The Charisma of Fruits: From Greek Mythology to Genesis

Abstract

Concerned with the representations of fruits in Greco-Roman mythology and Genesis, this paper first explores the various meanings of charis and its conceptualization, and their embodiments. It then addresses object agency, before questioning the possible propriety of certain fruits in visual and textual narratives to emanate and/or appropriate charisma. To do so, the paper presents a discussion of the linguistic and conceptual mutability and malleability of the term ‘charis’ and its conceptualization into charisma, as well as its possible manifestations or translations in fruits, thus transforming the latter into (accidental) actors. Finally, this study provides an exploratory reflection on the ambiguity and metamorphic aspect of “charismatic” fruits in the context of myths and the Genesis narrative represented in the visual arts, and their translation into fairy tale narratives and modern advertising campaigns.

Objets inanimés, avez-vous donc une âme qui s’attache à notre âme et la force d’aimer?

Alphonse de Lamartine, Milly ou la terre natale, 1830.

1. Introduction

From the golden apple in the Judgment of Paris to the forbidden fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil and the poisonous apple featured in the Brothers Grimm’s fairy tale Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1812), fruits have been the subject of fascination.1 Consumed for their succulent taste, in some narratives, they emanate a powerful, seductive, magnetic, and irresistible role, that, through their agency, affects the protagonists and enables outcomes in various storylines. Concerned with the representations of fruits in Greco-Roman mythology and Genesis, this paper addresses the following question: “Can fruits be charismatic?” Focusing on the five distinct meanings of charisma and their embodiments, this paper first presents a discussion of the linguistic and conceptual mutability and malleability of the term by demystifying the meaning of the word charis (Χάρις) and its conceptualization, charisma (χάρισμα). This paper is not concerned with the genealogy of the word charisma; instead, it offers an etymological understanding of the term as a polysemic concept, applied in an art historical and literary context. Inspired by Stephen Jaeger’s introduction for his book entitled Enchantment, this paper further contributes to a handful of (art) historical scholarship addressing charisma in an art historical and literary context (Jaeger 2012, p. 9; Bell 2020, p. 233).2 The article examines the possible manifestations and/or translations of charisma in fruits featured in artworks and narratives, transforming them into (accidental) actors, from an Aristotelian perspective. Addressing object agency, this paper also tackles the possible propriety of certain fruits in visual and textual narratives to emanate and/or appropriate charisma. Finally, this study provides an exploratory reflection around the ambiguity and metamorphic aspect of charismatic fruits in the context of myths and biblical narratives represented in the visual arts, focusing more precisely on the Greco-Roman mythological accounts involving Persephone, Tantalus, the Judgment of Paris, and Atalanta and Hippomenes; it is also concerned with the biblical narrative of the Temptation and Fall of Adam and Eve and its iconographical embodiments.

2. The Five Concepts of charis or the Five charismata

A polysemic word subjected to transformation and metamorphosis, charisma retains the glowing, magnetic elements of its Greek etymological origins—charis—while being also associated with the terms ‘gift’ and ‘attractiveness.’ I have identified five different meanings of charis and its conceptualization. The first is concerned with the Greek origins of the term charis (Charis A). With its focus on the aesthetic, the second belongs to the Roman and neo-Platonic perspective, where charis underwent a philosophical spiritualization (Charis B). The third meaning of the term was employed and popularized by the writings of Saint Paul of Tarsus (ca. 5–64 or 65) (Charis C). With Saint Paul’s use of charis-ma (χάρισμα)—the conceptualized version of the term—we witnessed the theological spiritualization of charis. In the 20th century, Max Weber (1864–1920) and his followers de-spiritualized the term charisma and applied it as a social concept (Charis D). The final meaning of charis and its conceptualization is the one used today in mainstream media, which may or may not refer to the original conceptualization of the term (Charis E).

The first meaning of charis and its conceptualization—Charis A—belongs to the Greeks and their concept of charis (χάρις).3 Charis means grace, but only if the latter is understood to incorporate, at the very least, one of the following attributes: kindness, gift, attractiveness, favour, gratitude, gratification, charm, goodwill, free benevolence, benefit, agreeable, pleasant, thankfulness, thanks, and goodwill (Liddell and Scott 1901, p. 1083). Charis is also a term found in Homer’s Odyssey (8th century BCE). In this epic narrative, Athena is described as shedding charis on Odysseus’s son, Telemachus (Odyssey 2, 12–14; 17, 63–64). The goddess of wisdom is mentioned twice as endowing him with such supernatural charis that all eyes were turned on him in admiration,

Now when they were assembled and met together, Telemachus went his way to the place of assembly, holding in his hand a spear of bronze—not alone, for along with him two swift hounds followed; and wondrous was the χάρις (grace) that Athena shed upon him, and all the people marvelled at him as he came. But he sat down in his father’s seat, and the elders gave place.

(Odyssey 2, 12–14)

But Telemachus thereafter went forth through the hall with his spear in his hand, and with him went two swift hounds. And wondrous was the χάρις (grace) that Athena shed upon him, and all the people marvelled at him as he came. Round about him the proud wooers thronged, speaking him fair, but pondering evil in the deep of their hearts.

(Odyssey 17, 63–64)

The term is not only a noun, but also the name of a goddess. Mentioned in Homer and Hesiod’s 8th-century BCE mythological accounts, Charis is the name of one of the Charities (Χάριτες), also known as the Graces.4 In Homer’s Iliad (8th-century BCE), Charis is described as the goddess of charm, beauty, nature, creativity, and fertility; she is also the wife of Hephaestus, the god of fire, volcanoes, blacksmiths, sculptors, carpenters, metallurgy, artisans, and craftsmen (Iliad 8, 333).5 Homer portrays her as a lovely goddess wearing a shining veil as she outstands the realm of deities due to her beauty; she is shining among divinities (Iliad 18, 382–388).6

While the number of Charities is unspecified in Homer’s oeuvre, Hesiod names three of them: Aglaea (shining/splendour), Euphrosyne (joy), and Thaleia (flourishing) (Hesiod, Theogony, 905–910).7 All of these Charities share similar positive attributes that are proper to attractiveness. Charis and her fellow Charities possess accidental propriety, from an Aristotelian perspective.8 They hold and/or are gifted with characteristics that are neither necessary nor conferred upon everyone. Thus, the Charities stand out of and/or outshine the lot. For the Greeks, the concept of charis as attractiveness can thus be defined as an outward grace, charm, or physical loveliness. This includes the appealingness of speech, physical beauty, and the notion that gods are responsible for assigning such outward grace. In this context, charis could also refer to a person’s charm, an attractive inner quality—an accidental propriety from an Aristotelian perspective—that shines out from among them. Consequently, this quality allows for a sense of gratification, delight, and pleasure.

Charis B refers to the Roman and neo-Platonic understanding of the word charis, translated into gratia (grace). With the Romans, the concept of charis became synonymous with venustas (beauty), thus gaining a more obvious aesthetic property than its original Greek usage. Grace could be seen not so much as a quality of an object, but rather as an affect, a projection on the object of the emotions it arouses in the viewer.9 It is also the invisible quality that is made visible through the ethics of gestures. In De officiis (On Duties or On Obligations) (44BCE), Cicero (106–43BCE) writes,

But there is nothing so essentially proper as to maintain consistency in the performance of every act and in the conception of every plan. But the propriety to which I refer shows itself also in every deed, in every word, even in every movement and attitude of the body. And in outward, visible propriety there are three elements—beauty, tact, and taste… In these three elements is included also our concern for the good opinion of those with whom and amongst whom we live.

(De officiis, 1.34–35)

This passage details the ethical and moral imperatives required in shaping representations of the human body, which ultimately either reveal venustas and attractiveness or highlight their absence. Beauty and attractiveness do not only apply to the body; indeed, in his Moralia, Plutarch (46 or 50-ca.120) describes “…salt as giving attractiveness (charis) to food” (Moralia, 685a). A condiment, salt has the power to season food with attractiveness, making food gustatorily more pleasurable. Furthermore, with Plotinus (204 or 205–270), the idea of grace becomes associated with beauty in general, leading to a philosophical spiritualization of the word, not so much in terms of bodily beauty, but rather regarding the outward reflection of the inward state of an individual, in a similar way to Cicero’s ethics of gestures (Enneads, I.6).

Paul of Tarsus’s (ca. 5–64 or 65) use of the word charisma constitutes what I define as Charis C. With Paul, the concept of charis undergoes a theological spiritualization—a syncretisation—to refer to the gift of redemption, prophecy, healing, speaking in tongues (glossolalia), miracles, etc., which are assigned to people to generally benefit the community (Aurell 2022, p. 610).10 Paul most likely did not coin the word; instead, he probably borrowed it from colloquial language, where it must have been used with the meaning of gift or present. In the New Testament, the term occurs seventeen times, fourteen of which are found in Paul’s letters.11 Charisma is also connected to the charismata (χάρισματα)—the gifts of extraordinary power and graces—granted by the Holy Spirit.12

For to one is given by the Spirit the word of wisdom; to another the word of knowledge by the same Spirit; to another faith by the same Spirit; to another the gifts of healing by the same Spirit; to another the working of miracles; to another prophecy; to another discerning of spirits, to another divers kind of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues; but all these worketh that one and the self-same Spirit, dividing to every man severally as he will.

(Corinthians 12:8–11)13

During the twelfth century, gesture became a visual vocabulary carrying deeper meaning, where Paul’s idea of charisma indirectly came to play. Gestures then were associated with ideals concerning morality and ethics, including some connected to the gifts of the Holy Spirit (Jansen and Rubin 2010, pp. 9–10). Indeed, Saint Paul, the Church Fathers, and medieval scholastic theologians inherited the Ciceronian understanding of the body and its gestures, which make visible what is invisible, where charis and its conceptualization play a key role. For instance, in a passage defining the beautiful in Confessions, Saint Augustine of Hippo addresses Charis A, B, and C,

Do we love anything but the beautiful [Charis B]? What is that allures and unites us to the things we love; for unless there were a grace and beauty in them, they could by no means attract us to them [Charis A and B]? And I marked and perceived that in bodies themselves there was a beauty from their forming a kind of a whole, and another from mutual fitness, as one part of the body with its whole, or a shoe with a foot, and so on [Charis C].

(Confessions, I.20)

Also, in his Sermon on the Song of Songs, Saint Bernard refers to Charis B and C, as he writes,

What then is beauty of the soul [Charis B]? Is it perhaps that quality we call ethical goodness [Charis C]? … But to understand this quality, we must observe a man’s outward bearing, not because morality originates from conduct, but because conduct mediates morality… The beauty of actions is visible testimony to the state of conscience… But when the luminosity of this beauty fills the inner depths of the heart, it overflows and surges outward. Then the body, the very image of the mind, catches up this light flowing and bursting forth like the rays of the sun [Charis A]. All its senses and all its members are suffused with it, until its glow is seen in every act, in speech, in appearance, in the way of walking and laughing… When the motions, the gestures and the habits of the body and the senses show forth their gravity, purity, and modesty… then beauty of the soul becomes outwardly visible [Charis C].

(Sermones super Cantica canticorum, 85:10–11)

Discussing the visual culture of the Middle Ages, Jean-Claude Schmitt argues that the tradition of making sense of gestures is essentially ethical and connected to universal values, such as goodness and truth (Schmitt 1989, p. 129). Relying on Cicero’s De officiis, Schmitt is interested in the way medieval people, specifically the Carolingian schools and monastic communities, represented themselves using specific gestures to convey political, religious, and secular ideas. These schools and their art and understanding of gesture used a visual vocabulary carrying deeper meaning and concepts. Schmitt also states that bodily animations are physical manifestations of the intus (the inner expression or the soul) perceived from the foris (exteriorly/from the outside) (Schmitt 1989, p. 130). Moreover, the author argues that from the twelfth century onwards, as a result of the intellectual revival and classical renaissance of the Romanesque, gestures were decoded in terms of morality and ethics (Schmitt 1989, p. 136).

Like Schmitt, Stephen Jaeger is interested in the connection between classical (Roman) and medieval (scholastic) ethical concepts and gestures in the visual culture of eleventh- and twelfth-century bodies. The author suggests that a classical ethical revival occurred in the eleventh century and not in the twelfth century as previously suggested by Schmitt. This revival was at first textual, before developing into the visual culture in the twelfth century (Jaeger 2000, pp. 180–81).14 Building his argument around the eleventh-century cathedral school’s conception of human excellence, Jaeger depicts the “well-tuned, well-composed man” in the Middle Ages (mainly in France and Germany) as a sophisticated courtly culture, occupied by bodies that are meant to be read (Jaeger 2000, p. 180). In his discussion of Cicero’s De officiis and Saint Bernard of Clairvaux’s Sermons on the Song of Songs (85:10–11), Jaeger argues that “the controlled body with all its attributes—grace, posture, charm, sensuality, beauty, authority,—is the work of art of the eleventh century” (Jaeger 2000, pp. 7–8). It is through their physicality and embrace of decorum that medieval bodies make visible the invisible and thus act as cursus virtutum (textbook of virtue).15 Jaeger also addresses the Carolingian schools, where secular and religious texts were taught in the curriculum of the civiles mores (civil/courtly manners) (Jaeger 2000, p. 294). The programme included disciplines of correct behaviour, speech, and action, all of which were thought necessary to lead a good, charismatic life (Charis C).

Emerging from Ciceronian elegance, these courtly manners are embodied in Romanesque artworks, such as Henri de Blois’s plaques (ca. 1150–1171).16 One of these two semi-circular Mosan enamelled plaques depicts the semi-recumbent figure of Bishop Henri de Blois, a Cluniac monk, looking towards an inscription that states,

Art comes before gold and gems, the author before everything. Henry, alive in bronze, gives gifts to God. Henry, whose fame commends him to men, whose character commends him to heavens, a man equal in mind to the Muses and in eloquence higher than Marcus [that is, Cicero].

(Zarnecki 1986, p. 160)17

Read alongside the inscription, Bishop Henri’s body reveals his Ciceronian good character, clothing, beauty, elegance, and eloquence that allegedly surpassed that of Cicero himself (Charis B). Furthermore, in a study of Romanesque portraiture, Thomas Dale argues that portraits conveyed a palpable and engaging presence of the person, not through physical likeness, but rather through a series of conventions established in both secular and religious realms (Dale 2007, p. 102). Dale first defines the meaning of physiognomic canons in terms of likeness and then assesses how these standards relate to vision as a means of spiritual sight (Dale 2007, p. 102). He writes that in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the body as a whole was considered an imago—a similitude of an ideal type (God) (Dale 2007, p. 103). For instance, the first man in Abrahamic religions, Adam, is the imago of God, and the first woman, Eve, an imago of the imago of God. Characterised by her virtues and vices, it is the essence of Eve’s individual likeness that becomes central to her portrait, rather than the physical likeness of the model. The body of Eve and its characteristics are thus an imprint of her (lack of) inner virtue and beauty (Charis A, B, and C). Relying on Saint Bernard of Clairvaux’s Sermons on the Song of Songs, Dale argues that the goal of portraiture was to harmonise the inner man with the outer man (Dale 2007, p. 106). A physically beautiful portrait is therefore a reflection of the charis/good character of the person being portrayed.

These courtly manners, Ciceronian elegance, and the meaning of portraits are necessary when recognising the presence of charis in portraits. Indeed, they are decipherable in the portrait of King Richard II from Westminster Abbey, London (mid-1390s), and the Prince of the World from Strasbourg Cathedral (ca. 1280–1300) (Figure 1). These two artworks embody physical manifestations providing the viewers with some clues regarding the ethical values and charis of the two ruling figures.18 Seated elegantly on his throne, King Richard’s appearance embraces order, symmetry, and harmony, as his body is surrounded by a golden background reflecting light. Shining outward like the goddess Charis and Odysseus’s son Telemachus, Richard gazes forward, while holding the sceptre and orb, symbols of his kingdom and rulership. His facial expression is deprived of excess emotions, while his regal apparel and crown highlight his role as a ruler. His portrait is one of a good, charismatic king, benefiting his kingdom, as the expression of his form (soul)—his very essence—is perceived through the external features of his body (Charis A, B, and C). Similarly, the Prince of the World is sculpturally represented in regal attire and wearing a crown. He holds an orb, a symbol of his kingdom, close to his face, as he gazes upon it, expressively. The prince could be regarded as a good ruler; however, the more one gets to know him by looking at him, the more his true self is unveiled. Indeed, when one closely gazes at his back, one notices that the prince is being eaten alive by a series of snakes, toads, and vermin. Even if at first glance the ruler appears to exercise virtuous rulership, his true self is revealed with time and upon close observation, as one becomes more acquainted with him; he is thus lacking or pretending to have Charis A, B, and C.

Furthermore, various meanings of charis and its conceptualization are also present in Sedes Sapientiae (Throne of Wisdom) figures, such as the wooden example from Auvergne (France), dating from ca. 1175–1200, (now part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art collection, New York) (Figure 2). Charis is found in the portrait of the Virgin, and the fruit of her womb, Jesus. Both figures display the concept of charis, through their outward grace, charm, and physical loveliness (Charis A and B).19 Their gestures reveal their inner beauty; their harmonious and symmetrical composition is deprived of excessive emotions, in a similar manner as in the portrait of King Richard II. The Virgin and Child’s gracefulness, poised gestures, stability, and order, contribute to a sense of harmony, thus exemplifying a sense of a whole. The Virgin becomes the seat upon which her child is ruling, in a stable, constant, and graceful manner. The fruit of her womb is the embodiment of the concept of charis—charisma—(Charis C) as Saint Paul describes Jesus as personifying the gift of redemption, prophecy, healing, miracles, etc., (Romans 3:24).

Notre-Dame de la Belle-Verrière, a stained-glass window from the south aisle of Chartres Cathedral, France (ca. 1140) is another example of a Sedes Sapientiae, that displays the three meanings of the concept of charis discussed so far (Figure 3). Albeit representing figures in two dimensions, the stained glass operates in the same manner as the wooden sculpture from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. The Virgin and Child’s outward physical elements display grace, charm, and physical loveliness; the figures allow light to shine through them into the interior of the church (Charis A). Their composition, interactions, harmony, symmetry, and order make them charismatic as they reveal a certain pleasant element in their gesture, which, ultimately, makes them graceful. The Virgin and Child’s inner virtues are thus reflected outwards into their gesture, clothing, facial expression, and composition (Charis B). Depicted right above the head of the Virgin and represented through the symbol of a white dove, the Holy Spirit is responsible for the charismatic gifts of ethical goodness, modesty, purity, and morality shining outwards from the bodies of the Virgin and Child to benefit the community, the Church (Charis C) (Isaiah 11:2; Corinthians 12:8–11). It is through their physicality and embrace of decorum that medieval bodies, such as those of the Virgin and Child from the Belle Verrière, represent the invisible—the beauty/grace/charis of their soul—and thus become charismatic cursus virtutum (textbook of virtue).

Furthermore, the word charisma experienced a resurgence between 1915 and 1922, mainly as a sociological concept defined by Max Weber (Charis D) (Potts 2009, p. 1). The USA embraced the term in the 1930s when Weber’s work was translated from German into English. Weber writes,

…a certain quality of an individual personality by virtue of which he is set apart from ordinary men and treated as endowed with supernatural, superhuman, or at least specifically exceptional powers or qualities. These are such as are not accessible to the ordinary person but are regarded as of divine origin or as exemplary, and on the basis of them the individual concerned is treated as a leader.

(Weber 1968, p. 48)

For Weber, charisma (the concept of charis) highlights a form of authority, a (real or imaginary) extraordinary quality, thought to be supernatural or superhuman in nature, in which the charismatic person is treated as a leader, based on faith rather than reason. Weber has also argued that charisma (Charis D) is transferred through bloodline, roles, or attachment to an institution (Weber 1968, pp. 1136–37). Thus, according to Weber, charisma has a lineage. Adding to Weber’s concept of charis, Edward Shils defines charisma as widely diffused in society in corporate bodies and the stratification system (Shils 1965, p. 209). The author also adds that an attitude of awe must be associated with charisma (i.e., the charismatic leader has a shining face) (Shils 1965, p. 200). The following year, Robert Nisbet stated that charisma can define objects. He argued that charisma resides in “…rocks, trees, deserts, rivers, and seas to which charisma has been attached by its place to some momentous event in the life of a divine or deeply revered leader” (Nisbet 1966, p. 252). For Martin Spencer, charisma is the power to control the perception of reality; sometimes this power is held by someone or an object that is perceived as divine or magical, and other times through a person with reflective insight through analysis or artistic expression (Spencer 1973, pp. 344, 345, 350). “The answer to the often-repeated question: ”How shall we recognize when a leader is charismatic?”, he writes, “is therefore simply: Find the leader towards whom these sentiments (awe and enthusiasm) are directed” (Spencer 1973, p. 352). More recently, John Potts stated that “the contemporary meaning of charisma is broadly understood as a special innate quality that sets certain individuals apart and draws others to them” (Potts 2009, p. 2). This “special innate quality” or the “x-factor” could be understood as accidental propriety, as coined by Aristotle: a quality that someone possesses, but that is not present in/acquired by all (Aristotle, Categories 2b: 5–6; Metaphysics 1028a).20 These definitions of charisma derive largely from Weber, who understood the concept of charisma within a leadership context, mainly in religious and political leaders. To Weber and followers, civil and religious leaders, such as Saint Francis of Assis, Margaret Thatcher, Donald Trump, Mother Theresa, Joseph Stalin, and Pope Francis, all possess common accidental propriety: charisma (Charis D).

Weber’s and Paul’s conceptualization of charis (Charis C and D) are not interchangeable. They are two distinct concepts, applying the conceptualization of the same word, charis, to achieve a new meaning. On the one hand, Paul used linguistic syncretism to Christianize the Greco-Roman conception of the term charis (Charis A and B), from a neo-Platonic perspective, generally referring to a collective quality (Charis C). On the other hand, Weber and his followers re-conceptualized the concept of charis with little reference to Paul’s syncretic Christian meaning, to apply it to the magnetic type of personality who exercises leadership (Charis D). Blooming from Weber and his followers’ establishment of the 20th-century secular understanding of charisma (Charis D), today, the notion of the term is popularised as it takes part in the mainstream, popular culture. The word charisma is now used as a synonym for fame, stardom, attractiveness, and success in Hollywood and social media, in the context of television, movies, socialites, models, influencers, etc. Also, Jaeger explores it in the context of art, as a medium that tackles both the real and the imaginary (Charis E). Hence, stars and public figures, such as Taylor Swift, Sean Connery, Oprah, Kim Kardashian, and Hugh Jackman, are all considered charismatic, despite their lack of (direct) civic and/or religious leadership. Indeed, they inspire enchantment as “they have been efficiently marketed as commodities by disenchanted, rational publicity organizations, managers”, and/or through their own disenchantment (Hurst 2016, p. 122). The same is applied to artworks that emanate a “force” that outpours on their viewers (Jaeger 2012, p. 35). Discussing charisma in the visual culture, more recently, Jaeger has argued that it is the “quality of works of art” that inspires, transforms, and elevates their audience (Jaeger 2012, p. 11). It does so by taking into account the audience’s needs and desires; stimulating their imagination, charismatic works of art elevate the individuals or environments they represent to transport their viewers into a hyper/supernatural reality (Jaeger 2011, p. 18). This “dichotomy of real [the audience’s needs and aspirations] and illusion [the audience’s imagination], life and art, so fundamental to the cultic experience of art in the West”, Jager writes, “are resolved in the medium of charisma” (Jaeger 2012, p. 24).

3. Object Agency

The five concepts of charis (Charis A, B, C, D, and E) discussed in this paper have been applied to human figures, some of whom are represented in works of art. Yet, I wish to argue that these embodiments of charis and their conceptualizations as charismata not only concern human beings, but also certain fruits, as objects or commodities, that possess charisma(ta) as (an) accidental propriety(ies). While Weber states that objects cannot have personal charisma (Charis D), I conclude otherwise (Weber 1968, p. 1136). I do align my argument with Nisbet’s, which revolves around the idea that objects could become charismatic through their association with a divine event or a leader; however, I do not necessarily argue that it is always the case for the source of an object’s charisma (Nisbet 1966, p. 252). Indeed, in anthropological studies, objects can obtain/possess power through layers of histories attached to them. When studying prehistoric societies, material culture is the main contemporary source of information. The objectified type of charisma is therefore of special interest for archaeological studies (Vedeler 2018, p. 11). Also, according to Plutarch, through its very essence, salt has charis (Charis B). Object agency is central to this discussion; hitherto, objects, as charismatic actors, remain a complex matter and must rely on a narrative. Things that initiate events, things caused by acts of the mind or will or intention, rather than the mere concatenation of physical events, are objects that possess agency.21 An agent causes events to happen in their vicinity (Gell 1998, p. 18).

A possible outcome of an object’s agency—its index—could be the affect. From the Latin affectus, meaning passion or emotion, affect takes the form of a psychological shift that accompanies a judgement (Van Alphen 2008, pp. 23–24). The shift takes place when there is a positive or negative evaluative orientation toward an object or another person. The notion of affect as a psychological outcome also suggests that affects are different from feelings (Van Alphen 2008, p. 24). The latter include something more than a physiological shift or sensory stimulation; they suppose a unified interpretation of that shift or stimulation. Jacqueline E. Jung writes, “…for what else were sculptures… but lifeless matter? Yet they were lifeless matters that could—and did—come to life under the hopeless gazes of those who prayed before them” (Jung 2010, p. 232). It is within this context that, as an object agent, the Röttgen Pietà (ca. 1300–1325) becomes active when it triggers a psychological shift in the worshippers who gaze upon it (Figure 4). Mimicking the iconography of the Sedes Sapientiae, the wooden sculpture represents the Pietà, where the Virgin holds the lifeless body of her child, Jesus. Her face is ravished by pain and sorrow as she mourns her son, who, in a not-so-distant past, she used to cradle. Laying on her lap like a child, Jesus’s emaciated body is portrayed as emptied of all its blood. Wearing the crown of thorns, his lifeless body is dramatically bent to highlight the violence of his death. This statue could be understood as a sculptural equivalent to Mel Gibson’s (2004) Passion of the Christ movie, where the last hours of the Incarnation of Christ were portrayed in theatrical, dramatic proportions, with a distinguished excess of violence, blood, and suffering, to achieve a similar objective: to affect—to trigger the emotions of—the viewer. Both the Röttgen Pietà and Gibson’s movie, as sculptural and cinematographic products, are agents, with indexes that were meant to generate a psychological shift. Tailored toward their assumed Christian audience, the sculpture as well as the movie trigger their viewers to reflect upon their sins, which are responsible for the redemptive sacrifice of Christ achieved through his suffering and, ultimately, his death. The violence, sorrow, and pain emanating from the Röttgen Pietà mirror the result of the worshipers’ actions. As an active agent, the Pietà produces an index, that affects the viewers; yet, as agents, the viewers create an index through their sins, embodied in the death of Christ, who they believe has died to erase the Origin Sin of Adam and Eve, and reopen the doors of Paradise through his Resurrection, three days following his death.

It is within this framework that I propose that fruits need to be part of a narrative, and/or be represented in narratives and art, including medieval sculptures, to be considered charismatic; similarly to human beings, as objects with agency, fruits take part in an animated universe, a cosmos. Focusing mainly on the apple, pomegranate, and the forbidden fruit, I explore the hypothesis that certain fruits have charisma and that, in most cases, death is the index of the casual inference of the charismatic fruits’ agency, while the charisma of some fruits is the bringer of life.22 In all of the cases of charismatic fruits, the meaning of gift is implied.

4. Charismatic Fruits, Narratives, and Iconography

The narrative context of the fruit plays an essential part in why, how, and whether it possesses a charismatic power. Narratives linked with elements, such as memory, experiences, legends, myths, and biblical stories become essential in highlighting the accidental propriety of the fruit, its charisma. Fruits, as objects, become subjects of myth formations obtaining a form of personal charisma. For instance, as briefly mentioned in Hesiod’s Theogony and described in more detail in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, the pomegranate in the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction could be understood as a charismatic fruit (Hesiod Theogony, 914; Homeric Hymn to Demeter, 4–20, 414–434). As Persephone, the goddess of Spring, grains, and nature, gathers flowers, she notices an exquisite narcissus blossom and cannot resist its beauty and tempting fragrances (Homer, Hymn 5–14; Suter 2002; Hitch 2017, pp. 22–44). The narcissus displays charisma through not only its attractiveness and charm (Charis A), but also its visual and olfactory aesthetic properties, arousing curiosity and delight in Persephone (Charis B). As she picks the flower, the earth opens beneath her feet; Hades seizes and drags her down to the underworld where he resides. By the time the messenger god, Hermes retrieves her, Persephone is starving. In some versions of the myth, Zeus instructs Persephone not to eat while she is in the underworld. Hades offers her a pomegranate to satisfy her hunger, of which she eats a few seeds, consequently tying herself to him forever.23 Her mother, Demeter, the goddess of agriculture, lets the crops die as she mourns her daughter. By abandoning her duties, nothing grows on earth until her daughter is returned to her. To avoid a fatal disaster, Zeus intervenes with a compromise where Persephone must live in the underworld with Hades for one-third of the year while the other two-thirds are to be spent on earth with her mother, Demeter. Spring marks Persephone’s return from the underworld, initiating the yearly seasonal cycle. In the narrative, the pomegranate was to be avoided; yet it brought satisfaction to Persephone, who ate some of its seeds. In works of art, such as Dante Gabriele Rossetti’s Proserpine (1874), Persephone is portrayed holding the pomegranate close to her chest; the fruit is luscious, with a section revealing its interior, characterized by a mandorla-like shape painted in rich and vibrant red hues.24 The fruit scoring resembles a wound from which the viewer could perceive the appearance of blood. It is within this context that the pomegranate could also be understood as an index of death; its causal effect transforms Persephone into the queen of the underworld and the goddess of death as she spends one-third of her life in the underworld with her husband Hades. This cycle of death and rebirth makes Demeter and Persephone sympathetic to mortals. “In their grief and at the hour of death”, writes Edith Hamilton in her 1942 Greek mythology anthology, “men could turn for compassion to the goddess who sorrowed [Demeter] and the goddess who died [Persephone]” (Hamilton 1942, p. 73).25

The story of Tantalus offers another, more obvious example of charismatic fruits. The first version of the myth portrays Tantalus, son of Zeus and Pluto, and ruler of the city of Tantalís or Sipylus, as gossiping with his fellow mortals about the gods’ plan for humanity (Euripides, Electra 4ff; Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca historica 4.74.2; Apollodorus, Epitome 2.1; Hyginus, Fabulae 82). The second version is found in one of Pindar’s (ca. 518–ca. 438 BCE) odes and presents Tantalus as stealing the gods’ food—the divine nectar and ambrosia—from Mount Olympus to serve to mortals (Pindar, Olympian Ode 1). As these two mischiefs threatened the balance of the order between the gods and mortals, as described by Hyginus (ca. 64BCE-17) and Servius (late 4th-early 5th c.), the third and most popular version of the myth presents an even more outrageous deed. Wishing to test the gods’ almightiness, Tantalus wanted to know if they could guess what constituted their meal. To do so, he served the gods a stew made from pieces of his son Pelops, whom he previously killed, diced, and cooked (Hyginus, Fabulae 83; Servius, Commentary on Vergil’s Aeneid, 6.603). Tantalus’s plan failed when the Olympians grew suspicious of their dinner, except Demeter who was still upset with the loss of her daughter Persephone. Absent-minded, the goddess of agriculture consumed a portion of Pelops’s shoulder. For the audacity of his evil plan, Zeus punished his son Tantalus by first cursing his kingdom and dynasty, before serving him a delectable penitential dish, which was offered to him in the underworld. Indeed, as portrayed in an anonymous 17th-century painting, entitled Tatalus from the Museo del Prado, the murderer was forced to remain in a pool of water, under a tree filled with delicious, tempting fruits.26 Even though the pool and fruits could keep him hydrated and nourished, he could never drink from the water, nor be able to grab the succulent fruits that hung from the tree’s branches. This delicious, yet frustrating punishment is described by Odysseus as he wanders in Hades’ realm in Homer’s Odyssey,

I also saw the awful agonies that Tantalus has to bear. The old man was standing in a pool of water which nearly reached his chin, and his thirst drove him to unceasing efforts; but he could never reach the water to drink it. For whenever he stooped in his eagerness to drink, it disappeared. The pool was swallowed up, and all there was at his feet was the dark earth, which some mysterious power had drained dry. Trees spread their foliage high over the pool and dangled fruits above his head—pear-trees and pomegranates, apple-trees with their glossy burden, sweet figs and luxuriant olives. But whenever the old man made to grasp them in his hands, the wind would toss them up towards the shadowy clouds.

(Odyssey, 11: 582–93)

The hero uses luscious language, highlighting the charismatic physical character of the fruits (Charis A), with words, such as “glossy burden”, “sweet”, and “luxuriant”. The charisma of the pears, pomegranates, apples, figs, and olives that are tempting the unfortunate Tantalus revolves around the fruits’ ability to provide the punished mortal gratification, delight, and pleasure, only if he can manage to obtain them. The index of the charismatic yet unreachable fruits highlighted in this myth is the state of death spent in perpetual punishment. Tempted by the fruits, yet never able to ever possess them, their charisma highlights the everlasting punishment—the hell—that Tantalus must endure in the underworld, the realm of the deceased.

Moreover, some fruits appearing in narratives could also possess different meanings of charisma simultaneously. This is the case of the myth of the golden apple, where a specific fruit precipitated a series of unfortunate events, that culminated in the Trojan War.27 It all started when Eris, the goddess of disagreement, realized that she had not been invited to the marriage of King Peleus and Thetis, the sea nymph. Furious about her exclusion and filled with revenge, Eris presented herself at the wedding unannounced; there, she threw a golden apple onto the banquet table, meant for the kαλλίστη (kalliste, the most beautiful).28 Hera, the goddess of marriage; Athena, the goddess of wisdom; and Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love claimed the apple and, with it, their position as the fairest of them all.29 Zeus was to decide which one of the three goddesses was blessed with the most beautiful attributes; unable to decide given his respective relationship with each one of them, the God of the Olympians handed this arduous task to the Trojan prince Paris, the most handsome young mortal. Both Hera and Athena bribed the mortal, with no success. Promising him the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen of Sparta, Aphrodite succeeded in persuading Paris to award her with the beautiful golden apple. With it, Aphrodite was declared the most beautiful goddess, while Paris and Helen married. This matrimonial union resulted in the Trojan War and its bloodshed, thus bringing chaos and, ultimately, death. The charisma of the apple here carries two meanings; it is both related to Charis A because it represents an (unwanted) gift, and Charis B because its venustas (beauty) acts as a projection of Helen’s beauty, which becomes the apple for Paris. Both objects of desire—the apple for the goddess and the most beautiful woman for Paris—precipitate deadly events. This transfer of charisma is an example of what Weber described as “lineage charisma”, where charisma—in this case the one emanating from the apple—is transferable through either bloodlines, institutions, or roles (Weber 1968, pp. 1135–1137). The charisma of the golden apple is transferred from the fruit to Helen, through their respective roles of objects of desire.

A golden apple also appears in the myth of Atalanta and Hippomenes, where its charismatic properties (Charis A and B) serve as a distractive device to secure Hippomenes’ lead in the race, which ultimately brings a fatal end to Atalanta and Hippomenes’ human embodiment.30 Atalanta was gifted with speed, which enabled her to outrun everyone who raced against her (Charis A). An oracle once told her that, to maintain her talent, she must not marry. Yet, if she does choose matrimony, she must refuse her husband’s advances to avoid being deprived of herself. Living alone, she issues a challenge that she will only marry the man who is faster than her. Seduced by Atalanta’s speed and beauty (Charis A and B), the grandson of Poseidon, Hippomenes, accepts the challenge. Concerned with his inability to outpace his female rival, Hippomenes prays to Aphrodite for help. Answering his prayer, the goddess of love offers Hippomenes three golden apples from a tree in Cyprus (Charis A), which he must use to distract Atalanta during the race.

As they compete, Atalanta cannot help but slowdown from time to time to look over her shoulder, thus catching a glimpse of Hippomenes. As she flirts with the idea of losing the race, thinking about whether she might marry her rival, she swiftly reminds herself of the possibility of losing herself, which encourages her to run faster to maintain the lead. Wishing to surpass Atalanta, Hippomenes throws the first apple, which slows down his female rival as she stops to pick the golden fruit, attracted by its seductive shape, shininess, beauty, and lusciousness (Charis A and B). This allows Hippomenes to take the lead. Atalanta soon catches up with him and claims back the lead. Hippomenes repeats the same strategy with the second golden apple, but, again, Atalanta eventually surpasses him. On the last lap, Poseidon’s grandson throws the remaining apple, with the help of Aphrodite who does not only make the apple fall further away, but she also makes it heavier to lift. Atalanta stops to pick the last irresistible golden apple, which ultimately allows Hippomenes to win the race and claim her as his prize.

Unfortunately for the pair, Hippomenes fails to thank Aphrodite for her intervention, which angers the goddess. As punishment, she fills Hippomenes with a carnal desire for Atalanta. The pair stops at the Temple of Cybele, where they make love in an old shrine. As they defile the shrine, they are once more punished by being metamorphosed into lions to draw Cybele’s chariot in perpetuity. Ultimately, Atalanta does lose herself by succumbing to Hippomenes’ advances, as the oracle has predicted. Aphrodite gifts (Charis A) Hippomenes with the golden apples so he can use them to attract and charm Atalanta, through their materiality, rarity, and beauty (Charis A and B). The charismatic apple brings death to Atalanta and Hippomenes as, by the end of the narrative, they are no longer humans; instead, they are enslaved lions serving as transportation power for a goddess’s chariot.

Charismatic fruits also found their way into biblical narratives.31 Indeed, in the Temptation and Fall of Adam and Eve story in the Book of Genesis, the forbidden fruit—which is not specified, but which is often represented in art as an apple, pomegranate, fig, grape, or wheat—has charisma (Genesis 3:2; 3:6).32 In Genesis, God first created Adam and then Eve from Adam’s rib to serve as his female counterpart and companion. The first man and woman were destined to live eternally, deprived of shame in Eden, the garden of God. They were free to eat fruit from any tree, except from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil; however, the symbol of chaos and the underworld, a serpent—the Devil disguised—seduced Eve and persuaded her to eat the forbidden fruit from the tree, which she also offered to Adam, bringing about the Original Sin.

Now, the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals that the Lord God had made. “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat fruit from any tree of the garden’?” The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden; but God did say, ‘You must not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die’”. “You will not certainly die”, the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil”. When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings themselves.

(Genesis 3:1–7)

Eve’s curiosity and vanity spark the fall of humanity; her and Adam’s disobedience to God results in their expulsion from Paradise, after which they and their descendants experience pain, evil, and, ultimately, death (Figure 5). The forbidden fruit is first and foremost a gift (Charis A) from God. Its accidental propriety is that, if it is eaten, it will bring knowledge and evil into the world. Therefore, similarly to the fruits from the myth of Tantalus, the forbidden fruit’s propriety is that it cannot be eaten. It differs in the fact that its consumption is still possible, as, contrarily to Tantalus, Adam and Eve were able to reach it. The forbidden fruit is attractive and beautiful, in theory; it projects Eve’s thirst for the material, knowledge, and power (Charis B). According to the Devil, eating it would bring knowledge of good and evil, which could be considered a gift benefiting the community (Charis C). Nevertheless, like the Prince of the World from Strasbourg Cathedral, the forbidden fruit gives the illusion of Charis B, as by consuming it, Eve falls from grace (Charis B) (Figure 1). Yet, when Adam tastes the forbidden fruit, his sin is remembered as a felix culpa (fortunate fault), bringing good out of evil, thereby permitting the Incarnation.33 Pope Gregory I (590–604) wrote, “unless Adam committed sin, it would not have been possible for our Redeemer to take on our flesh … The evil that was born from man [Adam] would bring about a good [Christ] which would also defeat evil”.34 The paradox here is that while Eve bears the blame for the Fall, Adam is accorded the dignity of passing on the result of his sinful actions (vice, pain, and death) to his descendants, which, fortunately, justifies the Incarnation. In this context, the forbidden fruit becomes a gift of redemption that benefits the community (Charis C).

The forbidden fruit does not need to bring good to be considered charismatic when we use the Weberian definition of charisma (Charis D). As Martin Spencer argues, “The answer to the often-repeated question: ‘How shall we recognize when a leader is charismatic?’, is therefore simply: Find the leader towards whom these sentiments (awe and enthusiasm) are directed” (Spencer 1973, p. 352). The charismatic Devil who morphed into a snake seduced Eve into sin by using his charismatic power to control her perception of reality/truth. He was the source of her enthusiasm and curiosity to gain power through knowledge. “Weberian charisma…is the Sublime of personality in which”, writes Paul Binski, “for all we know, the Devil has all the best tunes” (Binski 2018, p. 129). Indeed, the Devil’s charisma was transferred into the forbidden fruit, translating his role of bringing the illusion of power to it, ultimately causing pain, evil, and death, and (the illusion of) becoming like God. To the accidental propriety of the forbidden fruit is added an authority, a real (pain, evil, death) and imaginary quality (becoming like God), in which it is treated as an enabler, on the basis of faith rather than reason (Weber 1947, pp. 358–59). Once transferred to the forbidden fruit, the charismatic power of the Devil becomes depersonalized, thereby a controllable force (Weber 1968, pp. 1135–36). Eve believes the Devil’s words and the forbidden fruit’s power, which she eats trusting that she will become as mighty as God. She consumes the fruit against her reason, which is to obey God. After being consumed, the charismatic power of the fruit is transferred into the female body of Eve, which then acquires the accidental propriety of the fruit, made visible through Eve’s tempting, seductive, charismatic force that encourages Adam to taste the forbidden fruit. Seductive through her beautiful forms, body, and words, Eve’s beauty, like the charisma of the Devil and the forbidden fruit, becomes an illusion, a false truth. Eve and the forbidden fruit ultimately become influencers as they are used as poster girl/fruit of seductiveness and charisma (Charis E). They gain an “x-factor” or a je-ne-sais-quoi, which influenced subsequent iconographies and identities.

5. Conclusions

The charismatic fruits involved in classical and medieval religious narratives and iconography have translated into our modern world, especially when it comes to pop culture and the fashion industry. They take an active part in non-phonetic scripts and cultural practices that shape our consumerist world. For instance, in the Brothers Grimm’s tale, Snow White, which Walt Disney adapted into a movie with the same title in 1937, the Evil Queen, disguised as a farmer’s wife, offers her stepdaughter a poisoned apple; the charisma of the poisoned apple seduces Snow White, through its beauty, attractiveness, and brilliance (Charis A and B) (Walt Disney 1937) (Figure 6). Yet, once eaten, Snow White falls into a coma, or deep sleep, which could be considered a temporary death and an index of the charismatic powers of the apple. In a similar manner to the Devil’s charisma transferability into the forbidden fruit in the Temptation and Fall of Adam and Eve, the charisma of the poisoned apple originates from the Evil Queen who transfers or translates it into the fruit (Charis D) (Figure 5 and Figure 6).

In more recent years, this fairy tale, its apple, and its archaic sources (myths, biblical narratives, and iconography) inspired the advertisement campaigns of fashion powerhouses, such as Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and Hermès, which, in turn, influence (Charis E) their potential consumers to follow suit and bite into the fruits they are offering: luxurious clothes and accessories (Figure 7, Figure 8 and Figure 9).35 For instance, Hermès advertises one of its famous luxurious goods, the Kelly bag, using mythical charismatic fruits, such as the pomegranate (Figure 9). The fruit’s attractiveness seduced Persephone into eating a few of its seeds (Charis A and B), tying her to Hades and the underworld. The mythical charisma attached to the pomegranate is transferred to the Kelly bag, seducing its potential consumers through its luxurious material and design. The charismatic role of the pomegranate is thus transferred into a commodity, a bag, which, if bought, would tie its owner to luxury, and would transform him/her into an influencer (Charis E), who sets a trend.36

Furthermore, adverts, such as the ones for Dolce & Gabbana and Chanel perfumes featuring Scarlett Johansson and Keira Knightley, often present a seductive woman who, with her body and gaze, tempts the audience with a charismatic forbidden fruit from the Genesis narrative, which takes the form of a perfume bottle (Figure 10 and Figure 11). The iconography presented in these marketing campaigns mimic the one featuring Eve and the forbidden fruit in Romanesque sculptures (Figure 5). Also, Donna Karan used the apple as the bottle design and marketing strategy for DKNY’s Red Delicious, Be Delicious, and Be Tempted campaigns, where a female model is pictured after biting (or about to bite) into an appealing apple (Figure 12 and Figure 13). The inanimate object—the perfume—inherits the charismatic power of the forbidden fruit from Genesis. The perfume’s charisma then translates into the seductive model, which influences the consumer to purchase the charismatic product, the perfume, so they too could be metamorphosed into the charisma that the ad is attempting to sell. Moreover, through its various products, the company Apple fully absorbs the iconographical and narrative embodiments of charismatic fruits—especially the charisma of the forbidden fruit, through its name and bitten apple logo. In this light, Apple—the company and its products—could be regarded as charismatic, as it seduces more than 200 million consumers every year.37

Finally, following a thorough exploration of the etymological source (charis) and polysemic conceptualization of the term charis, which I have categorized into five distinct meanings or charismata (Charis A, B, C, D, and E), I argued that fruits could be addressed as agents that possess and/or inherit charismatic properties, within a given literary and/or art historical context. At times ambiguous and/or metaphorical, charismatic fruits can be defined as accidental actors (agents), that enable an index (affect), within a given iconography and/or (mythological and/or biblical) narrative. Charismatic fruits have found their way (or translated themselves) into our contemporary visual and literary context as they continue to emanate their different charisma in our culture that is bombarded by advertising, images, and products. These fruits form part of this context to sell us a product, idea, trend, and/or dream.