Imagination, Mythology, and the Return to Earth
by Steve Stine, author of I, Enoch
Steve Stine talks about mythology in fiction. His sci-fi novel I, Enoch is about a race to save the world from the prospect of a sixth mass extinction. Enoch embarks on a dangerous mission with the help of ancient patrons and in the company of those with special knowledge of Earth’s hidden secrets.
“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.” - Albert Einstein
I am the child of an empirical age, and I was told early on that science and its method would save us. Although, at the age of eight, I wasn’t sure what we needed saving from. Then shortly thereafter, my parents woke me to watch the astronauts of Apollo 11 walk on the moon. Through bleary eyes, the image of Neil Armstrong bounding across a lunar surface ingrained itself. To this day, it marks one of humankind’s greatest achievements.
And yet, what we gained that day in the annals of space exploration, we lost in the age-old story-telling traditions that bestowed upon the moon a mythic quality. For countless generations and throughout the world, the moon played a lead role in shaping cultures, aligning belief systems, and influencing human behavior. For our ancestors, a waxing and waning moon served as the supreme representation of the cyclical nature of the natural world, reflecting patterns of growth, death, and renewal. Seasonal changes, the ocean tides, reproductive cycles, the passage from day to night and back again; all earthly echoes of the moon’s unrelenting celestial performance.
Imagine a time long before electrification, when a full moon - pregnant with light - illuminated the landscape. What comfort it must have offered humans; a welcome reprieve from nighttime’s otherwise somber shroud. Huddled beneath its luminescence, it is no wonder that the human imagination projected onto that ethereal orb supernatural powers. Chinese lore attributed to the moon an ability to increase sexual desire or grant immortality. The ancient Greeks and Romans claimed the moon could sway human decisions, alter behavior, and even incite madness (a.k.a. “lunacy”). Throughout the old world, cave drawings, hieroglyphics and papyrus scrolls featured the moon in its various states, ascribing to its appearance and movement a mystical ability to alter and influence the lives of humans.
For the ancients, not knowing proved fertile ground for story-telling. The awesome nightly spectacle of a million points of light conjured from one civilization to the next tales of gods, who from the heavens, kept watch. By anthropomorphising the gods, the original story-tellers made them relatable. That, in turn, gave rise to rituals, the practice of offerings, the construction of temples, and the rise of intermediaries who went by many names (shaman, oracle, hierophant, kohen, mystic, seeker, druid, priestess, etc.). Finding favour with the deities through prayer and sacrifice offered humans a way of assuming some perceived control over their own destinies. It remains one of the world’s great mysteries as to how civilizations, separated by time and geography, somehow agreed that the heavens served as the dwelling place of the gods. Credit the human imagination in inventing a panoply of gods and goddesses that were all powerful, and yet, mischievous, jealous, or even fallible. The answers to some of life’s greatest mysteries - we were told - lay far above and beyond. And so, we kept our eyes focused skyward.
Then, sometime around the mid-seventeenth century and the Age of Reason, the heavens began to lose their magical luster. In the Western world, there began a period of rapid debunking of old world ideas, replacing ancient myths and legends with what might be scientifically assumed, then proven. Vanguards of the Enlightenment, believing that mythologies were but remnants of superstitious thinking, made quick order in denouncing them in a bid to make way for a new scientific era. One of the period’s leading lights, Voltaire (1694–1778), wrote, “Myths and superstitions are the opiates of the people.”[1] Such sentiments were shared by most intellectuals of that time. The philosopher David Hume (1711-1776) viewed mythology as a manifestation of humanity’s tendency to believe in the extraordinary without evidence. And Thomas Paine (1737-1809), author of The Age of Reason, attached all institutions of religion as remnants of a mythological age. Increasingly, one’s bona fides as a scientist and a modernist required outright denunciation of the old ways of thinking.
In the intervening years, the substance and purpose of mythology suffered a full frontal assault by those bent on placing science at the centre of our cultural transformation. As a result, mythologies - the epic tales that shaped values and melded communities - started to lose their allure and meaning. Gradually, the old stories were relegated to the tombs of academia, catalogued under the Classics, and left to gather dust; a quaint reminder of humanity’s former ignorance. Mythologies did not die out suddenly. Their demise was gradual. It took time to coax people away from stories that had been passed down from one generation to the next. But by the late 19th century, the jig was up. This moment is perhaps best captured by the German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzche, who famously declared: Gott ist tot! (God is dead); a recognition that at long last, humanity had come to embrace the idea that the universe was ruled by physical laws as opposed to divine providence. It was a proclamation of science’s victory over myth and a repudiation of the concoctions and conceits of the human imagination. For the first time, a clear line was drawn between fact and fiction. Mythologies about the moon and stars that had underpinned humanity’s understanding of what it meant to live in the world, one after the other, were cast on the trash heap of superfluous fantasy.
Today, the word “myth” is synonymous with a falsehood. “Don’t believe it. That’s just a myth!” as the phrase goes. Modern society - more concerned with mythology’s factual inaccuracies - has lost sight of a great myth’s ability to stir the imagination. Mythology has been maligned and misunderstood. Myths, you see, are not falsehoods, but symbols. They point to something greater than ourselves. They elevate the human spirit and inspire the search for meaning. The Swiss psychologist, Carl Gustav Jung (1875-1961), called shared symbols archetypes, and in the first half of the 20th century developed an entire system of analytical psychotherapy around them. More recently, some scholars have tried to resuscitate the importance and power of myth as a device for making sense of our modern world. Joseph Campbell is the godfather of that movement. In what is perhaps his most famous work, “The Hero with a Thousand Faces,” Campbell wrote: “Myth is the secret opening through which the inexhaustible energies of the cosmos pour into human manifestation.” Campbell pierced the veil of what it means to be human and the role that myths play in helping us arrive at that understanding. But after four hundred years of mythological suppression, re-invigorating the imaginative power of myth is no easy task. Empiricism has had a hand in washing our system clean of a once powerful narrative device that offered purpose and meaning to our otherwise mundane existence. Mythologies today are but shadowy remnants of mythology’s poorer cousins - innuendo, superstition, and conspiracy theory; the after-birth of a once noble tradition capable of unifying a populace to a single state of belief and purpose.
By disparaging and discounting mythology we have lost a part of ourselves. The goal here is to bring myth back in service to people and planet. In doing so, I am not suggesting winding back the clock on our scientific discoveries, casting aside the empirical process, or returning us to a state of existential ignorance. Mythologies have - and always will be - more than a cover for what we do not understand. Mythologies, when well conceived, tap into the collective unconscious, signalling to each and everyone of us - regardless of our origins, ethnicity, or culture - a universal desire to respond to circumstances that threaten a shared understanding of what it means to live and thrive in the world. Only by directing the power of myth at what really matters can we hope to restore a degree of lived experience that breaks the subject-object divide that ontologically separates us from the natural world. Science has played its part in driving home these divisions. And while the empirical process cannot and should not be faulted for pursuing all avenues in a quest to better understand our world and its origins, it has unwittingly upended centuries of archetypal narratives that once offered humanity hope, comfort and the will to go on. In its place, a new narrative emerged. One that dreams of conquest and colonization. The universe is composed of tens of trillions of planets. Humans have only to set their sights. First the moon, then Mars. The conquest of other exoplanets will follow. This is the way of modernity, aided and abetted by an acceleration in technological prowess and billionaire hubris. The socio-psychological implications are profound asthe prevailing winds have set humanity on a new course. The imagination has been Shanghaied; indentured by captains of industry and their marketing co-conspirators.
As a result, the realm that has suffered the most is our own planet. With each passing decade, the narratives that once bound the human species to the intricate workings of Earth have slowly faded from the collective memory. Rather than cherish and preserve this planet’s innate complexity and diversity, decisions are taken every day to en masse pave, bury, block, contain, control, and excoriate a world that has for so long selflessly offered herself to humanity. Science has affirmed that our species is fundamentally driven to seek and hoard resources. And it is only by virtue of our scientific breakthroughs and technological tools that humans are now capable of exploiting the Earth’s resources at an ever-increasing rate. One might think this would be cause for concern; sufficient to reform the behaviors that threaten humankind’s very existence. And yet, in contrast to the trillions of dollars now being pumped into space programs, Earth conservation efforts receive less than $150 billion in annual funding. According to experts, that represents a $700 billion shortfall in order to halt and reverse the impact of climate change and a consequent devastation of biodiversity.[2] It’s a big number, and yet, entirely achievable assuming world leaders come to terms with this existential threat and unite in their efforts to combat the problem. This massive misalignment of attention and resources begs the question: where did we go wrong?
By objectifying our planet - just as we came to objectify the moon - science has driven a wedge between the natural world and our experience of it. The further that divide, the greater our propensity to see ourselves as separate, distinct, and unique. And therein lies the problem. From one generation to the next, our felt association with the natural world has dwindled. The gradual nature of this change has made it nearly undetectable. And yet, the world is today what it is because humanity has come to see our planet and the greater cosmos as mere territory to be conquered, colonized and ravaged, as civilizations see fit. For some, the natural world remains a thing of wonder. For most, it has become an object of exploitation. The empirical evidence of human activity and its devastating effect on the natural world could not be more clear. By every measure, we are driving towards extinction. And yet, humanity dithers. How could this be?
It seems that we have lost touch with our unique human ability to build narratives that pitch us out of a collective state of complacency, move us past the data sets and empirical analysis, and land us in a state of contemplative awareness that restores our love of planet and reverence for the natural world. The very scientific method upon which we have built a modern and advanced society is no longer seems sufficient to influence and guide the best in human behavior. Better, I think, to lean more heavily into the human imagination - our species’ greatest single superpower - in order to create narratives worthy of us and our planet.
Mythology is the term given to our best stories; the ones that resonate at a collective and societal level; the ones imbued with a creative capture of certain universal truths. The heavens have long occupied a central role in our traditional tales. From origin stories that speak to Mother Earth and Father Sky to modern tales of science fiction, humans have long feasted on stories that draw our attention up, out, and beyond. Now - I believe - is the time to turn our attention to Earth, penetrating downward, searching for its deep and hidden meanings, and capturing the essence of what it means to be custodians of this living planet.
Indeed, in comparison to the litany of tales that have from time immemorial referenced our great cosmos, stories about this Earth - our Earth - are too few and too small. What we need most in this moment is a new mythology that realigns humans with this planet and all its natural wonders. The very scientific method upon which we have built a modern and advanced society no longer seems sufficient to influence and guide collective rational behavior. What is left, one might ask? The human imagination, I would argue. The collective imagination is the twilight event that holds promise of an arora, imbued with the ability to restore to our species a rightful sense of awe. In order to survive and thrive, our only hope is to re-vision this earthly realm as a place worthy of our full attention and creative energies.
To do this, we must re-introduce a dollop of mythological thinking. Not as a replacement to rational thought. But rather, as a means of stimulating new ways of contemplating our current circumstances in service to both people and planet. The imagination is one of the most unique and profound aspects of the human mind. It is the source of our creativity, a bridge to empathy, and a companion to memory. When combined with narrative skill and technique, it contains the power to shift popular thought, influence behavior, and effectively alter the world. The stories that speak to the broadbase collective unconscious - the ones that resonate at some foundational level - are what we once called mythologies. These stories, told over and over again, served as testaments of cultural values, purpose, and intent. They reaffirmed, in each telling, the principles by which a people live and die. In some instances, mythologies formed the narrative backbone to what later became organized religions or belief systems. In other instances, they changed and evolved in the telling as circumstances required, and in order to reform and revalidate central ideals that served to bond a people together.
To be human is to experience the world, not simply observe it. Our species is hard-wired to search for meaning. And therefore, all interim attempts to pad our existence with material comforts or calm our nerves with mindless distractions will come to a head. And when it does, we will ask ourselves, have we truly lived in this world of ours? Have we opened ourselves up to the possibility that we are more than large-brained, resource-hoarding mammals bent on controlling a world that is so much bigger than ourselves? The modern human experience is one measured by our level of consumption and degree of agency over every decision.
Our societies consecrate celebrity and castigate acquiescence. Humans are geared to go, and keep going. To dwell, ponder, bathe, or absorb, or to otherwise rest in a state of inaction is to miss out or squander the opportunity for gaining something more. Is it possible for these two states of the human condition to co-exist? Possibly. But to do so, humanity must recover what has been lost - a sense of its place within this highly complex universe. To arrive, we must do so on the wings of conviction. We are the stories we tell ourselves. And to this end, it is time to restore mythology to its rightful place among the lexicon of human narratives.
We have learned to fly, built impossibly complex structures, dissected our biology to discover precisely how it works, solved complex mathematical equations, deployed a global communications network with instantaneous access to all the world’s knowledge, explored the cosmos, mapped the human genome, and created and manufactured a mind-numbing array of products that meet every possible human need. No small achievements in a relatively brief period of time. Yet, science - no matter how complete and precise - will forever remain ill-equipped in addressing the “why” of our existence.
The question is: Where do we go from here? The very scientific method upon which we have relied to deliver the widest possible range of life-enhancing products and services, is also telling us that our creations have come at a cost. Earth - the very source of our existence - is on the brink in its ability to regenerate and sustain conditions necessary for the perpetuation of our species. That day, according to analysts at the Global Footprint Network, came on August 2, 2023. Officially dubbed Earth Overshoot Day, it is the moment “when humanity’s demand for ecological resources and services in a given year exceeds what Earth can regenerate in that year.”[3] In other words, we are now officially living on borrowed time. How we respond to this impending crisis will define the kind of species we have become.
In recent years, “climate fiction” has evolved as a new category within the broader genre of science fiction. Authors are lending their attention, and weaving their craft to create tales of epic proportions. If we can capture the human imagination, then perhaps there is hope of a collective response that rallies to the needs of our planet and all living things that inhibit it.
Let us rekindle the mythological method, using it to infuse our scientific inquiry with a moral and values-based approach. Such an approach will guide us to consider not just human well-being, but the great interconnectedness of our planet as a whole. If imagination is the means, then perhaps mythology is the way.
Find out more about I, Enoch
Steve Stine has worked in the corporate world for over 35 years in the areas of advisory, leadership, and people development, primarily focused on the Asia Pacific region.
He is a professional writer, facilitator, and thought-leader, who has used a variety of mediums (podcasts, newsletters, roundtables, etc) to address topics relating to our future economy, AI, human behaviour, and geopolitics.
In The Deep Earth Chronicles series, Steve seeks to reframe the way we view our planet by re-evaluating humankind’s failed relationship with the natural world.
Steve is married with two daughters and splits his time between Bali, Indonesia and Bend, Oregon. He is happiest when kayaking on the rivers and lakes of Central Oregon, scuba diving around the Indonesian islands, or cross-country skiing through old forest. Steve is a student of mythology and for the past three decades has collected old myths and legends from indigenous communities around the world.
[1] Dictionnaire Philosophique
[2] “Financing Nature: Closing the Global Biodiversity Financing Gap,” October 2024
[3] Earth Overshoot Day (https://overshoot.footprintnetwork.org/about-earth-overshoot-day/)
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