Iron John: An Appreciation

Chronicles published a retrospective review by Mark Judge of Iron John: A Book About Men by the late poet Robert Bly. The book came out thirty-five years ago. Bly was something of a kook, as poets often tend to be (especially the sort who get published these days, publishing being what it is). He got to writing about men after a long time writing about women.

In 1975, Bly organized a Great Mother Conference. Throughout the nine-day event, poetry, music, and dance were practiced to examine human consciousness. The conference has been held annually; since 2003 in Nobleboro, Maine. In the early years, one of its major themes was the goddess or "Great Mother", as she has been known throughout human history. Much of Bly's collection Sleepers Joining Hands (1973) is concerned with this theme. In the context of the Vietnam War, a focus on the divine feminine was seen as urgent and necessary. Since that time, the Conference has expanded its topics to consider a wide variety of poetic, mythological, and fairy tale traditions. In the 1980s and 1990s, there was much discussion among the conference community about the changes which contemporary men were going through, so "The New Father" was added to the Conference title.

Why would a man be the one to organize a "Great Mother Conference"? It was the thing to do in the '70s for New Age Men, I suppose. Anyway, he eventually got to thinking about how to apply the same sort of "mythopoetic" approach to the problems of men. It produced some genuine insight.

Iron John is described adequately at the link. Star Wars' success had made 'the Hero's Journey' a standard of literary education (even now almost every highschooler is required to learn about it). The Iron John myth is a Germanic variation of it that incorporated some elements Bly found helpful and instructive. The ones the review focuses on are the influence of the Wild and the need for masculine strength. This is where I want to add something that was missed:

At one conference Bly asked men to re-enact a scene from The Odyssey, in which Odysseus is told to lift his sword as he sails towards Circe, “the symbol of matriarchal energy.”

Journalist Tom Butler-Bowden described what happened next:

Peace-loving men were unable to carry out the lifting of the sword, so fixed were they on the idea of not hurting anyone. These were men who had come of age during the Vietnam War, and they wanted nothing to do with a manhood which, to feel its aliveness, required an enemy. Instead of the single-mindedness of the 1950s male, they had a receptivity to different viewpoints and agendas. The world is a much better place for these “soft males”—they are lovely human beings, Bly admits—but such harmony-minded men are also distinguished by their unhappiness, caused by passivity. Bly tried to teach these men that flashing a sword didn’t necessarily mean you were a warmonger, but that you could show “a joyful decisiveness.”

It's a little strange to describe Circe as "the symbol of matriarchal energy," but she does practice polypharmakos (she is, in other words, a sorceress as well as the daughter of a god). Hermes tells Odysseus he needs to show her the sword in order to begin the process of escaping her, and it works (combined with some other steps). 

This was an important insight of Bly's that the study of myth and poetry produced. It is even more clear in Iron John. When the king's son wants to free the Wild Man in order to go on his adventure of coming-of-age and transformation, his mother the Queen holds the key to the cage. She will not under any circumstances give him the key to let him free the Wild Man and become a man himself. 

Bly quotes the story's claim that the child steals the key from his mother, and then explains that the boy has to steal the key from his mother. It will never be given to him by permission. At some point, if he is to become a man, he has to learn to break her rules, defy her authority, and do what he has to do. Indeed he has to learn to break rules in general, to defy authority in general, and assert his own rights and legitimate power. He has to leave the safety and care Mother represents, against her will, and go to the Wild to face challenges and hardships.

Thirty-five years ago I was just the right age to encounter such a work at a useful period of time. I forget which teacher made us read it, or why; maybe just because it was a sensation at the time, maybe because it was about coming-of-age and we were all doing that. Perhaps the teacher hoped, as the Arts & Humanities crowd does, that boys could be usefully transformed with poetry and literature.

Indeed they were right. What I got out of it was that it was time to leave them behind for a while as well, defy my mother and her commitment to safety, and go out and have adventures. Obviously I eventually came back, as the Hero's Journey entails a return by the now-adult hero on his own terms. Just as we find in Aristotle, however, it isn't enough to know what is heroic; it isn't enough to lift a symbolic sword. The poem can only show you the way, as the good upbringing taught the youth stories of what courage and justice look like. To become courageous and just, you have to go and do the thing. You have to practice until it becomes habit, eventually second nature.

In learning to defy maternal authority to seek the truth of his own nature, the young man becomes a true man who is worthy of women. The adult women will need him to have his own seat of authority and power too, to not just be another boy they have to mother. They may at times value his ability to set limits, definitely upon himself, perhaps sometimes even upon them. 

So kooky or not, I have warm regards for the poet Robert Bly. It was a helpful book, with some real insights. I wonder now if today's youth could read it, not because it isn't still potentially helpful, but because of the severe degradation of attention-span brought on by smart phones and such. Perhaps that, too, is another key you have to steal if you want to make the journey.