St Hilda and the Snakes: Mythos, Symbolism, and the Battle Against Chaos

St. Hilda of Whitby is a fascinating figure whose story continues to endure, particularly in the iconic Yorkshire seaside town which she is associated with. Hilda was not only a significant leader and abbess in early English Christianity, but her life reflects the quiet resilience of light emerging in a dark place, as order and structure take root in a world filled with grim uncertainty and law of only the sword.

A convert from Paganism herself in the court of Northumbrian King Edwin, she built at least two Celtic Christian monasteries we are aware of, at Whitby and further south, at Hackness. Her legend says that she turned the serpents which troubled Whitby into stone through prayer. It's an image rich with mythic and symbolic meaning. Even today, the ammonite fossils found along the cliffs of Whitby are in folk memory called 'St Hilda's Snakes'. And Whitby, long linked to Bram Stoker’s Dracula, remains a place where echoes of the strange and the spiritual intertwine; a town where Hilda’s legend of turning snakes to stone stands alongside darker, far more recent mythologies and festivals. Whitby, reflecting our broader culture, seems to be waiting for the Christian Vision to return and offer a solution to its twice yearly carnival of the bleak —where shadows are embraced in rebellion against the undeniable monotony of modern life, yet few ask why, drawn only to the ghoulish now that the hero has lost its meaning.

The Meaning Behind the Myth

On the surface, the story of St. Hilda turning snakes to stone might seem like just another medieval legend, but looking deeper, we find layers of meaning that speak to universal patterns. Serpents in myth and scripture (see Genesis 3) often represent chaos, sin, and the forces that seek to undermine divine order. St. Hilda’s act of transforming these serpents into stone can be seen as a reflection of how truth, faith, and wisdom bring stability and order to a disordered world. The reality is, Hilda did precisely this in her life.

In addition, this resonates with the biblical theme of spiritual warfare, where Christ grants his followers the power to "tread on serpents and scorpions" (Luke 10:19). The transformation of serpents into stone echoes the way a steadfast faith can render chaos powerless, turning what is threatening into something stable and unshaken.

Mythos and Concrete Reality: Engaging with a Participatory Story

Owen Barfield (a fellow Inkling with Tolkien and C.S. Lewis) saw myth and narrative as ways of engaging with a participatory reality, where the material and spiritual are not separate but interwoven. He described how ancient people experienced the world through original participation —a time when meaning was perceived as inherent in nature. Such was the case with the medieval pilgrim who discovered an ammonite, a snakestone, in the sands at Whitby. While modern thought tends to strip the world of this intrinsic significance, Barfield suggested that through final participation, we can consciously recover a deeper, symbolic understanding of reality. In this way, myth and symbolism do not just tell stories; they reveal hidden structures of meaning in the world itself. What is interesting is that the enlightenment rationalist wishes to respond that such myths are naive and best left in the nursery of human development. They wish to explain how we know now such stones are not snakes, but fossils, hundreds of billions of years old. Yet to Barfield's point re images, the ammonite fossil is in fact just that, an impression in stone of something vanished, minerals having long since replaced where a living create once lay. In terms of category, it is no more an ammonite than it is something I imagine.

The Dragon, the Serpent, and the Christian Response

This symbolic confrontation with the serpent is a recurring theme in Christian tradition. We see it in St. George slaying the dragon, in St. Michael casting down Satan, and in Christ’s ultimate victory over sin and death. The dragon or serpent represents the forces of destruction and disorder, but in the pattern of Christ himself, it is overcome not by brute force alone, but through self-sacrifice, prayer and pureness of heart.

In a world that often feels chaotic, the legend of St. Hilda is more relevant than ever. It calls us to transform the serpents in our own lives—our sins, doubts, and destructive patterns—through faith in Christ, allowing the Logos to render them harmless. St. Hilda’s legacy is more than an old story; it reveals a pattern of truth and a call to action as the modern world faces a deep meaning crisis, driven by nihilism and the collapse of a shared religious vision.

St. Margaret and St. George both overcome dragons or serpents

St Hilda: A Living Mythos in the Physical Place

Far from being a relic of the past, St. Hilda’s story offers a model for how we might engage with the world today. She was an abbess, a teacher, a leader, and a woman who shaped the Christian landscape of England. But she also participates in something deeper, what Barfield might call the Mythos, the living reality of meaning and pattern underlying the world. Her story, like all true myths, continues to invite us into a deeper understanding of the battle between good and evil, and how we, too, following the path of the saints, might take part in its resolution.

(This content was created by Oliver Murray, and part transcribed with the assistance of AI after our Mead and Meaning meeting in February 2025. Click here to join our future discussions.)

Bibliography

Barfield, Owen. Saving the Appearances. Oxford: Barfield Press, 2011.