Circe, and Her Love for the “Lesser”
This quarantine in spite of boredom and absolute procrastination for things I should rather be doing but choose not to, I had stumbled upon the book ‘CIRCE’ by Madeline Miller (and do note that the text below will be based on this book alone). In fact I had just put it down after scouring through its last pages.
One thing to be known by Circe is that she is unlike other gods and goddesses who revel in their divinity, rather she is estranged by it as one is a stranger to the back of their hand. Yes, her “powers” in witchcraft prove advantageous, but they serve her no greater from her exile and weakness to other greater gods. If you are one to be acquainted with Greek mythology, then you may very well be familiar with the gods’ arrogance towards mortals, or even the lesser of their kind. Circe, daughter of the great Titan God of the Sun, Helios, and put down by her siblings’ superior eminence, is granted no better than her already shallow self-esteem and her desperation for something more, anything.
Circe’s character in itself is one I find I quite admire; the intrapersonal struggles she faced, the length of her yearning for life, her (rather pitiful) meetings with other beings, and of course her character development weaved into the story. I find myself relating to her in small ways, finding pieces of her identity within myself. Yes, a nymph with magic she was, and yes, no more of a nameless mortal I was, but somehow we both deemed no attention in the face of the world. Like with many books, I found myself thrusted into her shoes, her world, tales of her spun with beautiful narration. Her approach to things are easily relatable, and she had earned my sympathy. The thoughts behind her actions I understood, her sorrow and her contentment I felt, yet, I still had to wonder; out of all the things she went through and fought over, why was she so infatuated with Prometheus’ infatuation so much it became a great turning point in her life?
I had debated writing about Prometheus instead of Circe, since his love for mortals dared combat those of any gods’ wrath, but my grown closeness with Circe won over. In the book, she had multiple lovers, mostly human. Wherein gods would sneer at and use mortals at will, Circe treated them just as kindly, viewing them almost as equals and even at first putting them on a pedestal.
Glaucus, nothing more than a raggedy, mortal fisherman washed ashore captured Circe’s naive heart so quick, she transformed him into a god and the nymph that stood in their away turned into a monster. Daedalus, along with his son Icarus who’s deaths she had grieved. Or maybe Telegonus, her firstborn son who she had defied the great Olympian goddess Athena for. These men serve nothing but temporary ease in her immortal lifetime yet she had treasured them so. At times even more than herself. Why? Why can she not turn away from them and deliver herself from her own suffering?
Love is a fickle thing in one’s life, I imagine more so for a goddess’. Perhaps she had been so lonely she thirsted for companionship more than anything, and the numbness ate away at her hollowed bones for so long she would rather substitute it for agonizing heartache. Perhaps it was out of spite for those who told her she would find no love.
But no, no matter what reasons for her I try to conjure, none seemed too fitting for her own, and the truth was she may have different reasons for why she had cherished each man.
In actuality I cannot claim to fully comprehend how gods are like in nature, but as a human being and a mortal we are fully social creatures that somewhat depend on each other for survival. We learn how to crawl and talk and hunt from others. We have built in sympathy for others so that when we see our kin starving on the street we are more compelled to pitch in and help however we are able. We sign petitions to bring justice to our brothers and sisters. No man is an island, but for Circe that is not the case. On her lonesome island in Aiaia she manages to thrive more than she had in the great halls of her father’s kingdom. Circe manages very well on her own and learns many things she was not able to cultivate out of exile, but the air of giddiness persists when mortals visit her island.
She pours and refills wine, serves cheese with platters of meat and fish, and even insists to do it all herself despite the abundance of her servant nymphs. She was a god, yet she bowed down and purred to praises of humankind like a pet would to master.
Had she been pushed down by the greater gods so much she lose herself? Or is it that since she was born she already had nothing to offer?
But only when she had experienced the worst of mortals that had used her, she is then snapped back to a realization of her higher identity as an immortal. A more careful balance is achieved between self-realization, actualized by her actions that speak no more as kindly to humans as before. Though one only needs to flip the next pages to see her heart drawn in to another mortal with the name of Odysseus, eventually bearing his child.
Confusing how it seems to go in circles, but bear with me.
Every path she takes, every man she meets, every danger she encounters or creates, she is transformed. Which, is ironically, one of her best magic — to transform people but to eventually transform herself. The act of transformation here holds to be one of the recurring symbols in the book, for she had stated multiple times that when she willed to transform someone they would become what they truly should be on the inside.
I’ve pointed out before that humans garner sympathy for and from each other, such is the role of a social creature, whereas gods have none of the sort, but Circe is one who does. She is a character easy to sympathize with, and easily sympathizes for others herself. Because she sympathizes with mortals who notice her more than the other gods had, she may begin to see herself reflected in them, a consciousness developed among other individuals, relating to the Hegelian theory of recognition. She saw herself in them, who bears no fear for her and her mortal voice, and begins to identify herself almost akin to them.
Eventually it is not love for the lesser, it is love for the equal.
And how fitting she transforms to a mortal at the end.
The world of the gods hold no room for her, so she made room in her own island. The role of a god hold no space fitting for her, so she took control and and transformed.
