Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Poison and Nectar in C G Jungs India in
Poison and Nectar in C G Jungs India in
The spirit of the East is penetrating through all pores and reaching the most
vulnerable parts of Europe. It could be a dangerous infection, but perhaps also a
remedy. (C.G. Jung, “In Memory of Richard Wilhelm,” 1930)2
I’m afraid this supreme consciousness is at least not one we could possess.
Inasmuch as it exists, we do not exist. (C. G. Jung, letter to V. Subrahmanya Iyer,
1938)3
I started in profound fright, and awoke with the thought, “Aha, so he is the one
who is meditating me. He has a dream, and I am it.” I knew that when he
awakened, I would no longer be. (C. G. Jung, dream from 1944 recounted in
Memories, Dreams, Reflections)4
Introduction
Murray Stein5 has retold the story of Carl Jung’s encounter with Chinese culture,
intertwining biographical and theoretical perspectives. Here we will attempt something similar
for Jung’s more fraught relationship with India6 which developed in parallel with the Chinese—
and often entangled with it, as the Orientalist culture of his times lumped them together under the
rubric of “the East.” To summarize Stein, while Jung already had a degree of interest in China
prior to 1928 when Richard Wilhelm sent him an alchemical work called “The Secret of the
Golden Flower,” it was the serendipity of receiving this text just after he had painted a Chinese
“castle” seen from above that sparked his intense involvement with Chinese thought. Jung
realized that his painting expressed a circulation of life energies similar to descriptions in the
“Golden Flower.” It was what he would later call a “mandala,” adopting an Indian, Sanskrit term
for a symbol of psychic wholeness or transformation. Although his early works (1912, 1921)7
already refer to Lao Tse and the concept of a subtle balance in things named the tao (which Jung
compares with the similar Indian concept of ṛta, “cosmic order”), the idea of “synchronicity”—
Jung’s most important Chinese discovery—developed out of his study and experience of the
“Golden Flower” and later the I Ching (“Book of Changes”) as he reencountered it through
Wilhelm’s translation and commentary (1931).8 It was characteristic of Jung that significant
events in his life (the receipt of the text from Wilhelm and the near-simultaneous mandala
The nexus of person and theory in Jung’s encounter with Indian culture, however, is
much more convoluted than with China and marked by an intense ambivalence, even antipathy,
toward what Jung took to be India’s denial of the significance of human individuality and the
value of the ego. Even so, we believe that Indian ideas penetrated at least as deeply into Jung’s
thinking, and ultimately into his sense of his own nature, as did the Chinese. Ironically, it was
precisely where Jung felt the greatest threat from India that his ideas and life were most deeply
stimulated by it: at the very heart of his theory, in the symbol and experience of an ego-
transcending self. The relationship between limited and inclusive selves lies at the center of
Jung’s theory. It is also an essential issue for Indian thought, where it has stimulated creative
controversy for twenty-five hundred years. In the end, while Jung’s self and India’s are very
different, their encounter has thrown off sparks of creativity that still offer the potential for future
insights into selfhood and consciousness.
Before the mature interest in India which we will explore in this paper, Jung as a child of
perhaps four or five became fascinated with picture book images of the Indian gods Brahma,
Vishnu, and Śiva.9 Jung’s mother “later told me that I always returned to these pictures.
Whenever I did so, I had an obscure feeling of their affinity with my ‘original revelation’.” Jung
is here referring to his famous first dream, at the age of almost four, of entering a subterranean
chamber with a golden throne on which stood a 12-15 foot tall “ritual phallus.” Jung’s mother’s
voice entered the dream, saying, “Yes just look at him. That is the man-eater!” 10 The fear and
awe that Jung as a child felt before the numinous power of this image are repeated in some of his
later life responses to Indian images from his reading and in his dreams. Noteworthy is the
similarity of the central image in Jung’s dream to the Indian symbol of the Śiva lingam (a
stylized erect phallus of the god set in the vagina of the goddess, sometimes, but often not,
obviously phallic). Would perusal of late 19th century picture books reveal images of an
“aniconic”11 Śiva lingam, not recognized as a sexual organ by the authors of exotic works for
European children, amid photographs and drawings of the colorful divinities of Hinduism?
We will identify three basic strands or stages in Jung’s adult relationship to India, with
the aim of finding “a model for conceptualizing the whole of it.”12 First, as a relatively young
man Jung was exposed to Asian thought through his general and university culture. He possessed
the 50 volumes of English translations of Asian classics edited by Max Muller in the 1880s and
1890s as The Sacred Books of the East. At least four of his Red Book paintings were inspired by
texts from early India that he may have read in volumes of the SBE,13 and on the margins of
another he quotes from the Bhagavad Gita.14 As a late participant in German Romanticism and
the “volkisch” thought that grew from it, Jung also shared the fascination India held for the
Schlegels, Goethe, Hegel, and especially Schopenhauer. As Jung says, “[Indian] ideas found a
The second phase of Jung’s interest in India is most evident during the years leading up
to and immediately after his visit to India in 1937-1938, for example in the seminars on
Kundalini yoga he gave with J.W. Hauer in 1932 (preceded by lectures in 1930-1931) and
following S. N. Dasgupta on the Patanjali Yoga Sūtra in 1939.20 Carl Jung’s most characteristic
response to Indian religion during this middle period (his usual term is “yoga” even when the
focus is on what is usually termed “tantra”) was to use its psychophysiological imagery as a
parallel to, and stimulus for developing his own thinking, while warning Westerners against
practicing it literally, especially its later and higher stages. Yoga, he tells us, “aims at controlling
[the] forces that fetter human beings to the world,”21 and in the end leads to “evaporating on a
gazelle skin under a dusty banyan tree and ending [one’s] days in nameless non-being.”22
Approached wrongly, Indian thought is “poison” for Europeans.23 While dangerous for
Westerners to enact, however, Jung still found the Indian tradition to be a royal road for thinking
about depth psychology, and continued to use the insights he had gained from Indian texts during
prior years as he prepared for and endured the psychospiritual adventures recalled in the Red
Book. Perhaps his most groundbreaking early work, Psychological Types (1921)24, would be
unthinkable without the Indian materials and ideas it contains. Yoga and the Indian religious
culture from which—and into which—it grew were fundamental for Jung’s discovery and
development around this time of some of his most basic concepts: the purposive flow of psychic
energy (libido) that matured into the idea of individuation, the transcendent function, the symbol,
and ultimately the self and its representation in mandalas.
Given the impoṛtance to Jung’s thinking of Indian religious psychology, why did he
warn his readers and patients so frequently and in such strong terms against practicing yoga, and
why did he refuse to expose himself to it on a personal level during his visit to India? The
dominant conscious rationale, repeated in a number of places over the years, was perhaps most
clearly put in 1943.
Only the man who goes through this darkness [the personal unconscious and shadow] can
hope to make any further progress. I am therefore in principle against the uncritical
appropriation of yoga practices by Europeans, because I know only too well that they
hope to avoid their own dark corners.27
By 1921 Jung had come to the conclusion that yoga’s aim in its original context was a radical
introversion of consciousness that led to an awareness of the deeper (or, in India’s case,
putatively higher) layers of the psyche. This aim, Jung thought, might be appropriate for (at least
some) Indians but not for Westerners because in India the opposition between consciousness and
the personal unconscious is not as sharp as it is among Europeans. In Indians, yoga may
legitimately be used to reach the deep (or higher) psyche; practiced by Westerners, it would lead
to denial of the personal unconscious and shadow, and would likely produce “an artificial
stultification of our . . . intelligence.”28 or “inhibit the natural growth and development of our
own psychology.”29
A second argument against yoga was that it represents a foreign way of life and that we
Westerners belong to the culture and society in which we are organically and historically
situated. To practice yoga seriously would amount to leading an artificial life that could never
become native to us. Individuation, as Jung saw it, always involved becoming an individual
within the vessel of one’s own tradition. Paradoxically, one cannot individuate outside a strong
cultural context.
We maintain, however, that need to confront and integrate the shadow, and the
requirement of loyalty to one’s culture of origin, were not Jung’s only or even main reasons for
warning Westerners away from yoga. Jung protested so strongly against yoga because he
believed it posed a danger to the ego and individuality itself. Jung’s previous investigations
(1912, 1921) had found in yoga and Upanisadic speculations a potential for profound
transformation of consciousness, and his later visions and dreams confirmed this. While in the
end Jung had begun to recognize the value of this shift in perspective, he remained ambivalent,
emphasizing the dangers of yoga and other forms of Indian meditation to the European psyche
throughout his life.
Indians, Jung believed, did not split their ego consciousness from the personal shadow as
much as Westerners do; indeed, they have less of both ego (and its attendant individuality) and
shadow and so do not feel the same intense conflict between them as Westerners. Hence in
doing yoga they can pass more directly to the collective unconscious and uncover the mandala of
archetypes that underlies the conscious ego. Westerners must first integrate the split-off shadow
and so create a mature ego capable of relating to the deep unconscious; Indians have the potential
to transcend the ego directly, and reach the deep self beyond. The implication is that only
Westerners can have a personal relationship to the archetypal psyche; only they can individuate.
Indians (and to a large extent all non-Westerners) can only become the unconscious, not relate to
it.31 The mark of the “primitive” for Jung was always the tendency to succumb to the
“participation mystique;” the idea, appropriated from Levy-Bruhl, was that pre-civilized men
identify with their unconscious powers rather than interact or dialogue with them as independent
agents. In this sense, Jung considered Indians primitive.
Increasingly, Jung found a monotony32 in India and Indian thought that repelled him, and
in one of his darkest meditations on this theme, “The holy men of India” written a few years after
his 1938 trip to the subcontinent,33 he searched to find metaphors for the atmosphere of ego
dissolution he believed to be the single secret of “holy men” like Ramana Maharshi, the sage
celebrated by Jung’s friend Heinrich Zimmer whom Jung had been encouraged to visit in India.
Put so starkly as an opposition between European persons and Indians, Jung’s position
appears hopelessly outdated and colonialist. He implies that Indians (and elsewhere other non-
Westerners) are naïve and childish, lacking the maturity and good sense of Europeans. They
cannot engage in the psychological dialectic between ego (ahaṁkāra) and self that Jung thinks
appropriate to normal adult life. Because of their psychological primitivity, Indians are prey to
their “holy men” and easily fall into the role of “dumb fish” who bow their heads in submission
to the guru.39 The opposition of passive “oriental” and active sahib is almost overt. Even so, the
essential issue is not colonialism but rather how one should understand the self, regressively (as
Jung sees what he takes to be the Indian position) or progressively, looking toward the
fulfillment of one’s individual potential.
One of the central figures of Jung’s trip to India, and the only one he remembers by name
in MDR, is Subrahmanya Iyer, whom Jung identifies as the guru of the Maharaja of Mysore. In
letters exchanged after his return home, Jung debated Iyer on the subject of a putative
consciousness beyond the ego. Counter to Iyer’s arguments, Jung concludes that this is
impossible to conceive, because “if you eradicate the ego completely, there is nobody left that
would consciously experience.”40 The ego must always be preserved for without it there is no
possibility of relatedness and we float off, untethered to the earth.41
Close to the end of his life Jung was approached by Arwind Vasavada, a middle-aged
Indian psychologist who adopted the old man as his guru, and indeed “perfect Master.” Vasavada
Your standpoint seems to coincide with that of our medieval mystics, who tried to
dissolve themselves in God. You seem to be interested in how to get back to the self,
instead of looking for what the self wants you to do in the world, where—for the time
being at least—we are located, presumably for a ceṛtain purpose. The universe does not
seem to exist for the purpose of man denying or escaping it. Nobody can be more
convinced of the impoṛtance of the self than me. But as a young man does not stay in his
father’s house but goes out into the world, so I don’t look back to the self but collect it
out of manifold experiences and put it together again. What I have left behind, seemingly
lost, I meet in everything that comes my way and I collect it, reassembling it as it were.
In order to get rid of opposites, I needs must accept them first, but this leads away from
the self. . . . Although the self is my origin, it is also the goal of my quest. When it was
my origin, I did not know myself, and when I did learn about myself, I did not know the
self. I have to discover it in my actions, where first it reappears under strange masks. That
is one of the reasons I must study symbolism, otherwise I risk not recognizing my own
father and mother when I meet them again after many years of my absence.43
The yogic attempt to regress into the self is essentially infantile and avoids life. Only when
Vasavada’s dream convinced Jung that he intended to put his vision of Jungian-cum-Indian
psychology into practice did he accept that his young devotee was up to the task of living a
genuine life, with psychological work as its focus. Vasavada amply demonstrated this capability
by interpreting Jung’s psychology in his own terms, for instance in adopting a novel fee-less
practice in which he received money from analysands as a gift rather than a fixed charge, just as
gurus in India accept a “dakshina” from disciples but do not send them a bill.44
Bair: [Jung] experienced himself as floating in space high above the earth directly above
Ceylon (now Sri Lanka). Below he saw oceans, deep and blue, and the outlines of the
Indian subcontinent.
He described his visions in detail in Memories, Dreams, Reflections, but he did not
include “the other big caesura. . . and an enormously significant one” that he made much
of in the Protocol manuscripts: his trip to India in 1938-1939 [sic]. He believed
passionately that the two were the most impoṛtant experiences of his life. . . . The 1944
infarct affected him in ways resembling the amoebic dysentery, when he was engulfed
with similar, but shorter, episodes of delirium.
....
Still, impressions from his Indian illness continued to interrupt, permeating these visions
as if with an underlying imagery that determined their content. In one, he saw a dark
block of stone as big as his Kusnacht house floating next to him in space. He remembered
seeing such rocks off the coast of the Bay of Bengal, into which temples had been carved.
Inside the visionary rock was a “completely black Indian in a white robe in lotus
position,” seated in such silent repose that Jung knew the man was waiting for him. To
get to this figure he had to climb a series of steps carved into the stone, similar to some he
had seen at the temples in Kandy. They were framed by small oil lamps resembling a
flaming wreath, a purifying essence through which he had to walk. He recognized the
significance of what was happening:
I had a feeling as if I were shedding everything, or rather as if everything was being shed
from me; everything that I believed or wished or thought was taken from me. . . it was an
extremely painful process. I was aware of everything that I had experienced and done,
everything that had happened around me. All that I had, it was with me now. I consisted
of it, so to speak: I consisted of my story; I am this bunch of facts. It was a feeling of
extreme poverty and at the same time of great contentment. . . . I was objective. I was
what I had been.45
I had seen similar stones on the coast of the Gulf of Bengal. They were blocks of tawny
granite, and some of them had been hollowed out into temples. My stone was one such
gigantic dark block. An entrance led into a small antechamber. To the right of the
entrance, a black Hindu sat silently in lotus posture upon a stone bench. He wore a white
gown, and I knew that he expected me. Two steps led up to this antechamber, and inside,
on the left, was the gate to the temple. Innumerable tiny niches, each with a saucer-like
concavity filled with coconut oil and small burning wicks, surrounded the door with a
wreath of bright flames. I had once actually seen this when I visited the Temple of the
Holy Tooth at Kandy in Ceylon; the gate had been framed by several rows of burning oil
lamps of this sort.
As I approached the steps leading up to the entrance into the rock, a strange thing
happened: I had the feeling that everything was being sloughed away; everything I aimed
at or wished for or thought, the whole phantasmagoria of earthly existence, fell away or
was stripped from me—an extremely painful process. Nevertheless, something remained;
it was as if I now carried along with me everything I had ever experienced or done,
everything that had happened around me. I might also say: it was with me, and I was it. I
consisted of all that, so to speak. I consisted of my own history, and I felt with great
ceṛtainty: this is what I am. “I am this bundle of what has been, and what has been
accomplished.”
This experience gave me a feeling of extreme poverty, but at the same time of great
fullness. There was no longer anything I wanted or desired. I existed in an objective
form; I was what I had been and lived. At first the sense of annihilation predominated, of
having been stripped or pillaged; but suddenly that became of no consequence.
Everything seemed to be past; what remained was fait accompli, without any reference
back to what had been. There was no longer any regret that something had dropped away
or been taken away. On the contrary: I had everything that I was, and that was
everything.46
The MDR account adds to the above a passage left out by Bair in which Jung was “to
enter an illuminated room and would meet there all those people to whom I belong in reality”
and “understand . . . what historical nexus I or my life fitted into.”
Bair’s claim, based on the Protocols, that Jung associated this heart attack vision (taking
place in Europe but set in India) with his Indian dysentery dream (conversely set in Europe)47, is
Another experience of a yogi occurred around the same time, “after my illness in 1944.”
I was on a hiking trip. I was walking along a little road through a hilly landscape; the sun
was shining and I had a wide view in all directions. Then I came to a small wayside
chapel. The door was ajar, and I went in. To my surprise there was no Virgin on the altar,
and no crucifix either, but only a wonderful flower arrangement. But then I saw that on
the floor in front of the altar, facing me, sat a yogi—in lotus posture, in silent meditation.
When I looked at him more closely, I realized that he had my face. I started in profound
fright, and awoke with the thought, “Aha, so he is the one who is meditating me. He has a
dream, and I am it.” I knew that when he awakened, I would no longer be.48
Here again is the “holy man of India.” As Jung had long ago realized, the wise old man is often a
symbol of the self, the wholeness of the personality. But this is no Philemon or Elijah. What is
unique in the image of the Indian wise man that brought it so forcefully to his attention at the
time of his 1944 heart attack?
Jung suggests the answer in reflecting on this dream, and another similar one near the end
of his life where he discovered that UFOs were not “projections of ours” as he had thought.
Now it turns out that “we are their projections. I am projected by the magic lantern as C.G.
Jung.” As also in his childhood experience of sitting on a stone and wondering whether “I” am
sitting on the stone or rather “I” am the stone being sat upon (and in the similar Chuang Tse story
of the butterfly), Jung in these dreams and in the heart attack vision finds not just that the self is
greater by far than the ego which it creates “for a specific purpose”49 but also that the self is a
higher locus of consciousness than the ego. It turns out that the holy men of India were right all
along. There is consciousness outside the ego, and this consciousness does not depend on the
ego. In fact, when this higher awareness fully manifests, the ego may no longer be there.
Closer examination of the 1944 vision shows that Jung’s “holy man” is a Buddhist. This
is suggested first by the fact that the rock temple floating in space reminded him of the Buddhist
temple he had visited in Kandy, Sri Lanka. But the specifically Buddhist character of the
experience lies deeper than that. A central aspect of Jung’s basic understanding of the psyche is
that of psychological objectivity, the intrinsic “just-so-ness” of our life that is inseparable from
our individuality and potential for individuation. This objectivity (Sanskrit tathātā) in Buddhism
is the human personality viewed without grasping or selfish craving, as a bare fact not dependent
Near the end of his life, Jung found that “The decisive question for man is: Is he related
to something infinite or not?”50 But for Jung this question comes with its opposite:
the feeling for the infinite, however, can be attained only if we are bounded to the utmost.
. . . Our knowledge of our narrow confinement in the self forms the link to the
limitlessness of the unconscious. In such awareness we experience ourselves concurrently
as limited and eternal. . . . In knowing ourselves to be unique in our personal combination
—that is, ultimately limited—we possess also the capacity for becoming conscious of the
infinite. But only then!51
In the Bair version of the 1944 vision Jung realizes his limited nature as nothing but a “bunch of
facts,” rendered in MDR as a “bundle of what has been.” He no longer possesses himself or
projects himself into the future, but simply is what he is, in an experience characterized by a
sense of “annihilation” or “extreme poverty.” The terminology recalls the Theravada Buddhist
analysis of human nature into five “bundles” (skandhas), none of them possessing a permanent
self (atta). This is the limitation Jung speaks of later as necessary to the sense of the infinite. The
infinite itself is suggested in the mandala of oil lamps surrounding the entrance to the temple and
especially in the sense of “contentment” he feels on realizing his radical finitude, a sense of
peace quite near to nirvana. Jung here reprises a central tenet of Buddhism: nirvana, or release
into freedom, depends on realization of one’s bondage in the world of conditioned or determined
karmic inevitability (pratītya-samutpāda, generally translated “conditioned origination”).
The overall tenor of the two accounts of Jung’s 1944 vision is subtly different. While
both Jaffe and Bair portray a sense of emptiness that nevertheless reveals a residual “suchness”
of personality, the Jaffe version of Jung’s experience emphasizes fullness or individuation, with
more ego remaining. “This is what I am.” “I had everything that I was.” (our italics). Bair tells a
more egoless, Buddhist, story, with the accent on Jung realizing what he is not now: “I was
objective. I was what I had been.” In Jaffe, the annihilation of the initial portion of the vision is
followed by a fullness. In Bair, the ego is emptier, closer to the holy man.
India in Symbols of Transformation, Liber Novus (the Red Book) and Psychological Types
Already in Symbols of Transformation (1912) Jung had made substantial use of early
Indian materials; in Psychological Types (1921) his scholarship goes much further, revealing (in
the years before Heinrich Zimmer and J. W. Hauer) many hours in the library and apparently in
Liber Novus (the proper name of the leather-bound volume Jung and others generally
referred to adjectivally as “the red book”) was the personal, esoteric source for ideas being
formulated a little later in more public, exoteric form in Psychological Types, and while explicit
references to India are almost absent from Liber Novus’s written text, many of its early paintings
directly or indirectly refer to Indian themes. That India was on his mind during this time is
explicitly noted in Jung’s unpublished dream book where he references “My intensive
unconscious relation to India in the Red Book.”55 Jung’s relationship to India in Psychological
Types and the Red Book therefore are best understood together.
A series of four paintings in the Red Book refer to Vedic Indian themes: 45, 54, 59, and
64. These paintings were done around 1917. In addition, Vedic references are found in Jung’s
marginalia to pages 73 and 74 and a quotation from the Bhagavad Gita is appended in
calligraphic style to the Philemon painting (page 154) done later, around 1925. Between pages
36 and 64 the theme of the written text is the transformation of the god image in the figure of
Izdubar, a divinity of the ancient Middle East (Babylonia) related to Gilgamesh who also has
Indian and Egyptian associations. Izdubar dies from the poison of modernity but is transformed
through becoming a creative fantasy, a fate he initially resists.56 “Jung” (analogous to C.G.
Jung’s “dream ego”) within the vision transforms Izdubar into an egg that he puts in his pocket
after persuading or coercing the god to accept the status of a fantasy. The egg develops and a
new god emerges, represented in Jung’s paintings by an eruption of fire, referred to in the
caption as the Vedic fire god Agni (page 64). While the egg containing Izdubar is being
incubated in “Jung’s” pocket, readying the embryo for rebirth, “Jung” is effectively his god’s
mother.57 Jung finds this period analogous to the “night sea journey,” in Egyptian mythology,
when the sun passes across the ocean from the west into the east (pages 55 and 64). When
Izdubar emerges reborn, the new god image is celebrated in a series of ecstatic “Incantations”
Prior to his discovery of the circular mandala pattern as an image of the all-inclusive self,
Jung wrestled with the theme of the binary opposites and their reconciliation. Even around the
time of the first mandalas (1916 and after), Jung continued to struggle with the polar opposites.
The paintings and text in the Izdubar section of the Red Book conflate Egyptian, Indian, and
ancient Mesopotamian themes, all seemingly referred to by the generic term “the East.” The
central image is that of the egg incubating, developing towards rebirth,59 emerging anew and then
dying again. The Egyptian “night sea journey” by barge of the sun, from its grave in the west to
its place of rebirth in the east, shows the sun as a golden sphere on the boat’s deck (page 55). In
page 45 the egg is placed in an Indian context as the original form of the cosmos before the sky
and the earth were propped apart by the birth of the god Skambha (the “Prop”).60 Page 64 shows
an eruption of fire from the cracked egg as a worshipper prostrates with his head to the floor. On
the wall behind is painted the scene of the night sea journey, again with the solar egg lying on the
barge. The text from the Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa cited at the bottom of Jung’s painting refers to the
Agnihotra sacrifice performed at dawn and dusk. The parallel between Egypt and India is made
again in page 59, titled “hiraṇyagarbha,” which is Sanskrit for “Golden Embryo” or “Golden
Egg” (or, as Jung sometimes translates it, “Golden Child”). Jung ties the story of Izdubar’s
rebirth to the Egyptian and Indian materials by associating the fire sacrifice of the Agnihotra
with the night sea journey and the rebirth of the god Izdubar after his incubation in “Jung’s”
pocket.
Jung first uses the term “self” (selbst) in something like his mature sense (source, totality,
and goal of individuation) in Psychological Types61 though it was prefigured in “The Structure of
the Unconscious” (originally 1916) which developed into one of the Two Essays on Analytical
The self, individuation (individual nucleus, individuality), and libido come together at
this point in Jung’s thinking. The goal is to find a symbol to mediate between libidinal (or, later,
archetypal) forces pulling in contrary directions (for example, between extraversion and
introversion, persona and shadow, or matter and spirit). Jung concludes that the ego is powerless
to resolve this struggle for it is always drawn to whichever force is strongest at the moment. The
individual (or “indivisible”)67 center capable of mediating and integrating the opposites can only
constellate when libido introverts into the unconscious, “that maternal womb of creative fantasy,
which is able at any time to fashion symbols . . . that can serve to determine the mediating
will.”68 We are reminded of Izdubar in “Jung’s” maternal pocket. Introversion of the libido is
brought about by the deadlock between more or less evenly matched opposites. It is also
furthered by a detachment of libido from both opposites. “The will then has the self as a possible
aim. . . “69 “Disposable energy is drawn into the self—in other words, it is introverted.”70 This is
a key insight: the libido, guided by the will, focuses on a center, which is (or becomes) the
unconscious but ultimately individual locus of symbolization and psychological development:
the self. In this process the libido is rendered “wholly objectless”71 and so able to devote its
energy to creating symbols out of the fantasy material in the unconscious. The process of
symbolization, insofar as it reconciles the opposites, expresses the “transcendent function.” Jung
has now recognized that the self is essential to that mediating function, which he also named the
“uniting” (or “reconciling” in Baynes’ translation) symbol. When constellated, the self—
formerly sought by the introverting will—guides the will (ego) and lays out a blueprint for future
life.
In the Red Book (and again in MDR), Jung reports that a female figure, in some way
associated with his patient and friend Maria Moltzer, told him that his active imaginations were
Had [Schiller] been acquainted with Indian literature, he would have seen that the
primordial image which floated before his mind’s eye had a very different character from
an “aesthetic” one. . . . He interpreted it as “aesthetic,” although he himself had
previously emphasized its symbolic character. The primordial image I am thinking of is
that particular configuration of Eastern ideas which is condensed in the brahman-ātman
teaching of India and whose philosophical spokesman in China is Lao-tzu.75
Jung now repeats his earlier assertion that symbols are created in a state of introverted
libido. But it is not just any symbol that is being created, but rather the symbol of the self, which
as Murray Stein says is the “prime archetype . . . from which all the other archetypes and
archetypal images ultimately derive.”76 Jung borrows from India the fundamental idea that the
introverting libido takes the self as an object of “meditation without content, in which the libido
is supplied to one’s own self somewhat in the manner of incubating heat ” [tapas].77 He equates
this incubating, activating meditation with yoga. Jung contrasts the spiritual work required in
tapas with the possibly unserious “aesthetic” attitude of “play,” though he allows that play can be
serious and that esthetics can be a religious passion. The potential flaw in art and play
(presumably including Jung’s own work with water and stones as well as the illustrations in the
Red Book) appears to be that it may not be centered enough, that it might let the unconscious
express itself too freely without conscious ego control or reference to the self. But Jung was
ambivalent on this point, and at other times more fully recognized the spiritual value of play. On
the one hand, “What is needed is a supreme moral effort, the greatest self-denial and sacrifice,
the most intense religious austerity and true saintliness.”78 This ascetic description of tapas is
rather severe: there seems no room here for play or art. On the other hand, “beauty, for [Schiller]
was a religious ideal. Beauty was his religion.”79
The self is the sought-for source, reached anew by transcending all other opportunities for
libidinal investment. After it is attained, or constellated, the self provides the blueprint and
motivation for building the structure of a new life centered on actualizing the potentialities of
that same self. In the image of the self Jung found the fulfillment of the quest, pursued in the first
half of his professional life, to discover the nature of the mediating and guiding symbol. He also
found in the Indian self the possibility of “a psychological doctrine of salvation which brings the
way of deliverance within man’s ken and capacity.” His strong criticisms of Christianity around
this time contrast with a very positive view of Buddhism and Hinduism.81 Beginning before
1938, but accelerating with experiences during his trip to India at this time, the balance shifted
and Jung began working toward a reinterpretation of Christianity (guided by the symbolism of
alchemy82) and lost part of his interest in India. Nevertheless, the insights of 1921 and after were
not entirely abandoned, and returned in the visions that followed his heart attack in 1945 and
even in his late work on alchemy83 and Christian self symbolism .84
The theme of redemption from the opposites, which the recognition of the self promises
to achieve, is the topic of a long section in Psychological Types.85 Here Jung approaches the
topic of the self in various ways, but finds his deepest understanding in Indian ideas. At one
point86 he speaks of “harmony with natural laws that guide the libido in the direction of life’s
optimum.” This “optimum,” with its suggestion of a middle way between a maximum and a
minimum, Jung imagines to swing according to the “tidal law” of transition between “systole”
(contraction, introversion) and “disastole” (expansion, extraversion) (terms taken from Goethe
that he uses often in this period). The “attainment of the middle path” involves a balance
between bondage and freedom, and reminds us of one of Jung’s final conclusions, almost 40
years in the future, when he would say, “the feeling for the infinite, however, can be attained
only if we are bounded to the utmost. . . .”87 This razor’s edge path between constraint and
freedom, “not exactly the simplest of tasks,” as Jung gently reminds us88 is best recognized in
Jung notes that “Our Western superciliousness in the face of these Indian insights is a
mark of our barbarian nature which has not the remotest inkling of their extraordinary depth and
psychological accuracy.”90 The essence of the insights he is referring to seems to be the
recognition of an inner law within the personality, a root cause for the alternation or balance
between extraversion and introversion. Jung contrasts this “ṛta” or “dharma” (and Chinese tao) to
the Judeo-Christian Law imposed from outside by a father God who “puts an end to the division
[between the opposites] as and when it suits him and for reasons we are not fitted to understand.
The childishness of this conception needs no stressing.”91 Instead of this arbitrary fiat from
above, Jung tells us that there is a “self manifesting” and constantly “self renewing”92 source of
libido in the unconscious. This source (which he is beginning to call the “self,” after Indian
ātman) is also the agent of compensation, the power that dictates when systole and diastole will
succeed one another. Befitting its impoṛtance to his developing ideas, Jung’s depth of
engagement in Indian thought at this time is quite extensive, with references to most of the major
German scholars as well as to French and English language writers.93
Jung’s idea of the inner law governing individuation and the circumambulation94 of the
self are implicitly, though never directly (during this period), related to the type theory, as it
expanded in the process of creating Psychological Types where an 8-fold pattern replaces a
single binary opposition (of thinking/extraversion versus feeling/introversion). The three
orthogonal dimensions of Jung’s mature typology create a sort of solid mandala,95 a
representation of wholeness that mirrors that of the archetypes in the more usual two dimensional
mandalic image that Jung was developing at the same time96.
Jung by 1932 seemed to have made all the use of India required to develop his theory of
the self as the unconscious center of the process of psychological development (individuation)
that he had earlier glimpsed in the symbolic transformations of libido. Psychological
development was now understood to be guided by the self through the transcendent function that
balances between ego and unconscious forces via symbols. In 1931-32 and after his trip to India
in 1937-1938 he elaborated on the process of self development in tantric and yogic Hinduism,
collaborating with Indologists, J. W. Hauer, S.N. Dasgupta, and Heinrich Zimmer.97
Joseph Henderson, in his Introduction to Coward’s Jung and Eastern Thought,101 makes
the point that Jung tried to balance between two complementary views of psychospiritual
development, one imagining our relationship to the self as like a “ladder,” which must be
climbed from level to level (i.e., from chakra to chakra) and the other having the form of a
circumambulation around the self at the center of each chakra, “an eternal process of self
centering.” Jung himself speaks of the individual chakras as having the form of mandalas, each
constituting its own world.102 This would represent Henderson’s second aspect. At the same time
he says that the movement of the kundalini, its initial shift from dormancy in the lowest chakra,
the muladhara, constitutes psychic objectivity and allows a transition from participation
mystique towards consciousness. Moving upwards means to see the ego and other psychic
contents more objectively and to increase the scope of consciousness; moving around
(circumambulating) is to see the self as one’s center, origin, and aim.
The existence of a psychological reality beyond the ego is something than can only be
recognized by entering the unconscious, or, using Jung’s terminology, going into the “objective
psyche.” The second chakra, the svadhisthana (a world of water) symbolizes the unconscious
realm for Jung, and to enter it is to undergo the “night sea journey” of the sun as it sinks into the
western horizon and moves toward dawn in the east. Jung understands kundalini here as the
anima, the female initiator into the unconscious. Of course the possibility of being swallowed
permanently by the unconscious103 is ever present, and Jung emphasizes that we must “fly” with
our own wings and not get swept up passively in the afflatus of the anima.
The rest of Jung’s 1932 kundalini discourse follows the same road, in part repeating with
a new language the established story of individuation as Jung had come to understand it. In
Shamdasani’s words, however, “Jung’s aim was to develop a cross-cultural comparative
psychology of inner experience.” He was concerned to differentiate his view from Indian (and
also other Westerners’) views of the same process, emphasizing its psychological nature as
[we] are reaching. . . into the remote future of mankind, or of ourselves. For any man has
at least the potential faculty to experience that which will be the collective experience in
two thousand years, perhaps in ten thousand years.”105
[t]here is another psyche, a counterpart to your psychical reality, the non-ego reality, the
thing that is not even to be called self, and you know that you are going to disappear into
it. The ego disappears completely; the psychical is no longer a content in us, but we
become contents of it.106
Here already in 1932 Jung foresees the essence of his dreams many years later in which the
meditating holy man and UFO represent a center of awareness projecting—and so able to
dissolve—his ego. This is the beginning of the third stage of Jung’s response to India, the
recognition that the consciousness itself may not, after all, be intrinsic to the ego but could be its
transcendent source. This insight lies close enough to the horizon of the ego’s vision, and
occasionally erupts into ego consciousness as it did in Jung’s dream. But the highest chakra,
sahasrara, which Jung identifies with “nirvana,” is completely beyond any possible relationship
to the ego and therefore “is without practical value for us.”107
Jung’s ambivalence about kundalini yoga, and especially its higher chakras, was felt
keenly by his audience at the Psychological Club. Barbara Hannah writes
What Jung began to perceive in this vision of non-ego consciousness in Kundalini yoga
he could not forget, wrestled with in dreams and visions, and worked for the remainder of his life
with some success to understand. Already in the Red Book Jung had seen the opposition between
ego consciousness and the reborn god, and the difficulty of reconciling them. The progression
When I conquered the God, his force streamed into me. But when the god rested in the
egg and awaited his beginning, my force went into him. And when he rose up radiantly, I
lay on my face. He took my life with him. All my force was now in him. My soul swam
like a fish in his sea of fire. . . . My God had torn me apart terribly, he had drunk the juice
of my life. . . . He left me powerless and groaning. . . . 109
One is reminded here of Sabina Spielrein’s essay on death as the cause of coming to be 110 As
Jung puts it, “I lay there like a child-bearer cruelly mauled and bleeding her life into the child,
uniting life and death in a dying glance, the day’s mother, the night’s prey.”111 As the god surges
upward, regaining heaven, the ego descends down to hell. Nigredo follows coniunctio. The
remainder of the Red Book, especially the “Seven Sermons,” explores the ramifications of this
ego-self opposition, as does Answer to Job many years later.
Alice Boner, the Swiss interpreter of Indian art, met Jung during his India trip in
December 1937 at her home in Banaras; she spent a day with him before taking him next
morning to the train station for his onward journey to Calcutta. They visited a temple of the
Goddess Durga in the morning; then, after he received an honorary doctorate (wearing red
academic robes),112 Jung was taken to a Śiva temple. In her diary Boner writes that “The
Vishvanatha Temple and the narrow lanes filled Jung’s soul with horror [grausen] and made him
turn back.”113 (our translation). The Vishvanatha Temple to Śiva as “Lord of the World”
contains one of the 12 “jyotir lingas” (“phalluses of light”) sacred in Hinduism. Boner later
describes the “egg-shaped, black lingam of ovoid form.” To her “it suggested the idea of the
supreme or central entity, unformed—or rather, formless, a form of purest concentration, the
black color suggesting inwardness, the innermost cavity, the dark, small place in the heart of the
universe, and of the individual being where Brahma dwells, the unique being, unmanifest, in its
own purest essence.”114 This is precisely the poisonous (to Westerners), ego-annihilating sort of
Indian absolute that Jung most feared and—as embodied in the “holy men of India”—avoided.
We speculate that the phallic “man eater” God of Jung’s childhood dream/vision reemerged in
In 1938-1939 Jung delivered a series of lectures at the ETH on Hindu and Buddhist yoga,
which he used to develop his ideas on active imagination.118 During the same period Professor S.
N. Dasgupta119 lectured on Patanjali’s Yoga Sūtra at the Psychological Club.120 Jung had met
Dasgupta, a preeminent authority on Indian philosophy,121 in Calcutta during his visit the
preceding year.122 In addition to a close reading of Patanjali, Jung discussed two Buddhist texts,
Amitayur Dhyana Sūtra and Shri Chakra Sambhara Tantra, as well as a number of texts from
Meister Eckhart.
The overall subject of the 1938-1939 lectures was active imagination, and Jung took yoga
and Buddhist spiritual practices as techniques parallel to his own, though quite different in the
status they assigned to personal individuality. He also treated Ignatius Loyola’s spiritual
exercises as a kind of active imagination and compared them and yoga to Western mysticism as
exemplified in Meister Eckhart. Jung writes:
The essential point of comparison between yogic practices and Jung’s active imagination is the
intense focus in both on contents of the unconscious which are treated as objectively real. The
basic difference is that Jung’s practice emphasizes the separateness of, distinction between, the
ego observer and the unconscious content. Active imagination is a conversation between or
dialogue with figures of the unconscious. For yoga on the contrary, in Jung’s view, the
practitioner identifies with the unconscious content, for example with an image of the Buddha,
by projecting it into the outer world and in this way makes it conscious and objective. Yoga is an
emanation or intentional creation of figures that express the qualities of the projecting
personality.124 Its goal is not dialogue but an emptying or universalization of the personality that
identifies a human’s parts with those of a god or Buddha. Yoga handles negative or shadow
elements similarly, by projecting them onto demons or other negative figures and so eliminates
them from the ego.
Jung’s central insight about such practices is that they recognize, far more than does
ordinary Western consciousness, the objectivity of the psyche.
I wish very much that psychic objectivity were recognized in the West. . . . Our text is
full of this recognition. The subjective image has its objective existence, one can stand
outside and worship it. The reason of this whole procedure is to give its separate
objective existence to everything subjective. . . . for recognizing the objectivity of the
psyche is typical for the eastern point of view, whereas we regard it as subjective.128
Jung is clear that this “eastern” practice is magical and a work of artifice129, though it can be
successful only if the unconscious consents to place its contents into the projective structures of a
culture, possible only if the cultural structures (e.g, religious dogmas) are adequate to contain
them. He gives the example of
the “Platonic idea of the round world soul. The microcosm is a small edition of the
macrocosm, the anima mundi. . . . Plato’s idea is identical with the eastern idea of the
Ātman or Puruṣa. The person (puruṣa) not larger than a thumb who dwells in the heart of
man and who encompasses the earth on every side, extending beyond it by ten fingers
breadth.
. . .this person is not present from the beginning. He has to be created by the Yogin,
induced by the practice of Yoga. . . . This is a magic procedure, undertaken in order to
produce the spiritual personality. . . . (ibid, p. 77)
The dangers of ego inflation in this projective form of active imagination are obvious to Jung, as
they are in many Indian stories of evil yogis or demons who practice yoga in order to gain power
over the world. Heinrich Zimmer, for instance, retells the famous story of the king and the
“vampire” (vetala) to make this point. An evil sorcerer and accomplished yogi attempts to bring
a king under his power in order to kill him and usurp his royal status for himself. To do this the
The proper and improper uses of yoga can be glimpsed through Jung’s ideas on symbol
formation discussed above. Symbols are spontaneous creations of the unconscious; sensory,
ideational, or affective images that just happen to work as containers of archetypal libido.
Symbols are not manufactured by the ego, and when power-hungry yogis try to construct a world
represented as under their (egotistic, ahamkaric) control they have not genuinely contained
archetypal contents but rather have imprisoned them. In other words, the yogi creates complexes
rather than archetypally valid symbols.
In the final sections of the seminar Jung turns to a deeper study of the Patanjali Yoga
Sūtras as an example of “eastern” active imagination. The goal of yoga is the discrimination
between ego consciousness and the Self (puruṣa) which Jung indentifies with the unconscious.
Harold Coward studied the 1938-1939 seminar and found that “Jung saw that the yoga viewpoint
led to a complete dissolution of ego and individuality. . . .” (Coward 1985, p. 67). In recognizing
that the ego (here the Indian term ahaṁkāra is preferable) is just another projection of a more
fundamental psychological faculty (in Samkhya-Yoga called “buddhi”) yoga leaves Jung behind,
and as we have seen he repeatedly refuses to follow, always for the same reason. As he put it in
a letter to Evans-Wentz in the same year
No matter how far . . . consciousness can be extended, there is still the continuity of the
apperceiving ego which is essential to all forms of consciousness. . . .131 Thus it is
absolutely impossible to know what I would experience when that “I” which could
experience didn’t exist any more. . . .132
In the last lecture (VII) of the Summer semester, 1939, Jung draws a close parallel
between the teachings of Meister Eckhart and Patanjali’s Yoga Sūtra. Eckhart’s teachings on
“detachment” from self and mystical union with God were condemned by the church, and Jung
believes that their reemergence in Western culture was due to growing acquaintance with eastern
thought which made it possible for Europeans to begin to understand Eckhart. In spite of his
ultimate rejection of yoga as a possible path for Westerners, it is clear that Jung did finally accept
the reality of the Indian (“yogic”) path as an alternative to his own work.
A quality of nostalgia or yearning for the “Eastern” way, characteristic of Romanticism, finally
attaches to Jung’s rejection of yogic practices.
it would be wiser to meditate and seek the Void when we need rest, than to run after outer
distraction. That Void is the Puruṣa, which we can reach by emptying the ego.134
The guru
For Jung as well as India, the necessity for a guru comes in part from the ego’s bondage
within its own limited perspective and need for an outside point of reference to see beyond its
The guru symbolizes the self coming down to the ego’s level to instruct him or her, as
Philemon flies down on kingfisher’s wings to teach the imagining Jung. The willingness to be
taught by the self, to take the images the unconscious sends as higher knowledge, is essential to
the practice of Jungian active imagination.
Murray Stein has convincingly shown that Jung’s interests turned decisively towards
Christianity around the time of his illness in India in 1938, and argued that Jung’s dream of
swimming to retrieve the Holy Grail was a specific point of articulation in his psychological
trajectory, a moment when the path of his individuation turned sharply toward the West. We
agree with this assessment, but believe that Jung’s “treatment” of Christianity retained an
element of Indian healing, specifically the continuing presence of the self-regulating ātman from
the Upanisads that formed the heart of his mandalas of transformation and the essence of the
“transcendent function.” Jung never lost his unease towards what he thought was a one-sided
Christian (and even more, Old Testament) God, and repeats innumerable times that Christianity
is unbalanced because it leaves out the feminine and evil.136 His interest in alchemy was due in
large part to the fact that phenomena omitted from the dominant Western paradigms are
integrated there in a more inclusive Weltanschauung (and “Selbst”-anschauung). He had already
found this to be true in India.
The self is brought into actuality through the concentration of the many upon the centre,
and the self wants this concentration. . . . the self is a “mirror”: on the one hand it reflects
the subjective consciousness of the disciple, making it visible to him, and on the other
hand it “knows” Christ, that is to say it does not merely reflect the empirical man, it also
shows him as a (transcendental) whole. . . . Only subjective consciousness is isolated;
when it relates to its centre it is integrated into wholeness. Whoever joins in the dance
sees himself in the reflecting centre. . . . 139
This amounts to a recipe for creating a mandala. The circles surrounding the center focus light
and attention upon the latter, concentrate their energies there, but also are reflected back out into
their own positions and natures by that center. This mutual recognition and interpenetration of
center and periphery, the movement of energy back and forth between them, was later developed
by Michael Fordham in his theory of deintegration and reintegration of the self.140
The two aspects of psychic development distinguished by Henderson can be seen in the
two sides of the center-periphery relationship. From the viewpoint of the periphery, the pattern of
circulation is foregrounded. From the perspective of the center, the emphasis is on
transcendence, the ladder-like development contrasted by Henderson to the alternative pattern of
circulation. In Aion, the ascentional and rotational aspects of individuation are integrated into a
“step by step development of the self from an unconscious state to a conscious one.”141 By
combining them, Jung finds a way to show the individuation process as one that first turns
downward into the shadow and matter and then goes up, returning to the original position but
now in a consciously embodied form.142
Although some of the details differ,143 there is a striking parallel between the progression
of kundalini through the chakras in Jung’s 1932 discussion and the movement of the psyche
through the symbolism of the self in Aion almost twenty years later. In both cases a series of
mandalas, one on top of the next, represent stages in psychic development or individuation.
Jung’s 1951 thinking goes farther than he had been able in 1932 when he found an opposition
between Western depth psychology (which descends into the water world of the unconscious)
The diachronic growth of ego consciousness under the tutelage of the self, which Jung
called individuation, can be viewed synchronically, and in this way appears as a single form, a
mandala symbolizing life as a whole. We again reflect on Henderson’s complementarity between
the ladder and circumambulation. Jung divided the human lifespan into early and late phases,
which he viewed through the Goethean rubrics of “diastole” and “systole” (expansion and
contraction), technically called “extraversion” and “introversion” in analytical psychology. In
this image the two sorts of relation to the self are combined. India does something quite similar.
Beginning with childhood, life is analyzed into four stages (asramas) of which the first two
(school years, parenting and work) correspond to Jung’s extraversion while the latter pair (retreat
to the forest and renunciation of ego concerns) together constitute introversion. The linear course
of life becomes a cycle. Jung’s concepts of extraversion and introversion are closely paralleled in
This sort of opposition is close to what Jung himself saw as the difference between his
ideas and those of India149, and in Sanskrit it parallels the fundamental distinction between
saṁsāra and nirvāṇa. Jung never recommended the pursuit of nirvāṇa to his Western students
and patients, though he did allow that it might be legitimate for Indians, given their primitive
natures (in both positive and negative ways). On the other hand, Jung danced back and forth
across the ego’s horizon, playing on the razor’s edge that separates the ego from its ambiguously
unconscious source in the self. If the yogi meditating him in his 1944 dream had awakened, with
the predicted consequence that “I would not be,” Jung would presumably have experienced
nirvāṇa. Fear150 held him back and the dream turned into a nightmare from which he woke.151
Nevertheless, Jung clearly did have intimations of enlightenment, and this dream is one of them.
In fact, each of Jung’s major transition points in life expresses the quality of a breakthrough into
essence: confrontation with the shadow (the sudden recognition of darkness or evil within
oneself), the encounter with the anima or animus (seeing one’s black and white life suddenly turn
to Technicolor with the awakening of soul), and especially engaging with the self (the moments
of transition between the four quaternios in Aion, when spiritual wholeness is revealed to be
bodily, then reptilian, and finally chemical/geological/energetic).
For Jung, the self is an unconscious center, aim, and source of wholeness, but requires
interaction with the conscious ego in order to come to light and develop its potential (for
instance, Jahweh needs Job)152; in India, the self is an original consciousness that is then
borrowed by the ego, mostly in an act of illegitimate presumption, distortion, or theft.153 Put so
sharply, the distinction is between an unconscious self and conscious ego (Jung) versus a self
that is consciousness and an ego that is pretends to a consciousness that it does not actually
possess (India). No wonder Jung thought the Indian position poison.
The idea of God’s άγνοσία. . . is of the utmost impoṛtance, because it identifies the Deity
with the numinosity of the unconscious. The ātman/puruṣa philosophy of the East and, as
we have seen, Meister Eckhart in the West [whom Jung had just discussed at length] both
bear witness to this.157
Conclusion
Schematically, we have found the following Indian themes to have influenced, or at least
to have resonated with, Jung’s most fundamental ideas. Jung returned regularly to these parallels
in his work until the end.
Jung India
halves of life expressing extraversion- quarters of life falling into two parts,
introversion expressing pravṛtti and nivṛtti
Coda: An archetypal perspective on Jung’s and India’s views on ego and self
To conclude this paper, it may be helpful to point out that Jung’s ambivalence toward the
project of transcending the ego is actually reflected in Indian thought on the subject. Some of the
same fear and distaste toward the yogic project of “quelling the fluctuations of the mind” (citta-
vṛtti-nirodha, Yoga Sūtra 1) is found in Indian stories about yogis. David White’s recent book
on “sinister yogis”159 documents the ambivalence with which India has always viewed yogic
Muktananda’s point was that from the viewpoint of the ego, the self can be felt to be a
tyrannical and destructive force. Jung certainly recognized this, for instance resonating with Job
who experienced the wind of the Jewish Sky God as a death-dealing blight. He went even
farther in Mysterium Conjunctionis, writing that “the experience of the self is always a defeat for
the ego.”160
Jung was not enough of a student of India to know it, but working with the ego-
destructive side of the self, finding ways to reconcile the ego to its self and gods, has been at the
heart of Hinduism and Buddhism for their whole existence. Far from lying satisfied in a blank
world of ego absence (as if immersed in the swishing of palm leaves, or the sussurus of cicadas,
to recall Jung’s metaphors), Indian thought seeks ways to bring back ordinary life in
extraordinary raiment. Many of these are reflected in the image of the great Goddess, Devi, just
as many of Jung’s images of the individuated person are mediated by the feminine. One has only
to think of the “paths” (margas) of devotion (bhakti) and spiritual energy (tantra) to recognize
that most of Hinduism over the past thousand years has not aimed at the obliteration or final
115
See David Shulman, The Hungry God: Hindu Tales of Filicide and Devotion. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1993).
116
MDR, p. 218
117
CW 11.
118
Jung, Notes on Lectures, 1938-1939.
119
Dasgupta was the teacher of Mircea Eliade during his residence in Calcutta and the father of his paramour.
120
May, 1939; see Shamdasani in Jung, Kundalini Yoga, p. xxi, n. 17.
121
His History of Indian Philosophy is a classic, multivolume work on the subject.
122
Jung apparently queried Dasgupta about Indian alchemy, as his “copybook” pages from 1938 contain a reference to a
communication from the Indian scholar about two alchemists mentioned in the work of the grammarian Patanjali (Sonu
Shamdasani, C G. Jung, a Biography in Books (New York and London: W.W. Norton), 2012, p. 179).
123
Jung, Notes on Lectures, 1938-1939, Lecture VI, December 9th, p. 42.
124
Evident here is the close relationship between yogic creation (emanation) of psychological realities and the
widespread Indian phenomenon of “possession” (ā-deṣ, pra-deṣ) of one person (or other being) by another
discussed at length by Frederick Smith (2006). The Hindu self is fluid and transactional, lying between persons
as much as within them. Cf. Alfred Collins and Prakash Desai, “Selfhood in the Indian context: a psychoanalytic
perspective”, T.G. Vaidyanathan and J. Kripal (eds), Vishnu on Freud’s Desk. A Reader in Psychoanalysis and Hinduism.
(New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999), pp. 367-398.
125
Swami Muktananda, Play of Consciousness (South Fallsburg: Siddha Yoga Press), 2000.
126
Collins and Desai, “Selfhood.”
127
Cf Collins and Desai, “Selfhood” for some of the vedic texts and discussion of this process in terms of self psychology.
128
Jung, Notes on Lectures, 1938-39, p. 73.
129
Or “fanciful speculation” (Coward, Jung and the East, p. 67).
130
Heinrich Zimmer, The King and the Corpse: Tales of the Soul’s Conquest of Evil (Princeton: Princeton University Press),
1945.
131
Of course it is exactly this continuity that much Indian thought—particularly Buddhist—denies.
132
Jung, Letters, Vol. 1, p. 264.
133
Jung, Notes on Lectures, 1938-1939, P. 147.
134
Ibid.
135
Mircea Eliade, Yoga: Immortality and Freedom. (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press), 1958, p. 87.
136
This imbalance was partly overcome in Jung’s eyes by the “assumption of the Virgin” into the God image by Pope Pius
XII in 1950.
137
At CW 11 para 435 mistakenly written “nirdvanda.”
138
CW 11, paras. 296-448
139
CW 11, para 427.
140
The same or similar ideas were also expressed by D. W. Winnicott and J. Lacan. Later, they were developed in detail by
Heinz Kohut.
141
CW 9ii, para. 418.
142
CW 9ii, para. 410. The diagram remarkably reproduces the details of Jung’s 1927 Liverpool dream where the central
square of the city mandala was surrounded by “individual quarters,” “themselves arranged radially around a central point.
This point formed a small open square . . . and constituted a small replica of the island [in the center of the square, where
grew a red-flowered magnolia].” (MDR p. 198). In Aion the square of individuation contains four subsidiary squares within
which the overall movement of individuation is reproduced in miniature.
143
For instance, the order of the four elements is somewhat at variance. In the kundalini sequence the progression is from
earth to water to fire to air. In Aion, earth leads to water but then to air and finally fire.
144
CW 9ii, para. 271.
145
CW 9ii, para. 348.
146
CW 9ii, para. 352.
147
Alfred Collins, “The three selves of Indian psychology and psychoanalysis” in G. Misra, ed. Psychology and
Psychoanalysis. (Delhi: Center for Study of Civilizations), 2013.
148
Coward, Jung and Eastern Thought, distinguishes between a “rupture of planes” in yoga and Zen Buddhism and
“integration” of levels in Jungian individuation.
149
In the 1938 lectures on yoga and active imagination, Jung states what he takes to be the Indian position that “one
emerges from the personal ātman into the universal ātman through Yoga, the Yogin becomes aware of himself as the
universal essence.” But at the same time he directs his audience of Westerners that “on no account should you meditate
on such a text. . .” (Jung , Notes on Lectures, 1938-1939, Lecture VI, December 9th, p. 42, emphasis in original).
150
Jung refers to “the fear which the conscious mind has of the unconscious” in Aion (CW 9ii, para. 355).
151
We are reminded of Jung’s retreat in “horror” (greisen) from the Vishvanath temple in 1937 recorded by Alice Boner
(Boner et al, India Diaries).
152
“The unconscious God-image can therefore alter the state of consciousness, just as the latter can modify the God-image
once it has become conscious.” (Aion [CW 9ii], para 303).
153
Most Indian demons are usurpers who attempt to assert illegitimate authority or power.
154
CW 9ii, para 347.
155
CW 9ii, para. 303.
156
Rudolph Otto, The Idea of the Holy (New York: Oxford University Press, USA), 1958.
157
ibid.
158
MDR, p.3.
159
David White, Sinister Yogis (Chicago: University of Chicago Press), 2011.
160
Jung, CW 14, para. 778 (italics in original).