Introduction

In defense of theorizing about myth

This book is a collection of essays, all of them revised and some of them unpublished, about theories of myth. It complements my 1999 collection Theorizing about Myth. In the first chapter of the present collection I survey the main theories from the past century and a half. In the remaining chapters I analyze specific theories or groups of theories. My interest is less in myths than in theories of myth, even if theories most certainly serve to elucidate specific myths.

Most theories of myth, though hardly all, stem from the social sciences, which go back to, above all, the mid nineteenth century: anthropology, sociology, psychology, political science, and economics. Other theories come from the humanities: philosophy, religious studies, and literature.

Theories of any kind are generalizations, about myth or anything else. For me, there are no theories of, say, Babylonian or Israelite myth, only of myth per se or else of a variety of myths, such as hero myths or creation myths. Theories are about a category. The number of members of a category can range from a few to thousands. What matters is that a theory is intended to elucidate all the members of a category, whatever the number of members.

Theories of myth consider three main questions: what is the origin, what is the function, and what is the subject matter of myth? Origin means why and how myth arises. Function means why and how myth persists. The answer to the why of origin and function is a need, which myth arises to fulfill and lasts by continuing to fulfill. What the need is varies from theory to theory. Subject matter means the referent of myth. Some theories read myth literally, so that the referent is the apparent one, such as gods. Other theories read myth symbolically, and the symbolized referent can be anything.

Transmission and independent invention

Theories seek the similarities among myths. The generalizations are exactly what myths share. There are two main explanations of similarities: transmission and independent invention. Theories of myth assume independent invention. The two approaches to similarities are not incompatible, and “independent inventionists” are willing to attribute similarities in details to transmission. But independent invention offers a superior explanation of overall similarities.

First, the scope of theories is worldwide, whereas that of transmission tends to be regional. To account for myth worldwide is to assume not that myth exists everywhere but that myth can be accounted for the same way wherever it is found. There have been attempts to trace myth from a single starting point—for example, ancient Egypt—but those attempts have proved at best speculative.

Second, the explanations of similarities given by theories are based on regularities, whereas the explanations given by transmission are happenstance. Similarities via transmission are the product of circumstances: one culture happens to come in contact with another. Similarities via theories are the product of something universal: human nature, society, or the external world.

Third, theories explain not only the origin but also the function of myth, whereas transmission explains only the origin. The question typically left unanswered by transmission is not where culture Y gets its myths from—the answer is culture X—but why myths take hold in culture Y. Theories, by contrast, attribute the duration as well as the creation of myths to a need. What the need is varies from theory to theory and from discipline to discipline. Whatever the need, it accounts for both the emergence of myth and the continuation of myth. If, for example, a theory attributes myth to a need to explain the physical world, then myth lasts as long as it satisfies that need.

Objections to generalizations

Independent invention and transmission are at heart akin: both seek the similarities, not the differences, among myths. Both thereby face the challenge from “particularists,” or those who stress the differences among phenomena. Preference for the differences long antedates postmodernism and is almost endemic to many disciplines in the humanities, though only exceptionally in the social sciences. This approach goes back to the philosopher Wilhelm Dilthey and is as recent as the anthropologist Clifford Geertz, who virtually defines the humanities vis-à-vis the sciences by the concern for the particular over the general. He distinguishes two varieties of social science: the interpretive, which is equivalent to the humanistic, and the explanatory, which is equivalent to the natural scientific. He seeks to ally interpretive social science with the humanities. And while he characterizes interpretation vis-à-vis explanation in several ways, his chief distinction is exactly that between the interpretive focus on the particular and the explanatory focus on the general:

[T]he notion that the essence of what it means to be human is most clearly revealed in those features of human culture that are universal rather than in those that are distinctive to this people or that is a prejudice we are not necessarily obliged to share. Is it in grasping such general facts—that man has everywhere some sort of “religion”—or in grasping the richness of this religious phenomenon or that—Balinese trance or Indian ritualism, Aztec human sacrifice or Zuñi rain-dancing—that we grasp him? Is the fact that “marriage” is universal (if it is) as penetrating a comment on what we are as the facts concerning Himalayan polyandry, or those fantastic Australian marriage rules, or the elaborate bride-price systems of Bantu Africa?

(Geertz 1973, p. 9)

For Geertz, the question is meant to be rhetorical.

Geertz’s argument typifies the circularity of the quest for the particular. We are supposed to recognize almost intuitively that where the general is sketchy and humdrum, the particular is rich and fascinating. Yet not everyone experiences the particular this way. Generalists see the particular as narrow and trivial and see the general as adventurous and comprehensive.

To defend the general is to defend the comparative, or the amassing of cases worldwide. The method has been damned on many grounds—some of them recent, others hoary:

1. (1) For finding only similarities among phenomena and ignoring differences.
2. (2) For confusing similarity with identity.
3. (3) For generalizing too broadly.
4. (4) For generalizing prematurely.
5. (5) For taking phenomena out of context.
6. (6) For generalizing at all.

These criticisms are in fact misconceptions, either about the method or about knowledge itself.

First, to compare phenomena is merely to match them up. It is scarcely to dictate what will be found. It is therefore scarcely to dictate finding only similarities. Indeed, to compare phenomena is necessarily to find differences as well as similarities. For even if one were seeking only similarities, one would know that one had found them all only at the point at which no further differences could be converted into similarities. Consequently, one can as readily use the comparative method to find differences as use it to find similarities. Geertz himself compares Indonesia with Morocco to illuminate the differences between them:

The dissimilitudes of Morocco and Indonesia do not separate them into absolute types, the sociological equivalent of natural kinds; they reflect back and forth upon one another, mutually framing, reciprocally clarifying. Or so they seem to do for me. I learned more about Indonesia when, shaken by the disturbances of the mid-sixties, I decided it the better part of valor to work in Morocco, than I would have had I gone back then directly to Indonesia. And I learned more about Morocco when, after things had settled down again in the seventies, I returned, not without trepidation, to Indonesia, than I would have by confining myself, as beginning to find my feet in another civilization, I was tempted to do, thenceforth to North Africa.

(Geertz 1995, p. 28; see also Geertz 1968)

The comparative method can thus be used by particularists as well as by generalizers, but only by first seeking similarities.

Second, it is a truism that any two entities, however much alike, are still distinct. Therefore the comparison of phenomena can never yield identity, only similarity. Indeed, the comparative method never claims to be seeking more than similarities. It does not claim that any two myths are identical, only that they are sufficiently alike to be explicable the same way. Even to seek only similarities is not to eliminate differences. Conversely, to seek only differences—a typically defensive reaction by those fearful of comparison—is not to eradicate similarities. The options are neither wholesale identity nor total uniqueness but only further similarities or further differences.

Those who seek similarities not only cannot but also do not deny differences. They deny the importance of differences. To counter vaunted similarities with sheer differences is, then, to miss the point. To argue from the fact of differences, which are never denied, to the importance of them is to force the question why differences are more significant than similarities. The argument in favor of similarities—that they are weightier than differences—may be question begging, but so too is the argument in favor of differences: that differences are deeper than similarities. In any case the comparative method itself establishes only the fact, not the importance, of either similarities or differences and so again can be used by either side, even if the method is still the search for similarities.

Third, any two phenomena are comparable. Comparisons are useful or useless, not right or wrong, not too broad or too narrow. It is fallacious to say, for example, that mythology can be compared only within cultures or periods—for example, only within Indo-European civilization. The aim of a comparison determines the range. If one wants to understand why people X have a flood myth, a comparison with a people who do not have one would ordinarily, though not invariably, be too broad. But a comparison with any other people who have one would likely not be.

Fourth, comparisons are always considered provisional, not conclusive. Comparisons are subject to correction or abandonment, as new facts arise. The failure of existing generalizations is scarcely an argument against generalizing. Moreover, one will never be able to identify all the cases of flood myths or all the information about all of those cases. How would one even know if one had? It is a rudimentary fallacy of explanation—the so-called Baconian, or inductivist, fallacy—to oppose drawing conclusions until all the knowable facts are “in.” Because generalizations are recognized as tentative, the comparative method does not generalize prematurely. If it does, then even noncomparativist conclusions about the flood myth of people X alone are also premature because here, too, all the knowable facts are never “in.” And the facts do not include causes, which are inferred.

Fifth, proper comparisons not only do not but also cannot take phenomena out of their contexts. To be able to compare the flood myth of people X with that of people Y, one had better be sure that both peoples really do have flood myths and really do take them seriously as accounts of past flooding. From where but the context can this information be secured? To quote J. G. Frazer, himself routinely castigated by particularists for supposedly tearing cases out of context,

The [anthropological] method is neither more nor less than induction… . And the first condition of a sound induction is exact observation. What we want, therefore, in this branch of science is, first and foremost, full, true, and precise accounts of savage and barbarous peoples based on personal observation. Such accounts are best given by men who have lived for many years among the peoples, have won their confidence, and can converse with them familiarly in their native language.

(Frazer 1931, p. 244)

So worried is Frazer that comparison before observation will contaminate the observation that he insists that “every observer of a savage or barbarous people should describe it as if no other people existed on the face of the earth”—that is, in its particularity. Frazer permits the observer to be a comparativist as well, but only if the activities are kept separate: “the mixture of the two is, if not absolutely fatal, at least a great impediment to the utility of both” (Frazer 1931, p. 246). Far, then, from comparing phenomena severed from their contexts, the comparative method compares phenomena in their contexts.

What might seem to be taking phenomena out of context is really mere selectiveness. Insofar as the object of comparison is flood myths, much else about the peoples compared will properly be ignored as irrelevant. Other kinds of myths in each society may well be ignored. Yet an analysis of the flood myths of people X alone will also ignore as irrelevant most other aspects of their culture. The difference between the selectiveness of a generalist and that of a particularist is one only of degree. The broader the scale of a comparison, the more selective the elements compared will be—this in order to encompass all cases. If one is comparing flood myths worldwide, one will disregard the differences between one flood myth and another. But to select only common elements from all the cases is not to ignore the context, which is still indispensable for determining the existence of flood myths in each case.

Sixth and most important, comparison is not merely permissible but outright indispensable. To understand any phenomenon, however specific, is to identify it and to account for it. To identify something is to place it in a category, and to account for it is to account for the category. Both procedures are thus inescapably comparativist.

Suppose one wants to know why people X—just people X—have flood myths, and suppose one ascertains from people X that they create and recount flood myths to remember the danger that flooding can cause. But presupposed in the claim that people X create and tell flood myths because they believe that they will thereby be alerted to the dangers from future flooding is the claim that other peoples who face recurrent flooding also create and tell flood myths. Otherwise why do people X create and tell them? To propose the belief in the usefulness of flood myths as a sufficient explanation of people X’s using them is to presuppose a generalization, however obvious, about other peoples: they create and tell flood myths because they believe that it pays to do so. This generalization about the practical, vested motivation of other peoples accounts for the behavior of people X in particular.

Take the case of the French Revolution. Suppose one claims, on the basis of an intensive study of the French urban poor, that they revolted because the price of bread kept rising. Built into this claim, even if offered only about the French case, is the generalized claim that whenever the price of bread rises, people will revolt. Otherwise what explains why the French revolted? Because they were French? That answer is rather circular. Because they were hungry? But then one is explaining the French Revolution in particular by appeal to the generalization, however self-evident, that when people are hungry enough, they will revolt. If one replies that by no means all peoples revolt when the price of bread or of food generally rises, then the purported explanation of the French case is inadequate because something more than the rising price of bread must have been the cause in that case if the rising price is not sufficient to spur revolt every time. Whatever else is added—hatred of the monarchy, despair over the prospect of reform, agitation by the press—constitutes a sufficient explanation of the French Revolution only if it also constitutes a sufficient explanation of every other revolution. If these same circumstances do not produce revolution every time, then they inadequately account for revolution any time.

Apply this argument to flood myths. Suppose, again, one claims, on the basis of a meticulous study of people X, that they invent flood myths because they believe that with the myths they will respond more effectively to future floods. Built into this claim about people X is the generalization that whenever people believe they can better cope with future floods by recounting past ones, they will create flood myths. If one replies that not all peoples who face recurrent flooding create flood myths, then the explanation is inadequate even for people X. Something else must be at work to account for why people X bother with flood myths when other peoples facing the same danger do not. What must be added can be almost anything. It can range from the lesser availability of materials with which to build permanent defenses against floods to the greater popularity of myths generally. Whatever else suffices to account for the case of people X does so only if it also suffices to account for the creation of flood myths by other peoples in the same circumstances.

Some anticipated objections can readily be met. It might be argued that other peoples create flood myths for different reasons. Suppose a study of people Y reveals that they create flood myths even though they face no danger of flooding. But that discovery is no argument against the proposed explanation for people X because the claim made about them is intended to provide only a sufficient, not a necessary, explanation. The claim is not that the only reason for flood myths is the fear of future flooding but rather that whenever that fear exists, flood myths will arise. Most explanations of human behavior and even of physical events are offered as at best merely sufficient, not necessary, ones. Ordinarily, there are too many possible causes of the same behavior to be able to stipulate necessary ones. People may revolt for many reasons. They need not be famished to do so.

Conversely, it might be argued that even would-be sufficient generalizations invariably fail to suffice. Suppose a study of people Z discloses that they, like people X, face danger of flooding no less severe, have no greater access to materials for permanent fortifications, and have no fewer myths generally. Yet suppose that even so, they, in contrast to people X, do not create flood myths. Obviously, the explanation of people X thereby proves insufficient and must be supplemented to account for their proceeding to create flood myths. But suppose, further, that no matter how many additions are made, the explanation still fails to account for the difference between people X’s behavior and people Z’s. The conclusion to be drawn is not that the reasons for people X’s behavior are mysterious but that the reasons are so numerous or so complex that no other people will likely share them all. Most explanations of human behavior and even of physical events are intended as less than even sufficient ones. Most often, they are offered as merely probabilistic. The claim is that when the named conditions occur, the behavior will likely, not inevitably, occur, and the degree of likelihood can even be less than 50%. No matter how famished people are, most do not revolt.

Most strongly, it might be argued that even necessary and sufficient generalizations are irrelevant because the behavior itself is unique. Suppose that only people X have flood myths. But the explanation offered for their unique case would still have to hold, even if as less than a necessary or sufficient explanation, for any future case of a people in the same circumstances who also created flood myths. Otherwise the explanation would fail to explain even the sole case to date. The comparative method is often confused with the assumption of universals—as if it stands committed to similarities not merely across cultures but across all cultures. In actuality, the method requires the search for multiple instances of a phenomenon but allows for the discovery of even just one.

Finally, it might be observed that even if more than one people has flood myths, the flood myths of people X will surely differ from those of people Y. Even multiple flood myths of each people will surely differ from one another. Otherwise they would be the same myths. How does the comparative account for the differences? The answer is that it does not. The comparative method, once again, purports to be able to account for similarities only. It acknowledges differences and attributes them to the particular characteristics of each people or of each myth. The comparative method does not deny the distinctiveness of each people or each myth. It simply stresses the similarities.

In short, the way to understand people X is not merely by myopically studying them more and more but also by studying other peoples. One cannot, in particularistic fashion, ignore other peoples and focus only on people X. One cannot say blithely that one cares only about people X or, like Geertz, that the differences between people X and other peoples are more profound than the similarities. Even if one is interested only in the particular, similarities are indispensable, both in categorizing, for example, the French Revolution as a revolution and in accounting for it. Geertz himself employs similarities even in the effort to articulate the distinctiveness of the cultures he has studied. He enlists such categories as culture, ethos, world view, ritual, social change, ideology, revolution, nationalism, politics, person, art, and law.

The comparative method amounts to more than the juxtaposition of phenomena. It means the identification of a common category for those phenomena. That identification spurs the application or the discovery of a common explanation of that category. Comparativism does not merely explain generalizations but also uncovers generalizations that demand explanations. In other words, comparativism leads to theories, which are explanations of the generalizations found. Once the comparative method finds similarities, the similarities must be accounted for. If the similarities are widespread, even universal, the explanation must be equally broad. The kinds of explanations sought will invariably differ from the kinds offered of particular cases because they must now hold either for all of humanity or for a large portion of it. Comparison thus serves to spur not merely broader explanations but also new ones.¹

Note

1For more on the comparative method, see my “Postmodernism and the Social Scientific Study of Religion,” Religion 27 (1997): 139–149; “What Does Comparative Religion Compare?” Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 1 (1989): 65–70; “In Defense of the Comparative Method,” Numen 48 (2001): 339–373; “All Generalizations Are Bad: Postmodernism on Theories,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 74 (2006): 157–171.

Bibliography

Frazer, J. G. (James George). 1931. “The Scope and Method of Mental Anthropology,” in Frazer, Garnered Sheaves, pp. 234–251. London: Macmillan.

Geertz, Clifford. 1968. Islam Observed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Geertz, Clifford. 1973. The Interpretation of Cultures. New York: Basic Books.

Geertz, Clifford. 1995. After the Fact. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.