Joseph Campbell conceives of the hero’s journey which consists of three parts: separation/departure, trials and victories, and the return.  In the first part of the journey, the hero is called to adventure, they then face trials, battles, and hopefully victories, and ultimately returns to ordinary life, or refuses to return.  Campbell asserts that a hero is someone who has done something beyond that which would be considered normal, and gives their life, either figuratively or literally, for another. 

In Campbell’s assessment of a hero, and a hero’s journey, I believe that Belle would be considered a hero.  We find in Belle a strong female character who rejects the ordinary role of women in her small town as well as the affections of an arrogant suitor, and desires a life filled with the types of adventures she finds in books.  She is ultimately called to adventure, leaving her home in order to search for her missing father.  Upon finding him in the dark and decrepit castle of the Beast, she offers to take his place, sacrificing her own life in order to save her father. Belle’s character remains constant throughout the story as she is a kind, compassionate, and strong woman right from the beginning, but her kindness and selflessness transforms the Beast and ultimately the love that grows between them serves to not only set the Beast free from the spell that has trapped him, but also sets Belle free from her captivity.  Belle struggles to retain her character in the face of captivity and to see the Beast for what lies inside of him, not simply his outward appearance.  The end of her story marks a refusal to return to her normal life in the town, but to begin a new life in the castle with the Beast who has been returned to his Princely state.  Since Belle is also able to bring her father to the castle, the end is a combination of the return and refusal to return, she takes the best part of her old life, her father, and combines it with her new life.

Neo can also be seen as a hero, albeit one who is not immediately as ready to accept the hero’s journey as Belle.  He rejects his first call to adventure, but ultimately accepts his hero’s journey and has a supernatural aid in Morpheus.  He faces trials as he attempts to retain his natural inclination for self-preservation, while also giving into the death of his own self and ego in order to fulfill his greater purpose.  Neo ultimately fulfills his quest and returns with the hope of enlightening others to the truth about the Matrix. His hero’s journey seems to be complete, but there are two subsequent films and it seems that Neo’s journey is far from over at this point.

Campbell’s concept of the hero’s journey is so interesting and to apply it to two very different stories in popular culture was an engaging exercise.  It is clear that the strength of Campbell’s formulation lies in the fact that it works with so many different people, so many different stories, so many different realities. 

Rituals

          This semester I am taking a course entitled Spirituality and Healing in which we have studied various religions and healing practices.  One thing that we have studied is the fact that people who have some sort of religious belief or spiritual practice in their lives enjoy better health than those that have no spiritual or religious affiliation.  There are various studies that validate this idea, noting that religious/spiritual people tend to have lower blood pressure, less instances of depression and substance abuse, and overall tend to live longer.  I find this very interesting and it seems to support the notion of the power of positive thinking.  When we feel some connection to life, to the world around us, to our communities, and to some greater good, we tend to be happier and healthier.  Mythology, religion, and ritual are all things that can serve to deepen these connections and lead to increased health both in individuals and communities as a whole.

          In speaking of his grandmother, Foer states, “As far as I could tell, the sustenance she got from the food she made didn’t require her to eat it.”  This statement tells me that he does in fact agree with the idea that myth, religion, and ritual do contribute to health.  The ritual of cooking, of feeding her family, of providing sustenance to others, was in itself a sustaining act for Foer’s grandmother.  She got no physical strength from this food which she didn’t eat, but she gained some emotional, mental, and spiritual fullness.

          My sister is an amazing chef—I would literally rather have her cook a meal for me than eat at any restaurant in the world—and we always say that her secret ingredient is love.  She puts so much love into her cooking and finds the ritual of cooking to be a labor of love, a way to show those she loves just how much she cares.   I do not share my sister’s talents, but I love to bake (the photo above is an R2D2 cake I made for my son’s birthday).  I often make special birthday cakes for the people I love and whenever I feel stressed or anxious I will head to the kitchen and whip up some cookies or a cake.  I find the ritual of baking to be calming, there is something very satisfying in creating something that others want to eat.  Providing sustenance to the ones that we love can be a very comforting and loving act.

          Rituals provide us with comfort, security, and calm and therefore add to our overall health.  The rituals that we perform in our daily lives are often linked to the mythologies and religions in which we find meaning.  Religion, mythology, and ritual certainly do seem to contribute to our health and well-being, as individuals and members of our communities.

Joseph Campbell

I love these Joseph Campbell interviews!  He is such an engaging speaker and offers us so much to think about in our evaluation of myths.  Overall, the only critique I have of Campbell’s insight is that he speaks in absolutes much of the time, which I think can be a mistake.  He is asked at one point if creation myths are utilized to answer questions about who made the world, how it was made, and why it was made, to which he answers, “No.” Campbell believes that creation myths give us an understanding that the Divine is present in the world and within us.  I think Campbell is ultimately right, but I also think it is incorrect to ignore the fact that creation myths do provide us with some understanding of the nature of the world and our existence. Though this may not be the ultimate question that creation myths can answer for us, it is still an important piece of the puzzle.

Campbell’s commentary about the serpent was what I found most interesting in this piece, particularly since I was raised in the Christian tradition.  I have never thought about the fact that this tradition really does see life as a problem, something that should be rejected in favor of eternal salvation: we suppress our urges to find pleasure in this life in lieu of a promise of an even greater afterlife.  Serpents are portrayed as evil in this tradition because they represent this life that we are supposed to reject: the serpent can shed its skin, rid itself of its past, and continue to live.  The Christian tradition also places belief in the notion that the statement “I am God” is blasphemy.  This is wrong in Campbell’s view as he asserts that we must all focus on achieving the Buddha consciousness, the idea that the divine exists within all of us.  If we are created by the Divine, in His own image, then he is a part of us and we are a part of Him.    

Campbell also has a very interesting idea about the concept of eternity.  He states that the Christian tradition, and others like it, place eternity as something that exists in the future: this idea that if we can just get through this life, we can find eternal peace and happiness.  In Campbell’s view, we miss out on the true meaning of eternity when we view it in this way; for Campbell, eternity is really here and now, the experience of eternity is our life lived every moment. 

Campbell states that mythology focuses on life as a poem.  It places our experience within this poem, as a fluid creative force that drives us and connects us.  Our life is an experience of the divine.  Campbell states that every mythology or religion is true as a metaphor of the human/cosmic mystery; the danger comes in getting stuck in the metaphor.   When we fail to see the metaphor, we look at life as though it is a question that must be answered instead of seeing the journey that it is.

Myths express a truth that can’t be known in any other way, one that we cannot speak of directly.  Myth imparts the mystery about the source of life and this is important because we live life more fully when we feel connected to the world, to others, and to the Divine.  Ultimately, Campbell states that we all must decide whether we will say yes or no to the serpent, to the adventure of life.  Will we forego the desires and joys that can be found in this life, in favor of a joyous afterlife, or will we choose to live this life, to really live it, and to experience the divine that lives within all of us?  This is the ultimate question that myths can help us to answer. 

 

 

The Wizard of Oz

Feminist Theory & The Wizard of Oz

Feminist analysis aims to explore gender inequality and how gender expectations shape our human experiences, particularly how women are influenced by the gender expectations which are placed upon us.  Looking at The Wizard of Oz through a feminist lens was a very interesting exercise.  I have seen this film so many times, but have never thought about it in relation to feminist theory.  I had a particularly interesting experience watching this film in terms of gender roles as I watched the movie this week with my two boys, Finn & Owen–ages 10 and 7, and a three-year-old girl that I babysit, Emma.  When I asked them what their favorite parts were, Emma said she likes Dorothy’s pretty shoes and Glinda’s sparkly dress, while the boys both said they liked the flying monkeys the best, which they deemed “cool” and “freaky.”  I thought it was funny that these responses, in a sort of silly way, impart traditional notions about gender roles: the boys are drawn to the scary villainous creatures, while the girl loves the pretty things and friendly characters.  Though our gender roles are being challenged more and more, overall the assumption is that females are submissive, quiet, and kind, while males are seen as strong, courageous, and capable. 

The film begins with a presentation of characters some of whom conform to these traditional gender roles and others who do not.  Dorothy, particularly when she is in Kansas in the beginning of the film, is the epitome of the traditional female: she is beautiful, kind, sensitive, and overwhelmingly helpless: she falls into the pig pen and instead of getting herself up and climbing out, she yells for help and relies on the strong male farmhands to carry her out (from a feminist perspective, this was one of the scenes that really drove me crazy!).  The three farmhands, who will reappear in Oz as the Tinman, Scarecrow, and Lion, are all portrayed as strong, capable men, there to help a woman in need.  Interestingly, there seems to be a reversal of traditional roles in Dorothy’s family as Auntie Em seems to be the ultimate authority while Uncle Henry is portrayed as somewhat submissive, deferring to Auntie Em to make the decisions.  The most masculine character portrayed in the beginning of the film is actually the wicked Miss Gulch (who will reappear as the Wicked Witch in Oz).  Miss Gulch is a very aggressive and dominant figure and portrays attributes that would fit more closely with the traditional conception of the male gender. 

The Wicked Witch of the West and Glinda the Good Witch seem to represent the dual facets of femininity, with the Wicked Witch representing every bad aspect of the female gender—her nature is cold, ugly, and calculating—while Glinda represents the good and true female—helpful, loving, kind, and beautiful.  The Cowardly Lion represents the issues that arise for men who struggle to embrace the traditional roles associated with their gender: the Lion feels less than, somehow inferior, because he is not the brave and strong lion/man that he should be. 

Though Dorothy is initially seen as a damsel-in-distress-type character, ultimately she is a female heroine, who takes the hero’s journey as described by Joseph Campbell.  She leaves home, embarks on a great journey, and ultimately returns home having defeated the villain and discovered her own true strength and character.  Dorothy is a very interesting character to analyze from a feminine perspective and the thing that really stood out for me was the way Dorothy’s character looks throughout the film.  Even when she faces the many obstacles that the Wicked Witch throws in her path and experiences the anguish of feeling as though she will never return home, we never see so much as a hair out of place.  She always keeps her beautiful curls, her pretty dress, and those magical ruby slippers.  She always looks the part of the perfect female. 

The most telling character in relation to gender, in my analysis, is that of the Wizard.  He is portrayed throughout the film as the most wise and powerful person in all of Oz.  He is the man that Dorothy and the others need to save them; he is the one that can provide them with all of the things that they need.  What we ultimately learn is that the Wizard is an illusion, he is just a man, a weak and cowardly man really, discovered hiding and trembling behind a curtain.  He asserts his masculinity as the great and powerful wizard, but really he is just a person with no special powers at all.  The wizard is an illusion, just as traditional gender roles are an illusion. 

Lady in White

The chapter begins with a discussion of the work of Jewett and Lawrence and their view that “popular culture is not just empty, meaningless entertainment or ‘bubblegum.’ Rather, like myths it is connected to the beliefs and values of the society from which it draws its audience” (Myth, 676).  I think it’s very interesting to look at horror films from this context.  What do they add to our lives, what values do they promote, why do we seem to have such an affinity for them?

Citing the work of Melanie Klein, Eva M. Thury focuses on the psychological aspect that influences our obsession with violence, villains, heroes, and particularly vampires.  Klein asserts that a heathy adult ego is formed in childhood, at a very young age, and that by the age of six, all the “fixation points for psychic disorders” have been established.  We view our mother as relating to all our experiences and split the mother into a bad part and a good/idealized part.  We all struggle to align these two parts and we shift back and forth from periods of what Klein calls persecutory anxiety, in which we want to “devour” our mother, to periods of depressive anxiety, in which we feel guilt about these desires.  These anxieties shape our view of the world and our emotional life. Normal, healthy adults are able to deal with these transitions, but these anxieties continue to shape our experiences and can lead to unhealthy behaviors.  The persecutory anxiety we experience involves the desire to devour our mothers, a type of insatiable hunger, and Thury believes that this is where our fascination with vampires stems from: “the experience of hunger is fundamental to the personality, and tales dealing with the hunger of the vampire tap into this aspect of human development” (Myth, 678).

This idea of hunger is very interesting in terms of thinking of villains, vampire or otherwise, in the horror films we view.  The characters in horror films tend to be, as Thury says, “orphans or poorly mothered, and a large part of their experience turns on this” (679).  This is particularly relevant to the film that I watched for this week, Lady in White (1988), a film that has haunted me since childhood.  This movie has nearly everything a horror viewer could desire: an attack on Halloween night, a haunted house, ghosts, a child-killer on the loose–there are no vampires, but there are a few dead mothers.  The story is set in a quintessential New England town on Halloween night, 1962, and revolves around a young boy, Frankie, who is locked in his school’s cloakroom and encounters the ghost of a young murdered girl, and is himself attacked by the same man that killed her.  The town has been terrorized by this child-killer for a decade, with eleven children being killed in all.

So, what are the desires, the appetites, that shape the characters in this movie?  Overwhelmingly, it is the desire for a mother, a parent to care for you.  Melissa, the ghost that haunts Frankie throughout the film, is searching for her mother.  Frankie dreams of his own dead mother right before Melissa appears to him, begging his mother not to leave him.  The Lady in White, who roams the seaside cliffs at night, is Melissa’s mother, searching for her dead little girl.  The real villain in this film is the child-killer who, we learn, lost his own parents at a young age.  Clearly something is stunted in this man, something that has a lot to do with the fact that he lost his mother and father at a young age.  He states at one point that when you go through a tragedy like that, eventually you grow up and you get over it, but it is clear that he has not–something inside of him sees a young child and wants to snuff out their life, seemingly in the same way he feels his life was cut short.  I’ve seen this movie many times, and it terrified me as a child–I still can’t hear church bells or the Bing Crosby song “Did You Ever See a Dream Walking” without thinking of this film and shuddering–but viewing it in relation to Klein’s work and Thury’s essay on vampires brought a whole new life to this film.  It’s glaringly obvious that Frankie and Melissa bond through their shared loss of their mothers, but I had honestly never paid much attention to the fact that the killer had also lost his mother.  Thinking about what the villains in these films represent, what desire shapes them, and what emotional void they fill in their terror, gives me a new appreciation for horror films in general.

(Lady in White can be viewed on YouTube, and you should all watch it!)

Medea

Whether Medea is human or divine is such an interesting question and it seemed at first glance as though it would be simple to answer.  As I read through the play though, my answer to this question kept changing.  As she is the granddaughter of Helios, the sun god, she does have some divine connection and at times displays divine attributes, but seems overall to exist as a mortal. 

Medea’s tragedy revolves around her husband’s betrayal and his decision to leave her to marry the Princess, daughter of Creon.  Medea is distraught, incredibly betrayed, and feels as though everything she did in order to be with Jason, including leaving her homeland, was done for nothing.  She has given up her family, her home, and all her security to be with this man who has now betrayed her. Her anger is so great that even Creon, the King, fears her wrath and sentences her to exile. Jason takes no responsibility for his actions and tells Medea, “You are now an exile because of your own foolish words” (Euripides, 453).  In his view, it is not because his betrayal has sent her into this state of anguish, but because she is a foolish woman that she now sits in this position. 

Though Medea tells Creon that he should not fear her as she holds no power over him, she hints at her own divinity as she says to Jason, “Go, celebrate your wedding.  It may be (the gods will tell) a marriage you’ll regret” (649).  Medea asserts that the gods will punish Jason for breaking his oath, and it is ultimately she who delivers his punishment. 

It is in Medea’s anger that she seems to have a divine quality; she seems in many ways to embody the same anger that Hera feels at Zeus’s betrayals.   Ultimately, Medea’s anger drives her to kill the Princess and Creon and, finally, her own children.  The moment when she appears most divine is when she floats above the city in the dragon-drawn chariot, with the bodies of her slain children.  She states, “My father’s father, Helios, gives me safety from hostile hands.  This chariot protects me” (1367); claiming if not her own divinity, at least some divine protection. 

The closing lines uttered by the chorus give us the last proof of Medea’s divinity.  They state, “…the gods can accomplish what no one would hope for.  What we expect may not happen at all, while the gods find a way, against all expectation, to do what they want, however surprising.  And that is exactly how this case turned out” (1465).  Medea’s rage drives her not to kill the husband who has betrayed her, but her own children; she lets Jason live so he can experience the pain of this loss.  Her actions are certainly reminiscent of other gods who lash out at humans and fellow gods alike in anger.  Just as Hera plotted to destroy Zeus’s mistress, Medea uses her powers to craft a poisonous crown and cloak to take the Princess’s life.  Her husband’s betrayal drives her to insanity.  Human or divine, Medea is the tragic figure that embodies the notion of “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!” 

Dionysus

Dionysus is described in various ways throughout our text and Euripides’s Bacchae:  we find him called the god of peace, wine, dancing, and intoxication.  He can impart drunkenness without the aid of wine and is known to create frenzy.   As was the case with Aphrodite, we find Dionysus born in a traumatic fashion.  He is the son of the god Zeus, and the human, Semele.  Hera, outraged by her husband’s infidelity, takes advantage of a promise Zeus has made to Semele, to always fulfill her wishes, and convinces Semele to ask to see Zeus in his natural state.  When he appears to her, in a clash of lightning, Semele is killed, but Zeus is able to save his unborn son by implanting him in his own thigh.  Even before birth, Dionysus has endured the brutal death of his mother, but has also been saved by his father.  These two facts seem to form the duality of Dionysus character, the good and the evil that seems to exist within him.  The Bacchae tells the story of Dionysus seeking vengeance on his aunts and punishment for Thebes as a whole as he believes they have not worshipped him properly.  Pentheus, Dionysus cousin and the king of Thebes, denies the power of this god and ultimately pays with his life.  The play is a reminder of the fury of the gods and the naivety of the humans who forget that the gods can and will walk amongst them.  The title, Bacchae, refers to the groups of women who celebrate Dionysus in ritualistic fashion.

The ritualistic worship that Dionysus demands seems to reflect a deep sense of not belonging.  He is sprung from his mother’s womb far too early, unnaturally implanted in his father’s thigh, and hated by his step-mother.  His aunts deny his divinity and he seems to always be trying to assert his worth and trying to grasp this sense of belonging that he desires. The way he relates to women is particularly interesting as he constantly seeks affirmation and worship from women, perhaps because he is so rejected by Hera and his aunts, and he lost his mother, the woman from whom he should experience absolute love, before he even truly came into being. 

In Euripides’ Bacchae, Cadmus asserts the idea that gods should not take human form. Gods have dominion over humans but, in taking human form, they take advantage not only of their own power but also of human naivety.  We see the foolishness of Pentheus who believes that he, as king, is in a position of ultimate authority.  The fact that gods can take human form makes the lives of men and women that much more difficult.  They are never given a sense of absolute reality as they must always wonder whether those that surround them are actually human or perhaps a god in human form.  Though Cadmus may be right, and I would have to agree that he is, this goes against the reality of Greek life; as we have read, it would not be uncommon for a Greek to ask another if they were in fact a god.  This is a fact of life for the Greeks, the gods sometimes walk among them, but that doesn’t mean it is fair or right.  Humans are already at the mercy of the gods, so to take human form and trick them into behaving in certain ways is an abuse of power.  The gods have so much power at their disposal, why must they resort to trickery?  Perhaps in taking human form, the gods seek to get an honest account of human action and reaction, in observing them from a place of sameness.  The way that Pentheus spoke to the human incarnation of Dionysus would likely differ from the way he would speak to Dionysus if he gazed upon him in his divine form.  In taking human forms themselves, the gods are able to see humanity honestly; in the presence of a god, human behavior would surely be altered, in the presence of another human, man will simply carry on normally.  The gods seem to enjoy, in some sense, the fact that humans think they are powerful, and delight in reminding humans just how little power they actually have.

Aphrodite

We find Aphrodite’s birth in Hesiod’s Theogony, and learn that she is created from the castrated genitals of Ouranos: “White foam surrounded the immortal flesh, And in it grew a girl…Her name is Aphrodite…” (Myth, 34).  It seems surprising that the goddess of love would be sprung from such violence and mutilation, but when we explore the kind of “love” that this goddess delivers the connection makes more sense.  The “love” that Aphrodite invokes is far from our modern conception of the state which we view as tender, warm, and comforting.  Aphrodite’s love is more of an insatiable lust, the type of desire that could drive a sane person crazy; an insatiable appetite for another.  Sappho writes, “do not crush my spirit with anguish”; the love/lust/longing that Aphrodite implants is not welcome or joyful, but truly crushing.  Aphrodite responds to Sappho’s words as she asks, “Who is wronging you, Sappho?”  With this question, we get a deeper sense of this type of longing that Aphrodite imparts as a true punishment.  Sappho beseeches Aphrodite to join her in battle, Aphrodite’s talent is a weapon that Sappho would like to harness in her favor. 

Aphrodite has dominion not only over man, but over the gods as well; only three are able to resist her power–Athena, Artemis, Hestia–who are able to withstand the power of Aphrodite because they are virgins.  It is interesting that the sexual element seems to surround Aphrodite always: sprung from the male sexual organ, resisted only by those who are also able to resist sexual satisfaction, Aphrodite seems to be the goddess of sex, lust, and desire, rather than love.  Aphrodite’s power is so strong that she can even control Zeus who is supposed to be the most powerful god: “whenever she wished, deceiving his wise mind, she easily mated him with mortal women…” (Hymn).  Zeus, in retaliation, “cast sweet longing to make love with a mortal man,” in Aphrodite’s heart: “he cast in her heart sweet longing for Anchises…seeing him, laughter-loving Aphrodite was struck with love, and astounding desire seized her heart.” Aphrodite gets a taste of her own medicine, so to speak, as she finally experiences the lust that she has cast upon others.  In order to attract Anchises, Aphrodite denies that she is a goddess and claims mortality.  She bewitches him with promises of marriage and a happy home: “Speaking thus the goddess cast sweet longing in his heart.” She gives herself to this human and becomes pregnant with his child, but ultimately orders Anchises to deny her as their child’s mother: “do not name me, but respect the anger of the gods.”  Zeus’s punishment is absolute because he knows that he has cursed Aphrodite to a fate that she, with all her power, will not be able to fulfill.  She will not be able to embrace the decidedly human role of wife and mother that she ought to assume after giving birth to Anchises’s child.  Her immortality makes happiness with a mortal impossible, therefore Zeus has given her a desire that can never be satisfied. 

The physical beauty of Aphrodite stands in stark contrast to the ugliness of her birth and the darkness of the lust that she sprinkles amongst men and gods alike.  Aphrodite’s beauty is such that she must change her appearance in order to appear human to Anchises; as soon as he gazes upon her in her natural state, Anchises immediately knows that she is divine.  Though Aphrodite is referred to as laughter-loving we don’t find her character to be particularly fun-loving or cheerful.  The term “laughter-loving” does not evoke a jovial or comedic picture, but something more sinister. Sappho’s conception seems more fitting as she refers to Aphrodite as the “weaver of wiles.”  A wile is something devious, cunning, or tricky and this seems to match the overall impression we get of Aphrodite. 

Aphrodite seems to be the goddess of contradiction.  Her otherworldly beauty and her status as the goddess of love provoke thoughts of calm, tenderness, and goodwill.  When we truly delve into the story of Aphrodite, we find something much darker.  Sprung from mutilated genitalia, born in the wild sea foam, Aphrodite exists in chaos that stands in contrast to her appearance and title.  The “love” that she places in the hearts of men and gods is an insatiable desire, a type of longing that we would categorize as much closer to our conception of lust than of love.    

Creation

I grew up in Boston and my whole childhood revolved around the Christian (Protestant) view of the world: my family went to church every Sunday, attended children’s night at church every Wednesday, and my sisters and I attended a private school run by our church.  Until the age of twelve, when we moved a little outside of the city and I began attending public school, I was not really exposed to any other views of the world.  I grew up believing everything I read in the Bible and feeling sorry for the people who weren’t “saved” and who wouldn’t be living out eternity in heaven with me!  Animals were pets, if they were cute, and, if not, they became delicious meals cooked by my father, or less delicious meals cooked by my mother (don’t tell her I said that)!  In the Christian tradition, we exist in a state of inferiority, seeing the world and everything in it as less wonderful than the place that God originally intended for us to inhabit; our lives, and our world, are in some ways constantly viewed as a punishment for the original sin of Adam and Eve.  We could have lived in paradise, if only Eve hadn’t eaten that apple and, being the conniving woman she was, persuaded Adam to do the same. 

Had I not grown up in the Christian church, I might have had a very different view of the world around me and of life in general.  As I have chosen to raise my own children without any specific religious beliefs, I am always interested in exposing them to as many different ideas about the world as possible.  I don’t want them to grow up with one view of the world which leaves them feeling lost and confused if they, as I did, choose someday to reject this view.  I think it’s important to learn as much as we can about all of the different world traditions, which is why I find classes like this one so valuable. 

Had I grown up hearing the creation stories of the Zuni tradition, I would have had a different sort of appreciation for nature.  I would look to the sun as the source of life, as creator and sustainer.  I love this idea as we can look to the sky on a daily basis and see the One who created and sustains us, and offer thanks.  In this creation story, we do not see humanity as descending from a state of infinite bliss (Garden of Eden) to a life of toil and strife (our current state) but instead we see humans evolving from a dark and lowly state to our current world.  In this conception, we give thanks for the world we have and the lives we have evolved to, rather than seeing our current state as a punishment and payment for the sins of original man. In the different conceptions of creation that we read about this week, we see creatures that we often ignore, like spiders and frogs, revered as an intricate part of creation: the Hopi creation story revolves around Grandmother Spider and the Navajo creation story gives us the blue heron and frog as chiefs of the land.

In the Judeo-Christian story of creation we have a singular entity, God, as creator of all life: the land, the sea, the air, the animals, and humans are all creations of this divine being.  Humans here are seen as the masters of the land and animals and all things in creation are viewed as things to be used by humans.  Other creation stories, such as those we read from the Zuni, Hopi, and Navajo traditions, celebrate nature and animals and the way that the creation of man is secondary to the existence of these things.  Man is not seen as master of the land and animals, but as a creature indebted to these things for its very being. 

There is one more important creation story that I want to focus on which is the tale of Kintu, the first man, in the creation myth of Uganda.  The story of Kintu begins with this simple passage: “Kintu was the first man, and when he came from the unknown, he found nothing in Uganda…” (Myth, 108).  What struck me most about this passage was the idea of the unknown.  The Ganda people do not feel the need to “know” everything or to label the things which they do not understand.  They are comfortable with their limited understanding and willing to admit that there are things beyond what is known by man.  The Judeo-Christian version of creation, and general outlook on life, is that all things come from God: everything that exists can be explained in this way, “God created it.”  This outlook implies that we know everything there is to know and that we can explain all that exists in the universe.  I find the story imparted by the people of Uganda to be much more honest; to begin life from a place where man springs from the unknown is to center our place in the universe with the knowledge that we are but a mere piece of the puzzle and we do not assume to know what the entire puzzle looks like. 

The Flood

This week we look at two different conceptions of the great flood, the story given by the Roman poet Ovid, and the Biblical account found in the Book of Genesis.  Both stories share similarities in that there is a divine level of disgust with humanity and the feeling that the only way to handle the humans who have run amok on earth is to destroy them.  Ovid writes, the gods “must excise that malady which can’t be cured: mankind” (Myth, 157).  In the Book of Genesis, we find that God is distressed by the reckless behavior of humans and regrets creating them; the story of the flood is offered here as a reminder of God’s ultimate authority and a warning for humans to follow the divine law, or pay the price. 

One of the most interesting distinctions between the gods of Greek mythology and the Judeo-Christian conception of God is the ways in which these figures are accessible to humanity.  The Biblical God is not available to human beings in a physical sense; we don’t find God walking the earth and we cannot directly access Him.  The Greek and Roman tradition places gods as sometimes taking human form and being a much more accessible part of the human experience: “It was not unreasonable to ask a stranger, ‘Are you a god?’” (Myth, 158).   There is also a great difference in these two conceptions in terms of the power of the gods/God and how their actions are interpreted by humanity.  Ovid offers a somewhat comedic account of the activity of the gods, which fits with the Roman and Greek tradition in which gods “were not, for the most part, the focus of personal dedication and piety” (Myth, 156).  In contrast, we see the Biblical God as one with ultimate authority and absolute power who should always be obeyed, and worshiped.  In the Greek tradition, the gods are a collective entity that in some ways rule by consensus; Ovid describes the ways in which the gods work together to create the great flood. There can be challenges to a god’s rule, and there is a system of checks and balances, so to speak.  This is different than the Judeo-Christian conception of God in which He is the ultimate authority who answers to no one.

The idea that one man survived the flood is familiar, as the Judeo-Christian tradition has Noah, but Noah was touched by God and told of the impending flood.  He is ordered by God to build an ark to save his family and two of each animal in existence so that the entire population of man and animal would not be lost.  In Ovid’s conception, we simply find a man and a woman alone on a tiny boat, Deucalion, the son of Prometheus, and his wife, Pyrrha.  It is interesting that the son of the trickster, Prometheus, would be the lone man to survive this great flood, but Ovid does not seem to portray this as trickery on Deucalion’s part or some sort of divine intervention, but simply a stroke of luck.  This is very telling when we look at the different conceptions of gods in mythology versus the Biblical tradition.  The gods of mythology do not have the absolute authority that the Judeo-Christian God has, so there could simply be a man and a woman who are lucky enough to survive this flood.  The conception of the God of Genesis would not allow for any man to survive the flood, unless he was specifically chosen by God and part of His ultimate plan.