An excellent and promising opening to this four volume work, Primitive Mythology gets to work quickly, setting out its task and framing the importance of mythology, even (if not especially) for we who are of the time whose mythology is an absence of mythology. For despite centuries of philosophers and thinkers attempting to explicate Man as the rational animal, and the constructs based on the import and majesty of reason as the supreme aspect of human existence, it is myth that digs into the abyssal depths of our being. For human beings are not merely anthropos, but mythanthropos, and for the human being "the fullness of his life would even seem to stand in direct ratio to the depth and range not of his rational thought but of his local mythology" (4). Human beings are more than a rational faculty for thought and speech, and these things cannot grasp, ascertain, or circumscribe all the aspects of our existence. There moves through us a profound and ineffable force, the portrayal of which has been attempted throughout time in countless different ways, though none can get to the heart of this unspeakable experience that eludes experience, that rises up from the abyss that undergirds us through the passions and sufferings of our living and dying. Each mask of God can be pulled away to reveal another mask - the face of God is never given in and as itself. Campbell quotes Thomas Mann on the subject, writing that "myth is the foundation of life, the timeless schema, the pious formula into which life flows when it reproduces its traits out of the unconscious" (18). Campbell goes on to note that the schema, the formative patterns or framework, of mythology seeks to express that which has no schema - that which is aschematic (call it life, the unconscious, the sacred, the impossible, the divine, etc...). Myth, we could say, is an ordering or imagining of that which emerges from the abyssal night of existence, from out of the bare earth. The blood must be transmuted, for passion is neither linguistic nor discursive - myth is a translation of the unexpressable expression which seeks to translate us back over, returning us to from whence we have emerged (perhaps long forgotten (purposefully or otherwise)).
Myth is a creative expression - a proliferation of the sacred creative forces that demand it and, in a sense, produce it. The work of myth is the production of further differentiation and dispersion of the divine forces which bring about its demand for speech or expression. Myth combines or takes up three related images of existence in its creation - those of the child (play, imagination, freedom), the poet (imagination, passion, the word) and the monstrous or daemonic (the divine, force, freedom). These three (which are not the only three aspects, but merely three of the innumerable aspects that are being forgrounded here) come together through the mythical play of imagination, which opens up, opening out upon the differential possibilities of existence - the flows of life which reason closes off, renders impossible. The freedom of this mythic space embraces the child, the monster and the poet in their relation to the divine and its (non)expression. This realm of creativity, with all its attendant destructions, is not a happy place, per say. Its joy is one of ecstasy. It is a dangerous space, at the limits of life and death, and its opening and sustained play demand passionate suffering and sacrifice. This is the realm not of the head, but of the heart.
This mythical space is expressed not only through the verbal myth, the myth as tale, but as a way of life, of relating to the sacred. It is expressed through the festival. To partake in this festival, to live in this passionate manner, moving closer to the divine, involves stepping beyond oneself, becoming enrapt, overtaken and ravaged in the rending of joy's suffering, death's exsanguination - the ecstasy of this mythical passion. It is only thus, through this lacerating experience of loss, of giving up (which I am passing over here over-quickly, in far too few words), that one is opened to the freedom that one can be the vehicle for, through sacrifice. For in this festival, this bacchanal of sorts, we are not freed from something, but for something. We are freed unto our own bare existence, to proliferate and create further differences, to incite further avenues of life through the gift of death. We become mad, become monstrous and cruel, like the existence of which we are but a singular instance - a rupturing wound which spills forth blood of the divine, for the divine. This is myth - the grounding of our existence in the groundlessness of the wound from which we spring and have sprung.
Myth opens up and resides within a space of paradox - as Campbell notes, where A is B, and B is C as well. Thus it exists as an antinomy, in that the experience or passion of the mythical tears Man from himself and from all humanity (this is 'the mystical'), yet at the same time serves to ground him in the human, founding the society and what it means for him to be as Man ('the topological'). This antinomic existence is the mode of myth as founding rupture - the eruption which places into relation with the other in a mode that is sustainable, livable, and communicable. Myth can be a wandering, an unsettling or disturbing experience, or it can be a foundational worlding and topologically constructive and constitutional process. Either way, it is a way of life and death, of living and dying. Myth is a relationary field or space of a multiplicity of pathways, lines and threads that are interwovem and yet ever disjointed.
And what then of our age, this age that, like Kiekegaard's own, lakcs passion (perhaps in a way even more unsettling)? What is our life, and our death, here, now, without myth? Where are we and where are we going, with no direction, no further openings or passages? How are we to relate to one another, to understand the divinity that underlies our relations with each and every other? Our myth, as Bataille so adeptly diagnosed it, is an absence of myth. We are lost - lost on our way (which is none); lost to ourselves, having lost the divine, the sacred. We are losing our lives; we hardly even live. Soon we may even lose our own death. How does one fix a shadow in a pitch black night? Herein does Campbell locate the impostance of mythology - perhaps it has never been more important than it is now, now that it has been relegated to oblivion. Campbell seeks to reopen the mythic space of the past for us, to help us to find our way back to what we are, as wekk as in order for the past to help to guide us forward, to aid us in composing our own new myths. Such a creative act is so very exigent, as I have said, perhaps now more than ever, lest we become utterly lost in our own technological oblivion (perhaps we already fail to see our own effacement?). No longer Man, less than even human, we cannot even see our own failings.
== If only there were still a God to have pity on us - or to laugh at the tragedy of our self-inflicted demise. ==