Silencing the Divine: Myths, Patriarchy, and the Eternal Diminishment of the Feminine

The role of the seanchaidh in ancient cultures was one of profound importance. These storytellers were the keepers of memory, the custodians of wisdom, and the voice of their communities, ensuring that the stories of the past lived on to shape the present and future. I have always felt a deep affinity for this role, a love that stems from my own connection to storytelling and its power to illuminate truths. As a seanchaidh gives life to the tales they tell, so too have I sought to weave meaning and understanding through my work, both in writing and within the spaces I inhabit. It’s this connection to storytelling that shaped my role within Freemasonry, where I found myself embracing a position that resembled the seanchaidh (Classroom Director, Director of the Work, Director of the Readers Theatre group, and travelling speaker). There, I was a guardian of ritual and tradition, someone who not only upheld the stories of the fraternity but also interpreted their relevance in the modern world.

However, my journey within that fraternity changed dramatically when I came out as a trans woman. What had once been a space where my voice was valued became a place where my presence was questioned, if not outright rejected. This stark shift opened my eyes to the ways in which patriarchal structures, even those cloaked in brotherhood and tradition, position women—and by extension, anyone challenging their norms. It echoed the exclusion of women from leadership in many religions, where ancient interpretations of power and morality are still wielded to justify inequality. This personal experience led me to reflect on the stories that shape such structures, and how myths—our oldest and most enduring narratives—are often complicit in upholding these hierarchies.

Myths are powerful tools of social conditioning. They are more than just stories; they are frameworks that shape our understanding of the world. Through their retelling, they encode values, reinforce hierarchies, and perpetuate dominant ideologies. From the earliest times, myths have been used to explain and justify power dynamics, particularly those centred around gender. In the process, they often cast women and the feminine as inherently flawed, dangerous, or subservient. These narratives not only reflect the values of their time but also work to cement them, passing down the same patterns of oppression through generations.

The gendered lens of ancient narratives is unmistakable. Across cultures, we see stories that diminish the feminine, portraying it as something to be feared or controlled. Women are punished for their beauty, their autonomy, their curiosity, or even their existence, while men are framed as heroes for subduing or saving them. These patterns are not confined to a single culture or era but form a persistent global trend, one that has spanned millennia. The same myths that once shaped ancient societies still echo today, their influence lingering in the ways we perceive gender, power, and morality. It is these stories, and the systems they uphold, that I aim to explore, question, and ultimately reframe. For it is only by confronting the myths of the past that we can begin to unravel their hold on the present.

Region-by-Region Exploration of Myths

Across cultures and eras, myths have been wielded as tools to reflect and reinforce societal hierarchies, with women and the feminine divine often diminished or vilified. These stories provide a mirror to the positions women occupied in their respective societies, where they were frequently seen as subservient, dangerous, or in need of control. By exploring these narratives region by region, we can uncover how myths both reflected and shaped the roles of women, while also imagining how these tales might be reframed to challenge those entrenched hierarchies.

In Greek and Roman mythology, women were often positioned as instruments of fate, their choices either irrelevant or framed as catastrophic. Consider Medusa, a mortal punished not for her actions but for being violated by Poseidon. Her transformation into a Gorgon, a monster whose gaze could turn men to stone, represents society’s need to vilify and exile women who symbolised power or defiance. Reframing her story as one of survival and resilience shifts the focus from her supposed monstrosity to the injustice of her punishment. Similarly, Pandora, cast as the bringer of all suffering by opening a forbidden jar, has long symbolised a cautionary tale about female curiosity. Yet, her story could just as easily celebrate curiosity as the spark of human progress, challenging the notion that knowledge is dangerous when sought by women. Then there is Cassandra, gifted with prophecy but cursed to never be believed—a reflection of how women’s voices are ignored, even when speaking truth to power. Her tragedy becomes a powerful metaphor for silenced dissent, one that resonates deeply today.

In Norse mythology, women were afforded slightly more complexity but often at the cost of being diminished into singular archetypes. Freya, a goddess of love, beauty, and fertility, was also a figure of war and death, claiming half the warriors who fell in battle. Yet, she is often reduced to a caricature of vanity or seduction, overshadowing her true power. Loki, a non-binary figure, embodies disruption of societal norms, yet their defiance is treated as chaos to be subdued, reinforcing the idea that those who challenge traditional roles must be controlled. These tales highlight a society where women and those outside binary gender expectations had power, but only within tightly policed boundaries.

In Hindu mythology, women often symbolised virtue and sacrifice, embodying ideals that reinforced patriarchal expectations. Sita, the heroine of the Ramayana, is lauded for her unwavering loyalty and purity, enduring trials to prove her worthiness as a wife. Yet, reframing her narrative reveals a critique of the societal pressures placed upon women to endure suffering in silence. Similarly, Draupadi of the Mahabharata stands as a complex figure of resilience and defiance. Gambled away by her husbands and humiliated in court, her refusal to be cowed is a testament to her strength, but her story also underscores the systemic injustice that women faced in patriarchal societies.

Celtic and Gaelic traditions often venerated the divine feminine, but even here, echoes of patriarchal control emerge. The Morrígan, a goddess of sovereignty, war, and prophecy, is frequently mischaracterised as a harbinger of doom, her power reframed as something to be feared rather than respected. Stories of selkies, mythical seal-women who are forced to remain in human form when their skins are stolen, reflect themes of captivity and male control over female autonomy. These narratives reflect societies where women held spiritual importance but were still subject to the confines of patriarchal structures.

Indigenous stories, too, offer insight into the positioning of women within their societies. In Aztec mythology, Coyolxauhqui, the moon goddess, is dismembered by her brother Huitzilopochtli, symbolising the suppression of female power within a militarised patriarchal framework. By contrast, the Haudenosaunee story of Sky Woman places the feminine at the centre of creation, highlighting a worldview that revered women’s roles as life-givers and stewards. Yet, even these narratives have been overshadowed or reinterpreted through patriarchal lenses over time.

Finally, the Abrahamic traditions have perhaps the most enduring influence on contemporary gender roles. Eve, cast as the first woman, is blamed for humanity’s fall, her quest for knowledge framed as disobedience. Yet, reframing her story reveals her as a seeker of understanding, challenging the narrative that knowledge and autonomy are dangerous for women. Lilith, demonised in early Jewish traditions for refusing to submit to Adam, stands as a symbol of resistance, her story reclaimed by modern feminists as an assertion of equality and self-determination.

Through these stories, we see how myths have been used to justify the subjugation of women, portraying them as dangerous, passive, or subservient depending on the needs of the dominant narrative. Reframing these myths allows us to uncover the agency, resilience, and power of the feminine that has been hidden for millennia. By doing so, we challenge the hierarchies they once upheld and imagine a more equitable world where these stories inspire liberation rather than oppression.

Common Themes Across Cultures

Across cultures, certain recurring themes emerge in myths, each serving to reinforce patriarchal control and diminish the autonomy of women and the feminine. These stories, while cloaked in divine or heroic narratives, often serve as cautionary tales, punishing women for asserting independence, expressing desire, or simply existing outside the confines of societal norms. By examining these patterns, we uncover the mechanisms by which myths have perpetuated systemic inequality for millennia.

One of the most persistent themes is the vilification of female autonomy. Women who assert independence or defy expectations are punished with narratives that blame them for their suffering and ensure their gruesome fates serve as warnings to others. Medusa’s tale is a glaring example: assaulted by Poseidon, she is then transformed by Athena into a monster, a punishment for her very existence as a victim. Her subsequent decapitation by Perseus becomes a celebrated act, erasing the injustice of her story. Lilith, too, is demonised for refusing to submit to Adam, cast out of Eden and transformed into a symbol of danger and defiance. Draupadi’s humiliation in the Mahabharata, gambled away and disrobed in public, is framed as a consequence of her outspoken nature, warning women of the dangers of challenging patriarchal norms. These stories don’t merely punish; they seek to extinguish the idea of female autonomy altogether.

Control of female sexuality is another dominant thread. Myths frequently depict female desire as inherently dangerous, a force to be subdued or punished. Pandora, often reduced to a symbol of temptation, is blamed for unleashing suffering upon the world, her curiosity and agency equated with disaster. Freya’s sexuality, tied to beauty and desire, is often exploited in myths, overshadowing her roles as a warrior and death goddess. Helen of Troy, the “face that launched a thousand ships,” is simultaneously celebrated for her beauty and reviled as the cause of the Trojan War, her desires erased in favour of framing her as a passive catalyst for male violence. In these tales, female sexuality is wielded as both a weapon and a justification for control.

The erosion of the feminine divine marks another striking theme. Many early cultures revered goddesses as symbols of creation, wisdom, and power. Yet over time, these figures were either diminished or replaced by male-centric pantheons. The Morrígan, once a sovereign goddess of war and prophecy, is reimagined as a harbinger of doom. In Hindu mythology, the Shakti force—representing divine feminine power—exists largely to serve or complete male deities. This shift reflects a broader societal move to subordinate the sacred feminine, aligning mythology with patriarchal governance.

Victim-blaming and silencing form the foundation of many myths. Medusa is punished for her victimisation, Cassandra is disbelieved despite her prophetic truths, and Coyolxauhqui is dismembered for challenging male dominance. These narratives ensure that women’s suffering is seen as self-inflicted or deserved, reinforcing the idea that women must remain silent and compliant to avoid similar fates. In silencing these voices, myths not only erase injustice but also deter others from speaking out.

These recurring themes—vilification, control, erasure, and silencing—reveal a global pattern of diminishing women’s autonomy and power. Myths, as reflections of societal values, have long been wielded to justify and perpetuate patriarchal dominance, leaving a legacy that continues to echo in modern narratives. By exposing and reframing these stories, we can begin to disrupt this cycle and reclaim the feminine voices they sought to suppress.

A Story Retold

With all of this in mind, do you truly know the story of Medusa? Not the monster with snakes for hair, whose gaze could turn men to stone—but the woman beneath the myth, the heroine punished for the crime of being born a woman. For centuries, Medusa has been reduced to a figure of horror, a symbol of danger, and a cautionary tale. Yet hidden within her story is a far darker truth, one that speaks to the ways in which society has vilified women and transformed their pain into spectacle.

Medusa was a young woman with one tragic flaw: she was beautiful in a world where beauty was both a blessing and a curse. Poseidon, the god of the sea, saw her and decided that he must possess her. Not love her, not honour her, but possess her. To him, love was not an act of care or mutual respect but of dominance. Driven by this twisted sense of entitlement, he pursued her relentlessly. Desperate for protection, Medusa fled to the temple of Athena, seeking sanctuary in the presence of the goddess. But no sanctuary could save her. Poseidon took what he wanted (aka, raped her), desecrating Athena’s temple in the process.

One might expect divine wrath to fall upon Poseidon for this violation. Yet, as is so often the case in such stories, the blame fell not upon the rapist (man) but upon the rape victim (woman0. Athena, rather than punishing Poseidon for raping Medusa in her temple, turned her fury on Medusa. In a moment of divine cruelty, she transformed Medusa into a Gorgon, a creature so terrifying that one look from her could petrify anyone who dared to gaze upon her. In doing so, Athena exiled Medusa from the human world, condemning her to live alone, feared and hated by all. What had Medusa done to deserve such a fate? Nothing, save for existing as a woman in a society that placed blame and shame upon the victim.

Yet the story does not end with Medusa’s exile. As if her suffering were not enough, Athena set Perseus upon her, a young hero tasked with bringing back her head as a trophy. Medusa, pregnant with Poseidon’s child, was hunted down and decapitated. Her head, torn from her body, became a weapon and a symbol, affixed to Athena’s shield as both ornament and warning. Medusa, the victim of violence at the hands of gods and mortals alike, was immortalised not as a woman wronged but as a monster slain.

Medusa’s fate is not unique. Her story mirrors the lives of countless women throughout history—women punished for saying “no” or unable to say “no” at all, women whose beauty or independence made them targets, women who were silenced, shamed, and stripped of their humanity. Medusa became a living embodiment of society’s determination to make women bear the weight of men’s actions. She is the cautionary tale told to women who dare to be too bold, too beautiful, or too free.

But to see Medusa as only a victim is to miss the heart of her story. In her monstrous form, Medusa also possessed power—a power that made her untouchable to all but the most determined. Her gaze, which could turn men to stone, was both a curse and a defence, a force that rendered her both feared and inviolable. To reclaim Medusa’s story is to acknowledge this duality: her suffering and her strength, her victimhood and her resilience.

Medusa’s story is not just an ancient myth; it is a reflection of enduring realities. It reveals how societies have long blamed women for their own victimisation, silencing them under the guise of respectability, and disguising control and violence as love. Her story echoes across time, from the desecration of Athena’s temple to the grim spectacle of the Salem Witch Trials. There, too, it was not witches on trial but women—women who were feared for their independence, their knowledge, or their refusal to conform. Like Medusa, they were demonised, their suffering turned into a public warning. To remember Medusa is to recognise the patterns that have oppressed women throughout history and to honour all those silenced, vilified, and punished for daring to exist outside the narrow confines of societal norms. Her story challenges us to reimagine both the past and the present, to reject the idea that love can be possession or that power must be violence. No woman, in any time or place, should be reduced to a cautionary tale. Medusa, maligned and misunderstood, deserves to be remembered for what she truly is: a symbol of resilience in the face of relentless cruelty. Let us remember her, and in doing so, let us also remember those who have shared her fate—and let us finally do them justice.

The Legacy of Patriarchy in Modern Media

The legacy of patriarchy is alive and well in modern media, where the narratives of ancient myths are reimagined but often with the same limiting stereotypes intact. From films to books to television, women continue to be cast as “damsels in distress,” waiting to be saved by a male hero, or as “strong women” whose strength is vilified, diminished, or rendered secondary to a man’s journey. These archetypes, rooted in the same traditions that demonised figures like Medusa or Lilith, reinforce traditional gender roles and societal hierarchies by presenting women as either objects to be protected or threats to be neutralised.

Consider the persistent trope of the “evil queen” or “wicked stepmother,” who wields power but is invariably portrayed as jealous, vain, or cruel. These characters echo the punishments meted out to women like Pandora or the Morrígan—punished for their independence or ambition, their narratives warning against stepping outside societal expectations. Even contemporary heroines, ostensibly designed to challenge these patterns, are often constrained by them. The “strong woman” trope, seen in action films and superhero stories, frequently positions a woman’s strength as an anomaly or defines it in relation to male approval or competition. Her character may be celebrated for her physical prowess or intelligence, but often at the cost of emotional depth, reducing her to a symbol rather than a fully realised individual.

Despite these entrenched patterns, resistance and reclamation are gaining momentum in contemporary storytelling. Feminist retellings of myths, such as Madeline Miller’s Circe or Natalie Haynes’ A Thousand Ships, centre women’s voices and reframe stories that once diminished them. In these narratives, women are no longer accessories to male heroism but protagonists of their own complex, nuanced journeys. Similarly, diverse media portrayals are slowly pushing back against reductive archetypes. Films like The Woman King and series like Fleabag offer depictions of women as powerful, flawed, and deeply human, challenging audiences to question the stereotypes they’ve long accepted.

However, progress is uneven. For every feminist retelling or diverse portrayal, there remain countless stories that perpetuate harmful tropes. The damsel in distress and the evil queen persist, updated with modern aesthetics but unchanged in their implications. Meanwhile, the pressure to conform to narrow definitions of “strong women” often ignores the vast spectrum of women’s experiences and identities.

Modern media has the potential to break free from these patterns entirely, but doing so requires more than a shift in aesthetics; it demands a fundamental reimagining of how stories are told and whose voices are centred. By recognising and challenging the legacy of patriarchal myths in today’s narratives, we can create space for stories that reflect the true diversity and complexity of women’s lives. The progress we’ve made is worth celebrating, but the work of dismantling these harmful narratives is far from finished.

Final thoughts …

Stories, whether ancient myths or modern narratives, shape how we perceive the world and our place within it. They hold immense power to reflect, reinforce, or challenge societal hierarchies. Myths like those of Medusa, Pandora, and Lilith have long served to silence and diminish the feminine, transforming women’s suffering into warnings and their autonomy into threats. Yet these same myths, when reclaimed and reframed, offer a profound opportunity to amplify silenced voices and challenge outdated norms. If we shift the lens, viewing these stories as reflections of resilience rather than punishment, how might our understanding of the past—and our vision for the future—transform?

In many ways, contemporary media continues the legacy of these myths, blending empowerment with objectification or reducing complex women to archetypes that serve male-dominated narratives. Luc Besson’s films are a prime example. His female characters, from Mathilda in Léon: The Professional to Laureline in Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets, are frequently strong, capable, and central to the plot. Yet their independence is often constrained by romantic subplots, male validation, or framing through the male gaze. Leeloo from The Fifth Element is the “Supreme Being,” but her agency is overshadowed by her infantilised presentation and her reliance on Korben Dallas. Laureline, competent and resourceful, is reduced to a foil for Valerian’s antics, her depth sacrificed for a romantic narrative. These characters, despite their potential, remain tethered to recurring themes that limit their autonomy and humanity.

But the power of storytelling lies in its potential to evolve. Characters like Laureline or Leeloo, full of life and depth, hint at what could be if storytellers truly freed them from these constraints. Imagine narratives where women are not simply strong within the bounds of patriarchal frameworks but are free to define strength on their own terms. Imagine stories where the feminine is celebrated, not feared, and where women are neither objects to be rescued nor threats to be subdued, but agents of their own destinies (e.g., Portrait of a Lady on Fire).

The process of reclaiming myths and narratives is already underway. Feminist retellings, diverse representation, and a growing awareness of harmful tropes are reshaping the stories we tell. Yet, there is more to be done. We must not only create new stories but also revisit and reimagine the old ones, reclaiming what was lost and recognising the resilience in those who were silenced.

As we look to the future, we hold the power to tell stories that inspire equity, justice, and respect for the feminine divine. In doing so, we honour not just Medusa, Lilith, or the countless women whose voices were erased, but all who have fought to reframe the narratives of oppression into stories of empowerment. Let us reimagine the past to build a future where every story, like every voice, is given the space to thrive.