Are the Myths Real?

This is a question that pops up on Pagan forums and FB groups every now and then. I have seen it asked often enough that it inspired me to write this in response. However, before I can go on to answer this question, we first have to ask ourselves a slightly different one, and it is this: "Are the myths literal?"

The answer to which is a resounding "No." I do not believe for one moment that giant, one-eyed fomoire ran around Ireland battling the Tuatha Dé Danann, nor that a goddess in the night sky actually eats the sun every night and gives birth to it every morning. I do not think that treating the myths as literal is a legitimate means of validating them or our beliefs. In fact, I would go so far as to say that doing so can be outright harmful. One glance a creationist fundamentalist ought to be enough to tell you why.

"So if the myths aren't literal, then they're not real, right?"

Again, my answer would have to be "No."

"But Kaif, if they aren't literal, how can they be real?"

To help illustrate my point, I will take an example from one of my favorite new shows, "Vikings."

And before I continue, here is the obligatory

*SPOILER ALERT!!!*

Lagertha the Awesome

In "Vikings" there's this really awesome chick named Lagertha. In the first season, her husband becomes earl and, while out viking, leaves her to take care of their land. It is during this time that a man brings his wife and her baby boy before Lagertha, claiming that she has been unfaithful and that the baby is not his. He says that a young man named Rig had been staying with them at the time she conceived, and since he had so far been unable to impregnate his wife, it must have been the doing of this young stranger. The wife concedes that since the three of them shared a single bed, she couldn't say for certain which man had, in the dark of night, had sex with her.

In answer to this story, Lagertha explains that Rig is a name used by Heimdall in is travels, and that the couple were in fact visited by this god who then saw fit to gift them with a child. It is the myths she cites as the source of this knowledge.

"But those are just stories!" the man protests.

To which Lagertha responds, without missing a beat, "Our lives are just stories!"

Lagertha herself was pregnant at the time, and had much trouble conceiving her own child. Because of this, it could be argued that she didn't really believe what she said about the young man being Heimdall, that she only said it for the benefit of the wife and baby. But whether or not she believed her own words is beside the point. The fact of the matter is that this couple had been trying unsuccessfully for years to have a child, and now they have one. In a sense, all Lagertha was doing was telling this man to shut up and be grateful for the opportunity to finally be a father.

This is why Lagertha's assertion that "our lives are just stories" is so perfect. At that moment, the couple's story is that they have a child. Yet it is the story of the child's divine paternity that, even if not literally true, serves to highlight the reality that this previously childless couple now have a precious baby that needs to be taken care of, regardless of who actually sired him.

Myths are allegories, entertainment, lessons, and hyperbole, just like many of the stories we tell of ourselves, or the stories that will be told of us when we die. The myths themselves may not be literal, yet that doesn't make them untrue. The Cath Maighe Tuireadh illustrates the nature of the Déithe; Nut's birthing and consumption of the sun is a metaphor for day and night; the conflict between Ba'al and Mot are the cycles of rainfall and drought; the list of examples is endless.

So there you have my answer. The myths are just stories. Our lives are just stories. One is every bit as real as the other.

Diancecht Is Not a Jerk

A while back, a well-meaning friend gave me a book called "A Druid's Herbal for the Sacred Earth Year." While I have to admit that the book does have some useful information as far as herbology goes, the mythological and theological approach the author took was frustrating, to say the least. I can't help it; anytime someone goes around saying that Morrighan is a triple goddess, I kind of want to smack them. (She isn't. The triple goddess concept is not Celtic.)

Now, I could continue to pick apart all the nonsense the author said about Morrighan, but I'll settle for telling you that if you decide to read or have read that book, you might as well disregard everything the author says about Morrighan. Today, there's another deity I feel I need to stand up for. And that god is Diancecht.

Poor Diancecht has such a bad reputation. In the retelling of his story in "A Druid's Herbal," as well as retellings I've heard many other Pagans repeat, it's the same thing. "He's angry! He's jealous! He murdered his son!" Ok, so that last one may be true, but that's not what I'm going to focus on at the moment. It is the words "angry" and "jealous" that I get hung up on when people try to tell his myth, and I'm going to try to explain why.

The story in question occurs after the battle between the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Fir Bolg. Nuadu's hand had been cut off, and Diancecht created for him a new one made of silver, which had the movement of a real hand. However, Diancecht's son Miach wasn't at all satisfied with this cure. Miach restored Nuadu's severed hand, healing the king. It is at this point that Diancecht seems to loose his shit. He threw his sword at Miach's head, cutting into the flesh. Miach healed himself, and Diancecht struck him again, this time cutting into the bone. Again Miach healed himself, and for a third time Diancecht struck him, cutting into his brain and killing him instantly. Diancecht buried his son, and 365 herbs grew from the grave, the same number as the joints and sinews of his body. At that point Airmed, Diancecht's daughter and Miach's sister, spread her cloak on the ground and picked and sorted the herbs according to their properties. Diancecht then mixed up all of the herbs, so that no one knows all of their healing properties.

Now I'm going to talk about the texts themselves, how I interpret them, and why. If you want to read them for yourself, translations can be found here and here.

Regarding Diancecht's "jealousy" about Nuadu's newly healed hand, one of the texts says simply that "Dian Cecht did not like that cure." Another says "But Diancecht was vexed when he saw his son doing a better cure, than himself..." Admittedly, it is an argument of semantics to say that Diancecht's annoyance at his son doing better cure isn't the same as saying that he was jealous of it, but I will take on that argument.

In this story, I look at Diancechet as a god of doctors, healers, and physicians. Miach is also a god of healing, but more than that, I see him as a god of regeneration. Therefore, to say that Diancecht was annoyed by his son's cure or that he simply didn't like it, is a mythological statement of fact. Humans cannot regenerate missing appendages. Until recently, reattaching missing body parts was a medical impossibility, and even now the process is iffy. This is why I say Diancecht's dislike of Miach's cure was not borne of jealousy. It is simply a statement that Miach's cure was something outside the scope of human ability.

So how do you get from disliking something that someone does, to repeatedly hurling a sword at that someone's head? Well, for one thing, I think this is another exploration of human ability. Flesh wounds and broken bones can heal on their own, barring any sort of infection, but once you damage the brain, you're pretty much screwed unless you have immediate and extensive medical care. In some movies, damaging the brain is even how you kill zombies, like in "Shaun of the Dead." Remove the head or destroy the brain, right?

More significantly, I see this as a sort of origin story of healing herbs. Just think about it - from the grave of the god of healing and regeneration comes 365 herbs, each corresponding to his body parts. In a mythological sense, the herbs that heal us could have only come from there. And in this sense, Diancecht's act is one of necessity, for without the felling and burial of Miach, we would have no medicine. Likewise, I see Diancecht's scattering of Aired's collection of these herbs as an explanation of their complexity. Being a competent herbologist takes years of study, and even so, no matter how experienced you are, there is always more to learn and discover.

Some may think that my interpretation of this myth is a stretch, but one has to remember that mythology is metaphor. In my experience, myths are about more than they appear to be on the surface. So the next time you tell this story, or hear someone else doing so, please don't be so hard on Diancecht. He is not a villain. He is one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He is a god.

Medb, Queen of Connacht (PBP)

Queen Medb is probably my favorite mythological character. She is a self-assured woman with so much attitude and pride, she leads her entire province to war so that she will not be shown up by her husband, Ailill. The ensuing events, known as the saga of the Táin Bó Cúailnge, is set off when Ailill remarks that she is much better of now than the day they married. Medb's response is both indignant and confident, painting a vivid picture of who she is as a character. It also happens so be my all-time favorite Medb moment:

"The High King of Erin himself was my father, Eocho Fedlech son of Finn, by name, who was son of Findoman, son of Finden, son of Findguin, son of Rogen Ruad, son of Rigen, son of Blathacht, son of Beothacht, son of Enna Agnech, son of Oengus Turbech. Of daughters, had he six: Derbriu, Ethne and Ele, Clothru, Mugain and Medb, myself, that was the noblest and seemliest of them.

"I was the goodliest of them in bounty and gift-giving, in riches and treasures. I was best of them in battle and strife and combat. I had fifteen hundred royal mercenaries, the sons of those exiled from their own land, and as many more of the sons of freemen of the land. And there were ten men with every one of these hirelings, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one hireling with every hireling. These were as a standing household-guard; hence my father bestowed one of the five provinces of Erin upon me, even the province of Cruachan; wherefore 'Medb of Cruachan' am I called.

"Men came from Finn son of Ross Ruad, king of Leinster, to seek me for a wife, and I refused him; and from Carbre Niafer son of Ross Ruad, king of Temair, to woo me, and I refused him; and they came from Conchobar son of Fachtna Fathach, king of Ulster, and I refused him in like wise. They came from Eocho Bec, and I went not; for it is I that exacted a singular bride-gift, such as no woman before me had ever required of a man of the men of Erin, namely, a husband without avarice, without jealousy, without fear.

"For should he be mean, the man with whom I should live, we would be ill-matched together, inasmuch as I am great in grace and gift-giving, and it would be a disgrace if I should be more generous than he, while no disgrace would it be were one as great as the other. Were my husband a coward, it would be as unfit for us to be mated, for I by myself and alone break battles and fights and combats, and it would be a reproach for my husband should his wife be more full of life than himself, and no reproach our being equally bold. Should he be jealous, the husband with whom I should live, that too would not suit me, for there never was a time that I had not my paramour.

"Howbeit, such a husband have I found in you, Ailill son of Ross Ruad of Leinster. You are not churlish; you are not jealous; you are not a sluggard. When we wed, I gave a gift to you of clothing enough for twelve men, a chariot worth thrice seven bondmaids, the breadth of thy face of red gold, and the weight of thy left forearm of silvered bronze. Whoever brings shame and sorrow and madness upon you, it is to me the compensation belongs, for a kept man is what you are."

Pagan Blog Project