Today I encouraged my Mu to write a letter to the owners of a house she loves.

size the RAK

Like Myths to Light

Uncertainty, in the presence of vivid hopes and fears, is painful, but must be endured if we wish to live without the support of comforting fairy tales.

-- Bertrand Russell, A History of Western Philosophy

As much as four millennia before the more familiar Greco-Roman or “classical” mythology, for example of Homer around 8^th CE BC, it is hypothesized that there existed mythologies of the Proto-Indo-European peoples.  Carvings that depict the sun being drawn by horse and carriage, or the belief that thunder and lightning resulted from the wielding of Thor’s hammer, are some such examples.  But by the time of Xenophanes and the pre-Socratic philosophers of Greece in 570 BC, these and similar mythological explanations for events of the natural world had been dispelled.  What is it that myths previously offered that no longer served any useful purpose?

A myth serves as, among other things, an explanation.  For us to understand why some explanations may be better or worse than others, it may help to imagine the role explanations might have played, and how the need for them may have emerged, among our early ancestors.

Take your first “Homo”.  It's about 2.4 million years ago and she's the earliest to emerge from the australopithecine genus.  To see her is to gaze with wonder - forget Sports Illustrated SE - upon the product of the next logical step in bipedal evolution: greater encephalization.  Consider yourself immediately enraptured; you're a truly sophisticated Sir Mix-A-Lot, "I like big brains and I cannot lie..."  (She may at this point think highly of herself, too; but alas, that is probably all she can do.  And with that booty-licious brain, she should hope it reminds her to run when she sees pretty much anything).

Now thanks to that big melon, she begins interacting with the world around her in a markedly different way than her australopithecine ancestors.  Things need to be categorized – into "dangerous", “edible”, and “mateable”, to start – and, as the categories become increasingly sophisticated and sensitive to the world, eventually (oh, say about 2.39 million years down the road) the thought occurs, “Someone’s got some explaining to do.”

What needs to be explained?  Those things that sustain us might be a likely place to begin.  Looking closely, we see that our crops, and most things of nature like water and sunlight, are resources that behave in certain ways.  Our edibles grow either on trees or from the ground – they do not spontaneously generate themselves in midair, for instance.  It is noticed that during prolonged periods of time where that vital clear liquid does not fall from the sky (i.e., during “drought”), these edibles are less prone to grow.  Water seems important, and we observe that it often follows behind bright streaks of light that crackle and roar.  In short, we notice there is a precarious balance of elements, each with their own respective governing conditions, that appears to directly affect the proliferation of our units of sustenance.

We could stop here.  But we don’t; something is left to be explained.  Sure enough, it may very well be the sun and water affect our crops, but what is it that affects (i.e., causes) them?  If at this point we cannot identify any further significant correlations to explain these more prior causes, then perhaps we ought to just make something up.  At least, now our imagination may access the stage previously reserved for our senses (literal and literal).

What I suggest, however, is that here imagination is invoked not out of freedom but of necessity.  After all, you’d have to be pretty desperate to reach the conclusion that it is a giant scarab – a beetle, one known for rolling balls of its dung to prepare a suitable Jesus basket for the female to deposit her eggs – named Khepri, who rolls the sun across the sky each day. 

The man often referred to as the founder of modern Darwinism, J. B. S. Haldane (1892-1964), may have offered something to help us connect the dots.  The story goes that a group of theologians, considering Haldane's noted observance of life's various creations, asked him for any conclusions that could be drawn about the Creator.  Haldane's response: “An inordinate fondness for beetles.” (Gould, Dinosaur in a Haystack, “A Special Fondness for Beetles”).  And drawn to the light is the myth. 

The first question to ask is why the previous explanations for nature’s conditions were insufficient.  There must have been a period prior to mythology in which distinctly non-mythological explanations were employed, and such explanations must have been in some important way insufficient – as exemplified by the turning then to distinctly non-natural explanations for the natural world.  Had the mythological explanations not been satisfactory this pattern would have persisted; myths would have done little more than push back the buck.  We would have inquired as to whether the beetle has wings, its origin, its “stunt-beetle” who rolls its dung when it’s busy playing with Sisyphusian fire, etc.  But what we observe is that no further logical back steps are required.

No, the buck stops here.  And I would like to suggest (at least) the following two reasons why.  First, myths made the highly impersonal “mother” nature personal, human even; and second, they brought mother’s chaotic spontaneity in some sense under our control.

As to the personification of nature, we should see that despite those natural explanations’ demonstrably strong correlations – say, between sunlight and plant growth – little is offered in the way of comfort.  Drought is a terrible and, for the time, even fatal thing – would it suffice simply to know that clouds had been scarce lately?  No, of course not; natural mechanisms are distant and impersonal forces.  Employing myths, however, we deify nature in our image.  The result is that we gain access to this otherwise impersonal, non-human force (hence the cultural relativity demonstrated by these myths – i.e., it made for better relating). 

As to the control of nature, myths offer control in two ways.  The first is simply conceptual, to make chaos tangible.  The randomness and unreasonableness of unfavorable natural events can now be made sense of: the gods are unhappy.  The second is actual, in providing an opportunity to direct our efforts: there are things we can do to make the gods once again happy.  It is interesting to speculate as to whatever parallels may be found between the extreme, literal sacrifices to appease the gods, and our current “sacrifices” – I’m thinking of family, friends, hygiene – to learn something of the world in our respective field.  Is it merely the object of worship that has changed?  We should also note that to whatever extent mythological explanation borders on the religious, the “good” and “evil” of this ancient time is notably practical or literal; not yet infused with possibilities of inherent morality, good and evil are considerations of what is either good or evil for someone.

Eventually with critical reflection, however, mythological explanation is swiftly disposed of.  Two new developments increase the capacity to reflect critically on these explanations; the advent of written record, and the use of slaves in agrarian society.  The former provides a mirror for one’s thoughts, while the latter provides the time for gazing.  What resulted was a societal awareness of myth not only as being made in man’s image, but also as being highly relative.  Xenophanes, most notably, criticizes the deities on these grounds.  And with this criticism becoming widespread, we have the mythological mode of thought dispelled and the observation- and reason-based mode takes its place.  And with it come the natural philosophers.