While the figure of the Quinotaur (for the time being) remained somewhat
elusive at best, evidence of similar sea gods seems suggestive of a Merovingian connection. The most compelling in this regard is Dagon. The very name is suggestive of dragon, a creature much associated with the Merovingians. It is also highly suggestive of Dago-bert, one of the most legendary of the Merovingian rulers. And the Dagon/Dragon/Dagobert association becomes even further compounded by the fact that King Dagobert was recorded by some chroniclers as being called King Dragobert.
In reference to Dagon, Dragons and the sea, Albert Pike tells us:
“The Dragon was a well-known symbol of the waters, and of great rivers; and it was natural that… the powerful nations of the alluvial plains… who adored the dragon or the fish, should themselves be symbolized under the form of dragons.”
“Ophioneous, in the old Greek mythology, warred against Kronos… and was cast into his proper element, the sea. There he is installed as the Sea God … Dagon, the Leviathan of the watery half of creation.”
In ancient reliefs, Dagon is depicted as a man dressed as a fish. He looks stern, somber, and has the authoritative bearing of a priest or king. He wears a massive fish head as a hat, and the fish’s scaly hide hangs down his back. The shape of the fish head and the contours of its mouth, pointed skyward, are suggestive of the mitre worn by the Pope and other officials of the Catholic church; and indeed, some maintain that the genesis of such regalia may date back to this time. So, likewise, may the fish imagery affiliated with orthodox Christianity. The fish symbol associated with Christ comes from the Greek “Ichtus,” meaning “fish.” This word, in turn, is formed of the first letters of each word from the Greek phrase “Jesus Christ, God—Son— Savior.” According to legend, Dagon was a god who came from out of the sea to teach mankind the secrets of civilization, such as science, agriculture, and the arts (sound familiar?) Yet again (and in an altogether different context), we encounter the recurring tale of the being who comes from another realm to teach humanity evolutionary wisdom.
In another version of the same tale, Dagon is called Annedotus. He too emerges from the sea to disperse great secrets to mankind. But there is an
important variation to the story: Annedotus begets a race who become the teachers of mankind, the Annedoti. Note the similarity to the names that appear in a Semitic Sumerian myth very much of the same ilk. In this telling, the god Anu comes to Earth, bringing knowledge, and sires a race called the Annunaki; except, according to Zecharia Sitchin, Anu was from outer space, and his descendants, the Annunaki, were half-human, half-alien. Sitchin’s interpretation notwithstanding, this seems to be yet another recapitulation of the same myths, varying only in detail. Our hypothesis, in this regard, seems to be borne out by the assertions of some Sumeriologists who say that “Annunaki” is simply a term meaning “Lords of the Deep Waters.” Annunaki is also obviously a variation of the previously discussed “Anakim.” Therefore, if the Annunaki are descendants of Anu, and Anakim are the descendants of Enoch, Anu is undoubtedly a Mesopotamian variation of the same historical figure.
Oannes The Fish God/Man
Another sea god associated with both Dagon and Annedotus was Oannes, a deity part-man, part-fish, who appeared “from that part of the Erythrean sea which borders on Babylon.” He too imparted great knowledge to the ancients, and gave them:
“…insight into the letters and sciences and arts of every kind. He taught them to construct cities, to found temples, to compile laws, and explained to them the principles of geometrical knowledge. He made them distinguish the seeds of the Earth, and showed them how to collect the fruits. In short, he instructed them in everything which could tend to soften manners and humanize their lives. From that time, nothing has been added by way of improvement to their lives.” (Berossus.)
According to legend, Oannes spent the day among men, passing down his teachings, but when the sun set, he “retired again into the sea, passing the night in the deep, for he was amphibious.” According to the Theosophical Glossary, this simply implied that Oannes:
“… belonged to two planes: the spiritual and the physical. For the Greek word amphibios means simply ‘life on two planes’… The word was often applied in antiquity to those men who, though still wearing a human form, had made themselves almost divine through knowledge, and lived as much in the spiritual, supersensuous regions as on Earth.”
In other words, the man/fish symbolism relates to what was perceived as Oannes’ dual nature, part human, part divine and mythic. Such an idea is confirmed when we look to a later incarnation of Oannes as the Roman god Janus. By such time, the sea symbolism had vanished, and his dual nature was depicted in the form of two faces. In an interesting footnote, Oannes is also the figure from whom we derive the names Jonah and John (via Johannes), two Biblical figures equally associated with the imagery of water.
The Oannes/Dagon/Nephilim theme appears to show up elsewhere in Greek mythology in the story of the Titans.
The Oannes/Dagon/Nephilim theme appears to show up elsewhere in Greek mythology in the story of the Titans. The Titans were a race of gods who, like the offspring of the Watchers, were giants. When the primordial god Ouranos (a permutation of Oannes) had an incestuous liaison with his mother, Gaia, she gave birth to twelve giants, the Titans. When the powerful race of Titans rebelled against the authority of the parental gods, Zeus cast them into the abyss, imprisoning them in the underworld. Ouranos may be connected to the idea of the ouroburos, the watery Leviathan discussed earlier. And the Titans
are obviously connected to the Tritons, a race of gods spawned by Poseidon and Amphitrite. Rather than being giants, the Tritons were hybrid fish-men. Also of interest in regard to Poseidon is that he was alternately called Poseidaon, and Dagon was also called Daonos. Another title of Dagon was Daos, which is so similar in sound to words such as “deus,” “dios” and so forth that our primary words for deity may well have had their genesis in this strange fish-god.
In Plato’s Critias, it is evident that the Titans and the Tritons are one and the same. They are the offspring of Poseidon and a mortal woman, and are giants. The story told is very much that of the Watchers, with a key difference. Here, it is the human element of their nature that leads to their corruption and ultimate downfall.
“For many generations, as long as the divine nature lasted in them, they were obedient to the laws, and well-affectioned toward the gods, who were their kinsmen… but when the divine portion began to fade away in them, and became diluted too often, and with too much of the mortal admixture… human nature got the upper hand, then, they being unable to bear their fortune, became unseemly, and to him who had eyes to see, they began to appear base, and had lost the fairest of their precious gifts; but to those who had no eye to see the true happiness, they still appeared glorious and blessed at the very time when they were filled with unrighteous avarice and power. Zeus, the god of gods, who rules with law, and is able to see into such things, perceiving that an honorable race was in a most wretched state, and wanting to inflict punishment on them, that they might be chastened and improved, collected all the gods into his most holy habitation, which, being placed in the center of the world, sees all things that partake of generation. And when he had called them all together he spake as follows…”
Unfortunately, we’ll never know what Zeus said, as Plato’s manuscript ends abruptly at this point.
The tale related in Critias is interesting not only for its striking similarities to other such stories we’ve examined, but also for the glaring dissimilarities. Rather than casting the gods into the abyss “for all time,” Zeus merely
imprisons them in “his most holy habitation.” Rather than wanting to “wipe their seed from the face of the Earth,” Zeus merely wants to see them “chastened and improved.” And their sin was due not to any willful rebellion against God (or the gods), but was a byproduct of miscegenation with humans; which led to their divine nature being overshadowed by the human. There are hints of this in The Book of Enoch, wherein the mortal wives of the Watchers seem literally to be blamed for “defiling” the angels. Plato’s version of the Titan/Triton tale seems almost to end on a hopeful note, as though the chance exists that the gods might possibly be reformed somehow. There are numerous permutations of this saga. The names of the gods and the details of the story vary quite a bit in the different tellings. In some versions, one of the sons of Poseidon is Dagon.
Oftentimes when Oannes or Dagon are referred to in print, the same picture is used to depict them both. It’s a photograph of an Assyrian relief, showing a man wearing a fish’s head as a hat. The figure portrayed is plainly a man, and the fish regalia he’s wearing clearly seems to be some form of ceremonial garb. He seems to be perhaps a priest or a king, and it’s quite evident that no one at the time this relief was carved had any illusions that he was in any way a sea creature. On the contrary, he was clearly a man invoking the symbolism of the sea in order to align himself in the public mind with whatever symbolic connotations such an archetype would have embodied at that time.
Scholars seem to concur that Oannes, Dagon, and Annedotus are merely different names which all refer to essentially the same mythological character. And yet the Assyrian relief would seem to contradict such a premise. It would seem to bear a kind of mute testimony to the possibility that all three of the aforementioned figures may have had their genesis in what was at one time a real historical personage. In the modern era, we have witnessed even trivial pop culture figures take on a mythic character, morphing from mere singers or actors into figures of an almost religious veneration. We have witnessed the proliferation of urban legends, bizarre tales that are patently untrue and baseless, yet inspire widespread belief. And we have seen (repeatedly) people adapt fanatical beliefs which contradict all the well-established facts relating to exceedingly well-documented public events. (For instance: those who say Elvis is alive, O.J. Simpson was framed, and so on.) All this we have seen in our own lifetime, and in an age supposedly defined by realism and skepticism, an age in which every public
event is documented in such thorough detail that even those with an intense interest in the subject become bored, and even those not paying attention know more about the topic than they care to. If we can observe such a dissonance between fact and myth, truth and belief, in our own time, imagine the inherent possibilities of such a process in an age ruled by superstition, in which information was passed on by means of an oral tradition.
It is probably safe to assume that the symbolism associated with Dagon and Oannes was at one time perceived as straightforward, and was readily understood by those who first heard their stories. With the passage of time, as such tales spread to other lands and other peoples, the meaning became lost, and what was once pure symbolism was taken at face value. Remember, when early Babylonians and Egyptians saw a depiction of a man with a hawk’s head, they in no way imagined that it represented an entity part human, part-bird. They understood that the hawk was a symbol of the sun, and that this composite of man/bird was intended to infer a special relationship to the sun, or to the god symbolized by the sun.
In the modern era, we have witnessed even trivial pop culture figures take on a mythic character, morphing from mere singers or actors into figures of an almost religious veneration.
The earliest kings of which we know were deified kings: god-kings. They were identified with both fire and water, the sun and the sea. They had solar titles, and lunar titles. If Dagon and Oannes were once historical figures, they were probably among the descendants of such a line of god-kings. And if such a thesis were true, they undoubtedly had possessed a greater than usual association with the water element, with the sea. In fact, certain of these kings were so thoroughly identified with the sea that they are actually remembered as sea-kings. They were the rulers of an ancient empire known as Sumeria.
Sumeria is the oldest civilization known to man. Long before Greece and Rome had attained their golden age, Sumeria was already ancient. Those in search of the roots of early history often go back to the glory days of the pharaohs of Egypt, yet Egypt too was in its infancy at a time when Sumeria had long been the center of the world. For all intents and purposes, Sumeria seems to have entered the world stage as a high civilization. It wasn’t there, and then suddenly it was—complete with arts, sciences, astronomy,
navigation, agriculture, and all the complexities of a highly-evolved culture. All of which leaves the modern observer to ponder exactly how such a society could appear out of nowhere and nothing into such a fully-realized entity, seemingly instantaneously. The elements that define a high culture evolve slowly and incrementally over a vast expanse of time. One can’t learn to run without first knowing how to walk, and walking begins with baby steps. Yet ancient Sumeria seems to have leap-frogged over and beyond the baby steps of civilization; a feat never since repeated in the annals of mankind. How did they do it? Their explanation is quite simple and straightforward: they were taught everything they knew by a race of gods. The first king of Sumeria was also the first god of Sumeria. He was a deified king named IA, and he was known as the Lord of the Flood, or Lord of the Deep Waters. The name IA served as the basis of god-names from many other cultures, including (but not limited to) Jah, Ihah, Yahweh, Jove, Jehovah, Allah, Janus, lanus, Uranus, Ouranos, and …Oannes. An illustration of IA from a Sumerian seal, circa 2730 BC depicts him as a bearded figure, sitting on a throne, holding vases from which water is flowing. At his feet are more vases overflowing with streams of water, and indeed the very throne on which he is seated seems to be held aloft by water. This is interesting, because a number of passages from the Christian Bible, in describing God (and his throne) would appear to be straightforward references to this very picture of IA, the first Sumerian god-king. In Revelation 22 it says: “And then the angel showed me the river of the waters of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God.” Psalms tells us that God “gathers the waters of the sea unto jars,” and further that, “The Lord sits enthroned over the Flood. The Lord is King forever.” IA was a king. He was also the Lord of the Flood. And these enigmatic passages from the Bible seem to bear testimony to the fact that the Judeo-Christian Jehovah was indeed originally patterned on the far more ancient Sumerian figure of IA. In fact, many of the major figures from the Bible can be traced back to the deified kings of Sumeria. There are figures equivalent to Adam, Cain, Enoch, and even Moses; their stories are, at times, nearly identical, and the names of the figures involved bear a striking similarity to their biblical counterparts. There is the first man Adamu, a locale called Eden, the story of the Flood, and the tale of the child placed into a boat of reeds and set adrift on a river. The correspondences are so self-evident as to speak for themselves. But we are less interested in the myriad correspondences between the Sumerians and biblical history than we