Autumn Magik
Charm and the Jack O Lantern
This beautiful photo curtesy of my Son Spencer
In honor of Samhain lets spend some time with a classic symbol of the season, the Jack O Lantern. Born from the Autumn fire festivals of Scotland and Wales where he was made from hollowed out turnips with a piece of glowing coal for light. Some traditions hold that these lanterns were designed to ward off evil spirits. Others hold that there was once a man so evil that even the Devil wanted nothing to do with him. Having no where to go after death, he wanders the earth by night with only the feeble light of a coal in a hollowed out turnip to light his way. In the context of small agricultural communities from which such “folk tales” emerged, being on good terms with neighbors was the best form of social security. Being reminded of the horrors of alienation from the living, as well as the dead, would have had a strong tonic effect at the onset of winter.
The light at Jack’s heart is kindled by fear of malevolence in death. We see fire and the fruit of the land. Hungry ghosts and happy children. A ripping yarn and a fun family friendly craft all rolled together. All of this speaks to the power of correspondences. How a few and humble material elements can be made to sing with emotion and significance.
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We come into contact with correspondences everyday and usually don’t think about their connection with magik. Most of the time we see these in the form of corporate logos. These are, properly speaking, sigils, visual icons that are supposed to carry a magik spell, often with the express purpose of doing so clandestinely. But their power is hidden in plain sight. There is a certain soft drink we all know, comes in a red can with distinctive white cursive lettering and a white “swoop” beneath. It rhymes with smoke. As soon as you knew what I was referring to, you probably saw the logo in your head, maybe heard a classic advertising slogan in your mind. If the spell worked properly, you probably thought of good times with family and friends. CocaCola is not only what is in the can, it is a whole series of ideas and feelings we have been literally enchanted into feeling with just a few words or the sight of a logo. Every other corporate logo works the same way. People not only prefer a particular smart phone, for example, they are the kind of person who uses it. If you are a Marlboro Man, you have been posessed by the spirit of that product, it becomes central to your identity.
Of course this technology is as old as language itself. Making one thing mean something else through association creates a correspondence between the symbol and what it represents. If you have ever had a good song ruined by a bad relationship, you have unwittingly created a correspondence. We are, to a very great extent, the product of correspondences. What do you think about the flag, the cross, the dollar sign. You probably didn’t just think country, church, money, you probably had an almost immediate up welling of feelings about these things. If you sat with these feelings long enough, you might be inclined to do something about them. This is how a magik spell works.
It is here that the related ideas of charm and enchantment become important. To enchant is literally to sing someone a song that places them under a spell. Song here is broad and could mean any artistic expression meant to exercise an occult influence over someone or something. Charm can be either the capacity to sing such a song or an object that carries the intention. Through the artful arrangement of material elements such as word, melody, symbol, or even natural objects and materials such as flowers, stones, metals. Etc., we awaken feelings in the target of the spell. And, as we said above, feelings are the root of action.
Where this process becomes even more interesting is in cases where the one who casts the spell is an other than human entity. For example, a particular kind of weather or fall of light might trigger memories of a wedding day or the day your Grandmother was buried. A smell might trigger a childhood memory so strongly that it can change your mood for good or ill. In such cases, even more than the an old song that reminds you of an old flame, the clouds, sun, the very molecules of an orange or moldy old books, conspire to enchant you. When an old feeling is powerfully awakened by such a spell you might buy your spouse a gift, call your mother, look up old friends, even finally enter therapy. We are moved by powerful emotions to act. When these emotions are triggered by an arrangement material elements that are not directly related to the memories and feelings they evoke, we are under an enchantment. When we say that a place, or a day, or a person is enchanting we admit that we are under a spell.
But does the weather on the day of your Grandmother’s funeral, the particular configuration of temperature, humidity, light, the smell of flowers and turned earth, constitute a spell simply because you remember her every time you are confronted with a particular set of sense impressions? Doesn’t the kind of artistic arrangement of elements that come together in a spell imply intention? By way of addressing this question, I will say: 1.) If you are any kind of animist, the idea of intention on the part of non-human agents isn’t a problem at all. 2.) If you are a hard core materialist/rationalist, the question of intention is probably mute because all behavior is, ultimately, the result of dumb chemical reactions whether that behavior is a thunder storm or a love song.
Places, seasons, moments in life are often said to posses a spirit. There are feelings and thoughts appropriate to the mountains, the desert, the sea shore, likewise for seasons. Deepening shadows and golden light, a crisp breeze and the smell of leaf rot, the sound of brittle grasses underfoot, these things are assemblages as much as sigils carved in a particular type of wood or a cloth bag filed with herbs and crystals. Both kinds of assemblage carry charm, a spell embodied in the symbolic meaning of material elements. The shapes and colors, the scents of autumn awaken in us an intuition of its meaning. In creating objects like cornucopia, wreaths and Jack O Lanterns, in the colors we decorate with and the foods we highlight, in our play and in our stories, we both imitate and amplify the spirit of the season.
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Pumpkins are, at least in the U.S., one of the most potent symbols of autumn. They are woven deeply into our food traditions and aesthetics of seasonal decoration. The fact that we almost never eat pumpkin at any other time of year can’t really be explained by seasonality since we eat many foods out of season. Even more than turkey, pumpkin is almost a ceremonial food, consumed as much for what it means as for any culinary or nutritional value it has. But this wasn’t always the case.
In earlier times pumpkins would have been more important. Before refrigeration or even good canning technology, pumpkins, along with other winter squashes, potatoes and yes, turnips, meant reliable nutrition through the coming winter. So why would people who had few and tenuous options for winter food storage waste food for something as seemingly frivolous as a Jack O Lantern? Sacrifice! From time immemorial, if you really wanted to get the attention of the spirit world, you offered something value. The value of a fairly shelf stable food item at the beginning of a season of scarcity and want demonstrates the seriousness with which people set about the business of scaring off the unwelcome spirits. A Jack O Lantern is, at bottom, a banishing charm.
Like the corn Dolly, the Jack O Lantern embodies the spirit of a season. They stand for what that seasons is about. Material elements become narrative, the story is their animating spirit. When our spirit meets theirs we aligns with the season. This is especially important to keep in mind during this season of magik. The way the natural world enchants us, has us dance to a seasonally appropriate tune, is a template for all of the enchantments we practice as magikal folk.