VII

VII. THE ARCHETYPE OF WHOLENESS

By Stephen Palmquist (stevepq@hkbu.edu.hk)

19. Approaching the Self

The "caterpillar" stage in our course on religion, psychology and personal growth is now complete. Jung's treatment of the shadow and anima/animus archetypes has directed our attention to the importance of progressing toward the highest goal of the individuation process, the Self. Before we can actually reach this "archetype of archetypes", however, we must enter into a third stage of the process, the stage corresponding to the caterpillar's retreat into a cocoon in order to undergo its final, miraculous transformation into an adult butterfly. This week we're going to "weave" that "cocoon" by talking about some of the other, less fundamental but more advanced archetypes Jung discovered, and how they all fit together in the Self archetype. But first I'd like to give you an opportunity to ask any questions you may have about our study of Jung's theories in Part Two.

While you're thinking of questions, I'd like to reflect for a moment on your dream diary project. In previous weeks I have devoted considerable attention to interpreting two sample entries from one of my previous dream diaries. By now each of you should have enough entries recorded in your own diary to begin some serious interpretation using the various methods introduced in Weeks III-VI. At this halfway point in our course, I'd like you to begin considering which dream you will choose as your own sample dream (see above, p.v). Few (if any) people would have enough time to work out thorough interpretations for all the dreams they have each night. Recording as many dreams as you can is useful even if you do not interpret them all; for only in this way can you become aware of the range of symbols and themes you have available for interpretation. But by choosing one dream among those you do interpret-the one you believe best represents the various themes that are coming up in your dream diary-you will be able to devote extra care to the task of developing a deep and thorough understanding of your own individuation.

In Week X I'll prepare you for completing your dream diary by saying more about how to prepare your sample dream. But for now, who would like to ask a question?

Student N. Some of your interpretations of your sample dreams seem to conflict with each other. When I prepare my own sample dream, am I allowed to give contradictory interpretations?

I'm not sure exactly which of my interpretations you're thinking of, but it's certainly true that I have not made any effort to provide you with a single, monothematic interpretation of my two sample dreams. On the contrary, I have intentionally presented a variety of interpretations, to show you that dreams have many layers of meaning. Each interpretation has been intended to illustrate one of the theories of Freud or Jung. Each is a piece of imaginative self-analysis, with an "analytic a posteriori" character (see TP 59-60). That means these interpretations cannot be regarded as logically- or scientifically-provable facts about who I am, so much as hypothetically-believable angles on a Truth about me that ultimately remains mysterious.

Don't worry too much about making your interpretations perfectly logical or self-consistent. Sometimes the soul gives us these contradictory images, or the imagination interprets the same image in different ways, as part of the process of personal growth. In Lecture 3 I explained that all these theories are, in my opinion, best viewed as stimuli for the imagination, rather than as rigid principles to be defended at all costs as absolutely true. Of course, we should avoid directly contradicting ourselves whenever possible-except when doing it intentionally as a means of gaining deeper insights through synthetic logic (see TP, Ch.10). Thus, if one part of your interpretation says your dream is telling you to work harder, while the next part says it is telling you to work less, then you should try to select one of these as being correct, dropping the other one; alternatively, you could explain how both are true by showing how a different perspective is assumed in each case. If you can't do the latter, yet both interpretations "feel" equally correct, then just state this fact and make a note that this is an unresolved tension. Your awareness of its existence could itself be a significant step in your personal growth.

Student O. Jung's claim that males are all rational and females are all emotional seems too extreme to me. Does he have any justification for this, or is it just a personal opinion?

I agree that this claim sounds odd. And it is certainly an unpopular way of thinking in an age when the feminist movement encourages us all to view males and females as entirely equal. The basis for Jung's view should become more clear when we talk about his theory of psychological types next week. There we shall see that his views on the differences between thinking and feeling are much more than just a personal opinion. They are based on years of observing thousands of people's personalities and interpreting dreams numbering into the tens of thousands.

For now I'll just make two points that should help us avoid misunderstanding Jung's view. First, there is an undeniable biological basis for the kind of difference Jung is defending: men and women have different sexual organs, with opposite functions. In order for a baby to be produced (without medical intervention), a man must insert his sperm into a woman's body so that it can implant itself into her egg. This means that on this basic level, at least, men are naturally active (i.e., they give the creative force), whereas women are naturally passive (i.e., they receive the creative force). The second point is that when Jung applies this to our psychological make-up, words like "active" and "passive" take on a purely symbolic meaning. Thinking is an active attitude in relation to feeling, as is sensation in relation to intuition. The type of sexual organ a person has therefore symbolizes certain types of psychological predisposition as well. Jung would not seriously claim that women can't think or that men can't feel; his comments about our natural tendencies must be taken as symbolic. As we'll see next week, none of the possible combinations of psychological types is limited to only one sex. Nevertheless, biology tells us that at puberty boys develop an enlargement in their throat, covering their voice boxes (i.e., the "Adam's apple"), while girls develop enlarged breasts, covering their hearts. This can be regarded as a symbolic confirmation of Jung's view, since the throat produces the words (logoi) that constitute human rationality, while the heart produces the kind of love (eros) that manifests itself as a human feeling.

Students P. I have a similar question about Jung's claim that all men want to have sexual relations with many women. I believe this is morally wrong. As a Christian, I could never accept having sexual relations with more than one woman. I'm only a young man; but I don't think I've ever even thought about this-and I hope I never do.

Did you hear that, ladies? Here's the man you've been waiting for! Seriously, the point you're making is completely valid. I'm sure there are other men taking this course who would also want nothing more than to have one faithful partner for life; and there are probably some women who would like to have many! Jung's statement needs to be regarded as a generalization, and perhaps one that is culturally determined. Christian culture, for instance, is likely to discourage a person from admitting any desire for multiple sex partners. Still, I think Jung's view has a measure of truth to it. It is a matter of historical fact that men in most (though perhaps not all) cultures are far more promiscuous (on average) than women. Once again, there seems to be a biological root for this difference. However, this does not mean that men should give in to their natural desire: if having multiple sexual partners is morally wrong, then Jung's view just means that men must work harder in order to be faithful in a love-relationship.

If your culture conflicts with Jung's culture on this (or any other) issue, then go with your culture rather than with his. For your personal unconscious is the product of your culture, and it is what determines whether a person of your gender is likely to be predisposed to focus on thinking rather than feeling, or to be naturally inclined to polygamy rather than monogamy. Some Jungians would now readily admit, for instance, that women nowadays are often so encouraged to take on traditionally masculine roles that they end up having all the characteristics of a male psyche-even to the extent of having an anima complex instead of an animus complex (see e.g., DS 20-21).

Jung's gender-based generalizations apply mainly to normal or typical people living in mid-20th-Century Europe. In addition to radically different cultures, different subcultures within the same culture are likely to produce different patterns of archetypal relations. For instance, a homosexual might be regarded as a person whose persona and anima/ animus are interchanged. Instead of having a "little woman" in the depths of his soul guiding the steps of his individuation, the male homosexual's psyche has transplanted that feminine character into the mask he shows the world (his persona). Likewise, the female homosexual wears her "animus" on the outside and allows the feminine persona, the one "normal" society expects to see, to remain submerged in her unconscious. That homosexuals are inclined to dislike members of the opposite sex and fall in love with members of the same sex suggests the orientation of their two primary archetypes has somehow been exchanged: the shadow has become an opposite sex archetype, while the unconscious "soul" projected onto prospective lovers has become a same sex archetype.

Student Q. Why did Jung focus only on these two archetypes?

He didn't. He discovered many other archetypes that we have not yet examined. In the next hour I'll provide several examples. The shadow and anima/animus are not the only archetypes in Jung's theory. Rather, they are the ones most of his patients were struggling with when they first came for therapy. Jung only developed his theory of archetypes in the second half of his life, after his break with Freud. His patients also tended to be in the second half of life: they were mostly normal (i.e., psychologically "healthy") adults who were struggling with the problem of meaninglessness. Jung found, through his empirical examination of their dreams, that the typical developmental pattern they would experience was the one I sketched last week: after clearly distinguishing between their ego and its personas, they would need to face their shadow in order to set free the "soul" that could serve as their guide on the path to a meaningful life.

Student Q. So was Jung just projecting his own life-experience onto his psychological theory?

To some extent this is undoubtedly true. Just as Freud's childhood Oedipus Complex is now often regarded as a contributing factor to his rather irrational emphasis on the sexual nature of all repression, so also Jung's extreme emphasis on the importance of the anima can be regarded as an expression of his own individuation process. But this is not necessarily a bad thing. For one of the fundamental tenets of Jungian therapy is that the analyst can guide the patient only as far as the former has progressed along his or her own path of individuation. That a psychologist's theory should reflect the details of his or her own personal growth is probably inevitable (see e.g., CPT 10 and WP 108).

Student R. If the archetypes just reflect Jung's personal experience, then how can our personal growth benefit from studying them?

I wouldn't say "just". Jung claimed to be discovering something empirical, something that is as true for you and me as it was for him. The details I was referring to before relate more to the way he (or anyone) presents his theory than to the accuracy of its claims. The same applies, for instance, to this course. In one sense I'm teaching you the ideas of Freud and Jung. But in a far more profound sense I'm teaching you my psychology. To do that requires me to show you who I am, in the hope that this will assist you in finding out who you are.

As far as the archetypes are concerned, a helpful technique for working with them is to treat them as little people inside us, with whom we dialogue. Remember, the word "archetype" refers to a personified idea-i.e., an idea symbolized in terms of a human person. These ideas are spontaneous: they have a life of their own; we do not control them. The anima or animus archetype in particular functions as a "little voice" (like the little person standing on the shoulder and whispering words of advice to the main character in some cartoons). But when interacting with this voice we must still keep in mind that ultimately it is part of us. For this reason you should not feel restricted by Jung's personal ways of experiencing the archetypes. He always encouraged each individual to learn to experience and interpret these spontaneous "sub-personalities" in his or her own unique way. No general rule should be allowed to deny any genuine experience you have had.

Student S. But didn't Jung claim to be scientific, like Freud?

Yes. And this sometimes caused trouble for him, because many of his more traditionally-minded peers in the medical profession regarded him as being too mystical to be genuinely scientific. He was certainly not scientifically-minded in the way Freud was, for he rejected reductionism in a search for a broader understanding of what counts as "science". Jung wanted his general theory to be regarded as scientific, because it was based on his wealth of empirical observations. But when dealing with patients, this same emphasis on the empirical led him to downplay his theory and emphasize the details of each individual's situation. My belief is that, instead of portraying his psychology to his peers as straightforward science, Jung would have been better off distinguishing between two ways of being "empirical": the scientific and the artistic.

Freud definitely saw himself as an empirical scientist; Jung by contrast, took more of an artistic approach to his work. Notice the way he emphasizes the empirical nature of his work (DA 3):

It is important that the doctor admits he does not know; then both [doctor and patient] are ready to accept the impartial facts of nature, scientific realities.... Dreams are objective facts. They do not answer our expectations ...

Clearly, this is an artist's approach to science, tempered by a Kantian appreciation for the need to recognize our ignorance (see TP, Ch.7). Thus, Jung says "we must handle dreams with nuance, like a work of art, not logically or rationally" (DA 66). "Freud's idea is that the dream is rational. I say that it is irrational, that it just happens." (94). Jung himself even worked on developing his own talent as an artist, painting and drawing "mandalas" as symbols of the collective unconscious in general (see Lecture 21) and of his own personal growth in particular.

Student T. I have a hard time believing in this thing Jung calls the "collective unconscious". How can he say we all share the same unconscious when there are so many differences between different cultures? Even within the same culture, one person might think a "boat" symbolizes a holiday, whereas another might think it symbolizes love!

Very true. But this difference in how we interpret symbols stems from our personal unconscious, not from their collective root. Jung studied the myths and stories of many cultures in great detail, so I'm sure he was far more aware than we are of how different they all are. The differences, however, do not overshadow the fact that from time to time amazing similarities show up. A young girl in Switzerland, for example, might have a dream about a lady running away from a king and escaping to the moon, without ever having heard of the Chinese myth that has exactly the same plot. Or the African tribesman might dream of a man dying on a cross and then coming back to life even though the story of Jesus' death and resurrection had not yet reached his remote village.

Are such similarities mere coincidences? If they were extremely rare, this might be the most likely explanation. But Jung's expertise in various cultures and traditions from around the world enabled him to make frequent connections between his patients' dreams and the myths, rituals and symbols of other cultures. This is one example of Jung's acausal determining principle of "synchronicity", which, as we saw in Lectures 3 and 12, refers to chance events whose depth of meaning require a more substantial explanation. The collective unconscious is the explanatory hypothesis Jung proposes to give such events substance.

Without denying the legitimacy or reality of the collective unconscious, I'll be suggesting in the next lecture a possible explanation for the universality of the archetypes. To prepare you for those further reflections, I shall conclude this lecture by reminding you of one of the chief ironies in Jung's psychology of the unconscious: that in order to appreciate the meaning of any archetype, we must look beyond it. Last week we saw how this simple principle applies even on the conscious level, to the relation between the ego and its personas: the former comes into its own only when we look beyond it to the social masks that will otherwise hide us even from ourselves. We then saw how it applies on the unconscious level: compensating for the conscious order, where recognizing our personas leads to a deeper understanding of the ego, the inner ego (i.e., the shadow) becomes meaningful only when we go beyond its negative characteristics and learn to distinguish them from the inner persona (i.e., the anima or animus). Finally, even the anima or animus, in order to fulfill its true purpose, must not be regarded as an end in itself, but as a "mask"-an unconscious self-image-through which we "filter" all the other archetypes (DA 79) as we approach the Self.

20. The Archetypes as a Family Tree

Why should the dreams of individuals in every culture contain images relating to the shadow, anima/animus, and other archetypes? I agree with Jung's hypothesis that the collective unconscious is the best psychological explanation for this phenomenon. Yet I believe there is also a sociological explanation worth considering. My idea is that the archetypes derive their structure (and perhaps also their collective nature) from the structure of a typical family. The universality of the shadow and anima/animus archetypes are a reflection of the fact that every human being has two parents: one of them being of the same sex, and the other of the opposite sex. The differences between each person's shadow and anima/animus arise largely out of the different ways our parents treated us as children. The character of my shadow is closely related to certain aspects of my father's character. And my anima complex likewise has characteristics that are undoubtedly related to the way my mother raised me. Another contributing factor is how many brothers or sisters I have and where I fit in the family order. This will be discussed further next week.

None of the other archetypes are as consistently experienced by dreamers as are the shadow and anima/animus. This could be related to the fact that no family relationship is as biologically necessary as the fact that we have two parents of opposite sex. For instance, the next three archetypes I'll examine in this lecture-the wise old man, the great mother and the trickster-could be regarded as corresponding directly to a person's grandfather, grandmother and uncles/aunts. The fact that these relatives are more distant from us corresponds to the fact that the three analogous archetypes lie deeper in our unconscious. To these we can also add two other correspondences: just as there is only one "me", but I might have many siblings, so also there is only one ego, but I may have many personas. Combining these suggestions gives us the following "family tree" of basic archetypes likely to be experienced by a man:

Figure VII.1: The Male Archetypes as a Family Tree

Lest my intentions be misunderstood, let me clarify that this map comparing the sociological (familial) and psychological (archetypal) perspectives should not be taken to imply that the latter can be reduced to the former. Thus, for instance, I am not suggesting the shadow is nothing but my relationship with my father. Far from it! My claim is rather that the set of potential family relationships established by our culture creates a psychic space for a finite set of archetypal relationships. Thus, Figure VII.1 should be read as implying not that my mother somehow is my anima, but that she was the first and most profound relationship that shaped that archetype in my personal unconscious during my early childhood. Note also that I have added the Self as corresponding to one's child, not because an actual child can be the entirety of another person's Self, but only because the former can symbolize the latter: just as a parent gives birth to a child as the highest expression of what it means to be part of a family, so also each individual gives birth to the Self-archetype as the highest expression of what it means to have archetypes. Indeed, Jung views the family itself as a symbol of wholeness (CW 12.152).

Two relatively easy archetypes to identify in our dreams are the wise old man and the great mother. They are typically represented in dreams by an older man or woman, as the names suggest. The wise old man will be a dream figure who offers profound advice or exemplifies the way of wisdom in some situation. The great mother will be a dream figure who exhibits deep-seated feelings or personifies the dreamer's capacity to give and receive nurture. Together these archetypes, reminiscent of the role grandparents play in most traditional societies, lead us into a deeper understanding of the twin virtues of guidance and support. Dream 19 of the series summarized in Lecture 15 pictures a wise old man helping me give a lecture on language, with one of the most influential living analytic (also called linguistic) philosophers in attendance (who is also an older man). The dream text is quite short, with no details of the lecture given; yet the lesson it conveys, that my personal growth depends on a wise use of language, is crystal clear.

Of the various encounters I've had with these archetypes in my dreams, one of the most mysterious and interesting came in the first dream diary I ever kept, back in 1985. The dream begins in a shop, where I and a male companion (a shadow figure) are planning a trip through the desert (my individuation). A cage in the shop is being kept at 140˚F. I am shocked because several animals (archetypes) are being kept in it, along with a small-possibly unborn-child (my Self). The female shopkeeper tells me this is the best way to prepare them for the upcoming trip. Upset, I ask to see her supervisor. From this point the original dream text proceeds (in a slightly revised form) as follows:

... She [the shopkeeper] immediately complies, and my companion and I begin our approach.... We are now in an obviously important place. I soon realize that we are quite near the queen's office (i.e., the current Queen of England). I assume we must be going to see one of her officials.

Just then we turn a corner and walk down a corridor, at the end of which is a dimly lit room seen through an open door. I immediately realize that this is actually the queen's office. I bow at the door, but my friend is obviously unaware of whom we are about to see or why I am bowing.

We enter the room, and the queen turns around in her chair, revealing a face wrinkled with age, perhaps in her 70s. I bow again, and my friend bows awkwardly. I am not very nervous, especially since I know I didn't ask to see the queen, and since in any case I don't respect her position quite the way others do. We are asked to be seated. I sit on the queen's right, my friend on her left.

I start to ask a question, which, of course, is going to be about the cruelty of the cage in the shop. But my words don't come out quickly enough because I am chewing two green grapes at the same time and trying to spit out the pits. The queen thinks I'm asking what to do with the pits, and interrupts my question by saying I should feel free to spit them out. A bit perturbed, I chew them instead. While I am chewing, but before I can continue asking my question, I wake up.

Coming just a few months before the oral defense of my doctoral dissertation at Oxford, this dream incorporates a number of interesting themes that have continued to be at the center of my individuation over the subsequent 12 years: my inadequate respect for proper authority ("I don't respect [the queen's] position"); my tendency to rebel (I intentionally chew the pits even though the queen recommends that I spit them out); my need to come to terms with the shadow (which at this early stage was not well differentiated from my ego, since the shadow figure is "obviously unaware" of who the queen is); and my need to release the other archetypes from their "cage". The constant company of my unidentified "friend"-he shadows me throughout the dream!-indicates that I was being possessed by my shadow. My lack of attention to him was actually the symbolic reason why the animals and child were trapped in the cage and why I was unable to respond appropriately to the queen. In the intervening years I gradually became aware of the fact that this shadow figure was actually controlling my attitudes toward authority-figures in my life, and that my own potential leadership ability could only blossom once I had faced this shadow and integrated it into my waking life.

When I had this dream I was deeply impressed by the image of the old queen. Even though I did not understand it at the time, this image conveyed a deep feeling that compensated for my lack of attention to the feminine side of my character in waking life. The queen's comforting words, that I should "feel free", seemed to be calling me to a deeper awareness of my feelings-a point I'll discuss more fully next week. Note also that the dark corridor leading to her office reminded me of a birth canal, like the one that led me to the first face-to-face meeting I had with my mother. All of these reflections are consistent with identifying this image as a great mother archetype. Twelve years after the dream, I can now appreciate much more fully why this old woman appeared as the queen (one of the typical forms taken by the great mother): she represents the kind of leader I must be in order to avoid the dangerous influences of my shadow in this area of my waking life, a leader with a capacity to support others through depth of feeling.

The female shopkeeper in this dream is functioning like a third and rather unique archetypal figure: the trickster. She fools me into thinking she is keeping the animals locked up, when in fact it is the shadow's doing. She then tricks me into meeting the queen-a totally unexpected and at the time undesired response to my request to see her "supervisor". The trickster is an archetype that straddles the boundary between the conscious and the unconscious, playing tricks on us the way mirrors sometimes confuse our visual perception. It can appear in dreams as a joker, a devil, a magician or any symbol that serves to connect two opposites in a paradoxical or unexpected way. As such, the trickster often holds an important clue to the re-unification of the psyche, and marks an important step on the path to a complete realization of the Self. The shopkeeper's "trick" was to lead me to a place that seemed totally irrelevant at the time (i.e., the queen's office), yet held the clue to the integration between my conscious (dislike of authority) and unconscious (authority figure) characteristics.

If my "family tree" metaphor is accurate, the shopkeeper's "trick" is actually quite appropriate: the great mother and wise old man, as the "parents" of the trickster as well as of the shadow and anima/animus, do hold a supervisorial role over the former. The family metaphor seems particularly appropriate here, because aunts and uncles in waking life often have trickster personalities: the special relation siblings have with each other enables them to adopt more of a happy-go-lucky attitude with their siblings' children than with their own (or other) children. Moreover, just as anyone whose parents have no brothers or sisters will not have any aunts and uncles, so also some people may never discover archetypes such as the trickster. If I am right about this parallel, then in archetypal psychology, the trickster archetype will be equivalent to the persona of our shadow or anima/animus (i.e., the sibling of our father or mother). Thus, like the persona, the trickster is more variable than the shadow and anima/animus.

One additional member in the group that constitutes the central "family" of archetypes shown in Figure VII.1 is the "maiden". I won't discuss this archetype in detail here, because Jung regards it as being closely related to both the anima and the "mother" archetypes (see e.g., CW 9.356). Technically, he distinguishes between the "father" and "mother" archetypes and the shadow and anima/animus. I have neglected this distinction, however, because the former pair is so closely related to the latter pair that in the early stages of individuation they can be safely regarded as aspects of the same archetype. The maiden appears when a man's anima has been freed from the shadow's control and is ready to give birth to the Self. In dreams, she often takes the form of a princess, a ballerina, or a nymph. Essentially, she is a purified form of the anima whose task is to guide us to the final unification of the psyche.

Transferring Figure VII.1 into a map of the family relationships between a female's archetypes is fairly straightforward. Only two changes are needed: the anima must be replaced with the animus; and the maiden must be replaced with a purified version of the animus, who can provide the final creative input needed for the woman to discover her Self. The term "prince" is an obvious choice here, though to my knowledge, Jung never specified this or any other name, having tended to pay more attention to the male psyche. Jungian psychologists have explored archetypal symbolism relating to numerous other themes, such as initiation, death and resurrection, etc. Instead of exploring these, however, I'd like to introduce you to an interesting way to apply Jung's theory of archetypes.

Archetypal symbolism can serve as an insightful guide for interpreting the psychological implications of ancient myths and fairy tales, as well as the modern stories we read in novels or see in films. For instance, Dante's account of his love affair with Beatrice and how her spirit led him throughout a life-long adventure of personal growth is a classic example of the anima's proper function as the guide to individuation, with Virgil serving as the wise old man. The myth of Cupid (or Eros) and Psyche, discussed in Lecture 4, is an equally good example. If we regard Psyche (meaning "soul") as the main character, then she would represent the ego. Cupid, Psyche's lover, would be the projection of her animus, while his mother would be a shadow figure, inasmuch as she keeps him locked away from Psyche for part of the story. Psyche's sisters could be regarded as personas, since they stay on the earthly (conscious) side of the river when Psyche crosses over.

The hero in most modern stories has to struggle against at least one shadow figure (i.e., the "villain" or the "bad guy", who is always trying to spoil the hero's plans) in order to rescue an anima/animus figure (usually a lover). The popular film "Star Wars" provides excellent examples of characters who obviously represent the basic family of archetypes. The main character, Luke Skywalker, symbolizes the ego in search of the Self. A wise old man figure (Ben, who later turns out to be the great Obi-Wan Kenobi) introduces him to the power of the "force". This sublimated complex of feelings, passed on to Luke by his dead mother, symbolizes the anima. Accompanied by a paradoxical pair of trickster figures-the untamed adventurer, Han Solo, and his tamed, ape-like copilot, Chewbacca-Luke goes on a mission to save Princess Leia, a maiden (with a touch of negative anima projection) who later turns out to be his twin sister. Luke's arch enemy, Darth Vader, is an obvious shadow figure; so it is quite appropriate that in one of the later films we learn that he is actually Luke's father. (The name "Darth Vader", meaning "Dark Father", clearly hints at his relation to Luke.) Only by confronting his shadow courageously on a number of occasions and learning to trust his anima "force" to be his guide is Luke able to fulfill his mission.

So far today we have been emphasizing the family side of the "family tree" analogy. To conclude this lecture let's focus on the tree as a typical example of an archetypal symbol. In one sense, of course, the connections between the archetypes, as shown in Figure VII.1, resemble a tree. But for now I'm not interested in constructing analogies based on the structure of trees, such as the one developed in The Tree; instead, I'd like to explore how the image of a tree can be amplified using archetypal symbolism. (The term "archetypal" in this usage refers not to a person treated symbolically, but to a symbol-e.g., and object, event or idea-whose personal character is traced to its collective roots. Although Jung tends to avoid using "archetype" in this looser way, many Jungians do so quite freely.) This will serve as an example of how the meaning of the personal symbols that appear in our dreams can be enlarged by relating them to the ancient myths, stories and other cultural material that forms the collective unconscious.

Let's assume the image of a tree appears in one of your dreams. Is it meaningful? To answer such a question, you would need to begin by examining your personal associations (see Figure V.1). If you've had any special experiences that involved trees, or if there's a tree near your home that you frequently see, or a tree you regard as your favorite, then you might want to explore possible connections between the dream image and these waking life trees. Perhaps you've read a book about trees, or one that uses trees in some metaphorical way, such as The Tree of Philosophy or Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree. In that case, you would need to consider the possibility that the dream tree is somehow reflecting the metaphorical content conveyed in the book. For instance, if you dream of a tree trunk around the time you've been reading The Tree, then you might treat this as implying something about logic (see TP 110). But unless you've had some recent, very significant experience with a tree, the meaningfulness of such connections would soon be exhausted. This is when you should turn to collective symbolism.

To explore the collective symbolism of trees is to treat them as an archetype-i.e., as a standard component of the collective unconscious that has influenced human beings throughout history. You might begin by thinking of religious stories that have trees appearing in an important role. The Buddha's lengthy meditation under a Bo tree, culminating in his life-transforming experience of enlightenment, might come to mind. Or if you are more familiar with the biblical tradition, you might think of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden: God told them they could eat of any tree except "the tree of the knowledge of good and evil", warning them they would die if they eat the fruit of this tree (Gen. 2:16-17). When they disobeyed God's command and ate the forbidden fruit, they too experienced a radical transformation: they were banished from the garden and forced to live a life of toil and strife (3:6-19). The Bible is filled with other kinds of tree symbolism. Most notably, Jesus dies on a tree made into a cross; in so doing he transforms the entire world, rescuing mankind from the punishment of eternal death that results from sin. And the Bible ends with yet another transformative tree symbol: the heavenly city that descends to earth at the end of time will have "the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit" at its center, making a final transformation (or "healing") available to all mankind (Rev. 22:2).

Once you have located some meaningful references to trees (or whatever dream-symbol you may be interpreting) in traditional myths, stories, religious traditions, etc., you are ready to apply these to your own situation. This task constitutes the second revolution of the spiral in Figure V.1. Obviously, in the case of a tree-image, the archetypal symbolism suggests that the tree is an important sign of transformation (i.e., of your own personal growth along the path of individuation). Exactly what the dream is saying by generating a tree-image is likely to be different in each case, and will depend on the other details in the dream. You'll need to ask questions such as: What happens to the tree in the dream? What characteristics of the tree are particularly emphasized? Is there anything unusual about the tree? Who interacts with the tree? By relating your answers to such questions to what you learned about the archetypal representations of trees in human history, your ability to interpret the transformative value of the dream should be greatly enhanced. In the next lecture, I'll take this one step further by showing how an ancient discipline called "alchemy" uses tree-images as an important symbolic expression of the final transformation that leads us to the "archetype of archetypes", the Self.

21. Transformation: Alchemy and the Self

Alchemy is an ancient discipline (often called "the work") that flourished during the Middle Ages, but largely died out due to the advent of modern chemistry. The alchemists' main goal was to convert lead (or other "base" metals) into pure gold. An important secondary goal was to search for the elixir of life, a potion that would not only cure diseases, but would provide mortals with eternal life. In striving to achieve these goals, they developed complicated theories as to how matter can be manipulated in order to transform its basic structure. This was normally done by heating the prima materia (or "primary material") until it dissolved into a liquid and/or gas, then cooling it until it solidified once again. Historians differ in their assessment of whether or not any alchemists ever succeeded in reaching their stated goals. Some claimed to have succeeded; but as the science of chemistry became more and more established, the very possibility of reaching such goals became more and more doubtful.

Despite the apparent failure of their seemingly impossible "work", many scholars now agree that the alchemists' writings hold numerous lessons for anyone interested in religion, psychology and personal growth. Jung devoted a great deal of energy to interpreting and understanding the symbolic nature of alchemy. He demonstrates that the alchemists were actually very interested in achieving an inner goal that ran parallel to their stated goals: the transformation of the old "base" man (the sinful or "old Adam" in Christian tradition) into a new being (often associated with the Christ). The experiments they performed in their attempts to effect transformations in the material world were often (if not usually) treated as object lessons whose main purpose was to stimulate insights about their own spiritual transformation. The fact that the explicit goals were unreachable was therefore not a problem: as Chetwynd reminds us (DS 7), these goals were "not evoked so that they might be attained but rather because they give direction to the work." Just as the physical side of alchemy gave rise to modern chemistry, the spiritual side has heavily influenced modern psychology: many of the alchemists' technical terms and symbols are now regarded as standard psychological concepts.

One of the basic lessons taught by the alchemists was that transformation can occur only through a twofold process of separation and reunion: just as the base material must be dissolved in the flame in order to solidify in a new form, so also spiritual transformation requires (as we shall see in Week IX) the heat of adversity and the struggle against evil in order for opposites to be reunited. Alchemists themselves often compared the opposites they encountered in their work to symbolic opposites such as negative and positive, evil and good, dark and light, feminine and masculine, etc. In The Tree, we saw how such oppositions (as typified by the yin-yang of Chinese philosophy [see TP, Figure 12.1]) are rooted in synthetic logic (see especially Ch.10) and relate to numerous traditional philosophical issues, including the very nature of love (see Figure 25.1).

Another important lesson from alchemy is that the work of transformation is not quick and easy, but slow and complex. In most cases the same experiments must be performed over and over again in order to move just one step closer to the goal. This, like the twofold nature of the work, corresponds directly to Jung's understanding of the individuation process. The archetypes we have been studying over the past two weeks are like base metals that are put into the "cauldron" (stewing pot) of the psyche in order to be "cooked over the fire" of our experience to produce one final and all-encompassing archetype: the Self. The dreams rising up from our soul are like the "raw material" of nature from which the based metals are extracted, and our work of interpretation is like the controlled experiments performed by the alchemist.

This cooking metaphor teaches us that alchemical (and psychic) transformations cannot be forced, but must be allowed to happen, spontaneously. As Moore puts it: "The soul never learns, but it does metamorphose, like worm to butterfly" (SM 203-204). We must therefore let the soul do the cooking, watching patiently as the magic of wholeness emerges from the pain and brokenness of our life experiences. Becoming whole takes time. And it is a painful, dangerous process. Too often we run away from our sickness, pain and other problems, covering them up with drugs, entertainment, ambition or other artificial means of relief-including religion. But such "relief" paradoxically hampers the process of personal growth. For it prematurely stifles the fire that itself holds the key to our long-term healing.

This imagery reminds me of the dream I shared in the previous lecture: the animals were being kept in the hot cage to "prepare" them for a journey through the desert. They were in a sense being heated up in preparation for the actual cooking. The cooking itself (i.e., the self-transformation) could not begin until the animals were released from the cage, for otherwise they would remain separated from the opposing archetypes with which they needed to be alchemically fused. This state of unnatural separation, with my shadow unconsciously controlling me in certain situations, was an accurate picture of my psychic state at the time.

A very significant detail in that dream is the small (possibly unborn) child who was also in the cage. My wife was pregnant with our second child at the time I had the dream; so on an objective level, the dream could be interpreted as a simple reflection of the fact that the child had not yet "come out" of the womb. But in terms of archetypal symbolism, a small child like this often symbolizes the Self-archetype that marks the ultimate goal of the entire individuation process (see Figure V.3). Children are typical symbols of the Self because they represent new birth. As such, child-images in dreams often represent the beginning of some new aspect of your self-transformation. Jung even suggests that the age of the child in your dream can be a clue as to when the event occurred in your waking life that initiated this new aspect (DA 54): "To dream of a child of seven years means that seven years ago something started." So if the caged child in my dream was unborn, this suggests that an important new phase was about to begin-a fact that did turn out to be true when several dramatic changes took place in my life just a few months later (just before my wife actually gave birth).

The Self can be regarded as the "archetype of archetypes" in the sense that it represents the final transformation that unifies everything: not only specific archetypes within the unconscious, but the entire unconscious; and not only the unconscious and conscious aspects of the psyche with each other, but also the psyche with the whole external world. It is, in other words, the archetype of wholeness. Jung's use of the term "Self" must not be simply identified with the "ego" (as might be the case if Freud were to use the term), for unlike the ego, the Self encompasses and is in fact the source of all opposites. Far from being an unhealthy sign of a "selfish" approach to life (as is sometimes claimed), such an emphasis on "self-transformation" is actually an attempt to combat selfishness by calling us to recognize the presence of a higher reality beyond our own ego. It requires even psychologists to remain humble, since it implies that even the unconscious is not the psyche's highest aspect. The highest archetype is so all-inclusive that it is ultimately an incomprehensible mystery.

To Jung, the alchemists' creation of pure gold out of base metals is a profound symbol of this ultimate re-unification of the psyche. As a result, many of the images alchemists used to describe their work can be transferred almost directly to the work psychologists have taught us to do with our dreams. Numerous examples could be cited. For instance, just as the alchemists referred to the union of base metals as a "wedding" (e.g., between the material and spiritual natures of the world), so also dreams of weddings are often signs of psychic transformations that are taking place in the life of the dreamer. And just as we saw in Lecture 13 that stones can be profound symbols of the unconscious, so also the alchemists spoke frequently of what they called the "Philosopher's Stone" as an agent of transformation. On the physical level, this special stone symbolizes the ultimate secret(s) of the universe that must be discovered in order for gold to be produced from mere lead. On the spiritual and personal level, it refers to the secret each of us holds within our heart and which holds the key to the transformation of the ego into the Self.

In both alchemy and depth psychology this process of transformation requires four stages. The alchemists used four colors to describe their work: first, black lead is extracted from the prima materia; it then must be transformed into a white powder, called "quicksilver"; after a further transformation, red sulfur appears; finally, the yellow gold will emerge. Reading Figure VI.2 counter-clockwise reveals a similar process of archetypal development; and the more advanced archetypes we have been examining this week can also be regarded as relating to each other according to this pattern. (The same pattern, as we shall see next week, applies to the four basic attitudes that characterize how we relate to the world.) These connections are summarized in Figure VII.2. This diagram shows how the individuation process, like the alchemical work, requires a long series of transformations before the prima materia (the "me" I show the world) can become pure gold (the true Self).

Whenever we share our dreams and discuss their interpretations together, we are in a sense participating in this alchemical process. As Jung points out (DA 44), "the dream is a living thing ... It is a living situation, ... like an animal with feelers ... We don't realize that while we are talking of it, it is producing. This is why primitives talk of their dreams, and why I talk of dreams." This also is why I have provided questions/topics for group discussion at the end of each week's readings in this course. Like the alchemical cooking of the base metals, your dreams

Figure VII.2: Alchemy and Psychic Transformation

produce new meanings when the heat of living dialogue is applied to them, so that eventually truly "golden" insights will emerge.

The ultimate goal of personal growth is to transform the ego into the Self (see e.g., CW 9.315), so that the latter can take the place of the former as the psyche's governing force. This emphasis on self-transformation must be carefully distinguished, however, from being "selfish" or egotistical. Jung's terminology is somewhat unfortunate here, because it does not adequately reflect the total opposition between the former and the latter approaches to life. The ego is the conscious seed out of which our awareness of the Self emerges. For this reason children should be encouraged to develop strong egos: a rotten egg will not produce a healthy chicken! Selfishness or egotism develops when this focus on the ego extends beyond its proper time, so that the person refuses to allow any further personal growth to take place. By shifting our focus to the Self, we are acknowledging our need to renounce the (Freudian) idea that our ego is the final authority, submitting instead to the psyche's own process of self-regulation. As such, the Self can be regarded as the necessary endpoint of individuation that provides life with meaning.

Of all the symbols of wholeness (i.e., of the Self) that might appear in our dreams, the most powerful is what Jung calls the "quaternity"-i.e., a complete set consisting of four parts. The standard examples of such fourfold patterns are the seasons (winter, spring, summer, fall), the basic elements (water, air, earth, fire), the directions (north, east, south, west) and the four periods of life (birth/death, youth, maturity, old age [see TP, Figure 3.1]). As we saw in The Tree (Ch.11), the completeness of this fourfold pattern is rooted in the nature of logic itself, for it consists, quite simply, of two sets of interlocking opposites (2x2=4). Thus, it should come as no surprise to find numerous examples of the quaternity both in philosophy (e.g., the Kantian categories: quantity, quality, relation, modality [TP 43-44]) and in religious traditions (e.g., the Christian Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, John).

In Chinese the number four is considered to be an unlucky number, because the word for "four" (say) sounds the same as the word for "death" (say). This might seem at first to contradict Jung's theory that the quaternity is a basic component of the collective unconscious; but in fact it is a confirmation. For as the completion of life, death is the end toward which all life aims. The Self, too, is the archetype of the end, of death (see Figure V.3): few, if any, individuals are likely to reach a complete awareness of their Self until shortly before (or at the moment of) their own death. Although the Chinese attitude toward "four" may function as an unhealthy superstition for some people-a fear of death, and of "endings" in general, that is likely to block personal growth-it could also be regarded as a healthy sign of respect for the power and mystery of wholeness in human life.

When a set of four objects, people, or events appears in a dream, ask yourself whether this might somehow be symbolizing your Self. Sometimes just the number four can fulfill this function. Along these lines, for instance, the $400 parking fine in my longer sample dream (see Lecture 3) can be regarded as suggesting that my potential for wholeness is being threatened by the problems hinted at elsewhere in the dream (e.g., my lack of patience while waiting for change in the bank). In other words, the dream reminds me that if I do not properly face my shadow and free my anima to be a proper guide for my individuation, then the penalty (the "fine") will be the ultimate loss of my own Self-awareness. Of course, such symbolic interpretations will be nothing but meaningless jargon unless you use the archetypal symbolism as a springboard to reach some genuine insights about specific character traits. In my case, as I've explained in Lectures 15, 17 and 18, the warning seems to refer to issues relating to leadership, especially at home.

The quaternity sometimes appears in our dreams or in waking life as a regularly-shaped diagram or picture, called a "mandala" (from the Sanskrit word meaning "magic circle"). For Jung the mandala represents an ordered pattern of meaning, and as such, symbolizes the unity in diversity that characterizes the Self. One of the simplest and most basic forms of mandala is a circle with a cross inside it and a square outside it (cf. DA 103-104), as shown in Figure VII.3. Note that the inversion of the cross

(i.e., the shape that results if we cut along the two axes and fold the center pieces outward) is a square. If any (or all) of these shapes appear in a dream, try to find a connection between the shape and any other symbols in the dream. For instance, if I am sitting at a round table with two other people, I might ask myself: What is the missing fourth that must be added to my psyche in order for the "Self" (the quaternity) to be complete?

Jung frequently utilizes such geometrical symbolism in his writings. For

Figure VII.3:

The Mandala as a Symbol of Wholeness

instance, in CW 9.426, he illustrates how "the tension of opposites strives for balance" by inviting us to divide a square in half:

If one imagines the quaternity as a square divided into two halves by a diagonal, one gets two triangles whose apices point in opposite directions. One could therefore say metaphorically that if the wholeness symbolized by the quaternity is divided into equal halves, it produces two opposing triads. This simple reflection shows how three can be derived from four ...

Here Jung draws attention to one of the benefits of learning to recognize quaternities: we shall begin to notice that patterns of three are sometimes glaringly incomplete. By mapping sets of three onto the cross, we can often discover that we are actually working with a quaternity that has a missing fourth element. Our task in such cases is to locate that missing element, and (in the case of dreamwork) seek to understand how we might integrate it into our own personal growth.

A shape similar to a mandala that can represent not so much the Self as the ascent to the Self is the spiral. After noting that "[t]he man who discovered the mathematics of the spiral lived in my home town" (DA 100), Jung explains that individuation develops (like amplification [see Figure V.1]) "in a spiral, you always come over the same point where you have been before, but it is never exactly the same, it is either above or below." This fact is due to the tension of opposites in our psyche. Without such opposites, life would be "just a straight line", and would really be no life at all (101).

In dreams and stories the spiral path of personal growth is often depicted as a mountain, with the peak symbolizing the Self (see e.g., CW 9.403n). With this in mind, experiences that involve a clear and deep level of Self-awareness, often accompanied by a mystical sense of wholeness, are often referred to as "peak experiences". This term was coined by the existential psychologist, Abraham Maslow, whose study of such experiences (in The Psychology of Being; see especially Chs.6-7) demonstrated that they are closely correlated to long-term psychological health. In other words, coming to a deep awareness of one's Self is an invaluable asset even though most of our life must be lived in the "valley", so to speak. When you descend from the peak experience(s) that I hope this course will provide, you should be equipped with a more insightful vision of where you are going and what your life is all about.

In concluding today's lecture, let's look briefly at how the tree-symbolism introduced at the end of the previous lecture is related to alchemy. In connection with his studies of alchemy, Jung conveys numerous insights concerning the tree-images that occur in the stories and symbolism of many cultures. In some ancient myths, the whole world is pictured as being supported by a huge tree, often called the "cosmic tree". Jung says at one point that in alchemy this tree symbolizes "the union of opposites", because it is "rooted in this world and growing up to heaven" (CW 9.198). He then adds: "the tree ... is also man. In the history of symbols this tree is described as the way of life itself...".

Significantly enough for our purposes, the cosmic tree is sometimes called the arbus philosophicus-i.e., the "tree of philosophy". Just as alchemists regard this tree as an important symbol of their opus (i.e., of their transformative "work"), so also Jung regards it as a symbol of the individuation process in general (see e.g., CW 9.570) or the Self in particular (582). As a result, this symbolic tree relates differently to men and women: it grows out of the woman's head, but out of the man's abdomen (see CW 12, Figures 131 and 135). This is because the tree symbolizes the soul's unconscious work in transforming us by compensating for our weaknesses (thinking and feeling, respectively). In the cocoon of our personal growth, the typical feminine psyche requires a new intellectual (head-based) tree, while the typical masculine psyche requires a new emotional (belly-based) tree. The need for such spontaneous growths, like the butterfly taking shape inside the cocoon, will be the main topic of next week's lectures.

QUESTIONS/TOPICS FOR GROUP DISCUSSION

1. Do you agree with Jung's claim that men are usually more rational while women are more feeling-oriented? Why or why not?

2. Using Jung's theory of archetypes, explain what evil is and/or how it arises.

3. Use Jung's theory of archetypes to interpret the relationships between the characters in a film you have recently seen.

4. Describe a "peak" experience you have had (either in a dream or in waking life), and explain how it changed the way you view ordinary life.