“In the beginning was the Logos, and the Logos was with God, and the Logos was God.” – John 1:1
“Through him all things were made; without him, nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it. ” – John 1: 3-5
In the beginning, the enigmatic Johannine Apostle tells us, was the Logos—which for the ancient Greeks pervades the cosmos as its most fundamental and essential nature. The Logos is the primeval order of the cosmos, its secret law, its pristine constitution, what keeps it from the dark abyss of chaos and disorder.
For most of the ancient cultures, the order of nature was its beauty. From the east where the sun took birth each day, to the west where the sun perishes each day, only to be born again; the order of the firmaments lighting up and darkening each day in the cycles of day and night; the order among the star-strewn skies, for even though they seem so random, a secret order whispers life into their shines. Under the aegis of the pole star, they dance their eternal dances in their own constellations, the undying witnesses to the mortal tides and times. The endless cycle of the seasons: the golden fields of summer, the colors of autumn, the mystery of winter, the hope of spring. The order of the rivers, rushing towards oceans, ascending to the clouds, and returning as rain to the grateful and nourishing earth; the plants springing from the earth, reaching toward the light of the sun, and bearing with delight their fruits. The cycle of mortal life: the children playing happily in the fields, the youths and the maidens dancing in delight, the ages observing them in content silence. The order of their coming and perishing in their own times, the order of the body nourished by food and water, breathing its last, returning to the elements, in hopeful repose of rebirth and rejuvenation. Order was the flourishing of the cosmos. Logos was the undying cycle—the eternal recurring of the same—the highest law of the cosmos. This was not beautiful, no. Logos was beauty itself, thus held the ancient Greeks, and what was in accord with the Logos was accordingly beautiful. This Logos was divine—for it was apauruṣeya, not of mortal origin—for it preceded and exceeded man.
The winter solstice is a time of celebration for many cultures, ancient and modern. This is the time when the sun reaches its south-most zenith and the day is the shortest of the year. Thus, the solstice is the time for the celebration of the return of the light and the rebirth of the sun. In the ancient Roman empire, this was celebrated at the Saturnalia, the Dies Natalis (birthday) of Sol Invictus (the unconquerable sun). The Christian celebration of the birth of Christ was solemnized in the winter solstice during the reign of the ancient Roman Emperior Constantine, an institution which continues to this day. In the ancient Vedic cultures, the conception of the cosmos contained too the awareness of the solstices. The three worlds, bhuloka, bhuvarloka, and suvarloka (in later Sanskrit, svargaloka), were the dwellings of mortals on earth, of the forefathers in the lunar realm, and of the gods in the solar realm respectively. The cycle of day and night for the mortals was the interplay of sunrise and sunset on earth. But the cycle of day and night for the forefathers was the interplay of the waxing and waning of the moon; thus, one day of the forefathers was equal to a fortnight on earth. And for the gods, it was the inter-solsticial period when the sun made its annual journey from north to south and vice versa. The period between the winter solstice and the summer solstice is called the uttarāyaṇa, the time when the gods are awake, while the rest is dakṣiṇāyaṇa, when the gods are asleep.
Consciousness of this cosmology remains extant in Shaktism in Bengal where the worship of the goddess Durgā coincides with the two equinoxes: the Bāsantī puja during the vernal equinox and the Durgā puja during the autumn equinox. In the light of this, the reason behind why the latter is called an ‘untimely awakening’ (akāl-bodhan) festival becomes abundantly clear: since the festival takes place during dakṣiṇāyaṇa (when the gods are asleep), the goddess has first to be awakened untimely and propitiated for protection until the commencing of uttarāyaṇa. In the extant Upaniṣads, one finds the belief that after death, there are two possible routes for the spirit: the devayāna or uttaramārga (the way of the gods) which leads to suvarloka, wherefrom there is no return, and the pitṛyāna or dakṣiṇamārga (the way of the forefathers) which leads to the bhuvarloka, where the spirits reside in pale fogs, mists, and clouds lit up by the moon, awaiting their return to the earth. This motif is a probable precursor to the idea of saṃsāra (the cycle of rebirths) so ubiquitous today among the Dharmic religions. Interestingly, in the ancient Vedic thought, the sun was considered to be the highest gate to the unseen realms of the suvarloka; one enters this realm by ‘piercing through the solar gate’ (sauryaṃ dvāraṃ bhitvā). On earth, this gate manifests through fire (Agni), be it the sacrificial fire or the cremation fire; what is given to Agni is delivered to the unseen realm even as fire consumes what is transient.
The winter solstice has been a time of hope and longing for light, be it the light of the sun or that of wisdom. For in every present moment, there is the futurity of the promise of the time yet to come. We are forever coming to be and in existing, time remains for us; the phenomenological experience of time is pure advent. Man—the human condition—emerges here as the ontological site of hope.
Light, one must note, stands here as a multicultural metaphor for life, for without the light of Helios, there is no life on earth. The sun blesses the bountiful earth with harvest which we consume for our sustenance. Our bodies, nourished by these, is regulated through circadian rhythms which follows the patterns of light in our environment. To be, for the ancient Greeks, was ‘to stand in the light of Helios’, for light was what brought the unmanifest to manifest existence; indeed, of those who die, the Greek epics describe as ‘having left the light’. And deep underneath this celebration of light, there abides in the hearts of men, the dream of a realm of undying light. This is the realm which announces itself from within the chasms of the dark, to those who are attentive enough to hear it. As the Johannine Apostle imagines it, this is the light that shines in the darkness, even as the darkness fails to understand this light: this is the light of hope. This dream is not exclusive to the Johannine Gospel; for it is ingrained in the very fabric and innermost ground of human existence. Throughout the Abrahamic religions, there is speak of us mortals as the ‘children of light’, even as in the Bible, the revelation of a kingdom is received wherefrom night has perished. In the ancient Vedic texts, prayers are intermittently offered to Agni, to reveal that imperishable realm of light, where dwells the Ṛgvedic Vishnu, famed for three wide strides, the first upon earth, the second upon the firmaments, and the third upon ‘the realm unseen‘ (tad vishnoḥ paramaṃ padaṃ). The Vedic bards offer prayers to Agni, ‘the immortal light among mortals’, whose hiding in the darkness is feared by the gods (RV 6.9); to Soma, he prays for immortality in the third heaven, ‘where the worlds are made of light‘, ‘where the inextinguishable light shines, the world where the sun was placed, in that immortal, unfading world‘ (RV 9.113). In sum, this time of the year has always been a most auspicious time, a time for hope for rebirth, for renewal and rejuvenation, for light and for life. The celebration during the winter solstice is one that hopes for everything that mankind has always held dear: health, long life and prosperity. This is the life-affirming and joyous celebration of human existence.
॥ উত্তরায়ণারম্ভ শুভায় ভবতু ॥