The topic of this article is the self-less self (selbst-lose Selbst) and more particularly this self in its connection with the problem of language. There exists a movement of the self-less self from itself toward itself. This movement also occurs as the liberation from language toward language; language reaches into the core of being self because our understanding of self and of the world is linguistically constituted. Similarly the fundamental conversion - as the occurence of the breakthrough (by means of the I-am-myself) to the truth of the self - is nothing else than an original word event. The self-less, the true self says at this moment: “I am myself by not being myself (Ich bin, indem ich nicht ich bin, ich).” In order to gain a better understanding we now start from the problem of language.

Linguistic magic can be divided into three major categories: the fiatic, the Orphic and the talismanic. The first category includes the creation of the signified by its signifier, the best example being the creation of the world by divine words. The Orphic category assumes the possibility of enchanting an already existing entity by means of vocal material. Last but not least is the talismanic, based on the drawing of energy by means of language, in order to use this energy for magical purposes. While the fiatic view assumes the complete superiority of the creator over the created object, the Orphic presupposes a certain similarity between the subject-magician and its object, whose role is to understand and follow the instructions of the magician. In these two categories meaning seems to be a crucial part of the magical linguistic activities. In the third category, the talismanic, linguistic powers are used in order summon higher powers which then descend to take possession of it. By talismanic I refer to the inherent ability of an entity, material, a moment in time, or a human act to draw upon these powers. Unlike amulets, which are usually taken to be objects that protect their possessor, the talisman is able to add power.

The power of the word should be at its height when the spoken word is deemed authoritative, when speech is the master of discourse. This authority can be no greater than when the word derives from what the Greeks called “the more powerful (than us),” (hoi kreittones) or even, in monotheistic religions, from He who can be called – to use a term that avoids confusion – “the Almighty.” The mighty word is the divine word. The power of this word is a result of its divine origin.

By Portuguese myths we mean several kinds of narratives, all of which actualize fundamental aspects of the Portuguese national imagination. Some are foundation narratives (Sâo Mamede, Ourique); others are historical facts that were sung so often over the years by Portuguese and foreign poets that they came to signify basic schemes of the human imagination (Inês de Castro's pure love, whose realization was frustrated by a fight between two men, father and son); other so-called Portuguese myths, on the contrary, are built around concepts that give metaphysical shape to supposed characteristics that define the national soul (saudosismo, the doctrine of nostalgia, which attempts to define the Portuguese national soul as the search for a mythical initial unity that would create a wholeness in which contraries would be abolished; the Fifth Empire as its realization on Earth); other Portuguese myths express the supposed divine predestination of the people and of the Portuguese Man, based upon divine intervention in the founding of the nation in Ourique (the Fifth Empire that would be the Age of Spirit announced by Joachim de Fiore); still others are based on historically negative facts (King Sebastian and the defeat at Alcazarquibir) but transformed through archetypal elements to show the capacity for renewal out of the defeat, a renewal that goes beyond real historical renewal to include spiritual renewal of the Portuguese Man and his fatherland, which should produce the Fifth Empire conceived either in earthly or spiritual terms. To these myths I will add a legend preceding the formation of the nation, King Roderick's Legend, because it attempts to justify the loss of Visigothic Spain to the Arabs.

Tsvetan Todorov, in his book Us and Them. French Thinking on Human Diversity, asked the following question: “How does one, how should one relate to those who do not belong to the same community as we do?” This question has been posed somewhat differently by intellectuals of the Americas anxious to develop paradigms of identity that will contribute to the successful construction of a society whose aim is to integrate heterogeneous ethnic groups: “How does one, how should one relate to those who are members of our new society but who live either on its margins or who are frequently considered as different?” The mixed-race (métissage) approach, applied to the Latin Americas situation, was in part a response to this question. Here the “us” did not designate metropolitan Europeans engaged in thinking about the “others,” that is to say non-Europeans, but Latin Americans thinking about relations among various dominant groups and the varying “others” within their own society, since the “others” were part of “us.” The meaning of “us” is equally problematic when applied to North America. “What happens when words like ‘community’ and ‘us’ cease to have the clear and immediate meaning that Todorov seems to ascribe to them?” Sherry Simon recently asked. Although offering a general critique of the monological conception of culture and identity – a critique based on Bakhtin's work on polyphony and dialogism, on James Snead's investigation of the hybrid nature of several texts belonging to the European canon (such as The Odyssey and The Divine Comedy), and on the studies of Angelo Ara and Claudio Magris in regard to the heterogeneity of Trieste – she nevertheless begins her essay on a personal note, describing life in the multicultural city of Montreal, where “many children come out of mixed or immigrant marriages, some going to French schools, some to English,” and who can not “define themselves as products of a single culture” (pp. 15-16). Although I agree with Sherry Simon that the “us” of culture is never a given (it should be mentioned that Todorov himself writes that we must “give up basing our thinking on such a distinction” [between us and them] p. 421), it is essential here to emphasize the special ambiguity of the conception of “us” in the ex-colonies of the New World, where the “collision of cultures” implied not only, on the one hand, a confrontation among Spanish, Portuguese, British, and French colonists, but also between the colonists and the African slaves as well as with the immigrants who arrived after independence. Todorov's conception of nationhood (p. 422) as “a more or less perfect (although never total) coincidence of a State and a culture” - which he toned down a bit by adding that a culture is often identified with a particular region, a group of countries, or even a stratum of the population (pp. 424-425) - is even less applicable to the new societies of America than it is to Europe. Not only are we talking about hybrid societies (and what society isn't, to some degree?), but of societies conceived as hybrid, either multicultural (Canada) or mixed-race (Latin America). If, as Ernest Renan insisted at the end of the XIXth century, the idea of the modern nation is based on a conscious disregard for our diverse ethnic origins, the concepts of identity of the societies of the New World have often been based on an explicit symbolization of their heterogeneity.

The belief that obscure dreams have meaning, that they can be understood in spite of their seeming incoherence, is shared by most cultures: the importance attributed to the interpretation of dreams comes up several times in such sacred texts as the Bible and Talmud, where it is warned that an uninterpreted dream is like an unopened letter. However, even if such a point of view may justify the interpretation of obscure dreams, it does not provide a basis for a systematic interpretive approach. Roger Caillois considered the will to interpretation “one of the noblest flaws of the human spirit,” defining it as “this passion to find meaning in what has none, and thus to derive meaning from the meaningless.” And it is surely the human spirit's inherent need for intelligibility that underlies the desire to account for the existence of dreams, whether as a divine message or a symptom of neurosis. The act of interpretation consists of giving meaning to something that, at first glance, appears to have none; and this is done not arbitrarily but by discerning a meaning - with the help of methods created for this purpose - that is believed to be implicitly contained in the dream. Thus to interpret a dream we must explain it in relation to the context in which it takes it meaning. For Freud “the interpretation of a dream” requires specifying its “sense” and then replacing it with something that can fit within the chain of our psychic actions.