(With apologies to Tom Waits.)
So, let me tell you a story. It’s Lammas, and I’m sitting in an area of the Mississippi River bluff known to locals as the “Giggly Hills”, listening to a very talented Witch spin a tale about Lugh. I mean to say, this woman can really tell a story. Yet I keep getting distracted by the carpet of clover, the industrious bees, the way the breeze rustles the leaves of the enormous burr oaks…and I think, Surely these are among the deities of this place. I want to tell their stories.
The Giggly Hills. Photo by Leora Effinger-Weintraub
That planted the seed of the idea that is growing “Restorying the Sacred”. The crafting of some new science- and nature-based myths to, if I may be so bold, stand alongside the ancient tales, to add the “here and now” to the “long ago and far away”, interspersed with musings on the what, why, and what next of such story creation. After all, as John noted in the comments of “S and R Dance On”, “Our ancestors put their understanding of the natural world into stories – we should do the same.” And at this time in the human adventure, science is one of the ways in which we understand the natural world.
It’s an ambitious project, possibly fraught with peril, and one danger is of confusing the “real” with the “unreal”. After all, bees and orchids never really made any sort of co-evolutionary “deal”, and the Outcast Star isn’t flying out of the Milky Way because it paid too much attention to its binary partner. Of course, one thing I’ve learned as a Pagan is that reality has many levels; we just need to stay on the appropriate level for a given situation.
So let us make a pledge, you and I who are embarking on this journey together. Let us say:
“I, [name of choice], being sound of body, mind, and spirit, do pledge by myself and by [Divine name of choice] that I will take the stories of “Restorying the Sacred”, and any stories of my own that may be inspired by it, as metaphorical truth, rather than literal. I promise that I will not anthropomorphize the nonhuman beings around me but will acknowledge that they have their own existence that, although connected to me through the Web of All Being, has nothing to do with me. So mote it be.”
There we have it. The groundwork laid for a new adventure. Let sacred story time begin in earnest.
I love the power of metaphor, Eli. Perhaps metaphor is the morse code of Mystery. Telling us something real in code. Who knows?
I thought of you several times while I was writing this post, Teri, because you taught me the Four Levels of Reality. I like the idea of a “Morse code of Mystery”–one that allows us to relate to the (literally) awesome wonder of Mystery on a level that doesn’t make our minds explode.
I’ve been thinking about this sort of thing a lot, lately, along the lines of separating levels of explanation, not confusing the symbolic with the literal, and crafting new Pagan narratives.
I’m not on board with a caution against anthropomorphosis, though. That’s a valid way to project ourselves into the situation.
Thanks for the comments, Freeman.
I admit I hadn’t thought of the advantage of anthropomorphosis as a way of projecting ourselves into the situation. Too often I have encountered it use as a way to convince ourselves that other beings are Just Like Us, and communicate the same way we do, and that they are therefore A-OK with anything we have planned for them or their habitats.
That’s definitely a pitfall. It’s similar to the way we form provisional and partial models of other people and then react poorly when they operate outside those models.
And I totally agree with you about the awesomeness of Alison Leigh!
I’m always reminded of Terry Pratchett’s quote:
“We are trying to unravel the Mighty Infinite using a language which was designed to tell one another where the fresh fruit was.”
Metaphor is absolutely essential for philosophical and theological theorizing! Some might even argue that it’s necessary for abstract thought itself.
I also like the idea (I think I first saw it in David Abram recent book, Becoming Animal) that perhaps when we see our human emotions and attitudes out in nature, it’s not because we are projecting them outward but because our own emotions and attitudes have already been so deeply shaped by the spaces and places that we live within. In other words, it’s not that we’re anthropomorphizing the world, but more like the world is anthropomorphizing us! Now that’s an intriguing possibility.
Agh! Can’t believe I forgot about that bit in Becoming Animal. I adore that book.
(And I already knew I liked you, but anyone who uses Pratchett and Abram references in the same comment must be awesome.)
Thank you for this. We too often conflate the map with the territory. Yes, I appreciate the gods of the sky–but I also appreciate astronomy.
However, I also echo the call for anthropomorphosis, provided it is given in context and the specific role of it is understood.
Either way, thank you for giving us some background as to your purpose with this column; even these few paragraphs flesh out your mission very well.