Authors: Frank Tallis
Thus began Jung’s visionary journeys into his own unconscious. From this time onwards it seems that the barrier separating imagination and reality collapsed. To describe his experiences, Jung abandons the language of science and adopts a poetic, lyrical vocabulary, much closer in spirit to De Quincey than Freud.
He describes descending into ‘empty space’ and peering over the edge of a ‘cosmic abyss’. He describes travelling to other worlds and speaking to mythical and biblical characters. And he describes his house being invaded by spirits – fugitive projections from his own unconscious.
Among the many exotic personifications that Jung encountered was Philemon, an ancient winged spirit who was particularly vivid: ‘At times he seemed to me quite real, as if he were a living personality. I went walking up and down the garden with him, and to me he was what the indians call a guru.’
When Jung finally regained his mental stability he reflected on his bizarre experiences and concluded that, by yielding to the unconscious, he had allowed his mind to heal itself. Different parts of his psyche normally denied expression had been allowed to vent their energies. After fragmenting, his mind had reconstituted itself in a more integrated and stable form. Thus, he believed that he had benefited from a form of’creative illness’.
This heaiing process was accelerated through the contemplation of a potent holistic symbol – the mandala (a complex circular design used as a meditation aid by Tibetan Buddhists). Towards the end of the First World War Jung was posted at Château d’Oex, where he established a routine of sketching a mandala in his notebook every morning. He believed that these drawings corresponded closely with his inner state. Thus, he was able to monitor his gradual return to health – the slow assimilation of psychic elements into a new, balanced pattern.
Jung’s strange experiences – or, as he would have it, his ‘confrontation with the unconscious’ – had a profound impact on the conceptual framework of analytical psychology. Like psychoanalysis, analytical psychology is a system that underscores the importance of the unconscious and unconscious processes in mental life; however, compared with Freud’s unconscious, Jung’s unconscious is an altogether more exotic place. Early on in their correspondence, Freud recognised his junior’s predilection for all things mystical. He recognised that his protégé might one day stray too far off the beaten track of scientific respectability, and tactfully urged him not to stay in the ‘tropics’ for too long. But such advice was wasted on Jung. He had always been – and always would be – fascinated by the paranormal and occult phenomena. Once he had escaped from Freud’s influence, it was inevitable that his concept of the unconscious would develop in a more esoteric direction.
Jung proposed three divisions of awareness:
conscious, personal unconscious,
and
collective unconscious.
The conscious mind is much the same as Freud described it. The personal unconscious is similar to Freud’s unconscious, but differs with respect to some minor, technical details (for example, Jung emphasises the presence of neglected as well as repressed memories). The collective unconscious is Jung’s principal modification to the Freudian system. It is the unconscious of the entire species – past and present; however, the collective unconscious also contains racially distinct subdivisions, which can be thought of as a kind of’folk library’ where important cultural symbols are preserved.
The structure of Jung’s system is made clearer by use of a simple analogy – the archipelago. Human minds are like individual islands in a chain of islands, and the surface of the sea is like the threshold of consciousness. Below the sea, each island is supported by a unique rock formation. This corresponds with the personal unconscious. Further down, these individual columns of rock join together – they share a common part of the seabed. The level at which local islands join is equivalent to what Jung called the racial unconscious; a storehouse of ancient memories associated with specific ethnic groups (for example Mongolian or Aryan). Descending further, a point is reached where all islands and land masses join. This, the deepest level, corresponds with the collective unconscious.
Jung began to entertain the notion of a collective unconscious while working with patients suffering from schizophrenia. He noticed that, although their personal histories differed, their delusions and hallucinations often shared common themes. Jung also noted certain parallels between the delusions and hallucinations of psychotic patients and the ideas and imagery found in religions and myths. Such observations acquired much greater significance to Jung after his illness, during which he encountered personification of biblical characters and Aryan folk-heroes.
Although the collective unconscious is routinely cited as Jung’s most significant contribution to psychology, the thinking behind it was neither unique nor original. The collective unconscious corresponds closely with the old romantic notion of a universal unconscious – an idea that was explored in some detail by a whole generation of poets, philosophers, and artists. Moreover, Freud had flirted with a similar concept for many years before finally committing himself by writing
Totem and Taboo.
In
Memories, Dreams, Reflections
Jung grudgingly acknowledges Freud’s priority in a terse footnote: ‘Freud speaks of “archaic vestiges’”, however, Jung also stresses that Freud’s concept of a cultural memory is very different from his own. Whereas Freud’s archaic vestiges are like fossilised remnants – dry, dusty, and dead – Jung’s archaic vestiges are very much alive. For Jung, the contents of the collective unconscious are a critical influence on psychological maturation and functioning.
Romantic philosophers had already posited the existence of primordial images in the universal unconscious, and suggested that these might emerge in dreams and other altered states. Jung developed this idea within his own theoretical framework and attempted to establish a typology of mythological motifs. He called them
archetypes.
Jung’s significant contribution, therefore, was not discovering the collective unconscious, but rather classifying its contents and then suggesting how those contents might influence mental life.
Defining an archetype is not easy. The concept is semi-mystical and subsequently resistant to precise definition. Nevertheless, Jung suggested that archetypes are best construed as psychic ‘deposits’ – the residua of humanity’s repeated encounters with similar experiences, situations, and narratives.
The motion of the sun serves as a particularly good example of a recurring, ubiquitous phenomenon that has clear narrative implications. Every day the sun rises, travels across the sky, and then sinks below the horizon; however, after a period of darkness, it is apparently reborn, bringing light back to the world. Jung suggested that the narrative structure of the solar cycle has acted as a template, facilitating the emergence of countless sun-hero myths. The theme of descent into the underworld, followed by a heroic return, can be found in folklore the world over. This theme emerges not only in obvious literary sources, such as the legends of ancient Greece and Rome, but also in holy books such as the Bible (for example, the death and resurrection of Christ). The sun-hero myth was of course even re-enacted by Freud and Jung, whose periods of self-analysis involved descent into the unconscious followed by a triumphant return.
The sun-hero archetype, although very simple, is a somewhat abstract example. It resembles a principle. Other archetypes, however, are more concrete and exist as personifications – figures that emerge in fantasies, dreams, and visions. When they appear, they tend to arouse feelings of a spiritual or mystical nature.
The spirit-being Philemon (with whom Jung frequently communicated during his illness) is a good example of an archetypal personification. The sage, or guru figure, is a stock image in mythical narratives. Jung believed that such figures share a common origin – the archetype of the
wise old man.
When they appear in dreams or visions, beings like Philemon typically impart knowledge or instruction. They are the means by which the wisdom of the collective unconscious is directed into awareness.
If the manifestations of the wise old man archetype embody superior insight, then the manifestations of the
shadow
archetype demonstrate a very different side of human nature. The shadow organises repressed and unacceptable tendencies – darker and more sinister preoccupations. When personified in dreams, the shadow appears as a primitive protohuman, or an unpleasant figure who arouses apprehension and fear. In myths and folktales, the shadow can manifest in a variety of demonic forms, including the devil. When individuals are overcome with primitive emotions (such as inexplicable rage or the urge to commit violence), Jung suggested this may be attributable to the shadow’s influence, it is as if they have become momentarily possessed.
Jung also described two complementary archetypes associated with gender – the
anima
(in men), and the
animus
(in women). The anima organises the feminine characteristics in men, while the animus organises the male characteristics in women. These archetypes could be thought of as ‘templates’ that shape and guide gender-related behaviour and perception. Thus, Jung suggested that men experience the influence of the anima most in situations requiring emotional sensitivity and intuition, whereas women experience the influence of the animus most in situations requiring rationality and logic.
Perhaps because Jung had more than a mere academic interest in women, he devoted more time to describing the various manifestations of the anima than the animus. He suggested that the anima most commonly finds expression in the figure of an earth-mother – a strong, benign presence symbolising nature and fertility. However, the female character has a more sinister side. This can find expression through a range of other personifications: sirens, seductresses, witches, and femmes fatales, A man’s perception of women might be profoundly influenced by the degree to which either good or evil personifications populate his unconscious.
Like Freud, Jung saw the psyche as a battle-ground, with inner conflicts having the potential to result in psychiatric disturbance. Freud limited this conflict to three agencies – ego, superego, and id – each seeking to meet its own particular needs. For Jung, however, the possibilities for internecine struggle are virtually inexhaustible.
The jungian psyche is not a unitary concept. It is more like a community of sub-personalities, each capable of coming into conflict with any other. Some sub-personalities triumph, becoming dominant, while others are defeated and denied expression. Thus, when a person becomes mentally ill, the mind is quite literally unbalanced.
jungian psychotherapy seeks to restore equilibrium. The cold logician is encouraged to trust in his or her intuitive side; the extravert learns to appreciate the benefits of meditative self-reflection; and the urban sophisticate discovers the forgotten wonder of seeing the world through the eyes of a hitherto neglected inner child. The different facets of personality are integrated into the characterological equivalent of a mandala; symmetrical, harmonious, and concordant.
Among Jung’s extensive writings on the archetypes and the unconscious is a description of a phenomenon he called inflation. Jung observed that individuals who present themselves to the world as leaders – either secular or spiritual – often over-identify with the archetype of the wise old man. When this happens, such individuals come to believe that they are special and that they are party to special knowledge. They become
inflated.
Although Jung began his career as the most scientific analyst in Freud’s circle, he slowly metamorphosed into a holy man. His works became more and more preoccupied with esotérica. He wrote on subjects such as prophetic dreams, the
I Ching, The Tibetan Book of the Dead,
and finally suggested that the archetypes might exist (independent of the mind) outside of space and time. In 1958 he suggested that UFOs were omens of an imminent change in the collective mind of humanity.
In later life Jung built himself a fairy-tale house on the shores of Lake Zurich -the location and architecture of which were symbolic, reflecting the contents of his own unconscious. It was a Jungian theme park. Contemporary photographs show a kindly old sage sitting in his garden, reading by a stone block inscribed with alchemical sayings. A modern mystic dressed not in saffron robes, but a light summer suit. Itwould be difficult to find a better example of inflation.
After the secession of Adler and Jung, many more of Freud’s followers decided to break with the Viennese Psychoanalytic Society. Most attempted to establish new schools, which showed varying degrees of fidelity to Freud’s original theoretical framework and practice methods. However, the ensuing drift away from orthodoxy was characterised by the repeated emergence of two themes: firstly, the belief that Freud had overemphasised the importance of sexuality; secondly, suspicion that Freud had perhaps overestimated the role of the unconscious.
Apart from Jung – and later, Melanie Klein – fewer and fewer theorists were willing to give the unconscious a privileged position in their revised systems. Attention shifted towards the conscious mind, and particularly the conscious mind in its social context. Influential figures like John Bowlby, Eric Berne, and R. D. Laing, wrote extensively about the role of relationships in the formation of symptoms. Moreover, existential ideas were gradually being absorbed into psychoanalysis. Inevitably, the unconscious seemed less relevant in a universe in which conscious decisions and the exercise of free will were considered the decisive determinants of an individual’s fate.
After the 1930s psychoanalysts were less concerned about the contents of the id, and more interested in ego processes. Indeed, so significant was this shift, that a new term, ‘ego analysis’, came into common usage. The unconscious was not rejected, but rather demoted. Examining the ego, and its relationship to other egos, seemed to offer an exciting way forward – fresh possibilities and the prospect of novel therapeutic advances. Thus, by the 1950s the concept of the unconscious was of crucial significance only to the most loyal devotees of Freudian or Jungian schools.