A man and his Heroes

Otto Rank's classification for a hero (pp. 131-132) is rather odd and unwieldy, particularly since it is so exact almost no Hero even fits half of them.

The criteria are:
1. The hero is the child of distinguished parents, esp. the son of a king.
2. His birth is preceded by difficulties,
3. Prophecy that the child poses a threat to the father.
4. The baby is put into the water in a box
5. He is saved by animals or peasants
6. The hero is nursed by a lowly woman
7. Upon reaching maturity, the hero finds his parents.
8. He takes his revenge on his father
9. The father acknowledges the hero
10. The hero achieves rank and honor.

The extreme requirements of these criteria are fairly obvious. I will take a moment to look at a couple of the heroes mentioned in the book, looking primarily at where they fail (for times sake).

Moses: Moses is adopted by Pharaoh, and is not the son of any distinguished parents, nor does he pose any threat to his real father (and there is no prophecy). While he fits perfictly number four, he completely fails number five, as he is saved by Pharaoh's daughter. He is nursed by his mother, but never 'finds' his parents, as it is fairly clear he knew he was Hebrew (and probably knew his brother from an early age). Both his biological father and adopted father are dead before he has any chance to take revenge on them.

Jesus fairs even worse (unless one stretches the criteria to the breaking point of absurdity). Jesus is very much the child of distinguished parents (to a certain degree, but the theology then gets complicated). There is, however, absolutely no difficulties attached to his birth, though it takes place in unusual circumstances. There is nothing like a number 3 anywhere in any story of Jesus, and at no point is Jesus seperated from his earthly parents, and thus cannot be 'saved' by any animals or peasents. It is arguable that he was nursed by a 'lowly' woman, but that woman also was his mother and raised him his entire life.

Jesus in no way takes vengence on his earthly or heavenly Father in any way shape or form. It could be argued that his heavenly Father acknowledged him after the baptism ("This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased), but none of the other points match.

All in all, Jesus only matches 2 ( maybe 2 more) of the criteria. It seems likely that Rank was either trying to find more people to fit his mold or was actively attempting to show the Bible as pure myth (something most historians would consider folly, as it functions very well as a historical document, even when compared to less 'miraculous' documents).

Faerie

Faerie is the world that isn't, the place that is beyond. One does not get to faerie by walking there, nor by any active attempt. Usually, when one arrives in that other world, they are not expecting it and in now way are trying to get there. They are just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The passage to faerie is generally found at the boundries of this world, where the fabric of existences is weaker. These are places like the shore, a mountain top, or crossroads, and times such as twilight and Beltain, the changing of spring to summer.

The concept of Faerie, however, is very broad. Those of you in the Shakespeare class have seen it the way he presents it, the world literally occupied with faeries, and one where magic works. The impossible is possible, and those who return are forever changed. J.R.R. Tolkien had a very different presentation of Faerie in The Lord of the Rings. There it was a place of elves, a land where the races live without dying, from whence no traveler returns, but it is a place very much of this world, but seperated forever.

I will talk more about Faerie when I have more time. I just wanted to introduce all of you to it today,

What we Know

We touched briefly on the concept of what we know in class this week, though it was never couched in those terms. I am going to look at that idea, sliding into the most philosophical I will ever get.

In school, we are tought it is the big bang which is the scientific theory for the origins of the universe. In church, we are often tought something else. We then claim to know that one is true. Unfortunately, by the most rudimentary definition of 'to know' we can never really know (on this earth) which is true.

To know something requires proof, not just evidence. Evidence can be planted, altered, changed, and misinterpreted. Proof is simply that which is true and unchangable. Thus, the history of the world cannot be truly known, we can only make a resonable interpretation of it.

On a similar note, the existence of a God cannot be dispproved. This is one of the fundementals of knowledge. To say their is no God requires one to look into every corner of the universe from every angle, to search through all time, and to find nothing; thus, the only way to know there is no God is to be God oneself.

How does this pertain to myth? Well, myth is the past, and thus unknowable. It may, or may not have passed. We can conclusively say that there are no gods on Mount Olympus as the Greeks believed in them, but we cannot say they were not there, just as we cannot say there is no God in the universe.

"But what does it do?"

"Do, that's the beauty of it. It doesn't do anything!"

From the passing of the Age

The word age has a multitude of meanings. It can refer to the amount of time something has spent in existance, or to something which has been around for many years. It can mean a seperation of time for man, or the seperation of time itself.

When we speak of the ages of man, one is generally referring to Shakespeare's seven ages of man. They are, in order:

Infant,
Childhood,
Lover,
Soldier,
Justice,
Old Age,
Serenity,

With each age one moves progressively away from dependence and into wisdom, from simple desires to complex desires, and from easy living to a life of challenge.

These ages, very similarly, can be applied to a society or culture. Generally, however, when one speaks of the ages of a culture they are fewer. One of the most common presentations was done by Thomas Cole, in his famous Course of Empire paintings. From the Pastoral state, to a great empire, and then to destruction, but from destruction comes a new pastoral state.

The idea of ages of man or of empire is very mythic, stemming both from the idea of regeneration and the cyclical nature of reality, but also from the mythic tendency to divinde things. In most myth the powers of the world are not one God, but rather a collection of Gods, each with their own realm. Journeys are not simple, instead taking place in a dozen steps across a variety of landscape.

We often spend time looking for the divinding line between ages. Yeats said it occurred every two thousand years, with a woman and a bird (the problem I have with this is that it requires some sort of external power to make sure that the woman and the bird end up together at the right time, something I find a little tenious, as there is no evidence of this specific power). Others seperate ages by the types of tools used, thus paleolithic and neolithic, iron and bronze.

Whatever we believe, every age tells a story, and every story fills an age, and then some.

Aetiology

For lack of a better post (and because I make myself post even when I have nothing to say) aetiology (or etiology, as it is spelled in our class and by non-OED people) is usually used for a medical conotation. Thus, most of the time aetiology is used, it is discussing the reason for an ailment (thus the aetiology of cancer can be smoking).

Are myths diseases, then, or the causes of diseases? :P

The Power of Myth

Dr. Sexson asked us to make a post with some comments on the movie, so here it is:

I disagree.

So much of what was said in that movie is either blatently wrong or biased. It had a certain agenda in mind (namely Joseph Campbell's, which involves unifying all myth) and thus it presented its information in a manner to support that claim.

I'll start with the beginning, covering only that which I remember.

I think this was more a phrase issue than one of intent, but the way they talked about the Church and the issue of arranged marriages was off the mark. They said (or at least implied) that the Church held that non-arranged marriages were adultery, and that the Church herself arranged marriages, neither of which is really true. As was later stated, it is the parents who arrange a marriage, and they do so for their own benefit. As for adultery, it is committed when a married person has an affair with an unmarried person, which is exactly what Tristen and Isolde were doing. It had nothing to do with the fact that the marriage was arranged.

The next issue is minor, and more based of implication. Someone implied that the Church no longer tought that love must be all encompassing the way it did in the middle ages, but this is not true. One is still required to love your neighbor and love your enemies.

Campbell states that it is clear Isis was the proto-type for the Blessed Virgin, but his evedince is entirely circumstantial and quite poor. The only real connection between the two is the fact that they were both mothers of a god, but where as Isis was the literal mother of Horus (and their was no virgin birth there, as was implied), Mary is the mother only of the human nature of Jesus, not his divine nature, and thus herself is no more than human.

The idea that because one cathedral in France had a sculpture of Jesus on his mother's lap and a similar image exists in Isis/Horus mythology the two are connected is completely absured. Just because this statue of St. Denis shows him holding his head does not mean he is in any way related to the headless horseman. There are only so many different poses people can have.

The final issue I would like to raise is the suggesstion that the Church Fathers intentionally drew Mary or any other figure out of pagan mythology. The passage Joseph Campbell sites, out of 1 Peter, is referring not to mythology, but to the Old Testemant and the prophets. Rather than claiming to have borrowed from other cultures, they are showing how their truth is rooted in the ancient Hebreic tradition.

And for a parting note, here is a site which argues against the monomyth of Joseph Campbell.

Gnosis

I am, by trade (and soon by profession), an author. I write on all subjects that appease to me, from Theology to Music in films. I also write fiction, primarily fantasy and science-fiction, but I occasionally dabble in that which one could call 'realism.'

As a writer, it is my job to know everything, from Cell Biology to Animal Huisbandry to Quantam Physics. Writing, at its core, is the presentation of knowledge. Good writing is the presentation of knowledge in new and fitting combinations.

The difference between a good book and a great book, particularly in the are of scholarly works, depends on the outside knowledge of the author. When a book only speaks on its subject, it is generally very boring, though likely informative. A book with tangents (they must be logical and brief) is far more interesting, for it engages the very nature of the mind and of knowing.

We have it in ourselves to learn all we can (that doesn't really mean anything, when you think about it), and we have the obligation to use it. All the knowledge in the world could not do anything without the will to drive it to an end.

Historical Criticism

A couple of days ago we discussed the Genesis creation story, particularly in light of the two different stories one supposedly finds there (it is commonly assumed that they are in fact two aspects of the same story, rather than two seperate stories). The position the book takes on this issue is a theory known as Historical Criticism. The problem with this theory is that it uses a lack of information to make its assumption.

Let me explain. No one kept record of the writing of much of the Bible (and particularly the Pentateuch, or first five books), and so we do not know whether the tradition handed down is accurate. Critics have stepped in and decided to determine who wrote what, and thus we end up with what is known as the JEPD theory (named for the four supposed authors, the Yawist, Elohist, Preiestly, and Deuteronomic), and each other is named after a certain trait.

The first point I would like to make is that the book is primarily wrong on giving the title of Priestly to the 'first' account of creation. That segment is almost universally placed under the Elohist camp, for it uses the name Elohim, which is translated as LORD. Around the beginning of the 'second' creation story Yaweh is being used (translated God). The Priestly segments are primarily in the latter books (Leviticus, Numbers) and are directly concerned with priestly duties.

Now, the problem of historical criticism is that it makes it assumptions primarily off what the author wants to find. It is fairly evident that the original theorizer of the JEPD theory was trying to discredit the common assumption of the Pentateuch. This does not mean it is automatically a wrong theory, but that it's nature must be called into question.

Historical criticism is also used to attempt to discredity author authors. Critics go through the works of people such as Shakespeare and attempt to show that they were written by other authors (such as Ben Johnson). As in the case of the Biblical criticism, there simply isn't enough evidence to prove their theories (and often not even enough to really support them).

One of my favorite studies of historical criticism was an essay written by Ronald Knox, entitled "The Authorship of In Memoriam." He argues (rather proves), while obeying all the rules laid down by historical criticism, that Alfred, Lord Tennyson did not write In Memoriam, but Queen Victoria did (for more information, click here). This idea is absurd, but only because Tennyson was so recent. In a hundred and fifty years, the theory would be as acceptable as the idea that Shakespeare was more than one person is today (this does not mean it is widely accepted, just that one can still hold an academic chair while espousing this theory).

What this tells us, in the end, is that we cannot really use historical criticism to make any major points, or to support our primary ideas. Reinventing the past is a finiky, and dangerous business, and is more likely than not to turn out exactly the way the inventor wishes.

"For all your words, you have not wisdom."

To Recap

So I'm sure the two/three of you who read this blog with any regularity are slightly curious as to the meaning and purpose of my previous post, as it was not quite in the scholarly nature which I am known for. The purpose was, in the end, quotes.

Over a dozen sources and a similar number of authors contributed the words to the story I told. From Shakespeare to Woody Allen, the words of others became my words, their thoughts my thoughts. I stole the very nature of their ideas, combined them, and released the new monstrosity upon the world.

This is, at it's core, what literature does for us. It gives us thoughts, ideas, words, things, phrases, OBJECTS, conclusions, and then lets us run with them, if we will. We don't always agree (in fact, always agreeing would be the sure sign of a wasted mind), but the pieces of thought still mean something.

We say it is not Shakespeare who said something, but his character, but I say it does not matter, for Shakespeare thought it up, and choose to present it to the world, thus ridding himself of a bottled up idea (which he may or may not have agreed with) and giving the earth one more thing to dwell on.

If you leave a piece of literature with nothing else, take a quote with you, for "we live as we dream. Alone."

Who am I and what have you done with this blog?

At night mind strays out of thought, and memory, jounreying to that undiscovered country. The royal road is laid before us, but whether it takes us deeper into ourselves, or towards the Emrald City, we may never know. The first step is also the last, life coming full circle, the first has become the last, and it as all over too soon.

We run out of time, through time, and with time, it unfolds all and reveals all, or so they say. But in the end (when the earth burns and all passes away), some have lived, and others not (and this they pass on), but then all die, the final threshold, and cowards are made or broken. See, forth comes the plae horse, and then we sleep.

Forth springs dreams, dreams, the musical thoughts, and only the fat man is awake. There are more things in heaven and earth than one can count with the voices of a thousand generations, and all our numbers end with the product of six and nine, the last great step for mankind.

The leap of faith sends us forth, and wretched are those who say farewell at the darkness; yet for three days the sun did not shine, and then there was light, and it was good. The only good, not idleness, but that which is true, verily, that which is Truth, for all possibilities are gone, and only the improbable truth remains.

May the road rise up to meet you and the songs of a thousand angels sing you to sleep.

Music and Shakespeare

Music is one of the great uniters of people. All races sing and make music, and all people can recognize good music when they hear it (okay, not all people, but people of all races). It is, in a way, the great unifier of the arts.

I have seen music used in two different Shakespeare productions, first in Twelth Night, and then in Love's Labour Lost. Once it was done very well, and the other time it completely ditracted from the work.

Of course, those of you who saw Twelth Night know that the song at the end of that production was done very well. It created a beautiful ending to the movie, and the song was wonderfully well done musically. It didn't hurt that Shakespeare wrote the words to it, either.

In Love's Labour Lost, however, the music was by far the worst part of that production, primarily because, for whatever absurd reason, it was done as a musical. The actors would be speaking in a Shakespearean dialect, then spontanously break out into song written in modern American style.

The lack of unity was so extreme, it seemed that the musical numbers were not part of the same world, but rather a trip into some demented faerie, where all the people must act as if in a musical (ala Once More With Feeling). I am going to dedicate more time later to the idea of faerie, both in Shakespear and myth (it will probably be a couple of posts, given the size of the issue).

All in all, I did not really enjoy this version of Love's Labour Lost. The music was a major distraction, and there was nothing specifically stunning about the production. Kenneth Branagh was not in particularly fine form, nor were any of the other actors note worthy. I would not reccomend this, unless you really wanted to see a version of LLL. Most of Branagh's other work is far better, and there are no poorly placed musical numbers to fast forward through.

Twins and Disbelief

In class we talked about the "willing suspension of disbelief," an idea which first appears in that form in the writings of Samual Taylor Coleridge (Chapter XIV). This theory did not orignate with him, and is fact echoed for many authors, from Shakespeare on up (Henry V).

But is this the only way to interact with a story (be it play, film, or fantastic literature)? Do we always have to set aside our disbelief that a man can fly, that aliens can be logical, or that the force is with us? It seems that sometimes, the only reason we are suspending our disbelief is because someone was too lazy to develop an effective manner of dealing with the question. Other times, however, we do not even realize that we are suspending disbelief, for the work is such a seamless whole (no one really questions the trench run Star Wars, at least no the first dozen times they watch it).

In many things we have to suspend our disbelief, but I hold that need not, and even should not, always be the case. It is often possible to create such a powerful presence, such a powerful world, that one does not need to suspend disbelief, for they already believe.

One such world come to mind. This worlds is Middle-Earth, where elves and dwarves do walk the earth. Tolkien but so much energy into his work that there is almost nothing in the way of holes, and that is just how he intended it (for more information, read his essay "On Fairy Stories" in The Monter and the Critics).

When we speak of Shakespeare and the suspension of disbelief in the case of male/female roles and appearances, I do not think the suspension is all that necessary. One does not attend a play to really believe they are there, for so much of the theatre is cleary theater, and not real. Rather, one attends a play to be entertained and enlightened, not transported (much as one does not need to believe a concert is anywhere but where it is). For this reason, Shakespeare could choose to draw onto stage at the same time two dissimilar actors who appear to be the same to the players.

In the end it is not us, but the actors, who must suspend their disbelief.


One of the great mythic themes is that of twins, whether Castor and Pollock or Romulus or Remus. They appear everywhere, but almost are always associated with the gods, whether gods themselves or the children of the gods.

An interesting dichatomy appears with twins. They are either strikingly similar (both in form and thought) or completely and irrevokably different. They must be very close, or incredibly far away.

Artemis and Apollo were, literally, as different as night is from day. One was the goddess of the moon, the other the god of the sun. One's realm was all things simple and natural, the hunt and the forest, while the other was known for technology, science, and the city. Two more dissimalr, yet close beings one would be hard pressed to find.

Twins embody not only the nature of similarity, but the very nature of difference. The more two things dirft apart, the closer they come together. The twin is that which it is not, and the other is not that which it is.

"One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons,
A natural perspective, that is and is not!"

Marduk and Mismanaged Myth

So, I'm sure all of you are wondering what happens when myth goes bad.

Well, wonder no longer.

The above link will take you to a sight about "Babylonian Mystery Religion," which is a theory that attempts to unite Marduk (a Babylonian deity, of no relation to our third guest speaker, at least to my knowledge) with Mars, Nimrod, Indra (of Hindi fame), Poseidon, and many (okay, pretty much all) other mythic deities.

The problem with this? It's complete and total bunk. Not a word of truth to it.

It's goal is not so much to unite all peoples or all myths, but rather to suggest that all mythic deities were created from the same one, and that one was invented by Satan in order to corrupt the Children of God. They second major goal is to show that Catholicism is a false religion because of the veneration of the Virgin Mary. The entire premise depends on both bad theology, bad history, and bad philology.

All chronology is thrown to the wayside, and certain gods are ignored (Ares is never mentioned, but rather the author skips straight to Mars). The suggestion that the current image of the Blessed Virgin (one which has historical records of at least fifteen hundred years)
are in any way related to Nimrod and Semiramis are completely absurd, not to mention unsupportable.

The weight of the argument almost solely depends on a single traight: the M-R form of consonants found in Nimrod, Mars, and other names (it is in Mary, but that would not be mentioned because the author is likely a fundementalist and the virgin birth of Jesus is still central to their denomination of Christianity).

Any one familiar with Semitic linguistics knows that there is a linguistic rule involving triple consonants, and various vowels. For example the consonant combination p-r-d is used in Hebrew for words related to 'divide' (thus it is said that p-r-d means 'divide'). The foundational work of the BMR position is supportable, eccept that, while Babylonian is a Semitic language, Greek is not. In fact, Greek (and Latin) belongs to an entirely different family of languages (the Indo-European family), which does not have the tri-consonant root.

In a similarily related position, I need to offer one linguistic correction to what was disguised in class a few days ago (Monday, I believe).

A correlation was made between Pater (the Greek word for father) and the name Peter (from the word for rock). The issue is, both of these words develiped independently of each other, the first from *pəter, the later from some form of petros. While there is a similarity there, there is no linguistic support for uniting them, particularly because Peter, as a name and as the head of the Church, appeared long after both Pater and Petros were solidly ingrained in the language (plus, Christ spoke Aramaic, and said Kephas, not Peter, as is evident in the Gospel of St. John 1:42).


Mischief Managed

Ingoa o te ahau

"What’s in a name? That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet"

Be it Shakes, Shax, Shakespere, or Shakespeare, he is who he is, no matter the name.

What's interesting about this is the implication that follows the name. We call him Shakespeare, and a large amount of weight is carred. If someone calls him Shax, I think of my friend Shayna, who also goes by that name. And Shakes, well I think of dessert at Perkins.

Thus does giving this man other names change the way we interact with him? Does calling him the Bard make him a 'singer of tales,' even though his isn't? Can me make him greater (or lesser) by calling him a new name?

This is almost a fundemental question of everything. Does naming inspire being or being inspire naming? There seems that there must be a corollary between the two, but it is a fight over which way the world moves. If naming inspires being, does the renaming of something long after it has past (such as calling Shakespeare the 'Bard') change the past, or simply our perception of the past?

Names are, in the end, a riddle. They are both clue and answer, question and hint. They mean nothing, but mean everything (no American would name their child Judas or Osama). We hear them a thousand times a day with no meaning, but when they are forgotten we are hurt to the very core. The are flighty as the wind, and the only solid foundation we have with each other.

A name, by any other name, is just that.

The Last Man

Well, the final guest lecturer was, for me, by far the best. He was one of the most entertaining teachers I have ever had, with an emphasis on the entertaining. The thought that kept hitting me during his talk was that he was a comedian who happened to love English and enjoy teaching.

On a related note, some of the genius of Shakespeare was revealed through his discussion of the last scene, particularly with the issue of expectations.

A poor auther ignores what the readers expect, doing whatever he wants because he doesn't know any better. A good author follows the readers expectations, for he knows they're there for a reason. A great author fudges with expectations, setting them up and then going about fulfilling them in an unexpected manner. A truly excellent author, however, fill replace an expectation with an identical expectation, keeping the issue alive but constantly moving.

In the last act of Twelth Night, Shakespeare is in the last category.

Myth, Miyazaki, and Folktales

As I mentioned before, I am a *huge* fan of Hiyao Miyazaki, a Japanese directory who specializes in animated films (not really anime, due to stylestic diffrences). His films are decidely mythic, with Spirited Away being one more visibly so. In addition to the general idea of myth, Miyazaki also draws deeply on folklore tradition, both of Japan of other nations, particularly those in northern Europe.

One of his lesser known films (and also one of my favorites) is Castle in the Sky. It is set in an alternate Europe where airships and trains are very common. The year would be roughly equivalent to 1925 if there was no WWI and few planes.

*Warning: Spoilers Ahead*

The thing about this movie is, it plays with both mythic archetypes and the folklore tradition of Europe. As the title suggests, it is set around a Castle in the Sky, a theme which appears in multiple folk tales, particularly of the Scandanavian variety (such as "The Golden Castle that Hung in the Air"). The major character is an orphan boy who meets a princess (in folktales the boy is after then third born, but we are not told whether this is true in the movie) and attempts to save the world.

Where the mythic archetypes are disturbed are with the issue of right versus wrong. Unlike in most Mitazaki films, there is a character who is decidely on the side of evil (Muska). The other 'bad' characters, however, turn out to not be so bad. The pirates, who seem to be the kidnappers and all around bad dudes, are not as evil as the government, which in turn is no where near as evil as Muska (who worked for the government until he got the power).

In addition, the leader of the pirates (and arguably the strongest character in the story) is Dola, a female. She defies almost all female sterotypes/archetypes and is neither nurturing (beyond being the mother of some of the crew), nor deadly (she in fact uses a knockout gas when fighting instead of actual guns).

The hero, Patsu, has no real important lineage, and in fact fits into the story only by accident and luck (chance dropped Sheeta, the princess, onto his head, and luck let them survive until the end). He grows up through the movie and is a true hero by the end, willing to die in order to save the world (though, of course, he lives).

Throughout all this mix-up, however, the story remains criticaly mythic. Good prevails (though your conception of good is not so clear), evil is destroyed, and the hero gets the girl (well, this is more modern convention than mythic). The story is also very powerfully about the earth (as all of Miyazaki's films are, save Porco Rosso and My Neighbor Totoro). Myth is life, and from life is born myth.

One thing I will say about Miyazaki's films that place them all in the realm of the mythic is that they are stories of coming of age. If there is one thing that almost all myth can connect to is the changing of times, whether from youth to adulthood or adulthood to old age, or even old age to death. These are the periods of life when everything changes, the times no one understands but all wish to know about. I think these common theme is what draws me to repeated viewings of Miyazaki's films (I used to watch Princess Mononoke about once a week).

Movies are the new orality, and as such are a powerful tool for teaching old ideas. Miyazaki is one man who understands this and uses it to his (and our) advantage, making films which draw the heart and mind in and, when we leave, we are not the same person, for recognition takes place there.

True Myth

This question has come to my attention and I would like to attempt to answer it here: how is a 'true myth' different than a myth?

First off, we know that myth differs from story, as one is a work created as fiction, while the other has been born out of the world at large, not intentionally as fiction, though it could be argued that it is. Myth is also broader than fiction, for it is not invented by one man, or even a collection of men, but by a people as a whole (the mythos of the Silmarillion was arguably created by one man, but it was born out of Nordic, Finnic, Celtic, and Anglic mythos, so it has roots far larger).

The issue is really what does 'true' mean. I would argue here that 'true' is synonymous with Truth, with a capital T. Truth is somthing that is always accurate, while what is true varies from time to time (it is true that I am wearing a shirt with a Fransciscan University logo on it, but when many of you read this, it will no longer be true, and thus is not Truth).

True myth, then, is something which, while to some degree reflecting the world, is in fact the world. Mythology, by its very nature, differs from person to person, and greatly differs between cultures. True myth, on the other hand, must remain the same from person to person, otherwise it would not (could not) be Truth.

The most well know reference to true muth comes from the writings of C.S. Lewis, referring to conversation he had with J.R.R. Tolkien: "Now the story of Christ is simply a true myth: a myth working on us in the same way as the others, but with this tremendous difference that it really happened." It is true myth that is universal, the myth that actually has final meaning, at the end of life.

(To the Shakespeare crowd: sorry, but I really love myth, and have little to say about Shakespeare. I will unite him to myth more often, but I simply have to much to say and too little time to say it.)