1. Pretwa (traditional war game from
In the evolution of game diagrams and rules boardgames have come to mirror not only cultural aspects but also the transformations in the collective psyche. The boardgame portrays the collective psyche in the form of mandala shapes pertaining to the whole numbers, such as three and four. The symbolic values of the different geometries and numbers are recurrent themes in cultural history, and denote different stages in the progression of consciousness. In particular, the boardgame can be understood as an equivalent of the vessel in medieval alchemy.
Keywords: mandala, quaternity, trinitarian, Self, alchemy, sacred game, psychic structure, divination.
Ancient and medieval people viewed boardgames as doorways to the spiritual sphere. They notoriously carved them into temple walls and roofs. In the ancient temple at Kurna in Egypt (c. 1400 B.C.) there are more than 70 board games painstakingly carved into the roofing slabs, dating from different epochs in history. In Gloucester Cathedral many Fox and Geese boards (fig. 22) are incised on the stone seats. This cross-shaped diagram also occurs inside and on the outside walls of the cloisters of San Paolo, Rome. Boardgame patterns, especially nine-mens’ Morris (see fig. 2), were often built into the walls of churches and monasteries (Murray, 1951, p.44 & p.102). In ancient India game diagrams were depicted in murals, built into roofing slabs and the floor of temples. In the game the devotee and the deity met, and boards and gaming pieces were often used in divination, as a means of consulting God (Vasantha, 2005).
2. Morris, nine-mens’
Different forms of Morris (Merels) patterns are common among the chisellings on historical buildings and rocks at many places in the world. Several types appear in the temple at Kurna. In Morris the goal is to get three men in a row. By 1997, in a project that was prematurely discontinued, researchers had documented over one thousand morris boards in an historical and archaeological context. They also occur on vertical surfaces, as on a roman marble slab that is part of the throne of Charlemagne, Aix-la-Chapelle (Berger, 2004).
The boardgame Fanorona played an interesting part in the rituals in Madagascan culture. At the storming of the capital by the French in 1895, the Queen and people relied far more on the outcome of the official game that was being played by the ritual professionals for victory, than they did on their armed forces (Murray, 1951, p.88). Since it consists of two conjoined Alquerque boards, the Fanorona board has unequal sides, and therefore the number two is present. Fanorona employed withdrawal capture, a unique move where an enemy man is taken by withdrawing from it. To this day, playing cards are similarly used for divination as well as for a great multitude of games. Alquerque is very important, probably deriving from the roman era. It is the forefather of many games, including checkers.
Games cannot formally be distinguished from the temple or the magic circle, that is, the mandala or the temenos (sacred, protected space). According to Pennick, the curves drawn out from the square grid, in the Indonesian game Surakarta, is similar to a description in a Norse saga of a grid drawn by a magician to call up spirits. Surakarta involves a board and a mode of play that relates it to protective designs which are found throughout Asia and as far away as northern Europe. The Surakarta plan also relates to a variant of labyrinth design found in France and England, for example, Saffron Walden, Essex (Pennick, 1998, p.217 & p.229).
5. Cows and Leopards
In this board from southern Asia triangular patterns have grown out of
the original Alquerque board (Parker, 2001, p.582).
Historian Johan Huizinga, who wrote a book on the culture of play, says that the game playing element was once extremely important, especially in Chinese civilization. In ancient China almost everything took the form of a ceremonial contest: the crossing of a river, the climbing of a mountain, cutting wood or picking flowers. These ritual contests were indispensable for the smooth running of the seasons, the ripening of crops, the prosperity of the whole year. Every victory represents the triumph of the good powers over the bad, and at the same time the salvation of the group that effects it. The agonistic principle is foundational in the development of Chinese civilization (Huizinga, 1971, pp.75-77). He notes:
It has not been difficult to show that a certain play-factor was extremely active all through the cultural process and that it produces many of the fundamental forms of social life. The spirit of playful competition is, as a social impulse, older than culture itself and pervades all life like a veritable ferment. Ritual grew up in sacred play; poetry was born in play and nourished on play; music and dancing were pure play. Wisdom and philosophy found expression in words and forms derived from religious contests. The rules of warfare, the conventions of noble living were built up on play-patterns. We have to conclude, therefore, that civilization is, in its earliest phases, played... Does civilization in fact never leave the play-sphere? How far can we detect the play-element in later periods of culture which are more developed, refined, and sophisticated than the early ages and stages we have, in the main, been dealing with hitherto? (p.198)
The sacramental ball games, as played by the Maya and the Aztec, are well-known in religious history. An intermediate of spectator sports and boardgames is the living boardgame.
The Mogul emperors of India had the courtyard of their palaces laid out as cross-shaped Pachisi boards, upon which slave girls acted as pieces (Pennick, 1998, p.205f). Ludo is a modern version of Pachisi. It is a race game in which the men must circumambulate the board before they are allowed to enter the center, as symbolic of the holy place. This position can also be understood as the Self, the archetype of wholeness and the regulating centre of the psyche. A very similar game, Patolli, was popular in Aztec civilization. Concerning the quaternity and the ritual of circumambulation, Daryl Sharp says:
From the circle and quaternity motif is derived the symbol of the geometrically formed crystal and the wonder-working stone. From here analogy formation leads on to the city, castle, church, house, and vessel. Another variant is the wheel (rota). The former motif emphasizes the ego’s containment in the greater dimension of the self; the latter emphasizes the rotation which also appears as a ritual circumambulation. Psychologically, it denotes concentration on and preoccupation with a centre... Jung believed that the spontaneous production of quaternary images (including mandalas), whether consciously or in dreams and fantasies, can indicate the ego’s capacity to assimilate unconscious material. But they may also be essentially apotropaic, an attempt by the psyche to prevent itself from disintegrating (Sharp, 1991).
In Tablut the centre is still holy, but the goal is to enclose the absolute piece initially positioned on the centre square.
7. Tablut (Hnefatafl, Tafl)
In Völuspa, the prophetic text of the Norse, it is told that the gods will one day recover the golden tafl game, which had been lost at the dawn of the current era.
In wondrous beauty | once again
Shall the golden tables | stand mid the grass,
Which the gods had owned | in the days of old
Tafl (Hnefatafl, Tablut) was immensely popular in Scandinavia during the Viking era (Bell, 1979, p.77f). The game’s Gaelic descendants, namely the British Gwyddbwyll and the Irish Fidhchell, figure in many stories in the Celtic tradition. The corner squares were regarded as the four Otherworldly cities to which the Tuatha de Danaan arrive, a godlike people around which many heroic stories revolve. On the gaming board, which also represented the land, the centre is regarded as sacred and called Tara, the seat of High Kings. As the mystical fifth dimension it represented the Otherworld itself, which was always proximate, overlying reality. The holy corner and middle squares can be accessed only by the king, which was an absolute piece (Matthews, 1996, pp.9-10).
8. Alea Evangelii
In 10th century England Tablut evolved into Alea Evangelii (The
Evangelical game). It was viewed as an allegory of the Evangelists. The
king, initially positioned in the middle, was called primarius
vir, and symbolized the unity of the Trinity (Murray, 1951, p.61).
Games as Preoccupations of Gods and Spirits
In a book on Chinese Chess from 1632 by Jin-zhen Zhu, named The Secret Inside the Orange, it is said that the title of the book was derived from a legend:
There was an orange field in which an enormous orange was grown. When the orange was peeled, it was found that inside two old men were sitting facing each other, playing chess (Lau, 1985, p.10).
In her essay on the dreams of Descartes, M-L von Franz discusses the round fruit as a rotundum and a symbol of the Self as something that has grown naturally, the result of a quiet process of ripening. It is a symbol of a new conscious order which ripens in the darkness of natural creation (von Franz, 1998, p.142ff). Comparatively, in the alchemical rotundum (receptacle) were enclosed the warring elements, often symbolized by two dragons, while a slow process transformed them into gold.
9. Wall drawing from a tomb at Benihassan, c.2000 B.C.
(After Bell 1979, Dover Publications, Inc.)
According to M-L von Franz, at the base of existence there is a spiritual objective order, expressed in the seemingly abstract and impersonal order of numbers. The spirits of the dead, according to many people’s beliefs, concern themselves with this inexorable objective order behind all existence. One common mythologem pictures them literally “killing time” in the Beyond at number games. In many an Egyptian burial chamber the deceased is portrayed playing a halma-type board game. Besides this square game, a round “snake game” is also found among Egyptian artifacts. Horus and Set were said to have competed in this snake game once against each other. Similar boards have been found in the Sumerian tombs of Ur (2500 BC). Also in China, inside tombs of the Han period (207 BC-220 AD), pictures or figures of the dead have been uncovered which portray their occupation with various forms of boardgames (von Franz, 1974, pp.293-96). Von Franz says:
Here again we find a connection between psychic energy and the game of dice. Indeed, when “God,” the spirit of the unconscious, plays, he creates fate, a unique fate occurring but once, namely, the creatio of a synchronistic phenomenon. When, on the other hand, man, imitating God, plays, his individual mind reconstructs rational possibilities which inspire him with the feeling that he is tracking down the mystery of the objectively unknown, since the numerical laws of his gambling seem identical with the numerical laws of God’s game… Gradually, however, this bit of “spirit” has come into possession of his subjective consciousness. By contrast, the use of a divinatory oracle represents an attempt to induce a spontaneous manifestation of the remaining autonomous spirit by offering him “his” speech, in terms of certain archaic numerical sequences, as a medium of expression. By means of the chance throw of coins or twigs, a “hole” is introduced into the field of consciousness through which the autonomous dynamism of the collective unconscious can break in… In China the original connection between “play,” “gambling,” and arithmetic was well established (von Franz, 1974, pp.226-7).
In playing their boardgames, the dead occupy themselves with the primal
ordering of existence, in which all things lie in their natural order,
beyond the realm of the wishes and desires haunting our ego. The natural
order is the grounds for the widespread use of boardgames for divinatory
purposes. Numbers and boardgames provide a way of circumventing the
shortsightedness of the ego, thus opening the doorway to the spiritual
sphere where the intricate weave of objective order is continually
begotten. Today, however, numbers and boardgames tend to be viewed only in
their quantitative aspect, as an intellectual capability of the subjective
Evolution of Boardgames
The works of game historians can help us draw a picture of how the evolution of boardgames relates to developments in consciousness and culture. When a boardgame “migrates” to a new culture the game rules are altered correspondingly. In Persia the Shah was worshipped almost as a God. In this country also emerged the rule of the absolute piece, which cannot be lost without losing the game. The Chinese emperor spent his whole life within the confines of the palace walls, and so the ruler of the Chinese chessboard came to be confined within its palace of 3x3 squares.
10. Byzantine chess
Chess in medieval Byzantium took on the round shape, perhaps having to
do with a worldview that is theocratic, and focused on spirit, which is
circular (Bell, 1979, p.61f). This variant of the chessboard has been
revived in recent years, a yearly tournament being held at Lincoln castle,
From the prototype of Chaturanga, Europeans have increased the powers of the pieces, whereas the Chinese and East Asians have decreased the powers of several pieces. When the game migrated from the Arabic world to Europe it encountered a world where woman not seldom held the highest office, either as a reigning queen, consors regni (co-ruler), or as temporary ruler in her capacity of mother to the juvenile king. Interestingly, during a period in the 980s, Western Europe had a majority of female rulers (Yalom, 2004, p.26). The relatively high status of women in Europe had its ground in the pagan era. Accordingly, in medieval times the Virgin Mary came to play quite an important role in the church’s teachings.
For obvious reasons, then, this was the place and time when the powerful Queen first appeared on the chessboard, when the weak Fers (General) was ousted from its elevated position beside the king (Yalom, 2004, ch.11).
Mirrors of Psychic Structure
Boardgames employ diverse mandala structures, including quadratic, circular, cross-shaped, and triangular. These shapes correspond to the different shapes of mandala paintings in religious practice (and also the work of patients in therapy). In Gala, from medieval Europe, the four central squares are regarded as holy, and special rules apply to them (Pennick 1998, pp.217-21; Glonnegger, 1988, pp.186-7). When pieces enter the central cross, the movement capability is altered into a mirror-image of the outside movement.
Medieval dwellers would undoubtedly have associated the different areas with regions of the sacred and the profane. The quaternity is also reflected in the four absolute pieces, the Galas, initially positioned in the corners. If this game is compared with Tablut (fig. 7), a further differentiation has occurred in that there are now four different piece types and the rules are more complex. This change probably mirrors corresponding changes in consciousness.
12. Demala Diviyan Keliya
Leopard games from Asia represent hunt games, similar to Fox
and Geese, but adapted to triangular boards (Parker, 2001, pp.581-83;
Murray, 1951, pp.106-7). As is typical of hunt games the “holy
piece” (“Tiger”) cannot be captured. In the more advanced
variants there are three such pieces. The object of the white player is to
enclose the red stones so they cannot move. Here the white player has only
begun to place his pieces, which are 15 in number.
The triangular boards emphasize the number three. Arguably, the threesome of absolute pieces would be symbolically equivalent to the primarius vir, the unity of the Trinity, in Alea Evangelii (fig. 8). This game represents a trinitarian counterpart of the quaternarian Gala (fig. 11). In alchemical terms and in analytical psychology the number three promotes the emancipation and expansion of consciousness. Viewed as a masculine number it relates to the fatherly principle, e.g. scientific understanding, societal mores and orderliness. However, it could also signify the chtonic, underworldly, trinity. Emphasis on the number three could portray the ideal of consciousness. Alternatively, it follows the principle of compensation and points at the requirement of conscious or spiritual emancipation. The unconscious exerts a power of compensation, consonant with the necessities and laws of man’s inner life (Jacobi, 1973, p.10).
The number four, according to C.G. Jung, stands for the concretization of the spirit as it is cast in the subjective mould. It represents the integration of the advancing consciousness with the unconscious and instinctual roots of man. As such the quaternity expresses a directionality of wholeness. The significance of numbers, and concepts of the the trinitarian and the quaternarian, are treated in von Franz (1974), Jung (1980), Lindorff (2004).
In the popular game of Pulijdam two arms have grown out of the central triangle, creating a structure more similar to a cross. (In this image the 15 white pieces have not yet been dropped.) The migration from three to four indicates perhaps a higher consciousness that has grown stale, but now preparing to be reintegrated in life. This theme is common in dreams and myths. In medieval alchemy it is represented by the Axiom of Maria wherein “one becomes two, two becomes three, and out of the third comes the one as the fourth.” Jung used the axiom of Maria as a metaphor for the whole process of individuation. One is the original state of unconscious wholeness; two signifies the conflict between opposites; three points to a potential resolution; the third is the transcendent function; and the one as the fourth is a transformed state of consciousness, relatively whole and at peace. (The transcendent function supports the union of consciousness and the unconscious.) (Sharp, 1991).
14. Bear game
The Bear game (Bear hunt) is still known among elderly people in Piemonte, Italy, where it is found among rock carvings (Depaulis, 1999). In this hunt game, which functions finely, three hunters are following a bear, trying to enclose it. Men follow the lines and must stop on the intersections. Bear games probably derive from the roman era. Functional sandstone boards from the third century have been found in Augst, Switzerland (Schädler, 2002). The recovered games are more demanding.
15. Hare game
European hare games, deriving from medieval times, seem to portray the
archetypal conflict between three and four, as in the Christian Trinity vs.
the adversary, or a trinitarian consciousness contra the inferior
function. The inferior function (fourth function) is the least
differentiated of the four psychological functions (thinking, feeling,
intuition, sensation) and practically identical with the dark side of the
human personality (Sharp, 1991).
This type of game seems to have had the alternative name of The Devil among the tailors (Glonnegger, 1988, p.151). They vary in design and size, but seem uniformly to be three against one in theme. This one (fig. 15) is a small variant from around 1300, found in Riga, Latvia (Caune, 1993). It was revived in the 19th century as the Soldiers’ Game (Schuh, 1968, pp.239-44). The light stones can only move downwards or sideways and must try to surround the dark stone, which is victorious if it avoids being surrounded and reaches the apex. The dark stone can be dropped on any empty square in the first move or, alternatively, it can be positioned on a standard initial square. There are no captures. This type of game is almost ritual in character, since it aims at enclosing the elusive and ambivalent fourth principle.
Haretavl is a circular hare game from Fyn, Denmark (Michaelsen, 1998). The game seems to combine the alchemical motto of the squaring of the circle with the traditional hare game principle, namely the enclosement of the mercurial element (see below) symbolized by the singular piece. In traditional mandala design, circle and square together combine heaven and earth, thus representing the total world. This geometric combination is common also in morris mandalas. The rules of this particular variant seem to have been different, however.
17. Roman wheel pattern
Wheel patterns occur frequently at historical roman sites. They
are often placed at an entrance or a threshold, and sometimes on vertical
surfaces, probably as protective charms. Wheel patterns are common in
Ephesus, known in antiquity for its sacred shrines. Earlier these were
thought to be merels game boards, but it seems like the topology is proper
only for bear games. This particular pattern is a mechanical win, however,
but it could have been attractive to ancient man anyway.
Wheel patterns were probably bear games originally, but certain of them became stylized and less functional. They work as protective charms and tend to be ritualistic in character. The fact that the game is functional means that there is a spirit trapped in the diagram, i.e. an idea of three hunters capturing the elusive fourth “bear spirit.” To me, it invokes the idea of a “game of transcendency,” or a mandala proper. Even if humans won’t play on it, the spirits will, using spiritual rules.
Interestingly, the theme of the bear hunt is known as the “Cosmic Hunt” among anthropologists. Over the whole of the Eurasian continent and the two Americas this myth returns in different forms, but always revolving around three hunters following foremostly a bear, or an elk. The hunters are the three stars in the handle of the Big Dipper (Berezkin, 2005).
18. Jeux des gendarmes et du voleur
Policemen and thief is a bear game from Sologne, France (Depaulis, 1999). I think the ‘thief’, as the fourth piece, symbolizes Mercurius, god of the unconscious. I have the feeling that C.G. Jung would have delighted in a mandala-shaped boardgame where wholeness is created by a trinity of pieces enveloping a fourth piece, thereby attaining a quaternity.
19. Round bear game
This diagram derives from Didyma, Turkey, where it is clumsily depicted
in the temple of Apollo (Depaulis, 1999). It functions as a bear game, but
we don’t know if it was ever used as such. There are also quadratic
and rectangular forms of bear games.
The Alchemical Vessel
The focal point in alchemy was the vas hermeticum, the alembic, or the alchemical retort — all different names for the alchemist’s flask where the warring elements were subjected to heat and underwent circular distillation (circumambulation). From the chaos, the prima materia of crude material substances, would arise the spiritual Stone of the Philosophers, which had wonder-working properties. The boardgame is the equivalent of the hermetic vessel; in it, the warring elements are added and sealed off from the outside world. The 16th century alchemist Gerhard Dorn says: “Our vessel ... should be made according to true geometrical proportion and measure, and by a kind of squaring of the circle” (Theat. Chem. I, 1659). Jung (1980) says:
[The vessel] is a kind of matrix or uterus from which the filius philosophorum, the miraculous stone, is to be born [lit. ‘son of the philosophers’]. Hence it is required that the vessel be not only round but egg shaped [says Ripley]. One naturally thinks of this vessel as a sort of vessel or flask; but one soon learns that this is an inadequate conception since the vessel is more a mystical idea, a true symbol like all the central ideas of alchemy (p.237f).
In my understanding, the Chinese game of Sixteen rebels reflects upon the alchemical quintessential element represented by the holy stone in the centre (Winther, 2005). Because it employs intervention capture (capture by stepping between two pieces), this game is believed to be quite old.
20. Sixteen rebels
The board looks like a flask, where the elusive spiritus
mercurialis, a most holy spirit, is held captive. In keeping with the
Chinese preference for the number five, the four-cornered Alquerque board
was complemented with an extra structure to introduce the number five. When
a triangle emerges out of a square, it seems to signify spirit over matter,
possibly compensating an earthbound attitude. As in all hunt games the dark
stone, which cannot be captured, must be surrounded by the light
A notorious problem in alchemy was the evaporative nature of the spirit Mercurius. He is the prototype of the fairytale’s spirit in the bottle, who would take any chance to escape from his prison. In Sixteen rebels, the red stone is victorious if it can reach the apex of the upper triangle. This is the same situation as in the Hare game (fig. 15). In the mean time, the forces of consciousness (alternatively, the principle of spirit), represented by the light stones, will encroach upon the red stone. In Sixteen rebels, several white stones must be sacrificed on the way. Such a sacrificial theme coincides with a well-known psychological fact; attempts at assimilating the unconscious self are usually accompanied by a deterioration in the primary function of consciousness (von Franz, 1974, p.93). The game can also be said to express the demonic force in conflict with the celestial spirit, as the archetypal tug of war underlying all psychic phenomena.
Players in their gaming activity follow the alchemical procedure when they become absorbed by the transformations in their vessel, which is the gaming board. This is similar to the alchemist’s labourings with his chemicals. The player is seemingly trying to synthesize the most holy substance from the game. Involved in this work is a phantasy of the perfect game, such as the creations of the 19th century chessmaster Adolf Anderssen, whose creations have been named “The Immortal Game,” and “The Evergreen Game.”
21. Egyptian Siga
Siga (Seega) is depicted among the original chisellings at Kurna (Parker, 2001, p.603; Murray, 1951, pp.54-5). Possibly it was played by the Old Kingdom pharaos. The archaic interception capture bears witness to its antiquity. In order to make a capture one must surround an enemy piece with two of one’s own. The capture method of the short leap, as in modern checkers, is of later date. In Siga the men (“dogs”) are not positioned in a battle line. Before play begins stones are dropped one by one on the board. To me, this relates the image of a less organized psychic structure. In ancient times, spirits of the unconscious existed everywhere around. They had not yet been located in a particular region called the unconscious. Similarly, demons and gods were still circulating among humans and had not yet been permanently relegated to a heavenly region and a demonic underworld.
22. Fox and Geese
Fox and Geese (originally named Fox and Hounds) was obsessively played by the medievals (Murray, 1951, p.102f). In this we see a more orderly setup. The game originated with 13 men (Geese), trying to surround the lonely Fox, initially positioned in the centre of the cross-shaped board. A medieval alchemist would probably have understood the red Fox as the elusive Mercurius. A Christian complentative would perhaps see it as the Christ. In terms of Jungian psychology the Christ is also a symbol of the Self. The light-coloured Geese can then be understood as the celestial forces, or more prosaically, the combined forces of consciousness, attempting to enclose the precious divinity. Again, the interpretation of the central piece as the divine entity finds it counterpart in Alea Evangelii (fig. 8). Also here the goal is to surround the primarius vir as the manifest symbol of the godhead.
23. Fifteen geese
Fox and Geese underwent an interesting development. Historically the number of Geese increased, first to 15, and then to 17. But this also implied that their movement was restricted, while on the contrary the Fox retained its free movement. With 15 Geese backward movement is prohibited, and with 17 Geese also diagonal movement is prohibited.
24. Seventeen geese
The development seems to mirror an increase in the powers of consciousness, and in spiritual discipline, which coincides with the era. Increased in number, the Geese could no longer retreat. Consciousness was not allowed to regress, but must relentlessly press forward to achieve its goal. This goal-oriented attitude coincides with the continual strengthening of consciousness, but also the advanced methods of contemplation in Catholic mysticism, occurring during the Late Middle Ages and the Renaissance, up to the Age of Enlightenment.
In the latter era emerged the final version of this game, now commonly
known as Asalto (in some countries Foxes and Sheep). Now the light
pieces were radically increased to 24, and the lonely Fox became two in
number. This is how the setup is typically represented although 20 light
pieces would make a more balanced game (Bell, 1979, vol.II: p.46;
Glonnegger, 1988, p.190).
It is a radical increase. Consciousness has again broadened, and with the two foxes the number two has appeared, signifying a stronger division between conscious and unconscious. Von Franz (1974) says: “Whenever a latent unconscious content pushes up into consciousness, it appears first as a twofold oneness” (p.93). Consciousness, it seems, has now obtained the two auxiliary psychic functions implied by the two arms, which were only little occupied in the initial version of the game. An auxiliary function is a helpful second or third function (thinking, feeling, intuition, or sensation) that has a codetermining influence on consciousness (Sharp, 1991). Notably, in Asalto, unlike in Fox and Geese and similar hunt games, the goal is no longer to attain the holy stone positioned in the centre. The mission is not anymore aimed at realizing the Self by direct means, in the way of medieval Christian mystics, or Asian spiritual techniques.
How can we explain these changes? The stronger light of consciousness had brought with it a marked division in the psyche, and the naive wholeness of medieval man was lost. As a consequence the Self definitely split into a lighter and a shadier part. The ambivalent Fox disunited and became two. In religious history a corresponding development occurred in the division of the ambivalent Old Testamental God into a light aspect and a dark adversary. This occurrence anticipated the corresponding development in the psyche of the individual. The change in collective consciousness is reflected in the new rules of the game. The task of the Geese (Soldiers) is to occupy the “fort” or the “castle,” which is the nethermost square of the board. I think it signifies the unconscious (or divine) realm, including the fourth unconscious function. Although the rules still admit to winning by enclosing the holy pieces, this is practically impossible. The fort consists of nine squares, a number which is significant, in itself. Von Franz (1997) has shown that in fairytales “the number nine is found in the symbolism of hell, the underworld and the realm of the dead” (p.135).
To the mythic consciousness, such a symbol portrays the battle between demons and gods, as in Hindu mythology. The agonistic mythologem is archetypal. The conflict motif portrays the psychic economy of unconscious integration. The remarkable phenomenon of consciousness is a product of this ongoing battle. The two guardian stones, as two Sphinxes guarding the gate, must try to ward off the forces of light. When the nether square, the fort, is filled with light stones, the unconscious fourth function will be conquered and the goal obtained. Von Franz (1974) says:
The great Egyptian primal god Atum was also considered a lion who engendered the two lions (Shu and Tefnut), signifying eternity and infinite time, respectively. This double lion (Shu-Tefnut) is clearly Atum himself. Constant de Wit says: “The double lion, the two horizons, the two world mountains, are different images symbolizing the crossing from life to death, from day to night and vice versa. They are the guardians, the gates, the threshold to the Beyond” (p.93).
Historically, it’s as if the unconscious function, because of a contrast effect, appears in company with an emancipation of consciousness. The last evolution of the game coincides with our modern view of the spiritual path, namely to view the unconscious as a psychic region, and then to grapple with the forces of the unconscious, before we can attain the wholeness when all the four functions of the psyche are integrated.
The modern game Stratego is likely the descendant of the French
game L’Attaque by Mademoiselle Hermance Edan, who filed
a patent for this game in 1908. Concurrently with the rise of
psychoanalysis and the new notion of the unconscious, the pieces opposing
the conscious forces are turned away and effectively become unconscious to
the player of the red pieces. The physical pieces are illustrated as
soldiers of different rank, decided by their number. Low number stands for
high rank. The player does not know what rank the enemy pieces have, and
whether in confronting them he is going to lose or win a piece. The
unconscious, as it were, is differentiated into several piece types,
mirroring the increased knowledge of unconscious entities and complexes.
The absolute piece, which must be protected at any cost, is retained in the
form of the Flag (‘Stratego’, 2009).
The boardgame represents a spiritual mystery, a vessel in which the spirit is captive. It is a dynamic form of mandala, an image of psychic wholeness. In its impersonal numerical aspect it represents a hole through which the Beyond can break in. The transformations in the collective psyche are mirrored in the evolution of diagrams and rules.
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© Mats Winther 2007 (article revised 2009), text and images by me (except fig. 9).
In my own dreams, the act of playing a board is the most notorious of
all the repetitive patterns. It signifies the conscious focusing on the
little world. It implies forgetting about the rest of the world, including
conscious preoccupations, such as the Jungian concepts. We enter the
temenos and thrive there, fully contented with the small energies in the
desiccated little world. Arguably, this is why people have always depicted
mandalas and also why they have become obsessed with board games and sports
generally. Board game patterns appear everywhere, especially in sacred
shrines. To paint a mandala is essentially the same as playing a board
game. The depiction of mandala patterns follows historically from
man’s obsession with board games. Crete is littered with Mancala
patterns carved into the rock. At the ancient site of Ephesus there is an
abundance of roman wheel patterns depicted everywhere, also on vertical
surfaces. Fig. 17 is a typical example (see above). But these are actually
board games of the bear game type, although they have tended towards
simplification. Fig. 18 is a French version and fig. 14 is Italian. (I have
made a program that can play bear games, here.)
I hold that the mandala represents the temenos,  that is, it symbolizes the “little world”. In so far as mandala painting (or normal painting) leads to a better comprehension of the symbol, it is wholesome. It allows personality to seek refuge in the little world during a time of incubation.  But it is neither a map of the cosmos nor a map of the self. Such an overblown notion impedes our longing to dwell in the little world, which is modest and unassuming, remote from the grand notions of Self, Completeness and Advancement. During incubation we listen to the faint energies that shine “like a fish’s eye” at the “desiccation of the sea” (George Ripley). The mandala symbolizes the time of dwelling in the little inconspicuous world, remote from notions of advancement of any kind. In this condition, one can paint in colour or in words, the result of which is completely unassuming and which does not coincide with any Jungian tenets nor any artistic ideals. The “smallest of sparks” that are being gathered, is the spirit proper.
The conclusion is that mandalas are board games, that is, they depict little arenas on which we focus our attention. They signify the temenos, that is, the little inconspicious refuge from the world. That explains why people have always seen them as wholesome, and why they have depicted them everywhere. In case of sickness or sorrow, you typically visited a temenos or a sacred grove, as a token of introversion and withdrawal into yourself. There is no evidence that the mandala portrays the architecture of the psyche or that it denotes the totality of psychic life. In fact, I think it symbolizes the escape from life’s encumbrance; a loophole into another world, as it were. To Carl Jung, it symbolizes the encompassment of life’s phenomena in toto, including the forging of them into a wholeness. But the mandala really means escape from our conscious obsessions. I think this was also its function during Jung’s own crisis, regardless of his conscious misconception. While painting a mandala or a regular painting, concentrate on painting absolutely anything which keeps you focused on the little world. One should completely disregard the psychological or the artistic qualities of the result, which is not interpretable in Jungian terms or in art historian terms. Such over-interpretation destroys the wholesome effect of the mandala and takes away the lust to paint them.
If Jung says that the quaternity is superior to the trinity, denoting a higher level of self, guess what kind of mandala a Jungian will draw: a threefold or a fourfold symmetry? So the very notion that the mandala is a map of the psyche will cancel out any attempts to create a mandala that represents an individual map of the psyche. Jung’s notion of attainment and progress through stages along a path of individuation, derives from Neoplatonism and the antique mystery cults, such as the Mithras cult. It involves initiations into yet greater and greater ‘gnosis’, that is, insights into the spiritual mysteries. This principle is also practiced in freemasonry, which foremostly attracts people lacking the capacity for individual self-fulfillment. In this way, they can play at personal growth, thus evading the cumbersome and lonely path of listening to the unconscious, which would lead to true maturity by the attainment of a higher level of consciousness. Of course, the advancement theme is fiction. There is no sign that a freemason, having advanced to the “higher levels”, has attained a greater level of humaneness and insight. It is merely an evasion. Nevertheless, it has a therapeutic effect, like all religion, as the individual has something to strive after and may attain a high social stature among his peers. But he could equally well join a chess club and advance through the grades there.
Likewise, a Jungian patient who successively produces yet more advanced mandala paintings, has merely achieved a higher level in fantasy. It is like building castles in the air. To become absorbed in mandala painting is essentially the same as becoming absorbed in artistic painting or the playing of board games. It is not an esoteric practice with pronounced effects on personality, nor will it have a synchronistic  impact. Of course, Jung’s anima compensated Jung’s standpoint, saying that “those mandalas you draw are art” (cf. Jung’s autobiography).
I am disheartened by the course away from psychology into what I identify as New Age spirituality. It is spiritual hunger that drives this. However, I am advocating an alternative spirituality of a kind that Jung dismissed in theory, although he was practically involved with it (see my writings, elsewhere). Artwork (whether or not in the therapeutic setting) needn't revolve around the inner complexes. However, if it in fact does, then it should be interpreted properly and land on a personal level. It is the question of strengthening consciousness and integrating the shadow, acquiring wisdom. But after this has been achieved, one cannot go on forever integrating the unconscious. The integration of the anima translates to a withdrawal of one’s projections of longing on the outer world and the “Platonic otherworld”. But the latter step never occurs if one keeps mythologizing the unconscious.
The Jungian method of interpretation has given rise to a degenerate form that follows the formula of the school of Archetypal Psychology. M-L von Franz criticizes this method and says that the interpreter goes around in circles by way of contextualization. More specifically, she mentions that Mircea Eliade endlessly and somewhat arbitrarily associates a symbol with another symbol. One can always take an oblong object, for instance, and associate it with the phallus, and then with the tree trunk, and then on to the mother archetype, etc.; a process that leads on and on to yet more mythological associations. But the interpretation never lands in a personal understanding relevant to the patient or the artist himself.
By way of the mythologization of the unconscious symbol it stays on a nebulous collective level. The method only degrades understanding, making the subject even more unconscious. It is akin to a cultic theological practice on lines of New Age. What’s worse, the dreamer/artist risks projecting his/hers conscious preconceptions on the content, since there is ample opportunity for this in the unearthed mythological material. It will always be possible to find some verification of one’s conscious preconceptions. In the end, something will seem to fit.
What lies behind this current of mythologization and over-interpretation is a personal problem of Jung’s, which has propagated and grown to a strong gale. Jung was very ambivalent about art. Concerning modern art, he says in a letter to Esther Harding, “I am only prejudiced against all forms of modern art. It is mostly morbid and evil on top [of that]”. On the other hand, he could give traditional art a hugely unrealistic evaluation: “Art represents the process of self-regulation in the life of nations and epochs”. He evaluated the artistic work as a “primordial experience”. “[The artist] has plunged into the healing and redeeming depths of the collective psyche” (‘On the relation of anal. ps. to poetry’).
To put it frankly, the above is nonsense, which makes it evident that he is torn between the opposites. He never arrived at an objective evaluation of art since he suffered from an “art complex”. Jungian analyst Sylvester Wojtkowski sheds light on this, here.
Nevertheless, Jung himself had a thoroughgoing experience of the true spirit of art, which is the incubation in the temenos, that is, the little paradise, void of ambition. He was drawn to play “childish games”. He built a miniature stone village with a castle and a church (cf. Memories, Dreams, Reflections). But he kept psychologizing these recurrent experiences as “discovering his own myth” and as “confrontations with the unconscious as a scientific experiment”. He always viewed artistic creations as “symbolical pictures” revealing the architecture of the psyche. Thus, he refused to give ground to a trinitarian intepretation of works of art, mandalas, and the laboratory work of the alchemists.
Jung had a beef with the trinitarian standpoint, that is, the notion of standing aside from all our material and conceptual obsessions. Jung said that one must always be morally or intellectually involved. Arguably, that’s why he rejected modern art, which represents arts for its own sake and not for portraying some supramundane principle. Henri Matisse said that, from “Le bonheur de vivre” (1905-6), he always kept painting the same picture:
“Le bonheur de vivre”
“La Dance (I)”
“Jeu de boules”
Matisse had found the temenos and he kept repeating this very motif. He felt disappointed when people, much like Jung, could not understand his work. He used to ask visitors to his studio whether they had noticed the violet thistles that grew by the wayside. Of course, they had not (cf. Matisse on Art).
Picasso had his own way of expressing the very same trinitarian mystery. The following picture is a mandala expressing the condition of aridity inside the temenos, but where there still exists a life-source. We can feel this, because his paintings have a strange power, a different energy than the grand powers that Jung was obsessed with. Below image expresses a little but sublime power, which one can feed on. It is the little sun inside the egg.
“Still Life With Chair Caning”
It is remarkable that Jung could not connect this with alchemy, although he wrote about the alchemical vessel as an “egg” in which resides the ‘prima materia’ (‘massa confusa’) , that is, the most commonplace and trivial matter.
1. Temenos: a piece of land marked off from common uses and dedicated to a god; a sanctuary, holy grove or holy precinct (cf. Wikipedia).
2. Incubation: a religious practice (ritual) of sleeping in a sacred area with the intention of experiencing a divinely inspired dream or cure (cf. Wikipedia).
3. Synchronicity: the coincidental occurrence of events and esp. psychic events (as similar thoughts in widely separated persons or a mental image of an unexpected event before it happens) that seem related but are not explained by conventional mechanisms of causality — used esp. in the psychology of C.G. Jung (Webster’s Dictionary).
© Mats Winther 2007-2013.