The next website I plan to create will be called "GreekMythScholarsTestify" patterned after the old one where we used to... oh, wait... I got sidetracked. As soon as I create this website, I will post my own, personal testimony and then I will invite others to add theirs as well. So here is my testimony.
I grew up believing in a lot of things. I don't remember when I first learned about Santa Claus. It was a long time ago. But I do remember believing in him with all my heart. As I started growing and interacting with other kids at school, my belief in Santa began to fail. There were kids that would tell me he wasn't real. I began to assemble facts in my mind that tore down at the foundation of my Christmas past, present, and future. My dreams of candy canes and lolly pops were being whipped about by a raging tempest. But my parents never seemed to indicate Santa wasn't real. I was conflicted and confused. At first it scared me to consider the idea of Santa not being anything more than an icon. The idea presented a stark picture for me. What was once comfortable and warm, started to become cold and frightening. If Santa wasn't real, that means my parents had to spend lots of money to buy the kids presents. They had to do all this late at night and in secret. They had to hide things from us and play tricks on us. This also meant there were some families who might not get presents. It made me sad. After some time, I began to get comfortable with the idea. It was a reality that I had to grow into. With time, I realized I was probably better off not believing in it anyway. I found other ways to make the holiday meaningful to me.
In 5th grade, I began to learn about Greek Mythology. Once again, I was presented with stories that people used to believe in. These stories used to be real to the Macedonians. I learned that the stories took place in a country that still exists today and many of the names used in the stories are real places. A little question piqued my senses: Is it real? I asked questions like this as we began to study the voyage of Ulysses. But my teacher told me the stories were all fake. This was not hard for me to understand. By this point, I was an experienced critic. I rejected all those stories without exerting much effort. They soon lost their worth and reason for my regard and respect. Nobody in the whole world considered them real so obviously, I should not either.
Once my mind was made up that I didn't believe any of the Greek myths, I never found it necessary to revisit the question. The idea of belief in the Greek myths never surfaced all through my adolescent years and even into my adult years as a young father. Then something happened. Through some trying events in my life, I was thrown into a position in which everything was questioned again. I started to throw out all the ideas I had grown up with. My parents and friends were very concerned about me and tried to get me to believe in all my old ideas. They seemed to feel that I could not be part of their life if I didn't believe the way they did. Their concern for me ran deep and caused a lot of pain for all of us. But no matter what I did, I couldn't get my old beliefs back. They were gone. They were carried off into the fog just like Santa's sleigh on Christmas Eve.
One night, about a year later, I sat studying in my library. I looked up at my bookshelf and there sat The Odyssey. I wondered at it. Memories from my days in Middle school readings came to mind. I remembered the story of Ulysses being tied to the boat mast and struggling to free himself as he yearned for the Sirens. I remember the encounter with the giant and the boat of the dead and his difficulties upon returning home. The memories of these stories stirred something in me. A little pilot light ignited. I wanted to find Ulysses again. I wanted to hear the voice of his benefactress. I wanted to hear his resolute cries in my mind. A desire was growing in my breast. I picked up the book and began to read.
This is when I discovered Pallas Athena. She is only words on the pages of Homer to most of us. We might recognize her image carved in stone, standing with a helmet, spear, and wise owl at her side. I recently found a picture of her, rendered by Girolamo Francesco Maria Mazzola of Italy. It struck me deeply.
I grew up believing in a lot of things. I don't remember when I first learned about Santa Claus. It was a long time ago. But I do remember believing in him with all my heart. As I started growing and interacting with other kids at school, my belief in Santa began to fail. There were kids that would tell me he wasn't real. I began to assemble facts in my mind that tore down at the foundation of my Christmas past, present, and future. My dreams of candy canes and lolly pops were being whipped about by a raging tempest. But my parents never seemed to indicate Santa wasn't real. I was conflicted and confused. At first it scared me to consider the idea of Santa not being anything more than an icon. The idea presented a stark picture for me. What was once comfortable and warm, started to become cold and frightening. If Santa wasn't real, that means my parents had to spend lots of money to buy the kids presents. They had to do all this late at night and in secret. They had to hide things from us and play tricks on us. This also meant there were some families who might not get presents. It made me sad. After some time, I began to get comfortable with the idea. It was a reality that I had to grow into. With time, I realized I was probably better off not believing in it anyway. I found other ways to make the holiday meaningful to me.
In 5th grade, I began to learn about Greek Mythology. Once again, I was presented with stories that people used to believe in. These stories used to be real to the Macedonians. I learned that the stories took place in a country that still exists today and many of the names used in the stories are real places. A little question piqued my senses: Is it real? I asked questions like this as we began to study the voyage of Ulysses. But my teacher told me the stories were all fake. This was not hard for me to understand. By this point, I was an experienced critic. I rejected all those stories without exerting much effort. They soon lost their worth and reason for my regard and respect. Nobody in the whole world considered them real so obviously, I should not either.
Once my mind was made up that I didn't believe any of the Greek myths, I never found it necessary to revisit the question. The idea of belief in the Greek myths never surfaced all through my adolescent years and even into my adult years as a young father. Then something happened. Through some trying events in my life, I was thrown into a position in which everything was questioned again. I started to throw out all the ideas I had grown up with. My parents and friends were very concerned about me and tried to get me to believe in all my old ideas. They seemed to feel that I could not be part of their life if I didn't believe the way they did. Their concern for me ran deep and caused a lot of pain for all of us. But no matter what I did, I couldn't get my old beliefs back. They were gone. They were carried off into the fog just like Santa's sleigh on Christmas Eve.
One night, about a year later, I sat studying in my library. I looked up at my bookshelf and there sat The Odyssey. I wondered at it. Memories from my days in Middle school readings came to mind. I remembered the story of Ulysses being tied to the boat mast and struggling to free himself as he yearned for the Sirens. I remember the encounter with the giant and the boat of the dead and his difficulties upon returning home. The memories of these stories stirred something in me. A little pilot light ignited. I wanted to find Ulysses again. I wanted to hear the voice of his benefactress. I wanted to hear his resolute cries in my mind. A desire was growing in my breast. I picked up the book and began to read.
This is when I discovered Pallas Athena. She is only words on the pages of Homer to most of us. We might recognize her image carved in stone, standing with a helmet, spear, and wise owl at her side. I recently found a picture of her, rendered by Girolamo Francesco Maria Mazzola of Italy. It struck me deeply.
I found in this artwork an image of a being that could embrace us with love and understanding. I found that it was a person very close to my heart - the one I started out with as a child. Somehow, this being felt my insecurities and my troubles as if she had seen them all herself. She lived in this image. While she didn't have the power of the stars nor the stoic grandeur of the Gods of Persia, she did seem to understand. Something started to grow from Girolamo's painting and climb down the Internet wall onto the floor of my room. A little olive branch from her homeland sprouted and brushed up against my ankle. It was so tender and small, I wondered at how it came to be from such brute force of her giant spear. The touch of the olive branch gave me a deep sense of peace in my mind. I felt all would be well and prosperous despite the uncertainty that bounded around us. I've since prayed to Athena and laid before her feet all my doubts and concerns with trepidation. She answered with calm and love.
Many skeptics out there might be wondering at my experiences. Let me take this opportunity to testify to you that while my belief is heavily nuanced and unorthodox, it is belief nonetheless. Without belief, where would we be? We should not forget that that the images we toyed with in our childish minds were the very tools that gave us the ability to think in abstract and reason through uncertainty. Our beliefs give us hope. You might wonder how and why a person would believe in stories that seem demonstrably false. To that, I respond with a request that you take the time to demonstrate Greek Myth false once and for all. In fact, I challenge you to find the lies, if you think they exist. Perhaps in your quest, you might stumble upon the beautiful imagery that I have. The very same imagery that has inspired so many people across the vastness of human history.
