Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Why Myths Matter

Jenny and Tommy, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in a baby carriage! That’s not all, that’s not all, then ….
Someone does something rhyming with –all.

I bet you predicted that. If you grew up in public schools in the United States (can’t speak for other places), and no one ever sang this annoying jingle at you or a close personal friend, then you’re extraordinarily lucky.

This post is about the importance of myth or story in the construction of our cultural episteme. This matters because the episteme isn’t just a body of available knowledge, it’s the apparatus by which we judge what ideas are and are not acceptable “Truths” within our particular cultural context. The jingle above is annoying and extremely catchy (two values young children seem to treat as gospel), but it also represents accepted ideas within our cultural episteme in a way that young children can internalize and repeat without even knowing they’re doing it.

Any child exposed to this jingle and others like it will undoubtedly concurrently be forming expectations about the typical format of opposite gender interaction (and unless playgrounds are becoming more friendly places to be, opposite-gender relationships are being reinforced as normative). There’s a reason why sexual education in schools simply cannot keep up with the norms already repeated and enforced on the playground, and I think that reason has everything to do with the method by which those norms are conveyed. A jingle someone heard on the playground in third grade, or better yet, a circulating rumor, has a stronger and longer impact on a child’s mind than some pedantic lecture about their bodies, given in dry, scientific language.

Why is this? I have no true cognitive science background, aside from some investigation into the relationship between cognition and religion, but I think it’s safe to say that images and narratives are easier to process than abstract, subject-specific language. For example, I think one of the reasons so many people find it hard to let go of the Genesis narrative, as the defining “picture” of the origins of the planet, is because the evolutionary model is just that, a scientific model. It isn’t a story. I think it has started to take on some narrative elements in popular discourse, but the danger is that the intentionality that is often ascribed to actors in a story causes misunderstandings about the theory itself, which puts scientists’ teeth on edge (for good reason).

I read a fantastic chapter today by Richard Valantasis on spiritual guides of the 3rd century (in various contexts), in which he proposed that semiotic analyses were required to truly understand the “underlying structures (the mutually understood context) which makes communication possible” in the ancient texts which describe a spiritual teacher from the perspective of the student.(1) He explored ancient semiotic theory, which was a way to search for underlying meanings within a text, utilizing theories of language and interpretation. (2) Aristotle’s poetics “explored ‘the nature of meaning and metaphor and the relation between literal and non-literal discourse.’”(3) For Valantasis’ purposes, a semiotic study “[discovers] … cultural systems that lie behind communication.”(4) These cultural systems are the “keys” which allow us to decode the underlying systems which allow the multilayered literal and non-literal images and “signs” within texts to signify meaning; that is, a particular meaning understood by both writer and reader, because of their shared access to an underlying meaning-system.

What was striking and alluring about Valantasis’ chapters was the fact that the communication of a student about his spiritual teacher was so “encoded,” that cultural and religious (or esoteric, as in the case of Hermeticism) fluency were absolutely necessary for “decoding” the deeper meaning of the text or oration. Those that shared this fluency were “insiders,” who were able to perceive the deeper “truths” the speaker wanted to convey about the signified, the guide, by correctly interpreting the signifiers which constituted that characterization within text, because of their concurrent fluency and engagement with a larger, shared episteme of meaning.

All of this complex jargon helps, in my opinion to explain why stories and myths are extraordinarily effective, efficient, and “capacious” teaching tools. I say “capacious” because stories/myths are able to “hold” an enormous amount of meaning because of the relationships between language and culture which allow for a multiplicity of meanings contained within the “vessel” of a single story. (For a great example of this, The Prologue to Origin’s Commentary on the Song of Songs is helpful)

This evening at our weekly symposium, my fellow graduate students and I discussed the problems of post-modern deconstruction, especially as regards the devaluation and elimination of meaning, value, and truth. My friend So (whose blog you can find listed on the right sidebar, “That Green Stuff”) and I arrived at the notion that post-modernism is a tool like any other, and what can be deconstructed to its most basic elements can also represent or “signify” a plethora of other meanings within a number of contexts. What post-modernism deconstructs, ecological theories of emergence, complexity, and novelty can help to flourish and expand according to its own internal logic, pressing on in a non-linear growth pattern that cannot be predicted by its original conditions.

Myths and stories matter because they can function as cultural “short hands” for accepted notions of morality, social cohesion, virtue and self-development, the purpose of knowledge, cosmogony and anthropology. But because these myths can also help reinforce particular “norms,” great care must be taken when it is recognized that they no longer adequately function as descriptors of the human experience and self-understanding in a given context, or if they are exposed as promoting an unhealthy vision of self and society. If these occur, the myths must change.

What myths do we assume as “normative” for our Western, hetero-normative, primarily Christian context? What myths have fallen from their meta-regulatory status because they no longer suit the self-understanding of people in a post-Christian world? These are questions to ponder.

I was going to cite more examples of how stories engage in the kind of signifying described by Valantasis above (Spencer’s Faerie Queene came to mind), but any story that has achieved the status of “national literature” would work just as well. Milton, Shakespeare, and Dickens do more to explain what it means to be English than any cultural study on English norms and customs, but only to “insiders” who share the cultural “reference-text” that allows them to recognize the signifiers of meaning in the texts and decode them. This is why I think academics really need to start writing more stories. So much of academic research is lost on those who would truly benefit from the findings because the information is caught up within language that does not signify to casual readers because they do not share the experience of academic “training” which gives them access to the vocabulary limited to those who have experienced the same paraskeuhv (practice, preparation, arrangement, training, etc.). I’m not talking about boiling down Foucault into a children’s book (readers age 17 and older only, please), but rather about recognizing that (important point!) the multiplicity of meanings that can be “carried” within the vessel of a story or myth allow for an implicit portrayal of the problem of multiple meanings explored by post-modern theory. In a text read in light of its possible underlying, symbolic associations, multiple meanings are free to coexist alongside one another, regardless of their compatibility. The form of the myth (or poem, for that matter) contains all of the essences that can be possibly signified by the particular signifiers within the text.

This is an extraordinarily difficult thing to accomplish once you’re thinking about it and concerned about all of the processes and details. Since semiotics is descriptive rather than prescriptive, I’m hoping much of this comes naturally to us, as we are myth-making creatures. I will be keeping this in mind as I attempt to start crafting my own myths, in order to signify truths of my own experience in a way that is truly multivalent and “makes room.” If we apply emergence and complexity theories to literature and the processes of conveying meaning, then construct myths that are accessible to a wide and imaginative audience, how much more competent (and comfortable) will we become in our navigation of a world in which multiple meanings coexist side by side?

(1) Richard Valantasis, Spiritual Guides of the Third Century: A semiotic study of the Guide-Disciple Relationship in Christianity, Neoplatonism, Hermetism, and Gnosticism (Harvard College, 1991) 6.
(2) Ibid. 7
(3) Ibid.
(4) Ibid., 9

Monday, October 17, 2011

A New Story

I'm moved by the need to tell a new story. Or maybe just tell our current story differently. The conflict of worldviews (or perceived conflict) seems to be my constant ideological companion as I traverse the realm of graduate literature. Even in my Inter-Religious dialogue class, our studies of conflict resolution and overcoming cultural differences seems to take on that old, familiar, stomach-sickening binary cast; individualist vs. communitarian, diffuse vs. specific, high-context vs. low-context. Individualists aren’t prone to service and are not concerned about their communities. The trend toward the specific is scientific and objective, while those who engage in a diffuse communication style are more holistic, more organic, and more in touch with spirituality.


These are generalizations, and to be fair, the author of this particular text continually reinforces the notion “that all individuals are multicultural, sharing identities and meanings with people from a range of other groups, and that cultural generalizations are not manifested evenly within groups or across times but change with specific context…”(1) Still, it is easy to see how this conceptual binary has infiltrated our shared cultural imagination. I take issue not only with the fact that these categories are never completely appropriate or applicable, but also with the underlying assumption that an individualist perspective is theoretically inseparable from its “origin,” the Newtonian scientific worldview, and that the underlying framework for all individualism is an atomistic, determined, objective reality.
I take issue with these binaries (individualism vs. collectivism, science vs. spirituality, specificity vs. diffuseness, mechanical efficiency vs. aesthetic quality), which are in my opinion simply symptoms of one all-encompassing, flawed super-binary, because I do not think that the problem lies in the fact that we see reality in many different ways, but in the fact that we think these views are incompatible, or even that they are two different ways to see the world.


A metaphor from LeBaron’s book might help. Akio Morita, a founder of Sony, provides an illustration of the difference between specificity and diffuseness (categories LeBaron is using to help explain sources of conflict in cross-cultural communication). He likens the specificity view to a bricklayer, and the diffuse to a stonemason. The bricklayer has a closed set of specific tools and materials, which he arranges according to a predetermined plan. The creation of the bricklayer emerges in a predictable, orderly way. The Stonemason, on the other hand, “chooses stones that approximate the general size and appearance desired and then chisels them until they fit together perfectly.”(2)


What are the two products of these approaches? A brick wall, or some other rigid, linear structure, and a beautiful cathedral, monument, or other more aesthetically pleasing construction.


The Bricklayer is mechanistic, determined, specific, and follows an orderly and predictable plan. What comes out of this? Nothing exciting, but at least something dependable.


The Stonemason is diffuse, artistic, visionary, non-linear, and aesthetically driven. What emerges? Something beautiful, awe-inspiring, and atypical, though usually through an inefficient and fairly unpredictable process.


It’s a great setup, but it’s ultimately misleading. Stonemasons are just as mathematically and scientifically informed, driven, and restricted as bricklayers. What differs in these two stories is the material, not the process. Bricks have predetermined shape, stones don’t. Realistically, the Stonemason and the Bricklayer follow very similar sets of physical and mathematical rules.


Here’s where the fun, symbolic stuff starts. And this is why I love Freemasonry.
The Stonemason’s craft can function as a symbol of the unity of physical/mathematical rules and the aesthetic drive to create something beautiful, unpredictable, and undetermined.


Here’s the kicker: following a set of rules and guidelines (“laws” if you will), whether physical, mathematical, or moral, does not produce a deterministic set of results.


Look at the physical laws of the universe (and forgive me, for my scientific literacy and fluency nominal at best), and then look at the universe. Does the product shaped by these “determined” forces look mechanical, at all? No, I don’t think so either. The universe is a beautiful, dangerous, chaotic, illogical, diverse, constantly changing place.


The Stonemason is bound by the determining rules of geometry and physics, and yet creates breathtakingly beautiful buildings. Even more importantly, the awe and power of these constructions, especially in their aesthetic appeal, would have been impossible to achieve without those rigid, determining rules.
Thesis: deterministic “laws” do not prevent the emergence of variety.
Back to the binaries. I stated above that the problem with the binaries was “the fact that we think these views are incompatible, or even that they are two different ways to see the world.” The premise that the Stonemason and the Bricklayer follow fundamentally different processes was flawed. Stonemasons are just as rigidly constrained by the same mathematical and physical rules as the bricklayer. The difference is in scale.


Building a wall is not that complicated. A brick house is higher up the scale, but there’s not much you can screw up there. Building a cathedral is enormously complex. There are multiple kinds of labor, materials, spaces, etc. to consider, but one still has to follow the same basic rules as the bricklayer. Proportion of height and weight, gravitational forces, wind resistance, stress factors – all of the mathematics are the same. Kicker #2: the farther up the scale of complexity you go, even operating with the same rules, the more variety, difference, and (dare I say it?) freedom you have.


The freedom of aesthetic expression is a high-level function of the determining laws that provide order, stability, balance, and a certain amount of predictability. Therefore, both “fundamental views” of reality, interpersonal/communal relationships are two sides of the same coin. You cannot understand one without the other, nor is one superior to the other. Both must be recognized and allowed to operate. Aesthetics and diffusion are not antithetical to determinism and specificity.
Here’s where the “new story” comes in.


I keep running into these two different ways of weaving the story of reality and it’s starting to bother me. I’m getting tired of it. So in a time honored Existentialist tradition, I’m going to re-tell the story. I’m going to weave the tapestry of reality as I see it and cast it like a net into the world. These aren’t just the mad ramblings of my own brain, of an isolated individual; all of my own thoughts are shaped by my interaction with other minds. Relationality is hugely important to me. I hardly know what I think until I have shared a few whispers of thought over a glass of wine or coffee and watched those whispers slowly gain form in the matrix of conversation.


The story is already taking shape and will likely take mythic form, as I feel that’s the best way to convey meaning in a non-linear, non-imposing way without making ultimate truth claims. This (I think) is the same principle behind the Freemasonic use of drama and ritual in their instructional ceremonies and degrees.


Stay tuned for the next installment!




1 Michelle LeBaron, “Bridging Cultural Conflicts,” p. 54.
2 Ibid. 67

Sunday, October 9, 2011

The Rod of Asklepios

The great thing about this blog is that it gives me a forum to post some original poetry, without the added frustration of critiques/platitudes offered by my entire Facebook friends list. This poem was an inspired response to one of Faun's posts over at That Green Stuff.

Faun's post inspired some of my own reflection on the desire for transformation, both physical and spiritual. Unfortunately, our outsides don't always reflect our internal states and this experience of internal/external dissonance can be extremely disheartening and make one feel profoundly at odds with oneself, dissonant, and misplaced. The human endeavor towards creation, which I define as the crafting externally discernible expressions of the internal imagination, allows us to shape something outside of ourselves, whether that is artistic work or a whole worldview, in ways that mirror or resonate the deepest yearnings of our inner selves.

There are two (three?) symbols referenced in this poem. I've kind of collapsed them into one, as I feel that they can come to represent the same basic yearning for a transformation of self that leads to wholeness that comes from the full expression or disclosure of the yearnings of the imagination. The Rod of Asklepios was an ancient Mediterranean symbol of healing. The single snake wrapped around the staff alluded to the snake's supposed regenerative power (symbolized by the shedding of its skin) and its potent venomous properties. The staff is also a symbol of the traveling healer. Its other name in the poem, "Nehushtan" refers to the bronze serpent which healed the Hebrews during the Exodus. (Parsing out the connections between the Greek Rod of Asklepios and the Hebrew Neushtan is beyond the scope of this post and my own meager Hebrew skills).

The winged Caduceus, a symbol inappropriately applied to the medical profession, was the staff of Hermes, a trickster and messenger god. It is also connected to Tiresias, the blind hermaphroditic prophet who counseled Oedipus, Odysseus, and others. The Caduceus symbolizes the attributes of Mercury (Hermes), which in alchemical lore signifies dual stability and fluidity, two properties held at once in the same substance, and the process of transformation.

The Rod of Asklepios
Death evading serpent,
You slide among the rocks,
And leave your troubles behind,
Along with your cast-off skin.

Envy strikes like fangs at my heel.
I’m doomed to walk, encased
In this unbending skin
That never seems to fit quite right.
My mind stretches and the soul groans
To escape this limited shell,
But I cannot slough it off so easily.

Oh liberated rival,
Nehushtan, Askelpios,
I’ll set your bronze body
On a pole to carry aloft
And harness your transformation
A magic wand, a prism for imagination,
To vivify impotent words with the
Panacea of meaning,
To craft such signs as will carry
The blossoming of my inner life
out past the walls of this fickle shell
And press upon the wax of the world
The seal of my inner transformation.

Rebirth!

Big changes (and new posts!) are on the horizon! Teaser: sustained reflections upon the discussions of a gaggle of religious studies grad students sandwiched into a back corner of a little pub....