Everything

The great god Pan is certainly not dead, and certainly not happy. Unfortunately, he’s not that great anymore, either. Half man, half goat, horned and pointy-eared, Pan was a god of nature, fertility, and passion. The “lightning-eyed and cloven-hooved” deity has been around for millennia, and though his name is still on the minds and lips of people, its meaning — as well as Pan’s true essence — have sadly faded into obscurity.

There are various myths about the god’s origins, but the Ecstatics of the Fellowship of Pan, regard only two of them as canonical. The first states that Hermes and the Nymph Dryope brought the horned god into existence, whereas the second (and

earlier) one attributes his birth to the coupling of the primor­ dial god Ether and a humble Dryad. Both myths illustrate the merging of ethereal and chthonic (that is, air and earth) or, as the famous Hermetic quote goes, “as above so below,” and hint at Pan’s all-encompassing nature. Pan’s birthplace is as ancient and mystical as any befitting a god: Ten thousand years before the birth of Christ, in the heart of Arcadia, under the shadow of mount Lycaeon, there stood a city called Lycosoura (meaning “the first to be touched by light”). Its inhabitants called themselves Proselenoi, which means “those before the moon.” According to legend, this was the first city to ever see the sunlight, and the people of the region took pride in the fact that their ancestors were there to watch the moon rise for the first time. There, above and before even that ancient city, Pan was born, and the seeds of his influence bloomed all across the region. Arcadians, temperate and respectful of the natural ways, quickly thrived under Pan’s guidance. At about that time, the Arcadian Measure emerged: a philosophy dictating that no human act may impose itself on nature’s way. Those were days of simplicity and harmony, when the walls between matter and spirit were casually pierced and so the gods roamed our earth. Pan would descend from his mountain, surrounded by satyrs and naiads (nymphs of sweet waters), who danced to the music of his pipes. Strange songs and fevered dreams trailed in their wake, tantalizing mortals with glimpses of eternity and eudaemonia: the indwelling spirit of happy madness.

Due to the god’s very nature, it took centuries for Pan’s worship to leave the forests and take root in urban centers. One incident of great import to that effect was the Battle of Marathon. Among the ranks of the Athenian army, there was an Arcadian soldier named Pheidippides. On his way back to Marathon after an unsuccessful attempt to rally the Spartans under the Athenian banner, the young man heard something call his name. Exhausted, he turned around, and there stood Pan in all his glory. The god said the Athenians had neglected him, but he was still willing to come to their aid if properly summoned. Pheidippides delivered the message and, seeing his comrades’ disbelief, started screaming Pan’s name himself. It didn’t take long for his fellow soldiers to take up the chant. True to his promise, the god manifested, filling the Persians’ hearts with primal fear and causing them to flee. On that day, a new word came into being: panic. To honor the god, shrines were built, and festivals were held; thus, Pan came to be worshipped in cities as well as in the wilderness.

Any resemblance between this story and a much later godhead visitation along the road to Damascus is probably intentional on somebody’s part, especially considering what followed in its wake…

Pan’s popularity exceeded even the god’s own expec­ tations, and the Goat-Foot God remained prominent for centuries to come. The flock could not have two shepherds, though, and soon a new one arrived. The coming of Jesus signaled Pan’s downfall and the gradual demonization of this generally benign Pagan deity. On the morning of Christ’s

birth, so legend tells us, a heavenly voice proclaimed, “The Great God Pan is dead.” Not much later, the creed forged in that Redeemer’s name would do everything in its power to make that pronouncement stick.

But let’s not venture into the dark just yet; let’s stick with the glory days for a little longer.

Pan’s unabashed libido was one of the horned deity’s most significant characteristics. Combined with his terrible appearance, it often set him up for grief and heartache… and could be hard on the targets of his affections, too — just ask poor Syrinx. Two incidents stand out among his many erotic adventures, revealing the often lovely yet sometimes brutal nature of Pan’s carnality: Selene, Goddess of the Moon, who caught Pan’s interest during his early years; and Syrinx the nymph, not much later. In Selene’s case, the stories speak of a beautiful coupling between the two, as Pan courted the moon goddess with heavenly music and ecstatic dance. He cajoled her into coming down to the mountain of his birth, and there they copulated happily between earth and sky.

Unfortunately for Pan, the pursuit of Syrinx had a bitter ending for them both. Scared of his animalistic visage as well as his reputation, the chaste nymph broke into a run when the god tried to entice her. Reaching the river bank and knowing that he would eventually catch her, she implored her father, Ladonas — the deity of that river — to save her from Pan’s lusts. Ladonas obliged, and transformed her into a patch of reeds, leaving Pan with only a handful of the hollow plants. While he stood there, mourning, a breeze picked up and the reeds resounded with the nymph’s voice. It didn’t take long for Pan to understand what had transpired. He shaped the broken reeds into a wind instrument made up of seven pieces of varied lengths, which, in time, came to be known as the Pan flute.

Sadly, in the wake of Christianity, the wisdom of these tales was lost, and they were turned into anecdotes to be laughed at, or worse. And such wisdom it was! Between the 16th and 19th centuries, Hermetic scholars and Ecstatic philosophers found common ground and examined those old myths with new eyes. Unsurprisingly enough, the two paths diverged before meeting once more. Let us consider the story of Pan and Syrinx, for example: The Order focused on the numerical significance of the panpipes, the tune of which echoed the seven-voiced Music of the Spheres, the divine harmony. The Seers, on the other hand, envisioned Pan’s music as a means of transcendence, a sacrament of the Palmos (the divine pulse); they saw Ascension in Syrinx’s transformation, and so envisioned a road toward it through an interplay of lust, surrender, the acceptance of mortality, and the ways in which art and spirit survive beyond mere flesh. In Pan’s twofold shape, one Tradition recognized the Promethean man’s coming out of the wild (the animal part) to claim enlightenment (the human part), whereas the other perceived passions (the goat) and awareness (the man) in perfect balance, which they embraced as a holistic way of living. Both groups, however, realized the fundamental truth hidden in the parable of Syrinx: Fear of Pan is fear of self. The

god, then, symbolizes the Awakened mystic, equipped with powerful hooves to help him scale the mount of Ascension, while the nymph is the still-sleeping soul, terrified with the prospect of facing or embracing the passions and fears keeping it chained to the material. Tearing away the veils of Sleep would frighten anyone. Yet music can put the soul at ease and guide it to safety through the treacherous paths of the mountain.

No wonder the Church felt threatened by Pan. In his core, the god was an equivalent of the Nazarene shepherd, but one who didn’t turn a blind eye to the darkness within. Of course, associating such a promiscuous deity with Jesus (whose nature was also twofold) would have been improper, but something had to be done with him — after all, he was immensely popular. Turning the holy mountain on its head, they portrayed Pan’s path as a downward one; Pan, then, became the Adversary, Satan, the demonic Goat of Blasphemies. This slander provoked Pan’s ire, which has not abated to this day despite the Ecstatics’ best efforts to appease him. The highlight of this endeavor is a secret ceremony held annually in Greece. The Fellowship of Pan, with stomping feet and playful tunes, lifts the veil between worlds, and invites the god on a night of pleasure and excess. For roughly two centuries, Andronikos, head of the Fellowship, has had the singular task of chaperoning the horned deity that roams the city of Athens in the guise of a man. But how could this one ritual ever be enough? Once, festive pyres burned all over Greece, both above and below the ground, and the god’s name was whispered in reverence or screamed in ecstasy, in celebration of all that is Pan, and Pan who is all.

Lean and goatish, Pan is Man and Nature interwoven in a single form. His rugged features, thick musk, wild eyes, and unabashed erection appeal to some folks while repuls­ ing others. There’s nothing refined or civilized about Pan’s appearance, but his voice is said to be as sweet and gentle as the tunes he plays on his venerable flute. As the primal lands have been hacked and paved beyond recognition, Pan’s dominion falters and his influence fades. Yet man’s vanity has limits, and in the rising storms and collapsing equilibrium of a transforming “modern” world, Pan asserts his power and reminds the world that the Great God Pan is indeed alive.