Ares and Aphrodite in the Garden

We believe fervently that the Greek gods and goddesses really need to hire some new publicists.  All their best lines have been stolen, and all their worst foibles have become all-encompassing moral warts.

It's just not fair, really, but what is an immortal Olympian supposed to do about it, put down their goblet and intervene?  Please.  That whole deus ex machina thing is so first century Levant.  It just isn't done anymore.

 For divine image reconditioning, the Gods need to look to modern metaphor merchants, like Myrtle, for instance, who has already rendered the opinion that Apollo and Dionysus symbolize the conflict between domestic and wild horticulture.   Nor are the poet and the vintner the only members of the pantheon to get Myrtle's attention.  Demeter and Persephone have each had some part of their stories told, as might be expected.  What little appreciation remains in our culture of these ancient myths is often associated with plants, farms, and gardens.  Demeter and Persephone have gotten less publicity, perhaps, than some others of their kin, but at least what publicity they have received has been mostly positive.

Not so for Ares and Aphrodite.  This pair has been relegated to the celestial tabloids for all eternity, and the rendering of their identities and stories has only gotten worse with the passing of time.

But is our modern dismissal of these archtypal figures reasonable, let alone fair?

Placed in the context of a garden, Myrtle's answer is "no", with some important caveats.

For starters, it is important to recognize that the Ares and Aphrodite we think we know are really just romanized bastardizations of themselves.  Pop psychology may be comfortable saying men are from Mars and women are from Venus, but this is puerile poppycock.  The Roman versions of these immortals are the inspirations for monster truck rallies and junior high girls dressed in practically nothing and dancing wildly to  "Brick House", respectively.  We'll leave you to be the judge of which is the more corrosive influence.

But Mars and Venus lack the moral depth of Ares and Aphrodite -- Aphrodite in particular.  There are some martial elements to gardening, particularly in the initial stages, where a wild copse is beaten into submission with plow and shears, so Ares has some place in the creation of a green, growing place, but it is Aphrodite who in particular has not received proper recognition in the agricultural arts.  Ginette Paris gives credit where it is due in her fascinating tome Pagan Meditations: The Worlds of Aphrodite, Artemis, and Hestia; indeed, she points out that there are a variety of myths about Aphrodite, who probably served the Greeks as the replacement for a series of earlier goddesses, running from Isis in Egypt through the various Ishtar cults which cropped up as far afield as the Indus river.

Paris also writes of "the interplay between fire and water, between Ares and Aphrodite."  The sexual ecstasy central to the National Enquirer version of these star-crossed lovers' tales is important in their metaphorical realm, as well, but it is not the only element, nor is it even the most important characteristic of the union of Ares and Aphrodite.

One wonders at what point in their history this union  became a chronicle of infidelity; why did some ancient poet or bard ever decide to marry off Aphrodite to Haephestus in the first place?  One suspects it is because, crippled though he is, Haephestus (Vulcan, to the Romans) has a potent maleness, a fertile virility, all his own.  But he is really just a metaphor for more of the same qualities Ares brings to the table -- he is rugged, dry summer to Ares' wet, sensual spring, when his fire melts the snows of winter, and he is overcome by passion for the dewy earth.

And both are central to the growth of life-giving vegetables.  That's right -- the gods of war and of the anvil are basically steroid-laden ploughboys.

As for Aphrodite, Demeter and Persephone have stolen all her laurels.  A sachet of lavender is an homage to sexy, slinky Aphrodite, not frumpy Demeter.

Think about this seriously, for a moment, please.  What is a flower?  It is the in-your-face sensuality of a plant that is letting its hair down and telling its neighbor, "Hey, baby, wanna buy me a drink?"  And it wouldn't smell nearly so sweet if it was imbued with the essence of "I'm really wholesome!  Don't I remind you of June Cleaver?"

No, a garden is basically one giant metaphor for sex.  There is no getting around it.  There is only proper placement of context, and appropriate balancing of one need against the other.  Venus and Mars were both too narcissistic to be anything other than lousy lovers, but if you listen to your garden closely, you can hear the ancient echoes of Ares and Aphrodite, whom we think probably had a far better thing than the modern storytellers would have you believe.

In other news, our corn is almost ready for harvest!  We'll update you soon!

Until then...

Happy farming!