How Myths Were Born

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Myths... religion and poetry:

In another quarter of this shore, there dawned in the history of civilization that fragrant treasure in which the elements of religion and faith were fused with the elements of art and poetry, and which, from its birth and for thousands of years afterward, was an inspiration to some of the world's most magnificent artists, who under its inspiration composed the finest poetry, wrote the most beautiful stories, penned the most terrible tragedies, set down the greatest epics, carved the most splendid statues, and painted the most radiant pictures — by this treasure I mean mythology, that is, those myths of which no nation's history or literature has been free, however much they may differ in rank — in beauty, meaning, influence, and immortality.

In myths, religion and poetry are bound together. Indeed, I go further than this, and declare that a people's myths are its ancient theology, the foundation of its beliefs, and the sum of its faith. My purpose now is not to analyze how religion and poetry are knit together in these myths, but to set forth the fundamental impulses that led man to create mythology, and that afterward left him able to find matter for his poetry and all his art only in this religion in which he believed, and that made him bestow this overflowing legacy upon the civilized nations of the earth, so that the artists of every age return to it, to find in it — without believing a word it contains — the authentic inspiration of their art, the fertile pasture of their imagination, and the spacious horizon of their meditations.

The first impulse toward them... ignorance:

Let us carry our thoughts backward, and retreat centuries into the history of man, to that period in which man was a child in his awareness and understanding, deficient in his experience and knowledge. He would see the various phenomena of nature and stand before them open-mouthed and dazed, at a loss how to explain them when he contemplated them or pondered their secrets. His son would ask him about them, and he would fall silent, unable to muster an answer. He did not then possess what we now possess of natural, astronomical, and practical knowledge, nor had he anyone to guide or direct him, whether person or book.

He saw the sun appear on the eastern horizon every morning and cross the sky from bound to bound, bringing blessings to the whole world — for there is no life without it, and to the crops, which without it would wither and waste away — while at the same time carrying destruction to a man, his crops, and his cattle, should its blows grow excessive and the heat of its blaze increase.

He saw the moon glittering in the heart of the sky at the evening of every day, lighting the darkness; and it loves concealment, so it hurries away in flight when the coming of day draws near — and no sooner has it turned its back than the dawn comes strutting in, showing itself in the twilight for a moment and fleeing in its turn before the sun invades the universe with might and dominion.

He saw death, that black specter, swallowing the sweet and the bitter alike; like a terrifying cavern to which mankind is led, at whose door every wish collapses, and in whose void all other hopes are scattered as ashes.

He saw diseases ravage him, his children, and his cattle; he suffered from them yet could not ward them off, and stood with folded hands before their blows.

He saw all this and much else besides, concerning the sky, the clouds, the stars, the rivers, the seas, the trees, birth, and the sexual passion; but he grasped the essence of nothing that he saw, and so he remained ignorant.

And man's ignorance was the first station through which passed the caravan making its way toward religion and then art, toward faith and then beauty.

And ignorance begot... curiosity:

During that period of remotest antiquity man was, as we have said, a child in his awareness and understanding. Now we see that the child stands dazed before the phenomena of nature and the hidden things of the universe, yet we see in him a love of knowledge and a desire for mastery over what still lies in the realm of the unseen. He looks at the candle burning, and the sight of it delights him, but he understands nothing of it: he does not know the secret of the radiant light, nor is his mind strong enough to fathom that red flame issuing from it. But he is not content with looking; he must know what he does not know, and so he touches the flame — for touch is the only link between him and the mystery before him: neither smell avails now, nor sight, nor hearing, nor taste. He touches the flame, burns his fingers, and cries out for help — all for the sake of one thing he considers essential: the love of knowledge.

Such was the state of ancient man: his glaring ignorance of everything in existence begot in his soul the desire for knowledge and the love of inquiry, which was the second stage on the road to the forging of myths. And this curiosity carried man from phase to phase, and made him interpret things as he wished and as he could, without any counselor to set straight the steps of his thinking, or any restrainer to keep him from error, or any guardian to guide him to the truth.

... and fear:

Man's ignorance led him to curiosity, and his want of knowledge begot in him the desire for knowledge. But these two factors did not stop there; they begot new tendencies in our first ancestors. Among these things was fear.

Today we see all that ancient man saw, but our understanding of the reality of what we see lets us live in security, fearing nothing from it. Ancient man, however, was terrified by everything he saw, because he did not know its reality. We see the sun, and its affair does not defeat us; we know how to guard against its violence and to protect the crops from it. And the sea — we build ships that mock it and sail with a might that scoffs at its might. And disease — we take such medicines as in many cases ward off its evil from us. But he feared the sun and was in constant terror lest it destroy his harvests; he feared the sea and never felt safe from its evil; he feared disease and did not know at what time or in what form it would assail and strike him down. He saw much and feared much. Therefore he stood before the phenomena of nature and the foundations of life in fear and dread, and looked at the sun, the sea, and disease — at everything he did not understand — with a gaze of reverence born of trembling, littleness, and fright.

And from the fear of death arose belief in the spirit and in magic:

But our friend man feared one thing more than all we have mentioned, a thing we still fear and tremble at whenever it is named, despite all that Heaven has done to make us understand it and be at peace with it — death. When his wife or his children passed away, he would ask: Where has she gone? Where does the soul go after death, and where does dying lead its poor victim? Nothing works upon the mind like death, and there is no secret man tries to fathom like the secret of death — no wonder, then, that we read that the Anglo-Saxon tribes embraced Christianity at the dawn of English history when it became clear to them that it taught man about his condition after death.

And since ancient man knew nothing of the destiny that follows death, or of the region to which the spirits had fled, he came to dread these escaped spirits and to be terrified of them, believing that they might visit him and trouble his sleep and defile his dreams — indeed, it might seem to him in broad daylight that they met him on the roadside and spoke with him, making his heart drop and tremble. The fear of spirits grew stronger with the days and led to belief in magic, and so there arose a class of priests and sorcerers who dedicated themselves to performing special magical rites to ward off from people the evil of the spirits, to keep them safe from them, and to drive them far from human beings, especially the sick among them.

These were negative factors that led to the creation of myths:

Man beheld nature and all it contains, but he was ignorant of the meaning of everything; his ignorance led him to curiosity, and his ignorance fused with fear of nature and existence — above all of death and the spirits — so that he resorted to magic; and these negative impulses drew him on to take a positive stand whose whole concern was to reassure his frightened soul and to quench his thirst for knowledge. So he began to explain things in a manner suited to his mentality and in harmony with the promptings of his soul.

And when the foregoing impulses were complete and man set about explaining, he did not know (as we now know) that he was embarking upon one of the noblest of man's works in all the ages — the creation of myths. And we must understand certain of the positive factors that united with the negative ones and gave the myths the coloring we know, in which the ancients believed — especially the Greeks and the Latins.