Critique of Individuation

Mats Winther
http://www.two-paths.com/individuation.htm

Abstract : Individuation as the process of psychological maturation is associated with

the way of the spirit, equal to the ‘narrow path’. Social and worldly adaptation as
central aspects of individuation are overvalued. It is generally held that symbolic
transformation of unconscious images fulfils a therapeutic function. This view is
criticized as a way of upholding the stagnant ego. On the contrary, transformation
must be authentic. The notion of ego abandonment in spiritual tradition should be
taken seriously. Central to psychology is the integration of the unconscious. But
equally important is the opposite process of ‘complementation’. Consciousness is
not only synthetic; it has also a ‘sympathetic’ function. Consciousness can give life
back to the unconscious and not only empty it of its goods. To this end, a creative
form of contemplation is recommended, in the manner of painting or writing. The
destruction of the stagnant state of personality, and the riddance of aspects of
personality, are part and parcel of individuation. Today, adaptation and assimilation
are overvalued whereas negation is undervalued. The Self in Jungian psychology is a
towering ideal, a conglomerate of contradictory aspects of personality. At a point in
time, the spiritual seeker must abandon the ideal of completeness and begin to
negate his profane obsessions, which are nothing but meaningless games of life. At
this juncture, the passionate game of creativity is ushered in.

Keywords : critique of Jungian psychology, integration, complementation, negation,

destruction, spiritual path, art, individuation, apotheosis, alchemy, Gnosticism, Holy
Grail, C. G. Jung, Emanuel Swedenborg, Poul Bjerre.

Introduction

It seems that life has a “game-playing” foundation. The most pronounced

characteristic of human nature is a fondness for the manifold games of life.
Historian Johan Huizinga (1971) goes as far as naming our species ‘homo ludens’.
Human activities, in the form of professions and careers, are qualitatively different.
Some are, in the short perspective, more beneficial to society, but not necessarily to
the natural world. Yet, there’s no essential difference between the careers of sports,
scientific research, film stardom, politics, etc., because they share the same “game-
playing” foundation. The share market is a kind of game, and so is the whole
competitive market system. Whatever we do, we are merely partaking in a
meaningless game, spurred by unthinking forces of instinct. Like energetic hamsters
we are running around on the game board of life. While swimming with the tide,
life’s forces shuffle us around. It’s an apt picture of professional and matrimonial
life. In our careers and endeavours we are unthinkingly devoted to playing life’s
game. Although it captivates and engages us to a remarkable degree, the perpetual
game-playing must be regarded an essentially purposeless activity. It gives birth to
the idea that we should step out of the hamster wheel and stand apart from the
onrush of life. Of course, this is nothing new. The achievement of worldly
transcendence is central to the spiritual traditions of the world.

Arthur Schopenhauer argues that humanity is driven by a dissatisfied Will,

continually seeking satisfaction. Human desire and all human action are futile,
illogical, and directionless. To Schopenhauer, the Will is a malignant power that
arises from insentient nature and imprisons us in the hamster cage of life. His
answer is that we must escape the Will by standing apart from life. It is achieved by
way of methods of transcendence, such as asceticism and chastity. But since
Schopenhauer lacked a positive notion of individuation [1] as a complement to the
negative compulsion of the Will, it took the reverse expression in an hedonistic
lifestyle among his followers. Since life is essentially without purpose, we could just
as well enjoy ourselves while remaining on this earth.

Carl Jung, being averse to asceticism and chastity, took Schopenhauer’s insensate
Will and turned it into the positive force of individuation. From a standpoint of
worldly abstinence, it is as if Jung endorses the “hamster wheel of life”. Yet, since his
consciousness is modelled on the ambivalent Self, he is also capable of seeing life’s
failure as the inception of individuation in the way it promotes self-knowledge. He
expands life’s game by inventing the individuative journey as the successive
integration of archetypes [2] by the method of active imagination. [3] Concepts of
individuation and the realization of the Self, [4] as they go inwards and outwards at
the same time, are contradictory and unclear, and many can’t seem to make heads
or tails of them.

Thus, Jung has revamped the spiritual path as the journey of individuation. On the
one hand, there is a focus on psychic integration; on the other, it remains essential
to partake in earthly existence to the full, as the goal of integration is the
acquirement of the complete humanity of the Self. The traditional notion of worldly
transcendence is reinterpreted as a temporary period of introversion, involving a
confrontation with the archetypal domain. However, in the following I shall argue
that it risks becoming yet another game-playing activity.

The towering ideal of Self

The Self is defined as a teleological goal. The telos of the Self implies that the ego
is pulled towards the Self whose gravity is always increasing during individuation.
The Self is viewed as a paradoxical and multifarious wholeness, harbouring many
conflicting opposites. Arguably, since individuation as a concept elevates the
multifarious wholeness of Self as an ideal for the ego, self-absorption could be the
consequence. Rather than depending on the telos of the Self, I suggest that
individuation depends on spiritual ambition, which is essentially different than
secular fulfillment. Notions of worldly transcendence, deriving from time-honoured
religious tradition, are as valid as ever before. For this reason, it is necessary to
disentangle the non-secular path from the notion of individuation and introduce a
notion of spiritual individuation.

The Self is a towering ideal, representing the integration of conscious and

unconscious, mundane and extramundane. Arguably, the notion of Self is
overbearing, as it represents the ideal to encompass both social existence and the
unconscious psyche in yet more intense and also broader relationships (cf. Jung,
1977, para. 758). In theory, demands are put on the individual that require an
inordinate power of personality. However, we cannot possibly be well-adapted
individuals in society, having recourse to a full-fledged family and social life as well
as a thoroughgoing relation to the spirit — not at the same time, at least. Jung’s ideal
of Self is associated with “completeness” and he argues strongly for it, repudiating
the ideal of “perfection” (cf. Jung, 1979, pp. 68-70). It amounts to “lifting up one’s
cross”, carrying it along in life. He says that “[only] the ‘complete’ person knows how
unbearable man is to himself” (Jung, 1977b, pars. 1095f). The conclusion is that
huge and contradictory demands are put on the individuant.

The majority of people are occupied with the problem of how to amuse themselves
this very day, or how to promote their own social or economical status. Yet some
people have another drive. Marie-Louise von Franz (1915-1998) holds that the
spiritual drive is even stronger than the sexual. Such a devotional drive,
corroborated by the tremendous prominence of esoteric and ascetic tradition, would
seem to make the telos of the Self redundant. Why some people have more of it
than others is another question. It’s evident that suffering plays a prominent role.
Has anyone, who hasn’t been sick or deprived in some sense, ever succeeded on the
godly path? It’s evident that the earthly allure has a harmful influence on spiritual
development, which explains the enormous focus on poverty and suffering in
religious tradition. We have a tendency to become overly absorbed in secular
matters, with the consequence that the faint and godly energies vanish from sight.
The sense of mystery is easily lost.

Individuation is something quite different than self-fulfillment and self-realization,

which is the subject of many a book. Whereas earthbound success is like being
transported on the diverse currents of life, especially as formulated by societal life,
spiritual individuation depends on another kind of drivenness. I think of
individuation as a pious devotedness that has its source in the unconscious, which
means that it is independent of religious doctrine. Yet, Jung’s version of
individuation is to play the game to the full, both in its inner and outer sense. He
inscribed the following verse in Greek on a stone, and it’s also how he ends his
autobiography:

Time is a child — playing like a child — playing a board game — the

kingdom of the child. This is Telesphoros, who roams through the dark
regions of this cosmos and glows like a star out of the depths. He
points the way to the gates of the sun and to the land of dreams.

Thus, the Self is portrayed as a gamester who points the direction to daylight
existence and the moonlit realm, simultaneously. Telesphoros means ‘fulfillment-
bearer’. The anima/animus, [5] as archetypal personification of the unconscious,
plays an important part in psychic life. Yet, it is also the fabricator of illusions — the
veil of Maya — which might explain why Jung always looked upon the anima with
suspicion. He had in a sense fallen for her deception. She creates the illusions which
keep us bound to the games of life. For example, the game of chess is subjected to
an anima projection, which serves to enslave the chess player to the game (to his
own contentment). The anima is projected on the psychological theoretical edifice,
too, providing us with an eminent hamster cage. We are being deluded; but this is
how life is. It is not really evil, but it’s a functional and probably necessary phase.

The giant and the two skyscrapers

Individuation, understood as emancipative achievement, or worldly transcendence in

religious language, is brutal and nothing must stand in its way. This seems to be the
message of the unconscious. The following dream of a middle-aged man is
thematic.

A giant, several hundred meters high, is attacking a skyscraper, but he

lets the other skyscraper be. Debris was falling all around me, and
people fell to the ground and died. I took a long roundabout route,
outside the view of the giant. During the journey I fell blind during a
time, but finally managed to enter the safe skyscraper. From the
bottom floor window in the safe skyscraper I could see that the giant
wore washed-out blue jeans.

The “spiritual” skyscraper was undergoing construction, and it was determined to

overcome the doomed skyscraper. The skyscraper being demolished represents
earthbound and ambivalent life whereas the other one represents inner life.
Meaningless mundane obsessions and preconceptions fall to the ground and die.
The giant presumably represents the towering force of individuation, which cannot
be stopped. The first skyscraper is like an illusory and grand “hamster cage”, in
which the ego scurries around on the many floors and joyfully tries out the different
hamster wheels. The gist of my argument is that individuation, from the beginning,
seems to continue independently alongside the construction of an illusory anima
life, yet in the form of a second skyscraper undergoing construction. The upshot is
that transcendental individuation is to be taken very seriously, because it has its
roots in powerful insensate nature. It is so central that nothing else counts. It is a
giant that crushes to smithereens the painstakingly constructed skyscraper of
consciousness.

According to the view here proposed, individuation runs invisibly in the background,
as it were, in parallel with Schopenhauer’s formative Will. But when the adaptational
function of the latter has served its purpose it becomes only an impediment, and the
structure must be dismantled. Thus, the spiritual pilgrim must stand apart from
illusory life, in the way of Schopenhauer. The difference is that the individuant now
has recourse to the completed second skyscraper, which represents individuation
proper. Personality needn’t be ambivalent anymore. Thus, there seems to be two
complementarian aspects of Self and two parallel paths of individuation, one illusory
and one true, the first of which must be terminated. On the other hand, the problem
with the Jungian edifice is that it’s conglomerative, something which leads to
deleterious consequences. For Jung, there is only one skyscraper and there is only
one Self. Taking part in purposeless life while performing inner work constitutes a
conjugate, since it gives expression to completeness and the conglomerative Self.
However, there are really two skyscrapers, the first of which must be razed to the
ground because it has turned evil, although it wasn’t from the beginning.
The complementarian Self

Joseph L. Henderson takes the view that individuation is predicated on the shamanic
journey. He adds to the picture the “Ultimate God Image” as a complement to Jung’s
view of Self, namely the “Primal God Image”, portrayed as an “ambivalent
monster” (cf. Henderson, 2005, p. 226). The shamanic journey takes place as a
circular movement between these two poles:

Here, the transcendental movement means to transcend the earthbound in its guise
as the “Primal God Image”. However, it does not signify a polarization of secular and
non-secular in the metaphysical sense. In the above dream, the giant is destroying
the very same “ambivalent monster” as carrier of our conceptual objects of worship.
It is a terrestrial God Image, a pagan image of idolatry. Striving after transcendence
serves the purpose of emancipation; to free personality from the idolatrous aspects
of consciousness. When the conscious ego-structure has played out its role it goes
the way of all flesh. Personality is relieved of everything that it believes in, which has
kept personality and its creativity captive. What remains is the heavenly blue yet
chthonic spirit, the indwelling spirit, which the alchemists called Mercurius. It is a
pseudonym for the Holy Spirit, or the Christchild. It’s no longer a hypostatized
object of worship, but a spirit of creativity rooted in insensate nature, which allows
personality to relate to existence in a profound sense. When we think that we are
being worldly-minded and relational, we in fact miss the essence of reality.
Sometimes it seems we are only rushing by in a hurry. As extraverts use to say at a
ripe age: “Oops! Was that Life that just sped past me?”

In Henderson’s diagram, I think that the downward movement means a return to the
Primal God Image in its guise as the Earth Mother, which here takes the meaning of
bodily death. The upward movement of detachment would signify ‘the assimilation
of the alchemical Mercurius as the spirit of individuation’, leading to a creativity that
is unpretentious and rooted in the insensate mind. The Mercurius, as the heretic god
of medieval alchemy, seems to represent the force of love as present in the lives of
people, whereas the Christ represents the hypostatization of love as transcendental
object of worship. The Mercurius is merely another name for the Christchild. I hold
that it symbolizes the primus motor of individuation as the force that invokes and
sustains the path of individuation in the lives of people, and which always attempts
to break the gridlock.

Such a development necessitates that the world of the “ambivalent monster” is

thoroughly abandoned. Nevertheless, the Primal God Image remains a necessary
phase of individuation. We cannot start out without a platform of concepts and
beliefs, serving the constructive purpose of strengthening our consciousness.
Although psychology provides us with a good conceptual platform, later in life it
may inhibit the powers of emancipation. Thus, in the ongoing race of construction,
the first skyscraper takes the lead, as a necessary factor of personality growth, but
the second skyscraper is destined to overcome it. As the latter reaches a certain
elevation, it is time for the giant to step in and demolish the earthly skyscraper. It is
earthly in the sense that it keeps us bound to the Primal God Image, that is, the
Jungian earthbound ideal of Self and concomitant idolatrous concepts of
consciousness. Instead of giving them metaphysical status, almost as objects of
worship, we must instead realize that it’s “grey theory”. As such, it is of the good,
until the time arrives to loosen the mooring.

The Primal Self Image is an ‘ambivalent monster’. Should the individuant remain
stuck in its claws, he may not emancipate personality and truly participate in life. As
a consequence, life rushes by without him taking root in existence. It is paradoxical
in the sense that “grey theory” isn’t really invalid. It just isn’t useful anymore, but
has become an enemy of individuation. Thus, Henderson’s diagram seems to point
at a radical transformation of personality, since it portrays our psychology as
harbouring two competing selves, the primary of which must be abandoned. I
discuss this notion in my article ‘The Complementarian Self’ (Winther, 2011, here).
Although the second skyscraper has long undergone construction, supported by an
ambivalent consciousness, it is now time to remove its competitor, because egoic
consciousness impedes its completion, a circumstance that leads to stagnation.

Poul Bjerre

The theme of coercion in terms of life’s obligations and necessities versus the
liberation of the life spirit was central to Poul Bjerre (1876–1964). Bjerre’s notion of
death and stagnation, to be overcome by an effort of renewal, remains central in
human psychology, although its misinterpretation in Freudian theory as the “death
drive” has rendered it a resting-place on the churchyard of psychoanalysis. He
belonged to the first psychoanalysts; but in 1913 he chose to break away from the
Freudians. Regrettably, few of his books have been translated to English. His
philosophical book “Death and renewal” (his intellectual legacy) is much different
from his pragmatic explications of clinical psychology, which revolve around the
same theme, namely how the coercive forces of life give rise to mechanization and
psychological death. The life-draining force of stagnation must repeatedly be
overcome by a psychic renewal. Should one get stuck, it may give rise to obsessive-
compulsive afflictions or neurosis.
Freud took Bjerre’s notion of the death-renewal cycle and reinterpreted it in terms
of the death drive versus the eros drive. Probably he thought that he had thereby
foiled Bjerre’s competing school of psychosynthesis, but he had also made nonsense
of the notions and made them indefensible in biological terms. It seems to me that
Bjerre’s views could inform modern psychology, especially since his successful
therapeutic approach is bolstered by modern developments in therapy. In Bjerre the
individuative demand is toned down. Instead, it is regarded an autonomous function
of the psyche, searching to acquire harmony and wholeness, building on
experiential contents and future possibilities. It is our natural biology, which serves
to further the chances of good health and survival. Thus, the dream function
attempts to overcome stagnation and to further growth to new possibilities of life. It
always revolves around the dichotomy of stagnation and renewal. Yet people tend to
get stuck in the transitional phases, which could result in neurosis.

Thus, his view of psychological growth is different than the Jungian view. The latter
is teleological in that individuation strives to realize the goal of an ideal Self,
formally indistinguishable from the God image. The Christ as a symbol of the Self is
in itself a dichotomy, incorporating the little suffering man and his opposite in the
form of the all-powerful Christ Pantocrator. Nevertheless, the Christ isn’t complete
enough, according to Jung. The Self is an ambitious goal of personality, which
implies both secular fulfillment and deiform elevation. One might question why
evolution should have endowed us with such a individuative drive. Biologically, it is
hard to explain. But Jung has absorbed Gnostic and Neoplatonic religious ideals and
reformulated them in earthbound terms.

In his book Drömmarnas naturliga system (Natural system of dreams) Bjerre, among
other things, gives a few examples of the monogamous-polygamous conflict. He
exemplifies with dreams of patients where the monogamous and matrimonial
solution is sought by the dream function. This, of course, gives the lie to the
Freudian instinctual and polyamorous wishes. The question is why the unconscious
mind should side with monogamy. The answer is that it searches to achieve
harmony and to avoid inner conflict. After all, there is nothing as disruptive and
splitting as polyamorous adventures, when one’s feelings become divided. The
social consequences are damaging, especially in Bjerre’s own time. Bjerre has
termed this natural tendency ‘assimilation’. It searches to assimilate the different
aspects of the individual, including the forgotten events that carry exuberance of
life, in order to create a harmonious whole, so that the individual may have recourse
to his/her full vigour and feeling for life. Thus, growth of personality and
individuation occurs as a corollary of the natural tendency of stagnation (such as a
stagnated marriage) and the natural tendency to overcome stagnation, achieving a
renewal of life. Arguably, individuation can do without the teleological goal of
attaining the Self in all its humanity and divinity, on lines of the mystical ideal.

In terms of Bjerre, the forces of stagnation depend on a mechanization of life

typically brought about by a fixation on tenets of consciousness. Arguably, the way
in which Jungian psychology depends on a rather overbearing metaphysical edifice,
it might have psychological stagnation as a consequence. If individuation is
regarded as the telos of the magnificent Self rather than depending on pragmatic
emancipation of life’s energies, in whatever form, then it represents a
hypostatization of spiritual emancipation, as in the world religions. If the tenet of
individuation is worshipped rather than lived, then psychology has acquired
religious overtones.

Bjerre exemplifies with a young Christian man whose highest ideal was to evangelize
among “the Negroes”; but he was waiting for a calling from God. He had been
brought to a neurotic standstill, working with office duties that were below his
intellectual level (cf. Bjerre, 1933). Bjerre sent him on his way, despite the fact that
he despised the notion of Christian evangelization. He reasoned that this man might
in the future come to his senses, but only provided that the deadlock is broken. One
must “strive after an emancipative development”, no matter what form it takes. It is
a highly pragmatical attitude, similar to how a sapling must for a time grow in the
“wrong” direction in order to reach the light. On account of his pragmatism, analysis
didn’t continue over many sessions, but was continued in correspondence. To get
the juices flowing is central. But how would a modern analyst have treated this
patient? Arguably, he would have been subjected, directly or indirectly, to the many
metaphysical tenets of psychology, in an attempt to “win him over”. Let life have its
way, instead.

Thus, individuation isn’t entirely predetermined according to psychological law. By

example, if painting geometrical abstract art is the way that the dream function
suggests, then it’s the right way, because it releases libido, stimulating a movement
out of stagnation. It doesn’t matter that it gives the lie to the Jungian symbolic
process. Although the unconscious psyche has an innate structure, individuation
cannot be pinned down. Anything goes, as long as we make headway. The giant in
the skyscraper dream held a huge broken off portion of the building and shook the
many conscious preconceptions out of it, with the consequence that they fell to the
ground and died. Examples of such are preconceptions along lines of psychological
telos and the technique of making headway on the path of individuation.

Negation and destruction

To be undivided means to have recourse to our full resources. It promotes health,

both psychological and bodily. The psyche strives autonomously to heal us in this
sense. But it’s not that simple. After having attained a stage of stability and relative
wholeness, we will soon find the forces of routinization and stagnation taking over.
So it goes with everything; religions, marriages, social networks, and especially the
individuated person. According to Bjerre, this is the birthplace of neurosis, which
gives rise to dividedness. The psyche wants to overcome stagnation, and it starts to
break up the lifeless wholeness. Thus, the psyche works both ways: there is a
dynamic interplay of the forces of death and renewal. Wholeness eventually leads to
death, which must be overcome.

When people become stuck in the transitional phase, it has neurotic consequences.
People often dream of having a complete row of teeth; but then they start to drop
out. This is a typical “negation dream”. It means that the wholeness achieved is
negated and that which has become rooted in the flesh must be removed. New teeth
will grow out instead. In the aforementioned dream, the first skyscraper is like a row
of teeth that must drop out. It’s a wholeness become stagnant that must be
destroyed. The reason why it takes this monumental archetypal expression is
because stoical and long-suffering consciousness needs to be convinced, in a
brutish way, that the present situation can’t be right. It is a very common problem,
having to do with the centrality of ‘faith’ and ‘faithfulness’ in our culture.

For Jung, there is only an archetypal impetus toward wholeness. He turns a blind eye
to the motif of destruction, which could be denoted the Hegelian fallacy. In fact, the
destructive force is part and parcel of individuation. Any wholeness, regardless of its
richness, is a cocoon that must sooner or later crack open and give birth to
something new. Stagnation, and possibly neurosis, occurs when we remain stuck in
the cocoon. It gathers mould instead of breaking up. His notion of Self as unitarian
means that it envelopes both ego and non-ego. The ambivalent ego is modelled
after this criterion.

Thus, the Jungian notion of Self it violated when ambivalent wholeness is being
negated. But this is the way of mystical tradition; the ideal of “self-abandonment to
divine providence”. At some stage, self-abandonment becomes necessary, at least to
a moderate degree, otherwise it leads to death and stagnation. The notion of ego
abandonment, in Eastern philosophical terms, is misinterpreted by Jung. From a
psychological point of view, transcendence mustn’t be understood as a metaphysical
and religious concept. Rather, it means transcending the ego in its present
constitution. In his critique of yoga and Eastern spiritual discipline, Jung interprets
ego transcendence as the catastrophic abandonment of the conscious function.
Against this critique, Leon Schlamm says:

During transpersonal states of consciousness the ego is not

abandoned, nor completely transcended; rather, the spiritual
practitioner realizes that the ego lacks concrete existence. It is not the
ego that disappears; rather the belief in the ego’s solidity, the
identification with the ego’s representations, is abandoned in the
realization of egolessness during states of ordinary waking
consciousness. (Schlamm, 2010)

Jung’s ardent defence of the egoic structure is misguided, because its consciousness
is not the same as its structure. As he formulates it himself, the ego is merely the
centre of consciousness. The ego cannot enhance its light endlessly, incorporating
yet more realizations of the unconscious. There’s a limitation to the elevation of the
first skyscraper, because stagnation ensues and there’s ‘negation’ piling up in the
unconscious. (However, according to Bjerre, when religious tradition elevates
‘negation’ to doctrinal status, the devotees tend to get stuck in that phase instead.)

The theory of unconscious compensation

Dreams on the theme of negation are difficult to understand from the Jungian
perspective of compensation. “What does this dream compensate?” Thus, it is taken
for granted that there’s something wrong with the conscious standpoint; but it isn’t
necessarily so. In fact, we must sometimes search to overcome a wholeness that is
become complacent and listless. The only thing that counts is that life is flowing.
People who are overly fond of alcohol and merry festivity tend to dream that they
meet an alcoholic bum on the street. Understood in terms of compensation, i.e., as a
way of contrasting consciousness, it would mean that the dreamers’s qualms about
his alcohol consumption is exaggerated, as there are people worse off. Or if it’s
understood in archetypal terms as the shadow, then it would signify his innate
nature, which he can only keep on a tight rein but not get rid of.

In terms of Bjerre, such dreams are really ‘objectifications’, which serve to put the
alcoholic and festive aspect of personality on the outside, as non-ego. It is not ‘me’
but another person. It has an immediate benevolent effect, because the dreamer
begins to loosen his attachment to this particular aspect of personality. Should he
dream that the alcoholic bum goes to Japan, then it’s termed ‘distancing’. Should he
die, then it’s negation proper, i.e. like losing a tooth (cf. Bjerre, 1933, pp. 178ff).
The fact that therapists have to struggle with the notion of compensation as only
tool is unsatisfactory. The Jungian theory of dream interpretation is rather simplistic.
What’s worse, the therapist might apply the method of ‘amplification’ and associate
the drunken bum with mythological themes, such as Bacchus the wine god, or
whatever. It leads away from the concrete dream material in the same manner as
Freudian free associations. The method is worthwhile provided that the archetypal
theme can be connected to personal material. Yet, dreams seldom focus on the
archetypal aspect. They generally refer to personal life and not to the life of our
species.

Dreams often serve to strengthen the conscious standpoint. It gives the lie to the
notion of compensation as the master key of dreams. It has to do with the fact that
consciousness is conflicted. Although personality has already made up its mind in a
sense, for various reasons it remains stuck. For instance, it could be due to
insecurity or inertia. It could be the question of a bad personal relation that needs to
be terminated. In such cases dreams can tell the person what he or she already
knows, in the so called outline dreams (‘gestaltning’). The way in which dreams
outline the situation and certifies that the conscious view is right, is a valuable
function. It makes the ego strengthen its resolve, enabling it to see things more
clearly. Consciousness is often only ‘almost’ certain, but the fog will soon be lifting
as rational understanding is supported by feeling. Personality is freed of the
remaining illusions.

The ego needs support from the unconscious, and not only opposition and
correction in the form of compensations. Often the dream function supports the
wholeness achieved by an endowment of feeling, perhaps with a religious overtone.
The conclusion is that the dream function is generally synthetic and not generally
compensative, since it strives to alleviate the conflicts of personality and to enliven
consciousness. When lust for life peters out, and the present situation is
insupportable, the Self will attempt to break up the stagnant wholeness in order to
invoke a new development, which has long been in the making as a parallel building
project.

The stagnant ego castle

The theory around individuation and the dream function is rather abstruse and the
theoretical blueprint is inadequate. The Self isn’t working single-mindedly towards
wholeness. Wholeness must be destroyed, if it is become like an oxygen-depleted
pool, void of life. Should the ego lead life in a beautiful castle yet with boredom
approaching, then it’s time to leave the castle for a hut in the wood, among the wild
animals, if this is what it takes to keep libido flowing. This is the way of Prince
Siddhartha Gautama and many other an ego-transcending ascetical sage.

Jung, however, takes offense at the idea. I suppose, his own ego castle remained
animate and alive not the least thanks to his many followers and the circus that
surrounded him. One cannot expect the great sage to abandon his own edifice. He
only continued building on it, never questioning any part of it. Some of his premises
are wrong, however. That’s probably why his dreams emphasized the transcendental
element. When he is levitating in space above India (in whose philosophy he rejects
the element of self-abandonment) he meets a meditating Hindu sitting silently in
lotus posture. He was about to enter his temple when he was called back to life
(Jung, 1989, pp. 289-94). In the dream about kneeling before the highest presence
(ibid. pp. 217-20), he enters a circular room with two persons of eminence, the
worldly-minded Akbar and the heavenly-minded general Uriah (who had been
murdered by — guess who?), to whom he bows down in deference. Arguably, Jung’s
ego is comparable to the ambivalent King David, who conspired to kill general Uriah
(2 Samuel 11:15).

The spirit is, prima facie, the greatest passion of humanity, arguably stronger than
sexuality. From a traditional point of view, individuation is the purpose of life, and it
is not merely “a prescribed path”. In the early 1980s, M-L von Franz withdrew from
teaching at the Zurich Institute on the grounds that not enough attention was being
paid to individuation as an unconscious process (cf. Kirsch, 2000, p. 26). Should
individuation come to a halt, then personality is spiritually dead. It seems that we
can detect that people are dead in the way they are lacking in “love” as a
foundational passion for existence. Lacking a sense of mystery, they have no
longing for the mercurial spirit that is flowing like a silvery stream behind the veil of
existence. Neville Symington (1993) says that, with such people, the “life-giver” in
the unconscious is become extinguished. It is an overly simplistic notion, but it
seems to accord with Poul Bjerre’s idea of “Death and Renewal” as the central theme
of individuation. They are stuck and cannot invoke renewal, and thus they are
virtually dead. He exemplifies with people who remain virtually dead throughout life,
and seem to have invoked it as a solution.

Individuation as a parallel spiritual path

There is indeed a process of individuation, although not necessarily as Jung

envisaged it. I think of the notion as a process taking place in the background, as in
the building project of the ‘second skyscraper’. It is a spiritual project running
autonomously or semi-autonomously, to which consciousness adds its support by
way of interim measures of assistance. To accomplish this, it is necessary to dampen
the conscious light. The ambivalent ego is capable of this. It is also how the
alchemists described the process of circular distillation. Jung, however, understands
the alchemical process in the usual terms of conscious-unconscious integration,
which is questionable.

If the construction of the first skyscraper depends on ‘integration’ so the second

skyscraper must depend on another process. Obviously, the latter, during which
time it is constructed, is not being assimilated as a psychic content. It must refer to
some other process. As a suitable modern psychological term, I have suggested
‘complementation’. It is the semi-autonomous process, mentioned above, during
which time something is brewing and taking shape in the unconscious. I hypothesize
that it underlies true individuation as opposed to chimerical and ambivalent anima
life. It coincides in some measure with esoteric teachings of olden times. Still, we
must have recourse to psychological understanding, to which religious notions are
inadequate.

For the psychological process to function harmoniously when primary wholeness

(Henderson’s ‘Primary God Image’) is abandoned, there must already be an
alternative wholeness that may serve as ideal at the point when the stagnant state is
broken, otherwise a change cannot go smoothly. However, psychology’s focus on
integration means that the negation of assimilated content is out of the question.
Jung never discarded anything. Instead, any inconsistent notion is complemented
with its opposite, having the effect that both opposites are absorbed by
consciousness. Although he had a beef with Christianity, he never abandoned the
Christian standpoint. He only complemented it with its opposite in the form of
pagan Neoplatonism — problem solved!

The notion that individuation can mean destruction, in the sense of breaking out of
an old shell, conflicts with the view of the psyche as a teleological system that is
seeking integration. Since the telos of the Self is wholeness, it cannot possibly work
toward the destruction of wholeness. Nevertheless, his youthful vision of God
destroying the Basel Cathedral had a profound effect on him (Jung, 1989, pp. 36-
39). To understand the Basel Cathedral as the burden imposed on us by our
Christian heritage isn’t exactly wrong; but it really signifies the destructive capacity
of the Self to obliterate the “stagnant wholeness”. Thus, it serves as a symbol of the
‘first skyscraper’. The vision really points to the future into which he projects a
renewal of the Self, wholly in line with the ideal of ego abandonment. This is a
youthful dream of the man with the previous discussed skyscraper dream.

I was overlooking town from a ridge and observed the nearby ongoing
construction of two skyscrapers, which both had begun at ground level
below the ridge, perhaps a hundred meters below. But suddenly the
leading construction collapsed. I looked down and saw many dead
people. My friend, standing beside me, hadn’t seen anything of this. It
would mean that I had experienced a vision of the future. It is relevant
that both constructions begin far below the conscious level.

According to this model, individuation continues more or less autonomously in

parallel with ordinary life, ready to take full charge of life when time is ripe. It is the
notion of a spiritual path that moves ahead, independently of societal success, while
the individual is leading an earthly existence. It would mean that the process is self-
sufficient, since it is unconnected with the integrative work. The latter only fulfills a
function up to a degree, sufficient for adaptation to life and the assimilation of one’s
own psychological shortcomings. But at a point in time, the continued assimilation
of content and the expansion into secular and social life will bring no benefits. It will
only bring about stagnation, which to Bjerre is the root cause of neurosis. Thus, we
must question psychology’s overarching ideal of an unending progression of psychic
integration. At some point, we must abandon integration and wholly focus on
complementation, which requires a toning down of consciousness.

Death and rebirth

Jung discusses rebirth symbolism in his paper ‘Concerning Rebirth’ (Jung, 1980b).
He adopts the view that ‘natural transformation’ (individuation) accords with a
psychological view of rebirth whereas other forms, such as ‘magical procedures’ are
historical and sometimes imitative variants. He claims that “all ideas of rebirth” are
founded on the natural transformation of personality (cf. p. 130). Thus, he manages
to shoehorn all rebirth symbolism into the integrative paradigm. Jung interprets the
death experience as the withdrawal from social life by resort to the introverted
standpoint, and exemplifies with an old man taking his abode in a cave as a refuge
from the noise of the villages, where he is to be incubated and renewed. Inside the
cave an encounter with the archetypal universe occurs, which will lead to the
assimilation of archetypal content.

Thus, death and rebirth are invariably regarded as transformation symbols.

Transformation does not denote a particular moment of transfiguration — it’s a
process that serves to approximate the Self by means of integration. But it’s a goal
that can never be fully attained, although the transformation process strives to
approximate ego and Self to one another. The Self, which functions as an “invisible
guru” or “personal guide”, may be “just as one-sided in one way as the ego is in
another. And yet the confrontation of the two may give rise to truth and
meaning” (p. 131). It is this newly acquired truth and meaning that constitutes
rebirth. He interprets alchemical texts to the effect that it is “not a personal
transformation, but the transformation of what is mortal in me into what is
immortal” (p. 134).

The rebirth experience leads to a relative change of personality; but it’s not the
question of transfiguration. In fact, “[the] repristination of the original state is
tantamount to attaining once more the freshness of youth” (p. 136). So it is
predominantly an invigorating experience. Thus, it seems that Jung’s notion of
rebirth is not, after all, that much different from the religious rituals of rebirth,
which served to revitalize the initiand through the invocation of archetypal truths.
The Self symbolically undergoes a complete transfiguration, as in the
metamorphosis of the fish into the Khidr (an incarnation of Allah in human form).
Yet, the ego must refrain from identifying with the process. Allegedly, it is an
archetypal symbol of transformation that is not applicable in real life. Were
personality to undergo a corresponding transfiguration it is tantamount to an
“identification of ego-consciousness with the self [that] produces an inflation which
threatens consciousness with dissolution” (p. 145).

Paradoxically, then, the Self is not viewed as an ideal and a role model for the ego,
but as an Other, a “personal guide” with whom one relates in an attempt to restore
harmony. In this interpretation, the Self is, after all, not a self-ideal, but is more like
a personality who is to be confronted in order to achieve a more balanced
standpoint on part of the ego. This is paradoxical, because the Self in Jungian
psychology represents also the ideal of completeness and wholeness.

The paradox shows that something isn’t right. If the Self portrays itself as
undergoing a thorough transfiguration, it ought to symbolize the future prospects
of personality, although it is indeed possible to downgrade it to a therapeutic ritual
enactment. Nonetheless, the deity really urges us to follow his calling and not only
to ritualize his message. Jesus said, “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in
three days” (John 2:19). He is to undergo a complete destruction whereupon he will
arise from the dead. He also said, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny
themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Matt. 16:24). Thus, the disciple
is expected to undergo a complete transfiguration, too. Jesus was transfigured and
not merely “therapeutically invigorated”. Normally, the tone of voice is sufficient to
identify a person, but Jesus’s disciples didn’t recognize him although they kept
company on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24). The meaning of this symbol is evident:
he had undergone a complete transfiguration. It was not the question of creating a
clone.

Symbolization and amplification

The conclusion is that death and rebirth takes a purely symbolic and archetypal
meaning, having essentially the same therapeutic aim as religious ritual. The main
difference is that the process is now better understood by recourse to modern
psychological terms. However, this may damage the healing effect, since
consciousness has a way of devitalizing the symbol. The archetype cannot tolerate
the stark light of consciousness, but tends to dwindle to a mundane dimension. The
concept of death and renewal is subjected to ‘symbolization’ in Jung. It never occurs
to him that it could mean the actual dethronement, partly or wholly, of the extant
personality, including its beliefs and fixations. He rejects the notion of
transfiguration proper, since the ego shall not be cast off as an old shell, but must
continue the work of integration. Symbolization and mythologization may have the
effect that a factual and realistic interpretation is foiled.

Amplification is a way of interpreting mythological images in terms of other

mythological images. Amplification, correctly used, allows us to better understand
the language of dreams. Our unconscious employs ideation and emotion in a
mythological way, and thus we may be informed by historical mythology. If the
diverse themes of a dream are archetypal, that is, if they conform with characteristic
mythological motifs, then amplification is worthwhile. But the archetypes are merely
the stage actors of dreams, whereas the overall meaning of the dream typically boils
down to personal difficulties and how to make progress in life. The archetypal
themes are employed by the dream function to conduct a stage play that will, in the
end, boil down to small-scale personal realizations.

This is also true about the impersonal form of archetypal realization. When the gods
land in reality they become mundane beings, as exemplified by the pine tree, the
narcissus flower, and the poor carpenter’s son. In fact, the dream function will often
make use of everyday language and compose a play with words, which is not at all
archetypal but more in the way of rebuses. We must first and foremost search to
associate the dream content with personal life and old memories rather than with
mythological motifs, which risk leading us astray. M-L von Franz criticizes the
unrestrained use of amplification, in the manner of Julius Schwabe and sometimes
also Mircea Eliade. “If you start with the world tree, you can easily prove that every
mythological motif leads to the world tree in the end” (von Franz, 1996, pp. 9-15).
Thus, it is essential that interpretation is rooted in personal emotion and feeling,
otherwise understanding will fly off on a tangent. Symbols mustn’t be treated
impersonally, as if they were an end in themselves.

This makes me think that also the symbol of ‘death and renewal’ must mean
something personal. It’s not merely a symbolic spectacle arranged by the Self
wherein only the Self shall undergo transfiguration, in order to promote secondary
therapeutic effects in the ego. In fact, a numinous archetype will become manifest in
small-scale form in personal life and invoke a radical change of personality. The
intellectual person may “transmutate” into an artistic and feeling-oriented individual,
in close proximity to insentient nature — the realm of the spirit. Although personality
undergoes transfiguration it does not mean that it is being dissolved in
unconsciousness. In fact, there is already an auxiliary ego, a higher personality, in
the making. It is like changing ships on the high sea, or moving from one skyscraper
to the next. Yet, Jung downplays the theme of death and resurrection as mere
therapeutic self-analysis. For him, it is necessary that the egoic structure remains
intact. He says that

[psychologically] this means that the transformation has to be

described or felt as happening to the ‘other’ […] This can hardly be
accidental, for the great psychic danger which is always connected with
individuation, or the development of the self, lies in the identification
of ego-consciousness with the self. (CW 9:1, p. 145)

However, a notion of Self undergoing development isn’t easy to reconcile with the
notion of the Self as telos. Jungian theory has no notion of a collateral and
autonomous individuation process, pertaining to an auxiliary Self image
(Henderson’s Ultimate God Image) — there is only a singular individuation process
that depends on a continual assimilation of personality. Thus, destruction and
negation can’t be regarded natural aspects of individuation. I conjecture that this is
wrong. Interestingly, Sabina Spielrein, a patient and collaborator of Jung’s, wrote an
article named ‘Destruction as the Cause of Coming Into Being’ where she argues that
“no change can take place without the destruction of the former condition” (JAP 39
(2), 1994). However, she reasons in obsolete Freudian terms of a destructive drive
and a drive for coming into being.

The resurrection body

In Alchemy (1980), M-L von Franz investigates the central theme of alchemy,
namely the fabrication of the ‘resurrection body’ (glorified body) by means of the
alchemical procedure of circular distillation. She connects it with the resurrection of
the Osiris in Egyptian religion. Osiris is imprisoned in the coffin, similar to how the
Mercurius is imprisoned in the alchemical Vas Hermeticum. The alchemists believed
that they were able to accelerate the processes of nature with the aim of creating a
new vehicle for the soul — the glorified resurrection body of Christian theology.
According to Christian belief, it is the bodily form that we shall assume at the end of
the world. It also denotes the body of Christ after his resurrection.

The alchemists believed that they needn’t wait for the end of the world, but that
they could cultivate the resurrection “body” by alchemical means, which will grant
the artifex eternal longevity. In this faith, they effectively aimed to reproduce the
procedures of the ancient Egyptian priests, whose duty it was to provide the Pharaoh
with a resurrection body, that is, to transmutate him into Osiris — the immortal one.
Whereas it is unlikely that European alchemists had much knowledge about Egyptian
religious chemistry, European alchemy has its roots in Egyptian alchemy and the
traditions of Hermes Trismegistus — a holy teacher identified with the Egyptian god
Thoth, who knew the magic of resurrection.

The physical mummy is equated with the Osiris, and it must be preserved as the
carrier of the soul. A person who had gone through the rituals of resurrection
“would be able, as the papyri texts say, to appear in any shape any day. That meant
the dead could leave the coffin chamber; they could leave the tomb of the pyramid
and walk about in the daylight and could change shape. They could appear as a
crocodile and lie about in the sun by the Nile, or they could fly about as an
ibis” (von Franz, 1980, p. 236).

According to this belief, the old body shall be cast off as an old shell and the soul
shall continue to live in a new body. Since the egoic framework in psychology cannot
be discarded but only complemented with yet more psychic content, it’s not
worthwhile to interpret this symbol in traditional psychological terms. Of course,
von Franz realizes this, and that’s why she gravitates toward a religious
interpretation, on lines of the ancient Egyptians, i.e. that it signifies the
“incorruptible essence in man which would survive death”. The Self contains the
“divine nucleus in man which is immortal”. She says that “[it] is an experience of
something immortal lasting beyond physical death. You know that in
parapsychological reports this is also sometimes mentioned as a typical quality of
the soul of a dying person” (ibid.).

Von Franz’s parapsychological interpretation is, of course, accompanied by a

traditional symbolical understanding; but it is evident that theory is ill-equipped to
interpret the central alchemical mystery, since there is no way that it allows for the
destruction of the old form of earthly personality. In fact, the symbol of the
resurrection body means that our personality is to be totally renovated. Self No. 1 is
abandoned for Self No. 2, capable of living in unison with earthly reality. No. 2, has
acquired earthly transcendence and is truly experiencing life‘s presence. He may
take to flight with the ibises, or lie about with the crocodiles, because the Kingdom
is present in every direction. Personality No. 2 will slowly take shape under the
auspices of personality No. 1, who has decided to contribute to its growth in the
unconscious vessel. The resurrection body has many names: filius philosophorum,
filius regis, infans solaris, Adam Kadmon, among others. Jung says about him:

And yet that light or ‘filius philosophorum’ was openly named the
greatest and most victorious of all lights, and set alongside Christ as
the Saviour and Preserver of the world! Whereas in Christ God himself
became man, the filius philosophorum was extracted from matter by
human art, and by means of the opus, made into a new light-bringer.
 In the former case the miracle of man’s salvation is accomplished by
God; in the latter, the salvation or transfiguration of the universe is
brought about by the mind of man — “Deo concedente,” as the authors
never fail to add. Man takes the place of the Creator. (Jung, 1983,
p. 127)

Note that he takes the view that it concerns the “transfiguration of the universe”
whereas it is really about the apotheosis of the artifex. He then goes on to explain
that it forebodes the rise of science, which would change the world and let man take
the place of God. But this has nothing to do with it. He makes again the
reductionistic interpretation that so many have done before him. He understands it
as changes going on in the collective unconscious, which will impact the collective
ways of mankind. Thus, the transformations of the Self are relevant to the ego only
in a limited sense, and the latter should refrain from identifying with them. His
understanding again focuses on integration, now ready to produce the scientific
mindset. This runs counter to the view of the alchemists who saw it as a way of
personal salvation. Gerhard Dorn, Jung’s favourite philosopher, worked to achieve
the ‘unio corporalis’, which represents the unification of the ‘unio mentalis’ with the
previously mortified body. The work of self-redemption runs like a red thread
throughout the history of alchemy, even from its beginnings in the 1st millennium
B.C. The “body” shall undergo transmutation; but it is not about the salvation of the
world. (The Christ has taken care of that.) It really means that the artifex searches to
acquire the glorified body in advance and in this manner to redeem himself.

Jesus isn’t lying when he presents the mystery of resurrection as something that is
open for everyone, and not only relevant for the Pharaoh of Egypt. Nor does it refer
to a life in the hereafter, because people can possess life “here and now” as well as
in eternity, for they have “passed from death to life” (John). “You won’t be able to
say, ‘Here it is!’ or ‘It’s over there!’ For the kingdom of God is already among
you” (Luke 17). When Jesus rises from the dead, he is transformed and may take up
his place at the right hand of the Father. It means that he is back in the paradisal
Eden, together with God. “When you come to know yourselves, then you will become
known, and you will realize that it is you who are the sons of the living
father” (Thomas 3). Thus, we can all attain the heavenly kingdom, provided that we
are capable of abandoning our personality No. 1, which has served its purpose
insofar as it has provided us with a worldly-minded and realistic attitude. Although
it has been of help in the adaptation to harsh reality, it also constitutes a prison for
the soul.

Therapeutic ritual

In Jung’s terms, this is an archetypal symbol that cannot take effect in the ego, but
must only be applied ritually, however in the modern way of active imagination.
Instead of partaking in institutionalized ritual, the mind can forge imitative fantasies
of its own, an activity which is believed to have a similar therapeutic effect as
religious ritual. M-L von Franz tries to remedy Jung’s symbolistic reductionism by
recourse to parapsychology whereas James Hillman regresses to the neurotic
solution of extraverted romanticism. It is time to realize how conservative Jung is
about the life of the soul and how he notoriously applies symbolistic reductionism
and the paradigm of integration to reduce mystical transcendence to therapeutic
exercise. People always think about Jung as the liberator of the soul, although he is
something of an archconservative stick-in-the-mud. He is equally conservative
about the “terrifying” reality of the archetypes as Freud about sexuality.

When the spiritual mystery finally lands in reality, it does not mean that one has
acquired the ability to walk through walls, like the Osiris. It would mean that
worldly-minded and ambivalent personality has been cast off, allowing room for the
divinely inspired person whose heart is open to the Kingdom of God, which has
always been nigh. The personality No. 1 is only provisional. I dreamt about this very
theme recently.

At a sunny day I was making an excursion into a beautiful area for

open-air activities. However, I immediately chose to climb a big
mountain from where I had a good view. But I couldn’t find a way down,
so I had to go back. It was then that I found out that it was fake. It was
made of some plastic material that had been masked with a cloth which
made it look very natural. I knocked on it and it sounded plastic and
hollow. I slid down the mountain at good speed, sitting on my back. It
impressed an old gentleman passer-by. From below, it was impossible
to see that it was a fake mountain. I ventured out in the natural
surroundings and was slightly surprised to see that many people were
living here in big apartment buildings. There were small industries, too.
It looked like a very harmonious area, close to nature. I wended my way
into the attractive surroundings.

This is an apt example of how the dream function supports the already accepted
standpoint rather than compensating it. The fake mountain is provisional personality
No. 1, which is abandoned with great ease. The “heavenly kingdom” which I venture
into is a very normal and civilized world, and not a fairytale paradise with
supernatural creatures. It is an ‘outline dream’, which strengthens the resolve to
abandon the plastic mountain. Although the mountain was a nice and cleanly place
with a good overview, life there has been unconnected with reality in the profound
sense. There is no need for the intervention of a giant that crushes the first
skyscraper, because I’ve already made up my mind. That’s why the process is
portrayed as so much easier. The manner in which I slide down the mountain (when
the old man commended my bravado) portrays the process as “child’s play”, which is
a well-known saying in alchemy: the ‘ludus puerorum’. The rest is easy. Just let
nature take over, and don’t hold fast to anything. Jung finds no explanation for this
idea. He thinks it is euphemistic (cf. Jung, 1980, p. 199).

On Jung’s view, this is the plastic ego mountain on which one must settle
permanently and resort to therapeutic measures to make life bearable. But the
abandonment of the plastic mountain is the objective of the alchemical opus and the
goal of Jesus’s rebirth mystery. It’s no wonder that the filius philosophorum is so
long in the making, because the artifex must, in a manner of saying, learn to play
the celestial violin. Jung’s understanding of the alchemical and Christian mystery
leaves something to wish for. It is reductionistic, in a sense. In his otherwise erudite
and rewarding works he manages to shoehorn his notion of individuation, as
consecutive phases of integration, into the concepts of spiritual tradition, such as
yoga. As a consequence it comes to be regarded as a therapeutic measure for the
stagnant ego, rather than a means of transformation proper. A misinterpretation of
mystical tradition, such as alchemy, is not to be taken lightly because it devaluates
the precious symbols and it leads the seeker astray.

Hegelian collective individuation

I highlighted the way in which Jung interprets the filius philosophorum as the
harbinger of science. He is thinking especially about Jungian psychology. He saw
alchemy as proto-psychology, i.e., he projected the tenets of his psychology on
alchemy. Thus, the filius philosophorum represents not only material science but
psychological science, especially. This newborn spirit is bound to redeem the world,
by imbuing it in a new light, thus replacing the light of the Christ. This thinking is
known as the Hegelian unfoldment of the World Spirit, which aspires to yet higher
and higher levels of consciousness.

Jung believed that the World Spirit is brewing in the unconscious, and that alchemy
represents this very brewing process. Of course, the truth in the matter is that
science ran apace when the straightjacket of theology was finally removed. Every
historian of science knows this. Science has been there all the time, at least since
the time of Aristotle. By example, scholars of medieval times believed that Adam’s
atoms had propagated and are now continuing in our bodies. This served to explain
the theological dogma of the propagation of original sin. We are of the same
substance as Adam’s body — so they believed. Thus, the food we eat does not
contribute to the building of our bodies. We are in fact only extracting the energy
from the food. But when scholars no longer needed to heed to theological dogma,
they began to think freely.

The final blow to the Catholic church came with the theologically inexplicable Lisbon
earthquake in 1755, after which the floodgate of science and rationality was
released. Science and rationality had only been held back, because it had been there
all the time. Thus, science did not jump out of the collective unconscious as if the
scientific mindset hadn’t existed before. It is true that the expansion of
consciousness depends on the unfolding of the unconscious, and that ideas are
always brewing in the vessel. But the notion that alchemy and its symbols represents
proto-science, serving to prepare us for the scientific and psychological mindset,
doesn’t hold water. It is a Hegelian and unscientific fantasy; the belief that we are
guided by an unconscious Will that continually unfolds in reality.

As a matter of fact, alchemy already incorporated chemical science, and alchemists

were already making important discoveries. They had recourse to all the chemicals
and equipment, still in use. But it was only at the point when mystical theology was
stripped from it that chemistry began to unfold. Chemistry was already present, but
clad in mystical language. Thus, alchemy represents the path of transcendence.
Alchemical fantasy was a form of creativity, an art of imagination, that served to
gather the celestial sparks in creation. Jung sees the Opus as constituting a heap of
naive projections on matter, a project doomed to failure, since they could never
manage to integrate their findings as psychological insight (perhaps with the
exception of Dorneus, according to Jung).
In fact, the alchemical Opus did not serve the end of integration — it was a form of
complementation. Many an artist and musician is devoted to the same process. A
modern painter adds chemical compounds, dissolved in linseed oil, to a canvas. The
canvas serves the same purpose as the vessel in medieval alchemy. By example,
have a look at this painting where Picasso has filled the “canvas egg” with the
typically ignoble items in earth colours, characteristic of ‘prima materia’. In alchemy,
the vessel is notoriously associated with the egg. It shall give birth to the ‘infans
solaris’, the golden child.

“Still Life With Chair Caning”. Pablo Picasso.

The alchemists knew very well what science was; yet they insisted that they were
devoted to an holy art form. They did indeed manage to gather the ‘scintillulae’ (Lat.
little sparks) from matter. It is a remarkable success story that has prevailed
throughout the Christian era and long before. Not many spiritual disciplines have
been so fruitful, pervasive, and resilient. It depends on the fact that it did not only
revolve around prescribed collective values, ideas and techniques. Jung did not only
project his psychology on the alchemical art. He saw it in Gnosticism, too, despite
the fact that it could not be understood in Jungian terms. He also projected
psychological tenets on the book of Job. Eventually, he projected them on the
universe as a whole, which is said to harbour the archetypes-as-such in a wholly
transcendent realm, namely the unus mundus. In Answer to Job (1969), Jung
portrays the divine drama with Jahve as client. Jahve undergoes psychoanalysis with
Job as analyst, and a lot of transference and countertransference takes place.

I believe it is a grave misinterpretation. The biblical Wisdom books (including

Wisdom of Solomon) give expression to a longing after the Sophia (Wisdom) —
Sapientia Dei. According to Jung, this shows that Jahve longed to become conscious,
because wisdom relates to consciousness. But Sophia really denotes the fallen
heavenly being responsible for the orderliness of the world, whose ‘scintillae’ (divine
sparks) the Gnostics and the alchemists endeavoured to gather for the subsequent
transportation back to the celestial sphere. Thus, contrary to Jung’s belief, the
salvation of Sophia signifies the opposite movement than the descending movement
of incarnation.
The soul-spark

The scintillae of matter are the heavenly atoms that, when gathered, constitute and
replenish the resurrection body. Eventually, the filius philosophorum shall rise from
the receptacle. Thus, the alchemist redeems himself, but he also redeems God, who
is longing after spiritual replenishment due to his great sacrifice. He is longing after
Sophia. So the movement goes in the opposite direction than that of assimilation,
which is why Jung could never arrive at a proper understanding of Gnosticism and
alchemy. To him, the scintillae in matter represent archetypes that must be
integrated. But it doesn’t make sense to interpret the divine restoration of the
scintillae as conscious integration, for human consciousness cannot be equated with
the heavenly abode where cosmos had its beginnings. In my article
‘Complementation in Psychology’ (here) I point out in what ways ‘Answer to Job’ is
defective.

The filius philosophorum represents the resurrection body. It shall serve as the new
vehicle for personality, after Self No. 1 has been cast off. The Opus does not serve
the Hegelian purpose of integrating God with terrestrial existence in yet more
revelations of consciousness. In fact, it wins back to God that which has been lost to
him due to his continual unfolding in the world. After having acquired the
resurrection body, which is the heavenly person, the stark light of consciousness is
dampened, and the disciple’s eyes are opened to heavenly things that were
imperceptible before. The stark conscious light has hitherto blinded him to the faint
spiritual energies. He will be able to discern the soul-sparks that permeate reality,
and may continue to gather the heavenly food, a feat that could only be achieved
with difficulty before.

Arguably, it is not a sudden conversion of personality, but more of a slow descent to

a true life, as opposed to the alienated existence upon the plastic mountain. By way
of the artful gathering of the scintillae, the Christchild grows heavier all the time, as
in the legend of Christopherus (cf. Wiki, Saint Christopher, here). Thus, the
conversion to a new person should probably be seen as a continual process, where
the transfiguration to a new body serves as symbol for the moment when the
decision is taken to abandon the earthbound ways, no longer to endorse the ways of
the integrative paradigm and the diverse forms of personal advancement. It would
correspond to the very moment when the Christopherus of legend places the
Christchild on his shoulder and steps into the water. This is child’s play, “[for] my
yoke is easy and my burden is light”, says the Christ (Matt. 11:30).

The spiritual pilgrim may loosen the grip and slide down the plastic mountain,
because he/she has learnt how to gather the celestial sparks by recourse to the art.
After that moment, to slide down is a ‘ludus puerorum’. Thus, the abandonment of
personality No. 1 is not a metaphysical event, but would represent the moment
when the pilgrim makes up his mind. At this precious moment the transfiguration
process catches up speed, and it cannot be stopped. It is like sliding down a
mountain with the aid of the natural force of gravity. This is the correct
interpretation of alchemy, which runs counter to Jung’s Hegelian reading, building
on the paradigm of integration. The tribulation of Job, as well as the sacrificial work
of the Gnostics and alchemists, really belong to the parallel paradigm of
complementation.

Conscious expansion as evil

On a moonlit night we may see many things that we couldn’t see before, when we
had recourse only to our analytical consciousness that separates all things. In the
moonlight, things tend to meld together to reveal their sublime nature. Where we
only saw distinct things before, they now meld with the surrounding to reveal the
presence of an ethereal reality. It is the cooperation of the sun and the rain clouds
that makes life possible. The unconscious is like a cloud that provides us with life-
giving moisture, without which sentient life couldn‘t exist. The moist principle
serves to dampen the conscious light to the furtherance of the sacred. It is divinely
procreative while sustaining a standpoint of quiescence. But the unconscious is not a
horn of plenty capable of providing for us perpetually. The principle of integration
has yielded an unbalanced view of the psyche.

Nor can we expect that God (or the World Spirit) will incessantly provide us with the
boons of a continuous incarnation. The Gnostics saw the incarnation of Sophia as a
monumental divestiture of celestial life, and it was incumbent upon mankind to
settle the accounts. We must pay back what we owe the celestial Father by working
for the salvation of Sophia, which is the spirit imprisoned in the world.

Christian theology, as opposed to Gnostic theology, focuses on the boons of

incarnation, an overly one-sided standpoint which is continued in psychology’s
focus on integration. But the spirit has already given up its autonomy to an
enormous degree and we cannot expect conscious expansion to continue
interminably. Divine autonomy must be restored. The Hegelian project of Jung’s has
run up against a brick wall on account of one-sidedness. That’s why his theory of
the transcendent function doesn’t work. It is supposed to serve as a pipeline for the
transportation of goods of the unconscious, but it cannot contribute more as it will
ruin the balance. The moon sap, which in myth rains down on earth during the
moon’s waning phases, is dwindling. Life cannot continue without it. What remains
is a sun-scorched earth, where the ego abides upon the plastic mountain,
entertaining its dried out archetypal concepts.

There is in theory only a flux from the archetypal to the temporal sphere, but there
is no notion of a flux in the opposite direction. Thus, Jungian psychology is very
much a child of its times. What does it help to remain aware of the repression of the
feminine in our culture when there is no means of remedying the problem, other
than to proselytize and make more people aware of the fact? As a consequence,
even more people will have been recruited to an inadequate standpoint. It is a way of
pretence, an aloofness from reality, which only serves a personal therapeutic end,
since it enables the person to sustain his faith and steadfastly remain in the foxhole.
Yet it represents stagnation, an artificial life made permanent with the aid of a clever
ploy of consciousness.

Active imagination may serve as an artifice by which new tokens of worship are
created, in lieu of the Christian. It is the fast-food variant of pagan worship, in a
sense. But in that case it serves only a therapeutic purpose and leads nowhere. It is
high time for Jungians to learn something from the Christian mystics, who Jung
rejected off-hand. The nigredo of the alchemists, and the ‘dark night of the soul’ of
the mystics, does not signify the encounter with archetypal content, nor with the
ambitious goal of extorting even more treasures from the unconscious. In fact, the
nigredo represents the abandonment of the “Happy Neurotic Island” and the opening
of our senses to the faint fragrance of the sacred, ever radiating from the Sophia of
the Gnostics, or the Mercurius of the alchemists. The faint stars in the darkness will
continue to multiply, leading to the albedo — the morning of a new life. It is a great
moment when the grand building collapses, leaving only a naked island in its stead.
Soon the rock will be covered with sparse and thin grasses. The return of life has
begun, which is a precious moment. As Bjerre predicted, stagnation always ensues.
There is only one way out of it, namely “death and renewal”.

The God-man

The manner in which the divine promotes new temporal life and how it offers itself
up for us, is a mystery that is portrayed in the religions of the world, especially
pagan religion. The gods sacrifice themselves for the benefit of humanity, as in the
Passion of Christ. The deities are culture heroes, which means that the hero
archetype is involved. It is also the central theme of fairytales. Narcissus sacrifices
himself, too. The god-man remains the pre-eminent symbol of the complementarity
in our nature.

The god-man of pagan religion poses a quandary to the theologians. According to

some theologians (e.g. Bultmann, Barth, Kaufman) the “Christ event” is always ‘in
potentia’, while it also manifests continually. In the beginning of the Christian era, it
“spilled over” from myth into reality. The pagan myths confirm that the Christian
myth is deeply rooted in human psychology, and that people had for centuries
longed for the Christian revelation at the time of its advent. To the Celts and the
Teutons, the story of the suffering king whose death brings blessing upon humanity,
who hangs upon a tree penetrated by a spear, was nothing new. The druids used to
lop a tree into T-shape form, as a symbol of the sacrificial king. The Graeco-Roman
versions of Jesus, however, weren’t real enough. They had this fairytale character
typical of Graeco-Roman religion. Greek culture had a penchant for the abstract, as
typified by the Greek philosophers, including Plato. Jewish culture, however, was
more oriented towards concrete realization, not to philosophize but to make things
manifest.

Quite possibly, the Australian aborigine story of the god-man is quite ancient. Who
knows, it could be many thousand years old. The myth of “The Southern Cross” is
about the first humans, two men and a woman, who ate only plants. One day during
a famine, the woman and one of the men broke the rule of the sky king and killed a
kangaroo rat. The other man would not eat but walked angrily away towards the
sunset. He continued to walk until he fell down dead under a white gum tree. The
death spirit Yowi appeared and put him in the hollow centre of the tree. A terrific
burst of thunder was heard and the gum tree lifted from the earth towards the
southern sky where it planted itself where the Southern Cross is now seen. The
constellation looks like a Christian cross. It is the smallest yet one of the most
distinctive of all the modern constellations. In the southern hemisphere, the
Southern Cross is frequently used for navigation (cf. Langloh Parker, pp. 9f).

Thus, to the aborigines, the cross is the symbol of the original man who is faithful to
God, whereas the other two correspond to Adam and Eve who fell through sin. The
god-man’s sacrifice follows upon the arrival of sin in the world. He is buried in the
tree, whereas the Christ was fastened on the tree. Both symbols express the unity of
the god-man with the cross.

Among Indians of Central America there existed a god-man called the ‘bird-
serpent’ (Quetzalcoatl, Kukulkan, Kukumatz) who, according to the Toltecs,
preached flower-offerings instead of human offerings. Remarkably, in Toltec myth
he appears as a white man with a beard. When the conquistadors arrived in the
Aztec kingdom there were crosses erected to his honour. The vertical and horizontal
axes of the cross would signify the heavenly and the earthly natures that are united
in him. The fact that he is a bird as well as a serpent also points to his double-
nature. Like Jesus he was chaste. In the manner of Jesus, he surrounded himself with
the outcasts of society; humpbacks and harlots. According to the Aztecs, he was
intoxicated by a witch, and as a consequence he lost his chastity. Having been
stained by sin, his sacrifice must follow suit. According to one version he ascended
to heaven by immolation in fire. In another version he sailed away over the sea.
Before this, he made a vow to come back, defeat the forces of evil, and establish his
kingdom.

Interestingly, according to a heresy of medieval times, Jesus lost his chastity to

Mary Magdalene, an idea which is featured in the film The Da Vinci Code
(Tom Hanks, Audrey Tautou). Although the plot is very far-fetched, it is a heretical
notion that seems to carry a great deal of archetypal power. It is connected with the
myth of Jesus of Arcadia, who medieval heretics said was the real Jesus, whereas the
Jewish Christ was an impostor. In Greek mythology the name Jesus appears in the
forms Iasos, Iasios, Iasion, etc. Iasos and Iason are typical ancient Greek names.
These are different variants of the same name, like John and Johnny. In Greek
mythology appears a certain King Iasos of Arcadia. King Iasos (Iasios, Iasion), son of
Lykurgos of Tegea, is remembered as the father of Atalanta, the Amazonian heroine
and huntress (cf. Rose, 1964, p. 213). It appears that this figure is sometimes
confused with Iasion, son of Zeus and the virgin Electra, daughter of king Atlas. [6]
Iasion, the god-man, was elected by Zeus to convey the heavenly truth to humanity,
as the director of the mysteries of Samothrake. As a consequence of losing his
chastity, he was killed by Zeus himself. But Zeus took pity on his son and lifted him
up to the Olymp.

Iasion (Iasios) was an agricultural hero, the springtime consort of the goddess
Demeter. He was seduced by Demeter and lay with her in a thrice-ploughed field,
after having departed from the wedding celebrations of Kadmos and Harmonia.
When Zeus learned of the affair, he was angered and struck Iasion down with a
thunderbolt. He was afterwards placed among the stars in the constellation Gemini.
As Iasion represented the mysteries of Demeter, he was perhaps equated with Attis,
the dying and resurrecting consort of the Phrygian goddess Kybele. The myth gave
rise to the medieval heresy of Jesus of Arcadia, or the Aryan Christ. The well-known
dictum, ‘Et in Arcadia Ego’, in Poussin’s paintings, is believed to have something to
do with this. The Knights Templar seem to have entertained such beliefs, too. Later,
the Teutonic Knights continued the tradition. In modern times the racial ideologist
Lanz von Liebenfels revived the idea of the Aryan Christ. (Richard Noll fastens this
label on C. G. Jung.)

It is possible to argue that the success of the Christian message in pagan culture
was due to a long-standing preparatory stage during which they adhered to beliefs
proximate to the Christian belief. I think of the god-man as an archetype that slowly
matured and was ripe for general consciousness at the beginning of the Christian
era. Remarkably, we can learn about Jesus Christ by studying myths from the other
side of the world. These are more primitive Jesus-versions than the Jesus of
Nazareth; but by comparing the respective myths we can see what they boil down to.

The god-man tends to rise in every culture possessed by elitism and utopianism.
The misfits and humpbacks, who are cast out of the perfect Aryan state, gather
outside the city walls around the god-man Quetzalcoatl, who tells them that they
will inherit the Kingdom. Nevertheless, it is necessary to acknowledge the beautiful
‘diamond body’ of Utopia and the notion of ‘racial purity’. Otherwise we cannot
understand that ‘upper class condescension’ which catches hold of people, time and
again. As long as we keep repressing the archetype we will not benefit from the
moral victory when Christ or Quetzalcoatl appears on the scene, gathers the cripples
around himself and grants them the Kingdom, because this is how the good is
extracted out of the evil, or the gold is obtained from the dragon.

Surprisingly, the god-man appears also in Islam. Although Islamic theology

expressly rules out the notion of a god-man, Islamic tradition has come up with the
Khidr (‘The Green Man’). As the messenger of divine mercy, he bears a similarity to
the Christ. The Khidr’s message functions as an antidote to Islamic uncharitable
elitism and notions of world dominion. He represents the living spirit of wisdom and
the guide of souls, who speaks to the heart of the individual. Although he is not
quite as merciful in the Quran (sura 18), he functions as a psychopomp, guiding
Moses to sacred knowledge.

Emptiness

The term ‘Happy Neurotic Island’ was coined by Jung (vid. Jung, 1984). However, I
submit that it denotes any state of stagnation. Thus, it makes no difference which
“school” we belong to; whether it’s the Jungian, the Nietzschean, or the existentialist
school of philosophy — it will lead to the same result of stagnation. When the
notions are incorporated and we have learnt to play the game, there is no further
progress. In the esoteric traditions of Buddhism, Christianity, and Hinduism,
however, there is a way out, namely the path of self-abandonment.

It is a notion that Jung strongly objects to. Instead, we are expected to prop up the
ego by breathing life into beliefs that psychology has administered as medicine.
Thus, an ego ideology takes shape that serves to sustain the stagnated ego — a
belief system that becomes institutionalized and exoteric and soon takes cultic
expression. Although ego transcendence remains the central message of higher
religion, in the exoteric practice it has become ritualized. Thus it fulfills the opposite
function of transcendence, namely that of ego sustenance. So religion provides
people with a Happy Neurotic Island. Yet, religion also has an underlying message
that inspires the pilgrim toward the path of transcendence. But psychology has no
notion of self-transcendence, that is, it doesn’t provide for the genuine non-secular
longing of the soul. In this sense, trinitarian religion is superior to psychology as
philosophy of life. Jungian psychology may become a trap. I exemplify with a recent
dream of mine, which comments on the professional Jungian community, whose
forum I visited for the second time. It is worthwhile to retell because dream imagery
complements our abstract intellectual understanding.

This was my second visit to a kind of luxury old people’s home, open
for visitors, which included an enclosed adventure park. The senior
citizens, who were all more or less demented, had walked this path so
often that they had dug a 6 inches trench into the lawn. In one section
of the path one could risk the short climb up to a cliff with a beautiful
view of the landscape. It was surprisingly high up, and from there I
could see the glittering sea at a distance. However, the ground was
unstable and I risked falling down. An old decrepit man walking passed
me said that I must walk where he was going instead. However, I chose
to climb down to a lower path that was stable, from where I could not
see the landscape. Before this peak, however, was a cafeteria, where a
bald and fairly short man in his thirties worked as a cashier. I noted
that they vended miniature whisky bottles at 70 kr (7 pounds), which
made me feel guilty, because I had at an earlier visit taken one of these
without paying, thinking that they were gratis.

This ‘outline dream’ depicts psychology as an adventure park for slightly demented
pensioners, a Happy Neurotic Island, as it were. The word whisky derives from Gaelic
‘uisce beatha’ meaning “water of life”. I had always thought that the archetypal water
of life were gratis as deriving from the unconscious; but it costs money, that is, it is
costly in terms of precious life that goes to waste as we walk the path and purchase
these bottled up products. The process of assimilation is, in a sense, like stealing
from the gods. This explains the feeling of guilt. It represents the exchange of
messages on intellectual and archetypal themes. The cashier, as the forum
moderator, in a way represents the spirit of Jung. The heavily worn path I connect
with a different type of path that Bjerre laid out in the park at his house at Vårstavi.
He always laid out a new path after a while, and let the old path grow over, and then
he enthusiastically showed his visitors his new layout. Of course, it was predicated
on his idea of renewal.

Evidently, the adventure park provides the pilgrim with a refreshing experience in
the form of a drink of whisky and a beautiful overview of the landscape and the sea,
if one dares to climb that high. It represents the intellectual realizations. But it will
take you no higher than this (it was just a steep rock). Yet, it is emphasized that I
must tone down the intellect, step down to a lower level, and abandon the splendid
intellectual overview. Moreover, it is depicted as a repetitious experience that goes
in a circle and really takes you nowhere. Individuation does not seem to imply
progress. It fulfills a mere therapeutic purpose and functions as ego maintenance.
Although, judging from the dream, it is not without its dangers. After this dream, I
finally made up my mind to leave the charade.
“Emptiness” is central to Buddhism. All the phenomena as well as the concepts that
we are attached to are really “empty”, which signifies an “emptiness of essence”. It
doesn’t mean that the phenomena are non-existent; it only means that they are
empty of life-giving nourishment, as it were. They are like flowers that lack nectar
for the honey bee. It doesn’t mean that all of Jungian theory is false, only that the
dried out concepts lack relevance for the emancipated personality. Theory is
certainly full of meaning and value for the student and for the patient in therapy; but
when he/she has passed that phase, its only function is to prop up the ego. It’s then
time to realize that the concepts have been emptied of nectar, and it’s futile to hold
to one’s egoic structure. Jung’s system, as well as any other philosophy of life, has
then become a system for the maintenance of the stagnated ego.

This has harmful consequences if there is in personality an urge towards self-

transcendence. The person will remain on Happy Neurotic Island persuading himself
that the present condition is fine. But, with at least some people, there will arrive
compensatory messages in the form of dreams. Accordingly, they will dream about
“death and renewal” and self-abandonment, just as Jung himself did, but cleverly
misinterpreted. Intelligent people have this weakness. After all, they don’t need to
really listen to the collected wisdom of mankind, because intellectual proficiency
allows them to build their own edifice, and skillfully cram historical tradition into it,
by way of clever misinterpretation. Jung, in fact, had no need to take religious
teaching seriously, since he could get it from the inner guide, in the guise of
Philemon, etc. Consequently, during his visit to India, he evaded the planned
rendezvous with the great guru.

The Christian transfiguration into the resurrection body, the alchemical creation of
the filius philosophorum, and the conversion to buddhahood and bodhisattvahood
in Buddhism, all represent the stage of self-transcendence: enlightenment (bodhi) —
being (sattva). There is in psychology no theory around this central aspect of human
psychology. It won’t suffice to say that the Buddha represents the Self. It’s evident
that there is a gaping hole in theory, because self-transcendence is ruled out. The
realizations and insights that take place when we learn psychology, and learn to
analyze our dreams with its tools, represent a flux from the realm of potentiality to
the temporal, and a concomitant decrease of potential libido and autonomy.

But there is no notion of a flux in the other direction, nor how to relate to the
phenomenon of “emptiness”. Evidently, the individuant has made an achievement,
but now he is unable to understand messages of dreams, which prompt for a
movement in the other direction, because psychology provides no means of
understanding the message. There is only a method of symbolization in terms of
archetypes that relativizes the message and robs it of its personal and very specific
significance. So this is why the traditional notion of individuation doesn’t hold water.
Individuation cannot be equated with realization of the Self, defined as a
confrontation with the archetypal domain in combination with social adaptation.
With some people, i.e., the ones dissatisfied with earthly life, no matter how rich it
is, it must lead to a stagnant condition.
Therapeutic individuation

According to my argument, Jung’s individuation doesn’t denote “progress”. Rather, it

revolves around ego maintenance. Jung says that individuation typically takes its
beginning in the late thirties, after adaptation has been achieved and the latter half
of life begins. It seems that individuation, in this form, serves merely to maintain
what has been achieved. The break with Freud occurred at the psychoanalytic
congress in 1913. (At the same occasion Bjerre and Maeder stood up and took
exception to aspects of psychoanalysis, something which is seldom mentioned.)
Jung was then around 38 years old, and from then on his life changed direction. His
41st year marks the inception of his crisis. He says that his later intellectual
achievements derive wholly from his psychological experiences during this period.
Of course, these experiences were strongly predicated on his earlier studies of
mythology. From then on, he was devoted to maintenance work during the latter
half of his life. Evidently, individuation does not imply endless progress. From a
point in time, it fulfills a mere therapeutic purpose as ego preservation.
Petteri Pietikäinen (2007) takes the view that Jungian individuation is therapeutic:

Like Jung said, the archetypal ‘inner man’ has to be nourished with
healing myths if he is not to become dangerous or disturbed. Jung
himself created a healing myth when he offered modern ‘disenchanted’
individuals a personal myth or a psychoutopian story of individuation
which through the universal and archaic nature of archetypes connects
them backwards with the ancient mythical world and forwards to the
modern individualistic search for authenticity. Jungian individuation
signifies something unattainable, something that, while glimmering on
the psychic horizon, we can never really reach. It is a basic
characteristic of utopianism that it empowers us to look for reality-
transcending elements in the world while it eludes all attempts to
actually establish utopia in the world. Individuation also entails the
notion that it is much better to believe in untrue but positive fictions
than to have a totally illusion-free conception of reality and of one’s
life. The reason for this is that if you believe in something that may not
be true but that may have beneficial consequences to your life, it may
save you from mental suffering, such as depression […]
If we expect to be able to lead a good life and enjoy life even while we
grow older and weaker, this hopeful expectation may become self-
validating. And insofar as Jung succeeded in promoting his message
that individuation is a real process, this message must have had a
positive effect on people, regardless of the truth value of his
doctrine […]
Jung’s individuation is a mythical story about the (archetypal) origins of
things, but it is simultaneously a utopian story about attaining
wholeness. He maintained that intrinsic to human nature is the
tendency to mythologize, because myths protect us from symbolic
impoverishment, which can lead to neuroses or even worse tragedies,
as the current ‘cultural crisis’ in the West shows.
Occasionally Jung made frank statements about the mythic character of
his psychological work, implying that his own psychology was a healing
myth. In one of his seminars he once called individuation ‘our
 mythology’, and his friend E. A. Bennett relates that when the ageing
Jung was asked about his own personal myth, he would answer without
hesitation: ‘Well, the Collective Unconscious, of course’. And in his
memoirs he wrote:

To the intellect, all my mythologising is futile speculation.

To the emotions, however, it is a healing and valid activity;
it gives existence a glamour [Glanz] which we would not
like to do without. Nor is there any good reason why we
should. (Pietikäinen, 2007, pp. 126-27)

It is that last part of Jung’s sentence that I take objection to. “Nor is there any good
reason why we should [do without mythologizing]”. In fact, when one has ascended
to the peak in the psychological amusement park, then nothing remains to be seen.
From then on it fulfills a mere therapeutic function for maintaining the achievements
of the ego. But one ought to cast off those achievements and attempt to transcend
the ego, by leaving the therapeutic amusement park, or sliding down the plastic
mountain. It does not mean that the psychological edifice is altogether faulty, it only
means that it is “empty”.

Self-abandonment

Psychology must be supplemented with a theory around self-abandonment (ego-

abandonment), because it must needs stand on two legs. There is no reason why
this couldn’t work, because higher religions stand on two legs, too. Christian
mysticism, in terms of St John of the Cross, et al., argues for a personal union with
God, the ‘unio mystica’, in defiance of the dogmas of Catholicism. People have no
problems with the idea that there is an exoteric and an esoteric path, where the
latter is relevant for the élite. This is so in Buddhism and Hinduism, too. After all,
self-abandonment is psychology, too, and it mustn’t be neglected. The manner in
which we settle upon the ego mountain seems to represent a phase of adaptation
and stabilization of personality. But the egoic bias of theory imparts the belief that
we also need recourse to the egoic edifice long after it has been established,
although it seems that we can do without it. The “enlightenment-being” needn’t
worry about fending away dragons with the sharp sword of consciousness, anymore.

It seems that the unconscious, generally speaking, poses no danger after this stage.
There’s no need for the therapeutic archetypal exercise of finding one’s own myth.
This is because self-abandonment leads to the demise of the dictatorial and
ravenous ego to the furtherance of the spiritual method. This is complementation,
which, in terms of alchemy, takes place in the mild light of the moon. It would mean
that the unconscious now upholds and sustains the reformed Self (the “resurrection
body”), as a shift has occurred and consciousness is now in service of the
unconscious. It is necessary to invent a new psychological term for
“bodhisattvahood”; otherwise we have to make do with religious terms, which isn’t
ideal.

There is no need for self-maintenance on part of the ego. Personality in this state
has been “purified” of mundanity; a common notion in mysticism that signifies the
dismantling of the egoic structure, including all of its attachments and beliefs.
Apophatic mystical tradition around the world; all of them emphasize the necessity
of achieving “emptiness” and purity of mind. The alchemists, too, focused on the
theme of self-abnegation, although such trinitarian notions never attracted the
interest of Jung. It demonstrates that the psyche has a function which is not
accounted for in theory, as Jung finds it inexplicable that the ego can be
transcended. According to him, personality must stand its own ground, always be
prepared to confront the archetypal psyche and take up fight with the dragon. But a
more or less pure consciousness can be maintained without the dissociative
consequence of unconscious submersion. This mysterious psychological state would
correspond to a stage called the “embrace of God”, in Christian mystical discipline.

The hubris of consciousness

The Book of Job illustrates in the prelude an ideal situation, in terms of the paradigm
of integration. The heavenly realm had incarnated on earth and become manifest as
Job’s and his family’s paradisal existence. It was in a sense the Kingdom of God on
earth, centered upon material welfare and obedience to the law of the book. The
consequence of this was that God as the living spirit had been confined to the
shadows. He was remembered only in the book, which Job read intently. Job
evidently thinks that he is righteous. It is a similar situation today, as consciousness
has made an immense progress and acquired great powers that earlier belonged to
the divine. Likewise, people remain equally politically correct in the manner they
unthinkingly subscribe to the “good” principles.

For instance, the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Article 25, says that
every human being on earth has the right to food, clothing, housing and medical
care, etc. The politicians and the average person have blind faith in such
megalomaniacal notions. It portrays life on earth as paradisal, and the national state
as a horn of plenty, that must provide for all the people on earth without
recompense. If the same declaration had applied to rabbits, they would soon cover
the whole of earth, and it would develop into a catastrophe. The consequences of
“righteousness” and political correctness are even worse when human reproduction
and material well-being are elevated as the highest good. People of such ilk think
they are “righteous”; but the consequences of their ideology are horribly evil and
destructive, both with regards to heavenly and earthly life.

Job was taught a lesson. We can see at the end of the book that Jahve had recovered.
He has again risen to the stature of a world-shattering, omnipotent and autonomous
force, and Job and his earthly paradise had been reduced to ashes in the process.
These two processes go together. Job’s sacrifice leads to the elevation and the
recovery of divine autonomy. He was no longer a mere shadow remembered in the
good book as principles of righteousness. Job’s hubristic consciousness had been
downtrodden. He had been crucified with Christ and experienced resurrection, in a
sense. Thus, he is a prototype of the Christ, who also rose to excellence, and had to
suffer the consequences.

In Jung’s understanding, Job’s book points at the necessity of God to incarnate even
more in reality. In fact, it’s the reverse. The book speaks about divine recuperation.
God must restore his autonomy as he cannot be crammed into slight temporal
reality. The Godhead also recuperates greatly in the book. Since humanity is so
blind, and cannot learn to make offerings to the Divine, in the manner of
complementation, a catastrophe is the only thing that can remedy the situation. Job
does indeed repent in dust and ashes, and he attests to having been taught a
lesson. We cannot take Jung’s idea seriously, that he is being dishonest with the
Creator. It is a ludicrous idea. The moral of the story is difficult to understand for
modern people, because they believe they are “good”, similar to Job. They have all
the correct views and are helping the poor. They pay their taxes and avoid cheating
on their spouse. But they have depleted the divine, in both its light and dark aspect.
The notion that God is being wicked and unfair is unprofound. God, in the mythic
narrative, is a personification of divine nature, towering above human morals.

Ludus puerorum

The term complementation denotes the psychological process behind the spiritual
path of mystic tradition, from the viewpoint of the archetypal psyche. It differs from
the traditional trinitarian practice in that phenomenal reality is seen as the container
of spirit, in the sense of Gnostic and alchemical teaching. Comparatively,
St John of the Cross rejects the phenomenal world altogether, and focuses entirely
on the empty mind. It leads to adverse consequences. Fr. Thomas Keating says that,
despite having made an enormous effort, contemplatives seldom attain the ‘night of
spirit’ that Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross have described (cf. Keating, 1994,
ch. 1). The “infused contemplation” of Christian mystics remains a controversial
technique. To perceive the spirit in temporal existence is not difficult, however — it
is a ludus puerorum. When expansive and voracious ego consciousness is toned
down, it allows any simple shape to appear as a carrier of spirit, as in Mark Rothko’s
paintings, where a coloured rectangle is shown against the backdrop of another hue.
Rothko and the alchemists were experts in this field, but anybody should be able to
learn.

The notion of complementation would be the psychological equivalent of ‘circular

distillation’ in alchemy. It is a semi-autonomous process, like the fermentation of a
brew, to which one may contribute by adding a “mild heat” and by abandoning the
ego’s strivings and obsessions. Consciousness devotes itself to finding the sacred
sparks present in existence and adding them to the receptacle. It is alchemy, really.
Just like the alchemists and the Gnostics say, one can sense the fragrance of the
spirit everywhere inside creation. It seems at the outset a very modest contribution,
but the unconscious loves this heavenly food. One could write something truly
intimate and sincere, yet unassuming, which gives expression to the indwelling
spirit of matter. One may paint an abstract shape on a canvas whose function it is to
harvest the faint soul-sparks of matter.

It differs from active imagination, however. It may come to expression as a form of

spiritual poetry or painting; but it requires that one gives less regard to the quality
of the result. What counts is the finding of the scintillae, in the present moment.
Intellectual and symbolic values lack relevance. After all, intellectual improvement
has the opposite consequence, namely integration. I don’t think there is a singular
correct method, however. The major self-committing enterprise is, of course, in
various ways to tone down the ego, and to be good in the real sense, namely to be
good in the eyes of God, but not necessarily in human eyes.

Psychology advocates self-advancement and ambitious goals for personality. Yet,

the ambitious, self-serving and self-improving attitude poses a hindrance. Before
the egoic attitude has been cast off, it’s not easy to collect the scintillae. Instead of
focusing on diverse accomplishments to improve ourselves, we must abandon
ourselves to God, in the language of the mystic and the cloistered contemplative.
“Abandonment to divine providence” means to give up the ego in a sense. Yet it
appears strange to our everyday consciousness to surrender our ambitions and
focus instead on the restoration of godly autonomy. Self-abandonment cannot easily
be combined with an active life. The pressing demands of everyday life poses a
hindrance, since it requires that we remain consciously adept. Thus, it’s clear that
the process of complementation necessitates more of a reclusive life.

It is clear that one may practice the ability to observe with the inner spiritual eye
from an early period in life. Thus, the young person should consider abandoning the
goal of a successful career. In my own case, judging from my dreams of the period,
the unconscious was overwhelmingly in favour of self-abandonment rather than
career, which I was unthinkingly dragged into. The unconscious is adamant that the
spirit may be pursued already during the first half of life. One may lead a simple life
instead of setting up ambitious goals. This flies in the face of psychological theory,
according to which societal adaptation and intellectual improvement must take place
during this phase. Carl Jung has often been criticized for conflating the sacred with
the psychological. Thus, Wouter J. Hanegraaff says:

From the perspective of a psychologist, this meant that the world of the
psyche and the world of “outer” reality were just different reflections of
the unus mundus; thus, Jung describes the “inner planes” in terms
which are a perfect illustration of the “psychologization of religion and
sacralization of psychology” […] The only difference, I would add, is
that Jung was not an occultist […] It is by building his psychology on a
concept of science derived from Romantic Naturphilosophie (and
opposed to modern “causality”) that Jung may have succeeded in
finding a way to “up-date” traditional esotericism without disrupting its
inner consistency. From the perspective of the historical study of
esotericism, this makes him a unique figure. (Hanegraaff, 1996,
pp. 504-5)

This perception of Jung carries weight, since he has reinterpreted the message of
self-abandonment in spiritual disciplines such as Yoga. It is made to conform with
his notion of individuation, focusing on therapeutic ego maintenance, in the manner
of symbolization. As such, it certainly represents a form of psychologization.
However, it really depends on a misinterpretation of spiritual discipline. It can be
remedied by making a proper psychological interpretation of the spiritual path. This
is not psychologization, because it leads to the acknowledgement of a
transcendental impetus in human psychology, i.e., a drive of self-transcendence. It
would put an end to the psychological abuse of trinitarian tradition.

The spiritual path, it would seem, is practicable already in youthful years. At this
time, one may abandon egoic ambition, including the confrontation with the
archetypal domain, which only aims at robbing the unconscious of even more
treasures. On the surface, it gives the lie to very central Jungian doctrines. Yet
psychology may stand on two legs, in the way of religion. The traditional way of
individuation corresponds to the commoners’ worship of deities in Hinduism and
Buddhism. Although Buddhist theology rejects the notion of deities proper, the
Buddhists worship them anyway. The Buddhist élite knows that these are mere
blandishments, albeit a necessary aspect of life.

In psychology, the anima stands for the blandishments of the unconscious, the
impetus behind profane obsessions. Thus, integrating the anima means to live the
myth deliberately and consciously, instead of becoming a hapless victim to her
blandishments. This makes sense for ordinary people; but for the spiritual élite
anima integration lacks relevance. Also the consciously adopted ‘personal myth’
represents mere “emptiness”. Instead, they are devoted to the path of ego
abandonment, which means that profane allurement isn’t a problem. The spiritual
pilgrim follows a stream that flows in another direction. It is the small, purling,
quicksilvery rivulet that never catches the eye of ordinary people.

Two paths

In historical tradition, the path of transcendence and the ways of the world have
been viewed as two different paths in life. Yet, Jung sees individuation as one. The
profane and the spiritual paths are a conjugate — they are regarded as
interdependent. Essentially they are one and the same, because assimilation goes
hand in hand with the worldly relation. Thus, we should be capable of being equally
worldly-minded and spiritual-minded, and presumably equally successful in both
spheres, simultaneously (cf. Jung, 1977b, para. 1099).

It cannot possibly work. I think we must see them as two distinct paths, and that’s
why I view the Self as ‘complementarian’, that is, twofold in a complementary sense.
Yet, there is only one Self at a time, functioning as an ideal for personality. The
‘trinitarian’ (heavenly) Self will succeed the ‘quaternarian’ Self (the worldly Self of
completeness). In Henderson’s diagram, The Ultimate (Celestial) God Image replaces
The Primal God Image in the shamanic journey. The trinitarian ‘Self of
transcendence’ is associated with the process of self-abandonment and
complementation. The filius philosophorum would represent the Self of
transcendence.

Is the technique of complementation relevant to the therapeutic situation? Generally,

psychotherapy revolves around the resolution of personal problems, which is why
the method of assimilation remains central. Theory, however, does not stop at the
personal unconscious. When the problems are resolved, the method of integration is
supposed to continue vis-à-vis the collective unconscious. This, then, becomes the
transcendental path for Jung, termed the transcendental function. The spiritual path
proper is rejected and supplanted with a prolonged psychoanalysis, revolving
around continued assimilation of archetypes. Allegedly, this is individuation proper.
However, I have argued that it is really maintenance work in a symbolic form,
corresponding to the exoteric traditions of religion. Jung was never interested in
dealing with people’s personal problems:
 [A] long-standing patient arrived for his appointment to find that Jung
had gone sailing on Lake Zurich. In a towering rage the patient hired a
boat, set off in pursuit and, once he caught up with him, used a loud-
hailer to upbraid him… Jung then zigzaged away, with the patient in
hot pursuit. When they again came within hailing distance, Jung cried
out, ‘Go away — you bore me!’ (Pietikäinen, p. 125).

However, for patients of the type that Jung preferred, namely those that came to him
with a feeling of alienation from life, but whose personal problems were already
resolved, I am convinced that the technique of complementation would in many
cases have been preferable before the traditional techniques of individuation.
Subliminally is heard a call from the trinitarian Self to abandon the ego. This is the
alchemical King drowning in the sea, who is calling for help.

There are in fact two paths you can go by, instead of only one, following psychology.
We must have recourse to a psychological terminology for the trinitarian path. That’s
why I have suggested ‘complementation’ for the transcendental psychological
process, as denoting a process complementary to the process of ‘integration’. The
spiritual path is misinterpreted in Jung as continued integration, although this lacks
relevance to the principle of transcendence. It really revolves around
complementation, which is the path of self-offering rather than self-advancement. It
is climbing down the mountain, not up to its top. I once dreamt that I wore a
headlamp on my forehead. However, it had been masked with black paint in the
same manner as the car headlights during the London blitz. There was only a narrow
slot where the light came through. This symbolizes the toning down of
consciousness. It is nothing new. Spiritual masters have been harping on it for
millennia.

It has damaging consequences for personality the way in which Jung misleads
people by reinterpreting the trinitarian path. He misunderstands alchemy, too, as a
project of psychological assimilation. He was certainly correct that self-analysis is
wholesome, and that we must sometimes make a real effort to understand ourselves
and the directionality of the Self. We must understand, and we must devote
ourselves to grey “integral calculus”. Yet, the seeker may also arrive at an
understanding that he must now abandon the faculty that helped him understand.
However, the way in which the psychoanalytic project is extended into an
interminable work of archetypal assimilation serves only to detract us from the
spiritual path proper. Although individuation in the traditional sense serves as a new
mythology for the average man, the notion could also have damaging consequences
for those who have an inner longing for secular abandonment.

The alchemists gathered the early morning dew for their operation. The dew drop
symbolizes the soul-spark, which is normally passed over by consciousness. But if it
is “touched” it opens up, like a flower unfolding its petals, exuding a sublime
fragrance. In a dream I went through the wood in the dark of night. My trouser leg
touched a lonely little flower; a Chickweed Wintergreen (“forest star”). On being
touched, the forest star immediately unfolded its petals, something that made a
strong impression on me. This formally insignificant thing felt very meaningful to
me. Maybe it is the question of becoming attuned to the faint energies of the forest
stars. If people have their consciousness attuned to the archetypal and grand
dimensions, they will walk passed the forest stars, which will remain untouched by
consciousness.

The problem of 3 and 4

Jung has revoked the trinitarian path proper and replaced it with the anima life of
temporality. James Kirsch once asked him whether John’s “dark night of the soul”
was a process of individuation, and he replied, “John of the Cross’ ‘Dark Night of the
Soul’ has nothing to do with this. Rather, integration is a conscious confrontation, a
dialectical process…” (Jung & Adler, 1976, p. 159). He was certainly right to say that
individuation as the integrative path has nothing to do with the spiritual path, and
he also rejects the latter. Although he argues that individuation is conjointly worldly
and otherworldly, it is not really so. Allegedly, to consciously live the myth, i.e., to
accomplish the mythic life, corresponds to a sacred ideal. The profane citizen leads
the anima/animus life unwittingly and collectively. However, to Jung, the sacred
ideal is to integrate the archetypes in order to harness their power. In this way the
individual no longer follows the myth of the collective, but may lead a personal
mythic existence. Instead of being unwittingly paganist, the individuant changes his
outlook to conscious paganism — a modern yet deviant variant of Neoplatonism.

Although Jung is seen as a spiritual master, he has really ousted the traditional
pious path and put psychology in its place, as the continued assimilation of
archetypes. It means that he rejects the trinitarian ways including the trinity.
Allegedly, the number three is a defective wholeness whereas the quaternity is the
wholeness proper. Yet, Dorn said that the ‘quartarius’ is the devilish ‘binarius’ in
disguise (cf. Jung, 1969, para. 104). If the number two represents unconscious
paganism, then the number four would represent conscious paganism.

The problem of 3 and 4 is notorious in dreams. According to Jung, it signifies the

problem people have in leaving the defective wholeness and attaining the wholeness
of the quaternity. But if I dream that the elevator gets stuck between the third and
fourth level, it really means that I should have gone off at level three and not
continued to the fourth, namely the level of the binarius in disguise. The dream
function, being averse to the chimerical anima life, stops the elevator. Thus,
conscious and unconscious remain in conflict about this. The number 3 represents a
path in its own right, and the trinitarian Self is at least as estimable as the
quaternarian Self. Physicist Wolfgang Pauli (1900-1958) was obsessed with the
problem of 3 and 4. He wrote to M-L von Franz: “Every correct solution (i.e., that
corresponds to nature) must contain the 4 as well as the 3” (Lindorff, 2004, p. 185).
So he didn’t like Jung’s rejection of the number three. He also dreamt the following:

I am in Sweden, where I come across an important letter. [It] says in the

letter that with me there is something essentially different from
C. G. Jung. The difference is that with me the number 206 has changed
to 306, but not with Jung. I keep seeing 206 turn into 306. The letter is
signed: ‘Aucker’. (Meier, 2001, p. 137)

If the ‘0’ is seen as a wholeness symbol and the ‘6’ as the unconscious domain, then
the first digit represents the standpoint of the ego. Thus, the three digits denote the
wholeness of conscious and unconscious as the Self. Jung’s standpoint is binarian in
disguise, whereas Pauli was in the process of abandoning this view for the sake of
the trinitarian path. Evidently, his dream urged him to abandon Jung’s “semi-pagan”
standpoint, associated with the devilish number two. It is expressed in the dream as
a progression from 2 to 3.

Gerhard Dorn was probably correct in his evaluation of the quaternity. As the
quadricornutus binarius it has qualities of the number 2. (Yet Jung says that the
reason for Dorn’s suspicious attitude is that he remained stuck in his trinitarian
Christian consciousness.) Nevertheless, Jung’s quaternarian consciousness and myth
of individuation could be the right way for the profane person, because it is
educational and maturational for personality. There is no way of assessing its value
for all kinds of people; so it is not possible to reject the quaternarian Self. I hold
instead that the Self is complementarian, that is, either 3 or 4.

Ascension of the spirit

A dream of a modern man: “I am in a place ‘in the middle of nowhere’ called ‘The
Hub’. At the back of this place, I could see a field of corn, glowing so beautifully in
the light, that it was like liquid gold.” If he is in The Hub, he has presumably been
transported to the very centre of Creation, and what he sees there would represent
the ultimate Truth. But there is no grand manifestation of the Christian Trinity, nor
of any Jungian archetype. Instead, he witnesses the Gnostic and alchemical truth
about the scintillae, the fragments of the body of Sophia. After her fall, the soul-
sparks lay scattered in the intelligible realm as seeds of the spirit. The seeds have
given rise to an enormous golden field of corn. Every ear of corn consists of
numerous golden grains — the scintillae.

Evidently, the scintillae are ripe for harvest. The Gnostics took to ingesting material
substances that were especially potent, whereas the alchemists let the matter
ferment in the alembic, and devoted themselves to artwork, writing, and meditation.
We modern people understand the soul-sparks as representing a life-giving addition
to the unconscious psyche. The dream divests with the mythological expectancies
that we may have about the most sacred place of all. It is instead emphasized that
complementation is the one and only truth. In Thomas 97, Jesus says:

The kingdom of the Father is like a woman carrying a jar full of meal.
While she was walking on a distant road, the handle of the jar broke
and the meal poured out behind her on the road. She was unaware, she
had not noticed the misfortune. When she came to her house, she put
the jar down and found it empty. (Thomas, 97)

In Gnostic theology, the fall of Sophia is portrayed as a “mistake”. In logion 97, her
spirit is dispersed like meal in the wind. Every particle of meal represents a heavenly
scintilla. The final phrase (“found it empty”), in the original text, alternatively reads
“fell into it”. Thus, this saying would represent the fall of Sophia, which results in the
creation of material reality. The identity of Sophia (Wisdom) is not entirely clear,
however. In general Gnostic theology, Christ arrives to arouse the earthly inhabitants
to do the salvational work. But in several places in the Christian sources it is through
Christ that the universe has been created. “He was in the beginning with God. All
things came into being through Him, and apart from Him nothing came into being
that has come into being” (John 1:2-3). St Paul, as several authors have pointed out,
has a Gnostic leaning: “[all] things were created through him and for him. And he is
before all things, and in him all things hold together” (Coloss. 1:16-17). Thus, he is
interspersed in the sublunar realm, and he is also the wisdom responsible for the
orderly character of the world. That Jesus is somehow identical with the fallen
Sophia is evident in Thomas:

Jesus said: “I am the light that is over all things. I am all: from me all
came forth, and to me all attained. Split a piece of wood; I am there.
Lift up the stone, and you will find me there.” (Thomas, 77)

In the biblical Wisdom books, Jahve expresses his longing to reunite with Wisdom
(which in Hebrew is a feminine noun). It was through Wisdom that Yahweh “founded
the earth”. In the Christian interpretation, however, it is the Son and the Father who
are longing after reunion. In John 17:5 Jesus implores the Father to take him back to
his former glory: “And now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory
that I had with you before the world existed.”

The alchemists, however, took the view that the incarnated spirit was androgynous,
and called him the spiritus Mercurius. It was for obvious reasons not possible to
refer to him as the Christ, although in secret doctrine he is referred to as the
Christchild, who is calling for help from the dark wood. Regardless of the theological
difficulties regarding gender, the underlying meaning is obvious. The Christ’s
incarnation really occurred at the beginning of time (i.e. at the dawn of self-
consciousness). At the Fall of Man he became lost in the terrestrial realm. Under the
name of Mercurius, he is the object of the alchemist’s work of redemption. The
redemptive opus consists in effecting his ascension, i.e. the opposite of incarnation.

Incarnation and apotheosis

The movement of the divine is two-way, at least in the long perspective. The Christ
incarnates but he also resurrects and returns to the Father. The theme of incarnation
is typified in the myth of Prometheus, who falls to earth and is chained to the rock.
Narcissus is tethered to earth as a daffodil, whereas Attis, the consort of Kybele,
manifests as a pine tree. Yet, at the ritual opening of his grave, it was found to be
empty. He had resurrected and returned to the Otherworld.

The divinity of Jesus and his Ascension are regarded as historically real. But it is also
a cosmogonical event underlying the creation of the universe. The former myth
serves as symbol for the redemptive work of the individual. In the following of Jesus,
we may work toward the redemption of the mercurial Christ, who is fettered in
material existence. The very human person Jesus, through his redemptive work,
experiences a transfiguration into the resurrection body. It is the self-redemptive
outcome of the individual’s salvational work vis-à-vis the indwelling spirit, namely
the Christchild.

The redemptive work of Jesus Christ is the focus of institutionalized religion

whereas the cosmogonical incarnation is the secret truth belonging to esoteric
tradition. It connotes a mysterious identity of the hermaphroditic Adam and the
Christ. On this view, the fall of Adam is equal to the cosmogonical incarnation of
Christ. Nevertheless, the symbol emphasizes the individual’s role in the redemptive
work. By working toward the redemption of God, we also redeem ourselves.
Psychological integration corresponds to the theological notion of incarnation
whereas complementation corresponds to the apotheosis. Jung interprets the
alchemical and Gnostic work of redemption as the psychological work of integration,
that is, the fettering of the godly archetype to the temporal world. In fact, they were
working toward the emancipation and elevation of the fettered divinity.

It is obvious that Mercurius is a god fettered in matter and that the alchemist’s work
consists in redeeming him from this state. Mercurius incarnated and became
fettered to material existence in the same sense as Prometheus. However, in Jung’s
reading, ‘matter’ corresponds to the unconscious and redemption takes the
meaning of integrating the archetype with consciousness. But this represents, in
itself, a reduction of the deity to a function of consciousness. In other words, it
correspond to incarnation, and it does not accomplish the return of the Son to
Father. Thus, the autonomy of the spirit is in fact quenched. As a matter of fact, the
collective unconscious has already incarnated, and it is time to return the favour.

From this, it is evident that consciousness has two functions. It does not only have
the capability to integrate contents, in accordance with the synthetic function of the
ego. There is also a sympathetic function, representing another form of
consciousness, a “moonlight consciousness” with the capability to further the
process of complementation. It is the transcendental consciousness, which is
capable of seeing the divine, imbuing it with sacred moonlight, thus restoring it to
its true stature. The receptacle must be warmed in moonlight, says the alchemist,
and the moon plant (Lunaria) will soon burgeon.

It is evident that theory is lacking in a function of complementation. When Jung

studies works of art, they only have value in so far as they can furnish archetypal
content for the satisfaction of insatiable ego consciousness. That’s why he dismisses
modern art as neurotic and degenerative (cf. Jung, 1978, para. 724). He cannot see
what others see with their dim conscious light, namely the artwork as a receptacle of
spirit to be multiplied and reinforced. Nowhere in the outer world can we get such
an intense experience of the holy than in an exhibition of modern art. The artists
have managed to catch the spirit in a canvas frame, there to be reinforced by our
moonlight consciousness.

Jesus says that, “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains
alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24). The Christ has this in common
with Osiris. In below image of Osiris-Nepra, from a bas-relief at Philae, wheat is
growing from the deity’s body. The sprouting wheat implies resurrection.
 “Osiris-Nepra”.

We may conclude that the dream of the “golden corn hub of the universe” portrays
the celestial realm as enormously plentiful and that it rises from a seed in the black
earth. The dream portrays the esoteric and cosmogonical view of the Christ as the
indwelling spirit that needs the help of a human farmer to resurrect. Presumably, it
represents the work of many farmers, and not only the dreamer. The
complementation process continues autonomously, unless quenched by an
overwhelming focus on integration and accomplishment. It happens every time we
take notice of the divine, without our being able to integrate it with consciousness.
Thus, the divinity is being watered and invigorated by a special animating or
sympathetic function of consciousness, which is reciprocal to the synthetic function.
But complementation, consciously applied, speeds up the process greatly, which was
also the intention of the alchemists. They collected the earth containing the golden
seeds, and placed it in a greenhouse for the spirit.

The sympathetic function of consciousness

I theorize that consciousness has a double function — it is both ‘synthetic’ and

‘sympathetic’. Psychoanalysts endorse the view that consciousness is only
synthetic — it appropriates psychic content as its own. The ego believes itself to be
the one who formulates the cognitive content. Swedenborg emphasizes this
function, too. Integration serves to empower the ego with new insight and
understanding. It opens up our eyes to reality.

In myths and dream it is portrayed as a form of self-sacrifice, when a roaming deity

lands in reality and takes root. In Australian myth, the wandering forefather spirits
gave rise to everything we see, including the landscape structures. Thus, from the
vantage point of consciousness it fulfills a positive function. However, myth and
dream often portray it as enchainment, dismemberment, and death. After all, a deity
has lost its autonomy and become fettered to temporality, as was also the fate of
Narcissus. The ego is sometimes portrayed as an insatiable dictator, a one-eyed
giant that enslaves psychic content. In Scandinavian fairytales, the characters are
captured by the mountain, swallowed by it wholly or partly. Sometimes they are
stuck in a thorny thicket that surrounds the mountain, transfixed on the thorns. The
dangerous ego-mountain, which is sometimes made of glass, is inimical to the
spontaneity and naturalness of psychic life.

A one-sided focus on assimilation leads to a voracious ego attitude, an egoic giant

given to the gathering of riches. Personality focuses on the empowerment of
consciousness and the enslavement of the spirit. The standpoint is taken to its
extreme in Edward Edinger’s vulgar version of psychology (cf. Winther, 1999, here).
However, should consciousness dampen its light the effect is wholly different. When
the alchemist’s vessel is exposed to a mild heat, or a mild moonlight, things start to
burgeon. The process is sometimes depicted in dreams. The dreamer is looking into
an aquarium where there is rubble and algae. Plants begin to grow. The plants
detach from the bottom and begin to swim freely as beautiful species of fish. The
process may continue; the cold-blooded fish may turn into a warm-blooded animal,
which eventually is transformed into a human child. It is emphasized in such dreams
that it is the sentient eye looking into the aquarium that has effected the changes. It
seems to portray a sympathetic function of consciousness that has the capacity to
animate dead matter. It is the opposite of the synthetic function, which transfixes
and kills the living unconscious content.

Instead, the sympathetic function endows the spirit with life and freedom. When
inanimate matter is being animated, it means that consciousness has given life to
something that wasn’t there before. Thus, it is a different process than the
assimilation of a preexistent archetype. Whereas the synthetic function is associated
with the scientific and philosophical temperament, the sympathetic function is what
characterizes the artist, the poet, and the contemplative.

The principle of ‘power’ is the opposite of ‘love’, in a sense. Obviously, the

empowerment of consciousness is not generally destructive. It is morally neutral. It’s
only when it goes too far and the ego turns into a voracious “mad scientist” that it
must be regarded as evil. On the other hand, the sympathetic function of
consciousness is what underlies the process of complementation, which is the
opposite of integration. When the religious person makes use of the sympathetic
function during prayer, the divine is endowed with life-spirit. This important power
of consciousness is in Christian theology termed ‘love of God’ or ‘love of Christ’. In
John 14:31 Jesus expresses his love for God the Father. The love of God has been
central to the spirituality of a number of Christian mystics such as Teresa of Avila. In
a sense, it gives birth to God. It is his turn to rise from inanimate matter, as Adam
and Eve once did.

The Greek deities were dependent on ambrosia, a drink that conferred immortality
upon whoever consumed it. Our sympathetic consciousness is capable of producing
the drink of immortality for the gods. Yet psychology focuses single-mindedly on
the assimilation of the archetype. It is taken for granted that there are heavenly
riches, ready-made in the unconscious, which are ripe for integration with
consciousness. There is no notion of a genuine creative capacity of consciousness,
which can give birth to new life from inanimate matter, in the manner of a sacred art
form.
Although Jung understands, intuitively, that the unconscious mustn’t be overtaxed,
it is not properly formulated in theory. Purportedly, if God is dead and life has
turned stale, the only option of renewal is to see what the archetypal domain has to
offer in the form of a new revelation. It’s time to enter the cave and excavate new
valuable goods that may have a redeeming effect on us. Yet, there is an opposite
and alternative way. Sympathetic consciousness may focus its mild light on the
material that is dead and inanimate. Our consciousness has the capacity to
reanimate spirit. If God is become wholly immersed in the sublunar realm, then we
have the responsibility to reawaken him from his inanimate condition. On this view,
there is no ready-made archetype awaiting in the shadows, capable of saving us
from our predicament. In fact, we have to reverse the process in order to imbue the
archetype with life. We must be prepared to give rather than receive.

Consciousness must shine its light on the clay of the unconscious and breathe life
into the new forms that take shape semi-autonomously. It requires a different
attitude of consciousness, characterized by the piety and penance of an austere life.
It involves introversion, withdrawal, and a contemplative focus of consciousness. It
may come to expression as an unearthly and probably very abstract art form — a
sympathetic and contemplative form of creativity. The process requires a diminution
of personality, which runs counter to the Jungian ideal of completeness. There is no
other way than to relinquish our profane and synthetic consciousness. It must be
quenched, because the stark floodlight drowns the mild light of the sympathetic
function. This does not mean that the notion of integration, as such, is wrong. But
psychological integration is only half the truth. At a point in time, the spiritual
pilgrim is required to perform the ‘sacrificio intellectus’. Jung downplays the notion
as the rejection of rationalism, but it really implies a more radical offering, namely
the shedding of the old person and the birth of the new. At this point, the
resurrection body of the alchemists begins to take shape. The process gives birth to
Adam Kadmon or the filius philosophorum, signifying the new and immortal
personality — the glorified body.

Alchemical painting

In the context of alchemy and art, James Elkins’s book is relevant: What Painting Is –
How to Think about Oil Painting, Using the Language of Alchemy (2000). Elkins
equates the artist’s studio with the alchemical laboratory. He says about Jung’s work
on alchemy:

That is what I find most admirable about Jung’s encounter with

alchemy: its absolute immersion, and the tremendous risk of thinking
directly about incest, the hermaphrodite, and its uncanny similarity to
Christ. Very few books can be counted as genuinely unsettling, and I
think Jung’s works on alchemy have to be among them — along with
some of the alchemical texts he studied. It is easy to read his books
and come away with a sense of whimsical eccentricity, but if the ideas
are taken seriously they can have a corrosive effect on indispensable
ideas in Western thought. (p. 148)

However, he also claims that the Jungian attitude of consciousness is inappropriate

for the alchemical and artistic state of mind. In order to attain the latter, it is
necessary to revoke knowledge (which I refer to as the toning down of the conscious
faculty). Elkins says that “[above] all, alchemy is the record of serious, sustained
attempts to understand what substances are and how they carry meaning […]
Alchemy and painting are two of the last remaining paths into the deliriously
beautiful world of unnamed substances” (p. 193).

[When the alchemical and artistic] substances are at work, they can’t
also be the objects of intellectual speculation. Jung couldn’t think about
the laboratory partly because he only saw substances as psychic
allegories. The same failure haunts this book, because every notion,
every concept and allegory, pushes me a little away from the subject I
am trying to describe […]
The buried spiritual content of modern and postmodern art may be the
great unexplored subject in contemporary art history. Still, any book
devoted to the subject is bound to fail because it would have to spell
out so many things that the artists do not even tell themselves. Such a
book would mercilessly transgress the boundary between the
experience of paint and its meanings. It is the same with alchemy: in
both cases the underlying act is spiritual — and especially redemptive —
but the public language is only inconsistently and weakly so. The
advantage of alchemy over theology, Jungian psychology, or art
criticism for exploring spiritual meaning in art is that it is a sister
discipline. Alchemy is also shy, and it also keeps to substances and lets
them silently fill with meaning rather than blurting out what seems
most precious. (pp. 75-76)

Painting, I said, takes place outside science and any sure and exact
knowledge. It is a kind of immersion in substances, a wonder and a
delight in their unexpected shapes and feels. When nothing much is
known about the world, everything is possible, and painters watch their
paints very closely to see exactly what they will do. Even though there
is no contemporary language for that kind of experience, the
alchemists already had names for it centuries ago. They knew several
dozen varieties of the materia prima, the place where the work starts,
and their terms can help us understand there are different ways of
beginning the work. They had names for their transmutations, and
those can help give voice to the many metamorphoses painters try to
make in paint. Alchemists tried to give order to their nameless
substances, and their names correspond to artists’ colors and media.
They worried about their knowledge, and whether it might be a sham
(does it take a lifetime to make the Stone, or only a moment?); and the
same anxieties are traditional in painting. And, of course, alchemists
spent time thinking about the Stone, the ineffable goal of all their work;
its qualities can also be ways to think about painting. (p. 188)

The alchemists were well aware of the destructive potential of consciousness on

their work, and that’s why they insisted that the artifex must surrender his daylight
consciousness by way of a ‘sacrificio intellectus’. Jung says that the latter represents
the abandonment of rationalistic judgment, which would allow the artifex to take the
unconscious products seriously, facilitating psychological integration (cf. Jung,
1980, p. 50). But the alchemists, very evidently, never had any problems with
rationalism. After all, they were anything but modern-day rationalists. If anything,
they were prone to take their epiphanies rather too seriously. The ‘sacrificio
intellectus’ really means something more thoroughgoing, namely a permanent
dimming of the whole conscious faculty. Elkins discusses this very problem in his
book, namely the incompatibility of the synthetic function of consciousness with the
spiritual work of the alchemist and the artist:

The love of the studio is an unreflective, visceral love, and for that
reason the ideas I am setting out in this book risk being too explicit,
too much dissected, too open to conscious thought (p. 74).

Although his vantage point isn’t theoretical, but revolves around our irrational
relation to half-known substances, it’s evident that Elkins’s view of alchemy diverts
sharply from Jung’s. For Jung, alchemy was a forerunner of Jungian psychology,
representing an attempt at archetypal assimilation. By and large, it was a failed
project, since they were unable to assimilate the contents of the unconscious. He
saw it as a proto-science, which later bifurcated into psychology and chemistry.

Contrary to this, Elkins views alchemy as a para-scientific tradition, working

alongside science (from para-, meaning “beside”) (cf. p. 117). His view that it
belongs to a different paradigm than science altogether, substantiates my view of
the creative process as the generation of spirit. True creativity calls for self-
forgetfulness and a concomitant sacrificio intellectus. True alchemy and true
painting are techniques of complementation, foreign to the attainment of profane
knowledge and the integration of archetypes with consciousness. From this
perspective, one might question whether the characteristic Jungian art form,
revolving around archetypal themes rather than the fundamentals of colour and
shape, isn’t in fact a red herring. Many artworks of this type would rather represent
an attempt at mythologization, which shall serve to underpin stagnant personality
and mythic individuation, for better or worse.

The descending and ascending Anthropos

According to Genesis 1:27, “God created man in His own image, in the image of God
He created him; male and female He created them”. The first man was Adam.
According to Judaic tradition, it indicates that Adam was originally created a
hermaphrodite. (However, some rabbis have suggested that the woman of the first
creation account is to be identified as Lilith.) Also among the Gnostic Valentinians,
as well as in earlier systems, occurs the notion that the first principle of man, the
Anthropos, was hermaphroditic.

The Anthropos is perhaps best viewed as both two and one, corresponding to the
quantum phenomenon of ‘entanglement’. Two particles, even miles apart, are still to
be regarded as a wholeness. In many ways they behave as a single entity. If the one
particle changes state, the other immediately changes state to its complementary. I
have suggested that the human Self is really ‘complementarian’, that is, it
corresponds to the principle of two-in-one. Thus, it mirrors the ‘wholeness-
duplicity’ of both the Anthropos and the quantum entanglement principle.
The fall of the Anthropos (“Adam-Eve”) equals the cosmogonical incarnation of
Christ. It implies a mysterious identity of Adam and Christ, especially since Christ is
also called the Second Adam or the New Adam. “So it is written: ‘The first man Adam
became a living soul’; the last Adam, a life-giving spirit” (Corinthians 15:45). Thus,
the Adamitic fall symbolizes the incarnation of the celestial principle whereas the
resurrection and ascension of Christ represents apotheosis, that is, the restitution of
the fallen Adam. The eternal Son of God, “became flesh” as he was miraculously
conceived in the womb of the Virgin Mary. This is how theology conceives of the
incarnation, namely as a growing in the womb. It corresponds to how the Mercurius
emerges out of base matter in the alchemical ‘vas’, which is often compared to the
womb. Although Jesus is God incarnate, it is nowhere evident in the Christian
sources that he actually incarnated at a point in time, as he was incarnate already in
the womb. Thus, it was an incarnation “from below”, as it were. He lay embedded in
material reality already from the beginning, and his victory consists in his ascension
from physis.

Where do the scriptures speak of his descension to earth? It seems evident that he
has been here ever since the fall of Adam. The immaculate conception does not
denote incarnation. It signifies the absence of insemination, and that’s why he is
exempt from original sin. Unlike Adam, the Christ rises out of celestial nature
already embedded in the cosmic realm. He emerges out of base matter, just like the
Mercurius. We must abandon the ingrained prejudice that he descended from the
heavenly abode at the beginning of the Christian era, since the incarnation occurred
long before. The work of many gardeners of the spirit, as in the image of Osiris-
Nepra, led to his ascension out of the humble natural domain.

According to the Nicaean creed Jesus “came down from heaven, and was incarnate of
the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary and became man.” Of course, at some point in
time he must have come down, but it didn’t occur at the Annunciation. The
Annunciation is merely the announcement of the incarnation (from “below”, as I view
it). If an impregnation by the Holy Spirit occurred it must have happened later, when
the Holy Spirit “overshadowed” her. It seems as if Matthew wants to have us believe
that Mary was impregnated by the Holy Spirit (i.e. that he committed rape, as Zeus
did to his female victims). To this end he misquotes scripture. Isaiah says that “[the]
virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel” (7:14).
Matthew misquotes “a virgin will conceive” as “a virgin shall be with child”. Thus, it is
possible to argue that Mary is still a virgin despite having conceived a child. Isaiah
does not say this.

Is it correct to understand “overshadowing” as the impregnation by the Holy Spirit? I

don’t think so. The overshadowing occurred as a preparation for the arrival in her
womb of the Son of God. Obviously, if the most important event in history is going
to take place inside her body, she must have the support of the Holy Spirit, who has
the power to make her strong and pure of heart. How is it possible to solve the
dilemma of Matthew? If the Christ already lies embedded in material existence, the
impregnation isn’t necessary. The earth is already fructified, and the Sophia is with
child. Neither the Holy Spirit nor a human being needs to contribute to the
incarnation. Mary will be fructified without having been inseminated. After the event
she will remain a virgin.
It seems that certain Christian thinkers reason that Mary really had a choice, but it is
nonsense. After all, one cannot expect God the Creator to refrain from saving the
world because of an obstinate woman. In the Catholic faith the doctrine of
Immaculate Conception states that Mary herself was preserved from original sin. She
was born without sin and she lived a sinless life. It means that she had already been
ordained as the Mother of God before her own birth. The fact that she is preserved
from original sin means that she cannot go against God. She is in the same perfect
state as Adam and Eve before the Fall. Since her will is the same as God’s will, it’s
not possible to argue that she had a choice. The theological dilemma is resolved if
Jesus is already present at her own conception, as a seed inside her own body as
well as the whole of reality. The Gospel of Thomas says that Jesus is the soul-spark.
He is everywhere; inside the wood, under the stones. Thus, there is no need for Mary
to be impregnated by the Holy spirit because the earth is already pregnant with the
Christ. Of course, the Gnostic exegesis is anathema to Christian theology.

I think the descent occurred at the fall of Adam, because he and the Christ are
mysteriously the same. The first Adam descends whereas the second Adam ascends.
In fact, St Augustine regarded the fall of Adam as a ‘felix culpa’ since without it the
Saviour would not have arrived to rectify creation. In my view, he remains the Second
Person of the Holy Trinity regardless of his whereabouts. The Gnostics had diverse
solutions to the theological dilemma of Christ. Thus, it is evident that Adam
represents the descending Anthropos whereas Christ represents the ascending
Anthropos, as does also the alchemical Mercurius. Accordingly, the alchemists refer
to the resurrected spiritus mercurialis as Adam Kadmon (from the Kabbalah,
meaning ‘original man’).

The human Self, although it is seemingly one, harbours the same kind of duplicity.
The transcendental trinitarian Self mirrors the ascending Anthropos whereas the
immanent quaternarian Self mirrors the descending Anthropos. The descending and
ascending Anthropos are attached in the manner of the uroboros, the tail-biting
snake. That’s why the transcendental Self strives upwards from its indwelling
condition, whereas the immanent Self strives downward from its discarnate
condition, working toward incarnation and integration.

Since the Self functions as ideal for the ego, there are two different attitudes; those
of integration (corresponding to incarnation) and complementation (corresponding
to ascension). The latter represents the path of self-transcendence, since it is
modelled on the indwelling transcendent Self that strives upwards. In the temporal
sphere, the two standpoints are irreconcilable as they cannot coincide in time. It has
to do with the strong luminosity and focus of worldly-minded personality, which is
conflicting with the principle of self-transcendence and the acquirement of “moon
consciousness”. I employ the terms synthetic and sympathetic for these two types of
awareness.

From the above it’s easier to understand Jesus’s redemptive work. As he rises from
the dead he has acquired the resurrection body, the body of the indwelling
Anthropos, which is now taken back to the heavenly realm. Thus, the restoration of
creation has been secured. The artifex continues the work in the following of Christ,
by amassing the light-sparks that lie scattered in existence, which will be
transported to the heavenly abode upon his own ascent. The work of
complementation, which is the watering of the indwelling spirit, leads to the
“incarnation from below”, followed by apotheosis.

The Holy Grail

Jung adopted Swedenborg’s Neoplatonic view of the Anthropos. This is the Grand
Man or Homo Maximus, whose body consists of creation in its entirety. Jung had no
notion that the Self resided in the earth and everywhere around us, in the very
substance of the alchemists and the painters, implying that the heavenly kingdom is
already present in the temporal realm. He regards this a naive and mistaken notion,
a projection of a psychic fact. Yet, the very substance of matter, such as the colours
of the painter, is carrier of alchemical spirit. Jung stubbornly identified with the
quaternarian Self although his dreams pointed at the duplicity of the Self, as
exemplified in the dream of “kneeling before the highest presence”, where he enters
a gigantic mandala and encounters Akbar (the equivalent of the corrupt Adam, the
descending Anthropos) and Uriah (corresponding to the Christ, free of sin; the
ascending Anthropos) (cf. Jung, 1989, pp. 217-20). Jung had other dreams that also
pointed him in the direction of the transcendental Self. In these powerful dreams he
was on the quest for the Holy Grail. He recounts how he, together with half a dozen
Swiss, travels to a sooty, dark, and rainy Liverpool, where he finds a central square.

In the center was a round pool, and in the middle of it a small island.
While everything round about was obscured by rain, fog, smoke and
dimly lit darkness, the little island blazed with sunlight. On it stood a
single tree, a magnolia, in a shower of reddish blossoms. It was as
though the tree stood in the sunlight and were at the same time the
source of light (ibid., p. 198).

It is the “pool of life” in Liverpool. (The liver is the seat of life, according to old
belief.) It seems that he has to venture into a dreary landscape to find the pool of
life, which is the Sacred Grail. It accords with the trinitarian ideal of self-
abandonment. His companions spoke of another Swiss who was living nearby, close
to one of several secondary centers containing small replicas of the island. His
companions expressed surprise that he should have settled here. But Jung thought,
“I know very well why he has settled here.” Arguably, this unknown Swiss is the
projection of Jung himself in the future, when he has abandoned everything and
settled in the most sombre environment as the Keeper of the Grail.

However, this was not to be, because self-transcendence was out of the question for
Jung. Instead he saw the dream as depicting the climax of the whole process of
development, and he immediately gave up drawing and painting mandalas. He did
not want to see that it pointed to the future in the way of the Swiss man who lived
there, representing the path of worldly transcendence and complementation. Instead
he takes the view that the goal had been revealed. He says that it’s not possible to
go beyond the centre that represents the Self, the principle and archetype of
orientation and meaning. Accordingly, the image was regarded as having a “healing
function”. He viewed it as therapeutic and it gave him his first inkling of his personal
myth.
I hold that the dream’s sense of finality depends on how it represents the final truth,
and it’s not the climax of development. The dream really represent a turning point,
where a critical decision must be taken. The manner in which he had attained the
notion of the Self, represents to him an achievement of intellectual realization,
which is the end of the road. Allegedly, one cannot go beyond this realization of the
Self principle. The way in which the archetype is employed as a tool of evasion is
characteristic of Jungian psychology. The meaning of the dream is collectivized and
is thus made less pertinent to personal life in the future. The very structure of the
dream is turned into a principle of consciousness, which is supposed to have a
healing effect in that it contributes to one’s personal myth.

Allegedly, the principle of the archetype must be integrated and consciously lived.
However, to always reason in terms of archetypes means that one gives preference
to assimilation of contents that may not at all be relevant for integration with
personality. Instead, we must look to the wholeness of the dream and refrain from
cherry-picking the archetypes for the purpose of integration. It is characteristic of
dreams that the most important and controversial element is presented in terms of
“Oh, by the way, there is this little matter also!” Accordingly, the dream says, “Oh, by
the way, there is a Swiss man living in the vicinity.” This is the real focal point of the
dream, and not the shining tree. The reason why the truth is presented in this oh-
by-the-way form is because the meaning is somewhat taboo to the ego. The shining
magnolia tree, however, was just what the ego wanted to dream about.

He quenches the dream by assimilating it to consciousness as a therapeutic myth,

whereas it really points the way to a continued search for the Holy Grail, because it
was not a contemporary tree, it was a future tree. Since he had understood the
principle of the Self, he had reached the climax of development, and there it must
stop short. Integration with consciousness is what counts, i.e., the transformation of
the archetype into conscious principles to be imitated. Jung complained about the
‘imitatio Christi’; yet he himself tends to adopt the aesthetic attitude, devoting
himself to archetypal imitation.

Had he thought more deeply about his final statement in the dream (“I know very
well why he has settled here”), he would probably have arrived at the conclusion that
it wasn’t for aesthetic reasons that the Swiss man had settled there. I’m sure he was
employed as the gardener of the shining magnolia. He had been tending the
seedling from the beginning and it’s he who is behind its triumphal growth to a
shining tree. Jung, already in the dream, has a predominantly aesthetic appreciation
of the dream, which would become his definitive locus of consciousness. He chose
to settle down as the Swiss man devoted to aesthetic symbolization and intellectual
assimilation rather than the Swiss man responsible for the cultivation of the tree.

In fact, it was the Swiss resident that needed to be understood at this stage, and not
the tree. As a symbol of the Self, he is duplex, representing either the path of
integration or the path of complementation. Thus, he represents two different ways
of looking upon the tree. When impacted by consciousness the archetype splits in
two, and the one aspect is integrated whereas the other aspect is negated and sinks
back into the unconscious sea. Arguably, the Swiss resident signifies two different
standpoints and two different future paths, and thus the dream represents a
crossroad in Jung’s development. He chose the way of assimilation and aesthetic
imitation rather than complementation and cultivation. This outcome, which is
bound to lead to stagnation, would have been negated had he better understood the
Swiss resident.

This interpretation is corroborated by the dream about the grand mandala wherein
resided Akbar and the transcendental Uriah. The latter lived high above the mandala
in a place “which no longer corresponded to reality”. Jung is impelled to bow down
before Uriah, but he cannot bring his forehead quite down to the floor, as was
expected of him. Thus, the coin never dropped. In like manner, the Swiss resident
resides in close connection to a mandala. But Jung would come to see him as the
earthbound Akbar and not as Uriah, who had to ascend a steep flight of stairs, from
the centre of the mandala, in order to reach his abode high up on the wall. One
could say about Jung’s conclusions that they are not really incorrect, but he fails to
recognize the other alternative.

The meaning of the Grail

Yet, the Holy Grail was not a finished business. During a visit to India, Jung had a
tremendous dream in which he is again back in England’s wasteland on a quest for
the Grail (Jung, 1989, pp. 280-82). There he visited a barren island together with a
Swiss company, half a dozen of whom would accompany him to the northern end of
the island to acquire the Grail, which must be transported to the castle at the
island’s southern coast, where the Grail was to be celebrated the same evening. It
turns out that the island was actually divided into two halves by an arm of the sea,
the narrowest part of which was about hundred yards. He now had to leave the
company, take off his clothes, and swim alone to the northern island, on whose
barren rock stood a lonely little house that harboured the Grail.

The bipartite island corresponds to the bipartite structure of the Self. I surmise that
the little house is the abode of the keeper of the Grail, who is a recluse in the same
sense as Uriah and the Swiss resident. The way in which Jung leaves the company
and undresses, to be followed by a baptismal purification in water, also signifies the
adoption of the trinitarian ideal of Self. The dream is universally relevant and it’s
worthwhile to study it closer. It is emphasized in the dream that egoic knowledge,
personified by a very cunning German professor, counts for nothing. The professor’s
focus on knowledge made him blind to the fact that a little hooded gnome of black
iron was scurrying about on a black iron décor, artfully formed into a grapevine. It is
the reality of the situation that counts. It seems to compensate Jung’s insistence on
assimilation and knowledge, and it points to the spirit embedded in matter, which
requires another attitude for us to behold.

Jung clear-sightedly concludes: “It was as though the dream were asking me, ‘What
are you doing in India? Rather seek for yourself and your fellows the healing vessel,
the ‘servator mundi’, which you urgently need’” (pp. 282-83). His quest of
symbolization drew opposition from the unconscious. He must go beyond the
conceptual notion of Self to the actual making of the spirit. It was required of him to
shed both his clothes and his knowledge, in order for him to stand naked and pure
before the Grail. In the dream it was emphasized that one must search the meaning
of the Grail and not focus solely on knowledge. The meaning of the Grail as the
carrier of the blood of Christ can better be understood from the above discussion.
The blood has always been regarded the very substance of life, an idea which is
behind the pagan religious blood offering. Ever since the primordial cosmogonical
incarnation of Christ, the sacred life principle — his blood — has been embedded in
cosmos. His sacrifice caused matter to be soaked in divine blood. The Christ lay
scattered in existence much like Osiris, whose fragmented pieces were gathered by
the goddess Isis.

From the sacralized earth grows forth, especially with the help of human hand, the
marvelous forest stars, the gathering of which leads to the resurrection and
ascension of the deity. The analogous symbol of the heavenly tree, growing from the
body of the hermaphrodite, is exemplified in below image from the Rosarium
Philosophorum. The tree that grows from the hermaphrodite’s navel is analogous to
the magnolia with reddish blossoms that grows in the middle of Liverpool, where the
island corresponds to the body of the hermaphrodite (the indwelling Anthropos).
Somebody must have gathered this earth. In the image we can see the spirit
ascending as the filius philosophorum.

Hermaphrodite and ascending spirit.

The Rosarium Philosophorum.

This whole process involving complementation belongs to the secret of the Holy
Grail. It implies that the conscious faculty has the capacity to restore celestial
signification and autonomy onto existence out of the very earth itself. Today, the
quest for the Holy Grail is abandoned and the world has taken a turn for the worse.
We cause devastation to the earth and to other species. Humanity, for want of a
profound meaning of life, is becoming more and more neurotic and narcissistic,
because everything revolves around the expansive ego.

Modern humanity has recourse only to the all-embracing, integrative, heroic,

scientific, and knowledge-based faculty of consciousness. In order to save
humanity, the earth, and all its wonderful species, we have no other choice than to
gear down. But it cannot be achieved as long as we hold to the ego and refuse to
take self-abandonment seriously. Contrary to what Jung thought, psychology cannot
rectify the world, because theory is rooted in the very same Western paradigm of
ego expansiveness and defensiveness. Instead to follow the path of self-
abandonment is the only way of coping with a simple and frugal lifestyle, because
sacred meaning is extracted out of nature herself. The ego needn’t have resort
anymore to the whole assortment of technical toys, obsessions and futile ambitions.

Indeed, there are, as Elkins points out, people still devoted to the quest. There are
artists and contemplative mystics that are working to bring the spirit back to its
former glory. But the reason why they have this capacity is because they are so
remarkably unconscious from the outset. Why must such clever people as Jung and
Pauli be recruited to the quest? How likely is it that they are going to abandon their
brightly shining ego? The likely answer is that they would have been equally
resourceful in the practice of complementation as in the practice of integration. It
seems that the Self is trying to save the world, which in its entirety constitutes the
Holy Grail.

Swedenborg

Historians of psychology have underestimated Swedenborg’s influence, even though

Jung affirms that he studied him intently during two periods in his life. Perhaps
Jung and his successors are reluctant to admit psychology’s indebtedness to a
Swedish spirit-seer (albeit an important scientific name during first half of life).
Sonu Shamdasani, in his study (2003), doesn’t even mention him. It is
understandable that Jung chose not to give Swedenborg the credit that he deserves,
but a historian of psychoanalysis shouldn’t leave him out. It is tantamount to history
falsification. I have studied the connections in my article, ‘Jung and Swedenborg:
modern Neoplatonists’ (here).

Jung’s foremost source is Swedenborg’s Christian version of Neoplatonism. Here the

influx of heaven also takes expression as ‘correspondences’, a notion mirrored in
Jungian synchronicity. Spirits and angels compare to psychology’s complexes and
archetypes. Swedenborg says that “the angels of the inward heaven are separate
because of their earthly-minded characters […], while the angels of the very inward
and innermost heaven are together throughout the universe” (Spiritual Experiences,
n.626). The partition of the inward heaven corresponds to the partition into a
personal and a collective unconscious. The point is that the inward heaven is
metaphysically the same as the realm of spirits. As the latter is not a place, but a
state of spirit (i.e. the moral and intellectual content of mind), there is no real
metaphysical barrier. Our reasoning and feeling mind is in the realm of spirits.

Swedenborg’s version of individuation represents an ascent through discrete

degrees of a yet more elevated (and more inwardly) “enlightenment from within”.
Thus, illumination from within corresponds to conscious realization in Jung. Since he
puts emphasis on societal engagement, the notion of individual ascent mirrors
Jung’s notion of individuation. The movement to wholeness means an ascent
through the degrees by way of ‘conjunction’, which is the union of the more
elevated and spiritual degree with the outer or lower degree. Thus, conjunction is
integration. The progress leads to an approximation with the Grand Man (Homo
Maximus), mirrored in Jung’s concept of the Self. Swedenborg says that “[t]he Grand
Man consists in heaven in its entirety, which in general is a likeness and image of
the Lord” (Arcana Coelestia, n.3883). Heaven is the innermost man, and Jung has
appropriated this concept as “Christ as a symbol of the Self”.

Swedenborg, who rejects monastic practices and advocates a full-fledged life,

argues for a wholeness both in the heavenly and worldly sense. This is exactly the
Jungian sense of wholeness. The spiritual pilgrim may tune in with the heavenly
inflow by seeing the heavenly correspondences in the world. The ‘anima’ is the inner
spiritual faculty; the ‘soul’. Thus, the notion is used in a similar sense as in Jungian
psychology. Swedenborg asserts that male and female psychology are mirror
images, that is, the female is like the male on the inside and vice versa. This is equal
to Jung’s unconscious anima-animus relation. The ‘animus’, as lower mind or
natural mind, overlaps with Jung’s notion of the shadow. There is in both
Swedenborg and Jung a focus on dreaming, dream interpretation, and spirit-seeing
(active imagination). Both thinkers reject asceticism and emphasize adaptation to
life’s totality.

Swedenborg conceptualizes ‘spirit-seeing’ as a technique of conjuring “symbolic

mental images of the angels of the inward heaven” (Spiritual Experiences, n.2186).
In order to do this in a waking state, he drank copious amounts of coffee. That’s
why I think that it’s essentially a left hemisphere exercise that amounts to an
allegorical representation of conscious thoughts. Jung transliterates the technique as
‘active imagination’. Historians of psychology have clearly underestimated
Swedenborg’s influence. It’s like Jung tries to bury this fact in the production of the
Black Books and The Red Book. He claims that everything which he produced after
this period of crisis was merely an elaboration of what had been revealed to him. In
fact, it mostly derives from Swedenborg. Perhaps Jung was gifted with this
Swedenborgian talent for “automatic allegorization” of conscious concepts. I gather
that the spiritualistic talent ran in his family.

The proprium

Swedenborg’s notion of proprium is defined as our ‘selfhood’, our sense of

awareness as separate and autonomous individuals. It has two forms, either human
or heavenly (cf. New Jerusalem, n. 82). The word ‘proprium’ is derived from Latin
‘proprius’, meaning ‘what pertains or belongs to oneself’. In Danish, proprium
means ‘proper name’. It denotes not only (illusory) selfhood, but also the human
inclinations associated with it, namely self-love, love of the world, the rationale of
appropriating truth as self-derivative rather than heavenly, and the notorious sins of
self-gratification and self-righteousness. Whereas the ego is for Jung a neutral
concept, Swedenborg’s view coincides more or less with the modern notion of
narcissistic tendency of personality. Jung had a penchant for neutral and scientific
concepts, but perhaps the ego is not at all neutral. On Swedenborg’s view, it is
always connected with profaneness and egotism.

The human proprium is constantly undergoing modification by the heavenly

proprium, which is also present in our soul. Thus, the human proprium is partially
incapacitated and cannot drag us down into falseness and vulgarism. There are two
parallel propria in the psyche, constantly being regenerated or generated.
Swedenborg maintains that they are separate, although the heavenly proprium
serves to vivify the human proprium. “[It is] moderated by truths and goods from the
Lord. In this way it is made alive and seems to be no longer present. Its apparent
absence and causing no further harm is meant by ‘being wiped out’, though in fact
it is in no way wiped out but remains” (Arcana Coelestia, n.731).

It relates the picture of two selves, one secular and one heavenly. Swedenborg says
that if the heavenly Self is stifled in its growth, then personality will sink into the
personal hell of the human proprium. When the “celestial seed” is “choked by tares”,
the person is no longer spiritually alive (ibid.). The narcissistic personality is
undoubtedly very collective-minded, and it explains why such people are so
remarkably predictable. It’s as if narcissistic people have been cast in the same
mould.

If this is correct, then our experience of individual personality is predicated on either

of two archetypes including the extent to which they have acquired dominion in the
psyche. In a sense, Swedenborg’s notion of a bipartite proprium rhymes with my
notion of the ‘complementarian Self’, in which the transcendental Self is
complementary to the immanent Self. The transcendental Self corresponds to the
heavenly proprium. However, according to Swedenborg, the human proprium is
never abandoned, only pushed aside to leave room for the heavenly proprium.

Gnosis

The modernized Neoplatonic structure of Jungian psychology implies that the

descending Anthropos (the Self oriented toward immanence) remains the focus of
realization. It is a one-sided perspective that must be complemented with the
opposite standpoint of intellectual abandonment, to the furtherance of the
ascending Anthropos (the Self oriented toward transcendence). Historically, this
dilemma is illustrated by the conflict between Plotinus and the Gnostics. To Plotinus,
the founder of Neoplatonism, the ascent towards the supreme principle is only
possible for a man as long as he is guided by ‘Intellect’, that is, conscious
enlightenment must take precedence, just as in Jung. Plotinus particularly condemns
the idea of a deficiency on the level of the intellect itself, which is a typical Gnostic
notion (cf. Narbonne, 2011, p. 134).

In the Gnostic view, the abandonment of the intellect is essential. The Gnostics have
contempt for the heavens as well as for the godly beings which it harbours, all of
which stem from the Intelligible. The stars were believed to have an evil influence,
and astrological determinism constitutes an obstacle to the liberation of the soul.
Thus, Gnostic cosmogony renders the divinities associated with the descending
Anthropos (Adam) as responsible for evil.

It is evident that Gnostic and Hermetic thought centers upon the emancipation of
the soul from the restraints caused by intelligible structures, and that’s why the
creative and artistic faculty takes precedence. If we were to express our contempt
for the archetypes as serving merely to maintain the illusory myth of personal
individuation, then we have in effect adopted a modern Gnostic perspective. It
represents the abandonment of the egoic structure. It facilitates the creation of spirit
from any substance; a spirit self-supporting and self-contained like the Uroboros,
and wholly independent of archetypal motifs or intelligible constraints in any form.

When the spirit is liberated from matter, it no longer adheres to the laws of psyche
and matter. It no longer remains part and parcel of the functions of consciousness.
For some reason, they have given the name “love” to the liberated spirit, probably
having to do with the sympathetic function of consciousness. When the opposite
happens and the spirit is assimilated to matter, it signifies integration and
enhancement of consciousness. It results in increased knowledge and functional
enhancement of personality. In following this ‘psychic’ path, the ego will abide by
the law of individuation, under a yet stronger dominion of the demiurge, i.e., the
Jungian Self as Primal God Image.

Thus, if there is a rule and a method pertaining to complementation and self-

abandonment then it would be to break the rules and to disregard the methods.
Should the individuant write something, or paint in oils or acrylics, avoiding
symbolic themes and disregarding the aesthetic formulation in terms of beauty, etc.,
then it invokes a sense of freedom of spirit which is priceless. He may try and paint
an abstract image that has no figurative sense and which does not give expression
to an archetype or any other theme from life. The artist is then breaking the laws of
the demiurge, along Gnostic lines.

Should the pilgrim withdraw from life and devote himself fully to such activity, then
he is effectively abandoning all the attachments of the ego, including the intellect. I
don’t know how it is possible to have a passion that does not accord with any law of
the psyche nor the body. Yet it is the passion of the wind that blows wherever it
pleases. As they say of the child born from the alchemical fire: “The Wind has carried
it in its belly. The nurse thereof is the Earth” (Tabula Smaragdina). It speaks of a
strong belief in the very substance of earth, colour and sound, away from all our
profane obsessions, abstractions, techniques, regulations, and concepts.

The emancipative Gnostic standpoint springs from the Self. The Self carries the
conflicting opposites within itself. The emancipative force wants to come into play in
the life of us all. Yet, it necessitates a complete change of heart, and it’s not so
simple as to repudiate all theory. It is evident that we cannot understand Gnosticism,
alchemy, and Lurianic Kabbalah from Jung’s perspective of mundane Neoplatonism.
The central message is misconstrued as signifying assimilation of spirit, although it
really revolves around emancipation of spirit and the redemption of the indwelling
Anthropos.

Although traditional Neoplatonism speaks of climbing the ladder of transcendence,

Jungian theory has adopted a warped Neoplatonic structure, and that’s why it’s
uncongenial with alchemical and Gnostic thought. To bring it into accord with the
latter, it would necessitate an amendment to theory, but not a total remodeling.
Gnostic thought is a secret hidden in plain sight. As an integral but secret part of
Western tradition, it flows like a subterranean river through history, which
sometimes surges up to form a new spring of fresh water.
The Kingdom of God

According to Luke 8:2, Jesus cast out seven demons from Mary Magdalene. This is
one of several statements of Gnostic hue in the gospels and in Paul’s letters that
have escaped censorship. The seven demons is probably a reference to the seven
archons who in Gnostic theology are associated with the seven planetary deities. The
archons have by the wicked demiurge been appointed the rulership of this world.
They are a form of lower deities that keep mankind in shackles. These deities are
indeed viewed as demons and the Gnostic holds them in contempt. Typically, the
candidate seeking liberation must journey through the seven planetary heavens in
order to escape the captivity of the Archons. Concerning the ‘seven demons’
Timothy Freke & Peter Gandy say:

Jesus is portrayed as having expelled ‘seven demons’ from ‘Mary called

Magdalene’. The number seven is significant. In the Gnostic mythical
schema, the cosmos has seven levels, represented by the sun, moon
and five visible planets. These were sometimes imagined as demonic
forces which entrap us in materiality. Above these is the ‘ogdoad’ or
‘eighth’, represented by the starry skies, which is the mythological
home of the Goddess. The Gnostic journey of awakening from
incarnation is sometimes conceived of as mounting a sevenfold ladder
to the ‘ogdoad’. That Mary has been freed from seven demons
represents Jesus having helped her to ascend the seven rungs of the
ladder to the heavens. (Freke & Gandy, 2001, p. 97)

The Gospel of Thomas likewise has many Gnostic sayings interspersed. Several
scholars believe it is the oldest gospel since it provides insight into the oral gospel
traditions that preceded the canonical gospels. In modern language the archons
translate to archetypal powers, whose influence the Gnostic must try and escape.
Gnosticism cannot be fitted within Jung’s model because it points in a wholly
different direction. After all, the focus of the latter is on archetypal integration and
conscious enhancement.

The focal point of Jesus’s message is the Kingdom of God. It is already present
among us as the mustard seed or as the corn of wheat that lies embedded in the
earth. Given the right conditions, it will lead to an abundance of sacred prosperity,
which is the Kingdom of God: “[Indeed it] is smaller than all seeds. But when it is
grown, it is greater than the herbs, and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air
come and lodge in its branches” (Matt. 13:31-32). And then he goes on to liken the
Kingdom with leaven: “Whereunto shall I liken the kingdom of God? It is like leaven,
which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was
leavened” (Luke 13:20-21). If the woman is Sophia then the three measures of meal
would signify the sublunar world, according to the ancient ternary division:
firmament- earth-underworld. Something akin to the smallest of seeds and as
insignificant as a little lump of leaven, will come to permeate existence. This notion
resonates with the alchemical lapis, whose life-giving power permeates all that it
comes into contact with. It is the Gnostic pearl, the scintilla, or the celestial seed,
that lies hidden in matter.

The alchemical ‘lumen naturae’ has been connected with the Holy Spirit. The
alchemists sometimes identifies Mercurius with Sapienta or the Holy Ghost (cf. Jung,
1983, ‘The Spirit Mercurius’). It seems that we variously view the divine from
different angles, such as a sacred life-force, or as heavenly law and psychological
process, or as a deity with very human characteristics. So it appears necessary to
have a triune view of the divine. The Mercurius is sometimes referred to as
Mercurius Triplex (cf. Jung, 1974, para. 403). But can the Holy Ghost be identified as
the indwelling spirit, captured in existence, or is he a free agent in the celestial
realm? I’m sure Christian theologians would side with the latter interpretation.

Traditional theology has had great difficulties interpreting the Kingdom of God, and
that’s why the notion has been neglected in Christian teaching. But it is evident that
Jesus is speaking of the indwelling spirit as a heavenly tree that grows forth and
separates out of matter. Paul in his letters to Corinth speaks about ‘gnosis’ and
‘sophia’ (wisdom) and uses terminology also found in later Gnostic literature.
Central to St Paul was that ‘the Law’ had played out its role. The Law is not merely
Jewish religious law. Above all, it refers to the psychic law that keeps us in shackles.
The Gnostics saw the Archons as responsible for the lawfulness of life, keeping us in
a bind. Elaine Pagels discusses Paul’s pneumatic message in 1 Corinthians:

Here Paul sums up his whole message to the elect. Proclaiming himself
free in dietary and sexual matters (9:4-5), he is ‘free from all’ (9:19),
free from the demiurge’s psychic law. Yet he stands in the pneumatic
law, that of God the Father and of Christ (9:21), which is the law of love
(Pagels, 1975, p. 72).

Concerning the Gnostic aspects of Paul’s teaching, Freke & Gandy say:

Of all early Christians, Paul was the most revered by later Gnostics. He
was the primary inspiration for two of the most influential schools of
Christian Gnosticism, set up by the early second-century masters
Marcion and Valentinus. Christian Gnostics calling themselves
‘Paulicians’ ran the ‘seven churches’ in Greece and Asia Minor that were
established by Paul, their ‘mother Church’ being at Corinth. The
Paulicians survived until the tenth century and were the inspiration for
the later Bogomils and Cathars.
Marcion was originally a student of the Simonian Gnostic Cerdo, but
when he set up his own highly successful school it was Paul he placed
centre-stage as the ‘Great Messenger’. (Freke & Gandy, 2001, p. 27)

Christianity in general has played down the message of the Kingdom of God:

Gordon Fee, professor of New Testament studies at Regent College,

said, ‘You cannot know anything about Jesus, anything, if you miss the
kingdom of God. You are zero on Jesus if you don’t understand this
term. I’m sorry to say it that strongly, but this is the great failure of
evangelical Christianity. We have had Jesus without the kingdom of
God, and therefore have literally done Jesus in’. (Roberts, 2001,
p. 52)

If the notion signifies the Christian community united in spirit, why doesn’t Jesus say
so? Instead he says things such as this: “My kingdom is not of this world” (John
18:36). He also says: “The Kingdom of God is spread out upon the earth, only people
do not see it” (Thomas, 113). The phenomenon of the religious community united in
worship has been known since times immemorial. There is no need for Jesus to hide
such an idea behind obscurantist sayings. It is obvious that the saying about the
woman and the leaven has a deeper significance than the devotional agape of the
religious congregation.

It is evident that both the traditional Christians and the Gnostics can find support in
the teachings of Jesus and Paul. The original message bifurcated into the Christian
focus on incarnation and the Gnostic focus on apotheosis. Both standpoints are
equally true, and they were both present in Jesus’s teaching. That’s why I hold that
the symbol of the Self must harbour both opposites, since it is circular, like the
Uroboros, in the way it works both toward integration and complementation.

The psychic and the pneumatic

In the Gnostic systems mankind is typically divided into three groups, the hylic
(somatic), the psychic, and the pneumatic. These are really human personality types
and not creeds of consciousness. Thus, not all Gnostics were pneumatics. Many
members of Gnostic movements were in fact psychics, who were not yet ready for
gnosis and liberation. The hylics lead life in worldly identification whereas the
psychics have their focus on the soul’s intelligible faculty (‘Intellect’). Although
intellectual understanding takes precedence, they are still devoted to hylic life. The
pneumatics, who have awakened the soul-spark, are looking beyond both the hylic
and the psychic worlds. It means not only that they renounce earthly life, but they
also downplay the role of human consciousness and the intellect.

Elaine Pagels explains that gnosis signifies ‘insight’ rather than rational
‘knowledge’ (cf. Pagels, 1989, p. xix). In the Valentinian creed, also the psychics
were able to attain salvation by receiving the Gnostic teaching through which they
could reach the maximum psychic level of the demiurge. It relates to ego
consciousness and the education of the cognitive faculties of personality. This was
called salvation through ‘pistis’ (faith). Although the pneumatics attained rebirth and
spiritual resurrection in the present life, the psychics had to wait until the end of the
world before they would experience transfiguration into the resurrection-body. The
point is that one must have attained the psychic level before one may pass to the
superior pneumatic level of the Elect. The latter, since they had transcended the ego,
had recourse to intuition and a dim intelligible light, which allowed them to remain
closer to the spirit.

Psychic life, which follows the law of the demiurge, must needs lead to psychic
death. St Paul says that “I through the law am dead to the law, that I might live unto
God” (Gal. 2:19). Central to Paul is the manner in which the law has given rise to
awareness of sin, which in turn leads to death, for “[the] sting of death is sin, and
the power of sin is the law” (1 Cor. 15:56). Thus, when psychic death occurs the
pilgrim may rise to a new life. Whereas the soul was before consubstantial with the
psychic demiurge, the new pneumatic being is consubstantial with the indwelling
spirit Sophia. It is evident that it is a very radical message that involves a rebellion
against the Creator himself. It is very characteristic of Gnostic thought.
The Neoplatonists were regarded as psychics, and this label also befits the Jungians.
Jung went as far as pronouncing ‘esse in anima’ as his ontological creed, which
means that the psychic is viewed as the essence of reality. Yet, Jung’s dreams kept
insisting that he shed his psychic substance and become an Elect. In the dream of
the Grail Castle (Jung, 1989, pp. 280-82) he sheds his clothes and takes to
swimming to the barren northern island where he must acquire the Grail. What
would he have found in the lonely little cottage? Probably nothing of archetypal
value; only a mere seed or a little lump of leaven, that is, the most humble thing.
Yet, it is the holiest thing imaginable. It is evident that the “German professor” and
his company of Swiss represent the ‘psychics’ whereas Jung himself is expected to
attain the pneumatic level on the island of the Elect. He is surprised to find that the
island, representing the Self, is divided into a southern psychic region and a
northern pneumatic region. This should also be reflected in theory.

It is important to understand that the Gnostics in general didn’t reject intellectual

knowledge about the psychic laws of the Archons. After all, some Gnostics saw the
soul’s demise as a necessary phase in transformation. It was the perpetuation of
psychic individuation that they rejected, the going about in circles. Yet, the manner
in which most Gnostic sects rejected the world as evil precipitated their downfall,
because they didn’t see it as worthwhile to contribute to the perpetuation of the
human species on this earth. The problem was that people thought concretely
during this era. Material existence was concretely evil rather than evil in the abstract
sense. It was absolutely evil rather than having a destructive influence on personality
in the present situation.

Benjamin Walker (1983) gives many examples of the absurd consequences of

concrete thinking. It is quite amusing and chocking to boot. Since the soul-sparks of
Sophia abide in all earthly creatures, certain sects took to eating all the diverse
species of nature. The soul-sparks that were thereby united with the human soul
would be carried safely to the heavenly realm upon the ascent of the soul. Thus, the
Borborians thought of their distasteful eating habits as a redemptive work. The
substances most ripe with spirit were the seminal and menstrual fluids. They were
ingested during ritual practices among several Gnostic sects, such as the Phibionites
and the Manicheans. I do not condone the credulous appreciation of historical
Gnosticism and the view that Christianity represents a falsification of Jesus’s
message.

The complementarian Self

The Gnostics had two primary gods: the demiurge and the Monad (e.g.). The former
is the psychic deity representing worldliness whereas the latter is the otherworldly
pneumatic god who is a ‘deus otiosus’ (idle god). Due to a metaphysical crevasse in
the sphere of divinity, existence is experienced as dichotomic. It must needs inspire
a religious absolutism, with harmful consequences. Thus, the dichotomy is better
lifted down to the human level where we may understand it as a complementarity of
the Self. On such a modern view, the opposites aren’t metaphysical anymore, but
relate to different periods in the life of the individual. Jung’s psychic Self is
counterbalanced by the pneumatic Self. It means that we may follow two different
paths in life. I have pictorialized the complementarian Self from images occurring in
dreams.

The above image is how I picture the Grail island in Jung’s dream (Jung, 1989,
pp. 280-82). I have sketched the northern island as smaller, although it isn’t evident
from the dream.

The above image is derived from Jung’s “highest presence” dream (ibid. pp. 217-20).
The pneumatic Self (Uriah) is located at A and the psychic Self (Akbar) at B. The
following image is Wolfgang Pauli’s “world clock” (Jung, 1980, p. 203). On the
horizontal mandala, representing the secular Self, are four little men with
pendulums.
Jung says about this image:

[The] figure tells us that two heterogeneous systems intersect in the

self […] We shall hardly be mistaken if we assume that our mandala
aspires to the most complete union of opposites that is possible,
including that of the masculine trinity and the feminine quaternity on
the analogy of the alchemical hermaphrodite (ibid., p. 205).

Thus, by including the otherworldly trinitarian Self, he has in effect defined the
complementarian Self. He didn’t take it further, however, because he mistook the
masculine trinity as consciousness and the feminine quaternity as the unconscious.
Arguably, the Taoist Taiji symbol remains the eminent symbol of the Self. The most
important element is the overlapping in the form of the dots. The spirit is indwelling
in material reality and vice versa. The castle and the cottage of the Grail Island may
be understood in a similar vein.

Kabbalah

In classical or Zoharic Kabbalah as well as in Neoplatonic systems, creation depends

on the continuous inflow of heavenly life-force, without which the cosmos would
revert to nothingness. In Lurianic Kabbalah, however, there is a focus on restoring
the divine light to its source. I submit that the godly life-force must needs flow in
both directions, whereas our modern focus on integration gives rise to a
unidirectional flow. Nathan Wolski characterizes the Zoharic view of the divine
relation:

The directionality of the divine flow is one of unfolding from

hiddenness and oneness to knowability and onto division and
separation. The path of human life, however, runs in the opposite
direction, from division and multiplicity to unity and integration. The
Zoharic world is one of overflowing Eros; God flows to us and we to
Him, and in moments of grace we meet one another in the middle
(Wolski, 2010, p. 59).

Notice how well it jibes with the Jungian view. It seems that Jungian psychology is an
aberrant version of the Iamblichean Neoplatonic tradition whose central principle is
the continuous heavenly inflow and the concomitant work of personal integration.
According to Isaac Luria (1534–1572), creation represents a self-sacrifice of God,
with the aim of gaining self-consciousness. What gave rise to phenomenal existence
was a catastrophic event, namely the shattering of the sefirotic vessels. The cosmos
still harbours the scattered sparks of divine light that the shards of the vessels
brought with them. It took a turn for the worse when Adam fell. His fragmented
disunity of soul sparks lie embedded in the cosmic realm. The fall of Adam coincides
with the arrival of ontological consciousness, as the worldly counterpart of divine
inner consciousness. Lurianic Kabbalah has a notion of ‘tikkun’ that relates to
complementation. Brian Lancaster says about ‘tikkun’:

‘Tikkun’ is the process through which the elements of light may be

purified from the shards of evil with which they fell as a consequence
of the breaking of the vessels. The human role in this cosmic narrative
arrives here in the process of ‘tikkun’. Humans are the primary beings
in the lower realm of the created worlds where the admixture of good
and evil has to be finally clarified. It is a human responsibility to effect
this clarification in order that the light might be restored to its source.
It was the breaking of the vessels that sundered the relationship
between the male divine principle (focused in ‘Tiferet’) and the female
principle of the ‘Shekhinah’. ‘Tikkun’ is the process whereby the union
is to be re-established […]
The job of ‘tikkun’, that of seeking out and gathering the fragments of
light that fell through the breaking of the vessels, requires the Jewish
people to be in exile in order that they might be able to find the sparks
in the darkest of places (Lancaster, 2005, pp. 99-104).

Luria says that the earth is “the vessel of the divine living presence” (Dunn, 2008,
p. 88). We could interpret the Occidental idea of the Holy Grail along similar lines, as
signifying the whole of phenomenal existence. In Luria, ‘kavvanot’ (sing. ‘kavvanah’)
acquires the meaning of ‘mystical intention’, which is related to ‘tikkun’:

One can not overestimate the power and fullness of meaning that the
personality of God bears upon the hidden soul. Its most redeeming
effect occurs when a creature joins this divine event with its own in
‘tikkun’. Isaac Luria sought to restore the ‘partsufim’ [divine
forms/personae] and to channel their inner consciousness (‘mohin’)
through the power of mystical intention — ‘kavvanot’. “Through the
practice of ‘kavvanot’…the mystic took an active role in bringing
together the shattered superstructure, mending the broken vessels.” A
creature that opens its heart with the genuine fullness of healing and
meditation toward God (‘tikkun’) transcends the earthly profanity of
prayer and enters into ‘kavvanot’:

[citing Scholem] Since ‘kavvanot’ is of a spiritual nature, it

directly affects spiritual worlds and can be an especially
powerful factor if it is completed by the right [person] at
the right place. The process of restitution of all things to
their true place requires…not only an impulse which
originates from God, but also an impulse which originates
from the creature’s religious action. All true life and every
real healing of the breach that pervades the worlds arise
 from the interrelationship and meeting of the divine and
human impulse (ibid. pp. 46-47).

It seems to me that psychology can be informed by Kabbalistic mystical theology,

provided that we adopt a notion of complementation. Otherwise I can’t see how
Kabbalah, alchemy, and Gnostic theology, can be interpreted in terms of psychology.
The question remains, is it possible to ‘water the divine’ while remaining attached to
profane desires? Religious practices of worship would have had such a function in
history, and religious life is led in parallel with earthly life. It seems to me that
complementation is an autonomous or semi-autonomous process, which however is
greatly enhanced if the ego detaches itself from the world. Worldly abandonment is
almost synonymous with self-abandonment, it seems. Judging from mystical
literature, and the dreams of people (including Jung’s), self-transcendence is a
requirement for success on the trinitarian path involving complementation.
Lancaster says:

For Kabbalah, the ego is a false god lacking substantiality. It lies at the
root of the ‘yetser ha-ra’, the ‘evil inclination’ that ensnares the
individual into self-serving desires. Kabbalistic work is intended to
make real the rearranged form of the word, in order that the individual
should gain insight into the emptiness at the core of their being. Where
‘I’ had been, the higher mystical state reveals nothing other than the
divine becomingness that defines the essence of the individual
‘neshamah’ [breath; spirit]. (Lancaster, 2005, p. 113)

A complementary spiritual paradigm

As I have already mentioned, Lurianic Kabbalah is indebted to Gnostic and Hermetic

thought, whereas the Zohar clearly echoes Neoplatonic beliefs. Evidently, the
Kabbalah harbours two irreconcilable opposites: the Neoplatonic standpoint is
counterpoised by Lurianic thought. Thus, it stands on two legs. In psychology, a
corresponding theoretical development should be sought, that is, a development in
terms of complementation and the complementarian Self. It cannot be avoided
because it is the truth about the Self. I put forward an alternative to the unitarian
model, namely the Self as complementarian and the universe as bipartite in
complementarian terms — ‘Complementaris Mundus’ as opposed to ‘Unus
Mundus’ (cf. Winther, 2013b, here).

According to such a view, there is indeed room for notions of faith and final cause
(teleology), but only following a change of outlook, when the individual is no longer
engrossed in the scientific and causal world. Our Self harbours two distinct aspects,
a mundane and an extramundane. Accordingly, we may experience the universe in
two alternative ways, as spiritual or material. However, we cannot combine these
experiences of the world, because they are mutually exclusive. Yet, Jungian theory
attempts to amalgamate them. I maintain that Jung’s coalesced metaphysic is akin
to the worldview of paganism, in which the gods were always nigh. However,
alchemy’s experience of the indwelling spirit is nothing like this. It takes a toll to
extract the spirit from matter. Although spirit and matter are indeed overlapping,
and the celestial fragments are therefore omnipresent, it is not present in ready-
made form. A continuous creative effort, as well as a radical change of
consciousness, is required for the successful distillation of the spirit.

At the limits of science, we must put on celestial glasses, and begin to see the
universe differently. We should endorse science as far as possible, including
cognitive science’s notion of innate unconscious metaphor, even though it cannot
live up to psychology’s notion of archetypal autonomy and telos. There are two
different ways of looking at reality, which are both truthful, provided that we avoid
mixing them together. Only the trinitarian paradigm can give an account of the
archetype in terms of spiritual meaning and teleology. It is fruitless to search for an
explanation solely in scientific terms.

The gist of my argument is that spirit and matter must be disentangled. They ought
to be seen as two different realms of equal reality-status. Although mutually
exclusive, they are compatible under the aegis of complementarity. Such a
separation runs counter to psychology’s message, which aims to imbue the
temporal world with spirit. Archetypal theory is a motley of otherworldly and
scientific notions, and it doesn’t really work. We may look at the universe with
spiritual eyes, or we may look at it with worldly eyes, but not really at the same time.
Since the spirit retains its transcendent nature, it means that it cannot be observed
through scientific spectacles. In our scientific mode of being we have no grounds for
a belief in angels or transcendental beings of any sort, that can have an impact in
material life. Yet, in our transcendental mode of being, following upon self-
abandonment, we have earned the mental capacity of sacred regeneration. It’s like
playing on a celestial instrument, whose sound echoes throughout the universe.

Restitution

Psychology’s focus on integration is one-sided and deleterious. It must be

counterbalanced with a notion of complementation, directed at the restoration of
godly autonomy. Its mythological equivalent is the gathering of the shattered
remnants of the deceased divinity. The godly being who fell to earth and whose
limbs were shattered in existence is an important theme in religious history. The
Gnostics and the alchemists resolved to gather the bodily parts of the divinity,
interspersed in materiality. The theme occurs in Mesoamerican myth where the
primordial sacrifice is portrayed as the severing of godly limbs. It also occurs in the
myth of Osiris, whose bodily parts were scattered across Egypt. The fall and death of
the deity is connected with worldly realization and the opening up of new intelligible
faculties. According to the Book of Enoch, the fall of the angelic beings gave rise to
great cunning and scientific knowledge in humankind.

Yet, the process doesn’t end there — the deity must resurrect. According to myth,
the bodily parts of Osiris were gathered by Isis and Nephthys. Isis, with the aid of
Thoth, breathes life into him again. (Thoth is sometimes identified with
Hermes Trismegistus, the father of alchemy.) Thus, the god, like the phoenix, rises
from the ashes to renewed prominence. After all, the enrichment of the intelligible
world cannot be regarded the end goal of the divine drama. The restitution of the
godly being from his or her fallen condition is central to religious and mystical
tradition. Yet, psychology has turned a blind eye to the theme. It depends on a
misinterpretation. The restoration of the deity is wrongly understood as its
integration with consciousness, although the regained autonomy of the archetype
must really be analyzed in terms of the opposite process of complementation or
ascension.

The fall and dismemberment of the deity is the effect of its arrival in the temporal
realm, which is regarded a great sacrifice with benign consequences for humanity.
Nevertheless, the depletion of heavenly life has long-term deleterious
consequences. As people are endowed with new powers of consciousness, they will
lose their heartfelt connection with the divine, and iniquity begins to spread like
wildfire on earth. The voracious ego swells up to enormous dimensions. This is the
theme of the Book of Enoch. As a consequence of the angelic fall and the
endowment of human consciousness, a race of “giants” emerged whose heinousness
was unparalleled.

Instead of devoting themselves to godly worship, the sons and daughters of Job
spent their time feasting. They might even have eaten the sacrificial meat intended
for God. Job is rightly worried that they may have sinned and that’s why he makes
burnt-offerings for them. The central theme in Job is the restitution of sacred
power, and not its continued integration or incarnation, in terms of Jung. This is why
the prosperous world of Job had to be destroyed and God regain his status as a
world-shattering force.

When Dionysos looked into the mirror, presented to him by the Titans, it resulted in
his fall into the cosmic realm. His bodily parts were consumed by the Titans, whose
ashes in turn were scattered in existence. In a similar vein, Narcissus became self-
aware when he saw his reflection in the water. The seer Tiresias had foretold that
Narcissus would live to a ripe old age, “if he didn’t come to know himself.”
Consciousness is a deadly realm for the gods. Richard Seaford says:

In the sixth century AD the neoplatonist Olympiodorus wrote that

‘Dionysos, when he put his image into the mirror, followed it, and in
this way was divided up into the universe.’ […] Already in the third
century AD Plotinus had noted the power of a mirror to ‘seize a form’,
and a few lines later writes that ‘the souls of men, having seen their
images, like Dionysos (had seen his) in a mirror, became there (i.e. in
the images) by leaping from above’ […]
Here Plotinus has in mind not just Dionysos looking into a mirror but
more specifically the whole story of him being lured — by the sight of
his own image in the mirror — to being dismembered by the Titans, as
signifying the fall and fragmentation of the soul into material reality.
(Seaford, 2006, p. 116)

Yet, Dionysos was destined to resurrect. According to one version he is restored to

life from his heart, which had been preserved by Athena (ibid. p. 112). The earliest
known narrative of Dionysos’s ‘sparagmos’ (dismemberment) and rebirth relates
that he came back to life after Rhea reassembled his limbs (cf. Heinrichs, 2011). The
manner in which the deity is reconstituted by the mother goddess, seems to point at
a process that takes place autonomously and unconsciously. It demands
“mothering”. Yet, already in the Old Kingdom of Ancient Egypt, the priests had learnt
the celestial secret of how to accomplish the restoration of Osiris, who was identical
with the mummy of the Pharaoh. The autonomy of the deity was restored with the
aid of human hand.

I am the phoenix, the soul of Re, who guides the gods to the
Netherworld when they go forth. The souls on earth will do what they
desire and the soul of [the deceased] will go forth at his desire. (The
Book of the Dead, Spell 29B)

The religious restoration of the soul-fragments out of base matter was to be

continued in the practice of the Gnostics and the alchemists. Although their work
centered on self-redemption and the redemption of God, it also meant that
humanity was saved from the deleterious consequences of an over-expanded
consciousness, whose relation with the sacred had lost its vitality. The current
overestimation of the intelligible and rational must be rectified. The one-sided
process of integration, leading only to its continual increase, must be
counterbalanced by an opposite movement of divine restitution. It is necessary to
revise our view of human consciousness as something essentially good, whose light
we must always strive to intensify. Keep in mind that humanity was created from the
ashes of the Titans. After Zeus learnt of the dismemberment of Dionysos, he blasted
them with a thunderbolt, turning them into soot. The following excerpt describes
Olympiodorus’s account of the myth:

Because humanity arose from material that was predominantly Titanic

in nature, each human is born with the stain of the Titans’ crime, but a
remnant of Dionysus leavens the mixture. Each human must expiate
the Titans’ crime by performing rituals in honor of Dionysus and
Persephone, who still suffers from the “ancient grief” of losing her
child; by doing so, humans can win better afterlives. Meanwhile
Dionysus was in some manner revived or reborn. (Graf & Johnston,
2007, p. 67)

Notice the similarity between Dionysian cosmogony and its counterparts in

Gnosticism and Lurianic Kabbalah. The fragments of Dionysos are mingled with the
ashes of the Titans. It seems that the Titanic substance is connected with
consciousness, a deadly poison to the gods. The fact that humanity is made of this
Titanic substance constitutes the Greek version of original sin. Consciousness is a
poison capable of transforming the ego into a demi-god, a Titan or giant, a notion
resonant with the narcissistic and overblown ego that notoriously turns its back to
the gods and takes to evil ways. The restitution of the godly is the focus of the Isis
and Osiris myth, the Dionysian mysteries, ancient Christian cult, Gnostic religion,
Mesoamerican religion, Lurianic Kabbalah, and medieval alchemy. The notoriety of
the theme should tell us something. Evidently, it is a central aspect of human
psychology and it must be understood in psychological terms. I have myself dreamt
about it numerous times. This is a youthful dream of mine:

A little yet godly man lived among his people who were all very happy.
But one day he had to leave his people. They saw him zigzagging like a
will-o’-the-wisp over the ocean, until he finally disappeared. The
people fell into a gloom. At this time the sun was merely a diffusely
shining cloud. But after a long time the sun cloud sent a long tube
down to the ocean. The tube transported the god-man up to the sun
 cloud. As a consequence of the union, the cloud contracted and
became the blazingly bright sun.

It tells the story of a paradisal age that comes to an end with the fall of the god-
man, who is likened to a soul-spark lost in existence. His subsequent restoration
leads to the creation, or the invigoration, of the sun god. In Egyptian myth, the
restoration of Osiris leads to the birth of the sun god Horus, who was also a feeble
light in the beginning. One might question why a young man should dream of such
Gnostic themes. The dream cannot be explained in the present terms of psychology,
because it speaks of the restoration of the autonomous archetype, and not its
assimilation. It says that the sentient world must be reduced to the furtherance of
the divine and the shining ‘numinosum’ in heaven.

Not only myth and religion give credence to a notion of complementation; it seems
that dreams of modern men do, too. The mystical path according to the indwelling
spirit is part and parcel of our psychology — a very central archetype. Thus, today’s
notions of integration, intellectual betterment, and societal adaptation, risk leading
people astray. These methods lack relevance for a portion of the population,
because they experience the unconscious demand that the process is taken in the
other direction.

Orpheus in the underworld

From the perspective of the unconscious, or from the viewpoint of archetypes or

godly beings, the temporal realm is the ‘Underworld’; the dreary and grey material
continuance that the gods must endure when they have suffered death, having been
absorbed and stifled by the sentient function. Neither Orpheus nor Eurydice
represent human egos. Eurydice is an oak nymph and one of the daughters of
Apollo. Orpheus, in one version of the myth, is the son of Apollo and the muse
Calliope. Thus, they are to be regarded as gods, or in modern terms, archetypes —
autonomous entities of the unconscious psyche. Orpheus and Eurydice ran faster
and faster through the woods (in an alternative version, Eurydice is being pursued
by a satyr). It means that an energetic accumulation took place in the heavenly
realm, until the fateful moment arrived when the energetic level got too high, and
Eurydice passed the border of awareness. It happened when she was bitten by the
snake. (Correspondingly, the eyes of Adam and Eve “were opened” when the serpent
delivered its poison.) In cosmogonical terms, the oak appeared on earth at this very
moment, just like the death of Narcissus meant the emergence of the narcissus
herb.

Eurydice’s death meant a division of the archetype. The sentient realm became
enriched, whereas the surviving half, namely Orpheus, remained in the celestial
realm. The division that happened as a result of conscious assimilation is portrayed
as the divorce of Orpheus and Eurydice, somehow representing the feminine and
masculine aspects of the archetype. Orpheus is portrayed as a cultural hero. It
illustrates the conscious enrichment that occurred upon the assimilation of his
‘content’, namely Eurydice. Besides music, his gifts to mankind include medicine,
writing, agriculture, magical arts and astrology, as well as mystery rites and cults.

As Jahve is longing after Sophia so Orpheus is longing after his Eurydice. He resolves
to free her from the clutches of Hades, which lies under the intelligible and material
world. Thus, he journeys to the Underworld to retrieve her. By escorting her back to
the sacred realm he aims to achieve her restoration as a goddess. The music of the
unconscious, with which he can make even the stones dance, is his weapon of
choice. It signifies how the spirit is extracted out of dead matter. His song, and the
tones from his lyre, instills the moribund and integrated archetype with sacred life-
blood, and it begins to emerge out of physis. The fatal moment arrives when he
turns to look at her. Their eyes are opened to each other, which signifies awareness.
Eurydice, who was just about to pass the threshold to freedom, autonomy, and
immortality, is again poisoned with self-awareness, and she sinks back into the
cosmic domain where death reigns.

It seems that in this reading, current psychological understanding is stood on its

head. Typically, the Underworld would be seen as the unconscious, and Orpheus as
a human ego whose attempt to integrate the anima fails. Although the story might
finely illustrate various ideas about psychological assimilation, it really signifies the
opposite process, namely complementation. If the ego is involved, myth is bound to
be understood in terms of integration. Yet, von Franz criticizes the way in which
Jungians tend to apply the Freudian personalistic approach, and interpret the
fairytale hero as a normal human ego (cf. von Franz, 1996, p. viii). It is better
understood as a god or an archetype, whereas the scene of his adventure is the
heavenly realm or the unconscious.

Music and art have the power to awaken the spirit from its sleep in Hades. But why
did Orpheus fail? The answer would be that the process of complementation here
takes place unconsciously. It has much greater chance of success should the ego
remain aware of the process and lend it support, by toning down its light, and by
allowing Orpheus lyre to resound. The spiritual pilgrim may follow Orpheus’s call to
mystical practice. Orphism was a mystery religion that involved asceticism. To
further the process, it is worthwhile to adopt a contemplative mood and give artistic
expression to Orpheus’s music. It can always be heard faintly resounding in the
wind, but only if we learn to focus our faculties on the celestial energies rather than
the temporal.

The praxis of complementation

What does complementation and self-abandonment mean in practical terms? The

problem is that we have here gone beyond the psychic law of the demiurge. The
process isn’t lawful anymore. It is no longer governed by the archetypes or the
technical know-how of consciousness. It is all about escaping the rules that keep
the spirit fettered. If one were to create and follow regulations pertaining to
complementation, then that would be like shooting oneself in the foot. The Gnostic
had two ways of breaking the psychological laws of the demiurge. The passive way
was the most common, i.e., the refusal to go along with the ways of life. Thus, they
became ascetics and recluses. Other sects broke the rules actively, for instance, by
breaching taboos and indulging in sexual licentiousness. Again, they understood
Gnostic thought very concretely.

Contemplation has always been the chief trinitarian practice, taking the form of
breathing-exercises, for instance. However, also artistic creative practices can be
understood in the light of contemplation. Since artistic products haven’t much value,
except perhaps in the aesthetic sense, they tend to be underestimated. They do not
contribute much to the conscious side, it seems. However, this is an important
point. They contribute instead to the sacred domain, in the sense of
complementation and self-transcendence. The artistic work could serve as an act of
divine reimbursement.

Painting has a contemplative side to it. It generates a non-conceptual focus that may
captivate one’s mind for hours, during which time all of one’s obsessions and
thoughts are forgotten. It is a curious phenomenon that has something of a cathartic
effect. The problem is that we always view artistic creativity with the end product in
mind, as if it were the question of building a house, or something. However, we may
also view it as a means of putting the mind in a contemplative mood. It means that
the end product, as such, plays not much role.

Writing can also put the mind in a serene state, which we may experience while
visiting nature, seated under a tree, listening to the wind and watching the clouds. It
must have something to do with the state of mind which is invoked, since it is a
form of contemplative practice. It is nothing like active imagination and the
assimilation of content, and that’s why it could be likened to the gathering of soul-
sparks. Painting and writing have different effects. The pilgrim sees the scintillae
with the mind’s eye, and picks them up. They are like profound fragrances carried
by the wind. In dreams, the practice is portrayed as the eating of jelly sweets or
tending to the colourful fishes in the aquarium. Sometimes, in my experience, it is
portrayed more concretely, like using a magnifying glass to focus the sun rays, by
this means to etch the words onto an old wooden surface.

The painted image, if it gives expression to the energies of Mother Earth, is different
in my evaluation. It is capable of conveying celestial energy and it provides the
viewer with motivation to pursue the path of complementation. Painted art can have
a sublime yet forceful effect on me. I am baffled by the fact that modern art had no
such effect on Jung (cf. Wojtkowski, 2009). In a letter to Esther Harding he says, “I
am only prejudiced against all forms of modern art. It is mostly morbid and evil on
top [of that]” (Letters, vol. 1, p. 469). But Australian aborigines made “modern art”
rock paintings thousands of years ago. Of course, such paintings cannot be
regarded as morbid because they have a sacred meaning.
 “Wandjina rock art”. (Wikimedia Commons.)

It seems that we mustn’t underestimate the practice of contemplation as an integral

part of complementation. However, it is worthwhile to view contemplation in a
different light, and introduce a new concept that reinterprets apophatic and
cataphatic tradition (the ways of negation and affirmation). Whereas apophatic
contemplation refers to the imagelessness of Christian and Buddhist mysticism
(e.g.), cataphatic mysticism has its roots in Neoplatonic and pagan tradition, and
refers to the assimilation of the godly, by means of images. Divination and magic
play an important role, as in Iamblichean Neoplatonism.

The contemplative practice that I have sketched above, interprets spiritual tradition
somewhat differently, since it is neither directed at assimilation nor at attaining
emptiness of mind. The difference between apophatic and cataphatic is no longer
pronounced. It is possible to read Pseudo-Dionysius in this way, because he says
that the image of God hides in nature and may be disclosed. Thus, things of the
world are not merely an allurement and a hindrance, as in radical apophatic
tradition. Rather, the perceptible may also assist the contemplative on his journey
towards God (cf. Winther, 2015, here).

Infused contemplation is Christian mysticism’s advanced level of contemplation in

which the spirit of God is infused into the mind, and the mind therefore becomes
void of temporal representations. It differs from ‘meditation’ in that the latter has
discursive elements on which one focuses. Infused contemplation serves to empty
the mind in order to allow room for the infusion of divine mind, whereas the creative
form of contemplation, in terms of psychology, serves a generative and invigorating
purpose vis-à-vis the unconscious.

Instead of a theological interpretation of contemplation we may look upon it in

terms of psychology. Clinical psychology has developed a contemplative therapy
based on “mindfulness”, drawing on the Buddhist technique of Anapanasati.
Mindfulness meditation, especially as a method of reducing accumulated bodily
stress, has met with great success in the Western world. Evidently, contemplation
may be understood exclusively in psychological terms. The contemplative praxis, as
an integral aspect of human nature, has been largely forgotten in the modern world.
It may account for many of the nervous and stress-related problems that westerners
suffer from. Comparatively, every horse and every cat knows how to contemplate.
Cats were kept by Zen Buddhists and Christian medieval monks. They were seen as
exemplary role models, always maintaining serenity of mind.

In The Feminine in Fairy Tales (ch. 3), M-L von Franz discusses knit work, crochet
work, and weaving, as a form of contemplation. She regards the spider as a Mother
symbol and associates the knitting activity with the spider’s work. Since it connects
us with the repressed Earth Mother it has a wholesome effect. Von Franz says that
such work generally has a very salutary effect, especially on women. We may
figuratively look upon constructive, practical, or artistic contemplation as a form of
knitting activity whereby a spiritual spider’s web is manufactured, which serves to
catch the fireflies (scintillae). Contemplation seems to be an integral part of human
psychology and it also occupies a central place in religious tradition. It is yet another
example of a transcendental aspect of the human psyche that has been neglected by
psychology. What purpose shall it serve, if it isn’t designed for the assimilation of
psychic content nor any other creative goal? But, as Poul Bjerre explains, a necessary
prerequisite for successful adaptation and assimilation of personality is a
harmonious mind, and that’s why he recommends the praxis of contemplation (cf.
Bjerre, 1933, p. 303).

Artistic creativity

In this chapter I will show that the development of modern art, since Matisse,
coincides with spiritual tradition, as taught by the Neoplatonists of ancient antiquity,
Christian mystics, Indian Dharma tradition, and Taoism. The goal is to overcome
attachment, achieving transcendence. In Neoplatonic terms, what first takes place is
the reversion (epistrophê) of one’s life’s energy, so that movement is instead
directed toward the transcendental One. This will lead to henôsis, which is spiritual
union and the achievement of oneness. There is one major benefit of the myth. It
serves the important function of “overcoming the world”, which is essentially the
same theme as modern artists have laboured with. In psychological terms, it leads to
the freeing of personality and the achievement of individuality proper. This coincides
with the resolution of the mother complex, which in its broadest definition is equal
to unconscious attachment to everything worldly. Psychologists do not know why
the unconscious psyche strives after this development. However, von Franz argues
that the spiritual passion is even stronger than sexuality. This is corroborated by the
enormous following that spiritual tradition has amassed throughout history.

As Henri Matisse (1869-1954) expressed it, he and the Fauvists broke through the
stone wall that Paul Cézanne (1839-1906) had worked to undermine, thus invoking
the epoch of modern art. Characteristic of Matisse’s art is the large fields of pure
colour, contrasted with each other. So it was a move towards greater abstraction.
This was continued in Expressionism, which is essentially a development of Fauvism.
And then Kazimir Malevich (1878-1935) and the Suprematists took the process even
further and said that there must only be rectilinear fields of colour, and perhaps one
or another circle and triangle. Eventually, colour was removed altogether when
Malevich painted a white square on white background.
 “White on White”. Kazimir Malevich, 1918.
(Wikimedia Commons.)

This painting relates a feeling of transcendence, signifying emancipation from

worldly dependence. In religious terminology it is connected with a strong feeling of
relief, called bliss. Says Malevich:

Objects have vanished like smoke; to attain the new artistic culture, art
advances toward creation as an end in itself and toward domination
over the forms of nature. (Malevich, 1915)

To own such a painting would be like owning a holy relic, capable of endowing the
environment with spiritual signification. If we cannot afford to buy it, then we may
create something similar ourselves. The “religious” aspect of art is a time-honoured
concept. Once upon a time all art was religious. So, in symbolical terms, this
represents a continual move towards transcendence. According to Malevich, the
white background represents infinity, emptiness, and transcendence.

White was for Malevich the color of infinity, and signified a realm of
higher feeling…an utopian world of pure form, attainable only through
nonobjective art. Indeed, he named his theory of art Suprematism to
signify ‘the supremacy of pure feeling or perception in the pictorial
arts’; and pure perception demanded that a picture’s forms ‘have
nothing in common with nature.’ Malevich imagined Suprematism as a
universal language that would free viewers from the material world.
(Smith, 2004, p. 85)

In “Yellow Plane in Dissolution”, the process is expressed in the fading of the form
into white mist.
 “Yellow Plane in Dissolution”.
Kazimir Malevich, 1917.
(Wikiart)

Despite this, the mimetic view of art has retained its grip on artists and amateurs
alike. It means that art comes from the outside, and we simply copy it. Already Plato
was very critical of this stance. According to Plato, pure Beauty is non-
representational, because it is transcendental Form (cf. Pappas, 2015). The breaking
of the bonds with the outer world represents detachment, which in psychoanalytic
language is termed resolution of the mother complex. People are generally fond of
nature and the Impressionists’ representations of it. We are also fond of sweets,
alcoholic beverages, and many other things that we ought to detach ourselves from.
And that’s why painting mustn’t be seen as mere pleasurable activity, through the
easy path of mimesis, because it means that the bond with the world as Mother is
retained.

Matisse, in his dialogue with André Masson (1896-1987), expresses this idea of
detachment when he says: “I always start with something — a chair, a table, but as
the work progresses I become less conscious of it. By the end I am hardly aware of
the subject with which I started” (Adres, 2010). So the process of detachment is
repeated again and again during his work. That’s why art ought to continue in the
footsteps of Expressionists and Suprematists, and not back-pedal to a mimetic art
form. Impressionism needn’t be practiced as such, however. Yet, the way painting is
taught today is to use Impressionist means to copy correctly, so that one gets the
right impression. But, really, it is all about getting the right expression. I question
the whole concept of practicing diverse tricks to achieve a mimetic result. The result
is often a “beautiful” painting of some artistic value. Yet, how well an artist has
succeeded in imitating a mountain side is not that interesting. What matters is what
he has to say. In my judgment, this is low-class art. Sadly, many amateurs find it
appealing, and thus they waste a lot of time learning it. So this goes in the other
direction than detachment and emancipation, as professed by Matisse, because with
increased skill, the better is the mimetic result.

What strengthens the argument is the Cubism of Georges Braque (1882-1963) and
Pablo Picasso (1881-1973). During the analytic period they disassembled the object
into facets, also reducing the colouration to greys and ochres. So here we have the
same detachment from the natural object that we see elsewhere in modern art. In
the words of Malevich, they achieved “domination over the forms of nature”. The
conclusion is that both art history and the psychological motive behind painting
revolve around similar themes as spiritual tradition. Yet, many a painter will
continue to paint just for pleasure and to “have fun”, because he/she lacks the
strong spiritual impetus of the unconscious. In view of this, we ought to promote
the higher art forms, such as Cubism, because these coincide with the directionality
of the unconscious that strives after individuation and emancipation of personality.
It is the only remedy against collectivism, which has haunted us throughout history,
and which today shows its ugly head in the form of militant Islamism. (Yet, the
impact of multiculturalism, postmodern relativism, and global welfarism, is even
more destructive.) Malevich said that art was essential in reconstruction of the
world, and he was right, because it serves an end of individual emancipation.

People who cannot find satisfaction in acquiring social and monetary status must go
to the stream that runs deep. This entails creating a “lie” that one can passionately
endorse. But the inner source, which radiates this passion, is not a lie. Pablo Picasso
says:

We all know that Art is not truth. Art is a lie that makes us realize truth,
at least the truth that is given us to understand. The artist must know
the manner whereby to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies. If
he only shows in his work that he has searched, and re-searched, for
the way to put over lies, he would never accomplish anything. (Barr,
1946, pp. 270-71)

I can hardly understand the importance given to the word research in

connection with modern painting. In my opinion to search means
nothing in painting. To find is the thing. Nobody is interested in
following a man who, with his eyes fixed on the ground, spends his life
looking for the purse that fortune should put in his path. The one who
finds something no matter what it might be, even if his intention were
not to search for it, at least arouses our curiosity, if not our admiration.
(Barr, 1946, pp. 270-71)

Carl Jung, contrary to Picasso, endorses the unceasing quest for truth, which is like a
heroic mission, forever searching for that four-leaf clover. He says that the
integration of the Self is coupled with a tremendous effort. But, in fact, we are
capable of making a find where we stand. The alchemists said that the materia
prima, out of which gold is made, can be found right at your doorstep. When placed
in the alchemical egg, the most commonplace material will turn to gold. (See above:
“Still Life With Chair Caning”.) Jung’s position is bound to lead many a searcher
astray in the wilderness, endlessly searching for a truth that doesn’t exist. Since
Picasso’s standpoint is truly alchemical and artistic, he is anathema to Jung. This is
evident from his 1932 article, where Picasso is characterized as being schizoid and
his art pathological (cf. Jung, 1966, pars. 204ff).

The Harlequin is a recurrent motif of Picasso’s. In my view, the Harlequin would

correspond to the Mercurius, who shall undergo union (coniunctio) with the soul,
which is Columbine. That’s probably why the alchemists said that the Harlequinade
points at the secret of alchemy. Yet, Jung says that “Harlequin gives me the
creeps” (para. 214). It seems that he has a strong resistance to the artistic jester,
who creates illusions from what he finds outside his doorstep. Accordingly, Jung’s
alchemical research, although containing much of value, is encumbered with grave
psychological misinterpretations. In fact, the central truth of alchemy was to stop
searching and start finding. This is also the central truth of individuation.

Georges Braque and his atelier compares to the alchemist and his laboratory. Braque
lived more or less as a reclusive. He mostly painted still lifes of common articles.
Jacques Damase says that “[these] pictures are a microcosm reproducing the
painter’s professional universe” (Damase, 1963, p. 76). Arguably, the goal is to build
a kind of microcosm, because this is the alchemical lapis. It is undergoing
refinement while the artifex is working toward a better grasp of the divine light that
leavens ordinary things. Braque says: “I know exactly where I am going. My goal is
my desire to make paintings of the utmost significance” (p. 78). “My goal is my
desire” — that’s a pregnant statement. Significantly, he strives to achieve “utmost
significance” by painting household objects. Says Damase:

Braque is the painter who succeeded in placing a dirty bidet or a

dubious washbasin in the finest gilded salons of millionaires because,
for him, “the best part of art consists of discovering what is ‘common’.”
What could be more ordinary than a lemon, than a still life with an
apple and a pipe; boring, in theory, and yet this lemon and this pipe are
worth thousand of pounds — because they are the guardians of a
mystery. (Damase, 1963, pp. 78-79)

With Braque, [there] is no substance or reality, but a quality, or lack of

image, more or less convincing, which he makes of one object in
relation to another. “I ended up,” he said, “with a kind of alienation
from the object, so as to give it a pictorial meaning, sufficient to it’s
new life. When I paint a vase, it is not to manufacture a utensil capable
of holding water, but for another reason. Objects are recreated to
another end: here, that of taking part in a painting. By losing their
normal functions, objects become more human. They are united,
therefore, by the relationships which grow up between them, and,
especially, between them and the painting and myself.” (ibid. pp. 76-
77)

Spiritual ascent

In consonance with the rest of existence, the unconscious has a game-playing

foundation. The central theme of individuation is emancipation of personality, and
the maintenance of wholeness, but not in the sense of attaining completeness.
Society, too, is like a gaming board where we follow certain rules and perform
certain stage acts. This coincides with our general picture of reality. Physicist
Richard Feynman said that the universe functions very similar to a chess game (cf.
Schonfield, 2012). Today we know that everything consist of little particles, similar
to game pieces, that move around on the chess board of the universe, following
certain rules. Religious worshipers play a game which involves certain ritual acts and
the belief in an invisible “spiritual Father”. These would seem to be figments of
imagination, because all that exists are material particles, which are not inert and
“dumb”, but know how to behave on the universal gaming board. It seems that the
only thing that exists is the playing of games. Whatever we do, we are merely
occupied with diversions. It is indisputable if we look at the artistic occupations.
However, also scientific research is a game as well as a contest. It is all about finding
out the rules that material particles follow, which are sometimes very complicated.
And when we have learnt these rules, we can build yet more technological toys with
which we may amuse ourselves and create yet more advanced games.

What’s missing from the Jungian perspective is the way in which individuation can
mean a sloughing off of an aspect of personality, bogged down by an illusory
worldview and exhausted ways of adaptation. Individuation is generally pictured as
the growth of a tree; but the process could equally well be viewed as metamorphic,
as when a caterpillar turns into a butterfly. However, this is not in accordance with
the Jungian ideal of completeness, which means growing yet more branches on the
tree to achieve a grand wholeness. So, for instance, if intellect is primary, it can only
be the question of integrating the other functions sufficiently. Abandoning the
intellect for an artistic development is out of the question, for it would mean that
another function becomes primary. It means killing, or cutting away, developed
branches of the psychic tree. However, I believe that this is what individuation
sometimes demands of us. It is a common theme in spiritual teachings of the world,
namely to cast off the old and habitual in order to attain a new being.

On Jung’s view, the myth of the individual must be substituted for the myth of the
collective. It means that individuation is a form of personal mythology. Accordingly,
it involves finding one’s own myth. So, on Jung’s account, disillusionment with the
world means to cast off the myth of the collective (cf. Jung, 1972, p. 240). Yet, he
offers his own myth of “completeness” as universal, and also his notions of anima
and mana personality as stages of individuation. So, whereas the Christian mystic,
through consecutive steps of spiritual ascent, attempts to achieve union with Christ
in the unio mystica, Jung sets as goal the union with the anima, mana personality,
and Self. The Self is the same as Swedenborg’s notion of Homo Maximus — the
universal image of Christ.

Thus, what Jung offers is a revitalized Neoplatonic myth of spiritual ascent

(anabasis). However, whereas Neoplatonic and Christian mystical ascent involved
worldly renouncement, Jung maintains that worldly adaptation must be pursued and
maintained. This view is predicated on his ideal of completeness. He argues that you
can only be complete if you’re both worldly and spiritual, a notion that rhymes with
a particular form of Neoplatonism, namely Swedenborg’s system. Jung conceives of
an opus psychologicum, corresponding to the opus alchymicum, the goal of which is
“complete individuation”. This involves a struggle against nature. He says:

[H]owever much the alchemist may extol venerabilis natura, it is in

either case an opus contra naturam […] The ancients were optimistic
enough to see this struggle not as a chaotic muddle but as aspiring to
some higher order. (Jung, 1974, para. 469)
However, from an evolutionary perspective, going against nature could not have
been biologically adaptive. It is hard to see how the individuative drive, involving a
period of psychic meltdown, could be favoured by natural selection. Whence comes
individuation, in its Jungian guise? The only explanation is that it must have been
placed in our soul by a Higher Power. So it is an unscientific and Neoplatonic notion.
Pauliina Remes says that “[this] turn (epistrophé) and ‘ascent’ (anabasis, anodos)
refers to the human being’s desire and attempt to actualize the higher levels of her
being” (p. 114). Epistrophé signifies a reversal of life. The Neoplatonic view that
objects of knowledge are internal and innate to the soul gives rise to the famous
Neoplatonic “inward turn”. The reversal of life is a turn inwards (cf. Remes, p. 167).

This is Jungian individuation in a nutshell. The myth is functional in that it serves to

emancipate the individual from worldly identification. Yet, we must face the fact that
the whole theoretical edifice is Neoplatonic and not scientific. Indeed, Jung attests to
its mythic character:

So too the self is our life’s goal, for it is the completest expression of
that fateful combination we call individuality, the full flowering not only
of the single individual, but of the group, in which each adds his
portion to the whole.
Sensing the self as something irrational, as an indefinable existent, to
which the ego is neither opposed nor subjected, but merely attached,
and about which it revolves very much as the earth revolves round the
sun — thus we come to the goal of individuation. I use the word
“sensing” in order to indicate the apperceptive character of the relation
between ego and self. In this relation nothing is knowable, because we
can say nothing about the contents of the self. The ego is the only
content of the self that we do know. The individuated ego senses itself
as the object of an unknown and supraordinate subject. It seems to me
that our psychological inquiry must come to a stop here, for the idea of
a self is itself a transcendental postulate which, although justifiable
psychologically, does not allow of scientific proof. (Jung, 1972,
para. 405)

Jesse Bering (2012) has shown that this “sensing” of an ulterior mind, is a
consequence of a peculiarity of our species, namely our “theory of mind”, which
gives rise to an acute sensitivity to being in the judgmental presence of others.
There is no empirical evidence of an opus contra naturam inbuilt in our psychic
constitution. However, we know that the unconscious is very adaptive. “If this is
what makes you happy, let’s play the game of individuation!” Accordingly, the
unconscious plays along and produces images of transformation. But this will only
continue as long as the scam works and remains convincing to the conscious mind,
and as long as it furthers mental health and longevity. Correspondingly, those who
are “saved” and adopt the Christian faith, will often encounter Jesus in dreams.
Indeed, having a purpose in life confers longevity, especially in a social setting
where you can get support.

We can deduce that having a faith is biologically adaptive. But this is like playing a
game where the unconscious plays along. From my own experience, the
unconscious has an overwhelming focus on mental and bodily welfare. I have no
experience that it wants to push down the ego from its pedestal. But as soon as the
ego becomes hubristic and self-sufficient, the unconscious is bound to produce
compensatory images. This is because having a modest and unpretentious ego
promotes mental health and adaptability. Likewise, temperance in eating and
drinking promotes physical health, and that’s why my own unconscious insists that I
should eat proper food, not drink much alcohol, and having sufficient exercise. The
central unconscious impetus is the well-being of the organism. Well-being is
wholeness — to be whole is to be healthy. However, Jung wrongly associates
wholeness with completeness, and therefore argues that ‘perfection’ is inconsistent
with wholeness. This is a mistake, because wholeness and simpleness are wholly
congruent.

All in all, Jung has afforded us a new collective myth, which is really his private myth
of individuation, building on Swedenborg’s form of Neoplatonism. But it could be
argued that the notion of personal achievement on the path of individuation puts
shackles on the individual. It is bound to make people frustrated with the life they
have, because the myth of individuation speaks of a treasure at the rainbow’s end. It
prevents them from living in the “here and now”. Nothing of what is proffered as
goals of individuation is achievable, as such, because it is merely a myth that is
supposed to replace the Christian myth. So it is really the question of “playing at”
doing the individuative journey and to accomplish the integration of archetypes.

The alchemical myth also involves passing through stages, although it was
symbolized by material transformations. In forging this myth, the alchemists found
purpose in their lives; but they could also make it manifest through creative work.
That’s why it is called a Sacred Art. Jung renounces art, however, arguing that
nothing needs to be made manifest, because it is all about psychological
transformations. This, he maintains, is the only manifestly real. Accordingly, he
emphasizes the reality of the psyche. But this has a backside. It means that he has
short-circuited the mythic foundation of individuation, since it becomes impossible
to perform it as a playing activity, which is what it really is — merely an art form, and
merely a playing activity. In the words of the alchemists, it is a ludus puerorum — a
children’s game. Anyway, the goal of the Self is unreachable:

These images are naturally only anticipations of a wholeness which is,

in principle, always just beyond our reach […] Fundamentally, of
course, they always point to the self, the container and organizer of all
opposites. But at the moment of their appearance they merely indicate
the possibility of order in wholeness. (Jung, 1974, para. 536)

Most people, I suppose, would balk at the notion of spending the second half of life
on a wild goose chase. Against this notion, I hold that individuation means, firstly,
to attain psychological emancipation. Secondly, it means to realize the inner
capability of infusing any creative work with meaning. Thus, the individuant ought to
recognize, much like Braque and Picasso, that it is all about creating a lie that
aspires to Truth. Such an inner playful passion is wholly realizable, unlike the Self of
Completeness. It could be called the “inner sun”.
Adaptive illusions

We are genetically preconditioned to form a God image. There’s no doubt that the
Self exists in this sense, that is, as a psychic complex. But this means that it should
be regarded a God-illusion created by the psyche. It is there only to enhance our
survival value. Jung views the very experience of this complex as proof of the
empirically veracity of the Self. Yet it is only proof of an autonomous self-deception
created during human evolution. We are being deceived. During near-death
experiences, the unconscious creates a deception that we are about to enter the
realm of divine love. Researchers have stimulated the brain electrically to produce
similar experiences. Of course, drugs, such as LSD, can also produce such
“evidence”. LSD users have had experiences of the divine.

How are we to judge such material? It is only proof that the unconscious psyche is
capable of producing a colourful celestial imagery. It’s no wonder — after all, the
human brain is the most complicated structure in the universe, as far as we know.
The unconscious is keen on creating an illusion that life has purpose. This serves to
prevent depression and motivate the individual to continue life’s struggle. So these
are adaptive illusions. The God image has put a restraint on our voracious ego.
Being “good”, in the eyes of the omniscient Father, would have been highly adaptive,
especially since our verbal capacity of gossip often has the consequence of
ostracism. Says Jesse Bering:

The cognitive illusion of an ever-present and keenly observant God

worked for our genes, and that’s reason enough for nature to have kept
the illusion vividly alive in human brains. (Bering, 2012, Kindle
Loc.2912f)

This all corresponds with Jung’s original formulation of the archetypal theory. It is
the Self archetype which gives rise to the God image. But this means that God is
merely a figment of our evolutionary imagination. Regardless of what form it takes,
the Self is a fiction — a fancy formulated by the unconscious psyche. Jung first tried
to remedy the inevitable atheistic and rationalistic repercussions by claiming that
the psyche is real enough — which is supposed to mean that our fantasies are “real”.
But this didn’t work very well. So, eventually, he formulated a transcendental
metaphysic according to which the archetype-as-such resides in an otherworldly
dimension (cf. Jung, 1977a, pars. 786-89).

According to Jung, the Self manifests in dreams, for example, as a horse, a tree, a
castle, etc. This is the only “empirical” evidence there is. Of course, if we take the
view that an idea of mind is “real”, then the dream image is veridical in the scientific
sense. It follows that Dali’s “burning giraffe” is real, too, because it is an empirical
content and a reflection of an archetype. If we view the archetypes as they were
originally conceived, namely as acquired patterns of mentation, then they are
equally real as instincts. But an instinct isn’t metaphysically real. When the species
goes extinct its instincts are gone, also. So that’s why Jung’s original conception was
unsatisfactory to him, and it explains why he backpedaled 2300 years to the Platonic
worldview. Curiously, since the Self denotes “complete manhood”, it signifies
“maximal collectivity”. Jung says:
 [Through self-knowledge] there arises a consciousness which is no
longer imprisoned in the petty, oversensitive, personal world of the
ego, but participates freely in the wider world of objective interests.
This widened consciousness is no longer that touchy, egotistical bundle
of personal wishes, fears, hopes, and ambitions which always has to be
compensated or corrected by unconscious counter-tendencies; instead,
it is a function of relationship to the world of objects, bringing the
individual into absolute, binding, and indissoluble communion with the
world at large. (Jung, 1972, para. 275)

However, he also says that we mustn’t “become” this collective being but must
remain anchored in our ego. Our relation with this symbol of complete manhood
should be like that of the earth rotating around the sun (ibid. para. 400). Even so,
the psychic Self as our life’s goal, and the pursuit of this goal as life’s essential
meaning, is not a tenable idea. In order to put faith in this concept it is necessary to
adopt a belief in the soul’s survival after death. The realization of the Self would
represent the creation of the resurrection body ahead of time. The alchemists
entertained such beliefs, because the creation of the filius philosophorum, infans
solaris, etc., had such connotations. But modern people cannot believe in such
things, anymore. So how can individuation gain ascendancy in public consciousness,
when it is rooted in 19th century woolly philosophy about the World Soul? It doesn’t
work anymore.

The symbol of God has had an adaptive purpose. Having purpose in life confers
health and longevity. It is part of our nature to think in a religious way. These are
illusions created by the brain, according to archetypal premises inbuilt in our
genome, moulded by cultural factors. According to Bering, “culture develops and
decorates the innate psychological building blocks of religious belief” (Kindle
Loc.1835). The Self is defined as “God within us” (Jung, 1972, para. 399). Thus, God
has been transferred into the psyche as an autonomous psychic content that is to
be regarded as “real”. Jung says:

From the point of view of psychology, the names we give to the self are
quite irrelevant, and so is the question of whether or not it is “real”. Its
psychological reality is enough for all practical purposes. (Jung, 1993,
para. 532)

This is like saying that the thunder god Thor must be taken at face value because we
can experience his causatum in the form of thunder and lightning. Thor strikes fear
and awe into our heart, and that’s the only thing that counts. But, today, since we
have learnt that thunderstorms derive from electric activity, we are not awestruck
anymore, merely impressed. Likewise, since I know that my dreams derive from
electric activity in the brain, I am no longer struck by wonderment. I won’t turn to
religious worship because of having had religious experiences. To say that
psychological experience defines what’s “real” does not accord with the modern
scientific worldview. In that case, if I see a man at a distance, hobgoblins must be
regarded as real, since the man appears to my senses as minuscule. We must always
remain critical of our senses and interpret our experiences. We no longer feel
religious awe, since we are aware that phenomena depend on such things as electric
activity. But this only means that we have acquired a more subtle sense of
wonderment. There is no need for a “re-enchantment” of the world.
Religious awe is a primitive feeling, pagan in kind. We ought to go beyond this
phase, and strive after the sublime. Jungian psychology has Neo-Pagan qualities in
that the worldly experience involves the fulfilment of a grand wholeness,
reminiscent of the age-old chimera of an earthly paradise. But we should get away
from the Big Ideas. Comparatively, the alchemical gold is a function of creativity, a
little fountain, which takes shape in the life of the individual. Its products are very
concrete, and not illusory. Libido flows in the soul of the individual, but it is like a
glittering rivulet — it’s not grand and forceful. In my youth I had a remarkable dream
that compensated this notion:

A midget approached me and pronounced: It’s better to be a little

fountain that spouts water than to be a large fountain whose source
has run dry.

This formulates a better view of the Self, namely as a little fountain, associated with
the Mercurius. To Jung, the sun is an apt symbol of the Self. But we shall not strive
to fly close to the sun, like Icarus. In fact, it is the smallest planet, namely Mercury,
which symbolizes the true Self. It is the inner “life-giver”, the subtle passion for life,
which typically comes to expression in some form of creativity. This is the gold that
the alchemists sought. The Mercurius is the proper Self for the modern time — a Self
that must be created out of matter by a conscious effort of the artifex.

Meaning

Individuation has favourable psychological effects because it delivers the individual

from imprisonment in collective identity. But this does not endow life with meaning.
Nor does eating more vegetables, which is also healthy. So not many people will
listen to such an argument. If joining a collective group provides economical
opportunities as well as social status, including marital opportunities, then people
will go for it. They will worship any god or believe in any dogma, and in that way
adjust to the collective, as long as it allows them to propagate their own genes and
provide for their children and themselves. These are the things that matter in
people’s lives: social status, stable income, genetic propagation. Individuation, to
stand out from the group, will only create difficulties for the individual. It inevitably
leads to loneliness. There is nothing factual about individuation, and the realization
of the Self, as goals of life. A central concept is “finding your own myth” and creating
your own path in life. But this means to acknowledge that the myth of individuation,
as formulated in Two Essays (Jung, 1972), and elsewhere, is invalid. After all, if
we’re going to create our own myth, then we can’t follow a preordained concept.

So it is a hoax. However, so is everything else. Nor does science provide purpose in

life. Science is working to reveal the hoax of the universe. Everything consists of
elemental particles, which have once been compressed to the size of a ping-pong
ball. And it will all vanish in a distant future. All the stars will die down, and
eventually everything in the universe will be ripped apart on account of spatial
expansion. There is no objective God, no objective Self, no objective Meaning. So
we have to kindle the fire ourselves. It means to arouse interest and passion for the
creative subject matter, so that we may rise enthusiastically from the bed each
morning. In order to achieve this, we should refrain from participating in any
collectivistic illusion, including the psychological form of worship. The alchemist in
his laboratory, the artist in his atelier, the author in his studio — they are all working
to create meaning: “My goal is my desire to make paintings of the utmost
significance” — Georges Braque.

Today we know that only the material universe is metaphysically real. However, it
seems that matter is endowed with wonderful qualities, and that’s why it can give
rise to the self-conscious mind (vid. Winther, 2014b, here). Just as the alchemists
say, the spirit is enclosed in matter, and it can be awakened to life. So, arguably, a
better idea is to view matter as ultimate reality. According to Neoplatonic and
Hegelian philosophy, which Jung builds on, matter has inferior metaphysical status.
In Neoplatonism, inert matter is unreal, and therefore belongs to the evil principle.
British philosopher Alfred North Whitehead (1861-1947) took the opposite view. On
the surface his system is Neoplatonic, but he gave matter highest reality status,
whereas ideas are regarded as mere potentials for material creation. Whitehead says
that “there is no going behind actual entities to find anything more real” (Whitehead,
1978, p. 18). On this view, the most fundamental principle in the universe is
creativity, which works to unify the diverse manifold. Everything builds on and is
influenced by other things in creation. So this has not much in common with the
modern existentialist or postmodern distrust of metanarratives, since we are always
partaking in the creation of the world. Whitehead holds that all worldly things are
“self-creative”, having different grades of “intensity”.

Both Hegel and Jung have equated progress with the evolution of consciousness.
Against this, Whitehead views the evolution of expression as central. Ideas,
necessary for creation, are synthesized from the worldly experience. Every thing
created relates to the whole, and will also serve as grounds for new creation, since
worldly things can harbour ideas, termed “eternal objects”. The world does not have
a fixed essence, but depends on continual creative progression. So world and idea
are not far removed, but remain interdependent within the continual flow of
creation. It seems to me that Whitehead’s philosophy better rhymes with the artistic
and alchemical conception. On this view, individuation means “bringing oneself into
the world” in the creative sense, because everyone carries a piece of the world’s
puzzle. This does not rule out introversion, which is ultimately a way to radically
participate. Subjectivity remains central as it serves to determine the objective facts
about the world through creativity (cf. Rosenblum, 2016, Kindle Loc.450).

The Jungian goal of individuation is maximal collectivity, conditioned by the Self as

the complete image of Man. Against this, Whitehead says that to be truly different is
to be new — to be ‘one’ requires uniqueness. To achieve such an enhancement of
both human nature and worldly existence means to produce genuine novelty, which
is creativity proper. To add genuinely one’s own piece to the world’s puzzle
advances the entire world. In contrast, Jungian psychology centers on the realization
of the Self as an exclusively psychological goal, as the “completeness” of personality.
This view is fraught with difficulties. A better concept is the following. At midlife, or
perhaps later, one should have attained sufficient completeness, through the
integration of the shadow, etc. In later life, the realization of the Self really concerns
adaptation to life itself — in a way, one ought to establish a little paradise of one’s
own. But this is undoable as long as one clings to the concept of completeness. In
fact, one must gear down. This requires that a form of wholeness is accomplished,
but not in the sense of completeness. Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918) comments
on the art of Georges Braque:

This painter is angelic. Purer than other men, he pays no attention to

anything that, being alien to his art, might cause him suddenly to fall
from the paradise he inhabits. (Fry, 1978, p. 49)

Such a state of mind, which involves a creative flow, would represent the realization
of Self. But he has become simple. So the theory around the Self ought to be
rectified accordingly.

Summation

Jung refers to shadow work as “the apprentice-piece” (Jung, 1980b, para. 61). I
criticize the theory around the shadow from the standpoint of Bjerre’s notion of
“objectification” (cf. chapter ‘The theory of unconscious compensation’). It means
that shadow nature must sometimes be cut off rather than integrated. It was
Jesus of Nazareth who first pointed to the problem of the shadow when he told
people to look at their own faults rather than pointing out imperfections in others.
Otherwise they will become like whitewashed tombs, “which look beautiful on the
outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything
unclean” (Matt. 23:27). This represents the integration and realization of shadow
nature. However, he also speaks of the opposite principle: “If your hand causes you
to stumble, cut it off” (Mark 9:43).

The theory of individuation revolves single-mindedly around unconscious

integration. The notion of “cutting off” the limb that leads you astray is overtly
repudiated by Jung on the grounds that it means striving after ‘perfection’. It is
‘completeness’ that must be sought. But the one does not exclude the other.
Comparatively, a physicist employs both integral calculus and differential calculus.
In social life, we sometimes have no other choice than to cut off acquaintances,
because they are hurting us. Bjerre calls this principle ‘negation’; to objectify and to
negate an aspect of personality. So we must employ both integration and negation.
In spiritual tradition, it has been of central importance to negate those aspects of
personality which are obsessively bound to the sensual. Because we are very prone
to waste our time on trifles, we ought to strive after simplicity. This view does not
concord with Jungian individuation.

Individuation, allegedly, involves the ego’s fusion with unconscious factors — the
archetypes. Jung says that “[the] extreme consequence of this is the dissolution of
the ego in the unconscious, a state resembling death” (Jung, 1974, para. 501). Is the
encounter with the unconscious really a crushing experience to the ego? In fact, it’s
the other way round. When a person has a crushing experience in outer life, and
sustains a serious blow to his/her egoic ambition, then an unconscious encounter
will take place. This is what happened in Jung’s case. He had tremendous ambition
before his break with Freud, but afterwards found himself an outcast. The images
that his unconscious produced were inspired from the thorough mythological
studies that preceded Symbols of Transformation (Jung, 1976). Thus, he had
acquired a conscious eagerness, and an unconscious anticipation, to experience
transformation, because he believed in this myth. Jung says:

The self could be characterized as a kind of compensation of the

conflict between inside and outside. This formulation would not be
unfitting, since the self has somewhat the character of a result, of a
goal attained, something that has come to pass very gradually and is
experienced with much travail. So too the self is our life’s goal, for it is
the completest expression of that fateful combination we call
individuality, the full flowering not only of the single individual, but of
the group, in which each adds his portion to the whole. (Jung, 1972,
para. 404)

But, really, how attractive is such a goal for the average citizen, to achieve the
“completest expression” of individuality, achieved with much travail? I would rather
find in the unconscious the fons mercurialis, the fountain of youth, gushing forth
living water. People don’t care much for becoming a “complete personality”. Nobody
is going to applause them anyway. And when we encounter sickness and death, all
the embellishments of my personhood will turn to ash. As far as I can see, the only
motive to undertake the travail of completeness is that the individuant is rewarded a
place among the host of angels. Edward Edinger (1922-1998) has such a thought:

Individual consciousness or realization of wholeness is the

psychological product of the temporal process of individuation. For that
to be made eternal is a mysterious idea. It seems to imply that
consciousness achieved by individuals becomes a permanent addition
to the archetypal psyche. There is indeed evidence for this idea. For
instance, Jung had sublimatio visions when close to death in 1944. He
found himself elevated far above the earth and stripped down to an
“objective form”… (Edinger, 1985, p. 140)

This is nothing short of silly. It represents a regress to archaic religious belief.

Nevertheless, it seems that both Jung and von Franz, in a loose way, entertained
such beliefs. Of course, to make sense of the individuative striving, it requires that
we survive in spiritual form after death. In the same way as mundane people strive
after riches and position on earth, the individuant strives after a position in the
celestial hierarchy. This is Emanuel Swedenborg’s thought. But it is not possible to
entertain such beliefs in the modern age of science. Today we know that every form
in the universe — stars and galaxies, and every biological species — have evolved
spontaneously, and that everything consists of atoms. There is no evidence of a
creator God; nor of a celestial hierarchy. Without such beliefs, the striving after
completeness, the full flowering of the individual, has lost its motivational impetus.

When we speak of “unconscious guidance” we must qualify our terms. The

unconscious impetus really revolves around adaptation to life, to acquire personal
harmony, and this serves to further good health and survival. In terms of Bjerre, it is
all about avoiding a neurotic standstill. It could mean to focus on subjective
meaning rather than following the path of outward ambition. It has to do with
certain facts of life, which means that the unconscious is often more realistic than
the conscious ego.
According to this view, individuation isn’t predetermined according to psychological
law. This is contrary to Jung’s view, according to which individuation is teleological
in that it strives to realize the goal of an ideal Self, formally indistinguishable from
the God image. However, this view is quite unscientific because it doesn’t take
account of the happenstance nature of life on this earth. We simply have to adapt to
circumstances and make the best of the situation. Thus, we cannot follow a pre-
programmed path. For instance, we could encounter illness, which greatly reduces
our mental powers. Above all, we are certain to become bogged down by the many
necessities of life, which have nothing to do with an individuative journey.

The upshot is that there exists no treasure at the rainbow’s end, in the form of the
Self or the golden ‘filius philosophorum’. It is a myth. Yet, mythic ideas could serve
as foundation for a personal creativity, if the individual cannot find satisfaction in a
creative profession. The unconscious does not want to destroy the ego. The only
thing that it is “aiming at” is adaptation to life, to acquire harmony and creative flow.
It is working towards mental and physical health, in order to better the chances for
the biological organism. This makes biological sense.

The notion of achieving a complete individuative journey during one’s earthly

sojourn has much in common with the ideal of the consummate Welfare Society,
symbolically analogous to the worldly Self of Completeness. Yet, building the
“Kingdom of Heaven on earth” has destructive consequences. Already
Augustine of Hippo (354-430) refuted the idea of the consummate earthly society in
his masterpiece The City of God (2015). It is like building the Tower of Babel. It
means the pursuit of an illusion, because everything earthly is doomed to demise. It
is a book that not only Communists and Islamists ought to read. It ought to be read
by every politician who believes in the Welfare State as capable of manifesting
flawless order, goodness and prosperity for all humanity.

In the theory of individuation, it is the focus on psychological transformation, as a

goal in itself, which is problematic, because it is really a ludus puerorum. For the
emancipated individual, individuation really means the playing of a game, and it is
the creative manifestations of the game that carry importance. The journey itself is
the goal. It is all about acquiring an inner passion for the game. When the passion
awakens in the night of the soul, it is like the red sun rises above the horizon. This
is what the alchemists mean by rubedo, following the stage of nigredo. In keeping
with his focus on psychological transformation, Jung understands the nigredo as the
dispiriting consequence of unconscious immersion and shadow integration. In my
view, the nigredo is really the consequence of life’s lack of purpose and the fact that
the goal is unattainable. The alchemist has found that he makes no headway.

Of course, the appearance of the “inner sun” means psychological transformation, of

sorts; but it is really the question of psychological healing from a neurotic condition
of stagnation. A happy smile is back on the alchemist’s face, because he has finally
realized that the opus is lacking a goal, and that it is futile to search for the
rainbow’s end. He makes the realization that the red tincture, or the aurum potabile
(golden liquid), is nothing but the passion for the art — the playing of the game. In
fact, it is the red sun, that awakens in his soul, which is the alchemical gold.
Thus, meaning is created by the artifex himself, because it results in a cultural
product capable of inducing the same invigorating passion in other people. The red
tincture was said to have this transmittable capacity. Thus, the notion of “play” does
not signify a light-hearted attitude. On the contrary, it signifies enthusiasm for the
subject matter, an impulse that derives from the creative subjective factor, because
it has no motivating factor in an objective truth, whether external or internal. In
essence, it is a lie, formulated with ardour and confidence. What if that “red sun”,
arising in the soul, could be understood as the Mercurius, and as the true Self? Thus,
the goal is attained when the artifex attaches emotionally to the creative game, and
projects the archetype on it, just like many alchemists and painters have succeeded
in doing.

Individuation is a project for the second half of life, says Jung. However, whether or
not young people should settle in the world before they set off on the spiritual path
is entirely a pragmatic question. The unconscious supports any way that creates
harmony and well-being. There is no psychological law which says that career and
family has priority. One must adapt to circumstances and, in the long-term
perspective, do what is best for one’s own well-being. The “integration of the Self”
as goal of individuation is a myth, whether or not the individuant believes in the
myth and finds comfort in it. Accordingly, a blossoming of individuality in the
second half of life is not central. What’s central is creative flow, and that personality
can remain whole, which might require simplicity. If the individual becomes too
integrated, not having cut off aspects of personality and diverse engagements, then
the psychological seams will tear apart and a neurotic condition ensue.

Can the modern and rational individual put faith in the alchemical and artistic myth?
In archetypal terms, the evolution of the collective psyche can be formulated as
follows. In the Pagan universe, the gods were always nigh. The spirit, in matriarchal
religion, permeates the sublunar realm. The reason why Christianity rose to
domination was that Paganism had played out its role. People increasingly saw it as
naive to make sacrifice and worship to a certain deity in order to better your chances
in life. There are letters preserved which portray the Pagan attitude. For instance, in
one letter a Roman military tells about a certain god and how useless he was. But
now, since he had switched to another deity, he had made a significant career
advancement.

The Christian God is remote from such worldly matters. The Christians focused on
the moral aspects, and how to make a spiritual rather than a worldly career. So it
was a decidedly more modern religion. Thus, the Christian revelation gave life-blood
to the patriarchal conception. When the divine Son returns to the Father, it means
the retraction of the indwelling spirit. Accordingly, with the advance of Christianity,
we see a continual dissolution of many forms of superstition. Christianity has
purged the material universe and paved the way for science, which is conceptual.
Since science focuses on universal law, it must be characterized as ‘patriarchal’.
According to von Franz, this process was too one-sided, which caused a
profanization of the feminine archetype (cf. von Franz, 1980, pp. 212-15). Since we
no longer gave heed to the feminine deity, present in the worldly domain, she
plunged into corporeality and profaneness. Yet the goddess can be extracted from
corporeality by means of artistic creativity, that is, in the way of Georges Braque.
Indeed, the theme of alchemy is to extract the spiritus mercurii from matter. Art,
practiced in the right way (but not in the mimetic way) has much in common with
alchemy. Alchemy is the medieval variant of New Age. It panders to the naive side in
us. As Jung could not see it as such, he greatly misjudged it.

To cast off the world, we must realize the meaninglessness of it all. I pointed to the
fact that everything consists of atoms that stringently follow pre-defined rules on
the gaming board of the universe, and that the unconscious promotes the survival of
the organism and the playing of games. Health and well-being is bolstered by
playing the illusory game of life. But what if the unconscious now and then produces
another message, which does not seem to favour biological and psychic health?
What if it says like Jesus: “Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap
nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more
value than they?” (Matt. 6:26). Should we live after this premise, then we would go
under. Arguably, such a message cannot have the biological unconscious as source,
for neither does it promote the survival of the organism nor does it bother about the
rules of society.

This is the best proof of God there is. Do people receive such dream messages? Yes,
they do, and they are inexplicable from a biological and atheistic perspective.
Accordingly, it was the Lord’s will to crush The Man of Sorrows; to cause him to
suffer (Isaiah 53). Young people have received messages, from an unknown source,
that are exactly contrary to the natural drive, that is, to establish themselves in life.
The elect person is supposed to trust in the Father, that he will put food on the
table. It seems to show that there is a will in the beyond that only uses the
unconscious as conduit for its messages. It gives the lie to modern psychic idealism,
that is, to re-enchant the world and to create a mystical cult based on the figures of
the unconscious.

© Mats Winther, 2014-2020.

Notes

1. Individuation. Individuation is defined as the process of psychological

differentiation, having for its goal the development of the psychological individual as
a being distinct from the general, collective psychology. Individuation is predicated
on the archetypal ideal of wholeness and depends on a vital relationship between
ego and unconscious. The aim is not to overcome one’s personal psychology, to
become perfect, but to become aware of one’s unique psychological reality,
including personal strengths and limitations. Individuation is in the first place an
internal and subjective process of integration, and in the second it is an equally
indispensable process of objective relationship, by which a deeper appreciation of
humanity in general is attained. The goal of the individuation process is the
synthesis of the Self. It leads to the realization of the Self as a psychic reality greater
than the ego, which means that it is essentially different from the process of simply
becoming conscious (cf. Sharp, 1991).

2. Archetype. Archetypes are primordial structural elements of the human psyche.

They are systems of readiness for action while also giving rise to typical images and
emotions. Archetypes are irrepresentable in themselves but their effects are
discernible in archetypal images and motifs. Archetypal themes come to expression
in dream, myth and fairytale. Jung says that the archetype as an image of instinct is
a spiritual goal toward which the whole nature of man strives. It is the sea to which
all rivers wend their way, the prize which the hero wrests from the fight with the
dragon (cf. Sharp, 1991).

3. Active imagination. A method of assimilating contents as they come to

expression in dreams, fantasies, etc. Through artful self-expression active
imagination serves to establish a line of communication between conscious and
unconscious. It contributes to a transformation of ego. The first stage of active
imagination is like dreaming with open eyes. The second stage means a transition
from a merely perceptive or aesthetic attitude to one of judgment. It involves a
conscious participation in the images, the honest evaluation of their personal
significance, and a morally and intellectually binding commitment to act on the
insights (cf. Sharp, 1991).

4. Self. The Self is the archetype of wholeness and the regulating center of the
psyche; a transpersonal power that transcends the ego. It is the telos (teleological
purpose and end) of individuation. The Self is not only the centre, but also the whole
circumference which embraces both conscious and unconscious. It is the centre of
this totality, just as the ego is the centre of consciousness. Like any archetype, the
essential nature of the Self is unknowable, but its manifestations are the content of
myth and legend. The Self appears in dreams, myths, and fairytales in the figure of
the ‘supraordinate personality’, such as a king, hero, prophet, saviour, etc., or in the
form of a totality symbol, such as the circle, square, cross, etc. (cf. Sharp, 1991).

5. Anima/Animus. The inner opposite gender side of a man and woman

respectively. The anima and the animus is both a personal complex and an
archetypal image of the opposite sex. Initially identified with the personal mother,
the anima is later experienced not only in other women but as a pervasive influence
in a man’s life. The anima is not the soul in the dogmatic sense, but a natural
archetype that satisfactorily sums up all the statements of the unconscious, of the
primitive mind, of the history of language and religion. Jung suggested that if the
assimilation of the shadow is the “apprentice-piece” in a man’s development, then
coming to terms with the anima is the “master-piece”. Whereas the anima in a man
functions as his soul, a woman’s animus is more like an unconscious mind. At times
Jung also referred to the animus as a woman’s soul. The animus may manifest
negatively in fixed ideas, collective opinions and unconscious, a priori assumptions
that lay claim to absolute truth. The anima may manifest negatively as the great
illusionist, the seductress, who draws the male into life with her Maya — and not only
into life’s reasonable and useful aspects, but into its frightful paradoxes and
ambivalences (cf. Sharp, 1991).

6. Iasion. The following links provide information about Iasion son of Zeus and King
Iasos of Arcadia (retrieved 2014-08-20).

http://www.theoi.com/Georgikos/Iasion.html
http://www.gottwein.de/Myth/MythI2.php

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atalanta

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iasus

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