Course Reader for LIT 127C

Mythology & Folk LiteratureUniversity of the Philippines Visayas, Tacloban Campus

1st Semester, SY 2012-2013

Instructor: Mark Fullmer

Contents1. “Why Filipinos Have Flat Noses” 22. “The Legend of Rice” 23. Types of Creation Myths 44. Zend-Avesta, “The Creation” 75. “Bathala & The Creation” (Luzon) 86. “The Creation” (Visayas) 87. “How Lansones Became Edible” (Luzon) 108. “Why the Cow's Skin is Loose on the Neck” (Mindoro) 109. “Why the Crow Became Black” (Visayas) 1110. “Why the Crow is Black” (Pampanga) 1211. “The Dove and the Crow” (Zambales) 1212. Excerpt from Gilgamesh 1313. Excerpt from The Upanishads 1514. Excerpt from The Koran 1715. Two Zen Koans 1916. “Mabait and the Duende” 2017. “The Anting-Anting of Captain Von Tollig” 2218. “The Duration of Life” 2619. “The Peasant and the Devil” 2620. Excerpt from Bram Stoker’s Dracula 2721. Excerpt from The Odyssey 3022. American Mythology & Folklore 3323. Excerpts from The Bible 3424. Introduction to the 2004 Edition of The Hero With a Thousand Faces 3625. “The Hero and the God” (Campell, pp. 28-37)26. “Epilogue: Myth and Society” (Campbell pp. 351-358)27. References/Copyright

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Why Filipinos Have Flat Nosesfrom Philippine Myths & Legends (Aquino 1992)

One day while Juan was playing with his friends, he fell into a muddy place and bumped his face. When he stood up, he noticed a handful of mud sticking to the middle of his face....As time went by, Juan became more handsome than he was before on account of the piece of mud on his face. Soon his friends began to envy him, and they asked Juan about its cause.

Juan's friends followed exactly what he had done. But alas, they were not able to have that piece of mud on their faces....Then something happened to Juan's nose. He was going on an errand for his mother one day when, along the way, he fell to the ground. The piece of mud on his face was thrown away! He tried all means to return the piece of mud on his face but to no avail.

A few weeks later Juan and his friends saw a boat anchoring near the shore not far from the village. At first they didn't mind what they saw, but when they heard that the sailors carried with them plenty of noses, Juan and his friends and everyone else rushed to the boat. Each one got a nose for himself or herself. People from the nearby villages also came and made a scramble for the noses that were being given free.

But, as the story goes, because Filipinos were short and could not run fast, they were the last to get their share of the noses. Unfortunately, the left-over noses were the flat ones. And it was the flat noses which the Filipinos, including Juan and his friends, were able to get."

The Legend of Ricefrom Philippine Myths & Legends (Aquino 1992)

A long, long time age rice was not known to our ancestors. They lived on fruits and vegetables which they gathered in the forest, and on birds and wild animals which they caught while hunting in the mountains. Tilling the soil was still unheard of. And poultry and hog raising was not yet practiced.

Since our people depended on the food which nature provided and not on what they themselves grew or raised, their stay in one particular place was only temporary. When there was nothing more to be hunted or gathered in a certain area, they would go to another region where there was plenty of food provided by nature. And the cycle would go on and on.

Despite the conditions under which they lived, our ancestors were proud, thankful, and happy just the same. They took pride in the things they had—their brown skin, the race to which they belonged, the customs and traditions which they practiced. They were thankful to Bathala, their god, for all the blessings He had given them. And they were happy in the simple and uncomplicated manner of living which they led.

On a typical day, the men could be seen going to the mountain or forest to hunt, while the women and children could be seen busily engaged in fishing, gathering fruits and vegetables, and other useful tasks. After a day's work, all wild animals that had been killed in the hunt, and all fruits and vegetables that had been gathered would be divided equally among all the groups of families which made up the barangay. Such was the mode of living of our ancestors in those days.

One day a group of hunters went out to hunt deer. In their desire to have a good catch, they traveled far and wide until the reached the Cordillera mountains. Having traveled so far, and feeling dead tired, they decided to take a rest under a big tree. It was nearing noontime, and all of them were hungry.

While resting in the shade of the tree, they saw, not far from where they were, a group of men and women whose features were quite different from those of ordinary mortals. The hunters mistook them for fairies who, it was said, lived in that part of the mountain. All at once the hunters stood up and gave the group due respect.

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The “bathalas” were glad at this gesture. In return, they invited the hunters to join them in their banquet. The hunters accepted the invitation. Soon everybody was busy. The hunters helped in preparing the food. They butchered the deer and wild boar, then placed them one after another in the live coals.

In a short while a servant of the “bathalas” got some bamboos and placed them over the fire. The bamboos contained small, white kernels shaped like beads. Soon after, the cooked kernels were placed in sauce shape on banana leaves. They table was laden with roasted meat, cooked vegetables, and fresh fruits. Other bamboos were brought in and these contained what looked like pure water. The hunters soon learned that the crystal-like substance was not water, but rather, the wine of the “bathalas”.

At first, the hunters were reluctant in joining the feast after seeing the small white kernels.“We do not eat worms,” the chief hunter said.The “bathalas” smiled. “These white bead-shaped kernels are not worms,” replied one of the gods. “They are cooked rice.

They came from a certain kind of plant which we ourselves grow. Come and feast with us. After we have eating, kill us if you find anything wrong from eating rice.”

After the god had spoken, the hunters did not argue anymore. They feasted with the gods. They were satisfied and happy, not only because they had been fed but also because of the energy they felt after eating cooked rice. Their weak bodies became strong again.

After the feast, the hunters thanked the gods. Before leaving, every hunter received a sack of palay from the gods.

“This is palay,” explained another of the gods. “Pound the palay, winnow and clean it very well. Wash the rice with water and place the washed rice between the internodes of the bamboo with enough water to be absorbed by the rice. Then place the bamboo over the fire until it is cooked.”

The god paused for awhile. Then he continued to speak. “The sick will become strong and all of you will be satisfied after eating. Preserve some of the palay for your seedbaed. Start planting during the rainy season. During the dry season, you can harvest the palay. Go now. Introduce the palay in your village and teach the people how to till the soil. You will find progress and this will stop you from wandering from place to place.”

The hunters thanked the gods once more. Then they left for their village. They followed the advice of the gods. They taught their own people how to till the soil and plant it to palay. They also taught their fellow villagers how to cook rice. Of course they introduced the eating of cooked rice to the people. After many years, the practice of eating rice and the art of planting rice became widespread. Many other barangays soon adopted the practice and art.

Since then, rice has become a basic food of our people. And along with the tilling of the soil, our people have also learned to raise animals and to construct permanent dwelling places.

Questions:1. In the first few paragraphs, this story suggests that life was great before the advent of rice. Specifically, it suggests a communal society that emphasized equality. Does this mean that progress is not really so great as it sounds?2. Before the advent of rice, Filipinos took pride in their brown skin, according to this story. Now, they find it a source of embarassment and consider it undesirable. What happened?3. What makes this myth particularly “Filipino” what aspects of it really truly belong to the Filipino culture and no other?

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Types of Creation MythsCreation ex nihilo Also known as "creation de novo", is a common type of mythical creation. Ex nihilo creation is found in creation stories from ancient Egypt, the Rig Veda, the Bible and the Quran, and many animistic cultures in Africa, Asia, Oceania and North America. The Debate between sheep and grain is an example of an even earlier form of ex nihilo creation myth from ancient Sumer. In most of these stories the world is brought into being by the speech, dream, breath, or pure thought of a creator but creation ex nihilo may also take place through a creator's bodily secretions. The literal translation of the phrase ex nihilo is "from nothing" but in many creation myths the line is blurred whether the creative act would be better classified as a creation ex nihilo or creation from chaos. With ex nihilo, the potential and the substance of creation springs from within the creator. Such a creator may or may not be existing in physical surroundings such as darkness or water, but does not create the world from them. In creation from chaos the substance used for creation is pre-existing within the unformed void.

Creation from chaosIn creation from chaos myth, initially there is nothing but a formless, shapeless expanse. In these stories the word "chaos" means "disorder", and this formless expanse, which is also sometimes called a void or an abyss, contains the material with which the created world will be made. Chaos may be described as having the consistency of vapor or water, dimensionless, and sometimes salty or muddy. These myths associate chaos with evil and oblivion, in contrast to "order" (cosmos) which is the good. The act of creation is the bringing of order from disorder, and in many of these cultures it is believed that at some point the forces preserving order and form will weaken and the world will once again be engulfed into the abyss.

World parentThere are two types of world parent myths, both describing a separation or splitting of a primeval entity, the world parent or parents. One form describes the primeval state as an eternal union of two parents, and the creation takes place when the two are pulled apart. The two parents are commonly identified as Sky (usually male) and Earth (usually female) who in the primeval state were so tightly bound to each other that no offspring could emerge. These myths often depict creation as the result of a sexual union, and serve as genealogical record of the deities born from it.

In the second form of world parent myth, creation itself springs from dismembered parts of the body of the primeval being. Often in these stories the limbs, hair, blood, bones or organs of the primeval being are somehow severed or sacrificed to transform into sky, earth, animal or plant life, and other worldly features. These myths tend to emphasize creative forces as animistic in nature rather than sexual, and depict the sacred as the elemental and integral component of the natural world.

EmergenceIn emergence myths humanity emerges from another world into the one they currently inhabit. The previous world is often considered the womb of the earth mother, and the process of emergence is likened to the act of giving birth. The role of midwife is usually played by a female deity, like the spider woman of Native American mythology. Male characters rarely figure into these stories, and scholars often consider them in counterpoint to male oriented creation myths, like those of the ex nihilo variety.

Emergence myths commonly describe the creation of people and/or supernatural beings as a staged ascent or metamorphosis from nascent forms through a series of subterranean worlds to arrive at their current

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place and form. Often the passage from one world or stage to the next is impelled by inner forces, a process of germination or gestation from earlier, embryonic forms. The genre is most commonly found in Native American cultures where the myths frequently link the final emergence of people from a hole opening to the underworld to stories about their subsequent migrations and eventual settlement in their current homelands.

Earth-diverThe earth-diver is a common character in various traditional creation myths. In these stories a supreme being usually sends an animal into the primal waters to find bits of sand or mud with which to build habitable land. Some scholars interpret these myths psychologically while others interpret them cosmogonically. In both cases emphasis is placed on beginnings emanating from the depths.[28] Earth-diver myths are common in Native American folklore but can be found among the Chukchi and Yukaghir, the Tatars and many Finno-Ugrian traditions. The pattern of distribution of these stories suggest they have a common origin in the eastern Asiatic coastal region, spreading as peoples migrated west into Siberia and east to the North American continent.

Characteristic of many Native American myths, earth-diver creation stories begin as beings and potential forms linger asleep or suspended in the primordial realm. The earth-diver is among the first of them to awaken and lay the necessary groundwork by building suitable lands where the coming creation will be able to live. In many cases, these stories will describe a series of failed attempts to make land before the solution is found.

Greek Creation Mythby Daphne Elliott

In the beginning, Chaos, an amorphous, gaping void encompassing the entire universe, and surrounded by an unending stream of water ruled by the god Oceanus, was the domain of a goddess named Eurynome, which means "far-ruling" or "wide-wandering".

She was the Goddess of All Things, and desired to make order out of the Chaos. By coupling with a huge and powerful snake, Ophion, or as some legends say, coupling with the North Wind, she gave birth to Eros, god of Love, also known as Protagonus, the "firstborn".

Eurynome separated the sky from the sea by dancing on the waves of Oceanus. In this manner, she created great lands upon which she might wander, a veritable universe, populating it with exotic creatures such as Nymphs, Furies, and Charites as well as with countless beasts and monsters.

Also born out of Chaos were Gaia, called Earth, or Mother Earth, and Uranus, the embodiment of the Sky and the Heavens, as well as Tartarus, god of the sunless and terrible region beneath Gaia, the Earth.

Gaia and Uranus married and gave birth to the Titans, a race of formidable giants, which included a particularly wily giant named Cronus.

In what has become one of the recurrent themes of Greek Mythology, Gaia and Uranus warned Cronus that a son of his would one day overpower him. Cronus therefore swallowed his numerous children by his wife Rhea, to keep that forecast from taking place.

This angered Gaia greatly, so when the youngest son, Zeus, was born, Gaia took a stone, wrapped it in swaddling clothes and offered it to Cronus to swallow. This satisfied Cronus, and Gaia was able to spirit the baby Zeus away to be raised in Crete, far from his grasping father.

In due course, Zeus grew up, came homeward, and got into immediate conflict with the tyrant Cronus, who did not know that this newcomer was his own son. Zeus needed his brothers and sisters help

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in slaying the tyrant, and Metis, Zeus's first wife, found a way of administering an emetic to Cronus, who then threw up his five previous children, who were Hestia, Demeter, Hera, Hades, and Poseidon. Together they went to battle against their father. The results were that all of his children, led by Zeus, vanquished Cronus forever into Tartarus' domain, the Dark World under the Earth.

Thus, Zeus triumphed over not only his father, and his father's family of Giants, he triumphed over his brothers and sisters as well, dividing up the universe as he fancied, in short, bringing order out of Chaos.

He made himself Supreme God over all, creating a great and beautiful place for his favored gods to live, on Mount Olympus, in Thessaly. All the others were left to fend for themselves in lands below Mount Olympus.

Zeus made himself God of the Sky and all its phenomena, including the clouds as well as the thunderbolts. Hestia became goddess of the Hearth. To his brother Poseidon, he gave the rule of the Sea. Demeter became a goddess of Fertility, Hera (before she married Zeus and became a jealous wife), was goddess of Marriage and Childbirth, while Hades, one of his other brothers, was made god of the Underworld.

Zeus did indeed bring order out of Chaos, but one of his failings was that he did not look kindly upon the people, those creatures that populated the lands over which he reigned. Many were not beautiful, and Zeus had contempt for anyone who was not beautiful. And of course they were not immortal, as the Olympian gods were, and they complained about the lack of good food and the everlasting cold nights. Zeus ignored their complaints, while he and the other gods feasted endlessly on steaming hot game from the surrounding forests, and had great crackling fires in every room of their palaces where they lived in the cold winter.

Enter Prometheus, one of the Titans not vanquished in the war between Zeus and the giants. It is said in many myths that Prometheus had created d a race of people from clay, or that he had combined specks of every living creature, molded them together, and produced a new race, The Common Man. At the very least he was their champion before Zeus.

Fire for cooking and heating was reserved only for the gods to enjoy. Prometheus stole some of the sparks of a glowing fire from the Olympians, so that the people below Olympus could have fire for cooking and warmth in the winter, thus greatly improving their lot in life.

Zeus was furious at this insult to his absolute power, and had Prometheus bound and chained to a mountain, sending an eagle to attack him daily.

Adding insult to injury, Zeus had his fellow Olympian, Hephaestus, fashion a wicked but beautiful creature to torment Prometheus. It was a woman, whom they named Pandora, which means "all gifts". She was given a precious and beautiful box, which she was told not to open, but curiosity got the better of her, and out flew "all the evils that plague men." The only "gift" that stayed in the box was "Hope".

So, from "far-ruling" Eurynome to the creation of the Common Man, Greek creation myths are inextricably filled with difficulties, though often ameliorated by the gift of Hope. A myriad of other myths tell of the joys and adventures of great heroes and heroines, other gods and goddesses, as well as fantastic creatures from all parts of ancient Greece.

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Zend-Avesta, “The Creation”from Sacred Books of the East (various 1900)

Ahura Mazda spake unto Spitama Zarathustra, saying:—"I have made every land dear to its people, even though it had no charms whatever in it: had I not

made every land dear to its people, even though it had no charms whatever in it, then the whole living world would have invaded the Airyana Vaêgô. The first of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was the Airyana Vaêgô, by the Vanguhi Dâitya. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created the serpent in the river and Winter, a work of the Devas. There are ten winter months there, two summer months; and those are cold for the waters, cold for the earth, cold for the trees. Winters fall there, the worst of all plagues.

The second of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was the plain which the Sughdhas inhabit. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created the locust, which brings death unto cattle and plants.

The third of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was the strong, holy Môuru. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created plunder and sin.

The fourth of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was the beautiful Bâkhdhi with high-lifted banners. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created the ants and the ant-hills.

The fifth of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was Nisâya, that lies between Môuru and Bâkhdhi. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created the sin of unbelief.

The sixth of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was the house-deserting Harôyu. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created tears and wailing.

The seventh of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was Vaêkereta, of the evil shadows. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created the Pairika Knâthaiti, who clave unto Keresâspa.

The eighth of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was Urva of the rich pastures. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created the sin of pride.

The ninth of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was Khnenta which the Vehrkânas inhabit. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created a sin for which there is no atonement, the unnatural sin.

The tenth of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was the beautiful Harahvaiti. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created a sin for which there is no atonement, the burying of the dead.

The eleventh of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was the bright, glorious Haêtumant. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created the evil work of witchcraft. And this is the sign by which it is known, this is that by which it is seen at once: wheresoever they may go and raise a cry of sorcery, there the worst works of witchcraft go forth. From there they come to kill and strike at heart, and they bring locusts as many as they want.

The twelfth of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was Ragha of the three races. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created the sin of utter unbelief.

The thirteenth of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was the strong, holy Kakhra. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created a sin for which there is no atonement, the cooking of corpses.

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The fourteenth of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was the four-cornered Varena, for which was born Thraêtaona, who smote Azi Dahâka. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created abnormal issues in women and barbarian oppression.

The fifteenth of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was the Seven Rivers. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created abnormal issues in women and excessive heat.

The sixteenth of the good lands and countries which I, Ahura Mazda, created, was the land by the sources of the Rangha, where people live who have no chiefs. Thereupon came Angra Mainyu, who is all death, and he counter-created Winter, a work of the Devas. There are still other lands and countries, beautiful and deep, longing and asking for the good, and bright."

Bathala & The Creation (Luzon)from Philippine Folk Literature (Damiana 2007)

In the beginning of time there were three powerful gods who lived in the universe. Bathala was the caretaker of the earth, Ulilang Kaluluwa (lit. Orphaned Spirit), a huge serpent who lived in the clouds, and Galang Kaluluwa (lit. Wandering spirit), the winged god who loves to travel. These three gods did not know each other.

Bathala often dreamt of creating mortals but the empty earth stops him from doing so. Ulilang Kaluluwa who was equally lonely as Bathala, liked to visit places and the earth was his favorite. One day the two gods met. Ulilang Kaluluwa, seeing another god rivalling him, was not pleased. He challenged Bathala to a fight to decide who would be the ruler of the universe. After three days and three nights, Ulilang Kaluluwa was slain by Bathala. Instead of giving him a proper burial, Bathala burned the snake's remains. A few years later the third god, Galang Kaluluwa, wandered into Bathala's home. He welcomed the winged god with much kindness and even invited him to live in his kingdom. They became true friends and were very happy for many years.

Galang Kaluluwa became very ill. Before he died he instructed Bathala to bury him on the spot where Ulilang Kaluluwa’s body was burned. Bathala did exactly as he was told. Out of the grave of the two dead gods grew a tall tree with a big round nut, which is the coconut tree. Bathala took the nut and husked it. He noticed that the inner skin was hard. The nut itself reminded him of Galang Kaluluwa’s head. It had two eyes, a flat nose, and a round mouth. Its leaves looked so much like the wings of his dear winged friend. But the trunk was hard and ugly, like the body of his enemy, the snake Ulilang Kaluluwa.

Bathala realized that he was ready to create the creatures he wanted with him on earth. He created the vegetation, animals, and the first man and woman. Bathala built a house for them out of the trunk and leaves of the coconut trees. For food, they drank the coconut juice and ate its delicious white meat. Its leaves, they discovered, were great for making mats, hats, and brooms. Its fiber could be used for rope and many other things.

The Creation (Visayas)from Philippine Folk Literature (Damiana 2007)

Thousands of years ago, there was no land, sun, moon, or stars, and the world was only a great sea of water, above which stretched the sky. The water was the kingdom of the god Maguayan, and the sky was ruled by the great god, Kaptan.

Maguayan had a daughter called Lidagat, the sea, and Kaptan had a son known as Lihangin, the wind. The gods agreed to the marriage of their children, so the sea became the bride of the wind.

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A daughter and three sons were born to them. The sons were called Likalibutan, Liadlao, and Libulan, and the daughter received the name of Lisuga.

Likalibutan had a body of rock and was strong and brave; Liadlao was formed of gold and was always happy; Libulan was made of copper and was weak and timid; and the beautiful Lisuga had a body of pure silver and was sweet and gentle. Their parents were very fond of them, and nothing was wanting to make them happy.

After a time Lihangin died and left the control of the winds to his eldest son Likalibutan. The faithful wife Lidagat soon followed her husband, and the children, now grown up, were left without father or mother. However, their grandfathers, Kaptan and Maguayan, took care of them and guarded them from all evil.

After some time, Likalibutan, proud of his power over the winds, resolved to gain more power, and asked his brothers to join him in an attack on Kaptan in the sky above. They refused at first, but when Likalibutan became angry with them, the amiable Liadlao, not wishing to offend his brother, agreed to help. Then together they induced the timid Libulan to join in the plan.

When all was ready, the three brothers rushed at the sky, but they could not beat down the gates of steel that guarded the entrance. Likalibutan let loose the strongest winds and blew the bars in every direction. The brothers rushed into the opening, but were met by the angry god Kaptan. So terrible did he look that they turned and ran in terror, but Kaptan, furious at the destruction of his gates, sent three bolts of lightning after them.

The first struck the copper Libulan and melted him into a ball. The second struck the golden Liadlao and he too was melted. The third bolt struck Likalibutan and his rocky body broke into many pieces and fell into the sea. So huge was he that parts of his body stuck out above the water and became what is known as land.

In the meantime the gentle Lisuga had missed her brothers and started to look for them. She went toward the sky, but as she approached the broken gates, Kaptan, blind with anger, struck her too with lightning, and her silver body broke into thousands of pieces.

Kaptan then came down from the sky and tore the sea apart, calling on Maguayan to come to him and accusing him of ordering the attack on the sky. Soon Maguayan appeared and answered that he knew nothing of the plot as he had been asleep deep in the sea. After some time, he succeeded in calming the angry Kaptan. Together they wept at the loss of their grandchildren, especially the gentle and beautiful Lisuga, but even with their powers, they could not restore the dead back to life. However, they gave to each body a beautiful light that will shine forever.

And so it was the golden Liadlao who became the sun and the copper Libulan, the moon, while Lisuga's pieces of silver were turned into the stars of heaven. To wicked Likalibutan, the gods gave no light, but resolved to make his body support a new race of people. So Kaptan gave Maguayan a seed and he planted it on one of the islands.

Soon a bamboo tree grew up, and from the hollow of one of its branches, a man and a woman came out. The man's name was Sikalak and the woman was called Sikabay. They were the parents of the human race. Their first child was a son whom they called Libo; afterwards they had a daughter who was known as Saman.

Pandaguan, the youngest son, was very clever and invented a trap to catch fish. The very first thing he caught was a huge shark. When he brought it to land, it looked so great and fierce that he thought it was surely a god, and he at once ordered his people to worship it. Soon all gathered around and began to sing and pray to the shark. Suddenly the sky and sea opened, and the gods came out and ordered Pandaguan to throw the shark back into the sea and to worship none, but them.

All were afraid except Pandaguan. He grew very bold and answered that the shark was as big as the gods, and that since he had been able to overpower it he would also be able to conquer the gods. Then Kaptan, hearing this, struck Pandaguan with a small lightning bolt, for he did not wish to kill him but

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merely to teach him a lesson. Then he and Maguayan decided to punish these people by scattering them over the earth, so they carried some to one land and some to another. Many children were afterwards born, and thus the earth became inhabited in all parts.

Pandaguan did not die. After lying on the ground for thirty days he regained his strength, but his body was blackened from the lightning, and his descendants became the dark-skinned tribe, the Negritos.

As punishment, his eldest son, Aryon, was taken north where the cold took away his senses. While Libo and Saman were carried south, where the hot sun scorched their bodies. A son of Saman and a daughter of Sikalak were carried east, where the land at first was so lacking in food that they were compelled to eat clay.

How Lansones Became EdibleNarrated by Francisco M. Africa

from Filipino Popular Tales (Fansler 1921)

Once upon a time the fruit of the lansone-tree was very poisonous. Its very juice could make a man sick with leprosy. One day a very religious old man was passing through a forest to attend the fiesta of the neighboring town. When he reached the middle of the thick wood, he became very hungry and tired, and he felt that he could go no farther. No matter where he looked, he could see nothing but the poisonous lansone-trees. So he lay down on the soft grass. Hardly a moment had passed, when a winged being from heaven approached him, and said, “My good Christian pilgrim, take some of these lansone-fruits, eat them, and you will be much relieved.” At first the old man would not do it, but the angel picked some of the fruits and handed them to the pilgrim. He then ate, and soon his hunger was removed. After thanking Heaven, he continued on his journey. Ever since this time, lansones have been good to eat. All the fruits still bear the marks of the angel’s fingers.

Why the Cow’s Skin is Loose on the NeckNarrated by Francisco M. Africa.

from Filipino Popular Tales (Fansler 1921)

There was once a poor farmer who possessed a cow and a carabao. These two animals were his only wealth. Every day he led them to the field to plough. He worked his animals so hard, that they often complained to him; but the cruel master would not even listen to their words. One day the cow, who had grown tired of this kind of life, said to the carabao, “Let us run away from this evil man! Though we are very dirty, he is not willing for us even to take a bath. If we remain here with him, we shall be as ugly and as filthy as pigs. If we run away from him, however, he will have to do his own work, and then we shall be revenged. Hurry up! Let us go!”

The spirit of the carabao was aroused: he jumped with a loud roar, and said, “I too have long been meditating escape, but I hesitated because I was afraid you might not be willing to join me in flight. We are so ill-treated by our cruel master, that God will have pity on us. Come on! Let us go!”

The two animals at once set out, running as fast as they could, always trying to avoid any human beings. When they came to a river, the cow said, “We are very dirty. Let us take a bath before we go on! The water of this river is so clean and clear, that we shall soon be as clean as we were before our contemptible master got hold of us.”

The carabao answered, “We would better run a little farther, for perhaps our master is already in pursuit of us. Besides, [411]we are very tired now, and I have been told that to take a bath when one is tired injures the health.”

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“Don’t believe that!” returned the cow. “Our bodies are so big, that we do not need to fear sickness.”

At last the carabao was persuaded by the arguments of the cow; and he said, “All right! Let us take off our clothes before we go into the water!”

The two animals then stripped themselves of all their clothes, then they plunged into the deep, cool river. They had been in the water less than an hour, however, when they saw their master coming after them with a big stick in his hand. They ran up to where their clothes were; but in their haste the carabao put on the cow’s clothes, and the cow got the carabao’s. As soon as they were dressed, they continued their mad flight; and as their master was very tired, he had to give up the chase and return home disappointed.

Since the carabao was larger than the cow, the skin on the cow’s neck has been loose ever since, because the two friends were separated and could never exchange clothes again. And likewise the skin on the carabao’s neck has been tight ever since these two animals made their mistake in dressing.

How the Crow became BlackNarrated by Vicente L. Neri, a Visayan from Cagayan, Misamis.

from Filipino Popular Tales (Fansler 1921)

A long time ago, when Bathala, the god of the land, was peacefully ruling his dominions, he had many pets. Among [421]these, his two favorites were the dove and the crow. The crow was noted for its bright, pretty plumage.

One day Bathala had a quarrel with Dumagat, the god of the sea. Bathala’s subjects had been stealing fish, which were the subjects of Dumagat. When Dumagat learned of this, and could get no satisfaction from Bathala, he retaliated. He opened the big pipe through which the water of the world passes, and flooded the dominions of Bathala, until nearly all the people were drowned. When the water had abated somewhat, Bathala sent the crow, his favorite messenger, to find out whether all his subjects had been killed. The crow flew out from the palace where the god lived, and soon saw the corpses of many persons floating about. He descended, alighted on one, and began to eat the decaying cadaver. When Bathala saw that it was late and that the crow had not returned, he sent the dove on the same errand, telling the bird also to find out what had become of the first messenger. The dove flew away, looking for any signs of life. At last he saw the crow eating some of the decaying bodies. Immediately he told the crow that the king had sent for him, and together they flew back to Bathala’s palace.

When the two birds arrived at the king’s court, the dove told Bathala that the crow had been eating some dead bodies, and consequently had not done what he had been sent to do. Bathala was very angry at this disobedience. Without saying a word, he seized his big inkstand filled with black ink and threw it at the crow, which was immediately covered. Bathala then turned to the dove, and said, “You, my dove, because of your faithfulness, shall be my favorite pet, and no longer shall you be a messenger.” Then he turned to the crow, and said, “You, foul bird, shall forever remain black; you shall forever be a scavenger, and every one shall hate you.”

So that is why to-day the dove is loved by the people, and the crow hated. The crows to-day are all black, because they are descendants of the bird punished by Bathala.

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Why the Crow is BlackNarrated by Ricardo Ortega, an Ilocano living in Tarlac.

The story, however, is Pampangan.from Filipino Popular Tales (Fansler 1921)

The first crow that lived on the earth was a beautiful bird with a sweet voice. The universe was ruled over by the god [422]Sinukuan, and all his subjects were either plants or animals. No human beings were yet in existence. Sinukuan lived in a beautiful palace surrounded with gardens of gold. In these gardens lived two crows who sang sweet songs, and did nothing but fly about among the flowers and trees. Their golden plumage was beautiful to see, and Sinukuan took great delight in them.

Once a terrible pestilence visited the earth, and a great many of Sinukuan’s animals began to die. In his distress and sorrow, Sinukuan at once set out and made a tour of his kingdom to give what relief he could to his suffering subjects. After being away three days, he returned to his palace, his mind weighted down by all the death and sickness he had seen. When he reached his garden, he called to his two birds to come sing for him and relieve his mental anguish; but neither of the birds came. Sinukuan went through his gardens, but he called in rain. “O birds! where are you?” he cried. Thinking that perhaps they had flown away and had been attacked by the pestilence, he determined to make another trip through his kingdom and look for them.

He had not walked a mile, when, approaching a number of dead animals, he saw the pair feasting on the decaying flesh. When they saw their master, they bowed their heads in shame. Had not Sinukuan restrained himself, he might have killed them that very moment; but he thought of a better way to punish them. “Now,” he said, as he cursed them, “from this time on, you shall be very ugly black birds; you shall lose your beautiful voice, and shall be able to make only a harsh cry.”

From that time on, those birds were black, and their offspring are the crows of to-day.

The Dove and the CrowNarrated by Restituto D. Carpio, a Zambal from Cabangan, Zambales

from Filipino Popular Tales (Fansler 1921)

A few days after the inundation of the world, God sent a crow down to earth to see how deep the water was on the land. When the crow flew down to earth, he was surprised to see so many dead animals everywhere. It came to his mind that perhaps they would taste good, so he alighted on one of them and began to eat. He was so very much pleased with the abundance of food about him, that he forgot all about the command God had given him, and he remained on the earth.

On the third day, since the crow had not returned, God sent a dove down to earth to find out the depth of the water, and to make other observations of the things that had taken place on the earth. As the dove was a faithful creature, she did not forget what God told her. When she reached the earth, she did not alight on any dead animal, but alighted directly in the water. Now, the water was red from the blood of so many creatures that had been slain. When the dove stood in the bloody water, she found that it was only an inch deep. She at once flew back to heaven, where, in the presence of God, she related what she had seen on earth, while the crimson color on her feet was evidence of the depth of the water.

After a short time the crow returned. He came before God, who spoke to him thus: “What made you so long? Why did you not return sooner from the earth?” As the crow had no good reason to give for his delay, he said nothing: he simply bent his head.

God punished the crow by putting a chain on his legs. So that to-day the crow cannot walk: all he can do is to hop from place to place. The dove, which was faithful to God, is now the favorite pet bird the world over. The red color on her feet may be seen to-day as evidence that she performed her duty.

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Excerpt from Gilgamesh (Tablet XI)

Gilgamesh spoke to Utanapishtim, the Faraway: "I have been looking at you, but your appearance is not strange--you are like me. You yourself are not different--you are like me! My mind was resolved to fight with you, (but instead?) my arm lies useless over you. Tell me, how is it that you stand in the Assembly of the Gods,mand have found life!"

Utanapishtim spoke to Gilgamesh, saying, "I will reveal to you, Gilgamesh, a thing that is hidden, a secret of the gods I will tell you! Shuruppak, a city that you surely know, situated on the banks of the Euphrates that city was very old, and there were gods inside it. The hearts of the Great Gods moved them to inflict the Flood. Their Father Anu uttered the oath (of secrecy) Valiant Enlil was their Adviser, Ninurta was their Chamberlain, Ennugi was their Minister of Canals.

Ea, the Clever Prince(?), was under oath with them so he repeated their talk to the reed house: 'Reed house, reed house! Wall, wall! O man of Shuruppak, son of Ubartutu: Tear down the house and build a boat! Abandon wealth and seek living beings! Spurn possessions and keep alive living beings! Make all living beings go up into the boat. The boat which you are to build, its dimensions must measure equal to each other: its length must correspond to its width. Roof it over like the Apsu. I understood and spoke to my lord, Ea: 'My lord, thus is the command which you have uttered I will heed and will do it. But what shall I answer the city, the populace, and the Elders!'

Ea spoke, commanding me, his servant: 'You, well then, this is what you must say to them: "It appears that Enlil is rejecting me so I cannot reside in your city (?), nor set foot on Enlil's earth. I will go down to the Apsu to live with my lord, Ea, and upon you he will rain down abundance, a profusion of fowl, myriad(!) fishes. He will bring to you a harvest of wealth, in the morning he will let loaves of bread shower down, and in the evening a rain of wheat!"' Just as dawn began to glow the land assembled around me- the carpenter carried his hatchet, the reed worker carried his (flattening) stone,... the men ...

The child carried the pitch, the weak brought whatever else was needed. On the fifth day I laid out her exterior. It was a field in area, its walls were each 10 times 12 cubits in height, the sides of its top were of equal length, 10 times It cubits each. I laid out its (interior) structure and drew a picture of it (?).

I provided it with six decks, thus dividing it into seven (levels). The inside of it I divided into nine (compartments). I drove plugs (to keep out) water in its middle part. I saw to the punting poles and laid in what was necessary. Three times 3,600 (units) of raw bitumen I poured into the bitumen kiln, three times 3,600 (units of) pitch ...into it, there were three times 3,600 porters of casks who carried (vegetable) oil, apart from the 3,600 (units of) oil which they consumed (!) and two times 3,600 (units of) oil which the boatman store away. I butchered oxen for the meat(!), and day upon day I slaughtered sheep. I gave the workmen(?) ale, beer, oil, and wine, as if it were river water so they could make a party like the New Year's Festival.... and I set my hand to the oiling(!).

The boat was finished by sunset. The launching was very difficult. They had to keep carrying a runway of poles front to back, until two-thirds of it had gone into the water(?).

Whatever I had I loaded on it: whatever silver I had I loaded on it, whatever gold I had I loaded on it. All the living beings that I had I loaded on it, I had all my kith and kin go up into the boat, all the beasts and animals of the field and the craftsmen I had go up.

Shamash had set a stated time: 'In the morning I will let loaves of bread shower down, and in the evening a rain of wheat! Go inside the boat, seal the entry!' That stated time had arrived.

In the morning he let loaves of bread shower down, and in the evening a rain of wheat. I watched the appearance of the weather-- the weather was frightful to behold!

I went into the boat and sealed the entry.

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Six days and seven nights came the wind and flood, the storm flattening the land. When the seventh day arrived, the storm was pounding, the flood was a war--struggling with itself like a woman writhing (in labor). The sea calmed, fell still, the whirlwind (and) flood stopped up. I looked around all day long--quiet had set in and all the human beings had turned to clay!

The terrain was as flat as a roof. I opened a vent and fresh air (daylight!) fell upon the side of my nose. I fell to my knees and sat weeping, tears streaming down the side of my nose. I looked around for coastlines in the expanse of the sea, and at twelve leagues there emerged a region (of land).

On Mt. Nimush the boat lodged firm, Mt. Nimush held the boat, allowing no sway. One day and a second Mt. Nimush held the boat, allowing no sway. A third day, a fourth, Mt. Nimush held the boat, allowing no sway.

A fifth day, a sixth, Mt. Nimush held the boat, allowing no sway. When a seventh day arrived I sent forth a dove and released it. The dove went off, but came back to me; no perch was visible so it circled back to me. I sent forth a swallow and released it. The swallow went off, but came back to me; no perch was visible so it circled back to me. I sent forth a raven and released it. The raven went off, and saw the waters slither back. It eats, it scratches, it bobs, but does not circle back to me. Then I sent out everything in all directions and sacrificed (a sheep). I offered incense in front of the mountain-ziggurat. Seven and seven cult vessels I put in place, and (into the fire) underneath (or: into their bowls) I poured reeds, cedar, and myrtle. The gods smelled the savor, the gods smelled the sweet savor, and collected like flies over a (sheep) sacrifice.

Just then Beletili arrived. She lifted up the large flies (beads) which Anu had made for his enjoyment(!): 'You gods, as surely as I shall not forget this lapis lazuli around my neck, may I be mindful of these days, and never forget them! The gods may come to the incense offering, but Enlil may not come to the incense offering, because without considering he brought about the Flood and consigned my people to annihilation.' Just then Enlil arrived. He saw the boat and became furious, he was filled with rage at the Igigi gods: 'Where did a living being escape? No man was to survive the annihilation!' Ninurta spoke to Valiant Enlil, saying: 'Who else but Ea could devise such a thing? It is Ea who knows every machination!'

La spoke to Valiant Enlil, saying: 'It is yours, O Valiant One, who is the Sage of the Gods. How could you bring about a Flood without consideration. Charge the violation to the violator, charge the offense to the offender, but be compassionate lest (mankind) be cut off, be patient lest they be killed.

Instead of your bringing on the Flood, would that a lion had appeared to diminish the people Instead of your bringing on the Flood, would that a wolf had appeared to diminish the people!

Instead of your bringing on the Flood, would that famine had occurred to slay the land! Instead of your bringing on the Flood, would that (Pestilent) Erra had appeared to ravage the land!

It was not I who revealed the secret of the Great Gods, I (only) made a dream appear to Atrahasis, and (thus) he heard the secret of the gods. Now then! The deliberation should be about him!'

Enlil went up inside the boat and, grasping my hand, made me go up. He had my wife go up and kneel by my side. He touched our forehead and, standing between us, he blessed us.

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Excerpt from The Upanishadsfrom Sacred Books of the East (various, 1900)

Kitra Gângyâyani, wishing to perform a sacrifice, chose Âruni Uddâlaka, to be his chief priest. But Âruni sent his son, Svetaketu, and said: "Perform the sacrifice for him." When Svetaketu had arrived, Kitra asked him: "Son of Gautama, is there a hidden place in the world where you are able to place me, or is it the other way, and are you going to place me in the world to which that other way leads?"14

He answered and said: "I do not know this. But, let me ask the master." Having approached his father, he asked: "Thus has Kitra asked me; how shall I answer?"

Âruni said: "I also do not know this. Only after having learnt the proper portion of the Veda in Kitra's own dwelling, shall we obtain what others give us, i.e., knowledge. Come, we will both go." [pg 158]

Having said this he took fuel in his hand, like a pupil, and approached Kitra Gângyâyani, saying: "May I come near to you?" He replied: "You are worthy of Brahman, O Gautama, because you were not led away by pride. Come hither, I shall make you know clearly."

And Kitra said: "All who depart from this world go to the moon. In the former, the bright half, the moon delights in their spirits; in the other, the dark half, the moon sends them on to be born again. Verily, the moon is the door of the Svarga, i.e., the heavenly world. Now, if a man objects to the moon and is not satisfied with life there, the moon sets him free. But if a man does not object, then the moon sends him down as rain upon this earth. And according to his deeds and according to his knowledge he is born again here as a worm, or as an insect, or as a fish, or as a bird, or as a lion, or as a boar, or as a serpent, or as a tiger, or as a man, or as something else in different places. When he has thus returned to the earth, someone, a sage, asks: 'Who art thou?' And he should answer: 'From the wise moon, who orders the seasons, when it is born consisting of fifteen parts, from the moon who is the home of our ancestors, the seed was brought. This seed, even me, they, the gods, mentioned in the Pañkâgnividyâ, gathered up in an active man, and through an active man they brought me to a mother. Then I, growing up to be born, a being living by months, whether twelve or thirteen, was together with my father, who also lived by years of twelve or thirteen months, that I might either know the true Brahman or not know it. Therefore, O ye seasons, grant that I may attain immortality, i.e., knowledge of Brahman. By this my true saying, by this my toil, beginning with the dwelling in the moon and ending with my birth on earth, I am like a season, and the child of the seasons.' 'Who art thou?' the sage asks again. 'I am thou,' he replies. Then he sets him free to proceed onward.

"He, at the time of death, having reached the path of the gods, comes to the world of Agni, or fire, to the world of Vâyu, or air, to the world of Varuna, to the world of Indra, to the world of Pragâpati, to the world of Brahman. In that world there is the lake Âra, the moments called Yeshtiha, the river Vigarâ, i.e., age-less, the tree Ilyâ, the city Sâlagya, the palace Aparâgita, i.e., unconquerable, the door-keepers Indra [pg 159] and Pragâpati, the hall of Brahman, called Vibhu (built by vibhu, egoism), the throne Vikakshanâ, i.e., perception, the couch Amitaugas or endless splendor, and the beloved Mânasî, i.e., mind, and her image Kâkshushî, the eye, who, as if taking flowers, are weaving the worlds, and the Apsaras, the Ambâs, or sacred scriptures, and Ambâyavîs, or understanding, and the rivers Ambayâs leading to the knowledge of Brahman. To this world he who knows the Paryanka-vidyâ approaches. Brahman says to him: 'Run towards him, servants, with such worship as is due to myself. He has reached the river Vigarâ, the age-less, he will never age.'

"Then five hundred Apsaras go towards him, one hundred with garlands in their hands, one hundred with ointments in their hands, one hundred with perfumes in their hands, one hundred with garments in their hands, one hundred with fruit in their hands. They adorn him with an adornment worthy of Brahman, and when thus adorned with the adornment of Brahman, the knower of Brahman moves

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towards Brahman. He comes to the lake Âra, and he crosses it by the mind, while those who come to it without knowing the truth, are drowned. He comes to the moments called Yeshtiha, they flee from him. He comes to the river Vigarâ, and crosses it by the mind alone, and there shakes off his good and evil deeds. His beloved relatives obtain the good, his unbeloved relatives the evil he has done. And as a man, driving in a chariot, might look at the two wheels without being touched by them, thus he will look at day and night, thus at good and evil deeds, and at all pairs, all correlative things, such as light and darkness, heat and cold. Being freed from good and freed from evil, he, the knower of Brahman, moves towards Brahman.

"He approaches the tree Ilya, and the odor of Brahman reaches him. He approaches the city Sâlagya, and the flavor of Brahman reaches him. He approaches the palace Aparâgita, and the splendor of Brahman reaches him. He approaches the door-keepers Indra and Pragâpati, and they run away from him. He approaches the hall Vibhu, and the glory of Brahman reaches him and he thinks, 'I am Brahman.' He approaches the throne Vikakshanâ. The Sâman verses, Brihad and Rathantara, are the eastern feet of that throne; the Sâman verses, Syaita and Naudhasa, its western feet; the Sâman verses, Vairûpa and Vairâga, its sides lengthways, [pg 160] south and north; the Sâman verses, Sâkvara and Raivata, its sides crossways, east and west. That throne is Pragñâ, knowledge, for by knowledge, self-knowledge, he sees clearly. He approaches the couch Amitaugas. That is Prâna, i.e., speech. The past and the future are its eastern feet; prosperity and earth its western feet; the Sâman verses, Brihad and Rathantara, are the two sides lengthways of the couch, south and north; the Sâman verses, Bhadra and Yagñâyagñiya, are its cross-sides at the head and feet, east and west; the Rik and Sâman are the long sheets, east and west; the Yagus the cross-sheets, south and north; the moon-beam the cushion; the Udgîtha the white coverlet; prosperity the pillow. On this couch sits Brahman, and he who knows himself one with Brahman, sitting on the couch, mounts it first with one foot only. Then Brahman says to him: 'Who art thou?' and he shall answer: 'I am like a season, and the child of the seasons, sprung from the womb of endless space, from the light, from the luminous Brahman. The light, the origin of the year, which is the past, which is the present, which is all living things, and all elements, is the Self. Thou art the Self. What thou art, that am I.' Brahman says to him: 'Who am I?' He shall answer: 'That which is, the true.' Brahman asks: 'What is the true?' He says to him: 'What is different from the gods and from the senses that is Sat, but the gods and the senses are Tyam. Therefore, by that name Sattya, or true, is called all this whatever there is. All this thou art.' This is also declared by a verse: 'This great Rishi, whose belly is the Yagus, the head the Sâman, the form the Rik, is to be known as being imperishable, as being Brahman.'

"Brahman says to him: 'How dost thou obtain my male names?' He should answer: 'By breath.' Brahman asks: 'How my female names?' He should answer: 'By speech.' Brahman asks: 'How my neuter names?' He should answer: 'By mind.' 'How smells?' 'By the nose.' 'How forms?' 'By the eye.' 'How sounds?' 'By the ear.' 'How flavors of food?' 'By the tongue.' 'How actions?' 'By the hands.' 'How pleasures and pain?' 'By the body.' 'How joy, delight, and offspring?' 'By the organ.' 'How journeyings?' 'By the feet.' 'How thoughts, and what is to be known and desired?' 'By knowledge alone.'

"Brahman says to him: 'Water indeed is this my world, the whole Brahman world, and it is thine.'

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Excerpt from The Koranfrom “The Cow”—Revealed Partly at Mecca, and Partly at Medina

from Sacred Books of the East (various 1900)

Your wives are your tillage; go in therefore unto your tillage in what manner soever ye will: and do first some act that may be profitable unto your souls; and fear God, and know that ye must meet him; and bear good tidings unto the faithful. Make not God the object of your oaths, that ye may deal justly, and be devout, and make peace among men; for God is he who heareth and knoweth. God will not punish you for an inconsiderate word in your oaths; but he will punish you for that which your hearts have assented unto: God is merciful and gracious.

They who vow to abstain from their wives, are allowed to wait four months: but if they go back from their vow, verily God is gracious and merciful; and if they resolve on a divorce, God is he who heareth and knoweth. The women who are divorced shall wait concerning themselves until they have their courses thrice, and it shall not be lawful for them to conceal that which God hath created in their wombs, if they believe in God and the last day; and their husbands will act more justly to bring them back at this time, if they desire a reconciliation. The women ought also to behave towards their husbands in like manner as their husbands should behave towards them, according to what is just: but the men ought to have a superiority over them. God is mighty and wise. Ye may divorce your wives twice; and then either retain them with humanity, or dismiss them with kindness. But it is not lawful for you to take away anything of what ye have given them, unless both fear that they cannot observe the ordinances of God. And if ye fear that they cannot observe the ordinances of God, it shall be no crime in either of them on account of that for which the wife shall redeem herself.

These are the ordinances of God; therefore transgress them not; for whoever transgresseth the ordinances of God, they are unjust doers. But if the husband divorce her a third time, she shall not be lawful for him again, until she marry another husband. But if he also divorce her, it shall be no crime in them, if they return to each other, if they think they can observe the ordinances of God; and these are the ordinances of God: he declareth them to people of understanding. But when ye divorce women, and they have fulfilled their prescribed time, either retain them with humanity, or dismiss them with kindness; and retain them not by violence, so that ye transgress; for he who doth this, surely injureth his own soul. And make not the signs of God a jest: but remember God's favor towards you, and that he hath sent down unto you the book of the Koran, and wisdom, admonishing you thereby; and fear God, and know that God is omniscient.

But when ye have divorced your wives, and they have fulfilled their prescribed time, hinder them not from marrying their husbands, when they have agreed among themselves according to what is honorable. This is given in admonition unto him among you who believeth in God, and the last day. This is most righteous for you, and most pure. God knoweth, but ye know not. Mothers, after they are divorced, shall give suck unto their children two full years, to him who desireth the time of giving suck to be completed; and the father shall be obliged to maintain them and clothe them in the meantime, according to that which shall be reasonable.

No person shall be obliged beyond his ability. A mother shall not be compelled to what is unreasonable on account of her child, nor a father on account of his child. And the heir of the father shall be obliged to do in like manner. But if they choose to wean the child before the end of two years, by common consent and on mutual consideration, it shall be no crime in them. And if ye have a mind to provide a nurse for your children, it shall be no crime in you, in case ye fully pay what ye offer her, according to that which is just. And fear God, and know that God seeth whatever ye do.

Such of you as die, and leave wives, their wives must wait concerning themselves four months and ten days, and when they shall have fulfilled their term, it shall be no crime in you, for that which they shall

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do with themselves, according to what is reasonable. God well knoweth that which ye do. And it shall be no crime [pg 234] in you, whether ye make public overtures of marriage unto such women, within the said four months and ten days, or whether ye conceal such your designs in your minds: God knoweth that ye will remember them. But make no promise unto them privately, unless ye speak honorable words; and resolve not on the knot of marriage, until the prescribed time be accomplished; and know that God knoweth that which is in your minds, therefore beware of him, and know that God is gracious and merciful. It shall be no crime in you, if ye divorce your wives, so long as ye have not touched them, nor settled any dowry on them.

And provide for them (he who is at his ease must provide according to his circumstances, and he who is straitened according to his circumstances) necessaries, according to what shall be reasonable. This is a duty incumbent on the righteous. But if ye divorce them before ye have touched them, and have already settled a dowry on them, ye shall give them half of what ye have settled, unless they release any part, or he release part in whose hand the knot of marriage is; and if ye release the whole, it will approach nearer unto piety.

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Two Zen Koansfrom The Mumonkon

Case 23: Eno's Good and EvilEno was pursued by Monk Emyo up to Daiyurei. Seeing the Monk coming, Eno laid the robe and

the bowl on a rock, and said to him, "This robe represents the faith. Is it to be fought for by force? You may take them now." Emyo went to move the bowl and the robe and yet they were as heavy as mountains. He could not move them. Hesitating and trembling, Emyo asked the Eno, "I come for the teaching, not for the robe. Please enlighten me!" Eno said, "Before thinking of good or evil, what was your original face before your mother or father was born?

At that moment Emyo was greatly awakened. His whole body was covered with sweat. Emyo cried, bowed, and said, "Is there or is there not any other (deep) significance (in Zen) than your secret words and teachings a minute ago?"

Eno answered, "What I have told you is no secret at all. Once you have realized your own true self, the depth (in Zen) rather belongs to you!" Emyo said, "When I was at Obai with the other monks, I never realized what my true self was. Now you have dispersed the clouds of my ignorance to realize it, just like a man capable of discerning warm and cold by tasting water. From now on you are my teacher!"

Eno said, "We both have Obai for our teacher. Guard your own self !"Mumon's Comments:Eno was in an emergency. This revelation of his, however, resembles the deed of an overly protective grandmother, who peeled a fresh lichi (a dessert fruit), removed its stone and put it to her grandchild's mouth ready for him to swallow. You describe it in vain, you picture it to no avail, Praising it is useless, cease to worry about it at all. It is your true self, it has nowhere to hide, Even if the universe is annihilated, it is not destroyed.Case 28. Ryutan's Candle

One night Tokusan went to Ryutan to ask for his teaching. After Tokusan's many questions, Ryutan said to Tokusan at last, "It is late. Why don't you retire?" So Tokusan bowed, lifted the screen and was ready to go out, observing, "It is very dark outside." Ryutan lit a candle and offered it to Tokusan. Just as Tokusan received it, Ryutan blew it out. At that moment the mind of Tokusan was opened. "What have you realized?" asked Ryutan to Tokusan, who replied, "From now on I will not doubt what you have said."

The next day Ryutan ascended the rostrum and declared to the monks, "Among you there is one monk whose teeth are like the sword tree, his mouth is like the blood bowl. Strike him with a stick, he won't turn his head to look at you. Some day he will climb the highest peaks and carry out my teaching there."

On that day, in front of the lecture hall, Tokusan burned to ashes his commentaries on the sutras and declared, "In comparison to this awareness, all the most profound teachings are like a single hair in vast space. However deep the complicated knowledge of the world, compared to this enlightenment it is like one drop of water in the ocean." Then he left the monastery.Mumon's Comments:Before Tokusan passed through the barrier, his mind was eager, his mouth was anxious, with a purpose in his mind, he went south, to refute the doctrine of "A special transmission outside the sutras." When he got on the road to Reishu (near Ryutan's monastery) he asked an old woman to let him have something to "point his mind" (literally a snack, then something to put the mind at ease at the same time). The old woman asked Tokusan, "What is all that writing you are carrying?" Tokusan replied, "That's the manuscript of my notes and commentary on the Diamond Sutra." Then the old woman said, "That Sutra says, the past mind cannot be held, the present mind cannot be held, the future mind cannot be held. All of them are but unreal and illusory.

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Mabait and the Duendefrom Filipino Popular Tales (Fansler 1921)

Menguita, a king of Cebu, had two slaves,—Mabait and Masama. Mabait was honest and industrious, while Masama was envious and lazy. Mabait did nearly all of the hard work in the palace, so he was admired very much by the king. Masama, who was addicted to gambling, envied Mabait.

One night, while Mabait was asleep, a duende4 awakened him, and said, “I have seen how you labor here patiently and honestly. I want to be your friend.”

Mabait was amazed and frightened. He looked at the duende carefully, and saw that it resembled a very small man with long hair and a white beard. It was about a foot high. It had on a red shirt, a pair of green trousers, a golden cap, and a pair of black shoes. At last Mabait answered in a trembling voice, “I don’t want to be a friend of an evil spirit.”

“I am not evil, I am a duende.”“I don’t know what duendes are, so I don’t want to be your friend.”“Duendes are wealthy and powerful spirits. They can perform magic. If you are the friend of one

of them, you will be a most fortunate man.”“How did you come into the world?” said Mabait.“Listen! When Lucifer was an angel, a contest in creating animals arose between him and God. He

and his followers were defeated and thrown into hell. Many angels in that contest belonged neither to God’s side not to Lucifer’s. They were dropped on the earth. Those that fell in the forests became tigbalangs, ikis, and mananangals;5 those in the seas became mermaids and mermen; and those in the cities became duendes.”

“Ah, yes! I know now what duendes are.”“Now let our friendship last forever,” said the duende. “I am ready at any time to help you in your

undertakings.”From that time on Mabait and the duende were good friends. The duende gave Mabait two or three

isabels every day, and by the end of the month he had saved much money. He bought a fine hat and a pair of wooden shoes.

Masama wondered how Mabait, who was very poor, could buy so many things. At last he asked, “Where do you get money? Do you steal it?”

“No, my friend gives it to me.”“Who is your friend?”“A duende.”Masama, in great envy, went to the king, and said, “Master, Mabait, your favorite slave, has a friend.

This friend is a duende, which will be injurious to us if you let it live here. As Mabait said, it will be the means of his acquiring all of your wealth and taking your daughter for his wife.”

The king, in great rage, summoned Mabait, and punished him severely by beating his palms with a piece of leather. Then he ordered his servants to find the duende and kill it. The duende hid in a small jar. Masama saw it, and covered the mouth of the jar with a saint’s dress. The duende was afraid of the dress, and dared not come out. “Open the jar, and I will give you ten isabels,” said the little man.

“Give me the money first.”After Masama received the money, he went away to the cockpit without opening the jar. On his way

there he lost his money. He went back to the duende, and said, “Friend, give me ten isabels more, and I will open the jar.”

“I know that you will cheat me,” answered the duende. “Just let me come out of the jar, and I promise that you shall have the princess here for your wife.”

“What! Will the princess be my wife?”

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“Yes.”“How can you make her love me?”“I will enter the princess’s abdomen. I will talk, laugh, and do everything to make her afraid. I will

not leave her for anybody but you.”“Good, good!” Masama opened the jar, and the duende, flew a way to the princess’s tower.Only a few weeks after that time a proclamation of the king was read in public. It was as follows:

“The princess, my daughter, has something in her abdomen. It speaks and laughs. No one knows what it is, and no one can force it to come out. Whoever can cure my daughter shall be my heir and son-in-law; but he who tries and fails shall lose his head.”

When Masama heard this, he said to Mabait, “Why don’t you cure the princess? You are the only one who can cure her.”

“Don’t flatter me!” answered Mabait.“I’m not flattering you. It is the duende, your friend, who is in her abdomen, and no one can

persuade it to come out but you. So go now, for fortune is waiting for you.”Mabait was at last persuaded, and so he departed. Before going to the king, he first went to a

church, and there he prayed Bathala that he might be successful in his undertakings. When Mabait was gone, Masama said to himself, “It is not fortune, but it is death, that is waiting for him. When he is dead, I shall not have anybody to envy.”

After sitting for about a half-hour, Masama also set out for the princess’s tower, but he reached the palace before Mabait. There he told the king that he could cure his daughter. He was conducted into the princess’s room. He touched her abdomen, and said, “Who are you?”

“I am the duende.”“Why are you there?”“Because I want to be here.”“Go away!”“No, I won’t.”“Don’t you know me?”“Yes, I know you. You are Masama, who cheated me once. Give your head to the king.” So the

executioner cut Masama’s head off.Then Mabait came, and told the king that he could cure the princess. After he was given permission

to try, he said to the duende, “Who are you?”“I am the duende, your friend.”“Will you please come out of the princess’s abdomen?”“Yes, I will, for the sake of our friendship.”Mabait was married to the princess, was crowned king, and lived happily with his friend the duende.

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The Anting-Anting of Captain Von Tolligfrom Anting-Anting Stories (Kayme 1901)

There had been a battle between the American forces and the Tagalogs, and the natives had been driven back. The stone church of Santa Maria, around which the engagement had been hottest, and far beyond which the native lines had now been driven, had been turned into a hospital for the wounded Tagalogs left by their comrades on the field. Beneath a broad thatched shed behind the church lay the bodies of the dead, stiff and still under the coverings of cocoanut-fibre cloth thrown hastily over them. The light of a full tropic moon threw the shadow of the roof over them like a soft, brown velvet pall. They were to be buried between day-break and sunrise, that the men who buried them might escape the heat of the day.

The American picket lines had been posted a quarter of a mile beyond the church, near which no other guards had been placed. Not long after midnight a surgeon, one of the two [4]men left on duty in the church, happened to look out through a broken window towards the shed, and in the shadow, against the open moonlight-flooded field beyond, saw something moving. Looking close he could make out the slim, brown figure of a native passing swiftly from one covered form to another, and turning back the cocoanut-fibre cloth to look at each dead man’s face.

Calling the man who was working with him the surgeon pointed out the man beneath the shed to him. “That fellow has no business there,” he said, “He has slipped through the lines in some way. He may be a spy, but even if he is not, he is here for no good. We must capture him.”

“All right,” was the answer. “You go around the church one way, and I will come the other.”When the surgeon, outside the hospital, reached a place where he could see the shed again, the

Tagalog had ceased his search. He had found the body he was looking for, and sunk down on his knees beside it was [5]searching for something in the clothing which covered the dead man’s breast. A moment later he had seen the men stealing towards him from the church, had cleared the open space beneath the shed at a leap, and was off in the moonlight, running towards the outposts. The surgeons swore; and one fired a shot after him from his revolver.

“Might as well shoot at the shadow of that palm tree,” the one who had shot said. “Anyway it will wake up the pickets, and they may catch him.

“What do you suppose he was after?” he added.“Don’t know,” said his companion. “You wait, and I’ll get a lantern and we will see.”The lantern’s light showed the clothing parted over a dead man’s body, and the fragment of a

leather thong which had gone about his neck, with broken ends. Whatever had been fastened to the thong was gone, carried away by the Tagalog when he had fled.

The next morning a prisoner was brought [6]to headquarters. “The picket who caught him, sir,” the officer who brought the prisoner reported, “said he heard a shot near the church where the wounded natives are; and then this man came running from that way.”

The surgeons who had been on night duty at the hospital were sent for, and their story heard.“Search the man,” said the officer in command.The native submitted to the ordeal in sullen silence, and made no protest, when, from some place

within his clothing, there was taken a small, dirty leather bag from which two broken ends of leather thong still hung. Only his eyes followed the officer’s hands wolfishly, as they untied the string which fastened the bag, and took from it a little leather-bound book not more than two inches square. The officer looked at the book curiously. It was very thin, and upon the tiny pages, yellow with age, there was writing, still legible, although the years which had stained the paper yellow had faded the [7]ink. He spelled out a few words, but they were in a language which he did not know. “Take the man to the prison,” he said. “I will keep the book.”

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Later in the day the officer called an orderly. “Send Lieutenant Smith to me,” he said.By one of the odd chances of a war where, like that in the Philippines, the forces at first must be

hastily raised, Captain Von Tollig and the subordinate officer for whom he had sent, had been citizens of the same town. The captain had been a business man, shrewd and keen,—too keen some of his neighbors sometimes said of him. Lieutenant Smith was a college man, a law student. It had been said of them in their native town that both had paid court to the same young woman, and that the younger man had won in the race. If this were so, there had been no evidence on the part of either in the service to show that they were conscious of the fact. There had been little communication between them, it is true, but when there had been the [8]subordinate officer never overlooked the deference due his superior.

“I wish you would take this book,” said Captain Von Tollig, after he had told briefly how the volume happened to be in his possession, “and see if you can translate it. I suspect it must be something of value, from the risk this man took to get it; possibly dispatches from one native leader to another, the nature of which we ought to know.”

The young man took the queer little book and turned the pages curiously. “I hardly think what is written here can be dispatches,” he said, “The paper and the ink both look too old for that. The words seem to be Latin; bad Latin, too, I should say. I think it is what the natives call an ‘anting-anting;’ that is a charm of some kind. Evidently this one did not save the life of the man who wore it. Probably it is a very famous talisman, else they would not have run such a risk to try to get it back.”

“Can you read it?”“Not off hand. With your permission I [9]will take it to my tent, and I think I can study it out

there.”“Do so. When you make English of it I’d like to know what it says. I am getting interested in it”The lieutenant bowed, and went away.“Bring that prisoner to me,” the captain ordered, later in the day.“Do you want to go free?” he asked, when the Tagalog had been brought.“If the Señor wills.”“What is that book?”The man made no answer.“Tell me what the book is, and why you wanted it; and you may go home.”“Will the Señor give me back the book to carry home with me?”“I don’t know. I’ll see later about that.”“It was an ‘anting-anting.’ The strongest we ever knew. The man who had it was a chief. When he

was dead I wanted it.”“If this was such a powerful charm why was the man killed who had it on. Why didn’t it save him?”

[10]The Tagalog was silent.“Come. Tell me that, and you may go.”“And have the book?”“Yes; and have the book.”“It is a very great ‘anting-anting.’ It never fails in its time. The man who made it, a famous wise

man, very many years ago, watched one whole month for the secrets which the stars told him to write in it; but the last night, the night of the full moon, he fell asleep, and on that one day and night of the month the ‘anting-anting’ has no good in it for the man who wears it. Else the chief would not be dead. You made the attack, that day. Our people never would.”

“Lieutenant Smith to see you, sir,” an orderly announced.“All right. Send him in; and take this fellow outside.”“But, Señor,” the man’s eyes plead for him as loudly as his words; “the ‘anting-anting.’ You said I

could have it and go.”

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“Yes, I know. Go out and wait.” “What do you report, Lieutenant? Can you read it?”“Yes. This is very singular. There is no doubt but the book is now nothing but a charm.”“Yes. I found that out.”“But I feel sure it was originally something more than that. Something very strange.”“What?”“It purports to be the record of the doings of a man who seems to have died here many years ago,

written by himself. It tells a strange story, which, if true, may be of great importance now. To make sure the record would be kept the writer made the natives believe it was a charm, while its being written in Latin kept the nature of its message from them.”

“Have you read it?”“Most of it. Sometimes a word is gone—faded out;—and a few words I cannot translate;—I don’t

remember all my Latin. I have written out a translation as nearly as I [12]can make it out.” He handed a paper to the captain, who read:

“I, Christopher Lunez, am about to die. Once I had not thought that this would be my end,—a tropic island, with only savages about me. I had thought of something very different, since I got the gold. Perhaps, after all, there is a curse on treasure got as that was. If there is, and the sin is to be expiated in another world, I shall know it soon. I did not—”

Here there was a break, and the story went on.”—— all the others are dead, and the wreck of our ship has broken to bits and has disappeared.

Before the ruin was complete, though, I had brought the gold on shore and buried it. No one saw me. The natives ran from us at first, far into the forest, and ——”

The words which would have finished the sentence were wanting.“Where three islands lie out at sea in a line with a promontory like a buffalo’s head, I sunk the gold

deep in the sands, at the foot of [13]the cliff, and dug a rude cross in the rock above it. Some day I hope a white man guided by this, will find the treasure and—”

“There was no more,” said the lieutenant, when the captain, coming to this sudden end looked up at him. “The last few pages of the book are gone, torn out, or worn loose and lost. What I have translated was scattered over many pages, with disconnected signs and characters written in between. The book was evidently intended to be looked upon as a mystic talisman, probably that the natives on this account might be sure to take good care of it.

“All of the Tagalogs who can procure them, carry these ‘anting-anting.’ Some are thought to be much more powerful than others. Evidently this was looked upon as an unusually valuable charm. Sometimes they are only a button, sewed up in a rag. One of the prisoners we took not long ago wore a broad piece of cloth over his breast, on which was stained a picture of a man killing another with a ‘barong.’ He believed that [14]while he wore it no one could kill him with that weapon; and thought the only reason he was not killed in the skirmish in which he was captured was because he had the ‘anting-anting’ on.”

“Do you believe the story which the book tells is true?” the captain inquired.“I don’t know. Some days I think I could believe anything about this country.”“Have you shown the book to any one else, or told any one what you make out of it?”“No.”“Do not do so, then. That is all, now. I will keep the book,” he added, putting the little brown

volume inside his coat.Several days later the officer in charge of the quarters where the native prisoners were confined

reported to the captain: “One of the prisoners keeps begging to be allowed to see you, sir,” he said. “He says you told him he might go free. Shall I let him be brought up here?”

“Yes. Send him up.”

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“Well?” said Captain Von Tollig, when the [15]man appeared at headquarters, and the orderly who had brought him had retired.

“The little book, Señor. You said I could have it back, and go.”“Yes. You may go. I will have you sent safely through our lines; but the book I have decided to

keep.”The man’s face grew ash-colored with disappointment or anger. “But, Señor,” he protested. “You

told me ——”“I know; but I have changed my mind. You can go, if you wish, without the book, or not, just as

you choose.”“Then I will stay,” the Tagalog said slowly, adding a moment later, “My people will surely slay me if

I go back to them without the book.”“Very well.” The captain called for the guard, and the man was taken back to prison; but later in the

day an order was sent that he be released from confinement and put to work with some other captured natives about the camp.During the next two or three weeks a [16]stranger to Tagalog methods of warfare might very reasonably have thought the war was ended, so far as this island, at least, was concerned. The natives seemed to have disappeared mysteriously. Even the men who had been longest in the service were puzzled to account for the sudden ceasing of the constant skirmishing which had been the rule before. The picket lines were carried forward and the location of the camp followed, from time to time, as scouting parties returned to report the country clear of foes. The advance would have been even more rapid, except for the necessity of keeping communication open at the rear with the harbour where two American gunboats lay at anchor.

As a result of one of the advances the camp was pitched one night upon a broad plateau looking out upon the sea. Inland the ground rose to the thickly forest-clad slope of a mountain, to which the American officers felt sure the Tagalogs had finally retreated. Early in the evening, when the heat of the [17]day had passed, a group of these officers were standing with Captain Von Tollig in the center of the camp, examining the mountain slope with their glasses.

“What did you say was the name of this place?” one of the officers asked a native deserter who had joined the American forces, and at times had served as a guide to the expedition.

“That is Mt. Togonda,” he answered, pointing to the hills before them, “and this,” swinging his hand around the plateau on which the camp’s tents were pitched, “is La Plaza del Carabaos.”

The captain’s eyes met those of Lieutenant Smith.“La Plaza del Carabaos” means “The Square of the Water Buffalos.”As if with one thought the two men turned and looked out to sea. The sun had set. Against the

glowing western sky a huge rock at the plateau’s farthest limit was outlined. Rough-carved as the rock had been by the chisel of nature, the likeness to a water buffalo’s [18]head was striking. Beyond the rock three islands lay in a line upon the sunset-lighted water. Far out from the foot of the cliff the two men could hear the waves beating upon the sand.

“This is an excellent place for a camp,” the captain said when he turned to his men again. “I think we shall find it best to stay here for some time.”

Perhaps a month of respite from attack had made the sentries careless; perhaps it was only that the Tagalogs had spent the time in gathering strength. No one can ever know just how that wicked slaughter of our soldiers in the campaign on that island did come about.

The Tagalogs swept down into the camp that night as a hurricane might have blown the leaves of the mountain trees across the plateau; and then were gone again, leaving death, and wounds worse than death, behind them. When our men had rallied, and had come [19]back across the battle-ground, they found among the others, the captain lying dead outside his tent. A Tagalog dagger lay beside the body, and the uniform had been torn apart until the officer’s bare breast showed.

The first full moon of the month shone down upon the dead man’s white, still face.

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The Duration of Lifefrom Grimm's Fairy Tales (Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm 1812)

When God created the world and was about to fix the length of each creature's life, the ass came and asked, Lord, how long shall I live. Thirty years, replied God, does that content you. Ah, Lord, answered the ass, that is a long time. Think of my painful existence. To carry heavy burdens from morning to night, to drag sacks of corn to the mill that others may eat bread, to be cheered and refreshed with nothing but blows and kicks. Relieve me of a portion of this long time. Then God had pity on him and relieved him of eighteen years. The ass went away comforted, and the dog appeared. How long would you like to live, said God to him, thirty years are too many for the ass, but you will be satisfied with that. Lord, answered the dog, is that thy will.

Consider how I shall have to run, my feet will never hold out so long, and when I have once lost my voice for barking, and my teeth for biting, what will be left for me to do but run from one corner to another and growl. God saw that he was right, and released him from twelve years of life. Then came the monkey. You will certainly live thirty years willingly, said the Lord to him, you have no need to work as the ass and the dog have to, and will always enjoy yourself. Ah, Lord, he answered, it may seem as if that were the case, but it is quite different. When it rains millet-porridge I have no spoon. I am always to play merry pranks, and make faces which force people to laugh, and if they give me an apple, and I bite into it, why, it is sour. How often sadness hides itself behind mirth. I shall never be able to hold out for thirty years. God was gracious and took off ten.

At last man appeared, joyous, healthy and vigorous, and begged God to appoint his time for him. Thirty years shall you live, said the Lord. Is that enough for you. What a short time, cried man, when I have built my house and my fire burns on my own hearth, when I have planted trees which blossom and bear fruit, and am just intending to enjoy my life, I am to die. O Lord, lengthen my time. I will add to it the ass's eighteen years, said God. That is not enough, replied the man. You shall also have the dog's twelve years. Still too little. Well, then, said God, I will give you the monkey's ten years also, but more you shall not have.

The man went away, but was not satisfied. So man lives seventy years. The first thirty are his human years, which are soon gone, then is he healthy, merry, works with pleasure, and is glad of his life. Then follow the ass's eighteen years, when one burden after another is laid on him, he has to carry the corn which feeds others, and blows and kicks are the reward of his faithful services. Then comes the dog's twelve years, when he lies in the corner, and growls and has no longer any teeth to bite with, and when this time is over the monkey's ten years form the end. Then man is weak-headed and foolish, does silly things, and becomes the jest of children.

The Peasant and the Devilfrom Grimm's Fairy Tales (Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm 1812)

There was once upon a time a far-sighted, crafty peasant whose tricks were much talked about. The best story, however, is how he once got hold of the devil, and made a fool of him. The peasant had one day been working in his field, and as twilight had set in, was making ready for the journey home, when he saw a heap of burning coals in the middle of his field, and when, full of astonishment, he went up to it, a little black devil was sitting on the live coals. Are you sitting upon a treasure, said the peasant. Yes, in truth, replied the devil, on a treasure which contains more gold and silver than you have ever seen in your life. The treasure lies in my field and belongs to me, said the peasant. It is yours, answered the devil, if you will for two years give me one half of everything your field produces.

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Money I have enough, but I have a desire for the fruits of the earth. The peasant agreed to the bargain. In order, however, that no dispute may arise about the division, said he, everything that is above ground shall belong to you, and what is under the earth to me. The devil was quite satisfied with that, but the cunning peasant had sown turnips.

Now when the time for harvest came, the devil appeared and wanted to take away his crop. But he found nothing but the yellow withered leaves, while the peasant, full of delight, was digging up his turnips. You have had the best of it for once, said the devil, but the next time that won't do. What grows above ground shall be yours, and what is under it, mine. I am willing, replied the peasant. But when the time came to sow, he did not again sow turnips, but wheat. The grain became ripe, and the peasant went into the field and cut the full stalks down to the ground. When the devil came, he found nothing but the stubble, and went away in a fury down into a cleft in the rocks. That is the way to cheat the devil, said the peasant, and went and fetched away the treasure.

Bram Stoker's Dracula (from Chapter 2, Jonathan Harker's Journal Continued)

May 5.--I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been fully awake I must have noticed the approach of such a remarkable place. In the gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and as several dark ways led from it under great round arches, it perhaps seemed bigger than it really is. I have not yet been able to see it by daylight.

When the caleche stopped, the driver jumped down and held out his hand to assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice his prodigious strength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vice that could have crushed mine if he had chosen. Then he took my traps, and placed them on the ground beside me as I stood close to a great door, old and studded with large iron nails, and set in a projecting doorway of massive stone. I could see even in the dim light that the stone was massively carved, but that the carving had been much worn by time and weather. As I stood, the driver jumped again into his seat and shook the reins. The horses started forward,and trap and all disappeared down one of the dark openings.

I stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do. Of bell or knocker there was no sign. Through these frowning walls and dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate. The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked? Was this a customary incident in the life of a solicitor's clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor, for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful, and I am now a full-blown solicitor! I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the pinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming of morning.

Just as I had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step approaching behind the great door, and saw through the chinks the gleam of a coming light. Then there was the sound of rattling chains and the clanking of massive bolts drawn back. A key was turned with the loud grating noise of long disuse, and the great door swung back.

Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silver lamp, in which the flame burned without a chimney or globe of any kind, throwing long quivering shadows

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as it flickered in the draught of the open door. The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation.

"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own free will!" He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue,as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. The instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed cold as ice, more like the hand of a dead than a living man. Again he said.

"Welcome to my house! Enter freely. Go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring!" The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking. So to make sure, I said interrogatively, "Count Dracula?"

He bowed in a courtly was as he replied, "I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in, the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest."As he was speaking, he put the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, took my luggage. He had carried it in before I could forestall him. I protested, but he insisted.

"Nay, sir, you are my guest. It is late, and my people are not available. Let me see to your comfort myself."He insisted on carrying my traps along the passage, and then up a great winding stair, and along another great passage, on whose stone floor our steps rang heavily. At the end of this he threw open a heavy door, and I rejoiced to see within a well-lit room in which a table was spread for supper, and on whose mighty hearth a great fire of logs, freshly replenished, flamed and flared.

The Count halted, putting down my bags, closed the door, and crossing the room, opened another door, which led into a small octagonal room lit by a single lamp, and seemingly without a window of any sort. Passing through this, he opened another door, and motioned me to enter. It was a welcome sight. For here was a great bedroom well lighted and warmed with another log fire, also added to but lately, for the top logs were fresh, which sent a hollow roar up the wide chimney. The Count himself left my luggage inside and withdrew, saying, before he closed the door.

"You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by making your toilet. I trust you will find all you wish. When you are ready, come into the other room, where you will find your supper prepared."

The light and warmth and the Count's courteous welcome seemed to have dissipated all my doubts and fears. Having then reached my normal state, I discovered that I was half famished with hunger. So making a hasty toilet, I went into the other room.

I found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side of the great fireplace, leaning against the stonework, made a graceful wave of his hand to the table, and said,

"I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will I trust, excuse me that I do not join you, but I have dined already, and I do not sup."

I handed to him the sealed letter which Mr. Hawkins had entrusted to me. He opened it and read it gravely. Then, with a charming smile, he handed it to me to read. One passage of it, at least, gave me a thrill of pleasure.

"I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come. But I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters."

The count himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish, and I fell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. This, with some cheese and a salad and a bottle of old tokay, of which I had two glasses, was my supper. During the time I was eating it the Count asked me many question as to my journey, and I told him by degrees all I had experienced.

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By this time I had finished my supper,and by my host's desire had drawn up a chair by the fire and begun to smoke a cigar which he offered me, at the same time excusing himself that he did not smoke. I had now an opportunity of observing him, and found him of a very marked physiognomy.

His face was a strong, a very strong, aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils, with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth. These protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale, and at the tops extremely pointed. The chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.

Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine. But seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse, broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal.

The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back. And with a grim sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done his protruberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of the fireplace. We were both silent for a while, and as I looked towards the window I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything. But as I listened, I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves. The Count's eyes gleamed, and he said.

"Listen to them, the children of the nyght. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added, "Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter." Then he rose and said.

"But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and tomorrow you shall sleep as late as you will. I have to be away till the afternoon, so sleep well and dream well!" With a courteous bow, he opened for me himself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered my bedroom.

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt. I fear. I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!

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Excerpt from The Odyssey

"When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, we admired the island and wandered all over it, while the nymphs Jove's daughters roused the wild goats that we might get some meat for our dinner. On this we fetched our spears and bows and arrows from the ships, and dividing ourselves into three bands began to shoot the goats. Heaven sent us excellent sport; I had twelve ships with me, and each ship got nine goats, while my own ship had ten; thus through the livelong day to the going down of the sun we ate and drank our fill, and we had plenty of wine left, for each one of us had taken many jars full when we sacked the city of the Cicons, and this had not yet run out. While we were feasting we kept turning our eyes towards the land of the Cyclopes, which was hard by, and saw the smoke of their stubble fires. We could almost fancy we heard their voices and the bleating of their sheep and goats, but when the sun went down and it came on dark, we camped down upon the beach, and next morning I called a council.

"'Stay here, my brave fellows,' said I, 'all the rest of you, while I go with my ship and exploit these people myself: I want to see if they are uncivilised savages, or a hospitable and humane race.'

"I told my men to draw the ship ashore, and stay where they were, all but the twelve best among them, who were to go along with myself. I also took a goatskin of sweet black wine which had been given me by Maron, son of Euanthes, who was priest of Apollo the patron god of Ismarus, and lived within the wooded precincts of the temple. When we were sacking the city we respected him, and spared his life, as also his wife and child; so he made me some presents of great value—seven talents of fine gold, and a bowl of silver, with twelve jars of sweet wine, unblended, and of the most exquisite flavour. Not a man nor maid in the house knew about it, but only himself, his wife, and one housekeeper: when he drank it he mixed twenty parts of water to one of wine, and yet the fragrance from the mixing-bowl was so exquisite that it was impossible to refrain from drinking. I filled a large skin with this wine, and took a wallet full of provisions with me, for my mind misgave me that I might have to deal with some savage who would be of great strength, and would respect neither right nor law.

"We soon reached his cave, but he was out shepherding, so we went inside and took stock of all that we could see. His cheese-racks were loaded with cheeses, and he had more lambs and kids than his pens could hold. They were kept in separate flocks; first there were the hoggets, then the oldest of the younger lambs and lastly the very young ones {80} all kept apart from one another; as for his dairy, all the vessels, bowls, and milk pails into which he milked, were swimming with whey. When they saw all this, my men begged me to let them first steal some cheeses, and make off with them to the ship; they would then return, drive down the lambs and kids, put them on board and sail away with them. It would have been indeed better if we had done so but I would not listen to them, for I wanted to see the owner himself, in the hope that he might give me a present. When, however, we saw him my poor men found him ill to deal with.

"We lit a fire, offered some of the cheeses in sacrifice, ate others of them, and then sat waiting till the Cyclops should come in with his sheep. When he came, he brought in with him a huge load of dry firewood to light the fire for his supper, and this he flung with such a noise on to the floor of his cave that we hid ourselves for fear at the far end of the cavern. Meanwhile he drove all the ewes inside, as well as the she-goats that he was going to milk, leaving the males, both rams and he-goats, outside in the yards. Then he rolled a huge stone to the mouth of the cave—so huge that two and twenty strong four-wheeled waggons would not be enough to draw it from its place against the doorway. When he had so done he sat down and milked his ewes and goats, all in due course, and then let each of them have her own young. He curdled half the milk and set it aside in wicker strainers, but the other half he poured into bowls that he might drink it for his supper. When he had got through with all his work, he lit the fire, and then caught sight of us, whereon he said:

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"'Strangers, who are you? Where do sail from? Are you traders, or do you sail the sea as rovers, with your hands against every man, and every man's hand against you?'

"We were frightened out of our senses by his loud voice and monstrous form, but I managed to say, 'We are Achaeans on our way home from Troy, but by the will of Jove, and stress of weather, we have been driven far out of our course. We are the people of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, who has won infinite renown throughout the whole world, by sacking so great a city and killing so many people. We therefore humbly pray you to show us some hospitality, and otherwise make us such presents as visitors may reasonably expect. May your excellency fear the wrath of heaven, for we are your suppliants, and Jove takes all respectable travellers under his protection, for he is the avenger of all suppliants and foreigners in distress.'

"To this he gave me but a pitiless answer, 'Stranger,' said he, 'you are a fool, or else you know nothing of this country. Talk to me, indeed, about fearing the gods or shunning their anger? We Cyclopes do not care about Jove or any of your blessed gods, for we are ever so much stronger than they. I shall not spare either yourself or your companions out of any regard for Jove, unless I am in the humour for doing so. And now tell me where you made your ship fast when you came on shore. Was it round the point, or is she lying straight off the land?'

"He said this to draw me out, but I was too cunning to be caught in that way, so I answered with a lie; 'Neptune,' said I, 'sent my ship on to the rocks at the far end of your country, and wrecked it. We were driven on to them from the open sea, but I and those who are with me escaped the jaws of death.'

"The cruel wretch vouchsafed me not one word of answer, but with a sudden clutch he gripped up two of my men at once and dashed them down upon the ground as though they had been puppies. Their brains were shed upon the ground, and the earth was wet with their blood. Then he tore them limb from limb and supped upon them. He gobbled them up like a lion in the wilderness, flesh, bones, marrow, and entrails, without leaving anything uneaten. As for us, we wept and lifted up our hands to heaven on seeing such a horrid sight, for we did not know what else to do; but when the Cyclops had filled his huge paunch, and had washed down his meal of human flesh with a drink of neat milk, he stretched himself full length upon the ground among his sheep, and went to sleep. I was at first inclined to seize my sword, draw it, and drive it into his vitals, but I reflected that if I did we should all certainly be lost, for we should never be able to shift the stone which the monster had put in front of the door. So we stayed sobbing and sighing where we were till morning came.

"When the child of morning, rosy-fingered dawn, appeared, he again lit his fire, milked his goats and ewes, all quite rightly, and then let each have her own young one; as soon as he had got through with all his work, he clutched up two more of my men, and began eating them for his morning's meal. Presently, with the utmost ease, he rolled the stone away from the door and drove out his sheep, but he at once put it back again—as easily as though he were merely clapping the lid on to a quiver full of arrows. As soon as he had done so he shouted, and cried 'Shoo, shoo,' after his sheep to drive them on to the mountain; so I was left to scheme some way of taking my revenge and covering myself with glory.

"In the end I deemed it would be the best plan to do as follows: The Cyclops had a great club which was lying near one of the sheep pens; it was of green olive wood, and he had cut it intending to use it for a staff as soon as it should be dry. It was so huge that we could only compare it to the mast of a twenty-oared merchant vessel of large burden, and able to venture out into open sea. I went up to this club and cut off about six feet of it; I then gave this piece to the men and told them to fine it evenly off at one end, which they proceeded to do, and lastly I brought it to a point myself, charring the end in the fire to make it harder. When I had done this I hid it under dung, which was lying about all over the cave, and told the men to cast lots which of them should venture along with myself to lift it and bore it into the monster's eye while he was asleep. The lot fell upon the very four whom I should have chosen, and I myself made five. In the evening the wretch came back from shepherding, and drove his flocks into the cave—this time driving them all inside, and not leaving any in the yards; I suppose some fancy must have

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taken him, or a god must have prompted him to do so. As soon as he had put the stone back to its place against the door, he sat down, milked his ewes and his goats all quite rightly, and then let each have her own young one; when he had got through with all this work, he gripped up two more of my men, and made his supper off them. So I went up to him with an ivy-wood bowl of black wine in my hands:

"'Look here, Cyclops,' said I, you have been eating a great deal of man's flesh, so take this and drink some wine, that you may see what kind of liquor we had on board my ship. I was bringing it to you as a drink-offering, in the hope that you would take compassion upon me and further me on my way home, whereas all you do is to go on ramping and raving most intolerably. You ought to be ashamed of yourself; how can you expect people to come see you any more if you treat them in this way?'

"He then took the cup and drank. He was so delighted with the taste of the wine that he begged me for another bowl full. 'Be so kind,' he said, 'as to give me some more, and tell me your name at once. I want to make you a present that you will be glad to have. We have wine even in this country, for our soil grows grapes and the sun ripens them, but this drinks like Nectar and Ambrosia all in one.'

"I then gave him some more; three times did I fill the bowl for him, and three times did he drain it without thought or heed; then, when I saw that the wine had got into his head, I said to him as plausibly as I could: 'Cyclops, you ask my name and I will tell it you; give me, therefore, the present you promised me; my name is Noman; this is what my father and mother and my friends have always called me.'

"But the cruel wretch said, 'Then I will eat all Noman's comrades before Noman himself, and will keep Noman for the last. This is the present that I will make him.'

"As he spoke he reeled, and fell sprawling face upwards on the ground. His great neck hung heavily backwards and a deep sleep took hold upon him. Presently he turned sick, and threw up both wine and the gobbets of human flesh on which he had been gorging, for he was very drunk. Then I thrust the beam of wood far into the embers to heat it, and encouraged my men lest any of them should turn faint-hearted. When the wood, green though it was, was about to blaze, I drew it out of the fire glowing with heat, and my men gathered round me, for heaven had filled their hearts with courage. We drove the sharp end of the beam into the monster's eye, and bearing upon it with all my weight I kept turning it round and round as though I were boring a hole in a ship's plank with an auger, which two men with a wheel and strap can keep on turning as long as they choose. Even thus did we bore the red hot beam into his eye, till the boiling blood bubbled all over it as we worked it round and round, so that the steam from the burning eyeball scalded his eyelids and eyebrows, and the roots of the eye sputtered in the fire. As a blacksmith plunges an axe or hatchet into cold water to temper it—for it is this that gives strength to the iron—and it makes a great hiss as he does so, even thus did the Cyclops' eye hiss round the beam of olive wood, and his hideous yells made the cave ring again. We ran away in a fright, but he plucked the beam all besmirched with gore from his eye, and hurled it from him in a frenzy of rage and pain, shouting as he did so to the other Cyclopes who lived on the bleak headlands near him; so they gathered from all quarters round his cave when they heard him crying, and asked what was the matter with him.

"'What ails you, Polyphemus,' said they, 'that you make such a noise, breaking the stillness of the night, and preventing us from being able to sleep? Surely no man is carrying off your sheep? Surely no man is trying to kill you either by fraud or by force?'

"But Polyphemus shouted to them from inside the cave, 'Noman is killing me by fraud; no man is killing me by force.'

"'Then,' said they, 'if no man is attacking you, you must be ill; when Jove makes people ill, there is no help for it, and you had better pray to your father Neptune.'

"Then they went away, and I laughed inwardly at the success of my clever stratagem, but the Cyclops, groaning and in an agony of pain, felt about with his hands till he found the stone and took it from the door; then he sat in the doorway and stretched his hands in front of it to catch anyone going out with the sheep, for he thought I might be foolish enough to attempt this.

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American Mythology & Folk LiteratureChristopher Columbus

Though Christopher Columbus did not participate in the founding of the American government, he has been interpreted as a "founder" of the American nation, in that it is descended from the European immigrants who would not have moved to the New World if Columbus had not found where it was. Indeed, one particularly pervasive story is that Columbus discovered America, as it is far easier to elevate a man to heroic status than to reflect the reality among complex series of waves of immigrants from multiple conditions and walks of life.

According to some stories, Columbus began his journey across the Atlantic Ocean on Friday, August 3, 1492, in order to prove that the world was round, because he expected to reach the Far East by sailing west. In fact, it was generally accepted by Columbus' time that the world was round. What set Columbus apart was that he believed the world to be considerably smaller than most thought, small enough that a ship sailing west to the Far East could carry enough supplies for the journey.

By this legend Columbus' mission is then rendered entirely noble, intellectual and rational. He helped dispel the inaccurate beliefs of his time, and, so, it is concluded, the nation he founded must be a nation of intellect and logic. Washington Irving is the first citation for this belief. The late 20th century, however, saw a decrease in the prestige of Columbus' legend as skepticism about Europeans' activities in the New World and elsewhere had become more prevalent.

George WashingtonGeorge Washington, the country's first president, is often said to be the founder of the United

States. Since his death, Washington has been "mythologized", with many anecdotes and stories about his life told, in general, to present the founder of the modern American nation as a just and wise cultural hero. For example, it is said that Washington, as a young child, chopped down his father's cherry tree. His angry father confronted the young Washington, who proclaimed "I can not tell a lie" and admitted to the transgression, thus illuminating his honesty. Parson Mason Locke Weems mentions the first citation of this legend in his 1850 book, The Life of George Washington: With Curious Anecdotes, Equally Honorable to Himself and Exemplary to His Young Countrymen. Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain) is also known to have spread the story while lecturing, personalizing it by adding "I have a higher and greater standard of principle. Washington could not lie. I can lie but I won't." Stories of national value often have similar themes – that the founder of the nation, George Washington, – was a wise, virtuous and brave man.

Billy the KidWilliam H. Bonney (born William Henry McCarty, Jr.) est. November 23, 1859 – c. July 14, 1881,

better known as Billy the Kid but also known as Henry Antrim, was a 19th-century American gunman who participated in the Lincoln County War and became a frontier outlaw in the West. According to legend, he killed 21 men,[2] but he is generally accepted to have killed between four and nine. McCarty (or Bonney, the name he used at the height of his notoriety) was 5 feet 8 inches (173 cm) to 5 feet 9 inches (175 cm) tall with blue eyes, a smooth complexion, and prominent front teeth. He was said to be friendly and personable at times, and many recalled that he was as "lithe as a cat". Contemporaries described him as a "neat" dresser who favored an "unadorned Mexican sombrero". These qualities, along with his cunning and celebrated skill with firearms, contributed to his paradoxical image, as both a notorious outlaw and beloved folk hero. Relatively unknown during most of his lifetime, Billy was catapulted into legend in 1881 when New Mexico's governor, Lew Wallace, placed a price on his head. In addition, the Las Vegas Gazette (Las Vegas, New Mexico) and the New York Sun carried stories about his exploits. Many other newspapers followed suit. After his death, several biographies were written that portrayed the Kid in varying lights.

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Excerpts from the Bible

Genesis 11Now the whole world had one language and a common speech. 2 As people moved eastward,[a]

they found a plain in Shinar[b] and settled there.They said to each other, “Come, let’s make bricks and bake them thoroughly.” They used brick

instead of stone, and tar for mortar. 4 Then they said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves; otherwise we will be scattered over the face of the whole earth.”

But the Lord came down to see the city and the tower the people were building. 6 The Lord said, “If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. 7 Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other.”

So the Lord scattered them from there over all the earth, and they stopped building the city. That is why it was called Babel[c] —because there the Lord confused the language of the whole world. From there the Lord scattered them over the face of the whole earth.

Deuteronomy 24:1-4

If a man marries a woman who becomes displeasing to him because he finds something indecent about her, and he writes her a certificate of divorce, gives it to her and sends her from his house, and if after she leaves his house she becomes the wife of another man, and her second husband dislikes her and writes her a certificate of divorce, gives it to her and sends her from his house, or if he dies, then her first husband, who divorced her, is not allowed to marry her again after she has been defiled. That would be detestable in the eyes of the LORD. Do not bring sin upon the land the LORD your God is giving you as an inheritance.

Mark 10:2-12

Some Pharisees came, and to test him they asked, "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?" He answered them, "What did Moses command you?" They said, "Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her." But Jesus said to them, "Because of your hardness of heart he wrote this commandment for you. But from the beginning of creation, 'God made them male and female.' 'For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.' So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate." Then in the house the disciples asked him again about this matter. He said to them, "Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery."

1 Corinthians 7:3-5

The husband should give to his wife her conjugal rights, and likewise the wife to her husband. For the wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does; likewise the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife does. Do not deprive one another except perhaps by agreement for a set time, to devote yourselves to prayer, and then come together again, so that Satan may not tempt you because of your lack of self-control.

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Luke 10:29-3729 But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”30 In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by

robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. 31 A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. 32 So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. 34 He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. 35 The next day he took out two denarii[a] and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’

36 “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

37 The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

Matthew 25:1-13

Then the Kingdom of Heaven will be like ten virgins, who took their lamps, and went out to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. Those who were foolish, when they took their lamps, took no oil with them, but the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps. Now while the bridegroom delayed, they all slumbered and slept. But at midnight there was a cry, "Behold! The bridegroom is coming! Come out to meet him!" Then all those virgins arose, and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, "Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out." But the wise answered, saying, "What if there isn't enough for us and you? You go rather to those who sell, and buy for yourselves." While they went away to buy, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went in with him to the marriage feast, and the door was shut. Afterward the other virgins also came, saying, "Lord, Lord, open to us." But he answered, "Most certainly I tell you, I don't know you." Watch therefore, for you don't know the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man is coming.

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Myth and Dream

WHETHER we listen with aloof amusement to the dreamlikemumbo jumbo of some red-eyed witch doctor of the Congo, orread with cultivated rapture thin translations from the sonnets ofthe mystic Lao-tse; now and again crack the hard nutshell of anargument of Aquinas, or catch suddenly the shining meaning ofa bizarre Eskimo fain' tale: it will be always the one, shape-shiftingyet marvelously constant story that we find, together with a chal-lengingly persistent suggestion of more remaining to be experi-enced than will ever be known or told.

Throughout the inhabited world, in all times and under everycircumstance, the myths of man have flourished; and they havebeen the living inspiration of whatever else may have appearedout of the activities of the human body and mind. It would notbe too much to say that myth is the secret opening throughwhich the inexhaustible energies of the cosmos pour into humancultural manifestation. Religions, philosophies, arts, the socialforms of primitive and historic man, prime discoveries in scienceand technology, the very dreams that blister sleep, boil up fromthe basic, magic ring of myth.

The wonder is that the characteristic efficacy to touch and in-spire deep creative centers dwells in the smallest nursery fairytale—as the flavor of the ocean is contained in a droplet or thewhole mystery of life within the egg of a flea. For the symbols ofmythology are not manufactured; they cannot be ordered, in-vented, or permanently suppressed. They are spontaneous pro-ductions of the psyche, and each bears within it, undamaged, thegerm power of its source.

What is the secret of the timeless vision? From what profundityof the mind does it derive? Why is mythology everywhere thesame, beneath its varieties of costume? And what does it teach?

Today many sciences are contributing to the analysis of theriddle. Archaeologists are probing the ruins of Iraq, Honan,

INTRODUCTION TO THE 2OO4 EDITION

Thus it goes with the psyche. Story erupts, no matter howdeeply repressed or buried. Whether in night-dreams, or throughone's creative products, or the tics and tocks of neurosis, the storywill find its way up and out again.

Sometimes an entire culture colludes in the gradual destruc-tion of its own panoramic spirit and breadth of its teachingstories. Purposefully, or without awareness, this is done by fo-cusing almost exclusively only on one or two story themes,inhibiting or forbidding all others, or only excessively touting afavorite one or two. Whether these narrowly defined or overlyvaunted stories are predictable and repetitive ones about thesame aspects of sex or violence, over and over again, and littleelse, or they are about how sinful or stupid people are, and howthey ought be punished—the effect is the same. The story tradi-tion becomes so narrowed that, like an artery that is clogged, theheart begins to starve. In physiology, as in culture, this is a life-threatening symptom.

Then the psyches of individuals may resort to scraps and tat-ters of stories offered them via various channels. And they willtake them, often without question, the same way people who arestarving will eat food that is spoiled or that has no nutritionalvalue, if none other is available. They might hope to find suchpoor food somehow replenishing, even though it can never beso—and might sicken them to boot. In a barren culture, one ortwo fragmentary story-themes play, like a broken record, broad-casting the same notes over and over again. At first it may beslightly interesting. Then it becomes irritating. Next it becomesboring and hardly registers at all. Finally it becomes deadening.The spirit and mind and body are made narrower, rather thanradiant and greater, by its presence, as they are meant to be.

Such flattened-out stories, with only one or two themes, arefar different from heroic stories, which have hundreds of themesand twists and turns. Though heroic stories may also containsexual themes and other motifs of death, evil, and extinction,they are also only one part of a larger universal rondo of stories,which includes themes of spirit overriding matter, of entropy, ofglory in rebirth, and more. Sex, death, and extinction stories are

INTRODUCTION TO THE 2004 EDITION

useful in order for the psyche to be taught about the deeper life.But to be taught the full spectrum of stories, there must be aplethora of mythic components and episodes that progress andresolve in many different ways.

It is from innocent children that I learned what happens whena young soul is held away from the breadth and meaningful nu-ances of stories for too long. Little ones come to earth with apanoramic ability to hold in mind and heart literally thousandsof ideas and images. The family and culture around them is sup-posed to place in those open channels the most beautiful, useful,deep and truthful, creative and spiritual ideas we know. Butvery many young ones nowadays are exposed almost exclusivelyto endless "crash and bash" cartoons and "smack 'em down"computer games devoid of any other thematic components.These fragmentary subjects offer the child no extensive depthof storyline.

When I have taught children as an artist-in-residence in theschools, I have found that many children were already starvedfor deep story before they had reached second grade. Theytended to know only those from sit-com television, and theyoften reduced their writings to these drastically narrowedthemes: "A man killed another man." "He killed him again andagain. Period." "They lived, they died. The end." Nothing more.

One fine way parents, teachers, and others who cherish theminds of the young can rebalance and educate modern children'spsyches is to tell them, show them, and involve them in deeperstories, on a regular basis. They can also begin to interpret dailylife in mythic story terms, pointing out motifs, characters, mo-tives, perils, and the methods of finding one's way. By thesemeans and more, the helpers override the immense repetition ofone-point-only stories that so much contemporary media andculture so harp on ad infinitum. The mythic is as needed as airand water. The mythic themes not only teach, but also nourishand, especially, energize the psyche. The vast world of story iswhere the child's spirit will find these most consistently. Theradical knowledge and amazements found in stories ought to beevery child's daily inheritance.

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Amongst adults, too, the need and desire for story are sogreat, that even though storylines in the collective may have de-teriorated, and become obsessive, drilling, and repetitive, or elsecorrupted, human beings will find apertures through which tocreate fresh and new stories—from underground. From outsidethe culture or at its edges, inventive and inspired souls will notallow the stories to be subverted. They will resurrect the "loststories" in new ways that restore their depth and surprise—thatare capable of uplifting, testing, and altering the psyche.

Currently, it is on the internet that gifted "frontier" writersand artists gather to create stories together. It is in web-zines,through cyber-art, the fabulae of game design, and in otherwildly inventive never-before-seen forms, that any impoverish-ment to deep story the over-culture has caused is being over-thrown. What an amazement it has been to us mere mortals tofind that the reality now exists for "a voice greater" to be broad-cast via the binary-code blips of ones and zeroes —a process, Iam toid, which mirrors the binary code used by the synapses inthe human brain. The computer transport system has becomethe circuitry for la voz mitologico, the mythic voice, to potentiallyaddress the entire planet within seconds. How mythic is that?Very.

The "underground" artists understand how to use this win-dow to psyche, and unleash their stories with an intense under-standing of the motives, successes, failures, and possibilities inmythic life. They will not be crushed under the boots of the lat-est societal obsession that endarkens. They see that the soul doesnot scrimp on images, and they, as creators, must thereforeavoid, whenever possible, casting any images in too tight a wayso that there is no room left for the wind of the holy spirit topass through and rearrange everything—sometimes blow it allaway—all in order to bring wonder and meaning. The ones whocan both allow and withstand this rapid-fire process are the newmyth-makers and reformers of the cultures of our times.

It is not too much to say that lack of compelling and unpre-dictable heroic stories can deaden an individual's and a culture'soverall creative life—can pulverize it right down to powder. It is

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not too much to say that an abundance of compelling and unpre-dictable heroic stories can re-enspirit and awaken a drowsingpsyche and culture, filling both with much-needed vitality andnovel vision. From the ancient storytellers to the present, the ideahas always been: As go the souls that lead, so goes the culture.

The Repair Needed In and For This World

STORY CAN MEND, AND STORY CAN HEAL.

Certainly, we have hardly ever faced a world in worse shape orin greater need of the lyrical, mystical, and common-sensical.There seem to be large and perpetual pockets where fair andsustaining values are more pale than they should be. But whenwe consider Plato, Strabbo, and the apostles Paul and John, andmany others over the centuries, we see that they also wroteabout their times as being likewise devoid of proper "manage-ment and meaning." It appears that "culture at edge of utter cor-ruption" and "world at the edge of utter destruction" are two ofthe oldest themes to be found in stories of the human race.

But there are always those too, who have created and writtenabout last-minute and long-term redemptions. They are the oneswho give out stories that stir—that give succor and breadenough for the crossing. I think of story-givers like AbrahamJoshua Heschel. The title of one of his books is a story initself that says it all: I Asked for Wonder. He wrote that the cul-mination of life carries a more and more clear disposition toachieve moral virtue. His stories, exegeses, philosophy, and mys-tical views revolve around the idea that life ought to havepoignant incomparables in it. He urged persons to "the ecstasy ofdeeds"—that is, "to go beyond oneself, to outdo oneself—andthence to "go beyond one's own needs, and illumine the world."

Others, including the Persian poet-priest Kabir, tell instruc-tive stories through poetry using themes like this: First thing in

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the morning, do not rush off to work, but take down your musi-cal instrument and play it. Then test your work in the same way.If there is no music in it, then set it aside, and go find what hasmusic in it again.

In this way the old teaching stories helped others to rememberthe most loved sources of life. Stories told by the Buddha oftencontain the message "Harm no life." The texts of the BhagavadGita record battlefield discussions wherein the leader revealsthat it is the love in all things that makes up the heart of man-liness and womanliness. All these convey soulful encourage-ment through story. In his lyric hymns, Homer writes that themother, Demeter, while seeking her lost child, "tears down herhair like dark wings" and flies over the surface of the earth insearch of her beloved. She will not rest until she finds her heartagain. These all serve as examples of the kind of guidance for re-discovering the radiant center that is often found in heroic story.

There is a living concept of repair that has called to many inour lifetime—even seized some of us when we were only chil-dren just walking along one day. This concept embodies theidea that the world has a soul, and, thereby, if it is the soul thatwants stories, then the world needs stories too—stories of repair,strength, and insight. If the world has a soul, then story informsand heals and spiritually grows the cultures, and the peopleswithin those cultures, through its universal cache of idiomsand images.

In ancient Hebraic, this concept is known as tikkun olam;meaning repair of the world soul. This is a living concept, for itrequires endeavor —a daily one, and sometimes even an hourlyone. It is a commitment to a way of right conduct, a form of liv-ing meditation, a kind of contemplative pragmatic. I understandit this way: Tikkun olam is giving one's attention and resourcesto repair that part of the world that is right before you, preciselywithin your spiritual, psychological, and physical reach—accordingto soul's sight, not ego's alone.

I understand the artful methods of tikkun olam, handed downgeneration to generation, to be of the most simple and humblekind: the spiritual sight that has enough of a glowing heart behind

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it to see beneath the surface of things; to care for others beyondoneself; to translate suffering into meaning; to find the edges ofhope, and to bring it forward with a plan; a willingness to findinsight through struggle; an ability to stand and withstand whatone sees that is painful; and, in some way, to gentle the flurry; totake up broken threads as well and tie them off; to reweave andmend what is torn, to patch what is missing; to try for percep-tion far beyond the ego's too-often miniscule understanding.

All these ways of tikkun olam are recorded in different ways instories —in heroic stories about bad roads, poor judgments, darknights, dreadful starts, mysterious ghosts, terrible ambushes,great strengths, mercies, and compassions. All these actions forrepair of the world soul also constitute the growing of one's ownsoul: By their acts ye shall know them. By reaching out to theworld, as a more and more individuated soul, one also repairsthe ravel of oneself—for whatever of the world has gone awryand can be aided, is sometimes in similar needful condition inthe personal psyche as well. In many ways, we can see the evi-dences that the inner life strengthens the outer life, and viceversa. And it is stories that can unite these two preciousworlds —one mundane, the other mythic.

The Human Heroic Figure

It would appear, were we to follow the long genealogy of heroesand heroines in mythos, that it is via the soul being stolen, misman-aged, disguised, disrupted, pre-empted or trodden upon, that someof the purest features of the psyche may rise up and begin to longfor—call for—the return of that radiant companion and counsel.

In stories, the force of soul is conveyed in so many ways.Sometimes it is represented by such symbols as the darlingprincess, the handsome prince, the tiny or wounded creature,the holy chalice, the cloak of invisibility, the golden fleece, theanswer to the riddle, the seven-league boots, the creature who

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reveals the secret, or the proof that there is yet left in the worldone last honest human being.

Since first daylight, the revelatory actions and lessons found inthe oldest tales are ignited by and revolve around the loss of theprecious thing. And then come the efforts, detours, and inspira-tions that suddenly appear whilst in pursuit of the recovery ofthe greatest treasure.

How may one do this? The people, the tribes, the groups and theclans of the world keep heroic mythos alive—keep stories impor-tant to the soul alive—by telling them, and then by trying to livethem out in some way that brings one into more wisdom and ex-perience than one had before. The same is given to us to do onour life's journeys also—to seek and follow the personal life myth,to see our worst and best attributes mirrored back to us in stories.

Once embarked, there will be times, as occurred in the life ofthe hero Odysseus, when one will have to search one's waysthrough crushing life circumstances, and, often enough, haveto start all over again —while at the same time having to resistseductions that invite one to stray off the path.

On the mythic journey, like Demeter, most human beings willbe called at least once, and perhaps many times in a lifetime, toset aside passive longing, and instead to fly up to the highestlight, or even into the face of convention —"taking the heat" inorder to find the truth of things, in order to bring one's Belovedback home.

And counter to Oedipus and the sad motifs found in thestory-play Oedipus Rex, perhaps we will also have reason in lifeto resist throwing away the spiritual child self, and instead tounburden and uncurse what has been misunderstood, and par-ticularly what is innocent. We may also find good reason torefuse to blind ourselves, as Oedipus did, to the evils of theworld or our own foibles, and instead to try to live in full disclo-sure and integrity.

In tribal groups, whether stories of the journeys of the heroicsoul end humorously, tragically, or grandly, each kind of termi-nus is still considered an object lesson, a window through whichone can see the broad continuum of how the soul can not only be

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known more and more, but how it can also, through courage andconsciousness, be grown to greater capacity. The soul is notknown or realized less when a tale comes to no good end—onlydifferently. In tales, as in life, increase can come as much as fromtravail and failure as much as when the episode ends with a com-fortable or lovely result.

Most persons who have been through hell of various kinds-war, massacre, assault, torture, profound sorrows, will tell that,even though they still fee! sick with the weight of it all, and per-haps also ill with regrets of one kind or another—they are never-theless learning how to swim strong to reach the able raft of thesoul. Though there is something to be said for those rare heroesand heroines who sit on the undisturbed shore enjoying the in-tense beauty of the soulrise, I am more on the side of those whomust swim the torrents while crying out for help. In all, they arestriving hard not to drown before they can reach the safety ofthe souPs arms. And most who have been so deeply harmed willtell you that, all the while they are swimming, they feel theirown soul is rowing toward them with the strongest, deepest ofstrokes that can only come from One who loves without limits.

This is the underlayment of mythos, as I understand it: thatthere is a soul; that it wishes to be free; that it loves the humanit inhabits; that it will do all it can to shelter the one it loves; andthat it wants to be known, listened to, followed, given an en-larged broadcast range, granted leadership in the quest for expe-rience that carries such worth for the higher self—and that itslanguage is stories.

The Mythic Question

Over these many decades of being a keeper of stories, I havecome to see that almost invariably every story, myth, legend,saga, and folktale begins with a poignant question of one kind oranother. In tales, this premiere query may be spoken—or only

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inferred. But regardless, the poignant question strikes a spark tothe engine that ignites the heart. This starts up the energy of thestory; it rolls the story forward. The mythic tale unfolds in re-sponse to that single igniting question.

Thus Odysseus answers, throughout his entire saga in TheOdyssey, the single mythic question posed at the beginning, theone which could be phrased as: How do I ever find true homeagain"? Demeter is the Greek Mother Goddess, the essence ofnurturance for earth and for humans. She undertakes a horrible,grief-stricken journey to seek and retrieve her innocent daughterwho had been snatched down into the dark underworld againsther will. Throughout Demeter's unfolding story, the question isposed: To what great lengths can the immortal soul be pressedand still retrieve the Beloved? The account of Oedipus in theplay by Sophocles, throughout to its end, answers a questionlike this: What darkness, dead-zones, and deaths can occurwhen secrets are not revealed and truth is not told?

This question at the beginning of a story—or at any pointalong one's own life line—grants the seeker a bar to measureagainst, to see then which directions to take most profitably inorder to find one's own answers. The transformative questiongrants a scale on which to weigh which portion of each learningone might most fruitfully keep, and which parts or pieces can bebypassed or left behind as ballast, as one continues on the quest.

Thus Odysseus leaves behind Circe, the Sirens, and Calypso,all of whom seek to lure and imprison him with their charms.His question is how to find his way back home to Ithaca, whichsymbolizes, along with his wife and children, his true home. Hisanswer unfolds, as Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, author ofFrankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus, would write many cen-turies later, "Nothing contributes so much to tranquilizing themind as a steady purpose—a point on which the sou! may fix itsintellectual eye." Odysseus has only to stay to his purpose to findhome. That is the wild answer.

In mythic tales, the soul poses the question, and all thingsare measured against the soul's interest. Though sometimes theanswers to one's most unifying and electrifying questions seem

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to come from out of nowhere, more often too, in mythos, the an-swers come only from a hard labor that is kept to day after day.Thereby, if one is seeking gold, one must go where gold is andsuffer through the travail to get there—and then use all of one'sbrawn and wits to mine for it, and to recognize it when one sees it.

The grandmother in "Jack and the Beanstalk" does not real-ize the golden opportunity her grandson has been given, whenshe has it right in her hands. In that tale, the land and people arein a terrible famine. She throws away what she thinks are the"useless beans" that Jack has brought home, having traded thefamily cow for them. Out the window the beans go. But, over-night, they grow into a giant "tree of life" that allows Jack tobring home a goose, which lays golden eggs, and other richesthat reverse the long famine. The ogre, signifying a coarse anddominant quality in the psyche, is defeated.

Likewise, in mythos and tales, if one is looking for wood, onemust go to the forest. If one is looking for life, one must go tothe eternal life-giver—and/or the eternal death-dealer—in orderto find the needed understandings to wrest free the answer tothe riddle, all in order to answer the question most dear to one'ssoul—the one used to motivate and locomote true consciousness.Thereby, whatever adventures, misfortunes, detours, and gratifi-cations occur along the road—all are seen as moving the self to-ward learning and transformation. Obstacles and preformedogres rise up regularly. They confound and injure the hero andheroine. Thus the seekers find, at many different levels, a multi-tude of responses to that single question posed at the beginning-responses that increase their life-giving capacities.

Odysseus finds more answers to his question—where is truehome? —by meeting and outmaneuvering the she-monsters ofthe sea, Scylla and Charybdis, which attempt to destroy himand all his mates. He meets Aeolus, the king of the winds, whogives him a sack filled with a wind that will take him withinsight of home. But Odysseus falls asleep; and his crew thinksthere is booty in the sack, so they pry it open. The wind thatrushes out pushes them so far from home that they literally losethemselves.

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Through these perils and more, he learns the way home ismazed with hazards that force him to take chances and to makechoices —and he learns to not fall asleep. All that he endures isalso presented to human beings in the same way during times ofduress. One either forgets one's spiritual commitment and isthereby blown farther from true home, or else one becomes, inthose moments, more determined to fulfill the question, to be-come more expansive, more docile, more fierce — whatever isrequired—than one had been just moments before.

Thereby the hero and heroine are made more durable, moreable to enter into mystery, more adept at defeating what is oftenseemingly invisible and cloud-like, yet which carries impactenough to crush us to death, or else blow us off course and awayfrom our stated goal. These heroes and heroines are often theones who —though dragged, drugged, dumped, or seduced intoperil —manage to call to the soul for support and correction oftrajectory. The soul will answer, and aim the person toward thebest results that can be managed at the moment.

The complications that thwart the hero and heroine of mythare called complexes in depth psychology. Complexes are to bemet, confronted, evaded, amplified, transformed, contained, ortriumphed over. These blockages appear suddenly in life too.They erupt from one's own unconscious, in forms resemblinganything from irritating needle-toothed ankle-biters to huge,bellowing screed-spreaders—or, more subtly, as something welong for or are easily seduced by, but which is poisonous to us atits core.

The sidestepping of such obstacles is a common motif inmyths. Yet, ironically, it is change of direction that often greatlyfurthers the life of the soul. Demeter does so with style. She seesthat she is at a dead end and must give up trying to make aDemophoon, a mortal child, into an immortal, so as to replaceher own lost immortal child. That desire to "replace" does notfulfill the soulful need which guides her seeking—which is notto replace, but to find. Ultimately, she turns toward eliciting an-swers to her daughter's whereabouts, by focusing and extendingher power through enlistment of the aid of another.

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One of her tripartite sisters, Hekate, encourages them to fly upto the face of Helios, the sun. There they bravely demand, in theheckle tones of crones, to be told where Demeter's Beloved isbeing hidden. And Helios, who sees all, tells them of the younggirl's abduction by Hades, the dark God of the Underworld.Thence Hekate and Demeter utilize this information to forcethose who conspired to steal the daughter to instead return herto the world again.

Also in mythos, we see the failures to understand that one haschoices. Poor Oedipus finds his tragic answers to the question,What will be lost if one does not overturn the projections andpronouncements of others? When he was born, the Oracleclaimed he would be doomed to kill his father and marry hismother. His parents—attempting to evade the curse for them-selves, but without being willing to risk confrontation or counter-balance—leave him to die in the woods.

But he is rescued by shepherds and, when he is grown, he ischallenged one night by a stranger on a bridge. Both he and thestranger are astride horses, but neither will yield to let the otherpass first. In the ensuing struggle, Oedipus kills the boldstranger. Later it is revealed to him that the man murdered washis own father .. . the father who had been held away from himfor so long, by secret-keeping and other nefarious means.

As the story goes on, Oedipus's incomparable grief over wrong-ful identity and futile relationships causes him to blind himself toany further sights of the painful truths that swirl around him.These awful possibilities are also offered to us when we are on thejourney—we may too not, at first, ask the most useful questionsneeded. We might try to lie down in psychological slumber andignorance, or give in to the crabbed and destructive expectationsof something, within and outside ourselves as well, that wishes toblock knowledge of our soulful origins. Thence, we may suddenlybe shocked awake to all the ruin that we have become soswamped by. We may not ever want to see or feel again. But, ofcourse, our story goes on—whereas Oedipus's ended. We willhave another episode, then another, in which there will be oppor-tunity to change course, to see and do differently—and better.

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In many ways the saga of Oedipus is one of being terriblyweakened by believing that fate alone is a greater force than freewill, even though there is indeed something dark and unformedin the psyche that believes such to be so. However, it is not so,ultimately. In mythos there are far more resurrections and re-turns than ever there are cinema screens that simply go blank atthe end.

The idea, since forever, has been that story is a conveyance, avehicle, to use in order to think, to move forward through life.At the end of a life that has meaning, the point is not that one isperfected, but that one will still carry a view of self and theworld that is divine—and not just some kind of lazy drift. Thepoint is to have enough stories that guide —that will allow life'sclosing act to end with one's heart still bright, despite the galesthat have passed through it —so that it can be said that one haslived with spiritual audacity.

The Spirit and the Academic: Joseph Campbell

Let us now speak more about Joseph Campbell, his life andwork. Jung often spoke about essential attitudes needed to sup-port a quality life of the soul. He said a certain kind of spirited-ness was needed, as well as a certain kind of resistance to societalpressures —pressures that might cause a person to become di-vorced from a life of meaning.

In his later years, Joseph Campbell wore his clothes a little likea coat hook wears the jacket thrown onto it. He walked with autilitarian gait that was clearly meant only to carry him from oneside of the room to the other. When he spoke, he often became soenthused and talked so fast that his words just tumbled out.

Seeing and listening to him over the years, it was easy to notehis genuine love for the essence of the mythic. He particularlyloved the similarities of themes to be found in mythos, calling

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upon these themes to be unifiers of disparate groups rather thandividers. He managed, throughout his always accessible schol-arly work, to utterly resist putting on the slightest of airs aboutit all. Though he occasionally made a small misstep, common tohis time, revealing a preconception about certain tribal affairs,he gave no effort to appear low-, high-, middle-, or any otherkind of brow.

Rather, as the lines of mythos are lived out within the spiritualvessels of closely woven family groups, in traditional clans, andliving tribes, he became a central vessel which poured out to oth-ers too. No matter where in the world they live, the worldwidetribe he stil! teaches, through his published books and films, isunited by their complementary desire to know—to find meaningthat matters—in the interior and the outer worlds, both.

Wrhether an individual is at the very beginning of life's in-quiry, or in the deadly middle struggle between ego and higherself, or near the lighted terminus where the soul is more finelyseen and embraced—Campbell was interested in providing sub-stance for the long journey ahead.

He used a language that was easily understood by those hewas speaking to. He kept to all these simple ways of being, eventhough he lived in a world that sometimes confuses the messen-ger with the living message. That he resisted those ideologuesand demagogues who consistently attempt to press all thingsthat once were graceful and filled with love into an artificial andone-sided shape, is a grace.

I have heard that some thought Campbell sometimes did notwrite in a sufficiently high scholarly form. It is true that he con-cerned himself with the activities of spirit and soul, mythos andfairytales, religious exegesis—the invisible arms that hold up theworld of human spirit. It is true that he pursued these with allthe gusto of a child let out of school, and running toward theopen sea.

Perhaps it was this eagerness and fervor that caused some totalk—to tsk-tsk—to question his seriousness and mien. But onemust remember that the mythic root of the word intellectualmeans to seek to understand, to enter the nature of a thing and

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try to understand it from the inside, not just the outside; andthat academic means, at its heart, to sit "among the groves," tohave a relationship with one's teacher in the midst of beauty andnature, as was once undertaken in the oldest lyceums; . . . andthat scholarly means "of a school," characteristic of one devotedto weighing and pondering—just as a young acolyte gives him-or herself to study of sacred Torah — studying deeply with thegift of the love of learning fully intact. And all these Campbellkept to in his own original way. His scholarship embraced allthese facets and more.

It is a fact that he was loved by many for his "everyman" de-meanor. Yet, at times as he spoke on his favored subjects, hesometimes took on the eerie quality of looking older or youngerthan his real age. Anyone who has been in the presence of agreat storyteller has seen this phenomenon. I have experiencedthis in great singers, too. Richard Strauss's work, Four LastSongs, is a composition about people of great age who are re-membering the goodness and fears of life. I have heard severalgifted sopranos sing Strauss's song-cycle. By virtue of the spareand evocative words, by means of the heart-piercing music, andthe hush of the listeners, the singers may suddenly begin to looklike ancient beings. Something other than the mundane selfseems to have come into them.

Campbell had this quality, too. Sometimes, as he told his workaloud with such passion, that he looked a thousand years old,like an ageless being himself, an old man before the fire. Yet atother times, he looked youthful as he displayed his gentle hu-morist's gift alongside his earnestness. These personifications ofthe essences underlying the mythic are seen in tribal groups,too, wherein the teller gradually seems to take on the appearanceof a child, an old person or a creature, as they tell the deeper anddeeper aspects of the tale.

Some were said to be shocked at his late-in-life interest in andattendance at a Grateful Dead concert, then one of the preeminentrock groups of his time. All I could think was, "jAndele! Yes, goon!" The Grateful Dead papered the world with posters, books,album covers, decals, and stickers detailing their much-vaunted

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leitmotif of death in various skeletal forms. Their depictions ofskill! and skeleton-images were most often surrounded by sym-bols of living roses, iridescent rainbows, and full-blown color.

"The Dead's11 aura was similar to the old Greek stories aboutthe souls of the dead who somehow became lost on their ways totheir final places of happiness and peace. In the tales, a livinghuman sees them and takes pity on them, helping to put themon the right path, for which the ghostly souls are forever grate-ful. In this way, the Grateful Dead's name itself, and their logos,were similar to those found in ancient and eternal images repre-senting death of the old, and rebirth of new life—all in continu-ous cycle.

But there is this oddity in the deep storytellers isn't there? Astop at the shores of a Grateful Dead concert is not too muchdifferent than any other episode during a great odyssey. Jasonand the Argonauts made many stops, both at sea and on land,meeting with any number of mysterious and unusual creatures.Too, the same was true for Hercules, for Perseus, for Demeterduring her search for her daughter and later her respite underthe mountain to remake herself. Compelling experiences add tothe development of the hero and heroine.

For a living soul following a personal life-myth as Campbelldid, almost everything of interior and exterior life is approachedas though it is an old story just now returned to new life. Theriddle of honor being worked out by Falstaff and others inShakespeare's Henry IV plays can be seen in many modernpoliticians and leaders, who wrestle with the same issues. Everysoul who desires a transformative life has to give time to a regu-lar Herculean clearing of the Augean stables.

Hasn't everyone lived through friendships that play out as ifone were dealing with the God of the Morose in Nahua mythos,who is guaranteed to infect with his depressive thoughts anyonehe touches? Isn't there also a good deal of life that is like thecrazy, whirling dances of King David and his retinue, on theirway to home? He exhorts everyone to wear their most colorfulclothing, to crash their finger-cymbals loud, to sing at the top oftheir lungs, and to raise the dust with their dancing feet—to

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make a joyous noise to show their God how much divine vitalityexists on earth.

To call up modern versions of the old stories, one has to goforth and live life. As a result then, one will have the challenge ofnot only living the story, taking it all in, but also interpreting itin whatever ways are useful. So too, one will reap the reward oftelling all about it afterward. One's interest in the world, and inhaving experiences, is really an interest in hearing, having, liv-ing one more story, and then one more, then one more story, tillone cannot live them out loud any longer. Perhaps it should besaid that the drive to live out stories is as deep in the psyche,when awakened, as it is compelling to the psyche to listen to sto-ries and to learn from them.

The Wild Man and the Wild Woman

Campbell writes about the masculine and feminine archetypes inhis work. Sometimes there has been a confusion regarding mod-ern depth psychology and mythology, and what these genderedimages represent. Recall that an archetype is a representationof the Irrepresentable. It is a shard of something so enormousthat the greater thing cannot be apprehended by the mundanemind. But smaller images of the greater —the kinds that arefound in art, mythos, music, dance, and story—can be graspedby us mere mortals.

Some think that certain symbols stand only for women, andcertain other symbols, especially those found in mythos, standonly for men. But, at bottom, all represent forces of immensecreative energy within any psyche. Though there have been cer-tain human attributes assigned to "the masculine" and others to"the feminine," both, and all, actually have their full share ofpower, strength, fierceness, receptivity, and creativity.

In mythos, the heroic attributes belong to both feminineand masculine, both to men and to women, and to children and

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creatures and spirits and sky and earth and the Self as well.Thus an individual of any gender can become entranced by andlearn from the mythic figure of the ancient wild man Campbellwrites about in these pages. He tells us about a fabulous wild-man figure from Russian tales called the "Water Grandfather,"who also goes by the name Dyedushka Vodyasnoy.

Water Grandfather lives just beyond the boundary of the con-scious culture. He lives in "the danger zone" of ideas, longings,and yearnings —some sanctioned, some not. Those with smallerand less well-lit minds try unsuccessfully to exile him. WaterGrandfather is a shapeshifter. His psyche closely mimics the di-vine attributes, as well as human foibles and less-than-lovely at-titudes found in ordinary people. This mix flows within everyindividual as he or she struggles to become stable, useful, andwildly creative.

Then there is the wild woman. Campbell writes about thischaracter —so dear to my heart. The wild woman is found inevery culture across the world. Campbell describes her as a truepoet would. And, based on his descriptions, what woman couldnot understand the wild woman's attributes? Indeed, whatwoman would not want to live these out as her own, or has notthought of hoping to master them —including the part Campbellmentions in this book about having a wild abode to herself up inthe mountains where she can, like the wild women, "maintainhouseholds, like human beings"? This image alone would makemost women chortle about the heroic feminine desire to be ofherself, unto herself, and of the domestic and yet of the mild na-tures, all at the same time.

But ultimately, examining these and other figures in mythictales of many kinds—isn't it odd?—the more one studies andlearns, the more one sees the mythic journey as not one belong-ing to any gender per se, regardless of the gender of the heroesand heroines or the antagonists presented in tales. With enoughstory mileage on you, and with enough life lived in potholes aswell as at pinnacles, and—without confusing the very real issuesof parity and disparity between men and women in many cul-tures across the world—one begins to see that the mythic quest

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is the journey of the soul. It is one that has its yin and its yang,its hard and soft, its easy and challenging, its durable and itsdelicate—all the attributes, deficits, and more, portrayed bymythic persons and creatures in tales since time began.

Growing New and Future Generations of Souls

One of the things I have thought about a good deal as I rereadThe Hero with a Thousand Faces most recently is how Camp-bell's work, it seems, will still be relevant many decades forwardin time. This is not an easy thing to effect. Kipping stories fromtheir roots and contexts won't pass muster. Just telling a goodstory won't do it. This is because the energy-source of the storyis not the story itself. The energy of mythos comes from some-thing underlying the story. What lies behind the story is thesame as the energy-source that makes a car go. It is not the chas-sis, no matter how classy or shapely it might be. The primaryforce that makes the car go is not even in the engine.

It is rather the spark that is thrown from one mysteriousstriking-place to that which can catch fire. The spark catchesthere, ignites, and flames upward. Yes, there is something moreto story language than jiist words. Some venture to explain it thisway, saying that there is something of the daemon in real time,that the angelic force souls said to come with when they are bornon earth, is what dances under a work, any work, that strikesdeep chords. In whatever terms or metaphors this process mightbe described by, it is what gives a work its timeless faculty.

Once could say it is a phenomenon precisely related to theidea of the monomyth that Campbell defines; something largerthan life infuses the human—if they can break themselves openand accept it. Then, that which infuses the human infuses thework, which then in turn infuses the culture. I do not think thisphenomenon can be faked or manufactured, but I know that onecan be called to it, and, if so, will be pressed to it, will be held to

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it by many tethers—some beautiful and some fearsome—onceone has agreed to serve.

It can be said that in this way, by showing the unifyingmythic factors from diverse cultures, Campbell's work speaksalso to persons of different ages in the here and now. This in-cludes souls who were not even born when he first publishedthis book and others of his works.

In the midst of writing this piece, I had asked one of mygrown children to read the first chapters of The Hero with aThousand Faces. My youngest daughter is a young mother whowears kitten heels and the latest spiked-up hair. Her most keeninterests are in house design, legal business, and in acting as afierce activist for children. She carries her love of heritage in herstrong ties to Mexico, and although she shares my love of theGipsy Kings and Paco de Lucia flamenco, she also listens tomusic by musicians with no last names that I know little about,even though willing to learn.

Like many of her generation, she loves to read, but will notsit still for writings that are overly ornamented with obscure ref-erences not explained clearly, or that hold no "relationship" toher mind and to what she values most in life. As a child, sheonce called a book she was assigned to read in Lit class "a dustsandwich."

So in 2003, this child who was born in the early 1970s, beganreading The Hero with a Thousand Faces, which Campbell com-pleted in 1948. She immediately connected to his ideas about thestory of Oedipus. "A brokenhearted hero," she called him, andhad her own lush interpretation of the myth. She was delightedto "think with .Joseph Campbell" about destiny as a mythic en-deavor. She added this book to others she has that are authoredby people who, on her terms, "get it."

I have seen too, from years of teaching sections of Campbell'swork and the work of other writers concerned with spiritual andmythic life to high-school students, that, as it has ever been, thepsyche cannot awaken to deeper motifs and grasp these all byitself. Most recently, while fulfilling a three-year commitment toteach and assist verv dear, very smart, and tough young people

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recovering from the massacre at Columbine High School, I notedonce again, often within just a few pages of focusing on the lan-guage and concepts of any ancient mythic journey, that even thebadly injured can regain hope to restore their hearts. They arethus inspired to find new energy for their torn spirits, tyingthese matters to the spiritual belief-systems they have already, orseeking out new systems that make sense to them at the soullevel. I know no more perfect definition of good healing thanthis: a return to spiritual nobility.

With exposure to the ideas about mythic spirit, a person'sview of the world expands and, at the same time, is often spiritu-ally validated too. Learning about the mythic gives the young,the naive, and the uninitiated, the wounded, and the adventur-ous the much-needed language of travail and repair, of openingand descent and rising again. It is difficult to evolve, inquire,and to "come back," when one does not have the words to de-scribe what ails one's own depths—what one longs for, and whatone's own soul truly wants and needs.

Throughout many of their pages, Campbell's works offer sucha psychic kinship—for the newly arrived and newly awakenedsouls who are here now, even though he himself has long passedfrom this earth. How mythic is that? Also, very.

The Shoulders We Stand On

In The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell speaksabout how Freud and Jung were deeply committed students ofthe continuum of human behavior and the unconscious. Hepoints to their special interest in the plausible call that riseswithin human beings —the call that causes individuals who havebeen living highly externalized lives to stop, take notice, andredirect themselves to a higher self—or else suffer becomingmore and more lackluster and world-weary.

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Hence the person who has tired of the curios offered byculture, or one who has been broken from a brittle shell and iswandering in shock—awakens slowly, or all at once—choosing tomove toward a larger life that includes spirit and soul. Now, theperson sets out on a journey downward and begins to map andfind the resources of a richer interior life—one that can also in-form outer life. This quest has been understood, since time out ofmind, as one undertaken in order to feel alive again, to rememberand to keep what is holy in life. It is a journey to find a truer self-hood; one that cannot be easily corrupted by the outer world, orby time. The impulse fulfills a longing to unearth and reveal one'sgreatest and deepest shadows and gifts. It provides the balancesrequired for a person to feel one thing especially—contentment.

By his compilations and examinations of many of the world'sheroic myths and stories, and by tying them to the processes oftransformation as outlined in those stories, Campbell emphasizesthat this kind of inquiry, to know the truest self, takes muchtime. It is true, there is no drive-through enlightenment. He pa-tiently tells about any number of mystical pathways. And, in hischoice of myths to explore, he is sympathetic to many of themost impoverished protagonists in tales. They are the ones whohave the most frail qualities or resources to begin with. Yet theytoo will find a heroic way through the jumble and tangle of themysteries of transformation.

Campbell supported having faith in this often ridiculed anddiminished, but most highly valuable, self. By the end of manymyths, this neglected self will often prove to be the trove of allmanner of numinosity, pragmatics, foibles, and treasures—justright for the conflicts and heroics needed to meet aggressivechallenges, and to give birth to the more tender, more strength-ened new self. There can be no doubt that Campbell was achampion of the pilgrim who endured.

He understood how Freud and .Jung, and other thinkers ofthe twentieth-century Euro-American philosophical and psycho-logical disciplines, had held open the doors of perception, con-sciousness, and meaning for many people of their time. Oftendrawing on the works, words, and rituals of the ancient peoples,

INTRODUCTION TO THE BOO4 EDITION

these men had become part of a new generation which, like allcultures and generations of thinkers and artists preceding them,pointed out—once again—the critical soulful needs and nourish-ments of and for their cultural worlds—in the attitudes and lan-guage of their time.

Many other teachers, artists, and thinkers have come to earthsince then, and more will continue to arrive. Some come alsowith the talents to see and speak of psychic matters in new anddifferent ways for their times. Many of the current ones are thedescendents of those tribal groups reported on in anthropologyand ethnology, and so have posited many first-hand understand-ings and corrections for the tales and rituals that have sometimeslost shape in various ways over the centuries.

These contemporary thinkers, many of them giants in theirfields, will take up the work of their philosophical and spiritualelders. They are and will be the next generation rising up tohelp keep open those gigantic doors of perception. Since forever,the best amongst them neither "discover" nor "found" anything.They remember. They remember that they are remembering.They tell what has been since the beginning of time. As Camp-bell has put it many times: the Mythic is the one deed done bymany, many people.

This keeping open the way is, in every generation, an essen-tial, ethical, and righteous endeavor; for if the doorways thatlead to cognition of the greater human are left to the drift ofculture —any culture—those same doors will, by the weight ofneglect, fall down and bar all ingress. Thereafter, the rich sto-ried knowledge and traditions about the inner relationship be-tween the human being and their souls would be severed insteadof served. If one does not speak of a thing, it disappears. If storyis repressed, forbidden, or forgotten—until it is spoken aboutagain—it becomes lost to the world. If this disappearance of sto-ries were ever to occur utterly, humans would become the mostbereft creatures on the face of the earth.

We have stories in the northwoods about how the animalsoften act as kindred spirits—for one another, and sometimes forhuman beings too. For instance, there are stories told in our

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family about the "starving times," that is, the winters "whennothing moves," and the snow-pack is hard and more thanwaist-high. Then, the smaller animals might waste away, forthey cannot breach the walls of snow and ice.

But also during these harsh times, the caribou, the elk, andthe moose, with their big bodies, are able to shoulder their waysthrough the snow-pack. They act as the snowplows. To see ahuge mammal do this is awesome. They leap and claw and paw.They kick and drill and drive hard. They butt up against, pushwith antlers, shoulders, every muscle of their haunches strain-ing, while the snow flies off in giant plates and the grunting oftheir voices make so much steam rise up into the cold air.

Thus, these gigantic creatures literally make roadwaysthrough the frozen lands. Then the little creatures use the trail-blazings the bigger creatures have made with their bodies.These pathways will now allow others to go on with their lives,to hunt, to stay alive, to grow—and, especially, to find their wayto the water.

There are many humans who have had big shoulders too.And, as a result, others have found their ways through. I have adeep sense of those who have gone before me in life, those whoblazed trails that were perhaps not easier, but kept the way opento the blessed water.

Joseph Campbell is certainly like one of those big-shoulderedcaribou. From knowing him and his work, I know that thisassertion of his place in time might cause him to act a littleshuffle-toed and embarrassed. But in another way, because thereference to the caribou is mythic, it would delight him as well.

With regard to the same motif, I am certain too that thousandsof unknown others acted as the caribou for Joseph Campbell. Itmust never go without saying that the many "big shoulders" thatsupported him came from los antepasados, the ancestors, of usand others who belong to gifted, fierce, ethnic, and tribal peoplefrom all over the world—particularly those with "long memory"—that is, those who handed down psychic and spiritual legaciesconsciously from generation to generation, those who have, insome way, kept the rites, ceremonies, and stories alive. There

INTRODUCTION TO THE 2004 EDITION

are many who have been caring for the mythic lines all thesemany millennia, treasuring them, preserving them, repairingthem, telling them. By these means, the ancients have been in-strumental, and the moderns as well, in keeping open the life-lines that are needed by every last soul on earth.

This is the main point, it seems to me, for anyone who has thecalling of healer, storyteller, poet, artist, leader—as Walt Whit-man counseled, "to embrace all our contradictions"; and then,to keep the way open; to keep plowing through the coldest, andmost difficult terrain; to keep alive the hearts of whatever onecan; to give, insofar as one is able, every soul a chance to hearabout, to find, to know that we still are, will always be, have al-ways been . . . the most direct and open paths back to the water.

Here All Will Dwell Free: so went the inscription over the door-way of a shelter for travelers on pilgrimage in the Grimms'story, "The Handless Maiden." Dwelling free means to followthe divine impulse, to live in a way that is not restricted to whatothers say and insist on, but to follow one's broadest, deepestsense about how to be, to grow, and live. Campbell himselfdwelt free by nourishing whatever mythos he gathered into hisheart and mind, and offering the rendering of them to others—through teaching and dancing and especially through "beingalive with" others. He did not hold himself away from real life'sexperiences. In fact, he emphasized that such was the way to ex-perience the mythic—not just read or talk about it. Neither didhe hold himself away from meaningful and heartfelt endeavors,which he termed "bliss."

When Bill Moyers, the executive editor of the film series ThePower of Myth, and the interviewer of Joseph Campbell, askedwith such visible longing about how the journey is carried for-ward via the heroic deed, Campbell named two ways. He said:". . . [One] is a physical deed, as in saving the life of another.But the second kind is spiritual. It is the one who has learned orfound something in the supernormal range of human spirituallife, and then came back and communicated it."

INTRODUCTION TO THE 2OO4 EDITION

Joseph Campbell fits the second sense well, and, I have nodoubt that, amongst many of his close readers, he fits the firstdescription also —as one who saved the psychic lives of others byhis dedication to reminding people that their lives are sacred.Consider this book a time-capsule, then: one in which thewords, and the numen behind them, are as fresh as the day theauthor wrote them.

Reader, turn the page now. Joseph Campbell is waiting for you,and as usual, the professor is in full mythic voice. . . .

Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.Psychoanalyst, and author of The Gift of Story and

Women Who Run With the Wolves

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imperishable eternity; time yields to glory; and the world singswith the prodigious, angelic, but perhaps finally monotonous,siren music of the spheres. Like happy families, the myths andthe worlds redeemed are all alike.

• 3 •

The Hero and the God

The standard path of the mythological adventure of the hero is amagnification of the formula represented in the rites of passage:separation—initiation—return: which might be named the nuclearunit of the monomyth."

A hero ventures forth from the world of

common day into a region of supernatural

wonder: fabulous forces are there encoun-

tered and a decisive victory is won: the hero

comes back from this mysterious adventure

with the power to bestow boons on his fel-

low man.

Prometheus ascended to the heavens, stole fire from the gods,and descended. Jason sailed through the Clashing Rocks into asea of marvels, circumvented the dragon that guarded the Goldenfleece, and returned with the fleece and the power to wrest hisrightful throne from a usurper. Aeneas went down into the under-world, crossed the dreadful river of the dead, threw a sop to thethree-headed watchdog Cerberus, and conversed, at last, withthe shade of his dead father. All things were unfolded to him: the

Viking Press, Inc., 1939), p. 581.

THE HERO AND THE GOD

destiny of souls, the destiny of Rome, which he was about to found,"and in what wise he might avoid or endure every burden."1'' Hereturned through the ivory gate to his work in the world.

A majestic representation of the difficulties of the hero-task,and of its sublime import when it is profoundly conceived andsolemnly undertaken, is presented in the traditional legend ofthe Great Struggle of the Buddha. The young prince GautamaSakyamuni set forth secretly from his father's palace on the princelysteed Kanthaka, passed miraculously through the guarded gate,rode through the night attended by the torches of four timessixty thousand divinities, lightly hurdled a majestic river elevenhundred and twenty-eight cubits wide, and then with a singlesword-stroke sheared his own royal locks—whereupon the re-maining hair, two finger-breadths in length, curled to the rightand lay close to his head. Assuming the garments of a monk, hemoved as a beggar through the world, and during these years ofapparently aimless wandering acquired and transcended theeight stages of meditation. He retired to a hermitage, bent hispowers six more years to the great struggle, carried austerity tothe uttermost, and collapsed in seeming death, but presentlyrecovered. Then he returned to the less rigorous life of theascetic wanderer.

One day he sat beneath a tree, contemplating the easternquarter of the world, and the tree was illuminated with his radi-ance. A young girl named Sujata came and presented milk-riceto him in a golden bowl, and when he tossed the empty bowlinto a river it floated upstream. This was the signal that themoment of his triumph was at hand. He arose and proceededalong a road which the gods had decked and which was elevenhundred and twenty-eight cubits wide. The snakes and birdsand the divinities of the woods and fields did him homage withflowers and celestial perfumes, heavenly choirs poured forth music,the ten thousand worlds were filled with perfumes, garlands,harmonies, and shouts of acclaim; for he was on his way to thegreat Tree of Enlightenment, the Bo Tree, under which he was to

16 Virgil, Aeneid, VI, 892.

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redeem the universe. He placed himself, with a firm resolve, be-neath the Bo Tree, on the Immovable Spot, and straightway wasapproached by Kama-Mara, the god of love and death.

The dangerous god appeared mounted on an elephant andcarrying weapons in his thousand hands. He was surrounded byhis army, which extended twelve leagues before him, twelve to theright, twelve to the left, and in the rear as far as to the confines ofthe world; it was nine leagues high. The protecting deities of theuniverse took flight, but the Future Buddha remained unmovedbeneath the Tree. And the god then assailed him, seeking tobreak his concentration.

Whirlwind, rocks, thunder and flame, smoking weapons withkeen edges, burning coals, hot ashes, boiling mud, blisteringsands and fourfold darkness, the Antagonist hurled against theSavior, but the missiles were all transformed into celestialflowers and ointments by the power of Gautama's ten perfec-tions. Mara then deployed his daughters, Desire, Pining, andLust, surrounded by voluptuous attendants, but the mind of theGreat Being was not distracted. The god finally challenged hisright to be sitting on the Immovable Spot, flung his razor-sharpdiscus angrily, and bid the towering host of the army to let fly athim with mountain crags. But the Future Buddha only movedhis hand to touch the ground with his fingertips, and thus bidthe goddess Earth bear witness to his right to be sitting wherehe was. She did so with a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thou-sand roars, so that the elephant of the Antagonist fell upon itsknees in obeisance to the Future Buddha. The army was immedi-ately dispersed, and the gods of all the worlds scattered garlands.

Having won that preliminary victory before sunset, the con-queror acquired in the first watch of the night knowledge of hisprevious existences, in the second watch the divine eye of omni-scient vision, and in the last watch understanding of the chainof causation. He experienced perfect enlightenment at the breakof day.37

L" Th i s is tlii1 most import am sin^'l'L monK-nt ni < lr;i.-nl;il n,\ tiiology, a conn-

T H E H E R O A N D T H E G O D

Then for seven days Gautama—now the Buddha, the Enlight-ened—sat motionless in bliss; for seven days he stood apart andregarded the spot on which he had received enlightenment; forseven days he paced between the place of the sitting and theplace of the standing; for seven days he abode in a pavilion fur-nished by the gods and reviewed the whole doctrine of causalityand release; for seven days he sat beneath the tree where the girlSujata had brought him milk-rice in a golden bowl, and theremeditated on the doctrine of the sweetness of Nirvana; he re-moved to another tree and a great storm raged for seven days,but the King of Serpents emerged from the roots and protectedthe Buddha with his expanded hood; finally, the Buddha sat forseven days beneath a fourth tree enjoying still the sweetness ofliberation. Then he doubted whether his message could be com-municated, and he thought to retain the wisdom for himself;but the god Brahma descended from the zenith to implorethat he should become the teacher of gods and men. The Buddhawas thus persuaded to proclaim the path.3a And he went backinto the cities of men where he moved among the citizens of the

Enlightenment (the Bo Tree) and Christ on Holy Rood (the Tree of Re-demption) are analogous figures, incorporating an archetypal World Savior,World Tree motif, which is of immemorial antiquity. Many other variantsof the theme will be found among the episodes to come. The ImmovableSpot and Mount Calvary are images of the World Navel, or World Axis(seep. 37, infra).

The calling of the Earth to witness is represented in traditional Buddhist artby images of the Buddha, sitting in the classic Buddha posture, with the righthand resting on the right knee and its fingers lightly touching the ground.

The point is that Buddhaiiood, Enlightenment, cannot br comiTiiiriicatrd.but only the way to Enlightenment. This doctrine of the incommunicability ofthe Truth which is beyond names and forms is basic to the great Oriental, aswell as to the Platonic, traditions. Whereas the truths of science are communi-cable, being demonstrable hypotheses rationally founded on observable facts,ritual, mythology, and metaphysics are but guides to the brink of a transcendent il-lumination, die final step to which must be taken by each in his own silent experi-ence. Hence one of the Sanskrit terms for sage is muni, "the silent one." Sdkyamuni(one of the titles of Gautama Buddha) means "the silent one or sage {muni) of theSakya clan." Though he is the founder of a widely taught world religion, the ulti-mate core of his doctrine remain? concealed, necessarily, in silence.

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world, bestowing the inestimable boon of the knowledge ofthe Way.39

The Old Testament records a comparable deed in its legendof Moses, who, in the third month of the departure of Israel outof the land of Egypt, came with his people into the wilderness ofSinai; and there Israel pitched their tents over against the moun-tain. And Moses went up to God, and the Lord called unto himfrom the mountain. The Lord gave to him the Tables of the Lawand commanded Moses to return with these to Israel, the peopleof the Lord.40

Jewish folk legend declares that during the day of the revela-tion diverse rumblings sounded from Mount Sinai, "flashes oflightning, accompanied by an ever swelling peal of horns, movedthe people with mighty fear and trembling. God bent the heav-ens, moved the earth, and shook the bounds of the world, so thatthe depths trembled, and the heavens grew frightened. Hissplendor passed through the four portals of fire, earthquake,storm, and hail. The kings of the earth trembled in their palaces.The earth herself thought the resurrection of the dead was aboutto take place, and that she would have to account for the bloodof the slain she had absorbed, and for the bodies of the mur-dered whom she covered. The earth was not calmed until sheheard the first words of the Decalogue.

"The heavens opened and Mount Sinai, freed from the earth,rose into the air, so that its summit towered into the heavens,while a thick cloud covered the sides of it, and touched the feetof the Divine Throne. Accompanying God on one side, appearedtwenty-two thousand angels with crowns for the Levites, theonly tribe that remained true to God while the rest worshipedthe Golden Calf. On the second side were sixty myriads, threethousand five hundred and fifty angels, each bearing a crown of

lTO Greatly abridged from Jataka, Introduction, i, 58-75 (translated by HenryClarke Warren, Buddhism in Translations (Harvard Oriental Series, 3')Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1896, pp. 56-87), and theLalitavutara as rendered by Ananda K. Coomaraswamy, Buddha and theGospel of Buddhism (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1916), pp. 24-38.

4U Exodus, 19:3-5.

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fire for each individual Israelite. Double this number of angelswas on the third side; whereas on the fourth side they were sim-ply innumerable. For God did not appear from one direction,but from all simultaneously, which, however, did not preventHis glory from filling the heaven as well as the earth. In spite ofthese innumerable hosts there was no crowding on Mount Sinai,no mob, there was room for all.1'41

As we soon shall see, whether presented in the vast, almostoceanic images of the Orient, in the vigorous narratives of theGreeks, or in the majestic legends of the Bible, the adventure of thehero normally follows the pattern of the nuclear unit above de-scribed: a separation from the world, a penetration to some sourceof power, and a life-enhancing return. The whole of the Orient hasbeen blessed by the boon brought back by Gautama Buddha—hiswonderful teaching of the Good Law—just as the Occident hasbeen by the Decalogue of Moses. The Greeks referred fire, the firstsupport of all human culture, to the world-transcending deed oftheir Prometheus, and the Romans the founding of their world-supporting city to Aeneas, following his departure from fallen Troyand his visit to the eerie underworld of the dead. Everywhere, nomatter what the sphere of interest {whether religious, political, orpersonal), the really creative acts are represented as those derivingfrom some sort of dying to the world; and what happens in the in-terval of the hero's nonentity, so that he comes back as one reborn,made great and filled with creative power, mankind is also unani-mous in declaring. We shall have only to follow, therefore, a multi-tude of heroic figures through the classic stages of the universaladventure in order to see again what has always been revealed.This will help us to understand not only the meaning of those im-ages for contemporary life, but also the singleness of the humanspirit in its aspirations, powers, vicissitudes, and wisdom.

The following pages will present in the form of one compositeadventure the tales of a number of the world's symbolic carriersof the destiny of F-veryman. The first great stage, that of the

41 Louis Ginzbcrg, The Legends of the Jews (Philadelphia: The Jewish Pub-kation Society of America, 1911), Vol. Ill, pp. 90-94.

THE MONOMYTH

separation or departure, will be shown in Part I, Chapter I, infive subsections: (1) "The Call to Adventure," or the signs of thevocation of the hero; (2) "Refusal of the Call," or the folly of theflight from the god; (3) "Supernatural Aid," the unsuspected as-sistance that comes to one who has undertaken his proper adven-ture; (4) "The Crossing of the first Threshold"; and (5) "TheBelly of the Whale," or the passage into the realm of night. Thestage of the trials and victories of initiation will appear in Chap-ter II in six subsections: (1) "The Road of Trials," or the dan-gerous aspect of the gods; (2) "The Meeting with the Goddess"(Magna Mater), or the bliss of infancy regained; (3) "Woman asthe Temptress," the realization and agony of Oedipus; (4)"Atonement with the Father"; (5) "Apotheosis"; and (6) "TheUltimate Boon."

The return and reintegration with society, which is indispensableto the continuous circulation of spiritual energy into the world,and which, from the standpoint of the community, is thejustification of the long retreat, the hero himself may find the mostdifficult requirement of all. For if he has won through, like theBuddha, to the profound repose of complete enlightenment, thereis danger that the bliss of this experience may annihilate all recol-lection of, interest in, or hope for, the sorrows of the world; or elsethe problem of making known the way of illumination to peoplewrapped in economic problems may seem too great to solve. Andon the other hand, if the hero, instead of submitting to all of theinitiatory tests, has, like Prometheus, simply darted to his goal (byviolence, quick device, or luck) and plucked the boon for the worldthat he intended, then the powers that he has unbalanced mayreact so sharply that he will be blasted from within and without—crucified, like Prometheus, on the rock of his own violated uncon-scious. Or if the hero, in the third place, makes his safe and willingreturn, he may meet with such a blank misunderstanding anddisregard from those whom he has come to help that his careerwill collapse. The third of the following chapters will concludethe discussion of these prospects under six subheadings: (1)"Refusal of the Return," or the world denied; (2) "The MagicFlight," or the escape of Prometheus; (3) "Rescue from With-

THF, HERO AND THE GOD

out"; (4) "The Crossing of the Return Threshold," or the returnto the world of common day; (5) "Master of the Two Worlds";and (6) "Freedom to Live," the nature and function of the ulti-mate boon.42

The composite hero of the monomyth is a personage of excep-tional gifts. Frequently he is honored by his society, frequentlyunrecognized or disdained. He and/or the world in which hefinds himself suffers from a symbolical deficiency. In fairy talesthis may be as slight as the lack of a certain golden ring, whereasin apocalyptic vision the physical and spiritual life of the wholeearth can be represented as fallen, or on the point of falling,into ruin.

Typically, the hero of the fairy tale achieves a domestic, micro-cosmic triumph, and the hero of myth a world-historical, macro-cosmic triumph. Whereas the former—the youngest or despisedchild who becomes the master of extraordinar}' powers—prevailsover his personal oppressors, the latter brings back from his ad-venture the means for the regeneration of his society as a whole.Tribal or local heroes, such as the emperor Huang Ti, Moses, orthe A2tec Tezcatlipoca, commit their boons to a single folk; uni-versal heroes —Mohammed, Jesus, Gautama Buddha—bring amessage for the entire world.

Whether the hero be ridiculous or sublime, Greek or barbar-ian, gentile or Jew, his journey varies little in essential plan.Popular tales represent the heroic action as physical; the higherreligions show the deed to be moral; nevertheless, there will befound astonishingly little variation in the morphology of the ad-venture, the character roles involved, the victories gained. If oneor another of the basic elements of the archetypal pattern isomitted from a given fairy tale, legend, ritual, or myth, it is

12 This circular adventure of the hero appears in a negative form in stories ofthe deluge type, where it is not the hero who goes to the power, but the powerthat rises against the hero, and again subsides. Deluge stories OCCUT in everyquarter of the earth. They form an integral portion of the archetypal myth ofthe history of the world, and so belong properly to Fart II of the" present dis-cussion: "The Cosmogonic Cycle.'" The deluge hero is a symbol of the germi-nal vitality of man surviving even the worst tides of catastrophe and sin-'

35

THE MONOMVTH

bound to be somehow or other implied—and the omission itselfcan speak volumes for the history and pathology of the example,as we shall presently see.

Part II, "The Cosmogonic Cycle," unrolls the great vision ofthe creation and destruction of the world which is vouchsafed asrevelation to the successful hero. Chapter I, Emanations, treats ofthe coming of the forms of the universe out of the void. Chapter II,The Virgin Birth, is a review of the creative and redemptive rolesof the female power, first on a cosmic scale as the Mother of theUniverse, then again on the human plane as the Mother of theHero. Chapter III, Transformations of the Hero, traces the courseof the legendary history of the human race through its typicalstages, the hero appearing on the scene in various forms accord-ing to the changing needs of the race. And Chapter IV, Dissolu-tions, tells of the foretold end, first of the hero, then of the mani-fested world.

The cosmogonic cycle is presented with astonishing consistencyin the sacred writings of all the continents,41 and it gives to theadventure of the hero a new and interesting turn; for now it ap-pears that the perilous journey was a labor not of attainment butof reattainment, not discovery but rediscovery. The godly powerssought and dangerously won are revealed to have been within theheart of the hero all the time. He is "the king's son" who has cometo know who he is and therewith has entered into the exercise ofhis proper power—"God's son," who has learned to know hownnich that title means. From this point of view the hero is symbol-ical of that divine creative and redemptive image which is hiddenwithin us all, only waiting to be known and rendered into life.

"For the One who has become many, remains the One undi-vided, but each part is all of Christ," we read in the writings ofSaint Symeon the younger (949-1022 A.D.). "I saw Him in myhouse," the saint goes on. "Among all those everyday things He

is The present volume is not concerned with the historical discussion of thiscircumstance. That task is reserved for a work now under preparation. Thepresent volume is a comparative, not genetic, study. Its purpose is to show thatessential parallels exist in the myths themselves as well as in the interpretationsand applications that the sages have announced for them.

not concerned with the historical discussion of thisreserved for a work now under preparation. The

ative, not genetic, study. Its purpose is to show thatle myths themselves as well as in the interpretationsges have announced for them.

36

THE WORLD NAVEL

appeared unexpectedly and became unutterably united andmerged with me, and leaped over to me without anything in be-tween, as fire to iron, as the light to glass. And He made me likefire and like light. And I became that which I saw before and be-held from afar. I do not know how to relate this miracle to you. . . .I am man by nature, and God by the grace of God."44

A comparable vision is described in the apocryphal Gospel ofEve. "I stood on a loftly mountain and saw a gigantic man andanother a dwarf; and I heard as it were a voice of thunder, anddrew nigh for to hear; and He spake unto me and said: I amthou, and thou art I; and wheresoever thou mayest be I am there.In all am I scattered, and whensoever thou wiliest, thou gather-est Me; and gathering Me, thou gatherest Thyself."45

The two—the hero and his ultimate god, the seeker and thefound—are thus understood as the outside and inside of a single,self-mirrored mystery, which is identical with the mystery of themanifest world. The great deed of the supreme hero is to cometo the knowledge of this unity in multiplicity and then to make itknown.

The World Nave!

The effect of the successful adventure of the hero is the unlock-ing and release again of the flow of life into the body of theworld. The miracle of this flow may be represented in physicalterms as a circulation of food substance, dynamically as astreaming of energy, or spiritually as a manifestation of grace.Such varieties of image alternate easily, representing three de-grees of condensation of the one life force. An abundant harvest

44 Translated by Dom Ansgar Nelson, O.S.B., in The Soul Afire (New York:Pantheon Books, 1944), p. 303.

44 Quoted by Epiphanius, Adversus kaereses, xxvi, 3.

EPILOGUE

Myth and Society

The Shapes/lifter

THERE is no final system for the interpretation of myths, and therewill never be any such thing. Mythology is like the god Proteus,"the ancient one of the sea, whose speech is sooth.11 The god "willmake assay, and take all manner of shapes of things that creepupon the earth, of water likewise, and of fierce fire burning."1

The life-voyager wishing to be taught by Proteus must "grasphim steadfastly and press him yet the more," and at length hewill appear in his proper shape. But this wily god never dis-closes even to the skillful questioner the whole content of hiswisdom. He will reply only to the question put to him, and whathe discloses will be great or trivial, according to the questionasked. "So often as the sun in his course stands high in midheaven, then forth from the brine comes the ancient one of thesea, whose speech is sooth, before the breath of the West Windhe comes, and the sea's dark ripple covers him. And when he isgot forth, he lies down to sleep in the hollow of the caves. Andaround him the seals, the brood of the fair daughter of the brine,sleep all in a flock, stolen forth from the grey sea water, and bit-ter is the scent they breathe of the deeps of the salt sea."2 TheGreek warrior-king Menelaus, who was guided by a helpful daugh-ter of this old sea-father to the wild lair, and instructed by her howto wring from the god his response, desired only to ask the se-cret of his own personal difficulties and the whereabouts of hispersona] friends. And the god did not disdain to reply.

Mythology has been interpreted by the modern intellect as aprimitive, fumbling effort to explain the world of nature (Frazer);as a production of poetical fantasy from prehistoric times, misun-derstood by succeeding ages (Muller); as a repository of allegorical

' Odyssey, IV, 401, 417-^18, translation by S. H. Butcher and Andrew Lang(London, 1879).

2 Ibid., IV, 400-408.

MYTH AND SOCIETY

instruction, to shape the individual to his group (Durkheim);as a group dream, symptomatic of archetypal urges within thedepths of the human psyche (Jung); as the traditional vehicle ofman's profoundest metaphysical insights (Coomaraswamy); andas God's Revelation to His children (the Church). Mythology isall of these. The various judgments are determined by the view-points of the judges. For when scrutinized in terms not of what itis but of how it functions, of how it has served mankind in thepast, of how it may serve today, mythology shows itself to be asamenable as life itself to the obsessions and requirements of theindividual, the race, the age.

The Function of Myth, Cult, and Meditation

In his life-form the individual is necessarily only a fraction anddistortion of the total image of man. He is limited either as maleor as female; at any given period of his life he is again limited aschild, youth, mature adult, or ancient; furthermore, in his life-role he is necessarily specialized as craftsman, tradesman, ser-vant, or thief, priest, leader, wife, nun, or harlot; he cannot be all.Hence, the totality—the fullness of man—is not in the separatemember, but in the body of the society as a whole; the individualcan be only an organ. From his group he has derived his tech-niques of life, the language in which he thinks, the ideas onwhich he thrives; through the past of that society descended thegenes that built his body. If he presumes to cut himself off, ei-ther in deed or in thought and feeling, he only breaks connectionwith the sources of his existence.

The tribal ceremonies of birth, initiation, marriage, burial, in-stallation, and so forth, serve to translate the individual's life-crisesand life-deeds into classic, impersonal forms. They disclose himto himself, not as this personality or that, but as the warrior, the

MYTH, CULT, AND MEDITATION

bride, the widow, the priest, the chieftain; at the same time re-hearsing for the rest of the community the old lesson of the ar-chetypal stages. All participate in the ceremonial according torank and function. The whole society becomes visible to itself asan imperishable living unit. Generations of individuals pass, likeanonymous cells from a living body; but the sustaining, timelessform remains. By an enlargement of vision to embrace this super-individual, each discovers himself enhanced, enriched, supported,and magnified. His role, however unimpressive, is seen to be in-trinsic to the beautiful festival-image of man—the image, potentialyet necessarily inhibited, within himsetf.

Social duties continue the lesson of the festival into normal,everyday existence, and the individual is validated still. Con-versely, indifference, revolt—or exile—break the vitalizing con-nectives. From the standpoint of the social unit, the broken-offindividual is simply nothing—waste. Whereas the man or womanwho can honestly say that he or she has lived the role—whetherthat of priest, harlot, queen, or slave—is something in the fullsense of the verb to be.

Rites of initiation and installation, then, teach the lesson of theessential oneness of the individual and the group; seasonal festi-vals open a larger horizon. As the individual is an organ of soci-ety, so is the tribe or city—so is humanity entire—only a phaseof the mighty organism of the cosmos.

It has been customary to describe the seasonal festivals of so-called native peoples as efforts to control nature. This is a mis-representation. There is much of the will to control in every actof man, and particularly in those magical ceremonies that arethought to bring rain clouds, cure sickness, or stay the flood;nevertheless, the dominant motive in all truly religious (as op-posed to black-magical) ceremonial is that of submission to theinevitables of destiny —and in the seasonal festivals this motiveis particularly apparent.

No tribal rite has yet been recorded which attempts to keepwinter from descending; on the contrary: the rites all preparethe community to endure, together with the rest of nature, theseason of the terrible cold. And in the spring, the rites do not

MYTH AND SOCIETY

seek to compel nature to pour forth immediately corn, beans,and squash for the lean community; on the contrary: the ritesdedicate the whole people to the work of nature's season. Thewonderful cycle of the year, with its hardships and periods ofjoy, is celebrated, and delineated, and represented as continuedin the life-round of the human group.

Many other symbolizations of this continuity fill the world ofthe mythologically instructed community. For example, the clansof the American hunting tribes commonly regarded themselvesas descended from half-animal, half-human, ancestors. These an-cestors fathered not only the human members of the clan, butalso the animal species after which the clan was named; thus thehuman members of the beaver clan were blood cousins of the an-imal beavers, protectors of the species and in turn protected bythe animal wisdom of the wood folk. Or another example: Thehogan, or mud hut, of the Navahos of New Mexico and Arizona,is constructed on the plan of the Navaho image of the cosmos.The entrance faces east. The eight sides represent the four direc-tions and the points between. Every beam and joist correspondsto an element in the great hogan of the all-embracing earth andsky. And since the soul of man itself is regarded as identical inform with the universe, the mud hut is a representation of thebasic harmony of man and world, and a reminder of the hiddenlife-way of perfection.

But there is another way—in diametric opposition to that ofsocial duty and the popular cult. From the standpoint of the wayof duty, anyone in exile from the community is a nothing. Fromthe other point of view, however, this exile is the first step of thequest. Each carries within himself the all; therefore it may besought and discovered within. The differentiations of sex, age,and occupation are not essential to our character, but mere cos-tumes which we wear for a time on the stage of the world. Theimage of man within is not to be confounded with the garments.We think of ourselves as Americans, children of the twentiethcentury, Occidentals, civilized Christians. We are virtuous or sin-ful. Yet such designations do not tell what it is to be man, they

MYTH, CULT, AND MEDITATION

denote only the accidents of geography, birth-date, and income.What is the core of us? What is the basic character of our being"?

The asceticism of the medieval saints and of the yogis ofIndia, the Hellenistic mystery initiations, the ancient philoso-phies of the East and of the West, are techniques for the shiftingof the emphasis of individual consciousness away from the gar-ments. The preliminary meditations of the aspirant detach hismind and sentiments from the accidents of life and drive him tothe core. "I am not that, not that," he meditates: "not my motheror son who has just died; my body, which is ill or aging; myarm, my eye, my head; not the summation of all these things. Iam not my feeling; not my mind; not my power of intuition.1" Bysuch meditations he is driven to his own profundity and breaksthrough, at last, to unfathomable realizations. No man can re-turn from such exercises and take very seriously himself as Mr.So-an-so of Such-and-such a township, U.S.A. — Society and du-ties drop away. Mr, So-and-so, having discovered himself bigwith man, becomes indrawn and aloof.

This is the stage of Narcissus looking into the pool, of theBuddha sitting contemplative under the tree, but it is not the ul-timate goal; it is a requisite step, but not the end. The aim is notto see, but to realize that one is, that essence; then one is free towander as that essence in the world. Furthermore: the world toois of that essence. The essence of oneself and the essence of theworld: these two are one. Hence separateness, withdrawal, is nolonger necessary. Wherever the hero may wander, whatever hemay do, he is ever in the presence of his own essence—for he hasthe perfected eye to see. There is no separateness. Thus, just asthe way of social participation may lead in the end to a realiza-tion of the All in the individual, so that of exile brings the heroto the Self in all.

Centered in this hub-point, the question of selfishness or al-truism disappears. The individual has lost himself in the law andbeen reborn in identity with the whole meaning of the universe.For Him, by Him, the world was made. "O Mohammed," Godsaid, "hadst thou not been, I would not have created the sky."

MYTH AND SOCIETY

• 3 •

The Hero Today

All of which is far indeed from the contemporary view; for thedemocratic ideal of the self-determining individual, the inven-tion of the power-driven machine, and the development of thescientific method of research, have so transformed human lifethat the long-inherited, timeless universe of symbols has col-lapsed. In the fateful, epoch-announcing words of Nietzsche'sZarathustra: "Dead are all the gods.'" One knows the tale; it hasbeen told a thousand ways. It is the hero-cycle of the modernage, the wonder-story of mankind's coming to maturity. Thespell of the past, the bondage of tradition, was shattered withsure and mighty strokes. The dream-web of myth fell away; themind opened to full waking consciousness; and modern manemerged from ancient ignorance, like a butterfly from its cocoon,or like the sun at dawn from the womb of mother night.

It is not only that there is no hiding place for the gods fromthe searching telescope and microscope; there is no such societyany more as the gods once supported. The social unit is not acarrier of religious content, but an economic-political organiza-tion. Its ideals are not those of the hieratic pantomime, makingvisible on earth the forms of heaven, but of the secular state, inhard and unremitting competition for material supremacy andresources. Isolated societies, dream-bounded within a mytholog-ically charged horizon, no longer exist except as areas to be ex-ploited. And within the progressive societies themselves, everylast vestige of the ancient human heritage of ritual, morality, andart is in full decay.

The problem of mankind today, therefore, is precisely the op-posite to that of men in the comparatively stable periods of thosegreat co-ordinating mythologies which now are known as lies.

1 Nietzsche, Thus Spake ZamthuMfa, 1. 22. 3.

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THE H ERO TODAY

Then all meaning was in the group, in the great anonymousforms, none in the self-expressive individual; today no meaningis in the group—none in the world: all is in the individual. Butthere the meaning is absolutely unconscious. One does not knowtoward what one moves. One does not know by what one is pro-pelled. The lines of communication between the conscious andthe unconscious zones of the human psyche have all been cut,and we have been split in two.

The hero-deed to be wrought is not today what it was in thecentury of Galileo. Where then there was darkness, now there islight; but also, where light was, there now is darkness. The mod-ern hero-deed must be that of questing to bring to light again thelost Atlantis of the co-ordinated soul.

Obviously, this work cannot be wrought by turning back, oraway, from what has been accomplished by the modern revolu-tion; for the problem is nothing if not that of rendering the mod-ern world spiritually significant—or rather (phrasing the sameprinciple the other way round) nothing if not that of making itpossible for men and women to come to full human maturitythrough the conditions of contemporary life. Indeed, these con-ditions themselves are what have rendered the ancient formulaeineffective, misleading, and even pernicious. The communitytoday is the planet, not the bounded nation; hence the patternsof projected aggression which formerly served to co-ordinate thein-group now can only break it into factions. The national idea,with the flag as totem, is today an aggrandizer of the nurseryego, not the annihilator of an infantile situation. Its parodyritualsof the parade ground serve the ends of Holdfast, the tyrant dragon,not the God in whom self-interest is annihilate. And the numer-ous saints of this anticult—namely the patriots whose ubiquitousphotographs, draped with flags, serve as official icons—are pre-cisely the local threshold guardians (our demon Sticky-hair)whom it is the first problem of the hero to surpass.

Xor can the great world religions, as at present understood,meet the requirement. For they have become associated withthe causes of the factions, as instruments of propaganda andself-congratulation. (Even Buddhism has lately suffered this

MYTH AND SOCIETY

degradation, in reaction to the lessons of the West.) The univer-sal triumph of the sectdar state has thrown all religious organi-zations into such a definitely secondary, and finally ineffectual,position that religious pantomime is hardly more today than asanctimonious exercise for Sunday morning, whereas businessethics and patriotism stand for the remainder of the week. Such amonkey-holiness is not what the functioning world requires;rather, a transmutation of the whole social order is necessary, sothat through every detail and act of secular life the vitalizing imageof the universal god-man who is actually immanent and effective inall of us may be somehow made known to consciousness.

And this is not a work that consciousness itself can achieve.Consciousness can no more invent, or even predict, an effectivesymbol than foretell or control tonight's dream. The whole thingis being worked out on another level, through what is bound tobe a long and very frightening process, not only in the depths ofevery living psyche in the modern world, but also on those titanicbattlefields into which the whole planet has lately been con-verted. We are watching the terrible clash of the Symplegades,through which the soul must pass—identified with neither side-

But there is one thing we may know, namely, that as the newsymbols become visible, they will not be identical in the variousparts of the globe; the circumstances of local life, race, and tradi-tion must all be compounded in the effective forms. Therefore, itis necessary for men to understand, and be able to see, thatthrough various symbols the same redemption is revealed, "Truthis one," we read in the Vcdas; "the sages call it by many names."A single song is being inflected through all the colorations of thehuman choir. General propaganda for one or another of the localsolutions, therefore, is superfluous—or much rather, a menace.The way to become human is to learn to recognize the lineamentsof God in all of the wonderful modulations of the face of man.

With this we come to the final hint of what the specific orien-tation of the modern hero-task must be, and discover the realcause for the disintegration of all of our inherited religious formu-lae. The center of gravity, that is to say, of the realm of mystery anddanger has definitely shifted- Kor the primitive hunting peoples of

THE HERO TODAY

those remotest human millenniums when the sabertooth tiger,the mammoth, and the lesser presences of the animal kingdomwere the primary manifestations of what was alien—the sourceat once of danger, and of sustenance—the great human problemwas to become linked psychologically to the task of sharing thewilderness with these beings. An unconscious identification tookplace, and this was finally rendered conscious in the half-human,half-animal, figures of the mythological totem-ancestors. The an-imals became the tutors of humanity. Through acts of literal imi-tation—such as today appear only on the children's playground(or in the madhouse) —an effective annihilation of the humanego was accomplished and society achieved a cohesive organiza-tion. Similarly, the tribes supporting themselves on plant-foodbecame cathected to the plant; the life-rituals of planting andreaping were identified with those of human procreation, birth,and progress to maturity. Both the plant and the animal worlds,however, were in the end brought under social control. Where-upon the great field of instructive wonder shifted—to the skies—and mankind enacted the great pantomime of the sacred moon-king, the sacred sun-king, the hieratic, planetary state, and thesymbolic festivals of the world-regulating spheres.

Today all of these mysteries have lost their force; their sym-bols no longer interest our psyche. The notion of a cosmic law,which all existence serves and to which man himself must bend,has long since passed through the preliminary mystical stagesrepresented in the old astrology, and is now simply acceptedin mechanical terms as a matter of course. The descent of the Occi-dental sciences from the heavens to the earth (from seventeenth-century astronomy to nineteenth-century biology), and their con-centration today, at last, on man himself (in twentieth-centuryanthropology and psychology), mark the path of a prodigioustransfer of the focal point of human wonder. Not the animalworld, not the plant world, not the miracle of the spheres, butman himself is now the crucial mystery. Man is that alien pres-ence with whom the forces of egoism must come to terms,through whom the ego is to be crucified and resurrected, and inwhose image society is to be reformed. Man, understood however

MYTH AND SOCI KTV

not as "I" but as "Thou": for the ideals and temporal institu-tions of no tribe, race, continent, social class, or century, can bethe measure of the inexhaustible and multifariously wonderfuldivine existence that is the life in all of us.

The modern hero, the modern individual who dares to heedthe call and seek the mansion of that presence with whom it isour whole destiny to be atoned, cannot, indeed must not, waitfor his community to cast off its slough of pride, fear, rational-ized avarice, and sanctified misunderstanding. "Live," Nietzschesays, "as though the day were here." It is not society that is toguide and save the creative hero, but precisely the reverse. Andso every one of us shares the supreme ordeal —carries the crossof the redeemer—not in the bright moments of his tribe's greatvictories, but in the silences of his personal despair.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

A N O T E OX M E T H O D AND ORGANIZATION

The following bibliography has been prepared for the 2004 by thestaff of the Joseph Campbell and Marija Gimbutas Library, located onthe campus of Pacifica Graduate Institute at Carpinteria, California,under the direction of Dr. Richard Buchen, Special Collections Librarian.'1 "he primary purpose in creating such a reference tool—the first biblio-graphical list ever published in any edition of the text of JosephCampbell's The Hero with a Thousand Faces—is to help readers, bothfirst-time and those long familiar with this classic—identify and locatethe wealth of sources that Campbell consulted in writing this book; bythis reconstruction, the remarkable breadth of his reading—in mythol-ogy, ethnology, folklore, philosophy, psychology, contemporary, me-dieval, and classical literatures of the West, and religious scriptures ofthe world are—is illuminated in a newly accessible format for readersof the original book.

From the earliest draft in 1944, this book went through many revi-sions before its publication by Bollingen Foundation in 1949. Camp-bell's letter to his friend, Henry Morton Robinson, dated 13 March1946 and preserved in the Joseph Campbell and Marija Gimbutas Li-brary at Pacifica Graduate Institute, indicates that he had originallyplanned to cite from a much smaller number of sources and to drawheavily instead a single reference work—The Mythology of All Races,published in the thirteen volumes, under the editorial supervision ofLouis Gray and John McCulloch, between 1916 and 1932. Unfortu-nately for Campbell's early plan, the Macmillan Company had justbought publication rights to the set, and then refused to grant him per-

new edition. By withholding this expedient, Macmillan inadvertentlyforced Campbell to track down new and heretofore unfamiliar sourcesto illustrate the argument of his book.

This bibliography comprises all but a handful of the citation sourcesfound in the second edition of Hero, published by Princeton University

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