Muses: A Definition
… or how I’ve repurposed Greek Mythology to create a term for my own purposes
I’ve written a couple posts so far mentioning my Muses and thought I’d take a quick moment to define how I use this term. This post is going to look different than those I’ve written so far—I think it’s important to describe how I got to this term (including history and related terms), what my beliefs are about this, and why I’ve chosen the word “Muse” for some aspects of my writing and spiritual journey.
Muses and Archetypes
In Greek Mythology, there are 9 goddesses who inspire others to create. They were sisters, daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, goddess of memory (and from whom we get the term “mnemonic device”). Each Muse governed a different talent, and artists called upon the Muses to inspire them while they wrote, painted, or otherwise created their piece of art. Most famously, Homer invoked one of these Muses for both The Illiad and The Odyssey, the latter of which begins with this stanza:
Tell me about a complicated man. Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost when he had wrecked the holy town of Troy, and where he went, and who he met, the pain he suffered on the sea, and how he worked to save his life and bring his men back home. He failed, and for their own mistakes, they died. They ate the Sun God’s cattle, and the god kept them from home. Now goddess, child of Zeus, tell the story for our modern times. Find the beginning.[i]
What I love about the idea of Muses is that it explains something that feels very real to me as a creative. When I’m focused on my work, it truly feels like there is another being working through me. In fact, there have been many times when I emerge from a writing fog and reread what I wrote, only to find that I hadn’t planned for a character to do what I made them do—something deep within me took over and wrote it, creating something that was much better than I originally imagined. This is not news; many artists have described similar experiences.
The thing I don’t love about Muses is that they’re finite—there are only 9 and they govern the art that was venerated in Ancient Greece. While I do appreciate comedy and weave sarcasm into my writing, invoking Thalia for my nonfiction book seems a bit inappropriate. If I want to write a love scene in a fiction book, I may invoke Erato, but if it isn’t a poem, does it still make sense to do so? I can go on like this about all 9 Muses.
The spinning I did about how and whether I could use the traditional Muses led me to the idea of archetypes.
The term “archetype” was originally coined by Carl Jung as part of his Model of the Psyche, but the term itself has nuances depending on the ideology that is describing it. My experience with archetypes began with literary criticism and then moved to the spiritual.
Jung’s original explanation states that there are universal characteristics that all functional living things inherently do. For humans, it can be biological such as the instincts to become a parent or to feed oneself or to seek shelter.
In literary criticism, an archetype is a character that is often found in literature of all genres (poetry, myth, fiction, etc.) and is meant to invoke a strong emotion—a villain, a good mother, a hero.[ii]
In the spiritual world, archetypes are a personification of what we, as spiritual people, are currently striving toward. If we feel weak, we may study the characteristics of a warrior in the hopes that it will encourage us to tap into our courage to make us stronger people. Those who follow the Roman Catholic or Orthodox faiths may study the life of a particular saint to help encourage them to be more like that person was. These are also spiritual archetypes.
I have used archetypes in this way and found them to be a powerful tool to tap into who I am and where I want to be as a human.
But neither the traditional definition of Muse nor these definitions of archetypes adequately reflect the inner world that I experience daily.
My Experience Listening
In my own spiritual study and practice, I’ve found that listening is key to everything. Once I was able to calm my own thoughts and truly start listening, I realized that it wasn’t one voice but many that were trying to communicate with me. There are characterizations of who those voices belong to and what their purposes are, a “Muse” being only one of those.
A “Muse” has its own personality, its own way of communicating, and its own way of relating to the world. Whether I’m writing or not, each Muse can whisper in my ear and help me understand or interpret what the rest of my senses are experiencing. Sometimes they feel like a part of myself or my unconscious that I choose to hear. I would put Barbara, Jane, and Anais in this category. Other times, they feel like a completely separate being who is teaching me, ensuring I consider a point of view I hadn’t considered before (Aisling is in this latter category).
My Creative Muse belongs to a third category all together. She is a translator or a messenger. Her job is to relay truth through art, and generally leaves me in deep awe.
So, while my definition is not a traditional one and others may not use the term “Muse” like I do, explaining things this way has made me a better writer. I can tap into a part of myself that needs more attention so I can write what I need to. I’m finding that’s important as I begin this project—it’ll allow me to encourage the parts of myself and the values I have that generally stay dormant while I’m working in the corporate world. It’ll help remind me that I am not just a corporate employee, I’m a dynamic, well-rounded, and complicated person that has loves and desires outside of the corporate world.
[i] Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by Emily Wilson. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2018.
[ii] Harmon, W and C.H. Holman. A Handbook to Literature (Seventh Edition). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1996.