With the recent celebration of Thanksgiving, we enter what Andy Williams's classic holiday song claims to be "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year." The lyrics describe a period of time when we step out of the swirl of daily life to spend time with friends and family. During these holiday rituals -- Thanksgiving dinners, office parties, tree-lighting ceremonies, and family get-togethers we bask in the good cheer of the holidays and take several moments to reflect on our good fortune and pinpoint what is really important in our lives.
As an anthropologist I have spent three decades thinking about rituals and myths. In West Africa I had the privilege of witnessing many spirit possession ceremonies, rituals during which my West African friends sought measures of comfort at events during which deities take the bodies of mediums to speak "truth to power." In New York City I've observed the daily routine of Muslim prayer practiced by my West African immigrant friends. They claim that the discipline of praying five times a day gives them the strength to confront the considerable social, cultural and religious challenges of being Muslim and African in contemporary America.
Rituals unquestionably have an important impact on our lives. Although I'm Jewish, my partner likes to put up a Christmas tree in our living room. Although I dislike the sappiness of Christmas songs, my partner likes them, and so bending to the will of ritual and the good cheer of the season, the sounds of Christmas music echo through our house. Each evening, scented candles flicker in our dimly lit house. A fire burns brightly in the fireplace. These sights, sounds and scents, all central components of "holiday" rituals, make me feel good. They bring a sense of completeness to my life. Perhaps it is "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year."
But is the story of ritual so simply told? Anthropologists have long studied rituals and their accompanying myths. We usually see rituals as special times when people step out of the routine of the ordinary -- going to Church, a ball game, or a holiday party. By contrast, myths are, to quote the late Clifford Geertz, one of the great figures of 20th century anthropology, stories we tell ourselves about ourselves. Many myths are told to reinforce the message of a ritual. They are often told to reinforce the accepted social order of things -- persistent class divisions or increasing economic disparity. In every society people take the time to enact rituals and recount myths because in the face of social chaos, they make us feel more comfortable in the world.
The events and myths that create "The Ritual Season" make many of us feel grateful for what we have. They create a reassuring climate in which we feel in control of our lives. Such feelings are especially important in contemporary American society in which the blinding pace of the digitizing world has unraveled much of the social fabric. In our world of continuous mergers and acquisitions, how many people today work for the same company for more than five years, let alone a lifetime? In an increasingly mobile world, how many families, which used to live in one place for many generations, have scattered far and wide? The incessant flood of email messages, texts and tweets has in large measure shredded our capacity for the quiet and serious contemplation of complex personal or social issues.
It is no exaggeration to say that this cascading set of forces has created widespread burnout. We have no time to sift through the mountainous pile of information that bombards us everyday. We have no time to understand the whys and wherefores of health legislation, financial regulation, or climate science. In our burnt out states, we prefer quick, simple and "common-sense" solutions, to paraphrase the hollow right-wing populism of the Tea Party, to the increasingly complex social, political and economic problems.
Those who seek power have understood the political punch of myth and ritual. They have always manipulated these central components of social life to further their interests. In contemporary politics, the Tea Party offers an image of America based upon a whitewashed past and illusory future. Why would millions of Americans believe in a world based in large measure upon half-truths and lies? Perhaps they are responding in their own fashion to social and technological change?
Numbed by the persistent bombardment of digital media, the stress of the present and the fear of the future, they take in the dim light of convenient myths about the American present and future, look back to "better" times in the past, and tune-out inconvenient bad news that undermines the ambiance a fabricated reality. Comforted by the myths and rituals of life in America, many of us buy what we don't need and vote against our interests-if we vote at all. A recent survey, for example, reported that 46 percent of the Americans did not know that the Republican Party had won control of US House of Representatives in last month's election.
As anthropologists well know, the comforts of ritual and myth are only a temporary fix. Even though we have entered the ritual season during which we wish for "Peace on Earth," wars are still being fought, crimes are still being committed, children are still going to bed hungry, men and women still getting pink slips, people are still facing a catastrophic illness without health coverage. It is wonderful to practice the rituals and recount the myths of the holidays, but if these rituals and myths are becoming part of larger project to build a house of illusion -- simplistic ill-informed solutions to complex problems -- the house will eventually crash down upon our heads and we will be forced to confront unimaginable social change and challenge.
Rituals, of course, also enable us to reflect upon our connection to one another. =They project a sense of community and promote a feeling of cohesiveness. They can empower us to confront the considerable challenges of social and political life in the present and future.