The animistic archetypal nature of

the unconscious

Mats Winther

http://www.two-paths.com/animism.htm

Abstract: The concept of the archetype in modern psychology has its

roots in animistic mythological thinking, part and parcel of our
unconscious psychology. The unconscious constantly produces
animistic motifs. Platonism and Jungian psychology are indebted to
animism. The archetype is an expression of the animistic economy of
the unconscious. It explains the success of the archetypal notion in
understanding the unconscious. It is justified regardless of the nature
of the archetype. Its ontological (metaphysical) status is therefore not
an urgent issue. The archetype resides as an entity of mind in the
unconscious psyche, which is the objective psyche. Such a layer of
psyche is suggestive of a “divine” unconscious realm, where
autonomous processes of volition and ideation are slowly brewing. The
backside is that the Platonic paradigm may trigger a polytheistic
regress, exemplified by naive New Age notions. The trinitarian tradition
of mysticism could provide a way out for gone astray Jungians and New
Agers. The path known as ‘via negativa’ means to gear down, to
accomplish a withdrawal from the world. It provides the necessary
complement that makes individuation complete.

Keywords: archetype, ontology, animism, lucid dreams, individuation,

Plato, Carl Jung, contemplation, complementation.

Introduction

The question of the nature of the archetype is often raised. My argument is that
archetypal thinking, as such, is the way in which the unconscious practices symbolic
thought. Regardless of the metaphysical status of the archetype, the archetypal way
of thought proceeds naturally in the unconscious. It is an innate form of symbolic
cognition predicated on our psychic economy. This means that the notorious
problem of the ontological nature of the archetype is relativized. It becomes a less
urgent issue. It relates to the time-honoured philosophical issue of form contra
substance. Whereas the modern scientific paradigm originates in the thinking of
Aristotle, modern psychology, with its archetypal notion, is indebted to Plato.
Aristotle argued that what we see around us contains both matter and form (hule
and eidos). Thus, contrary to Plato’s argument, the form is not transcendental to the
worldly object. Today we know that a tree’s form is programmed into its genes, and
in this sense the form of the tree exists within its every cell. Likewise, the
extraordinary qualities of water depend on the characteristics of the water molecule.
Evidently, Aristotle was formally correct in his contention that the objects carry their
form within themselves.

But the Platonic worldview has today renewed its prominence. Plato’s philosophy has
animistic roots. His doctrine of pre-existence resembles the animistic notion. It is
portrayed as a time when the soul lived among the Forms and learned to know of
them by experiencing them directly. Plato’s philosophy of Forms relates to old-
fangled animistic notions of spiritual ancestors or gods. The Forms are autonomous.
In a sense they are living entities of their own, yet not self-conscious in the way of
Olympian gods. They are abstracted in Plato, but it’s incorrect to interpret them as
‘forms’ in the sense of moulds, or as abstract ideals.

Psychology viewed in the light of animism

Arguably, C.G. Jung could be thought of as the modern-day heir of animistic

philosophy and its offshoots, namely Platonic and Neoplatonic philosophy. I hold
that the whole discussion about ‘archetypes’ boils down to the animistic conception,
a mythological worldview extant in the unconscious. We are still thinking, at least
unconsciously, along animistic lines. In so far as we remain unaware of our innate
animism, we are bound to fall prey to archaic thinking. On the other hand, should
we adopt the archetypal notion, it enables us to apply our innate animism in a
conscious and controlled way. Regardless of the metaphysical foundation of the
‘archetype’, it originates in the unconscious as an archaic form of cognition. This is
good enough justification for the archetype, whether it’s philosophically naive or
not.

It has been argued that historical animism, drawing on mythological thought, ought
to be viewed as a philosophy in its own right. Despite its naive expression it
deserves recognition as a full-fledged worldview. According to animistic cultures
(there are some still on earth) each thing has a divine prototype. In consequence, the
Parrot says: “I am the forefather of all parrots, all have descended from me. I was the
first of all beings. I was before all”. (The Leopard and the Anaconda say the same, so
they are not quite in agreement.) These myths are not simply a generative account
of the species, rather they are creation myths. According to animism there was once
a ‘mythic reality’, a spiritual age when heaven and earth had not yet separated. To
the degree that each individual parrot takes part in the mythic reality of his divine
ancestor his life will be fulfilled and his powers maximized. This is true also of
human beings. Different human tribes tend to have their own ancestor, such as the
Parrot (vid. Turner, 1991). When being asked, by anthropologists, how they can be
descendants from the Parrot when they are in fact human beings, they are
confounded by white man’s ignorance. It’s obvious to them that they are parrots,
while being humans all the same. The animists think that we are quite simpleminded
and have no notion of the spirit. Paul Radin explains that aborigines view objects of
the world from an inner as well as an outer perspective. The internal effect, the
thrill, is equally relevant: “Why, so he would contend, should something affect him in
this way if it were not true—an argument well known, of course, among us. This is
to him as much of a real proof as anything happening outside of him” (Radin, 1957,
p.246). Radin comments on the following example of Maori philosophy:

“A missionary speaking to an old man remarked, ‘Your religion is false;

it teaches that all things possess a soul.’ The Maori answered, ‘Were a
thing not possessed of the wairua of an atua, then that thing could not
possess form,’ ” i.e., it could not have form unless it possessed the soul
of a god. (ibid. p.253)

The correspondence to Platonic philosophy is obvious. Animistic philosophy,

generally speaking, focuses on spiritual nature, that is, the ‘inner meaning’ of things
and beings, which they try to fulfill during their existence on earth. So when the
leopard “imitates the prototype” this is not so much in the material sense, but rather
how eminently he fulfills the inner meaning of his existence. The leopard becomes
more real when he partakes in the spirit. The closer he approximates the Form of
the leopard, the more will he be able to fulfill his inner meaning. Typical for animist
religion is the notion of how people in a long gone era lived in harmony with the
gods. This is reminiscent of the Golden Age in Hellenic religion. Arguably,
mythology represents an artifact of animistic thought, extant in the unconscious.
Animism could be viewed as a way of looking at existence, i.e., a kind of religio-
philosophical worldview.

Animism reasons along archetypal lines, that is, spiritual entities that can take
earthly (conscious) shape. This is what underlies the manifestation of all new things
in the temporal domain. What’s the difference compared with the modern archetypal
notion? Whereas animism represents a metaphysical view of reality archetypal
thought is formulated against the backdrop of the psyche (conscious and
unconscious). In animism the gods exist in a proximate transcendental
(supernatural) reality, e.g. the ‘dream-time’ of Australian Aborigines. As they plunge
down to earthly reality, it also implies the termination of their existence as divine
beings beyond temporality. Comparatively, the archetype resides in the
unconscious. A heightened excitation level may have as consequence that it
breaches the border of consciousness, an event that leads to its integration with the
ego. When an unconscious content becomes conscious, it means that it has been
energized by consciousness, laden with conscious energy. Thus, it becomes rooted
in the soil of the conscious world, and it perishes as transcendental and autonomous
being.

Examples from mythology

Although modern psychology interprets the course of events differently, with

scientific coherence, the story is similar in structure. The Narcissus story is a case in
point. Narcissus is a god, son of the river god, who roams freely in the wood (the
unconscious), were he is hunting with his friends. He suddenly awakes to self-
consciousness when he becomes aware of his own shining beauty, signifying the
heightened excitation level of the archetype (cmp. the story of Lucifer). As a
consequence he passes the border of consciousness. On account of the assimilative
property of ego consciousness it becomes conceptualized and appropriated as
conscious function. Thus, it takes root in consciousness as part of ego. From the
perspective of the unconscious, this implies deflation, dismemberment, and death.
That’s why many an ancient religion commemorates the dismemberment and
sacrifice of the gods, a primordial event that gave rise to everything that exists in
the sublunar realm. In case of Narcissus, he turns into the white Narcissus flower at
the edge of the black mere. This relates the image of a conscious ego close to the
edge of the dark unconscious. A splendid and free-roaming divine being is
deprecated and become temporal, bound to the little world of the ego. Perhaps it
manifested as a grand realization, an idea which the ego thinks it has produced
wholly by itself. On the other hand, from the perspective of consciousness, the
archetype has turned into something “real”, which is better.

Actaeon suffered a similar fate as Narcissus. He, too, was a hunter in the forest,
where he stumbled across Artemis (Diana) having a bath. No one may experience the
naked beauty of Artemis and live. Enraged, Artemis turned him into a stag and, not
recognizing their owner, Actaeon’s dogs tore him to pieces. The divine beauty of
Artemis is what catches the awareness of Actaeon the archetype. In this case, what
causes the heightened excitation level is a transfer of energy from a more powerful
archetype, namely Artemis, who dwells in the deeper regions of the forest. This
occurrence, the transfer of energy between archetypes, is a common motif in
fairytales. The hero typically receives magical powers from helpful creatures (vid.
von Franz, 1996). Actaeon, like Narcissus, became aware (conscious) and thus died
as a god. This story also accounts for how the stag entered into creation. Arguably,
the animistic interpretation of these events is plausible, provided that we translate it
to modern psychological language in archetypal terms. In a sense, conscious
realization is a world-creating event. In mythology and ancient religion, new
creation on earth always entails the death of a god, i.e. the death of something
valuable and wonderful. This is true also of Narcissus and Actaeon.

The solar phallus

As regards the innateness of the archetype and the metaphysical reality of the
psyche, the Jungian metaphysical grounding is uncalled-for. It works anyway. The
archetype of the unconscious behaves as if it were an autonomous entity. This is all
we need to know. On account of this, the psyche must be regarded as real enough.
Until further notice, reality must be accepted in the way it presents itself. Thus,
there is no need to build a metaphysical philosophy surrounding the psyche in order
to magnify it as a reality in itself. Jung develops a strong metaphysical argument,
which is ill-advised. The genetic grounding of the archetype is not really in dispute.
Genetic heredity, in the weak sense, can hardly be disputed, since we are in every
way conditioned by our genetic constitution. Nevertheless, he wishes to explain how
the archetype manifests independently in individuals, without regard to outer
influences. Accordingly, the “archetype-as-such” is defined as an inherent
predisposition of the archetypal image. Jung has often returned to the case of the
“solar phallus man” who was an inmate at the Burghölzli Mental Hospital in Zürich
(cf. Jung, 1976, p.101ff & p.157f). He believed that the sun had a phallus,
responsible for the creation of the wind. Similar notions occur in mythology. Jung
exemplifies with the Mithraic liturgy.
 He seems to think that this case is a
convincing example of archetypal
heredity, but it is not very compelling.
After all, everybody has seen the solar
phallus.

Currituck sunset (Edupic).

The unconscious psyche is bound to take what it sees and forge it according to our
animistic predisposition. The result surfaces as dreams and fantasies. The sun is a
phallic force that penetrates the waters of mother Earth and impregnates her.
Fantasies of this type occur independently in individuals, without recourse to an
innate predisposition for a particular solar phallus archetype. What is innate is the
symbolic process of thought, and the way in which fantasies continue to develop in
the unconscious as archetypal complexes. Jung’s patient said that if the head moves
from side to side, the sun’s phallus moves with it. This is a fact of nature. When
one’s visual point of view changes, the streak of light follows suit. The archetype,
unencumbered by abstruse metaphysics, is a very useful notion. The hermeneutics
connected with it is powerful and has improved our understanding of the psyche.
But the archetype-as-such is untenable. It is high time to discard the metaphysics
underlying the archetypal notion.

The respective backsides of materialism and animism

The Platonic and Aristotelian paradigms are vexed with their own specific problems.
The scientific Aristotelian model has given rise to trite materialism, which has had a
deadening effect on the soul of man, leading in the end to instinctual atrophy.
Wassily Kandinsky says in “Concerning the Spiritual in Art”:

This all-important spark of inner life today is at present only a spark.

Our minds, which are even now only just awakening after years of
materialism, are infected with the despair of unbelief, of lack of
purpose and ideal. The nightmare of materialism, which has turned the
life of the universe into an evil, useless game, is not yet past; it holds
the awakening soul still in its grip. Only a feeble light glimmers like a
tiny star in a vast gulf of darkness. This feeble light is but a
presentiment, and the soul, when it sees it, trembles in doubt whether
the light is not a dream, and the gulf of darkness reality. This doubt,
and the still harsh tyranny of the materialistic philosophy, divide our
soul sharply from that of the Primitives. Our soul rings cracked when
we seek to play upon it, as does a costly vase, long buried in the earth,
which is found to have a flaw when it is dug up once more. For this
reason, the Primitive phase, through which we are now passing, with its
temporary similarity of form, can only be of short duration. (Kandinsky,
1911, ch.1)
The archetypal Platonic perspective has a backside, too. It opens the door to what
Kandinsky terms the Primitive phase, a regressive movement in the animistic
direction, as exemplified by James Hillman’s Archetypal Psychology. According to
this argument, Jungian psychology itself develops into a “game playing” (ritual)
activity, keeping its adherents busy like mice in a labyrinth. Evidently, many succeed
in playing the role of scholars. Meanwhile many an amateur is involved in games
that are reminiscent of New Age fantasies. It smacks of pagan naiveté, not unlike the
idolization of Harry Potter among children. The technique of “active imagination” is
easily corrupted by the aesthetic person, when it becomes a product of fantasy and
takes off in the tangential direction.

Arguably, we are always involved in the playing of games. Board game players are
calculating “variations” and learn “opening variants”. Musicians create “variations”,
too. We are very much enticed by the jumble of variations. The share market is a
kind of game, and so is the whole competitive market system. Technology has
amplified the principle of play and people risk loosing themselves in the endless
forest of variations. It’s as if the Wheel of Samsara revolves faster and faster. The
trickster archetype grows in dimensions to become a devil. The consequence is that
individuation risks coming to a halt. Since technology facilitates play individuation
becomes quenched in a jumble of variations that keep the individual busy.
Apparently, when people have time and energy to spare, they start playing games.
But it has a neurotic backside. The Russian chess master Mikhail Chigorin, at old
age, is said to have burnt his chess set, realizing how much valuable life had been
wasted on it. Arguably, there is a contradiction between individuation and the
gaming motif. The latter can arrest individuation. Today, the game playing element
is over-whelming and many are bound to suffer the same fate as Chigorin.
Evidently, we need to gear down. It’s as if we are caught in a double-bind, torn
between Plato and Aristotle.

Penitence and the trinitarian path

I contend that a remedy can be found in the inclusion of the introverted trinitarian
spirit. In Christian theology, the living human beings are in need of redemption from
the Holy Spirit, which is a central truth in Christianity. Comparatively, in ancient
religion it is the human priest/priestess who is responsible for the redemption of
the spirits of the dead. In traditional Indian religion the gods are redeemed by
humans, too. Salvation is reversed: men try to save the gods. Indra and Shiva must
come down to earth to expiate their sin (cf. Doniger O’Flaherty, 1980, pp.141ff).
This is a function of the shaman that is today forgotten. To give life back to gods
and spirits is a redemptive work carried out by the shamanic individual. We focus on
giving conscious life to humans and on conquering conscious life for ourselves. In
keeping with the theme of sacrifice, we should also do the obverse and give life back
to the gods, which they once conferred on us and the world, at the time when
creation became manifest. It is a payback, of sorts. Theologians and historians of
religion have always mulled over the atonement sacrifice of Christ. It could, in a
general way, be understood as a requital, following the ancient conception (e.g.
Aztec theology), according to which “life-blood” must be returned to the gods (cf.
Winther, 2008).
The Passion of the Christ represents the mystery of individuation, which includes
ego-privation. “We are all one in Christ Jesus” (Gal. 3:28). The Christ is abandoned
by God and crucified. Thus, to experience “Christ-identity” is anything but
gratifying, as it represents privation of the ego. From ‘The Spiritual Ascent’ by
Gerard Zerbolt of Zutphen (1367–1398):

COMPUNCTION is born of fear in manifold ways...compunction cometh

when he doth diligently consider his own defects, the passions of his
soul and the noxious desires that are still in him, and even though they
rule him not yet do shake and vex him; and when he doth remember,
with cries and lamentation, how little is the progress he hath made in
casting out these evils. (Zutphen, 1908, ch.XVII)

This is the ‘imitatio’ which M-L von Franz and also Martin Luther object to. But this
is a case of throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Due to misinterpretation it
took a morbid expression, but underlying the imitatio is an archetype central to
individuation. If we are prepared to “integrate” the riches that the unconscious has
bestowed upon us, then we must also be prepared to make sacrifice of conscious
life, to avail unconscious life. Accordingly, we decide to make sacrifice of our time
and energy, since it is now payback time. This is the theme of introverted trinitarian
tradition, namely the contemplative praxis—an important undercurrent of history. It
was incumbent on the Egyptian priest to bring about the resurrection of Osiris (cf.
Winther, 2014b, here). This theme, the expiation of the deity, well-known in pagan
theology, is unknown in Christian theology. It is all the more surprising considering
that God is pictured as a sinner hanging on a cross. Instead, there is in Christianity a
one-sided focus on the salvation of the individual. The notion that it works both
ways, that also God requires the devotional acts of human beings to achieve
liberation from death, is unthinkable. This has, throughout history, affected
religious life negatively. In medieval times it was believed that divine grace befalls
those who are pious. To save one’s eternal soul it must remain pure, and therefore
moral respectability was of utmost importance. Christ was thought of as a stern
judge.

In religious communities, the devotional agenda developed into a kind of

compulsive neurosis, because the entire focus remained on personal sins and their
removal through confession and penance. Martin Luther (1483-1546), who as a
monk suffered under a strict regime, came to question the theological edifice and
declared that salvation is a free gift of God’s grace to sinner and saint alike. It
depends not on good deeds but on the believer’s faith in Jesus Christ as redeemer
from sin. But history has judged that Luther’s theological equation was much too
simplistic, because in subsequent centuries religious life back-pedaled to moralism,
legalism, and personal practices serving to obtain salvation through grace. Modern-
day rationalism, as it came to expression in movements such as Pietism, Jansenism,
and Puritanism, contributed to making things worse than in medieval times (vid.
Placher, 1996). Evidently, Lutheranism didn’t answer up to a strong inner impetus to
do godly work. Instead, due to theological one-eyedness, it could only come to
expression as an effort to acquire personal justification through an act of a perfect
and magnificent God. It is an egotistical motive characteristic of hypocrites, and it is
bound to generate inner conflict. It never occurred to theologians that worldly denial
and self-abnegation really springs from an urge to save an ailing God. It ought to be
understood as a sacrifice on part of the worshiper and not as an attempt of personal
salvation. Yet, interestingly, medieval alchemists believed that their work to achieve
the resurrection of the god Mercurius, laying dormant in matter, would grant them a
vehicle of the soul after death. It is indeed possible to adapt to life through spiritual
passion. I had a remarkable dream on this theme, long ago:

Before the creation of the world, angels were sitting on pillars that
reached above the clouds. Beneath was an endless sea. They were
involved in a discussion about the futility of worldly creation, because
whatever you do, the result is so diminutive compared with one’s
intentions. One of the angels took down the discussion on a piece of
birch bark(?). The piece of bark dropped to the ocean below, and I
could see it sailing like a boat on the endless sea. Thus, the realization
that creation is futile became the first item of creation in the world.

It is very philosophical. The dream seems to say that the spiritual passion of
transcendency, standing apart from the world and realizing its futility, which is
characteristic of contemplative and trinitarian tradition, presents a way of taking
root in life, and becoming part of creation.

Individuation

The definition of the word ‘individuation’ implies a process of “othering”, necessary

to create a sense of self and to differentiate out of group identity. To see the “Other”
is necessary for a true relationship to develop, and mustn’t be regarded anti-social.
Webster’s Dictionary defines individuation:

(1) : the development of the individual from the universal.

(2) : the determination of the individual in the general.
b : the process by which individuals in society become differentiated from one
another.

We are averse to remaining existentially alone, disconnected from everything else in

the universe. Individuation is experienced as a painful process, whereas the playing
of games is self-gratifying, even addictive. It seems that individuation is a necessary
prerequisite for attaining that divine form of unconsciousness which mystics have
termed ‘Unio Mystica’— the mystical union with God. Individuation implies that
consciousness is extended. To more and more stand out from collective
unconsciousness through disidentification means to gain a perspective. It requires
one to abandon that “ideology of sameness”, which permeates society. At a point in
time one must allow oneself to sink back into the darkness of God. Unpolluted by
collective identification and unconsciousness the individuant descends into that
other form of unconsciousness—the dark night of the soul—as into a cleansing
bath. The disidentified and differentiated individual may once again become one
with God.

Jung often cited Empedocles (490–430 BC) who said that “God is a circle whose
centre is everywhere, whose circumference is nowhere.” The “centre” of God stands
for the differentiated individual. So a human being may only attain wholeness by
becoming an individual, i.e. to achieve separation from unconscious wholeness and
collective identity. But a person who is enveloped in the playing of games upholds
an unconscious attitude and cannot attain a liberated consciousness and true
individuality. It is remarkable how much time people spend in the playing of games.
For instance, married couples tend to devote much time and energy to the matter of
food, the planning of next dinner, going to the supermarket, etc. This continual
search after paltry gratification is uncharacteristic of manliness. It’s suggestive of a
little mouse running around in a labyrinth, searching after tidbits. How can one solve
this problem, this obsession with playing games? The following is an excerpt from
“A Serious Call to A Devout and Holy Life” by William Law (1729).

»The happiness of a life wholly devoted to God farther proved, from the
vanity, the sensuality, and the ridiculous poor enjoyments, which they
are forced to take up with who live according to their own humours.
This represented in various characters.«
WE MAY STILL see more of the happiness of a life devoted unto God,
by considering the poor contrivances for happiness, and the
contemptible ways of life, which they are thrown into, who are not
under the directions of a strict piety, but seeking after happiness by
other methods.
If one looks at their lives, who live by no rule but their own humours
and fancies; if one sees but what it is which they call joy, and
greatness, and happiness; if one sees how they rejoice, and repent,
change and fly from one delusion to another; one shall find great
reason to rejoice, that God hath appointed a strait and narrow way, that
leadeth unto life; and that we are not left to the folly of our own minds,
or forced to take up such shadows of joy and happiness, as the
weakness and folly of the world has invented. I say invented; because
those things which make up the joy and happiness of the world are
mere inventions, which have no foundation in nature and reason, are
no way the proper good or happiness of man, no way perfect either in
his body, or his mind, or carry him to his true end.
As for instance; when a man proposes to be happy in ways of
ambition, by raising himself to some imaginary heights above other
people, this is truly an invention of happiness, which has no foundation
in nature, but is as mere a cheat of our own making, as if a man should
intend to make himself happy by climbing up a ladder.
If a woman seeks for happiness from fine colours or spots upon her
face, from jewels and rich clothes, this is as merely an invention of
happiness, as contrary to nature and reason, as if she should propose
to make herself happy by painting a post, and putting the same finery
upon it. It is in this respect that I call these joys and happiness of the
world mere inventions of happiness, because neither God, nor nature,
nor reason, hath appointed them as such; but whatever appears joyful,
or great, or happy in them, is entirely created or invented by the
blindness and vanity of our own minds.
And it is on these inventions of happiness that I desire you to cast
your eye, that you may thence learn, how great a good religion is,
which delivers you from such a multitude of follies, and vain pursuits,
as are the torment and vexation of minds that wander from their true
happiness in God. (Law, 1729, ch.XII)
Jung presents an alternative to the traditional ways of taking root in life. The idea is
that the unconscious as the fount of meaning shall serve as foundation for psychic
growth. Accordingly, he renounces spiritual tradition, such as mysticism, downplays
religion and repudiates modern art. He emphasizes that intellectual consciousness
mustn’t be overly developed, because it leads to psychological one-sidedness. In
fact, following the maxim esse in anima, the unconscious is regarded the very
foundation of the universe in the form of a transcendental “psychoid” layer termed
unus mundus (cf. Jung, 1977, pp.537ff). Jung’s disavowal of historical varieties of
conscious tradition serves the purpose of elevating the alternative path of the
unconscious. But it is not possible to take root in the unconscious, because
unconscious is protean nature and a quagmire. We cannot establish the
transcendental function (signifying a stable conscious-unconscious conduit) as the
pillar of our lives. In this sense, Jungian theory has been faulted.

It is deleterious not to develop conscious passion, which some have called love,
because there is nothing else in life. Jung’s notion according to which conscious
passion is reduced to salaried employment and societal responsibility, doesn’t hold
water. It isn’t good enough. Indeed, it is ideal to become passionately interested in
abstract forms painted on a canvas, or captivated by the natural world, such as the
world of insects and flowers, or devote oneself to religious studies, meditation and
prayer. As long as we take heed of the dream messages of the unconscious, this is
the proper way of individuation.

On the surface, it seems that Jung’s devaluation of conscious passion concords with
spiritual apophatic tradition. But one must keep in mind that the latter represents
zest for the spirit, for the conscious substance itself, which is divine. The spiritual
pilgrim opens his eyes to the Forms, or the soul-sparks, present in the natural
world. Detachment from the temporal means to establish another fervour and
learning to see the light that surrounds existence. Mystics keep using the notion of
love, that is, conscious passion, as such. However, in Jung’s thought, the mystical
path represents opening the gates to the unconscious, allowing for unconscious
invasion. This is really a completely different notion, which accords with LSD
therapy—an experiment that did not fare well. Except for therapeutic purposes, it
represents a blind alley for personality. I put forward that it is essentially different
than apophatic and kataphatic mystical tradition (which are really the two sides of
the same coin).

Contemplation

Also contemplative tradition is fraught with difficulties. From to the book “From
St. John of the Cross to Us” by J. Arraj:

Fr. Keating had met people who had devoted themselves to the life of
prayer, even for many years, and yet did not seem to have ever
experienced mystical graces, that is, the kinds of infused prayer that
Teresa and John talk about. They might even have spent their lives in
contemplative religious communities, and not had the experience of
contemplation. In fact, “less than five percent of cloistered
contemplatives that I know have the mystical experiences that Teresa
or John of the Cross describe. They generally experience the night of
 sense, and a few experience the night of spirit. Their consolations are
few and far between.” (14) We are back to the familiar subject of the
night of sense in the wide sense of the term, which is the dilemma that
Tomás de Jesús faced so many years before, and it goes like this: “I
have given myself to a life dedicated to contemplation, and yet I don’t
experience it.” (Arraj, 1999, ch.13)

Arguably, mystical union requires a progression of individuation. As long as the

contemplative has not succeeded in differentiating himself from collective identity,
he may not experience the “dark night of the soul” characteristic of mysticism.
Perhaps this is what fails the contemplatives. They have faith in the “ideology of
sameness”, although individuation really requires that the individual sheds the
illusion of sameness. I don’t know what it takes to rise out of unconsciousness.
Perhaps there must exist an unconscious impetus which is lacking in the average
person.

The individuant arising out of unconscious collective identity, going through

conscious differentiation, then to immerse himself in the sea of the
unconscious—this is the movement of the sun, which leads to rebirth. This would
depict the progression of the unconscious Self, and not necessarily the ego. The
“archetype of totality” (the Self) is connected with individuation, a process that
removes the individual from the totality in the sense of collective identification, i.e.,
the feeling of belonging to the group. Thus, the ego’s progression need not be as
dramatic as its formative ideal, i.e., that of the Self. Yet, the differentiation of the
individual must needs lead to the relative abatement of the ego’s energy, sinking in
the sea of the Self. The “mystical union” requires a process of individuation, that is,
to rise to the zenith like the sun. It represents a differentiated ego consciousness,
which has cast aside the illusion of uniformity. To throw off a stagnant wholeness
for a new development is central to the theory of Poul Bjerre (see Addendum below:
“Death and renewal”). Although the Self is symbolic of wholeness and fulfillment, it
also has a dark side, because wholeness is connected with psychological death.

Psyche and Kosmos

Psyche (Gk. ‘soul’) is volition and ideation, whereas kosmos (Gk. ‘world’) is axiom
and essence (or law and ontic nature). A psychic content is willful directionality and
ideation (libido and meaning) or else it’s not psychic at all. The attempt to establish
the archetype as law and ontic nature (the archetype-as-such as ‘archetypus in re’),
leads to a genetic interpretation, or to a metaphysic along lines of neutral monism
according to which both psyche and kosmos are founded upon the same archetypal
universals. Jung himself conceived of the archetype as “psychoid”, i.e., not
exclusively psychic. I don’t see it as essential to the understanding of the
phenomenology of the archetype. One could equally well do the opposite, namely
reduce kosmos to volition and ideation, on lines of idealistic philosophy (e.g.,
Schopenhauer, “The World as Will and Representation”). Modern people have a very
strong preference for monistic models (as in monotheism). It’s either ‘esse in re’ or
‘esse in spiritu’. If the archetype is reduced to brain structure (e.g.), it implies that
‘esse in re’ is elevated as first principle. Comparatively, Christian theology has
proposed more advanced bipartite and tripartite models. Neither the nature of Christ
nor the nature of the Godhead are rigorously monistic.
Science has shown that the outer world is highly autonomous as phenomena that go
beyond our conscious categories may be studied experimentally. Thus, we can no
longer interpret the phenomena of physical existence as founded upon ideas. Kant
and his idealistic followers have been refuted. Accordingly, psychology has shown
that psychic life is highly self-governing. We no longer think of it as directly
dependent on outward factors. Psychological models, such as behaviourism, have
failed miserably. Although the two aren’t isolated phenomena, the psyche may go its
own way while the kosmos proceeds independently. The relation could be described
as a mutual conditioning. But the outer world cannot directly enforce any psychic
event; nor can the psyche impose its will upon the outer world, along lines of magic.

Accordingly, we have given up the attempt to see the one as directly predicated on
the other. Physics has proven the objectivity of material events whereas psychology
has verified a high degree of autonomy among mental events. It means that the
constituents of the kosmos are real and autonomous. Analogously, the constituents
of the psyche, also known as archetypes, are authentic and relatively self-governed.
Accordingly, the archetype is real and there is no need to define it in terms of ontic
substance (having metaphysical being) and natural laws. Law and ontic nature are
characteristics that belong to physical objects. Nor is it required to define the
physical world in terms of psychic ideas, which is the most common position in the
history of philosophy, representing some form of subjectivist idealism. It seems we
must avoid letting one reality encroach upon the other. The autonomous nature of
the psyche is demonstrated by the continuous conflict between archetypes having
different ideational content and volition. Dreams are produced which seem to point
in different directions. Archetypes seem to want different things. However, when laid
out on a time-line, the development of personality follows a logical pattern. If a
change is going to occur at a point in time, the archetype must begin to affect
personality at an early stage, perhaps thirty years before. Thus, it will remain in
conflict with other archetypes. Our biology follows natural law, but our psyche
doesn’t necessarily. I hold that individuation proceeds according to an alternating
process of complementation and integration.

Complementation would signify the unconscious and semi-conscious continual

resolution of conflict, the process of completing, and the formulation of opposites
as complementary. It allows all the warring elements of the psyche to have a say.
Archetypes are allowed to slowly mature, even if they gainsay the ruling conscious
standpoint, and regardless if they conflict with each other. Thus, they are permitted
to bloom at the appropriate point in time. An archetype must be integrated when it
is ripe for it, otherwise complementation is disrupted. Archetypes are mental and
possess a modicum of will-power. Thus, their emergence in the conscious sphere
isn’t predictable in the same way that physical events, nor can we know the
ideational content beforehand. Schopenhauer’s notion of Will and Representation is
relevant to the archetype, but not to the kosmos. If Schopenhauer thought that All is
will and representation, we should at least be able to say that Psyche is will and
representation. We needn’t try and pin down the psyche on notions of ontic
substance and axiomatic law. The conclusion is that ‘esse in re’ and ‘esse in anima’
are equally viable formulas, but none of them good enough. Modern philosophers
have a dislike for metaphysical dualism, on lines of Descartes, but there are other
alternatives (cf. Winther, 2013, here).

Unconscious polytheism

My argument is that the ontology of the archetype is not an urgent issue. The
unconscious constantly produces animistic motifs, since this is how our archaic
unconscious “thinks”. The archetype is an expression of the animistic economy of
the unconscious. This explains the great success of the archetypal notion in
understanding the unconscious. The concept of the archetype in modern psychology
has its roots in animistic mythological thinking, which remains part and parcel of
our unconscious psychology. Platonism and Jungian psychology are indebted to
animism. It is justified regardless of the metaphysical nature of the archetype. When
the metaphysical status of the psyche is raised to “real” and “autonomous”, a
backside is that it gives rise to subjectivism, as in subjective idealism,
phenomenologism, and solipsistic narcissism. In the Platonic and Neoplatonic
conception, however, the archetypoi reside in a transcendent sphere. Accordingly,
Plato’s philosophy has been called ‘objective idealism’ or ‘idealistic realism’. In this
way he achieved what he wished, namely to counteract subjectivism and relativism.
However, to modern people it appears naive to posit a location of the Ideas relative
to the temporal world. Ideas, since they exist in the mind, aren’t located anywhere.
So modern philosophy took a turn for subjective idealism. The only thing needed to
transform Kant’s idealism into subjective idealism was to remove the transcendental
thing-in-itself, corresponding to physis in Plato. This was an easy operation with
catastrophic consequences, as Paul Roubiczek (1947) has evinced (here).

Plato’s conception is really an adaptation of polytheism. He took the Greek gods and
turned them into Forms. What is the nature of this place where Ideas reside, and
which transcends kosmos? Ideas reside inside a mind, but it’s not the question of
the human subject—it refers to the objective mind of God. So Plato is really referring
to an impersonal Godhead when discussing the supersensual world. The conclusion
is that objective idealism is essentially the same as a theistic conception. However,
Plato’s notion may be reinterpreted according to the modern unconscious notion.
The archetype does not transcend the world—it transcends consciousness.
Conscious and unconscious are relative opposites, which accords with the
Neoplatonic notion of transcendence. It means that conscious transcendence is
relative, contrary to Kantian metaphysical (absolute) transcendence, which defies
reason. The archetype resides in the deepest layers of the unconscious. Also in the
deepest layers of the unconscious psyche is volition and ideation, although the
process here would be much slower and require much longer time. The conclusion is
that the ontic archetype, as such, could be a red herring. In fact, it obtains as an
entity of mind in the unconscious psyche, which is the objective psyche.

At such a deep level of psyche the archetype is undergoing a slow process of

formation. Archetypes are not metaphysical imprints, but products of slow but
powerful ideation. Unconscious polytheism bears a resemblance to Schopenhauer’s
transcendental Will. Comparatively, in “Answer to Job” (1969), Carl Jung poses a
largely unconscious Godhead. An unconscious God is largely unaware of worldly
events, which arguably solves the theodicy problem. This is really Carl Jung’s
Godhead, I believe, although he did not want to emphasize it, because it would
make him look unscientific. In relation to God, who vastly surpasses the ego, the
latter is deflated. But in the present time, what exacerbates the failing mental health
of the collective is the inflationary consequences of a lost relation to the divine. The
unconscious resembles a divine realm, “closer” than its complementary, namely the
trinitarian deity. Rather than an alternative theological model of God, it is better
viewed as a complement of the transcendent deity. Arguably, it is this aspect of God
that comes to expression in the worship of the Virgin, to which the Catholic Church
has given green light in the dogma of the assumption of the Virgin Mary (cf. Wiki,
here). Such an unconscious deity, associated with the feminine, seems to correspond
to the “worldly Self of completeness” in my complementarian model of the Self (cf.
Winther, 2011, here).

Complementation

The gist of my proposal is that the archetype subsists as a cognitive activity in the
unconscious mind, suggestive of an unconscious deity. The upshot is that there is
no need to define the archetype in terms of physicalist science. There is really no
subject that “thinks” the archetype. It is thinking itself, as autonomous volition and
ideation is its very nature. To denote this activity, which is ever at work in the
unconscious psyche, I have suggested the term “complementation”. It represents
both the origin and sustainment of the archetype. It is what over the aeons brings
new archetypes into existence. We do not know what may emerge from the
unconscious. If it were predictable, then it would not be unconscious and
unknowable. Jung solves this dilemma by predicting that the number of archetypes
are innumerable, which vouches for unpredictability and unknowability. But it seems
overly Platonic. It is not to the taste of modern people to postulate the pre-existence
of thousand-and-one archetypes. Rather, archetypes are created spontaneously over
time, whereas existing archetypes are transformed over time. For more on the
complementation notion, see my articles ‘The Complementarian Self’ (here),
‘Critique of Synchronicity’ (here), and ‘Thanatos’ (here).

The subtle body

I have suggested that the alchemical process denoted as ‘circular distillation’

corresponds to the unconscious process of complementation. It deviates from
traditional Jungian understanding (cf. Winther, 2011, here) in that conscious
integration is no longer the focal point of individuation. During complementation
the unconscious Self complements itself, being indirectly aided by consciousness. In
theology, resurrection signifies the restitution of the personality, absent the old
body. The new body is referred to as the ‘resurrection body’, the ‘subtle body’, or
the ‘glorious body’. It corresponds to the glorious resurrection-body of Christ. It is
also known as the ‘diamond body’ in Chinese spiritual literature (cf. Wiki, here). In
this ancient conception, the Self serves as a psychic body, i.e. a real metaphysical
entity, equally real as the physical body. It is the vehicle of the resurrected god,
capable of carrying personality after the expiration of the body. So say the teachings
of esoteric Christianity, Taoism, Hermeticism, Kriya Yoga, Tibetan and Tantric
Buddhism, Sufism, and Alchemy. The medieval alchemists believed they were
creating this body in advance, by resurrecting the god Mercurius from his dormancy
in matter. They were speeding up the processes of nature and thus contributed to
the creation of the subtle body, which survives death. Otherwise this process would
take aeons, to be concluded at the Day of Resurrection. M-L von Franz says:

The alchemist’s idea of producing the resurrected body and the elixir of
immortality by a chemical procedure is derived from the Egyptian
enbalming rites and the ceremonies for the dead Osiris. From the very
beginning, therefore, the alchemists were preoccupied with the
problem of the post-mortal state of the soul, and though the
metaphysical validity of their statements is not susceptible of scientific
proof they may well be intuitively correct anticipations of the
psychological experience of death. At any rate these statements have to
do with a reality far removed from life as ordinarily lived and from the
sphere of ego-consciousness.
The conception of the coniunctio as a post-mortal event runs
through the whole history of alchemical symbolism and is found also
among the Arabic alchemists who were the sources for Aurora. Thus
the Turba says that the res (thing, matter) is buried like a man, and
then God gives it its soul and spirit back again, and after the
decomposition it grows stronger and is purified, just as after the
resurrection a man becomes stronger and younger than he was upon
earth. And Calid says: “This hidden thing is of the nature of sun and
fire, and it is the most precious oil of all hidden things, and the living
tincture, and the permanent water, which ever liveth and remaineth,
and the vinegar of the philosophers and the penetrative spirit: and it is
hidden, tincturing, aggregating, and reviving: it rectifieth and
enlighteneth all the dead and causeth them to rise again” (von Franz,
2000, pp.369-70).

In ancient Egypt the resurrection body was called Osiris. According to the papyri, if a
person had gone through the process of becoming Osiris, i.e., had become divine by
going through the whole ritual of resurrection, he could appear in any shape at any
day. He could leave the tomb and walk through shut doors. This is the goal of
becoming Osiris, according to the Egyptian prayers for the dead. The alchemists
connected this idea with the Philosopher’s Stone as the divine and immortal nucleus
in man (cf. von Franz, 1980, p.236).

However, this is yet another example of a transcendental and religious symbol that
is better understood as a profound psychological truth. The creation of the diamond
body or the Osiris would represent a process of complementation. The reason why
such ideas take an otherworldly form is because the unconscious likes to think that
way, following archaic ways of thought. The way in which M-L von Franz supports
such an unscientific and religious notion is surprising, but it safeguards the Jungian
ideals of the Self and conscious integration from an alternative psychological
interpretation. This is why we need a psychological term—complementation—as a
correlate to the notion of integration. I hold that Jung has occasionally
misunderstood symbols, such as the creation of the diamond body, as the
integration of the Self, i.e., as the creation of an integrated wholeness as
encompassing the opposites of conscious and unconscious. In reality, the diamond
body, or the supracelestial body, slowly takes shape in the unconscious, without
direct involvement on part of the conscious ego, which is instead toned down. Yet, a
psychological interpretation does not rule out “resurrection” in the religious sense.

Lucid dreams

It is relevant, in this connection, to discuss “lucid dreams”. The dreamer wakes up

inside the dream, as it were, and the dreamer becomes aware of dreaming. The
experience can be pleasurable, for instance, when consciously soaring like an eagle
above the clouds. This curious phenomenon has received a lot of hype lately. My
argument is that it has symbolic meaning. Unlike what people like to believe, it does
not point at an essentially new realm of spiritual life. “Waking up” inside the dream
would symbolize how the subject wakes up in his subtle body, as if conscious life
may continue wholly inside the spiritual domain, a metaphysical reality existing
independently of corporeality. This concept coincides with the shamanistic
worldview. Because of our archaic genetic heritage, the unconscious entertains
animistic and shamanistic notions. So the unconscious creates an illusion of
shamanistic spiritual reality. Why? Arguably, as long as personality remains
entangled in in worldly matters, the unconscious will compensate corporeal
identification by producing dreams that serve to emancipate personality.

It means that it’s an escapist theme. Since lucid dreams symbolize emancipation of
psychic life, the dreamer really longs to escape his/her situation in the world. So the
dreamer should probably take measures to become more independent of other
people, pecuniary matters, and bother less with one-thousand-and-one worldly
obsessions. Lucid dreams would point at the trinitarian spiritual discipline, that is, in
some measure to stand aside from the world. Although it is naively portrayed in
shamanistic terms, it really signifies the emancipation of consciousness.
Consciousness has the capacity to stand aloof from the world, creating in
personality a state of harmony and permanence. This is indeed a mystery in itself.
Why would the unconscious try to achieve this, rather than an unconscious life
according to instinct? The simplest explanation, according to Poul Bjerre’s concept,
is to achieve psychological harmony, because it improves general health and
perseverance.

Yet, it could hint at very important truths. Perhaps such dreams point at the
necessity to engage in spiritual advancement in order to bring the subtle body into
existence and to refine it. Although it is largely an autonomous psychic
phenomenon, the process can be accelerated through conscious sacrifice and effort.
A characteristic of lucid dreams is that if you decide to “do” something, and start to
interact with dream figures, etc., you either wake up or go into a dream proper.
Thus, it seems to symbolize a state of “doing nothing while keeping awake”. This is
very similar to what mystics, such as St John of the Cross, strived after. Lucid
dreams could symbolize the essential contemplative activity of mind, supportive of
the unconscious process of complementation.

Conclusion

The Platonic worldview is relevant to the relation conscious-unconscious, because

this is how the unconscious two-million-year-old man is thinking. It is worthwhile
to know how archaic man thinks, and avoid fixation on conscious, linear, and
scientific thinking. But the Platonic, archetypal, paradigm has introduced the danger
of animistic regression. It can be forestalled with the introverted trinitarian concept
of personal sacrifice, which implies that the power of life is given back to the “gods”.
The Jungian spiritual path involves an archetypal succession of integration. But the
mystical path demands self-abnegation rather than one heroic deed after another.
The combination of the paradigms provides the solution. To sink into blessed
unconsciousness requires that the individual has first conquered consciousness and
achieved psychological emancipation. Following this, consciousness may sink into
the sea like the sun.

The psyche functions as if it were an autonomous reality on a par with physical

reality. This is how it likes to think of itself, although it remains part of the physical
body. It is not required that its ontological status is established in theory. The
archetype-as-such needn’t be defined in metaphysical terms. It suffices that the
notion is useful and the archetype is experiential. The psychic reality-status
depends on the presence of autonomous archetypes that seem to function
independently of outer reality. That’s how the unconscious psyche happens to
portray itself. If unconscious archetypes behave as deities from the Hellenic age,
then we must acknowledge this, regardless of the metaphysical grounding of the
theory. Jung’s worldview is monistic, that is, matter and psyche derive from the
same underlying reality; the ‘unus mundus’, the abode of “psychoid” archetypes.
Such a metaphysical edifice is not crucial to the notion of a collective unconscious.
The complementarian perspective does not preclude a psychic existence that is
ontically parallel with material reality. However, we needn’t make the assumption
that they are essentially the same. This avoids the pitfall of materialistic obsession
and also the danger of animistic regression. Long-standing philosophical and
metaphysical quandaries can be resolved. We may relinquish contorted and warped
philosophical systems, such as physicalism and idealism, that define the one in
terms of the other.

© Mats Winther, 2011 (2015: added Addendum; 2016: emendation).

Addendum

Death and renewal

Is psychological balance and fitness primary or is the individuative drive central to

our psychology? Individuation depends on an unconscious impetus, because we
must leave childhood naiveté behind and become responsible individuals. Also in
adult life we want to make headway in order to feel content. But which is the egg
and which is the hen? It is possible to argue that individuation is secondary to
psychological harmony. Should personality experience stagnation, one would like to
break out from the stagnant condition, even if much has been accomplished. What’s
the point in remaining in a beautiful castle if one is bored? So the foundational
principle is perhaps that life must keep flowing. But this also means that growth will
occur.

In Poul Bjerre’s (1876–1964) thought, individuation is a function of the continual

process of “death and renewal”. Any achievement of wholeness will sooner or later
turn into a stagnated condition, from which personality must break free. It means
that wholeness as a goal also means psychological death. On this view, wholeness is
an ambivalent symbol. Although being a goal for personality, its backside is
stagnation. It corresponds to the important realization that St Augustine made, i.e.,
that it is not worthwhile to strive after a worldly paradise (vid. “City of God”).

Bjerre, who was one of the first psychoanalysts, saw destruction as a central theme
in individuation. If life has become stagnant, a renewal must be invoked. But this
means that the old Self is abandoned and what has been achieved is thrown off. On
this view, individuation can mean destruction, in the sense of breaking out of an old
shell. Yet, it conflicts with the psychoanalytic notion of integration, central to which
is the integration of disowned psychic aspects. In Jung’s thought, central to
individuation is the collecting of psychic content into a ‘complexio oppositorum’.
The principle of negation is given little weight. Rather, what counts is assimilation.
Yet, evidence suggests that negation is very central. A woman recounts her dream:

I have had recurrent dreams of a woman living in an ivory tower, or

other buildings, and being forced to leave. In one dream I was admiring
the garden outside the woman’s tower. A disembodied voice said: “This
is beautiful, but all this must change.”—In the period following, my life
became much more “real” and a lot less beautiful.

The conclusion is that personality isn’t imprisoned in childhood, but we are wholly
capable of changing our ways. It’s just that people are reluctant to abandon old
habits of life, including cognitive habits. For various reasons personality remains
stuck. It could be due to insecurity or inertia. I write something about Bjerre’s view
of individuation, which involves also negation and destruction, here (cf. Winther,
2014b). From this perspective it is easier to understand this dream from my early
twenties:

I entered a huge library with an enormous cupola, which had a pinkish

plastering. In its centre was a round mandala with four black circles in
square formation. I was awestruck. On the outside was the blackness of
the universe. A voice said: “These are the holes through which the soul
leaves at the moment of death”.

In traditional religion, it is a common concept that human beings have four souls
that separate at death. For instance, according to Dakota Indians, one soul stays
with the corpse, another stays in the village, a third goes into the air, while the
fourth goes to the land of souls (cf. Wikia, here). Ancient Egyptians had a similar
notion (Ka, Ba, Akh, etc.). The quaternity, which is supposed to mean life’s
fulfillment, acquires the meaning of death. The dream seems to compensate the
ideal of quaternary wholeness by associating it with death. So the quaternity is like
the Mother of Life and Death—it is ambivalent.

The quaternity is supposed to mean fulfillment in terms of psychic integration. But

the dream says that the quaternity means the opposite, namely the soul’s
disintegration, its splitting into four aspects. Evidently, it represents the quaternity
as separation rather than integration. It served the purpose of inciting the young
man to adapt to life in a more authentic way. Heidegger says that the presence of
Nothingness has this effect. Accordingly, one ought to remain aware of one’s deadly
nature and “spend more time in graveyards”. This attitude was characteristic of
Ancient Egyptians. Their own departure from the world was of momentous
importance. If they could afford it, they invested great sums in preparation for their
own death. Yet, they remained strongly attached to life. The ancient Egyptian
mentality could best be described as Epicurean.

So the dream compensates a young man’s disillusioned attitude. The books

represent the adventure of the spirit, which is being contrasted to the Death
Quaternity. The dream is about adaptation to life through spiritual passion. One
must take root in life one way or the other, before it is too late, when it is time for
the soul to leave through the four holes. The dream represents conscious
accomplishment and engagement in the form of a vast library—a kind of temenos,
or paradisiacal wholeness. The message is that conscious zest is central. It could
signify the Aristotelian passion for the wonders of the natural world, or the more
abstract Platonic enthusiasm for the Forms, as it comes to expression in the fine
arts, for instance. It means to take root in life. By example, I remember how
fascinated I was with a book about flowers and herbs, and their ingenious ways of
propagation. It surprised me, because it’s not a very philosophical theme. Jung
wasn’t very interested in the natural world. He told his gardener’s son not to say
“stars”. He should call them “planets”, instead (as retold in a Swedish Jung paper). So
he didn’t even know that the stars are distant suns.

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-------- (2011). ‘The Complementarian Self’. (here)

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Winther, M. (2009). ‘The real meaning of the motif of the dying god’. (here)
 -------- (2012a). ‘Critique of Synchronicity’ (here)

-------- (2012b). ‘Thanatos - a contribution to the understanding of the

collective shadow’ (here).

-------- (2014a). ‘Complementation in Psychology’. (here)