Feast of the Gods: Outrage and Parody…

“Our idea was inclusion… Naturally when we want to include everyone and not exclude anyone questions are raised… We wanted to talk about diversity. Diversity means being together. We wanted to include everybody… In France, we have artistic freedom. We are lucky in France to live in a free country.”  – Paris 2024 artistic director Thomas Jolly (extract from The Independent).

The Paris Olympic Games 2024 opened this week, with a ceremony at times equally bizarre and uniquely French. Full confession, I only watched the first part and missed the offending segment that has raised considerable ire from the conservative Christian community internationally. Evidently, Christians have been greatly offended by the apparent parodying of a famous scene of the Last Supper, especially referencing the renaissance artist Leonardo Da Vinci’s painting of the same title (1495-98).

On the face of it, one might look at the image of a still from the ceremony and see a likeness with one of the world’s most well known paintings, which has had its composition borrowed to promote or showcase many things in the past — including a photograph by John Reardon entitled Chef’s Last Supper (2003), French fashion house Marithé and François Gribaud’s 2005 poster that was banned in Milan, and Irish bookie Paddy Power whose 2005 advertising campaign image was subsequently withdrawn after widespread outrage. Some of the images shown here are for unbiased reference as it is important to recall what has been done without edit or censor, lest we seek to paint history as we would like it to have been and ignore the reality. Therefore, no offence is intended by the reproduction. However, I also advocate for a belief system that is robust enough to be able to accept its foibles, and not take itself too seriously. It is the very same reason that crowds bellow “freedom of speech”, claiming their god-given right, regardless of what offence may be caused in the saying.

Recall, if you will, a tragic shooting in Paris that occurred on the evening of January 7th 2015 in which 12 people were killed at the offices of the French satirical newspaper Charlie Hebdo. This attack followed the revealing of a front page for the journal depicting a cartoon of Islamic prophet Muhammed. Islam has long forbidden the reproduction of images intended to depict its prophet and intolerant sentiment resulted in the tragic deaths of twelve people. Social media lit up as the international community mourned the awful incident, defending freedoms of both speech and press, arguably well represented in Paris as a bastion of “Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité” — note that the French gifted the Statue of Liberty to the USA, influenced by Roman goddess Libertas who wore a sun crown radiating in the same manner as the central character in the Paris Olympic tableaux! We all posted the slogan je suis Charlie and reflected in solidarity with the victims. Such a moment provokes a ubiquitous understanding and acknowledgement that satire and parody are necessary facets of our universal language in order to bring to light the darker aspects of our collective psyche, and hold bad players to account. Our most popular television shows are informed by this and we enjoy nothing more than comedy as a means to develop our understanding of current events. Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, John Oliver, Charlie Brooker, Ian Hislop, Armando Iannucci… If we cannot tolerate parody, particularly when it concerns that which we hold sacred, then how tenuous is that sacrality, how formidable our views when challenged? Are we offended because our beliefs are so feebly held that any spotlight cannot be tolerated unless it is favourable? Must we pass everything through a censor, and who should appoint this watchdog or, indeed, watch the watchmen?

Returning to the theme of the Olympics, the Hellenic culture blessed us with the foundations of art as we know it, embodying a complex, subtle and remarkable body of expression from the imaginal, the fantastic, the mythic, and the moral that are shown through beauty and ugliness. Nothing better describes this than the theatrical genre of Comedy and Tragedy. Importantly, in Athens, tragedies were performed between late March and early April, and included a tetralogy: three tragedies and a satyr play, which would develop complex comedic narrative before the genre of comedy itself competed over two days. These were, unsurprisingly, performed at the Dionysian Festival to honour the dying and resurrecting saviour deity Dionysus, who appeared at the offending tableaux of the Paris Olympics opening ceremony.

Comedies, by contrast, balance and ground the themes of the plays and competition ensured that the writers were inspired to be inventive and humorous, while allowing the audience room to interpret, reflect and apply the lessons. Of course, satire, parody, word play, exaggerated and lewd behaviour were all available to the writer and performer whilst public figures, religion and mythology were subjects that were open to the comedic art. Indeed, it has long been a useful mechanism to ground us — a great leveller that reduces all and renders us equal in the lampooning of the satirist — whilst rooting morality in the dramatic performances and bringing us back to ourselves. Laughter serves to remind us that life is fleeting, simple truths are too hard to avoid, and therefore a cheerful disposition ensures the best passage as we move from life towards inevitable death. Presiding over ecstatic, joyous revelry, Dionysus advises us to not take too seriously those things that tie us in knots, cause us to become rigid and intolerant, bringing misery only (ultimately) to ourselves — maybe even an early grave following a life of anger and ill-temper.

After considering the comments and quotes that the Paris Olympics has ignited in people, there is mainly anpparent anger at a perceived sleight. Amongst the pagan community, and those versed in Greek myth and the foundations of modern culture, there appears to be an evident disconnect in the Christian ire and the reality of the performance of the opening ceremony as described by its Artistic Director, the delightfully name Jolly. It should, for example, not need to be stated that the Olympics began in ancient Greece. The Olympic Games in antiquity were part of the Panhellenic Games, which constituted four religious festivals held in sacred sites to honour different Greek gods, and which were marked by athletic competition. The games at Olympus honoured Zeus, and competitors could attend from all parts of the Greek world, including its colonies. Each of the Games took place at the sanctuaries of the specific God and were engaged over a four year period — hence the time separating the modern Olympic events. Obviously, the Olympic festival was the first and paramount, being held at Olympia, the sanctuary of Zeus. Importantly, the Olympic Games formed part of the Olympic religious festival, later adopted into modern times. Upon reflection, it seems fitting that the Paris Olympics might honour this ancient foundation by referencing something Hellenic in its ceremony, while using some traditional Greek forms of celebration, including Dionysian parody and satyr. Arguably, the intention was not satire — as Jolly has indicated — and every suggestion is that it was an interpretation of a Greek tradition using modern inclusivity and diversity as its central premise. But so what if it was parody? Can we collectively take a beat and allow perspective to measure our response before leaping to intolerance over something supposed to represent inclusivity? What message do we think that sends to a besieged LGBTQ+ community and individuals struggling with acceptance?

When I began writing this, I had fully intended to move from the pearl-clutching that some Christians have engaged in over the weekend following the opening ceremony at Paris to talk more about the origins of Christianity. In brief, this would have included reference to the fact that Christianity didn’t emerge in a vacuum, but was, in its formative centuries, a wide collection of disparate groups with often wildly different ideas and ways of marking their self-identity as followers of Christ. Some believed in reincarnation and were decidedly Buddhist, some were labelled heretics by later Bishops who were seeking to form a doctrine and edifice that would become the Catholic church. Of course, some of these became called the Gnostics, but many were also Neoplatonists and engaged in the Greek mysteries. Amongst these mystery traditions were the popular ritual mythologies held at Eleusis where initiates imbibed the sacred drink, kykeon, which may or may not have been laced with poppy, this being the principle emblem of the goddess Proserpine. It would seem unlikely that some early Christians weren’t also initiates and hadn’t partaken of this important religious ceremony whereby the central rite involves the consuming of a sacred beverage representing the deity who is resurrected from Hades. Not all early Christians used the Eucharist, but those who did might have been imitating the Eleusinian mysteries, as author Brian Muraresku has discussed. Then there are the Orphic mysteries and the dying/resurrecting god Dionysus himself, who has long been a contender for influencing the myths of Christ — concluding in the episode where celebrants consume his flesh and drink his salvific wine joyously — he is, after all, the god of grape. As philosopher Bertrand Russell noted:

The Orphics were an ascetic sect; wine, to them, was only a symbol, as, later, in the Christian sacrament. The intoxication that they sought was that of “enthusiasm,” of union with the god. They believed themselves, in this way, to acquire mystic knowledge not obtainable by ordinary means. This mystical element entered into Greek philosophy with Pythagoras, who was a reformer of Orphism as Orpheus was a reformer of the religion of Dionysus. From Pythagoras Orphic elements entered into the philosophy of Plato, and from Plato into most later philosophy that was in any degree religious. [1]

So, this article was born from the intention of exploring how Christianity emerged as a reinterpreting of religious and mystical traditions that had preceded it, through a broad syncretism as it spread across the Roman world. However, it feels more relevant and immediate to highlight the importance of releasing the grip on our pearls and being open and tolerant enough to allow others their freedom of expression — a celebration of diversity and inclusivity. This, after all, is the underlying message I believe that the artists behind the opening ceremony of the Paris Olympics were attempting to convey. Paris has always attempted to be avant garde (we don’t even have an equivalent phrase in English) and challenge us to understand what liberty means. Of course, we should guard our words and expressions so that we don’t inadvertently or deliberately cause offence. But we should also be curious enough to engage and be open to possibilities beyond a rigidly held idea. The harder we clutch tightly to the pearls, the more we are going to find they slip through our fingers. We appear to have lost the ability to listen and be available to adapt to emerging information and situation — to admit when we are wrong and change.

The opening ceremony of the Paris Olympics might have been a parody of the Last Supper. It might equally have not been — it is decidedly a modern interpretation of a Greek Olympian tradition and celebration of its Dionysian nature, replete with mythic figures and gods. It looks more like a depiction of a Bacchanal and modern pagans responded well to this. None of this addresses the elephant in the room: the outrage likely is generated more at the expense of the resplendent and glorious expression of drag and the LGBTQ+ community that were also represented in the tableaux, which is all subsumed under the heading of religious offence. Je suis Dionysus!