Many of the earliest forms of written literature that exist are religious texts, and most of us at some point in our schooling will study at least one type of ancient mythology, be it Greco-Roman, Egyptian, or Norse. I happened to be fascinated with all three at the age of ten. More than once in these stories do you run into a human mortal being raised to the status of a god. There is a name for this phenomenon, and it's called apotheosis.
What is Apotheosis?
Apotheosis is when an individual is elevated to a godlike status, and Merriam-Webster defines it as “the perfect form or example of something.”
In theory, gods are determined to be the most perfect form of existence imaginable. Anyone who has read any Greek mythology can acknowledge that this is debatable, because the deities of Mount Olympus were just as morally flawed as the next person, but the general understanding of apotheosis remains.
Examples of Apotheosis
Apotheosis can take the form of a literal deification, or it can be an abstract or metaphorical deification. For example, Hercules in the Disney version of the story spends the whole movie trying to regain his status as a literal god.
On the other side of that coin, the ancient Egyptian god Imhotep actually was a historical figure who served in the court of the pharaoh Djoser, and due to his historical reputation as a healer and wise man, became a god of wisdom and medicine about two thousand years later. Imhotep, while also falling under the blanket of literal apotheosis, is also an example of an abstract apotheosis: his reputation over time evolved to a point where he embodied wisdom and healing itself, and was deified as the manifestation of those abstractions.
How Writers Can Use Apotheosis
Apotheosis can be used as a character development tool to determine the qualities of a character.
Maybe the hero of the story has their core character traits defined by their persistence in acting as the personification of hope or love or humility.
Many villains get their start as embodying evil, and in many cases become the highest form of evil, which is the pinnacle of apotheosis.
Although your protagonist may not literally ascend to a higher plane, there is still the potential for them to undergo a metaphorical apotheosis by becoming the quintessential example of that particular abstraction.
Can you think of an example of apotheosis not mentioned here? Share in the comments!
PRACTICE
Choose an abstract idea or concrete element and create a character who undergoes apotheosis for that idea or element. Write for fifteen minutes either about the moment of apotheosis, or establishing what exactly it is about that character that determines that they will undergo that apotheosis. Post your final product in the comments. Don't forget to check out the work of your fellow writers!
I love your bio and would like your help with a sentence with punctuation problems which I read in a major newspaper, Liz.
Punctuation: Can you fix this sentence’s punctuation?? “This law is related to two other well-known concepts: Supply and demand; and the fact that fear of loss is a much more powerful motivator than desire for gain.” Several writer friends have sent me their suggestions.”
Clark Kent is a credible apotheosis. In Dune, Frank Herbert showed how a mortal, although not mere, was elevated to a God.
I found your post thought-provoking. After reading it, I think the part of apotheosis that would interest me most is when it starts to show cracks. I mean, because this is by definition the extreme form or the distillation of a quality or type, seems like it could not last very long, or else you’d have a static character. So the dynamic parts can only be the “becoming” and the “coming out of” apotheosis. Do you see apotheosis as an end point or a middle point?
I think of my characters undergoing metamorphosis more than anything. I like to see the growth, the break-down, the epiphany, a build-up, and some sort of glorious reveal. Or not even glorious, I toy with an MC falling from grace and the torch being carried by someone else. Sometimes, a supporting character has to push the MC torward their destiny–because that’s life! And I love it!
Not sure if this is it, but I gave it ago…
It is said that angry winds whistled through the open turret, and clouds gathered in a blanket of grey hiding the midday sun, the day Samhara begged the court to hear her word. And that naysayers flanked the flagstone square tossing spit and snarls and hisses.
They say that Samhara gathered her worsted cloak close to her withering frame, lifted her small crimson blotched face toward the Highest One and waited. She did not flinch.
For years she had tended the poor, brought scraps of food and stew to the old and dying. She had gathered sticks from the edge of the dark pine forests and built fires for the cold and un-housed out-workers. Samhara’s curse, painted crimson across her face and neck from birth, was thought to beget the work of the Under One.
Her mother’s death, only two days after her arrival had confirmed the Negot suspicion. At less than a week old Samhara was outcast and left at the Telling Tree to be drunk by the black tongue of night.
The Three skirted the edge of the pines, arrested her in darkness and carried her to their deep cave, buried beneath the undergrowth, far from the Negot village. They had fed her milk of goat and bathed her body in herbal liniment and the sap of Mothers Curse. The Three could see; the image printed on the infant skin a long lost sacred vow.
Her rejection would mean the loss of a warm and compassionate millennium. Ney even more, The Three declared. Their destiny thenceforth invested in her protection.
As Samhara grew and learned the song of forest, the drum of earth and the call of stars she became increasingly restless. At night she would leave The Three and travel through the Outer-burbs. And through the dark and sprawling lanes and alleys where the un-housed clung to life and hope and little light fell, Samhara worked and cared and came to spread her word.
The Negot High Ones had never seen her. She had stayed hidden, working under the cover of indigo sheet and moon shield, with the blessing of the stars.
Yet, it is said that on this day, in the wintered daylight of a darkening land, Samhara stood still and revealed.
“I beg you to hear the word,” she did speak in slow and lilted syllables. “It is only one word, that I will give to you, and then I will leave. You will never hear of nor see me again. As is your wish.”
The Negot crowd, cloaked in blacks and browns, hissed.
“What so is this one word?” The Highest One asked as she came to standing.
It is said that the wind sucked its breath and that clouds lifted their skirts.
“T’is what I am,” Samhara said and cast her eyes to the ground.
“Speak now then this one word and take your leave.” The Highest One returned to her carved, oversized seat.
Now they say there was such a strange silence, that hisses fell upon the compound floor, and rattly lung-coughs surrendered last gasps of threats, and that some folk simply fell to their knees, and then there was…
“Love.” Samhara smiled, looked up to the sky, and was gone.
So to this day, in the depth of winter, midway of dark and light, the un-housed sing the Samhara Song. They serve Samhara Soup and bathe the withering, weakened Negots, with the crimson flower and sap of Mothers Curse.
Loved it!
What impresses me so much about the practices you post here is your ability to create a whole world within a few paragraphs and make it feel complete and believable. I loved the sinister fantasy influences in this, and would definitely read a longer piece set in this world. Fantastic job 🙂
Well said. A “hear hear” to that!
Dawn, one aspect of your writing which speaks volumes to your talent is how you can imbue your work with such rich images throughout. At times, I find myself thinking, “No, she can’t fit in another creative combination of words to paint a picture so soon after her last one; that would be too much,” but it rarely, if ever is. (… if that makes sense what I mean).
Thanks for another captivating tale and literary lesson.
The herald stood before her in that dream, dressed in radiant gold armor, telling her that a revolution was coming and a war in heaven would boil over onto the earth. The Lowmen slaves of her house believed her dream was a sign from the gods, and spread the word amongst themselves. Her father, a minor Highmen lord, and the other Highmen dismissed it as just a dream. It all came to pass when the Old God of the Highmen crashed from the heavens into the capital city, turning it and all of its surrounding lands into a smoking sea. This event sent the Highmen Empire downward spiral, as the remaining Highmen would all vie for the remaining power of the empire.
The histories say that one day while bathing in a river, near her family’s holdings, she saw a shining deer. She chased the deer through the wood until it lead her to a clearing where it changed to a vision of a woman in golden armor. It was the herald from her dream. The golden herald called down four other beings from the heavens, who were known as the Holy Immortals, by the Lowmen people. She was told that Greya was the Holy Immortal of protection and that it would be her job to protect the believers of their chosen city. They gave her a shield and a spear with a shaft of gold to complete her tasking.
When she arrived at city, she found that all of the Highmen lords that tried to control the city were killed and was now being ran by minor Highmen and the Lowmen peasants and former slaves. She revealed to them, the vision that she saw in the woods, showed them the spear and shield, and told them of her mission from the Holy Immortals. She promised them that if they followed her that they will not fear oppression but rule in the name of the Holy Immortals.
She gathered fighting men and women and prepared cities defenses resulting in them successfully holding the city during five sieges. When the Highmen consolidated their forces and goaded Greya to bring her army outside the city walls to come out and fight a righteous battle, she disregarded the lack of faith of her generals and answered their call. The Lowmen army fought fervently killing Highman after Highman and slave warrior after slave warrior, well on into the night.
When the sun came up, her army formed up for their victory march back into the walls of the city, until they noticed that their leader was missing. They looked out onto the battlefield and hundreds of Highmen lords bodies lay dead amongst the thousands of their Lowmen slave warriors. One of her generals caught the glint of the golden shaft of her spear, her pinion thumping in the wind below the spearpoint. They quickly discovered that her body was dead, but they knew her spirit would live on.
They carried her body back to the holy city where her body was laid to rest in the Grand Temple. Most of her zealous men formed a holy order in her name now make that temple their home and headquarters. The Greyan Order of Protectors watch over every holy site now and stand ready to defend the faith from any threat near or far. Although Greya was mortal, her spirit lives on in constellations as one of the Knights of Virtue.
This sounds like it could be a myth from some ancient culture. Loved the in-depth structuring of the religion in this world and the magical touches you gave it. I could actually see it as a prologue to a longer story about the order of knights Greya left behind. Whether or not you pursue this, I loved reading it 🙂
Just want to introduce folks to Wendy Wunder’s The Museum of Intangible Things, in which Zoe becomes godlike in the way she teaches others to live life more fully … Can’t say more without spoilers. But pick up that book! It’s a great read and Zoe is a great character.
This is a different style of writing for me, more flowery than usual. All the same, I think it turned out all right. As always, reviews are much appreciated!
She was known through the land as the Desert Storm. Someone who was not acquainted with her reputation might guess she was called that for her hard beauty. And it was true, her blond hair and tanned, weathered skin were perfect camouflage in the rolling dunes south of Aliya. She might have been a child of the wind and skittering sand, but because she was fiercer than their combined powers. For most who met the Desert Storm, her twin swords slicing through the raging heat waves were the last thing they ever saw.
Legends spread faster than a sprinting hare about this woman who harnessed the fury of the elements as easily as one would a horse. She was said to arrive in a billowing cloud of dust, leading her army on a chestnut mare. This horse had no bridle and no reins. It moved where she willed seemingly by an unseen connection, leaving her hands free to draw her swords from her back. There would be no pause before the attack began, no chance for the victims to surrender peacefully. Screaming like a hawk, she swept through each village, blades blazing in the sun. She fought with the strength and skill of ten soldiers, was more bloodthirsty than the most vengeful of gods. She cut down anyone she could see, man, woman or child, without a thought. Killing came as easily to her as breathing. She was powerful and pitiless – a force of nature.
After she and her army had murdered and pillaged, slashed and burned, they rode away again without a trace. Few knew her history, her heart, or even her name.
She was the eldest daughter of the House of Amoretti, once a noblewoman in the kingdom of Aliya. She was the wife of Ganeska, destroyer of the northern lands. Her name was Cayn – and she was the Desert Storm.
I would definitely read this book! Great stuff!