Mythology is not a canon of lies, though it is never true.
Or at least the products of mythological thinking are not true. Stories never are. Even true ones. Non-fiction is impossible.
A myth, then, is the lie that emerges from truth. And since you can’t tell the truth with the truth (you can’t contain water with water), lying is the only way to go. Build a dam. It will hold for a little while.
Let’s start over. No, really start over: let’s say two million years ago. Dates may vary. Remember, I am telling a story.
The first archaic humans begin to develop something that resembles symbolic reasoning. Perhaps this started much earlier with bands of apes requiring communication and planning to ward off other scavengers who were physically superior. The human race, it is known, clawed its way to the top of the food chain from the lowest rung: sucking marrow out of sun-dried bones picked clean by the stronger predators.
(This is probably where the myth of the self-made man comes from, he who pulled himself up from the bone yard to the captain’s logos.)
This is precisely the point. Once you devlop the ability to recreate what you saw at the watering hole using signs and evocative grunts, you can coordinate. Language was our most important survival tool.
But let’s not tell all of human history as if physiological need explains it. (There is no time for a tangent on bonobos and sexual politics.) Don’t you think that once the beasts were driven off, and the proto-humans had secured their meat, and they sat around newly plump and full of ideas, that perhaps they practiced their powers of communication, first planning the next day (for with language comes conception of the future) and, languid with food and brimming with strange identifications, began to discuss the stars and, some day, their own demise.
None of this happened over night. It is still happening. Perhaps history has not moved forward from the first moments when human experience began to be externalized in symbols, images, and words. We began telling stories, none of them true.
The Dawn of the Lie was born, and we were ejected from true history, straight out of time into endless digression.
But the ant tells stories. The ant teaches, organizes, coordinates, steals. Lies. (What is the mythology of the ant?)
The Big Bang is a lie. It is true as myth. It has only existed as story. The story is pointing to the truth, which is true, I suspect, though the story is not. Science is a myth. Some myths are better than others.
Take me there and I will believe, jettison all stories, curl up in the question and die. In the meantime, tell me lies.
Myths explore; they do not explain, for what the best myths are attempting to explain can never be explained.
Take the famous philosophical question, “Why is there something instead of nothing,” or, in Heidegger’s simplification, “Why the why?”
This is unsolvable using language, using rational explanation. Perhaps because it is a language trick. Perhaps because knowing the answer would require empirical data unavailable to us. Perhaps because we’re not God. Perhaps because there is no God. Perhaps because God doesn’t go by that name anymore and is instead taking a vacation doing the backstroke through the waters of your right eye.
Mythology, I believe, began with a recognition, a feeling suggested by Heidegger’s question, the weirdness of being, you could say. Why is anything here, and how strange that I am awake to perceive it. What is this?
It’s not really a question at all, and it has no answer. Feeling it deeply enough is the verification of truth, but once we set out to explore and explain using language, we fail. Mythology is beautiful failure. Weird stories attempting to return you to the simple feeling of being weirded out by life and consciousness.
What does any of this mean? Don’t give me an answer (there aren’t any). Give me a myth.
It has been argued that the Dreamtime myths of aboriginal Australians represent the oldest living mythology, dating back 40,000 years. But of course, any mythology based on dreams can only come secondary to myths exploring the waking world. One would have to develop waking consciousness first in order to shine some light into the unconscious state of sleep. Once the language acquired to survive during the day penetrated sleep, some dreams were pulled back out for study.
Though I may have this backwards. Perhaps symbols from deep in the Unconscious slowly made their way to the surface, and this was the dawn of human consciousness. After all, didn’t life emerge from the ocean? Doesn’t the sun come up from the Underworld?
Many of the earliest myths were developed to explain what, to us, is now explainable: what is the sun? What is the moon? What is a thunderstorm? But even before these questions rests the question, “Why the Why?” It was the dawn of self-reflective consciousness itself that gave birth to mythology, not as an incidental by-product, not simply as an evolutionary necessity (tell stories or die!), but as a new reality, as the only reality.
Myth, it turns out, is the only thing that is real.
Reality is a lie.
Lies are the only form of truth.
Mythology is the truest lie available.
Reality is a myth.
Myth is real.