The Great World Dream

Chapter 4

Deep Waters of Spirit

Having explored some of the many ways by which water can symbolise the human heart with its emotions, we can readily appreciate how it can be used to symbolise something at a much higher level in the scheme of things, something from beyond the range of thoughts and feelings, something from the dawn awakening of the great world dream – something from the realm of spirit. As an earthly symbol of something fluid, intangible and non-material, water is the nearest thing we can find, the idea that lies behind the principles of holy water and the baptism. Just as life itself depends on the presence of water, so water can symbolise the power of life itself: the river of life. The idea is to be found reflected in the Svetasvatara Upanishad, from which many have drawn spiritual inspiration over the centuries, visualising the human soul searching the murky and dangerous waters of the passions, hopefully seeking contact with the peaceful waters and the initiating rites of spirit:

   In meditation a wise man saw the river of life rushing in full spate, flowing from a
   fountain of consciousness; fed by five turbid tributaries of the senses, with high waves
   whipped up by the winds of passionate breath; with five great whirlpools full of sorrow
   and loneliness, and five rocky ravines echoing with danger and pain.

   Along the turgid river of life flies a solitary swan with whistling wings: the human soul
   seeking quiet waters on which to rest. While she flies with a restless heart she despairs
   of finding peace; but when Spirit guides she is shown a tranquil lake with clear water
   and sheltering reeds.

Expressions of symbolic awareness such as this may or may not be meaningful to Hindus today, but it is of little use taking the images of one religion or another in order to describe the spiritual cataract, the fish-ladder of souls, the means of ascent that really does exist on the inner plane, because that would be to invite invidious comparisons with other religions and ways. As you may have noticed, very religious people tend to suppose – to believe – that their own religion comprises spiritual reality in fact, rather than a symbol of that reality and it is always best not to argue with a religious point of view.

It is far safer to use religious ideas from long ago, from a religion which no longer has adherents, and which can no longer cause offence. That is why I shall take the Euphrates of the Babylonians as my example of a 'sacred river'. The identification of water with 'spirit', as an earthly symbol of supernatural presence, has been the instinctive assumption of men since the earliest written words were made permanent. The cuneiform clay tablets of ancient Babylon, unearthed by the thousand from beneath the ruins of Mesopotamian cities, make this assumption quite clear. One of the stories they tell is of a great annual ceremony involving King Nebuchadnezzar II and his priests, and known as the sacred path of Marduk.

Now Babylon has acquired a very bad name over the millennia which have elapsed since its
heyday, mainly because of the indignation caused by the defeat and occupation of Israel at the hands of Nebuchadnezzar, the kidnapping and exile of Israeli skilled workers and intellectuals as virtual slaves of the Babylonians, and the fact that it was all recorded and given a very 'bad press' in the Old Testament. But the Babylonian symbols of spirituality were instinctively sound, though overlaid with what may seem to us the childlike superstitions of their day.

Babylonians were probably the first to isolate traits of human psychology, to relate these to the planets, and to personify these planet symbols as gods and goddesses. But they went a step further than that, and in the spirit of 'as above, so below', the land they lived in was made to reflect this system on a different scale. The very name 'Babylon' has come to imply an excess of materiality, wealth and luxury, and shameless idolatry. The name comes from the phrase 'Gateway to God', and much of Babylonian history justifies this title. The gateway, a means of passing through to a different spiritual dimension, has to function by way of the soul. Only soul can be instrumental in bringing about a spiritual encounter. It is patently true that the concept of 'God' will have to include materiality as well as spirituality but only spirit can activate spirit or approach matters of spirit; and spirit within the human sphere has to function by way of the soul – by activating the soul which may well have lain dormant for many years. 'Spirit' must not be confused with emotion. Spirit is not to be known by science; not to be discovered by clever minds.

Nebuchadanezzar and his priestly hierarchy may not have been clever by our modern standards – they would probably be seen today as thick as the proverbial two short planks. Neither were they saintly people – far from it. But they were aware of an all-important principle all but lost today: the principle that soul represents the way to a higher condition, and that soul must be allowed to lead if that condition is to be gained.

Babylon itself was the city-state which ruled the land of Mesopotamia, the area between the two major rivers of the Tigris and the Euphrates, and equating to modern Iraq. The civic motto of the city of Babylon was 'Marduk is Bel' – 'the soul is lord'. Their city name, 'Gateway to God', takes the matter a stage further, for if the city of Babylon represented the soul as symbolised by Jupiter, the other sister cities of the Mesopotamian plain each represented another, essential if less exalted, part of the human organism. These different 'rulers' of the human condition in their turn were symbolised by idols – given solidity of form – perhaps so that the uneducated masses would have some inkling of the principles involved. That simple fact has caused righteous indignation and moral outrage in people who happened to use a different set of symbols; people perhaps who thought that their own religious symbols were the only true symbols – or even that their symbols were not symbols at all, but spiritual reality itself.

Babylon, then, city of a thousand idols, was in fact the city of the soul. For everyday government, for kings and councillors, the highest recognised authority was symbolised by Shamash, the sun: the spirit of openness and justice whose light shines on all, who exposes misdeeds and uncovers evil, the champion of triumphal careers, patron of all outward accomplishments of the rich and famous. Worldly success, for Babylonians, belonged to Shamash; spiritual progress belonged to Marduk. Shamash ruled over the outer self; Marduk ruled over the inner self.

Whilst Babylon itself honoured Marduk, the other cities of the Mesopotamian plain each honoured their own personal deity, symbolised by their idols. The city of Borsippa, ten miles away to the south-west on the banks of the Euphrates, was the home ground of Nabu (the one we know as Mercury), representative of thoughts – the intellectual centre. A similar distance away to the north-east, the city of Cuthah honoured the warlike Nergal (known to us as Mars), ruler of the passions and the dreaded one who takes command of the underworld (for this is certainly where the passions ultimately lead). For this reason the city of Cuthah was known throughout the region as 'the assembly-place of ghosts'. It was also the martial centre for the region, the garrison town of Nebuchadnezzar's crack troops.

The patron-god of Lagash, many miles away on the edge of the Sumerian salt marshes, was
Ninurta (known to us as Saturn). This was a desolate place associated in the Babylonians' minds with death and dissolution. The great goddess Ishtar (Venus), seat of emotions, was particularly venerated in the city of Erech, again far to the south. The Euphrates had changed its course at least a thousand years before the advent of Nebuchadnezzar II, and Erech stood near the banks of the original mainstream course, now reduced to a trickle by comparison. It was a symbol perhaps of lost glory: Erech had been one of the most powerful of the ancient city-states, even before the emergence of Babylonia itself. The heart, symbolised by Venus, will sooner or later be obliged to second place to the soul, to Jupiter.

Following this principle all the outlying cities, towns and villages of the Mesopotamian plain were, or over the years gradually became, symbols of the limbs and functions of a parent body, and this parent body during the first millennium BC was Babylon. Marduk was always considered chief among these farflung deities, no matter how much more terrible earthwards, or even how much more exalted heavenwards they may have seemed as individual powers.

Although these other gods and goddesses can be thought of as having a particular role to play, Marduk himself was not, and could not be, limited to any particular set of rules. The reason for this is very plain: the human soul represents wholeness; it contains all human possibilities within itself , and cannot correctly be thought of as isolated or limited in any way, or as representing this or that quality. Do not make the common mistake of assuming 'soul' to be confined to holy or spiritual matters. Marduk, as a ponderable symbol of the soul, contained every known characteristic within his own nature. This was and still is the actual nature of soul: simultaneously the nucleus and the circumference of the self, both impetus and boundary of all human actions. Even though we are not aware of it, it is only by way of soul that consciousness can reach and quicken our coarse, material parts, our sensations, emotions and thoughts. And do not make the even bigger mistake of confusing the personal soul with the holy spirit. Spirit is impersonal; soul is personal. But it is only by way of one's own soul that genuine spirituality can be contacted, that our own spiritual status can be improved, and the world of heavenly beings approached.

The Sacred Path of Marduk

Let us be onlookers at this great annual festival, for the onlookers were also thereby participants. As we assemble, the ceremony will already have begun in secret, 'invisible, beyond human sight', and known only to the Babylonian priesthood, when the idol of Marduk was ceremoniously immersed in the Euphrates – symbolically introduced to spirit and thus brought to life. Only after this initial ceremony, the act of union, soul with spirit, had been completed, could the public procession take place.

From the banks of the great Euphrates the procession moved off with a roll of drums and a mighty clash of cymbals, a braying of horns and trumpets. Then, to the more melodious accompaniment of harps and lyres, the temple choir struck up the processional anthem of praise to the quickened Marduk. At the head of the procession walked the high priest, striking in his black and white robes, embroidered with gold. On his ornate headdress, worked in scarlet, was a winged lion, their symbol of protection from evil. Next to the priest walked his acolyte, a young lad nearing puberty, clad all in green, carrying head-high a silver bowl of holy water, freshly drawn from the Euphrates and newly blessed. Into this bowl the priest dipped a bundle of tamarisk twigs bearing leaves and flowers, and with it he sprinkled holy water left and right, from time to time arching it high in the air so that it fell as drops over the priests and dignitaries walking behind.

Immediately behind the high priest walked two ranks of lesser priests, impressive in their robes of red and black, bearing on their shoulders a woven-rush litter which swayed lightly to the rhythm of their steps. Upon the litter sat the statue, the idol of Marduk, carved out of scented cedarwood and encased in gleaming bronze, inlaid with patterns of gold, silver, and the pure blue of lapis lazuli. To the regular motion of the priests' feet, Marduk seemed to stir on his litter and incline his head, as though nodding and smiling to the awestruck peasants standing deferentially along each side of the stone-paved track. In his right hand, Marduk held a wooden carving: a flowering branch of the traditional tree of life. His left hand was outstretched, reaching low, the fingers bent as though holding the hand of another.

And indeed he was: only one person was allowed to hold the hand of this effigy of Marduk in public, and the watching peasants would perhaps have been all the more impressed by the figure who walked alongside the litter, reaching up and gripping Marduk's outstretched carved wooden hand. Resplendent in his ceremonial robes of purple, crimson and gold, this powerfully-built, hawk-nosed, black-bearded man was none other than the great king himself, Nebuchadnezzar II, fabled restorer of Babylon after its long centuries of neglect and decay. Babylon had been great before, in the era of the world-famous Hanging Gardens, but had long since suffered through destructive politics and warfare. Now, under Nebuchadnezzar's rule, it was restored to far more even than its former glory.

The mighty Euphrates, as it rolled through the plain, had carved a niche for itself in the fertile soil, but annual flooding over thousands of years had raised its banks with layers of silt to create a series of natural levees throughout its course. Periodically these banks would burst here and there, allowing a fresh channel to leave the main stream, creating not a tributary but a branch, a minor arm of the great river itself. There were several such streams on the plain, and it was one of these secondary Euphrates rivers that approached the city of Babylon and washed its western walls. If the Euphrates represented the holy spirit, this branch of the river that approached Babylon brought to mind the age-old saw: 'Man does not approach spirit; spirit approaches man'.

After a while the procession would reach this smaller river at a point where the royal barge floated with furled sails, moored and ready, its scarlet-coated boatmen standing with their poles raised like guardsmen at attention. Across the broad gangway fashioned from pinewood brought from the distant Zagros mountains, the procession filed into the barge, settling Marduk's litter on a special dais amidships. With the crowd of onlookers following along the river bank, the gentle current would sweep the official party along, steadied by the boatmen's punting poles, the music of the choir and their accompaniment flushing startled ibises and herons from their cover among the reeds and willows.

Ishtar Gate

DETAIL FROM THE ISHTAR GATE: RECONSTRUCTION

Their music echoed as they passed through the magnificent Ishtar Gate, one of the dazzling
wonders of the newly restored Babylon, its glazed tiles and bright mosaics ablaze with blue and green and gold – mythical figures of dragons and bulls, winged lions, eagle-headed gods and lion-headed eagles, magical guardians of the city and symbols of state. The traditional paved route marking the sacred path of Marduk followed a circuitous course through the city streets, winding its way close to the walls, its length lined with townsfolk, silent and respectful. Eventually they reached the impressive temple of Marduk for the next stage of this great New Year festival.

The Arrogant, the Humble, and the Wise

The Babylonians were masters of symbolism. The grand procession could only take place after a full week of preparatory ceremonies, the most important on which was known as 'the humbling of the king'. In front of the assembled council of priests and elders, the king's finery, robes and crown were removed, and he was made to kneel before Marduk's image. At that moment the great Nebuchadnezzar (as also his father Nabopolassar before him) would have seemed no better, no more important, than any of his subjects.

The high priest then addressed the king in scathing and insulting tones, shouting unanswerable questions into his face. When he could give no answer, the priest would slap the king's face, pull his beard, twist his ears and tweak his nose until tears rolled down his cheeks. The point was being made that this person – though in fact the greatest king they had ever known, and probably genuinely respected at that – had, ritually at least, become a very ordinary creature, without pride, without benefit of wealth or privilege. This symbolic shedding of worldly riches and respect was intended to convey the message that all traces of arrogance, of self-confidence even, must be made to yield to self-doubt, to a state of helplessness similar to that at birth, if not at death, in the face of the divine will. If there could be any meaningful preparation for the forthcoming meeting with spirit, this would have to be it – acquiring humility before your own soul.

The ritual humiliation and temporary loss of power complete, the king would dress again in his robes and crown before taking part in two sacrificial procedures outside the city gates. First, within a deep trench dug in the ground, he set fire to a bundle of reeds; then he was obliged to slaughter a white bull. Remember the spiritual hierarchy extending from the ground level of materiality, through the level of plants, through the level of animals, to the original high human level lost when the Garden of Eden was lost. This was the true 'sacred path of Marduk'.

The following day another ritual was enacted: a special tabernacle was constructed of intricately embroidered cloth. There the idol of Marduk was brought and set on a throne, to await the arrival of a subordinate though still very important god: Nabu, in Babylonian tradition one of his own sons, god of learning and wisdom. Nabu, as we already know, was the traditional divine guardian of the neighbouring city of Borsippa on the banks of the mainstream Euphrates. Both Nebuchadnezzar and his father Nabopolassar before him had been named in his honour. When the tabernacle was ready the image of Nabu was carried on a cedarwood and rushwork litter borne by a retinue of his own priests, the ten miles or so to Babylon, from his own temple in Borsippa. The two idols were placed side by side in their sumptuous tabernacle, supplied with food and drink, and left on their own to communicate, and effect a symbolic transference if power and influence.

It is easy to see why these rituals were deemed essential before the main procession along the sacred path of Marduk could even take place: wisdom, or the human mind, has to acknowledge and accept the supremacy, the fatherhood of soul, before entering the spiritual life, before even taking the first step along the ultimate path. Symbolism such as this may serve to encourage the submissve attitude of faith which is the only preparation we can realistically make. The soul (represented of course by Marduk or Jupiter), having been quickened by spirit (symbolised by the waters of the Euphrates), will be carried along by that spirit and thence brought to our awareness before passing through the Gate of Ishtar. Ishtar, of course, is the goddess or planet we call Venus, personification of human emotions. The existence of soul has to be first accepted by the intellect, by the power of reason symbolised by Nabu or Mercury, before the inner journey can become reality. Then, sooner or later, it must be accepted by the heart, our seat of value-judgment, the means by which we can fully appreciate beauty and wonder.

The peasants on either side of the sacred path – ourselves, perhaps – are splashed by the priest's holy water, the symbol of spiritual contact coming to us by way of a flowering spray of tamarisk – the spiritual level of the plant world, and the spiritual state immediately above our solidly material, physical bodies, our brains and hearts with their thoughts and feelings. Pride and arrogance will achieve nothing in the long term; nothing can change for the better without spirit. The king must be humbled, for the only approach to spirit is by way of submission, of humility.

Understanding how nature works in essence may give us the mental flexibility to see through the solidly materiality of our lives, the materiality that holds us to the earth. The ability to see through the ungraspable but solidly material nature of water may lead us to sense the ungraspable non-materiality of spirit.

The landing stage was close by the city walls, near the beautiful Gate of Ishtar. During the brief voyage the choral singers with their harps and lyres had kept up their hymn of praise to Marduk, and to the river which bore him along, interspersed with mythical sagas set to music. But now as the processional priests again raised their burden to disembark, taking up their solemn march with the rhythmically swaying idol, the drums and wind instruments blared out again, warning the waiting citizens that the most important ceremony of their year was under way, and the procession was about to enter the city gates. They were met at the gate into the city by the mayor of Babylon, resplendent in green and gold, accompanied by his council of elders.