Trophy

Philadelphia City Hall: European Capital
Sculpture by Alexander Milne Calder, 1873-93
[Images sent by Kristor]

Kristor, who writes for the Orthosphere, sent the following email:

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The capital [on the Philadelphia City Hall] is rendered all the more evocative by the consideration that columns in ancient temples were taken by the First Architects to be evocations of the trees of the sacred groves, where victims were sacrificed on altars (much of classical architecture has sacrificial signification). Sometimes the altars were at the feet of the sacred trees, sometimes they were the trees themselves. The bodies of the victims, or whatever remained of them after the feast, were hung on the trees (a trope familiar not just from the Cross, but from the Druid rite of human sacrifice, wherein the body of the victim was hung on an oak). The trees of the sacred grove were thus richly adorned with bones, skulls, etc.; often also, in the case of human sacrifice, with the armor and weapons the victims had been wearing when captured in battle. Over the years, the trees would grow around and engulf the bones and weapons, so that the victims would be entombed, in and of the trees. So in the vernacular of ancient architecture, it isn’t just that columns were trees, they were also the bodies of consecrated victims. The sacrifice upheld the order of the world – cf. Atlas, and the Caryatids of the Acropolis, and also the columns of the Temple, and the pillars Jachin and Boaz that stood at its portal.

That’s why the capital struck me so. Here’s a link (Preview) to a photo of all four columns.

The Greeks used to plant a tropaion on each battlefield, at the point where the battle had turned (“trope” is “turn;” this is why a trope is a turn of phrase: a turn of the word, a turn of the Word, a turn of the Logos, of the Tao of history: the trope of cosmic history occurs when the Word vertically intersects its horizontal course, thereby turning it) in their favor. The tropaion was a cross, adorned with the armor of the vanquished. Soldiers who died in battle were considered consecrated victims, martyrs to the cause of their people; the glory of the martyred sacrificial victim, his literal glorification in the heavens as a demi-god (cf. Valhalla), was one of the main motivations for ancient warriors. So the trophy on the battlefield was a sacred object, its locus an outdoor temple; and sacrifices were poured out at their feet. They often became destinations of pilgrimage and locations of regular sacrificial rites, commemorating the victory. This is why they so often became crossroads; and it is why churches are so often at the very center of villages (when they are not on hilltops, surrounded by fortifications).

Eventually, the tropaion was also carried back to the polis in the victory parade; that’s how it was done with the trophaeum at Rome. The captured enemy, now slaves (Latin “servus,” slave, meant “saved from death,” conserved), were paraded in chains, together with wains bearing spoils and trophaea bearing armor. The trophies were set up in temples.

Interestingly, there seems to have been a trophaeum at the East end of the Temple in Jerusalem at one time, clothed in vestments – perhaps armor – of shining bronze, to which the Israelites rendered homage; the trophaeum being, obviously, a sign of the victim (who was in very ancient times the King or the High Priest), who had been consecrated to God, and had therefore put on the whole armor of God, becoming an angel, a star. Something I just now realized: the three crosses at Golgotha are a type, a quotation, of the three pillars of the Temple Mount: Jachin and Boaz on either hand, and the Temple with its trophaeum in the center. Or, perhaps, it’s the other way round: the trophaeum and pillars of the Temple are a type and quotation of the crosses at Golgotha. I suppose the signification works both ways.

One of the bandits objects to his defeat by the Roman conqueror, and his sacrifice on the pillar; the other embraces it, and attains martyrdom, and is glorified.

[End]

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The images below were triggered by Kristor's phrase from the email: "So in the vernacular of ancient architecture, it isn’t just that columns were trees, they were also the bodies of consecrated victims."


Leonidas, standing in front of "The Tree of the Dead" in the film 300,
"resembling the converted Roman soldier at the Hill of Calvary, later martyred."

The quote above is from my article: Channeling the Great Artistic Themes of Christianity in the Movie 300.

Leonidas is later martyred, and appears in the film pierced by a multitude of arrows on a sheath of shields. See below historian Helena P. Schrader discuss his "proto-Christian" martyrdom.

There are several St. Leonidas' (or martyred men called Leonidas - read here for more clarity), but I don't think they refer, in any way, to the Leonidas of Sparta.



Leonidas, played by Gerard Butler in the movie 300, is stretched out on a sheath of shields, and like Saint Sebastian, his body is pierced with arrows.


St. Sebastian,
Andrea Mantegna, 1480,
Musée du Louvre, Paris

St. Sebastian stands bound to a column, as though onto a tree.

Here is a historian and author Helena P. Schrader who argues that Leonidas, although he lived 500 years before Christ, was a "proto-Christian."

Leonidas lived roughly 500 years before the birth of Christ and did not benefit from his teachings or example. Yet, while working on my three-part biography of Leonidas of Sparta, I came to realize that Leonidas fascinates us to this day not because of his historical role (he lost a battle) but as a moral figure. It was Leonidas’ conscious decision to sacrifice himself for his fellow Greeks that made him such an appealing historical figure. Leonidas attracts us not because he was a Spartan king, but because he was prepared to defy impossible odds for the sake of freedom.

Critical to the appeal of Leonidas is that he died fighting a defensive – not an aggressive – battle. Equally important is the fact that he faced death consciously; Leonidas knew he was going to die, but that did not deter or even dishearten him. Most important of all, Leonidas did not die, like Achilles or Hektor, for the sake of his own glory and even for honor, but for the lives and freedom of others.

Leonidas’ conscious decision to die in order to save Sparta from destruction was proto-Christian. His example is morally up-lifting, and his story inspirational. These, not a fascination with Ancient Sparta, are what make his story worth telling and make his story worth reading.

The ancients influence us, through their own type of wisdom, and their own journies towards truth, our truth (which is that of Christianity). I got this idea from reading Edith Hamilton's wonderful survey Mythology (recommended to me by Lawrence Auster).

(Here is our email communication, in 2011:

KPA: Hi Larry,

I've read your posts on Lattimore's translation of Homer's The Iliad. I've tried to get a copy of the book, but several bookstores have to order it in (!), and it takes a couple of weeks. But Lattimore's translation of Homer's The Odyssey is available at a couple. Do you think this is a good place to start until I get The Iliad?

LA: First, have you read any other version of the Iliad, like a prose translation?

Are you familiar with the story, from other reading? Yes, the Lattimore translation has a lengthy introduction, but I would say, before plunging into Homer, to familiarize yourself with the story, because Homer famously begins in the middle of the Trojan War (actually late in the war), and only obliquely refers to how the war began, because the war is not his main subject, but the anger of Achilles, which is an episode of several weeks in the middle of the war.

A marvelous telling of / introduction to the Trojan War is in Edith Hamilton's Mythology. That will prepare you for reading the Iliad.

As for the reading the Odyssey first, I would say no. The Odyssey is completely different from the Iliad, and also the events it tells take place after the Iliad. The Iliad should be read first. Also, the Iliad is far superior.)

Modern Statue of Leonidas, erected in 1968 in Sparta, Greece

The script at the top is attributed to Leonidas' "Come and get them" referring to the Persian army:

A Persian emissary was sent by Xerxes to negotiate with Leonidas. The Greeks were offered their freedom and the title "Friends of the Persian People," moreover they would be re-settled on land better than that they possessed. When these terms were refused by Leonidas the ambassador asked him more forcefully to lay down his weapons. Leonidas' famous response was for the Persians to "Come and take them" (Μολὼν λαβέ). A more famous response was from his general. When Leonidas refused to back down the messenger told him, "Our arrows will block out the sun." To this Leonidas' general replied, "Then we shall have our battle in the shade!" With the Persian embassy returning empty-handed battle became inevitable. Xerxes delayed for four days, waiting for the Greeks to disperse, before sending troops to attack them.
[Source: Wikipedia].

I don't know what the Greek below that says, but I would think it is a description of the statue.
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Posted By: Kidist P. Asrat
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