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576 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1962



It was Campbell himself who suggested that a dream is a personalized myth, and a myth is a collective dream.
In this second volume of his magnum opus, Campbell sets out to chronicle the various masks worn by this collective dream, dreamt by humanity from the Nile Delta to the island of Hokkaido. Pyramids rise along the Nile for a single man considered a god. Ziggurats rise in the Mesopotamia between the Tigris and the Euphrates, their structure symbolizing the universe, while the kings of Sumer and Ur take their entire royal court into the afterlife. In India, the ancient Dravidian (and at times rather bloodthirsty) deities relentlessly swallow their free-spirited Aryan counterparts, leaving behind nothing but their names. The Buddha carves the Middle Way from India through China all the way to Japan. Confucius, Lao Tzu, Mo Tzu, Mencius, and ancient Chinese philosophers debate the ideal society. In Japan, they elevate tea and suicide to an art form.
Amidst a multitude of legends and retellings, accompanied by attempts at historical chronology and a solid number of parallels—some apt, others far-fetched—Campbell remains fairly consistent in his perspective on the East. The East, according to Campbell, espouses an inward focus. Dualism is dismantled in favor of personal transformation toward detachment from reality and enlightenment, or through the submission of the individual to established social hierarchies and castes as timeless, unalterable equivalents of the divine order. The only form of rebellion is asceticism, which—much like the more secular Eastern philosophical schools—likewise emphasizes the erasure of the self.
I agree to an extent, and to an extent, I do not. Campbell’s arguments are undermined first and foremost by his irritating subjectivity. He is selective in presenting facts and material, tailoring them to fit his pre-formed opinion rather than the other way around.
Secondly, Campbell exhaustively quotes early 20th-century Western authors from an era when views were shaped by classic imperial arrogance and were, to make matters worse, still deficient in a deeper understanding of the so-called “East.”
Thirdly, Campbell frequently forgets that he is discussing the East and charges off into descriptions of the West.
Fourthly, clear organization is not the author's forte; across all his books, he tends toward a stream-of-consciousness style, which proves particularly unsuitable for a title like this. As a result, mythological motifs crop up without explanation or context, or context appears devoid of its corresponding mythological motifs. History, archaeology, anthropology, and mythology fail to blend into a homogeneous mix.
In short, encyclopedic rigor is a far cry from the material in this book. It is, rather, a highly subjective—and quite intriguing—opinion. This perspective is limited, and the reader would do well to study each major mythological “school” individually through other publications to construct a richer, more nuanced picture. Yet even here, there are juicy kernels that spark the imagination and spur curiosity toward our vibrant, vast world. Along with a handful of uncomfortable truths.
Well- and so our friend the sociologist met his friend the Shinto priest at a lawn party in the precincts of an extensive Japanese garden, where paths, leading down among the rocks, turned to reveal unforseen landscapes, gravel lawns, craggy lakes, stone lanterns, trees curiously formed, and pagodas. And our friend the sociologist said to his friend the Shinto priest, "You know, I've now been to a number of the Shinto shrines and I've seen quite a few rites, and I've read about it, thought about it; but you know, I don't get the ideology. I don't get your theology."
And the Japanese gentleman, polite, as though respecting the foreign scholar's profound question, paused a while as though in thought. Then he looked, smiling, at his friend.
"We do not have ideology," he said. "We do not have theology.
We dance."
There are four things," states a Taoist work of this age (the Lieh Tzu: third century A.D.), "that do not allow people to have peace. The first is long life, the second is reputation, the third is rank, and the fourth is riches. Those who have these things fear ghosts, fear men, fear power, and fear punishment. They are called fugitives...pg. 435_______
"You misjudge me," Chuang Tzu replied. "When she died, I was in despair, as any man might well be. But soon, pondering on what had happened, I told myself that in death no new strange fate befalls us. In the beginning we lack not life only, but form; not form only, but spirit. We are blent in the one great featureless, undistinguishable mass. Then a time came when the mass evolved spirit, spirit evolved form, form evolved life. And now life in its turn has evolved death. For not nature only but man's being has its season, its sequence of spring and autumn, summer and winter. If someone is tired and has gone to lie down, we do not pursue him with shouting and bawling. She whom I have lost has lain down to sleep for a while in the Great Inner Room. To break in upon her rest with the noise of lamentation would but show that I knew nothing of nature's Sovereign Law." pg. 427