death. (Though, I will make the point later that Adonis, while he participates more fully in death, is nevertheless unaware of the full extent of his role—he is not aware of his role as a victim.)

 

I suggest Apollo’s guilt comes from the fact he is a non-participant, rather than because he ‘accidentally’ kills Hyacinthus. One might say:  Apollo did kill Hyacinthus by accident and feeling guilty seems a reasonable reaction. Why shouldn’t gods feel guilty? At this point, it is probably better if we decide to engage the myth at its symbolic level, for to see Apollo’s guilt strictly in terms of a story about two lovers, one of whom accidentally kills the other, is indeed to see a story where guilt and sorrow play equal roles. However, if we examine the myth in terms of its images—as a tableau of non-participation, guilt and an incomplete or compromised transformation—then Apollo’s guilt occurs because of his non-participation, symbolized as I have said earlier, by his homosexuality, and by his engagement in play. Similarly, of course, Hyacinthus negates his own participation by being Apollo’s lover and by involving himself in play. I’ve just said here that Hyacinthus denies his participation, which of course suggests that he is, in fact, participating. This would suggest a contradiction. And I’ll go further to state that Apollo is guilty because, he too, denies his participation in the processes of life and death.

This may seem somewhat confusing, but I think we have come, at last, to the crux of the myth. The sense of the myth is this: Sex and death are the two fundamental aspects of existence. No one can avoid participating in either. (By definition and biology, we are sexual beings. As well, we both take life in order to survive—animal, vegetable and often human—and we ourselves will die, in turn.) We can say, therefore, that by denying his participation in both sex and death, symbolically through homosexuality and through play, Apollo’s guilt in killing Hyacinthus comes from denying that he is (like all of us) a killer.

In the myth of Venus and Adonis, on the other hand, its images suggest participation, sorrow, and complete transformation. If we examine it, as we did Hyacinthus’ myth, as a symbolic tableau, then we can say that Venus does not feel guilty about Adonis’s death because she participates in sex—the fecundity of life—as Adonis’ lover. [But she can’t get him into bed. At least in Shakespeare] As well, she expresses an awareness of death through her warnings to Adonis, which could also suggest that she, unlike Apollo, participates to some extent in death (if only by her awareness of it). One might ask: But why should Venus feel guilty about Adonis’ death in the first place? After all, it was a boar that killed him? Well, yes and no. The sense I have of the myth is that Venus’s role as the ‘killer’ of Adonis is, in the Greek tradition, down-played. Does it not seem odd that the gods, who are seen to control all the natural forces of the world and to control the destinies of humankind (as well as transforming them into flowers) fall short, in the final analysis, in taking responsibility for purposefully ending a human life? I think there is a great difference between the gods killing in anger or by accident, as compared with the gods taking human life rationally and regularly. However, the gods are not seen to kill deliberately or with calculation, and more often than not, they only transform humans (if we remember that in most of the transformations, the humans don’t die, they merely change form in an essentially static process).

 

My point is that for whatever reasons, Venus as both lover and killer is not suggested in Ovid’s myth. That Venus should be Adonis’ killer seems logical: She is his lover, and she is a goddess, a supernatural being responsible for creating the events of the natural world. She is responsible for sex. She is responsible for his transformation into a flower. It makes sense that she should also be responsible for his death. Yet death seems to be the only thing for which she is not responsible.

In the flower myths we have an explanation, or a rationalization, or perhaps more accurately, we have a depiction of our own symbolic participation in the processes of life and death—why things live and why they die, and how we are involved in the process. Guilt, in the Hyacinthus myth, is seen as a denial of that involvement. The Adonis myth, on the other hand, suggests an acceptance of our roles in life and death, of our active involvement in them. The transformation that is complete, in the Adonis myth, suggests the appropriateness for the natural cycles of life, death and new life. On the other hand, the myths found in Ovid, suggest that transformations, in order to be ‘complete’ (i.e., transcendent), must have participants who are entirely involved in the processes of life and death. There is no room for denial.

 

NOW I WOULD LIKE TO TURN TO EXAMINE Shakespeare’s use of the Adonis myth in his poem Venus and Adonis. One of the points I will make is how Shakespeare expands upon Venus’ role as the killer of Adonis. In doing so, he provides the myth with a fuller resonance of meaning that, I think, suggests its pre-Greek traditions that more directly portray Venus as both lover and destroyer. While Shakespeare comes to the myth without knowledge of its origins, his interpretation nevertheless reflects them.

One of the interesting aspects of Venus and Adonis is how the relationship between the two lovers is characterized. In Ovid, as I’ve said, the relationship is depicted as a mature, sexual one, reflecting both participation and correspondence with the sexual processes of life begetting life. In Shakespeare, however, Adonis is little more than a youth. He is apparently a virgin, and his only interest seems to be hunting. He rejects Venus’ sexual advances and fully two-thirds of the poem is spent having Venus woo him, while he in turn fends off her kisses and caresses. Shakespeare may be combining, in one poem, the aspects of both flower myths—the participatory elements from Venus and Adonis and the non-participatory elements of Hyacinthus and Apollo.

One view of Adonis, as a virgin and as someone who is seen to be ‘reborn’ into a new form, [Christ is resurrected in the same body] perhaps suggests the image of the virgin Christ. His denial of the sexual aspects of life suggests the Christian divinity that is seen to be above the processes of the natural world, [Theologically, this sounds wrong; His being born and dying are crucial.]  in contrast to the gods of Greek myth who involve themselves in just about every aspect of the natural world. [But not in death.]

In another view of Adonis’ virginity, it is interesting to note his reluctance to become sexually active does not interfere with his transformation. He does transcend his old self into the new. Shakespeare may be suggesting here, in a fashion more obvious that is found in Ovid, that the natural imperatives of life, death and new life go on despite our wishes and in spite of how reluctant we may be. While Shakespeare may be suggesting this interpretation, I feel the Greek myth, as written by Ovid, ‘pulls back’ from this larger claim that the natural processes of life make on humanity. The myth seems to focus on the heroic actions of the individual as he succeeds or fails in his contest with nature. I suggest the earlier mythic traditions of Venus, found in other pre-Greek cultures, depict humankind as more a part of this natural process.

Shakespeare, by providing an Adonis who is seen not to participate in the sexual aspect of life, but is nevertheless transformed, may be touching on these earlier traditions (where the processes of life are viewed as inexorable and impersonal). Adonis has no choice in the matter. He cannot contest the forces that transform him. Ovid, by ensuring a depiction of Adonis who participates in both sex and death (though, as I have said, he is not aware of his own death), suggests a relationship with those forces that implies some sort of ‘negotiation’ with them, given, as I’ve suggested, the Greek insistence on the power of the individual.

 

    Atalanta and Hippomenes

Another variation from Ovid that Shakespeare provides is in his ‘transformation’ of the cautionary tale Venus tells Adonis. In Book X of Ovid, the myth of Adonis is told in two tales, with the tale of Atalanta and Hippomenes coming between them. Venus tells the tale to Adonis as they lay together in a scene of idyllic love. It is cautionary because in the previous tale Atalanta and Hippomenes forgot their duties to the gods and copulated inappropriately at a shrine for which they are punished. Their tale acts as a 'warning' to Adonis about inappropriate sex and about hunting dangerous animals. [The sex and hunt motif is very old.]  Shakespeare provides a similar scene in his poem that instead reflects an appropriate copulation—Venus' and Adonis' horses woo each other and prepare to mate. The sense is one of natural order (horses doing what horses should be doing). By placing this scene amid the protracted and ludicrous wooing scenes between Venus and Adonis, Shakespeare is suggesting the absurdity and inappropriateness of Adonis’ reluctance to engage in the sexual aspect of life. If Shakespeare is suggesting through his tale of the two horses that there should be some human mating going on here, he is also suggesting Adonis should be aware of his role as participant. (He does participate, whether he likes it or not. He participates because he is a sexual being. His choice to be celibate is not the issue. The issue is his denial of his own sexuality. Like Apollo’s denial of his own participatory sexuality, symbolized by his homosexuality, [Why isn’t homosexuality “participatory?”] so too is Adonis’ non-participation reflected in his virginity.)

Concerning his awareness of himself as a participant in death, I can’t help wondering if the fact that Adonis dies in fear (and both versions suggest this) doesn’t have something to tell us about ‘victims’. In other words, those who die and transform, need not die in fear if they are aware of their role as victim.  Adonis denies his role, and subsequently dies in fear.

Another element Shakespeare adds to his version is the presence of death. Venus is preoccupied and distraught in the final sections of the poem with the possibility of Adonis’ death. Ovid, in contrast, presents an atmosphere that is almost casual by comparison. In his version, Venus gives her warning to Adonis not to go hunting then leaves him for a time, we presume to go about her business of being a goddess. In Shakespeare’s version, Venus doesn’t leave his side, and when Adonis finally leaves her, she frantically follows him, obsessed with visions of his impending death. Shakespeare may be calling our attention to the ever-present reality of death. Venus, in the Greek tradition, is aware of death but, again, in a much less obvious about it. As I have suggested, in Ovid's version of the Greek myth, Venus’s role in the death of Adonis is downplayed, while her role in transforming him into a flower is played-up—Venus is there to transform Adonis, not to be seen as his killer. In Shakespeare’s version, her heightened awareness of death suggests her heightened participation in it.

Two further points and then I’ll conclude. First, is Venus’ rather interesting manner of bringing about Adonis’ transformation in Shakespeare’s version: Here, Venus prophesizes about the future of love. In in future, she says, love will be problematic and rife with tensions. It will be dangerous and unstable (about what it is like today, in other words). Immediately after her pronouncement, Adonis transforms into a flower without any further intervention by the goddess. By contrast, Ovid has Venus sprinkle magic nectar over Adonis’ body and, along with her prayers, his body disappears and a flower grows on the ground where his blood has spilled. Ovid's version has Venus apply that ‘personal touch’ that removes the myth from the larger claim of the natural world. She seems almost reduced to the status of a witch with her potions and prayers, almost like someone applying a ‘technology’ to solve a problem. I suggest that, in Ovid, Venus is at a remove from nature; she is not equated with it. We do not view her as a force of nature; instead, she acts upon nature with her potions and prayers, to intercede with it almost as a supplicant.

This contrasts with the fundamental tenet of pre-Greek traditions of the Venus myth where Venus is Nature. She is the mother-goddess of the world. The five-foot four, one-hundred-and-twenty-pound vision we have of Venus is only one aspect of the Great Goddess; only a ‘gate-keeper’, so to speak, of her larger estate. [Nice.] She is Nature. She is from whom we come; in whom we dwell; and to whom we go when we die. As I have said, the Greek tendency to reduce everything to human terms (even gods) would certainly include the reworking of a figure that represents the uncontrollable and inexorable forces of nature. Inexorable forces can’t be rationalized. (And if there was one thing the ancient Greeks loved, it was rationality.) The solution? Personify her into a more human role.

 

In looking at how Shakespeare’s Venus accomplishes the transformation of Adonis we note that Venus does not seem to act purposefully to will his flower into being. Nor does she perform any magic to accomplish the act. Her prophecy (or curse?) is followed by a mysterious transformation of Adonis into a flower:

 

“By this the boy that by her side laie kild,

Was melted like a vapour from her sight,

And in his blood that on the ground laie spild,

A purple floure sproong up, checkred with white,” (Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis, H)

 

Hidden natural forces—inexorable forces—are suggested by this transformation. As well, there is an interesting kind of communal participation suggested. Venus’ prophecy of love might be seen to ‘implicate’ all who are lovers; all who share the burden of love, as predicted by Venus. This is a deepening of the myth Shakespeare provides that suggests a kind of ‘communion’ with Adonis’. The sense is that his death causes our burden (i.e. Venus’ ‘curse’, her vision of love). Our burden, in turn, helps to transform Adonis. Venus’ prophecy—and our shared vision of love—bring about his transformation into a flower. Which makes a kind of sense: as participants in life, we all share in the burden of love. In turn, that burden brings about new life (Adonis’ flower). I should add that the burden of love would also take into consideration the transitory nature of love, and hence of life itself. Of course, death, as well, is part of our burden.

The final point I will make has to do with Shakespeare’s equating of Venus as the boar (not with the boar, as the boar.) In various images throughout the poem, Shakespeare subtly suggests that Venus has characteristics of a wild animal or characteristics of the boar, itself. For example, Venus is depicted as an attacking eagle:

 

“Even as an emptie Eagle sharpe by fast,

Tires with her beake on feathers, flesh, and bone,

Shaking her wings, devouring all in hast,

Till either gorge be stuft, or pray be gone:

Even fo the she kist his brow, his cheek, his chin” (B.ij)

 

Earlier, Shakespeare states that she “murthers with a kisse” (B.ij). Later, she is said to have a “mangling eye,” (G. iij). And in a passage shortly following, Venus herself states that she understood how the boar came to kill Adonis: the boar had only meant to kiss him. She goes on the state, significantly, that she too would have killed him had she had teeth like the boar: “Had I bin tooth’d like him I must confesse,/With kissing him I should have kild him first,” (3 pg. following G. iij).

From what has been discussed earlier, I think it is clear that Shakespeare is making a claim for a wider role on Venus’ part. By equating her as [not idiomatic] the boar, he suggests she plays a direct role in Adonis’ death. As also discussed, concerning the portrayal of Venus in the Greek tradition, her role there is one of intercession with Nature. On the other hand, with Shakespeare, Venus is Nature**. She is the goddess who loves. She is the goddess who kills. Finally, she is also the goddess who transforms. Her image at the end of the poem cradling Adonis’ flower on her breast suggests, most strongly, her role as Mother Goddess of the world—she both gives life and takes it away, only to renew it again and again.

 

In the myths of the Metamorphoses and in Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis, we are dealing with symbols. To say we must not be guilty for killing today’s lunch or, more seriously, that we must not be guilty because the past generation must die in order for the present generation to live, is to deal on one level of the myth—on the level of physical life and death. The myth can be seen as well to reflect spiritual life and death. (And Shakespeare’s virgin Adonis might be suggesting this level of interpretation.)  To have our old selves die and be born anew means we must be both murderer and victim, that we play the roles of both Venus and Adonis.

The contrast between the two flower myths suggests the need for our full participation in the processes of life and death. and our full awareness of ourselves as both murderer and victim is necessary. Anything less leaves us untransformed or partially transformed, like those found in the tree transformation myths. (They transform, but only partially, and in body only. Who they are—or were—remains the same.) To be fully transformed, on the other hand, to transcend our past selves, requires our willing death. Anything less leaves us marked, as Apollo’s guilt forever marks the leaves of Hyacinthus’ flower.

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* Ovid: 43B.C. to 17 A.D. Roman poet who wrote during the reign of the first Roman emperor, Augustus. He was a contemporary of Roman writers Virgil the Elder and Horace, and is considered to be one of the three canonical poets of Latin literature.

 

**In re-reading this essay, I had a bit of difficulty keeping straight in my head three things: Greek mythological traditions of the goddess of fertility, "Aphrodite"; her Roman equivalent  "Venus" and thirdly, pre-Greek mythological traditions that saw the Venus/Aphrodite goddess as a much greater entity. There is a difference between the Greek version and later Roman traditions, with the Romans giving the Greek goddess of love, beauty and procreation additional attributes, for example, those of prosperity and victory.

The third point--the pre-Greek traditions of the goddess (and I'm not sure what my sources were for this) saw her as the all-encompassing earth-mother figure, and this tradition was one, it seems, that Shakespeare alluded to in his Venus and Adonis poem. I think. 

In another essay, Classical Mythology my prof from another class also challenges my assertion that Venus, in Shakespeare's version, is a 'mother-goddess' figure. Not having read  the poem for a long time, I probably have to agree here with Randy, that this is inaccurate.

Which is why this essay, even though it has a lot of neat stuff in it, misses the mark. If I'm a little confused, as its writer re-reading it after all this time, then the reader will be confused as well. Sorry about that, but it's good to understand your mistakes so you can do better next time. And hey, it's not that bad for a freebie!

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    Works Cited

 Ovid, The Metamorphoses, ed. R. Humphries. Indiana University Press, Chicago. 1966

 

-----. The Metamorphoses, ed. W.H.D. Rouse. Norton, New York, 1966.

 

Shakespeare, W., Venus and Adonis, Imprinted by Richard Field, 1595.

 

PROF COMMENTS: Don, re: your ending: I agree, spiritually, that we need to plug into the full range of conflicting forces, otherwise we are but partially transformed. It seems to me that what Shakespeare IS expressing though, is a terrifying partial transformation in which a non-benevolent, un-self-comprehending goddess destroys an unsuspecting human—or something like that. The main point that the poem celebrates is the partial, the not fully conscious. 

The rest of the paper is filled with subtle discriminations, as you cover such a vast area I can have little sense of your correctness, but I can easily admire your close argumentation (Not working with Ovid’s text in Latin, I know, is working too far away from the evidence. Randy. Grade= 80.