El Mano de Dios

I've already written directly about Gauchito Gil and San La Muerte, two of the more popular Argentine folk saints.  Both have widespread and fervent cults, with thousands of devotees, roadside shrines ranging in size from small altars to sculpture gardens and even centers of pilgrimage:  holy cities, so to speak; despite all this, despite the many attestations of miracles, the Catholic Church does not recognize these saints.

San La Muerte and Caspar, the dead baby.

This may be understandable, at least in the case of San La Muerte, aka Saint Death or Holy Death.  An imposing figure, a skeleton, often robed and wielding a scythe, sometimes leaning forward in his throne, he is basically a sainted Grim Reaper.  Although some pray to him as one would with any other saint, for matters of love (red), money (gold) or other worldly powers and concerns, he is suspected to be the patron of more sinister worshipers, and nefarious deeds have been discovered and ascribed to his influence.  His cult is strongest in northeast Argentina, especially in Corrientes.  Some speculate the cult is a product of the encounter between Guaraní ancestor worship, which included the veneration of bones, and the influence of Jesuit missionaries in the 1760's; but fact is, nobody know exactly when or how it started.

A similar figure is, unsurprisingly, also worshiped in Mexico.  I say unsurprisingly because death, skulls and skeletons are a common Mexican artistic motif and Todos Santos (All Saint's Day), or the Day of the Dead, is one of Mexico's most rambunctious and widely-celebrated religious traditions.  Death is mourned and celebrated with drink, fireworks and feasting at the local cemetery.   The image of the mother is also an important motif in Mexican culture and the national patroness is La Virgen de Guadalupe, an image ubiquitous in Mexico and wherever Mexicans live.  She is the heart and soul of Catholic Mexico.  Not surprising that death is, unlike in Argentina, a woman:  La Santisima Muerte.  This would be an interesting area of study; the respective gender of "Saint Death" in Mexico and Argentina and why such a similar figure appeared in both countries.  I wonder if it could be something as secular as the fact that both countries are the largest producers of cultural products in Latin America:  music, television, literature and especially cinema.  Not sure why this would be, but for some reason the possibility came to mind.

Anyway, pictured above is my red San La Muerte.  I had actually first purchased a flashier gold statuette, but my mother-in-law knocked it off a table while tidying up, and it broke into pieces.  She's a psychoanalyst and my wife is as well; my wife is always trying to tell me that many of my accidents are not that at all, but unconscious reflections of inner desires or aversions.  So it's ironic that her mother, who disapproves of these things, "accidentally" broke it.  The iconoclastic mother-in-law.

In writing this I learned that Guatemala also has a skeletal death saint, El Rey San Pascual, who seems to be pretty much the same as Argentina's San La Muerte.  The three death saints I've discussed are believed to have their origins in pre-Colombian religion; indeed, the syncretism between non-Christian religious beliefs and Catholicism is a Latin American-wide phenomenon.  African traditions have blended with Christianity to produce Candomblé (Brazil), Voudon (Haiti) and Santería (Cuba) to name but a few.  In countries with a fewer African Americans, such as Guatemala and Mexico, this process took place with Native American beliefs.  The Catholic Church has always been tolerant of the syncretism, up to a point.  Indeed, allowing the use of "pagan" traditions was first applied to European Christianization and even has a name:  Interpretatio Christiana.  This has become a point of contention in countries once dominated by Catholicism but now rife with various Protestant and Evangelical sects, which seek to eliminate pagan traditions from Christian belief and practice.  In Guatemala, this has led to riots on several occasions; one notorious brawl took place of the steps of the cathedral in Chichicastengo.  

"Chichi" has a very strong syncretic religious culture.  I witnessed a ritual in nearby Utatlán, at the end of a long, incense-filled, tunnel-like cave under a Mayan temple complex.  I also saw what was clearly a fertility ritual before a stone idol called Pascual Abaj; this sits atop a hill closer to Chichi than Utatlán.  I photographed this ritual at the friendly urging of the man performing it, and made extensive notes on the precise actions he performed.  One day I'll dig up this notebook and photos to share here on LoS.  I was also personally blessed by a curandero in Nebaj, a bit farther north, at a shrine hidden in a cornfield.  It involved lots of prayers and the burning of various materials we picked up at the local market.  What bound all three of these rituals was the free intermingling of the names of recognizable Catholic saints with Mayan gods.  Syncretism in action.  There was also a Day of the Dead in the Guatemalan town of Todos Santos; this was an emotional experience for me, having not long prior lost my father, and I danced and drank all night with a family who must have sensed my grief, as I was welcomed into the kitchen periodically throughout the night to warm up, rest and drink bowls of a delicious gruel that kept me going and helped absorb the copious amounts of alcohol I imbibed -- which in this town, is a big part of the ritual observance.  I feel privileged to have witnessed and participated in these rituals so I am eager to meet some practitioners of Afro-Catholic religions.  My only concern is to avoid becoming a gawking tourist; I need to participate, but I do not want to contribute to the "touristification" of these rituals.

I used to say that my only further use of psychedelics would be to try ayahuasca with a shaman to guide me, but ritual ingestion of ayahuasca, aka yagé, has unfortunately become a kind of drug tourism, the Quechua and Aymara-speaking regions treated like some kind of New Age Amsterdam, a New World Kathmandu.  William Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg wrote an excellent book on their search for the drug, entitled The Yagé Letters.  A detailed and often hilarious account, it doesn't get into folk saints, but it does  describe a serious series of psychic and spiritual investigations.  It has also undoubtedly helped spawn the kind of zonked-out pilgrimage to the hinterlands I used to undertake without understanding the potential deleterious effects this can have on a spiritually rich but financially impoverished people.  Some will end up selling their religion to the highest bidder and others will become hucksters, with either no real knowledge of the shamanic role or just jiving the gullible and saving the real traditions for themselves.  This is, not in the specific context of spiritual tourism but tourism in general, why I turned a bit cold towards traveling in parts of Mexico and Guatemala, not for lack of "authentic" experience, but for contributing to the kind of human interactions that reduces everything to an exchange of goods and services for cash.  I realize tourism can be an important economic boost for a country, and if anyone needs a boost it's Mexico and Guatemala, but I'm kind of leery of the whole "Gringo Trail" these days.  I'd still like to experience the Afro-Latin-American traditions though.

 

But back to my collection of figurines, next pictured is Gauchito Gil.  I've discussed his story before, but it's worth repeating that before his murder, he'd enlisted in the war against Paraguay to escape the wrath of a local police chief, jealous of his affair with a wealthy widow.  After his return, he refused to fight in the Argentine Civil War and fled from the authorities into the pampa, more or less forced into the role of a bandit.  Gil was eventually captured and killed by the police, but not before he informed the gendarme who was about to cut his throat that his dying son would recover; he did, and the grateful policeman spread Gauchito's cult as thanks and penance.  Gil's roadside shrines are painted red and red banners hang from them or fly overhead.  His cult, like that of San La Muerte, is strongest in the north, in Corrientes, but it has spread throughout Argentina and into neighboring Brazil, Paraguay, Uruguay and Chile.  He even has a Facebook page.  But who doesn't?  Even San La Muerte is social media savvy.

Before Gil's throat was cut, he was hung upside down on a tree typical of the pampa.  This recollects Old World sources such as the crucifixion of Jesus (not to mention Mithras and Osiris) and also the self-sacrifice of Odin, who hung upside down on the Norse axis mundi named Yggdrasil, an ash tree to Gil's algarrobos.  Argentina has strong connection to Italy, so it's more likely that the upside down Gil was inspired by Italian pitture infamanti, portraits of criminals hung by their heels upon a tree, a way to humiliate condemned men, especially those deemed traitorous.  When the Roman populace rose up against them, Mussolini and mistress Clara Petacci were dragged from their home, hung by their heels by an angry mob and beaten to death.  The hanging by the heels part always intrigued me; perhaps I jump too quickly to conclusions in seeing a connection.  But this practice was almost surely based on the Roman predilection for crucifying the condemned upside down if an extra dose of humiliation was required.  The pitture infimati in turn became the model for the The Hanged Man, the 12th card of the Tarot's Major Arcana.  In the Tarot, the hanged man is usually hung from either a tree, or a leafy tree-like Tau, the man's body cross-like, his face serene, seemingly out of place in a less than serene predicament.  He also has a nimbus around his head, like a saint or a martyr.  This may be because the crucifixion is a prelude to illumination, as in Odin's case, or resurrection, as in the case of Jesus.  For that matter, in Gil's case as well, for while the man died on the tree, his cult was also born; the man became the saint, his power to intercede on behalf of the powerless announced.  Tarot-designer A.E. Waite doesn't see The Hanged Man as a martyr and it's not generally interpreted in this light, but the cardcould easily have formed the basis of Gil's iconography.  A position usually reserved for reviled criminals but who was, in Gil's case, a saint.

I mention the bit about Gil refusing to fight and the story about being drafted because this element also plays into the story of La Difunta Correa.  Legend is that circa 1840 a woman named Correa set off to rejoin her husband, who'd been drafted to fight in the Argentine Civil War.  (Other versions of the tale have her fleeing into the pampa because she had her child out of wedlock, while others yet have her fleeing the sexual advances of corrupt officials -- a common element in the "virgin martyr" category of saint; there are dozens of examples in the "official" canon).  She died of thirst on the way and, when some gauchos came across the body four days later, her baby was still able to suckle at her breast.  The gauchos buried her and saved the baby.  So both Saints' tales involve the gaucho, still a powerful symbol of freedom, men who live beyond the confines, and law, of the city, in the wide and wild pampa, with their own code of justice, symbolized by the gaucho's knife.  The tango, another symbol of Argentine society and a powerful erotic dance, is said to have been born in the brothels, evolving from the milongas which were first danced by pairs of men, imitating the movements and gestures of a knife fight.  Both stories also attest to the heavy weight these Civil Wars put on people's hearts, as brother fought brother and tore the people apart.  Some versions of Correa's story also involve unjust officials whose actions set in motion the Saint's martrydom.  So we have two massively popular cults, very death-centered, plus the worship of death itself, all three of which seem to have grown most rapidly in the years following the Falklands/Malvinas War.  This war is a big part of contemporary Argentine consciousness, the outline of the islands instantly recognizable on signs in countless cities reading "Las Malvinas son Argentinas!"  The Malvinas are Argentinian!  This war also brought down a brutaldictatorship and with its exit came countless revelations of a long reign of terror effectuated by the police and the military:  kidnappings, murder, horrifying detention centers, theft of children, the stuff of nightmares.  It's a scar on every family, and my own is no exception.

Below is the latest addition to my collection.  La Difunta Correa's cult is centered in Vallecito and was first spread by cattle drivers -- gauchos -- and now more by truckers.  Roadside shrines are apparent because devotees leave bottles of water to represent her "eternal" thirst.

There is a Catholic antecedent to this story, by the way.  There is a story in Jacobus da Vorigine's Golden Legend about a barren couple, a Roman Governor and his wife, who had their prayer for a child granted to them by Christ, via Mary Magdalene's intercession.  The governor and pregnant wife then set sail for Rome to meet St. Peter, but the wife died en route, during childbirth.  Making land, the governor found he could not bury the body, so he covered it with his cloak and left the doomed baby by her breast.  He returned two years later, shocked to find his child still alive, having suckled at his mother's breast the whole time, her body incorrupt.  Mary Magdalene, who'd accompanied him, then resurrected the wife!

La Difunta Correa

I don't have a figurine for this last saint, but my mother-in-law, the iconoclast, told me about him when she gave me La Difunta Correa:  Miguel Ángel Gaitán.  Miguel was a baby who died in 1967.  In 1973 a violent storm unearthed his coffin and his corpse was found to be incorrupt.  This is a pretty common first step towards sainthood.  A saint specific to the Toulouse region, Germaine of Pibrac, is such a saint.  And of course the incorrupt body of the Roman Governor's wife precedes the story of Gaitán and La Difunta Correa. The locals made four attempts to shelter the coffin but each time a tomb was erected, it was later found demolished.  This is actually quite a common motif in legends surrounding miraculous images of the Virgin.  It was then decided simply to place the coffin in a chapel, but even then, the lid was found to have been removed; after this went on for a while the boy's mother decided to put a glass lid on the coffin and today, the little mummy receives thousands of visitors yearly and answers prayers.  This too is not unheard of in "official" Catholic saints.  I've seen plenty of saints in glass coffins; in Cortona, Italy, where I stayed for 3 months back in 1990, the dried cadaver of an obscure local saint, Saint Margaret of Cortona, was placed upon the parish church's altar.

A bit out of place, but it just occurred to me that the story of Correa is also a strong symbol of a mother's love for her child, which recalls what I said about the role of the mother in Mexico, but also the role of the Virgin.  The incorruptibility of the body is an indication of spiritual purity, itself linked to sexual purity.  For the Virgin is free from original sin, an innocent not corrupted by the carnal pleasures responsible for the Fall and thus, the aging and infirmity-prone corporal bodies from which Adam and Eve were originally free.  Makes the Christian Science concept of sin as a kind of disease seem a bit less innovative; the incorrupt bodies of the pure are the other side of the doctrine that sin causes corporeal corruption....

So none of these miracles or stories, and even their specific details, are out of place among the enormous roster of Catholic saints, many so local that most people haven't even heard of them, even Catholics from the same country.  St. Fris, anyone?

People are hungry for religion, especially receptive to the idea that prayer and offerings can result in miracles; where poverty is endemic, sickness, education, money and success are concerns with more hopelessness attached to them than in much richer countries.  And in the last few decades, Argentina has slipped deeper and deeper into poverty and all its accompanying woes.  It is a country dominated by a profound sense of insecurity, for the future, for the hope of economic recovery and an end to corruption, the explosive growth of shanty towns and above all, crime.  This in a country already wounded by a recent war and a brutal dictatorship, many of whose criminal perpetrators are still alive.  I would only expect these cults and others like them to grow.  Everybody's looking for a miracle, to be touched by the Hand of God.  Or at least one of his deputies.

With folk saints, all the familiar elements of official Catholic saints are recycled and put into a more contemporary and familiar context -- not, for example, Roman Gaul, but contemporary Argentina.  And this will continue to happen, whether officially recognized or not.  In France, the current most popular "official" saints date largely from the 19th century; long enough ago that the historicity of the accounts is not an issue, but close enough in time and within familiar enough events to reassure the devoted that their saint knows exactly what they might going through.  As the times continue to change, we can expect periodic updates to the legends of existing folk saints, as well as the development of entirely new ones.  The age of miracles isn't over.  Evangelicals will speak in tongues and be slain in the Spirit like the apostles, the logical conclusion of the Protestant devaluation of the role of the priest as an intermediary, the belief that each man and woman can read the Bible for themselves and develop a special relationship with the Christ.  Catholics, still valuing the role of the priest, will continue to look towards even holier intermediaries, and if the old ones are found lacking -- because inevitably, poor people will remain poor, sick people will not recover and the sterile will remain childless -- new ones are just waiting to be found.

Masonic Republics?

In a post entitled ¡Viva la Revolución! (3 March 2011) I looked at the influence of Freemasonry in 19th-century Latin America, a series observations and quotes about the Masonic influence on some of the many wars for independence against the Spanish Empire.  I mostly looked at Masonic symbolism on flags, state seals, coats of arms, etc.  We saw that in many cases, the Masonic symbols were indistinguishable from symbols of the French Revolution, which in turn mirror many of those found in Freemasonry.

In retrospect, my article is a rather flawed and superficial piece and represents the serious limits to my reading in the subject.  I hope that this post and others to follow will help flesh out what I've already written, but one should always keep in mind that I'm doing a lot of speculation, kind of like wondering about the subject out loud.

This sequel began as a result of my trip last year to South America, where I saw so many Masonic elements on public monuments my head began to spin.  Buenos Aires and especially Rio de Janeiro are rife with monuments that are either explicitly Masonic or dedicated to groups in accordance with Masonic ideals.  This was also true, to a much lesser extent, in Montevideo, where it nevertheless all started.

Artigas Mausoleum

The monument to José Gervasio Artigas Arnal in the Plaza Independencia bears many striking similarities to the Monument to Estácio de Sá, a monument I hadn't yet seen for myself in Rio, but had written about thanks to a photo and some description from my brother-in-law Alfredo Buendia.  These two monuments also have a lot in common with the Temple du Sagesse Suprême in Blagnac, about which I've written extensively and has since become a well-known object of vilification.

Artigas (June 19, 1764 – September 23, 1850) is called "the father of Uruguayan nationhood" just as George Washington is called the "father of our country" in the U.S.  In fact, there is a group of Founding Fathers, which is an essay unto itself: the implied paternalism of the state, its reflection of a thoroughly ingrained patriarchal society, etc.  But that's another story.

Normal then that the capital city Montevideo would honor the man in a way which is brilliantly symbolic.  His mausoleum is at the center of Plaza Independencia, just as the man himself was at the center of Uruguayan independence.  This Plaza also separates the old city from the new, not only diving pre- and post-revolutionary quarters of the city, but symbolically representing the division of the ancien régime and the new world order and thus Europe and the Americas.

Was Artigas himself a Mason?  He was part of a Masonic-like society called the Society of the Eastern Knights (Sociedad de los Caballeros Orientales), according to the Wikipedia page on compatriot Manuel Oribe. An article in El Pueblo (Salto, Uruguay) states:  Los representantes de la Escuela Hiram reiteraron que José Gervasio Artigas no integró la Masonería pero afirmaron que 'a su alrededor habían masones'.  Simply put, Artigas himself never joined but was surrounded by Masons; the article also traces the strong role of Masonry in the Uruguayan independence movement.

(For those who read Spanish, here's more about the quasi-Masonic Lautaro Lodges). 

In ¡Viva....! I proposed that the sun in the national flags of Uruguay and Argentina (among other countries) derives from Masonic sources.  I wouldn't want to make weirdo leaps of faith, but I couldn't help thinking that Uruguay's full name, the "Oriental Republic of Uruguay" refers to more than its place on the South American continent.  I don't think it's unreasonable to imagine that there was also a sly reference here to Oriental Masonry, the French-born Continental form of Masonry which dominates South American Freemasonry to this day, where each national jurisdiction is known as a Grand Orient as opposed to a Grand Lodge, and which have a number of doctrinal differences from Anglo-American Masonry.  Thus we also see a lot of French symbols among Latin American revolutionary symbols, many of which, as I stated earlier, are also Masonic.

This inkling of mine about the word "Oriental" was reinforced when I saw the Plaza de los Treinta y Tres, or Plaza of the Thirty-Three.  These "33" are in fact the Treinta y Tres Orientales, a fighting force led by Juan Antonio Lavalleja (1784-1853),  a Freemason, whose insurrection against the Empire of Brazil "culminated in the foundation of modern Uruguay."

Funny thing is "The true number of the group has been the object of controversy, based on the existence of various lists of members, published between 1825 and 1832. Albeit thirty-three is the officially accepted number, the names differ from list to list".

I don't believe the number 33 is an average of those lists or scientific estimation, nor is it merely pulled from a hat.  I would wager that it is symbolically representing the 33 degrees of the Scottish Rite, like the the 32 rays of the Sol de Mayo on the Argentine flag and the 1828 version of Uruguay's flag.  This version was designed by Joaquin Suárez (1781-1861) who the GOFMU claims was a Freemason.  (Note that there are 32 degrees to be earned, and one honorary degree; thus both 32 and 33 can allude to these degrees).  Is it possible that Freemasons active in the formation of Uruguay could in this way symbolically lay claim to a Masonic foundation of the fledgling state?  I wouldn't wager my life on it, but grok if you will the following image.  The Estévez Palace, the former workplace of the Uruguayan President and now a museum, displays relics of its early presidents.  One of those articles:  a Masonic sash, with the 33 inscribed within a Delta in glory.  I believe it's Oribe's sash, but my memory fails me and I didn't take notes.  If anyone in Montevideo can confirm this I'd be grateful.

Treinta y Tres, by the way, is also the name of one of Uruguay's 19 provinces.  Its capital city bears the same name and "Together with Ejido de Treinta y Tres and the southwestern suburb of Villa Sara, they form a population centre of around 33,000 inhabitants." 

I was delighted to see on Wikipedia that the population of Uruguay is rounded to 3.3 million!

Oribe's (?) Masonic Sash.  Palacio Estévez.

Artigas' Mausoleum, opened in 1977, contains a great deal of Masonic symbolism.  The above-ground portion is a truncated pyramid, which, like the pyramid on the American one dollar bill, suggests that the nation's work is not finished; it must, like men and Masons, continue to progress in life towards perfection.  It is a symbol which implies betterment through education and walks hand in hand with the notion of scientific and social progress in addition to the fundamental assumptions of capitalism, which despite the negative connotation of capitalism among contemporary  "progressives", was then considered progressive during the Enlightenment; strange to many American ears, the word "liberal" in Spanish and French still implies the tendency towards laissez-faire politics in economics and law.

Truncated Pyramid

Related, or not?

The pyramid is open at the top, which allows a shaft of light, one of the foremost Masonic symbols, to shine upon Artigas' urn.  Two guards are stationed to either side like Jachin and Boaz, the silent sentinels of a Masonic Lodge, but this is certainly a poetic metaphor in my own invention rather than an intentional reference!

Illumination

As Mackey's Encyclopedia says:  "In the ceremonies of Freemasonry, we find the cavern or vault in what is called the Cryptic Freemasonry of the American Rite, and also in the advanced Degrees of the French and Scottish Rites, in which it is a symbol of the darkness of ignorance and crime impenetrable to the light of truth."

If this is an accurate reading of the cavern symbol, the architects of this monument have done well to allow the light to fall upon Artigas' remains.  He who led them out of ignorance and into truth, "illuminated" as one might say.  Hence the sun on the Uruguayan flag, as well as the appellation "Oriental" for the nation?  After all, the sun rises in the East, the direction revered by Masons as the source of light, or wisdom.

I tried to discern numerical symbolism in the number of panels and alcoves in the mausoleum, but didn't come across much, though I do find some meaning in the fact that it resembles the tessellated floor of a Lodge. 

The truncated pyramid, however, does have three layers of marble panels, so this may reflect the basic Masonic degree structure of three degrees.

Monument to Estácio de Sá

Let's compare the Artigas mausoleum to a monument I've previously written about, the Estácio de Sá monument in Rio de Janeiro.  Sá (1520-1567) , like Artigas, was a soldier and the "father" if you will, of Rio.  The monument is a pyramid which above ground is composed of 13 layers.  The American flag of course has 13 stripes the number appears in many places on the reverse side of the dollar bill.  It is also the number of layers in the pyramid in the Temple de la Sagesse Suprême, a monument I'll discuss in the next section.  I read the pyramid, like simpler geometric forms, as abstractions which, though based on naturally-occurring shapes, are not so commonly found in nature; they are "perfected" versions of mountains, fruit, rocks the sun and the moon.  You can see from this photo that in my original post I slightly misinterpreted its form due to the camera angle of the photo at my disposition, but I think this interpretation is essentially correct.

Like the Artigas mausoleum, light shines into the crypt

Before this pyramid is a triangular window, formed with smaller triangular panes of glass. Just like Artigas' monument, this aperture allows light to shine into the crypt below, shaped as a triangle, following the perimeter of the low wall which marks the boundaries of the exoteric monument above:  as above, so below.  This crypt serves as a small exhibition space, but also houses a reproduction of Sá's tomb.  A remarkable parallel.  Unlike the Artigas mausoleum, the pyramid continues underground for several more layers.  A sinister interpretation is that this represents the hidden forces below the surface of everyday politics, perhaps even echoing the cave-like effect produced in a Masonic lodge, where the ceremonial space is always windowless.  A less sinister interpretation as that this represents deeper forms of knowledge, higher values which ironically, are accessed by going into the deeper concerns of man beyond everyday living.

This above/below theme is reflected in the triangle of sand below these windows.  A quirky thought occurs to me:  sand is used to make glass.  Perhaps this is another metaphor for the powers of reason and enlightenment?  Sand is used to make glass, which in turn allows us to illuminate once-darkened spaces.  Here again though, I think we're entering the realm of the poetic imagination rather than objective analysis.

I should also mention that the small paved plaza around the pyramid is a triangle, as is the crypt itself.  Every form used in its construction, then, is a triangle, or based on one.

The triangle on the floor

As my brother-in-law discussed the symbolism with the monitor in Portuguese during my visit, I was able to make out one thing the monitor said, and that is the form of this monument had been inspired by the "fact" that Sá  was a Freemason.  This claim is possible but a bit of a stretch; the earliest indications of Masonic-like lodges date to Scotland and France in the 1530's, but more convincing references to Freemasonry were a century down the line .  Whether true or not, the claim that he was is significant, as well as that the form was chosen as an homage to Masonry.  The architect and people who paid him seem to have wanted to link the founding of their city with Freemasonry.  Indeed, the Flag of Brazil is a very natural green and blue, decorated with stars.  Above this nature symbolism are words, not shapes:  "Order and Progress."  This encapsulates Masonic values regarding the perfectibility of human nature and via democracy, society as a whole.

Pirámide de Mayo

The pyramid is also has a strong solar connection; as tombs of the Pharaohs, they were essential for survival after death.  Like the sun itself, they signify re-birth.  This in turn is one symbolic meaning of the New World, a fresh start, a perfection of the Old, a new day as it were.  We can here point to the Buenos Aires Metropolitan Cathedral.  The pediment, a triangle naturally, depicts the reunion of Joseph with his father and brothers in Egypt.  Though it represents reconciliation, it also provided the sculptor an opportunity to depict the three pyramids of Giza in the background.  Buenos Aires' most prominent landmark is an enormous obelisk, after all, and I've never seen such a prolific use of the obelisk in miniature scattered throughout a city, except in Rio.  I also passed a small pyramid in a public park near the Recoleta cemetery, the cemetery of the city's illustrious and wealthy...and where explicit Masonic symbols abound.  The Sun and two hands shaking in fellowship derive from Masonry; the Phrygian cap was derived from the French Revolution.  All three symbols are ubiquitous in Argentina, as they form they principal elements of the country's coat of arms. 

These symbols are also displayed on the Pyramid of May  (1811), a monument in Buenos Aires' Plaza de Mayo.  The pyramid was ordered by the Primera Junta to celebrate the first anniversary of the May Revolution that led to removal of the Spanish Viceroy and the establishment of the Junta, the first local government on the path to independence.  The president of this Junta, its two secretaries and five of six committee members were Freemasons.

The Pyramid was originally crowned by a ball finial and encircled with 12 pillars, also with ball finials.  The number 13 appears yet again!  This original Pyramid was renovated and significantly modified in 1856 under the direction of Prilidiano Pueyrredón, a Freemason.

As for the sheer number of obelisks and pyramids, however, Rio has Buenos Aires beat, but I think I'll compile that list for another post.

Temple de la Sagesse Suprême

A third monument I'd like to touch upon is the pyramid monument located at the heart of Blagnac's (France) Place de la Revolution named the Temple de la Sagesse Suprême.  A thirteen-layered pyramid sits at the center of the plaza, as if literally at the heart of not only the Revolution, but the subsequent State, represented by an abstract form of a house from within the center of which pokes the tip of the pyramid.  Its symbolic position at the heart of the Revolution is echoes in both the Pyramid of May and the Artigas Mausoleum.  The pyramid rises with the state, from the masses at the bottom to the President at top, which actually rises about the state itself.  The Sun is metaphorically represented by a circular pathway which radiates outwards.  Here the Sun may represent a new day, but also France's self-proclaimed role as a beacon of Liberty, radiating its revolutionary principles throughout the world.  In fact, a tessellated map of world once lay beneath the pyramid, which is a working fountain.  The pyramids of Sá and Artigas are within view of the sea, perhaps this fountain replaces that natural watery setting.  Why that would be I'm not sure, as water is not really a Masonic symbol, although both the anchor and the ark are.  Perhaps then this refers to the story of Noah, whose story is important not only to Freemasonry, but esoteric circles in general.  As we've seen in previous posts, Noah's story represents....a new start for the world.

The light however, is not just symbolic.  In the ensemble of sculptures that flank the pyramid, a dog-like belvedere can emit a beam of light through a hole in the pyramid.  This too is reminiscent of the eye in the pyramid; because this "eye" also serves to transport light, it's not at all "conspiracy theory" to believe it represents a wink in the direction of Enlightenment, if not a direct homage to the Bavarian Illuminati.  After all, Weishaupt did envision a small elite of enlightened men pulling the levers of the state; the pyramid with the eye is thus called the Temple of Supreme Wisdom.  The clincher is a bronze panel which quotes eccentric architect (and Freemason) Jean-Jacques Lequeu: "Happiness is in the angle where the sages gather."  These sages are of course, enlightened, that is to say illuminated men.  Masons of course, meet on the square, a perfect equilibrium of four angles, a perfected microcosm of the natural world's four directions, its winds, its elements....

Templo da Humanidade —  Rio de Janeiro

France's self-image as a beacon of these values is not arrogance.  The beam of light passes through the eye to hit a crystal set within a tri-colored shield held by a stylized revolutionary carrying a halberd and wearing a Phrygian cap, the symbols repeatedly found in Latin American post-revolutionary heraldry, proof perfect that in fact the ideals of the French Revolution did indeed shine upon the world.  There is, for example, a positivist church in Rio, the Church of Humanity, oriented not towards Jerusalem, but Paris!  Positivism as a church values rationality and promotes universal fraternity; order is its foundation and progress is its aim.  There are some really good articles about the link between positivism and Freemasonry and their use of compulsory public education as means of achieving their goals of order and progress. Many positivists were  Freemasons, including fellows like Jules Ferry, who is primarily responsible for the first laws regarding compulsory education in France.  The most Masonically-festooned tomb in the Recoleta is that of President Domingo Sarmiento, the "father of the Argentine education system" and obviously a Freemason.  I wholeheartedly recommend the articles here and here for a history of positivism, Freemasonry, public education and Latin America. 

This little comparison of these monuments is fitting for a fraternity rich in ideas expressed in architectural metaphors, for these monuments express those ideas not with metaphorical architecture, but in real stone.  The link between Freemasonry and independence in Uruguay and Argentina, as well as in France, is I think clearly expressed in the symbols on these monuments.  A quick look at the people honored by them and who had a hand in making them also demonstrate a number of Freemasonic personalities that cannot be ignored.

So, a lot more could be written here, but for now I've hit a wall, the very same upon which I've just laid another brick.  There'll be more to come....

A brief travelogue: Buenos Aires, Santa Fe, Montevideo, Rio de Janeiro

The following is a lightly-edited collection of Facebook posts made from the road.  Something to tide us all over until I get into the more regular LoSian aspects of my voyage (Masonic monuments, folk saints, etc.)  Disfrutalo!

October 12

I am now unemployed for the first time in 10 years. The colleagues gave me a nice lunch feast of crazy French cheeses, one of which smelled like a dead thing, but tasted oh so good! And they gave me a nice Swiss Army knife too, which is super thoughtful, coz X---- lost mine and I was always telling the office manager how I needed to get another.

I was surprised how sad this made me about leaving, but I'm very excited about the freedom! (Cried out like William Wallace in Braveheart!)

One week: Buenos Aires, baby, like a Nazi on the lam!

October 22 

So we're safely in Buenos Aires. Talk about the teeming metropolis. A bit overwhelming, hard times but the city bustles and grows. I saw a Ferrari dealer as well as dozens of people sleeping in hovels made of trash. Lots of funny graffitti, as well as lots of anti-English stuff about the Falklands, but I don't dare use the word....It's "Las Malvinas" here. Great place, and soon off to Montevideo.

Good luck with that, sir.

October 24 

Turns out it will be cheaper to drive to Montevideo from X---'s home town of Santa Fe. We're going to do that in 10 days or so. Meanwhile we're going to relax here in SF. A lot like Florida, reminds me of Tampa in some ways. A lot more chilled out than Buenos Aires, mercifully....beautiful weather, river, swaying palms. We're going to the city center a little later. 

Our bus ride last night was pretty wild for about an hour as we had to cut through barely adequate roads crammed with buses and trucks; the "piqueteros"--mostly unemployed people, had "occupied" the freeway around Rosario, as they often do there, in protest. Of what exactly, we're not sure, but probably due to recent flooding that has left the shantytowns in shambles. But don't get the impression that all is squalor, etc. Santa Fe is orderly and seems pretty prosperous, a lot of what you'd expect to find in any relatively large American city. The contrast [between those with money and those without] is just a bit more stark. But then again, I haven't been to the states for a few years now....

Costanera, Santa Fe, Aregentina

 October 27 

So, the days are hot enough for the pool, and the humidity and mosquitoes are par for the course. Yesterday I visited the Santa Fe brewery....the free visit includes a ticket for a "liso" in the beer garden and a sack with two bottles of their flagship lagers. Santa Fe, the beer, is a light and crisp lager, far superior to Quilmes, which is like the Budweiser of the country. That said, the Santa Fe brewery also produces Budweiser! My daily routine is, get up at 8 or 9, drink a couple cups of joe, then take a walk. Today I took more than an hour to walk along the river then head in to the basilica, then back through verdant neighborhoods to my in-laws. Of course stopping for a beer along the way. Today we're gonna grill a chicken. The other day I had a two-inch steak and my knife cut thru that mofo like it was buttah. An Argentine pal once told me Argentina exports great beef and fine women. Political incorrectness aside, I can vouch for both assertions.

Santa Fe: better than Quilmes!

 October 29 

Went motor-boating yesterday and tried pitifully to do some wake-boarding, the only result is a pair of sore shoulders and a sunburn. The river was beautiful, and it was nice to get away from town and see the vast expanse of the pampa. As I watched A----- grinning on the board behind us, I was reminded of that scene in Apocalypse Now where Lance is skiing behind the PBR and wreaking havoc on the fishermen. All I needed was an M-16 in my hands to make the scene complete. Ancestral memory perhaps, with a tip of the hat to pops and Uncle D--, I miss you both dearly. Never get out of the boat.... 

Today I'll get to humiliate myself further as the family goes off for a tango lesson, of all things. Like Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock put it, "It takes two...." At least afterwards there will be an asado and some of that fabulous beer. 

Took a spin in town and saw an Argentine mall, bought some gaucho pants (bombacho de campo) elsewhere (I actually saw a young gaucho in a pair of these, on horseback with bandana and beret and was jealous--truly a handsome fellow, almost a bit like a young Che Guevara). Also got myself a small figurine of San La Muerte, Saint Death, a golden-robed skeleton praying from a Santeria shop, filled with statuettes, soaps, oils, incense. Death worshipped overtly. The flags they sell of this guy are like something from a heavy metal album cover: Grim Reaper cool as fuck, sitting on a golden throne decorated with skulls. No pussy-footing about here. Have also seen a number of shrines to Gauchito Gil....read my earlier posts (here and here) for clarification on this fellow. His roadside shrines are announced by red flags. Wild stuff.

Humidity, mosquitoes, Santeria, Spanish spoken at every turn. Where am I, Florida? :)

Ole Man Rio

 November 2 

The two tango classes went well. It's very difficult, but apparently I did ok. Today I walked about 10k in the city and got listlessly drunk as I stopped for beers occasionally, mostly getting another so I could use the toilet as the last one worked its way through me. Tomorrow, finally, Montevideo!


November 7 

Finally crossed the pampa. Such a vast expanse it's almost overwhelming. The dome of the sky not so much above but around you, drooping down to the horizon in a pale blue that makes it easier to understand the color of the Argentine flag. In Uruguay, we traveled five hours and crossed only four towns, only one of which was of significant size. Just rolling hills, cows and a hot, hot sun. We took a dip in a one of the many rivers we crossed to cool down on the way back. At that point I was limp with heat and coated in sweat. Sweltering. 

Uruguay is lovely. The people, laid back and friendly. In Montevideo, you have an orderly and tranquil city of one and a half million; big enough to be a city, but still very manageable. Where I stayed, it was on a thin peninsula that allowed you to see water in two directions at the terminus of the corridor of buildings, never very long, no vanishing point, just sky or sea. This position was favorable for the constant breeze which kept the air cool and fresh. 

I did a lot of walking and will blog a bit about the Masonic symbolism I saw everywhere. One example is the monument to Artigas. His mausoleum is a large underground space and above his remains, on the plaza above, there is a truncated pyramid, the top of which is open to let a shaft of light fall upon his urn.

I also saw a lot of Gauchito Gil shrines along the route but somehow didn't photograph a single example! I will hit the road again tomorrow for this purpose, as today, after 12 hours on the road yesterday, I'm to beat to do anything but sit by the pool and drink some beers. Life is very hard for me. 

Montevideo flea market

 November 12 

If you ever get to one place in South America, you have got to come to Rio de Janeiro. This place is insanely beautiful. Truly the most remarkable city I've ever visited. I've had more sensory input in 24 hours than I get in a year at home. I sat on a terrace the first night drinking til dawn, the trees all around crashing with noise. Don't mind that, it's just the monkeys and fruit-bats and over ripe mangoes falling to the ground. 

The terrace where we're staying overlooks downtown, and somewhere down the hill that night there was a dance party and blasting up was music and karaoke....LL Cool J, C+C Music Factory. I loved it. Partying til dawn, music heard for blocks around and the cops don't come to make it stop! 

Rio's all nestled among these wild pointy mountains that make each part of the city almost like a little town unto itself. You pass through these tunnels and emerge on the other side....there's some view of mountain and sea so unbelievably picturesque that it's hard not to hoot with joy. One one side of the tunnel is 32°C and on the other side, 23°! Take your pick. Broil on the beach or chill out in a cafe.....

The beach at Ipanema, packed! Everyone has a tattoo. Not as many of those famous barely-there bikinis as one is led to believe. A constant parade of vendors selling soda, boiled corn on the cob, fried cheese and most importantly....beer. Hell yeah. In Florida they'll write you a ticket and hassle you for enjoying a brewski by the waves. Here it's open commerce. Small explosions in the distance! Firecrackers going off. Why, who knows.

Later, at the bobo Santa Teresa neighborhood, people walking down the streets in groups playing drums while lovely women dance before them....other people grilling BBQ in the street....each bar overflowing with people--all ages, social classes, sexualities, color. This is one of the most reflexively tolerant places I've ever been too, reflecting it's wild diversity for centuries. One dude with a perm, died red, with a tattoo that said 666 La Bestia. A drunken gay guy with brilliant tattoos telling me he was sorry he couldn't speak Portuguese in a way that I would understand him more easily. An old dude in ball cap, flip-flops and soccer jersey shaking a rattle along with the band, in his own world. People in the audience pick up rattles, triangles, boxes of wood to serve as drums. Music is part of the life-fabric here. Everyone looking pretty happy, never once a dour or aggressive gesture.

Overall, the people aren't remarkably beautiful, but when they are, my jaw drops. But I think it's the beauty of the setting that clinches it all....the sea, the mountains, the trees, the smell of vegetation in the middle of a busy part of town. I'm seriously considering moving here for a year.

And yeah, I realize this is the romantic view. I've left out the three highly-armed soldiers I saw hanging about a busy street to ensure order, the favelas and their poverty lining the hills above the ritzy places, the shocking disparity of wealth, the violence, the drugs. But I haven't experienced that yet and if I sound a bit giddy with the charm of it all, it's because I am giddy and amazed. I've been a few places in my 42 years, and so far, this place tops them all!

Downtown Rio, my view

 November 17 

It's been rainy and grey the last few days, so all those days at the beach haven't panned out, the colors are less vibrant and we're disinclined to stroll about as much. We've still managed a couple of walks though, and I've blown through a couple of books already.

Those heady first days I described before were from the back of a motorcycle, which definitely gives one a different perspective then when going by foot. Walking, the smells and grottier aspects of life catch up to you. I'm still enamored or this city and am scheming to find a way to make it possible to live here a month or two each year....during the kids' school holidays. I understand more and more of what's being said to me and am starting to use the language myself. Knowing a fair bit of Spanish helps, as many words are almost identical and with a certain inflection you can turn the Spanish into the Portuguese quite easily.

Yesterday we rode on this cable car that crosses the sky above the biggest favela in the world. You're a hundred feet of the ground or more, or sometimes right above the roof tops of houses constructed entirely without permits or ownership of land. What began as a shantytown is a city unto itself. I'll have to pop up some photos. Very odd though, ostensibly the cable cars are also a means of public transportation, so it costs 50 cents or so to make the entire 20 minute journey. But each 'station' is atop a massive hill so for the favela residents it's not very practical. Hard not to avoid the conclusion that it's for some weird kind of tourism. You get great views of the city and you can peer down into this different world of poverty without actually stepping foot into it. Quite perverse. We almost walked back through the favela to the metro, my sister in law does it often, but then again, she looks as if she could be Brazilian. We decided that having two "Swiss blond" kids at our sides would attract too much attention. On the bus going to the cable car station, kids looked at us as though we were Martians. Not uncomfortable, but still. Better safe than sorry.

So, other than the favelas, we went through the colorless and shabby quarters which are certainly not charmless, but aren't the kinds of places one would want to live in. If someone plopped you into Rio near these ports and concrete wastelands you'd wonder wtf I was talking about in my earlier comments!

Also, Brazil is a police state. There are cops everywhere. Military police with machine guns, municipal guards with batons, another special "pacification unit" for the favelas. Apparently they parked a tank on a hill overlooking one of the favela neighborhoods to show some muscle. This is not a pleasant fact, the police can be corrupt and brutal. Not all are, but people do disappear, get shot in the back, beaten.

But the city is pretty safe overall. This is the other side of the coin, the not so shiny side, but it's still a damn interesting coin!

To infinity and beyond

 November 18 

Took a two-hour walk today to walk off the hangover, cuz Mr. Sun is back in action! Parts of the city were eerily quiet, others bustling. Everywhere I saw people, many were going to the beach, naturally. I was glad to get back and rest my feet after my diverse stroll, thoroughly lost by the end. Rio is rich in monuments, graffitti, strange characters and other marvels. Several urban kilometers in flip-flops is torture, though. Flip-flops, btw, are de rigeur footwear here. Wanna be recognized as a gringo, slap on some sensible shoes.  In shades, shorts, t-shirt and flippity-floppities, people take me for a carioca. I mutter one word replies and I don't even think they realize I haven't a clue. I love the anonymity of the cosmopolitan city!

Yow!

 November 22 

I was pretty bummed returning to France. 2 days ago I was on the beach with a beer. Now it's cold, the sky is grey, the people are grey.....but then I had dinner, and it was all better. Nothing compares to the food in France! Thanksgiving dinner was magret de canard with red potatoes fried up in the fat, a salad of lettuce, noisette, slices of orange and chunks of jambon serrano. Then a creme à chocolate with dulce de leche. Topped of with a fruity Buzet red, 2008. Yum!

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Alpha -- Zeta

The Narco Bible

In a gunfight on Sunday, Oct. 6, Mexican marines killed Heriberto Lazcano, aka “El Verdugo,” described as the leader of the Zetas cartel.  (Perhaps "a" leader is more accurate, as other reports have it that Miguel Treviño Morales took control of the group in August....which could explain how Lazcano was located).  The day after, masked gunmen raided the funeral home holding his body and spirited it away. 

The Zetas are an especially brutal cartel, one faction in a drug war that has left over 50,000 dead in the last six years.  War is truly an apt description, but does little to evoke the almost surreal scale of violence in parts of Mexico, routinely involving beheadings, dismemberment and the public display of body parts.  In one case we've mentioned on LoS, 6 victims had their hearts cut out; in another, 5 human heads were found in ice chests.  This is only the tip of the iceberg; mass killings have involved victims numbering into the dozens....70+ in a mass grave here, 49 headless bodies by the roadside there.....

This graphic helps visualize the numbers.

LoS readers will have recognized that "death and dismemberment" is one of the blog's long-standing interests.  Beheading, de-handing, lost arms, floating Canadian feet....we've covered it.  It's a macabre field of inquiry and perhaps we sometimes laugh a little too easily, but rather than take this as a sign of cruelty, try to see it as a kind of psychic defense against the steady bombardment of our conscious and subconscious minds with violent images and information.  It's enough to make one want to stay home all day with the doors locked; a little laughter is a good dose of anti-paranoia medicine.

Dismemberment is a powerful and distressing tactic, hitting us almost physically; in all other respects being equal, I think it affects us more than a "mere" killing does.  A severed limb or head is somehow humiliating, adding insult to injury, as it were.  It's also a lot more creepy to think of either the perverse commitment it takes to actually dismember a corpse...or the killer whose flare of passion has erupted and now, back to reason, must find a way to dispose of his victim.  On some primal level, even the least superstitious among us might feel that desecration of the corpse makes it harder somehow for the dead soul to rest in peace, to pass on to the other side.  Desecration is rich in symbolic import, poetic resonance and archetypal gut-punchery.

I went over this quite a bit in a post about the theft of St. Laurence O'Toole's heart and the power of relics.  I would reiterate that in the cult of the saints, a piece of the saint's body is often regarded as the most vital sort of relic, that in this case dismemberment allows for the spiritual wealth to be shared; the part is as powerful as the whole, and a small fragment of bone is enough to get the job done.  The power of the body part is deftly illustrated.

At the time I wrote that post I was reading an anthology entitled Death, Dismemberment, and Memory: Body Politics in Latin America.  I had a brief correspondence with contributor Dr. Donna Guy from OSU about her article on popular saints and the Pérons in Argentina.  The whole book is highly recommended, but her essay is a very enlightening stand-out.  Rebels, outlaws, usurpers and the usurped, the ways in which the remains of the dead are used by the living form a rich and variegated historical canopy, an interesting point of entry into wider historical issues.

Without re-hashing every detail, suffice it to say that the power of the corpse should not be underestimated and in this anthology is illustrated by the post-mortem fate of several famous political figures from various Latin American countries.

The Obama administration realized this power when they made the decision to quickly dispose of the body of Osama Bin Laden after he was clubbed to death by SEALs (LoS post), ostensibly to avoid allowing his buried remains to become the focus of a pilgrimage site.  The practical benefits of this denial are inexorably bound with its symbolic and spiritual aspects.  (I'd found it odd that Lazcano was described as having been killed by the Mexican navy, but a navy team killed Bin Laden, so why not).

The same rationale was applied to the corpse of Che Guevara, whose dismembered body was scattered for the same reason Bin Laden's was dumped into the sea.  Che's remains were eventually re-patriated to Cuba and are located in an elaborate memorial there.  But in the interim before Che's re-interment, a more humble and organic shrine had developed.  At the site of his death, there is no corpse, but there is a folk cult of a saint--no longer "in the making"--but pretty much already canonized.  Locals venerate Che as a saint alongside established Catholic models, complete with relics, candles and prayer.  All the trappings of your typical saint.  Here we can juxtapose the power of the corpse both as Cuban state propaganda, like Lenin in Red Square, as well as something more spontaneous and "natural":  a saint created from popular devotion, outside the canonization process of the Church, and often at odds with it (see Héléna, the cemetery saint).

Then there is the case of Juan Perón.  The grave robbery which led to the amputation and subsequent ransom of Perón's hands (with their own Wikipedia page) was ostensibly about an 8-million dollar ransom, but it also had the potential to lead to other tangible political results.  Symbolically, it was an extremely powerful act.  More striking perhaps than a castration; both render the once mighty man in his splendid tomb somewhat ridiculous, pathetic and impotent, but the removal of hands seems much more mysterious.  The public never saw his penis, so if it disappeared....?  The public knew his hands, and the imagination can work much more easily when it can envision what once was, gone.  As Wikipedia points out, Lyman, editor of Death, Dismemberment, etc. argues that the theft was "a catalyst to destroy the symbolic cult of Perón".

Eva Perón's body also suffered indignity in death; her corpse was ignobly shuffled about before returning to Buenos Aires.  After the military coup of 1955 her body disappeared.  It was secretly put into a crypt in Milan under the name María Maggi (Mary Magdalen?).  "Evita" was exhumed and repatriated in 1971, placed in an elaborate and highly secure tomb, which has become a popular shrine, and she, revered like a saint.   What is important is that her body has remained intact.  In his essay on "Latin America" in The Oxford Illustrated History of Christianity, John McManners "claims that Eva Perón consciously incorporated aspects of the mythology of the Virgin and of Mary Magdalene into her public persona."  In this case, the theft of the body demonstrates its importance; but at least it remained whole and undefiled. 

Talk about laws of silence:  at the time when Evita's body was being hidden, the military had outlawed even speaking the name of the Peróns in public.  The missing body was part of a wider effort to wipe them out of public memory.

This "body politics" dealy is what caught our eye upon seeing the titles of articles about the killing of Heriberto Lazcano.  The titles of the articles I've seen are telling.  The Washington Post article:  Zetas cartel founder killed, Mexican navy says; masked gunmen steal body.  The New York Times:  Mexico Kills a Drug Kingpin, but the Body Gets Away.  The fact that the body was taken is as important as the death itself.

The tangible results of his death will depend on the follow-though by the Mexican authorities and the inner organizational strength of the cartel itself.  Perhaps he was an irreplaceable strategist whose absence will seriously undermine the power of the cartel, or perhaps a capable lieutenant will step in and assume the duties.

Maybe in the resulting power struggle, violence will flare up; hopefully, the contenders will stick to killing each other as opposed to the hapless police, prosecutors, journalists and assorted bystanders gunned down and carved up in alarming numbers.

The propaganda value of Lazcano's death should have been enormous.  The Mexican government would have been able to hold it up as a success, as way to show the public that the police have scored a victory in its ongoing fight against the narco-traffickers.  But the brazen "theft" of the body mitigates the symbolic value of the victory, if not rendering it completely void.

As the cliché might have it, this cartel boss wields the power to confound the state from beyond the grave.

Mixed up with this propaganda and symbolic value is a spiritual mytheme that is all the more potent for its deep and long presence in Western thought, found among some of the earliest known mythology.  The myth of Set and Osiris seems relevant here.  Egyptian religion was a dominant Mediterranean cultural influence over a period of centuries, even millennia, and it is still today relatively well-known among the educated public, especially among students of esotericism, the occult and ritual "magick".

Plutarch tells of a conspiracy wherein Set conspired to assassinate Osiris.  Set tricked Osiris and trapped him in a box he then tossed in the Nile.  Osiris' wife Isis searched for his remains and found them embedded in a tree trunk supporting the roof of a Phoenician palace.  In some versions of the story Osiris is resurrected and impregnates Isis, dying afterwards.  Sometime later, Set discovers his body and becomes enraged, tearing the body in fourteen pieces which he scatters across Egypt in an attempt to deny him a proper passage into the afterlife and to erase him from memory.  Isis then reassembles the pieces (except his penis) to be buried anew.  The Gods then resurrect Osiris again, making him god of the underworld, often associated with the flood and retreat of the Nile.  The underworld and the Nile.  Need one say more?  The importance of these aspects of Egyptian civilization cannot be overstated, and Osiris, dismembered, becomes associated with these aspects after being re-membered, so to speak.

In another version Osiris is murdered by his brother Typhon, identified as Set.  Typhon divided the body into 26 pieces and distributed them among his co-conspirators.  After Typhon was killed by Isis and Hercules/Horus in revenge, these parts were recovered (excepting again the phallus) and buried in secret locations.  She did, however, make replicas of the parts and distributed them throughout the land, where they became shrines to Osiris.

History doesn't lack for examples of how final resting places and death sites become places of worship.  The graves of famous men and women become shrines, this is a fact.  Hence the Soviets' diligence in ensuring that the remains of Hitler were never given a grave.  Indeed, what exactly happened to them is a mystery, but they were buried and exhumed no less than 8 times, burnt, mixed with ash and thrown into the Biederetz River, if Pravda is to be believed.  It would also explain why some Egyptian Pharoahs destroyed rivals' monuments or effaced their inscriptions.

Closer to home perhaps, is the story of Jesus.  While not dismembered, the fate of his body had a decisive effect on the history of Western Civilization.  After his crucifixion, the three Marys went to his tomb to anoint the body and discovered that it had disappeared.  Unlike the disappeared body of Che and Bin Laden, the lack of a body here was proof of the resurrection and turned what had been a less-than-desirable end into the founding myth of Christianity.  For over a thousand years history was driven by the story that a body wasn't where it should have been!

In one of the earliest post on LoS, we translated a Mafia initiation ritual which involved vaguely occult practices.  One Mexican cartel based in Michoacon refer to themselves as Templars.  And another early LoS post speaks of Jesus Malverde, a kind of saint among the drug traffickers, so prevalent that shrines erected in his honor are regularly bulldozed by the Mexican authorities as part of its fight against them.

Thus a criminal battle extends into the spiritual realm.  Malverde is the patron of narco-traffickers, especially their hitmen.  Given the extreme level of brutal violence in the ongoing drug war, it's tempting to frame the cartels as a kind of death cult, with killings performed if not exactly for Jesus Malverde, than at least with Malverde being thanked and honored.  There's a fine line between thanking a saint for services rendered and performing actions in that saint's honor.


Malverde, however, was a Robin Hood kind of figure, and it's hard to see the Zetas, who regularly brutalize the poorest and most disenfranchised of Mexicans, honoring that legacy.  Yet, at times the cartels do in fact serve as a kind of local benefactor, spreading their largesse among those they deem worthy.  The price of disloyalty and collaborating with the forces of order are high, but there are rewards for helping the cartels, if only by remaining silent.  Malverde is referred to as the "angel of the poor" and a "generous bandit".  Clearly, the traffickers play upon this mythology; a whole sub-genre of  music, the narcoicorrido, celebrates their exploits and continue to thrive despite sporadically being banned from the radio.

The Sicilian Mafia itself began as a kind of political entity, a guerrilla force, which was probably from the get-go a kind of brigandry.  A number of political and revolutionary secret societies borrowed ritual elements from sources such as Freemasonry and over time mutated into criminal enterprise.  Tale for example, the FARC.  Are they really Marxist rebels these days, or are they drug traffickers, extortionists and kidnappers?  In method, they're not much different from a cartel, despite the vestiges of revolutionary ideology.

This brings us back to the Templar cartel, who have been described as "quasi-religious" and who apparently use initiation rituals described as "cult-like.  What these rituals consist of is anyone's guess, but police have reported finding plastic Roman centurion helmets they say were used in initiations.  Back in March,it was reported that 120 helmets had been found.  That's a lot of initiates!  Perhaps the initiations include passion plays?

Whatever the case the Templars do have a veneer of a spiritual and revolutionary mission, explicitly setting themselves up as contemporary Malverdes.

The Templars were so named in 2011 from the remains of La Familia Michoacana.  According to Wikipedia, Familia leaders Nazarion Moreno González and Méndez Vargas called their assassinations and beheadings "divine justice".  The cartel's spiritual teachings are influenced by Swedenborgian interpretations of the New Jerusalem.  Swedenborg's idea is that "the New Jerusalem described in the Bible is a symbol for a new dispensation that was to replace/restore Christianity."  Mormonism's founder Joseph Smith was heavily influenced by this interpretation, which which finds support in the writings of Karl Jung, as well as in New Thought.  La Familia's "boss and spiritual leader"  published a spiritual work mixing "evangelical-style self-help with insurgent peasant slogans" based on the work of John Eldredge, a contemporary American Christian author, lecturer and counselor.  Apparently his work is required reading for gang members and the cartel has provided funding to circulate Eldredge's writings.  The cartel promotes religion and family values, doesn't tolerate substance abuse or the ill-treatment of women and children and includes regular attendance at prayer meeting as an advancement criterium.  The cartel also distributes money to those in need and manipulates the local media into singing its praises.

"Social justice" is one of their aims and when the pope visited in 2012, they put up welcome banners and promised to refrain from violence during his visit.

Nazario Moreno was shot dead by police in December 2010 in a gunfight, but he lives on, reportedly worshipped as a saint himself!  MSNBC:

"Soldiers raiding criminal safe houses in the western state of Michoacan have recently found altars topped with three foot high statues in the image of Moreno, shown in golden medieval armor and carrying a sword. A local verse dedicated to the dead trafficker invokes him as a supernatural force.

"Give me holy protection, through Saint Nazario, Protector of the poorest, Knights of the people, Saint Nazario, give us life," goes the "Prayer to Saint Nazario".

Now calling themselves the Knights Templar, after the medieval military order that protected Christian pilgrims during the Crusades, members carry a code book decorated with pictures of cloaked knights with red crosses."

So the process of sanctifying outlaws is not merely an historical phenomenon, the process is ongoing; the "narco-saint" is a type of folk saint.

When I began this post, I set out to put the theft--or recovery--of Locanzo's body in the wider context of "death, dismemberment and memory" in Latin America.  In searching to widen to spiritual scope, I recalled the mafia initiation rituals, which bring the criminal organization closer to the secret society, of which a mafia undoubtedly is.  I went on to the idea that these mafias, or cartels, even have their own pantheon of saints; in the north, Jesus Malverde is lauded in song, and shown devotion by ruthless hitmen.  Death itself is also worshipped, making these cartels something like death cults.

In Michoacan, however, the "Templar cartel" has sanctified one of its original leaders and functions more clearly like a sect.  Recruiting among addicts, it exhorts its members to clean living and prayer.  All the while cutting heads off in the name of God and Saint Nazarion, author of their spiritual text.  Interestingly, the stated goals of the cartel include social justice, dignity and peace for the campesino.  The Robin Hood meme in full effect.

They are also ruthlessly dedicated to eradicating the Zetas, which adds an interesting element into the mix.

The Mexican drug war is certainly a war for power and narco-dollars, but could there also be an underlying spiritual battle being waged?  Is the idea of social justice a la Robin Hood and the "apotheosis" of former leaders a ploy, or a genuine belief?

And will Heriberto Lazcano become a saint?