The Hero with a Thousand Faces

by Joseph Campbell

  Or, according to another tradition, at the shore he immolated himself upon a funeral pyre, and birds with multi-colored feathers arose from his ashes. His soul became the Morning Star.[31]

  The life-eager hero can resist death, and postpone his fate for a certain time. It is written that Cuchulainn in his sleep heard a cry, “so terrible and fearful, that he fell out of his bed upon the ground, like a sack, in the east wing of the house.” He rushed forth without weapons, followed by Emer, his wife, who carried his arms and garments. And he discovered a chariot harnessed with a chestnut horse that had but one leg, the pole passing through its body and out at the forehead. Within sat a woman, her eyebrows red, and a crimson mantel round her. A very big man walked along beside, also in a coat of crimson, carrying a forked staff of hazelwood and driving a cow.

  Cuchulainn claimed the cow as his own, the woman challenged him, and Cuchulainn then demanded to know why she was speak-ing instead of the big man. She answered that the man was Uar-gaeth-sceo Luachair-sceo. “Well to be sure,” said Cuchulainn, “the length of the name is astonishing!” “The woman to whom you speak,” said the big man, “is called Faebor beg-beoil cuimdiuir folt sceub-gairit sceo uath.” “You are making a fool of me,” said Cuchulainn; and he made a leap into the chariot, put his two feet on her two shoulders, and his spear on the parting of her hair. “Do not play your sharp weapons on me!” she said. “Then tell me your true name,” said Cuchulainn. “Go further off from me then,” said she; “I am a female satirist, and I carry off this cow as a reward for a poem.” “Let us hear your poem,” said Cuchulainn. “Only move further off,” said the woman; “your shaking over my head will not influence me.”

  Cuchulainn moved off until he was between the two wheels of the chariot. The woman sang at him a song of challenge and insult. He prepared to spring again, but, in an instant, horse, woman, chariot, man, and cow had disappeared, and on the branch of a tree was a black bird.

  “A dangerous enchanted woman you are!” said Cuchulainn to the black bird; for he now realized that she was the battle goddess, Badb, or Morrigan. “If I had only known that it was you, we should not have parted thus.” “What you have done,” replied the bird, “will bring you ill luck.” “You cannot harm me,” said Cuchulainn. “Certainly I can,” said the woman; “I am guarding your deathbed, and I shall be guarding it henceforth.”

  Then the enchantress told him that she was taking the cow from the fairy hill of Cruachan to be bred by the bull of the big man, who was Cuailgne; and when her calf was a year old Cuchulainn would die. She herself would come against him when he would be engaged at a certain ford with a man “as strong, as victorious, as dexterous, as terrible, as untiring, as noble, as brave, as great” as himself. “I will become an eel,” she said, “and I will throw a noose round thy feet in the ford.” Cuchulainn exchanged threats with her, and she disappeared into the ground. But the following year, at the foretold foray at the ford, he overcame her, and actually lived to die another day.[32]

  A curious, perhaps playful, echo of the symbolism of salvation in a yonder world dimly sounds in the final passage of the Pueblo folktale of Water Jar Boy.

  A lot of people were living down inside the spring, women and girls. They all ran to the boy and put their arms around him because they were glad their child had come to their house. Thus the boy found his father and his aunts, too. Well, the boy stayed there one night and next day he went back home and told his mother he had found his father. Then his mother got sick and died. Then the boy said to himself, “No use for me to live with these people.” So he left them and went to the spring. And there was his mother. That was the way he and his mother went to live with his father. His father was Avaiyo’ pi’i (water snake red). He said he could not live with them over at Sikyat’ki. That was the reason he made the boy’s mother sick so she died and “came over here to live with me,” said his father. “Now we will live here together,” said Avaiyo’ to his son. That’s the way that boy and his mother went to the spring to live there.[33]

  This story, like that of the clam wife, repeats point for point the mythical narrative. The two stories are charming in their apparent innocence of their power. At the opposite extreme is the account of the death of the Buddha: humorous, like all great myth, but conscious to the last degree.

  The Blessed One, accompanied by a large congregation of priests, drew near to the further bank of the Hirannavati river, and to the city of Kusinara and the sal-tree grove Upavattana of the Mallas; and having drawn near, he addressed the venerable Ananda:

  “Be so good, Ananda, as to spread me a couch with its head to the north between twin sal-trees. I am weary, Ananda, and wish to lie down.”

  “Yes, Reverend Sir,” said the venerable Ananda to The Blessed One in assent, and spread the couch with its head to the north between twin sal-trees. Then The Blessed One lay down on his right side after the manner of a lion, and placing foot on foot, remained mindful and conscious.

  Now at that time the twin sal-trees had completely burst forth into bloom, though it was not the flowering season; and the blossoms scattered themselves over the body of The Tathāgata, and strewed and sprinkled themselves in worship of The Tathāgata.* Also heavenly sandal-wood powder fell from the sky; and this scattered itself over the body of The Tathāgata, and strewed and sprinkled itself in worship of The Tathāgata. And music sounded in the sky in worship of The Tathāgata, and heavenly choruses were heard to sing in worship of The Tathāgata.

  During the conversations which then took place, as The Tathā-gata lay like a lion on his side, a large priest, the venerable Upavana, stood in front, fanning him. The Blessed One briefly ordered him to step aside; whereupon the body attendant of The Blessed One, Ananda, complained to The Blessed One. “Reverend Sir,” he said, “what, pray, was the reason, and what was the cause, that The Blessed One was harsh to the venerable Upavana, saying, ‘Step aside, O priest; stand not in front of me’?”

  The Blessed One replied:

  Ananda, almost all the deities throughout ten worlds have come together to behold The Tathāgata. For an extent, Ananda, of twelve leagues about the city Kusinara and the sal-tree grove Upavattana of the Mallas, there is not a spot of ground large enough to stick the point of a hair into, that is not pervaded by powerful deities. And these deities, Ananda, are angered, saying, “From afar have we come to behold The Tathāgata, for but seldom, and on rare occasions, does a Tathāgata, a saint, and Supreme Buddha arise in the world; and now, to-night, in the last watch, will The Tathāgata pass into Nirvana; but this powerful priest stands in front of The Blessed One, concealing him, and we have no chance to see The Tathāgata, although his last moments are near.” Thus Ananda, are these deities angered.

  “What are the deities doing, Reverend Sir, whom The Blessed One perceives?”

  “Some of the deities, Ananda, are in the air with their minds engrossed by earthly things, and they let fly their hair and cry aloud, and stretch out their arms and cry aloud, and fall headlong to the ground and roll to and fro, saying, ‘All too soon will The Blessed One pass into Nirvana; all too soon will The Light of The World vanish from sight!’ Some of the deities, Ananda, are on the earth with their minds engrossed by earthly things, and they let fly their hair and cry aloud, and stretch out their arms and cry aloud, and fall headlong on the ground and roll to and fro, saying, ‘All too soon will The Blessed One pass into Nirvana; all too soon will The Happy One pass into Nirvana; all too soon will The Light of The World vanish from sight.’ But those deities which are free from passion, mindful and conscious, bear it patiently, saying, ‘Transitory are all things. How is it possible that whatever has been born, has come into being, and is organized and perishable, should not perish? That condition is not possible.’”

  The last conversations continued for some time, and during the course of them The Blessed One gave consolation to his priests. Then he addressed them:

  “And now, O priests, I take my leave of you; all the constituents
of being are transitory; work out your salvation with diligence.”

  And this was the last word of The Tathāgata.

  Figure 76. Death of the Buddha (carved stone, India, late fifth century a.d.)

  Thereupon The Blessed One entered the first trance; and rising from the first trance, he entered the second trance; and rising from the second trance, he entered the third trance; and rising from the third trance, he entered the fourth trance; and rising from the fourth trance, he entered the realm of the infinity of space; and rising from the realm of the infinity of space, he entered the realm of the infinity of consciousness; and rising from the realm of the infinity of consciousness, he entered the realm of nothingness; and rising from the realm of nothingness, he entered the realm of neither perception nor yet non-perception; and rising from the realm of neither perception nor yet non-perception, he arrived at the cessation of perception and sensation.

  Thereupon the venerable Ananda spoke to the venerable Anuruddha as follows:

  “Reverend Anuruddha, The Blessed One has passed into nirvāṇa.”

  “Nay, brother Ananda, The Blessed One has not yet passed into nirvāṇa; he has arrived at the cessation of perception and sensation.”

  Thereupon The Blessed One rising from the cessation of his perception and sensation, entered the realm of neither perception nor yet non-perception; and rising from the realm of neither perception nor yet non-perception, he entered the realm of nothingness; and rising from the realm of nothingness, he entered the realm of infinity of consciousness; and rising from the realm of infinity of consciousness, he entered the realm of the infinity of space; and rising from the realm of the infinity of space, he entered the fourth trance; and rising from the fourth trance, he entered the third trance; and rising from the third trance, he entered the second trance; and rising from the second trance, he entered the first trance; and rising from the first trance, he entered the second trance; and rising from the second trance, he entered the third trance; and rising from the third trance, he entered the fourth trance; and rising from the fourth trance, immediately The Blessed One passed into nirvāṇa.[34]

  * * *

  Footnotes

  * One of a class of priests entrusted with the preparation and application of the sacred ointments.

  * Chief priest, governing as viceregent of the god.

  * An amusing and instructive example of a great hero’s abject failure will be found in the Finnish Kalevala, Runos IV–VIII, where Väinämöinen fails in his wooing, first of Aino, and then of the “maid of Pohjola.” The story is much too long for the present context.

  * Tathāgata: “arrived at or being in (gata) such a state or condition (tathā)”: i.e., an Enlightened One, a Buddha.

  * * *

  Endnotes

  [1] Giles, op cit., pp. 233–34; Rev. J. MacGowan, The Imperial History of China (Shanghai, 1906), pp. 4–5; Friedrich Hirth, The Ancient History of China (Columbia University Press, 1908), pp. 8–9.

  [2] Giles, op cit., p. 656; MacGowan, op cit., pp. 5–6; Hirth, op cit., pp. 10–12.

  [3] Giles, op cit., p. 338; MacGowan, op cit., pp. 6–8; Edouard Chavannes, Les mémoires historiques de Se-ma Ts’ien (Paris, 1895–1905), vol. I, pp. 25–36. See also John C. Ferguson, Chinese Mythology (“The Mythology of All Races,” vol. VIII, Boston, 1928), pp. 27–28, 29–31.

  [4] These three legends appear in the excellent psychological study by Dr. Otto Rank, The Myth of the Birth of the Hero (Nervous and Mental Disease Monographs; New York, 1910). A variant of the third appears in the Gesta Romanorum, Tale LXXXI.

  [5] The Charlemagne cycles are exhaustively discussed by Joseph Bédier, Les légendes épiques (3rd ed.; Paris, 1926).

  [6] Louis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1911), vol. III, pp. 90–94.

  [7] George Bird Grinnell, Blackfoot Lodge Tales (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1892, 1916), pp. 31–32.

  [8] Elsie Clews Parsons, Tewa Tales (Memoirs of the American Folklore Society, XIX, 1926), p. 193.

  [9] Adapted from Sister Nivedita and Ananda K. Coomaraswamy, Myths of the Hindus and Buddhists (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1914), pp. 221–32.

  [10] Parsons, op cit., p. 193.

  [11] “Táin bó Cúalnge” (from the version in the Book of Leinster, 62 a–b): edited by Wh. Stokes and E. Windisch, Irische Texte (Extraband zu Serie I bis IV; Leipzig, 1905), pp. 106–17; English translation in Eleanor Hull’s The Cuchullin Saga in Irish Literature (London, 1898), pp. 135–37.

  [12] Book of Leinster, 64b–67b (Stokes and Windisch, op cit., pp. 130–69); Hull, op cit., pp. 142–54.

  [13] From Eleanor Hull, op cit., p. 154; translated from the Book of Leinster, 68a (Stokes and Windisch, op cit., pp. 168–71).

  [14] Hull, op cit., pp. 174–76; from the Book of Leinster, 77 (Stokes and Windisch, op cit., pp. 368–77). Compare the transfiguration of Kṛṣṇa, pp. 198–201; see also Fig. 32.

  [15] Uno Holmberg (Uno Harva), Der Baum des Lebens (Annales Academiae Scientiarum Fennicae, Ser. B, Tom. XVI, No. 3; Helsinki, 1923), pp. 57–59; from N. Gorochov, “Yryn Uolan” (Izvestia Vostočno-Siberskago Otdela I. Russkago Geografičeskago Obščestva, XV), pp. 43 ff.

  [16] Kalevala, III, pp. 295–300.

  [17] Clark Wissler and D.C. Duvall, Mythology of the Blackfeet Indians (Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, vol. II, Part I, New York, 1909), pp. 55–57. Quoted by Thompson, op cit., pp. 111–13.

  [18] Jacobus de Voragine, op cit., CIV, “Saint Martha, Virgin.”

  [19] The Wooing of Emer, abstracted from the translation by Kuno Meyer in E. Hull, op cit., pp. 57–84.

  [20] Parsons, op cit., p. 194.

  [21] Firdausi, Shah-Nameh, translation by James Atkinson (London and New York, 1886), p. 7.

  [22] Opler, op cit., pp. 133–34.

  [23] Adapted from Nivedita and Coomaraswamy, op cit., pp. 236–37.

  [24] Coomaraswamy, Hinduism and Buddhism, pp. 6–7.

  [25] Gospel According to Matthew, 10:34–37.

  [26] Bhagavad Gītā, 18:51–53.

  [27] Antiphons of the nuns, at their consecration as Brides of Christ; from The Roman Pontifical. Reprinted in The Soul Afire, pp. 289–92.

  [28] Ginzberg, op cit., vol. I, pp. 305–6. By permission of the Jewish Publication Society of America.

  [29] Wilhelm Stekel, Die Sprache des Traumes, dream no. 421. Death here appears, observes Dr. Stekel, in four symbols: the Old Fiddler, the Squinting One, the Old Woman, and the Young Peasant (the Peasant is the Sower and the Reaper).

  [30] Bernardino de Sahagún, Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva España (Mexico, 1829), Lib. III, Cap. xii–xiv (condensed). The work has been republished by Pedro Robredo (Mexico, 1938), vol. I, pp. 278–82.

  [31] Thomas A. Joyce, Mexican Archaeology (London, 1914), p. 46.

  [32] “Taín bó Regamna,” edited by Stokes and Windisch, Irische Texte (zweite Serie, Heft 2; Leipzig, 1887), pp. 241–54. The above is condensed from Hull, op cit., pp. 103–7.

  [33] Parsons, op cit., pp. 194–95.

  [34] Reprinted by permission of the publishers from Henry Clarke Warren, Buddhism in Translations (Harvard Oriental Series 3), Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1896, pp. 95–110.

  Compare the stages of cosmic emanation.

  Figure 77. Autumn (Death Mask) (painted wood, Inuit, North America, date uncertain)

  CHAPTER IV

  Dissolutions

  1. End of the Microcosm

  The mighty hero of extraordinary powers — able to lift Mount Govardhan on a finger, and to fill himself with the terrible glory of the universe — is each of us: not the physical self visible in the mirror, but the king within. Kṛṣṇa declares: “I am the Self, seated in the hearts of all creatures. I am the beginning, the middle, and the end of all beings.”[1] This, precisely, is the sense of the prayers for the dead, at the moment of personal dissolution: that the individual should n
ow return to his pristine knowledge of the world-creative divinity who during life was reflected within his heart.

  When he comes to weakness — whether he come to weakness through old age or through disease — this person frees himself from these limbs just as a mango, or a fig, or a berry releases itself from its bond; and he hastens again, according to the entrance and place of origin, back to life. As noblemen, policemen, chariot-drivers, village-heads wait with food, drink, and lodgings for a king who is coming, and cry: “Here he comes! Here he comes!” so indeed do all things wait for him who has this knowledge and cry: “Here is the Imperishable coming! Here is the Imperishable coming!”[2]