Contents List:AnecdoteTradition History Myth Legend |
Go to:Introductory Information"Campus" Temple Library See also:Belief |
An elderly shepherd, who had all his life been accustomed to crossing such streams, was unsympathetic to the proposal. "Mr Chairman", he said, "Do you call that thing a burn? It's not even a ditch. I could piss across it!"
The Chairman rapped with his gavel. "Mr Ross, I'm afraid you're out of order".
Mr Ross: "I know I'm out of order now, but I could do it two or three years ago".
About fifty years ago, I narrated that mildly Rabelaisian story to Donald Cameron of Camusterrach, a childhood acquaintance and brother of my dear friend Ali, both now deceased. Donald said, "You should put that story on Roddy Mackintosh. He used to be a County Councillor."
"Put that story on" is Gaelic idiom for "tell that story as if it were about". Donald was advising me that if I wanted my stories to have more impact and be more memorable, I should dress them up in such a way that they would have greater appeal for my current audience. "Mr Ross" could have been anybody; but Roderick Macintosh was a well-known local man who had been a County Councillor, and a story told about him would be likely to go the local rounds.
In this way a story, which may originally have been factual, can become a legend — passed on by 'tradition', and subject to further variations in the mouths of succeeding raconteurs.
The illiterate Celtic Bards underwent a rigorous twenty-year course of memory-training during which they committed a large repertoire of significant songs, poems and stories to memory so faithfully as to be able to repeat them, word for word, for the rest of their lives. And some of these tales and historical anecdotes were very long — taking two or more winter nights in the telling.
The bards were the bearers and transmitters of Celtic culture and tradition. Many of the tales summarised in Book 5 in the Ardue Temple Library are very old, and still extant only because they were written down by literate clerics from bardic narration. We should be grateful to the clerics, but more particularly to the bards, because their works still have important messages for us. The characters in the stories — and the incidents related about them — may well be more artistic than prosaically factual: but they convey psychological truths which have stood the test of time and which may be more "true to life" than the propaganda which all-too-often passes for 'history'.
In order to do this, we must endeavour to keep a full and accurate account of events and try to understand them. So one of the major "story-lines" is an account of the adventures experienced by real or imaginary seekers for more information, better understanding, or greater power to achieve their ambitions.
What is now generally accepted as history has severe limitations because it relies for the most part on written sources, many of which keep being regurgitated and argued over by academics. As few, if any, of the written sources generally known are more than five thousand years old, and most of the oldest ones are more or less suspect because of the probable prejudices of their original authors, the inevitable losses in translation, and the relative ignorance of subsequent commentators. Historians therefore have to seek corroboration from interpretation of inscriptions on ancient monuments and other archaeological evidence which is limited in amount and affords but a flimsy foundation for the theoretical edifices which are sometimes erected upon it.
In the days when Archbishop Ussher of Armagh (1581-1656) calculated on the basis of his analysis of the Old Testament that the creation of the world took place in 4004 BCE, the limitations of conventional history may not have seemed too serious. But fresh evidence and new scientific dating techniques keep pushing the archaeological record of man's earthly existence further and further back in time, and it would be unsafe to assume that no evidence of human culture older than, say, twenty million years will some day be unearthed. In such a perspective, a mere six thousand years of scholastic history suggest we should not be too hard on Henry Ford for saying that "history is bunk". Perhaps he never actually said it!
In the light of present knowledge, we should not close our minds to the possibility that civilisations, like empires, rise and pass away.
Consider how much, or rather how little, of our own civilisation would survive another Biblical flood should it submerge nearly all the world's sophisticated towns and cities for a month or so. Would records stored in our libraries or computer data banks prove more resilient than drawings and inscriptions on cave, temple (or lavatory) walls?
How much confidence can we place in our arrogant assumption that we are privileged to be part of the most "advanced" culture that has ever graced, or disgraced, planet Earth? Is it not at least possible that some of what we call "the ancients" may in some periods have equalled or surpassed our much-vaunted technical know-how as well as our relatively puny spiritual status? Let us remember that the most learned, skilled, and "civilised" men and women in our own age comprise but a tiny proportion of the earth's current population, and that this would most probably hold true for all previous civilisations. Our learning takes place one mind at a time, and no single human mind has ever comprehended all there is to be known. Only the most fundamental principles are held in common by even the most advanced members of a society.
While it is reasonable to assume that in a large-scale catastrophe, the "advanced" few would have a better chance of survival than the "ordinary" many, it is certain that the survivors would have to re-build civilisation almost from scratch. And can we not feel confident that they would do their utmost to preserve as much as possible of their hard-won learning by passing at least the most fundamental principles on to their offspring as best they could, not neglecting the medium of memorable dramatic narratives and ritual dramas constituting "initiations" into more sophisticated ways of thinking and living? I suggest that such narratives and dramas have, over time, become the great myths, whispers of which may still be heard in living, as well as written, tradition.
Although over a time span of a few thousand years, we may be able to assemble convincing evidence for a more or less steady advance in "our" civilisation, we should be humble enough to acknowledge the possibility that earlier civilisations may have lasted longer and produced more and greater works of genius than we can boast of, even if material evidence of their achievements is no longer available to us. And so we should at least be ready to consider whether the great myths may not have something to teach us.
The safest way of preserving the essential spirit of a myth while making it topical is to tell it about real characters in real places, but taking care not to damage the plot. The myth then becomes a legend.