In the earliest poem written in Old English, The Dream of the Rood, people are called “language bearers”. It is an intriguing descriptor-name, highlighting one of the unique characteristics of what it means to be human. While watching the new BBC series Human, I was reminded of this defining feature of our distinctiveness. Presenter Ella Al-Shamahi visited a cave in Botswana to make the case that the appearance of the first humans (who share an identity with us) was marked by the development of ritual. Behaviour that implies abstract thoughts and patterns, rendered material through actions that serve no immediate practical benefit.
However, while it may be the evidence of something, ritual must always follow in the wake of something else: the creation of story. Ritual is secondary; stories are primary. As human beings grappled to locate themselves under the stars, and at risk from the vagaries of the weather and nature, stories endow a sense of purpose in survival. We envisage a future, and that future shapes and influences our present actions. Stories also bind us together with those who share the same framework of meaning. It is for this reason that I have long thought of the book Genesis, not so much an account of creation, but as an act of creation. Sharing these particular stories meant you were knit together with the children of Israel, and shared their covenant with God. The story is the fabric that holds the people together and ritual develops out of the narratives to help anchor them within human experience. It may also be true that as stories are embedded in ritual, the act of creativity also shapes the way that the story is told.
At Helleristningene ved Sagelva, in Norway, this is one of two raindeer images ground into the rocks. They are approximately 9,000 years old.
In the way that time is so much greater than we imagine, the script of Humans reminds us that in the entire period that human beings have been around, writing has been present only for the last 1% of our history. It follows that tracing the origins of stories is an impossible task, with the evidence of ritual standing proxy for story’s presence and purpose. Very often we can only speculate about the narratives that lie behind these illustrations, or their purpose once completed. Given the harsh conditions in which early people lived, and the precious nature of resources (including time) needed to survive, the commitment to art and the creation of enduring heritage is surprising. Human being appear to have needed theologies and mythologies that wove experiences into a sense of purpose and blessing.
The poet Eamon Grennan wonders if the cave painters worked in silence, like monks illuminating Medieval manuscripts, or if they kept up a gossip of religious fervour as they created images of wonder in the given contours of rock:
It doesn’t matter: we know
they went with guttering rushlight
into the dark; came to terms
with the given world; must have had
—as their hands moved steadily
by spiderlight—one desire
we’d recognise: they would—before going on
beyond this border zone, this nowhere
that is now here—leave something
upright and bright behind them in the dark.
Extract from The Cave Painters by Eamon Grennan
- The image at the head of this blog is sometimes described as ‘Viking graffiti’ and can be found in Skipwith Church, near York.
Swift Reflections 