Tuesday, February 24, 2026

Mythical thinking is still within us

 



 

Paolo Cugini



Although many centuries have passed since the Greeks developed a philosophical thought based on reason and sustained by logos, it is possible to affirm that we still have a mythical approach to reality. It seems like an absurd statement, but it is not so absurd.

But what exactly is mythical thought? We think mythically whenever we resort to a narrative that abandons reasoning to rely on a sacred type of discourse foundation.

It is also important to point out that in the ancient mindset, myth is not identified with something false. The philosopher of religion Mircea Eliade reflected extensively on the mythical structure of ancient thought and arrived at conclusions worth highlighting. Unlike the modern view of "myth" as something false, Eliade argues that, for the people of traditional (or "archaic") societies, myth is absolutely true and sacred. In the origin narrative, myth always refers to a "creation," recounting how something, whether the entire cosmos or just a human behavior, came into existence. For Eliade, knowing the origin myth of an object or animal grants the individual a kind of dominion over it, allowing its ritual manipulation.

One of Eliade's most famous concepts is that of Eternal Return, which describes the religious man's desire to return to the time of origins. Through rites, man not only "remembers" the myth, but re-actualizes it, becoming contemporary with the gods or heroes in "primordial time." By living the myth, the individual leaves linear (profane) time and enters circular (sacred) time, recovering the fullness of being. Eliade uses the term hierophany to describe the act of manifestation of the sacred in the profane world. For Eliade, the sacred is the "reality par excellence," saturated with being and power. Even in desacralized and modern societies, Eliade notes that myth survives in a camouflaged form in behaviors such as cinema, literature, and certain political ideologies, which offer temporary escapes from linear history. If at the time of the birth of philosophy mythical thought had a heuristic basis, today we can clearly say that resorting to myth is a form of mental laziness, which manifests a lack of knowledge of reality.

For Paul Ricoeur, myth is not a false scientific explanation, but a symbolic narrative that reveals profound truths about the human condition, especially about fallibility and the origin of evil. He argues that philosophy must take a detour through the hermeneutics (interpretation) of myths to understand what pure, abstract reflection cannot grasp on its own. 

Ricoeur defines myth as a "symbol developed in narrative form." While a symbol is a unit of double meaning (a literal meaning that points to a latent meaning), myth sets these symbols in motion through a story. By losing its claim to physically explain the world, myth gains a function of exploring human reality, manifesting what Ricoeur calls the "language of confession" (experiences of guilt, stain, and sin). The philosopher argues that we do not have direct access to the "self" or to being; we need the mediation of cultural works, such as myths, to understand ourselves.

Taking into account the reflections of Eliade and Ricoeur, we can affirm that mythical thought still lingers in culture, not only in the West. Furthermore, the thought that develops in Christianity is not mythical, but philosophical. It is not a coincidence that the Church Fathers of the first centuries, in trying to resolve the problems that the identity of Jesus brought to the daily reflection of the first communities, used many concepts from Greek philosophy. Following Jesus demands a rational, logical choice, more than a mythical one. It is not a coincidence that the first community of John identifies Jesus not with myth, but with the logos. “In the beginning was the Word” (John 1:1).

Jesus gave a definitive rational answer to our human questions. Despite this, even today, most Catholics enter the religious sphere not driven by reason, but by feeling; not through rational and philosophical reflection, but through mythical thought—not in the sense that Eliade and Ricoeur pointed out, but as an irrational approach, bringing unsustainable arguments into the debate. When mythical thought identifies with our irrational side, religion becomes a space of intolerance, because one no longer adheres to the divine through a path that involves the totality of the person, but adheres to a religious form, identifying with it and defending it tooth and nail, not participating with love and tenderness. When religion becomes a space of intolerance,  of opposition to science, God disappears from the map, and elements that only psychiatry can resolve come into play.

Monday, February 23, 2026

I WAS HUNGRY

 



Paolo Cugini

 

I was hungry and you gave me food (Mt 25 35).

Listen, O people, for the time of the superfluous has come to an end and the hour of the essential knocks at the gates of history. Let us seek no further, let us not accumulate rivers of words or treatises that weigh like stones on our consciences. It is all here, and nothing will be added that is not already written in the beating of the human heart.

The days will come, and these are already here, when the great cathedrals of thought will crumble to pieces before a single fragment of humanity. The Gospel is not a doctrine to be learned, but a path of exodus. It is the forced exit from the desert of selfishness, the mastery of that instinct that whispers to us to survive alone, enclosed within the confines of our petty problems, blind to everything else.

The Mystery of Mysteries is not hidden in impenetrable heavens, but is contained in a gesture that shakes the foundations of the world: feeding the hungry. Let us look to the Son of Man: He did not reveal His divinity in the brilliance of lightning, but in the dust of the ground, washing the feet, embracing the wounded flesh of the leper, becoming a caress for the sick. This is the prophecy we must embody: the path of humanization is the only true path to divinization. There is no God without man, without woman; there is no divine light that does not pass through our bowed hands.

Here is the great revelation that the world does not want to hear: In every hungry person who meets our gaze, in every persecuted person who knocks on our door, in the refugee who has no country and in the stranger who has no face, the Mystery dwells. Jesus cried out to the centuries: "I was hungry, I was thirsty, I was naked." Every time we bend down to the outcasts of the earth, we will not only touch human flesh, but we will encounter the Mystery. And that encounter will leave a mark that no forgetfulness can erase.

Let us abandon theologies of detachment. Let us embrace the only doctrine that saves: the experience of the Mystery occurs in welcoming the stranger. May our worship be truth, not smoke; may our liturgies be a listening ear that opens the heart. Because the truth of what we celebrate on the altar will only be seen in the way we walk alongside the least.

He who has ears to hear, let him hear: the light of the Mystery dwells within us, but it will shine only when we become bread for the hungry.

 

Tuesday, February 17, 2026

STILL DON'T UNDERSTAND?

 



 

Paolo Cugini

 

And he said to them, Do you still not understand? (Mk 8:21).

It must not have been easy for the first disciples, both men and women, to follow that man from Nazareth. We often imagine their "yes" as a linear path, but the reality was one of enormous psychological and spiritual toil. They followed Jesus, they had abandoned their safety nets, yet the gap between the Master's proposal and their own experience was abysmal. It wasn't just a matter of intellectual understanding; it was a matter of dismantling an entire symbolic universe constructed over centuries of history.

The legacy of a rigid cultic paradigm weighed heavily on the minds of Jesus' contemporaries. Faith was understood as a system of sacrifices, prescriptions, and duties. At its center sat the image of a demanding God, a sovereign who did not forgive transgressors and threatened eternal punishment. In this context, religion had become an instrument of social control. Religious leaders had built a wall between the sacred (relegated to the temple) and the profane (the daily life of the people). This deformed God was, in effect, an antagonist to man, an entity who served to justify the power logic of the temple lords. The risk of reducing God to a harsh judge is a constant temptation in the history of religions.

Jesus bursts into this landscape with subversive force. He defines the Pharisees' understanding of religion as bad leaven, a negative ferment capable of contaminating the entire mass. His response is not a new law, but a revelation: God is Father and infinite mercy. While the temple imposed precepts, Jesus opened paths of liberation. With Him, the separation between sacred and profane collapses definitively. In Christ, the sacred enters time and the flesh: everything is sanctified and nothing must be sacrificed. It is the victory of life over death and of love over hate.

Why did the disciples struggle to understand? The answer lies in what we might call a colonization of the imagination. For too long, they had assimilated the poison of religious leaders, mistaking human traditions for the Word of God. Exposing this mystification was Jesus's most courageous act, but it also sparked the hatred of the established powers. A God who forgives everything and everyone is not suitable for those who seek to subjugate the people through fear.

Mercy is not cheap do-goodism, but the strength that destroys the logic of power.

Entering the Gospel journey today means accepting the same suffering as the disciples: the effort to shed the old religion of fear and bargaining with the divine. The transition is radical: from the God-Tyrant to the God-Love. Only by accepting this stripping can we be clothed in the light of the Mystery of Mercy, transforming faith from a list of obligations to an experience of authentic freedom.

 

Tuesday, February 10, 2026

AGAINST THE SACRED SCAMMERS

 

 


 

Paolo Cugini

 

Thus you make the word of God of no effect by your tradition which you have handed down. And many such things you do (Mk 7:13).

It is one of the most striking verses in the Gospel for its clarity and lucidity. It is a verse that contains a very important revelation, because it shows what has happened over time: the replacement of the Word of God with human traditions. This is the drama. Without a doubt, those who lived in search of an authentic meaning to life could not help but realize that something was wrong with Israel's religious system. The relationship with God, instead of being free and lived in an atmosphere of freedom, was conditioned by money and an unbearable network of precepts. How can one exploit the dimension of life, which has to do with personal and communal sensitivity, as well as the delicate thread that binds us to the Mystery? Yet, what was impossible even to imagine happened. This was Jesus' great discovery, which, once publicly manifested, caused his death. It is a great temptation for all those in religious power: to manipulate the sacred, by manipulating consciences. After all, it's easy to manipulate a conscience when it's in a delicate moment of life and, therefore, turns to God and his mediators. One must be truly rotten not to respect the soul of a desperate person, or one experiencing great anguish. One must have one's conscience completely shrouded in evil, to act like jackals, ready to pounce on those who are clearly in a state of weakness, incapable of defending themselves and, therefore, easily preyed upon by unscrupulous people. That all this can happen in a religious context is utterly despicable, because personal conscience is at stake. Exploiting a person who comes asking for help, who feels the full weight of their own fragility and therefore pleads for mercy, and instead receives orders, rules, and the imposition of money, is truly unforgivable. This is why Jesus uses harsh words, leaving no room for misunderstanding. Jesus knows full well the price he will have to pay for these accusations, but he also knows that his example will serve to free religion from those who defraud the sacred.  

Unfortunately, as we know, history has repeated itself, even in more serious forms than those identified by Jesus. There is no end to human misery. The religious sphere, precisely because it deals with the Mystery of God, lends itself, for those who reach the highest echelons of religious power and are people without any sense of shame, to the greatest forms of exploitation of consciences. This is the paradox: the most sacred space of the human person, namely, its religious dimension, becomes, at the same time, the most vulnerable place for every form of manipulation. How many psychological, sexual, and power abuses have occurred and continue to occur in the sacred spaces of our churches? How many exploited, massacred, and humiliated people, who, after opening their souls to the unscrupulous mediator of the sacred on duty, have felt abused? In these situations, it seems there is no remedy for evil. Instead, the hope that dwells in our Gospel-filled hearts shows us the great love manifested in the cross of Jesus, a love that conquered hatred. A hope that transcends all negative sensory perceptions. 

 

The Intersection: The theological place as a point of breakthrough

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