The Upward and Downward Paths of the Spirit
Cautes and Cautopates flanking the Mithraic tauroctony.
Their torches point upward and downward, respectively.
Abstract:
Psychology has a focus on the integration of the
unconscious — the process is regarded essential to the individuation, development, and emancipation of personality. The article argues that this view is one-sided. In order to achieve a balanced view of
the Self it is necessary to restore the traditional view of spiritual development, representing the path “upwards”
toward divine union
(henosis ). Projections of the unconscious archetype do not only serve the purpose of psychological
integration — in terms of Neoplatonism they may also serve as vehicles for spiritual ascent.
Keywords: projection, Neoplatonism, Trinity, archetype, individuation, Dionysus, Cusanus, Iamblichus, coincidentia oppositorum, C.G. Jung.
Projection
The integration of the unconscious is not possible without projection.
Integration is arguably the most central principle in
psychology, even more important than the archetypal notion. Projection
always precedes integration, signifying conscious assimilation: the
unconscious content becomes an integral part of conscious thought and
feeling.
Notably, Freudian transference theory is different in
that
introjection follows upon projection. According to Freud, external behavioural
patterns become formative of the subjective psychic constitution. Accordingly, introjection leads to the formation of ego
and superego. On this view,
therapy might lead to the projection of the Father imago onto the
therapist. It is subsequently introjected into the patient, and the
patient is then governed by a new Father imago. He has been
“reprogrammed” as it were. On this Freudian view, the patient is like an unconscious robot
that has been endowed with an improved software.
Not only Jungian psychologists, but also Gestalt therapists have
rejected the notion of treating adults like they were unconscious
children. In Gestalt therapy, the focus is on conscious “assimilation”
whereas introjection is generally viewed as a return to a similar
unconscious condition as before. Thus, it risks becoming a new blockage,
in the form of a new identification. The Jungian notion of integration
implies taking charge of oneself, by assimilating one’s complexes,
turning them into problems of consciousness. There are two types of
people: those who have unconscious complexes and those who have
conscious problems that they wrestle with. The latter personality, who carries
his own cross instead of projecting his unconscious on others, is the
ideal personality in Jungian psychology. (Also in Gestalt therapy, and
in Poul Bjerre’s psychosynthesis, emphasis is put on “personal
responsibility”.)
Whereas transference is a central concept in Freudian psychology (as it serves the
purpose of “downloading a new software into the human robot”), it is not
so in Jungian psychology. The patient already has recourse to a
multitude of projections ripe for integration. There is no need to
create new ones. Projection occurs, for instance, when we take notice of a painting
that carries meaning. Projection is a fact of nature. Since everything
unconscious is projected, it is ever-present. Without it, most people
would lack the motivation to rise from their bed in the morning.
Integration is essential to the maturational process. The method of conscious realization is indispensable for becoming a responsible individual who no longer puts the blame on other people for his own faults. Nevertheless, I contend that the centrality of conscious integration in Jungian psychology
is one-sided, because there are archetypal projections (in the sense of unconscious numinous content) that have no place in the abstract and two-dimensional realm of consciousness.
Psychological development revolves around a formula
of projection followed by integration. In fact, there is also a movement
in the other direction, i.e. toward a healthy and spiritual form of
unconsciousness. Comparatively, in Neoplatonism, the soul strives to
rise back towards unity, which is the original source of worldly
multiplicity. The turn inwards
(epistrophê ) results in the “ascent”
(
anabasis, anodos ) towards ‘the One’.
Against Porphyry’s charge of naïveté (regarding the notion that gods are
indwelling in material things), Iamblichus answered that matter is
“illuminated” by the divine:
[D]ivinity illumines everything from without, even as the sun lights
everything from without with its rays. Even as the sunlight, then,
envelops what it illuminates, so also does the power of the gods
embrace from outside that which participates in it. And similarly, even as the light is present in the air without blending with
it […], even so
the light of the gods illuminates its subject transcendently, and is fixed steadfastly in itself even as it proceeds throughout the totality of existence. (“De Mysteriis”, I.9, Clarke, 2003, p.39)
Iamblichus explains that by means of images the “eyes of the soul”
clothe the gods in an interior space. Already in the fifth century,
Proclus (412–485 AD) arrives at a seemingly modern view of archetypal
projection:
The Gods themselves are incorporeal, but since those who see them
possess bodies, the visions which issue from the Gods to worthy
recipients possess a certain quality from the Gods who send them but
also have something connatural (sungenês) with those who see them. This
is why the Gods are seen yet not seen at all. In fact, those who see the
Gods witness them in the luminous garments of their souls (augoeidê tôn
psuchôn periblemata). The point is, they are often seen when the eyes
are shut. Therefore, since the visions are extended and appear in this
different kind of “atmosphere” they are connatural with those who see
them. However, because visions emit divine light, possess effectiveness,
and portray the powers of the Gods through their visible symbols, they
remain in contact with the Gods who send them. This is why the ineffable
symbols of the Gods are expressed in images and are projected sometimes
in one form, sometimes in another […]
Each God is formless (amorphotos) even if he is seen with a form. For
the form is not in him but comes from him due to the incapacity of the
viewer to see the formless without a form; rather, according to his
nature he sees by means of forms. (Proclus, “Commentary on Plato’s Republic”, I.39, transl. Shaw, 1995, pp.220-21)
Descent and ascent
Iamblichus (c. 245–325 AD) held that descent into
worldly plurality (provided that one has recourse to
theurgical
practice) leads to
the integration of opposites, which would bring about apotheosis (spiritual ascent). Through the purifying light given by the
gods in theurgy (‘divine work’) the embodied soul was freed of its particularity and
established in its starry vehicle (cf. Shaw, 1995, p.52).
Iamblichus’s notion is similar to the Jungian realization of the Self by
means of projection and integration. Individuation, which means the
separation from collectivity and the formation of individual
personality, is somehow identical to the overcoming of particularity in
the manifestation of the Self. It is paradoxical, indeed, because this
is the “Grand Man”, which is somehow the epitome of collective identity.
I am skeptical of this notion. I think that descension must
come to a halt, at which point the ascending phase takes over. A process
of “complementation”, defined as unconscious assimilation, must replace the process
of integration (conscious assimilation).
Iamblichus divides the archetypes (i.e. the divinities) into different
categories and calls the descending archetypes “daimons”. Daimons serve the processional impulse of the gods and give rise to laws of nature and psyche. The daimons aim to
take root in reality and therefore tend to move downwards, especially
if summoned in ritual. However, he explains that there is also another
category of divinities that pursue the upward path. These are the
“heroes” who are situated below the daimons, adjacent to the souls of men. They are agents of epistrophê, and guide the soul into divine measures (cf. Shaw, 1995, pp.131-33).
According to this argument, there is a movement of archetypes away from consciousness, too.
Iamblichus says that the heroes’ relation to matter is quite sublime,
although different than the daimonic. Since the heroes do not descend,
it must mean that they transcend consciousness and are incapable of
integration. The projection on matter that they represent, is beyond the
grasp of consciousness, since it strives away from sublunar reality. Instead, they may serve as vehicle for the
philosopher’s upward journey and fulfil another soteriological function
than the daimonic form of “theurgy”. It is evident that Iamblichus’s soteriological doctrine allows for two movements of the spirit.
An upward movement, away from consciousness, leads to the
empowerment of the archetype, as it becomes “spirit” independent of the worldly. As a phenomenon, it is antithetical to the
“fall” of the archetype, which means the
empowerment of the conscious realm (as in the fall of Prometheus). The sacrificial act, as a gift
to the god, has been of central importance throughout the ages as a
method of healing. Through the healing of the divine, mankind is also
healed. Instead of embezzling the riches of the gods, we may sacrifice
from our own wealth of conscious riches. The theme is very central
in the historical record and it should have
relevance as a therapeutic method.
Today, however, we tend to view the unconscious as an inexhaustible horn
of plenty. In fact, I believe that the “panacea” of the alchemists was a
product of complementation, and not of integration. Art therapy, for instance, may have the opposite effect than the usual one, that is, the
“making conscious” of the unconscious. A complementative therapy would
serve to invigorate the unconscious realm, which is become depleted. However,
the question is whether a “benevolent unconsciousness” is a passable
notion in the community of psychotherapists. It is controversial notion,
considering the enormous harm caused by the vulgar form of
unconsciousness.
Gregory Shaw says that Iamblichus’s doctrine of
theurgy represents a way of “descending to apotheosis”
(Shaw, 1995, ch.10). However, I think it is better expressed as a different technique of ascension,
comparable with the contemplative method, as recommended by Plotinus and
Porphyry. The descent is merely preparatory. Iamblichus explains that through theurgy man is raised to union with the divine:
[Theurgy] controls divine symbols, and in virtue of them is raised up to union
with the higher powers, and directs itself harmoniously in accordance with their dispensation, which enables it quite properly to
assume the mantle of the gods. It is in virtue of this distinction,
then, that the art both naturally invokes the powers from the universe as superiors, inasmuch as the invoker is a man, and yet on
the other hand gives them orders, since it invests itself, by virtue
of the ineffable symbols, with the hieratic role of the gods. (“De Mysteriis”, IV.2, Clarke, 2003, p.207).
Theurgic ritual centers upon divine ‘sumbola’ and ‘sunthêmata’ (symbolic tokens native to the soul). Jeffrey Kupperman argues that theurgy
involves a “sacrifice”:
The physical signs and tokens make sacrifice effective. We are, in effect,
sacrificing a possession of the gods to the gods
from which they came. In doing this, we activate the corresponding
symbol in our own souls, which in turn lead to our recollection of the
gods. These divine symbols are the gods’ ‘energia’, their activity, and
through sacrifice we begin to participate [in] that activity. (Kupperman, 2014, Kindle Loc.4645-4647).
That’s why I am skeptical of Shaw’s notion that theurgy focuses
on a positive investment of worldly particulars. Also in Iamblichus’s
method, the sacrifice to the gods would mean a relative abandonment of
worldly and conscious life. The sunthêmata are “anagogic”, that is, they
lead the soul upward to the ideal realm, away from worldliness. The
sunthêmata are key to the Platonic ‘anamnêsis’ of the noetic Forms.
According to Iamblichus, the central function of invocation is not to
bring the gods down to us, but to raise us to the gods. Sunthêmata and
sumbola also play an important role in the method of imagination.
(However, Kupperman points out that the contemplative method is retained
in Proclus, who is a follower of Iamblichus.) Shaw says:
In theurgy, anything that received the god and mediated its presence
functioned as a sacred receptacle whether it was a stone, a plant, a
smell, or a song. All functioned as hulê with respect to the divine
agent which they received and revealed. Thus even a “vision” that
mediated the presence of a god was a kind of hulê. (Shaw, 1995,
p.50)
According to Iamblichus, the advent of daimons “drags the soul down to the realm of nature” (“De Mysteriis”, II.6, Clarke, 2003, p.99). So they were regarded as powers that defiled the
soul by tying it to matter. There was only one way of freeing the soul
of their influence, namely by fulfilling the demands of the theurgic
rite. In this way the soul could begin to share in the continuity that
extended from the gods to matter. When it was gradually freed from the
bonds of generation, the soul could begin its ascent and participate in
the fundamental unity of the cosmos (ibid. pp.40-41). Shaw says:
[This] same impulse, leading souls into bodies through daimonic urges,
could be rerouted and transformed by theurgic rites. Theurgy limited and
redirected the soul’s daimonic attractions, transforming these
intermediary beings into the soul’s receptacle of salvation. (Shaw, 1995, p.46)
In view of theurgy, it is possible to reinterpret the Jungian method of
active imagination. Contrary to Jung’s argument, it appears that active
imagination is not very effective as a method of integration, because it
is not an adequate means of solving our personal problems. Personal
analysis and dream analysis remain the preferred methods. Nor is active
imagination of much help on the path of worldly development. The
conclusion is that active imagination must be characterized as
anagogic rather than
genagogic, using Platonic terms. It means that
it is effective as a spiritual method (which might have great
therapeutic potential, as such).
In Neoplatonic terms, not all archetypes are of the descending type. The
ascending archetype may be invoked in theurgic imagination, but cannot
be subjected to conscious integration. The Mercurius is preeminent among
ascending deities. If this Neoplatonic concept is correct, then active
imagination is better understood as a theurgic method, i.e. a method
that lifts the soul upward to a blessed form of unconsciousness and
union with the divine.
Individuation
From this perspective, the realization of the Self takes on a different
meaning, namely that of unity and simpleness, remote from the ideal of
an embodied individuality. Such a notion of Self is not
self-contradictory. However, the same cannot be said of the Jungian
notion of individuation, which is supposed to lead to unity and
wholeness. In fact, individuation leads to separateness, differentiation
and multiplicity. It gives rise to painful inner tension as well as
social tension. The spiritual Self, as it takes the soul in another
direction, serves to compensate separateness and multiplicity.
Theurgy must principally be understood in terms of complementation. The
process does not work exclusively according to the paradigm of
psychological assimilation, because there are ascending gods, too. It is
likely that Iamblichus came into contact with Hermeticism. We know that
he drew on the same source as alchemical tradition, namely Egyptian
religious and magic ceremonial. When Iamblichus aims to create the starry vehicle
of the soul, he has the same goal in mind as the medieval alchemists,
who wanted to create the glorified body (resurrection body) in advance. Like the alchemists,
he claimed that just about anything may function as raw material
(receptacle) for the process. The ‘materia prima’ can be found right
outside your doorstep.
In the Gnostic concept of dualism, the worldly demiurge is antagonistic
to the will of the Supreme Being. In Plotinus’s theology, the demiurge
is not antagonistic, but remains secondary to ‘the One’ as the second
hypostasis. Iamblichus came into conflict with Porphyry over this,
because he argued that ‘the One’ and the demiurge are conjoined in a
mystical process of
henôsis — a conjunction of opposites.
The view of God as a multiplicity invoking worldly profusion is
surprisingly close to the Gnostic concept of the demiurge. This view is
strengthened by Iamblichus’s postulate of “the One of the soul”, which
functions as the helmsman during life’s journey. It is a similar concept
as the Gnostic demiurge, who forces his “laws” upon us from within the
human soul. Kupperman says:
Iamblichus likens the One of the soul, the soul’s principle of unity
and Intellect, to a ship’s helmsman, superior to the Phaedrus’
charioteer. The helmsman controls the ship and sets its course, even if
wind and other factors influence ship’s response to the helmsman’s
command. Just as the ship has movements proper to it when controlled by
the helmsman, so the helmsman, the One of the soul, has activities
proper to it when separate from its ship. These include divine
possession, immaterial thinking, and union with the divine. (Kupperman, 2014, Kindle Loc. 4055-4061)
Iamblichus also says of the shape of the “soul’s vehicle”, that it is “spherical, which is both itself one and capable of containing multiplicity, which indeed makes it truly divine, in that while not departing from its oneness it dominates all the multiple” (“Iamblichi Chalcidensis”, Fr.49, Dillon, 1973, p.155).
This is in radical disagreement with the Gnostic ideal. The Gnostics would say that the
demiurge has taken possession of the human soul as a psychic
complexio oppositorum.
Individuation (understood as the fall of the soul into worldly
multiplicity) differentiates the soul and gives rise to
diversity — a
process that furthers the growth of personal identity. Paradoxically,
the otherness being created is a form of
“oneness” — the
Self — which abides
as the goal of personality. Jung appropriates Cusanus’s definition of
God as his own definition of Self:
The Self is made manifest in the opposites and in the conflict between
them; it is a ‘coincidentia oppositorum’. Hence the way to the self
begins with conflict (Jung, CW 12:259) . . . The self, as a symbol of
wholeness, is a coincidentia oppositorum, and therefore contains light
and darkness simultaneously (Jung, CW 5:576)
Iamblichus created a radical monotheism out of the original partitioned
god image. The Jungian Self, which is a this-worldly model of
personality, is a reified version of the ambivalent deity. Yet, in the
view of the Gnostics the demiurge is an impostor and usurper who insists
that he is the only
God — there is no God above him! The conceitedness of
the demiurge is a recurrent theme in Gnostic mythology.
The Jungian notion of Self is enigmatic. Supposedly, the
differentiation of personality leads to wholeness in the form of a
higher oneness. In fact, differentiation means to “differ”, to
stand out from group consciousness as a distinct individual, as a
particular. Only the people who dare to be different may become true
individuals; who develop their valuable peculiarities and stand up for
themselves. In this way they fulfil the demands of individuation.
By example, one cannot differentiate one’s poetic vein to a level of
excellence while devoting equally much attention to mathematical logic,
since these are competing sides of personality that exclude each other.
Individuals are quite different and sometimes irreconcilable. It is not
possible to forge a complete personality, at least not at a particular
point in time. Thus, if a person acquires excellence in some respect,
then he is likely inferior in some other respect.
The Self as a
complexio oppositorum is a questionable ideal, an
illusion forged to give the impression that wholeness and fullness can
be achieved within the confines of the material world, forged by the demiurge. Proclus, although
remaining true to Iamblichus’s doctrine of theurgy, reverted to
Plotinus’s and Porphyry’s view of the divine. I think that this step
must be taken by Jungians, too, with respect to the “conglomerative
Self”.
Jung wants to have us believe that the alchemical Mercurius is a
complexio oppositorum, representing the one and only Self. He says
that Mercurius “consists of the most extreme opposites” (Jung, CW 13:269). But
the Mercurius is really an aspect of the Pleroma fallen into
materiality, who longs to be freed from his prison in order to reunite
with the Most High.
This process, which leads “upwards”, is a different process than
psychology’s method of worldly integration, which is the way of the
demiurge. As soon as we have taken care of our own “demons”, archetypal
projections may be utilized for the purpose of complementation, which
represents the path of ascension. Projections do not only serve the
purpose of integration, representing the downward path into further
differentiation and earthly generation. However, it is not necessary to
take the Gnostic view that the temporal realm is altogether evil.
Coincidentia Oppositorum
Nicolaus Cusanus (1401–1464 AD) introduced to medieval philosophy the Neoplatonic conception of God as a
coincidentia oppositorum. On the surface, it seems that Cusanus approves of the Iamblichean notion of a Godhead partaking in multiplicity of being.
In fact, Cusanus denies that God harbours diversity:
So although on the basis of one form we ascribe to Him moving and on
the basis of another form we ascribe to Him remaining-at-rest,
nevertheless because He is Absolute Form in which all otherness is
oneness and all diversity is identity, there cannot be in Him a
diversity of forms; for this diversity, as we conceive it, is not
identity itself. (“De Visione Dei”, ch.3, Hopkins, 1988)
Jasper Hopkins explains Cusanus’s notion of ‘coincidentia
oppositorum’:
In God opposites coincide, and, yet, God is beyond the coincidence of
opposites. ‘That in God opposites coincide’ is Nicholas’s way of saying
that God is altogether undifferentiated. Although He can admissibly be
symbolized as Being itself and as Oneness itself, there is in Him no
distinction between Being and Not-being, between Oneness and
Not-oneness. Likewise, He is not ‘a’ being, since all beings are finite
and differentiated; nor does He have — in and of Himself — a plurality of
attributes. ‘That God is beyond the coincidence of opposites’ is
Nicholas’s way of saying that no finite mind can comprehend God, since
finite minds cannot conceive of what it is like for God to be altogether
undifferentiated […]
So the claim that in God opposites coincide is not incompatible with the
claim that God is beyond the coincidence of opposites. For God, as
undifferentiated Being itself, just is ineffably beyond all
comprehension. (Hopkins, 2011)
Hopkins clarifies Cusanus’s standpoint in “De Docta Ignorantia”,
according to which God both
enfolds all things and that in God
contradictories
coincide:
The world can be said only to be enfolded in God’s power, from which it
is unfolded in the act of creation. Although Nicholas refers to God as
the Enfolding of all things, he never calls Him the Coincidence of all
things. Rather, he says that in the Divine Enfolding all things coincide
without difference (De Coniecturis II, 1 (78)). (ibid.)
The way in which opposites are “enfolded” in God would mean that they
have cancelled each other out. Opposites such as plus and minus, warm
and cold, blue and orange, have become nought. In modern physics exists a corresponding notion. Virtual particle pairs (a particle and an anti-particle of any type) are continually created everywhere in space. It can occur since their sum energy is zero. However, the particles are soon annihilated in a collision.
In Cusanus’s terms, the particles are always “unfolding” and “enfolding”. According to a cosmological theory known as the “zero-energy universe”, the total amount of energy in the universe is exactly zero. ‘Creatio ex nihilo’ can occur because the amount of positive energy in the form of matter is exactly cancelled out by negative energy in the form of gravity. In view of modern physics, it seems that opposites can unfold and enfold according to preordained laws. Although this only concerns the material universe, it accords with the relation of opposites following Cusanus:
[God] is of every form and of no form, alike; He is completely
ineffable; in all things He is all things, in nothing He is nothing, and
in Him all things and nothing are Himself… (“De Possest”, 74, ibid.)
Cusanus is reasoning in terms of Plotinus and his notion of the
transcendent ‘the One’ (
to hen), which contains no division,
multiplicity or distinction, and which is beyond all categories,
including being and non-being.
However, in Jung’s reading, coincidentia oppositorum acquires a
different meaning. Jung equates the concept with ‘complexio
oppositorum’, which means a complex of opposites (i.e. a conglomerate of
opposites where opposites exist in a state of tension, always at risk of
flying apart). Accordingly, he explains that “[the] Self is made manifest in the opposites and in the conflict between
them; it is a ‘coincidentia oppositorum’ ” (Jung, CW 12:259). Jung repeatedly attributes the term complexio
oppositorum to Cusanus. He asserts that complexio oppositorum is “a
definition of God in Nicholas of Cusa” (Jung, CW 9ii:355n). However, the notion of complexio oppositorum does not occur in Cusanus (cf. Henderson, 2010).
Although Cusanus isn’t exactly crystal clear, it is safe to say that
Jung’s notion of Self as a complexio oppositorum lacks support in
Cusanus’s notion of coincidentia oppositorum. In fact, Cusanus’s God
image is void of opposites, because they are “enfolded”. Jung’s ideal of
development is to integrate the opposites in order to contain them and
try and tolerate the tension that life generates. With a continued descent
new opposites are unearthed that one must resolve to integrate. As a
consequence the individual will more and more approximate the Self as a
complexio oppositorum.
Jung gives a truthful picture of the process, since tension is always generated when the individual breaks away from the collective. It is a painful process that leads to existential loneliness. Life itself poses moral problems that unconscious men never need to contend with. My
concern is that the ideal is one-sided, because it speaks of
individuation merely as conscious expansion and descent into temporal
generation. Jung has discarded Cusanus’s transcendental ideal of development, according to the Christian Neoplatonist goal of achieving
henosis
(‘unio mystica’). It is the time-honoured spiritual ideal, according to
which the spiritual pilgrim must climb the heavenly ladder to achieve
union with the Godhead, which is formless and simple.
In Jungian psychology the “conglomerative Self” rules the roost. It
reminds me of the fraudulent Gnostic demiurge who claims that he is the
supreme deity, and that there is no God above him. In fact, there are
two ideals of Self, or two sides of Self, one descending and one
ascending. Yet, as Heraclitus says,
“The road up and the road down are the same thing” (Hippolytus, “Refutations”).
I have proposed that Jung’s ‘Self of immanence’ be
complemented with a ‘Self of transcendence’ (cf. Winther, 2011b,
here)
In Neoplatonism, the demiurge is the second hypostasis that harbours all
the Forms. In Gnosticism, where the demiurge is regarded negatively, he
is typically further removed from the Supreme Being in the metaphysical
scheme. The Christian Trinity is probably derived from the Neoplatonic
three hypostases. The Father could be thought of as ‘the One’. As it is
wholly ineffable it cannot easily function as ideal and goal of
personality. It could be the motive behind Iamblichus’s reformed view of
‘the One’, according to which it is no longer beyond multiplicity of
being. It would allow for a psychic correspondence in the form of the
One of the soul.
If the Father represents transcendence, there are two persons in the
Christian Godhead who stand in relation to mankind. The one is the
Christ, representing the heroic principle; the other is the Holy Spirit,
representing the daimonic principle. The Holy Spirit
descends upon
people invoking enlightenment, as in the Pentecostal miracle. The
daimonic quality of the Holy Spirit is evident from the fact that his
presence could also mean danger. Jesus says: “And everyone who speaks a
word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but anyone who blasphemes
against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven” (Luke 12:10). Jung says:
The psychological relationship between man and the trinitarian life
process is illustrated first by the human nature of Christ, and second
by the descent of the Holy Ghost and his indwelling in man, as predicted
and promised by the Christian message. The life of Christ is on the one
hand only a short, historical interlude for proclaiming the message, but
on the other hand it is an exemplary demonstration of the psychic
experiences connected with God’s manifestation of himself (or the
realization of the self). The important thing for man is […] what
happens afterwards: the seizure of the individual by the Holy Ghost.
(Jung, CW 11: para.234)
The Holy Spirit stands for the conscious assimilation of the divine. That’s why
Jung takes the view that the third person of the Godhead represents a
more advanced stage, compared with those of the Father and the Son,
which are preliminary.
In fact, the spirituality of the Son is equally important. While mankind
is blessed with grace through the descent of Holy Spirit, the Son lies
embedded in materiality. With the aid of spiritually enlightened
humanity he makes his way back to the heavenly
realm — a movement
representing the redemption of God. The indwelling spirit is the Son of
the Philosophers who the alchemists are working to redeem. Jung’s
favourite author was Gerhard Dorn (c. 1530–1584), who must have represented an enigma
to Jung. Wikipedia says:
What was needed, [Dorn] asserted, was a mystical and spiritual
“philosophy of love” — his radical theology claimed that it was God, not
man who was in need of Redemption and he defined the alchemical opus as
a labor which redeemed not man but God, a proposal which came perilously
close to being heretical in the eyes of Christian orthodoxy. (Wiki, ‘Gerhard Dorn’)
Dorn wrote about the ascending spiritual principle of the Son, according
to which archetypal projections shall not be integrated but
complemented. The Son of God leads us in the other direction, toward
apotheosis and union with God in the presence of divine love. Dorn explained that the alchemical ‘coniunctio’ consisted in the union of the total man with the
unus mundus (‘one world’). This is either the Nous or ‘the One’ of Neoplatonism. It is
clear that Jung overestimated the path of integration. He underestimated
or misinterpreted the message of Dorn and Cusanus.
The enantiodromia into unconsciousness
Jung pictures the Self as a consonance of opposites, which he calls a ‘complexio
oppositorum’. The kaleidoscopic Self becomes manifest all the while the many warring elements
are conciliated. But how is this possible? After all, conscious assimilation should not add to inner tension; it resolves conflict and gives rise to a new harmonious whole. On the surface, it seems a self-contradictory notion that the manifestation of the Self depends on a conflict between opposites. After all, a complexio oppositorum of consciousness implies that parts have come together in harmony, as in a machine or a molecule. By example, when two hydrogen atoms and an oxygen atom are combined, water is created, which brings into existence new and peculiar qualities. (On the other hand, as long as complexes remain unconscious they will give rise to tension.) However, what Jung has in mind is really a harmonious relation between conscious and unconscious, shaped through conflict:
The goal is important only as an idea; the essential thing is the opus which leads to the goal: that is the goal of a lifetime. In its attainment “left and right” are united, and conscious and unconscious work in harmony. (Jung, CW 16:200)
Jung exemplifies with the ‘coniunctio oppositorum’ of Sol and Luna in alchemy. Conscious and unconscious are “integrated” as in a marriage between man and woman, where the two become one, yet remain relatively independent as persons. Thus, integration takes the meaning of “cooperative effort”. At first blush it sounds very good, because it rings of time-honoured Taoist philosophy. Aniela Jaffé (1984) gives an excellent résumé of this Jungian concept:
Modern man, with his incomparably more differentiated consciousness, has lost touch with nature both without and within, with his psychic images and therefore with meaning. He is one-sided, and he goes on developing one-sidedly along the path of intellectual differentiation. The primitive child of nature, who yet dwells within him, was repressed, consequently it degenerated and from time to time goes berserk and turns him into a pitiless barbarian. Contact with the unconscious, which heals and makes whole, restores the connection with his origin, with the source of psychic images. This is not a reversion to barbarism, but regeneration through a renewed and conscious relationship with a living spirit buried in the unconscious. Every step forward on the way to individuation is at the same time a step backwards into the past, into the mysteries of one’s own nature.
When Jung, in his eighties, was discussing at his house the process of becoming conscious with a group of young psychiatrists from America, England and Switzerland, he ended with the surprising words: “And then you have to learn to become decently unconscious.” This was not a disavowal of his own work, nor a depreciation of consciousness, but a hint that every attempt at greater consciousness is followed, or should be followed, by an enantiodromia into unconsciousness. Yet unconsciousness at the end of the process is of a different kind from the unconsciousness at its beginning, just as a mountain seen from the valley looks different after one has climbed it. With this “unconsciousness of consciousness” scientific observation reaches its bourn. It is the beginning of the way — no longer definable by the intellect — to meaning and wisdom. Those who have experienced the archetype of meaning, or have created a myth of meaning or made it their own, need no longer interpret. They know: “It is”. The ephemeral surface of life is no longer a veil hiding the transcendental reality, for both worlds now coalesce in a meaningful unity. Then the meaning of the wind is simply the wind, of love, love, of life, life. What at the beginning of the way was sheer unconsciousness and emptiness, or appeared commonplace, now contains the secret of simplicity in which the opposites are united.
When one does “the next and most necessary thing without fuss and with conviction, one is always doing something meaningful and intended by fate”. So Jung once described simplicity in daily life. “But simple things are always the most difficult” is the corollary that recurs in many places in his work. Simplicity is a great art, because it is in constant danger of being wrecked in collision with the world or by unconsciousness, but it remains a goal. It brings that original, transcendental wholeness of the self into reality once its opposites become conscious and its multitudinous aspects are made one again. (Jaffé, 1984, pp.149-50)
Key to the notion is that “[every] step forward on the way to individuation is at the same time a step backwards into the past, into the mysteries of one’s own nature” (ibid.) So this is simultaneous ascent and descent, which is also how Gregory Shaw understands Iamblichus. (Iamblichus was motivated by his wish to bring Neoplatonism to the people, which explains his focus on pagan ritual.)
Thus, the “enantiodromia into unconsciousness” is not nearly as radical as the ‘mors voluntaria’ of the Christian mystics or the ‘anabasis’ of the Neoplatonics. Supposedly, we can strive after spiritual wholeness while being caught up in worldly life. In my view, this is not possible other than as an expression of the religious function. It is really a religious concept with pagan undertones.
As a matter of fact, worldly achievement demands a conscious effort that will frustrate our attempts at attaining a consummate inner life. It’s like playing a game of chess; you need to focus on what you do. There is not much time for “the mysteries of one’s own nature”. Instead, we tend to become engulfed by our day-to-day tasks; daily necessities that demand much of our energy. It is necessary to focus on our worldly doings, because we must produce quality and get things right. In the social situation at the workplace, etc., we are required to be consciously alert. Due to the prevalence of immature people, including narcissists and psychopaths, we are always at risk of being downtrodden. It is proper to have a passionate focus in outer life, since it functions as a solution to the notorious
puer æternus problem (‘eternal youth’; cf. Winther, 2015,
here).
It’s evident that outer life takes a toll. The unconscious will respond by producing dreams that relate to the worldly situation. The central function of both body and psyche is to restore harmony and balance. In full analogy with the self-healing capacity of the body, there is an autonomous psychic function of self-healing. In Poul Bjerre’s terminology it is called ‘assimilation’, which is biologically based as it improves our survival value.
It is a well-known fact of psychology that the ego has a devouring quality. The synthetic function of consciousness causes the ego to identify with unconscious content. Thus, it is an implausible idea that the strong ego consciousness is capable of standing in permanent relation to the unconscious as in a marriage between man and woman. Rather, in order to leave room for the unconscious, both ego consciousness and earthly life must be radically restrained, in keeping with spiritual tradition. The enantiodromia into unconsciousness requires “total commitment”, which is regarded the best cure for the puer æternus syndrome.
The notion of a simultaneous ascent and descent is an earmark of Neo-Paganism. It results in neither one thing nor the other (the meat is “neither chopped nor
minced” — Swedish idiom). In preference, we should do things properly,
either in outer life
or in inner life. Arguably, by extending the notion of integration, Jungian psychology has created a fertile ground for the puer æternus syndrome. Paradoxically, integration represents the encompassment of active conflictive opposites during the ongoing manifestation of the Self. Yet, to the advanced consciousness, this is not possible to achieve. Psychic contents will either become integrated into a harmonious whole or be thrown out. In order to encompass conflictive opposites the ego must view reality in a dim light. It means that personality will neither take root in the one nor the other, but keep floating through air like a balloon. This is the puer æternus.
Neuroses represent inadequate solutions to life’s problems. I theorize that the puer syndrome could function as a means of self-healing, in which case personality does not necessarily exhibit the typical neurotic symptoms. It might be the proper interim solution for people who, due to illness or other detriments, are unable to take root in life. In that case, the puer æternus would function as a healer. After all, it is a blissful experience to be carried by an archetype through life for a time. For natural reasons, it is the prerogative of youth.
Descending and ascending gods
Iamblichus’s partition of the gods into heroic-ascending and daimonic-descending has something to do with the development of consciousness and morality. Unlike Alexander the Great, who worshipped Dionysos, a modern consciousness is disinclined to see the incarnating and the resurrecting deity as one and the same. After all, Jesus never really incarnates but is born directly from the material principle. Satan’s journey, on the other hand, is paradigmatic of incarnation. He fell from heaven “like lightning”, in the words of Jesus. Yet, in order for the divine principle to begin its upward journey, it first requires that it goes through a downward movement of incarnation.
In the Christian conception of mysticism, personal development is associated with an upward journey of apotheosis in the imitation of Christ. Against this, Jungian individuation puts the demand on the individual to expand his horizons. Conscious improvement is very central, which involves the integration of the unconscious.
Albert Einstein, true to the Western ideal of conscious expansion, said that “intellectual growth should commence at birth and cease only at death.” Against this, I have argued that there is too strong focus on the “incarnation” of the
archetype — individuation must at some point cease and an upward movement commence.
The notion of two categories of archetypes is interesting, since we can observe both movements, up and down, in fairytales. Yet, the Dummling type of hero moves both down and up, and so does Dionysos. This notion is much older; an uncensored and naïve product of the unconscious that allows us to see the whole truth about the journey of the god. In this conception, the divinity is not divided in two, e.g., a descending Lucifer and an ascending Christ.
Dionysos is such a dying and resurrecting god of archaic origin. The Titans tricked him into seeing his own mirror image, which precipitated his fall. They tore him apart, and something of his divine substance still lies scattered in the world together with the ashes of the Titans, which is matter per se. But the goddess Rhea gathered his remains and restored him to life (this is similar to Osiris being restored to life by Isis).
Dionysos’s self-mirroring represents the fall of a god into
physis, when he becomes projected onto matter. It also represents dismemberment. It is a myth with a Gnostic hue, because of the way in which he achieves rebirth. His restitution means that he leaves behind the sublunar and conscious realm, in which his body was once scattered. This is similar to the redemption of Sophia or the alchemical Mercurius. One gets the impression that the archetype, in its fall, experiences a longing for consciousness. The theme also occurs in the tale of Narcissus (cf. Winther, 2011a,
here.)
Consciousness has a function similar to gravity; it pulls down the archetype from its ethereal and unconscious existence. In myth, the daylight world of consciousness is symbolized by the reflective surface of a lake or a mirror, which generates self-awareness through conscious “reflection”. In fairytales it is sometimes depicted as “the glass mountain”, in which creatures of the unconscious get stuck. Conscious constellation coincides with a downward movement of archetypes. Conscious advancement is central to the process of individuation. We simply cannot live according to instinct anymore, but are always thinking about what we’re doing. We question if something is meaningful, and formulate conscious motives.
Dionysos falls into materiality, but he also resurrects. It is evident that his movement goes in both directions. However, in the Christian conception there is a partition of the Godhead: the descending deity goes under the name of Satan (or Lucifer, etc.) whereas the ascending deity is known as the Christ. Satan is daimonic whereas the Christ is heroic. The redemptive work of the Christ consists in his ascent. Thereby he makes restitution for the great bereavement of the Godhead caused by the fall of
Satan — the most brightly shining star in the divine assembly.
The divison between light and dark, transcendence and immanence, was not as pronounced in Greek religion as in the Hebrew conception. Nevertheless, Lucifer and Prometheus belong to the same archetype, although they are valued differently. Lucifer means ‘bringer of dawn’ or ‘bringer of light’. Prometheus, who stole the fire and brought it to mankind, is the corresponding god in Greek mythology.
Dionysos, in a sense, is Christ and Lucifer in one person. Since it carries a great deal of archetypal vitality, this view of the divine resurged in medieval times, hidden in the abstruse symbolism of alchemy. The Mercurius is “duplex” and he is ambivalent. During the repeated process of “circular distillation” the spirit Mercurius is drawn out of matter. He will ascend and become wholly spiritual. Central to the notion is that the artifex is responsible for the redemptive work. Dionysos’s oeuvre is circular, too. However, in his case a goddess is responsible for his redemption, which means that the process is largely autonomous.
The fall of Dionysos is a world-creating event, but it also means the augmentation of the conscious light in humanity, leading to a new cultural epoch. The fall of Prometheus brought light to humanity, too. It is similar to the Enochian theme. In the Book of Enoch the angelic fall contributed to an enormous conscious increase in humanity, because the angels “pointed out to them every secret of their wisdom” (Enoch 68:10). Humankind acquired knowledge of many things, such as literacy and metalworking. But it also led to temptations, power-madness and the spread of iniquity.
Dionysos is an ambivalent god, associated with madness and ecstasy. Arguably, it is his ambivalent nature that modern people came to experience as immoral, which is why they instead turned to a god that only points upwards, namely the Christ. The descending god was rejected as evil. Yet, Jesus is not as light as he has been painted by theology, nor is Satan as dark.
Dionysos is the god of wine, ritual madness, and fertility, who induces frenzy. The breaking of the moral chains was essential in the Dionysian cult. Self-transcendence was achieved by removing all inhibitions, including our self-conscious fears. It is similar to the Gnostic sects whose goal was to subvert the oppressive restraints of the natural moral laws that were imposed on us by the demiurge. When all the chains that keep us bound to the worldly realm are broken, salvation is achieved. Richard Seaford explains that the dissolution of the boundaries of individual identity was central to the cult. Dionysos is especially given to epiphanies:
The abnormal mental states that occurred in Dionysiac cult are comparable to those that still occur today, in various cultures, in possession cults such as the candomblé in Brazil or the Hausa bori. Typical manifestations of possession trance that occurred also in Dionysiac cult are trembling, foaming at the mouth, distorted eyes, insensitivity to pain, falling to the ground, imagined death, amnesia, bodily movements such as the arched back with head flung back, and the vital role of music and dance. Moreover, inasmuch as possession trance involves a change of identity, it often takes the form of initiation, which brings the initiate into a relation with a spirit or god that can subsequently be renewed and negotiated and that is a cure. There are enough similarities between possession cult in general and the fragmentary evidence for Dionysiac cult to mean that the latter can be cautiously illuminated by the former. This applies in particular to some remarks by Plato.
Plato notes that mothers calm their babies not by stillness but by rocking and a kind of singing, and compares this, as a cure, to the effect of dance and song on those who are ‘out of their mind’ in a Dionysiac frenzy. In both cases the state to be remedied is a kind of fear, which is by external motion transformed into peace (galênê ) and calm (hêsuchia ) in the soul (Laws 790e). (Seaford, 2006, pp.105-106)
The transgression of a boundary seems to be an essential aspect of the mysteries of initiation. Overstepping a limit means that the initiand is being “immoral” in some sense of the word. So, according to these beliefs, manhood proper could only be achieved by going through a form of initiation. Otherwise the individual would remain a puer æternus, who is bound to make transgressions in a neurotic way, which means that the “criminal acts” depend on a compulsive force deriving from the unconscious.
Indeed, this all is very “immoral” according to a Christian consciousness. In our modern evaluation, the Mosaic law and our natural moral inhibitions aren’t regarded as evil. Probably the notion of spiritual emancipation, which is the central maxim of the Dionysian cult, came to be regarded as both sinful and deleterious to society.
The cultic practice was designed to breach the natural order, but also to demote the authorities of society and to reduce our feeling of respect for them. Wikipedia says:
Dionysus is represented by city religions as the protector of those who do not belong to conventional society and thus symbolizes everything which is chaotic, dangerous and unexpected, everything which escapes human reason and which can only be attributed to the unforeseeable action of the gods.
If Dionysos is the underminer of “societal order”, how can he be the benefactor of mankind? The notion of breaking the natural law is found also in primitive ritual. The Hottentot initiands practiced ‘spermepotation’ (ingestion of semen), similar to the Gnostic Phibionite ritual. The young initiands then proceeded to have sexual intercourse with their mothers. In this way, the breaching of the Oedipal taboo served an emancipative purpose, as the son passes the incest barrier to the stage of manhood. Initiation also took expression as self-laceration, the knocking out of teeth, etc. Roman followers of Cybele practiced ritual self-castration (sanguinaria). Thus, they stood aside from the natural order of things, created by the demiurge.
The emergence of individuality necessitates the breaking of bonds, because personality must slough off collective identity. That’s why Jesus in his own time was regarded a politically incorrect thinker, because he was invoking the power of the individual. (Jesus’s nature is contradistinctive to the theological Christ.) It is the power of the heart that counts, and not so much the principles of commonality, such as religious laws. Much in the same way, Dionysos was the god of the misfits and outcasts, who served to personify political incorrectness. These were the first
individuals — people like Diogenes the Cynic who lived in a big clay jar. He laughed at the aristocrats and is said to have walked around Corinth with a lit lamp in daytime, looking for “a human being” (“I am looking for an honest man”). So he was looking for an individual.
© Mats Winther, 2015.
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