SOURCE: "Cassirer on Mythological Thinking," in The Philosophy of Ernst Cassirer, edited by Paul Arthur Schlipp, The Library of Living Philosophers, Inc., 1949, pp. 359-77.

[In the following essay, Montagu explains Cassirer's views on mythological thinking, especially as it relates to preliterate societies.]

In Substanzbegriff und Funktionsbegriff (1910) we learn that the study arose out of the attempt to comprehend the fundamental conceptions of mathematics from the point of view of logic. Cassirer found that it became necessary to analyze and trace back the fundamental presuppositions of the nature of a concept itself. This led to a renewed analysis of the principles of concepts in general.

In the course of his analysis of the special sciences it became evident that the systematic structure of the exact sciences assumes different forms according to the different logical perspectives in which they are regarded. Hence the necessity of the analysis of the forms of conceptual construction and of the general function of concepts; for it is obvious that the conception which is formed of the fundamental nature of the concept is directly significant in judging the questions of fact in any criticism of knowledge or metaphysics.

From such considerations with respect to the processes of knowing, and the conceptual formalization of that knowing as related to the pure sciences, Cassirer was led to a consideration of the more fundamental problem of the primitive origins of these processes and their development. The first fruits of his studies in this field he published in 1923, as the first instalment of a large work entitled Philosophie der symboliskhen Formen; this first volume was devoted to "Die Sprache," in which the nature and function of language was considered. A second volume devoted to "Das mythische Denken" … was published in 1925; and the third and last volume, entitled "Phdnomenologie der Erkenntnis," made its appearance in 1929. Of these volumes I think it is no exaggeration to say that they constitute perhaps the most important and certainly the most brilliant work in this field which has yet been published.

Before entering upon a presentation of Cassirer's treatment of the nature of mythological thinking it is necessary to present something of his views with respect to the nature of language as propaedeutic to the former.

Cassirer insists on the fact that in consciousness, whether theoretical, artistic, or linguistic, we see a kind of mirror, the image falling upon which reflects not only the nature of the object existing externally but also the nature of consciousness itself. All forms brought into being by the mind are due to a creative force, to a spontaneous act in the Kantian sense, thanks to which that which is realized is something quite other than a simple reception or registration of facts exterior or foreign to the mind. We are now dealing not only with an entering into the possession of facts, but with the lending to them of a certain character, with an integration of them in a determinate physical order. Thus, the act of consciousness which gives birth to one or the other of these forms, to science, to art, and to language, does not simply discover and reproduce an ensemble of pre-existent objects. This act, the processes which give birth to it, lead rather to this objective universe, and contribute towards constituting its being and structure. The essential function of language is not arbitrarily to assign designations to objects already formed and achieved; language is rather a means indispensable to that formation, even of objects. Similarly, in the plastic arts, the creative act consists in the construction of space, in conquering it, in opening a path of access to it, which each of these arts makes according to the manner that is specific to it. Similarly, in respect of language it is necessary to return to the theory of Wilhelm von Humboldt according to which the diversity of languages expresses the diversity of aspects from which the world is seen and conceived by the different linguistic groups, and which consequently contribute to the formation of the different representations of the world. But one cannot observe the intimate operations of the mind which are at work in the formation of language. Psychology, even after having abandoned the concepts of apperception and of association— concepts which during the nineteenth century stood in the way of the realization of Humboldt's ideas—does not provide a method which permits direct access to the specific process of the mind which ends by leading to the production of the verbal. What experimentation and introspection renders perceptible are the facts impregnated by language and by them, not the manner of formation, but the achieved state.

If one wishes to go back to the origin of language and, instead of being content with the linguistic facts and findings, one seeks to discover the creative principle, one can be satisfied only with those regions in which the formation of the language is known, in all its particulars, and to attempt by an analysis of the structure of the languages of these regions, by a regressive method, to arrive at the genetic factors of language.

Cassirer's study deals with the languages of a number of regions of this kind, inquiring into their mode of arriving at an objective representation of the world. According to Cassirer the lower animals are incapable of such objective representations; they find themselves enclosed in an environment, in which they live, move, and have their being, but which they are unable to oppose, and which they are incapable of viewing objectively, since they cannot transcend it, consider or conceive it. The impressions they receive do not pass beyond the level of urges to action, and between these they fail to develop those specific relations which result in a true notion of that objectivity which is essentially defined by the constancy and identity of the object. This transition from a world of action and effectiveness to the world of objective representation only begins to manifest itself, in mankind, at a stage which coincides with a certain phase in the development of language; viz., at that stage which the child exhibits when it grows to understand that a whole thing corresponds to a particular value or denomination, and at which it is constantly demanding of those about it the names of things. But it does not occur to the child to attach these designations to the representation of things already stabilized and consolidated. The child's questions bear rather more on the things themselves. For in the eyes of the child, as in the eyes of primitive peoples, the name is not an extrinsic denomination of the thing which one arbitrarily attaches to it, but it is rather an essential quality of the object of which it forms an integral part. The principal value of this denominative phase is that it tends to stabilize and to consolidate the objective representation of things and permits the child to conquer the objective world in which it is hence-forth to live. For this task he needs some name. If, for a multiplicity of impressions one sets apart the same name, these different impressions will no longer remain strange to one another; in this way they will come to represent simply aspects of the modes of appearance of the same thing. The loss of this conceptual and symbolic function of the word leads to such effects as one may observe in those suffering from aphasia. That which language renders possible on the plane of objects, viz., a separation or distinction between subjects and things, it permits equally in the domain of sentiment and volition. In this domain also language is more than a simple means of expression and of communication; this it is only at the beginning of human life, when the infant gives expression without any reserve to the states of pleasure and of pain which it experiences; and it is language which provides the infant with a means of getting into contact with the outside world. Language prolongs these affective states, but it does not in any way alter them. Things, however, present another aspect as soon as the child acquires representational language. Henceforth, his vocal expressions will no longer be simple exclamations, nor of pure expansiveness apart from these emotional states. That which the child expresses is now informed by the fact that his expressions have taken the form of intelligible words, the child hears and understands what he himself says. He thus becomes capable of knowing his own states in a representative and objective manner, of apperceiving and looking at them as he does at external things. He thus becomes capable of reflecting upon his own affective life, and of adopting in relation to that life an attitude of contemplation. In this way his affective energies gradually lose that power of brutal constraint which it exercises, during early infancy, upon the "self." The fact that emotion attains to a consciousness of itself, renders man to some extent free of it. To the pure emotion are henceforth opposed those intellectual forces which support representational language. Emotion will now be held in constraint by these forces, it will no longer obtain an immediate and direct expression, but will have to justify itself before language, which now assumes the position of an instrument of the mind. In this connection we may recall the Greek idea that man must not abandon his passions, that these rather must be submitted to the judgment of the Logos, to that reason which is incorporated in language.

Thanks to its regulative powers, language transforms sentiments and volitions, and organizes them into a conscious will, and thus contributes to the constitution of the moral self. There is still another domain into which one can gain entry only through the medium of language, it is the social world. Up to a certain point in the moral evolution of humanity, all moral and intellectual community is bound to the linguistic community, in much the same way as men speaking a foreign language are excluded from the protection and advantages which are alone enjoyed by members of the community considered as equals. And in the development of the individual, language constitutes for the child, who is beginning to learn, a more important and a more direct experience than that of the social and normative bond. But when for his characteristic infantile state he commences to substitute representational language, and experiences the need of being understood by his environment, he discovers the necessity of adapting his own efforts without reservation to the customs characteristic of the community to which he belongs. Without losing anything of his own individuality, he must adapt himself to those among whom he is destined to live. It is thus through the medium of a particular language that the child becomes aware of the bond which ties it to a particular community. This social bond becomes closer and more spiritualized during the course of its development. When the child commences to pose the questions—What it is? and Why?—not only is he going to penetrate into the world of knowledge, but also into a conquest of that world and a collective possession of it. Not only does the tendency to possess a thing begin to give way before the desire to acquire knowledge, but what is still more important, the relations which hold him to his environment are going to be reorganized. The desire for physical assistance begins to transform itself into a desire for intellectual assistance; the contact of the child with the members of its environment is going to become a spiritual contact. Little by little, the constraint, the commands and prohibitions, the obediences and resistances, which up to now have characterized the relations between the child and the adult gives way to that reciprocity which exists between the one who asks and waits for a reply, and the one who takes an interest in the question asked and replies. Thus arise the bases of spiritual liberty and of that free collaboration which is the characteristic mark of society in so far as it is human.

Finally, Cassirer assigns a capital importance to language in the construction of the world of pure imagination, above all to that state of conscious development wherein the decisive distinction between the real and the imagined is not made. The question that has so much occupied psychologists, whether the play of the child represents for it a veritable reality or merely a conscious occupation with fictions, this question, asserts Cassirer, is malposed, since the play of the child, like the Myth, belongs to a phase of consciousness which does not yet understand the distinction between that which is real and that which merely is simply imagined. In the eyes of the child the world is not composed of pure objects, of real forms, it is, on the contrary, peopled by beings who are his equals; and the character of the living and the animate is not limited for him, to that which is specifically human. The world, for him, has the form of Thou and not of That. This anthropomorphism of the child arises out of the fact that the child speaks to the things which surround him, and the things speak to him. It is no accident that there is no substitute for dumb play; when playing the child does not cease to speak of and to the things with which he is playing. It is not that this activity is an accessory commentary of play, but rather it is an indispensable element of it. The child views every object, all beings, as an interlocutor of whom he asks questions and who reply to him. His relation to the world is above all else a verbal relation, and Cassirer asserts that the child does not speak to things because he regards them as animate, but on the contrary, he regards them as animate because he speaks with them. It is much later that the distinction is made between that which is pure thing and that which is animate and living. The most developed of languages still retain traces of this original state. The lack of such distinctions is strikingly evident when we study the languages, the mental instruments, of the simpler peoples, a study which is obviously necessary for any true understanding of mythological thinking.

Cassirer's approach to mythology is that of the neo-Kantian phenomenologist; he is not interested in mythology as such, but in the processes of consciousness which lead to the creation of myths. It will be recalled that he was originally concerned with inquiring into the bases of empirical knowledge, but since a knowledge of a world of empirical things or properties was preceded by a world characterized by mythical powers and forces, and since early philosophy drew its spiritual powers from and created its perspective upon the bases of these mythical factors, a consideration of them is clearly of importance. The relation between myth and philosophy is a close one; for if the myth is taken to be an indirect expression of reality, it can be understood only as an attempt to point the way, it is a preparation for philosophy. The form and content of myth impede the realization of a rational content of knowledge, which reflection alone reveals, and of which it discovers the kernel. An illustration of this effect of myth upon knowledge may be seen in the attempts of the sophists of the Fifth Century to work from myth to empirical knowledge, in their newly founded scientific wisdom. Myth was by them understood and explained, and translated into the language of popular philosophy, as an all embracing speculative science of nature or of ethical truth.

It is no accident, remarks Cassirer, that just that Greek thinker in whom the characteristic power of creating the mythical was so outstanding should reject the whole world of mythical images, namely, Plato. For it was Plato who was opposed to the attempts at myth-analysis in the manner of the Sophists and rhetoricians; for him these attempts represented a play of wit in a difficult, though not very refined, subject (Phaedrus).

Plato failed to see the significance of the mythical world, seeing it only as something opposed to pure knowledge. The myth must be separated from science, and appearance be distinguished from reality. The myth however transcends all material meaning; and here it occupies a definite place and plays a necessary part for our understanding of the world, and according to the philosophy of the Platonic school it can work as a true creative and formative motive. The profounder view which has conquered here has, in the continuity of Greek thought, not always been carried through nor had quite the same meaning. The Stoics as well as the neo-Platonists returned to the Platonic view—as did the Middle Ages and the Renaissance.

In the newer philosophy the myth becomes the problem of philosophy when it is recognized that there exists a primordial directive of the spirit, an intrinsic way of forming knowledge. The spirit (Geist) forges the conditions necessary to itself. In this connection Giambattista Vico may be regarded as the founder of the new philosophy of language and of mythology. The real and true knowledge of the unitary idea of the spirit is shown in the triad of Language, Art, and Myth.

The critical problem of the origin of the aesthetic and ethical judgment, which Kant inquired into, was transferred by Schelling to the field of myth. For Kant the problem does not ask for psychological origins or beginnings—but for pure existence and content. Myth does not make its appearance, like morality or art, as a self-contained world in itself, which may be measured by objective values and reality measurements, but it must be understood through its own immanent laws of structure and of being. Every attempt to make this world understandable by simple direct means only reveals the reflection of something else.

In the empirical comparisons of myths a distinct trend was noticeable to measure not only the range of mythical thinking but also to describe the unitary forms of consciousness and its characteristics. Just as in physics the concept of the unit of the physical world led to a deepening of its principles, so in folklore the problem of a general mythology instead of special research gained for it a new lease on life. Out of the conflicting schools there appeared no other way than to think in terms of a single source of myth and of a distinct form of orientation. From this way of treating myth arose the conception of a fundamental mythical view of the world. Fundamental and characteristic motives were found for the whole world, even where space and time relations could not be demonstrated. As soon as the attempt was made to separate these motives, to distinguish between them, and to discover which were the truly primitive ones, conflicting views were again brought to the fore more sharply than ever. It was the task of folklore in association with folk psychology to determine the order of the appearances and to uncover the general laws and principles with respect to the formation of myths. But the unity of these principles disappeared even before one had assured oneself of the existence of the necessary fullness and variety of myths.

Besides the mythology of nature, there is the mythology of the soul. In the first there are involved a large variety of myths which have a definite object of nature for their kernel. One always asked of each single myth whether it bore a distinct relation to some natural thing or event. One had to approach the matter in this way because only in this way could phantasy be distinguished, and a strictly objective position arrived at. But the arbitrary power of building hypotheses, seen in a strictly objective way, showed that it was nearly as great as the creation of phantasy. The older form of the storm and thunder mythology was the opposite of the astral mythology which itelf, again, took different forms, sun mythology, lunar mythology, and stellar mythology.

Another approach to the ultimate unity of myth creation attempted to see it not as a natural but more as a spiritual unity, expressing this unity not in the field of the object but as in the historical field of culture. Were it possible to find such a field of culture for the general origin of the great fundamental mythical motives and themes, as a center from which they eventually spread over the whole world, it would be a simple matter to explain the inner relation and systematic consequences of these themes and motives. If any such relation in a known form is obscure, it must appear at once, if one but refers to the best historical source for it. When the older theorists, e.g., Benfey, looked to India for the most important motives, there seemed to be certain striking evidences for the historical unity and association of myth forming; this became even more so when Babylonian culture became better known. With the finding of this homeland of culture the answer was also found to the question as to the home of myth and its unitary structure. The answer to Pan-Babylonianism is that myth could never have developed a consistent world viewpoint if it had been constituted out of a primitive magic, idea, dream, emotion or superstition. The path to such a Weltanschauung was much more likely to be there where there was in existence a distinct proof of a conception of the world as an ordered whole—a condition which was fulfilled in the beginning of Babylonian astronomy and cosmogony. From this spiritual and historical viewpoint the possibility is opened up that myth is not only a form of pure phantasy but is in itself a finished and comprehensive system. What, remarks Cassirer, is so interesting about this theory in the methodological sense is that not only does it attempt the empirical proof of the real historical origin of myth, but it also attempts to give a sort of a priori substantiation to the proper direction and goal of mythological research. That all myths have an astral origin and should in the end prove to be calendric, is stated by the students of the Pan-Babylonian school to be the basic principle of the method. It is a sort of Ariadne's thread, which is alone able to lead through the labyrinth of mythology. By this means it was not very difficult to fill in the various lacunae which the empiric tradition had somehow failed to make good,—but this very means showed ever more clearly that the fundamental problem of the unit of the mythological consciousness could not really be explained in the manner of the historical objective empirical school.

It becomes more and more certain that the simple statement of unity of the fundamental mythical ideas cannot really give any insight into the structure of the forms of mythical phantasy and of mythical thinking. To define the structure of this form, when one does not desert the basis of pure descriptive considerations, requires no more elaborate conception than Bastian's concept of "Vdlkergedanken." Bastian maintained that the varieties of the objective approach do not simply consider the content and objects of mythology, but start off from the question as to the function of myth. The fundamental principle of this function should remain to be proved; in this way various resemblances are discovered and relations demonstrated. From the beginning the sought-for unity is both from the inside and the outside transferred from the phenomena of reality to those of the spirit. But this idealism, as long as it is received psychologically and determined through the categories of psychology, is not characterized by a single meaning. When we speak of mythology as the collective expression of mankind, this unity must finally be explained out of the unity of the human soul and out of the homogeneity of its behaviour. But the unity of the soul expresses itself in a great variety of potencies and forms. As soon as the question is asked which of these potencies play the respective rôles in the building up of the mythical world, there immediately arise conflicting and contradictory controversial explanations. Is the myth ultimately derived from the play of subjective phantasy, or does it in some cases rest upon a real view of things, upon which it is based? Is it a primitive form of knowledge (Erkenntnis) and in this connection is it a form of intellection, or does it belong rather to the sphere of affection and conation? To this question scientific myth-analysis has returned different answers. Just as formerly the theories differed with respect to the objects which were considered necessary to the creation of myths, in the same way they now differed in respect of the fundamental psychic processes to which these are considered to lead back. The conception of a pure intellectual mythology made its reappearance, the idea that the essence of the myth was to be sought in the intellectual analysis of experience.

In opposition to Schelling's demand for a tautegorical (expressing the same thing in different words, opposed to allegorical) analysis of myth an allegorical explanation was sought for (See Fritz Langer, Intellektualmythologie).

In all this is evident the danger to which the myth is exposed, the danger of becoming lost in the depths of a particular theory. In all these theories the sought-for unity is transferred in error to the particular elements instead of being looked for in that spiritual whole, the symbolic world of meaning, out of which these elements are created. We must, on the other hand, says Cassirer, look for the fundamental laws of the spirit to which the myth goes back. Just as in the process of arriving at knowledge The Rhapsody of Perceptions (Rhapsodie der Wahrnehmungen) is, by means of certain laws and forms of thinking, transmuted into knowledge, so we can and must ask for the creation of that form unity, the unending and manifold world of the myth, which is not a conglomerate of arbitrary ideas and meaningless notions, a characteristic spiritual genitor. We must look at the myth from a genetic-causal, teleological standpoint; in this way we shall find that what is presented to us is something which as a complete form possesses a self-sufficient being and an autochthonous sense.

The myth represents in itself the first attempts at a knowledge of the world, and since it furthermore possibly represents the earliest form of aesthetic phantasy, we see in it that particular unity of the spirit of which all separate forms are but a single manifestation. We see too, here, that instead of an original unity in which the opposites lose themselves, and seem to combine with one another, that the critical-transcendental idea-unit seeks the clear definition and delimitation of the separate forms in order to preserve them. The principle of this separation becomes clear when one compares here the problem of meaning with that of characterization—that is, when one reflects upon the way in which the various spiritual forms of expression, such as "Object" with "Idea or Image," and "Content" with "Sign," are related to one another.

In this we see the fundamental element of the parallelism, namely, the creative power of the "sign" in myth as in language, and in art, as well as in the process of forming a theoretical idea in a word, and in relation to the world. What Humboldt said of language, that man places it between himself and the internal and external world that is acting upon him, that he surrounds himself with a world of sounds with which to take up and to work up the world of objects, holds true also for the myth and for the aesthetic fancy. They are not so much reactions to impressions, which are exercised from the outside upon the spirit, but they are much more real spiritual activities. At the outset, in the definite sense of the primitive expression of the myth it is clear that we do not have to deal with a mere reflection or mirage of Reality (Sein), but with a characteristic treatment and presentation of it. Also here one can observe how in the beginning the tension between "Subject" and "Object," "Internal" and "External," gradually diminishes, a richer and multiform new middle state stepping in between both worlds. To the material world which it embraces and governs the spirit opposes its own independent world of images—the power of Impression gradually becomes more distinct and more conscious than the active power of Expression. But this creation does not yet in itself possess the character of an act of free will, but still bears the character of a natural necessity, the character of a certain psychic "mechanism." Since at this level there does not yet exist an independent and self-conscious free living "I," but because we here stand upon the thereshold of the spiritual processes which are bound to react against each other, the "I" and the "World," the new world of the "Sign" must appear to the conciousness as a thoroughly objective reality. Every beginning of the myth, especially every magical conception of the world, is permeated by this belief in the existence of the objective power of the sign. Word magic, picture-magic, and script-magic provide the fundaments of magical practices and the magical view of the world. When one examines the complete structure of the mythical consciousness one can detect in this a characteristic paradox. For if the generally prevailing conception, that the fundamental urge of the myth is to vivify, is true, that is that it tends to take a concrete view in the statement and representation of all the elements of existence, how does it happen, then, that these urges point most intensely to the most unreal and non-vital; how is it that the shadow-empire of words, of images, and signs gains such a substantial ascendancy and power over the mythical consciousness? How is it that it possesses this belief in the abstract, in this cult of symbols in a world in which the general idea is nothing, the sensation (Empfindung), the direct urge, the (sensible) psychic perception and outlook seem to be everything? The answer to this question, says Cassirer, can be found only when one is aware of the fact that it is improperly stated. The mythical world is not so concrete that it deals only with psychically 'objective' contents, or simply 'abstract' considerations, but both the thing and its meaning form one distinct and direct concrete unity, they are not differentiated from one another. The myth raises itself spiritually above the world of things, but it exchanges for the forms and images which it puts in their place only another form of restrictive existence. What the spirit appears to rescue from the shackles now becomes but a new shackle, which is so much more unyielding because it is not only a psychical power but a spiritual one. Nevertheless, such a state already contains in itself the immanent condition of its future release. It already contains the incipient possibility of a spiritual liberation which in the progress of the magical-mythical world-idea will eventually arrive at a characteristic religious world-idea. During this transition it becomes necessary for the spirit to place itself in a new and free relation to the world of images and signs, but, at the same time, in a different way than formerly, sees through this relationship, and in this way raises itself above it, though living it still and needing it.

And in still further measure and in greater distinctness stands for us the dialectic of these fundamental relations, their analysis and synthesis, which the spirit through its own self-made world of images experiences, when we here compare the myth with all other forms of symbolic expression. In the case of language also there is at first no sharp line of separation by means of which the word and its meaning, the thing content of "idea" and the simple content are distinguished from one another. The nominalist viewpoint, for which words are conventional signs, simply flatus vocis, is the result of later reflection but not the direct expression of the direct natural language consciousness. For this the existence of things in words is not only indicated as indirect, but is contained and present in it anyway. In the language consciousness of the primitive and in that of the child one can demonstrate this concrescence of names and things in very pregnant examples—one has only to think of the different varieties of the taboo names. But in the progression of the spiritual development of language there is also here achieved a sharper and ever more conscious separation between the Word and Being or Existence, between the Meaning and the Meant. Opposed to all other physical being and all physical activity the word appears as autonomous and characteristic, in its purely ideal and significative function.

A new stage of the separation is next witnessed in art. Here, too, there is in the beginning no clear distinction between the "Ideal" and the "Real." The beginning of the formation and of the cultivation of art reaches back to a sphere in which the act of cultivation itself is strongly rooted in the magical idea, and is directed to a definite magical end, of which the picture (Bild) is yet in no way independent, and has no pure aesthetic meaning. Nevertheless already in the first impulse of characteristic artistic configurations, in the stages of spiritual forms of expression, quite a new principle is attained. The view of the world which the spirit opposes to the simple world of matter and of things subsequently attains here to a pure immanent value and truth. It does not attach itself or refer to another; but it simply is, and consists in itself. Out of the sphere of activity (Wirksamkeit), in which the mythical consciousness, and out of the sphere of meaning, in which the marks of language remain, we are now transferred to a sphere, in which so to say, only the pure essence (Sein), only its own innermost nature (Wesenheit) of the image (Bildes) is seized as such. Thus, the world of images forms in itself a Kosmos which is complete in itself, and which rests within its own centre of gravity. And to it the spirit is now first able to find a free relation. The aesthetic world is measured according to the measure of things, the realistic outlook according to a world of appearance:—but since in just this appearance the relation to direct reality, to the world of being and action (Wirken), in which also the magical-mythical outlook has its being, is now left behind, there is thus made a completely new step towards truth. Thus there present themselves in relation to Myth, Language, and to Art, configurations which are linked directly together in a certain historical series, by means of a certain systematic progression (Stufengang), and ideal progress (Fortschritt), as the object of which it can be said the spirit in its own creations, in its self-made symbols, not only exists and lives, but gains its significance. There is a certain pertinence, in this connection, in that dominant theme of Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit, namely, that the object of development lies in the comprehension and expression of the fact that the spiritual being is not only "Substance" but just as much "Subject." In this respect the problems which grow out of a "Philosophy of Mythology" resolve themselves once more to such as arise from the philosophy of pure logic. Then also science separates itself from the other stages of spiritual life, not because it stands in need of any kind of mediation or intervention through signs and symbols, seeking naked truth, the truth of "things-in-themselves," but because it uses the symbols differently and more profoundly than the former is able to do, and recognizes and understands them as such, i.e., as symbols. Furthermore, this is not accomplished at one stroke; rather there is here also repeated, at a new stage, the typical fundamental relation of the spirit to its own creation. Here also must the freedom of this creation be gained and secured in continuous critical work. The utilization of hypotheses, and its characteristic function to advance the foundations of knowledge, determines that, so long as this knowledge is not secured, the principles of science are unable to express themselves in other than dinglicher, i.e., material, or in half mythical form.

Every student of primitive peoples and of mythology would recognize in Cassirer's views on mythological thinking, which have here been presented only partially, a valuable contribution towards the clarification of a difficult problem. In a brilliant chapter in which Cassirer discusses "the dialectic of the mythical consciousness," he shows how interrelated and interdependent the mythical and religious consciousness are, and that there can really be no distinction between them; there is a difference in form, but not in substance. An admirable discussion of the relation of "speech" to "language" and of "sound" to "meaning" (already dealt with at length in the first volume of the Symbolischen Formen) leads to a brief discussion of writing.

Cassirer points out that all writing begins as picture-signs which do not in themselves embrace any meaning or communicative characters. The picture-sign takes the place rather of the object itself, replaces it, and stands for it.

This statement is perfectly true of all forms of primitive writing. One of the most primitive forms of writing, for example, with which we are acquainted is that invented and practiced by certain Australian tribes. On the message sticks which they send from one tribe to another the signs which they make fulfill all the specifications stated by Cassirer.

Cassirer also states that at first writing forms a part of the sphere of magic. The sign which is stamped on the object draws it into the circle of its own effect and keeps away strange influences.

The anthropological data lend full support to this idea. It may even be that the magicians were the first to invent writing, though it would at present be impossible to prove such a suggestion or even to prove that the magicians were among the first to use picture signs. The evidence does, however, suggest that this is highly probable.

I can only have succeeded in giving a faint indication of the value and quality of Cassirer's contribution to our understanding of mythological thinking in general and that of pre-literate peoples in particular. To appreciate Cassirer's great work at its full value the reader is recommended to go to the original work. This essay must be regarded as but a footnote to it.