Myths in the Myst

This is my inaugurative blog at long last. Elizabeth Bennett and I share a similar arrogance in that we are reticent to say anything unless it will amaze the whole room. Thus we are well into the 21st Century before I join it.

Everyone has a Sprong Switche. You know, that thing that makes something inside of you go Sprong! with recognition and delight. One of mine is myth.

Or more accurately myth-making, myth-interpreting and myth-discussing.

I wasn't aware of the concept of myth-making until I got a good ways into Tolkien and the related written material about him and, often as not, his friend, C.S. Lewis. While eavesdropping on the discussions of their Inkling group I began to see some mysty shapes taking form in the smoke over their heads. Robert Holdstock would call these forms Mythagos-- the physical representation of the heroes and villains we project into our pasts, or even into our presents. In Holdstock's world these Mythagos grow so concrete in the imaginer's mind that they become actual flesh and blood in the real world. I don't go that far in my thinking, but the core of the concept, the spiritual reality behind the physical reality, is intriguing.

Cultural consciousness is a tricky thing. Does something a culture believes become real because they believe it? CAN that happen? Could a Plantagenet-era England imagine a Robin Hood character so hopefully that someone finally takes on the mantel of the wish and begins performing the part? Today, could things get so bad in England that the country remembers so clearly the “prophecy” about Arthur returning at their greatest hour of need that someone finally arises claiming to be Arthur? Tangentially, can a culture, any culture, begin to believe legends and stories and whispers, blending them and building on them so much that eventually they cease to be myth and become a sort of pseudo history?

Men like Tolkien and Lewis have taken that concept a step further: however knowingly or unknowingly, they have guided the process of myth-making to induce us to embrace a certain kind of myth. Who among us does not secretly hope that Middle-earth and Narnia exist somewhere out there, around a corner or through a secret gate or wardrobe? Lewis and Tolkien began it, and the culture since their time has run wild with it. All we have to do is look at the splash made by the bringing of these myths to film, at websites like www.elfwood.com which has nearly half a million pieces of artwork created by people who are fans of this or that myth (LotR, Narnia, Star Wars, you name it, it's there), at reenactment groups world-wide, at industries which have popped up selling everything from RPGs to medieval costumes and weapons to tours or theme-parks dedicated to the places these myths “took place”. There is obviously a cultural longing for greatness, for heroes and valor and honor that we do not see in our everyday lives. So we create it. In our art, in our minds, in our music, in our play.

That longing is what fascinates me. “Here is the concept,” I say to myself. “I understand it. Now why is it thus? What adventure are we missing, what personal validation or importance do we lack that we so desire these phantoms and farries?”

Why is reality not enough?