Aug 20th 2008.
Journal # 2.
Hamilton’s Mythology: The stories we tell.
Among all the myths Hamilton included in the book, I couldn’t find one story I was truly drawn to. I judge a story by two things. Did I believe in it? Was I into it, or in other words, did I feel what the characters felt? But all the characters seemed lifeless and wooden, they are straight minded, they can only obtain one emotion at a time, which results in the most ridiculous actions and endings that makes you want to burst out laughing. The Greeks do have an incredible imagination, but far too narrow with their views. If we look at the myths today, we wouldn’t understand it any better than centuries earlier. I do realize that this isn’t a reality work, and there is always something about being likeable, being enjoyable, interesting to read, even though you know it is too retarded to be taken seriously.
Well…I was pretty interested (notice that I am avoiding the word ‘enjoy’) in how the world, the titans and the Olympians were born, which unfortunately Hamilton didn’t include much in the book and I had to find out more precise details from other sources. First there were chaos, meaning a gap or yawning, instead of a state of disorder as we use now. Then somehow came mother Earth Gaia who gave birth to Night and Erebus and finally Father heaven Ouranos. Here comes the ununderstandable (not sure if that’s a word) part, Gaia mated her own son to produce more kids, known as the titan. Ouranos knew that one day his son will overthrow him (The same destiny always follow the Gods, since titans are gods as well.), so he pushed them back into Gaia’s lamb. . I’m speechless, what did they think she was, a kangaroo? Cronos (the son) hid inside his mother’s body and castrates his father, and then threw the genitals into a sea. Out of those foams, Venus was born! Or something like that, in their own twisted vision of reality. If I didn’t have to consider their ghostly spirit haunting me down, I’d say the Greeks had brain damage. It is nothing like the romantic or heroic myths we are used to hearing, nor did they put their excessive amount of imagination into good use.
But altogether the story was in-ter-res-ting enough (maybe not in a positive way) to make a strong enough impression. And sometimes a strong impression is all it takes to be remembered, to be passed on through generations, to be told and retold. Maybe not for the sake of admiring the masterpiece our ancestors left us, but for the sake of comprehending the ways ancient people thought and possibly how their stupidity was obvious to us.
However, some civilized messages could be scraped from those ridiculous myths. For instance, the irresistibility of given destiny. Unlike gods from other culture, the Greek ones were not omnipotent; they themselves had to follow their threads the Fates sisters set up for them. As a self-aware being, one needs to set himself in the right position in nature, where there is always someone above him, in order to make him feel safe and comfortable with his surroundings. Myth’s can only form in primitive minds, because they can’t come up with a better theory to explain their everyday happenings.
Although today we no longer believe in myths, it is always nice to know. If we look close enough, there is a kind of naivety we no longer have today, which makes every story a little more special than it is. I mean, it is what stories are all about. I don’t think anyone today sits in their dusty kitchen and just be damn sure the will get a pumpkin carriage and a “happily ever after”. That would and would only be a not-exactly-a-truth kind of lie which we like to dream and say, maybe to remind ourselves that good things can happen to us. Now that’s a story worth telling.
At the mention of story telling and not all of them are true, there are also true stories that I often hear from my family. The one mostly heard was about my grandpa’s childhood. My great grandpa died when my grandpa was at the age of 3, and his sickened mother had two children to rise had no proper job. He had to go cop firewood, put them on a sledge, and drag them to town which is tens of miles away to sell. Late in the night, he would buy a steamed bread or two, arrive home starved at midnight, and give the bread to his younger brother. Later he achieved many academic accomplishments at school. He was sick for a month and still got full marks on tests. He became the only college student in the whole village. And there is our great family legend.
I’ve heard this story ever since I was in kindergarten. And the times told did not reduce as I became older. It is almost like a constant inspiration to all of us, everyone who had heard the story in our family. We were told to get pass any obstacle in the way, be strong and simply never surrender. Even though sometimes I sit there and listen to the same old story for the umpteenth time, and go in my mind “blah blah blah.” But I guess the family spirit is in my blood and that will never fade away.
All stories we tell have their purposes and a good enough reason to be told for so long a time. Maybe we just don’t see what’s deep inside, and until we do, we need to keep the tradition going on and on.