Death Valley by Pedro Szekely Death: the good version and the bad version As I love telling my fellow associates and colluders in myth: “If death’s not your favorite part of this stuff, then you’re just not studying hard enough.” Granted, my zealous ultimatums have been known to prompt concern—especially from the more literal-minded—who then take steps to deescalate my passion through masterfully rendered rebuttals cloaked in neutral tones like: “I don’t think so” or “Maybe you should sit down for a minute?” or “Here, have some of this non-caffeinated herbal tea.” I gladly comply because I see the unconscious affirmation concealed in their reactions. They are all reducible to notions of death and underworldly directions whether through a nonplussed disagreement intentionally engineered to have as little to do with the matter (cf., the realm of the living) as possible, or through a striving toward calmness, stillness—an out, so to speak, from the heated blood of life for which the shades of Hades so yearn in the  Odyssey . Oh, the irony. For once one gets past its literal face, there’s something about how the content of and around death deepens downward (and concurrently grows upward) the more one looks at it, watches it, reflects on it—something about its fertile richness, its dark mystery that is so present and necessary to the fullness of psyche. Technically the full topic is “death and renewal,” but as far as mythology’s concerned, renewal is the inseparable complement and completion to death.  More pressing for the moment, however, is all this glib talk, my light tossing around of such a heavy term. Precisely what makes “death” so amenable and easy on my tongue is simply the notion that I am talking here about  metaphorical  death, which means I am encountering the concept  of death through the innumerable attributes and entailments of whichever sources are fitting comparisons (e.g., sunsets, waning moons, winter, sleep, etc.). Let that foundational fact sink in, please. For surely there is that other death, literal  death—the kind we read about in headlines, and that we all have witnessed one way or another, and been touched by. I mean the kind of death that we have crumbled before on those ruinous occasions when it came and took everything and left in its wake not a thing but the poignantly tangible absence of what once was present and dear and warm and suddenly, irrevocably gone. I will not presume to investigate this literal version—a separate thing altogether—before which I cover my mouth, lower my head, and am silent. Coming to life through metaphor Meanwhile, back to the metaphor, which presents a very different perspective and which renders a depth of experience by providing contexts of association through relationships in place of denotative definitions. Before proceeding, let’s do a quick refresh on metaphor so we can sate the logos (our trusty and necessary threshold guardian) and get on with the mythos… Simply put, a metaphor works by making a comparison between two things (and a “thing” can be an image, an action, or a concept), in which attributes are borrowed from one thing (the source ) and applied to another thing (the target ). On a deeper level, however, attributes are not borrowed from only the source itself, but from the “domain” of that source—meaning, from that source’s whole environment . This includes all the other phenomena that inhabit that same environment and  all the relationships that the source has with those other phenomena!  This very complex network of relationships ( entailments ) within a particular source-domain is then mapped onto the equally complex domain of a target. Thus metaphor is not just a comparison of one thing to another thing, but a comparison of the innumerable relationships within one thing’s “life” (to employ a type of metaphor called “personification”) to the equally innumerable relationships within another thing’s life. In short, metaphor puts relationships into relationship with each other. Whew, that was hard work. But don’t worry, there’s more…  As an example, one can say that a sunset is a metaphor for death—or even an archetype  for death, as it is seen, for example, as marking the beginning of the sun god’s journey through the “twelve hours” of the Ancient Egyptian underworld. For our purposes here, archetypes are simply metaphors that are universal, metaphors that register across cultures. As Jung reminds us, “An archetype expresses itself, first and foremost, in metaphors” ( The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious , 157). Whether we call it metaphor or archetype, the many entailments that accompany a sunset can easily be applied to the concept of death: a sunset is a transitioning event that eventually ends; a sunset sinks down into a horizon and disappears; a sunset is a thing of warmth that becomes cold, a thing of light that becomes dark. And speaking of entailments within domains, “light” is a subcategory of the broader category of sunsets. Within this subcategory, light is (independently) a metaphor for “consciousness” and for “being alive.”  Perpetual depth in metaphor  If I may take things one step further, let me suggest that metaphors are not the one-way journeys of entailments from a source to a target. Rather, metaphors are simultaneously the reciprocal journeys of entailments from the target back to the source. Why is this important? Because it emphasizes a chief concern of individuated consciousness: Relationship —or, worded differently: “interaction with the cosmos that an individuated consciousness finds itself in.” Moreover this concurrent reciprocity imagines a dialogue  between source and target. Unlike the monologues of literal fact that simply put a bow on the matter and end it, dialogues iterate. They actually “go” somewhere—as in two feet working in tandem, striding, the one and then the other, carrying the attention of the witness (i.e., us) deeper and deeper into the ever-unfolding terrain of their perpetual interaction.  And this, like all things associative and connotative, renders experience to the witness because the attributes and entailments (which, metaphorically speaking, are the contents of the conversation that the source and target pass back and forth to each other) are never captured .  Rather, their perpetual dialogue summons responses and associations from the witness, and so the metaphor is encountered and experienced as living, as protean. In the field of life, everything is relative, encountered and experienced through comparison. The path of the living metaphor simply goes on and on, deeper and deeper towards  transcendence and (I like to think) backlit by the pure energy of being that inexplicably emits from transcendence. The only thing that can stop this emittance and perpetual deepening is literal thinking which shifts the perspective from relationships to isolation, from connotative to denotative. And denotation is an experiential dead-end—it is an intellectual solution  that stops shy of transcendence. Sure, the connotation never reaches transcendence, either. But unlike the denotation, it does not shut it out completely. Metaphors cease to be metaphors when they become denotative, when the dialogue ends, when the associations borne by comparison become facts, when figurative thinking becomes literal, when “raining cats and dogs” summons naught but the concept of heavy rain (and leaves neither the images nor the ideas of lovely pets anywhere in mind). Fittingly, these are called dead metaphors, more popularly known as clichés: dead bodies or husks of words over which we might as well throw some dirt, some flowers, mumble something or other, and go back to our cars. Maybe a real metaphor will sprout in the spring. With all that in mind, let’s take a moment to appreciate Joseph Campbell’s “new” definition of myth: “My definition of myth now is: a metaphor transparent to transcendence … Mythology opens the world so that it becomes transparent to something that is beyond speech, beyond words, in short, to what we call transcendence. If the metaphor closes in on itself [i.e., becomes literal] then it has closed the transcendence; it's no longer mythological. It's distortion” ( The Hero’s Journey , 40). And so, a death-and-renewal metaphor that can be applied as an effective approach to metaphor: When we die to the confining urge of literalism, we are renewed in the living spaciousness of metaphor and myth. When we die to the confining urge of literalism, we are renewed in the living spaciousness of metaphor and myth. A bird and a stream Here is something that happened to me a few days ago while I was writing this essay in the mountains. I could call it a small myth about death and renewal. I will not explicate, I will not kill the metaphor or the myth. Instead, I leave you to your associations, the only way they can be: Living and as they are. Hopefully all that metaphor-math above has groomed the trail for frictionless passage to that special kind of experience that Campbell spoke of—the kind that has a little transcendence coming through. Anyway, I was walking through 10 degrees Fahrenheit along a ploughed path beside a stream cutting through several feet of snow, edged on both shores by sheets of ice protruding like shelves over the busy water. And then there was this bird, a songbird, about the size of a baseball standing on the far sheet looking into the black glassy current. To my horror the lovely creature just hopped into the water and disappeared. Moments later it reappeared, emerging out of the icy water. A flurry of wings, and it was back on its ice sheet. Then back into the water again, and I mean underwater . This went on for some time and I thought, “Well this is fitting content for my essay: a death-and-renewal metaphor wrought not of words nor of concepts, but of ice and feathers, sunlight and snow.” It was my first encounter with the American dipper. Obviously, my new favorite bird. MythBlast authored by: Craig Deininger  has been writing for the JCF Mythblast series since 2018. He has taught at Naropa University, Studio Film School in Los Angeles and the University of Massachusetts at Amherst where he earned an MFA in poetry. He also earned an MA and PhD in Mythology and Jungian Psychology from Pacifica Graduate Institute in California. He has counterbalanced his studies with manual work in fields like big ag farming, landscaping, commercial fishing, trail-building, framing houses and so on. He is grateful to have somehow made it to later life after too many outdoor misadventures in backpacking, rock climbing, hiking and, especially, trying to get too close to wildlife that doesn’t want to be gotten-too-close-to. His poetry has appeared in several literary magazines including The Iowa Review, and his first book of poetry Leaves from the World Tree was co-authored with mythologist Dennis Patrick Slattery and published by Mandorla Books. This MythBlast was inspired by  The Power of Myth  Episode 6, and The Hero's Journey Latest Podcast In this episode, recorded in 1974, Joseph Campbell explores the relationship between humans and their gods. The lecture was given just two years after Campbell's retirement from Sarah Lawrence College and five years after the publication of the final volume in his Masks of God series. Host Bradley Olson introduces the lecture and provides commentary at the conclusion. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "Life is but a mask worn on the face of death. And is death, then, but another mask? "How many can say,' asks the Aztec poet, 'that there is, or is not, a truth beyond?" -- Joseph Campbell The Mythic Image , 160 The Eternal Principle (see more videos) Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

Still from Hayao Mizayaki's The Boy and the Heron This mythblast is not exactly about Hayao Miyazaki’s The Boy and the Heron , but it is inspired by the “affects” of this recent film which won the best animated feature category at last year’s Golden Globe and Academy Awards. I suspect audiences are drawn to the film because it demonstrates with uncanny precision (and imprecision!) the encounter with the dream-world (aka: underworld, aka: unconscious) through the agency of the archetype of the trickster figure. On that note, now is a good time to recall Joseph Campbell’s apt correlation between dream and myth: “Dream is the personalized myth, myth the depersonalized dream” ( The Hero[n] with a Thousand Faces, 18). To better suit the following context, allow me to restate: Dream is the expression of the personal unconscious, while myth is the expression of the collective unconscious, within which the archetypes reside. The weirdness of the dream Surely there are other, rare films that are also (literally) dreamlike. But as for the rendering of the actual experience of encountering the unconscious via the dreaming state, The Boy and the Heron is, in my opinion, unsurpassed. There are only two things I feel I need to point out to support this claim. The first is the film’s accuracy in recreating that particular kind of imagistic and narrative weirdness that we encounter in dreams—and I emphasize “weirdness” because it is of a sort that is strangely familiar (perhaps having something to do with weird ’s etymological source: fate). The second criterion is the unmistakable duplicitousness of the story’s trickster, the heron, who guides the boy (and us) down a path that begins on ordinary-enough terms, but then transforms into something very different along the way. Furthermore, the transformation (of both environment and guide) proceeds by such negligible degrees that we suddenly find ourselves, late in the game, startled and bewildered, lost deep in unconscious terrain with no real idea of how we got there. This mini-awakening, this recognition that things have sneakily transmuted without our having noticed (or even questioned) until it is blatant, is common to dream-experience. And guess who’s responsible, so to speak, for shuttling us to and fro, in and out, of these different states of consciousness and perspective, these moments of seeing, moments of blindness, and so on and so forth? That’s right, as will soon be (partially) seen, the trickster. But for now, note that these mini-awakenings or glimpses into the unconscious indicate that, for a moment, an aspect of the unconscious has been made known to the conscious due to the light, so to speak, that we’ve thrown into it. And note also that this light can penetrate only so far before it is simply stopped, as if at gates specifically designed to preserve the mysteries of the unconscious from our making a mess of them—or, more likely, to preserve us from being annihilated by them. Either way, this dynamic highlights a central aspect of the archetype (indeed, of all archetypes)—namely, that just as the exception is always inherent in the archetype, likewise there is always that part of the archetype that eludes our knowing altogether. We could call this its depth. And this is kind of a good thing, because when we find ourselves at those gates, gazing into the awesome face of the unknown, we are in that moment subsumed by the beautiful condition of being lost, and hopefully, at a loss for words or thoughts or anything, really. For at last we are capable of pure exploration and discoveries. At last the soul finds itself in the room with its preferred kind of treasure: wonder, novelty, renewal and, of course, experience (which is the soul’s chief currency—both in value and in the flow or direction [cf. “current”] of its evolution). Get your snake oil here, but maybe don’t drink it I won’t address The Boy and the Heron ’s specifics because that would flatten the experience and waste time. So instead, in signature trickster fashion I’ll just say trust me. Check out the film. You might as well, the risk is small enough, even if I am lying about the whole thing. And so it is with the trickster, whose scale of severity ranges anywhere from Curly and Mo boinking each other in the eyes to Loki engineering the destruction of an entire pantheon along with its cosmos. Regardless of scale, the trickster jars the ego into a new perspective by subjecting it to frustration, embarrassment, terror, confusion, ruin and sundry other psychologically unpalatable flavors. But the trickster may also ease the ego into new terrain through all kinds of slippery maneuverisms and sleights-of-hand. Either way, new perspectives are rendered in which, for better or worse, we are suddenly not so central or significant as we had formerly presumed, and our power of influence is indeed meagre if not entirely absent. The trickster jars the ego into a new perspective by subjecting it to frustration, embarrassment, terror, confusion, ruin and sundry other psychologically unpalatable flavors. The superlative metaphor for this absence of influence is probably death, which we find in the myth of Hades and Persephone. Here, in one fell swoop, we (and “we” are the Persephone-figure in this myth) are simply taken without any say in the matter, without any means of escape or of fighting it off and that, as they say, is that. Well, the (probably) good news is that another job of the trickster (who, of course, is a moonlighter!) is to guide souls into (and sometimes out of) the underworld. In classical terms this auxiliary role [Gk. psychopomp ] is played by Hermes. Furthermore, he is the inciter of dreams through so-to-speak taps on the unwitting heads of all sleeping things with his dual-serpentine helix caduceus staff whose history traces even farther back beyond Greece into ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. And so, this deity, like Miyazaki’s heron, is both the personification of, and the host of, the psyche’s transport to and fro between worlds which are distinguished less by physical contents and more through psychic encounters as the perspectives we inhabit within whichever particular state of consciousness we literally find ourselves. This, I think, is the great value to all the trickster’s antics. It’s just that (as with all things) it comes at a price. Thanks for reading... MythBlast authored by: Craig Deininger  has been writing for the JCF Mythblast series since 2018. He has taught at Naropa University, Studio Film School in Los Angeles and the University of Massachusetts at Amherst where he earned an MFA in poetry. He also earned an MA and PhD in Mythology and Jungian Psychology from Pacifica Graduate Institute in California. He has counterbalanced his studies with manual work in fields like big ag farming, landscaping, commercial fishing, trail-building, framing houses and so on. He is grateful to have somehow made it to later life after too many outdoor misadventures in backpacking, rock climbing, hiking and, especially, trying to get too close to wildlife that doesn’t want to be gotten-too-close-to. His poetry has appeared in several literary magazines including The Iowa Review, and his first book of poetry Leaves from the World Tree was co-authored with mythologist Dennis Patrick Slattery and published by Mandorla Books. This MythBlast was inspired by Creative Mythology and the archetype of The Trickster . Latest Podcast Enuma Okoro , is a Nigerian-American author, essayist, curator and lecturer. She is a weekend columnist for The Financial Times where she writes the column, “The Art of Life,” about art, culture and how we live. And is the curator of the 2024 group exhibition, “The Flesh of the Earth,” at Hauser & Wirth gallery in Chelsea, New York. Her broader research and writing interests reflect how the intersection of the arts and critical theory, philosophy and contemplative spirituality, and ecology and non-traditional knowledge systems can speak to the human condition and interrogate how we live with ourselves and others. Her fiction and poetry are published in anthologies, and her nonfiction essays and articles have been featured in The New York Times, The Financial Times, Aeon, Vogue, The Erotic Review, The Cut, The Atlantic Monthly, Harper’s Bazaar, NYU Washington Review, The Guardian, The Washington Post, and more. Her Substack, "A Little Heart to Heart" is a labyrinth towards interiority, exploring the fine line between the sacred and the ordinary in our daily lives. Find it at Enuma.substack.com and learn more about Enuma at www.enumaokoro.com . In this conversation, we explore Enuma’s journey, the ways myth, art, and storytelling shape us, and how we can use them as tools to reimagine both our personal and collective realities. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "The dream is a private myth, and the myth is a public dream." -- Joseph Campbell Myth and Meaning , 18 Psyche & Symbol: The Origin of Elementary Ideas (see more videos) Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

The human mythic imagination Bill Moyers: What do you think our souls owe to ancient myths? Joseph Campbell: Well, the ancient myths were designed to put the mind, the mental system, into accord with this body system, with this inheritance. Bill Moyers: A harmony? Joseph Campbell: To harmonize. The mind can ramble off in strange ways and want things that the body does not want. And the myths and rites were a means to put the mind in accord with the body, and the way of life in accord with the way that nature dictates. Bill Moyers: So in a way these old stories live in us. Joseph Campbell: They do, indeed… (5:08-5:53) In this episode of the Power of Myth , Campbell speaks of the mythic imagination that arose from human interaction with animals as hunters. He points to the Lascaux caves exquisite paintings as a “burst of magnificent art and all the evidence you need of a mythic imagination in full career” ( 28:00-28:10 ). At an estimated 30,000 years old, the Lascaux cave paintings in Dordogne, and the even earlier paintings of Chauvet-Pont D’arc in Ardèche in France are magnificent—Picasso anecdotally said, “Since Lascaux, we have invented nothing.” What if story is not a human invention? I am wondering about an idea, though: while these caves may well be one of the earliest efforts at mythic storytelling by humans, there are actually story-tellers that began these stories millions of years earlier. What if story is not simply a human invention, but one we humans simply understand in a particular way? What if story is not simply a human invention, but one we humans simply understand in a particular way? If we think mythically about stories themselves, and about how these stories create the world as much as they define it—and how as humans we are created by the stories we tell, an intriguing mythic and scientific lens begins to open. The creator microbes In June, The New York Times Magazine published a piece by science writer Ferris Jabr , an adaptation of his book Becoming Earth: How Our Planet Came to Life. Jabr accompanied a group of geomicrobiologists down into a mine shaft in South Dakota, a cave carved out by gold miners rather than water, tunneling a mile and a half below the surface. What they discovered here is extraordinary, as Jabr writes: “Here we were, deep within Earth’s crust—a place where, without human intervention, there would be no light and little oxygen—yet life was literally gush­ing from rock.“ Microbes abound there, without human intervention, and they are ancient, living and moving seemingly endlessly, and they breathe, eat, and create rock. It’s a radical realization: that our planet is not life perched on a shallow surface, but is instead constantly being created by life. These microorganisms create their surroundings. Jabr continues, “Subsurface microbes carve vast caverns, concentrate minerals and precious metals and regulate the global cycling of carbon and nutrients. Microbes may even have helped construct the continents, literally laying the ground­work for all other terrestrial life.” Simultaneously, microbiologists are just beginning to parse out the relationship between microbes in the human body, particularly in the human gut, and how they don’t merely inhabit their surroundings, but transform them as well. Genes in the human gut microbiome vastly outnumber the “human” genes we carry, and not only develop human cognitive function, including memory, but our emotional capacity. In an article echoing Jung in its title, “Collective Unconscious: How Gut Microbes Shape Human Behavior,” researchers report that “gut microbes are part of the unconscious system influencing behavior, and microbes majorly impact on cognitive function and fundamental behavior patterns” (pgs. 1-9). Mythic microbial stories If Campbell is right—and our human myths emerged as a way to bring harmony with the natural world—and the microbiologists and microgeologists are right—and the microbe community on the planet are creators and communicators, building both the natural world and human capacities to function within it—is it that outrageous to imagine that the first and most powerful story-tellers were not human at all? But that our stories that we shape and are shaped by each telling of them actually are mythic echoes of microbial stories? I find this idea both utterly compelling and oddly comforting. It weaves a powerful connection and rightness for me, in both scientific and mythic ways, about human kinship with everything else on—and in—this planet. And perhaps this affinity can be an opening into how we might better articulate that connection as we try to respond to a beleaguered natural world. MythBlast authored by: Leigh Melander, Ph.D. has an eclectic background in the arts and organizational development, working with inviduals and organizations in the US and internationally for over 20 years. She has a doctorate in cultural mythology and psychology and wrote her dissertation on frivolity as an entry into the world of imagination. Her writings on mythology and imagination can be seen in a variety of publications, and she has appeared on the History Channel, as a mythology expert. She also hosts a radio who on an NPR community affiliate: Myth America, an exploration into how myth shapes our sense of identity. Leigh and her husband opened Spillian, an historic lodge and retreat center celebrating imagination in the Catskills, and works with clients on creative projects. She is honored to have previously served as the Vice President of the Joseph Campbell Foundation Board of Directors. This MythBlast was inspired by  The Power of Myth  Episode 3, and Romance of the Grail Latest Podcast In this episode we speak with Master Chungliang Al Huang —a tai chi master, writer, philosopher, dancer, and generational teacher. Originally from Shanghai, China, Master Huang moved to the United States to study architecture and cultural anthropology, and later Dance. In the 1960s, Master Huang forged a significant collaboration with philosopher Alan Watts, which led him to Esalen. There, he became a beloved teacher and formed meaningful connections with thought leaders such as Huston Smith, Gregory Bateson, and Joseph Campbell. He and Joe taught together at Esalen until Joe’s death in 1987. Master Huang is an author of many books including the classic Embrace Tiger, Return to Mountain. His contributions include pioneering modern dance in the Republic of China and sharing the stage with luminaries like the Dalai Lama and Jane Goodall. He has been an assembly member and presenter at The Council for the Parliament of the World’s Religions and has been a keynote speaker for the YPO (Young Presidents’ Organization) and WPO (World Presidents’ Organization) and at major global gatherings in China, India, Switzerland, Germany, South America, South Africa, and Bali. In 1988 he was featured in the inaugural segment of the PBS series, A World of Ideas, moderated by Bill Moyers. Joseph Campbell famously remarked, “Chungliang Al Huang’s Tai Ji dancing is ‘mythic images’ incarnate. He has found a new way to explain ‘the hero’s journey’ to help others follow their bliss through the experience of tai ji practice in his work through the Living Tao Foundation.” In this conversation, we discuss his life, his relationship with Alan Watts, and his friendship with Joseph Campbell. For learn more about Chungliang visit:  https://livingtao.org Listen Here This Week's Highlights “Within each person there is what Jung called a collective unconscious. We are not only individuals with our unconscious intentions related to a specific social environment. We are also representatives of the species Homo sapiens. And that universality is in us whether we know it or not." -- Joseph Campbell Myth and Meaning , 18 The Center of The World (see more videos) Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

[Creation] by Diego Rivera. Courtesy of the Library of Congress Gods within Joseph Campbell had a vision of an independent “science of myth,” a discipline of depth mythologizing which could stand on its own academic legs. Rather than being relegated to literary, anthropological, and archeological disciplines, Campbell wanted to ground myth on its own mythic substance while privileging a depth-psychological approach. Especially leaning on Carl Jung, Campbell comes again and again to a fundamental insight about the universality of myth— the archetypal figures of myth and legend correspond to psychological factors that are at work in the depths of the collective unconscious mind : “And this is one way of saying that in all of us, in our human activities, deities are operating” ( Romance of the Grail 152). Whenever a human action shines with the power of the archetypal, it has been transfigured by the power of myth. Archetypal images mediate both outer and inner realities. They constitute a psycho-physical medium of consciousness, indispensable to the cognitive function of the symbolic and its capacity to disclose the reality of the world.  Logos vs. mythos Images are not outside of language, not even outside verbal communication. For there is a direct relation between images and their meaning; they belong together as integrated wholes in the symbolic order. When we hear a foreign language, for example, we may have the jarring experience of hearing sounds without meaningful images attached to them. Without the resonance of images in our soul, we could not hear the song of meaning in the vibrations of human thought. As Martin Heidegger put it, “Language itself is poetry in the essential sense,” ( Poetry, Language, Thought 72) that is, in the sense that language can reveal the essence of things. Hence, he explains: “Language is not poetry because it is primal poesy; rather, poesy takes place in language because language preserves the original nature of poetry” (72). Rather than external opposites, mythological images are internal to words, as mythos  to logos  and logos  to mythos , in the full concept of mythology . We know that “non-verbal” images have the power to speak louder than words. As structures of signification, archetypal images are core channels of meaning and imagination; they constitute the world wide web of our symbolic life as a species.  Archetypal images retrace the order of the collective unconscious; they express the cultural forms of a collective consciousness which casts its shadow on the reality of the social field where it generally becomes unconscious. The collective consciousness and the collective unconscious are one and the same. Mythic images both hide and reveal the subterranean movement of the universal in the order of conscious thought, a movement that unleashes the power of the creative imagination. Combining the literal with the metaphorical into a single force, it is in the nature of the mythic to become historic.  Mythic images both hide and reveal the subterranean movement of the universal in the order of conscious thought, a movement that unleashes the power of the creative imagination.  The crucible of mytho-history Mythic images mediate between the literal and metaphoric, the manifest and latent, the ghostly and the real, in the virtual medium of psychic in existence. For the mythic only “exists” inside the historic. Mythic images are thus historic self-elucidations of the human spirit, caught between the metaphoricity of language and the literalism of fact.  The mythic and the literal are thus not external factors opposed to each other in fixed hierarchy. The metaphorical is not better than the literal and vice versa; one should not be on top of the other, as good is supposed to rule over evil, right over wrong, better over worse. Adapting the words of Jacques Derrida: “It is not, therefore, a matter of inverting the literal meaning and the figurative meaning but of determining the ‘literal’ meaning of [the mythic image] as metaphoricity itself” ( Of Grammatology 15). The mythic image expresses this metaphoricity of the literal itself, which opens up new horizons of meaning and archetypal vision. Dehumanizing mythology The human soul as human language, the archetypal Logos, which includes the mathematical and cognitive dimensions, has a demonstrably inhuman reach into the secrets of Nature. This very inhumanity at the same time allows us to peer into the unfathomable workings of nature as revealed by quantum physics, for example.  To speak of the archetypal, therefore, is to lay bare our naked inhumanity. For archetypes come to embody the best and the worst of what humans can do to one another, other creatures, and the environment. In the same vein, James Hillman too was compelled to speak of the “dehumanizing” effect of archetypal experience in general. For better or worse, the archetypal power of the mythic image comes to life in the deeds and misdeeds of human history.  The transparency of the transcendent Campbell had a beautiful way of expressing this opening of the mythic dimension. Rather than the opacity of the black and white, he spoke of achieving a certain transparency to the transcendent . To this purpose, he bid us look to artists for “These people can look past the broken symbols of the present and begin to forge new working images, images that are transparent to transcendence” ( Pathways to Bliss 20). In their disclosure of archetypal truth, myths are guides and guide posts to help us light our way. The power of their created works is to reawaken our capacity for mythic vision out of the primeval void of the collective unconscious. Artists are thus specialists in the deployment of the symbolic dimension of myth in the light of what is true; we are molders and shapers of the transparency of language to the shattering experience of archetypal truth.  “Thus in the work it is truth, not only something true, that is at work” (Heidegger 54). It is the archetype of the Logos  or the “Holy Ghost” or Spirit of Truth that is also at work in mythological creation. The event of truth in the work of art goes beyond the aesthetic experience of myth.  The aesthetic experience is itself made transparent to the operation of the transcendent function of truth, or logos, through which we as human beings evolve. Mythos and logos are not binary opposites or mortal enemies. In their togetherness alone mythos and logos complete the archetypal pattern of true mythology in the crucible of myth and history. Rather than aestheticizing myth in an imaginary universe divorced from truth, true mythology ( vera narratio ) emanates from “Its Root Ancient Truth,” as the Maya Popol Wuh  has it in its opening pages of creation. The power of myth, therefore, pushes toward the creation of new worlds of truth in time. Rather than a fixed essence, existential truth grows and develops in time. So what Heidegger writes about art is in every sense applicable to the power of true myth defined as: “the creative preserving of truth in the work. Art then is the becoming and happening of truth ” ( Poetry, Language, Thought 69). The transcendence of this event of truth is the real power that sets us free. Rather than correctness or adequation to a thing, the concept of truth in the existential sense becomes a concept of freedom. Truth as freedom in mythic creation opens the creative space in which we learn to become true  ourselves. In touch with the event of truth in myth, we experience the transcendence of creative being itself as the spirit of our authentic selves. MythBlast authored by: Norland Téllez is an award-winning writer and animation director who currently teaches Animation and Character Design courses at Otis College of Art and Design, Cal State Fullerton. He is also conducting a Life Drawing Lab at USC School of Cinematic Arts. He earned his Ph.D. from Pacifica Graduate Institute in 2009 with a dissertation on the Popol-Wuh of the K’iche’ Maya, which he is currently translating and illustrating in its archetypal dimensions as the Wisdom of the Peoples. You can learn more at norlandtellez.com . This MythBlast was inspired by  The Power of Myth  Episode 3, and Romance of the Grail Latest Podcast In this bonus episode, Campbell answers questions following his 1971 lecture, "Primitive Rites & Traditions", at Esalen Institute. He first speaks about the differences between male and female rites in various times and places and then gives an overview of his interpretation of the meaning of the "Virgin Birth". Listen Here This Week's Highlights “The logics of image thinking and of verbal thinking are two very different logics. I’m more and more convinced that there is, as it were, a series of archetypes which are psychologically grounded, which just have to operate, but in whatever field is available to them. In the myths, they are represented pictorially. There’s a big distinction to be made between the impact of the image, and the intellectual and social interpretation and application of the image.” -- Joseph Campbell Myth and Meaning , 27 The Dynamic of Life (see more videos) Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

Still from "Doctor Strange" (2016) Directed by Scott Derrickson. © Marvel Studios. From the time of the first myths and stories, the problem of the overinflated ego and its repercussions has been a recurring theme. This psychic construct, which ostensibly helps us to survive and find a place in our “tribe,” seems to sometimes go astray during its development, distorting a person’s sense of identity and importance. In fact, one of the most prominent signs of excessive ego—hubris—underpins two of the best-known mythic epics, Gilgamesh  and The Iliad . And while we certainly do not lack examples of egocentrism in modern culture, I am always fascinated by how fictional storytelling addresses this problem. In 2016, the Marvel Cinematic Universe introduced its version of Doctor Strange, a character that Steve Ditko first developed for comics in 1963. I loved Doctor Strange  from the first time I watched it, but I had to reflect for some time on how it was speaking to me and what root themes I felt called to investigate. One of these roots is the archetype of the ego, and I want to explore that motif in the film (note: some spoilers ahead, but not the ending). The fall to adventure Stephen Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) is undoubtedly a gifted neurosurgeon—so gifted, in fact, that he can spout answers to music trivia questions in the midst of performing the most delicate operation and not make a mistake at either one. Yet after he performs an intricate procedure in the emergency room at the request of ER surgeon Christine (Rachel McAdams), she pointedly explains why he refuses to work consistently in that “butcher shop”: “In the ER, you’re only saving lives. There’s no fame, there’s no CNN interviews.” This insight is confirmed in the very next scene when, as Strange drives to a speaking engagement, he discusses on a phone call the types of cases he will take, all to boost his prestige. Distracted while racing down the rain-slick road, Strange plummets over the edge of a cliff, where his hands are crushed by the vehicle. “Pride goeth before a fall” literalized on film. Wayne Dyer has defined two aspects of ego as “ I am what I do.  My achievements define me” and “ I am what others think of me.  My reputation defines me” ( The Power of Intention , pg. 10). Of course, this leads to questions we all must face: who are you when you can’t  do, and who are you when your reputation changes? For Strange, this is the moment of crisis and desperation, because he has constructed his self-identity around his abilities and status as a skilled doctor. But those abilities are instantly taken away; his hands shake when he tries to steady them, and he finds no chance of recovery (despite his own deep knowledge to guide other surgeons and his herculean rehabilitation efforts). Strange has gotten so accustomed to the esteem his skills and intellect give him that his ego is viewing this as a survival situation–not so much financially but instrumentally (what he can do) and positionally  (how he “ranks” in society). With all the possibilities for Western medical solutions exhausted, Doctor Strange heads to a mysterious place in Kathmandu called Kamar-Taj seeking answers and hoping to recover the physical ability he has lost. Meeting (and mistreating) the mentor Joseph Campbell speaks about the encounter of East meeting West and the problem of conflicting worldviews. “In the Orient, the path of salvation is to follow a way that already has been marked out by the guru. You go to a guru with perfect faith and no questions. He didn’t question his guru … The goal of Oriental mysticism is to wipe out the ego” ( Myth and Meaning: Conversations on Mythology and Life 145-146). In Doctor Strange , the guru he meets is called the Ancient One (Tilda Swinton). Still, as relatively humbled as Strange is by his ego defeat, he resists belief in the non-rational/non-scientific vision the Ancient One speaks of—until she evokes several out-of-body and surreal experiences that even more reduce his ego and his trust in the size and power of his knowledge. The overinflated ego, however, can resist deflation quite zealously. Even after Strange submits to a rigorous study of the mystical arts, he continues trying to be clever. He often questions his guru and opposes the more organic experiential/emotional aspects of the training, leading to his difficulty in producing any mystical effects. “[You once] told me to open my eyes,” he complains, “Now I’m being told to blindly accept rules that make no sense!” The Ancient One insists, “Your intellect has taken you far in life, but it will take you no further … Silence your ego, and your power will rise.” Later in the Myth and Meaning  conversation, Campbell explains the Western resistance to the path when adopting Eastern philosophies: “When the Westerner puts himself through an Oriental meditation system … [i]t’s as though you were trying to break a boulder with a tack hammer … The way that’s more congenial to us [Westerners] is one of bringing, little by little, the unconscious orders into play in our conscious world; that is to say, a slow integration” (pg. 149). Indeed, more time and experience are needed for Strange to shed his uber-reliance on his intellect before he can begin to uncover his undeveloped/shadow aspects (both his feeling function and his mystical abilities), and thus find integrative power. "… Silence your ego, and your power will rise." Letting (e)go The final hammer-blow to Strange’s ego comes when Earth is faced with a metaphysical threat, and Stephen must kill in order to defend the planet from an initial attack. “I’m not doing that again,” he asserts to the Ancient One, “I became a doctor to save lives, not take them.” She retorts, “You became a doctor to save one life above all others: your own.” Will Doctor Strange return to his old life and simply revert to the ego structure props of what he does and what others think of him? Or will he dedicate himself to a cause far greater than “saving his own life” and be of service for completely different and non-egoic reasons? I won’t reveal the end of the film, but suffice it to say that Strange must address the question Campbell (paraphrasing Schopenhauer) poses in the “Sacrifice and Bliss” episode of The Power of Myth : “How can this happen? That what we normally think of as the first law of nature, namely self-preservation, is suddenly dissolved?” (28:39-28:46). Or more broadly for us viewers, what beloved ego concept must we let go for us to step into our path and power? Strange behavior, indeed.     MythBlast authored by: Scott Neumeister  is a literary scholar, author, TEDx speaker, mythic pathfinder and Editor of the MythBlast series from Tampa, Florida, where he earned his Ph.D. in English from the University of South Florida in 2018. His specialization in multiethnic American literature and mythology comes after careers as an information technology systems engineer and a teacher of English and mythology at the middle school and college levels. Scott coauthored Let Love Lead: On a Course to Freedom with Gary L. Lemons and Susie Hoeller, and he has served as a facilitator for the Joseph Campbell Foundation’s Myth and Meaning book club at Literati. This MythBlast was inspired by  The Power of Myth  Episode 4, and Myth and Meaning Latest Podcast In this episode we speak with Master Chungliang Al Huang—a tai chi master, writer, philosopher, dancer, and generational teacher. Originally from Shanghai, China, Master Huang moved to the United States to study architecture and cultural anthropology, and later Dance. In the 1960s, Master Huang forged a significant collaboration with philosopher Alan Watts, which led him to Esalen. There, he became a beloved teacher and formed meaningful connections with thought leaders such as Huston Smith, Gregory Bateson, and Joseph Campbell. He and Joe taught together at Esalen until Joe’s death in 1987. Master Huang is an author of many books including the classic Embrace Tiger, Return to Mountain. His contributions include pioneering modern dance in the Republic of China and sharing the stage with luminaries like the Dalai Lama and Jane Goodall. He has been an assembly member and presenter at The Council for the Parliament of the World’s Religions and has been a keynote speaker for the YPO (Young Presidents’ Organization) and WPO (World Presidents’ Organization) and at major global gatherings in China, India, Switzerland, Germany, South America, South Africa, and Bali. In 1988 he was featured in the inaugural segment of the PBS series, A World of Ideas, moderated by Bill Moyers. Joseph Campbell famously remarked, “Chungliang Al Huang’s Tai Ji dancing is ‘mythic images’ incarnate. He has found a new way to explain ‘the hero’s journey’ to help others follow their bliss through the experience of tai ji practice in his work through the Living Tao Foundation.” In this conversation, we discuss his life, his relationship with Alan Watts, and his friendship with Joseph Campbell. For learn more about Chungliang visit : https://livingtao.org Listen Here This Week's Highlights "What is it we are questing for? It is the fulfillment of that which is potential in each of us. Questing for it is not an ego trip; it is an adventure to bring into fulfillment your gift to the world, which is yourself. There is nothing you can do that's more important than being fulfilled. You become a sign, you become a signal, transparent to transcendence; in this way you will find, live, become a realization of your own personal myth." -- Joseph Campbell Pathways to Bliss Nature and the Human Mind (see more videos) Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

Bumper sticker vs. rabbit hole? You’ve seen the bumper sticker version of Campbell’s famous aphorism: it’s catchy, filled with portents, a sound and a fury signifying … like, something. But like what? Something like, “What, me worry?”   Or, “Don’t worry, be happy”?   Once you start asking these questions, a rabbit hole opens up and a Cheshire Cat begins to smile from the nearest overhead branch. Aphorisms, like metaphors, can be a little slippery. In some ways, the more obvious they look, the less obvious they are. To get to the bottom of what they mean, you have to follow the White Rabbit all the way down. In this case, for instance, fully understanding a phrase like this one requires unpacking and sorting out exactly what “Follow,” “Your,” and “Bliss” all mean.  Whew.   “Follow” by itself would involve being fully conscious of the entire trajectory of the Hero’s magical mystery (mythstery!) tour. “Your”?  That would require fully understanding your own existence. That’s a lot of heavy lifting.   It turns out that the best bet here is to follow Campbell’s own advice and focus on “Bliss.”  Aphorisms, like metaphors, can be a little slippery. In some ways, the more obvious they look, the less obvious they are. Campbell’s advice Here’s what he said originally: Now, I came to this idea of bliss because in Sanskrit, which is the great spiritual language of the world, there are three terms that represent the brink, the jumping-off place to the ocean of transcendence: sat-chit-ananda. The word "Sat" means being. "Chit" means consciousness. "Ananda" means bliss or rapture. I thought, "I don't know whether my consciousness is proper consciousness or not; I don't know whether what I know of my being is my proper being or not; but I do know where my rapture is. So let me hang on to rapture, and that will bring me both my consciousness and my being.  I think it worked. ( The Power of Myth 149) This is terrifically practical advice. Getting a handle on “proper consciousness” or “proper being” feels like too much all at once, but bliss? That seems like a more promising place to start–even though we still have to follow that rabbit, and the first step is a bit of a doozy.  “Bliss” is the standard translation of the Sanskrit word ananda   [आनन्द]   and denotes the moment of ego dissolution in which the personal jiva  attains to the status of atman  in order to properly engage Brahman –with the proviso that you still want to taste the sugar without being the sugar. Ananda is, therefore, also deeply connected with samadhi , which is its highest form. Yikes. Whenever I run into technical definitions like this my mind races back to the moment in Monty Python’s Holy Grail when Galahad asks, “Is there someone else up there we can talk to?” Translating technical terms from–shoot–from any other   language (German, Chinese, take your pick) into English is rough enough. Even the simplest words defy easy translation. But attempting to translate ideas from ancient languages, across thousands of years, poses even greater hazards. Too often the subtleties of meaning are lost as you shift between forgotten alphabets and lost cultural contexts.  Fortunately, and much closer to home, similar translation issues are discernible in the meaning of “happiness”: specifically in how its definition has devolved from a more robust, ancient Greek understanding into the fuzzy-slippered, hot-chocolate-yummy-satisfaction we attach to it today. Here’s the idea in a nutshell: think about the difference between being happy and feeling  happy. They look the same, but they aren’t. Feeling happy vs. being happy Feeling happy results from satisfying your immediate appetites or emotions. No matter how bad your day has been, for example, the sudden appearance of chocolate ice cream usually puts you in a better mood. Chocolate ice cream by itself, of course, can’t make you be happy, but it sure can make you feel  happy. By contrast, being  happy (being in a state of happiness) describes, for the ancient Greeks at any rate, the experience of flourishing in the life you’ve been given–hitting on all cylinders, so to speak. Their word for this kind of happiness is eudaimonia. You might notice daimon  lurking in there. This is a big hint. A daimon was understood to be a guardian spirit assigned to help you live your life skillfully and with excellence, and that, in turn, is what it truly means to be , rather than merely feel , happy.  So being  happy always has the aftertaste of a bit of divine assistance. To use Campbell’s language, as we move along our life’s journey we eventually come to a place of amor fati , a point where we can embrace our fate, our own authentic nature, and surf the curl of our own karma. No matter the circumstances we find ourselves in, then, we can still claim to be happy.  So, finally, winding our way back to all that technical language in the definition of ananda, think about those times when you found yourself being happy and not just feeling happy. In moments like that, your normal ego-consciousness is suddenly suspended: most often in moments of aesthetic arrest when the art, the poetry, or music sweeps you up and out of yourself.  The “self” you’re being swept out of is the ego-consciousness (your jiva ) and the “Self” that experiences this liberation or relief is the beginning of experiencing your true nature, your atman .  And that’s what characterizes, and what it means, to be in a state of bliss. Here’s a practical example: can you remember the greatest concert you ever attended?  I know there are some Dead Heads out there but, for me, it was Carlos Santana opening for Eric Clapton. At the end of the concert they played an encore, just the two of them, tossing musical ambrosia back and forth and into the audience, lifting the entire stadium up into stratospheres of ecstasy.  And when they finished?   Everyone forgot to applaud. That’s the bliss we need to follow.  Chocolate chip ice cream–and bumper stickers–can help, but they won’t get us there. Thanks for musing along. MythBlast authored by: Mark C.E. Peterson, Ph.D.   is Emeritus Professor of Philosophy and Religious Studies at the University of Wisconsin-Washington County and past president of the International Society for the Study of Religion, Nature, and Culture ( ISSRNC.org ). Philosopher, gadfly, poet, cook, writing along the watermargins of nature, myth, and culture. A practitioner of taijiquan and kundalini yoga for over 40 years, Dr. Peterson is also a happy member of the Ukulele World Congress. This MythBlast was inspired by  The Power of Myth  Episode 4, and Myth and Meaning Latest Podcast In this episode, Campbell speaks to the relationship of mythology to psychology. He goes through the four functions of myth and emphasizes the fourth function - the psychological. He focuses on why this psychological function is so important in our contemporary world. The lecture was recorded at the Houston Jung Center in 1972. Host Brad Olson introduces the lecture and offers a commentary at the end. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "I think the best thing I can say is to follow your bliss. If your bliss is just your fun and your excitement, you’re on the wrong track. I mean, you need instruction. Know where your bliss is. And that involves coming down to a deep place in yourself." -- Joseph Campbell The Hero's Journey , 253 Psyche & Symbol - Apollonian vs Dionysian Dichotomy (see more videos) Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

N.C. Wyeth To put into rhyme (at the count’s command) The best of tales That are told in royal court: This is the story of the Grail. Chrétien de Troyes Joseph Campbell looked comprehensively upon the whole corpus of medieval Holy Grail stories and pronounced it the world’s first “secular mythology.” And that means, according to one expert, that “the myths were not to be taken literally but to be interpreted as metaphors of the natural stages of spiritual growth and development—symbols of the stages of the individual process, one might say” (Lansing-Smith, Romance of the Grail: The Magic and Mystery of Arthurian Myth , 18).  Like the clash of matter and antimatter, Catholic and Pagan influences (which is to say Cistercian monks’ reworking of Celtic material) cancel each other out, leaving Campbell’s secular mythology in place:  But no matter what their origins may have been, it is clear that these curious parallels between tales of the Crucifixion and of the dolorous stroke [the wound received by the Fisher King] were recognized by Medieval ecclesiastics and employed to allegorical purpose. Discovering in the grail romances material susceptible to reinterpretation, good monks carefully set about reorganizing the legend, abridging here, interpolating there, explaining, allegorizing, and embellishing. The lance they connected with the lance of the Crucifixion. The grail they connected with the cup of the Last Supper. The maimed king they connected with Joseph of Arimathea, who preserved the holy relics of Christ’s passion. The young fertility god, they renamed, finally, Galahad; and then they exalted him to the strangely incongruous role of the celibate ideal. The women connected to the legend they transformed either into nuns or into temptations. The Celtic marvels they turned into Hebraic miracles. ( Romance of the Grail , 313) All. For. Nothing. The Grail will never be Catholic. If the Arthurian canon—including de Troyes’ Romanz de Perceval , Robert de Boron’s Roman de l’Estoire dou Graal , Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival, the Vulgate cycle of the well-intentioned Cistercians, the original Celtic stories, Sir Thomas Malory’s fifteenth-century Le Morte d’Arthur  among others—ended up with a patina of Christian theology, the true meaning of the myth transcended all denominational bias.  The conflict between the Grail tradition and twelfth-century Catholicism is mirrored in that deep division between theology and psychology: “In the church, there are leaders who tell the followers what to think and how to worship. The priests hear confessions, celebrate the Mass, and assure the faithful that salvation is theirs. But the adventurer must always quest for the Grail alone” ( Myth and Meaning: Conversations on Mythology and Life ,   145). Which is why I would suggest that the Grail can never be found by either Catholic or Celt because it is not an element of a faith tradition.  It is an element of the unconscious.   It belongs to everyone who looks not to some distant shore where an imagined enemy walks among the parapets of stone defenses, but with the inward look, to the Self, to the Soul. In brief, the Grail belongs to depth psychology. The Grail belongs to everyone who looks not to some distant shore where an imagined enemy walks among the parapets of stone defenses, but with the inward look, to the Self, to the Soul. Dropping the reins  Those of us who cherish insights regarding the true nature of the Self cannot help but take note when Perceval, having only recently acquired his horse, simply lets go of the reins. Why would a knight on a quest relinquish the power of agency for the skittish wisdom of a beast? During the Middle Ages, the power of life was symbolized in the horse, and the power of the mind in the rider. So, in Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival, when Parzival seeks the Grail Castle, he lets the reins lie on the neck of the horse. He could not have guided the horse to the castle; the horse knew where it was and automatically led the way. You have to be guided by nature, not by this head up at the top. ( Myth and Meaning , 112) We “drop the reins” when we allow in the experience of Jungian “active imagination,” never knowing where the next set of mental associations will take us, ceding our autonomy to our unconscious, hoping for the best but keeping our thumb off the scale.  We “drop the reins” when we follow our bliss, knowing that we are not in control of all the outcomes, only of our attitudes—foremost among which is hope.  Moses “dropped the reins” to follow his creator for a forty-year tour of the desert in the hopes of reaching a Promised Land. And Joseph Campbell dropped the reins when he disappeared into a reading room for five years and emerged the foremost scholar of mythology in the twentieth century who would come to the conclusion that “[t]he Waste Land is the land of people not living their own authentic lives, but doing what people expect them to do. One goes and gets a job because you’ve got to live, and so you’re doing the daily grind” ( Myth and Meaning , 145).  How ya gonna keep ‘em down on the farm after they’ve seen calvary? The Mass no longer spoke to the hearts of Crusader Europe because the act of military incursion in the name of Christ is, to put it mildly, a contradiction, and a fatal one at that. Chrétien and Wolfram were both military men. Subverting the bloodless simplicity of the Eucharistic feast for actual warfare in the name of the Prince of Peace left these noble knights—indeed, much of Europe—in a dissociative state where principles had eroded with the clash of spears and thundering of hooves.  Against their better intentions, these twelfth-century writers had been forced to look through  the symbols of the Mass and to insist that we do the same because the old thinking had become obsolete: Today, with the economic net knitting us all together and the resulting interdependency, every single one of the in-group mythologies is not only out of date, but dangerous. There’s no notion of the global community as the prime unit. What I see as the main problem of mythology today is not what the new myth is going to be. The myth is going to be one that recognizes the whole planet as our society … and the next breakthrough has to be of the recognition of the planet as the Holy Land. ( Myth and Meaning , 205) Knights like Chrétien de Troyes and Wolfram von Eschenbach learned this lesson the hard way and wrote their works in part to process the disintegration of former orthodoxies. Their faith died on the battlefield because it was not intended for the battlefield. Or, put another way, the armies of Pope Innocent III were successful in their attempt to destroy a religion contrary to the teaching of the Messiah, but that religion turned out to be their own. MythBlast authored by: John Bonaduce, PhD , a seasoned writer for Norman Lear and for most of the major Hollywood studios (Fox, Paramount, Warner Bros, et al.) developed a profound interest in story structure beyond the commercial objectives of the industry. His exploration led him to conclude that much of what we call myth derives from a biological origin. This insight inspired his pursuit of deeper relationships between biology and narrative through his theory of Mythobiogenesis, which he explored in his dissertation at Pacifica Graduate Institute and was recognized as a “discovery” in the field of prenatal psychology by Dr. Thomas Verny. John was recently appointed to the editorial board of the Journal of Prenatal and Perinatal Psychology and Health (JOPPPAH) where he advocates for an unrecognized level of human consciousness which exists at the border of biology and mythology. As a featured writer for the Joseph Campbell Foundation’s MythBlast, he passionately showcases Joseph Campbell’s enduring relevance to a modern audience. This MythBlast was inspired by  The Power of Myth  Episode 4, and Myth and Meaning Latest Podcast In this episode, we’re joined by the legendary John Densmore, the rhythmic force behind one of the most iconic bands in rock history, The Doors. From his early days as a young musician in Southern California, John has always been captivated by the primal call of the drum—a heartbeat that transcends time and culture. In this conversation we discuss his relationship with Joseph Campbell, and explore his deep connections to music, spirituality, and the creative process that has fueled his remarkable career. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "In the church, there are leaders who tell the followers what to think and how to worship. The priests hear confessions, celebrate the Mass, and assure the faithful that salvation is theirs. But the adventurer must always quest for the Grail alone." -- Joseph Campbell Myth and Meaning , 145 Becoming One with the Beloved (see more videos) Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

The balance of sacrifice and reward: a chemical analogy If you’re getting your dopamine from a source that does not require some form of effort on your part, beware!  Dr. Andrew Huberman (Neurobiologist) This, you probably already know. But just in case, and in (very) brief, dopamine is the chief chemical responsible for experiences of fulfillment, meaning, reward and novelty. Every time we do something that introduces dopamine to the bloodstream, we get so-called “dopamine hits.” And when, for example, I eat an avocado, the dopamine is what makes me feel good and fulfilled.  A less healthy example of getting dopamine, and one that does not require effort, is when I keep scrolling like a zombie through lists of news headlines on my smartphone, inducing cheap dopamine-hits in an attempt to sate my appetite to experience something new. However, as I get my fix in this listless way, something simultaneously drains my soul.  Whether it is cheaply acquired or not, the unfortunate news is that  any  dopamine surge will cause one’s dopamine baseline to drop, requiring either an increase in speed or magnitude of the dopamine-inducing activity (which then lowers the baseline even further), OR one can escape the catch-22 by initiating an act of replenishment. To accomplish this, Huberman’s formula (above) emphasizes effort . This replenishment can be effort in the more concrete sense of the physical exertion that drives such things as running, weightlifting, walking, gardening, and so on. Or, it can be the effort of the ego—that is, the pinch the ego feels when it must choose a thing less thrilling or immediately gratifying—when it must exert to clear an opening of time, or perhaps to muster enough patience to enable its person (so to speak) to sit still long enough to appreciate a setting sun or to properly observe (like Whitman would) a spear of summer grass.  What Huberman is calling effort , mythologists call sacrifice . But keep in mind that Huberman is employing the best term he can to describe what it is and what it takes to sustain a balanced relationship between the cost (replenishing the dopamine baseline) and the reward (enjoying the dopamine). In depth psychology, when we speak of balance we often speak also of the tension of the opposites which are held in balance, and we also acknowledge the responsibility of the individual to provide the energy to hold them. I believe Huberman’s effort  intuits not only the sacrifice that must be made, but also the presence of the “tension” that indicates a balance is in holding in the first place. Also of importance, these dynamics of dopamine functioning show that nature has already set it up (indeed, has wired it into our brains) that if we want to feel good and live well, we must regularly engage in sacrifice.   If we want to feel good and live well, we must regularly engage in sacrifice.  Pursuing the possibility curve: inviting sacrifice I thought [to myself] "…but I do know where my rapture is. So let me hang on to rapture, and that will bring me both my consciousness and my being." I think it worked.                                               Joseph Campbell ( The Power of Myth , 120) I feel fortunate when I look back upon the rapturous, ruinous history of my youth, replete with all the psychological trainwrecks and self-induced disasters prompted by a seemingly endless spate of asinine choices.  I also feel fortunate because I indeed did pursue my bliss (which Campbell is addressing in terms of “rapture” in the above quote). And I like the quote because the question of what bliss  is  does not get watered down into some abstract definition. Instead, he provides a simple, common-sense formula that says: You know what you like or what calls you, so just hold on to that. It’s kind of like saying you don’t have to know what a glass of milk is, or how to define it, to drink it. Just drink the damn milk. Well, my version of milk was exploring, and my methods were as reckless and passionate as they were open and sincere.  But now that I’m approaching my 60s and the spark of let’s-just-do-it-and-see-what-happens has pretty much been clobbered out of me, I have the luxury and disposition of reflecting: central to all the mayhem, I believe, was the drive to explore (which involved a lot of “testing” of reality). I suppose it all involved a desire for possibilities that were significantly different from the ones the universe kept offering.  So, I engaged in what (in recent years) I’ve come to call the possibility curve : a notion which I had unconsciously formed and pitted against the immensely more popular and dependable probability curve . What made the possibility curve exhilarating was getting to be far out on the margins where certainty was least and chance greatest, where the likelihood of an act rendering a favorable result was absurdly low. But under these conditions, a uniqueness or specialness was ceded to those few occasions in which favorable results did come through, soaked with intimacy and meaning. It was as if they’d beaten all imaginable odds to get here. Anyway, these rare occasions were the paydays, while the rest of the time involved a lot of losing.    But losing was not a loss. Rather it was excellent training in getting familiar with sacrifice. “But these were consequences,” you may say. Yes, but who’s to say that consequence and sacrifice are not just two sides of the same coin, where consequence follow s, while sacrifice precedes,  an event? And where consequence is sent from “out there” while sacrifice emerges from “in here”? And what if our notion of sacrifice  can be described as consequence-in-advance? Etymologically speaking, “consequence” does not indicate a linear timeline of cause and effect. Rather it means the “uniting” of sequence. I bring this up because I’m suspecting/guessing/intuiting there’s a concurrence-value to this relationship between sacrifice and bliss—neither the credit card of consequence nor the up-front-in-cash of the sacrifice. More precisely, I’m thinking of those kinds of sacrifice that are enacted while  the reward is being reaped, like a bicyclist locked into an uphill slope, his lungs gasping for air, his thighs burning, and yet these very sensations thrill and fulfill him. Or the fulfillment that accompanies the egoic effort it takes to watch a sunset or (again) observe a spear of summer grass.  In short, there’s something about all this stuff that feels like it needs to be mixed into one moment, pulsating, resonating like a frequency of vibration that hums through the body and psyche, the kind one feels when they are in stride with their dharma (i.e., their calling) because they have taken full responsibility for their individuation. In so doing, they reap the rewards of their condition because they are simultaneously making the sacrifice of bearing that responsibility. All this, I am guessing, is getting nearer in definition to what bliss is, on levels beyond mere pleasure or reward.  The sacrifice that is not offered is imposed Neurosis is always a substitute for legitimate suffering                      C. G. Jung (from   Psychology and Religion: West and East , CW 11, para. 129) To conclude the concept of sacrifice and consequence as two sides of the same coin, here is an exceptionally apt depth-psychological context. It’s important to point out that “neurosis” is a neutral term that simply indicates an incompatibility between one’s ego and their unconscious—in other words, neurosis is a condition that affects all human beings in various forms and degrees. And so, relevant to us all. Regarding the above quote, the neurotic symptoms are the sacrifices that are imposed  (cf. consequences) upon those who do not pay  attention to the correlating complex. Or another way to put it, neurotic symptoms are the collection-agents of the unconscious. Jolande Jacobi provides what I consider a priceless formula by which one can direct the energy of neurosis into individuation. She writes of neurosis that something in us “knows full well that no complex can be resolved unless one faces the conflict that causes it, and this requires courage, strength, and an ego that is capable of suffering" ( Complex, Archetype, Symbol in the Psychology of C. G. Jung , 18). Let me repeat that last part … and an ego that is capable of suffering . For that is the payload. Huberman would approve, as Jacobi’s suffering  correlates nicely with his effort .  And, let me leave you with this final thought as a possibility: bliss as a unified phenomenon, as the simultaneity or dynamic synergy of sacrifice and reward, as a fluid concurrence of opposites in which the suffering—and effort—aspects neither hinder nor hurt (precisely because they complement and, indeed, complete  the reward). And for some rather inexplicable, paradoxical reason, this delights. MythBlast authored by: Craig Deininger  has been a regularly featured writer for the JCF since 2018. He has taught at many institutions including Naropa University, Studio Film School in Los Angeles, and the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, where he earned an MFA in Poetry. He also earned an MA and PhD in Mythology and Jungian Psychology from Pacifica Graduate Institute in California. He has balanced his scholarship with a long history of (what he calls) "fieldwork," ranging from commercial fishing in Alaska, building trail for the Forest Service in the Rockies, commercial farming in the midwest, years of construction and landscaping across the country and, of course, countless outdoor misadventures in backpacking, rockclimbing, mountain biking, and the like. He ranks himself in the top 99% of the world population in the art of digging a hole with a shovel and acknowledges his inflation for thinking this. His poetry has appeared in several literary magazines including The Iowa Review, and his first book of poetry Leaves from the World Tree, was co-authored with mythologist Dennis Slattery and published by Mandorla Books. This MythBlast was inspired by  The Power of Myth  Episode 4, and Myth and Meaning Latest Podcast In this bonus episode recorded in 1957 at The Cooper Union in New York, Joseph Campbell speaks about the similarities and differences in "Eastern" and "Western" mythologies and ways of thinking. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "The basic myth is of an earthly paradise, like the Garden of Eden, where there is no distinction between male and female, between men and animals, and no movement in time. Then a killing takes place, the bodies are planted, and out of that come the food plants. So begetting and death come together. You see in some ritual sacrifices the repetition of that original mythological act: you go back to the beginning and get a renewal of energy." -- Joseph Campbell Myth and Meaning , 39 Follow Your Bliss (see more videos) Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

Dionysus, as played by Nabhaan Rizwan, from KAOS. © Netflix “ Celestis, Divinitus, Insania, Vero .” Maybe, like me, you’ve also recently devoured the mythological black comedy TV series KAOS  on Netflix where the deities of the Greek pantheon are revealed to be the ones who originally put the “funk” into the term “dysfunctional family.” And, like me, maybe you too have thoroughly enjoyed the Greek myths being reimagined, with Hera shown to be as calculating and ruthless as Zeus, Eurydice seemingly content in the underworld and not particularly desiring a rescue by Orpheus, and Persephone adoringly doting on Hades and willingly being married to him.  This month the MythBlasts have focused on unpacking the term bliss , and I want to do this via the Dionysus character in KAOS  (played by Nabhaan Rizwan). In doing so, I’m mindful of the following Joseph Campbell quotation. He wrote in The Hero’s Journey : “If your bliss is just your fun and your excitement, you’re on the wrong track. I mean, you need instruction. Know where your bliss is. And that involves coming down to a deep place in yourself” (253). These words and this sentiment will become apparent in the course of my commentary.  ​ Spoilers ahead We find Dionysus in Episode 1 bored with being the god of pleasure, madness, and wild frenzy. Tired of being perceived as a lightweight and a disappointment, he wants a promotion. At the Fate of Falafel food truck, Dionysus innocently asks the vendor if he likes his job because he says he’s bored of his.   Vendor: What do you do?  Dionysus: I work for my dad. But he doesn’t take me seriously. I could do more with the humans.  Vendor: Huh?  Dionysus: The ... people. I’m good with them. I like them. I just want to get more involved. I want more responsibility.  Vendor: You mean like moving to HR or something?  Dionysus: HR, exactly. Yes.  Vendor: Well, tell him how you feel.   Dionysus: Yeah, it doesn’t really work like that with him. He doesn’t really do emotions. So Dionysus heads up to Mount Olympus and asks his father, Zeus (Jeff Goldblum) for a promotion, “ Just make me the god of love, or ... or, uh, war. Wisdom. I don’t know. Something serious. Something proper with influence. ” But he’s sharply rebuked and finds himself back at the falafel cart. Complaining about Zeus’ attitude towards him, Dionysus receives these words of wisdom from the vendor: “Find a purpose for yourself, not your father.” Soon after at a concert by Orpheus (Killian Scott), Dionysus is utterly moved by the performance of his song “Eurydice,” the musician’s passionate offering to his muse that professes his absolute undying love for her. He then appears bereft and heartbroken at Eurydice’s funeral when we then hear a voiceover from Prometheus (Stephen Dillane), “ Dionysus has found his purpose. Helping Orpheus. ” So what may we take from this? Well, “true” bliss is never solely self-seeking. Dionysus discovering a purpose–wanting to help Orpheus be the first mortal to bring someone out of the underworld because he feels how Orpheus’ love for Eurydice is greater than death–is him following his bliss. Though Dionysus eventually needs to explain his decision to his furious father. “ I gave your watch to the Fates so that a mortal could get his wife back from the dead. … And he failed the quiz, but he loved his wife. I’ve never seen anything like it. … the more I saw of him, of his love, the more I just ... I wanted him to be able to get her back.” Bliss is a state of a co-existence Genuine bliss always involves an element of service because our potential can only become fully actualized when it’s in service to something greater than ourselves. But bliss isn’t just about existing in selfless service. It’s also present when the psyche has arrived at a state of integration, harmony, and wholeness. Campbell’s invitation of “coming down to a deep place in yourself” won’t–on its own–automatically lead you to bliss, because   service to others, or to a noble ideal or even self-sacrifice, are essential elements of bliss too. Furthermore, bliss can’t just self-generate or exist on its own. It mostly often emerges through being in enriching relationships with other people, or with the Divine, or with animals. Bliss can also be felt when we’re in a sacred relationship with our own creativity, or when we’re steeped in prayer, or immersed in nature. And yes, human relationships often include a lot of messiness, despair, and sorrow, but the potential for bliss exists even there ... and indeed everywhere.  Service to others, or to a noble ideal or even self-sacrifice, are essential elements of bliss   Ethical hedonism  Seeking bliss isn’t the craving for it as a peak state. It’s also not about fixating on bliss as an end goal while dismissing the process and ignoring who you’re becoming (character development) along the way. Also, bliss is not a pass for selfish, reckless, hedonistic behavior with absolutely no regard of the consequences for oneself or for others. But it doesn’t need to be boring or moralistic. Following your bliss in a more rounded sense can be a highly exalted, explorative process. A euphoric inner quest can be as rapturous as any experience in the outer world. Either way, inner or outer bliss in this richer context is not simply given to us on a silver platter (as much as we sometimes wish it were!).  Pathways to bliss We each have our own path to bliss. The most important thing to remember though is that we are all on a path. And this path is not just a journey; it’s a process of becoming. In this, it isn’t the mere exhilaration of simply feeling blissful (i.e. the naïveté of a “bliss bunny”). The vibrant resonance of bliss cries out for multi-dimensional depths, profound embodiment, and relational capacities. It’s also a state of being that requires commitment, nurture, and work, but it’s not about the hustle culture with its endless “rise and grind” attitude. Yes, an ongoing focused attentiveness is required for cultivating this state. Yet on some occasions, bliss is miraculously and graciously bestowed on us as if from the realm of the gods or from one’s Higher Self or Daimon.   Following your calling In an interview on netflix.com  describing the character of Dionysus, Rizwan states, “He’s kind of not got a life. He’s just out here partying and everyone else has gone off and got proper jobs. The god version of proper jobs, which is part of Dionysus’ dilemma. He wants something real to do in the world. He feels something deeper.” As I alluded to earlier, our genius gets expressed when it’s in service (or even sacrifice) to others, so when Dionysus turns his back on partying to help someone else, his genius– his Daimon–is awakened, and therefore his capacity for bliss awakens too. We could also note that in this respect the word sacrifice  derives etymologically from a Latin term meaning “make sacred.” And as Moyers succinctly states in Episode 4  of Joseph Campbell and The Power of Myth with Bill Moyers , “From death comes life; from sacrifice, bliss.” Bliss co-exists with sacrifice, not outside of it.  All the best things are human   In the final KAOS  episode, Zeus berates his son with this tongue lashing: “ ... human love, that needy, cloying, unsophisticated stuff that they experience, it’s not somethin’ to be admired. … It’s ... It’s weakness. … You’re a god. We’re gods. We don’t bleed. We don’t die. And, uh, we don’t love anything lesser than ourselves. ” The gods who do not love anything lesser than themselves can never progress because they can never self-actualize into a higher level of their being or potential. In all of this, we should remember that human beings aren’t one-dimensional. We contain multitudes: love and indifference, trust and betrayal, light and shadow, order and chaos, death, rebirth, and renewal. And precisely through experiencing and feeling these multitudes, we evolve. Returning now to Zeus’ words above, human love is not a weakness. Not in the slightest. And as Persephone (Rakie Ayola) comfortingly says to Dionysus after the tirade from the king of the gods, “ Maybe the better part of you is human. ” Being human means being willing to experience all the blissful perfections, imperfections, contradictions, and sacrifices that a mortal life and journey holds. Let us be thankful to the gods for this. “ Vero! ” MythBlast authored by: Kristina Dryža  is an ex-futurist, author, TEDx speaker, archetypal consultant, one of the Joseph Campbell Foundation’s Editorial Advisory Group, and a steward for The Fifth Direction. Based between Australia and Lithuania, her work focuses less on the future and more on the unknown. Presence. Not prediction. What’s sacred? Not only what’s next. Kristina is passionate about helping people to perceive mythically and sense archetypally to better understand our shared humanity, yet honor the diverse ways we all live and make meaning. To learn more about Kristina, you can view her TEDx talk: Archetypes and Mythology. Why They Matter Even More So Today   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2o4PYNroZBY&t=525s This MythBlast was inspired by  The Power of Myth  Episode 4, and Myth and Meaning Latest Podcast In this episode, we’re joined by the legendary John Densmore , the rhythmic force behind one of the most iconic bands in rock history, The Doors. From his early days as a young musician in Southern California, John has always been captivated by the primal call of the drum—a heartbeat that transcends time and culture. In this conversation we discuss his relationship with Joseph Campbell, and explore his deep connections to music, spirituality, and the creative process that has fueled his remarkable career. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "So, I have a little word: “Follow your bliss.” The bliss is the message of God to yourself. That’s where your life is." -- Joseph Campbell Myth and Meaning , 161 Sacred Place (see more videos) Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

Figure of Persephone by Christian Friedrich Tieck. The Mont-Saint-Michel Abbey appears as one with the small rocky island on the coast of Normandy, France. With its spires pointing to the heavens, the buildings look as though they are floating on the waters. The islet is inaccessible when the tide closes in, the ocean fortifying the abbey from attack or isolating it for solitude. The journey to the island feels mythic as one crosses water, shuttles ferrying the bustling tourists to the mysterious isle, the winds whipping one’s hair with a story all its own. Our intrepid guide led us through the quaint medieval village lined with storefronts and delicious delights, but our journey was upwards, climbing over 200 steps towards the spire at the top of the abbey with its golden statue of the archangel Michael, aspiring to reach the heavens he points to. Passing through the light-filled sanctuary, then the scriptorium where wise words were memorialized in script, and finally through the public meeting rooms where visitors were welcomed, I was filled with awe by the beauty of the gothic structures. The buildings were layered in order of importance, our guide explained, the sanctuary is closest to God, the business of society the furthest. The organization of the buildings seemed to tell a story as well. Our Lady underneath the earth On our descent from the abbey, our guide pointed to a small door and stated: “And through this door is Notre-Dame-Sous-Terre–Our Lady Underneath.” I froze on the steps. Translated as Our Lady underneath the earth, our guide explained that the oratory, or small chapel, remained buried and hidden for years. Built during the eighth century upon what was thought to be an ancient burial site, what remains of the chapel is one of the oldest structures on the island. Throughout the centuries, structures were built on top of Notre-Dame-Sous-Terre. Forgotten to time, the chapel was excavated in the 19th century. So, at the heart of this 13th-century breathtaking gothic structure is a chapel dedicated to Our Lady underneath the earth–an underworld goddess. One must know death to understand life Underworld goddess figures are often feared in mythology. Homer’s Odyssey refers to the Greek underworld goddess, Persephone, as dread Persephone, showing such trepidation. Yet, in the Sumerian myth of the “ Descent of Inanna, ” the goddess Inanna descends through her own agency, seeking the wisdom found in the underworld. At each of the seven gates of the underworld, Inanna relinquishes her worldly power as goddess of heaven and earth and bows low in the inner sanctum to the goddess of the underworld, Erishkigal, seeking the depths found therein. In The Hero with a Thousand Faces , Campbell finds that in the underworld journey: “The hero, whether god or goddess, man or woman, the figure in a myth or the dreamer of a dream, discovers and assimilates his opposite (his own unsuspected self) either by swallowing it or by being swallowed. One by one the resistances are broken. He must put aside his pride, his virtue, beauty, and life, and bow or submit to the absolutely intolerable. Then he finds that he and his opposite are not of differing species but one flesh.” (89) The descent to the underworld deepens the experiences of the hero and is a transformative moment in the journey. The underworld then appears to be reflective of the psychological experience. Sigmund Freud begins The Interpretation of Dreams with a quote from Virgil’s Aeneid, “Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo, ” referencing the idea that if the heavens will not offer help, one will turn to the underworld. The use of this quote seems to illuminate how the underworld is a source of psychological images for Freud. Mythologist Christine Downing highlights how Freud often refers to the underworld as a “privileged metaphor for the unconscious” ( Gleanings , 129). Archetypal psychologist James Hillman echoes Freud's connection between dream imagery and the underworld. Hillman’s book The Dream and the Underworld relates the psychology of dreams to the mythology of the underworld, demonstrating the mythology’s relevance to the field of psychology. In Myth of Analysis , Hillman states that “the Platonic upward movement toward aestheticism is tempered by the beauty of Persephone” (pg. 102). In other words, the driving forces of our daily lives are informed by the knowledge of the depths of human existence. Hillman refers to these depths as “underworld beauty.” These scholars highlight ways in which myths of the underworld are a source of meaning and significance for enhancing the human experience. Beauty is found in laying down one’s pride, power, and identity in life, to attain the wisdom of the underworld. Somehow, one must know about death to understand life, and therefore these myths are touching on what it means to truly feel alive. Beauty is found in laying down one’s pride, power, and identity in life, to attain the wisdom of the underworld. Insight of the underworld I find it interesting how Notre-Dame-Sous-Terre was hidden for so many years beneath the surface. Like so many goddess figures lost to time. In Episode 5 of the Power of Myth , “ Love and the Goddess ,” Bill Moyers introduces the conversation with Campbell by inquiring about the disappearance of goddess figures, stating that “patriarchal authority finally drove the goddess from the pantheon of imagination” (26:58). Moyers then pointedly asks Campbell, “The Lord’s Prayer begins, ‘Our Father, which art in heaven.’ Could it have begun ‘Our Mother’?” (27:27). “What psychological difference would it have made …?” (33:47). “Well,” Campbell responds, “it makes a psychological difference in the character of the cultures” (33:56). The myths we hold dear in our societies inform societal actions. So too Campbell's statement seems to imply that what is lost to time or buried in the underworld affects the upperworld as well. Later in the episode, Campbell suggests that the goddess returned, “She came back with the virgin in the Roman Catholic tradition … Notre Dame” (37:33). Perhaps Notre-Dame-Sous-Terre, Our Lady of the underworld has something to say about this as well. Campbell asserts that these female figures are surfacing, their presence offering balance, insight, and wisdom to the culture. Surfacing What does it mean for female figures who have been lost to time to step into the light? These goddesses, heroines, and leaders who have remained hidden and unseen for so long–do we fear them, like those who fear the Greek goddess Persephone, or do we welcome their wisdom as the Sumerian goddess Inanna seeking Erishkigal? Can we even begin to remember the time when the church upon the island of Mont-Saint-Michel was dedicated to her, Our Lady Underneath, before the gothic cathedral was built atop her? Perhaps a starting point for excavating the gifts of the goddess is where the “Love and the Goddess” episode ends. Moyers and Campbell have taken the conversation beyond words. Moyers inquires, “And it begins here?” (56:06) as he points to his body, the internal world that is “the womb of all of our being” (54:22), represented mythically as the goddess. And Campbell knowingly nods, responding, “It begins here” (56:06). What must it mean then, from the womb of being, to allow what has been repressed, buried, and hidden for so many years to come into the light? What gifts might this goddess from underneath the earth offer? MythBlast authored by: Stephanie Zajchowski, PhD is a mythologist and writer based in Texas. She serves as the Director of Operations for the Joseph Campbell Foundation and is a contributing author of Goddesses: A Skeleton Key Study Guide. Stephanie is also a co-founder of the Fates and Graces, hosting webinars and workshops for mythic readers and writers. Her work focuses on the intersection of mythology, religion, and women’s studies. For more information, visit stephaniezajchowski.com This MythBlast was inspired by  The Power of Myth  Episode 5, and Goddesses Latest Podcast In this episode, Campbell speaks to the relationship of mythology to psychology. He goes through the four functions of myth and emphasizes the fourth function - the psychological. He focuses on why this psychological function is so important in our contemporary world. The lecture was recorded at the Houston Jung Center in 1972. Host Brad Olson introduces the lecture and offers a commentary at the end. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "There was a whole galaxy of mythologies that influenced each other in that period, back and forth, leading to the Christian recovery of the Goddess. . . . with the Christians in the first centuries, she comes back very strongly. There are certain aspects of Catholicism, for instance, where Mary is more important than either the Father, Son, or Holy Ghost. In all of the great cathedrals of Notre Dame, she is the guardian, protecting, mediating Mother. See, the god image as it is in our tradition is a pretty heavy one—he’s a kind of savage deity—and the mother is a protective, intermediary screen. When she’s wiped out in Puritanism, God becomes really a ferocious figure, as you read in some of those Puritan sermons." -- Joseph Campbell Myth and Meaning , 53 The Great Goddess (see more videos) Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

Mural entitled Sun Goddesses, a collaboration by artists Fin DAC and Kevin Ledo, in the Wynwood Arts District of Miami, Florida. The human woman does give birth as the earth gives birth to the plants. She gives nourishment as the plants do. So, woman magic and earth magic are the same, they are related. And the personification, then, of this energy which gives birth to forms and nourishes forms is properly female. And so, it is in the agricultural world of ancient Mesopotamia, the Egyptian Nile, but also in the earlier planting culture systems, that the goddess is the mythic form that is dominant. Joseph Campbell, Power of Myth with Bill Moyers , 209-210 Worshiping nature and women appears in many classical myths. Aphrodite is born from the foam of the sea, when Cronus castrates his father Uranus, and throws his severed genitals into the sea. According to some less bizarre and cruel myths, she was the daughter of Zeus and Dione. Desirable and beautiful, she restores youth, fertility, and beauty to those who respect her. She was married to Hephaestus, but was constantly unfaithful to him, kidnapping lovers, starting wars because of her arrogance, and disrupting the love affairs of those who disrespected her. During one sexual encounter with Ares, her husband Hephaestus covered them with a metal wire, so that all the gods would laugh at their adultery. Aphrodite promised fidelity to Hephaestus, but Hermes saw this act of two lovers and fell madly in love with her. From this next adultery of hers, Hermaphrodite was born, a young man with a woman's breasts and long hair. Hermaphroditism arises as an idea in the transition from matriarchy to patriarchy. Aphrodite was constantly causing trouble, but also solving problems, granting wishes and giving back life, beauty and immortality. Paradoxically, she helped establish patriarchy, a society that James Brown describes as: This is a man's, man's, man's world But it wouldn't be nothing, nothing without a woman or a girl Through the centuries that followed in this men's world, Aphrodite suffered oppression and persecution, and her followers went through metamorphosis. However, the love, fertility, and beauty she represents is found in other shapes and forms in different cultures over the history of patriarchal rule. The women-guardians of the patriarchy of Mediterranean culture are best illustrated by the line of the "Mother Goddess“ Maria Portokalos in the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002): “Let me tell you something. The man is the head, but the woman is the neck. And she can turn the head any way she wants.” Aphrodites all over the world know how to turn heads, and at the same time keep the paterfamilias order, pretending that they are only the neck and not the head of the house. Famous sentences of the baby boomer generation, including "Now I'm going to call your father" or „Just wait till your dad comes home," simulate the power of the male principle in society, while actually showing the true power of the goddess–the guardian of the order who controls and gives birth to life and love. Aphrodite Archetypes Joseph Campbell asserted that the deity is the personification of energy. Mythology is something that is woven into our reality but is not a fact per se. It is metaphoric and symbolic in relation to reality. Female deities around the world personify the same metaphorical energy of love, fertility, lust, and birth. The Greek Aphrodite, the Phoenician Astarte, the Egyptian Isis and Hathor, the Babylonian Ishtar or the Sumerian Inanna, the pre-Islamic Arab goddess Al Uzzi, the Nordic Freya, and the Aztec Xochiquetzal ruled the cultures of the first agricultural cities. These goddesses are imprinted with comparable and compatible archetypes of love and passion. However, the “enemy of lust” in the form of Christian teachings appeared in the Middle East and soon spread throughout Europe. Aphrodite or Venus became assimilated as the Mother of God in the new popular religion, where she remains partly until the Renaissance and partly today. In the Eastern traditions, the Indian name for a woman is Maya-Shakti-Devi, which means: "Goddess who gives life and mother of all forms." Patience of the Goddess These rulers of all forms, through the flexibility of the cervical vertebrae with which they turn the governing structures, show a great power of adaptation and metamorphosis throughout history. The Goddess archetypes have, incredibly in the face of patriarchal power, survived persecution throughout the ages. For example, women who had cats did not get sick during the plague epidemic. Cats eat mice, and mice carry the plague. Thus the patriarchal leaders reasoned that those women must be immune to the Black Death by conspiring with Satan, and they need to be burned at the stake. Even fairy tales, echoing this reasoning, depict witches as the proud owners of black cats. In many cultures, the archetype of the feminine principle is demonized through conservative religious dogmas, which become expressed in explicitly patriarchal and warrior societies. Obstruction of the talents and gifts of the goddess of love and beauty, through feelings that cause joy, mirth, or happiness, originates from some sort of witch hunt on the goddesses. Just as in state systems, where oligarchies, autocracies, or dictatorships make rules, so in social systems, not tied to any particular monotheistic god, the rules for morality, behavior, and appearance in public were imposed on women. Since the flexible goddesses' necks skillfully turned and swiveled through the ages, thus guarding the order, they adapted to different forms of demonization, always knowing that survival and the source of all life was within them. So, they were patient, because even the Bible’s patriarchal slant cannot dim this truth about love: Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. 1 Corinthians 13:4 Return to the Goddess The patience of Mother Earth and persisting feminine principles in the context of morality and social arrangements will certainly be of significance in our modern society, which is on the verge of a global war. The patriarchal-warrior and profitable industrial concept of our age has already made Mother Earth, old Tiamat, very angry. Global warming, apocalyptic weather changes, meaningless patriarchal laws and rules, production of henchmen-warriors and obedient workers in our education systems, greed, corruption, destruction of nature, wars, and tensions raging among nuclear powers, are not the product of Aphrodite's whims, but of testosterone from gods of thunder and warriors, who think that by erecting fences and drawing borders, the land they conquered belongs to them. The Goddess archetypes have, incredibly in the face of patriarchal power, survived persecution throughout the ages.  Aphrodite, no matter how capricious, forgives and grants wishes. Goddesses tend to give, not take, life. Their purpose primarily is to give birth, not to conquer. They have many faces and names and have suffered much in turning men's hot heads. Aphrodite's gift is one of the most important gifts of all the “pagan” gods: unconditional love and the birth of life. It is necessary to respect this through the understanding of the gift of life that we have, through love and unity in the desire for the beautiful and good, as well as through the preservation of nature and the respect of the Earth Goddess, which should be passed unharmed as a legacy to the next generations. MythBlast authored by: Dr. Lejla Panjeta is a Professor of Film Studies and Visual Communication. She was a professor and guest lecturer in many international and Bosnian universities. She also directed and produced in theatre, worked in film production, and authored documentary films. She curated university exhibitions and film projects. She won awards for her artistic and academic works. She is the author and editor of books on film studies, art, and communication. Her recent publication was the bilingual illustrated encyclopedic guide – Filmbook , made for everyone from 8 to 108 years old. Her research interests are in the fields of aesthetics, propaganda, communication, visual arts, cultural and film studies, and mythology. https://independent.academia.edu/LejlaPanjeta This MythBlast was inspired by  The Power of Myth  Episode 5, and Goddesses Latest Podcast In this episode of Pathways, Joseph Campbell speaks at the Cooper Union in New York City in December 1967. He explores the "mythology of love" - from eros to agape and beyond. Host, Bradley Olson introduces the lecture and gives commentary at the end. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "The human woman does give birth as the earth gives birth to the plants. She gives nourishment as the plants do. So, woman magic and earth magic are the same, they are related. And the personification, then, of this energy which gives birth to forms and nourishes forms is properly female. And so, it is in the agricultural world of ancient Mesopotamia, the Egyptian Nile, but also in the earlier planting culture systems, that the goddess is the mythic form that is dominant." -- Joseph Campbell The Power of Myth with Bill Moyers 209-210 The Virgin Birth (see more videos) Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

(c) copyright 1997 – 2024, William F. Hertha " The challenge is to flower as individuals, neither as biological archetypes nor as personalities imitative of the male.”  Joseph Campbell, Goddesses: Mysteries of the Feminine Divine  (xiii) Myth, religion, and gender For over a decade beginning in the 1970s, Joseph Campbell waded into the murky waters of gender, sex, and myth through a series of lectures on historical goddesses. Dr. Safron Rossi has collected these lectures for us in a compilation entitled Goddesses: Mysteries of the Feminine Divine . Up to that point, it wasn’t as if Campbell avoided the subject or was not inclusive in his work. Rather, during this time he decided to discuss this archetype separately with more care and intentionality.  Perhaps this undertaking was due to the powerful undercurrent of second wave feminism—built upon the philosophies of people like Simone de Beauvior, Betty Freidan, and Gloria Steinem. These writers inspired and documented a movement which would lead to the Equal Pay Act of 1963, crystallizing the economic rights of women in the United States. A year later, Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 would prohibit discrimination by employers based upon race, religion, sex, or national origin. And nearly a decade later when Campbell was to begin speaking on the goddess, bell hooks was releasing her first writings broadening the feminist movement to include social topics other than economics such as race, love, and sexuality.  While we cannot definitively know what inspired Campbell to take on this project, the evidence would suggest that he found himself (along with most people of that time) staring headlong into more than one existential crisis—who are we , who am I …better yet, what am I ?  And what better tool does our species have than myth to address such amorphous, sensitive, albeit confusing topics such as gender and sexuality?  What better tool does our species have than myth to address such amorphous, sensitive, albeit confusing topics such as gender and sexuality?  The two “traps” Throughout this essay, we are mindful of at least two “traps” for us to fall into and traps which Campbell had to navigate in his lectures. The first trap is that of the fundamental attribution error. To paraphrase Bertram Gawronski, a social psychologist, the fundamental attribution error is a bias humans are prone to express in which we underemphasize situational and environmental factors to explain someone's behavior, while over-index on things like their personality or disposition. In other words, when we study social history (in this case, historical mythology) we are prone to make meaning of events in the past using our interpretation of personality factors rather than the environmental factors which led to individual choices.  The next trap is adjacent to the first—this is the tendency to assume that ancient peoples’ social and cultural experience with things like gender, sex, and roles is similar to our own. True, homo sapiens  30,000 years ago were the same as homo sapiens 2,000 years ago, which are the same as homo sapiens  today. What was different in each of those periods, however, were the norms and expectations socialized among any given people at any given time.  In other words, while we cannot make the mistake of assuming that ancient people were somehow less intelligent, evolved, or capable as we are today, we must also respect that we cannot naturally intuit the social values they held about things like gender and sex, for example. Rather, this takes work, documentation, and evidence gathering as Campbell does in the book Goddesses.  War killed the goddess In the Goddesses we discover early on one of Campbell’s more forceful opinions on the subject of the goddess. He believes that the goddess finds herself a second class citizen of many of the world’s myths. Campbell asserts, “All I can tell you about mythology is what men have said and have experienced, and now women have to tell us from their point of view what the possibilities of the feminine future are. And it is a future—it’s as though the lift-off has taken place, it really has, there’s no doubt about it" (263).  He argues that the primary driver of the devaluation of the woman (and by extension the feminine and the goddess) is rooted in the evolution of war during the Bronze Age–more specifically the developments from the Indo-European warrior cultures to the Semitic-speaking patriarchal cultures. These two warrior cultures differed greatly in the way they approached war and winning. The Semitic-speaking peoples tended to favor annihilation, countering the Indo-European custom of assimilation. To put it another way, war killed the goddess.  When considering this development Campbell questions,  One is moved to ask why the [ancient Semetic speaking peoples]...turned their backs so resolutely on the goddess and her glorious world … A completely contrary understanding and attitude is presented in the mythological system of the other great complex of warrior tribes … Like the bedouins of the deserts, they too were patriarchal herding folk, and their leading gods were gods of war, finally subject however, to the larger powers of nature. (xxiv)  In other words Campbell argues that the Semitic-speaking tribes of the Bronze Age greatly challenged the norms of assimilation with annihilation. This threat of male violence, of patriarchy annihilating the divine feminine—first by separating or “othering” the feminine and then destroying her—is a legacy whose impressions remain to this day. In some respects, the very act of “othering” by separating and classifying is itself the defining behavior of patriarchy. At its core, these particular warrior tribes introduced an idea that man is superior to nature in so many ways. Suddenly the idea emerges that there is only one god, and that god is inherently gendered, and that gender is male. Perhaps the counter force to the warrior death-cults of the Bronze Age is the non-dualistic god of Rome, Janus. Janus stands at the gate–at all gates–with two heads or eyes pointing in opposing directions. One eye looks to the future while the other to the past. Janus is the liminal, the in-between, the doorway from this place to the next. Similarly, in one of the oldest cities on earth called Çatalhöyük, modern excavations have uncovered at the gates of temples and homes alike two felines which gaze at all who enter. One must enter the “in-between” space, under the watch of both this and that. Campbell suggests in his lectures that one of these is a lion and the other a lioness, as if sex, the dualism of male and female, is the gateway to the divine.  The liberation of the goddess (or how the goddess liberates us all) The error of patriarchy, then, is that of a logical fallacy. Patriarchy mistakes the symbol of gender for the reference. It is akin to religious fundamentalism in that it only manages to identify the most basic interpretation available. As Campbell quips in Goddesses , “My definition of mythology  is ‘other people’s religion’” (pg. 14). Unlike the Roman god Janus looking forward and behind or the two felines discovered around Çatalhöyük, the modern world appears increasingly challenged at holding non-dualistic perspectives. Perhaps we have forgotten how to see the world before it was carved up and fought over. Perhaps we have grown accustomed to seeing gender as a fact and less as itself a myth, a story which helps us cope with our psychology. After reflecting on these lectures by Campbell, we believe it’s possible that we as a culture have mistaken the symbol for the reference and forgotten that the goddess is an archetype available to us all—for our wellbeing, for our liberation, and for our hope. Because, like Ranier Maria Rilke so famously captured in his famous poem “Widening Circles” (as translated by Joanna Macy and Anita Barrows):   I live my life in widening circles that reach out across the world. I may not complete this last one but I give myself to it. I circle around God, around the primordial tower. I’ve been circling for thousands of years and I still don’t know: am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?  If the hero has a thousand faces, would it not be true that some of them are feminine, some masculine, and others something entirely different? Our myth is only as great as our courage and our imagination, and as Campbell reminds us, “The challenge is to flower as individuals, neither as biological archetypes nor as personalities” ( Goddesses , pg. xiii). Perhaps the goddess, in the underworld of oppression all these years, has returned with a boon which she gives freely to us, if we only have the courage to listen.   MythBlast authored by: Kami Hope is a designer, entrepreneur, creative, and myth enthusiast. Growing up in a part of the US which taught religious fundamentalism, Kami has enjoyed exploring art, science, and myth in adulthood in order to navigate the realities of life and better enjoy the world around her. She lives with her partner Matt in Nashville Tennessee along with their two young children—though they are currently relocating to London, England. There she hopes to dive deeper into design and art by taking advantage of iconic museums, culture, and history. Matt Malcom is a writer, public philosopher, and investor currently living in Nashville Tennessee. He studied philosophy at the United States Military Academy at West Point and was an Army Officer before joining the NGO world. During the pandemic, Matt expanded his work in public philosophy by launching a multi year project called The Pocket Philosopher. Now a global community spanning 5 countries, the mission remains focused on increasing public access to philosophical ideas. Today, he works in investment management focusing on ESG integration and is relocating to London at the end of 2024 to further this pursuit. He lives with his partner, Kami and their two young children. Kami and Matt enjoy long discussions about life, love, politics, and philosophy. This MythBlast was inspired by  The Power of Myth  Episode 5, and Goddesses Latest Podcast This bonus episode contains a short lecture that Campbell gave at Westerbee Ranch in Sonoma in 1987 on the "Symbology of the Tarot". It is a "slide" lecture meaning that Campbell was speaking to a curated set of slides, which he often did. Even though we cannot see the slides, his discussion and interpretation of the Tarot deck is worth a listen. This lecture was recorded in the same year as Campbell's death. One can hear him clearing his throat often. He was being treated for esophageal cancer. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "All I can tell you about mythology is what men have said and have experienced, and now women have to tell us from their point of view what the possibilities of the feminine future are. And it is a future—it’s as though the lift-off has taken place, it really has, there’s no doubt about it." -- Joseph Campbell Goddesses: Mysteries of the Feminine Divine , 263 The Goddess Embodied (see more videos) Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter