that charged a nation. Was that compensation? Maybe not. Maybe the daimon knew he was going to be Winston Churchill and was shoring up his tongue.
What about Manolete? The greatest bullfighter that ever lived, who was scared to death of everything and hid behind his mother’s skirts until he was fourteen years old. Compensation? Maybe not. Maybe the daimon was shoring up his courage.
Instead of looking at developmental psychology, which says you’re born, you have these problems, you get all kinds of wounds, you make some kind of adjustment, and then you die–it’s very melancholy isn’t it?–maybe there are these great passions and purposes that are encoded in us, and then unfold in and through time.
A myth is something that never was but that is always happening. It is the DNA code of the human psyche. It is available for one generation, and again, in a different twist, for another. It has multiple, myriad facets. It drops into a culture like a crystal seed in a supersaturated solution, and then it blooms and blossoms. Einstein said, “If you want to make your children brilliant, tell them fairy tales. If you want to make them more brilliant, tell them more fairy tales.”