The Evil Eye

(Drawn by Kimberly Geiter)

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

- Anonymous

Origins of this cliché stem back to ancient Greece three centuries before the birth of Christ, but it remains as prevalent in our culture now as it had at any other time or place. This phrase reveals two concepts: 1) what's perceived can be just as important (if not more so) than what's

physically in front of you 2) eyes are one of the primary means by which most people gather information to form said perceptions. In the strictest biological sense,we use our eyes to see and absorb physical information about our surroundings. We evaluate and verify our other senses with what we see, and when our eyes don't work as they should, we find corrective measures to make up for the loss. On the opposite token, we often look into the eyes of others for information on the internal world, as well. There, we feel we'll find truth, sincerity, or even a glimpse into a person's soul. Many may also use a glance or a look as a form of communication, as if to transmit an intent or a thought from one's eyes through another's. Eyes are portals, no matter which side of the glass you're looking through, and they reveal to us the world.

Many cultures forewarn about the "Evil Eye" - that a mere glance or long stare can transmit a sinister intent, infecting the victim with bad luck, injury, disease, or even potential death. Commonly, such a curse originates from feelings of envy, where a spiteful person covets an item or quality that another possesses. Casting the Evil Eye is typically (although, not necessarily) unintentional - transmitted during either compliments or insults about the coveted possessions. Speaking isn't a requirement, however, as one could perform the same functions just as effectively glaring from afar. Symptoms of "catching" the Evil Eye often have to do with dryness - dehydration, withering, or desiccation - and primary victims are thought to be young children or babies, as so many comments are often made about them. Within Turkish culture particularly, a standard belief holds that comments about one's clothing and appearance can bring bad luck to a person just as well - possibly evidencing the presence of an Evil Eye.

In Turkey, there exists a common emblem used to counteract the Evil Eye. Often a tear-shaped amulet or circular bead made of glass, the symbol consists of a concentric series of white and differently shaded blue circles with the darkest circle at the center. Called the mavi boncuk (pronounced "bon-jook") or nazar boncugu (pronounced "bon-joo-goo"), this "Evil Blue Eye" was crafted to meet the gaze of Evil Eye casters, matching their sinister intents with benevolence, as if to say "Don't bother. Everything is alright." Mavi boncuks are traditionally given as gifts to new friends and beloveds, made and conveyed in the spirit of love. These amulets, emblems, and charms harness that benefecent energy and protect the person or item bearing the symbol from the Evil Eye, bad luck, and general harm. This motif is very widely utilized, displayed on babies and clothing, as well as tattoos, horses, and cellphones, and placed next to the doorways of houses. Turkish Airlines is specifically known for sporting mavi boncuks on the tales of their airplanes, while this Gentlemen has one hanging from his bedroom wall as we speak. Today, mavi boncuks may come in many different colors, but its power is always on the positive - never the negative.

Although certainly an interesting concept, what's more are the mavi boncuk's origins. The Turkish clans of old consisted of a variety of darker-complected peoples from Mongolia and traditionally Muslim nations who melded together as these tribes headed west and the Turkic empire expanded. Long story short, these tribes eventually settled in what is now modern day Turkey as other, fairer complected peoples from the west (some language homonyms suggest persons of French, Gaulish, or Frank origins) began exploring east. It is said that a group of these peoples made their way across the Eurasian continent and encountered the Turks shortly after the Turks had staked their territory. The Turks had never seen people's from the west before and were particularly amazed by the blue eyes of the strange people they encountered - thinking them beautiful. Gifts were exchanged before parting (some staying) and the Turks took this as a sign of good luck. The mavi boncuks were forged into a symbol to harness this benevolence and use it for the general good. The Evil Blue Eyes became a general ward against evil forces and spirits in the ensuing centuries and have been crafted and displayed proudly for the past 3,000 years.

Other, darker interpretations of the mavi boncuk's origins discuss the fear the Turks felt at the arrival of said western people. Although they found the blue eyes attractive, the Turks were wary of the power that beautiful eyes can have - considered a harbinger of misfortune if they were to be turned on you. The mavi boncuks were created not out of a positive act, but to meet aggression with an equal force. Perhaps a near warning, the wary gaze of the mavi boncuk returns a sinister intent of its own, as if to snap back balefully, "An eye, for an eye." The blue of the eye instead is part of a mediterranean motif as a symbol of protection, thereby deflecting or absorbing the maleficent forces conveyed by any purposeful, unintentional, or invisible Evil Eyes. The eye-shape pattern would then add insult to injury, instead of actively protecting the bearer from destructive influences.

"When the Eye of Horus opened, the world was enlightened. When it closed, darkness came again"

Historians suggest that the mavi boncuk may be found as a symbol over 5,000 years ago, first recorded by the Mesopotamians or Egyptians. Others present evidence claiming that similar eye figures may have originated as far back as the Upper Paleolithic Age - before agriculture had taken root in human society - between 10,000 to 40,000 years ago. By that hand, it is no surprise that the mavi boncuk would have similar cultural analogues across multiple faiths, cultures, and folklives. Can you think of any? What else can eyes symbolically represent? As always, Gentle Readers, post below.

Video Games and Myth: Suikoden Preview

Gentle readers, it gives me great pleasure to finally present another installment of Video Games and Myth. Sadly, however, my original plan for this issue was to cover the PSP's Jeanne d'Arc - a loose interpretation of the events surrounding my favorite female historical figure. Alas, I found to my dismay that, after purchasing the game from the PlayStation Network, PS3's apparently are not fitted with emulators to run downloadable PSP titles. As I refuse to vomit up an additional $150 simply to play this one game, I have moved on to warm-up for this summer's major project for Video Games and Myth - PlayStation's fantasy-epic/RPG Suikoden.

Suikoden is loosely based on one of the Four Great Chinese Classics, this one titled Water Margin (aka Outlaws of the Marsh) supposedly by Shi Naian (or, depending on who you talk to, Lou Guanzhong). Written in the 14th Century, the great 2,141 page novel covers the fictional events where over one hundred men and women are forced by the Feudal Lords of the Song Dynasty to take to the hills - only to band together and crush every conceivable attempt by their government to oppress them. The relationship between Water Margin and Japan is interesting due to Japan's attempts to seemingly naturalize and integrate this tale as its own. By translating the game title from Japanese, Suikoden literally means "Water Margin," an obvious derivative of the Japanese translation from the 1700's. Over the years since the Japanese translation, references, re-translations, and even attempts to portray the characters from Water Margin as Japanese have popped up in festivals, tattoo art, and present day anime. It will be interesting to see whether the differences between the original tale and the game developed by Konami present further evidence of this possible trend (that and it just sounds like a very cool story).

 

I am excited to embrace the challenge Suikoden presents, primarily because I am unfamiliar with either the Water Margin novel or Suikoden the game. In fact, I am fairly foreign to most myths/legends with roots not in the Americas or Europe. Part of my motivation for creating Video Games and Myth stemmed from my desire to explore myths and legends from cultures to which I have minimal exposure. Water Margin seems like a great place to jump into some classic Chinese tales and Suikoden itself seems oddly up my alley to not have heard about it before. Either way, I am incredibly stoked to begin this journey and to see where it leads. Between reading the novel and playing the game, I hope to have it all done by mid-June. As always, feel free to comment or make requests below in the mean time.

Video Games and Myth: Don't Look Back

Stripping video games to their bare essentials, programmer Terry Cavanagh presents Don't Look Back - a pixelated platformer reminiscent of old school Atari (and other similar platforming systems). In his recently released project, Cavanagh uses flash animation - a reasonably affordable alternative for independent artists to animate, voice, and distribute their work directly to the consumer on the internet. Flash has been the up-and-coming animation form for game programers and visual artists alike for years, used in everything from talk show intros to "office time-wasters" to Adult Swim cartoons like Metalocalypse. Using this contemporary medium, Cavanagh dives into "the Classics" by retelling the Greek tale of Orpheus in his return to "classic" gaming. (For those interested, the game is free and can be played without download here)

Don't Look Back begins as seen above, with a man standing in the rain at the grave of (what can be assumed is) a recently lost lover. Of course, our protagonist has no choice, but to turn right and travel into the bowels of the Underworld in an attempt to bring her back. By doing so, our nameless hero must run, jump, and shoot through a barrage of 8-bit monsters, vanishing bridges, and other hazards to achieve his goal. Already, the player can see some obvious parallels with the famed Greek myth. 

In the tale, Orpheus was a musician who was happily married to the beautiful Eurydice until, one fateful day, she was bitten by a poisonous snake and she died. Distraught and torn, Orpheus began to play and sing a grouping of the most beautiful, yet sad songs ever heard. So mournful were they that the immortal nymphs and gods all wept without reservation. On their recommendation, they bid Orpheus to the Underworld in hopes that Hades and Persephone would be so moved by his music as to take pity on Orpheus and return his love to him - neither of which had anyone ever succeeded. On his arrival, Orpheus played and sang for Hades and Persephone his sad songs and, in their tears, they allowed Orpheus an exception with a condition: that on his walk out and up from the Underworld he must always face forward and have faith that Eurydice is right behind him until they both return to the world of the living. Orpheus ascends without turning around, but as soon as he exits he turns only to see Eurydice vanish from him forever, as he had not afforded her the time (and faith) to step into the living world herself. Careful analysis of Cavanagh's gaming platform reveals some striking parallels (with artistic liberties).

Although the hero from Don't Look Back is not a musician, it is notable that once he begins his decent that the music begins to play. The midi classical string-orchestra presents a melancholic tone accentuated by a color scheme of mellow, dark browns. By doing so, the game is able to evoke an impressive emotional response despite its simplistic design. Here, Cavanagh proves he has an eye for detail, even including the occasional Greek pillar in the background as a "salute" to his source material. The hero continues to descend through the Underworld, able to leap down cliffs with ease (the rules in the Underworld are a little different), battling it out with the various inhabitants, until he reaches a cliff where his love rests as a spirit, floating above the abyss - waiting. He turns around and she begins to follow him out, facing new obstacles as they climb their way up. Keeping with the myth the player must not turn around, else his love will vanish and he will have to start the screen over as if he had just died. Eventually, the hero makes his way outside, into the rain, and back into the living world. In surreal fashion, the hero returns to the grave, lover in toe, only to see himself standing over the tombstone again, alone, as the vestiges of the self and the lover that have just returned vanish forever. The player is left to wonder whether the hero ever left at all, whether he is caught in an eternal loop, or whether the person he sees when he returns is really someone else. In so doing, we are left to wonder which facets of the phrase "don't look back" apply, as there seem to be several. It is rare when something so simplistic retains such poignancy.

Orpheus was the classic tale about the relationship between loss and faith. Of grief and closure. These themes become more and more relatable as people mature and grow older and have the life experiences that encompass them. Whether they have died or not, most of us will lose someone who we would do anything to have back, but understand we cannot. Cavanagh uses his art form to explore these themes through classic myth and does it successfully by using the bare essentials of classic gaming.

Video Games and Myth: Final Fantasy VII

Perhaps one of the more overlooked forms of entertainment, video games have been clamoring for artistic attention. Many video game designers seek to employ compelling story lines centered around enriched, three-dimensional characters and have moved past simply creating immersive, interactive environments. In the course of composing these enthralling stories, video game designers follow the tradition from other mediums by looking to the past for tales that have stood the test of time: Myth. Evidence can be found from a multitude of sources (including Blizzard's online juggernaut World of Warcraft), but for me, a prime example comes from a personal favorite - SquareEnix's (formerly Squaresoft) role-playing epic Final Fantasy VII.

As a turn-based RPG, Final Fantasy VII's roots rest firmly in the Dungeons and Dragon's tradition of building scenarios, heroes, and enemies out of popular myth. Although many cultures are given the equivocal "tip-of-the-fedora" through an enemy or item name, Icelandic myth seems to have a strong influence over the overall plot. FFVII is an apocalypse story - one in which the protagonists are desperately trying to prevent a seemingly inevitable cataclysm. Much like Odin and the other Icelandic Gods, each character persists on a journey for knowledge and self-discovery in hopes that their travels will provide a way to defeat the near-impossible odds stacked against them. FFVII does nothing to hide this from the consumer: naming the starting city "Midgar" (derived from "Midgard", the Earth realm where humans live which is domed over by the skull of the giant Ymir), that much of the game's back story centers around the town "Nibleheim" (derived from "Nifflehel" meaning "North Hell") which is torched to the ground, and that many of the game's big reveals, as well as the game's conclusion, take place in the northern, icy portion of the world near the town "Ragnarok" (a direct reference to the Icelandic "Day of Reckoning" of which cannot be stopped and will result in the end of the Gods' rule).  The strongest example perhaps comes from the most shocking and emotional scene in the game - The Death of Aerith.

(property of SquareEnix)

For players, this scene came as a surprise. Aerith, one of the favorite female protagonists, is brutally murdered in front of your character half-way through the game with nothing you can do to prevent it and nothing you can do to bring her back. Not only do you invest a significant amount of time and energy into her battle statistics prior to this, but the game does a fairly good job of allowing you to feel sympathetic towards her (as well as most of the other characters). For those unaware, these games used to function almost like video books where the characters acted out stage direction on the screen and provided dialogue in the text boxes. You progress through the game with the express interest in finding out what happens next and Aerith remained a significant part of the plot up until this point (the programmers even provided items assumedly for her use at the game's end, the bastards). The best textual equivalent would probably be the "Death of Dumbledore" from JK Rollings' Harry Potter series which, from what I understand, was also shocking and devastating among die-hard fans. But, the most interesting thing about the scene extends beyond the emotionality and into a comparison with the Icelandic story "The Lay of Skirnir"

"The Lay of Skirnir" is the Icelandic version of what's called "The Sacred Marriage": the tale which depicts how the "miraculous child" is conceived or how the land is engendered with prosperity and life. According to Snorri Sturluson's Edda, Freyr (meaning "fruitful one") sits on Odin's seat at the top of the world and sees something he shouldn't, the Ice-giant Jotun's daughter Gerd (meaning "Earth"), and he falls head-over-heels in love. Fearing rejection, Freyr sends Skirnir (the shining sky-god) down wingman style to "warm up" the Ice-giant's daughter for him. Skirnir takes and keeps Freyr's magical sword, which he uses to "convince" her to marry Freyr (depending on your interpretation, Gerd either consents or is coerced by Skirnir; see the Poetic Edda by Hollander). Hence, the sky-god (representing the sun) gets the Earthen woman to marry into fruitfulness thereby making the Earth fertile. In comparison with the above scene, we see a twisting of the myth into something darker. As opposed to engendering fruitfulness, Sephiroth (the primary antagonist) comes down from the sky with his "magic" sword and seeks to eliminate it. 

Within the game's mythos, Aerith was the last of a race of people able to communicate with the planet and use its energies for beneficial purposes. In an early portion of the game, Aerith is introduced when your character falls through the ceiling of an abandoned church and onto a hearty flower bed, tended to by her, and growing in soil that shouldn't be able to grow anything at all. Aerith then, in a sense, similarly represents a fertile, Earth-element and is slaughtered for it. It's notable that her death comes while she is "Praying for the Planet", a process that would summon the power to protect the planet and stop the impending doom. Also of note, her death, in effect, could even have been beneficial, since it is commonly interpreted that her conscious will or spirit lived on within the planet and was able to give the planet the second boost of power that effectively stopped the apocalypse - an interesting perspective further twisting the myth.

(Property of Nicolien Beerens)

Evidence of myth in games is far from a foreign concept and extends way beyond a game which came out over 10 years ago. As I have said, these stories  withstood the test of time and will continue to influence nearly all artistic mediums regardless of whether those cultures still exist or not. Depending on the success of this particular post, I may make future posts encroaching on this topic in other works. Either way, Gentle Readers, I hope you enjoyed this post and found it interesting. I know I did. And as always, post below.

Updated 2/4/2008: Now with pictures!