mythology

I wandered into a local bookstore a few months ago. It was musty and full of cats, as these types of shops often are. I grazed the shelves slowly. Mythology had recently piqued my interest due to a reference to Persephone and pomegranates in a book I’d just read. I realized, as an adult, I still did not know much about Greek or Roman classic mythology. On top of that, my own changes in my beliefs and perspectives had revealed a good deal of what I once thought to be objective truth was, in fact, heavily influenced by myth and no one had ever told me. I had to discover that on my own, slowly, arduously, painfully.

Mythology as a topic had an air of taboo when I was young. It was myth, therefore false, and therefore not worth much inspection. Why learn it? It dealt with pantheons and false gods, so better to leave it alone because it was blasphemous. Nevermind its interlaced role in history, civilization, art, astronomy, or simply the human record. Adults around me treated it dismissively and I never bothered to take a closer look, as it seemed a waste of time.

I found a book that held precisely the information I sought: Mythology by Edith Hamilton. A compilation, a source to guide me into this new and complex story. A gentle introduction to a world almost totally foreign to me. The cat dander in the air was dense. My throat itched and my eyes watered. At the checkout counter, a slightly odd, bespectacled man conducted the transaction. He was just the type to be working at an eccentric local bookstore full of cats. 

“Mythology?” He mused. “I think this is still required reading. I think the eighth graders gotta read it still.” 

I mumbled in agreement. A tiny motor whirred in the receipt printer and then he offered me the narrow paper as unnecessary evidence that I had purchased a gently used book required by the local school system for thirteen year olds to read. 

I walked out the door, mindful of the sunning cats near the exit, with my heart in a strange place. Mouth or stomach, I’m not sure, but it was somewhere other than what anatomy prescribes. The interaction had thrown me into thinking. Had I been a normal kid in a normal family, I might have gone to a normal school and gotten normal homework assignments. I might have been taught normal science and normal history. I may have even been assigned a normal book about Greek mythology, and I would have obtained a normal person’s working knowledge of the cast and characters involved. 

But there I was, unlocking my car. An adult woman with very little education about any culture’s mythology other than my own. I had not gone to a normal school - or any school, for that matter. I had been homeschooled and not taught about mythology, or evolution, or why the Confederacy really seceded from the Union. When art or literature referenced Greek gods, I glossed over it as irrelevant. I was not afforded the chance to develop a well-rounded historical or literary education, because it was simply not required of me. Even in university, the time had passed to introduce those concepts. It was assumed students possessed some level of foundational knowledge to build upon, because, after all, that subject was required reading. Surely everyone had at least seen Disney’s Hercules? (I still have not.) 

The time had not completely passed, however. Because there I was, driving home with a copy of Mythology lying on the passenger seat next to me. No one required me to read it. I haven’t been in eighth grade for a very long time. But it is never too late to learn. There is no shame in needing to catch up in some areas. Imagine my shock to find that Dionysus is a Christ figure - or rather, Christ is a Dionysus-figure, so as not to anachronize. Imagine my delight in finding characters I could relate to now as a grown woman! The mythologies of the ancient world hold so much purpose because they were crafted by humans to suss out authentic and complicated human experiences. A myriad of emotions, struggles, relationships, jealousy, evil, and pain are portrayed through the pantheon. 

This journey changed my thinking in more ways than one. Because I accept the stories at face value as myth, I can interact with them without pressure or anxiety. I have no obligation to determine their veracity, and then decide how that will influence my life choices thereafter. I simply read, enjoy, engage with what compels me and abandon what does not. It is a liberating way to learn, and I find myself more able to use this approach in other areas and ideas now.

Now, the book resides on my shelf. I have not discovered some great truth or answers. But the resounding sense of connection to humanity from another time and culture is palpable. Their gods resemble their own conflicts and selves so much because that’s the whole point. The gods and goddesses act out the human experience, but it’s an experience uninhibited by physical constraints. If I could fly, if I did have power, if I could get revenge, if I could explain why bad things happen, if I could have my muse as my lover, if I could win and conquer this world and its problems - how glorious! We reflect ourselves into the lore we write. We express something of our fears and desires in what we create.

We create myths and beliefs and religions, just as we have done since the dawn of civilization. 

We make gods in our image.