Sunrises deserve the same amount of awe as sunsets, and yet they do not yet have as many fans as the latter. There are fewer admirers ready to hunt them down, experience and photograph them. This seems quite unfair, because dawn is known—in all religions and myths—as a celebration of the beginning.
When I hear the word “dawn,” I feel it as joyful. It makes me smile involuntarily, and it takes a while before I realize that in addition to sunny and fresh mornings, the Polish language also knows dawns that are heavy, cold, and gloomy. So where did my exclusively positive association come from? And what has conditioned it so deeply?
I think one song from the 1970s might be responsible for this. It is now counted as a Polish classic, and is still frequently played on the radio. It’s called “Radość o poranku” [“Morning Joy”], with lyrics written by Jonasz Kofta: “How great to wake up / as soon as day breaks / the dawn’s radiance / just drink it all up.” It was first sung by Marlena Drozdowska and her band Grupa I, and later by Hanna Banaszak and Majka Jeżowska, among others. The singers’ energetic voices are joined by the chirps of morning birds, “lilacs shaking off the dew,” and the promise of happiness, which on a day like this simply “must come.”
Rosy and Misty
We don’t tend to think about the meaning of the word “dawn” in our day-to-day life—we simply use it intuitively. But just to be safe, I will consult a couple of dictionaries. In the contemporary PWN Dictionary of the Polish Language, I find a very clear definition—it is “the beginning of the day immediately after sunrise.” In the older Witold Doroszewski dictionary, “dawn” turns out to be a much less acute concept, meaning, “the beginning, an early time of day, the dawning, the morning.” Only through joining both of these definitions can we cover the rather wide range of meanings connected with the use of the word “dawn.”
The examples from Polish literature that Doroszewski cites to illustrate the word are noteworthy for their use of colors, far from the May idleness of Kofta’s song lyrics. Here are a few: “the livid hue of the morning” in Stefan Żeromski’s Diaries, “a misty morning scarred by the rays … of the sun” in Józef Ignacy Kraszewski’s Kartkach z podróży 1858–1864 [Travel Notes 1858–1864], and a disturbing red morning with “blood rushing to the head” in Julian Tuwim’s poem “Dawn.” This immediately informs Poles that we live in the north. Scrolling through the pages of Homer’s epic poems, “rosy-fingered Dawn” is associated with a milder climate and a latitude somewhat closer to the equator. By the way, “rosy” refers not so much to “pink” as a pinkish, and sometimes even yellowish, pearly shade. In Homer’s writing, the morning sky has the hue and velvetines of roses, and the shape of slender fingers.
When we mention “the dawn of life,” we mean childhood, possibly early adolescence. The word “dawn,” with its luminous connotation, adds luster to these periods, enshrouding them in associations with what is good in life. It is difficult to say where the age limit to which this metaphor refers lies—is it fifteen, seventeen, or perhaps twenty? It will be different for each person, there is no set rule, you just have to sense it for yourself. One thing is certain—for youth to be deserving of this association, it has to be fresh and naive, untouched by the passing of time, or any experiences of grave distress. It’s that period in life when everything is still ahead of us, and although we theoretically know about the inevitability of death, our young body doesn’t seem to accept this whatsoever. “Enough tears, why the grief? / Time to cheer up at last! / The dawning of life is so brief, / it must be spent fast,” wrote Adam Asnyk in his poem “Drinking Falerno.”
The Sanctity of the Beginning
“Morning is wiser than the evening,” says a Polish proverb. Meaning that if we are faced with a tough nut to crack, have some difficult issues to resolve, it is better not to make a decision right away, but to go to bed, sleep on it, and wait until the morning, when the head is clearer and one’s outlook is brighter. It is said that the Finns have a proverb to the contrary, “Evening is wiser than the morning.” Where does this difference in folk intuition come from? Perhaps from the fact that Finland lies even further north than Poland, and there are times of the year when Finns are seriously lacking sunlight, which starts with the “break of day.” Just imagine—you get up in the morning, and outside your window, day after day, instead of the sun, all you see is an overwhelming dark gray dawn. No, that’s definitely not a good time to confront the hardships of life; it’s better to delay it a bit and wait until the evening.
When we take a deeper look into the meaning of dawn, we find that it is not only one of life’s natural pleasures, but also has philosophical, and, for some, even religious significance. In the brightness, zest, and joy of this time of day, an endless sanctity of the beginning is manifested. The morning is an eternal beginning—a light that emerges from the darkness every day anew, a beginning that is extra-human and elusive, for who can pinpoint the very moment when the world comes into light? It’s impossible. No matter how closely we observe the sun rising from under the horizon, we will always be surprised by the light which has already surrounded us at some point, unexpectedly.
Dawn is a soothing bath for a weary mind, and it’s worth getting up early for. Sunrise is a spectacle unjustifiably experienced less often than sunset, and by some only seen out of necessity. Sunsets are considered romantic and particularly picturesque, with tourist destinations even arranging special tours to places where they can be viewed and photographed, while sunrises are regarded with far less esteem. And yet: “Each day is a little life: every waking and rising a little birth, every fresh morning a little youth.” This phrase, ascribed to the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, deserves more than an entry in a book of aphorisms. For it is the shortest and wisest instruction on how not to waste your life. It roughly states—appreciate what you have, and make good use of the time you have been given. Get up early, before others, and you will catch the world, once more, in statu nascendi.
It’s not surprising that an eminent place for the goddess of dawn was found in all major polytheistic religions, and related mythologies, including the Lithuanian, Roman, Greek, and Hindu. Comparative studies of these depictions have succeeded in reconstructing a hypothetical Pre-Indo-European archetype of the goddess of the dawn, or, to put it more crudely—have been able to extract a surprisingly extensive set of similarities that could point to a single, common prototype of this goddess across various religions. Consequently she was named H₂éwsōs (Hausos), a word derived from names of the Germanic Ostara (Ēostre), Lithuanian Aušrinė, Latin Aurora, Greek Eos, and Vedic Ushas. They are etymologically related to radiance, aurora, flames, and gold, as well as the east, summer, and dawn. On the basis of the Rigveda—an ancient Indian collection of Vedic Sanskrit hymns (sūktas), where the goddess of dawn Ushas is mentioned alongside the most important Vedic gods—it is assumed that in the Pre-Indo-European pantheon, her primordium must have played a prominent role.
All Dawn Goddesses Enjoy the Same Things
In those mythologies that we still have a record of today, the goddesses of dawn do indeed have quite a lot in common. For example, they do not age, or at the very least are infinitely reborn, but they always have a distinct beginning. Homer, in the Iliad, calls the goddess Eos “born in dawn,” just as the Rigveda’s birth of Ushas relates to the everyday occurrence of the un’s chariot being brought out from the heavenly stable.
The goddesses of dawn have their own distinctive colors, taken, as you might imagine, from the natural palette of colors seen just before and during sunrise—gold, saffron, red, crimson. The Greek Eos, who in Sappho’s lyrical poetry wears golden sandals, and the Latvian sun goddess Saulė, resplendent in folk songs in her gilded shoes, are both blessed with similar taste in footwear. Furthermore, Saulė and her daughters like to wear scarves woven from golden thread. Homer dresses Eos in saffron-colored outfits, and so does Ovid, who associated yellow and gold with Aurora, though he also does not shy away from red and violet. Meanwhile, in Indian sources, the image of the goddess of dawn is clearly marked by strong reds (unfamiliar to Northern peoples in this setting), often lined with gold. This might be the origin of the golden-red decorations in the Christian holiday of Christmas, which overlaid in the calendar the older festival of the winter solstice, known as Jul in Scandinavia and as Koliada by the Slavs.
Breaking news: the goddesses of dawn love to dance! No wonder, for dance is joy and harmony, ease and the praise of being. The Vedic Ushas is said to have dressed in embroidered garments, resembling those of dancers, the Greek Eos was known to have a designated space for dancing, close to where she resided near the eastern part of the heavens, the Latvian Saulė was known to use her gilded shoes to dance on a silvery hill, and the Lithuanian Aušrinė was known to bestow her dancing upon people during the summer solstice. So those of us who start the day with dancing are unknowingly worshiping the goddess of dawn, as are those who perform a sequence of asanas known as the Sun Salutation (Surya Namaskar) upon waking up.
The goddesses of dawn also have their favorite vehicles. In Homer, Eos rides a chariot, personally driving the two horses—Lampus, and the more famous Phaethon. The association of Eos with a chariot and horses became so enduring in the Greek language that the poet Bacchylides assigned the goddess the permanent epithet of “white-horsed Dawn.” Aurora in Virgil’s Aeneid travels—as is befitting of a Roman lady—in a quadriga pulled by red-and-gold steeds, which the poet might have picked up from some Greek vase, since it was a common decorative motif. Saulė always has a horse-drawn carriage, on copper wheels, or—a charming Baltic accent—a graceful sled made of fish bones. Only Ushas travels bare-back, on red cows.
When it comes choosing a place to live, we all know that in the end it comes down to location, location, location. The goddesses of dawn are good at picking the best spot. They like to settle at the eastern ends of the world, as well as on islands washed by the ocean waves. Eos lives where Okeanos can not reach—far, far away to the east. The Slavic Zorya took a liking, as Pushkin’s fable tells us, to the island of Buyan, home of the sun and the three winds of the east, west, and north. And in a popular Lithuanian myth, an enamored man follows Aušrinė all the way to her home, situated on an island at the end of the sea, convinced that he’s following a second sun.
Contrary to appearances, the goddesses of dawn have their hands full, and their job is not easy. Who among us would be up to the task of opening the gates of heaven, every morning? Yet this is exactly what the “rosy-fingered” beings do, both Eos and Ushas, as well as Aurora. By letting light back into the world every day, they set the rhythm of life, enabling crops and fruit to grow. Similarly, in Slavic beliefs, Morning Zorya is the one who opens the gates before the sun in the morning, while her twin sister Evening Zorya, closes them at the end of the day.
We must also recognize the unfortunate fact that a misogynistic motif of laziness and vanity among the goddesses of dawn has been imprinted into many mythologies. Namely, a resentment that instead of bringing light to the people, the goddesses are engaged in matters stereotypically associated with women. In Greek and Roman myths, we see Eos and Aurora procrastinating about getting up in the morning, as if they were saying, “Just five more minutes, please!” The mythology of the Balts portrays the Morning Star as a being who, instead of leaving her golden chamber in the morning and attending to her duties, adorns herself endlessly and keeps making new skirts for herself.
The one thing that the goddesses of dawn fear—are even panic-stricken by—is water. It is possible that this conviction came from people observing the sun, as it disappears every evening into the depths of the waters, leaving us in uncertainty as to whether the next day it will rise again from under the horizon. Or perhaps from the more trivial anxiety of waking up in the morning in wet clothes or wet sheets, when the fire in the hearth has long since died.
Evening Dawn
The Christian church also acknowledges dawn quite profoundly. In the Polish Catholic Church, early morning prayers (Lauds) are called jutrznia, referring to dawn. On the other hand, in folklore these morning prayers were called chwalba or chwałki, which is an exact translation of the Latin word laudes and fully expresses the meaning of morning prayer—gratefulness for another day of life.
In the Orthodox Church, on the other hand, the Lauds are immediately celebrated after the night service in one sequence, before the Prime (or first day liturgy). In Orthodox church practice, everything happens in the evening. This is because, according to the biblical order of the creation of the world, the liturgical day begins in the evening. This is taken from the Book of Genesis, where after each day of creation the phrase “And there came to be evening and there came to be morning” follows. That is exactly what happens in the evening in the Orthodox church, immediately after the Vspers come the Lauds, which can be distinguished by the fact that the lamps and candles are put out, and the temple is drowned in symbolic darkness for a while. The lights are then lit again, symbolizing dawn. Let’s all wake up early. For it is the early bird who gets the… gifts of all the goddesses of dawn—new life, more time, fortitude, and serenity.
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