Cambridge Archaeological Journal 7:1 (1997), 57-69

Archetypal Landscapes and the Interpretation of Meaning

Ronald J. Nash

Carl Jung's analytic ideas on archetypes offer an approach to interpreting ancient mean-
ings in the absence of historic records. The archetypes of the collective unconscious are
said to maintain a uniformitarian consistency over time in form and meaning. Their
recurrent expression in the vernacular arts, dreams, even film of recent times permits
exploration of these same archetypes in ancient contexts. The theory is discussed and
applied to three landscapes, archetypal landscapes of glacial wasteland, primordial sea and
forest labyrinth.

Landscape is a flexible concept and this in part ac-
counts for its popularity among cognitive archaeolo-
gists. In a natural sense, it is an evolutionary aggre-
gate of landforms (Olwig 1993,307). But it has cultural
aspects too, ideological in the sense of control and
ontological as something that is experienced. Tilley
offers a phenomenological, or subject-centred de-
scription of landscape including the following: 'A
landscape is a series of named locales, a set of rela-
tional places linked by paths, movements and narra-
tives.' (1994, 34)
It is argued here that the archetypal landscape
has an additional dimension of meaning — a surreal
or fantastic quality (by scientific standards) which
assumes that there is no isomorphism or concord-
ance with its natural or social dimensions. This qual-
ity is especially apparent in the case of the glacial
wasteland.
In this article, case materials are centred on the
Maritime provinces of Atlantic Canada, which have
been home to the Algonkian-speaking Mi'kmaq for
at least 3000 years. This part of the Northeast was
directly overridden by continental ice-sheets, subject
to extensive post-glacial inundation and then
forested, developing into the mixed Acadian forest
of today. These successive landscapes are 'real' in a
natural sense; but in a cultural sense they have be-
come surreal, archetypal in their great antiquity and
of general interest.
Are the meanings of these landscapes, anoma-
lies and other features unrecoverable in the absence
of written records or symbolic, petroglyphic archives?
It is argued in this article that psychoanalytic1 theory,
especially Carl Jung's ideas of archetypes, offers a
possible avenue to ancient minds and meaning which
merits exploration by archaeologists. The method
opens up a wealth of transcendental knowledge
which can be extrapolated back through time as far
as uniformitarian principles of brain/mind will al-
low — presumably to the Upper Palaeolithic.
Meaning
In recent years, there has been increasing interest in
the thoughts and emic views of ancient peoples, an
interest among archaeologists and the public alike.
There is, however, considerable debate over the ex-
tent to which meaning is archaeologically recover-
able. Post-processual archaeologists (e.g. Hodder
1992; Shanks 1992; Tilley 1994) are more optimistic
than processually minded archaeologists.
For the last generation of archaeologists, most
of whom worked in a positivist and materialist para-
digm, mind was an epiphenomenon, ultimately the
product of infra-structural variables and not of pri-
mary explanatory importance. The processual ne-
glect of cognition has been helpfully redressed in
The Ancient Mind: Elements of Cognitive Archaeology
(Renfrew & Zubrow 1994). Yet despite the ingenuity
of the case studies, there is a recurrent theme of
limits. Understanding meaning is said to require writ-
ten texts, oral tradition or a rich iconography (e.g.
Scarre 1994, 81) and ethnographic analogy is re-
stricted to comparisons that are 'tight' and local (Hill
1994,88). Of course, all of these studies deal with the

57
 Ronald J. Nash
conscious mind and its material signatures, for the
unconscious mind falls outside the framework of the
empirical method as employed by these authors. Jung
always claimed to be working empirically, simply
using dreams and symbols as data.
The conscious mind is presently understood
not as a location in the brain, but rather as some-
thing as insubstantial as a rainbow, an effect pro-
duced by the patterned firing of neurons across
synapses (Nash et al. 1995). The unconscious mind,
although it probably exists, is an even greater un-
known. Nonetheless, we can reasonably assume that
the psyche (conscious and unconscious mind) of the
fully modem humans of 40,000 years ago was not
significantly different to that of people today. The
images would differ, the functioning would not. This
degree of time depth and uniformitarian operation
is essential to the following Jungian arguments as to
archetypes and the collective unconscious. By ad-
mitting only the conscious mind as a cultural reposi-
tory, we omit the vast substratum of unconscious
meanings of things as they appear in symbolic dis-
guise as analogy. We also fail to grasp their histori-
cal antecedents in primordial archetype form.
Archetypes and meaning
Swiss psychoanalyst Carl Jung, himself interested in
anthropology and archaeology, examined a wide va-
riety of subjects from alchemy to dreams as they
pertained to the unconscious mind. Beginning in
1902, he published extensively, gaining an increas-
ingly wide public audience beyond the field of psy-
chology. His collected works, and especially volume
9, part 1, The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious
(1968c), a series of articles begun in 1933, represent
the professional and detailed exposition of these two
concepts which could be useful to cognitive archae-
ology. Man and His Symbols (1964) is a later series of
articles for public consumption.
Jung proposed that archetype (literally, prime
imprinter) is a pre-existent form, not an unconscious
idea, which has an a priori existence. They, the arche-
types, are hereditary, inherent in human nature, and
comparable to the axial system of a crystal hidden in
a liquid context (Jung 1968c, 79; Jaffe 1970, 18). 'The
more archaic and "deeper", that is the more physi-
ological, the symbol is, the more collective and uni-
versal, the more "material" it is' (1968c, 173). That is,
the collective archetype is grounded 'in the sub-cor-
tical centres, the cerebellum and the spinal cord'
(Jung 1968c, 166) and finally extinguished in the car-
bon of the body. The archetype per se belongs to the
unconscious and is therefore unknowable. Archetypes
58
and instincts form the collective unconscious, the in-
stincts determining our actions, the archetypes our
mode of apprehension (Hyde & McGuinnes 1992,
59). As a crystal can emerge from a liquid, an arche-
type too can arise and push into consciousness as an
archetypal image. Thus, archetypes are revealed as
images only at the conscious level, whereupon they
acquire meaning. 'The term "image" is intended to
express not only the form of the activity taking place,
but the typical situation in which the activity is re-
leased' Qung 1968c, 78). There is of course a personal
unconscious as well, but it is of less interest to this
study, simply because it is personal and particular to
individuals.
The larger interest lies with the primordial or
archetypal images of a collective nature arising from
the unconscious and recurring in many times and
places. The unconscious is seen as an active and
dynamic force, expressed as a labyrinth of myth,
symbol, even compulsive behaviours which could
unfold over time and be constructed over time, for
the collective mind and society are inseparable. The
images themselves are detectable cross-culturally,
but Jung considered the forms to be inborn rather
than products of cultural diffusion. Like the philoso-
pher Kant, Jung accepted both empirical knowledge
derived from experience and transcendental knowl-
edge arising from dreams, intuition, synchronicities,
visions, active imagination and so on such that real-
ity was partly a social construction. Jungian therapy
can take the form of reconnecting individuals with
these hidden or consciously lost archetypal images.
Jung's archetypes are universal images mani-
fested as the mother earth goddess, the hero, the
wise old man (e.g. Merlin), the judge, the healer, the
trickster or, for example, those identified by Moore
& Gillette (1992) — King, Lover, Warrior, Magician;
or by Wolff — Mother, Amazon, the Medial Woman
and the Heteira (Moore & Gillett, 216). The Hero With
a Thousand Faces (1973) is an extended treatment of
an archetype by Joseph Campbell; many more are to
be met in mythology and fairy tales. The Shadow,
the Anima and Animus are archetypal parts of hu-
man nature. There are archetypal events of transfor-
mation — initiation, marriage and rebirth and even
geometrical forms such as the mandala (magic cir-
cle). Animals too are said to be 'symbolic denizens of
the collective unconscious' (Henderson 1964,153).
An archetype is primordial, having existed from
'time immemorial' or 'remotest times' (Jung 1968c,
5). Archetypes often appear in dreams, arising from
the unconscious, but become modified and more
indirect as they enter the conscious mind to become
 Archetypal Landscapes
historically coded in myth and fairy tales (Jung 1968c,
5). The archetypes are an expression of Logos, the
ordering function (Hutchison pers. comm. Jan 13/
96). The archetypes group things and struggle to
enter into consciousness, giving rise to an inner con-
viction or sense of meaning. But as Jung asks,
From what source, in the last analysis, do we de-
rive meaning? The forms we use for assigning
meaning are historical categories that reach back
into the mists of time — a fact we do not take
sufficiently into account. Interpretations make use
of certain linguistic matrices that are themselves
derived from primordial images . . . Ultimately
they are all founded on primordial archetypal forms
whose concreteness dates from a time when con-
sciousness did not think, but only perceived. (Jung
1968c, 32, 33).
Thus, there is not only meaning consciously arising,
but an a priori unconscious meaning in the archetype
(cf. Jaffe 1970,152).
Jung had many supporters and proponents in-
side and outside psychiatry, but his ideas of arche-
types and a collective unconscious naturally attracted
criticism before and after his death in 1961. Arche-
types were labelled metaphysical, untestable and the
products of experience or diffusion (see Hall &
Lindzey 1957, 107). Of his critics Jung would ask
why, if these images originate in the conscious mind,
does their sudden appearance so astonish us? And
why do they recur in dreams among people, includ-
ing children, who have no connection with one an-
other or experience of the archetype? (Jung 1964,58)
Our interest here is not to decide an unresolved
question in psychology, nor whether archetypes are
any less real than pottery types, but to investigate
their utility for the discovery of meaning.
The critical point for this article is that if land-
scapes, menhirs or other material remains can be
construed as potential archetypal images, then their
meanings ought to remain at least consistent to those
open to such deeper perception. Modifications to
meaning will occur in so far as the archetypes move
into conscious thought to become mythic formulas.
It is the form that is a priori, the content of the arche-
type is filled in upon conscious realization and expe-
rience (Jung 1968c, 79). The strain toward consistency
in meaning ought to continue into the future. Of the
child archetype, Jung writes:
The child motif represents not only something that
existed in the distant past, but also something that
exists now; that is to say it is not just a vestige but a
system functioning in the present whose purpose
is to compensate or correct, in a meaningful manner,
59
the inevitable one-sidedness and extravagances of
the conscious mind. (Jung 1968c, 162)
While meanings may be consistent, the archetype
cannot be fully and rationally explained since the
pure archetype as such exists only in the collective
unconscious. 'The ultimate core of meaning may be
circumscribed, but not described' (Jung 1968c, 156).
This necessary but lengthy exposition can be
concluded with a few comments as to the role of
Jungian psychology in anthropology. Jung, more so
than Freud, studied myth, linking it to the psyche
and the collective unconscious. The relationship be-
tween myth and psyche is stated most succinctly by
Joseph Campbell, who was greatly influenced by
Jung's works: "The symbolic most characteristic of
the psyche is the symbology of mythology' (quoted
in Larsen & Larsen 1991, 294). Jung's influence can
also be seen in anthropologist Paul Radin's analysis
of the Winnebago hero myth (Radin 1948; Henderson
1964, 103) and I expect, without investigating the
connection, that French structuralism and particu-
larly Claude Levi-Strauss' 'elementary ideas' are in-
debted to Jung. Archaeologists have periodically
referenced the unconscious mind with respect to
material culture from the time of General Pitt Rivers
in the 1880s until today. There has not to my knowl-
edge, however, been any systematic application of
psychoanalytic theory or investigation of recurrent
archetypes — which is the goal of this article.
Archetypal landscapes
The idea of an archetype can be helpful not only in
archaeomythology, but can usefully be extended to
landscapes. Jung himself did not do this, although
he singled out an island motif (Jung 1968c, 196). I
would think that a landscape becomes archetypal
when it is recurrent, recognizable in shape, but also
disturbingly unfamiliar in its dream-like qualities.
Such qualities are to be found in surrealist art (Jaffe
1964, 294) and in some film genres, particularly the
fantastic, computer-generated landscapes of science
fiction. There is a latent power and energy in these
landscapes, or mindscapes, perhaps because they
are often sparsely populated, and in a sense, pris-
tine, newborn.
The flexible and dynamic aspects of the land-
scape, even its subjective aspects, make it a useful
framework for a variety of disciplines including cog-
nitive archaeology (Bender 1993). It is noteworthy
that in this latter volume, Cosgrove (1993, 281) dis-
tinguishes Wilderness, Garden and City as archetypal
 Ronald J. Nash
landscapes scaled with respect to human impact.
The mythologizing of landscape continues in the
twentieth century with the American Old West,
Hollywood and the Smalltown USA of Norman
Rockwell and Sinclair Lewis. Anthropomorphized and
drained of their energy, these and other landscapes
(Fantasyland, Tomorrowland) are repackaged as
'lands' at the Disney theme parks. While these land-
scapes might be called archetypal in a loose sense,
they are really conscious constellations of symbols.
Archetypal landscapes are truly primordial and
collective. The landscape per se is not an archetype; it
has no autonomous meaning. It is rather a fruitful
source of images/symbols for mythological expres-
sion. These archetypal images and myths carry and
convey powerful meaning at the deepest level for
peoples living in various natural contexts (Hutchison
pers. comm. Jan 13/96). They are not all equally
derived from 'time immemorial', but have accumu-
lated as the psyche has evolved and are, accordingly,
differentially developed in myths, dreams etc.; they
are stratified in a sense as an archaeology of the mind.
Two archetypal landscapes are proposed for
the northeast coast of America, developed with data
from the Canadian Maritime Provinces. The earliest
candidate is the glacial wasteland. This hostile and
frozen wasteland of barrens and ice mountains pre-
cedes even wilderness and is of a time before the
earth assumes its more recent form. To this time
belongs the oldest cycle of myths and tales in which
are crude animals, often of great size. The next ar-
chetypal landscape is the primordial sea — dark, hid-
den and the domain of monsters such as whales.
This realm, a seascape, finds widespread surface ex-
pression in such mythological motifs as the primor-
dial sea, the flood and the earth diver.
The landscapes are of course tied to the north-
ern latitudes and peoples where glaciation did oc-
cur, but they should not be considered isomorphic
and palaeo-ecologically determined landscapes, for
they are cultural, not natural constructs. Moreover,
the landscape includes only those flora and fauna of
symbolic interest. Finally, since landscape is a visual
product, the use of analogies will include reference
to films where appropriate.
The glacial wasteland
The author, as a young archaeologist, was fortunate
enough to work for seven field seasons in the barren
grounds of the Canadian north (Nash 1975). This re-
cently deglaciated landscape no longer has the large
glacial lakes, but retains long, sandy eskers, immature
60
drainage patterns, a multitude of smaller lakes and a
moss-lichen vegetation suitable for caribou, most of
whom migrate to the forest in the winter. Human
occupation was either seasonal, by the Chipewyan,
or restricted to a few microbands of Caribou Inuit in
historic times. In its simplicity, vastness and empti-
ness, the barren lands have the power to evoke a
sense of wonder and a feeling that here is the begin-
ning of things. It is exotic and dreamlike. There is
also a feeling of familiarity, of deja vu that may come
not from discovery at an impressionable age, but
from the resonance of an archetypal motif — the
glacial wasteland.
During the Wisconsin glaciation, ice advanced
into the Maritime provinces of the northeast from
several directions as well as radiating out from local
centres. For Nova Scotia, as exemplar, the situation
as of 15,000 years ago has been summarized as fol-
lows: 'Ice sheet beginning to retreat, 10-15°C below
present, cold and dry; sea-levels 150 m below present
levels; tundra' (The Natural History of Nova Scotia,
vol. 1, 1984, 80). By 12,500 years ago, only remnant
ice pockets remained and sea-levels were rising. By
12,000 years ago, Nova Scotia was ice free and topped
by ground moraine and a series of glacial features
such as drumlins, eskers, erratics and kames, which
were of interest to all later peoples of the area.
Bonnichsen et al. (1991) briefly outline the inter-
related events of deglaciation, marine fluctuations
and the timing of subsequent plant, animal and human
colonization, beginning with the tundra ecosystem:
Tundra which existed between 14,000 and 10,000
BP was characterized by sedges, willows, grasses,
sage and other composites, alders and birch. Over-
all, this tundra was shrubbier than modern tundra
of northern Canada. (Bonnichsen et al. 1991,10)
Railton (1975) states that for Nova Scotia, there was
a 2500-year interval between the last of the remnant
ice and the invasion of spruce (pollen zone A).
In Nova Scotia, the Maritimes generally and
much of New England, this immediate post-glacial
landscape was likely to have been something of a
wasteland of unconsolidated drift plains, meltwater
lakes, rivers and ponds, disintegration moraine with
coastlines retreating in the face of rising seas and
long, bitterly cold winters — a bleak, empty, mo-
notonous and ravaged topography.
The cold, dry climate plus the absence of soil
and nutrients forestalled forest development, but did
permit colonization by grasses and other tundra veg-
etation. The density and primary productivity of this
cover is not known, but it was in time sufficient
to support large grazing animals. Horse, muskox,
 Archetypal Landscapes
mammoth, mastodon and caribou are reported from
northeastern United States Palaeo-Indian sites and
the continental shelf, although only the last two can
be placed in Nova Scotia. The small faunal samples
that have been recovered do not indicate substantial
populations nor a megafauna comparable in num-
bers to that of the Eurasian steppes. Rising sea levels
and the submergence of the continental shelf also
permitted the expansion of marine mammals (whales,
seals ) into new, shallow water habitats and into the
newly formed Champlain Sea.
Mythology/legend
Roger C. Echo-Hawk, in a brief essay entitled 'An-
cient Worlds' has tried to compare and integrate
scientific data and native mythology for western
North America. He attempts to correlate native oral
traditions concerning darkness, the flood, giant ani-
mals and the entry of humans into the Americas
with the evidence of climatology, palaeontology and
archaeology (1993, 6). This is a laudable effort using
data of comparable age and type to that here. None-
theless, it should be distinguished from the present
attempt to analyze mythology on its own terms as
containing symbolic meanings of great antiquity. Nor
is the analysis a search for archaic historical survivals
in the method and tradition of Sir James Fraser (cf.
Schama 1995, 208). In this connection, it should be
noted that while Algonkian is a language family of
great time depth in eastern North America, Mi'kmaq
as an ethnic and linguistic group can, at the moment,
be traced back archaeologically only about 3000 years,
to the Archaic/Woodland interface.
In The Ice Man, the Reverend Silas Rand (1894,
99) published a story of how, in the spring, an In-
dian2 struggles and vanquishes a monster 'ice-cake'
(the Ice King) only to have this animate Ice King re-
enter his wigwam the following winter. With his sup-
ply of firewood, this time the Indian is able to build
up the fire and begin to melt the Ice King who is finally
forced to depart, taking the cold with him. Rand
interprets this story as a moral and didactic fable
reminiscent of Aesop's tale of the grasshopper and
the ant (a version of which exists among the Mi'kmaq).
Surely this is not the reading. The contextual
elements — the wide river, the killing cold, the huge
size of the ice-being and its animate nature — plus a
theme of struggle and power exchange as the melt-
ing proceeds — all deconstruct to an ancient land-
scape far removed from the nineteenth-century
clergyman Silas Rand. Only the presence in the tale
of 'old dry trees' for the fire is at odds with a
periglacial environment.
61
Lewis Spence recounted a similar story in his
1914 collection of myths and legends. There are, as
in the Rand account, two visits of the Winter giant to
the wigwam, a struggle, a melting. In the Spence
version, whose source is unspecified and linked only
to the Algonkians, Summer is represented by the
'Elves of Light' and the Indian is Glooscap. 'To them
[the natives] Winter was a giant, and summer an elf
of pigmy proportions' (1994, 149). Spence believed
this story was an aetiological nature myth whose
function it was to explain the origin of the seasons.
The Glooscap component may suggest a later
version than the Rand story. In any event, history
and culture change are not typically functional-eco-
logical variables. Spence's model may be accurate to
some extent, but it is not a very deep analysis and
does not cover or explain related stories also involv-
ing gigantism. It is not comprehensive enough.
The elements of ice and gigantism are also at-
tributes of the Chenoo3 or ice giants of the north, but
these Chenoo, while possessing hearts of ice and
subject to melting, have become half human. In the
story collected by Rand in 1859, the Chenoo has
even become tamed, humanized and dies a Catholic
(1894,198) — presumably a codicil to the original.
Occasionally, stories will involve an Ice Age
mammal such as a giant beaver. Among Algonkian
tribes, trickster-transformer figures such as Glooscap
are said first to have made the animals very large
and then reduced them in size for the benefit of
humans (Hoffman 1955, 393, 401), again, an echo of
the first world.
Meaning
These myths, so impenetrable to rationalist, materi-
alist thought, are better understood in a transcen-
dental paradigm. The myths above are not didactic
as Rand or Spence concluded, nor a 12,000 year old
oral tradition, but later archetypal expressions of the
glacial wasteland. In a sense, the early postglacial
landscape, a void, has been personified into a gigan-
tic antagonist — the Ice King or Winter Giant. The
ice and cold symbolize death, the hearts of ice a lack
of feeling (heartless) — but not a lifeless landscape.
As if to fill up the landscape, animals are inflated,
crude, strong and numinous and only recently emer-
gent from the unconscious.
To borrow a symbol from Jung and the Book of
Job, these animals are the Behemoth.
Whereas Leviathan is a fish-like creature, primi-
tive and cold-blooded, dwelling in the depths of
the ocean, Behemoth is a warm-blooded quadru-
ped, presumably something like a bull, who roams
 Ronald J. Nash
the mountains (at least in later tradition). Hence he
is related to Leviathan as a higher, superior crea-
ture to a lower, inferior one, rather like the winged
and the wingless dragon in alchemy. Qung 1968d,
120).
Behemoth symbolizes 'the crudest force conceivable
in nature' and an undifferentiated collective attitude
(Jung 1968a; 1968b, 184). Both had power.
At first relatively powerless compared to the
'Kings' and the animals, the humans seem as part of
the landscape — observers and narrators. It is not a
dreamtime landscape; it has not been socialized and
is hardly a phenomenological landscape as defined
above by Tilley.
To be archetypal, the images must be repeat-
able in form, not in specifics of content. The myths
considered above, even if quite old, would be later
expressions of the archetype. In another mythologi-
cal guise, the wasteland itself reappears as the home
of the wounded Fisher King in the Arthurian tales of
Dark Age Britain. Today, in an industrial context,
the glacial wasteland becomes the toxic wasteland
for regions such as the Tjlack triangle' in the north-
ern part of the Czech Repulic.
Modern animals, more conscious and reduced in
size, can reappear in more archetypal form, as in Case
Y, one of Jung's patients who dreamed of a 'terrible
monster, an enormous bear'. Jung comments on this
bear and the sky-woman who protected the patient:
Here we have a maternally protective goddess re-
lated to bears, a kind of Diana or the Gallo-Roman
Dea Artio. The sky-woman is the positive, the bear
the negative aspect of the 'superordinate personal-
ity', which extends the conscious human being up-
wards into the celestial and downwards into the
animal regions. (1968d, 195).
Thus, viewed archetypally, the glacial wasteland with
its god-like 'Kings', its behemoth animals and its
puny humans retains a core of meaning. It is argued
that it has a related set of meanings for ancient
Algonkians, twentieth-century filmmakers4 and
dreamers. "The shaping of these variants depends
equally on the unconscious disposition (the organiz-
ing archetype) the environment, personal experience
and the given culture' (Jaffe 1970,18). The axial core
meaning may been a dyad of the form.
Nothingness, tabula rasa, death/hypertrophic
growth
The original model of the unconscious archetype
held that its wholeness is paradoxical or antinomian
and that the discrimination of opposites occurs upon
62
conscious realization (Jaffe 1970, 24), i.e. from polar-
ity to dualism.
The archetypal glacial wasteland is not a cogni-
tive mapping of any natural landscape, yet there are
enough correspondences to permit processualist-style
testing of cultural constructs which derive from a
transcendental paradigm. Hopefully, in the absence
of a unified field theory, middle-range theory can
bridge the objectivist and idealist traditions and pro-
vide support for the idea of an archeypal landscape.
At worst, we may have to accept what van der Leeuw
termed a 'bee's eye view', a multi-faceted picture
which can provide some insights if one is prepared
to accept the fracture lines between the facets and to
make a number of 'leaps of faith across them' (van
der Leeuw 1995, 88).
The unconscious mind is more of a minefield
for many individuals, something to be repressed or
otherwise avoided or projected outwards on to the
blank slate (tabula rasa) of landscape. For ancient
peoples, divination, magic and avoidance become
coping strategies. In the case of the Canadian
Maritimes, and Nova Scotia in particular, there is
apparently an interval, perhaps 2500 years (Railton
1975), prior to the colonization of the spruce forest.
The Clovis-like site at Debert, Nova Scotia, is securely
dated to about 10,600 years BP (MacDonald 1968); it
is the earliest site in the whole region, but fairly late
in terms of the Palaeo-Indian period of the northeast.
Possibly the 'blasted', postglacial landscape was sim-
ply empty in Nova Scotia, avoided as a 'no-man's'
land for centuries. Certainly the idea is testable.
A second implication derives from the Mi'kmaq
myths which portray a power struggle between hu-
mans and a frozen, antagonistic landscape with co-
lossal and fantastic animals. The humans are almost
anomalies. They are initially puny but, in a David vs
Goliath struggle, triumph over the creatures of the
unconscious. This struggle could find expression in
the cave art of Europe (such evidence being absent
as yet in northeastern North America). The power
differential might be manifested through differences
in size, colour or some other attribute which would
shift as the human-animal relationship altered, ulti-
mately terminating in mass extinctions of the
Pleistocene megaf auna, even as the lithic technology
was homologously shrinking in size.
The primordial sea
The figurative melting of the Ice King and the literal
melting of the continental ice sheets by 10,000 BP
resulted in a worldwide rise in sea levels of the order
 Archetypal Landscapes
of 100+ metres. The effects vary from coast to coast
and involve not only marine transgressions but
coastal downwarping, erosion and isostatic rebound.
The overall pattern was one of coastal instability. On
the northeast coast of Canada, coastal stabilization
was not reached, on average, until 3000-2000 years
BP; on the northwest coast of Canada, near-stabili-
zation was a little earlier, 5000^000 BP (Fladmark
1983). The specifics of these events in Canada and
elsewhere are not of concern. What is of concern is
that these events did occur, that the world's coast-
lines were dynamic, and that the seas drowned the
continental margins, displacing people inland and
providing archetypal images for a flood mythology.
This is not to say that the natural basis for flood
mythology and an archetypal primordial sea were
not laid down during analogous events of the previ-
ous interstadial or interglacial periods, at least in the
Old World.
It is significant that similar processes are pres-
ently in progress — large-scale calving of the Antarctic
ice cap, threatening the low-lying, heavily-populated
delta areas with submergence, and a general global
warming powered by the Greenhouse Effect. Ac-
cordingly, it is not unexpected to see archetypal ideas
re-emerging; they typically do so in times of crisis.
The reader's attention is directed to the 1995
film, Waterworld (Universal Pictures) and Collins'
tie-in novel (1995). The plot is not a mere genre for-
mula, but is overtly symbolic, reworking mythologi-
cal themes and codes of great antiquity. Briefly,
several centuries in the future, in a setting of bleak,
endless ocean created by the melting of the polar ice
caps, there exists a degenerate culture and society
clinging to boats or constructed 'atolls'. These 'at-
olls' are surrealistic, circular, walled settlements,
which resemble the self in the unconscious sea (dis-
cussed below). These settlements are trash-heaps of
bricolage and post-industrial salvage. The particular
atoll, called Oasis, has a lagoon inside, and a motley
collection of atollans who retain shreds and patches
of the old dryland culture. Outside the atoll are the
hostile and primitive pirates of the dark unconscious,
warlike nomads reminiscent of the pastoralist 'bar-
barians' that preyed on the early walled cities of the
ancient Near East.
The narrative and conflict deal with the search
for mythical dryland somewhere beyond the hori-
zon. There is an earth-diver episode and some arche-
typal characters — a heroic, maritime Adam and Eve,
a wise old man and a foundling child, plus sea mon-
sters — a decaying supertanker above and a 'whalefin'
Leviathan below. Refuge is finally discovered on
63
what was once Mount Everest (read Mt Ararat) by a
transformed terrestial Adam and Eve.
Although set in the future, Waterworld touches
the deepest levels of the human psyche — which are
archetypal. The imagery can be found even among
inland native tribes of the Americas, where floods
can also be river floods. In The Origin of Table Man-
ners, Claude Levi-Strauss undertakes a structuralist
analysis of the American examples (1978, part 7).
Other examples, such as the flood myths of the an-
cient Near East, are interpreted from various per-
spectives in an edited collection, The Flood Myth
(Dundes 1988). There have been various types of
models proposed to 'explain' the origin of these
myths — historical, structuralist, psychoanalytic and
diffusionist. Some types are incommensurate, others
are not sufficiently parsimonious or comprehensive.
In any case, the interest here goes beyond a flood
episode to a longitudinal study of a dynamic land-
scape — the primordial sea.
It is argued here that the sea is best understood
as symbolic of the unconscious, which in its collec-
tive aspect, gives rise to images of recurrent form.
'The sea is the favourite symbol for the unconscious'
(Jung 1968c, 177-8) or 'sea=unconscious' (Jung 1968d,
106). This symbolism applies to lakes and ponds, of
course, whereas rivers are interpreted as bounda-
ries. Water in general symbolizes the unconscious,
but any encyclopedia of symbols lists many other
associations (e.g. Cooper 1978).
As with the glacial wasteland, the primordial
sea is not to be identified with a particular natural
environment, but is a cultural image, giving a gener-
alized meaning to a later sort of landscape or sea-
scape. Its meaning that is sought either through
ephemera — dreams, myth, fairy tales, and tradi-
tion, film etc. — or through material remains that are
the behavioural results of these emic views. It fol-
lows that these remains need not be ancient — as
Schiffer (1976) and other archaeologists have noted.
While the glacial wasteland remains a loosely encoded
memory, the sea is still with us, the object of uncon-
scious perception and conscious symbolic imagery.
Ocean. The primordial waters; chaos; formlessness;
material existence; endless motion; it is the source
of all life, containing all potentials; the sum of all
possibilities in manifestation; the 'unfathomable'
the anima mundi, the Great Mother. The ocean also
symbolizes the sea of life which has to be crossed.
(Cooper 1978,121)
The sea contains a bountiful and voracious fauna of
ancient and primitive form, while in the depths of
seas, or even lakes, lurk monsters. In volume 9, part
 Ronald J. Nash
2 of the collected works — Aion — Jung discusses fish
symbolism in Christian theology, alchemy and as-
trology. Fish in general are interpreted as ambivalent
symbols, for while fish are frequently venerated as
gods, they have also been the object of food taboos,
as among the Egyptian priesthood Qung 1968d, 121).
One particular small, round fish (Echeneis
remora), the remora or sucking-fish, was of special in-
terest to the medieval alchemists and to Jung. With its
sucker, this curious, round fish attaches itself either
to a larger fish or to a ship's hull, thereby travelling
throughout the oceans. Jung interprets this dweller
in the centre of the universal sea as a symbol of the
self in its unconscious state (Jung 1968d, 142) — the
self being a central ordering of the whole personal-
ity, unconscious and conscious. 'Fishing is an intui-
tive attempt to catch unconscious contents (fishes)'
(Jung 1968d, 152). In the eating of fish, there is a
connection with the origin (Jung 1968c, 139).
The unconscious, like the darkness and chaos
of the ocean depths, can be a dangerous place, the
realm of monsters. Sometimes the sea-monsters are
real, but appear to us as primordial anachronisms.
The Mi'kmaq of Nova Scotia feared killer whales.
Elsewhere, sharks or giant eels, or the alligators of
tropical zones, have been the feared ones. Some mon-
sters were quasi-mythological and distinguished by
gigantism, such as the giant squid, while others were
wholly mythological — horned serpents, the
Babylonian Tiamat and the Biblical Leviathan, up
from the unconscious.
In psychological terms, the sea is more an alien
world, especially in its depths. It is destructive in its
floods, it continually devours the land and its sea life
ranges from friendly (dolphins) to fearful (whales).
Mythology'/legend
Using Mi'kmaq stories, Whitehead (1988) has recon-
structed the Mi'kmaq mental landscapes. There were
six worlds — the Ghost World, the World Above the
Sky, the World Above the Earth, the Earth World, the
World Beneath the Earth and the World Beneath the
Water. These worlds were, however, not dramatically
different; they looked like the Earth World. 'Sun and
Earth and Moon are the ancestors of the people'
(Whitehead 1988, 8). But these are dynamic worlds in
which animate beings can transform themselves and
change shape, in which special features of the land-
scape are both animate and powerful. Transformations
can happen on peninsulas; trees and door post-holes
are avenues between worlds, but all is connected as
though in cyberspace and parts of things retain the
essence of the whole. Navigation and survival in this
64
holographic sort of universe requires Power.
The flood story was recorded among the
Mi'kmaq in 1675-1683 by Chrestian Le Clercq and
by T.H. Raddell in 1933. This story — "The Big Water
Came and Drowned the Whole World' — features a
man called Sebanees, who with a boat of ice, saves
the believers among the people, the birds, and other
animals when water drowned the World. The debris
from the melting ice boat settled as Prince Edward
Island (Whitehead 1991, 5).
The ice boat of gigantic proportions brings to
mind the postglacial epoch, as does the Flood itself,
while the whole life-boat (ark) episode has a Biblical
flavour. Yet Jerry Lonecloud (cited below) is un-
doubtedly correct in claiming that this is not a Bibli-
cal flood story. The theme of the story is a flood, and
a minor point is the gigantic ice-boat which finally
melts leaving the rocks and soils to form Prince
Edward Island, presently 110 miles long. The narra-
tive connects the island with ice which is surely
glacial and with the meltwaters which cut off this
province from the mainland. Thus the context is more
postglacial than Biblical, but it is not a story of the
type to explain why Prince Edward Island is geo-
graphically unique (analogous to the stories of ani-
mals and their characteristics). Nor is the story a
10,000-year-old survival. The meaning of the flood
(rather than the fate of the ice-boat) becomes clearer
when we examine the Lonecloud version of the myth.
Here, as in earlier mythological analyses, we need to
look at the whole of the myth rather than selected
parts which might lead us to a superficially correct
functional interpretation.
In the 1920s, the Mi'kmaq elder and medicine
showman Jerry Lonecloud related a very similar story
to Clarisse A. Dennis on several occasions, with vary-
ing amounts of detail (Whitehead 1992,15,16,41,61,
66). Here the central figure is Simma'ju, who put the
animals on the iceberg, but Lonecloud emphasizes
'We were not in Noah's ark — we had our own ark
(Whitehead 1992,41).
Lonecloud also discusses the world before the
flood. The first people in Nova Scotia were the small
people, the Wiklatnmijk, who lived on birds, clams
and lobsters, for there were no animals until the
Mi'kmaq. Those Wiglahdmootch (or Wiklatnmijk) drew
pictographs and petroglyphs and lived in caves, but
perished in the flood. So too did the Kukwesk (giant
cannibals) of the forest (Whitehead 1992,45).
Meaning
Extrapolating from Jung's analysis of rebirth, the
flood myth could be seen psychologically as a
 Archetypal Landscapes
'subjective end of the World' wherein 'conscious-
ness sinks back into the darkness from which it origi-
nally emerged' Qung 1968c, 147), at least among
peoples experiencing floods. Floods are uncontrolla-
ble, but they also bring rebirth as along the Nile
River. To return to Cooper's encyclopedia of symbols,
Flood. The lunar power of the waters; the end of a
cycle and the beginning of a new; causes death but
also regeneration. (Cooper 1978, 70)
Flood myths are images of what Jung terms the ar-
chetype of rebirth, a transformation process Qung
1968c, 113f.).
The rebirth is apparent in the Lonecloud Flood
account in which, before the flood, there were small
people who lived in caves and ate birds, clams and
lobsters. As Jung notes in his discussion of rebirth
symbols, "The cave is the place of rebirth, the secret
cavity in which one is shut up in order to be incu-
bated and renewed.' (Jung 1968c, 135) These three
food items provide a meagre diet even for small
people, but their significance is more likely to be
seen in terms of a symbolic dimensional scaling. The
bizarre-looking lobster is a sub-tidal, shallow water
resource that indeed appears as an unconscious crea-
ture rather than a legitimate animal. Clams are inter-
tidal resources symbolically at the juncture of the
conscious and unconscious worlds. They are femi-
nine in nature and carry numerous symbolic mean-
ings (cf. Eliade 1991, ch. 4). The birds are above the
water .(unconscious) and are symbols of transcend-
ence, messengers of the gods. 'A cage of birds repre-
sent the mind, according the Plato' (Cooper 1978,
21). The flood destroyed much of this, but was fol-
lowed by the appearance of the Mi'kmaq and the
'real' animals — a rebirth in a new, post-diluvial
more sapient world.
Over the millennia, as the dynamism of the sea
slowed to move towards coastal stabilization and
the land-sea relationship became predictable, with
flooding restricted to rivers, the world views may
also have settled into sharper discrimination. A struc-
turalist duality, of the form introduced in the
Waterworld analysis above, could be one such set, i.e.
sea-land; unconscious-conscious; dark-light; homog-
enous-differentiated. While such dualities are not
overt in Mi'kmaq mythology, we can note that the
little people are replaced by Big People (Mi'kmaq)
and that the world view is discriminated into six
worlds, separated by address more than by contents.
The general differentiation and specialization of sys-
tems occurs too in language as proto-Eastern
Algonkian (PEA) divides into separate languages
65
such as Mi'kmaq (Goddard 1978, 70-77).
Might growth, which turned to hypertrophy in
the glacial wasteland, be now manifested as an in-
creasing sea-land polarity? This idea was proposed
as part of a dialectic model for the evolution of
coastal/maritime cultures (Nash 1983, 22f.) There
are several sets of variables which follow from this
model and could be translated into testable middle-
range theory.
1. Maritime hunter-gatherers will tend to have
qualitatively distinct, binary economic systems
exploiting sea and land resources.
2. In the long run, cultural evolution will involve
dialectical shifts in the exploitation of land and/
or sea resources. .
3. The social, political and ideological organization
of maritime cultures will be characterized by
greater dualism.
4. Dualism in infrastructural and structural organi-
zation in coastal cultures will increase over time,
possibly in concert with coastal stablization.
While dualism and food taboos were quite explicit
among the historical Inuit and their Thule ancestors
of the Arctic coasts (McGhee 1977), they are undocu-
mented among the Mi'kmaq (Bock 1978). They may
be unrecognized, however, and present in less pro-
nounced form — more in the nature of polarities
than dualities.
The Mi'kmaq settlement patterns of the six-
teenth and seventeenth centuries did have some-
thing of a binary character, since people shifted from
the coast to the interior for hunting during the two
worst months of winter (Hoffman 1955). Moreover, I
would propose that shellfish and sacred 'grand-
mother' stones are symbolically linked to women,
water and the coast, whereas land mammals and
cosmic trees are linked to men and the interior.
Eliade, cited above, has fully documented the
feminine nature of shellfish which are typically also
gathered by women at low tide. There are many
shellheaps on the coast of the Maritimes (e.g. Smith
& Wintemberg 1929), but they have an androgynous
character with a mixture of shells, bones of land and
sea mammals, and fish and bird bone together with
a well-preserved array of artefacts.
The sacred stones are boulder anomalies or
erratics found in a few places on the coast or in a
lake or bay. They might resemble a woman in re-
pose; they are called 'grandmother' (Pacifique 1933)
and may also have a name linked to the sea. They are
animate beings.
Aside from its economic value, fishing may have
afforded a connection to origins and a ready means
 Ronald J. Nash
of ordering the self. Both women and men could
participate in this critical and satisfying activity with
any polarities perhaps residing in the technology,
i.e. women and wiers; men and harpoons or spears.
Among the Mi'kmaq, land mammals such as moose
were hunted by men and prepared by women
(Stewart 1986,135).
Cosmic trees were used by shamans as ladders
to travel to worlds above and below the Earth World
(Whitehead 1988, 6 & 7). Archetypally, they are the
Tree of Life. The Cosmic Tree, like the Maypole, has
phallic and masculine symbolism, although not ex-
clusively so. Powerful women also utilized these
ladders to move above and below, but not unam-
biguously — using the door post-hole (rather than
the post itself) to travel to the World Beneath the
Earth, or getting stuck in the few branches at the top
while descending to the Earth World (Whitehead
1988, 26, 173). The hole at the bottom represents a
more feminine space as does the cluster of branches
at the top — the latter being analogous to the feminine
discus at the top of the maypole (Cooper 1978,104).
While fishing itself is primarily a subsistence
strategy, it amounts to trolling in the unconscious,
so that there are other not insignificant meanings to
fishing. At the risk of drowning in deep waters my-
self, I would suggest that fishing symbolizes a voy-
age into the unconscious in search of origins, inner
divinity and the wholeness that is the archetype of the
self. It also brings the contents (fishes/ideas) up into
conscious thought. Introspection is often thought to
accompany the modern escape — 'gone fishin" (Fig. 1).
The process of individuation towards the goal
of the self involves voyage into the unconscious, a
CONSCIOUS
Bird
The Transcendent Fisherman
0 were proposed with respect to the cognition and
k. /TRV ^A
y^—^v
Shellfish ^ UNCONSQOUS
Lobster
Figure 1. The primordial sea archetype.
66
hazardous journey owing to the monsters of the
abyss. Jason and the Argonauts undertook this voy-
age, mythologically speaking, as did Jung himself at
a time of crisis when he experienced a 'Nekyia' or
'night-sea journey' (Hyde & McGuiness 1992, 48).
The voyage is often symbolized by the rising life of
the sun and its subsequent setting death and is ex-
pressed in solar boats (Egypt) or the celestial canoe
myths of the Americas. Levi-Strauss also draws at-
tention to the motif of 'the susceptible ferryman', a
character in a middle position who crosses or bridges
the water (Levi-Strauss 1978, 457). In the eastern
Algonkian myths, the ferryman is not a person, but a
crane or a horned alligator (Levi-Strauss 1978, 445),
i.e. a linear feature.
Thus the primordial seascape is not a single
archetype, but an image of the unconscious itself.
The unconscious contains a collection of archetypes,
the most important of which, in the present context,
is that of rebirth, imaged as a flood motif. The sea, in
its shifting relationship to the land, has at the conscious
level inherent tensions and dualities, which an arche-
typal process, termed the transcendent function by
Jung, attempts to bridge. Resolution of the tension
involves bringing the unconscious contents to the
surface — which is what fishing does symbolically.
These meanings — sea=unconscious; flood=
rebirth; fishing=archetypal process; land/sea tensions
etc. — can reasonably be projected into ancient context
along uniformitarian lines. Waterworld is not just a twen-
tieth-century story. The Lonecloud tale is not just an-
other flood myth, but a Mi'kmaq understanding of
rebirth. The dualistic or dialectical aspects do seem
capable of archaeological testing in coastal situations.
The forest labyrinth
With respect to the primordial seascape, it was ar-
gued above that as sea levels dropped and coasts
settled towards stabilization, dualism increased
among coastal cultures. Four testable generalizations
behaviour of maritime peoples, some aspects of
which have been identified among the Inuit and
their Thule ancestors (McGhee 1977).
At approximately the same time, several thou-
sand years ago, inland peoples living in forested envi-
ronments also evolved a more dualistic conception
of nature and culture, society and environment. In a
related paper (Nash 1996), the evolution of conscious-
ness and dualism and the consequences for the
Bronze Age forests of northwest Europe are dis-
cussed. The conclusions will not be repeated here,
 Archetypal Landscapes
but some comments can be made concerning the
nature and symbolism of the forest and their rel-
evance for Neolithic archaeology.
For Jung and Jungian analysts of today, the
forest, like the sea, symbolizes the unconscious mind,
but more in a sense of the process of living than of
origins. The forest has a closed, dark, labyrinthine
character; it is a fearful place, like the unconscious,
yet it surrounds and assimilates and thus has a more
feminine nature. Jungians and depth psychologists
such as Newmann (1954), Whitmont (1982) and
Jaynes (1976) utilize mythology, ethnography and
child development studies to argue that there was
no conceptualized individuality (I-Thou) and only
embryonic ego development before the Late Bronze
Age. As the conscious mind and its ego centre emerge
from the unconscious, and as polarity evolves to
duality, there is the danger of a schism between the
conscious and unconscious parts of the psyche.
It is in this context that we can re-examine the
henges of the still-forested Neolithic landscape. This
is increasingly recognized as a ritual landscape (Aston
1985, 150) with the henges having a sacred dimen-
sion (Wainwright & Longworth 1971,231). There is a
deeper psychological dimension, however, and one
without any dichotomy between sacred and secular
for those who constructed the henge.
In looking at an aerial photo of the Knowlton
rings in Dorset for example (Barrett et al. 1991, jacket
illustration), what comes to mind is a floating is-
land — a circular motif that Jung would say symbol-
izes the collective self (c/. Jung 1968b, 134). In the
interpretation offered here, the henge is not only an
expression of collective self worship, but a pivot
unifying the conscious and unconscious, connecting
people and collective archetypes through a process
Jung called the transcendent-function (Nash 1996,
15). The henge is a powerful archetypal image which
bridges and mediates the tensions accompanying an
emerging ego and reflects collective wholeness and
integration. Going further, we can speculate in the
manner of psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan (1901-1981)
that the henge is narcissistic, a self-image such as
provides identity in what Lacan termed the mirror
phase (Osborne 1993, 162). It seems clear that the
henge is not an object to be contemplated or 'used', but
a centre within the surrounding (unconscious) forest
landscape as the self is the centre of the psyche.
Conclusion
We cannot yet know what was in the minds of indi-
viduals in prehistory — but then, individuals were not
67
recognized as such until more recent times. It would
seem, however, that one can go back beyond recorded
history, using archetypal images and depth psychol-
ogy to approach collective meanings. The archetypes,
as recurrent 'inherited pathways' (Progoff 1985, 70)
connect the twentieth century with the distant past
and offer a new method for cognitive archaeology. It
seems possible to reconstruct something of what peo-
ple perceived of various ancient landscapes via myth
and the contemporary vernacular arts. Crook sug-
gests (1980, 275) that we ought to be writing a men-
tal history, documenting the evolution of consciousness
as part of a psychological archaeology. The initia-
tives to date have all come from psychology.
Notes
1. Strictly speaking, 'psychoanalytic' is a Freudian
term and Jung preferred to call his method ana-
lytical psychology.
2. I have retained Silas Rand's now dated use of
'Indian' and 'King' in his tale, The Ice Man, both
for accuracy and out of courtesy to Rand.
3. Ruth Holmes Whitehead (pers. comm. May 1995)
disagrees with Rand's statement that the Chenoo
(or Jenuaq) are not ice giants, but humans who
have been transformed into cannibals of ordi-
nary size, but with hearts of ice.
4. A humanoid ice giant appears in Conquest of the
Pole, a very early film by Georges Melies (France
1912) — another appearance of the archetype.
Acknowledgements
Janet Gaynor, Ian Hodder, Eric Hutchison and Ruth
Holmes Whitehead were kind enough to assist me in
locating source material and/or commenting on ear-
lier drafts of this article for which they are, of course,
in no way accountable. The writing of the article was
greatly facilitated by the staff of the Department of
Archaeology at the University of Cambridge. It is
dedicated to my son Alexander Dennis Nash.
Ronald }. Nash
Department of Sociology and Anthropology
St Francis Xavier University
P.O. Box 5000
Antigonish
Nova Scotia
Canada
B2G 2W5
 Ronald J. Nash
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