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Sunday, July 1, 2007

The Role of Fear in Traditional and Contemporary Shamanism

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The Role of Fear in Traditional and Contemporary Shamanism

Copyright: Michael York. Bath Spa University College
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Strictly speaking, shamanism is a religious technique which is practiced by the Evenki or Tungusic tribes in the north-eastern regions of Siberia. Therefore, to apply the term `shamanism’ to medicine-people and witch-doctor practices belonging to ethnic identities further afield, such as among African tribalists or indigenious Indians in both North and South America, is an Euro-centric misnomer which carries an artificiality akin to the British colonial labelling of the diverse dharma practices of India under the single rubric of `Hinduism’. Nevertheless, the term `shamanism’ provides religious studies scholars a convenient generic designation for an animistic worldview in which special medium technicians link the visible world with the otherworld of gods and spirits for the benefit of the local community. Consequently, it is with reference to a broadly detectable similarity of religious belief and practice pertaining to an active mediumship involving spirits conceived as autonomous entities and for the purposes of healing, divination, control over natural events, and the like that I employ the terms `shaman’ and `shamanism’ in this paper.

The shaman is a combination healer, priest and magician whose speciality is controlling or gaining aid of supernatural agencies. Among the devices the shaman employs, we find hypnotism, ventriloquism, sleight of hand, and, above all, trance-like states. These last are achieved through dance, music, fasting, meditation, drug-taking and/or self-hypnosis. In other words, the shaman is one who has mastered what Mircea Eliade designates `techniques of ecstasy’. It is in the ecstatic state that the shaman’s soul is believed to leave the body and travel great distances – including the heavens and the underworlds. The dangers of the otherworld are always present, but through the shaman’s initiatory preparation, and fortified with the aid of acquired guardian spirits, the shaman alone is able to brave the challenge.

For traditional societies, out-of-body shamanic projection has specific purposes. The primary goal is to cure illness including `loss of soul’. He or she also functions as a psychopomp who escorts the souls of the dead to the otherworld. In the shaman’s capacity to direct communal ceremonies along with the propensity to commune with extra-terrestrial regions, he/she functions as a kind of `psychic safety-valve’ for the host community. The shaman may also practice divination and clairvoyance and thereby serve to locate lost objects, animals or people for the benefit of other members of his/her society or for the social collective as a whole.

The most crucial factor for the indigenous shaman, therefore, is his/her social role. The shaman is the specialist who explores the outer reaches of the mind, the realms of fearsome archetypes, the dimensions of schizophrenia. It is the vitally important social duties of the shaman which serve as the psychic-explorer’s anchor. In other word’s, it is the shaman’s society and his or her obligations to it which constitute the source of security and support in the specialist’s explorations of madness and the ability to return from what might otherwise amount to a permanent state of insanity.

It is through the shaman’s ability to divine the future that the shaman becomes most similar to the prophet. However, the traditional prophet operates in times of prosperity. The apocalyptist, on the other hand, is one who predicts in times of distress. Millennialism is the belief that personal and socio-political life will change for the better at the end of a specific period of time. The awaited `millennium’ is often expected to follow a transitional phase of radical and cataclysmic upheaval in which `enemies’ and oppressors are eliminated. The apocalyptic `birthing-time’ of the coming new world order in which good triumphs over evil is nevertheless an interval of terror for all involved.

In general, shamanism is not associated with millenarianism, and any detectable element of fear has more to do with the individual shaman’s challenges in the otherworld than with collective devastations pertaining to this one. However, in America, the early nineteenth century Handsome Lake revival and Ghost Dance movements of the 1870s and 1890s which celebrated the imminent disappearance of the European descendants, the restoration of traditional lands and ways of life, and the return of revivified ancestors were predicted and launched by mediumistic shamans. Consequently, while indigenous shamanism is primarily concerned with maintaining the status quo of society, in times of colonial oppression or extreme stress, the shaman may inspire a millenarian movement which provokes fear and the necessity to follow strict codes of conduct as a means to prepare for – and remain safe in - the anticipated change.

The New Age Millennium

Essentially, for the New Age Movement, the anticipated `New Age’ paradigm is a metaphor for salvational change. The movement itself is a complex and loosely organised confederation of contrasting beliefs, techniques and practices that blend Eastern mystical philosophies, occult-psychic phenomena and pagan religious practices together in an often haphazard and uncoordinated manner. There is no centralisation within New Age which could either speak for the movement as a whole, supply membership lists, or even ascertain who and who is not a member. The New Age Movement is largely a perpetually shifting and ad hoc alliance of exegetical individuals and groups, audience gatherings, client services, and various new religious movements that range between the cultic, sectarian and denominational. Even when viewed externally, such as in sociological observation, there is little agreement concerning what constitutes New Age and who is and who is not to be included.

However, the establishment of a new supernatural world order is the defining or essential thrust of New Age expectation. Within its broad confederacy of belief and identity, we find three ideal-type New Age orientations: the occult, the spiritual and the social (York, 1995 pp. 36f). It is the occult dimension of New Age which exhibits the greatest parallels with the contemporary Pentecostal/charismatic revival. Both are primarily concerned with spiritual and physical healing largely outside the confines of standard medical science; both seek guidance from spirits along with direct experience of the sacred – through glossalia for the one and channelling for the other; and both find the world on the verge of radical spiritual transformation. For occult New Agers, the New Age is often understood to come about through the operation of an external supernatural agent.

Consequently, despite the more pervasive understanding of the `New Age millennium’ as a metaphor of change, any careful survey of holders of the New Age paradigm reveals a sizeable number of `adherents’ who understand the New Age as a literal event. Many of these even expect the advent of the New Age to be apocalyptic and characterised by terrestrial and social upheaval. This more `Christian wing’ of New Age thought – exemplified in the writings of Edgar Cayce and Ruth Montgomery – adopts a premillennial form of Christian millenarianism. Jesus’ physical return follows a period of earth catastrophes but inaugurates the New Age millennium. It contrasts with the more `postmillennial’ position of most New Agers which, if not necessarily expecting a second coming to occur at the end of a `thousand years’ of New Age righteousness, at least argues for worldly activism and reform as the incumbent process necessary `to make the millennium’. A leading spokesperson for this vision as a product of human effort rather than supernatural intervention has been Marilyn Ferguson, author of the 1987 best-seller, The Aquarian Conspiracy. A third position between the more canonical Christian on the one hand and the essentially `New Age’ Christian and non-Christian on the other is represented by the Eastern mysticism and Christian mix that we find expressed by the Montana-based Church Universal and Triumphant’s Elizabeth Claire Prophet. Mrs. Prophet, claiming not to be a channeler but one who follows in the old tradition of the prophets, argues for spiritual and physical preparation according to the guidance she has received from higher beings.

New Age identity

What tends to distinguish New Age thought from that of the major world religions is its theodicy. New Age, by and large, and with such exceptions as Montgomery and Prophet, tends to deny the reality of evil. As a corollary to this, New Age also denies the validity of fear. With its doctrine of reincarnation, whatever negativity that one perceives to encounter is simply an opportunity to learn and progress in self-development. The New Age affirms the potential powers of the individual, and it believes that a person can re-create the cosmos according to his or her wishes.

A typical New Age technical practice is that of neuro-linguistic programming (NLP). NLP advances itself as a new science of the mind in which one trains (programs) one’s neural impulses toward positive expectation. The technique is believed to develop power to influence others, shape one’s own destiny, heal past wounds, create one’s dream future, overcome obstacles and cure phobias. In essence, NLP is a modern recasting of the earlier principle of `positive thinking’. In its consideration of a fundamental dynamics between mind and affirmative language, it develops an epistemological theory concerning how their interplay creatively affects our bodies and behaviours. Consequently, NLP will not countenance the possibility of the negative or a failed outcome. More broadly, its essential affirmation of unlimited human potential is a sine qua non of New Age theory and practice.

At times, this ability to create one’s own universe veers toward the solipsistic – as witnessed with Shirley MacLaine’s new year’s eve New Age ceremony in which she realises her total responsibility and power for all world events (MacLaine, 1987:173-75; vide York, 1995:78). That humans feel terror is seen by Ms. MacLaine as simply the fact that she herself feels terror. It is on the earth-plane level that we each experience fear, pain and difficulties as realities, whereas the `loving’ spiritual level of infinite wisdom guarantees that it alone is the sole reality and all else an illusion. Nevertheless, regarding both the physical and spiritual realities, "We create them both" (MacLaine, 1987:333). Consequently, this underlying New Age conviction that we are ourselves the authors of spiritual reality and that the material world is a valueless illusion betrays the New Age’s Gnostic inheritance. In its ultimate rejection of the physical, New Age is simply a modern updating of a longstanding transcendental-gnostic-theosophical tradition.

The New Age/Neo-pagan dichotomy

But this `nature is an illusion’ stance of New Age reveals the movement’s own internal and unresolved dichotomy. New Age is frequently assessed by sociologists and other scholars of religion as well as by itself to include elements of pagan spirituality. Contemporary Western paganism, often referred to as `Neo-paganism’, has instead increasingly come to distance itself from the New Age. Instead, the basic theological perspective of paganism pictures the godhead as immanent and not something `wholly other’ from the tangible. Nature is understood as real and sacred rather than a delusional mâyâ or veil that requires penetration and piercing to reach the spiritual truth it obscures.

This spiritual dichotomy remains, in part, an unresolved tension and dialogue within New Age, though increasingly as each diverging worldview finds its own articulating voice, a polarisation emerges in which the New Age assumes the `nature as illusion’ position, while Neo-paganism centres on `nature as real’ and something to be centrally cherished. But if gnosticism and paganism are to be seen as polar opposites, they are also, vis-à-vis the mainstream Judaeo-Christian orthodoxy, natural allies. Both movement’s place the burden of spiritual decision on the individual alone. Both eschew the imposition of any ecclesiastical authority or body in determining what one should or should not believe. In this respect, both New Age and Neo-pagan `seekers’ become the typical spiritual consumers in what sociology often labels the contemporary religious supermarket. In our modern/postmodern era, beliefs and practices have tended to become commodities sampled, accepted or rejected by the religious consumer. The exegetical and hermeneutical decision belongs to the individual alone in predominant New Age and Neo-pagan conviction. Whereas paganism tends, however, to delve into and keep more within the parameters of a specific tradition (e.g., Wicca, Druidry, Santería, Egyptian Mysteries, etc.), the New Age by-line more typically and unencumberedly is: `If it works for you, then it is right’.

New Age/Neo-pagan similarities and distinctions

The biggest contrast between New Age and Neo-paganism, apart from the reality of nature and `location’ of the godhead question, concerns millennialism. As this last is, in the West, essentially a Christian or at least Christian-derived concept, it has little place in contemporary Western paganism. For New Age, by contrast, it constitutes a centrally defining feature – whether literal and/or apocalyptic, or whether metaphorical and an insistent goad for social activism. Whether the New Age is to be a quantum shift in collective consciousness, whether a golden age of peace and love, whether imminent or a defining objective, the Age of Aquarius is its catalyst and identifying point of reference.

In the current re-emergence of paganism in the West, there is little co-ordinated use of the millennium symbol. While Bryan Wilson (1973) finds that thaumaturgy and millenarianism often go hand-in-hand among undeveloped peoples in the third world, this linking of magic and adventism is absent for present-day pagans in the Western world. This absence, however, does not preclude concern with the environment, ecology, anti-pollution efforts or, even occasionally, pro-Luddite sentiment. In fact, in contrast to the frequent narcissistic and laissez-faire criticisms of New Age, Neo-paganism is by-and-large fully committed to activist campaigns against litter, road and highway construction, and desecration of ancient and sacred sites.

New Age too, however, may frequently share with paganism the notion of `stewardship of the earth’ – a concern which tends to draw both movements behind the `Green Movement’ as a primary political expression. Other similarities "between New Age and Neo-paganism include eco-humanism or some variant, the belief in the intrinsic divinity of the individual, epistemological individualism, and exploratory use of theonymic metaphors not traditionally associated with the Judeo-Christian mainstream" (York, 1995:145). The foremost emerging symbol for the godhead is that of `the Goddess’, and after Wicca/witchcraft, this single construct is perhaps more frequently encountered in New Age than it is among the remaining contemporary Western pagan practices. As a whole, however, both movements clearly recognise what they consider a need for a spiritual idiom in feminine terms.

Apart from contrasts between a hierarchical understanding of the godhead vis-à-vis a more `democratic’ structuring of the supernatural, the primacy of the invisible spiritual world versus the precedence of the material, ad hoc and simplistic ceremony in contrast to intricate and elaborate ritual, the New Age and Neo-pagan unite in their mutual acceptance of belief in reincarnation. Though the raison d’être may often be different, i.e., `spiritual development’ through progressive shedding of karma with the goal of final re-emergence with the godhead as ultimate source vis-à-vis simply pure participation in the great cosmic round of nature encompassing the eternal cycle of birth-death-rebirth, the notion of rebirth is something which is entertained largely, if not exclusively, throughout both movements. The occupation by the soul of a new body after the death of the former body is a New Age and Neo-pagan belief which sets both movements apart from the prevailing Judaeo-Christian understanding of the West.

But if reincarnation, Gaia consciousness, the sharing of the same sacred sites and ecological restoration link the two movements, another major overlap between New Age and Neo-paganism is to be found in the incorporation of what are hailed as `shamanic techniques’. The appropriation of these along with Native American spirituality is among the more contested issues which arise from the dynamics of the religious Western consumer market. As the market is itself a feature of the modern/postmodern transition, so too is the employment of shamanic tools – one which pits Western interpretative shamanism vis-à-vis traditional, indigenous forms of shamanism. Nevertheless, when guided imagery is used to replace shamanic journeying, the emphasis is then placed on the `imaginal' (as opposed both to the imaginary and to Jung's archetypal). What this amounts to is that the power and process of imagining becomes a workable way not to appropriate from other cultures.

Neo-shamanism

All forms of shamanism as a religious belief rely on an animistic assumption concerning the world. In animism, natural objects are perceived as imbued (animated) with inherent vitality. Everything in the cosmos - humans, animals, plants, stones, emotions, dreams, ideas – possesses an independent, individual and conscious life principle. The indwelling spirit could be benign and benevolent, indifferent and neutral, or dangerous and a cause of fear. But the very idea that spiritual beings exist which can separate from their resident bodies allows the notion of shamanism that one’s soul can encounter these entities and that this encounter might be beneficial or harmful – depending on the nature of the spirit and the precaution and strengths of the `soul-traveller’.

Animism is connected with fetishism, totemism, idolatry, notions of taboo, ancestor worship, the use of charms, amulets and talismans, and, of course, shamanism. The conscious personalities inherent in objects and which may be encountered in the otherworld as independent spirits require propitiation or manipulation. It is chiefly the function of the shaman to outwit whatever negative forces that are confronted and are serving as obstacles to collective and individual well-being.

The basic idea of shamanism appears to be the institutionalisation of a socially recognised intermediary who liaisons between the world of pragmatic realities and the more subtle realm of spirit. While the construct `shamanism' is of course a Western, largely academic fiction, thanks principally to the influence of Carlos Castaneda, Michael Harner and, retroactively, Mircea Eliade (see Daniel Noel, 1997), there is currently also a burgeoning of interest in what is typically called neo-shamanism, sometimes New Age shamanism. In fact, in a 1980 work entitled The Way of the Shaman, Michael Harner has led the way to an acceptance of what is now known as `core shamanism' as representing the essential features of shamanic transformation and experience of ecstasy. It is important to recognise, however, that `core shamanism' is also a Western and, in many respects, an artificial creation which has little if anything to do with traditional shamanic practices in indigenous or Asian cultures.

While Noel concedes that it was Castaneda who inspired the West's `shabby imitation' of indigenous shamanisms, neo-shamanism is nonetheless a new religious movement which may be spreading rapidly in the West. Among the salient features of neo-shamanism is the orientation toward personal and spiritual empowerment among its practitioners. Certainly as a neo-colonial intrusion, it is seen to be a `fake' practice from the Native American perspective. Dreamwork itself is largely absent in Harner's development or `creation’ of core-shamanism which follows in the wake of Eliade's `construction' of shamanism and Castaneda's incorporation of a great deal of fantasy in his works. Consequently, while Harner originally did some solid anthropological ethnographic work in South America, his subsequent development of the concept of `core shamanism' is essentially a creative and imaginative work. What occurs in a typical Harner workshop, in which he replaces shamanic journeying with guided imagery, will not, in fact, be found in any single indigenous tribe.

Core shamanism defines itself as "the universal and near universal basic methods of the shaman to enter nonordinary reality for problem solving, well-being, and healing" (Common Ground 100, Summer 1999, p. 108). Harner’s workshops, weekend intensives and experiential courses in shamanic training have spawned numerous centres on the North American West Coast, throughout North America in general and in Europe: e.g., The Foundation for Shamanic Studies (Mill Valley, California), Friends Landing International Centers for Conscious Living (http://www.friendshipslanding.net), Sacred Circles Institute (Mukilteo, Washington), Inward Journeys – Laeh Maggie Garfield & Edwin Knight (British Columbia and Eugene, Oregon), Dance of the Deer Foundation Center for Shamanic Studies (Soquel, California), and Leo Rutherford’s White Eagle Lodge (London).

The Foundation for Shamanic Studies places particular emphasis on the `classic shamanic journey’ as an awe-inspiring visionary method for exploring `the hidden universe’ of myth and dream. Friends Landing combines shamanic orientation with hypnotherapy and the ideokinetic study of how imagery affects movement. Sacred Circles Institute, Inward Journeys and Dance of the Deer Foundation hold camping retreats, Mount Shasta pilgrimages, wilderness treks and/or similar experiential encounters with nature in order to attain personal and spiritual transformation. According to Garfield and Knight (Common Ground 100, Summer 1999, p. 47), "Shamanic development is a pathway that brings understanding and meaning to your life through mastery and cooperation with the natural world." It includes stargazing, interconnection of the soul’s different parts, mastery of elements, use of yoga, herbs and power sites, and `Vision Quests’. One is encouraged to become the person one always knew he or she was born to be. One is reputedly "provided with methods for journeying to discover and study with [his or her] own individual spiritual teachers in nonordinary reality" (ibid. p. 108). The purpose of New Age `core’ shamanism, therefore, is to restore spiritual power and health into contemporary daily life for the healing of oneself, others and the planet.

Using the `magic of focused attention’, neo-shamanism endeavours to help its practitioners secure habit and lifestyle changes for both oneself and one’s clients in order to transmute suffering, relieve stress, gain personal understanding and locate a core of wellness that can implement one’s life’s dream. While part of its effort is to train the would-be aspirant to supply fee-providing healing and training services to others, the main concentration of neo-shamanic activity is directed toward the self. In this sense, it is in full accord with the essential thrust of New Age concerns with personal transformation. This use of shamanic techniques as a `quick fix’ and human potential tool, however, is at complete variance with traditional tribal shamanisms in which rarely does an individual choose on his or her own accord to become a shaman. In the indigenous context, the long and arduous training which leads one into being a shaman is something which befalls an individual – usually after the experience of an unwanted and major trauma.

Shamanism and neo-shamanism compared

Unlike indigenous shamanisms, in core shamanism knowledge becomes exoteric rather than esoteric. As a commodity, it is essentially something which is bought and sold. There is also little attempt to master the spirits. In fact, the aim is give power directly back to the people and thereby eliminate the shamanic specialist altogether. In Jonathan Horwitz's explanation during the 1998 `Shamanism in Contemporary Society' conference sponsored by the University of Newcastle upon Tyne, the `new shamanism' is a spiritual discipline which enables one directly to contact and use the spiritual dimension of the universe - one which is based on the animistic understanding that everything that exists in the physical plane contains spirit power. Horwitz prefers to see this process as a shamanic revival rather than as `neo-shamanism', though he recognises that there is much confusion in making the peak experience the goal rather than simply the doorway.

However, a key weakness in neo-shamanism would appear to be its over-emphasis on the self without a community framework. Horwitz argues that the shaman is only a vehicle, not so that the shaman can become more powerful, for this is the endeavour of the sorcerer, but to discover the shaman’s very humanity by surrendering to the spirits in an act of discovery. Though Horwitz recognises that such a surrendering is also to one's own personal responsibility, there is little if any recognition that the shaman must negotiate a dangerous and threatening path and this in addition not on behalf of himself/herself but for the community he/she serves.

In traditional shamanisms, the shaman's entire endeavour is shaped by his or her role vis-à-vis the community. Deliberately sending forth one's free-soul, exploring the spiritual realms of the otherworld, being beyond the boundaries of the norm and of normal behaviour in a Western cultural context is to be mad, insane or schizoid. In the traditional understanding of a soul-duality comprising both a life or body soul and a free or dream soul, if a person's dream-soul does not return to the waking body, the person is understood to be mentally ill and eventually physical illness inevitably follows. For the ordinary person, soul-loss is an accident or misfortune. For the shaman, by contrast, the very propensity for entering an altered state of consciousness is his or her trade. But it is still not the raison d'être. The purpose instead is the community welfare.

In navigating the dangers of the world of spirit, within the condition of an altered state of consciousness, even for the experienced shaman there is the risk of soul-loss through the sheer terror of encountering the mysterium tremendum. It is the very social function of the shaman which provides his or her link back to this world. Community service becomes the grounding link which prevents the shaman from becoming permanently lost in the otherworld. So while the mediumship of the shaman is what allows a community an access to the spiritual without which there is the danger of collective madness, it is the community itself and the shaman's duty to serve it which provides the shamanic safeguard against the specialist becoming imprisoned perpetually in the world of purely analogical and magical effervesence. It is this aspect which is essential in all indigenous forms of shamanism but which currently in contemporary creations of `core-shamanism' - as simply altered states of consciousness without a developed sense of social responsibility - is only incipient.

The full New Age inclination of core or Neo-shamanism, however, remains detectable in its theodicean denial of the negative as real and/or as evil. This is New Age holism as opposed to more traditional dualistic understandings of good and evil. New Age theodicy "tends more simply to devalue or transvalue the reality of suffering than to attempt a formal explanation for its existence" (Wuthnow, 1976 p. 128 on the mystical meaning system). But by denying the reality of the negative – whether fear or evil, New Age shamanism employs a technical tool with perhaps a misunderstanding of the context in which to use it. In traditional shamanism, the shaman’s flight of the soul takes him or her into a psychic realm of infinite terrors, and it is the technician’s acquired ability to cope with fear and the trickster element of the supernatural that allows the shaman to return to the everyday world when the task is completed and not become a lost victim in an unending dimension of enchantment. From the viewpoint of its critics, Neo-shamanism, by contrast, is a foolish playing with fire.

Neo-shamanism belongs to New Age’s concern with anxiety and phobia treatment. Its primary focus is upon personal anxiety disorder which people may perceive as impairing their ability to function. Shortness of breath, dizziness, racing heart, trembling, depersonalisation, paralysing terrors, panic attacks and fear of dying are recognised as various symptoms of anxiety which human potential, New Age techniques and Neo-shamanism claim to eradicate. The alleged superficiality and lack of in-depth study which many see as endemic to the New Age throw into question its often and seemingly willy-nilly appropriation of cultural artefacts without a mature and guarded wariness on how to use them.

Conclusion

As a whole, Neo-shamanism may be seen as a polyglot, pluralistic movement that parallels the eclectic and multicultural/multiperspectival developments of contemporary Western spiritual proliferation. It is basically only in its more New Age emphasis that it tends to deny the reality of intrinsically nefarious spirits. During the 1988 Newcastle conference, Horwitz expressed this typically New Age perspective when he proclaimed that the spirits of cancer and Aids might be encountered as revoltingly ugly but are not evil and can be appealed to as respectable entities in the process of extrication. From an opposite viewpoint, Denmant Jakobsen at the same conference pointed out that in their environments of origin, shamanic practices tend to approach a spirit of illness as something to be killed and destroyed or at least boomeranged back for the destruction of its sender.

Contemporary Western shamanistic practices are, of course, not only New Age. In the increasingly complex and varied fabric of Western society, indigenous spiritualities are steadily to be found – often with creative and innovative adaptations for fitting into an urban environment as opposed to the more rural conditions of their original homelands. Foremost in this respect are the Afro-Atlantic faiths of Macumba, Santería, Voodoo and so forth. The Santerían santeros, however, is less a shaman as he or she is a medium. The differentiation between the shaman and the medium is often subtle and fluid. In general, however, the medium is an individual who is occupied by a spirit while in a trance. The medium acts as a channel for the words of a by-standing spirit or the ghost of a deceased person. In this sense, the medium is closer to the oracle. The shaman, by contrast, travels to the afterlife - whether the netherworlds or the celestial. Soul-travel is the shaman's speciality, and in this sense, though frequently classified as shamans, the Yoruban elegun and Japanese miko are closer to mediums since they undergo spirit possession. The Amerindian Algonquin is also similar in this last: he or she conjures a vision-questing spirit into himself/herself rather than send out a soul in ecstatic trance. Moreover, in this vein, the religiosity of the North American Plains peoples has been described as a democratised form of spirituality inasmuch as everyone participates in vision quest - not just the religious specialist.

Native American and Afro-Latin religiosities are both traditionally pagan and in this sense have more affinity with contemporary Western forms of paganism than with New Age spirituality. If shamanism is one of the major bridges between New Age and Neo-paganism, there are also important differences between how the two orientations respectively practice shamanic techniques. If Western paganism too tends to disallow the intrinsic existence of evil, it nevertheless allows more than New Age for the possibility of `operative’ evil. It also more fully recognises the dynamics of fear.

While Wicca/witchcraft is the more dominant form at present within contemporary Western paganism, another residual school surviving as a legacy of the counterculture of the 1960s we may designate as psychonautica. In traditional shamanism, the use of drug-induced trance states is a major avenue through which the shaman achieves `flight of the soul’. Modern Western psychonauts comprise a quasi-scholarly and quasi-experimental alliance of explorers in `entheogenic’ experience. Not all this pursuit is conducted as a religious or spiritual undertaking, but much of it is, and most of what is is pagan. Present-day psychonauts eschew hallucinogenic use in any form of recreational tourism. The purpose, instead, is self-discovery and imaginal exploration. But while the more traditional understanding of community to be served might be absent and the present-day community for Western psychonauts is generally the psychonautic community itself, the psychedelic experience of mental archetypes and the mind’s antipodes allows a cognizance of fear itself as a profound reality – betokening a frightening emotion which, as Rudolf Otto (1928:19) recognised "must be gravely disturbing to those persons who will recognize nothing in the divine nature but goodness, gentleness, love, and a sort of confidential intimacy."

The ira deorum, the fear or wrath of the gods, is something New Age by-and-large cannot and will not countenance. The sociologist of religion cannot judge this as wrong in itself. The New Age presents a different worldview – one which contrasts sharply with those of most major world religions as well as with traditional paganism and its contemporary Western varieties. In New Age theodicy, evil is largely understood as ignorant behaviour, that which arises from a state of ignorance. The antidote of sin for the New Ager is not atonement but gnosis. Knowledge, wisdom and understanding are the means by which evil can be transformed and transcended.

From a more purely pagan perspective, evil is extrinsic rather than intrinsic and is essentially a disease. As something which invades or disrupts an organism’s natural equilibrium, the negative is to be cured. While both New Age and Neo-paganism speak in terms of healing metaphors, for the former this is a state of mind, an enlightenment, while for the latter, it is a re-gaining of the natural balance, a `disinfection’ and removal of disruption. If Eliade saw shamanism as comprising various techniques of ecstasy, the Russian Shirogokorov in the 1930s tended to associate shamanism with spiritual healing as its most salient feature. We might assess that both were correct. What is interesting in our ambivalent and confusing times, however, is that two forms of contemporary shamanism are taking root in today’s world: the New Age variety which seeks to move beyond fear toward a state of complete spiritual and emotional freedom, and the pagan variety which endeavours to manage or outwit fear in the process of bringing benefit to the individual and community.

It is within the area of pyschonautica that the New Age and Neo-pagan branches of contemporary Western shamanism might come closest together. Psychomimesis, entheoi or catalepsis is variously induced through different hallucinogenic substances. Following from Brazilian and other South American practices, Michael Harner has employed ayahuasca as a medium by which to experience a world of spirit and vision. Carlos Castaneda's preferences included use of jimson weed, peyote and Datura stramonium. We know that first century Thracian shamans resorted to hashish, while the Vedic peoples' medium of choice was soma - possibly the eastern Mediterranean pine Ephedra fragilia or the fly agaric mushroom traditionally associated with the Lapps. Alcohol is always another possibility, while Ecuador's Jivaro Indians employ tobacco and Surinamers, the takini plant. Pythagoras apparently used kykeon which translates as `disorder'.

The ayahuasca which Harner has used as his preferred vehicle into ecstatic experience is known in South America as la purga. While ayahuasca is a central feature in the Brazilian Pentecostal sects of Santo Daime and Unio de la Vegetal, it is more widely known for its medicinal/healing properties than for its hallucinogenic ones. This connects the psychonautic tradition which follows in Harner’s footsteps (e.g., Alan Schumacher, Wilfred Van Dorp, etc.) more with the idea of shamanism as first perceived by Shirogokorov. While still conforming essentially to the ideas of `core shamanism’, this particular entheogenic practice re-opens New Age shamanism to pagan dimensions.

The contrast between New Age shamanism and pagan shamanism in a modern Western context revolves around the role of fear. In traditional shamanism, the shaman’s initiation is an ordeal involving pain, hardship and terror. In its classic version, the shaman experiences death, often dis-membership or skeletalisation, before undergoing reconstitution and rebirth. New Age, by contrast is a religious perspective that denies the ultimately reality of the negative, and this would devalue the role of fear as well. But in seeking to dismiss the fearsome, New Age also has the propensity to eliminate a central feature of religion qua religion, namely, the experience of awe. The encounter with the mysterium tremendum et fascinans engenders a mixed emotion of fear, reverence and wonder. If, however, all becomes `sweetness and light’ through a New Age agenda, there is no dread. But without the experience of fear, there can then be no real experience of the awesome. New Age shamanism would then seem to constitute an incomplete form of shamanism – one which does not include the central feature of shamanic initiation, and one which also does not include a central feature of religion.

References
Mircea Eliade (1972), Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy (tr. W.R. Trask), Princeton, University Press.

Marilyn Ferguson (1987), The Aquarian Conspiracy: Personal and Social Transformation in Our Time, Los Angeles: J.P. Tarcher.

Shirley MacLaine (1987), It’s All in the Playing, New York & London: Bantam.

Daniel C. Noel, The Soul of Shamanism: Western Fantasies, Imaginal Realities (New York: Continuum, 1997).

Rudolf Otto (1928), The Idea of the Holy (tr. John W. Harvey), London: Oxford U.P.

Bryan R. Wilson (1973), Magic and the Millennium: A Sociological Study of Religious Movements of Protest Among Tribal and Third-World Peoples, London: Heinemann.

Robert Wuthnow (1976), The Consciousness Reformation, Berkeley: University of California Press.

Michael York (1995), The Emerging Network: A Sociology of the New Age and Neo-pagan Movements, Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Larry Allums: What is war for?

reproduced from :
http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/opinion/points/stories/DN-allums_17edi.ART.State.Edition1.432de2d.html#

Larry Allums: What is war for?

Join the Points Summer Book Club as we look at modern conflict through the lens of World War I
03:36 PM CDT on Sunday, June 17, 2007

War is on America's mind this summer, so it's only fitting that we launch the Points Summer Book Club by reading and discussing two classic works about modern war. We approach the topic, however, not through the war in Iraq or the war on terror – both of which have generated a significant nonfiction literature to date – but rather through the armed conflict of 1914-18 that was called World War I, "the War to End All Wars" and "the Great War." We've chosen two books for reading and discussion, first online and later this summer in a public gathering at the Dallas Institute: German novelist Erich Maria Remarque's All Quiet on the Western Front, which first appeared in 1929, and Paul Fussell's nonfiction The Great War and Modern Memory, published in 1975.

Why World War I, almost a century after the first shots were fired in that civilizational conflagration? There are many reasons why World War I is relevant today, some factual, others cultural and even metaphysical. For one thing, the scale of it was enormous. But beyond physical dimensions, the Great War altered Western life in ways that still affect us all.

World War I was the first of its kind: a massive conflict fought with the full murderous capacity of modern technology, typified by the machine gun, the tank and poison gas. Though the war actually had several "fronts," the most familiar is the Western front, a zigzag network of parallel and auxiliary trenches that bracketed No Man's Land with barbed wire. It ran some 25,000 miles from the North Sea coast of Belgium southward through France to the Swiss border.

The United States entered the Great War late and suffered relatively few casualties – 116,000 soldiers killed, compared with 800,000 British, 1.4 million French, 1.8 million Russian and 2 million German combat deaths. The war exhausted Europe in every possible way and set the stage for America's emergence in the next world war as the carrier of Western values. The Europe of 2007, beset with crises specific to our time, is a continuation of the bloodied, shell-shocked Europe that finally staggered out of the trenches in November 1918.

World War I, then, was the primal experience of modern war for the West and defined its transition: from innocence to experience, from 19th-century optimism and hope to 20th-century pessimism (if not cynicism) and doubt (if not despair) about the future. With the ill-fated Versailles Treaty of 1919 in place, Europe seemed both literally and figuratively "The Waste Land" famously portrayed by T.S. Eliot in his poem of that name.

Bare descriptions of the war's main battles are unnerving. Consider the Battle of the Somme, which came to symbolize the particular horrors of the war: On July 1, 1916, after a weeklong bombardment of German trenches, 11 British divisions along a 13-mile front left their trenches and began walking across No Man's Land toward the enemy lines. Having comfortably survived the bombardment, German machine gunners assumed their positions and by the end of the day had killed or wounded 60,000 of their 110,000 attackers.

This was, and is, war at its most intense – and most modern.

Trench warfare had consequences that are familiar today. The term "shell-shock" entered our vocabulary in 1915; displaced by the more clinical "post-traumatic stress disorder," the two are essentially the same. Now the original word has re-emerged in the context of Iraq. As a recent Washington Post article commented, improvised explosive devices have "brought back one of the worst afflictions of World War I trench warfare: shell shock. The brain of a soldier exposed to a roadside bomb is shocked, truly."

The Great War had cultural impacts that reached throughout the West. No art escaped its ravages. Mr. Eliot's poem was only one of myriad expressions of disillusionment after 1918, which included A Farewell to Arms in 1929. There, Ernest Hemingway's anti-hero Frederick Henry gives his memorable assessment of the New Age's massive, apparently futile violence: "Abstract words such as glory, honor, courage or hallow were obscene beside the concrete names of villages, the numbers of roads, the names of river, the numbers of regiments and the dates."

The first book for the Points Summer Book Club, All Quiet on the Western Front, is a classic in its own right. Its muted, straightforward presentation sets it apart from Mr. Fussell's more full-throated account in The Great War and Modern Memory, which will follow Mr. Remarque's novel in our discussions. All Quiet is, however, anything but simple.

With its first words, All Quiet establishes an irony marking virtually all accounts of the Great War: "We are at rest five miles behind the front. Yesterday we were relieved, and now our bellies are full of beef and haricot beans. We are satisfied and at peace. Each man has another mess-tin full for the evening; and, what is more, there is a double ration of sausage and bread. That puts a man in fine trim."

Soon the narrator reveals the reason for the double rations: Only about half their company has returned from the front.

Mr. Remarque's choice of narrators is key – 19-year-old Paul Bäumer, a common soldier in the German trenches. His first-person, present-tense narration builds in intimacy from the beginning until the final, two-paragraph chapter, when Mr. Remarque reverts suddenly to the third person.

The novel presents a catalog of wartime experiences – Mr. Remarque served in the Kaiser's army during the war – many of them distinctly modern. As Paul's narrative deepens and becomes layered, the multiple faces of war accumulate: day-to-day life in the trenches, furious attacks and confusing retreats, poison gas, deaths both sudden and slow, wounds both physical and mental, the loss of comrades who have become dearer than family. The strange attractions and peculiar bonds of war come to efface all other realities.

The alienating impact of war is a major presence in Paul's story. What really happens deep inside? So-called civilized life becomes unimaginable; when he is home on leave, apart from his brothers-in-arms, he cannot be at peace. Reacting to his father's desire that he talk about the front, he realizes that his father "does not know that a man cannot talk of such things; I would do it willingly, but it is too dangerous for me to put these things into words. ... What would become of us if everything that happens out there were quite clear to us?"

Then there is the enemy – "they" versus "we," a dichotomizing reality of the trenches and a legacy still with us today, almost a century later. An agonizing instance occurs when Paul is trapped in a shell-hole with a French soldier whom he has stabbed. He grieves at the man's slow death and before the man finally dies has dressed his wounds, learned his identity and attempted to explain: "But you were only an idea to me before, an abstraction that lived in my mind and called forth its appropriate response. It was that abstraction I stabbed."

Told from a soldier's perspective, All Quiet on the Western Front is the anti-war novel (banned and burned by the Nazis) that one might expect. But it is also a classic of World War I literature, and it achieves an ironic, sobering attitude that would hardly have been possible before this war with its catastrophic consequences.

In The Great War and Modern Memory, Paul Fussell suggests that for the West, World War I was nothing less than the irreplaceable shattering of a worldview and a permanent shift in consciousness. We live even today in its shadow; it pervades the categories of our thought and is still imprinted on our collective imagination. The book's readers may be startled to discover how much of the way we see the world today comes out of the Great War experience.

Mr. Remarque's fictional account gives a foundation on which to ponder Mr. Fussell's larger conclusion. We sense as we read All Quiet on the Western Front that the terror of war must be like this even today. Every moment is as momentous as its meaning might be obscure. As one of Paul's comrades asks, "Then what exactly is the war for?" Perhaps that is one of the questions we will ponder and discuss in the coming weeks.

Larry Allums, director of the Dallas Institute for Humanities and Culture, will be the leader of the Points Summer Book Club, which debuts online tomorrow. His e-mail address is lallums @ dallasinstitute dot org.

BOOK CLUB KICK-OFF

What we're doing: Join us in reading two enthralling books about war and in participating in a guided conversation on the blog, bookclubblog.dallasnews.com.

How does it work? Beginning tomorrow, the discussion begins on the landmark novel All Quiet on the Western Front. We will focus on the themes of the book and how they relate to war today.

How to join in: Send your questions and comments to moderator Rod Dreher at bookclub@dallasnews.com.

THE SCHEDULE

Tomorrow: Discuss All Quiet on the Western Front, by Erich Marcia Remarque, through July 1.

July 16: Discuss The Great War and Modern Memory, by Paul Fussell, through Aug. 5.

Aug. 9: Join us and other book club participants at a town hall meeting at the Dallas Institute of Humanities and Culture, where we will talk in person about what we've learned.

Pick up a copy of the books at Borders, and prepare to learn about our tumultuous past and our complicated present.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

That has a "Purity ring" to it

reproduced from: http://today.reuters.com/news/articlenews.aspx?type=oddlyEnoughNews&storyid=2007-06-22T144036Z_01_L22703075_RTRUKOC_0_US-BRITAIN-PURITY.xml

"Purity ring" schoolgirl goes to High Court

Fri Jun 22, 2007 10:40 AM ET

LONDON (Reuters) - A teenage schoolgirl will appeal to the High Court on Friday to overturn a ban on her wearing a "purity ring" at school to symbolize her decision to abstain from sex before marriage.

Lydia Playfoot, 16, from West Sussex, says the silver ring is an expression of her faith and should be exempt from the school's rules on wearing jewellery.

"It is really important to me because in the Bible it says we should do this," she told BBC radio. "Muslims are allowed to wear headscarves and other faiths can wear bangles and other types of jewellery. It feels like Christians are being discriminated against."

Playfoot's lawyers will argue that her right to express religious belief is upheld by the Human Rights Act.

There have been a series of rows in schools in recent years over the right of pupils to wear religious symbols or clothing, such as crucifixes and veils.

Last year, the Law Lords rejected Shabina Begum's appeal for permission to wear a Muslim gown at her school in Luton. That case echoed a debate in France over the banning of Muslim headscarves in state schools.

Lydia Playfoot's parents help run the British arm of the American campaign group the Silver Ring Thing, which promotes abstinence among young people.

Members wear a ring on the third finger of the left hand. It is inscribed with "Thess. 4:3-4," a reference to a Biblical passage from Thessalonians which reads: "God wants you to be holy, so you should keep clear of all sexual sin."

Lydia's father, Phil Playfoot, said his daughter's case was part of a wider cultural trend towards Christians being "silenced."

"What I would describe as a secular fundamentalism is coming to the fore, which really wants to silence certain beliefs, and Christian views in particular," he said.

Leon Nettley, head teacher of Millais School in Horsham, denies discrimination, saying the ring contravenes the school's rules on wearing jewellery.

"The school is not convinced pupils' rights have been interfered with by the application of the uniform policy," he told the Brighton-based Argus newspaper. "The school has a clearly published uniform policy and sets high standards."

Monday, June 18, 2007

The Soul in Grief/The Wounded Body (Book)., By: Paris, Ginette, Mythosphere, 10273670, Nov2000, Vol. 2, Issue 4

reproduction of

The Soul in Grief/The Wounded Body (Book)., By: Paris, Ginette, Mythosphere, 10273670, Nov2000, Vol. 2, Issue 4

download (copy) and printed (paste) for my and your individual use. Please do not mass distribute by email.

THE SOUL IN GRIEF/THE WOUNDED BODY (BOOK)

The Soul in Grief: Love, Death, and Transformation
.


Robert Romanyshyn. Berkely: Frog 1999; 1-55643-315-8, paperback; $14.95.

The Wounded Body Remembering the Markings of Flesh.

Dennis E Slattery. Psychoanalysis and Culture. Albany: State U of New York P, 2000. xiv+293 pp.; 0-7914-4382-5, paperback; $22.95.

Romanyshyn: There was no warning, not even the beginning of a symptom. In fact Janet Romanyshyn, at forty-five, seemed in perfect health when she fell to the floor and died of a heart failure. Robert Romanishyn, her husband, writes in The Soul in Grief. “In the early days after her death, I would phone the house to hear her voice. But those moments were even worse than witnessing the sad, lifelessness of her clothes. The gap between the recorded message as I was hearing it now, after her death, and as I had heard it before she died, was too great. […] The voice of the dream was more alive; the voice in the dream more real than the voice on the machine.”

Written as a reverie, a meditation on grief, this book is much more interesting than those self-help books that list the steps and stages of the mourning process. By intimately sharing Romanyshyn's losses, we go down with him, in that cold and dark place where the soul grieves and through the poetic rendering of this experience, we come to understand the wisdom of the following sentence: “In my grief I was forced to learn that the past matters only in light of a future and that without such an opening the past is a prison which locks you out of life.”

Although he teaches depth psychology, the author is first of all a phenomenologist and a poet—well known to distrust and reject giving or receiving advice, admonition, counseling, or sermonizing. The book is delightful to read: “Every day I would read out loud some words of this or that poet, and it was the absence of advice which comforted me. I did not have to struggle to take anything in, to make some sense of it, to make it fit the loss I had suffered.”

By avoiding the usual pitfalls of clinical psychology, which has a tendency to consider grief as a symptom to treat, this book offers a much more profound understanding of the psychology of grief. We are offered a bit of wisdom instead of the usual remedies from the helping professions.

Slattery: When misfortune happens in the body, we call it a wounding.

Depth psychologists have in common one belief: that wounding can be a window or a door leading to the Underworld, a place worth a visit. It can be a gift, reminding us of the value of life before it is really too late. It can be a mentor, teaching us to listen to bodies, ours and those of others. Wounding can put us through an initiation and there is no wisdom without initiation. Being sick can be a humbling—which is a cure for our despotic egos. Bedridden, confined, shut-in and flat on one's back, the imagination suddenly starts to fly high and wide. If our illness is long enough, we might experience the quest for healing as an odyssey. If we don't come back healed, at least we might be psychologically educated and spiritually enlightened.

What makes the difference between simply being sick, beaten and bored, and having an epiphany? In The Wounded Body Dennis Slattery shows that the talent to make sense of our suffering is all given with our culture, it is all there in literature, one has only to become conscious of the gift. The pain of incarnation, the life of the body is one of the more profound of all metaphors, permeating all literatures.

Slattery takes us on a review of Homer, Sophocles, Shakespeare, Rousseau, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Melville, Flannery O'Connor, and Tony Morrison, revealing how “to be wounded is to be opened to the world; it is to be pushed off the straight, fixed, and predictable path of certainty and thrown into ambiguity, or onto the circuitous path, and into the unseen and unforeseen.”

Slattery's introduction, where he tells the story of his titanium hip replacement, is moving, funny, poetic, and a pleasure to read. From there, he moves into a more scholarly tone, as this is a work of academic richness, each page filled with insights and interesting quotations, each little note reading like a whole commented bibliography, the kind of book one reads with a yellow highlighter in hand.

Slattery writes well about incarnation and the wounded body, but all along, the soul is his real subject and we follow him.

It may seems trivial to streets the historical precedence of myth [over philosophy] since this is hardly a debatable point, but in the analysis to come much more will be made out of this precedence. A very common view holds that ancient culture was lost in the darkness of ignorance until “liberated” by the advent of philosophy. Although the birth of philosophy was momentous and important event in human history, the notions of ignorance and liberation are nevertheless highly problematic. This chapter, of course, has argued against the view that myth is a form of ignorance. In addition, our analysis of Greek philosophy will show that its development was slow and gradual, and in fact never a complete break with myth. Rather, philosophy first grew out of a mythical heritage and continued to exhibit elements of that tradition up through Plato and even to a certain degree in Aristotle. Greek philosophy was never completely free of myth, it simply re-formed much of its mythical origins. Of course, that re-formation did break with tradition in many respects, but not in all respects, as we shall see.

If I may briefly forecast one of the conclusions I hope the reader will draw from this study: no form of thought, silence included, is ever completely free of a certain mythical sense. Myth does not explain the world; it is the “worlding” of the world, its unconcealment. Prior to myth the world, as a context of meaning, is “not there” (concealment). Conceptual reason interprets a world already there. In other words, some context of meaning, which conceptual reason serves, must first be in place. Before the world can be objectified (detached from the existential situation) it has to have existential significance. A mythos is the telling (logos) of the human story in a world situation, where existential meaning is embedded in the world. Only then is something like scientific objectivity possible. No culture, and no person, first comes across the world objectively. Moreover, there is never such a thing as a purely detached state of mind. Even the scientist must be motivated, attracted to, and excited by science. The value of science, both personal and collective, the spirit of the search, the draw of the unknown—these area all preobjective animations which are inseparable from the scientific enterprise. In other words, science must first matter, and this is a prescientific matter. Here we can notice echoes of the mythical. Ultimately the meaning of myth should not be limited to specific images of gods, heroes, and the like. The absence of such Imagery does not mean that a general mythical sense is absent from a culture. Even our age of extensive objectification, qualification, and mechanization can be seen to be guided by certain mythical motifs (e.g., “mastery of the earth”).

Lawrence J. Hatab, Myth and Philosophy: A Contest of Truths (LaSalle: Open Court, 1990);40–41.

~~~~~~~~

Reviewed by Ginette Paris, Core Faculty and Director of Graduate Studies, Pacifica Graduate Institute.


Copyright of Mythosphere is the property of Gordon & Breach Science Publishers Inc. and its content may not be copied or emailed to multiple sites or posted to a listserv without the copyright holder's express written permission. However, users may print, download, or email articles for individual use.

"Myth". by Robert Segal. New Dictionary of the History of Ideas.

reproduction from :

Myth. Robert Segal. New Dictionary of the History of Ideas. Ed. Maryanne Horowitz. Vol. 4. Detroit: Charles Scribner's Sons, 2005. p1560-1567. 6 vols.

Charles Scribner's SonsFull Text: COPYRIGHT 2005 Thomson Gale, a part of The Thomson Corporation

Page 1560

MYTH.

The study of myth across the disciplines is united by the questions asked. The main questions are those of origin, function, and subject matter. Origin in this context means why and how myth arises; function, why and how myth persists. The answer to the why of origin and function is usually a need, which myth arises to fulfill and persists by continuing to fulfill. What that need is varies from theory to theory. Subject matter here means the referent of myth. Some theories read myth literally, so that the referent is the apparent one, such as gods. Other theories read myth symbolically, and the symbolized referent can be anything.

For example, a myth told by the Trobriand Islanders of Melanesia, as described by Polish-born anthropologist BronislawMalinowski (1884–1942) in Myth in Primitive Society (1926), says that the world "was originally peopled from underground. Humanity had there led an existence similar in all respects to the present life on earth. Underground, men were organized in villages, clans, districts; they had distinctions of rank, they knew privileges and had claims, they owned property, and were versed in magic lore. One day humans came to the surface and established themselves, bringing with them all their culture to continue it upon this earth."

According to Malinowski, whose theory will be considered in detail below, this myth was devised to secure support for the social divisions, ranks, and rights that were still to be found among the Trobrianders. Because no people will readily tolerate impositions, this myth was intended to provide a limited kind of justification. It does not assert that the impositions are deserved, but rather that they are traditional and go back even to the time before the proto-Trobrianders emerged from underground. The need being fulfilled is on the part of society itself, not on the part of individuals. Malinowski reads the myth literally: the subject matter is the social life of the Trobriand Islanders, both while underground and once above ground.

It is commonly said that theories of the nineteenth century focused on the question of origin and that theories of the twentieth century have focused on the questions of function and subject matter. But this characterization confuses historical origin with recurrent origin. Theories that profess to provide the origin of myth claim to know not where and when myth first arose but why and how myth arises wherever and whenever it does. The issue of recurrent origin was as popular with twentieth-century theorists as with nineteenth-century ones, and interest in function and subject matter was as common to nineteenth-century theorists as to twentieth-century ones.

Disciplines differ in their definitions of myth. Not all even assume that myth is a story. For political scientists, for example, myth can be a credo or an ideology, which may be illustrated by stories but is not rooted in them. Even when myth is assumed to be a story, disciplines differ over the contents. For folklorists, myth is about the creation of the world. In the Bible, only the two creation stories (Genesis 1 and 2), the Garden of Eden story (Genesis 3), and the Noah story (Genesis 6–9) would thereby qualify as myths. All other stories would instead constitute either legends or folktales. For theories drawn from religious studies, the main characters in myth must be gods or near-gods, such as heroes. Theories from anthropology, psychology, and sociology tend to allow for secular as well as religious myths.

Myth and Science

In the West, the ancient challenge to myth was on ethical grounds: Plato (c. 428–348 or 347 B.C.E.) bemoaned Homeric myths for presenting the gods as practitioners of immoral behavior. The chief modern challenge to myth has come from science.

One form of the modern challenge to myth has been to the scientific credibility of myth. Did creation really occur in a mere six days, as the first of two creation stories in Genesis (1:1–2:4a) claims? Was there really a worldwide flood? The most unrepentant defense against this challenge has been to claim that the biblical account is correct, for, after all, the Pentateuch was revealed to Moses by God. This position, known as creationism, assumes varying forms, ranging, for example, from taking the days of creation to mean exactly six days to taking them to mean "ages." At the same time, creationists of all stripes tout their views as scientific as well as religious, and they enlist scientific evidence to refute "pseudoscientific" rivals such as evolution.

A much tamer defense against the challenge of modern science has been to reconcile myth with that science. Here elements at odds with modern science are either removed or, more cleverly, reinterpreted as in fact scientific. There might not have been a Noah who was single-handedly able to gather up all living species and to keep them alive in a wooden boat sturdy enough to withstand the strongest seas that ever arose, but a worldwide flood did occur. What thus remains in myth is true because it is scientific—modern scientific.

By far the most common response to the challenge of science has been to abandon myth for science. Here myth is taken as an explanation of its own kind, not a scientific explanation in mythic guise. The issue is therefore not the scientific credibility of myth but the compatibility of myth with science. Myth, here a part of religion, is considered to be the "primitive" counterpart to science, which is assumed to be exclusively modern. Because moderns by definition accept science, they cannot also have myth, and the phrase modern myth is self-contradictory. Myth is a victim of the process of secularization that constitutes modernity.

The pioneering English anthropologist E. B. Tylor (1832–1917) remains the classic exponent of the view that myth and science are at odds. Tylor subsumes myth under religion and in turn subsumes both religion and science under philosophy. Primitive philosophy is identical with primitive religion. There is no primitive science. Modern philosophy, by contrast, is divided into religion and science. Primitive religion is the primitive counterpart to science because both are explanations of the physical world. The religious explanation is personalistic, the scientific one impersonal. The explanations are incompatible because both are direct explanations of the same events. Gods operate not behind or through impersonal forces but in place of them. One cannot, then, stack the religious account atop the scientific account.

Modern religion has surrendered the explanation of the world to science and has instead become a combination of metaphysics and ethics, neither of which is present in primitive religion. One now reads the Bible for not for the story of creation but for the Ten Commandments, just as for Plato a bowdlerized Homer (fl. 9th or 8th century B.C.E.) would enable one to do. This irenic position is like that of the American evolutionary biologist Stephen Jay Gould (1941–2002). Yet for Tylor, myths are too closely tied to gods as agents in the world to permit any transformation like that of the rest of religion. Where, then, there is "modern religion," albeit religion shorn of its prime role as explanation, there are no modern myths.

In pitting myth against science, as in pitting religion qua explanation against science, Tylor epitomizes the nineteenth-century view of myth. In the twentieth century, the trend was to reconcile myth as well as religion with science, so that moderns can retain myth as well as religion.

Closest to Tylor stands J. G. Frazer (1854–1941), the Scottish classicist and fellow pioneering anthropologist. For Frazer, as for Tylor, myth is part of primitive religion; primitive religion is part of philosophy, itself universal; and primitive religion is the counterpart to natural science, itself entirely modern. Primitive religion and science are, as for Tylor, mutually exclusive. But where for Tylor primitive religion, including myth, functions as the counterpart to scientific theory, for Frazer it functions even more as the counterpart to applied science, or technology. Where for Tylor primitive religion, including myth, serves to explain events in the physical world, for Frazer it serves even more to effect events, above all the growth of crops. Where Tylor treats myth as an autonomous text, Frazer ties myth to ritual, which enacts it.

The biggest difficulty for Tylor's and Frazer's view of myth as the primitive counterpart to science is that it conspicuously fails to account for the retention of myth in the wake of science. If myth functions to do no more than science, why is it still around?

Reacting against the views of Tylor and Frazer and other members of what he imprecisely calls "the English school of anthropology," the French philosopher and armchair anthropologist Lucien Lévy-Bruhl (1857–1939) insisted on a much wider divide between myth and science. Where for Tylor and Frazer "primitives" think like moderns, just less rigorously, for Lévy-Bruhl primitives think differently from moderns. Where for Tylor and Frazer primitive thinking is logical, just erroneous, for Lévy-Bruhl primitive thinking is plainly nonlogical.

According to Lévy-Bruhl, primitives believe that all phenomena are part of a sacred, or "mystic," realm pervading the natural one. Phenomena become one another yet remain what they are. The Bororo of Brazil deem themselves red araras, or parakeets, yet still human beings. Lévy-Bruhl calls this belief "prelogical" because it violates the law of noncontradiction: the notion that something can simultaneously be both itself and something else.

For Lévy-Bruhl, as for Tylor and Frazer, myth is part of religion, religion is primitive, and moderns have science rather than religion. But where Tylor and Frazer subsume both religion and science under philosophy, Lévy-Bruhl associates philosophy with thinking freed from mystical identification with the world. Primitive thinking is nonphilosophical because it is not detached from the world. Primitives have a whole mentality of their own, one evinced in their myths.

One reaction to Lévy-Bruhl was to accept his separation of myth from philosophy but not his characterization of myth as pre-philosophical or pre-scientific. The key figure here was Malinowski. Invoking Frazer, Malinowski argues that primitives are too busy scurrying to survive in the world to have the luxury of reflecting on it. Where for Frazer primitives use myth in place of science, for Malinowski primitives use myth as a fallback to science. Primitives possess not just the counterpart to science but science itself. Where science stops, they turn to magic. Where magic stops, they turn to myth—not to secure further control over the world, as Frazer would assume, but to reconcile themselves to aspects of the world that cannot be controlled, such as natural catastrophes, illness, aging, and death. Myth explains how, say, illness arose—a god or a human brought it about—but primitive science and magic try to do something about it. By contrast, myth says that nothing can be done about it.

Reacting both against Malinowski's view of primitives as practical rather than intellectual and against Lévy-Bruhl's view of primitives as mystical rather than intellectual, the French anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss (b. 1908) has boldly sought to revive an intellectualist view of primitives and of myth. At first glance, Lévi-Strauss seems a sheer throwback to Tylor. Yet in fact Lévi-Strauss is severely critical of Tylor, for whom primitives concoct myth rather than science because they think less critically than moderns. For Lévi-Strauss, primitives create myth because they think differently from moderns—but, contrary to Lévy-Bruhl, still think and still think rigorously. For both, myth is the epitome of primitive thinking.

Where for Tylor primitive thinking is personalistic and modern thinking impersonal, for Lévi-Strauss primitive thinking is concrete and modern thinking abstract. Primitive thinking focuses on the observable, sensible aspects of phenomena rather than, like modern thinking, on the unobservable, insensible ones. Yet antithetically to Tylor, Lévi-Strauss considers myth no less scientific than modern science. Where for Tylor myth is the primitive counterpart to science per se, for Lévi-Strauss myth is the primitive counterpart to modern science. Myth is primitive science, but not thereby inferior science.

If myth is an instance of primitive thinking because it deals with concrete, tangible phenomena, it is an instance of thinking itself because it classifies phenomena. Lévi-Strauss maintains that all humans think in the form of classifications, specifically pairs of oppositions, and project them onto the world. Many cultural phenomena express these oppositions. Myth is distinctive in resolving or, more accurately, tempering the oppositions it expresses. Those contradictions are to be found not in the plot but in what Lévi-Strauss famously calls the "structure."

Karl Popper (1902–1994), the Viennese-born philosopher of science who eventually settled in England, breaks radically with Tylor. Where for Tylor science simply replaces it, for Popper science emerges out of myth—not, however, out of the acceptance of myth but out of the criticism of it. By "criticism" Popper means not rejection but assessment, which becomes scientific when it takes the form of attempts to falsify the truth claims made.

Myth and Philosophy

The relationship between myth and science overlaps with that between myth and philosophy. Yet there is an even greater array of positions held on the relationship between myth and philosophy: that myth is part of philosophy, that myth is philosophy, that philosophy is myth, that myth grows out of philosophy, that philosophy grows out of myth, that myth and philosophy are independent of each other but serve the same function, and that myth and philosophy are independent of each other and serve different functions.

The most abrupt reaction to Lévy-Bruhl's opposing of myth to both science and philosophy came from the Polish-born anthropologist Paul Radin (1883–1959), who was brought to the United States as an infant. Radin grants that most primitives are far from philosophical but observes that so are most persons in any culture. Both the average "man of action" and the exceptional "thinker" types of temperament are to be found in all cultures, and in the same proportion. If Lévy-Bruhl is therefore wrong to deny that any primitives are reflective, Tylor is equally wrong to assume that all are. But those primitives who are get credited by Radin with a philosophical prowess keener than that granted even myth makers by Tylor. Contrary to Tylor, primitives, furthermore, are capable of rigorous criticism. Likely for Radin, as definitely for Popper, the capacity for criticism is the hallmark of thinking.

A far less dismissive reaction to Lévy-Bruhl came from the German-born philosopher Ernst Cassirer (1874–1945). For Cassirer, wholly following Lévy-Bruhl, mythic, or "mythopoeic," thinking is primitive, is part of religion, and is the projection of mystical oneness onto the world. But Cassirer claims to be breaking sharply with Lévy-Bruhl in asserting that mythic thinking has its own brand of logic. In actuality, Lévy-Bruhl says the same and invents the term prelogical exactly to avoid labeling mythic thinking "illogical" or "nonlogical." Cassirer also claims to be breaking with Lévy-Bruhl in stressing the autonomy of myth as a form of knowledge—language, art, and science being the other main forms. Yet Cassirer simultaneously maintains, no differently from Lévy-Bruhl, that myth is incompatible with science and that science succeeds it. For both Cassirer and Lévy-Bruhl, myth is exclusively primitive and science exclusively modern. Still, Cassirer's characterization of myth as a form of knowledge puts myth in the same genus as science—not quite where Lévy-Bruhl puts it.

As philosophical as Cassirer's approach to myth is, he never contends that myth is philosophy. The theorists who do so are the German theologian Rudolf Bultmann (1884–1976) and the German-born philosopher Hans Jonas (1903–1993), who eventually settled in the United States. They apply to their specialties, Christianity and Gnosticism, a theory from the early, existentialist work of Martin Heidegger (1889–1976).

Myth and Religion

Myth approached from the field of religious studies naturally subsumes myth under religion and thereby directly exposes myth to the challenge to religion from science. Twentieth-century theories from religious studies sought to reconcile myth with science by reconciling religion with science.

There have been two main strategies for doing so. One tactic has been the recharacterization of the subject matter of religion and therefore of myth. Here religion is not about the physical world, in which case it is safe from any encroachment by science. The myths considered under this approach to religion are traditional myths such as biblical and classical ones, but they are now read symbolically rather than literally. Myth, it is claimed, has been taken to be at odds with science because it has been misread—by those who, like Tylor, read myth literally.

The other tactic for retaining myth in the wake of science has been the elevation of seemingly secular phenomena to religious ones. Here myth is no longer confined to explicitly religious ancient tales. There are now overtly secular modern myths as well. For example, stories about heroes are at face value about mere human beings, but the humans are raised so high above ordinary mortals as to become virtual gods. This approach retains a literal reading of myth but recategorizes the literal status of the agents in myth.

The grandest exponents of a symbolic rendition of traditional religious myths were Bultmann and Jonas. Taken literally, myth for Bultmann is exactly what it is for Tylor and should be rejected as uncompromisingly as Tylor rejects it. But unlike Tylor, Bultmann reads myth symbolically. In his celebrated, if excruciatingly confusing, phrase, he "demythologizes" myth, which means not eliminating, or "demythicizing," the mythology but instead extricating its true, symbolic meaning. To seek evidence of an actual worldwide flood, while dismissing the miraculous notion of an ark containing all species, would be to demythicize the Noah myth. To interpret the flood as a symbolic statement about the precariousness of human life would be to demythologize the myth.

Demythologized, myth ceases to be about the world and turns out to be about the human experience of the world. Demythologized, myth ceases to be an explanation at all and becomes an expression, an expression of what it feels like to live in the world. The New Testament, when demythologized, contrasts the alienation from the world felt by those who have not yet found God to the at-home-ness in the world felt by those who have found God. Myth ceases to be merely primitive and becomes universal. It ceases to be false and becomes true. It depicts the human condition.

Taken literally, myth, as a personalistic explanation of the physical world, is incompatible with science and is therefore unacceptable to moderns. Once demythologized, however, myth is compatible with science because it now refers at once to the transcendent, nonphysical world and, even more, to humans' experience of the physical one. But to say that myth is acceptable to scientifically minded moderns is not to say why it should be accepted. In providing a modern subject matter of myth, Bultmann provides no modern function.

Jonas argues that ancient Gnosticism presents the same fundamental view of the human condition as modern existentialism—but of atheistic rather than, as for Bultmann, of religious existentialism. Both Gnosticism and existentialism stress the radical alienation of human beings from the world. Unlike Bultmann, who strives to bridge the gap between Christianity and modernity, Jonas acknowledges the divide between Gnosticism and modernity. Yet for Jonas, Gnostic mythology can still speak to moderns, and not to modern believers, as forPage 1564 | Top of ArticleBultmann, but to modern skeptics. Like Bultmann, Jonas seeks to reconcile myth with science by recharacterizing the subject matter of myth. Yet no more than Bultmann does he offer any function of myth for moderns.

Hagiographical biographies of celebrated figures transform them into near-gods and their sagas into myths. For example, immediately after the First Gulf War, biographies of the American commander-in-chief, "Stormin' Norman" Schwarzkopf (b. 1934), touted him as the smartest and bravest soldier in the world—so much smarter and braver than anyone else as to make him almost more than human.

The chief theorist here is the Romanian-born historian of religions Mircea Eliade (1907–1986), who spent the last three decades of his life in the United States. Unlike Bultmann and Jonas, Eliade does not seek to reconcile myth with science by interpreting myth symbolically. He reads myth as literally as Tylor does. Unlike Bultmann and Jonas, Eliade does not try to update traditional myths. But rather than, like Tylor, sticking to traditional, explicitly religious myths, he turns to modern, seemingly nonreligious ones. Yet instead of trying to reconcile those myths with science, as Bultmann and Jonas would, he appeals to the sheer presence of them to argue for their compatibility with science: if moderns, who for Eliade no less than for the others have science, also have myth, then myth simply must be compatible with science. Where Bultmann and Jonas argue meekly that moderns can have myth, Eliade argues boldly that they do. Where Tylor and Frazer assume that myth is the victim of the process of secularization, Eliade argues that only a superficial secularization has occurred.

Myth and Ritual

Myth is commonly taken to be words, often in the form of a story. A myth is read or heard. It says something. Yet there is an approach to myth that finds this view of myth artificial. According to the myth and ritual, or myth-ritualist, theory, myth does not stand by itself but is tied to ritual. Myth is not just a statement but also an action.

The myth-ritualist theory was pioneered by the Scottish biblicist and Arabist William Robertson Smith (1846–1894). Smith argues that belief is central to modern religion but not to ancient religion, where instead ritual was central. He grants that ancients doubtless performed rituals only for some reason. But the reason was secondary and could even fluctuate. The reason was a story, or a myth, which simply described the origin of the ritual. In claiming that myth is an explanation of ritual, Smith was denying Tylor's conception of myth as an explanation of the world.

Yet Smith is like Tylor in one key respect. For both, myth is wholly ancient. Modern religion is without myth—and without ritual as well. Myth and ritual are not merely ancient but "primitive." In fact, for both Tylor and Smith, ancient religion is but a case of primitive religion, which is the fundamental foil to modern religion.

J. G. Frazer developed the myth-ritualist theory far beyond Smith. Frazer, rarely consistent, actually presents two distinct versions of myth-ritualism. In the first version myth describes the life of the god of vegetation, and ritual enacts the myth describing his death and rebirth. The ritual operates on the basis of the voodoo-like Law of Similarity, according to which the imitation of an action causes it to happen. The ritual directly manipulates the god of vegetation, but as the god goes, so automatically goes vegetation. The ritual is performed when one wants winter to end, presumably when stored-up provisions are running low. A human being, often the king, plays the role of the god and acts out what he magically induces the god to do.

In Frazer's second version of myth-ritualism, the king is central. Here the king does not merely act the part of the god but is himself divine, by which Frazer means that the god resides in him. Just as the health of vegetation depends on the health of its god, so now the health of the god depends on the health of the king: as the king goes, so goes the god of vegetation, and so in turn goes vegetation itself. To ensure a steady supply of food, the community kills its king while he is still in his prime and thereby safely transfers the soul of the god to his successor. As in the first version, the aim is to end winter, which now is attributed to the weakening of the king.

While this second version of myth-ritualism has proved the more influential by far, it actually provides only a tenuous link between myth and ritual. Instead of enacting the myth of the god of vegetation, the ritual simply changes the residence of the god. The king dies not in imitation of the death of the god but as a sacrifice to preserve the health of the god. What part myth plays here, it is not easy to see. Instead of reviving the god by magical imitation, the ritual revives the god by a transplant.

Outside of religion, the most notable application of the myth-ritualist theory has been to literature. The English classicist Jane Harrison (1850–1928) daringly derived all art, not just literature, from ritual. Using Frazer's first version of mythritualism, she speculates that gradually people ceased believing that the imitation of an action caused that action to occur. Yet rather than abandoning ritual, they now practiced it as an end in itself. Ritual for its own sake became art, her clearest example of which is drama. More modestly than she, fellow classicists Gilbert Murray (1866–1957) and Francis Macdonald Cornford (1874–1943) rooted specifically Greek epic, tragedy, and comedy in myth-ritualism. Murray then extended the theory to the works of William Shakespeare (1564–1616).

Other standard-bearers of the theory have included Jessie Weston on the Grail legend, E. M. Butler on the Faust legend, C. L. Barber on Shakespearean comedy, Herbert Weisinger on Shakespearean tragedy and on tragedy per se, Francis Fergusson on tragedy, Lord Raglan on hero myths and on literature as a whole, and Northrop Frye and Stanley Edgar Hyman on literature generally. As literary critics, these myth-ritualists have understandably been concerned less with myth itself than with the mythic origin of literature. Works of literature are interpreted as the outgrowth of myths once tied to rituals. For those literary critics indebted to Frazer, as the majority are, literature harks back to Frazer's second myth-ritualist scenario. "The king must die" becomes the familiar summary line.

For literary myth-ritualists, myth becomes literature when myth is severed from ritual. Myth tied to ritual is religious literature; myth cut off from ritual is secular literature, or plain literature. Bereft of ritual, myth can no longer change the world and is demoted to mere commentary.

Perhaps the first to temper the dogma that myths and rituals are inseparable was the American anthropologist Clyde Kluckhohn (1905–1960). The German classicist Walter Burkert (b. 1931) has gone well beyond Kluckhohn in not merely permitting but assuming the original independence of myth and ritual. He maintains that when the two do come together, they do not just serve a common function, as Kluckhohn assumes, but reinforce each other. Myth bolsters ritual by giving mere human behavior a real, not to mention divine, origin: do this because the gods did or do it. Conversely, ritual bolsters myth by turning a mere story into prescribed behavior of the most dutiful kind: do this on pain of anxiety, if not punishment. Where for Smith myth serves ritual, for Burkert ritual equally serves myth.

Ritual for Burkert is "as if" behavior. The "ritual" is not the customs and formalities involved in actual hunting but dramatized hunting. The function is no longer that of securing food, as for Frazer, for the ritual proper arises only after farming has supplanted hunting as the prime source of food. The communal nature of actual hunting, and of ritualized hunting thereafter, functioned to assuage anxiety over one's own aggression and one's own mortality, and at the same time functioned to cement a bond among participants. This shift of focus from the physical world to the human world typifies the shift of focus from nineteenth-century theories of myth to twentieth-century ones.

Myth and Psychology

In the field of psychology, the theories of the Viennese physician Sigmund Freud (1856–1939) and of the Swiss psychiatrist Carl Gustav Jung (1875–1961) have almost monopolized the study of myth. Freud's key discussion of his key myth, that of Oedipus, fittingly occurs in The Interpretation of Dreams (1913), for he, and Jung as well, compare myths with dreams.

On the surface, or manifest, level, the story of Oedipus describes that figure's vain effort to elude the fate that has been imposed on him. Latently, however, Oedipus most wants to do what manifestly he least wants to do. He wants to act out his "Oedipus complex." The manifest, or literal, level of the myth hides the latent, symbolic meaning. On the manifest level Oedipus is the innocent victim of Fate. On the latent level he is the culprit. Rightly understood, the myth depicts not Oedipus's failure to circumvent his ineluctable destiny but his success in fulfilling his fondest desires.

Yet the latent meaning scarcely stops here. For the myth is not ultimately about Oedipus at all. Just as the manifest level, on which Oedipus is the victim, masks a latent one, on which Oedipus is the victimizer, so that level in turn masks an even more latent one, on which the ultimate victimizer is the myth maker and any reader of the myth smitten with it. Either is a neurotic adult male stuck, or fixated, at his Oedipal stage of development. He identifies himself with Oedipus and through him fulfills his own Oedipus complex. At heart, the myth is not biography but autobiography.

The Austrian psychoanalyst Otto Rank (1884–1939), who was Freud's protégé at the time but who later broke irrevocably with the master, works out a common plot, or pattern, for one key category of myths: those of male heroes. The heart of the pattern is the decision by the parents to kill their son at birth to avert the prophecy that the son, if born, will one day kill his father. Unbeknownst to the parents, the infant is rescued and raised by others, grows up to discover who he is, returns home to kill his father, and succeeds him as king or noble. Interpreted psychologically, the pattern is the enactment of the Oedipus complex: the son kills his father to gain sexual access to his mother.

Mainstream psychoanalysis has changed mightily since Freud's day. Contemporary psychoanalysts like the American Jacob Arlow (1912–2004) see myth as contributing to normal development rather than to the perpetuation of neurosis. Myth abets adjustment to the social and the physical worlds rather than childish flight from them. Furthermore, myth now serves everyone, not merely neurotics.

The classical Freudian goal is the establishment of oneself in the external world, largely free of domination by parents and instincts. Success is expressed concretely in the form of a job and a mate. Jungians accept that goal, but as that of only the "first half" of life, or from infancy to young adulthood. The goal of the uniquely Jungian second half of life—of adulthood—is consciousness—not, however, of the external world, as summed up by the Freudian term reality principle, but of the distinctively Jungian, or collective, unconscious. One must return to that unconscious, from which one has unavoidably become severed in the first half of life, but not to sever one's ties to the external world. On the contrary, the aim is return in turn to the external world. The ideal is a balance between consciousness of the external world and consciousness of the unconscious. The aim of the second half of life is to supplement, not abandon, the achievements of the first half.

The American mythologist Joseph Campbell (1904–1987) provides the classical Jungian counterpart to Rank on hero myths. Where Rank's pattern, limited to males, centers on the hero's toppling of his father, Campbell's centers on a journey, undertaken by an adult female or a male hero, from the known, human world to the heretofore unknown world of gods. Interpreted psychologically, that journey is an inner, not outer, trek from the known portion of the mind—ordinary, or ego, consciousness, the object of which is the external world—to the unknown portion of the mind—the Jungian unconscious. The successful hero must not only reach the strange, new world but also return. In psychological terms, success means the completion of the goal of the second half of life.

The most influential Jungian theorists of myth after Jung himself have been Erich Neumann (1905–1960) and James Hillman (b. 1926). Neumann systematizes the developmental, or evolutionary, aspect of Jungian theory. Jung himself certainly correlates myths with stages of psychological development, but Neumann works out the stages, beginning with the "uroboric" stage of sheer unconsciousness and proceeding to the incipient emergence of the ego out of the unconscious, the development of an independent ego consciousness, and the eventual return of the ego to the unconscious to create the self. Neumann's emphasis on heroism in the first half of life complements Campbell's devotion to heroism in the second half.

By far the most radical development in the Jungian theory of myth has been the emergence of archetypal psychology, which in fact considers itself post-Jungian. The chief figure in this movement is Hillman. Another important figure is David Miller. Archetypal psychology faults classical Jungian psychology on multiple grounds. By emphasizing the compensatory, therapeutic message of mythology, classical Jungian psychology purportedly reduces mythology to psychology and gods to concepts. In espousing a unified self (or "Self") as the ideal psychological authority, Jungian psychology supposedly projects onto psychology a Western, specifically monotheistic, more specifically Christian, even more specifically Protestant outlook. The Western emphasis on progress is purportedly reflected in the primacy Jungian psychology accords hero myths and the primacy it accords the ego, even in the ego's encounter with the unconscious: the encounter is intended to abet development. Finally, Jungian psychology is berated for placing archetypes in an unknowable realm distinct from the known realm of symbols.

As a corrective, Hillman and his followers advocate that psychology be viewed as irreducibly mythological. Myth is still to be interpreted psychologically, but psychology is itself to be interpreted mythologically. One grasps the psychological meaning of the myth of Saturn by imagining oneself to be the figure Saturn, not by translating Saturn's plight into clinical terms like depression. Moreover, the depressed Saturn represents a legitimate aspect of one's personality. Each god deserves its due. The psychological ideal should be pluralistic rather than monolithic—in mythological terms, polytheistic rather than monotheistic, or Greek rather than biblical. Insisting that archetypes are to be found in symbols rather than outside them, Hillman espouses a relation to the gods in themselves and not to something beyond them. The ego becomes but one more archetype with its attendant kind of god, and it is the soul rather than the ego that experiences the archetypes through myths. Myth serves to open one up to the soul's own depths.

Myth and Structure

Lévi-Strauss calls his approach to myth "structuralist" to distinguish it from "narrative" interpretations, or those that adhere to the plot of myth. Nonstructuralists deem myth a story, progressing from beginning to end, be the story interpreted literally or symbolically. Where the plot of a myth is that, say, event A leads to event B, which leads to event C, which leads to event D, the structure, which is identical with the expression and resolution of contradictions, is either that events A and B constitute an opposition mediated by event C or, as in the Oedipus myth, that events A and B, which constitute the same opposition, are to each other as events C and D, an analogous opposition, are to each other. Apparently, all oppositions for Lévi-Strauss symbolize the tension between humans as part of nature and humans as part of culture.

Lévi-Strauss is not the only or even the earliest theorist of myth labeled a structuralist. Notably, the Russian folklorist Vladimir Propp (1895–1970) and the French Indo-Europeanist Georges Dumézil (1898–1986) wrote both before Lévi-Strauss and independently of him. The French literary critic Roland Barthes (1915–1980) was a contemporary of Lévi-Strauss but was his own person.

The common plot that Propp deciphers in Russian fairy tales is his structure, which thus remains on the narrative level and is no different from the kind of structure found by Rank and Campbell. By contrast, the structure that Dumézil unravels lies as much beneath the surface level as Lévi-Strauss's. But it reflects the order of society rather than, as for Lévi-Strauss, that of the mind, and is three-part rather than two-part.

Barthes is concerned with myth as ideology. In Lévi-Straussian terms, he writes to expose the way that French bourgeois culture creates myths to make itself seem natural—a fusion of culture with nature rather than the mere alleviation of the opposition between them. For Barthes, the function of myth is social rather than, as for Lévi-Strauss, intellectual. For Barthes, the structure of myth is its cultural context. By "myths" he means artifacts and activities more than stories. His clearest example is of professional wrestling, which, much more than a sport, is an attempt to alleviate lingering misgivings over the behavior of some French citizens during the Occupation by presenting clear-cut Good (the wrestler) as triumphing over clear-cut Evil (his opponent).

A group of French classicists headed by Jean-Pierre Vernant (b. 1914) have proved the most faithful followers of Lévi-Strauss's brand of structuralism, though even they have adapted it. Lévi-Strauss has regularly been lambasted for isolating myth from its various contexts—social, cultural, political, economic, even sexual. In his essay on the American Indian myth of Asdiwal, he does provide a detailed ethnographic analysis of a myth. But he does so almost nowhere else. Vernant and his fellow classicists—notably, Marcel Detienne, Pierre Vidal-Naquet, and Nicole Loraux—have taken the analysis of Asdiwal as their model. As the heirs of Lévi-Strauss, these classicists have sought to decipher underlying, often latent patterns in myths, but they have then sought to link those patterns to ones in the culture at large.

Myth and Society

Where for Tylor and Frazer myth deals exclusively, or nearly exclusively, with physical phenomena—flooding, disease, death—for Malinowski myth deals even more with social phenomena—classes, taxes, rituals. Myth still serves to reconcile humans to the unpleasantries of life, but now to unpleasantries that, far from unalterable, can be cast off. Here, too, myths spur resigned acceptance by tracing these unpleasantries, or at least impositions, back to a hoary past, thereby conferring on them the clout of tradition. Myth persuades denizens to defer to, say, ranks in society by pronouncing those ranks long-standing and in that sense deserved. Here the beneficiary of myth is society, not the individual. The modern counterpart to myths of social phenomena—if for Malinowski moderns lack myths—would be ideology.

As the Frazerian counterpart to Rank and Campbell, Lord Raglan extends Frazer's second myth-ritualist scenario by turning the king who dies for the community into a hero. The function of myth is now as much social as agricultural: inspiring present kings to sacrifice themselves so that their communities will not starve. The French-born, American-resident literary critic René Girard (b. 1923) offers an ironic twist to Raglan. Where Raglan's hero is willing to die for the community, Girard's hero is killed or exiled by the community for having caused the present woes of the community. Indeed, the "hero" is initially considered a criminal who deserves to die. Only subsequently is the villain turned into a hero, who, as for Raglan, dies selflessly for the community. Both Raglan and Girard cite Oedipus as their fullest example, though both scorn Freud. For Girard, the transformation of Oedipus from reviled exile in Sophocles' Oedipus the King to revered benefactor in Sophocles' Oedipus at Colonus typifies the transformation from criminal to hero.

Yet this change is for Girard only the second half of the process. The first half is the change from innocent victim to criminal. Originally, the community selects an innocent member to blame for the violence that has erupted. This scapegoat, who can be of any rank, is usually killed, though, as with Oedipus, sometimes exiled. The killing is the ritualistic sacrifice. Rather than directing the ritual, as for Frazer, myth for Girard is created after the killing to hide it. Myth comes from ritual, as for Smith, but it comes to mask rather than, as for Smith, to explain the ritual. Myth turns the scapegoat into a criminal who deserved to die and then turns the criminal into a hero, who has died voluntarily for the good of the community.

Like Burkert, Girard roots myth in sacrifice and roots sacrifice in aggression. Yet like Burkert, myth functions to secure peace and not, as for Frazer, food. Myth deals with the human world; science, with the physical world. This shift of focus again typifies the shift from nineteenth-century of theories of myth to twentieth-century ones.

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Robert A. Segal

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