Below are portions of chapters 55, 56, 58 and 74 in Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code, A Novel.  

Chapter 55

Seated on the divan beside Langdon, Sophie drank her tea and ate a scone, feeling the welcome effects of caffeine and food. Sir Leigh Teabing was beaming as he awkwardly paced before the open fire, his leg braces clicking on the stone hearth.

“The Holy Grail,” Teabing said, his voice sermonic. “Most people ask me only where it is. I fear that is a question I may never answer.” He turned and looked directly at Sophie. “However... the far more relevant question is this: What is the Holy Grail?”

Sophie sensed a rising air of academic anticipation now in both of her male companions.

“To fully understand the Grail,” Teabing continued, “we must first understand the Bible. How well do you know the New Testament?”

Sophie shrugged. “Not at all, really. I was raised by a man who worshipped Leonardo da Vinci.”

Teabing looked both startled and pleased. “An enlightened soul. Superb! Then you must be aware that Leonardo was one of the keepers of the secret of the Holy Grail. And he hid clues in his art.”

“Robert told me as much, yes.”

“And Da Vinci’s views on the New Testament?”

“I have no idea.”

Teabing’s eyes turned mirthful as he motioned to the bookshelf across the room. “Robert, would you mind? On the bottom shelf. La Storia di Leonardo.”

Langdon went across the room, found a large art book, and brought it back, setting it down on the table between them. Twisting the book to face Sophie, Teabing flipped open the heavy cover and pointed inside the rear cover to a series of quotations. “From Da Vinci’s notebook on polemics and speculation,” Teabing said, indicating one quote in particular. “I think you’ll find this relevant to our discussion.”

Sophie read the words.

Many have made a trade of delusions and false miracles, deceiving the stupid multitude.
LEONARDO DA VINCI

“Here’s another,” Teabing said, pointing to a different quote.

Blinding ignorance does mislead us. O! Wretched mortals, open your eyes!
LEONARDO DA VINCI

Sophie felt a little chill. “Da Vinci is talking about the Bible?”

Teabing nodded. “Leonardo’s feelings about the Bible relate directly to the Holy Grail. In fact, Da Vinci painted the true Grail, which I will show you momentarily, but first we must speak of the Bible.” Teabing smiled. “And everything you need to know about the Bible can be summed up by the great canon doctor Martyn Percy.” Teabing cleared his throat and declared, The Bible did not arrive by fax from heaven.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Bible is a product of man, my dear. Not of God. The Bible did not fall magically from the clouds. Man created it as a historical record of tumultuous times, and it has evolved through countless translations, additions, and revisions. History has never had a definitive version of the book.”

“Okay.”

“Jesus Christ was a historical figure of staggering influence, perhaps the most enigmatic and inspirational leader the world has ever seen. As the prophesied Messiah, Jesus toppled kings, inspired millions, and founded new philosophies. As a descendant of the lines of King Solomon and King David, Jesus possessed a rightful claim to the throne of the King of the Jews. Understandably, His life was recorded by thousands of followers across the land.” Teabing paused to sip his tea and then placed the cup back on the mantel. “More than eighty gospels were considered for the New Testament, and yet only a relative few were chosen for inclusion—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John among them.

“Who chose which gospels to include?” Sophie asked.

“Aha!” Teabing burst in with enthusiasm. “The fundamental irony of Christianity! The Bible, as we know it today, was collated by the pagan Roman emperor Constantine the Great.”

“I thought Constantine was a Christian,” Sophie said.

“Hardly,” Teabing scoffed. ‘He was a lifelong pagan who was baptized on his deathbed, too weak to protest.  In Constantine’s day, Rome’s official religion was sun worship—the cult of Sol Invictus, or the Invincible Sun—and Constantine was its head priest. Unfortunately for him, a growing religious turmoil was gripping Rome. Three centuries after the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, Christ’s followers had multiplied exponentially. Christians and pagans began warring, and the conflict grew to such proportions that it threatened to rend Rome in two. Constantine decided something had to be done.  In 325 A.D., he decided to unify Rome under a single religion. Christianity.”

Sophie was surprised. “Why would a pagan emperor choose Christianity as the official religion?”

Teabing chuckled. “Constantine was a very good businessman. He could see that Christianity was on the rise, and he simply backed the winning horse. Historians still marvel at the brilliance with which Constantine converted the sun-worshipping pagans to Christianity. By fusing pagan symbols, dates, and rituals into the growing Christian tradition, he created a kind of hybrid religion that was acceptable to both parties.”

“Transmogrification,” Langdon said. “The vestiges of pagan religion in Christian symbology are undeniable. Egyptian sun disks became the halos of Catholic saints. Pictograms of Isis nursing her miraculously conceived son Horus became the blueprint for our modem images of the Virgin Mary nursing Baby Jesus. And virtually all the elements of the Catholic ritual—the miter, the altar, the doxology, and communion, the act of “God-eating”—were taken directly from earlier pagan mystery religions.”

Teabing groaned. “Don’t get a symbologist started on Christian icons. Nothing in Christianity is original. The pre-Christian God Mithras—called the Son of God and the Light of the World—was born on December 25, died, was buried in a rock tomb, and then resurrected in three days. By the way, December 25 is also the birthday of Osiris, Adonis, and Dionysus. The newborn Krishna was presented with gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Even Christianity’s weekly holy day was stolen from the pagans.”

“What do you mean?”

“Originally,” Langdon said, “Christianity honored the Jewish Sabbath of Saturday, but Constantine shifted it to coincide with the pagan’s veneration day of the sun.” He paused, grinning. “To this day, most churchgoers attend services on Sunday morning with no idea that they are there on account of the pagan sun god’s weekly tribute—Sun-day.”

Sophie’s head was spinning. “And all of this relates to the Grail?”

“Indeed” Teabing said. “Stay with me. During this fusion of religions, Constantine needed to strengthen the new Christian tradition, and held a famous ecumenical gathering known as the Council of Nicaea.”

Sophie had heard of it only insofar as its being the place of the Nicene Creed.

“At this gathering,” Teabing said, “many aspects of Christianity were debated and voted upon—the date of Easter, the role of the bishops, the administration of sacraments, and, of course, the divinity of Jesus.”

“I don’t follow. His divinity?”

“My dear,” Teabing declared, “until that moment in history, Jesus was viewed by His followers as a mortal prophet. . . a great and powerful man, but a man nonetheless. A mortal.”

“Not the Son of God?”

“Right,” Teabing said. “Jesus’ establishment as ‘the Son of God’ was officially proposed and voted on by the Council of Nicaea.”

“Hold on. You’re saying Jesus’ divinity was the result of a vote?”

“A relatively close vote at that,” Teabing added. “Nonetheless, establishing Christ’s divinity was critical to the further unification of the Roman empire and to the new Vatican power base. By officially endorsing Jesus as the Son of God, Constantine turned Jesus into a deity who existed beyond the scope of the human world, an entity whose power was unchallengeable. This not only precluded further pagan challenges to Christianity, but now the followers of Christ were able to redeem themselves only via the established sacred channel—the Roman Catholic Church.”

Sophie glanced at Langdon, and he gave her a soft nod of concurrence

“It was all about power,” Teabing continued. “Christ as Messiah was critical to the functioning of Church and state. Many scholars claim that the early Church literally stole Jesus from His original followers, hijacking His human message, shrouding it in an impenetrable cloak of divinity, and using it to expand their own power. I’ve written several books on the topic.”

“And I assume devout Christians send you hate mail on a daily basis?”

“Why would they?” Teabing countered. “The vast majority of educated Christians know the history of their faith. Jesus was indeed a great and powerful man. Constantine’s underhanded political maneuvers don’t diminish the majesty of Christ’s life. Nobody is saying Christ was a fraud, or denying that He walked the earth and inspired millions to better lives. All we are saying is that Constantine took advantage of Christ’s substantial influence and importance. And in doing so, he shaped the face of Christianity as we know it today.”

Sophie glanced at the art book before her, eager to move on and see the Da Vinci painting of the Holy Grail.

“The twist is this,” Teabing said, talking faster now. “Because Constantine upgraded Jesus’ status almost four centuries after Jesus’ death, thousands of documents already existed chronicling His life as a mortal man. To rewrite the history books, Constantine knew he would need a bold stroke. From this sprang the most profound moment in Christian history.” Teabing paused, eyeing Sophie. “Constantine commissioned and financed a new Bible, which omitted those gospels that spoke of Christ’s human traits and embellished those gospels that made Him godlike. The earlier gospels were outlawed, gathered up, and burned.”

“An interesting note,” Langdon added. Anyone who chose the forbidden gospels over Constantine’s version was deemed a heretic. The word heretic derives from that moment in history. The Latin word haereticus means ‘choice.’ Those who ‘chose’ the original history of Christ were the world’s first heretics.”

“Fortunately for historians,” Teabing said, “some of the gospels that Constantine attempted to eradicate managed to survive. The Dead Sea Scrolls were found in the 1950s hidden in a cave near Qumran in the Judean desert. And, of course, the Coptic Scrolls in 1945 at Nag Hammadi. In addition to telling the true Grail story, these documents speak of Christ’s ministry in very human terms. Of course, the Vatican, in keeping with their tradition of misinformation, tried very hard to suppress the release of these scrolls. And why wouldn’t they? The scrolls highlight glaring historical discrepancies and fabrications, clearly confirming that the modern Bible was compiled and edited by men who possessed a political agenda—to promote the divinity of the man Jesus Christ and use His influence to solidify their own power base.”

“And yet,” Langdon countered, “it’s important to remember that the modern Church’s desire to suppress these documents comes from a sincere belief in their established view of Christ. The Vatican is made up of deeply pious men who truly believe these contrary documents could only be false testimony.”

Teabing chuckled as he eased himself into a chair opposite Sophie. “As you can see, our professor has a far softer heart for Rome than I do. Nonetheless, he is correct about the modern clergy believing these opposing documents are false testimony. That’s understandable. Constantine’s Bible has been their truth for ages. Nobody is more indoctrinated than the indoctrinator.”

“What he means,” Langdon said, “is that we worship the gods of our fathers.”

“What I mean,” Teabing countered, “is that almost everything our fathers taught us about Christ is false. As are the stories about the Holy Grail.”

Sophie looked again at the Da Vinci quote before her. Blinding ignorance does mislead us. O! Wretched mortals, open your eyes!

Teabing reached for the book and flipped toward the center. “And finally, before I show you Da Vinci’s paintings of the Holy Grail, I’d like you to take a quick look at this.” He opened the book to a colorful graphic that spanned both full pages. “I assume you recognize this fresco?”

He’s kidding, right? Sophie was staring at the most famous fresco of all time—The Last Supper—Da Vinci’s legendary painting from the wall of Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan. The decaying fresco portrayed Jesus and His disciples at the moment that Jesus announced one of them would betray Him. “I know the fresco, yes.”

“Then perhaps you would indulge me this little game? Close your eyes if you would.”

Uncertain, Sophie closed her eyes.

“Where is Jesus sitting?” Teabing asked.

“In the center.”

“Good. And what food are He and His disciples breaking and eating?”

“Bread.” Obviously.

“Superb. And what drink?”

“Wine. They drank wine.”

“Great. And one final question. How many wineglasses are on the table?”

Sophie paused, realizing it was the trick question. And after dinner, Jesus took the cup of wine, sharing it with His disciples. “One cup,” she said. “The chalice.” The Cup of Christ. The Holy Grail. “Jesus passed a single chalice of wine, just as modern Christians do at communion.”

Teabing sighed. “Open your eyes.”

She did. Teabing was grinning smugly. Sophie looked down at the painting, seeing to her astonishment that everyone at the table had a glass of wine, including Christ. Thirteen cups. Moreover, the cups were tiny, stemless, and made of glass. There was no chalice in the painting. No Holy Grail.

Teabing’s eyes twinkled. “A bit strange, don’t you think, considering that both the Bible and our standard Grail legend celebrate this moment as the definitive arrival of the Holy Grail. Oddly, Da Vinci appears to have forgotten to paint the Cup of Christ.”

“Surely art scholars must have noted that.”

“You will be shocked to learn what anomalies Da Vinci included here that most scholars either do not see or simply choose to ignore. This fresco, in fact, is the entire key to the Holy Grail mystery. Da Vinci lays it all out in the open in The Last Supper.”

Sophie scanned the work eagerly. “Does this fresco tell us what the Grail really is?”

“Not what it is,” Teabing whispered. “But rather who it is. The Holy Grail is not a thing. It is, in fact... a person.” [Dan Brown, The Da Vinci Code, A Novel (New York, 2003), pp. 230-236.]

Chapter 56

Sophie stared at Teabing a long moment and then turned to Langdon.  “The Holy Grail is a person?”

Langdon nodded.  “A woman, in fact.”  From the blank look on Sophie’s face, Langdon could tell they had already lost her.  He recalled having a similar reaction the first time he heard the statement. It was not until he understood the symbology behind the Grail that the feminine connection became clear.

Teabing apparently had a similar thought.  “Robert, perhaps this is the moment for the symbologist to clarify?”  He went to a nearby end table, found a piece of paper, and laid it in front of Langdon.

Langdon pulled a pen from his pocket.  “Sophie are you familiar with the modern icons for male and female?”  He drew the common male symbol and female symbol.

“Of course,” she said.

“These,” he said quietly, are not the original symbols for male and female.  Many people incorrectly assume the male symbol is derived from a shield and spear, while the female represents a mirror reflecting beauty.  In fact, the symbols originated as ancient astronomical symbols for the planet-god Mars and the planet-goddess Venus.  The original symbols are far simpler.”  Langdon drew another icon on the paper.

^

“This symbol is the original icon for male,” he told her.  “A rudimentary phallus.”

“Quite to the point,” Sophie said.

“As it were,” Teabing added.

Langdon went on.  “This icon is formally known as the blade, and it represents aggression and manhood.  In fact, this exact phallus symbol is still used today on modern military uniforms to denote rank.”

“Indeed.”  Teabing grinned.  “The more penises you have, the higher your rank.  Boys will be boys.”

“Langdon winced.  “Moving on, the female symbol, as you might imagine, is the exact opposite.”  He drew another symbol on the page.  “This is called the chalice.”

V

Sophie glanced up, looking surprised.

Langdon could see she had made the connection.  “The chalice,” he said, “resembles a cup or vessel, and more important, it resembles the shape of a woman’s womb.  This symbol communicates femininity, womanhood, and fertility.”  Langdon looked directly at her now.  “Sophie, legend tells us the Holy Grail is a chalice—a cup.  But the Grail’s description as a chalice is actually an allegory to protect the true nature of the Holy Grail.  That is to say, the legend uses the chalice as a metaphor for something far more important.”

“A woman,” Sophie said.

“Exactly.”  Langdon smiled.  “The Grail is literally the ancient symbol for womankind, and the Holy Grail represents the sacred feminine and the goddess, which of course has now been lost, virtually eliminated by the Church.  The power of the female and her ability to produce life was once very sacred, but it posed a threat to the rise of the predominantly male Church, and so the sacred feminine was demonized and called unclean.  It was man, not God, who created the concept of ‘original sin,’ whereby Eve tasted of the apple and caused the downfall of the human race.  Woman, once the sacred giver of life, was now the enemy.”

“I should add,” Teabing chimed, “that this concept of woman as life-bringer was the foundation of ancient religion.  Childbirth was mystical and powerful.  Sadly, Christian philosophy decided to embezzle the female’s creative power by ignoring biological truth and making man the Creator.  Genesis tells us that Eve was created from Adam’s rib.  Woman became an offshoot of man.  And a sinful one at that.  Genesis was the beginning of the end for the goddess.”

“The Grail,” Langdon said, “is symbolic of the lost goddess.  When Christianity came along, the old pagan religions did not die easily.  Legends of chivalric quests for the lost Grail were in fact stories of forbidden quests to find the lost sacred feminine. Knights who claimed to be “searching for the chalice” were speaking in codes as a way to protect themselves from a Church that had subjugated women, banished the Goddess, burned nonbelievers, and forbidden pagan reverence for the sacred feminine.”

Sophie shook her head.  “I’m sorry, when you said the Holy Grail was a person, I thought you meant it was an actual person.”

“It is,” Langdon said.

“And not just any person,” Teabing blurted clambering excitedly to his feet.  “A woman who carried with her a secret so powerful that, if revealed, it threatened to devastate the very foundation of Christianity!” *

Sophie looked overwhelmed.  “Is this woman well known in history?”

“Quite.”  Teabing collected his crutches and motioned down the hall.  “And if we adjourn to the study, my friends, it would be my honor to show you Da Vinci’s painting of her.”

* * *

Two rooms away, in the kitchen, manservant Rémy Legaludec stood in silence before a television.  The news station was broadcasting photos of a man and woman. . . the same two individuals to whom Rémy had just served tea. [Ibid., pp. 237-239.]

Chapter 58

“The woman they are speaking of,” Teabing explained, “is Mary Magdalene.  Peter is jealous of her.”

“Because Jesus preferred Mary?”

“Not only that.  The stakes were far greater than mere affection.  At this point in the gospels, Jesus suspects He will soon be captured and crucified.  So He gives Mary Magdalene instructions on how to carry on His Church after He is gone.  As a result, Peter expresses his discontent over playing second fiddle to a woman.  I daresay Peter was something of a sexist.” [Ibid., pp. 247, 248.]

. . .

“Jesus was the original feminist.  He intended for the future of His Church to be in the hands of Mary Magdalene.”

“And Peter had a problem with that,” Langdon said, pointing to The Last Supper.  “That’s Peter there.  You can see that Da Vince was well aware of how Peter felt about Mary Magdalene.”

Again, Sophie was speechless.  In the painting, Peter was leaning menacingly toward Mary Magdalene and slicing his blade-like hand across her neck.  The same threatening gesture as in Madonna of the Rocks!’ [Ibid., p. 248.]

Chapter 74

“You want to tell me about it?”

“I’d rather not,”  She turned suddenly back to Langdon, her eyes welling with emotion.  “I don’t know what I saw.”

“Were both men and women present?”

After a beat, she nodded.

“Dressed in white and black?”

She wiped her eyes and then nodded, seeming to open up a little.  “The women were in white gossamer gowns. . .  with golden shoes.  They held golden orbs.  The men wore black tunics and black shoes.”

Langdon strained to hide his emotion, and yet he could not believe what he was hearing.  Sophie Neveu had unwittingly witnessed a two-thousand-year-old sacred ceremony.  “Masks?” he asked, keeping his voice calm.  “Androgynous masks?”

“Yes.  Everyone.  Identical masks.  White on the women.  Black on the men.”

Langdon had read descriptions of this ceremony and understood its mystic roots.  “It’s called Hieros Gamos,” he said softly.  “It dates back more than two thousand years.  Egyptian priests and priestesses performed it regularly to celebrate the reproductive power of the female.”  He paused, leaning toward her.  “And if you witnessed Hieros Gamos without being properly prepared to understand its meaning, I imagine it would be pretty shocking.”

Sophie said nothing.

“Hieros Gamos is Greek,” he continued.  “It means sacred marriage.”

“The ritual I saw was no marriage.”

“Marriage as in union, Sophie.”

“You mean as in sex.”

“No.”

“No?” she said, her olive eyes testing him.

Langdon backpedaled.  “Well. . . . yes, in a manner of speaking, but not as we understand it today.”  He explained that although what she saw probably looked like a sex ritual, Hieros Gamos had nothing to do with eroticism.  It was a spiritual act.  Historically, intercourse was the act through which male and female experienced God.  The ancients believed that the male was spiritually incomplete until he had carnal knowledge of the sacred feminine.  Physical union with the female remained the sole means through which man could become spiritually complete and ultimately achieve gnosis—knowledge of the divine.  Since the days of Isis, sex rites had been considered man’s only bridge from earth to heaven.  “By communing with woman,” Langdon said, “man could achieve a climactic instant when his mind went totally blank and he could see God.”

Sophie looked skeptical.  “Orgasm as prayer?”

Langdon gave a noncommittal shrug, although Sophie was essentially correct.  Physiologically speaking, the male climax was accompanied by a split second entirely devoid of thought.  A brief mental vacuum.  A moment of clarity during which God could be glimpsed.  Meditation gurus achieved similar states of thoughtlessness without sex and often described Nirvana as a never ending spiritual orgasm.

“Sophie,” Langdon said quietly, “it’s important to remember that the ancients’ view of sex was entirely opposite from ours today.  Sex begot new life—the ultimate miracle—and miracles could be performed only by a god.  The ability of the woman to produce life form her womb made her sacred.  A god.  Intercourse was the revered union of the two halves of the human spirit—male and female—through which the male could find spiritual wholeness and communion with God.  What you saw was not about sex, it was about spirituality.  The Hieros Gamos ritual is not a perversion.  It’s a deeply sacrosanct ceremony.”

His words seemed to strike a nerve.  Sophie had been remarkably poised all evening, but now, for the first time, Langdon saw the aura of composure beginning to crack.  Tears materialized in her eyes again, and she dabbed them away with here sleeve.

He gave her a moment.  Admittedly, the concept of sex as a pathway to God was mind-boggling at first.  Langdon’s Jewish students always looked flabbergasted when he told them that the early Jewish tradition involved ritualistic sex.  In the Temple, no less.  Early Jews believed that the Holy of Holies in Solomon’s Temple housed not only God but also His powerful female equal, Shekinah.  Men seeking spiritual wholeness came to the Temple to visit priestesses—or hierodules—with whom they made love and experienced the divine through physical union.  The Jewish tetragrammaton YHWH—the sacred name of God—in fact derived from Jehovah, an androgynous physical union between the masculine Jah and the pre-Hebraic name for Eve, Havah. [RBV:  For a quick rebuttal of this bit of nonsense from Dan Brown, please read the first few paragraphs of Differences in Languages.]

“For the early Church,” Langdon explained in a soft voice, “mankind’s use of sex to commune directly with God posed a serious threat to the Catholic power base.  It left the Church out of the loop, undermining their self-proclaimed status as the b conduit to God.  For obvious reasons, they worked hard to demonize sex and recast it as a disgusting and sinful act.  Other major religions did the same.”

Sophie was silent, but Langdon sensed she was starting to understand her grandfather better.  Ironically, Langdon had made this same point in a class lecture earlier this semester. “Is it surprising we feel conflicted about sex?” he asked his students.  “Our ancient heritage and our very physiologies tell us sex is natural—a cherished route to spiritual fulfillment—and yet modern religion decries it as shameful, teaching us to fear our sexual desire as the hand of the devil.”

Langdon decided not to shock his students with the fact that more than a dozen secret societies around the world—many of them quite influential—still practiced sex rites and kept the ancient traditions alive.  Tom Cruise’s character in the film Eyes Wide Shut discovered this the hard way when he sneaked into a private gathering of ultraelite Manhattanites only to find himself witnessing Hieros Gamos.  Sadly, the filmmakers had gotten most of the specifics wrong, but the basic gist was there—a secret society communing to celebrate the magic of sexual union.

“Professor Langdon?”  A male student in back raised his hand, sounding hopeful.  “Are you saying that instead of going to chapel, we should have more sex?”

Langdon chuckled, not about to take the bait . . . [Ibid., pp. 307-310.]

Brown, Dan. The Da Vinci Code, A Novel. New York: Doubleday, 2003

* In the film trailer, Teabing says, “We are in the middle of a war. One that has been going on forever to protect a secret so powerful that, if revealed it, would devastate the very foundations of mankind!”  As with all films based on books, the screenplay will be different.