Ogun: Recognising Our Own Terrifying Power
The stories of gods and spirits usually whirl around the vortex of power; who has it, who wants it and what they can do with it. The story of Ogun, however, is the story of a divine spirit whose power
Shooting out of the arboreal thicket of shelves in The Library Of Found Things is an unlikely story of a ‘deity’ rejecting the power bestowed upon them. That’s right, one of those sacred beings who are usually just walking egos actually tries to avoid power with all their might. This is the story of the great Ogun of the Yoruba Faith.
The Arrival Of The Orisha
The Orisha, the Yoruba Divine Spirits, climbed down to Earth on a golden chain. There were seven, at first. Obatala, the Orisha of Creation; Oya and Shango, the Orisha who governed the winds, lightning, thunder and death; Yemoja the Mother and Oshun the Orisha of love, fertility and water; then came the trickster Eshu before Ogun, the blacksmith and artisan, trailed them all.
The Orisha were impatient to find their place in this new world among the humans. They wanted to see and interact with them, to fulfil their destinies as Orisha to these simple creatures. They wondered what humans were like, if they were troublesome or childlike, squabbling or loving. Ogun reminded them that the Obatala, the Creator, had described them as delicate and, whatever they might do when they met them, the Orisha should keep that in mind.
Ogun felt uneasy as his feet touched the earth. There was a strange sensation that unsettled him, a kind of power that surged from the ground beneath him. None of the other Orisha felt it, they just stood and stared at the gargantuan wall of trees blocking their path.
They wanted to hack their way through the impenetrable thicket, to reach the humans as quickly as possible. After all, it was their destiny to associate with - and potentially rule - these delicate new creatures beyond the forest wall. So neither rocks nor their mystical bronze weapons made a dent in the forest. Even the thunder-wielders raised their hands to the heavens and brought lightning, hail and all manner of winds against the wall but still it resisted.
Ogun did not participate in the assault on the trees. Instead he stood quietly and felt the sensation move through his feet upwards into his arms and fingers, crackling with a strange potential. He suddenly wondered if the sensation was a warning, if the earth was telling him that he didn’t belong there. He asked the other Orisha to stop what they were doing. He asked them if this wall of trees might be for protection. The others scoffed and asked what Orisha could need protection from?
“Not protection for us but from us,” Ogun said.
Some laughed and others took offence but all stood silent when they saw Ogun stand up and begin to speak to somebody invisible. When they asked who it was who was whispering to him and no one else, he told them that it was Olorun, the ruler of the heavens. It whispered his name over and over, beckoning Ogun to follow. He walked towards the source of the whispering and suddenly the trees parted, accepted Ogun and closed behind him.
Ogun followed the voice to a cave where the voice of the Great Olorun was strongest but still disembodied. Olorun asked Ogun why he thinks he is here, why only he could hear the Ruler of Heaven’s voice.
“Because I don’t belong here,” said Ogun, “there is a feeling inside me like a coiled snake ready to lash out. I feel it in my toes and fingertips. There is a terrifying urge that I fear I cannot hold back.”
“That is because the Sky is different from the Earth, Ogun. The Earth is full of minerals, elements only you can manipulate into wonders.”
The canopy parted just enough to let a beam of light through. It shot down onto the mouth of the cave and it sparkled from within. Ogun asked what the sparkles were and Olorun told him that they were the elements, the materia of the earth awaiting him like an old friend.
Ogun stepped into the cave. With these new stars glimmering above him, Ogun smashed his fist into the wall and they crumbled to his feet. Not knowing but understanding what he was doing, Ogun picked up the rubble and walked deeper into the cave until the heart of the earth scorched his skin. He plunged the rubble into the heat and, when it emerged, he admired how it glowed. He hammered it, shaped and stretched it, until he was holding a beautiful blade of iron.
And it terrified him.
When he returned, the other Orisha were fascinated by this new tool. All except Shango, who was envious of it because it was stronger and more beautiful than his sword of bronze. Shango’s envy sizzled as Ogun took his iron sword and cut a clear path through the forest wall that had bested even the Lord of Thunder.
Ogun slashed and cut his way through, lost in a whirl of blade and branches, until Shango gripped his arm mid-swing. Beneath the iron sword, moments away from being cut in two, was a human cowering in the undergrowth. Ogun had nearly killed the delicate creature.
Soon the rest of the humans emerged from the forest, cheering and thanking the Orisha for saving them from their forest prison. Shango reminded Ogun that a power is only useful if it can be controlled. Feeling the heat of shame, Ogun nodded and stepped back from the thicket before he heard the humans calling his name.
“What is all this about?” He said.
“They are proclaiming you as their king,” said Oshun, “It was you who freed them from their prison, it is your artifice that cleared their way, will you accept the honour?”
But Ogun wanted nothing of the kind. He told them that he would not rule them, only help them however he could. Shango was enraged. In his jealousy, he insulted Ogun and the humans and told them that he would go away and find a kingdom of his own to rule if they did not want him. The other Orisha tried to placate him. All except Eshu, the trickster, who inflamed Shango more with mockery.
Overwhelmed by the terrible power coursing through his veins, Ogun ran away, back to the cave. Once inside, he held his head in his hands and rekindled the hot flame of the memory of almost killing an innocent human. He called out to Olorun but he was alone. Alone and dangerous in this world.
Instinct surged within him again and, to take his mind off his pain, he scraped more iron from the walls and thrust himself into the heat of his art. Before long, he fell to the ground exhausted and surrounded by all manner of iron tools.
“You have been busy,” said a voice from the dark recesses of the cave. It was Eshu, the trickster. “We need these tools up there, on the land, Ogun.”
“No, leave me.”
“Suit yourself but all of the other Orisha have scattered, leaving the humans vulnerable and unable to make any houses or fires with which to start their lives. Oshun will tell you.”
Ogun shouted at Eshu to leave him alone but there was only Oshun left in the cave. She apologised and turned to leave but Ogun told her she could stay. She wasn’t a trickster, an unraveller of threads, like Eshu. She stayed but her request was the same.
“Those humans are like children to me, Ogun. They need your help. They cannot build shelters, they just sit in the rain and suffer. Without your tools they will never reach their full and beautiful potential.”
Though he was terrified of his own power, he relented and brought them tools to cut trees for shelter and to plough the earth. They rejoiced and, seeing their burgeoning civilisation emerge like a light from the darkness, they once again asked Ogun to be their leader. He refused.
Instead, he taught the humans how to make his tools. He taught them and though they could only make simple, rudimentary imitations of his art, they took a huge leap towards their independence. Ogun watched them as a parent watches the first steps of their child and he smiled. Then he heard screaming.
A band of men stood silhouetted against the sky on the horizon. Their bronze weapons flashed in the sun and, in the centre of their line, stood Shango the Lord of Thunder. They began to wave their weapons and bang their drums, warning the nearby humans of their doom. Ogun trembled with fear, Oshun’s desperate pleading with him to give the humans weapons were drowned out by the thundering knowledge that he had no other choice. They would be slaughtered without weapons and yet this was Ogun’s biggest fear of all.
When he saw Shango’s band of warriors running towards the humans by his side he relented and gave them iron weapons, heavy and sharp. The fighting lasted a lifetime. Shango’s warriors lay butchered beside their broken bronze. Ogun’s humans stood victorious, Shango escaped in shame and Eshu, the trickster, smiled at the carnage wrought by Ogun’s art.
Leaders & Power
The Yoruba faith emerged out of present day Nigeria, Benin and Togo and it has, without doubt, one of the most fascinating collections of sacred stories in the world today. As a ‘Westerner’ and an earnest idiot, I can’t begin to tease out the original intended meaning of Ogun’s story. I’d never try. What I understand however, with an uninitiated eye, is that Ogun had an admirably healthy trepidation towards power. A novelty in 2024 when power is grasped with two hands reaching from the dull grey cotton of “Quiet Luxury” or wrapped in a flag.
It was the great Nigerian poet Odia Ofeimun who said that Ogun was a great civiliser through art and technology as well as being a great warrior. It might be that the role of a warrior as a leader was more necessary in yesteryear than today but this definition of a leader is still pertinent into the 21st century. When discussing the near-legendary writer and thinker Wole Soyinka, who regards Ogun as his ‘Companion Deity’, Ofeiman said this:
“For Soyinka, Ogun had become a twentieth century deity, who superintended not only over iron foundries that gave rise to modern civilisation but other scientific pursuits, beyond Metallurgy, in electricity, electronics and related fields. In his metaphysics, Ogun is represented as the modal archetype; not a god of either/or but a force capable of either good or evil through whose feats civilisations may be explored, established or dissolved”.
If ever there were a better description of a leader then I’m not sure I’ve seen it. The notion of being a superintendent of the past (tradition, history, cultural memory) while also using the peak of technology to forge a path through to the future is vital to the role of a leader. The speed at which the world moves today necessitates a leader who can do both. A leader who doesn’t just talk about an idealised past or an unknown future but who understands that these are the two worlds upon which they stand. Leaders who are ignorant (willingly or not) of the technological realities of this world are as unfit for purpose as those who would lead just for the satisfaction of their own egos.
Ogun, who was fully aware of the bliss of heaven and the dangers of earth and all the technological progress that lay before him, is a fitting symbol of what a leader should be in our time, I think.
Forged Words
Ogun is the god of blacksmiths and artisans and, in the story recounted above, he seems to have taken just as much care over the use of the word Leader as he did of his iron blades.
The great fantasist Harlan Ellison once said that the worst way to become rich is to be a writer. There are so many more direct ways to fame and fortune than slogging away at a keyboard in the hopes that somebody, someday will throw you a few shekels for making them laugh or cry. So, why do they do it?
Well, all writers are convinced that their words have power, that they’re important somehow. They really wouldn’t do what they do otherwise. Naturally, despite considering myself a neophyte about everything - and a total idiot at many things - I can’t help but count myself amongst them. But the thing is, we’re right. Words are powerful but not just our words, everybody’s words.
(Here me out, I’m going to try to keep the sappy violins to a minimum.)
We have an ability to communicate that has never been imagined in the entirety of human history. Facetiming with family across the world, condensing hatred into 260 characters (or whatever ‘X’ gives you these days), and providing your loved one with comedy nudes over supposedly-secure ‘end-to-end encrypted’ channels controlled by the largest vendor of personal data in the world. (Alright, I can’t back that last part up with facts but it freaks me out anyway.) The point is, we can and do use words in an incredible manner and in copious amounts but we tend to be flippant about what words are actually worth.
We call people snowflakes or boomers if they get upset at our words, while at the same time vociferously (and rightly, in my opinion) decrying the use of hate speech and verbal bullying. It’s as if we particularly enjoy our cognitive dissonance and have no desire to remedy it for our own mental health or the progression of humanity as a whole.
I think, maybe, we could take a leaf out of Ogun’s book. You might not spend hours crafting a sentence like a beleaguered writer but you do craft them. Each and every sentence you utter, type or twit has been crafted with more or less attention you give to cleaning out your cat litter. This craft deserves at least a modicum of self-reflection before sending those powerful little sentences out to the world, don’t you think?
Oh and I’m not just talking about hate speech or political rants either. I’m talking about that moment where your partner makes you a cup of tea and, instead of thanking them, you make them feel like they’ve fucked up because you can’t taste the sugar. It’s the passing nicety you drop on the conveyor belt at the supermarket that might just stick in the cashier’s mind as the only good thing that happened to them that week. It sounds like a Hallmark greeting card filler but if we rephrase it as ‘Crafted speech under the gaze of Ogun’ then it suddenly becomes something worth doing, worth thinking about.
Mythology is a lot like that. The lessons in it aren’t lessons entirely alien to us, they’re familiar reminders of how we should act, that’s part of their appeal and why we repeat them for millennia.
I suppose that’s what Pop Mythology is all about too. Maybe I should try and make a deal with Hallmark in the hopes of finally getting some shekels.