represent the Sensuous, especially in its moral aspect; the Plangctae
with Scylla and Charybdis set forth a vivid image of the divisions and
conflicts of the finite Understanding; the Oxen of the Sun point to the
central light, that of Reason, which, when destroyed in any way,
constitutes the chief human calamity.

Another curious psychological hint may be noted in the text of Homer.
The Sirens, the first or implicit stage, are sometimes spoken of in the
dual and sometimes in the plural; Homer would seem to imply that they
are two in number, yet they always act and sing as one. That is, the
dualism or separation is as yet implicit; but in the second stage (that
of Scylla and Charybdis) it will become explicit with decided emphasis.
Later legend made the Sirens three in number, and gave them names, and
otherwise distinguished them; but this is not Homeric and indeed has
lost the Homeric consciousness.

(3) The fact that the previous Books of Fableland have a threefold
division only, while this threefold division is duplicated in the
Twelfth Book, has also its psychological bearing in connection with the
foregoing views. In the first case, the poet was not aware of his
process, he yielded to the poetic act immediately; but in the second
case, he is conscious, he knows his own process and prefigures it; he
holds it up before himself in advance, just as Circe holds up before
Ulysses his future career. Ulysses also must know in advance, hitherto
he has simply followed instinct and chance, whithersoever they led. In
like manner, the poet now shows himself knowing what he will do; his
threefold organic movement, hitherto more or less implicit and
unconscious, has become explicit and conscious, and can be prophesied.
He himself thus is an example of the Ego which both casts before and
forecasts itself, in other words is self-duplicated.

(4) Here, however, we must note a distinction. In all four Books of
Fableland, Ulysses is the poet himself in a sense, he is singing his
own adventures to the Court of Phaeacia, he is well aware of what he has
passed through and to what he has come.

He is not a Demodocus chanting heroic strains of the Trojan Past; he is
Ulysses telling his own spiritual experiences after the taking of Troy.
It has been already unfolded (p. 246-7) that he was in a negative,
alienated condition; he had fallen out with and was separated from his
Hellenic world, whereof this Fableland is the record. But he ar