Ancient Gods and Mental Maladies
I recently returned from a trip to London and Paris with my son. Part of the trip was spent visiting masterpieces, something I pointed him towards since he was a young child. He preferred to sleep on the floor of the galleries rather than look at the contents of the walls back then. This year, he really embraced the splendour of the British Museum, the Tate Britain, the Louvre, the Musee D’Orsay, and the Palace of Versailles —but not in one day.
Rather than wandering around and looking at the historical marvels on my own, engaging in internal dialogue, I attempted to share my very limited knowledge with him, wisdom I had acquired from many who had far more expertise than I did.
As I shared that wisdom, stolen from podcasts and blogs and anywhere else Google would send me when searching for subject material, I noticed that I now applied a lens to the knowledge returned to me in my searches. A more discerning view borne by years of experience of being a psychiatrist, and above all else, a woman. I was especially reflective on my 56th birthday, spent at King Louis’ and Napoleon’s abode, the Palace of Versailles in Paris.
A podcast deep dive had me so gripped when I learnt about the controversy and ongoing battle about who owned the Parthenon Marbles, also called the Elgin Marbles when referring specifically to those located in the British Museum. I listened avidly to episodes of “Stuff the British Stole” as I walked along Southampton Row in the British summer sunshine towards the British Museum. I began to immerse myself in established discourses about the lives of the ancient Gods and leaders, their often silent and discarded muses and their probably dysfunctional families. Upon my return I decided to start my line of questioning and place my thoughts somewhere rather than rely on the views of others.
Hence this return to blogging, and an intention to continue to write, because from writing comes more writing, and when I am writing I am my happiest.
Back to the Palace of Versailles, because on my journey it was the most confronting place I visited, and the one which inspired the most to reflect about and to ruminate on. It was the only place where we invested in a tour guide, which was probably a very worthwhile investment. My “Lonely Planet” 2024 edition served us so well at the rest. We moved with the masses and observed not only the masterpieces but the walls, ceilings and rooms that said so much about opulence and class divide, but also how men and women were treated so differently.
I listened intently to the descriptions of the different Kings as if they were a psychiatric case presentation. Men who were grandiose, believed they were Gods and therefore worthy of worship, spent recklessly and were promiscuous. Men who would satisfy the DSM-V criteria for Bipolar Disorder. Men who were aware that their indiscriminate and wanton behaviours could lead to contracting syphilis, not that they were aware of the cause, but would send them on a pursuit to find lovers younger and purer than them, and the mistresses before them. Their wives would bear children and then be discarded to other rooms in the Palace, not even allowed to throw parties amongst the grandiosity. Women who history has attributed to leading the men towards decisions and victories that would shape society and tradition, but would not be credited for it. I found it hard to look past this when it was displayed in massive paintings, in intricate embroidery, and within the layout and floor plan of the Palace; King this side surrounded by extravagance, and the wife way somewhere else.
I’ve since arrived home and have devoured present day adaptations of history, keen to learn more about what we think about our ancient predecessors. I watched Ridley Scott’s adaptation of Napoleon and further strengthened my conviction that men and women have been treated very differently for probably forever. I also took a deep dive into Napoleon’s personality structure, as a viewer of one portrayal of his life. I observed yet again the grandiosity precariously scaffolded to deep fragile insecurity. I concluded that Napoleon was a man who adored his wife as an object and could not tolerate her independence and self-assuredness.
I’ve now embarked on Netflix’s new series, Kaos and it seems very timely to continue my exploration of what these characters represent to me, and become intrigued with why and how they behave the way they do. Away from the lens of gender but more of self; mortals and Gods shaped by generations before them, who go on to shape future generations in ways they probably didn’t expect. I’ve set a goal to develop my own voice, no more or no less important than those I hear on podcasts or listen to on guided tours.
It is therefore fitting that in Episode 1 of Kaos, I was more intrigued by Cassandra than I was of Zeus. I also can’t wait to take a deep dive into the world of Hera, with time. But Cassandra, gee do I resonate with her.
Cassandra is played by Billy Piper, and her identity is only suggested at in the first episode with the presence of a vertical tattoo on her nose, indicating her lineage. She delivers her first prophecy while stealing cat food, and wearing thickly smudged eye make up that has bled down her face. Cassandra who has the gift of being able to see the future, but has the curse that nobody listens. She is compelled to this bind because of her refusal to give in to a man’s desires. She is therefore not revered for her talents, which I’d imagine would be pretty splendid in times of uncertainty and doubt. How much the world wants Truth Sayers and how much are we keen to dispute and disregard them!
I can’t help but relate to Cassandra as a 56 year old woman, a mum of a teenage son and a person in society who feels at times invisible and not listened to. I believe at times I do have the ability to predict the future, shaped by the patterns of the past. I think of countless times that I’ve been disputed and dismissed. On many occasions I find myself believing that. I stop writing, believing it’s best to stay silent and invisible. And then I find myself propelled by experiences and find the flow again.
This project is therefore borne with this one blog post, one I plan to continue to add to as I watch more episodes of Kaos, let that take me down rabbit holes and into crevices of history and it’s consequences, and examine my insights borne from my own professional and personal experiences, that matter to me because they are my own. Being inspired by recent travels and the wisdom and experiences of others will hopefully help me find my love of writing again.
Dr Helen Schultz is based in Melbourne, Australia. She is a consultant psychiatrist and professional writer, has been deeply afflicted by the travel bug, with a recent relapse, keen to recover from writers block and find her happiness again.
