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256 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1969
What is the “meaning” of a tree? of a butterfly? of the birth of a child? or of the universe? What is the “meaning” of the song of a rushing stream? Such wonders simply are. They are antecedent to meaning, though “meanings” may be read into them. They are, as the Buddhists say, tathāgata, “thus come,” the Buddha himself being known as the Tathāgata, “The One Thus Come”; and all things, we are told, are “Buddha things.” So, likewise, are the images of myth, which open like flowers to the conscious mind’s amazement and may then be searched to the root for “meaning,” as well as arranged to serve practical ends.
- Joseph Campbell, quoted from the book under review
Therefore, in sum: The “monstrous, irrational and unnatural” motifs of folk tale and myth are derived from the reservoirs of dream and vision. On the dream level such images represent the total state of the individual dreaming psyche. But clarified of personal distortions and propounded by poets, prophets, and visionaries, they become symbolic of the spiritual norm for Man the Microcosm. They are thus phrases from an image-language, expressive of metaphysical, psychological, and sociological truth.
C. G. Jung, in many passages, has drawn a distinction between the terms “sign” and “symbol,” as he employs them. The first, the sign, is a reference to some concept or object, definitely known; the second, the symbol, is the best possible figure by which allusion may be made to something relatively unknown. The symbol does not aim at being a reproduction, nor can its meaning be more adequately or lucidly rendered in other terms. Indeed, when a symbol is allegorically translated and the unknown factor in its reference rejected, it is dead.
The mad are those who, when they have broken contact with the mode of meaning, with the integrating component of thinking consciousness, cannot again restore it—whereas the great artist, like the shaman, like the paramahamṣa, the “supreme wild gander” of the titanic yogic flight, can be carried away and return.
Gods and Buddhas in the Orient are, accordingly, not final terms—like Yahweh, the Trinity, or Allah, in the West—but point beyond themselves to that ineffable being, consciousness, and rapture that is the All in all of us. And in their worship, the ultimate aim is to effect in the devotee a psychological transfiguration through a shift of his plane of vision from the passing to the enduring, through which he may come finally to realize in experience (not simply as an article of faith) that he is identical with that before which he bows. These are, then, religions of identity. Their mythologies and associated rites, philosophies, sciences, and arts, are addressed, in the end, not to the honor of any god “out there” but to the recognition of divinity within.
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However, in contrast to the Oriental—Buddhist and Vedantic—ways of interpreting the symbolism of the guarded gate and passage to the tree—as referring, namely, to an inward, psychological, barrier and crisis of transcendence—the authorized Christian reading has been of an actual, concrete, historic event of atonement with an angry god, who for centuries had withheld his boon of paradise from mankind, until strangely reconciled by this curious self-giving of his only son to a criminal’s death on the Cross.
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God in this system is a kind of fact somewhere, an actual personality to whom prayers can be addressed with expectation of a result. He is apart from and different from the world: in no sense identical with it, but related, as cause to effect. I call this kind of religious thinking “mythic dissociation.” The sense of an experience of the sacred is dissociated from life, from nature, from the world, and transferred or projected somewhere else—an imagined somewhere else—while man, mere man, is accursed.
For according to the principle of amor, as opposed to both agapē and eros, the particular person, the form and character of the individuation of perfection, continues to be of great moment, even of central concern, and “in every ethical sense” respected.
For there is, in fact, in quiet places, a great deal of deep spiritual quest and finding now in progress in this world, outside the sanctified social centers, beyond their purview and control: in small groups, here and there, and more often, more typically (as anyone who looks about may learn), by ones and twos, there entering the forest at those points which they themselves have chosen, where they see it to be most dark, and there is no beaten way or path.