The Power of Stupidity
Kali

by Giancarlo Livraghi


Metaphors and metamorphoses
(stories of “images” becoming “real”
and “things” becoming “alive”)

in myth, folklore and fiction


A “supplement” to Idols and Icons
(chapter 22 of The Power of Stupidity)



In Idols and Icons, chapter 22 of The Power of Stupidity, in a general discussion on how the representation of things can be confused with the actual things, I touched on the subject of a variety of “things” (such as paintings – and more so sculptures – but also all sorts of “objects”) “coming alive” or turning into people (or other “beings”.)

This is a paragraph in page 137 of the book (page 4 of the chapter online.)

“Icons” becoming “real” isn’t a new notion. It’s been part of legend, folklore and literature since the beginning of human history. The myth of Pygmalion, the picture of Dorian Gray, the Golem, Don Juan’s “stone guest”, the legend of Slappy Hooper, etcetera. But we know that those are myths, fairy tales or narrative fiction.

And I added a footnote.

There are also examples in movies, such as a character jumping out of the screen in Woody Allen’s The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985) or a giant Anita Ekberg “materializing” from a billboard in Federico Fellini’s episode in Boccaccio 70 (1962) or the “Marshmallow Man” in Ghostbusters (1984) – and several other variations of the same idea. But these, too, are clearly dream or fiction, metaphoric symbols, that can’t in any way be confused with “real life.”

While I was writing that chapter, I was searching around for other examples. But I realized that adding too many in the book would have made that part unnecessarily long – and distracting from the main subject. So I told readers that I would put some of those findings in a “supplement” online and I told them where they could find it.

Here I am keeping my promise – as a matter of curiosity. These are, I think, interesting stories, though they don’t really add any depth to what is said in the book about idols and icons. Of course there are many more. But here are a few that, I think, can be “food for thought.”

It isn’t surprising that there are lots of stories about toys “coming alive” – more often than not in alarming or mischievous ways. Dolls and other toys are supposed to be metaphors of human beings (or pets, or other animals, or something in between) and obviously are used as such by children (and also by grownups.)

Of course not only in voodoo, but also in other religions, rituals or spells, “dolls” and other toylike objects have a variety of magic or otherwise mysterious power. When we find a doll in some prehistoric dig it’s hard to tell if it was a toy, an object of religious worship or some sort of magic tool. It it’s quite possible that it could be a combination of all three. But these, while they are often metaphors, aren’t necessarily metamorphoses.

One (pretty obvious) example of a “live toy” may be worth quoting: Pinocchio. A talking, feeling and thinking log of wood that becomes a puppet behaving like a “real” child – and turning into one at the end of the story. The character is world famous, especially for his nose becoming long when he tells a lie. Though not everyone has read the (remarkably good) book by Carlo Collodi (a pseudonym of Carlo Lorenzini) that was published in 1883. Most people are familiar with Pinocchio’s appearance in a Disney movie or in wooden toys – but this is what he looked like in an early book illustration.

pinocchio
 

A less known character (quite popular in Italy a couple of generations ago, but now almost forgotten) is Pier Cloruro de’ Lambicchi. A cartoon in what was then the most popular children’s magazine, Corriere dei Piccoli. By Giovanni Manca, starting in 1930. The series lasted for many years. It was collected in a book in 1972.


 
lambicchi
 

“Professor Lambicchi” had invented a concoction called arcivernice that made people come alive out of paintings. And by doing so he got himself into all sorts of funny trouble. In one case he did it, by mistake, with a portrait of himself – and had a hard time with his clone before he found a way of sending him back to being just a picture.

We can go far back in time to find that there are many metamorphoses in Greek mythology (as in other traditions, fables and folklore.) One example of “things becoming people” is in the tale of Jason and the Argonauts. Awesome warriors sprung up from the teeth of a dragon, after they were planted in the ground by Cadmos.

Of course there are many such stories in legend and fiction. As in the case of talking and moving trees in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings – eventually a whole forest becoming an army to join Gandalf’s forces in a crucial battle. In The Hobbit there are “Stone-giants”, emerging in a storm and casting huge boulders as part of a bizarre game.

Scarecrows become people – or behave as such. A friendly and gentle one in The Wizard of Oz. But more often they are scary. One of many examples is Edith Nesbit’s nightmarish book The Enchanted Castle (1907) with horrible and fearsome “uggly wugglies” – stuffed caricatures and scarecrows – coming to life. As well as mythical gods, goddesses and olympians.

The same sort of thing happens in several movies, including (on a lighter tone) Shawn Levy’s Night at the Museum (2006 – based on the 1993 children’s book by Milan Trenc) where an Egyptian artifact magically brings to life, at night, the exhibits in New York City’s American Museum of Natural History (a sequel was at the Smithsonian).

There are two examples of this kind in one movie, Ghostbusters II (1989.) “Vigo the Carpathian” is a seventeenth century tyrant, trapped within a painting in a New York art gallery and emerging as a vicious demon. And there is also the Statue of Liberty “coming alive”.

Mirrors do all sorts of things in all sorts of ways. Such as Queen Grimhilde’s talking “mirror on the wall” in Snow White. But also in many other tales and stories.

And of course there is Alice walking though the looking glass to find places where “things” behave as people. At the end of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland she barely escapes (by waking up) from being beheaded by order of a cruel Queen of Cards. In Through the Looking-Glass she is told about a bewildering environment by the Red Queen of Chess.

See Stupidity and Haste, chapter 16 of The Power of Stupidity,
about «it takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place»
(and the “Red Queen Effect” as an evolutionary principle.)
 

Of couse there are many examples of “things coming alive” in stories about magic. Such as, in Harry Potter, the battle where the armor pieces in Hogwarts get animated into knights.

“Things” can turn into deities as well as people. Ganesha, according to an Indian legend, was created from sandal paste applied on Parvati’s arms, and subsequently animated by her. (The elephant head came later.)

In other parts of Indian lore there are asuras (demons) being formed out of sweat (Andhaka, from the sweat dripping off Parvati’s brow when Shiva came behind her and closed her eyes with his hands.) A demon called Raktabeeja had the boon that every drop of his blood that’d touch the ground became one of his clones – so that Kali finally killed him by catching his blood in a bowl and drinking it.

There is the Narasimha avatar from Hindu tradition, where a “man-lion” emerges out of a pillar. There are a number of local traditions (in India and elsewhere) about carved statues in temples coming to life (yalis – chimera-like creatures – and all sorts of other human, nonhuman or semihuman beings.)

There is a story in the Panchatantra about five students who each possess special powers. They come across the bones of a dead tiger and, using all their powers, bring it to life. Four of the students apparently smart and one not so smart. The not so smart climbed a tree while the smarties brought the tiger back to life – and so he lived to tell the tale.

It could take a whole book to tell all the stories of “things coming to life” in Indian folklore – and in many others, including some of the thousand-and one tales in Arabian Nights.

Do flying carpets “come alive”? In a way, they do,
especially when they have their own idea of where they are going.
Ando so it can be, sometimes, with witches riding brooms.

 

There are many such examples also in Indian fiction (as well as in other cultures.) One, for instance, is in Girish Karnad’s play Nagamandala (1997) where the prologue is a conversation between flames, which, once they have been blown off the dark, gather in a ruined temple to gossip about the village. And they encounter a woman, who claims to be a story – a story that has killed the woman who refused to tell it, and jumped out of her and came to the temple to be told.

Darkness itself turns into a “being”, behaving like a person, in Terry Pratchett’s Thud (a “discworld” novel – 2005.) There are other examples in the “discworld” series, including “golems” that behave like robots, though they are not mechanical, they are “generated” from clay.

In a variety of “things coming alive” in science fiction or fantasy, there are some new developments of the traditional sculpture-to-human metamorphosis. In the “Blink” episode (2007) of the Doctor Who BBC series, statues of “weeping angels” are “quantum locked” – they move extremely fast, but only when one isn’t looking (blink.)

There is an abundance of such stories in Japanese folklore. One of the best known is “the six stone Jizos” (bodhisattva statues.) A poor straw-hat maker on his way home from market uses his leftover hats to protect the statues from the snow, but he is short one so he uses his own head scarf for the last one. He gets home and tells his wife that he didn’t sell enough hats to buy food – when there is a sound at the door. The six stone jizos have come to give him the food offerings given to the jizos.

There are “stone giants” in all sorts of cultures around the world. Real statues (not only in Easter Island) with a variety of religious or “magic” properties – or characters in tales. One of several examples is the Skunny-Wundy Iroquois legend – where the stone giant isn’t killed, but cunningly scared away.

There are often similarities in stories
from apparently unrelated cultures.
This one sounds like David and Goliath
combined with Ulysses and the Cyclop.
 

Though it doesn’t quite fit in the “stone coming alive” genre, among the Luo in western Kenya there is the story of Lwanda Magere, who was a warrior made of stone. He was able to help his tribe defeat all the Nandi and the Langi tribes, as he was impossible to kill in battle. But the Langi sent a beautiful woman undercover to seduce Lwanda Magere, who eventually told her he had but one weakness, his shadow, which wasn’t made of stone – and because of that he always went to battle at night. So the Langi got to know the secret and challenged him during daylight. Proud as he was, Lwanda Magere couldn’t resist going to battle, where the Langi stabbed his shadow and killed him.

Another case of cross-cultural similarity.
This isn’t very different from Samson and Delilah.
 

In a large variety of traditions or cults, sculptured or painted “guardians” are often placed where they are supposed to protect a building or an area. They aren’t always supposed to “come to life”, to fight or scare away unwanted visitors, but if course that is frequently imagined.

Even where and when “iconoclasts” forbid idols and avatars, or for other reasons humanlike icons are not used, all sorts of symbolic representations can be expected to have a magic, or otherwise active, role. And, whatever they are or represent, it easily happens that they are supposed to “come alive.”

Gargoyles don’t necessarily cause nightmares or become alive in dreams or legends. But it’s quite clear that they are meant to be scary. Just as other “beings” in stone or paint are there to be comforting and reassuring.

Pictures and statuettes in ancient Egyptian tombs were supposed to become (or be) alive in the afterworld, helping the deceased in the transition. There was also a self-playing chesslike game, apparently for entertainment while waiting for “judgment” or another step in the process. Gigantic statues above ground weren’t necessarily expected to “come alive”, but definitely intended to subdue the people and scare away unwanted visitors. And the Sphinx was supposed to be alive enough to be able to play with riddles.

We can go back to Greek mythology to find another example – one of the most elaborate in any tradition. Pandora, “the first woman”, made from mud and water (not from anyone’s rib.) “She of many gifts”, because Hephaestus gave her life and voice, Athena made her able to weave and sew, the Graces and Peitho dressed her and gave her jewellery. Hermes, instructed by Zeus, gave her good speech and a treacherous mind – and he added, separately, a dangerous gift, that nobody was supposed to open (it was a vase, maybe a jar, anyhow not a “box”.)

I am sure that with more digging many other examples could be found. But I hope these are enough to show how many differences (and, a the same time, similarities) there are in tradition, myth, fables – and old or new fiction.

 
*   *   *
 

Do these examples, in the context of a book on “the power of stupidity”, imply that there is something inherently stupid in metaphors, metamorphoses or “things coming alive” in fiction or folklore? Not at all.

As explained in chapter 22 (and in other parts of the book) imagination, fantasy, narrative and poetry are as important in human culture as the understanding of “hard facts” (on the uncertain assumption that we can actually know what the facts are and how they should be understood).These are two paragraphs in chapter 24.

We can dream, asleep or awake, of riding a gryphon or floating above the clouds on a flying carpet. But when we wake up, or after some relaxing daydreaming, we must get back to a world where, if we want to fly, we need an airplane – or, at least, a parachute.

We can study and enjoy an old myth or legend, discovering its meanings and values (often deep and fascinating) without literally accepting the reality of the story. We can heed the warnings of Hamlet’s father without believing in ghosts.

Stories, fables, apologues, fiction and fantasies can stimulate our mind and nourish our imagination. Even when they appear to be children’s tales they can provide wisdom, entertainment or “food for thought” also for grownups. As long as we don’t confuse them with reality.

 
*   *   *
 

This relates also to chapter 14 Stupidity and Fear. Many stories are dark, nightmarish, cruel and fearsome. Many people are quaintly attracted by “horror”. There can be all sorts of psychological explanations of how this relates to subconscious uneasiness.

In some ways “scary” stories can be useful, if they bring up to conscience fears that can be more harmful by being buried in dark, undetected depths.

But induced or manipulated fears can be very dangerous when used by power to keep us in obedience – or by all sorts of fearmongers to exploit our credulity and anxiety (see chapter 24.) Anyhow it’s better to be aware of what we are doing – or what is being done to us. This is the beginning of chapter 14.

The bravest people in the world teach us that it’s healthy and useful to be afraid. Believing that there is nothing to be feared isn’t courageous, it’s stupid. When fear is awareness of dangers and risks, it’s a form of intelligence. Of course this is not the sort of fear that can be an ally and an accomplice of stupidity.

But there are widespread types of fear that have nothing to do with a real understanding of what can be dangerous or unsafe. People can be afraid of being, of thinking, of understanding, of knowing (fear of knowledge is a nasty form of ignorance.)

And these are two other paragraphs in the same chapter.

Just as it’s stupid to think that we are immune from stupidity, and ignorant to think that we know everything, courage isn’t the delusion of never being afraid. Even the most reasonable and well-balanced person has some hidden and unjustified fears, some areas of insecurity – and those weaknesses are more harmful when we aren’t aware of their presence.

It’s impossible to eliminate fear. But we can be aware of it, control it, limit its damages. Understanding our fears, and those of other people, is a way of being less stupid. Above all, we should not be afraid of fear. This is often easier than it seems.

So let’s use all possible tools (including scary tales and fantasies) not to increase our fears, but to understand them better. It may not make us more comfortable, but it can help to reduce the power of stupidity.




It would be long to make a list here
of several people around the world
who kindly had some fun
helping me with this search.
Let me just say
thank you to all.
 
And I shall be grateful to any readers
who may come up with other useful examples.



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